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Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 1/12

[dr_libra_phd]

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Note: I very much doubt my Wiki and Googling will be enough to fortify the history and details. I apologize in advance for the grievous errors I know will be found here. Nevertheless, I hope this fills the prompt.

I am writing this every day on my lunch break. Shhhhhh. ;)
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(Yusuf)

Cairo, 12th century

Damascus reaped better opportunities.

Yusuf exhaled, but kept his opinion to himself. The aftermath of the second Crusades threatened those areas, also rendering Aleppo a poor option. Their libraries, their vibrant way of life, the rich veins of trade withered under the shadow of another Crusades despite Damascus’s success. Something Nicolo was still determined to apologize for no matter how many times Yusuf told him not to. Cairo was a poor substitution for coin when everyone fled here. But at least the libraries were rich with knowledge; sadly not about their immortality. Not yet, at least.

“Do you need more paper?”

Nicolo stood by the doorway. There wasn’t much room with the scrolls and ink and stacks of vellum Yusuf laid out on the table that served as the place for meals and Yusuf’s current work: copying manuscripts and decorating the pages with gilded ink for a merchant set to sail to the eastern waters in a week.

Yusuf eyed the shrinking pile of vellum by a cup of mint tea Nicolo must have set down in the morning.

“Is it time already?” Yusuf said, trying to change the subject. He would not be paid until it’s complete, but the oil for the only lamp will only last two more nights. He was forced to start his work, sometimes missing his morning prayers to catch what light the little opening on the abandoned stone home afforded. This was once a home of a family felled by plague long before anyone can remember. Superstition kept the dwelling vacant. Fifty four years ago, Yusuf might have avoided this home as well. But that was before a pale-faced invader and him locked in an exhausting cycle of death and revival for months.

Nicolo nodded. “Morning has come and nearly past.”

“Ah,” Yusuf smiled wryly. “I let my breakfast gone cold.” He waved at his tea.

Nicolo was a quiet man, not given to much reaction more than a change in his eyes, but at this, he made a face.

“The docks pay very little,” Nicolo said by way of apology.

Yusuf scoffed. “Far more than what I do. Your coin last week was generous, far more than I expected. It bought the ink and paper I needed to offer my services.” It was a shame there wasn’t much left for food, but Nicolo insisted they didn’t need to buy much. The docks fed their workers. Recently, Nicolo took work at night too and was fed evening meals as well.

“I can get more paper...” Nicolo shifted in his feet. “And more ink?” He looked strangely uncertain, most likely tired from so many nights of work.

Yusuf ate dinner alone last week, waking in the middle of the night to find Nicolo curled up fetal, his back to him, on the opposite pallet. Yusuf wondered why it felt easier to fall back to sleep with his eyes on Nicolo’s broad back.

Yusuf frowned. “More night work?” At Nicolo’s small nod, he huffed.

“While I am glad for the coin, I find I do miss your company for evening meals.” Yusuf squinted at Nicolo.

“Don’t they feed you enough?” Yusuf thought Nicolo’s cheekbones seemed sharper lately.

“You’re remembering putting it in your mouth?” Yusuf joked.

Nicolo, as he struggled to learn Arabic, often forgets to eat the food he held in his hand, his ever inquisitive mind fixed on the pages and not on his stomach.

Something flashed across Nicolo’s features. His eyes, the color of stormy seas, seemed to dull as they slid away to consider the half empty breadbasket Yusuf set on the floor to make room. Next to it, a bowl tipped towards them with the last egg and wedge of hard cheese left.

“Nicolo?” Yusuf rose to his feet when Nicolo made a choking noise in his throat.

“I remember,” Nicolo mumbled. He seemed to shrink into the shabby cream tunic that hung looser around his shoulders these days. He smiled, a small quirk at the corners of his pink mouth, but it died quickly.

“If it pays well, maybe I go to market tomorrow,” Nicolo glanced over to the breadbasket and bowl. His jaw set.

“I will go to market tomorrow,” Nicolo said, his voice firmer.

Yusuf crossed over to the room. He set his hands on Nicolo’s shoulders.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf murmured. “You do so much.” He nodded, deciding. “I’ll go with you to help.”

Nicolo made an odd noise. Under Yusuf’s hands, a shiver went across Nicolo’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Yusuf’s brow furrowed. Nicolo took a step back, but when Yusuf tried to follow, Nicolo held up an unsteady hand.

“No, that’s all right,” Nicolo stammered. His Arabic was stumbling, something he hasn’t done in decades. His accent still lilted and echoed thick of his home land, but Nicolo hasn’t struggled with words in years since Yusuf helped him improve it.

“You should finish the...” Nicolo visibly sought for the right word. “The stele?”

“Manuscript,” Yusuf correctly, mildly, yet Nicolo flushed like he once did when he used to mix up ‘goat’ with ‘fruit.’ Secretly, Yusuf admitted it charmed him how Nicolo could flush, his pale skin brushed with color, begging to be touched.

But right now, it was not charming. It was worrying.

“I can take a day,” Yusuf went on. He scanned their small room for his cloak. Ah, it hung over the shallow brick hearth. The concave pocket was only large enough for one pot, not that they could afford meat these days to cook, but it also served as a place for warmth. Nicolo must have filled it with sticks this morning. Cairo was cooler than expected when the sun crept up the horizon. Yusuf didn’t feel chilled this morning.

Another sort of warmth filled Yusuf’s chest. He smiled broadly at Nicolo.

“My eyes tire from squinting. Some physical labor would be welcomed.”

Nicolo’s eyes were the bleached color of a winter sea as they drifted to the table behind Yusuf.

“I’ll get oil for the lamp too.” Nicolo promised and he retreated another step.

“No, that’s not what I mean—“

“You do beautiful work, Yusuf.”

Yusuf stopped short of the quiet words. He blinked.

“T-thank you.” Now it was Yusuf’s turn to stammer like a child. He ran ink smudged fingers through his curls, twitching as his hand snared open a tangle. Ah, a bath is in order. He eyed Nicolo’s hair. Nicolo usually pulled it back with a strap of leather from Yusuf’s old armor. But last week, he stopped and Yusuf was often distracted by how it hung against the cut of Nicolo’s jaw. He liked how smooth Nicolo’s cheeks were. He was surprised when Nicolo cleaned his short beard off with a few expert swipes of his dagger. Yusuf felt his loins stirred, remembering those long fingers and their skill with a blade.

“You like this sort of work,” Nicolo went on, oblivious to Yusuf’s daze. “If it weren’t for war, you would have been an artist. Your talent is better suited for it.”

Yusuf shrugged. His cheeks felt hot at the compliment. He tugged at his beard, disguising his attempt to check if his face was truly as hot as it felt.

“Or a merchant,” Yusuf reminded Nicolo. “My family were traders. I could have been a merchant.”

“I like you better as an artist,” Nicolo blurted. He cleared his throat. “All I know is the church and the rough work of my hands.” He smirked sadly. “Blood and death is my art.”

“I hate every time you say this,” Yusuf murmured. He longed to approach Nicolo, but his friend lingered by the doorway, looking like a spooked horse. And part of him, the part that often kept him awake at nights when Nicolo hasn’t returned yet, that one day Nicolo would bolt and leave Yusuf behind in the sands.

“You have been in such a shadowed mood all week, my friend,” Yusuf exhaled.

“Tired,” Nicolo offered. His shoulders sagged.

“Tired.” Yusuf shook his head. “No more night work after tonight?”

“No more,” Nicolo promised.

Yusuf narrowed his eyes. “You are lying to me, yes?”

“Perhaps.” Nicolo’s smile was lighter.

Yusuf cast pleading eyes towards the heavens and prayed Allah for strength.

“Begone,” Yusuf waved his hands at Nicolo. “After tonight, no more. We have time and opportunity to earn coin elsewhere. The need is not dire yet. I have no need for paper.”

“Now who is lying?” Nicolo shot back, a glimmer of humor brightened his eyes.

“Shoo!” Yusuf said, laughing, “Leave me to my beautiful work and failing eyesight! Do not fall off the docks and return looking like a drowned cat. I will welcome you back only with mocking!”

Nicolo dropped his chin, his hair falling forward, but failing to cover the smirk. He turned, casting a strange sad smile to Yusuf and followed the pathway out to the town and the docks.

Yusuf wasn’t sure why he lingered by the doorway, long after Nicolo’s shadow faded from sight. He shook his head, chiding himself for laziness while poor Nicolo stayed out until the moon hung high in the night for a small sachet of coin.

Eyes back towards the work on the table, Yusuf resigned himself to it. If they were to gain funds to travel east to find the two women in their dreams, they’ll need coin and plenty of it.

Yusuf sat down, resolve returning. As he brushed a hand over the softness of a new page—he must ask Nicolo where he purchased the quality sheets at such a low price—Yusuf sent up a thought and prayer for Nicolo. He hoped his friend has a good day at work.

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 2/12

[dr_libra_phd]

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Part 2
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(Nicolo)

Cairo, 12th century


It felt like he pulled hair.

"...much better than the others..."

He hoped the merchant did not. The first time one did, his scalp bled and the fear of discovery of his scalp healing distracted him from the panic that the object crushing against his tongue was choking him.

But the man never noticed after he spent all over his hair, his eyes and his bruised lips.

And the coin slipped boldly into his pockets by sweaty greasy hands smelling of cardamom. The coin was enough for a half full sack of breads and cheese. Even a modest slab of dried meat and a bowl of withered figs.

It was fine. Letting his hair untied covered the occasional healing scalp from notice. The bored merchants who sailed in and out of the docks seemed to like it as well.

Hands clawed the back of his ears, nails carving deep. Blood wept behind his ears and pooled sticky and hot along his clavicle. The man above him panted, breath quickening, his pace sharper and deeper.

Oh, he thought numbly. That is new.

The merchant sold gems from afar even boasting from the Papal States. Gems, he was going to call him Gems as he dutifully dropped to his knees and closed his eyes. He did not want to know the merchant's real name. Gems sails off tomorrow. He was here recommended by another and had his crew yanked him off the docks and onto his ship.

Thick fingers poked his lids, pulling away from using his ears like reins to tug his face deeper into the bristly nest of hair and the...object. Gems rode his mouth like he was a horse.

"...let me see your eyes, your pretty eyes," Gems panted as he continued to grunt and jerk, colliding into his face. Rough clothing that smelled like the sea Gems arrived from, scratched his smooth cheeks. He panicked again. Briefly, before he remembered he'll heal from any scratches, unlike the stale, musky scent of white crusted into his scrape of a beard. Just as well he shaved it off. He was often mocked for its poor appearance and it was easier to wash the smell off his face before returning to Yusuf.

A hand gripped his chin, jerked him up until his neck strained from the stretch. The object slid all the way in salty and thick. Air disappeared. His eyes burned as he struggled to breathe.

"I paid to see your eyes as well," Gems snarled. Hips snapped forward faster, the changed angle more painful as the object scraped the inside his throat and pushed his tongue to cut over his lower teeth.

Dutifully, Nicolo opened his eyes.

Gems moaned. The object in Nicolo's mouth twitched, but before he could escape, Gems grunted, ramming the object deeper. Unbidden, Nicolo grunted around the hardness forcing him to otherwise stay silent.

"Your eyes," Gems moaned as he spilled into Nicolo's convulsing throat. "Dirar and Khalîl were correct. It is like fucking the wretched seas."

Bitter fluid flooded Nicolo's mouth and seemed to fill his nostrils, but Gems refused to release him. He shuddered and drowned Nicolo, the object in his mouth shriveling as it emptied down Nicolo's throat like his swollen mouth was a chamber pot.

"I would pay to keep you," Gems babbled as he weakly rocked into Nicolo's mouth. There was a brief respite from seeing Gems as Nicolo's face was crushed into the sweaty coarse hair between his thick legs. A pull and he was blind, a yank and he was forced to stare up at the fleshy cheeks wobbly as he gazed down at Nicolo with sick triumph.

"Keep your mouth for me, reward my crew, but alas, my wife..."

The reminder of marital obligations finally loosened Gems's grip. Nicolo jerked his head back, but too late, Gems chuckled as he splattered all over Nicolo's chin, the remnants of release and spittle that stretched from Nicolo's lips like a thread from a web.

Nicolo dropped on his haunches, his chest heaving as he struggled not to gag, his stomach roiling at the taste.

"I also paid you to swallow."

Nicolo glared up at Gems. His eyes lowered and as his stomach clenched, Nicolo took care to show him swallowing. It was pointless: the object thrust so deep, there was nowhere else for it to go but curdle sour in Nicolo's belly.

A fist size bag of coins dropped to Nicolo's feet.

"Money well spent," Gems crooned. He shifted in his chair, the captain's seat that stood in the center of the cabin like a throne. Nicolo was dragged through the ship deck, past leering, knowing faces and tossed into the cabin. Nicolo expected Gems when the sun started to descend. When the sun was half visible in the sky, Nicolo desperately hoped it meant Gems forgot or found a more willing mouth.

He didn't forget. And he didn't care if Nicolo's mouth wasn't entirely willing.

But he could buy the paper now. And with some respectful haggling, one of the vendors might sell this pale face a vial of precious ink for Yusuf's beautiful art. He came back one night and found the gleaming patterns of gold and red decorating the corner of a page. Yusuf had dismissed it later. Practice he said, but when Nicolo held the vision on paper that night, he wept. His people rampaged into the continent to eradicate people like Yusuf who spun such visions onto mere paper. His hands felt as crude as Gems's holding the scraps of paper.

"I do not leave until late morrow," Gems said slyly. "Perhaps you wish to break fast on my cock before my ship leaves."

Nicolo rose to his knees, willing them to lock. He straightened his clothing, pretending he did not care Gems watched him with an amused smirk. Nicolo hefted the bag of coins into his fist.

"I do not wish," Nicolo said coldly.

Gems snorted and his neck fat rolled as he shook his head.

"They were right about you," Gems murmured. "You have a fire that begs to be conquered. A proper pounding into you would snuff that fire out."

Nicolo narrowed his eyes. He settled a hand over the hilt of a dagger--the other thing they allowed him to keep on him. It excited Gems the way the hilt knocked into his calves as he fucked Nicolo's mouth with his--

No, do not think about it.

"I am leaving now," Nicolo announced. He retrieved his long sword propped by the door. "We will not see each other again."

"Perhaps," Gems demurred. He did not move from his chair, nor refastened his trousers. he sat, lazy and satisfied, flaunting his exposed damp genitals as Nicolo strode out the door. He ignored the dirty faces of the crew, climbed down the ramp of the ship and walked evenly, his back straight, past the dock's planks, into the stalls already shuttered. Too late, he missed market. He would not be able to get Yusuf's paper and ink. He would not be able to get food.

Nicolo stalked down the path, stopping when he was between two stalls. He could not remember whose stall it was or what it offered, they all looked the same because they were all closed, gone for the night, shuttered while Nicolo knelt in front of a gem merchant and do nothing more than--

With a sharp thwack, Nicolo's shoulder crashed into a wall as he hunched over and retched.

It felt endless. The sourness spilled out of his mouth, forced out by his cramping stomach, refusing the filth Nicolo accepted extra coin to swallow. The taste was bad as he spat, but it was worst when he swallowed.

Nicolo hung his head, shaking as his body expelled what he refused to name. Like the object, it was nothing but a means, a tick to a tally in hopes of ever repaying such a debt, such a cost, but he could not even get paper and soon the oil will be dry and leave Yusuf in darkness, he should have sought Gems out sooner, not cower in hopes he was forgotten. He should have...

"Oh Nicolo..."

Nicolo started when he heard Yusuf murmured seemingly out of thin air, like a voice from the heavens finally took pity on his flawed soul.

"Easy, my friend. It is just me." Yusuf settled a warm palm on Nicolo's back, content to let Nicolo continue try to exorcise the filth within him. Only poor Yusuf did not realize it was too late. Nicolo felt the slick and burning stain sinking into his bones to take residence. He could disembowel himself, perhaps on Yusuf's sharp scimitar and it wouldn't rid everything.

"What..." Nicolo panted when it finally felt like there was nothing more to banish from his insides. "What are you..." It hurt to talk.

"The moon is about to yield to the sun," Yusuf chided. "You have never worked this late before. I came looking, but I did not see you in the docks." Yusuf's frown was clear in Nicolo's ears if not sight. He blurred in the darkness and Nicolo realized his eyes had teared as he vomited.

A cool hand slipped over Nicolo's nape. Nicolo flinched when Yusuf's fingers felt the blood there.

"What happened?" Yusuf's voice sharpened.

"Docks," Nicolo managed. He waved towards his head. "It is healed." He pressed the bag of coins to Yusuf's chest.

"I was too late for the markets," Nicolo said regretfully. "I did not get paper."

"It does not matter," Yusuf dismissed as he held up the bag of coins. He wore a strange look as he considered the coins. Was it not enough? He should have agreed to see Gems in the morning and risk people seeing him.

"I did not get the oil," Nicolo remembered as he straightened from his hunch.

"It does not matter."

"But the lamp--"

"Nicolo, it does not matter," Yusuf snapped. He sagged when he looked at Nicolo. He held up the bag of coins.

"You have never been paid this much coin before." Yusuf studied Nicolo.

Nicolo tensed. Did he not wipe his face clean on the ship? Did Yusuf see him leave the ship?

"It is...it is why I was late," Nicolo stammered. It was not a lie. Not quite.

Yusuf's brown eyes gleamed despite the dark, bottomless and complicated, fixed on Nicolo like there was something interesting to see.

Nicolo's eyes drifted away.

"And why were you sick?" Yusuf prodded gently. He patted Nicolo on the back, a light tap yet the warmth of Yusuf's hand swept over Nicolo with a soft heat that felt wonderful and undeserved.

"Something..." Nicolo fidgeted away, mourning when Yusuf's hand slipped off his back.

"Something I ate," Nicolo mumbled. "My stomach did not like." It was also not quite a lie.

"Hm," Yusuf commented. "You do have a weak stomach, my friend."

Nicolo smiled weakly.

"You barely tolerate the stew Yazim gave us last week," Yusuf went on. He dropped a companionable arm across Nicolo's shoulders.

"I ate all of it," Nicolo protested weakly.

"Ah, because you were much too kind to refuse but then you were sick for days after. You barely tolerate anything more solid than bread soaked in broth. You could not even eat the cheese."

Nicolo blinked. He did not think Yusuf noticed. He savored the weight of Yusuf's arm on him. It felt like it tied him to the ground, stopping him from drying up into nothing like he often felt after nights like these.

"It was the spice," Nicolo mumbled. Why did they live so far away? "Cardamom. I did not like the smell." He swallowed. "It makes me feel sick, but please do not tell Yazim. She was kind to share her food. She did not have to do that. All I did was fix her cart."

Yusuf tugged Nicolo closer. Nicolo was startled by how much he wanted to sag into Yusuf and weep for no reason at all. He was tired, that's all. He should have sought Gems out sooner, then he would not have missed the markets.

"Sought out who?" Yusuf asked as he steered them to the right pathway.

Nicolo jerked. He nearly fell out of Yusuf's grasp.

Yusuf tugged Nicolo tighter to him, close enough, his firm shoulder bumped the side of Nicolo's throat.

"Nicolo? Sought who out?"

Nicolo closed his eyes. How was he this stupid? Babbling away like a fool! He swallowed, fighting back a gag as a lingering taste rose up his throat.

No. Do not think about it.

Yusuf gave Nicolo a gentle shake to wake him. "We are almost home."

"Home?" Nicolo mumbled wistfully. This was a nice dream.

Yusuf chuckled, fond and warm against his temples. "Do not dream yet, my friend. We are almost there. Have a nice wash. I left you some bread and tea. Sleep and dream after that."

"I did not get the oil."

"It is fine."

Nicolo's feet was growing heavier.

"I was too late for market."

"We will go tomorrow."

"I wanted to get you the spiced meat you like."

"Sh, it is all right."

"But it is not," Nicolo sniffled. "And it never will be."

"What do you mean?" Yusuf seemed to be closer yet not close enough. Was Nicolo walking? It felt like his feet did not touch the ground now.

"Nicolo, what puts the furrow on your brow so often?" Yusuf murmured, his sad tone too soft to be heard by anyone but the one he held close.

Nicolo dropped his head on Yusuf's shoulder, Just for a moment and then he will return to the docks tomorrow.

"No, you will not," Yusuf said suddenly.

Nicolo tried to reply, but suddenly it felt like he was floating. He blinked confused at the sight of Yusuf's soft beard just off his nose.

"You should not be this light," Yusuf rumbled. He sounded unhappy. Nicolo should have gotten the paper and oil for the lamp after all.

Nicolo dropped his head against Yusuf's shoulder suddenly closer than he thought. He bobbed up and down, the little dwellings passing faster than before. He still could not feel his feet touch the ground. He was swaying, but his muddled mind could not fathom why.

"Yusuf?" Nicolo mumbled as his eyes refused to stay cracked open.

"Hm?"

"Are we on a boat?"

Yusuf chuckled and the sensation seemed to sink into Nicolo's belly hot as warm food and as comforting.

"This is better," Nicolo murmured.

"At least this way is faster," Yusuf chuckled again.

Nicolo didn't answer, sinking into the gentle sway that surrounded him.

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 3A/12

[dr_libra_phd]

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Part 3A
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(Yusuf)

Cairo, 12th century


"I am in your bed."

Yusuf looked up from his work. He was glad for the interruption. This particular pattern on the scroll frustrated him since yesterday.

Nicolo looked laughable in his waking state. His brown hair streaked with gold from the sun were in odd tangles around his head, flattened on one side. He looked like a nest of vipers curled on top of his head. There was a crease visible on his cheek; he had curled on side, burrowed his face into the folds of a woven blanket Yusuf found on his sleeping pallet the next day after he had griped about the unseasonable cold.

"Good morning," Yusuf offered, rather cheerfully despite having slept on Nicolo's bed last night. How Nicolo tolerate the draft from an unseen crack in the roof above him was a puzzle. One of many Yusuf has been finding himself wanting to decipher more and more of late.

Nicolo squinted at Yusuf, one eye still partially shut with sleep.

Yusuf's grin widened. He could not help it; Nicolo looked ridiculous and he told his friend as much as he tossed over a damp cloth for Nicolo to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

"Why am I in your bed?" Nicolo pressed insistently as he scrubbed his face clean.

"You were too heavy to carry all the way to your own bed," Yusuf teased. And oh, that was an interesting shade of pink tipping Nicolo's ears.

"But that meant you slept on my bed." Nicolo stared at Yusuf. "It is much colder--"

"Then you did know about the draft," Yusuf interrupted. "Why did you not say? This blanket should have gone to you."

The pink flush spread to Nicolo's cheeks. He went back to cleaning his face, using a damp corner to wipe around his mouth.

Yusuf realized he was staring yet he found he couldn't look away.

"I do not mind the draft," Nicolo muttered as he swiped the cloth across his lips. "I do not complain bitterly about the cold like you."

"That is because you were born close to the--must you rub so hard? Nicolo!"

Nicolo blinked at Yusuf, who rose to his feet at the sight of blood on his mouth. Nicolo had scrubbed furiously across his lips and the skin split.

"You look clean enough," Yusuf tsked as he crossed over to the bed. He made a face at the bloodstained cloth. There was no way to get rid of such stains. He mentally shrugged. He will cut another out from his old tunic. Pity. He was quite proud it, the colors dyed by his direction before he heeded the call to defend Jerusalem. It was too worn from crossing deserts. It outlived its purpose of keeping him warm.

"Am I?" Nicolo muttered. For some reason, he stared past his legs and perhaps even out the door. "I do not feel it."

"Hm?" Yusuf glanced at the basket set by their modest hearth. Damn. One egg and an even smaller chunk of cheese. Nicolo stayed asleep through Yusuf's careful administrations to clean the blood off his nape and would not rouse for the bread and tea. The bread was too dry and too spotty to be salvaged again.

Nicolo followed Yusuf's eyes. He shook his head.

"I am not very hungry," Nicolo muttered.

Yusuf frowned. "You look hungry."

"I thought you said I look clean."

"Nicolo," Yusuf sighed. He stopped himself from brushing a hand over a pronounced cheekbone. "I have not seen you this thin since we first met." His frown deepened. "You said the docks feed you. Does what they have not suit you?"

Nicolo shrugged and his tunic, already worn and stretched, slipped, revealing the hard lines of his clavicle.

Yusuf could not stop himself. He settled a hand on Nicolo's shoulder. He felt bone and little flesh twitch under his palm.

"We will share the egg and cheese," Yusuf decided. "We will go to the market after you eat all of it."

"I have to go to the doc--"

Yusuf's hand curled tighter on Nicolo's shoulder. His belly ached at how bone seemed to grind under his touch.

"No," Yusuf said, firmer. "We will go to market. I need more paper." And Nicolo needed food that would appease his belly and hopefully fill out the hollowness that clung to Nicolo's body.

"And oil for the lamp," Nicolo conceded, his shoulders slumping. His entire body seemed to sag with it. He appeared he could burrow into the blanket again.

"Very well," Nicolo grumbled as he wiggled out from the warm folds of the blanket. Too loose trousers shift, a glimpse of a swell of flesh and Yusuf found he needed to turn away, his belly hot for a reason he should not acknowledge. "We will go to the market."

"After we break fast," Yusuf reminded Nicolo.

Nicolo scowled.

"And," Yusuf chuckled, "after you fix your hair."

Nicolo's scowl turned puzzled.

"What is the matter with my hair?"

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 3B/12

[dr_libra_phd]

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Part 3B
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(Yusuf)

Cairo, 12th century


This hour, the markets teemed with shouting and haggling, the smells of warm cinnamon and the bite of spice thick in the air. It smelled of activity, of a life he once knew, before the snick of his scimitar sliced through bodies and the shouts were battle cries.

"You miss this."

Yusuf glanced over at Nicolo. His friend looked fairly better, brightening under the generous light of a morning sun.

"Not as lively as the docks, I am sure. They kept you busy, but look!" Yusuf flung his arms wide, waggling his brow as a vendor's daughter giggled at his antics. "There is nothing more wondrous than a market!"

Nicolo chuckled, a rare sound and more delightful to hear than the vendor's daughter's. He ducked his head to avoid Yusuf's enthusiastic gesture. His brown hair covered his eyes briefly before Nicolo huffed and pushed it back from his face.

"It is indeed full of color." Nicolo agreed. He glanced about with curious eyes. "I did not realize there was so many things."

Yusuf's cheer dimmed. He was either bent over scrolls and ink, or hunched over texts in the various libraries. Nicolo's grasp of Arabic and the smattering of Greek was passable for conversation, but his reading was still poor at best. It took Nicolo time. Time they both have plenty, but time that also require coin.

Between Yusuf's work and Nicolo in the docks from sun rise to moon rise, Nicolo never ventured further than the outer circle of the markets, purchasing what they needed and nothing more.

"Come," Yusuf announced. He dropped an arm over Nicolo's shoulders. Nicolo was almost his height, yet his friend was hunched over these days as if fearing notice. A habit born from his fair skin and light eyes. And his paleness branded him after the failed attack of Damascus. There were vendors who would not sell to Nicolo, not when he was alone.

Yusuf gestured towards the entirety of the market. "Let me show you so much color, you will be blinded by it."

"Sounds painful," Nicolo returned dryly, but let Yusuf steer him into the inner mazes of market.

If Yusuf tucked Nicolo a little tighter to him as they walked, it was only because he feared Nicolo would get lost.





