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bakerstreet2018-07-30 08:04 pm
thelegendof) wrote in bakerstreet2018-07-30 08:04 pm
Entry tags:
It's sex. Sex in the water. Don't try to make it all flowery.
the intimate bathing meme;   |
Grooming is an important part of many species' rituals. It keeps them clean, healthy, and content. And a good bath? It can change the whole tone of a day from terrible to relaxed and blissful. But nudity is sometimes viewed as a weakness - and it is almost always sexualized - so bathing is often kept a private matter. If you do share these moments with someone, they're almost always a significant other or a sexual partner. Like you're doing now. Whether it be after a battle or after sex (or before sex or DURING sex, even), the two of you are going to get clean. Be sure to help each other out with that, won't you? After all, there are places on the back that just can't be reached... HOW TO PLAY:
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Ambrose Sinclair | original (vampire) | m/m for ship
also beware, but I can only write flowery, I would apologize but it would be insincere. }
no subject
Restorative is the intention, as Ambrose has his first dress rehearsal of a new production. A bath, topped with velvet suds like snowy peaks, the air of the bathroom scented with jasmine and honey, awaits his return. It is the very least Ambrose deserves, but Magnus hopes it will be well received. He has, after all, run it himself, lit the candles, and shepherded the pups out for the remainder of the night.
It's perfectly timed, the hot water turned off just as downstairs, the door opens and shuts, marking Ambrose's return. ]
i'm? crying?? ? it's not bath water it's just all my tears
As it stands here and now, Ambrose dwells on land and may be perfectly comfortable in that fact, he does so very much enjoy a relaxing lounge in warm scented waters, and the astounding commodities in this wonderful era make it so incredibly exciting to do so. He hasn't planned such an indulgence for himself tonight; he has spent no more than half an hour with his loup, enough time to rise (with no more than two nudgings! Which you know means Ambrose was full of urgency tonight), throw on some very casual clothing, conduct a brief exchange concerning the test proof of their invitations for the engagement party, before Ambrose was finally gone into the night.
This is the first dress rehearsal to succeed without fail or interruption that Teatro Immortale has conducted since its establishment, for the record, news that Ambrose is so very relieved to be given the honor to announce once he has returned, hours later. It might have risked becoming an even later arrival, as the production and cast was so thrilled that they considered an impromptu outing to celebrate.
Ambrose does not press his luck often, and he would not dare appear ungracious to Lady Fortune for what he can only assume is an engagement gift directly from the heavens. Another night, another time. Tonight, he is ready to take a decanter of blood with his amor and scrutinize card stocks until dawn paints the horizon in pastels.
In their foyer, the vampire pauses. So often is he greeted promptly when he has given Magnus forewarning to his returning home, and as he slides his bag from his shoulder to hang in the entryway here, he notes a significant lack of sound...and moreover, a particular sound that he finds curious. Something upstairs, something mechanical, and an echo that he can't quite place.
The floor is void of any presence, so Ambrose ascends the stairs to the second floor of their home, head atilt with curiosity as he goes.
...He catches a perfume that he associates so dearly with spring, sunlight and long ago memories. Ambrose follows with fascination until he catches sight of his fiancé's well-known form in a doorway, leans in to the grand bathroom. He has a childlike wonder on his face, in his smile, as he rests against the doorframe, taking in the scene before him: a readied bath presented in the gracious claw-footed tub, a small army of glowing candles, the lighting as carefully selected as the choice of aromas that swell the warm air. }
I pray I am not interrupting some sorely needed alone time...? { Magnus, drawing a bath for himself? It might be more likely that his companion would invite another blood-drinker into their home for a social visit... So then, what is this all about? }
are tears good to bathe in? they might be too salty. you'd pickle him. keep to milk.
When he turns, Ambrose is there, looking confused as only his fiancé can, as if the world has turned on it's head and he was the only one not notified. But of course this is not the case. This is just something new. If the natural, gentle smile that pulls at Magnus' lips doesn't settle him, perhaps his lycan's words will, or the tender embrace once the distance between the two of them is reduced.]
My congratulations on a successful rehearsal. I thought as you have worked so hard, we might start a new tradition? A bath would be just the thing to return to, after a long evening.
