Fic: Ablution
Aug. 3rd, 2010 12:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
viceindustriousTitle: Ablution
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes 2009
Pairing: Blackwood/Coward
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
Summary: Coward takes a bath
Word count: 740
Notes: I wasn't sure if this should have been rated G or PG so I decided to err on the side of caution.
Henry draws the bath too hot.
The room blurs behind a warm vale of vapour. All the mirrors are draped. Coward can only see the shadow of his shape, shifting in copper, distorted on the sides of the tub.
Henry's hands stand out amidst the mist. A bead of water rolls down between his knuckles as he turns the taps, along the dark hairs that dust his fingers. His shirt is rolled up to his elbows. That's all there is. The mist obscures everything else. Dazzles the light of the many candles into one gentle halo.
Into a world of light and heat and steam, Coward draws his knees up and slides lower, slips further down into the water. The inside of the tub is polished to satin, his skin glides across it so smoothly it doesn't feel like moving at all.
Henry turns the tap again and another plume of steam, like smoke, rises from its mouth as the roar of water thunders in distant echoes about him. Coward tips his head back and lets the tide rise above his ears. The ceiling is dark, distant, a starless sky far, far above him, untouched by their light.
The stars have not been created yet. Henry could create them, but Henry's hands are busy making the waters. Henry's arms are pale on the underside, strong, sinewed.
Coward's blood has all rushed to the surface of his skin. Every part of him is flushed and pink. The heat of the water presses down on his breast, the weight of the water makes him feel sluggish and dazed. He takes a slow, deep breath and his chest expands, is buoyed up to break the surface of the water. Henry lays his hands on his torso and pushes him back down with soft, firm pressure.
His hair floats around his face as the back of his head taps gently against the bottom of the tub. There's a release in exhalation, a trail of bubbles escaping from his nose. Without air he can sink properly, lay down at peace in this hot void. There's nothing here but the constant press of Henry's palms against his chest.
It boils inside and out. Coward's lungs are lazily burning, begging quietly for air just at the edges of his awareness. It goes on forever.
Henry pulls him back into time, pulls him up again and gives him air back with his own lips. He kisses breath into Coward's mouth with lingering tenderness and the sinuous push of his tongue, hot as the water, thick as the air. The world flickers into black, spots dance in front of Coward's eyes that mimic that vague points of candle light about them.
Henry takes a cloth and draws it in small, careful circles over Coward's skin. He polishes Coward bright until he's glowing inside and out and then lifts him from the bath and takes him over to the bed.
Coward leans on Henry, his feet falling in coltish, unsteady movements. There's a cotton wool ache clouding his head and a tenor note there too, a thrumming that rushes through his ears and hums behind his eyes.
He falls backward on top of the cool, cotton bedsheets and lies there, his body a heavy gold weight around his soul. The hair on his stomach is glistening, damp, in the half light. His arms are loose beside him, palms facing up. The way his head swims when he closes his eyes makes him feel like he's drowning in steam still. Unable to capture a real breath.
Cooling water drips from his hair onto his forehead like perspiration.
"Henry," he sighs.
Henry lies down beside him on the bed and strokes his fingers down Coward's chest. They fall to the navel when Coward inhales, his stomach as slick as an otter's beneath Henry's hand. His thighs feel slippery with bathwater and part with ease. The skin there tingles in the cool air, hairs raised, quivering for sensation.
"I'm clean then?" Coward asks.
Behind them, the water in the bathtub lies placid. It is tinted a serene rose colour. There must have been a misstep in that evening's ceremony, for the girl had put up a fight when Coward had turned his blade to her throat.
It had made an awful mess.
"Yes," Henry says.
And smiles at him, an expression not in his mouth but in the softening of his eyes.
Coward exhales.
-
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes 2009
Pairing: Blackwood/Coward
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
Summary: Coward takes a bath
Word count: 740
Notes: I wasn't sure if this should have been rated G or PG so I decided to err on the side of caution.
Henry draws the bath too hot.
The room blurs behind a warm vale of vapour. All the mirrors are draped. Coward can only see the shadow of his shape, shifting in copper, distorted on the sides of the tub.
Henry's hands stand out amidst the mist. A bead of water rolls down between his knuckles as he turns the taps, along the dark hairs that dust his fingers. His shirt is rolled up to his elbows. That's all there is. The mist obscures everything else. Dazzles the light of the many candles into one gentle halo.
Into a world of light and heat and steam, Coward draws his knees up and slides lower, slips further down into the water. The inside of the tub is polished to satin, his skin glides across it so smoothly it doesn't feel like moving at all.
Henry turns the tap again and another plume of steam, like smoke, rises from its mouth as the roar of water thunders in distant echoes about him. Coward tips his head back and lets the tide rise above his ears. The ceiling is dark, distant, a starless sky far, far above him, untouched by their light.
The stars have not been created yet. Henry could create them, but Henry's hands are busy making the waters. Henry's arms are pale on the underside, strong, sinewed.
Coward's blood has all rushed to the surface of his skin. Every part of him is flushed and pink. The heat of the water presses down on his breast, the weight of the water makes him feel sluggish and dazed. He takes a slow, deep breath and his chest expands, is buoyed up to break the surface of the water. Henry lays his hands on his torso and pushes him back down with soft, firm pressure.
His hair floats around his face as the back of his head taps gently against the bottom of the tub. There's a release in exhalation, a trail of bubbles escaping from his nose. Without air he can sink properly, lay down at peace in this hot void. There's nothing here but the constant press of Henry's palms against his chest.
It boils inside and out. Coward's lungs are lazily burning, begging quietly for air just at the edges of his awareness. It goes on forever.
Henry pulls him back into time, pulls him up again and gives him air back with his own lips. He kisses breath into Coward's mouth with lingering tenderness and the sinuous push of his tongue, hot as the water, thick as the air. The world flickers into black, spots dance in front of Coward's eyes that mimic that vague points of candle light about them.
Henry takes a cloth and draws it in small, careful circles over Coward's skin. He polishes Coward bright until he's glowing inside and out and then lifts him from the bath and takes him over to the bed.
Coward leans on Henry, his feet falling in coltish, unsteady movements. There's a cotton wool ache clouding his head and a tenor note there too, a thrumming that rushes through his ears and hums behind his eyes.
He falls backward on top of the cool, cotton bedsheets and lies there, his body a heavy gold weight around his soul. The hair on his stomach is glistening, damp, in the half light. His arms are loose beside him, palms facing up. The way his head swims when he closes his eyes makes him feel like he's drowning in steam still. Unable to capture a real breath.
Cooling water drips from his hair onto his forehead like perspiration.
"Henry," he sighs.
Henry lies down beside him on the bed and strokes his fingers down Coward's chest. They fall to the navel when Coward inhales, his stomach as slick as an otter's beneath Henry's hand. His thighs feel slippery with bathwater and part with ease. The skin there tingles in the cool air, hairs raised, quivering for sensation.
"I'm clean then?" Coward asks.
Behind them, the water in the bathtub lies placid. It is tinted a serene rose colour. There must have been a misstep in that evening's ceremony, for the girl had put up a fight when Coward had turned his blade to her throat.
It had made an awful mess.
"Yes," Henry says.
And smiles at him, an expression not in his mouth but in the softening of his eyes.
Coward exhales.
-
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Date: 2010-08-03 01:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-03 11:53 pm (UTC)