Archive of Our Own

The set of apartments that Firoz had let when Imtiaz married was set back from the road, amongst a copse of neem trees that bloomed so bounteously each spring that Maan's mother would have been unable to even pass by them on the street without her throat closing up and her eyes swelling shut. It seemed appropriate to Maan that the fragrance of neem summoned her memory more strongly than anything else, and as he walked up the open stairs to Firoz's rooms, in the dark of night, with the trees ghost-like in the moonlight, he felt a sense of peace, a blessing, wafting over him like drifting neem blossoms.

Maan didn't knock. He had a key. It was gold and small, and he carried it on a ring, and kept it in the inside breast pocket of his light-weight jacket. Sometimes, at night, alone in his room at Purva Pradesh, he would fish it out of his coat, and stare at it for a long time, measuring his loneliness against his desire and shame. Occasionally, he would put it back in his coat, and fall into a troubled sleep in his own bed, but most times he would dress, take a nip from the liquor he kept in a cabinet in his room, and, checking his reflection in the mirror, run a hand through his curly hair in a vain attempt to straighten it, before walking, or running, or riding a tonga to Firoz's home, depending on the extent of his need.

Tonight, he opened the door cautiously. The lights were off inside, and he didn't want to frighten Firoz, but he also didn't wish to wake him if he was asleep. Maan knew that Firoz had been in court all day, fighting another battle for justice, and standing, as much as possible, on the side of the good, which Maan often envisioned in his worst nightmares as Firoz standing in his robes before a landslide, or a torrent of lava, or the horrible wall of a tsunami, with his hands raised like a priest in a vain attempt to ward it off, and Maan knew, just knew deep in his soul, that Firoz couldn't do it, he couldn't win against the vastness of it, and he feared the day when the opposing forces would crush his friend.

Not that Firoz seemed to worry much about it. He was focused, and while he worried at times that his work wouldn't be enough, it wasn't for his own hide that he fretted. No, he'd left that to Maan, who, until the fateful incident with Saeeda Bai, had never fretted much about anything except himself. But now, the scars on Firoz's belly were a constant reminder of the fragility of their happiness, and that Maan was the cause of them made him all the more concerned. If his love could turn so violent, what of those who felt no tenderness for Firoz's form?

Firoz was not asleep. The bed was empty, the covers thrown back, exposing the white, soft sheets that Maan had twisted on the night before, while Firoz had rubbed against Maan's side, and pressed fevered kisses onto Maan's neck. The memory of the sounds they made together, and of the firm strength of Firoz's arms wrapped around him as they rutted made him hot, and he pulled at his shirt, opening buttons to let in a breath of air.

On Firoz's desk lay a heap of papers, and open law books, along with pencils and red pens used for emphasis. Maan stepped across the soft rug that he'd helped Firoz choose from an old man in a shabby stall at the market, and drew his finger over the words that Firoz had scribbled on a yellow pad of paper. They were swift and surely marked, and Maan lingered over them each, looping his finger around every swirl, lifting it to jab straight lines and dots.

Then his eyes fell on another book, propped open against the bedside table. The color illustrations within were perverse and detailed. He flipped through several pages wondering where Firoz had found such a piece of pornography, until he stopped on one particular page, his attention captured and his desire, roused before he even left Purva Pradesh, flared until he felt choked with it.

"Is that you, Maan?" Firoz's voice came quietly from the open door to the bathroom.

Maan slapped the book shut and answered, "Yes, it's just me." He put the book down on the table and then picked it back up again, wandering to the bathroom door, and leaning against the jamb.

Firoz was sitting up in the bath, his knees tucked under his chin, looking tired and small. His hair was damp, and steam rose off the water, leaving his skin shining and flushed. His fine features were calm, but somehow sad, too, and Maan's heart tripped wondering if there had been more bad news of the Nawab Sahib's health. A small drop of water or sweat hung from the end of Firoz's fine nose, and as Maan watched, silent from the doorway, it fell onto Firoz's knee and ran down his thigh to join the water in the tub.

