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 Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:39 pm
If Malikai had properly considered, some twenty-odd years prior, that “killing strangers by the masses and not asking questions” was likely a poor job description for someone squeamish with a habit of trying to assume the best in people, he may not have been where he was today. Unfortunately, he had not. And so he was.
In the building weeks and months following being stationed to Tukyere, Malik frequented the local brothel perhaps bi-weekly, at least inasmuch as he could afford to, and things went relatively uneventfully. He learned the layout of the town, the names of inhabitants whose businesses he frequented, and how not to be swindled completely out of coin by those who insisted on selling by the bartering system. The heat became familiar, if not comfortable, and the location was no longer alien.
Then, he and a portion of his company were called out. The stated purpose was to bolster the numbers of a unit en route to handle a skirmish. The engagement went almost as poorly as could possibly be imagined save for the entire company being wiped out. After three weeks of messy, under-supplied combat sessions against a guerrilla-tactic squadron of enemy soldiers, their own numbers being picked away or poisoned like flies, the territory was eventually, finally, surrendered in full.
Malikai concluded — at some point after drawing a blade out of a body that looked like it couldn’t yet have seen fourteen full summers — that war was the invention of cruel gods, and could only be stomached properly if the value of a life was weighed in similarly to a palmful of sand. Or if one simply left the mind behind altogether. The day he made it back to Tukyere, he purchased liquor before reaching his quarters. At some point halfway into his fourth swallow, he wondered if it were possible to drink one’s weight in anything, and decided it unlikely.
But no harm in trying?
He wasn’t precisely sure when he decided to visit the brothel — or if, in fact, he even ever made a conscious decision to do so — but the evening was late when he came upon it. Outside, the city streets bustled at a softer rate, filled with the night crowds, and from the building itself, warm light spilled out over the surrounding path, red, pink, and bronze against the deep blue of surrounding night. Then, he was inside.
The dim light and general haze of the place made it feel like stepping into something almost physical that enveloped the entering guest. He thumbed over the cap of his flask, and sipped, feeling the heat of it burn as it trickled down and his eyes swept the usual crowds. Shimmer and gossamer. Silk and bangles. Heels, glitter, perfume, hair and candles. Curves and shifts and whispers.
It was an easy atmosphere to get lost in.
Sytherina was not in sight — so far as he could tell — but in the moment, Malikai found he didn’t care. He felt…awash, and disinclined to think, warm, and suspended in a temporary purgatory. If he simply didn’t over-evaluate anything, he could maintain it eternally. So—
—sip—
—Malikai crossed the room, gaze shimmying up, up, and then back down, down, down the curve of a sleek back dusted in waving, emerald-green curls and a waistline decorated by some translucent fabric that seemed only to pretend to cover something. In retrospect, he would think that he ought to have known better. Having been to the place well more often than he could count on his hands, he knew the handful of those who worked its halls, and only one sported said combination of greens.
But somehow, that managed not to occur to him in the moment.
Instead, he was thinking in perfumes and shapes, and to be fair, from the back, it was…somewhat more difficult to tell precisely what he was putting his hand on until his hand was on it, and—
“Oh,” Malikai managed as his thumb skimmed Naarhiji’s hip and his gaze trailed down, over the boy’s shoulder and to the very flat chest on the opposite side. “S’you…you…” His eyes dipped shut for a moment, ‘resting’, and head turning a fraction to the side as he worked on gathering his thoughts—except that something soft was brushing his nose, and when he opened his eyes—oh. The boy’s hair was soft. He supposed that made sense. For a whore. “F’rgot wha’ I was gonna say…d’you dance a’all?”
To be fair, it had seemed like a completely rational and reasonable question, even if oddly timed.
“An’ you smell like a woman…”
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:39 pm
Something about the setting sun had a peculiar way of making a whorehouse more… lively. They had their customers during the day, yes, but it wasn’t quite the same crowd that graced them at night. Naar expected it had something to do with maintaining schedules and discretion, whatever it was about the darkness that made it intrinsically more safe for people to roll about in the bedsheets of a stranger. People were morons, truly. Nonetheless, it gave him something to do and someone to entertain. So he couldn’t rightly say he hated it.
After bidding his most recent client farewell and clicking the door shut behind him, Naar tended to the cleanup. Himself, his sheets, his clothes, and anything else. Syth always laughed, of course, because the whole ritual seemed pointless and costed heaps of valuable time, and think of the laundry seemed to be her biggest complaint. But it was for him, and he took his time with it; brushing his hair into smooth waves, rinsing lingering sweat from his frame, cleaning his teeth, dabbing sweet-scented perfume against his neck. It was relaxing, routine, and enjoyable.
