Post by Swith on Jan 19, 2016 16:07:46 GMT -4
NOMINATION 2: Esma and Temir
Nominated by: Cerillium
Notes by Cerillium: "Esma and Temir. Two vastly different religious beliefs and cultures come together as the basis for a beautiful waltz between these characters. The scene stands out to me mainly because it would have been too easy to have them fall into fade-to-black fucking. Instead, we see the intensity of their desire as well as the bitterness of denial.
Preface to the scene for background purposes: begins here with posts between Highfort and Swith as their characters tap dance around the obvious: that they would be better suited with each other rather than remaining loners. Esma's propensity for speaking her mind comes back to haunt Temir, inducing a nightmare that won't die. He seeks Esma out to get his doubts and fears off his chest, only to fall back into more tap dancing. The situation becomes complicated once Max (another of Temir's interests) turns up. The nominated scene begins a page later, here. Please excuse my own character's meddling. He's not important to the scene other than a filler to keep things interesting. The romance remains strictly between the Rom and Tinkerer.
I've taken the liberty of copying the posts here to show not only the content but also how well these two writers work together. No editing by me. It is difficult to see where one writer's post ends and the other begins, so seamless is their craft. The posts go beyond sexual, exploring the emotions of each character as they struggle with matters of faith and integrity."
Temir's breath hitched in his throat as Esma ran her fingers over his chest - still tender from the healing burns that the doc in the clinic had treated earlier - and pressed her face against him. With Max now occupying the other side of the bed, sandwiching the desert guide between the two men, the tinkerer sensed that he was approaching dangerously-profane territory. He focused on Max's reply and attempted to give one of his own, pitiable as it was for a clergyman - even a former one - of his stature and learning. Anything to keep him off of the impure thoughts dancing at the edge of his mind would be key here.
"The Kindred Spirit insists that we as her followers do likewise," Temir gulped, attempting to modulate his voice even as his fingers went from gently rubbing Esma's shoulder to tracing the sun-burnt and wind-swept lines of her neck, "Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, so long as they are respectful to the Kindred Spirit. Disbelief is not a crime, only insult toward Her and attempts to stop Her Will can be considered truly profane."
And that was what he was doing right now, insulting Her. Not with his words, of course, but the Kindred Spirit was not a fan of people who merely paid her lip-service. Every touch of bare skin between him and Esma, even just the mere running of a finger over her innocent neck, of all places, was a sin in the making. He let out a deep sigh before turning to both of them, his gaze finally breaking from the doorway to actually view both of his evening companions.
It was a mistake, a grave error that the Kindred Spirit would punish him for many, many times over.
Perhaps it was the twilight of the evening or perhaps it was because he was seeking refuge from the thoughts which generated his nightmares, but Temir found both his comrades to be... almost irresistible. Almost. He raised his free hand, which had been propping him up to spare his injured back, to brush a lock of hair from Esma's face. The hand that graced her neck - attached to the arm whose elbow was currently up against Max's chest.
His face flushed and he was suddenly very unhappy that he had removed his mask and left it in the living room with his walking stick and supplies. Without the thin, tight fabric to hide behind, they could see him.
She could see him.
"I-I-I," Temir's voice was small and filled with tremors of uncertainty, "I'm... not... so sure about this. I think... we should..."
He jerked back as though too much contact would burn him and promptly ran a hand over Max's midsection, the free hand that had innocently pushed back a bit of hair brushing against Esma's chest before he could recoil both of them back to him with shame.
"I should... probably go," he sat up in the bed stiffly before offering a morose look to both of them, "I'm... sorry."
Temir's movement caught Esma by surprise, so suddenly did he jerk away. Completely relaxed by his touch just moments prior, she slipped from his chest and arm like a rag doll, and her head struck the headboard. She winced away the sudden explosion of stars, and pressed her hand against the stinging tissue.
"Tengri's ears, Temir!" she blinked away the tears that sprung to her eyes as she sat up next to him. Fuck, it hurt. She withdrew her hand and noted the reddish tinge to her fingertips.
Her cheeks puffed as she exhaled a long breath. It was entirely possible that their proximity, or perhaps Max joining them, had given him reason to pull away. Green eyes bore into his, though there wasn't any anger in her expression as she held his gaze. "Now, I know you're all about the Kindred Spirit. But this is a Rom house and, in a Rom house, it isn't uncommon for people to spend long hours relaxing beside each other while engaged in theological or philosophical debates. If my culture offends you, speak plainly. No one has attempted to stop the Kindred Spirit's will or hurled insult towards her."
She broke eye contact, seeking to look anywhere but at him, but finding herself staring at trembling hands resting in her lap and at her own stained fingertips. Her brows knit together. "You hurt my feelings, not that it matters come the dawn - Tengri forgives and so must I. But you should know that I have no intention of destroying your walk with your Kindred Spirit, if that's what you're thinking, regardless of how attractive I find you. And Max is just sitting here, not even next to you, if you're worried about him hitting on you. And-"
The brows furrowed more tightly and she hiccuped despite her determination to appear calm. "-Would someone please get me a rag from the bathroom before I bleed on the pillows and spread. I' suck when it comes to domestic crap, and it took me uncountable hours at the loom to weave this stuff."
The Rom's murmured gratitude warmed Max's heart. Wasn't often he encountered polite religious. Most were out for his soul. The rest wanted his money. This pair broke the mold. Fuck it. They weren't religious. They were faithful followers. Big difference in Max's book.
