Seeing is Believing

by Sasha L. Miller

  *~*~*

  Asahi wasn't normally stupid. He had his moments, he'd admit that. Storming off after the fight with his parents and getting on the first ship he saw hadn't been the best idea. Neither was every time he defied reason and tried to cook something.

  But risking getting himself kicked out of the first town to welcome him in this forsaken country? That was a whole other level of stupid that Asahi hadn't hit before this evening.

  It was all Nesfir's fault too. Asahi scowled at the crackling bonfire, wondering what was wrong with him that he was contemplating this. He should leave it be and focus on getting himself settled and not do anything stupid.

  Except he didn't think he could walk away now. And that was Nesfir's fault too. Asahi shouldn't care. He should be annoyed and dismissive and not worried about Nesfir. Asahi's scowl slipped away as his eyes landed on Nesfir again.

  Nesfir was sitting near his house, mostly hidden in the shadow of the tree next to it. He hadn't moved to join in any of the festivities, and Asahi had heard the villagers whispering about it. They were worried too, and much more open about it. And unsubtle, because half a dozen—three women, a gangly teenage girl, and two men, none of whose names Asahi could remember—had approached him and pointed out where Nesfir had taken up residence.

  Asahi sighed, taking a last gulp of the extremely alcoholic ale someone had produced before starting across the dirt-packed square. Nesfir didn't move as he approached, so at least he wasn't running away.

  "Are all your parties this fun?" Asahi asked as he sat down next to Nesfir. Nesfir's eyes were on the villagers crowded around the bonfire and the small group of musicians who had set up near the ale. The music was loud and upbeat, and there were bunches of dancing villagers all over the place.

  "Enjoying yourself?" Nesfir asked in return, sparing him a glance and a small smile.

  "The ale … drink …" Asahi waved his hand towards the barrels of it that were set up. "… tastes awful."

  Nesfir laughed, shaking his head. "No one warned you?"

  "No," Asahi scoffed, leaning against the tree trunk. "I think they wanted to see if I'd spit it out." Asahi paused. "Which I didn't."

  Nesfir laughed again but didn't say anything. He was watching the villagers again, and Asahi stifled a sigh, trying hard not to fidget or do something stupid.

  "I hear that once you get drunk, you dance," Asahi offered, blushing as soon as the words left his mouth. Just when he thought he couldn't get any more inane.

  "Really," Nesfir shifted, turning away from the fire to face him. "That's a lie."

  "Oh?" Asahi asked, eyes on Nesfir's smile.

  "Yes," Nesfir confirmed, and Asahi thought he saw a wink before Nesfir clambered to his feet. "I just look like I'm drunk." He held out a hand to Asahi, and Asahi stared at him suspiciously for a moment before accepting it. Nesfir helped him up and started pulling him backwards, towards the fire.

  "What are you doing?" Asahi asked, apprehensive. Surely Nesfir wasn't—

  "Dancing," Nesfir answered with a grin, looking like himself again and Asahi blushed and forgot to protest as Nesfir stopped long enough to grab his other hand. "Do you know how?"

  "Not—only waltzes," Asahi answered honestly, and Nesfir gave him a strange look.

  "You waltz," he said, looking skeptical and Asahi glared.

  "Yes, I can waltz," Asahi snapped, wishing he had a hand free to hit Nesfir for that. Only, he liked his hands where they were, clasped warmly in Nesfir's.

  "So, I guess sort of like a waltz, but much faster," Nesfir offered, pulling Asahi further away from the tree. Asahi gave him an incredulous look, but Nesfir didn't give him a chance to protest before pulling him into motion.

  Asahi stumbled the first few steps, but quickly caught his feet as Nesfir spun him into motion—and he'd lied because this was nothing like a waltz. It was much too fast and without any discernable rhythm, but that might have been the band's fault because they didn't seem to have any discernable rhythm either.

  Still, Nesfir didn't falter, and Asahi just held tight, following Nesfir's lead. Miraculously, they didn't run into any of the other dancing idiots or into the bonfire, and Asahi relaxed after a few moments, concentrating on moving and Nesfir and not doing anything stupider than dancing.

  *~*~*

  Nesfir couldn't help the grin on his face when Jashen, Issa, and Wentri wound down for a break. He came to a stop, close to the fire but not too close. Asahi nearly stumbled, but Nesfir steadied him with an arm around his waist.

