Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/993161.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Hetalia:_Axis_Powers
  Relationship:
      turkey/france
  Character:
      Turkey_(Hetalia:_Axis_Powers), France_(Hetalia:_Axis_Powers), Original
      Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Shota, Harems, Historical, Intercrural_Sex, just_lots_of_sex, Oral_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-06 Updated: 2013-11-16 Chapters: 6/? Words: 9363
****** Harem ******
by lovelessly
Summary
     "But open your angel's arms to this stranger in paradise... and tell
     him that he need be a stranger no more."
     I admit, I just want to write a lush and barely accurate harem fic,
     based on Japanese fanarts of these two. Once again, this is shota,
     even though I characterize France as being a fully knowledgeable and
     consenting person in a preteen/teen body. Also for some reason they
     are not 100% sure the other is a nation... Also I am trash.
***** Welcome *****
It took a while to find the rat skulking around the palace, but Sadiq prided
himself on his hunting skills, and before long, he had backed the thief into a
corner of a storage room full of rugs. The thief attempted to make a dash for
it, only to be blocked by the arms of his captor, who promptly hauled him off
to his own quarters.
Sadiq set the struggling child down, keeping a firm grip on a thin grubby
wrist. Without a word, he pulled the veil off of the child’s hair, and then
stared dumbfounded once he realized exactly who he had caught. Not a brat from
the women’s quarters, not a servant, but a foreigner, no more than fourteen
years of age, with long blond hair and deep blue eyes and skin pale enough to
evoke a concubine’s envy. His first thought was that this must be an errant
offspring of the European traders established in the city’s ports, but judging
by the child’s filthy condition, it was more likely they were an escaped slave.
Troublesome, either way.
“Can you understand me, child?” Sadiq asked quietly, and the boy or girl stared
back at him blankly, not understanding. He repeated the question, but in Greek,
and that seemed to elicit some comprehension as the phrase was mentally
translated and followed by a nod.
“Good. I won’t hurt you, so calm down, okay?” Further questioning revealed the
child was actually a boy despite his pretty features, orphaned and from France.
Breathlessly, the boy related how he was separated from the acting company he
was traveling with a few weeks ago, and some scary men found him, but he ran
away while they were arguing and hid in a shipment of jars before ending up in
the palace cellars. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Sadiq had to wonder how the
boy had managed to escape the traders in the first place, who would not let
such a valuable commodity out of their sight. A young slave from France, or any
of the countries to the far north and west of Europe, were especially hard to
obtain, and would bring outrageous profits to the trader lucky enough to find
an unscrupulous merchant willing to separate a peasant child from their family.
Sadiq could only hope they had given up finding this one because the more he
stared at the boy standing before him, the more he wanted him for himself.
“Well, I won’t question you any more tonight,” Sadiq said. “Rest in my quarters
for now while I decide what to do with you. And if I catch you stealing any of
my things, I’ll cut off your hands, just like that.”
The boy nodded his head vigorously to show that he understood.
Chuckling, Sadiq reached down and patted the golden curls. “My name is Sadiq
Adnan, little one.”
“Francis Bonnefoy,” the boy replied, smiling sweetly.
Angels above, but he was adorable.
 
Sadiq knew better than to ask an official directly about a potentially
dangerous matter, and so he directed his inquiries to their trusted slaves. It
was a high-ranking eunuch of the harem who told him that Sadiq’s status in the
sultan’s army would most likely grant him protection if he wished to claim the
escapee as his own servant, though it would also depend on how desperate the
merchants were to reclaim their goods. The eunuch paused, a curious look in his
glittering black eyes, and asked if this boy was worth the danger. Smiling,
Sadiq said that yes, he was, and that was why he hoped to call on a favor from
the head of the harem herself, the sultan’s mother.
Once the eunuch relayed this intriguing story to the sultan’s mother, Sadiq did
not have to wait long before he was requested to bring the slave to the harem,
where he would always be welcome if refuge was required. Sadiq must, of course,
find other means to defend himself.
He returned to his quarters, finding Francis fast asleep in his bed. Sadiq’s
hand wavered uncertainly over the boy’s shoulder, and then he decided to draw
back the covers, wanting to see more of this rare and fascinating foreigner
with his own eyes. Ever so gently, he felt the skin of the youth’s hands,
slightly callused, but with perfectly maintained fingernails, obviously having
worked before, yet used to a life of relative luxury. His gaze swept over the
thin body obscured by a tattered white knee-length tunic, and he let his
fingers trail across the boy’s soft cheek. Francis started at the touch and his
eyes shot open, but upon seeing he was safe, he closed his eyes and nuzzled at
Sadiq’s palm gently.
“Does he even know what he’s doing to me?” Sadiq wryly thought to himself,
trying to keep the sudden flare of heat in his loins under control. But he
could not indulge in this contact for too much longer, and Francis needed to be
fed and cleaned up under the close eye of the harem servants.
“Francis, I’m taking you to the women’s quarters,” he said softly. “The
sultan’s mother, the head of the harem, wishes to see you. If you behave well,
then she will grant you protection, even though you are my servant, and not the
sultan’s.”
Francis’ eyes widened at this explanation, and he asked, “Will I have to stay
in the harem? I want to stay with you, Sadiq.”
“Well, if that’s what you want, then sure.” He certainly had no objections.
“But it’s just that you are a very special child, and the harem is the safest
place for you to be.”
“Oh, you mean those scary men, they might try to find me and take me back.”
Francis shuddered, and Sadiq just barely managed to resist the urge to embrace
him. For now, he handed the boy some fruit to eat until the evening’s meal, and
bade him cover his hair before they left to meet the dowager.
 
It was with some reluctance that Francis separated from Sadiq’s side, and the
older man laughed and promised to return for him later that night. Abandoned,
he had no other choice but to follow the tall dark-skinned eunuch to that part
of the palace forbidden to men. They passed by beautiful white halls decorated
with dazzling mosaics and curtains woven in deep jewel-like hues, so much more
extravagant and luxurious than the cold castle keeps he called home. He tried
but could not keep track of the twisting turns they followed, and at last they
reached the airy rooms inhabited by the concubines and their children.
