Otakon schedule is finally up! Ashcat and I will be presenting Beyond the Basics: Fanfiction from Start to Finish Friday at noon in Panel Room 1. We’ll be discussing writing tips for making strong openings and endings, as well as general writing advice. Previous panels (this would be our third) are available here.

Hiroki’s face hit the pillow with a resounding thwack. “Uuuuugh. I think I’m going to sleep for a week.”

Shuffling feet near the doorway signaled Nowaki’s approach from the kitchen. Even with his eyes closed, he knew there was a sappy, sweet smile on Nowaki’s face as he stood there in an apron. There was a faint sound of rustling cloth. Nowaki was probably drying his hands off with a hand towel after doing the dishes.

“Finished grading finals?”

The low groan Hiroki let out was his only answer. Nowaki would understand. He heard Nowaki put down the towel and then shuffle closer. God, the bed was comfy. Hiroki wrapped his arms around the pillow and kept his face buried. He was physically exhausted but his mind had yet to wind down from all the mental activity. His hand felt empty without a red pen in it.

The bed dipped as Nowaki sat next to him, forcing his body to slide a little bit closer. Not that he minded. He’d been so busy grading not only his own classes, but part of Miyagi’s as well. That bastard owed him big time. Hiroki felt like he hadn’t been home in weeks, though it’d only been a few days worth of grading and he had been home long enough to pass out a couple times.

A hand settled on the small of his back. He could feel the warmth of it through his shirt, radiating comfort that seemed to chase the tenseness from his muscles. The hand moved up along his spine, and then back down. Hiroki slowly melted against the bed. His body stirred despite his exhaustion. It’d been a while for Nowaki as well and he couldn’t really blame him for wanting to touch him, but at the same time he didn’t feel like he could meet their usual standard.

“I’m not moving. Too tired.” It wasn’t a no. He’d stopped protesting long ago. There was no point anymore, not when Nowaki knew when he wanted it. Part of the hazard of being with someone for so very long. They were nearing a decade, just a few scant years away. If he were a girl he’d have expected Nowaki to put a ring on his finger by now, but he wasn’t – mostly, though he sure felt like it sometimes and then felt like committing seppuku from sheer embarrassment – and it was okay because he didn’t need a ring, not when he had Nowaki.

The hand on his back stilled. He felt Nowaki shift. “It’s okay. You don’t have to. Just rest, Hiro-san.” Nowaki’s hands rubbed along his sides from a moment before lightly gripping him and rolling him over.

He opened his eyes in time to see Hiroki’s face looming closer, closed them again as their lips brushed together in a soft kiss. Nowaki’s tongue slid easily into Hiroki’s mouth and he gladly let it. He raised his arms to drape over Nowaki’s shoulders and then decided he was done. That was all of his energy, at least for now. Nowaki’s kisses unwound him. The last of the tension fled his body as he relaxed against the blankets.

Nowaki pulled away slightly to watch Hiroki as his fingers deftly opened Hiroki’s shirt, buttons surrendering rapidly under the march of his fingers down Hiroki’s chest. The fabric parted, falling open to either side. Nowaki brushed it aside to expose the remainder of Hiroki’s chest but made no move to try and remove the garment. His head dipped again, this time aiming for the hollow of Hiroki’s throat. Hiroki gasped as Nowaki’s lips pressed against his skin.

Nowaki’s lips moved down his chest, planting a line of kisses straight from throat to groin, hampered only by the top of Hiroki’s pants. As Nowaki’s lips trailed back up, his hands worked at the fastening of Hiroki’s pants. Hiroki gasped again as Nowaki’s lips veered left and his lips closed over Hiroki’s nipple. The gasp turned into a hiss as teeth closed over the sensitive flesh and pulled lightly. His hands tangled in Nowaki’s hair but he didn’t try to pull him away. He shivered as Nowaki’s tongue flicked against the skin trapped between his teeth, then pushed up against Nowaki’s mouth as Nowaki finally finished opening Hiroki’s pants and slid a hand inside.

“Nowaki…” His voice was embarrassingly needy. “Please…”

The teeth released him and then shifted over to give his other nipple the same treatment. Hiroki whined, low in the back of his throat. If he had more energy, if he were less tired, he’d probably flip them and show Nowaki exactly what he wanted. But he didn’t and he wasn’t, so all he could do was lie there, mostly helpless beneath the onslaught of Nowaki’s mouth.

“Please.”

Nowaki pulled away. Hiroki caught a brief flash of a smile before Nowaki pursed his lips and blew against Hiroki’s nipple, following it with the brush of his thumb. He whimpered and shifted against the bed but he wasn’t sure if he was trying to shift away or towards. Then Nowaki’s head dipped down again. Nowaki’s tongue blazed a wet trail along Hiroki’s stomach and circled his bellybutton twice before dipping in. He pressed up with a gasp, hips moving enough that his erection rubbed against Hiroki’s hand. He wished Nowaki would move his hand, close his fingers, do something instead of just pressing against him. It was driving him slowly nuts.

Instead, Nowaki’s hand pulled away, sliding out of Hiroki’s pants to pull the fabric down, not far, just enough that his hips were exposed and his erection popped free. The tip of his penis brushed against Nowaki’s chest as Nowaki pressed down against him, his tongue still maddeningly playing with Hiroki’s bellybutton. His fingers tightened in Nowaki’s hair.

“God, please, Nowaki. Please.”

Nowaki was grinning when he pulled his head away but Hiroki was too far gone to yell at him. He pushed lightly with his hands, trying to get across where exactly he wanted Nowaki to be.

“If you insist, Hiro-san.”

He groaned as Nowaki slid further down the bed, brushing along the head of Hiroki’s cock until finally, finally, his mouth settled over it. Lips closed over the head and held there for a long minute as Nowaki teased the tip of his tongue over the head, pressing against the slit and lapping up the bit of precum that had gathered there. He shivered and let out a shaky moan as Nowaki finally slid down.

“Oh, God.”

There was that tension he thought he’d lost earlier. It was all back, but this time it seemed to pool around his groin, making his hips tight and his legs feel like blocks of wood. It only got worse as Nowaki bobbed his head, his lips tight around Hiroki’s flesh, tongue eager, not exploring – no, he didn’t have to after so long, no, instead he went right for the spots that he knew would drive Hiroki nuts. Hands gripped Hiroki’s thighs, digging into his hips and then dragging down, blunt nails pressing into his skin hard enough that it would leave marks, very obvious, tell-tale marks but he didn’t care because it felt good. Hiroki screamed, loudly, loud enough that the neighbors were probably going to complain again, but he couldn’t help it, not when Nowaki’s tongue was playing against the head of his cock and rubbing along the rim.

“No-nowaki! Ah! Oh, yes! God. Kami. Please.”

One of Nowaki’s hands pulled away, slid around Hiroki’s thighs and between his legs. Nowaki’s fingers rubbed against his entrance, not pushing in, but it was enough to send Hiroki over the edge. He came hard, screaming Nowaki’s name.

“Better now, Hiro-san?”

Hiroki stared as Nowaki sat up. He panted heavily, his breathing far from normal and showing no signs of coming back, or at least settling enough that he could yell at Nowaki, any time soon. He let his eyes do the talking instead. Nowaki started to shift towards the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, but Hiroki grabbed onto his sleeve, stopping him. He hadn’t thought… there was something left… something undone.

“You…” Hiroki gasped. That was the most he could do, speech seemed mostly beyond his capacity.

Nowaki understood. His smile softened. “It’s okay. You’re tired.”

Hiroki shook his head and tugged. He was tired but that didn’t mean he’d leave Nowaki to fend for himself. Nowaki obliged, following Hiroki’s light tugs until he was once more leaning over Hiroki. With one hand, he pulled Nowaki down into a kiss, while his other tried futily to open Nowaki’s pants. He felt Nowaki’s laugh against his lips and then Nowaki pulled back to smile down at him as he bat Hiroki’s hands away. Nowaki opened his pants, helpfully pushing them down a little so that Hiroki could reach what was inside.

He pulled Nowaki down into another kiss as his hand closed around Nowaki’s length. It was hard and more than a little wet, and Hiroki blushed as he realized he’d done that to Nowaki without even touching him. He made up for that lack of touch now. Nowaki groaned into Hiroki’s mouth and kissed him. Hiroki could taste himself on Nowaki’s lips and no matter how many times Nowaki sucked him off it was still a novelty to him when they kissed afterwards, still so touching that Nowaki would want to do that to him. Nowaki’s hand joined Hiroki’s, lending Hiroki energy. He let Nowaki guide him. His own energy was fading to the point where it was an effort just to keep hold but Nowaki’s help made it easier.

Nowaki shifted against him, sliding an arm beneath Hiroki’s head and pressing down until he was almost crushing Hiroki with his weight. It felt good. Nowaki’s hips moved in concert with their joined hands, his cock brushing against Hiroki’s hip with each down stroke before pulling back enough that Hiroki’s hand could run over the head, knuckles brushing against their chests and then sliding down again. Nowaki kissed him hard, almost desperately, sucking the air out of Hiroki’s lungs as their hands sped up and then he felt Nowaki come, liquid spurting over their hands to splatter in large, wet droplets across Hiroki’s chest. He didn’t let go until Nowaki’s hand stilled, minutes later, his body fully spent.

Hiroki felt a smile spread across his face as Nowaki pulled back. “Better?”

Nowaki smiled back, a look of pure bliss spreading across his face. “Much. Thank you, Hiro-san.”

Hiroki blushed and looked away but his smile didn’t fade. He pushed lightly at Nowaki’s side. “Go get something to clean up so I can go to sleep.”

“Of course.” Nowaki stood, then bent down to kiss Hiroki’s forehead. Hiroki’s eyes closed at the kiss and stayed closed.

He didn’t hear Nowaki move away or feel the damp cloth that wiped over his stomach minutes later or the warm hands maneuvering him under the covers. He did feel the warmth that settled along his spine as bare flesh pressed tight against his back and strong arms wrapped around him. When the final shreds of consciousness dropped away, it was from the lull of even breathing against his neck and the comfort of being home.

Friday 5PM – Getting Into Yaoi
Friday 8PM – Torchwood
Friday 9PM – Lightbulbs & Corn: Strange Fetishes in Yaoi
Friday 10PM – Fangirl Logic

Saturday 11AM – Yaoi Novellas – NaNoWriMo and Big Bangs
Saturday 2PM – Beyond Yaoi
Saturday 7PM – Rise of the Kink

All panels are in the Collingwood room of the Sheraton hotel (formerly the Renaissance). Feel free to stop by and say hi. I’ll be the chick with purple and black hair, and a Staff badge that says ‘Gryvon’. (To make things all easy…)

Arthur stared up at the sky through dense foliage that hadn’t been above him moments ago. Aftershocks from the explosion made the ground tremble. The forest, or wherever he was, was far too quiet. All Arthur could hear was a faint ringing that slowly fell away until he could make out his own breathing, hard and heavy as if he’d just run a mile.

Arthur sat up and realized he was alone. Trees stretched around him in every direction, with no discernable markings to tell him exactly which forest he’d ended up in though he knew he wasn’t in the forest surrounding Camelot. Carefully, Arthur picked himself up off of the ground. His muscles ached. His back had obviously taken the brunt of the impact when he’d landed in the forest, and he could already feel a deep bruise forming over his spine from the thick root he’d been laying on. On the bright side, he at least still had his sword, and little else save for the few coins that had been in his pocket and the small knife concealed in his boot.

The sun was still mostly overhead, which told him two things. One, not much time had passed since he’d last been in Merlin’s cell in Camelot. Two, he’d have to find moss or wait until the sun went down a little to have any clue which direction he was going.

“Not going to get anywhere standing here,” Arthur muttered to himself. Even that small noise sounded too loud in the quiet forest. The explosion had likely startled most of the animals into hiding.

Arthur started through the woods, heading towards where he vaguely thought the aftershocks had been coming from. He was only slightly glad that there was no one around to see how unsteady he was on his feet.

*****

Night had fallen by the time Arthur stumbled onto a road. His stomach was quite loudly and painfully protesting the fact that he’d chosen to skip both breakfast and lunch that morning. There was a faint bit of light off to his left that he desperately hoped was a village. He had enough coinage on him to get a meal and a room for the night. If he was lucky, one of the farmers might even have a horse and some tack they could spare in exchange for a few silver.

Most of the lights had gone out by the time he finally made it to the village. Dark, quiet houses surrounded the road with increasing frequency as he headed towards what he presumed to be the village center. There was faint noise coming from one of the lone remaining lit buildings, growing louder as Arthur approached. The muted shuffling of horses from inside the courtyard next to the building told Arthur he was at an inn, and thus at a large enough of a village that someone may know what had happened to Camelot in his, albeit brief, absence. Assuming he was still close enough to Camelot for news to have been carried this far in so little time.

The light and noise of the inn were jarring after having spent the majority of the day in solitude. He raised a hand to shield his eyes as he shut the door. All of the noise blended together in one loud cacophony, so it took him a few minutes to realize that someone was calling his name.

Arthur stared in surprise as Lancelot approached him from across the room. He pulled Arthur into a tight hug then released him before Arthur had a chance to protest.

“I was starting to wonder when you were going to show up,” Lancelot said with a grin.

“Pardon?”

Lancelot ignored his question to stare past Arthur at the closed door. “Where’s the rest of your party?” Arthur continued to stare. “Surely you’re not travelling alone…”

Arthur quickly scanned the room, taking mental note of the other patrons in the room. He and Lancelot were starting to draw attention, and he didn’t want to advertise the fact that the Prince of Camelot had just walked in without an escort. Grabbing Lancelot by the sleeve, he pulled Lancelot towards one of the tables at the back of the room.

“Over here.” Lancelot tugged his arm towards a table that had a half-full tankard sitting on top of it. Arthur co-opted what had likely been Lancelot’s seat so that he could sit with his back to the wall.

“Sit,” Arthur ordered. He raised a hand to catch the attention of the serving girl. “And tell me what you’re doing here.”

Lancelot raised an eyebrow. He kept glancing over his shoulder towards the door, obviously expecting more people to join them. “Merlin told me to meet you here. He didn’t say when, just that it was important that I be here when you get here. I’ve been waiting nearly a week.” He leaned across the table towards Arthur and dropped his voice slightly. “What’s this all about? Merlin wouldn’t say. He was being all cryptic.”

Arthur opened his mouth to respond but cut himself off as the serving girl arrived. He leaned back slightly and tossed a coin on the table, not caring what the denomination was. “Water, ale, and whatever food you have on hand that’s still warm and at least vaguely resembling fresh.” He kept his eyes on Lancelot as the girl snatched up the coin and started bowing towards him, rambling all sorts of ‘yes, m’lord’s and ‘right away, m’lord’s. Silence filled the space between them until she disappeared into the crowd. “When?” Arthur asked, his tone flat.

“When what?”

“When did you talk to Merlin? Where did you talk to Merlin?”

Lancelot’s face twisted slightly with confusion. “He was in the woods, about five days ago. I was on my way to Rhiamaen and there he was, just sitting on a log. He told me to come here, that you’d be arriving and you’d need a horse and supplies. He said that I was supposed to go with you back to Camelot. He was very insistent about that last part. Soon as I agreed he was gone. Like m-” Lancelot paled and snapped his mouth shut quickly.

Arthur tapped his fingers against the table and scowled. “Like magic. I know.” Merlin had told him about his part in the defense of Camelot a week ago, though he had conveniently left out the fact that anyone else knew of his crimes. “But that wasn’t Merlin. It couldn’t have been. Merlin’s been imprisoned in Camelot for the last eight days, and sick enough that he couldn’t travel for a week before that. He was barely conscious for more than minutes at a time five days ago.” He felt his stomach twist as he thought of the past week’s events and forcibly shoved those feelings aside. “I was with him every day. He hadn’t left the castle.”

“It was him!” A few pairs of eyes turned towards them at Lancelot’s raised voice. Lancelot looked abashed and leaned closer, dropping his voice to an urgent whisper. “I know it was him. He was…” Lancelot glanced at the nearby tables, obviously concerned about being overheard. Arthur shared his concern. If they were still within Camelot’s border, their conversation could have been considered treason. “…he glowed blue. It was the same color as when he did other… things.” Arthur itched to know what other things Lancelot had been witness to and kept secret. “Why was he imprisoned?”

The serving girl returned with a large platter of meat and bread and two tankards. He must have given her a larger coin considering the amount and quality of food she brought. Arthur waved her away without a glance and sipped at his water. His appetite had nearly fled but the pain in his stomach hadn’t eased.

Arthur sipped at his ale while he considered where to start. He should have realized something was wrong sooner and gotten Merlin away, somewhere he could have been safe. Too late to fix it now, but he doubted the guilt would ever fade. “He was sick. He kept passing out and it kept getting worse until Gaius had him confined to his quarters.” He’d thought it was a cold. Merlin had been sick like that before but this time he hadn’t gotten better, just kept getting weaker, was awake for shorter and shorter periods of time. “Weird things started happening around the castle. I found out. Merlin told me, just before he stopped responding entirely, but the guards were already searching the castle.” He’d missed the guards by minutes. He’d gone to arrange horses while they searched Gaius’s chambers. “He was glowing, like you said. The guards found him and Uther found out about him… and his magic. He was imprisoned pending trial but things went… weird.”

“And you left him there?” The reproach in Lancelot’s voice cut through Arthur. “Why isn’t he with you? Do you have any idea how much he’s done to help the kingdom? To save you?”

“I know!” A few of the other patrons glanced over at them again. Arthur lowered his voice. “I know, now. Merlin… he told me. Everything. Well, almost. He didn’t mention you, or anyone else who already knew about his magic.” He took a bite of bread to calm his stomach. It sank like lead. He kept eating anyways. It was automatic – lift food, chew food, swallow. It offered a distraction, if only a minor one. “But I can’t help him… not anymore.”

Lancelot grabbed Arthur’s wrist as he lifted another piece of food. His fingers dug into Arthur’s flesh. “We can go back. We can still save him.”

The words stuck in his throat on the first try but Arthur forced himself to say them. “No. No, we can’t. Merlin’s dead.”

