Harvest

Rabisu picked up the last of the onions from the soil, inspecting the purple skin for blemishes, smiling as he saw none. He placed it in his basket carefully atop the others, muttering under his breath,

"Enlil, I praise your gift of rain and the wisdom of the plow.

Ninurta, I thank you for guiding the rivers to our fields.

Dumuzid, I celebrate your return to the Living."

The gardener rose to his sandaled feet and hoisted his haul onto a broad brown shoulder, black curls bouncing as he moved. He swept a final glance back over the garden, nodding before he took off over the baked earth toward the food stores.

The reed basket stood nine hands high—half the height of Rabisu himself—and just as broad; yet he walked with an easy stride over the dirt, a steady breath spilling out over the thick black cloud of his beard.

The Sun, Utu, shone fiercely through the cloud cover upon Ninhursag, the Earth. Though Enlil had sent his rains to sodden the land, Utu had now returned to bake mud into brick, to forge order from chaos. That first rain of returning autumn had loosened the soil of the gardens for the harvest, seeping into the worn, burning muscles of the earth. Rabisu sighed with her, feeling her same relief from the blazing sun. Summer and its searing heat wouldn't retreat for another fortnight yet; nevertheless, he relished the reprieve.

By the river, his fellow gardeners tended their crops and plucked their bounty from the soil. Plots of cucumbers, melons, and beans extended along the bending course of the waters. Rabisu had tried his hand at raising several of the other plants, yet the onions had called back to him season after season. The other gardeners teased that he, master of the onion, had made so many maidens cry; Rabisu would simply shake his head and return to his task.

He smirked to himself at the thought, looking down at the thick trunks of his legs as he sauntered along. When he wasn't minding the onions, he spent his summers toiling away in the wheat fields, swinging sickles and carting straw. Labor broke the back of many a man and woman before him, yet Rabisu found joy in the sweat on his brow, the radiant calm of a body pushed to its limits. Affinity for the work aside, the gold of his skin had deepened, the muscles of his limbs had thickened—with just a skirt to cover his loins, that much lay plainly for all to see.

And see they did; Rabisu caught more than one wayward glance parting from the loam and leaves as he passed. He locked eyes with Nemur, keeper of lettuce and sesame. Her deadly stare and her supple legs earned her her namesake—the leopard. “The Akkadian,” she called him: his parentage aside, few Sumerians boasted his luxuriant locks and beard of the northern style. Nemur liked to run her hands through his tresses when they embraced, fixing her brown eyes on his.

They’d stolen away for a tryst one year ago during the first rain of the season. Just beyond the apple orchard, where the trees grew twisted and shaggy, had they made their bed.

“Kisses feel different with a beard,” she’d gasped.

They rocked their bodies together under the falling drops, Rabisu’s mouth parting from her neck.

“Do they?” he’d asked.

A smile curled across his lips as they dipped down to the swell of her breasts, her belly.

“Do they?”

She nodded, closed her eyes, and placed a hand on his head.

“Do they?”

She pushed him down; his questions ceased.

Thunder hid the sound of her ecstasy. Enlil and Inanna, lord and lady of rain and love, accepted her offering.

Rabisu now approached her plot.

“Silim,” he greeted her.

He pulled an onion from his basket. Her hands stilled.

“Silim, Rabisu.”

Her smile met his, her plump lips lifting into round cheeks. The sun set alight the bronze skin not obscured by her tunic. Rabisu held out the onion.

“For your offering to Geshtinanna and Dumuzid,” he explained.

Nemur reached out her hand and then recoiled.

“Will your master not be displeased?” she asked.

Rabisu puffed out his chest.

“Of Ašane’s slaves, I am favored above all. He upbraids a good many; my work goes without reprimand. The gods desire a multitude of gifts; we must all furnish them with myriad offerings to meet those desires, lest they deem us unworthy. Is this not so?”

Nemur dipped her head, her long braids dipping with her.

“Thank you, o farmer fair,” she murmured. “Inanna willing, we shall meet again.”

Rabisu grinned.

“Enki willing.”

He turned and continued on his way, humming a tune to himself. As he neared the food stores, he saw Guduga, one of the goatherds, strumming his lyre absently by the entrance. Rabisu parted his lips and sang, more sound than meaning, more feeling than substance, and Guduga glanced his way, shifting his hands on the strings. Rabisu sang the melody, a paean for Ninurta, vanquisher of demons; Guduga echoed the tune and rippled through a harmony, his nimble hands fluttering away. Only when Rabisu had set his basket down and exited the food store once more did their song fade.

