Thread: ____Pandora's Prize_____(OctopusPrince x Xinavee)

Samir watched, perplexed by Arwen's actions as he leapt up to the window to look out. It was apparent to Samir, that he was looking for a route out of the room-- he'd seen cats behave like that, curious about windows and doorways, and it was almost amusing, to compare such a hulking man to the lanky felines of his homeland. But then, he was back down from the window, seeming to consider with dissatisfaction what he'd seen outside. Then Arwen's eyes were upon him, and he came down from the bed and drew close to Samir. Samir was still as the other man touched him, his eyes searching Arwen's as well, their strange, mismatched colors, his strong features that were probably more honest than Arwen meant for them to be. Samir's mouth opened a little when Arwen's finger brushed his lips, eyelashes batting slowly as he absorbed what was being said to him. His brows furrowed just a little at the suggestion that he be sold to someone else, and he wasn't sure why that caused a prickle of distress within him. This man would sell him off? And yet, as Samir translated the words he'd said, it sounded like a sentiment that Samir did not expect from the gladiator. Someone safe and stable. That was... kind-- thoughtful in a way that Samir had no time to react to. He was unflinching to the tightening of Arwen's hands on him, reading people well enough to find the interesting dissonance between Arwen's words and his grip. He said he should sell him, and yet he held him tighter. The pinch between Samir's brows relaxed, and he looked down to the oil in his hand. I do, yes, master. He assured, the words strange on his tongue-- he could understand Latin when it was spoken to him for the most part, but speaking it was a different matter- the consonance and structure of words was so unusual... But he knew he had managed to say the correct thing at least. Yes, no, master, simple enough. It seemed like Arwen was the type to speak and expect to be listened to, and even if Samir had the words to respond to Arwen's thoughts, they likely wouldn't be heard with any sort of credence. It was a shared practice, to use oil to clean the body to perfection and treat the skin-- layering the oil thickly on the skin and scraping it off with an instrument he knew the name of in his own language, but not in Latin. He glanced around, hoping he might spot a place where it was appropriately hidden, and moving away from Arwen, he dipped to look into a cupboard, pleased when his guess had been right. He pulled the edged tool out and tested it gently against his skin for sharpness- it was enough to cleave oil from the skin, but not enough to harm. Good. He looked to Arwen again, and drew near, intimidated by his shameless nudity but now set to a task. He set the strigil on a near by table and poured oil into his palms, starting first with the length of Arwen's right arm. He massaged the oil in expertly, eyes focused and calm as he worked the oil into each muscle and crease, from the top of the other man's shoulder down to his knuckles, massaging at his palm and wrist. He took up the tool, and scraped the oil in clean, even streaks, tapping the tool gently to clean it on top of an abandoned towel on the table. Arwen was certainly very powerful, and equally handsome, Samir considered, his expression not revealing his intrigue but his eyes wandering where his hands did as he moved across Arwen's chest, kneading at pectorals and ribs and hips, before scraping all of it clean, leaving the skin smooth and pristine. As he touched, he decided, delicately, to speak. What is my master's name? I shall not call upon it, but if I may know it, this is my pleasure. He knew his Latin was choppy, and for it he kept his eyes down having moved to Arwen's left arm.