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Beatrice’s fond exasperation meets Ava’s exuberant excitement like two trains going towards each other on the same track, in the frenzy of a high school math problem gone horrendously wrong. White wall with a tile at the bottom is at her back, cool and solid and Ava is in front of her, equally solid in temperament. Without a doubt, Beatrice knows she’ll give in, but also has a hunch that this is not going to go well. Or at least as well as Ava is trying to sell it to her, the eager puppy that she is.
Ava has the advantage of being able to use the small space to crowd Beatrice into the tiled wall, underestimating the nun's mental fortitude borne from strenuous training. More likely than simple misunderstanding, probably more along the lines of hope for a temporary pause. She was a bit shy initially, and they had both needed time to get to this place, the place of being so comfortable physically (Ava, getting acclimated to the newness of touch, and them both getting acclimated to the non-PG versions of it).
Shyness faded into something else after leading the other girl into the bathroom, and calming in the safety of them, she’s now also excited and putting on her best, suggestive airs, hand casually on the sink. Beatrice also finds it exceedingly cute; Ava somehow manages to be both things at once and it’s working well for this particular situation.
“I really am not sure this is going to go how you think it will,” Beatrice says in a placating tone, fingers looping around Ava’s wrist, adding gentle touch to the somewhat negative thought, a habit she’s picked up to counter some of Ava’s darker turns at the slight hint of rejection. Ava looks thoughtful.
That, she had learned through keen observation, though more and more, they had discussions about her emotional treatment at the orphanage, and the resulting impact on Ava’s psyche. Ava’s mental ‘training’ was seemingly the opposite of Beatrice’s; though the Order had always been strict, she had never been unaware that she was loved. Ava couldn’t say the same, and all of them had made it their personal message to bring it home. Beatrice just had particularly special tools at her disposal. Touch, she's learned is a particularly potent remedy for all sorts of emotional ailments.
Beatrice lowers her gaze to look at fingers that are tapping the white porcelain of the sink counter in a soft rhythm.
Ava hears the comment and then brushes it off like nobody’s business. Fingers on the porcelain typing excitedly, earnestly. Something in Beatrice relaxes.
“No, it’ll be great.” Ava returns, humming thoughtfully, touching their calves together, a slight bounce in her step. She takes Beatrice’s free hand to clasp it jovially.
Beatrice lets Ava swing their conjoined hands for a couple of seconds, with a subtle tender look before slowly bringing them to a stop. She squeezes briefly.
“I know you’re excited about … trying new things, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up too much.”
The past months have seen Ava drag them all on fun sensory explorations, big and small, sand stuck in her toes, making silly putty, laying on grass with her head in Beatrice’s hair, feeling everything she can get her hands on at the farmers market. She’s now prepared to tackle some greater sensory experiences, and her latest on the list, since they’ve finished painting each other’s backs, is perhaps better in theory than in practice.
Everything is new to Ava. She relishes in every gentle touch, every small rub against the back of her neck, she’s in awe every time she sees Beatrice with her hair down let alone with fewer clothes than she’s used to. Beatrice has learned to be extremely patient with her because Ava just looks at her wondrously even when Beatrice is bothered and waiting for Ava to touch her with something other than her gaze.
She’s extremely patient.
She understands the years and years lost to this kind of touching (very intimately), the kind that is both real and wanted and safe and comfortable, yet exciting and other words Beatrice won’t say yet. Ava’s more articulate about these things than she is but she’s also surprisingly innocent in practice although it’s endearing how hard she tries (and alarming how quickly she’s managed to graduate from silly to actually sultry).
This particular request though…is not likely to yield positive results. As fun and exciting as Beatrice is sure it sounds to Ava. And Beatrice is hardly willing to articulate why in exact detail, though she’s gotten more comfortable with certain things, a technical presentation (that doesn’t border too much on rejection) seems out of her current depth.
Beatrice isn’t having much luck convincing, though. Ava looks unperturbed, now with her fingertips grazing the top of Beatrice’s pants, and Beatrice freezes and stares at her, razor-focused on the soft skin her fingertips are grazing.
Ava’s small smirk disappears into a pout when Beatrice unfreezes to narrow her eyes a bit.
“If you’re not in the mood, that’s different,” Ava says, a hint of goading but genuine.