“You’ve a steady hand and a faithful ear, my friend,” remarked Rabisu.

The goatherd grinned and set his lyre down. The sun shone brightly off his newly shaven pate; Guduga had purchased his freedom from Ašane just days before, and he wore proudly the mantle of the free Sumerian.

“Many thanks, and your praise I return,” replied Guduga. “Would that you could hear Saga play the flute; if any player should surpass me, it’s he. Fortune saw that you should cross my path, Rabisu; it’s he who seeks your aid.”

Rabisu cocked his head.

“Saga? What succor seeks he from a farmer? Surely a fellow goatherd can better aid him than I.”

“My counsel he’s sought, and taken,” answered Guduga, shaking his head. “I’ve shared whatever wisdom I can. He wishes to speak with you.”

“Rabisu!”

The call came from across the grounds, from the direction of the pastures. Saga came sprinting their way, feet kicking up wild clouds of dirt as he went.

“Whoa now, slow down,” called Rabisu. “Catch your breath, friend. What’s the matter?”

Saga bent over double, placing his hands on his knees, his breaths coming in heaving gasps. He wore the same skirt and sandals as Rabisu, revealing a physique honed by chasing after beasts through the brush. Though not quite as broad as Rabisu and the farmers, his arms bore strength, and his legs, speed. He ran a hand up the side of his head—shorn, in the usual style, the black curls atop his crown spilling out over the edges.

“Rabisu, I—I can’t….” Saga began haltingly. “...can’t find…Burutur.”

“Burutur?” puzzled Rabisu, looking over at Guduga. “Is…is that another goatherd?”

“Not quite, though you’ve half the truth in your grasp,” cut in Guduga with a good-natured frown. “She’s a goat—a kid, more precisely.”

“I see,” muttered Rabisu. “I…I didn’t know you named them.”

“Saga does,” corrected Guduga. “Who else aside from him, that’s not mine to say.”

“Only the ones I like,” blurted out Saga, panting only slightly now. “Burutur, she’s…well, she’s a curious creature. She likes to explore the world around her, involve herself in things she shouldn’t.”

“Saga admires that about her,” gave Guduga prosaically.

“That’s not—I—well…” stammered Saga. “I suppose I see a bravery in her—a courage in her rebellion.”

He scratched his head, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“But never mind that,” dismissed Saga with a wave of his hand. “I need to find her. The rest of the goats are in their pasture, safe and sound, hale and hearty. Of the herd, my only missing charge is Burutur. And I can’t make another mistake—my hide can’t bear another whipping.”

He knitted his brow, the sunlight shining in his brown eyes: Saga, the dismayed young calf, besought guidance. Rabisu nodded slowly, silently.

“All right, Saga,” he agreed softly, “I’ll help you search for her. But why me? Of what use am I in such a thing?”

The young goatherd smiled meekly.

“She likes you,” he murmured. “I think Burutur likes beards. That’s why I’ve been trying to grow mine…but that doesn’t matter. The point is, she’s drawn to you, Rabisu. If you call for her, she’ll heed your word.”

“Very well then,” replied Rabisu, nodding again, giving a small smile. “You haven’t yet looked for her among the food stores, I take it?”

Saga shook his head.

“Just as well. Start here, and move out in a circle about the outer grounds. When you’ve come back ‘round, walk a broader circle than the first. Guduga, stay here in case she comes by.”

“A task best suited to a layabout,” assented Guduga with a grin.

He picked his lyre back up; Rabisu smiled back his way.

“As for me, I’ll begin with the granary. If you find her, come seek me out; I won’t have gone far.”

“Yes, Rabisu,” agreed Saga breathlessly. “Dumuzid be with you!”

Saga turned on his heel and took off, calling for the missing goat. Rabisu turned back to Guduga.

“Grant me a favor and play me a hymn—your favorite hymn.”

The lyrist nodded and closed his eyes, dipping into a tune sweet and lilting, his foot tapping to keep the rhythm. Rabisu hummed along as he trotted toward the granary, a couple dozen paces northward.

