[He clears his throat. He has to, because-- because Adasse in the bath. Sorrel quietly promises himself that his voice will not crack.]
Since it's a great need. I can agree to that. Would you, ah-- Like to meet me there? [There is a pause.] In the baths. I mean.
[However awkward this must sound, no one could possibly be more annoyed by his own lack of suave than Sorrel. He's certainly seen Adasse naked before! But even so, it doesn't seem to be getting less exciting; this may continue for some time yet.]
[He is going to control his voice, dammit. He is a grown elf and he can-- he can walk down to the baths! Which are probably abandoned at this hour because there's no one to man the furnaces! And that's fine!]
I don't think I've ever used... what's fancy about the soaps and oils? Do they have rare flowers in them or something?
[the whole concept sounds orlesian as heck. And yet.... weirdly enticing. Either way, it's a good distraction from the damp flagstones under his feet and the sort of echoey anticipation of stepping into the bathing space. Breathe, Sorrel.]
Well I stole it from some Orlesians soooooooo about as luxurious as it gets, I'd imagine.
[There is no one to man the furnances, which was why Adasse made sure he put enough coal in there to keep the water nice and heated for a long time.]
Pret-ty much. The Orlesians tend to use things as rare as possible on themselves, after all ...
[Adasse is standing in front of one of the larger baths, testing the water. He is only wearing a towel, snug around his hips as he leans over with his elbow lightly touching the water's surface. Satisfied, he stands up straight, keeping one hand on his towel to keep it from slipping all the way off.]
[Sorrel glances up when he hears Adasse's voice change tenor-- ah, he's already here? He moves forward on bare, quiet feet and sees... Broad, ink-striped back, muscles and scars and...
And before he quite knows what he's doing, or indeed has made any decision at all, Sorrel has close the distance and reached out to touch. He can't help it, can't help smoothing one palm across the curling, curving branches of tattoo, feeling the warm, living curve of Adasse's back. Only then he remembers himself and the heat rises in his face.]
[If he didn't know Sorrel's touch as intimately as he knew the back alleys of Darktown, he might have gotten immediately aggressive. He rarely let anyone touch his bare back - but Sorrel was the exception to so many rules. Adasse closed his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath as he felt heat coil around in his stomach. It's only when Sorrel speaks that Adasse turns his head to the side, just enough to catch the flush on Sorrel's cheek.
He doesn't move those, doesn't break contact, as he murmurs.] Hello, sweetheart.
[One eyebrow raises, a small smile in the corner of his mouth.]
[It's the endearment that catches him flat-footed, pulls the smile against its will, like dragging a fox out by the tail. Sorrel ducks his head, but doesn't drop his hand, nor step away.]
Don't laugh at me! Do you know how long I'd wanted to touch you like this?
[Almost exactly as long as he'd known the tattoo existed, in fact. It had been so strange a thing, existing in the place between the exotic and the familiar-- as if he'd found an Alienage elf with their own form of Vallaslin, Mythal's Holy Branches writ large on a different canvas.]
[He sees that smile, Sorrel, you can't deny it now. The amusement dies down to something warmer, and he turns his face forward and stretches his long arms out, to stretch the tattoo out properly, so every branch is visible.]
[Sorrel laughs at that, a helpless, amused little 'ha' of good humor at Adasse's preening. Like a cockerel showing his tail for the hens-- or rather, for just one. He pulls back for long enough to drop his outermost robes over a nearby stool, then returns in shirtsleeves only.
Both hands now, curious touch, hands spread wide like wings with finger pinions. He traces the spiraled vines, branches that divide and join again, bold black, simple and beautiful. Sorrel strokes his palms up across long shoulder-bones, to where the branches curve around Adasse's shoulders, then back again, wrapping finally around him in a hug. It seems just right to put his head down against Adasse's spine, to lean there in a loose embrace, warm and loving, and to heave a deep, contented sigh.]
[Yes, he was preening, but only because Sorrel wants him to. Sorrel likes them best like this - teasing and light, loving and serious about one another. Adasse is happy to oblige, to let himself be the best version of Adasse there is. All for the man wrapping his arms around him, nestling into his spine.]
I love you.
