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Allauddin Khilji, the Sultan of Delhi, stood at the great wooden doors of the castle of Mewar. His shrewd dark eyes, lined with coal, studied everything with precision. His perfect, long dark hair, which had been brushed with such patience, would soon begin gathering sweat under his heavy crown, and his brown skin would surely darken, if he stayed any longer under this harsh desert Sun.
At least he was rid of the many troubles of life in a dead land. He felt momentarily glad that he had agreed to the Rajputs' conditions, and had come here alone, unarmoured, unarmed.
Except for one sword.
MahaRawal Ratan Singh, the Rana of Mewar, the chief of the stubborn Rajputs, hadn't come to greet him at the gate. He was received instead by Baadal Singh, the Senapati of Rajputs, and asked to follow in a curt order, highly unsuitable to be directed at a King. And he wasn't a King, he was a SULTAN. Well, he could forgive that.
He WAS going to steal the Maharani, wasn't he?
Everything in the palace was intricate. Yes, things were far richer in Delhi, but Allauddin couldn't discount the splendour these stubborn people had been able to assemble, amid this murderous desert. The doors to the inner hall opened, revealing not a courtroom as Allauddin had expected, but a private hall, occupied by five ministers, and, of course, the Rana himself. The man sat in a raised seat, unmistakable.
He had fierce eyes. Sharp and black, the coal in his eyelids much thicker than on Allauddin's. His wheatish-fair skin gleamed. The man had a long, sharp nose, high cheekbones and a strong square jaw; features so sharp, they could've been chiseled out of marble. He kept a short beard, and the ends of his moustache were curled upwards, in typical Rajput fashion. His lips, clamped in a curt half-smile, were the pinkest red he'd seen on the brown-white Rajputs.
The Rana sat on his chair like it was his throne, and like he was born on one. His crown and his Royal finery suited him, the jewels on his chest tastefully chosen to go with the attire. Proud, challenging, at ease. All at once.
Allauddin had always preferred white, thin, clean-shaven men.
Bachchas.
Men he could mount and ravage with violent passion.
This man, however. The fluidity of his eyes, the quirk of his lips, the strength of his jaw. These did things to Allauddin he hadn't felt since adolescence. When the man stood up, quick, Allauddin knew he was done for. He was a man of first impressions; if he wanted someone, he knew it at one glance. And never had he been this intensely drawn to anyone before.
"A pity I couldn't greet you myself, Great Sultan," his voice deep and husky, the Rana waved his hand in what was a welcoming gesture. "'Padharo.' I trust Badal Singh welcomed you well?"
Allauddin gave him his best smile; the smile no one had seen on him. Not any whore in his harem, not his Beghum Mehrunissa, not even his dearest Kaffur. He spread his arms, making a show of the sword.
"Ah well. Your men are certainly not as dry as your land, Ranaji."
The Rana's chin tilted a fraction upwards, as if acknowledging his jest, unsmiling. Then he smiled wide, his smile not reaching his magnetic eyes.
"You have quite the weapon there."
Oh, yes.
"This," said Allauddin, holding the sheathed sword in both his hands, in offering, "is a peace offering, dear Ranaji."
The mask never moved. He'd expected the Rajput king to be a hot-headed brute. He'd expected his words to exact some reaction, at least. If this went on, Allauddin would never be able to find a weakness.
The Rana stepped down the raised dias, crossed the distance between them in four measured steps. He stood as tall as Allauddin, if not an inch taller. Rawal Ratan's eyes never left his as he picked the sword from his hands, unsheathed and then sheathed it. His eyes dropped to it for half a second before they were on him again. His smile reached his eyes and Allauddin knew he was in trouble.
"I am pleased, Sultan."
In a moment of sheer exhilaration, something flickered in those dark eyes. Something Allauddin had thought impossible. It scared him; he wasn't supposed to feel the things he was feeling for the man - not lustful things, affectionate ones.
Of course, Allauddin's hunger was open for all to see, and there wasn't a doubt that the Rana knew. It surprised Allauddin that the stiff-necked Rajputs with their sky-high morals didn't react a sliver to him eye-fucking their Lord and Protector, one and only. If anything, he'd expected Rawal Ratan to be bothered. Disgusted.
