I made love to him last night.
Again.
In my dreams.
"Great Pharaoh," I say, taking great pride in hearing my own voice as calm and composed as ever, with a light, soothing tone to it- it is late, very late, and even the servants are swaying on their feet. The girl who is refilling the oil lamps is spilling the aromatic liquid, barely able to keep her eyes open. My fellow Priests, all gathered around the large, rectangular table, are staring at the pile of papyri, spread out all over the table top. I doubt if they're absorbing any more information at this point; after all, we've been through this time and time again.
I feel guilty, because I, as captain of the royal tomb guard, am the one in charge of the supervision and protection of the royal tombs. Ever since that King of Thieves, the man who called himself Bakura, barged into the Palace with the sarcophagus of the late, former Pharaoh, everyone has been on the edge-- especially the current Pharaoh. My Pharaoh, who I have sworn to serve and to protect, with everything that lies within my power.
"You must be very tired, Great Pharaoh," I say, gently, though a little pushing. He insisted on going over the construction plans of the royal tombs to prevent anyone from breaking into them again as easily as Bakura had done. Our eldest advisor, Shimon, had been responsible for the design, which had been nearly flawless; either Bakura had extensive help or he was just plain lucky. Whatever it might be, staring at the designs all afternoon and discussing several methods for reinforcement isn't helping, not now.
As he isn't answering, I straighten myself and snap my fingers, the few servants still in the room immediately jerking out of their thoughts. Set narrows his eyes at me, but it's a hardly impressive glare- I can see that even he is ready to keel over. It's been a long day, for all of us.
"Take care of this," I order the servants, pointing at the table with the papyri, empty cups and some plates. Aishizu hides a yawn behind her small hand, Akunadin rubs his eye -not the one with the Millennium Eye in it, that would be... rather painful-, and Kalim blinks a few times before nudging Shaadah, who almost has fallen asleep standing right up. Still, no one dares to move away from the table, as the Pharaoh hasn't announced the meeting is over.
"Great Pharaoh?"
"Yes," he finally answers, a bit clipped. He moves his head up, crimson red eyes shining with that fierce determination, the same stubbornness and strength as his father, the same belief in justice radiating from his face. The only reason he's still sitting straight up, concentration blocking the exterior signs of fatigue and tiredness, is because of his strong willpower.
"It is late," I mention again, prepared to suffer a scolding if need be. He certainly would realize this meeting will end up in nothing if his Priests are too tired to participate.
"Very well," he answers me, barely refraining from snorting. He knows we're all too tired to stand on our feet, and he knows we know how he drains his willpower to keep from giving into the fatigue himself- still, he's a son of the Gods, standing above us all. He can't show any discomfort or weakness, let alone something simple and human as being tired.
"Meeting dismissed."
Everyone bows for him before bidding him a good night's rest, retreating from the room while the servants take away the dirty dishes and carefully roll up the papyri. One of the servant girls starts to sweep the room almost soundlessly. I watch Shaadah leave, which means it's only me and the Pharaoh still left, beside the servants.
"Pharaoh, allow me to escort you to your quarters," I offer, and he looks up at me, a glimmer of gratitude showing on his face.
"Thank you, Mahaado," he says, standing up from the chair and a small grimace of pain flashes over his face. A son of the Gods might be pampered in some ways, but there aren't fluffy pillows or cushions for him in this meeting room. Sitting all those hours on a hard wooden and gold chair must have been... uncomfortable for one's backside, though he refrains from rubbing it, only moving a little stiffly as he takes the first steps towards the exit.
The hallway is empty, and only the sound of footsteps are heard; mine, the Pharaoh's and those of the guards walking behind us, eyes shooting back and forth as to anticipate any danger. I look over at him, his pace a little slowly, eyes lowered as in deep in thought.
"Pharaoh," I say, "are you all right?"
He tilts his head, automatically searching for my face, my eyes- he does that to everyone, as his father has taught him to always look one another in the eyes. It would help if he was a little taller, though- but lack of height has never had any influence on the greatness of his personality.