To Francis’ surprise, the sultan’s mother was European, probably Hungarian, and
she spoke to him in flawless Greek, commenting that he was very blessed in all
ways. Then the youngest of the concubines were summoned, and they led him to
their private baths, where they scrubbed him clean of weeks of grime, dousing
him with warm scented water and drying him with soft towels. One of them was
Venetian and could understand some French, and so he revealed the most
important parts of his story to her as she and her colleagues brushed his hair
and dabbed fragrant attar of roses onto the skin of his wrists and ankles.
Though he tried to not stare too openly, Francis was overwhelmed by the variety
of feminine beauty among the concubines, none of whom were the typical shrouded
Muslim women he had expected to see. There were the intellectual Greeks and
friendly Italians, along with elegant Slavs and fiery-tempered Balkans, and
even one or two exotic women from Egypt and the Orient, a veritable collection
of lovely birds and butterflies forever trapped in a gilded cage. As the girls
led him to the dressing rooms, bundled in a robe finer than even his prettiest
gowns a lifetime away in Europe, he caught a glimpse of a group of children
playing in another room, and vaguely wished he could join them. But he was
older than they were, far older, and his life was already caught up in a
struggle for power that not even the concubines could comprehend in their petty
daily rivalries.
The girls picked out an outfit for him while he ran exploratory fingers over
the silks and embroidered velvets and damasks and furs, marveling at the colors
and textures. But when they showed him what he was to wear, he frowned.
“This looks like a Greek’s tunic,” Francis muttered, and giggling, the women
assured him that the captain’s preferences ran thus. They slipped the silky
fabric over his head, and he attempted to sit still as they cooed over him. If
the boy had turned up as their rival, then there would have been some trouble,
but as he was not for the sultan, the concubines were more than happy to treat
him as their doll.
There was only one moment of awkwardness, as they were braiding pearls and
lilies into his hair and sliding gold and jewels onto his fingers and ankles,
when Francis innocently asked if they were happier here than they were in their
homelands. Perhaps it was best that there was no French woman among the
concubines, for they all eventually agreed, that yes, the palace life was far
better than what they would have experienced at home, where they would have
been stuck in a life of poverty and drudgery, their bodies drained from work
and giving birth.
“But you are slaves!” he protested, feeling somewhat angry at their compliance,
affronted that they would prefer a Muslim’s decadence to an honest Christian
life. “Don’t you want to be free? I would! How can you possibly be content
being imprisoned like this?”
And they answered sadly that being born a female had already ensured their
future as a slave, by name or by fact, and that a man’s pretty words have not
and will not change reality. This was the best they could ever hope for, and
not being able to see the outside world was worth escaping the fate of their
mothers and sisters.
Francis mulled over this as the Venetian girl brought him his meal and set the
dishes out on a beautiful table inlaid with chips of precious stones. But he
was too hungry to feel betrayed any longer, and ate and drank everything that
he was given, finding the food and drink rich and delicious. The young
concubine lingered by his side, occasionally answering his questions about the
meal, and finally she cleared her throat and asked if he knew anything about
how to please a man.
Chewing thoughtfully on a sticky sweet, he decided to be honest and replied,
“Yes. Basically. Is there… something I should know?”
The girl smiled and nodded serenely. While the women of the sultan’s harem were
not exactly free to wander the palace as they pleased, Francis discovered that
their combined knowledge of certain persons and their predilections, gleaned
from servant’s gossip, was vast and horrifyingly detailed.
“I-I see… Thank you for warning me, I… shall do my best.” Francis did not
consider himself prudish on this particular matter, and he had his own range of
experiences, some more pleasant than others… but this would take some getting
used to.
 
Once it was time to leave, the concubines giving Francis farewell kisses and
hoping he would come back soon, the eunuch handed him a bundle of the rest of
his clothing, draping the kaftan over his shoulders, and then a dark hooded
cloak over that. Silently, the eunuch loped off to the rest of the palace, and
Francis ran after him, eventually pulling the flowers out of his hair and
stuffing them into a random vase or jar. By the time they reached Sadiq, masked
and hooded and smoking a pipe, Francis looked rather disheveled and breathless.
But he returned the other’s toothy smile, and did not object to having his hand
held as he was led to back to his living quarters.
“They’ve obviously given you a bath. Did they feed you as well?” Sadiq asked as
he removed his hat and mask, setting his pipe down on a table.
“Yes. They treated me kindly, though I am glad to see you again, Sadiq.”
Francis watched warily as the older man proceeded to remove his kaftan and
tunic, until he was shirtless, wearing only the baggy salvar trousers and his
shoes. Smiling lazily, a desert lion used to getting what it wants, Sadiq sat
down on the edge of his bed and motioned Francis over, eager to unwrap the
present the harem had given him.
Before he could lose his courage, Francis blurted out, “They told me you would
free me, if I served you well.”
“When you reach your majority, I’ll definitely free you,” Sadiq murmured, ready
to make heedless promises in exchange for a night of pleasure. Somehow, Francis
looked even more worried than before, and he shifted nervously from foot to
foot as the other man let the cloak fall to the floor, and then opened the
front of his kaftan. Chuckling to himself at the choice of costume, he slipped
the robe off of the boy’s arms, and watched indulgently as the boy suddenly
shivered, the material of the tunic thin and draped artfully over only one
shoulder.
“Come into bed with me, Francis, and we shall warm ourselves.”
“Is that what I have to do for you? Keep you warm in bed?” Francis asked
curiously as he crawled into the bed, and Sadiq nodded and let the curtains
fall back into place. Something like that, anyway.
