Idris has to travel back to Byblos, Lebanon to settle the affairs of a cousin who unexpectedly passed away. As the family's patriarch, it's his responsibility - and as the family's bastard, Ila can't come with him. They are left pining in one another's absence until Idris comes home in the early hours of morning, two months later. Their reunion is as charged as it is bittersweet.
Porn with a dash of character exploration. ♥
This is a work of fiction intended for adult audiences only.
"Baba it's two months..."
Idris raised a gray brow, attempting - and failing - to shift his weight in the passenger's seat. He was hunched down more than was comfortable for him, his arms folded in close to his sides and his knees drawn up more than he would've liked. Though, he couldn't expect very much out of it - none of the seats aside from the driver's were modified to fit him properly.
He had endured the discomfort and hadn't been driving so Ila could get reacquainted with the large SUV, when her much more compact car ended up in the shop for repairs a few weeks before. Her car had been fine for over a week now, but he still encouraged her to her continue driving his SUV to give her more of a sense of control. Especially after he broke the news to her two weeks prior about the unexpected trip he was about to embark on - without her by his side.
Ila scowled as she turned into the long, long drop-off line at the airport. "And, we don't even know who Farouk was? Why do you have to go and sort out this property dispute shit - you haven't lived in Lebanon since the 70s, and you sure as shit never lived in Sudan."
She frowned and thought for a moment, as the car slid to a stop. "Wait. Which side of the family is this? You're going to Lebanon, right?"
"Yes, Byblos. This is... My mother's? Ah, okay so, Farouk was my second cousin - our great grandmother Munirih in common... He was second oldest to me? After my mother immigrated to Byblos from Sudan, part of her extended family moved with her to be nearer when she married my father - your grandfather - Malik Abdur-Rahim, and -"
Their car jolted with a sudden stop after just beginning to eek forward. The car behind them honked and Ila heaved a loud, frustrated sigh as her body flumped against the seat. "Nope, my head hurts, please stop."
Idris pursed his lips and sucked in a breath between his teeth. He dropped that particular topic.
"And, I did stay in Port Sudan, for a few years that I try not to remember -" Ila shot him a withering look and opened her mouth to speak - or, more likely, shriek at him - but he waved a hand at her with a scowl of his own. She turned her attention back to the long line of cars with a huff as he continued on.
"- But ah - I am the oldest left... I know where to find some things and how to track down others."
She shut her eyes for half a second with a hand on her head, massaging the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "So... Hold on - if you're the oldest left, how are your aunt and uncle the ones asking for your help?"
Idris's lips parted, his teeth grinding together as he looked somewhere to his upper left. His long fingers tapped at the air, and he took a second to mouth out numbers before he replied, "My... Grandfather fathered children until he died in his 90s. My aunt was his last daughter out of fifteen children - my mother was his... Third...?"
A deep inhale, and though he didn't silently sound out numbers, he did use his hands to point as though there were a chart in front of him. "Hajra is my half-aunt by technicality; my grandfather had four wives, and my grandmother and her grandmother were not the same woman -"
Ila leaned over and put a hand on his cheek, interrupting him and catching his eerie, dark gaze long enough to say, "I'm sorry papa but I can't hold any more of this in my head. It's in one ear and out the other now. I'll ask for a family tree later."
He dropped his hands and made a noncommital sound in reply. The SUV nudged forward with every light tap of Ila's foot on the gas, and after a few minutes of silence she grumbled more to herself than him, "Why couldn't you have phoned or emailed then - why go through all this shit?"
He tapped a finger on his lip as his dark, deep-set eyes flicked over the terminal signs. He knew she wasn't directly asking him, but, well, he answered anyway. "It is my responsibility as family head to be certain the rest of them do not fight over what has not been... divided up already."
Ila leaned against the backrest at a longer-than-average standstill, glancing sidelong at him. "So it's age hierarchy bullshit, then?" Her lip curled, and she turned the wheel just to feel it under her palms. "You don't even speak to them that often, I'm surprised they consider you the patriarch."
"Sometimes, tradition is very hard to kill. This is one of those times. I think they expected me to die before Farouk, then they would not have to bother with me... Black sheep that I am."
She snorted, mirth in her tone. "Black Stag."
He had no comment to that correction aside from a soft huff and a lopsided smile that softened his features. They watched a small gathering of people walk across the congested line of cars, wedging themselves and their luggage between to get to the terminal entry. Though she'd joked, she flinched - enough to be registered - as Idris leaned and settled his gnarled hand on her shoulder.
He sighed and squeezed her, fingers kneading at a tensing muscle in her back. "I am sorry. I am not fond of it either - I will be home before you know it, habibti."
Ila's fingers clutched at the steering wheel. It took her a long moment to speak. "I know, it's... you haven't been gone this long before now." She glanced over at him, nudging the SUV forward a few feet again once the standstill broke.
He reached for his carry-on in the back as they got closer to his terminal entryway, grunting as he yanked it up into his lap. "Mmh, how is this any different than you leaving for school? I worried sick the day you left, every time, and you were gone for longer."
Her palms kneaded the rubber covering on the wheel, her eyes trained on the cars in front of her. "That was before... Us, so it's different."
He grinned. It encroached on the tone of his deep, low voice as a sharp shot of mirth and his left hand smoothed over the back of her right. The silver band on his ring finger glinted in one of the hazy, orange street-lamps. "Aaahh, I see now. Wife worry."
Ila tossed his hand off of hers with a growl and a theatrical roll of her pale eyes. "Idris, I'm serious."