*****

The rain started early in the morning. He woke up several times during the night, memories turned to nightmares plaguing his brain until he gave up on sleep entirely. Lancelot answered his door on the third knock, looking much like how Arthur felt. He wondered briefly how much Lancelot’s nightmares were like his own.

“What?” Lancelot blinked at Arthur for a second and then quickly straightened. “Sorry. Arth- Sire. Sorry. What is it?”

“Time to go.”

Lancelot turned to stare out the window in his room. It was still dark out, though the darkness was slowly fading. “Now?”

For a brief second, Arthur was reminded of Merlin and a sharp pang of guilt lanced through him. He spoke more sharply than he intended. “Yes, now. Why else do you think I’m bloody standing here?”

There was a mix of emotions in the look Lancelot shot him, none of which Arthur felt safe in analyzing. His stomach rolled again unpleasantly and he started to tap his foot, channeling the nervous energy building inside of him into a physical form. Lancelot left the door open as he quickly gathered his gear. Grief made his movements slow, sluggish. Arthur felt like he was burning with urgency, while Lancelot was the epitome of sloth. He couldn’t get out of the inn soon enough, though he knew that he couldn’t escape the thoughts that were plaguing him. Still, it was better to do something, futile as it may be, than to sit and do nothing.

Lancelot pulled his door shut behind him. “Where are we going?”

Arthur turned and stalked towards where he guessed the stables were located. “Camelot.”

“But I thought you said…”

Arthur cut Lancelot off with a gesture as they crossed through the common room. They weren’t the only ones up at this hour. The innkeeper gave them an odd look as they passed by but nodded politely in Arthur’s direction. One of the serving girls tittered at them and winked at Lancelot. There were two very tall men in black cloaks sitting at a table by the window. Arthur ignored them all and pushed out the door into the stable. He heard the front door of the inn open and the faint rise of voices just before Lancelot shut the door, muffling the noise. The horses whinnied nervously as they entered.

“Which horses?”

Lancelot pointed. Arthur grabbed a saddle off of the wall next to one of the pair, presumably his since Lancelot didn’t protest. It had been a while since he’d saddled his own horse. Normally Merlin- No, he’d do it himself this time. Lancelot mirrored him in the neighboring stall.

“How far are we?” Arthur asked.

“Three days, possibly longer if the weather worsens. You’re not exactly dressed for rain.”

Arthur shot him a glare, its effect ruined by the wooden wall between them. “I didn’t exactly have much choice.” He’d dressed to confront his father, not to go gallivanting through the woods, but like always, Merlin had a knack for making even the simplest plans go haywire.

“I don’t understand. You never said what you were doing all the way out here on foot and on your own. What happened in Camelot?”

The horse shifted in obvious disquiet and Arthur ran his hand along its side to soothe it. He wished it was as easy to soothe his own disquiet. “It exploded. Or something like that. Right when…” His fingers tangled briefly in the horse’s main. He forced them to unclench and started to lead the horse out of the stall. “When father… When father killed Merlin, there was this flash, followed by a huge explosion. I landed in the forest not far from here. I’m not sure how. I think Merlin…”

Lancelot was watching him, a sad expression on his face. Arthur slowly closed his mouth.

“It doesn’t matter now. I need to find out what happened to Camelot.”

They left the inn in silence.

*****

The rain cleared by midday. They were reaching the crest of a hill as the sun reappeared, tingeing the sky a myriad of bright colors. Arthur stilled his horse and looked up, trying to find the source of the rainbow. There was no rainbow. The colors were spread across the clearing sky – reds, pinks, oranges, purples, blues, and greens, all running together in strange swirls and spirals instead of ordered curves.

Lancelot halted his horse next to Arthur, his gaze turned upward as well. “What is that?”

Arthur continued to stare as the clouds slowly cleared away. The swirl of colors stopped almost directly above them, trailing off into clear blue sky.

“It looks like it’s spreading,” Lancelot commented.

Arthur urged his horse forward until they reached the crest. Spread before them were the forest and fields of Albion, but the terrain had shifted from what Arthur was familiar with. The trees were no longer green but purple and blue and pink as well, twisted into strange shapes discernable even from this distance. They seemed larger as well. In the distance, where Camelot had once stood was the largest tree of all.

“It’s on the ground too.”

Arthur turned his gaze towards where Lancelot pointed. The strange colors were spreading towards them up the hill, shifting the grass from green to unnatural colors at a slow but steady rate.

“Do you think Merlin did this too?” Lancelot asked.

“I don’t know.” Arthur nudged his horse forward down the hill. “But, I would wager it’s connected.”

*****

There were things moving in the woods. At first Arthur thought it was just a mirage, a trick of the eye. Living things didn’t come in the colors he saw, but then he noticed Lancelot’s eyes following the figures too. Some were short, like wolves or beasts and moving with the same lopping gate but green as the grass once was. He thought he saw flowers growing from one. There were larger creatures too, shaped much like humans but as furred as a beast or stick thin or tall enough that their heads disappeared into the treetops. Whatever the creatures were, they seemed content to pass Arthur and Lancelot passed.

As the day drew on the forest surrounding them grew increasingly dense with figures. Lancelot shifted his horse closer to Arthur’s.

“Do you think they’re going towards Camelot as well?”

The forest around them was writing with figures. Part of Arthur was hoping that perhaps all of the creatures had some other goal, but something in his gut told him that hope was in vain.

Something buzzed past his ear laughing. Two small glowing points of light hovered in front of him and slowly resolved into two very tiny figures.

“It’s him,” one said in a high-pitched, squeaky voice.

“The king! The king!” The other said. They both laughed again and then disappeared.

“Yes,” Arthur said, “I think they’re our escort.”

*****

Night fell as they approached the giant tree. With dusk came the arrival of more creatures, some carrying lamps to light the way, others glowing on their own with magical light. The road in front of them was clearly illuminated and the forest shimmered with a multitude of colors. Voices drifted through the trees though Arthur only caught a faint word every few minutes and even those barely made sense.

Not long after nightfall, the road broadened and the forest was broken up by small outcroppings covered in grass and moss. They were buildings, he realized, the remnants of the houses that stood at the edge of the city. Arthur squinted. Ahead he could make out the castle walls. They weren’t as high as they should be. The stone was covered in growth and the walls themselves looked as if they’d been caved in from a siege. Arthur knew better. They hadn’t been caved in but blown out. He doubted any of the inhabitants had survived, unless they too had landed miraculously a safe distance away. He hoped that had been Morgana, Gwen, and Gauis’s fate. Merlin wouldn’t purposefully do anything to hurt him, but Arthur wasn’t entirely sure Merlin had been aware of his actions. Uther had likely not received such kind treatment.

The winding trip through the main road of Camelot was at once familiar and different. Arthur knew the path, had ridden it enough times that he barely had to look to know when the path twisted, but he kept his eyes wide open. It was hard not to stare. The creatures that had been following them through the woods were taking perch, finding seats on destroyed walls and crumbled buildings. There was a lattice of branches overhead, stretching down from the big tree. Its massive trunk loomed in front of them, easily the size of the keep, possibly with room to spare.

“This way, King.” Arthur jumped as the booming voice cut through the quiet. He was slightly mollified that Lancelot had done the same. At the base of the trunk stood a tall creature, easily seven foot in height and covered in long green hair. “Your horses will wait. Please. Go up.”

Despite the address, Arthur knew that the creature was talking to him. He dismounted. Lancelot followed suit and together they approached the creature. Arthur turned his gaze towards where the creature pointed. There was a stairway carved in the base of the tree trunk, hidden from view until he was scant feet from the base of it.

“Up,” the creature repeated.

“Right. Thanks.”

The stairwell reminded Arthur of the many winding staircases that filled the interior of the towers of the keep. As he stepped inside, he ran his hand over the wooden walls. There were smooth, smoother that they should be for such a massive carving. Tiny lights ran along the ceiling of the stairwell, giving just enough light that Arthur could climb without fear of tripping. The stairs circled around in a long, gradual arc. Their footsteps echoed through the stairwell, loud enough that Arthur occasionally paused to double-check that they were still the only ones in the stairwell.

The stairs opened into a large, flat platform at the base of one of the tree’s branches. It was circular, reminding Arthur of an amphitheater with the way the remainder of the branch and surrounding foliage rose above them. There were more creatures up here, the majority looking more human than not, crowding every available surface above them. Two others stood near the center of the platform, one on either side of a large crystalline block with a sword out of it.

Something about the sword struck Arthur’s attention and he started forward. “I know that sword.”

“Indeed, you do, young King.” The figure on the right spoke with a loud, booming voice that matched his thick, stocky frame. The man was dressed in armor, though the make and style were unfamiliar to Arthur and far too decorative to be practical in Arthur’s opinion, yet he had a feeling that the armor would protect its wearer from even the staunchest attack despite how flimsy it looked. The man’s skin was green and slightly furred, like a carpet of short grass covered him.

Arthur slowed his approach. “Who are you?”

“Bercilak, the Holly King,” the green man said.

“Herne, the Oak King,” said the other. Herne stood as tall as Bercilak, both of them easily a foot over Arthur if not more, but the large antlers protruding from his head made him seem more massive. His skin was golden brown and striped, seeming almost like the bark of a tree. “And the sword is Excalibur. Your sword.”

Questions bubbled in Arthur’s head but he kept them to himself for the moment and instead moved closer to the sword. The two kings watched him expectantly as he grasped the pommel. A thought stopped Arthur before he started to pull the sword out. He took a step back.

“Why is the sword here? It disappeared months ago.”

The Oak King smiled. “And now it is back, waiting for you.”

The sound of footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Arthur turned as another knight, a human knight from Mercia. He looked just as startled as Arthur felt. More knights followed the first, their clothing reflecting a myriad of kingdoms from across Albion.

“Your court gathers.” The Holly King sounded amused. “All that remains is for you to pull the sword from the stone, young King.”

Arthur turned back towards Excalibur. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the knights file in, forming a circle around the outer edge of the platform. He heard Lancelot move to take a place among them. “Why me?”

“Because only you can.”

He could think of no good reply. Arthur stepped forward once more and gripped the pommel. He yanked on the sword, expecting there to be some resistance from the stone it was wedged in. It slid out as easily as if he was pulling it from butter. As soon as the sword was free, the stone started to melt away. A prone figure began to take shape in the center of the stone, one with black hair and too large ears. Arthur felt his stomach clench. Then the stone dissolved completely and Merlin sat up with a loud gasp. Arthur dropped his sword as Merlin’s eyes opened and fixed on him. They glowed golden.

“Arthur.” The word sounded like a caress from Merlin’s lips. “King.”

“How… What… you…”

Merlin started to stand and wavered on his feet. Arthur caught him before he could fall. His arms tightened, pulling Merlin into an embrace.

“You’re alive.”

Merlin’s hands settled against his waist. It felt right holding Merlin, like he belonged there. “Yeah. And the others are safe, I’m just not sure where they are right now. I’m sure they’ll find their way back.” Merlin pulled away after a moment though the reluctance was clear on his face. Arthur made a note to try this again when they weren’t being stared at but hundreds, possibly thousands of strangers. “And you are King, like you were destined to be.” Merlin blushed. “Well, almost. Things may have shifted a bit.”

Arthur glanced towards the two kings. “Just a bit.” He stepped away but left one hand lingering on the small of Merlin’s back. “So, King?”

The Holly King extended a hand. “We welcome you, King Arthur, lord of the human realm of Albion. As you rule those who live above, we rule those who dwell beneath and those born of the land. We have come to accord with your sorcerer, Merlin Emrys, who woke us, and shall hold peace between our peoples as long as our treaty is honored.”

“I see.” He had no idea what that meant but judging from the look on Merlin’s face, he’d be able to explain later. The Holly King’s hand was leathery, like a dried leaf. “I am honored and will do my utmost to hold our treaty.”

A cheer rose up from the creatures surrounding them. In the midst of the din, Arthur turned slightly towards Merlin. “So this is all your fault?” He whispered.

Merlin had the grace to look sheepish. “I didn’t mean to. I swear.”

Arthur smile outwardly while resisting the urge to groan. His castle was a giant tree and his citizens thus far seemed composed entirely out of creatures from fairy tales and legends. All in all, it could have been worse.

Mikael had wings. The wings themselves were not exceptionally new, but he still caught himself sometimes marveling at the fact that they were there, attached to his back like they’d been there all along. He’d passed the phase where they were an odd, sometimes uncomfortable weight on his back that made him trip over himself like the gangly teenager he’d once been, and technically he still was but the gangly part had at least fallen mostly away. He was on the tail end of the phase where the mere sight of his own wings was a distraction, but the novelty was slowly wearing off. He actually went some days with them concealed.

Today was not one of those days. Today he was flying, or at least trying to. He’d gotten the basics down, enough at least to get from point A to point B with some measure of safety but he still needed to work on the rest. The finer points of grace and elegance were eluding him, but he was getting better. He had a ways to go before he was as good as Raphael, who flew like he was dancing on air, so confident in his movements that it made Mikael ache with envy, among other emotions. But, Raphael had had years of practice, whereas Mikael only had a few weeks.

He’d been an angel for a grand total of sixty-two days and still kept count, marking off each day when he thought Raphael wasn’t looking because after wanting it so long, part of him was constantly afraid that someone, somewhere was going to take everything away from him.

A sudden gust of wind hit him hard against the wing and he spun in the air, surprised enough that his wings stopped moving for a brief moment and then he was falling.

He didn’t go far. A hand caught him by his elbow, stopping his descent. He looked up and was only slightly surprised to find Raphael grinning over at him.

“I thought you weren’t coming out today.”

Raphael smiled at him. “Fortunately for you, I did.”

Mikael blushed and pushed away, spreading his wings out until he could catch the wind once more. Raphael’s hand lingered on his arm, making Mikael’s blush deepen.

“Are you done practicing?” The heat in Raphael’s eyes matched his voice.

He nodded and banked into a turn. Raphael followed him, turning lazily in the air, purposely keeping himself behind Mikael. For a brief moment, he worried that Raphael didn’t trust him, that he was only holding back so he could keep an eye on Mikael in case he started to fall again. Raphael was keeping an eye on him, but it wasn’t on his flying technique. Mikael’s face turned bright red and he flapped his wings to push himself forward a bit faster, increasing the distance between himself and Raphael.

The last thing he needed was for Raphael to get handsy in public, again. Mikael already had a bit of a reputation with the other students, and he really hadn’t helped his case when he’d pointed out that he’d been in a relationship with Professor Raphael before he’d been a student. He had a feeling that when they called him “Teacher’s Pet” they meant it in a completely different connotation that the way he’d been called that back on Earth, and he was starting to wonder if he was the only angel in Heaven who wasn’t a complete pervert. At least back on Earth the teachers didn’t give him pointers or compliments on his technique, depending on what story Raphael was spreading around the teacher’s lounge that particular day.

White spires rose ahead of them. Mikael flew towards one of the centermost, weaving under bridges and around buildings until he landed with both feet on the balcony outside of their apartment. He titled unsteadily, almost falling backwards into the railing, but a hand on his lower back steadied him. The hand immediately drifted lower and Mikael bolted for the door.

“I didn’t realize you were in such a rush,” Raphael teased. He shut the door behind him.

Now that they were safely inside, away from possible voyeurs, Mikael felt comfortable enough to turn to face Raphael. He should have known better. The leer on Raphael’s face sent a shiver down his spine and made his wings tremble. “The only rush was to get indoors before you started molesting me again.”

Raphael’s smile widened. “Well, if you’re offering…” He took a step closer. Mikael backed up, suddenly feeling shy and nervous and insecure. They matched each other, movement for movement, until Mikael’s wingtips brushed against a wall. Raphael stepped into his personal space, his hands settling low on Mikael’s hips and keeping Mikael still. Escape had never really been an option.

Mikael dropped his head down onto Raphael’s shoulders. “Are… are you sure this is okay?”

Warm hands rubbed soothingly along his sides. “Maa, Mikael…” Raphael’s breath stirred the hair around his ear seconds before lips pressed against his neck.

His hands tangled in Raphael’s vest. “On Earth, there are laws about teachers and students, especially about teachers and younger students, and I know…” He was babbling again, like he did every time he felt insecure about his relationship with Raphael.

The lips on his neck shifted, working their way along his jaw towards his lips, and finally, cutting him off. “This isn’t Earth,” Raphael said between kisses, his tongue swallowing any reply Mikael could have made, “and it’s not wrong.” The way Raphael’s tongue rubbed against the top of his mouth made his toes curl. “Not here.”

“But if I do something wrong…”

Raphael didn’t let him finish. “You won’t.” Raphael was shifting them, slowly guiding Mikael towards one of the low, backless couches.

“But if I fall…” Raphael had mentioned that once, when Mikael had been worried about turning into a human again if he failing his training. There wasn’t a way to go back, not after he’d become an angel, but he could still become a fallen angel and be kicked out of Heaven. Mikael wasn’t the type, usually, to do the kinds of things that caused an angel to fall – he didn’t kill, wasn’t violent, could barely even bring himself to lie half of the time – but then he remembered how obsessive and driven he’d been, the way he’d treated Noelle and her family when he’d tried to become an angel. Given extenuating circumstances, he could be capable of the kinds of crimes that would make him fall.

“Then I’ll fall with you, and we’ll go back to Japan and bother Noelle and her family again.”

Mikael forgot to breathe. He stared at Raphael, too shocked to be anything other than pliant as Raphael peeled off Mikael’s clothes and turned him until his chest was pressed against the couch cushion. He should say something, but his brain seemed to have melted and he couldn’t decide whether he should be outraged that Raphael even thought him capable of falling or relieved that Raphael had a plan for it or happy that Raphael wouldn’t think of abandoning him. Then he felt Raphael pressing against him, hard and slick and familiar enough that his body opened up automatically, muscles relaxing as Raphael slowly pushed his way in and in and in until his hips were flush against Mikael’s own.

He stopped thinking altogether and started to pull his wings back in, so they wouldn’t be in the way when Raphael pressed against him.

A hand on his back stopped him. “Don’t.”

Curious, Mikael resettled his wings. He kept them curled close to his body, the tips brushing the ground. Usually, when they had sex, Mikael put his wings away. It made things easier, particularly when he was on his back.

