A Lesson in Diplomacy
Major Iqbal Khan x Indian diplomat Yamini Singh
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Disclaimer: This oneshot is inspired by the 2025 movie Dhurandhar by Aditya Dhar. This is in no way meant to idolize the real people the movie is about; they are bastards, and this is just a fanfic for the appreciation of the movie and the lovely actors who brought the characters to life. SO TAKE A FUCKING CHILL PILL and enjoy <3
Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Drinking, Annoyance, Gambling, super sexy smut (khush hojao tharki log)
Masterlist
Author's note: Iqbal is such a rage-baiting bastard, yawrrrr...I wanna fuck him.
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A Lesson in Diplomacy
Day 0 @ 3 pm
(MEA) Ministry of External Affairs, Delhi, India
Why did diplomat Yamini Sing have to be so fucking good? That's the question of the century to the woman. She ponders this question as she sits in her office massaging her temples. She felt the migraine rising along with the rage. “KABIR WHERE THE HELL IS MY KADAK NIMBU SODA?” she yelled at her assistant out the door of her office. Nimbu soda would have to do, because she can't drink straight vodka on the job.
Being this good is a curse and not a boon. Which is contrary to what most people think. Most people think that being fucking phenomenal at your job gives you perks. And yes she does get perks. Was she allowed to be slightly more bitchy, rude, and unconventional? Yes. Because she got the results. But if you were to ask Yamini if those perks were worth the migraines she would have said absolutely not.
Being that damn good as a diplomat means one thing and one thing only. Yamini is only sent somewhere where relations are fucked beyond repair. Because Yamini Singh is magical, she can manage any situation.
She once talked the economic minister of the UK down from increasing tariffs and tax rates influenced by the mohhle ki kaleshi aunty, the US, with just a drink and a few well scattered slightly scandalous jokes. Another time she repaired tense relations with the eastern european countries by hosting a party with enough hard liquor and fun to get twenty alcoholic diplomats drunk out of their minds. She drank so much she had to go sober for a month but that's okay because relations were repaired.
So yes. Yamini is magical, she is phenomenal, and she is brilliant. Most of all she loves a challenge. The entire ministry knows that. Normally she asks for the hardest assignments, because she has something to prove. Not to the world, but more to herself. But there is one diplomatic relation even Yamini doesn't want to touch with a 10 foot pole and a can of disinfectant.
That relation is the infamous India-Pakistan diplomatic channel. To put it lightly, it was entirely held together by an over inflated diplomatic ego, in other words it was a mesmerisingly devastating dumpsterfire that the hobos of both sides are watching from the sidelines. And everytime the fires escalate the hobos look at each other and say “Look your side started it”. Yet neither side is willing to pick up the fire extinguisher and put it out for good.
All because this dumpster fire provides a warmth that neither side wants to lose completely. And the truth is Yamini Singh absolutely doesn't want to manage the delicate dumpster fire that India-Pakistan relations are.
“KABIR! TU KYA NIMBU KA PEDH UGANE GAYA HAI KYA SAALE?” She fumes looking at her very empty and Kabir-less doorway right now. How long did it take to make a masala nimbu soda? She genuinely contemplates banging her head on the hardwood desk in front of her. Maybe she could plead brain damage to get out of this situation.
But more than that she hopes it will help her forget the conversation that got her here in the first place. Because you can't deny a diplomatic mission when it's given to you by the head of the ministry of external affairs. And you most definitely can't deny it when he asks for you by name. “KABIR!-”
—-------------------
Yamini looked at her watch absent mindedly then she looked at the door. “Yaar lunch ke liye late ho raha hai, kahan hai sir?” she sighed as she looked at the ceiling lazily wondering if the Mexican place would still be open by the time this meeting was over. Suddenly the door to the office opened, making Yamini straighten immediately her mentor was walking in.
Yamini stands up and straightens her blazer as the head of the ministry of external affairs walks in. Her mentor. Her boss. The man she aspired to be, the famous Dr. S. Shankar. “Good afternoon Yamini” he nods to her as he walks in
“Good afternoon sir” she smiles as she shakes his hand. “Please take a seat” Jaishankar says as he takes his own seat behind his desk. Yamini sits down as she looks at Shankar expectantly. He had asked for her personally, and she was incredibly excited. Because he always gave her the best assignments.
But Shankar didn't seem to hold the same excitement. Strange. He was always excited. “Sir...kya hua hai?” she asked carefully, putting her excitement on the back burner for the moment. He huffed a laugh that held no real joy "You are very perceptive Yamini, I like that about you. It's an important skill to have as a diplomat”
Yamini blinked at him. She did not interrupt in thanks because this was a compliment given to soften the blow of whatever was about to come next. “Sir, please just tell me what happened. Your lack of enthusiasm for this meeting is scaring me.” Shankar sighed knowing that would have to spit it out eventually so he better get it over with “India-Pakistan, I'm giving you the delegation”
“Sir no.” she said with a smile of disbelief “You can't be serious”. Shankar nodded gravely “Their delegation is landing tomorrow. I need you to handle it. The dumpster fire has never been more delicate. This has to go well. The fate of two nations rests on this.”
“Sir-” she begins balking for words. “Yamini. Don't refuse me, not when I'm putting so much of my faith into you. Not when I’m personally assigning you this.” Shankar interrupts leaning in to make his point.
Yamini takes a deep breath. She can't say no. She has no choice. But she tries. She stays quiet for 20 seconds as if looking for a loophole out of this situation. There is none. She exhales her breath. “Yes sir, I'll handle this.”
—--------------------
“Sorry ma’am! Woh nimbu nahi mil rahe the!” Huffs Kabir slightly out of breath as he brings Yamini her soda. The glass sits in front of her. The ice cold drink is making the glass sweat in this heat. The soda bubbles rise lazily through the ice, fizzing on the surface.
Yamini sighs as she takes a long drink. This was about to be a long week. “Kabir. Mere lal. Tu ek nimbu ka truck magwale. Agar phirse itna time laga toh phir tujhe hi nichod ke pi jaungi!” she smiles with a sweetness that's deadly. “Ji madam” he gulps.
“M-Madam ek aur baat” He stutters. “Kya?” she hums anticipating another nail in her coffin. Kabir gently rests a thick black dossier beside her nimbu soda. “Um you may want to look at the Pakistani delegation. More specifically the man heading it”
“Why is it always a man yaar?” she sighs under her breath. Yamini furrows her brow and opens the dossier. Her fingers flick though the pages until she lands on the page with the list of delegates. Her eyes widen then narrow and then widen again at the name at the top of the list. “Major Iqbal khan?....... Wait a damn minute” She mutters in disbelief as she stands up from her chair.
She walks to a filing cabinet in the corner of her office and yanks open the drawer. She uses her index finger to comb through the files “P-P-P- Papua New Guinea, Paruguay…..Pakistan!” She pulls out the file on Pakistan and flicks to its military section. Her eyes scan the page quickly
“E-Ek second….Major IQBAL khan?” She starts looking back at Kabir with a raised eyebrow as if she is questioning her own reading skills for a moment. Kabir nods solemnly. Yamini slams the file on Pakistan shut and shoves it back in her cabinet.
“Major Iqbal khan. The head of the fucking ISI. Is coming to India as a diplomat?” She almost can't believe this. “Ji madam” Sighs Kabir already anticipating her next reaction. And honestly her reaction was entirely valid.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!”
—--------------------
Day 0 @ the same time as previous segment
(MOFA) Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Islamabad, Pakistan
Major Iqbal Khan is not a diplomat. He is the head of the ISI. And yet here he was, the head of the Pakistan-India diplomatic party. How the fuck this happend is beyond him. He sits down in his office with a heavy sigh. The leather chair creaks under his weight as he leans backwards.
Iqbal crosses one leg over the other. An ankle resting over a knee, he runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Mir! Meri whiskey kahan hai?” he calls sharply to his junior in the ISI Sajid Mir. Where our heroine Yamini couldn't drink on the job, Major Iqbal was unburdened with that rule. Being the head of the ISI did have certain perks.
Iqbal genuinely did not understand why on earth he was chosen for this diplomatic mission. But as it turns out what he thinks doesn't matter when the President of the nation personally requests for you to head the delegation.
Mir sets his whiskey on the hardwood table in front of him. The amber liquid swirls with the large ice cube in the crystal glass. “Ye lijiye Major sahab” Mir nods. Iqbal takes a large sip from the glass. Sighing deeply as the whiskey burns his throat. Iqbal lights his cigar and takes a deep drag from it. Releasing a curling puff of smoke into the dark wooded office.
“Major sahab kal subah aapki flight hai India ki. Pure delegation ke saath.” Mir says as he hands Iqbal a dossier of his travels and his diplomatic notes. Iqbal nods in acknowledgment, Mir salutes him and leaves the office. He wonders how he got into this mess.
Iqbal’s inability to say no is how he landed in this mess. He remembers the conversation so clearly.
—---------
“Assalam Walikum Janab” Salutes Iqbal, straightening his tall powerful frame to its full height. Aqib Ali Zarwari, the president of pakistan nods in greeting “Walikum Assalam Iqbal, aao andar aao”
Iqbal takes five large strides and crosses the room. His patent leather boots thudding dully on the plush carpet of the presidential office. The room was covered in marble, gold, and other various types of luxury. Zarwari was seated behind his large gilded hardwood desk, his table covered with files and documents meant for his signature.
Major Iqbal stands in front of the desk in relaxed military posture. His hands behind his back, his feet shoulder-width apart. His posture straight and his aura undeniable. He waits for Zarwari to speak.
“Iqbal mai chahata hun ki tum kal subha India ke liye rawana ho. We are sending a diplomatic mission to Delhi and mai chahata hun ki tum unke sath jao. Na bas jao, balkai unke delegation ko head karo.” Hums Zarwari as he takes a drink of water.
Iqbal blinks. What? This is not at all what he expected. But he revolvers smoothly and begins speaking “Janab mai ISI ka head hun, mujhme aisi diplomatic training nahi hai. I don't think that I am the right man to send for the job. With all due respect.”
“Iqbal it seems that you yourself are unaware of the skill you possess. If I am personally asking you to be there that means I have a certain hope for you don't I? Don't tell me you are second guessing an order by your president” Zarwari raises an eyebrow at Iqbal.
