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She walks herself to the kitchen -or rather carries herself there, just like she does pretty much everywhere these days- careful to round the kitchen island widely enough she doesn’t hit her toes on the corner yet one more time. Not only wouldn’t she be able to patch herself up, but Dean wasn’t here to help either.
She’d had four children, pregnancy wasn’t brand new to her; the exhaustion, the sore boobs, the morning sickness… she’d been through it all. Except for one thing: her lack of awareness; or rather her need for it. Being pregnant made her forget things, fogged her brain, and often made her oblivious to her surroundings. That had never been a significant issue for her other pregnancies. As much as she can remember, she never had to look out for someone breaking in at every hour of the day or night.
But being in the business she’s in, working with the people she works with, made it necessary for her to stay on her toes. She couldn’t live her life free of worries. If she had to care for her children before, as well as for Dean, she also had to look over her shoulder for death threats now. That’s probably why her doctor told her to stop working long before she had to for her other pregnancies. The doctor might have even suggested bed rest but Beth wasn’t following this advice to the letter.
It was fortunate that Rio seemed to have softened during her pregnancy. The more he saw her, the quieter he became. Sometimes even gentle, sometimes worried. He was already so annoyingly good at sneaking in without her noticing, being pregnant made her worse at noticing it, let alone prepare for it.
So when he does it one more time, Beth tries to temper her reaction. She should know by now. She’s alone in her house for the weekend, of course he’s going to show up. So she tries not to gape for too long, not to keep her shoulders so high and tense but it doesn’t do much besides saving face. His smug, although faint, smile was written all over his face. He wouldn’t keep barging in if he didn’t win every time.
She won’t hold his gaze tonight though, won’t let him drag this conversation out, whatever it is he’s here for. And even if there’s a tiny part of her that knows why he’s here, she shuts it down because she doesn’t want to hope, and she certainly doesn’t want to be hoping for it. She shouldn’t.
She serves herself a glass of water -the only thing she’d planned on doing by coming to her kitchen- and lets him walk toward the kitchen island, ready to dismiss him as soon as possible.
“What do you want?” she asks before drinking her first sip.
He stops in the middle of the room and looks around and upstairs as if he’d be able to spot the children from where he is.
“Where's that big family of yours?”
She doesn’t think he’s really curious. As usual, he’s teasing. She doesn’t know about what or why yet, but he’s never genuinely interested in her life. Besides, she has a pretty good idea he’s here because he knows no one else is.
“Kids are at their grandma’s,” she states. It’s precise enough maybe he won’t ask more and get to his point. Something stays unsaid though as he locks his eyes on her: where’s Dean? She finishes her water and turns around to the sink. “I was under the impression I was still off work.”
She hears him take a few more purposeful steps.
“This isn’t a business visit.”
Her hands start shivering. Push it down, she keeps telling herself. Push him away. It was already so difficult to keep those walls between them ever since her pregnancy. He was supposed to hate her, she was supposed to fear him, and for a while, it worked like that but it was never easy. He might have hated her but he never hated what they’d done, never hated the consequences of it, as much as he tried to. And so, even if being close to one another hurt, it became vital.
He couldn’t stay out of this narrative and she didn’t want him to have to. One after the other, they’d made small but consequential mistakes, ones they would have done anyway. She shouldn’t have shown him the ultrasound, at least not face to face, but she did. He shouldn’t have asked for the gender of the baby, but he did. She shouldn’t have let him touch her womb, she shouldn’t have looked for him that night in his bar again. She shouldn’t have brought him to her house that afternoon.
But here they were, and walls were starting to collapse, boundaries were starting to blur.
She starts washing her glass and tries to sound unbothered.
“I already told you, you don't have to check on me.”
“I couldn’t if you weren’t by yourself.”
There’s a beat. She tries to gather her thoughts, looking for a clever answer, something that will make him leave, something that will make him think she doesn’t care that he’s here.
She settles for, "Dean’s presence has never stopped you from entering this house.”
She hears him getting closer and with each step her heart beats faster in her chest. Please, just leave.
"Not through the front door though."
She carefully rinses the glass and places it on the counter to dry. He just wants to know. He won’t leave until he knows what’s going on in her life. It’s the same flaw they both have. And maybe he wants to be reassured that she’s okay on her own, that she’s okay at all, that the baby is okay. She won’t fight it, she’ll give him the information he needs today because she really wants to be left alone to relax.
She turns and steps around the kitchen island, heading for her bedroom.