Gathering the delicate body into his embrace, Sadiq brought Francis’ chin up
and kissed him deeply, pleased to feel him respond with enthusiasm. He licked
and sucked at the boy’s lips, letting his hands roam over the smooth cool skin,
warming him with his own body heat, which had only increased as Francis
occasionally wriggled in his lap. When they finally paused to take breath,
Sadiq grinned to see Francis blushing and smiling coyly up at him.
“Hey, you’re pretty good,” he whispered, kissing him one last time before
untying his belt and undoing his tunic. Francis squeaked as he was disrobed and
then pushed back against the mattress in one smooth motion. Before he could
protest, Sadiq had already pounced on him, smothering his face and neck and
arms with open-mouthed kisses, disregarding the bracelets and jewelry
decorating his limbs.
It was not the first time Francis had found himself in such a position, and
Sadiq may have guessed it as well. But out of politeness’ sake, the older man
did take the time to gently massage warmed oils onto the skin of Francis’
thighs, assuring him that this would be painless, and they would sleep
afterwards, presumably to save the rest for another day. Not that he could deny
Sadiq what he wanted, shutting his eyes when he felt something thick and hard
plunge down between his closed legs and then thrust back and forth vigorously
for what seemed like an eternity before something hot spilled onto his hips.
Cautiously, Francis opened an eye, noticing Sadiq now reclining on his side, a
satisfied smirk on his lips as he tried to catch his breath.
His grin only grew wider as Francis reached for his softening cock, gripping it
lightly before bringing a wet finger up to his lips and licking it with a
childlike curiosity. That gesture was nearly enough to make Sadiq hard again,
but he controlled himself well, conscious enough to grab the abandoned tunic
and wipe the mess off of the boy before falling asleep.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Actually no sex here, just more of the harem. My apologies in advance
     if I get details wrong, this is a three-year old fic.
In the flickering glow of oil lamps, Francis watched as Sadiq murmured
something, a name perhaps, though not his, before rolling onto his back and
drifting off into a relaxed slumber. His thoughts wandered aimlessly, resisting
the oblivion of sleep, and the taste on his tongue brought up memories of a
time long ago, spent under the rule of another empire. This time would be
different, he told himself, and yet somehow it was starting to feel the same.
Smiling bitterly, an old smile that did not belong on a youthful face, Francis
curled up close to Sadiq, resting his cheek against the broad, sweat-damp
chest, not realizing when he drifted off to unconsciousness.
 
He woke the next morning to find Sadiq already dressing. Yawning, he stretched
his aching limbs, the borrowed bangles making a slight tinkle and attracting
the older man’s attention.
“Good morning,” the Turk said, eyes automatically drawn to the pale body
sprawled naked on top of dark crimson sheets. Even with his hair tousled and
his eyes hooded with sleep, the boy looked absolutely divine, and Sadiq prayed,
blasphemously, that the sultan would not require his presence for long this
morning.
“Did you sleep well, Sadiq?”
Sadiq nodded and gave him another measuring look from behind the eerie white
mask that covered the top half of his face, and Francis returned it with a shy
glance through his lashes. Chuckling, the Turk bent to kiss him, fiercely, a
promise of more to come. “I should have guessed, but damn, you’re a natural.
You really what you say you are?”
“Wh-what? Why would I lie about that?” Francis asked, eyes widening slightly in
alarm.
“I don’t know. You… surprise me.” And he hated being caught off guard.
“But you like me, don’t you?” The way he asked that question, blue eyes wide
and adoring, pretty lips parted halfway, made it hard to say otherwise.
“I suppose,” Sadiq admitted, because it was true, “although that doesn’t mean I
trust you.”
“Oh!” Francis laughed, sounding relieved. “I feel the same!”
“Well, at least you’re honest,” he grumbled, his cheeks heating up for no
particular reason. Sadiq ran his fingertips one last time over the smooth white
thighs, squeezing the youth’s backside gently and letting go with a regretful
sigh.
“I have to go now, kid. Behave. Or else.”
“Wait, you’re leaving without me?”
“Of course,” Sadiq snorted. “Personal slaves aren’t allowed in court. You’re
going to stay out of sight and await my pleasure.”
“But I’ve always wanted to see the court,” Francis protested. “And the sultan,
he must be very magnificent. Please, can’t I go with you? I promise I won’t
cause any trouble.”
Sadiq smiled despite himself. “There’s really nothing to see, kid, just a bunch
of bearded old men talking politics and money. Nothing like your fancy western
courts. Come on, put on your clothes, you can entertain yourself at the harem
until I come back for you.”
 
Having found himself dumped at the women’s quarters by Sadiq, as if he were an
unruly brat that needed supervision, Francis cursed, not for the first time,
the fates that decreed he should not reach physical maturity yet. Here he would
be too closely watched to escape, and even if he could sneak out and find the
way back to the palace proper without guidance, he would need a better
understanding of the language in order to learn anything useful.
Perhaps he should have thought through this more carefully before escaping the
caravan.
But… there were other ways of getting information. Francis was not fond of
doing the legwork himself when he could just as easily charm it out of others.
And this was one of the few times his seeming youth did work in his favor.
The eunuch bowed and left, and Francis glared at the tiled floor before
marching into the corridor. He was promptly greeted by a bevy of the girls he
had met yesterday, who chattered at him in their own languages, clearly meaning
to ask him how his first night with Sadiq went.
Before he could try to answer, they were dragging him to the baths, and the
Venetian girl joined them. It seemed that the first wife wanted to see him
especially.
Francis was stripped of his cloak and kaftan, and then plopped into the pool,
and he sat on the marble bench in awed silence, curls of steam obscuring his
view of the first wife washing with her infant son. Another female servant
departed with the prince, leaving them alone, and he heard, rather than saw,
the soft splashing as the first wife made her way towards him.
“You must be captain Sadiq’s little blond prince?” she asked, her French
musically accented by the Mediterranean.
“Madame, I am his new servant, Francis,” he replied, lowering his gaze
respectfully, although it was rather ridiculous at this point, as they were
both naked and sitting in a bath. She studied him with dark brown eyes, and
then asked what he thought of his master.
