Rosewater Oasis Sevmeyi Öğrenmek

@Samirseti

Laid in the den next to the treasured oasis, Arslan allowed his left paw to hang out and touch the water. His tail lazily brushed the ground, but he found that he was not content.

The displeasure was clear on his face, though this time it was not vocalised as he simply could not put it into words.

He was never one to suffer in silence, and yet he found that he was. It was a prison by his own design, though it may not have been intended for himself.

He paused at the entrance, his sharp eyes immediately catching the languid yet restless posture of his Haseki. Arslan’s paw brushed the water lazily, his expression marked by an unease that Samir could read even from a distance.

The Pharaoh stepped inside. Without a word, he lowered himself beside Arslan, his chin brushing briefly against his shoulder before he spoke, voice low and soothing.

“What is wrong, my lion?”

It did not benefit him for Arslan to be moping.

His love settled next to him, and Arslan's amber eyes flicked up to meet his. I've grown dissatisfied. The answer came quickly, no hesitation in his tone.

The frown remained flat and unchanging on his muzzle, an expression that should he have seen it himself he surely would have mistaken himself for Sevda - maybe then he would have shut up and let himself settle. But alas, he had not, and so he would not.

You have given me nothing to do, and yet there are rules to follow. He felt unbalanced, disinterested. He wanted the set responsibilities, the structure of regality that he found so pleasing. What am I to think, if you have not defined that which separates me from a lesser role? Do you not love me? His words were harsh by some standards, but they both knew well that their relationship thrived on harsh words. It kept the other sharp.

His laugh was low and rich, vibrating against Arslan’s chest. The question of love was deftly swept over the rug, overlooked, ignored with the bat of heavy eyelashes. “Oh, Nefer,” Samir whispered, his voice slipping into a honeyed cadence. “Do you not see? You are the foundation. My Haseki, the jewel upon which this kingdom shall rise. Do you think I would trust such a role to anyone lesser?”

Samir pulled back just enough to meet Arslan’s gaze, his own gilded eyes gleaming with something sharp, something dangerous—yet oh, so sincere.

A lie gilded in gold.

“But you are right,” he admitted, the words sliding smoothly from his tongue, as though they were not a concession at all. “You deserve more than an idle throne.”

His paw traced briefly against Arslan’s, his touch soft as silk. “What do you see for yourself?”

How am I to know? Your mind is far too grand for my own comprehension. Self-deprecating, and yet it pushed Samirseti higher. He thought it a good gift. I have lived the life of a spoiled prince, however. The labour I faced in Verapaz was more than enough for my lifetime.

He sat upright now, his grin returning. Let me take care of the internal affairs hm? It is what I was best at in Siena. His tail swished across the ground, his words smooth and complimentary. It will allow you to focus on the important matters, diplomacy and the such.. wars, hunts. He didn't care too much, so long as what he did kept him clean and pretty.

Eyes squinted into a nearly playful expression now. I was quite the justice-bringer, too. My punishments would be just as extravagant and exciting as my parties. He could strike fear into Vahanet just as easily as he could fill it with hope; he was sure of it.

Samirseti tilted his head ever so slightly, that serpentine smile spreading slow and deliberate across his obsidian muzzle. Arslan’s words—always tailored, always smooth—were a gift Samir accepted with indulgence. Each stroke of praise fed the flame of his vanity, and he allowed it to burn bright, to bask in its heat.

The Pharaoh settled back onto his haunches, posture languid while he hummed thoughtfully, gilded eyes tracing Arslan’s form. “You will be my arbiter. The hand that metes out justice and balance within our walls, as only my beloved Haseki could. Order must be maintained, Nefer, and fear—” a pause, a flicker of a smile, cruel and knowing “—fear is an excellent tool when wielded by the right hand.”

Samir scooted closer now, his muzzle brushing against Arslan’s cheek, his breath a whisper against his skin. His tongue met his fur in generous laps. “I know you will not disappoint me,” he murmured, not a question, but a decree—a promise coated in honey. True belief. “For you are mine, and all that is mine must shine.”

He nodded, pleased to have gotten his way above all else. Of course, yours. He hummed, leaning into the show of affection. My culture takes the vow of 'til death do us apart' all too seriously, you know. I won't be going anywhere and neither will you. A balance found, one that allowed both to remain content.

They did not need to feel true love, so long as they believed this to be what it was. For them, maybe that was the case.

Head adjusting, teeth gently nibbled and Samir's fur. Truth or not, Arslan took each word and internalized it. He would not forget. This will be a shining beacon of our affection, yet another way to show the superiority it provides us. He sneered, a nearly mean expression crossing him.

He was happy to sit below Samir for the power it gave him, the satisfying boost of ego that he had won. He had cut straight to the finish line without the help of his lineage. He would be a trophy husband, so long as that satisfaction remained.

Til death do us apart.

Samirseti’s smile held as Arslan nibbled at his fur, but there was no warmth behind it.

It was easy to let him believe such words held weight. Easy to let him cling to the illusion of permanence.

Samirseti would give him what he needed to hear. For now.

His gilded eyes drifted across the oasis—his oasis. Its beauty and fertility were unmatched, a jewel in the heart of the desert. It would outlast them both. Samir’s reign would remain eternal, etched into the sands and spoken of long after his little lion’s name had faded to dust. For now, though, Arslan served his purpose: a loyal, eager piece in the game Samir played.

“A beacon, yes,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, masking the hollowness behind the promise. “A testament to our power, our legacy.”

There was no forever here. Samirseti did not do forever. But Arslan did not need to know that.

Staring up at his dear, eyes hungry, his tail thumped. I will be happy so long as it is so. So long as you remain as passionate as the night we met. It was a need, a demand. Arslan knew well that his interest in other's faltered with ease. You won't let me grow bored, will you? He was a traditionalist at heart, in his mind he could not leave.

He would rule next to his love, take no husband after his death and continue to rule in his name. It was what was right.

The lion had escaped his cage and walked into another, but at the very least this one offered him something more. It fed into his need for love, for cruelty and pain.

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Samirseti’s expression didn’t falter, the smile curling his lips as practiced as it was unreadable. Arslan’s hunger, his yearning, it was predictable, and predictable things were easily manipulated.

His tail gave a single, deliberate wave as he turned his gaze to the horizon, molten gold catching on the oasis's shimmering waters. His voice softened, rich and honeyed as he lowered his muzzle closer to Arslan’s ear. “You, my lion, will want for nothing.” His tone was warm, coaxing, as if wrapping Arslan in the gilded promise of endless splendor.

But deep beneath, Samirseti’s thoughts churned. Arslan’s devotion was both a blessing and a chain, one he would wield for as long as it served him. The lion’s blind faith fed his pride, his power, his vision of legacy. For now, that was enough.

His chest pressed lightly against the lion’s as he moved closer, dominance cloaked in affection. Samirseti’s voice dipped lower, molten and intimate, as his lips ghosted near Arslan’s ear. “Let me remind you of the night we met. Let me show you why you’ll never be bored.”

His teeth grazed the fur of Arslan’s neck, the faintest hint of a bite—not enough to harm, but enough to claim. The lion was his—a possession, a prize, a pawn. He moved and his hips pressed firmly against Arslan’s, locking him in place beneath him. Demanding submission. Ownership.