[ would this be different were he not indebted and dutifully loyal to a royal family, and hawk merely a man as well, both of them met on the edge of a spiced, steamed bath? tim's never been so lucky, has always had to sneak and press into shadows to feed the fire that sometimes roils with yearning and longing deep in his belly. those thoughts will haunt him later, but tim scoots forward a little without thinking, his robes hiking up round the muscle of his thighs, meaning the warm, soft skin of his inner thighs skims hawk's sides, knees bumping his ribs.
he continues to clean the wound diligently, taking his time and moving slowly around the angry red spots, swapping out the cloth when blood and dirt cloud the water in the small basin he's used on the side. ]
It is not below my station to care for your wellbeing, Lord Fuller. In fact, it is every bit my duty to see to it that you are comfortable and seen to, and if it must be with my own hands then I am but your humble counselor. My station is mutable at best.
[ there's a little huff as he gently runs a clean, warm cloth over the wound entirely now, knowing it will be sensitive. ]
I like helping, anyway. You're hurt - I couldn't let you be, even if it will heal on its own.
[ the heat from the bath steams up his glasses a little, causing him to scrunch his nose in concentration as he begins to apply a soothing salve to the wound. his hair falls over his shoulder on one side, tickling the smooth, uninjured skin of hawk's back. ]
But, mm. The feast. You can expect everyone to stare at you, for one. The courtiers will likely ask you foolish and possibly offensive questions about your country. They don't care to understand history or geography like the King does. I think most will be polite. The food will be good. There will be music and dancing and likely some formal speech.
You'll be given a title, I'm sure. But I'll be there, at your side. I've been told to help, ah. Encourage the more curious and obstinate members of our court from you for a time, so you may ask anything of me so long as I'm with you.
[ another bit of salve, this instead gently pressed against the wound with a delicate thumb, and he finally reaches to tip his glasses back atop his head from the steam and fog. only then does he begin the process of bandaging the wound, even if temporarily. he doesn't realize how close he's settled behind hawk now, the man deep in the vee of his thighs, his own hands ghosting along hawk's back under the pretense of medicine.
he'd be a fool to not notice how broad his shoulders are, how his jaw looks turned over one, how the muscles in his back flex. he picks up a clean cloth and in a sort of helpless, absent act - uses it to aid in washing the rest of hawk's back. he's injured, after all. he shouldn't be reaching. ]
It will heal - but you're right, I'm afraid you'll have that scar all the same.
no subject
he continues to clean the wound diligently, taking his time and moving slowly around the angry red spots, swapping out the cloth when blood and dirt cloud the water in the small basin he's used on the side. ]
It is not below my station to care for your wellbeing, Lord Fuller. In fact, it is every bit my duty to see to it that you are comfortable and seen to, and if it must be with my own hands then I am but your humble counselor. My station is mutable at best.
[ there's a little huff as he gently runs a clean, warm cloth over the wound entirely now, knowing it will be sensitive. ]
I like helping, anyway. You're hurt - I couldn't let you be, even if it will heal on its own.
[ the heat from the bath steams up his glasses a little, causing him to scrunch his nose in concentration as he begins to apply a soothing salve to the wound. his hair falls over his shoulder on one side, tickling the smooth, uninjured skin of hawk's back. ]
But, mm. The feast. You can expect everyone to stare at you, for one. The courtiers will likely ask you foolish and possibly offensive questions about your country. They don't care to understand history or geography like the King does. I think most will be polite. The food will be good. There will be music and dancing and likely some formal speech.
You'll be given a title, I'm sure. But I'll be there, at your side. I've been told to help, ah. Encourage the more curious and obstinate members of our court from you for a time, so you may ask anything of me so long as I'm with you.
[ another bit of salve, this instead gently pressed against the wound with a delicate thumb, and he finally reaches to tip his glasses back atop his head from the steam and fog. only then does he begin the process of bandaging the wound, even if temporarily. he doesn't realize how close he's settled behind hawk now, the man deep in the vee of his thighs, his own hands ghosting along hawk's back under the pretense of medicine.
he'd be a fool to not notice how broad his shoulders are, how his jaw looks turned over one, how the muscles in his back flex. he picks up a clean cloth and in a sort of helpless, absent act - uses it to aid in washing the rest of hawk's back. he's injured, after all. he shouldn't be reaching. ]
It will heal - but you're right, I'm afraid you'll have that scar all the same.