"We should not have get it." Yusuf shook his head even as he curled his hand tighter on the purchase. He walked faster, but not too fast he left Nicolo behind.

"You said it was good for fine line work," Nicolo reminded him, ever sharp with memory if not also dull in understanding what Yusuf was trying to say.

"It is, but it is also too much coin." Yusuf shook the wrapped pen towards Nicolo.

"I still say we should have gotten another blanket instead." Yusuf shook his head at Nicolo's blank expression.

"We already have one," Nicolo said slowly as if Yusuf was the one who did not understand. The vial of ink secured carefully in Nicolo's belt sloshed gently against his hip as he twisted towards where they came.

"And that's another thing, we do not need so much ink or such quality. What he charged, the ink should write itself!"

"We forgot the oil for the lamp," Nicolo said distractedly. The only indication he heard Yusuf was his hand curled around the vial of ink, guarding it from the jostling. Yusuf's mind stuttered at the gesture.

"The what? No, no. We will get it next time," Yusuf was starting to feel weary. The ink will be compensated once he is paid for his work.

The pen, however, was an expense he did not predict. The coin was to be added to the fund he carefully constructed to support their journey to find the two women. He dreamed about them again last night. Nicolo was too deep in his exhaustion that he did not remember any dream when he woke.

"The women were in greenery, wet and thick, like places in the East." Yusuf held up the package and turned it round and round. "We need to find a ship willing to take us as far East it could. We would also need supplies. We need to buy gems and silver because we do not have their currency."

Yusuf sighed. "What we do not need are pens."

Nicolo stared expressionless a few paces from Yusuf. He was still half turned to return to the previous stalls.

"I will get more coin," Nicolo uttered. His throat worked as he swallowed. "Keep the pen. I will get more money."

Yusuf shook his head. "Take me to whom you work for in the docks. If they are so busy they require help at night, they will want to hire more hands."

"I will get more coin," Nicolo repeated, ignoring what Yusuf said.

"Nicolo--"

"I will get the oil." Nicolo sun around sharply and started back to the stalls they visited.

"Get the blanket instead," Yusuf called after him.





Nicolo did not get the blanket.

Yusuf glared at Nicolo, but did not toss the basket of breads and cheeses at his friend. He haggled congenially with the maternal vendors of the bread stall. The two women took pity on Yusuf's distracted state as he kept glancing over to spot Nicolo with hopefully an arm full of thick blankets. Alas, the fool returned with a vessel of oil large enough to keep the darkness away for two weeks.

But this is the first time in many days his friend smiled, even if it was for purchase Yusuf thought should have been reserved for Nicolo instead. Nicolo looked so pleased with himself. The oil vendor never filled the vessel full but charged him for one anyone.

It must be the vendor's wife today. Nicolo was oblivious to how many's ire crumpled under the gentle and respectful tones of Nicolo's voice. Some, like Yusuf, found his stilted Arabic charming as he stumbled earnestly for the proper word to say.

Yusuf swallowed his disapproval. He thanked Nicolo, possibly more profusely than warranted. Nicolo was like a seedling under water. His lingering lethargy was gone, his posture straighter. How could Yusuf destroy this? It was sunlight in a break of clouds.

Still...

"A blanket would have been nice," Yusuf sighed as they walked.

"Are you still cold?" Nicolo frowned to himself.

"Am I, no, Nicolo, I was thinking the blanket be for--"

"Spiced meat," Nicolo said and he was steering for the stall faster than Yusuf could curse after him. He put his foot down on the spiced meat, insisting they get the plain fist size of goat's shin instead. The blander meat should be a friendly option for Nicolo's current stomach pains. Nicolo rolled his eyes--a new gesture Yusuf found inexplicable delight to see--and bought the shin.

They have been in each other's lives long enough to pick their battles. If Nicolo insisted on wasting coin on pens and ink, then he will have to tolerate Yusuf's determination to buy the least flavorful and blandest of food.

"I told you I am fed in the docks. I am not there often to choke on your horrible cooking," Nicolo muttered as he tugged his hair that refused to stay behind his ear.

"Not fed enough," Yusuf retorted as he craned to spot the stalls for fruit. "Your cheekbones can cut deeper than my scimitar."

Nicolo was about to say something more but a breeze riffled through, sending hair into his mouth.

"You should have tied it back like before," Yusuf snickered. He reached up and cupped the ends of Nicolo's hair. "But this is an improvement. You only look half as disgruntled."

Nicolo scoffed. He swatted Yusuf's hand with little heat. He tugged another strand of hair again, sighing when another breeze fluttered past and destroyed his efforts. He shot Yusuf a rueful look, a shy smile tilted up at the corner as he shrugged.

Yusuf's mouth went dry. The dark tea in the other stall left him unusually parched after trying only a sip. The vendor promised the tea soothed any stomach of a weak disposition. He tried it while Nicolo wandered off. He returned with a small plain wooden box filled with thick textured sheets. They smelled slightly damp, a clean scent of freshly cut grass.

Nicolo insisted the paper was not expensive, but regrettably, this was all they have. Far more than Yusuf ever had at once, Yusuf tried to reassure his friend.

Yusuf wasn't sure why Nicolo considered it a personal failing; he didn't like how it made the smudges under Nicolo's eyes darker. Like a cloud robbing light from the bright moon.

"Are you all right?" Nicolo frowned, stopping in his tracks.

It was then, Yusuf realized he himself had stopped walking. He shook his head and out of the corner of his eye, he soon became glad he stopped.

"Come here," Yusuf beckoned with a wave of hand to the stall of spiced fruits. "They are rarely here." Dirar must have returned. Yusuf hoped it meant the merchant would be in need of more script work.

Nicolo peered at the wooden bins of apricots and figs floating in thick speckled syrups.

"...those are figs?" Nicolo said doubtfully as he pointed to the apricots.

"No, no, but they are very good. Apricots." Yusuf repeated the word, nodding as Nicolo repeated the word in Arabic.

"No, no, Nicolo," Yusuf groaned, not unkindly. "You pronounce it like a sneezing cat! The last part should be sounding like--"

"Are you now a teacher as well, Yusuf?"

"Dirar!" Yusuf exclaimed. The merchant stood a head than Yusuf and he needed to stoop under the canopy hanging over his wares. His unusual height, the solid thickness of his build plus his dark skin made him a striking figure against the pale fabric of his robes. He laughed deep from the belly as he clasped Yusuf's forearm in greeting.

"I did not expect to see you until week's end." Yusuf's eyebrow rose when he realized Nicolo hung back, almost lost in the crowds. He supposed Nicolo was being cautious and did not want to offend any of Yusuf's acquaintances.

"Alas, a storm steered my ship back to Cairo." Dirar's obsidian eyes drifted to the shadow off Yusuf's right shoulder. "Truly unfortunate."

Yusuf's stomach sank. "Ah, then you were unable to deliver the scrolls to the buyer."

Dirar grimaced. Wrinkles formed on his smooth forehead. He swept a broad hand over his sleek shaved head.

"No, I am sorry. Here, I can purchase one of them if you wish. I do not have much, but allow me to--"

"That is not necessary. Perhaps another would be interested." Yusuf shook his head, but his posture must have betrayed him. Nicolo stepped closer, his eyes questioning.

"Hello," Dirar murmured. He offered a tight-lipped smile. "Nicolo, is it, not?"

Yusuf shook himself out of his calculations spinning in his head. "Where are my manners? Nicolo, this is Dirar. He has been helping me find buyers for my work."

Dirar's smile widened. "We've already met."

Nicolo tensed next to Yusuf.

"Yes," Nicolo said stiffly, "At the docks."

Yusuf nodded. He mock scowled at Dirar.

"So you are the one keeping my friend up so late at night." Yusuf wagged a finger at Dirar. "The moon rises first before he returns."

"Not just me," Dirar said. His eyes drifted up and down Nicolo. His mouth curved, his eyes gleaming with humor.

"He is a hard worker. I recommend him to many of my friends...at the docks." He abruptly clapped his hands.

Next to Yusuf, Nicolo twitched, unnoticeable if he were not standing close to Yusuf. He felt the jolt against his arm.

"I am being a rude host," Dirar boomed. "I bring many sweets from afar. These are my favorites." He speared a dripping apricot with a thin dagger that hung over his meaty hip. With deft fingers, he sliced a golden wedge dripping with syrup. He offered it to Yusuf on the flat of his blade.

The stewed mishmish was tasty, not too sweet, with a hint of cinnamon and cardamom.

"It is good," Yusuf agreed. He waved a hand on his nose. "However, they reek like you."

Dirar laughed and it shook his entire frame. "I am in ships of fruit and spice all day. I piss cinnamon and cardamom by now."

Yusuf snorted. "Better than ink." He ruefully gazed down at the barrel. The coins from the sale would have been helpful.

"Perhaps next time," Yusuf said with regret.

"Would Nicolo like a taste?"

Yusuf frowned when he realized Dirar has sliced a thicker wedge of fruit. He stood over Nicolo, a hand opened palm up in offering.

The taste of cardamom clung to the back of Yusuf's throat. He shook his head.

"Better not. He would not like it."

Dirar canted his head, his dagger dripping with syrup. He plucked the wedge with a surprisingly delicate touch and held up the fruit.

"I can not imagine," Dirar rumbled, "someone would not enjoy this once it is in his mouth. A taste is all I ask."

"Fine," Nicolo said, near snapping and he reached for the fruit.

"No, no, allow me."

To Yusuf's surprise though, Dirar did not offer the apricot on his blade like he did with Yusuf. He pressed the apricot to Nicolo's lips. With a murmur only Nicolo could hear, Dirar pushed the fruit into Nicolo's mouth with a thumb.

Nicolo locked colorless eyes on Dirar, craning to look up because Dirar towered Nicolo and suddenly Yusuf did not find the height difference amusing.

Dirar tsked. "Not good? You do not swallow, Nicolo."

Yusuf frowned. "Nicolo, you should not--"

With a loud gulp, Nicolo swallowed the fruit.

"Good?" Dirar murmured.

Nicolo looked away, his jaw clenched.

"It is late in the day," Yusuf said. He looked at Nicolo and Dirar with narrowed eyes.

"We will see each other again, Yusuf," Dirar said, but his eyes were on Nicolo. "You, too."

No, they will not. The thought popped into Yusuf's head fierce and startling. He did not reply. He nodded curtly to Dirar, liking Dirar's small smile less and less but did not know why. When he turned around, Nicolo was gone.

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 4/12

[dr_libra_phd]

———————————————-
Part 4
———————————————-

(Nicolo)

Cairo, 12th century


"...breathe through your nose..."

He did not expect it to feel so large in his mouth. When he first opened his mouth, Dirar suddenly grabbed him by the jaw. Dirar tsked, like he would a naughty child and told him he needed to open his mouth wider.

"I will teach you," Dirar had promised. His eyes shone like dark stones slick with blood. "You will do fine but you need to open wider or it will not fit."

The merchant made it sound simple, a passing fleeting thing for a few coins, something benign that would fill his and Yusuf's stomachs. He did not enjoy starvation as a child. He would not wish this on Yusuf.

"Deep breath in, relax your sweet mouth..."

But Dirar did not say how large it would feel.

The object bumped against his teeth. He started and the object slipped out to slap him on his lower lip.

Dirar huffed. Without warning, he slammed a fist to the side of his throat. He gasped which was exactly what Dirar wanted. The object darted back in with all the surety of a striking dagger.

"Do not do that again," Dirar snarled.

It tasted...not what he expected. Salty? It smelled of sweat. Yusuf smelled of sweat after they sword fight because decades shackled with him threatened to dull their blades. Yusuf always laughed, exhausted but exhilarated after yet another stalemate. He smelled of sweat and musk, tinged with something he could not find anywhere else.

This did not smell like Yusuf.

"...good...good," Dirar cooed. His hand tightened on his chin, forcing him to gape wider even though the object crawling into his mouth pushed his mouth to open more, his tongue trembling as the object crushed it to his bottom teeth.

"You will be rewarded well for letting me be your first..."

He tried to swallow the spit gathering. He could not. He began to drool out of the corner of his mouth and it dribbled into his beard.

His knees ached where he kneel in Dirar's ship. It smelled like citrus and dates and spice everywhere. Dirar's hands smelled the same. He wondered if the scents will soak into his clothes. Will Yusuf smell what he has done, cowered between a man's legs, mouth yawning and drooling as something moved deeper and deeper into his throat?

"Look at me..."

He did not want to.

The hand jerked his chin up. He convulsed as the object sank deeper as if it was trying to hammer him into the floor, a crucifixion through his tongue and bowels rather than his hands and feet.

"Your eyes..." Dirar sighed. The object moved faster, lighting fire within his throat, igniting tears to collect at the corners of his eyes, reaching for his empty lungs.

"Were these the eyes my people saw in Aleppo?" Dirar said, his voice soft and deadly. "Were your eyes the last thing my wife and children saw as they burned in your invasions?"

He could not speak, choking, wheezing as the object rammed faster into his throat, stealing what little air he tried to store in his lungs. Drool continued to run down his beard, pooling into the hollows of his throat. He thought his spit smelled foul, mingled with whatever was leaking from the object's tip.

"Yes, let me in. I demand entrance," Dirar breathed.

Dirar's stool squeaked as his hips snapped forward. His other hand clawed the back of his head, fingers pulling his hair free out of the leather tie. His hands scrabbled, clutching Dirar's knees to find purchase. Dirar hissed, knocking his knee into him, stomping down on both his hands to pin them to the floor.

"Let my eyes be all you see," Dirar seethed. Dirar's large hand pushed his head forward, his other hand clutching his chin like a pot handle. Dirar guided his head like a mace swinging into his own body, forcing his locked jaw to meet each parry the object thrust towards him.

The ship rocked under his knees, churning and blurring like the ship that took him to Antioch which led him to Jerusalem and to rivers of blood.

"Let me all in," Dirar spat out. The ship pitched and swayed violently under his knees. A snap and jolt ran up the floor and clawed at the pit of his belly.

"Earn your coin!" Dirar ordered. "Open wider. Wider!"

The room spun in strange colors and then no color at all. His jaw ached. His throat burned. His broken fingers ground unnaturally trapped under Dirar's boots. But nothing compared to the agony in his heart as Dirar screamed at him in Arabic, too fast to translate, too true to deny.

"Let me give you the first taste of what you deserve," Dirar shrieked as he yanked him up by the chin, almost off his knees and the object plowed into his mouth once more before it shook inside the clutch of his spasming throat. He tasted blood from his cut tongue, his vomit that has no where to go and a flood of bitter, bitter--


Nicolo dropped to his knees and vomited.

He was outside of the market. The sounds of people and their lives untainted by invasion rose high behind his bowed back. He did not realize his feet carried him so far and so quickly.

Was Yusuf still with Dirar? Dirar was the only name in Nicolo's grasp. The others...he gave them petty names because he would not see them again. And most, he did not. What they pay him for was only worthy of being done in the dark. After, many slithered away, happy to be forgotten despite their emptied purses.

But Dirar, Nicolo remembered how the merchant offered withered fruit at a discount, the prices cheaper and cheaper until there was no coin to spend at all.

He saw it in Dirar's evaluating eyes. There was something else Nicolo could barter. But when he asked to speak with Nicolo in private one day, Nicolo refused. He even pressed his dagger to Dirar's throat, unsure why Dirar only laughed.

Dirar kept asking as the docks inexplicably offered less and less work. Until finally, when Nicolo realized their bins were bare and Yusuf's smiles were starting to hollow like his cheeks, Nicolo sought Dinar.

Dinar did not ask again and after he taught Nicolo what to do, he paid Nicolo, minus a fee and penalty for the vomit on his floor.

Work at the docks was plentiful again, but where Dirar became silent, others began asking.

First, it was for a bit of coin for meat. Then for when the docks were empty of ships due to a storm. Then for the paper. Then for a blanket because the roof would not stay whole. After...

He could not remember what each time was for anymore.

Nicolo pressed a fist to his cramping stomach. He was too spent to shuffle away from the blood splattered sick on the weeds.

Oh. Blood. That was new as well.

He could still feel Dirar's thumb scratching his lower lip to demand entry. He could remember the smell of cardamom embedded under Dirar's nails, the plush fruit dripping and slick, so close to feeling like something else, Dirar's thumb pressing down his lip, open, open, and it slipped in tasting wrong, but he needed to swallow, gulp it down oily and slippery...

Nicolo's chin knocked into his knees as he hunched lower and gagged. Nothing would come out, but his mouth tasted like something did.

Sweat beaded on the back of his neck, reminding Nicolo why he had tied his hair back before. He remembered how warm Yusuf's hand felt as it palmed the ends of his hair and joked how better humored Nicolo looked now. Yusuf did not touch him. Not quite. But he longed to feel the heat brushing against his nape again.

Nicolo was about to wipe the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand when he discovered his hand was wet. Staring at his fingers, Nicolo was confused why his fingers were tipped in ebony ink--Oh no...

A strangled sound escaped Nicolo's throat when he looked down and found the vial of ink was dribbling down his trouser and trailed back into the market. He jerked up the tin container and found a tiny pin hole at the bottom. It had bled precious ink from the market. And he ran, fled like a coward, sloshing and spilling more ink without noticing.

Breathing harshly, unwilling to release whatever sound that shook at the base of his throat, Nicolo wrapped the bottom with a strap of leather he hastily cut off the top of his left boot.

The vial stopped bleeding ink, but the damage was done. Almost half was gone.

"Fool," Nicolo murmured. "You should not have run." His head hung low.

"Nicolo?" A hand slipped around his arm, possessive and demanding.

No, Nicolo thought, his throat working. Not now. Not when it was still day. He was too tired, he was too brittle, no, he'll bargain for whoever it is to meet later. Much later, but not too late because he needs to buy more ink...

"Nicolo," a voice insisted. The hand shook Nicolo and it rattled his pleas out.

"Not now," Nicolo whispered. "Please have pit--not now. I will meet you--"

"Not now? Nicolo, what are you talking about?"

Yusuf came into view, his warm eyes bright with worry. He stood close to Nicolo, his hand curled around his wrist. He stood close enough to smell like Yusuf. No one else ever did.

"Nicolo," Yusuf said sharper. He looked afraid. Were they discovered? What was wrong?

"You were gone when I turned around. Are you ill again? Was the vomit by my feet yours? There is blood in it."

...Oh.

"I..." Nicolo began, but could not finish. His mind went blank, a peace he has not know in a while and forgot what he should say. All he could think of was...

"Not now."

"Eh?" Yusuf gripped both his shoulders now. He did not shake Nicolo, for which he was grateful. He feared what other stupid thing he would blurt out. He just, he wished...

"Not now," Nicolo could not stop from whimpering. His breath hitched and he felt like he was choking but he did not understand how that was possible. He was not on his knees and he smelled like Yusuf and no, no, the ink, he needed to find another, the docks, there were always sly eyes watching, but his skin itched at the thought, but the ink, how foolish he was to...

"All right," Yusuf said suddenly. Very carefully, he pulled Nicolo to his shoulder and for a brief moment, all that existed in Nicolo's mind was the melody of Yusuf's breathing by his ear and the rise and fall of Yusuf's chest against his.

Nicolo closed his eyes. He tensed because he can not collapse against Yusuf and weep. He has not weep since a faceless woman left him in the monastery. She said she did not want such as stupid child. And weeping made noise the monastery did not like. If he weeps, he starves. No, he will not weep. He needed to go, he needed to earn his coin, earn his place by his side, get the ink--

Yusuf cupped the back of Nicolo's head. Fingers pressed gentle circles on his scalp.

Nicolo's thoughts dried up to nothingness.

"Ah, Nicolo," Yusuf said softly, profoundly sad for some reason. "Whatever it is, not now. Yea? Sh, not now."

Nicolo dropped his head to Yusuf's shoulder. It felt sturdy and under his feet, the ground no longer swayed like the ships and of bodies lurching forward to spear his mouth.

Nicolo, not trusting his voice, simply nodded.

Yes. Please. Not now.

Yusuf continued to draw symbols into Nicolo's scalp.

"All right," Yusuf breathed out unsteadily, "Good. Let's go home."

Nicolo could only nod again and hobbled towards the path, Yusuf's arm around his middle to guide him the way.

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 5A/12

[dr_libra_phd]

Just a quick part before my class and quiz. Sh, don't tell. LOL

Warning: my field is not history, but until fandom creates a pair of utterly adorable biochemical research scientists totally in love, I am never going to have usable knowledge for fics. LOL.

———————————————-
Part 5A
———————————————-

(Yusuf)

Cairo, 12th century


Not now.

When Yusuf slain the pale invader for the sixth time, he thought of how weary the other looked. He looked as tired as Yusuf felt. When they fell on each other's blade at the same time, Yusuf had lain in the sand thick and slippy with blood. The dead contributed to the red sludge and pooled hot under his body. When he revived, he heard the other did as well. And Yusuf lay there, his robes sodden heavy with blood and he was suddenly very weary, frustrated with it all and why Allah would bring him back so many times to face the other.

Not now, Yusuf thought then as he heard the other rise to his feet. Not now. He was weary, too aged with sorrow to lift his scimitar.

The boots crunched closer. Yusuf closed his eyes and waited for the blow. It never came. Instead, the boots shuffled past him, dragging blood, hair and entrails that were caught on his heel.

Yusuf found the invader outside the battle, blank eyes staring at Jerusalem as it burned. The sight broke Yusuf's heart, but it broke further when he saw the invader tore off the cross around his neck and charged into a frenzied battle a poor widow and child were caught behind.

He could not save them. There were too many determined to gain the spoils of war in any form. By the time Yusuf reached them, heart pounding (in fear? for him? it did not make sense), the invader was struck down by his fellow invaders screaming traitor. He lived, but was dragged away to camp for punishment.

Yusuf buried the widow and child, prayed for them with damp eyes then followed the trail of blood on the sand. The monstrous invaders dragged their own tethered behind horses.

Yusuf found him a week later, bloodied from whippings long healed, chained to a rock, a desert creature gnawing at his destroyed throat. Yusuf killed the creature, freed the invader before he revived and tossed him over a horse when the invader would not do more than blink after he came back to life with a weak gurgle.

He did not learn Nicolo's name for nine days. He was silent, glaring at Yusuf for approaching him, terrified every time he bolted out from sleep, and lost each time he watched Yusuf did his prayers. He finally spoke after Yusuf was killed by bandits, hoping for riches in their camp. He woke up to find Nicolo's back hunched and pressed back against his left hip, his sword set in front and his eyes fixed to the horizon. He did not look at Yusuf. In fact, it was another month before guilt-bleached eyes would finally meet his.

"Nicolo," Nicolo had rasped, not turning around. Later, Yusuf would learn it was because Nicolo was only able to kill two of them, the other two fleeing and screaming about demons because they witnessed an arrow pushed out of the back of Nicolo's head.

"What is a Nicolo?" Yusuf had said groggily.

"I do not know any more," Nicolo whispered and passed Yusuf the waterskin with the last of their water.

When Nicolo plead Not now, it was with that same voice. Defeated and confused, lost and empty as if his words were all he could offer. Because there was nothing left.

Yusuf wanted to storm back to Dirar's stall, let him hear the clean snick of his scimitar pulling free of its sheath. He wanted to press the curved edge of the blade under the soft flesh of Dirar's chin and demand answers to why Nicolo was Nicolo of old, what treachery did he inflict on his Nicolo.

But there was blood in Nicolo's vomit and such pain in Nicolo's Not now.. Yusuf could not walk away from him.

And so Yusuf helped Nicolo to his bed (after all, it was the closest to the hearth as Nicolo always favored a spot in front of doors). He coaxed Nicolo to sip the tea, have a generous wedge of bread, no, no, it is fine, it is fresh, yes, yes, I will have some too, see?

Nicolo could not tolerate the bread. Nor the bit of salted fish boiled in water so it would be soft enough to eat. And he threw up the rest of the tea. Yusuf was relieved there was no more blood in Nicolo's vomit. However, Nicolo was upset that he wasted the food, so Yusuf hadn't the heart to have him try again.

Their affliction healed whatever ailed Nicolo, thank Allah. But it did not fill the hollowness in Nicolo's cheeks or soothe whatever pangs Nicolo seemed to still suffer in his belly. He fell into an exhausted doze curled towards the wall, a fist pressed into his stomach.

While Nicolo slept, Yusuf ate (he did promise he would after all) by the table. He moved the table closer and propped his left foot on the edge of the pallet. His foot brushed lightly along the curve of Nicolo's spine. The knobby bumps that ran down Nicolo's back spoke of far too many meals Nicolo could not tolerate. It made something twist in Yusuf's chest. Yet the soft rhythmic breathing against Yusuf's foot soothed him with a calm assurance he gets with prayer.

It was no use denying his feelings any longer. Yusuf long suspected the feelings blurred soft and warm in his chest were due to Nicolo. Somewhere between war and traveling, animosity had spun to a begrudging comradeship and then to this well of emotions that easily bubbled to the surface with every little thing Nicolo did.

"But do you feel the same?" Yusuf murmured out loud. He shook his head. Now was not the time to wallow in his own feelings. He settled his foot closer to Nicolo's back and considered the curl of paper before him.

It was difficult to write or draw with one leg extended towards the bed. Yusuf needed to hunch awkwardly to one side to compensate, and so with reluctance, he set both feet to the floor. The table was moved further, so close, Yusuf no longer required the chair. He sat on the edge of the pallet, Nicolo breathing shallowly against him, the lamp glowing bright thanks to the excessively large vessel of purchased oil.

Yusuf chose a folktale he heard as a child, when tales were told to still young feet at night before sleep. He wrote the tale as best he could remember in the center of the page.

Stooping lower to the borders, Yusuf drew outlines of scrolling flowers, tiny animals hunched to pounce, and at the lower corner, a falcon perched on an olive tree branch. As much as he loathed to admit, the new pen Nicolo insisted they should get produced thin elegant veins of black. The paper kept the ink herded, nothing seeped away, the lines still crisp and promised whatever paint applied within their borders, the color would stay true.

If there were coin to spare, Yusuf would apply gold and silver dots among the animals, stroke faint splashes of green among the flowers. He gingerly mixed turmeric with water to dab in the borders and brighten the illustrations. With a finger, he painted the falcon's feathers with a mix of spice and water that produced a pomegranate red. He left the falcon's keen eyes uncolored. He would need to find an appropriate shade for its eyes. Perhaps a blue?

Yusuf considered the paper with a grimace. Without the gleam of silvers and golds, the page looked plain. The border would look better with the flowers' branches painted in brown. But it meant creating the rich hue with oils and cardamom.

Yusuf glanced over his shoulder.

Nicolo stayed curled, facing the wall. He was barely visible under the folds of the blanket and the unruly tangle of hair. But one eye was visible, squeezed tight, lid pale under a smudge of miserable darkness.

Nicolo stir restlessly, his rounded back leaning against Yusuf's hip. He huffed and stilled in sleep.

Yusuf turned back to his page. He nodded to himself as he shuffled to sit deeper in the pallet.

The border was fine as it is.

---------------------------
More later! Time to fail my quiz! (kidding, lol)

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 5B/12

[dr_libra_phd]

———————————————-
Part 5B
———————————————-

(Yusuf)

Cairo, 12th century


“You forgot where my bed is again.”

Yusuf grinned down at the page he was drying. He wiped his hands off of the drying powder with the rag. Twisting around, Yusuf considered the creature on his bed.

“Better,” Yusuf determined out loud. “You will no longer frighten the birds perched outside Yazim's fig tree. I can not promise the same of her cat.”