If nothing else, it brightened his mood.
Naarhiji stretched and yawned as he moved through the hallway, rubbing lightly at the base of his neck and humming out a low note as he strode toward the foyer. Several of the girls were already occupying the space, chittering amongst themselves and playfully teasing a man Naar didn’t recognize. They didn’t seem to need his help upon his arrival. Rather than intrude, he leaned lightly against the wall, crossing his arms and easing into relaxation until an unanticipated touch skimmed his side.
It wasn’t alarming or unexpected enough to merit a yelp or even a flinch, just an amused quirk of his lips and an encouraging press backward, his own fingers skimming down either side of his ribcage, down his waist, layering neatly over the hand at his hips. He tossed a glance over his shoulder, half a smug smile settling in place before-
Recognition.
Naarhiji blinked and stilled. “Malikai?” It sounded more like an accusation than a question, and the younger male’s lips puckered in a pout. He twitched out of the bird’s hold with a flick of skirts and a twist of his heel, turning to fully face the company in question. “What are you doing here?” He demanded, lids narrowing. “Didn’t you go home or something? You haven’t been here in-” He cut off, confusion flitting over his features as he tipped his head at the unexpected inquiry. Dance…?
“No…” He drew the word out uncertainly, hesitant as to what led the question to be asked. It wasn’t a topic of conversation they’d shared before or even hinted at. Nevermind how peculiar it seemed to come from someone who surely lacked any dancing ability at all. He huffed, speculatively assessing the individual before him. It was when he really looked at Malik that Naar became more distinctly aware of the disjointed… sluggishness and incoherence rumbling from the bird’s throat.
His gaze fell and landed at the object occupying Malik’s other hand. Flask. The contents of which were clearly making him more delusional than usual, if he’d really failed to recognize Naar before actually touching him. The drinking didn’t strike him as odd so much as the attempt at conversation. Malikai had been at least slightly inebriated when they first spoke.
This was not that.
Naarhiji’s shoulders dipped in resigned relaxation as he sighed. The Oblivionite boy settled both his palms on Malikai’s chest, thinking that the bird clearly needed what little support he could provide.
Despite this, he couldn’t help but add a little stab, “But I imagine I can manage whatever you suspect passes for dancing, O wise and noble drunken bird.” This surely was worth some amusement, and he quirked the other man a half-lidded, stray-cat smile. Naar perched forward on his tiptoes, craning up with only limited success at not pressing any of his weight against Malikai as he dusted his nose up the underside of his jaw and blew a light, teasing breath against his ear. So hopefully the smell of ‘woman’ was at least an attractive enough one that he wouldn’t mind a closer whiff.
“Sytherina is napping,” Naar explained as he settled back to the floor. “But since it’s been such a painfully long while since you’ve seen each other, I’m sure she won’t mind the interruption.” He quirked the man an incredulous brow, smile still in place. “Do you need help finding her room, or can you manage?”
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:41 pm
When the warmth under his fingers and the soft swath of hair by his nose twitched away in retreat, Malik didn’t bother expending effort to stop the instinctive disappointed look and sound that followed because there had been something nice right there under his hand only a moment before and now it was—
Naarhiji was speaking.
Something about going away.
‘Oh, yes.’
Malikai’s brow furrowed because really, that was the last thing he wanted to think — let alone talk — about. Blessedly, the subject changed again before he could construct a reply, but not before he noted that his flask — despite his prior intent to set it away — was still open in his free hand. He took a swallow, and then squinted down at his company.
“Didn’ mean now f’r th…on th’…dancin’…it was just—I wondered, seemed like you might or it could be…y’d look…have fun, dancin’…” Malikai eyed the upward quirk and curve of the boy—younger man’s—lips, because gods, it seemed very strange to think of him as a boy dressed like that and—leaning near to him again. ‘Man’ however, seemed somehow just as odd. Malik dismissed the thought. “‘M’not drunk,” he said instead, squinting blearily over Naarhiji’s shoulder, and then the boy—man—company was up, in, and breathing against his ear with hot, teasing little gusts of something. A strange sound escaped him, followed immediately by a clearing of his throat, and—
His spare hand was on Naarhiji’s hip again.
He opted not to question that.
Balance, he decided. That made sense.
