FIC : Desert Bloom Part Two
Fic : Desert Bloom for pintoharlequin
Part Two
Zak stood over his bed looking at the curious creature within it. Last night he had rejected him and spoken of being forced. Yet this morning Zak had woken to find the boy’s arms around him as if they were lovers. He left the boy sleeping and went to seek out Kamal.
He found Kamal in the olive grove and waved away his protestations at the sheikh having to wander the palace for his attentions. “I needed to speak with you in private Kamal. The boy used a word ‘rape’, he spoke of not wanting to fuck me. What is he talking about? Is it because he is foreign?”
“Sayyid, if your stable boys refused to work, would you not have them whipped? Who is he to refuse you? You paid for him, he is yours.”
“But I do not understand Kamal. None of the women ever refused me.”
Kamal shook his head. “You have lived a prince’s life, sayyid. You want women, they come from the harem instead of the brothels. They had a good life here, why would they refuse and go back to the merchants and pirates?”
“But this one Kamal, he is different. How can I get him to fuck me? He is very confusing.” Zak peeled the skin from an olive then threw the whole thing away.
Kamal shrugged. “I do not know, sayyid. When my wife’s father refused me her hand, I wooed her until she cried and begged him to give permission.”
“How did you woo her?”
“With gifts and sweet words, sayyid.”
“Hmm. Have Dabir call upon me later, I would speak with him.”
Kamal bowed and retreated as Zak walked back to the bedroom. He found Kazim naked on the balcony, looking out at the gardens below.
“You will distract my gardeners, boy. I bought good clothes for you.” He picked out the green sirwal and handed them to Kazim. “Are you well?”
Kazim accepted the sirwal and pulled them on. “Yes, thank you master. I apologise for inconveniencing you.”
Zak waved away his apology. “It was understandable, my sweet flower. You had been ill treated by your captors, but here you are free to do as you wish. I ask only the tender touch of your hand when you are of mind to give it.” He took Kazim’s hand and kissed it gently.
There was a confused expression on the boy’s face which pleased Zak. If gifts and sweet words were the tools to win the boy’s body, so be it. It was, at least, a diversion from his recent boredom. “Tell me my desert blossom, what amuses you?”
Kazim glanced towards the bookshelf which stood in the corner of the room. “Books amuse me, master.”
Zak nodded and went to the shelves. “This one is in your tongue. I will send Kamal for more.” He handed Kazim the leather bound copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. “Enjoy it well, my moon and stars.”
Kazim sat on the bed and opened the book. “You are too kind, master. Books are a comfort to me being so far from home.”
Zak straddled him from behind, stroking his thigh and dropping gentle kisses onto his neck. “I would be your comfort also my dove. I would have you find comfort in my arms.”
Kazim turned his face to Zak’s. “My heart is heavy with loss of my freedom and my home, master. Would you force open the petals of a flower or wait for it to burst open when nature would have it so.”
Zak huffed. “Do not tempt me, my pretty bird.”
Kazim leaned back into Zak’s body. “Your will is mine, master. I deny you nothing.”
Zak wrapped his arms around the boy’s chest. Perhaps the waiting was the real diversion. After all, once he was fucked he would stay fucked. It would be easy to win the boy’s body. The better prize, the finer game, would be to win the boy’s heart.
---
Chris ate a little less eagerly at their next banquet. Although the sheikh would laugh to hear it called that. After lunch they walked in the gardens, through the orange and olive groves and then to the bath house where they lazily splashed about in the warm sun. Every now and then he would clap to summon whatever he decided Chris needed. Finer soaps, oils, or mango juice. He was being pampered but the fire in the sheikh’s loins seemed to have been doused and instead the focus was on making Chris happy. It was an interesting development, and one that Chris was determined to make the most of. Their conversations so far had been rather shallow in nature, and Chris wanted to find out more about this man, to see who he was dealing with.
“Master, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Kazim.”
Chris didn’t like that he had been renamed but bit his tongue on the point and instead reflected the sheikh’s earlier question back at him. “What amuses you, master?”
The sheikh seemed surprised by the question. “What amuses all men, my boy. Fucking, food, wine and horses.”
Chris feigned shock. “Fucking horses, master?”