The scowl peering through the disheveled head and blanket was laughable.

“And is there something wrong with the chair?” Nicolo huffed. "Or have you forgotten what a chair is for in your advanced years?" He curled a hand on Yusuf’s closest forearm to pull himself up.

Winded, Nicolo sagged back against the wall Yusuf’s bed was set against.

What humor Yusuf felt died quickly at the sensation of Nicolo’s trembling fingers on his arm. Nicolo still panted loudly even as he stayed huddled within the blanket.

“You are usually quick to wake,” Yusuf noted. He sobered. He patted the blanket mound where Nicolo’s feet were.

“I would be out of this bed quicker,” Nicolo wheezed, “If something was not in my way.” He kicked Yusuf, bumping his hip with a covered foot. Yusuf was not sure if the feeble movement was in jest or because of weakness. He truly hoped it was the first.

"Eh, what is this? I carry your bag of bones to this bed and this is the thanks I get?"

"This bag of bones prefers his own bed." Another kick, a halfhearted tap that landed on Yusuf's thigh. "Make way."

“Were you feeling better,” Yusuf retorted, “I would not be an obstacle at all.”

Nicolo fell to silence.

Yusuf rubbed his forehead wearily.

“Are you feeling better?” Yusuf asked.

Nicolo grunted. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“No.” Yusuf’s mouth set. He stared across to the other bed. He sensed Nicolo against his back. His breathing improved, even and steady in a beat Yusuf now realized was unique and also familiar in his ears.

“You said 'Not now',” Yusuf said quietly.

Behind Yusuf, Nicolo's breath stuttered.

Yusuf absently turned the pen in his hands. He waited, but Nicolo would not speak.

"It is later," Yusuf said finally. "Would you now grant me an explanation?"

Nicolo grunted. His feet retreated from Yusuf's hip.

"What is there to explain?" Nicolo mumbled.

"How about who you thought I was?" Yusuf waited, but Nicolo offered nothing. The pen in his hands continued to spin.

"Who did you think I was, Nicolo?" Yusuf's teeth ground together at the continued silence. "Who troubled you?"

"No one," Nicolo bit out. "No one troubled me. I was not--"

The pen clacked as it dropped onto the table when Yusuf turned around.

"Who," Yusuf seethed, "did you think it was that you begged "Not now" with tears in your eyes?"

Nicolo's eyes were round as the moon that hung above them. His gaze dimmed and shifted to look at something past Yusuf's ear.

"Tears?" Nicolo scoffed.

Yusuf shook his head. He felt as ill as when he saw Nicolo stare up at Yusuf at the market. The sheen in those frightened eyes was like nothing he had seen from Nicolo. It felt like a kick in the ribs by his horse. Something splintered inside of him, something that howled he must not allow Nicolo to ever feel like that again.

"You were mistaken," Nicolo insisted, far too desperately.

"Nicolo..."

"You are often too prone to yo--You imagined it--"

"No, I did not," Yusuf snapped. "I have shed enough tears over the invasions to know what tears look like." He froze when he heard himself.

Nicolo hung his head, his eyes closing in pain.

"Yes," Nicolo murmured. His voice cracked. He took a breath and his voice firmed. "You are right. You have shed tears. Many have because of us."

"Nicolo," Yusuf said, dismayed, "I did not say that to be cruel."

Nicolo smiled, tight-lipped, his eyes dull. "The truth is always cruel no matter how kind you tell it."

Yusuf's chest held a sharp rock inside. It ground into his heart the longer Nicolo would not look at him.

Nicolo, sensing Yusuf's unease, grimaced weakly. Yusuf supposed it was meant to be a smile.

"It is nothing," Nicolo said. He tipped his head back, hitting the wall with a sound that made Yusuf's own head hurt. "It is fine."

"An obvious lie is just as cruel, Nicolo," Yusuf told him tiredly. "No matter how kind your reasons are."

Nicolo closed his eyes. His mouth twisted like he was fighting the words on a battlefield.

"What were you drawing?" Nicolo said finally.

Yusuf exhaled. "Nicolo..."

"It looked different from your others." Nicolo opened his eyes. The plea in them gave Yusuf pause.

The weight that left a permanent bow on Nicolo's shoulders seemed to have burrow into Yusuf's bones now. He was lying on a field of blood and sorrow again, staring at a sky and begging for this endless cycle to end.

"Yusuf," Nicolo whispered. His lower lip trembled. He bit down on it, stilling it. And then it bled, a tear of blood that dried after the lip healed.

Yusuf swallowed. He turn around quickly. He cradled the folktale he drew with both hands. He realized he omitted the ending from the story because it was a sorrowful one. He cried as a boy when he heard it so his mother never told it again. He will have to write one later. A happy one.

"Later?" Yusuf rasped.

"I..." Nicolo inhaled, choked on the effort and exhaled. It sounded broken. If Yusuf did not turn around, he could pretend it did not sound like a sob.

"I..." Nicolo tried again. "Yes. Yes, I...I will tell you. Later. Just...not now."

Please. Yusuf heard it as clear as if Nicolo shouted it in his ear. The page rustled in his hand as he turned around. Wordlessly, Yusuf gave Nicolo the page.

Nicolo's eyes were pale flecks of the sky as they swept across the words. Nicolo's brow knitted as he struggled.

"I am too weary to read it," Nicolo gave up with a sigh. "The words makes sense, but not together." He shook his head.

"It is a child's story," Yusuf said. "From my youth. I thought someone from the markets might be interested." He pointed to the bird at the lower corner and then the boy at the upper corner, hidden in the decorated border.

Nicolo studied the child perched among the vines staring intently at the falcon below. He tilted the paper and the two vanished into the scroll work. It would be far more impressive if Yusuf could afford it some more colored ink. He thought the boy's profile was too stiff.

"It is wonderful," Nicolo said quietly. The paper shook in his hands. He passed it back to Yusuf. "I have never seen anything like it."

Yusuf lifted a shoulder. He would turn hot from the praise if he were not mulling over how pale and bloodless Nicolo's fingers looked.

"You are generous with praise," Yusuf mumbled.

"I am often the opposite."

Yusuf glanced up, but Nicolo was staring at the page Yusuf held.

"Nicolo," Yusuf began.

Bleak eyes lifted.

Yusuf gulped back his words and quickly thought of another.

"I made broth of the fish." Yusuf's stomach twist when Nicolo shook his head. Limp brown hair fell forward and hung against Nicolo's drawn face.

"A bit of bread?" Yusuf tried. "A smaller piece than before?" He resisted shaking Nicolo. He resisted the fear screaming in his heart to clutch Nicolo and pour the broth down his throat.

"I promised you not to ask any more," Yusuf whispered. He felt a faint twinge of guilt. "Could you assure me I did the right thing by having a bit of food?"

Nicolo peered up, weary eyes squinting at Yusuf.

"I did not think you would stoop so low, Yusuf." Nicolo smiled faintly, but it dropped too quickly. Nicolo nodded, his sigh so laden and sad, Yusuf almost retracted his request.

"I will sweeten the deal by reading this as you eat," Yusuf offered. He held up the page. "Good practice. You still speak Arabic with the same crudeness of the way you swing your sword."

Nicolo snorted, or it sounded like he tried. He sat back, his head swaying lazily across the wall as his eyes blearily followed Yusuf to the kitchen and back to the bed. He made no comment as Yusuf moved up to sit next to Nicolo on the bed.

Yusuf paused when the wood beneath the pallet creaked.

Nicolo huffed once. "It is because you eat too many of Yazim's sugared figs."

Yusuf glared at Nicolo. He fidgeted to sit closer, stilling when the wood groaned again.

"Not a word," Yusuf warned yet his heart pounded at a hint of a smirk. He grumbled under his breath. Someone needed to eat more sugared figs and it is not he.

"Careful," Yusuf said as he pressed the cracked bowl of broth to Nicolo's cold hands. "It's hot." He watched Nicolo, studied how careful Nicolo swallowed and sip again.

"Good?" Yusuf ventured.

Nicolo grimaced. "You mean the broth?"

"No, I meant the fish in the Nile, yes, the broth."

Nicolo cautiously nodded and took another sip. And another. It felt like years, but at last the bowl was empty. Yusuf only wished it did not feel like such a victory but it did.

"Do not lie down yet," Yusuf cautioned. "I want you to eat some bread next."

To Yusuf's relief, Nicolo only nodded. It may be because Nicolo found it too tiresome to argue, but it did not matter if it meant Nicolo will eat.

"The story," Nicolo prodded. He felt warm yet not warm enough against Yusuf's arm.

"The story," Yusuf agreed. He carefully, slowly, dropped his arm around Nicolo's shoulders. He paused.

"You're getting so thin," Yusuf murmured sadly. "Your shoulder will soon be sharp enough to stab me in the heart, my friend."

Nicolo shook his head. He dropped it to Yusuf and shrank a little under Yusuf's arm as if it was too heavy.

"Nicolo," Yusuf whispered. "Promise me 'Later' will be soon. Hm?"

Nicolo's head rolled slightly against Yusuf's shoulder.

"Does this story have a joyous ending?" Nicolo mumbled. He sounded half asleep. Perhaps the bread will be for morning.

"It will," Yusuf promised. He read it slowly, correcting it out loud as he went. He did not stop when he felt Nicolo sag into his side. He continued reading, adding the happy ending he left out and read it all over again over Nicolo's head, his voice hoarse by the time the sun rose up.

———————————————-
The fundamental unit of an NA is bp, or a based pair. My brain automatically went to Yusuf/Nicolo.

This did not bode well for my quiz. LOL....

See you tomorrow!

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 6A/12

[dr_libra_phd]

Split into two parts again. Sorry. Either I'm writing longer. Or writing slower.

———————————————-
Part 6A
———————————————-

(Nicolo)

Cairo, 12th century


He woke up to the sound of bows and laughter fading in his ears. It left him with longing.

Nicolo made a face as something pressed down over his mouth, scratching his upper lip bristly and--

"I also paid you to swallow."

Nicolo jolted, springing to his feet, or tried as something wound around his legs, like hands holding him down.

The third one was a fish merchant. Nicolo named him Smak, Arabic for fish. His short fingers were briny and slimy with fish oil and scales.

Smak did not like how Nicolo reared back to try to breathe. He ordered his man to hold down Nicolo's legs to keep him kneeling. He demanded Nicolo to stop, swallow and do not fight him again.

He swallowed. Then bit the object that refused to leave his sore mouth. Smak was not happy. He demanded a penalty.

At least, Smak paid him for the other one as well. And Nicolo knew not to bite anymore.

But no, wait, that was last week. How...

Nicolo glanced down at his feet. He stared blankly at the blanket wound around his ankles like a snake. Yusuf's blanket.

Yes, that is right. He was on Yusuf's bed. And fell asleep to Yusuf's voice and his tale about a boy and his falcon. It sounded like it would be a sad ending, but Yusuf promised it would not be. Nicolo could not recall if he heard it. His last memory was of Yusuf's arm warm against his nape, his body solid against his side, and his voice steady and deep in his ears, taking over the buzzing that has not gone away since Dirar.

Another sort of longing filled Nicolo's chest and left him feeling weak. He dropped down onto Yusuf's bed, the blanket now a crumpled pile on his lap.

Nicolo gripped the coarse weave with both hands as he cast bleary eyes about the room. The table was back in its place in the center, between the two pallets.

Nicolo's sleeping pallet was neat, his cushion in the center like before. Yusuf had insisted a cushion behind Nicolo's head would do miracles for sleep. For two years after they started traveling together, Yusuf complained.

Nicolo did not see the point: he slept on stone floors, dirt ground and wooden planks without anything under his head since he could remember. He slept fine; it only needed to be long enough to be ready for his duties when the sun rose.

Yusuf had stared at Nicolo with a strange astonished expression. Then he folded up his thickest cloak and gruffly told Nicolo to put his head on it that night.

Nicolo smiled weakly at the thin cushion Yusuf made from rags after they arrived in Cairo. He made two, folding them in halves and in quarters from clothing torn from too many arrows and too many swords. Nicolo had washed them as best he could the moment Yusuf deemed they were far enough away.

Yusuf slept and left beds a mess. Nicolo learned early on that if the beds were not made neatly, one did not eat.

It meant Yusuf did not sleep in Nicolo's bed. That is...good? Yusuf did not like to be cold, but then where...

Nicolo blinked at the pallet he was on and considered the smudges of ink on the covers.

Oh.

That strange longing washed over Nicolo again. And when he noticed the modest chunk of bread and tea on the table, the longing sharpened to an ache.

The bread was warm, burnt at the bottom. Yusuf must have set it on top of the covered pot as he boiled water for tea. The tea cooled but still slipped warm down Nicolo's throat. And the bread...tasted like bread. Nicolo nearly choked when he gulped down the bread and realized it tasted like it should.

Nicolo sipped the tea cautiously. It was a dark brew Yusuf said the merchant promised would soothe his stomach. But Nicolo did not put much faith on merchants. Not anymore.

It was unusual Yusuf was not here. His threadbare prayer rug was rolled up by their packs, so he did his morning prayers. Strangely enough, all the stray sheets of thick paper were gone. Did Yusuf need more already?

Nicolo's stomach clenched at the thought. He blinked, his sight blurring as he thought who might be in port. Smak has gone back to sea. Gems left as well.

Dirar. Dirar and Khalîl were here.

Nicolo curled his hands tighter around the chipped cup.

Perhaps Khalîl. He paid well and did not object if Nicolo needed to pause for breath. He liked to pull hair though and was fond of Nicolo's tongue on him and the sight of his blood.

But it was better than Dirar. Maybe, yes, he'll seek Khalil before Dirar seeks him.

Nicolo pulled in a shuddering breath, his head dropping and his eyes landed on a scrap of paper that must have been stuck on the bottom of his cup.

Have gone to docks.

Rest.

Yusuf.

The cup shattered as Nicolo surged to his feet. He changed quickly, tearing seams and laces in the process, but he was out, trembling hands fastening his longsword to his hip as he hurried to the docks.

-----------------------

More later!

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 6B/12

[dr_libra_phd]

I need to write faster or get a bigger Samsung. LOL

———————————————-
Part 6B
———————————————-

(Nicolo)

Cairo, 12th century


Yazim startled when Nicolo stopped by her stall, asking if she saw Yusuf. As he darted by her, Nicolo realized the widow stammered her reply because she did not understand Nicolo at first. In his haste, he spoke to her in a mix of Arabic and Greek.

This early in the morning, the markets were busy as ships arrived and baskets of fruits and spices wove through stalls for delivery. Caravans arrived at the docks that stretched out to paths towards the walled city, the streets clustered around it and out towards the Nile.

Nicolo scanned the turns and spaces between the stalls, ignoring the calls for his attention and his coin.

The bread and tea were warm. Yusuf could not have left too long ago. Nicolo mumbled apologies as his longsword's scabbard knocked into knees and carts. It was a reason why he often left it behind, favoring the dagger. Yusuf left it in his sack one day, in a village by the water as they cut through lands that still remembered news of the first invasion and dreads the next.

Many took offense to the sight of his longsword and his eyes. They were within their right, so Nicolo never fought back. Nicolo was certain if another mob attack, Yusuf would finally see sense and leave. He could return for Nicolo's body later if it was convenient.

Instead, Yusuf slipped a dagger into Nicolo's sack one night and quietly suggested leaving the sword with Yusuf if they were to stay in another town. Since then, Yusuf always made sure it was as sharp as his scimitar. He complained Nicolo did not know how to do it correctly.

"...sorry, sorry," Nicolo muttered as he took an abrupt turn and knocked into a man selling colorful fowl. He could not remember the bird's name. Yusuf told him once. It wore a strange nose and Yusuf pointed it out to Nicolo when they first set their eyes on the Ni--where he is?

Nicolo panted, irritated by how breathless he felt and how clumsy his mind was feeling. His head was spinning too fast for him to consider what to do. He ate the bread, surely his body would agree it was nourished? He set his hands on his knees, his sword dragging, refusing to stay high against his hip, his strap for the sword too worn to hold its shape.

Could Yusuf have gone into the walled city instead to partake in the libraries? No, Yusuf would have said. No, he said docks. Nicolo should see him here, among the workers squinting suspiciously at Nicolo as they climbed up to the ships and carry down baskets spilling with fruit and fish.

Where he is?

Nicolo was tempted to shout for Yusuf. It is a small dock. Only small ships can move up and down the channels to the Nile where their bigger ships waited. Yusuf would hear him.

But the words were caught in Nicolo's throat as each face he searched was not the right one. Why did Yusuf go to the docks? Why did not Nicolo hear him leave?

Something from afar caught Nicolo's attention. He narrowed his eyes at the distance, at the last ship, whose sails and oars were bound. It was a ship meant to stay, for a long time. And on its deck, a man in white and tan robes stood there staring back at Nicolo.

Dirar.

Even from here, Nicolo could see his smirk. He felt cold run down his back. His throat soured, the bread threatened to revolt in his belly.

Clenching his jaw, Nicolo straightened up and walked. His worn boots thumped as he approached. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few men sneer knowingly. Nicolo kept his gaze forward, fixed on Dirar's sly smile. He stopped by the plank that led to the ship.

They stared at each other, waiting.

"I knew I would see you again," Dirar murmured. "Nicolo." He said Nicolo's name in a long exhale. He touched his chin with a slender roll of parchment. "I was curious how much you have learned since last I taught you."

Nicolo stopped from charging when he recognized the delicate lines on the scroll.

"Where is he?" Nicolo bit out. His left hand drifted to his sword.

Dirar's eyes were dark flints. They drifted to Nicolo's sword. He chuckled.

"I hear you sometimes fight on your knees. Many like that. You were clever to do that. People bore easily. They pay more if you struggle."

"Where. Is. He?" Nicolo's heart hammered, galloping against his chest, screaming to break free.

"Come up to my ship. We will have tea." Dirar made to turn.

"I do not want tea," Nicolo snapped.

Dirar walked to the railing, at top of the plank.

"It was not a request." Dirar spun on his heels. "Leave your sword by the door."

Nicolo glanced around him. He recognized some of Dirar's crew, lingering by the docks. One leered and jerked his pointy chin to the plank. Behind Nicolo, someone cackled.

Nicolo took a deep breath. The air was thick with cardamom and figs. The plank was streaked red and brown from spilled spices. He climbed up the plank. His legs shook with each step. His neck ached where he forced it to hold his head up. He felt far away, looking at a stranger's hand take his sword and prop it against the side of the door. He hunched to get in, willing his back to straightened as he stood in the cabin he knew all too well.

Dirar set his chair in the center of the space. Damp and empty barrels were pushed up against the walls. In the back, hidden in the shadows, Nicolo felt eyes watching him.

"In case you try to use the dagger," Dirar murmured as he sat down. "I heard from your second...caller. He was not pleased when you threatened to cut it off when he wanted a second time."

Dirar spread his knees apart, revealing the grotesque bulge that strained his trousers.

"I have informed him it was not your fault. The price was clear. He sent his regrets."

Nicolo's jaw set.

"Where. Is. He?"

Dirar canted his head. He slipped a hand over the bulge and breathed in sharply.

"What makes you think he is here--if you leave now, you will not know." Dirar's lazy tone sharpened the moment Nicolo reached the door.

"Then you are responsible," Nicolo grated out.

Dirar chuckled. "I am responsible for many things. I am responsible for who works in the docks, who receives the sweetest fruit in their stalls, how many can enter and sell in the walled city. I am responsible for who thrives and who starves. But one man?" Dirar tsked. He uttered something in Arabic, in words Nicolo could not understand completely.

In the back, someone laughed.

Nicolo turned around slowly. The eyes in the shadows followed him as he approached Dirar. He stopped short of reach. He glowered at Dirar.

"I will burn this ship down with you in it," Nicolo said evenly. "And I will use your crew's blood to extinguish the flames."

"I have no doubt," Dirar murmured. "Your kind are bloodthirsty. Look how calmly you talk of our deaths."

Nicolo flinched.

Dirar chuckled softly when he caught what Nicolo failed to hide.

"Where is he?" Nicolo repeated. He bit the inside of his mouth as he fixed his eyes at Dirar.

"What do you want?" Nicolo said finally. His teeth gnashed into the flesh of his mouth. He tasted blood.

"Many things," Dirar said. His eyes shone. "But for now, kneeling will do nicely for us."

Nicolo's throat worked. "You will let him go?"

Dirar shrugged.

Something flared inside Nicolo. He gripped his dagger and took a step forward.

In the back, the clear sound of blades sliced the darkness.

"Kill me and know nothing. Kneel and you may gain...something." Dirar made a sound and the blades in the back glinted briefly as they were put away.

"You know I pay well...Nicolo."

Nicolo released his grip on the dagger.

"I am outnumbered," Nicolo said dully. "What stops you from simply taking?"

"I find it more enjoyable when the other is willing."

"I was never willing." Nicolo glared at Dirar as the merchant continued to rub between his legs, the object hard to ignore as it jutted against the trousers.

"You were willing enough to take our coin."

Nicolo pressed his lips together. There was nothing he could say.

Dirar huffed. He pulled his hand away. He gestured to the damp spot on his trousers. He darkened when Nicolo clicked his teeth and bare them at him.

"You have fight," Dirar said low. "How many are you willing to fight to help your friend?"

Nicolo tensed.

"Kneel," Dirar said calmly.

Nicolo's tongue felt too big for his mouth. And it felt like he was delirious with thirst and tried to eat sand again. He couldn't get his knees to bend.

Nicolo's throat worked.

"You promise to leave him alone?" Nicolo said, defeated.

"I promise nothing if we get nothing. Kneel."

Nicolo felt the ship's floor shake as footsteps crept up from the back. He could not count how many there were. He...he did not want to.

"I will not ask again," Dirar said low, "And I will not offer again."

Nicolo closed his eyes. He heard the footsteps stop behind him, around him. A sound clawed in his chest, but he did not dare let it out.

Nicolo opened his eyes and forced himself to stare at Dirar. Only him. Nothing else.

Without a sound, Nicolo dropped to his knees.
-----------------------

Okay, I'm tired of this prompt. See you guys Tues--

Kidding! Kidding! I'm not that horrible of a bitch. LOL. I'll post tomorrow! Thank you for reading!

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 7A/12

[dr_libra_phd]

———————————————-
Oh man, is it Yusuf or Yusef? Nicolo or Niccolo?

Of course, what I should be doing is my energy conversion equations? Does anyone want to trade? I rather write fic. LOL.

———————————————-
Part 7A
———————————————-

(Yusuf)

Cairo, 12th century


Yusuf went to the docks to see if he would be as fortunate as Nicolo in finding employment. There wasn't much.

In the short time they stayed in the outer areas of Cairo, Yusuf saw the docks shrink after Edessas.

Fears of a new invasion by the Franks haunted Cairo's citizens. By the time he and Nicolo arrived Cairo, the news of the armies of two kings and the failed siege of Damascus had spurred Cairo to pull in their wealth behind their walls. The surrounding areas and the docks slowly shriveled. Coin was no longer easily obtained.

Many looked angry Yusuf dared to inquire and after a disappointing hour, Yusuf started to lose hope. Work was held tight to their chests these days. Generosity seldom flourish in time of war.

But Nicolo somehow found work in the docks. A poor offering at first but the wages came more often than Yusuf's efforts to gild paper into fanciful scrolls. Yusuf explored the libraries for any mention of immortality. He fettered from one library to archives of mosques based on rumors. He copied what he could, but it took time. Too much time. And the lands around them did not need guards or travel companions for caravans. Not when many chose to stay huddled in the doubtful safe of city walls because of the rumor of war.

But he did not wish for Nicolo to toil so long in the docks again. It was good fortune he found the elderly Aziz in the market.

"...and this one?" Aziz said, picking up the same manuscript from before.

Then again...

The trader squinted at the scroll from Dirar's stall. When Yusuf heard the trader was about to sail into Catalonia and possibly even Portugal and wanted manuscripts, he retrieved what scrolls Dirar could not sell to show Aziz.

It was fortunate Dirar was not at the stall. Yusuf did not relish seeing the merchant, not yet and not without Nicolo. It felt like whatever he will do to Dirar must be done together.

"If you could do more greens? More of the flowers here? Can it be done?"

"Yes," Yusuf said patiently for the second time. "It can be. I would only need a day."

"And this one?" Aziz fumbled with another scroll that he only set down just before. "With more fish? I uh, would like it with more...birds at the bottom."

Yusuf's brow knitted. "More birds or more fish?"

Aziz looked startled. His cheeks jiggled as he coughed.

"More fish. More birds, of course." Aziz glanced out his stall, past the bolts of fabric that were still stacked high on his table.

"My apologies. I am taking too much of your time," Yusuf said as he started to rise from his chair.

"No, no," Aziz said, shaking his grey head so hard his head cloth slipped over his bloodshot brown eyes. "Please, tell me about this one?" He held up another scroll with a lined hand.

The parchment was a tale about the constellations he found in one of the libraries in Damascus. He told it to Nicolo and remembered how warm he felt in his belly as Nicolo listened with wide eyes and a parted mouth. He wrote the tale down and decorated the borders with the last of the yellow pigment and dotted the corners with the stars he pointed out to Nicolo. He tied it with a leather strap Nicolo carefully trimmed off one of his boots.

"Oh, ah," Yusuf fumbled. He was reluctant when he first gave it to Dirar. "That one, that one is not for sale."

To Yusuf's relief, Aziz did not object. The trader returned it to Yusuf, who clutched it over his lap so he would not forget it. He should show it to Nicolo again. Perhaps his friend would have suggestions on how to improve it. It was not ready for sale yet.

Aziz held up the previous scroll. "Can this have more greens?"

Yusuf bit back a sigh. He glanced out the stall as well. Morning was brightening to afternoon soon.

"And this one?" Aziz continued. "More birds?"

"Yes," Yusuf said slowly, careful to keep his voice light. "More birds."
-------------------------

I also have a weird weekend schedule at work so I'm writing as fast as I can, but Yusuf's part looks like it'll be three parts. I aim to have all 3 parts posted by today. If not, all parts of 7 done by this weekend. Promise.

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 7B/12

[dr_libra_phd]

———————————————-
Part 7B
———————————————-

(Yusuf)

Cairo, 12th century


Yusuf thanked Aziz, accepting the coins and the modest fold of fabric he will barter with Yazim to make a blanket. He stood outside Aziz's stall, savoring the weight of the coins in the purse fastened to his belt.

How strange, Yusuf thought, how little things could bring such joy in a complicated life. He considered the other stalls, tempted to buy a bit of sweets to celebrate. He hoped Nicolo felt better this morning and was able to eat the bread.

At the thought of his friend, Yusuf's gaze drifted to the distance where the docks lay. The coins were heavy in his pocket, but the weight was fleeting. Too quickly, they will be spent.

Yusuf nodded to himself. Fate granted him unexpected good fortune. Perhaps his luck will stay with him in the docks.

With one last look at Aziz's stall, Yusuf strode through the market for the docks once again.




He spotted him by the road.

The market faded into a worn path and a square patch of sand for horses and camels to wait for the baskets and sacks from the ships. The beasts have already left with their burdens for the inner streets of Cairo and afar. But there was a sole figure remaining on the rail used to tether the animals.

"Nicolo?" Yusuf hurried when he spotted the brown hair that covered half of Nicolo's face. Nicolo was hunched against the railing. He did not look up until Yusuf called him again.

"I was looking for you." Nicolo glanced behind his shoulder. "At the docks."