Iqbal straightens more as if that was possible. “Janab, I would never be so bold as to argue against your orders. Jaisa aap chahien waise hi hoga, mai kal subha baaki delegation ke sath India ke liye nikalta hun.” He nods with a salute.
—----------------
Iqbal rests the dossier against his knee as he sips his whiskey. He loosely flicks open the file and begins doing what intelligence agents do best. Understand and psychoanalyze the target.
He would begin with the head of the Indian delegation. Diplomat Yamini Singh. A woman with a reputation that precedes her. Shit show supervisor and an expert in cleaning up fallen raita. She was sent to put out fires and rebuild bridges. How interesting.
Iqbal smirked to himself as he took a deep drag of his cigar. This diplomatic shit show would be entertaining at the very least. Because India, putting her as their first line, spoke plenty about what they were expecting.
They saw that he was the Pakistani head and made assumptions and began maneuvers. They wanted to start the mindgames before the events had even begun. Now the question was whether Iqbal wanted to give them what they expect, or flip every strategy on its head.
Questions. Questions. Questions. And just as many options.
—-------------------------------------------
Day 1 @ 11 am
High Commission of Pakistan, New Delhi, India
“Kabir, remind me. How many more days until I can retire?” Hums Yamini as she straightens her clothes. The small India pin on her lapel had gone askew. Today she wore a powder blue vintage channel boucle set that she had scored on pure chance during her time off in France. She chose this color to match the beautiful blue and white building of the commission. Beneath her blue boucle skirt she wore silk stockings and white patent letter red bottom heels.
She was the picture of elegance with her dark brown wavy hair swept over one shoulder. A white chiffon scarf pinned loosely to her head. Her makeup was minimal with a focus on her eyes. Not just because she had beautiful eyes, no. That was a given of course. But the focus on her eyes was particularly pointed psychological warfare. A bold ‘Look into my eyes Major Sahab’
“Madam, I'm sorry to inform you that that measure isn't in days. It's in years” sighs Kabir as he wipes the lenses of his glasses with his handkerchief. Kabir looks dashing as well in his own tailored slacks, blazer, and white dress shirt. His medium length salt and pepper hair coiffed back handsomely.
“Fuck my life.” She sighs as she gives herself a final once over in the reflection of a window as she passes by. Her white red bottom pumps clicking through the marble halls of the Pakistani High Commission in New Delhi. It was decided that the first meeting of both delegations would happen on relatively neutral territory.
“Madam woh toh hone hi wala hai. Infact ho hi raha hai” Chuckles Kabir darkly. “Kabir, I didn't know you wanted to be unemployed” she smiles.
“Ma’am did I tell you that you look absolutely stunning today?”
Yamini rolls her eyes at the obvious job saving flattery “Thats better”
“Yes madam. I like my job” Kabir smiled as they walked through the halls towards the foyer where both delegations were to meet
—----------------------------
Major Iqbal Khan ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. Dressed in his black debonair structured jacket and well tailored slacks to go along with it. In his corsage pocket rested an emerald green silk handkerchief. To his lapel rested a metal Pakistani flag enamel pin.
He stood surrounded by the Pakistani delegation speaking to each other in hushed tones about various topics. Some spoke about the weather, some spoke about what they had seen in Delhi so far, some spoke in whispers about how Iqbal was sent to head this delegation rather than a proper diplomat.
He placed his hands in his pockets as he looked around the high commission building. They were waiting for the Indian delegation. The commission building was quite nice but nothing special to Iqbal. Marble floors, high arches, chandeliers, massive glass windows, islamic architecture. Major Iqbal was obscenely rich. None of this meant anything to him, honestly it bored him.
“Major Sahab, the Indian delegation is about to arrive. T minus 60 seconds” whispered an aide in Iqbal's ear. Iqbal nodded as he created his throat and fixed the cuffs of his sleeves. He steels himself.
Because it's a well known fact, Major Iqbal Khan, the head of the ISI, is famously Anti-India. Yet here he finds himself the head diplomat in the Pakistan-India delegation. He was told to be diplomatic. He was told to be civil. But he is here very, very openly unwillingly. He has already decided something that he will not back away from. Major Iqbal Khan will not show an ounce of diplomacy.
He looks up from the cuff of his sleeve to find the Indian delegation walking in front the opposite hallway. For a moment. It feels like time itself has slowed down. He hears her first. Heels clicking on the sharp marble floor, a melodious voice laughing politely to a comment made by someone near her.
Then he sees her. White patent leather heels clicking on the floor, long beautiful legs clad in silk stockings, then a powder blue pencil skirt beginning above her knee. Then a tailored jacket much like his, in the same powder blue. The jacket was very well tailored to her, elegant, feminine, just the right amount of class and sex appeal. Dark brown waves swept over her shoulder. A loose white chiffon scarf pinned to her hair. Well balanced features, eyes that could drown a man.
The way the woman walked it was clear she had substance to back her confidence. Her eyes locked on him. He felt her drag them over his body. One of her eyebrows arched as she stepped closer. Her lips twitched into a slight smirk, her head tilted slightly. She was analyzing him the way he was analyzing her.
Oh so this was the famous, or rather infamous, Major Iqbal? Mused Yamini as she walked. He was a tall man with a strong frame. Broad shoulders accentuated by his tailored jacket. A frown on his face, masked slightly by his beard. Dark eyes that pierce her. My my my he was a good looking man. It was clear, the way he stood, he didn't want to be here. And as fate would have it, she didn't want to be here either.
Her delegation walked behind her and his delegation stood behind him. Diplomats on either side stared at each other with a strange mixture of feelings. The room felt as tense as the India-Pakistan border. Hate, intrigue, annoyance, exhaustion. These were just some of the many feelings wafting through the room.
They stopped in front of each other. None of the usual cordial smiles were exchanged. Iqbal stared at her with his intense eyes. He was trying to intimidate her. She stared back, deep into his eyes, trying to tell him passionately that this maneuver of his was bullshit. She wasn't going to let it work.
Grace and etiquette says that the male head of a delegation should extend his hand first if the person leading the opposite delegation was a woman. Iqbal kept his hands firmly in his pockets. He didn't even make a move to pull his hands out of his pockets. Oh! What a bastard.
The Indian delegates blinked. They blinked at the blatant disrespect of Yamini. They were this close to forgetting where they were standing in the name of Yamini’s honor. Kabir took a deep breath to not lose his mind.The Pakistani delegates blinked. They blinked to hide their horror. What the fuck was Iqbal doing.
Yamini didn't let the disrespect bristle her. Her lips remained in the smirk they held ever since she walked into view. Her head tilted slightly, her eyes twinkled with a certain spark. He wants to be a bastard and not make the first move as he should? Fine. She would let him win this round. But not without a stab of her own.
She smiles at Iqbal. A cordial smile that reaches nowhere, openly fake. She folds her hands into a namaste. “Namaste Major Sahab, welcome to India” she nods befores he continues “We are honored that we get to host you for your first ever diplomatic mission.”
“This isn't my first mission” Iqbal hums darkly. “Well that's a surprise” she chuckles. “Is it?” he hums, stepping forward. Tobacco, oud, and something darker in his cologne clouds Yamini’s air. She keeps a pleasant smile on her face “ If this really isn't your first diplomatic mission then it truly is surprising. Yeh lack of etiquette sirf aapke sabse khas padosi ke liye hai?” She steps closer.
Both delegations gasp. Some out loud, some cover it with a cough, some clear their throat awkwardly. Yamini grins at him. Iqbal raises an eyebrow with a smile, his gold tooth showing. “Lack of etiquette? Singh Madam, we have only been in each other's proximity for 30 seconds and you are already questioning my manners?”
“Ji jo dikhega usi pe toh question karenge? Aap intelligence me hai na?” She responds. Iqbal nods. “You must be aware of the impact of first impressions, correct?” Yamini smiles. Iqbal huffs a laugh under his breath. He knows where she is going with this line of reasoning. “Chaliye be the bigger man Major Sahab” She grins.
What a phenomenal bitch, Iqbal has to admire her wit. He wanted to destabilise her greeting to destabilise her this entire diplomatic mission. She didn’t let that happen. How interesting.
He reaches his hand out of his pocket and holds it out in between them. Yamini doesn’t reach for it immediately. She lets it hang in the air. She shows Iqbal that she has the reins here. Both delegations wait with baited breath.
“Welcome to India major sahab” she grins as she shakes his hand. Sparks flutter through both of them. The energy undeniable. Her hand is soft in his battle worn hands. Like a delicate flower petal on a rough rock. Is the spark good? No. Is the spark bad? Also no.
Yamini pulls away first. Now that the heads of both delegations have shaken hands the rest of the members can meet. The border is crossed by both members as they shake hands. Both sides were relieved that there isn’t a diplomatic incident just yet. But both sides knew it was only a matter of time.
—-------------------------------———-----
Same day @ 2 pm
Yamini had excused herself to the restroom for a moment. She had needed a break, she needed a break or she might genuinely say something to cause war between India and Pakistan.
She ran a napkin under cold water and then held it to her neck to help calm her racing pulse. Major Iqbal is an ass hat of the highest order. He was testing her in ways she didn't even know she could be tested. He was pushing buttons she didn't even know existed.
—-----------------------
After the barely saved first meeting in the foyer the Pakistani delegation invited the Indian delegation to lunch in the high commission. As is standard. As is protocol. And as protocol dictates Iqbal was to be seated next to Yamini. She took her seat and waited for him as well. The bastard didn't stop next to her.
In fact he walked right by his waiting seat and sat nestled deep between the Pakistani delegation. The entire room paused and blinked. A Pakistani delegate muttered “Ya allah yeh kya ho raha hai” An Indian delegate looked at the ceiling and exhaled long and slow “You have to be kidding me” This was count one. Ruining the seating arrangement, putting her in an awkward position.
Somehow she had covered the situation and the meal had commenced awkwardly. Iqbal raised an eyebrow and smirked. Oh she really is as good as they say. She was hard to shake. And he wanted to shake her. Now more for fun, rather than actual diplomatic gain. He wanted to see what she would look like when she was angry. Would she turn red? Would she stomp away? Would she yell? Iqbal wanted to find out.