"So am I, Ila." His tone was suddenly firm, final in a way that brooked no argument. Right then he was her patriarch, and what wasn't being said made her wince and sink a little lower in her seat. She glanced sidelong at him, caught his gaze boring into her - then she looked away as her hand fell back onto the steering wheel, her lip between her teeth. It was nearly 10 pm, so said the digital clock on the dash, and it made her eyes sting a little too much for comfort. His flight was in just under an hour, and she knew she was being petulant because of it.
After another thirty seconds of worrying her lip, she asked in a voice just this side of rough, "You sure you want me to leave the car the whole two months? It's expensive, and I could bring it back later. Or come pick you up..."
Idris's expression was flat when she looked at him next, his lips pulled down into a frown. His voice, too, was just this side of rough, "I do not want to bother you - and there is not a chance in hell I want to catch a share car that is too small for me again. This is almost too much." He gestured to himself with one gnarled hand and an exasperated huff - cramped as he was, he at least fit in the modified SUV with some degree of comfort, even if it wasn't much comfort.
Ila snorted at him and parked the car next to the curb. "Y'know what, that's fair."
Despite there being a digital clock on the dash - and Idris having a smartphone in his pocket - he pulled back his sleeve and checked his analog wristwatch, of all things. He sucked on his teeth again with a deep sigh, tapped at the face of his watch, and combed his fingers from his widow's peak through his tied-back hair.
"Gotta go, baba?" There was the slightest tremor in her softened voice, and she hated how small it made her feel. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and leaned back from the wheel after shutting off the engine, watching him pick at his carry-on bag and willing herself not to cry.
Idris nodded, slow, and glanced sidelong at her in turn. They looked at each other for several heartbeats, before he took a minute to look around the curb and at the other cars. When he determined it was safe enough for his liking after a quick sweep - in spite of the probability of anyone knowing them here to be nigh on impossible - he reached over to stroke her wavy white hair, shuffled close, and leaned down to capture her lips with his.
Ila's fingers fell from the steering wheel and gripped at his dark, pinstriped button-up, and when they parted for breath she immediately pressed her lips against his for just a little longer. It was an attempt to hide the tear that streaked down her cheek; an effort to be strong enough not to break - but it was a futile effort in the end, as the pad of Idris's thumb brushed over the trail of saltwater and caught the second tear just as it fell.
When they did have the chance to call two weeks into Idris's absence, it was a short, choppy video call.
The first thing Ila noticed was how exhausted he looked, in the downturn of his lips and the darker-than-average circles under his eyes. The second thing she noticed was he was wearing an ironed, cream thobe with a swooping, floral-like gold brocade pattern along the collar and down the buttoned-up front. The last thing was his beard was growing out, instead of being trimmed into the familiar shape more forward on his jaw, with whiskers of a mustache coming in at the corners of his mouth.
Ila's fingers itched to comb through the new black fur speckled with silver on his face, and she resisted the urge to touch her phone screen. That would not be touching her baba, that would probably just end the call, and that was the last thing she wanted right now.
"Hi baba." She waved at him, leaning against the couch armrest with the low light of the table lamp illuminating her. The muted TV cast a secondary, flickering light-and-shadow-play on her and the wall behind her.
He cracked a soft smile with a wave of his own; sunlight streamed into the room through slats on the window on his side of the world. It caught up in the strands of his long silver hair, haloing him, and her heart hurt to look at him.
"Prayer is soon, cannot talk for very long."
Ila glanced at the time at the top of her phone, huffed a soft laugh, and rubbed a hand over her face. "It's almost fajr here, so..."
His lip quirked again, and this time it didn't reach his eyes. "You look so tired. Are you going to sleep soon?"
"Mhmmm." She yawned as if for emphasis, and his rumbling chuckle - tinny through the phone speakers - soothed her. She settled after stretching and looked at his face for a long moment, just as he did the same.
With her head pillowed by her arm on the sofa, she murmured just loud enough to be heard, "I miss you so much."
He sighed and shuffled the phone in his hands - and almost dropped it to the hardwood with a startled, hushed shit! Ila snickered at him, as he righted the phone again and blew out a long, slow breath. She could tell he was bouncing his leg as one gnarled hand rubbed over his face. "I miss you too. I will be home before you know it, my heart."
A few minutes of quiet, intimate conversation later, Idris was cut short by a rustle and a click of the door opening. A man - presumably her great uncle that she'd never met - spoke Arabic to Idris at a quick enough tempo that Ila couldn't catch half of what he said. Idris's response was even faster - a rough, rolling snarl in his voice that she'd only ever heard a few times in her life. She got the gist of it all, in the flare of his nostrils and the tensing of a muscle in his jaw and neck.
It was all the more startling then, when the door shut with a soft snckt and he turned his face back to the phone, looking at her from beneath long, dark lashes with a soft, melancholy smile. "Jumu'ah is sooner than I want it to be and I am being fucking hounded because I did not go last week to attend to some things - I have to go now. I love you."
He was softer, slower with her. She bit her lip, hoped the tightness in her throat was only evidenced to her as the adhan started on his side of the world - muffled by the distance of the mosque and the walls of the house - and rasped, "I love you too papa."
Ila watched the call click off, and then watched her phone screen switch to black.
That was the only time they found in the two months he was gone to spend time together in a call. Idris confessed that none of the family knew Ila still lived with him - not that they really considered her a part of the family anyway, bastard that she was. All things considered, she was fine with that.
Each night, she waited with bated breath for her phone to ping with a message from him at 1 am - 8 am his time - and she'd talk to him until she couldn't manage to keep her eyes open for longer than seconds at a time. And when she woke up, she'd ping him. Sometimes it took him a while to respond.
A few times he didn't respond at all until he woke up the next day - but, more often than not, he immediately sent her a selfie with a different one of the dozen or so goats on his cousin's property he took at some point during the time she'd been asleep. They were the highlight of her day - night? - and kept getting sillier. One made her laugh so hard she cried; he sent her a candid photo of him with a black and white goat under his arm, both of them making the same stupid, tongue-lolling expression. There was most definitely food just out of frame.