"No trouble at all."
He considered rolling onto his side to spoon Esma. Well, no. It didn't count as spooning if some guy's arm was between him and her back. The tech-head adjusted a pillow behind him instead and then allowed his gaze to wander.
The light on the box beyond cast the Tinkerer's profile in silhouette. Nice lines. Cute ears. Not that the ears were in profile. Max had noticed them earlier. He preferred Esma's nose to Temir's. Her face was more exotic although that was probably due to her pure lineage. She was magnificently Romani. Er Turkish Romani? Lot's of that culture's influence in the Oasis.
He decided to ask her about it but all that came out was a low yawn that fluttered a few dark hair strands on the back of Esma's head. Damn fatigue, and they had to train tomorrow!
Temir's voice lulled him. I'll close my eyes for a moment, he thought. But they didn't open again. Max had fallen asleep. He might have remained so had Temir not freaked out like a frightened bunny caught in a snare. The Tinkerer yanked his arm away, Esma's head struck the headboard, and Max -- poor, sleepy Max -- attempted to vault out of bed. His leg caught in a blanket, spilling him onto the hard floor.
"Tengri's ears, Temir!"
The tech-head righted himself in time to note the wincing Rom's words.
Okay, it was true. Max had "just been sitting there". Technically, asleep. It was equally true that he would have enjoyed curling up with either of them. And it was very, very true that he would have eagerly requested a roll in the sack if Temir wasn't present. Or if Esma wasn't present. But he had his principles! He had his scruples! He had a loose front tooth now. Goddamnit.
Max pulled off his shirt in order to wad it up. He offered it to Esma to stem the flow. "Don't worry about the fabric. Blood washes out, trust me."
His eyes roamed between Rom and Cultist. What the fuck had transpired? How long was he out? He could have sworn it had only been for a minute. How the fuck can anyone get up to something randy in under a minute? What the hell?
Seeking to excuse himself lest he be somehow incriminated, he shuffled towards the door. "Ice would be better. I'll make up a cold compact."
"I'm so, so sorry!" Temir cringed as he watched Esma touch fingertips to her head, the red color that stained them confirming that he'd hurt her in some manner, "That's n-n-not what I meant at all! Oh, Spirit, this isn't what I meant at all. I'm so sorry."
Mumbling replies as he backed toward the door, Temir ran toward the bathroom at the end of the hall before returning with the desired rag, bumping into Max on the way back into the room as the mechanic went to retrieve ice for Esma's wound. The tinkerer was distraught - there was no way Esma had his back now. Even if Tengri ordered that she forgive him, he doubted that the aforementioned god's blessings would be so generous as to extend to her treatment of him on the battlefield. Running over with the cloth - and nearly slipping on the carpet before landing in front of her on the bed, rocking the mattress in the process.
Offering the slightly damp cloth - he had enough foresight to run cool water over it, though obviously not enough to prevent such a mishap - Temir dabbed it on the tender and bleeding portion of Esma's head with shaking fingers.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, Esma. Spirit, forgive me. I have sinned," he muttered this over and over to himself as though to find repose in the chant even as his unsteady hands continued to lightly press on the cut area to dab away the slow trickle of blood, "I have sinned; I am unworthy. I have sinned; I am unworthy."
Even now, he could feel stirrings within him. Not only was that wholly inappropriate given his vocation but - Spirit forgive him - it was Spirit-damned inappropriate given the situation that was occurring right now. The tinkerer had just harmed the desert guide and NOW suddenly his body decided it would be a good time to alert her to the impure thoughts he could not suppress? Surely, by now, the Kindred Spirit was preparing for him a proper ticket to abandonment and damnation.
"I have abused your hospitality, Esma," he paused in his vigilant dabbing of the cloth to fold it inside-out, so that the clean portion would now be exposed and the wound kept free of dirt, "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve this. I... I shouldn't have come in. It was a mistake."
One of the hands holding the cloth firmly fell away from it, allowing the cloth to dangle in the other even as the dabbed, and gently caressed the cheek which lay below the marred part of her head, "I'll be out of your way after Max is back with that compress and this stops bleeding so badly. I'm sorry, again. I've failed you and I've failed the Kindred Spirit."
"Accident hap-"
But he was gone, and Esma wondered if he'd fled entirely. Gone, too was Max. The Rom shook her head and considered going lesbian despite her natural orientation. Less stressful, perhaps; she couldn't figure out men even if her life depended upon it.
Esma drew her legs up to prop her elbows on her knees. What in forty hells was wrong with Temir? The question went unanswered, and her head dropped forward to come to rest upon crossed arms. Guilt plucked soulful notes on her heartstrings. The poor man. If he bolted from the apartment, he might get lost among the hallways leading to residencies. The signs, although brightly painted and illuminated, were all in Turkish. She had just made up her mind to follow him when footfalls and a rough jostle to the mattress cause her head to lift. Temir had returned.
The rag's cool water damped her hair and spread itself across her scalp. Her nerves had numbed somewhat as a natural coping mechanism but now they sparked anew as the rag took on a pink tinge. She didn't protest. A little pain was necessary.
