"This is, by far, the most cliché thing you've ever made me do," Laurel whines, stripping down.
"Oh, hush. It'll help," Nyssa moans back, slinging her arms around Laurel's stomach and pressing her own bare, goose-bumped chest against Laurel's pale white back.
"Yeah, yeah, okay, I heard you the first ten times."
"Well, if you'd stopped telling me that it's sappy and cliché, we'd already be warm and wet."
"Who said we weren't already?" Laurel chortles; Nyssa could probably feel her breasts bounce.
"I'm certainly not warm."
"I can fix that," Laurel coos, tilting her head around - an attempt at a kiss that Nyssa dodges. Laurel grumbles in annoyance, only to get a stern, expectant look back as Nyssa pops the bath bomb into the tub.
"In," she orders, pointing into the tub and turning on their "Laurel Needs to Find Some Chill" playlist - a gift from Felicity.
Laurel obliges, moving slowly enough to dangle her legs over the sides of the tub without much effort or pain. The shoulder injury was still wearing on her, and having to hold herself up like this was no help.
Nyssa slips into the tub behind her, stroking Laurel's hair and gently urging her to lean back before she reaches down Laurel's torso to her pelvis and starts on one of her - absurdly blissful - massages.
Soon it'll be a massage only in name. That's what I'm looking forward to.
"Rain came pouring down when I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe..."