Concupiscent
Lusty, passionate; typically used in a sexual sense.
(kon-kuh-piss-shent)
Jealousy. Such a distasteful emotion. An emotion he'd thought impossible for him to feel. Yet why was it so suffocating? So deeply rooted in his being that it choked off all sense of logic in his mind. It was a thick emotion that tasted of bitter syrup, filling his pallet to the point of intoxication. It bound him. It weighed him down. His squared shoulders stiffened in disdain as he watched crowds of ogling men flock about the stage. It took all the discipline drilled into his head to keep him from storming onto the stage and dragging the object of their lusts away from such ravenous eyes.
A quiet calm settled on his features like a persistent fog. Yet occasional glimpses of a harsher light would cut through the density. Watching the dancers on stage spin and twirl, shaking their hips from side to side, and hearing the hoots of horny men was not good for his heart. He needed to take his mind off of this somehow. For the longest time he'd been immovable despite goading of drunken allies and flirtatious women.
Just a glass of wine, they said.
A little alcohol won't hurt, they said.
It is a festival after all, they said.
He finally went along with it.
The chatter silenced. The lights faded. The music died. The blazing bonfires, reduced to smoldering embers. The party was over and the people had begun taking their leave. A few drunks lay strewn across tables, chairs, and the ground. Someone would see to them sooner or later. Normally he would help out, but another held his attention captive.
Just across the way, a girl of red and white stood alone at the edge of the silver lined sea. A pale moon hung overhead, its ghostly rays illuminating the silk that slipped across the girl's threadbare skin, contrasting the crimson locks that trailed ever so gently in the salted breeze.
Beautiful.
She was only a few meters away. Her, at the edge of the sea. Him, at the edge of the concrete sidewalk. If he so much as took a few steps forward, he'd only need to reach out his hands and she would be in his arms. Where she should be. Just a few steps. Just one stretch. Just one-
"Masrur...san? What… what are you doing?"
Masrur shuddered back to reality. Glancing down, his eyes widened a fraction. She was standing right in front of him, pressed up against his chest with a flustered look etched across her features. Those rubied orbs stared back at him in confusion. He faltered. Why… why was she here?
The man's gaze trailed lower. Then, fixed on the arms that were wrapped about her doll-like waist.
His arms.
"...Nothing, Morgiana." Masrur finally responded after an agonizingly awkward pause, releasing Morgiana from the safety of his arms. Damn it. He'd only been thinking about wanting to do that. He hadn't actually meant for his body to move on its own accord. In that moment, he'd allowed his baser instincts control of his body, blinding his mind for the split second it took him to reach her side. Though, he had to admit, he didn't mind this closeness. Watching her from afar did not do her beauty justice as being up close did. She was gorgeous.
Maybe too gorgeous.
Wordlessly, he reached up to her head and slipped off the golden headdress that adorned her tresses with a touch that did not match his large, burly hands. It then fell to the floor. The girl flinched, but didn't pull away. Instead, cocked her head to the side in confusion. It was strange. He was being strange.
"It doesn't suit you."
Lies.
It suited her beautifully. In fact, he would have loved it if she wore her festival apparel all the time. She was a sight to behold, however, her bare skin attracted far more attention than he'd like. In the farthest recesses of his heart, he wished to monopolize her mind, body, and soul. She was for his eyes alone. She belonged to him and he would be hers if she wished it so.
Morgiana, initially taken aback by his actions, frowned curtly. Next, puffed her cheeks to mumble an upset, "I see."
Too cute.
"Stop that…"
Whether it was to tell her to stop being cute or to stop the hand that reached out to cup her chin and bring her face to his, he wasn't sure. Either way, she did stop and so did he -a little too late.
Their lips brushed together for a second. She froze. He paused.
What the hell was he doing?
Ah, to hell with it.
Whiting out his thoughts, he pushed forward, lips molding to catch hers. Those petite, supple lips. He wanted a taste and gently gnawed on her lower lip. Sweet. Oh so sweet. He wanted more. Any and all logic that objected to his body's actions were quickly drowned out by the gentle break of waves and the raucous thumps of his heart.
Sliding his left hand about her waist, Masrur drew the girl close. The sand sifted beneath barefeet, marking the ground with their presence. He wanted more. He wanted to hold her more. He wanted to taste her more.
More.
More.
More.
"M-Masrur-san!"
Morgiana jerked her head back to break the kiss, hands pushing against his chest to create space between the two. Her breaths were ragged, hot, and heavy, tickling his features with each huff. Her cheeks flushed, mimicking the color of her hair. The only thing that connected the two was a string of saliva, which she quickly wiped from her open mouth. Her golden gaze averted to the side, unable to look up at him.
She was as beautiful as he was dead.
Dead. He was dead and at a complete loss of words. Of course she had the common sense to pull away. Granted, those tempting, kissable lips were calling his name, but he'd gone too far. He'd allowed his inhibitions control in that one moment. He couldn't formulate a sentence. Not even a word of explanation or apology for his actions. He was dead and that kiss had dug his grave. The ticking seconds only buried him deeper.
"Y-you're drunk, aren't you?"
Her voice cut through the silence, an octave higher than usual.
"...yes..."
His, low, slow, and as quiet as ever.
"I... I see." The smell and bitter aftertaste of alcohol had left an imprint on her lips. Yes, he was drunk. There was no other explanation for the kiss. He just wasn't thinking straight. That's right. There was no other reason besides that and there was no point to further address the situation. Still, within that moment, the line between master and student had been blurred and crossed with one careless kiss.
"I'll...I'll be taking my leave now, Masrur-san." Slipping out of his loosened grasp, she bowed, turned heel, and disappeared into the night with a flash of red.
Masrur stood, rooted to the spot. All he could do was watch her with longing and regret as she faded from view. Once out of sight, he let out an aggravated groan and buried his face in the palm of his hand. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
"Blew it, din't ya?"
Masrur didn't even need to turn to know who was standing beside him. Sharrkan. A very drunk Sharrkan.
The Fanalis rolled his eyes and chose to ignore his ally. That didn't perturb the other. Instead, he continued to hassle his friend. "An' aye tho't ya said ya din't think 'bout 'er like tha'. Liiiiiaaaaar." His voice slurred and his words made little sense. But Masrur understood enough.
There was neither protest nor attempt to refute that statement. Instead, Masrur turned to his senior, slung the man over his shoulder like a cursing sack of potatoes, and proceeded to carry goods friend back to the castle.
Yeah, he hadn't thought of her like 'that' when they first met. But over time, those complacent familial feelings had morphed into smoldering emotions of love.
Yeah, he blew it.
A/N: I'll probably continue this. But I'm still on the fence about that. If you'd like to see one more chapter, just leave a review~ I'll respond as soon as I can! This ship needs more love.