Ah, well.
Rawal Ratan stepped back to admire the sword a little more, drawing it out and twisting his wrist in a display of speed and skill. He could see the admiration in those eyes, suddenly naked. The only way to please a seasoned warrior is with a great weapon. When Rawal Ratan looked up again, the veil that was gone from his eyes scared Allauddin further. He was falling.
"Guest is God, Sultan, and you have gifted me with a fine weapon. It is only fair that I must return the favour. Ask me anything. If it be in my power, you will have it."
"Is that so?"
Allauddin narrowed his eyes, studying the man. His robes, his ornaments, his shoes.
"You know, Ranaji, before I came here, I had heard a lot about you. Your lands, your armies, your castle... your skill."
Rawal Ratan nodded, his eyes a small bit narrowed. He was realising he'd made a mistake. Allauddin hated himself then.
All the same, he continued.
"And I'd heard of something else. A legend. Something that you have, a jewel of great value."
He turned, looking him full in the eyes, his voice a mad whisper, "Ranaji, I wish to see the famed beauty they sing of, your Maharani Padmaavati."
What happened next would've terrified Allauddin, had he been a boy. Those eyes went from naked anticipation to naked anger, to naked hatred in one second. The face flushed a deep red, and in one agile motion, Rawal Ratan kicked him in the chest, drew the sword even as he fell, and put it on his shoulder, beside his neck. It cut a thin line in the skin, and a drop of his blood slipped onto the blade. Allauddin smirked.
Rawal Ratan's wide chest was heaving like a bellow, his eyes shut tight. He was clearly having trouble, controlling his rage.
There's the Rajput in him.
Allauddin had never regretted anything he'd ever done. The countless murders, rapes, pillages, none of it. He regretted this. When Rawal Ratan opened his eyes, the cold fury he saw made him want to sink from his knees to his knees-and-elbows and rub his nose at the Rana's feet.
No.
He was a Sultan. No matter what he wanted, he carried generations of bloodshed on his head. His crown was Delhi, hard-earned with blood and betrayal and countless sins.
"If you weren't a guest," Rawal Ratan whispered, each word spitten like venom, his own name spoken with the 'l' and the 'd' drawn out like he'd never heard before, "your head would've been separate from your chest, Allauddin."
Allauddin smiled. He was Evil. He hated himself with all his being in that moment.
"But guest is God, isn't he?" He never looked away from the man's face, his want for him crazier than he'd ever felt. "Isn't he, Rawal Ratan?"
He shuddered when the sword left his neck. In a flurry of rich robes, the Rana had left.
***
"What?!"
Allauddin looked towards Rawal Ratan, bewildered. The man's lip curled along with his moustache. He'd been fooled. By bloody thick-headed Rajputs. What had he been reduced to?
He narrowed his eyes at Badal Singh, smiling blatantly, and looked at Rawal Ratan, smirking. He raised his hands, his head bowed a fraction, and smiled.
"Well, it's only fair. I trust I'll leave now?"
Rawal Ratan looked like a smug adult, watching a child who didn't know something. Something important.
"Yes, it is the official time for you to leave, Sultan, but seeing as to what your... demands, have cost us, we haven't had any time to discuss the treaty. So, I believe your stay is to be lengthened. By a bit."
Khilji didn't like the sound of that one bit. He tried to not let anything show on his face.
"Am I your prisoner, then, MahaRana of Rajputs?"
Rawal Ratan looked him up and down, smirking.
"Not yet." His eyes were jestful. "You see, we do have a certain respect for Law and Honour, here in Mewar."
So he'd been right to trust the Rajputs to act in honour. What a relief.
"Follow me, Sultan."
***
Rawal Ratan led the Sultan into his chambers. There weren't his Ministers, Advisors, or even his guards here. Allauddin, of course, sensed that, as he turned and raised a well-kempt eyebrow at him. Those mad black eyes, lined with black kajal, made Rawal Ratan want to do something, and he was way too well-bred to question what. Allauddin's face was a typical Northern face. His nose long and pointed, his jawline-under-the-beard sharp, his face just long enough. A beautiful face, indeed.
