Lion Head Mesa spear & sickle

being vague! <3

heat made the mazoi contemptuous.

he drank more wine, bathed more frequently of clinging dust. he kept to the cooler shadows of the palace though was never far from the queen's door.

the new one, @Inji, he watched with avid and open interest. eset had not satisfied this for him, and he no longer believed melody would call. and so khusobek only waited for the proper moment to summon the fellahin.

it came one afternoon which wavered in heat so great the air shimmered outside the mesa. the man returned, panting after a patrol. "bring water," he ordered as he sat down just inside the entryway, expecting one of them to answer his request.

When they call, you must answer. Inji came to believe Eset was a woman of sound advice. A mazoi — to no one in particular he had addressed with the order, she presumed, but she had felt his eyes upon her in the passing days.
She takes it upon herself. She had not the strength to try and stall as she had with the Lord; to butter him up before giving herself away.
He asks for water, and she brings it forth in a dish of woven reeds, along with a complementary selection of fermented berries plucked from the caches. She greets him with a loose smile, searching his hardened face with wide-blown lavender eyes. Saliva pearls along his chin; his fur, hot to the touch as the curve of her hip brushes against his chest.
Is there anything else, sir? her tongue brushes against her lip; waiting, for she knew this would not be all.

hatshepsuun had been carved from marble: hard-muscled and pale, paler even than her gold-dusted brother who had once ruled this place. inji was neither hard nor pale, and her flowery eyes caught at khusobek more than he would like.

the water was downed, the berries tucked into one side of his jaw. he crushed them one by one beneath his tongue. "i need a diversion from the heat," khusobek told inji, enjoying the way she had moved against him, how her lips were softly parted with tonguetip.

The hunger of a boar is alight in his gaze. She is acutely aware of this.
Where perhaps if it had been another she would have shied away from it, Inji now finds herself entranced. Naberius was a rangey man, one of slick words and a prideful gaze; there was no power to his stance. There are hardened muscles beneath the red-flecked fur of this one. Scars that dapple the skin beneath pelt, minute and telling of stories. He is older; wiser.
Call it naïve, disastrous, even — but she too finds herself wanting.
A diversion? her head tilts upward in a way that exposes the curve of her jaw, a pulse that surges. She is ever attentive as her ears swivel forward. I don't suppose you have any ideas?

there, upon the arch of her throat, his eyes rested. he felt she was aware of what she was doing, of what he meant. of what was wished and how it would be done. khusobek did not concern himself with any consternation. this was her role. 

but he was not cruel, nor forceful. "i want to see your chambers, and then i want a bath," the mazoi said in direct baritone, icewater eyes finding again the soft springbloom look of her sea-lavender eyes.

his pulse quickened, and khusobek prepared himself to follow.

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He wished to see her chambers, and then a bath.
Come with me, she is simple in her direction, a heady draw of breath as she turns past him and lures him into her room. It is neat and well decorated, an assortment of effeminate decor that spoke of an inner child not yet lost to the sands of time. She was a daughter, once.
Once they are within reach of her bedfurs, her throat bobs as she swallows. Nerves bite at her heels, and her heart squeezes. You must answer.
Her back is pressed to the hardened wall, legs parted, spine arched. Her best coy smile is given, muzzle held close to her chest; and with a long limb outstretched, she reels him closer. Is this what you want?

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timeskip & fade! it made the most sense w his personality but i want another posthaste :O

playing the rough man was what had thrilled hatshepsuun the most. surrounded by sycophants and servants, khusobek and his masculine obstacles to her want had provided a new taste for the bored pharaoh.

inji led him to a small room. khusobek stood before her and watched the young fellahin's surely studied attempts at seduction. he did not need her for so long; a step and another and he would have what was commanded and what had been offered. 

the rough man.

the crocodile entertained no hope that inji could command as eset and melody once had, and this put he and the pretty fellahin at an immediate disparity. "no," the mazoi said in a low rumble, and with heft and brief roll of his hard shoulders he tossed her lightly to the pelts which made her couch. 

for a long moment he only looked down upon her, eyes darkened with lust. and then he seemed to soften, to relent. slowly he lowered himself until he had taken some place beside the bed. to know he could have what he wished was appealing; to serve was moreso.

thus khusobek began his servitude to inji, a langorous and firm exploration meant to wake each ending of nerve and juncture of muscle, one that would culminate in a brief, hoarsened joining when he felt no more could be borne by either of them.

***

when he had been sated, khusobek rose with a long sigh. "rest awhile. i will get another servant." he waited for no answer; he would take his bath now, and did not expect inji to join him. 
but by way of another fellahin, later that evening a parcel would be delivered to her, a wrapping of hide filled with soft meadowgrass, and inside a small, glittering blue stone, a raw chip of sapphire.
khusobek believed in gifts, after all.

<3333 lovely as always, thank u!! i will absolutely toss her his way again soon hehehe

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Inji had never known the gentle touch of a man in any capacity.
To be taken was to be ravished, to shut up and arch your back when asked. And when she'd been tossed as if she weighed nothing, she had only stared with parted lips and wide eyes, awaiting just that; to be desecrated, to have to bathe herself when the day drew to a close.
But that was not what she had been met with. Instead, there was curiosity, warmth; worship. She found her arms snaked tight around his neck, nails dragged across well-muscled shoulders; she found her own power within it — the timid girl, commanding, directing him as her confidence grew; her own brand of godhood that would remain locked within these four walls and in the harmony of gasps that would surely keep her awake at night.
Oh, dear goddess Bastet, she could have fallen in love with him.

***

He leaves her unraveled, renewed and yet exhausted, in a haze as a pelt is pulled up over her shoulders. He tells her to rest, and she says nothing as her hooded eyes follow him. When she finds herself ready to stand, she fetches herself water and crawls clumsily back to her room.
And when the gift is brought to her door, her face is lit with glee, and she does not question who it could be from.