A wire of mischief winds its way around Jagdish, extending into his arm, pressing itself a little more firmly against Tatenda's form, light grin just barely visible as a reflection against the glass. A moment later, Jagdish teases: “What about the situation?”, just as fingers curve down delicately and brush across Tatenda's heat, guided by that desire to dishevel what of the conversation remained.

Firm muscles beneath the thin fabric of the shirt stand against this pressure, now shivering in nervous tension the deeper Jagdish's fingers are reaching. The gasp is obvious now and Tatenda's eyes are widening. “What… - what are you doing?!” he whispers rather breathlessly. His whole body pressing against the other now in his back - not the best was to escape this situation. “This situation is… unusual… - why…? I mean…” A low moan ends the senseless sequence of words.

The free hand slipped down across the glass with a squealing noise, then grabs Jagdish's wandering hand, though unable - or unwilling? - to really stop it from moving.

The reaction prompts a soft little surprised chuckle in the Arbiter and a pause of those probing fingers. “My, my,” he observes the abrupt reaction meaninglessly and in humour. “Before I continue,” he says, voice only a sliver removed from toneless whisper, the hints of emotion woven into it still distinctly coloured by mischief. “You should really tell me whether that's genuine distress I'm about to ignore.” It's half a lie, of course - if it were genuine, he'd stop and apologise in a hurry, after all, but there was no thrill to be had in that particular honesty.

Tatenda's breath is fast and flat, he swallows and licks over his lips. “I'm just… - I…” Well, what exactly is the problem? Is there a problem at all? If his cheeks weren't deep black he surely would be red like a tomato. But is that a problem? Most of his life he was much too addicted to his work and tasks that he didn't even think about anything sexual or even relationship related. Of course, in his youth he had some 'adventures', but they all had been with girls. Not that many, to be honest. He definitely never had felt this intense arousal that instantly came up within him, when Jagdish was that close, touched him and… oh, his voice!

So the only 'problem' is his own realization of facts. Again he shivers, tries to take a deep breath. “I… - I… don't… - don't know, what to… do,” he then manages to stammer. “I'm not used to… - to… this.”

Jagdish's right hand pulls Tatenda's away from the glass, for a moment letting his arm hover outstretched to his side, amusement in his demeanour, but without that a word is spoken. Instead, a long moment later, that hand is pulled back further, gently bent into guiding his arm into twisting and folding. Nonetheless, it seems to be quite a sudden event that his wrist finds itself pressed to his spine, the moment of contact the one that Jagdish's other hand resumes its gentle caress. “You have no idea how lucky you are,” he whispers in passing amusement.

It is definitely some sort of evidence for Tatenda's trust in Jagdish that he just stands and watches this other hand and arm guiding his own around, though his eyes show unease and a tiny hint of fear - but still that sort of fear that works for excitement and later on arousal for sure. Then, when he realises that this very special man trapped his arm, another gasp escaped his lips and he bites his lip to stop the soft moaning from being heard. He was lucky? Why? His body betrays him already, blood throbbing in rather seldom used parts that now suddenly get all the attention.

Slight shivers run up and down his spine and his head falls backwards after rising slowly from the fallen forward position, leaving the slender neck almost presented, when leant against Jagdish's shoulder.

Warm lips and the moist tip of a tongue touch against the curve of the ebon neck tentatively, a slow, steady breath ghosting across the flesh. The fingers at Tatenda's crotch knead against the firm lump of flesh through his clothes as if to shape it, until they disconnect for a moment, drifting upward instead, working against the button slowly but deliberately.

As always Tatenda tries to be as quiet as possible, not making too many and - more importantly - too loud sounds. So the fine twitches of his body reveals more of his state of arousal than the held back moans and gasps.

Finally his hand slowly let go off Jagdish's hand, fingers - a little shy and nervous - caressing his arm upwards.