His doleful words become a sad litany that drew the blame squarely upon himself. True, it was his fault because he bolted, but he hadn't committed a sin. The sound of his chant nearly brought tears to her eyes. Esma hiccuped and swallowed back emotion. She had vowed to not force her opinion on him and his beliefs but, really, this was a bit much to handle!
You haven't abused my hospitality, she wanted to snatch onto his shirt and shake loose the foothold guilt had on him, you came in because you had a nightmare, and that isn't a sin!
The words never left her mouth. Her thoughts briefly vanished as his rough hand caressed her cheek. Despite his guilt, and despite his discomfort, he sought to comfort her. Esma gulped and forced herself to ignore the internal flutter that heralded arousal. Soft eyelashes lowered a curtain to obscure her view as her head tilted, an involuntary response to his touch that pushed her cheek against his hand and elicited a soft moan. But no, this was a bad idea. Much like her vow to withhold her opinion, she had sworn to not lead him astray on his path.
She lifted her eyes and peered into his own. Her dilated pupils were captured by irises embodying of the ring of vegetation surrounding Ticaret itself, a place that offered respite to the weary traveler. These were the eyes of a woman that appeared to have witnessed a lifetime, though in reality she had only seen a fraction. Esma sighed and gently captured his hand between her own.
The noisome opinions rose again, a bevy of thoughts bubbling in her emotional simmering pot. She opened her mouth to speak them all but only a single one managed to tumble from her lips.
"Please... don't go."
"Please... don't go."
Temir's fingers felt warm and protected as Esma closed her own hand around his, and they continued their journey down her cheek at a more leisurely pace, gently cupping her chin as he removed the cloth and turned it over once more, setting it aside as the bleeding had stopped. The ugly wound that he had unintentionally inflicted upon her was now slowly scabbing over and the pain would be dulling.
Those words, though. Those were the problem now.
But why were they a problem? The Kindred Spirit may have forbidden distractions from Her Will but she did not forbid respites. Even the most devoted servant needed time to regain his strength.
Even the mythical Sisyphus of Greek legend - a man whose eternal curse to roll the boulder up the slope had been co-opted by the Cult as an admirable tale of human tenacity in the face of bleak odds - even he had to rest. Even his boulder had to pause on the slope to let his weary muscles lie for a moment.
Resting was not a sin.
There was nothing to say. The tinkerer was afraid that any sort of word in this moment would break the magic and remind the both of them just what was happening. It would ruin his rest. He gazed into her eyes and leaned forward.
A hug.
The embrace was not one of lust or of love or even of forgiveness, but of friendship. He rested his head on her shoulder as his arms tightly gripped her back and he shared with her the warmth of the evening. He let out a coarse groan as the heat that passed between them quickly devolved his moment of rest from friendship to something less savory and altogether reprehensible entirely. The fires of lust that he'd attempted to keep veiled beneath the surface were threatening to rise.
Friendship was collapsing. A friend would have pulled away by now, and he did. But only to adjust himself so he could recapture her in another way.
It would only later occur to him that that moment was the first time he'd ever initiated a kiss with another person. Chapped lips gently brushed against the cheek beneath the reddened, injured forehead and he let himself have that moment before, oddly, indulging himself in another.
The tongue which had commanded many glorious deeds in Her name and from which many sermons had been delivered to save the Spirit's children from the fires of damnation, snaked out to lick her cheek. She was salty and had a faint taste of sand - not unexpected for a woman who spent all her time in the desert tracking down lost children and leading caravans.
She was delicious.
He needed more. Warning bells clanged at the back of his mind but his moment of rest had claimed him. If she was so willing, he would not be averse to what his non-Cult friends referred to as "romps".
"Esma," his voice came out far softer than he'd expected, for Temir's notion of romance had come from watching the frowned-upon movies of Terra, films which graced the world of love and lust with fantasies larger than life and with voices huskier than his own, "I... Need... Something... Do you mind if... We... I..."
Fumbling over the words, his brain went on full autopilot and insisted that he show rather than tell. Remembering that, in many of those grainy films, the star would often impress his emotions upon the lead woman with a kiss, he imitated.
Cocking his head slightly, as they always did in the films to avoid bumping noses, he pulled back from her cheek and allowed his warm breath to settle upon her lips before closing the gap between them, capturing her and damning himself.
For he who loves another more than the Spirit is a traitor / And he who loves the Spirit more than any other is lonely / So the test is decreed that one should accept loneliness / For to be alone is to suffer / To suffer is divine
The silence hanging between them left Esma's mind time to chastise her. Why had she asked him to stay? Was it concern for his safety if he left, or was there something more?
Of course there was more. She wouldn't kid herself. Temir was different. He was intelligent and thoughtful rather than shrewd, and carried himself with a quiet grace - a far cry from the Rom men and their traditional ways. He didn't seek glory or fame. He only sought to propagate the Kindred Spirit's will. His touch was gentle, a tender caress to her cheek and chin that sent blissful shivers down her spine. And there she was, selfishly asking him to stay. She had no right to infringe upon his walk.
Faith is deliberate confidence in the character of sacred Tengri whose ways you may not understand at the time.
He drew her into an embrace, not that she protested. This was different though. His hands didn't grope at her spine to seek her shirt's hem. It was sweetly platonic, melting her heart with it's simplicity. She sighed as his stubble brushed against her neck. Temir harbored no ill will towards her. Esma smiled as she wrapped her arms around him.
