148 » but all this world is like a tale we hear

[perusing]

[ Ever since Aether arrived, the palace has been abuzz with curious chatter. It began with his background — could this beautiful youth be of royal blood himself, a distant kingdom's long lost heir to the throne, abducted from his homeland? — and like parched wanderers stumbling upon a lush oasis at last, gossiping tongues lapped up the mystery to spin into fanciful stories. Soon, they came to circle connected questions: how did Aether win Prince Alhaitham's favor, and so quickly at that? Less politely: what goes on behind closed doors now, night after night?

After all, so the whole of Sumeru knows, the prince is notoriously and unrepentantly difficult, albeit never in ways that would cost him his birthright. Though he gives neither the king nor their subjects reason to despair overmuch, he is said to prefer the company of books to that of humans, lacking a future ruler's manner. That is, he does nothing that tarnishes the royal family's name, and the people have no cause to fear the years ahead, but what sort of leader is a man so uninterested in power and prestige? Prince Alhaitham has all but stated just that outright, from his refusal to engage with anything that he deems needless ceremony to his apparent reluctance to entertain even a political marriage while it serves no purpose better achieved by other means. He may not shirk his duties, but nothing kindles ambition or desire in his heart, it seems, save the prospect of expanding the borders of Sumeru's already vast library.

Were he not born a prince, he might have joined the scribes. As a prince, someone else in his place might aspire to become a philosopher king, at the least.

Why, then, was he the one to bring Aether to the palace like a new acquisition added to the library's collection of texts? To the outside world, he appears to be thoroughly taken with the young man, uncharacteristically lavishing so much attention on him.

Some of the whispers decide that Aether's beauty makes him an otherworldly being capable of enchanting mortal men and robbing even the most rational among them of all reason. Others simply call him a cunning actor in a wider plot, here to pursue an unknown objective. Perhaps he will reveal himself as a spy or a thief, nothing more.

No one considers innocuous possibilities.

The talk has reached Alhaitham's ears, too, but he leaves it alone — intervening to silence speculation is a waste of time, and besides, keeping his unexpected chosen companion close ensures that someone watches Aether's movements as it is. Thus far, he can conclude that he hasn't made a mistake. What the rest of the palace believes won't sway him.

Tonight, the twentieth night, the recent routine continues. The prince and his companion have dined together, and they settle to while away another evening not only by making full use of the bath and the bed, but with tales offered like tribute, akin to a handful of pages turned at a time.

Standing behind Aether, near the arch of the window overlooking a view of the city far below, Alhaitham lets his hands come to rest on the smaller man's slim shoulders, warm and steady. ]

What do you have for me, Aether?

Comments

[ironwind]

[Schemer or scammer or liar or lout — there's no shortage of speculation about who the prince's new favorite might truly be, as no one save Alhaitham himself is willing to take Aether as the person that he claims to be, and the otherworldly beauty has done nothing to correct the peoples' perceptions of who — or what — he is. I am a traveler is the way that the blond identifies himself, in the rare moments when he is wandering the palace, away from the prince's company; lately, more and more often, he has said I used to travel instead, as if in tacit admission to the fact that he lives here now, that Prince Alhaitham has claimed him — or perhaps that he has claimed the prince instead.

Every man or woman who has been bold enough to ask him outright what that means or where he comes from has received a different answer, all of them maddeningly vague, and each of them more preposterous than the last. Aether always smiles. Then he says something like this:

An envoy from the skies above was injured by an avaricious hunter's arrow, and fell to the ground. The hunter rode at once to claim his fallen prize, but when he saw how beautiful the envoy's golden wings were, he drew a hand-axe and hacked the wings off the divine messenger, thinking he would sell them to feed his appetites of dice, and cards, and drink. Witnessing the mutilation, and enraged by this act of brutality, a passing prince drew his sword and slew the hunter. Tell me: what was the envoy's name?

The son of a sheikh, wandering the markets one evening, stumbled across a silver lamp inlaid with rubies and sapphires. Finding himself drawn to the lamp, he bargained for it with its merchant, and paid a sum total of two gold pieces and two bronze pieces for the treasure. He took the lamp home to admire it, but scarcely had his fingers touched the surface of the lamp when a beautiful jinn appeared before him. "Young man," the jinn whispered, drawing its fingers over his chest, "name your wish, and I shall grant it, for the price of my freedom." What would you wish for, sir?

