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Title: The Lamb Speaks
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: Kingdom of Heaven, Nasir/Balian, Nasir/Saladin
Rating: R
Warning: It occurs to me that the relationship I’ve woven between Saladin and Nasir could be considered kinky, although I hardly think they would categorise it as such. Definitely a master/servant, or at least master/apprentice power dynamic.
Disclaimer: Has nothing to do with historical anything, and is only vaguely based on characters in a movie that has only some things to do with historical anything. But you’re free to picture events using whatever inspiration you desire.
Note: Comes about half an hour after: Of Lions and Lambs
The Lamb Speaks
“Tell me more.” Saladin’s voice was low and soft, vowels coming out as rounded growls.
“Yes, my lord. He was cautious, skittish, as one might expect of a stallion. He shied from me at first, until he knew I meant him no harm.”
“Did he have reason to fear you?”
“He had no reason not to, except that we needed each other. We were two days journey from Jerusalem, without adequate shelter or supplies. It was the cold of the desert night that convinced him to come closer.”
“And what were you doing so far from Jerusalem without supplies?”
“My servant and I had not intended to go so far. We were travelling to my ancestral village. But Jerusalem was Balian’s destination, and I was his to command.”
Saladin ran his fingers through the length of Nasir’s hair, then traced a spiral on the back of his neck. “What were you thinking, offering yourself to him like that?” he murmured. “You had no obligation to him. You outrank him by leagues.”
“I preferred he not know that, my lord. It might have become a hostage situation. I would not put you in the position of bargaining for your vassal’s life, pitting your best interests against my life. As it happened, he was honourable.”
“If he were less honourable, I could have lost you forever.” The sultan’s fingers stilled on the dark skin. “That would have been unacceptable.”
“He would have been foolish to harm me.”
“Indeed. I would have killed him with my bare hands.”
Those same hands, deceptively slender, capable of ending the life of an infidel for the crime of harming Saladin’s pet, now fluttered down Nasir’s spine, teasing his naked skin. Nasir let out a soft moan when the hands slipped around his hips, stroked his flanks, and pulled him closer, making Saladin sink deeper into the heat of Nasir’s body. Fingers prodded him to speak again.
“It soon became apparent he held no malicious intent.”
“He would not have forced you to do so, yet you still took him to Jerusalem.”
“There are other reasons to remain in the company of such a man, other than to be forced.”
“Mmm, tell me about the first night,” Saladin bent to lick a drop of sweat from Nasir’s neck.
It was a terrible distraction for Nasir. He had trouble enough telling the two nights apart without that deliciously wicked tongue on his skin. “First night, yes…” he stalled for time, distracted further by his own writhing. “Cold.”
Saladin draped himself over Nasir’s naked body and stilled them both. “You offered him your heat.”
“Yes, I offered warmth, and he accepted. He was shivering. We had our backs to a rock ledge, a good shelter from the wind, but once the sun sank, the heat faded. I sat next to him and pressed against him. He is strong, well muscled. I put my arms around him and we were both warmed.”
“That was not all, though,” Saladin prompted eagerly.
“For the first night, yes, that was all. He put his arms around me as well and we slept. Not peacefully, but we managed to rest. His heart beats sure and strong, and even deeper when he sleeps. But he called out in the dark, from a nightmare. I touched him gently, stroked his hair, and he was calmed. He said a name, a woman’s name I think, and slept again.”
Saladin straightened his body, savouring the shudder as the angle of his member shifted within Nasir’s body, probing deeper. He dipped his fingers into the water glass and trickled the cool liquid down Nasir’s spine. “More,” he demanded.
Nasir shivered, although not from the cool water. “There was a wind storm in the morning. Sudden and brutal. We could not leave. We huddled by the rocks with the horses. It was too loud too speak much, which suited him well. He does not overly like conversation.” He paused for breath. “We travelled for part of the day. I was able to find us water, of course, so he understood how much better off he was with me as his guide.” The air of the tent had thickened dramatically. “We shared some dates and kept moving until the sun sank. We were still a few hours from the city. We took our rest at an oasis.” It was nearly impossible to continue, now that Saladin was moving again, bending over him, flat belly against the curve of Nasir’s back, hips circling insistently. “We found trees for shelter. He used fallen fronds to make a windbreak on the coldest side, while I gathered what food there was.”
“So practical,” Saladin breathed out over the smooth skin of Nasir’s back. “So very capable.” He scraped his teeth on a solid curve of shoulder.
Nasir arched his back and moaned.
“Tell me more,” Saladin demanded.
“My lord, I find myself… it is most difficult to speak under these circumstances.”