“No!” He sighed and counted on his fingers. “Fucking. Food. Wine. Horses.” He then paused and added a final finger. “Poetry.”
Chris nodded. They certainly had similar interests. “May I ask master, what poetry do you like?”
The sheikh looked off into the distance, then reached over to stroke Chris’s face. “He comes, O bliss! Fly swiftly, you winds, you odorous breezes, and tell him how long I've waited for this!
O happy that night, when sunk on your breast, your kisses fast falling, and drunken with love,
my troth I did plight. Again my sweet friend embrace me close. Yes, heaven does bless us,
and now you have won my love without end.”
Chris smiled and kissed the hand which held his face.
“And you, my star. Do you like poetry? Would you favour me with some from your tongue?”
Chris pondered a moment. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
for the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.”
For the first time since they had met the sheikh seemed dumbstruck. In his eyes was a flash of innocence as if he had been quickly returned to his early teenage years with no benefit of experience in love. Chris wondered whether the sheikh had ever truly felt love - he couldn't imagine what it would be like to have sex freely given to you from a young age, to never have to try and woo somebody. He drew closer to the sheikh, his arms loosely wrapped around him. Their eyes met, followed swiftly by their lips. Not in a bruising clash as they did after Chris had sucked the sheikh’s cock, but gently, tentatively, as if they had never before known each other’s touch.
“Ahem”.
They both turned to see Kamal gingerly waiting at the side of the pool. The sheikh sighed in frustration. “Kamal, I have never whipped a man over sixty, but I would make an exception in your case.”
Kamal held up his hands. “A thousand apologies sayyid, but you asked me to tell you as soon as the boy’s gift was ready.”
The sheikh brightened at this and clapped his hands. “Bring us clothes, I like the boy in pink today.”
As they got out of the pool Chris realised that he needed to secure himself some more dignified clothing. The pants that he was wearing showed every inch of his body and he felt like a prostitute wearing them. The pink ones were the worst of the lot. He tried to cover himself as well as he could and was mortified when he saw they were heading for an outbuilding where there were several men gathered. “Master,” he whispered. “Are the servants permitted to see your bedchamber?”
The sheikh scoffed. “Only Kamal and a few select others. Not these common dogs.”
“Are they to see me, your possession too? They will see as much of my body as you do when we bathe together.”
The sheikh looked down and immediately clapped. “Kamal, a futah at once. The boy is practically naked.”
Kamal bowed and returned moments later with a bright pink silk sarong which Chris thankfully fixed around his waist. As they continued on Chris could see that they were headed to the stables. A man darted out, bowing before the sheikh.
“Sayyid, the white boy’s gift is ready. Please follow me.”
After they had passed a dozen stables the man stopped and unlocked one, leading out the most beautiful horse that Chris had ever laid eyes on. It was a pure white Arabian, about fifteen hands, and had a light coloured leather saddle and bridle which was embroidered in blue and gold.
“A gift for you, my flower. He is as beautiful as you are. I will have Dabir teach you to ride him.”
Chris was so mesmerised by the horse that he forgot the humility he had been carefully cultivating around the changeable sheikh. “I can already ride him, master. My family has many horses, but none as beautiful as this one.” When the sheikh did not answer Chris panicked a little and turned to try to backtrack. “Forgive me, master, I am sure there is much to learn in riding, I did not mean to be boastful.”
“Your family has many horses? Are you herdsmen?”
Chris smiled. “No, master, my family deals in finance. We own banks.”
“Banks? This is a profitable enterprise. How many rooms does your house have?”
“Around a hundred and sixty..” Chris grew nervous at this line of questioning. If he embarrassed the sheikh he might be sold back to the pirates, or worse. The sheikh’s expression was unreadable, and Chris was about to claim to be lying and suffer the consequences when the sheikh laughed and broke into a wide smile.
“Do you hear this Kamal? Of all the traded slaves I could have picked for my bed I chose a foreign prince! Let no man doubt my taste, it is well known to be exquisite.”
Kamal bowed. “Yes sayyid, you have chosen well. The boy is high born.”
“Boy! He is not to be called ‘boy’, from now on you will call him Emir.”
Chris didn’t know what this meant but Kamal seemed shocked and slightly displeased, so he guessed it was a good thing.