“Guide sounds good,” he managed, rather pleased with how articulate the words sounded on the way out. It was a fleeting feat. “D’you’always…” His fingers strayed, sweeping the curve of Naarhiji’s skin at his waist and halfway up his side. So smooth. It seemed very strange, he thought, to think that a man’s skin could be made that soft. Oblivionite spellwork, perhaps. Or were all oblivionite men soft naturally? No, that couldn’t be right. “Wouldn’ wanna though—if y’re…too busy, ‘n have—’re you busy…?”
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:41 pm
“Mmm…” The sound drawled forth from Naar’s throat with a disenchanted waver. Drunk people seemed to lapse into the mental capacity of a toddler. At very least, they adopted the speech inadequacies of one, mumbling and slurring out incoherent and half-thought-out phrases. It would forever amaze him how anyone could stomach so much of something so disgustingly bitter that it managed to alter their very being. Truly remarkable and idiotic all at the same time. He clucked his tongue and swished his hips. “I can’t rightly say I’ve much experience with it- with dancing,” he admitted with a shrug.
But at least Malikai was a cute drunk. Like a dopey, confused, handsy animal, stumbling about on weak, wobbly newborn legs. With such painfully false declarations of ‘not being drunk.’ He wanted to laugh, but settled for giving a slight cough and pinching his lip between his teeth instead. It was almost a shame to pawn him off on Sytherina. She wouldn’t mind, she could handle it.
“It just so happens that I’m not busy, and you’ve caught me in one of my very rare ‘helpful’ moods,” Naarhiji decided flippantly, biting back laughter. He twirled a finger around a button on Malikai’s shirt, before skating his digits across his shoulder and down the length of Malik’s arm. The younger male twisted away from him, tugging at his companion’s limb and looping it around his neck as he moved. “Come along, honey. I don’t want you to get lost,” Naar cooed over his shoulder, casting a teasing glance back at the older man as he pulled lightly on his captured appendage.
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:42 pm
“Mmm—helpful, lucky…” Malik trailed off, attention distracted by a twining, twirling finger at his chest—which then moved up, and with it, a warm, surprised flush which rose and bloomed dark in his cheeks, “…me…”
It seemed a strange thing to be preoccupied with. He hadn’t paid especially much attention to the boy’s fingers before…had he? Perhaps when they’d had chocolate on them. And a sweeping, darting little tongue. And…
When Naarhiji twisted away, Malikai swayed forward into the empty space he left. He leaned with it, cooperatively looping his arm when guided and nuzzling in because, apparently, he could. This was news. The column of Naarhiji’s throat was warm and smooth.
“Coming…” he mumbled there, nose half tucked to the back curve of his company’s ear, and with that close proximity came the absurd temptation to just, brush his lips against skin. Once. Possibly. He squinted as another part of Naar’s speech dawned on him. “Honey,” he repeated. Interesting choice of phrase. The word sounded almost warm and not as strange as it likely ought to have. Pleasant, even. “No, don’ wanna get…lost…just wanna…”
He wasn’t sure what part of him decided it was time to stop. Only that some part apparently did, and between his grip on Naarhiji in various forms and his own raw mass, the decision effectively dragged both of them to a halt. Then and there. In the hall. Malik grunted against the niche between Naarhiji’s neck and shoulder, trying for the life of him to figure out what it was that had seemed so important as to merit stopping in the first—
Oh, yes.
“You’re…lettin’ me touch you,” he said, rather proud of his observation. “Thought you said y’ didn’…don’ let just anyone—an’ you don’…like me so much…d’you always smell like…flowers an’ sugar’n’magic…?”
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:42 pm
Just Malik’s arm was absurdly heavy. For some reason, this hadn’t occurred to Naarhiji until the weight was already looped across his frame and he was trying to gently encourage movement without allowing either of them to topple to the ground. Reasonably, the Oblivionite figured that if Malikai had walked this far, he was probably fine and capable of managing the very short distance of remaining trek on his own. Alas, disentangling from him wasn’t so easy. Naar huffed stiffly, his amusement taking a minor dip as Malikai leaned in close enough to brush his nose up the side of his neck, breath sweeping out to tickle the hairs near his ear and sending hot little prickles down the length of his spine.
Naar twitched, rolling his shoulders in a half-baked attempt at disengaging him enough to earn an inch or two of space. Or at least sweeping a mass of hair over his shoulder to serve as a barrier. He swiped his tongue across his lips and pressed forward for a very minimal amount of steps. They were getting nowhere. And while the thought initially irked him, it fluttered away with surprising immediacy. Because it… didn’t actually matter. If Malikai wanted to bumble about in the hallways for however long, there wasn’t actually anything wrong with that. Wasn’t hurting anyone.
