Touch My World With Your Fingertips- chapter 1
Summary:
The city has lost the battle against the Bedouins' tribe and the two young oracles, John and Roger, are the prize for the winners. Farrokh, the leader of the Tuareg and Brian, his general from the north, wait for them at the camp and for the show they have in store.
John dances for them, accompanied by Roger's drums; after that the oracles are brought back to the temple and prepared for their first night together with their future husbands.
They will be separate: Roger will spend the night with Brian and John is destined for Farrokh …
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John holds, with trembling hands the brass tray that the priestess gave him; he walks slowly, focusing on each step, firmly putting his feet on the smooth marble floor being afraid of stumbling over while he tries to calm down his heart.
They didn’t have the time to understand or ask what would have happened to them as soon as the whole ceremony in honour of their new masters ended. John has the faint taste of the man, that soon would become his husband, still on his lips whilst mixed feeling crawling up into his tormented soul.
He’s scared. He can’t lie to himself.
He’s afraid of what will happen next, to them, to their lives, afraid of whom will possess them, a prize to show, a memory of a battle won.
His body has been stripped of everything, every precious jewel or lavish fabric is gone, only a pair of small anklets remain. Bare, with only tribal paintings that had been meticulously applied on him and Roger, is escorted by two servants that turn off some oil lamps on their way, letting the darkness fall between the columns of the temple.
Those very paintings that only his future husband could have wiped away, as a sign of complete submission and trust.
On the tray stands a finely crafted cup and a linen cloth that would have served to wash him with the water from the thermal spring. In his left hand a small jar from which he would pour the wine to offer in addition to his complete surrender.
John refuses to let despair get the best of him, to let fall those little tears that burn in his rigged eyes, knowing well that he can be strong.
He would fight, if necessary.
He would have done it if he had been forced to.
When the large doors are opened in front of him, he tries not to look up, fixing his gaze on the delicate drawings of the majolica that adorn the floor, but he can’t avoid it forever.
Already immersed in the small square tub in the middle of the room, Farrokh is as surprised as him when their eyes meet. A brief moment, broken by John that humbly lower his head going back to slowly walk in front of him.
He has to be composed, beautiful, and he must force the other man to stare at him while the only sound in the room is the one of his anklets that follows his every move.
He is alone with the Bedouin by now, the doors have been closed, and he has to face this upcoming destiny.
Slowly, he descends the small steps that brings him to be waist-deep in the warm water. He focuses on control himself and on what he has to do; he lays the tray on the side, starting to pour the wine in the cup as he turns to face the man.
He holds his breath when those wild eyes look at him again.
The other waits, breathing slowly, calm even; elbows on the edge of the tub, apparently perfectly mastering the situation. Indeed, he’s a man who knows how to charm people around him, with his regal and masculine presence, that alone commands respect in others toward a true leader; he knows he’s feared, probably, and that increase his ego more.
When John gives him the cup, for an instant, he fears that it would slip off his hands, but the man is quick to accept the aromatic beverage, barely touching the younger’s fingers.
Farrokh observes him in silence, absently sipping on his wine while John keeps his eyes down, uselessly trying, to muster the courage and accept the cruel reality. It’s undeniable that he’s afraid, only knowing to be prey to that persistent gaze put him in distress.
-Are you afraid of me?- The other asks, John slowly denies, shaking his head, his long hair gently sway touching his shoulders.
Lies.
The few encounters he had with men like him are distant and faint memories of another life when he was merely a slave. All their eyes were on him back then, they appreciated his young body, but they never dared to touch him, not even by mistake.
Now, he finds himself to be an object in the hands of his new master, and he didn’t know how to react to that.
What he does knows, however, is that he would never cave into his charm, he would never let him know what was deep down in his soul.
And yet John realize that Farrokh, in that short amount of time, never gave him the chance to have such feeling of disgust that he, initially, though he would have for his soon to be husband.
His train of thoughts is being stopped when the Bedouin’s fingers gently grasp his chin, forcing him to look at him in the eyes. Although John tries in vain to keep it down, takes courage and obey.
Farrokh smiles at him, showing his white and pronounced teeth, with a slight grin.
-Don’t lie to me, sibi.- whispering low, John frowns a little hearing a strange word that he never heard before. He doesn’t answer yet feeling his body tremble, not in fear, but of unknown pleasure given to him by the way the other man looks at him, his eyes emphasized by heavy makeup.
-Tell me the truth.- he speaks again slowly, just the faint sound of the water around them break the conversation.
