Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Okay, so Harsha was reasonably sure that the way he should be doing this wasn't all that different than tying a bath towel up so it didn't fall off his hips.

But the long linen cloth wasn't much of anything like a bath towel. It had a lot less... grabbyness.

And Shiva had pulled him to the side and took it upon himself to teach Harsha. So Harsha was not going to say anything about that.

(Maybe he'd even avoided Gautam's corrections in the hope that this would happen). (He had, he definitely had).

Shiva was trying to explain how to do it correctly, miming at the open air in a very unhelpful way.

Well, unhelpful to Harsha. He didn't find gesturing with invisible objects to be all that much of a visual help.

Harsha also had the fact that each time Shiva explained it again he expected Harsha to untie and re-tie the lungi as he'd been instructed. And well... the only people who saw that much of his legs were Gautam and the very few affairs he'd had of the short and definitely not love variety.

Harsha had to ask Gautam to go and buy him shorts when he learned there was a thing where he was supposed to wear a lungi. Or... he'd done that after asking Shiva about it (because Krish was nice but he got too excited bringing up old races to get to the point quickly and Harsha was half sure Krish might be the only other man in the house who also hadn't worn a lungi before).

Shiva had been very very insistent about the shorts. That they had to go at least half the way down his thighs and that they should be breathable.

Part of the reason he kept messing it up was that Shiva was watching, that Shiva could see so much of his legs, the hair on them and his knees and even the skin above that... (was it weird to be so... shy about that? People had seen such when he was a kid... but he wasn't a kid anymore.) (Since he'd become a man, Gautam and his very few affairs had been the only ones to see even his bare knees).

Shiva was watching with those bright, intense tigers' eyes and Harsha was feeling the effects of that focused attention.

It was like an adrenaline rush. But it made his hands shakier. And his face felt much warmer.

Shiva got halfway through the sixth explanation before he sighed and-

And Harsha watched as though in slow motion, as the older man whipped off his own lungi and demonstrated how he tied it.

His thighs were thick and well-muscled, like his arms and hands were. They were probably solid too, like his arms felt.

Harsha would die happily if he got to feel what it was like to be between them just once.

Fingers snapped in front of his face.

It felt... familiar somehow.

"One."

Shiva was looking at him, expectantly.

The lungi. Tie the lungi, don't be too obvious about just how much a glance of his skin made your brain emptier than usual.

Harsha tried to remember what it was he saw the older man's hands do.

The fabric slipped off his hips almost immediately, and he barely caught it before it was around his knees.

"Watch carefully this time," Shiva instructed, slow and firm.

Harsha nodded, his mouth wet and his blood rushing south. Shiva was flirting. Right? He had to know what he was doing, looking like he did and doing this.

Harsha watched very carefully as Shiva's hands moved, as he sucked in his solid belly and wrapped the fabric around his middle (covering his wonderful, thick thighs) and somehow overlapped it and rolled it so that it would stay in place.

Harsha waited until the older man nodded at him to try again.

His dick was making itself known in those stupid shorts, and his hands were shaking worse now.

He'd seen Shiva's thighs twice now. They were thick and strong and solid and muscular and he could probably crush Harsha between them like a toothpick. (His cock twitched again at the thought, his face flushing hotter and his breath starting to come ragged).

He managed to roll the fabric down this time, but it still came undone.

Shiva untied and whipped off his own lungi again. And really, the speed and practice with which he did that was doing things to Harsha.

Harsha watched again.

He could not have torn his eyes away if a fire started or even if something exploded.

And his hands shook just as much as before.

The fabric ends came un-tucked before he'd even managed to roll the top over once.

"Are you always this uncoordinated?" He was annoying Shiva, frustrating him with how terrible he was at the simple task of clothing himself.

"I've never done this before, it's so slippy!" His face was so warm and he bit his tongue to keep back the few words he had about how distracting it was that he kept seeing Shiva’s legs all the way up to his thighs.