“He is handsome and seems pleased with me. I… could have had worse.” And he had
had worse, plenty worse.
“Very prettily said,” she murmured. “The captain is generous, but accustomed to
having his way. From what I hear, he has recently returned from a long and
difficult campaign overseas, starved for companionship, so I imagine he will be
in need of your… presence, for some time.”
Francis tried to not wince at that, but the first wife must have caught his
expression and raised an eyebrow curiously.
“Ah, um… I am grateful for his kindness… but… I just…”
She waited for his answer, an amused smile on her lips, and bit by bit, Francis
tried to weave a believable story out of half-truths. Because technically, he
was not lying when he said he did not expect to become a bed slave in the
sultan’s palace when he began the journey to the east.
While he did not need her pity, he played up the part of a confused and
bewildered orphan anyway, for the maximum benefit, and the concubine nodded in
sympathy when he finished.
“Allow me to explain why I have summoned you,” she said gently. “Though the
valide sultan and the head eunuch seemed to approve of your presence in the
harem, they also asked for my opinion, because you are a stranger and suddenly
thrust among us. Naturally, we are a little suspicious, and that is where my
Roma heritage comes into play.” Francis paled at the mention of gypsies, but
the first wife only grasped his hand in her own and held it up, tracing a
fingernail thoughtfully over the lines on his palm.
“Your life has been long and troubled, your future clouded with countless
decisions. Though I can not see your destiny, I sense that you mean no harm to
the Ottoman Empire. You are welcome here, little prince.” The woman looked up
into his eyes and gave him a knowing wink.
Staring at her in shock, wondering if his true nature would be revealed, he
stammered, “D-do you know who I really am?”
“I have a guess. But your secret is safe with me. It is not important for
anyone else to know.” She paused, then continued ruefully. “Though I think you
want someone in particular to know, and unfortunately, I can not help you with
that…” The first wife stood up, as if to leave, and Francis kissed the
concubine’s hand in thanks, causing her to laugh as she bade him good luck and
farewell.
It seemed that he would need that luck.
 
Unfortunately, Francis had little chance to collect his thoughts before the
young concubines came and whisked him off to the dressing rooms. Drying his
hair with a soft towel, he listened to their gossip and did his best to answer
their questions about Sadiq, feigning embarrassment until they were breathless
and near collapse from giggling. He could discover nothing useful, outside of
Sadiq’s particular affinities, but at the same time, he felt more at ease, more
familiar with this strange, wondrous, dangerous place. There was no particular
hurry, and he had all the time in the world, Francis tried to assure himself.
Of course, that only made his stomach clench even further in anxiety.
After his jewelry was exchanged for another dazzling set, this time lapis set
in gold, the concubines swathed him in a blue silk tunic and a light ivory robe
over that, all the while cooing over how adorable he looked. Francis protested,
only once, that he was nearly a man, and therefore should not be considered
adorable, but they merely laughed and offered honeyed confections and exotic
fruits to quiet him.
With nothing else to do, Francis curled up among the plush cushions in the
gorgeous main room, letting the Venetian girl tuck jasmine flowers into his
hair, his senses dulled and soothed by the meandering music, the scent of
incense and opium in the air. It was hard to disapprove of this lavish
lifestyle, he thought sleepily as he watched the odalisques sway and bend like
reeds in the wind, their bracelets and anklets tinkling with tiny silver bells
in time to the drums. Nothing expected of these women and girls but to look
pretty, to please a man, and maybe give birth to a son if she wanted power.
In his heart, Francis could not blame them, not really, and yet he ached for
these beautiful strangers whom he barely knew. But it was not like he could
even do anything for them, when he could not even make much progress into his
own mission.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     Pointless smutty "shotacon," I am trash.
He was distracted throughout the entire session at court, so much so that the
sultan noticed Sadiq’s wandering attention, and permitted him to leave for the
day. Sighing in relief, he hurried to the harem’s outer corridor, grateful that
his flowing robes hid the increasing evidence of precisely what had occupied
his mind that morning. By the time the eunuch brought out Francis, clearly
woken from a nap, Sadiq had to use every ounce of self-restraint to look
nonchalant in front of the boy.
Following Sadiq obediently to his quarters, Francis stifled a yawn, looking
about him with sleepy eyes. But a light breeze ruffling his hair brought him to
a halt, and he suddenly darted off to a side hall to find the source of
freedom. The Turk shouted for him to stop and ran after him, but Francis
laughed and kept running, always a little distance ahead.
Walls of pink marble had been carved to show tantalizing glimpses of the
outdoors, and the refreshing breeze blowing through the lace-like apertures
seemed to clear Francis’ head of the hazy harem air. Though it did not entirely
erase his giddiness when Sadiq finally reached out and grabbed him from behind.
“Don’t you run off like that again, y’hear?” Sadiq growled into his ear.
Francis giggled and twisted around to peck the older man on his cheek, who
thought that was apology enough and kissed him back absent-mindedly, grumbling
something about kids these days. Without another word, Sadiq scooped the boy up
into his arms and carried him through the gate at the end of the corridor, into
the wondrous pleasure garden beyond.
They passed by elegantly trimmed bushes and colorful beds of fragrant flowers,
and the path below Sadiq’s feet, strewn with crushed marble and mica and semi-
precious stones, was lined with graceful trees either blooming or bearing early
fruit. For the first time in a long while, Francis felt the sun overhead, and
he closed his eyes and happily soaked up its rays.
Beyond a small burbling fountain, Sadiq entered a hidden alcove screened by
pomegranate trees, and there he gently set Francis down onto the jewel-bright
grass.
“What are we going to do here?” he asked, slightly wary as the other took off
his mask and stared at him almost hungrily. A shiver of dread, dread or
excitement, ran up his spine, and Sadiq must have noticed it as well.
“Haven’t decided yet,” Sadiq answered, his voice low and throaty like the sound
of distant thunder. “What do you think I should do, kedi yavrusu?”