He was the one to break contact first, and she expected him to make apologies and beg her pardon to leave. She'd let him, if that's what it took to keep him on his path. She had promised herself, and Esma never broke her word.
The lips brushing her cheek sent her inwardly spiraling. All the world seemed to rush in and then fade away as her body focused on his touch. Nothing existed until he hands alighted upon it, as if his touch was shaping her into existence one tender breath at a time. Her fingertips sought his chest, alighting to explore the contours of his muscles before trailing upward to seek a neck shaped by decades of labor.
You swore you wouldn't. It isn't your place to test his resolve.
Rejoice, for your body was formed by Tengri, and all your senses, and all your thoughts, that you may fully experience the world he crafted.
His breath, sweetened by the meal and wine, alighted on her. A fresh longing filled her as she watched his lips form words; he was asking permission. Asking. It was endearing. It was arousing, and drove away common sense. He was much too close. She returned his kiss with equal passion. Nothing mattered now except that he fulfill the desires he had caused within her, and her lips left his in order to travel down his neck to indicate her willingness as she relished the salty taste of his skin. There wasn't any reason to feel guilt. Tengri intended for love to be shared.
Tengri intends only goodness. The testing of faith produces steadfastness. It is the crucible by which devotion is tested, that you may emerge renewed and complete as Tengri intends. But be warned: It is easy to led others astray when they are broken. To cast them into the crucible is to cast yourself alongside them.
You vowed. It is Romanipen.
Esma's progress stopped at Temir's adam's apple, and she lifted her head to take in his beautiful eyes. Her palms captured his face, delighting once more in the texture of his skin. The look she gave carried an intensity about it, but this washed away as she imparted one final, tender kiss upon his lips. Her body, which only moments before had been tensed in anticipation of sex, relaxed. She pressed her forehead to his.
"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial for, when he emerges pure from the crucible, he will receive all the blessings in store for him. Rejoice then in the testing, and be not ashamed of stumbles along the way."
The words were a resigned sigh. Her fingertips stroked his cheek, reassuring him that she wasn't offended. She hid her disappointment well, or so she hoped.
Esma pulled away, although a hand remained to cradle his jaw. "Temir, you matter to me. Very few people do. It is more important to me that you stay strong in your faith. If you decide to walk away from the Kindred Spirit and her tenets, let it be for logical reasons rather than the foolish desires of a stupid gypsy girl. Please, don't let tonight become an awkward thorn between us."
Her fingers savored his skin's warmth a final time and then slipped away. "I'm not worthy of someone like you. You deserve someone more pure."
Esma rose from the bed and pulled a shawl from a nearby chair, wrapping the knitted fabric around her shoulders. Her arms crossed, a self-hug to ward off her sorrow. "Please, sleep here. The bed is comfortable. I... I want to watch the sunrise and meditate on my god."
Temir let out an involuntary whine as Esma stopped her pleasant journey downward, the annoying noise muffled as she recaptured his lips. The desert guide's pulling away confused him and he feared for a moment that he'd made a grave, irreversible mistake.
Well, he had. He just hadn't acknowledged it until now. The Kindred Spirit would not look kindly upon his actions.
As their foreheads came together, the tinkerer closed his eyes and savored Esma's warm breath passing over his lips as she spoke.
"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial for, when he emerges pure from the crucible, he will receive all the blessings in store for him. Rejoice then in the testing, and be not ashamed of stumbles along the way."
His cheeks colored with shame. The guide who he had intended to enlighten on the Way of the Kindred Spirit had been the one to stop the proceedings. She had done the right thing in the face of his temptation. The hand running over his jaw did little to comfort him as he returned to his senses and realized what a wanton sin he'd just committed. His fellow clergyman would be ashamed of him - nay, they would be decrying him from the pulpits if they knew of his evening transgressions.
Esma's explanation only caused him to sink further. She had stopped the proceedings for him. Not because she wasn't enjoying them or because she felt the need to torture him but because she cared about him. The notion that she could so perfectly embody the selflessness of the exemplars of the Kindred Spirit was nothing short of a miracle. She wasn't even an acolyte; here he was, having just hung up his holy orders, and he'd already slipped into selfishness and the wanton desires of the common people.
"I'm not worthy of someone like you. You deserve someone more pure."
He turned to her with a hard look as she left the bed to wrap herself so she could go out on the balcony and witness the rebirth of the harsh sun that baked the deserts of Rigel-III during the day.
The offer to sleep in the bed where he had nearly thrown away his faith and where she had saved him was unacceptable. He needed to get away from this - from whatever it was about her that intoxicated him and set his heart ablaze.
"Thank you, but I think it would be wisest if I returned to the couch," he gulped, standing up to smooth his clothes and cloak. Turning toward the doorway, he offered one final glance and his opinion on the whole situation:
"You care for a child; I shirked my duties to the acolytes and the orphans to look over machines. I initiated inappropriate sexual advances towards you; you halted them to preserve my faith. I have done nothing but cause trouble in this house and you have shown nothing but kindness.
You're an exemplar of all the great Cult virtues and you're not even an acolyte yet; and here I am throwing my morals away after discarding my holy orders.
You've got it all backwards, silly girl. You deserve someone more pure and worthy, not me."
Satisfied that he'd made it clear how he felt on the matters, he departed for the couch without further word.
The tape had been rewound and was waiting for him.
