Chapter Text
To say that Stahma is disappointed as she steps away from Kenya Rosewater is an understatement, though she knows none of it shows on her face. It is rare that human emotion ever does, and she has become so adept at playing the game that she isn"t certain she could let genuine emotion show, truly show, if she wanted to. It barely matters if she could, as that would not change the fact that once again Datak"s actions were ruining her plans. Her husband did always have that unerring knack for causing a mess, particularly when it came to Stahma"s machinations.
She sighs against the realization that she now finds that behavior bordering on childish, where she never had before. Kenya Rosewater had opened her world to many things that night of the razor rain. It was her way to put her family first, to get her way through suggestion and manipulation and in truth Stahma enjoyed such pursuits. She enjoyed the knowledge that poor Datak was always so much less than he thought himself, and she thought herself content with such activities required to keep his head turned in the direction she wished it to be. No, Kenya had not introduced her to carnal pleasure, but she had introduced her to being left wanting. Whether that was a good thing or not Stahma had yet to determine but Stahma forced the image of what she had been left wanting this time out of her head and decided she would attempt to decide later. It was growing more and more difficult to completely rid the image of the youngest Rosewater from her mind, and especially so now that she young human had so deliciously tainted something so intrinsic to Castithan culture.
She never attempted to make her trips to the Need/Want a secret, so she did not attempt to pass through the dark but full streets of Defiance unnoticed. Instead she walked purposefully towards home, stopping now and then to touch fabric hanging in a vendor"s stall, or to utter a few words of greeting to a passing acquaintance. Her passage was noticed, definitely, but as with most things in Stahma"s life, such was her design. It was better to give people something to focus on, rather than to let their imaginations run wild. People could be easily fooled, but the imagination always spun such dangerous stories to fill in any gaps. If she could fill the gaps in their minds, at least, she would consider it a victory. She herself had been lost since the very first stall she had visited on that journey, fingering the silk on display and being reminded of the softness of Kenya"s skin and the noise of her silk dressing gown falling with a whisper to the bathroom floor. from that moment forward, every measured, deliberate step Stahma took was haunted by the ghost of Kenya Rosewater.
Her disappointment grew into mild frustration with each step as well, mouth watering ever so slightly as she longed for the forbidden fruit she had been unable to taste that evening. By the time she arrived home, being divested of her outer layers by the eager hands of her servants, Stahma"s usually sharp brain had been clouded with lustful memories and wishful thinking. The touch of servants fueled the fantasy more, heightening her senses but increasing her disappointment. By the time her robe was off she was ready to be rid of them entirely and voiced as much, dismissing them all for the night. Datak would manage, when he came home from the Need/Want. She didn"t need any more reminders of hands that were so perfectly human and she did not need the feeling that signaled reality breaking apart piece by piece with every touch of pale Castithan hands to her person.
Her orders, as always, were obeyed and she stalked up the stairs to the chambers she shared with Datak, intending to change and grab a book but her attention was arrested halfway down the corridor as she passed the large room containing the large marble bath that was a facet in every Castithan household. her hesitation only lasted a moment and then, licking her lips, her course changed and she was stepping into the room, clothes falling from her body carelessly as she stepped into the tub wearing nothing but her beads.
She sank into the water with a sigh, walking across the floor of the tub to seat herself, submerged to her neck, on the far side of the pool with a view of the door. It was not closed, per se, nor was she entirely indecent, but she was taking quite a risk in bathing alone as such things were not permitted. It had been unusual enough to bathe alone in Kenya"s tub, if only for the purposes of washing the scent of human from her skin. That was unfortunate necessity. This was thrilling disobedience.
Her body settled easily into the water, melting into the heat like she had melted into the touch of her lover earlier and her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of heat seeping into her body. When her brain started to drift she let it, uncaring if, in this solitary moment, she allowed her thoughts to be consumed by the brown-haired human that had so thoroughly captivated her. Memories of fingers mapping her skin sparked heat within her body that was not from the water temperature and she squirmed at the sensation, letting out a slow breath as the water moving across her skin only served to stoke the fires within her.
"Stahma," the familiar voice of her husband cut across the room, echoing coldly against all of the marble, and Stahma started, eyes snapping open as growing horror overtook the feeling of heat in her abdomen. "What are you doing?"
