Bramblepoint [M] The Night Comes Down like Heaven

When you get to it! @Senmut

---

You will not be mine
So give me the night

---

The night sky stretched infinitely above the travelers, a canvas of deep indigo adorned with countless stars, like diamonds scattered across a sea of ink. Trees, heavy with ripe fruit, stood guard around the campsite, filling the air with the sweet scent of their yield. All was quiet, save for the gentle rustling of leaves and the hum of nocturnal creatures.

The trees were not the only ones on guard tonight. Machi lay awake, his pale eyes reflecting the twinkling light as he stared through the canopy of leaves above, lost in contemplation. The serenity of the grove was a stark contrast to the tempestuous thoughts swirling in his mind.

His gaze shifted, scanning the peaceful forms of his sleeping companions until it lingered on one figure longer than the rest. He stood slowly, quiet as a ghost under the moonlight sky as he grabbed his pack and slipped away from the camp.

- -

Highness, The wolf-dog whispered, his voice a gentle murmur in the stillness. He knelt beside the prince, his paw hovering for a moment before resting lightly on the man’s shoulder. He gave a soft shake, leaning closer as the prince stirred from his slumber. Wake up, my prince. I have a surprise for you.

thanks for starting! <3

the scarlet prince had taken his watch and gratefully accepted the relief of another guard. he crept to the archwork of tangled branches beneath which he had found a particularly soft patch of moss. one foreleg crooked beneath his chin, senmut slept the exhausted slumber of one who had become quite unused to physical labor.

it was here that machiavelli woke him. the greengem eyes widened, the lithe body tightening and then, release in an exhale; senmut softly laughed at his own unease and sat up, warming as he fully wakened.

"a surprise." he blinked sleep from his eyes and rose to his paws, a smile curling his lips; paw lifted to gesture machiavelli on, and senmut would walk where the fellahin led.

Ofc!

Don't worry, we won't be far, and I've checked the area. No harm will befall our companions while we are away, Machi assured, his voice a whisper for the prince's ears alone. He pranced lightly through the campsite with Senmut at his flank, the soft grass beneath his paws muffling his movements, and allowing him to slip softly away into the forest; something to never be achieved in the echoing caverns of the blue palace.

He turned to face the priest, a devil dancing in the shattered glass eyes, a playful curl to his slender maw. Highness, Machiavelli whispered, the pearl of his fangs catching silver light, you were afraid you had grown spoiled, weren't you? Perhaps we should see if your many blessings have made you forget how to run, he mused, his voice a silken purr. That would be unfortunate, would it not? With a final flick of his tail, the hart bounded away into the undergrowth, a cheshire grin alighting his countenance.

His path had been well prepared, and the stag broke through the trees as easily as wind over a field, his movements fluid and graceful. He glanced back, ensuring the prince was keeping pace, and although he was the one hunted, the fellahin was not the prey tonight. Keep up, My Prince, lest the night swallows you whole, the man called over his shoulder, a tinkling laugh cascading between the ancient trunks.

The moonlight dappled the forest floor, casting a mosaic of light that seemed to dance in time with the pounding of pawsteps over fallen leaves. A race through the shadows, with flurries of scattering torchbugs to punctuate every step. The wolf-dog's body lit aflame in the silver light, a beacon for the priest's eyes to follow. They raced through the orchard, the scent of ripe fruit mingling with the cool night air, and damp earth flung beneath their paws, creating a heady perfume that wrapped around them like a spell.

It was not long before Machi burst into another clearing, heart pounding, and chest heaving. Fireflies flitted about, tiny stars fallen to earth to perform for the forest dwellers. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he sat with his feathery tail curled over his paws, awaiting the priest's arrival. When the prince finally emerged, Machi's demeanor shifted once more, his gaze softening, the threat in his eyes replaced by a gentle warmth— an affectionate smile that danced along stretched lips.