Beatrice bites her lip. She probably wouldn’t get away with the lie even if tried, given how close and in-tune with every muscle and movement Ava was now.
“It’s not that, it’s just…”
“Bea…” Ava pouts, “What’s going to make you do this with me?”
Ava expertly and gently snaps the hem of Beatrice’s pants against her stomach.
“It’s not going to work without you.” Ava’s closer now, voice softer and only a hint suggestive. “Or not work well at least.”
Beatrice blinks in surprise before gaining her bearings, holding the wrist grazing under her shirt on her lower stomach.
“It’s not going to be that fun at all.” Beatrice forges through the disgruntled look in front of her and switches tactics.
“And besides that, most importantly…it actually might be fairly dangerous, given how…” Beatrice ignores the obvious ‘wet’ to Ava’s smirk. “… slippery …I’ll have to make sure you don’t fall and it’ll be hard to control…” That seems to be considered but the pout continues and Beatrice grazes her jaw with her fingertips.
“And cold…”
Ava scoffs in jest, though Beatrice reads understanding in her eyes, holding her jaw between her thumb and index finger.
“No way it’s going to be cold .”
Somehow refuting this with words seems harder than the inevitable refuting via action. Ava’s regained control of her hand is pressing into her stomach with gentle fingertips.
"I love showers. They're like one of the best things that have happened to me.”
"I know you do."
This is an obvious truth. Ava spends more time showering than any of the other sisters and Beatrice knows exactly why. It's new, just like all the other things that she's been trying and, and it's something that she hadn't been able to do by herself. Something she hasn’t been able to experience as something other than necessity.
Baths have never been fun for Ava. It's also time where she doesn't have to worry or train or think about any of the looming issues that they're up against. On occasion, Mary would buy Ava fun shower things, bath bombs, and different kinds of soap to try. The sisters let her have this small luxury, not commenting on the length or sometimes strange timing. It was one of those little things, in a sea of training and anxiety, that brought her an easy joy.
She takes a deep breath and Beatrice feels the air shift to something soft and serious.
“I never thought I’d get to feel anything again. Or get to experience even a bit of this. Not to mention with you,” Beatrice sucks in a breath but this monologue is a black hole and they both know it, “Someone I just. Enjoy being with me all the time. And who actually cares about me.” Beatrice squeezes her hand in agreement, “No way you’re going to let anything happen to me,” Beatrice narrows her eyes at the unfair guilt trip, “And there’s no way it won’t be fun even if it doesn’t work out. Because I’ll be with you.”
Beatrice approaches the black hole.
“The shower is like my…happy safe place. I want to share that with you.”
Beatrice looks touched and Ava's face opens more.
“You do know I shower every day, Ava.” Beatrice manages a playful offense with a laughable sternness.
Ava looks at her imploringly.
Alright.
Beatrice knows she probably doesn’t luxuriate as much as Ava does. Showers are more of a means to an end for her, just another part of her morning routine.
Okay.
The black hole gains another tenant, and Beatrice gives in.
“Okay.” Satisfied puppy Ava enters the game and Beatrice tilts her head with the air of an eye-roll and sighs, “Okay, fine, we can try because I know how new everything is right now for you but I need you to be prepared for it not working out that well.”
“Okay,” Ava says brightly, hand moving to circle her neck, seductive skills no longer needed.
“And you need to listen to me.”
Ava frowns. “I always listen to you.”
Very not true, Beatrice thinks, expelling an exasperated breath, but that’s beside the point.
“No, I know, but you need to do exactly what I tell you.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, unnecessarily sharp and strict, Beatrice wrinkles her nose a bit.
“Oh—” Ava breathes, eyes raised and wide, all movement frozen.
“I didn’t mean it lik—“
“It’s cool, it’s cool.”
Ava looks…fairly pleased at the change in energy, accidental as it was, and Beatrice makes a mental note, tempering the intrusive hypothetical thoughts.
“I just mean, we might need to stop,” Beatrice pauses at the way Ava’s looking at her, caught up still in what she just said, still dazed, “Ava. Hi. We might need to stop so we’ll just have to listen to each other, okay?”
Ava presses a kiss to her neck, untying her sweatpants.
“Okay, shower safe word, got it.”
“What?”
