Chapter Text
“You will have a single gesture only, to have them crave to touch you.” Teacher Mae said, sweeping back across the floor. “You must incite their lust, their hunger, but also their reverence, in a single motion, so that in that one heartbeat they understand all that the character is tempted by, at great threat to their duty.”
Khem nodded, trying to listen and watch her at the same time. Teacher Mae moved with such heavenly grace that sometimes he could lose himself in the turn of her wrist or the arch of her neck and completely miss everything she was saying, which normally earnt him a sharp smack on the head from her fan.
Now Teacher seated herself in front of him in a rustle of silk and gave him a stern look. “How could this be done, this seduction? How would you draw all eyes to you, and yet not resort to vulgarity?”
Khem swallowed hard and tried to feel the concept in his body, spreading one hand up his chest whilst the other stroked hesitantly down his neck. Teacher preferred him to answer with movement than speech – Are you a musician? Do you play in the piphat? Is your purpose to make noise? No! Your purpose is to move, to express through motion! – but even when he did he rarely –
“No! What is this? Are you a brothel worker?”
Khem dropped his hands back to his thighs and bowed his head, awaiting the inevitable – ow! – smack on the head, and deciding not to point out that Chaisee and Narong, the house's courtesans, were in the room next door "practising" at this very moment. Everyone in Man Suang gave pleasure in some form or another. It was their purpose. Except for Khem, apparently.
“Forgive me Teacher, please share your wisdom,” he asked, and Teacher Mae sighed and snapped open her fan to wave a breeze at her face, a sign that Khem was allowed to look up again. His body ached all over. His neck hurt, his stomach, the soles of his feet. Even the muscles in the backs of his fingers hurt, a place he had never even considered before. They had been training since before dawn, every morning this month.
“Here. Observe this,” she said and then…
Khem blinked, and found it hard to breathe. Teacher had tilted her neck a little, glanced at him only barely from the corner of her eye, her waist arching her a little further away even whilst her shoulder dipped towards him, a tease and an invitation all at once. Her hand with its beautiful wrist and elegant fingers swept forward, drawing his eyes helplessly over her body and down to the core of her, the soft perfect place between her thighs as she spread open one leg and daintily, gently, thrillingly parted her skirt to reveal one golden thigh and the material inching higher to –
The red silk dropped back into place; the fan snapped closed. Khem let out a shuddering breath and bowed forward till his forehead touched the floor.
“You have a preference for men, do you not?” Teacher asked, and Khem nodded against the smooth wood. Mae made a sound that could – by someone else – be described as smug. “Ah, you see, the dance must surpass all of that. You have been seduced by that one motion, have you not?”
He nodded again. He wasn’t aroused in the physical sense so much: he hadn’t risen between his legs. But there was a throbbing heat in his gut and travelling through his veins that made it difficult to think of anything else. On anyone else those motions would have been lewd, overmuch, but Teacher Mae gave them such a sense of perfect elegance that they were elevated beyond physical sex into something sublime. She invited touch, and yet she was untouchable.
That would be Khem someday. Untouchable. Beyond the reach of anyone and everyone who would seek to put their hands on him or drag him down.
Then the bell rang from somewhere in the main building and Mae sighed.
“Very well, your morning class is concluded.” Khem waited silently whilst she mused above him. “Tell Khun Tee that I approve you serving this evening.”
Khem nearly died from sucking a breath and trying not to make any noise at the same time, so it was a fraught few seconds before he could make the air in his throat go the right way.
“I will Teacher, thank you.”
There was a soft noise above him and then she rose in another rustle of cream and red silk and departed. Khem kept his head on the floor for several moments longer, breathing in the reality of what had just occurred, before he leapt up and darted out of the door on the other side of the room, back towards the sleeping quarters.
Wan and Chat were only just stirring, roused by the bell, when Khem shot in and immediately flung himself down on Wan’s blanket-covered form.
“I’m serving tonight! Teacher Mae said I’m serving!”
“Get off my head,” Wan groaned somewhere underneath him, and Khem rolled off to one side and stared breathlessly up at the ceiling, happiness shining out of him.
“I knew I could do it.”
“You need to wash. You are sweating from your practice.” Chatra said, from the other side of the room, his tone as blank as always. Khem twisted his head to watch as the other man stretched, pulling his arms up high over his head and rotating his wrists. It was as impressive a sight as always. Khem had always respected musicians of course, and taphon musicians amongst them, but it wasn’t until the first time he had seen Chat at his own washbasin that he’d realised the sheer muscle required to beat the drum. Chat’s back and arms and shoulders all dwarfed his own.
“He’s right, you stink.” Wan said, still muffled, and Khem shoved his own bony elbow back into what looked like a soft spot, until Wan shrieked.
He was permitted to remain in the room still unwashed – the female performers of Man Suang bathed first in the mornings – once he'd fetched food and drink for them all from the kitchen, although they insisted he put on a shirt. He devoured his own breakfast down to the last crumb, ravenous as he was every morning, and then frowned at Wan when his childhood friend put a protective arm around his bowl. Khem looked forlornly at him.
“A true friend would share what they had on a day of such celebration for me.”
“So Teacher Mae finally thinks you won’t embarrass her by serving drinks.” Wan rolled his eyes, feeding a piece of pork to Cham beside him. The little white cat was Chat's by right but willing to submit to head scritches and cuddles in exchange for the best parts from their bowls. “That’s barely a compliment when she still hasn’t let you on the stage yet. Which is good, because otherwise you’d be even worse at remembering the real reason you’re here.”
Khem shushed him whilst Chat glanced up briefly at them both, eating his own congee careful spoonful by careful spoonful with the same perfect posture he had when performing. Things had been easier since they had brought Chat into their confidence and shared with him their true mission at Man Suang – finding the secret alliance document of the rebels trying to prevent Prince Mongkut from coming to the throne – but that didn’t mean they could talk so brazenly about it. Every day they got a little bit closer to finding it, and receiving their reward.
But in the meantime, they had to maintain their cover, and that meant striving to become performers worthy of Man Suang’s prestigious reputation. Khem’s potential was the only reason they’d been allowed in for training, out of the hundreds who tried, and he was the only khon-dancer-in-training who received additional study with Teacher Mae, as opposed to the group afternoon class he shared with eight other potentials. Teacher Mae had been a dancer in the royal court of King Nangklao, when he'd been in his prime: she had exacting standards, and her dancers weren’t even permitted to serve drinks to guests until she felt sure their movements would be beautiful enough. Even when they were finally permitted to perform it would only be once a week, to the largest crowds Man Suang drew. They were the greatest of all Man Suang’s treasures.
Meanwhile Wan was apprenticed to the fire spinners, who performed every night and so were allowed to sleep in every morning, whilst Khem had already brushed and scoured the performance stage in the main hall to leave the wood silk-smooth, and drawn water for Teacher Mae’s rooms. Now he had his own chores for the house to do, as they all did, before he would do his best to steal a quick nap before going to afternoon classes. Then they would all be dismissed to dress and decorate themselves before the doors opened and their guests arrived.
But Wan had a point – normally during the evenings Khem had had free time to search for the vital document whilst everyone else was busy, and now if he was serving he would not. That would slow their search considerably. Khem looked at Chat sitting opposite them from under his eyelashes. Chat was rigorously disciplined in his schedule: he did his own chores quickly and efficiently every morning and then led the taphon practice before lunch, his own playing always perfectly correct, whilst any evening he was not performing he spent mingling with the crowd, talking to their many guests. He had always taken his afternoons as his own time however, perhaps they could ask him to…
“What did Teacher Mae teach you today?” Wan was asking, with a mouth full of rice, and Khem had to cluck and elbow him again for his manners. He ate fast but at least he ate nicely. Teacher Mae praised elegance in all things.
"Today was on displaying the emotions; grief and joy, and seduction,” he said. Wan waggled his eyebrows at him.
“Are you sure that was a proper lesson? I’m not sure which of the epics you'd need to be seducing anyone for. Is that why you're all painted up as well?”
“It is in the story of The Floating Lady.” Chat said quietly, whilst Khem twisted Wan’s ear. “When Benyakai attempts to seduce Rama by disguising herself as his wife Sita. It is a great and noble tale. You must be advancing well in your lessons if she is teaching you the noble sagas. It is usually only performed for the royal court.”