I promised you a dinner, Highness, and what better place than an orchard? he explained, stepping aside to reveal a modest arrangement, supplemented with the fresh goods around them.

special thanks to @Legend beloved for helping me phrase this bc I was STRUGGLING to get it the way I wanted

had he ever run through a forest so serene as this one? at first the priest's eyes had widened; he had spluttered in laughter that machiavelli should spur him onward so quickly. but with a swiftness had sleep fallen from greenstone eyes; senmut found himself whipping after the fellahin with an alacrity he had not thought possible.

suppose it was such climbing to the top of the mesa each morning which had endowed senmut with stronger legs, but even at the blessing of such an advantage, he grew pathetically winded far too quickly, as if opulence had filled him with air and not strength.

this was of third amusement for senmut, who as a we'eb priest had not even devised that such riches might come to him. and to feel the work of fine wine and exotic meats upon him now, well! 

there were no words in him to admit it, but the lithe flanks of machiavelli, flexing with elegant grace, favored the eye enough to distract the prince from the burning of his chest, the fire seeded through limb and groin.

theirs was indeed a race, made resplendent by bars of moonlight and the scattering freckled light of glowing insects flirting underfoot as prince and servant galloped in a headlong galivant through shadowed branches. senses perceived the sweetness of fruit before senmut noticed that the trees had changed. he slowed to glance about, and in that moment the gliding form of machiavelli dipped fully from view.

panting, senmut followed, albeit at a slower pace — his heaving chest took in the narrow prettiness of machiavelli's own, the flourishing step, the hint of strain still yet in that appealing voice. flashing a smile, senmut caught his breath and approached, pretending dourness as he came to join the fellahin at the orchard's table. "suppose i had you flogged for making me run so fast," the prince threatened lightly, teasing the power of his position in wholly unmeant way.

"to what do i owe such a pleasure?" the priest asked softly, though he did not truly believe that machiavelli needed such a reason.

A large stone had been dragged through the grass to serve as a table, and it was beside it now that Machi sat, his opalescent gaze gleaming as though he had plucked the very moon from the sky. Only if you'd do it yourself, He murmured, a velvety rumble barely more than a whisper in his pale throat. His eyes were half-lidded in contemplation, the challenge—or was it an invitation?—hanging in the air between them like the gossamer threads of a spider's web.

He shifted slightly, the movement drawing attention to the sleek lines of his form, the graceful curve of his limbs. Or are you more of the type to sit back and watch? Machiavelli continued, his lips curling into a faint smile, more a soft shift in expression than a full grin. His voice held a teasing edge, a playful note that contrasted sharply with the intensity of his gaze. The fireflies flitted around him, casting tiny sparks of light that danced across his features, highlighting the soft curl of his lips.

The pleasure is mine, Highness, Machi assured softly. Will you join me? He gestured to an open place beside him, the invitation clear. I brought wine from the store-room as well, if you need more tempting.

their gazes twined; for a moment senmut remembered what it was to be beneath the passionate pierce of rashepses' hot stare, reduced to an atomic desire.

and by a man!

senmut's first moments in the arms of another had been a performance for the lustful stare of ramesses and treva, something to scintillate and observe. he had never explored his own appetites henceforth, content to settle into a semi-reclusion, including that of the flesh.

until legend. until nazli. until rashepses.

and now as senmut found his mouth dried by the poured-cream column of machiavelli's throat, he wondered if he would allow himself to answer that long-seeded and unheard want.

"bring the wine. i fear the hunger of my belly may need to be stoked," the prince rejoined, settling alongside the lithe fellahin and experiencing such a boldness of tongue as their flanks brushed that he was near scandalized.

almost sheepishly did the priest's paws rest upon the plinth of stone, signaling a chastity that did not translate to the greenweald heat of his expression.

Machi let a smile creep onto his face as the prince did not decline him. With a graceful shift, he retrieved a container of fermenting fruit, its intoxicating aroma wafting through the cool night breeze. With the air of a ritual, he scooped the fragrant mixture into smaller leaf-made cups, each brimming with the promise of intoxication. It is hunger that I intend to appease, Prince of the Red Palace, he murmured, his voice like silk as he passed the mixture to his companion.

