"I'm joking. Mostly." He shifts the cloth a little. Gentle. The way you press something cold to a kid's bee sting. "If she asks, you got hit in the throat with a football. Bane and I were horsing around."
"That's a terrible cover."
"You think of something better. You've got an hour."
He holds the cloth there. Not saying anything. His other hand is on my knee, thumb stroking slow. The bond between us is going wide and soft and golden, and I feel with my eyes mostly closed and my throat aching and Zero's hand on my knee, more cared for than I have words for.
He moves the cloth.
"Lie back, baby. Let me clean you up."
I lie back.
He spreads my thighs, gentle, like he is moving the limbs of a sleeping cat. Wipes me down with the washcloth. He is methodical about it. Belly, hips, between my thighs where the slick has run. He does the place where I am sore last, and he does it with a degree of care I have not, in the last hour, had any reason to expect from him. He goes slow. He works around the rawness rather than at it. He hums under his breath.
"Don't get used to this, baby. I will deny it under torture."
"...mm." My eyes flutter closed.
"Bane is the one who does the gentle nurse thing. I'm the cruel-and-then-gone guy. This is a one-time thing."
"...mm."
"You hear me?"
I smile and open my eyes to see his face, his reaction at me defying him. Challenging him. "...you're lying."
He laughs and shakes his head and tosses the washcloth at the laundry hamper across the room, makes it on the first try, sits back on his heels and looks at me with an expression I am not going to make it through if I keep looking at directly.
He’s so fucking beautiful I could cry.
His dark hair sweat-slicked and curling around his ears. Falling into his face and flirting with the top of his lashes. His cheeks are slightly pink, his muscles bulging like he just got back from the gym. He looks like a dark God and I can’t look away.
He gets up.
I watch him cross to his dresser. Pull a drawer open. Rummage. Come back with a soft worn-soft t-shirt of his and a pair of his briefs, both folded.
"Up. Arms."
I sit up as best I can and lift my arms. He pulls his t-shirt down over my head and works the sleeves onto my arms sodelicately. The shirt is too big. It hangs off one shoulder, but it smells like him and I inhale.
He works the briefs up my legs. Has me lift my hips. Gets them where they need to go.
He stands back. Looks at me.
"Look at you in my clothes. Pretty thing."
"...what?"
"Wearing me."
He sits on the edge of the bed. Tilts my face up. Looks at me for one long beat with the same undone face I caught a glimpse of earlier that he’s no longer trying to fully hide.
He kisses my forehead. "Nap here, baby."
"...okay."
"I'm going to go be visible downstairs so your mother doesn't come looking for either of us. I'll be loud and obnoxious.”