[Simple enough words, but with more meaning behind them than just a platitude. Adasse's hands close over Sorrel's smaller ones, exhaling softly.]
[And a kiss there, at the very center of his back, to seal the sentiment in. Adasse's hands cover his own, and so Sorrel take sit for permissions to linger over the embrace, leaning, swaying ever so slightly with the subtle shifts of their combined balance.]
Sometimes, I wish we could just stay right here, just like this. [There is a deep sigh to accompany this, as if admitting any limitations to the moment would ruin everything.] ...but, it'd probably be a shame to waste the fancy bath stuff.
[At that, Adasse lets out a deep happy laugh, squeezing Sorrel's arms with his own as he looks over his shoulder.]
Not to mention sooner or later our legs would give out, and then where would we be?
[He took up both of Sorrel's hands, kissing the palms of both, before he stepped forward towards the bath. Dropping the towel on the edge, he stepped down into the heated pool of water, until he was completely submerged. He came out of the water with a slight gasp, pushing now damp dark hair from his face. He beamed up at Sorrel.]
If you bring the oils, I'll wash your hair... they're right on the edge of the tub.
[Sorrel only stares, as if caught by surprise at this sudden development. Or maybe it's just Adasse's laugh ringing through him, because in the next minute the smile's curling up in him again and he nods. Nothing loathe, Sorrel takes a deep, steadying breath, and shucks his shirt to lay with his robes, and then his trousers, and then... eases himself into the water with an appreciative hiss for the temperature.
The water is hot. Very hot, very nearly too hot-- but not quite. Hot enough it'll stay hot the entire bath, Sorrel hopes.]
Here, M'Lord Hedonist. For the washing of hair. [Your fancy Orlesian bathsmellies, messere.] How did you want me, then?
[For once in his life, Sorrel seems entire unconscious of the joke.]
[Well naturally. If Adasse is going to bathe it's going to be with a proper hot bath. Water that will turn his skin pink, and leaving appealing droplets sliding down his trim frame.
He beams at Sorrel, before his lips curve up in a slightly more ... heated and amused way.]
Oh well I thought we might have you straddling my lap, if we're going to be jumping right ahead into the good bits.
[For just the briefest hesitation, Sorrel looks uncertain. What was he...? And then the meaning of the joke hits home and Sorrel retaliates with a splash. Get wet, sir.]
That's not what I meant! [Although, now that he's reminded...] I mean, it isn't... not what I meant, but. Shut up.
[Still, he'll shift over and lean in for a kiss, at least. And if it's suddenly just a little too much more to call merely a kiss? Well. That's what you might expect, dangling yourself in front of a thief.]
[Adasse lets out a long laugh once more, only managing to get a hand up to keep the water from his eyes, but not from the rest of him. His smile is all kinds of smug, eyes filled with laughter.]
All right, I'll shut up.
[Which he does, by gliding towards Sorrel through the water and sliding his arms around Sorrel's bare waist, tipping Sorrel back a little so he can have a properly stolen kiss, alone in this steamy bath.
[Sorrel makes a soft, surprised sound, which is swallowed up directly in the kiss. He was expecting something, not something like this, but something. Roaming hands, maybe, something made easy and tempting with all this wet skin so close-by.
He should have known better than for Adasse to be so straightforward, so uncreative. So instead he's dipped back, hair wetted in his distraction, and both hands clinging to Adasse for support. It is warm, and lovely, and between the slippery bottom of the tub and the weightless support of the water, Sorrel is only really being held up by Adasse's arms around him.]
Oh, creators. You're so good at that.
[Kissing. Holding him up. Surprising him. All three.]
[Sorrel, Adasse lives to do the unexpected with you. Especially when he knows there's been very little in your life that wasn't 'expected' from the get go. Don't worry, Adasse's here to blow your mind.]
Yeah, I know. We all have our talents.
[He grinned down at his boyfriend, before easily leaning him upright.]
So, would you like to have your hair washed? I'm afraid you'll have to sit on my lap though...
[Sorrel grins right back as he finds his balance, but despite the relative stability neither of them seem quite willing to let go. It's not as if there's any need for it, after all, except to push a wet hair off of one ear with one hand.]
Oh no, the hardship. How shall I survive such indignity?
