The Desert Prince 2
Aug. 5th, 2003 02:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321Title: The Desert Prince: A Fable
Part: 2 (Back to Part 1.)
Author: Lobelia; lobelia321@yahoo.com
Other info: See Prologue.
~~~~~
Fascicle the Second
The hour of the first night cricket came and went, and then the hour of the first frog's call. For there were frogs in this dry desert citadel, and I marvelled at their song and at the soft splashing of fountains everywhere.
We spent the time before the evening meal visiting with tradesmen and shopkeepers, and strolling the paved lanes and alleys. And truly, I had never beheld such magnificence as I saw in the Desert Duke's citadel. Magnificent and fearful, both at once. The walls rose high and ten men could not have spanned their girth but each wall was topped by sharpened spikes. The windows were lofty and manifold but each window was barred with rods of iron. The gates were taller than ten men standing shoulder on shoulder but each gate was guarded by twenty-four armed sentinels. In truth, the fortress was a prison, and I was glad that we were only cloth merchants and only planning to spend a few nights in this place.
Yet splendid it surely was, and I trod the tiled courtyards in wonder and gazed in awe at the fountains in their lapislazuli basins and at the peacocks strutting under the lemon trees. I felt my lungs open out under the shaded canopies of those leaves and vines, and my thoughts refreshed by the sparkle of droplets on my face.
When the first oil lamps were lighted, we returned to our allotted chambers and readied ourselves for supper. A bath had been prepared for us, and I laughed with delight as I had not dipped myself in water for many a week. My beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean, gazed upon me and smiled, and he bid me undress. And as always, when we were alone, his eyes softened, his hands slipped like sand mice around my neck, and my heart stirred within my breast.
For know that Sean was dearer to me than love itself, and that nightly he made a shrine of my soul and of my body, and in this way he kept me sound and safe.
I undressed for my beautiful friend. My dusty cloak, my sand-riddled shoes, my sweat-soaked girdle, my tunic and vest and the undergarments next my skin, all fell in a heap at my feet. And then Sean took a step forwards and lifted his hands to the turban upon my head. He unwound the long strips of cotton, strip by strip, and as the last bands of cloth came away, my locks tumbled freely about my shoulders.
Sean ben Bean, my Sean, said nothing then, just took my hand and led me to the bath. The water was warm as baby's milk. Rose petals floated upon its surface. I slid into its silken embrace and closed my eyes as my beloved friend anointed my brow with balsa oil and bathed my skin with almond milk.
It was a service he always performed for me but when it was his turn to bathe, he liked me to sit back and wait. Under the latticed windows, giving onto an inner courtyard and hence not barred, there was a low divan, and it was upon this that I reclined. My hair was damp about my face and the scent of aloe vera rose from my lap. I liked to be clean and anointed for I knew that it pleased my beautiful friend, and I delighted in pleasing him as he delighted in pleasing me.
And know that it had always been thus but that as I grew up to be a man, our pleasures changed and my beloved Sean ben Bean taught me the ways of ecstasy of men.
After his bath, my beautiful friend came up to me where I lay upon the divan. He knelt down on the azure tiles. He wound one strand of my hair around his finger.
"Your eyes are like to coriander nuts," he whispered, "and your skin is as smooth as the hide on a newborn foal."
This is how my beautiful friend always spoke to me when we were alone. He always wove endearments about my head and wrote caresses upon my body. He stroked my curls and cupped my chin. He covered my skin with his own, and it was lovely in these lovely chambers, sweet at the sweet hour of the cricket's nighttime song of love, dear with the dear face of my beloved close to mine.
And as I lay naked and anointed on the soft cloth of the divan, he slid down along my chest and took my manhood into his warm mouth.
For this is also something my beloved friend liked to do, and he did it so well and so beautifully that the memory of it brings tears to my eyes even now.
He liked to stroke and soothe me. He liked to milk the weariness of travel from my flesh. His tongue inside his warm mouth was as the tender strip of loin cut from a goat's hind leg and soaked in oil, brine and musk for a day and a night. His tongue, soft and wet, stroked me to life and danced around on my most tender parts like... In truth, I could not imagine like what else.