He sat there for a moment, still and contemplative, gathering air into his lungs and holding it. His eyes fluttered shut, immersing himself in the symphony of the night—the fertile, blooming earth around them, the distant calls of night birds, the subtle rustle of unseen animals. The attention of the man who now sat next to him. His heart gave a sudden lurch, and he exhaled in a quick, breathy puff, eyes blinking open as he grew suddenly warm against the evening's chill.

The shattered-glass gaze turned to the priest's face, captivated by the shimmer of the emerald eyes, and for a fleeting, forbidden moment, he imagined how those eyes would look glazed over in rapture, how the Prince's beauty would be magnified, draped in the crimson of fresh blood. The thought sent a delicious shiver down his spine, and he quickly averted his gaze, fearing the prince might somehow guess at his thoughts.

The fellahin diverted his attention to the safer option then— the food in front of them. He picked up a berry, its surface glistening under the moon's gentle light, and twirled it between his clear-pink nails as he pondered. With a flick of his paw, he popped it into his mouth, enjoying the burst of sweetness mingled with the tang of fermentation. His tongue traced the splotched onyx of his lips, savoring the lingering taste.

He then turned to the wine, hastily relieving the cup of its contents before shifting his focus sharply back to the priest. The moon bathed his pale features in a silvery glow, bestowing upon him an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance. His eyes, like shards of a broken mirror, reflected the prince's visage with a vividness that bordered on unsettling.

Highness, he began slowly, the words dripping from his mouth like honey, For tonight, might I be so audacious as to use your name?

wine blossomed beautiful and rapturous on senmut's tongue. such tastes reminded the former scribe of how very far he had ascended. such heights made a fall headlong, and one fatal.

but as machiavelli's moonbeam eyes found him in a purring caress, the prince felt as though their minds moved in similar manners — too sweet, the lacquered denial and sidestep of what smouldered between erpa-ha and fellahin.

alongside the gracefulness of the other, senmut felt as though he himself was ardent with a clunkier nature. and so he only allowed himself to be compelled once more by the gleam of a slender foreleg, the roundedness of the gossamer shoulder;

"you may, machiavelli." there was almost eagerness in senmut for it. tonight he was neither prince nor priest, but only a man. 

behind the kohl and sacred robe of state, beneath the morning praise to Ra and the fierce loyalty he bore the kingdom of akashingo, the man who was senmut remained shy, reticent, and perhaps even slightly scandalized by the wash of nightglow over them both and the slight new flush of intoxication which pulsed vaguely in his blood.

"what will you feed me tonight?" senmut teased softly, though hunger was quite far from his mind, snared delightfully as he was by those contemplative eyes.

Shorter one so hopefully the next can be longer! <3

There was a certain charm to the red man's awkwardness, a disarming familiarity that tugged at the devil's heartstrings. It conjured images of a heavy frame and a silver pelt, memories that lingered like wraiths in the shadowy recesses of his mind. He smiled bitterly, his expression tinged with the sorrow that only nostalgia could bring, as he dropped his gaze to the meal before him. The warmth of reminiscence momentarily soothed the persistent ache in his chest, an ache that had become a constant companion.

I was expecting, Senmut, that you might enlighten me as to what you were hoping for, Machi began, nudging a piece of dried meat towards the priest and allowing their hands to brush ever so slightly. The contact lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary before the fellahin pulled away, opalescent eyes flicking to meet Senmut’s emerald ones, seeking to confirm the suspicion of the thoughts hidden behind their verdant depths. It is rather hard to provide when I do not know what is desired.

So, my darling, Machi urged, his voice a gentle murmur that caressed the priest's ears, what is it that you desire? The words were an invitation, a challenge wrapped in sincerity, daring the priest to bear his soul. He would not move otherwise, only wait for the man to respond.

all ur posts are beautiful! <3

senmut.

his name sounded — unfamiliar. not for the rich tones of machiavelli, of course; the fellahin's elegant voice placed gilt where there had only been the rich dark earth of aswan before. he was unused to hearing the sound of his birth nomen, for all addressed him with warm respectful title in these days.

he felt the burn of their flanks again and a great flush went through him; hunger and thirst abated and he found himself drowning with delicious dramatics in the opal eyes of the knowing machiavelli.

he had never done such before; he shifted, turning toward the sumptuous creamfall of chest and belly and throat; he hesitated only a moment before scarlet arm made firm by his thousand walks to the top of the mesa wound around the slim hip; muzzle deposited searing breath against the hollow of machiavelli's smooth shoulder;

"i was hoping to be your pupil."

