Story: Beautiful Baqi

[frogs_of_war]

This is a thank you for Charis who read over something for me.

Title: Beautiful Baqi
Length: 3.6k
Prompt: this dress
Series: Wizard World?
Note: I did zero research, so I don't know how or what one needs to trap a djinn or what vows groom's said in 1920s Britain. All errors 100% my fault.

Dalton handed his dance partner back to her mother and went off for a quiet drink. He preferred to be a wallflower but etiquette demanded his dance at least two in every three, this party being hosted by his brother’s new wife. Hopefully she’d soon have a son and that would ease Dalton’s responsibility. He wanted to be far enough out of the line of secession that he could pursue his own interests.

Beautiful Baqi swept into the room. He was everything Dalton wanted and couldn’t have. Tonight Baqi wore a gold embroidered peacock blue tunic with matching calf-length pajama pants underneath. It wasn’t one of the fringed, spaghetti-strapped tubes that most women here wore, but then Baqi wasn’t a woman.

Platt, the dolt, snatched Baqi into a dance before he was even done greeting Dalton’s new sister. How rude. But Baqi just laughed and twirled away.

Baqi’s tunic had a train, so from the back he looked like any of the older of the younger set, women Dalton’s age who had been married for a decade. Having Baqi beside him upon waking and sleeping, having Baqi on his arm when entering a room… What more could he want in life?

Platt didn’t look like he wanted to give Baqi up at the end of the song, but Abbott tugged Baqi as the next song started. Rude, but then so was keeping a partner for a second dance, especially one so beloved as Baqi.

“Charles, darling,” Dalton’s sister took his arm. “Isn’t Baqi the greatest? You should try for her. Put yourself forward.”

Dalton kept his mouth shut about Baqi’s gender as Baqi obviously didn’t mind and people thinking the beautiful man was a woman was really the only way Dalton could pursue him publicly. “Camella, dear, I haven’t got a chance.”

“You’ll never have a chance of you don’t try.” She pulled him onto the dance floor. “I’ll get her on the terrace after supper, but the rest is up to you.”

“Thanks, sis.” He straightened his shoulders. He could do this. He’d done his research after all.

—

Baqi swirled around the room. He loved to dance. The gentlemen here were salways willing to oblige. He’s spent his first decade in Britain presenting as a man, but letting people think he was a woman was better. And with a simple thought they forgot he’d been anything else.

The song was over. Time for a new partner. He looked around and took the arm of the first man he had yet to dance with. This younger generation was so clingy. Baqi wanted freedom, he wanted fun. He stayed with one person or family as long as he had both.

Maybe it was time to move on. Old man Platt as still a joy, but his grandson seemed to think he owned Baqi. No one owned him or ever would.

Through a well-placed stumble, Baqi lead his partner to the far side of the ballroom so that when the music ended he was away from his admirers. The man he picked from the new group was friendly and chatty. Yes, he needed a new person or family.

He could go north into the snowy lands. He hadn’t been there yet. Or back home. Home called to him, but there too many people knew what he was. He could have home or freedom, but not both.

How he longed for both.

—

Was Baqi really looking Dalton’s way? The debutante in his arms knew the steps, but couldn’t keep up a conversation about anything but herself. Not a conversation; a monologue. Five more minutes and he could let her go back to her mother or one of the various men pursuing her. Supper would never come.

“Excuse me, old chap,” Ryer’s eyes fell to the debutante. “Could I impose?”

Dalton nodded and stepped back to give Ryer his place… and found Baqi in his arms.

Breath, Dalton, breath.

And say something witty, while you’re at it.

“Are you having a good time?” Uck, couldn’t he thought of anything better.

Baqi grinned up at him. “I am now.”

He stepped just a bit closer in the dance. Dalton’s brain stopped working. He muttered a string of inanities, embarrassing himself more each time he opened his mouth. Baqi would run and never look back. As the song ended, the bell rang for dinner. Baqi would go to one of the six men pursuing him, maybe Platt who thought he owned Baqi’s attentions.

But Baqi just held his arm and grinned. And all the tension ran from Dalton. What a wickedly mischievous smile. And this one was all for him.

Dalton nodded toward the dinning room. “If I may?”

“Please do.” Baqi was from the Persia and sometimes his accent was thick and mysterious. Like now. There were lots of things Dalton would do with Baqi if Baqi was pleased to let him. He reached up a hand and almost brushed Baqi’s lips, but Camella whispered his name and he controlled himself.

Baqi’s grin became a little more wicked. “What would it take, my darling Dalton, to forget all the world but me?”

What a wicked, wicked man. But two could play this game. “Come to the terrace later with Camella and find out.”