"I was not as successful as you finding work in the docks." Yusuf studied Nicolo slouched against the railing. The rough wood could not be comfortable against Nicolo's back. He stepped in closer, his hip brushing against Nicolo to offer better support. "But I returned to try again."

Yusuf smiled.

"I thought if I could not charm the merchants to give me work, perhaps my persistence would wear them down."

Yusuf tried to catch Nicolo's eye, but they kept wandering away. His smile faded.

"I hoped you would remain in the house and rest." Yusuf frowned at the belt that hung off Nicolo's hip and sagged halfway down his other hip.

"Did you bring your sword?" Yusuf peered past Nicolo's head at the ships that bobbed in the shallow waters.

"Ah." Nicolo glanced down at himself. His hands brushed down himself over and over his stomach. "My sword."

"Yes," Yusuf prodded gently. "Did you bring it? Where is it? It is not like you to bring it out here."

"Ah," Nicolo mumbled. He shook his head. "No sword. I...I was in a hurry to go to the docks. The belt...no...no sword." He exhaled. "I was looking for you."

Yusuf fidgeted closer. He wished he wore his cloak this morning. Nicolo's shoulders stooped forward. He looked cold.

Suddenly, Nicolo straightened away from the rail and him. His shoulders curved back, stiff and tensed. It looked painful.

"What is it?" Yusuf's eyes darted to Nicolo's left hand that plucked his tunic by his middle. "Does your stomach still bother you?"

Nicolo's hand fell away.

"No." Nicolo stared out towards the market in the distance. Despite the harsh glare of the sun and the heat that made Yusuf's shirt stick to his back, Nicolo was pale.

"No," Nicolo said, "My stomach is fine."

"It is fine," Nicolo repeated louder.

Yusuf exhaled, relieved. "Then you were able to swallow the food with no ill?"

Nicolo nodded jerkily. Finally he looked up.

Yusuf's brow knitted. His hands flew up to Nicolo's shoulders.

"You do not look truly awake, my friend." Yusuf tightened his grip when it felt like Nicolo was about to sway out of his grasp. "Perhaps we should leave. I will seek work in the docks tomorrow."

Nicolo's hand drifted up and plucked at Yusuf's tunic.

"Do not go to the docks again," Nicolo said quietly.

Yusuf blinked. "What do you me--"

"There you are."

Yusuf felt Nicolo twitch as the voice rang out before running steps carried a thin man with a narrow face to them. He canted his head, bowing his head towards Yusuf, smiling broadly as he turned to Nicolo.

"You have left your wages, my friend," the man chided cheerfully, "You are lucky I, Badhl is honest!"

Yusuf's brow arched at the little palm sized sack that rested in Badhl's work scarred hand.

"You worked at the docks?" Yusuf fought to keep the frown from his voice. "You should have rested." To Badhl, Yusuf frowned. "My friend was not feeling well."

Badhl's smile stretched from ear to ear. "Do not worry. It was easy work for him. Most kept him off his feet." The bag of coins jingled. "But it was work that deserved good coin. My employer was pleased."

Nicolo reached over and snatched the bag before Yusuf could.

"Very pleased," Badhl repeated. "He hopes you will return to the docks very soon." His eyes twinkled as they swept over Nicolo's face.

"Many hope you do." Badhl said, dropping to a murmur.

"Apologies," Yusuf interrupted. He moved his hands to drape an arm around Nicolo's shoulder. "I need his assistance in the libraries for the future. I fear he would not be able to come to the docks anymore."

Yusuf's arm tightened around Nicolo's shoulders.

"We are going to the library now as well."

"Pity," Badhl commented. He glanced over to Yusuf speculatively.

"He will be busy," Nicolo said stiffly. "If you need someone in the docks, ask for me."

"Nicolo--"

"Ask for me," Nicolo bit out. He set his jaw. He did not look at Yusuf.

"They will all be pleased to hear," Badhl murmured.

For some reason, Nicolo slouched further under Yusuf's arm.

"Ah," Badhl patted a little pouch lashed to his hip. "How I forget. You were to be paid more." At Yusuf's look, Badhl grinned, yellow teeth showing. "Extra work."

Badhl pulled out a large copper piece. He held it up and extended it to Nicolo.

Nicolo glowered at the coin.

Badhl chuckled. "It is a fair wage, no? Our employers are always generous."

"And too demanding," Yusuf muttered. He was only gone for the morning. His poor friend looked as if he has not rested at all.

Yusuf reached for the coin, stopping when Nicolo made a rough sound. Nicolo set his mouth into a grim line and plucked the coin out of Badhl's fingers. The copper piece slipped into the bag of coins with a loud clink.

Nicolo turned, Yusuf following when Badhl chuckled.

"Wait, wait, wait, Nicolo. I forget. It was not one. It was two, no, it was three, was it not?"

Yusuf narrowed his eyes at the dock worker.

"Which ship is your employer?" Yusuf asked thinly.

Badhl's grin wavered at Yusuf's scowl. He stuck out his thin chest.

"I work for many ships," Badhl declared. He smirked at Nicolo. Nicolo glared sideways at him. He did not turn around.

"Like Nicolo." Badhl chuckled under his breath. "Maybe not like Nicolo, yea?"

Nicolo jerked out from under Yusuf's arm. He stalked over to Badhl. Badhl's smile wavered some more and he paled visibly despite the olive tan on his leathery skin.

Without a word, Nicolo's palm lashed out like a sword strike.

Just as silent, Badhl dropped the two extra coins into Nicolo's hand.

Nicolo stared hard at Badhl. His jaw flexed. But he did not offer any words. He turned sharply, his back straight as if a spear was lodged in his spine. He walked evenly, not quickly, away from Badhl, not slowing even after Badhl slyly bid him farewell.

Yusuf studied Badhl, his lips pursed. Badhl smirked back.

"Good luck with your art," Badhl muttered and he stalked away, hurrying once he reached the safety of the docks. Yusuf could not track which ship Badhl entered. The dock worker disappeared quickly among the rushing men and barrels.

Nicolo was almost out of his sight. Yusuf tore his eyes away from the docks and hurried after Nicolo.

---------------
I'll finish last part tomorrow as it's getting long. Eep.

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 7C/12

[dr_libra_phd]

Whew! I did it! I think part 7 was my longest part yet!

——————————-
Part 7C
——————————-

He did not see where Nicolo has gone.

Yusuf’s heart thundered, battering his chest as he craned to see where Nicolo was. He last caught sight of Nicolo marching stiff limbed into the market. He disappeared between two stalls. Nicolo did not seem to have heard Yusuf call him as well.

The fabric in his fist was damp with sweat as he clutched it and the constellation scroll to his body. His other hand clenched around the dagger strapped to his upper thigh. He did not know why, but his heart demanded it. And he never failed to listen. After all, it was the one that told him to find the Frank who shared his affliction. It was a decision Yusuf clutched gladly to his heart as strongly as the scroll and cloth.

There!

Nicolo was standing in front of a stall, blankly staring at the inks and powders for stains. He stood apart from the wares, a fist held up in front as if he was uncertain if he wanted to strike out or not. Yusuf slipped next to him, careful not to touch him. Something told him not to touch Nicolo. Not right now.

The merchant was haggling with another about the decorative pigments on his table. Yusuf recalled declining to look the first time he passed the stall. It was a temptation, one they could not afford. Not right now.

“I had a dream of the women this morning,” Nicolo said. He did not glance over to Yusuf. He simply seemed to know Yusuf was there.

“I dreamt of them as well,” Yusuf murmured. He glanced over and realized Nicolo clutched the three copper coins in his trembling fist.

“The archer...She wore robes of that color.”

Nicolo did not point, but Yusuf’s eyes drifted to the tin pot of red ink. It was red as a ripe pomegranate. He thought it was a wondrous color for her. She looked fiery as the taller one. They looked like warriors yet with gentle hearts.

“It was the color of the blood I often saw on my hands,” Nicolo added. His eyes drifted to the other pots of ink. He stood so still, Yusuf would have believed Nicolo fell asleep.

“Nicolo...” Yusuf murmured, distressed. He shifted closer. He reached over and brushed the back of a finger against a thin wrist bone.

The copper coins rattled to the ground.

Nicolo uttered something under his breath. He crouched down to pick them up. Yusuf bent to help. He started when Nicolo knocked his hand away before he could pick up a single coin.

“I...sorry,” Nicolo muttered. His head dropped and rose immediately after. He snatched the coins before Yusuf could even spot them.

Yusuf frowned at the streaks of blood on Nicolo’s fingertips. Nicolo scraped too close the the ground. When Nicolo saw where his eyes were, he scrubbed his hand clean on the hem of his tunic.

“Healed,” Nicolo murmured. He showed Yusuf his hand.

Yusuf wrapped his hand on the unsteady fingers. Nicolo stared at Yusuf.

“Healed, yes,” Yusuf said. He studied Nicolo’s face. His mouth crinkled sadly. “But are you better?”

Nicolo’s face went slack. He wore an empty look Yusuf seen once on a pale invader shackled and left for dead and resigned to it. It was that look, Yusuf now realized, that made him hack away the chains so harshly it blunt his scimitar.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf began.

Nicolo’s expression flickered with a flash of despair that felt like a dagger to Yusuf’s heart, and then it was gone. Nicolo rose to his feet, clutching the copper coins as if he would rather toss them.

Yusuf slowly rose to his feet as well. He felt lightheaded, unsure if he have truly seen it, dreading that he did.

“I...” Nicolo sounded small. “I do not think I would be much help in the library today.”

Yusuf’s brow knitted. He remembered and made a face.

“Uh, no, no library.” Yusuf shrugged when Nicolo glanced over. “It was a lie.”

“A lie,” Nicolo repeated numbly.

How does he explain he feared they wanted Nicolo to work at the docks again? How does he explain he feared Nicolo would say yes?

Yusuf shrugged again. “I am selfish. I grew weary of ink and texts and wished for company in my laziness.” He darkened. “And I did not like they will not let you rest.”

Heat flushed Yusuf’s cheeks. If only Nicolo would stop staring.

“It...it was a necessary lie,” Yusuf fumbled.

Nicolo broke his gaze. He studied the pots of inks instead. The merchant scowled at Nicolo’s bowed head and went to ply his attentions to another.

Yusuf wanted to kick the table and watch the ink mix into a useless puddle in the ground.

“A necessary lie,” Nicolo repeated. He sounded thoughtful.

“We...we could go explore the market,” Yusuf suggested hesitantly. “We have not seen it all. Or...or we could sit by the river. I have learned about those strange long legged birds. I could tell you about them.”

Nicolo seemed to shrink under Yusuf’s eye.

“We could go home,” Yusuf murmured. He patted the scroll tucked under his arm. He stepped closer to Nicolo. “There is a scroll I would like to show you again. We could go home, hm?”

Nicolo nodded. His shoulders drooped.

“All right,” Yusuf murmured. He slipped his arm over Nicolo’s shoulders. He can’t seem to stop from touching Nicolo. There was a yearning to feel his friend close by, warm and intact, close within reach and well.

“All right,” Yusuf said, hushed, “Let’s go home.”




Nicolo excused himself the moment they returned. He went to borrow the large wooden basin from their neighbor Yazim. The widow often left it out so they can share it to wash their clothes or fill it with water to wash themselves. Yusuf offered to boil water for his bath first. Nicolo said he was fine to clean himself with the cool water from the well.

Yusuf drew enough water from the well for tea and the broth the tea merchant had taught him. A bit of salted fish, the dried herbs and the last of the shin went into their small pot after the water boiled. He balanced hearty chunks of bread on the pot lid like this morning so they would soften and warm.

While Nicolo washed, Yusuf used some of the boiled water for tea. He frowned, wondering where the other cup went. His frown deepened when he spotted a shard on the floor. Ah, that would explain why Nicolo abruptly walked ahead of Yusuf when they drew near their pathway.

“I broke the cup,” Nicolo murmured. He stood by the door, his hair damp, his reddened cheeks only now paling from the harsh scrubbing Nicolo favored of recent. Yusuf sometimes found spots of blood on the rags they used for bathing, but Nicolo never said so Yusuf did not ask.

“It is fine,” Yusuf reassured Nicolo. “Were you able to drink all the tea?”

Nicolo nodded.

Yusuf beckoned Nicolo with a hand. “Do not stand by the door. You will be cold.”

Nicolo remained by the doorway. He looked lost.

Yusuf walked over to Nicolo. He settled his hands on Nicolo’s shoulders.

“You are shivering.” Yusuf frowned. “I should have heated the water for you first.”

Nicolo shook his head. “I am not cold.”

“Lies,” Yusuf said lightly as he guided Nicolo to his pallet.

“A necessary lie.” Nicolo laughed strangely.

“Perhaps but also an obvious one.” Yusuf sat down with Nicolo. He reached behind and unfurled the blanket and wrapped it around his friend’s shoulders. He kept his arm around Nicolo to keep the blanket in place. He sat there, his eyes watching the pot, comforted by the fact Nicolo stopped trembling.

Nicolo sighed. He slumped against Yusuf.

“You forgot where my bed was again,” Nicolo mumbled.

Yusuf chuckled. He pulled Nicolo closer to him, heartened Nicolo let him.

“My bed is warmer because you foolishly gave me the one closest to the fire.” Yusuf paused.

“Unless you secretly wish my bed will lit on fire and set me aflame in my sleep?” Yusuf chortled at the thought.

“I have done enough harm to you.” Nicolo fidgeted to get out from under Yusuf’s arm.

Yusuf tightened it, tucking Nicolo’s face to his shoulder. He was glad at this angle, Nicolo can not see how his face burned.

“That is in the past,” Yusuf rasped. “And I recall I dealt as much on to you then.”

“I deserved it,” Nicolo said sadly. He pressed his face harder over Yusuf’s shoulder.

“Stop it.” Yusuf shook Nicolo but Nicolo refused to look up. “Stop this. Why are you—what is this?” It has been years since Nicolo grieved about his role in Antioch.

Nicolo shook his head.

“Why are you burdened with such thoughts again?” Yusuf whispered. “Do you know how much it hurts me to see you suffering like this?”

“Why would it hurt you?” Nicolo rasped as if it pained him to talk.

Yusuf swallowed. He took a breath to shore up his nerve.

“I feel a thousand deaths when you are like this,” Yusuf said hesitantly. “And I am willing to suffer a thousand more to find a way to find you joy.”

Nicolo was silent against Yusuf. He was still. Yusuf did not feel brave enough to see if Nicolo has perhaps fallen asleep.

“I find myself waking up every morning wondering how I can make you smile,” Yusuf continued. “I go to sleep dreaming about how to bring you joy.”

Against Yusuf, Nicolo’s breath stuttered.

Yusuf’s eyes burned. He forced himself to look at the pot lest embarrass himself by weeping.

“I feel you fading against me and I do not know why,” Yusuf whispered. “You tell me ‘Later’ but can that not be soon? Can that not be now? Please, what has bled you in front of me? Where is your wound that I may heal?”

Nicolo exhaled. He seemed to collapse into Yusuf. His breath felt shallow and cool against Yusuf’s arm.

“I will be fine soon,” Nicolo said. He breathed deep and released it slow. It sounded hollow. Nicolo felt hollow.

“You sound so sure,” Yusuf said into Nicolo’s damp hair. It smelled faintly like a familiar spice. How odd. He rubbed his chin into the top of Nicolo’s hair.

“You make it sound like a season that will pass,” Yusuf mused. He pulled the ends of the blanket tighter around Nicolo.

“It will be over soon.” Nicolo hesitated. “And then...We could...we could move into the city? By the libraries? Or leave Cairo and find the women in our dreams?”

Yusuf closed his eyes briefly. He thought quickly of what they have and what precious metals and gems they were able to collect so far.

“Yes,” Yusuf lied. “We have the coins.”

“Yes,” Nicolo said. He sounded strange, absentminded. “We will.”

“Ah,” Yusuf tsked. “I have great news. I was eager to tell you but have forgotten when I found you in the docks.”

Nicolo tensed and pulled away. He remained huddled within the blanket, but he stared at Yusuf with wary eyes.

“You said you did not find work at the docks,” Nicolo said tersely.

“And I did not.” Yusuf gestured towards the small curl of fabric on the table. “I have found another to sell my scrolls. Aziz in the market wished to buy them. He has even paid a portion to ensure I sell to no one else.”

Nicolo stared at Yusuf.

“Aziz,” Nicolo said slowly, testing the name in his mouth. “Yes, that is good news.”

Yusuf wondered why Nicolo did not look as pleased. Nicolo looked weary, smaller under the blanket like it weighed him down.

“Yes,” Yusuf said gently. He grasped one of Nicolo’s wrists. He felt lightheaded like when he was at Aziz’s stall when Nicolo did not pull away.

“With what he promised, we will have healthy funds.” Yusuf carefully rubbed the round bone that jutted out from Nicolo’s wrist.

“You are so thin,” Yusuf murmured. “Thinner than we first met. Please do not go to the docks any more. I will make more art, sell more scrolls. Aziz’s interest is promising. We need not worry about coin.”

“Not go to the docks?” Nicolo sounded wistful.

Yusuf nodded. “Rest. Eat. Go to the libraries with me every day. We will read the texts together. You will read the Arabic horribly of course but it would greatly entertain me—“

Yusuf huffed when Nicolo kicked his hip, a weak blow, but Yusuf could not help but grin.

“You look like a fool like that,” Nicolo told him. He sat back against the wall. His smile was faint, his eyes still looked so weary.

“You have lost your mind. You forget your bed. You want to do pointless things for me. And now you grin like a fool.” Nicolo shook his head.

“I grin because of the joy I feel I can make you happy. It is never pointless.” With a boldness Yusuf did not think he possessed, he grasped both of Nicolo’s hands. He pulled the cool fingers to his mouth. He brushed his lips across the knuckles.

“A few days,” Yusuf murmured against Nicolo’s fingers, “A few days I will see Aziz and receive his coin. A few days, Nicolo.”

“A few days,” Nicolo echoed. “Yes, it will be fine. In a few days.” His fingers twitched in Yusuf’s grip.

Yusuf gazed at Nicolo. He kept his eyes on Nicolo as he brought up Nicolo’s hands to his lips. He kissed the knuckles.

Nicolo’s hands curled under Yusuf’s mouth. He sighed and tugged his hands away.

“The pot is boiled,” Nicolo murmured. His mouth twisted into a sad smile. “I think whatever poison you made is ready.”

Yusuf touched his own mouth. He felt giddy, a dizzy kind of euphoria when he caught Nicolo’s blue gray eyes drift to his lips before hastily looking away.

“I made broth,” Yusuf told Nicolo as he memorized the shy flush on Nicolo’s cheeks. “It smells like your feet when you take your boots off, but the healer in the stall said it will help with poor stomachs.”

Nicolo swung the bed’s cushion at Yusuf. Yusuf leaned in so it would connect with his head.

“You will eat?” Yusuf said hopefully. Rest and food was all they could afford right now. He prayed their immortality will stave the worst of what ailed Nicolo. Yusuf would gladly do the rest. He was willing to starve to death if it spared food for Nicolo.

Nicolo exhaled. He nodded.

“I will eat.” Nicolo sat up straighter. “Here. Feed me this poison you have concocted.”

“Gladly.”
—————

Nicolo’s turn tomorrow!

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 8A/12

[dr_libra_phd]

Warning: dub-con, bordering on non-con, heavy trigger warning on the following flashback in 8A part.


—————————————————
Part 8A
—————————————————



Dirar’s hand curled tight to the back of his neck.

“You have not lay with anyone.”

He kept his eyes forward above the protruding object leaking between Dirar’s legs. He did not look to the left or right where the others waited. He fixed his eyes on the bone-white scar on Dirar’s stomach, a lightning bolt up to his throat. It was a scar from a sword from a war that should never have been.

“He has knelt for plenty,” one muttered. Another laughed.

Dirar’s hand squeezed his nape. The cabin darkened until Dirar released him.

“Tell me,” Dirar demanded. “Have you?”

He needs to breathed through his nose. He needs to swallow quickly so he would not gag or vomit. He needs to keep his eyes open, past their ears, look like he’s gazing back as they...

The hand around his neck squeezed harder and then moved up into his hair.

The hand gripped a fist of his hair and yanked, ripping a grunt from him before he could stop himself.

The words he repeated again disappeared in a roar in his ears.

Dirar’s face loomed close to his nose. Cardamom and figs filled his nostrils bitter and sweet.

“Tell me.”

He glared, vision blurring as air was denied to him. He clenched his teeth, the last of his breath rattling in his throat as Dirar pulled. His head bent back. Too far. Too far. But no, he will not answer.

A thought formed: if he dies, they will see him live. And they will know about Yusuf.

Jaw set, he shook his head once. Behind him, the men murmured. A knee pressed between his shoulders. Hot breath burned his ears. It reeked of rotting meat.

He tensed.

“No!” Dirar snapped. His hard grip loosened and smoothed down to his nape into a massage. His scowl turned considering, darkly pleased.

“If anyone is to be his first, it should be m—“

He threw his head forward into Dirar’s nose.

There was a wet crack, but he did not wait to see what was the damage. He twisted away from the others. He reached out a hand for Dirar’s dagger tucked in the chair.

A hand wretched his shoulder back. He felt it pop and he thrashed, letting the agony charge his limbs. He grunted, kicked out a foot, another snatched his hair, yanking back so hard, his eyes watered and his head was hot. He felt blood trickling down his scalp. A bloody clump of his hair flopped to the floor in front of him.

Someone shouted, raged. He threw his body onto legs and felt them fall. He tried for the dagger again and hands grabbed him by his ankles and yanked before his fingers could touch the sheath.

He cracked his chin on the floor, his air exploding out of his lungs. He felt a weight on his back, a hardening heat that made him recoil but there was nowhere to go.

“No,” Dirar seethed as he pressed his body across his, the engorged length, the thing he refused to think about, rutted up against the back of his legs.

Hands clamped over the back of his head. He could not see beyond the floor mottled with red and yellow smears of spice, the holes potted the surface, a barley grain rolled past him. He could see that bloody clump of hair at the corner of his tearing eye. Under Dirar's knee, his shoulder slid back into place, healed silently under the cloak of the surrounding fury.

Cardamom soaked fingers dug into his scalp.

“I will have you,” Dirar spat out against his ear. He ground into the back of his leg. A hand gripped his trousers, tugging. “I will gladly teach you what else you can offer besides your mouth.”

He grunted, hissed words in lingua that earned him a kick to his side. Something burned, fire scored his belly and down his hip. A bone broken, but they were all too frenzied to hear the bone snap back into pl—No!

His thoughts sharpened as he felt air on his buttocks. His mind scattered soon after and he couldn’t grasp a thought as a blunt finger pressed into his taint, twisting when his body clenched by instinct.

“Tight.” Dirar sounded pleased and angry at the same time. Blood dripped off Dirar’s broken nose and into his eye that flew open as the finger continued to twist, turning and pushing past the clench of his hole and it felt strange, it burned...

He choked, shouted out...something in Arabic, in lingua, in Greek, he was not sure. Yusuf teased he needs to have a better grasp at his words. He shouts in the wrong language too often—

Yusuf...Yusuf...he does not know what is happ--he does not want this...

Something stretched, the finger stilled and he grunted, bucking, his legs caught in the bind of his trousers around his knees. Someone sneered. Another spat out a word he could not understand past the rush screaming in his ears.

Abruptly, the finger pulled out. It only pushed in a tip, but when it left he felt gouged out with a blunt blade. He laid on the floor, eyes staring at the hair under his nose. Someone kicked it closer as he crowded in to--he did not know what this person wanted to do. He was unable to move, unable to think.

His trousers were jerked back over him. He felt like a sack of grain, tossed into a room, spilling broken and emptied. He bit back the gasp of relief. He breathed hard, willing the burning in his eyes to cease.

Hands roughly flipped him over. He could only lay on his back, blinking furiously at Dirar kneeling on his shoulders.

“I’ll pay you triple.” Dirar smoothed a hand down his face. Dirar patted his cheek. His finger reeked. Dirar chuckled when he snapped wordlessly at him.

“I want you willing,” Dirar murmured. “I want you here, asking me to teach you. I want you willing to be taken, to be torn, to burn around my cock and thank me for it.”

Dirar never pulled up his trousers. The...object hung red and grotesque between his legs. Dirar held it loosely with a hand.

He glowered up at Dirar. He twisted, trying to shake loose the hands gripping his ankles and the hand clamped over his brow, forcing his head back to stare wide eyed at Dirar.

“I was your first with this.” Dirar stroked between his legs. The object twitched and leaked some more. He could not look away, forced to watch Dirar gather the beads of white with his yellow and dirt brown stained fingers.

“I will be your last,” he said evenly. His belly twisted. It felt like snakes writhed and ate his insides as they hissed. He fought to speak louder so they can not hear his belly. “I will—“

“Will be here and be taken or watch Yusuf on his knees in your place,” Dirar snapped.

His breath froze, caught in his throat.

“You...” he managed, “You said you want them w-willing.” He fought to keep his voice steady. He failed. Someone above him snickered.

“Does not matter to me either way," the one holding his ankles muttered.

“Badlh,” Dirar snapped and the man silenced. Dirar touched his still bleeding nose, his other hand still cradled the object, his thumb running down it slowly.

“I do want you willing.” Dirar held out his fingers stained glistening white. “If I have to use another to do it, so be it.”

He snapped his teeth at Dirar. His heart hammered, his voice rising in unison.

“And I would be willing to kill yo—no,! No—“

He gagged as fingers wormed into his mouth. He tried to bite, his mouth gaping in a gasp when hands, too many hands clawed his face, slipping fingers into the corners of his mouth, prying his mouth open. Too many fingers. He can not bite. He can not breathe.

Dirty fingers rubbed at the back of his throat. He tasted cardamom. He tasted the bitterness of--he did not know what it was, no, he did, no, it was not that, he--

He heard Dirar’s taunts on what he would do: to him, to Yusuf, what a man does to another man. Dirar told him what he would enjoy, begging as he bleeds from a torn hole, filled impossibly, hurt, of course it will hurt until it did not. Dirar would teach him. Dirar would show him how others would want to take pleasure from him.

Three days because he was too weak and too disgusting for Dirar to lay claim now. Three days and Dirar will have the filthy pale Frank writhing on the floor, gurgling around dirty objects and slurping even dirtier things.

Dirar would be his first. Like he was would everything else.

Or he would watch Yusuf and they...

He agreed with a choked, panicked sound before Dirar finished telling him. Dirar’s fingers slipped out, wrapped around the thick object and leaned in.

“I knew you would say yes to me,” Dirar said. He looked over his shoulder at someone he could not see.

"He is with Aziz," a voice said.

When Dirar turned back, he smiled.

"Then we have all morning," Dirar murmured as he guided the object to his mouth. Fingers pry his mouth wider.



Nicolo twitched. He gagged, tasted Dirar, tasted Gems, Sham...he tasted all of them in his mouth, caked between his teeth and congealed under his tongue.

His stomach cramped, churning everything inside his belly, hardening into a fiery lump. They never left. Every drop gathered and weighed him down to this existence. There was no room for anything else.

"I paid you to swallow.

Nicolo's eyes flew open. He stared blankly as he pulled his knees to his chest. His stomach cramped terribly. He tried to drink the broth. Yusuf looked relieved as he agreed to another bowl and ate the bread. He sat on his pallet, huddled under the blanket--Yusuf insisted he take it--listening as Yusuf read the constellations tale with a hesitant voice. He has not heard Yusuf like that before. He wondered why Yusuf was pink along the ears and his cheeks above his beard. He hoped Yusuf was not ill. He hoped he did not infect Yusuf with the filth curdling in his belly.

