Hot tub sex. At the Fuck Cabin or in the field, dealers choice
In the decades since they last spent time together at the log cabin in the snow, the ICA had made changes to the way they trained their pairs. At some point in the decades the place had stopped being a bare bones place haunted by the byproducts of forced intimacy, and grown into something a little more sedate, a little more middle aged.
Much like them, he supposes.
He tracked Diana there when the signal arrived from where he was lying low, drinking too much and thinking too little, and they began something new, a new ICA for a new age. A new way to deliver justice, a new framework a new paradigm. It was just like the last time. They needed this, needed to be in close quarters. He felt himself slipping back through time into that place of pure potential, before the ICA fell the first time, before they were anything other than an anecdote.
The place had gone to ruin in the few years since the ICA had left it. Theyād worked together to bring it back to life, clearing the garden and exposing the old memories, the makeshift shooting range, the low wall she sat on every morning that looked out over the beautiful vista while she drank her coffee, the grooves in the floor from where the beds had been pushed together hastily by people other than them.
They arenāt having sex, but they are sleeping together. There is only one bed these days in the cabin, an emperor sized plush memory foam and cotton satin monstrosity that almost eats you soon as you sit on it. They are too exhausted to have it be awkward, to have it be anything but unconscious and horizontal.
Because even 47 can feel it brewing like an oncoming storm, crackling with electricity across every corner and edge. He knows he loves her, he knows that he wants her the way heās never wanted anyone else. He knows, in his bones, that she wants him. And yet, much like a storm, there has to be something to spark it.Ā
Heās clearing leaf mulch when he finds it, what seemed from afar to be just uneven terrain turned out to be a hatch of some kind. Diana is away in the nearest town buying supplies, but its nothing to lever off the lid and find that its a converted wine vat. Thereās a wood burning stove beneath it, and its waterproofed, and he knows thereās only one thing to do. The hosepipe stretches from the hot water tap in the kitchen easily, and its easy to have it up to temperature by the time she gets back with a little bit of ingenuity.Ā
It is still cold up this north, and the surface of the water steams pleasantly, and it is too much to resist getting in. He strips, and considers keeping his underwear on, but then decides to be bold. Its a pity Diana isnāt there to witness the way he sighs with pleasure at the feeling of hot water on cool skin.
He hears her come in, call his name and get no reply. He could have called for her, but that isnāt the plan. She pokes her head out of the kitchen door and then he hears her come out to see where heās got to.
āThis is...niceā, Diana says, standing behind him.Ā āMind if I join you?ā
āPleaseā, he says, swallowing his heart back down his throat.Ā
Thereās a rustle of fabric, and then sheās climbing in, her hair piled on top of her head but nothing else on her body. He pretends to avert his eyes until sheās beneath the water, but even then it is a fiction of propriety at this point. Theyāre both naked. Dianaās breasts sit delicious and plump just above the water line, and sheās got her eyes closed in pleasure from the heat of the water, meaning he can look his fill.Ā
āThis is niceā, Diana says, her eyes still closed.Ā āI wish theyād had this when we were here last. The hot water would have helped the aching muscles from all you put me through, back then.ā
āIt was important.ā he said,Ā āIf I had known you were in so much pain, Iād have done something about it.ā
She cracks an eye open, and looks at him.Ā āYouād have spared me climbing endless mountains?ā she says, skeptically.
He shakes his head.Ā āNo. But I might have helped your muscles recover.ā
āA little manual therapy?ā she says.Ā āI have been hiking up and down that mountain with shopping, 47ā³ she chides.Ā āThereās no time like the present.ā
āCome here then,ā he says.Ā āand Iāll show you.ā
The tub isnāt big, but she still sculls across to him like sheās swimming. Up close, her eyes are alight with anticipation, of finally getting his hands on her. He likes to think his are the same. She sits in front of him, presents her beautiful back to his front.Ā āDo your worst, 47ā³, she says, twisting back to look over her shoulder at him.
The first touch of his hands on her slick, wet skin shouldnāt be as good as it is, heās built it up in his head for so many years. And yet, its exactly as good. Her shoulders are tight, tense, and yet the muscles yield between his fingers. She moans, and shifts so sheās kneeling, presenting her back to him. He runs his hands all the way down, counting each vertebrae until he brushes against her sacrum, just about still plausible as something that could be medical, if they werenāt naked, if they werenāt free and if there was nothing between them but water.Ā
He runs his thumb slowly up each knob of her spine, and then follows it with the drag of his fingers. His hands are huge against her, and its easy to accidentally touch her breast as he reaches up, and its that touch that is what collapses the house of cards. Her breast is soft, and she yelps as he seizes her body and pulls her back against him, calls uncle, as he buries his face in her hair, and touches her, as she slides her thighs alongside his, perching herself on his lap and grinding down.Ā āYes, 47ā³, she moans, as he ruts up against her, and its all over now, no deniability left. Heās called her bluff, and sheās gone easily. She easily twists in his grip and presses her breasts against his chest and finally kisses him, the steam curling around their faces feeling more like a natural byproduct of their desire than the simple physics of a winter hot tub.Ā
Itās hard to actually fuck in a hot tub, water being an anti-lubricant when push comes to rut, even though he knows that it would be a moot point with how turned on they both are, but he will never forget the way it felt to scoop her into his arms, slick and warm, and carry her, laughing and clinging to him, across the garden and back into the house, and the mad, laughing love that they made right then and there, in a beautiful cabin that was always theirs, even when it was just a memory, that they needed to destroy and remake the world for it to come to this, even that is right, that the cabin, the final asset of the ICA, should be their inheritance, their birthright, their reward for a job well done.