Khem was silenced for a second, humbled and a little scared at the thought. That was an aspiration so far away that sometimes it felt like a dream. Right now he was concentrating so hard on the next step of the ladder in front of him that he didn’t have the vision for anything else. Either they would find this document that named the rebels organising themselves against Prince Mongkut, and be rewarded with a title and status, or he would become the lead dancer of Man Suang and earn himself a noble patron, and achieve success and security that way. Those were the only things he had space for inside himself.
“It is sometimes easy to see that Teacher Mae performed for the royal family,” he said instead, which was the easier response. “She is…flawless. I have never looked at a woman once in my life and I would have begged for the touch of a single finger.”
“What did she do?” asked Wan in an awed voice whilst Chat just stared oddly at the floor. Khem huffed out a breath. How could he possibly put into words…
Oh, he was an idiot. He should hit himself with a fan. Of course he could not put it into words.
“Here – I will be but mist compared to her, but perhaps I can convey it a little,” he jumped up to drag over a small stool from beneath their window and position it before them. And then he paused and breathed deep, searching for the calm and beauty inside himself. Neither had been easy for him to find, but he'd persevered. Then he conjured up the memory of Teacher Mae sliding into her chair, the sensuous lines of her body, the promise of pleasure given and returned in the sway of her hips, the arch of her neck. He slid his thighs wide, pretending he was wearing pakama instead of chong kraben, something to give a lover easy access if they desired, if he desired, stroking his palm over the skin of his inner thigh, a tease for them both, imaging a callused hand pressing there…
He realised his eyes were closed and quickly opened them. He would have gotten two smacks from the fan for that. But it turned out his hard work was totally pointless: Wan was still staring at him, chewing with his mouth open, whilst Chat was barely looking at him at all. Khem slumped back on the stool.
“Nothing? I was not even close?”
His room companions exchanged a quick, odd glance, and then Wan swallowed the wad of food in his cheek.
“I – you know that – my preference is for women –”
“This is supposed to surpass that.” Khem muttered, trying not to sound too disgruntled. Never mind. He would work harder. He disliked complaining in front of Chatra, who was stoic to the point of marble. Khem had seen him return to the room late at night, his palms raw and calluses bleeding, presumably from some private practice he conducted somewhere, but no matter his injuries or exhaustion he never complained.
“It was…um…Chat, what did you think?” Wan asked, a little frantically. At that Khem couldn’t help himself: he rolled his eyes and flung both hands up in the air.
“Chat once said my dancing would give Teacher Mae a heart attack, I doubt his opinion has improved.”
Chat looked up at that, his face more open than Khem could ever remember seeing it.
“I did not…that was many months ago.”
“So am I better now?” Khem wasn’t entirely sure why he was pushing the subject. Maybe because he was praise-starved. Maybe because the idea of getting some sort of reaction from Chat was heady in the extreme. He knew he was handsome, knew the face paint only enhanced that fact: he thought he deserved something, even the smallest crack of Chat’s stoney nature.
But Chat just shifted in his seat. “Teacher Mae gives you private tutelage. If she sees potential in you, there can be nothing I say to counter it.”
Khem frowned, feeling discontented, but the bell was already ringing and Chat was rising in the same instant, stacking their dishes together with quick, economical movements. His dark shirt opened slightly as he worked and Khem could see the pale slope of his muscles within. He blinked, and Chat was gone, the door swinging closed behind him.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Wan gave him a carefully blank look that didn’t quite manage to hide the smile twitching the corners of his mouth. Khem groaned and covered his face with his hands. His friend knew him too well.
“And here I thought the dancing was distracting you from our mission…”
“I am not distracted.” Khem said, and almost believed it himself, and quickly followed the drummer out of the door before Wan could tease him any further.
~
Khem being...distracted...by Chat wasn't a big deal. The man had proved himself trustworthy after all, helping them hide the lieutenant's body, getting rid of the foreign gun and the other evidence, never breathing a word even when Khun Tee interrogated the entire house. Khem remembered that day in the tree when he’d shared their true purpose. Chat had gazed at him with that focused stare for so long that Khem had started to feel a slow prickling up his neck, like an awareness of a distant threat coming closer, but then the drummer had nodded and pledged to help their cause. Things had been so much easier after that, no longer having to tiptoe around their rooms or speak in awkward code or make up excuses for where they disappeared to at night.
And somehow, even though they had only been allies for a short time, Khem had found himself trusting Chat more and more.
It was different from his closeness with Wan; they'd been friends since boyhood and had no secrets from each other. There was nothing but trust and love there. But somehow that was unfolding outwards to include Chat as well - when really he should be more wary of relative strangers, when Khem’s entire future was on the line with this mission, his one chance to elevate himself beyond the drudgery of his life. So he should be wary, but he wasn’t; his friendship with Chat was growing stronger every day, a bond deepening that he didn’t know how to explain, as though there was just something about the other man that called to him…
Except for the odd times when he had the strange thought that maybe Chat didn’t actually like him very much, if the number of times he refused to look at Khem was any indication.
“You are very skilled at that,” he said, lying on his back in the grass watching as Chat flew his kite. It was a perfect day, the air warm but fresh and a light breeze stirring the trees around them and helping the kite soar. Chat had only nodded once when Khem had asked if he minded company on his walk outside the city walls, and offered little conversation until they reached the tallest hill, the one overlooking the river. But Khem could still tell he had been listening to Khem’s conversation, see his responses in the tiny shifts in his face. “It is not as easy as you make it look, is it? How did you learn?”
“My mother taught me.” Chat said, more words than he’d offered all morning. His hands moved minutely on the strings, and above them the kite dipped in some indecipherable pattern. Khem watched it instead of watching those large, strong hands. He could focus. He wasn't distracted.
“My aunt once told me that in the time of King Thongduang they used kites to send messages between army battalions,” he said, bending a blade of grass into a whistle and blowing it. Chat’s shoulders tensed at the reedy sound and Khem frowned, trying again and smiling when the note came out clear and true this time. “How tiring that must have been.”
“More reliable than scouts or birds,” came the reply, and Khem put his head on one side. He’d never considered it like that – at least if the enemy shot down your kite then you just made a new one. He glanced over at where Chat was winding his kite downwards, apparently done.
“You have finished so soon? If I’m bothering you I can go –”
“No. It’s fine.” Chat stood looking down at him a moment, backlit against the sun so that Khem couldn’t see his face, only the breadth of his shoulders, and then he was swinging down to sit beside him on the grass. Khem wondered what he’d looked like to Chat's eyes, if the sun had shone on his skin, if his figure had been displayed well. He knew what men had liked about his body in the past. He didn’t know what Chat liked, if anything, and was slowly admitting that he wanted to know what Chat liked.
It was a slightly scary thought.
“How did you do that?” Chat asked, jerking him back to the present moment, and Khem blinked to realise he was gesturing at the grass whistle held loosely in Khem’s fingers.
“Oh – like this. Take a blade…no, wider than that, and bend it like so…mm, yes, and now put your mouth here – no, here. There. Blow. Gentler, blow gentler, like this…” he lifted his own whistle and pursed his lips, letting out that same clear note and –
Chat was looking at his mouth.
Khem nearly dropped the grass whistle, the shock spreading through him like ink in water. Chat was already looking away, pursing his own lips to produce a series of perfect notes, completely ignoring the way Khem was staring at the side of his face and as calm as though he hadn’t just been…
Khem has had his fair share of lovers, some no more than a passing night’s pleasure, and others enjoyed over weeks or months. He knows what desire looks like. But Chat has never so much as blinked at him in mild hunger before, nor anyone else in Man Suang, not Chaisee with her perfect curves and seduction in every step of her walk, nor Sanoh who performs with the silk hangings and whose face could charm the flowers to bloom. And certainly not Khem, who has to sit with his fingers bent backwards for the length of an incense stick every evening, grunting softly to himself with the pain, whose torso is covered with scratches and bruises from missing his back handsprings. Chat looked at his kite and his drum with more interest than the lot of them.