Nicolo took the chamber pot outside, between houses, far enough away so he would not disturb anyone's sleep. After he was finished, he drew water from the shared well. He washed quickly by the well and rinsed his mouth.

The water was cold. He still did not feel clean.

When Nicolo crept back into their stone dwelling, he gazed down at Yusuf sleeping on his pallet. He slept in sleep clothes which puzzled Nicolo. It meant packing more. But Yusuf complained sleeping in clothing he wore all day itched. Nicolo agreed they itched, but even back as a child, who would spare more than one set of clothing to another?

Nicolo did not understand why Yusuf was upset after he told him this.

Crouched down by Yusuf's pallet, Nicolo thought Yusuf did indeed look comfortable. He slept without the burden of sin. What is that like?

Nicolo rested his forehead on Yusuf's pallet. He wished he thought to take the blanket with him when he went outside. It was cold. His stomach ached. He did not want to go back to sleep. Dreaming hurts.

A hand rested on top of Nicolo's head. He startled, but the hand did not tug. It merely stayed on his head. It felt like an undeserved benediction. Nicolo felt selfish for taking it.

Drowsy brown eyes cracked open. Yusuf was always slow to wake. That was unwise when there is often a violent knock at the door or a blade pointed to his throat.

"What is the matter?" Yusuf said sleepily. He did not seem surprised Nicolo was kneeling by his bed. In fact, he appeared pleased.

Nicolo resisted swallowing. He still tasted them in his mouth. He wished he tasted Yusuf's soup instead, but it fled his belly outside by Yazim's fig tree. He wasted Yusuf's efforts. Everything Yusuf did, he could not stomach...

With a small sound--it tasted terribly trying to speak--Nicolo dropped his forehead back onto Yusuf's bed.

Yusuf's hand drifted to the back of his head. He did not pull the hair. He petted long strokes down Nicolo's hair.

"Is it your stomach again?"

Nicolo nodded. Necessary lie. He nodded once more.

"Ah." Yusuf sounded sad. "Perhaps it was too soon. Perhaps you should have started little first?"

"I am sorry," Nicolo croaked.

Yusuf shushed him. His hand continued to run through the back of Nicolo's head. Nicolo did not understand why it made him want to weep.

"Come here." Yusuf sat up. He gestured at Nicolo. "Here." He shifted back and patted a space on the bed.

Nicolo stared blankly at Yusuf. He stayed crouched by the bed.

Yusuf huffed, smiling drowsily, his eyes dark yet so fond. Nicolo's breath caught in his throat. He pulled his gaze away before he stared too long.

Yusuf's hands swept over Nicolo's shoulders. His palms were broad and warm but carried no pain. They grasp him but did not hurt. They coaxed Nicolo to rise, not to kneel.

Nicolo blinked, puzzled how he was now lying on his side, on Yusuf's bed when he was curled by Yusuf's bed, his hands pressed to his belly. His hands returned to his stomach to stop the lurch and cut of them boiling his insides. He no longer tasted them, but he could feel Dirar and the others gouging him from the inside.

"I paid you to swallow.

"I want you willing to be taken, to be torn, to burn around my cock and thank me for it.”

"I will be your first."

Nicolo's stomach spasm. His jaw had ached when they finished. He did not remember getting back on his feet. He did not remember Dirar cleaning his face with a rag like he was a child. He did not remember being praised. He did not remember walking out of the ship.

He remembered how they tasted. He remembered how he swallowed.

Nicolo's stomach lurched. He must have made a sound because Yusuf shushed him again.

Yusuf's hand went around his middle and covered Nicolo's trembling hands over his stomach.

"You are cold," Yusuf noted. He sounded more alert. Nicolo robbed him from sleep. "Did you go outside? Were you sick?"

Nicolo nodded tentatively. He blinked blearily at his pallet across from them. Why did he not go back there?

"Ah Nicolo." Yusuf's body settled against his back. His hand pressed carefully with Nicolo's. "It hurt here?"

Nicolo could only nod again. He waited, but Yusuf did not feel heavy against him. Yusuf felt like Yusuf. Yusuf felt warm.

"Stay here then." Yusuf pulled Nicolo closer. He murmured, shushing when Nicolo flailed briefly.

"Did I hurt you?"

Never.

Nicolo shook his head. Yusuf's nose bumped into his nape. Nicolo flailed again, moving his head so Yusuf can not smell them on him.

"Sorry." Yusuf's hand started to move away, stopping when Nicolo croaked, "No. Please." His hand was a cloak over Nicolo's.

Nicolo listened to Yusuf murmured against his shoulder.

"Before," Nicolo rasped. "What you said before."

Yusuf went quiet behind him. Nicolo was glad. He could pretend only the walls can hear him.

Nicolo blinked hard. His bed across from him blurred.

"The same," Nicolo said hoarsely. His throat ached. The objects had thrust deep. It felt like they were still scraping his throat raw, over and over, deeper the more he struggled. He couldn't breathe. He felt a tear escaped. he can not let this happen to Yusuf.

"I..." Nicolo swallowed and forced himself to get used to the taste.

"The same. I...my words are not as...like yours, but I think the same."

Nicolo felt Yusuf's lips brush across his name. The urge to weep returned.

"I would do anything..." Nicolo whispered. He felt Yusuf's hand over his stomach press both their hands deeper. His stomach quieted.

"I am...willing to do..." Nicolo forced himself to swallow again. His throat tasted bitter. Perhaps he will spend eternity tasting them.

"What you said," Nicolo's voice shook. "The same, Yusuf. I...I feel the same."

"Nicolo," Yusuf breathed. He kissed Nicolo's shoulder. "albi..."

Nicolo listened to Yusuf drift back to sleep. Yusuf's hand remained holding his, loosen in slumber but as reassuring as him against his back, fighting sword to blade by his side.

It will be fine. Three days. They can leave in three days with enough coin.

"I am willing," Nicolo whispered. He closed his eyes and prayed he does not dream.

---------------------
More later!

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 8B/12

[dr_libra_phd]

—————————————————
Part 8B
—————————————————

"I did not see your sword."

Nicolo's cup stilled against his lips. His mind went blank. His sword? He remembered taking it, Yusuf's note, its scabbard scraped the deck when he took it off...

"I..." Nicolo sipped the tea Yusuf made after morning prayers. It tasted horrible, but it lingered in his mouth so it did not taste like something else. So when Yusuf made the special tea, Nicolo drank it.

"I did not see it here," Yusuf prodded when Nicolo took too long to speak. "I looked because I was going to clean it and my blade."

"I left it with a merchant." Nicolo kept his eyes fixed into the cup. "To...to see if he can find a good price." His stomach twisted.

Yusuf set down his pen. He had moved the table back to the bed again. It meant Nicolo stayed in Yusuf's bed while Yusuf sat on the bed, blocking the way. Nicolo did not mind. He spent the day sleepily watching Yusuf draw beautiful things on plain paper.

"Your sword?" Yusuf sounded so pained, Nicolo looked up. "Nicolo, you should not need to sell your sword. I would rather starve than leave you defenseless."

He could stand with a thousand men at his back and he would feel still defenseless.

Nicolo smiled faintly but it did not seem to assuage Yusuf.

"I am not defenseless," Nicolo murmured. He pulled out the dagger from under Yusuf's bed cushion. "See? I have the dagger you gave me."

"Yes, well, ah, that is good." Yusuf's cheeks were pink again. Nicolo truly hoped Yusuf did not become ill because of him.

"It is good you have it..." Yusuf grinned sloppily at Nicolo, acting drunk even though he does not drink.

Yusuf sobered. "But you should not have to give up your sword." He started to rise to his feet.

"Which ship was it? I will get it bac--"

"No!" Nicolo cringed when he heard himself shout. Yusuf stared, shocked.

"No," Nicolo repeated. "There is no need. He will not sell it until I am there. I will get it back." His throat worked. "When you go to Aziz. I will retrieve my sword."

Yusuf frowned. "But that is three days away."

"I will be your first."

Yusuf studied Nicolo. His hand slipped over Nicolo's knee under the blanket.

"Are you sure?" Yusuf said quietly. "I am uncomfortable with the thought of you without your sword for so long. You do not look happy as well."

Nicolo reminded Yusuf by waving the dagger's sheath.

Yusuf chuckled. "Yes. Yes." He tapped the dagger with the blunt end of his pen. "Ah, ah, ah! Lower your weapon. In my bed, I prefer poking and be poked with something else."

Nicolo blinked down at the dagger, confused.

"You mean with a staff?" Nicolo said slowly. Why would Yusuf want a staff on his bed? Nicolo asked Yusuf this. Yusuf choked.

"No. What I meant, I mean, for...poking, that is to say, I..."

"Did I misunderstood?" Nicolo frowned to himself. He was sure the word was 'poke.'

Yusuf stared down on the table for some reason. He took a deep breath and turned away from the table. When he faced Nicolo, his expression was earnest. It made Nicolo sit higher on the bed.

"Nicolo," Yusuf asked, seriously. He squeezed Nicolo's knee under the blanket. "May I ask you a question?"

Nicolo's eyes drifted to Yusuf's throat. The beard stirred as Yusuf gulped. He studied the flush that burned brighter on Yusuf's ears.

Oh.

"No." Nicolo peered up at Yusuf's face. "I have not."

Yusuf's lips parted and then pressed together. His throat worked.

"No one? Woman or..." Yusuf cleared his throat. "...man?"

"No. You?" Nicolo asked evenly.

Yusuf smiled but it faded. He shrugged.

"Women? Yes. Men?"

Yusuf shrugged again.

"When I was a young man. There were some." Yusuf tried to smile again, but he seemed embarrassed.

"I enjoyed, but I have found no one--man or woman--I felt strong enough for eternity. Until now." Yusuf stared at Nicolo, his eyes slowly drifting from his head and lower.

Nicolo felt heated, in places he was not sure what to do about. He dropped his gaze.

"Does this bother you?" Yusuf asked, uncertain. It ached to hear.

"If it did," Nicolo returned hesitantly, "I would 'poke' you with this dagger."

Yusuf burst into chuckles that shook the bed under Nicolo.

"Ah Nicolo," Yusuf said. Nicolo did not look up but he can hear the smile in Yusuf's voice. "How lucky I am no one sees past your scowl and discover your wit. I get to keep this knowledge as my treasure."

"I am glad I can be of some value," Nicolo told him. He leaned back at the wall.

"You...of some..." Yusuf covered his face with a hand. He lowered his hand and studied Nicolo.

Nicolo stared back. "What?"

Yusuf shifted, sitting deeper into the bed. He swept a hand over Nicolo's knee. Nicolo felt the heat of Yusuf's palm even through the blanket. He squirmed.

"Dear Nicolo." Yusuf murmured. "If only I knew the words to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Nicolo watched Yusuf as he crawled up to him on the bed.

"Our words are pitiful to describe..." Yusuf shook his head. He knead Nicolo's thigh under the blanket. His eyes were dark, endless and open. Nicolo could see himself reflected in Yusuf's eyes.

"Good?"

Nicolo mutely nodded. He closed his eyes when Yusuf swung a leg over his legs. He could feel Yusuf's weight, his body solid and familiar.

Yusuf settled carefully over Nicolo. He pulled Nicolo, rolled him until they were lying down on the bed, lying sideways, facing each other.

Nicolo wondered if Yusuf could hear his heart hammering, if he could see the stains in the corners of Nicolo's mouth.

Yusuf palmed the side of Nicolo's face, stilling him before he could hide his face.

"And this? This good?"

Nicolo could only nod again. He made a sound, twitching when Yusuf settled closer. Closer until their chests touch each time they breathed. A hot length brushed briefly against Nicolo's thigh.

“I will gladly teach you what else you can offer besides your mouth.”

Nicolo's breathing sped up. Dirar's taunts scalded his ears. What if Yusuf wanted...that? He swallowed. And swallowed. The bitterness sharpened on his tongue, but his mouth went drier and drier.

Yusuf carded a hand through Nicolo's hair. He studied Nicolo.

Do not look at me. Nicolo did not know what he was supposed to look like.

Nicolo could not bear Yusuf's searching gaze. He dropped his head onto Yusuf's shoulder.

Yusuf hummed. His hands wandered, following the line of Nicolo's spine. His leg slipped between Nicolo's.

Nicolo's stomach sank in as he sucked in a breath. Sour rose up his throat like vomit. He mumbled, sounds because he could not think of words. He felt ill. He felt overly hot. He wanted. He feared. He wanted Yusuf to hold him. He wanted Yusuf to stay away from him for his own good.

Yusuf kissed Nicolo's forehead.

"Nicolo," Yusuf exhaled. "Hobi. What do you want? Tell me. Anything."

Nicolo felt Yusuf's hand wander, measuring and deciding. He waited for Yusuf to tell him to kneel.

Nicolo burrowed closer until their noses bumped.

"Yusuf," Nicolo exhaled. "I want to be better for you."

Yusuf's hand suddenly stopped. He left it on Nicolo's lower back.

"Ah." Yusuf sighed. "I want you to be better for yourself."

Yusuf hugged Nicolo to him, tucking Nicolo's head under his chin. His beard tickled Nicolo's temples.

"I will have you."

Or he would have Yusuf. No, no, he can not allow that. He forced himself to breathe slower against Yusuf. He will be fine. He will heal. Hurts will heal.

"Let us stay here today," Yusuf said. He rubbed Nicolo's back. "Here. You. Me. No library. No docks. No market. I work on the art for Aziz and you tell me the tales to fill the spaces in your horrible Arabic."

Nicolo thumped his head on Yusuf's chin. Yusuf shook against him with silent laughter.

"I would do anything," Nicolo murmured. "To hear you laugh like this."

"Ah, like music, yes?"

"Like Yazim's cat farting but nicer smell."

Yusuf's laughter rose and he embraced Nicolo as if he was something precious. It helped Nicolo hold up a smile on his face. It helped him eat the meal of bread and stewed figs. And when Yusuf shared his bed with Nicolo again at night, Nicolo almost believed he can still have this after Yusuf finds out the truth.
----------------------
Whew! I almost went over the text limit again. Oops.

See you tomorrow!

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 9A/14

[dr_libra_phd]

I realized I did not designate part 8 was Nicolo. Sorry about that.

Two parts as I have to Zoom my academic advisor and I have yet another quiz to take. Eek.

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Part 9A
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(Yusuf)


12th century




Nicolo, his dear Nicolo, was too thin. As Yusuf held Nicolo in the bed, his eyes filled when he realized he could feel Nicolo’s rib cage against his arm through his tunic.

The bread and figs were a pitiful dinner, but it was all Nicolo dared to eat. Yusuf wanted to offer more. Yazim brought over stew, happy with Yusuf’s barter of service to help her write a letter and Nicolo fixing the buckets for the well their cluster of dwellings share. Nicolo was surprised and flustered when he learned it was in exchange for a blanket for Nicolo’s bed.

Yazim’s stew was rich with pigeon meat, steeped in cardamom and lemony squash. It was a hearty stew that sat comfortably in Yusuf’s belly. Nicolo thanked Yazim, sincere and grateful that left Yazim looking longing at his back. But Yusuf caught how Nicolo’s throat worked, his lips bloodless pressed together.

So Yusuf ate the stew while Nicolo washed (again in the cold night) before Nicolo returned and catch any scent. He tucked Nicolo against him in hopes the warmth from the food would seep into Nicolo.

Nicolo huffed, tolerating sitting on his bed with Yusuf pressed close. Yusuf tore small chunks of bread for Nicolo while Nicolo haltingly read the scrolls Yusuf drew up for Aziz. Nicolo argued with Yusuf how one scroll did not need more birds but perhaps one of the menacing scaly creatures with the long flat snout and short stumpy legs they spotted when they first came.

Yusuf drew Yazim’s temperamental black and white cat instead. He told Nicolo it was him. Nicolo tossed the last fig at Yusuf so Yusuf needed to wash his hair.

But figs and bread was a poor dinner even if the night itself felt full and bright. Nicolo’s smile was not convincing, but Yusuf appreciated how much of an effort it took. So he said nothing about it, but made sure the tale he told Nicolo was embarrassing, full of loud gestures and exasperation. He was rewarded with a more genuine chuckle from Nicolo. He could have his fill from Nicolo's laughs; he would never starve.

Yusuf brushed the tip of his nose under Nicolo’s ear. He snuffled into the skin, softer than the finest silks of the East.

“Sh,” Yusuf murmured when Nicolo stirred. Yusuf hummed as Nicolo muttered in lingua. He hummed as Nicolo’s arms wrapped tighter around himself, not because he was cold. Yusuf suspected it was because no one held Nicolo as such. So he wrapped his arms around Nicolo’s and layered the embrace.

Yusuf hummed under his breath, waiting for Nicolo to settle again. Nicolo was a light sleeper, quick to wake, but of late, his slumber was a restless one. The furtive hours left Nicolo already tired as he head out to the docks.

Nicolo squirmed, his muttering distressed. Yusuf rubbed Nicolo's forearm, hummed under Nicolo's ear. As Nicolo sighed and slept, Yusuf went through what coin they have left in his mind, what they can spare.

The unexpected fortunes from Aziz meant regular meals for both of them for the week. However, he would need to get more tea and figs soon. The tea seemed to be helping. Nicolo’s appetite was slowly returning.

Perhaps after Aziz, when Yusuf’s purse is full once again, he would buy some flatbread and sugared dates as well. He would take Nicolo to the Nile and point out those strange long-legged birds he learned from the libraries. And there, perhaps he would kiss Nicolo, taste the sugared dates in Nicolo’s mouth and lick the salt of Nicolo’s skin.

...Oh. He should not have thought of that.

Yusuf’s thoughts and the heat of Nicolo’s body against him stirred something hot and thick. His cock filled, faster than he could figure out how to alleviate it. He rolled his hips back, not wishing to shock or intimidate Nicolo with the heft of Yusuf’s desire. But Nicolo stirred in his arms again, his lower back brushing against Yusuf’s groin. Yusuf could not stop the choked groan from escaping.

Nicolo stilled.

Yusuf rested his head between Nicolo’s shoulders.

“Sorry,” Yusuf offered breathlessly. “Let me...go back to sleep. I will be back.”

Nicolo nodded, but said nothing. He did not look at Yusuf even when Yusuf brushed the hair away from Nicolo’s ear as he climbed over, careful not to brush against Nicolo.

Yusuf took the washing rag with him. He thought he felt Nicolo’s eyes on him as he crept out of their little home.

There was a sheltered spot between the fig tree and a flowering bush. Yusuf drew a little water in a pail and hunched by the bush. He felt awkward, crouched between houses and away from prying eyes. He bit his lower lip as he pulled his cock out, his trousers hanging off the hitch of his hips.

Yusuf hurried, rough dry hands pulling and rolling to give him a quick release that would most likely be unsatisfying, but he felt exposed out here. He was not a youth anymore and blind to everything except for the stroke of his hand.

However, Yusuf remained shaky with the weight and heat between his legs. He licked his palm, tried again but all it did was make him ache more.

He thought of Nicolo’s eyes, his mouth, the way his eyes could laugh even if his mouth did not. He thought of how pink his mouth is, how it pursed when he was displeased, how it curved when he was happy. And his voice: a low blur of deep notes. Oh how it rolled out no matter what language they spoke. The way Nicolo’s mouth shaped when he murmured Yusuf’s name.

He bit his lower lip as he palmed his cock, still weeping, still full and tried to pump without too much noise.

"Nicolo," Yusuf could not help but murmured.

It felt like just the name was enough. He came warm and plenty around his tight fist. He was dizzy with the release, Nicolo's name left his mouth tingling and pleasant. Just his name...he marveled how strange their lives have turned and yet how miraculous as well.

Yusuf sagged, leaning on the bush. It shivered under his weight and shed a few pointy yellow petals by his feet. He grimaced as he cleaned himself with the rag and water. He picked up the fallen blossoms, idly rubbing them with his fingers. He blinked as a scent rose.

It smelled minty, like marjoram. Yusuf briefly wondered if Nicolo could tolerate this scent. He shook his head when he realized he was contemplating bringing Nicolo flowers.

"He would run his sword through you," Yusuf muttered, chuckling to himself.

Yusuf's good mood faded. Brow knitting, he glance back to the house.

"Where is your sword?" Yusuf murmured. He brushed his hands clean of the flowers. They left his hands smelling nice, better than before. He mulled about the belt that hung loose around Nicolo's hips, untethered from the sword that normally hung there. Why did Nicolo--

Yusuf jumped when he spotted eerie blue feline eyes staring unblinking at the foot of the fig tree. He gaped at the creature, his heart pounding in his throat.

"Where did you come from, demonic beast?" Yusuf gasped. His thoughts scattered.

Yazim's cat balefully stared up at Yusuf.

Yusuf scowled back.

"Do not judge," Yusuf warned Yazim's cat as he gestured towards the rag. "I am out here because he...He...I should not...he and I...slow, yes? He is not a mouse to pounce on."

With a tiny huff, it went around the tree, shot up its tail at Yusuf and nimbly went back into the widow's window across their home.

Yusuf muttered under his breath. He glanced down at his groin. It had stirred when he said 'pounce.' He pressed his heel on the base, grimacing at the ache but at least he was better suited for bed.

With Nicolo.

"Don't," Yusuf seethed to himself as his body reacted. One would think he has not have sex in centuries not decades. He had satisfied his urges when there was coin to spare for inns and separate rooms. He had assumed Nicolo did the same. He did not realize...

Yusuf glanced down at himself again, relieved his urges yielded to sense.

No, now is not the time. Now is the time to coax Nicolo to eat more, smile more and banish the dark thoughts and guilt that has found Nicolo again.

After that, perhaps along the Nile, below the glittering stars in the desert, the shores and lush greens of the East...

Nodding to himself, Yusuf straightened his sleep clothes, blew warm breath into his cupped hands and returned to Nicolo.




Nicolo looked like he was asleep, still curled on his side with his arms around his middle. Yusuf studied the bed, wondering how he could crawl back behind Nicolo without waking him.

But when Yusuf drew near, Nicolo opened drowsy eyes up at him.

"I did not mean to wake you," Yusuf murmured. He wanted to touch Nicolo's face, but his hands were still chilled from outside.

Nicolo nodded. He ran his tongue over his lower lip. He swallowed and his breath quickened.

"I..." Nicolo rasped. His eyes were level to Yusuf's knees and it was to them he rasped, "I could do it."

Yusuf blinked. "Do what?"

Nicolo reached across and traced the length of Yusuf's thigh with a finger.

"I..." Nicolo's tongue darted in and out as he fought for words. He sounded awake. It did not sound like he slept at all.

"If it happens again." Nicolo's finger drew a line around Yusuf's left knee. "I could do that for you. You need not leave. It is cold out."

Yusuf hunched down, sitting on his heels so he could look at Nicolo. Eyes like faraway seas gazed back.

"It is fine," Yusuf murmured. "We have time to learn about each other and what is good." He dropped his hand on the side of Nicolo's head. "I do not mind." He paused.

"But perhaps on the other side of the house. Yazim's cat seems to want to claw me."

Nicolo's mouth curled up.

"It is because you stepped on her tail."

Yusuf scoffed. "It should not have been under my foot."

Nicolo huffed. His mouth flattened. Even on his side, Nicolo looked awake and shadowed.

"Next time, I could do it."

Ah, Nicolo. Yusuf was not sure if Nicolo understood what he offered, but Nicolo's sincerity warmed him.

"All right," Yusuf agreed. He rubbed his thumb down Nicolo's nose. He thought of the statues he saw on Roman shores when he traveled with his father. How proud they stood. How beautiful they looked in their painted stone flesh.

"Next time," Nicolo insisted as Yusuf climbed over him.

"Of course," Yusuf murmured. He kissed Nicolo's ear. He will never tire of it. "Next time. Go to sleep. I have many more scrolls to draw for Aziz and you have many more tales you need to recite to me in your atrocious Arabic." He chuckled when Nicolo pulled back his elbow.

"All right, all right. Your Arabic was what charmed me. The soothing sounds of a strangled cat. Such paradise to my ears--Oof."

Yusuf hugged Nicolo to his chest, chuckling as he kissed Nicolo's shoulder, his neck and his ear while avoiding another elbow.

"All right, stop, stop," Yusuf laughed, "I surrender. Desist before your bony elbow cuts me down. What a pitiful death that would be."

"I could do it for you," Nicolo repeated, his voice stronger.

Yusuf nodded against Nicolo's nape. His hair held a faint scent.

"Hm," Yusuf murmured. "Your hair...smells like..." He frowned. "I can not recall. I will remember later I am sure."

Nicolo breathed sharply against Yusuf.

"Please know," Nicolo whispered. He sounded sad. Yusuf tugged Nicolo closer. "I do this all willing."

"Sh, all right," Yusuf soothed. "Next time."

"Later," Nicolo said, his voice still sad.

Yusuf did not reply as he sank into dreams of strange birds, Nicolo's rare laugh and little cats under fig trees.


—————————————————

Eep, yes, your eyes don't deceive you. I looked over my plot outline for this fill and realized I really need 2 more parts of soft recovery for both our guys. I kind of see Yusuf as a victim in all this, too.

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 9B/12

[dr_libra_phd]

—————————————————
Part 9B
—————————————————


(Yusuf)


12th century



Yusuf and Nicolo woke to dreams of the warrior women again. They were magnificent in their battles, movements fluid as one. He roused to Nicolo looking thoughtfully at Yusuf.

They spent the morning breaking fast after Yusuf's morning prayers. Sideways glances as eggs were cooked and bread was covered in thin coats of stewed fruit. Nicolo ate his bread plain, but also accepted half an egg. Yusuf wanted to do something foolish, exult to Allah or embrace Nicolo hard enough his bones would squeak. Instead, he pulled out his paper and inks. Nicolo sat across from him to read the notes Yusuf copied last week.

They did not talk. They did not look at each other. But Yusuf could hear Nicolo breathing, a murmur under his breath as he tried a word over and over. Sometimes he asked Yusuf for correction. Sometimes he did not. He left when Yazim asked for someone tall enough to picked figs off the top of the tree. He came back with an afternoon meal of steaming bowls of grain. Yusuf's was piled with fish. Nicolo's was plain. They ate, with their shoulders brushing, and chatted idly about what Nicolo was able to read so far or what Yusuf should draw next.

If he did this for eternity, he would be content.

Yusuf glanced over at Nicolo, who scowled at the notes Yusuf copied. The libraries in Cairo were plentiful but restrictive. Some required coin. Others required favors. Yusuf heard rumors of some of the favors some were required to dole out. It sickened and saddened him.

"Knowledge was shared freely," Yusuf murmured. Nicolo glanced up. The tired squint in his eyes faded quickly with their healing. If only the weary air that hung over Nicolo was this easily remedied.

Yusuf nodded to the notes. Nicolo whittled a thin stick out of a twig to use to trace Yusuf's writing to save on ink and paper. The stick was bent from long use. Nicolo would need to find another twig soon to carve out.

"When I was a boy, my father talked about the great libraries of Alexandria, the great house Bayt al-Ḥikmah in Baghdad. They shared books freely, shared their wisdom gladly." Yusuf gestured to his notes pinned under Nicolo's elbow.

"Here. Some came at a cost." Yusuf shook his head again. "That should not be the way."

