Bubble, Bubble
She was sprawled in hot, steamy depths, blowing bubbles along the surface like a child, focusing on breathing through her nose without accidently inhaling soapy bubbles, luxuriating in the feeling of her limbs floating away from her body, when her gaze snagged on a flicker of movement in the mirror hanging on the wall across from her and her lips curled into a smile. He was peeking around the doorway, fingers busily loosening his tie in response to the heat, squinting against the waves of steam rolling off the bathwater. Her lips curled into a smile at the sight of him, standing so tall and straight and looking downright delectable with his neatly combed hair, shaven cheeks, and pressed suit. Even after all these years, the sight of Tom buttoned up and proper still made Sybil flush with delight. It was easy, she mused silently, to decide whether she preferred him neat and proper, or dishevelled—the way he looked now, delightful though it was, simply would not do, not for the evening she had planned.
Dropping her eyelids another fraction to hide her gaze in her eyelashes, she tipped her chin back and released a slow moan. Tom's movements in the mirror stilled; his eyes narrowed. Dropping her head back, Sybil pushed herself up on her hands, chest thrown out, to sit up and lounge sideways against the edge of the tub. Head hanging over the porcelain edge, she swung first one leg, then the other over the opposite edge. The cool rim was soothing to her heat-flushed skin, wet with both bathwater and perspiration. She settled herself so that her profile was clearly visible, both legs from the mid-thighs down, neck, shoulders, and breasts revealed. Rolling her head towards the mirror, she bit back a grin; he was still frozen in the doorway. In the foggy glass, she could just see his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. Arching one arm over her head, she scooped a bar of soap off the floor behind her, wet it, and scrubbed it between her hands to generate a handful of lemon-scented suds. She meticulously scrubbed first one arm, then the other, fingers massaging her skin, then passed her hands up her neck, massaging away the lingering throbbing in her temples. She dropped back on hand to snatch a bottle from the floor, filled her hands with sweetly-scented gardenia shampoo, and buried them in her sopping tresses, liberally massaging her scalp. Her eyes fluttered closed and another moan escaped her lips; that truly did feel heavenly.
Enjoying the velvety blackness of her closed eyelids, she let her hands roam independently. They trailed down her neck, imprinting fingerprints on every bump of her vertebrae, stroked the slopes of her shoulder blades, squeezed tension from her arms, wriggled suds between her fingers, smoothed the skin of her breastbone, dipping into the well of her collarbone. Her nails scraped over the soles of her feet, wringing a groan from her throat, and slowly up her calves, heels of her palms squeezing her aching muscles, and into the crevice of her languidly bent knees. She set her teeth against the chill of the razorblade skimming over her legs, slowly stripping hairs from around her ankles and up her legs in long strips. More soap followed, massaged into the shaven-pink skin so slowly and gently that her eyelids followed. She fidgeted, lolling her head back and revelling in the rush of blood to her head, and dragged her hands up her thighs. Under the surface, they massaged, squeezed, teased her thighs until, with a hiss of breath through her teeth, her legs slipped further apart and she twisted her fingers through the curls at the apex of her thighs, hissing as heat even hotter than the bathwater pooled in her lower belly. One hand floated up to trace a nipple, slowly pinching the tender skin into a peak.
Her breath was starting to come in shallow pants when an answering hot breath ghosted over her left earlobe and she whimpered aloud. Lips pressed, soft and hot, to the shadow below her ear. Teeth delicately fastened onto her newly lemon-scented skin and bit down, lips sucking hard. A hand, larger and more calloused than hers, stroked over her right shoulder and down her arm, following her fingers between her legs. He shifted closer, pressing kisses up and down her neck, slipping his shoulder beneath her neck and rocking her head to press her cheek against his. A shuddering gasp punched free of her lungs; she could feel the crisp fabric of his shirt, his sleeves rolled up, but the cotton still whispering over her sensitive skin. His arm lay atop hers, fingers intertwining with hers and squeezing tightly. His left hand snaked across her torso and his fingers closed around her right breast, easily picking up the rhythm of circling and plucking that her left hand was still applying to her other breast—but his fingers were larger, the skin just a little bit rougher, and the pressure was so perfect that she whimpered and burrowed her face into the skin of his neck. His right hand slipped free of her fingers and traced soft circles over her right thigh, softly coaxing her hip open. She wriggled obediently, skin skidding over the porcelain, to part her legs further, making room for his larger hand. His work-roughened fingers skimmed the line of her inner thigh and she hissed impatiently. The sound melted into a moan as he tugged harder on her nipple, and a chuckle reverberated through his chest. She licked her lips, parted them, and a whisper of please was just spreading its wings when his fingers finally, finally traced her slit, their tips just dipping ever so slightly inside, and his thumb was starting a steady circling rhythm on her clit. Her hips bucked upwards, mouth opening.