The salad course was fine, the soup course was fine, the first appetizer was fine. The second appetizer was not fine. Yamini was making polite conversation with the Pakistani delegates. She was helping to melt the awkwardness she was helping both sides engage and get friendly. “Toh Khan Sahab aap Qawali aur ghazalon ke shaukeen hain?” She smiled at the mustached delegate beside Iqbal. Her smile was pointed carefully, it curved around Iqbal, missing him on purpose. What a bitch.
“Ji haan, humaare abbu Qawali ke shaukeen the, thoh woh shauk hume bhi aya” he responds cordially. “Arresh wah toh phir aapki Mishra ji se kaafi banegi!” she smiled “Haina mishra ji?”
Mishra nods “Ji bilkul madam.” Delegate Khan nods towards Mishra with a smile. Yamini continues “Bas kuch hi dino me yahin Delhi me ek mushaira aur qawalli ka program hai. Mishra ji hi bata rahe the. Maybe you would enjoy it too!” she suggests kindly. Khan and Mishra light up at the suggestion. The atmosphere is warming up.
Then Iqbal ruins the moment. “Khan wishes he could come. Sadly he would be too busy” Ice water is thrown on the warm moment. Khan clears his throat and returns to his paneer tikka. Yamini shuts her eyes and exhales slowly. Iqbal smiles. This was fun for him. Strike two.
She tries to tell a personal anecdote and he cuts it down. Strike three. She laughs and he stares. She places a current affairs topic into the conversation, he clicks his tongue and tells her that this is neither time nor the place. Strike 4.
—---------------------------
“Pardon me” she says with immense forced calm as she places her napkin on the table adjusting her skirt as she gets up. She needs a break. She needs a break or she might insult the entire nation of Pakistan. Her heels click sharply as she heads out of the dining room. Iqbal grins. He had gotten under her skin. Finally, he was enjoying this challenge. She looked good when she was mad.
A Pakistani delegate leaned over to him with great urgency “Major sahab aap ye kya kar rahe hain? We need to be diplomatic and kind! Aap aise pesh nahi aa sakte hain!” He hisses. Iqbal leans in and chuckles darkly “ Iss delegation ka head kaun hai?” The delegate gulps, he knows how dangerous Iqbal can get. “A-ap sahab”
Iqbal rests a hand on his shoulder. The warm weight is like a death warrant. The grin on his face is haunting “Aukat me rahiye aap, Zarwari shab ne hume personally bheja hai. Kisi kaam se bheja hai. Mujhpe ainda sawal na kariyega.” The poor delegate nods, swallowing his concerns. Iqbal continues to make his point “Biwi bacche Lahor gaye hai na? nani ke ghar?”
—----------------------
Yamini takes deep breaths as the cold damp cloth touches her skin. She box breathes. 10 seconds in. 20 seconds hold. 25 seconds exhale. And repeat. Once, twice, thrice, four times. Her heels click on the marble floors of the bathroom. She tries not to let rage consume her. Her reflection in the mirror looks like she is about to strangle a man. Specifically a Pakistani Major.
There is a series of sharp nocks on the bathroom door. “Yamini ma’am? Is there anyone in there or is it okay for me to come in?” It's Kabir. Of course he had noticed her face and body language and decided to follow her. He had known her for her entire career as a diplomat at the Ministry of External Affairs. Very rarely has she excused herself in that manner. Kabir knew she was homicidal.
“Aja Kabir!” She sighs leaning against the sink. Kabir walks in and immediately stands in front of Yamini. Yamini looks at him with the restraint of a slowly maddening woman. “Madam?”
“Kabir im about to strangle a man”
“I know madam”
“Kabir im going to cause a diplomatic incident”
“Please don’t”
Yamini sighs, pinching her nose bridge. Kabir takes the cool towel off her neck. The towel seems to be more of a hot towel than a cool towel. She really was worked up. Kabir raises his eyebrows in shock. Yamini looks at the ceiling begging the universe for strength. “Chalein madam?”
She nods. Kabir gestures for her to lead the way. She shudders and rolls her shoulders as she steels herself to face the bastard again. Yamini will be diplomatic, she will smile through gritted teeth, she will get the fucking job done or so help her god. Kabir falls into step behind her as they exit the bathroom.
—--------------------
Then a dark voice crawls through the halls. Dark enough to stop Yamini in her tracks. It crawls up her spine in unpleasant ways “Areh wah! How nice to see that India encourages its diplomats to get this close and personal with their secretaries” Iqbal drawls lazily with a smirk. His hands in his trouser pockets.
The look in his face makes it clear that nothing good will be coming out of his face “How nice to know that they assign someone to…help get your frustrations out on Miss Singh” He hums with a laugh as he brushes past her.
Yamini stands still for a moment. Her mouth opens and colossuses. Then it opens again, a strangled indignant sound comes out of her throat.
HOW DARE HE? She spins on her heel to watch Iqbal lazily saunter through the halls of the Pakistani High Commission. Iqbal was insinuating, in clear broad daylight, that she was fucking Kabir in the bathroom!?
Kabir can sense her rage. He feels it too, at the disrespect Iqbal is showing her. Kabir would like some stern words and sterner fists. But right now it was imperative to calm Yamini. “Yamini madam please dont commit homicide here”
Yamini takes a deep breath with a scary smile as she watches Iqbal walk away “We are on Indian soil Kabir….kuch jugad lagake we can spin the murder investigation right?” There is murder in her eyes. She would kill him, and she already knew where to bury the body.
Kabir clears his throat, his next words are chosen very carefully. Something she can't argue against. “This is on technicality Pakistani jurisdiction. Please…..PLEASE try to remember that they have the right of inviolability and immunity due to the Vienna Convention of diplomatic relations.”
“God damn the diplomatic version of the doctor's oath.” She curses under her breath as she storms the opposite way back to the dining room.
“THANK GOD for the diplomatic version of the doctor's oath” Kabir mutters weakly as he follows her.
—---------------------------------------
Day 2 @ 12 pm
Hyderabad house, New Delhi, India
Today was day two of the doomed-from-the-begining diplomatic mission. And overnight the news of the disastrous first meeting had spread to the MEA like wild fire. Whispers floated through the halls “Did you hear that the Major was rude?” and “Did you hear Yamini tried her best to handle the situation?”
Thankfully Yamini’s boss Dr. S. Shankar was currently traveling to Australia and hadn't heard anything about this meeting. If he had heard how shit it had gone Yamini would have gotten an earful even though she didn't do anything wrong.
—-------------------------------
Major Iqbal had retired to his suite in the TAJ palace with much satisfaction for the day. Did he want to be in India? Fuck no. But was he having fun now? Fuck yes. He was very happy to have shaken the unshakable woman. He walked to his bathroom as he un-buttoned his coat. He reached into the shower and turned it on to the warm side and let it heat up. Once he undressed fully he stepped into the shower. His hand ran along his bare body with a sigh. Under the warm spay he grinned. He began formulating how to piss her off the next day.
Yamini had retired to her apartment in Delhi with much chagrin. She was this close to killing the bastard. She would have stabbed the man with her fork if she was presented the opportunity. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn't sitting next to her. His expensive cologne would have choked her. His gold tooth flashing at her would have pissed her off. And his words. She wanted to sew his mouth shut with a needle and thread. She groaned in her hands when she collapsed on her sofa. The bastard may have won today….But tomorrow will be hers. Because tomorrow is the media conference.
She pulled out her phone and dialed a number “Hello haan Rashmika? I need a favour..” Tomorrow will be hers she grins as she leans back on her sofa.
—------------------------
The Hyderabad house media room was set to perfection. A large stage set with a panel sized long table for both delegations to take a seat. In front of them the media pen was set up with cameras at the front and reporters in the back. Why was it called a pen? Because the media were animals.
The Indian delegation and Pakistani delegation entered the room at the same time from opposite sides of the room. Yamini Singh leading the Indian delegation and Major Iqbal Khan leading the Pakistani delegation. They locked eyes from across the room as both parties walked up the stairs to the stage.
Iqbal was wearing a navy blue jacket set today, on his lapel another Pakistani flag. The gold ornamental buttons on his jacket are done up all the way save for the collar button. The blue slacks below the jacket were sharp and tailored elongating his already tall and strong frame. As always his jacket clinged sinfully well to his broad shoulders. His black leather loafers click sharply as they step on the marble floors.
Yamini was wearing an elegant black sheath dress. Classy enough to be appropriate for the occasion and dangerous enough so the neckline and the tight fit would catch a certain Major’s eye. The tastefully low neckline doses as it was meant to, she can feel his eyes at the plunge of her dress. Her hair is pulled back into a neat bun with a few tasteful strands of hair pulled out. Her lips painted a rosy red to match the red bottoms of her black patent leather heels.
Their eyes met from across the room. Iqbal held a smug look on his face he was riding on his high from last night. He expected her to meet his yes and then look away sharply, or to glare at him with anger. She did neither. She smiled at him. Like she was excited to see him. Strange.
Both delegations stood on the stage and took photos before everyone began to find their pre assigned seats. The chairs in the middle reserved for the heads of both delegations. Yamini strides onto the stage and pulls Iqbal's chair out for him and then she gestures with her eyes. A look that asks ‘Major sahab are you done being a diva?’
Iqbal's jaw clenches. She is humiliating him on purpose. The cameras flash at this strange interaction. In public Iqbal has no choice but to smile goodnaturedly and take the seat she offers him. But not without pulling out her chair for her so he is captured as a gentleman in the eyes of the media “Oh how kind of you Major sahab….A proper Pakistani gentleman” She hums out loud making multiple people chuckle.
“What else would you expect Miss Singh? Yeh kya presumption leke ghum rahi han aap Pakistani mardon ke bare me?” He says with a sigh as he sits down next to her. His response is low enough that the microphones wont pick it up.
She grins as she leans against her chair, pivoting her body to the side in one swing. “Kya kare Major sahab, aap impression hi aisa rakhte ho….you sir are in a grave so deep that the only way left to go is up.” She hums lightly. “Not on a diplomatic stand point. I suppose you are on a relatively alright platform over there. Im referring on a more personal level”
Iqbal chuckles darkly he nods silently “Mashallah..aap humare bare me personal level pe bhi sochne lag gayi? Aapke Kabir ne aapka man sahi se nahi behlaya kya?” he muses leaning forward slightly. Oud, tobacco, and something darker cloud her personal space again.
