Désoria

☆:‘¨’:.☆(¯′•.¸,¤°′ ’°¤,¸.•‘¯)☆:*‘¨’**:.☆

A deep, inky darkness glows tonight. The moon is barely a hollowed half-circle, almost indistinct—far too small to cast any real light over the Dunes of Désoria. Even the vast scattering of shimmering sparks that glisten as they please does little to help one see ahead, and it is even worse among the gabardine tents the Nomads have pitched beside a stretch of cactus.

You can hardly see a thing—not even the faint glow of the few candles still burning among the night owls. It has reached the point where even the smallest lantern would draw the attention of the Priviat, the Nomads tasked with watching over the camp at night. Their duty is almost simple, given that no one but them survives in the desert anyway... Even the sand beasts do not dare hunt them, preferring to stay hidden rather than provoke the inevitable retaliation that would follow. Accidents do happen, of course—a child slipping away from their father’s watch, or a reckless teenager seeking thrills—but never among them, and that is just as well.

Another almost positive aspect of this overwhelming darkness is that it makes secret excursions far more difficult, reassuring parents who know their sometimes wild children are safely tucked in bed. Lovers, too, behave more cautiously, avoiding drawing attention to their nightly wanderings by tripping over a rope or even entering the wrong tent... The tribe’s chief has made it very clear: despite the peaceful air that settles over the camp each night, the guards must remain at their posts—and they are vigilant. No matter the adventure, discovery is almost certain, and it would only fuel the next day’s gossip. Most therefore remain quietly in the shared quarters, playing cards or refining their drawing skills.

And yet, one unbound pair knows how to slip past this near-constant watch. They do not need to take many risks—this is, after all, a special case. One of them is the chief’s only son, a status that grants him his own tent... His lover does not need to sneak into an unused shelter after nightfall; he can simply stay with him, and they make the most of that freedom.

They lose themselves in each other, their breathing falling into a shared rhythm beneath the closeness of their bodies, which never seems quite enough... They can barely make each other out in the dark, yet it hardly matters—their hands find one another without fail. One moves gently beneath the other, exhaling as quietly as possible, while his partner struggles to restrain the urge to leave visible traces of his affection. He longs to, his chest tightening at the thought of marking, in some way, what this man means to him. But he knows he cannot—not yet. So when the feeling grows too strong, he seeks refuge in his lover’s lips, helping to silence the soft sounds that escape him more and more.

A shared haze of bliss begins to take hold, drawing them both along a most delightful slope. It shows in their slightly unfocused expressions, and even more in the way their presence seems to fill the tent around them. They respond to each other effortlessly, their connection now familiar, almost instinctive. It is clear that what binds them is not merely fleeting desire. Though they savor every sensation, there is something deeper—something almost peaceful—in feeling the other tremble and drift.

When they finally try to catch their breath, they cannot help but smile, attempting to make each other out through the darkness. One leans in, placing a soft kiss—a silent “I love you” that the other receives with closed eyes. Slowly, they separate, tidying themselves up before lying back down. A yawn escapes one of them as he pulls his lover close. Desert nights are cold, but for them, it is simply another reason to enjoy each other’s warmth.

“...Night.”

“Mmmh...”

Once more, one leans in to kiss him, and his lover meets him halfway, even pressing a final kiss to the tip of his nose. It always makes him smile, seeing him so openly affectionate, accepting that overwhelming love with quiet happiness. Outwardly, he shows nothing—only he gets to see this side of him, and that truth alone is enough to stir something deep within him.

So he lets his hand wander slowly across his chest, tracing an invisible line downward with deliberate care.

“Etian...”

The smile that follows is unmistakable. At the sound of his name, his touch grows bolder, pleased to feel the effect he has.

“Do you have a complaint?” he asks playfully.

“Not at all...”

And it’s true—he could never refuse him. After all, it is him, the one he hopes to build a future with... the one he wishes to stand beside, openly, someday.