In the Shower
Right after the art exhibition, we come back home. I flip on the lights. I'm still holding the empty bottle that I kept on swiping across the crotch of his jeans during the ride home.
We accidentally brush against each other as we're taking off our shoes, and the air feels electric around us.
"Right here?" he murmurs into my ear.
"Mmm," I nod, already kissing my way up his chest.
We make it halfway to the bed, pausing at the sofa. It is fast but gentle, and afterwards, I lay in a satisfied heap on the bed.
"Clean up in the shower?" he asks me, gently tracing the outline of my shoulder blades while I'm still laying there.
"Ok," I whisper, wrapping a nearby bath towel around me in my sudden shyness.
We start up the shower. With the arm water sluicing down my body, it is hard not to give in to his hands. I get down onto my knees and give him what I've been dreaming about all day.
At the end, we turn off the water and everything feels at peace.
This is us, I think.