Notes Between Seasons

They stood in the kitchen, half-laughing, as the smell of late breakfast lingered around them. Dirty dishes piled in the sink, a toast crust on the counter, stiff coffee mugs from two urgent refills.

"Laundry's all yours," she said, tossing a wet dish towel at him as they rinsed off plates.

He caught it like a pro. "Yes, ma'am."

She raised an eyebrow, watching him carry dishes toward the sink. "Don't get too cocky," she teased. "I can make another pile to keep you busy."

He shot her a smirk over his shoulder. "Bring it on."

…..

They made their way through the sleek, open-layout apartment to the laundry space tucked neatly beside the glass-walled bathroom. A heap of clothes sat in the basket, his shirts, her shirts (mostly his, stolen one lazy morning at a time), pillowcases tangled with familiar sheets and crumpled bedsheets still holding the scent of sleep and something more.

"This is our aftermath."

He chuckled as he pulled out a shirt. "My favorite pieces."

"No regrets."

They divided the loads light and dark. She did whites; he did colors. Each time she bent to scoop something up, her shirt tugged higher over her hips, soft skin flashing in little waves. His eyes tracked every movement like it was a private show.

"You're staring," she said, not even looking at him, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Observing," he corrected, folding a pair of boxers far slower than necessary. "Critical laundry technique."

"Uh-huh." She bent again slower this time, deliberate, wicked. "Sure it's not just the view?"

"I plead guilty." He grinned. "And I'd like to remain under house arrest. Preferably… in that t-shirt."

She tossed a sock at his head.

He caught it mid-air. "Assault with a soft weapon. You're full of crimes this morning."

"I'm just trying to clean up your mess, officer."

They loaded the machines. Soap poured, buttons clicked. When she leaned forward to press start, he reached at the same time. Their fingers brushed—light, electric.

She paused. So did he.

"Feels like it's just you and me," he said quietly, heat tucked under the words.

"It kind of is," she murmured, voice softer now.

He didn't move away. Instead, his arm wrapped slowly around her waist, fitting them together like a secret.

"Then let's do this right."

"Laundry or…?"

"Yes."

They started placing clothes inside again slower this time, touches lingering on sleeves and hems, fingers grazing wrists. Every shirt folded felt like foreplay. Every brush of their skin sparked something warmer than fabric.

"You're not very efficient," she whispered near his ear.

"I'm very efficient," he replied. "Just... not with clothes on."

She laughed, low and breathy. "Good thing we're running out of clean ones."

He smirked. "Guess we'll just have to improvise."

….

Laundry done, she grabbed a fresh towel from the hallway closet and padded toward the bathroom, humming under her breath.

He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. "Shower time?"

She arched a brow. "Unless you want me walking around smelling like detergent and sin."

He grinned. "You make sin smell good."

She rolled her eyes and stepped inside, flicking on the lights to a soft glow. Steam was already beginning to curl under the door he'd run the water warm. Maybe too warm.

He watched her set out the towels, noticed how she moved, loose-limbed and glowing from the inside out. She reached for the hem of his shirt the one she'd stolen earlier and pulled it off in one smooth move, baring flushed skin and dampened hair tangled against her back.

He whistled low, appreciative.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "You're still here."

"Sure am."

She took a step into the steam-filled room.

He followed.

"Did I say you were invited?"

He was already tugging his shirt over his head. "You didn't have to."

She narrowed her eyes, amused. "What if I wanted to shower in peace?"

He dropped his shorts to the floor. "Then you should've locked the door."

Her laugh was quiet and sultry. "Bold."

"You love it."

She stepped into the glass shower first, vanishing slightly behind the clouded pane. The hiss of water hitting skin echoed in the tiled room.

He hesitated at the door, appreciating the view. "I'll be polite and wait…"

"Too late. You're already naked."

"Observant."

He tiptoed inside with mock stealth, shutting the glass behind him. The heat hit instantly, steam curling around them like a private spell.

She turned toward him, droplets rolling down her collarbone. "You're shameless."

"I'm in love with the shower."

"Right."

He stepped closer. "And the company."

Water thundered around them, pressure perfect. She leaned back into the stream, eyes closing, arms lifting slightly to press wet hair away from her face. He stood behind her, hands gentle but firm as they found her waist.

She didn't stop him.

His palms slid up her sides, thumbs grazing the curve beneath her ribs.

She exhaled. "You're just here to grope me under running water."

"I'm multitasking. Being helpful."

One hand reached forward, slipping under the stream to rub slow circles across her hipbone. The heat from the water and his fingers made her gasp softly.

"Better?" he asked near her ear.

"Much."

She leaned back into him, her body slick against his. His chest against her back. Her hands came up to rest against the tiled wall in front of them, bracing.

He pressed a kiss just beneath her ear, then another to her shoulder. His fingers wandered along her stomach, brushing lower—then sliding up again with deliberate slowness. They traced the curve of her ribs, then lifted to cup her breasts fully, palms warm and sure.

Her breath hitched sharply.

His thumbs brushed over her nipples, already taut under the stream. The sensation pulled a soft, helpless sound from her throat. He did it again slower this time. She arched her back into his touch, hands bracing the fogged-up glass for balance.

"You always touch me like you've been waiting all day," she whispered, breath catching.

He chuckled, voice gravelly near her ear. "I have."

She turned in his arms, slick skin pressing against his chest. Their mouths met hot and open, the kiss deep and consuming. Her hands slid down, exploring trailing over his chest, his abs, lower.

When she wrapped her fingers around him, his whole body shuddered.

"Still waiting?" she teased, stroking him slowly, deliberately.

He caught her mouth again, groaning into the kiss. His hands moved to her thighs, lifting her easily. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her back to the tile, anchoring herself against him.

He adjusted, guiding himself to her heat, pausing just long enough to meet her eyes.

Then he pushed inside.

She gasped soft and open-mouthed, clinging tighter. The water rushed over them, but neither noticed the temperature anymore.

He stayed still for a moment, buried deep, forehead pressed to hers. "Holy shit," he murmured.

"Move," she whispered.

And he did.

Not rough. Not slow. Just intense. Focused.

Each thrust made her moan, nails pressing into his shoulders, mouth falling open. The water carried their sounds in echoes his grunts, her breathy gasps, the wet slap of skin.

Her legs tightened around him. Her body arched to meet each rhythm.

"First time showering together," she panted, "and you're already ruining me."

He bit her shoulder gentle, but firm. "You love it."

She laughed breathlessly, the sound breaking on a moan. "I really fucking do."

His grip shifted slightly finding better leverage and he hit deeper. Her head fell back with a choked cry.

He didn't stop.

She trembled in his arms as the wave built again faster, harder. Her body tightened. Her cries turned into broken syllables of his name.

He chased her through it driven, relentless until she shattered with a sob against his mouth. He followed seconds later, buried deep, a raw sound dragging out of him as his hips finally stilled.

The water kept falling. Their breaths steadied. She leaned her forehead against his, smiling through the steam.

"Well," she murmured, lips brushing his. "That was…"

"Legendary?" he offered, smug but breathless.

She laughed. "Messy. Wet. Perfect."

He set her down slowly, legs shaky beneath her. They held each other there for a while, under the hot stream, just breathing.

She ran a hand through his soaked hair. "Next time, you're washing my hair properly."

He grinned. "Next time?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't act like you're not already planning it."

"Guilty."

She kissed him again. Quick. Sweet. Full of mischief.

They stepped out of the shower, wrapped in towels and steam, flushed and clean; more tangled now than before.