[fic: multi-chapter] harem part 2
Title: Harem (working title) chapter 2
Author: etre_sans_age
Rating: R (more like PG-13)
Characters: Turkey/France, various nameless humans
Warnings: shota, controversial issues of feminism and religion including slavery, human names
Summary: Ok, I'm not gonna lie, this is a terrible fic in terms of plot and characterization. I would almost be ashamed to post this chapter, but I love describing harems, so sorry. (NOT REALLY.)
No crappily-described sex in this part. I know, crazy! Is this even the same author?!! Maybe there'll be some in the next part.
[ part one]
In the flickering glow of oil lamps, Francis watched as Sadiq murmured something, a name perhaps, though not his, before rolling onto his back and drifting off into a relaxed slumber. His thoughts wandered aimlessly, resisting the oblivion of sleep, and the taste on his tongue brought up memories of a time long ago, spent under the rule of another empire. This time would be different, he told himself, and yet somehow it was starting to feel the same.
Smiling bitterly, an old smile that did not belong on a youthful face, Francis curled up close to Sadiq, resting his cheek against the broad, sweat-damp chest, not realizing when he drifted off to unconsciousness.
He woke the next morning to find Sadiq already dressing. Yawning, he stretched his aching limbs, the borrowed bangles making a slight tinkle and attracting the older man’s attention.
“Good morning,” the Turk said, eyes automatically drawn to the pale body sprawled naked on top of dark crimson sheets. Even with his hair tousled and his eyes hooded with sleep, the boy looked absolutely divine, and Sadiq prayed, blasphemously, that the sultan would not require his presence for long this morning.
“Did you sleep well, Sadiq?”
Sadiq nodded and gave him another measuring look from behind the eerie white mask that covered the top half of his face, and Francis returned it with a shy glance through his lashes. Chuckling, the Turk bent to kiss him, fiercely, a promise of more to come. “I should have guessed, but damn, you’re a natural. You really what you say you are?”
“Wh-what? Why would I lie about that?” Francis asked, eyes widening slightly in alarm.
“I don’t know. You… surprise me.” And he hated being caught off guard.
“But you like me, don’t you?” The way he asked that question, blue eyes wide and adoring, pretty lips parted halfway, made it hard to say otherwise.
“I suppose,” Sadiq admitted, because it was true, “although that doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“Oh!” Francis laughed, sounding relieved. “I feel the same!”
“Well, at least you’re honest,” he grumbled, his cheeks heating up for no particular reason. Sadiq ran his fingertips one last time over the smooth white thighs, squeezing the youth’s backside gently and letting go with a regretful sigh.
“I have to go now, kid. Behave. Or else.”
“Wait, you’re leaving without me?”
“Of course,” Sadiq snorted. “Personal slaves aren’t allowed in court. You’re going to stay out of sight and await my pleasure.”
“But I’ve always wanted to see the court,” Francis protested. “And the sultan, he must be very magnificent. Please, can’t I go with you? I promise I won’t cause any trouble.”
Sadiq smiled despite himself. “There’s really nothing to see, kid, just a bunch of bearded old men talking politics and money. Nothing like your fancy western courts. Come on, put on your clothes, you can entertain yourself at the harem until I come back for you.”
Having found himself dumped at the women’s quarters by Sadiq, as if he were an unruly brat that needed supervision, Francis cursed, not for the first time, the fates that decreed he should not reach physical maturity yet. Here he would be too closely watched to escape, and even if he could sneak out and find the way back to the palace proper without guidance, he would need a better understanding of the language in order to learn anything useful.
Perhaps he should have thought through this more carefully before escaping the caravan.
But… there were other ways of getting information. Francis was not fond of doing the legwork himself when he could just as easily charm it out of others. And this was one of the few times his seeming youth did work in his favor.
The eunuch bowed and left, and Francis glared at the tiled floor before marching into the corridor. He was promptly greeted by a bevy of the girls he had met yesterday, who chattered at him in their own languages, clearly meaning to ask him how his first night with Sadiq went.
Before he could try to answer, they were dragging him to the baths, and the Venetian girl joined them. It seemed that the first wife wanted to see him especially.