"Is it your father?" Maan finally asked, his fingers fidgeting with the pages of the book.

Firoz stood up then, and the sound of the water rushing from his body at his sudden movement was startling in the little room. "No, I'm afraid it is only the vagaries of justice, or shall I say injustice, that has ruined my good humor today."

Maan's eyes followed the course of the water down Firoz's body. The hair on Firoz's stomach and thighs stood out, darker against his wet skin, and the black curls around his cock were tight and glistening. The scar on Firoz's belly was nearly white now, faded from the lurid purple it had been, but it still marred the line of his body in a way that made Maan's heart wrench every time he saw it. Maan gripped the book tightly in his hand and struggled for his usual levity. "Oh, well, if that's all then, everything will be right as rain in the morning."

Levity failed. Firoz's eyes were solemn and didn't light in their familiar way. Maan remembered a photograph of Firoz aged five, and while the same delicate features remained, more handsome than ever, there was a turn of darkness to them now, ever since the incident that had nearly taken Firoz's life. Firoz reached for a towel, but Maan reached out and stopped him from drying off, watching the water take its the path over Firoz's chest, around the light scar, and into the forest of pubic hair surrounding his cock. Carefully, Maan ran a hand down Firoz's side, feeling goose bumps rise under his fingers.

Maan's gaze and touch seemed to break Firoz out of his glum reverie. "It isn't often you're so bold in the initiation of our friendly activities."

Maan swallowed hard, the strong weight of Firoz's forearm fit perfectly in his palm, and he held Firoz back from grasping the towel for a few moments longer. "You know it's more than that, Firoz. Why do you enjoy torturing me?"

Firoz gave up reaching for the towel and stood wet and beautiful to Maan's eyes. "You come here most nights, and when you arrive, there isn't any pretense or artfulness to getting you in my bed anymore. You seem quite willing. Even so, I wonder."

Maan stepped forward, the book clenched in one hand, and his other still holding onto Firoz's arm. "I've told you before what you mean to me. I've never loved another the way that I love you."

Firoz smiled then and said, "You are so easy to force into confessions of love these days. I rather enjoy doing it, you know; teasing the words out of you, just to hear them again."

Maan let go of Firoz's arm and trailed his hand over the scar. "I'll tell you whatever you want, whenever you want, however you want."

"We both know that's not true."

Maan kissed him, then, and the wet of Firoz's body dampened Maan's clothes. The bed seemed terribly far away, and the floor of the bathroom served just fine, though Maan's knees protested as he knelt and opened his mouth to take Firoz's cock. The weight of it was familiar in his hand, but still rather new on his lips and tongue. The boyhood hand jobs and rutting they had indulged in most of their lives, had transformed in the wake of Maan's horror at what he'd almost lost, and he had hungrily taken greedy mouthfuls of Firoz's lips, skin, and cock as soon as Firoz had been well enough to let him.

Firoz kissed him afterward, and said, his eyes glinting, "I suppose you need some relief now?"

Maan pushed Firoz's hand away and said, "It can wait for the comforts of your bed; this floor is much too hard. If you want more post-bath oral ecstasy, you'll need to get a soft carpet for my poor knees."

"Oh, Maan, there you go again, always wanting a little bit more."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"It's a Maan thing. Come on, the bed beckons." Firoz pulled Maan up and noticed the book on the floor, a little wet, but falling open to the page that drew Maan in earlier. Firoz picked it up, and once they were both in the bed, ignored Maan's rather urgent need for reciprocation and began to flip through the pages of the book.

"I found this in my father's library," Firoz said, pausing on a page demonstrating two men penetrating the same woman. "It captured my interest, and I see that it's captured yours."

Maan wrapped his arms around Firoz, pushing his cock against Firoz's hip urgently, rocking against him in a familiar rhythm. "Do you remember," Maan asked, "when we did – when we did this for the first time?"

