Luneshale Pass Saltanatın oğulları

@Samirseti <3

A single feeble stream of water flowed through the pass. The lifeblood of the surrounding life. As Arslan followed it through, he could not help but wonder what would happen should the stream be cut off from it's source.

It would not continue to flow, surely. The water would dry up, leaving only a indent in the ground to suggest that it may have ever been there. The plant life would die, animals would stop visiting, the area would turn into a ghost town. Dead. Forgettable.

In a moment of wishful thinking, he wondered if his disappearance from Siena would have the same effect. He hoped for the kingdom his father had built brick by brick to collapse in the absence of it's heir - but the lion knew very well this would not be so. He had many brother's, all of which were more than eligible.

He pushed it from his mind, not wishing to dwell on the past.

His golden eyes scanned the wolf ahead, noting his stillness, his presence in the space—silent but not aimless. Samir had learned long ago that still waters often ran deep, though it was not in his nature to let silence linger too long.

His voice broke the quiet, low and measured, tinged with curiosity but not intrusion. “A quiet night,” he said, his tone carrying the weight of idle observation. “But not a dull one, I hope.” His words were casual, unassuming, but they carried the faintest edge, as though testing the mood of the stranger.

Samirseti’s gaze flicked toward the horizon for a moment before returning to the wolf. He neither sat nor moved closer, keeping his distance as was polite. "It’s rare to find another out here at this hour,” he added, more to himself than the other, though his words invited an answer. His posture remained relaxed, princely, the faintest flicker of a smile on his face—neutral, yet undeniably confident.

A man stood ahead, calling out to him.

He was far prettier than the men of the basin, though Arslan found that he did not hold the same charm they did - likely because this man held no power over him. He was far larger than the lion, lanky and scarred. The stranger held an aura that left him to wonder if they may be cut from the same thread.

A smile was offered from Arslan, warm and nearly inviting, yet far from gentle. He held himself high, tail lifting. You come here often then? He asked, his head gaining the slightest tilt. I haven't come this way in some time, but I found myself wandering.

He then took the first steps forward, brazen as always. Even if it was only for a short time he wished to enjoy this treasure that the universe had offered to him.

Samirseti’s ears flicked at the question, the faintest trace of amusement pulling at his lips. He stood his ground as the wolf stepped forward, watching his approach with a measured gaze that betrayed neither interest nor disinterest—only curiosity, tempered and quiet.

“I wouldn’t say often,” he echoed, the smoothness of his voice carrying a subtle undertone of teasing. “But the stars have drawn me here more than once. They seem to favor these open places, don’t you think?” His head tilted slightly, the flicker of a sly smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

The stranger’s confidence didn’t go unnoticed, and Samir found himself weighing it, as one might consider the worth of a coin. It wasn’t unpleasant—boldness had its place—but it always begged the question of what lay beneath. Still, it was rare to find a wolf willing to meet his presence with such ease, and that alone was worth humoring.

“I take it you’re not one to let chance go untested.” Samir remarked, his golden eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. “Tell me, nefer, what should I call you? If only just for tonight.”

Light-footed, he semi-circled the other and took in his scent. A chance to see where he had been, who he had been with. Yes, I suppose that is a poetic way to look at it. He responded, his tail waving behind him.

Oh, only for tonight? You'll kill me with those words. His tone was dramatic, his expression giving away his clear amusement with himself. But what was this man to call him? In Siena he was Leandros, in Verapaz he was Arslan. He had run out of name's and could not be bothered to think of something new. You can call me whatever you think to be most suitable.

He would treat this like a shameful secret, something to be hidden. A one night stand that he would deeply regret come the morning when he would stalk back into Verapaz with the scent of another on his pelt. He knew all too well that it was silly, that this was far from anything of the sort, but was it not more exciting to pretend? He had done so with Soto, but with a stranger there were far fewer consequences.

The stranger moved with a confidence Samir found delectable, even amusing. He could appreciate boldness when it was done well.

