Word count: 2,433
Pairing: KQ
Content warning: Nothing explicit, there's just some nude making out.
Summary: The best solution to motivate yourself to get out of bed on the weekend is to shower, and the even better solution is to invite your ex-boyfriend in with you.
This takes place somewhere around late April/May. They are not dating yet.
Maeve gazed at the sun streaks filtering through the half-open curtains covering her bedroom window. The comfort of a soft blanket combined with the weight of the arm wrapped around her torso rendered her immobile, even as she listened to seconds tick by from her wall clock.
She reached out a tentative hand to feel for her phone on the bedside table—there. A quick tap on the screen told her it was 9:42 AM, far later than she wanted to be awake, even on a weekend.
Hm.
Tentatively, she wiggled a bit under the arm only for it to tighten and a sleepy groan to sound from behind her. She felt her companion bury his head into her back.
“Simon,” she began softly, “are you awake?”
“……...No,” came Simon’s muffled response.
“Release me,” Maeve said. “I want to shower.”
“But you’re warm,” he grumbled. His voice was more gravelly than usual as he started to awaken; ideally, she’d flip over and lay on his chest so she could listen to him talk, but something needed to be done about the previous night’s gross malaise that had set over her.
“We live in LA. You’ll be fine,” Maeve said flatly, but her heart wasn’t in it. His sentiment was sweet.
“You’re the devil.” Nevertheless, the arm retracted.
“If you’re going to complain, you could always join me,” Maeve said lightly, not wanting to sound too serious. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and got up to look for her towel.
“And risk my hair clogging your shower drain? Oh, the horror.”
Maeve whipped around to glare at the black mound of hair in her bed. “A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.”
One eye peeked through the scraggly mass. “I didn’t say ‘no’.”
“Then, get up.” She grabbed her towel and made her way into the bathroom, pausing to grab a fresh one as well as a washcloth for Simon. Once inside, she turned on the hot water and tossed the towels over the rack, then went to clip her hair up before the mirror got too foggy. It was then that a brooding figure manifested in the reflection and wrapped itself around her once more.
As she opened her mouth to protest, she was cut off by a kiss pressed to the back of her neck, and fingertips pressing into the soft skin over her bare hips. Quickly, though, steam began to obscure the image, and she turned around in his arms despite how nice he felt. “Alright,” she said. “Water’s probably ready.”
Simon grunted, but he let go, allowing Maeve to step into the hot spray from the shower. A moment later, Simon stepped in behind her, closing the curtains as he did.
Maeve stood facing away from the shower head, allowing the water to pummel against her back. She looked up at Simon, who, to his credit, looked more alert. Hesitantly, she asked, “Would you allow me to wash your hair?”
His eyes narrowed. “Was this a clever little plan to seduce me into a hair salon?”
She stared back at him, expressionless. “This was a clever little plan to save money on one shower’s worth of water. I figured I’d offer while you were here. My mistake.”
“Hmph.” Simon’s eyes drifted to her shelf of varied bathing products. “If you must,” he decided, meeting her gaze once more. “Since you are most graciously offering me use of your master shower and its features.”
Rolling her eyes, Maeve said, “Switch. Wet your mop of hair thoroughly.”
Simon let out a sigh but complied. As he stood under the water, Maeve reached for her loofah and pumped body wash into it, then ran it over her body, exfoliating the rough patches on her arms first before washing the rest. After a thorough pass, she glanced back up at Simon, who looked to be staring down at her with barely hidden longing.
She tilted her head to the side, amused. “Can I rinse this off?” she asked, holding the loofah up. “Only if you’re done.”
“I… am,” Simon muttered.
“Thank youuuuu.”
They swapped spots, and Maeve rinsed the soap out of her loofah before returning it to its hook. “Okaaaaay,” she sounded, looking over her shampoo collection. The two of them had very different hair types, but something deep cleaning and sulfate-free wouldn’t hurt, right?
“Turn around and lean your head back.”