Another kiss to the other side of her neck and Beatrice is playing catch up all of a sudden, holding Ava steady as she utterly fails to suavely take her socks off.
“Uhm, Sebastian?” Ava says into her neck.
(Ava whispers a low ‘thanks’ into Beatrice’s neck as she kicks her socks aside and that isn’t distracting at all.)
“Sebastian?”
Beatrice says half-question, half-disbelief.
“From The Little Mermaid?”
The little red crab pops into Beatrice’s head, and Ava’s fondness for movies, especially Disney cartoons.
Beatrice is torn between giving Ava more access to her neck and stopping to discuss … whatever it is that’s going on now.
Ava’s now only wearing a loose shirt. Beatrice tries to do both.
“Right, yes,” Beatrice says, they’d all just seen it last week for monthly movie night, “Is that why you…”
Her accusatory conclusion is cut off by another kiss to her neck and Ava’s shirt coming off, mussed hair and a knowing smile replacing.
Ava leans in to kiss her before she can restart the question and moves to turn the shower on.
An excited hop and a raised eyebrow get Beatrice’s clothes to start hitting the bathroom floor.
She turns back to smile, humming the opening melody to Under the Sea, and meets Beatrice’s exasperated tender gaze evenly.
“C’mon. You look like you could use a wash , Bea.”
“Rude,” and then Beatrice is behind her, fingers around Ava’s bare waist freezing her in place, “Especially since…” Beatrice talks straight into her ear, holding Ava steady since she’s got one foot in already and she’s highly distracted by the low voice by her neck, “I already showered this morning, and you have not.”
Beatrice lets out the sentence quickly and then clambers in the shower stall first, carefully.
Ava laughs and continues humming, slightly flat and off-tempo due to distracting circumstances, and then follows. Beatrice won’t lie, the sound of her laughter and the puttering of shower water is a fantastic combo.
“Okay, okay, stop, I’m drowning. And probably not balanced enough for this.”
Beatrice smiles sympathetically as Ava removes her face from her neck to watch Beatrice try to school her I-told-you-so expression while letting her heartbeat slow down. One train in the frenzied math problem had won out, for now, and Beatrice is both disappointed and relieved.
Ava looks like a sad, wet puppy and Beatrice moves hair out of her face gently, making sure she’s in the shower spray enough to stay warm. The shower is fairly insulated, but with the two of them and the considerate size, there are cooler spots than others. She’s well aware that the halo-bearer isn’t fit enough for this particular activity and has spent more attention, as difficult as it was when she’s on thr receiving end of Ava’s gentle touches, making sure neither of them slips and fall. A somewhat stressful task, one which she takes seriously. Ava is prone to quick movements and is constantly reacting to everything, and Beatrice loves this, loves the way she feels so much, and that Beatrice gets to coax it out of her, slow and keening. However, endearing those traits makes keeping them both upright a little harder and Beatrice’s self-control in staying reasonably still under Ava’s hands is more of a chair missing a leg than a steady one.
Beatrice kisses her gently, touching their noses together before their mouths, but lightly. She’s spent most of their time so far trying to prevent them both from falling that getting carried away in apology would render her efforts wasted.
“I’m sorry. I know you wanted to try this.”
Ava groans, hands wrapping around the nun's neck, putting her back against the wall with a quiet thud. Dramatics do seem to have entered the shower. As per usual with Ava and her sensory scavenger hunting.
“This seemed a lot better in my head.”
“You imagine me?”
“Sometimes. Yeah.”
Heat flushes through Beatrice’s cheeks and she refrains from the honest I imagined you too, is that okay? Because that seems too overwhelming right now, but she appreciates Ava’s candor.
Beatrice noses up against Ava’s collarbone, moving around drops of water on her skin, and then waters dripping down her nose down Ava’s chest. She pulls back to meet the girl she’s crowding against the shower wall with a steady gaze and a thumb pressing lightly against Ava’s lips, stroking gently. Abundant with promise and sympathy. A commanding sort of charm.
“I’ll make it up to you later.”
Ava stares back, short on words. Slightly sultry Beatrice is one of Ava’s favourites. This version of Beatrice isn’t always the main occurrence but when she does appear, Ava is always floored. Out of nowhere, and completely contrary to the whole church vibe, Beatrice expertly makes Ava’s stomach do flip flops with that low voice and suggestive tone. This is itself, is a well-appreciated present, making up for it genuinely.