"Dean's away for the weekend,” she explains and he scoffs; discreetly but not enough for her not to hear. She knows what he’s thinking. The same thing Annie was thinking when she heard about it. “Damn Deansie, your wife’s two minutes away from pooping this child. Can’t you stick around until the end of the show?” He probably wouldn’t have phrased it like that, but he would have agreed. These two had no idea how much they had in common, nor should they ever find out. She would never hear the end of it. She feels defensive of Dean so she adds, “he won a prize.”
But it’s of no use because now he wasn’t just badly hiding his grin, he was sporting it full on.
“Car man?”
She stops at the edge of the kitchen island to glare at him. She exhales, wanting to sound disappointed but all she feels is warmth inside of her.
“Don’t be mean.”
He searches her eyes for a bit, licking the inside of his mouth. He nods almost imperceptibly, agreeing to let the Dean subject alone but he doesn’t move. He’s not going to leave, she realizes. She’d tried to say something but it wasn’t enough and maybe she wasn’t acting annoyed enough.
It wasn’t the first time he came to check on her during her pregnancy, more often than not, he had a business excuse to do so. The real reason for his coming was often hidden and they liked it this way. They both preferred lying to themselves, telling themselves that if he asked about her last doctor’s appointment or whether her morning sickness got better it was because it was useful information to the work she does for him, it was because he’s polite, it was because it was unintentionally brought up, never because he cared.
But tonight there weren’t any excuses. He was here because she was here. He was here because he thought she needed him and he wanted to give her that help. He wanted to be here. For her. And she doesn’t know what to do with that. She doesn’t know if she wants to cross that line. Why change their dynamic? Why now? Was it because she was finally alone and he hadn’t had the chance to do so before? Would he have let those walls come crashing down sooner if he’d had the chance?
And all he was doing was staring at her, and all she was doing was losing herself in her own thoughts, in his gaze, and it was dangerous. The room shouldn’t feel so small, she shouldn’t feel so close to him when they’re over 6 feet apart.
She breaks eyes contact, looking down at her feet as she resumes her way to her bedroom.
“Well, I don’t need you to check on me anyways.”
“Yeah?”
She passes by him, brushing his side, feeling his gaze on her, feeling a cool breeze of air between their shoulders, feeling a crackle of electricity between their fingers as if he’d lifted his pinky finger to try and reach for her. Or had it been her finger?
“Annie and Ruby come by to help me.”
He follows her silently to her room. She can’t see his reaction but she doesn’t need to to know he doesn’t care what she just said. She just wonders what it would take for him to leave. When does the checking up end? What does he need to see to know she’s fine? What does she need to say?
In the doorway, she turns back, finding him further away from her than she’d expected. Not that it’s a bad thing. At least he’s respecting her boundaries now.
“And Annie’s coming tonight so…” she lies.
She waves him off, looking at the ground and he nods at her in a serious face. For a second, she thinks he believes her, that he’s going to leave her alone; but then he dips his head, looking for a tell, or most likely finding one because her cheeks burn up and he straightens up with a smile.
“No, she’s not."
She looks up at him, at his still curved upward lips and she thinks it’s easier when he hates her, when he looks at her all clenched jaw and dark eyes. She can manage that better. His eyes are dark here too, but it’s different. She looks away. It could simply be the darkness of her house.
“Look, I’m pregnant, not sick. I have a right to some time alone. I’m fine.”
It was true. Wanting him gone wasn’t just about him. She didn’t want anyone in her house right now. She hadn’t spent a day alone in what felt like years and she craved it now more than ever. She hated being a burden, needing help for everything, having everyone scared for every damn thing she did.
Sure, there was that one weekend when Annie took the kids to the waterpark to give her marriage some time together, but the truth is it hadn’t been a great weekend either. Dean and she weren’t doing better just because they were having a baby. To begin with, Dean hadn’t wanted another child, and then babies have never been the magical glue to repair a broken marriage. So, no, she hadn’t relaxed all weekend because the same struggles stayed: mainly her work, who she worked with, and basically who she wanted to be.
That’s it. That’s what she needed: to relax. And no amount of weekends with Dean would do that for her. She loved the girls but gossiping and sipping cocktails wasn’t really relaxing either, especially when she was watching everybody else drink.
Tonight was her chance to relax, and Rio was the last person she wanted here to do that. She could never relax around him. Even if she enjoyed his quiet demeanor, she could never let herself relax around him.
She’d had glimpses of what it would be like to relax around him when they called a truce. It often happened wordlessly when they stayed after an exchange for a minute or two, searching each other’s gaze or just breathing the same air, when he touched her belly too, or when she showed him her first ultrasound. Those had been her favorite times… But it only happened because they knew it wouldn’t last. Right now they have the whole night in front of them, what would stop them from spending every minute together? Where would that lead? It couldn’t happen.
