Warning: angsty, dub-consent issues with attempted sex
say that ten times. LOL.
———————————————- Part 14C ———————————————-
(Nicolo)
Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century
It was tucked inside a scroll.
Nicolo paused from wiping his face and throat with the rag. Yusuf was enthusiastic with his farewells, kissing and then turning to leave for the village.
Only to come charging back, crowding Nicolo against their house, kissing so deep, Nicolo thought he tasted the mint tea Yusuf favored when they broke fast this morning. Yusuf claimed he tasted the flatbread with the stewed figs Nicolo had. Nicolo hastily disagreed. There was a gleam in Yusuf’s eye that promised a repeat which led to other things. It was why Yusuf did not go as intended yesterday.
Yusuf had insisted he would go and see the baker and fix the cart as Nicolo originally promised. They were a few days late, but Yusuf had accepted the coin after Nicolo fled. Yusuf also hoped to charm the baker into making a replacement rosemary loaf.
It was cowardly, no, embarrassing how much Nicolo did not want to see the baker’s youngest son again. The boy meant no harm and Yusuf was amused (after the initial spell of outrage).
Nicolo offered to finish the table repairs while Yusuf plied his new skills on the cart. Yusuf unfortunately did not have much affinity with wood unlike Nicolo. He learned to chisel and cut straight in the monastery to earn his day’s bread and the chance to learn how to read Latin. With Yusuf in the village, Nicolo could fix some of the repairs with what wood remained.
It was during his search for a plane to sand one of the legs. As he tugged it out from their sacks under their bed, a scroll unfurled as well.
Nicolo blinked at the deep blue band around the high quality papyrus and the dots left unfilled. Yusuf once explained he liked to draw outlines where he would embellish them with sparkles of silver tinted ink, mixed with turmeric so it could gleam gold.
In the middle of the vaguely familiar scroll, lay the silver tipped pen. The one Yusuf insisted he did not need. The one that took the coin of two merchants’ worth and had left Nicolo gagging for days in memory.
He did not regret it. He did not. It was done. It was fine.
Nicolo crouched down to the floor. He did not touch the pen. His throat worked.
It is only a pen, Nicolo reasoned. He picked it up with an unsteady hand and gazed down at it.
Nicolo expected the pen to be heavy and pulling him down, but it was light. It was only a tool for Yusuf to create beautiful things, a channel for the ink to go where Yusuf desired.
It was broken.
Upon inspection, Nicolo realized there was a crack along the entire length of the pen, a strange twisted knot of cracks in the center. As if a great weight went on it, but the pen did not bend and simply spread the damage.
Yusuf tried to break it, could not, then hid it away.
Nicolo cradled the instrument, his throat working as he realized he has not seen Yusuf do his pen work since they arrived here. Even the letters and the one illustrated scroll was done with the battered pen he packed for their past travels.
The more Nicolo tried to help, the worst he made it.
Nicolo stroked the pen, imagining it was Yusuf’s steady fingers around the slender object. He thought of Yusuf hunched over thick textured paper on a table, that small smile peeking through his thick, soft beard, his eyes glazed over as he coaxed art out of ink.
It has been so long since he has seen Yusuf like that.
Nicolo roughly scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve. The coarse fabric irritated his eyes. It was why everything seemed to blur.
The pen was tucked back into the scroll. Nicolo took care rolling the paper, his eyes sweeping over the border as it disappeared within the scroll. Even without the glimmer of ink, the small hollow dots looked like stars. But he did not dare to take a closer look. His hands may hurt the artwork. Has he not done enough damage already?
The scroll was tucked back into Yusuf’s pack. Nicolo knelt on his knees, stooped awkwardly low. He stared at Yusuf’s bag under the bed, stared until his knees hurt, healed and then hurt again.
Nicolo closed his eyes, but his heart could not find a prayer that would fit. He has not found a prayer for anything since they fled Damascus. However, he tucked a thought of Yusuf bent over his art within his heart, murmured a plea that Yusuf will return and rose to his feet.