Nominated by: Cerillium
Notes by Cerillium: "Esma and Temir. Two vastly different religious beliefs and cultures come together as the basis for a beautiful waltz between these characters. The scene stands out to me mainly because it would have been too easy to have them fall into fade-to-black fucking. Instead, we see the intensity of their desire as well as the bitterness of denial.
Preface to the scene for background purposes: begins here with posts between Highfort and Swith as their characters tap dance around the obvious: that they would be better suited with each other rather than remaining loners. Esma's propensity for speaking her mind comes back to haunt Temir, inducing a nightmare that won't die. He seeks Esma out to get his doubts and fears off his chest, only to fall back into more tap dancing. The situation becomes complicated once Max (another of Temir's interests) turns up. The nominated scene begins a page later, here. Please excuse my own character's meddling. He's not important to the scene other than a filler to keep things interesting. The romance remains strictly between the Rom and Tinkerer.
I've taken the liberty of copying the posts here to show not only the content but also how well these two writers work together. No editing by me. It is difficult to see where one writer's post ends and the other begins, so seamless is their craft. The posts go beyond sexual, exploring the emotions of each character as they struggle with matters of faith and integrity."
ENTRY BEST ROMANTIC SCENE - PLEASE NOTE THAT EACH POST IN THE SCENE IS DIVIDED BY A LINE.
Temir's breath hitched in his throat as Esma ran her fingers over his chest - still tender from the healing burns that the doc in the clinic had treated earlier - and pressed her face against him. With Max now occupying the other side of the bed, sandwiching the desert guide between the two men, the tinkerer sensed that he was approaching dangerously-profane territory. He focused on Max's reply and attempted to give one of his own, pitiable as it was for a clergyman - even a former one - of his stature and learning. Anything to keep him off of the impure thoughts dancing at the edge of his mind would be key here.
"The Kindred Spirit insists that we as her followers do likewise," Temir gulped, attempting to modulate his voice even as his fingers went from gently rubbing Esma's shoulder to tracing the sun-burnt and wind-swept lines of her neck, "Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, so long as they are respectful to the Kindred Spirit. Disbelief is not a crime, only insult toward Her and attempts to stop Her Will can be considered truly profane."
And that was what he was doing right now, insulting Her. Not with his words, of course, but the Kindred Spirit was not a fan of people who merely paid her lip-service. Every touch of bare skin between him and Esma, even just the mere running of a finger over her innocent neck, of all places, was a sin in the making. He let out a deep sigh before turning to both of them, his gaze finally breaking from the doorway to actually view both of his evening companions.
It was a mistake, a grave error that the Kindred Spirit would punish him for many, many times over.
Perhaps it was the twilight of the evening or perhaps it was because he was seeking refuge from the thoughts which generated his nightmares, but Temir found both his comrades to be... almost irresistible. Almost. He raised his free hand, which had been propping him up to spare his injured back, to brush a lock of hair from Esma's face. The hand that graced her neck - attached to the arm whose elbow was currently up against Max's chest.
His face flushed and he was suddenly very unhappy that he had removed his mask and left it in the living room with his walking stick and supplies. Without the thin, tight fabric to hide behind, they could see him.
She could see him.
"I-I-I," Temir's voice was small and filled with tremors of uncertainty, "I'm... not... so sure about this. I think... we should..."
He jerked back as though too much contact would burn him and promptly ran a hand over Max's midsection, the free hand that had innocently pushed back a bit of hair brushing against Esma's chest before he could recoil both of them back to him with shame.
"I should... probably go," he sat up in the bed stiffly before offering a morose look to both of them, "I'm... sorry."
Temir's movement caught Esma by surprise, so suddenly did he jerk away. Completely relaxed by his touch just moments prior, she slipped from his chest and arm like a rag doll, and her head struck the headboard. She winced away the sudden explosion of stars, and pressed her hand against the stinging tissue.
"Tengri's ears, Temir!" she blinked away the tears that sprung to her eyes as she sat up next to him. Fuck, it hurt. She withdrew her hand and noted the reddish tinge to her fingertips.
Her cheeks puffed as she exhaled a long breath. It was entirely possible that their proximity, or perhaps Max joining them, had given him reason to pull away. Green eyes bore into his, though there wasn't any anger in her expression as she held his gaze. "Now, I know you're all about the Kindred Spirit. But this is a Rom house and, in a Rom house, it isn't uncommon for people to spend long hours relaxing beside each other while engaged in theological or philosophical debates. If my culture offends you, speak plainly. No one has attempted to stop the Kindred Spirit's will or hurled insult towards her."
She broke eye contact, seeking to look anywhere but at him, but finding herself staring at trembling hands resting in her lap and at her own stained fingertips. Her brows knit together. "You hurt my feelings, not that it matters come the dawn - Tengri forgives and so must I. But you should know that I have no intention of destroying your walk with your Kindred Spirit, if that's what you're thinking, regardless of how attractive I find you. And Max is just sitting here, not even next to you, if you're worried about him hitting on you. And-"
The brows furrowed more tightly and she hiccuped despite her determination to appear calm. "-Would someone please get me a rag from the bathroom before I bleed on the pillows and spread. I' suck when it comes to domestic crap, and it took me uncountable hours at the loom to weave this stuff."
