Love and deepspace thoughts that haunt me as a desi: part 2
Shoutout to @dat-silvers-girl and @qiyusheart for this headcanon
(less of a headcanon and more of a full ass fic sweats💦)
(p.s: fluffy for the most part, though it gets a bit suggestive at the end 🫣)
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It was a normal Saturday afternoon in Rafayel's studio - you both had woken up quite late, taking advantage of your day off and Rafayel's off season to cuddle in, and had a lovely brunch in his kitchen. Currently, you were sitting on the floor of his living room, opening a huge care package your family had sent you from your hometown. You were excitedly chatting with Rafayel, telling him about the sweets and snacks and answering his curious questions ("What's a 'namkeen', cutie?" "Your parents sent you SILVER ornaments through air mail just like that?!" "Raf, they're just a few pairs of anklets and bangles..." "Oh, can I use your turmeric for my paints?" He'd earned a light glare at the last question.)
But then, you find a small yet sturdy box, and you open it curiously, squealing in delight at the sight of four familiar cones, along with a few lovely templates. "OHMYGODS!!!" You exclaim, picking up the contents reverently as Rafayel watches curiously. "What's that cutie?" He asks, sitting next to you and taking one of the cones from your hands. It was a bit soft, like it held some paste in it. "It looks like a mini piping bag," he observes.
"Raf! Oh I'm so happy!!!" You squeal again, laughing as he compared it to piping bags. "It's a henna cone," you explain with a huge grin. "It's for mehendi."
"Mehendi?" He echoes, tilting his head as he looks at the templates you show him. They are rectangle cards that show off intricate designs and patterns drawn on the silhouette of a palm. "Oh, so it's a form of body art? Lemurians have something similar!" You smile at him, he's always been a quick study; plus you couldn't deny the similarity he just mentioned.
"In a way, yeah, except it's temporary," you explain to Rafayel about henna, and its properties, and the art of mehendi. "We draw them during weddings and festivals, as a sign of prosperity and happiness. There's actually a lot more significance to it, come to think of it..." You trail off, remembering the various festivals where you and the rest of your family used to adorn yourselves with henna.
Rafayel hums along, nodding as he absorbs your every word. "I see... Then what are we celebrating today?" He asks, holding out the cone in his hand. You smile, shaking your head. "Nothing, sometimes we wear it because we want to." Rafayel nods, as if that was enough explanation. "Then... Will you show me?" You beam, more than happy to.
Thirty minutes later, you pull the cone away from your palm, sweating a bit as your tongue still pokes out of your mouth. You always did struggle with controlling the flow of the paste, especially for drawing thin lines and intricate patterns that required a steady hand, but the design you had chosen was relatively easy.
And the entire time, Rafayel had been watching you, from how you've started with a tiny cut at the tip of the sealed cone to the way your intense gaze darts between the pattern card and your hand, replicating each curving lines, each tiny flowers and leaves, each beautiful pattern with.... Well, Rafayel wouldn't lie to you and call it precise, but the passion and the careful effort you put into your mehendi was something he felt privileged to see, cherishing every single moment of you that you let him see. And yeah, you did mess up a few flowers and drew over it to make it bigger, and there was a slight smudge at your wrist, but Rafayel felt it added character to you, making the generic design uniquely yours.
You blow gently on your hand, smiling proudly at the mehendi. You set down the cone and show off your hand to Rafayel. "Not bad... What do you think, dear artist?"
Rafayel smiles and brings your hand closer by your elbow, mindful of the henna on your forearm. "You're right, it is beautiful," he murmurs in awe, already imagining the deep stain that you had earlier described on your palm and forearm. "And so you." He had to refrain from nuzzling into your palm - you hadn't really warned him about the earthy, intoxicating scent of henna, and already his senses were on high alert whenever he caught a whiff of that fragrance. He really doesn't want to know the kind of person he'd become once you'd wash off the dried paste and allow him to inhale the combined scent of the herb entwined with your unique one.
He blows gently onto your palm, the cool sensation and the intimacy of the act sending tingles up your spine.
He takes your other hand and traces the lines on your palm, watching you shiver a bit with a smile. "I think I understand the basics now, cutie. Will you allow me to do your other hand?" He asks, expression so open and earnest that you couldn't say no even if you wanted to.
But then again, who were you kidding? Ever since you two got together, you had dreamt of this very moment!
So of course you nod eagerly, and Rafayel is only too pleased to pick up the henna cone and start drawing on your hand. He didn't look at the template, instead sneaking glances at your own hand for reference. The first few attempts at drawing the fine lines and delicate flowers were not so great, but as with everything else, he picked up on it quickly. And slowly, the patterns start to take shape, before both your arms are covered in henna.
As he places the final dot, Rafayel pulls the cone away with a proud smile, wiping the tip of the cone clean. He watches curiously as the paste immediately leaves a bright orange stain on his fingers, and you let out a gentle chuckle at that. "The stain is more prominent on fair skintones," you explain, looking back at your relatively darker skintone. "But the intensity of the stain also depends on body heat and how long you let the paste sit on the skin. Oh. And lemon too." That causes Rafayel to look away from his fingers to you. "Lemon?" He echoes, mystified. You smile wider.
