Welcome to Gaia! ::

As Naarhiji’s fingers skimmed the local flora, Malikai’s mind flit, for a moment, to the great piano that used to stand in the guest hall of one of the first noblewomen whose house his mother had once made rounds to. He’d never dared touch it himself of course, but something about the skim of long fingers and the ripple that followed in their wake drew up remenissions of the melodic chiming and deeper plunks that sometimes filled the halls of said house. He paused when Naarhiji did and met his gaze.

“You could,” he said. “Take somethin’ up, tha’ is. Like spellwork or a blade, particularly if y’ have a lot o’ time on your hands.” He tilted his head. “Or, if y’re truly bored…” A second into that, however, he frowned. Because no. Already he was pushing his luck, and needn’t press further. So, while it had felt natural, for a moment, to offer — if he found the time himself — to come by at a less waning hour and engage in something to make use of Naarhiji’s hours, he saved the thought for later. If ever.

Malikai glanced back to his company, eyebrows raising.

“Porcelain children…?” he repeated, and shifted a step closer to the slab Naarhiji had taken up sitting on. “I don’ know ‘bout tha’. ‘Course I do think it’s lovely, bein’ my home country. Loveliest out in thick of it though, I think, as ‘posed to the city proper. Got a great many other colors’n gold, but…” ‘…you wouldn’t know what that implied, so…’ He drew a breath. “The city itself is a touch busy an’ got its less favorable places. The open mainland, though…I think it’s got anythin’ you could hope for in a place—great sweepin’ fields tha’ roll near far as you c’n see with wide stretches o’ flowers so as when spring comes, one day y’ were lookin’ a’ one thing an’ the next mornin’ it’s like th’ goddess came an’ painted all the ground in different shades. Forests, too, deep an’ thick, an’ mountains larger’n any city, snowcapped year-round, some of ‘em, if y’ get t’ the tall ones. Like they’re dusted in sweet frosting. My mum—”

He paused, brow pinching the barest fraction before he rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight to his good leg.

“Mum once had me convinced they were sweet, an’ tha’ if y’ only climbed high enough, y’d be surrounded by more’n you could eat o’ the greatest thing the goddess ever let reach your tongue. ‘Course…tha’ was ‘fore I actually knew right well what snow was…an’ I think she enjoyed makin’ a habit o’ comparin’ near everythin’ to something you could eat.”

Familial obligations.

Malikai studied Naarhiji’s face, but didn’t need to be told on any clearer terms that the subject needed no further current exploration. So he let it die. It wasn’t difficult to imagine that a thirteen year old boy leaving his home and father for the ‘home’ of a brothel-owning pimp of an uncle in the desert involved unpleasant feelings of some variety.

He let himself be tugged in, and after a moment’s assessment of Naarhiji’s perch, shifted down himself, settling beside his younger company. “Aye,” he said. “Long ways from it here. I used t’ take leave an’ visit more often, but…” He squinted out at the night, dissatisfied with every natural end to that sentence: ‘The things worth coming ‘home’ to seem less each year.’ He glanced to Naarhiji’s skirt instead, and then his face. “Y’ sure you’re warm in tha’? I’d ask if y’ owned a pair o’ straight trousers, but I don’ wanna come off soundin’ like ‘m complainin’. Just seems flatterin’ your legs might come with a chill in this air.”

Malikai watched the strand and Naarhiji’s fingers as they wove it amidst his hair—green on green on green—and blinked, looking away only when Naarhiji ‘clarified’ for himself. “I s’pose I likely was. Gullible, tha’ is,” he said. “I think most children are, though I mighta been especially so. I’ve always liked believin’ nice things t’ be true an’ don’t see a great lot o’ reason t’ doubt it’s so unless I know better.”

He hesitated, eyeing his company before nodding.