Francis glanced away, almost coquettishly, causing Sadiq to grin in
anticipation. “In that case, I’ll decide for you.”
They kissed, Francis tasting like honey and almonds and figs, Sadiq something
darker and smokier, and crushed jasmine blossoms released their perfume while
Sadiq slid the robe off of Francis’ shoulders and laid it on the grass. Feeling
the youth’s delicate hands skating over his back, plucking at his kaftan, he
tried to hold back a smirk of triumph at how easy this was going to be.
In the privacy of the garden, Sadiq felt free to indulge his desires, and he
could not resist sucking and biting at the body lying below him, lips and teeth
latching onto a nipple through the sheer fabric and causing Francis to gasp in
delight as he curled his fingers into the short black hair. He rolled the hard
nub in between his teeth, wetting the material and causing it to cling to the
boyish chest as he moved to work at the other nipple. His hands had already
spread the gangly legs apart, pushing the tunic up and out of the way, and then
the Turk tasted the succulence of those thighs, at once marking the alabaster
skin with wine-red bruises. “This is mine,” each mark said, brutally clear.
Eagerly, Sadiq then took the small cock into his mouth, and the salt on the
boy’s skin, the liquid wetting the tip, was as close to ambrosia as he could
imagine. Somewhere above, Francis was making high-pitched breathy noises,
tossing his head to side and trying to push the hem of his tunic back down in
an effort to cover himself. As if he could hold the sensations back, no more
than the tide could resist the pull of the moon.
“S-sadiq… Please, n-no more - ah!” and then Francis could do nothing else but
moan loudly as the wild rush of pleasure centering below his belly caused his
body to arc up, his head and shoulders sinking further into the grass. Sadiq’s
fingers pressed deep into his thighs, holding him down effortlessly as he
sucked out every last drop from his climax. Almost sobbing from the ecstasy,
Francis gulped for air, one fist weakly rubbing at the tears in his eyes.
Pulling back, the Turk licked his lips, and then looked down with satisfaction
at his work - the flushed childlike face, wide cerulean eyes glistening wetly,
a slender body ripe and ready to be plucked. If only his other conquests
yielded as sweetly as this French slave did, Sadiq thought, unfortunately, they
were nations, and their people stubborn and fractious to a fault. But the
pleasure of taking this child, whenever and wherever he wanted, should more
than make up for his frustrations overseas.
He picked the dazed and panting boy up and settled him on his lap so that
Francis’ legs ended up on either side of his waist. The tunic was promptly
taken off and Sadiq’s eyes roved over the ravished nude before him, letting the
sight swell and heat his aching loins.
Francis opened his mouth, but before he could protest, he felt a large callused
hand at the back of his skull, pushing him to make contact with the man’s lips.
He succumbed with the quietest of mewls, and gingerly wrapped his arms around
broad shoulders. But Sadiq was not content with just kisses, and he slid a
finger down the cleft of the boy’s ass, searching and then finding the
entrance. In his lap, Francis jerked upward, breaking off the kiss with a
surprised yelp.
“What? You don’t like that?” Sadiq chuckled to see Francis shake his head
vehemently. He fingered him again, laughing as Francis whimpered and tried to
struggle free.
“It feels weird… Please, stop,” Francis mumbled, sniffling unhappily.
“All right, some other time. But I’m gonna need your help now.” Without
hesitation, he freed his prominent erection from his trousers and pulled
Francis’ hand towards it. Francis stared at it in undisguised astonishment,
nerves still tingling from Sadiq’s ministrations, but he curled his fingers
around the throbbing cock, and pumped at it shyly.
“Like that?”
“Yes. A little more. Little harder.”
Using both hands, Francis squeezed the slick hot flesh a little as he neared
the tip, feeling the organ twitch under his fingers, listening to Sadiq’s
breathless approval. He sensed that the man was close, and quickened his
rhythm. Sadiq reached out to grab Francis’ wrist, and grunted softly when he
came, spurting over their hands before Francis could let go. As he did last
night, Francis licked the sticky substance off of his fingers, and then
proceeded to clean Sadiq’s hand as well, lapping up the cum with a small pink
tongue before glancing up to catch his gaze.
Watching Francis, Sadiq was nearly about to praise him, but caught himself,
realized that the boy was only doing what he was instructed to do in order to
survive. The Turk settled for kissing him on the cheek, and promised to himself
to take Francis outside another day, since he obviously enjoyed it, maybe buy
him something pretty to wear. But for right now, he just wanted to lean back,
close his eyes and rest a little---
“Hey, what are you doing?” Francis asked, bouncing a little on the other’s
abdomen so that Sadiq winced in pain.
“I’m resting. Obviously.”
“Huh.” Francis tilted his head to the side like a bird. “I want to go play.”
Sadiq rolled his eyes. “Later, Francis. C’mon, lie down with me.”
“But I’m not tired.”
Without any warning, Sadiq reached up and wrestled him to the ground, causing
Francis to shriek with laughter.
“Ah, I give in!”
“As you should, you brat,” Sadiq murmured, holding Francis close and wondering
what had come over him. The great Ottoman Empire, Sadiq Adnan, acting like a
foolish village boy mooning after a pretty girl, treating his own slave as if
he were a foreign prince. Of course it didn’t help that Francis acted as if he
really were a prince. He… should investigate that, Sadiq thought worriedly.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     Sort of an exposition chapter until I can think of something clever
     to advance the plot. I actually have no idea what I'm doing, I'm
     trash.
Even though he seemed to be sleeping, Sadiq was holding him too tightly and he
could not free himself. Francis adjusted his position, trying to get
comfortable and not end up with an aching arm. Bored, he was about to follow
Sadiq’s example and take a nap when he heard a trill of birdsong on the highest
bough of the pomegranate tree. He watched the bird preen its iridescent blue
and purple feathers, and then whispered, “Sadiq! Look at that bird. Isn’t it
pretty?”
