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Shower Power

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“I hate my father.”


Luka looked up from the calculus homework he was trying (and failing) to complete to find his girlfriend standing in the doorway to his room with a small duffle bag slung around her shoulder.  She looked…well, she’d looked better.  He always thought she looked amazing, but her hair was shiny with oil and dark circles were forming under her eyes, attesting to her lack of sleep.  He blinked, frowning as he considered her.


“I mean…I kinda like your dad, and I thought you did, too?” he hazarded.  Her grip tightened on the strap of her bag.


“Nope,” she said.  “Hate him.”


“Ok…” he said, nodding slowly.  “…why?”


“How much do you love me?” she asked.  His frown deepened.


“I…feel like this is a trap,” he said slowly.


“I need a shower,” she said.  She paused, pursed her lips, and nodded.  “A hot shower.”


He bit his lip and tried not to laugh.


“Luka, if you love me, you will let me use your shower,” she continued.  He pushed his notebook away and hopped up, taking the step or two it would take to reach her before brushing her (oily, desperately-in-need-of-washing) bangs back and kissing her forehead.


“I love you so much, darning,” he said with a chuckle.  “My shower is your shower.”


“If I didn’t feel so gross right now I’d kiss you,” she sighed.  (The only part of her that actually felt somewhat clean was her teeth, and that was only because she’d taken her toothbrush to school that morning.  That didn’t negate the overall feeling of grossness from the rest of her, though.)  He grinned and went to dip his head towards her, but she pressed a finger against his lips and grimaced.  “No.  Kisses later.  When I’m human again.”


“I take it your plumbing’s still out?” he chuckled as he followed her to the bathroom.  She stopped outside the door, her knuckles blanching with how tight she was squeezing the strap of her bag.


“I’m a Dupain,” she cried, throwing her free arm up.  She dropped her voice an octave lower in a poor imitation of her father.  Her eyes blew wide, and he did his honest best not to laugh again.  “And a man!  I don’t need a PLUMBER!  I won’t FLOOD MY ENTIRE BAKERY!  Sabine, put that phone down!  Marinette, you can kindly tell Jagged that we are FINE and DON’T NEED A HOTEL, THANK YOU!”


“I mean, the building is kinda old…” he said with a weak chuckle.  Marinette had been screaming at him via phone and text over the past four days about the leaking pipe that would have been an easy fix if her father hadn’t decided to go all macho about it.  One thing had led to another, and the next thing they knew the bakery was flooded, Tom was still trying to fix it himself, and Marinette had been living without running water for three-going-on-four days.  She hadn’t minded at first, as it had happened Friday morning and she’d figured it would be fixed over the weekend, but now it was Monday afternoon and here she was.


“…you’re letting me shower,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, “so I’m not going to call you an idiot.”


“I take it the showers at school –” he started, and she screamed before he could finish.


“Did you know our boiler’s broken?” she asked.  There was a crazed look about her, and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.  “Oh, yes.  Our BOILER is BROKEN.  And will be FOR A MONTH.  Which no one bothered telling me until I WAS ALREADY NAKED AND HAD THE WATER ON.”


“Darning, I am so sorry,” he said, a little bit of a laugh escaping.  He tried not to focus on how she was screaming about being naked.  She was suffering, damn it.  He wasn’t going to let his hormones get the better of him.  He bent down and quickly kissed her cheek before she could yell at him again.  “Go shower.  I’m just gonna be over there finishing homework if you need m…anything.”


(…cause she definitely wouldn’t need him, not in the shower, nope.  Definitely not…)


She groaned and slipped into the bathroom, trying not to slam the door behind her.  He let out a low chuckle as he went back to his bed, smiling as he heard the water turn on.  Juleka had come in while he was down the hall, and she was setting up her own homework on her desk.


“Hey, Jules,” he said, waving.  She nodded in greeting.  “Marinette’s –”


“Oh.  My.  Goooooooooood…”


He froze at the moan that came from down the hall.  Juleka’s eyes widened, her lips quirking up in a devilish smirk as his entire body twitched.


“…in the…” he tried to say, but his mouth was suddenly very dry.  Another moan – the kind of moan he’d heard about, that he’d maybe heard imitated in the more graphic romcoms Rose liked to watch, but had not yet had the pleasure of hearing from Marinette herself – sounded from the bathroom, and Luka lost all ability to think coherently.  When he finally said shower, it came out as more of a strangled squeak.


“Oh, God, yesssss…”


His face felt like it was on fire – but he figured that was ok, because Juleka’s face was definitely turning red, too.  Her smirk vanished entirely at Marinette’s next (frankly ridiculously indecent) moan, and she let out a not-so-delicate cough as she grabbed her backpack and bolted from the room.  She tripped over the threshold – and his legs gave out, making him drop unceremoniously on his bed – when Marinette called out, “Luka, I freakin’ love you right now!”


She moaned again, and he tried to swallow.  He could hear Juleka snickering from where she’d caught herself on the door, and he peeked up from where his face had planted on the mattress to find her grinning manically at him.


“Juleka…” he warned, groaning as Marinette moaned again.


“How’s it feel to know our shower fucked her before –” Juleka snickered, and he chucked his pillow at her.


“JULES!” he screeched.  He winced as he heard her run away cackling – his voice had definitely leapt an octave or two there.


“I’d fuck her!” she called.  He groaned again and slammed his fist into his bed.  When that wasn’t satisfying enough, he thumped it against the wall.  There was no way he was finishing his homework now…


Ten very long, excruciatingly painful, hard minutes later, Marinette walked back into his room in loose workout pants, one of his old Jagged Stone shirts (and dear God what new hell was that), and a towel she was wrapping around her hair.  Her blissful sigh alerted him to her presence, and he groaned – he was pretty sure much like a dying man, that had to be the sound a dying man made – as he glanced up at her.  She paused by his bed, blinking at him like she had no fucking clue what she had just done.


“Luka?” she asked, lowering her arms from her towel.  She was frowning, but he was honestly only aware of that fact because the frown was on her lips and he was very preoccupied by her lips at the moment.  “Are…are you ok?”


“Mari…” he asked, and her frown deepened with the strangled, growling, gasping quality of his voice (honestly, what even was that?  Some rational part of him, when he came back to his senses, was going to kick his own ass later over this whole thing).  “…can I please kiss you now?”


She snorted, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, and he wondered if her cheeks were that rosy from the heat of the shower or if she was blushing.


“Yes?” she laughed.


“Oh, thank God,” he groaned, and she squealed as he tugged her down to him.


Well, ok.  When he could resume rational thought, the gentleman in him could kick his ass all he wanted, but he was pretty sure the rest of him would be singing his praises for the way she pushed into him, how she pulled his mouth to her own and practically devoured him, the little whine when he pressed her into the mattress and she felt exactly how affected he was by the last ten minutes…


Ok.  Scratch that.  The gentleman in him would be kissing his ass, too.  Her moans were even more delicious without a door separating them and knowing he was the one causing them.