“Come my prince, let us ride together. Do you like your gift?” The sheikh stroked the horse and tightened the bridle.
“I do master, but surely there is no need for expensive tack, I could ride him with a rope and blanket.”
“A rope and blanket?” The sheikh looked horrified. “He is yours and you are mine, so he is by extension my possession. I would not have any man see my possession in such a state of unreadiness.”
Chris waited for the penny to drop. When it did the resulting clap scared Kamal out of his skin.
“Kamal! Would you have the emir dress like a whore? Fetch him fine clothes, white to match his beautiful steed.”
Kamal bowed and retreated once more. When Chris and the sheikh finally were ready to ride they looked magnificent together, he in white robes with gold detail and the sheikh in black and silver riding his stunning jet black horse. As they galloped Chris felt so free and exhilarated that he forgot he was technically a prisoner. When they had ridden themselves to exhaustion they returned to the palace and stabled the horses. The sheikh was kind and gentle with his horse, feeding him himself and pouring water on the animal’s back to cool him. He held the horses head in his hands and stroked his snout, whispering to him. They made their way to the smaller bath inside the sheikh’s bed chamber where he treated Chris to similar ministrations which amused him no end. Chris felt that the sheikh was suitably relaxed to submit to more questions so he took some jasmine oil and massaged it into his shoulders as he subtly probed him.
“Do you have brothers and sisters, master?”
The sheikh paused but answered. “You are a prince, my love. It is improper for you to call me master now that I know you are high born. You must call me habibi. It means....friend.”
Chris surmised that it probably meant more than friend, but nodded all the same. “You honour me, habibi. Will you tell me of your family?”
“I have three sisters, all at their husbands’ houses.”
“And your mother and father?”
“My father died three years ago. My mother died when I was a child. And you my love, do you have family enough to fill your hundred and sixty rooms?”
“My parents are both alive, I have a sister, a nephew and niece.”
“What is a nephew and niece?”
“My sister’s children, a boy and a girl.”
“Ah, children! I love children. Children are all that is left in my harem.”
Chris gasped. “You have...children, in your harem?”
The sheikh turned as Chris’s hands stopped moving. “Of course, the older female children.
I allow the younger girls and boys to play together. Their laughter amuses me.” He paused and tilted his head. “Are you quite well my love? You look pale.”
Chris cleared his throat. “Where I am from, we do not fuck children.”
“Fuck?!! The sheikh laughed. “I do not fuck them! What stories have spread to your land?”
“But you said they are in your harem.” Chris was confused but relieved.
“Harem is where the women are, it is forbidden for men to enter. Yes, the women I used to fuck were there, but also children, the women servants...Kamal’s wife Muna was in there. I would sooner fuck a dead horse.”
Chris breathed a sigh of relief as the sheikh chuckled. “I apologise, habibi. My ignorance is unforgiveable.”
“You will learn, my dove. As I would learn of your land. Your father is a King?”
Chris laughed. “We do not have kings, habibi. We have rich men, and everyone in the country chooses men and women to lead them. Some of them are rich, some not. Most are.”
“Your father, is he a wise man?”
Chris thought about his father and felt a lump come to his throat. “He ugh...”
The sheikh enveloped him in his arms. “You miss them.”
Chris felt tears run down his face. This he had not expected. It was important, he had been taught, to put all thoughts of family and friends out of his mind if kidnapped. However, he had started the conversation about family and now he just couldn’t stop thinking about his mother, how the Legion must have informed her by now of his disappearance.
The sheikh held him tight. “Tomorrow my love, you will write to them. Tell them you are the guest of the sheikh Zakariyya al-Abdul Aziz and your every need is met.”
Chris choked up again. “Forgive me, habibi, but I could not lie to my mother.”
They were silent for a long time, Chris still shaking in the sheikh’s arms. Suddenly the sheikh released him, holding Chris’s shoulders and looking into his eyes. “You will write to them, and tell them a powerful sheikh has fallen in love with you, and is reticent to let you go. Also tell them...That you return to them within the month.” The sheikh turned away and stepped out of the bath, walking to the bed chamber.
Chris was shell shocked. He had wanted this but suddenly felt a deep sense of regret. Of course he did not want to remain a prisoner, but he was treated well here, had a romantic and handsome man catering to his every need, and lived in the lap of luxury with no work or responsibility. He took a deep breath and stepped from the bath, wrapping a towel around his waist and followed into the bed chamber.
