Title: Behind Drapery
Summary: Request: Potiphar believes Joseph's story and divorces his wife, but not until after spending a short time in prison. Potiphar brings him home only after Joseph has spoken to and fulfilled some of his destiny and learns humility. Slash and mild lemon.
Warning: Doesn't the summary say it all? Slash, lemon, divorce, one-shot, etc.
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights or properties to Joseph King of Dreams, and make no money off of this little piece of fiction.
Dedication: DarkAngel048 has made this little request. If it were up to me, I would not be here, but I accepted the challenge and here it is. Please forgive the mild carnal activities at the end; it was part of the request. But, now I'm free and busy with other people's requests. You'll never see me here again in the next blue moon, suckers… {Runs away at a dead run, not looking back and shouting, "Freedom!"}

-:-
In the desert, a fountain is springing.
-Lord Byron.

The passage of time from within a cell housed underground, has no real meaning. All that matters is that food is still provided by the prison guards, the sun shines and the rats keep away from his skin and his tiny tree. Which is coming along nicely.

Joseph stretched from his sleeping space that had once belonged to the men who was now Pharaoh's butler and now carrion for the crows. Sleeping on stone was not good on his back, but if he found the right patch of light later in the day, he could lie down on his stomach and the heat would straighten the soreness out with little effort that all that it took to hold still for an hour or two.

The little brunette had not dreamed the night before, strange, but not completely. Sometimes he was left to total darkness in slumber and he woke up feeling more alert. A good thing he was blessed with when those days usually led him to having to keep the rats from gnawing at the tree.

As he set aside his blankets—its thin texture giving away the deceptive feel of silk with a fast motion—the door to his cell opened wide. As Joseph expected it to be a guard coming to bully him before leaving his meager nourishment, he did not look up from putting his blanket on a higher surface, away from the rats.

At least, not until the shadow of the being stepping into his abode passed atop him and Joseph realized that the shadow had a head-piece which the guards did not have, nor were entitled to.

"Joseph…"

Fringes of eternity in the chill of air covered his entire body, and Joseph turned to the sound of a voice, he could never have fathomed hearing again.

Potiphar stood beside the area near the little tree, the sandal of his left foot just touching one of the stray stones; the man's arms held behind his back and eyes downcast to not look directly at the younger man. He seemed thinner than the last time Joseph had seen him and less sure of himself than even then.

"Potiphar…"

"I have…come to take you back to my home," the Egyptian stated, still not looking Joseph in the eye.

There was nothing to say to that. Joseph didn't have any words, but a small feeling in the bottom of his stomach—not of it falling out and into an abyss, like fear would bring, but something warm and comforted in the knowledge that he would no longer have to be in the prison.

He would miss the tree, but that was about it.

Hours turned into days, but aside from giving him orders to fulfill and the like of what he did when Joseph had been there before—though Potiphar still spoke somberly, almost dead inside as he did within the walls of prison—Potiphar spoke little to Joseph, and avoided him where words fell short.

The one notable change to the whole of the house was that it became readily apparent that the lady of the house was gone. Joseph had been to her usual haunts and even went so far as to go to her room; the place being in a state of disrepair and the subject of a collection of dust and broken pottery.

Though it was fairly obvious of what had happened—perhaps Potiphar had banished her for her betrayal or worse—being in that the woman was not going to come back, Joseph could not stave off curiosity for more than a week.

It seemed as though God had sent him when for no obvious reason aside from not sleeping and the house being far too humid for his liking, Joseph found himself up and about the house in the middle of the night and wandering toward his master's domain of solitude.

The stars could be seen through the large windows in the black blanket sky, glowing and lighting his way just enough for Joseph to find the door to the room of his master, pausing at its center in something like the plucking of a string instrument in the back of his mind. His bare feet planted, big toes pointed directly into the room, though just along the ridge of a shadow cast over the threshold by the moon in its waned, smiling reluctance.

Without his better judgment standing in his way, the man not born of the Egyptians tapped his closed hand to the door, knuckles ringing hollow as beads.

He did it again after a few counts of pausing silence and when nothing came but the whispers of blankets rustling he was tempted to turn on his toes and go back to his own quarters to try and get some sleep. Why bother the master of the house when Joseph had only just come back from rock bottom? Tempting fate was never one of his strong points and he thought, maybe, if he attempted to sway the fates now, it would only anger them. He did not want to go back to prison and what he was doing was foolish-

"…Joseph?"

The second thoughts in his head turned away and dissipated as Potiphar stood before the Canaanite, tired and with drawn and sad bags under his eyes, no head-piece upon his figure and no clothing but his silk tunic that all decent men wore, whether inside their own home or not.