“Is what pretty?” Sadiq grumbled sleepily. He sighed and squinted at where
Francis was pointing. “D’you want it? I’ll have a slave catch it and put it in
a cage for you.”
“N-no… It just reminded me of home.” With a pang of nostalgia, he remembered
his own birds, and wondered how cute little Pierre number whatever was doing
without him.
Sadiq patted his arm, smiling. “Well, if you want to see the bird again, you
can always come back to the garden. Its wings are clipped, it can’t fly too
far.”
“Oh…” Francis chewed on a lock of hair pensively, while Sadiq stretched beside
him.
“Come on, time to go back.”
 
It would be another two hours before they served the evening meal, and Francis
thought he was going to die of boredom at this rate. He almost preferred being
on the run from the slavers, at least he did not have someone hovering over him
at all hours of the day. Francis flopped onto the divan with a dramatic sigh,
while Sadiq sat down next to him, smoking his pipe.
“You said you wanted to play, huh? I have a game here that might interest you.”
“You do?!” Francis sat up, immediately interested.
“It’s called mangala, a counting game,” Sadiq explained, as he reached under
the couch and pulled out a rectangular board and a bag. He set the board on the
cushion between them, and then used the bag to fill the interior set of twelve
shallow wells with four smooth stones each, leaving the larger wells at the end
empty.
The object of the game was to drop the stones from a particular well one by one
into the wells to the right, trying to get as many stones into one’s designated
end well, the mangala, and foiling the opponent’s attempt to do the same with
their mangala. That seemed simple enough, but when combined with the minute
subtleties in the rules, it took strategy to actually win, as Francis soon
found out.
“How did you do that?” he seethed indignantly, looking at his paltry ten stones
compared to Sadiq’s thirty-eight.
“It’s because you don’t plan ahead, kid,” Sadiq answered, grinning smugly from
around his pipe. “Watch what I do and learn.”
The time passed by quickly for Francis, who had never played such a game and
was determined to master it. Sadiq took this chance to ask Francis certain
questions he had been contemplating, watching the boy carefully to see if he
told the truth or lied. For here was a French orphan who apparently lived a
life of relative luxury and could speak Greek fluently, and such a lifestyle
and education could only mean Francis had been pampered as a child. The main
thing that concerned Sadiq now was the severe lack of concerned guardians
searching for him; perhaps they thought he was dead.
“Francis… what were your parents like?”
“Um…” Francis chewed his lower lip thoughtfully as he dropped the stones into
the wells with a light clink. How could he describe someone like Gaul to a
human, or even Rome or Germania? “I don’t remember them very well.”
“That’s fair.” But not the truth. “So who decided to teach you Greek then?”
At least Francis was prepared for this question. “The players I traveled with,
they go to Italy and Greece during the winters and I learned the language
there.”
“Hmm…” He had almost forgotten that the kid was an actor, which meant he was a
liar, as far as Sadiq was concerned. Hopefully the troupe was able to find a
replacement and gave up trying to find their missing member because Sadiq sure
as hell did not plan on giving Francis back, ever.
“Your turn!”
Sadiq played, dropping the last stone in his handful into his mangala and
taking an extra turn, much to Francis’ consternation. “And what did you do as a
player?”
“Umm, I was just an apprentice. I helped with the costumes and props… and
sometimes I acted if they needed me. Minor roles. I wasn’t very good.” He
looked genuinely nervous now, and not just because he was going to lose again.
Unable to help himself, Sadiq laughed as he finished the round.
“No fair, Sadiq, you were distracting me,” Francis grumbled as the Turk leaned
forward and claimed his victory kiss.
“We’ll play again, and I won’t distract you this time.”
“You better not!”
Francis won only one round out of the next three, and not by a large margin,
but he was so preoccupied with the game, he did not notice his hunger until a
servant arrived with their food.
The meal consisted of lamb skewers, dolma, fruits and bread, and although Sadiq
was, for all intents and purposes, Muslim, he offered Francis wine to drink,
which was eagerly accepted. He watched the boy eat and drink, obviously using
his best manners, and yet that was not enough to keep Sadiq from grabbing the
boy’s hand and sucking the juice of the fruits off of his fingers one by one.
“Your food is really good. Almost better than mine,” Francis mumbled
distractedly.
“What? You cook?” Sadiq asked, placing one last kiss on the inside of a sticky
wrist. “Well, you should cook your French food for me sometime.”
“Yes, I would like that!” Francis giggled, pulling his hand back, and waited
for Sadiq to refill his cup with more wine. He drained that as well, and the
Turk decided it would be best to not give him any more for the rest of the
night. As amusing as it would be to speak with him while he was drunk, sooner
or later, he would get sick, and Sadiq was less than patient when it came to
taking care of a sick child.
“You’ve been asking me a lot of questions,” Francis said softly. “Can I ask you
something?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Where is your family? Why don’t you have a wife?”
Ah, the boy noticed that… He should be careful. “I am a soldier in the army. I
don’t have time for a family. Don’t feel the need.”
Francis stared at him drowsily. “Aren’t your parents worried? About you not
having a family?”
“I don’t have parents.” Most nations didn’t…
“So you’re an orphan like me?”
“…That’s right.” Sadiq washed his hands in a bowl of rosewater and then dipped
Francis’ hands into the bowl as well, drying them off with the hem of his robe.
“Feelin’ sleepy already?”
“N-no, I’m not sleepy.”
“Yes you are, you just yawned.” He tried to grab Francis around the waist and
dump him into the bed, but Francis just held onto the edge of the table and
started yowling in protest.
“Allah have mercy on me, you are the worst slave ever,” Sadiq grumbled, trying
to pry Francis’ fingers off of the table before they knocked something over.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Summary
     I honestly didn't know I continued this, but apparently I did. More
     exposition, and I hope I intended for France to be this terrible of
     an actor because wow, that means Turkey is really obtuse.
