Don't wanna waste water

You bend down, giving her a kiss. It's sensual, but not long. You break away, and with a gentle nudge, you both step into the shower.

Despite how horny you both are, Ava advises against shower sex. Not all it's cracked up to be, she explains. Instead, the two of you take the time to soap each other up. You take special interest in a few key places, and her breasts are spotless by the time you're done. Even if her crotch isn't.

When it's your turn, she gets you to face the wall. With dexterous fingers, she runs the soap all over your back. Tracing lines, valleys and rivers, as if she was drawing up a map. The feeling of soft hands. The smooth glide given to them by the soap. It runs up, and down. Up and down. She spins circles on you. A figure skater on the rink, a swan through its pond. Elegant. Slow.

You're leaning against the wall, all your weight pressed into it. Your tongue is lolling out like a dog, your breath only joining the steam. As her hands pull away to get more soap, then appear on your back once again, your cock jumps. Eager, each time, to return to the pleasure.

As the water shudders off, you spin around. The stillness of that exchange gives way to ferocity. You pull her close, pressing your whole body against her soaking form. Your kiss is deep, your tongue pushing down into her, pressing her backwards where your arms pull her forward. She responds in kind, wrapping her arms around what parts of your back she can reach. The soft caress is gone, replaced by a grip that spurs on your raging erection. You grind your hip against her belly, your kiss never letting up. You groan into her mouth, both your bodies shuddering, as your white hot cum paints her taut stomach.

In a few minutes more, you're both dried off. The towels are thrown onto the nearest surface, and you return to your room. You dress without a word. Not out of awkwardness, like you're used to, but because there's nothing that needs to be said. You smile at one another as the shirts come back on, and head downstairs for dinner.

It's the smell that always hits first. Your mum's skill suffuses the air, drawing out the intoxicating aroma of fresh potato, onion, and the scent of cooking pork. You find your sister at the bench, tapping away at her phone and still in her work clothes. Your mother is bustling around behind the bench. Putting the finishing touches on peas and mash, she turns and smiles at the both of you.

"Ah, hello you two! I thought you'd use up all the hot water at that rate," she smiles as you both avert your gazes, "take a seat anywhere, I'm not far off."

You pull up a chair, and Ava sits down beside you. The bench itself used to be a beautiful white, but the flecks of food and burn marks that have come to adorn it these past twenty three years have made a rich tapestry. At this point, you wouldn't be surprised if it was edible by now.