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Harry never even realised what he was doing until it was too late, until he was shucking off his clothes in record time and diving into the shower stall. It had become Pavlovian; he was conditioned to want a shower as soon as he heard that soft hum of water running through the pipes in the wall dividing his and next door’s flat.
It was just – his neighbour liked to sing when he had a shower, Harry could hear him clear as day from his own bathroom, and he had such a pretty voice. It was so soothing to Harry, reminding him of the wind chimes his grandmother hung from trees in her back garden that tinkled gently when he tapped them.
So it was no surprise that it had become almost mechanical for Harry to climb into the shower whenever he knew the boy was in there, but what was surprising is that Harry was allowed to sing with him.
The first time he had sang along, it was completely accidental.
It had been the first song he heard the man sing that he actually knew, a catchy pop one that he’d heard a few times on the radio that day, so when it came to the chorus he sang along. It wasn’t until the man stopped singing that Harry realised what he was doing.
There was a long pause, Harry staring at the wall separating them as if he would be able to see through it if he looked hard enough, before the water next door was shut off.
Harry was terrified that he’d scared the man off, that he’d never be able to hear that beautiful voice again, and he’d figured his fears were confirmed when the following few times they showered, there was no singing.
Harry was much more distraught then he ought to be when five days had passed and his neighbour still hadn’t sung.
He’d heard him hum on one occasion, but that was it.
So on the sixth day, Harry decided to try something. Something that very much worked.
When he heard his neighbour’s shower go on, Harry climbed into his own and waited a few minutes before opening his mouth and belting out Bohemian Rhapsody.
That song was impossible not to sing along to, but a minute ticked by and his neighbour still hadn’t sung. His shower was still running, though, which was a good sign that he hadn’t been scared off.
“I see a little silhouetto of a man!” Harry sang, then paused.
He was delighted when that voice tinkled back “Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?”
Harry grinned so wide he could barely get the next line out, but he managed to sing “Thunderbolt and lightning, Very, very frightening me” without laughing.
He was rewarded by his neighbour calling “Galileo!” back, and he carried on singing with Harry for the entire rest of the song. And when it was finished, his neighbour started another one up and Harry joined in.
After that, it happened almost every day. Whenever they were both in the shower at the same time, they sang together. Harry loved it, felt so incredibly happy afterwards, but he was beginning to feel a bit odd about the fact that he’d never met his neighbour.
They lived so close, Harry figured they would had to have seen each other in the halls, but as far as he knew they’d never crossed paths. It was fun singing together, but Harry just wished they could have more than that. Or, at the very least, a face and name to put to the magical voice.
When something more finally happened between them, it was a something that Harry could never have predicted.
It was on a Friday evening, when Harry had walked through his door only to hear those pipes buzzing. It was earlier than usual, but nevertheless Harry was quick to get to the bathroom and undress himself.
As soon as the taps were turned he began to belt out Call Me Maybe, only to be greeted by a low drawn out moan.
The next line to the song disappeared from his mind, and Harry fell silent. Half his mind was dedicated to remembering what came next, and the other half was trying to work out what was going on next door. Was his neighbour wanking? Surely not, he decided. It was probably a ‘not this song’ moan of indignation, so Harry racked his brain for another song.
The first that came to mind was something from Mary Poppins, but when he opened his mouth to sing it there was another moan.
So Harry stood with his mouth hanging open, staring at that bloody dividing wall, wishing more than ever that he had x-ray vision. Not to, like, perve. He wasn’t that weird. He just wanted to know what was going on.
Why was his neighbour moaning?
Was he hurt? Was he groaning out of frustration? Or was Harry’s first thought right, that he was wanking?
“Hello?” Harry called out, and a high-pitched whine answered him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah!” his neighbour squeaked. There was another soft moan, then came a yelled “Fine!”
“Are you wanking?”
“Christ! Yes, yes I am.”
“Oh. Okay!” Harry yelled back. “I’ll – we can sing another time then.”
“Yeah!” he groaned, and Harry’s cock stirred. Now that he knew what his neighbour was doing, it was oh-so-hard not to picture what was going on behind the wall.
He’d never seen the guy, sure, but he’d seen plenty of cocks and men jacking themselves off and porn with shower sex to be able to conjure up a perfectly hot image in his mind to the sounds that were bouncing around the room.