“Thank you for showing me,” Chat said, ever polite, and quite clearly not interested in talking about the look he'd just given Khem’s mouth, like he wished to indulge himself in it for endless hours and didn’t think he would ever be satisfied. He had never looked at Khem like that before. It took Khem a moment to find his voice.
“You are welcome. We are brothers in our mission, so whatever I have is yours.”
For some reason that made Chat breathe out heavily and square his shoulders, staring up at the blue sky above them. The air smelt of ripeness: there was a rambutan tree growing at the river's edge, its fruit heavy and red. Chat was still staring at the sky when he spoke.
“You have taken me to your trust so quickly. It does you credit. But even whilst I benefit from it, I have the urge to caution you: there are many who would take advantage of such a nature.”
No, there are no others I would take into my heart like this, Khem wanted to say, but didn’t, because he was already starting to doubt whether he had seen Chat look at him like…that. Maybe it had been the light. Chat’s hands were spread wide on his thighs, strong and masculine and Khem stared down at the palms instead, rough with work, at the calluses on every finger. Chat had far more than any other musician; Khem wanted to ask if they came from flying the kite, or from some other interest. He wanted to know so much about Chat and was ashamed that his curiosity had nothing to do with their mission at all.
“Then you will simply have to ensure you deserve it,” he said instead, archly, and Chat shot him a quick look as though he wasn’t accustomed to being held to someone else’s standards. Khem couldn’t resist grinning at him, at that stern, stoic face, and was delighted when Chat’s mouth twitched as well. He never smiled! Even more surprising was when the drummer eased himself down until they were lying side by side on the summer grass.
“What must I do? How do I deserve your trust?” Was Khem hearing this right? Chat’s voice almost sounded teasing. Either that or his kite had landed on Khem’s head and he now had a concussion and was imagining such a thing. He made a great show of stroking his chin and pondering.
“To deserve my trust…firstly, you must never betray me. Or Wan, of course.”
“I will promise this gladly, unless the greater fate of the king and our land should depend on it.” Chat replied, deathly serious, and Khem snorted and whacked him on the chest with his hand. Ow. That was…solid.
“You do not need to be so serious. If the fate of the king and our land depends on us to that extent then we will have far greater problems than any oaths.”
“You know how important our mission is.” Chat said chidingly, always happy to argue about duty. “If these rebels should succeed, they will overthrow Prince Mongkut who has the support of the grand council and embodies the will of the people to rise to the throne. The rebels will hamper our kingdom’s ability to grow and develop, they will sell us all to foreign powers with their poisoned trade to enrich only themselves –”
“Chatra! All I care about his earning myself a place in the world! I am nothing and no one but a lowly commoner; here are you talking as though we were princes who'd been raised to care about this stuff from birth," he teased, grinning over at the drummer and patting his arm, a little gentler this time because he didn’t need any further bruises on his fingers. “Let me speak in jest for one afternoon at least.”
There was a long pause and then a begrudging: “Very well. What is the second thing I must do to earn your trust?”
“Secondly: cherish me through all things.” Khem said promptly, unable to keep a little more of the lilt from his voice, a different sort of teasing. Apparently he was going to be distracted by this. There was another long moment of silence.
“Very well.”
“You are not even going to argue? Or inquire why?”
“You have set your terms: I must simply agree or not.”
“You must cherish me through all things,” Khem said, providing the explanation unasked-for. “Through arguments or disagreements or distance or absence. True brotherhood does not require fake happiness or constant presence to maintain it. If we argue, we argue – but we never stop caring about each other.”
Chat stayed silent, which made Khem worry he had over-exposed himself. He didn’t want to explain further, about all the people in his past who had seemed to forget him so easily, or cast him aside like he was nothing. He didn't think it was too great an ask to be loved unconditionally, really.
He smiled at the ridiculousness of his own thoughts, and closed his eyes to let the sunlight beat down on his face. When he opened them Chat was gazing at him. This time there was no hunger, only steadiness. Had he imagined the look? How embarrassing.
“Are there any others? Or should I state mine?
“Oh, no, give me yours first.” Khem said, oddly charmed. This was making him remember he and Wan stealing sweet rice cakes from their neighbour’s windowsill when they were children, swearing to split the profits and the punishment, unified by the crime and then by the beating. They'd been inseparable ever since.
Chat nodded firmly and settled himself back down. Khem waited obediently, and had to fight to keep the smile off his face when Chat spoke with all the solemnity of a royal declaration.
“Firstly, to always behave towards me in honour and in honesty. Secondly, to support me in the achievement of my goals and my duty. Thirdly, to undertake any task I beseech you to, even if the completion should result in my death.”
Khem had been nodding along up to that point, but the word death made him sit up and stare down at the other man. Chat was staring at the sky too but it didn’t look like he was seeing it. His gaze was very far away.
“Chat! What task could you possibly give me that would result in your death?! What would be so important that you consider its completion worth more than your life?!”
“I do not know, I simply wanted to include all possibilities,” said Chat simply, still looking at the sky. Then that impossibly handsome face suddenly turned to gaze at Khem without warning. “Most people would have objected more to the second condition, without knowing what my goals or duty were.”
“I once walked ten miles three villages over so that Wan could get a healing charm from the temple monks for Som Wang’s mother,” he replied. He didn’t need to remind Chat who Som Wang was: Wan waxed lyrical about his betrothed every evening in their shared room, wistfully sighing over the money he needed before they could wed. “I will gladly support you in whatever you wish. I trust in your honourable ambitions.”
Chat gave him another cool, impenetrable look, which Khem wished he did not find as arousing as he often did. He thought he’d made his peace with their companion’s handsomeness, but it still managed to frequently catch him off-guard…but perhaps that was because he’d convinced himself that Chat was beyond reach, before he’d seen that look. The air between them felt different now.
“Do you have a third?” Chat had to repeat the question when he realised Khem hadn’t been listening. “A third condition. So that we are evenly balanced.”
“Oh.” Khem had been dreaming his out of nothingness even as he spoke them. Chat’s had all the seriousness of a family vow. “Promise me that you will always be sincere in your opinion of my dancing.”
“That’s it?” Chat’s eyebrows were frowning. His face frowned and his eyebrows frowned separately. “There is no other pledge you want from me? To always share whatever wealth and success I have, to use my influence to advance you, to keep you first amongst others in counsel…”
“What should I want advancement for, if you were the one that got it for me?” Khem retorted rudely. He made no secret of his desperation to achieve wealth and status, to lift himself out of the poverty and misery that he had seen crush his parents beneath its weight. But there was a difference between lifting himself and having coins tossed his way in pity. “I will earn it. I am earning it. But…if this mission should fail, then my only means will be through khon dancing. You are one of the most experienced performers in Man Suang; your critique will be invaluable. Please, share your knowledge and learning so that I can improve myself.”
Somehow his words had come out like a vow as well. Khem thought he was probably blushing a little – he probably sounded like a child copying their elder sibling, he had none of Chatra’s gravitas – but he persevered, pushing himself up to bow his head respectfully. Chat was staring at him again when he rose, and for a second Khem thought he saw the hunger again but no – it was Chat’s usual gaze, impenetrable even for him.
“Then we are pledged,” was all he said, and laid back down, and Khem laid back down beside him.
That was all they said for some time.
~
Serving was not at all what Khem thought it would be.
Man Suang was so famous that even miles away in their tiny village he and Wan had heard it mentioned, and then once they came to the city the whispers only grew. Man Suang, where dreams and legend came to life. Man Suang, where the most beautiful and the most talented performed for the most powerful. Man Suang, where deals to tip the balance of the world were made…
Teacher approving him for service wasn’t about his dance ability, although agility and grace certainly came in handy as he slipped round tables, bending to pour drinks and whisking away empty glasses, all the while avoiding the occasional wandering hand from someone who wasn’t appreciating the contortionists or snake dancers or shadow puppets as much as they should have been doing.
Teacher approving him for service was because she trusted him to keep his mouth shut.
“…the delivery will arrive two hours past midnight, we have already bribed the watchmen…” a Siamese man said to a gentleman from Calcutta, his turban flashing gold in the fire spinner’s glare.
“…if the man is an impediment to you, he can be removed: either dismissal or death is possible…” a woman with the face of an angel said to a Syburi diplomat.
