[ Is he meant not to watch her? Difficult to say. He utterly fails at that, if so. Ozma keeps his attention on removing his armor, to start with, but then she is dropping his borrowed trousers and peeling off his borrowed tunic, revealing so much smooth pale skin that he is running his gaze over her body before he thinks to do otherwise.
She is beautiful. Tall and slender and elegant, and in the warm light of the fire, her hair spills across her shoulders and down her back like golden sunlight. Ozma is not one for poetry, but he is certain a poet could spend hours describing the curve of her back, the smooth stretch of her thighs. She sinks into the water and he refocuses.
With the armor set neatly down, it is simple to strip out of his clothing. He has done worse than wear a tunic through two hikes and two battles— but it is still an immense relief to peel it off and be free of all that dirt and sweat. He does away with the tunic, then the trousers, then hesitates at his underwear. Ozma slides a look back to Salem, to see whether she is watching. There is a little jolt when their eyes meet.
He hesitates to be naked in front of her. She— well, she'll learn a great deal about men very quickly, at this rate. There is no pretending he isn't half-hard. He wonders if he will see fascination or nervousness or— and this is purely hope— something hungrier and more intent, when she sees him fully stripped down to join her.
Nothing for it. He drops his underwear, sets it all aside, and goes to step into the water with her. The heat is excellent, and he sinks into it gladly, til the hot water is up around his shoulders. It feels so good against the aches of the hike and the armor and the fight, and he shuts his eyes a moment, runs his wet hands over his face with a low little hum of pleasure. ]
[ Salem looks away at the eye contact, but not for long. Ozma’s instincts are correct: she is learning very quickly about a lot of things. Once in a while, her nanny would speak to her about outside, in a hushed, careful tone that did not presume Salem would ever get to see the outside. It would have been dangerous for the nanny to suggest otherwise. Still, she gave Salem what little instruction she could, instruction she framed as “things a lady ought to know.” She spoke of men, once, and what they looked like, but never went into too much detail. Salem looks back to Ozma, matching what she sees to the conversation she’d had with her nanny many years ago. She has a difficult time articulating her thoughts beyond this: Ozma is beautiful, and she is glad he is joining her.
Ozma sinks into the bath, and he seems to be relaxed and enjoying himself. That is good. Salem smiles happily and follows his lead, first wetting her face before turning to the soaps so that she might wash herself. It’s only now that she realizes — ]
Oh, the inn has tiny soaps!
[ Salem sounds delighted by this development, and she eagerly picks one up and smells it before showing it to Ozma. It smell lovely — everything here does — but the scent is different from the bath. Salem figures it’s another plant-scent, but does not know which one it is. She has encountered so few plants, after all. ]
[ He leans back to soak his hair, and for a moment is preoccupied with the warmth and feeling of the water. Keeping his eyes shut is really the only way not to be distracted by the sight of Salem in the bath. He could spend a very long time admiring her like this.
But then she's getting excited again, voice pitching sweet and delighted, and Ozma draws himself upright again to blink at her with water trickling down his face. He takes the soap and leans in to smell it, then breaks into a smile and hands it back. ]
[ Salem seems absolutely delighted by this information, and as she takes her bath, she’ll ask Ozma about all the other soaps too, happily offering them up to him to inspect, not at all concerned that she might seem silly or annoying. After their bath and breakfast, Salem is absolutely full of energy, and while she keeps close to Ozma as they venture out into the village to buy clothes, she does seem a lot less nervous. She’s learning quickly about her new world, and by the middle of the day, she’s able to make simple transactions with shopkeepers and hold short conversations with some of the less intimidating people in the inn.
She’s very happy to be seeing and learning what, to her, is so much. She’s happy with her new clothes, too: the shopkeeper might have been a little confused when Salem requested he show her clothes fit for “walking and adventure,” but she’s managed to obtain a grey pair of slim pants, a few periwinkle tunics of similar make to Ozma’s, and a gown for daytime and a gown for sleeping. She chooses soft, cool colors that pick up the blue in her eyes, and she seems more at ease in her new clothes than she did in the dress her father gave her.
As the day wears on, it becomes clear that Salem very much enjoys venturing outside the inn. She is having a lovely time learning about the world. She is happy enough to be breathing fresh air. So, after their tour of the village is done, Salem and Ozma decide to explore a little more of the surrounding meadows and farmland, instead of heading straight back to the inn. They bring a dinner in a basket and a blanket, and Ozma leads the two of them to a different rolling field, this one full of small wildflowers -- daisies and the like. Salem gasps, as she tends to do, when they arrive. She has never seen so many flowers at once before, delicate and soft and beautiful.
Cautiously, to Ozma: ]
Will the flowers be alright if we step on them?
[ She doesn't know! She doesn't want to hurt them by mistake! ]
[ The new clothes suit her beautifully. This is, genuinely, the best day Ozma has had in... a very long time. He has returned from campaigns to fanfare and rejoicing, and by comparison, the excitement in this little village is nothing more than a mild chatter of gossip. But Salem's delight at every new thing— the way she stops to admire every colorful little moment he wouldn't have even noticed— warms him like sunshine. His face hurts with smiling.
So he laughs, not unkindly, as she turns to him to fuss over the flowers. He has the blanket folded over his shoulder and the basket on his arm, his staff and armor left behind, and there is something so freeing and safe about this moment it feels like yesterday's battle is a world away. ]
These little ones should spring back unharmed. And they will still grow back, year after year.