Ages past and in this very palace once served a vizier who nurtured no small number of sinful pastimes. One day, he dared to hold a slave auction within the palace walls. The son of the sultan, long nursing suspicions against this vizier, followed him to the auction's secret chamber, and witnessed the beautiful prince of another kingdom, robed in white silk embroidered with gold, being sold to the highest bidder. The sultan's son drew his bow. The auctioneer, the vizier, or the prince — towards whom did the young man aim his shot?

None of these stories could possibly be true, but there is a tantalizing possibility of truth to each of them, because Aether really could be a divine emissary or a spirit or a foreign prince. Some call him an ifrit among the jinn; those few who have seen him dance think that he must be some coarse entertainer from the nomadic tribes of the desert; others suspect he is nothing more than a common whore who has seduced the prince, and scheme to have him killed or removed from the palace. Like as not they would see their daughters married to Prince Alhaitham instead. Aether isn't bothered. These things are beneath his concerns, and the problem with the theory that he is just some dancer, some prostitute, is that he is possessed of a bewildering education: despite outwardly presenting as a storyteller or riddler, the prince's companion has displayed casual mastery of mathematics, of philosophy, of science, of war.

The one reason that the rumors of what happens "night after night" have not yet been substantiated is that the young maidservant tasked with tidying the prince's bedchambers has not told anyone of what she has seen. Every morning, she finds Aether curled up in the prince's bedsheets, sometimes disheveled, sometimes not; every time the other maidservants goad her into gossip and whispering, she has refused. She is blessed with the kind of young virtue that makes her impervious to such salacious speculation.

When this maidservant, unable to resist her curiosity, once asked Aether where he came from, she received a very different story from the kind that all the others had been told. As always, the former traveler only smiled, then told her this:

Long ago and in the future, there was a king of Sumeru who took as his consort neither man nor woman but an archangel, blessed by the gods. The archangel was a creature of great beauty who stayed unchanging, unaging — feared by the people but greatly beloved by the king. And when, at last, the king came to the end of his prosperous rule and took his final breath, the beautiful archangel stayed by his side and wept, turning to feathers atop his chest. Despite his great age at the time of his death, the king was buried looking as he did all those years ago, youthful and handsome, when he first came upon that archangel and swore to it that he would make it as happy as it was in the realm of the gods.

Tonight, Aether seems content. His skin still feels soft and warm, scented with Sumeru Roses from the bath; dinner was exquisite, and the pleasant sensation of being fixed by Alhaitham's piercing gaze even more so. He looks over his shoulder, resting one hand atop the prince's knuckles as they rest upon the slim bones of his arms.]

Yesterday, I told you the story of the elven lord and his knight. The day before that, I told you of the heretic and the wayward crusader.

[He squeezes the tips of Alhaitham's fingers, playful and innocent, as a small child might.]

What manner of story would you like to hear tonight? Something from far-flung Mondstadt? Or Inazuma? A tale from another world?

[A little laugh — enchanting, like flowers upon the breeze.]

The story of me and you?

[perusing]

[ It's no mystery why people might describe Aether as bewitching. Artistic souls would no doubt find him an endlessly inspiring muse, their visions fueled by the rich golden silk of his hair, or the alluring warmth of his gaze, or the melody of his voice. He seems effortlessly sensual, graceful, far from coarse or common. Even a man not inclined to lose himself in such observations — let alone pen poetry or compose songs — can acknowledge them and appreciate these facts before him. It is, in terms of recognizing aesthetic value, generally more pleasant to behold objectively beautiful sights than the alternative.

Most humans also possess the capacity to enjoy carnal pleasure.

But Aether is more than all of that, not some perfectly-sculpted statue commissioned by the king to decorate a room, nor a mere bedwarmer. What truly makes the former traveler fascinating and bewitching is that he has proven himself to be quite unlike anyone else in all of Sumeru — likely in the entire world. The stories he shares each evening, behind closed doors, are for Alhaitham's ears alone. His company is refreshing, a reprieve from the palace outside these walls.

Aether's hand, small and delicate, is left undisturbed for now where it rests to make its contrast against the prince's larger fingers. Alhaitham's other hand roams a ways down his companion's lithe body, wandering lower from the smooth slope of one bare shoulder, skimming Aether's side until it reaches his hip. Then, palm flat just over Aether's middle, Alhaitham draws him close.

The movement hints at the answer to follow; Alhaitham's hand holds Aether in place, pressed to his torso. Their bathing done, little remains of their garments to separate their bodies. The prince hums a thoughtful sound, though the most unusual option immediately stood out beside the others. ]

How much of the last story will I hear?

