Lion Head Mesa יַקִיר

semer-wati. right. zayin.
a flash of tongue pokes from between the sesh's lips in order to wet them. my mentor sent me here. think of me as a gift to you and to pharaoh, he nearly sneers, but instead chooses a reserved lift of his lip in a playful smirk. i am told i'm taking a place beside tavina, the doctor of what's now muat-riya.
he is no idiot. the look in the king's eyes reminds him starkly of the fellahin who had attended him that night; the same hungry stare that travels from the curve of his neck to the slim make of his hips. he's beginning to learn that perhaps attractions of this nature are not so uncommon here.
he pads over to the bottom of the steps, leaning against the base and resting his chin atop the cool sandstone. the dark eyes are almost beckoning, teasing. my hope is that i can be of the utmost assistance.