PILOT
He was always quiet, always watching. Ever since Sharrkan had met him he had been drawn to his intuitive gaze. And he was a warrior, strong as the earth and as deadly and unpredictable as the ocean.
Sharrkan watched Masrur from his room, the 18 year old redhead training in the open field below. His chest was glistening with sweat, muscles tensing with every hit and kick he sent at his invisible opponent. Sharrkan was drapped across his balcony, watching his show of strength like a lazy cat stalking his prey; like he was ready to eat him at any time.
There was no doubt that Masrur knew he was being watched, by whom and why. Whenever they were alone Sharrkan didn't hesitate to make his wants known. Always touching Masrur unnecessarily, slyly slipping his own hands into Masrur's when they were talking. Little things that had meaning. Masrur knew that Sharrkan was attracted to him, it was hard for him not to. And Masrur must have reciprocated those same feelings for he didn't try to stop him. If he didn't he would have already called Sharrkan out on his bullshit.
Watching Masrur's methodical training, the sun shining down on Sharrkan's lazing body and the ocean breeze blowing lightly past him, eventually put him to sleep.
When Masrur was finished with another set he looked op to where he knew Sharrkan always watched him from. He was surprised to see a sleeping Sharrkan, stretched out like a wildcat for him to admire openly. It was surprising, Sharrkan would usually hide away before Masrur could see him, as if playing a game.
Masrur took the time to look at him, admiring his slightly long hair and how his bronzed skin looked so very touchable and flawless. His hands tightened just thinking about touching him. He knew Sharrkan would be receptive to anything he did to him. They both knew it. And they both knew that it was just a matter of time before they both fell into their desire for one another.