[ Or so he hopes. It is an assumption, based on all his knowledge of Ambrose, that he will enjoy two things without any prompting at all: an excuse to remain in bed, and if that doesn't present itself, the opportunity for a long luxurious bath. As he practically leapt out of bed at sundown, the other might be a better option tonight. ]
And I hope I have prepared it to your liking. I would like to consider myself an expert in your bathing habits but the proof is in the pudding, as they say. Would you like to try it?
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'A new tradition?' Magnus, mon étoile, you shouldn't have... { If this is exclusive to successful dress rehearsals, it may be a rare event for him... Of course, baths themselves will never be. Magnus pay prefer the efficiency of the shower, but put Ambrose in an environment with options, and he will take the bath, every time.
Ambrose can only pull himself from Magnus' hold firstly with giving a kiss brimming with gratitude, and next, knowing that he must go see to this wonderful presentation that has been done for him: every candle in the house possible (and perhaps a few more that he thinks did not exist in their home before?) alight here in the room, and thousands of little delicate pearls in mounds and slopes on the surface of the beautifully-scented water in this luxuriously-sized bath, its perfume lifting up to caress his face in steaming tendrils. }
It is absolutely perfect, if it was your handiwork. I can already tell. { Consider Magnus an expert, then; Ambrose will sign the licensure on the matter, he would officiate such a thing. Ambrose isn't entirely confident that he can draw this own baths for himself, from now on -- Magnus may have just doomed his prowess to pale for all eternity in comparison to the exacting detail his wolf commands under inspiration of love.
Well, Ambrose cannot just stand here and not do exactly as Magnus as suggests! His hands take the hem of his shirt, a long-sleeved tee worn only for appropriateness' sake to and from the theatre, knowing it would sit on a vanity all night while Ambrose fluttered between costumes. } How long were you planning this? Pray tell, I am very curious. { He's sliding the shirt off in one full, upright motion, curls spilling back down once he's free of the garment. Magnus is always a well-thought-out man, he takes time and much consideration. Was this a design drawn days ago, or did spontaneity finally strike the very point which Magnus stood? }
no subject
He steps forwards, as Ambrose removes his shirt, leaving his back exposed, shoulders golden in the candlelight, and Magnus cannot help but stand behind him, lean down and press a kiss to the top of his loves' arm, and then another high, and a third, his fingers gently stroking the curls that tumble downwards.]
I only thought of it this evening, mon chaton, once you had left. I thought you might want a little time to recharge?
[ Magnus hadn't even been thinking in terms of a good or bad rehearsal. Even when things went well, Ambrose would be tired, he would have spent all evening rushing from one costume change to the next, making sure the others were ready, helping them. He would need a little time to rest, to breathe and let himself unwind. For Ambrose, as Magnus well knew, that would always be up to his neck in hot, scented water.]
If you like it so much my love, I will always make your bath up for you when you come home. It would be my pleasure. If you would like it to be so, say the word.
[ It is no hardship on the lycan, it is no Herculean task. If it gives his love joy, then he will happily do it every night for the rest of their years together. There is no greater reward than knowing such a thing will bring a smile to Ambrose's face and ease the tension from his pale form.]
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And it is a lovely execution, Ambrose bends no truth about that. To assemble something Magnus does not usually care for for himself both in preference and in theory, there is much to be admired here before him. There was thought, through and through, from idea to the entire process. Does Magnus deserve praise? The highest, Ambrose would insist.
He pauses under the soft contact, unmistakable -- lips on his skin, dotting kisses as gentle and spare as a lazy rainfall. If Magnus' intention is to afford Ambrose some measure of relaxation, he may already be seeing his ideal result: the vampire's shoulders sink by measurable degrees as a sigh slips out of his lungs, almost vocal. In truth, the key aspect of his life that gives him the most comfort is simply returning to a place he can call home and find Magnus there within. A bath is nice, lovely in truth, but nothing compared to the simple presence his wolf.