She can’t invite him into her home. She can’t make it -this situation, her feelings- even more complicated than it already is. She can’t have his perfume in her house, she can’t let him invade the most intimate parts of herself like she’s already done too many times.
Her eyes feel heavy and watery when she finds his eyes again; probably from fatigue.
“I just wanna take a bath and go to bed.”
He nods and mouths okay.
She nods in turn in understanding and starts turning her back when he says, “just one question.”
She keeps her feet in the direction of her room, just turns her head so she can see him above her shoulder.
“How you gonna take those socks off?”
She looks down at her feet, well, at her belly. She can’t even see her socks. She thought she was wearing slippers.
She doesn’t want to show flaws in her plan so she holds her head up to answer, self-confident.
“I’ve had four children, I can handle myself.”
He bites his lips to stop himself from smiling too wide.
“How you put them on this mornin'?”
Dean was here this morning. He put on her socks, she remembers. She sure as hell won’t tell him. Not when he’s so proud of himself his eyes shine brighter than the moon lighting the whole house.
Getting her socks off by herself might take some gymnastics, so what? Maybe she won’t take a bath, maybe she’ll just go to sleep like this, in the clothes she’s worn for 12 hours.
She looks up at him, raising an eyebrow and making her voice extra low and soft. She’s not sure of her sex-appeal capacity with this body but nothing’s ever seemed to stop him. And it’s just a joke, right? Just something to make him go away.
“I’m very flexible.”
He smiles, keeping his eyes on hers. No, nothing stops him. Unless he’s acting interested to spare her feelings. She doesn’t mind it either. Dean should learn to do that, should have learned to do that a long time ago. Pregnant women don’t like it when their husband acts disgusted by their body.
“Okay,” he whispers, then with his ever rumbling voice says, “good night, Elizabeth.”
“Good night, Rio.”
He turns on his heels and starts walking off but she waits at the door, watching him until he steps outside. Halfway through, he turns around, walking now backward, he opens his arms like see? I'm leaving. She bites a smile off her face and finally enters her room, ready to start her night routine.
She collapses on her bed, practically falling off her height, digging the mattress under her weight. She already feels fatigue taking over her every muscle. Her arms falling at her sides, her head rocking, lids blinking slowly, feet immovable. But she really does want her bath. It's the closest thing she’s got to a spa day. Who cares if she falls asleep in her tub? It's what spa days are for.
She's just going to give herself 2-3 seconds -or minutes-, close her lids for a short time and then she'll try to take off her socks. She can do it.
She jumps awake. Damn it. But when she looks at the time it’s only been five minutes. Phew. She better get herself in that tub before her brain shuts down for the night.
She bends down but as expected she’s far from reaching her feet. She can't even reach her calves. But she doesn't want to make him right so she tries to bend herself to another angle. Bending one leg on her side and stretching her arm, she tries to catch her ankle so she can pull it up beside her on the bed. It's still a bit far and she ends up falling on her side, head first on the mattress. She's too close to her goal to stop now though.
Grunts and droplets of sweat get her to brush her tendon, just a little bit more and she can hook a finger under the sock. Then she’ll just have to pull on it. Easy. She thinks if she forces her eyes shut she’ll get a better chance. And she’s right! Her sock is finally coming off.
Although it doesn’t seem to be her doing it.
She opens her eyes to Rio on his knees before the bed, sliding his big, warm hands down her other calf to remove the second sock.
It’s a bit embarrassing. She swallows and pushes herself off the mattress to sit straight.
She watches him carefully place her foot back down on the floor, then reach for the other sock so he can fold them together and leave them on the bed next to her, keeping his hand flat on the bed. He looks up at her and embarrassment slowly fades away. She doesn’t need to be embarrassed. He’s not triumphant, he’s fond.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
The bed dips where he pushes on his hands to stand up. Now standing in front of her, he presents both his hands to help her up as well.
She takes his hands and lets herself be pulled up. Is that all it will be? If she lets go of his hands will he leave? Or was this going to be an ongoing mistake? She keeps her eyes on her feet, too afraid of what she’ll find if she meets his eyes. What would happen then? What would happen when they plunge into each other’s gaze and they can’t ignore their proximity? The hairs rising on their forearms, the electricity tingling between their chests, his scent in her nostrils, her scent in his.
