[ something unspeakable passes between them in the closeness, and even as tim settles in to better heat hawk's bath water, he can feel the ghost of the man's hand in his hair and the fingers pressing into his palm. never before has something like this crept up on him, straightened his spine and burned in his cheeks and ears. this man is a prisoner of war, truly, even if they dress it up to be something else. and yet here he is, seeing in him something he isn't quite sure exists.

but there's no denying the call of cinnamon startles him, draws his eyes up to the man just as he disrobes. he tips his head away almost immediately in embarrassment, face burning a little deeper. but hawk's back is to him, just enough that he may enjoy the lines of his front - the way his abs are cut deep and strong, the muscled swell of his chest and shoulders, the long planes of his back that tim suddenly wishes he could touch. he does not dare look lower, but he's sure he caught the strong swell of his bottom, and the thick corded muscle of his thighs.

hawkins fuller looks inexplicably warm, and he is distracted for a moment by the sight of him relaxing in the waters. what would it be like, to slide in beside him, let the strength of his arms pull him across his lap, and -

he clears his throat. ]

Ah. Cinnamon.

[ spicy, woodsy - it's a scent not meant for royals. he would know, of course, considering it's the very same he uses. it does not go unnoticed - and though his concern is now on the man's shoulder, it does little to calm the fires burning low in his belly.

he rises from the little fire and steps across to the foot of the bath where a small chest sits. from it he draws out a small sachet - sticks of cinnamon, leaves - and empties it into a small basin in the bathing pool. the maids will skim it clean later. ]

I will have the court alchemist make something unique for you, until you are pleased with it. You may change it at any time, of course. But -

[ his eyes raise, then from the water and the little sachet, to meet hawk's eyes across the bathing pool where he's perched now. to join the bath of a man so important as hawk would be frowned upon, and yet he can't exactly deny his wishes, can he? already he can feel that hawkins fuller will bring with him new, challenging, exciting things. he can see in the lines of him among the waters just how he single handedly brought the conflict to an end.

something in tim's chest stirs - something he won't give name to until much, much later.

for now, he sighs easily, smiles sweetly and rises to his feet to round the bathing pool. it's only as he approaches hawk from the other side that he sees it - the angry, mottled gash at his shoulder. it isn't a fresh wound, but it's not old, either - the edges red and furious, the blood dried, dirt at its edges. ]

You're injured. Why didn't you say so?

[ an urgency arises in tim's voice that hadn't been there before - and its with a dogged determination he slips away and returns with a small basket - salves, wash cloths, perfumes. things all meant for post-bath relaxation. he wastes no time in shrugging out of his top layer of robes - the fine silk pooling carelessly on the floor, leaving him in a simple, long tunic that barely skims the top of his knees.

he does not wait for permission before he settles down on the bath's edge. and instead of coming to sit beside him, he lands behind him. ]

Come, sit up a moment. I apologize for the nearness, but I must see what I'm cleaning.

[ his feet fall into the water, bracketing hawk's body but tim is so unaware of the intimacy of it as he presses a soft palm to hawk's good shoulder and keeping it there, encouraging him to sit up so he may better see the wound, but keep the man comfortably in the baths. he first dips a wash cloth in the bath water and gently presses it to the edge of the wound, wiping some of the clotted blood and dirt aside. ]

If it hurts, please say so. I'll be as gentle as possible.