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SCREAMING <33

There was a flush as the fellahin's body warmed under the man's touch, a delicate heat spreading like the first light of dawn. His breath hitched, drawing in his companion's scent, rich and intoxicating; chest rising and falling heavily against the prince’s maw.

Senmut's reactions, the subtle shifts in his expression, the slight tremors of his body, all these were like a symphony, each note resonating deeply within the piebald man. There was a small part of him that wanted to believe that this was more than just a duty, more than just another encounter.

Machi’s slender hand found the prince’s chin, lifting it gently so their eyes could meet. Prince to fellahin. Royalty and one who could hardly be called a person at all. Subhuman.

Hesitation flickered in the half-breed's gaze, looking for a connection that perhaps didn't exist. His lips brushed against Senmut's with the lightest touch, a whisper of a kiss that left his heart pounding furiously against his ribcage. The next was not so gentle; he pressed forward, hungry and greedy— a monster made man, tasting the sweetness of humanity for perhaps the first time.

Each movement was deliberate, each touch calculated to elicit a response. He pressed a kiss, soft and lingering, just below the prince's ear, allowing his breath to tickle the sensitive skin. Before I came to Muat-Riya, many entered my care. Only one left disappointed, he murmured, his voice a soft purr as he guided the priest onto his back with a gentle yet insistent pressure.

Machi positioned himself then, opalescent gaze drinking in the other's form. He came to rest, propping one strong russet leg over his shoulder, and allowing a pearl-pink nail to trace lazy, intricate patterns along Senmut’s stomach, his touch both teasing and delicate. My training was swift and educational, he added with a low chuckle, the sound rich and velvety, it never happened again. With deliberate slowness, Machi pressed a kiss to the man's thigh, You are in good hands, my love. An affectionate smile spread across the slender maw, the words a gentle murmur against the heated skin,

Am I wrong in assuming you've done this before? With a man? He asked, his fingers continuing their languid exploration, and gaze searching the prince's face, looking for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.

: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."

He had listened quietly as Senmut spoke, his gaze trailing softly along the delicate ruby of the other's face. The flickering fireflies cast an ethereal glow on Senmut’s features, making him appear as if kissed by the twinkling stars.

Perform, Machi echoed softly, meeting the other's gaze with a brow furrowed in empathy. I, he paused, his opal eyes flicking to the filigree he traced absentmindedly, believe me, I know what that is like, darling. He returned his stare to those emerald depths, his tone firm yet tender, You will not be performing tonight, Machi asserted, nestling into the priest's hand. Understood? His tone was soothing, yet held an authority that brooked no argument.

Content to linger there for a moment, Machi was roused only by the mention of the jackdaw. The question of why had been weighing on the man's mind since he had been invited on this trip, and now it was the woman's words that rang through his head.
"'ahma-qu, 'ahmaq! Machi"

Stupid indeed. Opalescent gaze rose to the stars above as if their distant light might remove the paint from his foolish face. I see, he chuckled softly once his companion had finished talking. And if Senmut's smile was sweet and earnest, then Machiavelli's was the beautiful lie he had told hundreds before, and would hundreds more.

You were right to employ my services then, the fellahin purred. We can take things slow—figure out what you like and what you don't. How does that sound, love?

the moment shimmered, trembled, resumed its scintillating face. but something had changed beneath it, and all senmut could do for a moment was cling to the desperate rightness of having had said this before anything occurred.

services employed. training; educational. satisfaction. the prince's eyes softly widened, and if to say all of what he could not, he shook his head emphatically, attempting to find what he had felt was a connection behind the jeweled gaze.

