Passion in the Desert
In an age when flight was still a dream of men, Ajani's forefathers had served Pharoh by searching the stars for the future. Ajani gazed out of the small oval window in an unconscious mimicry of his ancestors.
He could see nothing but blackness at the center of his reflection in the glass. The cabin lights, dim though they were to allow the passengers to sleep, still managed to outshine the heavens. A starless sky was a blank slate, neither good nor evil. Simply uncertain.
Ajani's slender, onyx ears caught the eye of Hasan, walking to his seat two paces to the rear. The lion paused, then passed his own seat to stand outside Ajani's aisle.
The lion examined the other male, preoccupied in his thoughts and oblivious to the tawny eyes on him. This jackal had the aristocratic, proud features of a purebred Anubian, a face that men had once bowed to as the face of a god. A single gold ring flashed like a star from the jackal's ear.
The head descended to a smooth, well muscled neck which spread to a pair of wide shoulders. Though he wore a dark suit, the lion could see the hints of hard, muscular contours beneath it, and the jackal's overall size confirmed the impression of a strong athlete.
Ajani turned and started when he saw the lion. Hasan held up a large paw in apology. He waited while Ajani returned the visual study.
The lion was large, that was no surprise. Thick and wide in the body, his savanna golden mane tied back in a short ponytail. The eyes gazed at Ajani like a pair of Byzantine coins. He was several inches taller than Ajani, and considerably bigger, especially in the biceps and chest. Where Ajani maintained the image of an amateur middleweight bodybuilder, this lion looked more like a power lifter, with impressive size but little definition to his physique.
"Salam," Hasan said. It was soft, polite, almost a purr. Perhaps even a bit shy. Ajani's eyes perked forward immediately.
"You speak Arabic?" he asked in his native tongue.
Hasan smiled and nodded. Ajani gazed at those masculine, feline lips. It was like watching the dawn smile down at him. This lion was a kinsman on a plane filled with returning tourists.
Hasan took the silent invitation to sit next to Ajani. Their paws met. A few of the European furs nearby glanced at the pair of them, but males holding paws meant little in Arab countries other than that they were acquainted.
"Also Spanish and English," Hasan added with a hint of humor. Ajani found himself smiling back.
"I really should practice my English," Ajani admitted, still in Arabic.
Hasan shook his head and waved it away with his other paw in a certain, gentle way. An eloquent gesture, Ajani thought.
"You'll have plenty of time for that. It's a rare pleasure for me to use my native language. Thank you for the opportunity," Hasan said.
Their paws gripped more formally in greeting, then relaxed.
"When I first saw you, you seemed troubled," Hasan remarked.
Ajani sighed and looked down.
"I don't wish to burden a stranger with my misfortunes."
"We have two more hours before we land in Madrid. Then I will fly to Barcelona and you will fly to your destination. I would rather not miss an opportunity to listen to such a beautiful man. Even his misfortunes."
Ajani blushed slightly and glanced at Hasan. Hasan's smile was gentle. The compliment had been an honest one.
"I am going to America," Ajani said.
"You make it sound like a confession. Is it a crime to emigrate to the wealthiest nation in the world?" Hasan asked.
"Not a crime, perhaps. But it is a sentence."
Hasan put his other paw over Ajani's.
"So you did not wish to leave Egypt."
Ajani shut his eyes and shook his head. For several minutes, neither of them spoke. Hasan simply waited.
"Are you a believer?" Ajani asked quietly.
"I was raised Muslim, yes. But I have not prayed in many years."
"I wish now that I had stayed faithful," Ajani whispered. "Tonight it feels like even Allah has abandoned me."
On impulse, Hasan reached up and cupped Ajani's chin gently in his warm palm. Ajani did not pull away. He breathed, eyes shut, steadying himself.
"You have done all that is asked of a loyal son, and yet your family has rejected you," Hasan murmured.
Ajani's eyes snapped open and he looked at Hasan.
"How did you know?"
Hasan removed his paw.
"You are not the first son whose mind conflicted with those of his tradition-bound family. I read articles about the Middle East often, and there are many stories of men like you, my friend."
"Yours included?"
Hasan smiled ruefully.
"No, I chose to leave. Job prospects for a young architect were far better in Spain than Egypt at the time. Moorish styles had become fashionable again, and top name companies were clamoring for anyone from the Middle East to come with designs in paw."
"You were successful?" Ajani asked.
Hasan nodded, but his smile was sad.
"What is it?"
"Alas," Hasan said, "I have been blessed in wealth, but not in happiness." He shook his golden head.