Yamin leans forward too with a coy smile. Coffee, amber, and something painfully seductive cloud Iqbal's personal space. Her voice drops into a shiver inducing sexy husk “Kya karein Major sahab?” she hums. Iqbal can feel it coil in his gut. “Kabir is nothing compared to you…aapke yeh jo infuriating kartoot hai na? Meri raaton ki neend chura li…. Poori raat aap hi mere sapno me phudak rahe the” She husks at him with a wink.
Iqbal hates how her voice, her perfume, her coy smirk, and her eyes stir lust in his body. He clears his throat “Oh so I infuriate you? Hum kya aapke zehen me baith gaye kya?” he asks lightly with much difficulty. His voice is a deep register even with the immense effort he is putting in.
Yamini can hear it, it pleases her to know that she is having an effect on the usually stoic Major. She fixes her voice back to normal with infuriating ease “Ji haan Major sahab….aap kahan koi halki phulki hasti hain?....Yaad rakhne wali cheez hain aap” she smiles before turning to face forward in her chair. Iqbal blinked. Fuck this woman!....Fuck…this woman. Iqbal shakes out of it.
The press and media conference begins as soon as Yamini nods to Kabir. Kabir nods and addresses the room “Welcome esteemed media! The panel is now ready for questions” he says as he clears his throat.
The questions begin to pour in. Some to Yamini. Some to Iqbal. Some on Pakistan. Some on India. Some on ‘what's the point of this diplomatic mission in the first place?’ Iqbal answers his questions smoothly. Yamini answers hers with admirable finesse. Finesse that makes Iqbal stop and stare for a moment.
He watches the delicate curve of her throat as she speaks. The sparkle in her eye when she gives a cheeky answer. Her delicate and melodious laugh. The way she gives answers that make reporters stumble and scramble for follow ups. “Yes, next question please! And a fun one if you can” she joked while taking a sip of water.
A woman in the media pen grinned. She had been summoned “Rashmika Raina from the NNM! A question for Miss Yamini Singh!” A hand raised from the crowd and a woman in a deep blue salwar suit stood up. She brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her pencil made bun. She smiled at Yamini as her pen tapped against her notebook.
Yamini grinned as she saw Rashmika, her best friend who she had known from her college days. She wanted to get up and hug the woman but that would be severely unprofessional. Iqbal would have bullied her mercilessly. So instead she said “Oh hi Rashmika! Long time no see?”
Rashmika smiled to herself as she said the next words.“Hi Yamini! Woh asal me I had gone to Pakistan for a report. Abhi abhi wapas ayi hun” Yamini narrowed her eyes and she couldn't believe it. Rashmika was blushing to herself. What was that about?
“Oh how lovely…” she hums suspiciously. “We must discuss your report soon, I know it will be spectacular. You always have the most interesting takes.” Rashmika nods as she clears her throat and shakes out of whatever day dream she had gone into. She dragged her mind away from a certain dark and brooding SP of Karachi police. Who had her number but still hadn't called.
“Uh Miss Yamini. I would like to ask you what is your first impression of the Pakistani delegation?” Rashmika gets back into reporter mode. “There have been rumors that the first impression yesterday had gone disastrously?”
Yamini hums to herself for a moment, nodding her head in thought. She looks at Iqbal out of the corner of her eye. She gives him a look. A look that says ‘I could fucking destroy your diplomatic mission and the reputation of your country if I wanted to’ Yamini grins as she looks back into the crowd.
Iqbal's jaw sets at the realization. He didn't like the amount of power she had right now. She began speaking “Is that so Ms. Rashmika? I wasn't aware of that rumor actually. Tell me Major sahab, did our first meeting go disastrously?” she hums lightly, turning to Iqbal. Surprising that she is giving him the opportunity. Iqbal opens his mouth to speak “Dekhiye-”
“Areh aap kya bolenge major sahab mai hi bata deti hun” she interrupts, turning back to the crowd. Iqbal's words stop in his mouth. This bitch. This absolute bitch.
Iqbal releases a long breath though his nose. This was her snub. This was her revenge for his behavior yesterday. He humiliated her in private. She humiliated him in front of the world. “Mmm toh Rashmika ji i’d say our meeting was definitely unconventional.”
“Unconventional?” Rashmika raises an eyebrow. “Haan definitely un conventional. Because when you meet a foreign delegation you expect certain standards and protocols to be met for the greeting. Major sahab definitely kept me on my toes. The meeting was anything but standard. It was oh so close to misunderstanding.”
She hums with a grin looking at the seething Major beside her. She pauses long enough to make it seem like she was done talking. Iqbal goes to open his mouth once again but Yamini beats him to it “But thankfully quick thinking from both delegations saved the day” she smiles, ending the answer to Rashmika’s question.
—------------------------
Rashmika quirks her brow. There was something quite juicy here. Before she could probe further, her phone rang. “Thank you Yamini!” she nods as she sits down. The conference continues.
Rashmika looks at her phone. It's an Unknown number. The country code +92, meaning Pakistan. The area code for Karachi, +92 21. All clues point to one person. Her ex-police protection. SP Chaudhary Aslam.
Rashmika excuses herself from the press conference and bites her lip as she walks out of the room in hurried steps. It had to be him. The large conference room doors swing shut behind her. The phone had rang 10 times already without disconnecting.
“Hello? Yaad agayi humari SP Sahab? Bada wakt lag gaya apko” She hums sweetly into the phone. She expects a gruff voice to return her greeting. She leans against the wall smiling like a mad woman as she waits to hear his voice. She anticipates the shiver that would run through her body when she would hear it again.
Much to her surprise the phone disconnects without a word from the other side. Rashmika blinks. What the fuck? She looks at her phone. Did she lose signal? Did her battery die? Did she disconnect it by accident? Was it someone else?
“Fuck yaar” she sighs leaning her head against the cold walls of the Hyderabad House. Then suddenly her phone pings. Its a message
Unknown +92 21-: Phone galti se lag gaya tha.
Rashmika huffs a surprised breath through her nose. It really was him! How did she know? Because only Chaudhary Aslam would wait 10 rings to hear her voice and as soon as she stopped speaking he would cut the call. Sly bastard.
She shook her head with a smile as she went to her keypad to type back her response. Before she could type, three bouncing dots appeared.
Unknown +92 21-: …Waise kya kar rahi ho?
She laughed as she read the message, shaking her head. Sly bastard.
—---------------------
Iqbal can't believe this shit. Twice. Yamini had cut him off twice. She had made him look stupid thrice. His hand fisted in his lap as he held a neutral expression on his face. His knuckles cracked with effort. His mouth stayed shut with immense effort.
She turned and looked at him with a shit eating expression. She had neutralized the playing field. And she had a very devastating realization. The bastard looks much hotter with his mouth shut.
How else could she shut him up? Much food for thought. Her plans for the night had been fixed.
—-----------------------------------------------
Day 3 @ 4 pm
Hyderabad house, New Delhi, India
Yamini hummed through the halls as she walked beside Kabir. She was uncharacteristically cheery. Which was strange because she never skipped through the halls even on diplomatic missions she genuinely enjoyed.
So for her to be happy after 2 days of being volatile was a cause for concern to Kabir. “Yamini madam are you okay?” he asked carefully as he adjusted the files in his arms. “I'm overjoyed Kabir. O-ver J-oyed” she hummed. As she walked through the marble halls of Hyderabad House.
Kabir fell back slightly to watch her skip ahead. He sighed. This only meant one thing. She had decided how she was going to kill Iqbal. “Fuck my life” he groaned as he masaged his temples the files threatening to fall out of his hands.
—----------------
Major Iqbal Khan and his delegation stormed through the halls of Hyderabad house. She wasn't getting an inch today. Not a fucking inch. He would get his revenge for yesterday or so help him god. The entire delegation whispered duas’ under their breath as they walked behind their angry Major.
Diplomat Khan whispered to diplomat Ajmer “Mujhe aise kyun lagta hai ki aaj kisi ka qatal hone wala hai?” Diplomat Ajmer sighed as he responded “Kal ke baad? Puri possibility hai” another diplomat piped up. Marha whispered between the two men “Aap log Yamini ko discount na karein. She can hold her own, you know?” she adjusted her dupatta as she walked.
Both men nodded. Marha was right, Yamini would go down fighting. There would be a minimum of two bodies to handle in either scenario. The worst part would be that the Pakistani delegation and the Indian delegation would have to work together on that mess. All three sighed.
—-----------------
For the third time on this trip both delegations met. And the room held no presence of niceties this time. Just a smug woman and an incensed man holding a grudge from the day before. Both delegations shook hands with each other once again and then took their seats.
Today actual work was to be done. Both delegations were tasked with reviewing joint policies and re-negotiating on certain points of contention. Today was a long and boring day. Yamini sighed and clicked her tongue lightly as she opened her dossier. She felt Iqbal's stare on her.
He looked good today once again. This was beginning to get boring. And very difficult for the primal parts of her brain that wanted to claw at his shoulders while he fucked her. She hated that part of herself. The primal part that was affected by his bastard-like behavior and his dark and dangerous pheromones. She would leave dark red scars down his well defined muscular back. He wore a dark military green today with silver buttons.
She was catastrophic in her own way. Wearing a maroon dress with a neckline much too similar to yesterday. And much too deep to not be pointed at Iqbal. The somehow office appropriate dress clung to her sinfully well. He himself was having a difficult time not grabbing her and fucking her until she could think straight. Fucking her until all she was capable of doing was moan his name and beg for more. Fucking her until she stopped being infuriating.
The meeting began. Delegates from both sides took turns getting up and presenting their cases. India proposed that there be a designated schedule of meetings between India and Pakistan, seasonal perhaps, so that communications could be kept open throughout the year. Pakistan agreed. Everything was alright until then.
And then Iqbal motions for Khan to stand up. Khan nodded as he took the podium “We propose that Kashmir have its own diplomatic rights.” the entire room paused. What? Kashmir? Kashmir wasn't supposed to be discussed.
All the Indian diplomats looked at Yamini. Yamini looks unfazed. She taps a pen against her cheek. “You mean to say that Kashmir should have an equal Pakistani and Indian delegation?” she asks carefully. Getting a clear understanding was imperative. She crosses her legs elegantly.