"I am fine," he answers me, drawling a little. I know he's not all right- if anything, he took the whole ordeal with the Thief King the worst. Everyone was upset by the thief barging into the Throne Room, dragging the body of the late Pharaoh with him- the sacrilege, the lack of respect, the audacity of it all... it was as if someone stomped you in the face... repeatedly.
"You need a good night's rest," I say, adding a "Great Pharaoh" a little too late. I see a smile tugging at his lips, which isn't surprising. We have known each other since the early days of our childhood, but he is the Pharaoh, and I am just a Priest. I remind myself mentally once again that I shouldn't be so careless with this overly frank display of familiarity.
"I could use a good night of sleep, yes," he suddenly says, disrupting the silence, dark purple cloak rustling behind him, cloth caressing and swirling around his ankles. The nights are cool in the Palace, despite the lit oil lamps every two meters; the scent is rather heavy, almost headache inducing.
"Pharaoh, if you wish, I can bring you some tea, prepared with all the right ingredients to ensure one's rest without problems," I tell him. I know of various sleeping spells as well, but I am a little hesitant in practicing heka like that. The response to a spell is different from person to person, and I rather not cast a spell –unless it is some kind of protective one- over him. My knowledge of plants and herbs is extensive enough to be able to prepare such a tea; to help him relax easy enough to fall asleep. "I also can bring you some incense, its scent will be soothing."
"I thank you," he answers me, "that is a good idea, Mahaado." He holds still, as we have arrived at his personal quarters. The guards keep themselves at a small distance; close enough to immediately protect him in sight of any danger, and too close to overhear everything I say to him. I refrain from biting my lip. Those days of wandering around in the courtyard, where I tried to educate him with the names of the growing flowers and herbs, when he absorbed everything I told him, when he was 'just' the Prince and I still a Priest in training...
Those days have gone by, and have been replaced by this distance, a bridge we need to cross every time when we're in front of others. I can see it in his eyes as well, that he hates that visible and invisible distance and how it has changed… everything between us. I shake my head almost imperceptibly. There is no us... and there never will be. First Prince, now Pharaoh- and I am still a Priest, I am still just Mahaado, and for all there is, there is this bond between us for which I am grateful, though I wish…
"I will see you soon, then," his voice rings out to me, a faint amused undertone to it. I quickly bow to him, hoping that the sudden blush on my cheeks goes unnoticed, even though I know better. When I straighten myself, I catch a glimpse of his smile before he moves to the door, the golden crown mirroring a flicker of the closest oil lamp, the flame rendering a glow to the jewellery that is absolutely breathtaking in contrast to his skin. I can't even return the words; I simply bow again and turn around myself, to go to my own chambers.
I return to his quarters, carrying a small wooden container that holds the tea I prepared- it needs to brew a little while, for the mixture of tea leaves and dried herbs to fully add their flavour and beneficial qualities to the hot water. I nod at the guard announcing me, as I step into the large room, pointedly holding the container in front of me as not to spill the liquid. I start walking over the large tiles before my ankles start to sink away in the deep, rich carpets, passing by furniture; mostly couches and seats, made from the best materials Khemet has to offer.
Leaving the antechamber behind me, I enter an even larger room where the Pharaoh actually is; he's in the east corner, sitting on a low chair behind a small desk, two women standing next to him, one at each side. They hold his purple cloak in their hands to fold it up- I know them: two honest, loyal servants who have been working at the Palace for years. I greet them as I walk past them, placing the container on a wooden side table. I take off the top lid, pulling away as the damp air wafts towards me.
"Dismissed," he suddenly says as one of the women is putting the cloak away and the other is reaching for his ears with her hands up in the air, freezing as the command is spoken. After a mere second, they bow to him, their clothing rustling with the movement, and they leave the room without questions. I have been here before, as a Priest, as an advisor, as a friend. Nothing else. As the doors are closed, he still hasn't moved to look behind him or to acknowledge me.
