You rap at his door at you push it open. The man shifts his stance in reflex, hand flying to his side where a longsword might sit. When he realizes it's just you, he relaxes. Training has been drilling into his core.
"Wife." He steps forward, then back, dipping into a half bow. "I did not expect you this hour."
The house cloak you have cuts the cool air of the stone walls, but your cheeks are cold. He has a fire going, so you skirt the room towards it.
"I wanted to seek your permission," you ask, quietly. He nods sternly but does not deny your request outright. Your husband has not proven himself an unreasonable man, but you have only met him twice. His real personality could be waiting to strike. "May my father visit? I miss him dearly. And my friends, from back home. They write to me and... I fear I grow lonely."
His brows knit. Your friend's husbands can be cruel, quick to temper, and neither are in the crown's army. Neither fight.
But your husband just shakes his head.
"Anything you desire, my lamb," he says. "Make this place your home. You never require my permissions."
This time when he steps forward, he is firm in his decision. He meets you in front of the fire, his silvered scars taut and reflective in the glow.
"I am sorry. For the loneliness." He is handsome, you decide. Even with the wounds. It is not the handsome you would have ever chased, but it's there, underneath. "I did not consider."
And his eyes are warm. They are the color of toiled soil and deep woods, bark that has grown for eons and will continue to grow long after you are gone.
"Will you be home more?" you ask, unsure the answer you desire.
"A fortnight, then a trip to the coast." His eyes flicker across your face, from eyes to lips. "I will return as fast as my duty allows. One moon, if that."
He smells of a man. Not in the way of sweat and stink, but something you cannot describe, something rich and wantful.
"Have you truly never seen a stay?"
You let your housecloak fall. Under, you have on your stay and chemise, not gown to conceal them. Neither are beautiful, but his mouth falls open at the sight.
"It ties here. I pull it tight until I look suitable." You flatten the strings down your front with your palm. He reaches for your hip, where the skin bulges out from the pressure of the boning.
"It must hurt." The touch is incredibly soft. "To dig into your skin so harshly..."
His finger traces the line down, then freezes when he realizes it's become too close to to your stomach.
"It pinches," you admit. The crackle of the fire is drowned out by the pounding in your ears. He is your husband-- his touch shouldn't feel so scandalous.
His words hit him a moment too late. Suddenly, he withdraws. "I did not mean--- Solely for your comfort--"
"If you want it off of my body," you say, slowly. "You are welcome to take it off."
