A shower with a goblin

The silence that followed their collapse was a living thing, warm and thick, filling the small room with the scent of sex and sweat and shared breath. Sue lay with her head on Skeeve’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart slowing. Her own body felt liquid, boneless, a map of sensation she hadn’t known she could still navigate. The sigils were quiet, just a faint, pleasant warmth beneath her skin, like a memory of sunshine.

She traced a lazy line across his chest, her fingers light. “You worked for that…” she murmured, her voice low, dreamy, as she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against his skin. “…for years.”

Her lips lingered, savoring the taste of him—salt and something uniquely earthy. She tilted her head, looking up. “Was it worth it?”

Skeeve’s grin was instant, wide, unguarded. “And then some.”

A quiet breath escaped her, turning into a soft laugh. Her fingers pressed lightly against him as she shifted, settling more completely against his side. “Yeah…” she admitted, almost to herself. “It was pretty fun.”

No sarcasm. No deflection. Just the truth, laid bare between them like their bodies.

Her hand drifted lower, resting against his stomach in an easy, familiar gesture. “We still have a mission, Skeeve,” she added, her tone gentler now, but grounded. A reminder, not a rejection.

He nodded, glancing down at her. “We do.”

A pause. Then, with that glint of mischief still in his voice, “But we can have fun on mission, no?”

She laughed again, shaking her head slightly as she shifted. The sheet slid, exposing a curve of her hip before she absently pulled it back. “When there’s time,” she said, but there was no resistance in it anymore.

Her fingers drifted upward, brushing over the sigils along her arm, her collarbone, then lower—tracing the lines she’d drawn herself. “They got me tonight…” she admitted, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “More than you did.”

She glanced up, playful. “…Until the end there.”

The admission hung there. Honest. Uncomplicated. And somehow… not troubling. She knew what the sigils had done. She felt their residue, a faint warmth, threads of influence that had loosened but not vanished. They had nudged her, guided her, softened her resistance. But they hadn’t **** her. Not really. That was the part she couldn’t ignore.

“All I had to do…” she continued quietly, her fingers resting over the mark bearing his name, “…was say the word.”

One word. And the magic would have unraveled. The influence gone. The clarity restored.

Skeeve shifted beneath her, his expression changing—less certain now, something closer to hope flickering behind it. “You keep,” he said, almost quickly. Not a command. A request.

Sue looked at him for a long moment. Then smiled. Soft. Knowing. “I’ll keep them… until the mission is over.”

It was a compromise. A choice. They both understood what it meant.

Maeven. The mountains. The spired castle. That hadn’t changed.

She pushed herself up slowly, the sheet slipping further as she moved until she sat at the edge of the bed. For a moment, she didn’t reach for it—didn’t cover herself—just sat there, shoulders relaxed, breathing steady, entirely unguarded in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be in years.

Then she stood.

The dim light caught along her skin, across the faint traces of sigils, giving them an almost living quality. She crossed the room, steps unhurried, deliberate. She didn’t look back at first. Didn’ need to. She could feel his attention, his gaze following every movement.

“We have to shower first…” she said, glancing over her shoulder now, a faint smile playing at the edge of her lips. “…then we ride.”

Skeeve remained where he was for a moment, watching, processing, still riding the lingering disbelief of the night.

Then she tilted her head slightly. A small gesture. An invitation.

“We’re a bound team, goblin,” she added, her tone lighter now, but carrying something beneath it that hadn’t been there before. Her fingers brushed lightly over the sigils again. “…we do everything together.”

A beat. A glance that lingered just long enough.

“That includes showering.”

That was all the encouragement he needed.

Skeeve moved quickly—far quicker than his relaxed posture suggested—scrambling off the bed and following after her with an eagerness he didn’t bother to hide.

The bathing room was a small, closet-like space attached to their room, a luxury in this part of the city. A single, wooden stand-up shower stall stood against one wall, a crude copper pipe running from a tank above to a simple spout. A bucket of lukewarm water sat beside it, meant for rinsing. It was utilitarian, but it was private.

Sue stepped into the stall first, the wooden floor cool under her bare feet. She reached for the lever on the pipe, pulling it. A trickle of water began, then a steady stream, cascading down from the spout. It wasn’t hot, but it was warm enough, washing over her skin in a soothing rush.

She turned, her back to the water, letting it flow over her shoulders, down her back. Her eyes met Skeeve’s as he stepped in behind her, the space suddenly intimate, crowded. The water splashed against his chest, droplets catching on his green skin.

“Here,” she said, her voice soft now, almost playful. She took the rough, linen cloth from a hook and handed it to him. “You can start.”

Skeeve’s eyes widened. He took the cloth, his fingers brushing hers. He dipped it into the stream of water, then brought it up, soapy from a crude bar she’d placed on a ledge. His movements were tentative at first, then deliberate.

He started at her shoulders, washing away the sweat and the dried traces of their encounter. The cloth moved in slow circles, his touch firm but gentle. He worked down her arms, tracing the lines of her muscles, the sigils that shimmered faintly under the water. Sue closed her eyes, letting the sensation wash over her. It was… caring. Simple. Intimate in a way the sex had been, but different. This was maintenance. This was partnership.

His hands moved to her chest. The cloth smoothed over her collarbone, then lower. He cupped her breast with one hand, holding it steady as he washed it with the cloth, his fingers tracing the curve, the weight. Sue giggled, a soft, unexpected sound that bubbled up from somewhere light and free.

“They’ve never been so clean,” she murmured, her eyes opening to watch him.

Skeeve grinned, a mischievous, delighted grin. He switched to the other breast, washing it just as thoroughly, his thumb brushing over her nipple, making it pebble under his touch. The water flowed around them, steam beginning to rise in the small stall.

