#climon

The blood heating Julie’s cheeks was nearly the same colour as the jar of rose petals she held to her chest. She, too, must be picturing them sprinkling the petals over the bubbles that would fill the tub before sinking into the warm, fragrant water. Verso could already feel the silky, smooth expanse of Julie’s back under his hands as she sat between his knees, and they’d share the bottle of wine between lazy kisses and caresses before finally moving to his bedroom, still damp and sweet-smelling and—

Verso opened the bathroom door and was engulfed in a cloud of floral-scented steam. The bathtub was occupied: the foam barely concealed Clea as she reclined in the tub, legs hooked on the porcelain lip, Simon kneeling between them. Verso blinked and looked away, but not before getting an eyeful of the, um, Sword of Lumière in all its jutting, dripping glory.

“Oh my god, Verso,” Clea shouted. “Close the door, you dolt.”

She threw a sponge at him, and Verso obeyed just as it hit the frame with a squelching noise and a spray of soapy water. He winced and cleared his throat. “Well. Looks like my sister had the same idea,” he said, trying to scrub what he’d just seen from his brain.

Julie was looking at him, eyes bright with tears of mirth. “Want to get a start on that wine while we wait for them to be done?”