He wanted to stay here with Hasim. He wanted that dearly.
Chapter 12
Francis was roused very early by the call to prayer echoing in from the streets outside; not close by, from far away, but the voice carried as sure as the wind itself. Francis was pulled from a sleep so deep it took him a long moment to remember where he was and how he got there.
His eyes darted around the sumptuous room, and it all came back to him.
Hasim.
They were still in bed together. All was well.
At some point in the night, a small, latticed window high above them had been opened, perhaps from its outside shutters. The natural light that entered their cosy, warm room shone down in geometric beams of gold, illuminating the dust motes in the air.
Their bed of silk cushions, in shades of pink, red, and blue, glistened in the light beams. Beside him, Hasim laid facing toward him, half covered with a white cotton sheet. His turban was now gone, and for the first time, Francis saw his long black hair, streaked with silver, loose and fanned out behind him in curls against the pink pillows.
Without a doubt, this was one of the prettiest sights Francis had woken up to in his life.
Hasim was still fast asleep, breathing evenly. Francis didn’t want to go anywhere, and even if he did, he wasn’t exactly sure where they were or how he’d return to the palace.
Best to stay in bed with Hasim.
He settled onto the cushions, facing Hasim, and gently pulled the cotton sheet over them both. Hasim probably didn’t need it, his body was kicking out a lot of heat. Francis snuggled in closer to his warmth, just shy of touching. He didn’t want to disturb his companion, not yet. Despite the tenderness Hasimhad displayed last night, Francis was all too aware that men could behave very differently in the mornings. Himself included. Sharing a bed didn’t necessarily mean anything, sweet nothings and promises whispered or not.
This was why he didn’t want to shatter the moment. He’d enjoy it for a while longer. Francis closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
When he next woke, it was to the pleasant sensations of Hasim’s lips on his, initiating a kiss. Francis responded in kind, and their kiss drove their mutual desire, with urgent hands finding each other’s hardness and relieving morning ache, gasping as they came together before falling back asleep.
When he woke a third time, Hasim was already up, his long hair tied back, and he wore a white linen robe. He had one ready for Francis and wanted him to put it on.
“Are we leaving?” Francis asked groggily. He let Hasim help him with the robe.
“For bath,” Hasim replied, his voice huskier than usual.
Must’ve been what they smoked last night.
Francis let himself be led, following Hasim out of their little sanctuary, to places unknown.
A few of the female attendants joined them, flanking them each side and draping gauzy veils over their heads. Francis was bewildered by this part, but as they stepped outside into a narrow little backstreet, he thought that perhaps it was a means to keep their customer’s identity a secret.
This made him think that his original theory, that Hasim was a part of the royal family or royal court, had been correct.
A woman’s laughter filtered through from a nearby street, along with noises that suggested chatter or haggling. Maybe a small market. It was nowhere in sight; the backstreet Francis was taken down was completely shielded from the main streets.
A pleasant waft of air was funnelled through the street,carrying with it a fresh scent of basil leaves and cooking smells. They passed two young women on the way, headed toward the hookah den. Both sets of women uttered a brief greeting of “Selam” to each other. No other words exchanged.
Francis wondered if they would gossip later, away from the customers. He wondered what they might say about him. The sunburnt pink foreigner.
In no time at all, they had arrived at the private, back entrance to another establishment. They had to ascend a set of worn stone steps to enter through the open doorway, and then their veils were whisked away, and Francis was shown the most delightful building he’d ever seen inside a city: a bath house.
The air inside was warm, humid and wet with a pleasant fragrance of oils. Walking into it and inhaling the scents felt instantly calming.
“I say, Hasim, this is splendid,” Francis said in awe. He looked around, taking it all in from the decorative blue and white tiles on the floor and walls, to the potted plants with tall green leaves, and the gold pots of perfumed oils. Then there was the bath itself; a large square pool of clear, steaming hot water, with tiered seats both inside and out. A trio of men were already in the bath, naked bodies with different shades of brown skin on display amid the steam.
Francis thought that they’d join them, but Hasim took him by the hand and led him away. The attendants escorted them down a hallway lined with potted ferns, to a private room with a smaller bath just for them, its surface scattered with fragrant rose petals.
“Hasim, you are spoiling me,” Francis said. “I may never wish to leave.”
He’d said it in jest, but also to feel out Hasim on the topic. Francis was keen the know if Hasim’s feelings had changed at all since last night.