The sheikh stood on the balcony with his back to him. Chris went out into the balmy air and looped his arms around him. The sheikh turned to face him, holding him tight once more.
“Habibi, I will write my letter tomorrow.” He whispered. The sheikh nodded sadly. “May I add to it, the following. ‘I will return to you within the month, bringing with me the master of my heart, the great sheikh Zakariyya al-Abdul Aziz, in the hope that he will ask permission to take me as his husband.”
The sheikh blinked. “The Imam would never allow such a thing between men, my love.”
“In my country we say...a common law husband. My family would understand this, if you think I am worthy.”
The sheikh smiled, then grinned, taking Chris in his arms. “The honour will be all mine, my heart.”
Chris looked into the sheikh’s eyes and kissed him deeply. He clutched at his new fiance’s body and whispered into his ear “Take me now, habibi.”
The sheikh gave a soft moan and maneuvered Chris toward the bed. When they reached it the sheikh stopped and gestured towards the plush bed clothes. “I would take your lead, my love.”
Chris smiled and climbed onto the bed, settling on his back amidst the satin and velvet. He bent his legs and beckoned the sheikh, who tentatively settled between them. Their tongues met and their bodies entwined as the late afternoon sun warmed their naked skin. Zak thrust against Chris until fingernails dug into his flesh.
Zak reached below the bed for his fragrant oil and doused his hand in it to delve into Chris’s ass and stretch him. Chris keened and moaned at the touch, bearing down onto Zak’s fingers.
“You open to me like a desert flower.” Zak whispered.
“As nature would have it.”
When Zak pushed inside Chris moaned and gripped him tighter. He had missed this feeling and didn’t want the sweet agony to end. As Zak began to thrust they moved together in perfect harmony, Chris almost bent double with his legs bent over Zak’s shoulders. Suddenly Zak pulled out and moved to a sitting position, pulling Chris back onto him. “I would look into your eyes.”
“As would I, habibi.” Chris started to fuck himself on Zak’s cock, staring deep into his eyes.
“Call me Zakariyya, I want to hear my name on your beautiful lips.”
“Zakariyya.”
“Kazi - “ Zak stopped himself. “No, Christuf, Christoffy..”
“Just Chris is fine.” Chris smiled as the sheikh blushed.
“Chris, you are perfect.” Zak kissed him once more, moaning into his mouth, and Chris knew his lover’s orgasm was upon him. He stroked his hitherto neglected cock and tensed around Zak, feeling him come hard inside him almost immediately. Panting, Zak placed his hand over Chris’s and together they had Chris spilling over Zak’s chest.
In their afterglow they pulled covers over themselves as the sweat cooled on their bodies from the soft breeze drifting from the balcony. Chris thought that Zakariyya had fallen asleep until he started to cuddle up to him and kiss his bare shoulder.
“We must visit your father immediately to gain his agreement to our union, Chris.”
Chris smiled at the thought of Zak presenting himself to his father. “Why do we need his agreement, habibi?”
Zak looked at him in confusion. “This is how it must be. The bride’s father hosts a celebration, and when he gives his consent we must read the Fatiha and toast with sherbat.”
Chris leaned up on one elbow. “I’m the bride now? It was my idea to get married!”
“You would not see me as a bride? I am the great Sheikh Zakariyya al - “
“Yes, I know your name habibi.” Chris rolled on top of his fiance, pinning him. “But after all, you are the one who wears a dress all day.”
Zak smiled and shrugged. “Your will is mine, my peach. I will wear my white dress and ask the permission of Kamal to become your bride.”
Chris laughed and kissed him, laying on his chest. As he lounged in the giant bed with his sheikh he reflected on the past month and the journey he had experienced. “I love you Zakariyya.” He whispered.
kepi - peaked cap worn by the French Foreign Legion
sayyid - sir/lord
ghutra - headdress
qasr - palace
thobe - long white robes with trousers underneath
futah - sarong
sirwal - 'harem pants'
Emir - prince
habibi - beloved
Imam - Islamic leader
Poems were ‘He Comes’ by Yehudah ha-Levi and How Do I Love Thee (Sonnet 43) by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Part Two
Zak stood over his bed looking at the curious creature within it. Last night he had rejected him and spoken of being forced. Yet this morning Zak had woken to find the boy’s arms around him as if they were lovers. He left the boy sleeping and went to seek out Kamal.