Lyre-music floated with him as he ascended the steps and entered the mud-brick hovel, pulling aside the sheep’s hide that hung in the threshold. The air shifted as he moved deeper inside—drier, cooler with each step. The reed mats beneath his feet crunched lightly in the dim, quiet air. Farther back lay the grain, barely within reach of the scant light shining past the hide of the door. He stepped slowly, pointedly, keeping his sandals away from the scattered grains of unsullied wheat.

“Burutur,” he sang out into the dark. “If you’re in here, you've nothing to fear—I won’t punish you for eating our larder. Just come out.”

“And what of someone else who may lurk in the shadows?”

The silky voice came from a far corner, where a black shape in the wall turned solid and stepped out into the granary. It approached him slowly, quietly, with head bowed, something wrapped in its arms. Rabisu stepped back into a slight crouch, hands shaking.

“Sh…show yourself, stranger,” he called to it. “Make yourself known—walk into the light.”

“What a big man—calling the shots, making commands,” it sneered back. “Very well, big boy. I make myself known.”

With three easy strides, the stranger came into view. As a shadow when the sun hangs low on the horizon, it had loomed larger when stretched into the distance. Seen more clearly, it stood no taller than a man—or a woman. Its features still betrayed nothing solid, as though shrouded in a veil, although its eyes glinted through the sheer dark, flashing green as it sauntered forth. The thing held in its arms carried the same veil with it, although at a certain angle, it looked small, covered in rough hair, hooved….

“Burutur!” shouted Rabisu. “You found her!”

“And you’ll wake her!” hissed the stranger, in a voice oddly harsh, throaty. “Took me an hour to get her to sleep. Though I suppose that’s just as easily remedied.”

The stranger twirled on the spot, whipping up its black cloak as it went; when it had returned to face Rabisu, the kid was gone.

“W—what…” began Rabisu. “Where did you—”

“The goat-child is safe, rest assured,” scoffed the stranger, stepping to the side. “You and I needed a moment to chat, so I sequestered her for safe keeping. You’ll have her back once I’m through. I swear it on…Utu, I suppose. He does the justice thing.”

Rabisu stood a moment in silence as the stranger inched ever closer.

“Who…are you?” he questioned. “What are you? Never before have I heard such talk.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I were a god?” the stranger cooed loftily.

“No,” replied Rabisu, more boldly than he expected. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Oh, poo, that’s no fun,” grumbled the stranger. “What gave me away?”

“You’ve no radiance, no divine aura,” stated Rabisu. “A creature with no melammu is no god at all.”

“Not even Ereshkigal?” whispered the stranger wickedly, its eyes flashing that same green again.

“Not even the Queen of the Underworld,” said Rabisu. “A melammu of gloom is a radiance in its own way.”

“Mmmm, what about a sukkal?” asked the stranger slyly.

“A god’s vizier may still a god be,” he responded. “Whatever divinity you may possess, dear stranger, it’s none of which I’ve heard tell, and none I dare to explain.”

“Ooh, you won’t be tricked, will you?” growled the stranger.

The stranger spoke with a voice at once masculine and feminine; and yet neither. From one angle, broad shoulders and sturdy thighs showed from beneath its veil; from another, the curve and sway of soft breasts and hips; and from a third still, a silhouette with hardly any shape at all, merely an impression of legs and swishing movement with little form to either.

“Well then, a god I’m not, not even a tiny little demigod,” it added with a facetious sob. “But I’ve…spirited away your little goat friend.”

It fluttered its fingers in front of Rabisu’s eyes, voice slicker than sesame oil.

“Then what else must I be?” it lilted, shrugging its arms theatrically. “Only a few options left—perhaps just the one.”

Rabisu swallowed before giving his answer.

“A demon.”

“NOW we’re getting somewhere!”

The demon wheeled around to face him, a wide grin painting its face in caricature. The veil vanished; its sunken green eyes, faded to yellow at the rims, opened wide within their sockets. Though human in shape, its face edged forward into a bestial snout, its brows sprouting vertically from the bridge of its nose and curving up into the wisping smoke of its hair. Shadow-ether trailed behind it as it strolled through the dark. In a voice both high and low, thin, and resonant, it made its query.

“Tell me, farmer, gardener, tender of crops. What do you know of my kind?”

“I…” began Rabisu, his voice breaking. “The tale of the Underworld and the galla demons—”

“Oh, those ingrates,” retched the demon in that same strangulated throat-voice. “I admit that they’re my kin—in a distant way—but I seldom claim them. I certainly don’t like them. As for me…”

It curled its lip, clicked its tongue. The demon took criss-crossing steps forward, its eagles’ feet bending steeply at the ankle. It spread one pair of smoky, dusky wings up to the ceiling, another pair down to the floor—and disappeared in a swirling cloud of dust. Rabisu blinked at the place where the demon had just stood, jaw agape.