Firoz smiled a little and said, "Of course I remember. We were just kids, but don't imagine that it just happened. I planned that scenario for days."

Maan buried his nose in Firoz's neck, smelling his sweet, clean scent, and kissed the sweet spot under his ear with an open mouth. Firoz made a noise of pleasure, and Maan increased his thrusts against Firoz's hard, angular body. Maan said, "The first time I saw you reach orgasm, I fell for you, and ever since, I've been a poor, pitiful creature at your mercy."

Firoz scoffed. "Liar."

"That's your story, isn't it?" Maan asked, trying to take the book out of Firoz's hand in hopes of getting him to focus on the task at hand.

"No. My story is much more romantic than that, but I'll never tell you." Firoz knocked Maan's hand away, and turned back to the book. The next page revealed two men together, one on his back, legs on the other's shoulder, and the other penetrating his ass. Maan gasped, and his thrusts became more hurried, as he muttered, "That's surely illegal?"

"Yes. It is." Firoz's fingers caressed the illustration slowly, tracing over the man's endowment and ass. "Is this what you were thinking about earlier in the bathroom? This picture?"

"No," Maan said, honestly, kissing Firoz's chest and shoulders. "I was only admiring how handsome you look wet."

"Oh, well, then I'll walk around with a watering can and douse myself occasionally," Firoz replied, still touching the drawing. "What would you say, my dearest friend, if I said that this – ah, activity – appeals to me?"

Maan slowed his attempt to reach orgasm using Firoz's body, and stared dazedly at the illustration. Maan remembered the tight, sweet, hot joy of penetrating Saeeda Bai in that way; he had to close his eyes and hold on to Firoz as a wave of unutterable lust swept over him. Sliding into Firoz's tight body - the warmest, sweetest, most beloved body Maan knew - would be so good, so very good, but the rough edges of the scar on Firoz's stomach brought him back down. He said, "I'm sorry, Firoz, but I couldn't. I -- I've already wounded you with one blade and it would absolutely kill me if I were to hurt you - even for a moment – with another."

Firoz seemed to consider and then brought his hand to cup Maan's chin, tenderly turning Maan's eyes to his own. "I understand. But that wasn't what I meant." Firoz pulled down the bed sheet, revealing his cock standing proud again. "I would be very gentle. Do you trust me, Maan?"

Maan swallowed hard, his eyes on Firoz's cock. He'd never thought, never considered… Though he'd done that with Saeeda Bai, until recently his encounters with Firoz had been much the same since they were boys; they'd used their hands or bodies to bring each other to orgasm, sometimes kissing and sometimes not. Recently, they had spent hours exploring each other's body with mouths and lips and hands before ending up sticky and clinging to each other.

Maan bit his lip, and remembered the tight stretch of Saeeda Bai's fingers in his ass as she'd sucked his cock, and how she'd found and pressed against something inside him that was so good it made him mad and made him cry out for more. He remembered red, red blood on the floor and on his hands after his knife had slid into Firoz easily, like his handsome body had been made of nothing as hard as a wheel of soft cheese, and Firoz's pale, half-dead form recovering in a bed with white sheets and pink roses in a vase beside him.

A blade for a blade. Any pain that came from being penetrated would be nothing compared to what he'd done to Firoz, and any pleasure that Firoz gained from pressing into Maan's body, would only go a small way toward relieving Maan of the debt of gratitude he owed Firoz, and would never convey the depth of Maan's love and adoration for Firoz, and his thankfulness for Firoz's forgiveness.

"I will be gentle," Firoz whispered again. He sat the book aside and moved down on the bed until he was face to face with Maan; his lips looked wet and warm as he said, "I want this very much. I've wanted it since I was thirteen years old, Maan. Please let me."