“No, we say Kashmir will have its own delegation.” clarifies Khan. Yamini laughs. Both delegations blink at each other as she doubles over in laughter. “What exactly seems to be funny here, Singh madam?" Iqbal drawls lazily
“Well major sahab you seem to be insinuating that Kashmir isn't jointly occupied. You seem to be saying that Kashmir is its own nation?” She smiles leaning in. Iqbal grins too his gold tooth showing “Thats because it is”
“No It most definitely is not” countered Yamini. “We aren't here to debate that. We are here to discuss the diplomatic aspects” hums Iqbal.
“Well in that case we would like to respond with a resounding no to that appeal” She shrugs, shutting her files like she was done talking about this. “It wasn't an appeal.” He narrows his eyes at her, his voice lower than normal now
“Each point here is an appeal major sahab”
“And who decided that? You?”
“Our joint governments did. Not me. Not you.”
“These are excuses. Just say that you are afraid to make a single decision without express consent from your government.” drawls Iqbal lazily as he leans on the table “Fear is one thing major sahab. Respect for the chain of command is another” she emphasized each word so it gets to him.
“You make lovely excuses to avoid the main point. Is this why you were hired as a diplomat?” he narrows his eyes at her.
“Thats it. Im done” she says slamming her hands on the table before she grabs her things and leaves the room. She was about to kill Iqbal and his idiotic and painfully handsome face.
—------------------
Iqbal stormed behind her as she left the conference room. “Singh madam yeh koi baat nahi hui. This is highly professional even for you!” he called out as he followed her. Yamini stops suddenly and spins on her heel. She finds herself very up close and personal to Iqbal. Their faces inches away.
His cologne clouds her. Her perfume clouds him. Her face is red with rage. His strong eyes glower into her. “UNPROFFESIONAL?” she exclaims stabbing his chest with her finger. Iqbal feels lit sear like a brand into his being. She laughs in disbelief. “If I'm unprofessional then what have you been doing this entire diplomatic mission?” she steps impossibly closer to him.
“Im not the one who stormed out mid policy negotiation madam” he hisses “That was you”. She can feel the heat of his body. “And tell me Major sahab…why would I storm out? Backchodi ke liye?”
“Fuck knows madam….but for the first time today I agree with you” the tension between them brews into something painfully thick the breathe hard against each other. His eyes flick down to the swell of her breasts. This angle and the cut of her dress betray her. “Oh do tell major Sahab” she hisses “its good to know ki meri koi baat to aapke dimag me ghussi”.
He chuckles darkly, his voice crawling down Yamini’s spine. “Yeh pure fuckass diplomatic mission aap bakchodi hi kar rahi hain. And that's the truth” he practically spat.
“Oh really?" she asked with an angry laugh. Her head craned upwards to stare into his eyes. They were dark and angry. He leaned in closer. Their lips are inches apart. “Yes.” he hissed.
Like an incessant gravity she leaned forward. She could feel his breath against her. Lips now centimeters apart. “Fuck you major sahab” she whispered against his lips. “You wish Singh madam” he growled.
And yet they felt their bodies move closer of their own accord. His hand ghosted along her hip. Her eyes fluttered shut and a shaky breath exhaled from her lips. He was so close. So unbelievably close. Her lips parted as he leaned in closer. His cologne was making her dizzy.
“Major sahab? Janab?!” yelled a voice down the hall. Diplomat Khan. “Yamini madam?” called out another voice. Kabir. Both of them pulled away before their lips could meet. And immediately both took a large step back. What the fuck were they doing?
Iqbal ran a hand through his hair. Yamini clasped a hand over her mouth as she breathed out of her nose. Without a word both of them walked away from each other in opposite directions.
What the fuck were they doing?
—------------
Night 4 @ 7:30 pm
Durbar Hall, Taj Hotel, New Delhi, India
Today was the final night of the diplomatic mission. And both countries had the bright idea to organize a ball for both delegations. Something to ease the tensions they reasoned.
When Yamini had questioned how on earth they were supposed to relax tensions when everyone was painfully aware of each other? She was told “Oh that's simple. It's a masquerade ball. That should help take away the awkwardness.” Bullshit.
Yamini scoffed as she fluffed out her black sleeveless ballgown. The black lace gloves caught on the chiffon of her structured ballgown. “FUCK” she groaned as she untangled the lace from the chiffon. The warm chandelier light caught on the diamond choker on her throat. It refracted light across her skin using the help of the diamond drop earrings hanging from her earlobes.
Her hair was thrown into a chic messy bun. Strands pulled out tastefully to accentuate her look. The piece de resistance was the black lace mask that obscured her face. Only her eyes, nose, and lips are clearly visible. She looked like herself, yes. But with slightly more plausible deniability.
That was the point of the masks. Plausible deniability. For both delegations. Deniability to say "I didn't know who I was being friendly with! They were wearing masks!” as stupid as it was, it really was a good plan.
She walked into the grand Durbar ballroom of the TAJ palace in New Delhi. The TAJ hotel was where the Pakistani delegation had been housed for the entire mission. This masquerade ball was technically their territory once again.
The ballroom was opulent in every sense of the word. Golden decor, glass sculptures, a grand orchestra playing classical music. Delegates from both sides along with their aides and interns filled the ballroom. There must be 100 or maybe 150 people there at the minimum. Nobody here knew who the person next to them was.
A waiter walked by Yamini and she scooped up a glass of champagne from the tray. The cold fizzy alcohol soothed her as she sipped it slowly. She ran her eyes around the room observing the crowd of masked diplomats. The men in tuxedos and the women in evening gowns. All of them were much too occupied in themselves to notice her.
From across the room she felt a pair of familiar strong eyes drag along her body. She turned to look at the person staring at her. An ornate gold mask lay strapped to his face, his eyes pierced through her body. He was tall, with a strong frame and broad shoulders. He was wearing a debonair black tuxedo with an elegantly tied bow. The coat hugged his shoulders and tapered along his waist.
The mask obscured half of his face while his tamed beard graced the lower half of his face. She had seen those eyes before. That's all she could think. She had seen those strong eyes before. She looked at him over her glass of champagne as she drained it.
His eyes dragged across her from across the room. Her neck, her collarbones, her arms, her chest. The diamond on her throat, the diamonds on her beards. The man's eyes seemed to stare at every sliver of her exposed skin before landing intensely on her lips.
Another waiter walked by and she snagged another chilled glass of champagne. Her body burned under his gaze. She had seen this man before. She had a sneaking suspicion as to who he was. And she hoped she was wrong. Why? The man looked much too good. And she would hate to admit that major Iqbal was clouding her thoughts. That would simply be unacceptable.
Her finger twirled a stray strand of hair away from her face as she watched the man openly. Her lips pursed along the edge of the champagne glass as the liquid slipped down her throat. The Masked major watched back openly as he took a final deep drag off of his cigar.
He released the smoke through his nose as his hand curled around his whiskey glass. The woman he saw in front of him was the most eye-catching thing this entire trip. Wrapped in a black chiffon ballgown, black lace up her arms, black lace on her face. Elegant diamonds along her throat that looked like they belonged. He had seen her before no doubt.
The woman watched him with the same intensity he watched her with. Her lips twitch around her champagne glass. The Major drains his own whiskey and he must go to this woman. The major takes a step towards her. The woman grins as she drains her own glass. She was waiting for him to take the first step. She sets down the second empty glass and takes a step forward too. The orchestra pauses for a moment.
Both Yamini and Major pause. Then the orchestra plays again. The violins begin first and the both of them already know what piece was about to be played. “An invitation to dance” by Carl Maria von Weber Op.65.
Major Iqbal, the masked man, walks across the room. He stops directly in front of Yamini , the masked woman, and offers her his hand. A silent invitation. A silent dance with me. She bows her head in a small nod as she places her lace clad hand in his large hand. She smells his cologne in the air as they walk. The scent is familiar once again.
Iqbal silently leads her to the dance floor. Neither of them speak because then the mystery would be ruined immediately. Once in the middle of the dance floor one of his hands rested on her waist. Her free hand rests on his shoulder as his other hand clasps her lace gloved hand. Iqbal can smell her perfume in ernest now. It smells painfully familiar.
The music swells and they begin to waltz around the room. Small and controlled movements first. Both of them testing the waters between them. Testing if the other knew how to dance this particular dance. Yamini stares into the man’s eyes. Trying to prove her suspicions correct.
Iqbal led the dance in strong confident movements. Waltzing her around the ballroom as the orchestra swelled. She followed each movement with grace and competence. Each step was perfect. Each stride was confident. His hand on her waist tightened as he spun them around. Her hand clutched at his shoulder to keep her balance as her chiffon ball gown flared behind her.
Iqbal stared into her eyes when he wrapped both hands around her waist and lifted her into the air. Her warm brown eyes glowed in the chandelier light. She lands with a little flounce, a small gasp as his hands brace her against him. Iqbal has heard that gasp before.
They slow down along with the music. Waltzing in slow controlled movements as they stare into each other's souls. The person across from them is all too familiar. Iqbal prayed it wasn't her. Yamini prayed it wasn't him. The air between them was thick.
The music climaxes and Iqbal begins spinning them with the music working to a big finish. She gasps as she follows the movements. They can feel the air get more difficult to breathe. They can feel the eyes of everyone in the ballroom on them as they dance. The two figures in black waltzing on the floor as one.
The music picks up into the finale. All the instruments bidding their finales to the piece. The drums, the violins, the violas, the flutes. All singing their final goodbyes. Iqbal spins her out to make her gown flare. She holds his eyes as she spins back into him. He leans her into a tip.
Her hands grip the lapel of his tuxedo for balance. The fabric crumpled under her hand. The elegant line of her neck stretches as her chest heaves to catch her breath. His eyes follow helplessly.
He holds her in his arms a moment more than he should. A moment more than necessary. Her plush lips part as she pants to catch her breath. Eventually both of them stand back upright. The ballroom erupts in cheers. They bow to each other. Folding at the waist as they hold each other's eyes. Iqbal can't stop his eyes from flicking to the dip of the fabric in her cleavage, the soft flesh behind the dress threatening to almost spill out. She grins as she catches his eye.
Not a word is said between them and yet they have a whole conversation with their eyes. Her hand fixes her mask as she gives him a salute and walks away into the crowd.
