fic: Rinse, Lather, Repeat (part b)

[leashy_bebes]

***

When Arthur wakes up in the morning to cool sheets and an empty bed, his first disappointed thought is oh, he's gone. And then, hang on, weren't we at his house? Then he registers the sound of the radio in another room, things clattering around. Arthur stretches and yawns, then spots his discarded jogging bottoms on the floor. After a moment's indecision, he pulls them on and follows the noise to the kitchen.

Merlin, wearing only a pair of boxers, is stirring something in a saucepan, a kettle steaming to one side. Arthur watches for a moment and then clears his throat.

"What's all this, then?" Arthur asks.

Merlin looks over his shoulder and smiles. "Well it was breakfast in bed, but you've scuppered that plan somewhat."

"Aw. Sorry about that," Arthur says, crossing the room to curl himself around Merlin. He's surprisingly warm for such a skinny thing, and Arthur kisses his shoulder, glancing into the pan.

Merlin pokes at the greyish yellow mass and says, "Scrambled eggs?" in an optimistic sort of tone.

Arthur laughs and nuzzles into the hair curling around Merlin's ear, pressing a kiss to the warm skin he finds there. "You're very sweet," he says. "But clearly a terrible cook."

Merlin turns and gives him a quick kiss, sleepy and somehow already familiar before Arthur raids the fridge for the ingredients for an omelette. He's aware of Merlin watching him for a bit, a quietly impressed expression on his face before he stirs himself and makes tea.

Over breakfast, Merlin asks casually, "So what are you doing today?"

Arthur shrugs. "Saturday, isn't it? Nothing."

"Not going to the football?"

"Nah. Spurs are away from home this weekend. Why? What did you have in mind?"

"Well, Gwen's gone home for the weekend, so I suggest lots of noisy, enthusiastic sex."

"Sounds like a plan," Arthur says seriously.

"Well, I'm glad you approve," Merlin says, just as sincere.

Not five minutes later, Arthur learns that when it comes to blowjobs at the kitchen table, Merlin's got enthusiastic covered, so all Arthur has to worry about is noisy.

***

"So, I've got a theory," Arthur says later, once they've washed, dressed, curled up in front of the telly and finally stopped bickering about whether to watch reruns of Top Gear, or something nerdy on the History channel.

"Hmm?"

"About that bath of yours."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Looks like it'd take two people quite easily," Arthur says.

Merlin laughs. "Sounds like a theory worth investigating."

"You mean you don't know already?" Arthur teases.

"Hey!" Merlin slaps his upper arm playfully. "I moved in here, what... Two weeks before I met you?"

"Alright, alright, point taken. So what do you reckon?"

"Possibly your best idea yet," Merlin says with an admirably straight face.

That's how they end up in Merlin's huge bath, with Arthur – despite all his protests – as the little spoon. The bath water is blue, laden with white bubbles courtesy of one of those Dorothy bars – "I feel like it brought us together," Merlin had said with an impish grin – and Arthur has to admit it's pretty divine. He imagines that's mostly to do with Merlin, as he lifts cupped handfuls of water and lets them pour down Arthur's chest. He presses warm kisses to the length of Arthur's throat and sometimes passes a comment on the terrible music coming from the little shower radio.

Arthur has tried getting amorous in the bathroom exactly twice. Once was in the showers at school after football and so doesn't count, while the other had resulted in heavy bruising and a shattered shower door. He sort of thinks he could get used to this, though, Merlin all wet and firm against his back, his fingers quick and clever wherever they choose to touch.

Arthur just closes his eyes and leans his head back against Merlin's shoulder, submitting to all the weird pastes and gels and scratchy things. Merlin seems determined to try out every Lush product in his bathroom, and that's a lot. Arthur had checked earlier. He draws the line though – or at least tries to – when Merlin starts washing Arthur's hair with what's obviously the same spicy shampoo he favours himself. Merlin just tuts at his protests and tells him not to be such a spoilsport. Arthur heaves a put-upon sigh but doesn't complain otherwise. He's starting to think Merlin wasn't lying about the magic hands.

"There," Merlin says, after he's carefully rinsed Arthur's hair with clean water. "Wasn't so bad, was it, you great baby?"

Arthur just hums and settles back against Merlin more comfortably.

Merlin noses into Arthur's wet hair and says conversationally, "You know, when you act like that, it doesn't do much for my self control."