[He said, smiling all the while, already turning to settle in a reverse of their earlier pose, and to allow Adasse free reign to pull him exactly as far-- or as close-- as he pleased, for the purposes.]
Am I going to smell like a fruit bowl or a flower after this?
[Secretly, he likes the idea of Adasse picking out scents for him, making him... pretty, somehow. Dressed up, in small ways, marked for Adasse, if that makes sense enough. But also, Sorrel can't be seen not to object to smelling Orlesian, whatever the context.]
Occch, got to rub it in that you're brilliant, do you?
[He teased, but honestly, Sorrel was still a wonder. Probably always would be. Look at this beautiful man who was so powerful and still loved him. So weird and yet so very welcome.]
I have no idea - but probably by smelling like flowers. Definitely flowers.
[He tugged Sorrel with him, so he could sit on the stone bench in the bath and Sorrel was seated on his lap. Yes, this would probably get interesting soon enough, but for right now? He was pampering his lover, thank you.
He took some of the oils and then handed them one after another to Sorrel.] Which do you like best?
Well, so long as I don't smell like an herb. I'd never hear the end of it if I ended up being Sorrel who smelled like sage.
[The joys of siblings, truly. Sorrel considered his options and then chooses at random. He doesn't know what a Syringa vulgaris is, or what kind of Orlesian nonsense it is to call a flower "vulgar" but it smells nice enough.]
That one.
[Which is, of course, his cue to slouch down against Adasse's chest like the unruly child he is. What is accessibility, you might ask? What does he care? Sorrel just wants to get as much warm water and as much warm Adasse as he can.]
So... What's got you in such a state, today, that you need to summon your handy bath-mage to make up for it? Not that I'm complaining, please notice that I'm very much not complaining.
Well honestly I rather like the smell of sage ... but that's not here nor there.
[He sniffs the bottle, nods his approval. Lilac is a very nice scent. He takes the oil, and making sure that he can both properly wash Sorrel's hair and hold him as close as this, settles in for a nice long bath.]
Hmm? Oh, planning revolutions is dirty work, don't you know?
[He has half a mind to have an opinion about that, but then Adasse settles in and starts washing his hair and...
Well, fuck it.
So instead, Sorrel hums a noncomittal agreement, and for the moment makes no argument, only letting his head be tilted this way and that by the pleasant pressure of Adasse's fingertips. This... This is truly the most decadent experience a person can have, and Sorrel finds that he can't really muster the desire to really argue. Not about the relative pleasantness of Sage certainly, and not about... about whatever the hell else he's talking about right now. Nothing is important except for this.]
Mnngh. But how come... if you're the dirty... I get washed? [He might have missed a word or two in there, but Sorrel is sure Adasse will find a way to bridge the gaps.] S'nice, though.
[Adasse is quiet for a few minutes after that question, for Sorrel was nice and relaxed now. He exhaled, slowly and thoughtfully, before he gently tilted back Sorrel's hair to rinse it clean, then pulled Sorrel back into his arms.]
Because I needed to do something that relaxed me ... and you are the most soothing person I've ever known. [He states simply, pressing a kiss to Sorrel's bare shoulder.] You ground me just by trusting me.
[Sorrel scoffs at that, and lets his freshly-washed head loll back so that he can look Adasse in the eye-- or at least in the face. He lifts a hand, dripping, from the water and sets it against Adasse's forehead for a moment.]
Well, you don't have a fever. [He shifts a little more, to get a better look, and his smile is bemused.] And you don't look like someone with a head injury...
...So, explain this to me, how exactly I can be a soothing person, when as far as I can tell I spend all my time practically dying of panic?
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[He clears his throat. He has to, because-- because Adasse in the bath. Sorrel quietly promises himself that his voice will not crack.]
Since it's a great need. I can agree to that. Would you, ah-- Like to meet me there? [There is a pause.] In the baths. I mean.
[However awkward this must sound, no one could possibly be more annoyed by his own lack of suave than Sorrel. He's certainly seen Adasse naked before! But even so, it doesn't seem to be getting less exciting; this may continue for some time yet.]
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I would like to meet you there -- in the baths.
[Quiet hum of approval.]
If you like, I'll even bring the fancy soaps and oils.