But that wasn't the one that made her cry - the blurry, accidentally-snapped follow up of the same goat wiggling out of his grip and dropping like a stone while he watched with horror on his in-motion face was what made her laugh so hard she cried.
... holy fuck is the goat okay LMAO
I know from experience how long of a drop that can be
goat is fine, my pride is not
Kareem saw and now he is telling all of the sisters :(
In moments of quiet, as Ila was dropping off to sleep - later and later in the early morning hours - Idris would chide her for ruining her sleep schedule. She would only be half-hearted in firing back that his would be ruined too when he got home because of the jet lag. Most of the time, he didn't have a retort, and most of the time, she said it would be fine. Eventually.
They were both exhausted in their own ways. Ila couldn't sleep in the huge California king on her own in the master bedroom, and had resorted to sleeping in the guest bedroom or on the couch most of the time. Once or twice she managed to fall asleep at her desk - and on the floor, of all places. Idris, well - he was running into the problem that everywhere he went, whether his aunt's spare bedroom or hotels, the beds were too small and a decent nights sleep in a bed that could fit him properly was a distant memory.
The night he got on the plane to come home after two months abroad, he sent her several heart emoji, a plane emoji, and an exhausted looking - though still grinning - selfie; new beard and all, because of course he did. She sent three hearts and a selfie of her half hiding under the covers on the couch, before she willed herself to fall asleep at six in the morning as the sky just started to lighten to before-dawn gray.
When she woke up at noon, the rest of her time was spent in an anxious flurry of cleaning, checking her phone, and laying in a state of catatonia on the sofa. Or the floor; the floor was preferable when her brain wouldn't stop screaming about Idris's plane crashing. He was immediate in sending her a text as soon as he got to his layovers, though, with a more ridiculous selfie every time. Back to his habit of taking photos of people who stared at him for too long.
It was when he sent her a photo of him standing in front of his black SUV - barely in frame at the bottom of the photo, at the height of his ribs - with the biggest smile she'd seen yet, that Ila found herself glued to the window. She held her breath with her phone against her ear as he picked up on the other end.
"I missed your voice," he rumbled after they both said hello, shuffling through something.
"I missed yours too..." She fidgeted, her lip ring clicking on her teeth, excitement a thrumming, living thing in her blood as she listened to him unlock the car and put his bags away. "Oh - also, don't stop to get food or anything baba. I uh, I baked... A lot of bread. And made a pot of beef stew... There's probably muffins coming out of the oven."
She winced, and though he couldn't see it, knew it translated well enough through her half-apologetic tone. "We... Well, we kinda ran out of flour."
There was a pause, a bark of laughter, and then a thump of what Ila assumed was his largest, last luggage bag hauled into the back of the car. "Anxiety, my love?"
Ila picked at her nails and let out a shaky breath. "I cleaned the entire house a dozen times while you were gone. Please, for the love of fuck don't get into a car accident on your way home, because I will kill you."
He laughed again, louder this time, as she heard the door shut and the engine turn over, roaring to life after two months of stillness.
An hour later when she heard his car come up the drive at two in the morning, she still sat curled up on the couch - alternating between looking through the window and playing with her phone.
Ila stared out at the black SUV as it parked in the driveway and her heart began to race. She slid off the couch, walked to the door, and held her breath with the knob in her hand. It had been so long since she'd seen Idris in the flesh that she felt shy - shy enough to open the door only a crack and peek out at him from the shadows behind it. The frigid air hit her like a slap, and her breath steamed in it, her eyes trained on her father moving around in the car.
He unfolded himself from the drivers side after a moment or two of shuffling - there wasn't really a more appropriate word other than unfolded when it came to him - stretched, and turned to lean down and grab a bag from the passengers seat. His face was turned away from her, but she squinted and saw the new, silver-flecked black hair connecting his hairline and his beard along his jaw. She felt that familiar itch in her fingertips.
He was wearing a full-sleeved, plain black button-up tucked into the waistband of his black slacks. His heavy black boots and the studded, patched leather jacket on top of that felt incongruous with the rest of his attire, though. Business casual after a day at the office, collided with the old punk you'd find spilling out of a bar at three in the morning. At least they weren't very far away from three in the morning now.
He slung the pack over his shoulder and shut the door, then turned toward the house long enough for Ila to see his face - and feel her heart skip beneath her ribs, stealing her breath. In that moment she saw him for the first time in two months; dark eyes set in shadowed sockets, glasses settled on his hooked nose and reflecting the lights in front of the garage door; lips parted just enough that he maybe meant to call out, but then thought better of it at this time of night. A lock of his curling silver hair fell over his eyes from the bun he wore in public, and it left her hands trembling with want to smooth it out of his face. That was her papa, and he was finally home, and she hadn't been able to comprehend just how much she missed him until that very moment. An attempt was made to curb the adrenaline that spiked in her system, but in the end it was a hopeless endeavor.
And so, in an over-sized black band hoodie, pink patterned pajama pants, and totally barefoot against all common sense, she opened the door and sprinted over the damp pavement toward him. The sound of her feet slapping the concrete made him look up from yanking one of his rolling luggage bags out of the backseat. Ila just barely contained her shriek when he turned to face her and snatched her up off the ground when she got close enough for him to grab, a grin lighting up his familiar, though now somewhat foreign face. She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck, her knees hugging his hips, and he spun her around with a low, rumbling laugh.