Shiva rolled his eyes, sighing heavily, then-

Harsha was going to be one of the only cases of sudden human combustion.

Shiva’s hands were on his waist, tugging the linen loose: undressing him, then wrapping the lungi around him, tucking in the fabric tight, and rolling the top over. He was so close now, Harsha could almost feel the heat of his breath.

He was hard now, properly hard, and he shuddered as Shiva’s hand brushed against him so subtly it could have been an accident.

It was definitely flirting. It had to be. Why else would he tug Harsha close, manhandle him, undress him, and touch him with those big, strong hands?

"Are you paying attention?" Shiva asked, his arms crossed over his broad chest, handsome and getting to the end of his patience.

"I am! I am! See," he chirped, flushed but quick, nimble fingers darting forward to tug Shiva’s lungi loose, then slowly, slowly re-tying it just as Shiva had done on him, though letting his touch linger.

Shiva was very, very still.

Harsha looked up at him from under his lashes, his hands still tucked into the rolled waistband of the older man's lungi.

They were standing even closer now, he'd stepped closer. And Shiva hadn't stepped away or made an excuse. He looked a bit flushed, wide-eyed.

And very, very handsome. Unfairly handsome.

Harsha pressed up on his toes and his brain caught up with him only as his mouth pressed chastely against Shiva’s for a painfully quick press.

Barely a kiss.

He thought he might have heard a hitch in Shiva’s breath.

When Harsha looked back up at him, his eyes were half-lidded, intense in a far-off almost reserved way. Then they widened and... and Shiva did nothing. He was completely unmoving, maybe not even breathing.

Oh gods did he fuck up? They were flirting, right?  This was all flirting, Shiva had to know, right? Right? Or... or did he not mean...

Had he read all the cues wrong? Had he just kissed a man who hadn't noticed his advances? Had he just kissed a man who had been trying to politely let him down without making a big thing of it?

Shiva had been cagey about flirting before but...

But if he wasn't, why would he whip off Harsha’s poorly tied lungi so quickly and tug him closer and-

"Was that alright? Can I- can I kiss you again?" He asked, a soft tremble starting in his voice, "Please?"

"You don't have to," the older man said, on the exhale, breathy and strange.

Harsha frowned, what did that mean?

He 'didn't have to'? Didn't have to do what? 

"What?" He asked.

"You don't have to," Shiva said again, in a hoarse whisper.

The repetition did not clear anything up.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Shiva swallowed heavily, "I should,"

He 'should'? Why should he?

"But you don't?" Harsha asked, voice trembling on a razor's edge of hope.

If Shiva wanted him to stop then he would. He wasn't in the habit of chasing uninterested parties. (He wasn't in the habit of chasing anyone like this...) (He'd never wanted anyone else the way he wanted Shiva).

Shiva swallowed again, Harsha watched his face, watched those tigers' eyes turn to meet his and the pupils widen, and his face go through many quick and subtle changes before.

"No," this was the quietest, a fine hair of sound riding on a controlled breath.

"No, you do want me to stop or-?" He wanted to be sure, needed to be sure. If he was wrong then he'd already made enough of a fool of himself, if he was right then-

"How did I-? How is it that you-?"

Harsha frowned again, "How am I supposed to answer that?"

Shiva chuckled, he hadn't pulled Harsha's hands away though, they were still on his middle, over the lungi he'd actually tied correctly, it seemed. (He'd always been better at learning by doing).

Harsha waited. Then pouted.

Gautam was always worried about people trying to spin him in circles. They were usually easy to spot. Shiva didn't seem like one of them. But this not being clear thing was starting to get on his nerves.

Or maybe he was just hard and embarassed and terrified and the combination was making him a bit sick to his stomach and he wanted to know how he should react now.

"I'm twice your age,"

"And?" He asked. It wasn't as if he was a boy. They were both grown men.

Shiva huffed, looking away for a second but his eyes turning straight back to Harsha's, like their gazes were magnets, always coming back together.

