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magog_83Written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vensre’s kinkmeme prompt: Arthur/Merlin, clean kink. Not requirements, just a few ideas to inspire you: post-bath ogling; soft, sweet-scented hair and clean lickable skin; ritual bathing or handwashing; Arthur manipulating Merlin into taking a bath (possibly by getting him too dirty not to bathe) because he loves to see him clean; Merlin washing Arthur's face and arms with a hot or cool wet cloth as comfort, or just to feel good; getting soapy in the bath and sliding their skin together...
Er… except my version is distinctly PG rated AT BEST.
Anywho, this one is for Ven, a.k.a Inspector Clouseau, who guessed it was me even though I was being TOTALLY SUBTLE and secret and anonymous and wearing a comedy beard and dark glassesand even though I wrote in the present tense.
Clean
“I think you do this on purpose,” Merlin says, trailing Arthur into his chambers like a wet cat, all shuffling steps and frowns as his sodden clothes cling to him.
And Arthur almost says yes, he does - only not for the reasons Merlin thinks. But instead he just shrugs off his wet tunic and laughs, normal, says, “Honestly, Merlin, I have more important things to do than dream up ways to annoy my manservant.”
Merlin scowls at him but it’s not a real scowl. Arthur has seen those, too often accompanied by arguments over who’s going first and why it is simply not acceptable for Merlin to put himself at risk for Arthur. This time, Merlin is scowling because he is wet and cold and because he didn’t want to go on the hunt in the first place, because he told Arthur it would rain and Arthur wouldn’t listen. So Arthur ignores it, tells Merlin to fetch him a clean shift while he’s waiting for the maids with the bathwater, and Merlin does – muttering all the while about stubborn Princes and black clouds as the rain beats on the window pane and the fire burns brightly in the hearth.
It doesn’t take long for the water to arrive – he is the Prince after all – and Arthur is only too happy to discard the rest of his clothes and sink into the heat of it, pretending he doesn’t see the way Merlin politely averts his eyes, cheeks pink, but keeps sneaking little glances like he sneaks sips of Arthur’s wine at dinner. It’s almost perfect, Arthur thinks, listening to the sound of the rain, the crackle of the fire and Merlin as he moves quietly about the room, picking up the discarded clothing, drifting closer and closer to the fireplace until his skin glows almost gold in the reflected light. In the gently steaming water Arthur drags the soft soap over his skin and watches Merlin as he slowly strips away the layers of mud and sweat and cold, taking away the marks of training and patrol and the hunt until there is no Prince left, only Arthur. Merlin waits, but at Arthur’s word he comes forward, eyes down, and jug in hand to pour the water over Arthur’s head as he leans forward, head bowed and eyes tight shut so that all he feels is Merlin’s warmth and the heat cascading over him.
And then he’s done, stepping out into rosy firelight, wrapping himself in the blanket Merlin holds out for him and waiting until it will sound casual enough, until he can say “you can use it too, if you like,” and not sound like it was what he wanted all along. Merlin looks surprised, like he always does, and pleased and Arthur almost forgets to look away until Merlin pauses, awkward, one arm out of his shirt already and ears red. So Arthur makes sure to heave an exasperated sigh, to roll his eyes and turn around, exaggerated, discarding his blanket and pulling on loose trousers and a worn shift, and by the time he is done, Merlin is in the water, soft splashes mixing with little contented sighs as he tries to get all of himself under at once - an impossible task, Arthur knows.
“Here, idiot,” Arthur says, scooping up the soap where it has fallen on the flagstones by the tub and dropping it into Merlin’s hands, “Make sure you wash behind your ears this time.”
Merlin’s too comfortable even to glare, just looks at Arthur from half-lidded eyes and begins to lather the soap, slowly and like it’s too much trouble, soaping along his pale arms, streaks of mud disappearing under white and the scent of lye, and then dipping his hands beneath the water, washing goosebumps from his legs, from his bony knees that stick out of the water, however much he shifts and moves. And then awkward, as he reaches around his neck, brow furrowed with effort until Arthur finds himself moving forward and dropping to his knees beside him.