His fingers seem even paler as they pinch at the fastening of his dark pants, lingering and quite distracted by the words being spoken so closely behind him, on lips that feel delightful on his skin, skin that nearly aches to feel those lips continue on in their absence to speak to him. } Not even married yet, and you would already have me put you to work? { A chuckle, a jest, almost purring. } Darling, you would outright spoil me. { Magnus would, knowingly and willingly, and Ambrose knows it. It's daunting only in that he has more than he could have dared to imagine in any iteration of life, so what more could he ask for?
...He can think of one thing, as he's working his pants open, pulling everything slowly free from his hips, letting gravity take over and settling them at his feet, already bared from his arrival home. (He really can't fault Magnus for still being touchy about shoes near the furniture, after that recent incident with his...beloved, eccentric friend.) Ambrose twists enough to look over his shoulder, letting his weight lean into Magnus, feeling clothing against the sensitive skin of his upper back. } If that is your goal, mon amor, then tell me: after a long night out, spent away from seeing you, am I meant to sit here in solitude? { Ambrose finally turns the full way around, stepping free of the discarded clothes, hands drawing up along his companion's chest, smoothing the fine cotton shirt with his careful hands...hands that test the tail edges of his cravat. } Or is there some way I can convince you to enjoy your beautiful work with me?
{ If Ambrose looks all reserved and calm, it's all that warm up from work -- he is about mere moments from losing all of that composure and stepping right into this tub, regardless of Magnus' answer to this request of his. He can feel the warmth radiating up from the water, carrying the beautiful perfume with it, and these bubbles, while abundant, are not going to last forever. }
no subject
It is not work if it delights you. No more than holding you or making love to you is work. To spoil you would be my delight, my purpose and my honour. You know it to be the case.
[And there is another kiss, into Ambrose's hair, soft and curled like that of an angel. Magnus' hand moves to his lover's hip, bare and pale, the bone protruding against his skin. To Magnus' fingers, such skin is velvet, beautiful even in its sallow hues, the candles sending lines of light and shadow to play across a canvas bereft of colour. How could anything in the world be more breath-taking, make a heart like his quicken inexplicably? Love, that must be the answer he settles on, time and time again. As much as he longs to touch, kiss, bite every inch of Ambrose's form, he is content enough merely to look.
But from the seductive way Ambrose leans back, it seems that Magnus' fate this evening is going to be anything but look. The way Ambrose turns then, decisive, his fingers pluck at Magnus' clothes seals that opinion. There is very little that Magnus would not endure if it allowed him time with Ambrose, and a bath is the very least of them. A bath, while alone, may be an unpleasant thing. With with Ambrose, it becomes a joy.]
I was hoping for an invitation, my love.
no subject
It helps to hear the tempo of his companion's heart, or to feel how gently or how hungrily he is touched -- Magnus could never utter a thing, and Ambrose would know his want for him with certainty.
He thinks he can feel both of those intentions being traced on his skin from roaming fingertips, and this kind of gentle hunger rouses him more immediately than he ever thinks is possible. Many thrill at contact and embraces that are rough and demanding, and Ambrose has found an appreciation for it in the right moments, but nothing pushes him up to the cliff's edge of yearning like the way Magnus' lips or his hands virtually ghost against such deeply-sensitive skin. His touch is all at once intoxicating, even now, this many embraces later, and is likely to remain so exhilarating until the end of their days.
So how could Ambrose want to keep his cherished wolf at a distance only to watch, when even this alone feels so good? He offers a smile to him like a token of his affection, wants to kiss him with these lips that bend with true happiness, but Ambrose can remain resolute for a moment longer. He's been given confirmation, after all. His expression ripples with amusement, fond of the wording given. } Forgive me for not sending a card, like old times.
{ Porcelain hands find Magnus', pull them to make sure they stay well on his bared form. } Keep your hands on me, mon trésor. { From holding Magnus', Ambrose brings his own hands up to his lover's collar, pulling the cravat pin with care, and unties the fabric with the effortlessness that comes with familiarity. Both are set away on a tray perched upon the small table standing beside the tub, so that Ambrose may now work on the extent of buttons that hold him away from such delectable skin underneath. Ambrose may have enough resolve not to pull Magnus into this bath fully clothed with him, but getting only down to collarbones breaks his abstinence.