Baqi’s intoxicating laugh bubbled up. Dalton shifted his feet, trying to ease the ache in his groin. Baqi looked down, then met his gaze, and smiled.

Dalton mutter some inanity about finding a place at the table. Normally waiting this long meant taking a place by obnoxious dinner companions, such as the drunkards, know-it-alls, or ones who talked about inappropriate subjects, but tonight he found places next to a navel admiral and his wife, a world traveler, a college chum who’d been a fellow airman during the war. All of them had at least visited Baqi’s homeland. They talked of the sights and smells and reminisced of their time in the beautiful land.

“Sorry, old chap,” said his college chum. “Talking about somewhere you’ve never been.”

“Don’t stop on my account. I’m fascinated.” By more than just the stories. “I’d really love to see all this with my own eyes.”

“To go back.” The general’s wife sighed.

Her husband patted her arm. “I’ll find a way.”

She smiled at him. Dalton turned away for the obvious love in that expression and looked straight into the beautiful brown eyes of Baqi.

“You want to see my home?”

“I want to see everything.”

Wait. What had he just said? Not that he hadn’t meant it, but he couldn’t help the blush from rising.

Baqi’s grin was slow, but it didn’t stop until it had taken over his whole face. “I’d love to show you everything.”

There was really no way to ease the discomfort of his groin without using his hand. Hopefully the table would hide was he was doing. No one seemed to have noticed. Except Baqi.

—

Dalton made himself stop pacing the terrace. Would Camella manage to drag Baqi away from his persistent admirers? They had swooped in as a group after supper and carted Baqi off. Would Baqi even want to see him? Dalton wasn’t going to lie to himself. Nothing Baqi had said or done at supper was special to Dalton. Baqi liked to laugh and read everything the dirtiest way possible. And Dalton couldn’t even think straight when Baqi was around. He needed more time together to inoculate himself to the joy of having even a smidgen of Baqi’s attention.

Laugher flowed onto the terrace. Camella’s and Baqi’s. Dalton stayed at the back in case someone had attached themselves like a burr and come along. No, just the two, their heads together. Dalton stepped out. Camella grinned and mouthed, “It’s up to you.”

Baqi grinned his way. “Are you hiding in the palms?”

Dalton stepped beside him. “The view was so beautiful…”

He rested his hand on the rail beside Baqi’s. Baqi looked up and blinked slowly. The bottom fell out of Dalton’s stomach. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten as much for dinner. He had to say something or Baqi would leave.

“Platt wants to marry you.” Dalton mentally banged his head on the wall. Talking about his rival in the context spelled doom. He hurried on.
“And if you’re going to marry a man, I don’t see why it shouldn’t be me.”

Baqi stepped back and sat on the bench. Dalton’s heart started beating again. He hadn’t chose to walk away. Maybe Dalton would have a chance to rescue the conversation. Baqi flick his wrist and laid down. “Who says I’m marrying anyone?”

“Forgive me.” Dalton put his hand over his heart. “I just meant if society would allow for such a joining, my heart would die if you were bound together with someone else.”

Stupid mouth. Baqi shouldn’t feel like he has to do anything.

“An exaggeration, I’m sure.” Baqi’s voice was off hand.

It was. But Dalton had never wanted anyone like he did Baqi. He glanced back at the beautiful Baqi and then into the night. “Platt says you are a djinn.”

Baqi sighed. “How do they come up with things like that?”

“You came to London with his great grandfather at the end of his ambassadorship in Persia.”

“You believe that?” Baqi voice said he didn’t care either way. He’d never care what Dalton thought because Dalton just wasn’t important in his heart.

“I talked to his grandfather. He was fascinated with you as a boy.”

“I’m not a djinn.”

“Of course not. You’d be at least an ifrit or even a marid. Why stop at just a djinn?”

“Just a djinn?” Baqi laughed and propped himself on an elbow. “You are something else.”

“I hope so. I want to be special enough that you won’t look twice that the ring Platt had made for you. It took him three years, he said, to find the right size of flawless, perfectly faceted ruby.”

Baqi sat up.

“I think it’s gaudy and ugly, but it does have Persian writing around the band.” From what he could find, the phrase was something about binding. Personally Dalton thought of a marriage as a bond between two people. Binding a woman to her husband was so old fashion. Binding Baqi to anyone or anything was unthinkable.

“Abbot is trying for you too. But instead of a ring, it’s a perfume bottle.” He at least had the sense to make it beautiful and delicate. “Nothing less than flawless for you, of course, but he’s been in no hurry to find perfume to fill it.”

—

Baqi took a deep breath and rested his hand on Dalton’s arm. “Do you know what the ring and the bottle like that are for? They are to bind me to one person and keep me imprisoned forever.”

