Work Text:
Having left the manor with everyone’s lives spared, Avdol could breath easily for the first time in fifty days. The journey from Japan was now behind them. And what lay ahead was a newfound love; mutual respect and admiration turned to a loving, carefree relationship between the two. Living felt easy for Avdol with the Frenchman at his side. The two no longer felt rushed with their love, no more hurried kisses or quick and sloppy hookups. The fear of death lurking around the corner had vanished.
Avdol had promised dinner, Polnareff was finally ready to take him up on that offer. The night in Egypt was cool, an airy breeze following them as they made their way down the sidewalk. Reservations had been made, the restaurant being Avdol’s recommendation, and was set for eight.
Checking his watch, Polnareff huffed. “We’re running late, you know,” he pointed out, frowning, “I thought you’d know how to get here quickly.”
“I do, but we were already thrown off schedule with your hour-long shower,” Avdol quipped in return. He smiled, a warm expression that never failed to ease Polnareff. “It’ll be alright, the table will still be waiting for us.” Hesitantly, doing his best to find assurance in Avdol’s words, he nodded.
Just as Avdol had said, their reserved table was still waiting for them once they arrived. The restaurant was crowded, both of them being surprised as they’d chosen tonight for its assumed emptiness. It didn’t change their plans, rather the mood was different now, less quiet and intimate. A hostess took them to their seats, and set down two menus. Savory smells rolled in the air, tickling Polnareff’s mouth with enticement. He was starving, waiting all day for this meal.
Glancing over, Polnareff hummed. Whatever the table next to them was eating looked and smelled phenomenal. “You’ve been here before, right?” he asked, looking back down at the menu. The booklet was entirely written in Arabic. Shit . This made it nearly impossible for him to order anything other than a glass of water, Polnareff would have to simply go off Avdol's suggestions. “What do you recommend, Momo?”
Strumming his fingers on the table, Avdol scanned the menu, lost in all the choices. It felt like months -years- since Avdol had gotten the chance to eat his home country's cuisine. Far too long. “Mhm,” the Egyptian hummed in reply, “A handful of times.” This specific place was known to house couples, young and old, but Avdol had only ever been here on his lonesome. Tonight was different, he had the chance to dine with his lover, the realization brought with it a fuzzy warmth, a feeling of belonging. “Well, I always try something new.. for some variety.”
“And what are you thinking for this time, mon beau?”
Delaying for a moment's thought, “I was considering the koshari, it’s delectably flavorful, I think you’d enjoy it.” Avdol wasn’t picky when it came to food, but he was aware that Polnareff was. “It’s made with a special, unique array of spices, called ‘Baharat’.” He looked across the table to see if the other was listening, and was happy to see that he was. Polnareff sat with his chin resting on an open palm, smiling and giving Avdol a look of adoration. Avdol continued with his explanation of the dish. “It has chickpeas, and rice, lentils too, with pasta...”
Polnareff chuckled, he adored Avdol, through and through. He was like his own encyclopedia, full of strange yet useful knowledge. It’d shown to be a necessity while they traveled through Asia and the Middle East. Polnareff wondered how he knew so much, and why, eventually deciding to ask the man. Avdol had simply shrugged and said “I’m well traveled”.. which explained little to nothing and left Polnareff more curious than before.
“Let’s get that then,” Polnareff spoke up, closing his menu and setting it aside. He trusted the other’s opinion, learning to do so after countless mistakes of his own. “I’m so thirsty, parched even.. I may shrivel and dry up, pretty hungry too,” he voiced with a whine, lips forming a pout.
Also closing his menu, setting it atop Polnareff’s, Avdol shook his head. “Impatient as always, ya amar ,” the Egyptian tsked, “Wait, be patient, Jean.”
With another moment's wait, a waiter came over, brandishing a notepad and an apologetic smile, seemingly asking forgiveness for the wait. Avdol and the waiter spoke, he gave them their order, thanking the employee before they left. Polnareff didn’t follow the conversation, not being able to speak a lick of Arabic.
“He gave us an hour's wait, possibly longer,” Avdol stated, resting his arms on the tables, “Because of the crowd, they’re a bit behind in orders.” Polnareff sighed, they’d already been waiting for twenty minutes.
He had never been good at waiting, patience wearing thin from the get go. Polnareff often forced things to happen at a quick pace, rushing head first into almost anything like a bull, but this situation didn’t allow that. Polnareff simply had to sit, and wait.
Avdol made small talk, an easy way to pass some minutes. They’d discussed Polnareff’s homeland, conversation then turning to traditional French cuisine. Avdol’s fortune telling business was also brought up. Polnareff had never expected it to be so much work, it seemed like Avdol did a lot to keep the community together. He’d also been offered a reading on the house, the Frenchman skeptically accepted.