He found Kamal in the olive grove and waved away his protestations at the sheikh having to wander the palace for his attentions. “I needed to speak with you in private Kamal. The boy used a word ‘rape’, he spoke of not wanting to fuck me. What is he talking about? Is it because he is foreign?”
“Sayyid, if your stable boys refused to work, would you not have them whipped? Who is he to refuse you? You paid for him, he is yours.”
“But I do not understand Kamal. None of the women ever refused me.”
Kamal shook his head. “You have lived a prince’s life, sayyid. You want women, they come from the harem instead of the brothels. They had a good life here, why would they refuse and go back to the merchants and pirates?”
“But this one Kamal, he is different. How can I get him to fuck me? He is very confusing.” Zak peeled the skin from an olive then threw the whole thing away.
Kamal shrugged. “I do not know, sayyid. When my wife’s father refused me her hand, I wooed her until she cried and begged him to give permission.”
“How did you woo her?”
“With gifts and sweet words, sayyid.”
“Hmm. Have Dabir call upon me later, I would speak with him.”
Kamal bowed and retreated as Zak walked back to the bedroom. He found Kazim naked on the balcony, looking out at the gardens below.
“You will distract my gardeners, boy. I bought good clothes for you.” He picked out the green sirwal and handed them to Kazim. “Are you well?”
Kazim accepted the sirwal and pulled them on. “Yes, thank you master. I apologise for inconveniencing you.”
Zak waved away his apology. “It was understandable, my sweet flower. You had been ill treated by your captors, but here you are free to do as you wish. I ask only the tender touch of your hand when you are of mind to give it.” He took Kazim’s hand and kissed it gently.
There was a confused expression on the boy’s face which pleased Zak. If gifts and sweet words were the tools to win the boy’s body, so be it. It was, at least, a diversion from his recent boredom. “Tell me my desert blossom, what amuses you?”
Kazim glanced towards the bookshelf which stood in the corner of the room. “Books amuse me, master.”
Zak nodded and went to the shelves. “This one is in your tongue. I will send Kamal for more.” He handed Kazim the leather bound copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. “Enjoy it well, my moon and stars.”
Kazim sat on the bed and opened the book. “You are too kind, master. Books are a comfort to me being so far from home.”
Zak straddled him from behind, stroking his thigh and dropping gentle kisses onto his neck. “I would be your comfort also my dove. I would have you find comfort in my arms.”
Kazim turned his face to Zak’s. “My heart is heavy with loss of my freedom and my home, master. Would you force open the petals of a flower or wait for it to burst open when nature would have it so.”
Zak huffed. “Do not tempt me, my pretty bird.”
Kazim leaned back into Zak’s body. “Your will is mine, master. I deny you nothing.”
Zak wrapped his arms around the boy’s chest. Perhaps the waiting was the real diversion. After all, once he was fucked he would stay fucked. It would be easy to win the boy’s body. The better prize, the finer game, would be to win the boy’s heart.
---
Chris ate a little less eagerly at their next banquet. Although the sheikh would laugh to hear it called that. After lunch they walked in the gardens, through the orange and olive groves and then to the bath house where they lazily splashed about in the warm sun. Every now and then he would clap to summon whatever he decided Chris needed. Finer soaps, oils, or mango juice. He was being pampered but the fire in the sheikh’s loins seemed to have been doused and instead the focus was on making Chris happy. It was an interesting development, and one that Chris was determined to make the most of. Their conversations so far had been rather shallow in nature, and Chris wanted to find out more about this man, to see who he was dealing with.
“Master, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Kazim.”
Chris didn’t like that he had been renamed but bit his tongue on the point and instead reflected the sheikh’s earlier question back at him. “What amuses you, master?”
The sheikh seemed surprised by the question. “What amuses all men, my boy. Fucking, food, wine and horses.”
Chris feigned shock. “Fucking horses, master?”
“No!” He sighed and counted on his fingers. “Fucking. Food. Wine. Horses.” He then paused and added a final finger. “Poetry.”