Arthur laughs and turns his head to give Merlin a quick kiss. "Is that really meant to be a deterrent?"

"You're a tart," Merlin says lightly, scratching his fingernails gently up and down Arthur's chest. His hand dips lower, nail sketching a circle around one pebbled nipple.

"And your dirty talk is uninspiring," Arthur teases, missing the supercilious tone he'd been aiming for when his voice wobbles a bit. Merlin chuckles warmly and nips at his earlobe, running his palm over Arthur's chest, then lower. Merlin's mood seems to shift from playful to intent in a second, and before Arthur quite knows what's happening he's been coaxed into a long, lewd kiss, one of those that promises much more to come.

Arthur feels lazy and boneless and absurdly happy, so he just lets Merlin do as he pleases for now. That apparently includes a wicked nip to his lower lip just as Merlin's hand splashes into the water to palm Arthur's cock. He was already stirring (because honestly, how could he not be?) but from just a few purposeful touches, Arthur finds himself so hard so fast that he's sure his head would be swimming if he were upright. As it is, he just pushes his hips up into Merlin's touch. He gasps when the water swirls with his movement, caressing all the places Merlin isn't touching him, and only serving to emphasise the places he is.

Merlin laughs and nuzzles behind his ear, his free hand splayed wide on Arthur's chest, gentle pressure keeping him mostly still. Arthur can't help himself, wraps his hand around Merlin's wrist and urges him to move. Merlin only gives him a few firm strokes though, stopping much too soon and saying,

"Hey, lean forward."

"But – "

"Trust me."

Arthur grumbles but does as he's told. Merlin presses a sponge to the nape of his neck, water pouring first in a gush then in little trails down his back.

"You've got a really sexy back," Merlin says absently, mouthing the words to Arthur's wet skin.

"If we're quoting Justin Timberlake lyrics, I'm leaving," Arthur threatens emptily. Merlin just laughs and presses a kiss between his shoulder blades. He angles a hand between Arthur's chest and arm, palm pressed flat over the spot where his heart is pounding out rhythmic pleas for more. Short, blunt nails drag over his ribs and Arthur wriggles helplessly, choking out Merlin's name.

"S'okay. Just..." Merlin's fingers soothe over the skin he just scratched and Arthur grits his teeth.

"I swear, if you don't do something – God, anything – I am going to drown you in this sodding bathtub."

Merlin laughs, a bit shaky. "Anything, huh? That's a dangerous offer, Arthur."

"Well it's looking more and more like you're all talk," Arthur says challengingly. "So it's probably not that dangerous."

"We'll see," Merlin murmurs, his lips seeking out the soft skin behind Arthur's ear. "Cause if I've one complaint so far, it's that I haven't spent nearly enough time getting to grips – pun completely intended, by the way – with that lovely arse of yours."

"Oh, really?"

"Really," Merlin says heatedly. "Really, really. God, Arthur. You've got the most magnificent backside I've ever seen."

It should be silly. It is silly, really, but Arthur's no longer in any mood for games, and his mind is racing with thoughts of those long, artist's fingers pressing inside him. The bath's big enough that it's only the tiniest bit awkward for him to get his knees under himself and lean forward, grabbing at the opposite side of the bath. He's expecting the groan, the grope, even the bite, right on the curve of his arse. What he's not expecting is the tongue, wet and unmistakeable, sweeping through his cleft once, lingering as it passes – Jesus – right over his hole. Merlin stops then, still close enough for Arthur to feel his breath, hot and unsteady.

"If – " Arthur says, and his voice cracks. "If you're waiting for an objection, we'll be here a while."

He's expecting Merlin to laugh, because Merlin seems to take inordinate pleasure at laughing at Arthur when he shouldn't. Instead he gets a low, trembling groan and the tongue again, the same long, lingering lick. This time Merlin doesn't stop though, just does it again, and again, as if he fucking loves it, as if there's nothing in the world he'd rather be doing.

Merlin's fingers are biting into Arthur's thighs. Arthur's already imagining bruises like smudged fingerprints, lewd and obvious. Then Merlin points his tongue and jabs it against Arthur's hole, one tease after another, pointed little flickers of pleasure, and Arthur just wants him in, inside, now.

Coherent thought stops for a while. If he could give a damn right now, Arthur would be embarrassed at the way he's clinging to the edges of the bathtub, pushing back eagerly against Merlin. The water sloshes around, enough to make his cock ache for more, but nothing like enough to relieve any pressure. It's mad. Torture. Fucking brilliant.