For the sake of the neighbors - or maybe because they were both bone-deep-tired - neither of them spoke while he had her in that first-contact bear hug, her face pressed tight to the side of his newly furred one. His hands smoothed over her back and cradled the back of her head, and his long fingers tangled in her hair. He chanced a kiss on her cheek, though it was as safe as they were going to get; nobody could see their faces even if they'd been staring right at them.
She sighed, almost spoke, and found the words caught behind a lump in her throat. Wordless himself, Idris buried his face against her neck and stood there, clutching her tight. Ila felt her pulse start to slow at the sustained contact of his warm hands on her and solid torso against her, his heat warding off the snappy autumn chill.
When he did set her down a minute or two later, he grabbed his luggage from the trunk and she held onto one of his hands, tugging along the smaller of the two rolling bags. His fingers squeezed hers, and she leaned against him while they walked up the patterned stone path. After all was said and done, Ila expected to go inside, maybe get some food, and definitely pass out soon. What she didn't expect was for her father to duck into the house after her as their hands untangled, set his luggage and carry-on pack by the couch, and sweep her off her feet again. He scooted the bag she'd been pulling along out of his way with a foot, a lopsided grin on his face.
This time, his hold was very deliberate in looking as romantic as it felt, and she felt her heart rate pick up again. They could've explained the one outside away as an over-the-top I missed you - but not this one. He only gave her enough time to realize the intimacy of what was happening to mutter and clutch at him with a sudden, frantic energy, "Shit, shit, shit - the door -"
Idris used his booted foot and nudged it closed with a snap. "No one is awake to notice us."
His lips crashed into hers as soon as he stopped speaking; before Ila could question her being bridal carried near six feet off the floor in his arms, or utter a miffed response to his carelessness. His hands gripped at her so tight she wondered if they'd leave bruises on her skin, leaving her gasping against his mouth. She clutched his jacket and buried her other hand in his hair in turn, tugging it out of the bun with gentle fingers. After two months of separation, she hoped they would become a brand of bruising on her.
She felt her body rock in his arms as he strode somewhere, his hands pressed into her skin and exploring her; his breath hot on her lips when they broke apart, only to come together again with ragged, desperate pants. She couldn't think long enough to pinpoint where exactly they were going until there was hard tile under her. Kitchen - he took her into the dark kitchen, with only the warming light above the stove and the lamp in the living room streaming in through the entry for light.
Their kiss broke and her eyes fluttered open as Idris set her down on the counter, his head tilted down to look at her. Without preamble, he set to work yanking off her pajama pants and panties as his dark eyes caught her gaze and pinned her there, held her trembling in his thrall.
"W-wait a second -"
"No," he growled, his voice tight, reluctant to leave his chest as anything but a rumble. She squeaked and jumped when her bare ass and thighs pressed against the cold tile of the countertop.
"T-that was twenty hours of travel time, you should probably rest." Ila protested, even as she felt a stab of pleasure pulse through her at the heat of his rough hands pressing into her thighs.
He got on his knees in front of her - he still had to bend his head to get to her vulva, and it made her heart skip again - and her body bowed forward at the first long, slow swipe of his tongue. Her breath hitched at the intensity of just that single touch, shaky fingers skimming over his rough cheek.
"F-food? I made the s-stew for you," she managed to gasp out, her hand swiping through his loose hair and pushing it out of the way of his mouth. His new facial hair scratched against her thighs, and she squeezed just slightly to feel the sensation of it on her skin - enough to be noticed.
He responded by gripping her thighs tighter, a growl in his throat as he pulled her toward the edge of the counter. His breath was hot on her wet skin, a wordless warning, before he used the flat of his tongue to swipe at the underside of her clit and pull the flesh between his lips, black eyes rolled up to stare straight at her.
She inhaled and held his gaze for as long as it took to feel her face grow hot and her clit to pulse in his mouth, then her lilac eyes flicked away. "G-guess you're not hungry for that, hah," she said, breathless, and leaned back on her hands to buck against his mouth.
Idris's arms wound under her legs, hoisting her knees up onto his hunched, leather-clad shoulders, and his hands wrapped around her waist. Her breath huffed out at the sensation of his hands on her; hands that were big enough to circle her waist, fingertips touching at her spine and thumbs just barely overlapping on her navel.
"Papa," she whimpered, one of her hands smoothing and then snaring in his hair to pull him closer between her thighs. He responded in kind with another deep, animal growl and flexed his fingers; long, well-groomed nails dug into her pale skin. He lapped at her clit and the whole of her vulva, then dipped between her labia to gently - so gently - taste at her, before driving the muscle inside with a low, throaty groan.
She let out a sudden, stuttering whine and flexed her hips up, her ankles crossing behind his head as he fucked her with his tongue, his beard coarse and scratchy on her inner thighs and butt. Ila watched the concentration on his weathered face turn to bliss and back again, his nostrils flaring with every hard exhale. At her whine, he dragged his tongue back out of her - firm against the rougher patch of sensitive flesh at the top - and licked the broad flat of his tongue on her clit, his lips and beard slick from saliva and fluid.
"Fuck I missed you," He rasped. His hands gave her middle a little squeeze and he dove back between her legs, sucking any part of her he could into his mouth as though he'd been starving.
Her arms and legs shook at the deluge of sensations, sensations she'd been deprived of for months. She whimpered and her head lolled back to look up at the dark ceiling streaked with soft orange light. Her hips bucked up against his mouth again, lip between her teeth. She was aware of a growing heat in her belly that stalled when he changed tact with a deliberate kind of confidence that came only with knowing exactly how to make her come, and the stopping and starting made her want to scream.
Her thighs squeezed his head instead, her voice a high, airy beg. "Make me come, please -"
"That is dangerous," he murmured against wet flesh. Her hand swiped through his hair again, and she tugged a little harder than necessary, her chest heaving.
