Bramblepoint [M] The Night Comes Down like Heaven

:D

in ink and mind, a scribe learned to record not only the voice but the body. it was with the heavy-lidded gaze of such a recorder that the prince watched machiavelli respond to his boldness. it thrilled him; he searched for any hint of surprise in the fellahin, and found himself shocked instead by the warmth of machiavelli's guidance.

his pulse galloped in chariot-wheel intensity, and the prince found himself almost too shy to mingle his gaze with that of the servant. and yet he did so all the same, eyes darkening into evergreen desire.

the kiss then, welcomed; he found himself willing to be the plinth against which machiavelli tested first one kiss, and then another, and both seared through senmut with the intensity of knifework against bare skin.

the night glowed around them. the forested carpet pressed coolly against him as machiavelli's slim weight settled in a delightful compromise. his face was near-solemn as he gazed up at the other man, flesh heating along the lacework of teasing claws. "only women."

a sound roiled in the red throat and senmut allowed his eyes to close, for his holier mind knew this too was a worship. "ramesses and his queen treva summoned me to their chambers." his own paw raised, hesitant, to slip along the lithe shoulder of the beautiful man. "she was lovely, the servant girl with whom i — performed. my induction was not without pleasure." and yet it had been uncomfortable, awkward, and in the end, shameful.

a languid, sweetened look touched him now; he slid his touch upward, lingering along the sculpted cheekbone. "i wanted no other and was content to be food for the gods, until legend." would this be of displeasure to machiavelli? senmut felt compelled to disclose; he had never sought to avail his wants among fellahin or mazoi alike, and wanted no one to endure the sensation of having been used.

legend; senmut remembered how her eyes devoured him, the seductive hunger of her strong hips and how he had allowed himself to be worshipped, a conduit to power that through him legend might taste, and his heart quickened.

"and the third is the high priestess of muat-riya, nazli. the gods danced with us." his heart was consumed by her face for a moment, her laughter, the way her arms had wound around him, pulse leaping to recall the way she had breathed her small throaty sounds of pleasure against him as if it were the Spark of Life itself;

"i have never done this before, machiavelli," senmut murmured, sitting up on crimson elbows as their eyes sought, held, once more in the nighttime air. his mouth was resplendent with an earnest smile. "i want to learn all you will teach."