*Summary: Atlas has finished his tasks and feels bored, and Nadia is out of the Palace and hasn't yet returned. As he's playing with the emerald she gave him, it occurs to him that it holds a strong imprint of Asra's magic within… Could he reach them with it? Touch them? Taste them?
********
By the time Atlas finished working, bottling the last potion in its vial, the sun was on its way to a slow descent through the sky. Golden light bathed the room as he hummed, clearing his workdesk of tools and scraps and leaving the books back on its shelves.
Atlas’ studio was, to him, akin to what her tower was for Nadia. Only him, Nadia, and Portia could go in without his express permission. He had everything he needed there, his books, his tools, his ingredients… But more importantly, his peace. The studio wasn’t just the place where he did magic, but where he went to unwind after a long day too.
There was, however, almost too much peace for him right then, he thought as he shelved the last book.
Nadia was out of the Palace, had left to meet with her sister that morning, but he had stayed in on account of having business to take care of —he hadn’t expect to be done before Nadia was back, the amount of work had seemed greater.
Atlas gave one look to the big studio. Everything was in its place, the books in the shelves, the pestles and mortars in the cabinets, the plants growing on its pots, vines creeping through the poles set on one of the walls and the ceiling, leaves hung to dry off a string… All was neat and organized. And Atlas, he was bored.
He sat at the workdesk to enjoy the view of the city from the Palace. There was still about an hour of light before it became dark: too early to call it a day, too late to go into the city to try and find Nadia.
He played with the emerald pendant he always wore, trying to catch the golden light of the sun in it and amusing himself with the reflections it made on the walls and wooden desk, a soft smile to his lips.
The emerald had been a gift from Nadia, a token of affection from when he first went to the Palace. He always wore it and cherished it deeply. Nadia’s affection, however, was not the only thing the pendant contained, but it instead held an imprint of Asra’s magic in as well, strong enough that Atlas could sense it.
He wondered if he could reach Asra with it. Magicians better skilled at abstract forms of magic would have no problem, but spells had never been Atlas’ forte. But maybe with some help...
A mischievous smile stretched his lips, which he licked in anticipation. Well, the evening just turned interesting.
With that thought, he stood up and started gathering books and materials. He had long learned that where a strong connection to abstract magic wasn’t present, magical circles and runes could often help bridge the gap. His true skill set was plant-based magic, but his knowledge of runes was solid enough to at least try and experiment with it.
Atlas grabbed a piece of chalk and started drawing the magic circle on the floor, stopping to leaf at this or that book for pointers or grab this or that ingredient while he worked. He placed bowls of water on the cardinal points —a further connection to Asra— and made sure to include the runes for ‘distance’ and ‘feeling’ in the right spots on the circle.
He took a step back to have a look at his work when he finished, double-checking he had made it how he wanted.
“Here goes nothing,” he said then, and stepped inside the circle, letting his magic flow into it to activate it, hand closed around the emerald.
The magic circle glowed in the yellow-green hue of his magic, then stabilized into white as the magic circle channelled it and made the spell work. Just before settling into white, however, it blinked once in a faded purple with the residual magic coming from the pendant.
Atlas smiled at this. “Can you hear me?” he whispered as he seductively brushed a finger against the emerald, feeling Asra’s magic in it, more strongly than before.
All the way into the magic shop, Asra shivered as they felt the touch of a finger running down their spine while they wiped the counter. They frowned, confused at the sudden and very vivid, very familiar sensation.
It was a spell, they soon understood. They almost got alarmed before they could recognize the magic that was in it, and gasped when Atlas brushed the emerald again, sending a new feather-light touch across their skin. “Atlas? Is that really you?”
Atlas laughed, hearing Asra’s voice clearly inside his head. “So it does work.” He smiled wickedly. “Are you busy? I’ve never tried this before, but I have... ideas.”
This time it was Asra who chuckled. “Hmm, yes, I can imagine your ideas. Since when are you this good at spells, Atlas?”
Atlas couldn’t see Asra’s smirk, but he could hear the smugness in their voice. “Oi—” He thought of Asra’s throat and gently pressed the emerald between his thumb and forefinger. He could feel Asra’s heartbeat through the gem. “—be nice or I’ll be using this new power for evil. Are you or are you not alone?”
“This is wicked,” Asra said, reflexively trying to put a hand over Atlas’ at their throat and only finding their own skin there. “How are you doing this? Can I touch you too?”
“I suppose you could if you manage to find anything with an imprint of mine on the shop —the Arcana know I have shit at your home, but not even them know where you might have put it.” He brought the emerald to his lips to let his breath brush against it. “But I’m not giving you the time to check.”
Asra’s skin prickled at the feeling of Atlas’ heated breath on the back of their neck. They chuckled. “Alright, just give me a second to close the shop. And you have to tell me how you did this.”
