It was simply more sensible, given the awkwardness of reaching one's own back in the first place, and especially given the muscular problems he'd been having earlier. Soap in hand, Raine regarded his turned back contemplatively. She was not nearly so artful as he was, and discarded near immediately the idea of trying to turn his own tricks back on him.

Instead she was artless, focused on the practicality of the task at hand, heedless of how close it took her to him. Raine reached up, starting at the nape of his neck, shifting the trailing ends of his hair aside where necessary. From there she worked her way down, soaping as she went, her touch firm and even. There was nothing particularly special about it, save the occasional unintentional brush of contact when Raine reached back up or leaned, but when she judged she was nearly done, she paused, and did give in to one tiny piece of temptation, trailed her hand lightly down the line of his spine. Then she shook her head, amused at herself, and finished what she'd been doing. "There," she said, when she had done. "That ought to do."