Work Text:
Ali has no expectations or preconceptions about what his relationship with Nahri will end up looking like. He would have asked her to marry him the second Muntadhir had informed him of the divorce, had he thought she’d say yes. Had he thought he was worthy of her.
He thinks his siblings half expected him to—and while he’s silently relieved his brother holds no grudge against him for kissing his wife while they were technically still married, the embarrassment of finding out he and Zaynab had bet on it is just another reason to hold his tongue and not do anything rash.
Nahri wants to take things slow. He can do that. And if it turns out all she desires from is his friendship, he can do that too. There were times he thought he’d never even get that.
Besides, he’s still not entirely sure what she thinks of his new appearance. She’d once told him he was well-formed, much to his utter mortification, but he doesn’t know if the yellow of his eyes, or the slightly scaled skin on his shoulder might be off-putting.
She makes him tea, in her new house, which is not new at all, but she’s fixed it up and made it home, and she seems happy here, close to her hospital, exactly where she belongs.
Her long dark curls are loose, her attire light and casual. He supposes there’s no need for custom or formality between them now, after all they’ve been through. Still, when her hair looks like that, it makes it very difficult for him not to think about running his fingers through it. Not to think about that night in Ta Ntry, when he’d acted on a whim, let his most base desires get the better of him for just a moment, and he’d kissed her. And then she’d kissed him back, and he can still remember the weight of her on top of him, how he’s hardened for her, desperate for her to touch him.
“Shall we sit out in the courtyard?” Nahri suggests, handing him his tea, breaking through his highly inappropriate thoughts. He flushes, giving her a nod. He can only thank the Creator that mind-reading isn’t among Nahri’s many skills. She’s not ready for that. He’s not entirely sure he’s ready for that, despite his frequent and vivid dreams about her of late.
He’s always believed that act should be between a man and wife—and he was raised to believe he would never marry. But now he’s not sure. And it’s not just because he aches desperately for her. But he’s seen the kind of love Muntadhir has with Jamshid, and he can’t believe that it’s a sin for them to show each other that love in a physical way, even though they aren’t married.
He sits by her side in the courtyard, admiring the garden, so that he doesn’t have to look at her, at her lovely, dark lashes, her full, brown lips, and the way her hair dances in the light breeze. He takes a sip of his tea, and clears his throat. It shouldn’t be so awkward between them, not after everything they’ve been through together. But it’s the first time they’ve sat here together, in relative peace, and no life-or-death situation to contend with.
He's thrown himself into his work for two reasons, one being that he loves it, and he feels like he’s finally doing what he was meant to do, finally doing something worthwhile and good. The other reason is because now that he’s no longer fighting for his life, aside from working, there’s nothing else left to do but want. And oh, he wants, he wants. He works because if he isn’t working, he’s thinking of her, yearning, and it frankly just isn’t productive.
He grapples for something to say that isn’t isn’t the weather lovely? Or I’m deeply and agonisingly in love with you, please marry me and have my children.
He falls back on his safety net—work. Their plans for the new government. A safe topic, one which he has plenty to say on.
“I was thinking—” Ali starts.
“No,” Nahri cuts him off.
“You don’t even know what I was thinking,” he huffs.
“I know exactly what you were thinking,” she says, and for a moment he worries she can read his mind after all. “You think of nothing else. But I’m banning all talk of politics in my courtyard.”
“Trust me, I think of something else,” he mutters under his breath, in Geziri, so she cannot understand him. He switches back to Djinnistani before she can press him on it. “People will talk, you know. About me coming here, alone.”
“People already talk,” Nahri shrugs. “Who am I to deny them their gossip?”
“What do they say?” Ali asks, not because he wants to know, but because it’s the only thing he can think to say, with her smirking like that, her dark eyes glinting.
She gives him a knowing, mischievous look. “They say I divorced my husband for you. That I’m pregnant with your child. That you seduced me away from him. As if you know the first thing about seduction,” she snorts.
Ali’s face is hot, his mouth hanging open in horror. He didn’t think the rumours would be that bad. Nahri laughs at his stunned expression. “Oh, loosen up, Ali,” she smiles, then grows more serious. “There’s no one else here, remember?”
