oddsandends | 82nd ♫ | nodding off in a chocolate bathtub full of whipped cream bubbles

82nd ♫ | nodding off in a chocolate bathtub full of whipped cream bubbles

The Personal Hygiene Shipping Meme

Personal hygiene is just that - personal. By the time we've come to a point in our lives where we notice that the concept exists and we should be prudent about it, we can take care of ourselves. There are also many practical reasons why we don't involve other people in this process. We're not too keen on showing off parts to be cleaned that are private in most contexts, and there's definitely an ingrained aversion to showing so much soft, fleshy skin. Hot water or a sharp razor could spell dangerous with a capital D should they come into the hands of someone with a vendetta against you. No need to be extra vulnerable.

So, if you're involving another person in your cleansing routines, it must be someone you trust. Not only that, but it's most likely someone you're comfortable with and likely at least somewhat open to being intimate with. You may not be dropping all your clothing in front of them, but it's still you opening yourself up to touching and closeness unparalleled in more "usual" moments.

Established and burgeoning couples (or not-so-couples) can bond through this showing of care and good faith. Will you like being pampered and find the attention endearing? Or will things go terribly, terribly wrong?

...you never should have let them near that shaving cream.

Comment with your character and preferences.
Smut is not required. Mention if you want/don't want it.
Reply to others and use the RNG.

Comfort: You've decided to pitch in a helping hand to get your partner to unwind, and warm water or suds may do the trick.
Romantic: The sole purpose of this endeavor is to set a lovey-dovey mood. No shame here!
It Started Out Platonic...: What a good pal you are, volunteering to give your friend a good scrub. Of course, you didn't count on the cute way she squirms as you scrub her back or how he blushes when you shampoo his scalp.
No Choice: Currently, you're unable to clean yourself up. That means that you need assistance, and it might as well be the person you lov- tolerate the most.
Open: You have trust issues. Actually, you have backlogs of trust issues. Still, you want to show the person you love that you're willing and trying to change for them, and what better way than letting down your walls and having the assist in your grooming?
Shave: Whether it's your face, your legs, or...your other places you've decided to shave, there's a certain intimacy involved in letting your lover do it for you. Let's hope they won't leave you looking like you got into a battle with a book with the paper cuts to prove it.
Reluctant: They want to get you clean. You don't want to show off your body at all. It's injured, it looks weird, what if they don't like it...
Forced: You love them, you really do, but you won't kiss them if they continue to look like an unwashed hobo clown. You have to draw the line somewhere, and if they won't take action, you will.
Beat Up: You've been trampled in a fight. Your partner isn't about to let you wallow around in your own mud and blood.
Hair: Some find that there's nothing quite as soothing as getting their hair washed or brushed. Of course, those with more luxurious locks may find any hair care a burden, so the assistance is appreciated.
Make Up: They think you're beautiful already. See how they'll paint you up when they get the chance.
Unique: If you're not human, you probably have your own proceeders you have to do to keep all spiffied up. There are wings with stray feathers to pluck, horns on heads to polish, scales to shave down, all sorts of tasks! Introduce your ignorant (and most likely human) boyfriend or girlfriend to your world...and your pain.
Accommodations: Those with disabilities or prosthetics may also have their own routines, and anyone who wants to be with them should learn how to pitch in.
Sponge Bath: You don't have enough water to do this right or you just want to give them a nice rub and scrub with a gentle sponge or wash cloth.
Wound Care: In order for wounds to heal, proper care must be taken. Bandages have to be changed and cuts cleaned out. It's certainly easier when you don't have to do it all by yourself.
Together: You're both cleaning up, taking a bath, splish splash, in the same tub because there's no where else to go. This is the most likely smut option, even if, again, it starts off "platonic."
Clothing: Don't forget that clean clothes are an important part of personal hygiene. Always make sure your partner has a nice, fresh outfit, even if it's to your taste and not theirs.
I've Made a Terrible Mistake: Somehow, everything's now shit. This little experiment went haywire and you may be sporting anything from the worst hairdo of your life to a Columbian necktie.
FREE SPACE