"I've had nothing but sparse, lackluster orgasms from a shitty vibe for two months, make me come old man," she snarled.
Idris's eyes glittered. She almost - almost - regretted her words when a slow smile spread across his face, his yellowed teeth catching the bare light.
As he promised, that request was, indeed, dangerous.
He hauled her up over his shoulder - much to her indignation - and carried her up the stairs at a brisk pace, ducking extra low through doorways to make sure she didn't bump into anything. There was something so familiar about him setting her down on the bed, watching him shrug out of that mismatched jacket, roll up his more-business-than-casual shirtsleeves and pull his hair back over one shoulder. Like they'd never been put on pause, like he'd never left - even though her heart hurt to look at him.
He hadn't bothered to take off his boots as he tromped up the stairs, and now she wondered if he would take off the wristwatch, or maybe just his glasses - and then didn't wonder much of anything when he did neither, knelt in front of her, and pulled her legs up over his shoulders. He resumed what had been started in the kitchen, and Ila wasn't positive how the fuck her old man - bordering now on seventy four - had so much stamina and strength left in him. Where others would be frail in old age, his vigor was supernatural.
At least it felt supernatural after the third orgasm he gave her in succession, his hand and then his lips laying claim to every cry he pulled from her with an exacted, practiced precision.
"You were worried about the door," he kissed the shell of her ear as her nails clawed into his clothed back, her legs locked and shaking in the immediate aftermath of another slow-built orgasm, "yet you keep screaming, habibti..."
Idris laid next to her on the bed, holding himself up on one elbow. His other arm trailed down her body, middle and ring fingers pumping in and out of her wet heat. Her thighs clamped tight on his forearm when his thumb brushed over her too-sensitive clit, and he laughed at her startled cry. He stopped after a few brushes more and withdrew his fingers. Her legs fell open then, and he nosed at her cheek with a little sigh, petting her vulva.
"O-oh god," Ila panted, pulling her head up to look down at herself and his slick hand, "H-how is your arm not tired?!"
He thought for a minute, bringing his hand up to his face to suck his fingers clean. Ila's belly gave a traitorous little flop of want at the sight of his tongue sliding between his long knobby fingers to catch everything.
"Remember when you found me doing push-ups?"
It took a bit, but then her face heated at the memory. It had been before any confessions, so she'd watched with a giddy, embarrassed voyeurism from the stairs as he did at least a dozen push-ups on the living room floor after who-knows-how-many-sets before she'd found him. The muscles of his back rippled beneath dark skin that shimmered with a thin layer of sweat. She thought he hadn't noticed her, and was going to creep back into her room - until he pushed himself up on his haunches and stared right at her with a tired grin and a wave as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
He grinned at her now, as he watched the gears in her head turn - a lazy, satisfied look on his lined, angular face when she shot him a glare a few seconds later. "Mostly because of that..."
"I - hah," she heaved, let out a soft giggle, and flopped into a boneless puddle on her back on the sheets, "I n-need a break."
"Rest, I am going to shower," Idris murmured, then kissed her again on the lips. Slow, gentle; a reverent caress that tasted of her and tasted of him. She almost whimpered when he parted from her.
He sat up at the edge of the bed, and Ila watched him through hazy eyes. Watched long, nimble fingers undo the buttons down his black button-up, watched broad, lean shoulders shrug out of the silky material. She reached out and swept her fingertips over his sinewy side, prompting him to glance over his shoulder at her, one gray brow raised.
Ila bit her lip and looked away, before she looked back at him from beneath white lashes. "Sorry, you're just... you're home, and you're here, and I missed you so much habibi."
He caught her hand in his, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles, and then bent low to press his lips there for several long seconds. Her face flushed, and she scooted her way closer to him despite the leftover shiver in her limbs, and settled a hand on his thigh, thumb brushing over his black slacks. Ila spoke a handful of Arabic - though not enough for even a simple conversation - and it was exceedingly rare that she called him the pet name he used diminutively for her.
Idris's dark eyes flickered back up to her, and he asked against her skin in a throaty roll, "Shower with me...?"
She nodded - with a little too much vigor - and watched him stand. Her gaze traveled to the obvious tent in his slacks that had been hidden before now, that now he didn't bother to hide or fix. She held onto his offered hand and shuffled her way off the bed, her face flushed.
He quirked his brow at her as she bit her lip with a smile after shimmying out of her hoodie, and she responded by smoothing her free hand over his prick. He sucked in a breath and twitched when she gave him a few firm, slow strokes through the material, as though he'd forgotten his own physical pleasure existed at all.
Idris shook his head under the spray of water, half slapping Ila with his long, heavy mane of waterlogged hair. She sputtered and wiped at her face; he grinned at her.
"Babaaaa," she whined and pushed against his lean hip.
His weight shifted to one side as he stretched under the water and let it cascade over him for a minute or two more. He huffed at her as she shook out her own long, heavy mane and flicked his side with it a few times. Then, as she got bored and grabbed at the shampoo to lather her hair, he sat on the built in bench just off to the side of the water. He stretched one of his long legs out, flexed his toes, and grabbed his own shampoo from a rack on the wall at his shoulder height.
When he bought the house three decades before, the master bathroom was large enough to facilitate remodeling the shower, and that was one of the first things he did. It was beyond aggravating to bathe in spaces that were too small for him as he had for most of his life - so the shower heads were installed in the ceiling, the tub torn down, a bench added specifically to fit him, and the shower expanded to encompass half of the large bathroom. One of those open showers with the drain in the middle of the floor. In the ensuing years it had been aesthetically remodeled with textured, cool and warm gray tile interlocking to make brick patterns along the wall and floor, with a stripe of shimmery black tile along the back wall.