“…His Excellency Dit Bunnag has always favoured the Portuguese above the British, which will cause problems for…” a Manchu merchant said, in English Khem only barely understood, to the foreigner beside him. The man’s eyes flitted towards Khem as he poured baijiu into their glasses so he kept his head down and his face carefully blank. He’d recognised the name of course, how could anyone not: Dit Bunnag was one of Prince Mongkut’s greatest supporters, and the rebel’s main enemy. If anything were to happen to him…
Damnit, he didn't care about this stuff. Chat was having a bad impact on him.
“I say, the boys you fellows grow here are certainly something,” a drawling foreign voice said. Khem’s English amounted to maybe half a dozen words at best, but he recognised boy and more importantly, he recognised the tone. The yellow-haired foreigner gave him a leering look up and down as Khem bent low to replace the bowls of snack food on their table. “Is this one for sale? You all have a price don’t you?”
Khem didn’t recognise the man seated opposite the Westerner – they were all taught to recognise the regular customers, to remember their drinks and their sins – but the look the man gave him was utterly blank, as though he was genuinely considering what Khem’s skin might be worth. Khem bowed as low as he could and slipped away, ignoring the coarse laugh from behind him.
“Thong Dam, will you switch halls with me?” he asked, when he was back in the safety of the performer’s corridors. Thong Dam arched an eyebrow at him as she came out of the wine room, a full tray balanced on her graceful arm.
“Why, what’s the matter? I have three tables from the education ministry tonight; I want my daughter to go to the new schools they are building for noble children in Thonburi.”
“They will never let your child go there,” one of the girls behind her chided, and Thong Dam pouted.
“They will if one of them falls in love and marries me. I am young enough to still give him sons, and beautiful enough that he will want more daughters.”
The corridor was filling rapidly as the musicians assembled for their next performer, the xylophone player giving Khem a dirty look as he elbowed past. Khem rubbed a tired hand over his face.
“There is a foreigner with the Quanzhou merchant; he wants to buy my body.”
Half the girls dissolved into giggles, with good-natured urging for him to charge the best price; the other half immediately began smacking at their sisters and telling him his body was entirely his own and that Khun Tee would protect him if he needed – which was a bold-faced lie, Khun Tee would no doubt encourage the bidding. Amidst all the chaos one voice cut through.
“Who wishes to buy you?”
Khem opened his eyes. Chat was standing there in all his bare-chested glory, every muscle on perfect display. Khem wished he could blame his dry mouth on the unpleasant foreigner.
“The yellow-haired man. He thought I could not understand what he said.”
Chat’s face did a number of things, all of the expressions so minute that Khem could barely spot them, let alone understand them. He finally nodded shortly and turned away and Khem let out a breath anyway.
“I’ll swap with you,” Yindee said, patting his arm kindly. “But that means you’ll have to take Prince Naresr’s private room.”
“That’s fine, thanks Yindee.” Khem smiled at her. Prince Naresr was one of their frequent visitors; he was short-tempered, and a perfectionist, but as long as you were quiet and competent then he bestowed his gratitude liberally. It was good of Yindee to swap, especially for a foreigner who probably wouldn’t even toss her a coin at the end of the night. He traded his empty tray for Yindee’s full one, rattled off all the drinks on the tables he was covering, and then began climbing the stairs to the private rooms that lined along the balcony of the main hall, so that the guests inside could watch the performances in privacy.
Teacher Mae was there.
She looked more elegant than he had ever seen her before, in a gold-and-maroon sabai bordered in an elaborate pattern of twisting vines. But she was nothing compared to Prince Naresr, sprawled next to her in a robe of green and violet, his pet peacock on a perch behind him so that its glorious feathers could fall over his shoulder in a perfect complement. He was the first prince Khem had ever seen and even though he was a lesser prince, one of the younger sons of King Nangklao whose mother was a mere consort, Khem still couldn’t help but gape, stunned by the man’s handsomeness, with his large liquid-dark eyes and jade-pale skin, before he dragged his wits back up and remembered his duties.
Teacher’s eyes flickered when he entered but she was too busy smiling at the prince to respond, the other men in the room all leaning obsequiously forward to pay attention to him also. The prince didn’t notice him at all. At least that make it easy for Khem to skirt around the edges and replenish the bowls of snacks, focusing on keeping each pass of his arm and wrist graceful and moving as though he were gliding.
“You complicate matters far too much Viceroy,” Prince Naresr was saying grandly. “There will be no opposition. Of my father’s twenty-seven sons I can hardly envisage any true contest to myself as heir, let alone my idiot uncle. What do you think, my most esteemed lady Mae? You saw so many of my half-brothers during your time in the royal court; how do they compare?” He preened a little as he spoke, trailing his golden nail covering over his own cheekbone. Khem kept his head down so no one could see the shock on his face, but he could sense Teacher Mae’s eyes flicking to him again before she answered.
“Oh no, my prince, you are by far the most handsome and talented.”
“More than Xuwicha?”
“My prince is more intelligent.”
“More than Chuang?”
“My prince is more pious.”
“More than Kham?”
Teacher Mae hesitated only a second. “My prince is taller.”
“What of Royal Consort Prapaiwadi?” one of the other men asked, his flushed cheeks showing how much liquor he had already consumed. “Was her son not a strong candidate?”
“Chatra?” laughed Naresr, making Khem jump. “I haven’t seen my little brother since he was twelve and sent north for martial training with his mother’s uncle – which I doubt went well, considering he was as round as the moon and tripped over his own feet more often than not.”
Despite the near-treasonous conversation Khem hid a smile as he moved silently round the table. It was the custom amongst his province to name boys after a royal prince if they were born in the same year – he knew several Naresr’s some years older than him – and he assumed Chat’s hometown was the same. But it amused him, in some secret smug part of his heart, to think that his Chatra was more handsome and strong than the Prince Chatra.
Not that Chat would ever be his. In the weeks since that moment on the hillside he hadn’t looked at Khem with anything more than mild approval or irritation. Except…for the times when they discussed Khem’s dancing. His critiques were brutal, cutting, occasionally admiringly, once or twice quietly complimentary…but they were always right. Whatever he said, Khem worked to fix, and at his next class Teacher Mae would look at him with calm eyes and move him on to the next lesson without a word. In the afternoon class he now sat directly behind her, the place of the prized pupil, and didn’t even care about the poisonous looks he received from his fellow trainees, with all his attention fixed entirely upon the way she curved her elbow or curled a finger.
He shot a glance over to her now, sitting quietly beside the prince, who was now talking loudly about his uncle Mongkut’s declining years and how Siam needed fresh blood on the throne. What did she make of all this? Where did her allegiances lie?
The conversation fell silent as the performance below started, the prince and his guests all watching attentively. Khem took up position at the back of the room to begin with but when he caught Teacher Mae’s eye she gestured him along a little so that he could crane his neck and see over the balcony, to watch the dancers below. He could see Chat as well, or his broad back at least, and the rhythmic thud of the taphon made the soles of his feet tingle with the urge to move. Watching dance was the next best thing to dancing itself and for long moments his mind fell away, lost in the music and the movement, as though he were actually down there on the stage with them.
Prince Naresr didn’t make any more declarations of himself compared to his brothers when the performance was done, instead cajoling and flattering the increasingly drunk men around him until they were falling over themselves to sing his praises themselves, promising him support and backing and everything else under the sun. Khem watched them quietly as he came and went with more drinks and more food. He wanted to condemn the lot of them but he felt the hypocrisy of the emotion: weren’t they trying to drag themselves up the same way he was?
No. He wanted to earn his title and status, and honourably. Not like that.
And then he walked up the stairs, his eyes fixed on his tray with the beautiful little porcelain bowls filled with ice shavings and delicately coloured tapioca flowers, every one a tiny masterpiece, and opened the door to find it empty apart from the prince and Teacher Mae.
“Khem, come inside,” she said, waving her fan very gently before her face. Khem didn’t need to be told that this was a serious moment. He slid his tray onto the table and sank to his knees in a formal bow before the prince.
“He’s one of yours? Can he be trusted?” Prince Naresr snapped, all the lazy indolence gone from his voice. What was happening – were he and Teacher Mae allies? Khem’s head was starting to hurt from the layers of deceit in this place. “If not you will have to take care of it.”