“Let me,” he says, voice gruff and Merlin slides forward, knees bent and head tipped as Arthur takes the soap and smooths it over his nape, hands strong and steady as he traces the top of his spine and feels the muscles shift beneath his palms. “Head too,” he says,“I think there might be something living in there,” and Merlin grumbles a little at that, manages a half-hearted, “I do wash you know,” before he breaks off, spluttering as Arthur pours the full jug of water over him, running soapy hands through his dark hair until it sticks up every which way, until Merlin is blinking his eyes rapidly and trying to duck away. So Arthur relents, pours water until it runs clean and Merlin’s hair lies wet and flat like an otter’s pelt against his scalp, his ridiculous ears even more noticeable like this. And then Merlin shakes his head, like the cat Arthur thought he resembled when he first came in, laughing when Arthur recoils a little too late.
“Got you,” says Merlin, sleepily, sunk low in the water once more, head propped on one hand on the edge of the tub.
And the thing is, Arthur likes him like this. He likes him warm and sleepy, all scrubbed pink skin and damp hair curling delicately against his nape, smelling of soap and herbs and that something that is indefinably Merlin. He likes that he can do this for him, that the smell of the stables and the smoke of the kitchens can be washed away as easily as the mud from patrol, until they are just themselves and there is no difference between them. And he likes that when he is warm and clean, Merlin will be too tired and comfortable to wind his way back through the cold passageways to Gaius’s chambers, and that he will stay. But most of all, Arthur likes waking in the night, buried under heavy wool blankets with Merlin sleep-warm beside him, the smell of soap, damp hair and fresh linen mixing with the scent of wood smoke as Arthur presses closer, breathes in sweet, clean skin and falls asleep to the sound of the rain and the gentle rise and fall of Merlin’s breathing.
THE END
vensre’s kinkmeme prompt: Arthur/Merlin, clean kink. Not requirements, just a few ideas to inspire you: post-bath ogling; soft, sweet-scented hair and clean lickable skin; ritual bathing or handwashing; Arthur manipulating Merlin into taking a bath (possibly by getting him too dirty not to bathe) because he loves to see him clean; Merlin washing Arthur's face and arms with a hot or cool wet cloth as comfort, or just to feel good; getting soapy in the bath and sliding their skin together... Er… except my version is distinctly PG rated AT BEST.
Anywho, this one is for Ven, a.k.a Inspector Clouseau, who guessed it was me even though I was being TOTALLY SUBTLE and secret and anonymous and wearing a comedy beard and dark glasses
“I think you do this on purpose,” Merlin says, trailing Arthur into his chambers like a wet cat, all shuffling steps and frowns as his sodden clothes cling to him.
And Arthur almost says yes, he does - only not for the reasons Merlin thinks. But instead he just shrugs off his wet tunic and laughs, normal, says, “Honestly, Merlin, I have more important things to do than dream up ways to annoy my manservant.”
Merlin scowls at him but it’s not a real scowl. Arthur has seen those, too often accompanied by arguments over who’s going first and why it is simply not acceptable for Merlin to put himself at risk for Arthur. This time, Merlin is scowling because he is wet and cold and because he didn’t want to go on the hunt in the first place, because he told Arthur it would rain and Arthur wouldn’t listen. So Arthur ignores it, tells Merlin to fetch him a clean shift while he’s waiting for the maids with the bathwater, and Merlin does – muttering all the while about stubborn Princes and black clouds as the rain beats on the window pane and the fire burns brightly in the hearth.
It doesn’t take long for the water to arrive – he is the Prince after all – and Arthur is only too happy to discard the rest of his clothes and sink into the heat of it, pretending he doesn’t see the way Merlin politely averts his eyes, cheeks pink, but keeps sneaking little glances like he sneaks sips of Arthur’s wine at dinner. It’s almost perfect, Arthur thinks, listening to the sound of the rain, the crackle of the fire and Merlin as he moves quietly about the room, picking up the discarded clothing, drifting closer and closer to the fireplace until his skin glows almost gold in the reflected light. In the gently steaming water Arthur drags the soft soap over his skin and watches Merlin as he slowly strips away the layers of mud and sweat and cold, taking away the marks of training and patrol and the hunt until there is no Prince left, only Arthur. Merlin waits, but at Arthur’s word he comes forward, eyes down, and jug in hand to pour the water over Arthur’s head as he leans forward, head bowed and eyes tight shut so that all he feels is Merlin’s warmth and the heat cascading over him.