Steam rolled around them, fogging up the mosaic glass that made up two walls of the shower. Idris scrubbed at his hair, then his neck and chest with a soft sigh. The sigh turned into a rumble at the back of his throat when Ila moved closer and gathered some of the suds from his mane and massaged it into his new facial hair, tilting her head down to press her forehead against his temple.
"Feels nice," he mumbled, tipping back his head with a soft groan when her nails raked over his soapy shoulders and clavicle.
"You've got so much beard now." She tugged the longer hair in the tie at his chin, for emphasis. He rumbled a sound that might have been a laugh - the tie was mandatory at this point, instead of done for simple aesthetic.
"Gave me fucking weird looks for shaving, so I stopped - never mind the fucking tattoo and hair. Was not going to change those though." He scrubbed at the back of his head with his nails and leaned forward, thinking with a scowl encroaching on his otherwise exhausted expression. "Could not actually say shit about it, but faces say many words."
"Well, it looks good on you and I like it." Ila laughed and sat next to him on the bench - her head at just below his shoulder height now.
He stretched his arms up, forearms flexing as he scrubbed at his hair, his Adam's apple bobbing as he craned his neck back. "Maybe I will keep it for a bit for you, hmh?"
Her fingers combed through the soapy hair covering his jaw, trailed down his throat, then stopped to scratch nails over his sinewy pecs. He sighed, quiet, and leaned forward into the water to rinse most of the soap out of the hair on his head and face as her fingertips skimmed over his flexing side.
When he came back up, he smoothed his hair to one side of his head and wiped excess water away from his eyes, blinking at her. Ila pet down his abdomen as he leaned back, her nails scratching through the dense kind of hair on his stomach before they settled on the crease of his hip, fingertips following the sharp line of it.
He looked down at her mischievous expression - then jumped and balled one of his hands into a fist on the tile of the bench, just as her white lashes fluttered and a broad grin broke over her face. As though he'd once again forgotten himself, he stiffened and his breath hitched when her slippery fingers skimmed over his half-hard cock, this time without the buffer of fabric. His stretched out leg bent back and planted his foot firmly on the tiled ground, his head tilted forward to watch her fingertips trail over the veins pulsing in his shaft.
Ila bit down on the laugh that bubbled up in her throat and wriggled under his arm, one hand rubbing over his thigh and hip, the other wrapping around his hardening prick. His stomach tensed and he gasped as her hand stroked him in earnest from base to tip.
"F-fuck that is good..."
"Yeah...?" She twisted her fist on the upstroke, bunching his foreskin up over his beading cockhead, tapping her thumb on the thick gauge piercing jutting from his slit. He made to respond, but then stilled and moaned as her hand fell at the base of his heavy, throbbing dick to cup each of his balls in her palm.
Idris grit his teeth and flexed his hips toward her hand, thighs tensing and cock bobbing from the motion. "Water is going to go cold - ah!"
His cock jumped from the soft, sudden slap of her palm. She did it a second time, and he hissed out a ragged breath from between his teeth. "Who said I'm going to be here long enough to make you come?" Ila asked, voice a soft chime beneath the hot water drumming down around them. A few tugs on his sac made his voice reedy, and she let herself laugh and massage at his thighs with her unoccupied hand.
"Will not take much to make me come like this," he rasped in Arabic, head lolled back again.
Ila hummed and slicked a soapy hand over his reddening cockhead, the other returning to palm his dark, heavy balls. "That pent up, huh papa?"
He snorted and bared his teeth; his hand snared in her wet hair and his hips bucked up, another soft reedy pant heard above the drum of hot water on the tile around them. She pulled back his foreskin and slicked wet, gentle fingertips over the newly exposed skin, brushing her thumb beneath the edge of his glans. His cock throbbed, a bead of precum formed then swept away by her fingers. She let go of him and he growled, his hand tightening in her hair in warning - then her hands were caressing his sac, massaging his inner thighs, nails gently scrubbing soap through the silver and black hair on his groin.
"You need not be so thorough," his breath hitched again as her hand stroked down the length of his heavy, hard cock, lubricated by soap, "I keep very clean."
She shot him a glance and a pout, and he smiled at her while his chest heaved in another ragged pant. "I'm having fun."
He let go to comb his fingers through her silvery white hair. His voice was rough, accent thicker than the normal. "Have fun later. I want to rinse while there is still hot water, habibti."
It took most - well, all - of Idris's willpower to scoot Ila off the bench and into the cascade of water. Somehow, he managed to do it without puling her into his lap. He stood and followed right behind her, one hand combing through his hair to get at the remaining shampoo, while the other absently massaged his stiff, aching prick.
Freshly showered, the both of them tumbled back into bed, nude and damp and uncaring that it was now four thirty in the morning. Their lips crashed together; gnarled fingers dug into petite hips; small hands skimmed over raised veins on top of the hard muscle of flexing forearms.
"I missed you so fucking much," Idris rasped against the side of her head. He wrapped sturdy arms around her shoulders then, and peppered the side of her head with kisses.
Her nails bit into his biceps when she felt his cock flex and nudge against her thigh, a barely restrained whine at the back of her tongue. She meant to say, "I need you, please I need you Idris", but his lips claimed hers again before she could, and his cock slicked over her vulva with every slow, forward roll of his hips.
Idris broke away and trailed more soft presses of his lips over her pale skin, grazing yellowed teeth along the column of her throat and the line of her pulse. She swallowed, and tried to speak now that she could; all that came was a series of whimpers that could've sounded like whispered nonsense.
"How do you want me?" He asked against her ear as he rose up back to the side of her head, shifting to plant one of his huge hands by her shoulder, the other arm wrapped firm around her ribs. "Could have you on your back," Ila gasped when he pressed a hungry kiss to her pulse at the junction of her jaw and neck, "your stomach," a softer gasp, when he nipped her clavicle, "your side..."