He held her at the age for a dizzingly long time. His fingers thrust just a little too shallowly, his thumb pressed just a little too lightly, though his mouth was ruthless on the skin of her neck, sucking and nipping with bruising force while his other hand played relentlessly with her breasts. She wrapped her left hand in the short hairs at the nape of his neck and wrapped her right around his forearm, feeling the muscles flex beneath the crisp fabric as he played ever so gently with her. He took his time finding the best ways to make her squirm, and repeating each move relentlessly to drive the best reactions from her, circling her clit to feel her head toss from side to side on his shoulder, holding his fingers still inside her to watch her hips buck and twist in desperation. God, but he was good! Some fragment of her mind marvelled at her luck in finding a man who loved not only passionately, but so thoroughly that her bones melted into heat and steam even as her muscles tensed and flexed, trying to soak pleasure from his hands. She was trying to whisper his name when his left hand left her breasts to cup her cheek and tilt her face towards his. His tongue plundered her mouth ruthlessly and his fingers matched the agonizing slide of his tongue along the roof of her mouth, plunging deeper and deeper and twisting until she was gasping for air, but when she tried to pull back he sank his teeth into her bottom lip with a groan that made her chest rattle and kissed her so thoroughly that her mouth fell open and her heartbeat rose to a thunderous rhythm and she had scarcely enough air to whimper, feeling so full of him with his tongue in her mouth and his fingers inside her, before he pressed down on her clit and released her mouth in time for her to gasp for breath before she exploded into a fiery burst of pleasure.
He stroked softly through her orgasm, gently draining pleasure from her and leaving her a boneless heap slumped against the edge of the bath. Head lolling, she tried to refocus her breathing, smiling at the sensation of his arms drifting to encircle her waist, hugging her to the porcelain. Heaving her eyelids open, she gazed at the blurry shapes of their entwined forms in the mirror, his honey-gold head nestled close to her own dark one, the tone of his flesh visible through the wet shirt clinging to his skin.
"Hello." he whispered against her collarbone, punctuating the greeting with a kiss and smiling against her skin.
"Hello." she murmured in reply, giggling as his hair tickled her ear. "How are you?"
"After a 'welcome home' like that?" he snorted. "I can die happy."
"Not yet." Twisting her fingers in his hair, she tugged his head up to her level and tugged at the top button of his shirt. "Come on, get in here."
With a quick kiss on her lips, he obediently rose and fumbled with his buttons. She hauled her limbs back into the bathtub and turned to face him, watching as he stripped the wet shirt from his skin and stepped on the toes of his socks to pull them off his feet. She reached out to unbuckle his belt as he stripped off his undershirt, and drew down the zipper of his pants. He was hard against her hand, his cheeks flushed and his eyes almost feverishly bright, his drawers already damp with desire. When she slipped one hand beneath the waistband and wrapped her fingers around his length, he let out a low groan, head falling back, swallowing hard.
"I'm…" he began, only to have his words choked off by a moan as she stroked him, flicking her thumb over his tip. Boosting herself up onto knees still wobbly from her own orgasm, she leaned closer and nuzzled a soft trail of wet kisses along the path between his hipbones, all the while stroking with smooth, confident strokes. He didn't have to tell her that he was close; by now, she knew his body almost better than her own. She moved over his cock with firm fingers, her other hand running in smooth strokes down the small of his back, over the slope of his ass, and down his thigh. His fingers tangled in her wet hair, anchoring himself as she sucked his hipbones into startlingly red and violet bruises, bringing him firmly towards his own edge.
