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“I don’t like cold showers,” she said, blushing.
“No jokes, June,” Colin said quietly.
She sighed. “Of course I remember,” she said softly. “I remember that you need to turn the water on early when you shower and that Muir likes it when you scratch his chin before his belly. I remember the way the morning air feels in your lungs and the way that the light catches the lake. I remember how a moka pot works and how you keep creamer in your kitchen for your sister. I remember the way your hands feel on my shin and the way your lips taste. I haven’t been able to think about anything but those things.” She felt exposed, not only because of her lack of clothes, but because of the lack of artifice, of pretense. This was no longer just a trip away from the real world - June had taken steps to make this her real world.
June could barely see Colin as the steam filled the tiny bathroom, the very same place where Colin had comforted her through the door. “June,” he said, and she had to focus on his lips through the curtain of vapor. “June, I heard what you said, when you were ranting at the door. Did you mean it?”
June didn’t answer, just took Colin’s hand and led him into the shower, turned him so his hair was under the steam of water. With a delicate touch, she tugged the bandana off and ran her fingers through his hair. Reaching down, she squeezed a dollop of shampoo into her hand, then indicated that Colin turn around. She massaged the soap through his hair, scratching her short nails on his scalp, earning a groan of pleasure from Colin. June rinsed his hair, then applied conditioner, making sure to tug the ends of his hair as she gathered the strands in a small ponytail. June suppressed a grin as she continued to comb her fingers through his hair, loving the way that his eyes fluttered close and he leaned his head into her touch.
“June?” Colin asked, but she laid a finger over his lips, gently quieting him. She found his washcloth and the bar of soap, lathered the cloth and the familiar scent of Irish Spring filled the steamy room. Reverently, she dragged the washcloth over his chest, down his arms, across his abdomen. He was nearly hard, but June avoided his cock as she bent and soaped up his quads, his calves, his feet. Moving around him, she scrubbed the expanse of his back, the nape of his neck, behind his ears, under his arms, the tips of his fingers. When she felt he was sufficiently clean, June pulled him under the stream of water, rinsing the suds off his body with the shower and sweeps of her hands. When she had rinsed his conditioner, she washed herself quickly, then turned off the water.
Motioning Colin out of the shower, she dried him with the old dark green towel, taking a few seconds to grab a towel from the hallway closet and wrap herself in it. Still without kissing him, though everything in her soul screamed to, she maneuvered Colin to his bedroom, ducking her head like he had told her to do the first time she had ended up here.
Finally, she turned towards him, dropped her towel and pulled his towel away from his body at the same time. June guided Colin into bed, wrapping them in blankets and rolled her body to face him. She saw the realization dawn in his eyes when she pulled his hands towards her chest - this was the exact position they had been in when he had confessed his feelings to her and she had denied what she knew to be true even then.
“I love you,” she said, definitively. “It’s illogical and nonsensical and a million of synonyms but I’m done caring.” She brushed a kiss to his knuckles, kept his hands pressed against her lips as she murmured, “I love you.” June finally looked up at Colin, saw that his eyes were glistening.
“I love you, June,” he replied. “I think I’ve loved you since I shared the first beer with you. You’re fire and spark and passion and I’m so glad your school came to camp and you came here and I found you.”
Their mouths came together, then, but it wasn’t the hungry heat that had existed in the doorway. It was softer, a mutual understanding that there was no rush anymore, that time existed for them, that what lay ahead was still a question, but something they could work to answer together. Lips and tongues slicked and moved, hands gripped and roved, until June was wet and writhing and Colin was hard and aching. He reached into his drawer, slid on a condom, then rolled June so she was on top of him. Lifting up on her knees, she slowly slipped him inside her, lowering herself an inch and a time until their bodies were pressed together. Hips began to move, rolling, flowing, and June gripped Colin’s wrists and moved his hands back to her hips. June rode him, quickening the thrusts and circles of her hips until Colin pressed his thumb to above where they were joined and she gasped as pleasure coursed through her body, amplified by their declarations to each other. Colin kept his hands on her hips, working June’s body against him and pressing his hips up and up until he found his own release.
June cupped both of Colin’s cheeks and leaned down, her forehead touching his, both faces damp with a mixture of sweat and tears. “I love you.”
“I love you, back, June.”
“Can I stay the night? I took Monday off as a mental health day and I brought a bag.”
“You can stay as long as you want. Stay forever.”