"I copied books," Nicolo said quietly. He tapped his pointing stick at the note top of the stack. "And when my pen was better, I was given manuscripts to copy." He lifted a shoulder. He tapped the stick at the sheets of clean paper.

"But it was only Latin and the Church's words again and again. Knowledge was not given freely. There was none to give."

Nicolo's lips lifted at a corner.

"Or at least to people like me. We were given to He, given to learn his word and die for his words." Nicolo shook his head. "We did not learn anything else. Except to use our swords."

This was not Yusuf intended when he spoke. Nicolo gazed at Yusuf's notes with a sorrowful expression.

"You were not part of 'We' since you tried to help that widow and boy," Yusuf said. "When you used your sword for something besides invasion."

Nicolo's eyes flicked over to Yusuf. He turned back to the notes.

"Nicolo," Yusuf said. he waited until Nicolo glanced over. "Where is your sword?"

Bleak eyes slid away.

"I told you."

"That you left it with a merchant, you did say that." Yusuf reached over for Nicolo's hand on the table. Nicolo's hand slipped out of reach.

"I also said I will get it back." Nicolo looked up. "It is getting dark. Do you want the rest of the stew?"

Yusuf tracked Nicolo to the hearth. He watched as Nicolo started a small fire.

"I have seen you fight bare handed through three bandits to get your sword back," Yusuf said quietly. "And yet you relinquish your weapon readily to a stranger?"

Nicolo stayed seated cross-legged in front of the fire.

"We need coin," Nicolo said. "I left the sword as part of an...agreement." He nodded as he hung the small pot that contained the rest of the stew." He made a face at the smell when he lifted the lid. Then, setting his jaw, Nicolo lowered his head and took a deeper breath.

The lid clattered back over the pot when Nicolo twisted around and gagged.

"Nicolo!" Yusuf dropped to his knees and braced a hand against Nicolo's back. He felt Nicolo breathe harshly through his teeth. He hung his head and glowered at the floor.

"The chamber pot is by your left hand," Yusuf told Nicolo. He rubbed the bowed back slowly.

The rattle under Yusuf's hand settled. Nicolo took a deep breath.

"I do not need it." Nicolo lifted his head. He leaned into Yusuf's hand. "I am fine."

"If the smell bothers you this much," Yusuf murmured, "There is the salted fish and a bit of the fowl we can cook into broth."

"We should not waste the food," Nicolo said with some effort. "I will eat something else. The bread or the egg--no, it is the last one."

"Yazim brought us feteer," Yusuf reminded. "And the fish?" Nicolo hesitated. He shook his head.

"The stew," Nicolo decided. "We should not waste Yazim's efforts."

"You can not tolerate the smell, how are you expecting to eat it?" Yusuf narrowed his eyes when Nicolo shrugged again.

"You are eating something. I refuse to be poked and stabbed by your bony limbs any more."

Nicolo mouthed "Poke" to himself. He looked over to Yusuf, his mouth twisted.

"The fish," Nicolo relented. "As long as I cook it. What little appetite I have will vanish with what you prepare." He scoffed when Yusuf tapped a loose fist into his shoulder.

"You are ungrateful," Yusuf returned. "I should make a stew of the dirt outside for you."

"That sounds like an improvement from--" Nicolo yelped when Yusuf with a growl, wrapped arms around him and tackled him to the floor.

Yusuf cupped the back of Nicolo's head before it struck the floor. They grappled, hands playfully batting at limbs and chins until Yusuf claimed victory when he rolled on top of Nicolo.

"Ha," Yusuf panted as he draped himself across Nicolo. "I won."

"I thought," Nicolo said breathlessly. He gazed up at Yusuf. "You feared I would stab you with one of my bony limbs?"

Yusuf stared at Nicolo. Nicolo breathed against him, his legs folded and trapped under Yusuf's thighs. On the floor, Nicolo needed to arch up into Yusuf to ease his back and it did things, his body moving and shifting against Yusuf.

Yusuf swallowed. "Um...yes..." He swallowed once more. He caught Nicolo staring at his mouth and he felt himself flush all over. He released Nicolo by rolling off, feeling bereft when Nicolo eased out from under him.

The two lay on the floor next to each other. It reminded Yusuf of their early battles. In front of the walls of Antioch, after a battle that was so long, the sun traveled to the other side. They both collapsed to the bloody sand, almost shoulder to shoulder, gasping the breath of the exhausted not of the dying.

"Truce," Yusuf murmured, in lingua this time. He turned his head and found Nicolo had turned to face him like he did back then as well.

"Truce," Nicolo echoed, this time in Arabic. Unlike before, his eyes were not angry and confused. He stared back at Yusuf with a longing and warm look that made Yusuf's breath stuttered.

Then, Nicolo's eyes drifted. He stilled.

Yusuf squeezed his eyes shut, aware of the heavy heat and the overwhelming tightness in his groin again. Oh no. He sat up and rolled up to his feet. He collapsed onto a chair. He dropped his head into his hands.

"Sorry," Yusuf muttered. "Sor--"

Yusuf's eyes flew open as fingers gingerly hooked into the ties of his trousers.

Nicolo knelt in front of Yusuf, as close as he could between Yusuf's knees.

"Let me do this for you," Nicolo said quietly. He stared at the bulge that strained Yusuf's loose trousers.

Yusuf stared down at Nicolo. "Do you understand why you are offering?"

Instead of an answer, Nicolo plucked at the ties. He lifted his chin and gazed at Yusuf.

Yusuf gulped. He cupped the side of Nicolo's head, weaving clumps of Nicolo's brown hair between his fingers.

Nicolo stilled. He kept his eyes on Yusuf, his face expressionless.

Allah help him, but he did want this. But they shouldn't. Yusuf breathed out shakily. Nicolo continued gazing back, unblinking, so still Yusuf was not sure if Nicolo breathed.

With trembling fingers, Yusuf's other hand tugged loose his trousers, parting the fabric.

It was unnerving how Nicolo stared at Yusuf, not looking at his hardening cock as it jutted out of his trousers. He did not look away as he curled a hand around the head and coaxed Yusuf's erection out.

Yusuf's air exploded out in a groan when Nicolo's mouth surrounded him, so quickly, so fast as if he had shoved his swollen length down Nicolo's hot throat. But that can not be. He fought to keep his hips still and not to thrust.

Nicolo's mouth was wet and hot, a flame surrounding Yusuf's cock and seeped into his bones. He choked out a "Nicolo" and perhaps a prayer when he felt Nicolo's jaw worked, his throat convulsing and--

"Oh," Yusuf moaned. "Oh" as he felt himself sink all the way. It felt like Nicolo gagged, maybe, but then Yusuf felt like he was falling into a well of honeyed heat. He felt Nicolo's nose bump into his groin, face burrowed in the nest of Yusuf's sex. Yusuf was sure he could die a glorious death here at the mercy of Nicolo's mouth.

Then, Nicolo started to move.

Head jerking up and down on Yusuf's cock, lips squeezing as Yusuf's cock slipped over a rough tongue, Nicolo suckled Yusuf's cock with almost bruising efficiency. Yusuf tried to stay still, but oh, his hips jerked up into Nicolo's mouth. Nicolo's movements stuttered, but before Yusuf could apologize, Nicolo's head bobbed over Yusuf's erection in a furious pace.

Yusuf could barely breathe, choking as it felt like Nicolo was squeezing him from the root, building a pressure in his lower back. He glanced down dazed, moaning at the sight of Nicolo's brown head between his legs, his eyes gazing up at Yusuf as his cheeks hollowed.

"Your hands," Yusuf plead when he realized Nicolo kept his hands limp by his sides. "Nicolo, please, Nicolo, your hands."

Nicolo's hands fluttered up, touched Yusuf's knees, jerking back when Yusuf groaned.

"No, no," Yusuf groaned. He desperately wanted to thrust. His hands curled into Nicolo's hair. He cradled the hair, following the motion of Nicolo's head. "Don't stop. Please. Your hands."

Nicolo hesitantly cupped the back of Yusuf's calves. Yusuf's trousers spilled down to his ankles.

The chair underneath Yusuf creaked in-between Yusuf's gasps. Nicolo's hands skimmed light;y on Yusuf's calves then went bolder, running callused hands up and down Yusuf's legs, nails skimming through the roughness of his leg hair.

"Nicolo.hobi," Yusuf groaned. He could feel a well of feeling growing at the base of his spine, bubbling to the pit of his stomach. He was close. His hands were frantic now as they curled around Nicolo's shoulders.

Perhaps Yusuf pulled Nicolo off too quickly or not quick enough. Nicolo's mouth slipped off his cock with a wet sound, his hands curled around the back of Yusuf's knees and it was all too much. He felt this bubbling feeling spinning, heat twisting tighter and tighter.

Yusuf squeezed his eyes tighter. His release came violent, splashing them both. It felt like it was ripped from his bones, his blood. He shook, hands grabbing frantically at Nicolo, swaying forward into Nicolo. His release felt endless, until it was suddenly over.

Panting, Yusuf burrowed his face into the crook of Nicolo's shoulder. He felt heated as if he cooked too long under the desert sun.

"You...you did not need me to swallow?" Nicolo asked in a small voice. He sounded confused.

Yusuf could smell they both needed a washing. But his limbs would not obey him. He sensed Nicolo walking on his knees until his shoulders bumped against Yusuf's heaving chest. Nicolo will ensure Yusuf does not swoon out of the chair.

"Nicolo," Yusuf murmured. He kissed Nicolo's ear. He thought of Nicolo's question.

"The thought of you...not now. It would be wonderful, but your stomach. It might make you sick. No, no. Thank you, my Nicolo. Oh, it was...no, no, next time. Next time as long as you allow me to do the same for you."

"You don't have to--"

Yusuf hugged Nicolo harder to him, tugging Nicolo to stand higher on his knee so he could tuck Nicolo's face to his heart.

"I want to," Yusuf said breathlessly. "Willingly. Gladly. I do, Nicolo. But for you, later. Hm? Later."

Nicolo breathed out harshly, his breath leaving a damp spot on Yusuf's shoulder. Suddenly, Nicolo's arms wrapped around Yusuf's middle. He started to shake.

"Yusuf..." Nicolo breathed. "Yusuf..."

Yusuf embraced Nicolo as hard as he can. Something in Nicolo's voice demanded it, something in Yusuf's heart demanded it. Their bodies were damp, reeked of sex and the pot lid behind them rattled as the stew boiled over.

But Yusuf and Nicolo would not move.

------------------------------

Yipe, there's another part for Yusuf but this took longer than I thought! I will try to get it out later or definitely tomorrow morning. Well, morning for me. LOL.

Thank you all for being understanding about the extra parts!

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 9C/12

[dr_libra_phd]

Yipes. Sorry. I really intended to post last night, but this last part got much longer than I realized as I really wanted certain people to start thinking and not just hop into bed: figuratively and literally. LOL

—————————————————
Part 9C
—————————————————


(Yusuf)


12th century



The stew burnt.

Yusuf was not as upset as Nicolo, who often thought wasted food was a sin especially in the face of so many who needs it. He ate rotting apples with one hand and gave the sweetest ones to the children they came across in their travels with the other. It used to both frustrated and charmed Yusuf. It still does.

Nicolo looked at Yusuf as if he was seeing him with new eyes after they pulled apart. Nicolo kept trying to offer to finish off Yusuf. His eyes kept flitting on and off Yusuf’s lax cock and the white splatters on his inner thighs and groin.

Yusuf declined, stammering so much Nicolo complained he could not understand Yusuf’s Arabic. But it seemed to ease the strange tension on Nicolo’s shoulders.

Yusuf fumbled as he cleaned himself, flushing as he tried not to stare at the shape of Nicolo’s shoulder blades as the other shrugged out of his stained tunic and cleaned Yusuf’s release off his pale skin with a few quick swipes. Nicolo did not seem as clumsy when faced with what happened streaked across his chin and throat. Which only made Yusuf feel more clumsy.

Something was changed between them. But the elation Yusuf felt was also mixed with apprehension. Nicolo’s gaze did not stay with Yusuf long. He took time tearing his bread when they sat down for their evening meal, chewing each bite with shadows in his eyes.

“Should we have not done that?” Yusuf said quietly after Nicolo gave up eating the rest of the boiled fish. Nicolo looked frustrated at the food.

“I do not know.” Nicolo pushed the fish around his bowl with a piece of torn bread. “Did I do it wrong?”

Yusuf choked on the morsel in his mouth. “Wrong? No, Nicolo, it was amazing. Nicolo, I...”

“You did not wish me to swallow.”

Yusuf sputtered weakly. If only Nicolo would look at him. No, perhaps it was better he did not.

“I did not lie that I worried it would make you ill,” Yusuf said. His eyes lingered on the food left on Nicolo’s bowl. “I even worry now as you force yourself to eat every bite.”

“So,” Nicolo thought over Yusuf’s words. “It was not a necessary lie?” He took a deep breath. His jaw worked. “I thought men like it when the other...swallows.”

Nicolo immediately shook his head.

“No, pay no mind to what I said.” Nicolo shook his head again. He looked disgusted with himself.

The self turned look did not sit well with Yusuf. The things men do with women or men were not talked about, not easily, but it felt like Nicolo needed to hear them. And Yusuf was discovering he could not deny Nicolo anything.

“Did you want to swallow?” Yusuf asked carefully.

Nicolo’s face shuttered, his eyes distant.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf called out softly. He did not touch Nicolo.

Nicolo shook his head as if to shake himself awake.

“No, I mean, I do not know.” Nicolo helplessly shrugged.

Yusuf smiled, but his stomach churned as he spoke.

“I want to.”

Startled eyes flew up to Yusuf.

“You do not have to...” Nicolo gestured towards his lap.

“No, I do not have to,” Yusuf agreed easily. His voice lowered. “But I want to.”

Nicolo stared at Yusuf. He broke away from Yusuf’s gaze.

"I do not know what to think when you look at me like that," Nicolo said quietly.

Yusuf knew he wore all his desires and wants on his expression, unabashedly and clear in his intent. He saw it in the way Nicolo gulped, his throat working. Nicolo was a fine warrior, a swordsman with skill no artist could capture on paper. He fought with no fear.

Yet here, across the table from Yusuf, Nicolo looked uncertain.

“Yes,” Yusuf said bluntly. “There are many things I want to do with you. Many things. The more I look at you, the more my hands wish to touch you, the more my eyes want to memorize you.”

“But,” Yusuf continued in a softer voice, “I do not have to if you do not want to.”

Nicolo frowned to himself. “That does not seem fair to you. If it is what you want, you should not need to deny yourself what you desire even if it is...” He gestured towards himself again.

“I will not lie. I desire you. More every minute I am fortunate to be by your side.” Yusuf savored the way Nicolo’s ears pinked before he continued. He chose his words carefully, not unlike preparing for a battle although he suspected the battle was within Nicolo.

“But if I do not deny myself the pleasures of your body, I deny you your pleasure.”

Yusuf finally reached over and grasped Nicolo’s hand. The fingers were limp, cool, but once they were in Yusuf’s grasp, Nicolo’s hand held tight.

"And then it is no longer pleasurable for me."

“Oh,” Nicolo said. He sounded thoughtful.

Yusuf pulled Nicolo’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.





“We should stay.” Yusuf sounded loud in the sleepy hours. He spoke to the back of Nicolo’s head. For once, Nicolo fell asleep first, tucked within the curl of Yusuf’s body.

Nicolo stirred against Yusuf, to adjust within Yusuf’s hold. He pressed back against Yusuf’s chest.

“Hm?” Nicolo sounded drowsy.

Yusuf shook his head. “I was thinking out loud. Sorry.” He kissed Nicolo’s shoulder blade. One for each because he could not choose a favorite. “Go back to sleep.”

“Tell me,” Nicolo mumbled.

Yusuf gave up coaxing Nicolo back to sleep. Again he was reminded how he can not seem to deny Nicolo anything.

“I was thinking,” Yusuf began.

“Oh no,” Nicolo yawned, “should I start running?”

Yusuf growled. He ran his teeth along the crook of Nicolo’s shoulder. Interestingly, Nicolo shuddered.

“Ah,” Yusuf murmured. “Did you like that?” He did it again, skimming the slope from Nicolo’s ear to the round joint of his shoulder with the edge of his teeth. He did not bite, keeping his touch light enough he barely tasted the salt of Nicolo’s skin.

Nicolo shivered as if cold despite his shirt and the blanket over their bodies.

“I...I think so?” Nicolo gasped when Yusuf’s teeth scraped down his neck again. Harder, sharper like the edge of a dagger. He groaned, shuddering as Yusuf's teeth pressed gently into his shoulder through his shirt.

"And this?" Yusuf rumbled.

“And tha—Yusuf, no, no, wait.”

Yusuf stopped at the panic in Nicolo’s voice. He moved the hand he kept over Nicolo’s arm and settled it over Nicolo’s heart. It fluttered fast under Yusuf’s palm.

“I stopped,” Yusuf murmured. “It is fine.”

Nicolo breathed out slowly. He squirmed and his legs moved over the knee Yusuf tucked between Nicolo’s. Nicolo fidgeted as if he wanted to straddle Yusuf’s thigh.

Ah.

“I could,” Yusuf began and his hand wandered lower, but stopped over Nicolo’s navel when Nicolo choked a sound. He hugged Nicolo carefully to him.

"It is fine, Nicolo."

"Is it?" Nicolo said bitterly. "What does it mean that I enjoy it when you hurt me?"

Yusuf tensed. "Did I--"

"No." Nicolo fell silent. He wrapped his arms around his middle.

"It only felt like it could," Nicolo said at last. He exhaled sharply. "Does that mean I like pain? Does that mean he was right and I will--"

"He?" Yusuf interrupted. Nicolo vibrated in his arms like he was about to spring up to his feet to fend off attackers.

Nicolo stilled.

"Who was right?" Yusuf frowned. "Someone said you like pain?"

"It was something I...heard," Nicolo said. If Yusuf did not hold Nicolo so close, he would not have heard him.

Yusuf thought about the faint white lashes that ran down Nicolo's back. He caught a glimpse once when he and Nicolo found a river large enough they could wash a fair distance apart. The sun had scorched their skins, Nicolo's pale flesh bore the blunt of it. Flushed skin faded with their healing, but Yusuf caught sight of thin spidery lines stark against sun burnt skin. They ran from Nicolo's shoulders and down to the top cleft of his buttocks. Yusuf was speechless, stunned stupid. He nearly did not see the rock Nicolo threw at his face.

"You heard wrong," Yusuf said fiercely. He was suddenly furious and he reined the jolt of rage before he confused Nicolo. He nosed the spot under Nicolo's ear. "And if anything we do hurts, you tell me. I will stop."

"...All right," Nicolo said. He took a deep breath.

"You were thinking?"

"Hm?" Yusuf rubbed his hand over Nicolo's heart. Nicolo's heart thumped slower, serene once more.

"You said you were thinking out loud?" Nicolo reminded him.

Yusuf thought for a moment. "Yes, I was thinking!"

"And I was worried." Nicolo snorted when Yusuf grumbled.

"Are you going to listen or not?" Yusuf demanded.

Nicolo sighed. "If I must."

Yusuf bumped his forehead to the back of Nicolo's head.

"I was thinking we should stay."

"In Cairo?" Nicolo fidgeted against Yusuf. It was very distracting.

Yusuf squashed down the urge to burrow his face into Nicolo's neck. He recaptured his thoughts.

"It will take too long to collect enough funds to go East." Yusuf's hand smoothed over Nicolo's heart. "What do you think about us staying here? Let them come to us instead?"

"Let them come to us," Nicolo repeated. "They will know how to find us?"

Yusuf hummed thoughtfully. "We see them in our dreams, no? We were able to guess where they may be."

"You think they dream of us?" Nicolo asked hesitantly.

"You and I dreamed of each other after the first time we died. It is like you said, the dreams stop after we find each other. Maybe the dreams that tell us to find them are telling the women to find us?"

"Do you think they see us?" Nicolo's voice was small for some reason. "Do you think they see everything?"

"Enough to see where we are," Yusuf mused. He embraced Nicolo closer.

"What you think? We stay? Aziz's offer for my scrolls was generous. I am certain he will buy more."

Yusuf rubbed his beard against the side of Nicolo's neck.

"Maybe we have a stall?" Yusuf suggested tentatively. "Hm? I think some of the traders wanted to sell. You and I. Here in Cairo. Let them come to us. We can stay a few years before anyone wonders about us. The women, they will know where to find us."

"Because they saw everything," Nicolo whispered.

Yusuf nodded against Nicolo.

"This will be good," Yusuf murmured. "In two days? After Aziz? We see?"

"Two days," Nicolo repeated.

Under Yusuf's palm, Nicolo's heart started pounding faster.

------------------------

Oh wow, I did not think I would end up writing an even larger part than before, but yup!

I hope to put all of Nicolo's parts (yes, PARTS) here, but if not, it'll be tomorrow. I didn't like splitting POVs that long apart. I didn't mean to leave you guys hanging for the last part like that. Sorry.

More later. Or...tomorrow?

As always, thank you for letting me go nuts on this fill!

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 10A/14

[dr_libra_phd]

(facepalm) I didn't correct the parts title. Yes, it's still 14 parts. Yes, your Filler is a dum dum. Sorry for any confusion! I blame too many Zoom classes!

———————————————-
Part 10A
———————————————-

(Nicolo)

Cairo, 12th century


Morning came too quickly. One day gone. Two...two more to go.

Nicolo traced Yusuf's words with the pointer stick. It was not as easy to remember the words if he did not copy them like he did with Latin. But ink and paper is costly. Yusuf needs it more.

Yusuf’s hopeful plans roiled in the bottom of his stomach since last night. The thought of setting down their swords and have a quiet life for a few years was something Nicolo did not think was possible for him. But to have it here in Cairo...

Fingers grabbed his ears and pried open his mouth. He could not breathe. He heard nothing but groans that made his ears burn. His jaw locked. He gagged as it crawled in and would not stop even as he jerked helplessly for breath.

Do not bite. Look at him, not it. Relax the throat. Swallow. Swallow—

Yusuf’s foot stretched under the table and tapped Nicolo’s.

The dagger twisting in Nicolo’s chest vanished.

"Nicolo, Nicolo," Yusuf bade from across the table, "Look."

Nicolo raised his eyes off the notes and blinked at a paper covered in smudged black etches of someone reading under a fig tree with--

"What," Nicolo pointed to the black spot with fangs that touched the floor, "is that?"

"You," Yusuf said cheerfully.

Nicolo arched an eyebrow. “I look like that?”

Yusuf’s eyebrows rose. He peered down at the drawing he held up to where Nicolo tapped the black smudge. It was the size of a ripe date.

Yusuf chuckled. "Ah, no, no, that is not you. That is the demon cat." At Nicolo's look, Yusuf nodded meaningfully towards the door.

"Sh, it might hear you."

Nicolo shook his head, but found himself smiling as he glanced down at Yusuf's notes once more. He listened to Yusuf humming under his breath as he went back to his scrolls.

The words started to look the same by the time he lifted his head. He found himself under Yusuf's study, his eyes thoughtful as they considered Nicolo. Caught, Yusuf did not look away. He continued to look, his smile widening.

It was Nicolo who looked away. Something stirred in his stomach. He was not sure if he was dizzy with ill or something else.

"What?" Nicolo murmured. He studied the corners of the pages of neat Arabic. Perhaps he could bind them together so Yusuf can not lose them. The monastery taught him how to bind books, how to stitch pages together tight. His little fingers had bled, but he did not mind. They let him read the finished book for a few hours before it was taken away.

"I would be happy to do this with you every day," Yusuf murmured. He rose to his feet to fetch the pot.

"I did not think I would find paradise so quickly in my eternal life," Yusuf mused. He tipped the pail of water to fill the pot.

"I did not realize paradise would be so messy," Nicolo said dryly. "Why do you not believe in a neat bed?"

Yusuf whistled Nicolo's attention over. He flicked damp fingers at Nicolo, chuckling as he set the pot in the hearth.

"You would be bored," Nicolo scoffed as Yusuf returned to his chair. He squinted at the page he held. The letters wavered and slipped out of order. He sighed to himself and pointed to the word with his stick.

"It means fortitude," Yusuf explained after pronouncing it slowly. "And no, Nicolo, I would not." He sat back into his chair. "I could not see myself ever be bored with you."

“Drawing pictures of cats and me reading your bad handwriting?” Nicolo retorted. “That is how you wish to spend eternity?”

“If it is with you?” Yusuf replied easily. “Yes.”

Nicolo was not sure how to respond or if he should. He peered up, looking at Yusuf through his lashes.

“You should not say things you will regret.” Nicolo brushed a thumb across a page. Yusuf’s notes crinkled and Nicolo pulled away before he damaged them.

“Never,” Yusuf murmured. “I say what is in my heart. How could I regret that?”

Nicolo squirmed uneasily in his chair.

“I am not like you,” Nicolo mumbled. “I do not have the words to say such things .” He shook his head. “Do not expect poetry in my words.”

“No need,” Yusuf said quietly. “I see poetry in what you do.” He reached across the table and captured Nicolo’s hands.

“I see it in the way you always give me the thicker blanket, the bigger slice of bread, the sweetest fruit. I do not need words.”

Yusuf squeezed Nicolo’s hand before letting go.

“I see it in everything you do.” Yusuf beamed at Nicolo.

“How could I be bored of that?”

Nicolo tentatively smiled.

"Besides," Yusuf chuckled, "Every dream of them showed them in battle. I fear they do not know how to be bored. When we meet, I expect many adventures with them."

Nicolo's smile ached as he kept it on his face. When Yusuf reluctantly turned back to his work, Nicolo lowered his eyes. His stomach twisted as if he could still taste them soiling his insides. But it wasn’t possible. He threw up when Yusuf stepped out to get tea and figs in the market this morning.

The two women fought as one, smiling broadly as they traded blows with numbers greater than them. He knew, deep in his heart, the battles they fought were just.

What would they think of him?

Nicolo blinked once more. Yusuf's words blurred in front of him. He inhaled slowly through his nose.

What did they think when they saw him plunge his blade hilt deep into Yusuf? He swung, the cross hung on his neck glinted briefly, his sword briefly catching on bone before slicing through.

What did they think of him among the ranks riding towards Antioch, slaughtering and raging, his humanity stained with the blood of those defending their home?

What did they think of him when he dropped to his knees, mouth accepting object after object, swallowing every drop, picked up the coins tossed to him on the floor, returning soon after to do it all over again?

What will they think of him in two days when he goes to Dirar? What will Yusuf think of him after?

“I do it all willingly,” Nicolo muttered. He jerked when he heard himself. He clamped his mouth shut. Fool.

“Ah Nicolo,” Yusuf sighed. “Even with selling your sword?”

Nicolo’s insides clenched. “I told you, he will not sell it unless I am there.”

“Are you sure?” Yusuf pressed.

Nicolo’s throat soured. He was not sure of anything anymore.

“Who is he? I would feel better if we get your sword back now.”

But the sword was propped by the door. He went through the door. Later, someone lead him out and it was not there. Was it? He can not recall. His throat had hurt. He threw up over the side of the boat because he tasted them lodged in his throat. Someone laughed and poured wine down his throat because they said his breath smelled like a whore. But he still tasted them and Dirar hissed Nicolo would taste and feel him forever after he takes him and forever was so very long...

“Nicolo?”

Nicolo started. Yusuf was suddenly crouched next to his chair, a hand cupped on his cheek, the other on his knee. Behind him, the small pot burbled as the water boiled. Outside, Yazim's cat meowed.