Maan's heart pounded in his chest and he kept his gaze on Firoz's dark eyes as he leaned forward and gently kissed Firoz's mouth. It was as warm and wet as it looked, and tasted so familiar now, comforting and tender. Firoz pushed Maan onto his back, kissing him with a fervor that he had never shown before. Maan whimpered under the strength of Firoz's lips and tongue, and spread his legs to allow Firoz to settle between them. He had almost forgotten about his own need in the few moments he'd spent thinking through Firoz's proposal, and he groaned as his cock pressed against Firoz's hard stomach and slid alongside Firoz's wiry pubic hair.

Firoz was gentle, and he had some special oil in the drawer beside the bed that he used to slick his fingers. He pressed three into Maan one by one, and Maan struggled against the burn of them, whimpering and shaking his head. Firoz shushed him, kissing his thighs and licking his cock. Maan relaxed, the tightness fading a bit as Firoz began to move his fingers in and out. When Firoz kissed and licked around the fingers he had buried in Maan's ass, his hips bucked up and his ass clenched and unclenched in pleasure.

"This is it," Firoz said, kissing Maan's asshole, his thighs, and the tip of his cock, before moving to press his own cock against Maan's ass. "I'll go slow. You push down. That's how you'll open for me."

Maan bit his lip hard, but he couldn't stop the cry that came from his throat as Firoz pushed the thick head of his cock into Maan's ass. It burned, and it felt like he might tear. Maan didn't think he could handle it, but he kept the image of Firoz in bed, pale and near death close to him, and he pushed down, trying to make himself accept Firoz into his body. "Oh, God, I can't—" he heard himself say, but he cut off the words.

Firoz shushed him again, running a soothing hand down his thigh. "You can," Firoz said, softly. "I know you can. It's unbelievable. It feels so good. Shhh, come on, push down. That's good, ah, good, Maan, good."

Sweat broke out on Maan's forehead and back, his nipples were tight and hard, tingling for some reason he didn't understand, as his ass finally relaxed and Firoz's cock was buried deep inside. It still hurt, but less so, and Maan closed his eyes trying to breathe normally

Firoz said, "I have to move, Maan, forgive me, but I'm going mad and I have to—oh, God."

Firoz, who seemed weak and fragile to Maan ever since the injury, moved powerfully, surging inside Maan's body, thrusting hard and strong. It made it better somehow, and Maan moaned, shifting his hips. He watched Firoz's determined face as he thrust. The friction and movement felt amazing now. Maan relaxed into it, and as he did, his cock grew harder. Maan's gaze slid down Firoz's wiry body to watch his thrusting hips, until Firoz hit something, that same something that Saeeda Bai had found so effortlessly every time, and Maan's eyes rolled back into his head. He shook with ecstasy as uncontrollable animal noises came from his throat. He lifted his hips to meet the next thrust and cried out as the crescendo raced over him. He rutted up and down on Firoz's cock now, greedily seeking the glory again, and Firoz's voice cut through to his mind, the only thing outside of his own pleasure that he could understand. "That's good, Maan. That's it. You're so beautiful when you're out of control."

Maan couldn't answer, lost on the waves of bliss and friction. He shifted his hips to bring his legs up further, his knees near his ears, and Firoz leaned over him, pressing Maan into a curl. Maan lifted his head, seeking Firoz's mouth, and when their lips met, hot and wild, Maan wrapped his arms around Firoz's neck, pulling him in close to lick his mouth and tongue, and to suck at his neck and earlobe. Firoz gasped and arched up, pulling free, and shook his head, closing his eyes. His fine features were strained and tight as he struggled against something, and he whispered disjointedly, "I want to last. I waited so long. Ah, ah--can't be over yet."

Maan relaxed his legs onto Firoz's shoulders, changing the angle of Firoz's thrust again, and reducing the pressure against that place inside that made him lose control. He ran his fingers over Firoz's body, lingering on the nipples and the light lines of the scar, and then slid them down over Firoz's hips, pushing against Firoz's body to separate their bodies slightly. He pushed his fingers through Firoz's pubic hair, down to the root of his cock, and followed the few slick, hard exposed inches to where it entered his own body. He felt the ridge of his own asshole tight around Firoz's cock and, gazing up to Firoz's face, he made a 'v' with his fingers and felt Firoz's cock sliding in and out.