“I’m a different breed.”

The voice puffed into his ear from mere inches away. Rabisu started and jumped aside, nearly losing his footing. The demon’s vertical brows rose ever higher as it cackled and giggled.

“Oh, I’m having fun with you,” it purred. “To reiterate, no, I’m not a galla. If I were, you’d likely already know. Those brutes know nothing of subtlety.

“I’ll give you a hint, handsome: the answer is closer than you might think.”

The hair on Rabisu’s arms began to prickle.

“I—I don’t take your meaning, demon.”

“Patience is a virtue; you’re lucky I’m feeling pious,” gnarred the demon. “All right, riddle me this.”

The creature’s body and face shifted into that of a woman, no more than twenty years of age, her black, braided hair arranged into a coil, her eyes kind and weary. Rabisu spoke in a small voice, a distant voice.

“M…mother?”

“For now,” cooed the figure in front of him, its tone as soft as hers used to be. “For a time. The demon shall borrow my form as long as I lend it aid in its task. Its laws are not ours, but by them, I am bound. Rest assured, my son. Your mother stands before you, regardless of the circumstance.

“Now tell me. Do you know the provenance of your title? Know you the meaning of your name?”

Rabisu’s jaw set, his eyes darkening.

“It means ‘lurker,’” he responded stiffly.

“In the Akkadian tongue,” his mother’s form assented, “in the words of our people, yes. The Sumerians know you by a different name.”

“‘Rabisu’ I am known to be,” he insisted. “This they call me and little else.”

“But not nothing else,” she refuted softly. “When Ašane purchased you from your father as a child, what did he call you?”

Rabisu stared at his feet, black eyes wide, unseeing.

“‘Maškim,’” he answered quietly. “I don’t well remember what it means—something like…‘general,’ ‘viceroy’….”

“‘Advocate,’” she intoned, “‘lawman.’ These it means and more.”

His mother’s shape blurred and rippled, a reflection resolving once more into the image of the demon.

“I am the more,” it rasped. “I am the messenger, bringer of truth and of divine judgment: the gods’ will made flesh.”

“Have…have you come to judge or to bring truth?” asked Rabisu tremulously.

“Let’s start with one and then move to the other,” proffered the maškim, tracing a fingernail over its collarbone. “You’ve paid your respects to Inanna and Enki, and to their retinues as well—do I have that right?”

“Aye, this I have done,” replied Rabisu with a nod.

“Very good,” it breathed. “Sacrifices and rituals, these honor the gods, certainly; actions, as they say, speak louder than words.”

“I’ve…not heard that said,” challenged Rabisu, frowning.

“Oh,” muttered the maškim. “Well, as they will have said, anyway.”

Rabisu’s face twisted into knots as he scratched his temple.

“What—”

The maškim sighed, its smoky hair billowing rapidly.

“Truth comes from all places, all times, not merely here and now,” it explained hastily. “My message is for Rabisu of today. My vision reaches far into the world of yesterday, of tomorrow, and beyond; my language extends just as far. I convey my truth with phrasings from the many times I've known. It’s the boon and doom of seeing everywhen all at once.

“Follow along as best you can; I’ll fill in the blanks as need be. Agreed?”

Rabisu nodded.

“All right. As I was saying,” gritted the maškim, “I want to know what you do in your daily life—and not just your ceremony—to honor the gods.”

“I…might know which gods you mean,” requested Rabisu.

“Clever boy,” it hissed again.

The maškim smirked at him, flicking a long tongue out and over its lips. Its eyes flashed again, and amid shuddering smoke, its body elongated and burgeoned into the form of a woman: tall, buxom, voluptuous. A horned helmet sprouted from her crown, a red dress unfurling from over one shoulder and spilling out to her feet. An eight-pointed star appeared above her right shoulder as a dove flapped over and onto her left; the star expanded, the dove cooed, and both vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Have I made it obvious enough, or should I keep going?” purled the demon.

“Would I be untoward to suggest that you wish to keep going, o maškim of Inanna?”

The messenger in Inanna’s shape regarded him with a smile.

“One more.”

A lion leapt from thin air onto the granary floor, rearing its head back into a roar before leaping once more into oblivion.

