Hans Larsson

Rekker didn't respond because his mind fell into a loop of recognizing that he wanted the Swede and the rest of his mind screaming at him that no one wanted him.

He's staring though as the singer stretches and leans back to wet his hair. The moan has the Brit looking over that boyish body. He wants to touch but worries about being wanted, worries about his touch being wrong or unwelcome, all the worries crushing in on him.

However, he still steps closer, nearly standing up against the front of the singer. Rekker has a death grip on the thw shampoo bottle, knuckles white as he pours some into his hand and sets the bottle aside. It smells heavily of botanical but not anything feminine given the prominent smell of rosemary and lime in the shampoo.