Fate perhaps was giving him a hand.

"Master," Joseph bowed lightly, respectful as he had been brought up and trained to be, despite the late hour, "I…I hate to bother you with my foolish thoughts, but since you had brought me back, nobody else will tell me and I would like to know sooner rather than a later time."

"What is it, Joseph?"

"I-I was wondering what h-happened to….to your wife."

Potiphar's face, if possible, grew even more tired and he turned away from the young man, his back and shoulders rigid.

Joseph made to apologize, but was quickly stopped from uttering a sound as Potiphar turned slightly back towards him and motioned—hand like that of a wave along the Nile—for the dream reader to come along with him into his room, over to his bed.

Joseph did as he was told and followed, but did not sit on the bed like Potiphar did. It was not his right, until his master said it was and so he stood with his head still low and facing the elder man, waiting for him to speak and hopefully shed some light on this question outrageously given by a slave like himself.

It took a moment or two, long enough for Joseph to notice the housecat Kia wandering into the room, looked upon them and then turned back with her snout raised in the air, tail curving every which way and then out of sight by the time Joseph looked back to Potiphar and the man decided all his thoughts were in enough order to explain.

"My wife is no longer my wife," he said, voice stoic but not unkind, "After the incident with her accusing you of something so heinous when it was her made to be so horrible, we were fighting all the time. During one of our fights, it came to light through one of our accusations of the other that we were simply not fit together. She found my presence to be distasteful, as I have thus far been unable to provide her with any satisfaction and I found that I was simply not very inclined toward as I would have been when I was young and foolish."

"So…" Joseph coaxed, not trying to sound too demanding.

Potiphar answered, finally looking up at him with less cold resignation and more friendly humor for a person who might understand all this better than himself, "I had our marriage undone and the sent her to a friend of mine who'd had an eye for her some years ago. They got married and a few days later I went to get you from prison."

Joseph smiled at the man, bowing his head and upper body emphatically, "And for that you have my thanks and eternal gratitude, master."

"Don't."

Joseph found himself pulled forward and onto the bed beside the man, a hand as smooth as his own once were around his wrist but not hard and tight light the slave traders at the docks.

He looked at Potiphar questionably and small, thinking he did something wrong. Potiphar smiled delicately at the Canaanite, and brought his other hand up to lightly pat his dark hair like a child.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't call me your master. Just call me by my name if you can help it. One of the reasons I think I ceased my marriage with my wife was because of you entirely."

"Entirely?" Joseph question, Potiphar's hand still on his hair, now brushing it out of his eyes; feeling quite pleasant.

The elder shrugged, "I think my wife may have gone after you rather than one of the other slaves was because of my own feelings for you."

"You have feelings for me?"

"Well, back before you went to prison, they were not as prominent, but I did often find myself looking at you at awkward times and finding myself more pre-disposed to spend time with you rather than my wife. I'd had those urges through the years, but with you," he paused a moment, looking at Joseph's slack jaw, "They just seemed more real than they would have been with one of the pretty little things at the Bazaar or among the other common wealth. You're interesting and truthful and worth more than all that."

A blush spread over Joseph's cheeks and he found himself in a situation he was beginning to like, though not as much as the feeling just below his gut, starting to rove through the appendage his brothers used to use quite often when he was still among them.

"So you brought me back as a companion?"

Potiphar shook his head, "At first, that was what I had intended, but then I saw you and thought that I would give you time to come to me. And here you are. If you wish to remain with things as they are, you a simple servant and I your master, that will be all well and good as I am old and you are young and things need not change, but…If you wish to be more than just that, then stay here tonight with me."

The younger man tilted his head up toward Potiphar but made no move more than that, thinking, eyes roving over the other like he was as he was as a human being rather than the master of Joseph's own small role in life. He was noting that Potiphar was a man well built in body and spirit, with a good heart and soft demeanor. The only time Potiphar had ever truly raised his voice was when he thought, months ago, that a then-loved one had been hurt. Maybe, maybe they could be…

Joseph's hand, calloused and warmer now after sitting so long, brought his palm down and flat to Potiphar's thigh.

"I will…I will stay tonight. See how things turn out."

The sun, Ra in his grandeur setting across the surface of the earth to sleep, red colors fading away to deep purple and light grays with the updraft of evening fog coming in as a result of the Nile, covered the insides of Potiphar's eyes as, within his bed and just a week after accepting Joseph as his life partner, a wonderful thing was happening.

Wonderful, wet warmth enveloped his appendage that, up until just a while ago, had been deemed little more than useless. Joseph was really quite good with his mouth.

But, then again, he had known that for two days and nights.