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Send me a ☼ and I’ll generate a number for my muse reacting to…
1 - Your muse grinding up against my muse.
And yet he could not force himself to away, nor did he have the heart to request the Pharaoh cease his infernal teasing. Why he’d agreed to such a thing, he could not say. But gods, he certainly did not regret his decision.
It began as an innocent invitation to the balcony of the palace. That fell evening, the villagers would be celebrating the coming of the new cycle. From the balcony, one could see into such festivities, hear the lively music and chatter, smell the wonderfully mouthwatering aroma of Egyptian delicacies.
Of course, the celebration within the palace was far more extravagant. But the Pharaoh had never been one for such trivial things.
Mahaad met the Pharaoh atop the balcony, just as he’d promised, and there the two watched as the villagers went about their celebration. It was a joyous time, watching his people with the Pharaoh by his side. Mahaad was content to remain here until Ra once more brought them light.
The infectious mirth of the evening seemed to have latched quite firmly onto the young King, for he’d begun dancing. The priest watched with poorly masked amusement as the youth spun and stepped, swung his arms daintily this way and that. It was quite the sight.
That is…until the young Pharaoh’s dancing took a rather…sensuous turn.
His hips began to sway, slowly in one direction then to the next. He dipped low, one hand resting against his middle while the other twirled about above his head. Mahaad watched, entranced as the King’s crimson eyes wandered up. Their gazed locked, and from there, the poor priest found he could hardly move.
The Pharaoh sauntered toward him, his hips maintaining their swing as he went until finally the two stood only a heartbeat apart. Then, the Pharaoh turned his back to the stunned priest, closing the distance with a single step backward.
From there, it was utter torment.
The King’s hips brushed most teasingly against his own, the supple curve of his rear against the priest’s thigh. Neither said a word. One danced, the other watched.
Mahaad knew not how such a thing could be deemed descent.
But he was willing to keep a secret.