He did not open his eyes first, but listened carefully to the soft rustling, a
viper on the hunt. It seemed that the boy had woken early and was now exploring
the room. First the contents of the desk, rustling through parchments and
scrolls, then the drawers, then the shelves. For what, he could not guess.
Sadiq quietly rolled to his side, to better reach the dagger hidden under the
mattress. To be truthful, an empire had little to fear from a small human
slave, but he was not one to take chances if the child should turn out to be
something less innocuous.
It seemed that Francis had found something to interest him, and he stilled and
started to hum softly to himself, a pretty lilting song from his homeland.
Curious, Sadiq opened his eyes, and what he saw made him smile.
“Francis, what d’you think you are doing?”
The boy whirled around in surprise, a wooden toy horse in his hand. “Ah! I-
I was just looking around, and this thing fell off the shelf and I caught it. I
was going to put it back, I swear!”
Sadiq had to laugh at his guilty expression. Not a spy nor an assassin after
all, but a human child, even younger than he had guessed to still be playing
with toys. He got up and crossed the room to where Francis was trying to put
the toy back, plucking the toy away and placing it on a shelf.
“You can play with this if you want, but these toys are not yours to keep.”
“Whose are they then?” Francis promptly asked, clearly not bothered by the fact
that he was not allowed to own anything as a slave. “They’re not yours, are
they, Sadiq? You are a little old to be playing with toys.”
Snorting, Sadiq answered, “Of course they’re not mine, they belonged to some
kid I used to look after.”
“Oh, you mean your little brother?”
“Yeah, something like that.” It would be a little difficult to describe the
relationship of Greece and the other nations of the empire to himself, so he
left it at that. Unfortunately, this only made Francis even more curious.
“Where is he now? Why isn’t he still living with you? Can I see him sometime?
We could have been friends. You know, I used to have a little brother, too!”
“You sure ask a lot of questions for a slave,” Sadiq grumbled with barely
hidden exasperation.
“Oh. I… I’m sorry.” Francis looked up at Sadiq with a strangely sad look in his
blue eyes, and he impulsively wrapped his arms about his waist. “He is gone,
isn’t he?” he whispered. “You must miss him.”
“He’s gone, but I’ll get him back someday. Don’t worry about that, little one.”
He paused to run his fingers through the boy’s soft curls, allowing himself a
moment to remember all of the fledgling nations he had tried to bring to his
home, though they never stayed for long. If only Francis could stay and comfort
him whenever he was alone, if only he could stop wishing for the impossible.
“Come on, let’s get back to bed, and think of happier things.”
There was no point in wasting time, and while Francis was still eager to please
and not contemplating things such as rebellion and raising armies like certain
other children in his acquaintance, Sadiq planned to take advantage of that.
And Francis was so, so happy to please, so Sadiq had to avail himself of the
boy’s willing body, his soft and slender thighs that felt so delightful to the
touch. If he were in a poetic mood, he would write something to the effect of
tasting the sweetest and juiciest fruit in the garden of summer’s paradise, but
as of the moment, his brain had turned to mash and he could not think of
anything else other than how he wanted to do it again, eventually. Stroking the
boy’s damp belly, he drowsily wondered how the boy would handle a cock in his
mouth and came to the logical conclusion that he should try it out soon, for
that would at least stop him from asking questions for a little while.
They lazed away the morning in bed, naked bodies intertwined while they dozed
off their pleasant exhaustion. At last the waking world called to them,
demanding they attend to matters such as food and drink. But there was still
afternoon and evening, and a few hours of distractions would take up the time
by then.
***** Hamam *****
Chapter Summary
     Turkish bath smut. Also the last chapter I have written, probably no
     more new chapters in the forseeable future. Thanks again for reading.
Francis could not help feeling restless, longing for the cool vineyards of
home, the company of his birds, the familiarity of the western nations that
were his allies and sometimes enemies. Precious hours wasted here because his
knowledge of the language was too tenuous, and though he had been picking up
more words in Turkish, enough to understand a basic conversation, he could not
speak anything other than the few words he recalled from the last crusades a
century or more ago. And all of those had been heinous insults. Sadiq was the
key, for without his intercession he would have never had entry to the harem,
but now he needed access to the sultan’s quarters. To gather what sort of
information, Francis could only guess, but he had been absent long enough from
his own lands, exploring, and he needed knowledge of value before he could
return to his king and queen. He had already known the Ottoman Empire was a
force here in the world of the Muslims, a bustling center of commerce and
culture with connections to Byzantium of old, a bridge between Europe and the
rest of Asia. An alliance, if they could pull it off, between his kingdom and
the empire could be incredibly profitable for France. Or it could be ruinous.
He brooded on this after their midday meal, trying to decide his next course of
action, how best to find out what he needed to know and then get home to tell
his bosses. It seemed Sadiq was thinking, too, as he smoked his pipe, looking
distant. With a grin, Francis sidled up to him, wrapping his arms about the
man’s waist.
“I’m bored, Sadiq,” he declared, pouting adorably.
Sadiq groaned. “What do you want? Those toys not enough?”
“I want to go out. Out of the palace, into the city.”
“You can’t go out. What if the slavers find you and take you back?” He didn’t
want any possibility of losing Francis, that would be unacceptable.
“But I can’t stay here in your room or the harem forever!” he protested,
kicking at Sadiq’s leg. “That’s not fair!”
Sadiq glared at him for his insolence, but he relented after Francis continued
staring at him pitifully.
“All right, I’ll find out if the slavers are still looking for you. Maybe we
can hide your hair, visit a place where they won’t likely be about. But only
for a little while, and that’s it, you got it?”
“Yes! Thank you!”
Muttering to himself exasperatedly, Sadiq put on his robe, and watched as
Francis slipped into his tunic and cloak. He was aware of how it looked, how he
seemed to be obeying his little slave’s whims, and he could not be sure whether
it was because the boy had exerted some powerful, possibly demonic, influence
over him, or if he had become genuinely attached to Francis, or a little of
both. Something about Francis, something unnatural, was definitely making him
lose control. But as far as he could tell, he was harmless, and it would not
hurt to make him happy.