He tries to think fast, but he realizes that Farrokh hasn’t hurt him yet. He just stands there staring at him curiously, without forcing him to do anything he doesn’t want to. For now, he’s been very careful, he didn’t force him to speak or touch without consent, he even didn’t try to give him a more passionate kiss than the one shared the previous night in his tent, after John’s dance.
John then takes a long breath, lightly biting his lower lip and realizing he was holding on, he says a weak “yes” that leaves the bedouin surprised.
He would like to be stronger like Roger is, he would have wanted to keep his silence, even more, praying to the Goddess that the night ahead could end quickly. But instead, he finds himself admitting that Farrokh is behaving perfectly with him.
A simple proof of his kindness is the fact that he hasn’t even touched the tribal painting on his body.
Nothing.
He didn’t even touch him with a single finger.
Farrokh had only accepted the cup, that he humbly brought him, politely sipping without gulp it down at once like a parched horse.
Thinking over those little details bring the young oracle to relax a bit, just enough to not to argue at the moment the other gently holds him in his arms, making him sits on him. John would like to take back the little moan that escapes from his parted lips, surprised at the sudden contact between their cock, but his body fails him, as well as the shiver running down his spine when, to avoid his fall, he puts his hands on the bedouin hairy chest.
And it’s a strange but sweet sensation the one of having a naked and warm body against his.
He trembles when he feels the man placid breath on his cheek, the faint sweet scent of wine doesn’t bother him at all, but he can’t let his guard down, not now, even if Farrokh’s hands are gentle and politely rests on his back. The water sloshing a little all around them, crashing on the edges, the rose petals float with every movement.
The bedouin gently pushes a strand of hair away from the younger face that wince a little at the gesture; Farrokh watches him narrowing his gaze, studying his every reaction and maybe his every fear.
-I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Sibi. I won’t hurt you.- still speaking slowly, his tone calm and polite.
-Neither now nor in the future.-
John would like to tell him that he can’t trust him right away but he keeps silent, for now.
After that, the younger oracle smiles a little, slowly nodding, making the other man’s grin widen and subtly chuckle.
The tension seems to quiet down between them, even if he doesn’t trust him, he tries to let himself go to those little attentions, feeling his entire body lighting up when Farrokh brush his slightly exposed neck with his fingertips. Nothing inappropriate or too intense, neither gross, letting yourself be touched so softly by a complete stranger. He barely stiffens in fear that the same hand may go beyond his chest and touch him between his legs when he absently follows the pattern of one of his painting.
Suddenly John has his head clouded by a warm sensation, his eyelids droop heavily whilst he moves closer to completely enjoy those sweet attentions.
But Farrokh divert his way to take back the cup that rests on the side of the tub; John frowns when he hands it to him.
-You’ll like it.- he says confidently but the younger man is still hesitant. The bedouin keeps on smiling at him affable and charming. Once again the older man continues to amaze him with unexpected gestures.
John gulps, heart beating nervously in his chest.
-N-no…- he whispers softly while his face reddens in shame -i can’t.- he admit, voice low and quietly.
His body is an immaculate temple and one of his obligations was to keep it that way, therefore to John has always been forbidden fogging his mind with wine or any other substances reserved to complicated and special rituals or, in circumstances like these, as a welcoming gesture.
Farrokh frowns at the oracle’s words.
-Why Sibi?- he inquiries with interest. John is nervous, he fears a violent reaction from the bedouin for his little rebellion. But the other remains calm, waiting for his answer.
-W-we… c-can’t....- he answers him, so softly that he isn’t sure that Farrokh actually heard him. The man’s hand, still on his back, slowly caress his skin, absently following the natural curve of his spine mischievously sliding down to fondle just right under the iliac crests. John parts his lips at the mere sensation of those delicate touches, especially when they focus on a specific spot where his skin is more sensitive.
Farrokh narrow his eyes.
-Do you want to taste it?-
John hesitates but nods, all of a sudden the curiosity takes over his logic. He feels like a child in front of a new discovery, so fascinating and utterly alluring if held in the hands of a charming man like Farrokh. He is eagerly offering to make much more difficult to resist the temptation.
-A small sip, nothing more.- the bedouin says, keeping the cup in his hand and dangerously too close to the younger mouth. John, after a moment of utter confusion, takes courage. His fingers are compliant but he forces himself to firmly tighten his grip around the brass cup. He couldn't drop it, it would be a bad omen to waste ceremonial wine.