  "You're insane," Asahi declared, his fingers tight where they gripped his right shoulder and left hand. "That was not dancing."

  Nesfir laughed, accidentally pulling Asahi closer.

  "That's why they think I'm drunk when I do it," Nesfir confided, winded but exhilarated. The harvest festival was like this every year—hectic, too loud, with too much alcohol and heat from the fire but fun, and Nesfir needed it.

  "I hate to see what you do when you are drunk, then," Asahi retorted, tilting his head up to better look at Nesfir.

  Nesfir just smiled, and he wasn't sure why he did it, except that Asahi had danced with him, and he wasn't protesting being held so close by Nesfir, and maybe he looked a little expectant as he smiled at Nesfir … so Nesfir kissed him.

  Asahi jerked away, and Nesfir froze, because he hadn't been expecting that. But Asahi was probably just being nice with the dancing.

  "Sorry—" Nesfir began, trying to disentangle himself from Asahi.

  Asahi glared, and stepped on his foot hard. Nesfir cursed, surprised, but before the word was out of his mouth Asahi's fingers were in his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss.

  Asahi kissed sweetly for all he spoke sharply, soft and yielding even though he'd started it. Nesfir pressed his advantage, hoping no one was looking even as he pulled Asahi closer and kissed him harder.

  "I think I'm going to have to kill you," Asahi mumbled against his mouth, breathing heavily but not making any move to put distance between them. Nesfir laughed a little, stealing another little kiss.

  "Why?" Nesfir asked, and Asahi made an impatient noise, his hands running gently through Nesfir's hair.

  "I … can't remember," Asahi answered absently, and Nesfir laughed, kissing him properly again. Asahi gave into him immediately, and Nesfir marveled a little because not too long ago Asahi wouldn't even open his door for Nesfir.

  Then the cheering started, and Asahi tensed, his fingers digging into Nesfir's shoulders painfully.

  "Oh, yes, that's why," Asahi grumbled, and Nesfir laughed. Asahi narrowed his eyes, detangling himself from Nesfir and glaring at the people cheering. Nesfir smothered his laughter as well as he could, succeeding admirably until Asahi latched onto his hand and started dragging him across the square towards Nesfir's house.

  "Asahi—"

  "Shh," Asahi scolded, and Nesfir laughed again, but let Asahi pull him into the house.

  "You know what they're going to think, right?" Nesfir asked as Asahi shut the door behind them. Asahi smacked him with his free hand, hesitating for a moment before he got his bearings.

  "Let them think what they want," Asahi declared, pulling Nesfir towards the stairs.

  "You're not drunk, right?" Nesfir asked, unable to believe that Asahi really meant it.

  "I had two swallows of that ale. I know it's potent, but it's not that potent," Asahi told him scornfully. Nesfir laughed, waiting until they reached the upstairs landing to pull Asahi into his arms again. Asahi glared at him, but he was smiling and he did seem to be acting as he normally did.

  Except for the kissing, but Nesfir was fully prepared to take advantage of Asahi's lapse of judgment in that area. Asahi didn't wait for him, though, but sunk his hands into Nesfir's hair and kissed him, and Nesfir could only think that having a real witch in Shakartha again was proving to be quite nice after all.

  Seeking Haven

  Samson stared at the door, willing it to open. Willing it to open, and for a certain pe
rson to be doing the opening. Frowning, he turned away from the door and paced back across the thick rugs that covered his floor to the massive, canopied bed that had far too many pillows to be practical.

  Haven was not often late. It was rare, and Samson had to strain to think of the last time Haven had been late. Months ago, possibly when the king's representatives had been visiting the city. Samson had heard of no such visit though, and so he had no idea why Haven was nearly an hour late.

  Pacing across the room again, Samson debated opening the door to peer into the hallway before deciding that it really wouldn't do him much good. Haven wouldn't be loitering out there; not with most of the floor's occupants eager for his company and riches. Samson allowed a smile to slip across his lips—they would never have him. Haven was his.

  A soft knock finally sounded against the door, and it finally opened, torturously slow. Samson relaxed, meeting Haven's nervous smile with a smirk.

