Water sloshes around them as they begin again. He thrusts, she rolls her hips to meet his motions, and the liquid heat between them builds once more. There is nothing here. Nothing but he and she. Nothing but their breaths, their touches, and the sound of water.

She's trapped like this, staring into his eyes. Despite her own being so heavy-lidded, she cannot look away from him--not even whilst they kiss. It's a sparse spattering of kisses, the smearing of lips and breath, sweetness on her tongue from the paints they'd played with. The paints on his chest smear against hers, covering her in pastel colors, bleeding into the red he'd painted onto her. A red seeping down her neck and chest like blood, no thanks to the heat of the room and her sweat.

Speech is one of those higher functions lost to her. She instead of verbalizing anything, she touches him while riding him. Fingers and palms smooth along his shoulders, the back of his neck, his cheeks. Her touches are fervent, trembling.