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( she doesn't say much at first, because she knows that it's more for himself to confirm that he's heard correctly. quite the audacious and selfish demand she's made, isn't it? he's known her for long enough, should he truly be surprised? the woman is epicurean by nature, a noblewoman who takes as she wishes through words and persuasion rather than deft fingers. at times, even to her sisters, it seems she simply follows a whim to the point where she may seem illogical.

the hesitation is clear, but she doesn't press either way and lets him mull over the choices he's presented with, it's his chance to walk away from it after all. to press her on how ridiculous she's being.

but he surprises her with an uncertain sort of agreement, but one just the same. )

Just the once. ( but well, she wouldn't mind if he decided he wanted an encore somewhere down the line. not that she forsees him outright asking that of her. not directly, anyway, and getting a read on him is hard even for someone as experienced as her. ) As long as you derive some form of enjoyment out of it, that's plenty.

( that begs the question though.. for if he'd let her approach now. so she tests the waters by taking yet another step, hand outstretched towards him to invite him to take it, not that he expects him to, especially with what she's about to say. )

I'll be gentle with your first time, then. ( it's both a promise and a tease. she's not entirely stupid enough to believe that he's never been naked in front of anyone before - as much as he doesn't see it, he's a sight for sore eyes even in his dishevelment and layers. ) You're tired, let me help you undress. The water's getting cold.

[Like it's choreography they've practiced for months, Therion doesn't miss the cue to scoff at her joke--of course he's no blushing virgin, literally or figuratively--but honestly, he's nervous. In his old life, intimate affairs were always rushed, furtive things done in the dark, and they came few and far between. None of them were anything like this.]

All right, all right. Can't have that. What could be worse than lukewarm bathwater?

[Even as he agrees, he reaches up and unwinds his scarf himself. Why not, if she's in such a hurry to get him undressed? Many hands make light work, or something, and he does have his fair share of garments to remove. That's what her hand was out for anyway, right?

He starts to fold his scarf and glances around.]

Where do you want my things?

Not much, really.

( and she’s not so cruel as to let him sit in tepid water. it’s meant to be relaxing, so of course hot water is a must. anything else is second-rate and she doesn’t deal in second best. why does he think she’s so fond of him? for a human, his sleight of hand is still something she needs to keep an eye out for or miss it. it’s impressive. )

Anywhere is fine. ( a gesture, the floor or the counter or whatever space he deemed fit. ) I’ll have it laundered while you rest.

( she’s going to take his undressing as permission enough, and reaches to tug at his shirt to pull him over towards her. looks like wherever he’s going to put his scarf, he’s going to have to toss it over, especially when she’s already working to ease it off his head.

it’s an intimate sort of gesture, she knows, unlike any of their many past dealings even when they’ve skirted the line of flirting before, littered with witty and blunt retorts. even now she could hardly let go of it when it’s such a familiar song and dance. )

Am I going to find anything of mine on you?

( with the way she says it, it seems like she partly expects it and partly doesn’t particularly care. sticky fingers, she knows. )

[Laughing softly, teasing her in return, takes a bit of the edge off what they're doing--what he's allowing her to do. He wriggles his shoulders and head free of the shirt, letting it wad up around his scarf before he slips his arms out and tosses the ball o' clothes to the floor by the wall.]

Not like that, you won't. Why? Missing something?

[How's she supposed to find anything if she's not going to take her time examining sleeves and seams, all the fun places someone might have sewn a secret pocket? Ah, but speaking of hidden things, he draws back momentarily and holds up a hand.]

One second. I'll do this part.

['This part' means divesting himself of one, two, three sheathed daggers on his person and setting them carefully aside, near enough if he needs them. A ring of keys and lockpicks joins them.]

Don't send those to the wash, if you don't mind.

[In the meantime, while Therion takes care of the tools of his trade, all the skin and scars on his front are exposed to her, stretching and shifting with him as he moves.]

( she could say something cheesy in retort, like ‘her heart’ for instance, but her losing that in the more literal sense has nothing to do with his thieving ways, even if it were true. the lack of a heartbeat is more because of her nature, but. she digresses. )

Guess I’ll find out later.