Farrokh stares at him eagerly, like he wanted to give him enough courage to let himself go. John only just smells the sweet scent of the liquid, he had to admit that is pretty good; when he takes the first small sip, the bedouin put two fingers under the base of the cup suggesting to try it again.
And so the younger man drinks, more this time, feeling a strange and warm sensation in his belly when he finally swallows the wine, his tongue tickling and the whole mouth numb. He sucks on his own lips finding them wet, squinting his eyes at the strange feel.
Farrokh grins, kindly mocking him, pouring it again in an unexpectedly empty goblet.
John is surprised, that action is usually reserved only to young brides, but Farrokh has shattered every single belief that the little oracle had towards him.
In front of his doubtful look, the older man nods amused.
-Drink again, Sibi. Nobody can see you except me.- he states with a sincere smile. So the youngest finds himself drinking once more, letting the aromatic liquid take over him, certainly a new and pleasant experience for him.
His body starts to go dull, a wave of heat radiates from his stomach to his fingertips, in a delicious daze that brings him to close his eyes for a moment. When he reopens them Farrokh has taken the cup from him, putting it on the side; he wants to tell him that he wants more because he started to like more the liquid and his sweet taste but the bedouin has, clearly, other plans for both of them.
-It was just a taste...- he whispers against him, John is confused, the other's words sounds like a reprimand, has he doing wrong? He feels so little all of a sudden.
He makes himself pliant, confused but not scared like he was when he had entered the room hours ago, now interest takes over and he starts to relax to the man's care.
He softly jolts when Farrokh begins to wash away the painting that still adorn his body. He touches him with devotion like he knew how much important he was and not just a beautiful object to use and then throw away.
John has his senses clouded, doesn't fight back those hands that gently touch him. Occasionally the bedouin dares to brush his shoulders with feathers kisses, John bites his lower lip trying to hold back a pleased sigh. The man's moustache feels strange against his skin, they tickle deliciously causing him to shiver.
Water between them rapidly become crimson from the patterns on the oracle's skin, small drops slide down on the young body, still immature but extremely beautiful. Farrokh cleans him up easily, so slowly that the youngest heart burst of so many new emotions. So tame in the oldest's capable hands now.
He gasps softly when the bedouin steals a light kiss on the lips when he is about to clean him on his face. He takes his chin with two fingers and rests his lips on the boy's ones.
That is enough for making him tremble all over. The young oracle put his hands on the other’s chest as if it’s the only thing that prevents him from falling. He enjoys the hairiness fluffy and soft under his fingertips, the more he observes Farrokh’s masculine body the more he realizes that he finds him very attractive. The man has wide muscular shoulders, his skin darker than his due to the desert sun and warm, really warm - or is it him who begins to feel himself suddenly blushing before these new sensations?
Patterns and painting on his body disappear, now his skin smooth and subtly glossy thanks to the oils is caressed by the bedouin’s rough hands, slowly start touching him more passionately, pulling him flush against him, so much that they have their pelvis pressed against each other.
A poorly concealed sigh escape from both of them, the older man eyes are so filled with lust that literally devours him making the youngest so willing to let him do anything when he asks for a more passionate kiss.
John has never kissed anyone, man or woman, except for those little affectionate effusions shared with Roger but that cannot be remotely comparable to the passion with which the man is pressed against him.
He tenses up slightly, instinct triggers him to jump back a bit which makes Farrokh worry; he moves away a little, only a faint breath between them while John still trembles agitated in his arms. The other's hand gently strokes his right leg, mischievously sliding until he feels the roundness of his butt.
-I won’t do anything you don’t want, sibi.- the Bedouin affirms placidly, looking him straight in the eyes without arrogance. Only honest concern for his young husband.
-I’m not an animal...-
John doesn't know how to reply, drunk with new sensations and wine's flavour still on the tip of his tongue.
Maybe he should trust him, let himself go and discover more, and that's what he does when he hesitantly reaches for the man's mouth that waits for him. John gently tilts his head to the right, his hair brushes his cheek, deliciously framing his face.
Farrokh looks at him as if he is bewitched somehow before closing his eyes and savour that tender hint of kiss that the young oracle gives him. There are uncertain and inexperienced movements, dictated by both's curiosity but neither seems to be in a hurry to speed up this moment of intimacy between them.
John breathes through his nose, tasting the softness of the Tuareg’s mouth, so plump and sweet, tastes like honey and like the sweets he most likely ate during the earlier celebrations.
In the fleeting kiss stolen in the tent before, John hadn't registered any emotion, if not fear and resentment towards his new master; but now he realizes he has never experienced anything like this.