"My Pharaoh," I say, lowering my voice even though it is impossible for us to be overheard. "I brought you the tea and the incense for your rest." Fortunately I remembered to take the incense with me at the last second. Inside these quarters is the only time and opportunity that I dare to address him with "My Pharaoh" instead of "Great Pharaoh". It might just be small thing, even a silly thing, but it reminds us both, I guess, of how good friends we used to be, a small touch of familiarity that makes us... more equal again. He never objected, but never asked me to use it in public either.
"Very well," is his answer, and that's all I need to continue- I step up to him, noticing his rigid posture, sitting up straight, hands on the table. I bow, though he doesn't see it, still looking forward, and I retrieve the cup with the scorching hot liquid to put it in front of him. One small magic spell ignites the incense after placing it in its appropriate holder; it will take a little time for the scent to spread through the room. I close the distance between us, and bring up my hands.
I take off his earrings and I place them on the table in front of him.
I want to trace the earlobes, trail with my fingers along the shell... I want to see him shiver in delightful anticipation, as I touch his ears, moving my hand so that my fingers will brush his cheek, touching the smooth, tan skin... I want to see a blush appear, a dark blush of pleasure.
I take off his broad necklace, fingers lingering as I remove the heavy golden weight, putting it on the stand next to him.
I want to caress the skin, touch his collarbones and stroke them, his shoulders, his throat, his neck...I want to force gently but determinedly his head back and tilt it, to look into his eyes, those crimson windows, and I want to see them get clouded with passion and desire, I want him to lower his eyes so I can touch those long dark lashes.
I take off his crown carefully, as not to mess up his hair, using the brush from the table to comb some wayward strands back in place.
I want to kiss him on his brow and move lower, kiss his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, until I reach his lips and I will capture them, hold them hostage between my own lips because I want to taste them, taste and nip and tug, and drown and die when I do, if only for a small sample of that taste.
I take off the golden bands around his waist, smoothing out his shenti, fingers moving over the fabric to straighten the folds.
I want to lift up the thin fabric and touch his bare skin... tenderly or roughly, I still haven't decided... I want to remove the fabric, pulling it over his body, exposing inch after inch of skin, and I want to kiss between his shoulder blades, trail past his spine and move to his hips as he shudders even more in anticipation, softly moaning, and bring my hands to his chest and abdomen... I want to trace the muscles, feeling them ripple under my fingers, surrendering to my touch.
I don't know how long I have been standing there, but it suddenly dawns to me that he leans against my chest, my hands are still on his hips and my breathing is irregular. My hands are on his hips. Gods! He doesn't seem to notice as his eyes are closed, the same long dark lashes touching his cheeks. The fatigue clouding his features seem to have disappeared, or at least faded away, if only a little...
When I look at the table I see the empty tea cup, his fingers still curling around its ear. I haven't even noticed that he was drinking it, and a dark red tints my cheeks as I know very well where my mind has been. He probably didn't even need the tea; it was sheer fatigue that made him fall asleep. It's only now that I fully realize how... heavy... he's leaning against me, completely unaware of the world around him, the night that has fallen, and my mind wants to rejoice that he's at ease and relaxed enough to fall asleep against me, while my rationality is simply pointing out that I was merely convenient- the Pharaoh would've probably fallen off his chair if I hadn't been around.
Shifting around him, I lean forward to disentangle his fingers from the cup, using this opportunity to touch his slender digits and the rings on them. It all is perfection to my eyes, and I know I have to be careful. Just a Priest... just a Priest. As I move, I lift him up from the chair, placing one arm under his knees and another arm around his shoulders. Not a single sound escapes him, head lolling to my shoulder, his arm slipping from his lap and dangling limply.
"My Pharaoh," I mumble softly, as I turn around and move towards the large bed, making a mental note that he feels too light to my taste. He really should eat more and get better rest... but haven't we all been telling him that?
"Hmm..?" he makes a noncommittal sound, hearing me but not awake enough to really answer me. He parts his lips a little, as if he's going to speak… but no words are issued and he falls silent again.
