homosexuals | [SPOIL OF WAR AU]

It must require great care. Extra time in the baths. Extra time - naked, as the day you were born. Looking like the male counterpart to Venus herself rising out from the water.

Ah yes, that. I try to smooth it down when I can. Perhaps I'll forget next time I wash.

Lucy will have my hand, my loyalty, my sword. But I'm nothing if not a man of my word: I never promised anything of my heart.

A warlock. If I were, I would have found a way to have you to myself.

[that was awfully forward. hawk pauses a long time before finishing, fingers again tracing the scratch as if he might piece together the indent of the tip might spell it out for him.]

As do I. I only hope you'll share with me what you hesitated to write. There are still some things better said in person, after all.

Safer, too.

Edited 2024-05-19 02:17 (UTC)

You have high fantasies for what I look like - an impressive imagination. I've left a vial of oil by your bath side. Next you wash your hair, put this in after. I should like to see your waves celebrated and cared for.

[ the vial is wrapped in something - a kerchief - a custom of the land to show tentative interest. the fabric smells of cinnamon and spice and is well worn. the pattern on it? the colors of a different country. ]

Be kind to her. I beg of you. Care for her in as much as you can. She is a good woman, a dear companion of mine. Only then will I consider lending my heart to anyone.

I'll share in due time, of course. But you're right - writing can be dangerous, even if I must tell you my office is nearly more sacred than the King's throne. Only you and I have they key to this.

I think it might be better to show you what I wrote, instead, at our lunch.

Ah - you've left me two gifts. You should warn me next time so I might repay the favor. The kerchief I can selfishly say I prefer - I've tucked it between my robes. Like carrying a piece of you close to my heart during the day.

[fuck. the period on that looks - dug in. like it sat for too long after hawk has realized what he's written.]

Of course I will. I have met her only once, and I can tell she has a strong will. She's a fine woman - she'll make an exceptional wife.

[which is the problem altogether, but he won't dare put that in writing.]

Our own private haven, then. This and your spot in the gardens, which I find myself awaiting with near bated breath.

How is a man to sleep with your scent wafting in my nostrils and your visage dancing in my dreams?

No need to repay the favor. I just want to be sure you're taken care of here. You're comfortable. My way of keeping some piece of you close to my heart as well.

[ and there's no telling the amount of times he ran his fingers over the indents of hawk's writing, imagining his fingers on his. ]

Our own private haven, yes.

It might not be wise, but I haven't been able to speak so freely with anyone like this before. That is a gift in and of itself. I thank you for it.

So I will apologize you can't sleep - I wish we could write one another like this when we are unable to sleep. I would listen to your restless dreamings if it would help soothe you.

Then rest easy knowing I'm more comfortable here than I ever was even back in my own home. Truly.

Everyone has their secrets, do they not? Some more dangerous than others, but to keep them locked inside is maybe the most dangerous of all. I'm honored to be your outlet - gift, as you say.

[how should he tell tim it's every night? especially the nights he's not to have a session with tim, instead focusing on his physical trainings with the guards and soldiers that are smith's pride and joy.]

You owe me no apologies, though I wish there was a solution to our problem. Do you think -

[it's a terrible suggestion. a reckless idea. there is clear indent where his pen rested yet again in thought.]

Do you think the garden would be as welcoming in the nighttime?

I'm glad to hear you're comfortable here in such a short time.

[ ah. did he inadvertently call hawk his gift? well, then. reading back, he certainly did. his face burns, and he's glad hawk can't see it, but there's an indent and a splotch of ink where he stutter stopped to look back. ]

The gardens are welcome always, and often overlooked at night as the guards' eyes are turned more toward the walls than the grounds. I've read there, under the moonlight before.

We could find time then. For lessons, studies, reading. Any manner of things can still be done by moonlight and candlelight, especially if responsibilities burns up our daylight.

It has little to do with the place. The people...on the other hand. Or should I say, person.

You know, it feels silly to be a man jealous of flowers and the moon itself. For them to have seen you in a state of undress, alone and restless when I'd gladly take their place. After midnight - before dawn, when we might have the cover of darkness then.

For lessons of a different nature. The kind that don't require books. Call it etiquette, if it's a better motivator.

We've not known each other long - you might reserve your judgement until you know that person better, mind you.

But I often go out and read at night when I cannot sleep. Something about the chill as the sun fully sets and it turns to night. Clears my busy mind. The gardens are an easy place to get lost in under the moonlight.

So etiquette lessons might be overdue. I wonder, my lord, if you know where to put your hands should anyone ask you to dance? Or how to hold a maid's hand when guiding them over the steps to the garden, or over the threshold of her rooms.

There are many customs you've yet to learn.

Consider it another one of my many skills you admired - I know how to read people in a short amount of time. I like you, Tim.

And tell me...when you can't sleep and you sit under this moonlight, do you let your hair loose to blow easy and free in the light breeze? Do you forget the customary, elaborate and unnecessary robes that otherwise would cover your person properly for the court?