Ava receives, after several moments, some words from the postman in her brain after the post office and its employees remember its existence.
“Showering together seemed very fun. Showering together,” Ava wiggles her eyebrows a bit, and Beatrice smiles into her neck, wrapping arms around her waist to tug them closer. “I know you tried to tell me.”
Beatrice is rising above. No I-told-you-so’s. And she can hardly pretend that she’s not disappointed, she was intrigued.
“It’s not that I don’t want to shower with you,”, ‘shower’ is punctuated with a look and a pause, Beatrice says, brushing all of Ava’s hair to one side, “Besides, sometimes people just actually…shower together.”
Ava pauses for a second, contemplating. This wasn’t something they had done before, though sometimes Beatrice would come to kiss her in an attempt to jolt her out escaping to another dimension by sitting in the tub listening to The Voice clips.
“Maybe make out a bit?”
Beatrice kisses her out of a cheeky grin, deeper to surprise (it’s appreciated), hand in her hair briefly, as if in a demonstration.
“Maybe.” Beatrice hums and Ava grins, and then stilling to let Beatrice continue, “If you ask nicely.”
“I can do that.”
Ava’s moved in now, hands removed from around the nun's neck and now fingers are on hips, massaging ever so slowly downwards, and Beatrice is dazed for a couple of seconds before snorting, realizing that Ava’s trying to restart an extinguished fire. Stubbornness has a long life.
“Was that a question?”
Ava nods yes and Beatrice can feel it, and she smiles because she can’t help it. She pulls back to meet Ava’s attempt at a smolder, muted by the sad puppy energy. Ava trails a hand up Beatrice’s waist to her arm, catching droplets of water.
“You’re distracting me, but I’ll answer.”
Ava feigns offense.
“ Me? Distracting? Never.”
Beatrice gives in for a second to let an arm wrap around her upper back. She meets Ava’s mouth easily but keeps it from escalating, and Ava breaks when she feels Beatrice stiffen because of the cold. She laughs at the immediate groan.
“I think we can still save this escapade.”
Ava raises both eyes grumpily and waits.
Beatrice’s palm rests on the bare side of Ava’s neck, the rest of her hair swept to the other, twirling around wet strands. She kisses her bare neck so tenderly that Ava forgets about the shower circumstances and failure completely.
“Let me wash your hair?”
Beatrice doesn’t miss Ava’s hesitation but it’s fleeting enough that she doesn’t dwell on it.
“I hate to make you do work, but if you want to.”
Beatrice holds her gaze steadily.
“It’s not work. It’s you.”
Well. That’s new.
Okay.
Ava nods in agreement then.
Beatrice ruffles her hair in the shower spray, making sure all of the strands are floppy with water, and then clearing her forehead of stragglers with a gentle palm. She picks up a shampoo bottle, the one she knows Ava uses, purple and coconut, and sets to work. Shampoo lathers well in her hand, and she slathers it over Ava’s drenched brown hair. She’ll have to turn Ava around to wash the back, but for now, she just wants to be face to face with her, gentle eyes and calm. Ava exhales deeply when fingers start to massage her scalp with lathered foam, and it’s so tender and gentle Ava wants to cry.
Water and movement and soap makes it more difficult for Ava to watch her but she’s determined till —
“Hey,” Beatrice says softly as she starts washing hair at her hairline, “Eyes closed.”
Ava’s too endeared to let ‘is this you telling me what to do?’ slip and the energy has somewhat turned warm and sweet and caring.
“Let me know if you get cold.” The nun adds, adjusting the showerhead with an outreached hand and Ava nods, lost in the gentle touches and close presence of her. Beatrice is liberal with letting her fingers linger, smoothing hair out of her face more often than she needs to, letting slow thumbs anchor behind her ears. She can’t wash much else from in front of her.
“Turn for me?”
Even with her eyes closed, Ava loathes to be turned away from her, but she complies.
Beatrice seems more focused on slowly running her fingers through her hair, rubbing circles down to the back of her neck, than efficiently cleaning her hair. Ava is grateful for the laid-back pace. The tangled fingers in her hair feel heavier with how much water her hair is carrying and she likes how rooted in makes the nun’s hands feel.
