Work Text:
by Vera d'Auriac
Ali, looking back, could see the moment everything had changed. Lawrence had insisted on riding back onto the anvil for Gasim, and Ali had been certain he would never see Lawrence again. He had screamed and torn his clothes, his anger as blinding as a sandstorm. But then he had turned away from Lawrence’s retreating form, unable to watch him disappear onto the moonlit anvil.
At the wells, he had been sullen, unable to speak or think clearly. Lawrence was gone, and now he must lead these men and make cause with Auda. It was not the responsibility that plagued his thoughts, though. It was his own fury with Lawrence. He would not have been half so angry at any other man who had gone back for Gasim. Any man who would return to the anvil with the sun about to rise for the sake of someone careless enough to fall from his camel was a fool and beneath his notice. Ali knew he would normally be glad to rid himself of such a man. But he could not find pleasure in being rid of Lawrence, and he could not convince himself that Lawrence was a fool, even if he had done the most foolish thing Ali had ever seen.
Then Lawrence had ridden out of the desert, not only alive, but with Gasim. And before Lawrence had even taken a sip of the water Ali had offered him, he had said, “Nothing is written.”
“El Aurens... Truly, for some men, nothing is written unless they write it,” he had answered.
And in that reply, in the realization that what he said was true, Ali had felt something within his soul shift. Something fundamental had changed, and he would never be able to look at Lawrence the same. Before him was not merely a man, Ali realized, but something infinitely more precious. Lawrence was water and shade and sustenance. Lawrence was his life, and Ali would spend it in service to this man of both flesh and bone with a hint of the divine.
The next morning, Ali had dressed Lawrence in his new clothes and given him a new name. The joy he took in both made Ali’s heart swell. He had pleased the one whose pleasure was most dear to him, and he thought he might now achieve anything. Of course, Ali was nothing compared to Lawrence, and it was only through Lawrence’s intelligence and skill that Auda was pacified, and a blood feud was not sparked there on the outskirts of Aqaba.
They rode to Auda’s camp, a place richer and more alive than anything Ali and the other men who had been on campaign with Faisal had seen for a long while. Auda tried to impress them with his wealth and indifference, but Lawrence won him to their cause as Ali had known he would. Lawrence could not be denied when he held the pen and you were the paper.
It was with these thoughts that Ali returned to his tent. Inside, he stopped and closed his eyes and thought of Lawrence’s magnificent radiance, of how he had overcome Auda with his very presence. That must have been how he survived the anvil. He outshone the sun itself.
Ali smiled, even chuckled a bit. But then he heard his text flap rustle, and he swung around to meet the intruder, ready to defend himself against any of the Howeitat who dared challenge him. But he was met by two cold, blue eyes. Ali had drawn his dagger, but he found himself entirely unmanned, and he dropped it to the ground.
“If even you are this wary, you make me worry for the rest of the men,” Lawrence said, wearing one of his little half grins that Ali still struggled to interpret.
“I am used to people announcing themselves before entering my tent,” Ali answered, unable to pull his gaze away from those blue eyes. Could they see inside of him? Did they know how he had felt ever since Lawrence, like a miracle, had returned with Gasim? “You, of course, are always welcome.”
Lawrence’s smile slowly spread. “Am I? I am glad to hear it. That being the case, can you sheathe your knife?”
Ali could not comprehend Lawrence’s words. Knife? What was he talking about? He was still trying to understand when Lawrence laughed and started to bend down. Knife! Of course, Ali realized. The one he had dropped when he had seen Lawrence. He hurried to get the dagger and throw it in the ocean should Lawrence wish it gone.
They reached for the hilt at the same moment, their hands brushing together. A passion he had never before experienced raced through his body. “Electric” he had heard someone once explain it in Cairo. Their hands closed a circuit and now the power in Lawrence’s body also flowed through his.
A heartbeat later, and their eyes met as well. Ali felt Lawrence’s gaze penetrate into his soul as surely as he felt Lawrence’s hand. More incredibly, he saw Lawrence’s soul now laid bare for him, and Ali could not believe what he saw. Within them both was a need, as hot as the sun and uncompromising as a mountain. Desire flooded the tent and enveloped them. The dagger was brushed aside as neither of them could countenance anything between them.
Their lips met.
It was a kiss overflowing with purpose and fire. It could in no way be called chaste, and neither of them questioned that they must have more. Lawrence sank his fingers into Ali’s hair, deepening the kiss, his tongue probing, while Ali tore at their robes, needing to see and feel Lawrence’s beautiful pale skin.
Lawrence’s mouth moved to Ali’s throat, to the side under his ear, down, back up, and it left Ali breathless. He wondered if Lawrence could feel his heart pounding under his lips. It made his hands tremble, when what he wanted most in the world was to finish removing their clothes. To touch his skin to Lawrence’s would be a taste of paradise here on earth.