He jumped when Raphael placed a kiss on his back, right between where his wings joined with his shoulders. Mikael whimpered and clutched at the edges of the couch near his head. Raphael’s tongue ran along the base of his left wing. He gasped and trembled and very nearly came from Raphael’s tongue alone. He’d nearly forgotten that Raphael was still inside of him until he started to move, his hips gradually finding a slow rhythm that matched the way Raphael’s hands ran over his wings. He could feel the trace of Raphael’s fingers distantly, like a hand brushing through his hair.

Raphael’s lips mapped a path up his spine, moving past his wings to curve up his neck and over his shoulder. Mikael quivered beneath him, too far gone to care about the embarrassing, mewling little pleas that fell from his lips and would no doubt be the subject of gossip in the teacher’s lounge tomorrow. It was worth the knowing smirks and the embarrassing remarks if it meant that he could feel Raphael like this. They were connected, hip to hip, Raphael’s chest pressing down against his wings, but it was more than just that. He was in love and had literally an eternity to spend with Raphael, while Raphael teased him and annoyed him and drove him completely to distraction and loved him far more than he’d ever deserved.

He had a second’s warning to gasp as Raphael’s teeth pressed down against the soft flesh of his shoulder, and then he was screaming and coming as Raphael bit him hard enough that it would leave a mark that would likely linger for a few days. Mikael tensed his fingers against the cushions and waited, moaning through the last frantic thrusts of Raphael’s hips into him, whimpering as Raphael pulled out and sucked at his neck and shoulders, leaving a trail of kiss marks across his skin. As soon as he could breathe again with some semblance of regularity, he turned, pulling in his wings and shifting until his back was against the couch and Raphael was on top of him. Raphael’s lips didn’t stop. Mikael was going to have a rather impressive collection of hickeys on his neck tomorrow.

“I’m going to have to skip the swimming trip tomorrow.”

Raphael’s chuckle rumbled against his chest. “No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. The hickies visible over my shirt are going to be bad enough.”

There was a sparkle of mischief in Raphael’s eyes when he pulled back. His hands slid along Mikael’s thighs, exploring the bare flesh for a few moments before lifting them to hook over Raphael’s shoulders. “I can think of a few other places that would be worse.”

“Raphael, don’t…” His words were cut off as Raphael slid down to bite Mikael’s hip. He nearly fell off of the couch.

“Fuck,” Mikael swore, his face turning red even as the word left his mouth.

Raphael stared at him for a second before a sly smile slid across his face and he looked at Mikael with newfound appreciation. “My, my, Mikael, what a naughty mouth…”

Mikael’s face flamed in response. Raphael lowered his mouth towards Mikael’s upper inner thigh. His lips brushed against the flesh as he spoke.

“Now, let’s see if we can get you to do that again.”

Mikael had a feeling that the teacher’s lounge was going to be talking about tonight for weeks to come.

There were quite a number of places in the world that Draco Malfoy considered ‘his’. The second booth from the back door of the Drowning Dragon was one such place, and he’d spent the last three hours there, alone in the near-dark, nursing an unhealthy number of pale ales. If he’d been at home, his drink of choice would have been firewhiskey, but that was no longer an option.

Someone sat down on the opposite side of the booth. There were only a limited number of people who knew he frequented this bar and fewer who were on good enough terms to want to join him for a drink. Draco looked up. This was not one of those people.

“Sod off,” Draco slurred and glared first at Harry Potter and then at his empty bottle. He debated ordering another but decided against it.

If Harry was affected by Draco’s foul mood, he didn’t show it. “I’m sorry,” Harry said, sounding honest and sincere and far too much like the do-gooder Draco remembered from their childhood. His voice dropped lower. “I heard about the divorce.”

Draco raised his hand to signal for another drink. Sobriety was over-rated. “Did one of your snitches at the Ministry tell you about that?” Draco sneered. The effect was somewhat ruined by his inebriation. “Let me guess, it was that mudblood, Granger?”

“It was Neville, actually.” The sympathy in Potter’s eyes made Draco want to bash Harry’s head against the table until he had a new set of scars on his forehead. His hand twitched against the countertop, wanting to reach out. He curled it into a fist and pulled both of his hands away, hiding them under the table.

A greenish bottle was set next to the line of empties in front of Draco. Harry waived the waitress off before she could ask if he wanted anything. Draco took a long pull of his ale before speaking. He leaned back against the seat, putting as much distance between them as possible.

“I suppose you’ve come here to gloat?”

Harry fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. He looked away. “No, actually. I was going to ask if you needed a place to stay.”

Draco set the bottle very carefully down against the tabletop and scooted it away from him. He was in a violent mood today, and he really didn’t want to get thrown out for breaking things. He was certain that he could convince a jury that stabbing Harry Potter with a broken bottle was justifiable homicide, but he liked the bar too much to actually do it. Though, given his current luck, he’d probably be better off in jail. Less things to get taken away from him that way. He’d already lost the manor in the post-war trials, and Pansy was taking his house in the divorce. He could do worse.

“Fuck off,” he said, enunciating each syllable.

Harry looked at him for a long while, his expression a mixture of sadness and guilt. “Right. Sorry I bothered you.” He stood and disappeared with a pop.

Another hour passed alone in the back corner of the bar while Draco glared at his bottle and debated finishing it. Eventually, he’d need to get out and try to find a room for rent. He couldn’t get Harry’s expression out of his head. He’d seemed so… disappointed. Part of Draco, the irrational part of him that had led to the stupid, ill-fated marriage with Pansy, was disappointed to.

He left enough coins on the table to cover his bill plus a sizeable tip. The streets were dark and deserted when he stumbled outside. Draco sighed, pushed a hand through his hair, and straightened as best he could. He vaguely remembered there being a cheap motel off to the right. A shadow at the side of the building made him pause.

“I see you’ve still managed to keep your wits about you, at least.” Professor Snape’s voice echoed off the cobblestones and brick.

Draco smiled slightly, though he couldn’t keep a bit of bitterness from creeping onto his face. “And you haven’t lost your knack for lurking in the shadows.”

Snape’s lips quirked in a nearly imperceptible smile. It reminded Draco of Hogwarts and a time when his life had been in perfect order. He kept smiling and deliberately walked past his former professor.

“I suppose your little pet sent you.”

Fabric swished behind him. Snape was following him. “Who, exactly, are you referring to?”

Draco growled. “Potter.” He spat the name like a curse. He half-turned to shoot the man a glare. “You’re not exactly discreet, you know. It was all over the tabloids months ago.”

“I wasn’t aware that my dalliances were cause for note.”

“They aren’t.” Except when you’re fucking the Boy Who Lived, he mentally added.

The road ended in a T-intersection. Was it a right or a left? He could feel Snape’s presence looming behind him. Draco bit back another annoyed growl and turned left. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned, opening his mouth to start into another round of explicatives. Snape pressed an envelope into his hand before he could speak.

“We’ll be expecting you within the hour.”

Draco stared down at the envelope. His fingers curled tightly around it, crinkling the paper. There was something oddly shaped and hard inside. A portkey. Anger welled up and Draco hurled the envelope back at Snape. “Fuck your-” The envelope landed on the cobblestones. Draco was alone.

He debated leaving it there. It would serve them right to have a random stranger bumble through the layers of defenses that likely surrounded their house. You couldn’t owl them directly, the papers said. Only certain people were allowed in. There were too many people, worse off than Draco, who held grudges from the war. Yet they’d given him a key in. They’d invited him in. It was more than he’d ever expected, certainly more than he deserved.

He picked up the envelope.

*****

The house was too quiet, Draco thought. He was used to Pansy sleeping beside him. Even when they’d been arguing and she slept with her back to him, she was still there, a solid presence in his bed. He’d been here for three days. It’d been three long days of little sleep and tense conversation. Through it all, Harry had just smiled, sometimes muted but usually not, and acted like he was determined to make Draco better. If anything, staying here just made him feel worse.

He pushed off the covers with a sigh and stood. Sleep wouldn’t be coming any time soon. At least Snape had a good library, which he’d spent the last few sleepless nights acquainting himself with. He pushed open the door to the guest bedroom and padded quietly down the hall in his bare feet. The lights were off, but he didn’t mind the darkness. It fit his mood. He turned the corner and stopped. There was a thin sliver of light coming from the master bedroom – Harry and Snape’s bedroom. He hesitated and then forced himself to keep walking.

A muffled moan sounded through the doorway as he was about to pass. Draco froze. He stared at the bedroom door. It wasn’t fully closed, he realized. Silence stretched out for a long minute and then the sound came again, followed by a short series of breathy pants and a low whine. He shifted closer to the door without meaning to. Through the crack in the door, he could see part of the bedroom wall. It was painted dark green.

Snape’s voice carried faintly through the wood. He spoke softly, too quietly to make out individual words but the timbre was unmistakable. There was another moan, drowning out part of what Snape was saying. That was Harry, he realized. Harry was the one making all of those noises, though he was obviously trying to be quiet. If Draco hadn’t gotten out of bed, he never would have heard anything. Images flashed through his head as his mind tried to guess what, exactly, Snape was doing to make Harry sound so desperate, so needy. Draco shifted again and he didn’t have to guess.

Through the crack in the door, he could see part of the bed. Harry was leaning against the headboard, his hands tied above his head with loops of black fabric. Snape reclined next to him, naked down to the waist. He spoke quietly into Harry’s ear while his fingers pressed inside of Harry. It was obvious that Harry was enjoying himself. His lower lip was red as he bit it to hold back another whimper while Snape’s hand twisted inside of him.

One of Draco’s hands reached down to cup the erection straining his pajama pants. He should back off, walk away before one of them noticed.

“Come in, Draco.” Snape’s voice carried the sensuality of silk over the steel of command.

He moved his hand from his crotch to the door and pushed the door open. Harry gasped loudly but his expression was more of ecstasy than surprise. Snape smirked but didn’t stop moving his hand.

“You can come closer.” Snape spoke softly, as if herding a skittish animal. Draco supposed he fit that description.

“I should probably go,” he said, even as he stepped closer to the bed.

“You don’t have to.”

He wondered just how far Snape would let him go. Would he let Draco watch while he fucked Harry Potter? Would he let Draco touch Harry, maybe suck him? It was obvious that Snape was the one with the power in their relationship, not that there had ever been any doubt. Draco wondered just how far Snape’s control over Harry extended.

“Do you want to fuck him?”

The question startled Draco out of his contemplation. He stared at Snape, then at Harry. There was no sign of displeasure on Harry’s face, no change in expression to suggest that Snape was pushing too far. Draco would be lying if he said he didn’t want to, that he hadn’t thought about it. He’d thought about it too much, actually, over the past year he’d been with Pansy while Snape had been fucking Harry. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous.

“I don’t think Harry wants that,” he said instead. The words felt like a kick to the gut.

Snape turned to Harry. He leaned in close. He was smiling. “Do you want that, Harry? Would you like Draco to fuck you? Do you want him inside of you?”

Harry gasped loudly, his eyes going wide. “Please,” he moaned. Draco felt shock wash through him as Harry slid his legs further apart, making room for Draco on the bed. Harry’s eyes met his and held. “Please?”

He was barely aware of Snape’s hands helping him off with his clothing as he crawled forward on the bed. His fingers tangled in Harry’s hair. It was longer than Draco remembered, softer than he’d imagined. He gripped tightly as he covered Harry’s mouth with his own, trapping the needy little whimpers that Harry was making. Harry kissed him enthusiastically. His tongue played against Draco’s, coaxing him deeper into Harry’s mouth.

A pair of large, calloused hands guided his hips forward, positioning him until he was pressed against Harry’s entrance. Harry’s legs lifted to wrap around Draco’s lower back. He broke the kiss and leaned back, studying Harry’s face for any sign of hesitation.

“It’s okay,” Snape whispered. His hand settled on the small of Draco’s back, pushing forward at the same time as Harry tightened his legs around Draco’s waist to bring him closer. Draco groaned as he slid into Harry Potter. Harry’s flesh was warm and tight around his cock. It felt like coming home.

“That’s it,” Snape coaxed, using that same low tone that he’d used on Harry before. “Now start moving.”

He slid slowly out and then back in, mesmerized by the look of pleasure on Harry’s face. His eyes were half-closed, his mouth wide open. Occasional words slipped from Harry’s lips as Draco slowly increased his pace – soft curses, breathy please, fragments of a name. He pushed in a bit harder when he realized that one of the names Harry was saying was Draco’s.

“Harder. Just like that. He can take it.”

Draco was slightly hesitant to break the slow pace they’d been building, but his body reacted to Snape’s commands automatically. He shoved his hips hard into Harry and fell a thrill of pleasure race up his spine as Harry cried out loudly in pleasure. Snape’s hand hadn’t moved from his back. His fingers trailed along Draco’s spine in a gentle counterpoint to the harsh rhythm Draco was building with Harry.

It was different now that Harry wasn’t trying to hold his voice back. He got louder with each rough thrust, his cries slowly building into a litany of incoherent pleas. Draco could feel his release building along with Draco’s own. He started to untangle his hands from Harry’s hair but Snape beat him to it. His free hand closed around Harry’s erection, jacking in counterpoint to the movement of Draco’s hips. Harry’s eyes went wide, his mouth frozen open as he gasped for breath. Seconds passed and then Harry bucked suddenly, squeezing around Draco and shouting loudly as he came.

Draco groaned and let go of Harry’s hair to grab him by the hips, holding tight while he thrust over and over again into Harry. He was so close. He could feel it, waiting just outside of his reach. Harry gasped his name and that was all he needed to send him over the edge. Draco’s final thrust rocked them both forward. He heard Harry’s back hit the headboard hard but he just moaned and kept his legs tight around Draco while Draco poured his seed into Harry.

Snape reached up to untie Harry’s arms. Harry lowered them slowly, grimacing slightly until Snape started to rub warmth back into them. Draco mixed his hands in with Snape’s and was rewarded with a warm smile. Harry’s legs dropped from around Draco’s waist and he shifted, lifting his hips until Draco slid out of him. Their brief interlude was over. He should excuse himself, leave the couple to their bed.

Harry’s arms wrapped around him before he could move. He kissed Draco softly on the mouth and then pulled back, smiling brightly. “Stay?”

There was only one possible answer. “Okay.”

Harry’s hand twined in one of Draco’s. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he shifted on the bed, never letting go of Draco’s hand. Harry reached into Snape’s sweatpants and pulled out a rather sizeable erection, already weeping at the top. Snape leaned back against the headboard and tangled one hand in Harry’s hair, much like Draco had done early. Harry shot Draco another mischievous look and then opened his mouth, swallowing Snape down to the base in one go.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “I’m suitably impressed.”

Snape grinned at him, the smile reaching all the way to his eyes. He looked more relaxed than Draco had ever seen him, though Draco supposed it was hard not to look happy with Harry Potter’s mouth on his cock. Draco was more than a little jealous. “You’ll get a turn,” Snape promised.

The words would have been enough to make Draco hard, if he hadn’t just come. Still, he wondered if they’d have time for another round. He watched hungrily as Harry twisted and bobbed, moving his head expertly over Snape’s cock. Occasionally he’d pull nearly off to twirl the tip of his tongue around Snape’s cock before swallowing him down again with loud, lurid slurping noises. He was giving Draco a show, and they all knew it. A few minutes later, Snape’s fingers tightened in Harry’s hair, holding him in place while Snape hissed softly.

Harry swallowed a few times and then pulled off with a wet pop. He licked his lips and then glanced between Snape and Draco before curling against Snape’s side. Harry tugged on their joined hands, pulling Draco up behind him. They settled under the covers as Snape murmured a cleaning spell and doused the lights. Harry’s body was warm against his. Draco shifted slightly closer and draped his arm over Harry’s waist. His fingers brushed Snape’s stomach.

For the first time in days, he felt sleep come easy. He stopped himself before he could drift to sleep.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he whispered, meaning more than just their bed.

“You’re welcome,” two voices responded in unison.

Draco fell asleep with a smile.

Hogwarts seemed to have shrunk in the years since the war. Harry knew that it was his perception that had changed rather than the building, but part of him couldn’t let go of the idea that somehow the magic in Hogwarts had actually made the castle smaller, as if the loss of Professor Dumbledore and the ravages of the final battle with Voldemort through its halls had made the castle less than it once had been. It was less, though not by any measurable quantity. It was also, at the same time, more and different, no longer the place of adventure and danger that he’d known as a child, but someplace safe and familiar that he could count on while he figured out what to make of the years he’d been left with. Everything seemed different through the eyes of an adult – buildings, people, responsibilities.

Adult. The word seemed so strange. It was a stage of life he’d never expected nor hoped to reach, and now that he was there, permanently stuck there along with all the expectations of responsibility that it entailed, he was lost on where to go. Well, the literal where had been obvious. There was only one place Harry felt he could go – home, not to that small house on Privet Drive with the cupboard under the stairs and locked doors, or to his godfather’s old house still full of voices from the past, but rather Hogwarts, the only home he’d ever really had.

Harry let his hand trail along the cold stone walls as he moved through the dark corridors. He felt like a restless ghost wandering the halls, one of the war-dead who kept moving, kept living because he didn’t realize he was dead. As he turned the corner, his back stretched, pulling at the mostly healed wounds on his back. He wasn’t dead yet.

A small wisp of light, barely more than a candle flicker, floated ahead of him, the light wavering whenever his mind wandered. It felt good to be back at Hogwarts, right somehow, as if Hogwarts had been waiting for him while he muddled around in the outside world, trying and failing to figure out what to do with the remainder of his life. He’d been surprised at Professor McGonagall’s – now Headmaster, though his brain had yet to fully associate that title with his former Transfigurations Professor – enthusiastic response when he’d owled to ask if there might possibly be an opening at Hogwarts. He had students of his own now, in a legitimate capacity. Part of him still felt like he was with Dumbledore’s Army, like he should be teaching his students in secret from the Room of Requirement.

A smile stretched across his face as he remembered the first years he’d had earlier today. The students were still adjusting to him – the famous Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived and Killed You Know Who – as much as he was adjusting to them. He didn’t remember being that young, that bright and eager. He probably hadn’t been. None of his students had spent their childhood locked in a cupboard only to learn that the evil wizard that had killed his parents was bent on killing him.

