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homosexuals) wrote2020-04-06 11:13 pm
homosexuals) wrote2020-04-06 11:13 pm
[SPOIL OF WAR AU]
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.
no subject
he does not often allow himself to look at others, really, considering his job and duties. he doesn't allow himself the distractions of the flesh as often as he did when he was younger, but even now, his tastes have changed. whereas he dallied with fair-faced girls in his younger years, sometimes he steals evenings away in little lodgings with firmer bodies, more angled faces - men, with deeper voices and stronger hands.
it's impossible to deny that hawkins fuller is beautiful, of course, even smudged in filth and smelling like the long journey, cooked in the sun. yes, a hot bath is exactly what this man needs. ]
I am always a servant of the Crown, my lord, there's never doubt to that. You are part of that care now as well, even though I'm sure the guards made you feel otherwise. They'll relax in time - everyone will.
[ perhaps he is highly revered, paid well, given titles - but it does not stop him from making sure rooms are arranged appropriately, making sure waters are warm when needed, food arrives on time, clothes set out, etc. there's more to his job than simple politics. ]
So it's natural that I know your name. I was at the war table when we first heard it, just as we were planning our next course of action. You brought everything to - ah
[ a little pause as the hairpiece hits the ground. he's never so disheveled, but everything has been so harried and hurried since the announcement of hawk's arrival - he's hardly had a moment to breathe. it shows then, in the way he nearly dips to reach for the hairpiece, but pauses, blinking up at the dark haired man, surprise.
a man such as hawkins fuller on bended knee to him, for one, but he's startled by the cool colors in his eyes. yes, he can smell the dirt, the sweat, the blood on him, but it fazes him not. he grew up in a struggle-rife territory, so it's nothing new, but somehow it makes his blood run a little hotter here, makes something flip warm and pleasant in his stomach.
it's wrong, that he's feeling this. that he can feel prickles of heat up his spine, or the way the faintest red works its way into the high points of his cheek. ]
Oh. [ this man will be king one day, and strangely, even in these brief moments, something in him trusts that he will be a good one. ] If you'd - I've no objections, but please, do not feel - I should have been paying more attention, so -
[ a sigh, a wrinkle of his nose. he can't shake the strange, electricity on the air. ]
Please. It's kind of you.
no subject
Don't worry - it's no offense of your own, or even of the King's for their behavior. I'm under no illusion that I was - maybe still am - an enemy of the crown as of...hm, say half a day's time, give or take?
[but he sounds a little amused by the whole thing, an ease about the fact that in many other circumstances he'd be more akin to a prisoner of war, having all his freedoms taken away by shackling him - no matter how trussed up it is - in the form of a delicate hand and a marriage that will theoretically unite their kingdoms as surely as it dooms him to his own fate. a duty he must take on, because if he doesn't? too many lives are at stake. no one wants war, insurrectionists and more bloodshed in the countryside and near the borders. it's a few years of learning the customs, not that unlike their own, for they were once borne of this kingdom anyway - of hiding his true nature until he has the throne and ironically the freedom is restored to a degree requiring delicacy and discretion.
would tim still be here? he finds himself idly wondering when he reaches that ascension - would this man serve him as surely as he serves smith? it's a reassuring idea for a number of reasons, especially when he looks him in the eyes and sees nothing but reverence and a dogged honesty that is easy to tell when he's looked at so many others and seen scorn, falsehoods, underlying agendas. this is rare, especially among the politically inclined elite. that, and the fact that he does not look down on duties that would be better suited to a chambermaid or even the barbaric guards who would rather wield muscle and little else of intelligent life.
there's nothing disheveled then, in hawk's opinion - moreso just further evidence of how immersed tim makes himself in his duties. yet another honorable pursuit. and when he bends down to retrieve it, there is a moment that brings them both impossibly closer together - enough that he can smell something slightly spiced and see a light dusting of sun-kissed spots along the bridge of his nose, beneath the delicate frames perched there. there's a beautiful shimmer in his long waves - flecks of gold, hair oil of some kind? up close he looks like an ethereal being that men like him would sooner throw their lives away for, belonging at the very least on a dais in his own country. hawk knows the sensation the moment it shifts between them, something warm and undeniable in the way it feels like he might pluck it out of the air and feel the tension between his blood-stained hands.
the flush looks all too alluring on him, and hawk offers only the slightest of knowing, appreciative smirks before he reaches for the small hair clip all the same and stands so he can offer tim his hand, dirty as it is to help him rise back up.]