Tatenda's fingertips have an unexpected effect - gooseflesh creeps along that pale skin, claiming a sizable area of it, effortlessly betraying that Jagdish is far from being unaffected by their intimate embrace. The button finally eases open, fingers nudging at the zip and the fabric of the trousers, gradually making the naked person beneath a little more accessible. Then the hand slips fingers in under the edge of Tatenda's underwear, only to move in a single subjectively swift motion to grasp at the hardening length, giving it a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

On top of this sensation a sharp gasping moan escapes the tensed chest, Tatenda's hip twitching backwards against Jagdish's crotch, rather unintentionally brushing accross it. Then his trapped arm starts to wriggle a little, wants to break free, the whole body shivering from unfamiliar arousal. Still the free hand tries to reach more of the other body, switches from the edge of Jagdish's shoulder to the lower side of his torso, exploring his waist and hip.

Rather than continue insisting on keeping Tatenda pinned the way he is - the gesture having been purely symbolic in the first place - the grip on his wrist and hand relents, Jagdish's right hand travelling around Tatenda's body and dipping in beneath fabric to join the other, pushing fingertips down deeply into the warm depths to touch against his balls. The touch is brief, though, and a moment later sees both hands withdrawing, coming to hook themselves by the thumbs against the edge of Tatenda's underwear, and an instant later push down, peeling the clothes down to reveal more of that dark, shimmering skin. His right hand drifts to that pulsing rod of flesh, wrapping around it to eclipse most of it, gently travelling along it, even as Jagdish's teeth nip at the side and base of Tatenda's neck and his left hand frees itself from the folds that it pushed down to instead brush against the side of Tatenda's face, then sneak into the tightly wound strands of his hair to grab a hold of his head, tugging it back lightly. The touch of Tatenda's hips against his visitor's reveals a hardness not dissimilar to his own, although making no statement about how long, exactly, it's been there.

The slender, but nonetheless athletic body seems to be still very flexible as if Tatenda attends to daily training like he did as active gym leader. The rest of him is not very similar to the rather disciplined, calm man at the moment. His fingertips and thus nails dig into pale skin at Jagdish's hip to get a hold, when his trousers fall and he only is able to tremble gasping, twitching also with every little firmer kiss and touch at his neck.

At least one hand begins moving again, following the other's example by opening his pants - or rather trying it.

There's a light twitch to the body behind him, like an abrupt, quelled, violent motion, defining the entire form of the Arbiter - a silent objection to Tatenda's motions, perhaps. Even so, that objection seems short-lived, with no follow-up to the sudden motion coming to make a statement. Meanwhile, a silken touch wanders up and down Tatenda's length in a steady caress, nursing that heat into an impossible hardness, crowding pinpricks of alien pleasure into his belly and soft, fleshy orbs, twitching up against Tatenda in brief expression of an instinctual eagerness. The grip on Tatenda's hair pulses against his scalp, tugging like a light, painless rain of needles against his perception. A kiss finds the edge of his jaw, impossibly light, leaving more of the sensation to his imagination, it eagerly filling in the blanks.

Breath getting shorter and with more tensed pauses the dark body trembles more and more, while Tatenda looses more and more control over the actions of his hands, but still shows his will to give Jagdish back, even while just gripping hold in the end, already twitching, first drops wetting the tip of his pulsing rod.

The grip of Tatenda's length changes its composition, thumb rolling against his glans, curled fingers travelling along the underside, infecting his gut with what's grown to a swarm of crowding fireflies of pleasure. A lazy gaze glances at the night outside, the last hints of illumination from the sun at the edge of the sky above them, richly textured sea of light ahead of them in the cityscape that was once Tatenda's domain. The risk that anyone might walk by Tatenda's home to see him like this through the window is so slim to be non-existent, really, but that doesn't diminish what he might feel about it. Jagdish's left hand untangles itself from Tatenda's hair then, only to travel down to brush against the curve of his ass, lightly pricking fingernails against the firm skin there.

