[sometime after supper, anthony will receive a small, wrapped box with a letter from hawk's valet. enclosed is one of his navy cravats,
𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑉𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝐵𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑜𝑛, I know this letter finds you in good health, and if the opinion of the ton is to be considered - poor spirits. Chin up like a good boy, then. I've enclosed a gift that will lift something one way or the other.
I wore it on our last ride together, do you remember? The smell of smoke and good wine and gunpowder clinging to our clothes. Sweat too, from all the exertion of that afternoon.
I never gave it to my valet to have it washed.
Next time you take yourself in hand, maybe you'll bury that exceptional jaw against it and inhale deep. Or perhaps the fine silk would be better suited to wrap around the heaviest of family jewels that don't compare to diamonds and rubies.
Write me back and tell me what you've endeavored to do. Or - don't write me at all, and simply wear it on our next promenade with with my lovely wife-to-be. I'll know what it means.
Waiting with utmost fascination, 𝑀𝑟. 𝐻𝑎𝑤𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑍. 𝐹𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟
( the next day, a letter, wax sealed with the bridgerton emblem, to hawk's door,
Mr. Fuller, I must admit to what a strange gift accompanied your last letter. I am a first born son of a first born son, and have never had need for someone else's clothes. Strange to have it, like some voyeur in my room, draped against the bed post, pressed into a ball at my lips. I understood what you meant, eventually, so you may take heart in being wiser than I. There's little inspiration in smoke and wine, beyond paltry, intoxicating things, but your cologne is uniquely singular to my thoughts. I am sure you are surprised to hear it.
I hadn't much time, with what you said. Consider me overwhelmed, and quick off the mark, much to my own chagrin. I think I shared a pipe with you the night you wore this, and now I cannot taste tobacco without thinking of your mouth. Some questions for you to answer at your leisure: when a good boy makes a mess, where best to spill it? In a hand? On a chest? With effort, to make your gift more of a napkin than a cravat?
I'll refrain from my messes until an answer is given.
Very eagerly awaiting your response, Anthony Bridgerton
[hawk knows anthony has pipes of his own, but he does at least send a helping of the specific flavor of his own tobacco with this letter. american - slightly more bitter, distinct.]
𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕,
Well, I'd think nothing of the sort from a firstborn son - especially not a Bridgerton. Rest assured, this gift wasn't meant in offense to your no doubt impressive selection from the newest fabrics at the mercer in town, nor the tailor that sees to your needs from head to toe in bespoke finery. This was meant to be far more personal, a memento, maybe - enough that you might think of me when you saw it. They say scent triggers far more vivid details, the kind you can replay to near visceral memory. Call me selfish if you must, but I want you to remember them. Relive them like it's just yesterday.
You'll likely be just as surprised to know that I do too, on occasion. When I am with your sister, most especially. But privately, I like to think of it at my own convenience - which, as I'm sure you've surmised - also leads to my own pleasure.
That's right, you did. I had an ulterior motive in sharing it - I just wanted to see lips as lush as the greenery your family has cultivated on its grounds wrapped around something firm and reminiscent of something more physical. Do I need to explain this as well, or is it on the mark, this time?
They say patience is a virtue. It can be - when it's long and drawn out and downright spoiling.
I've changed my mind, however. I don't want to see you wear it. I want you to make your mess among the silk I've given you, secondhand, but still as fine as the ones in your drawers - and send it back to me as a token of appreciation I can verify myself. Multiple, if you can manage.
Don't even dare think about giving it a wash.
I expect a hefty letter in return with a blow-by-blow of your experience, Anthony.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
༻ i come & i go, tell me all the ways you need me
𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑉𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝐵𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑜𝑛,
I know this letter finds you in good health, and if the opinion of the ton is to be considered - poor spirits. Chin up like a good boy, then. I've enclosed a gift that will lift something one way or the other.
I wore it on our last ride together, do you remember? The smell of smoke and good wine and gunpowder clinging to our clothes. Sweat too, from all the exertion of that afternoon.
I never gave it to my valet to have it washed.
Next time you take yourself in hand, maybe you'll bury that exceptional jaw against it and inhale deep. Or perhaps the fine silk would be better suited to wrap around the heaviest of family jewels that don't compare to diamonds and rubies.
Write me back and tell me what you've endeavored to do. Or - don't write me at all, and simply wear it on our next promenade with with my lovely wife-to-be. I'll know what it means.
Waiting with utmost fascination,
𝑀𝑟. 𝐻𝑎𝑤𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑍. 𝐹𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟
no subject
Mr. Fuller,
I must admit to what a strange gift accompanied your last letter. I am a first born son of a first born son, and have never had need for someone else's clothes. Strange to have it, like some voyeur in my room, draped against the bed post, pressed into a ball at my lips. I understood what you meant, eventually, so you may take heart in being wiser than I. There's little inspiration in smoke and wine, beyond paltry, intoxicating things, but your cologne is uniquely singular to my thoughts. I am sure you are surprised to hear it.
I hadn't much time, with what you said. Consider me overwhelmed, and quick off the mark, much to my own chagrin. I think I shared a pipe with you the night you wore this, and now I cannot taste tobacco without thinking of your mouth. Some questions for you to answer at your leisure: when a good boy makes a mess, where best to spill it? In a hand? On a chest? With effort, to make your gift more of a napkin than a cravat?
I'll refrain from my messes until an answer is given.
Very eagerly awaiting your response,
Anthony Bridgerton
no subject
𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕,
Well, I'd think nothing of the sort from a firstborn son - especially not a Bridgerton. Rest assured, this gift wasn't meant in offense to your no doubt impressive selection from the newest fabrics at the mercer in town, nor the tailor that sees to your needs from head to toe in bespoke finery. This was meant to be far more personal, a memento, maybe - enough that you might think of me when you saw it. They say scent triggers far more vivid details, the kind you can replay to near visceral memory. Call me selfish if you must, but I want you to remember them. Relive them like it's just yesterday.
You'll likely be just as surprised to know that I do too, on occasion. When I am with your sister, most especially. But privately, I like to think of it at my own convenience - which, as I'm sure you've surmised - also leads to my own pleasure.
That's right, you did. I had an ulterior motive in sharing it - I just wanted to see lips as lush as the greenery your family has cultivated on its grounds wrapped around something firm and reminiscent of something more physical. Do I need to explain this as well, or is it on the mark, this time?
They say patience is a virtue. It can be - when it's long and drawn out and downright spoiling.
I've changed my mind, however. I don't want to see you wear it. I want you to make your mess among the silk I've given you, secondhand, but still as fine as the ones in your drawers - and send it back to me as a token of appreciation I can verify myself. Multiple, if you can manage.
Don't even dare think about giving it a wash.
I expect a hefty letter in return with a blow-by-blow of your experience, Anthony.
To a night of many messes,
𝑯𝒂𝒘𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒔