"Couldn't you have used those powers of yours to avoid getting hit?" I grumble as I set the water to warm before I place the stream over his hair, getting it thoroughly wet.

"I could have," he answers matter-of-factly.

"Then why didn't you?"

"I did not think of it."

"Why?" I frown.

"I did not want you to get hit." He shrugs, his eyes still closed.

I stare at him, replaying his words in my head until the meaning finally dawns on me.

"You foolish man." I shake my head, applying more force on his scalp and massaging it gently.

He releases a deep sound of satisfaction, something akin to a purr as a shudder travels down his body. He's like a cat. A water-loving, pampered cat, but one with the secret personality of a dog.

Grabbing the shampoo container, I pour a generous amount in his hair, working it up until his entire head is enveloped in foam.

"Smells good... like you," he murmurs, almost sleepily.

"Lily and tuberose are my favorite scents," I tell him.

"Is that what they are called..." he muses. "I shall have to acquire some for myself too."

"What do you usually use?" I ask as I bring the shower head over his forehead, gently rinsing the foam away. He preens, a gentle smile on his face as he sways his head from side to side, chasing the touch of my fingers.

"Plain soap," he murmurs absentmindedly. "I have never cared about scents before."

"No conditioner?"

"I do not know what that is."

"What you apply to your hair after you wash it. It makes it soft."

He suddenly opens his eyes, tipping his head farther back to look at me.

"Is that why your hair is so soft?"

I nod.

"Then you must use it on me too. Whatever you use to wash yourself, I shall have the same," he declares in his usual authoritative voice before he closes his eyes again, urging me to massage his scalp some more.

Since his hair was utterly soiled from the sweet ice, I apply another round of shampoo, working it into a foam before rinsing it again and applying some conditioner to make his hair softer. By the time I'm done, it's not just his hair that's soaking wet. We are, too. His pants are drenched, as are my shirt and leggings.

"Done," I declare, turning the water off and placing the shower head back in its place.

Ze releases a heavy sigh as he gets into a sitting position. Slowly, he turns his gaze to me.

"Thank you," he nods. "Now it is my turn."

I raise a brow at him, not understanding his meaning.

He gets to his feet, maneuvering me around in the shower stall until our positions are reversed. Hands on my shoulders, he pushes me down until my ass hits the ground.

W-what?

"You should take your shirt off," he suggests, already reaching for the hem.