“He is mine.” Teacher Mae said, a firm note in her voice that Khem had never quite heard before. “He is in training to be the lead actor. Talent such as his comes rarely; I would vouch for him with my life, my prince.”
“Oh, very well.” Naresr replied above Khem’s head, back to sounding a little grumpy and petulant. “Go fetch the other one then, if he hasn’t wandered off to get himself robbed in an alley or fallen into the river. If only!”
Teacher Mae hesitated a moment but the prince’s command had been clear. Khem tried not to feel like he was being abandoned as she left the room, and left him alone with the prince. The silence stretched for a long moment before Naresr abruptly sighed. His voice had changed again, now the calm and thoughtful tone that Khem remembered from the first time they met.
When Naresr had hired him to find Chao Khun Wichien’s document.
“You have not told your teacher that you are in my employ?”
“No my prince.” Khem said, still bowed low. “You ordered us not to tell anyone.”
“And your little friend? He is holding his tongue as well?”
Khem didn’t know how to answer that. They had split duties since Khem had been appointed to server: Khem continued to search inside Man Suang for the missing document, whilst Wan followed the leads the prince had given them around the city. But three times in the past month he had returned home somehow listless and elated at the same time, smacking at his teeth and looking confused when Khem asked him where he’d been. But he couldn’t tell the prince that. He nodded, his forehead brushing against the floor.
“How close are you to finding the document?”
“Close, my prince. I have searched nearly the entire building. There are only a few places left.” Naturally they were the hardest places to get into, but Khem would find a way. He risked a peek upwards at where the prince was rubbing two elegant fingers wearily over the bridge of his nose.
“Unless of course they suspect someone is searching for it and are moving it constantly around behind your back…”
“…my prince, did you not say that no one else knew it was within Man Suang? Surely if others were moving it they would just…remove it? If the document has not yet resurfaced elsewhere then it is probably still hidden.”
“Gosh, beauty and intelligence, no wonder Teacher Mae is fond of you.” Prince Naresr said, his tone a little teasing but a little biting also. “Perhaps I should be fonder of you too? If you’re as good as she says you’ll perform in the royal court sooner or later, and I should like to stake a claim before my grubby-handed brothers see you. Gosh I cannot wait for uncle to restore order once again.”
Khem blinked, confused – based on the evening’s conversation he would have thought for sure that Prince Naresr was intended to reach for the throne himself in opposition to his uncle, Prince Mongkut. But that wasn’t the impression he gave now, or what he’d said the first time they'd met. But before he could speak the door opened again and several people stood in the frame.
One was Teacher Mae. One was the yellow-haired foreigner. One was Thanom, the lead dancer in that evening’s performance, and who hated Khem especially. And the three others were members of the piphat. Including Chat.
“Come in my dear Mr Brigham.” Prince Naresr threw his arms expansively wide, and the yellow-haired man looked away from Khem to smile at the prince and then lowered himself awkwardly down onto the cushions. “Welcome, welcome. How do you find Siam?”
“A beautiful country, with beautiful people.” Brigham replied, in stilted but understandable Siamese. One of the prince’s eyebrows twitched but his smile never faltered, though Khem saw how his eyes followed Brigham’s gaze towards him. “Very beautiful people.”
The musicians were settling themselves in the corner and Khem deliberately didn’t glance in Chat’s direction at all as he placed the delicate bowls of dessert in front of Teacher and Prince Naresr and Brigham, keeping his body arched as far away from the latter as possible without being obvious about it. He caught the flick of Teacher Mae’s fingers from the corner of his eye and slid backwards into another corner, keeping his head down. He could feel the weight of gazes on him, sending conflicting shivers over his skin. Brigham – slimy and degrading; Naresr – considering; Thanom – raw with jealousy; and Chat…Chat’s gaze as heavy and careful as always.
He realised instantly why Thanom and the orchestra had been brought in: Prince Naresr and Brigham spoke low and close together but the music drowned out any remaining conversation that could possibly have been overheard, to the point where even a few feet away Khem couldn’t hear a thing. Teacher Mae served them herself whilst he crouched in his corner and regretted the evening’s choices. If only he hadn’t swapped with Yindee, this would have been the most perfect opportunity to continue searching Man Suang, especially one of the few places he hadn’t looked yet…
Teacher Mae’s rooms.
There had been a whisper, a rumour, that she and Chao Khun Wichien had been acquainted during her time in the palace…it was entirely possible that he had visited and given the document to her. Khem had wanted to think that he’d hidden it in her rooms, but after this evening…his Teacher sitting so calm and quiet whilst the men before her brazenly discussed a coup…whose side was she on?
The thoughts whirled themselves around his head and he was lost to everything else, turning over possibilities and likelihoods in his head like domino tiles. He was so caught up in his thoughts that it took him several seconds to realise Teacher Mae was saying his name.
“Khem…Khem!”
He jerked his head up and found the whole room staring at him: Mae annoyed, Brigham smirking, Thanom furious. The most worrying thing was the tiny frown in between Chat’s eyebrows. Darn it, what had he missed?
“Forgive me Teacher,” he bowed low again and waited.
“Khem…the honourable gentleman guest wishes for you to dance for us.”
The honourable…Brigham??
Khem stared at the British man, managing to keep the reluctance off his face only at the very last second. The man just smiled back at him, fanning himself gently with his hat. Prince Naresr clapped his hands loudly.
“Excellent. You, drummer, begin with the same beat. I am sure the boy will do his teacher and Man Suang proud.”
Khem couldn’t even think about refusing; even if it hadn’t been a royal command, he knew any punishment for refusal would fall equally upon Teacher Mae’s shoulders, and whatever political loyalties she had she was still his teacher. He rose silently and went to the clear space Thanom was vacating for him –
“He’s not going to wear that is he?” interrupted Brigham, and Khem froze where he was raising his arms, still clad in the same red tunic that all the servers wore. “The other one is bare-chested, he should be too.”
Khem looked at Teacher. Teacher Mae set her jaw and stared at the ground. Prince Naresr made an irritated gesture.
“The khom dance is one of our most treasured arts, please Mr Brigham, let’s not waste our time on a half-trained boy; let me treat you to another night here and –”
“Yes they normally wear make-up don’t they, like a woman.” Brigham interrupted, rudeness on a scale Khem could hardly comprehend, making all the musicians flinch. Teacher Mae was looking like she wanted to strike him, but the stupid foreigner didn’t notice with how hard he was still staring at Khem’s face. “He’d look lovely with a little make-up on, but this will do. Have him take his shirt off and dance for me.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the prince. “We could discuss those new trade opportunities whilst he dances.”
Humiliation was warring with anger in the pit of Khem’s stomach as he shrugged off his tunic and stood there in his loose trousers, his toes flexing against the wood of the floor. For a moment there was nothing, and then the first beat of the taphon sounded and Khem could feel it as though the thud had come from his bones, because it wasn’t just the drumbeat calling him to dance, it was Chat.
The oboe joined in, its soft mournful sound rising above the other instruments and Khem felt the muscles of his body pull and stretch, felt the flow of each movement into the next. With only half the piphat orchestra they were only doing one of the practice dances rather than a performance piece – not that the stupid foreigner would be able to tell the difference – and Khem knew every step like his bones and muscles had memories of their own.
All his awareness was on the dance but he thought he could see a glimpse of Teacher Mae, her face lifted high with pride, and then he saw Chat too, the muscles in his arms working smoothly and his gaze fixed on Khem –
“How much for the boy?”
The words were like being dunked in the stream that came down from the mountaintop. Khem stumbled, his feet losing their poise, and the musicians clattered to a halt as he froze, his arms still upraised. Prince Naresr looked startled as he leaned over to Brigham.
“Forgive me Mr Brigham…dancers belong to the house, they cannot –”
“How much for one night with him?” Brigham replied. He half-dropped his bowl onto the table and Khem saw the delicate porcelain chip. If that was how the foreigner handled beautiful things then Khem didn’t want his hands on him at all. “Come on, don’t you lot know how to treat a guest? You want those trade deals don’t you?”
