A/N: I'm trying to do my best to update regularly. But reviews would really help inspire the muse ;)
Disappointment clung to her skin like sweat, and Ashe was too weary to do anything but bask in it. Not that she blamed the Garif, but to have come all this way for nothing but another clue was exhausting to say the least. And Larsa's arrival had only confused her more, yet she was too exhausted to think on it. At least the Garif were more than willing to accommodate them for the night. Not only accommodations, but separate ones. A small smile graced her cheeks, fleeting, shedding weight in stones around her feet. To have a bed, undisturbed by Penelo's restlessness or Fran's heavy breathing, which she was loathe to call snoring because in truth it was as if the Viera was singing in her sleep. She could lay out in any manner of dress and sleep soundly for a whole night, no worrying about who would take watch. It had been a very long time since Ashe had enjoyed such comforts, and she was going to savor each moment.
She stretched, joints popping, skin rippling with aching muscles. It was then she noticed the caked on dust, the rivulets of sweat, the mud splatters on her thighs. A bath was definitely in order. She stood, a groan slipping from her mouth in a rare showing of fatigue. Her feet led her through the village, the bright colors bleeding into the dusky landscape, jewel tones accented by the tawny hue of the desert. Quickly, she entered her hut, a sturdy structure of wood and bone, a woven tapestry guarding her privacy. Rummaging through her pack, she tossed aside the course soap she usually used, and found two crystal bottles, soap and shampoo, some of the few relics of her former royal life. The bottles were ornate glass, the liquid a thick amber that sparkled like harnessed sunlight. Ashe couldn't help herself and breathed in the scent, a spicy jasmine sweetened with moon flower. The aroma of royalty. With a rueful smile, she ducked out of her hut and toward the river.
She was so caught up in her internal musings, struck by the rugged beauty of the Jahara landscape, that Ashe almost didn't catch the strains of a melody filtering through the silence of sunset. She stopped, poised at attention, concentrating on the faint humming in the distance. Curiosity sneaked under her skin and propelled her forward, trekking silent between the boulders on the shoreline. The music grew louder, someone was humming a low tune foreign to her. The voice was masculine, a baritone, smooth and deep and strangely intoxicating, like good whiskey. She ducked behind a boulder, the source of the song just beyond the stone. Silently cursing her curious nature, Ashe steeled herself and looked.
With what seemed like the greatest feat of strength, she held back the gasp that threatened to blow her cover. Knee deep in the stream, humming to himself, was the insufferable sky pirate himself. Common sense told her to march off, that a princess would not lower herself to gawk at a rogue. But Ashe gave into the feminine urge to stare and memorize the utterly masculine details of said pirate. Balthier must have just finished bathing, because his hair was soaked and curling against his forehead, his pants rolled to his knees as he stood in the current. He had put his shirt back on, but the white silk was plastered to his skin still wet from a bath, clinging to his entire torso. Ashe could count each line of his abdomen, note the strong curve of his shoulders, watch the muscles rippling in the long line of his back. But what really struck her mute was that he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, his forearms completely exposed.
Ashe supposed she shouldn't have been so shocked. The arms of a man had never given her pause before. But this was Balthier, who made sure each button on his sleeve was in place, each buckle on his vest securely fastened, even his hair was just disheveled enough to complete his roguish appearance. To see him so natural, without artifice or preparation, made her feel strangely lightheaded. His arms here muscled, no doubt from hefting that heavy gun of his, and remarkably tan, considering how rarely he removed his shirt. She always ended up with terrible tan lines, and here this aggravating pirate was flaunting his completely unblemished skin, cinnamon dusted amber. Her perusal continued, admiring how his hands ran water over his face, flushing as he groaned in contentment. He shook his head, droplets flinging in every direction, then threw his head back, hair lightly smacking the nape of his neck. And this was when Ashe noticed something that she had missed before.
His shirt was unbuttoned.
The movement had caused the shirt to shift, revealing a swathe of the cinnamon skin that was stretched taut over the muscles she had previously observed. Every inch of him was dusted in copper and hard as marble, reminding Ashe of those statues that had stood mute and beautiful in the courtyard of her palace, completely bathed in sunlight. No tan lines, she wondered, eyes following her thoughts, could that perfect tan reach that far, her gaze tracing his slim hips to –
She whirled herself around, back flattened against stone, breaths heavy in her chest as softly as she could manage. Her pulse raced frantic in her throat, skin hot and ten times to tight. Oh Gods, I was ogling Balthier, Ashe thought, nearly keening in embarrassment. Shame mingled with a heat that she refused to name, shaking with the emotions running rampant through her, her body trying to cope with things it hadn't felt in so long. She swallowed, wrenching in that self control she had honed over the years, which allowed her the luxury to hear Balthier readying himself to leave. Without thought, she bolted, years of running in the desert aiding her silence, then turned, walking purposefully down the path as if she hadn't been there moments before, ogling a half naked pirate.
Just a few steps later, Balthier appeared in her view, shirt buttoned and sleeves to his wrists, in the process of buckling his vest. He paused, startled at seeing her, then continued his usual swagger, smirk firmly in place.
"Out for a bath, Princess?" he asked, voice husky, drawing out each syllable of her title in an indecent decadence she had never noticed before.
"Yes, if you must know," Ashe scoffed, injecting her words with as much scorn as possible to cover up the shiver running down her spine. "Not that it's any of your business, pirate."
His grin just grew wider, even more sinful. "I would never dream of imposing myself, Princess. You may bathe in utter assurance that your privacy is sacred."
And with that, before the blush could creep up her cheeks, Ashe fled down the bank, fuming. How she hated that insufferable sky pirate!