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[He is going to control his voice, dammit. He is a grown elf and he can-- he can walk down to the baths! Which are probably abandoned at this hour because there's no one to man the furnaces! And that's fine!]
I don't think I've ever used... what's fancy about the soaps and oils? Do they have rare flowers in them or something?
[the whole concept sounds orlesian as heck. And yet.... weirdly enticing. Either way, it's a good distraction from the damp flagstones under his feet and the sort of echoey anticipation of stepping into the bathing space. Breathe, Sorrel.]
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[There is no one to man the furnances, which was why Adasse made sure he put enough coal in there to keep the water nice and heated for a long time.]
Pret-ty much. The Orlesians tend to use things as rare as possible on themselves, after all ...
[Adasse is standing in front of one of the larger baths, testing the water. He is only wearing a towel, snug around his hips as he leans over with his elbow lightly touching the water's surface. Satisfied, he stands up straight, keeping one hand on his towel to keep it from slipping all the way off.]
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And before he quite knows what he's doing, or indeed has made any decision at all, Sorrel has close the distance and reached out to touch. He can't help it, can't help smoothing one palm across the curling, curving branches of tattoo, feeling the warm, living curve of Adasse's back. Only then he remembers himself and the heat rises in his face.]
...Hello, ma'nehn.
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He doesn't move those, doesn't break contact, as he murmurs.] Hello, sweetheart.
[One eyebrow raises, a small smile in the corner of his mouth.]
Everything back there as you like it?
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Don't laugh at me! Do you know how long I'd wanted to touch you like this?
[Almost exactly as long as he'd known the tattoo existed, in fact. It had been so strange a thing, existing in the place between the exotic and the familiar-- as if he'd found an Alienage elf with their own form of Vallaslin, Mythal's Holy Branches writ large on a different canvas.]
So. Yes, since you ask. Just as I like it.
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Well, then feel free to touch away.
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Both hands now, curious touch, hands spread wide like wings with finger pinions. He traces the spiraled vines, branches that divide and join again, bold black, simple and beautiful. Sorrel strokes his palms up across long shoulder-bones, to where the branches curve around Adasse's shoulders, then back again, wrapping finally around him in a hug. It seems just right to put his head down against Adasse's spine, to lean there in a loose embrace, warm and loving, and to heave a deep, contented sigh.]
I love you...
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I love you.
[Simple enough words, but with more meaning behind them than just a platitude. Adasse's hands close over Sorrel's smaller ones, exhaling softly.]
I missed you.
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[And a kiss there, at the very center of his back, to seal the sentiment in. Adasse's hands cover his own, and so Sorrel take sit for permissions to linger over the embrace, leaning, swaying ever so slightly with the subtle shifts of their combined balance.]
Sometimes, I wish we could just stay right here, just like this. [There is a deep sigh to accompany this, as if admitting any limitations to the moment would ruin everything.] ...but, it'd probably be a shame to waste the fancy bath stuff.
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Not to mention sooner or later our legs would give out, and then where would we be?
[He took up both of Sorrel's hands, kissing the palms of both, before he stepped forward towards the bath. Dropping the towel on the edge, he stepped down into the heated pool of water, until he was completely submerged. He came out of the water with a slight gasp, pushing now damp dark hair from his face. He beamed up at Sorrel.]
If you bring the oils, I'll wash your hair... they're right on the edge of the tub.
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The water is hot. Very hot, very nearly too hot-- but not quite. Hot enough it'll stay hot the entire bath, Sorrel hopes.]
Here, M'Lord Hedonist. For the washing of hair. [Your fancy Orlesian bathsmellies, messere.] How did you want me, then?
[For once in his life, Sorrel seems entire unconscious of the joke.]
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He beams at Sorrel, before his lips curve up in a slightly more ... heated and amused way.]
Oh well I thought we might have you straddling my lap, if we're going to be jumping right ahead into the good bits.
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That's not what I meant! [Although, now that he's reminded...] I mean, it isn't... not what I meant, but. Shut up.
[Still, he'll shift over and lean in for a kiss, at least. And if it's suddenly just a little too much more to call merely a kiss? Well. That's what you might expect, dangling yourself in front of a thief.]