Ava breathes in soapy steam and just lets herself be, with no goal to experience something, not even to get clean.
Her eyes are still closed, and she lets herself feel everything, each ounce of care and lingering precision from the pads of Beatrice’s fingers, and then when the washing starts, she almost finds it ticklish. The messy circles in her hair feel ridiculous and fun but sweet, and she realizes that Beatrice may have taken much more shampoo than probably needed, most likely to increase the amount of foam and bubbles.
That realization leaves Ava hopelessly endeared with Beatrice’s buy-in.
Beatrice finishes washing the ends and then pressing her fingers in to wash Ava’s back, watching faint amber erupt left behind where her fingers leave when they cross the holy metal.
Ava’s body language shifts suddenly when Beatrice's hands are back on her scalp, and they drop to her shoulders.
“What?”
Beatrice feels Ava’s mood shift to something more serious in her shoulders.
“No, it’s just —“ she turns, and Beatrice brushes wet hair out of her face and rounds her waist with one hand, “They used to wash my hair for me at the orphanage but. It wasn’t gentle or slow. It was just a thing they had to do.”
Ava looks at her sadly and Beatrice has to bid the anger away because how could a nun make a child feel so uncared about? That just this, gently washing her hair was making her so emotional.
“It wasn’t as nice as this. As you.”
Beatrice is quiet as she plays with bubby foam in Ava’s hair, covering all of the strands evenly with white bubbles. She has a feeling that this moment would get buried if she washed her hair clean, and so she waits in case Ava has more to add, still keeping Ava warm under the water.
Ava’s soft-spoken but sure.
“You didn’t get any soap in my eyes.”
With a look and an exhale that says ‘oh, sweetheart ’ Beatrice tangles a hand into her soapy hair, combing through without rinsing it completely. Ava continues and Beatrice has the feeling she’s being asked to let Ava process out loud.
Ava closes her eyes, head dipping forward slightly.
“You made sure my eyes were closed.”
“Of course I did.” Beatrice smoothed her eyebrows out. Ava looks at her with a wistful smile.
“And if you, you would have done something about it.”
Beatrice blinks, remembering the processing out loud, and affirms with a nod: “I would have.”
“This is really nice,” Ava says, “Thank you.”
There’s more unspoken about that experience, and Beatrice thinks about how unappreciated and violative it must have been for someone to wash her when she doesn’t even move, didn’t even have control or autonomy about what happened to her body. She understands Ava’s hesitation more at the outset and thinks of the trust it must take for Ava to let Beatrice do this, while Ava stands idly, not participating at all.
Ava drops her soapy head into Beatrice's shoulder, getting some shampoo into her mouth from the top of her head, and she quietly breathes air out to clear it with a huff of laughter.
Now directly in the spray, all of Ava’s hair starts to rinse off, and Beatrice combs through it so softly, letting suds wash away like old unpleasant memories.
“I’ll wash your hair however many times you want. As many times as it takes to replace all of those bad times.”
Ava’s breathe hitches and she pushes her nose closer.
She’s mostly rinsed off, so Beatrice cups her cheeks to tilt her forward and kisses her chastely.
Ava makes a face.
“You taste soapy.”
Beatrice expels a breath, “You got shampoo in my mouth.”
“Oh,” Ava says sheepishly, seemingly just recalling her earlier emotional moment.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s a little funny because you actually never curse. So, your mouth is already pretty clean, you know?”
“Wish I could say the same for you.”
Ava just smiles sweetly at her.
She gently lifts Ava’s head and drags her index finger along the foam along her hairline she couldn’t reach earlier, making use of her amount of soap choices. The soap is thin but still bubbly and Beatrice catches her eye warmly and then smooths over her eyebrows again with it, and then adds a thin but present foam mustache.
“You look much older.” Beatrice quips.
Ava grins.
“I’ve always wanted a mustache. How do I look?”
Beatrice’s fingers dance along her jawline and she smiles indulgently. “Very handsome. Conditioner?”
Conditioner is an exciting texture, silken and smooth and Ava takes from Beatrice's hands to touch herself, playing with it in her hands. It’s slick in her hair and Beatrice sets it to sit for a while, patiently kissing her shoulder, before rinsing it off.