As was Saladin’s intention. A story, told breathlessly under the hands and mouth and body of his lord, as Nasir stretched beneath him, impaled and helpless, became so much more intense, so much more alluring, but only if the story were told to the very end. “Is there something you hide from me? What did he do to you? Is Balian in possession of something of mine, more than merely Jerusalem?”
“No,” Nasir choked out as Saladin lunged inside him, deeper than ever before. “I swear it, my lord. No.”
“Good.” Saladin withdrew until only the very tip of him remained inside. “Continue,” he said calmly.
“His hair was tangled.”
Saladin let out a small moan. There was little he enjoyed more than the feel of Nasir’s fingers in his hair, combing, untangling. He was sure he could feel the tips of his curls as they wound around Nasir’s fingers. Some nights, after a hard battle or when the desert had sapped their strength, they might sit facing each other, eyes locked, slowly grooming and caressing each other until the urge to touch lips overwhelmed them. It was something Saladin could never do with his women. Only Nasir touched his hair.
And he delighted in touching Nasir’s hair.
“You’ve never touched the hair of an infidel before. Did you like it?” Saladin let his hands wander up to the thick hair spread across Nasir’s back.
“It is quite straight. I was surprised. It was… different.”
“I do not think it could be as rich as yours,” Saladin.
“Nor as silken as yours,” Nasir said, no doubt wishing he could reach Saladin’s hair from his position on the floor.
“We’re speaking of Balian and you, my pet,” Saladin reminded him.
Nasir nodded, “Thick, strong hair, heavy between my fingers. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, with an air of supplication I could not ignore. He bared his neck to me.”
Saladin’s hand fisted reflexively in Nasir’s hair. To display himself so, to offer himself, this Balian had to be extremely sure of himself, or extremely naïve. “Did he…” Saladin pushed his hips forward and watched Nasir open up to him. “Did he know what he was doing?”
Nasir gripped the rug with both fists. The control of the thrust, the power barely contained within it, almost blinded him. “No,” he cried out. “He did not. He jumped when I tasted his throat.”
“And the taste?”
“As I told you, he tasted as would any man wandering in the desert after a ship wreck. Until I reached his mouth.”
This, perhaps, Saladin did not wish to hear, but he felt compelled. He had to know, did he not?
“He tasted of something I’ve never encountered,” Nasir continued, once Saladin gentled his hands and thrusts. “I cannot tell what it was. Perhaps it was the forest of his home. Perhaps it is gone, now that he has been in the desert for so long. Whatever it was, the taste was stronger in his seed than in his mouth or on his skin.”
“You get ahead of yourself, my pet.”
Pacing was key to the storytelling. Nasir hung his head and took a deep breath. It was his own impatience that had caused the error.
“Forgive me, my lord. You are correct. First I tasted his mouth. He was confused. I do not think he’d ever considered tasting of a man before. He warmed to the notion quickly. He has a lively tongue, and delights in using his teeth. They are quite gentle, and even.”
The revelation of the evenness detail made Saladin thrust slightly harder. “More,” he growled.
“Large hands, very strong,” Nasir panted. “Curious hands. He found me quite fascinating. He played with me for some time…seemed to forget his own needs.”
Saladin reached around Nasir hips once more and grasped the thick member. “You are most fascinating. I cannot blame him.”
“He was somewhat shocked when I…” Nasir gasped as Saladin’s hand tightened and twisted around him. “He had not considered use of a mouth in such a manner.”
“But you are so very good with your mouth.”
“He discovered that, my lord. And he returned the favour. Most unpracticed but eager for the new experience.”
Saladin’s thrusts lengthened and slowed. “You were inside his mouth…”
“Yes. I did not spend in his mouth. It would have been too shocking…”
“But you tasted of him…”
“Deeply, my lord…”
Saladin could barely stand the image of Nasir with another, with a crusader of all people, yet it spurred him to greater heights. Teetering on a great precipice, heart in his throat, ready to fall, he choked out one more command. “Make the sound he made.”
Nasir shook beneath him and let out a mournful cry, as if Nasir were sad to be letting go.
He hates to be seen as weak, this Balian. He will not back down if it shows weakness. But he is not opposed to new ideas.
Saladin could barely register the information before he fell, tumbling back to earth with a violent force. He landed deep inside Nasir, the safest place he knew.
Later, as he composed himself for sleep, Nasir kissed his hair softly. “I hope this gave you the information you need.”
“Perhaps,” Saladin mused. “Perhaps not. Once cannot tell everything from a man in one encounter, or from another’s observations. But it matters not, my pet, for the story was secondary to the action, and the action was what I wanted most. Lie with me, Nasir. I will sleep better with you at my side.”
“And I never sleep better than when I’m by yours, my lord.”
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Continued in The Lion Roars
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