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His smile grows mischievous, and he takes a beat to consider it, but he hands it back over.

Jill laughs and takes the hose. Close one.

She, however, isn't a coward and quickly squirts him with a spray of water to his chest.

Clive, already wet and with little else to lose, takes this blow to the chest with a laugh, and then moves in for a bear hug.

Knowing he'd do just that, she drops the hose to the grass and fully embraces him, laughing.

"Ah! You're cold," she squeals. "And now you've gotten me wet. What are we to do with you?"

He snorts, momentarily closing his eyes and lifting her against him, just to feel her body up against his.

“You take me inside and get me out of these soaked clothes,” he rumbles.

For the lift, he gets a quick peck on the lips.

It's cold and a little sticky.

"I think you're right. Upstairs, then?"

“Yes,” he murmurs, reluctantly setting her on her feet again, but not without a cheek briefly pressed against hers. There’s still gunk behind his ears, caught in the roots of his hair, under his fingernails. He doesn’t care. The smell is long gone to him. It’ll be fine.

Jill intends to get him out of soaked clothes and into some hot water. Herself, too, and so she nuzzles her cheek against his with a smile.

"We'll deal with the floors in the morning," she says, taking his hand and tugging him to the house.

He follows, socks squelching, leather wet and glossy, all of him dripping as he walks her oath. He wants to stop her in her tracks and tug at her skirts and tumble her right into the grass. But he has to wait, and so he hangs onto his head.

“If the smell doesn’t air out, I’ll buy us a new house…”

"No. I love our house," she says, shooting him a smile over her shoulder. "I'll just put you to work."

In they go, and Jill tries not to look at his mucky footsteps from earlier.

"Be careful."

Clive puts those long legs to use and steps around them, dripping as he goes.

“You wouldn’t want a bigger one?”

(Given her tastes.)

Jill shakes her head.

"This is plenty big. What would we do with more space besides force Dion to live with us?" She teases.

“We grew up with bigger bedrooms and far more surveillance than the likes of Dion,” he says, amused, and he reaches with his free hand to palm her ass.

Jill playfully swats behind her.

"Doesn't this place feel warmer?" She asks, genuinely curious. "I prefer our bedroom to what I had in Rosaria."

He chuckles, just off his teeth.

“I like it better because of you.”

"Even when I use you to warm my bed?"

Literally, some nights.

“You’re the only one allowed to use me,” he says, a little quieter.

At that, Jill abruptly stops, pulling him to her. He must know, even when under the influence, that such words can't go without reassurance.

"That is correct," she agrees, tugging his arms around her waist, possessive. It doesn't matter that he's making a puddle on her nice floors, or still stinks a bit. "You're mine. Mine to use, mine to worship, mine to love... and mine to hose off when you come home smelling foul."

She smiles.

He pulls her in tight without a second thought, and he lifts her right up into his arms, intending to just carry her up the stairs himself. It also puts his face right level with her neck, and he nuzzles in briefly.

"Yours," he agrees. "Stinking or not. Preferably not."

Probably unsafe, wet as they are, but he won't drop her. Jill breathes out a soft laugh, leaning in to brush her lips against his temple through wet hair.

"Oh, preferably not stinking, but I'll keep you anyway."

She's precious cargo in his arms, boosting her up and putting a strong hand along her thigh to prompt her to wrap her legs around his waist, and he starts up the stairs.

"How very kind and generous of my lady," he murmurs.

Her thighs squeeze him, and she presses close. She's eager to get them both warmed up. Their wet clothes don't deter her from being affectionate, fingers pushing his hair away from his eyes.

"Nothing would make me not want to keep you."

Clive tromps up the stairs, quiet as he can be, dripping all the way. It feels nice to have her pressed up against him, weight fully against his chest. He gets a hard-on with a speed that would put a teenage boy to shame. She smells nice. Everything about her is nice.

"Mmm. Will you get in the bath with me?"

"If you'll let me wash you," she replies. "Can you keep your hands to yourself long enough for me to do that?"

She gives him a look, amused but skeptical.

"I'll let you," he says, shifting her weight to one arm so he can reach for the light switch in their room. "I'll do my best on the rest."

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