"God. Out, out," Merlin demands suddenly. "We'll flood the bloody place otherwise."

Arthur has half a mind to refuse, but they've already sent a few sizeable waves onto the floor, and irate neighbours from downstairs with water pouring into their living room would definitely put a downer on things, so he lets Merlin steady him as he stands on shaky legs. Merlin sort of defeats the effort because when Arthur stands he's at just the right height to press a kiss and then a soft bite to the back of his thigh. Arthur honestly wobbles on his feet for a moment before he's out of the bath and Merlin's crowding him towards the door. The thump as Merlin falls to his knees behind Arthur is loud even over the sound of the bath draining.

Like this, Merlin has to set his hands on Arthur's arse, prising his cheeks apart and tilting his head to a better angle and that's – Jesus – his tongue is hot and wet, firm, insistent, and Arthur's reduced to an incoherent mess very, very quickly. There's a dark blue flannel bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, and it carries Merlin's distinctive scent, all spice and sweetness and Arthur buries his face in it, because it's that or let pleas and cries bounce off the tiles, echoing and loud and obviously desperate.

Arthur nearly bites through the flannel when the very tips of Merlin's thumbs slip into his hole, Merlin's tongue working between them, deeper, slick, and Arthur claws uselessly at the door. He stays upright only through a force of will, only because he really desperately doesn't want this to stop. When Merlin does pull back, it's only to bite along the curve of Arthur's arse, and his thumb slips inside so Arthur can't really complain.

Merlin does laugh then, shuddery and amused and he whispers something about oh, you like that. It seems pointless to argue and apparently silence is a virtue all of its own sometimes, because Merlin dives back to what he was doing almost immediately. Except this time, Arthur hears an unmistakeable rhythmic stroking, slapping noise and his head swims with the image – Merlin, on his knees, chin and mouth slicked with saliva as he licks his way into Arthur's arse, jerking himself off. He makes these little noises, desperate sounds that reverberate through Arthur's whole body, making his heart pound hard in his throat.

He turns his head away from the door and grits out, "I swear to God, if you come before you're inside me, I will hang you from the ceiling fan by your sodding ears."

"Oh, God," Merlin groans. "Bedroom, then."

"What? Fuck it, you want me to move?" Arthur demands a bit wildly.

"No condoms," Merlin explains, but he punctuates his explanation with a quick circle of his tongue around Arthur's rim.

"Christ, why don't you have anything in here, you idiot?" Arthur explodes.

"I live with a girl!" Merlin protests, getting to his feet and kissing the back of Arthur's neck. "I can't keep condoms in the bathroom."

For a moment Arthur just gapes at him, completely nonplussed. "Are you – that sentence makes no sense! Girls use condoms too, you know."

Merlin groans. "Please stop talking. I really don't want to think about Gwen and sex."

In between the bickering, they make it to Merlin's bedroom. Arthur throws himself down onto the bed and Merlin's on him in a second, pushing his legs apart to sprawl between them, coaxing Arthur to lift his knees to his chest and then he's back at it again, a smacking kiss and a flurry of little licks around his hole, and sweet merciful Jesus, Arthur doesn't think he's ever been with someone who was quite so shameless in his enjoyment of this act. Merlin's practically rutting against the sheets, and Arthur feels like warning him again but he can't find the words.

Instead he reaches down, his fingers brushing Merlin's briefly, tangling, before he curls his fingers into the meat of his arse. He only meant to hold himself open, but when Merlin moves back, breathing raggedly, Arthur can't resist pushing a finger inside himself. It's easy, wet, and Arthur's distantly amazed that he's so relaxed, so ready, just from Merlin's mouth. Then Merlin's swearing under his breath in the instant before his finger joins Arthur's. It's longer, slimmer than his own, and Arthur can feel the difference inside him, and that is just... Bloody brilliant, is what it is. Merlin pushes deeper, crooking his finger, and Arthur moans, low and pitiful, then again when Merlin's tongue laps around their fingers.

"Merlin," Arthur groans, begs. "God – please."

"Okay," Merlin says, and he actually sounds bit regretful as he lifts his head. His face is flushed, his lips red, smears of spit on his chin and cheeks. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and scrambles up the bed to root through the bedside cabinet.

