Gul

We all dream about the day where the world is reduced to a pinnacle, and kind winds comb our hair. A fleeting moment, where the embrace of the hour in the dead of the night carries us home. In that moment, home doesn't feel too far, or too delusional to exist. The zooming traffic of the world comes to a halt, the rising tides of the ocean freeze with the air, the air kisses the clouds and gasps, and these gasps blow the moon naked. The city paints itself in a beautiful hue. Unfortunately, those were just dreams. And for me, the most vivid dreams were plagues.

The pounding of blood in my head made me restless. My back ached. The wounds pierced out of my body, grafting a part of my soul to the cloth that soaked it whole. The burning sting of the rubbing alcohol, and the quick fingers that worked them didn't seem as kind as their intent. I faced the wall rather than the dreaded obvious. No man offers kindness expecting nothing in return. He was doing me a favour I knew well I wouldn't return.

I turned in his arms. His eyes seemed wise beyond his years, but then the grey of his hair did everything to remind me that he wasn't as young and beautiful as he seemed to be.

"You shouldn't hold onto me like that, Sir Derek," for the life of me, I know I was scared and embarrassed.

"I am not a fan of the moment but I would be darned less of a gentleman if I don't," his words stung sharper. My gaze was almost whimsical, as I rested my arms around his body. His pecs were so hard, when my ear pressed to it. Languidly, I lifted my gaze to meet his when his arms fondled my behind for what seemed like a caress of something that wasn't lust. "I am going to throw you over my shoulder. Do not be alarmed," he said, and I let out a shallow breath, as his body dipped and then carried me with it like a wave riding a corpse. My body numbed into a state of stillness while my head raced. The soft fabric brushed my skin, and his fingers firmly held onto my calves, and back.

The soft towel slid against my skin, revealing a good part of it as he propped me down on the couch. My belly heaved, and settled against the cushions. I had forced myself into a state if sleep-like numbness.

The familiar sting washed over any sense of relief. I counted to ten. Then another, and another, while he tended to my wounds. He shouldn't. He didn't have to. A low groan escaped my throat, and then his touch was gone. I moved on my elbows, rising and well aware that except for the modest brassiere I had, I was naked and easily accessible to him.

My mouth turned dry. A flushed pulse climbed to my neck, and then a gasp escaped my lips. He sat on the chair. Tears moistened the pillow I laid on. My eyes were wide open.

"Sir Derek," my voice was barely above a whisper. He steered in his chair.

His head turned swiftly. Eyes fluttering open, as if he was dreaming or was almost lost in thought. I climbed out of the couch, standing right in front of him. He straightened in his seat, giving away nothing. I knew he was alarmed.

"Do you need something?" He asked, and I shook my head. There was nothing more that he could do.

"I am sorry for the trouble. I would leave first thing in the morning," I said, as my gaze dropped. His legs parted a little. A visible dent marked the space between his thighs, bulging through his pants.

"That would be alright. But you don't have to go, Gulshan," he blinked. His eyes were moist, but indecipherable.

"I don't have to-"

I might have heard him wrong. Wasn't he the one who invited me to dinner to talk about it? I looked at him questioningly. Any reason seemed to be lost on us.

"Is something the matter?"

I knew how silly the question seemed.

"You are havoc, and I don't mind lending you a space to figure yourself out before you stop stirring so well," he put in.

"You are not going to fool anyone if you deem yourself to be doing it out of your heart's kindness," I began, knowing well what I meant.

"I am not a noble man, but I am a gentleman. The difference between the two is obvious. I have sins, and woes, but nothing I shy away from. You are not someone who I should get involved with. You washed over the dead of my manor with the storm of your tears and expect me to remain unmoved?"

"My misery never seemed to accommodate itself around your comfort, Sir." I wasn't a condescending brat. I feared that a man could only be so nice as much as he can get compensated for. I had nothing to pay him with - penny, kindness, or the like.

"Tell me why were you bleeding, and we will be even that way," his gaze turned to steel.

His nares flared, and he shuffled his hair under my stare. I walked closer, bringing my body in his shadow. He lifted his head, meeting my face. My lips closed onto his. The taste of wine and surprise kissed me back. The crass joy of mine dripped from the corner of my eye. A hand held me firmly. He spared my back, instead choosing to press me onto his chest.

I tried to pull back gently, but he won't let go. His fingers raked my scalp, consuming me with such vigour I was afraid I would melt. My legs quaked, as the chair toppled and he pushed me down to the couch. The burning ache from my back washed over the primal touch of lust. I groaned and he turned me over him. His hands held my face as he drank from my misery.

The turmoil wove itself seamlessly till his chest gave up, and his lungs couldn't heave any longer. He tilted my face, dropping to my neck. I prayed for a moment he would smell my ruin at the hands of other men and let go. Instead, he released me. His hands framed my face and he kissed my tears, and my cheeks. Outside, the skies had already stopped crying but my storms were uplifted to a state of never-ending unrest.

