Page 19 of The Price of Ice

Levy’s shoulders twitched. “You could put it into my hair,” he said, so quietly the water nearly drowned him out.

Kallen swallowed hard. He knew he was being ridiculous, Levy had... Levy had fucked him. He didn’t remember it, but he knew it had happened. There was no fucking reason that the offer to wash his hair should be making his dick get interested in the conversation.

Not that it mattered, it clearly made sense since Levy couldn’t lift his left arm anyway. And...

Kallen wanted to.

He wanted a lot more than that, but he wanted this too, to be allowed to care for Levy when he needed it, to be trusted in a moment like this.

“Okay,” he managed to say, and poured a little too much of the green liquid into his left hand. It smelled like green apples, a scent he already associated with Levy. He placed his right hand on Levy’s right shoulder and guided him a step backwards away from the spray. It left Kallen at the edge of the tub, with not a single step backwards left, but that didn’t matter. He placed his left hand on Levy’s skull, mindful of the bump he knew he’d find there, then joined it with the right.

The angle was awkward as fuck, but Kallen took it slowly, swiping with his thumbs and rubbing with the rest of his fingers only when he knew he was on a safe zone. Levy didn’t speak, but he let out little noises, of pleasure and discomfort, to guide his hands. Even when his shoulders started aching, Kallen didn’t want to stop, but of course that was being selfish. He was more than done spreading shampoo.

He started pulling away, but Levy made another noise.

“Mmm... neck?”

Kallen’s hands went lower on their own, pushing a little harder at what he found were the very stiff sternocleidomastoid muscles at each side of Levy’s throat. “Damn,” he murmured. “You are—” Levy’s head tipped further back and the next thing he knew, Kallen’s arms were around him to keep him from falling.

“Fuck,” Levy breathed out, his back expanding against Kallen’s chest. He was warm in Kallen’s arms. Soaking through his shirt, and Kallen was still tempted to hold on to him. Slowly, he loosened his grip and settled him back on his own two feet. “Sorry.”

“Rinse,” Kallen replied. He was trying very hard not to think about anything. Not until he got Levy out of this watery death trap and settled safely in his own bed.

“Give me soap first.”

It was also liquid, thankfully, and this time Kallen poured it for him and then, once he turned around, gently scrubbed at his back. He’d known Levy was strong and he’d certainly seen him shirtless often enough, but touching his spine still gave him a semi no matter how hard he bit at the inside of his cheek. He kept himself back and carefully didn’t think about whereLevy’s handwas, or whether he himself could have done a more thorough job.

They managed to get out of the shower without falling, and Kallen had to leave him waiting over the mat when he realised Levy had been away too long and his towels were kept in the spare bedroom.

He was dripping himself, the bottom of his trousers having soaked up a lot of soapy water, so he picked a couple of extra towels to drop on the floor to keep it safe.

When he got back, he found Levy was drying his face and upper torso with the hand towel. “What?” he asked. “I’m freezing, man.”

And he could hardly dry himself properly one-armed, Kallen realised. He stepped forward with the big towel spread. “Turn around.”

Levy went easily, allowing Kallen to once again envelop him in his arms, rubbing vigorously on the right and tentatively on the left, then patting his stomach dry before tying the towel around his hips. “Hair now,” he announced and used the second towel to gently absorb most of the water from his curls.

Other than wince when Kallen reached the part where he’d knocked his head, Levy just let him do it, ignoring Kallen’s quiet apology.

Kallen tugged at his good elbow. “Come on, bed now.”

“Yes, please,” Levy mumbled, leaning a little on him once they reached the corridor. He snorted, probably at the towels on the floor, but kept going.

His room was messy, clothes piled up on the comfy looking armchair in the corner and one of the wardrobe door’s hanging halfway open. The bed was made, though, which might have been the cleaning service or the sole refuge of order amidst the chaos.

Levy stopped halfway to the bed, saying. “Underwear drawer.”

Kallen opened it for him, revealing it was also messy, and Levy took a blue pair and started ambling back to the bed, dropping down heavily on it and clearly regretting it when it jostled his arm.

He looked about ready to fall asleep, and Kallen nearly offered him more help before he bit his tongue and went to the opposite side of the bed and pulled the covers free. “Gonna go dry up the corridor,” he said, and he was at the threshold when Levy responded.

“Clothes.”

He turned around, confused. “You wanna get dressed?”

Levy shook his head. “Get clothes for you.” He gestured with his chin at the dresser.

For a moment, Kallen contemplated telling him to forget it. After all, he’d only need to go downstairs to get his own clothes. But that would have meant leaving Levy in his flat alone and... He’d be coming back here anyway, wouldn’t he? He found himself some bottoms and a random band t-shirt as quickly as he could.

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