This awareness of visibility always knocked on the door of his mind, screaming to be let in, but the chaotic party of pheromones just accepted it as another addition to maximise his arousal. Surely he will worry about that fact later on. But for now he's almost unable to think at all.

When the grip in his hair vanished his head fell over again, he himself almost losing balance, so he jerked his arm forward, palm hitting the window frame to stop him from falling forward. His very last scrap of thought was the mess he will bring on. Some words gasped against the glass steaming it up, meant as some sort of warning, before his muscles cramp, him moaning and whimpering in one, twitching with every single shot of bright white fluid.

Spatters of white mar the smooth surface of the glass and the window's sill, partly collecting in the nook of the corner between the two, promising to make itself difficult to clean. A distantly surprised and excited breath escapes Jagdish, gaze reaching down to catch sight of what he's done, left hand drifting in light caress around from Tatenda's behind to his hip, curling against it gently, anchoring Jagdish against Tatenda. The stroke of that twitching length slows rather than ending its touch abruptly, only to finally pause at the base of that shaft, still hard as it is, applying another pleasant squeeze.

Heavy breath is the only thing that can be heard from Tatenda for a while, until he calms down a little and all the twitching and trembling slowly stops. Though he still makes a rather cute, whining sound mixed with still not fully gone arousal, when he is assured his highly sensitive parts remain hostage to Jagdish. His eyes search for the other's reflection, biting his lower lip while gathering courage. Then he half way turns around, nervous but determined. His dark hand rises to touch Jagdish's jaw gently, fingertips gliding along almost like a feather, then they curve around the neck to make room for soft, dark lips. First it's just a kiss near the chin, then the mouth corner, finally sealing the pale lips.

Jagdish's eyes close, focussing on the gentle touch of those lips against his skin, keeping his right hand's fingers where they are as if he'd forgotten where he put them. His left travels up that twisted spine, then touches the back of Tatenda's head anew, and as the man's lips find his own, he deepens the kiss, swirling his tongue with his, the motion slow and soft but infused with a certain hunger nonetheless.

A shiver of excitement and pleasure runs down this spine, when he tastes Jagdish for the first time. It feels much too good to care about gender, age, origin and anything else. There had been a time, when he cared a lot, tried to match community's construct of a man. He was thankful and surprised in one for still learning from this inhuman man.

And while the kiss and the playful dance of their tongues continue his free hand brushes fondling across the other chest, searching its way beneath the fabric to be able to feel the blank skin, its living heat.

Though his shoulders recede a little, Jagdish makes no overt gestures to prevent Tatenda's exploration, left hand running fingertips and the crescents of his nails against Tatenda's scalp as much as the narrow braids allow, right only slow to withdraw from that warm, spent shaft, then travelling to touch against the skin of his belly briefly, only to rise up to caress the arm of Tatenda's so busy in its exploration, light touch creeping along the upper portion of it, leaving a hint of gooseflesh in its wake.

Barefoot as he is, Tatenda just kicks away his trousers blocking his feet from moving freely, though this hint of restraints somehow made a nice addition. A tiny thought of how abnormal and perverted he was comes across his mind, but is brushed aside by newly growing excitement.

He now fully turns around and starts to displace the fabric upward, to undress Jagdish.

Some part of Jagdish not fully taken by the gentle passion of the moment ponders the circumstance - surely this dance between them should be over now? The rest of him, of course, isn't interested in any such conclusion, obeying implied instruction as easily as if it had been programmed into him, peeling his shirt up and away, excused thinly by the notion that it really was too hot under there. Lust infects his kiss with fervour - a moment later, he pulls back out of it, though he's lost to his anticipatory pleasure, bright eyes full of a predatory gleam he can't quite shake, driven by an fleeting urge to seize a fresh hold of his companion and enjoy his body in a considerably more primal fashion; but he's done away with that notion long ago, of course, classic concepts of sexuality not quite meshing with his habits, cautiously danced around in equally fulfilling ways.