So the complaint of, “Malikai, you-!” as he was dragged to a stop, petered out as quickly as it had started, replaced instead by a curious glance back at the Orderite man, silently perched against Naar’s neck for… several seconds.
He wasn’t going to be sick was he?
Naar was prepared to bolt away from him in the instance of such an event. Or at least attempt to. Although… as far as maneuverability went, the position was unfavorable. Still, relief came as an audible sigh at the man’s silly observations. “I don’t ‘let just anyone,’ and I don’t dislike you,” Naar asserted on a murmur as he raised a hand to - warily - brush at the front of Malikai’s bangs.
Slowly, he turned, dipping out from under Malik’s arm and slinking forward in the inch’s worth of space to press against his chest. “You are ridiculous,” Naar informed him tartly. “Completely ridiculous and idiotic. But you’re cute. Funny.” ’flowers an’ sugar’n’magic.’ Endearing in its own way, sure. And yet. “Still totally ridiculous.” With a shake of his head, he straightened and leaned forward, dusting his lips against the corner of Malik’s mouth before muttering, “I suppose I do at least as often as you smell of booze. So frequently enough.”
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:43 pm
Fingertips along his forehead. Dusting through his hair. Brushing skin. His lashes dipped low for a second.
Then, Naarhiji twisted, shifted in and settled into the space before his chest, pressing to it. Malik’s eyes blinked open, and his hands dropped, coming to a perch at the boy’s hips instinctively, palms to skin. Cute. Funny. Malikai drew his hands a half inch up, shaping the pattern of Naarhiji’s hips and waist.
“C’n live with ridiculous…” he murmured, most of his attention distracted by how warm his company felt to the touch, and how inviting when pressed so near to him, and it was easy to forget a lot of things which might normally have seemed more noteworthy. In the moment, all that felt of particular interest was that Naarhiji’s lips were grazing the corner of his, bringing a soft mouth so very close, and Malik opened his mouth to say, “I want t—c’n I…?”
But he never finished.
‘I want…’ became action before words, any further explanation muffled out and forgotten as Malik ceded to the wave of curious opportunity, dipped just enough—and kissed the man in his arms. Under other circumstances, had he ever even considered such an endeavor let alone actually followed through with it, he would have likely spent the remaining time trying to piece apart how it was different, as compared to a woman. Did his mouth move differently, were his lips a different size or shape or texture, or did he taste somehow strange and alien by pure virtue of the fact that he was built differently.
Little to any of that occurred to Malik in the present instant. Instead, his mind registered only that the mouth was soft and hot against his. Because his company had commented only moments before on how he smelled of liquor, Malik did him the service of keeping his lips closed and just catching and holding, as though the kiss were a cradle as his fingertips ghosted up the other’s sides and his thumbs swept in where—
—breasts would have been. But yes, right, of course, there were none of those.
Heat flooded back to Malik’s face in full, and his fingers slipped back down, coming to a resting perch at the small of Naarhiji’s back. He leaned back from the kiss and offered the other an abashed look.
“Er.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Y’re very…pretty. Pretty. Lovely. But I’ve not done tha’ before…an’ we were…you an’—not gonna get lost…”
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:44 pm
He was in the habit of telling Orderites ‘no’ anytime they wanted something from him. It seemed safer that way, particularly when his friends weren’t in the immediate vicinity of his sight. So despite this being Malikai and Malikai being as threatening as a wet ball of yarn, ‘no’ lingered at the tip of Naarhiji’s tongue; a precautionary answer to any question. And when he intended to push away from him with said rebuttal, instead his mind opted to linger on how peculiar it was of Malik to ask at all.
It was a moot question, one that even the Orderite realized didn’t merit an answer, but he’d asked. And did so in a state of alcohol-inspired deliriousness at that. So regardless of the immediate tension that locked Naar to the floor at the unexpectedness, of the stiff pursing of his lips, or the way his lashes flicked wide and horrified-
Malikai wasn’t doing anything bad.
Why did that keep coming back to him? That Malik wasn’t upsetting anyone or hurting anyone or doing. Anything. Bad. He was just weird. And drunk. And obviously painfully in need of attention from anything that breathed.
So Naar relaxed, exhaling tension through his nose and settling loosely against him, close enough to feel the thrum of his heart in his chest. Lashes dipped half-shut. Head tipped an inch to the side. His fingers crawled up from their perch on Malik’s chest, finding their way up to either side of his neck and lightly dusting into the shag of hair behind his ears. For all his complaints, Naarhiji found that he didn’t exactly mind kissing Malikai. He was a great deal more considerate than-
Probably any other person he’d ever kissed. Even if he reeked, and he was ridiculous, and his chin was scratchy. All surprisingly forgivable things. He wasn’t pushy, and his finger felt light skimming up Naar’s side, flicked over his ribs and then- away.