Chris nodded. They certainly had similar interests. “May I ask master, what poetry do you like?”
The sheikh looked off into the distance, then reached over to stroke Chris’s face. “He comes, O bliss! Fly swiftly, you winds, you odorous breezes, and tell him how long I've waited for this!
O happy that night, when sunk on your breast, your kisses fast falling, and drunken with love,
my troth I did plight. Again my sweet friend embrace me close. Yes, heaven does bless us,
and now you have won my love without end.”
Chris smiled and kissed the hand which held his face.
“And you, my star. Do you like poetry? Would you favour me with some from your tongue?”
Chris pondered a moment. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
for the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.”
For the first time since they had met the sheikh seemed dumbstruck. In his eyes was a flash of innocence as if he had been quickly returned to his early teenage years with no benefit of experience in love. Chris wondered whether the sheikh had ever truly felt love - he couldn't imagine what it would be like to have sex freely given to you from a young age, to never have to try and woo somebody. He drew closer to the sheikh, his arms loosely wrapped around him. Their eyes met, followed swiftly by their lips. Not in a bruising clash as they did after Chris had sucked the sheikh’s cock, but gently, tentatively, as if they had never before known each other’s touch.
“Ahem”.
They both turned to see Kamal gingerly waiting at the side of the pool. The sheikh sighed in frustration. “Kamal, I have never whipped a man over sixty, but I would make an exception in your case.”
Kamal held up his hands. “A thousand apologies sayyid, but you asked me to tell you as soon as the boy’s gift was ready.”
The sheikh brightened at this and clapped his hands. “Bring us clothes, I like the boy in pink today.”
As they got out of the pool Chris realised that he needed to secure himself some more dignified clothing. The pants that he was wearing showed every inch of his body and he felt like a prostitute wearing them. The pink ones were the worst of the lot. He tried to cover himself as well as he could and was mortified when he saw they were heading for an outbuilding where there were several men gathered. “Master,” he whispered. “Are the servants permitted to see your bedchamber?”
The sheikh scoffed. “Only Kamal and a few select others. Not these common dogs.”
“Are they to see me, your possession too? They will see as much of my body as you do when we bathe together.”
The sheikh looked down and immediately clapped. “Kamal, a futah at once. The boy is practically naked.”
Kamal bowed and returned moments later with a bright pink silk sarong which Chris thankfully fixed around his waist. As they continued on Chris could see that they were headed to the stables. A man darted out, bowing before the sheikh.
“Sayyid, the white boy’s gift is ready. Please follow me.”
After they had passed a dozen stables the man stopped and unlocked one, leading out the most beautiful horse that Chris had ever laid eyes on. It was a pure white Arabian, about fifteen hands, and had a light coloured leather saddle and bridle which was embroidered in blue and gold.
“A gift for you, my flower. He is as beautiful as you are. I will have Dabir teach you to ride him.”
Chris was so mesmerised by the horse that he forgot the humility he had been carefully cultivating around the changeable sheikh. “I can already ride him, master. My family has many horses, but none as beautiful as this one.” When the sheikh did not answer Chris panicked a little and turned to try to backtrack. “Forgive me, master, I am sure there is much to learn in riding, I did not mean to be boastful.”
“Your family has many horses? Are you herdsmen?”
Chris smiled. “No, master, my family deals in finance. We own banks.”
“Banks? This is a profitable enterprise. How many rooms does your house have?”
“Around a hundred and sixty..” Chris grew nervous at this line of questioning. If he embarrassed the sheikh he might be sold back to the pirates, or worse. The sheikh’s expression was unreadable, and Chris was about to claim to be lying and suffer the consequences when the sheikh laughed and broke into a wide smile.
“Do you hear this Kamal? Of all the traded slaves I could have picked for my bed I chose a foreign prince! Let no man doubt my taste, it is well known to be exquisite.”
Kamal bowed. “Yes sayyid, you have chosen well. The boy is high born.”
“Boy! He is not to be called ‘boy’, from now on you will call him Emir.”
Chris didn’t know what this meant but Kamal seemed shocked and slightly displeased, so he guessed it was a good thing.
“Come my prince, let us ride together. Do you like your gift?” The sheikh stroked the horse and tightened the bridle.