The light flickered and went out. He summoned another one with a thought and strengthened it until it filled the hallway with light. Only then did he realize that he wasn’t alone. Harry started. The light flickered but he had enough control to keep it from going out.

“Professor, I…”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Potter. You are no longer my student.” Professor Snape pushed off from where he’d been leaning against the wall, his presence partially hidden by a stone column.

Harry swallowed nervously and resisted the urge to pick at the dust he was certain had brushed off on his robes. “Right. Sorry. I was just…”

Snape raised an eyebrow expectantly.

His lips flapped ineffectively for a moment before he gave up on trying to finish his sentence with anything logical. “I don’t know. Wandering. Both in mind and foot.”

“So I’d gathered.” Whatever he’d said must have been the right option because Snape stepped closer. He regarded Harry for a long moment, his gaze as cold and scrutinizing as it had always been during Harry’s childhood but there was something off about it, something missing. After a few minutes had passed, Snape nodded to himself and turned, black robes swirling about him. “Follow me.”

Harry’s feet propelled him forward before his brain had time to catch up. Questions bubbled through his head but he bit them back, choosing to say nothing rather than start blathering like a complete fool. With Snape, those seemed to be the only two settings his mouth would fall on.

He followed Snape deeper into the castle. The halls were empty. The students were in their common rooms by now, if not already in bed. He should be too but the urge to wander had been greater. At least his classes were all later in the morning, so it didn’t really matter if he stayed out a bit longer. Snape led him down a narrow, slightly dusty staircase the spiraled down into darkness. Harry thought about shifting the light lower, so that Snape could see better, but he didn’t seem to have any trouble on the stairs.

They emerged in a hallway decorated with Slytherin banners, though it wasn’t one of the ones Harry recognized from his few adventures down to the Slytherin common room as a student. Snape said nothing until they turned down two more corridors and came to a halt in front of a massive serpent carved into the wall. Harry’s hand shot out before he could stop himself. The scales felt almost real, definitely stone but slightly pliant, as if there was something living beneath.

Two heads turned to stare at him and the coil under his hand shifted slightly. The stone snake flicked its tongue out, as if tasting the air but its form stayed trapped flat on the wall.

“Hello,” Harry hissed.

The snake head started to slither towards him but a sharp cough from Snape brought it to a halt. “Back here, if you please.”

The snake’s tongue flicked towards Harry once more before it turned to face Snape. Password?

Harry gaped. The snake’s voice sounded like the castle, like wind blowing through the eaves or fabric brushing against stone, but there was a distinct voice to it, an unmistakable sense of meaning. It was a wonder he’d never come across the stone snake before. Or maybe he had and had just mistaken the voice for the usual noises of the castle.

Snape cast one last glance over at Harry and then responded. “Valerian.”

He fought the urge to smile. Valerian was a root used in creating the Draught of Living Death. It seemed rather fitting as Snape’s password, though he had no doubt that Snape would change it as soon as Harry was gone. The snake slithered to the side, somewhat grudgingly, revealing an arched doorway hidden behind its coils. Its eyes followed Harry, tongue flitting towards him.

“Come in.” The words sounded more like an order than an offer.

“Thank you,” he said, for lack of anything else, and followed Snape through the doorway. The wall closed behind him.

He’d never been inside Snape’s personal chambers before. Harry wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected Snape’s rooms too look like, possibly a Slytherin version of his own, soft and plush, but decked in greens and silver rather than reds and gold. Snape’s rooms were dark but not unpleasantly so, full of shadows as befit a man who often worked in or from them. Two closed doors hinted at further depths to the chambers. There were books, hundreds of books, filling the shelves that lined the walls, overflowing on to tables, and flowing around a few cabinets that seemed to have been built around the bookshelves, or vice versa. The only surface that seemed to be clear of books was the mantle of the rather prominent fireplace and the low table set a few feet in front of it. Harry’s curiosity drew him towards the shelves.

“Have a seat.” Snape waved towards the array of furniture circling the fire and then headed a different direction.

Harry hesitated for a moment and then turned to perch awkwardly at one end of a long, battered couch. He half expected something to leap out at him. The way the couch was scarred made Harry think something had been attacking it, though not recently. His fingers brushed along a stitched-up tear in the cushion next to him. Despite appearances, the couch was quite comfortable and Harry found himself relaxing against it before his mind could catch up, warning him that he was in Snape’s chambers. His back pressed against the couch and he barely managed to catch the pained hiss before it escaped his lips. He sat a little straighter and smiled slightly at the memories that the pain recalled.

“Here.” A tumbler of something murky red appeared in front of Harry’s face, bringing his mind back to the present. He took it and stared between the glass and Snape’s face. He hadn’t expected Snape to offer anything beyond company.

“Thanks.”

Snape had a similar glass in his hand, though his was fuller. The liquid sloshed against the rim as Snape sat in a large black-upholstered armchair closer to the fire. His face was half-turned to stare into the fire. If it weren’t for the glass in Harry’s hand he would have thought Snape had forgotten he was in the room. He tested the strange drink with a small sip before swallowing a larger mouthful. It tasted like warm fruit, tart and slightly bitter but not unpleasantly so.

“What is this?” He asked, his voice quiet to match the atmosphere of the room. He felt out of place, like he shouldn’t be here, but it would be rude to try and dismiss himself so early. Besides, he didn’t really want to go. So much of his childhood had been spent wondering about Professor Snape, and now that he’d been offered just a tiny glimpse of the man’s personal life, he wasn’t about to walk away.

Snape turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Usually one asks that before drinking.” Snape took a large swallow from his glass while Harry flushed.

“I think we’re past the point where I have to worry about you poisoning me.”

Snape’s lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile but was restraining himself. “There was a point when you worried that I would poison you?”

It was good to know that even in his adulthood, Harry hadn’t lost the ability to feel like an utter child around Severus Snape. “Maybe,” he hedged. “I know you wouldn’t have. Well, I know now.” Adulthood had, at least, cleared away many of the misconceptions he’d held during his school years. The war had ended many of them, and the few that had remained had fallen away in the short span of years since, when he’d tried to figure out his place in a world that no longer needed him.

“Tempting as it would have been…” Snape let his sentence trail off in a drawl. Harry couldn’t help but smile. He took another drink while his mind searched vainly for something to say to keep the conversation going.

“I’m sorry,” Harry blurted. His face flushed brightly before the words were fully out of his mouth. Snape just stared at him with his usual condescension, but he didn’t say anything. Harry forced himself to continue. “I know there are a lot of things I should apologize for. I was a foolish child-”

“Most are,” Snape interrupted.

Harry forced himself to breathe. Now that he’d started, he had to finish. “I was foolish and didn’t realize that you’d been trying to protect me, to protect all of us, all along. Even when you-” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Even after what happened in the Astronomy Tower, what he wanted to happen… I’m sorry. I know it was hard for you, and then, now, suddenly, I just walk in and take the Defense Against Dark Arts position that I know you wanted-”

Snape’s laughter startled him into silence. Harry’s mouth hung open. Words disserted him. He couldn’t remember ever hearing Snape laugh like this, an honest, full-bodied laugh that made him shake and drew a ghost of a smile across his features.

The laugh faded seconds later, though echoes of it remained in Snape’s voice and his eyes. He missed the sound of it as soon as it was gone. “Do you honestly think that by now that position would still be vacant if I truly wanted it?”

Harry shut his mouth with a loud snap. “I suppose not.”

“Make no mistake, Potter. I am where I want to be.”

Harry’s glass was nearly empty. When it was, he’d have an excuse to leave. He was tempted to drain it, just so he could escape from the awkwardness that seemed to be wrapping around him. He sipped from the glass instead and held the liquid in his mouth for a long moment before swallowing, coating his tongue with the flavor. It didn’t taste like alcohol but the way it left a burning trail down his throat and pooled like lava in his belly told him it was. Strong alcohol too, and Harry’d never developed a tolerance to the stuff. He was suddenly glad that Snape had only given him a little. Alcohol made him do and say stupid things, and with Snape there were a number of things that were better left unsaid. Like how many times he’d thought about Snape marking him like David had marked up his back.

Harry blushed and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Why?”

Snape studied him. He had been for most of the conversation, Harry belatedly realized. Hopefully he’d mistake the blush for an effect of the alcohol. “Why what? Why did I stay as Potions Master?”

He shook his head and shifted slightly, fiddling with his glass until he decided that he’d had enough, possibly more than he should have, and set the tumbler aside. His mind was wandering into areas that it should never have visited. “Why did you invite me in? Why are you being so nice to me?”

Snape turned back towards the fire. “Because we’re not who we once were. We each had our roles to play in order to defeat Voldemort, and now that he’s gone, for good, those roles are no longer necessary.” Snape’s gaze shifted back to Harry and for a brief second Harry thought that Snape was reading his mind. But there was no push against his mind to warn him that Legilimency was being used. It was just Snape, watching him as he always had. He supposed, by now, Snape didn’t need Legilimency to read him.

“Oh.” He felt that he should say more, but the words failed him. He hadn’t realized that Snape had felt that way, that they were both going through the same thing. Snape was a spy with no one to spy on or for. Harry felt suddenly better, knowing that he wasn’t the only one left adrift by the lack of war.

“I think you’ve strayed from your bed long enough,” Snape said as he stood. He picked up Harry’s glass as he walked past. Harry stood as well, and if he was slightly unsteady on his feet, he blamed it on the sudden wave of exhaustion that washed over him rather than the alcohol.

“Thank you, Professor. It was nice,” unexpectedly nice, “talking to you.”

Snape said nothing as he placed the glasses on a small shelf set against the wall and returned a large, half-full bottle of the red liquid back to a cabinet full of similar bottles. The door reemerged as Harry walked towards the wall. He paused halfway out the door to stare back at his former professor but Snape’s gaze was once more fixed on the fire. If he noticed Harry leaving, he made no sign of it.

“Good night,” Harry said softly and closed the door.

The stone snake followed him, slithering along the wall beside Harry until he reached his rooms. He fell asleep with a smile.

*****

Harry’s back did not feel right. He bit his lip to keep from whimpering as he settled against Snape’s couch. It definitely hurt more than it should, the usually comforting pain sliding more into the uncomfortable range. He wondered absently if he’d be able to talk Poppy into giving him something for it without her knowing why. If it got any worse, he might have to resort to a healing spell, and those never worked quite right for him, especially on areas that he couldn’t see.

Belatedly, he realized Snape had been talking to him. Harry turned and blinked in confusion, not quite sure what to say now that Snape was aware that Harry hadn’t been listening.

“Are you quite alright, Potter?”

“Fine,” he lied. Snape’s eyes narrowed and Harry knew he’d been caught out. He swallowed nervously and prayed that Snape would let it pass.

Snape stood. “Take off your shirt.”

The blood washed out of Harry’s face. Despite the fear suddenly coursing through him, some of the blood settled lower in his anatomy. “W-what?” He’d had dreams that started out like this, but in them he didn’t feel quite so terrified. “That’s n-not necessary. I’m… I’m fine.”

Snape gave him a stern look and for a moment, Harry felt like he was a student once more. “Potter, in all the years we’ve known each other, do you think I haven’t learned to tell when you’re lying?”

He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and turned to look away. He was well and truly caught, and now that Snape knew something was up, there was no way he was going to be able to talk his way out of it. Harry stood and pulled his robes over his head, folding the fabric neatly and then draping it over the back of the couch in a vain effort to forestall the inevitable. He kept his head down, eyes stuck to the floor as he unbuttoned his shirt. That too was folded and placed on top of his robes. He dropped to sit on the edge of the couch. He could feel Snape watching him and he wrapped his arms around his front in an effort to block that gaze. He knew he wasn’t attractive, not really. He’d never quite grown out of the gangliness of his youth – too small, too short, too thin.

The cool air at least made his back feel a bit better, as did the lack of fabric pressing against the wounds.

Snape stepped forward, the movement visible in the peripheral of Harry’s vision. One large hand settled on his shoulder, gently pushing until he turned to face the arm of the couch. Harry couldn’t help the hiss of pain that escaped him as the welts on his back tightened. He winced as Snape’s fingers brushed over the topmost welt.

“Who did this to you?” Snape’s voice was utterly devoid of emotion. In a way, that made the situation slightly more bearable. For now, he could at least pretend that Snape wasn’t disgusted by him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said softly. There were few times in his life where he’d wanted to the floor to swallow him up more.

“It matters a great deal.”

Harry sighed and gripped the arm of the couch. “It doesn’t matter because you don’t know him. He’s a muggle. From London.” He could have given Snape a name, David, but it wouldn’t have made any difference.

There was a long pause. Snape’s shoes thudded against the stone as he walked away. He heard a loud creak as a cabinet was opened, followed by the soft tink of glass against glass.

“And why did you let a muggle do that to you?” There was a hard edge to Snape’s voice. It took Harry a second to realize that Snape was mad at him. He winced, knowing that his next words were only going to make Snape madder.

Harry looked up. Snape was pulled a jar of a faintly green substance out of a cabinet filled with similar jars and bottles. “Because I needed him to.”

Emotion flashed across Snape’s face as he turned and then was hidden too quickly for Harry to identify it. They stared at each other for a long moment. Harry was the first to look away, his gaze shifting back to his hands. He forced himself to relax his grip on the couch and watched as his knuckles faded from white to pink.

“Lay down on your stomach.” Harry was fairly certain that he imagined the gentle tone underlying Snape’s voice.

He turned, hissing slightly at the movement. He was short enough that he fit comfortably along the length of the couch with a few scant inches to spare. Harry stretched his arms up next to his head and wrapped his fingers around the edge of the cushion. There was a rustle of fabric as Snape knelt next to him. He jumped as something cool hit his back, then forced himself to lay still.

“Your muggle is an idiot and an amateur,” Snape said as his hand slid over Harry’s back, leaving a smear of tingling ointment in its wake. Harry’s retort was cut off by a pained whimper as Snape’s hand brushed over one of the welts. “Someone who is practiced…” Harry bit his lip to stifle further cries, but he couldn’t stop himself from wincing as Snape moved on to the next welt. “…wouldn’t have let these get infected.”

Harry had nothing to say in his own or David’s defense. He’d known David wasn’t as careful as he should be, but Harry had liked him, at least enough that he kept coming back. His back tingled where Snape had touched it, the pain of the welts slowly fading. The smell of mint and pine slowly filled the room.

Snape said nothing until Harry’s back was liberally coated. Harry’s eyes had closed sometime during Snape’s ministrations. He opened them again as he heard the lid being put back on the jar. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Snape stand.

“Stay there until your skin stops tingling, and then you may go home.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered obediently. He wondered how long he had to wait for the inevitable lecture from Snape.

He heard another tink of glass as the jar was put away and the cabinet closed. A door opened.

“Potter?”

He couldn’t see Snape from his position on the couch. “Yes, sir?”

“The next time you feel you need such treatment, you will come to me instead of your muggle.”

The door shut before Harry had a chance to answer, leaving him alone in the room. Harry lay frozen with surprise, too shocked to say anything until long after the tingling along his back had faded away. He sat up slowly and stretched. There was no pain, and he was fairly certain that if he looked in a mirror right now, all of the welts would be gone. He felt slightly bereft at their loss but there was something else, another emotion that was welling up to take their place.

Harry dressed slowly and left without another word.

*****

Three days passed before Harry found himself back, shifting nervously on his feet outside Snape’s chambers. The stone snake took one look at him and then slowly slithered aside. He’d never been to Snape’s rooms without Snape first knowing that he was coming, and he was half afraid that Snape would tell him to go away. He forced himself to move forward and knock on the door. There was no answer. He waited another minute and then pulled at the handle. It was unlocked. Snape watched him from his usual chair by the fire, a large leather-bound book open on his lap.

Harry froze, mouth open, unsure whether he should come in or run away. “I…”

The word barely left his lips before something changed in Snape’s expression. He closed the book and set it aside. “Come in.”

Harry’s hands were shaking as he walked inside. The door melted into the stone wall, leaving Harry trapped inside Snape’s chambers. He couldn’t bring himself to think that that was a particularly bad thing, but it was unnerving. He’d been here dozens of times before, but the new circumstances wiped all of their slowly building familiarity away.

Snape’s eyes were fixed on Harry, like he was cataloging Harry’s every move. He wondered if Snape could hear how fast Harry’s heart was beating, if he’d noticed the way Harry’s was trembling.

“Come here.”

His body obeyed automatically, feet carrying in forward until he stood in front of Snape’s chair. He dropped to his knees and let his head tilt down, his hands clasped behind his back. He wasn’t sure if Snape wanted him like that, but for Harry it was a reflex, one that he’d have to work hard to break if Snape needed him to.

“Obedient,” Snape murmured, a faint hint of pleasure in his voice. Harry blushed.

One of Snape’s hands ran through Harry’s hair. It was longer than he’d worn it as a child, though only by a few inches. Long enough that his bangs hid his scar well enough when he needed them to.

“What kind of relationship did you have with your muggle?”

Harry cautiously glanced up. “M-master… and slave.”

Snape’s hand didn’t pull away but one of his eyebrows rose. “And you let him beat you?”

Harry nodded. His body was slowly starting to relax, distracted from his worry by Snape’s gentle fingers.

“Did you sleep with him?”

Harry blushed and tensed, then forced himself to relax. He nodded again. “S-sometimes…”

“Were you the top or the bottom?”

He couldn’t keep looking at Snape anymore. He felt like his face was going to burst into flames at any moment. “The bottom.”

“And what do you want from me?”

His eyes slowly drifted back to Snape’s face. It sounded like… He didn’t think Snape was offering, but…. “I…” He licked his lips. Snape’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue. “I want…” He couldn’t seem to stop blushing, but he had to force himself to say it. If there was a chance, no matter how slim of a chance, that Snape would actually want him, would be what Harry needed, then he wasn’t going to let himself walk away without saying it. “…everything. Please.”

Snape’s hand stilled but didn’t move away. He stared at Harry until Harry looked away.

“Alright.”

The word didn’t make sense the first time he heard it. Harry looked up. Snape repeated himself. His hand pulled away as Snape stood.

