Work Text:
Light peaks through worn curtains, casting the dim bathroom in an orange glow. Steam fills the air, colored by the warm light it dances up from the tub. White porcelain, smeared with blood. The silence is heavy, overshadowed only by the steady whooshing of water filling the bath. Stooping to test it’s temperature; satisfied, you gather some in a large bowl, placing it on the floor beside him.
Offering silent reassurance your hand cups his cheek, placing on it a soft kiss before returning to your ritual. A cloth dipped in warm water to wash away excess blood. Your fingers brush against his skin as you work, staining them red. There was once a time when these hands would tremble as you wiped away what evidence you could of your battle. Watching his calloused hands do the same, you had learned to steel yourself, for you knew it painful to see. Now, they remained steady as you washed away the sins of battle from his bruised body. The clear water in the bowl now a searing red.
“Come,” you coaxed softly, rising to turn the silver handle and stop the water. Silence now hung in the air, heavier than the hot mist settling around you. He stood, stepping a foot into the tub, sinking his towering frame into the scalding water. A stool positioned at the end of the bath gave you perfect clearance to move to his hair. The wet maroon strands pooled around his face as you rinsed. Soap foamed into pink bubbles, working gently to massage his scalp. Leaning into your touch, his eyes close as if—for a moment—to block out the rest of the world. As you rinse his hair again, it reveals a lighter shade of red.
Heavy lidded eyes opened to watch you reverently. Discarding your clothes to the floor, a large hand outstretched to you—which you accepted, letting him help you into the tub. Gently settling into his lap, the warm water soothing your weary heart. He stared into you, his gaze a mixture of gratitude and guilt, softening under your touch. Fingers tracing his scars. Gliding over his face and down his neck, trailing down his chest, his stomach. Moving to his arm, before kissing his other shoulder.
“Why are you so good to me?” he murmured, a hint of vulnerability tearing through his voice.
“Because,” you replied softly, mimicking his tone, “you’re worth it.” You spoke without missing a beat, your hands snaking around his neck pulling yourself against his chest, water softly rippling against your movement.
Silence between each other promised everything that words could not express. Eye contact that could pierce the strongest metal, felt soft against your face as you gaze up at him from your muscled pillow.
A moment of softness amidst a world filled with cruelty, two souls promising each other sanctuary.