Got it — shower round two. Here:
HAYLEY
We laugh into pillows until our stomachs hurt, naked under sheets that smell like us and lavender.
Knock echo still in my ears. Hope's voice: box outside, take your time, use protection, bye!
"She left beignets," Stiles whispers, red to his ears but grinning grown-man grin, not embarrassed-kid. "Hallway beignets. Rescue mission?"
"You rescue," I whisper back. "I'm hiding."
He slides out of bed gloriously naked — eighteen, lean muscle, relaxed after first time, faint scratches on back already healed — cracks the door two inches, long arm snaking out. Pink box appears.
"Got it!" he stage-whispers, kicking door shut with foot and locking again. "Mission accomplished. No witnesses. Except probably Klaus judging from balcony."
He sets box on nightstand and dives back under sheet, cold feet finding mine. I yelp. He laughs into my neck.
"Sorry, sorry, warming up," he mumbles, big warm body curling around mine. Hands respectful but bold now, adult bold. Palm on my hip. Thigh over mine.
We feed each other one beignet in bed, powdered sugar everywhere. Naked picnic. Ridiculous. Perfect.
"Shower?" he asks between bites, licking sugar off thumb. Eyes on me, low and warm. "Together? Save water? Environmental? Round two if you want... no pressure if you're sore. We can just wash."
My body answers before brain — heat low, thighs pressing. I'm single, grown, sore-good but wanting more. Morning want, not lonely want. Chosen want.
"Together," I say. "Wash first. Then see. Stop anytime for both."
"Stop anytime," he repeats seriously, then grins. "Honor student remembers."
STILES
Blue room bathroom is huge. Old claw tub plus walk-in shower with two heads. Fancy Mikaelson water pressure that could strip paint.
I turn both on hot, steam filling fast. Hayley steps in first, naked and unselfconscious now — grown woman body, full breasts, hips, hybrid muscle, water beading on skin. Beautiful. Real.
I follow, shutting glass door. Hot spray hits shoulders. Perfect.
"Oh god, yes," I groan, head back under water. Sugar and sweat washing off. "Okay, shower > bed? No, bed > shower? Tie? Need more data."
Hayley laughs, reaching for soap. Vanilla and honey. Freya's guest soap. "Turn around, data collection. I'll wash your back."
I turn. Big windows fogged. Her hands soapy on my back, shoulders, spine. Strong fingers kneading where I held tension counting for months. I melt.
"Good?" she murmurs.
"So good. My turn after? Can I wash you? Asking. Consent nerd."
"After," she promises. Hands slide lower to ass, squeezing playfully over soap. I jump.
"Hey! Washing or groping?"
"Both," she says boldly, adult blunt. "Problem?"
"No ma'am," I grin over shoulder. "Grope away. Equal opportunity."
I turn to face her. Water streams between us. Soap suds sliding down her breasts, stomach, thighs. I'm getting hard again just looking — thickening against stomach, obvious. No shame this time. Morning man. She sees and smiles slow.
"Hi again," she says to it, then to me. "Eager."
"Very eager," I admit, cheeks hot despite steam. "Can I wash you now? Front? Slow? Tell me if too much."
"Slow," she agrees, breath catching as I lather hands.
I wash like worship. Neck, collarbones, breasts cupped gently, thumbs over nipples tightening under soap and attention. She gasps, hands on my chest for balance on wet tile.
"Okay?" I check, voice low.
"More," she breathes. "Don't be shy with me now, Stiles."
I roll nipples lightly between soapy fingers. She moans. Hips shift forward, brushing my hardness. I groan.
Hands slide down. Stomach. Hips. Between thighs. I cup her heat gently over soap, fingers finding slick separate from soap — her wetness returning.
"Oh," she whimpers. "There."
"Here?" I ask, middle finger circling slow over sensitive spot. "Like this? Pressure?"
"Just like that. Don't stop."
HAYLEY
Steam and hands and mouth. I'm backed against warm tile, one foot slipping slightly until his free hand steadies my hip — immortal grip gentle, holding, not bruising.
His fingers work me slow and sure, learning yesterday's lesson fast. Circling, dipping shallow inside then back to spot that makes my knees weak. Water pounds my breasts. His mouth finds mine, then neck, then shoulder, kissing while fingers play.
"Stiles—" I gasp. "I want you again. Inside. Shower round. You want?"
"Yeah," he groans against throat, fingers still moving. "God yes. How? Standing? You're... I'm tall but slippery. Tell me how you like. I lift? Wall?"
Wall. Facing. Leg up. Classic for reason.
"Wall," I say. "Back to tile. You face me. My leg around your hip. You hold thigh. Slow to start, tile's slick."
He nods eagerly, helping me shift. Back meets warm tile. Left leg hitches around his hip, foot hooking behind thigh. He supports under thigh with strong forearm, other hand on wall beside my head for balance. Hard length presses against my entrance, hot even under hot water.
Eyes locked. Brown to green-gold. Adult to adult. No Mom. No kid. Just Hayley and Stiles. Single woman and grown man choosing.