But Rio doesn’t seem scared, he doesn’t seem worried the slightest bit as he runs his thumb across the back of her hands. And after a few shared breaths, she feels his fingers slip out of her palms, his warmth no longer shielding her from the cold of the empty room. But his feet don’t take the path she expected.
He walks to her bathroom and she lets him. A squeaky noise and she hears water running. She walks in to find Rio sitting on the edge of the tub, checking the temperature of the water filling the tub. He’s removed his jacket to avoid getting any water on it. She leans on the door frame, observing him, his flexed biceps exposed in his t-shirt reaching for the faucet, the water dripping from his long fingers to his elbow. She doesn’t stop him.
He’s so casual when his eyes clock her, he gives her a quick warm smile as if this was normal, as if any of this could have ever been predicted. She takes a couple of steps inside and he shakes the drops of water off his hand above the tub.
She stands there, waiting for him, feeling awkward and dorky like that afternoon in her bedroom with her mismatched socks. He walks toward her and she takes a sharp breath, feeling her pulse beat faster with each of his steps. How close was he going to stop? Or was he leaving? Please just leave, she wishes, closing her eyes.
He stops a few inches from her, unmoving, and in turn, waiting but she doesn’t want to look back. She knows where it would lead and, more than dangerous, it’s scary. His hand presses gently around her wrists. Look at me.
She lifts her head to find his focused gaze. She knows her chest is rising higher than before, but when she locks eyes with him a wave of warmth calms her breathing. He has this reassuring light in his eyes, something that makes her muscles loosen. When she looks at him she can’t help giving up her inner war. The only anxiety she endures is the one she inflicts on herself. Don't do this. Don't say this. Don't think this. Don't let him in.
He drops her wrists and his hands come at her sides, gently covering her hips. He hooks his fingers under her shirt and she shivers from head to toe, his right hand still cold from the water drying on his fingertips. He waits, lets her get used to his touch and she lets herself feel safe with him.
He lifts her shirt then, takes it off her, and lays it down on a chair. Beth hasn’t moved, her hair is electric and all in her face. She’s like a kid, waiting to be taken care of, and Rio takes on the role with great pleasure. Once or twice he runs his hands over her scalp to flatten her hair, first with his palms, then brushing through with his fingers, until there are only a few strands of hair obstructing her vision and he takes them one after the other, placing them behind her ears.
Eventually, he lets himself brush her bangs out of her face and stroke his index down her cheek, and she lets him do that too, too tired to fight this, too tired to fight herself because the truth is she likes having him here. She wants him here.
They are interrupted by a kick. Rio can feel it too, her belly touching his for a moment now. They both look down and Rio takes a step back to better see.
Beth instinctively runs a hand over her womb.
“Hey,” she whispers, smiling. “What are you doing up?”
She pushes down the stretchy fabric of her pregnancy pants to reveal smooth, veiny, pinky skin and Rio can’t do anything besides look at the small bump next to her belly button.
Without looking up, Beth reaches for Rio’s hand and places it over her belly, on the very tiny bump he saw. It’s not the first time she lets him touch her, but it is the first time he touches her bare.
“Feel that?”
Rio strokes his thumb over the soft skin. It’s not one bump, it feels more like three or four extremely small bumps, almost like a fist, or toes. Beautiful, he thinks as he loses himself in the moment, trying to connect with the tiny human being inside.
It feels like just seconds later when Beth says, “she’s gone back to sleep.”
He’s pulled back to reality, both his hands now on her, one over her belly and the other on her hip. The baby isn’t moving anymore and he’s not sure whether he’s stroking the tiny fist or just her. She has her hand over his, stroking her thumb as well on the back of his hand. She might not realize she’s doing this either. Because all she’s looking at is her stomach, and that’s all he was looking at too.
He removes his hands from her body and takes a step back, giving them both room to breathe. But she doesn’t seem bothered. At least, not as much as he is.
“It’s weird, she’s usually asleep by now.”
She. It dawns on him now, just like every time she’s mentioned. It’s easier to live this life as long as it’s just “a baby” and he doesn’t have to see her or hear about her. But he can’t escape reality as Beth mentions the gender of their daughter, as she stands before him in her bra, stomach exposed and vulnerable.
The smile pulling the corner of her lips disappears quickly when she clocks the look on his face. She forgets too, sometimes, that this isn’t a simple pregnancy story. She likes to forget. It allows her to have moments like these. Allows them.
To focus on something else, she hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her pants and starts pulling them down. Rio picks up on it and puts one knee down in front of her. He guides her hands to his shoulder to indicate she should use him for balance. She grips his shoulders and helps him remove her pants by wiggling her knees. When they’re down on the floor, she lifts her feet, one after the other so Rio can pull them aside and, just like he did for her shirt, fold them neatly and place them on the chair.