As another tear rolled out, I gasped the words."Is that what makes us even then?"

***

Sir Derek

The warmth of a woman, and I fell from grace, once again. She wasn't the type I would usually bring home. Ever since Gen, I have had brought no one here. And perhaps it's the time that has made me so aware of a female presence, that I am coercing my soul into doing this.

My hands felt her everywhere except where I had dressed her wounds. Her hair flowed between my fingers, and cooled the heat that her kissing evoked through me. Her tongue was the dessert I would never partake in, for the fear of craving it too much. I bit gently into the plump of her lips, any harder and I knew I would draw blood.

Our breaths muffled into one. So many words buried in our throats, moaned and unspoken. I turned her over in my arms, as she breathed on top of me and my eyes clenched too tight to wake up in a world where all of this would be gone. But I was only getting ahead of myself. She didn't disappear. I had still sinned.

All the lies I had made up about being a gentleman, cornered me in a state of confession. Awareness seeped in through every pore of my skin, her own touch brazenly elucidating a siren's song. And every moment seemed practised. Different bodies, but it was the very song. I feared that I would break something, within her or myself. But she didn't speak, all she did was quake and the clouds fell silent when her eyes stormed out. I held her face with my warm fingers. Her wild hair, and the amber in her eyes all turned too dark for one night.

"You are not obliged to follow. I hope you know that," I whispered. I was no saint, no holy man, but if God had me on the altar bowing, I would cave in and say, I gave her the option.

I was a disciplined man, but she gave me a run for my money. I held her out like she was made of glass. Her lungs gave up, as she gasped for air when her ear pressed to my neck. "I am not sure what's happening, Sir Derek," she said.

Her dark skin glowing with the heat of our sins. I tucked a lock back into its place, regret and reason watched me from the stand in the back. I gathered we had already done half of the wrong. All I knew was, I was a man and she was a woman.

"Tell me who gave you those scars," my fingers fiddled with the hook that made ourselves a barrier. The cotton slid down, and I replaced it with my fingers. Dark spots, tight and aware of my touch; as I twirled them with my fingers. A nibble at the other, and she yelped. Her lips parted with a tremor. I wrapped my fingers around her neck, holding her gaze as she burned the truth with her glare.

"We all have a past, we are not proud of," she whispered, and more tears rolled out. My breath turned hot and heavy. I held her against my body and did nothing more. Her contours were still and relaxed as if she didn't want any of this. Disappointment curled around my neck when she got up and knelt to the mat.

I sat like a ragged dog, huffing with her between my thighs. Her bare curves sat poignant, a sad grace marked her existence and she looked at me the way a burnt child looks at the fire - lost and longing, aching and burnt. She lifted her hands, and reached for my buttons. When I thought I was best left alone in my solitude, she drew me out with the fabric of the linen.

Her fingers dug quietly on my skin, as she rested her head between my thighs. Her eyes closed momentarily and I could feel the warmth of her breath tickle the inside of my thighs.

"Gulshan, I am not here to steal your pride. I beg you don't mortify me with mine," I stroked her hair, and she lifted her head.

The manor's walls felt privy to both our needs. A condescending quiet enveloped us in. There was the world, and then there was us. She smiled, and then her eyes rained as if they were to satiate a drought.

"What would you know about a woman's suffering, Sir Derek? You only bed one when you see her needy and naked," she bit her lip too hard, I almost missed kissing her like that.

"I am not sure if you blame me for being a man, or just being a man with desires," I smoothened the furrow of her brows and she sobbed and sobbed. I might have mistaken a lost girl in the body of a woman.

My hand caressed her unruly hair, and she rested her head on my thighs. "I have known one too many distrusting men to tell you what brings me so many scars, kind sir."

Her voice throttled, and I did nothing to comfort her. "You are just a man with a wounded woman at his disposal. I do not blame you any more than how nature fashioned you out. But forgive me for the lapse of judgement. Perhaps, you are after all, a kind man," she sobbed.

"I am not here to force you into submission. But if you would have me for the night, I would not deny you the comfort of my warmth."

Our eyes met, and she let out a whimpering sob. Her cheeks fondled against my palm. This close, I could see the pock marks that formed constellations on her arms, and the solitary mole of her chin, her tiny nose, and her slightly swollen lips. Unconventionally so, but she was beautiful.

"Would you let me rest one night in your arms, then? I will never for a home ever again. If you can forget every bit of tonight to become a stranger by the day... Sir Derek, I would have you," she yearned. Like a canary song put together I stringed her pleas in my chest. My arms lifted her to my chin, and I pressed her head to my shoulder.

"Tonight, you'll have all the kindness I can offer without losing parts of me. You have me in all my moments for now," a chaste kiss pressed on her forehead.

That was the only time I had lied to her. In all my capacities, I had offered her more than what I could reckon.