Nicolo smiled faintly as Yusuf gestured how the baker’s son fumbled and tripped as they worked on the cart. He chuckled as Yusuf reenacted the son flailing as one of the cart’s wheels rolled away.
“...and that horse simply stood there and stared at me as if to ask ‘What do you wish for me to do?’ as the wheel rolled past.”
Yusuf’s arms dropped against his sides. He step forward and stood in-between Nicolo’s knees. He rubbed Nicolo's shoulders.
"I see our table stands. It obeyed your commands and did not collapse," Yusuf murmured. He did not glance behind him. "Did the rest of your day entertained you well?"
Nicolo nodded. He curled his hands on Yusuf's wrists.
Yusuf's hands pressed deeper across the shoulders, soothing a strain Nicolo did not realize existed until now.
Nicolo grunted. He tried to roll his head back.
"What is it?" Yusuf stepped closer, his body like the heat of a campfire this close to Nicolo's face. His hands continued to massage, sweeping across the tension on Nicolo's shoulders.
Nicolo dropped his head on Yusuf's belly.
"Oh," Yusuf exhaled. "Hello, hobi."
Behind Yusuf, the lentils and rice steamed in the pot. The bread Yusuf brought back smelled earthy of rosemary, cut into chunks and set on a piece of linen from a shirt Nicolo could not salvage.
The air smelled faintly of the spices Nicolo added as an afterthought. It was not cardamom, but the mashed ginger wafted out bitter and sharply familiar.
His stomach gurgled uncomfortably. Nicolo grimaced and wrapped his arms around Yusuf's thighs. He could not help it.
"Shall I tell you about the goat that escaped and chased the hens in the village?" Yusuf murmured.
Nicolo took a deep breath, his nose pressed uncomfortably against Yusuf's stomach. Yusuf smelled of sweat, of hard work and a faint musk this close to the gentle swell between his thick thighs.
Yusuf cupped the back of Nicolo's head, his fingers woven together to brace like a hood. As Nicolo tightened his arms, Yusuf started talking again.
Yusuf regaled Nicolo about the amuck goat already during the early days of their residence here. Back when Nicolo relied on Yusuf's voice to chase away the others. Back when stepping out of the house sent Nicolo in a panic.
They both pretended the story was new.
Nicolo turned to rest his cheek on Yusuf's lower abdomen and he watched the world shift around him as Yusuf's stomach rose and fell with each breath. Yusuf was back to before: he did not ask questions, he talked calmly, he reacted little to Nicolo's odd moods.
But that still wasn't Yusuf, Nicolo thought, his stomach churning. Yusuf was bursts of both temper and laughter, his eyes as bright as the sun, his stare on Nicolo just as warm. The only thing that softened the edges was his art, his amazing command of pen and ink. Yusuf was kind. He was gentle, braided into his words and eyes, but his humor and temper was plaited into him as well.
There was nothing but kindness and patience in this Yusuf. Nicolo was grateful for it, a Yusuf shaped cloak that draped over him. But in exchange, Nicolo feared Yusuf killed the other parts of him.
The picture of Yusuf was now left with gaps, like the unfilled dots in the scroll he found.
Yusuf was still talking, as if there were many things he wanted to tell Nicolo. Only now he was repeating a tale he heard when he was a boy, about a clever fox and a not so clever snake. Yusuf told Nicolo this story as well. Many times. The first time was nine years after they lowered their swords and raised their regards of each other. They had set camp by the bend of a river, close enough to Tunis that Nicolo caught him gazing into the horizon at the direction of his home every evening. Longing inspired Yusuf to share the tale in simple Arabic, mindful of Nicolo's difficulty still with Arabic.
Under the twilight sky, their respective weapons on their laps for polish, not for war, the fire burning high between them, Nicolo listened. He stopped sharpening his sword mid-stroke as Yusuf went on. When Yusuf finished, he smiled sadly across the flames at Nicolo.