"Okay?" he whispers, tip nudging in just barely. Asking with body and voice.
"Push in," I whisper back. "Slow. Fill me."
STILES
I push slow. Water makes everything slick outside, but inside she's tight heat gripping. Inch by inch until fully seated, groin to groin, her leg locked around me, my thigh trembling holding weight.
We both moan loud over spray. Echo off tile.
"Oh fuck— sorry, sorry, language—" I pant, stilling. "I mean oh wow. Oh Hayley."
She laughs breathless, nails light on my shoulders. "You can swear, baby—" She stops herself. No baby. We agreed. Adult names. "You can swear, Stiles. We're grown."
"Oh fuck, Hayley, you feel amazing," I correct obediently, making her laugh again even as I start to move.
Slow thrusts standing. Pull back halfway, press forward deep. Water cascading over shoulders, down chests between us, over where we're joined. Slapping wet skin soft under spray. Her breast bouncing with each push. My mouth finds nipple, sucking while thrusting. She cries out, head back against tile.
"Harder?" I ask between sucks, hips rolling. "More? Check? Slipping?"
"Harder," she pants. "Hold me tight. I trust your strength. Don't drop me."
I tighten hold — thigh higher, back supported, wall braced — and increase pace. Deep, steady, standing rhythm. Thrust, grind, thrust. Her inner walls fluttering around me already, close again so fast morning-sensitive.
"Touch yourself too?" I suggest breathless, remembering what she liked. "Front? While I...? So we... together?"
"Yeah," she gasps, hand sliding down between us to circle herself over where I move inside. Extra friction. Both moan harder.
"Oh god, I feel your fingers," I groan. "That's... I'm close... are you...?"
"Close— keep— right there— don't change—"
I don't change. Same angle, same depth, same pace. Counting in head to last — one two thrust, three four thrust — present, here, shower now, Hayley now.
She clenches hard around me with a sharp cry echoing, body shaking against tile. That pulls me over. Heat rushes spine to groin.
"Hayley— coming— inside—"
"Inside, come inside," she gasps, holding.
I thrust deep and hold, pulsing inside her warmth under hot water, groaning long into her neck. Legs shaking. Arms shaking holding her. Never dropping. Immortal stamina used for holding, not pounding.
Slow still. Panting steam. Joined.
"Wow," I breathe eventually. "Data collected. Shower = bed. Tie remains. Need round three for science? Kidding. Unless...?"
HAYLEY
Laughing while still full of him, leg still hooked, water turning lukewarm. Ridiculous. Sore-perfect.
"Science later," I giggle, unwrapping leg slowly — he helps lower, knees wobbly, holding waist till steady. Gentleman even shaking himself. "Wash first. Real wash. Then beignets. Then nap? Then... see?"
"See," he agrees eagerly, grabbing soap again with shaky hands. "Real wash. Back to wholesome. Mostly."
We wash each other clean properly this time. Tender. Slow. No groping — okay, light groping. Adult flirting. Soapy backs, arms, legs. He kneels carefully on wet tile — checking look first, I nod — to wash my calves and feet, kissing knee sweetly. Not sexual. Devoted.
"You okay?" he asks standing, rinsing shampoo from my hair with careful fingers, eyes soft. "Sore? Dizzy? Water too hot?"
"Perfect sore," I smile, rinsing him in turn. "You?"
"Perfect everything," he says simply. No joke. Just honest. "Thanks for... trusting morning me. Adult me."
I kiss him soft under spray. No tongue. Promise kiss.
"Thanks for asking every step, honor student."
Water off. Steam clearing. Two fluffy towels from heated rack. We dry each other laughing at sugar still stuck in weird places from bed beignets.
"Powdered sugar in butt crack," he announces solemnly. "New band name."
"Shower again?" I tease.
"No! Beignets! Bed! Nap cuddle! Clothes optional but encouraged because Hope might knock again and I will die of shame despite being immortal and unkillable by shame... mostly."
Back to blue room in towels. Pink box waiting. We eat in bed, towel-clad, sugar fresh. Door locked. Morning light bright now. Naked morning turning lazy noon.
Knock soft. Hope's voice carefully neutral: "Everyone decent? Freya made lunch? ...Should I leave that outside too?"
Stiles and I look at each other, mouths full, trying not to laugh.
"Five minutes!" I call. "And we're decent! Towels! Very decent!"
"...Sure," Hope says, disbelieving but fond. Footsteps leaving. "Take ten! Love you! Both! Platonically! Bye!"
Door gone. We collapse laughing into pillows, beignet crumbs everywhere.
"Platonically," Stiles repeats, wiping sugar off my nose with thumb. "Tell her that applies to her, not us? Gently? Pack talk later?"
"Pack talk later," I agree, pulling him down for cuddle. Spooning. Towels slipping. Warm. Chosen.
"Nap now?" he mumbles into my hair, already half-asleep post-second-round. Sated man sleep.
"Nap now," I agree, eyes closing. Safe. Adult. Here.