—--------------
Same day @ 10 pm
Durbar Hall, Taj Hotel, New Delhi, India
It had been hours since the dance yet the heat had not died down. Everywhere the masked man touched her burned with heat. Everywhere he dragged his eyes little fires sprouted along her skin. Three more glasses of cold champagne did nothing to extinguish them. In fact they made the burn worse.
An hour ago he had disappeared with a group of men as he smoked his cigar. The smoke curled around his face. It whispered through his clothes leaving a trail behind him. His eyes met hers as he walked by, once more he had scanned her body with shameless openness. She stared back. Her eyes burned into his broad back as he walked away. She had been 3 drinks into the night at that point
Now an hour later she was 5 drinks into the night. The champagne loosening her inhibitions. The champagne probed her to find the masked man. The champagne whispering dirty thoughts into her mind. Follow him. Find him. Fuck him. She swallowed hard and motioned for the waiter to get her a fresh glass.
That man had to be Iqbal. It had to be. If only he wasn't wearing a mask. Fucking plausible deniability. An aide walks over to her and hands her a note suddenly “Madam the man in the golden mask and the black tuxedo has asked me to give you this note”
“Oh thank you” she takes the note, the aide nods with a smile and leaves. Yamini unfolds the note. It's written in a neat english scrawl. And it simply says:
Aap nachti bada achha hain…do you play cards as well as you dance? (Vazir Hall)
She smiles to herself she brings the note to her nose. It smells like his cologne. As a matter of fact she does. Yamini is damn good at cards. She folds the note and tucks it into her bra.
—--------------------------------
Same day @ 10:15 pm
Vazir Hall, Taj Hotel, New Delhi, India
Yamini climbs up the steps to the secluded halls of the Taj hotel. They had main ballrooms and halls but they also had more private and secluded rooms as well. Her heels click on the marble floors as her ballgown swishes around her feet. Eventually she reaches the door of the Vazir hall.
It's a dark, wood paneled room. Deep red carpets. Low lighting. Poker tables and lounges placed sporadically. The room was deserted save for one table against the most secluded corner of the hall.
Yamini walks slowly. There he is. The man in the golden mask and black tuxedo. He is reclined in a leather armchair. An ankle over the other knee. A cigar between his fingers as he watches her carefully. The sway of her hips. The silhouette of her body in the low lighting. For a moment neither person speaks.
“You called?” she hums lightly. Keeping the seductive husk in her voice so who she is isn't entirely apparent yet. Iqbal laughs darkly, tapping ash off of his cigar into a crystal ash tray. “You came?” he asks with a low rumble that shoots through her spine. He gestures for her to take a seat across from him.
She settles into the plush leather arm chair with a coy smile. “Tell me what games do you want to play?” she hums lightly as she sets her seventh champagne glass on the poker table in front of her. “Well poker for now” he says as he takes a long drag off of his cigar.
“For now?” she hums with a grin as she rests her chin in her palm. “For now” he hums with a dark rumble. “How will we play? I don't see a dealer” she questions with a raised eyebrow. Iqbal grins and claps his hands once. The sound reverberates in the empty room.
From a curtained alcove in the wall beside them a hand extends and waves at Yamini in greeting “Dealer in the wall” he grins.
“How very innovative and discrete” she muses. “What's on bet? Cash? Im sorry to say i dont have any on me” Iqbal leans back stroking his beard in thought.
“Let's make this interesting. Lets bet the chips like we have the funds to back them. An IOU of sorts.” He begins and Yamini nods as if understanding the game. He continues “And the person who loses the round not only loses their money they lose a piece of their dignity.” he grins darkly to finish.
“Dignity? Strip poker you mean? How very perverted of you masked man” she narrows her eyes at him through the masquerade mask as she sips her champagne. “Scared?” he laughs while taking another drag of his cigar. Yamini laughs into her glass “Of you? I don't even know who you are. So no. I'm not scared”
“Chaliye. Lets play then” Iqbal claps his hands once again.
—-----------------------------
Authors note: Please listen to Sharab by Himesh Reshammiya for this part….TRUST ME
The dealer begins by opening a fresh pack of cards in front of them. He shuffles them against the table with immense artistry. The cards curve and dance in the dealer's hands as Iqbal observes the masked woman in front of him. Yamini examines the masked man in front of her.
Ye botal bhari bharaayi
Na honton se lagaayi
Ghazab toh dekho yaaro
Usne aankhon se pilaayi
The dealer splits the cards and deals 2 cards to each player at the table and sets five cards face up onto the green velvet table. Texas Hold’em poker. Yamini was good at this game. She hides her smile behind her mask as she checks her cards. It's a strong hand. She bets 10 thousand rupees.
Iqbal checks his cards. Good but not great. He sees she has bet low. Was it a strategy or were her cards bad? “I raise the pot to 30 thousand rupees” he hums as he takes a swig of whiskey.
“I call” she smiles as she matches the pot, which now rested at 60 thousand rupees. The dealer taps his hands to the table. As he takes Yamini’s chips to the mide of the pot.
“Show” hums Iqbal as he throws 5 thousand more into the pot as the price to make her show her cards. “Eager aren't you?” she hums
Pehle toh nazar milaayi
Phir dekh ke muskurayi
Ghazab toh dekho yaaro
Usne aankhon se pilaayi
Yamini throws her cards onto the table. Straight flush. Iqbal throws his cards on the table. Full house. Not as strong as Yamini’s cards. She claps in triumph. “Chaliye take it off now” she hums as she leans in closer. He grins and takes off his tux jacket tossing it to the ground. “Well played” he hums. Yamini watches intensely as she sips her champagne.
The white shirt beneath it is tailored to him just as well. It clings to his strong muscular frame. His fingers undo the buttons at his cuff as he rolls up his sleeves to his forearms. Cigar hanging loose from his mouth. His hand undoes his bowtie letting it hang loose around his collar.
Tujhe jaisi na koi teeno lok mein
Sab kuch luta doon tere shauk mein
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
“Shal we keep the pot going if you aren't too greedy?” rumbles Iqbal as he leans forward now. Yamini laughs. “Why not”
The pot stands at 65 thousand now as the dealer re-deals the cards. Yamini checks her cards. They seem alright. Iqbal checks his cards. It's a strong hand. Iqbal throws in 20 thousand. Yamini throws in 10 thousand. Iqbal calls once again, throwing 5 thousand into the pot.
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
The pot now stands at 1 lakh. Yamini throws her cards. Three of a kind. Iqbal grins as he throws his cards on the table. Full house. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. Iqbal grins like a wolf “ And what will you be taking off?”
He assumes that she would take off her dress. He had her in an unfair position. A tuxedo had more parts. A ballgown had barely any parts. “Have some patience” she hums as she reaches under the table.
Her hand goes under her dress. She shuffles slightly in her seat as Iqbal watches curiously. She hums to herself lightly as she fumbles with her clothes. Her hand hooks into the waistband of her panties. She shucks them off and steps her heels out of it. She pulls her hand out from under her dress. Under the table.
She holds the fabric up. A slinky scrap of black lace and satin. Iqbal's throat goes dry as he realizes what he was seeing. She grins and throws it across the table to him.
Iqbal has to clear his throat before he responds. His thumb and index finger rub the lace. Fuck this is what she was wearing underneath. He can feel the gusset. It’s damp. “Eager are we?” he finally rasps as he holds up the fabric in front of his face. “Wearing a ballgown…I don't have many choices do I?” she smiles with a shrug.
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
Iqbal chuckles as he taps the table to make the dealer deal another round. Iqbal pockets her underwear discreetly as she turns her head momentarily. He feels the silky fabric slip into the pockets of his trousers. Lust swirls inside of him. This masked woman would be the death of him.
The dealer behind the curtain splits the cards and shuffles them once again. He deals the cards to both parties once again. The pot still sits at 1 lakh.
Chanchal kajrari aankhen
Haaye shikari aankhen
Dil pe chalaye chhuriyan
Teri katari aankhen
Iqbal looks at his cards. Shit. Not very good. Yamini looks at her cards. Very good. Very very good. She drains her champagne glass with a grin as she crosses one leg over the other and bounces her foot. Iqbal takes another deep drag off of his cigar. The smoke cures around her as he exhales. She was bare beneath that ballgown. Iqbal's hand twitched by his thigh.
She tosses 20 thousand into the pot. Iqbal tosses 25 thousand into the pot. Enough to raise and call on the same bet. The dealer taps his hand on the table making both of them throw their cards on the table. Yamini had a straight flush, Iqbal had straight. “Back to you” she hums with a grin.
Dil pe chalaye chhuriyan
Teri katari aankhen
Naagin si haye zulfein
Iqbal huffs a laugh as he places his cigar between his lips again. He leans back slightly and pulls his shirt out of his trousers. His hands make quick work of the buttons. Yamini stares at the masked man's body as he bares it.
His shapely chest is revealed first. Strong pectorals, hair on his chest. He unbuttons the shirt entirely and begins shucking it off of his shoulders, his biceps flexing behind his back as his abs come into view. Yamini stares openly. Dragging her eyes on every aspect of his fit muscular body that is littered with scars. A gunshot wound. A jagged knife scar. Each element adds to his rugged sex appeal. His cigar smoke curls around his own body.
“Like what you see?” he grins at her open staring. “Not bad.” She hums lightly, her voice slightly strained now, making him laugh as she throws his dress shirt to the ground.
Kaali ghataaye zulfein
Maaregi tauba tauba
Teri balaaye zulfein
Maaregi tauba tauba
Teri balaaye zulfein
The dealer splits and deals the cards once more. The pot sits at 1 lakh 45 thousand. But neither party really cares about the pot anymore. In fact they never cared at all. Iqbal looks at his cards again. Today just wasn't his day. Yamini looks at her cards. Today was her day.
“I bet 25 thousand” she hums, throwing in more chips to the pool. Iqbal sighs “Call. And an extra 5 thousand to show” the chips clatter on the large pile. The pool now sits at 2 lakhs. Yamini throws her cards on the table, a royal flush her grin is triumphant. Iqbal threw his cards face down. What he got didn't even matter anymore.
