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“Because you need to be immersed in the water,” I explained patiently, watching as he bounced from foot to foot. The nervous energy emanating from him was stifling, but he had made it further than he ever had in the last ten years, and I was tenacious. “You’ve got this, Gerard.”
“I’ve got this,” he repeated, more to himself than me, as he reached down to grip the sides of the tub, only to freeze in a hunching pose with his back to me. “I can’t.”
“I’m right here,” I whispered, reaching up to touch his back with my wet hand. “See? It’s okay.”
The muscles in his back twitched and he jerked violently. “Fuck.” The sensation of water on his skin was clearly causing him emotional pain. “Fuck, okay, I… Fuck.”
“I’ll count you down, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You’ve got this,” I encouraged, reaching up to hold his hips. “Three, two, one…and sit.”
Nope.
Nothing.
Gerard didn’t move an inch.
“Three, two, one,” I repeated calmly. “And sit.”
Again, nothing.
Not even a twitching toe.
Dammit.
“Okay, stay right there.” Shifting onto my knees behind him, I reached over the side of the tub to grab a scrunchie. “I have a plan.”
“Don’t fucking leave me, Claire!” Gerard choked out, hand shooting out to grip me.
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” I coaxed, retrieving the scrunchie and dunking it into the tub to soap it up. “I’m just going to wet you.”
“Wet me?”
“Uh-huh.” When the bath scrunchie was wet and soapy, I gently dabbed his back without squeezing it out, letting the water trickle down his skin instead. “How’s that?”
“Okay,” Gerard replied, still positioned like he was about to bolt over the rim of the tub at any given moment. Seriously, he reminded me a whole lot of Brian in this moment—fearful and mistrusting.
“Your back is so long,” I mused, paying careful attention to every freckle and scar on his body as I slowly washed him. “You’re so tanned, Gerard. Your skin is beautiful.”
“So is yours,” he answered, but his tone didn’t hold its usual hint of flirty banter. It had been replaced with terror.
Desperate to soothe the anxiety in him, I leaned in close and pressed a kiss to his back.
“Claire,” he bit out, shivering. “Don’t tease me when I’m in dire straits here, babe.”
“Hey, Gerard?” Feeling devilish, I dropped the scrunchie and reached for the hem of my drenched T-shirt instead. “Want to see my boobs?”
“Do I fuck,” he choked out, craning his head back to look at me. “The answer to that question is always, Claire-Bear. Always.”
Laughing, I whipped the fabric over my head and tossed it over the side of the tub.
“Damn the inventor of bras,” he complained, trying and failing to get an eyeful of my body. “Jesus, that was cruel.”
Cackling with mischief, I reached for his hips. “Sit in the water and I’ll show you more.”
“Liar,” he huffed, but I felt his body slowly relax. “No, you won’t.”