Ava makes Beatrice try all of her and Camilla’s interesting skin products that she’s nabbed with her, and Ava has a good time putting random pastes and creams on Beatrice’s face as well as her own.
(“Oh wow, you’ve got a lot of these.”)
Beatrice admits that the varying textures are interesting and fun, and they do make her skin softer.
(“Me and Cam are connoisseurs.”)
She wonders if all of this stuff has helped make Ava’s skin so soft lately, and while the nun has always liked touching Ava’s face, cupping her cheeks, swiping a thumb over bottom lip, circles behind her ear, grateful for Ava’s messy hair that requires a helping hand, forehead touches…ehem. Anyway. She does like touching Ava’s face and wonders if this is an unconscious cause of why.
Ava runs her hands down smooth, extra soft, and wet skin and then looks up at her, eyes twinkling and somewhat victorious.
Ava turns the water off and becomes a towel burrito faster than a Taco Bell drive-through.
Beatrice gracefully dons one as well and receives the snuggly hug Ava gives her.
“Towels feel neat.”
“Yours is particularly fluffy.” Ava’s fluffy blue towel contrasts Beatrice’s white standard-looking one, with a subtle dark green stripe pattern.
“I know. Mary loves me, don’t let her tell you she doesn’t. She got me that shampoo, the no tears one too.”
Beatrice remembers Ava’s earlier comments about being careful about getting shampoo in her eyes and drags a thumb underneath one of hers.
They move to sit across from each other at a bench in the bathroom.
Beatrice towels her hair dry gingerly but sternly, and she winds up fairly dry. The nun towels her hair dry and pretend not to notice Ava’s focused staring for as long as she can.
“What?” Beatrice murmurs and Ava reaches two hands right above her damp hair.
“Can I?”
Beatrice nods, curious, amused, and very endeared at how Ava makes the mundane things seem brand new.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” Ava says, “Messy hair…” Ava's fingers flatten out strands of hair and Beatrice saves her half-hearted glare at Ava’s admiration. Ava looks like she’s struggling for words, pausing and eyes just blatantly roaming the face of the girl in front of her.
“Intimate.”
“What?”
“It’s intimate to see someone like this,” Beatrice puts a hand on Ava’s thigh below where the towel ends, “After something so routine, in the middle between things, when you’re usually alone and no one sees you. It’s intimate to see someone like this.”
“Oh,” says Ava, “Huh.”
“You’re right,” Ava adds, “I guess when I, when the Halo Eastered me—“
(Beatrice snorts incredulously.)
“I was so excited to never have to take a bath not by myself again. Private showers! I got so excited thinking about being able to do basic stuff by myself. But, this was fun. And different than what I was imagining at the start…”
(“Very different.” Beatrice mutters.)
“But this wound up being better, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Ava looks down shyly, “Thanks for trying though. And not letting me fall.”
“Of course. And … we can revisit your original thought. Maybe. Some other time, some other way.”
Ava lights up a bit.
“Cool.” She says, not nonchalantly at all.
Beatrice hangs the towel they’d been using to dry their hair on a hook.
“Bea?”
Beatrice hums as she opens the bathroom door.
“I also think. The towel-dried hair thing. Looks pretty hot.”
Beatrice throws the half-hearted glare out this time.
“Yeah, especially with that look.”
“Good to know what does it for you, Ava.”
Ava definitely enjoys the way their skin feels right after a bath: warm and soft and high-quality nap material. Beatrice’s is especially soft given the excessive amount of skin products they’d tested out. Ava had made sure to get her collarbone, as her designated nap spot. It’s the afternoon and they haven’t any other plans for the day (though Beatrice will do her best to update her on research, and Ava’s actually a compliant student after they’ve gotten comfortable enough for her to say ‘no’ when she doesn’t actually get it.)
“The Halo really likes when you wash it by the way,” Ava mumbles into her skin.
“I know,” Beatrice says, carding her hand through Ava’s drying hair, removing knots as she can, “It was warm. Glowed a bit.”
“Doesn’t do that when I wash it,” Ava throws behind her at the holy metal Easter ring, “What’s up with that, huh?”
Beatrice runs a hand under her shirt to run circles around the Halo, the glow chasing her finger.
“Not everything’s about you, Ava.”
Ava snorts into Beatrice’s neck.
“Ouch.”