Allauddin's eyes held so much lust at any given moment that it was a surprise he didn't hump any given surface at any given time. His very form-fitting clothes did nothing to hide his impressive bulge, and from what Rawal Ratan had observed, the man had managed to not let his member swell, even once.
And yet, every time he turned those eyes at him, there was such animal want there that made Rawal Ratan's heart skip a beat.
He had two Queens. He loved them with all his heart. He had never wanted anything else. He hadn't even known he could have such a reaction, to a man. And yet, here he was, wanting to do profane things to the man in front of him. An enemy. The man who had surrounded his capital by an army. The man who would likely kill him, given half a chance.
The Gods were surely jesting.
"Seen enough?" Allauddin smirked at him, his hand flying to his robes, undoing a knot, exposing his collarbone. "I mean, I do know I'm wearing way too much, and it IS hot in here, isn't it."
Rawal Ratan cleared his throat loudly, speaking in a loud voice, looking everywhere but at the man. "So, there's the matter of the peace treaty."
"I have already agreed to all your conditions, Ranaji, my armies are headed home as we speak. What's left to discuss?"
He couldn't help the anger that flashed across his eyes.
"Why, your intentions, of course."
Allauddin sneered. "What of them?"
"Their nature. You see, your - people - don't have much in the way of... civilisation. You've plundered and looted for as long as you've been alive. Your uncle killed the Sultan to become one, and you killed your uncle to take his place. You, married his daughter, and kept dipping your member in everything available, all the same. I know you, Allauddin, and I don't think you're thick enough to think that I'll discount your stunt, especially since it involved my WIFE."
Rawal Ratan hadn't intended it to be so harsh. It was a big slip-up, by all the rules of diplomacy in any book. But seeing the man looking at him like that, knowing all that he's done, and wanting him, all the same, so urgently, made him lose his temper.
Allauddin, however, seemed nonplussed. His lip curled, his hand went to his short thick beard, as if he was thinking. He looked up at Rawal Ratan, smiling with narrowed eyes.
"You astonish me, Rawal Ratan. You speak of morals and manners, and hate us for what we do."
Allauddin took to strolling, walking towards a small pool in a corner, filled with lotuses, sunlight from a window catching on the water, the reflections dancing across his anguished face.
"But do tell me, is it me or you who has Delhi under his thumb? What do you have, this wasteland? This little castle?"
Allauddin was clearly worked up now, gesticulating wildly, face livid. When he looked at Rawal Ratan, his flowing eyes held so much hatred. The kind of hatred that isn't even possible without something waiting under it.
"A dynasty isn't made by playing to the rules- and what have you even seen of the world - where do you think YOUR spawn will end, centuries from now? I'm the monster, aren't I?! Well YOU don't know that your descendants won't become what I am; that they won't go slicing noses and heads of their own women, to keep them in check. You love honour and law, don't you - you don't even know the POINT of honour! Of law! You hardly know anything of value, at all, and YOU, young lad, don't get to tell ME what's right."
He was right. The man flailing his arms about, clearly affected by Rawal Ratan's words was, actually, making sense. Rawal Ratan WAS a lad. He was only twenty-five, while Allauddin was thirty-three. He was built like a beast, where Rawal Ratan was lean. Of the two of them, both knew who was the seasoned one.
"We're lions - *I* am a lion," he continued. "A lion hunts, and he gets what he wants. If I want your lands, I'll have your lands! If I want YOU, I'll have you! If I want your WIFE-"
That was when Rawal Ratan lost it. He crossed the space between them in a flash, his fist connected with Allauddin's face, taking him by shock.
Then it began.
They struggled and tussled like two lions, forgetting that there was a sword on the Rana's hip, trying to lock the other into a trap. Allauddin was strong as a rock, Rawal Ratan fluid as the air. In their frenzy, they rolled to the ground, their crowns falling here and there, diplomacy and kingly games forgotten. It was only a matter of masculinity, dominance, violence, hatred.