I pull back the sheets a little awkwardly before lying him down on the bed, ensuring that his head sinks into the mass of cool pillows. I adjust his arms, placing his hands on his chest, seeing it rise and lower with the strength of his breathing. I smooth out his shenti again, my fingers curling at the hem with the question on my mind if I should take it off of him or not, before I finally straighten myself and step away from the bed... force myself to step away from the bed.
It is the ultimate form of temptation, of touching him beyond the boundaries of a simple Priest, touching the son of the Gods and just feel, feel him underneath me, and I have to remind myself of who I am. I am his friend, his Priest, his advisor. When he was still a young Prince, he once sucked out the poison from a snake bite in my arm, claiming that we were all the same, no matter which rank or position we held. I know he has realized ever since that it is not as simple as he worded it.
It does matter... and it does matter that I am a Priest and he is the Pharaoh. The Sun and Evening Star, God, everything... even though I see a young boy lying on the bed, a small child, breathing evenly and finally asleep because he is exhausted.
I know that this night is like previous nights. I have put him to bed before, a few times he even asked me to stay with him until he fell asleep. The last lingering strings of whatever there was between us, changing into something else between us- because no matter what, I will always be bonded to My Pharaoh. This night is like previous nights, indeed. I will put him to bed as I have done before, touching only his cheeks, touching his eyelashes and brushing the golden bangs out of his face. Like any other night, he will give me this strange feeling of hope as he will lean into my touch, subconsciously, as my heart skips a beat, aching to hear him mumbling my name even though he only wants to tell me to get some rest myself... and finally, he will heave that small sigh, a contented sigh, before finally sinking into a healthy and deep sleep.
I pull up the sheets, covering his body. He never said something about waking up in his shenti to me before, and I doubt he ever will. He moves his head a little to the side, exhaling; his face is devoid from worries, lips a little pursed. I lift my hand to touch his cheeks, knowing this is as close as I can get to him. I have to accept that, even though I want to be closer, want to be with him, sharing with him as we did before... before our duty called, before we were separated by ranks, before we separated ourselves. My fingers touch his eyelashes, so contrasting with his skin. I have never seen someone with such long and dark lashes before. He has always been beautiful, a shining star that makes it difficult for me to distinguish between my grip on reality and fantasy.
Brushing the golden bangs out of his face, I know I am torturing myself with this desire I can never fulfil, a desire I can never settle. My place is next to him, my duty is to believe in him, and my desire is to be with him… more than anything. I will believe in him, My Pharaoh, I have my faith in him and I will place it before everything else. Dying for him, begging for him, crying for him... there is nothing that I wouldn't do for him, if only to get closer. Be with him.
My fingers are resting on his cheek, and he responds to it, leaning into my touch, subconsciously, as always. He is asleep. Vulnerable, open... the temptation that I must resist, and I will resist. I wouldn't do anything to him that would harm him- I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. I watch his lips, hoping, yearning, that he will say it now... but the silence is deafening and strangely numbing. I'm not disappointed, not in the least. He could never disappoint me.
I smile. Of course he can't see me, and he knows nothing about me standing here and watching him. He never knows, or will know, how long I'll be standing here. I hear him heave a sigh, content as it is, and I smile again, convinced that his dreams are nice and good, that the sleep that has claimed him is doing him good. I will always be close to My Pharaoh. That is my duty. I will deny everything I feel, I will discard every inappropriate emotion, I will bury myself if need be, just to be close to him. One day I will... no, I might kiss him, physically, and touch his skin with my lips, but for now, this will have to do. I am already bound to him in mind and soul... the body can wait.
Gathering the empty tea cup and its container, I also extinguish the incense, leaving the remnants for the servants to clean up in the morning. I am tired as well; it has been a very long day, and my usual brooding has left me exhausted. Maybe I will pour myself a cup of the same tea I brought him, My Pharaoh. I turn around, looking at him one more time before finally leaving, knowing that I will dream about him.
This night.
Again.
I will make love to him
In my dreams.