( all of his clothes are starting to be a pile on the floor after all, with all his pockets and layers to smuggle things in — there’d be no real need to frisk him other than some shabby excuse to get her hands on him. )

Mm. ( him fishing out the tools of his trade fascinates her enough from interfering. though she does wonder why he needs three. plus, she’s busy enough watching the scars that dance across his skin, but not enough to loop her fingers into the hem of his trousers, knuckles brushing gingerly across one of the scars that line it. ) Any more secret daggers I should mind myself on?

( it seemed appropriate to ask. the dagger wielders she’s encountered in her very long lifetime sure do like keeping a virtual armory’s worth on them at all times, much to her bafflement, especially when he’s already got three of them out. )

[First, he levels a look at her, trying to see whether or not she means 'secret dagger' as some massively unsubtle innuendo. Then he rolls his eyes a bit and pretends to pat himself down, mindful of her hands at his waist.]

Not that I know of. Suppose your fingers are safe enough from me now.

[It's strange, standing with Lenore so close, allowing her to lead him here and there in the lit space of her washroom when he'd otherwise kick his clothes off in the dark and turn in, safe and private and alone. When all he wants is to sleep and nurse his wounded pride, he doesn't get this near other people.

He doesn't get this near other people ever. She's standing close enough, and he's just tall enough, that he could rest his nose in her hair if he wanted. She's so close to his throat. He breathes out.]

If you're worried, though, I can finish undressing myself. Since I'm capable of a great many feats and all.

( therion's leveled look is only met with a bright and innocuous smile, like she has no idea what he could possibly be hinting at. her? make double entendres?

.. yeah, she would. but give her some credit. she's usually more subtle with things of that nature. she's a lady, after all. delicacy is sort of their thing or whatever. )

No. ( her refusal is laced with the barest little hint of a low growl - he'd already agreed and she's not about to let him weasel his way out. let him take this away from her? absolutely not. ) I'm hardly afraid of a little nick and some blood.

( oh, she's entirely aware of how damnably close he is. the instinct is ever there to sink her fangs into the exposed flesh of his neck, but she does well to keep that to herself. instead, she nudges the tip of her nose against the line of his jaw with a soft laugh as if he needed a reminder of just how close the sharp of her teeth is to his skin, fingers finally sliding the fabric of his trousers over his hips so that he may step out of them. )

And neither are you, apparently. ( it's not a threat, just an idle observation. in fact, she doesn't even bother to get closer, not even to let her lips ghost over the thrumming pulse just inches away. she's sure he gets the point. ) But that comes with the profession, doesn't it?

[His breath skates across the crown of her head when her nose touches his jaw. She's so, so close. His skin prickles, his pulse races hot under his skin. His voice stays steady and unruffled above her.]

The better class of thief makes a point to avoid damage to their fingers. Or any part of them. We're the only tools we have that we can't replace.

[Obliging her, he steps out of his pants and the scars continue: the scrapes and barked shins those of any background might earn in childhood, but souvenirs from guard dogs, too, fence spikes, traps. Therion's body tells the story of his career, of his life--how precarious his existence, how often his mistakes, how hard-won each strand of muscle on his hungry whipcord frame.

To draw his own attention away from the fact he's just in his smallclothes in front of her, Therion sets to unwinding the rags from around his arms.]

But yeah, it's not a risk-free career. Couldn't recommend it to the squeamish, or to the overly-cautious. ...You have to know how to handle a bit of danger.

[And oh, does he know that Lenore is dangerous, even to him. Especially to him. Not because of who or what she is, but because... well. Therion knows his shortcomings. He knows what he's weak to. And he knows that, even though he knows, it's working, and it's not just because he's tired.

He likes a bit of danger. He likes Lenore. Damn him, but he's a fool.]

Mm, then shouldn't you take better care of it? ( of himself. of his body. he wants to refer to it as a tool, so she'll use the same analogy. ) As one sharpens dull blades and such.

( her fingers linger around his hip, still, her gaze lowering to it as her thumb follows another scar to examine it. mapping it all out would certainly take awhile, each with their own stories to tell about how he's spent his life thus far. )

Makes enough sense. ( the faint-hearted would sooner gain their death than anything of value in a profession like his. she wants to ask if its the danger that entices him to return, but opts for something else. ) Handle me just fine, don't you?