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"Cutie, you aren't teasing me here, are you?" Rafayel asks, frowning at the lemon-sugar mixture you had instructed him to do. He had put away the snacks and other things from your care package, making sure your precious silver jewellery went into his vanity locker, and had you perched on the countertop as he followed your instructions. Now, holding the bowl of the mixture, he looks at you uncertainly. "How would a lemonade base help you lock in your stain?"
You bend over in laughter at the genuine confusion and vexation in his tone. "Oh, fishie..." You lean a bit forward, careful to keep your hands out of the way as you press a kiss on his cheek. "Keeping the paste moist for longer helps the stain develop better... And the acid and sugar helps in the darkening as well." You present your hands to him as Rafayel dabs the solution gently on the dried henna paste under your watchful eyes. "I see... That's very interesting..." Rafayel murmurs softly as he focuses on dabbing the mixture all over your forearms. You squirm a bit at the coolness of the mixture, but keep your palms open steadily for the most part. Soon enough, Rafayel finishes up with both your hands, and he sets the empty bowl aside.
"Now what?" He asks, stepping in between your legs and hugging you, pecking your lips with a smile. You rest your elbows on his shoulders, careful not to accidentally smudge your mehendi against his shirt or hair. "Now..." You grin, nuzzling into his cheek, "we wait for it to dry. Preferably overnight."
That makes Rafayel frown in confusion. "Overnight?" He echoes, looking outside. It was approaching dusk. "But you can't use your hands the entire time, cutie! How will you eat, or change out of your clothes or-" he pauses as you smile at him knowingly, and realisation sets in as he groans. "Cutieeeee," he whines, burying his head into your neck as you erupt in giggles, "you're not going to make me do allll the work tonight, are you?" You only giggle harder at his pout, and nod emphatically, making him pout harder.
He merely sighs in defeated acceptance and moves to prepare dinner, but not before 'punishing' your mischief with a small tickle at your waist. Already his fake pout dissolved into a lovesick smile at your sudden gasp of laughter.
Rafayel gets to work, cooking up dinner and cleaning up the house in between. You watch as he multitask, still perched on the countertop, swinging your legs lazily as the mehendi starts to dry again.
"We need to treat it with the lemon mix one last time before we go to sleep," you hum to Rafayel as he feeds you. He nods in response, dabbing the corner of your lip with the back of his hand as sauce coats your lips. "Alright cutie. I'll prepare the lemon juice before bed."
After dinner and doing the dishes, Rafayel does as promised, bringing you to bed and tucking you in before he works on the dried mehendi one last time with the lemon-sugar solution. You two somehow find a position for you to sleep in a way that you don't accidentally smudge your mehendi.
The next morning, you wake up first, rushing to the bathroom for a much needed relief, denied thanks to the lack of your forethought to use the bathroom before you covered your hands in henna. You also peel off and wash away the dried henna, the process soothing and familiar to you. Once you've thoroughly washed your hands, you bring it to your nose first, taking in the lovely, earthy smell of henna still lingering on your palms. Your favourite part of mehendi, to be honest. Then you look at the mehendi, smiling at the way the stain developed. You smile, blushing as you remember the way Rafayel worked to help the stain develop. You also remember how the aunties in weddings back at home would whisper about how the darkness of the stain reflects a husband's love for his wife, and your entire face heats up as a giddy smile lingers on your lips even as you exit the bathroom.
Back in your bed, Rafayel is already awake, waiting for you with a pout. "You left without a kiss goodbye, typical..." But his theatrics dropped when he realised that you were no longer holding your hands up as if you were waiting for the mehendi to dry. He sits up, eagerly waiting for you to sit next to him, and takes your hands to examine the stained patterns. He stares at them in awe, eyes bright with wonder as he traces his fingers over the leaves, flowers, and the veiny patterns.
"You were right, cutie... They stained so well," he murmurs, before bringing your maroon-stained hands to his face and pressing his nose into your palms, taking a long, deep sniff. He had waited for this very moment since the second he smelled the henna paste, he wasn't even worried too much about your reaction. But when he looked up, Rafayel realised he had no reason to worry, because your eyes reflected the same desire he was certain was written all over his face.
This time, he took another long sniff, making eye contact. You felt your spine jolt, as if a light current had passed through your vertebrae.
Was this the right time to tell him that one more reason why henna was used in weddings was because it is a mild aphrodisiac?
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THE END
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(note: so to explain the last line.... Yes it's true, henna has mild aphrodisiac properties 🫣🫣🫣 thing is, henna is a natural coolant and relaxant, and people living in India, the Middle East and generally around the tropics have long used henna paste on their hands and feet to cool their bodies and to ease tension. This is why brides are decorated with henna before their weddings, since weddings tend to be stressful to the bride. The herb, or rather the smell of the paste, also lingers on the skin, which heightens the senses and enhances feelings of pleasure. And since Rafayel is lemurian and has a strong sense of smell... Well... You all know how "Your Fragrance" ends.)
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