"But I digress. We were talking of your misfortunes, not mine."
Ajani looked back out the window.
"The reason for my unhappiness is not the sort one shares with a stranger."
"It would not have anything to do with your tastes in affections, would it?" Hasan asked softly.
Ajani's head snapped around and his dark eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?"
"We may be the same age, my friend, but experience has not be generous to you. I am Hasan Shaheen. My father is uncle to the president himself. Like you, I was born and raised in luxury. But unlike you, my family chose to embrace the changes the West has brought to the desert. So I feel no shame in revealing to you that I appreciate the beauty of men over that of women."
His strong fingers closed over Ajani's paw. His thumb pad gently rubbed along the outer edge of Ajani's palm.
"I have had lovers in Egypt and in Spain. I know how important the old honor is to some families, and what they will do to their sons to guard it."
The jackal's eyes were twin points of bright darkness, almost like opals. They flicked nervously to the back of the cabin, as if he were afraid someone would overhear.
"You have insight," he said. "As we jackals say, you have been touched by Horus."
Hasan's smile grew amused.
"That is blasphemy," he said lightly.
Ajani's lips crept upward and his tense body began to ease back into the seat.
"Since you know so much about me, you no doubt know I turned my back on the Faith a long time ago."
Hasan chuckled.
"Shall I use my magic to guess your name as well?"
Ajani smiled openly at last and shook his head.
"I am Ajani Tabaqat Anubishotep. My family has not always been wealthy. My great grandfather was a common salesman who came into money, which he managed to invest with the help of a wealthy friend."
His smile faded slightly and he glanced at his knees.
"Perhaps that is part of why my father is so strict. My grandfather taught him from the time he was a pup how to blend into the cream of Egyptian society. How to act, speak, what to wear, who to make friends with. Who to shun. It is no wonder that he has become so conservative."
"I think the cost has gone too high," Hasan said softly.
Ajani glanced at him. Hasan's golden eyes met his. He felt Ajani's paw slowly turn into his own, their fingers beginning to interlace. Ajani's eyes shut.
"I am afraid, Hasan," Ajani said, his voice a whisper. "What will become of my brother? My friends?"
"I have been to America," Hasan said. "There are many Arabs there. In time, you will gain new friends. Insha'Allah, perhaps your brother could come to visit you."
Ajani nodded, and his body straightened slightly.
"You're right. Of course. My brother will visit me. He and I were close, and he did not care whether I preferred men or women."
The Anubian looked back at Hasan.
"What about you, my friend? What did you mean when you said you had wealth but not happiness?"
A flight attendant came by with a trolley. Hasan ordered two coffees and sipped his before answering.
"I make enough for a modest apartment that overlooks the sea and regular flights between Spain and Egypt to see family. I enjoy the opera, the fine cuisine. And yet, I am alone. I have friends, yes. And if I become lustful enough, there are willing men at the clubs in Barcelona and Madrid. But the Holy Qur'an is right about some things. Sex is not enough for a man to be happy. He may have a harem of fifty wives, but if he loves none of them, then the pleasure is empty."
"I find it hard to believe that a man like you has always been alone," Ajani ventured.
Hasan smiled at him and patted their interlaced fingers with his other paw. His smile was sad.
"Verily, I did have someone."
"What happened?" Ajani asked.
"He was a soldier in the Spanish army. When the call came for volunteers to restore peace in Iraq, he told me he had to go."
"Oh no," Ajani murmured.
Hasan nodded.
"I did not plead with him to stay. He was my warrior. I have never known a stronger man, Ajani. He was like the great ka'ba in Mecca itself to me. We married two weeks before he left. That was in 2002. I received the official papers of his death before our first anniversary."
Ajani whispered and expletive under his breath and had to stop himself from kissing Hasan's knuckles in sympathy.
"Your coffee is getting cold," Hasan pointed out, trying to lighten the mood.
Ajani smiled and detached his paw to drink. Hasan admired the way the jackal held his cup, the way his soft, dark lips kissed the sweet liquid before inviting it into his mouth.
The seat belt signs flashed on. They would be landing in Madrid shortly. Hasan pushed his tray table up. Ajani's paw held his forearm.
"Don't leave," he said.
Hasan looked at him. He nodded and buckled in where he was. The landing was smooth. Hasan handed Ajani his carry-on bags.
"You must have a lot of checked luggage," Hasan said.
Ajani smiled and shook his head.
"Only one bag."
Hasan blinked in surprise. Ajani laughed.