When the wolf spoke, dramatic and playful, Samir allowed a faint smirk to tug at his lips. “I’ll do my best not to kill you,” he replied, vox cool and sly. “Though I can’t promise you’ll leave unscathed.” His tone hinted at teasing, though his golden eyes gleamed with quiet confidence. As Arslan circled, Samir made to watch his every movement, gawking with the eyes of a golden predator.

The offer to choose a name was unexpected, but Samir didn’t falter. Instead, his ears flicked forward, curiosity sparking in his expression. “Anything? That’s a dangerous game, nefer.” His smirk widened immensely then. “But if you insist, it seems I've already indulged you. Nefer. A handsome name for a handsome face.”

Samir took a single step forward, his movements unhurried, the slight tilt of his head betraying his growing interest. “Now, It's only fair I return the favor.” he said, his voice softening, though no less intent, “what will you call me?”

He lingered there, his gaze steady, letting the question settle in the air. He didn’t press, content to let the other speak. The night was young, after all, and Samir had all the patience of a wolf accustomed to getting what he wanted, one way or another.

He listened well, the man's voice ringing in his ears like a pleasant song. The word meant one thing to Arslan, but in the tongue of the other it seemed to have a different meaning entirely. A meaning that was far more pleasant. Licking his lips clean, burning eyes settling on molten gold.

Benim he spoke without hesitation. That is what I will call you. Though in this situation, he was not yet sure who the term was better suited to. He had never been met with such an attitude from another man - it was nearly enough on it's own to have him rolling to his back.

He was used to being met with aggression, another's determination to gain dominance, yet he had not seen that here. It was intriguing, it made him wonder.

Where have you come from? He asked. It seemed like the reasonable thing to ask, for it appeared that they were not as alike as Arslan once thought.

Maybe that was a good thing.

Samirseti’s smile spread slow and deliberate, revealing the sharp glint of his teeth as molten gold eyes met burning crimson. The name—Benim—rolled pleasantly off his tongue in silence, though he made no effort to repeat it. He didn’t need to know the meaning to know it was good. His gaze sparkled with a predatory gleam, sharp and hungry, like a hunter savoring the first scent of his prey.

"So I shall be."

Without a word, Samir began to move. His slender frame slipped into motion, circling the other wolf with languid, fluid steps, mirroring the same inspection he’d been subject to moments ago. This was no idle mimicry—it was a quiet reclamation of control, a proclamation of who stood at the helm of their exchange. His movements were purposeful, his posture poised yet unrelenting, like a serpent tightening its coils around an unsuspecting quarry.

As Samir came closer, he allowed his side to brush deliberately against the smaller wolf’s, a slow action designed to leave his mark, his scent mingling with the other’s. It wasn’t just a statement of dominance; it was a calculated act, a subtle declaration that he intended to be remembered, even after this moment had passed. When his tongue flicked out to rasp along the back of the wolf’s ear, the act was as much a display of confidence as it was a challenge, though his expression betrayed none of his thoughts.

“I come from Ta-Senet,” Samir began, his voice low and smooth, carrying the lilt of distant lands. “A river kingdom to the south, nestled between life and the gods' will. I am here to serve council to my uncle, Semer-Wati Rashepses, King of Akashingo.”

Then, with a faint tilt of his head, his tone dipped into something quieter, more serpentine. “Does that turn you away from me, nefer?”

His eyes followed as he was circled, and he quickly found that he was receiving a taste of his own medicine. Subtle touches, a lap behind the ear, Arslan knew very well that the intentions behind such things were rarely innocent.

It only gave him more reason to be excited.

Should it? He asked, a snicker escaping him. This man spoke as though he knew something the lion did not. I do not fear regality, Benim. It was the truth, for what did he have to fear of his own kind?

He turned to face the other again, deciding it best to make a bold move of his own. Head leaning in he sniffed at the fur of the other - nearly coy - but turned back to the water after a moment. Tail trailing under the muzzle of the other he laid himself next to the stream. An invitation to join him, should he wish to.

Samirseti’s smirk deepened, a glint of satisfaction flashing in his molten gaze as the smaller wolf met his circling with humor rather than hesitation. Few were so quick to stand their ground. Fewer still did so with such ease.

