The Damascus Hawk

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Almost delicate-

     After dressing for bed Hamal pads towards the bed, stopping for a moment, smiling fondly at the sight. Rauf laid curled against the side of the bed the rafiq normally took, slumbering quietly. He moves to sit at the edge of the palate, gently stroking his cheek.

     His heart twisted in his chest watching his lover sleeping so peacefully. No worry or anxiety painted behind his brow, just a gentle serene expression. He would do anything to see him so peaceful while awake.

    He never recalled a feeling as strong as he felt for Rauf, love was so far from being a strong enough word. His entire life he felt “love,” but it was nothing like this. Something so deep, so impactful, yet more painful than any wound. It physically hurt to be away and the moment he catches a glimpse of him again he cannot remember to breathe.

   But that should have faded long ago, the folly of youthful nervousness and the giddy excitement, the rush of seeing those warm brown eyes and that smile. It never did. If anything it only became stronger. He watched him slowly open up, slowly trust, and it only made Hamal realize, whatever he felt as a younger man couldn’t have been love…

This was far deeper.

And impossible to ignore.

    He bends to kiss his temple gently, lingering but if only for a moment. Looking down at the peaceful form. His own brow painted heavy with worry. He strokes his hair, eyes stinging.

"For all my life’s mistakes… for all my sins, I don’t diverse you. Yet you stay." he swallows quietly, voice barely a whisper. A quiet rasp lost in the crisp night air, it furled and dissipated like smoke against the stone walls.

"Not when you have the attention of someone better… All I wish for is you to be happy… truly for once. For more than just a moment, For you to see your true worth…"

He wiped his eyes, moving to the other side of the bed to slip behind him. Cradling him gently against his chest, whispering that he loved him softly, almost wordless against his skin.

As he lay with him he ponders the pain he carries for this man.
How impossible it is to describe the desperate need… How strange it was, this pain,
a pain that was almost delicate.

Filed under prose rauf hamal documents rauf/hamal

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Fire in his blood-

    In his anger he left to a nearby bar, he noticed a small wiry man watching him. He glared in his direction, warning him. The wiry man approached.

"I mean no harm." he said in his odd grating tone.

"Piss off." Hamal spat, taking another drink of his ale.

"Ah! So he speaks Italian-" he sat closer, a intrigued grin on his smug face. "You look angry my friend… a man of your size with that much anger needs to let it out some how hmn?"

      He looks over him, noticing blades in his boots and hidden amongst the folds of his doublet, scars along his knuckles and rough hands.

"You look of the brawling type… I may know somewhere you might like-" he flashed a wicked grin, teeth glinting in the low light of the bar like a blade.

    Not much later before he knew it the Rafiq was saddled and headed to some bar on the outskirts of Rome called “La Volpe Addormentata." When he entered the door every patron eyed him curiously. The Arab man that stood no shorter than six foot four, broad chest and stony expression had everyone’s attention. A couple of younger men talked quietly amongst themselves excitedly.

   He no longer after he entered followed the wiry man to the cellar. He ran off to speak to a man in the shadows before returning, handing him a hefty glass of ale before taking his outer coat. Hamal was more interested in the ring. Two men, bare-knucled, bare chested, and all fire. Blood clung to their nose and lip, taking heavy swings at each other as the crowed beckoned them on.

"Your kind of fight hmn?" The wiry man watched his face carefully. "I thought I would ask you to be our… guest patron tonight. What can I call you straniero?”

Hamal began to shrug off his doublet and shirts, revealing to everyone’s surprise a rather startling map of gashes and scars. He may have not been as fit as he was in his prime, but strong chest and arms remained the same. He stood tall against the crowd, brows furrowed still with the anger seeping inside his skull.

"Ariete." Hamal responded gruffly.

The wiry man’s grin split his face wickedly. “LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, we have a guest fighter this evening. It seems in the night I found the god of war, who has come to challenge Ariete himself?”

He stepped into the ring and cracked his neck loudly, as well as the knuckles of each hand. All he knew is he wanted blood, and didn’t care whose it was. After all, when that fire is in your blood,

There is only one way to get it out.


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[Hamal’s journal]
[3rd day of stay during travel]

Something changed today.
I cannot explain it but something changed, and it is so beautiful.
He smiles at me without worry or fear in his eyes, he laughs unbridled by guilt or sadness. It is so hard not to be surprised by this. He is playful and mischievous, as always so very very kind. 

      I have never loved someone like this. In all my years, in all my attempts at love, nothing comes close to him. His smile stills my heart, his touch ignites something in me I cannot explain. Everything about this man makes my heart soar.

      He is what I needed… this whole time. I would give up anything for him, do anything, give him anything…

   He has even offered to find my children. No man has a heart as large as his. It hurts to think I must return to Damascus, so far from his side. Days away from the one man who has stolen what is left of me. I miss him when he is a room away, I am not sure how I will fare without him.

For the remainder of my travel, I am the happiest man alive.
For that I can only thank Rauf.

I can only hope this life gives me time with him… And hope I will.

Filed under documents journal