“There you are,” Yusuf murmured. His brow knitted. “You suddenly hunched over as if you were praying but you have not done that since Aleppo.”

The destruction had left Nicolo silent for days. He watched Yusuf pray, facing Kaaba and he could not clasp his hands and pray. Not any more. He stopped, replacing His word with weeping dry eyed by his bedroll every night.

Would it help to pray now? He is certain no one will listen to someone like him.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf soothed. He stroked Nicolo’s face. His fingers slipped into Nicolo’s hair...

”Money well spent.”

Gems flooded into his mouth and burned all the way down to his belly.

”I will be your first.”

Dirar’s object struck so deep, his head slammed back on the cardamom stained floor.


Nicolo’s chair toppled to the floor.

“Nicolo!”

He stumbled, his foot snared on a chair leg as he lurched towards the door. He fell, his arm made a sickening crack...

...Dirar’s man accidentally pulled too hard when it was his turn. He reared up off the floor, gurgling because it was too much to swallow. It splattered all over his chin as the object pushed past his swollen lips and the mess still pooled under his tongue...

“Careful. Here. The chamber pot is in front of you...”

It burned. Everything bubbled sour and thick in his belly. Gems, Khalil, the man who broke his tooth shoving in too quick, Dirar, and Dirar...

Nicolo retched, pitching forward into the chamber pot until a hand slipped over his forehead to keep his head up. Not that there was anything to avoid. Spit, gobs of blood and sour bile dribbled out of his mouth. But no, no, they were still there. He wanted it out. All of it. Out. Out. Out!

“Nicolo, Nicolo, stop, there’s no more.” Yusuf pushed his head back away from the chamber pot. He splayed a hand over Nicolo’s belly. “Here? It hurts here? Shou—Nicolo, no, there’s nothing left!”

He could still taste them in his mouth, writhing and boiling him alive in his stomach, he could not breathe. It was too thick, driving too deep, stop, he needs a moment, no wait, stop, not now, no, no, no...

“Sh...” Yusuf wrapped himself around Nicolo, a hand rubbing circles on his belly.

Nicolo groaned. He curled towards Yusuf and panted against his shoulder. They were on the floor. How were they on the floor?

By their tangled feet, the pot lid jumped in place as water boiled.

“The tea,” Yusuf exhaled. “It is not helping is it? I will return to the stall tomorrow and have his head.”

All that wasted coin.

“It will be fine,” Nicolo mumbled. “I heal.”

“But you also hurt.” Yusuf nosed the top of Nicolo’s head. “And you will not tell me why.”

“It is the food,” Nicolo said against Yusuf’s shoulder. He should get off Yusuf. The pot rattled and bang for attention.

“Was that supposed to be a necessary lie?” Yusuf sounded angry.

Nicolo shook his head.

“Just as easier answer,” Nicolo mumbled. He dropped his head into Yusuf’s shoulder. He could hear Yusuf’s head.

“For me?” Yusuf sounded defeated.

“For me.” Nicolo groaned as he sat up. He stared at the messy table in dismay.

“Nothing was stained,” Yusuf assured. “Just a little ink spilled.”

Nicolo exhaled. He is ruining everything, wasting food, wasting ink, worrying Yusuf. He took a deep breath and twisted around to take the pot off the fire.

“Nicolo wait, it is still ho—“

Nicolo hissed as his hand flared into an agony he have not felt since the fires in Aleppo. It shot up his elbow as if his arm was aflame. He grit his teeth, curled his hand tighter around the handle and pulled the pot away from the hearth.

As soon as Nicolo set the pot down on a safe distance away from the flames, Yusuf was upon him.

“Your hand. Let me see.” Yusuf tugged Nicolo’s hand to him before Nicolo could offer it.

Nicolo grimaced at the white mottled mess. He could not feel his fingers. The handle branded white into the fleshy part of his palm.

Yusuf cradled Nicolo’s hand to his chest.

They watched as the blisters cracked, white dead flesh flushed pink, blood returned and his palm became whole.

“I forgot,” Nicolo said awkwardly. “But I healed.”

“And it also hurt.” Yusuf pressed his lips to Nicolo’s palm. His kiss was brief. Nicolo barely felt it.

“But it does not hurt for long.” Nicolo tugged his hand free.

“The memory hurts longer,” Yusuf sighed. He considered Nicolo with a sad crinkle between his eyes. “Do you not think so?”

Nicolo nodded. He can still taste them. They still soured his insides with filth.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf murmured. It hurt to see the lines around Yusuf’s eyes and mouth.

“Is it later yet? How long are we to pretend this is nothing more than food?”

Nicolo hung his head.

“Does this have to do with the sword? Does this have to do with why you see yourself so low?”

“Please,” Nicolo whispered. It felt like the faded hurt in his hand has seeped into his chest. His chest throbbed hot and cold. He dully wondered if there was dead flesh inside. “Not now.”

“No,” Yusuf sounded angry again. “You can not use that against me every time. Nicolo—“

“After Aziz then.” Nicolo stared at Yusuf. He hoped Yusuf can not hear how his heart raced. “I...I will explain everything then.”

Yusuf sagged. “But not before?”

Not until Dirar was done with him and Yusuf is safe.

“I am sorry,” Nicolo murmured.

Yusuf sighed. “After Aziz. We will go to the Nile, see the birds. You tell me there, yea?”

Nicolo felt a lump in his throat so he simply nodded.

Yusuf pulled Nicolo closer. He wrapped his arms around Nicolo again, one hand slipping over his stomach.

“Here?” Yusuf’s question rumbled by his ear. “It hurts here?”

Nicolo wanted to say no. Higher, the hurt was higher over his heart. But he only nodded. The pain in his heart will be nothing compared to after Yusuf learns the truth. This pain will be nothing when Yusuf and the women reject him.

They sat in the floor, their feet stretched towards the hearth. The fire was gone but the warmth was there. Yusuf’s hand smoothing over his belly felt warm as well.

“Do you think they will see this?” Nicolo waved feebly at the pot. He kept the other hand on his lap. Yusuf’s hand often brushed over his hand there

Yusuf snorted. “Yes.” He abruptly laughed.

The laugh felt nice against Nicolo’s back. “What?”

“This will be embarrassing,” Yusuf chortled, “When they learn we can not even boil water.”

Nicolo scoffed. He dropped his head back against Yusuf.

Yusuf hugged him tight. He continued laughing.


———————————————-

I'm taught to be concise in my papers. Obviously that didn't translate to here. LOL

More later! Bear with me, we'll nearly there!

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 10B/14

[dr_libra_phd]

Warning: warning for naked and almost sex seems redundant given it's on a kink meme, but um, yes. Warning! LOL

———————————————-
Part 10B
———————————————-

(Nicolo)

Cairo, 12th century




He did not dream about the women today. He was both relieved and disappointed. They looked happy, even in battle.

Nicolo opened his eyes. He stared across to his bed again. He almost sat up to search for work in the docks before a sly hand reaches for him or an eye stares too long.

The stack of scrolls on the table, though, made him stop. The half filled pot of ink made him close his eyes and swallow, tasting sour and bitterness that refused to go away. Yes. Of course.

Another morning. Which means tomorrow...

Too soon, Nicolo thought as he stared at the table. Yesterday was the same as the day before. Yusuf bent over a manuscript, Nicolo reading Yusuf's notes while wishing the day will slow. It didn't. He laid down with Yusuf with a heavy heart. He slept within Yusuf's arms. He drifted listening to Yusuf murmuring what tales he wished to illustrate when morning cones.

And now it was morning again.

Nicolo felt Yusuf mumble against his neck, burrowing through his hair and sighing when the tip of his nose brushed skin.

Yusuf’s beard tickled, soft when he thought it would be bristly. He remembered how hair scratched him around the mouth as he was yanked to bury his face in a nest of sweaty, wiry hair. He tried to breathe through his nose like Dirar taught him but coarse hair filled his nostrils. He flailed, the man pounding into his mouth did not like that and demanded another.

Nicolo pressed the dagger Yusuf gave him to the man’s spit coated object. He took his small sachet of coins and stumbled off the ship. He used some of the coin to clean and sharpen the dagger he fouled.

The man smelled like rotting meat. Nicolo remember when his ship sailed to war, the rancid meat was all that was left. Nicolo was a former priest and a knight the Church sponsored. No one who would miss him. So no meat for him. He watched others eat it and grow sick and die. The ship smelled like rotting corpses for the entire journey.

When the man (Nicolo could not remember what name he gave him) spent down Nicolo’s throat, he reeked of the same rancid meat. It was in his breath, in the fingers that grappled Nicolo’s hair, in the clothes that rubbed against Nicolo’s face.

Nicolo could not stomach any meat for a time. He ate it in front of Yusuf and then vomited by the pathway that led up to their homes. Nicolo said he was getting water from the well. It was, how Yusuf would say, a necessary lie?

Yusuf did not smell like rancid meat. Or fish. Or wet wood. Or cardamom.

Nicolo was not sure what Yusuf smelled like. Yusuf once lamented he missed the soaps and oils of the bathhouses. Nicolo thought water and a good scrubbing from a handful of pebbles or sand was enough.

But Nicolo found an old woman selling soaps on a worn shawl in Damascus. It smelled like almonds and the honey Yusuf insisted Nicolo try in a village that was by the sea. Nicolo liked the honey.

Yusuf beamed as if Nicolo gifted him a sturdy and able horse. And for days, Yusuf smelled like the soap and...something else.

“...cursed cat,” Yusuf mumbled on Nicolo’s skin. He wiggled closer, his arms around Nicolo, a knee tucked between Nicolo’s legs. It felt like Yusuf wanted to bury Nicolo under his skin.

He...he would not mind so much.

Nicolo bit his lower lip. Yusuf’s was thick and hot on his tongue. It pulsed. It felt like he keot Yusuf's heart warm in his mouth. Nicolo tried to swallow around him and let Yusuf sink deeper into his throat. Yusuf was not angry it took Nicolo two tries.

Nicolo did not understand. He did not realize the strain between his legs was his...he reacted. To Yusuf. Who did not mind Nicolo did not swallow.

“...icolo,” Yusuf sighed and he hummed into Nicolo’s nape. He muttered words Nicolo could not grasp, distracted by the persistent hardness pressed against his lower back.

There was a buzzing growing in Nicolo’s ears. It grew louder as the length rocked into his lower back, slipping lower and brushed along the crack of Nicolo’s buttocks.

Yusuf said he would stop if Nicolo asked him to and Yusuf has. All Nicolo needed to do was wake Yusuf. A jostle (perhaps two because Yusuf was slow to wake) and the strange overwhelming feeling rising from the pit of his stomach and the tight feeling of his skin would end.

Nicolo opened his mouth, hesitated and closed his mouth. He listened to Yusuf breathed. He felt Yusuf’s arms around his middle, his hand spread over Nicolo’s stomach in case Nicolo felt sick.

Nicolo closed his eyes, gulped and shifted back into the heat rocking between his cheeks.

Yusuf hummed, his arms tighter and arched into Nicolo.

Nicolo’s breath caught.

Yusuf’s beard brushed against Nicolo’s nape, his mouth hovering, blowing warm exhales on Nicolo’s neck. Yusuf huffed, mumbled something and his legs moved. His knee glided up between Nicolo’s legs, brushing, pressing, sliding.

Nicolo waited, throat working as Yusuf rocked against him. The feel of him against Nicolo, the friction between Nicolo’s legs and the sounds against his ear...

Nicolo rolled back his shoulders. He leaned into Yusuf, shuddering as the heat, the firm pressure, slipped deeper, pushing his trouser into his crack. Rough fabric grazed over his taint and he felt an unfamiliar fluttering in his hole, a heat billowing up front. His legs twitched, his breath picked up, he felt hot, he...he...

Behind Nicolo, Yusuf jolted, a curse bursting from his lips. Nicolo started, twisting away or towards, he was not sure. He can not think.

“Nicolo, sorry, sorry, I...” Yusuf stammered as he reared back further. His hands skimmed over Nicolo, jerking back when Nicolo tensed.

“It is fine,” Nicolo muttered. He fidgeted, his trousers now uncomfortable gathered in places that made him flush thinking about it. He sat up with an elbow. He glanced over his shoulder at Yusuf. His eyes slid away.

“I did not stop you,” Nicolo admitted. “It is fine.”

Yusuf sat up against the wall, one leg folded, the other pulled up to his chest. When he noticed Nicolo stared at the bulge in his groin, Yusuf flushed.

“Is it fine?” Yusuf said. He lowered his leg. He tugged a corner of the blanket and pulled it over his lap.

“Or is it good?” Yusuf looked wild with his curls in disarray, his beard flattened on the side he slept. His eyes, however, were kind. Yusuf was kind.

“You like it,” Nicolo said.

Yusuf grimaced. “Ah, Nicolo, you talk like the way you swing your sword.” His eyes flick to the wall where Yusuf’s scimitar hung alone. He shook his head.

“Remember what I told you about pleasure?” Yusuf’s gaze was unwavering.

Nicolo sat up as well.

“I do not know if...” Nicolo inhaled sharply. “I do not know what to think.”

“Do you know what to feel?” Yusuf asked gently. “There are things only your heart knows.”

Nicolo set his jaw. He grimaced as he cast his eyes on Yusuf.

“I...” Nicolo’s shoulders dropped. “I do not know what my heart tells me. Not anymore.“

“Nicolo...Can I touch you?” Yusuf asked tentatively.

Nicolo stared at Yusuf. After a moment, he nodded.

Yusuf exhaled sharply. He looked relieved and surprised. He ran a hand through the curls on his head, over and over. It was not an improvement.

“Lie down on your back,” Yusuf croaked.

Nicolo found it easier to say nothing. He settled on his back. He felt his heart racing as Yusuf crawled closer. He hung over Nicolo's body on his hands and knees.

Yusuf stared at Nicolo like a text he was trying to decipher.He nodded and eased himself to lie on his side, facing Nicolo.

"Nicolo," Yusuf murmured. He lifted a hand, waiting for some reason but at last he lowered it to cradle Nicolo's face.

Fingers trailed down Nicolo's face. They brushed up the sweep of his cheekbones. Yusuf traced Nicolo's brow and the shape of his mouth.

Yusuf leaned in. Nicolo tensed. Yusuf tried to kiss him on the mouth many times the past days, but Nicolo feared he would taste the others lingering in his mouth. He had turned his head slightly away, pretending he did not understand the intent in Yusuf's eyes. There would be no escaping here.

A pause. Yusuf hung over Nicolo. His brown eyes, the color of the rich soils by the Nile, studied Nicolo. He leaned in again.

And tapped Nicolo on the nose.

Nicolo stared up. Yusuf grinned.

"Next time," Yusuf said. And winked.

Nicolo felt his chest shudder within. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

Yusuf's gaze softened.

"Nicolo," Yusuf murmured. He tapped Nicolo on his chin. "We have time. Tomorrow, after Aziz, we will have all the time to know each other again."

Nicolo reached up and stroked Yusuf's bearded chin with two fingers. He felt Yusuf's breath catch as his fingers traced Yusuf's jugular.

"Do you feel it beating out your name?" Yusuf spread his palm over Nicolo's heart.

"Do you feel mine beating out yours?" Nicolo's fingers traced the line down to Yusuf's neckline, slipping in to follow the span of his collarbone. It was strong under warm skin. There was a sense of undeserved privilege touching Yusuf like this.

Yusuf copied Nicolo, a look of wonder on his face Nicolo knew mirrored his own.

"I feel like I want to shower you with poetry," Yusuf breathed as his hand smoothed over Nicolo's chest, over and over Nicolo's shirt. "But I can not think of any words. How strange. What magic have you cast on me?"

Nicolo shivered as the fabric brushed over his nipples, offering a hint of Yusuf's hand.

"Good?" Yusuf murmured. "Nicolo, can I see you? Truly see you?"

Nicolo raised his arms. He exhaled unsteadily as he felt Yusuf pulled the tunic over his head.

The nights on Cairo were cold yet Nicolo felt overheated lying on the bed under Yusuf's intense gaze.

"Hello, Nicolo," Yusuf whispered. He dropped his hand on the center of Nicolo's chest.

Nicolo breathed and felt Yusuf's hand rise and fall with him. He uttered a sound, startled, when Yusuf traced his left nipple. It was like Yusuf was drawing on his skin, his long fingers, dusky and strong holding a fragile pen and teaching ink to dance on paper.

Yusuf's finger stilled over the nub and pressed over it.

Nicolo's hand flew up to grasp Yusuf's wrist.

"Should I stop?" Yusuf asked. He stilled his hand, His other hand went up and stroked Nicolo's face. "I can stop. You need only but ask."

"Can...can I see you?" Nicolo croaked. "Truly?"

Yusuf's eyes widened. He nodded but did not move.

Yusuf chuckled throaty and fond.

"You would need to let go of my hand first, hobi."

Nicolo grimaced but let go. He watched Yusuf stretch, his torso reaching, his arms raised as his sleep shirt slipped over his head.

Yusuf's torso was of smooth tan skin. Dark short hairs covered his chest and a thin trail went into his trousers.

"I look like I am fading next to you," Nicolo murmured as he tentatively splayed a hand on Yusuf's stomach. He felt Yusuf's stomach sink as he sucked in a breath.

"Do not fade," Yusuf rasped. He covered Nicolo's hand with his own on his stomach. "Stay here. With me."

Nicolo nodded as he stared at their hands.

Yusuf explored Nicolo's body with careful sweeps of his hands. He leaned in close to let Nicolo do the same, copying touch for touch. Yusuf groaned and Nicolo followed. Nicolo dropped a shaky kiss on Yusuf's navel. Yusuf laved Nicolo's until he writhed.

It was different. It was nothing the others wanted or demanded of Nicolo. They thrilled in watching Nicolo helplessly tried to take them into his mouth.

But Yusuf did not seem to desire the same. Where their hands grabbed and pulled, Yusuf's cradled and skimmed. Yusuf drew symbols on his heaving stomach. He traced Nicolo's ribs with a nimble wet tongue. And when Nicolo bucked, his mind spinning with the frightening sensation that coursed through his entire body, Yusuf held him close, murmuring quiet words while Nicolo shook into his release. He let Nicolo take him into his mouth again, to help ease the strain that weighed between Yusuf's legs.

Yusuf would not let him swallow once again. But he hugged and thanked Nicolo as if Nicolo did.

Nicolo did not understand. As he sat on the bed, cleaning up the stains between his legs and down his thighs, he tried to think. He tried to figure out how Yusuf was different and how did Yusuf's touch drew out such a well of feeling in Nicolo.

"That is not a happy look."

Nicolo glanced up. His throat worked. Yusuf opted to wash up outside but he did not put his tunic back on. He found himself studying the way Yusuf's chest sculpted, a hint of muscles the rippled across his chest and down the front of his stomach. Nicolo's eyes lingered on the loose waist line and the thin line of hair that disappeared into it.

The bed creaked when Yusuf sat down next to Nicolo. He pulled up Nicolo's hands and kissed each knuckle.

"How are you?" Yusuf murmured. He slipped a hand around Yusuf's nape. "How do you feel?"

Nicolo smiled weakly.

"That does not fill me with joy." Yusuf's hands caught Nicolo's face between them.

"Tell me."

"I...it was good," Nicolo said at last. "I think."

Yusuf nodded, inviting Nicolo to continue.

Nicolo sighed. He closed his eyes.

"But part of me is confused. It did not..." It did not hurt. It did not coat his insides with misery and shame and...

"Tomorrow," Yusuf murmured. "After Aziz, we will go by the Nile. And you will tell me. Everything." Yusuf held onto Nicolo's hands. "Tell me what has made you so unhappy, so confused. Please. My mind conjures up so many things of what it could be. I need to hear it from you."

Nicolo nodded miserably.

"Tomorrow," Nicolo mumbled. "It will be over tomorrow." He would hold these days in his heart to keep him warm during his eternity.

-------------------------------
Tomorrooooooow.

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 11A/14

[dr_libra_phd]

Trying something different because I realized this ‘tomorrow’ belongs to both of them...

Warning: non-con threats and overtones
———————————————-
Part 11A
———————————————-


(Nicolo)


Cairo, 12th century





Nicolo’s jaw clenched as he stood in front of Dirar in the cabin. Badlh circled him like a carrion bird spying a corpse.

“He clean too,” Badlh declared.

A finger permanently stained yellow from turmeric ran down the back of Nicolo’s neck.

“The Frank took a bath,” someone commented from the shadows in the back.

Dirar did not laugh with the others. He stayed seated in his chair, knees spread, one hand stroking the growing bulge between his legs. The other held his sword like a scepter.

“You look better,” Dirar commented mildly. “People in the market commented how Yusuf searched every morning for remedies for his dear Nicolo’s stomach.”

“Wanted to keep his strength up,” someone off Nicolo’s ear sneered.

“We should thank his friend later for thinking of dear Nicolo’s well-being,” another jeered.

Nicolo pressed his lips together. He refused to react to the snickering surrounding him.

Badlh’s finger suddenly pressed into Nicolo’s taint over his trousers.

Nicolo jumped. He whirred around, dagger in hand.

Someone kicked the back of his knees.

Nicolo fell, catching himself with his hands. He heard a slow snap. He prayed no one else did.

“Badlh,” Dirar sounded bored. “You will have your chance later.”

Cold raced down Nicolo’s back. He tucked his broken left hand to his stomach. Bones grind as they healed.

Nicolo glared at Dirar. “You said—“

“I said I would be your first,” Dirar cut Nicolo off harshly. “They won’t be.”

The chair under Dirar creaked as he sat forward on two legs.

“What captain would I be if I were to deny my loyal dock workers a chance to fuck a Frank? It has been a lonely life for many of them having fled the lands Christians stole. “

Nicolo’s chest seized. His insides knotted. He could not speak. He was from wars far past, before many of these men were born.

But he could not deny the crimes he inherited.

“I am expected. If I am not there, he...he will come looking.”

“Do not worry, we will be quick,” a rough voice quipped.

Nicolo stared past Dirar’s ear as they laughed.

Dirar reached over with Nicolo’s own sword. He stroked Nicolo’s jaw with the end of the hilt.

“What makes you think,” Dirar murmured as he tapped the hilt on Nicolo’s lower lip. “He will come looking after we are finished with you?” He chuckled when he caught Nicolo’s flinch.

“Or perhaps you will not want to leave after I am done teaching you, hm? Perhaps you will desire what men like you desire: pain equals to pleasure for you, satisfied by a pretty coin in your pocket.”

Nicolo’s mouth set. “That is not me.”

A hand wrapped around Nicolo’s hair and yanked his head back hard enough to rip a gasp from Nicolo. He reached back and his hands were slapped away. As soon as they fell to the floor, Dirar stepped on both of Nicolo’s hands, pinning them to the floor.

His hands trapped, Nicolo could not kneel without pulling and reveal his healing. He leaned forward on his knees and into his throbbing hands. He grit his teeth as they snickered around him.

Badlh’s hand smoothed over Nicolo’s clothed buttock cheek. Abruptly, the hand slapped. Taken off guard, Nicolo yelped.

“He looks ready,” Badlh chuckled, patting Nicolo’s ass.

Nicolo growled as hands tugged him fully on his hands and knees. His heart pounded. It thumped so loud, he did not hear what Dirar said next, unprepared when he felt hands on him, tugging his trousers. He shook, his eyes glowering at Dirar, focusing on Dirar and his smug smile and not at the sensation of bodies standing around him exposed and on his hands and knees.

“Not you?” Dirar rattled the sword by Nicolo’s nose. “Is this more of what you are? How many have you killed with this? How much coin did you take over their corpses?”

Nicolo felt a hand slide over his buttocks. He hissed as a grimy finger pushed into his hole, pressing in despite his body’s resistance. It burned. He tried to rock forward on his hands but they grabbed his hips and held him there.

“Still tight.” The finger stabbed deeper, twisting then stopped. Nicolo bit his lower lip as the finger yanked out without warning.

“Want us to loosen him up?”

Nicolo did not understand what the voice meant. He kicked back, over balancing but he was rewarded with the wet squelching snap of a broken nose and a gurgling howl.

Fingers clawed into flesh. Fists slammed into ribs. Nails dug deep, spreading him open.

Nicolo’s rage iced into fear. His knees torn as they dragged across the floor. He was roughly positioned, his legs kicked open wider, his trousers tore down the middle. A hand clamped on his nape, pushing his head down and arched his lower back up. He shouted, tugging at his hands still caught under Dirar’s boots.

“No!” Dirar snapped.

Hands vanished. Nicolo struggled to stay on his hands and knees, shaking as he felt everyone back away. He gulped, his chest heaving, the hem of his tunic fluttered against his exposed groin and ass.

The blunt end of the hilt knocked under Nicolo’s chin, forcing his head back up.

Dark, furious eyes stared hard at Nicolo. Dirar crouched, putting all his weight on Nicolo’s hands.

“No one touches him,” Dirar said. He nudged Nicolo’s chin higher with the hilt.

Harsh breathing filled Nicolo’s ears: his and Dirar’s. He gulped air thick with cardamom and overripe fruit. He stared at his own reflection in Dirar’s eyes.

“He is mine to teach,” Dirar murmured. “Mine first. You may teach him whatever you wish afterwards.”

Dirar smiled darkly. The hilt stroke Nicolo’s throat and slipped into the neckline of Nicolo’s tunic. It pressed under the lump under his throat, harder and deeper.

Air vanished. The cabin blurred. Unbidden, Nicolo gasped, choking as the hilt off his sword dug into the tender flesh of his throat.

Abruptly, it vanished. Nicolo’s head was kept up by the hilt under his chin.

Dirar tsked. “I heard your swallowing skills improved. Not by much, I see. We will deal with that later.”

Nicolo glared.

“I know he is tight,” Dirar said low, his smile lazy and knowing. “That is all right. My cock and his blood will loosen him up well enough for everyone.”

Nicolo’s breath stuttered.

Dirar tapped the hilt at the center of Nicolo’s chest.

“Are you ready for your first lesson?”

————————————————

Alternating POV’s for this entire part. I think this chapter will have A-D. More later!

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 11B/14

[dr_libra_phd]

———————————————-
Part 11B
———————————————-


(Yusuf)


Cairo, 12th century






“Hobi?”

Yusuf’s eyes slowly open. On reflex, his arms squeezed what they held.

Within his arms, Nicolo grunted.

“Sorry.” Yusuf dropped a kiss on Nicolo’s shoulder. He loosened his hold. To his regret, Nicolo slipped free of his arms and rolled onto his back.

Yusuf stretched, muscles pulling loose, his fingers and toes reaching until he was rewarded with the satisfying pop pop relief down his back. He dropped his chin on top of Nicolo’s chest.

Eyes the color of a winter sky gazed down at him.

“Good morning.” Yusuf yawned. He reached up and pushed away hair from Nicolo’s face. He smiled drowsily. “Did you sleep well?”

Nicolo nodded.

“Hobi?” Nicolo repeated, slaughtering the pronunciation of such a beautiful word. Still, it looked lovely out of Nicolo’s pink mouth.

“Hm?” Yusuf wished it was not cold every night. Waking up pressed against the warmth of Nicolo’s skin was nice. Nicolo grumbled the hair on Yusuf’s chest itched his shoulders. But when Nicolo fidgeted to get closer, Yusuf was happy to press his front along Nicolo’s back. He hoped there will be many more mornings he would wake up against the heated silk of Nicolo's back tucked against him.

Nicolo’s brow knitted. Yusuf tsked, reaching over to smooth the furrow between Nicolo’s eyes.