“I’ve wanted this since I first saw you ride out of the desert to find me at your well,” Lawrence whispered.
“You hated me then,” Ali replied, hating himself in the memory, for how he must have hurt Lawrence.
“I hated that Tafas was dead. But I never hated you. You were a vision of everything I desire—strength and beauty and confidence.” Lawrence left Ali’s neck, and Ali finally pushed Lawrence’s robes and tunic off his shoulders, exposing the creamy, smooth skin. Lawrence kissed him, slow and deliberate. “By the time I saw you again in Faisal’s tent, I wanted to strip you bare and fall at your knees.”
Ali held his breath, stunned, unable to find the words to answer this confession. Lawrence had wanted him? But Lawrence was the extraordinary one, with the blessings either of Allah or every devil. How could he have found anything to desire in Ali?
“Do not lose your confidence now,” said Lawrence with a smile and another light kiss. “Not now that we are both so close to getting what we want.” And with that, Lawrence shrugged out of his clothes and set to work removing what remained of Ali’s.
In moments, they were both, at last, naked as Ali had desired them. Only a small, dim lamp lit the tent, but it was enough for Ali to see Lawrence in his magnificence. Thin, pale, perfect. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, running his fingers down Lawrence’s throat, across his chest, over his nipple. Lawrence shuddered, and Ali moaned at how it made his own erection ache.
Lawrence leaned forward, this kiss even softer than those that had come before. “Make love to me, Ali. I long to feel you inside of me.”
“I... I cannot. Lawrence, here, for a man to be as you suggest.” He could not go on. Surely, Lawrence could not mean what he was asking for. They could do something else, but not that.
Lawrence only grinned, however. “I know what your people say of such men. It is not all that different from what mine say. But I tell you, Ali, I do not care what anyone says other than you. And I very much want you to say ‘Yes.’”
Ali leaned back from Lawrence, his fingers trailing over pale skin until his hand fell into his own lap. He wanted Lawrence intimately. And in his youth, he had done to other boys what Lawrence asked of him now. He had enjoyed it immensely, and the boys had seemed to like it as well once he had learned the trick with the sheep oil. But boys who allowed that, if people found out, they were made outcasts. Perhaps this was why Lawrence took such pity on Daud and Farraj. He knew what this love cost some men, and he wished to redeem those boys for each other.
Whatever happened here, would Ali look at Lawrence differently once they left this tent? Would simply knowing that Lawrence not only accepted but courted the lesser position with a man change things between them? It would have to. Wouldn’t it?
Lawrence stroked Ali’s cheek until Ali closed his eyes and leaned into that gentle caress.
“Listen to me, Ali. These rules and customs you are so worried about mean nothing to me. As you said, nothing is written unless I write it myself. And I am writing your name upon my soul. Please, take me as if I were entirely yours, because I am.”
Ali could no longer argue with Lawrence or himself. If Lawrence wished to submit to Ali, then Ali would have him. Ali embraced Lawrence and kissed him as though nothing else in the world mattered, because it did not. Lawrence went limp in his arms and sighed into his mouth. It marked complete surrender, and Lawrence now belonged to him. But did Lawrence know how thoroughly Ali also belonged to him?
Thick rugs served as a floor in Ali’s tent, and he stretched Lawrence out on the rugs now. For a long moment, Ali hovered above, soaking in the most beautiful view it had ever been his fortune to witness. But when Lawrence’s lips curled into one of his knowing smiles, Ali could hold himself back no longer, and he fell upon Lawrence like a hungry beast who had finally won his prey. Unlike prey in the wild, though, Lawrence welcomed his ravaging, sighing into Ali’s mouth and groping at his back. Ali kissed his mouth, his throat, his shoulders. He could taste the salty sweat of Lawrence’s skin and feel arousal everywhere their bodies met.
“You will do as I ask,” Lawrence said in a tone Ali thought might be more statement than question.
“I thought my answer was clear,” Ali answered, his lips tracing Lawrence’s jaw. “Let me get something and I will show you for certain.”
He had to climb over Lawrence to reach the small bag that would usually hang from his saddle. It contained a few comforts, including a small tin of sheep oil that felt good on the skin if one got a bit too much sun on flesh not used to the fierce glare. Of course, it also had this use, as he had found as an excited boy only learning what it meant to want. Now, though, he would be employing it to gratify the extreme desire that as a fumbling boy he could never have imagined. He removed the lid from the tin.
Staring at his hands, still struggling to believe this was happening, he whispered, “If you roll over, I can prepare you.”
It was only when Lawrence chuckled that Ali finally looked up at him. Shaking his head, Lawrence reached out a hand to stroke Ali’s cheek. With eyes dancing, Lawrence said, “And why would I do that? You’re such a vision that I would much rather look at you than some pillow.”