The brat. “You’re in no position to make demands, dearest Asra.” He brushed against the emerald, thinking of their hip. The gem warmed against his finger, which made him smile. “I will tell you, if I can even remember how I did it. Now hurry.”
“Relish that power while you can, Atlas,” Asra said, locking the shop’s front door. “It will get back to you.”
Atlas carefully knelt in the centre of the circle, taking off the sash wrapped around his hips and chuckling. “You and I both know I won’t mind that, but for now…” He traced a finger upwards through the emerald, thinking of Asra’s inner thigh. “Are you ready?”
Asra lost their balance on their way back from the door and held onto the counter to avoid tripping. “Alright, alright. You impatient dork.” They slid to the floor, chuckling, back against the counter. “Go ahead.”
Atlas grinned wickedly, and wished Asra could see it. “I’m gonna eat you alive, you know?” He thought of their chest and licked the emerald. “But first I’m gonna make you suffer.” He slid one hand inside his pants and grabbed the emerald with the other. The gem shivered against his skin.
It was impressive how much it felt like Atlas was there, Asra thought as they felt his warmth, his touch, his tongue trace paths against their body. They wished for a way to touch him back, but without a focus, the only thing they could do were words.
“Ahh, finally found your motivation to work on spells? If I knew I would have—”
Atlas groaned. “Shut up, Asra,” he said, and bit the emerald while thinking of the muscle connecting their neck and shoulder. He couldn’t bite the gem as hard as he would have bitten Asra, but the way it seemed to startle against him when Asra jumped in the shop let him know it worked.
Asra clasped a hand to their mouth to stifle a groan as Atlas’ bite transformed into a series of nibbling and licking lower and lower down their torso. They slipped the other hand down their pants.
Atlas slid the pendant off his neck and held it between his lips as he took his vest off, getting heated. Cloth discarded and shirt unbuttoned, he took the emerald in his hand again and pressed it down his chest and torso, the gem noticeably getting warmer with the motion.
“Oh, gods.” Asra gasped. They could feel Atlas pressed against them, all warmth and sweat and tension. They drew an arm back to grip at the edge of the counter. “Atlas, please.”
Atlas smiled and pressed his fingers to the sides of the emerald thinking of Asra’s upper thigh. The gem pulsed between his fingers. “Please what?” he demanded, enjoying the moment; the gem was not the only hard and pulsing thing he was handling.
Asra groaned, and Atlas laughed when he he heard it. He knew they hated to surrender, which was why he loved to tease them so. He could feel their annoyance, but not for it any less lust, emanate from the gem.
“You really are a—” they started to say, but Atlas cut them off by putting the emerald in his mouth and thinking, finally, of their dick.
Asra gripped the edge of the counter harder when Atlas’ mouth closed around them, claiming them. They started breathing more heavily, and wondered in a distant corner of their mind what was Atlas exactly using as a focus, because whatever it was he was handling it so expertly. “Gods, you’re good at this when you’re not here too.”
Atlas took the emerald out of his mouth and pressed it against his shaft. “Flatterer bastard…” He was gasping for air too, and belatedly thought he should have taken off the rest of his fancy clothes along with the vest as well. He closed his hand a little more tightly around both the emerald and himself, keeping his aim at the floor.
Asra moaned loudly at the increased pressure just at the right moment, their back arced away from the counter and their eyes tightly closed. Atlas followed a moment after, groaning and cursing. He felt the emerald wet and sticky before he stained it, and when he licked it clean, it was not himself he tasted.
Asra rested his back against the counter once again, their grip sliding off the edge, a satisfied smile on their lips. He felt Atlas kiss them there and wished they could kiss back. “We have to do this more often,” they said. They really needed to find a focus for Atlas.
Atlas laughed and lay down on the floor, carefully as to not disturb the magic circle. “It‘s been great, indeed,” he said, pleased, staring at the ceiling. The pendant was back around his neck, the emerald resting warm and content against his chest. “Can’t wait to see what you come up with as vengeance.”
Asra smiled an evil smile. “Oh, you don’t know the first of it.”
Ringing in the new year with some JinAsra brat play, because why not? (He may look like he's behaving now, but just you wait... that sparkly Lisa Frank-colored paddle is being brandished for a reason 😂)
(A/N: For Haider's birthday, the first vignette for the "Heartlines" collection, which follows his apprentice-timeline, more or less linear retellings of my favorite moments from Asra's route. The boy woke up and chose angst for his birthday, so this is a little rewrite of the dream sequence from the Prologue. )
Title from and best paired with
Words: 2k
Warnings: None
Relationship(s): Asra Alnazar x Haider Wazim (and featuring Sterling Everstone from @greyvvardenfell )
*
It was summer. Asra was home for the night.