“An’ aye, she was. When I was a real small thing still, she worked for a good many noblewomen as a seamstriss, goin’ from house t’ house t’ do tailored work for ‘em, and followin’ her along—her havin’ nowhere t’ leave me some o’ the time—I’d get to see all the grandest houses there were t’ see. I think I well preferred her kitchen, though, an’ so did she. Ran a bakery right out of our house when she found the time, she did, an’ tha’s still how I’ll think o’ tha’ house. Smellin’ sweet in th’ mornings with dough risin’ and icin’ to mix, and all manner o’ bits o’ chocolate or sugar powder.”

Only once.

Malikai studied his company. Though Naarhiji laughed with it, he wondered if the information didn’t tie in with whatever ‘familial obligations’ were. If Naar had only crossed the sea once—did it mean he had not seen his father since? In six years? Or that the man had only come to visit him himself? Or died. He withheld a frown, and after a moment’s debate, opted not to pry. It seemed more likely that if Naarhiji wanted to explore the subject further, he would do so on his own. It seemed to be his way of things, in any case, and better than to risk upsetting him.

“The ocean can be a lovely thing if y’ catch it right,” he said instead. “An’ if y’ve only crossed it once, you may have more of a taste for it than y’ think—just ‘aven’t whetted it yet. For such a vast thing, you’d think—”

Malikai paused, and whatever remained of his sentence never came to be. Instead, Naarhiji was wriggling in, pressing closer, and bringing with him the now-familiar wafts of his perfume mixed with the natural scents of the surrounding gardens. He rested a hand at Naar’s hip.

“Sorry,” he began again. “I didn’ mean t’ make y’ cold or uncomfortable, certainly not both. I didn’ actually have anywhere in mind t’ start. I more…asked ‘cause I was surprised, but since y’ took—” So long getting ready. “Since I had a bit o’ time t’ myself, I asked about an’ found out it wasn’t much of a walk, so…”

Tacky.

Malikai shot his company a Look of mixed portions—mostly amusement. Pants were tacky. Then again, as compared to the rest of his wardrobe, perhaps Naarhiji was right. They would likely look—

“Nnmm…” Malik flushed, only just twitching at the initial press of definitely chilled fingers to the significantly warmer flesh of his belly, before relaxing into it. After a moment, he let his arm wind further around, supporting the small of Naarhiji’s back and encouraging him in—if he wanted. “No, aye, I don’,” he said. “I got more layers o’ most everythin’. Would you…” He hesitated, because Naarhiji was pressed close, tucked against his shoulder, and really, this wasn’t so bad just like this, if Naarhiji wanted to warm himself this way. It was easy to tip his head just a touch, and he could have brushed his lips to Naarhiji’s ear, or chin, or—he stopped short of doing so, though. “Would y’ be happiest if we walked back, then…?” he asked. “Get y’ back t’ warm, an’ your…” ‘…bed…’ “…room. Or…”

“Ah…” Malikai meant to come back with more than that. ‘Why’ was a very open-ended question, after all, and merited some form of a coherent answer. But he had a lapful of a holding, nuzzling, pressing, rubbing, tucking, kissing, young oblivionite male with lips at his throat, and that seemed to be excuse enough for a moment’s distraction. Leaving certainly didn’t seem necessary, or even desirable, either. So he didn’t push it. “Mm.”

Instead, he shifted his weight, and stretched his wings, curving them to form a makeshift windbreaker against the late evening gusts and cocooning the both of them in a loose safeharbor. His spare hand moved around, joining the first to brace Naarhiji’s back and ensconcing him in an easy embrace.

“It was more,” he said once settled, “an offer f’r if you wanted to. Didn’ want y’ t’ be cold or uncomfortable, or…” His lashes flit up from their shut position—though he couldn’t have said when he closed them to begin with—and he eyed his company, now face to face with him. “Well. If y’ don’ mind it, then I suppose it’s just as well we don’t…” He glanced to Naarhiji’s lips, “…move. I like it ‘ere, too.”