No objections at all. In fact, it's my pleasure.
[his palm doesn't linger so as not to offend, noting that it's a strong grip all the same, before he reaches to lightly brush back some of tim's chestnut waves from his shoulder and twisting them lightly so he might push the clip back and keep them out of the way.]
There. Perfect.
[it's not the hair he means, either. it's - everything, really, if the way his gaze shifts from head to toe across tim. there's no motion to step away, though he does turn towards the waiting bath.]
I wonder - if I haven't taken up much of your time already Counselor, if you'd join me at my bathside. I have much to learn before I meet Smith and his daughter for dinner, and you seem the right man for the job.
no subject
there's a press of his fingers as their hands part for the sake of propriety, but they stand closer now than they had but moments ago. other nobles and counselors might balk at having the remnants of blood, dirt and sweat on their own hands, but it's familiar to tim. it always will be.
but there's a smirk on hawk's face, an appraisal made in the cool blue of his eyes and tim wonders if the bath water may be warm enough already for such a man. he can feel the way the heat settles in his cheeks, the way it creeps slowly to his ears as that same filthy hand from before delicately twines his hair to fit within the clip. it is perfect - how he knew the height, the placement, everything, to keep the loose curls from falling across his brow when he reads, tim can't help but marvel.
he should not be considering how those hands might feel in his own, or tangled into the curls instead of the clip. this man will be princess lucy's husband, will be king. he is not some piece of meat to seek out, though as hawk's eyes drag over him from head to toe, he finds the thought escaping him altogether. ]
You're very kind.
[ he smiles on a little, baffled huff, a hand reaching to touch the clip and feel the way it's settled. hawkins fuller has wooed many a woman before, if this is how easily he manages accessories like this. it's what he must tell himself to cool the heat that has begun to creep toward the line of his throat. they stand so close still, and the honey brown of his own eyes finally lifts to hawk's face. ]
Mm. You are no enemy of the Crown, my lord. [ there's an honest urgency there, and he shakes his head, a hand reaching to steady against his forearm to emphasize his point. ] And should anyone make such accusations, you inform me immediately. It is your doing that bloodshed has stopped, a ceasefire called and although the circumstances may be complicated, I assure you that the Crown is grateful for what you have done.
[ he shakes his head and pulls his hand back then, smiling a little sheepishly, shaking his head. ]
I forget myself. My apologies. I - yes, your bath. I will join you, of course - and you may utilize me at your will. King Smith has asked I be your advisor, to help you learn the ways of our court and to assist you in anything you may need here.
[ he takes a half step back to round hawk toward the large bathing pool that settles in the back center of the room. it's covered by gauzy, expensive drapery, allowing the light to filter in from broad, clear glass in the ceiling above. tim always loved these rooms, and when he first arrived in the castle as a young man, he'd dreamt about a room like this, with its wide, expensive bed and filling the whole room with shelves of books and artwork.
his accommodations are meager and humble - he's been given everything out of generosity by the king himself, of course, and he would never complain. but the romantic in him loves the elegance of this room with its wide windows and hearth, the bright ceiling looking upon the sky in day and night. tim thinks, suddenly, he will have to ask the court decorator to be sure there are vibrant flowers in here, fresh and hand arranged every week.
hawk may not like them - he'll have to ask. but it would be a beautiful backdrop to the cool darkness of a man such as he. ]
Come. There's a changing screen, should you wish it and I will of course keep your privacy until you are well and settled. Bath oils and soaps on the edge, and ah - let me stoke the flames a moment yes? It will warm up by the time you're ready.
[ he smiles sweetly, settling down his papers and journal to one side before he traverses to a small, built in furnace burning off to one side. scooping the fabric of his robes behind him and pushing his sleeves to his elbows, he bends, unknowingly revealing more of the strong line of his thigh as he uses an iron poker to stoke the embers so he may add another log. ]
If there are scents you prefer, or things you need, please you must just tell me. I want you to be comfortable here.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
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.