He leaves her side to check the water again. The tub is half full so he turns the water off. He picks up his jacket and walks back toward her, toward the door. He’s done his part, he won’t invite himself somewhere she doesn’t him. But Beth wants him here. She wasn’t just letting him undress her, she wanted him to. She feels good, she feels at peace, she feels home with him here. She doesn’t want him gone, not yet.
Rio stops in front of her to say goodbye but Beth turns on her heels. She goes to the door and looks back at him as she closes, just to make sure he wants this too. But of course he wants it too. She comes back to him, takes his jacket off his hand, and sets it down next to her clothes. She brings her hands to his hips and it’s his turn to observe her innocently, expectantly as she takes control of the situation.
She locks eyes with him, taking in his silent approval, and starts lifting his shirt. The truth is he’d do anything she’d want him to, craves her proximity like no one else’s, needs to feel part of this journey with her like he needs air. So he lets her lift his shirt and grazes her fingers when he picks up the fabric from her hands to remove it entirely.
Her eyes flick over his bare torso and she desperately wants to run her hands over it. She’s smart enough to know she shouldn’t, that it would feel like too much, that it would be too soon. But it doesn’t matter whether she does it or not, because with every glance of her eyes he can feel it, imagines the exact path her fingertips would draw on him, the warmth spreading throughout his body as she presses her palms to his skin.
Her gaze drags down to his waist and she brings her hands to the button of his jeans, gliding her hands over it, asking a question. Rio takes over and unbuttons them, pulls down the zipper, and takes off his pants and socks at the same time. He leaves them pooling at his feet, just kicks them sideways so she doesn’t trip over them.
They are both stripped to their underwear now but it doesn’t feel weird, maybe loaded but for reasons other than sexual. Not that they don’t think about it, he does and so does she. They can’t help themselves. They don’t even need to be naked to think about it. But what they’re doing has nothing to do with sex, it might even be worse, they’re just being intimate. It might lead to sex, it might not. It doesn’t matter. They’re exposing themselves to one another in a bubble outside of reality, outside of consequences.
He lays his hand on her shoulder. “Turn around,” he whispers and she does. His hand slides down her bra strap until he reaches for the hook and he takes it off her. Pregnancy bras are not as painful as those lacy things she rarely wears, but still, Rio can see red marks on her shoulders and he feels them slump faintly when it comes off. He runs his fingertips over the marks, wishing he could bend down and kiss them, relieve her of all pain.
His hands glide down from her shoulder blades to her hips. Once again, he puts a knee down while keeping his hands at the waistband of her panties, letting her know what he’s going to do next. She looks over her shoulder, not at him, just turns her head and he knows he can rid her of her last piece of clothing now.
He pushes her panties down, and once they’re at her feet, gives her a hand to lean on so she can raise her feet one after the other and pull the panties aside with another hand. He’s still holding her hand when he gets up. Standing not two inches from her, his chest touching her back with every inhale and she keeps his hand in hers, cupping it. She shivers and he wonders if it has anything to do with their proximity, with his breath on her neck, or if she’s getting cold and he should hurry her in the tub.
Whatever it is, it has her leaving his side to reach the tub. He follows quickly and upon seeing her wait for him to help her get in, makes quick work of taking off his boxers and hops in the bath.
“Okay, sit on the edge and we’ll get you in one leg at a time.”
She follows his instructions, sits then turns sideways, thigh against the tub. She tries lifting her leg but it’s heavy and her belly obstructs so he reaches for it and pulls it up himself, making sure to get her foot in the water slowly so she’s not startled by the heat. Then she turns inward to bring her other leg closer to the edge and Rio repeats the motion to get her foot in the water.
He presents his hands in front of her. “Okay, get up now. I’m gonna sit you in front of me.”
“‘kay boss,” she jokes and he chuckles softly.
“Just grab the edge of the tub and I’ll help you down.”
She turns her back to him and Rio hooks his hands under her armpits, holding her securely. He kneels behind her so he’s already at the right height to support her as she dips in the water. Bending her knees and elbows, Beth starts lowering herself but her arms teeter so she stops shortly.
“I'm going to fall.”
“You're not gonna fall. I’m right here.”
He presses his hands more firmly under her shoulders, even pushes up a little bit so she feels the strength of his hold. She takes a breath and starts sinking again. Her arms are still shaking so midway through he stops her from moving, holds her up, leaving her no choice but to hang in the air, barely supported by her arms, mostly held up by his.