The Rom's murmured gratitude warmed Max's heart. Wasn't often he encountered polite religious. Most were out for his soul. The rest wanted his money. This pair broke the mold. Fuck it. They weren't religious. They were faithful followers. Big difference in Max's book.
"No trouble at all."
He considered rolling onto his side to spoon Esma. Well, no. It didn't count as spooning if some guy's arm was between him and her back. The tech-head adjusted a pillow behind him instead and then allowed his gaze to wander.
The light on the box beyond cast the Tinkerer's profile in silhouette. Nice lines. Cute ears. Not that the ears were in profile. Max had noticed them earlier. He preferred Esma's nose to Temir's. Her face was more exotic although that was probably due to her pure lineage. She was magnificently Romani. Er Turkish Romani? Lot's of that culture's influence in the Oasis.
He decided to ask her about it but all that came out was a low yawn that fluttered a few dark hair strands on the back of Esma's head. Damn fatigue, and they had to train tomorrow!
Temir's voice lulled him. I'll close my eyes for a moment, he thought. But they didn't open again. Max had fallen asleep. He might have remained so had Temir not freaked out like a frightened bunny caught in a snare. The Tinkerer yanked his arm away, Esma's head struck the headboard, and Max -- poor, sleepy Max -- attempted to vault out of bed. His leg caught in a blanket, spilling him onto the hard floor.
"Tengri's ears, Temir!"
The tech-head righted himself in time to note the wincing Rom's words.
Okay, it was true. Max had "just been sitting there". Technically, asleep. It was equally true that he would have enjoyed curling up with either of them. And it was very, very true that he would have eagerly requested a roll in the sack if Temir wasn't present. Or if Esma wasn't present. But he had his principles! He had his scruples! He had a loose front tooth now. Goddamnit.
Max pulled off his shirt in order to wad it up. He offered it to Esma to stem the flow. "Don't worry about the fabric. Blood washes out, trust me."
His eyes roamed between Rom and Cultist. What the fuck had transpired? How long was he out? He could have sworn it had only been for a minute. How the fuck can anyone get up to something randy in under a minute? What the hell?
Seeking to excuse himself lest he be somehow incriminated, he shuffled towards the door. "Ice would be better. I'll make up a cold compact."
"I'm so, so sorry!" Temir cringed as he watched Esma touch fingertips to her head, the red color that stained them confirming that he'd hurt her in some manner, "That's n-n-not what I meant at all! Oh, Spirit, this isn't what I meant at all. I'm so sorry."
Mumbling replies as he backed toward the door, Temir ran toward the bathroom at the end of the hall before returning with the desired rag, bumping into Max on the way back into the room as the mechanic went to retrieve ice for Esma's wound. The tinkerer was distraught - there was no way Esma had his back now. Even if Tengri ordered that she forgive him, he doubted that the aforementioned god's blessings would be so generous as to extend to her treatment of him on the battlefield. Running over with the cloth - and nearly slipping on the carpet before landing in front of her on the bed, rocking the mattress in the process.
Offering the slightly damp cloth - he had enough foresight to run cool water over it, though obviously not enough to prevent such a mishap - Temir dabbed it on the tender and bleeding portion of Esma's head with shaking fingers.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, Esma. Spirit, forgive me. I have sinned," he muttered this over and over to himself as though to find repose in the chant even as his unsteady hands continued to lightly press on the cut area to dab away the slow trickle of blood, "I have sinned; I am unworthy. I have sinned; I am unworthy."
Even now, he could feel stirrings within him. Not only was that wholly inappropriate given his vocation but - Spirit forgive him - it was Spirit-damned inappropriate given the situation that was occurring right now. The tinkerer had just harmed the desert guide and NOW suddenly his body decided it would be a good time to alert her to the impure thoughts he could not suppress? Surely, by now, the Kindred Spirit was preparing for him a proper ticket to abandonment and damnation.
"I have abused your hospitality, Esma," he paused in his vigilant dabbing of the cloth to fold it inside-out, so that the clean portion would now be exposed and the wound kept free of dirt, "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve this. I... I shouldn't have come in. It was a mistake."
One of the hands holding the cloth firmly fell away from it, allowing the cloth to dangle in the other even as the dabbed, and gently caressed the cheek which lay below the marred part of her head, "I'll be out of your way after Max is back with that compress and this stops bleeding so badly. I'm sorry, again. I've failed you and I've failed the Kindred Spirit."
"Accident hap-"
But he was gone, and Esma wondered if he'd fled entirely. Gone, too was Max. The Rom shook her head and considered going lesbian despite her natural orientation. Less stressful, perhaps; she couldn't figure out men even if her life depended upon it.
Esma drew her legs up to prop her elbows on her knees. What in forty hells was wrong with Temir? The question went unanswered, and her head dropped forward to come to rest upon crossed arms. Guilt plucked soulful notes on her heartstrings. The poor man. If he bolted from the apartment, he might get lost among the hallways leading to residencies. The signs, although brightly painted and illuminated, were all in Turkish. She had just made up her mind to follow him when footfalls and a rough jostle to the mattress cause her head to lift. Temir had returned.
The rag's cool water damped her hair and spread itself across her scalp. Her nerves had numbed somewhat as a natural coping mechanism but now they sparked anew as the rag took on a pink tinge. She didn't protest. A little pain was necessary.