And strangely, her repeating the words he’d spoken to her on that beach not all that long ago does make him relax. There’s no one watching, no one listening, no one reading his thoughts. No one trying to assassinate him, or ambush him, or possess him. Not at this very moment, at least, and hopefully not in the near future. He can enjoy this time with his friend, forget what people might say about it. He can ignore the desire quietly simmering under his skin.
“I believe you were going to teach me Divasti?” he offers, and Nahri gives him a fond smile.
Time passes quickly after that, as they talk about things both trivial and deep, the Divasti lesson falling by the wayside quickly. What is your favourite colour? If you could say one last thing to any person you’ve lost, what would you say?
(Her answer to the first question is yellow. Her answer to the second puts tears in his eyes.)
He’s lost in her company, barely noticing it’s gotten dark around them, until Nahri shivers, the air cooler now the sun has gone down. Ali abruptly lurches to his feet, conscious that he’s overstayed his welcome. He’s been here for hours. If people weren’t talking before, they certainly will be now.
“I should go,” he says hastily, Nahri looking up at him, a little startled at his sudden movement. “It’s late.”
“Yes, I suppose you should,” she agrees, though she doesn’t exactly seem eager about it. “I’ll see you out.”
She leads him to the front door, where he stands awkwardly for a moment, his earlier unsurety returning, now that she’s standing so close. He badly wants to kiss her. Has wanted to all afternoon, though he’s managed to keep the urge squashed down for the most part.
“Goodnight, Nahri,” he says, swallowing thickly. He reaches for the door.
“Ali, wait,” she whispers. He turns back to her, and there’s only a second of hesitation before she tilts her head up to press her lips against his. Her lips are soft and warm, her kiss gentle but lingering. And suddenly he’s starving.
Nahri starts to pull away, but he chases her, unable to stop himself now that she’s given him a taste. Their lips meet again, harder this time, and Nahri opens her mouth for him, deepening the kiss. Ali groans as her tongue brushes his, a jolt going through him. His heart his thrumming, and his cock throbbing. Nahri wraps her arms around his neck, moulding her body to his.
“Ali,” she breathes, a desperate plea in her voice. He wrenches himself away from her, panting.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he groans.
“Why are you apologising?”
“I don’t know—I—I got carried away.” He can feel himself blushing, and another kind of heat still courses through him. “We shouldn’t—” he tries again. “We’re not married.”
“It was only kissing.”
He blushes even harder at that, realising he’s betrayed the fact that he’d been thinking about far more than kissing. He can barely meet her eyes, but when he does, he’s shocked at her unsure, vulnerable expression, when he’d been expecting that sly, teasing smile.
“Ali,” she whispers. “You can go if you wish. But I’d really like for you to stay.”
He hesitates a moment. He knows he should leave. But the deep-rooted craving he has for her is almost unbearable. He bends his head, closing his eyes, his lips pausing millimetres from hers, so they’re breathing the same air. His heart hammers against his ribcage. If he kisses her again, he’s not sure he’ll have the strength to stop himself. He doesn’t think he wants to stop himself. Why should he keep denying himself this pleasure, when he knows she wants him too?
He closes the gap between their lips, his heart lurching at the satisfied moan that leaves Nahri’s lips when their tongues meet. His lips move against hers and he explores her mouth with his tongue.
“Can I take you to bed, Ali?” Nahri murmurs, breaking the kiss and pulling back just enough that her nose still brushes his. Ali swallows thickly, head spinning, blood rushing to his already engorged erection. He nods, his lust stronger than his nerves tonight.
Nahri takes his hand, and leads him to her bedroom. It lacks the finery and extravagance that her room at the palace had, but it suits her better. More importantly, it has everything they need. A bed. Ali’s pulse rages, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. Butterflies swarm in his stomach.
He lets Nahri push him down onto her bed, and she leans over him so she can kiss him, her hair falling over them like a curtain. Ali loses himself in her kiss, and his hands act of their own accord, threading into her hair as he kisses her back, hungry for her. His whole body strains towards her as she settles herself onto his lap, and he’s consumed with aching, pulsing need for her.