“Stay,” Snape ordered.

Harry relaxed and closed his eyes as Snape walked away. For some reason, Snape was willing to go along with Harry’s desires. He wasn’t about to question his luck. A few minutes passed before Snape returned again. Fabric brushed against Harry’s arm as Snape sat down again.

“Look at me.”

Harry looked up. Snape had his wand in hand but Harry’s interest was pulled instead to the thick leather collar in his lap. There was a large metal ring set into the front of the collar.

“You understand what you’re getting into? I won’t be gentle with you, but I also won’t be cruel.”

Harry nodded. “I understand. I don’t want gentle.”

“Why?” Snape’s gaze pierced through him and Harry knew, instinctively, that if he lied now, this would all be over.

He swallowed and chose his words carefully. “Because I should have died when I killed Voldemort. Because I did die…” It was hard to keep looking at Snape while he talked, but he forced himself not to look away. “…and sometimes it feels like I’m still there, in the forest, and the only reason I’m still walking around is because my mind hasn’t caught up to the fact that I’m dead yet.” Once he started, it was hard to stop. He trembled. “Because it’s my fault that Cedric and Sirius are dead and I deserve to be punished for that.” A few stray tears slid down his cheeks. “Because my entire childhood was spent teaching me that I deserve to be treated this way.”

Snape reached forward to brush the tears off of Harry’s face. “I want you to understand something. I know you won’t believe me, but you will, eventually, and I’ll keep doing this, because you need it, until it finally sinks into that thick skull of yours. You were meant to live. It’s not your fault. You don’t deserve cruelty.”

Harry stared and shook his head. Words stuck in his throat.

Snape patted his cheek once and then pointed his wand. “Abrogo.” Suddenly Harry was surrounded by cool air. Snape set his wand aside and opened the collar. Harry tiled his head forward as Snape fastened the leather band around his neck. His body relaxed slightly as he heard the latch slide in place. The collar fit surprisingly well. The edges of the leather were soft and smooth. If he titled his head forward a little more, the top of the collar would press against his chin.

Snape’s fingers wrapped around the ring set in the front of the collar. He pulled until Harry looked up at him. “It’s quite fortunate for you that you don’t have classes tomorrow.” The words sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. Snape’s eyes travelled possessively over Harry’s frame, making Harry’s breath catch with excitement.

“Do you know what to call me while you’re wearing this?”

Harry nodded as best he could against the collar. “Yes… master.”

“Good. And you know that even the slightest disobedience will be punished?”

Harry shivered. One day he would have to test exactly what sort of punishment Snape had in mind. Today was not that day. “Yes, master.”

Snape let go of Harry’s collar. “Kneel in front of the fire.”

He stayed on hands and knees as he crawled across the floor to wait in front of the fire, immensely grateful that Snape’s floor was carpeted in layers of thick rugs. He could still feel the hardness of stone beneath his knees but he had a while before it would become uncomfortable to stay like this.

“Head to the floor.”

Harry brought his arms up to steady himself as he lowered his head until his forehead touched the floor.

“Shift your legs apart.” He blushed but did as he was told. His rear stood up in the air, leaving his ass and his genitals completely exposed. That was likely the point.

Harry jumped as the point of a wand pressed against his back. He hadn’t heard Snape move at all. The wand traced a straight line from shoulder blade to shoulder blade.

“Flagellum.”

Harry shrieked as a line of pain blossomed along his back, directly over where Snape’s wand had traced. His fingers dug into the carpet. He panted heavily. The tip of the wand touched against Harry’s side and he whimpered as Snape drew another parallel line across his back. Snape spoke again. Harry bit his lip to muffle his cry as another line of pain hit his back.

A sharp swat against his bare ass made Harry gasp. “Don’t do that,” Snape admonished.

Harry nodded against the carpet. He let out a shaky breath and relaxed his hands against the carpet. His back ached with pain from the two previous marks. He could still feel the lines in his skin, but without looking he couldn’t be sure if Snape’s wand had left physical welts or if it was just Harry’s mind that kept the marks there.

The wand tip traced a third line down his back, just below the bottom of his shoulder blades. He cried out again in pain and rocked forward slightly, flinching away from Snape’s wand. Tears pricked at his eyes, on the verge of falling. He squeezed his eyes shut and sobbed as a fourth line was drawn across the middle of his back. His voice echoed through the room. He kept his eyes closed through this fifth and six lines. By the seventh, he felt like he was alone, stuck in a void where all that existed was the carpet he clung to and the pain.

He wanted Snape to touch him. He wanted something other than the anonymous trace of a wand across his skin.

The eighth line crossed his hips. He whimpered through the aftershocks of pain. His legs were shaking as he waited for the wand to move lower. It felt like Snape was never going to stop. The wand moved past his hips and traced a line diagonally up his right thigh. Harry screamed and rocked against the carpet. Part of the fabric was bunched up around his head, pulled askew by his shaking hands. Another line up his other thigh, then two more, back down, crossing the previous lines on his thighs. He was going to have trouble sitting for meals tomorrow.

Finally the wand tip pressed against the soft flesh of his ass. Harry sobbed as a line of pain blazed across one cheek, then another. He barely had time to breathe between spells. Snape drew a series of short lines up Harry’s thighs and over his hips, crisscrossing his cheeks until all he could feel was one large field of pain. His tears dampened the carpet beneath his head and his breath came in loud, heavy pants as he desperately sucked in air between each spell.

The next strike never came. Harry concentrated on his breathing. His chest ached, but it was dim compared to the pain on his back. He ignored the tears and the way his body trembled, barely able to keep him up any longer, and fought for some small vestige of control.

“Harry.” Snape’s voice made him shiver. He turned his head slightly to look back towards the voice, resting his cheek against the moist carpet. The edges of red welts were visible along this thighs.

Snape sat on the couch. He’d removed his robes, leaving him in a pair of plain black slacks and a white shirt. His wand rested on the table in front of him. “Come here.”

It took Harry three tries to get his limbs to move. He nearly fell twice as he crawled slowly over to Snape. The professor’s fingers wrapped around the loop in his collar and encouraged him forward until he was sitting in Snape’s lap. Harry whimpered as Snape’s clothing pressed against the welts and curled against Snape, burying his face into Snape’s shoulder. He sobbed as quietly as he could into Snape’s shirt.

Snape shifted slightly, opening a jar on the table next to the couch. Harry flinched as Snape’s fingers brushed against his back, spreading salve across a welt.

“Don’t.” Harry flinched away from Snape’s hand. He reached back as best he could, whimpering at the pain the movement caused and caught Snape’s arm.

“Harry.” The warning in Snape’s tone was clear. Harry quickly let go of Snape’s arm and shifted until he was once more curled against Snape’s chest.

He felt Snape’s fingers spread salve across another welt.

Harry clenched his hands in Snape’s shirt. “Please don’t,” he whispered.

Snape’s hand stilled for a second and then moved on to another welt. Silence stretched between them for a long moment until Snape spoke again. “It’s a weaker version of what I used last time, enough to prevent infection and take away the worst of the sting.” Snape’s fingers traced a welt along Harry’s hip. Harry shivered and pressed tightly against Snape’s chest. “The marks won’t go away.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, his voice muffled by Snape’s shirt.

The salve was slowly spread across his back, one welt at a time. Snape’s fingers were gentle, carefully caressing each mark, making sure it was fully coated before moving on to the next. Harry relaxed into the touch as his tears finally stopped and his breathing evened out. He could still feel the welts, though their presence was faint at the moment. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift.

Snape’s hands traced over his skin, not stopping once the last of the welts was covered. They ran over Harry’s sides, along his arms and up his neck. He felt Snape shift, reaching for the jar again and then the fingers were back, coated with salve once more. For a second, Harry wondered if Snape had missed a spot, but then Snape’s hand moved down between his cheeks. Harry’s eyes flew open and he arched up, gasping, as a slick finger pressed inside of him. Harry relaxed his muscles, letting it inside, where it was quickly joined by a second.

He moaned into Snape’s shoulder and shifted, twisting his legs until he was straddling Snape’s thighs, giving Snape open access to Harry’s body.

“Do you want this, Harry?”

He kept his head pressed against Snape’s shoulder as he nodded. A low moan escaped him as Snape pulled his fingers apart, stretching Harry from the inside. He pushed down slightly, forcing Snape deeper inside of him. Snape’s hand stilled and for a moment Harry thought he was in trouble.

“Do that again,” Snape ordered.

Harry pulled away slightly and steadied himself with a hand on either of Snape’s shoulders. Slowly, he lifted himself until only the tips of Snape’s fingers remained inside of him. His eyes raised to watch Snape’s face as he lowered himself down, sinking until he pressed against Snape’s knuckled. Snape was staring at him, his lips pressed into a firm line, eyes intent.

“Again.”

Harry repeated the action. He moaned as he sunk down onto Snape’s fingers and then kept going without being old. His eyes lidded with concentration, mouth open as he panted softly with pleasure. A third finger pushed in beside the other two, then a fourth, stretching Harry wide. He moaned again but didn’t stop moving. Harry could feel himself getting closer and closer to release with each downward push. His head fell back with a loud groan as Snape spread his fingers apart.

“Master, please…” Harry begged softly.

Snape’s hand pressed against Harry’s hip, stilling him. The fingers slid out. Snape turned him, shifting Harry until he was face down on the couch, mirroring his earlier position. The cushions shifted as Snape stood. Harry stayed exactly as Snape had arranged him, waiting until the cushions dipped again. He moaned again as Snape’s hands gripped his hips. Then Snape was pushing inside of him, moving unbearably slow as he filled Harry. He whimpered and tried to press backwards, to push Snape in faster and deeper. Snape froze and swatted Harry on the ass, his hand landing directly on top of one of the welts. Harry gasped and stayed still. After a moment, Snape finally finished pushing in.

Most of Harry’s past lovers been rough, almost violent, more interested in the act than the emotions attached to it. They used Harry’s body, and he let them, reveling in the hard smack of hips against hips, they way they stretched him, shoved violently into him, over and over until he could barely think. Compared to that, Snape was maddeningly slow. Harry whimpered at the agonizingly gentle way Snape treated him. His body was tense, waiting for the pain that it was used to, but that only made him feel Snape more keenly. Snape rocked against him, his rhythm as constant as rolling waves, one long push in and then a slow pull out. Harry’s concentration was focused entirely on the slide of their bodies together.

It wasn’t enough. “Please,” he begged. He needed more. He was going to go mad if Snape kept up the current pace. “Please.”

“No.”

Harry whimpered. He clenched his hands against the edge of the couch cushion. Snape’s erection was hard and thick inside of him. Harry pictured wrapping his lips around it and sucking until Snape’s seed filled his mouth. “Please,” he gasped. He was getting closer but it still wasn’t enough. He pushed back again, just to make Snape smack him again. Then Snape stopped and he realized that he wasn’t going to be able to keep that up long enough to get off. “Please.” It was hard to think with Snape inside of him, harder still to breathe when he felt Snape sink deep into him. “Please. I need… Ah. Please… master, please.”

“What do you need?” It was unfair that Snape sounded so collected, unfair that Harry was the only one left gasping and needed.

“Harder.”

“No.” Harry shivered at the tone. He tried again.

“Hurt me.”

“No.”

Harry whined low in his throat. He was so very close. He just needed… he needed….

“Touch me.”

“Yes.” Snape’s hand slid down his hip to press against Harry’s stomach, pulling him close as Snape pushed into him. Harry trembled against Snape, opened his mouth to beg again, and then the hand moved, closing around Harry’s erection and tugging hard.

Harry came undone. His knuckles turned white as he screamed through his release, shouting unintelligible pleas as he came into Snape’s hand. Even through his release, he could still feel Snape moving, never varying in that maddeningly slow pace until finally Snape slowed down and stopped entirely. Harry’s heart slowed down, his breathing quieted. After another minute, Snape pulled out. Harry felt Snape’s hands on the fastenings of the collar.

“Wait.” He covered Snape’s hands with his own. “Please. Can we leave it on a little longer?”

Snape’s hands pulled away. “As long as you like.”

Harry smiled and let his hand fall back onto the cushions. He turned, shifting until he was curled against Snape once more, and let his eyes drift close. He was sore and tired, but pleasantly so. Snape’s arm wrapped around him, pressing against the welts on Harry’s back. He made no move to pull away. The pain reminded him that he was alive, but more than that, it made him feel like he was wanted.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered.

Snape didn’t answer. Harry didn’t need him to. He’d made the right choice coming back to Hogwarts. He was home.

“Have you seen my blue shirt with the white stripes? It’s missing, along with…” Terry trailed off as he realized d’Schane wasn’t listening. The image on d’Schane’s screen flickered as d’Schane hid whatever he’d been working on. He didn’t look away from the terminal, didn’t even glance in Terry’s direction.

Terry swallowed a brief wave of panic. He forced himself to move, slowly walking into the den and kneeling next to d’Schane’s chair. His hands clenched in his pants to keep from trembling as he remembered similar situations, almost a year ago, between him and Daphne. A thought flickered through his head and he tried to suppress it, unsure if d’Schane had his lead in and was listening. The thought refused to be buried. He wondered if it was something about him that made all of the really important people in his life eventually hate him or if it was just bad luck.

d’Schane finally turned towards him, staring down at him with a vaguely annoyed look. It reminded Terry too much of the end of his relationship with Daphne, when she’d exiled him from her bed and kept him locked away in the tiny closet. He dropped his head to rest against d’Schane’s leg, briefly nuzzling his face against the fabric of d’Schane’s pants. His entire body relaxed when one of d’Schane’s hands twisted in his hair and he breathed a sigh of relief. Even without the lead turned on, it wouldn’t have been hard for d’Schane to pick up on the fact that Terry was distressed.

“What’s up?” d’Schane asked after a long pause.

He debated his words, trying to decide between the most recent problem that had brought him to d’Schane and the deeper issue. The former seemed like the safer option. He didn’t want d’Schane to think he was being too needy. “My shirt is missing.”

d’Schane turned back to his console. A technical document was open for review, one of the ones that Terry had written earlier in the week but d’Schane had yet to approve and pass on to the client. “You have others. The shirt you’re wearing now is fine.”

Terry bit his lip, still hesitant to even bring the issue up with d’Schane. He was being silly. “But I can’t find it. It’s not anywhere in the house and I just wore it last week. That’s not the only thing missing.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn up. You just misplaced it somewhere. Why do you need it?”

“Valerie invited me to the mall with Brad and Kelly.” The request for permission was implicit in his tone and his posture.

He almost wished d’Schane would say no. They hadn’t had sex in a few days and it was starting to worry Terry, even though he knew, logically that it was just a rough spot in their schedules. d’Schane had been working extra hours on a project lately, something that he refused to even talk about and which kept him out at odd hours of the day. They’d get close to doing something and then d’Schane would get a phone call that pulled him away for hours or he’d need to leave to meet a client.

Terry was getting desperate. He’d come close to asking d’Schane’s permission to jack off, but he wasn’t quite ready to stoop to that. He wanted more. Pain was what he craved. Pain and leather and whip marks that would remind him for days that he was still loved and wanted. There was something else he wanted too, but he didn’t even let himself hope for that. He wanted d’Schane to fuck him, to feel d’Schane inside of him, to be taken and used for d’Schane’s pleasure, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

“Okay. I’ll drive you.”

He sighed softly and considered biting d’Schane’s thigh, just to see if he could get a rise, enough to get d’Schane to hit him. It was too much like begging to be worth it.

Terry started to stand but d’Schane’s fingers clenched in his hair, holding him in place. He nearly cried with relief.

“I want you to go into the living room, take off your pants and underwear, and bend over the couch. Wait for me there.”

A slight thrill ran through Terry’s body. He nodded quickly, waiting until d’Schane released him before standing and moving to comply. The curtains in the large living room windows were thin, letting in most of the late morning sunlight and providing an uninhibited view of their front lawn. There was a two inch gap in the curtains on the window facing the couch, enough for someone to see in if they stood at the right angle. A blush stained Terry’s face as he peeled off his pants and underwear and positioned himself on the couch, bare ass high in the air. He already had a reputation with the neighbors, what was a bit more damage?

Footsteps thudded on the stairs as d’Schane went upstairs and returned. He heard d’Schane’s feet scuffing against the carpet. d’Schane paused a few steps behind Terry for a moment and then stepped closer. His hands ran over Terry’s raised ass, alternating between caressing and pinching the flesh. Terry’s hands curled against the back of the couch and he shivered with anticipation. He wanted d’Schane to hit him.

“I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

Terry gasped, suddenly certain that d’Schane had been listening in the entire time.

“Oh, I am,” d’Schane confirmed, his voice smug, “and you’ve been having quite the naughty thoughts.”

d’Schane’s hand pulled back and smacked him hard across the ass, the impact sounding too loud in the quiet house. Terry bit his lip to keep from asking for more. He didn’t need to say it, not when d’Schane could hear his every thought.

“You’re going to be a good boy and think only of me while you’re out, right?”

d’Schane’s hand switched to his other cheek, striking hard enough to leave a mark. Terry gasped and nodded. As a reward d’Schane continued spanking him, switching from one side to another in an erratic rhythm that kept Terry guessing. It hurt more than it should, his body seemed to have lost some of its tolerance for pain while d’Schane had been ignoring him. Or, maybe it was just that the long absence made him feel the pain more intensely, soaking in sensations that he’d been denied for too long. Tears formed in his eyes as his ass started to burn in pain. d’Schane was being methodical, always striking in the same general area, not holding any of his strength back. He could still feel d’Schane’s hand on him even when he wasn’t touching Terry, the contact burnt into his skin. He sobbed as a lance of pain from d’Schane’s hand shot up his spine, and he rocked against the couch, trembling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the old woman from three houses down pause in walking her dog, stare at them, and then hurry quickly away. Terry’s face flushed in shame. He wanted to bury his face in the couch and never emerge. A few stray tears rolled down his cheek.

d’Schane’s hands touched him, gently this time. They rubbed over his abuse flesh, soothing momentarily and then pressing down over the bruises that were starting to form, causing Terry to cry out in pain. He didn’t move when d’Schane stepped away, though part of him was afraid that if d’Schane left now, he wouldn’t come back. Something thudded softly against the wooden coffee table behind him. He heard a soft pop as something was opened.