"My people were nomads for thousands of years, Hasan. Some habits never die."
They held paws as they walked off the plane. They held paws while they waited for their luggage.
"My flight to Philadelphia leaves tomorrow morning," Ajani said softly.
"What time?"
"11 am."
"Mine leaves at 10."
"Ah," Ajani said.
Then they were through the doors and breathing the cool air of a Spanish evening. Hasan led.
"Are you tired?" he asked Ajani.
"Not as much as I thought I would be. Perhaps it is the coffee."
They were beside a magnificent marble fountain when Hasan stopped and set his luggage down. Ajani paused as well. They stood there, the fountain roaring at the lion's back.
Ajani leaned forward. Hasan leaned back and rested his rump on the stone, waiting. Their eyes never left each other. Ajani kissed two of his fingers. He reached over to brush them slowly against Hasan's lips.
Hasan's eyes fluttered shut. His exhale caressed Ajani's skin. He opened his eyes and a gentle half grin rose. Ajani's smile was a delightful blend of playfulness and shyness. He might almost have been a puppy bowing to play.
"Come with me," Hasan whispered.
The hotel was named for one of Spain's greatest fighting bulls. Hasan new the manager by first name, and was welcomed back by a smiling concierge who might have been a fighting bull himself. The large black bull easily carried all their luggage in a single trip to Hasan's reserved room on the fourth floor.
Ajani leaned to whisper in Hasan's ear.
"I've heard of Spanish bulls, but I had no idea they were so...masculine."
Hasan smirked and whispered back.
"Perhaps we should invite him in,"
Ajani had to stifle a giggle. Hasan tipped the bull and shut the door. Ajani grew suddenly very quiet. They were alone.
The room was classic Spanish ivory in color, with filigreed carvings accenting each ceiling corner. Soft lamps glowed like steady candles and paintings of dancing Spanish maidens in wide red dresses hung on two of the walls. There was only one bed.
"Are you hungry?" Hasan asked.
Ajani shook his head. But he took a glass of water from the bathroom. He nearly dropped it when Hasan slowly wrapped his paws around Ajani's waist.
"Perhaps you would care to dance, then."
Ajani smiled at Hasan in the mirror over the sink.
"Perhaps you would care to watch me."
Hasan grinned wide.
"Now you have intrigued me, Ajani. What sort of dancing did you have in mind?"
Ajani chuckled and turned in Hasan's paws.
"As you can see, I'm no stranger to the gym."
Hasan purred softly and trailed a finger up Ajani's abs beneath his dark, button-down shirt.
"I could see that from the end of the aisle in the plane."
"It was my father's doing. You see, I trained at the gym because I wanted to be a traditional dancer. For the tourists, you see. Of course, my father wouldn't hear of it. Bellydancing is for women only in his eyes. But the gym he allowed me to keep."
Hasan's grin grew broader.
"Have you been practicing against your father's wishes, disobedient jackal?"
Ajani's dark eyes sparkled.
"I will let you be the judge of that."
Hasan pulled out his laptop and accessed his music files while Ajani stretched shirtless in the bathroom. Hasan smiled slightly as he contemplated what selections to present.
"Ready?" Ajani called softly from the dark doorway of the bathroom.
Hasan nodded and was about to sit down in one of the room's scarlet upholstered chairs when Ajani stepped out of the doorway and the lights caught him for the first time.
Ajani had the natural lean frame of his kind. But rather than working against him, it served to heighten every fiber of his muscular frame. The muscles were tight, and iron hard. Hasan could see all three heads of his deltoids, the distinct separation between bicep and triceps, accented by a vein that ran down to one of Ajani's forearms. The jackal's pecs were plump and round from top to bottom. Small dark nipples jutted outward like dates. His abs undulated slightly with each soft step he took around the bed.
Ajani smirked in amusement, gazing between Hasan's legs. Hasan was already purring. Ajani nodded to him.
Hasan's finger flicked over the Return key. The sultry sounds of Arabic belly dance filled the air. Ajani shut his eyes, swaying slowly into the rhythm before the first lyrics began. Then he began to dance.
Ajani was no longer a fur, no longer a man. He was a living wave, a paragon of grace, a phantom of shadow and lust that held Hasan hypnotized. His hips never stopped moving, swishing from side to side in perfect time to the driving beat of tabla and doudek. His rippling abs flexed and bulged. His tail was the swish, swish of the tambourine. His twining paws and flexing, clawed fingers were the fire of the violins. The curve of his neck was the plaintive cry of the flute.