"i fear there may be a mistake." he did not reach toward machiavelli again; senmut lat back against the springy moss and trailed his eyes along that exquisite face. "i did not bring you on this expedition to — i had no expectation of you. i enjoyed your company immensely when i was sick and rambling. i knew you would be of charming company, and skilled in your appraisal of any soldiers."

he wanted to smile but the moment eschewed the curve of his mouth. "i desire you, but not as a servant. not as someone i can summon for my delights. and i mean that i wish to learn, yes —" a small laugh attended him. "i did not tell you one thing. the semer-wati has made no secret of some unexplainable interest in me. yes. i can learn from you, machiavelli, but i have much of my own to show you also. i must have this knowledge, not only to please a lord but to ensure that any of my own desires are equally pleasant."

"but i come to you first with feeling in my spirit, not entitlement to your skill. i would not have you perform for me either."

If shock had been absent before, it now surged over the demon like a tidal wave, crashing against his usual composure and leaving him speechless. Machi, often so collected and poised, found himself unable to meet the priest's gaze. A flush of a different kind rose to his pale features, hot and shameful.

He grappled for a response, words hard and heavy against lips strung shut with barbed wire. Machi's hand stroked absentmindedly at his throat, fingers tracing a line across his neck as if seeking solace in the familiar sensation. Silence stretched between them, thick and charged, while Machi's ears flattened against his skull, and his mind raced to find its footing.

Though Senmut's words were meant to reassure, the wolf-dog could not help but wish that the Erpa-Ha had not been so honest as a nick of pain cut into his heart. He had no expectations, yet Machi felt as though a book to be studied so that the scribe might impress the king. Legend's face flashed into his mind. The king's. He—
He could not think about it right now.

Finally, he breathed in deeply, his voice emerging as a soft, velveteen whisper. I enjoy your company very much as well, Senmut, he confessed, turning his gaze back to the prince. There was a vulnerability in his opalescent eyes, a rare glimpse behind the carefully constructed mask he wore.

He shifted closer, the space between them shrinking until their breaths mingled. With a smile still playing on his mouth, he met the man's in a reassuring kiss. You have a way of unsettling me, Machi murmured against the onyx of Senmut's lips, his voice barely more than a breath. It's impressive really, he added teasingly, pale hand stroking the curve of the prince's jaw.

A flicker of mischief danced in Machi's gaze, his maw curling into an impish smirk. Well then. I'll have to show you a time that would impress His Majesty as well, won't I? he whispered, the playfulness returning to his tone.

I would be interested in seeing what you might teach me, the halfbreed mused, eyes trailing along the russet throat, before lingering on the collarbone which he met with a gentle bite. He continued his trail downward, placing next a kiss above the heart, the pounding of which brought a giggle to his lips.

His movements were drawn-out, willful, as if savoring each touch, each sensation committed to memory. The lithe body pressed closer, seeking the warmth the scribe offered.

Machi's kisses continued their descent, each one a vow of passion wrapped in a playful nibble or a brush of lips. He reveled in the taste, the feel, the very essence of the man beneath him. He lingered at the priest's hip, placing a final kiss there before lifting his head to meet the verdant gaze once more. Shall I continue, Senmut?

"no." and the white teeth glittered for a moment, senmut slowly pulling machiavelli against the sweetened cadence of his heart to kiss — he lithely rolled in the next moments, overturning the moonpearl eyes from their kingdom above him to an oasis below.

"the Consort may have me. if he desires this, then i desire it also. i am his servant," and he kissed the fellahin here with a lingering firmness that was quite unlike how he had moved into such moments before; he drew the slender hips into the warmth of his own and drifted now his wondering palm down the taut belly;

"but you are not mine." another mingling of breath and spirit and eyes, senmut leaning lightly over the noble servant until they both paused in a soft laugh. he was not certain that he had ever felt this hunger before. the priest was learning that each dogged pulse of his hear evoked a new sensation, a new craving of spirit.

his scarlet ears tipped low against the muscular abdomen, and senmut thought to himself how he forged ahead into a world that had no map, that he alone was the cartographer of such designs.

he thought of machiavelli's smooth paw upon his face; and he did not speak more, but delved toward the assumed epicenter of their mutual want.

the moonlight sprinkled them in dapples of creamy glow as wind moved the trees across the face of the great orb hanging overhead.