*
It was dark, though Haider knew these paths, knew the hand in his that pulled him from the cold wind to the warmth and the light- or was it he who did that? He knew the fabric of the magenta scarf that billowed against his face, knew the sound of the breath that caught against his chest, the heartbeat- one-to-one, racing, then slowing, familiar like the lines on his own palm like he had always been meant to hold it.
Why had he ventured so far in the first place? This much he knew. He had to take Asra home.
He was hanging up the laundry to dry, wringing out the wet clothes beneath the sun. The light fell into his eyes, and he squinted, Asra’s form a blur at the doorway before he came into focus. His satchel was full to bursting, and he swept his curly, snow-white hair away from his eyes. “Haidi?” He crossed the distance between them, plopping down, cross-legged between potted tomato plants. “Look what the woods have for you today!”
He opened the satchel to spill its bounty to his lap- ripe berries of every color, clumps of seasoning and healing herbs and mushrooms still damp with earth. Haider could feel the energy of the deep woods when he touched them, strong and washed by the summer’s first rain. He smiled. He could make mushroom curry later. The tomatoes were ripe for the picking. It was summer. Asra was home for the night.
Haider gently wiped the dark soil of the woods from Asra’s henna-stained fingernails. The pads of his fingers were rough from some old injury, tiny, healed-over lacerations like he’d once buried something with his bare hands.
“I’ll think of you on the road.” The golden berry he slipped into Haider’s mouth was bittersweet.
The road.
He would be gone in the morning.
Haider was a creature of habit, but habit did not erase the sting of waking up at dawn with Asra not beside him. Neither did it erase the anguished joy of when he would wake up beside him, holding back the need to press a kiss to his cheek, his forehead, his lips-
He looked away, blushing.
The truth, he knew, was written all over his face, and he was losing the will to hide it.
“You won’t have to think of me if you take me along.” Haider got to his feet.
He expected the usual dallying, the tangential equivocations, but Asra was beside him in an instant, his hand a pleading touch against Haider’s cheek. “I’d love to have you along-“ his voice tilted, trembled. Haider raised an eyebrow. “But?”
“But I-“ Asra drew a stuttered breath. “I can’t risk it. It’s too far away, too- too dangerous.”
Everywhere he went was too far, it seemed, too far, too fast, too fearsome.
“One slip could separate us both and I can’t-“ Asra’s eyes watered, and Haider laced his fingers through his. Their mehendi flowed into each other- flowers from the same vine. He squeezed Haider’s hand in apology. “I’ll get you- whatever you want, okay, habibi? Anything.”
But he didn’t want trinkets or souvenirs. He didn’t want promises or apologies. He wanted to know why Asra looked so tired, so torn, so sad. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold him to his chest. He wanted to take everything lost and lonely in him and bring him home.
“But I’d rather have you here.” He whispered, his voice lost in anxiety. He didn’t want it to be a demand. “What do you want, Asra?” He was gentle, prying open the knot in his chest with careful hands. “Do you want to stay?”
Haider felt the answer before he could hear Asra say it, yes- in the shiver that ran through him, yes- in the way his palms slid down to settle against the small of his back, yes, as frantic hands bunched the fabric of Haider’s kurta, terrified of letting go- Yes, yes, yes, yes-.”
Asra’s eyes were overbright, lit up with a fire he could no longer hide- his grip against Haider tightened almost painfully, hope twisting in the air between them-
But then Asra laughed, damp, small, desperate. “I can’t argue with you like this. What can I say when we both want the same thing? I don’t want to leave you behind, and you don’t want me to go.”
It was gone, fading and wilting in the instant that it came.
Asra’s hands trembled when he let go, and he leaned against the doorway, wreathed in sunlight.
Haider felt the loss of his touch- ached, and ached, and ached.
“We-“ Asra ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowing as he muttered something in Zadithi to himself, his other hand pressed to his chest. When he caught his breath, he sighed, his gaze drifting wistfully to the horizon beyond them. “But we can’t have always have what we want, can we? No matter how right it feels.”
He met Haider’s eyes with a small smile - amethyst to mahogany “You’re more honest in dreams.”
In dreams?
He was dreaming. This was a dream.
There was a dream before this, and there would be one after this- and all his dreams of late had been of Asra.
In some of them they spoke, in some others, he reached out to Asra through the winding, twisting roads with the call of his voice, in others, they sprawled beside each other, younger and more joyful- in some, they danced until the morning washed them away like a wave does a name on the sand.
But if this was a dream- he could say anything he wanted to.
He could say anything he wanted to.
Haider staggered forward, but Asra was gone.
No, no-
He raced down the stairs- this was the shop- the dream of it- at the bottom of the stairs he would still be there and smiling, or at the kitchens, or in the kitchens, or the counter, or the backroom, reading his cards, or one of his books, he was here, and Haider still had time-
His surroundings shifted, ephemeral and featherlight, fog and smoke. Empty.