All actions taken by Tatenda are impassioned, but still in a way that still allows Jagdish to deny or escape them, if he wanted to. Respect, a small amount of fear and a long time hidden affection for this person are dictating his actions.

The dark eyes are almost asking for permission, when his hands again drift down to the seam of Jagdish's pants, tracing along that border to find the still shut entrance to manipulate the button and reach down into the warm darkness, slowly caressing silky skin.

At the touch of fingers against hot skin, Jagdish's gaze is briefly eclipsed, body focussing on the pleasurable sensation by warding off his perception for a moment; then he lets his breath skip, a shiver infecting him to betray the degree of his arousal, perhaps moreso than the hardness under Tatenda's fingers. His right hand settles into a grip of Tatenda's left shoulder, nails curving toward skin, biting at it lightly, tension creeping into his posture as he stands his ground. His left hand, meanwhile, drags fingertips slightly along his spine, this time creeping in under the fabric of his shirt in the process.

Not knowing about it, Tatenda bites his lower lip in sheer concentration and from the urge to make no mistake, aware of the smallest hint, what kind of touch Jagdish relishes the most. His fingers make their way along the hard rod, reaching its roots and wandering up to the glans again with fine but intense pressure, just like a slow but effective massage. His own breath is still a bit faster, surging against Jagdish's skin.

The shiver infects Jagdish's breath; a moment later, he's leant forward slightly, lips finding Tatenda's jawline, pressing a kiss against it, only to dip lower and fervently press against his neck, nipping at it. It gives him an odd angle, of course, with his hips at enough of a generous distance to allow Tatenda room to move his hands, but hands and face touching against his companion's dark skin. Standing seems like such a bad idea, really - there's a certain urge in him to let his legs buckle, body yearning to just sink into the bliss as a boneless heap, but he wills himself to stay upright and tense. The heat between his legs pulses eagerly against the caressing fingers, delighting in Tatenda's attention.

It's the feeling of living a dream. So unreal and far off of possibility. Just a dream, an unbelievable dream that happens to feel much too real. A light gasp followed by an almost cute, trembling moan. One hand stops creating intense sensations and just a moment later the dark arm wraps around the outright pale waist to guide Jagdish to firmly press against the athletic body, just to lean him on the table, where they ate just a felt eternity ago.

There is more he loved to do to and with this man, but his respect and shyness won't allow it. Nevertheless both his hands start to tug Jagdish's pants down, shivering from self-felt arousal again.

A soft gasp escapes him as one vertebra touches the table and he leans against it a little in some misplaced instinct, a curious, vibrant gaze creeping down Tatenda's body, watching his actions attentively, letting him do as he pleased. A moment later, his hard length springs free from the confines of his trousers and briefs, begging for attention with a quiver, prompting a bemused grin to creep into Jagdish's delighted expression. For the moment, his hands idle, uncertain to what degree to interfere in the picture Tatenda is constructing.

Black and white fingertips find their way back up the slender legs, when all fabric is gone to areas where it won't interfere with some plans he had, though his insecurity grows. He never did that before; dreamt about it, yes, but never did it. He knows a lot about how and where and why, but… this is different.

Dark lips finally close around a nipple to suck it between sharp, bright white teeth, where it gets caught just to make sure a hot tongue tip is able to dance around the center teasingly.

The fingers of his right hand sneak up from their perch against Tatenda's shoulder, sliding through braided strands of hair as much as the firm structure allows, crescents of his nails touching against the scalp, then curving and moving amongst the hair as if to lightly cut against Tatenda's skull, without ever posing a true threat. Some part of Jagdish thought to mischievously wrap his legs around Tatenda's waist, but the urge manifested only as a twitch, subdued by a concern that it might send the wrong signals. It's a passing thought, of course, and Jagdish's breath becomes a little more papery as he does the impossible: He submits, consciously choosing to let Tatenda dictate the scene, letting dark hands puppeteer his body.