"I've come across the desert
to greet you with a smile,
my camel looks so tired
it's hardly worth my while
to tell of my travels
across the golden East.
I see your preparations
invite me first to feast."
Ajani spun, he whirled. He gyrated his rump. His back muscles swelled and sank. His earring flashed.
"Take me, I'm yours.
Because dreams are made of this.
Forever there'll be a heaven in your kiss."
The song rose to a passionate climax, and Ajani with it, letting it carry him up onto his toes, bending like a ballet dancer or a figure skater until he fell to his knees and bowed his head.
The song ended.
"Subhan'Allah," Hasan whispered.
Ajani smiled as he returned to his feet.
"So, tell me, noble lion. How far have I transgressed against my father?"
Hasan's paw wrapped around his bare waist.
"Not far enough."
Ajani raised his head, turned it to the side, shut his eyes. Their lips met for the first time. Hasan was gentle as the breeze off the ocean, soft as an orchid. Ajani was warm as sunlit alabaster, his kiss pungent and intense as a pomegranate.
Lips opened. Hasan breathed out, into Ajani's mouth. Ajani's tongue slid past his lips. The lion's paw tightened against Ajani's waist.
More music began. Ajani's paws undid the buttons on Hasan's shirt and slid within to caress his bare, wide chest fur. He could feel the lion's growing erection like a smooth stone on his navel.
Hasan's paws pulled down his pants. The jackal stood naked, his strawberry red cock glistening in the lamp light like a drawn sword. Hasan's paws slid up his back, pulling Ajani into his arms.
Kindling caught to flame. Ajani's mouth pressed hard to Hasan. Their breath pushed out their nostrils together in hot, soft pants as their tongues swirled together, slick and wet. Hasan tasted faintly of the coffee from the plane.
Ajani's paws pulled Hasan's shirt open and down. Hasan seemed to rise out of it as if he were the goddess Venus Herself, rising out of the ocean on Her bed of foam. His belly was flat, if undefined. But his chest was deep, powerful, thick with muscle. Wide lats eclipsed the light of the lamp behind him, giving his body a halo as if the lion were a djin, made of fire and air rather than mortal flesh.
Great, rounded shoulders capped arms as thick as Ajani's paws were long, and his large, masculine paws were accented by great slabs of beef for forearms. Those bulging arms flexed, and Ajani's feet left the floor.
Ajani wrapped his bare thighs around Hasan's waist, grinding his throbbing penis through the lion's belly fur. He drank Hasan's moan of pleasure. Hasan gently bent at the waist, lowering Ajani to the bed.
They finally parted. Ajani gasped for fresh air. His eyes caught the light and he gazed upward, deep into the golden feline eyes.
Hasan undid his pants. Ajani reached up and yanked off the lion's briefs. His paws gripped Hasan's thick rump hard as the lion climbed onto the bed, powerful back muscles bunching and relaxing as if he were the lord of a pride on the plains of Africa stalking his prey.
They kissed again, even harder. The light glanced off exposed fangs before lips softened and then sucked on each other. Ajani's paws pushed. Hasan lowered his hips and their ball sacs began to rub.
The laptop lay forgotten, playing its collection of Arabic songs onward into the night. Hasan smiled down at his lover and reached back with a paw. His fingers undid the bind holding back his mane.
Dark golden locks of fur fell down over his shoulders, framing his face. How beautiful he is, thought Ajani. How beautiful!
His dark paw caressed the lion's cheek. Hasan closed his eyes. He turned his head, purring, to kiss that paw. He sent a soft chain of kisses down Ajani's inner forearm, licked over his hard bicep, then turned and cupped the jackal's nipple into his mouth.
Ajani moaned. Never had he known passion like this. It was like the spice that made physical pleasure come alive. It was as if he were a virgin again.
His claws furrowed against the skin of Hasan's back. Hasan licked up Ajani's neck with the rough blade of his feline tongue. And again they kissed.
The song changed to a slow, sultry Indian ballad. Hasan broke the kiss gently and smiled.
"How many lovers have you had, Ajani?" he purred.
"Only one before you."
"I have had dozens."
His finger ran down the back of the jackal's ear.
"I can give pleasure to any part of you, Ajani. Every inch of your skin can become a source of ecstasy. Would you like that?"
"Oh, Hasan. You have been blessed by two gods, not one. I think you must be the son of Bastet."
Hasan chuckled. He kissed Ajani's forehead, soft and slow.
"Wait here, my love."
