Rosewater Oasis [m] i breathe dusk

@Arkane

the pharaoh has reclined upon his sandstone perch. the smooth rock, warm beneath his body, cradling him like a throne. high above the ringed pools of the oasis, he watches over his kingdom. gold eyes tepid.

the sway of a palm tree coating him in shadow a thrumming lull. broad fronds rustling gently in the evening breeze, casting shifting patterns of light and shade across his sleek coat.

the world below shimmers, water catching the last rays of ra’s retreating light, rippling like molten glass. he had bid summons to his alay-basi only moments ago.

arkane (or rather, nectanebo, as they all address him now) is not one to keep the pharaoh waiting. he is occupied when the man sends for him, but nonetheless abandons such trivial tasks in favor of making himself useful. shield of vahanet, the people call him, and a shield he will be. loathe to wander far from the pharaoh's side, he nonetheless treads a careful line. make himself too scarce and his absence will be bitterly noted. make himself a prominent presence, and scrutinous eyes will burn his very flesh with their rancor.

and tread that tentative line he does, never far out of sight. for he is a beastly shadow, a domineering presence, and thus far it seems that has been more than enough to keep invisible enemies at bay.

he is silent and offers no greeting upon his approach, bowing at his master's feet and patiently awaiting instruction. no nonsense, no small talk.

the pharaoh practically purrs with please at the sight of the behemoth ascending the rise. watching with gilded eyes upon black and white frame, tail sliding gently upon the sandstone.

there is content silence as he watches the man bow. he is half attempted to leave him there, to see how deep his passion burned. would he bow all day, all night?

samirseti instead flicks a foreleg. rise. a whispered bid. then he turns eyes back to what lay ahead of him, but his voice does not waver. lay with your pharaoh.

for a long time he rests with his nose touching the sand, front paws outstretched in submission. only after the pharaoh has thoroughly drank in the sight does he bid him to rise. the alay-basi moves to his feet, enjoying above all else the feel of samirseti's eyes on him and him alone. he is not stone cold, in spite of what he would have his peers believe-- there is nothing quite so flattering as the eyes of another man upon him. he will enjoy the moment while it lasts.

lay with me, the king commands, and who is nectanebo to refuse him? he takes a seat beside him, not quite close enough to brush, and follows his master's gaze outward toward the horizon. he does not ask why he has been summoned. whether for business or otherwise it matters little.

he takes his time, as always, savoring the sight of the alay-basi’s form—scarred, powerful, molded by years of service and hardship. it pools his stomach with a heat. a desire he had not felt in long.

the desire he felt for men was much different than what he felt for women.

pharaoh lets his his head fall slightly, golden eyes fixed upon the horizon where dunes meet sky. then, he offers a look back at the man, chin brushing his own shoulder.

gilded eyes bearing warm upon the man of onyx, fire and white. you would do anything to please me, nectanebo?

a growling question. an appraising eye fixed on him, awaiting prompt reply.

nectanebo can feel the pharaoh's eyes on him, hungry. a desire which mirrors his own. he is a careful man, but the attention of vahanet's finest is difficult to ignore. 

samirseti offers him a sultry look, chin over shoulder. taunting, inviting, utterly enticing. but arkane will not close the distance himself. not yet.

his gaze meanders slowly down the pharaoh's lounging body, intent with both interest and revere. he knows what he wants. he has known it since the day he arrived in this place.

he lowers his head, a coy smile spreading across his face, and breathes a firm reply, crimson eyes fixed upon samirseti's golden ones. he leans in closer, just an inch or so.

"yes."

gilded eyes linger upon a body threaded with muscle, dragging over the breadth of the man before him—the battle-worn lines that mar his flesh. a body shaped by devotion. by service. by him.

good, samir breathes. his lips curl at the edges, a sly smirk.

there is something to be savored in the certainty that nectanebo is his to command. to take. but samir does not yet move. he instead extends elongated, scarred legs to hang off the edge of the cliff's edge.

extending a neck upwards, neck fur glimmering in the fading sunlight. an invitation.

arkane's heart seems to move lower in his body, a pulsing heat he works to contain. samirseti grins, and his heart beats steadily at the bottom of his stomach. he leans forward as he is invited to do so, breath brushing the king's muzzle as he passes with a sly look.

teeth nipping softly at the fur there, speaking to his desire. to take, to be taken. to consume and to be consumed, wholly. nectanebo's tongue brushes warm skin, and a cold nose follows suit, tracing his pulse and coming to rest at the base of his throat, where he makes sure his pharaoh's fur is free of debris. one paw crosses over the other, content with this ritual for the time being. he will stop when he is ordered, and until then he will get drunk on the scent of a pharaoh.

his chin tilts, a languid offering, exposing the smooth expanse of his throat to the alay-basi’s careful ministrations. he allows it. indulges in it.

good. the word is breathy. as if air has been stolen from his lungs. long has it been since samirseti was on the receiving end of such affections.

there is restraint. there is tension. samirseti would seek to sever both and give fully to nectanebo; if poise did not conquer him. there is trouble in letting loose. in giving oneself entirely. but he does cast sultry eyes to the man, fingers at his throat, devoted, devouring.

tell me, he commands, whisper against the crown of dark fur. what is it you crave?

"skin against skin." he whispers against the shell of samirseti's ear, tongue warming the flesh there. an invitation, a request.

"i wish to please you the way only one man can do for another. connection of two bodies, moving as one." his muzzle dips, tracing the hard muscle of samirseti's chest, and he parts the fur there with his nose, teeth and tongue working delicate circles against the skin. crimson eyes remain fixed upon the pharaoh, gazing up at him with intent. he need only say the word, but such connection must be at his request-- as much as nectanebo would like to take him here and now, to perform a ritual known only to the two of them.

the heartbeat in his belly thrums steadily, inviting.

nectanebo's words are molten, slipping into the heat between them like a whispered spell and samirseti allows himself to be worshipped. it is as if he is a living idol beneath the caress of his alay-basi.

pharaoh brings his head backwards, to allow for more of his throat to be exposed. begging; a whine soft and quiet slipping past black lips. asking for the man to take his neck in his jaws, to touch him roughly, to take what the pharaoh offers him with no mercy.

a slow breath passes through agaping jaws. he watches nectanebo through half-lidded eyes. he brings a paw to cup the man's cheek, rough in manner, commanding without words but with touch. waste no time, nectanebo.

a beg. and it is this submissiveness he will offer only him, in these moments where they are alone and no other watches. it is to his strength he wishes to be contented. take your pharaoh. and it brings a deep, fulfilling pleasure to know the man would. he would kill, he would die, he would live—if commanded by his pharaoh.

now pharaoh wants nothing from him but the grinding of two bodies. the fill of his need, to be sated with hips vigorous against his own.

samirseti whines, and it feeds the ever growing flame within nectanebo's heart. permission given, strong jaws grip the pharaoh's throat, tasting the racing pulse beneath as the man of gilded onyx is pushed sharply onto his stomach. he growls playfully, but does not relent, instead gnawing softly at the junction between neck and shoulder. samir's eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments, and nectanebo's heart lurches.

the sight of a pharaoh trembling beneath him is too much to bear. arkane breathes sharply, lowering himself until flesh meets warm flesh, and his remaining restraint frays before snapping entirely.

"my pharaoh..." he whispers the name like a fervent prayer, as if the man is his to worship and his alone. there is no one but them, now, two souls come to touch.

[fade to black]