And infinite desire.
Finally - finally - Rawal Ratan managed to pin the big man under him, his knee and hands keeping him well-trapped, despite his many struggles. It was hard, indeed. Like trying to tame a drunk bull. Then, Allauddin looked up at him, his face flushed, a little hair falling over his face, eyes full of frustration and hatred and want. Looking down at the man, he could feel his own hair tickling his face. Did his own eyes hold everything Allauddin's did?
"Come on, get the dagger, Rawal. Finish it."
So he knew about the dagger hidden in his robes. He exposed his neck to Rawal Ratan, his breaths like bellows, his legs giving up their fight. Rawal Ratan wanted nothing more than to lick and bite at the throbbing vein in that neck.
When Allauddin looked at him next, Rawal Ratan couldn't help it. He could breathe the man's heady scent, see so clearly how his face showed what he was thinking. He grinded down against the man, staring intently into his eyes. He found Allauddin hard. And himself, harder.
Allauddin smiled then, a faint smile. No shock or surprise there, just the bliss of a prey well-caught. The smile that said - 'fucking finally.' Rawal Ratan hated that smile, so he chose to dip his head and take that mouth into his, his lips softly locking between the other man's.
It was warm and wet and tasted of something that deserts didn't have. Allauddin growled into his mouth, and Rawal Ratan dropped all pretense of control, his hands leaving the Sultan's wrists, catching into the thick locks on his head, like spun black silk. He could smell the man's musk this close, and it was driving him mad with want.
The moment his own hands were free, Allauddin took to feeling the body of the man above him. His back, his chest, his ample behind. He found that touching the robes and not the skin of the man was too disappointing, and came to grab at the hair and the neck of the Rana, as they continued grinding into each other. Unlike himself, the Rajput oiled his hair, and oiled it well. Not too little, not too much, just the perfect amount, aimed at driving him crazy. Their beards grazed against each other as they clawed and nipped at each other's jawlines and necks, marks blooming on their skins.
Sure enough, Rawal Ratan's patience died first, and he found himself separating from those incredibly pink, kiss-swollen lips. He tore at the complicated robes of the other king, and as soon as he caught sight of a dark oval nipple, he put his eager mouth over it. The sounds that came from Allauddin told him that he was right. He worked expertly at that bud, having had years of experience with his Queens, and moved to fondle the other one with his hand. Allauddin's hairy muscle of a chest couldn't be farther from what he was used to, but it didn't matter.
Just then, Allauddin grabbed him, pulled him up and kissed him roughly, all teeth and tongue. He responded with everything he had, his hand slipping inside the atrocious clothes to find the firm muscles of the man's chest, of his taut belly, his sides, his ribs, and down and down and down.
He felt coarse hair and grabbed Allauddin's cock as soon as he felt it; never one for quiet foreplay. He was big, and Rawal Ratan was somehow surprised to find that it was cut. Even if it should've been a given, considering. Allauddin moaned like a greedy concubine at that, invading his tongue inside Rawal Ratan's mouth. This Minotaur of a muscle-man, reduced to a whimpering mess at one touch of Rawal Ratan's fingers. He decided it was too good to stop, so he did everything he'd ever done to his own cock. He played with the head, massaged the balls and under them, and came up to finger the slit. Allauddin twitched under him then, and Rawal Ratan pulled away to watch the beautiful face beneath him.
Allauddin's wet brown lips were open in a moan, his robes opened in the front to show his hairy warrior-body, his hands fumbling with Rawal Ratan's clothes with some success. Allauddin' eyes focused on his face, and seeing his chance, the Sultan raised his head, taking Rawal Ratan's nipple in his sinfully warm mouth, and everything went black.
He had never been touched like that. Bolts of electricity flooded through his body, that small bud shutting his brain off. He closed his eyes and growled, and kissed into Allauddin's hair, inhaling lungfuls of it. Being pleasured like that with the bearded mouth was a torture, and Rawal Ratan wasn't too fond of torture. So when Allauddin pulled off to bite at the other nipple, Rawal Ratan slid down his body, and in the small moment as the man's eyes widened in sheer surprise, Rawal Ratan engulfed his cock.