We tangle endlessly

---

No? The word hung in the air, a dreadful pause ensuing as the fellahin faltered, eyes pulling wide with blood that flash-froze, but there was no anger or disappointment in the virid gaze. A puff of held breath escaped the man's lips, quickly transforming into a soft chirp of laughter as he was pulled once again to the prince's chest, rolling into the soft, springy grass.

When the red priest spoke again, the prophet's brow furrowed, feeling as if he were gazing into a mirror shattered into stains of coffee and wine. He met the kiss with arms that wrapped around the amber frame, his body heating eagerly under each touch.

Before Senmut could move away from the embrace, Machi pulled him closer, pressing another gentle kiss to the man's forehead. Thank you, he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath.

The pale face watched the prince through a frill of snowy lashes, his gaze unwavering. As his head finally fell back into the earth, a hand rose to his mouth, biting back the sound that rolled in his throat. He let the remaining tension fade from his limbs, surrendering to the prince's explorations.

— —

Machi rested his forehead against Senmut's, a contented sigh escaping his lips. How do you feel, darling?

dios mio have i come to love their sound so much <3

"enlivened." 

as machiavelli had done, though perhaps with not so equal a grace, he drifted a kiss alongside the inside of one silken thigh and then rose to press their anticipating heartbeats together.

"emboldened." he teased blood to blush one pale aud, then the other, taking a moment to devour machiavelli's eyes with his own.

senmut wanted to see what other sorts of sounds the other could make, and it showed in the dark emerald of the eyes that now burned with renewed desire.

I am having such a blast with them <333 ;-;

Are you still unsatisfied with what you might take back to your king? Machi's voice was a playful murmur as he met Senmut's gaze unwaveringly. A smirk danced on his lips, his eyes glittering with mischief. I might begin to think you a very wicked man indeed, Eminence, he scolded lightly, his words dancing like the fireflies around them.

The man moved with languid grace as he reached out to pluck a morsel from the stone table. But, then again, the best learners are often the most wicked, aren't they? he mused aloud, rolling the plump berry between his pale claws. The delicate fruit, a vibrant red, stood a pretty sight against the pallid form— a small, sweet jewel cradled delicately in hands that had seen both mercy and bloodshed.

His gaze flicked back to the prince, studying him with a keen intensity for a fleeting moment before a mischievous smile tugged at his lips. I would love to linger and get to know you better, my darling, he continued, a hint of reluctance softening his tone. But it's growing late, and I fear the others might wake and find us missing. Despite his words, Machi found himself reluctant to step away from Senmut's embrace just yet.

A contemplative silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Machi opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated, uncertainty casting a shadow over his features. There was a lingering question, a thread of curiosity that tugged at the back of his mind, yet he hesitated to voice it.

Conversation and play had flowed effortlessly between them, yet there remained a keen awareness that much about the priest remained unknown. Similarly, he knew there were parts of himself he had kept hidden, aspects of his past and present that remained carefully cloaked in the depths of the fellahin's heart.

me too! <3

his king.

he had wanted to forget. he had wished to remember.

there was a lancepoint in his gut when he answered; "perhaps i am wicked. perhaps we will have more opportunity to discover this, another time." disappointment was a wash that he rejected outright from hanging across the shoulders which gently eased him away from machi.

another time. promise was still ripened and bursting with sweetfruit flavor between them. 

unveiled by those gemstone eyes, senmut leaned forward to break that connection with another; a brush of their mouths together, a grin against machiavelli's own before he stood and gently pulled the other up and to his own graceful paws.

"then let us go back. they will know in the morning," for he did not intend to cleanse their mingled scents from his fur now, or then.

again, the meeting of their eyes; a swallow, a gentle turn as he invited their slow walk back to the others.