Ajani watched the way the lion's muscles moved as he slid off the bed. The faint sitar music rolled on, a full raga. There was a soft rustling as Hasan rummaged through his checked luggage. He returned, smiling, with a small bottle of oil.
"My first lover was a Turkish tiger," Hasan said, pouring some golden oil into his palm. "He taught me."
The oil was a special base designed to work with rather than against fur. It warmed against Ajani's skin as the lion's strong fingers kneaded it into his bare thighs, fingertips trailing backward and pushing down into the cuts of Ajani's loins.
Ajani couldn't help the groan that flowed from his lips. But the pleasure only grew. Hasan massaged each leg, from hip to toes. He spent a full five minutes on each foot, stimulating the ultra sensitive inch of flesh just around the foot pads so that Ajani could feel the touch connect to his legs, his knees, his thighs.
Ajani was gasping. He could not feel his body. He could only feel this great ocean of pleasure, with tides that surged and receded, only to return even greater, forcing Ajani to moan aloud. And the oil was the medium by which Hasan's fingers transported Ajani into that ocean.
They cupped his waist as the lion quietly bid his lover to roll over. Ajani obeyed. There was no question. The oil dripped onto his bare rump like honey. Hasan saw tears in the corners of the jackal's eyes. Diamonds.
As his fingers spread the oil over those heavenly black hills, he bent forward, mane fur feather soft across Ajani's back. His lips tasted the salt of Ajani's tears.
"Oh, Hasan..." Ajani whispered.
Hasan slowly licked the edge of his ear. His paws slid downward and began to massage the back of Ajani's legs. They moved firmly, crashing as waves onto the rocks of the Spanish shore.
The heat of the friction mixed with the heat of the oil. Ajani bared his fangs, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching the pillow in his fingers.
'This is not sex,' Ajani thought. 'This is the touch of the Gods. Hathor, Bastet, have you given this lion to me? Have you heard my prayers?'
Hasan moved to his lower back. He dug into it with the pressure and Ajani's neck arched as he nearly howled, or as close as a jackal could howl. The pleasure was an agony, a torture. Every time Hasan's oiled fingers moved, Ajani silently begged for it to end, for a rest. And he just as fervently begged for it to go on.
Hasan finished his back and gently rolled Ajani onto his back again. They kissed softly. Ajani's cock was so hard it was softly painful.
Hasan spread oil into the bulges and curves of those dark abs. He hugged and squeezed the canine pecs, curling drops of oil around the nipples. Traps. Neck. Arms. Paws. Fingers.
Ajani was softly panting in relief as the oil was set on the table. Hasan held out a finger. A single drop of oil dangled, glittered, then fell onto Ajani's throbbing member.
Hasan watched it creep toward the jackal's sheath. His mouth flooded with saliva. He moved downward. His face was obscured by the halo of his mane as he breathed onto that waiting shaft.
Ajani's breath shivered like a bird. He felt Hasan's lips meet at the very base of his knot. He felt them press in, suckle, drag upward. He shrieked in raw bliss.
Hasan purred loudly as Ajani came in his mouth. So sweet and slightly salty. Not very much, but so rich. He rolled the cum in his tongue and then swallowed.
He gazed upward. Ajani was weeping. The jackal put his paws to his face to hide the tears, but more sobs broke from him.
The lion was at Ajani's side in an instant, nuzzling him gently.
"Hasan," Ajani whispered.
It was like the cry of a lost soul in the dark. Hasan embraced him. Ajani buried his face in the sweet smelling mane and wept. Hasan held him tight and squeezed his eyes shut as tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Ohhh Hasan," Ajani sobbed.
"Shhhhh...tears of joy or sorrow, my love?" Hasan asked.
Ajani sniffed softly and rolled back onto the bed.
"Both," he said.
He gazed up at Hasan.
"We may never meet again."
Hasan nodded silently.
"But we have tonight. And the dawn is hours away."
Ajani's paw slid between the thick feline thighs and stroked gently over Hasan's thick shaft. Hasan purred softly.
"Is my love ready for another?"
Ajani slowly smiled. Then grinned. Hasan kissed him deeply, purring louder as Ajani's fingers twined in his mane and massaged his neck.
"How do you want it this time?" Hasan whispered against Ajani's cheek.
"Rough."
The lion chuckled and growled playfully. Ajani pulled him down.
"Grind," he snarled softly.
Hasan murred deeply and pushed his belly against Ajani's penis and washboard abs.
"Yes," he moaned.
Ajani smiled and undulated his abs beneath the lion.
"Ajani, you beauty!"
