With Tafas

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Title: With Tafas
Author: Cicero
Fandom: Lawrence of Arabia
Pairing: None in this section
Rating: PG-13 (this section)
Summary: Lawrence is riding in the desert with Tafas, and is introduced to a traditional Arab custom.
Email Address: Cicerothewriter@livejournal.com
Categories: Drama
Feedback notes: Any kind of feedback will be appreciated, even if you just write me a one-line email telling me that you've read the story, and I will be happy.
Warnings: none
Notes: This is merely an excerpt from the larger story that I am working on. The larger story is an amalgamation of scenes from the movie (with a slash aspect) and missing scenes. Therefore, this story takes place in the same "universe" as Howeitat Hospitality.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lawrence of Arabia or the real Lawrence. I am writing this for fun, not profit.

Tafas could not help but stare. He tried to keep it to a minimum, not to be obvious about it, but this was difficult to accomplish. He was the only other person out there. At least part of the time his companion was entranced by his surroundings, the natural pyramids, the smooth dunes, and the smoky wafts of sand; so Tafas could look his fill. At other times though, the man beside him seemed to know when he was looking, and would glance back quizzically.

"Is there something wrong?" Lawrence asked.

Tafas just shook his head, and turned forward.

Lawrence's brow creased as he thought about his journey so far. They had met several Arabs during the camel ride, and while they were from many different tribes, they all had one thing in common.

They stared.

He remembered taking off his hat at the last well, and both the father and son there had gasped. Then they had asked to feel his hair. Confused, he had agreed. They also stared at his blue eyes.

He knew that blond and blue-eyed people were extremely rare in Arabia, but he had not been prepared for the reactions he had garnered so far. His previous experiences had been limited to his fellow English, and the Arabs he had met while he was an archaeologist in Syria. They had treated all the white men there as they did him, so he had paid it little mind.

But now, being alone, it was hard to ignore, though he tried to. Their reactions raised feelings and thoughts that he had been trying to overlook for some time.

Tafas was doing the same thing. He asked Lawrence a constant stream of questions whenever they stopped, and he had treated the offer of the revolver as if it were a sacred relic. Lawrence had taken his present of traditional food with equal solemnity, as such it was. Offering rare food (even rancid bits such as his) was a sacrifice in itself. Tafas had looked into his eyes, looking for approval, and Lawrence could do nothing but chew, swallow, and take another offered piece.

Lawrence felt eyes on him again, and looked up to see his guide's head turn to the front. Lawrence sighed, and let his attention drift to the beautiful sterility [barrenness] of the land around him.

When they made camp that night, Lawrence was hesitant to lie down. His backside throbbed from all the riding, and his leg hurt where he had fallen from his camel.

Tafas noticed him rubbing his leg. "How do you fare?" he asked.

"All right, I think, just a bit sore."

"You are unused to riding for so long. Come. Sit. The heat from the fire will help."

Lawrence nodded, and seated himself next to his camel's saddle. He waited in silence for the questions to begin.

"Your eyes do burn, yes?"

"They do," Lawrence nodded slightly.

"Why do you no kohl them?"

"Kohl my eyes?" Lawrence was slightly taken back.

"Yes, kohl them. They would be protected."

"I... I never thought about it before."

Tafas watched as Lawrence took a delicate sip from his metal cup before saying, "I have some you can use."

"You do?"

Tafas nodded eagerly, and quickly stood. He went over to his camel and pulled from one of the saddlebags a small bottle. This he brought over to Lawrence, and handed to him.

"It's a powder," Lawrence said as he peered inside it.

Tafas nodded again. "You mix it with water, then put it on."

Lawrence was still holding the bottle awkwardly. "I am not sure how to apply it," he said softly. For some reason, he felt a wave of apprehension - not from fear, but from some nameless thing.

"I can do it for you," Tafas said, more than happy that the opportunity had practically fallen into his hands.

"All right," Lawrence said, handing the bottle back to Tafas.

He watched as the Arab mixed the concoction with a small brush until it became a thin paste. He then motioned Lawrence to move in front of him. Then he started to paint a thin line on the upper part of Lawrence's left eye.

Lawrence, being unused to having anything so close, jerked his head back slightly.

"Would it be easier if I were to lie down?"

Tafas nodded, trying to swallow past the dryness of his mouth.

Lawrence laid back on his bedroll, feeling curiously vulnerable. One hand he rested by his head, fingers curled up. The other he let rest near his hip.

Tafas went to work again, spreading his mixture in gentle strokes, taking the time to color the tips of his eyelashes, which had been bleached by the sun. When he finished, he leaned back.

Blue eyes, wide, lined with black, set in a sea of pale, perfect flesh, stared back at Tafas.

Lawrence blinked once, surprised by the slight heaviness. It made him feel...

Sensual.

His entire body felt this heaviness; his nerves hummed with excitement.

"Thank you," Lawrence said softly. Slowly his eyes closed as sleep became more insistent. Tafas watched while the Englishman slept.

The End (for now).

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