Toote chaand ka guroor
Tere chehre ka noor
Tujhe dekh dekh hota hai
Deewane ko suroor
“Ab kya utarenge?” she hums leaning back against the leather arm chair. Iqbal leans down and takes off his shoes, then his hands go to his belt and it comes away with a clatter. He tosses both things to the ground. “Hopefully that's satisfactory?” he chuckles as he ashes his blunt cigar.
“Not really ... .make it fun. Unbutton your trousers at the very least” she tsks off handedly as she fiddles with her lace mask. Iqbal grins behind his golden mask. “Why not?” he hums as he flicks open the button to his trouser pants.
Tujhe jaisi na koi teeno lok mein
Sab kuch luta doon tere shauk mein
“Shall we? Keep going that is.” he hums to her as he indicates to the dealer to re-shuffle the cards. The dealer's hands reach through the curtains and collect the cards on the table. He shuffles them artistically.
Yamini looks at the masked man with a grin. “Sabkuch lutane ka shaunk hai kya aapko?” The dealer begins to deal another pair of cards to both of them. “Kyun nahi?” he grins as he checks his cards. His luck had begun to turn and he had a strong hand.
“Hmm.. quite a risk taker aren't you? Not much dignity left for you to preserve.” She tsks at him as she oles his muscular body once more. Iqbal chuckles as he throws in 45 thousand. Yamini raises a brow at his bet. But matches it anyway with an extra 5 thousand to call him.
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
The pot now sits at 3 lakhs. But the money meant nothing. It was all on the cards. Iqbal throws his cards in. Royal flush. Yamini curses under her breath as she throws her cards face down onto the table. They weren't even worth showing.
Iqbal grins lazily as he leans back in his leather arm chair. Yamini reaches behind her. Iqbal expects her to unzip her gown. He even hears the zipper move slightly. She burns under the intensity of his stare. Her hand works fast, unhooking her bra behind her back. She pulls it out of her dress and zips it up again. The strapless matching satin and lace bra is pulled out into the air like a prized fish.
She tosses it across the table to Iqbal who catches it in his hand. His fingers fist around the material as he places it in his lap gently. “Youre a wild card aren't you?” he rumbles. His voice has gone gravely with restraint. Lust swirls in his dark eyes behind the gold mask. He can feel his trousers getting uncomfortably tight.
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
Yamini doesn't speak. Instead this time she signals to the dealer. Another round. Once again the dealer's hands reach through the curtains and collect the cards on the table. He shuffles them artistically. The cards flying through the air.
Yamini and Iqbal watch each other carefully. Her thighs clench the way he stares at her. His eyes dragged over her dress as if he had x-ray vision. He was imagining her bare beneath it. She could feel her nipples pebble with anticipation. Yamini looks at her cards. They were decent.
Iqbal could feel the way her eyes dragged along his bare skin. Each place her eyes rested for more than a moment burned. His thighs shifted apart as he manspread to create more room for his poor aching cock. The trousers are too tight for comfort. He looked at his cards. Decent.
Yamini gathers all of her remaining chips in her hand. 3 lakhs worth of chips in her palms. Iqbal mentally counts his chips. 5 lakhs worth of chips. She curls an eyebrow at him. She is telling him to make his move.
Iqbal’s tongue licks his teeth once. He doesn't think too hard “All in” he says gruffly as he shoves his chips into the pot. Yamini matches “all in”. Both of them now lean forward. The pot now rests at 11 lakhs. But the money didn't matter to either of them. Dignity was on the line. Both of them threw their cards down. It was a draw.
Both of them blink at the cards for a moment. They hear a soft clap and a rustle behind the curtain. The dealer was gone. The Vazir hall was empty. The masked woman and the masked man were alone. The game was a draw.
“How fucking anticlimactic” she scoffs as she stands up. Iqbal watches her carefully, not speaking, just observing. She hikes up her knee and climbs onto the poker table. Iqbal narrows his eyes at this as he watches. She begins to crawl towards him on top of the table.
Her black chiffon gown against the velvet of the poker table. She shoves the cards and chips out of her way as she crawls to him. She holds his eyes intensely. Iqbal has most definitely seen those eyes somewhere.
She reaches her hand forwards. “Chaliye ab khel khatam. Wapas dijiye. We will split our winnings fairly” She is asking him for her bra and underwear again. He grins at her darkly, there is a flash of gold in his teeth.
“Aise kaise de den hum aapko ye wapas?” he hums raspily as he leans in closer to her “maine jeeta hai inko. Fair and square.” he reasons as she looks at her. Iqbal fists his hand in her bra that sat in his lap. Yamini laughs it off even as anticipation and arousal pools in her gut. “Jeeti toh mai bhi hun. So I deserve my property back don't I?"
He laughs darkly, the laugh makes her core flutter “ I won too masked madam. It's a draw. Ab kya karna hai?” he leans in closer. Their faces are painfully close to each other. Yamini swallows hard at the proximity to the man in the gold mask. “ Well then there is only one thing left to do to make it fair to the both of us. Its a big step.”
“Kya karna hoga?”
“Ab toh sirf ye fair hoga ki agar hum dono apni dignity ke last shreds ko bhi hatale. Naga hona padega sahab”
Iqbal leans forward if that was even possible. The green velvet of the poker table makes Yamini’s palms sweat. His lips are inches away from hers when he whispers with a painful amount of restraint “Will you do it…if I do it?
She nods as she swallows. Her eyes are dilated behind the mask. Arousal pools in her body. She trembles in anticipation. The entire Vaizir hall is thick with tension. It's just them here. The air is impossible to breathe. His hands curl beneath her chin so she looks square into his eyes. “Use your words princess.”
Yamini’s breath hitches. His words. She swallows and nods before she stammers out “Yes. Yes I will” Iqbal's lips crash against her and its kiss of teeth and tongue. No sweetness or fondness. It's a kiss of deep need. The need to consume the soul of someone who already clouded you.
—------------------------
She moans into his mouth in surprise and Iqbal swallows it down. He pulls her off of the poker table with his strong arms. She lands on the floor beside him with a thud as he kisses her. Her hands rove along the hard disciplined plane of his body with an appreciative groan into his mouth.
Iqbal's hands go to her zipper behind her back. She loops her fingers into the waistband of his trousers and pulls him in closer. She tastes like champagne and he tastes like whiskey and cigars. Together they taste intoxicating.
“Fuck” she gasps against his lips as he pulls the zipper down. The metal teeth sounded painfully loud in the tense room. Iqbal’s hands pulled at the fabric and pushed it onto the floor as fast as he could while he consumed her breath. And then she was bare in front of him.
Iqbal pulls away to look at her flushed and panting face. Her ample breasts heave under her labored breathing under his gaze. “Just as I imagined. Fucking stunning.” he groans as he takes a breast into his palm. The warm heavy weight sat perfectly as he massaged the flesh which spilled through his fingers. She choked on a moan as her body arched towards him.
His hands cupped both of her breasts rolling her pebbled nipples between his calloused thumb and index finger. His lips attacked her throat leaving hot open mouthed kisses along her skin. She breathes shakily in his arms, sparks of pleasure shooting through her body with every rough twist and pinch. “Imagined?” she finally gasps “You were imagining me?”
Her soft hands trace along his bare torso. Her nails lightly drag on his skin. He groans against her throat as he nips below her ear. The diamond earrings brushing his face. “Ever since I saw you in the ballroom. Ever since I danced with you. I've been undressing you in my mind” he rasps as he pulls away reluctantly to look at her face.
“Do you like what you see? Do you like what you see without knowing who I am?” rasps Yamini as her eyes flutter shut in pleasure. She feels him latch onto her nipple with a hard suck. His teeth scrape along the top as his tongue flicks at the underside.
Without stopping his assault of licks, bites, and sucks on her breast Iqbal reaches for his half finished glass of whiskey. He pours out his remaining drink along her shoulder. The whisky traces cold rivers on her flushed skin. None of it goes to waste. His tongue traces every drop. He kisses and bites her skin to collect every drop of his whiskey.
Her hands fist in his hair with a gasp. The silk ribbon holding his mask up tangles in her fingers. She could pull it off if she pleased. “Fucking stunning.” he rasps as he licks off the last of the whiskey from her skin.
Before she could utter another word Iqbal pushed back onto the poker table. The chips and cards pushed away haphazardly framing her body. The image looks like a twisted poker porno. The light hanging above the table illuminates her diamond necklace. His hair is messy, the look in his eyes is crazed and obsessed. Like he was discovering something holy.
His hands roved along her hips. Along her waist. His hands were rough with years of use and grueling training. Her skin was so soft, so delicate. He breath hitched when he groped and squeezed the flesh of her thighs. Her legs crossed of their own accord.
His body was scared and hers was untouched. A man like him doesn't even deserve to be looking at such pristine perfection. Iqbal leans in and bites her beautiful unmarked skin. Yamini hisses in pain as his teeth clamp into the soft flesh of her stomach. He litters her body in bites and kisses as he works his way up.
She writhes on the green velvet poker table. Small sounds of pleasure escaping her throat in the form of whines and moans. Her hands find purchase on his shoulders. In his hair. Her thighs clenched tight. The friction helped the burning slick forming there.
Each sound she makes drives Iqbal even more insane. He trails sloppy kisses up her jaw, capturing her plush lips again. Her lips part automatically as he kisses her deeply. His hands groping the flesh at her hip making her gasp into his mouth. His pants are unbearably tight now, almost painfully so. “Please.. Need more” she gasps against his mouth.
That's what Iqbal was looking for. Within seconds he has her flipped onto her stomach. Poker chips clatter on the soft table. Yamini moans as her sensitive nipples rub against the velvet. “Oh fuck!” she gasps startled. Iqbal laughs darkly at her as he brings her hips to the edge of the table. He shoves his leg between hers and kicks her ankles apart forcing her legs to open wide for him.
She gasps again as the cold night air hits her soaked folds. The difference in temperature makes a shiver run up her spine. “So fucking desperate arent you shehzadi?” he hums darky as his fingers trace her wet folds. “Soaked and i’ve barely fucking touched you”
Her face burns in embarrassment. She hates the heat that pools in her stomach when he calls her princess or shehzadi in that deep tone. She can feel herself dripping, her hole clenching around thin air. She can feel how her body responds to him. “Are you just going to stand there and feed your ego or will you do something?” she seethes through gritted teeth.