"Fear is such an unbecoming thing, wouldn’t you agree?" Samir replied smoothly, his voice low, almost purring. "I’d rather see curiosity, even if it turns to foolishness. It’s far more entertaining." When the wolf turned toward him, leaning in close, Samir didn’t pull away. He allowed the touch, feeling the faint warmth of breath against his fur. The coyness of the gesture was not lost on him—it was bold, yes, but measured.

The tail brushing under his muzzle was met with a quiet chuckle, a sound more akin to a low hum of approval. He watched as the smaller wolf moved to settle by the stream, the invitation clear in his relaxed posture and the faint glint in his eye. Samir lingered for a moment, letting the silence stretch before moving.

With the same languid grace, he stepped forward, his towering frame casting a faint shadow over the other before lowering himself to recline alongside him. His movements were deliberate, calculated to settle close enough that the space between them felt deliberate, yet not suffocating. He enjoyed the feel of Nefer tucked close against his body.

"Regality, you say," he murmured warm to Arslan's ear. "You carry yourself as though you’ve known it. Perhaps even wielded it." His words were soft. He leaned in even closer, his vox dipping lower. "Tell me, then. If you do not fear it, do you desire it, nefer?"

A smile crossed his muzzle as Benim joined him. He leaned back into the other, little care shown in his relaxed posture. We agree, then.

The other spoke softly into his ear, filled Arslan's senses with his voice, scent, touch. For a moment the lion wondered if he would have the privilege of tasting him, too.

A question was posed, and Arslan could not help but laugh.

No, rather I am running from it. He said, shaking his head. A taste of freedom, that was what I needed. Now I'm not too sure I could return to such a life.

Maybe some day, with the right motivations. Eyes lifted to search the face of the other. Is it something you wish to offer me, Benim? His tone carried a clear intention of teasing. Sweet, disingenuous.

Samirseti allowed himself a quiet laugh at Arslan’s teasing question, the sound low and smooth, curling around the cool air like smoke.

He leaned closer, his towering frame brushing lightly against Arslan as he settled more comfortably at his side. “So bold you are.” he said, his tone rich with amusement, though the sharpness in his golden eyes softened for a moment.

Samir tilted his head, his ears angling forward as he studied the other wolf. “I’ll tell you this, nefer,” he continued, the word sliding off his tongue with deliberate warmth, “To speak of regality as though it were yours to scorn, yet still to toy with the idea of it being offered to you. It sounds as if part of you might mourn it.”

Silence lingered before he inhaled, pressing his cold nose to the nape of Nefer’s neck. There, his nose grazed along his soft coat, breath warm upon him. “I do not offer lightly,” he breathed out, voice warmer. “And it is no light thing, to draw the attention of a Prince.”

Teasing, he let his teeth pinch at Nefer’s scruff, testing the weight of his skin and fluff within his jaws.

Are you trying to read me? His words were spoken in a playful nature, but it was a clear warning. You should understand that regality is not something one can truly leave behind. Whether I want it or not, it will always be there. It was in his blood. Flowing through his veins like a unrelenting disease.

Teeth grabbing at his scruff was met with a turn of his head, the side of his muzzle pressing into that of the other. It is my birth right, after all.

A prince, he had said. Such words amused him, for Benim spoke as though he too had not been lucky. The lion could have dismissed him, left him behind and returned to the rough men of the basin.

He was not for this shining royal to keep, not a treasure to behold. He would be gone come the the rising of the sun, and he was sure they would never meet again.

It was all the more reason to enjoy this.

Mature Content Warning

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Samirseti hummed lowly at his words, the sound curling from his chest like that of a feline. His golden gaze remained steady, unyielding, even as Arslan’s playful warning filled the air between them. “Ah, nefer,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying a faint edge of amusement. “You mistake my curiosity for something so shallow as reading you. I am no scribe, and you are no scroll.”

