#augh!!!

Water streams over the sharp angles of his face, tracing paths along the scarring on his left side before continuing its journey downward. You reach for the shampoo, pouring a measured amount into your palm.

“Can I?” you ask softly.

“Yes,” he replies simply, that almost-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Your fingers work the lather through his silver-threaded dark hair, taking care to massage his scalp with gentle pressure. His posture remains immaculate even here, though you notice the subtle relaxation of his shoulders as you continue. 

“You’re quite skilled at that,” he murmurs, voice carrying that distinctive lilt that emerges when he's content.

You press a kiss between his sharp shoulder blades, reveling in the warmth of his skin and the clean, comforting scent that clings to it.

When it’s his turn, his movements are methodical yet tender, long fingers working through your hair in gentle patterns. He tilts your head back slightly, one hand shielding your eyes as he rinses the suds away.

“There,” he says, satisfaction evident in his tone. “Quite thorough.”

You step closer, arms encircling his lean frame, feeling the water envelop you both. He reciprocates, holding you securely against him. Neither of you speak; the constant patter of water says enough.

After some time, you lift your face to his, pressing your lips to his temple, then each cheek in turn. When you kiss the tip of his nose, that rare, genuine smile emerges—the one reserved for private moments such as this.

“What have I done to deserve such affection, angel?” he asks, the endearment slipping out without his usual reserve.