Given this subtle sign of agreement Tatenda shivers from excitement. This must be a dream, no doubt. A thought that gives him even more security for his actions. So his lips kiss their way up following the clavicle, licking across the neck, biting gently there, just to finally reach the jaw bone then soft lips again starting a passionate kiss, while his nails travel across the white chest. A subtle but nonetheless tangible pressure of crotch against crotch, soft skin caressing the other's sensitive parts.

Just a moment later one hand presses Jagdish down until shoulders and most of his back lay on the table, nails leaving thin, red - though not bloody - scratches across his chest and belly, dark lips following this trail both kissing and biting, revealing his own desire.

The kiss finds itself hungrily reciprocated, broken only reluctantly as Tatenda pulls out of it. A breathy, curt syllable of a chuckle escapes Jagdish as his back is pushed against the cool surface of the table, panting softly from the lust swimming across his perception, though the barest hint of concern dares flicker through his expression at the drag of nails across his chest, the alien sensation almost snapping him out of the complacent, willing state of mind he's manoeuvred himself into. Fingers find the edge of the table, anchoring himself against it in a firm grasp.

Tatenda makes him feel a constant alternation of fine pain and sweet caressing, not obvious if he senses Jagdish's inner fight, but walking along this border without really crossing it.

A flood of dark braids petting and tickling the body beneath him on his way down. One hand keeps fondling the white skin, a brief pause filled with the last bits of insecurity, until black lips touch hard white flesh once, then twice, kissing the hot shaft, carefully nibbling down to its root followed by a hot, pink tongue that goes for the glans again.

Pleasure knots itself into Jagdish's gut as Tatenda's warm lips explore the shape of his hard length. A motion travels along his throat, framework of a silent, voiceless moan, head rolled back, eyes closed, fingers tensing in their grip against the table's edge as if his life depended on having a secure hold on it. Guided more by subconscious urge than any other mental progress, his left leg rises a little, only to hook itself lightly against the back of one of Tatenda's legs near the knee, laying claim to that dark body in passing symbol, while surrendering to it on the other hand.

This motion entices Tatenda to let his one hand wander across Jagdish's hip and onto his other leg to lift it and place it over his shoulder. Fingers stroking back, leaving fine red trails again until they reach the perineum caressing the distance between balls and sphincter tempted to explore latter one with surely perverted intentions - though perverted only to the lion's share of global community, isn't it? The intensity of his own arousal, his boiling inner heat reveals his true nature to himself in an almost striking manner.

As if trying to mute the voices of common moral thoughts his lips close around the glans and he starts to gently suck at it, finally allowing it to travel deeper inside his mouth.

A brief flare of alarm finds itself countered by the rational desire to enjoy the moment, eyes opening to glance at the ceiling, as if were capable of reacting to his deeply ingrained scepticism, dispel it somehow. Then he closes them again as warmth encloses the tip of his length, and the softest moan escapes him, a look of rapt pleasure on his face, fingers flexing in their grip.

The fondling hand scratches across the white chest to find a nipple again and pinch it with own felt passion like the urge to get a hold, while finger of the other hand starts massaging the shaft whenever its allowed to by the hungry mouth. Saliva dripping down covering the balls, those knitted by this hand, too, until a slippery fingertip slides across the pulsing muscle deeper down, softly pressing against it.

A low, wavering groan escapes Jagdish, the fibres of his body alive like fireflies to his perception, swarming as pinpricks against him, crowding into his belly as a nexus of pleasure. The hint of an arching motion infects his spine, eyes fluttering lightly - then his eyes snap open again as the tip of Tatenda's finger presses against that tight ring. For an instant lasting a subjective eternity, he has a silent conversation with the ceiling again - then stubbornly closes his eyes, stretching his neck a little, biting his lower lip in a gesture of his growing tension.

Tatenda has no choice but waiting this brief moment until Jagdish relaxes this tiny bit, so the first two inches are able to enter the inner heat of this delicately stretched and relatively willing body. He himself gasps shivering, being aware of this unbelievable honor, the large amount of trust - at least for a second of clear thought. Index tip exploring this special entrance, thumb caressing the perineum, movement slow and careful, but more intense with every second heartbeat.

