It takes a bloody battle, the death of several of his men, and a near death experience of his own for Afron to see what lies in his heart for Makara. Now the barbarian won't let anything stand in the way of their destiny -- not even the prostitute's petulant (if half-hearted) refusal to see him.
But the next day greeted him with more of the same -- loneliness and longing, and a burning desire to see his barbarian. Makara went about his morning ritual, bathing with the required scented salts,anointing himself with cologne rumored to drive even the purest of men wild with lust, and rimming his eyes with the etching pencil, though not as dark as his employers would've liked. He chose a fluffy white shirt and a pair of silky black breeches; slid them on over his naked ass, enjoying the soft, luxurious fabric as it hugged his body and tickled his cock. Makara admired himself in the mirror -- his
short dark hair and well-built frame -- thinking he looked rather desirable today. Not that it mattered.
He paced to the door and opened it, grabbed the book off the wooden shelf just to the right of the opening. He flipped to today's page and frowned. No appointments. Makara sighed. Word of the limp-dicked whore had apparently spread. How long before the Nulphillium revoked his privileges and booted him out the door to find his customers on the streets? And how long would he survive that?
One of the other attendants came dashing up the stairs, breathless. "Afron is here."
Makara jumped at the words, though he quickly took a deep breath to settle himself. No. No more Afron. He fluffed out his hair, gathered his courage around him, and went to tell Afron to leave. He stopped on the balcony and perched himself on the rail, trying to look nonchalant as he pretended to ignore the throng of noise rising up from the ground floor.
He ran a hand through his hair and licked his lips as the barbarian sauntered through the lobby below. Even from this distance, the foreigner's musky male scent filled Makara's nostrils. Or perhaps he just imagined it did. Either way, he drew in a long, lingering breath through his nose and held it in until his chest hurt. He let the breath out slowly, cocked his eyebrow as the barbarian's head lifted and that violet gaze locked on him. Makara shivered. He toyed with the ruffles of his shirt as the barbarian mounted the stairs, eyes intent on him.
Afron gestured to the hallway behind Makara.
Makara folded his arms across his chest and raised his chin. "Didn't I make myself clear last time?"
Afron nodded. "I heard your words."