Sam slowly did begin to relax, little by little, between the working of the sponge and the kneading of Eliot's fingertips. He felt safe with the other man, protected, and he bent into each touch gratefully, particularly toward the end, sighing softly as he persisted.
He gave his head a shake, finally, at the question, rolling his hips forward and moving away from the touch to his shoulder. He'd settled in far too much, and he peeled forward the rest of the way, lifting his toe to the step and pulling himself out of the bath. This time he padded as far as the pile of towels, crouching down briefly to snatch one of them and bringing it across his shoulder, flinching and scrabbling awkwardly for the other side of it.
"This is Hell," he said, stating the obvious pretty much. "It's not like they pack a first aid kit."
He gestured to the towels. "Could you maybe scrub my hair dry. I can't get to it like this, and to be honest... I just want to go to sleep. That's the best thing for me."
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He gave his head a shake, finally, at the question, rolling his hips forward and moving away from the touch to his shoulder. He'd settled in far too much, and he peeled forward the rest of the way, lifting his toe to the step and pulling himself out of the bath. This time he padded as far as the pile of towels, crouching down briefly to snatch one of them and bringing it across his shoulder, flinching and scrabbling awkwardly for the other side of it.
"This is Hell," he said, stating the obvious pretty much. "It's not like they pack a first aid kit."
He gestured to the towels. "Could you maybe scrub my hair dry. I can't get to it like this, and to be honest... I just want to go to sleep. That's the best thing for me."