The words lodged in his chest beat their wings like frantic birds- don’t go don’t go stay with me stay with me stay till the sun sets stay till everything goes dark and after I could hold you forever if you asked me to
Stay with me till I love you like I know I will.
He flung the door open, stumbling past the front steps, The streets were all made of light, cotton in his limbs- Asra was nowhere to be found.
Haider called out to him, again and again- why couldn’t he just say it when it mattered- when his voice wasn’t drowning- when Asra was beside him- when he could have had him in a dream until the morning- and now he couldn’t- he couldn’t-
Haider awoke with a gasp, shaking, a hand over his pained, racing heart. The silk sheets around him were in a state of disarray, rumpled between his restless limbs. He dropped his face into his hands, his toes curling as they hit the ground.
The palace. He was at the palace. The Countess, the job. And Asra- Asra had left the day before, walked into the night as he always did, with Faust over his shoulders, the lingering look in his eyes cut short when the knock at the door had called Haider back.
“Alright there, buddy?”
The familiar voice made him jump, and he whipped around.
He must be dreaming still. He’s got to be dreaming still.
But this light was the summer’s- the color of straw, washing over the walls solid to his touch.
Haider blinked. “Sterling?”
“Welcome to the land of the waking!” She threw her legs over the windowsill without a care in the world, swinging up to land on the carpet with a blinding grin.
“How the hell did you-“
She shrugged, examining the fresh fruit basket laid out on the end table. “The ivy, duh.”
“The-“ Haider slumped weakly against the headboard. “You- you climbed the Palace wall?”
“Yep.” She plucked a strawberry from the basket. “Mm, nice.”
“Sterling, that could get you arrested!”
She laughed. “Not if I don’t let them catch me.”
Despite himself, Haider was impressed. The grounds were just about crawling with guards. It was no mean feat of stealth that she’d managed to evade all of them.
“And it’s not the first time I’ve done it, either.”
Haider rolled his eyes. “Or, you know, you could’ve just asked at the gates for me. Like a normal person.”
“Boring.” She wrinkled her nose. “But hey, I came to give you this.” She fished around in her pocket for a moment, emerging with a carefully wrapped package. The sweet aroma of pumpkin bread made Haider sit up again, catching the treat when she tossed it to him. “Since you’re cooped up here in this tower” She looked around at the lavish surroundings with evident distaste. “Thought it’d cheer you up. I even paid for it, and everything.”
He broke the bread in half, the dear, familiar taste of Selasi’s baking washing over him, easing the heaviness in his heart, the lingering panic and the strange grief at the dream’s aftermath. But it was Sterling too, with her Flooded-District Vesuvian and her cropped magenta hair and all her half a dozen piercings, who would scale the palace walls for a friend and turn pumpkin bread into an adventure.
“Thank you, Stelli.” Hand over heart, he made space for her to settle down beside him, and she did, not bothering to take off her shoes as she sprawled comfortably over the plush bed. “Don’t mention it.” She mumbled through a mouthful of pumpkin bread. “Heard you had dinner with the Countess.”
“Oh, yeah. She’s been- kind.”
Sterling snorted. “Isn’t she out to hang that guy?”
“I- Yeah, I was hoping I could change that.” Haider winced. “Somehow. It seems cruel. I just- I don’t know, Sterling. I’m no detective.”
“Look at you though. Can’t be me.” She nudged him. “Changing the world, and all.”
“Not the world, just. I don’t- want to do the wrong thing.”
“Changing the world.” She singsonged, and straightened, scooting closer to put a hand on his shoulder. “You looked like you were having another dream.”
“Watching me while I sleep?” He quipped. “Creep.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She pursed her lips. “Was it a bad one?”
“I-“
He could still taste the berry, feel Asra’s touch against his cheek. The lurch of the light and the blood rushing to his ears- the rush of emotion like a waterfall- bittersweet.
“Good- and bad- I can’t tell. I can never tell with them. I don’t think I can-“
Three quick knocks against the door, and Portia’s cheerful voice asked him if he was ready for breakfast.
“Sounds like my cue. Give Portia my love, though. I owe her a drink.” Sterling gathered herself up, wiping the breadcrumbs with the back of her hand. “I’ll come back when I can, but hey-“ She pulled him into a quick hug, squeezing tight. “If you wanna paint it out, door’s always open.” Her lips twitched, and she winked. “Window, more like.”
His hand hovered in the air, before he let it fall down to his side. A gust of wind rustled the velvet drapes. Sick of the empty room, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and hurried towards the door.
Day 13, MC’s favourite trinket!
Everything, everything about Asra 💗
Also, what better occasion to put one of my sketches in an appropriate context!
also because I have little time today 😓