A little lower, and he dragged his tongue over the pink nipple set on her petite breast, drawing out a shudder that lingered in her limbs, a gasp held tight in her throat. "Could fuck you with my tongue again, before I use my prick," he growled against her skin, gravel in his throat. He sucked her pierced nipple into his mouth and let it pop back out, gentle, catching the ring between his teeth to tug.
Ila made a soft sound that might have meant to have been words at some point before it left her lips, and she wound her fingers in his damp hair and tugged. Up.
He trailed his lips up along her skin, then peppered more slow, deliberate kisses over her face - her cheeks, her eyelids, nose, chin, forehead - and claimed her lips again when all she could do was draw in a lungful of air, let out another quiet whimper, and dig her fingers into his dark skin. That time, he pulled them both up into a sitting position without breaking the slow, contemplative press of their lips, then drew her into his lap.
They broke apart as she settled her petite body against his - trapping his hard, dripping cock between them - and she pulled his head down for another tender kiss. They stayed there, wrapped up around the other so much that Idris's frame all but swallowed hers. He cocooned her, her arms and legs wrapped around him in sweeping lines of ghost-white flesh against a backdrop of deep umber; almost glowing in the low light of their bedroom.
When he took a breath, his crooked nose pressed against her cheek. He paused at the wetness he felt there - and the sensation of another tear sliding against where his nose met her skin. Her body wracked with a sudden, violent shudder, and he instinctively tightened his hold on her, his lips next to her ear.
"S-sorry," she finally managed to rasp against his furred jaw, squeezing her eyes shut as more tears came unbidden, "sorry, just, f-feeling a lot, I -"
He pulled back far enough to see the vague shape of her face in the moonlight filtering in through the open curtains. His brows knit as he swiped away her tears with his thumbs. "Do I stop?"
"Please, god, don't s-stop," she whispered, sniffing and fumbling to press her lips against his again. Greedier this time, causing Idris to suck in a sharp breath that made his chest heave, his nails biting into her skin.
"Show me what you want, if you cannot tell me," he murmured in the bare space between them when they broke again, sharing heavy, hot breath.
Ila sniffed, and he felt saltwater drip from her chin onto his arm, continuing its descent ever-downward. She contemplated him for several seconds. He knew she was thinking - though he could just barely see her face - because he could hear her teeth clicking on the piercing in her lower lip. It made a soft, slow laugh rumble from deep in his chest.
Then, she pushed on his chest with a flattened hand, pushing him back against the headboard. Idris wordlessly settled against the pillows, shuffling them around until they supported his lower back as well as they could. Ila leaned all the way over to reach her nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that was an-always-present feature there.
"Ahh, I see..."
Idris shuffled down more, one of his hands on her ribs, the other stroking his twitching cock, swiping away the slow but steady trickle of precum from his slit. The first touch of the cold lube made him shudder, and then he didn't care quite so much as it warmed from the friction of his hand and spread over his skin.
Ila set the lube down and hiked herself up on her knees, straddling his hips and lining him up beneath her. Another sniff had Idris pausing through the haze of pleasure; he cradled the back of her head in his unoccupied hand and pulled her forward to press their foreheads together. Another tear dripped onto his chest in the dark.
"Are you okay?" He asked, attempting - and failing - to search her face.
She sniffed again, using his shoulder for balance and grinding her hips down against his hard, slick prick, gasping. He almost asked again, but then he popped inside of her squeezing cunt and the sudden flood of sensation stole the question from his mind. He let go of himself and wiped his hand on one of the bunched up towels next to him on the bed, as Ila shifted and sank down on his cock bit by bit, rocking her hips forward with a soft moan.
"I missed you so much," she said, just as her mouth found his again before he could reply.
He groaned against her lips when she took him to the hilt, squeezing around his pulsing length. She shuddered in his arms, scooting and hooking her legs over his flexing thighs, finding a slow, deep rhythm that had them both panting in earnest, Ila still trembling from her earlier exertion at his hands.
Another kiss pressed to his lips, her nails combing over his temple and through his mane of hair, coiled and frizzy instead of sleek and wavy from not being brushed out before being left to dry. "The house was s-so empty," she whispered, her voice thick and sticky, and more tears pattered onto his chest.
All at once it hit him as his hands wrapped around her ribs and he dipped his head down, his tongue swiping a stripe of wet heat over her throat. He bit her shoulder between his teeth, his hips rolling up with what little space he had to maneuver himself, matching the slow downward stroke of hers. He'd been gone for two months to deal with a death in the family, of no one they'd ever known. He'd hardly had the time to speak to her compared to their daily - hourly - interactions when he was home. Of course she'd be so overwhelmed. Of course she'd be so sensitive. Of course each slow roll of their hips would be punctuated by a quiet moan and an even quieter sob. Of course she was okay, now.
"Ma'lesh, my heart," he murmured against her skin, burying his face against her shoulder and crushing her to his chest, halting their motions but staying inside of her.
Ila shivered and melted into his sturdy embrace, nosing against his furry jaw, her arms wound tight around his neck. Articulating herself had become difficult, but she hoped that her near frantic body language conveyed just how much she wanted - needed - this, in spite of her ever-flowing tears.
"Closer papa, please," she breathed, tightening her hold on the solidity of him, rocking her hips forward enough to feel his prick twitch inside of her from the sensation.
"I am here. I am here." His lips traced the words over her skin, and again in Arabic, beard and mustache scratchy on her neck and shoulder.
After a few more slow, one-sided thrusts, he stopped her and pulled her off of his cock - shushing her quiet whines with another kiss - and rolled them both forward so that he hovered above her, a soft slash of silver catching the planes of her pale face and the glitter of tears. He lowered himself and pulled her hips up, letting her guide him into her again with delicate fingers as he watched her face.