  "Good evening, Samson," Haven greeted, stepping into the room fully and shutting the door behind him. He carried a large box, Samson observed with a bit of surprise, with a neatly rolled scroll affixed to the top. Haven only rarely gave him presents and Samson wondered if there was an occasion.

  "This is for you," Haven confirmed with a hint of a teasing smile. He crossed Samson's room confidently, initial nervousness gone, and set the package down on the small table he'd requested be installed in Samson's room. The proprietor hadn't been too pleased, but he wasn't going to alienate such an influential and rich customer by not honoring such a simple request.

  "I can open it later," Samson decreed, earning a soft laugh. Haven turned back towards him, gracing Samson with a whimsical little smile.

  "After I leave," Haven told him, crossing the room to him. Samson nodded agreeably, sinking his fingers into Haven's thick, soft hair and pulling him closer. Haven smiled, wrapping his arms around Samson's neck, and Samson smirked briefly before kissing him soundly.

  A thousand customers he'd had, but not one kissed as sweetly as Haven did.

  Pulling Haven closer, Samson struggled with the ties to Haven's thick jacket, impatient to reach skin though it had only been a week since he'd last touched Haven. Haven laughed a little into his mouth, the laugh quickly turning into a low moan as Samson's questing fingers gave up on untying and slipped beneath the many layers Haven wore.

  "Bed," Haven panted the word against his mouth, and Samson kissed him in agreement, tugging him backwards. Haven helped him with the jacket, then the vest and finally the billowing white shirt he wore next to his skin. They littered the floor carelessly, and Samson let his fingers be greedy—once a week was never enough—avidly watching Haven's face as his beautiful eyes slipped shut.

  Reaching the bed, Samson let his fingers slide down Haven's sides, gripping his hips lightly. Haven shivered at the touch, and Samson smiled, gently turning them so that Haven had his back to the bed. Haven kissed him softly, shifting his weight to kick off his boots, and Samson decided he was glad that he was only allowed to wear the loose, shimmering pants that all the brothel workers wore because it made things so much simpler.

  Though really, he only truly appreciated it when he had Haven.

  Haven dropped down on the bed, leaning back on his elbows and favoring Samson with another teasing smile. Samson smirked, letting his eyes roam freely. Haven was beautiful, all long, lean limbs and soft skin, his dark brown hair soft and wavy as it tumbled across his shoulders and his bright, bewitching eyes far too beguiling for Samson's peace of mind.

  That he came here, week after week, was inconceivable, and Samson did his absolute best each week to prove himself worthy of the attentions of the city's governor. Bending over Haven, he caught his lips in a quick kiss. Using one hand to prop himself up, Samson let the other roam freely across Haven's bare skin, drawing soft gasps and moans from Haven.

  Haven's warm fingers found the waistband of his loose pants, and Samson let him slide the soft material past his hips, over his cock, and tantalizingly slowly along his thighs. Samson ignored Haven's soft touches, focusing on Haven. Nipping gently at the line of Haven's jaw, Samson diligently worked on tasting as much of his skin as he could.

  Haven squirmed, breathless but smiling as Samson left a mark prominently on his neck. The first time had been an accident, but Haven had insisted every week after and Samson couldn't say he didn't like the idea of Haven carrying his mark when he left.

  Trailing his lips along Haven's collarbone, Samson let his hand wander, sloping down Haven's side to fiddle with the ties to his breeches. Not bothering to try to open them yet, Samson ducked his head to nip lightly at one taut nipple while he brushed his fingers lightly across the bulge shaping the front of Haven's pants. Haven groaned pleasantly, his hands gripping Samson's bare hips tightly.

  "Samson," he murmured, and Samson smiled slowly, dragging his tongue across Haven's nipple to draw another pleasant noise from him. Haven's hips shifted restlessly, but Samson ignored it, focusing his attention on his chest. Nipping gently at his ribs, Samson slid to his knees, his lips sliding along Haven's stomach. Haven gasped quietly, his hands finding a new grip in Samson's sadly short hair.

  Smirking deviously, Samson bent his head and tugged gently at the ties to Haven's pants, using his teeth. Haven laughed breathlessly, squirming a little as Samson's nose rubbed against the skin just above the waistband of his pants.