It was then, Nicolo realized he could never lift his sword to this man again. It was then, Nicolo started to realize there is nothing he would not do for this man.
Nicolo hummed over Yusuf's tunic, his fingers idly tracing the waistline of Yusuf's trousers under the tunic. He felt Yusuf's back underneath, the dip in the middle where his spine was. The muscles twitched as Nicolo's thumb traced up as far as he could of Yusuf's spine.
Yusuf's voice faltered. There was an audible gulp and then Yusuf proceeded to tell Nicolo of a myth the fishermen shared about creatures living in the endless seas.
He did not know many tales. He did not command the rivers of ink with a pen. All he knew and could offer were the words he memorized for the Church, his sword...
And this...
Nicolo dipped his head and kissed the top of the swell between Yusuf's legs.
Yusuf's hands fidgeted against Nicolo's scalp.
Nicolo's nose burrowed closer, its tip tracing the bulge in the trousers, lower and lower.
"What...what are you doing?" Yusuf asked, strained. He groaned in his throat as Nicolo mouthed the cloth over his cock.
Yusuf's hands trembled, unraveling against the back of Nicolo's scalp.
Nicolo thought of those hands on his scimitar, around his pen, slipping into Nicolo's body to knead and reshape him from the inside out.
Yusuf's knees locked, bumping into Nicolo's chest as Yusuf fought to stay upright.
Nicolo's lips opened more and nibbled along the covered length, tracing its lift up, straining the fabric.
"Nicolo," Yusuf gasped. His fingers carded through Nicolo's hair. The leather strap snapped loose. Nicolo's hair tangled within Yusuf's grasp.
Nicolo firmed his mouth, kissed the damp spot spreading across the front of Yusuf's trousers. He caught one of the laces between his teeth and slowly started to pull.
"Nicolo, Nicolo, no, wait." Yusuf stepped back, his hands back over Nicolo's shoulders.
Nicolo tipped his eyes up at Yusuf and caught Yusuf swallowing hard. The front of his trousers was a mess. Yusuf's cock fought against the fabric. The cloth was damp from Nicolo's mouth and Yusuf's erection.
And Yusuf...
Yusuf groaned. He moved his left hand up to cover Nicolo's eyes.
"No, do not look at me like that." Yusuf took another step back, his hands patting himself as if to check his body was present.
"What, what brought this on?" Yusuf sat down on a chair. It groaned under him but for once, Yusuf did not give it a wary look.
Nicolo closed his eyes. "You did not want it."
Yusuf choked. "I would say that is not accurate." He gestured towards himself when Nicolo blinked back.
"But my question is did you want it?"
Nicolo grimaced. "I will."
The chair creaked once, twice, as Yusuf sighed. "That is not a good answer."
"I know," Nicolo snapped. "But is it not a fair one?"
"A fair..." Yusuf gaped. "How is it fair if I force you to do something you do not want? I am not--" Yusuf's lips clamped together.
Not like the others.
Nicolo swallowed again.
"No," Nicolo croaked. "You are not like the others. You made me feel...it is different when you touch me, showed me how good it can be. Is it not time I should do what you have done for me? It is..." Nicolo's eyes slid away.
"It is not like I have not done this before. And I have, for you in Cairo even though you would not have me swallow."
"If you can not look me in the eye while you tell me this. it is not assuring me this is something you truly want," Yusuf said tersely. "What do you want? Tell me."
Nicolo clenched his jaw. He deliberately turned back to lock eyes with Yusuf. He chose his words carefully and ignored the sweat gathering at the back of his neck.
"I want you to fuck me."
Yusuf stared. Nicolo waited.
The moment was broken when the chair underneath Yusuf shattered.
------------------------------
.....aw come on, I know it's part of the prompt, but I wanted it closer to their recovery and climax.