Dipping forward, he brushed their noses, and then dusted a chaste kiss to the corner of Naarhiji’s mouth. “Though your bed isn’ an unwelcome thing…” To his jaw. “Nor sheets or th’ indoors…” To his chin. “And if I’m t’ be the one displayin’ gratitude…” His fingers skirted the edge of Naarhiji’s ‘winter’ coat, but refrained from slipping beneath it due to some combination of not wanting to overstep boundaries — however much or little that made sense — and not wanting to put cold fingers to Naarhiji’s skin. Which, given the surrounding circumstances, seem to be a more valid concern. “Seems you should be the one tellin’ me how you want me to show it so I can make it most worth your while.”

He did, however — because they were so close, face to face, body to body, and alone in a moonlit garden — venture an inquisitive lean, giving Naarhiji opportunity to pull away before catching his lips, and kissing. Lightly.

It was different, here.

Not in practice, of course. Naarhiji’s lips were familiar, now, chilled by the night air but easily warmed, pliant, and soft under his. His scent was familiar, his weight, his shape, and the manner of his motions. But to kiss here was different. Not purely by virtue of the physical difference, but the mood that came with it, and it was the latter which made Malik equal parts tentative and—curious? Wanting? Exhilarated? It was more like the kiss he received in the maze, or after it and less like the ones he paid for. Even if Naarhiji conducted himself differently than Malikai was accustomed to with those within his profession, there was still always the fact there, undeniable, that he was paying for everything they did together in the space of Naarhiji’s bedchambers.

He wasn’t paying here.

Or didn’t think he was, though he supposed if Naarhiji informed him otherwise, later, he would consider it fair if this was the direction the night went. Regardless, for the moment, at least, it felt as though he wasn’t. As though, if Naarhiji walked with him here, talked with him here, sat with him here—and kissed him, here, it was because he wanted to, and enjoyed doing so.

Or, at least that he didn’t mind it.

Or didn’t especially dislike it.

Malikai dusted that thought away, blinking and flushing as he pulled back a fraction, abashed as though he had gotten away with something he oughtn’t have. Because, no matter how many times they shared a bed together under other circumstances and how many times Naarhiji’s body showed itself to respond favorably to his encouragement, he knew it must also be so for every man he let onto his bed. And there was no reason for that to matter. Certainly no reason to purposefully imagine himself as set apart in any way—as in by entertaining even for a moment the notion that Naarhiji might have any greater desire to kiss him in particular as opposed to anyone who might pay him again.

It was a rather difficult thing to believe, in any case, if considered rationally. There was a reason he had to finance such things, after all—beyond his unwillingness to drunkenly hit on barmaids until one of them took terrible pity on him or threw him into the street. He looked away, diverting his gaze sidelong to the nearest trickle of water over stone, and waited a pause before gathering the resolve to look back again, this time assessing as he did.

“You’re…sure you’re comfortable? I could take my coat off, or we could try t’ find some’ere warmer in ‘ere, or…” Naarhiji had said he enjoyed it here. Malikai let his hands sweep a fraction up the younger man’s back before slipping back down to rest where they had been, and eyed him as he spoke. “Y’ don’…terribly mind kissin’ me, then, even here…?”

‘But it is different here.’

Malikai eyed his company, surprised for a moment that Naarhiji seemed—disappointed? Taken aback? Off-put by the withdrawal or subject change? And then, in spite of himself, he relaxed a token, the corner of his lip edging a half-fraction up as he shook his head, and he leaned to press a kiss to Naarhiji’s hair. Soft, and scented by his bathing oils.

Perhaps he was overthinking it. The reason he visited brothels, after all, was at least in large part for that momentary sense of companionship, however thin or fleeting, and if Naarhiji was especially good at inspiring it in him, was that not better than not? No matter how unconventional the methods. And Naarhiji had said he liked it. He couldn’t possibly fairly expect anything more specific than that. So, he took it for what it was worth, and at the risk of anything that might come of it later, let himself imagine the moment as it felt to him: private, personal—and special, in its own small way.

