Lion Head Mesa Hate [m]e baby, maybe I'm a piece of art

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Sleep is overrated, Melody had said. In time, she would learn to regret it.

The girl was weeping, and she did not know why. She'd picked a hidden spot where she was sure no one would find her; the tears had started suddenly and refused to stop, and Melody did not want to be seen like this. She wanted to be seen — well, as a Hemet. Not a servant, not a noble — a priestess, as she was meant to be. She was certain that crying had no place in it.

But she could not seem to stop. Melody wiped at her eyes and found it futile, sniffling a little indignantly to herself.

a rolling bullish snort from the passing mazoi. "the prince can be cold, but hard? what has he done to you, girl?"

not a servant. not a noble. a priestess. he knew the cowed, indecisive form of a student with a firm mentor. he simply did not think that small man had it in him. khusobek leant a brawny shoulder against the wall.

A voice like hot red stone. Melody looked up into blue eyes and was struck speechless by them for a moment, immediately turning shy and wide-eyed. Something about him spoke wordlessly of violence, she thought.

Oh, um - nothing! Nothing, really, She hurried to dry her tears, but the reminder of them caused a fresh welling of heat in her eyes. Everything is fine. Um. Melody willed herself to stop crying, but there was no halting it. She forged ahead nonetheless. I'm - I'm Melody. Who are you?

she was a soft thing, a spiceflower caught beneath the grinding block. a tooth showed in his cruel merriment. "you are a bad liar who makes up for it in beauty." 

"i am khusobek, one of the mazoi." his cold eyes flickered over the aquiline nobility of melody's face. "are you going to tell me why you are hidden and weeping?"

Finally her tears dried, partly in shock and partly flushed pleasure. He thought her beautiful! Melody blinked shyly, unsure what to say, almost grateful when he questioned her further.

No, She admitted with perhaps the slightest hint of mischief, and offered a half-smile. Are you going to tell me what you find beautiful about me? Her heart leapt a little at her own boldness, but Melody did not think to take it back. Of course she wanted the attention; this was what she had been missing, and in shades of blue no less.

melody was swift in the way she responded, daring khusobek with her slender muzzle. "your eyes," he offered. "your mouth."

the guard drew close a moment, then paused and set a distance between them.

"have you displeased our prince?" he was hungry for the midday meal, all his wants awakened at once

Her breath caught in her throat when he came close, and she tensed — but then the Mazoi moved away and Melody was filled with disappointment. He was talking about Senmut again — and she didn't want to talk about him, him and his stupid servant girl.

She shook her head and stepped closer, wanting to close the distance again. He hardly notices me, Her murmur was distracted; distant in spite of the truth she felt in her words. You noticed me, she thought, but could only study Khusobek in suspended silence.

few truly wanted the attention of their instructors, which led the crocodile to believe it was not education of which melody spoke.

the priestess leant closer and khusobek did not pull away, the cold eyes darkening as her soft gilt loveliness seemed to yield.

"you want to be seen by men and not gods?" the mazoi teased in a rumbling voice. why was she not devoted in holiness?

Why not both? Her voice was soft, brimming with some kind of want she couldn't quite place. Her eyes were bright and playful. Maybe I want all eyes on me. Men, women, gods. Pharaoh. Her throat burned.

Melody reached out as if to touch him but hesitated, and at the last moment pulled away. His eyes were the wrong shade of blue. It was too quiet here. She still didn't know what she wanted, or if she wanted anything at all.

the smirk on khusobek's face deepened into something else. something that answered.

she wanted their gazes. their attention. she had his, seized on the basis of intrigue and his own unfed want.

"then learn how to command, hemet." he let his eyes move deliberately across her face, down to the slender throat, the soft limbs. "command me to be at your whim."

For a heartbeat Melody feared she would fall to awkward pieces — but this was not Senmut, and she was not afraid of Khusobek. Is that what you want? A slight tilt of her head, voice warm and low, To be at my whim? This time she didn't hesitate; close enough now to feel the warmth of his body, not quite touching, green eyes burning to match the daring lift of her chin.

I can be very demanding, She murmured, trailing a light touch along his jaw, brief and faint as the brush of a feather. Melody didn't know how to command anyone, she was sure, and would later wonder what had come over her to even attempt such boldness. For now, she thought of nothing past the drum of her heart and the warmth rapidly turning to heat in her veins.

his laugh was hard. "why should you care what i want?" was that not the lesson khusobek was attempting to teach. the priestess' touch was desirous. in a moment the guard had pushed melody back against the wall of her small weeping alcove, pulling her body into the length of his, facing down upon her.

"learn not to care. you are hemet. i am mazoi." but surely she could feel the heat of him now, the insistent push of his firmly muscled figure against her own. yes; service was khusobek's lot. "so tell me, holy one; what do you wish from me? order it."

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For a moment, fear; just a flash of it, a passing hint that spiced the moment with the small realization that he could truly hurt her if he wanted to, except —

You are Hemet. I am Mazoi.

And there was power in that, wasn't there?

She was very aware of his body against hers, the way she came alive under his touch, not faltering to her fear but turning to flame under it. I want - Melody bit her lip, arching against the heat of his desire. Order it. Her heart raced. Touch me. Show me how a Mazoi worships. Not through prayer, but the breathless tangle of warm flesh.

there was an exhale that sent hot breath across the side of the priestess' face, a soft chuckle. khusobek set his jawline against the curve of her throat. "as you command, hemet."

and then no more words; her voice would be hers to hide, the mazoi taking no moment or retiring to her hallowed chambers; there, in the little space of redstone beside which any might walk at any moment, he answered the demand of melody and in the end slaked his own.

his broad chest swelled with a breath as khusobek caught it, backing some steps from the priestess with a lofty grin. "you will understand i must return to my duties." he paused. "order me again at your leisure." his eyes glowed with pleasure and some slight teasing, and unless melody paused him now, the sated, smirking mazoi would turn away.

I will, Melody promised with only a brief glance and a sideways smile spared for Khusobek, a moment's pause in her lazy preening of her ruffled fur. And she would seek him again, but for now the priestess only watched him go, warm with her own satisfaction. She would stay there awhile longer, straightening the mess he'd made of her fur. Then she would find her room, and spend some time lying there, staring at the ceiling and thinking on all that had happened.

Most of all, she wondered if Khusobek had been able to tell that — well, that she had never done that before.