“Do you worry not that someone might come ‘round this way?” queried Rabisu, head cocked. “To divine my whereabouts as well as my safety? Given the noise.”

“No, I don’t,” replied the Inanna-demon plainly. “I’ve seen to that. As far as they’re concerned, this granary’s as boring as the rest of this place.

“But back to you. Inanna wishes to relay to you a message, and in so doing, to reveal to you a truth. This is my charge, and I intend to keep it. So I ask you, fair Rabisu, farmer of the field, harvester of crop, long of hair and strong of limb: what truth might she wish to show you?”

“If it’s Inanna,” began Rabisu slowly, “if it’s a matter of love, or at least of love-making…does she wish to tell me of Nemur?”

“Dear sweet mother of gods—I told you this place was boring,” jeered the Inanna-demon.

She transformed once again through a veil of smoke, this time into a figure rather shorter, with powerful thighs and long braids of black hair; her brown eyes clung to him hungrily. Rabisu felt his mouth water. The Nemur-demon scoffed—the voice was hers, though not the words.

“This?” she jibed. “You fucked her by the orchards. You like her. You like the way she feels, the way she looks at you. Maybe you even love her—shit, maybe you’ll marry her, Rabisu. That’s great. I mean, that’s cliché and tired, but that sounds like a nice, happy ending. Whoop-de-doo.”

The Nemur-demon stopped her wild gesturing, sighing heavily.

“I guess I lied when I said I was patient earlier,” she murmured. “I’m sorry, that was...that was harsh, even for me. I just…I get this a lot. ‘What’s the truth? Is it the girl I already like?’ No, numb nuts, it’s absolutely not.”

She massaged her forehead, her temples, exhaling sharply through pursed lips.

“On the bright side,” she went on, her voice velvety, “you’re on the right track.”

“Uh,” mumbled Rabisu sheepishly. “Well. As...as I said, it must concern matters of the heart, or of love, or…”

He looked up, chin crinkled, brow raised.

“Of lust?”

The Nemur-demon smiled wickedly once more; though the eyes were brown as Nemur’s, they flashed with the demon's light.

“Love, lust, the distinction is yours to make,” remarked the maškim silkily. “But the potential is there.”

“But…with whom?” wondered Rabisu. “I find a good many of the ladies lovely, some ravishingly so. I’ve lain with a few, slaked my curiosity, my animal appetite, but…I don’t…”

Rabisu frowned at her, his forehead in knots.

“She forbade me from leading you any further,” stated the Nemur-demon solemnly. “Here the path must be trod by you alone.”

Rabisu wrapped his arms about his waist, twisting back and forth at the hips, expression pained, fixed. A hand reached up to rub his beard; and slowly, a shiver crept up his arms, yanking each hair at attention. He barely breathed the name.

“Saga?”

The Nemur-demon nodded. Once again, the shape of her stretched up and away; but this time, the curve of her breasts and hips faded into the bulk of her. The smooth, fine hairs of her legs and arms grew coarse and dark. The long tresses and tunic faded away into smoke, revealing the stubble of a shaved skull and a patch of hair on his chest, his nipples, his belly above his skirt. A modest, budding beard and mustaches sprouted from his jaw. His eyes: Rabisu had never taken note, but the brown of Saga’s eyes matched Nemur’s perfectly.

When the Saga-demon spoke, it was with the gentle, lyric tones of the goatherd himself.

"When you realize a truth that's hidden in plain sight, why do you think you feel breath trickling over your arms, up the back of your neck? That's my kind, whispering revelations over your skin."

“But…” sputtered Rabisu. “...I don’t…Saga’s a man, not a maiden. I can’t—”

“Can’t?” replied the face of Saga with the steadiness of the maškim. “Oh, my dear boy, you already do.”

The Saga-demon approached him on lithe, strong legs, his skirt waving about his hips as he moved. His lips, soft and pink, parted into a shy smile, his eyes looking up at Rabisu through a curtain of curls.

“I—”

“Why deny it?” asked the Saga-demon. “You know it’s true. You’ve been watching him—glances lingering just too long, lips licked just too intently, blood pumping just—”

He looked down at Rabisu’s skirt and smirked.

“—a little too hard.”

Rabisu’s cheeks flushed red.

“Wha—I—it—he—” blustered Rabisu. “Saga is a fine young man—”

“He certainly is,” sang the Saga-demon.

