Nanda hummed softly as he read, mind more on everything except the book before him.
The scent of flowers wafted on the breeze coming in lazily from the open archways leading to the King’s private gardens.
A rare day of idle for him — the morning and afternoon, at any rate. Normally he would spend it with his music, for that was never a chore…today he had not felt like it. Too restless.
So why he thought he might sit still to read, he di not know. Exasperated with himself, Nanda closed the book with a snap and pushed the small reading table away, lying back amongst the cushions and pillows that covered most of the large rug in the center of Shah’s bedroom. It was only mid-morning and already he didn’t know what to do with himself. Rare that he was so restless, and all the more aggravating for it.
He let his eyes fall shut, enjoying the breeze and the flowers, still humming quietly. A pity he could not go back to bed, for he was not above enjoying the luxuries that came with being a royal concubine. Unfortunately he was far too awake now to go back to sleep.
The soft rustle of cloth, the brush of feet against carpet, made him open his eyes. Nanda slowly dragged his gaze up the length of a form he knew even before he reached the milk-pale skin.
“Nanda,” Witcher greeted. “You are the very image of decadently bored.”
Rolling his eyes, Nanda shifted every so slightly on the cushions. “Decadently bored? That phrasing was contrived by Beynum or I am tone deaf.”
Witcher laughed, stunning blue eyes bright and patient as he continued to stare at Nanda.
Nanda suddenly no longer felt bored and restless. No, here was just the thing. He lifted one arm and beckoned for Witcher to join him, shifting a bit more so that Witcher could straddle his legs.
Reaching up with both hands, murmuing softly for Witcher to stay precisely as he was — on his knees, more hovering above Nanda than actually resting his weight atop him — he smoothed them across the broad chest, feeling muscle move beneath the soft skin. Shifting his hands higher, he grasped the gold rings piercing Witcher’s nipples and tugged firmly. That elicted the anticipated gasp, and he tugged again, bringing the fainest hint of flush to the pale skin.
“Down,” he murmured, humming softly as Witcher obediently shifted closer, leaning down. Nanda took one nipple in his mouth, biting down sharply, then tasting and teasing with his tongue, the tang of metal a sharp contrast to the mellower taste of Witcher’s skin. Pulling away, he finally tugged Witcher into place for a proper kiss, taking his mouth thoroughly, loving as ever the way Witcher went so agreebably along. So different from Beynum and Aik, who must banter and challenge and taunt at every turn. That most certainly had its place, and he would likely enjoy it later…but right now he did not want that.
Right now he wanted to be decadent, and there was nothing in the world more decadent than having Witcher at his disposal.
He cupped Witcher’s face and pulled him back down for a softer, slower kiss. “Mmm, pretty witch. Cast a spell.”
Witcher laughed softly, then obediently began to speak — in the words of his homeland. Most of what he said held no meaning, though Nanda caught bits that he knew — ‘love’ and ‘music’ and ‘hair’ — but it was the rhythm of it, the way Witcher’s tone and voice changed as he spoke a language so different from that of Tavamara. Nanda loved it, closed his eyes to enjoy it, pressing lightly but firmly on Witcher’s shoulders.
A moment later, the foreign words still softly rumbled here and there, a mouth began to dust his bare chest with kisses that were one moment soft, another hard, interspersed with long laps of Witcher’s tongue.
“Good witch,” Nanda murmured, finally dragging his eyes open as Witcher began to tug away his pants and skirt, and the way Witcher looked as he swallowed Nanda’s cock was one of the prettiest sights in existence. Nanda moaned long and deep as he fell beneath’s Witcher’s spell, sinking his hands in Witcher’s soft hair, urging but not forcing. He hummed softly, but the tune swiftly broke down into gasps and moans, climaxing in Witcher’s name as Nanda found release.
Humming in pleasure, he pulled Witcher up and kissed him deeply, loving the taste of himself in Witcher’s mouth. Reaching down, he fumbled briefly with Witcher’s pants, finally getting them open and pulling out his cock. Stroking hard and sure, he broke the kiss that he might see Witcher’s face as he found release.
Witcher shuddered in his arms in the aftermath of release, and Nanda enjoyed the weight of another man on top of him until the breeze finally cooled them off. “Come, witch. I think the baths call, and then you can help me practice.”
“As you wish,” Witcher said, lifting his head just enough to smile at him.
Nanda kissed him again, then shoved gently, so they could go bathe before he decided to slide from decadent to obscenely lazy.