He blinked, tipping his head back to look at the other man as his confused spew of words continued. It didn’t seem appropriate to be sorry about anything. And he was pretty and lovely so no argument there. However.
The words tumbled from his mouth before he had enough chance to think about them. “You’ve never kissed before- That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said!” Naar snapped. “I’ve seen you, idiot. You’ve been coming here for weeks and weeks and regardless of how old you think I am or what you think I do, I don’t imagine you sit behind a locked door and play card games with a pretty girl, so I know you don’t rightly expect me to believe that you-!” He felt again the ghost of fingertips fluttering up his sides, seeking, touching, then pulling away. Heat crawled to the tips of his ears.
“You’ve never kissed a man.” And just like that, Naar wished he possessed the power to erase the last minute of his life. He swallowed and twisted away, grabbing Malik’s hand and resuming the tugging. What did he even have to be embarrassed about? It was hardly, hardly his fault if some guy kissed him and then apparently felt bad about it. He was doing his job. Huffing, he stated, “Well, I hope you enjoyed it, anyway,” and put as much crass carelessness as he could muster behind the words.
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:44 pm
Malikai felt his cheeks burn. And burn. And continue to grow stupidly hotter the longer Naarhiji went on about knowing he had kissed before, and of course he had. Of course he had. But every time he opened his mouth to say so, the boy was still talking and he wasn’t having a great deal of success convincing his own mouth to work regardless.
Then, blessedly, Naar worked it out on his own.
Unfortunately, that revelation was immediately followed by a less than favorable pinch of expression, a twist of retreat and a tug at his arm, no longer inviting but simply insistent, back on their original ‘path.’ Malikai felt his gut lurch with a strange, unplaceable guilt. Why did he feel he had just messed something up? His mouth opened and closed fish-style several times before intelligible words emerged.
“Wait—no, sorry, I—” Seconds after catching hold of Naarhiji to still him as though that would help something, Malikai flushed and released his the grip, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. Again. “Wha’ I meant was—I didn’ mean t’ say I didn’—I did enjoy…I liked—” Why was it such a strange and difficult concept to grapple with? “—kissin’…you, an’ ‘m sorry if y’ didn’ want me to, an’ ‘m sorry if I ‘ffended you, wasn’ meanin’ to, I’d just never—hadn’ occurred t’ me a’fore really much but—”
Perhaps it would be better if he simply stopped attempting to talk.
Having been in the brothel often enough, he knew when they arrived at Sytherina’s door, and it ought to have been a relief. They were there. He could let it go. Forget it all. Pretend that he hadn’t even tried, and hadn’t in the process apparently insulted Naarhiji—
But that felt unfinished somehow. Instead of relief, he felt a gripping reluctance. An uneasy, lingering duty, because there was something here, right here in front of him, that he needed to mend first while he still remembered it. He turned on Naarhiji.
“I…did like kissin’ you,” he said at length, attempting to apply more force and clarity to the words this time. “It was th’ first time I’d ever, with a…er, man, but there’s nothin’—it was different but not a great lot so…? An’ it’s nothin’ I wouldn’—” Malikai paused, wondering if the words to follow were true. His gaze dipped back to Naarhiji’s lips, and with a sort of hazy surprise, he realized they were. “S’nothin’ I wouldn’ do again—I would again, now, iffin’ I thought y’ weren’t crossways at me, and I might could do it another hundred an’ a half times and still like it as much if y’ let me, but I don’—I didn’ mean t’ upset you, so I…”
Malikai cleared his throat and pushed his gaze to Syth’s door, squinting when it took a moment to focus. This was reason enough to fumble into his coat pocket and draw out his flask — and take another burning swallow, eyes shut — before tucking it back away.
“…y’re sure she won’ hate me f’r wakin’ her…?”
