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Dirt cheap motel rooms, of course, didn’t typically have bathtubs.
A lot of them barely had a functioning shower head, a minute of hot water at best. The cheaper, the worse. Sometimes they only needed a place to stay a night, it was survivable most of the time anyways. Dylan had gotten more money she usually did, — Diana was wiling to pretend she had no idea where that money came from. Then Dylan rented the best motel they’ve stayed since they started this saga of running from their own life.
The bed smelled nice, and it was large enough that both could lay down with plenty of space between them, — not that they would sleep with plenty of space between them, they weren’t even going to pretend they would. It had more than enough hot water for both of them, and it had a fucking bathtub.
Diana watched the way Dylan lit up like a Christmas tree out of joy of seeing it, I love her so much it hurts.
They didn’t have one back at home, but once they were out on vacation and Dylan seemed to have a lot of fun in it. But then she hadn’t been much more than a toddler, a bathtub was like an ocean. This one wasn’t small, but both didn’t fit as easily as they did when they were kids.
Still, Dylan filled it with the nicest bath salt available and quickly undressed herself before all but jumping in. She looked adorable, really. My perfect little sister.
She turned as gestured Diana to follow her. Diana didn’t hesitate in doing so. She pretended she didn’t see Dylan licking her lips , after all, Diana had almost begged her to leave a couple of hickeys and Dylan had complied happily. It seemed she liked the sight of them afterwards, Diana hoped it meant Dylan would leave marks a lot more often than she did now.
Diana made herself at home between Dylan’s thighs, back turned to her. It was easy to relax when Dylan rubbed her back. The soap did smell quite divine: aloe vera or something. Shower time was always intimate, and she liked it, there was no pretending she didn’t. Dylan leaned closer and nuzzled against the back of her neck, hugged her waist, pulling her closer still.
Diana smiled: “I have a feeling you chose this room just for the bathtub.”
“Perhaps.”
“Dylan.”
“What? I think this is romantic.”
“Where is all that romantic shit coming from?”
“It’s called I love you.”
Diana felt warm. She said it all the time, Dylan did not. She screamed with her actions, but the words were kept caged behind her teeth, — the same teeth that sunk on Diana’s flesh but didn’t draw blood. She said with her hands, her body, and in her safe silence.
Dylan did everything and some more for her, but there was a different magic at having I love you declared out loud so causally.