Francis was stripped of his cloak and kaftan, and then plopped into the pool, and he sat on the marble bench in awed silence, curls of steam obscuring his view of the first wife washing with her infant son. Another female servant departed with the prince, leaving them alone, and he heard, rather than saw, the soft splashing as the first wife made her way towards him.
“You must be captain Sadiq’s little blond prince?” she asked, her French musically accented by the Mediterranean.
“Madame, I am his new servant, Francis,” he replied, lowering his gaze respectfully, although it was rather ridiculous at this point, as they were both naked and sitting in a bath. She studied him with dark brown eyes, and then asked what he thought of his master.
“He is handsome and seems pleased with me. I… could have had worse.” And he had had worse, plenty worse.
“Very prettily said,” she murmured. “The captain is generous, but accustomed to having his way. From what I hear, he has recently returned from a long and difficult campaign overseas, starved for companionship, so I imagine he will be in need of your… presence, for some time.”
Francis tried to not wince at that, but the first wife must have caught his expression and raised an eyebrow curiously.
“Ah, um… I am grateful for his kindness… but… I just…”
She waited for his answer, an amused smile on her lips, and bit by bit, Francis tried to weave a believable story out of half-truths. Because technically, he was not lying when he said he did not expect to become a bed slave in the sultan’s palace when he began the journey to the east.
While he did not need her pity, he played up the part of a confused and bewildered orphan anyway, for the maximum benefit, and the concubine nodded in sympathy when he finished.
“Allow me to explain why I have summoned you,” she said gently. “Though the valide sultan and the head eunuch seemed to approve of your presence in the harem, they also asked for my opinion, because you are a stranger and suddenly thrust among us. Naturally, we are a little suspicious, and that is where my Roma heritage comes into play.” Francis paled at the mention of gypsies, but the first wife only grasped his hand in her own and held it up, tracing a fingernail thoughtfully over the lines on his palm.
“Your life has been long and troubled, your future clouded with countless decisions. Though I can not see your destiny, I sense that you mean no harm to the Ottoman Empire. You are welcome here, little prince.” The woman looked up into his eyes and gave him a knowing wink.
Staring at her in shock, wondering if his true nature would be revealed, he stammered, “D-do you know who I really am?”
“I have a guess. But your secret is safe with me. It is not important for anyone else to know.” She paused, then continued ruefully. “Though I think you want someone in particular to know, and unfortunately, I can not help you with that…” The first wife stood up, as if to leave, and Francis kissed the concubine’s hand in thanks, causing her to laugh as she bade him good luck and farewell.
It seemed that he would need that luck.
Unfortunately, Francis had little chance to collect his thoughts before the young concubines came and whisked him off to the dressing rooms. Drying his hair with a soft towel, he listened to their gossip and did his best to answer their questions about Sadiq, feigning embarrassment until they were breathless and near collapse from giggling. He could discover nothing useful, outside of Sadiq’s particular affinities, but at the same time, he felt more at ease, more familiar with this strange, wondrous, dangerous place. There was no particular hurry, and he had all the time in the world, Francis tried to assure himself. Of course, that only made his stomach clench even further in anxiety.
After his jewelry was exchanged for another dazzling set, this time lapis set in gold, the concubines swathed him in a blue silk tunic and a light ivory robe over that, all the while cooing over how adorable he looked. Francis protested, only once, that he was nearly a man, and therefore should not be considered adorable, but they merely laughed and offered honeyed confections and exotic fruits to quiet him.
With nothing else to do, Francis curled up among the plush cushions in the gorgeous main room, letting the Venetian girl tuck jasmine flowers into his hair, his senses dulled and soothed by the meandering music, the scent of incense and opium in the air. It was hard to disapprove of this lavish lifestyle, he thought sleepily as he watched the odalisques sway and bend like reeds in the wind, their bracelets and anklets tinkling with tiny silver bells in time to the drums. Nothing expected of these women and girls but to look pretty, to please a man, and maybe give birth to a son if she wanted power.
In his heart, Francis could not blame them, not really, and yet he ached for these beautiful strangers whom he barely knew. But it was not like he could even do anything for them, when he could not even make much progress into his own mission.