“Nahri,” he moans into her mouth. She tastes and feels better than he ever imagined she would, better than the last time, now that he knows there’s time, eons and eons of time if they want it.
Nahri pulls back, only so she can lift her tunic over her head, and she’s naked underneath save for her loose trousers. He’s left breathless at the sight of her breasts, round and perky, her dark brown nipples hardened into little peaks on her brown skin. He’s half frozen, desperate to touch her, to put his mouth on her breasts, on her bare stomach, anywhere and everywhere. But he’s so unsure of his own inexperience. He aches to please her. He wishes now he’d taken Muntadhir’s teasing advice more seriously. Perhaps he should’ve taken notes instead of running away with his cheeks flushed and his ears burning.
But he honestly didn’t think this would happen so soon, if at all, let alone tonight.
“Nahri, I don’t—I’ve never—” Ali stammers, managing to tear his eyes away from her breasts to look at her face.
“I know,” she says gently. “It doesn’t matter.” She takes his hand and guides it to her breast and he can’t help but squeeze a little, gripping at the soft flesh. He moves his other hand to her other breast, and she captures his mouth again, while he caresses her breasts with his hands, playing with her hard nipples, feeling like he must be in a dream.
While his hands are on her breasts, she unwraps his turban, so she can run her hands through his short hair, and then she tilts her hips forward, until the apex of her thighs is pressing against his hard cock. Ali feels as though he might spontaneously combust with all these new sensations.
She takes one of his hands and guides it down the front of her pants. His fingers brush the curls of her pubic hair, and then she’s guides him between her slit, until the pads of his fingers are pressed against the small bud that must be her clitoris. He does know the mechanics of it, even if he’s not well-versed in technique. He moves his fingers, rubbing her clit, and she lets out a small whine.
“Yes,” she pants. “Just like that. Yes, Ali.”
She rubs against him, rolling her hips, and he’s gasping into her mouth, her movements sending thrills through his body with every stroke, her sounds of pleasure making his cock throb even harder, as he matches them with his own. His fingers play with her clit, and his hips thrust upwards, in time with hers, as he desperately chases release.
Abruptly, Nahri stops, and all that built up tension is suspended, leaving Ali panting and aching, desperation coiling in his stomach.
“Nahri, please,” he groans.
“Not yet,” she smiles. She lifts herself off his lap, and tugs at his dishdasha until he gets the message and stands up to remove it. She stares at him for a moment—a long moment—her gaze lingering on his shoulder where the reptilian scales merge with his skin. Her fingers trace the scars on his body, and he shivers at her touch.
“As well-formed as you remember?” he asks huskily, surprised at his ability to make a joke at a time like this. Nahri raises an eyebrow.
“It was not your chest I was talking about,” she says, no hint of humour in her voice. He tilts his head, confused for a moment, until understanding dawns on him, and his eyes go wide, heat returning to his face. “Oh.”
She looks up at him, staring him deep into his yellow eyes, so close to him that her nipples brush against his chest. He holds his breath as she reaches for the waistband of his underthings, the last thing keeping him modest. He lets her push them down his thighs, until they pool at his ankles, and he’s left naked in front of her, his hard cock standing magnificently between them. Her gaze drops, and Ali reminds himself that she’s seen him naked before—albeit in a very different context. He refuses to let himself be embarrassed.
Nahri bites her lip as she takes him in. “Very well-formed,” she breathes. She tilts her head back up to look at him, and then she puts a hand on his chest, giving him a light nudge. He takes the hint and falls back onto her bed.
He watches with baited breath as Nahri wriggles out of her pants, until she’s naked too, and Ali can barely catch his breath. He swears he’s never seen a sight so beautiful in all his life.
Nahri is smiling as she joins him on the bed. Ali isn’t capable of it. Not because he isn’t happy. He’s stupidly, embarrassingly happy. But he feels like he can barely breathe, let alone smile.
He lies back against Nahri’s pillows as she straddles him, her hands on his chest. How did he get so lucky as to have this magnificent woman want him back? He can hardly believe he deserves to have her naked on top of him like this.