[ironwind]

[The naysayers within the palace walls are right about one thing: it was Aether who lured Alhaitham into carnal pleasures first. What they don't understand is that it was nothing quite so unsophisticated as seduction; it was more a matter of simple consummation, of drawing their bodies together because their intellectual pursuits were already inextricably linked. Because, for the two of them, once such flimsy matters as benefits and risks and social expectations were weighed and discarded, there was no reason not to indulge in the other.

Still, Aether can't help but find it a little amusing. He lured the prince to bed first, sure — but despite his height and his build and the stoic demeanor which would better suit a man of greater years, Alhaitham is actually a rather young man. Sometimes he has a young man's appetites. Aether may have taught him how to eat, but Alhaitham learned how to crave all on his own.

With a smirk playing about his lips, Aether rests one hand over the hand on his belly, too, arching his lithe back just so. The imposing physicality of Alhaitham's body always feels so delicious against his own. Neither of them are hard just yet, but he can feel the warm bulge of Alhaitham's interest slotted against his curves. The storyteller licks his lips, slow and sensual.]

That depends on what you plan to do with your hand right now.

[His left hand is still resting on the hand atop his shoulder. Aether moves his right hand, rests it atop Alhaitham's wrist. This, too, is a lover's embrace — and the divine dancer never set out to become a prince's lover, but he finds that he doesn't mind the title in the least.]

I could tell you of our past. Or I could tell you of our future.

[The curl of his lips as he turns his head over his shoulder to press a kiss to Alhaitham's jaw — it's positively devilish.]

Or I could tell you what you're planning to do to me, before you've even done it.

[perusing]

[ In its simplest form, their story might be told with their hands, linking the past and the future — the touches they've exchanged, and the ones they have yet to experience. That story is one of mutual desire unfolding in the discoveries made whilst they come to know each other's bodies, limitless. With Aether in his hold, Alhaitham's hands have a generous selection from which they might choose.

He hums again, low into Aether's ear, as if weighing these new options, even as he splays his fingers against Aether's abdomen, completing the embrace. Tilting his head brings Aether's mouth within easy reach, and a tug pulling Aether's hips back towards Alhaitham's own signals approval for the contact where their bodies meet. Alhaitham is human; Aether's proximity punctuates what his presence promises, spurring on human instincts, the beginnings of arousal.

Their past. Their future. It's an interesting invitation, enticing as only Aether himself is. ]

Go ahead — I'm listening.

[ As long as Aether's otherworldly composure withstands every prediction of his that comes true. Did he foresee that Alhaitham's hands would adjust their placement, lifting him from the ground to seat him with the prince upon the divan behind them? That they would hold him perched atop Alhaitham's thighs, the plush curve of his rear nestled in the prince's lap? ]

Tell me all of it, including my plans for you tonight.

[ Or Aether's plans, some might argue — the machinations of a manipulator, mortal or immortal, a snake that has slithered his way into the palace, Sumeru soon under his thumb. The odd tale speaks of jinn bestowing their favor upon those they judge worthy, but far more contain warnings, recounting the fate of doomed dynasties.

Sumeru, at least, has seen undisrupted prosperity in recent days. ]

[ironwind]

[ Settling into Alhaitham's lap, Aether smiles. The weight of Alhaitham's hands upon his thighs is a pleasurable thing, an addiction that he has yet to shake. He wants them on his hips, his sides, his chest, his back. He wants them wrapped around his neck as the prince claims what is his by contract.

He never thought he would allow himself to become so deeply entwined with a fleeting mortal soul. ]

You're aching to touch me.

[ His voice, his intonation — he's like something out of a dream as he rolls his hips into Alhaitham's own, undulating like the ocean tides, more enchanting than any of the women available to the prince, seductive in a way that the servant-girls and dancers and concubines around him could simply never be. Each word he speaks brings the soft heat between his legs ever closer, pressed harder against Alhaitham's burgeoning interest. ]

You've tasted me before, but still, it's not enough. You need me again, laid out beneath you. Cajoling you, seducing you. Licking the wine out of your mouth. You'll have your hands all over me, claiming the territory that is by right yours. You're an avaricious man, my master... You won't rest until I'm consumed by lust for you and you alone. Hooked on your mortal pleasures. Tethered to you by ecstasy.