I'll hold you to that, the half-breed smirked, eyes shimmering mischievously. Next time, we'll actually begin with dinner, hmm? I've come to know the taste of you, but I would like to know your mind and heart just as intimately. He hesitated, eyes flicking away from the cool green of Senmut's gaze, a flush rising to his porcelain face. If that is something you would like too, of course.

He stood, a small smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to pluck a strand of grass from the red man's coat. The prince's next words, however, gave him pause, his mouth falling open slightly, sending the blade of grass wafting to the earth, and Machi felt his heart plummet with it. Shame began to creep up the dove-white paws, twisting into a knot in his stomach. Senmut would not mind if the others knew? If Senmut didn't mind... why did he? The clockwork mind clicked and ticked, pallid face suddenly void of expression.

I, he began slowly, forepaw reaching up to comb through his feathery coat. I think... I would prefer if they didn't. The dog couldn't bring himself to meet the priest's eyes, his voice barely above a whisper.

Feeling suddenly horribly self-aware and desperate to provide some sort of explanation, Machi stammered out, It's Legend... Although our relationship is not exactly like this, she is still very dear to me, and I feel somehow that I've betrayed her. I would rather tell her than let her notice on her own. His words tumbled out in a rush, the usual flashy confidence dissolving in a moment, Is that alright, Se-Highness? The opalescent eyes fixed hard upon the earth, bracing for the prince's response.

"are you offering to be my lover and confidant, machiavelli?" senmut asked in a cool, direct voice, though the bright emerald of his eyes shone an easy interest. "i would like to get to know you. yes."

his tone held the fortuitous sound of more to come.

machiavelli spoke of legend and he stilled, remembering their banter upon this journey. a strange expression flickered in his gaze; not dislike; not anger; not confusion; perhaps it was unknown even to senmut.

he felt a smooth withdrawal from them both, wishing a happiness between mazoi and fellahin that a prince would only spoil. "of course, machiavelli. that is the right thing to do." his steps were graceful, his eyes a wink; "i will go and bathe, and hunt elsewhere before i come back."

senmut turned, wishing to depart smoothly and wrestle with this notion in another place, away from machiavelli's inviting body and sleek arms.

Thank you so much for this thread <33

He felt the shift within the prince, subtle and chilling, like the first frost of winter creeping over an unexpecting, dewy morning. A sudden stillness hung between them, and Machi couldn't shake the gnawing suspicion that he had somehow said something terribly wrong. Perhaps it was his choice of words, the inflection in his tone, or some unintentional nuance.

Whatever it had been, the dog felt the weight of his misstep settle heavily upon him. Guilt and shame clawed their way up his soiled paws, entwining around his thin frame with the oppressive weight of a thousand bodies, clinging, grasping. Dirty.

Machi's heart yearned for the priest to react, to shatter the awful silence with anger or frustration. In some hidden recess of his soul, he longed for Senmut to confront him, to ask for an explanation, or perhaps begin a conversation that might clear the air. Anything would be better than this quiet acceptance that felt like a blade twisting in his chest.

But no such outburst came. The priest remained composed, his departure marked by a quiet resignation that stung more than any harsh words could have. The foolish dog kept his gaze fixed on the grass, unwilling to look up until he was certain that the prince had gone. Only then did he allow himself to breathe, the ache in his chest spreading like a bruise.

Slowly, as if walking in a haze, Machi gathered up the remains of their meal. He moved mechanically, tidying the space with practiced precision. The scent of the food, once appetizing, now turned his stomach. Each piece of debris he picked up felt like a fragment of his shattered pride— his hopes, and he returned the bits to their pouch with more force than was needed. The silence around him left plenty of room for the echoing thoughts that chimed away in his mind. Stupid, stupid was the little whore that got big ideas about being anything but. Icarus had flown too close to the sun and now he was left wading in pools of wax.

It would not happen again. So when the meal had been tidied away, and Machiavelli was clean and presentable, the doll returned to the camp with a pretty porcelain mask set upon his face, tied down and double knotted with ribbon and chain— a warm smile painting his lips that could not quite thaw the chill of his eye.