 
After he conferred with his contacts among the imperial spies, Sadiq returned
to the entrance of the harem, feeling a little better about the whole
situation. From their reports, the caravans were en route for another raid in
the Caucasus mountains, and what few slavers left in the city would not bother
with one lost French child among the hundreds they have captured.
He did not have to wait long, for soon Francis darted through the doorway, his
hair bound in a scarf and covered with a hooded cloak, wearing a light tunic
and trousers and red leather shoes.
“You look like a street rat. S’good.” Francis beamed at him, proud of his
disguise, and Sadiq had to smile.
They wandered out of the palace grounds through covered walkways, past marble
pavilions and minaret-topped halls. No one seemed to pay them any mind, busy as
they were with their own tasks, and for that Sadiq was grateful. Francis did
his best to not gape about like an idiot, and instead tried to absorb the
wondrous details of the palace as best as he could.
When at last they made it out of the back gates, Sadiq allowed himself to
relax.
“Where are we going?” Francis asked.
“To the hamam, the baths.”
 
Today the baths were occupied by the janissaries, troops culled from the ranks
of captured nations and converted to Islam. There would be no need to worry
about any slavers now, as janissaries obeyed their captains without question,
and had no reason to be dealing with traders of human flesh in the first place.
The cloud of hot steam greeting them at the entrance to the baths nearly took
Francis’ breath away, but here and there were differences from the Roman baths
and the ones in the women’s quarters.
Sadiq laughed at him when he hung behind and told him to undress, otherwise he
would not get any cleaner. Thus clad in towels, one wrapped around his hair and
the other around his torso, Francis sprawled out on a heated tiled bench in the
center of the room, feeling somewhat self-conscious. The fierce-eyed
janissaries looked him over appreciatively, commenting to Sadiq in their harsh
voices, who retorted in kind. Francis could not quite catch what they were
saying, but they all laughed among themselves, so he smiled nervously at them,
keeping his eyes lowered.
After they had worked up a sweat and let their muscles loosen and relax, an
attractive young tellak came by to show them to their alcove, made semi-private
by a curtain hanging over the opening. The tellak scrubbed away at Sadiq’s
bronzed skin, then lathering up the soap until it covered him from head to toe
with bubbles. With a giggle, Francis reached up and scooped off a handful of
the bubbles, blowing at it and letting the white froth dissipate into the humid
air. After rinsing off the soap from Sadiq, the tellak turned his attention to
Francis next, but Sadiq shook his head, and the slave bowed and quietly backed
out of the alcove.
“C’mere, I’ll wash you myself,” Sadiq told him, with just a hint of jealous
pride in his grin. Francis stood obediently in front of the other, who held
onto him firmly as he scrubbed at every inch of his skin, hard enough to make
him wince. He hadn’t been bathed so often since the days of Gaul, and the
memory was not a fun one to relive now. Then it was time for the soap bubbles,
which Francis actually enjoyed, at least until Sadiq undid the towel around his
torso and set it aside on a shelf. Sadiq began washing him more slowly now,
carefully, his hands sliding down Francis’ stomach and in between his legs with
lingering strokes. He had to keep quiet, he knew, but Sadiq’s fingers were
slipping in between his buttocks, massaging at his thighs, fondling him
purposefully, until Francis’ breathing came out in a high-pitched wheeze, and
he could feel his knees growing weaker.
“You need to be clean down here, too,” Sadiq murmured, pulling Francis closer
to support him better, while his hands never stopped their teasing and
stroking. He laid the boy on his back, spreading him out on the bench, pouring
a cup of water from the basin over his soapy body until the bubbles floated off
his wet skin and into the drains in the floor. The stimulation of the hot water
trickling down onto his thighs was enough to make Francis whimper under his
breath, and he bit his lower lip when Sadiq finally bent over him to take him
into his mouth, his tongue and lips leaving no place unexplored. It was over
quickly, Sadiq licking his lips when he finished, leaving Francis drained and
limp. He would close his eyes to rest, letting his body dissolve into the
stifling warmth, but Sadiq was telling him that he needed the favor returned.
Sighing, Francis pulled himself up, watching drowsily as Sadiq rinsed the last
of the bubbles from his body, his length fully erect between his thighs.
Francis did not need to be told what to do, he had done this before, and he
slid to the floor onto his knees, assessing Sadiq’s response as he reached out
to touch the heavy cock in front of him. Only a few shy strokes later, the
other man was already curling his fingers into his hair, the dripping tip of
his cock pressed against his lips. Francis began licking at the salty drops
welling from the head of Sadiq’s cock, every now and then pressing a sweet kiss
against the heated, throbbing length. Impatient, Sadiq muttered a soft curse
and pushed his cock in between the boy’s lips, forcing himself further in. His
blue eyes fluttering open in surprise, Francis tried to make a protest, but
could not be heard around the thick organ filling his throat, and so he did his
best to relax and take all of Sadiq into his mouth, head bobbing as he used his
tongue and throat to please his master. Sadiq growled softly, hips thrusting
and jerking slightly as the pleasure began to mount in his loins. He came
without warning, a wave of intense heat bringing him high and then leaving his
body in a rush, and between his thighs, Francis was swallowing his cum in quick
little gulps. The boy had somehow managed to swallow all of it, and Sadiq
patted his hair approvingly when he looked up, wiping his mouth with the back
of his hand.
“Are we done bathing now?” Francis asked, a bit petulantly. He had to wonder if
this was why the Muslims bathed so often, even during the driest seasons, and
more importantly, how they had the time conquer so many lands if they spent
every day “bathing” like this. The thought was amusing, if puzzling, and
certainly not something he would tell the French courts, at least... not now.
Sadiq chuckled again, and he swiftly wrapped their towels about them. “We're
done for now. Shall we go home, little one?”
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