TWENTY
The drive back was quiet. Rory pulled into the driveway and helped Kieran into his house. The sky had gone fully dark.
Kieran hobbled inside. His foot throbbed in a way that suggested the jellyfish had taken it personally. He looked down at it, swollen, decorated with angry welts that seemed to be multiplying by the second.
“It looks worse,” he said.
“It looks the same.” Rory was already moving toward Kieran’s kitchen. “You’re just noticing it more now that the adrenaline’s wearing off. Do you have any vinegar?”
Kieran pointed to the cabinets near the microwave.
“You have three open Dr. Peppers on your counter,” Rory said.
“I lose track of which one’s flat.”
“So you just open a new one?”
“It’s a system. Don’t ask.”
“It’s chaos.” Rory shook his head. He found the bottle and grabbed a clean cloth, pouring a generous amount onto the fabric before pressing it gently against Kieran’s foot.
“Okay,” Rory said, crouching in front of him. “This might sting.”
“More than the jellyfish?”
“Probably not.”
Kieran hissed. “That’s not helping.”
“It’s neutralizing the venom.”
“I smell like a salad.”
Rory smiled but didn’t stop, dabbing at each welt with the kind of focus Kieran found both comforting and mildly embarrassing.
“There.” Rory sat back on his heels. “Now we wait for the swelling to go down.”
“How long?”
“Could be an hour. Could be a few.”
Kieran groaned. “Great.”
Rory stood, rinsing his hands in the sink. “You’re also covered in sand, by the way.”
Kieran looked down at himself. The wetsuit was crusted with it—neck, arms, every possible crevice. “Yeah. I’m aware.”
“You should shower.”
“I will. When I can walk without limping like a cartoon pirate.”
Rory dried his hands on a towel, considering. “Or I could carry you again.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Your call.” Rory shrugged and headed toward the hallway. “I’m gonna rinse off real quick. Is that okay?”
“Go for it.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, and Kieran heard the water start a moment later.
Then Rory’s voice echoed from the bathroom.
“Hey, Kier?”
Kieran’s heart did a stupid little flip at the nickname. “Yeah?”
“What’s this hose thing hanging from your showerhead?”
Kieran froze.
Every muscle in his body locked.
His brain screamed.
No.
No no no no no.
He knew exactly what Rory was talking about. He knew because he’d ordered it three days ago in a fit of optimistic preparation after their first night together. It had arrived yesterday. He’d installed it this morning.
The douche attachment.
So much for it being Sleek. Discreet.
Now…utterly degrading.
“Uh,” Kieran said, his voice climbing half an octave. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Rory called back, sounding genuinely curious. “It’s got like...a little trigger thing. And different settings.”
Kieran closed his eyes. “Can we not—”
“Is this for plants or something?”
“Rory!”
“Wait, does it spray?” There was a pause. Then, delighted. “Oh, it definitely sprays.”
Kieran buried his face in his hands. “Please stop touching it.” He shuffled down the hallway.
He appeared at the doorway. Rory, standing in the shower still fully clothed, was holding the detachable showerhead with the attachment connected, turning it over with the reverence of an archaeologist handling a relic.
“Seriously,” Rory said. “What is this for?”
Kieran looked at him, at his earnest confusion, his complete lack of judgment, his disarming sincerity, and realized there was no escaping this.
“It’s a douche,” Kieran said flatly.
Rory blinked. “A what?”
“A douche. For...cleaning. Internally. You’ve never seen one?”
Kieran saw the understanding dawn slowly across Rory’s face, followed by a grin so wide it should’ve been illegal.
“Oh, uh. Not attached to a shower. Did you buy this for me?” Rory asked, and he sounded touched, which made it so much worse.
“I bought it for me. For…hygiene,” Kieran said, face burning. “It wasn’t there when you showered before because I didn’t need it before. I haven’t needed one in...a while. But now…” He gestured vaguely. “Circumstances changed?”
Rory’s grin softened. “That’s really thoughtful.”
“Fuck you.”
“It really is! It’s practical.” Rory set the showerhead down, then crossed back to Kieran. “How does it work?”
“You are not—”
“I’m just asking.”
Kieran sighed. “You attach it. You adjust the pressure. You...use it. That’s it.”
“Huh.” Rory reached out and tugged Kieran closer by the wetsuit. “Well. Good to know.” He paused. “You done being embarrassed?”