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:45 pm
It became increasingly more clear that neither of them were practiced in the art of tactful eloquence. Because for all Malik’s sputtering, Naar couldn’t come up with much better to say, himself. ’I didn’t mean to kiss you.’ Lie. A bad one, at that (how do you not mean to-?). Nevermind that it lacked anything that would make anyone feel better. ’It wasn’t even really a kiss. I just touched you with my lips a little bit.’ That’ll surely make the situation less awkward. Malikai didn’t really have his first kiss with a dreaded guy. So whatever internal crisis had been caused was averted by sheer virtue of what constituted the definition of ‘kiss.’ So stop panicking, and stop spewing nonsense, and definitely-
“Stop apologizing,” Naarhiji snapped, half prepared to turn on the older man and… berate him some more, probably. It seemed like a reasonable course of action. How many times could one person say ‘sorry’ in under a minute? And for what? Naar wasn’t even sure.
More important was that it made him, personally, feel like a fool. For teasing him and rubbing against him and touching him and for most other interactions in general. If Malikai didn’t like it, he should’ve said- Something. Earlier. Long before now. Not that Naarhiji would’ve felt any better if that had been the case, but at least there might’ve been less ‘sorry?’ And a whole lot less of this awkward, terse humiliation.
He dropped the other’s hand when they reached Syth’s door, flicking it away from him like swatting at a bug. There. That should be that. Syth’s problem now. And when she was done with him if Malik even remembered- He wouldn’t, Naar assured himself with a light scoff. And Naarhiji could stop impeding on actual business and pretend Malikai didn’t exist and no one would be any the wiser about anything that had happened in the last handful of minutes.
So despite the incessant nagging at the back of his mind to disengage immediately, Naar ignored it on a curt laugh. “You’re a liar,” he stated matter-of-factly, settling his hands on his hips and giving his head a flippant toss. “But it’s fine, I suppose. I’m not here to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with or unhappy about, so by all means, enjoy your night.”
He should leave, his duty was done, he’d said his peace. He didn’t realistically have any more business here, outside of tormenting the poor man.
And that was business enough. “She might,” Naarhiji snapped irritably, crossing his arms and focusing on a dark smudge near the corner of the wall. But he’d asked. With some degree of actual concern. Naar groaned and wished Malikai wouldn’t ask so many questions.
“No,” he griped, the word more a complaint than anything else. “No, she won’t hate you… It’s not worth hating you over.”
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:46 pm
Malikai groaned.
The world — and in particular the petulant, scantily clad, and lavender-flower-petal-smelling child in front of him — was far, far too complicated for his current level of intoxication. He ought to have been focussing on the part about Sytherina. That was what was supposed to matter, in any case, and it was simpler. But instead, he could not make the full mental leap off of the initial accusation—
“‘M not, a liar…” His hand dropped, palm open, to the wall nearest Naarhiji’s head. Mostly for support. It also, though, had the convenient benefit of bringing him close enough to the boy to make his next point. “‘M’nota…liar…” Or rather, reiterate his first point. And then make his next point. “‘M’too drunk t’ lie.” There. Better. “An’ secondways…” His spare hand spent a frustratingly long time fumbling through the air before successfully attaching to Naar’s hip. He tugged.
With the tug, he half-shifted them, crowding the other’s space and fitting their bodies back together as snugly as he could with special emphasis below the belt.
“There,” he mumbled, ignoring the slow return of heat to his cheeks and then out to his eartips, “…see?” He wasn’t actually sure how much Naarhiji could metaphorically ‘see’ by feel given that Malikai was fully dressed, in uniform. But then, the boy was a whore, and surely had a decent amount of experience with this sort of thing and dragged this close would have some inkling of how frustrated Malikai’s body had become thanks to the proceedings. His lips were somewhere in the vicinity of Naarhiji’s cheek, straying close to his ear and then back away. “Liked it…so you c’n stop…poutin’n’huffin’ an’…bein’ cross ways w’me…”
He shifted, leaning so that he could actually see the boy’s face again. Then back in. He brushed a kiss to Naarhiji’s nose.
“…please…? No more poutin’…”
He released his grip and staggered to Sytherina’s door. Somehow, knocking happened.
“Syth’mmm…” Malikai cleared his throat, bracing his weight beside the door frame with one arm and rubbing a hand over his eyes with the other. When he spoke again, it was a barely audible mumble. “Help…”
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:47 pm
Leaving. That’s what he’d been doing. It’s what should’ve been done when Malik’s fingers first skimmed over his hips. A laugh, a pat on the head, and a dismissive flick of his wrist in farewell. Leave him to fend for himself. That was all the excitement the night had needed. Naar was disappointingly well beyond that point now.
Instead he flinched, shutting his eyes and twitching back and away from the hand that landed next to his head. He shouldn’t have even begun to bother an Orderite. He should’ve left it alone, walked away, forgotten about it, moved on, not. ‘Not’ summed up a great many of Naarhiji’s feelings regarding his actions that night. There was a painfully vast sea of ‘absolutely should not have.’