[to be continued...]
chapter one || chapter three
Author: etre_sans_age
Rating: R (more like PG-13)
Characters: Turkey/France, various nameless humans
Warnings: shota, controversial issues of feminism and religion including slavery, human names
Summary: Ok, I'm not gonna lie, this is a terrible fic in terms of plot and characterization. I would almost be ashamed to post this chapter, but I love describing harems, so sorry. (NOT REALLY.)
No crappily-described sex in this part. I know, crazy! Is this even the same author?!! Maybe there'll be some in the next part.
[ part one]
In the flickering glow of oil lamps, Francis watched as Sadiq murmured something, a name perhaps, though not his, before rolling onto his back and drifting off into a relaxed slumber. His thoughts wandered aimlessly, resisting the oblivion of sleep, and the taste on his tongue brought up memories of a time long ago, spent under the rule of another empire. This time would be different, he told himself, and yet somehow it was starting to feel the same.
Smiling bitterly, an old smile that did not belong on a youthful face, Francis curled up close to Sadiq, resting his cheek against the broad, sweat-damp chest, not realizing when he drifted off to unconsciousness.
He woke the next morning to find Sadiq already dressing. Yawning, he stretched his aching limbs, the borrowed bangles making a slight tinkle and attracting the older man’s attention.
“Good morning,” the Turk said, eyes automatically drawn to the pale body sprawled naked on top of dark crimson sheets. Even with his hair tousled and his eyes hooded with sleep, the boy looked absolutely divine, and Sadiq prayed, blasphemously, that the sultan would not require his presence for long this morning.
“Did you sleep well, Sadiq?”
Sadiq nodded and gave him another measuring look from behind the eerie white mask that covered the top half of his face, and Francis returned it with a shy glance through his lashes. Chuckling, the Turk bent to kiss him, fiercely, a promise of more to come. “I should have guessed, but damn, you’re a natural. You really what you say you are?”
“Wh-what? Why would I lie about that?” Francis asked, eyes widening slightly in alarm.
“I don’t know. You… surprise me.” And he hated being caught off guard.
“But you like me, don’t you?” The way he asked that question, blue eyes wide and adoring, pretty lips parted halfway, made it hard to say otherwise.
“I suppose,” Sadiq admitted, because it was true, “although that doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“Oh!” Francis laughed, sounding relieved. “I feel the same!”
“Well, at least you’re honest,” he grumbled, his cheeks heating up for no particular reason. Sadiq ran his fingertips one last time over the smooth white thighs, squeezing the youth’s backside gently and letting go with a regretful sigh.
“I have to go now, kid. Behave. Or else.”
“Wait, you’re leaving without me?”
“Of course,” Sadiq snorted. “Personal slaves aren’t allowed in court. You’re going to stay out of sight and await my pleasure.”
“But I’ve always wanted to see the court,” Francis protested. “And the sultan, he must be very magnificent. Please, can’t I go with you? I promise I won’t cause any trouble.”
Sadiq smiled despite himself. “There’s really nothing to see, kid, just a bunch of bearded old men talking politics and money. Nothing like your fancy western courts. Come on, put on your clothes, you can entertain yourself at the harem until I come back for you.”
Having found himself dumped at the women’s quarters by Sadiq, as if he were an unruly brat that needed supervision, Francis cursed, not for the first time, the fates that decreed he should not reach physical maturity yet. Here he would be too closely watched to escape, and even if he could sneak out and find the way back to the palace proper without guidance, he would need a better understanding of the language in order to learn anything useful.
Perhaps he should have thought through this more carefully before escaping the caravan.
But… there were other ways of getting information. Francis was not fond of doing the legwork himself when he could just as easily charm it out of others. And this was one of the few times his seeming youth did work in his favor.
The eunuch bowed and left, and Francis glared at the tiled floor before marching into the corridor. He was promptly greeted by a bevy of the girls he had met yesterday, who chattered at him in their own languages, clearly meaning to ask him how his first night with Sadiq went.
Before he could try to answer, they were dragging him to the baths, and the Venetian girl joined them. It seemed that the first wife wanted to see him especially.