It was a foreign sensation, the weight and taste of another man's cock in his mouth. The smell of the thick hair in his crotch.
Plus, it was massive.
Tales of Allauddin's generous member weren't untrue, then. He pulled at Allauddin's pants, stripping them off of his hairy legs. Allauddin's feet, having toed off their shoes, were rubbing across the now exposed ribs and ass of the Rajput. Rawal Ratan's dhoti was undone somewhere between the nipple-sucking and the getting-his-nipple-sucked, and was pooled around his ankles. His smallclothes seemed to be interesting for Allauddin - the man kept playing with them with his toe.
A flurry of noises escaped the Sultan, sinful utterances drawn from him by a flick of the Rajput's tongue, or a sudden hollowing of cheeks, or one tastefully drawn-out humm. His hair kept messing with his movements, so Allauddin rescued him by grabbing his hair with his hand, only a few stray strands flowing free.
Of course, that came with his head being used for the man's pleasure, but he didn't particularly mind. He didn't mind the thick, dark shaft, or the impossibly pink, fat head. He didn't even mind when he gagged a little on the monster. He looked up with watery eyes at the Sultan. His hair was a mess, his eyesbrows furrowed in pleasure. He moved on to lick under the head, the hand never leaving his hair, down the shaft, and licked into his balls. When he took one into his mouth, Allauddin looked at him, their eyes connecting, and he bucked, sounds of surprised pleasure slipping from his tongue. After he was done torturing the man enough, Rawal Ratan went back to the cock, sucking intently, until his jaw started aching a little. Allauddin seemed to have the stamina of a horse.
Yes, that did turn on the Rana. A lot.
He pulled off of Allauddin's cock with an obscene pop. Before the man had even had time to react, he rolled him over, maneuvering him on his hands and knees quickly. Even as he was getting into position, Rawal Ratan, hungry for his taste - his smell - began licking at his hairy behind, almost causing Allauddin to fall on his face, his head dropped, his long hair falling with it. Rawal Ratan found the pucker and licked into it, and that's when Allauddin screamed; everything he was trying not to say slipping past his mouth. That was encouragement enough.
He ravaged the muscled ass of the Sultan, his fingers parting the buttocks to expose the hole further, kneading the flesh, using his own facial hair to full capacity. He started biting down into the mounds of flesh, licking in circles around and inside, and then. He put his tongue inside the man, and Allauddin screamed, muttering prayers and curses at the same time.
"F-ffingers," he croaked, each word a shudder, "put your fingers inside me, Rawal."
Rawal Ratan moved off, wiping his moustache and his beard, growling. "No."
Allauddin muttered a thousand curses, turning, and then hissed needily.
"What the fuck are you-"
"You will call me RANAJI, Allauddin. Not Rawal Ratan, not Rawal, not Ratan. Understand?"
Allauddin trembled, his eyes flashing nude with vulgar desire. He nodded vigorously, "Yes, yes. Yes - Ranaji - yes, now please. *Please.*"
"Of course."
Rawal Ratan stood, ignored the irritated sound the Sultan made, and walked inside the other room. He came back with a bottle of oil.
Allauddin hadn't moved.
His hair hung from his head, matted.
Probably smelling of his sweet smell.
The muscles in his arms, firm as stone.
His robe was still around him, covering scanty parts of his shoulders, and back.
The robes of the Sultan.
When Allauddin looked up, Rawal Ratan's cock jumped.
"What," drawled Allauddin, cocking an eyebrow, "you've done this before? Is this your official fuck-room, or something?"
Rawal Ratan moved over to him, into position, shifted Allauddin's hair so it fell to the left, leaving them free to kiss.
"No. It's my bedchambers, of course."
Allauddin looked the room over, properly this time. This seemed to be more of an office, with the chairs and tables. The bed was probably beyond the door. If they had chairs and tables, why were they on the fucking floor? He was thankful for the rug, though.
"And you didn't even ask me to the bed! What poor manners, Ranaji, honestly."