[ Softening just slightly, the traveler reaches out and cradles Alhaitham's face, very delicately, in his hands. His fingers barely make contact, but they ghost over the scribe's lips, touching them, caressing them. A lover's ardent affection. A guardian's tender touch. The rapturous expression on his face — it is nothing less than love. ]

One day, when you are known as a hero-king and I am a mere footnote in your history... when the people sing your name... I want to be known as Alhaitham's bride and not his favorite concubine.

[perusing]

[ Alhaitham's lips part as Aether's touch passes across them; a whisper of breath brushes against Aether's fingertips, hinting at the anticipation of what is to come. The taste of Aether's mouth and more, again and again, his bare skin warm against Alhaitham's, their bodies joined in another now-familiar dance. All of it beckons in Aether's words and caresses, promised only to the man he calls his master. All of it is theirs to savor.

And contrary to the speculations, Alhaitham's mind is his own, and he sees no reason to decline all that Aether offers him. ]

A hero-king?

[ Leaning back upon their shared seat takes Aether with him, closer, heat caught between them. The prince's hands travel down his companion's sides, past his hips to his thighs, where Alhaitham's fingers breach the hem of the thin layer of cloth draped about Aether's form.

Alhaitham's gaze is steady on Aether's features, on Aether alone, as if an enchantment woven has him firmly in its grasp. ]

It would be troublesome, if the people don't wait until I'm no longer alive to hear it. But I realize that simple peace and prosperity won't satisfy their thirst for heroic tales.

[ His body meets Aether's rocking, receptive unlike the seashore's stone cliffs that yield but slowly to the tides. ]

Your wish is easier to fulfill, Aether.

[ironwind]

[ A soft note of interest escapes Aether's throat as the prince's fingers slip beneath the thin fabric of his dancer's skirt. He wants more, higher, those fingers sliding up up up until they've pulled all of his white fabric and gold jewelry off — but the dancer tries his best not to be impatient as he maintains his same steady pace, rolling and bucking his hips against Alhaitham's. Each crest of his little waves is met with warmth from Alhaitham's body, and the dancer purrs a little as the friction between their bodies begins to heat his senses.

Nothing in the firmament ever felt as dangerous as this. Mortal pleasures were worth the fall.

The prince's assent makes Aether gently touch his jaw with both hands, caressing him, touching him, kissing him ever so gently on his lips. The feather-light kiss is at odds with the pulsing heat between their legs, but Aether soon deepens it, claiming him more fervently. The thought that Alhaitham has agreed to marry him has filled him with possessive affection. My king, he murmurs softly, almost inaudibly, between kisses. He presses the soft warmth between his legs more fervently against Alhaitham's slowly-flourishing cock.

Aether is yielding, soft. He promises pleasure beyond mortal fantasies, but Alhaitham has known and tasted of it already. Tonight, he will claim more. ]

Then will you grant it? My wish?

[ The warmth between Aether's legs is beginning to promise more. By the softness of it, the feel of it, the prince will surely know: his dancer is getting wet, hopelessly eager. Hooked on his body in a way that divine creatures, in the stories, ought to be resistant to. But then, has there ever been any guarantee that Aether isn't a demon instead? ]

In turn, I will grant you yours. You need but name it, and I will give it to you.

[perusing]

[ They have time, tonight and every night to come, plenty of occasions to indulge in each other over and over as they please, but Aether's fervor is enticing, too, and Alhaitham has no qualms about matching it. His body knows Aether's, craves Aether's, just as Aether knows and craves his prince's body, so why shouldn't they enjoy each other to the fullest? Their exchange is steady, still, back and forth, but the push and pull of it crests higher.

For each murmured my king, each press of Aether's soft lips slotting their mouths together, steadily hungrier, Alhaitham rolls his hips into the promising heat of Aether's body, upward to grind against that familiar warmth between Aether's legs. His dancer welcomes it, he knows. Aether has him fully hard soon enough, and his hands squeeze Aether's thighs in encouragement, a palpable answer on its own. His tongue busies itself with Aether's for the moment, tasting him.

They have time, but it would feel good to have Aether laid out beneath him, his hands all over Aether, to sheathe himself deep inside of Aether, the two of them becoming one a thousand times over, and fuck him into the divan, into ectasy. Alhaitham's fingers, trailing up warm skin to seize Aether by the hips, give Aether another tug to pull him closer once more, downward in Alhaitham's lap. ]

Granting your wish grants mine: I want you. Now, and tomorrow, and beyond that.

