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Sajahka did not frequent bars.

But then, until comparatively recently in his life, he had not frequented anything which was outside his masters’ reach—due to no fault or choice of his own, evidently. Even after attaining freedom, however, the concept of diluting his perception of the world down with mind-muddling alcoholic spirits was not as appealing as others in his position might have found it to be. He had spent all of his life under the control of various other powers and felt fairly strongly that for the most part, he wanted his wits and his personal control about him always. Or, as often as possible with no intentional moves on his own part to interfere with that.

He did, however, see other benefits to spending some time in local dens of inebriation and revelry. For starters, it was rarely boring, there was much to listen to, and no one thought especially much of a man who came in and said nothing. In an environment already saturated with noise and activity, his voice was not needed or expected as it might be in other circles.

But more to the point even than that: when it came to the small scale, personal redistribution of wealth among private parties, it was particularly easy ‘work with’ those already impaired by their own choices. All that remained to be done was to watch, and to wait.

And these were the things Sajahka was best at.

It was even easier to watch when the view was nothing to complain about. Admittedly, it may not have been wisest to focus on the loudest and most attractive man in the room, and to his credit, Sajahka had been paying attention to various others and continued to even as ‘excitement’ in the place gradually escalated. But loud eye candy was his favorite, and he found it impossible not to at least indulge in observing with silent amusement.

Sometimes the best shows were free, after all.

Sajah had not been expecting company.

He realized, though, well before the stranger he’d been intermittently observing actually arrived at his table, that he might be getting some regardless because, after a look, and another, the man was rising from his perch, swaying his way and—continuing to sway his way?

Was he…dancing?

Sajah did not get overly much time to consider it, because dancing or not, the next moment, the man’s hand came down on his table, simultaneously eliminating any doubt that he was the man’s target and — Sajah’s gaze took a trip from the man’s face, down his chest, hips, further down, and back up, eyebrows raising with his gaze — well, he was clearly not immune to the effects of alcohol. But that did little to ruin the view. If anything, it might have improved it, adding color to the matorian’s cheeks and a bounce to his step and posture—and tone.

Sajah tipped his head, debating for all of half a moment before shrugging and gesturing towards the chair in question. While it hadn’t necessarily been how he’d thought the night would go, and a gregarious drunk might well complicate things, it seemed just as likely that the man would either grow bored without consequence rather quickly when it became apparent Sajah couldn’t engage him verbally or that the proximity would lead to opportunities of its own.

Either way, life was less boring with company. He smiled — ‘welcomingly.’

Sajah listened, and watched.

The man certainly did enjoy his tongue, and that — from a practical standpoint — was a point of appeal from the moment the man began to chatter. Sajah was an unfortunately social being himself, but given his handicap, he often made more moderate souls uncomfortable with his silence. Any person happy to fill it themselves without that discomfort was welcome in his book, and his gaze flicked to the hand when the man—Leukos—extended it.

Sajah returned the handshake, more genuine amusement (and curiosity) edging into the corners of his expression. Instead of releasing his hand after the shake, however, he guided it to the tabletop, palm up, raised his eyebrows as he met the man’s gaze as though to cue: pay attention, are you watching?

Then, he traced onto the center of the man’s palm with his fingertip: S - A - J - A - H.

After, he tapped his throat, and shook his head, making a ‘slice’ gesture across it.

Sajah expected—

No, that wasn’t right. He hadn’t been expecting anything specific in particular, but…

—something else, certainly. Anything else besides this. Initially, of course, nothing seemed ‘off,’ alarming, or amiss. The man was cooperative, seemed content, and the wriggle of fingers was, if not necessarily any convincing indication that the man was paying attention, at least a sign he wasn’t offended. And he had been looking, so Sajah considered it at least possible that he might get the message, and if not, he could try again by another means. Many people didn’t pick up the first time, and when Leukos started to speak, Sajah quickly got the impression that this was one of those times.

He was on the verge of making his second attempt to communicate the same point: tap the table and trace there, perhaps, or—but no. By the time it came to, ‘…not my usual technique, but I’m open to the game…’ suspicion that not just ‘nothing’ but ‘something very different than he intended’ had been communicated surged up. What, he hadn’t quite figured out at that particular instant.

Then there was a foot on his calf.

And on his arm, up his arm, and—what was this man doing? At about that point the ‘this’ in, ‘So…we’re going to try this out…’ began to morph drastically as to understood meaning, just about the same time most of the blood in his brain seemed to swarm for his cheeks, his throat, his ears, his—

He cleared his throat, though it came out more like a confused and aborted sputter than intended, which was—he shook his head—not acceptable. What was this man doing? Sajah wasn’t, of course, so naive at his age to not understand the basic principle, but the concept of physical intimacy was so foreign to him — having never had, to date, a sexual experience in his life aside from overhearing the experiences of others — that for once, even if he had had a tongue, it would not have mattered.

Words failed him.

Along with most rational thought.

Sajahka was not prepared.