The beginning of his own apology lodged itself in his throat as he pressed backward, lashes flicking half open just to peer assessingly at Malikai. “I didn’t mean anything by it- Don’t,” he yipped, palms flying out to push at the larger man’s shoulders as he leaned nearer, tugged at him, held him, pressed to him. Naarhiji stilled. And everything from his breathing, to his heartbeat, to his mind just… stopped.
Some subconscious speck of his attention fluttered downward, aware - pleased? - that his good natured humor hadn’t exactly been ill received. And Malikai was speaking. The words didn’t matter so much (and scarcely registered at that) as the heat trickling across his ear and neck and cheek. Naar’s fingers pinched in the fabric of his companion’s vest.
Malik kissed his nose.
And Naar took a breath.
“I’m not… I’m not pouting...” he mumbled, posture slumping and arms drooping down and away, settling limply back at his sides. No, definitely not pouting. Not then. Certainly, undoubtedly not now. He swallowed, blinked, scrubbed the heel of his palm against his eye socket. Not pouting. There was nothing to pout about. As if he ever pouted, anyway. Malikai was drunk and blind and an idiot. He didn’t know anything. He huffed, swept his fingers down his front, and straightened.
Sytherina was mentally prepared for the outsiders needing her service. Even from the comfort of her bed and the warmth of her sheets, she could hear them thumping about and complaining just outside her door. And she was aware, without a doubt, that anything occurring so close to her doorstep was likely to be her problem.
Unfortunately, she was less physically prepared than mentally. She hadn’t been so much asleep as just resting, but the limbo-like state left her bleary and uncoordinated, and Syth cracked open her door with a hazy smile. She had to blink a few times for the lights and shadows to fully come into focus. “Hello, sweetheart,” she cooed upon seeing the Orderite warrior. Sytherina perched forward, leaning just so to settle the top portion of her weight against his chest and just… breathing.
It was several seconds before she jumped a bit, startled at the belated realization. “Help?” She repeated. “Why, what-? Come on, don’t stand out there. Sit with me.” She took a step back, goading him forward to join her.
Syth cast a glance over his shoulder, pinning the smaller man with a questioning look. “Is he..?”
“He’s not my problem,” Naar asserted with a huff, dismissing her - and him - with a careless wave.
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:47 pm
Malikai breathed an audible sigh of relief when the door creaked and Sytherina’s familiar face appeared in it. “Y—mmm…” But the greeting never made it further than that.
Something about the press of soft breasts and warm breath against his chest was more than enough to throw Malikai’s thought process to the wind, dangerously close to being lost forever, and he tilted his head in, nesting his face against the familiar curve of her neck so that—
Oh, but she was pulling back.
Before he could voice a complaint, though, the stirr of motion reminded him that there was more going on here than just Sytherina’s breasts, and he shook his head instead, dropped part of his weight back to the doorframe, and twisted, looking to Naar. “No, he—there was—we were…” Malik shut his eyes, one hand having at some point looped itself loosely around Syth’s waist and the other trailing blindly in the relative direction Naar stood. “‘E’s mad a’ me ‘cause I kissed ‘im an’ I ‘adn’t ever a’fore an’ ‘e didn’ think I liked it but I did an’ I don’…”
By some miracle, Malik’s fingers found Naarhiji’s wrist, and he opened one eye to study the source of contact. He opened his mouth. Shut it. And then opened it again, lashes flicking up so that he could eye the boy’s face when he spoke.
“Don’ really wan’ you t’ go, either, you could…just…” He gave the barest of tugs, gaze flitting a half inch down, to Naarhiji’s lips, then further, along the line of his throat and—his eyes shut. “You could come ‘n be busy, here…’stead o’ not busy ou’ there, an’ I could kiss you ‘gain an’ you could let me…” His lashes lifted with effort, bringing Naarhiji back blearily into focus, “…be your problem, too…seems I’m fair good a’ bein’ your problem a’ready…”
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:48 pm
Keywords. Syth had to squint and listen for them. ‘Mad,’ ‘kissed,’ ‘liked,’ mixed amidst a slur of some less recognizable explanation. But they were clearly both upset from the ordeal. From his sway, she expected Malikai was upset before Naar had entered the picture at all. Fortunately, it wasn’t all that impossible to piece some semblance of coherent story together. Sytherina shook her head, pressed herself to Malk’s side and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I’ve told you before, love, you don’t have to worry about him. He’s a silly, mean little bratling, and you-”
She cut off abruptly, lips pinching shut as her suddenly much more attentive gaze followed the curl of Malikai’s fingers over Naar’s wrist, and she tipped an inquisitive stare toward the Orderite man. It was almost worth further questioning. Really it was, and yet if she said anything, it would’ve felt like an interruption. Syth kept quiet, attention fluttering between them like a bee between flowers.