Simon did as she said, and Maeve dispensed a generous amount of shampoo into her hand. She reached up and scraped all of his hair back from his face, then worked her hands throughout, scrubbing his scalp with her nails before descending and working the rest of his hair into a lather. It took several minutes and a frightening amount of shampoo, but his hair was eventually caked in suds.
“Okay,” Maeve said, signaling she was done.
Simon turned around and looked down at her, expression blank. With his bangs pushed back, he looked oddly… relaxed? Calm? Open? She only ever really saw him like this when he was asleep and she could get away with staring.
Catching herself, she turned to grab the shower head to rinse off the front of her body. As she did, though, hands passed over her shoulders down the backs of her arms until they landed on her hips, and she felt Simon’s wet chest press against her. She let her hand fall as he reached around to clasp his hands over her stomach.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against the back of her ear, sending shivers down her neck. “And… so gentle with me.”
“Since you were nice enough to let me take care of your hair, I figured it wouldn’t be fair to yank it all out as I did,” Maeve replied. Though the words denoted malice, her tone was soft. “Will you let me use conditioner, too?”
“...Yes.”
This was one of the rare moments he was in the mood to be direct, it seemed. Luckily, her back was turned; she was having trouble hiding the giant grin that broke out across her face.
“I’m gonna rinse myself off and hose you down, then I’ll condition you. Alright?”
“Mm.”
He sounded agreeable enough. Maeve finally grabbed the shower head and sprayed off the front of her body, then Simon unhanded her so that they could both turn around and allow her to rinse his hair. The trails of soapy water running down the curves of his body were enrapturing, and she almost zoned out just watching the way the water moved over the scars that covered his back. When the water ran clear, she placed a slow kiss upon the large scar that ran over his shoulder blade, then forced herself to return the shower head to its holder lest she trace the rest of his back with her mouth. Then, she selected her nicer bottle of conditioner and filled her palm before beginning the process of spreading it throughout his hair.
After a moment of quiet work, she casually asked, “Will you let me brush your hair, too?”
No response.
She combed conditioner through the ends of his hair with her fingers. “This’ll make it easieeeeeer!”
Another moment of silence, then a begrudging, “Fine.”
‘Fine’! Maeve grinned. Yay! She tossed his hair over his shoulder where it landed on his chest with a thick slap. “Okay—let it sit for a few minutes.”
Simon turned to face her once again, though he looked a tad annoyed this time.
Whoopsie. “Aah, we can switch, and you can wash up.”
Once more, they swapped, and Maeve kept talking. “I have body wash that smells like roses, or one that smells like dude, but if you don’t want eith—”
Simon reached up and slid his fingers her her jaw, bringing them to rest on her chin, effectively silencing her.
“Thank you, Maeve,” he said softly.
She blinked. “Of course.”
For a moment, Simon’s gaze lingered on her lips, and then he leaned down to kiss her.
It took her brain a moment to catch up, but once it did, Maeve allowed her hands to rest on his shoulders. Their lips met again and again; Simon’s hands drifted from her chin down her chest and over her hips, squeezing at every part he could reach. Maeve snaked her arms around his back, pulling him towards her as lips parted and tongues flicked out to meet. The slickness of the water made it hard to maintain her grip, but she chose to see it as an excuse to keep touching him.
The steam and the pounding of the water clouded Maeve’s mind until she didn’t know how much time had passed when they eventually broke. Simon’s eyes were half-lidded and muddled with need; she could only imagine how she looked.
They caught their breaths, Simon resting his forehead against Maeve’s. He was too close for her to properly focus on his eyes, but all that mattered was that he was here, in her arms.
“I would not be opposed to escalating this once we’re done here,” Simon muttered, running his fingertips over her shoulders.
“After I brush your hair. And cook you breakfast.”
“You need not—”
“Ah!” Maeve interrupted. “We go over this every weekend. Give it a rest.” She grabbed the hanging washcloth and threw it at him. “The longer you spend complaining the longer it’ll take for us to ‘escalate this’.”
