Lazy Lizzie

Seventeen

"There really isn't," Lizzie laughed over the sound of the shower.

"Come and see," Leo said, as she didn't exactly say no. And she was taking off her clothes, anyway. "I know exactly where to put you," he disappeared.

Curious, she took the last of her underwear off as she made her way to the bathroom. There, his arms lifted her over the threshold and put her in one corner of the shower cabin, all remaining room being taken by his body, of which she could only feel his lower chest, pressed to her breasts by the tight space.

"Leave it open," she said because he was working on the door, and she could not imagine them closed inside that cabin. They were going to fall through the carton wall, over the toilet.

He left it and was now all focused on Lizzie, who had less and less exterior reasons to fret the way she was fretting. She put her arms around him so that she could feel his skin. The water was colder than she would've set it but it kept her aware, so she liked it. 

On the lone toiletries shelf, her apple-scented shower gel, half of a scotch-taped discount package, had been surrounded by blue enemies. A common brand shampoo, a worn-out toothbrush, a bar of soap. And condoms. Also not Lizzie's, she didn't remember where hers were.

Active hands were busy spreading soap on her body, going fast over her, aided by the slippery water. He was fast and efficient, not leaving any part of her untouched. She knew she was expected to do the same to him, but she couldn't move very much, preferring getting lost in her own sensations. She held onto him.

When he considered her clean enough, long after she'd decided she'd never been cleaner in her entire life, he stopped and Lizzie knew she hadn't touched him -- out of her own initiative -- at all. She had kept herself away from him, as much as possible, pushing her chest under the burning building tattoo that covered his chest, keeping their lower halves separated. Still, she felt him hard against her stomach when they got too close.

He didn't insist that she touched him, not even to wash him, taking the soap again -- this time for himself. She wasn't reciprocating, so she made an effort: she took it from his hands, and started to run it over him, as to show him she was trying. He stopped, still like a statue, so she felt encouraged.

As fun as it was to move her hands over his chest and to kiss his poorly maintained Cobra tattoo -- the snake's body covering the right side of his chest, its head peeking over any neck-hole -- Lizzie discovered she wasn't prepared to put her hands anywhere below his waist, despite desperately wanting to. So she avoided it, all three times she washed his upper half. Every time promising herself that she'd do it, next time.

When she finally admitted to herself that she couldn't, she kissed his chest, waiting for the water to rinse them. He continued from where Lizzie had left off, not saying anything. 

Because he had to crouch to reach to wash his thighs and legs, his head pushed into her chest a lot. It made him kiss her left breast, as an apology. Lizzie tightened her arms around him, and kiss his chest on her way down.

There was simply not enough room for her ambitions, in that tiny bathroom. She couldn't get on her knees, no matter how much she wanted to. Too Amused pulled her back up, "We should get a room in a motel. I think we can afford it."

"It's our wedding night," he winked, exiting the shower and the bathroom in the same move.