“Not even close.”
“Good.” Rory bent down and picked him up again in one easy motion.
Kieran yelped. “What are you—”
“You need a shower. I need a shower. We’re both covered in sand, and I know for a fact you’ve got some in your ass crack.”
“I—” Kieran paused. “Okay, yeah, probably.”
“Definitely. I can feel it in mine, and I was sitting on my board. You were flopping around like you were trying to escape a predator.”
“That’s rude.”
“That’s accurate.”
Rory reached for the zipper on his wetsuit.
“I can do—” Kieran started.
“I know,” Rory’s hands were already at work. “But you’re injured. Let me help.”
He peeled the wetsuit down Kieran’s shoulders, past his waist, easing it over his hips with surprising gentleness. Kieran stepped out of it awkwardly, standing naked in his own bathroom, somehow the least comfortable person there.
Rory pulled off his own wetsuit in one smooth motion, and yeah—there was sand everywhere.
“See?” Rory said, turning on the shower. “We’re a disaster. Move over. I’ll adjust the temperature.”
Kieran stepped under the spray, hissing as the water hit his foot.
“Too hot?” Rory asked.
“No. Just...sensitive.”
Rory stepped in behind him, crowding the small space, and immediately grabbed the showerhead.
“Okay,” he said. “I need to test this thing.”
“Rory, no!”
But Rory had already detached it, examining the settings. He turned the trigger.
A jet of water shot directly at Kieran’s chest.
“Rory!”
“Sorry!” Rory laughed, adjusting the pressure. “Okay, that’s aggressive. Let’s try this.” He squeezed again, gentler this time, and the spray stopped attacking Kieran. “Better.”
“Are you having fun?”
“Absolutely.” Rory aimed the spray at his own legs, rinsing off sand. Then he turned it toward Kieran’s back. “Turn around.”
Kieran obeyed, and Rory ran the water over his shoulders, down his spine, methodical and careful.
Rory aimed the spray lower, gentle, clinical, and Kieran felt the water work its way into places that were, indeed, full of sand.
“Oh my god,” Kieran muttered.
“Told you.”
“This is mortifying.”
“This is teamwork.”
There was a pause. Then Kieran heard it, the unmistakable sound of water hitting water.
He turned his head. “Are you…are you peeing?”
“Yeah,” Rory said, still holding the showerhead.
“Now you’re going to pee on me?”
Rory laughed. “I’m not peeing on you. I’m just peeing. In the shower. You don’t pee in the shower?”
Kieran opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. “You’re...really comfortable, aren’t you?”
Rory glanced back at him, his expression softening. “I am comfortable. You make me comfortable.” He paused. “Sorry if that makes you…uncomfortable.”
The words landed somewhere low in Kieran’s chest. “It doesn’t.”
“Good,” Rory said, finishing up and switching the spray to a softer setting. He handed Kieran the showerhead. “Your turn. Get my back.”
Kieran took it, grateful for the task, and turned Rory around.
He rinsed Rory’s shoulders first, tanned and freckled, muscles shifting under the spray. Then lower, down his spine, watching water cascade over skin that was somehow both familiar and new.
Rory groaned. “Oh, that’s good. It’s like I’m being power-sprayed at the car wash.”
Kieran bit back a smile. “You’re welcome.”
“Little lower.”
“Rory.”
“What? There’s sand.”
Kieran adjusted the angle, and Rory made a sound that was entirely too satisfied.
“Okay,” Kieran said, pulling the spray back. “You’re clean.”
Rory turned around and stepped closer, water streaming between them. “Good.”
He kissed Kieran then, slow and intentional, hands sliding up to frame his face, thumbs brushing along his jaw.
When they finally pulled apart, Rory smiled. “For the record? The douche thing was really considerate.”
Kieran groaned. “Please never bring it up again.”
“No promises.”
They finished showering in easy silence, rinsing off the last of the salt and sand, and when they finally stepped out, Kieran’s foot still hurt, but the rest of him was…lighter.
Rory handed him a towel. “How’s the foot?”
“Still attached.”
“Progress.”
They dried off and padded back to the bedroom, and Kieran realized, with a strange, quiet certainty, that this was becoming routine.
Not the jellyfish. Not the chaos.
But this. The ease. The way Rory moved through his space like he belonged there.
But what happens when he sees the messy parts of me?