He dares to open his mouth when he feels the tip of the other's tongue licking his lower lip, he just jolts in surprise but doesn't shy away, responding timidly to that new intrusion.
Soon the silence of the ceremonial room is broken by their heavy breaths and John's small moans and sighs, the water lapping around his body when the Bedouin's hands passionately caress him down his back.
But suddenly a high-pitched moan escapes from the youngest's throat, rumbling for an instant when he's forcefully grabbed and carried out of the water. He finds himself tightening his legs around the Tuareg's waist and lacing his arms behind his neck, while the man's hands squeeze and support his body, firmly grasping his small and soft butt. His heart fiercely beats in his chest, he's confused and he doesn't understand the reason of that gesture until he finds himself carefully resting under a light curtain, on a bed full of pillows. The only light that allows him to see his lover's face is a lamp hanging above them, thus illuminating his solid body, still slightly damp due to small drops of water on his skin. John breathes nervously while stares at him with worried eyes, but soon Farrokh is again taking care of him to make him calm down and relax under his skilled touch, kisses run down his face and his neck until he lingers of his thin chest.
He closes his eyes arching his back, offering himself willingly to the other man's desires; he trembles when the Bedouin's teeth gently bite on the small pink nipple.
John slowly opens his eyes, his eyelids now heavy. He sees Farrokh kneeling between his open legs looking for something at his side as he continues to look at him with hungry eyes. He studies his every movement when the oldest pours a generous amount of oil on his hands, a small drop falls on his flat stomach that nervously contracts waiting.
When Farrokh comes back to him, he lies down beside him, holding him tightly with one arm against him, as if he didn't want to drop him.
John holds his breath when the other's right hand slips without hesitation between his legs, slowly squeezing his perky erection.
-Have you ever slept with a man, Sibi? - he asks him in a broken short-breathed voice.
John search for words that die in his throat with each movement of Farrokh's hand around his cock; small moans continue to escape from his open and swollen lips.
His head is spinning, his body is hot and it all feels muffled, confused by those new and amazing sensations. He only manages to exhale a faint "no" sighed on Farrokh's mouth. John finds himself moaning in annoyance when his lover's hand let go of him only to be able to grab his thigh, making him bend his left leg on his side. Now John finds himself exposed, trembling like a well-stretched harp string when he feels the other's oily fingers suddenly stroking him between his buttocks.
He doesn't understand, he's dizzy from those sweet attentions. Now a high-pitched moan escapes from his lips whilst he clings himself on the Bedouin's shoulder when he feels that little hint of intrusion.
He'd like to speak or make a sound different from the continuous sighs but the man's mouth is on his and greedily devours his every breath while slow and painfully his finger makes its way into his tight flesh, making him arch against him.
He squeezes his eyes shut already feeling little tears forming under his eyelids when the finger is completely inside.
-It burns.- he hisses in a broken scared voice when his mouth is freed from his lover's fierceness, who rests his forehead against his, breathing in unison with him.
-Let me take care of you, my dear. Believe me, it will be the most beautiful thing you have ever tried. But you have to let yourself go, sibi.- he whispers, his voice deep with arousal and the thrill of finally being able to have him.
John closes his eyes again, another hot and painful shiver runs through his back making him tremble. He doesn't fight back but he tries to relax, enjoying this brand new experience.
-Trust me.- he murmurs again, pressing his chest against John's, feeling his heart against his own. A small tear falls down on the youngest's flushed cheek, that opens his eyes in shock when that finger hits a special point inside him, quickly replacing all the pain with a violent surge of pleasure.
Farrokh smiles gently, while he steals another kiss from him while enjoying the prelude to their first night together.
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note: "sibi" is a nickname used by Farrokh on John. It roughly means "little boy"
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Finally here we’re with the extract from the first chapter of the oracle!au. As always I thank @painkiller80 for the translation and for those who will follow this new adventure!!
Unfortunately, we don’t know when the second piece will be ready: the chapter is already done (I’m writing the third one), we just need the time for Chiara to translate and I to be able to create the illustration.
But in the meantime I will always publish some study or illustration dedicated to this story (I still have to introduce Roger to all of you but I would say that I have time to do it before the second part).
Having said that I hope you enjoyed it and let us know what you think!!! :D
xoxo
@stayinqpower @tikiniki @emmaandorlando @mephisto92 @caminc91 @jackolynsparrow @painandpleasure86 @afangirlinthestars @mysleepyfreddie @faveimagines1977 @deaky-disco-queen @deakygurl -Hope to have tagged everyone, in case write me to be added!:*
