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"Jesus, Iris!" Barry exclaimed from the bathroom, voice echoing against the tiles.
"What?" asked Iris, wandering inside. "What did I do?"
He spun around to show her the long red marks running down his back.
She scoffed. "You heal fast."
"That doesn't give you carte blanche to do whatever you want to my body," said Barry with a smirk. She could tell that despite the markings, he was impressed.
"You weren't complaining earlier..." She placed several kisses on his shoulder. "And I'm pretty sure that was stipulated somewhere in our wedding vows, you ravage my body, and I, yours..."
"Probably something about loving and cherishing each other was in there, too, I suppose?"
"Of course."
He turned around to face her and brought her hands to his lips. Then he brought them closer to his eyes and squinted.
"Hey," he said, rubbing her nails with his thumb, "remember the time I painted your nails during Spring Break..."
- - -
The naval orange landed on the dining table with a loud thud, causing Iris' box of nail polishes to rattle. She glared up at Barry.
"Iris, can you...?" He made a lazy gesture at the orange.
"God, Bear, you were just in the kitchen," Iris complained, but she picked up the orange anyway and began peeling it for him. "You could have just scored it with a knife like a smart person--"
Barry groaned and dropped back into the chair next to her. His hair was getting long and it flopped over his forehead as he moved.
"You have the nails for it. I don't know how you can stand it," he looked down at his own nails, clipped so short it was to the skin. "I always get things under my nails even if they're a millimeter long."
"Because I'm not filthy and I know how to take care of myself?" Iris offered jokingly. She was halfway done peeling the orange, using the large piece of rind she ripped off first as a bowl to contain the smaller pieces.
"So rude." He cracked a smile with a chastising shake of the head before turning back to his laptop. He was supposed to be working on internship applications, but instead he was browsing the internet. Iris sighed with dismay. 'The hair, the dirty nails... So this is what becomes of Barry when I'm not there to influence him,' she tsked to herself.
As if he heard her thoughts, he closed his laptop and turned to her.
"I'm taking a break."
"You weren't already?"
"Ha-ha," he said, placing his elbow on the table and resting his head against his hand to watch her.
It was quiet for a while as Iris meticulously peeled the rest of the pithy white strands from the orange and Barry watched her intently. Only the quiet sounds of the ticking clock, the humming laptop, Barry's loud sighs filled the room.
"So when are you going to cut your hair?" she asked, breaking the silence.
Barry rolled his eyes so dramatically that Iris could almost hear his eyeballs move. "I'll probably get it done the day before I leave. I've been pretty busy, in case you haven't noticed."
"Let me cut your hair," she suggested.
"No."
"Please?"
"Hell no!"
"I've cut your hair before--"
"I know. I remember. And I don't want to spend Spring quarter wearing a hat."
She gasped, laughing, "Wow! Now who's rude?"
With a graceless yank she ripped the orange in half and tossed one of the halves to him. "Here, you ungrateful turd."
It landed with a sad plop in front of him, but he was busy going through Iris' nail polishes.
"I don't understand these names. 'I Have a Herring,' 'Thanks a Latte,' 'Sugar Daddy'..." As he read the last one, his eyebrows shot up so high it was lost under his hair. "'Orgasm?'"
"I don't pick them for the names," she said, popping a slice of orange into her mouth. "Choose one."
His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
It was Iris' turn to roll her eyes. "Not for you, Bear. For me."
After a five minute deliberation in which Iris had enough time to peel another orange, Barry finally chose a deep red. When she moved to take it from his hand, he snatched it back.
"Let me paint your nails."
"Only if I can cut your hair," she countered quickly.
He sighed. "Fine. Just don't cut too much. I want to be able to get it fixed later."
She laughed again despite herself. "Okay! Fine."
After washing her hands, she returned to the dining table to find Barry shaking the bottle of nail polish. She caught his hand in hers to stop him.
"What?" asked Barry, looking up at her. "I've seen you do this."
"Roll it around softly with your wrist," she moved his hand in a slow rotation, her other hand holding onto his wrist. Then she placed the bottle between his hands and enclosed with them with her own, motioning him to move them back and forth. "Then roll it between your hands."
"Oh," he said sheepishly, glancing away. His voice was quiet.
She shrugged and smiled at him reassuringly. "I don't know, that's what Keisha told me to do in 8th grade. I never questioned her methods."
Her hands fell from his and she splayed her fingers on the table, tapping away, waiting for Barry.
"So, um, do you still talk to her?" he asked, his eyes still looking away from her.
"Keisha? No, not since she left for college in Metropolis." Iris pursed her lips. "Why? Did you like her?"
"Nope." He shook his head, but his lips were twisted in a secretive smile, which Iris found peculiar. "Just wondering."
For a couple of seconds, Barry sat there with the brush in one hand and the bottle in the other, staring at her fingers. Suddenly he snorted. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"Wait," she leaned forward to grab scrap paper from his notebook, and placed them under her hands. "Okay, just go for it."
With great care, Barry leaned forward, his chin an inch above the wood of the table and his nose nearly touching her fingertips. The brush held delicately between his thumb and index finger hovered nervously, and Iris flexed her fingers in anticipation. Finally he took the plunge and swiped the brush down her middle finger on her right hand. The color managed to stay on the nail.
"Maybe you should have started with the pinky..."
"Hmm?"
"Because if you start doing the pinky now, you might accidentally rub the middle finger and the polish'll rub off and onto your hand."
"Oh, great."
"It's okay, Barry. Just let this one dry first and--"
She intended to pull her hand away to fan it when he placed his hand on her forearm and began to blow.
Simultaneously a chill ran up her spine just as her cheeks began to feel warm. Her chest tightened. She watched him as his puckered lips tightened before each gust of breath escaped his lips. Her own were trapped between her teeth, all while she tried to will herself from shivering, and she chided her body for reacting in such a way.
Finally her nail was dry and he continued to paint her other fingernails.
"Orange, please."
"You," she began, her voice low and cracking. She cleared her throat, and continued with skepticism, "You want me to feed you?"
He lifted his elbows in a way to explain his preoccupation with the brush and bottle.
With her free hand, she peeled a slice and offered it to his awaiting lips. She tried not to pay attention to the way his tongue stuck out and tugged the slice into his mouth.
'These are dangerous thoughts, Iris,' she warned herself.
He slurped and managed a spewed, "'Fanks."
Iris scrunched her nose. 'Aaaaaaaand we're back.'
- - -
"Did you really?"
They were in bed again, locked in an embrace, and Barry looked shocked and excited at the revelation that he had affected her in that way all those years ago.
"Yeah, if only you hadn't ruined it by being a sloppy eater."
"Well," Barry sighed, staring at the ceiling, a large grin still plastered on his face, "if it makes you feel any better, I had a boner the entire time you cut my hair that day."
"That does make me feel better." Iris slid her leg over his and straddled him, her hands on his chest. "But you can do something else to make me feel better..."
He covered her hands with his. "What, like blow on your fingers?"
She pushed on his chest. "Shut up!"
"Okay," he said, sitting up. She slid onto his lap, grinding her hips down. He groaned, "I'm shutting up now."
- - -