I have a few ideas. But I should know - I should learn from the man who knows it all. I'd have it no other way.

So I will hold you to this, dancing lessons and escorts and - practice in the moonlight. For courtship, someday.

I suppose we will have to sit in the moonlight one day and you will see for yourself. I cannot share all my secrets, Hawk. But the proprieties of court aren't necessary when no one is nearby enough to see.

All the same - hold me to my word. Someday, of course. I will meet you in the gardens tomorrow afternoon.

[ sometimes, when tim works late, he flips through the book of their letters, touching the indents of hawk's words and imagining what those fingertips might feel against his skin. it's forbidden, really, that he allows himself to wonder this at night when he's laying awake. it's foolish to want to wander with his hair streaming loose and robes left behind to see if he might find him.

but he does none of this. instead, he arranges for their lessons in the gardens, and after meeting hawkins at the fountain and guiding him deep into the grounds where few go. it's in a circle of tall, beautifully colored flora that he's set up a spot for them - a blanket and some food, books and papers spread out. everything in full bloom, they're practically invisible from any foot path. ]

This is just one of many spots you may find some privacy, when you are busy and asked after often as King. I feel it's important for even a monarch to have places they may go to rest.

[ tim is sitting with his legs tucked to one side, a book in his lap on etiquette. he's worn lighter robes today with the weather, his hair scooped up into a messy chignon of wavy, loopy curls, getting it up off his neck while they sit in the shade of flowers. ]

You must keep this secret for me - I steal away here myself sometimes when I need to.

[this might be the first place within the castle that has felt like a true sanctuary - somewhere without the pressures of a new culture and watchful, prying eyes at every turn. it holds more solitude even than the safety of his own room behind closed doors, tranquil and fragrant and so removed from the opulence of the rest of the court that it almost reminds him of what home was once like before it had been ravaged by war. but most of all it's the ease and familiarity with which tim moves within the space - the near liquid pool of his less constricting robes, the way one thigh peeks through the sheer material as it's curled up against his body with a book resting against it, the curls of his hair flowing in pretty tendrils along the sides of his face. there is something ethereal about him here in sunlight, but equally alluring is the promise of moonlight that he knows is being offered to him under the guise of the lessons now.

will he come tonight, hawk wonders? or will tim find he's had his fill of hawk's wry commentary and sparkling blue eyes, even if it's not the history and the mention of a king he's giving his full attention, but rather the man himself for the beauty of every exceptional curve of his visage and the clandestine meeting he's been so strategically introduced to. maybe it's selfish to want more. certainly a risk, danger lurking about even if tim insists this place somehow escapes the soldier's patrols. hawk is not in the business of acting as if there are not eyes everywhere.]

I wouldn't dream of it. And - as a future King, I could hardly consider myself fair if I were to take away your only place of pure solitude. What kind of reward is that for a Counselor and a constituent most generous to share it in the first place?

[he leans in, conspiratorial after making a show of glancing about and lowering his voice. his gaze shifts too, briefly to tim's lips before it drags slowly back up to his eyes. have they always had the richness of honey in their center? he remembers them looking more like the delectable draw of amber in a glass - fine ale or something sweet.]

Your secret is safe with me. And this spot - it is ours alone, now.

[hawk leans in slightly, shifting so he slides in closer to tim.]

Anything you say here is between Hawkins Fuller and Timothy Laughlin. No titles, no judgment. What do you think?

[ hawk is stunning in the bright light of late afternoon, the sun warming his skin, making his eyes sparkle in a way he never sees inside. being outdoors suits him, he realizes, all strong muscles and sturdy build. he settles beside him and tim finds himself already startled by how comfortably the man leans into his space, heat rising up into the high points of his cheeks.

a background of flowers, greenery, bright sun and blue sky makes him look like something out of a painting. part of him wants to tell the court painter to paint him here among nature, sun warm and soft, like the heavens themselves smiling down on him. hawkins fuller will be a good, kind leader. a king that tim can only hope to serve. ]

As future King, all of this in the garden will be yours, so you may do with it as you see fit you know.

[ he smiles, the motion dimpling his cheeks a little, scrunching up his nose behind his spectacles. but there's no denying the way hawk's eyes track to his lips, the way he slides in closer. their letters have ignited something in him. he's had trysts with men before, hidden little things of passion but no affection. necessity, less true desire. but when he looks at hawkins fuller, he feels burning in his gut.

want.

he fidgets with the book in his lap, fingers flipping the corner of one page idly, thumb running over the smooth paper. ]

I'd like that, though. This place being - well, ours. Hawkins Fuller and Timothy Laughlin. We were blessed to have names that tie up the tongue. [ he huffs a little, a laugh, briefly tipping his head up, eyes fluttering closed to admire the sun. ]

It will be very difficult to focus on studies, which is what we should be doing. But it is lovely outside, and I'll admit perhaps when I shouldn't that the company may be lovelier.

[SPOIL OF WAR AU]

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