While hands continue their work to free Magnus of his many layers, Ambrose leans in to mouth at the smooth hint of clavicle, hyoid, and against the ropy muscle beside that draws a path between them. He has both a vest and a shirt to contend with, but Ambrose's sheer and finessed desire has his hands working with quick yet calm maneuvers. Once the pants are too undone, Ambrose is less subtle in hiding his ferocity, skin alight with sensation that burns his patience down like a match, as he pushes the fabrics back and away, happy to banish them to the floor. The moment Magnus is just open to the air, Ambrose is stepping backward into the extravagant basin of generously warmed water, his hand clad like iron to his amor's, pulling him in with the directly descending intention of an anchor. }
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Now he knows he can not. Ambrose knows him. He knows his heart, and his darkest secrets. He knows the way Magnus thinks, looking for options, looking for opportunities. He kniws Magnus likes to be several steps ahead, but never with Ambrose. Whatever happens beyond d the,bounds of their relationship, with Ambrose everything is pure. Simple. Wholesome.
As wholesome as it can be, with Ambrose's feather-like touch making short work of buttons and fastenings. His wolf has no difficulty keeping his own hands firmly planted, letting his touch sweep over Ambrose's torso, over his sides. He lets his hands rest against Ambrose's ribs, sensative and strong, those of a singer used to filling a grand Theatre with no aid. He shifts as much as he dare to assist, shoulders shrugging so that waistcoat and undershirt can be pushed down, taking the chance, as it appears, to kiss his ange as soundly as he can.
The last of the clothing is dripped to the floor and while Magnus is normal so fastidious about appearance and the care of his garments, tonight he simply steps out of them, closing what little distance their was between them so he can kiss Ambrose again, hands still tracing his form. Lithe and beautiful, pale as the moon. By contrast Magnus is dark, still tanned by a slow-beating heart and the sun that last saw him over two hundred years ago, her caress not yet faded.
The warm water is like no natural water Magnus has ever known, sweet in smell and impossibly soft against skin. It's strange, but as he sinks into the water behind Ambrose, it is not such a terrible thing. Not when he can catch up Ambrose's long dark hair, to save it from the water and press another thousand kisses into his shoulders. If this were to be his fate, then it would not be such a terrible thing. ]
no subject
But the moment he is submerged in the bath, the aura of jasmine sweetened impossibly further with sugary amber, feeling his betrothed settle in behind him, hands in his hair and lips wasting no time before they're on his skin untouched by the decadent bath water, not a single notion from earlier tonight can penetrate his mind. In all suddenness, Ambrose could not care less to talk about anything that exists outside of this room, or at the very least, not on his own inspiration. He could expend enough focus to answer any question posed, but in the serenity of their home, this room, the vampire finds the thorough definition of content. Why would he bother to disrupt it as it's just begun?
He sits indulgently silent, unable to even breathe a sound as Magnus plants a field of kisses to his skin, for a few rounds of his wolf's uncannily paced heartbeat, placid and motionless as a statue for the moment that all of it, for lack of a better phrasing, sinks in to him. When Ambrose comes back to gentle animation, it is all at once: shoulders and ribs expand, up into Magnus' touch, water sighing as hands drift along under the surface, up out of the water, one pulling back to hook behind the werewolf's neck. Ambrose and he feel nearly the same in temperature, just warm, just enough to be called so.
Glowing clouds wink all around him as the candlelight flickers lazily in the reflections of perfectly-orbed bubbles, and Ambrose watches them, but his true attention is elsewhere. He feels completely encased in the bath, but feels Magnus's body more than anything else around him. His other hand drifts and settles where he feels the flat curve of the top of the other man's thigh, his palm following over the shape perfectly as it wanders up with all the time in the world to do so. When Ambrose sighs softly, entranced, the sound purrs out of him. }
...It's absolutely magnificent, darling. { The hand on Magnus' neck sinks down the side and fingers play with the edge of his ear, the stony-smooth backs of his knuckles against the soft skin, over cartilage. } Moreso than ever with you here.