  Undoing the ties took a few minutes, but Haven didn't seem to mind, just watched him with bright eyes. Samson let his hands come back into play once the ties were undone, pulling Haven's breeches down just far enough to let his hand slip inside. Haven spread his legs further, letting Samson closer as he gently cupped Haven's cock and balls in one hand. Haven's hand was tight in his hair, and Samson pressed a soft kiss to the nearest cloth-covered thigh before stroking Haven slowly and drawing another low moan from him.

  "Skip to the end," Haven ordered, his voice catching in the middle as Samson stroked him slowly again. Samson raised his eyebrows, but nodded, freeing his hand and helping Haven remove his breeches completely. Samson stood slowly, giving Haven's thigh a quick caress as he moved to the nightstand and picked out Haven's favorite oil. It had a sweet, almost flowery fragrance, and though Samson didn't always use it, he knew how much Haven liked it.

  Samson turned back to the bed, carefully avoiding stepping on his discarded pants, the fabric might have been soft, but it was also slippery. Haven was watching him with a sad smile, and Samson wondered at the expression for a moment before deciding it needed to be banished.

  Running his hand up Haven's thigh, Samson bent over the bed, drawing him into another kiss. Haven kissed him slowly, letting his hands slide down Samson's sides and then up his front. Samson went straight for Haven's cock, resuming the slow teasing strokes he'd been using before. Haven moaned softly into his mouth, his hips rocking towards Samson enticingly.

  "Prop your legs up," Samson directed, whisper-soft into Haven's ear. Haven shuddered pleasantly, but did as he was told. It was always a marvel—so many of his customers wanted to dominate, to be in control. That he was usually bigger than them only made them want it more. Haven, though, surrendered control completely. It was humbling, the amount of trust that Haven gave him, especially considering who Haven was.

  He'd heard the rumors. Haven was formidable and cold, but deadly efficient in his running of the city. That it was little wonder he so frequently visited Samson, yet another way to show his power and all. Except Samson saw none of it. Haven had submitted since the first, had all but begged to be taken the first time he'd come around.

  Samson fetched the little crystal jar of oil he'd let fall to the bedspread. Popping the top, he slicked his fingers. Haven watched him avidly, his eyes never leaving Samson's face. Samson smiled slowly, returning a hand to gently tease at Haven's cock even as his fingers teased his entrance. Haven didn't so much as blink, just squirmed a little closer, and Samson obligingly slid his fingers in more quickly.

  Have
n inhaled sharply, his fingers fisted in Samson's bedspread as Samson worked his fingers carefully, knowingly, because he'd done this enough that he knew exactly how to move his fingers to drive Haven insane. Haven twisted his hips, trying to get him to stop teasing, but Samson persisted, slowly twisting his fingers in and out.

  "Samson," Haven gasped out, and Samson stopped teasing at his cock and let his fingers still, buried deep inside him. Haven gave him a dark look, but Samson stared back unperturbed. Haven would want to come while Samson's cock was in him, after all.

  Samson pulled his fingers out slowly, dispelling the dark look. Haven's head fell back, and Samson watched his chest rise and fall rapidly for a moment before fetching the oil again. It was the work of a moment to slick himself, and Samson drew his attention back by gently stroking his thigh again.

  "Face down?" He offered, but Haven shook his head vehemently.

  "Facing. I want to see you," Haven refuted quickly, and Samson got the feeling he was missing something. Deciding it wasn't really important, he gestured for Haven to scoot back on the bed. Haven wiggled across the bedspread, bunching it up as he moved.

  Samson knelt on the bed, pausing only to take a quick, burning kiss before positioning himself. Haven moaned softly as he pushed in, his hands moving to grip Samson's shoulders tightly. His eyes were locked on Samson's face though, and Samson paused for the merest fraction of a second before beginning to move.

  Haven met him for every thrust, and Samson tried to focus on giving Haven exactly what he wanted and needed. Wrapping a hand around Haven's cock, Samson stroked in time to his thrusts, pleased when Haven started moving more erratically beneath him and stuttered out a long moan that might have been his name.

  Samson was struggling to breathe, but he didn't slow down, feeling Haven begin to tense. Haven's fingers dug into his shoulders more tightly—that would leave marks, but Samson didn't care—and Samson moved faster, thrust harder, trying to drive Haven over the edge with as much force as he could.