[SPOIL OF WAR AU]

[homosexuals]

SPOIL OF WAR AU

after all we all are prisoners. of our memories, our desires, our limitations, our disappointments… in the end we are terribly tragic creatures.

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[homosexuals]

[ah, if only tim knew. no - there were no women to be wooed, no one who he'd practiced such a motion on before. there's never been another besides kenneth, his sweet little knight who had been gone so early on in the battle after following him near immediately after his departure despite insistence otherwise. there's a start when he realizes this might be the first time kenny has felt truly far away, and frankly, a memory of happier times before bloodshed and battlefields made a real man out of him. there is a spark of something else here, something undeniable that he knows better than to comment on so soon even if he wishes to bring it to light and ask if counselor laughlin notices it too.

his fingers linger only for the briefest moment, not wishing to dirty his hair even if he imagines only sisyphus with his rock uphill must have a more difficult task than to pull away from those tempting tendrils of chestnut. hawk takes this stolen moment to bask in the simple pleasure of looking at tim up close - the strong shape of his nose, the slight crease between his brows, his lashes thick and dark behind the slim gold encasing his lenses. what might he look like without those? or with his hair up in a chignon like a fair maiden, wisps of curls falling delicately along his back? the palace is full of rich tapestries, stonework and arches and architecture that would impress someone with even less awareness than hawk - and yet the most enticing thing hawk has seen since he's set foot in here is tim himself.

the moment is all too short-lived when tim steps back and seemingly breaks the trance he'd found himself in, wondering if the other man felt it too up close. maybe he only pulled away from the sheer tension between them, the knowledge that any longer and they both might have done something foolish. or maybe hawk is letting the ideas his father had tried to beat out of him come to the surface, impossible to be broken when a pretty faced brunette is in his line of sight. it's tempting to reach for his hand once more, but if nothing else the way he's soiled at the moment stops him from imposing such filth on a well-dressed man who looks as though he could be a member of the very court hawk is meant to debut at later this week. hawk follows him as if connected by an invisible string, gaze never straying from tim's form even among the sumptuous surroundings that are far more appealing than even his family's abode.

it's hard not to imagine him lounging on a pillow under the sheer flutter of the drapes, stretched out with his head in a book or the papers he dutifully carries. are his chambers so luxurious? they ought to be, if this is the caliber of man he's to be learning from. hawk spares a moment to look up then at the opening in the ceiling, sunlight casting an angelic glow on tim as he kneels down to further ignite the heat of his baths as well as underneath his skin for the way hawk suddenly feels himself drawn to that wide sliver of a muscled thigh and toned legs that he wishes he could feel beneath his fingertips.]

Cinnamon.

[it's out of his mouth before he can stop it - thinking about what he had smelled on tim mere moments ago.]

Cinnamon - spices and musk and all things woodsy, if you might have those on hand.

[hawk saunters forward, bypassing the changing screen altogether and instead pulling off his filthy tunic in one swift motion. there's a mottled gash at the back of his left shoulder, oozing blood from the jagged lines of skin that he doesn't let himself wince at as he keeps moving forward towards the baths - and tim himself - with a determination and a twinkle in his eyes. his hands sling to the belt with his broadsword and smaller knife, his gloves tucked into a pocket and whiskey in a container up back. it's all dropped unceremoniously as hawk stands near the edge of the baths, dragging down leather and chainmail all at once across sweat and blood and firm muscle honed in more than just battle. he offers a wry tip of his head to tim before letting himself take a step into the water, naked as the day he was born without much care for decency or modesty.

what has he to hide, really?

a few more steps and he finds the built in ledge, resting his back against it with a low groan as his head tips back and warm water envelops his body and realizes he's been holding off the aches of the fights for some time now. this is - heavenly. or it would be even moreso if- ]

Come here, Counselor.

[one eye winks open, a hand raising lazily to pat at the ledge near his head.]

It's divine. You ought to feel it yourself, even if it's just to wet your toes while we speak.

[apologetics]

[ 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.

[homosexuals]

[cinnamon, because it will likely be all he can think about for the coming days. that and the phantom sensation of counselor laughlin's hair on his fingertips. never has hawk felt the need to manufacture such closeness - to remind his senses of someone because he craves it as much as the men that he knows have developed an affliction of sex or wine or even opium from dark dens that turn their bodies inside out and leave them shells of their former selves. it seems a good thing then that this man is to be, essentially, at his beck and call - though he'd never dream of abusing it and earning his ire when already it seems he has his respect.

he hopes tim is looking before the moments he sinks in to the water - wondering if anything in his body attracts him as just the small peek of muscle has done to him, giving life to a warmth flickering along his skin and otherwise unaffected by what should be the chill of the air around him suddenly. does he like what he sees of the warrior he admires for stopping this nonsensical slaughter of men from both their kingdoms? if it were a different time, if they'd met as strangers in a bar or a brothel - would they both be soaking in this bath together, passing idle chatter until hawk could -

christ. perhaps he's woozier than he thought, or his imagination has gotten him carried away for a change. normally he's much more practical than this.

but the wound itself is something he's entirely forgotten in the excitement of the day, too focused instead on the transport to the castle and being presented before the king, being accepted ceremoniously and hastily into their ranks. all the battle before is a blur that will haunt him when his eyes slip shut later - in the privacy of his own suite and without anyone to alarm for the brutality he's seen firsthand and pushed down to involuntarily process later in painstaking detail. he vaguely remembers someone piercing him from behind, reopening an old wound from the battle he'd lost kenny in - making him hiss more in frustration than actual pain before meeting their end at the slice of his sword. hawk's face pulls into confusion then, chin tipping to try and glance over his shoulder with little luck for where the wound is on his body. one small blessing was not having to look at it and be reminded, even he'd bear the other scars harder in his mind.]

Ah, don't trouble yourself - it's old, and it will heal over again. There's no helping the appearance of it either.

[he'd been reluctant back then even to have a doctor see to it, even if he'd been woozy with disorientation and sweating feverishly. there had been question if he'd even make it the day it happened, for so large was the blow he'd sustained, but here is.

still, he can hardly complain when it means tim returns to him and lets his robe fall to the floor, revealing in a breathtaking moment the full scope of those powerful legs that he has a perfect angle to drink in before they wrap around him. hawk tries to twist around and take in full view of this surprisingly unexpected pleasure. the body behind him is firm, warm and inviting in a way that makes him want to lean back and lounge against him rather than the bath's edge.]

No apologies necessary. You are offering me a kindness far below your station, Counselor Laughlin. But I'm grateful all the same, not least of all to get a closer acquaintance with you.

Literally and figuratively.

[there is a pleased note to his voice, seeping in from the wry twist of his lips at his wittiness. if it stings, he doesn't let it on, gritting his teeth and baring it. most of the sensation has been lost under the twisted knotting of the old scars - it's the edge that connects to his skin that feels sensation the most and almost makes him shiver from the gentle press of tim's hands and the cloth he strips away grime and dried blood with.]

Thank you. Though, I would have enjoyed your company all the same in such proximity.

So - tell me what I should expect of this feast tomorrow night. Will you be in attendance?

[apologetics]

[ 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.