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timeasmymeasure
Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 14C/16
Date: 2020-10-21 08:22 pm (UTC)say that ten times. LOL.
———————————————-
Part 14C
———————————————-
(Nicolo)
Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century
It was tucked inside a scroll.
Nicolo paused from wiping his face and throat with the rag. Yusuf was enthusiastic with his farewells, kissing and then turning to leave for the village.
Only to come charging back, crowding Nicolo against their house, kissing so deep, Nicolo thought he tasted the mint tea Yusuf favored when they broke fast this morning. Yusuf claimed he tasted the flatbread with the stewed figs Nicolo had. Nicolo hastily disagreed. There was a gleam in Yusuf’s eye that promised a repeat which led to other things. It was why Yusuf did not go as intended yesterday.
Yusuf had insisted he would go and see the baker and fix the cart as Nicolo originally promised. They were a few days late, but Yusuf had accepted the coin after Nicolo fled. Yusuf also hoped to charm the baker into making a replacement rosemary loaf.
It was cowardly, no, embarrassing how much Nicolo did not want to see the baker’s youngest son again. The boy meant no harm and Yusuf was amused (after the initial spell of outrage).
Nicolo offered to finish the table repairs while Yusuf plied his new skills on the cart. Yusuf unfortunately did not have much affinity with wood unlike Nicolo. He learned to chisel and cut straight in the monastery to earn his day’s bread and the chance to learn how to read Latin. With Yusuf in the village, Nicolo could fix some of the repairs with what wood remained.
It was during his search for a plane to sand one of the legs. As he tugged it out from their sacks under their bed, a scroll unfurled as well.
Nicolo blinked at the deep blue band around the high quality papyrus and the dots left unfilled. Yusuf once explained he liked to draw outlines where he would embellish them with sparkles of silver tinted ink, mixed with turmeric so it could gleam gold.
In the middle of the vaguely familiar scroll, lay the silver tipped pen. The one Yusuf insisted he did not need. The one that took the coin of two merchants’ worth and had left Nicolo gagging for days in memory.
He did not regret it. He did not. It was done. It was fine.
Nicolo crouched down to the floor. He did not touch the pen. His throat worked.
It is only a pen, Nicolo reasoned. He picked it up with an unsteady hand and gazed down at it.
Nicolo expected the pen to be heavy and pulling him down, but it was light. It was only a tool for Yusuf to create beautiful things, a channel for the ink to go where Yusuf desired.
It was broken.
Upon inspection, Nicolo realized there was a crack along the entire length of the pen, a strange twisted knot of cracks in the center. As if a great weight went on it, but the pen did not bend and simply spread the damage.
Yusuf tried to break it, could not, then hid it away.
Nicolo cradled the instrument, his throat working as he realized he has not seen Yusuf do his pen work since they arrived here. Even the letters and the one illustrated scroll was done with the battered pen he packed for their past travels.
The more Nicolo tried to help, the worst he made it.
Nicolo stroked the pen, imagining it was Yusuf’s steady fingers around the slender object. He thought of Yusuf hunched over thick textured paper on a table, that small smile peeking through his thick, soft beard, his eyes glazed over as he coaxed art out of ink.
It has been so long since he has seen Yusuf like that.
Nicolo roughly scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve. The coarse fabric irritated his eyes. It was why everything seemed to blur.
The pen was tucked back into the scroll. Nicolo took care rolling the paper, his eyes sweeping over the border as it disappeared within the scroll. Even without the glimmer of ink, the small hollow dots looked like stars. But he did not dare to take a closer look. His hands may hurt the artwork. Has he not done enough damage already?
The scroll was tucked back into Yusuf’s pack. Nicolo knelt on his knees, stooped awkwardly low. He stared at Yusuf’s bag under the bed, stared until his knees hurt, healed and then hurt again.
Nicolo closed his eyes, but his heart could not find a prayer that would fit. He has not found a prayer for anything since they fled Damascus. However, he tucked a thought of Yusuf bent over his art within his heart, murmured a plea that Yusuf will return and rose to his feet.
