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“This isn’t necessary.” Rocket glared at Nebula, who narrowed her dark eyes at him.
“It is necessary. You were filthy.” She grabbed the soap and lathered it up between her hands. She glanced at the washcloth hanging over the edge of the tub, and back to the soap suds between her fingers.
“You never complained before—” His voice cut off as Nebula gently slid her fingers into his fur, rubbing gentle circles into the skin at the back of his neck. “Oh. That’s nice.” He leaned into her touch.
One corner of her mouth pulled up. “It is,” she agreed.