“Spread your legs.”

Shakily, Terry did as d’Schane ordered. His hands trembled against the back of the couch, gripping the fabric for balance as he forced himself to move despite the pain. His legs didn’t want to move. He could barely keep himself upright. Terry shifted his legs as far apart as he could manage.

d’Schane grabbed him by the hair and forced his head down. “How long has it been since you’ve been fucked?”

d’Schane hadn’t taken him in months. He didn’t like to, and part of Terry blamed himself for that.

Something curved and wet pressed against his entrance. Terry gasped and involuntarily tensed as he felt it start to push inside. The hand in his hair loosened slightly and brushed through his hair, coaxing him to relax. Slowly, Terry unclenched his muscles to let the invading object in. It wasn’t overly large, not too hard, made from a slightly yielding material. It stretched him, but only because he wasn’t used to being entered very often. The object was long and somewhat thin, probably a dildo of some kind. d’Schane slowly pushed it in until Terry felt a thicker base press up against his skin.

d’Schane smacked his legs. “Stand.”

He started to move, sliding his knees towards the edge of the couch. The object shifted with him, and he moaned as it pressed against his prostate. Terry kept his head down and back arched as he brought his feet flat onto the floor, trying to minimize the movement of his hips with limited success. d’Schane knelt behind him, finally moving into Terry’s view. There was a smug smile on his face.

“Close your eyes.”

He did as he was told. d’Schane directed Terry by touch to lift one foot, then the other, threading something soft between his legs. The fabric moved up his legs as d’Schane stood. One of d’Schane’s hands grabbed Terry’s semi-erect cock and pulled it back, tucking it between Terry’s legs. It was held there while d’Schane’s other hand finished pulling the fabric up to sit snuggly around his hips, holding both his erection and the object inside of him in place.

d’Schane stepped back. “You can open your eyes now and put on your pants.”

Terry immediately looked down and then turned scarlet in embarrassment as he realized exactly what d’Schane had made him wear – a pair of silky pink lingerie panties. “I can’t go out like this.”

The sudden smack across Terry’s ass made him jump and yelp. He collapsed partially across the couch as the dildo was jostled inside of him from his sudden movements.

“You will.” d’Schane’s voice was firm. “You’re going to stay like that until I take them off of you.” His hand twisted in Terry’s hair again, pulling his head back until he was staring up at d’Schane. The other man smiled ruthlessly back at him. “You’re not allowed to come until I tell you to. You can’t touch yourself, you can’t take it out, you can’t do anything to bring yourself release. Understood?”

His face flamed but he nodded submissively, too afraid that d’Schane would leave if he argued.

“Get dressed so I can take you to the mall.”

Terry straightened and then almost fell over from pleasure as the dildo rubbed inside of him. There was no way he was going to be able to walk through the mall like this. He moved as carefully as he could to grab his jeans but it didn’t help. He bent to put his feet through the pants legs and then collapsed against the couch, gasping. It took him two more tries to get his jeans up to his hips. They sat low, exposing a bit of the pink silk. He tugged them up, and then d’Schane pulled them back down. Terry blushed and pulled the hem of his shirt down to cover them. d’Schane smirked but didn’t stop him.

He had a feeling one of the neighbors was watching them from behind the safety of their curtains as Terry and d’Schane left the house. Terry walked awkwardly and sat in the front passenger seat, gasping loudly and nearly jumping back up as soon as his ass hit the seat. The bruises and the object inside of him mixed to send jolts of pleasure and pain ridding up Terry’s spine. d’Schane kept glancing over at him all through the drive to the mall, a smug look on his face. Terry had a feeling d’Schane had taken the slower lane just to torment Terry.

He loved it, though the only way he was ever going to admit that was through the mind-link.

The car pulled up to one of the side entrances. d’Schane pulled him in for a kiss, his hand ruffling the back of Terry’s hair. “Call me when you’re done.”

Terry hissed as he got out of the car, moving awkwardly towards the door. He waved and hurried as best he could to meet his friends. The sooner he saw them and spent a bit of time with them, the sooner he could go home and hopefully get this thing out of him.

*****

Terry jumped for what felt like the fiftieth time in the last hour. He’d mentally upgraded the object inside of him from a normal dildo to a vibrator, but he had no idea what was controlling it. The thing hadn’t started buzzing until well after he’d watched d’Schane’s car drive away and he’d been keeping an eye out for his lover since then. It seemed to be turning itself on intermittently, seemingly at the most random and inconvenient of times. He clenched his hands under the table and shook his head at the waiter trying to take his order. Valerie gave him a questioning look.

“Haven’t been feeling well,” he explained.

A few minutes passed. He bit his lip to keep from gasping as it vibrated for nearly half a minute inside of him. Valerie’s hand pressed against his forehead, and he jumped.

“You do feel a bit feverish.”

“Cold,” he said, his voice strained. “Been coming down… past week.”

“You don’t look well. Want us to give you a ride home?” Brad asked.

He could feel d’Schane’s handprints on his ass. The booths in the restaurant were made from imitation leather. They still carried a bit of the smell, making him think of d’Schane. “I… I think I’m gonna call d’Schane. I’m really sorry.”

Kelly waved off his concern. “Rest up, get better, have some chicken soup. We can always hang out some other time when you’re not sick.”

“Totally,” Valerie agreed. “You should have said something sooner. You didn’t have to come out.”

Terry blushed and refrained from pointing out that he’d wanted to stay home, where d’Schane could molest him privately rather than arranging this rather embarrassing display. Another jolt of pain-pleasure ran through him as the vibrator jerked, buzzing harder than it had before and causing him to squirm against the seat. Kelly moved aside to let him out of the booth. He said quick good-byes and headed towards the exit. His phone was out in a second and he pressed the button to dial d’Schane.

“Done so soon?” d’Schane asked, his voice an almost-purr.

“Please.” Terry wasn’t above begging right now. The vibrator was driving him mad and he needed d’Schane to let him take it out. “Come get me.”

d’Schane chuckled. “Wait for me in the parking lot, second sub-level. Take the stairs. There’s a bench by the door.”

Terry groaned at the thought but couldn’t disobey. d’Schane cut off the call, still laughing.

It took Terry a moment to orient himself and then he was heading towards the stairwell. A few people gave him odd looks as he passed. He wondered if it was just from his flushed face and the odd way he was moving, or if they’d happened to catch a flash of pink under his jeans. The thought made his stomach churn with embarrassment.

He gulped slightly as he reached the top of the stairwell and stared down at the two long flights of stairs. Terry started out slowly but each step made the vibrator inside of him wiggle slightly. It seemed to be stuck permanently on vibrate, shifting between fast and slow every few seconds, as if whoever controlled it had just discovered that there were two settings and was trying to decide between them. Terry gasped and clutched at the railing. He forced himself to keep moving, nearly sobbing in relief as he finally pushed open the door to the second sublevel. True to d’Schane’s word, there was a bench right by the door. Terry dropped onto it and curled in on himself. He pressed a hand over his mouth to muffle his involuntary moans.

“Hey, there.”

Terry started as an unfamiliar voice echoed through the parking lot. A large, burly man walked towards him. Terry wondered how insulted the man would be if he ignored him. He didn’t think he could talk right now, not without making some very embarrassing sounds that would definitely give the guy the wrong ide.

“You look lonely,” the man said with an obvious leer.

Terry blushed and couldn’t hold back a moan as the vibrations kicked on high. “I-I’m not.”

The man raised an eyebrow and loomed closer. Terry was decently muscled but he was nothing compared to this guy. The man was almost double Terry’s size. Under normal circumstances, Terry would have been at a sheer disadvantage against the guy. Right now, he was practically defenseless. A five year-old could kick his ass in his current state.

A hand reached for Terry’s shirt collar. He grabbed at it but there wasn’t enough force behind his grip to stop the man. The man undid the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing the leather collar around Terry’s neck. A finger hooked through the D-ring and tugged lightly. “Did your master leave you here?” The man laughed. “He should know better than to lose his pets.”

“I’m n-not lo-st!” Terry shoved the man away with both hands. The stranger barely budged.

One large hand closed around both of Terry’s wrists and stretched his arms up above his head, pulling him onto his feet. Terry moaned loudly as the vibrator rumbled inside of him, hard enough that Terry could hear it through his clothes. Apparently there was a third, higher setting that the controller had just discovered. A large hand groped Terry’s ass, fingers searching until they pressed between his cheeks, rubbing against the hard edge of the vibrator. Terry gasped and tried to arch away from the touch but he didn’t have enough leverage to move far.

“Well, that’s interesting. Your master leave you out here to play?”

Terry shook his head wildly. “N-no! It-t’s not li-ke that. L-let me go-o.” He needed to come. He needed to come very badly but he didn’t want it to be at the hands of a stranger. Where was d’Schane?

The man’s free hand slid around to the front clasp of Terry’s jeans. He sucked in a large gulp of air and squirmed. The man pushed Terry back until his knees hit the back of the bench and kept pushing until Terry started to fall off balance. His hands were pinned against the wall. One of the man’s knees pushed between Terry’s legs, bending until it pressed against his crotch and then continuing to push up until Terry was lifted onto his tip-toes.

Terry panicked. “Help!” His scream echoed through the empty parking lot. There was no one in sight.

A hand pressed over his mouth, covering his nose and cutting off his air. Fear washed over him, momentarily paralyzing him. His hands were released so that the man could undo Terry’s jeans. He couldn’t breathe. It took him a second, but he convinced his limbs to move. He tried to push the man away, to hit him, but that only seemed to make the man angry. The man squeezed his hand tighter against Terry’s face, keeping him without air for a few more seconds. Terry was on the verge of crying when the hand finally moved away. He shook violently and gasped for air. Both hands grabbed him and turned him, shoving him face down across the bench. His pants were yanked roughly down to hang around his knees. A hand on his shoulders kept him trapped against the bench.

“S-stop,” he begged. “P-please stop.”

“You are a kinky fuck, aren’t you?” A large hand slipped under the edge of the panties and pressed down on the large bruise d’Schane had left.

Terror filled him. This wasn’t like with any of the other tops he’d been with, where there was the implied level of consent and familiarity. He didn’t like the way the stranger was touching him but his body reacted anyway, too over-sensitized by the vibrator inside of him and his earlier spanking for Terry to hold himself back. He drew breath to scream.

“Let him go,” d’Schane ordered, his voice dark.

Terry nearly fainted from relief. He went limp on the bench as the man released him and turned. “Make me.”

From his low vantage point, Terry caught a glimpse of something in d’Schane’s hand. “Okay.” d’Schane stepped forward and pressed his palm to the guy’s chest. The man screamed, convulsed, and fell over. Then d’Schane turned his gaze on Terry and Terry flinched. d’Schane was pissed.

d’Schane stalked forward, stepping around the still convulsing guy. He slipped the stunner back into his pocket and grabbed Terry by the hair, dragging him off the bench. Terry cried out in pain. His jeans caught around his legs and he stumbled, falling once and scrapping his knees on the cement before d’Schane pulled him back up again. d’Schane dragged him down the line of cars and then tossed him to the side, Terry’s back colliding with d’Schane’s Pontiac. He hadn’t even heard d’Schane pull in.

“What the hell were you doing?”

Terry felt the first of his tears roll down his cheeks. “I-I’m s-sorry.” His voice choked, making him stutter. He was shaking, fear still coiled in his belly, his fight or flight response on overdrive. The one blessing in the entire situation was that the vibrator had shut off again. “H-he f-f-forced me a-and I t-tried to get him t-to s-s-stop.”

He couldn’t stand to look at d’Schane anymore. They were already on rocky ground, or at least he thought he was. Maybe d’Schane was losing interest in being his dominant. Maybe he wanted someone who was easier to control, less needy. He didn’t know if this was enough to push d’Schane over the edge, to make him throw Terry out again.

“On your knees.”

Terry shifted up onto his knees, head bowed, hands behind his back. The concrete pressed harshly against the fresh scrapes on his knees. He smelled blood.

d’Schane opened his pants. “Suck.”

Terry’s face burned. They were out in the open, where anyone could see. His pants were still down, his shirt not long enough to hide the fact that he was wearing pink panties. He closed his eyes and obediently opened his mouth. Fingers closed in his hair, guiding him forward until he could swallow d’Schane all the way down. He closed his lips and tried to suck as best he could with next to no balance. d’Schane held his head in place and pumped his hips. The pace started out slow, almost leisurely and quickly increased in pace until d’Schane was fucking Terry’s mouth a bit too hard and too fast for Terry to breathe. He remembered the way the man had held his hand over Terry’s face and he started to panic again.

d’Schane pulled out suddenly. Terry gasped for air and then quickly closed his eyes as d’Schane came, semen mixing with the tears on Terry’s face.

Glass shattered near the hood of the car. They both turned to stare at the startled woman who’d just dropped her shopping bags. Her look of shock quickly shifted to disgust and she sneered at them both as she grabbed her bags. d’Schane smiled smugly at her while Terry quickly looked away, burning with humiliation. She forgot one of her bags as she quickly stalked away.

“Get in the car.”

Terry slowly stood and reached a hand up to wipe away a string of come that was threatening to drip onto his eye. d’Schane grabbed his wrist and held it tight. “No.”

Terry dropped his gaze meekly to the ground. A few seconds passed before d’Schane released him. He crawled into the back and adjusted his pants, pulling them up and refastening them. d’Schane moved to the trunk and popped it open.

“Hands.”

Terry obediently held out his arms and watched as d’Schane fastened a thick leather cuff around each wrist, then pulled Terry’s arms behind his back and locked the cuffs together. d’Schane stepped to the side of the trunk and returned with a leather leash, which he clipped to the front of Terry’s collar, leaving the leather hanging down loose against Terry’s chest. One more trip to the trunk and then d’Schane slammed it shut. When he returned, he fastened a thick, leathery mask across the top half Terry’s face, cutting off his sight. A seatbelt was fastened across his chest, trapping him in place.

The door slammed shut. It was warm inside the car. Terry breathed deeply and tried not to panic. d’Schane wouldn’t leave him here. He wouldn’t leave Terry alone, not again. Doubt tore at his resolve, slowly stripping it away the longer he was left alone. He wasn’t sure how many minutes passed until the front door opened and shut. Terry nearly cried with relief. He heard d’Schane fumble with something in the front and then Terry bolted up from the seat, smacking his head against the roof of the car as the vibrator started up again at its highest setting.

Terry felt the car lurch. He writhed against the car seat, desperate for release that was a long way in coming.

*****

Terry had no idea where they were when the car finally stopped. The drive hadn’t been long enough for them to have gone home. Terry had counted the songs on the radio as best he could with the constant distraction of the vibrator inside of him. It was hard to think, hard to concentrate on anything other than how much he wanted to get off, but he guessed that they’d travelled maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. It felt like an eternity with the vibrator buzzing inside of him.

His loud gasps and moans echoed through the car. d’Schane turned the radio off but didn’t get out. Plastic tapped against plastic.

“You realize you’re going to be punished, right?”

“Please,” Terry begged, though he wasn’t sure if he was begging to be punished or to be allowed to come.

The vibrator increased in speed and he screamed, arching against his restraints. Terry could hear the tiny motor revving inside of him. He needed to come. Tears welled fresh in his eyes. He felt like he was going to die if he didn’t come soon. The seats creaked.

d’Schane’s hand grabbed Terry between the legs and squeezed. His fingers stretched underneath to push the vibrator deeper inside. It was too much. He was going to come apart.

“Come for me,” d’Schane ordered.

Terry screamed and made a wet mess inside his jeans. He could feel the wet silk clinging to his skin as d’Schane’s hand moved away. Terry gasped loudly for breath and rested his head on the back of the seat while his body unwound, slowly relaxing against his restraints to settle back against the cushions. d’Schane’s door opened and closed. A cool breeze filled the car as d’Schane opened the back door. He could feel d’Schane brush against him as Terry’s seatbelt was unfastened. The comforting presence was gone quickly and he was being pulled roughly out of the car by his leash.

The car door slammed shut and the security alarm beeped as it was activated. They walked a short distance across a hard surface that thudded beneath Terry’s shoes.

“Two steps,” d’Schane warned as he paused, the leash going slack between them.

Terry tested them with his feet before climbing. A door opened. They were at some kind of building, possibly someone’s home. Terry was led inside. A hand on his chest made him stop just inside and his shoes were removed. He was led a short distance straight back and around a corner. It was quiet. Their footsteps were muffled by carpet.

“Kneel.”

Terry dropped to his knees. He landed on carpet, and the leash went slack. There was the faint sound of feet moving against carpet. Terry’s hair was swept to the side and something pressed against his input socket. He jolted as a lead clicked into place. The leash went tight again, pulling him up onto his feet. He was led around two more corners and then d’Schane warned him before he was led down a flight of stairs. As they walked, Terry started to hear voices, faint, like they were behind a closed door but getting louder as they descended.

“Kneel.”

He dropped onto carpet again. A female voice giggled. Two men murmured to each other, too soft for Terry to hear. Terry’s shirt was removed and then his head forced down onto the carpet before his pants were similarly stripped away. He was turned onto his back, his hands trapped beneath his body. Shoes pressed against his skin and pushed his legs wide apart. He flushed as the strangers in the room were given a broad view of his cum-soaked panties. Some of them laughed. Terry felt like he was going to die of humiliation.

“Lift your ass. Give everyone a good view,” d’Schane’s voice ordered.

Terry whimpered but did as he was told. He heard the repeated artificial snap of a digital camera. Tears prickled at his eyes, and he was on the verge of crying again. After the encounter in the mall earlier, he was terrified of what the strangers might do to him and of what d’Schane might make him do in front of them. He just wanted d’Schane, no one else. He wanted to go home, where he was safe and protected and loved.

“He looks like such a slut,” the female voice whispered. Several voices answered with laughter. A couple of the men described in detail how much they wanted to fuck him. Terry wanted to curl in on himself but he didn’t dare move. A fresh batch of tears started to roll down his face.

“You know why you’re being punished?” d’Schane asked.