[ He shifts the blanket on his shoulder so that he can reach out for her hand. The sun is beginning to set, and it casts the flowers in a warm golden glow. He will lead them through it, up the gentle rise of a little hill, to spread the blanket. ]
[ Ozma laughs, and Salem smiles back. She likes it when he laughs. Salem takes his hand; she likes that even more. She has touched Ozma a lot, throughout the day -- at least, a lot by her standards. A lean against his shoulder here, a brush against his fingertips there. The touch has a language all its own. It says: I am here. I trust you. I like you. ]
Oh, good.
[ Now that the safety of the wildflowers has been established, Salem happily follows Ozma up the hill. She lets him set down the basket and spread out the blanket before grabbing his hand again, and pulling him down onto the blanket with her. Salem has no time to waste! She would like to lie down in a field full of flowers right now, please!
Salem's grin is mischievous and playful, almost teasing, when she's so adamantly requesting Ozma's presence. But once she's lying down on the blanket properly, and he's settled on the blanket beside her, she rolls over, plucks a single flower, and rolls back to face Ozma. She holds the tiny flower out to him, her expression now earnestly open and soft. ]
Here. This is for you.
[ Salem says this with the same gravity that she used to compliment Ozma's soup. This is a gift. That's important. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw nudity and light nsfw
She is beautiful. Tall and slender and elegant, and in the warm light of the fire, her hair spills across her shoulders and down her back like golden sunlight. Ozma is not one for poetry, but he is certain a poet could spend hours describing the curve of her back, the smooth stretch of her thighs. She sinks into the water and he refocuses.
With the armor set neatly down, it is simple to strip out of his clothing. He has done worse than wear a tunic through two hikes and two battles— but it is still an immense relief to peel it off and be free of all that dirt and sweat. He does away with the tunic, then the trousers, then hesitates at his underwear. Ozma slides a look back to Salem, to see whether she is watching. There is a little jolt when their eyes meet.
He hesitates to be naked in front of her. She— well, she'll learn a great deal about men very quickly, at this rate. There is no pretending he isn't half-hard. He wonders if he will see fascination or nervousness or— and this is purely hope— something hungrier and more intent, when she sees him fully stripped down to join her.
Nothing for it. He drops his underwear, sets it all aside, and goes to step into the water with her. The heat is excellent, and he sinks into it gladly, til the hot water is up around his shoulders. It feels so good against the aches of the hike and the armor and the fight, and he shuts his eyes a moment, runs his wet hands over his face with a low little hum of pleasure. ]
cws continue
Ozma sinks into the bath, and he seems to be relaxed and enjoying himself. That is good. Salem smiles happily and follows his lead, first wetting her face before turning to the soaps so that she might wash herself. It’s only now that she realizes — ]
Oh, the inn has tiny soaps!
[ Salem sounds delighted by this development, and she eagerly picks one up and smells it before showing it to Ozma. It smell lovely — everything here does — but the scent is different from the bath. Salem figures it’s another plant-scent, but does not know which one it is. She has encountered so few plants, after all. ]
Which kind is this?
[ (It’s rose.) ]
no subject
But then she's getting excited again, voice pitching sweet and delighted, and Ozma draws himself upright again to blink at her with water trickling down his face. He takes the soap and leans in to smell it, then breaks into a smile and hands it back. ]
Ah-- I think this one is rose.
no subject
She’s very happy to be seeing and learning what, to her, is so much. She’s happy with her new clothes, too: the shopkeeper might have been a little confused when Salem requested he show her clothes fit for “walking and adventure,” but she’s managed to obtain a grey pair of slim pants, a few periwinkle tunics of similar make to Ozma’s, and a gown for daytime and a gown for sleeping. She chooses soft, cool colors that pick up the blue in her eyes, and she seems more at ease in her new clothes than she did in the dress her father gave her.
As the day wears on, it becomes clear that Salem very much enjoys venturing outside the inn. She is having a lovely time learning about the world. She is happy enough to be breathing fresh air. So, after their tour of the village is done, Salem and Ozma decide to explore a little more of the surrounding meadows and farmland, instead of heading straight back to the inn. They bring a dinner in a basket and a blanket, and Ozma leads the two of them to a different rolling field, this one full of small wildflowers -- daisies and the like. Salem gasps, as she tends to do, when they arrive. She has never seen so many flowers at once before, delicate and soft and beautiful.
Cautiously, to Ozma: ]
Will the flowers be alright if we step on them?
[ She doesn't know! She doesn't want to hurt them by mistake! ]
no subject
So he laughs, not unkindly, as she turns to him to fuss over the flowers. He has the blanket folded over his shoulder and the basket on his arm, his staff and armor left behind, and there is something so freeing and safe about this moment it feels like yesterday's battle is a world away. ]
These little ones should spring back unharmed. And they will still grow back, year after year.
[ He shifts the blanket on his shoulder so that he can reach out for her hand. The sun is beginning to set, and it casts the flowers in a warm golden glow. He will lead them through it, up the gentle rise of a little hill, to spread the blanket. ]
no subject
Oh, good.
[ Now that the safety of the wildflowers has been established, Salem happily follows Ozma up the hill. She lets him set down the basket and spread out the blanket before grabbing his hand again, and pulling him down onto the blanket with her. Salem has no time to waste! She would like to lie down in a field full of flowers right now, please!
Salem's grin is mischievous and playful, almost teasing, when she's so adamantly requesting Ozma's presence. But once she's lying down on the blanket properly, and he's settled on the blanket beside her, she rolls over, plucks a single flower, and rolls back to face Ozma. She holds the tiny flower out to him, her expression now earnestly open and soft. ]
Here. This is for you.
[ Salem says this with the same gravity that she used to compliment Ozma's soup. This is a gift. That's important. ]