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All right, I'll shut up.
[Which he does, by gliding towards Sorrel through the water and sliding his arms around Sorrel's bare waist, tipping Sorrel back a little so he can have a properly stolen kiss, alone in this steamy bath.
Just the sort of kiss that Adasse himself meant.]
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He should have known better than for Adasse to be so straightforward, so uncreative. So instead he's dipped back, hair wetted in his distraction, and both hands clinging to Adasse for support. It is warm, and lovely, and between the slippery bottom of the tub and the weightless support of the water, Sorrel is only really being held up by Adasse's arms around him.]
Oh, creators. You're so good at that.
[Kissing. Holding him up. Surprising him. All three.]
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Yeah, I know. We all have our talents.
[He grinned down at his boyfriend, before easily leaning him upright.]
So, would you like to have your hair washed? I'm afraid you'll have to sit on my lap though...
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[Sorrel grins right back as he finds his balance, but despite the relative stability neither of them seem quite willing to let go. It's not as if there's any need for it, after all, except to push a wet hair off of one ear with one hand.]
Oh no, the hardship. How shall I survive such indignity?
[He said, smiling all the while, already turning to settle in a reverse of their earlier pose, and to allow Adasse free reign to pull him exactly as far-- or as close-- as he pleased, for the purposes.]
Am I going to smell like a fruit bowl or a flower after this?
[Secretly, he likes the idea of Adasse picking out scents for him, making him... pretty, somehow. Dressed up, in small ways, marked for Adasse, if that makes sense enough. But also, Sorrel can't be seen not to object to smelling Orlesian, whatever the context.]
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[He teased, but honestly, Sorrel was still a wonder. Probably always would be. Look at this beautiful man who was so powerful and still loved him. So weird and yet so very welcome.]
I have no idea - but probably by smelling like flowers. Definitely flowers.
[He tugged Sorrel with him, so he could sit on the stone bench in the bath and Sorrel was seated on his lap. Yes, this would probably get interesting soon enough, but for right now? He was pampering his lover, thank you.
He took some of the oils and then handed them one after another to Sorrel.] Which do you like best?
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[The joys of siblings, truly. Sorrel considered his options and then chooses at random. He doesn't know what a Syringa vulgaris is, or what kind of Orlesian nonsense it is to call a flower "vulgar" but it smells nice enough.]
That one.
[Which is, of course, his cue to slouch down against Adasse's chest like the unruly child he is. What is accessibility, you might ask? What does he care? Sorrel just wants to get as much warm water and as much warm Adasse as he can.]
So... What's got you in such a state, today, that you need to summon your handy bath-mage to make up for it? Not that I'm complaining, please notice that I'm very much not complaining.
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[He sniffs the bottle, nods his approval. Lilac is a very nice scent. He takes the oil, and making sure that he can both properly wash Sorrel's hair and hold him as close as this, settles in for a nice long bath.]
Hmm? Oh, planning revolutions is dirty work, don't you know?
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Well, fuck it.
So instead, Sorrel hums a noncomittal agreement, and for the moment makes no argument, only letting his head be tilted this way and that by the pleasant pressure of Adasse's fingertips. This... This is truly the most decadent experience a person can have, and Sorrel finds that he can't really muster the desire to really argue. Not about the relative pleasantness of Sage certainly, and not about... about whatever the hell else he's talking about right now. Nothing is important except for this.]
Mnngh. But how come... if you're the dirty... I get washed? [He might have missed a word or two in there, but Sorrel is sure Adasse will find a way to bridge the gaps.] S'nice, though.
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Because I needed to do something that relaxed me ... and you are the most soothing person I've ever known. [He states simply, pressing a kiss to Sorrel's bare shoulder.] You ground me just by trusting me.
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[Sorrel scoffs at that, and lets his freshly-washed head loll back so that he can look Adasse in the eye-- or at least in the face. He lifts a hand, dripping, from the water and sets it against Adasse's forehead for a moment.]
Well, you don't have a fever. [He shifts a little more, to get a better look, and his smile is bemused.] And you don't look like someone with a head injury...
...So, explain this to me, how exactly I can be a soothing person, when as far as I can tell I spend all my time practically dying of panic?
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