His soul died a little at the very thought.

Dalton rubbed Baqi’s hand in his big, strong one. “But you aren’t a djinn, so their preparations are for nothing.”

The sweet idiot. “It scares me that they would try. An attempt might stop my heart.”

Dalton pulled Baqi into his arms. “I would do anything to save you. Anything.”

Baqi had to run away. Leave tonight. Never see sweet simple Dalton again. How could the man believe him to be centuries old and make jokes about his supernaturalness? But in his arms Baqi felt safe.

Oh. He could be safe in Dalton’s arms. Only there was always a catch.

Baqi tilted head up. “Dalton darling, what would you have of me?”

Best get this over with now not after Baqi started having feelings for him.

“Your happiness.”

Silly man. “For you.”

“Your grin and laughter.”

“But what would you want in return?” All men wanted something in return, even if it was just peace in their land or their hearts.

“You saw me at supper, darling.” Dalton brushed his lips against Baqi’s ear. “And you still think I get nothing from your laughter.”

Baqi lifted his lips to Dalton’s. Dalton groaned like his dream was coming true. His hands traveled down the back of Baqi’s tunic and slid under the train. Too much fabric. Although if this outfit had caused Dalton to bear his soul—and Platt’s and Abbott’s plans—it was worth the inconvenience now.

“Bind me to your heart and you will have that and more.” This might be a mistake, but not an eternal one like being bound to a ring or bottle.

Dalton stepped back. “No.”

“No? I thought you wanted me. To marry me for better or worse.” Worse being that Baqi wouldn’t age.

“I don’t not want you bound to me.”

“What?”

“I want to live in your heart as you live in mine.”

The sweet handsome idiot. “You ask a lot.”

“I would not have you at my side because you have nowhere else to go or because the alternative is worse. I want… I want for you to want to be with me and that our mutual love and affection bind the two of us to each other as long as we both live.”

Baqi got heady with the rush of magic through him. He could do this. “Wish it.”

“No.” Dalton took Baqi’s hands and kissed his nose. “Not by wish or miracle. I want you to learn to love me.”

Now that Baqi could do. He tilted his head and claimed Dalton’s lips. “Take me to bed.”

“I’m staying here with my brother. My bed is only moments away.” Dalton hopped over the terrace railing and lifted his arms. “The back way?”

Baqi hopped onto the railing and let Dalton lift him down. Those muscles were very nice. He could think of many uses for them. They went in through the busy kitchen’s, Dalton’s hand in his, and climbed the back stairs. Dalton’s room was dark green, but whatever pictures had originally hung had been replaced by painting of Baqi’s home.

Dalton locked both doors and pointed at one of them. “That boy looks like you.”

Baqi stepped closer. It did. It might even be him, the him of long ago. “Dalton.”

Dalton kissed him again. The kisses were getting better. Baqi would give him all the practice he needed. He pointed over his shoulder. “My hooks?”

Dalton removed Baqi’s peacock feather comb as Baqi shimmy out of the tunic. “You are beautiful.”

Baqi removed everything but his pajama pants and lay back on the bed. Would Dalton still think so when he was bare?

Dalton removed his clothes carefully, seating each one down then laying Baqi’s tunic on top. He crawled onto the bed and kissed Baqi. His hands slipped into the front of Baqi’s pants. Baqi groaned into Dalton’s mouth. Dalton wasn’t one of those who thought they wanted Baqi until they had him. Dalton was very much enjoying himself if his hard rod meant anything. But he was being too polite. The party would be over soon and Baqi didn’t want anyone searching for them yet. “Please, Dalton, please. Inside me.”

Dalton obeyed, but even inside Baqi, he drew out their pleasure.

“Please, Dalton, fill me.”

“With all my heart.”

Their pleasure went on forever, combining and pulling apart and coming together again in new ways. This is what Baqi had always dreamed of and never thought to have. More than just bodies, their souls were one. “Husband.”

Dalton kissed Baqi’s neck. “My beautiful spouse.”

“You may say bride.”

“But you would not be here if you were a woman.”

Baqi let out a short laugh. “You’d love me no matter what I was.”

“So true, my love.”

“Marry me.”

Dalton muzzled Baqi’s neck. “Tomorrow, as soon as the magistrate opens.”

“Now.”

“Ok. I, Charles Geoffrey Dalton, do…” He said the words Baqi had heard so many times in his life with the Platts. “Till death do us part.”

How could beautiful Dalton be this game for all Baqi’s schemes? He was a dream come true. Baqi cuddled closer and said the words of marriage for his own kind. The binding tugged at his chest almost painfully, but when he said the last words he felt freer than he’d ever been. Free and tethered. Not like a kite in the wind, but like a eagle who knew where home was. He had a home now, in Dalton’s heart.

