Feeling a bit shivery, he watches her fill up the bathtub, carefully adjusting the spin of the two hot and cold main taps at the far end, running her paw under the water frequently to try and test that what she sees is what she's getting. Bathrooms always seem a little cold to him, all that tiling and waterproof stuff not quite as warm as you'd like it to be.
Angel has adopted him, or at least now she's his official guardian and caretaker or something, and the proceedings for the full thing are underway. A lot of stuff just sort of happened, and for some of it he doesn't really quite understand the exact details, but that also means that a lot of stuff is still happening, some for the first time. Such as taking a bath with someone else.
As he watches her, memories of his old mother running him a bath and helping him wash his fur come drifting back to mind. That had been before she'd taken up drinking. Tears begin to blur his vision. After that she'd been too busy with that bottle of amber liquid, at first very classy bottles with complicated labels that he liked to look at, full of seals and raised embossed patterns and little works of art, from which she would carefully decant just a fingers depth, make that two.
But soon it was just cheap bottles with plain black or white stickers, and he had to try his best to fill up the tub himself, always too hot or too cold, and stretch for that point on his own spine right between the shoulder-blades where the fur was longest and the most grease collects. He couldn't ever quite reach it right, no matter how much he scrubbed. He'd tried asking her, but she was too much in love with the drinking to spare much for him anymore.
Since they've never done this before, Angel is busy making sure the temperature of the water is just right for him, not hot enough to scald but still hot enough that the heat won't drain out with time and he'll catch his death of cold. "Perfect," she eventually concludes, as she dips her paw into the water, "just the right temperature, and not too deep either."
As a finishing touch she empties the remaining dregs of a bottle of Liquescent Lavender into the tub, already fully dominated by clumps of bubbles and suds. The scented oil is a glissading purple concoction that she likes to use to smell pretty on special occasions, so she's not sure how a wolf boy will feel about it, but hey, it's just this once. He looks like he could do with some extra-clean and just about anything else he can get.
"Your bath's ready little one!" Angel exclaims as she turns to face him, then she notices how upset he looks. "Are you feeling okay honey?" she asks him, sounding concerned.
The little wolf sniffs. "I'm okay miss, I was just remembering when my mother used to get a bath ready for me just like you did... well, that was before she...." he trails off.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Angel replies solemnly, before kneeling down to make sure they're both at the same height, and placing her paws on his shoulders, in a gesture of reassurance.
"I was wondering," Leo stammers, "I was wondering if you could... maybe..." He begins to blush, a slight discoloration barely visible around the eyes beneath thin puppy fur that hasn't thickened out yet as it would for an older wolf. "...never mind, I'm fine."
Angel startles him by asking. "Would you like me to sit by the side of the tub, while you have your bath? I could keep an eye on you, in case you need help or something."
Somehow she's guessed what he wanted to say. It's remarkable, but he finds it deeply reassuring. How many people, outside of family, can ever guess just precisely what you're thinking?
"Yeah, I'd, uh, really like that, but are you sure?" He's blushing brighter, she thinks, but at least he looks a lot happier now.
"Of course I'm sure love! I'm always going to be here to help you."
She gives his headfur a friendly ruffle. Ick, greasy! Liquescent Lavender is starting to look like it might not be overkill here after all.
Because it's someplace to start, a necessary first step if they're going to do it this way, she helps him remove his clothes, tugging them up over his head and letting him get used to the idea of someone who's no longer a stranger seeing him like this. He has fur, after all, it's not a big deal,but it can be embarrassing to have to show yourself to someone else, even if they're family now, sort of. She tosses his T-shirt in an overhand lob across the room and gets it mostly into a large wicker washing basket, or at least enough that it falls in under its own weight.
With his shorts she's a better shot, and makes a three-pointer, which seems to amuse him, acting as a distraction from the undressing.
After Leo tests the water with his paw, the conventional formality, she helps him to clamber into the tub, the lip of which is considerably high off the ground in comparison to him. He's still really kind of short, in fact, but she can easily imagine a considerable growth spurt is waiting for him in his immediate future, the sort that makes you gawky and a bit clumsy for a while, simply because you're getting so much taller so much faster than ever before.
The tub is a slightly silly thing, old and big, metal with white enamel over it and decorative claws as supports at each of the corners, what they call lions-claws despite emboldened attempts to rid the language of such divisive slang. Up-cycled, or maybe just re-cycled.
Outside, through the window, it is dark and night, although the light of street-lamps creeps in, as does the cold night air. "Got to have the window open just a little bit," Angel explained to him to start with, "otherwise the steam builds up. There's a mesh to keep out moths and insects."