He knew better than to try and defend himself. “I-I’m sorry.” His voice wavered. He was on the verge of breaking and d’Schane hadn’t even hit him yet. “I let someone else touch me.”

“Up.” Someone, he assumed it was d’Schane, pulled on his leash until he was on his knees again. “Crawl.” He hissed in pain as the carpet rubbed against the scrapes on his knees. Terry lost his balance once and nearly choked as the leash kept him upright, unable to catch himself with his hands still pinned behind his back. He trembled and tried very hard not to lose his balance again.

Terry was led in a circle around the room, presumably being put on display for his audience. They taunted him but no one touched him, his one small relief out of the whole situation. The panties were pulled down and off of him when they finally stopped. Hands lifted him and pushed him forward until he knelt on something that felt hard, maybe a foot off of the ground. His feet hung over the edge of what felt like a pair of narrow boards that formed an L at his knee and pressed against his thighs. Restraints wrapped around his ankles, binding his legs to the device with his knees far apart. Another set of restraints went around his legs, halfway between knee and hip. Padding of some type pressed against the top of his hips as he was bent forward, his chest pressed against a padded level surface that stopped a few inches below his neck. The leash was pulled tight and fastened somewhere below him. His hands were released from behind his back and then bound against poles attached to the strange piece of furniture. He wrapped his hands around them, his body tense with fear.

Terry felt tears of relief roll down his cheeks as the vibrator was finally pulled out. It left a void in its absence that begged to be filled. Terry squirmed. The voices in the room had gone mostly silent, waiting, like Terry, to see what his captor – d’Schane, he hoped – would do.

A palm rubbed over his back. There was something set in the center of the hand, small and round like a thick convex disc, that made Terry’s skin tingle. It ran back and forth over Terry’s shoulders, the strange tingling sensation increasing until his muscles jumped and spasmed underneath the current it generated. Suddenly, without warning, the object in his captor’s hand zapped him with electricity. Terry gasped and jerked against his restraints. They held him tightly in place.

The hand moved lower, running the tingling current down the length of his spine. It paused over his tailbone and Terry howled in pain as another jolt of electricity hit him. The hand moved on, trailing back up over his skin, down one arm, then the other, and along his sides. Every few seconds, another jolt would hit him, filling him with pain unlike anything he’d ever felt. Whips and crops left marks on his skin, but this went under it, wracking sharp agony along his muscles and nerves. The audience laughed each time he was zapped, their voices growing more excited the louder he screamed. They egged his captor on, demanding more of Terry’s pain.

His legs were next. Jolts hit him behind each knee, along his calves, at the soles of his feet. That hurt the worst, the pain causing his knees to jerk forward and slam into the hard surface he was bound too. He trembled and sobbed quietly, his breath coming harsh and ragged. The mask over his face was quickly becoming soaked with his tears. Then the hand moved along his thighs and Terry struggled wildly to escape from the pain, now burning a harsh line up over his ass. He started screaming and didn’t stop. The jolts were coming quicker now, barely a breath between one and the next so that it was almost a continuous stream of electricity.

The hand traced over the handprints d’Schane had left on his ass and then pressed the device against his entrance. Terry trembled, his eyes squeezed shut, whimpering in terror, but the expected shock never came. He held his body tense. d’Schane always did this, waiting until Terry relaxed before hitting him again. Minutes passed and nothing happened. The crowd was getting restless.

A hand brushed gently through Terry’s hair and he relaxed involuntarily. The jolt that hit him made Terry howl and arch against his bonds, but it didn’t stop. The hand pressed inside, pushing the device in with it. Terry nearly blacked out from pain. He sobbed in relief when it finally went away and dropped, boneless, across the device restraining him.

Flesh brushed against his ass, the only warning Terry got before something hot and thick was suddenly shoved inside of him. The crowd cheered as he cried out again. Someone was inside of him and he couldn’t see to tell who it was. He was scared, afraid that d’Schane had left him, abandoning him here with the unseen pack of spectators who thrilled at his pain. The man inside of him was far from gentle. He gripped Terry’s hips tightly, the stunner in his hand still pressed against Terry’s flesh and fucked him roughly.

It had been a long time since someone had fucked him, but even in the anonymity it still felt amazing. In his head, he imagined that it was d’Schane fucking him, d’Schane inside of him, d’Schane grunting with pleasure as he slammed his hips into Terry’s. In a strange way, the anonymity was better. It let him have his illusion, though logically, he knew d’Schane likely wasn’t the one doing this to him. His body reacted in spite of that and he felt himself growing hard again, his erection bouncing against the underside of the platform his chest was pressed against.

The hand holding the stunner let go of his hips. When the next jolt came it drove Terry back, making him push back against the man inside of him. The device was pressed between his cock and his balls, shooting rapid bursts of electricity against the sensitive flesh there. His screams echoed through the room but they couldn’t drown out the excited cheering of the audience. Then the hand moved forward to grip his erection and Terry tensed with fear, but the steady current was kept thankfully low, making his cock twitch in the man’s hand.

“Please,” Terry begged. His voice was rough from screaming. “Please. d’Schane. Please.”

Another minute passed while the man pumped into him. The hand on his erection never stopped, slowly driving Terry towards madness. Hips smacked hard into his and then the man came, pumping into Terry until the man’s seed started to spill out of him and trail down his legs.

The man behind him leaned forward, his breath tickling Terry’s ear. “You can come.” It was d’Schane. d’Schane was inside of him. That thought alone was enough to make Terry come with a shout. He collapsed bonelessly into his restraints.

d’Schane’s hands rubbed along his thighs, slowly working the tension out of Terry’s body. The device was gone. d’Schane pulled out to release Terry’s restraints and Terry whimpered at the loss of contact. His legs were freed but he didn’t move, not sure his legs could support him. The leash was loosened, and then his hands freed though the cuffs stayed on. d’Schane briefly massaged Terry’s shoulders, working out some of the knots that hand formed there. Hands trailed along his back and then d’Schane was pushing back inside of Terry. He stayed inside of Terry as he carefully pulled them backwards onto the floor.

“Look at that slut,” the female voice commented smugly, “so eager to have a cock inside of him.”

The mask was removed. It took Terry a few moments until his eyes adjusted to the bright light of the room. They were in a basement. Dark red carpeting covered the floor. Terry could finally see the device he’d been strapped to, a strange mix of a table and open chair. There was more furniture in the room, most of it wooden, all of it with multiple restraints. A rack was built into one wall, displaying an array of whips, flogs, paddles, and riding crops, along with several instruments that Terry was unfamiliar with. There was a line of mirrors along one wall, and bank of consoles set in a corner. Pictures of Terry spread out in the pink underwear filled the monitors.

Terry craned his neck around, suddenly confused. They were alone in the room. “The voices…”

d’Schane’s fingers caressed Terry’s socket and pulled out the lead. He held it up in front of Terry’s eyes. “All in your head.”

The last vestiges of fear washed out of Terry, leaving him feeling tired and somewhat hollow. “T-that’s illegal.”

d’Schane kissed Terry on the neck, just below his socket. “You won’t tell.” His hands rubbed along Terry’s sides. “Maybe next time I’ll have a few people over for real. Maybe next time it’ll be someone else fucking you.”

He whimpered and turned as best he could to curl up against d’Schane’s chest. d’Schane helped him, lifting Terry up and then turning him until he sat facing d’Schane. Terry tucked his head against d’Schane’s neck. Hands stroked over his spine.

“W-where are we?” Terry asked after a few minutes had passed in silence.

“Georgetown.”

Terry was confused. “What?”

d’Schane’s laughter rumbled against Terry’s chest. “You wanted a house in Georgetown, didn’t you? I figured I might as well do it right and set up this little dungeon for you.” His hands stroked possessively over Terry’s ass. “We’re gonna have a lot of fun down here. Wanna see the rest of it?”

He nodded, though he wasn’t sure how well he could walk. d’Schane pulled out and helped him to his feet. Terry’s whole body shook as it was forced upright and he leaned against d’Schane for several minutes until he could support himself.

“Okay?” d’Schane asked.

Terry nodded and slowly pulled away. d’Schane kept the leash in hand but let it hang loose between them as Terry followed him up the stairs. Soft whimpers escaped Terry every few seconds as his abused muscles protested the exercise. They emerged into a tiled kitchen with large glass doors that led out onto a patio, a small walled-off yard visible behind it. He followed d’Schane around into the living room and blushed as he realized that all of the windows in the front of the house were uncurtained. The street was vacant for the moment, but he could see a car approaching nearby.

Terry had a feeling that he was about to develop a bad reputation with a new set of neighbors. Maybe this time he could talk d’Schane into blinds as well as curtains.

Tsuzuki was still half-asleep when he answered the door at just past three in the morning. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights yet, hoping that whoever it was could be shooed away and he could get another five hours of sleep before opening the shop. It took him a minute to recognize the wet, shivering figure huddled under the awning. The rain was coming down hard. He had heard it through the thick cement walls of his apartment, and the wind was blowing the rain onto the veranda, bits of the spray hitting his face as he opened the door.

“Come in.”

Kain seemed thinner than Tsuzuki remembered. His clothing was in disarray and he was hunched in on himself. It’d been a few months since Tsuzuki had last seen Kain, seminary and the recent opening of Tsuzuki’s café had kept them both busy. Kain seemed to shrink further in on himself when Tsuzuki flipped on the light. He’d toed off his shoes by the door but that didn’t seem to help very much. Kain’s socks were soaked and he was dripping on the carpet, a small puddle forming around his feet.

Tsuzuki sighed. There was no helping it. “Come on, let’s get you dried off.”

He started towards the bathroom. After a long moment, Kain followed, shuffling his feet. Tsuzuki couldn’t help but feel curious, Kain’s entire posture was dissonant from what Tsuzuki was used to. He pulled a large towel from the cupboard and held it out to Kain, but Kain didn’t seem inclined to take it. He raised an eyebrow and draped the towel over Kain’s head, brusquely drying Kain’s hair. That was one thing familiar about the current subdued version currently in front of him – no matter what, Kain was always a handful.

“Can you at least get your clothes off or do you need help with those too?”

Kain stiffened for a moment and then reached up. His hands shook as he tried to undo the first of the buttons on his shirt. Tsuzuki sighed again and pushed Kain’s hands away. The shirt was likely ruined. There was mud splattered on parts and it was ripped, the worst of the damage was around the neck but there were several smaller tears on the hem and sleeves. It clung to Kain’s skin and as he peeled it away he revealed a patchwork of bruises covering Kain’s chest.

Tsuzuki’s hands stopped. He felt as cold as if he was the one soaked to the bone but he could feel the warmth of outrage welling up to override his shock. “Kain, who did this to you?”

Finally, Kain looked up at him. It wasn’t an expression that Tsuzuki had seen on Kain’s face before. He looked… hollow. “It’s my fault.”

Kain wasn’t the type to get into fights, not the kind where actual violence might be involved. He wasn’t the type to get into destructive relationships and he was smart enough not to go wandering in areas where the kind of thugs who would do something like this hung out. They’d never been the closest of friends in school – Kain was a few years younger than him, just coming into high school as Tsuzuki had been leaving – but they’d been, were friends nonetheless, and occasionally had ventured into something more. He wasn’t surprised by the fact that he was angry – not at Kain, but at the bastard who’d hurt him – but at how deep his anger ran.

“I doubt that,” he said as calmly as he could. “Who did this?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Kain wouldn’t look at him, which was uncharacteristic of the man. He was flirtatious, bold, confident, and sexy. The battered look didn’t suit him, and at that moment Tsuzuki decided that he never wanted to see Kain looking so lost again and would likely do everything in his power to keep it from happening again. “Can I stay here? Just for the night?”

He nodded, and then realized that Kain wasn’t looking at him. “Yeah. Of course. You can stay as long as you like.” He wouldn’t mind having Kain around again.

“Thanks.” Kain pulled the towel off his head. “If you want to go back to bed, I can…” Kain waved vaguely with the towel.

“Right.” He didn’t have a reason to stay, but he wanted to. He didn’t. “Let me get you something to sleep in.”

He flipped on the bedroom light and rummaged in his drawers until he found something with a drawstring. Kain was a lot smaller than him, so there was little hope of finding anything that would actually fit. The bathroom door was locked when he returned. He knocked, but there was no answer.

“Clothes are outside the door.” He left the pants and an oversized t-shirt folded on the floor.

Tsuzuki set out a pillow and blanket on the couch, left a small light on in the living room, and then went back to bed. He reset his alarm for ten. The shop could open a bit late, just this once.

At one point he and Kain had been more than just classmates. After Tsuzuki had graduated, when he first got this apartment while going to college, he and Kain had grown closer. They’d never quite been lovers, but they had had sex a few times. Kain had never been the type to settle down and Tsuzuki hadn’t felt the need to ask him to. That part of their relationship had dwindled off years ago, but the initial spark still remained, waiting for Kain to do or say something to ignite it again.

Sleep was slow in coming.

He heard the shower start. After almost a full hour it shut off again and then the bathroom door opened a few minutes later. Light flooded the hall then disappeared. He closed his eyes again but his mind was still unsettled, not yet ready for sleep. The side of the bed dipped slightly and he felt the covers being moved as Kain slid in behind him. His skin was cold against Tsuzuki’s back. Kain curled up behind him, pressed against his back, shivering. Tsuzuki rolled over and pulled Kain against him, tucking the smaller man’s head beneath his own and wrapping his arms around him. Kain slowly relaxed into his embrace.

He wasn’t quite sure how long it took Kain to fall asleep but Tsuzuki stayed there, holding Kain tightly until his breathing evened out. Only then did he let himself fall asleep.

*****

Kain smelled eggs. He lifted his head slowly from his pillow and glared at the alarm clock next to the bed. The digital display read eight. Kain groaned and buried his face back in the pillow. No kind and loving God would expect him to be awake at such an unholy hour on a day when he didn’t have church to attend or class. Kain froze as memories from last night hit him. He groaned louder and debated smothering himself with the pillow.

God didn’t expect anything of him. Not anymore.

He had two options: either lay here and feel morose or get off his ass and move on. He chose the latter, though the other option had been tempting.

Kain slowly slid out of bed, his feet sinking into the plush carpet. Tsuzuki’s clothes were a few sizes too large for him. The drawstring on the pants had slipped during the night, making them hang low around his hips. He didn’t bother pulling them up, the t-shirt he was wearing covered them, stretching halfway down to his knees. It was probably the least attractive outfit he’d worn in ages, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He’d just lost his dream job. After that, fashion didn’t seem so important.

Tsuzuki sat at the kitchen table, a half-empty plate in front of him. There was a heaped-full plate set on the opposite end of the table next to a cup of coffee. Tsuzuki ignored him in favor of the morning paper. Kain slowly sat, wincing as the chair pressed against the bruises on his back and legs. He ate slowly, his appetite returning only after he’d swallowed the first few bites. One of his favorite parts about hanging out with Tsuzuki was how good of a cook the man was. Well, that and the sex had been great.

The newspaper rustled. “What happened?”

Kain glanced over at Tsuzuki and then turned back to his eggs. “Thank you for breakfast,” he said between bites. “It’s delicious.”

The newspaper was folded down so that Tsuzuki could look at him. His eyes narrowed. “Kain…”

He shoveled his eggs around with a fork. “Do you know who Cain is in Christian mythology?”

The look Tsuzuki gave him said that Tsuzuki knew exactly what he was trying to do and that it wouldn’t work. Kain inwardly sighed. It had been worth a try.

“Cain killed his brother, becoming the first murderer in the Bible.” He sipped his coffee and stared into its dark depths. “Some consider him to be the progenitor of evil.”

“And what does that have to do with you?”

He toyed with his cup. “I was excommunicated.”

The silence that stretched between them was heavy with unspoken questions.

He looked Tsuzuki in the eye. “Did I ever tell you about the priest I was in love with? Hajime?” Tsuzuki shook his head. “He’s the one that…” Kain gestured towards his chest. The dark look that crossed Tsuzuki’s face was strangely comforting and he smiled slightly. “I thought that I could trick him into liking me. I was wrong of course, but I had hoped that if I could get him into bed he might start to like me. It seems he was in love with someone else, and when…” Kain tightened his hands around the coffee cup. He was leaving things out, important things, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to talk about them, not yet, like exactly how he had tricked Hajime into thinking he was someone else. He still couldn’t believe that it’d actually worked. He wished it hadn’t. “…when I seduced him, it wasn’t me that he thought he was sleeping with, not at first. He got angry…”

Kain shuddered. Hajime had been beyond furious. He’d said a lot of things, hurt Kain, probably more than he meant to, and kicked Kain out of the parish on the spot. They were going to have his things shipped to him. The only address he’d thought to give them was Tsuzuki’s, he didn’t have anyone else that he could turn to. Hajime had made it clear that Kain wasn’t allowed to come back. Likely he’d had Kain’s name circulated to the other churches and Hajime knew a lot of the upper echelons of the church. Kain would have to go out of the country if he wanted to continue in the priesthood, and even that was a long shot.

His career was over before it’d even had a chance to go far.

“So I suppose I’m stuck with you for a while?” Tsuzuki lifted his paper again, blocking his face.

Kain smiled. “It seems that way.”

*****

“Stop moping.”

Kain shot Tsuzuki a dirty look from overtop of the box he was unpacking. “I’m not moping.”

“Of course not.” Tsuzuki was on the other side of the living room, filing Kain’s books on the shelves below Tsuzuki’s limited collection.

“I’m not.” Kain was handling the more delicate items. Framed photos of his family hid partially behind and between the photographs and knickknacks on Tsuzuki’s mantle.

He appreciated that Tsuzuki was letting him take up so much space. He’d expected to be living out of boxes until he found his own place but Tsuzuki was going out of his way to be accommodating. There was only one bedroom in Tsuzuki’s apartment but it didn’t feel cramped. The rooms were spacious, if few in number.

“Get a job,” Tsuzuki said. “Get out of the apartment.”

Kain hid a smile. The way Tsuzuki buried his concern under brusqueness was far too endearing. “Unfortunately I’ve been barred from the priesthood.”

“You went to college.”

He mock-glared. “For theology.”

“Didn’t you tend bar at one point? Down at that gay club, the one a few blocks from Heven?”

