Ignoring the jibe entirely, Lara only offered a slight wave of her hand — both, in answer to his latest request and as a blunt reminder to stay out of her way. Unless he wished to wind up back in a tomb, at least.
Which could certainly be arranged.
❛Let that be my issue,❜ Lara murmured more to herself than him, rocking on the balls of her feet as she gauged the approximate width of the gap; the momentum she’d need to make it to the other side in one piece. Preferably without breaking her wrists, neck or legs upon impact. ❛Try to keep up.❜
‘ ... SEEMS LIKE IT WILL be my issue, too. ’ words hold an aversed air! apathetic is the god-king’s countenance, a clink of gilded jewelry as he leans gracefully o’er to look down into darkness. breath leaves his parted mouth, kohl-lined eyes tapering at black corners. quiet hum, a hymn as he takes notice. ‘ it’s a long way down. ’ fear empty, for immortal ruler is khonsu’s blessed. sight ‘neath lowered lashes flits upwards towards her. ‘ how are you going to make it? ’
broad collar bumps mutely ‘gainst his desert-colored chest as posture straightens, arms rigid at linen-draped sides. ‘ -------- ... right. ’ dulcet tones naive within dubious word! king takes light step back.
Vehemence rattles your bones ! One quick restroom break , & now you’re trapped by the walls of impending architecture , that makes you feel so terribly small. Lore of the ancients you’ve never bothered to memorize , to absorb like warm sun ‘gainst the orifice of your silver skin — could care less about Pharaohs & times bygone. You’re a product of modern vigour , your pretty little head too preoccupied with the glamour of technologies that gift validation with each tap of a polished cellphone screen. ‘ God fucking DAMMIT ! Did they seriously lock me in this shithole ! ’
LINEN-CLAD ARMS HAVE hands clasped behind him ‘gainst the back of desert-colored robe, crown-covered head canting side-ward. golden king ponders the other’s presence! a pinch of black-painted brows, eyes drifting o’er him from a small distance. did larry let him in? the other’s words are loud as to wake he, dead! sight widening till countenance becomes entertained, mouth pressing to bury the simper that pulls at the corners. sandals step quietly up to, fabric billowing about the pharaoh-king’s grace-like form. the flicker of divine smile and a sudden word in a decorous tone is made known! ‘ larry will be back soon. ’ lips twitch, but aged composure has his regality cordial and honey-bread sweet. ‘ -------- if you want to leave. ’
do not touch his neck. don’t kiss it, don’t leave marks, don’t let any fingers drift over it or n ear it. it elicits his fight or flight response as it’s a place directly tied to his murder. he’ll go into a still state of mild panic, or kick the person.
kiss and mark all the freckles on his shoulders and his biceps. they are as numerous as the stars, and it will make him shiver.
teach him how to kiss. in ancient times, most people kissed by rubbing noses. teach him tongue to tongue and fill his entire mouth till his knees give and saliva is on his chin. he has never kissed a single person before.
his legs and thighs are his sensitive spots. run hands over the shape of his calves and over the curve of his inner thighs. this will cause him to shudder and tilt his head back. it’s an easy way to get him aroused.
he loves to sit on people’s laps. use this.
praise him. he can orgasm from those words alone. tell him he’s beautiful, talk about how good he’s doing, how well his body moves and sweats, that he glistens like wet gold. tell him he’s loved. without even needing to touch him, he’ll release.
voyeurism. the museum front-desk? the middle of the hallway? outside in the dark of the park with the moon overhead? he’ll do it.
he has a thing with taste and his tongue. he prefers to swallow, eat out, or give blow-jobs. tongue-kissing is his favorite.
he’s an over three-thousand year-old virgin. he’ll lose his gracefulness with his first kiss, his first chance at sex. there will be the clack of teeth, not knowing how to breathe, wet eyes, and orgasming very early. teach him how to inhale and exhale.
he gets over-stimulated and over-whelmed very easily when it comes to sex or promiscuous touches. it’ll take awhile before he builds any sort of stamina.