“This boy is my student, I am afraid I can’t permit…” Teacher Mae began, and Khem was so grateful he could have fallen to his knees before her, but Brigham was already making a rude spitting sound.
“Psh, enough of that womanly whining, you’d think you were his mother. Here, boy…” and before Khem could force his frozen limbs to move Brigham was up, his hand sliding over Khem’s bare chest and it felt horrible, it felt so wrong, it felt like everything he hated most in the world, being someone who was too small and weak to stop others from stepping on him –
Brigham’s touch was gone. Khem blinked and the man himself was gone too and his entire vision was filled with broad shoulders, pale skin moving over heavy muscle in a way that made his mouth water and his brain frown with confusion…
“He hit me!” Oh, there was Brigham, on the floor, one side of his mouth red with blood and already swollen. "That itinerant drummer hit me!"
The other musicians were clustered in the corner shrieking with fright as Brigham continued to howl but Khem could barely hear either sound, too busy staring at Chat in front of him, his fists still clenched threateningly at his side. Teacher Mae and Prince Naresr were both staring up at him as well, with expressions that Khem had never seen before, something like shock but so much more.
“Punish him! I want him punished!” Brigham was yelling, and Khem could hear the sounds of footsteps on the stairs, other servers or even the martial artists hired as security for the house. He stepped forward and Chat immediately grabbed him back, tugging him, so that Khem had no choice but to fall against the too-warm bulk of his side.
“Enough!” shouted Prince Naresr, jumping to his feet. He was cradling his peacock in his arms, the bird making squawking noises to add to the chaos. Standing and furious the prince was even more impressive, with the imperial lines of his face and his radiant beauty shining out, but somehow standing pressed against Chat’s side meant Khem didn’t feel the frantic anxious awe around royalty that he normally did.
“Mr Brigham, sir, please, I will have the most beautiful ladies and the most talented healers in Man Suang tend to you.” Prince Naresr said, his voice deliberately pitched loud, and Khem heard more footsteps and guessed Khun Tee was outside the door and already issuing orders to make it so. “Such an unfortunate accident, such an unfortunate incident, all best forgotten as soon as possible…”
“Punishment!” came the cry from the floor, and Khem turned his face away, pressing it against Chat’s shoulder, because he knew there was no possible way he could conceal the disgust in his expression. “How dare he, I want him punished –”
“How can he be punished, for protecting what is his?” Teacher Mae broke in suddenly. She had risen to her feet too, a single movement that drew every eye in the room, and stood as though there were clouds beneath her feet. Khem longed for one ounce of her grace. “They are…promised to each other. I oversaw the betrothal ceremony myself. There can be no punishment for this man doing his rightful duty.”
Khem stared at her. So did everyone else. And then he slowly turned his face to look at Chat, his…intended?
Chat was staring at the prince.
“Exactly.” Prince Naresr said, after another strange inscrutable look had passed between them. “Our laws make such things very clear Mr Brigham…and in fact, there are strict punishments for those who lay hands on the beloved of another.” He raised a meaningful eyebrow and Brigham finally fell silent, still panting with fury, blood dotting his stupid cravat. After a second he lifted himself up and spat out a gob of blood-streaked spit onto the floor. Khem felt every muscle in Chat’s body tense and sank his nails into his waist, a silent urging not to beat the foreigner into the floor.
Teacher Mae and the prince were far better at controlling their expressions, already calling loudly for more liquor to be brought, the healer to attend, gesturing sharply to Khem and Chat to follow the musicians clutching their instruments and rushing out of the door. Khem wrapped a hand around Chat’s wrist as the other man picked up his drum – in one hand, which did nothing to ease the low simmer in Khem’s belly that had jumped ablaze when Brigham had been introduced to the floor – and tugged him out of the room, and further still, dodging guests and fellow performers alike until Khem had gotten them safely back to their room.
Wan wasn’t there. The knife jugglers had been performing tonight; he had been at leisure. He should have been here but all Khem could feel was gratitude that he was not as he spun round and locked his gaze with Chat.
Their room was a small one, made smaller with three cots and Cham’s pillow crammed into it, the only light coming from the high square window and the small glass lantern Chat kept by his bed. There was only a little floorspace and they stood in it now, their bodies a foot apart, so close that Khem could see a gleam of sweat at Chat’s temples and neck, could see the teak-brown of his eyes vanish as his pupils grew.
“He was the prince’s guest,” he said, searching those eyes for something he couldn’t put a name to. “The punishment could have been very great.”
They were standing so close. He and Chat were of a height but Chat was broader, heavy with muscle, and Khem felt the presence of him like an overwhelming pressure, like there was something hiding underneath Chat’s control that Khem could only distantly sense. He knew his own balance was perfect and yet that pressure made him want to sway, to crumple down from the force until he was unmoving beneath it. Chat was looking at him again, in exactly the same way as before.
“No punishment would have been worse than watching him touch you.” Chat said, and Khem took two steps forward and kissed him.
Chat’s mouth was warm against his, his chest firm and strong where Khem was pressed against it and the arms that slid round Khem’s waist were even stronger, one of them wrapping so tightly around that he couldn’t have broken free even if he’d wished, and the other sliding over Khem’s bare skin with a worshipful touch, till Chat’s fingertips had nudged just beneath the waistband of Khem’s lower coverings, the best and the worst sort of tease. Khem went to his tiptoes to try and get them deeper but Chat just rolled with the motion, keeping them pressed together in the same position even as his tongue slid into Khem’s mouth and kissed him more thoroughly than he’d ever been kissed before.
It was Chat who tried to calm down first, pulling their mouths away and then shuddering and moving back in to press desperate hungry kisses against Khem’s lips as though now that his desire had been unlocked it was unstoppable. Khem was happy with that. He didn’t want him to stop. But finally Chat growled, more at himself than anything else, and wrenched his head away with his eyes tight closed, as though by not looking at Khem’s face he could resist temptation.
Khem had never been desired like this before and he was lost, gone, broken apart from the strength of it. Chat’s arms around him were the only thing holding him upright.
“We cannot,” Chat groaned out, and Khem grabbed his face and dragged him back down.
The next time Chat managed to pause they were on his bed, all that magnificent strength and weight pressing down on Khem, forcing his body into being malleable and soft beneath it. Khem had had many varieties and flavours of intimacy before, in all the roles there could be, but never before had he been so desperate to place himself entirely in a lover’s hands – in Chat’s hands. And with the way Chat held him, the sentiment was wholeheartedly returned.
Which was why he could not understand why Chat was pulling away, propping himself up on his arms so that their chests and mouths – and lower – were no longer touching. His gaze was so hot Khem could almost feel it, but his face was stern.
"Khem."
"Chatra," Khem replied, not bothering to hide his breathlessness or the husk in his voice. Chat’s eyes closed briefly as he shuddered, and then he pulled from a well of discipline deeper than Khem had ever possessed himself.
“We cannot.”
“I have never wanted another man’s touch as much as I want yours.” Khem told him, to watch that perfect jawline tense with controlled desire. He felt like he was floating above the clouds, his entire body suffused with joy. Chat wanted him. Chat wanted him. Stoic, honourable, noble Chat wanted him.
“I…also desire you,” came the reply, as though it had been dragged out of Chat by hooks. It would have been insulting, except for how the other man dropped his head down to rest against Khem’s and breathed out raggedly at even that small touch. “But we cannot.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” and then Chat swung himself entirely off and away, till he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Khem’s skin felt cold without him. “Because…my time in Man Suang is nearly complete, and I will be leaving before the seasons turn again.”
“Where are you going? To your hometown?” Khem sat bolt upright on the bed. Chat had never spoken of his home village but occasionally his speech had a slight northern sound. That was weeks of travel away, more to return. But the drummer just shook his head. “Then where? Do you have another contract? They say the King has less than weeks to live, there will be a month of full mourning and a year of lamentation, it would be better to stay with the security of Man Suang surely, so that you can be assured of a roof over your head whilst the ban on performances remains…” He’s babbling, he could hear it, but even more upsetting than the removal of Chat’s skin against his was the thought of Chat leaving when he had only just had him. Chat gave him a look that matched his sorrow perfectly.
“I will have no choice. And – I doubt I will be able to return.”