For you must know that I had never lain with another soul, not man nor maid, only with my beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean. You will laugh but in these things I was as innocent as a wet-woolled lamb, and I knew no more than the gentle tongue of my beloved's mouth. Because this is all my Sean ever did. He washed my flesh with his dear, sweet mouth and he kissed me with his honey lips.
Nothing else.
For other pleasures, he visited the houses of the houri along our routes. He did not take me with him there. He did not even speak of them to me. He said that he wished only to protect me, to keep me safe and sound. He said that he wished me never to be hurt and to be spared the pain of need and betrayal.
And for a while, his wishes were fulfilled.
It never took me long to spend myself in his welcoming mouth. I was young and quick, and deep inside me a thin flame of fire burned. Yet always, before it had the chance to flare up, the milk of my pleasure doused its heat, and I sank soft and weightless into the cushions at my back.
My beloved friend brought his lips close to mine. Before he kissed me, he whispered, "You are my treasure. You are the opal of my heart." His tongue tasted of copper, honey and red wine, and of my own salty self. I clung to his shoulders. I was still trembling with delight. I twisted my friend's moist hair around my fingers until he cried out and chuckled and said, "Softly, softly, my angel." I bit his bearded chin. I tugged his earlobes. I wrapped my legs around his waist, yearning for more, yearning for something, I did not know for what.
~~~~~
TBC
Part: 2 (Back to Part 1.)
Author: Lobelia; lobelia321@yahoo.com
Other info: See Prologue.
~~~~~
Fascicle the Second
The hour of the first night cricket came and went, and then the hour of the first frog's call. For there were frogs in this dry desert citadel, and I marvelled at their song and at the soft splashing of fountains everywhere.
We spent the time before the evening meal visiting with tradesmen and shopkeepers, and strolling the paved lanes and alleys. And truly, I had never beheld such magnificence as I saw in the Desert Duke's citadel. Magnificent and fearful, both at once. The walls rose high and ten men could not have spanned their girth but each wall was topped by sharpened spikes. The windows were lofty and manifold but each window was barred with rods of iron. The gates were taller than ten men standing shoulder on shoulder but each gate was guarded by twenty-four armed sentinels. In truth, the fortress was a prison, and I was glad that we were only cloth merchants and only planning to spend a few nights in this place.
Yet splendid it surely was, and I trod the tiled courtyards in wonder and gazed in awe at the fountains in their lapislazuli basins and at the peacocks strutting under the lemon trees. I felt my lungs open out under the shaded canopies of those leaves and vines, and my thoughts refreshed by the sparkle of droplets on my face.
When the first oil lamps were lighted, we returned to our allotted chambers and readied ourselves for supper. A bath had been prepared for us, and I laughed with delight as I had not dipped myself in water for many a week. My beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean, gazed upon me and smiled, and he bid me undress. And as always, when we were alone, his eyes softened, his hands slipped like sand mice around my neck, and my heart stirred within my breast.
For know that Sean was dearer to me than love itself, and that nightly he made a shrine of my soul and of my body, and in this way he kept me sound and safe.
I undressed for my beautiful friend. My dusty cloak, my sand-riddled shoes, my sweat-soaked girdle, my tunic and vest and the undergarments next my skin, all fell in a heap at my feet. And then Sean took a step forwards and lifted his hands to the turban upon my head. He unwound the long strips of cotton, strip by strip, and as the last bands of cloth came away, my locks tumbled freely about my shoulders.
Sean ben Bean, my Sean, said nothing then, just took my hand and led me to the bath. The water was warm as baby's milk. Rose petals floated upon its surface. I slid into its silken embrace and closed my eyes as my beloved friend anointed my brow with balsa oil and bathed my skin with almond milk.
It was a service he always performed for me but when it was his turn to bathe, he liked me to sit back and wait. Under the latticed windows, giving onto an inner courtyard and hence not barred, there was a low divan, and it was upon this that I reclined. My hair was damp about my face and the scent of aloe vera rose from my lap. I liked to be clean and anointed for I knew that it pleased my beautiful friend, and I delighted in pleasing him as he delighted in pleasing me.