Francis was stripped of his cloak and kaftan, and then plopped into the pool, and he sat on the marble bench in awed silence, curls of steam obscuring his view of the first wife washing with her infant son. Another female servant departed with the prince, leaving them alone, and he heard, rather than saw, the soft splashing as the first wife made her way towards him.
“You must be captain Sadiq’s little blond prince?” she asked, her French musically accented by the Mediterranean.
“Madame, I am his new servant, Francis,” he replied, lowering his gaze respectfully, although it was rather ridiculous at this point, as they were both naked and sitting in a bath. She studied him with dark brown eyes, and then asked what he thought of his master.
“He is handsome and seems pleased with me. I… could have had worse.” And he had had worse, plenty worse.
“Very prettily said,” she murmured. “The captain is generous, but accustomed to having his way. From what I hear, he has recently returned from a long and difficult campaign overseas, starved for companionship, so I imagine he will be in need of your… presence, for some time.”
Francis tried to not wince at that, but the first wife must have caught his expression and raised an eyebrow curiously.
“Ah, um… I am grateful for his kindness… but… I just…”
She waited for his answer, an amused smile on her lips, and bit by bit, Francis tried to weave a believable story out of half-truths. Because technically, he was not lying when he said he did not expect to become a bed slave in the sultan’s palace when he began the journey to the east.
While he did not need her pity, he played up the part of a confused and bewildered orphan anyway, for the maximum benefit, and the concubine nodded in sympathy when he finished.
“Allow me to explain why I have summoned you,” she said gently. “Though the valide sultan and the head eunuch seemed to approve of your presence in the harem, they also asked for my opinion, because you are a stranger and suddenly thrust among us. Naturally, we are a little suspicious, and that is where my Roma heritage comes into play.” Francis paled at the mention of gypsies, but the first wife only grasped his hand in her own and held it up, tracing a fingernail thoughtfully over the lines on his palm.
“Your life has been long and troubled, your future clouded with countless decisions. Though I can not see your destiny, I sense that you mean no harm to the Ottoman Empire. You are welcome here, little prince.” The woman looked up into his eyes and gave him a knowing wink.
Staring at her in shock, wondering if his true nature would be revealed, he stammered, “D-do you know who I really am?”
“I have a guess. But your secret is safe with me. It is not important for anyone else to know.” She paused, then continued ruefully. “Though I think you want someone in particular to know, and unfortunately, I can not help you with that…” The first wife stood up, as if to leave, and Francis kissed the concubine’s hand in thanks, causing her to laugh as she bade him good luck and farewell.
It seemed that he would need that luck.
Unfortunately, Francis had little chance to collect his thoughts before the young concubines came and whisked him off to the dressing rooms. Drying his hair with a soft towel, he listened to their gossip and did his best to answer their questions about Sadiq, feigning embarrassment until they were breathless and near collapse from giggling. He could discover nothing useful, outside of Sadiq’s particular affinities, but at the same time, he felt more at ease, more familiar with this strange, wondrous, dangerous place. There was no particular hurry, and he had all the time in the world, Francis tried to assure himself. Of course, that only made his stomach clench even further in anxiety.
After his jewelry was exchanged for another dazzling set, this time lapis set in gold, the concubines swathed him in a blue silk tunic and a light ivory robe over that, all the while cooing over how adorable he looked. Francis protested, only once, that he was nearly a man, and therefore should not be considered adorable, but they merely laughed and offered honeyed confections and exotic fruits to quiet him.
With nothing else to do, Francis curled up among the plush cushions in the gorgeous main room, letting the Venetian girl tuck jasmine flowers into his hair, his senses dulled and soothed by the meandering music, the scent of incense and opium in the air. It was hard to disapprove of this lavish lifestyle, he thought sleepily as he watched the odalisques sway and bend like reeds in the wind, their bracelets and anklets tinkling with tiny silver bells in time to the drums. Nothing expected of these women and girls but to look pretty, to please a man, and maybe give birth to a son if she wanted power.
In his heart, Francis could not blame them, not really, and yet he ached for these beautiful strangers whom he barely knew. But it was not like he could even do anything for them, when he could not even make much progress into his own mission.
[to be continued...]
chapter one || chapter three