His hips were thrusting into her hand and he was gasping for air when she abruptly loosened her grip, smirking as he struggled to look down at her. With a nip at the inside of his thigh, she wove her fingers into his and pulled him towards her. He slipped easily into the tub, water sloshing dangerously close to the rim, and she coaxed him into lying back with her mouth against his neck. They floated together, touching here and there in steamy warmth. She looped one arm around his neck and peppered his collarbone with kisses while her other hand slid between their bodies to resume her easy stroking. The back of his head thunked against the rim of the bath and his teeth sank into his bottom lip, his hands clenching on her hips as he fought for breath. She slipped one knee between his legs, pressing softly on his balls, and he let out a choked moan. Pressing close, Sybil tongued his bottom lip from between his teeth and pulled him into a hot, filthy kiss, wrapping her tongue around his, drawing it into her own mouth and sucking hard. She teased the roof of his mouth until his chest was heaving for breath, rising and falling sharp and fast against hers, then sped up the movement of her wrist to match his thudding heartbeat. She turned his own techniques back on him, keeping their mouths pressed firmly together even when he tried to break away, until he breathlessly lost the ability to focus on kissing and just opened his mouth and let her in without resistance. Then she waged a veritable campaign against his perfectly soft lips and teasing tongue, revelling in his breathlessness and the tremor in the hands clutching at her hip and waist. She pulled back, sucked a breath into her own burning lungs, plunged beneath the surface of their little bath, and blindly pressed shallow kisses down his torso until she could wrap her lips around his cock. He stiffened beneath her hands and she heard him shout even through the water in her ears.
The taste was unusual, but not unpleasant. She gulped it down, flicking her tongue over the tip of his cock to coax forth every last drop, then resurfaced.
Through the curtain of hair hanging over her eyes, she saw him slumping against the bath, mouth lolling, and laughed, pulling herself closer and nestling into his chest. "Hello again." she murmured, and laughed aloud when his only response was a strangled grunt.
"Christ." he swore breathlessly after a few minutes, refocusing his gaze on her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I was not expecting that."
She felt her cheeks burning with pride, not shame, and grinned as he tenderly swept her hair off her forehead. "I got the impression you enjoyed it, though."
"I do believe that's a fair assumption." he retorted, mimicking her accent with a grin on his lips. "You've never done that before."
She shrugged, reaching to run her wet hand through his wonderfully soft hair. "I was curious."
"Thank God." he said, so fervently that she giggled again. "I thought I was about to die, and quite honestly, I wouldn't have minded."
"I would have." She poked him in the ribcage. "Don't even think about it."
He smiled and cupped her jaw in one hand. "Don't you remember, a stohr?" he asked softly. "I promised to devote every waking minute to your happiness…and I can't do that in the grave."
She smiled, stubbornly shoving aside the little voice that whispered of soldiers in black and tan uniforms, of heavy hobnailed boots, of guns and knives and gaols. Dublin was becoming more dangerous for republicans every day, but she had no intention of taking Tom from the country that so desperately needed him. He'd postponed his own dreams for his homeland to wait for her for six long years; she'd be damned before she'd ask him to ever make such a sacrifice again.
She buried her face in Tom's neck and inhaled his strong scent, made stronger by the heat and steam in the little bathroom. "You enjoyed my little show, I assume."
It was her turn for a prod in the ribcage and she squirmed away with a giggle. Tom's stamina was considerable; if she'd been able to knock him over the edge in the space of a few minutes, he must have been significantly aroused by her little performance. She glanced up, searching for the cheeky humour in his gaze that she'd become to accustomed to seeing in the wake of their lovemaking. Her laughter died in her throat as she absorbed the sight of his eyes, dark and deep and damp with unshed words. She swallowed, knowing that her own were velvety wet in response, feeling unuttered thoughts crowd the air between them. He had always been able to read her so little effort; of course, he knew that she dreamed of gunshots and knives and the light fading from his blue eyes, that she swallowed her fear when she held him close every morning before she let him leave. She knew he feared the same, heard it in the press of his lips against her forehead when she returned home every evening. A thousand promises rung through the hot air between them, borne on their blue orbs and their mingling breaths.
He pressed his lips against her temple, mouth forming words he'd whispered against every inch of her skin a hundred times over. She squeezed her eyelashes together, relishing in the feel of the kiss, and spread her fingers over the skin of his shoulder. Bubbles popped against her fingertips.
She blinked down at them, piercing each little orb with her nails, pulling up the corners of her lips. "Bubble, bubble." she murmured. "Toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble."
He reached to pop one as well, lacing his fingers together with hers. "The Scottish king never had it this good."
She slapped his shoulder gently. His smirk spoke of the hot water and soapsuds and their skin sliding together, the smells of sex still heavy in the air, but his eyes were locked steadily on hers, and his left ring finger was very deliberately curled around hers.