"You don't see any issue with a divorced old man taking advantage of a young man?"

"You're not 'taking advantage' of me," he answered easily, trying to ignore how the phrase and idea had more blood rushing south, and how it put a few very compelling images into his mind.

Chapter Text

Shiva knew that it wasn't his responsibility to make sure Harsha had his lungi on properly. But he knew it would be a mess if it fell off during any of the festivities, and that it might be more of an embarrassment if the young man used one of his hair ties to hold it up.

Harsha could get help from any number of men in the haveli. He could likely even get that manager/friend of his to tie it for him. Unless they both didn't know how.

(But if that were the case, why was it only Harsha who'd come to ask for help?)

Shiva knew he did not have to be the one to teach the bike racer how to do it.

And yet here he was, explaining for maybe the fifth time, trying to gesture how to manipulate the fabric as Harsha nodded along, biting his lower lip slightly as he watched, the furrow in his brow communicating clearly just how confused the younger man was.

Harsha tried again. And again, it slipped down, coming undone at his hips.

Shiva didn't know how much more of this he could take.

Harsha tried to tie it, seemingly vibrating, as if someone had given him far too much caffeine. At least he'd followed Shiva’s suggestion regarding the shorts.

(He'd been half frightened that Harsha would wear nothing underneath, or... or something that barely covered anything. Though that might have been his mind, perverting things.)

He should not be so affected by a glimpse of skin, especially not from a man so much younger than him. He was not a cradle robber.

He was not a cradle robber.

He could have gotten this over with fifteen minutes ago, had he just tied the lungi for Harsha.

But then Harsha would not learn. (And he would not selfishly allow himself to spend time with the young man before he left in a few days).

Seeing another man's leg did not warrant the reaction he was having.

The longer he let this go on, the stronger his reaction got, and the more frustrated he got, trying to push it down.

He was too old now to have such terrible control over himself.

Harsha was flushing with frustration as well, increasingly more embarrassed with his own confusion. If not for that, and how he felt he was failing to fight back inappropriate thoughts and feelings regarding how he had essentially watched Harsha undress and re-dress himself half a dozen times, he would have been angry with the young man.

Shiva was frustrated, that was certain. But getting angry with Harsha would help nothing, if he was not following the instructions, it was a failing on his part. And he certainly could not say he'd given his complete attention to this teaching.

Fixing it for Harsha himself was still an option.

But Shiva was unsure if he could put his hands that close to the younger man and continue to keep them to himself. He did not want to risk it.

Sure, it might seem like the young man had been flirting with him since they'd met, but Harsha was a young celebrity, that was what those types did. They were charming and personable.

Just because his foolish old heart thought that it meant something...

Shiva knew he was a handsome man. But there was no way that Harsha could truly mean it. Their ages were far too different, they were far too different.

So, instead, Shiva made the risky decision to truly demonstrate just how to do it. Maybe the problem was that Harsha could not imagine the fabric in his hands as he explained.

Harsha flushed even darker.

He'd come here in his jeans and trousers. How much experience did he have with seeing any amount of leg?

If he did like men, as Shiva was inclined to believe from all the flirting, had he really ever seen another man in shorts in a casual setting?

Shiva should not have done this.

He did not think he could fluster the young man so much, but there was no way to gracefully backtrack.

He tied the lungi slowly.

Harsha watched with wide, dark eyes, his face flushed dark enough that Shiva would worry he was ill if he didn't know any better.

Harsha did not move as the moments passed since he'd finished. He should not be encouraging this. He should know better.

He snapped his fingers, Harsha startled, nearly flinching. Then his eyes darted up and away.

Shiva watched as Harsha tried again, his hands shaking horribly. The lungi was far too loose, and he'd not overlapped the corners, but he'd almost gotten it that time.

If he focused this time, if he didn't let the inappropriate thoughts and feelings take root, then this could be over quite soon and he would no longer have the opportunity for this perversion to go too far.