Allauddin turned to him, his face jesting, turning into desire in a flash as Rawal Ratan smirked, putting an oiled finger against his hole, massaging around. Teasing.
"A bedroom is for a Maharani, Allauddin," Rawal Ratan bent over him, whispered, kissing him briefly, "and you're not my Maharani."
"What am I then?" He trembled.
A slut?
A whore?
A beast?
Rawal Ratan pressed the finger in, biting into the ear, whispering wetly against it.
"Well you're my Sultan, of course, aren't you."
Allauddin made an incoherent noise at that, something between a sigh and a whimper. Rawal Ratan liked that, so he did things with his fingers he'd only done in imagination. And the results didn't disappoint. The warrior-king beneath him was panting and hissing like a bitch, his muscles flexed, his back arched. Rawal Ratan greedily bit into any and every mound of firm flesh he found, the shoulders, the back, the arms. He clawed and pulled at the robes hanging from his shoulders, exposing all too much, and all too nothing.
The perfect amount.
The sight of that ass raised in the air, trying to meet his fingers, aroused him so much that he withdrew them. Ignoring the hiss from under him, he put his oiled cock at the entrance, lining himself up.
"W-wait," whispered Allauddin urgently, "don't you-"
He was already head-deep by that point, hissing with the bliss of it. Allauddin was incredibly tight, and hot. Still, Rawal Ratan froze, caught in the moment. He wanted to thrust like an animal, ruin the man below him, draw out in case he was causing pain, and blast his seed inside there and then.
"What," he managed to breathe out, his voice strained, his head over Allauddin's right shoulder, his falling hair tickling the older man's skin.
"Nothing," Allauddin hissed through clenched teeth, "keep going now, keep going - yess - fill me up Ranaji, oh yes-"
And that was how Rawal Ratan found himself buried inside Allauddin Khilji. His eyes wondered at the sight of the ample ass engulfing his member, his hands massagibg the wide expanse of the back of the man, playing with his nipples, to finally rest on his nape, as he waited for a sign.
"Ohh," Allauddin took deep breaths, his muscles moving slowly. "It's been forever since I've - and you're big, Ranaji - a moment-"
Rawal Ratan's finger came away from Allauddin's neck with a drop of blood, the wound he'd given him. He drew out his tongue and licked the thin line, making Allauddin hiss harshly as he adjusted. Then he moved away, speaking into his ear.
"Maharani Padmavati, is my wife, Allauddin. She's the Queen of Mewar, and a woman of her own rights, and opinions. You will cease pursuit of her, understand?"
Khilji had frozen under him.
Then, he laughed, tilting back his head. "Oh, Ranaji. I saw her - even if it was a glimpse; and I've seen you." He turned his head back to half-kiss the man, and Rawal Ratan couldn't help but respond. "All of you. Trust me, I've forgotten your wife already. Now," he pushed back against Rawal Ratan, grinding his ass into his balls and his thick mat of hair, "MOVE."
Something gave way inside Rawal Ratan in that moment, something more than lust. He didn't care, in that moment. As he drew out slowly, making the man hiss, he dropped his head to kiss any skin he could find. He wanted this. With all of him. He bit and nipped and left his marks on any strip of skin he could find, as he moved rhythmically in and out of the hot furnace that was bellowing under him. He could picture Allauddin's flushed, bearded face, his eyes rolling back, his thick arms flexing with both their weight.
The image drove him crazy with want, enough to make him thrust into him earnestly. Hard and fast. Suddenly, Allauddin bucked under him, screaming, "Ohh- oh fuck, yess! There, there again -Allaahh! Ahh, Ranaji, you-"
Rawal Ratan grabbed the man by his hips and pounded into him roughly, fast and faster. Allauddin turned his head to kiss him, and he obliged. Then he gripped his Sultan by his hair, pulling back his head, biting at his neck, and resumed the punishing rhythm, slapping sounds filling the room. He found that he was grunting things, too.