“I do master, but surely there is no need for expensive tack, I could ride him with a rope and blanket.”
“A rope and blanket?” The sheikh looked horrified. “He is yours and you are mine, so he is by extension my possession. I would not have any man see my possession in such a state of unreadiness.”
Chris waited for the penny to drop. When it did the resulting clap scared Kamal out of his skin.
“Kamal! Would you have the emir dress like a whore? Fetch him fine clothes, white to match his beautiful steed.”
Kamal bowed and retreated once more. When Chris and the sheikh finally were ready to ride they looked magnificent together, he in white robes with gold detail and the sheikh in black and silver riding his stunning jet black horse. As they galloped Chris felt so free and exhilarated that he forgot he was technically a prisoner. When they had ridden themselves to exhaustion they returned to the palace and stabled the horses. The sheikh was kind and gentle with his horse, feeding him himself and pouring water on the animal’s back to cool him. He held the horses head in his hands and stroked his snout, whispering to him. They made their way to the smaller bath inside the sheikh’s bed chamber where he treated Chris to similar ministrations which amused him no end. Chris felt that the sheikh was suitably relaxed to submit to more questions so he took some jasmine oil and massaged it into his shoulders as he subtly probed him.
“Do you have brothers and sisters, master?”
The sheikh paused but answered. “You are a prince, my love. It is improper for you to call me master now that I know you are high born. You must call me habibi. It means....friend.”
Chris surmised that it probably meant more than friend, but nodded all the same. “You honour me, habibi. Will you tell me of your family?”
“I have three sisters, all at their husbands’ houses.”
“And your mother and father?”
“My father died three years ago. My mother died when I was a child. And you my love, do you have family enough to fill your hundred and sixty rooms?”
“My parents are both alive, I have a sister, a nephew and niece.”
“What is a nephew and niece?”
“My sister’s children, a boy and a girl.”
“Ah, children! I love children. Children are all that is left in my harem.”
Chris gasped. “You have...children, in your harem?”
The sheikh turned as Chris’s hands stopped moving. “Of course, the older female children.
I allow the younger girls and boys to play together. Their laughter amuses me.” He paused and tilted his head. “Are you quite well my love? You look pale.”
Chris cleared his throat. “Where I am from, we do not fuck children.”
“Fuck?!! The sheikh laughed. “I do not fuck them! What stories have spread to your land?”
“But you said they are in your harem.” Chris was confused but relieved.
“Harem is where the women are, it is forbidden for men to enter. Yes, the women I used to fuck were there, but also children, the women servants...Kamal’s wife Muna was in there. I would sooner fuck a dead horse.”
Chris breathed a sigh of relief as the sheikh chuckled. “I apologise, habibi. My ignorance is unforgiveable.”
“You will learn, my dove. As I would learn of your land. Your father is a King?”
Chris laughed. “We do not have kings, habibi. We have rich men, and everyone in the country chooses men and women to lead them. Some of them are rich, some not. Most are.”
“Your father, is he a wise man?”
Chris thought about his father and felt a lump come to his throat. “He ugh...”
The sheikh enveloped him in his arms. “You miss them.”
Chris felt tears run down his face. This he had not expected. It was important, he had been taught, to put all thoughts of family and friends out of his mind if kidnapped. However, he had started the conversation about family and now he just couldn’t stop thinking about his mother, how the Legion must have informed her by now of his disappearance.
The sheikh held him tight. “Tomorrow my love, you will write to them. Tell them you are the guest of the sheikh Zakariyya al-Abdul Aziz and your every need is met.”
Chris choked up again. “Forgive me, habibi, but I could not lie to my mother.”
They were silent for a long time, Chris still shaking in the sheikh’s arms. Suddenly the sheikh released him, holding Chris’s shoulders and looking into his eyes. “You will write to them, and tell them a powerful sheikh has fallen in love with you, and is reticent to let you go. Also tell them...That you return to them within the month.” The sheikh turned away and stepped out of the bath, walking to the bed chamber.
Chris was shell shocked. He had wanted this but suddenly felt a deep sense of regret. Of course he did not want to remain a prisoner, but he was treated well here, had a romantic and handsome man catering to his every need, and lived in the lap of luxury with no work or responsibility. He took a deep breath and stepped from the bath, wrapping a towel around his waist and followed into the bed chamber.