Khem stared at him. The unfairness of the situation was like a black wave welling up, threatening to overwhelm him, and he did not know how long he would be able to tread water in its inky depths. Sometimes, just before falling asleep, or at the end of a long practice, or lying in the sun with the white kite soaring above him, he’d found himself thinking…maybe I do not need the title and status? Maybe…I could be happy here, dancing, in Man Suang, surrounded by those I love. Just having Chat as a brother and a confidant had been enough for him, but to taste the chance of more and then have it ripped away –
“But the mission,” he protested, groping for anything he could say, any argument he could make. “We haven’t yet found the document, you promised to help us…”
Chat’s shoulders tensed where he sat on the bed, staring down at his hands with their many calluses.
“In a few weeks the document will no longer matter,” he said, and Khem’s breath caught for a whole other reason. Was that true? Were his chances for a better life slipping away?
“All the more reason to try and find it soon! Wan says he’s found a good lead –”
“Your friend returns each night with his head full of smoke, itching at nothing and with limbs too heavy to move.” Chat said, the words made more brutal by the soft tone he said them in, his face filled with a grief at causing Khem pain. “Whatever his search was originally for, he has found something else, and it has found him.”
“No – you’re wrong – it’s not –” Khem didn’t know what it was or it wasn’t and with an effort he shoved the entire question out of his mind entirely. Wan wasn’t here and he and Chat were. “If that man hadn’t touched me tonight, would you have left without ever confessing?”
Chat’s silence was more than enough answer. Khem stared at him a moment longer, at the stupid, noble, self-sacrificing lump of him, and then he shuffled a little closer and pressed his lips to the warm slope of Chat’s shoulder. He left another kiss an inch higher, and then another, and then he was against his neck feeling the tendon drawn taut under his mouth, and then he stroked a hand up Chat’s spine and into his hair, pulling his head slightly to the side so he could kiss beneath his ear.
“Give me tonight,” he murmured, because he wanted that, he wanted something, he wanted some proof that Chat had wanted him so much that he’d broken his own rules for it, so he could carry that knowledge and the memory with him after the other man was gone. “Please.”
Chat hesitated a moment more, and then he twisted round.
It was a warm night, the air scarcely cooled even though night had fallen without their noticing, and the only light came from the flickering candle in Chat’s lantern, a few night moths fluttering around. Khem fell back on the bed under Chat’s gaze, knowing what that golden candlelight did to his skin, and pulled the other man down on top of him.
Every kiss felt like dancing, the perfect rightness, the knowledge that his body was doing what it was meant to do, and Khem felt greedy and drunk and hungry for more, wrapping his arms around Chat’s shoulders to keep him close and fisting a hand in his hair once again. Even more than the touch was the sheer intensity of Chat’s focus, every scrap of his attention on Khem and kissing him again and again. Khem wriggled a little underneath him, just for the joy and the sheer physical pleasure of feeling a man’s weight and bulk pressing down on him, and then gasped as Chat shifted his own hips to force Khem’s legs a little wider and their groins pressed close and the heady pleasure sharpened into something more urgent.
“Have you experience with men before?” Khem murmured against Chat lips and got a nod in return, which meant he felt no hesitation in spreading his legs further apart and pushing his hips up again, grinding them together and making it clear where his preferences lay. Chat groaned, the sound coming out gravelly and rough from somewhere deep in his chest.
“No.”
“What – no, Chat, please, give me tonight –”
“No, not that.” Chat kissed him again, roughly, hard, and then clamped both his hands onto Khem’s hips. “I want to do this.”
And then he began moving downwards.
Before his head had even made it to Khem’s chest he had thrown his own back against the pillows, undone by the look on Chat’s face as he kissed down Khem’s skin, his hair tousled and untidy from Khem’s hands. Khem had never dreamed this would happen, even after he’d had that first smallest inkling that maybe his desire was returned. To have it now seemed beyond comprehension.
“May I use my mouth on you?” asked Chat, and Khem managed a sound that sufficed as agreement. He lifted his hips so Chat could tug his loose trousers down and reveal where Khem had been roused for him since that very first kiss. His cock was already wet at the tip, his foreskin pulled back to show the head pink and ready, and Chat groaned low in his chest and buried his face in the cut of Khem’s hip, breathing him in, whilst one large, callused hand came up to grip him firmly.
“Oh please,” Khem gasped, already dangerously undone. Chat barely seemed to hear the words, nuzzling greedily at the side of Khem’s cock and closing his mouth over the head to suck harshly. “Please, come here, let us change these positions, let me put my mouth on you too, please, Chat, I can’t bear it.” He wanted, he wanted with a hunger so deep and vicious it terrified him, that he felt like he would die if he could not bring pleasure to Chat’s body in some way. But Chat simply continued his ministrations, sending sharp little shocks of pleasure through his body with every kiss and suck and nuzzle, as though he hadn’t heard a word Khem had said, until at last he lifted his head briefly to say:
“No.”
Khem groaned so loud they both startled, afraid of disturbing their neighbours, and then thunked his head down on the mattress several times in quick succession.
“Then you will let me do it after. Or you will have me – oh, yes, Chat, please, I have oil –”
“No,” said Chat, and Khem nearly wept. Every pull of Chat’s hand, every touch of his mouth, was overwhelming his body and his brain together.
“Please!”
“No,” said Chat, and rose up on his knees to press a kiss higher…directly against Khem’s heart, as though he could feel the frantic beating underneath. Then he bowed his dark head back to his work. “No. I do not wish to think of my pleasure at all tonight. It would only fog the memory for me. I wish to carry this moment, of my hands and mouth on you, with me for the rest of my life.”
Khem had never been valued in such a way before, never cherished to so great a degree that his partner would forego their own pleasure to focus on his, and he was helpless in the face of it, tears springing to his eyes as he surrendered, falling back against the bed with his legs spreading wide, giving himself over entirely and completely to the pleasure. It was Chat’s hands that had convinced him, even more than any words: never for a moment did they cease touching him, stroking over his skin with a reverent worship as though wanting to imprint the softness on his fingertips. Every inch of him was caressed; a hand sliding under his buttocks to tilt his hips higher for Chat’s mouth and remaining a moment to squeeze with constrained lust; fingers trailing over his stomach and hips and thighs, savouring the feel of him; and then - when he had finished spurting raggedly into Chat’s mouth, sobbing his name, utterly overcome with the waves of pleasure, and Chat had pulled away to nuzzle against Khem’s inner thigh - then he felt those hands reach up to his feet, where they had ended up thrown over Chat’s shoulders with his heels digging into his back.
Chat’s hands were big enough to encompass them entirely, his thumbs pressing so firm and so good into the soles that Khem nearly moaned all over again, and then he lifted first one and then the other to his mouth, still stained with Khem’s release at the corner, and pressed a kiss to the top of each one. Khem melted helplessly into the bed, his heart thumping inside his chest.
True to his word Chat didn’t make a single gesture or motion towards his own release, though the thick heft of him was more than visible through his own trousers and made Khem’s mouth water despite his exhaustion. Instead he went to the pitcher in the corner and dipped a soft cloth there, to wipe the sweat from Khem’s body, each movement still soft and worshipful, and then brought him his sleep tunic from his own bed.
“I must return the taphon to the instrument storeroom,” he said quietly when Khem was clean and dry and resisting the urge to once again offer Chat any pleasure he could take from Khem’s body. “I will not be long, you…you are welcome to rest in my bed, if you like.”
“Does that mean you wish me to sleep beside you tonight?” asked Khem, grinning cheekily up at him, and Chat’s stoicism melted away, his head ducking down and a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth, as though he was embarrassed to be caught wanting to cuddle. Oh no, thought Khem, a little helplessly, and was about to tug him back down to the bed when Chat suddenly straightened up, frowning out of the window. Khem leant up on his elbows and squinted but couldn't see a thing - maybe distant lights, or shapes whirling in the sky? But all of Chat's warmth had suddenly vanished and he was tense across the shoulders and down his back. His jaw was harder than granite when he looked back down at the bed.
"Khem...I need to check on something. I - hopefully I will return soon. Stay here. Stay here...as long as it is safe."
"Chat, what's happening?" Khem asked, sitting up fully. He'd never heard Chat's voice sound like that, not even when he'd been dumping a dead body in the river for them. "What's wrong?"
