Francis moved first. He kissed Hasim, a gentle press of lips, a question. Hasim answered by deepening the kiss, the rough scratch of his beard tickling Francis’s sunburnt skin. Francis parted his lips, kissing back. Their tongues met and it was then the kiss became more intense, urgent. Francis knew there was no holding back. His body wanted Hasim, and when he boldly reached between them, he was thrilled to feel the hard evidence that Hasim wanted him in return.
Francis snaked his hand inside Hasim’s trousers, revelling in the touch and feel of him, shaping his hand around his hard cock and swiping his thumb across the sticky head, a drop of seed already there.
“You want me?” Francis murmured against Hasim’s lips, as he slowly moved his hand up and down the man’s shaft.
Hasim’s breaths quickened. He gazed at Francis with eyes half lidded, pupils full blown.
“I want you,” he answered, voice gravelly with need. “I must have you.”
“You have me,” Francis said. “Let me have you.”
He worked his hand faster, drawing moans and a soft cry from Hasim as he spilled his seed over Francis’s hand. Overall too quick but Francis took it as a compliment.
He wasn’t sure when the dancers had left, but they were alone now. Francis sat up and removed his clothes, relieved to be free of the material. His skin was on fire, his hard cock strainingwith need.
He leaned over Hasim and helped him remove his clothes. Hasim smiled, assisting when necessary but content to lie back and watch Francis pull his clothes off. He was not a slim man, and he was the hairiest man Francis had seen naked, and he was handsome and beautiful all the same.
“Come here,” Hasim urged, gesturing for Francis to straddle him.
Francis did, despite feeling a little unbalanced from whatever was in that hookah. He swung a leg over and settled into Hasim’s ample lap, bracing on his knees for balance. He felt Hasim’s large cock under him, still half hard, nudging the underside of his buttocks.
Francis liked how it felt against him, and carefully moved his hips, inspired by the dance from earlier, to rub his buttocks against the shaft.
His own cock bounced gently, with nothing to rub against for relief. His aching balls rested on Hasim’s soft, wide belly.
Hasim hummed in appreciation and moved his hands to Francis’s hips. He held on, fingertips pressing into his skin.
“Touch yourself,” Hasim commanded. “I want to watch you.”
Francis was only happy to oblige. He took himself in hand, favouring his right. His left he placed over Hasim’s hand, fingers circling his wrist, an anchor.
Francis squeezed his palm over the head of his cock, teasing himself in the way he liked before he began stroking his shaft in earnest. He panted open mouthed, gazing down at Hasim laid out naked below him. He still had his turban on, but some tendrils of black hair with a grey streak had escaped, framing his handsome face.
He was gazing at Francis with that look of adoration in his eyes, and it did things to Francis; that look alone prised openthe remaining hardness around his heart, and he felt it almost burst open inside him with a flood of feeling, along with the most intense relief as he spilled over his hand and onto Hasim’s chest, their bodies moving in tandem.
Hasim clutched at Francis’s hips, thrusting his cock against his buttocks for friction until he came a second time, and Francis felt the hot splash against his skin.
Francis was still panting, his head catching up with everything else. Hasim heaved in deep breaths, his ribs moving under Francis. He moved the hand that Francis held and brought it to his lips, kissing Francis’s hand.
“Stay with me,” he urged, meeting Francis’s eyes with a near desperate look. “Allow me to steal you away from your prince.”
Euphoric as he was in the moment, Francis would’ve said yes to almost anything.
Then he remembered why he was here in the first place: to woo a king.
And while he had shirked those duties onto his friends, here he was with another man.
As he and Hasim settled onto the cushions together and cuddled, Francis couldn’t help but wonder how he would find a way out of this mess.
Perhaps he could tell Granny it had all been a right royal wash. He had yet to even lay eyes on the elusive King Omar.
But he had met someone else. The mysterious Hasim, caretaker of cats.
Granted, it had only been two days, but if there was opportunity to do so, Francis would like to stay and get to know Hasim better.
But how could he do that without coming clean first? Hasim thought he was an equerry to Prince Francis, not the prince himself.
As he eventually drifted off to sleep, secure in Hasim’s strong arms, Francis dreamed of dancers in gold and of Hasim’s smile.