Getting boisterous from this whole situation Tatenda sends in a second fingertip, but also lets the hard flesh glide deeper down his throat, choking in between, catching breath, but trying the same method again afterwards.

A tense, knotted form of a groan rolls from Jagdish's lips then, followed by a soft gasp as his shaft pulses more readily, spilling forth a shy but no less heartfelt amount of cum as his shoulders press themselves downwards, the tension lining his arms strong enough to emphasise even the thin bands of muscle under the pale skin. The pleasured sounds round off with a gentle 'ah!', almost out of place with its soft intonation, embedded in ragged breathing as it is. The hairs on the backs of his arms raise slightly, just shy of forming goosebumps, an electric sensation layering itself across his skin. As the tension leaves him abruptly, letting him sag on the table he's draped across, another breathy, voiceless chuckle leaves him, trying to convey appreciation despite an absurd situation, but with its meaning probably lost to subtlety.

His first reaction was twitching backwards, but then Tatenda just decides to accept this special gift to him. So he swallows everything to the very last drop, then catches breath again, licking across the tiny hole, kissing the sensitive glans one last time, finally slowly dragging his fingers out of the relaxing body. His glance wanders upwards to the beautiful face catching every little detail on its way, while he straightens up.

A last lazy twitch rolls across Jagdish's body, displacing him subtly, as Tatenda draws back. For a moment of relative silence, Jagdish merely lets his ragged breath shallow and slow. Then a firmer chuckle leaves him, for a moment sounding almost malicious, before unravelling into a comment on the surreality of the situation. “You're grounded,” Jagdish utters in exasperated amusement, still sagged on the surface of the table, an expression of deep content ruining his supposed reprimanding. “Ground-ed,” he repeats, as if that would make it any more true, his grin betraying otherwise effortlessly. A pause, staring through his pleasured haze at Tatenda; then, more seriously: “Thank you.”

The pink tongue just touches a dark mouth corner - originally to lick off a remaining drop of cum, but then stays in the middle to be stuck out at Jagdish with a cheeky grin. The gesture of his hand wiping his lips afterwards confirms his pleasure - and hides a little his flattered state. “Thank you, too,” he then comments, a little embarrassed.

As another moment passes, Jagdish closes his eyes, steadying his breathing further. “I'm sure that was illegal somewhere,” he jokes, faux-grumpily, some part of him unsure if it should be embarrassed that he'd given in to the degree he did. Gradually, he peels himself up from that flat surface, into some mixture of a sit and a lean, glancing down at himself critically.

“If it is, it was the very best illegal thing I ever did,” Tatenda comments with a lopsided grin and sparkling eyes. He still stands between the white legs, but somehow does not dare to touch Jagdish again. “I hope I didn't hurt you or… violated any personal rule, crossed a border or something…”

Jagdish's gaze snaps up, revealing a pleasant expression, though he does say: “Well, if we ever do this again, which I do sorely hope, I may bite you if you scratch me, and generally I'm not very used to…” He trails off, mulling the best word to use, lopsided, dark grin on his face in the meanwhile. “…being at anybody else's whim, shall we say,” he concludes, only to grin brightly and forgivingly and add: “Though I suppose it makes a pleasant temporary change of pace.” A pause, his gaze wandering across the partly naked Tatenda as if in muster - then he reaches forward with one hand abruptly, twisting fingers into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him close and smothering him with another kiss, dancing his tongue with Tatenda's. It lasts only a few seconds before he breaks it off again, though he maintains his grip in the ex-gymleader's shirt, light, friendly smirk on his face. “But no, you didn't hurt me. If anything, you've been a soothing balm.”

Again as if not aware of the cuteness it embeds Tatenda bites his lower lip in an apologetic gesture, gazing down towards the table. “I will try to remember it… - it was born from… uhm… passion and… well, just bite me next time.” His eyes look up first, just then followed by his head lifting again, grin now slightly mischievous.