( the heated skin and hammering pulse is terribly tantalizing for her instincts and senses, and she has to focus on the task at hand before she gets too distracted. lenore's palm smooths up his belly and presses against his chest, ever gentle despite her innate strength, to lead him over to the bath she's painstakingly prepared before she adds to the scars adorning him with eager claws.

if she weren't so distracted perhaps she'd make a jab at how he's a clever little fox to go for his bandages to leave the last piece to her. but - to be fair, she did say she'd strip him. so she does, with the hand not on his chest and so terribly slow. it's barely over his hip before she meets his gaze again, pausing. as if the question she had next was really that important, but he'd probably see it for what it is.

she's being a cruel and coy thing to tease him out the last piece, of course. )

How do you think I'd fare in a career like that?

[Cruel and coy she might be, but Therion's equal to it; right now, she's the one who wants something. If she decides to delay her own gratification, why should he rush her? Even if all he gets out of this is the slide of her hand up his stomach, the gentle push towards the water, it's still more than he almost ever allows himself.

Looking at her, he breathes out a faint laugh.]

I don't think you've ever met something you wanted without finding some way to get it. You're a natural thief.

[Case in point: Here he is, her hand in his underthings, with only Lenore's own restraint (or at least her need to slow down and tease him) keeping her from having him naked in full.

Therion's not afraid of her teeth or claws. He's not afraid of her capacity to kill. All those things exist and he's aware of them--he's always, always aware of them, always keeps a catalog of those things that can hurt him, that might add to the scars that split his skin--but the true danger Lenore poses to him has nothing to do with a sudden attack.

It's her kindness, her care, the velvet with which she treats him. The worst of his scars have always come from those who first handled him like gold. He wets his lip with his tongue.]

Have to watch out. [To keep from stopping her, Therion reaches out instead and rubs a lock of her hair between his thumb and fingers.] You'd run me out of business in no time.

( that: he is, isn't he? it's not often she finds one that could match her in kind when it comes to her particular playing field. in all her years, someone like him is a rare thing. a wit so sharp she could cut herself on it, and she likes that about him. how he never seems to fall within her predictions like most do keeps her on her toes. he has a talent for building anticipation, and she's found herself ensnared despite herself.

and here she thought she was above that. who would've thought? )

Wouldn't want that, now would we? Maybe I'll stick to being a diplomat after all.

( it's similar enough. he just uses deft fingers while she uses clever words. both get what they want eventually. )

Then again.. If you ever decided you wanted a change of career, you have the talent for mine as well, toying with people the way that you do. ( not that she thinks he's going to retire from his favored trade anytime soon. he has his pride. his thrills. ) You could talk your way into having people handing you their treasures if you put your mind to it. I might actually run into trouble if they sent someone like you into talks with me.

( although the spark in her gaze seems to imply that she'd welcome that. it's not like their interactions aren't already a battle of wits. )

Might not be nearly as exciting for you, however, to meet some of the people I've had to.

( and well, the little peek of tongue is enough to derail whatever else she has to say in the matter anyway. ah, she shouldn't keep him like this longer.

to keep herself from leaning into his touch instead and getting even further away from what was supposed to be a bath, she eases the last of his garments off carefully with a tug, thumb smoothing over his now bared hips with a hum. )

Now quit distracting me. The water awaits.

[Heh.]

Riiight. 'Cause I'm doing so much to distract you.

[Still, he lets her hair fall from his fingers, draws his hand back to his side, looks to the bath, and acquiesces with a soft sigh. It's not that he has any objections to warm water, or even to getting clean. Dirty his work might be, but he can be as finicky as the rest when it comes to personal hygiene. Being clean just feels better.

Turning to step in, though, exposes his back to Lenore: his back, marred not with knife scars--those would be neater, would speak of what was ultimately a cleaner struggle to survive--but souvenirs of something rougher. Uglier. A terrible hurt he couldn't see coming.