“Never too much trouble,” he murmured, brushing his lips down to Naarhiji’s temple and giving a gentle, encouraging squeeze of his arms to the warming bundle in his embrace. “I don’ think I could ever be opposed t’ kissin’ you. I just…” A pause, as he considered it. “Well,” he admitted at length, “…perhaps I just did feel as though I’m misbehavin’ a touch havin’ you out here, mm? Selfish an’ hordin’ you t’ myself…as for wooin’ you, though…”

Sparing a glance again to the surrounding scenery, this time with more purpose than distraction, he leaned and, on finding a suitable subject, reached as best he could without dislodging his lap companion. After catching his fingers at the stem of the bloom in question, he twisted and plucked carefully as he could so as not to disturb the rest of the plant, and then brought the flower in, dusting off the dampness of dew on it as he did.

“I s’pose this place lends itself better to it than a maze o’ monsters or…” ‘…a bed that you share with other men…’ “…a good many other places. Hold still a moment…” Malikai brushed his fingers as he said it, tucking back at the loose green locks by and behind Naarhiji’s ear and clearing a space to fit the flower in a moment later. “You c’n be th’ loveliest of all the princesses in th’ stories you read about, mm? Fairest in all th’ hundred kingdoms, out enjoyin’ th’ night in your royal palace garden with th’…eh…” Malik squinted a moment, thoughtful, “…luckiest an’ most unconventional of all knight-soldiers who just mostly feels real grateful to get t’ spend th’ time with you t’ begin with. An’ people’ll come t’ you an’ say…” Malikai slipped a finger beneath Naarhiji’s chin, tipping it up so as to face him as he spoke, “‘You could have had anyone in all the world, every one of them beatin’ down at your door just for a chance to dote on you. What’re you doin’ with that ridiculous man?’ But it won’t matter a great deal…‘cause you’ll know tha’ it doesn’ matter wha’ anyone else says…you’re a royal highness an’ will do exactly as you please.”

Leaning in, Malikai closed the sentence with a chaste brush of a kiss. And if it was easy from there to skirt the hand previously at Naarhiji’s chin in and card his fingers back through soft locks of hair to cradle the nape of his neck and imagine that he really didn’t need to be anywhere else, then so be it. It was his right to imagine. Just for a moment.

Malikai blinked. For a moment, the statement didn’t fully register. Even after it did, however, his expression remained one of mild bewilderment and incomprehension. “Do a great lot more o’…what now?” he asked. It couldn’t have been bad, given that Naarhiji thought it could win him favors. But at the same time, nothing had been out of line with anything he usually did in favorable company. “Call you a princess an’ put flowers in your hair?” he asked. “Or imagine us elsewhere under grander settings…‘cause you’re welcome t’ either o’ those any time y’ like.”

His smile was gentle, and though he supposed Naarhiji’s reaction could have been considered amusing, he found it more warmly satisfying than anything else — and reassuring. Flattering, even, and encouraging. The bubble of heat, subtle exhilaration, and overall contentment had returned full force, and this time, blessedly, self-doubt did not manage to seep past and dampen it. He had this moment, and nothing could take it from him.

“I s’pose, though,” he continued after a pause. “If I’ve managed t’ not do so bad on th’ wooin’ bit, then next up is t’ win you over, mm?” He kissed Naarhiji’s bottom lip. “An’ then please you…” He drew the center word out with emphasis, tucking it to Naarhiji’s throat as his hold around him relaxed, and each hand moved to skim down his sides before coming to rest loosely at his thighs, where they perched. “An’ then wha’…once I’ve paid off my indebtedness t’ you for your courteousness? I get t’ ride y’ off into th’ sunset? Or cart y’ off to a bed o’ silks an’ start the process over again…”

He considered, thoughtful for a moment as his thumbs traced small circles over the cloth of Naarhiji’s leggings. Then, in a fit of boldness greater than the last time it had occurred to him and he had let the suggestion remain unspoken, Malikai ventured a glance towards his company.