“What are you doing?” she asks breathily, revealing the concern she feels.
“I’m holdin’ you. See? You’re not gonna fall.”
She exhales through her nostrils, annoyed but reassured. Trusting him isn’t always her first instinct.
He starts lowering her again and she gives in to his hold, letting him dip her in the water.
“Would’ve been fun to watch you do it by yourself. In your bath, socks on, fully clothed maybe even. Shouldn’t have helped at all.”
She lets out a breathy laugh, focused on not losing balance.
“Shut up.”
His head falls into her neck and he lets out the same short chuckle, his lips skimming her soft skin.
“Don't laugh ma', you're gonna fall.”
She rolls her eyes. “Asshole.”
Once he has her sitting, he takes place behind her, caging her body with his long legs on each side. He clocks those red marks on her shoulders again and reaches to try and smooth them out. She shivers to his touch, still holding tension, so he flattens his palms over her shoulders to ground her, reassure her.
When he starts to feel her loosen, he strokes his thumbs over the lines her bra left on her body. He brings some water over them to cool them down and massages broader and broader, from her shoulders to her neck, from her neck to her shoulder blades until her head falls forward, eyes closed and mind appeased.
He leans against the back of the tub, his hands gliding down, wrapped around her arms, and she follows him as if magnetized to his touch. They both sigh in relief, her body limp against his chest, her head resting under his chin and nothing else seems to matter, nothing else seems to exist.
“I can't even see my feet.”
Rio opens his eyes to Beth stretching out her toes and swaying her feet from side to side. She’s not making any particular effort to look over her belly but that’s beside the point, she couldn’t even if she wanted to.
“I can. You might wanna see a doctor,” Rio answers in all seriousness.
“What?!”
He does feel her then trying to nudge herself higher, in vain. He can’t stop the laugh bursting out of him. He tries to keep it discreet, polite, but even if he'd managed to keep the sound for himself she would be able to feel his body shaking behind her.
She acts shocked but a chuckle finds its way out of her gaping mouth.
“It’s not funny!”
She lays back against him and slaps the side of his face with little force to stop him mocking.
Her hand freezes when his fingertips skim her skin from her elbow to her hand, covering his hand on hers on his cheek. She can’t get enough of the way he touches her. Not just how he massaged her shoulders but all the gentle touches, all the implicit ways he show his attentiveness. She wants more of it all. She wants to feel her blood rush to where his palms lay, make her body overheat with the sensation, and let it cool down in the water.
She takes over his hand and guides it to her belly. He splays his hands over it, looking for a connection with the life inside of her, with her. She opens her other palm and he understands the invitation, bringing his other hand to her belly, securing her in his arms, warming her with his touch.
Beth sinks a little bit, comfortable in his arms, watching his hands on her and draping her own over his. Her head rests against his bent-down chin. He could whisper something sweet in her ear like this, something forbidden, something unexpected but hoped for. Or he could kiss her temple, say everything he can’t with the touch of his lips.
He rubs his thumbs gently and it triggers the waking of someone else. Beth feels her move, change position, before she sees her pushing a hand against Rio’s thumb. It’s like she’s trying to grab it. Rio freezes for a moment, then rolls his thumb over the bump.
“She’s never this agitated after 8. Maybe she recognizes you,” Beth says, half asleep. And while stroking her daughter’s head, she confides to her, “yes, this is daddy.”
Rio stops breathing behind her and only then does she realize the danger of her words, the pain they could cause. It’s stupid, she just wanted her daughter to hear it, confirm it because it looks like she already knows. It all seemed so natural, him beside her, caressing her skin, taking care of her while she bares their child, she forgot who they were for a moment.
She just wants to have this for a few more minutes, let them be whoever they want to be in this bath, the rest of the world be damned. And he wants that too, but that doesn’t prevent his chest from aching. She traces a pattern on her womb that she knows lulls her daughter to sleep. And when she is, Beth grabs Rio’s fingers and presses lightly.
She hears him exhale almost shakily, feeling a breeze in the crook of her neck. She doesn’t know when their faces had gone from temple against chin to cheek against cheek but here they were and, now that she’s aware of it, she can’t think of anything else besides his lips brushing the corner of hers.
From barely audible to panting, his breathing is now all she can hear. Her heart pounds as she lifts her gaze to his. Heavy-lidded and dark, pupils blown staring at her lips. When his eyes flick up to hers, a crease between his brows reveals the exhaustion he feels from being here; physically and mentally. They both want to, lips wet and quivering, but neither will make a move, as neither should.
