TITLE: Pillows and Pavilions.
BY: Starkiller
RATING: NC17
PAIRING: Ardeth Bey/?
CATEGORY: AU (alternate universe), PWP (plot what
plot), ABH (anywhere but here).
DISCLAIMER: Mine he is not, dream a girl can. Money?
What is this thing of which you speak! Sue me and all you'll get is dust from
under my sofa. Can't get blood from a stone, chum.
ARCHIVE: WWOMB, my site.
NOTES: For Minnie, Mom-Ra, and Mistress Sky, because
you guys rock. Before you ask where did I get the idea? Mrs. Bunny. http://mrsbunny.50megs.com
FEEDBACK: Its an experiment, so if this sucks, please
be gentle.
PILLOWS
AND PAVILIONS
By Starkiller
*****
You awaken, not quite knowing where you are. Looking
around you, you can see that you are in a pavilion, of the desert style used by
sheiks to house their harem women. Feeling slightly confused, you take in your
surrounds with more attention to detail. You are lying on a bed of silken
pillows, in every colour of the rainbow. The floor of the pavilion is covered
with priceless Persian rugs, and on the far side of the pavilion is a table
with two chairs and a portable bath.
Oh yeah...a bath. You can feel the sand in your hair
and have an overwhelming need to wash it out. What is it about
Struggling to your feet, you try to remember what
happened, how you came to be in this pavilion of feminine luxury. Vague images
and impressions flit behind your eyes, a sense of having been lost in the
desert, separated from your party seeking a city of myth and legend...and
hearing the screams of those you cared about, and those that you didn't ring in
your ears as something unspeakable destroyed them completely.
So why are you still here? Still alive, and in this
place?
Frowning, you jump as you hear a slight noise behind
you.
"It is good to see you are awake at last."
You turn, looking up into the deepest, brown eyes you
have ever seen. The face brings back the memories. Something came from beneath
the sand, it came with strength and force and ferocity. It destroyed
indiscriminately. You were grabbed by the back of your tunic, and swept up onto
a beautiful black horse, held in strong, powerful arms. The arms belong to the
owner of the dark brown eyes you are now looking up into.
You struggle to form a word, a sentence---anything.
All that comes out is a soft "oh...."
The owner of those dark brown eyes smiles. You notice
his even white teeth, the gentleness of his face, the concern and tenderness in
his smile. You feel your legs turn to butter. This is not just a beautiful man,
this is a man gifted with beauty.
"How are you feeling? Are you rested?"
You nod, unable to say or do anything more. You know
your companions are dead and worse, yet strangely, you do not seem to care.
Your world has narrowed to the person of this man, whose concern touches you in
the deepest parts of your heart and soul.
"Do you require anything?"
You nod, at last finally finding your tongue.
"A bath would be great."
"Of course."
He leads you to the bath, calling orders in Arabic
over his shoulder. Several women come rushing in with pails of hot water, which
they pour into the tub. They leave as silently and as swiftly as they arrived,
leaving you alone with this man. This man who's name you have to know.
"Who...who are you?"
"Forgive me. I am Ardeth Bey, current leader of
the Med-jai."
The world tilts a little and you feel yourself sway.
Whether from the heat of the desert, the memories that are coming back in full
force, or the strength of this man's presence. Perhaps its a combination of all
three. You don't know, you don't care. He reaches out and steadies you.
"Here. Let me help you."
Soft, strong hands slowly undress you, then you feel
yourself being scooped up again in those powerful arms and gently laid in the
tub of steaming water. The hands begin to massage your skin, finding soap and
washing away the desert from your skin and your hair. You sink lower in the
tub, eyes closed, luxuriating in the sensations of being pampered. Oh yes, they
should teach the men of the west how to do this.
You can hear the soft growl deep in the throat of the
man who is bathing you and rinsing your hair. You open your eyes slightly and
see that he has removed his clothing except for tight fitting trousers, which
leave nothing to the imagination. Drinking in the image of his strong, muscular
chest, his powerful arms, you reach up with now clean hands, dripping with hot
water, and touch his tattooed cheeks, bringing his face to yours.
When he kisses you, the world stops, time stands still
and the universe becomes one small focal point of a soft, warm tongue gently
tasting your mouth.
"More."
Silently, he bends down, once again picking you up,
removing you from the tub. Still dripping wet, you find yourself being
deposited on the pile of pillows upon which you had first found yourself. He
starts rubbing you down with a fine white towel, opening your legs wide when
drying the inside of your thighs. He rubs between the cheeks of your bottom,
then turns his attention to your swollen, pink, slit, managing to skillfully
rub your clit so as to produce, seemingly by accident, the soft build up of an
orgasm.
Throwing aside all pretenses now, he tosses away the
towel, and inserts his finger into your clit. He gently rubs it for a while and
then lowers his mouth and starts to kiss, to lick and to nibble ever so gently
upon over-sensitive flesh. Pressing his face inside you, between the
wide-spread thighs, he glues his lips to your flesh, pushing his tongue in
deeper and deeper, swirling it around, and inciting your passion to fever
pitch.
When you come, it is the orgasm that you read about in
books, heard gossiped about in libraries back at the college you went to to
learn about Egypt. It is everything that was promised and more.
He moves back up your body and you can see that he has
shed his trousers. His beautiful naked form hovers over you, and he smiles
gently down at you, his long black hair falling over his face like a curtain.
You reach behind his head, hands finding his neck, fingers twining in his hair.
Leaning up, you kiss him as passionately as you can, putting all your desire
for him into that kiss.
He wraps his arms around you, his fingers in your hair
as yours are in his. Bound together by passion and desire, you barely feel him
slide his thick, erect cock inside you. He stays, motionless, waiting a word
from you. You gasp, wanting more.
"Please."
He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your eyes, your
hair as he slowly moves in and out, bringing you to orgasm once again, even as
he comes himself. You both cry out in release, feeling the shudders pass through
his body and yours.
You have never wanted anyone as much as you want him.
He seems to know this. He knows exactly what to do to make you feel more
pleasure and passion than you had ever known was possible. No-one else will
ever be able to take his place.
You gaze into each other's eyes, understanding flowing
between each of you. Words are unnecessary. He knows you want him, and you feel
joy, because he wants you just as much.
Tracing one finger along his jaw line, you whisper one
word:
"Again?"
FIN!