Iqbal chuckles darkly at her bitchy mouth. “Dont be impatient” he whispers against her shoulder blade as he plants a kiss there. She squirms as his hands hold her in place. The velvet is rough against her soft skin now. His ring and middle fingers part her slick folds. And before she can prepare herself he thrusts them deep into her.
A strangled moan rips from her throat at the intrusion of his fingers. The stretch is massive, she can feel his cold gold rings against her skin. Her back arches as his rough fingers drag against her g-spot. The motion makes sparks shoot through her body.
As her back arches Iqbal uses the moment to tangle his paw-like hand into her hair. He grips it and yanks her backwards. His fingers still inside of her, her back arches like a taught bow. She hisses in pain and pleasure. Her cunt flutters on his fingers. The stretch still burns. He shifts his fingers slightly making her moan wantonly. “So fucking tight princess…you can barely take my fingers.” he coos in her ear condescendingly.
“How on earth will you take my cock?” he tsks. She whines as her hands wrap behind her, around his neck. He begins to thrust his fingers in and out of her. Slowly at first. The pads of his fingers rub against her inner walls gently. His bare chest against her spine. One of his hands in her hair, one of his hands in her cunt. The heel of his palm hitting against her clit.
She grinds against his hand as he begins fucking her with his fingers propperly. His long and slender digits curled against her g spot. The heel of his palm hitting her clit. “More..need more” she gasps as her eyes flutter shut.
He laughs darky by her ear. He obliges and speeds up his fingers. “You are such a slut aren't you?” he starts darkly, his fingers thrusting hard. “You don't even know who I am and you are riding my fingers like a desperate slut begging for more” she moans loudly at his words and the way his fingers massage her walls expertly.
“Can’t the same be said for you? Hmm?” She laughs breathlessly against him “Look at you, fingering an unknown woman in a dark hall” she giggles with a moan as he curls his fingers inside of her. Iqbal pulls her hair harder for her insolence making her hiss. “Ahh!” she hisses “Take off the mask. Be brave and take off your mask”
“Bohot baat karti ho tum” he growls in her ear as his fingers speed up. “Darr gaye?” she moans as she rides his fingers harder. Each thrust hitting against her g spot. “Mai darta nahi hun shehzadi…if only you knew” he hums in her ear as he feels her cunt flutter around his fingers. She was close. Iqbal wanted to feel that around his cock.
He loosens the hand in her hair and brings it to her breast. He begins massaging the soft flesh in time with his fingers. He bites and kisses along her shoulder. She cries out in pleasure as she feels the pull of her orgasm. “That's it princess cum for me” he husks into her ear. “Fuck!” she exclaims as her walls quiver and sparks fly through her body
Wetness gushes on Iqbal's fingers as she cums. He chuckles darkly by her ear. “Well done” he hums as he pulls his fingers out of Yamini making her gasp. He brings his fingers to his face. He parts his lips and places his fingers inside. She tastes amazing, he moans around his fingers. The sound makes a fresh wave of wetness coat her folds.
A flush creeps up her face. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath. Her mask threatens to slip and loosen; Iqbal fixes it. Tightening the ribbon that held it in place with painfully gentle fingers. Before she can speak he takes a step back.
His hand pulls his cock out of his trousers with no flourish. He doesn't even take the moment to undress fully. Yamini’s eyes go to his cock with no shame. God damn he was big. 6 inches easily. Perfectly veined in such a way she was clenching her thighs in anticipation of the feeling. She leans back against the poker table.
With a deep groan he pumps his aching cock. The grin on his face is shit eating as he sees her wide eyes on him. He sits down in the large leather armchair again. It creaks slightly beneath his weight. His hand fists his cock lazily as he watches her through his golden mask.
His cock twitches lazily in his hand as he watches her hips, her breasts, the marks he left on her, the flush in her face. He calls to her in his deep and gravely voice. “Come here princess….. Like the cock hungry bitch you are”
She laughs darkly as she walks toward him. Hips swaying and breasts bouncing with every motion. “Im cock hungry?” she hums as she stands before him. “Arent you pussy starved? Don't tell me that this is one sided. Don't lie to yourself when your cock is that painfully hard”
Iqbal laughs darkly at her words. “Fine princess, I won't lie to myself. Come here so I can sink my aching cock into your tight cunt” She climbs into his lap. Her knees on either side of him. Her dripping cunt hovering over him.
Yamini holds his face gently in his hands. She pulls him close as she kisses him again. Iqbal's hands wrap around her waist as he groans into the kiss. She taunts him again, whispering against his lips “Take off the mask… don't worry. I won't make fun of you if you’re ugly”
Iqbal hums against her lips. He feels her slick drip onto his aching cock. “Why are you so desperate to know who I am?” His large palms brace her hips as he slams her down onto his cock. Practically impaling her. She screams into his shoulder as she feels his cock stretch her impossibly.
Fuck he was huge. Her cunt fluttered to try to accommodate him. Iqbal groans, pressing his forehead into her shoulder. Fuck she was tight. Her walls were milking him as they tried to fit him. He hadn't expected her to be this tight. He has to breathe deeply against her shoulder to loosen the knot of pleasure coiling inside of his core already.
A few moments later she moans weakly against his ear “You think I don't know who you are?” she chuckles as she rolls her hips against him. They both groan. Iqbal’s hands dig into her hips for support. She laughs and moans as he begins fucking into her “I know exactly who you are. And I think you know who I am too” she starts.
His hips snap into her making her choke for a moment but she continues “-But you are too afraid of reality. That's why you won't take off the mask” she hums as she rides his cock. Her breath came in uneven pants. He scoffs and says “I just don't want to be disappointed by the face under your mask thats all”
She rolls her eyes with a moan. This bastard. Yamini already knew who he was, otherwise she never would have let things go this far. She had a suspicion when he invited her for poker. It was confirmed many rounds ago. The time has come to let him know that she knew. She knew who he was.
“You like that, don't you Major sahab? The plausible deniability?" She rasps into his ear. Iqbal's hips stutter momentarily. Yamini felt it. The grin on her face was triumphant. His eyes went wide, she knew who he was. “Shut up princess. Don't start something you won't be able to handle” he pounds up into her harder. The rasp in his voice is delicious and it hits straight in her clit.
“Tell me Iqbal, does it turn you on?” he chokes on a moan at her taking his name. She laughs evilly as she unties his mask before he can stop her. The silk ribbon comes undone with a sharp tug. His cock brushes against her g-spot with every thrust. Her body quivers in pleasure.
The golden mask clatters to the floor. Iqbal's face is revealed, he looks so handsome, so exposed in the low lighting of the Vazir hall. “Mashallah yeh aya Eid ka chand” she laughs with a moan as she presses a kiss to his forehead. A flush graces Iqbal's face as he buries his face into her neck. Leaving hot open mouthed kisses along the column of her throat.
His lips bite and nip along her cleavage. His cock brushes deep inside of her with each thrust. Pleasure pulls at her navel embarrassingly fast again. Her thighs burn as she matches each thrust. The leather armchair beneath them groans and creaks. She pulls his head up by the hair. They are both close. She can feel it the way he is twitching inside of her. And he can feel it the way her cunt flutters desperately.
“Aap ISI ke head hai na? So for that sake, before we fall off the cliff of pleasure Major sahab. Tell me. Who am I?” She rides him hard with a roll of her hips. They pant against each other's lips. He fucks up into her harder. Each thrust settled deep inside of her.
“Tell me Iqbal, who do you want me to be?” she moans. Her head lolls in pleasure, her hands claw into his shoulders. He groans. Pleasure coils inside of him. But her request claws at him. He stays buried into the cork of her neck. His lips sucked deep marks that would remain for at least a week. With shaky fingers he goes to untie her mask.
“Yamini. I want you to be Yamini Singh” he says shakily into her throat, his hips still snapping up into her. Yamini’s breath hitched her cunt clenches again. He took her name for the first time. Iqbal groans as he feels her clenching around him. Her mask falls away. The black lace whispers as it falls against the arm of the leather armchair.
“Mujhe dekho Iqbal” she pants her eyes threatening to roll back. She is hazy with lust. Lost in the pleasure. Iqbal keeps himself against her throat. His shaky hand rests against her cheek “Iqbal please” she whines in pleasure as his cock brushes against her cervix.
The way she begs forces Iqbal to open his eyes. When he does he sees her beautiful flushed face. Her plump lips parted his name on her lips, her eyebrows scrunched. Fuck she looked beautiful. It was her. There was no plausible deniability anymore.
Her eyes were hazy and unfocussed as they stared at Iqbal. There most definitely was no plausible deniability anymore. Indian diplomat Yamini Singh. Pakistani Major Iqbal Khan of the ISI.
Iqbal pulls her in for a kiss. She moans into it. Their lips move against each other feverishly as they feel their highs get closer and closer. The reveal of identities made everything in the room burn with intensity. The air between them burns. His hands on her waist burned. Her hands on his shoulders burned.
Yamini feels pleasure pull at her again. She is close. His cock dragged deliciously along her ribbed walls. Each vein caresses the muscles. Each thrust first hit her g-spot and then her cervix. The pleasure was maddening. She felt her core clenching around him. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the empty hall.
“Cum for me shehzadi….cum for me Yamini” he pants breathlessly. Yamini screams into his shoulder as pleasure takes her. White hot stars burst behind her eyes as her body falls against his limply. “IQBAL!”
“FUCK……. YAMINI” roars Iqbal as he feels his core tighten. His hips stutter violently as he shoots thick hot ropes of cum into her. Her body shakes against his as her walls milk him for all he is worth. Iqbal cant help it, he fucks her through the orgasm with shaky breaths.
—------------------
A few moments later.
Both of them stay like that. Him inside of her, now softening. His cologne and her perfume clouding them. The thick atmosphere dissipates into the large Vazir hall. They can hear the orchestra from the durbar hall below. Where the diplomatic masquerade ball continues.
Iqbal’s fingers curl beneath her chin. He kisses her softly as he holds her in his arms. She moans softly into him as her hands tangle in his hair. No India. No Pakistan. No Diplomacy. No animosity. Just them a few moments of peace before they would have to part again.
Maybe diplomacy between India and Pakistan wasn't so bad after all. Not when the lessons in diplomacy looked like this.
---------------------
I HOPE YALL HAD AS MUCH FUN AS I DIDDDDDDD
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