“Have y’ ever been ridin’? Hastarback, tha’ is,” he clarified. “Y’ know…if y’ do truly have little t’ do with your time in th’ day on occasion…an’ if y’ were interested a’ all, I could come by sometime before it’s late like this. Not for business but just…if I had a day off o’ routines…” It was a terrible idea to offer. Too bold. Likely unwelcome. But he had gotten this far into it. Malikai cleared his throat, and pressed on. “I could take y’ somewhere an’ get you out o’ th’ brothel. Doesn’ seem it’d be hard t’ arrange for takin’ you ridin’…or otherwise, if hastars don’ please you.” A pause. “What do y’ like?”

Malikai tilted his head. “Serious,” he said at length. “Not ‘just’ sayin’ somethin’ t’ say it, but sayin’ it and meanin’ it at the same time…or a’ least not all in jest. There’s a word for tha’.” He reached, tucking fingers back lightly behind Naarhiji’s ear on the side opposite the flower. “S’called bein’ sincere. An’ I don’ think it’s won me a great many favors yet, nor will it likely, but tha’s never really been th’ goal or purpose, so…” He eyed his company. “Doesn’ seem reason enough t’ give up th’ practice. But just th’ same…it’s how everyone should tell you you’re beautiful, or anyone else for tha’ matter. An’ if they don’, they’re doin’ it wrong.”

When he he let his fingers down, his thumb brushed the heat on Naarhiji’s cheeks on the way, and the corner of his lip edged up before he leaned to kiss there, too. Other things lingered on his tongue—the fact that this harkened back to his core argument with Naarhiji at the steps of the brothel after their evening in the maze. That ‘real’ was always better than pretend, and it was something worth wanting: to be wanted for more than the parts that made you up and have someone who would say so sincerely. But those things tread only further into dangerous territory, and he wasn’t especially in the mood to start an argument, besides.

So he let it rest.

If nothing else, Naarhiji’s reaction read as unspoken proof to Malikai that it was something the younger man wanted, and would be infinitely happier for if he found it—whether or not he realized so himself yet. And that was enough for now. It wasn’t his role to convince the boy to quit his job and go seek someone more meaningful to spend his time with than himself, after all. Naarhiji would have to come to that conclusion on his own. In the meantime, Malikai could make the most of the time he had.

Which involved Naarhiji’s legs shifting under his palms and hips rolling forward towards him. Because that seemed like invitation enough, Malikai let his fingertips edge beneath the hem of Naarhiji’s skirt. But he pushed them no further, lingering instead at that line and drawing them back and forth along the warmed cloth of Naarhiji’s leggings.

“I think I could manage t’ carry you, aye,” Malik said with a pinch of amusement, adding, “…your highness…” almost as an afterthought. At Naarhiji’s degradation into stammering, blushing, and squinting, however, he grunted, heat rising in his own cheeks thanks to being well aware that it was an unconventional offer at best. Inappropriate and presumptuous, more accurately. But Naarhiji’s reaction, all things considered, hadn’t been terrible.

Unless it was a polite way of refusing him outright? Or attempting to suggest such?

That didn’t seem Naarhiji’s style.

So, for better or for worse, Malikai opted to take the reaction and accompanying words at face value. Which left him with the all important inquiry to answer: ‘Why?’

“It’s not so different ridin’ on your own as opposed t’ astride with some’on,” he said. “An’ it can be a lovely an’ relaxin’ thing, once y’re used to it. But, ah…I didn’ mean t’ make you uncomfortable. ‘Course y’ wouldn’ have t’ come, an’ it might o’ seemed odd o’ me t’ offer, but…tha’ is, if it’d make y’ feel better t’ make it about business, then we could. I only asked otherwise because…” He hesitated.

How much to say, and how to begin going about it without coming off as ridiculous?

“Much as I enjoy your business,” he began again, eventually, “I’ve…also enjoyed th’ time spent tha’ hasn’t been just that. Walkin’ about with you. Talkin’ with you easy like an’ just spendin’ th’ time. But I can’t just come by an’ get tha’. Your uncle’s brothel isn’ sellin’ your conversation or your thoughts, or th’ things with you tha’ make you happy outside o’ your bed. So far as I can tell, then, if it’s not for sale, I gotta ask for it…an’ only get it if it’s somethin’ tha’ appeals t’ you, too.”