Arthur lets himself sink back into the pillows, watching through a haze of lust as Merlin slicks his fingers and works them into Arthur again, purposeful this time instead of teasing, but still fucking fantastic, the thickness of two fingers and then three such a bloody relief after the not-nearly-enough-but-still-amazing feel of Merlin's tongue. Tangling his fingers in the sheets, Arthur sets his feet flat to the mattress and lifts his hips, forcing Merlin's fingers deeper, shocking an appreciative curse out of the other man.

Merlin breathes out shakily as he withdraws his fingers. "God. I'd ask if you were ready, but I don't think I've ever seen anyone more ready."

Arthur just laughs and watches Merlin fumble with the condom. Eventually he gets frustrated and pushes himself up on his elbows, plucking the packet from Merlin's apparently nerveless fingers and tearing it open. Then he thinks, why the fuck not, and rolls the condom down over Merlin's dick, taking the opportunity to return a bit of the teasing, watching Merlin's eyes roll back in his head, his teeth clamping down so hard on his lower lip it goes bloodless.

Showing a bit of mercy, Arthur falls back onto the bed, arms and legs splayed wide, inviting. Merlin runs his hands the length of Arthur's legs, nudging his thighs wider and staring for a long moment, wetting his lips as he trails his eyes over Arthur's body. Arthur shifts one leg, curling it around Merlin and nudging insistently at him. Merlin snatches up the lube and slicks his cock quickly, pushing at Arthur's legs until he curls them towards his chest again.

Then the head of Merlin's cock is sliding between Arthur's cheeks in a movement that can't be anything but deliberate, judging by the devilish glint in Merlin's eyes as he smirks down at Arthur.

"Do it," Arthur insists, and Merlin hums, low and pleased. When he presses inside at first it's slow, but it still punches the breath out of Arthur's lungs and he grabs at Merlin's arm, unintentionally catching his eye as he does so.

It's almost unbearably intimate, Merlin pressing inexorably deeper while he stares at Arthur like that, his eyes dark and wide, like he's taking it all in, committing it to memory. Arthur makes a pleading sound in a voice he barely recognises and Merlin pitches forward, straining to plant a kiss on Arthur's mouth. That movement is all it takes to get him deeper, all the way inside, his hips flush against Arthur's arse, and the pleasure ripples out through his body, only intensifying when Merlin gives a first shallow roll of his hips, out and then in again.

Arthur groans and rolls his head back into the pillows, tightening his grip on Merlin's forearm. "I said you – " he breaks off, swallowing audibly and trying to aim for a bit more of a cocky tone next time. "I said you were all talk."

"Oh yeah?"

Merlin shifts his weight and the next time he moves it's a hard, deep thrust, one that makes Arthur's toes curl, forces another of those desperate sounds out of him. Arthur opens his mouth to blurt out some kind of encouragement – except it'd probably have come out I'll rip your bloody head off if you stop – but Merlin doesn't need it, just repeats the movement, again, again, again, something wild in his expression now. Arthur realises that he's just lying there a bit like a landed fish, and he pushes back, getting a pleased, shocked shout in return.

Then they're moving together, Arthur hooking one leg around Merlin, their bodies locking together so perfectly that Arthur can't quite believe this is the first time. Where's the fumbling, where's the awkwardness? Nowhere to be seen. Merlin leans forward and kisses Arthur again, wet and dirty, his arms tense and trembling to take his weight as he fucks into Arthur's body over and over.

"God, you feel amazing," Merlin breathes against his mouth, his voice low and somehow tranquil, totally at odds with the building heat in the way he's moving. Arthur bites his lip against a smirk and deliberately squeezes himself around Merlin's cock. It obviously stuns Merlin, judging by the way his jaw quite literally drops, but it feels fucking amazing too, and Arthur does it again, lifting his head to nip at Merlin's lower lip.