Nicolo smiled faintly as Yusuf gestured how the baker’s son fumbled and tripped as they worked on the cart. He chuckled as Yusuf reenacted the son flailing as one of the cart’s wheels rolled away.
“...and that horse simply stood there and stared at me as if to ask ‘What do you wish for me to do?’ as the wheel rolled past.”
Yusuf’s arms dropped against his sides. He step forward and stood in-between Nicolo’s knees. He rubbed Nicolo's shoulders.
"I see our table stands. It obeyed your commands and did not collapse," Yusuf murmured. He did not glance behind him. "Did the rest of your day entertained you well?"
Nicolo nodded. He curled his hands on Yusuf's wrists.
Yusuf's hands pressed deeper across the shoulders, soothing a strain Nicolo did not realize existed until now.
Nicolo grunted. He tried to roll his head back.
"What is it?" Yusuf stepped closer, his body like the heat of a campfire this close to Nicolo's face. His hands continued to massage, sweeping across the tension on Nicolo's shoulders.
Nicolo dropped his head on Yusuf's belly.
"Oh," Yusuf exhaled. "Hello, hobi."
Behind Yusuf, the lentils and rice steamed in the pot. The bread Yusuf brought back smelled earthy of rosemary, cut into chunks and set on a piece of linen from a shirt Nicolo could not salvage.
The air smelled faintly of the spices Nicolo added as an afterthought. It was not cardamom, but the mashed ginger wafted out bitter and sharply familiar.
His stomach gurgled uncomfortably. Nicolo grimaced and wrapped his arms around Yusuf's thighs. He could not help it.
"Shall I tell you about the goat that escaped and chased the hens in the village?" Yusuf murmured.
Nicolo took a deep breath, his nose pressed uncomfortably against Yusuf's stomach. Yusuf smelled of sweat, of hard work and a faint musk this close to the gentle swell between his thick thighs.
Yusuf cupped the back of Nicolo's head, his fingers woven together to brace like a hood. As Nicolo tightened his arms, Yusuf started talking again.
Yusuf regaled Nicolo about the amuck goat already during the early days of their residence here. Back when Nicolo relied on Yusuf's voice to chase away the others. Back when stepping out of the house sent Nicolo in a panic.
They both pretended the story was new.
Nicolo turned to rest his cheek on Yusuf's lower abdomen and he watched the world shift around him as Yusuf's stomach rose and fell with each breath. Yusuf was back to before: he did not ask questions, he talked calmly, he reacted little to Nicolo's odd moods.
But that still wasn't Yusuf, Nicolo thought, his stomach churning. Yusuf was bursts of both temper and laughter, his eyes as bright as the sun, his stare on Nicolo just as warm. The only thing that softened the edges was his art, his amazing command of pen and ink. Yusuf was kind. He was gentle, braided into his words and eyes, but his humor and temper was plaited into him as well.
There was nothing but kindness and patience in this Yusuf. Nicolo was grateful for it, a Yusuf shaped cloak that draped over him. But in exchange, Nicolo feared Yusuf killed the other parts of him.
The picture of Yusuf was now left with gaps, like the unfilled dots in the scroll he found.
Yusuf was still talking, as if there were many things he wanted to tell Nicolo. Only now he was repeating a tale he heard when he was a boy, about a clever fox and a not so clever snake. Yusuf told Nicolo this story as well. Many times. The first time was nine years after they lowered their swords and raised their regards of each other. They had set camp by the bend of a river, close enough to Tunis that Nicolo caught him gazing into the horizon at the direction of his home every evening. Longing inspired Yusuf to share the tale in simple Arabic, mindful of Nicolo's difficulty still with Arabic.
Under the twilight sky, their respective weapons on their laps for polish, not for war, the fire burning high between them, Nicolo listened. He stopped sharpening his sword mid-stroke as Yusuf went on. When Yusuf finished, he smiled sadly across the flames at Nicolo.