The corner of his mouth curved upward, his sharp teeth catching the faint light as he let his nose brush against the side of Arslan’s neck again, his breath warm as he spoke. “It is your birthright, then,” he murmured, “this regality you claim to run from. It is in your blood, as you say—flowing, unrelenting. But tell me, does that truth bind you, or does it embolden you?”

Samir’s teeth pinched again at the wolf’s scruff, this time with a little more weight behind the gesture, a deliberate test. “Perhaps,” he added, releasing him just as easily, “you do not run from regality at all. Perhaps you run because you fear what it might require of you.” His voice dipped, smoother now, teasing but with an undertone of quiet conviction. “A crown, after all, is heavier than it looks.”

An odd form of flirtation, but Samir's voice, warm as honey, sugarcoated it into a lilting lull. He pressed his tongue through out the fur upon Nefer's neck, working through the stiff doublecoat that lined his neck. He was careful with his ministrations, his breath billowing against him from flaring nostrils.

The press of Arslan’s muzzle against his own drew a faint, rumbling chuckle from Samir’s throat. The other’s confidence amused him, the way he wore it like a fine cloak. “It is a shame, truly,” he said after a moment, his tone softening just slightly, “that you don't intend to stick around.” He hummed, and with that, his long legs coiled and he lightly rolled Nefer over onto his back. His own body moved to lay halfway above him, nose pressing to the base of his throat, teeth baring teasingly against the fur there.

He was rolled to his back with ease, showing no fear for the man who stood above him and drew teeth so close to his delicate neck. You talk too much, He sighed, a forepaw pushing Banim's head back. Arslan laid his own head on it's side. He appeared relaxed, unbothered. It has little meaning to me.

He wished for the other to be blunt, gruff, to do what Arslan believed was in their nature as men. If I were to stay, what would you have done with me hm? He asked, a sly smile of his own crossing his face. You sound so confident, and yet you fail to give me an explanation.

It was nearly cryptic, and the lion was no puzzle master. Eyes lifted to grate over the other; hungry, anticipating. He found in rather interesting, that this one could make him feel such a different hunger than that of which he felt with Soto.

He would explore it, if only for tonight.

Samirseti allowed the push to his head, his movements slow and deliberate as he leaned just enough to show he permitted it, not that he was truly moved by the gesture. Golden eyes gleamed as he gazed down at the wolf sprawled beneath him, relaxed yet brimming with a confidence that matched his own.

“You wish for me to be blunt, nefer?” Samirseti’s voice was lower now, rougher around the edges, his words deliberate and measured. “Very well.” He leaned closer, his teeth grazing the edge of Arslan’s jaw, the barest press of pressure to punctuate his point. “If you stayed, I’d make you mine. No questions, no pretenses.”

He shifted slightly, his towering frame pressing just enough against Arslan to make the weight of his presence felt. “I’d ensure you wouldn’t dare forget me, not by the time the sun rises, not in a hundred sunrises.” His tone carried the same confidence as before, but there was something sharper behind it now, a heat that burned low and steady.

Samir let a pause stretch between them, his breath warm against the other’s ear. “So, tell me,” he murmured, his voice dipping further, “is that the answer you were looking for? Or shall I show you?”

fade? :3

He felt that he had struck a nerve, prompted action. It was thrilling.

There was nothing Arslan loved more than to humiliate and to be humiliated; a never-ending cycle of masochistic behaviour that he could never seem to find the root of. But this was not the same aggression he faced at the hands of the men of Verapaz. This was new, exciting. His tail couldn't help but wave.

The words of the other sent a shiver down his spine. He was pleased, interested, nearly pulled in for good. The time for pure talk was done.

Well, actions do speak louder than words.

I'm alright to fade!

Samirseti’s smirk deepened, sharp and deliberate, as if he’d been waiting for those very words to fall from Arslan’s mouth. His golden gaze gleamed with satisfaction, his posture shifting subtly, the air around him thickening with intent.

Without further preamble, Samir leaned down, his teeth grazing once more against Arslan’s exposed neck—not a threat, but a promise.

The deliberate press of his frame, the warmth of his breath, the steady weight of his presence—these were his answers now.

No riddles, no pretense. Just action, as Arslan demanded.