Firoz's expression changed from determination to a slack-jawed fragility, tender and even a little frightened. Maan knew that the look mirrored his own. Touching with his fingers where Firoz breached his body, brought home the intimacy of their coupling in a way that the pain of penetration and the sheer bliss of the fuck itself had failed to convey to him. He'd known how much he loved Firoz for a long time now, but this act was the proof of how changed he was by this love, and how it would mark him forever, no matter what marriages may be forced upon them, or what realities might interfere with their lives. This is who he was now – a man defined by this act of penetration and love.

Maan drew his hand away and up to his own cock. The skin was hot, and tight, and his cock was beaded at the tip with pre-come. He stroked slowly, keeping his eyes on Firoz's face. As Firoz's thrusts became more rapid, and then finally frantic and deep, Maan copied the pacing, until his hand was joined by one of Firoz's handswhich began to jerk him off with a practiced rhythm with which they were both familiar. As boys together, Firoz had perfected it to bring Maan to orgasm quickly before they could be caught.

Maan let Firoz do the work of jerking his cock, and used his own hands to pull his knees back again, shifting until Firoz was again slamming against the place inside him that seemed to lift his entire body into glorious ecstasy. Maan rode the pleasure, shouting and writhing to feel it harder and faster, until he was shaking all over, his knees were knocking against his ears, and his body clenched and released in waves. He didn't know if he would ever come, it was too good for him to come, like an endless wave of bliss, and he alternately wanted it to go on and needed it to end.

He managed to whisper, "Please," and then he was coming, shaking, and trembling, Firoz's hands all over him, holding him through it, as he jerked and quaked and shot between them in huge bursts of slick white come. When Maan could make sense of the world again, Firoz was shuddering, too, kissing Maan's neck and trembling in his arms. They were tangled together, legs and arms entwined, and Maan could feel the swell of Firoz's softening cock still snugly held in his ass, as well as the convulsions of his ass pushing to gently expel it.

Firoz held Maan close, and Maan relaxed in the embrace. His ass felt tender now, and his back ached from the position he'd held for so long, curled over himself, lost in the physical pleasure. He had thought he would feel differently than he did. He thought he'd feel something besides another layer of gratitude. He had anticipated that this was Firoz's retribution and Maan's payment of pain, and instead he lay blissful, satiated, and raw with tender emotions. Tears filled his eyes.

"Why do you look like that?" Firoz asked, sitting up and with concern in his voice. "I thought you enjoyed it. Did I injure you? Let me see."

Maan pulled him back down shaking his head. "No, no. I'm fine. I've never felt so good in my life, actually," Maan said, his voice dejected.

Firoz laughed a little. "Then what's wrong, my Maan? My idiotic Maan?"

Maan shifted to the side, and kissed Firoz's chest, his stomach, and then the scar. "I only wish my blade had been so kind to you. Mine was cruel, and yours was…" Maan trembled remembering. "So good to me."

Firoz whispered, "Maan, you are an idiot. If not for your blade, who knows where we would be? I can't imagine that we would be here, with you beneath me, opening yourself for me, loving me. Oh, Maan, you fool, your blade was very generous. It brought me you."

Maan kissed Firoz then, wanting him to feel how much he had given over to him, how much Firoz had let him have in return. Firoz's fingers slid down behind Maan's spent cock, and he whimpered as Firoz slid three into his ass, using the come that was slowly leaking out as lubricant. "Can you indulge me a little more tonight?" Firoz asked, as he began to stroke Maan open again, his fingers feeling big and delicious in Maan's ass.

"Surely you're not hard already?" Maan asked in surprise.

Firoz pressed a half-hard cock against Maan's leg, and said, "Soon enough."