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But of course, it's only a moment before Ambrose shifts, back arching slightly, his beautiful pale limbs moving to catch hold of Magnus. The hand on his thigh sends a blissful shiver through him, a delighted one as the thrill moves up from sensitive skin towards his spine. If that wasn't enough, Ambrose's wandering fingers brush against his ear. It's one of those places where a touch innocent in most situations can be disregarded. But the very way Ambrose touches him backs his blood roar in his veins, and a soft growl begins in his throat. He attempts to bite it back. In reality, that bite is a nip at Ambrose's own flesh and it does nothing to quieten the growl or make Magnus feel less aroused.]
If you continue that, this water will boil, ange. I fear that this bath will not be as relaxing as I intended if we continue.
[ It is, after all, a very fair warning. Both of Ambrose's hands are playing Magnus like a musical instrument, pulling forth from him a deep low rumble, one that reverberates in Magnus' chest and as such, against Ambrose' back. Ambrose must feel it as keenly as he feels the warmth of the water or the softness of the bubbles. Even if he could know, he knows well enough what that touch does to his lycan.]
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Ambrose certainly has no designs of his own, but he is so easily swept up in waves of sensation, and always so thoroughly with his love. Petal-soft kisses and their warm breath dancing against him can retune the strings of his heart in an instant, make his skin feel more alive than it ever did when it carried a mortal soul. He can't help but want to touch Magnus, to intake more of him as he is capable, and to tell him without words but in absolute terms the desire those kisses leave him in.
And the sound Ambrose hears and feels -- thunder in the distance, a storm brewing on the horizon -- is captivating. There is always a little spark, something deep and reactive that Ambrose can identify as being not of himself, but born of this cursed aspect of him. He can hear that it wants to feel territorial, a sharp clench in his gut, but Ambrose is not purely subject to his invaded counterpart. The strike it makes is warm in the pit of his stomach, low and teasingly tense. No abomination under God or oblivion could change this about Ambrose: how he loves Magnus, what is awakened in him just by being near, and how sincerely the vampire is drawn in by every little thing about him.
It is not a disruptive alert, nor does it seem intended to be so. In fact, Ambrose's soft, low chuckle might be audible over Magnus, or the gentle shifting of the water around his legs as he drags them lazily through the water. }
Am I meant to keep my hands off of you all night? { Surely Magnus can hear the smile in his voice, the playful note it carries... Surely Magnus can feel the fingers that draw further out on his thigh, inching lower down, inward, his movements barely trackable to watch with the amount of bubbles clinging to his arm and shoulder.
Surely Magnus knows how irresistible he is to his fiancé?
Ambrose leans his head back, curls pushing softly into the front of the lycan's shoulder and catching little clouds from all around them. He turns to draw their faces against one another, brow against cheek, as the vampire's hand descends down Magnus' face. Fingertips rake gently over the finely-groomed hair down on his jaw, over his chin...one fingertip grazing softly along Magnus' lower lip, thinking keenly how he might like to kiss him, to catch this lip between his teeth. } What am I to do, when you make lovelier sounds than any music I've heard tonight?
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But none of those gifts is as delightful as the sensation of Ambrose's soft laughter, the growing mirth in him as the hot water seeps into his love's form, warming him from the outside in. It may not be the same as having his own heartbeat, it may not be the same as feeding, but it is as good a placebo as any, and Magnus will take any advantage of that he can, as is his way.
Of course, to take advantage of the situation, he has to be the first one to do so. But with the slow, terribly slow movement of Ambrose's hand against his leg, perhaps Magnus can simply... enjoy his fiancé's attention? ]
I don't think either of us would enjoy that my love. I think your hands should be allowed free reign to go where they might.
[ And already, just by the small movements Ambrose makes, his own body reacts. He wants to pull Ambrose closer, tighter against him, bite his shoulders till he leaves welts but he resists. This is all meant for Ambrose, and as such, let Ambrose decide their pace and what happens when. It takes every effort, especially when Ambrose's head tips back, resting on his lover's shoulder, and Magnus wonders how easy it would be to turn his head and press kisses over Ambrose's moon-tanned skin.
But he resists, only catching the vampire's finger between teeth. ]
What are you to do, my heart? I would find your theatre a new orchestra if I can best them note-for-note.