And then he’s done, stepping out into rosy firelight, wrapping himself in the blanket Merlin holds out for him and waiting until it will sound casual enough, until he can say “you can use it too, if you like,” and not sound like it was what he wanted all along. Merlin looks surprised, like he always does, and pleased and Arthur almost forgets to look away until Merlin pauses, awkward, one arm out of his shirt already and ears red. So Arthur makes sure to heave an exasperated sigh, to roll his eyes and turn around, exaggerated, discarding his blanket and pulling on loose trousers and a worn shift, and by the time he is done, Merlin is in the water, soft splashes mixing with little contented sighs as he tries to get all of himself under at once - an impossible task, Arthur knows.
“Here, idiot,” Arthur says, scooping up the soap where it has fallen on the flagstones by the tub and dropping it into Merlin’s hands, “Make sure you wash behind your ears this time.”
Merlin’s too comfortable even to glare, just looks at Arthur from half-lidded eyes and begins to lather the soap, slowly and like it’s too much trouble, soaping along his pale arms, streaks of mud disappearing under white and the scent of lye, and then dipping his hands beneath the water, washing goosebumps from his legs, from his bony knees that stick out of the water, however much he shifts and moves. And then awkward, as he reaches around his neck, brow furrowed with effort until Arthur finds himself moving forward and dropping to his knees beside him.
“Let me,” he says, voice gruff and Merlin slides forward, knees bent and head tipped as Arthur takes the soap and smooths it over his nape, hands strong and steady as he traces the top of his spine and feels the muscles shift beneath his palms. “Head too,” he says,“I think there might be something living in there,” and Merlin grumbles a little at that, manages a half-hearted, “I do wash you know,” before he breaks off, spluttering as Arthur pours the full jug of water over him, running soapy hands through his dark hair until it sticks up every which way, until Merlin is blinking his eyes rapidly and trying to duck away. So Arthur relents, pours water until it runs clean and Merlin’s hair lies wet and flat like an otter’s pelt against his scalp, his ridiculous ears even more noticeable like this. And then Merlin shakes his head, like the cat Arthur thought he resembled when he first came in, laughing when Arthur recoils a little too late.
“Got you,” says Merlin, sleepily, sunk low in the water once more, head propped on one hand on the edge of the tub.
And the thing is, Arthur likes him like this. He likes him warm and sleepy, all scrubbed pink skin and damp hair curling delicately against his nape, smelling of soap and herbs and that something that is indefinably Merlin. He likes that he can do this for him, that the smell of the stables and the smoke of the kitchens can be washed away as easily as the mud from patrol, until they are just themselves and there is no difference between them. And he likes that when he is warm and clean, Merlin will be too tired and comfortable to wind his way back through the cold passageways to Gaius’s chambers, and that he will stay. But most of all, Arthur likes waking in the night, buried under heavy wool blankets with Merlin sleep-warm beside him, the smell of soap, damp hair and fresh linen mixing with the scent of wood smoke as Arthur presses closer, breathes in sweet, clean skin and falls asleep to the sound of the rain and the gentle rise and fall of Merlin’s breathing.
THE END
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 01:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 01:37 am (UTC)Anon? What anon?no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 01:43 am (UTC)I particularly like the description of Merlin's wet hair being like a otters pelt :)
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Date: 2009-12-04 01:46 am (UTC)*is not in anyway procrastinating*
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Date: 2009-12-04 02:18 am (UTC)Lovely story. :) ♥ ♥
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Date: 2009-12-04 04:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 07:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 12:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 10:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 10:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 10:39 pm (UTC)(although now I'm having a vision of Merlin waking up and saying "do you hear something?" and you popping out of the wardrobe to say, "hey guys, just carry on and ignore me...")
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Date: 2009-12-04 10:40 pm (UTC)Thank you!! For your lovely comment there and here. It was a gorgeous prompt to write so i'm happy you enjoyed it so much (and your icon is kind of appropriate and adorable too)
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Date: 2009-12-04 10:43 pm (UTC)Everytime I look at your icon, I have an involuntary reaction of YES I AM ACTUALLY :D
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Date: 2009-12-04 10:44 pm (UTC)Thank you for your comment!!!
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Date: 2009-12-04 10:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 10:48 pm (UTC)Thanks again for your comment!
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Date: 2009-12-04 10:55 pm (UTC)Anyway, thank you very much! I did feel a bit bad about it being PG (although me writing porn would be comedy in itself) so I'm happy to hear from you (and Ven) that it works anyway. It was a wonderful prompt and I'm hoping it may get another response yet :)
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Date: 2009-12-04 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 11:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 11:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-05 01:10 am (UTC)