one last time

v

You looked down at Hans, nuzzled snug into your chest.

"You've turned my shirt into a rag, love. You also smell like vomit. How about I run you a bath? Your tea is probably cold, I could make you a mug of peppermint tea instead. I think that would help ease your upset stomach," you suggested.

"That would be nice."

"Then I'm gonna need you to move so I can get that started for you."

Hans huffed and reluctantly shuffled out of your arms, scooching backwards to rest against the shower door again. Hugging his knees into his chest, he adopted a vacant stare in the direction of the door.

You rose from the floor and promptly got to work- you didn't want to keep him waiting alone with his thoughts.

After placing a record on the turntable and a kettle on the stove, you rolled up your sleeves to run a bath. You had picked Vivaldi's Four Seasons for tonight's listening pleasure- no matter how hard you tried to get Hans to groove with your 8-track mixtapes or CDs from your growing collection, he simply had a soft spot for classical.

Hans always had to have the best of the best. His tastes were exquisite, and he truly believed the two of you deserved only the highest quality of anything and everything (even the simplest of necessities like toothbrush holders and brown sugar- he special ordered that from somewhere very far away when he learned you were into baking). This meant his bathroom cupboards were filled to the brim with bath salts, bath oils, and bubble baths of every scent and color. He had given you the task of stocking the shelves after realizing you were the only person who actually used the clawfoot tub. Hans only took five minute showers to wind down at the end of every night. Still, his shampoo was unjustly expensive and his aftershave practically smelled of money. He always smelled so good. He smelled like home to you.

You mixed up a cinnamon and vanilla themed bath concoction and let the giant tub fill while one Vivaldi movement flowed into another. You removed the kettle from the stove and found some peppermint tea bags stashed in the back of the bar cabinet. Haphazardly chucking one into a mug and filling it with hot water, you turned up the volume on the sound system and returned to find Hans sitting exactly the way you had left him.

"Do I need to pick you up and toss you in there myself?"

You handed him the tea and he took a measly sip, still staring off into space. You imitated the crack of a radio.

"Ground control to Major Hans!" you waved a hand in front of his face.

He looked up at you, gulping back his tea.

"Don't chug that- it's still hot," you warned him as he set the now empty mug down on the stone floor. Too late.

You stopped the running bathwater and music echoed throughout the room.

"May I have this dance?" you bowed with a hand outstretched, offering to help Hans up from the floor.

"Anything for you, m'lady," he accepted your hand and stood towering over you.

Good God is he ever tall.

His other hand came to rest on the small of your back.

And are his hands ever big.

You raised your arm to wrap around his shoulder and neck, pressing him closer. Beginning to sway softly to the music, you worked at removing his black suit jacket. Shrugging it off to the floor, he twirled you around in an effortless tango. Loosening his tie and opening up the collar of his shirt, you snaked your hands in to rest on his bare chest.