Re: Venetian penthouse: Sam & Cris
So, shit sucked, yeah? Things were bad, and shit sucked, and even through the lingering sedation haze she knew that. She shouldn't be laughing, and she shouldn't be smiling, but his grin, like youth transported in the splash of scrubs that smacked against him, was contagious. For a blip it was like shit was ok, like the world outside this gaudy marble bathroom didn't exist. Logically, she knew that wasn't true, but for that moment it almost was. And who was she to argue with that? She didn't want to, because there wasn't the tangy metal of fear in that grin of his, yeah? No yanking at buttons and blue and a vest that was supposed to keep him alive. No desperation on his knees on the carpet, and she knew what the stains on those pants were now, and there was none of that. His laughter made her hope she hadn't fucked him up permanently, that whatever scars she'd left on him would fade with time.
She watched him slip out of everything, and maybe she should care more about the sop-wet state of the bathroom, but she didn't care. She wasn't thinking about it, and the lethargy kept her in that bathroom, in that moment, and nothing else surfaced. She looked at him through unfocused inky blue, but the gaze was slow and attentive, even with the lack of frenetic heat that usually defined her.
She slid forward so he could slide in behind her, her toes not even reaching the opposite edge of the tub, and the last time she'd taken a bath with anyone was Daniel. Not a shower, a bath, and she leaned back as he kissed behind her ear. The bubbles on his nose tickled, and she laughed again, and she turned a little in the wet embrace of his arms. Hip against his cock under the suds, and she tipped her head to look at him as his finger dragged along her ribs. His head back against the lip of the tub, and she drew a line from his chin to the dip where throat met chest.
He sounded hoarse, yeah? Her finger traced that hoarseness back up to his lips, calloused scratch and soap against his mouth. "I didn't take them, papi," she argued of the socks and jacket. "You offered, yeah? You could of given them and walked away," she suggested, leaning her head against his shoulder, her black hair floating on water and suds. "I could tell you were older, yeah? I thought you so wouldn't want to see my ass after," she admitted, slow and easy in the warm-water lull. She ran her toes over his ankles beneath the waves, and she sighed against his damp skin.