"I do not know. Just promise me you will stay safe." Chat replied. He was throwing on a short coat and then - Khem flinched - pulling a gun out from the chest beneath his bed and tucking it behind his back. Khem had never seen a firearm like it before, but he knew enough to know it was Western. Chat knelt there a second longer, his eyes on the rough wooden bedframe but looking a thousand miles away, and then he glanced back up at Khem.
"Do you recall the oaths we swore to each other?"
Khem would never forget. "Yes."
"Good. Then you must promise me..." Chat swallowed hard, the muscles in his forearm jumping as though he wanted to reach out and take Khem's hand but was holding back with everything he had. "I know that you care nothing for matters of the monarchy and politics and the rest. But please promise me...that if in the upcoming days, there is a way that you can aid Prince Mongkut, you will do it. You will prioritise that over everything - including me."
Khem stared at him. Khem didn't want to prioritise anything else over him! And why would Chat possibly care about Prince Mongkut? Khem had never told him that it was Naresr who had hired them, and the last thing he wanted was to be truly caught up between factions in an attempted coup. That was how nobles got killed, let alone commoners! But Chat was looking at him with calm dark eyes, like he didn't doubt at all that Khem would honour his vow, and in the end Khem just swallowed hard and nodded once, and then Chat was kissing him, hard, only once, and then he was gone.
Khem flopped back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling in shock. His heart was thumping in his chest for no reason whatsoever, and the warm cedar-scent off Chat's pillow was only half helping to ease it. This evening had been full of such confusion his head was spinning. It could only have been...what? A few hours since he'd swapped duties with Yindee. And in that time it felt like his world had been cracked open and an entire other one was attempting to force its way inside.
A firm headbutt against his hand made him glance down and he smiled to see Cham, her cotton-puff face tilted up towards him. Khem scooped her up to sit upon his lap.
“Ah my lady Cham, I apologise for taking your place. Know that you will always be first in his heart.”
Meow, said Cham, which Khem interpreted as: and don’t you forget it.
He sat there, stroking her soft fur and refusing to let his brain fret over Wan’s continued absence or Chat's bizarre words, thinking only of the heat of his mouth and the strength of his body and the plans Khem had for both, when a quiet tap at the door made him jump.
“Yes?”
“Khem?”
He was off the bed a moment later, Cham yowling displeasure as she was abandoned in the blankets whilst Khem rushed to open the door.
“Teacher Mae?”
It had taken him a second to recognise her: she wore a long shawl over her hair and face, plain and unadorned like the grandmothers wore in the peasant markets, and her back was stooped to hide her face even further. But Khem could have recognised her by the lift of a finger and now he just stared blankly at her in shock.
“Come with me.” Mae ordered, and was already halfway down the corridor before Khem was able to shove Cham back inside, close the door carefully enough not to harm the aggravated cat, and then follow her as fast as he could. Chat would understand if he had to leave briefly, they were always being called to run chores for the house elders – never this late at night but –
They stopped at the door to Teacher Mae’s private rooms and Khem realised he was holding his breath. A strange mixture of anticipation and fear were at war in his chest. On another night he might have been less suspicious, but after the conversations he’d heard tonight…
Teacher Mae’s rooms were beautiful, a postered bed draped in sheer muslin in the corner, the floor covered with a huge elaborately-patterned rug and all the furniture inlaid with silver and pale wood chips. He followed Teacher Mae inside still marvelling at it all, saw her walk over to her wardrobe and withdraw an outfit there, a square of cloth that unfolded into –
Khem gasped. It was the most beautiful material he had ever seen, shimmering in shades of pale cream and blue, the fabric moving like clouds coming down the mountain. It was the thickest silk he’d ever seen, yet somehow still light as air.
“This was gifted to me by Prince Nuam.” His teacher said softly. She had laid the cloth over her bed. The weave was so thick and lustrous that it was nearly the same width as the blanket. “After I performed for the Royal Court as Nang Sita in the Fire Ordeal. It is brocaded silk from Lamphun, the product of half a year’s work. It has no equal.”
“It’s beautiful.” Khem said softly, watching her face. She nodded her agreement again and stroked a hand over the soft cloth before smiling up at him. He blinked, and in that moment he saw the knife in her right hand.
“It is the most precious thing I own,” she said, and sliced straight up the weft. Khem made a sound that afterwards he never could have described, a raw noise of pain at seeing beauty destroyed and had to cling on to the post at the foot of the bed to stop himself from falling. Teacher Mae had closed her eyes briefly, as though she’d taken a wound herself, and she plunged her hand into the fabric, the gash tearing even wider with a horrible ripping sound, and pulled out a folded-over parchment.
Khem stared at it. He knew what it was. He’d known what it was going to be the moment he heard Teacher Mae at the door.
What he didn’t know was: why him? And why now?
“Teacher…” he began, but she was already pressing the document into his hand.
“Khem. I have to beg of you this service, I must entreat you…” and then she fell to her knees, his most beautiful teacher, she fell with a graceless thud and Khem dropped to his own a second later, partly in shock and partly in refusal for his head to ever be higher than hers. “You must take this to Prince Mongkut. I will tell you where he is hiding. You must tell him I have sent it to him.”
“Prince Naresr…” he began, and Teacher shushed him.
“The prince is not the boy I knew. I can only think he has had his head spun round by wealth and vanity and seeks to make deals with peddlers of poison. He watches me, keeps me close, because he suspects me, but he only makes loud declarations in crowded places and it is those who are silent and watchful who pose a greater threat. You must get this to Prince Mongkut before his brother the King dies, you must.”
“I am a dancer.” Khem objected. The parchment felt too rough against his hands, too heavy in his grip. He had known it was important, important enough for Naresr to promise him wealth and a title in exchange for it, but this was beyond anything he’d agreed to. Chat's words were hammering in the back of his head, impossible to ignore. “Not even a true dancer, merely an apprentice. Why do you not give this to Thanom, or Khun Tee –”
“Because less than ten minutes ago word came that the King will not see three more sunrises.” Teacher Mae said, her beautiful face creased up with wrinkles of worry and fear. “Many will be making their moves immediately, and all those I could trust are gone. So all I can trust is a man above corruption: you.”
“I can be corrupted.” Khem croaked out, the words rasping in his chest. This was all happening too fast. “You speak too highly of me –”
“Only men who have both fear and greed in their souls can be corrupted,” his teacher replied, calm in every line of her face. “And you have neither.”
And then she stroked the side of his face with her soft hand, so different from his mother’s farm-work calluses. Teacher Mae had never held anything heavier than Haruman’s trident. But it felt like a mother’s touch all the same. She stroked his cheek, and then they both flinched at the sudden sound of distant shouting, distant crashing. The hand on his face dropped to his wrist and tugged. “Khem, come. You must go now. You can reach the next roof from my window –”
“No,” he resisted, pulled away as hard as he could. “I need – I need Wan, and Chat, and –”
“Chat!” Teacher Mae, pressing her lips together on more words fighting to break free. She reached and cupped his face again. “Khem. It must have always been your destiny to be here, at this time, when the world was changing. I am sorry this mission has fallen to you, but I believe you are strong enough to bear it. The life of everyone in this house - if not all of Siam - depends upon this document reaching the prince. You must help him. I am entrusting you with this. ”
Khem stared at her, at the window over her shoulder, at the parchment in his hands. Distantly he could hear the shouting getting louder, Khun Tee’s voice rising harsh and loud over the sound of the dancers and aerialists screaming. Whose side was Khun Tee on? Where was Chat? Had he been caught up in the middle? And where was Wan – what would he think if he came back and found Khem gone? And what was Khem doing, even thinking about going? The document was in his hand and Prince Naresr, the man who’d promised him fame and fortune to find it, was only miles away. Everything he'd ever dreamed about was within his grasp. Khem didn’t care about politics, not really, whichever prince came to the throne next wouldn’t make a difference to his life, to his parents’ lives. Mongkut, Naresr, any of them, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered…except what Khem chose to do now. What people were trusting him to do.
He stared at the parchment, and back up at Teacher, and listened to Man Suang being destroyed around them.
He made his choice.