A/N – Jehane/Ammar, the morning after Ragosa’s carnival.

Disclaimer – I don’t own Lions, any of the canon characters, settings or situations.

Morning Light

Jehane lies beside him in the morning light, her orderly, practical mind a little drunk on his nearness.

It is an intoxicating luxury, the freedom to touch him as she wills; she has heard all the stories, the rumours, the myths: Ammar ibn Khairan, the courtier, the soldier, the poet, jaded and dissolute, pursued and courted by countless men and women. And here he is, all his defences lowered, allowing her free rein: slowly, she draws her hand along his warm skin, feeling the slow beat of his pulse, the living, breathing weight of flesh and blood. He smells of scent, of smoke and blood from the night previous, but underneath is the warm, heady smell that is his and his alone.

He stirs slowly, contentedly, his blue eyes opening to meet hers.

She has read his poetry, she thinks, suddenly bemused. Read, and envied, the lines written for Zabira of the white limbs and alluring dark eyes, who had been a king’s concubine, and who had travelled with him through the mountains, under his protection –

And yet last night, he had whispered fractured verses in her ear, his smooth, resonant voice hoarse and strained.

She laughs silently, bends down to press a kiss to his chest. His hands tangle through her hair, tugging her up to face him; his expression is quizzical, but she refuses to answer the unspoken question. It was an unworthy thought, really, of which her parents would disapprove; but then she always had been a sore trial to them.

She buries her face in his chest and smiles.