by Em and Haylz
NC17 with a light drug use warning
Ashmael goes looking for Pellaz but finds Cal instead, he foolishly tries to annoy Cal – who decides it’s high time he seduced the general and pulls out all the stops… but will Ashmael be able to escape with his dignity (and clothes) intact?
Don’t own any of it, we just like messing with them, especially Ashmael because he’s fun to tease.
We wrote this ages ago but never got around to posting it. I found it as I was playing with my journal and thought others might enjoy it, it was definitely fun to write.
Originally posted to Raythoo, Sept. 2006.
The halls of Phanoica seemed oddly quiet as General Ashmael Aldebaran walked briskly towards the apartments that housed the Tigrons of Immanion. He was hoping for a quick word with Pellaz, but so far the dark haired har was nowhere to be found.
His boots made an awful squeaking sound as they collided with the gleaming marble beneath him, making him cringe. He would have to do something about them later. Squeaky boots were no good for the element of surprise, which was very important in his line of work.
Once he had reached the Tigron’s apartments, he quietly knocked at the door to Pellaz’s office, but received no response from inside.
Glancing around, Ashmael noticed that the door to the main balcony was open, the salty smell of the ocean wafting in and reminding him of his childhood days, spent making castles in the sand and splashing through the waves with relish – how long ago that all was now.
Ashmael strode over to the door, perhaps the Tigron was relaxing outside?
He was outside, only it wasn’t the Tigron Ashmael had been expecting.
Cal looked the picture of relaxation, his lean body reclining on a padded bench, bare feet propped up on the balcony railing and by the serene expression on his face, and the sickly sweet smell in the air, Ashmael knew it wasn’t tobacco the Tigron was smoking.
The general couldn’t help but run his eyes over the peaceful looking har, the ripped, faded jeans that sat perfectly beneath his hips, which were as smooth and tanned as the bare chest that peeked out from the gauzy looking white shirt he wore, open of course.
He appeared to be watching the sun going down behind the mountains, the last lingering rays gliding across his half lidded eyes and through the golden locks of hair that danced in the gentle breeze.
Must he always look so damn good?