He moved lower, kneeling slightly to wash her stomach, his claws careful not to scratch. Then his hands, and the cloth, moved to her hips, her thighs. He was methodical, almost reverent. When he reached her behind, he paused, his hands resting on the curve of her ass.

“This too,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

Sue laughed again, a fuller laugh this time. “Go ahead. I trust you.”

He did. The cloth moved over her cheeks, smoothing, washing, his fingers kneading the flesh lightly, exploring the shape of her. It wasn’t purely sexual now—it was service. He was cleaning her, caring for her, and the intimacy of it sent a warm, deep thrill through her core. She leaned back against the wall of the stall, letting the water flow over her front now, her head tilted back.

Skeeve finished washing her legs, her feet, then stood again. He was close, his body pressed against hers in the confined space. The water soaked his hair, dripped from his pointed ears. He looked at her, his expression hungry again, but softer.

“Now you,” Sue said, taking the cloth from him.

She washed him in turn, starting with his face, his neck, his shoulders. His skin was smooth under her touch, the mottled green patterns fascinating to trace. She washed his chest, his stomach, his lean hips. He watched her, his breath coming a little quicker as her hands moved lower.

When she reached his cock, it was already half-hard, responding to her proximity, to the memory of what they’d just shared. She washed it slowly, the cloth sliding over the thick shaft, her fingers following behind, tracing its length. It grew fuller under her attention, returning to its impressive, erect state.

She looked up at him, water dripping from her hair into her eyes. “You’re still ready.”

Skeeve nodded, a sharp, eager nod. “Always for you.”

Sue smiled. A decision formed in her mind, simple and clear. She dropped the cloth. It fell to the wooden floor with a soft slap. She took his cock in her hand, not to wash it, but to hold it. She stepped closer, her body aligning with his under the stream of water.

“I want to taste you,” she said, her voice a whisper against the patter of the water.

His breath caught. “Yes.”

She didn’t kneel. The stall was too small, the floor wet. Instead, she bent slightly, her head lowering, her mouth aligning with him. Her hand guided him, positioning him. Then her lips parted, and she took the head of his cock into her mouth.

The taste was unique, salty, musky, mixed with the clean scent of soap and water. She closed her lips around him, suckling gently at first, exploring the shape with her tongue. He groaned, a sharp sound that echoed in the small space.

She began to move, her head bobbing slowly, taking him deeper. Her mouth opened wider, accommodating his size. It was a stretch, a filling of her mouth that mirrored the filling she’d felt elsewhere. Her tongue worked along his shaft, tracing the veins, the contours. Her hand stayed at the base, holding him steady, her fingers stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach.

Skeeve’s hands came to her head, not pushing, just resting there, his claws gentle against her scalp. His hips moved slightly, a tiny, involuntary thrusting that pushed him deeper into her mouth. She welcomed it, sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing.

The water cascaded over them both, running down her back, over his thighs, mixing with the movements of her mouth. The sensation was intense for him—the heat of her mouth, the slickness of her tongue, the rhythmic pressure of her suction. He began to pant, his body trembling.

“Sue… I…” he gasped.

She knew what was coming. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she increased her pace, her head moving faster, her mouth working him with a determined rhythm. Her own arousal was building again, a low thrum between her legs, but this was for him. This was her gift, her reciprocation.

His climax came quickly, spurred by the novelty, the intensity, the sheer reality of Sue Storm, the legend, on her knees before him in a shower, taking him into her mouth.

He cried out, a sharp, guttural sound. His body stiffened. The first hot jet flooded her mouth, salty and thick. She swallowed instinctively, taking it down. The second followed, and the third, each pulse of his release filling her mouth, flowing down her throat. She kept sucking, milking him, drawing every drop from him until he softened in her mouth, spent.

She pulled back slowly, letting him slip from her lips. She looked up at him, water and his essence mixing on her chin. She smiled, a genuine, satisfied smile.

“Good?” she asked, her voice a little hoarse.

Skeeve could only nod, his eyes wide, overwhelmed. “Perfect.”

They stood there for a moment, under the water, just breathing. Then Sue reached for the cloth again, rinsing it clean. She wiped her face, then his. The intimacy of the act—cleaning each other after that—was somehow more profound than the sex.

She turned off the water. The stream ceased, leaving them damp and steaming in the quiet stall.

They stepped out, reaching for the rough towels hanging nearby. They dried each other, slowly, thoroughly, taking time to pat every inch of skin. Sue dried his hair, ruffling it gently. Skeeve dried her back, her legs, his touch lingering but no longer urgent.

When they were dry, they walked back to the bedroom, hand in hand. The room was still dim, the candle nearly guttered out. The scattered clothes, the tangled sheets—it all spoke of what had happened, but now it felt like a prelude, not a conclusion.

Sue pulled back the covers on one bed. “We sleep,” she said, simple, final.

Skeeve climbed in beside her. They settled together, her body curling against his, his arm around her waist. The warmth of their cleaned skin, the scent of soap and their own bodies, the quiet of the inn around them—it was peaceful. Deeply peaceful.

Sue’s head rested on his chest again. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his skin. “Tomorrow,” she murmured, “we find Maeven.”

Skeeve nodded, his chin brushing her hair. “Tomorrow.”

But for now, there was only this. The shared breath. The shared warmth. The simple, profound fact of being together, in a bed, after a shower, after everything.

Her eyes closed. Sleep came quickly, a deep, untroubled sleep she hadn’t known in years. Skeeve’s breathing slowed, matching hers. The candle flickered once, then died, leaving them in darkness, bound together in more ways than one.

.