Naarhiji was less enthused. “I’m not mad at you for- I can’t hardly be mad at you when I don’t care-” He grunted out argumentatively, swatting at Malik’s hand and trying to pull away from him. “You don’t even know-” Tug. “You don’t know what you want, that’s half your problem!” Naar wrenched away from him.
Syth lurched forward, caught a wisp of shirt fabric in her hand and dragged back. If he wouldn’t resist- She looped the train of fabric about her hand and yanked. He grunted, and Naarhiji’s shoulder collided with Malikai’s chest. “Boys, boys-” The younger male glared at her. “boys,” she cooed, reaching to skate now-silk-covered fingers down the expanse of Malik’s chest. “This is an awful lot of drama for one night, and I’m sure there’s better, more comfortable ways of working it out than berating each other in the hallway. Come in, let’s relax…” She drew out the word as she guided, and half dragged, the pair into the room, just beyond the door, clicked it shut behind them, and stood before it, a wary guard.
Naarhiji huffed softly, lashes dipping as he focused on the weave of Sytherina’s rug. If nothing else, Malikai’s words were charming ones. It was certainly the most understandable thing he’d said that night. He found himself adamantly shaking his head, pinching his lip between his teeth, and muttering, “You don’t have to. I told you you didn’t have to. I said I was sorry-” No? He hadn’t? He meant to, that was something.
And he felt obligated to point at that, “I wasn’t mad at you for it… I liked it when…” He glanced to Sytherina, because she was apparently privy to this now as well, and heat swept up his face. “I liked it when you kissed me,” he grumbled. Stupid- Silly- Ridiculous- Malikai. Making him say- Naarhiji huffed and tossed his head.
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 9:49 pm
Malikai felt, for a spell, as though he were watching a show unravel. A third party spectator to a short theatre as Sytherina’s warm words tittered along, and there was a brief knot of guilty confusion when Naarhiji wrenched away from him, soon after nullified when the boy was pulled back and butting up against his chest. Alongside Syth’s fingers. Covered in silk.
He could work with this.
Then, they were being guided in and yes, Malikai supposed he could work with that too, because it was a great deal easier to follow than attempt to lead, particularly considering that, despite his best efforts, he was fairly certain most of his best-thought-out explanations were likely difficult to comprehend at this point. The door clicked shut. Naarhiji was speaking. Malikai wasn’t sure what it was he ‘didn’t have to’ do, nor did he remember hearing or feel entitled to an apology of any sort.
What had Naarhiji done wrong?
Nothing.
That was true, surely.
After that, though, the words made a touch more sense, and Malikai decided these assertions were the easiest of all to work with.
“You…” He stepped forward, though it came out as at least as much of a sway as anything, “…huff, an’ fuss…” His fingers found Naarhiji’s shoulder, the niche of it and his neck, the column of his throat, and up, “…an’ grumble, an’ pout, an’ whine so much…” His thumb traced the shape of Naar’s jawline, “…s’hard t’ know wha’ y’ like…but ‘m glad y’ do…” When he dipped, his nose touched Naarhiji’s first and then he was shutting his eyes, steadying himself, and Naarhiji’s lips were as soft as last time.
He spared no special courtesy of keeping his mouth shut.
It started that way, certainly. But between the closed door, the shift in circumstances, the all but blatant invitation in being told such advances were favorable, and the fact that the thought was no longer alien—all combined with the burn and blur that was the whiskey in his gut among other things—it was easy to slip his fingers into the hair at Naarhiji’s nape. Easy to tilt his head and press and goad with his lips, gently. Easy to part them, catch at Naar’s, and hold there as his free hand skimmed back down the side of Naar’s body, around, and—
His fingertips stilled a quarter-inch from the rise of Naarhiji’s arse, pausing in the dip at the small of his back as though coming upon an unanticipated road block. He opened his mouth, but hesitated, finding it highly difficult, under the given circumstances, to articulate a want that he had never even considered previously when he could scarcely speak clearly of the most familiar topics.
“I wan’…t’…but…I don’…m’be we could not…stand…”
To be fair, remaining upright did seem like an unnecessary expenditure of effort when there was a bed so close one could practically fall a few paces and make their way to it.
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