That much had become clear the moment the mental scale had begun to tip towards comprehension that this was not going to be what he initially anticipated, but at the outset he had still managed to underestimate just how unprepared he was. And continued to manage to underestimate every passing moment, after which he was enlightened, again and again, of how wrong each new estimate was. Until the man’s foot reached a place no one but himself had been and he—

“Mmmn-” Some sound came from his throat, then. A muted grunt of surprise that still managed to come out sounding distressingly more like a groan than it ought to have, and—hadn’t this man just missunderstood that they were both not to be talking, or was he having a bizarre waking dream?—his hips twitched forward quite of their own regard and against his will before he jerked back a half inch in his chair. “Aah…”

He started opened his mouth—but shut it the next moment before anything could have been seen. What was he even expecting from himself? Should he at this point, to be fair to the man, open his mouth widely and gesture to make his point clear? So that he wasn’t disappointed or disgusted if…

If what?

He swallowed, fumbling in his attempt to stand and escape whatever this was. But he did not make it far, instead accidentally bumping back against what shouldn’t have been between his legs in the first place and then nearly falling over his own suddenly-near-useless legs when they failed to fully support his own body weight on a moment’s notice and dropping forward instead, hands to the table.

Face far too near to this…‘Leukos.’

Perhaps he was dreaming. The bar had become too boring and he was hallucinating, so therefore, it wouldn’t matter that his eyes had found their way to the other man’s mouth. Lip fiddling seemed like invitation enough to look, in any case. Perhaps at this point it would have been rude not to. Or perhaps his own subconscious just had an especially vivid imagination with great attention to detail.

Either way, it didn’t seem avoidable at this point. And even if it hadn’t been the original intent of the evening, he wasn’t bored?

Perhaps Leukos’ smile ought to have been telling. Foreboding. Enlightening. Warning enough. But no, by this point it was just one more factor in a fascinating string of changing details, and Sajahka’s gaze followed the expression as keenly as he might normally have a target.

When Leukos stood, that too had every potential to be indication enough that now was the time. They were no longer entangled, he was not tripping over himself, the man’s foot was conveniently no longer inspiring far too much unnecessary activity below the belt (regardless of whether or not other things might be equally inspiring, the lack of immediate pressure there was at least welcome), and he ought to simply back up. Lean away. Clarify that they had somehow come to a grave misunderstanding—somehow.

Instead, he was—

Well, not backing up. Not moving, for starters. And Leukos’ hand was tracing down his skin again as though his touch belonged or had any right to be there. Not that (some stubborn portion of Sajahka’s conscious refused to let him deny) he was doing much to clarify.

Somehow, though, surely, this was entirely the other man’s fault.

He certainly looked like this sort of thing might be his fault more often than—

About there, Sajahka’s thought process stalled. Again. He meant to narrow his eyes. Perhaps he did in some very small amount, suspicion linking arms with a whole other slew of thought entirely as the man’s fingers skirted up his jaw, to his chin, and tipped. Perhaps he ought to have resisted. But he didn’t much, instead cooperating, part due to instinct and part to some wild thundering curiosity.

When Leukos’ fingers touched to the gold ring at his lip, his pulse — already a great drum in his chest — felt like a flock of birds attempting to take flight within his throat. His breath skirted out in in a puff of an exhale that, that close, would have been warm to Leukos’ fingers, and — for reasons beyond him and certainly thanks in no part to any actual thought given to the matter — he bit.

Not hard, but ‘catching’ the nearest digit between his teeth.

Even Sajahka could not pretend he didn’t anticipate the kiss by the time it came.

His eyes shut instinctively. As though this were some unwritten, bound rule carved into the psyche, and his brow furrowed. Not so much out of objection or disapproval, but raw and convoluted—confusion? Concentration? Chaos perhaps was the best word to describe his mindstate. Between the rush of his own pulse between his ears like a river to the heat and press of lips, the pinch of the other man’s grip, and the sheer fact that someone else’s mouth was on his own.

Sajah had never been kissed before.

He strongly suspected the man across from him hadn’t the faintest inkling of that, however, and while, for a single blissful period of perhaps a full two to three seconds, he didn’t press the thought beyond that—moments later the reality of it came crashing just as abruptly as everything else in the entire situation. Leukos’ mouth was warm, pliant, and encouraging against his, simply inviting pursuit. But as quickly as that thought came, there came the next: Leukos’ mouth was right there, not even an inch away from a rude awakening if his clearly adventurous tongue got any more so.

Fear was not an especially common emotion in Sajah, but for half an instant, the gut-dropping fear that this complete stranger, who had had no business beginning all this but had still managed to make some portion of him want some portion of what there was to be offered, would explore too quickly and find he, Sajah, lacking — or worse, disgusting — was enough to inspire a garbled hybrid between a frustrated groan and a snarl as he jerked back.

Away from the kiss, and away from the man—but not for long.

No sooner had Sajah pulled away than he was he kicking back at his chair, urging it out of his way before grabbing at the front of whatever part of Leukos’ top seemed sturdy enough to actually withstand force—and dragged. Or rather, ‘guided’ the other man forward with him towards the front counter of the pub. There, he reached, taking up the first mug of ale belonging to whatever unlucky patron was nearest and — upon tossing a few coins of ‘compensation’ their way over their fumbling and drunken, not-yet-full-formed objection — he dipped two fingers of his spare hand into the liquid, and upon a dry area on the counter ‘wrote’ with the ale:

S A J A H K A

Turning to Leukos, he gestured to himself, lips pursed and eyes intent on making sure the man was paying attention before turning his attention back to the countertop and adding:

no tongue

mute

He hadn’t thought it possible for his pulse to beat faster, but in the moments that he anticipated some look of revulsion from the first person who’d ever taken the liberty of putting their mouth to his, it certainly felt like it could.