A little warm water can make up for a lot of initial shivers, and despite the dark outside it is now steamy and brightly white within. The tub may cool a little more swiftly than a modern built-in, but the addition of a shower-head on a coiled steel hose makes it easy to add more water and keep things warm. He was a little embarrassed at first, but, well, that thing with the bubbles being all handily in the way, that only happens in movies, right? He's kind of dirty, and clearly suds will only last so long against serious ground-in fur grease.
The free-standing nature of the tub necessitates a few extras, in this case a wooden stool to help get in and out and a curtain-like pull back drape-cloth attached to the roof to prevent splashing. Angel sits on the stool and does her best to clean his back with a sort of scrubbing sponge, shaped into a series of faux-organic ridges that supposedly boast benefits of exfoliation and all manner of other cleansing virtues. Personally she thinks it looks a bit like one of those old scrubbing boards that people used to work the laundry up against next to the sink, but form follows function and this seems to be doing its job well, working in the suds.
Leo sits still and lets her scrub, because frankly, he's not sure what response is the most socially appropriate for letting a lioness scrub your back, assuming there even is one. Angel has fewer hang-ups and after a while she starts to happily hum a tune under her breath.
It's like a less creepy version of something he heard once on YouTube.
"What's that?" he asks, moved to say something by the haunting but beautiful harmony.
"What's what dear?"
"That song you're humming."
She laughs, or its feline equivalent, not yelpy like a canine, but a deep rich rumble from the chest. "It's just something my mum used to sing to me when she gave me and my sister a bath! That was really long ago now, I'd almost forgotten."
"It's really nice. Mum never sang to me ever," Leo compliments her, not a complaint, just a fact.
"I can sing to you anytime you want, Leo. Anytime," promises Angel. "It might not be the greatest singing ever though, but I'll try."
Leo smiles slightly, just for the acknowledgment. "I'd like that."
"Okay, gonna do your hair next, honey. Close your eyes!"
She soaks his hair with warm water using the shower-hose, then pours a little shampoo into her palms with the water and froths it up a bit before working it gently into his scalp with the tips of her fingers, careful to keep claws retracted and not go too hard. This is the best way to do it, so as to get the soap down between the follicles and remove the dirt. Leo sheds a little wolf fur in the process, she can see it in the washed off suds against the white of the foamy bubbles, but it's not anything too serious, no more than she'd expect.
Based on her memories of how her own mother used to do it, she takes the soap dish and fills it up with warm water, to rinse off her fingers, and aid in mixing up the shampoo. She has to admit it works, and she recalls her mother sometimes arranging an impromptu hair wash for her just over the sink, not even using the shower at all, and the warm feeling of circulation under the skin as her scalp was massaged. Leo, however, definitely needs a full body scrub, after a considerable level of casual neglect.
Done, she empties the soap dish by pouring it over his head, reminding him once again to close his eyes against the sting of the shampoo. More stray fur sluices off and she knows she's going to have to clean out the fur-trap which has been retro-fitted onto the underside of the tub. She has no idea how they handled that sort of thing when the it was first made, but imagines it probably involved pouring in scouring crystals and boiling water, or something else of an efficient and environmentally destructive nature.
Angel gives him another quick once over with the scrubbing sponge, which is definitely starting to have an effect. Another two or three regular baths, and he may begin to approach something that could pass for clean in civilized society. She rinses him off thoroughly with the shower-head to try and get him as warm and relaxed as possible.
"Are you ready to get out?" she encourages him. In a couple of years he'll just want to stay in there and use up all the hot water, but for now he probably view an extended scrub as a bit of a chore, any enjoyment of her musical prowess aside.
Leo nods. Okay, standing up naked, not awkward at all. He rises slowly from the suds, wanting to avoid slipping or anything because that would just be one thing too far, but before he knows it Angel has a huge warm towel wrapped around him and is drying him off a piece at a time.
She must have a heated towel rail. He smiles at her as she works the towel up into his fur, getting him dry with an efficiency born of considerable practice. She smiles happily back.
That went well, thinks Angel. We didn't even flood the bathroom. Mum would be proud!
On impulse, she kisses him on the forehead, like her mum used to do for her and her sister after they were dried off from the tub. "You're a good kid," she exclaims, in answer to a question he didn't ask. He bobs his head slightly under the pressure and again develops a faint blush, but doesn't disagree. "Let's get you to bed. I'll tuck you in and read to you for a bit."
"Could you read me the story from Tales of the Animal Kingdoms? The one about the wolf knight and the feline angel?"
"Sure thing. That story happens to be one of my favourites now." She ties the towel taut around his waist, twisting the corners into a temporary knot. "Your surcoat, sir knight."
She takes hold of Leo's paw and leads him out of the bathroom, turning out the light after them, and trusting to the night breeze off the street to dry the tiles in their absence.
