Fairy in the Morning

I woke up because I couldn't breathe. There was a heavy, concentrated weight pressing down on my stomach, pinning me to the stone floor of the cave. My first instinct was combat, I reached for The Solar Zenith, but when I opened my heavy lids I saw blue eyes staring inches from my face.

Tinkerbell was sitting on me. She was perched right on my diaphragm, her legs tucked under her, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands. She was studying me like a biological specimen.

"Morning," she chirped, her voice husky with sleep but bright.

"Oof," I grunted, shifting slightly. "Tink... you're heavy."

She blinked, surprised. She looked down at herself, then back at me. "I am?" She bounced slightly, knocking the wind out of me. "I keep forgetting. I'm used to weighing less than a thimble. Does it hurt?"

"It's not pain," I said, catching my breath. "It's just... gravity. You're a real woman now, Tink. You have mass."

She smiled, a delighted, shy expression. "Real woman. I like how that sounds."

She didn't move, though. She seemed to enjoy pinning me down, feeling the solidity of my body beneath hers. She leaned in closer, sniffing my neck. "You smell good," she noted, looking puzzled. "Like... soap and leather. And salt."

"It's called hygiene," I said.

"Hygiene," she tested the word. "Peter never smelled like this. He smelled like wet dog, swamp mud, and old sweat. I thought that's just how humans were supposed to smell. Like... rot. But you smell clean."

"Peter was a boy who refused to grow up," I explained, running a hand down her arm. Her skin was incredibly soft. "Men take care of themselves."

"Fairies use dust," she explained, looking down at her own arm. "We just fly through a dust cloud and it scrubs the dirt away. But... I can't do that now. I'm too big. The dust won't cover me."

She looked at me, biting her lip. "I feel sticky. I feel... human sweat. It's gross. How do you do it? How do you get the 'man smell'?"

"Water," I said. "And scrubbing. Preferably with soap. You have to wash the dirt off."

"Water?" She wrinkled her nose. "Water makes wings heavy. We avoid it." She paused, looking at her useless, heavy wings draped behind her. "But I guess I'm already heavy."

She sat up straight, her hands resting on my chest. Her leaf dress dipped low, the view distracting me from the conversation. "Can you show me?" she asked softly. "I don't know how to scrub. I don't know where to start. If I do it wrong, I'll just be wet and dirty."

"You want me to wash you?"

"Please," she whispered, her cheeks flushing pink. "I want to be clean. Like you."

I sighed, but it was a ruse. I wanted nothing more. "Alright. Get up."

She scrambled off me, and I sat up, stretching my stiff back. I pointed to the back of the cave. There was a small, natural basin where water trickled down from the stalactites, cold, clear spring water.

"Over there," I said.

We walked to the pool. It was small, barely enough to sit in, but enough for a sponge bath. "First step," I said, standing behind her. "You have to take the dress off. You can't wash the skin if the leaf is in the way."

Tink hesitated. She touched the hem of her micro-mini dress. "Everything?" she whispered.

"Everything."

She took a deep breath. She grabbed the hem and pulled. The dress was nothing but magic and foliage. It peeled away from her body easily. She let it drop to the damp floor. She stood before me, naked in the dim light of the cave.

She was breathtaking. The magic that had scaled her up had been generous. Her waist was tiny, her hips flaring into soft, womanly curves. Her bottom was heart-shaped and firm. Her breasts were perky, tipped with pale pink, heaving slightly with her nervousness. Her wings twitched against her bare back.

"I'm cold," she said, hugging herself, trying to cover her chest with her arms.

"I'll warm you up."

I took off my coat and rolled up my sleeves. I scrambled my small bar of travel soap out of my bag, then I dipped my hands into the icy water. "Turn around."

She turned her back to me. I cupped water in my hands and poured it over her shoulders. She gasped, her whole body jerking. "It's freezing!"

"Relax."

I foamed up a piece of soap and placed my wet, rough hands on her shoulders. I began to scrub. I rubbed down her arms, feeling the delicate muscles beneath the velvet skin. I washed her back, carefully avoiding the sensitive roots of her wings. I moved my hands around to her chest. I cupped her breasts, my soapy hands gliding over the soft mounds.

Tink let out a shaky breath, her head falling back against my shoulder. "That... that's not scrubbing," she murmured.

"It's being thorough." I tweaked her nipples with my wet thumbs. They hardened instantly against the cold water and my touch. "Did Peter do this?" I whispered into her ear.

"No," she panted, her hips swaying involuntarily. "He... he never touched me. He never looked."

"He was a fool."

I moved my hands down. I washed her flat stomach, circling her navel. I knelt down behind her. I washed her legs, running my hands from her thighs down to her ankles and back up. I reached between her legs. She stiffened, her legs trembling.

"Hygiene, Tink," I said calmly. "Everywhere."

I washed her inner thighs, my fingers brushing against her slick, wet heat. She was clean, smelling of soap mixed with fairy dust and arousal. She whimpered, grabbing my hair for balance. "It feels... weird. Good weird."

I stood up and washed everything off with the fresh spring water. She was shivering, wet, and glistening. "There," I said, grabbing my coat to wrap around her. "Now you're a clean human."

She turned around in my arms, pulling the coat tight. She looked up at me, her eyes dark and dilated. "I like the scrubbing," she confessed, pressing closer to my warmth. "I think I need to do it every day."