His doleful words become a sad litany that drew the blame squarely upon himself. True, it was his fault because he bolted, but he hadn't committed a sin. The sound of his chant nearly brought tears to her eyes. Esma hiccuped and swallowed back emotion. She had vowed to not force her opinion on him and his beliefs but, really, this was a bit much to handle!
You haven't abused my hospitality, she wanted to snatch onto his shirt and shake loose the foothold guilt had on him, you came in because you had a nightmare, and that isn't a sin!
The words never left her mouth. Her thoughts briefly vanished as his rough hand caressed her cheek. Despite his guilt, and despite his discomfort, he sought to comfort her. Esma gulped and forced herself to ignore the internal flutter that heralded arousal. Soft eyelashes lowered a curtain to obscure her view as her head tilted, an involuntary response to his touch that pushed her cheek against his hand and elicited a soft moan. But no, this was a bad idea. Much like her vow to withhold her opinion, she had sworn to not lead him astray on his path.
She lifted her eyes and peered into his own. Her dilated pupils were captured by irises embodying of the ring of vegetation surrounding Ticaret itself, a place that offered respite to the weary traveler. These were the eyes of a woman that appeared to have witnessed a lifetime, though in reality she had only seen a fraction. Esma sighed and gently captured his hand between her own.
The noisome opinions rose again, a bevy of thoughts bubbling in her emotional simmering pot. She opened her mouth to speak them all but only a single one managed to tumble from her lips.
"Please... don't go."
"Please... don't go."
Temir's fingers felt warm and protected as Esma closed her own hand around his, and they continued their journey down her cheek at a more leisurely pace, gently cupping her chin as he removed the cloth and turned it over once more, setting it aside as the bleeding had stopped. The ugly wound that he had unintentionally inflicted upon her was now slowly scabbing over and the pain would be dulling.
Those words, though. Those were the problem now.
But why were they a problem? The Kindred Spirit may have forbidden distractions from Her Will but she did not forbid respites. Even the most devoted servant needed time to regain his strength.
Even the mythical Sisyphus of Greek legend - a man whose eternal curse to roll the boulder up the slope had been co-opted by the Cult as an admirable tale of human tenacity in the face of bleak odds - even he had to rest. Even his boulder had to pause on the slope to let his weary muscles lie for a moment.
Resting was not a sin.
There was nothing to say. The tinkerer was afraid that any sort of word in this moment would break the magic and remind the both of them just what was happening. It would ruin his rest. He gazed into her eyes and leaned forward.
A hug.
The embrace was not one of lust or of love or even of forgiveness, but of friendship. He rested his head on her shoulder as his arms tightly gripped her back and he shared with her the warmth of the evening. He let out a coarse groan as the heat that passed between them quickly devolved his moment of rest from friendship to something less savory and altogether reprehensible entirely. The fires of lust that he'd attempted to keep veiled beneath the surface were threatening to rise.
Friendship was collapsing. A friend would have pulled away by now, and he did. But only to adjust himself so he could recapture her in another way.
It would only later occur to him that that moment was the first time he'd ever initiated a kiss with another person. Chapped lips gently brushed against the cheek beneath the reddened, injured forehead and he let himself have that moment before, oddly, indulging himself in another.
The tongue which had commanded many glorious deeds in Her name and from which many sermons had been delivered to save the Spirit's children from the fires of damnation, snaked out to lick her cheek. She was salty and had a faint taste of sand - not unexpected for a woman who spent all her time in the desert tracking down lost children and leading caravans.
She was delicious.
He needed more. Warning bells clanged at the back of his mind but his moment of rest had claimed him. If she was so willing, he would not be averse to what his non-Cult friends referred to as "romps".
"Esma," his voice came out far softer than he'd expected, for Temir's notion of romance had come from watching the frowned-upon movies of Terra, films which graced the world of love and lust with fantasies larger than life and with voices huskier than his own, "I... Need... Something... Do you mind if... We... I..."
Fumbling over the words, his brain went on full autopilot and insisted that he show rather than tell. Remembering that, in many of those grainy films, the star would often impress his emotions upon the lead woman with a kiss, he imitated.
Cocking his head slightly, as they always did in the films to avoid bumping noses, he pulled back from her cheek and allowed his warm breath to settle upon her lips before closing the gap between them, capturing her and damning himself.
For he who loves another more than the Spirit is a traitor / And he who loves the Spirit more than any other is lonely / So the test is decreed that one should accept loneliness / For to be alone is to suffer / To suffer is divine
The silence hanging between them left Esma's mind time to chastise her. Why had she asked him to stay? Was it concern for his safety if he left, or was there something more?
Of course there was more. She wouldn't kid herself. Temir was different. He was intelligent and thoughtful rather than shrewd, and carried himself with a quiet grace - a far cry from the Rom men and their traditional ways. He didn't seek glory or fame. He only sought to propagate the Kindred Spirit's will. His touch was gentle, a tender caress to her cheek and chin that sent blissful shivers down her spine. And there she was, selfishly asking him to stay. She had no right to infringe upon his walk.
Faith is deliberate confidence in the character of sacred Tengri whose ways you may not understand at the time.
He drew her into an embrace, not that she protested. This was different though. His hands didn't grope at her spine to seek her shirt's hem. It was sweetly platonic, melting her heart with it's simplicity. She sighed as his stubble brushed against her neck. Temir harbored no ill will towards her. Esma smiled as she wrapped her arms around him.