It was then, Nicolo realized he could never lift his sword to this man again. It was then, Nicolo started to realize there is nothing he would not do for this man.
Nicolo hummed over Yusuf's tunic, his fingers idly tracing the waistline of Yusuf's trousers under the tunic. He felt Yusuf's back underneath, the dip in the middle where his spine was. The muscles twitched as Nicolo's thumb traced up as far as he could of Yusuf's spine.
Yusuf's voice faltered. There was an audible gulp and then Yusuf proceeded to tell Nicolo of a myth the fishermen shared about creatures living in the endless seas.
He did not know many tales. He did not command the rivers of ink with a pen. All he knew and could offer were the words he memorized for the Church, his sword...
And this...
Nicolo dipped his head and kissed the top of the swell between Yusuf's legs.
Yusuf's hands fidgeted against Nicolo's scalp.
Nicolo's nose burrowed closer, its tip tracing the bulge in the trousers, lower and lower.
"What...what are you doing?" Yusuf asked, strained. He groaned in his throat as Nicolo mouthed the cloth over his cock.
Yusuf's hands trembled, unraveling against the back of Nicolo's scalp.
Nicolo thought of those hands on his scimitar, around his pen, slipping into Nicolo's body to knead and reshape him from the inside out.
Yusuf's knees locked, bumping into Nicolo's chest as Yusuf fought to stay upright.
Nicolo's lips opened more and nibbled along the covered length, tracing its lift up, straining the fabric.
"Nicolo," Yusuf gasped. His fingers carded through Nicolo's hair. The leather strap snapped loose. Nicolo's hair tangled within Yusuf's grasp.
Nicolo firmed his mouth, kissed the damp spot spreading across the front of Yusuf's trousers. He caught one of the laces between his teeth and slowly started to pull.
"Nicolo, Nicolo, no, wait." Yusuf stepped back, his hands back over Nicolo's shoulders.
Nicolo tipped his eyes up at Yusuf and caught Yusuf swallowing hard. The front of his trousers was a mess. Yusuf's cock fought against the fabric. The cloth was damp from Nicolo's mouth and Yusuf's erection.
And Yusuf...
Yusuf groaned. He moved his left hand up to cover Nicolo's eyes.
"No, do not look at me like that." Yusuf took another step back, his hands patting himself as if to check his body was present.
"What, what brought this on?" Yusuf sat down on a chair. It groaned under him but for once, Yusuf did not give it a wary look.
Nicolo closed his eyes. "You did not want it."
Yusuf choked. "I would say that is not accurate." He gestured towards himself when Nicolo blinked back.
"But my question is did you want it?"
Nicolo grimaced. "I will."
The chair creaked once, twice, as Yusuf sighed. "That is not a good answer."
"I know," Nicolo snapped. "But is it not a fair one?"
"A fair..." Yusuf gaped. "How is it fair if I force you to do something you do not want? I am not--" Yusuf's lips clamped together.
Not like the others.
Nicolo swallowed again.
"No," Nicolo croaked. "You are not like the others. You made me feel...it is different when you touch me, showed me how good it can be. Is it not time I should do what you have done for me? It is..." Nicolo's eyes slid away.
"It is not like I have not done this before. And I have, for you in Cairo even though you would not have me swallow."
"If you can not look me in the eye while you tell me this. it is not assuring me this is something you truly want," Yusuf said tersely. "What do you want? Tell me."
Nicolo clenched his jaw. He deliberately turned back to lock eyes with Yusuf. He chose his words carefully and ignored the sweat gathering at the back of his neck.
"I want you to fuck me."
Yusuf stared. Nicolo waited.
The moment was broken when the chair underneath Yusuf shattered.
------------------------------
.....aw come on, I know it's part of the prompt, but I wanted it closer to their recovery and climax.
Yes, climax. I went there. Tee hee.
More tomorrow!