Ajani chuckled and wrapped his arms around Hasan's waist, squeezing so that his biceps swelled. They kissed like a pair of harlots on the streets of Baghdad. And Hasan ground against that muscled body.
Their paws slapped and rubbed, exploring every shadow the lamps cast. Hasan pushed downward. His cock slid between Ajani's legs, under his balls. Seeking permission.
Ajani's tight rump cheeks, cupping the sensitive head, tilting and opening to admit Hasan was the answer. Hasan wondered if Ajani had never been taken anally. The jackal seemed to know what he was doing.
Ajani's thighs hugged his waist again. Their eyes met. Ajani's opal eyes were absolutely trusting. Hasan had never had a man look into his eyes before being taken. He had planned to spear thrust Ajani the way he usually did. Nothing got him going into the right rhythm like a loud snarl and the way a tight anal ring burst open for him.
He couldn't treat Ajani the same way. One did not handle a real diamond as if it were a fake. He pressed his dick to Ajani's hole and slowly flexed his rump.
Ajani panted hard, rapidly, but didn't pull away. He started to press back down against the barbed feline cockhead. Hasan bared his long fangs and shut his eyes. There was a moment of pain, but it faded quickly. He smiled. Ajani had been taken before.
Ajani shivered and rubbed his paws along the cleft between the lion's pecs. The lion's loud purr was maddening. It faintly vibrated everything - his body, the bed, and the cock now pushed several inches within his hole.
He raised his heels back and smacked them against Hasan's hips, as if Hasan were a stallion commanded to canter. Hasan hugged Ajani to him and thrust.
"Aiie!" Ajani yowled.
Hasan's mouth was open wide at the feeling of the smooth, tight walls that seemed to suck him in even deeper. He panted and thrust, panted and thrust harder. He couldn't stop now. It was impossible to stop. It felt too...fucking...GOOD.
Ajani was silent after his initial outburst. He rode the thrusts as they grew into a steadily rising curve of intensity. He hugged Hasan's body harder the harder the lion fucked him. He could feel the pleasure growing in his own loins.
Hasan's mane swayed back and forth. His wide muzzle was furrowed by folds of flesh, his lips bared from his teeth with the effort he was putting into the rhythm. Ajani's other lover had been a fellow jackal. Hasan was entirely different. He was much, much bigger. Far stronger. And delightfully aggressive.
Ajani snarled in the lion's ear. Hasan growled back and slammed his big paws into the mattress. He grunted rhythmically, jerking Ajani's entire body back and forth, fucking him hard. Ajani bit into Hasan's neck and held on, groaning.
Hasan started to moan. His moans grew. His thrusts doubled, faster, faster, harder. At the very last instant, Hasan gave three long, deep and hard THRUSTS and then suddenly roared.
Ajani's entire body trembled at the sound. Deep, proud, raw predator. Hasan's flared barb kept them locked together as he cock slowly softened. Their eyes opened together.
Hasan bent and gently kissed Ajani.
"I need half an hour," he murmured.
"Twenty minutes for me."
Four hours later, both men lay utterly spent in each other's arms. Ajani had cummed five times, Hasan four. The sheets were wrinkled and knotted. They smelled of oil and sweat. Ajani lay against Hasan rather than the second pillow.
Hasan stroked the jackal's slender ears. Ajani said nothing.
"You're worried," Hasan said softly.
"Everything is about to change," Ajani said.
"Some things will not change," Hasan replied, and kissed Ajani's neck.
Ajani looked up at the lion.
"How can I feel this way after only one night?"
Hasan smiled tenderly.
"When the dome of a mosque is built, it is supported underneath by stone arches."
He brought his fingers together to illustrate.
"The two keystone arches must be perfectly symmetrical, and of identical mass. These two arches may be made of stone that comes halfway across the world to meet its mate. But together, they can support a House of Prayer."
Ajani nodded and stroked Hasan's mane slowly. Hasan watched his dark eyes slowly close. His breathing grew regular. Hasan purred gently and softly licked Ajani on the cheek.
Ajani stirred and woke to white sunlight coming through the window. He smiled at the dream he'd just had. His paw felt only sheet and mattress, both cold and flat. He was alone.
Ajani felt sure when the time came, he would weep. But now, no tears came. His smile would not leave.
Resting on the pillow was a braided lock of lion mane. And with it, a card with an address, phone, and e-mail.
Ajani rolled the mane fur against his cheek and lips. According to the clock, he had half an hour before he had to leave for his plane. It was time for breakfast.