Chapter Text
Din grabbed the small microfibre towel from where it was hanging behind the door when he let himself back into the house. His lungs were still burning and greedily pulling in large swallows of air as warm skin – overheated from that last sprint – made his body straddle a subtle, delirious high as it cooled down.
The towel was only useful for swiping over his face where sweat had trickled down his hairline along the sculpted ridges and dips in his features, droplets clinging to messy strands of hair that fell into his eyes as he made his way to the bathroom.
Many cyclists would argue that the exhilaration in the twenty minutes after a ride couldn’t be surpassed, but for Din, nothing quite matched the feeling of peeling off the straining spandex that supported his muscles while exercising. Fabric that now clung to his skin, damp with his prior exertion.
Time was always taken before turning on the shower to drag the jersey over his head and let the cool air of the bathroom – yet unaffected by the steam a hot shower filled it with – kiss his skin. The veins along his forearm more pronounced from sweating and a need to rehydrate, a glisten of it shining across the soft muscles of his exposed abdomen and chest. The change in temperature immediately had his tired muscles tensing momentarily, but it only took a roll of his shoulders, a careful circling of his head to release them once more.
This was the only time Din didn’t sigh in frustration or annoyance or stress; the sigh that left him as he removed his shorts and bibknick one of relief, of pleasure even. It didn’t escape his notice that maybe it had been a little too long since he had last gotten laid if the simple act of removing his clothes could make his skin hum.
The reflection he caught in the mirror was a mess of contradictions; tired eyes and a dusting of age now sprinkled along the sparse facial hair along his jaw and softened his middle a touch. The solid strength of his thighs and arms honed from years of activity and a physically demanding job that echoed in the wide breadth of his shoulders and trimness of his waist. The boyish mop of messy curls that softened his features but highlighted the crows’ feet that kissed the corners of his eyes.
Sometimes, Din noticed his age. Other times, he noticed the parts of himself he still recognized as the virile youth he was in his twenties. The addictive quality of cycling meant he always felt the latter; an injection of vigor and passion he sorely needed, and he took a hit of it daily.
The man in the mirror became less and less visible the more steam fogged his small bathroom until he could see nothing at all. The single instance of contemplation and peace Din allowed himself to have in these quiet moments when the house was empty and the world still waking up, was over.
The spray had his eyes closing immediately as the water – hot in temperature but cool on his overheated skin – coursed down his body, plastering his hair to his forehead and neck where it had grown much too long.
With practiced ease, Din lathered the soap in his hands and started along his shoulders, a pained groan leaving him at the tightness he found there. He worked the soap efficiently down his arms, over the firm, sinewed muscles of his biceps and forearms while the heat in the water melted away any residual tension in his back and shoulders. The lather of the soap already worked over his arms and chest cascaded down over the rest of his skin. His hands missed or rather, didn’t notice, the softness of his tanned skin, darker slightly where his shorts and jersey left him exposed to the sun. Nor did they bother with the attractive dip along his hips down towards his navel, a dusting of sparse, dark hair trailing down towards somewhere only his hand had been able to touch in months.
Perhaps if he had a partner, showers would last longer than ten minutes. Where the militant and concise movements of his hands over his body would slow to lazy caresses and where the touch of hands might be followed with lips and tongue. Where time would escape his notice until the hot water turned icy, and laughter muffled against skin would fill his silent home and he would consider, maybe for a moment to make use of one of those sick days he never bothered taking.
For now though, he simply turned off the still hot water and apart from the water dripping from his naked body to the tiled floor of his shower, silence filled his life once more.