Not breathable. Right. ( a good natured grumble, blinking as her eyelashes stick together under the water. the steam and humidity is doing a good job at soothing her aches and pains out, drawing attention to places where she'll be more sore tomorrow; a bruise blooming across one hip, another one on her knee. nothing life threatening, definitely nothing as urgent as the cut on her arm, and even that had stopped doing more than throbbing.

the spray of the shower is doing a good job of rinsing his hair, as well as washing the shampoo off her hands, so she gives him (and herself, to be honest) a break. it's easier to rest her wrists on his shoulders to massage a knot in his trapezius that feels like it's lived there for a long time. the noise he makes goes straight through her, and she glances up at him sharply, making sure that she hasn't truly hurt him. the only way to loosen that sort of knot would be to put pressure on it, but her goal wasn't to cause pain. at least — not only. )

You know, I wasn't sure if you could laugh. ( the noise had startled her a bit, eyes widening until they creased at the corners with a smile of her own. a real one; not the one she paints on and rips off at will. amusement. there's lot to be amused about in this case. for starters — the weirdest conversation she's ever had while naked with a man.

(the longest conversation she's ever had while naked with a man, at least pre-'getting down to business'.)

feeling a bit of the muscle under her fingers relax, she digs her thumb into one last stubborn spot. )

So what was his opinion on it? 'Be fruitful and multiply'?