Instead, he lifts his chin and she sinks against his chest in a big exhale. To calm themselves, he plays with her fingers, observing, moving, and caressing, and she traces the inside of his palm, the veins on the inside of his wrist, on the back of his hand. They dance like this until she’s too tired to hold her arms up and gravity takes them inch by inch.
When her wrists hit the hater, she gives up completely, going limp against him and letting her eyes close. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep compared to the last 3 months. She’s usually uncomfortable, doesn’t have enough space in bed, sweats, can’t sleep on her side, can’t move anyway that much. It's hard to fall asleep like that.
But right now, none of it seems to matter, her pregnancy doesn’t come in the way. She’s relaxed, finally. She thought she needed to be alone but as it turns out she needed someone to soothe her. She needed to feel safe and cared for. She needed him.
Rio hasn’t stopped caressing her, hands gliding down her arms or her chest, lightly scratching her thighs over and underwater. Sometimes he brings his dripping hand to her forehead and uses the water to cool her down and push her hair out of her face. He flattens her bangs on the side of her forehead then absentmindedly brushes his fingers through them.
He always starts moving with intention, but always ends up stroking her skin absentmindedly. It’s hard not. With her warm body laid on his, her soft curves between his legs, under his fingers. The slow but steady breathing of her lungs, raising and lowering before him. It soothes him too. She unwinds in his arms and he follows, his breathing blending with hers.
He doesn’t want to fall asleep, doesn’t want to lose those precious minutes, doesn’t want to let them sink into oblivion, but the steamy room has his head spinning and soon he’s drifting too.
He wakes up what must be twenty minutes later to her soft sighs and her nails tingling his right forearm. He runs the knuckles of his other hand over her skin to indicate he’s awake.
“Hey,” he says, voice rumbling with sleep.
“Hey,” she repeats, voice quiet and sweet.
He brings his hands to her shoulders and caresses his palms down her arms. The bra marks are still visible on her shoulders, they’re not as strong as before but they’re still undeniably there.
He looks around for washcloths and finds two hanging behind him.
“Time for a wash?” he asks.
“What does that mean?”
Rio picks up the cloths and brings them in front of her.
“It means if you want to, I’m gonna use this to rub some soap over your back and shoulders.”
She nods, still half asleep. “‘kay.”
He dangles them in front of her. “Now tell me which one of them I should use.”
“They’re both clean, just give me this one,” she grunts as she reaches for the green one and sits up straight.
He picks her soaps up one after the other and smells them. He tries two different soaps but doesn’t seem pleased with them since he closes them and puts them back where he found them. The last one is actually the one Beth uses most often. When he smells this one, he makes a satisfied hum and pours some onto his washcloth.
He cups some water into his hand to wet the top of her shoulders and begins rubbing some soap there. Beginning with the shoulders, he makes his way down her back, circling gently but purposely over every inch of skin.
Beth doesn’t know what to do while she waits, she doesn’t know how to let someone take care of her. She decides to pour some soap onto her washcloth and rub what’s closest to her: Rio’s legs. She doesn’t so much as rub rather than absentmindedly brush his hairs in the right direction.
Rio can’t stop the smile on his face. “You don’t need to do that.”
Beth keeps brushing, head tilting on her left. “What? You have nasty legs.”
Rio chuckles now, head falling in her neck. “No, I don’t.”
She tries looking back, turning her head as far as she can, only catching sight of his lips.
“How do you know?”
He sways on his side, giving her a full view of his face and her eyes jump to his eyes.
“I showered before coming.”
They watch each other in silence, Rio slightly amused, Beth feeling caught but also starting to lose herself in the warmth of his gaze. Her eyes fall to his lips again and when she looks back up his eyes have followed the same path on her face.
She whirls back, swallowing, and Rio sits back, picking up where he left off.
“Why don’t you wash your own legs?”
It’s not really a question, merely a suggestion. He knows it’s hard for her not to be in control, to be the one who needs help. If she washes the lower part of her body she can be an active part of this scenario. And it will probably help make this situation a little less loaded.
They've been intimate before but it’s been long since they did it in such a vulnerable way. Not so long ago, they touched each other but it had been quick and raw. The opposite of what was happening right now. This was tender and sweet, and it could last forever.
“Fine,” she mumbles. And she can’t reach far, whether it's in front of her or below her, but neither of them says anything. This bath was more about taking time for herself than washing her body anyway. It’s not like she did anything all day, sweated, or stained anything.