Therion bares it to her--and bears it--without comment, keeping whatever discomfort he might feel to himself as he lowers himself into the tub. Only once he's submerged as much as he can be does he relax at all, eager to soak in the heat. He is tired.]

You bathe like this every day?

[Rich people, man.]

More than you realize. You haven't a clue just what it is you do to me.

( or maybe he does. who knows. he's a terribly hard man to read.

she's no stranger to scars, of course. she's seen the work of her sisters, and what they might look like healed up. she's lived long enough to cause a few of her own on others, even. whatever it is she sees, she opts not to comment like she's refrained after seeing the rest. the fact that this particular set isn't as clean as the others doesn't escape her notice though. he's always so careful.

what happened..? )

I have to keep clean somehow.

( he says that like he couldn't live in luxury if he wanted to, with the kind of fortune he'd amassed throughout his career.

a stool is what she reaches for next once he's finally settled himself into the water, sitting herself by the head of the bath so she doesn't have to awkwardly bend or crouch to reach him. it's only then does she reach for him again, finally acquiescing in that desire to toy with his hair between her fingers, then tucking it behind his ear. not that it'll stay there for long if the intention was to help him get clean. for now she figures she should let him enjoy the soak first. )

Why, thinking of joining me next time?

[It's just his hair, and still, his eyes flutter open once more at the touch, at the no-longer-familiar feeling of someone else's hand on him. He's looked at her hands before, those elegant, delicate-looking fingers. He can imagine the curl of those fingers now as they draw his scruffy hair away from his face.

Strange, that he can feel any more exposed than he already was. Strange to have a woman like her at his back, so close to his unprotected neck.

Strange to accept--and allow--touch.]

...Why don't we see how much dirt comes off me before you extend an invitation like that.

[He has no illusions regarding how filthy he is right now. Maybe this will be what finally puts her off forever. He slides down a little lower, making the water lap gently against the sides of the tub.]

Still perfectly willing to do it myself. Just saying.

( a huff of laughter escapes her, dipping her fingertips into the warm water and flicking it towards him as if he wasn't already mostly submerged, and that splashing him was going to be - in any way - productive. )

You're not getting rid of me that easily. You really want to shoo me away now?

( her sense of smell as a hunter is far sharper than even a hound's. so, she knows. she just.. doesn't seem to care. she does wonder just what it is he gets himself into whenever he's out, though. the kinds of things he has to do to slip by in his daily life.

shifting in her seat, she moves so that an spill over the edge of the bath wont catch her dress and drench her in the process, already reaching for one of her soaps to lather it in her hands. hope he likes the smell of jasmine, it's all she has. she didn't really think to prepare a different kind other than her own. )

At least let me do your hair. Soak it for me? The rest - well, we'll get there eventually.

...Yeah. All right.

[For a moment, his natural inclination dukes it out with practicality, and practicality wins: Therion finishes his slide down into the tub rather than bending forward between his knees. Underwater, he cards his hands briefly through his hair with a good shake to ensure the water gets all the way through, then pushes himself back up, water sluicing off his shoulders and down his back.

He lifts a dripping hank of hair out of his eyes and peeks back at her from under his fingers.]

How's that? Good enough?

[Even wet, the ends of his hair curl away from his skull, waiting for their chance to dry and frizz up properly.]

( she really shouldn't be so endeared by the sight and yet.. she is anyway. lenore thinks better of voicing her thoughts though, she knows full well just how delicate this trust is, after all. not that he wouldn't be able to read it off of her if he tried. so instead of trusting her voice, she nods her affirmation.

and rather than staring even more, she sets to get to work so that he could curl up and get some rest. she's held him from it long enough.

first, she gently coaxes him to let go of his hair so she can take over - carding soapy fingers through to let her fingertips work the bubbles in. she looks rather engrossed in the task at hand, paying attention to not miss a spot. this is a rare moment, after all, and she figures she might as well do it thoroughly. it's only after she's done does she take a small dollop of the bubbles to flick it on his nose. )

See, that wasn't so bad, was it?

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82nd ♫ | nodding off in a chocolate bathtub full of whipped cream bubbles

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Guess it's getting steamy in here, so look away, young'uns

haha steamy i see what you did there

; )

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