The sudden movement makes him gasp, the kiss triggers a low, half choked moan. He smiles warmly in the end, then rises a hand to gently stroke some strands of Jagdish's hair back, rearranging his hairstyle - mostly by running his fingers through his hair in a whole. “You… may have to use this balm more regularly and… I'd be happy to… - to help.”

“No,” Jagdish says, with a hint of a stern subtext, though his expression is still full of fondness, only a mild gleam in his eyes registering as a threat. “You're going to learn to keep your nails to yourself,” he instructs, letting his fingertips wander across Tatenda's face in a motion suspended between idle exploration and caress. “Don't worry, it'll be easy,” he adds, lacing his words with a chuckle. “You'll be far too busy being at my mercy,” he offers with amusement, his joke spiced with a wholly courteous possibility of truth.

It was far away from normal for Tatenda to be treated like this and his skin reacts to the slow and tender caress with barely visible, but rather tangible goosebumps. He smiles a little insecure about how this words are meant, but also blushes and gives a brief sound of embarrassed laughter. “Your… - your mercy?” he then asks in a low voice, his head slightly leaning towards Jagdish's hand bringing a cat to mind that begs for more petting. His smile grows a little. “Like back when you judged me?”

Jagdish's expression softens into one conveying nothing in particular, then lingers in that state, near-frozen. For a moment, he just silently stares at Tatenda - not mortified, too calm and confident for that, but unsettled in a way that registers almost like a disappointment, albeit with nobody in particular. Then, voice soft in volume, free of audible tension, but nonetheless admitting no leeway, staring at Tatenda with ambiguous emotion: “Don't joke about that.”

Instantly Tatenda realises he made a big mistake when bringing up this topic again in a fashion like this. But his gaze doesn't flee the other's eyes, but faces them straight. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trivialize your duty and anything related to it. It was wrong to mention it in this context.” He took a slow, deep breath. “It's just, I… - I feel almost the same… emotion. Not the fearful side of it, but… somehow slightly similar. That's, why I compared it. This is different, I know… - I'm… - I'm really sorry, please forgive me this faux pas.”

A strong urge to react sits in Jagdish's gut, advising nothing in particular. His stare lingers, posture and expression still mostly frozen as is. He struggles with the expressed notion - viscerally, he wants to walk out of the room and attribute that particular flake of madness to Tatenda, but a far more compelling thought asks him: What have you done, Jagdish, to nurture that misplaced emotion? Taking a slow, deliberate breath, he blinks lightly to snap himself out of his stupor, then addresses Tatenda in a steady tone: “I implore you to listen to me now, because this is important. When I am Arbiter, I am not your friend - nor anybody else's. Do you understand that? I don't meant that question as a threat or in condescension; I want to know, genuinely, if you comprehend the distinction.”

The dark eyes grew a little darker, the golden veins' warm glow fades about a degree; it seems probably the most honest sign for Tatenda really understanding the importance of Jagdish's point and the difference that lies within this awesome and in other moments frightening man is the fact he's not instantly answering, but still faces his gaze, then finally nods seriously. “I understand. Right now more than any time before.”

“Respect I understand,” Jagdish explains. “Respect I can appreciate,” he adds, inclining his head lightly. “But that purgatory doesn't exist for anyone's enjoyment; not yours, not mine.” Said, he exhales, letting his shoulders sag a little, closing his eyes. Slowly, he peels them back open, a smile finding its way back into his expression. “I'm sorry, I think that thoroughly ruined the mood, didn't it?” he asks with lightly cynical amusement.

Tatenda nods again, swallowing noiseless, then he tries to mirror that smile, though his own is corrupted by his guilty conscience. “It was my fault, I'm sorry,” he repeats his apology. But then it was him, who lets his fingers but once again run through the other's hair, softly scritching the other's neck - without daring to scratch him. He leans forward to reach the soft lips, placing a warm kiss on them.