( I'm not sure why I decided to do this, but I do have the plot entirely in my mind, and yes, I'm still working on MtMtE (More Than Meets The Eye), I'm almost through with the next chapter, in fact. In any case, like all of my stories, this one has warnings. The following chapter and the ones to come deal with adult themes, slash, and domestic abuse, so if you don't care to, don't read it. )
The door was thrown open unceremoniously.
Rasoul ignored the startled motion the small figure on the bed gave at such a loud and violent act, turning to lock the door. He grumbled to himself as he removed his boots. It was a crappy hotel, yet again, some dirt-poor run establishment. There wasn't much he was given furniture wise, save for a shaky brass bed and a nightstand covered in a thick sheet of dust. With a snort of disgust, he set his boots to the side and preceded to unbuckle his gold, palace commissioned, polished belt. Softly, almost too quietly for him to notice at first, the recently disturbed youth who had been sleeping on the bed waiting for Rasoul rose cautiously, small hands, dwarfed by Rasoul's large, calloused ones, going to help at his belt.
Rasoul reacted violently, bowing up with such immediate reaction, that his younger partner stumbled back, flinching as if hit.
"I was just trying to-"
Rasoul cut off his guest's feeble excuse, a thick, large finger swinging down to point directly at the culprit's face.
"No! I told you, my guard wear is off limits. You keep your filthy hands off it." he said loudly, authoritatively, a tone he used for rowdy underlings, assuredly not appropriate for his already timid visitor. Strangely enough, it seemed to have an unusual effect on his listener, who while quieting, was twitching in fine arm muscles accompanying a skinny frame, lips suddenly finding themselves dry.
Rasoul nodded as if in approval, and removing his turban at his own pace, set all but his black vest and pants at a neat pile by the door. He then turned his attention to his company, who had become silent since Rasoul's chastisement, face and eyes turned down, shuffling awkwardly. The bastard son of a sneer and a smirk tilted the corner of Rasoul's mouth and he felt his mood suddenly improve as he gripped the other's arm in his hand, lifting the younger Arab bodily off the ground, dangling gawkily at Rasoul's whim.
"You've got about a minute to undress." he said, smile and menace all to evident in the grating heat that whipped across his captive's skin.