“But—”
A hand closed over Ali’s mouth.
“Don’t you want to see what you do to me? Don’t you long to read on my face what it is you write on my body with your own?”
Ali trembled at the thought, while at the same moment he marveled at Lawrence’s wantonness. No man or boy he had known was so open about his own desires. For a heartbeat, it made Ali nervous and awkward, but then in his following breath, he found Lawrence too impossibly enticing to say no to in any particular he might request. “Yes, Lawrence. I wish for this.”
Still smiling, Lawrence guided Ali to his side and coated Ali’s fingers with the oil. From there, however, Ali needed no guidance. His hand slipped between Lawrence’s legs, first one finger and then a second probing at his entrance. Lawrence’s lips parted in anticipation, and Ali pressed slowly inside. Seemingly of their own will, Lawrence’s hips lifted and he pushed against Ali’s hand. Ali took the opportunity to adjust a pillow under Lawrence, and both grunted their approval at this new situation.
Ali moved back and forth inside Lawrence, gently twisting and sometimes brushing against the special spot within. This last would make Lawrence writhe and pant, his own erection dripping onto his stomach. Ali’s erection leaked against him and ached to be touched. But he dared not even let it brush against something for fear that he would prove himself a liar and never manage to make it inside Lawrence.
Lawrence—beautiful, panting, needy Lawrence. Ali could still not believe the most magnificent man longed to be taken by him. And Ali could tell that Lawrence was now ready for this surrender. He would eagerly accept Ali. The idea made Ali throb.
With his free hand, Ali grabbed the tin once more. His fingers quivered, but he knew that he must coat himself to make certain everything happened as it should in order to make them both comfortable and happy. But while he still struggled, Lawrence took the tin away and put his own fingers inside.
“Let me,” he said so softly, Ali strained to make out the words. “I’ve wanted to touch you ever since I walked in the tent.”
Ali smiled. “So, you came in here planning this? I should have guessed.”
“I’ve been trying to plan this since the well, and if I don’t touch you now, I might tear this camp apart and burn it all to the ground.”
Ali wanted to make some sort of clever remark, but before any words, clever or otherwise, entered his head, Lawrence’s fingers wrapped around his erection. It took every ounce of his will and concentration not to spend immediately. Even though he was only trying to prepare Ali for what was to come, he could tell that Lawrence had extremely talented hands. Would they meet like this again? Would Lawrence come to his tent every night now? If he did, Ali would demand Lawrence show him the full extent of what might be accomplished with those long, dexterous fingers.
“Now, Ali,” Lawrence said as his hand twisted off the end. “Make love to me.”
Ali had taken the boys of his youth from behind, but he already knew that Lawrence would refuse such a suggestion, so he climbed between Lawrence’s legs after quickly wiping off his hands. Lawrence bent his legs, hips still up on the pillow, inviting Ali in. He entered.
Ali moaned and Lawrence gasped. Slowly, they began to move, Ali pushing deeper, pulling back, Lawrence rising to meet him and falling. Bending awkwardly over him, because he needed this so badly, Ali claimed Lawrence’s mouth and began to thrust. “Aurens. Oh Allah, Aurens!”
“I have written us a dream, Ali. And I never want to wake up.”
Ali could no longer see or think clearly. He felt and needed, and he wanted nothing but his pleasure and Lawrence’s. Between them, Lawrence’s erection rubbed across their stomachs, and Ali sensed his own crisis coming. Frantic in every way, biting at Lawrence’s mouth as much as kissing it, hand pulling at smooth blond hair, Ali slipped his other hand between them and wrapped it around Lawrence. A soft sound, something not quite a groan or a sigh, escaped his lips and brushed across Ali’s own lips. From there, they moved and groped, chasing an outlet for the desire overwhelming them. Then as suddenly as Ali had understood Lawrence’s wishes when they had reached for the knife, they were both spilling in and across each other.
Ali collapsed on Lawrence, as unwilling to move as he was incapable. Their bodies twined together, skin melding into one, a complete mutual surrender to the glory of one body joining another. Soft strokes brushed across Ali’s back, and equally delicate words fluttered across his ear. It took a moment for Ali to begin making them out.
“I loved you, and so I wrote my will across the sky in stars, that your eyes might be shining for me.”
Ali kissed Lawrence’s neck, a sleepy, blissful smile on his lips. “What is this? Are you quoting one of your British masters?”
Lawrence laughed and tightened his hold, which Ali willingly accepted. “No. Not a master. Just something of my own I am working on.”
Ali propped himself up so that he could see the mischievous twinkle in the lovely blue eyes. “You are a poet and would write even with the stars, then?”
“With you, I will write a new world.”