“Should not look so worried this early in the day,” Yusuf murmured. His finger trailed from the brow to the strong line of Nicolo’s nose.

“Hobi?” Nicolo repeated.

“Yes, Nicolo?” Yusuf replied dreamily.

Nicolo’s eyebrow rose.

The last of Yusuf’s sleep lifted. Cursing his slow waking brain, all he could do was gape at Nicolo.

"Uh..."

Nicolo looked thoughtful.

“I do not know this word.” Nicolo turned shy. “I remember you said it again yesterday.”

Did he? Yusuf searched his memory. He swallowed.

“What does it mean?”

“It means...ah...”

It was too soon for such endearments. Nicolo was a puzzle Yusuf needed to solve first, unravel the shadows that would not leave his Nicolo alone before casting such fond words and declarations upon him.

“...disgruntled cat.”

“Disgruntled cat?” Nicolo repeated. He frowned. “I think that is very specific of a word. Why did you call me a disgruntled cat?”

“Because...ah, like that cat, you strike, uh, because...” Yusuf rubbed his chin on Nicolo as he struggled to find a good reason.

Under Yusuf, Nicolo twitched.

Interesting.

Yusuf rested his face and tilted up to gaze at a pink-cheek Nicolo.

“Like that?” Yusuf crooned. Very careful, his eyes locked on Nicolo, he slowly rubbed his chin against the dark circle of Nicolo’s left nipple.

Nicolo scowled and opened his mouth most likely to deny, but it became a startled moan instead when Yusuf rocked a side of his beard completely over the nub he could feel tightening under his cheek.

“I have you,” Yusuf soothed. Nicolo’s eyes were wider now, his breath quickening. Ah, his Nicolo. There was so much he wanted to teach Nicolo. And so much he wanted to learn from Nicolo. His stomach clenched in anticipation. After Aziz’s hopefully generous payment and his talk with Nicolo by the Nile, he will be teacher and pupil to Nicolo.

Yusuf kissed the dark pink nub, making sure his beard brushed Nicolo‘s skin as he moved to taste the other.

Nicolo’s hand by Yusuf’s shoulder twitched, curling loose and tentative on his bicep.

Yusuf wanted to capture the pinched teat with his teeth. But Nicolo was not ready for that. Not yet.

Yusuf nosed the hollow of Nicolo’s throat. He licked into the vulnerable skin, felt it flutter against his mouth. He kissed down the sternum and went back to Nicolo’s nipples.

Nicolo’s skin was flushed from his beard. Sadly, it was already fading back to the pale pallor. Yusuf hummed as he mouthed the teat, over and over until it peaked into a sharp aching point, the dusky circle surrounding it stretched with the strain.

Nicolo groaned, his hand moving up to cup the back of Yusuf’s head. They clutched loosely on his hair.

Immediately, Nicolo's hand pulled back.

“Sorry,” Nicolo gasped, arching towards Yusuf’s mouth. “I did not mean to—“

Yusuf caught Nicolo‘s hand as it pulled away and guided it back to his head.

Nicolo’s fingers trembled like a seedling caught in a strong wind.

Yusuf tipped his eyes up at Nicolo. He looked frightened.

“It is fine,” Yusuf soothed. He bumped back into Nicolo’s hand. He smiled at those wide pale eyes.

“My hair is already a mess,” Yusuf murmured. "Your hands can not make it any worse."

Yusuf wondered what thoughts spun behind those light eyes, what made those long blunt fingers shake.

"Mm," Yusuf sighed. He leaned into Nicolo's hand. His hands cradled on either side of Nicolo's rib cage. "Yes, Nicolo, right there."

Nicolo's fingers bent, pressing down into Yusuf's scalp. They moved, gentle, far too careful, into Yusuf's curls.

"I am good," Yusuf encouraged. He felt Nicolo give Yusuf's scalp a scratch, barely felt.

Nicolo's hand jerked back again.

"I do not want to hurt you," Nicolo rasped.

Yusuf shushed Nicolo. It was not the time to push. Soon he will need to see Aziz. There was not enough time for he to coax Nicolo out of the shadows so Yusuf could kiss his hurts away. Later. And forever.

"Before. In war? Yes. Here? No. You can not hurt me," Yusuf sighed. His hands smoothed down to Nicolo's waist. He ran his thumbs along the far too loose trousers. He watched Nicolo carefully as he pulled the trousers down. Nicolo's cock rose shyly between his legs.

Yusuf tenderly kissed the side of Nicolo's cock.

Nicolo shuddered.

Yusuf brushed his lips down to the tip, his beard skimming the length.

"Yusuf. You should not..." Nicolo croaked. His mouth fell open, his hands curled into trembling fist.

"No, no, not your mouth, Yusuf no, p-please, not your mouth. I can not..."

A bead of fluid formed at the tip, but Yusuf started to worry how Nicolo shook. He murmured quietly as he crawled up and pulled Nicolo to his chest.

"I stopped," Yusuf said. "Do not worry. I stopped, hobi. Sh."

Nicolo dropped his head against Yusuf's shoulder. "I can not hurt you, do not let me hurt you, I should not want that..."

"It is all right. Here, we will do something else."

Yusuf curled a loose hand around Nicolo. He peppered Nicolo's brow with kisses as the other choked, trembled, fighting not to release.

"What terrifies you so?" Yusuf murmured but it did not seem to reach Nicolo. Yusuf wrapped an arm around Nicolo. "Why do you fear accepting the pleasure I know you feel?"

Nicolo's breathing was shallow. His hands were white fists pressed to his belly. As Yusuf stroked Nicolo's cock to fullness, Nicolo whined from deep in his throat.

Yusuf's hand sped up. Nicolo started, his stifled moans escaping between his clenched teeth.

"It felt good when we touched each other, yes?" Yusuf whispered. He tightened his fist, Nicolo's cock was hard and hot in his grip. Nicolo's hips rocked forward into Yusuf's grip.

"Let yourself feel. Trust what your body tells you, Nicolo," Yusuf said as he felt the weight and heat of Nicolo's cock swell in his hand. "You are so beautiful like this. Here, you are almost there, sh, that is it, it is fine, you are not hurting my hand..."

With a choked cry, Nicolo came over Yusuf's fist. He shuddered violently, splashes of his release seeping between Yusuf's fingers.

Yusuf pressed his lips on Nicolo's brow. Nicolo looked dazed. He gasped as he curled into Yusuf.

"Yusuf," Nicolo murmured over and over. He blinked rapidly, his lashes beat light torture on Yusuf's skin.

"This," Yusuf said into the top of Nicolo's head. "This is nothing to fear. It is beautiful. It is us, hobi. Do not give up on it. Whatever it is, stand your ground. My brave and beautiful Nicolo. Let me be besides you forever to fight for this."

Nicolo wrapped his arms around Yusuf's middle.

"I am certain the battle is already lost," Nicolo said sadly into Yusuf's shoulder.

Yusuf hugged Nicolo closer. "Only if you do not allow me to fight with you. We are no longer enemies. Do not deny we are no longer mere friends. Whatever it is, it is all right. Do not suffer alone. Please, I beg of you, let me share in your sorrow so we can later share joy."

Yusuf feared Nicolo would shake his head. He didn't. He tightened his hold around Yusuf.

"Will your resolve be the same after I tell you?" Nicolo whispered. "Later. After Aziz?"

"Yes," Yusuf vowed.

Nicolo exhaled and stayed tucked within Yusuf's arms until it was time for Yusuf to leave.



"...Al-Kaysani?"

Yusuf blinked. He turned back to Aziz. He grinned ruefully.

"Apologies. I was daydreaming." Yusuf chuckled as he gestured to the market around them. "I was already thinking of what I wish to purchase with your generous payment. In fact, I admired this bolt of linen in front of me and thought how nice it would look on my friend!"

"Yes," the wizened trader nodded. "I am sure Nicolo will like it."

Yusuf grinned. He wondered if Yazim will agree to another barter.

"About this scroll," Aziz mumbled. "Do you think you can make me one more? Today? I need it this very day."

Yusuf's smile faded. He glanced out at the bright morning. It promised the rest of the day will be good.

"Not today," Yusuf hedged. "I have business elsewhere. In fact, I should be leaving soon."

Aziz's wrinkled hand shook as it held up a small bag of coins. "Oh wait, I should pay you for these."

Yusuf accepted the coins with a glad heart. He grinned at the small purse of thick metal coins.

"I thank you once again for your generosity." Yusuf tossed up the bag. When it landed in his palm, it wafted of cardamom and fruit.

Yusuf's smile faded.

"It would be most appreciated if you could make one more scroll," Aziz continued. He fumbled within his robes. "Here. In fact, I can pay you right no--"

Aziz squeaked when Yusuf's scimitar pressed under his chin. The coins in his pocket scattered to the ground.

"What is this?" Yusuf hissed. He held up the bag of coins. "This reeks of Dirar. What have you done?"

"Al-K-kaysani, I do not know w-what you--"

"What have you done!" Yusuf roared.

Behind him, people paused. They scurried away when Yusuf snarled over his shoulder.

Yusuf leaned into his scimitar, the edge digging in Aziz's soft chin.

"Do you know how it feels to have your head slowly sawed off?" Yusuf said, low. He stared hard at Aziz.

"No, no, please, I have no choice!" Aziz babbled. His wrinkled eyes were wide as coins, his wrinkled lips white with fright.

"Dirar! He controls the docks! My ship! If his people do not push my boat out of the channels, I can not leave the Nile! Please! They are loyal to him. They followed him from Damascus!"

"Tell me!" Yusuf demanded. "What foul deed he has you do? Why are you paying me with his money?" He tensed.

"Nothing! Dirar, he is generous!"

"I never told you Nicolo's name," Yusuf said. His scimitar pressed in more. "What does Dirar want with him?"

"I d-don't know. Al-Kaysani, please have mercy on an old man!"

Yusuf drew closer, his nose almost touching Aziz's dribbling one.

"If you wish to live to be older," Yusuf growled, "you tell me. Now."

"He means to have your friend! He paid me to make sure you remain here!"

Yusuf's insides seized. Dimly, he wondered if this was what Nicolo felt all these days.

"Have him," Yusuf repeated thinly. "What do you mean have him?"

Aziz yelped as a line of blood trailed down his throat. His eyes bulged.

"Please! I never--Dirar would have paid him well. He always has!"

The world around Yusuf seemed to still. All color and light fled.

"What?" Yusuf whispered. The scimitar under Aziz's chin shook.

"I do not, but others enjoyed his mouth and Dirar made sure they pay well!"

Yusuf wanted him to stop talking. He felt numb but agony grew in his insides as Aziz kept talking, fear spurring the flood of words. He spilled out how they have Nicolo on his knees. How Nicolo fought one, then another and then he did not fight at all. And Dirar, Dirar meant to have him, Dirar who first pushed Nicolo to his knees, plundered Nicolo's mouth, Nicolo's soul--

"...Dirar promised they would release him once they were done with--"

Aziz dropped to the ground, his age spotted hands in front of his face. He bled from a small cut on his neck.

"Mercy! Mercy!" Aziz whimpered.

"They?" Yusuf pointed his scimitar at Aziz.

The trader stared down at the scimitar off his nose.

"Dirar promised to share him with those loyal to him, but he is to be first," Aziz choked.

"Which one is Dirar's ship in the docks?" Yusuf hissed.

Aziz shook his head.

"You do not understand. The docks, the ship, it is all his men. He has dozens!"

"I do not care if he has hundreds or thousands," Yusuf said coldly. "They are all dead and if you do not tell me, you will share their fate."

Aziz gaped up at Yusuf. Gulping, Aziz told him.

No sooner than Aziz finished, Yusuf spun around and ran out of the stall. He left Aziz weeping and blubbering on the floor in his stall.

People made way when they saw Yusuf's face. He paid no mind. He did not take the time to wipe Aziz's blood off his blade. He slipped his scimitar into its sheath and he cut through the market.

"Nicolo," Yusuf choked out and ran towards the docks as if his soul was at stake.

------------------------
I have a weird work schedule after classes today. There are two more parts to this and it may post really late or really early tomorrow. We're close to the finish line, guys!

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 11C/14

[dr_libra_phd]

Trying something different because I realized this ‘tomorrow’ belongs to both of them...

Warning: non-con threats and overtones
———————————————-
Part 11C
———————————————-


(Nicolo)


Cairo, 12th century




It burned.

Nicolo could feel his rib slipping out from where it stabbed his insides after a vicious kick from one snapped it free from his right side. As they forced him back on his knees, Nicolo felt his rib make the slow journey back to heal. It burned getting there.

But it meant two less. They were carried out of the cabin, swearing and groaning.

Behind Nicolo, a hand smacked him hard on his ass, another squeezed the reddened cheek afterwards. Even Dirar had trouble stopping them with a sharp word.

They did not think their prey will fight back. And now they howled for blood.

Nicolo found himself staring at the floor again, his hands once more trapped under boots. This time it was Badlh.

His hands started healing after he slammed his head into Dirar's face. He missed but it startled Dirar enough that Nicolo was able to yank his shattered hands free. He got one. Two. But there were so many. More than before. And he was forced to his hands and knees once more, spitting out broken teeth and a bit of flesh when one of them thought destroying his throat might tame him.

Dirar sat behind Nicolo, grunting as he palmed the object between his legs. It deflated when Nicolo attacked. Dirar pulled it faster and faster the longer he stared at Nicolo's reddened cheeks.

The tip of Nicolo's scabbard tapped his balls from behind. Nicolo jolted. He shouted in lingua and a fist slammed into his right ear. He would have collapsed and possibly snap his wrists completely if Badlh did not catch his shoulders. Nicolo did not thank him.

"I will make you bleed," Dirar snarled. "The way my wife and child bled."

Behind Nicolo, wet sounds and grunts rose. The others will wait their turns, but not for too long. Rage fueled their lust to something of a frenzy. Nicolo could taste the thirst around him like air thick with blood and smoke.

It will hurt.

Nicolo's throat worked. Perhaps he could drive them into a fury and one of them or Dirar will accidentally kill him in the process, sparing him from the others. They would discard his body, most likely in the Nile.

He will heal. He will come back.

Nicolo knew by then, Yusuf would find out the truth. And he would leave Cairo. He will not look for Nicolo.

But that is all right. He can still protect Yusuf from afar. Yusuf would not need to know. Nicolo learned from very young how to be quiet, how to be invisible.

Perhaps this is better, Nicolo thought bleakly as he fought not to react to Dirar pressing the scabbard tip against his sacs. He did not speak. He held still. With luck, Dirar would tire of him and kill him before doing anything at all.

"By now," Dirar said. "Yusuf is happily counting his coins and good fortune." The scabbard skimmed around Nicolo's taint. Nicolo held his breath, but Dirar did not push it in.

"When we are finished with you, you can count your coins too."

Around Nicolo, others chuckled.

Nicolo breathed out slowly through his nose.

It will only hurt for a short time, Nicolo thought. He closed his eyes so he could block the sight of Badlh leering close, his yellow stained hands gripping the red mottled object and pointing it to his face.

It will be fine, Nicolo told himself. Anger them and they will kill him. And he will stay behind to watch over Yusuf. He has his memories, those quiet nights where Yusuf gazed at Nicolo like something good and worthy. It is enough.

It will be fine.

Dirar groaned behind him and the wet slapping sounds stop. The others murmured eagerly, crowding forward as Dirar lumbered closer to stand over Nicolo.

The door opened. Nicolo bit the inside of his cheek. No, not more.

"...will flay you alive! I will--"

No.

Nicolo's eyes flew open. Badlh's crotch blocked him, but he knew that voice.

Dirar chuckled. "Do not be rude. Let him in. He seems he wants to so badly."

No, no, no.

"Dirar!" Yusuf howled. "I will kil--Nicolo!"

The anguish in Yusuf's voice was too much to hear. Nicolo squeezed his eyes shut.

No, he can not. Not in front of Yusuf.

Badlh grabbed Nicolo by the chin. His rough trousers scratched Nicolo's temples. The dagger that hung off his hip bumped into Nicolo's lip. It tasted like cold, metal sweet like blood.

"No! Get away from him!"

Nicolo has not heard Yusuf like this since--no, he has not ever heard Yusuf like this.

"Dirar! We were not a threat to you!" Yusuf raged. "Why do you do this?"

"Why?" Dirar said calmly. His boots thud past Nicolo. Nicolo cracked open his eyes. Badlh's object hung by his right cheek, but past Badlh's hip he could see Dirar approach Yusuf. Yusuf was covered in blood, his face a red mask over his right side. He was forced to his knees by two men on his shoulders and a knee on his back by a third.

"Why?" Dirar repeated. His voice rose. "Why? Why do I want to destroy the Frank who destroyed me?"

Dirar slammed the hilt of Nicolo's sword into Yusuf's stomach. Yusuf groaned but the hands clamped on his shoulders would not allow him to double over.

"Nicolo was not..." Yusuf bit out. His eyes flared. He set a foot in front of him to force himself up.

A dagger slipped around to rest under Yusuf's chin.

Yusuf tensed and Nicolo knew Yusuf will not let it stop him even if the edge sliced into his throat.

"No," Nicolo croaked. "Do not die."

Yusuf's hard eyes slid over to where Badlh and Nicolo were. His fury wavered.

"Nicolo," Yusuf said, his voice cracked.

"No," Dirar taunted. He turned to look at Nicolo. "He is right. Do not die. You do not want to miss this. Give Nicolo a chance to show you how he has been earning his coin."

Yusuf choked out, "Nicolo" and hung his head.

Dirar rammed the hilt up, snapping Yusuf's head back.

"No," Dirar snarled. "You will watch him as we invade this Frank, pillage his body, ransack his flesh and soul until all that is left is only fit for fucking."

Yusuf screamed at Dirar, in words Nicolo could not grasp. His ears roared with Yusuf's anger. Dirar scoffed as he crossed the room to stand behind Nicolo.

Badhl stepped harder into Nicolo's hands. Dirar gripped Nicolo by the hips. He yanked Nicolo closer.

Nicolo squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the engorged object scrape up against his taint. A finger skimmed his hole, then abruptly dove in, skewering him, hooking at the rim, pulling...

"I wonder why you did not have him, Yusuf," Dirar murmured. He pulled out his finger. "He will tear beautifully."

Nicolo bit his lower lip. He tried not to listen. He held still.

It did not matter if they kill him now. It was over.

"Nicolo," Yusuf plead. "Look at me. Please! Nicolo!"

Nicolo reluctantly lifted his eyes.

Yusuf gazed back, his eyes overly bright, straining as close as he dared with the dagger to his throat.

"Nicolo," Yusuf said, half sobbed. He switched to lingua and Greek. "What I said before...It did not mean disgruntled cat!"

Nicolo stared at Yusuf. He bowed his head.

"Wait," Nicolo called out. His voice shook. "I...I wish to bargain."

Dirar sat back. He placed a hand on Nicolo's buttocks, his hand kneading a cheek, his nails digging deep and drawing blood.

"A deal?" Dirar sounded bored. "I will have you whether you resist or not. What do you think you can offer me?"

"Please," Nicolo whispered. "I do not want him to see this. I am the one you wish to destroy, not him. Can I not beg for mercy on his behalf?"

Yusuf moaned. Nicolo avoided looking at Yusuf.

"Go on." Dirar dug his thumb around Nicolo's rim. Something burned. Something started to bleed. "I am listening."

"You..." Nicolo swallowed. His stomach roiled. "You said I need to learn to s-swallow better. Take him away from this and you can teach me."

"Nicolo..." Yusuf whispered in horror.

"I planned to teach you after this anyway," Dirar dismissed.

"What...what if at the same time?"

Dirar stilled behind him. The murmuring around them rose.

Yusuf...Yusuf was not saying anything.

"Badlh," Dirar ordered.

Badlh shuffled closer, his fingers already loosening his trousers before Dirar called on him. His trousers dropped to his ankles, his dagger clanging to the floor.

Nicolo flinched.

"Yusuf," Nicolo called out as Dirar settled a possessive palm on his lower back, prodding him into position. Badlh shifted off Nicolo's hands, kneeling, greedy hands tipping Nicolo's head back.

"Nicolo, Nicolo," Yusuf breathed. He grunted as he was hauled up to his feet. "No! No! Nicolo!"

"Yusuf, I understand," Nicolo said unsteadily. He opened his eyes as wide as he could. He ignored the unwelcomed heat looming over him. "I understand, but the battle I fought alone is lost."

"I am sorry."
--------------------
Do my best to post last part late tonight! Or early tomorrow! Wah, I dunno! I have stupid big fingers and tiny phone and only a 45 minute break later!

Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 11D/14

[dr_libra_phd]

There is a 11E, but it’s getting late here. I’ll finish it up and post it tomorrow. I wanted to at least not leave you hanging...

Warning: blood and yuck violence

———————————————-
Part 11D
———————————————-

(Yusuf)

Cairo, 12th century





The look on Nicolo’s face...

Yusuf felt the dagger ease off his throat. The grip on his shoulders tightened, keeping him hunched awkwardly.

They were surrounded, some of the nine that crewed the ship were crowded around his Nicolo with hungry eyes. Four were dead outside. He could not fight the other three as they took his scimitar and dragged him into the cramp cabin.

I am sorry, Nicolo’s eyes pled when he at last looked up. Yusuf now realized, those eyes had pled for so long. And Yusuf didn’t realize, never knew, worried about Nicolo wasting away, but never knew why. Except Nicolo told him. Yusuf had said Nicolo spoke in everything he did. Nicolo told him in his actions. And Yusuf did not hear him.

"I understand, but the battle I fought alone is lost."

Yusuf’s eyes widened.

Nicolo, Nicolo, no, no, wait...

Nicolo’s gaze reached Yusuf and stayed on him, unflinching as Dirar moved a hand over him and Badlh hunched lower, his trousers dropping to the floor, hands grabbing, touching, filthy hands gripping Nicolo’s face. Nicolo’s jaw flexed, his hands dropping to his sides...

...and snatched Badlh’s dagger on the floor.

“Down!” Nicolo shouted in lingua and threw the dagger.

The dagger against Yusuf’s throat sliced as Yusuf threw himself to the floor. He felt an ice cold line down to his shoulder, hot blood oozing. He caught the dagger as it fell, dropped when Nicolo’s dagger found its target: Yusuf’s capturer’s throat, sending the man crashing into the one who had a knee on Yusuf’s back.

Yusuf swung the dagger he gained: up and right at his remaining captor. He heard a gurgle. He did not stop to see him die.

Nicolo writhed in the floor, bucking against Badlh’s hands around his throat. He could not kick free; his torn trousers tangled around his ankles.

Dirar was struggling to get up, his face a mix of blood and broken teeth, his eyes bloodshot. His jaw was broken, unhinged by Nicolo’s swift kick. He screamed garbled and furious as he lurched to his feet. The two men in the back surged forward.

Yusuf felt his insides boiled when he realized Dirar used Nicolo’s longsword to push himself to his feet.

But Nicolo was fighting and fading.

With a shout, Yusuf spun around, slammed the dagger into Badlh’s back, his other hand shooting down to clasp around Nicolo’s reaching hand.

“Can you fight?” Yusuf asked in Greek. He stepped in front of Nicolo, felt him trembling against his back as he tugged up the shreds of his trousers and retied its lace.

“If you still want to with me,” Nicolo panted in lingua, his Greek lost in his daze.

“Always,” Yusuf said before he charged towards Dirar with a snarl.

Dirar was his.

Behind him, Nicolo took the weapon caught in Badlh’s body. Yusuf threw himself bodily at the two men, his arms flung out to catch them both. He felt a blade skim across his ribs.

Nicolo shouted, something sang through the air and Yusuf caught his scimitar and lashed down in a deadly arc. He was upon the second man before the first fell.

The other swung desperately, his eyes wide with fear, his sword sloppy.

Yusuf’s scimitar lashed out, knocking the sword to the floor and he spun towards Dirar.

“That sword,” Yusuf seethed, “Is not yours.” He pointed his scimitar at Dirar. “Neither is he.”

Dirar spat, blood splattering as he charged, Nicolo’s sword swinging wildly towards Yusuf.

What Dirar lacked in skill, he made up with rage. His swings bore all his fury, crashing into Yusuf’s scimitar. Each blow shook through Yusuf’s arm. He was forced to hold his blade with two hands.

Dirar was shouting, screaming about his wife and child, how he sent them away from Damascus, how he thought they were safe while he defended the city. After, he dragged his wounded body to find his family. The marching Franks had found them first.

Yusuf felt pity but it did not last when he realized it was pity that stayed Nicolo’s hand before. It was pity that fed into a guilt that never went away and became Nicolo’s personal plague that ate him from the inside.

“Traitor!” Dirar screamed. His anger turned towards Yusuf.

Yusuf’s shoulders burned as he blocked each blow. Nicolo’s sword kept Dirar out of striking distance. Yusuf’s scimitar could not possible reach.

Then, Yusuf’s foot slipped on the blood that streaked the floor.

Dirar’s face contorted as he raised the sword high, shrieking he will knock Yusuf’s head off his shoulders.

With a hoarse cry, Nicolo was suddenly in front of Yusuf clutching the tip of his own sword with both hands.

Yusuf lunged forward, past Nicolo, his scimitar whipping out.

Dirar howled, his hands flying to clutch his torso, screaming as Yusuf sliced apart what had hurt Nicolo.

Nicolo’s sword clattered to the floor.

“Your hands,” Yusuf reached for Nicolo’s hands pressed to Nicolo’s chest. “Let me se—“

Nicolo flinched.

Yusuf froze. He recovered quickly, his scimitar pointed to Dirar snarling and cursing on the ground. His cock laid by Dirar’s feet. The blood was still flowing.

“You should have let me die,” Dirar screamed around his broken jaw and the bubbling of his broken nose. He doubled over, his hands cupped over the ruin of his sex.

“You may still do,” Yusuf said coldly. “A quick death is too good for you. May your death be a slow and painful one.”

Yusuf turned his shoulder at Dirar. He studied Nicolo next to him.

“If anyone should mute the final blow,” Yusuf said quietly. He held out his scimitar. “It is you.”

Nicolo pulled his eyes away from Dirar. His eyes were nearly colorless with despair. He looked numbly at Dirar, at Yusuf and back at Dirar again.

Nicolo shook his head. His jaw clenched, his eyes sorrowful. He sharply turned away from Dirar and stumbled towards the door.

Yusuf gave Dirar one last look.

“I hope no one finds you in time,” Yusuf said. “I hope your wife and child will not be waiting for you, ashamed for the man you have become.”

Yusuf turned on his heels, Dirar screaming incoherently after him. Yusuf jammed a piece of wood into the door. If Dirar found a way to crawl to the door, he will find it barred from the outside. Let him lay down on a river of blood and a field of bodies.

When Yusuf turned around, he blinked. The four he killed were nowhere in sight.

“I tossed them into the Nile,” Nicolo said, more towards Yusuf’s boots.

Yusuf grunted. He wiped his scimitar on a rag by the railing. “It will give us time before they are discovered.”

Nicolo’s shoulders dropped. “We have to leave.”

“Yes,” Yusuf said. “Will you look at me, please? Nicolo—“

“We better go,” Nicolo interrupted. He veered around Yusuf and went down the plank, his longsword clutched in his hands, a long cloak he found tied around his middle. There were faint trails of blood that went down the sides of his legs and disappearing into the sagging edges of his boots.

A lump in his throat, Yusuf followed.
——————————————-

11E and 12 (hopefully) tomorrow!