Soon they ran out of topics to talk about. Avdol took notice of the antsy look on Polnareff’s face, watching as the man gnawed at his knuckle and felt his leg bounce under the table. Sighing, Avdol reached across the table, resting a hand on the shaky knee. “It shouldn’t be too much longer,” he pointed to Polnareff’s wrist watch, “We’ve already been waiting for twenty-five minutes.” The Frenchman frowned, there was still a while left, and he was hungry. Polnareff’s stomach growled and gurgled, echoing the same feeling.
The hand on Polnareff’s knee was warm, it soothed his nerves, allowing him a moment of calm. Avdol’s presence was generally quite calming. His voice, his smell, his way of speaking, it brought Polnareff out of whatever haze he was stuck in. Before he’d met the Egyptian, he felt a constant need to be doing something, that paired with the mind-numbing need for revenge caused him to be restless, before crashing and burning after exhausting all his energy. Now, he was beginning to slow, starting to let things happen as they came.
Polnareff was forced out of his racing thoughts when the hand traveled further up his leg, moving to squeeze a muscular thigh. Daring fingertips teased the jean zipper, brushing against the crotch of Polnareff’s pants.
“M-Momo?” he squeaked, freckled face reddening.
Avdol eyed him, face too calm for what he was doing under the table. The crushed velvet table cloth barely concealed his perverted actions. “Helping pass time,” he shrugged dismissively before bringing his voice down to a sultry murmur, “No one’s looking.. no one’s paying attention. Let me help you, Jean.”
Inhaling a shaky breath, Polnareff nodded. He was okay with this, Avdol always took care of him, he trusted him with his life. “Okay,” he murmured, giving his consent. With the other’s permission, Avdol felt further, unzipping the pants. He slipped his hand in, Polnareff sighed in content, feeling his lover's hand palm at his dick.
Avdol squeezed, pulling a restrained groan from the other across the table, the girth under his palm beginning to stiffen. Stroking and palming Polnareff through the moistening fabric, he quickly got hard, adrenaline, nerves, and lust aiding in that. Fingertips ghosted over the boxer’s waistband, tickling the pale blond hair lining down his stomach. Finally, he dipped his hand in, taking hold of Polnareff’s cock. Avdol gripped it, his entire hand wrapping around, engulfing the length in warmth, feeling it pulse and throb.
Polnareff looked at Avdol, silently begging for him to touch him further, needing the friction, needing Avdol to take care of him. Please, please touch me. Avdol knew that’s what he was thinking. Being a kind man, who wanted nothing more than to please his lover, he did just what Polnareff wanted.
He gave a single dry upwards stroke before dragging a thumb across the tip and collecting the precum beading at the head to slick the rest. Now slicked, Avdol easily stroked the length, twisting his hand with each passing move, dragging his entire palm over the sensitive head.
Polnareff keened, stomach twisting wonderfully with the burning touches to his cock. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth would, hoping to contain the noises of need, but each time Avdol’s hand passed over his sensitive cockhead made that harder and harder.
“Faster.. more, please, Momo please more,” Polnareff begged softly, voice guttural with desperation. Avdol kept his face schooled as he did what the Frenchman wanted, moving his hand faster along the wet cock, punctuating it with a squeeze at the base of his dick. Soft moans passed over Polnareff’s lips, drowned out by the chatter of people nearby. With just a single glance over to them, it’d be obvious what they were doing- and that further excited Polnareff, driving him closer to the edge.
Though the stimulation to his aching dick was aplenty, it wasn’t enough. He needed more if he wanted to cum. His hips rocked forward, grinding themselves down into the chair beneath him while simultaneously fucking into Avdol’s fist.
“So greedy,” Avdol purred, tightening his grip around the leaking cock, “Use my hand as you need, baby, cum for me, let me see you.”He watched Polnareff’s debauched face twist with pleasure as he chased his release, feverishly grinding into the waiting hand, table shaking with his movements.
“Yes yes, fuck-, ” Polnareff moaned, speaking in heaving breaths, “So good, fuck , I’m close, Momo.” One, then two, and finally three more passes is all it took, Polnareff unashamedly spilling his seed into the enclosed fist with a whimper.
“There you go.. good job. So pretty for me.” Polnareff gave a few more weak thrusts before stilling, Avdol took his hand away, wiping the spunk on the other’s pants. He left Polnareff to tuck his softening cock back into his pants.
His muscles were flaccid with his recent release, sagging in his seat. He no longer felt nervous, the internal clock ticking in his head had stopped. Polnareff was ready to wait for their meal while he calmed down.