And know that it had always been thus but that as I grew up to be a man, our pleasures changed and my beloved Sean ben Bean taught me the ways of ecstasy of men.
After his bath, my beautiful friend came up to me where I lay upon the divan. He knelt down on the azure tiles. He wound one strand of my hair around his finger.
"Your eyes are like to coriander nuts," he whispered, "and your skin is as smooth as the hide on a newborn foal."
This is how my beautiful friend always spoke to me when we were alone. He always wove endearments about my head and wrote caresses upon my body. He stroked my curls and cupped my chin. He covered my skin with his own, and it was lovely in these lovely chambers, sweet at the sweet hour of the cricket's nighttime song of love, dear with the dear face of my beloved close to mine.
And as I lay naked and anointed on the soft cloth of the divan, he slid down along my chest and took my manhood into his warm mouth.
For this is also something my beloved friend liked to do, and he did it so well and so beautifully that the memory of it brings tears to my eyes even now.
He liked to stroke and soothe me. He liked to milk the weariness of travel from my flesh. His tongue inside his warm mouth was as the tender strip of loin cut from a goat's hind leg and soaked in oil, brine and musk for a day and a night. His tongue, soft and wet, stroked me to life and danced around on my most tender parts like... In truth, I could not imagine like what else.
For you must know that I had never lain with another soul, not man nor maid, only with my beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean. You will laugh but in these things I was as innocent as a wet-woolled lamb, and I knew no more than the gentle tongue of my beloved's mouth. Because this is all my Sean ever did. He washed my flesh with his dear, sweet mouth and he kissed me with his honey lips.
Nothing else.
For other pleasures, he visited the houses of the houri along our routes. He did not take me with him there. He did not even speak of them to me. He said that he wished only to protect me, to keep me safe and sound. He said that he wished me never to be hurt and to be spared the pain of need and betrayal.
And for a while, his wishes were fulfilled.
It never took me long to spend myself in his welcoming mouth. I was young and quick, and deep inside me a thin flame of fire burned. Yet always, before it had the chance to flare up, the milk of my pleasure doused its heat, and I sank soft and weightless into the cushions at my back.
My beloved friend brought his lips close to mine. Before he kissed me, he whispered, "You are my treasure. You are the opal of my heart." His tongue tasted of copper, honey and red wine, and of my own salty self. I clung to his shoulders. I was still trembling with delight. I twisted my friend's moist hair around my fingers until he cried out and chuckled and said, "Softly, softly, my angel." I bit his bearded chin. I tugged his earlobes. I wrapped my legs around his waist, yearning for more, yearning for something, I did not know for what.
~~~~~
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-05 08:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-05 10:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-05 09:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-06 03:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-05 10:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-05 11:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-05 12:18 pm (UTC)That is all.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-05 12:42 pm (UTC)If this keeps happening to my readers, there soon will be nobody left!
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-05 04:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-05 04:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-05 04:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-05 09:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-31 10:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-06 06:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-07 01:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-06 08:10 am (UTC)I mean really - how am I supposed to work after reading this. Coriander nuts! Newborn foal! “Tender strip of a loin cut from a goat’s hind leg and soaked in oil, brine and musk for a day and a night”! Who could resist? More! More! More!
Becky
I’m going to have to get a livejournal account now. It would be so much more efficient than trolling night and day for fic. . . .
And, sorry for the screaming above. My mental landscape this morning has been redecorated with sand, mosaics, and, oh yeah, Sean Bean's tongue. Mwump.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-31 10:03 am (UTC)Thank you!!!
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-07 08:39 am (UTC)But I'm afraid, very afraid already: .... the memory of it brings tears to my eyes even now. Beware, the Desert Prince.
*offering cinnamon, incense and myrrh in return for this lovely tale*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-07 11:51 am (UTC)And I guess the hot weather at the moment has helped to revive this ancient bunny...
Thanks so much for the comment on prose, you are too kind.
Yes, and I'm afraid you are right to be afraid.