"Allauddin," he said, drawing out the 'l' and the 'd' in his name. "Allauddin, you're so good, so beautiful like this, look at you, so greedy for me, you want this so much, don't you, Sultan-"
Allauddin whimpered under him, "Touch me," he said, raising himself a little higher, "touch me, Ranaji - touch my cock."
Rawal Ratan held him up against himself, their bodies closer than ever before, shifting so they were on the knees, him holding his Sultan by one arm while the other did sinful things to his cock.
Allauddin's hand found Rawal Ratan's ass, reaching behind and kneading it, his other hand gripping the back of his head by his hair, his own head leaning on Ranaji's shoulder; the other man completely in control of his pleasure. Rawal Ratan bit down on his earlobe, breathing hotly in his ear, his thick beard tickling the sensitive skin of his neck, his cock pounding him as he met the thrusts halfway, fucking himself on the cock, Ranaji finding that sweet spot inside him over and over again, and when that rough hand fingered his slit, he knew he was done for. Hardly a minute of this torture and he was straining his voice, screaming the God's name and that of his Rana, and spilling into his hand.
Rawal Ratan felt the furnace grip him like a vice, the pressure all too much to take, and when Allauddin screamed his name, the grip on his hair almost painful, he shoved two cum-stained fingers down that mouth, receiving a whimper, and came the next second, Alladuddin's mouth sucking on his fingers, his ass clenching on his cock as he filled it.
He fell limp on Allauddin's strong back, the orgasm taking all his energy. He'd never climaxed with such an intensity, ever before. He wasn't allowed to be filthy with his Queens. He had to respect them, even when he was at his most vulnerable.
What he'd just witnessed, what Allauddin had allowed him, was pure passion.
He took in deep breaths, finally slipping out of Allauddin, his cock still half-hard, somehow, and managed to stand up. On shaky legs.
Something ugly pricked his insides then. Something way too much like shame. He'd never known that this was inside him, buried under layers of normalcy. That this was the core of all his desires.
He looked down at his sticky hand and hastily wiped it on a cloth, lying on some desk. He tied in his smallclothes, and picked up the discarded dhoti. He wore it around his waist, pleating it hastily, found his upper clothes, adjusted them, tying the knots.
"Where's my crown," he said, absently.
"Hmm?" Allauddin, who was still lying on the floor, facedown, looked up. His brow furrowed and his face hardened.
"What?"
There was a hardness in his voice that the Rana didn't like one bit.
"I am MahaRawal Ratan Singh, MahaRana of Mewar, Lord and Protector of the Rajputs," he shouted, enunciating each word, "and I need my crown. Is that enough information?"
Allauddin turned over, his open robes exposing his taut body, his hairy muscular legs, his limp cock and his abused hole. He had a nonchalant look on his face. When Rawal Ratan turned to him, he smirked.
"What." He hissed.
"Nothing, RANAJI."
"Shut up," he said, flinching with all the disdain he could muster. "And get dressed, you look like a whore."
Allauddin coloured at that, stood up, his long hair wild, his face angry. He walked over to him, surprising Rawal Ratan with how he could command such authority in such a vulnerable state.
He grabbed him by his neck, spitting out, hissing like a snake, "If you're A MahaRana, RAWAL RATAN, then I'm the fucking Emperor of Delhi - I've killed a hundred kings like you, understand? Boiled them in oil, flayed their skins, raped their women, used and then sold their children. Insult me again, Rawal, and your little Marwad will burn."
Something ugly smiled inside Rawal Ratan at that. Something cruel and nothing like what he was. He smirked.
"You know you really do make a nice whore. Maybe I will take you as prisoner, after all. Maybe I should call the guards in and let them see that the Great Sultan of Delhi bends over for their Ranaji. Maybe they'll want to use you, too."
Allauddin snatched the dagger from his robes before he had time to react, and placed it on his neck. His eyes were wild, his face full of hatred.
"No one," he hissed, "no one, has spoken to me like that, and lived. Tell me why I shouldn't plunge this in, boy."
"Go ahead."