Maan moaned as Firoz kissed him, and he spread his legs to make room for Firoz's movements. He was still shaking from exhaustion, but he'd give until he couldn't give anymore to make Firoz happy. It was necessary and right. He sighed as Firoz moved down to suck kisses on his thighs, pulling on the leg hair a little with his teeth, and then licked lines over Maan's balls and up his cock, sucking the hardening length into his mouth. Maan whimpered, feeling overstimulated, but then Firoz found that place inside with his fingers, and Maan was lost again. He found himself on his stomach, with Firoz clinging to his back and pounding his thick cock into Maan's ass, while Maan sobbed into a pillow with unbearable joy and physical pleasure.

Maan came the second time with Firoz's teeth sunk into his shoulder and no hands on his cock, driven to orgasm by Firoz's cock dragging over that place inside of him again and again. He collapsed to the bed afterwards, drooling and exhausted, as Firoz rode him for few thrusts more to reach his own orgasm. Firoz's kisses were sweet and wet on his back and neck, and Maan sighed contentedly as Firoz stroked him down into sleep with whispered words of affection.

Maan dreamed of neem blossoms covering his childhood home, and blanketing the streets of the city. He walked among them in confusion and worry, hoping that his mother was not suffering too much. He passed by Saeeda Bai's house, and the neem blossoms had formed heavy drifts against her doorway, but he thought he could see the shadow of Tasneem moving behind a curtain, and her could hear the shrill voice of Bibbo and the trill of the bird inside. Yet, Saeeda Bai was gone, he knew that somehow standing there in front, and he kicked the pile of neem blossoms away from her door, only to find the front step covered in blood.

He then found himself on Firoz's staircase. It was dark and yet light at the same time, like a cloud-covered sun hovered above. He was watching his mother dance amid the drifts of neem blossoms gathering under the tree. Her smile was full of joy, and he knew even in the dream that she was dead. She caught his eye and made a gesture, a gesture that physically touched him somehow even from a distance, like light pouring from her hands, and he felt warm with her blessing and love.

As he turned and entered Firoz's apartment, the neem blossoms turned to rose petals, and he found Firoz sitting naked on the bed, his cock hard and ready. Maan, naked too, crouched over Firoz on the bed, sliding down onto Firoz's cock until it had filled him completely.

Maan's own cock felt harder than he ever remembered and when he looked down at it, he saw that it had turned into a rose. Instead of being frightened, it made him laugh. Firoz was laughing, too, and he kissed him, and he knew that they had transformed into something only the two of them would understand.

Maan woke with an ache in his ass, and Firoz's sleeping face beside him. Remembering the dream, Maan he kissed Firoz awake, begging to be taken again, saying, "Please, Firoz, I want it so much."

Firoz chuckled sleepily, murmuring, "Oh, Maan, always wanting more."

Maan was disappointed, until Firoz smoothed back Maan's hair, and whispered, "Don't worry, my sweet Maan. Climb on me here. I'll take care of you."

Like in his dream, Maan climbed onto Firoz and rode him. His cock was, happily, not a rose, but like in his dream they laughed together. As they grew more serious, Maan gazed at Firoz's pulse fluttering in his neck, and Maan leaned over to lick it, to feel it pulse against his tongue, remembering a night on the roof of his sister's home, when, desperate to reassure themselves of their lives, Maan had licked Firoz's pulse while they moved together, coming several times in just a few hours, out of need, and fear, and unspoken words.

Maan rejoiced in Firoz's gasping breaths in his ear as he rode him harder and faster, until Firoz came first, pulsing inside of Maan and shaking. Maan took up his own cock to finish himself, but Firoz shook his head, pushing down under Maan, and taking his cock down into his throat. For a moment, Maan wondered where Firoz had learned this trick, but then forgot it in the urgent need to fuck into Firoz's tight, hot, constricting throat. Firoz gagged, and Maan started to pull out, but Firoz forced him back in. He took slow steadying breaths, in hopes of not hurting Firoz.

