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Caldarus isn’t prepared for the shock through his system.
There you are. Asleep. On his bed.
In his clothes.
Tail stilling, he sets down the kettle he carried in from the pond, ready to make tea. He knew you were here. Waved you into the temple and everything when you arrived. Caldarus spent more time in the garden today than usual. The sun was enjoyable, and he was proud to see the little shoots of green coming up in the late spring air.
He expected you to come back out after doing whatever you had prepared in the temple — a meal, perhaps. After nearly an hour and no show, he decided to go see what you were up to.
Evidently, it was stealing his clothes. And bed. And, yes, making a meal. He looks over the steaming pot in the fire pit. The fire has died down, as have the bubbles for the soup within. Distantly, his stomach growls, but he looks back to you lying prone on the sheets.
Nails tapping the marble floor, Caldarus approaches. You wear a yellow, red, and deep navy robe. No fanfare, no jewelry. The ends of your hair are damp, though with sweat or water he cannot say. Caldarus leans closer. You smell like the soup; herbs cling under your nails, and you have the air of cream and vegetables. It is a nice smell.
His eyes flit over your face, and over the robe draped on you. You are relaxed in your sleep. Not running around, trying to catch this or do that or talk with or about someone. Caldarus envies your energy. It is almost a balm to see that you also tire and need rest. It is also…very pleasing to see you in his home. Something in him flutters. His heart picks up. His cheeks warm and his tail curls languidly. Yes, you are in his home. On his bed. Wearing his clothes.
It does something to him, though he doesn’t understand what.
Caldarus doesn’t have time to ponder why he feels so warm; you stir in your sleep, then gasp awake. He takes a step back, feeling…embarrassed? Ashamed? Why, he wonders, do I feel like I was caught doing something I am not supposed to?
Your eyes light on him, then snap to the soup. “Oh,” you say, sitting up and rubbing at your eyes. “I sat down while waiting for the soup to cook. Must’ve fallen asleep. Sorry.”
He finds his throat tight. Clears it, and says, “I…wondered where you were.”
You glance up and smile. “The sun got me today; it’s no joke when you stay out in it too long.” Sighing, you raise your arms high and stretch with a grunt. “That was a good catnap. Your bed is very comfy.”
Again, he finds his throat tightening, his mouth going dry. The way his robe clings to your body as you stretch is…well, pretty. Beautiful. He watches the folds move across your ribs and stomach. Then, he looks away. His cheeks feel so hot. “And…the clothes?”
“Hm? Oh!” You finally look sheepish and hunch down. Penitent. “I…well I got pretty dirty this morning. My dog decided to chase a rabbit through the mud, and I didn’t have time to go home and change.” You pick at the hem of the robe. “I…I mean, I figured you wouldn’t mind, and I’d wash everything after. I can put my clothes back on, I’m sorry—”
“No!” He surprises himself with his own dismay. Clears his throat again. “No, I mean, I do not mind you borrowing them.” They were spare robes, anyway. Only used for his own slumber a couple nights during the week. He had plenty more and…and…
And he likes how it looks on you.
Your smile is sunshine on his scales. “Thanks.” With a hup, you stand from his bed and pad to the soup. Checking it with a stir, you look back at him. “I think this is ready. You want some lunch?”
He would enjoy that very much. And having a bit more time to look at you in his clothes would be…pleasant.