“Are you ready?” she asks him. As if there is any chance of him changing his mind now. As if he hasn’t wanted her since the first time he met her, six years ago, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself back then.
“Yes,” he rasps.
Nahri lifts herself off him, and wraps her hand around his cock. He’s holding his breath, holding his whole body taut as she guides him inside her, until he’s completely sheathed in her warm, wet cunt. He’s trembling as he forces himself not to act on the overwhelming urge to thrust up into her, to just jerk his hips until he finally gets relief.
“You have excellent restraint,” Nahri says, leaning down to kiss his chest. Ali blows out a long, shaky breath. He’s always shown excellent restraint when it comes to this. When it comes to keeping his mouth shut, or defending himself or his loved ones, he can be rash and explosive. But this has always been the part of himself he’s been able to control.
“You don’t have to do that anymore,” Nahri whispers. She rolls her hips, the friction sending pleasure rippling through him. With a strangled groan, he finally, truly gives in to his desire. His hands fly to her waist, and he lifts his hips to hers, interrupting the gentle rock of her pelvis.
He surges into a more upright position, capturing her mouth with his, hooking an arm around her as he thrusts up into her rhythmically, letting his instincts drive him. They’re so entwined, so in sync, he feels as though they may as well be a part of each other. He loves her desperately, and he almost blurts it out, almost lets his reckless mouth get the better of him again.
“You’re amazing,” he says instead, chokes it out through ragged breaths. “So beautiful. Brilliant.” He thinks she tries to laugh, but it comes out as a needy whine, and the sound almost makes him come right then.
He drops his head to her shoulder with a moan, thrusting harder, and then it’s not quite enough, and he can’t quite get the angle or the speed he wants from this position. With one swift motion, he flips her onto her back, and before she can catch her breath, he’s driving into her, too far gone now to think of anything but how good she feels, how badly he needs release.
“Ali,” she moans. The wrecked sound of his name on her lips is like a drug. “Oh. Oh, yes. I—” she cuts off with a sharp cry, and he can feel her tense and shudder beneath him, her body arching towards his as she comes. The sight, the feeling, the sound—it’s all too much for him, and he finally breaks, meeting his climax, a moan ripping from his lungs as he spills into her and pure bliss takes a hold on his body.
It's over fast, and he collapses, feeling spent, and satisfied, and lighter than air. He doesn’t realise he’s crushing Nahri with his body weight until she squirms under him, giving him a nudge with her thumb.
“Sorry,” he says, rolling off her. “Sorry, sorry.” He stays close, not willing to let her go just yet. He thought maybe having sex would finally make him stop thinking about sex, but after that, he thinks he might be even less focused on his work.
“It’s okay,” Nahri chuckles. She turns on her side to face him. “Was it everything you dreamed?”
“Better,” Ali tells her earnestly, not even worried that she obviously knows how often he thought about this, how much he built it up in his head.
“You’re not worried I’ve spoiled your virtue?”
Ali smiles. “I was never going to give it to anyone else anyway.” She looks away from him, a little bashful, and Ali swallows down those three words again. He kisses her so he can’t say it.
The thing is, he thinks she knows. How much he loves her, worships her. And he thinks she may even, probably, love him too. But she’s been hurt, and her heart is well guarded. He’s slowly pulling down the bricks she put up around it, he thinks.
“Was it okay?” he asks her, and he sounds a little pathetic and desperate, even to his own ears.
“It was perfect,” she promises.
“Muntadhir is going to be insufferable about this,” Ali sighs.
Nahri laughs. “Are you going to tell him?”
“No, but I’m convinced he’s going to take one look at me and figure it out.”
“Probably,” Nahri agrees. “You do look a little too happy. A bit smug too.”
“So do you,” Ali says defensively, but he can’t keep the grin from his face. “I should go,” he says finally.
“Visit me again soon,” she makes him promise.
“You’ll have a hard time keeping me away.”
He brushes his lips against her forehead, absolutely giddy from the fact that he can just do that now. He can’t wait to marry her. He prays one day she’ll be ready for that.