Lion Head Mesa [sc] [M] Diamonds Under my Eyes

i would argue that knowledge is power, izaiah retorts, the hazel eyes glimmering in the cool bath of moonlight. the warm, rolling burr of the man's accent makes the hair upon the boy's shoulders stand on end. and don't call me dear. at least take me to dinner first.
the fellahin leans close, and izaiah feels the prickle of heat that pools beneath his pelt. he feels the pressure of a nail against his skin as machi takes what is offered, and the boy cannot seem to peel his eyes away as the berry slips between his teeth; watches as it is crushed, consumed, devoured.
he coughs (gayly), covering his mouth with a slender wrist. i am a sesh, yes, he repeats it again in an effort to regain his now very much lost train of thought, tall ears flicking as if unperturbed; but surely, surely the man-harlot would've noticed by now the tension that clung to his acquaintance. i was trained and sent here as-- a gift, i guess, to the pharaoh. my mentor wanted me to broaden my horizons. he thought this was the perfect way to do it.
but i shouldn't complain, he adds then, uncomfortably readjusting himself so that he may look just the slightest bit taller, though the pale man still had a good bit of height on him. this place is... entertaining.