He seemed puzzled, as if thinking it was perhaps all a dream, and Stahma"s head instantly bowed deferentially as she got to her feet in the tub. "Datak," she said softly, trying not to give him a reason for his mood to shift, taken too off guard to have recovered from the shock quite this quickly. "I"m sorry, I was just--"
Datak"s next words luckily cut her off before she was forced to give voice to what she was "just", and Stahma tried very hard not to let the little seed of relief that bloomed in her at that mercy grow into anything more significant. "A Casti woman, bathing alone? What would the servants say?" She looks up at him, terrified, vaguely wondering if by mentioning the servants he is voicing an intent to shame her in front of the entire household. Her mind spins frantically as she looks down again, hoping that words will come to her and with them, a solution.
"I thought you were out for the evening," she says, though she isn"t sure if it is meant to be the beginnings of an excuse or not because a sudden idea hits her and she glances up at him, this time with a slightly predatory glint in her eyes. "At the Need/Want." Datak"s frequent trips are well known, of course, but had yet to be brought up between them, and she can only hope that he is off-put enough by her bringing it up that she can regain control of the situation.
He gapes at her wordlessly for a moment and then begins to remove his jacket casually, and Stahma knows that she has managed to divert his attention, though the rest of the conversation is still a great unknown. "I had a rather unpleasant experience with Kenya Rosewater," he begins, and Stahma"s attention is immediately piqued, though that is partially because after the evening she has had she can"t imagine what an unpleasant experience with Kenya Rosewater even looks like. "I think that woman needs an education."
"What did she do?" Stahma asks quickly, too quickly, but Datak takes no notice, too busy trying to sort through the event in his mind to be paying close attention to her reactions. Datak throws his coat to the ground and squats near the far lip of the tub.
"She refused me as a client," he says wonderingly.
Stahma"s mind goes absolutely blank for a moment and then she says "I can"t imagine what she was thinking," before she can begin to speculate too much about it in that moment. There is a time for everything, after all.
"It was odd," Datak continues as if he wasn"t interrupted at all. "I felt as though she were going out of her way to disrespect me. Why would she do that?" He sounds so much like a lost child that Stahma finds herself moving through the water closer to him almost involuntarily, wanting to comfort him on an instinctual level though her mind is still urging caution. "I have half a mind to send Skevur over there with his skinning knife to ask her."
Stahma has reached the edge of the tub by now and reaches out quickly at the idea of Skevur going over there with his skinning knife but forces herself to turn the gesture into something less desperate than it"s origins suggested. Grasping his hand gently she picks it up and brings it to her lips, locking eyes with him for a moment before returning her gaze to their joined hands. "Come," she says throatily, kissing his knuckles tenderly in an attempt to distract him from his last utterance. That is one idea of his that should not be allowed to come to fruition. "Bathe with me." That, at least, will solve the problem of her bathing alone quite handily. "Let me put all thoughts of that--" she breaks off her sentence to draw him into a passionate kiss, reminding him that while the ever delectable Kenya Rosewater may have spurned him, his wife was more than capable to giving him such pleasure, "--stupid woman far from your head." And she certainly is stupid, Stahma thinks as she draws Datak into another kiss, one that he begins to respond to almost instantly. This is still not the time to be speculating on Kenya"s causation, but either way it has attracted Datak"s interest and therefore has left them both vulnerable. Whatever the reasons, Stahma resolves to have a chat with Kenya the next time they meet about playing the game with some modicum of intelligence before she gets the both of them killed. It is bad enough that Datak has ruined her bath more than once that evening.
Disappointment, in Kenya"s business decisions and in the sheer fact that Datak was simply not the human proprietor and she would not be able to finish even her fantasies in peace, fade away slightly as callused hands knead forcefully at her breasts and desire sparks within her belly once again. There will be no mistaking her husband"s touch for the softer, more nimble caresses of a more delicate set of hands but that, Stahma supposes, is the price she will have to pay for the dangerous game they are playing.
When her moan shatters the stillness of a room filled only with the quiet lapping of water against the sides of the pool and heavy breathing, she does not know whether it is a sound born from her building arousal or the agony of being forced to let so many of that night"s desires fall by the wayside.