❛ AHK , HONEY , y’gonna give me a little history lesson ? i love hearing your little rambles on ancient times , you make my imagination run wild . come sit . ❜
EYES BRIGHTEN! STEP OF gilded sandals o’er to her. linens rustle as legs spread, settled with a knee at either side of her hips ‘pon her. content is the breath he releases, words light. ‘ what are your questions? there was impalement, burning alive, drowning -------- the usual punishments. ’
fingers brush gently through the pharaoh's dark curls, " you're beautiful. " / wEEP S
CURLS ARE LIKE GRAPEVINES, black hairs gracing his khonsu-given forehead and the nape of his divine neck. night-time’s halo, holy! head tilts backwards at the other’s finger’s, lids fluttering closed as kohl-lined lashes press ‘gainst cheeks. the pharaoh-king’s face gleams gold, a moon lit by the favored brush! granite-pink lips lift at the corners, a sweet smile. shoulders shift ‘neath jeweled broad collar, rising to bring his crown-less head towards the other’s hand. quiet is the breath he releases! the muted wind that blows through empty tombs. beautiful? eyes open, blinking. was he, dead-king, beautiful? inside him are bones of silver, wrought in ancient times forgotten ‘neath sands and crumbling stone. skin an idol to a past he, cursed and blessed, is taken. the pharaoh-king is a statue of kemet’s midnight. hallowed, hollowed. deserted! the relic that wants worship. graciously taken are the words, though kept within is the wing-like flutter of his heart. ‘ ... i thank you. ’
A BRIEF PAUSE , SILENCE FILLING THE AIR BETWEEN before a response is given . & a smile spreads across the native’s lips , body pressing upwards to step over the glass partition that was meant to keep people OUT . but he wasn’t one to listen to rules made by people who DIDN’T UNDERSTAND the tablet’s magic . after all , not much had changed since the fifties . still no one knew what sourced that tablets power , nor WHY it chose to do what it did . the only thing that had changed in the past few years was allowing the mummy to be free at night . a change that still SCARED some to this day . uncas , however , could not be swayed . & a hand is offered towards , reaching for before hoisting the other to his feet . “ you look DIRTIER than normal . ” expression playful as he reaches forward , pulling the bandages from the other’s head to expose sun - kissed features to . ( ah , there he was ! ) & green eyes are what catches uncas’ attention first , before dark hues shift upward to a mop of dusty curls . “ need to rise slower , give me more time to get here first . ”
NIGHT-GIVEN HAND REACHES for the mohican’s, copper ‘gainst desert-color as fingers slip ‘round his palm. gripping, eternity’s heir presses linen-wrapped heels ‘pon sarcophagus’ bottom, mummified leg brought o’er gold and glass to set down with feather-light grace on museum floor. mouth parts to let out a breath! aged sands blown from his dead-chest with an airy hitch of his hallowed throat. fabric-donned face turns towards him, a blink of black lashes. ‘ -------- oh. ’ his mien dons displeasure at his words! countenance made to glower with a pucker till a beat of his resurrected heart makes clouds drift and a crescent-smile ‘pon lips. released! hands held out palm-upwards for linens now un-wound. ‘ slower? ’ nose crinkles! immortal man could not endure the darkness, for how it closes ‘round him flooding black waters. fraught is his wordless composure, a tightening within fingers before face becomes moon-lit. buried inside him is the fear! hidden, bound. ‘ you have such long legs, i thought you would’ve been faster. ’ smile beams, light-bodied! a downward cant of his curled head. ‘ could you get the dirt? ’
you’re about to die. fire eating you from the inside, ice devouring your flesh, snowy eyelashes; blood in your eyes, a handful of moments: your mother’s smile, your father’s hands, and a thousand regrets. you’re about to die.
no use in dwelling on the past, silly boy. h.l. (via kylux)
gives the back of his hand a gentle kiss, only to flip it in order to give his palm the same treatment.
STARRY-EYED BECOMES HE, khonsu’s king! green eyes light with delight enshrined within the valley-color, black brows rising o’er the flutter of lashes once he blinks. the ends of moon-given fingers curl loosely, bracelet-clad arm lax within the other’s hold. the beat of his dead-heart makes the moment last, the pillar ‘pon which rests the quiet inhale his body is formed o’er. mouth presses to keep the air entombed, lean chest lifting a tad. holy is the feeling! regality resurrected from the aged past to once more make he the hallowed ruler, a god-king blessed by the other’s worship. empty insides flood with nile waters warmed by sun-less devotion, for how the man makes the weight of khonsu’s gift absent. richard has the litany of his brother’s words foregone! soft lift of lips’ corners comes o’er his face, golden. king pulls gently his hand from him, lifting the pair to cup his face as thumbs settle feather-light ‘pon his cheeks. posture shifts, pressing to the curved ends of gilded sandals as ‘pon toes he rises, blooming, to bring the tip of his nose ‘gainst his, crown-born head turning side to side to brush skin. sweet words pour as a murmur ‘cross his tongue, muted, an offering for richard’s ears alone.
‘ -------- mister deckard. i’m pleased you have returned. ’
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