It took them a few more minutes to finish up, Maeve washing her face, and Simon washing his body and face after a bit of persuasion. Eventually, they got out and dried off, and Maeve dragged in a stool from her bedroom for Simon to sit upon, his towel wrapped around his waist, his back bare and facing her.
She procured her hairbrush and separated his hair in half, then started working out the knots on the right side, untangling the ends first so as not to pull on his scalp too much. A quick glance in the mirror showed her that Simon’s eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in what seemed like concentration.
“If I didn’t know any better,” Maeve began, pulling her brush through a particularly nasty knot, “I’d say the only time your hair gets brushed is when I do it.”
“You would be right.”
“No,” Maeve said, aghast. “Please, say it ain’t so.”
“Quite so,” Simon replied. “When you brush it, it merely gets tangled again. An utter waste of time.”
“Simon, you’re a walking fucking rat’s nest,” Maeve said. “You have to let me do something about it.”
“You’re doing enough,” he said, a slight growl lacing his voice.
She flinched a bit, her next words dying on her tongue. It was enough of a win that she got him to take care of himself this morning; she shouldn’t push it. But…
Maeve steeled herself. “You just turned twenty-nine, Simon. I’m not doing all this for myself.” She moved up to his scalp, brushing the white part of his bangs back from his forehead and meeting his eyes in the mirror. “I want you to live your life.”
“And how do you propose this…” He gestured to his unkempt hair. “...is living my life?”
“Well, it’s not that exact thing,” she muttered. “But it’s a start.”
“Pray tell.”
“Think about it: why would you want to go out and do things if you’re wallowing in how disgusting you feel all the time? I know the situation is different, but…” She paused her hands and moved to stand on Simon’s left, starting on the other half of his hair. “When I was at my worst after… everything, Aura physically came to my apartment and dug me out of my hole. ‘You have to keep living, Maeve!’ she told me. ‘Go to work! Finish school! Show that asshole that you’re still you!’ She made me re-dye my roots, go get my nails done, and dress up for work for a week. That’s when we started going to the bar on Fridays, too.” Maeve sighed, expelling the nostalgia from her system. “My point is, doing all of that upkeep made me feel more like a person again rather than some ragdoll puppet I was dragging around. It was the first step towards living my life again, and it might help you with yours, too. You obviously don’t have to, like, do all the same shit I did, but at least brush your fucking hair! And if you don’t want me saying that to you, pretend it’s Aura instead.”
Simon snorted a laugh. “Your impression of her is spot-on, I’ll give you that.”
“Yeah, well, I spent a lot of time with her the past few years,” Maeve said. She moved further up his head, and the bathroom fell into silence, save the sound of the brush pulling through tangles.
When Maeve finally finished, she reached past Simon to slide the brush back onto the counter, then shook out his hair so it wasn’t so stringy. Already, it was starting to get some of its fluff back, only now it was much more pleasant to the touch.
“There you are,” she said, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
Simon rose from the stool and looked himself over. “There I am,” he said, almost too quiet to hear.
Maeve moved around him to grab her bottle of toner and spray her face, then shook it at him in the mirror.
“No.”
She made a disappointed noise and handed a bottle of moisturizer to him instead. “At least use this, especially if we’re climbing back into bed after breakfast. Your face is so rough.”
His reflection smirked at her. “Hardened by the clink, inside and out.”
Maeve scoffed. “Oh, whatever. I’m getting dressed. You better be smooth when you join me.” She turned to leave but was stopped abruptly my a hand catching her elbow. Cautiously, she met Simon’s gaze, and his eyes were uncharacteristically soft, an expression she had missed so dearly.
“Thank you,” he said in a whisper. “I mean it, love. You are far too kind to this wretch of a man.”
Curse his being British. Maeve offered a sad smile. “I see something worth being kind to, that’s all.” She pointed to the bottle, expression grave. “But I’m serious about using that. Do it.”
Simon’s gaze hardened, but he opened the bottle. Satisfied, Maeve turned and left the bathroom. And, as she pulled on clean loungewear, she breathed a sigh of relief about the possibility of moving a singular, positive step forward with him.