"Watch carefully this time," he instructed, willing himself to be unmoved by just how affected Harsha seemed to be having seen a glimpse of his thighs.

Shiva whipped off his lungi once again, being very deliberate with his motions as he re-tied it.

Harsha nodded, wordless, and mimicked him. It was still too loose, but it was better than the first four times certainly. Not much better than the last time though. Worse than the last time even, though with how stiff and shaky he seemed, it was a wonder he'd got it to stay up for as long as it had.

"Are you always this uncoordinated?" He asked, more frustrated with himself than the young man before him. If he could keep his mind focused, if he could come at this with a clear head then they would not have spent this much time on such a simple thing.

"I've never done this before!" Harsha's voice was shrill, "It's so slippy!" he continued, shaking the fabric in his hands, held in his fists, the only part keeping it from being around his ankles on the floor.

Shiva wondered when the last time the other man had worn something that didn't require a belt.

He didn't know how much more of this he could take. It was taking far too much of his energy to keep control of how his thoughts and his body was reacting to this, to keep himself in control. His patience was wearing thin, so was his discipline. 

If he fixed it now, after demonstrating how to do it many times, surely then it will be enough. Harsha would know how to do it and no one would have to worry about the stunt racer's lungi falling down in the middle of the festivities. 

Fixing it now also meant that it would be over soon. It meant that he wouldn't have to demonstrate again and further embarrass the younger man while further fueling the reactions he should be in better control of as a 46-year-old man. 

He snatched the linen by the edges, away from Harsha's hands, tugging, pulling the younger man closer. Because he couldn't do it from an arm's length away... and a moment of weak indulgence. Maybe, if he let himself have just one short moment, feeling the other man close then he could get over this thing and finally push it down for good. 

Harsha's stomach sucked in and jumped as he pulled the sloppy job loose, his hands formed fists in the air, trembling and white-knuckled. 

Shiva did not look up until he'd finished. 

Harsha's pupils were blown wide, the black swallowing all but a ring of dark, dark brown. His mouth was hanging open, and his face ruddy and dark, flushed so deeply, Shiva could almost feel the heat radiating off his skin. He was flustered in a very different way than he had been previously. 

Shiva shouldn't have done that. 

He should not have indulged. 

He was supposed to be trying to keep from acting inappropriately, and to an extent, prevent Harsha from continuing to do the same thing. Many would forgive Harsha's flirting, so long as it was small enough to excuse as a youthful joke. If he kept flirting... 

And if he kept flirting, Shiva didn't know how much longer he could keep himself in control, not let himself be swept up by the affection and attraction to a much younger man. He didn't want to be the kind of man who chased after people half his age. He didn't want to be the kind of man who mistakenly saw interest in meaningless, youthful fun. 

Harsha was a charming man, he probably didn't know how to be any other way. It was not his fault that Shiva was a lonely man. 

It wasn't his fault that Shiva couldn't control himself even though he knew better. 

Pretending that nothing was happening, that nothing had happened was the safest bet. 

"Are you paying attention?" He asked, crossing his arms, to make sure that he would keep his hands to himself, and away from the young bike racer. 

"I am! I am! See!" Harsha answered quickly, then in a blur of motion, he pulled Shiva's lungi loose and-

And Harsha worked slowly, deliberately, following the example he'd made multiple times, wrapping and tucking and rolling the fabric just as Shiva had shown him how. Except, except when he'd finished, he didn't step back, or pull his hands away. 

Harsha's hands were warm, he could feel that through his shirt. 

His fingers were long and slender, squared off at the fingertips. Those fingers were still pushed under the rolled waistband of his lungi, against his stomach. 

Harsha looked up at him from under his lush, long lashes. Dark eyes from under dark lashes, a dark flush on his cheeks. 

Shiva came to several realizations. 

One: Harsha was standing much closer than necessary. 

Two: Harsha had tied his lungi correctly. 

Three: Harsha wanted him. 

The flirting wasn't a joke. Harsha wanted him. Wanted him. 

He couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him with such lust and longing. He knew who it had probably been but he couldn't think of the last time it had happened. 

Harsha's face tipped up further, closer. Until-

Until the bike racer's lips were pressed against his own. 

Harsha's eyes were closed now. 

The kiss was quick, almost chaste. 

Harsha was looking up at him again, from under those ridiculous lashes again. Did he have any idea what he was doing? Did he know that Shiva couldn't do short, that... 

How did he do this? 

Why would a young, successful celebrity motorbike racer want anything to do with him? Did... did he need something and he was too embarrassed to ask outright, was he trying to sweeten Shiva up? Or... or had Shiva somehow led him to believe that... 

Had Shiva somehow tricked him into thinking that he wanted this when all he wanted was a bit of fun? 

"Was-was that alright? Can I kiss you again?" Harsha asked, sounding so unlike himself from the few days Shiva had known him now, barely above a whisper, his voice trembling, "Please?" the young man added on, the word high and devastating. 

"You don't have to," he answered, because he should know better, he shouldn't pressure the young man into anything. 

Harsha frowned, looking confused, of all things, "What?" he asked. 

"You don't have to," He said again, unable to trust himself with any other answer. Otherwise, he'd say something foolish, like 'don't stop' or 'do it again'. 

If Harsha kissed him of his own will, then... then he could believe that the younger man wasn't mistaken. That he meant to do it because he wanted to and he wanted Shiva of his own free will. (Though it wasn't as if Shiva had been trying to get Harsha to do something like this, just the opposite). 

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I should," he answered, his throat closing around the words. How much older was Harsha than Indu, his bidda chinni? Was he any older at all? Did it matter when he was around two decades younger? 

"But you don't?" Harsha asked, the tremble in his voice carrying though the question was quiet as a whisper. 

His dark eyes were bright, something desperate glittering in them. Something that looked an awful lot like hope. 

"No," he admitted, just as quiet and breathless as the young man had posed his question. 

"No, you do want me to stop or-?" Harsha asked. 

He had the right idea of things, asking to be sure, for clarification. Doing everything that Shiva should have and should be doing. 

"How did I-? How is it that you-?" Harsha wanted him. Harsha liked him. Both of these were obvious now. How had that happened? What had he done to get this? 

"How am I supposed to answer that?" Harsha's voice pulled him from his musings. 

He chuckled, another fair question. He looked at Harsha. Allowed himself to really look. 

More than just handsome, Harsha was a beautiful man. And endearing, at times even cute. He was also young. Much younger than Shiva. 

"I am twice your age," He said. 

"And?" Harsha asked, raising his brows, unimpressed. 

Stubborn. More stubborn than someone chasing a bit of short fun would be. 

"You don't see any issue with a divorced old man taking advantage of a young man?" He asked. This would be what anyone else would see. What anyone in their right mind would see. A 46-year-old man taking advantage of a man half his age, tricking him and trapping him in a relationship. 

"You're not 'taking advantage' of me," Harsha insisted, with zero hesitation. 

"How can you be sure of that?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Harsha's hands finally pulled free from the waistband of his lungi. 

He opened his mouth to answer,-

"Do you think I'm stupid?!"

"No, you aren't, that's not what I mean,"

"Then what?" Harsha asked, crossing his arms with an angry huff. 

"It's hard to believe that someone like you would want someone like me,"

"Who wouldn't like you?"

Shiva opened his mouth, then closed it, his face feeling pleasantly warm. 

"You're... you're respectable and strong and dependable and kind..." Harsha continued, "I'm an uneducated trouble-making orphan who makes his money doing dangerous stunts," 

Shiva cut him off with a hand on his cheek, "I'll not let you say such cruel things about yourself,"

Harsha pushed up onto his toes again. This time Shiva was ready for it. This time it was slower, something to savor. 

The pair of them were thirteen minutes late to the festivities, enraptured in one another, talking about this thing between them, and what they should do about it.