Dalton rubbed his chest. Baqi set a hand over his heart. “Did you feel that, too?”

“I always feel something when I’m with you.”

Baqi laughed and pressed his hips against Dalton’s. He could feel something too.

—

Dalton woke with Baqi in his arms. “I thought you’d be gone.”

Baqi stretched, showing off his beautiful body. He got up, unlocked the door and crawled back over Dalton. This way you’ll have to marry me today.”

Dalton pulled Baqi down on top of him. He had to tell his family. Obtain a license. Make an appointment at the church or registrar’s office. Call the Times to get the engagement and then the wedding notice printed. Dresses to be shopped for, bought and fitted. Would he need a new suit? With a rush job he might have Baqi in his arms again by next week.

The door opened and the maid walked in, but she was looking back into the hall. She glanced at the bed, looked at her feet, took a step back, glanced back at the bed, covered her face with her hands, then groped for the doorknob. “Pardon me, miss, sir.”

Then she ran out. A long moment later the door closed as if she’d only then remembered.

Baqi grinned. “I’m sure your sister will lend me a dress.”

And the whole thing happened quicker than Dalton could ever have imagined. Baqi wore his new sister’s recently used wedding dress. Dalton wore the suit he wore as his brother’s best man. His parents were sent for and his mother miraculously didn’t have a headache. And his father was in a better mood than he’d seen him in months. The wedding breakfast was leftovers from the night before and Baqi wrote the wedding announcement. Dalton’s little brother bicycled all the way to the Times’s building to get the announcement in the next addition.

And the honeymoon was at a rural chateau in France overlooking a beautiful valley. And the first leg of the trip was by hot air balloon from Hyde Park. Dalton didn’t bother asking how Baqi managed that on such short notice. He just enjoyed his bride—and married life—to the fullest.

—

Baqi was glad to be back in London. His wonderful husband had extended their honeymoon with a trip to Persia. The land was beautiful and held memories both good and bad. He loved it, but it really was no longer home. Too much had changed.

Baqi gossiped and smoothed his hair in front of the large looking glass in the ladies’ resting room. This was his first ball as a married person and he wanted to look his best.

He stepped out onto the landing. The ladies in front of him were examining a design on the floor. The writing was Farsi, but wrong. Each word was frontward, but placed backward in the sentence, like the person who wrote the script didn’t realize Farsi was written right to left. He walked around the diagram.

Platt stepped from behind a curtain. “I knew you’d be so busy looking at the design on floor that you wouldn’t notice the big one on the ceiling.”

He cackled.

Baqi held his breath, but he could feel no tug. Platt quoted an incantation. He must have practiced because his pronunciation was spot on. He held out the ring. The ruby flashed bright and glowed from within. Magic should be happening.

But it wasn’t.

“You will come with me. Now. That chump Dalton never saw this coming. He will be humiliated. His bride couldn’t wait to return to London and his lover.”

Baqi new sister, Camella, frowned. “What’s he talking about?”

Baqi shrugged. “Too much wine?”

The other women laughed.

Abbott appeared in the other doorway. Platt, I’ll flight you for her.” He held out the perfume bottle and quoted gibberish.

No tug.

“Darling.” Dalton smiled in from the hall. Baqi skipped up to him. He kissed Baqi’s hand. “May I have the first dance?”

Baqi laughed.

Camella grabbed Dalton’s other arm. “Remember what Mother said. If someone asked how long you were engaged, just smile.”

“Anything for mother.” Dalton patted her hand and after greeting the host with them, she ran off to join her friends. Dalton pulled Baqi onto the
dance floor. “You are finally mine.”

“And you’re mine.”

Dalton grinned. “I’ve been yours since you first looked my way.”

Platt and Abbott glared from the crowd. Baqi was safe from them, but he wasn’t one to not rub things in. Maybe he should give up his slim figure to add to Dalton’s parents’ grandchildren. He could do it if he wanted. That had always been an option, only one he’d never before wanted to take. He could ruin Dalton’s figure instead, but what would be the fun in that. He hadn’t been blind to how much Dalton loved being around little humans. Two or maybe even three.

Five?

Baqi wouldn’t bee the type to go into concealment either as his belly grew. He wanted to show off his bond to Dalton. Plus making a new life might shorten his own by a decade or two and even after only two months together he couldn’t imagine living, especially for centuries, without Dalton. Although according to his compatriots him binding to Dalton had extended Dalton’s life. He would do his best to extend their time together.

Truly, a long, happy, fruitful life would be the best revenge.