Maan almost lost all restraint, though, when Firoz pressed both of his thumbs into his ass, withdrawing one and then pressing it back next to the other, repeating this in a rhythm that made Maan feel crazy, and when he couldn't hold back anymore, he pulled his cock out of Firoz's throat and begged him to suck it. Maan bit his lip and tried to hold back as Firoz sucked and licked and flicked until Maan couldn't stand to wait, coming hard, his ass squeezing around Firoz's thumbs. Maan collapsed beside Firoz, exhausted and yet still wanting more.

"You've made an addict out of me," he panted in Firoz's ear, when Firoz returned from washing his hands and using the bathroom.

"Good, then you'll have a hard time leaving me," Firoz replied, his voice a poor attempt at levity.

"Leave you?" Maan murmured. "I don't think I can even leave your bed. I will starve to death here, covered in my own come, and still aching with lust and love for you."

Firoz rubbed a hand along Maan's heaving back, and said, "One day you'll marry, and you'll remember a woman's charms."

Maan heart stumbled a bit and he clutched at Firoz fiercely. "Don't say those kinds of things. It hurts me to think you believe that."

"Oh, Maan, you won't be able to help it. It will just be you. That's who you are. There are no subtleties for you."

"My affection for you can never be usurped by a woman, and who would have me anyway? I'm not the most suitable boy for any girl at this point."

Firoz muttered, "You'll marry for the sake of your family, and you'll initially go to her as a duty, and as a man who needs his children, but her womanly form and the soft sounds she makes will bring you back again and again. I know this already. There will be a day when you don't come to me anymore."

Maan felt a flash of rage rush through him. He sat up, and pulled the sheets down, revealing both of their naked forms. "I give you all of this, and I let you show me how I need you more completely than I ever knew, and you dare to say these things to me? You dare to question my devotion?"

Firoz seemed to fight a smile as he replied, "I know that you love me and I love you, too." He patted he bed. "Now, come, I'll stop borrowing future sorrows if you'll only calm down."

Maan couldn't calm down. His ass burned, and he could feel Firoz's come still leaking out of him, and he had done this for Firoz, who didn't understand what it meant. Maan growled, "I swear to you, Firoz, no one will ever surpass you in my life. I will not marry. I vow not to marry anyone. There will only be you."

Firoz laughed. "Maan, you are ridiculous. Lay down here with me. Let's take our time again, one last time today, and then I must get to work. Someone has to make some money to provide for our little love nest."

Maan tried to ignore Firoz's advances, still angry and pouting over Firoz's vision of their future and mistrust in his fidelity, but Firoz's fingers slipped easily into his ass and he was soon writhing on them, out of control and lost to his own pleasure. Firoz's sweet voice in his ear occasionally praised his reactions, and then Firoz's firm cock was in his ass for the third time in too few hours. It hurt, but it was incredible, and Maan felt alive and loved and cared for as Firoz took his time driving Maan into another realm of delicious sexual madness, until they both collapsed in pleasure again.

Later that day, the neem trees swayed in a slight breeze as Maan stood under them, his ass aching too much for him to sit down. He'd eaten what he could find in Firoz's cupboards, and gone to the market to replenish them, thinking how pleased Firoz would be that he hadn't wasted the entire day.

Staring up at the neem branches, and thinking of his dream mother's happy smile, the blood on Saeeda Bai's front step, and of Firoz over him and under him and in him, he shook with the power of his emotions. Firoz was right, Maan was who he was, and for now he was happy. He believed that Firoz could always make him happy. Firoz, who knew him so well, and loved him beyond all reason. Maan closed his eyes and licked his lips. Firoz would see, Maan would prove it to him, there would never be another in his life to take Firoz's place. Maan leaned back against the tree and felt the soft blossoms land in his hair and on his shoulders, as he waited impatiently for Firoz to return.

THE END

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