“Can I wank too?” Harry shouted. He knew it was weird, but he also knew it would be weirder to just jack himself off to the sounds his neighbour was making without at least getting permission. There would be something inherently wrong about that.
“Fuck.” He groaned. “If you want?”
“I want!”
His neighbour groaned low and throaty, and Harry wrapped a hand around his cock and leant against the cool tiles on the wall separating them.
Harry closed his eyes and thunked his head back, listening to the noises his neighbour was making while stroking himself slowly. Which was rather odd in itself, usually Harry preferred tugging himself off quick and hard with no finesse, but even the man next door’s groans of pleasure were soothing. Harry wanted to listen more than anything else, wanted that voice bouncing around in his mind as he came.
“Are you – wanking yet?” the man said, pitch high and desperate.
“Yeah.” Harry croaked back.
“Can’t hear you.”
“Do you want to?”
There was a pause before his neighbour groaned “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
So Harry picked up the pace of his hand, twisting his wrist as he pulled up and squeezing lightly as he pushed down, and when he ran his thumb over his slit he let out a growl through gritted teeth.
“Fuck.” Came the pretty voice from next door, and Harry groaned again.
“You like that?”
“Yeah.” He whimpered. “So hot. Wish I could see you.”
“Bet you do. Wanna see you too. Wanna see your hand on your cock. Bet you’re –“ Harry groaned, squeezing his eyes shut hard until stars burst behind his lids. “Bet you’re so pretty. Pretty as your voice.”
His neighbour’s answering moan was gorgeous, and what he said next had Harry squeezing the base of his cock so he wouldn’t come so quickly. “Bet you’re as fucking hot as your voice. So deep. Want you inside me that deep.”
“Fuck. I could take you so deep.” Harry licked his lips and bit into the bottom one, hard enough to hurt. He was going to come embarrassingly quickly, the hand wrapped around his base wasn’t enough to stave it off. “Got me so hard, Pretty.”
“Wanna see it so bad.”
“Yeah? Next time you could join me.” Harry panted, thunking his head over and over against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and teeth cutting into his lip and hand still achingly tight around his base. So so desperate to hold off.
“I’m gonna come.” The neighbor whined. “Gonna come, three fingers deep and thinking about you. How hard you could fuck me. Want you to – ” he stopped then, and a mere two seconds later he was whimpering out little ohs and fucks and then came a long drawn out Harry.
Harry was quick to pump himself then, hand moving rapidly over his cock, pulling himself to release. It only took a few strokes before he was shooting come against the tiles.
“Fuck that was hot.” Came the voice, and Harry grinned wide, pushing his wet hair from his face.
“It was.” Harry agreed, and turned off the shower. He heard his neighbour do the same before he asked “So, Harry, huh?”
“Fuck. I – I may have found your name out? I signed for a parcel of yours once when you weren’t home, and I was going to bring it over so I could finally meet you but chickened out. Just left it outside your door instead. Sorry.”
Harry felt himself smile wide, a blush creeping over his face to redden his cheeks and ears. “Do you want to come over now? Got nothing planned.”
“Oh. Umm. Mind if you come over here instead? Already got take-away ordered. There’ll be enough for you if you want?”
“Okay.” Harry agreed, still unable to get that stupid bloody grin off his face. “I’ll just throw something on.”
He threw on some trackies and a worn-thin cotton jumper, towel drying his hair in record time.
He was so fast, in fact, that when he knocked on the door to his neighbour’s flat he was greeted by the man still in nothing but his towel, wrapped low on his hips. It was the small droplets of water on his belly that Harry noticed first, then the tattoos on his forearms that were hanging by his side. Harry’s mouth watered as his eyes raked further upwards, pausing at the small nipples and the words tattooed below his collarbones.
“You’re getting an awfully long look.” Came that pretty voice, and Harry’s eyes finally flicked up to meet his. Fuck, but they were such a pretty blue.
“Can’t help myself.” Harry croaked, and grinned when the man opposite him did the same.
“Come in.” he said, rolling his eyes before stepping back to allow Harry entrance. “And I’m Louis, in case you were wondering.”
“Pretty.” Harry smirked, and Louis barked out a laugh.
“As pretty as my voice?”
Harry turned around to face Louis again, letting his eyes take another languid stroll up his naked chest before saying “Even prettier.”