[ Alhaitham voices it between their kisses, barely drawing away from Aether's reddened lips. Neither of them will rest, both of them hooked on the pleasure, and despite Alhaitham's reputation, he won't sit back while Aether rides him. ]

[ironwind]

[ Alhaitham's hunger is growing ever more fervent, and Aether is beginning to find himself caught in its sway. The hands on his thighs, the hardness rubbing into his own, teasing him, trapping a moan at the back of his throat until a fresh roll of Alhaitham's hips coaxes it out of him — Aether feels heat stirring low in his belly, driving him to newer and more desecrated ends.

The dancer shivers, surrendering to baser impulses. No celestial indulgence from beyond the stars ever felt quite like this. ]

An easy wish to fulfill... ah...

[ Being the target of Alhaitham's undivided focus, feeling pinned down by those startling turquoise eyes — it's an unrivaled experience, uniquely thrilling each and every time it happens.

The palace whispers claim that Aether has enchanted the prince, but the reality is that the celestial being is the one who feels ensnared. With a soft gasp, Aether finds himself pulled into Alhaitham's lap proper, blessed by friction intense enough to make his world spin and his thighs tremble. The storyteller attempts to stifle another moan, to no avail: another thrust from Alhaitham's strong hips sends pleasure ricocheting between Aether's pussy and his cock, an tantalizing mix of sensations — something that only Alhaitham has given him, and that only Alhaitham will ever give him. ]

You are so tempting... My king, my gorgeous sinner...

[ With his eyes fixed on Alhaitham's, Aether reaches towards his groin, where his panties have been secured via a side-tie that sits high on his hips. He undoes these, lets the garment fall between their legs once it's undone; the fabric shines with moisture, tangible proof that Aether's arousal has been earned more than twice over by his prince. ]

How was I ever meant to resist you?

[perusing]

[ The truth is that as far as Alhaitham is concerned, his wishes have already been granted. A simple, comfortable, predictable life — even within the constraints of his role as Sumeru's future king, he manages to enjoy just that, and Aether at his side fits there perfectly. Aether's presence is what he wants, which goes beyond the fact that dealing with concubines and marriage to foster alliances would be a hassle for Alhaitham himself and everyone else alike, beyond having Aether's body all to himself night after night. Aether is anything but a mere footnote, now or in the future.

Of course, it also suits Alhaitham perfectly to have Aether where his beautiful dancer is right now. He watches Aether unabashedly, tracking every movement, following Aether's fingers as they pull the ties of his undergarments loose. Aether is as wet as Alhaitham knew he would be, and the prince's mouth curves into a smile, satisfied. He rubs his thumbs against the dip of Aether's sides. ]

Why should you? Because of your nature? That didn't dissuade me from wanting you.

[ And with Aether straddling him, flushed and slick, Alhaitham leans in again to claim another kiss before any answer comes. It takes little effort to free his own cock from his robe, to lift Aether enough to align himself with Aether's entrance and draw him back down, pressing past his pliant inner walls, deeper until Aether is seated in his lap once more. ]

[ironwind]

[ As always, Alhaitham has a certain knack for taking Aether's breath away. The divine creature lets out a shuddering breath as his master's cock breaches him, pushes in, deeper, until all of his senses are awash with pressure and pleasure alike. Every single one of their unions feels as sinful as the last, the way his prince and future king knows exactly how to play upon his body as one might play an instrument.

Pretty immortal though he is, even Aether is only another man with base impulses in the end. He's so eager that he himself shifts his hips, guiding Alhaitham's cock to where he wants it, such that each thrust makes him throb between his legs and pleasure swims behind his eyelids when he closes them and rocks to the rhythm of his own needs. So good, each and every time. To think that even angels would be susceptible to mortal lust. ]

My nature... as the kind of thing that should bring you to ruin, you mean?

[ Aether laughs a little breathlessly. He, too, knows the tales of what happens between jinn and the men unfortunate enough to fall in love with them. Nearly all these stories end in tragedy, but they — he has already foreseen it — they will not fall into those pitfalls that befell lesser men, and more impulsive jinn. Smirking faintly, though his expressing is suffused only with dreamy desire, Aether positions himself as something Alhaitham can ruin, open to his attention, to his desires and his needs. ]

What I've always loved about you is that you play such dangerous games.

[ A breath, a lusty sigh. A lover's quiet plea. ]

Show me. How you want me. I love it, the way you want me...