The sheikh stood on the balcony with his back to him. Chris went out into the balmy air and looped his arms around him. The sheikh turned to face him, holding him tight once more.
“Habibi, I will write my letter tomorrow.” He whispered. The sheikh nodded sadly. “May I add to it, the following. ‘I will return to you within the month, bringing with me the master of my heart, the great sheikh Zakariyya al-Abdul Aziz, in the hope that he will ask permission to take me as his husband.”
The sheikh blinked. “The Imam would never allow such a thing between men, my love.”
“In my country we say...a common law husband. My family would understand this, if you think I am worthy.”
The sheikh smiled, then grinned, taking Chris in his arms. “The honour will be all mine, my heart.”
Chris looked into the sheikh’s eyes and kissed him deeply. He clutched at his new fiance’s body and whispered into his ear “Take me now, habibi.”
The sheikh gave a soft moan and maneuvered Chris toward the bed. When they reached it the sheikh stopped and gestured towards the plush bed clothes. “I would take your lead, my love.”
Chris smiled and climbed onto the bed, settling on his back amidst the satin and velvet. He bent his legs and beckoned the sheikh, who tentatively settled between them. Their tongues met and their bodies entwined as the late afternoon sun warmed their naked skin. Zak thrust against Chris until fingernails dug into his flesh.
Zak reached below the bed for his fragrant oil and doused his hand in it to delve into Chris’s ass and stretch him. Chris keened and moaned at the touch, bearing down onto Zak’s fingers.
“You open to me like a desert flower.” Zak whispered.
“As nature would have it.”
When Zak pushed inside Chris moaned and gripped him tighter. He had missed this feeling and didn’t want the sweet agony to end. As Zak began to thrust they moved together in perfect harmony, Chris almost bent double with his legs bent over Zak’s shoulders. Suddenly Zak pulled out and moved to a sitting position, pulling Chris back onto him. “I would look into your eyes.”
“As would I, habibi.” Chris started to fuck himself on Zak’s cock, staring deep into his eyes.
“Call me Zakariyya, I want to hear my name on your beautiful lips.”
“Zakariyya.”
“Kazi - “ Zak stopped himself. “No, Christuf, Christoffy..”
“Just Chris is fine.” Chris smiled as the sheikh blushed.
“Chris, you are perfect.” Zak kissed him once more, moaning into his mouth, and Chris knew his lover’s orgasm was upon him. He stroked his hitherto neglected cock and tensed around Zak, feeling him come hard inside him almost immediately. Panting, Zak placed his hand over Chris’s and together they had Chris spilling over Zak’s chest.
In their afterglow they pulled covers over themselves as the sweat cooled on their bodies from the soft breeze drifting from the balcony. Chris thought that Zakariyya had fallen asleep until he started to cuddle up to him and kiss his bare shoulder.
“We must visit your father immediately to gain his agreement to our union, Chris.”
Chris smiled at the thought of Zak presenting himself to his father. “Why do we need his agreement, habibi?”
Zak looked at him in confusion. “This is how it must be. The bride’s father hosts a celebration, and when he gives his consent we must read the Fatiha and toast with sherbat.”
Chris leaned up on one elbow. “I’m the bride now? It was my idea to get married!”
“You would not see me as a bride? I am the great Sheikh Zakariyya al - “
“Yes, I know your name habibi.” Chris rolled on top of his fiance, pinning him. “But after all, you are the one who wears a dress all day.”
Zak smiled and shrugged. “Your will is mine, my peach. I will wear my white dress and ask the permission of Kamal to become your bride.”
Chris laughed and kissed him, laying on his chest. As he lounged in the giant bed with his sheikh he reflected on the past month and the journey he had experienced. “I love you Zakariyya.” He whispered.
kepi - peaked cap worn by the French Foreign Legion
sayyid - sir/lord
ghutra - headdress
qasr - palace
thobe - long white robes with trousers underneath
futah - sarong
sirwal - 'harem pants'
Emir - prince
habibi - beloved
Imam - Islamic leader
Poems were ‘He Comes’ by Yehudah ha-Levi and How Do I Love Thee (Sonnet 43) by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.