Merlin reaches a hand between their bodies, and Arthur's tempted to stop him, because he's fairly sure he won't last a minute once Merlin gets so much as a finger on him, but fuck, he has been hard for what feels like ages, on the verge of coming for almost as long. He just rakes a hand through Merlin's hair, still wet from the bath, clumps of it thick around his fingers, and tries to breathe. Merlin's hand is hot, and Arthur's cock already so slick that the movement is easy. It's not desperate though, not the frantic race to a conclusion that Arthur was expecting, but a long, slow squeeze from base to head, once, twice, and then Arthur blurts out,

"Please, Jesusfuck, please, let me – make me – "

It seems that's what Merlin was waiting for because his hand speeds rapidly, almost in time with his increasingly erratic thrusts, and he's whispering, "Yeah, come on, do it, come on, sweetheart," and Arthur fucking hates pet names, but Merlin's hitting just the right angle, stroking just the right way, and he can't even think about complaining. Arthur's not sure what it is that's the final straw, whether it's the kiss that's more just Merlin's teeth scraping over his lip, or if it's a dizzying inward thrust, or if it's a wicked twist of Merlin's wrist. It doesn't matter because he's coming so hard he sees white blurs in his vision and he cries out in a way he's never even heard himself before, verging on high-pitched, every part of his body screaming in pleasure, Merlin's breathless, "oh fuck, fuck, oh," the only other thing he's aware of.

His leg slips limply from Merlin's waist and he just sprawls there, listening to Merlin's breath hitch before his patience snaps and he pushes into Arthur again. Arthur just lets him, each movement setting off aftershocks of pleasure – too much, too soon, but fucking brilliant nonetheless – watching Merlin take his pleasure. Everything in his usually mobile face goes utterly still when he comes, and Arthur knows that if he had more than two brain cells functioning right now, he'd make a joke about slack-jawed Welsh yokels. Either that or he'd say something terrible and embarrassing, like pointing out how Merlin is actually kind of beautiful.

He considers revising that opinion when Merlin collapses onto him with an oof, hot and awkward and surprisingly heavy. He also considers pushing Merlin aside and stretching the ache out of his folded leg, but so much for being functional after sex. He settles for passing his fingers through Merlin's hair – not stroking – until Merlin shifts, just enough to pull out of Arthur. It stings just a little and Arthur shuts his eyes, hears Merlin dealing with the condom, and then feels the soft brush of tissues over his stomach, cleaning him up.

Merlin lets out a long, happy noise when he curls himself around Arthur, balanced precariously on a narrow sliver of the mattress.

" 'kay?" Merlin asks.

"Mmm-hmm," Arthur murmurs.

Merlin laughs into Arthur's shoulder.

"What?"

"Y'sound like a big cat or something."

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur says comfortably.

It's a long time before they stir again. Arthur dozes, and he thinks Merlin probably does too, but he couldn't be sure. Eventually, they pick themselves up, have a quick wash and as Arthur's dressing, he says, "Come on. Let's go back to mine."

"But, but," Merlin says. "My bath."

"My double bed," Arthur counters. "My Sky TV. My ability to keep condoms wherever the hell I want to."

"Well, when you put it like that..."

"That, and I'm going to introduce you to the joys of massage oil you don't have to melt first."

Merlin laughs and kisses him. "Where's the fun in that?"

***

And that's it, really. Arthur graduates that year with a first class degree, Merlin a year later with a lower second class ("It's different in art, Arthur." "It's not. I'm cleverer than you." "You're a creative wasteland.").

Turns out Merlin might have been right, because he scraped by on one-off freelance stuff at first. Then his work was noticed by a publishing house and he was snapped up and now he gets to illustrate kids' books to his heart's content for what he openly and often thinks is a ridiculous amount of money. Arthur privately thinks that it's just a nice, reasonable amount to get by on. Privately, because money (or attitudes to money) is one thing that often kicks off the more serious of their tiffs.

Arthur works for his father for a couple of years, but he bloody hates it. Then Gwen meets a guy called Lance, who's one of those wide-eyed idealistic types that Arthur can't really bitch about anymore, not after dating Merlin for going on three years. Somehow, Arthur's not quite sure how, but he and Lance end up running a business consultancy, overhauling the ethical and environmental practices of large corporations. It's not exactly brilliant money, but Lance is good company, and Arthur feels like it's actually useful, and sometimes it makes Merlin look at him like he's something a little bit wonderful.

He and Merlin still bicker a lot (will be arguing over which pipe and slippers belong to which of them when they're ninety, according to Morgana) but the fuck-to-fight ratio is pretty damn good. A year after Arthur goes into business with Lance, he and Merlin will get a place together, like proper adults, with a mortgage and council tax and a TV licence and all that boring shit. Merlin will assure his mother that's absolutely as conventional as it's going to get, and Arthur will be faintly surprised that a bit of paperwork will be all it really takes to bring his father around.

They're still working on a definitive answer about whether Lush or Body Shop is best for getting clean (and dirty, and clean again).


the end