Ila's lids fluttered shut at the sensation of Idris sliding in to the hilt again, his balls pressed against her. He breathed, hard, his body bowed and taut above her, the interlocked muscles along his ribs flexed. When he moved again, Ila's still-wet eyes opened, her nails scratching his biceps, and before she could say anything from parted lips, Idris descended and kissed her, stealing her voice. He moved at a slow, deep pace, and it made her skin feel so raw. Too much sensation; maybe not enough sensation.
"Oh g-god," she whimpered when he broke from her and kissed a tear from her cheek, "oh god don't stop, please don't stop."
He leaned up on one forearm, his other hand trailing down her body to hold her hip still, his pace sped up though no less steady, each surge forward pressing his sac against her. The light reflected in his black eyes as he leaned into it, let it cut a slash along the side of his features as he watched her lips part and chest heave with every downward stroke of his heavy cock. Her hand reached up to cup his cheek, catching the low light, her thumb brushing the sharp plane of bone below his eye.
"So pretty habibti," he whispered, his fingers finding and brushing over her wet clit, "so pretty and so mine."
She tensed, her muscles clamping down on his prick, and Idris shuddered with a soft moan. He used the pad of his thumb to stroke her, gentle, and Ila's breath hitched at the sensation.
"I - I already came three times..."
"Do I stop?" Another steady stroke of his cock, another steady stroke of his thumb. Ila wrapped an arm around to the back of his head and dragged him down, arching her head back and her neck up to press her forehead to his in a way that did not leave his long body bowing at an uncomfortable, convex arch.
"Don't you d-dare." She hiccoughed, wiping at the tears that had gone tacky on her face.
Pleasure built at a crawl between them, heat flourished with every press of skin to skin, every stroke, every whimper and groan and bite of nails and teeth. It was a different kind of frenetic energy than earlier; a slower, hungrier, honest kind of frenetic. They had blood and flesh in common - but blood wasn't enough, flesh wasn't enough. After two months of separation, nothing felt like it could ever be enough.
"Oh, f-fuck -"
Idris's hips snapped forward in a punishing rhythm despite the still slow, even stroke of his thumb on her clit. He rasped against her neck, his hair falling and framing and shielding the both of them from the light turning gray outside. "Yallah, yallah, come for me, come on my fucking prick habibti -"
Ila's thighs clenched around his hips, and she trembled so hard she thought she might rattle to pieces. She bit down on his tattooed shoulder to muffle the sobbing shout that tore from her throat. Idris snarled at the sensation of her cunt contracting around him, pressing and squeezing in a way that had become so intimately familiar and so achingly missed, and rolled his hips a final few times before he, too, had to muffle himself against her skin however he could. Heat boiled over in his belly, his cock throbbing into wet, pulsing heat, painting her inside with so much cum it flowed back out, dripping onto the sheets beneath them.
He stayed like that, pressed so tight against her that neither of them were sure where one ended and the other began, both of them panting and shaking. His muscles shuddered and flexed under her fingertips, their eyes met in the slash of slowly creeping dawn light, and his much larger hand found hers, lacing their fingers together.
Ila expected him to pull out, to pull her close and become still. But he stayed above her, kissed her long and slow, and started rocking his hips again after a few moments of quiet, tender respite.
"Do you have to go back?"
They had both given up on sleeping at any kind of proper time even as they lay together under the blankets, watching the sun creep into the sky. Idris breathed deep and pressed his crooked nose into her hair, shaking his head.
"Mmh... no. I made it very clear I intend to take care of any further business without travel." He huffed, and she kissed his throat. "I might be the fucking patriarch, but I am too old to travel like that. I will still have final say without being physically present."
Her hand found his, laced their fingers together, and she pressed in tight against his body. She stifled a soft laugh at feeling his softened cock twitch against her leg. He shifted his head down and kissed the crown of her head, an irritated grumble in his throat.
"Do not get ideas my heart, I am finally tired."
"Wasn't my idea to fuck three times back to back," she muttered against his skin. He snorted.
"I missed you." The hand not holding hers combed through her hair, and she let out a loud, sudden yawn in reply.
He chuckled. "Sleep now?"
"Ugh our schedule is going to be fucking ruuinneedd," she whined.
Idris looked down at her for several seconds before rolling over toward his nightstand. "That is amusing that you mind that now, because -"
She furrowed her brow and watched him, and then felt her face grow hot when he rolled back over with his phone and a satisfied smirk, propped up on an elbow to scroll through it. He cleared his throat, and she attempted to shrink under the covers without drawing attention to herself.
"- A month ago, you said to me: Habibti, 9:04 am: our sleep schedule is going to be fine, we will adjust to the jet lag and my shitty sleep pattern will fix itself -"
"Shh shhh shhhuutup," Ila hissed, putting a hand over Idris's mouth. He kept reading off their texts, his voice mumbled to sheer incomprehension, and then he licked her palm.
Ila shook his head with her hand, then let go, her face scrunched up at the string of saliva trailing between her palm and his tongue. He raised an eyebrow at her and pulled it back into his mouth, the trail snapping.
"You do not mind me kissing your mouth or cunt with my tongue, but this is where you draw the line?"
Ila pouted and wiped her hand off on the blankets, then hunkered down next to his much bigger body. She declined to respond to him directly. "If we're sleeping now, please close the goddamn curtains."
Idris had to stifle a giggle as he did what she requested without complaint. He slid back into bed in the artificial dark of the blackout drapes a few seconds later and cradled her tight to his body, petting her and murmuring nonsense against her hair. The both of them fell asleep just as the rest of the city started to wake; whole and content for the first time in too long of a time.
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