Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, though they have found their own way into my heart.
"Try a thing you haven't done three times.
Once, to get over the fear of doing it.
Twice, to learn how to do it.
And a third time, to figure out whether you like it or not.
-Virgil Garnett Thomson-
2. SIMPLE
His eyes are fixed on her face, she knows. But she is deliberately looking up, avoiding his intense gaze, concentrating on her task, focusing on lather the shampoo into his hair with her skillful fingers, and not thinking about his hands lightly skimming over the slick skin of her waist, his fingers leaving hot trails that have nothing to do with the scalding water running down their naked bodies.
"Ow! Ow, ow, ow…" he whines all of a sudden, rubbing his hands over his face. "You got soap in my eyes again!
"I did not!" Liar. There is not a single trace of shampoo on his face.
He lowers his hands and smiles a smirk at her. "Just kidding." He gets a roll of her eyes.
She shoves him under the water spray and scrubs the soap suds out of his soft hair.
"Done," she murmurs, pushing back a rebel lock from his forehead.
"Okay, turn around," he says, drawing a circle in the air with his finger. She complies, turning her back to him, and hears him squeeze the bottle of shampoo. A second later, his hands are on her head, soft and tender and smooth, his fingers deliciously massaging her scalp, threading through her long hair. Her eyelids drift closed of their own accord. It's perfect; the hot relaxing water, washing the worries of the day away; his hands gentle on her, loosening the knots in her muscles… She could stay here, under the shower with him, forever, but before she knows it, he's done. His hands leave her hair and come to rest on her shoulders, spinning her around again to face him. She peeks briefly under her eyelashes at the sound of his voice.
"OK, tilt your head back," he murmurs in a whisper. With her eyes closed, she moves with him as he delicately draws her head under the warm spray and slowly rinses the silky foam off. With one hand, he untangles the thick locks of her hair; with the other, he keeps the water and shampoo from falling over her face. Suddenly she feels his lips, soft and wet, on her mouth, and just as quickly they are gone again. She blinks, her arms automatically reaching out for him and winding around his middle. He chuckles and cups her face in his hands.
"You are oddly quiet," he mentions, feathering his thumbs over the dark rims under her eyes.
"I'm just tired," she answers, her eyelids feeling heavier by the minute. The warm water running down her back is not helping her to stay awake.
Leaning in, he reaches behind her and turns the water off. He pushes the shower curtain aside and gets out of the tub, putting a towel around his waist. Her small bathroom is toasty warm and completely foggy, full of white clouds of steam floating all around. The scent of lavender and the smell of shampoo linger in the air.
She twists her hair to squeeze out the excess of water, swings her legs over the bathtub wall, leaning on his shoulder not to slide on the slippery white surface, and steps beside him on the bath mat. He's already wrapping a big towel around her, gently brushing the soft fabric over her wet skin. She grabs a hand towel from the counter and starts rubbing his chest, neck and face, wiping away the trickles of water gliding down from his hair. She never thought she would be doing this, showering together, washing each other's hair, rubbing each other's back, drying each other's skin, but it has become one of her favorite rituals after a long day of work, after a physically and emotionally hard case. But maybe what she likes the most is having him taking care of her, always so incredibly gentle and affectionate.
She is lost in thought and barely notices him taking the hand towel from her hands and using it to softly wipe her flushed cheeks, and kindly rub her hair dry. She's observing a couple of water droplets clinging to his eyelashes, sparkling like tiny diamonds in the light of the lamp shinning above their heads…
He keeps his eyes on his hands and her hair, but he steals a glance or two at her. She is staring at him but she looks absentminded, and then her fingers are tickling his jaw, caressing his face, tracing his lower lip and cradling his head. He catches the slight movement of her mouth and three words, three barely audible mumbled words, leave her lips. Did he hear it right?
"Kate," he chokes out, but she doesn't seem to have heard him. He says her name again.
"Kate."
Her mind had wandered off again. She shifts her gaze half an inch down and meets his baby blues. His shocked baby blues?
"What's wrong?" she whispers, her hand curling around his ear, her thumb stroking his temple.
"You just said… Did you just say…?"
Oh yes… She believes she just did, didn't she? "I love you." The words come out of her mouth again.
"Okay…, either you are very tired or I'm—"
She puts a hand over his mouth. "I love you," she says once more and rises on the tips of her toes, her hands pressed firmly to his chest. She feels his strong heartbeat racing beneath her palm. Her lips feather over his, and she whispers, "You want me to pinch you? See if you're dreaming?" And all she wants to do is eat that silly, sweet, loving look plastered on his face.
Thanks guys!