Pricked 

touchmylawnmower:

“Well ‘f it ain’t Eric Slingby~” Ronald scoffed teasingly, hanging his towel up before stepping into the showers. “I swear if y’ give me a welt hittin’ me with a towel we’re not mates anymore.” he joked, having gotten one from Grell last week. He made quick work of turning on a shower head opposite Eric, sighing in relief at the spray of warm water. “Tha’s th’ ticket~” he mumbled, setting his soap down on the floor near his feet, out of the way of the water. “Rough reapin’ t’day?” he asked conversationally.

Eric wrung out his wash cloth and rinsed the soap away. With a cheeky grin, he called over the hum of the shower heads. “Ach, as if I’d stoop s’ low.” He would, though. “Wasn’ s’ bad today. An’ for ye, lad?” Came the answer as he stretched his arms over his head, muscles coiling and rippling beneath the rolling streams of hot water.