“—and it’s normal to notice a man of hearty, strong stature—”

“It certainly is,” agreed the Saga-demon pleasantly, “especially when you find him sexually appealing.”

“Stop saying that!” shouted Rabisu. “I don’t want to—I don’t find—”

The Saga-demon closed the gap between them and sighed, looking down at their feet.

“There’s not much more I can do for you, my dear,” he twittered. “You can continue to live your life as though this had never happened. I can also return to my mistress, to Inanna, and inform her that you’ve decided not to obey her bidding—she can be impetuous, of course, but I suppose we’ll just have to…weather that storm.”

“I just…” muttered Rabisu. “...I never…”

“I know,” he intoned softly. “I know this is difficult. I know that these things are seldom easy to admit, seldom easy to understand. But I’m here to help you, Rabisu. Your kind were made to step proudly forth on both feet, not to hop and wobble on only one.”

The Saga-demon circled around to stand behind Rabisu, placing his hands on his shoulders.

“The world can be a much more pleasurable place if you just...let go. Give into truth. Give into what you know you are.”

His hands began to work into the muscles of Rabisu’s shoulders, his neck; Rabisu grunted and groaned, his head leaning back.

“Some men like wine,” murmured the Saga-demon, “others prefer beer. What abundance, what joy lies in store for those who might savor both? Who find the taste of either…”

He leaned in to whisper in Rabisu’s ear.

“...intoxicating.”

He took Rabisu's flesh into his mouth, suckling it softly, moaning slightly. Rabisu cried out in spite of himself, gasping into his touch. He reached up and pet the hand that lay on his shoulder. His fingers traced the black hairs there: rough, strong, coarse….

He broke away from the Saga-demon’s touch.

“That’s enough, maškim,” he declared.

“Fine by me,” the Saga-demon answered smugly. “I’d say my work here is done.”

“What—”

“I mean, I could give it my best, but you’ll need a mighty warrior to handle that dragon.”

Rabisu looked down and shoved both hands over his loins, cheeks burning red.

“Now look here—”

“Oh—no time,” the maškim uttered quickly, having reverted in an instant to its shadowy form. “The goatherd’s come this way.”

“Wait, you—”

“You’re gonna need this.”

It waved a cloud of smoke in front of its chest, and Burutur appeared in its arms; it promptly tossed the kid to Rabisu, who scrambled frantically to catch it.

“Good luck, my dear,” it chuckled. “I think you’re gonna do great. Break a leg, pet a snake, whatever.”

It flicked its hands in front of its chest once more, the whole of its body vanishing into smoke. Its eyes, the last to disappear, flashed a final time, gave Rabisu a wink, and blinked out of sight.

“Rabisu?”

The flap in the doorway opened, allowing a brief flood of light to enter the granary, along with a young man’s figure. Rabisu turned to face him.

“I couldn’t find…Burutur!”

Saga rushed forward and scooped the young goat from Rabisu’s grasp; blood rushed through Rabisu’s hands, up his arms, into his chest, at Saga’s touch. His cheeks flushed again, ever so slightly.

“I’ve got you, you rascal,” Saga laughed, grinning at the kid.

He knelt down and tied a length of rope around the goat’s neck, testing the strength of the knot with a little tug.

“There. You shan’t be running away again.”

He stood back up and looked at Rabisu, who smiled back at him sheepishly.

“You’ve saved my kid just as well as my hide,” declared Saga. “How can I repay you, my friend?”

“I—I…” stuttered Rabisu. “...I…”

Saga looked back at him, lips parted, brow raised. Rabisu took a little step toward him; their feet nearly touched.

“Well,” Rabisu rumbled softly, “it’s not repayment as such that I seek.”

“Oh?”

Rabisu shook his head, his black curls almost brushing Saga’s skin as he did. Saga’s brows knitted together, his eyes wide and bright. Rabisu reached a trembling hand up and brushed it along the hairs on Saga’s cheek, holding him lightly, and brought his lips to Saga’s.

They stood there a moment, unmoving, locked together, before Saga pressed into him, sliding one hand around Rabisu’s waist, the other burying itself in his hair, as he kissed him in earnest. There in the cool dark of the granary, they held each other, relishing the touch, the embrace.

When the two parted, Rabisu brought their foreheads together, still stroking Saga’s cheek. He chuckled to himself softly.

“Kisses feel different with a beard.”

Saga smirked.

“Do they?”