She strokes her thighs, struggles to get past her knees, squirms to reach her crotch, and finally gives up and washes her chest, something way easier to deal with. And when she's done, Rio takes hold of her hands and massages along the lines of her palms and at the base of her thumbs. He massages until her hands go limp and then tips her back against his chest. He picks up her arms one after the other and puts them behind his neck to rub some soap under them, from her forearms to her armpits and down her sides to her hips.
She runs her nails over his cropped hair, drawing loose circles as he takes off the washcloth and brings his hands to her belly again. He fondles the soft skin, trying not to wake up the baby and enjoying the touch of Beth’s skin under his fingertips, his palms.
“Ready to get up and rinse?”
She takes a deep breath and nods. He gets her up with a little bit more difficulty than it took to get her in, muscles now as loose as jelly. But she trusts him this time, and they make it work.
Rio drains the water and reaches for the showerhead. He opens the water and checks the temperature before bringing it to Beth. She stands in front of him, watching him silently as he rinses her body. She observes every single flicker of his face, the focus pinch between his brows, the care in his eyes, the loaded rise of his chest as he runs his hands over her hips to make sure the soap flows down her body.
Water drips down her breasts and it’s hard not to look but Rio tears his eyes off and meets Beth’s gaze. Slowly, he brings his hand to her neck, running his thumb over her clavicle and tracing down her throat, stopping at the hollow there. He feels her swallow hard, his Adam's apple bopping up at the same time.
He looks away and with a light press of her shoulder tells her to turn around so he can rinse her back. As she does, she brings her hair on one side of her neck, rolling it around her index finger and letting it fall over her shoulder.
He doesn’t need to touch her. He could just run the water over her shoulders and watch the soap slide down her body. Still, he traces patterns on her skin, not even pretending it’s essential to rid her body of the foam. He presses his thumb onto her cervicals and drags it down her spine.
He stops in between her dimples of Venus and splays his hand on her lower back. He doesn’t mean to pull her to him when his palm rounds easily to her hip but Beth takes matter into her own hands as she picks up the showerhead from his hand and lets her head fall back against his shoulder. Only then, Rio lifts his other hand to her hip and clutches explicitly as Beth pours water over her chest, head lolling against him.
Showerhead in hand, Beth turns around to rinse Rio’s body now. He doesn’t need it any more than washing but he lets her do it. Because it feels nice, because it feels intimate, because it feels like one last thing they can allow themselves before they have to get out and end this.
After a few more minutes, hot water is running out and they are forced to turn it off. God knows how much longer they would have stayed like this if they’d had unlimited hot water. Beth had been tired before coming into this bath but once she tasted the pleasure of being here with him, she couldn’t get enough. She cherished every minute with him where everything felt so simple.
Rio steps out of the tub first and then helps Beth get out. She points to the pink towel drying on the radiator and he picks it up to wrap around her. Shoulders tucked in, Rio rubs over her arms to dry her and keep her warm. Water drips from her chin so he takes the corner of the towel to brush over her face from her forehead down her cheeks and nose.
All the drying is a bit useless since he keeps dripping over her chest so Beth indicates where he can find fresh towels in her bedroom chest. Rio grabs one, dries himself quickly, and wraps the towel around his hips.
He rubs the towel a few more times and once she’s dry enough and Rio knows she won’t get cold, he opens the door and they go find her pajamas.
He helps her get into them, drying carefully every crease on her body: under her breasts, her belly, and bottom, and between her toes. Before putting on her shirt, he wraps the towel around the ends of her hair and squeezes the water out. He does it carefully. For one because he doesn’t want to yank her hair, and two, because he knows these are their last minutes together. The next time they see each other, he knows it won’t be as gentle, it won’t be as vulnerable. So he touches her softly and watches her unwind under his touch.
When she’s fully dressed and ready for bed, all he has left to do is get dressed himself. He goes back to the bathroom to get his clothes and gets dressed over there. He comes back, towel in hand, and she’s still standing before her bed, waiting for him.
He steps in front of her. She smiles faintly, quickly. Her eyes are locked on his and, as a last goodbye, he brushes her bangs out of her face. He knows it’s time to go. They both know it. There is no extending time.
He takes a step back and lifts the towel in his hand. “I’ll put this in the washing machine on my way out.”
She nods and her head stays down, avoiding his gaze now so he turns on his feet and leaves. But before he can make more than two steps she grabs his hand.
“Hey,”
Rio looks back.
“Thank you.”
He nods once. They linger as they acknowledge this moment. It will be the last time they do so. It will forever stay another unspoken moment between them.
He drops her hand and finally leaves. He'll be there tonight if she needs him, but he hopes she doesn't call. And she won't. They both know it can't be more than a one-time thing.