Allauddin looked at him like he had before. That look that was so many things, it confused Rawal Ratan. That was when he noticed the tiny bruise that was forming on his jaw where he'd hit him. Just as Rawal Ratan was about to raise his hand to touch it, Allauddin sighed, dropped the dagger, and walked away. He found his clothes, put them on, adjusted his robe over them, knotted it, all the while not facing Rawal Ratan. It took all in him not to stare at the built back or the built backside that was on display.
When he turned, his face was dead.
"I'm sorry," said Rawal Ratan, surprising himself. He looked down.
Allauddin seemed to be studying him, his head tilted, eyes narrowed. He dragged a chair and sat down, putting on his royal slippers.
He scratched his beard absently, and then chuckled. "Wow. A Rajput, apologising for something. To a Khilji. Of his own accord. And I'd thought that what just happened, was surprising."
Then he looked into Rawal Ratan's eyes again, and he stilled. "Well," said the Sultan, almost a whisper, "what's love, if not humiliation?"
Rawal Ratan frowned at him.
As if in answer, Allauddin smiled a sad smile it would've been impossible to imagine on his face. "Yes, I know, it's too quick, isn't it. But I know. I know," he said, staring in into the little pool in the corner, filled with lotuses, "because I've never loved anyone." Then he looked at Rawal Ratan, and said, "And the way this hurts. It has to be love, hasn't it."
He laughed then, shaking his head, as if all hope had been lost.
"When do you leave?" Rawal Ratan didn't know what he was doing.
Allauddin looked up at him, eyes wide. "Tomorrow," he whispered.
"Expect me in the morning, then. For Lunch. And the treaty."
He wasn't looking up at the man; couldn't bring himself to. This was entirely fucked up. It was a monster he was talking to, not some hopeless romantic. He'd done things Rawal Ratan couldn't even imagine. He was an enemy. And yet, he craved the touch of the man. The smell of his hair, the taste of his skin. Of his mouth. Of his-
He was surprised when he found Allauddin in front of him, pressing down his crown over his head. He wasn't wearing his own, and desperately wanting to do something, Rawal Ratan, a grown man of twenty-five, found refuge in crouching on the floor, looking for it, picking it up, and placing it on Allauddin's head, smiling a little.
"Hmm, fancy crown jewel you've got there."
Allauddin took Rawal Ratan's face in his hand, caressing his cheek, his lip, his neck, his nape. Looking intently into his eyes.
"I understand," said the Sultan. "See, the world's not split into black and white. You're a ruler; you must've made choices that were difficult? The idea that some things are always right, and others are always wrong, seems dumb to me. Of course, I'm not saying I'm a good man. Never did, never will. But. Don't hate yourself for - for what we did. You're a rare beauty, Rana, don't wither away into dust."
Rawal Ratan looked at his Sultan, frowning. "But I do. Hate myself; it's a sin, it's-"
"Rawal Ratan, you must know that I'm not a devout man, don't you. And you made me scream the Allah's name - as far as I'm concerned, your cock stripped off some of my sins, love."
Before Rawal Ratan had time to respond, Allauddin tilted his chin up and kissed him, more tenderly than he'd been kissed by any of his wives.
"Come on, then, Ranaji, you're the Lord and Protector of the Rajputs and I've... got a camp to return to. It's getting late."
"Why not stay here, then?"
Allauddin laughed with him, and they kissed again.
"Ranaji," said Allauddin, gesturing him to lead the way.
"Great Sultan," said Rawal Ratan, gesturing him to follow. "D'you think they heard?"
Allauddin frowned. "If Rajput architecture is really that-"
He turned at the abrupt, uncalled-for elbowing, and said, very eloquently, "Who the fuck cares, you're their Rana. If they make noise, fuck them, too."
Rawal Ratan shook his head, and opened the door. Gora Singh and Baadal Singh saluted him, their faces as blank as they'd always been.
Rajput architecture was fine, indeed, then. Allauddin seemed to be thinking the same thing, glancing up at the artwork and along the walls. When their eyes met, they exchaned a look that could've been an entire conversation.
At the Gates, they parted ways, meeting in an embrace for the world to see, Rawal Ratan getting lungfulls of that hair, enough to sustain him through the night.
"Until tomorrow?"
"Until tomorrow."