He was the one to break contact first, and she expected him to make apologies and beg her pardon to leave. She'd let him, if that's what it took to keep him on his path. She had promised herself, and Esma never broke her word.
The lips brushing her cheek sent her inwardly spiraling. All the world seemed to rush in and then fade away as her body focused on his touch. Nothing existed until he hands alighted upon it, as if his touch was shaping her into existence one tender breath at a time. Her fingertips sought his chest, alighting to explore the contours of his muscles before trailing upward to seek a neck shaped by decades of labor.
You swore you wouldn't. It isn't your place to test his resolve.
Rejoice, for your body was formed by Tengri, and all your senses, and all your thoughts, that you may fully experience the world he crafted.
His breath, sweetened by the meal and wine, alighted on her. A fresh longing filled her as she watched his lips form words; he was asking permission. Asking. It was endearing. It was arousing, and drove away common sense. He was much too close. She returned his kiss with equal passion. Nothing mattered now except that he fulfill the desires he had caused within her, and her lips left his in order to travel down his neck to indicate her willingness as she relished the salty taste of his skin. There wasn't any reason to feel guilt. Tengri intended for love to be shared.
Tengri intends only goodness. The testing of faith produces steadfastness. It is the crucible by which devotion is tested, that you may emerge renewed and complete as Tengri intends. But be warned: It is easy to led others astray when they are broken. To cast them into the crucible is to cast yourself alongside them.
You vowed. It is Romanipen.
Esma's progress stopped at Temir's adam's apple, and she lifted her head to take in his beautiful eyes. Her palms captured his face, delighting once more in the texture of his skin. The look she gave carried an intensity about it, but this washed away as she imparted one final, tender kiss upon his lips. Her body, which only moments before had been tensed in anticipation of sex, relaxed. She pressed her forehead to his.
"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial for, when he emerges pure from the crucible, he will receive all the blessings in store for him. Rejoice then in the testing, and be not ashamed of stumbles along the way."
The words were a resigned sigh. Her fingertips stroked his cheek, reassuring him that she wasn't offended. She hid her disappointment well, or so she hoped.
Esma pulled away, although a hand remained to cradle his jaw. "Temir, you matter to me. Very few people do. It is more important to me that you stay strong in your faith. If you decide to walk away from the Kindred Spirit and her tenets, let it be for logical reasons rather than the foolish desires of a stupid gypsy girl. Please, don't let tonight become an awkward thorn between us."
Her fingers savored his skin's warmth a final time and then slipped away. "I'm not worthy of someone like you. You deserve someone more pure."
Esma rose from the bed and pulled a shawl from a nearby chair, wrapping the knitted fabric around her shoulders. Her arms crossed, a self-hug to ward off her sorrow. "Please, sleep here. The bed is comfortable. I... I want to watch the sunrise and meditate on my god."
Temir let out an involuntary whine as Esma stopped her pleasant journey downward, the annoying noise muffled as she recaptured his lips. The desert guide's pulling away confused him and he feared for a moment that he'd made a grave, irreversible mistake.
Well, he had. He just hadn't acknowledged it until now. The Kindred Spirit would not look kindly upon his actions.
As their foreheads came together, the tinkerer closed his eyes and savored Esma's warm breath passing over his lips as she spoke.
"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial for, when he emerges pure from the crucible, he will receive all the blessings in store for him. Rejoice then in the testing, and be not ashamed of stumbles along the way."
His cheeks colored with shame. The guide who he had intended to enlighten on the Way of the Kindred Spirit had been the one to stop the proceedings. She had done the right thing in the face of his temptation. The hand running over his jaw did little to comfort him as he returned to his senses and realized what a wanton sin he'd just committed. His fellow clergyman would be ashamed of him - nay, they would be decrying him from the pulpits if they knew of his evening transgressions.
Esma's explanation only caused him to sink further. She had stopped the proceedings for him. Not because she wasn't enjoying them or because she felt the need to torture him but because she cared about him. The notion that she could so perfectly embody the selflessness of the exemplars of the Kindred Spirit was nothing short of a miracle. She wasn't even an acolyte; here he was, having just hung up his holy orders, and he'd already slipped into selfishness and the wanton desires of the common people.
"I'm not worthy of someone like you. You deserve someone more pure."
He turned to her with a hard look as she left the bed to wrap herself so she could go out on the balcony and witness the rebirth of the harsh sun that baked the deserts of Rigel-III during the day.
The offer to sleep in the bed where he had nearly thrown away his faith and where she had saved him was unacceptable. He needed to get away from this - from whatever it was about her that intoxicated him and set his heart ablaze.
"Thank you, but I think it would be wisest if I returned to the couch," he gulped, standing up to smooth his clothes and cloak. Turning toward the doorway, he offered one final glance and his opinion on the whole situation:
"You care for a child; I shirked my duties to the acolytes and the orphans to look over machines. I initiated inappropriate sexual advances towards you; you halted them to preserve my faith. I have done nothing but cause trouble in this house and you have shown nothing but kindness.
You're an exemplar of all the great Cult virtues and you're not even an acolyte yet; and here I am throwing my morals away after discarding my holy orders.
You've got it all backwards, silly girl. You deserve someone more pure and worthy, not me."
Satisfied that he'd made it clear how he felt on the matters, he departed for the couch without further word.
The tape had been rewound and was waiting for him.
