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Showers may be one of Arthur’s favourite things in the future. The one in Merlin’s flat is rather small, but it’s always just hot enough and the water pressure is perfect against his back. It’s also just so much more efficient than having Merlin bathe him in his washtub in Camelot.
Merlin is still there, of course. The main difference being that Merlin is also bare and pressing up against him in the small space, so Arthur gets to look his fill and feel every inch of his body.
He takes the opportunity to do just that, grabbing Merlin’s hips to yank him closer. Warm, wet skin glides against his, and how exactly is he meant to resist the urge to cling to it tighter. He drags Merlin up into a kiss, then shifts to start pressing kisses down the column of his neck.
“Arthur, we’ve really… really got to finish washing.” Despite his protests, Merlin doesn’t pull away. The rag he was using is held between their chests, already forgotten.
“Be honest, Merlin, you were groping more than you were washing. I think we’ve got time to finish what you started.” Before Merlin can come up with a response, Arthur begins to nip at the sensitive spots he knows so well. He can barely hear Merlin’s soft moans over the beat of the water, but it’s more than enough motivation to keep moving, down and down.
He can’t help but grin at the sharp gasp Merlin does when he drops down to his knees. Looking up, he allows himself a moment to take in all of Merlin being right there, up for offer, and thank whatever gods still exist for letting him have this.
He hums softly when Merlin reaches down and slides a hand into Arthur’s soaking wet hair. “Gods, Arthur, you’re gorgeous.”
“So are you. Now, will you let me take you apart?”