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When I first moved in here, I remembered giving the tub a go and then never again. I never found much use for it, and I was more of a stand-and-scrub kind of guy anyway.

And it was precisely because of that same closed-mindedness, I’m only now finding out things that I never knew, I never knew.

Like self-heating. I didn’t even know self-heating was a concept that even existed until about five minutes ago. It can even bubble, or form a whirlpool, and perhaps the most useful – it was also fully well-equipped to board two people within its shining white interior, shall you ever choose to... or want to.

Lying here now, submerged in a thick bed of soap bubbles, clad in white foam frothing and dispersing – wanna try taking a guess what I ended up choosing?

“This... feels... nice...” a second person spoke, just as soaked, just as foamed as I, looking up at me with those gray murky eyes. “Are you... feeling nice...?”

The cold of her bare back firmly against my chest. Pale pristine skin glistening in the dim light, and the silky, silver strands of her damp locks clinging tightly. The view gaping below, her bountiful breasts afloat half-immersed in the precarious covers of bubbles and foam.

.....

All these things considered, I took a deep breath.

“I feel clean.”

“Clean...” Adalia blinked, tilting her stare back forward to the blank white porcelain tiles. “How do you... become... clean...?”

“You’re already clean. Self-regulating, remember? Perks of being a vampire.”

“Clean... like you...” She clarified, resting the back of her head against my chest, again batting those pure innocent eyes up at me, “How do I become... clean like you...?” and somehow so oblivious to the rest of her that wasn’t so innocent.

“Just... just rub yourself, y’know?” I sputtered, doing my best distracting myself playing referee to little droplets on the wall dribbling down the finish line. “Scrub around your ears, under your arms... chest, all those hard-to-reach places, do your best.”

The gentle foamy tide sloshed as Adalia lifted a hand, her sharp jagged claws surfacing above the bubbly depths, trickling beads, and gleaming just as sharp.

“Okay, maybe that’s not such a good idea...” I said, nearly going cross-eyed as the tip of her nails briefly pointed squarely between my eyes. “Just don’t move, don’t move like me, you’ll be sparkling soon enough.”

“You... your hands...” She then whispered, her other hand still submerged, coiling itself around the slit in my fingers. “Clean me...”

“Clean you?”

“Only if you... want to...” She said, lowering her arm, laxing her shoulders, leaving the entirety of her body defenseless and vulnerable. “Like I... want you to...”

How can she spout all these sentences so straight-faced without even going a little red in the face? And how is it, in such dull, tepid murmurs alone, could she make them sound so damn... riveting?

Staving back depraved temptations, I let my eyelids fall, and rose my hands up from deep in the bathtub depths, slowly feeling as the tip of my fingers shiver and quiver, meeting the icy cold of her smooth, supple skin.

Adalia didn’t make a peep, didn’t even react in the slightest. It was silent, stiffening, the way this all was happening... moving my hands, it was like touching a long-frozen corpse, and in the blinding dark of my eyelids, I could distinctly make out the outline of her body.

I started with the nape of her neck, trailing the vivid picture in my head to the back of her ears, rubbing, stroking... the practical definition of cleaning.

“This... feels nice...” I heard her say, her head swaying to the motions of my fingers. “Are you... feeling nice...?”

I felt the air blow through my nostrils hot and heavy. “I feel weird.”

“Have you not cleaned... another person... before...?”

“My sister,” I replied, and hearing her deafening quiet, I hastily added. “When we were kids, don’t make it weird.”

She made a faint pondering noise that reverbed back. “I’ve never... cleaned my sister... before...”

“Speaking of...” I gulped, feeling a lump of pure dread bungee jumping down the pit of my guts. “I can’t imagine what Amelia would do if she knew about this.”

“You are... frightened...?”

“Concerned,” I corrected. “In case you didn’t notice, she can be quite the passionate little sister.”

“Yes...” She said, then musing in silence briefly, said, “Do not... worry... I will... explain to her...”

That doesn’t really inspire much confidence within me. I’ve been around her haughty highness long enough to know being reasonable isn’t one of her best traits.

“I leave my life in your capable hands, then,” I simply said, resigning myself to the inevitable confrontation in the future. “Please do handle with care.”

When I was done scrubbing all I could above, I moved on to the smooth-sailing of her long, slender arms, drifting my hands across its length all the way to the narrow ridge of her collar bone jutting firm and rigid.

I continued rubbing, I continued scrubbing, re-soaking my hands every so often, her skin turning more wet and slippery to the touch.

Then, like fine needles, I felt the strands of her hair grazed the top of my hands as I carefully guided my touch downwards. I swallowed, feeling something soft, squishy, fitting perfect in my palms as they curve around in a big gliding arch towards her waist.

“Your heartbeat... is very loud...” suddenly resounded her voice again, echoing in the vast emptiness of my imagination, breaking my concentration. “And you are... aroused...”

I slowly fluttered my eyes open just to meet her misty stare once more, a sense of curiosity swirling in her fog.

“Does... cleaning me... arouse you...?” She asked, forming ripples around us as her blank expression grew closer.

“Touching you arouses me,” I answered. “And you already knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

I could feel my hands remaining as they were, clinging tightly to the sleek curves of her waist. They didn’t want to move, I couldn’t make them let go. I couldn’t even see them, hidden, obscured past the peak of her beautiful pale mounds.

Veering my eyes back at her, she didn’t answer me, opting to just continue inquiring me, pressing me...

Tempting me.

“Do you want... to keep... touching me...?”

It was my turn for silence, my turn for long, tense stares – before the calm waters sloshed, rippled, as my hands began to move uninhibited, squeezing, grinding, clutching... all the while, still loosely holding onto the pretense of still cleaning, my reply faltering in a mutter, “I do.”

As always, Adalia remained despondent to my touch, to my vigorous fondling, as still and unmoving as a boat anchored onto shore, as my hands delved wildly about and around her hips and her thighs.

But no further.

I had enough restraint in mind to know I shouldn’t go further. Not now, not here...

Not yet.

So I just kept stroking, brushing, caressing, and though she sounded and looked as if she couldn’t at all care any less. I knew for a fact this was more than she could ever ask for.

After all, a heartbeat does not lie... and I could feel hers pounding hard, seemingly never more alive.

“This feels... nice...” She said again, slowly collapsing once more, this time fully enveloped in the embrace of my arms, another misty, peering stare gazing upwards towards me. “Are you... feeling nice...?”

I smiled, my head slanting, feeling a bitter freeze trickling across my lips as I confessed, grazing her forehead.

“Yes,” I told her. “I’m feeling very good.”