Kain paused. It was an option, and a rather good one at that. He sat back on his heels and considered it. Part of him was still reluctant to leave the apartment and face the world again, but Tsuzuki would only tolerate him hermitting inside the apartment for so long. It’d be good to get back into the swing of the club scene. He’d left on good standing and some of his old coworkers should still be there, plus he was friendly with the owner. It wouldn’t be hard to get his job back, at least until he figured out something more long term, and it’d give him a decent cash flow to work towards his own place. He glanced sidelong at Tsuzuki and smiled. Tsuzuki had yet to kick Kain out of his bed, which made Kain slightly reluctant to leave any time soon. He’d forgotten how nice it was having a warm body to sleep against.

“I suppose I could ask,” Kain conceded.

“I might have to start charging you rent, then.” Tsuzuki was partially joking. He slid the last of Kain’s books on to the shelf, unfolded the box, and leaned it by the door.

Kain stood and followed, suddenly feeling mischievous. He stretched slightly and wrapped his arms around Tsuzuki’s neck. His skin tingled briefly, like it had with Hajime but fainter, receding after only a second. He supposed he was just getting used to it. Kain stared up at Tsuzuki and hesitated. With Hajime, he’d pretended to be someone else on purpose, but he wasn’t sure he wanted that with Tsuzuki. He opened his mouth to apologize and started to pull away.

Tsuzuki arched an eyebrow and stared at him. There was no condescension on his face, only curiosity. Kain changed his mind. He leaned in for a kiss, moving slowly in case Tsuzuki wanted to pull away but he didn’t resist. After a second, Tsuzuki started kissing back, his hands settling against Kain’s lower back, holding him in place. It’d been a while since he’d held Tsuzuki like this but they hadn’t lost their spark, even if it was no longer Kain that Tsuzuki was seeing.

For a brief moment he debated asking Tsuzuki who he saw when they kissed. His chest tightened painfully at the thought and he decided against it. He wasn’t in love with Tsuzuki, but after the heartache that had come from losing Hajime, he didn’t think he could handle losing the tenuous connection he had with Tsuzuki as well. The mystery was better. He’d find out sooner or later, when Tsuzuki eventually slipped and said the mystery man’s name. Hajime had called him Shido right away, so it was only a matter of time. Until then, he could at least take comfort in the fact that Tsuzuki wasn’t pushing him away.

They were both smiling when they finally broke for air, Kain’s grin considerably wider than the small smirk on Tsuzuki’s face.

“I’m sure I can find some way to pay you back for letting me stay here,” Kain teased as his fingers played with the button on Tsuzuki’s pants.

He pulled Tsuzuki towards the bedroom and pretended that Tsuzuki didn’t see anyone else.

*****

Despite all of the years he’d put between himself and this place, the club had barely changed. Kain smiled as he watched the crowd over the bar patrons’ shoulders. On average, the patrons were older than when Kain had been a regular, but he suspected that was more due to the patrons than a shift in the club atmosphere. The club still felt the same, full of seductive smiles and friendly touches, as much a place for meeting friends as picking up a new boy, but the patrons had grown older and brought in others of roughly the same age to fill it. This was their club, in as much as it was the owner’s, and that mindset resonated through the crowd. Most of the people here knew each other. It was obvious in the friendly smiles that greeted most of the men who walked in the door, though even strangers seemed to get their fair share of welcome.

Kain felt like he’d never left, but rather had stepped away for a few moments and was now coming back home, back to where he belonged. He’d been surprised to find that he recognized many of the faces out in the crowd, and then further surprised to find that they remembered him. Kain fell back into routine automatically. Mixing drinks was like second nature to him, and flirting came even easier but he restrained himself. He found himself reluctant to actively pursue someone when he knew that they were just playing their fantasies of secret love off on him.

Next to him, Setsu sighed.

Kain leaned back against the counter. The crowd was winding down in the early morning hours. They were about half an hour from last call and then Kain could head home after a bit of cleanup. He’d have maybe an hour or two of sharing the bed with Tsuzuki before Tsuzuki got up.

He felt a strange draw towards Setsu, and information floated in the back of his mind, like a fuzzy memory he couldn’t clearly recall. Kain sighed and looked over at Setsu, following his gaze to one of the older patrons, a large, burly man who was currently flirting with a boy half his age. He looked back at Setsu. They would be a horrible fit. He found his attention draw to the side, over to one of their regular patrons, a younger kid by the name of Riya. In his mind there was a palatable weight of potential between Setsu and Riya. They fit together in Kain’s mind, like two puzzle pieces locked into place. Kain felt a grin spread across his face as a plan quickly formed in his mind. Setsu would be happy with Riya, it was just a matter of getting Setsu to see it.

“Aki, can you cover the bar for a bit?” Kain asked their fellow bartender, who nodded easily.

“Come with me.” He grabbed Setsu by the front of the shirt and dragged him into the back.

“Whoa, Kain!” Setsu shot a glance back at the burly man. Riya looked slightly pained as Kain dragged Setsu off, but he figured it was for the boy’s own good.

He hauled Setsu into the storage room and closed the door. Sturdy metal shelves lined the walls, full of cases of alcohol. “We need to talk.”

Setsu looked at him curiously. “Why?”

Kain started to unbutton the top of his shirt, baring his neck. “Did I ever tell you why I was kicked out of the priesthood?”

“Something about taboo.” Setsu shrugged. “No one minds, really. I mean, you know I’m not religious, so…” Setsu’s words died off as Kain stepped close.

“It’s a bit more than that.” He smiled briefly up at Setsu and then closed his eyes to concentrate. Setsu’s startled gasp told him he’d done it right. He opened his eyes again, grinning widely at the startled look on Setsu’s face.

“R-riya?”

“You don’t get it.” He started on the buttons on Setsu’s shirt, briefly kissing Setsu’s collarbone as soon as it was exposed. “It’s more than that.” He slid his hands across Setsu’s bare stomach, smiling as the other man squirmed. Setsu shifted, trying to back away but Kain followed. “You see, I have this… ability now.” Setsu’s back hit the shelves. There was a muffled jingle as some of the bottles shifted. “It lets me know what’s in people’s hearts, and while yours currently fancies someone else, that’s not who you need.”

“Kain?” Setsu squeaked as Kain dropped to his knees and opened Setsu’s pants. Despite his nervousness, Setsu’s body was definitely interested. Kain wrapped his hand around Setsu’s thickening member and pulled it out.

“Hmm?” He licked along the tip. “You don’t like Riya?”

“I… yes, but… how…”

He winced and covered it by quickly swallowing Setsu’s erection. The subject of exactly how he’d come to have his particular powers was always going to be a sore spot. Maybe in time, it wouldn’t hurt so badly to think about, but right now all he could feel was hurt at Hajime’s rejection. He’d sold his soul to be loved, and then had that love rejected. It had been a mistake, he knew now, and one that he doubted that he’d ever be free of. He’d prayed to be the one Hajime loved, and he had been, for a short while. So it would be with any man who approached him – Kain would become the man they loved, never himself.

Kain pulled away as soon as Setsu was really starting to get into the blowjob. Setsu groaned and gripped Kain’s hair. To Setsu, Kain’s hair was blond instead of black and slightly shorter. He’d been moaning Riya’s name as Kain had sucked him, fantasizing that it was Riya’s mouth and not his. There was still a slight hesitancy in Setsu’s stance. He needed more convincing.

“Don’t you think this might be better?” Kain ran his hands up Setsu’s chest as he stood. Riya was slightly shorter than him and he could feel his body reacting as if it was, though his physical height hadn’t changed. He leaned in, feeling a bit of pride in the lust in Setsu’s eyes when he looked at Kain, even if it wasn’t directed at him. “Riya wants you. He’d do anything for you. Love you, like you want to be loved, and it would be so easy to love him back.”

Setsu shuddered. He was on the verge of giving in.

“Don’t you want me?” Kain breathed in Setsu’s ear, knowing that it was Riya’s voice that Setsu heard, not Kain’s.

Kain smiled as he was turned suddenly. His back hit the shelves and he hid his wince, winding his arms around Setsu’s neck as Setsu leaned down for a passionate kiss. There was no room for doubt now. Setsu kissed him like he wanted to devour Kain. His hands worked frantically on the fastenings of Kain’s pants. Quickly, Kain reached into his back pocket and palmed a packet of lube seconds before Setsu shoved both of their pants down. He handed the packet back to Setsu and turned to brace himself against the shelves.

“I want you,” Setsu said as he slipped slick fingers inside of Kain. Kain pushed back, moaning his encouragement and shifting his legs slightly wider, opening himself up more.

“I want you too,” he promised, as Riya.

Kain gasped as Setsu entered him. He hadn’t quite realized how much he’d wanted this. So far he’d only been able to coerce Tsuzuki into to have sex with him twice in the past two weeks, and that had only been when he was lucky enough for their schedules to align enough that they both happened to be near enough to awake at the same time. It wasn’t enough. He’d always had a strong sex drive but ever since the incident with Hajime, it’d doubled, possibly tripled. The lack of sex had left him a bit on edge and this kind of release sated it like nothing else could.

He liked this, he realized. He liked pretending to be someone else if it meant that he left behind a happy couple. There was no doubt that Setsu was going to hook up with Riya after this. Judging by the practiced, smooth way that Setsu thrust inside of him, it wasn’t his first time being a top, though that hadn’t been the kind of relationship he’d thought he’d been looking for. But Kain knew that they’d be fine together, happy and lasting, assuming no major hiccups were thrown their way.

“God!” Kain gasped as one of Setsu’s thrusts sent him careening into the shelves. He was getting close to his own release.

Setsu’s hand closed around him and that was all Kain needed. His hands clenched against one of the shelves and he came, spilling his seed into Setsu’s hand. Setsu wasn’t far behind. He thrust once, twice, a third time and then shuddered, hitting hard into Kain as he came. His hands settled on Kain’s hips and Kain dropped his head to rest against the shelf.

“Wow,” Setsu gasped.

Kain grinned. They were both breathing heavy and Kain wondered if he could get Setsu to handle his half of the cleanup. All he wanted to do was go home, take a shower, and curl up with Tsuzuki. But, that wouldn’t be fair to Setsu, not when cute little Riya was still waiting out in the bar.

Setsu pulled out slowly and cleaned Kain off with a handful of tissues from his pocket. “Umm, thanks?”

Kain was still grinning when he turned and fixed his pants. “You’re welcome. Now get out of here and go talk to Riya. I’ll handle cleanup for you.”

Setsu beamed at him. “Really?”

He nodded. Setsu quickly straightened himself, erasing any trace that he’d just had sex. Kain watched him go with a smile. Maybe having this power wasn’t such a bad thing.

An idea came to Kain. There was an underground bar for rent next to Tsuzuki’s café. He had a feeling that he wasn’t going to want for business.

*****

Tsuzuki paused and stared at the display in the store window. An array of eclectic jewelry was laid out in the store window in a spread of different colored gems, elaborate settings, and assorted metals. One particular set stood out, laid out on a red velvet cloth towards the back of the display. It was slightly feminine, the pair of long dangling earrings obviously meant for a woman, but there was only one person Tsuzuki could picture wearing it.

The black and silver cross dangled upside down from a set of thin silver chains set with small white pearls. It reminded him of the rosaries he’d seen among Kain’s jewelry, though he doubted a true priest would wear something like that. Kain would look great in it, likely finding more significance in it than Tsuzuki ever would.

He shouldn’t buy it, but he wanted to, and before he knew it the necklace and earring set were wrapped away in a plastic shopping bag.

*****

Fukamachi toyed with the necklace that hung around Kain’s neck, the only thing resembling clothing that either of them wore, aside for the matching earring Kain wore. “This is new.”

Kain stretched against the sheets and propped his head on a hand. “A friend gave it to me. I rather like it.” He considered it a good luck charm, of sorts.

“It’s nice.” Fukamachi rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Kain debated asking if he wanted to go again. Being a top wasn’t normally Kain’s thing, but he didn’t mind switching if that was what the client wanted.

“Ohnuki still oblivious?” Fukamachi’s sigh was answer enough. There wasn’t much Kain could do besides work on Fukamachi’s courage. He felt his skin tingle as he rolled over on top of Fukamachi. “You should just tell me what you want.”

Fukamachi smiled and leaned up to kiss Kain lightly on the lips. “I should.” They both knew he wasn’t going to. This wasn’t Fukamachi’s first visit to the bar and it likely wouldn’t be his last. He gently pushed Kain away and stood. “I need to get going. I have to get to work.”

Kain flopped back onto the bed and glanced at the clock. He could get a short nap in before Tsuzuki opened up for the breakfast crowd.

“Kain?” He looked over at where Fukamachi had paused in the doorway. “Are all your clients referrals?”

He nodded. “Most. I’m starting to get more popular. Some hear about the website by word of mouth.”

A worried look crossed Fukamachi’s face and he fished a business card out of his wallet. “I know I shouldn’t offer this, but there are a lot of bad people out there. I can run background checks for you.” Kain stared in surprise. Fukamachi averted his gaze and shifted on his feet. “I… It’s just, you’ve helped me so much, and I… I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He set the business card down on the small decorative table by the door. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Kain sat up, suddenly feeling incredibly touched. “Thank you. I will.”

Fukamachi left without another word. Kain kept smiling. It felt nice helping people, but he hadn’t really expected anyone besides Tsuzuki to want to help him back. He kept grinning for the rest of the day.

*****

Tsuzuki was watching the news from the couch when Kain got home. He tossed his tie and vest onto the back of the couch and flopped down next to Tsuzuki. His head fell on Tsuzuki’s shoulder.

“You’re home early.”

“The client ran off.” Kain shifted until he was stretched across the couch, his head pillowed on Tsuzuki’s lap. “Apparently he couldn’t bring himself to ‘sully’ his love.”

Tsuzuki ignored him. The weatherman came on screen to give the week’s forecast. Kain stared up at Tsuzuki and considered. It’d been a while since he’d had an evening off, longer since he’d had a few free hours while Tsuzuki was conscious. He shifted, sliding back until he was sitting on Tsuzuki’s lap.

“Can I help you?” Tsuzuki stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

He wrapped his arms around Tsuzuki’s neck. “I certainly hope so.” His hand slid into Tsuzuki’s hair and pulled Tsuzuki down to him.

The kiss deepened almost instantly. For all of Tsuzuki’s outward restraint, once Kain made the first move, he gave back as good as he got. Tsuzuki’s hands held him by the waist as he shifted up onto his knees and straddled Tsuzuki’s waist. Tsuzuki’s fingers gently massaged Kain’s lower back, pulling Kain closer to him with each deep touch. Kain moaned softly into the kiss and felt himself hardening.

“Eager?” Tsuzuki asked as Kain pulled away for breath. He could feel Tsuzuki’s own erection starting to rise and he rolled his hips to press against it. Lust flashed in Tsuzuki’s eyes.

Kain grinned and peeled off Tsuzuki’s t-shirt. “Always.” The fabric disappeared over the back of the couch. Kain bent his head to kiss the revealed skin and ran his hands over Tsuzuki’s muscles. “It shouldn’t be that surprising.” Tsuzuki’s hands batted Kain’s away as he started to undo the buttons on his own shirt.

“It never was.” Kain’s shirt fell to the floor behind him. Both of Tsuzuki’s hands slid down to cup Kain’s ass, massaging the flesh there as he had Kain’s lower back. Kain gasped loudly and bit Tsuzuki’s chest lightly, nipping his way up to leave a dark bruise on Tsuzuki’s collarbone. Then Tsuzuki turned them, pushing Kain down onto his back. He went easily, sighing happily as Tsuzuki’s weight settled over him.

“What can I say? I’m predictable.”

Tsuzuki laughed and opened Kain’s pants. He slid a hand inside and gripped Kain’s erection, making him buck up against Tsuzuki’s solid mass with a wanton moan. Kain wiggled and reached down to push his pants off of his hips while Tsuzuki stroked him, keeping him too distracted to get his pants more than a few inches down. It was enough for Tsuzuki to worm a hand beneath him and press a thick finger against Kain’s entrance. Kain gasped and pushed down until the tip of Tsuzuki’s finger breeched him.

He needed Tsuzuki inside of him now. Kain twisted until he could grab the tube of lube he kept stashed in his pocket and passed it to Tsuzuki as he kicked his pants the rest of the way off. He wasted no time in opening Tsuzuki’s pants, using a foot to push them down around Tsuzuki’s ankles and then wrapping his legs around Tsuzuki’s waist.

“I like your predictability,” Tsuzuki said as he squeezed clear gel onto his hand.

Three slick fingers slid inside of him and Kain’s response was cut off by a moan of pleasure. Tsuzuki knew just how to touch him to make Kain writhe and beg. He gasped, shifting against the cushions as Tsuzuki’s fingers played inside of him. It felt amazing, like sex always did with Tsuzuki, but it wasn’t the kind of touch that Kain was looking for. He started to ask, only to have his words cut off every time he tried. Kain arched up as Tsuzuki’s fingers curled inside of him and rubbed against his prostate.

“Stop teasing,” Kain gasped.

Tsuzuki grinned at him and finally pulled his fingers out. Kain pushed on Tsuzuki’s shoulder and rolled them until he was on top, sitting astride Tsuzuki’s legs. He folded his hand over Tsuzuki’s and moved their hands together over Tsuzuki’s erection until he deemed Tsuzuki was coated well enough. Tsuzuki brought his knees up, gently urging Kain forward. There was a smug look on Tsuzuki ‘s face as he watched Kain position himself over Tsuzuki’s member, grasping it lightly with one hand as he slid down onto it, pushing down until his thighs rested against the flesh of Tsuzuki’s hips.

Kain wondered who it was that brought out the lusty, intent look on Tsuzuki’s face as he entered Kain. Did the man Tsuzuki saw Kain as have dark or light hair? Was he Japanese or foreign? He at least knew Tsuzuki’s type well enough to guess that the man was at least close to Kain in certain aspects – slim, probably a bit arrogant or cocky, and with definite sex appeal. He wanted to ask, suddenly desperate for a name, even the slightest of hints, but the words stuck on his lips and were drowned out by a loud moan as Tsuzuki bucked his hips up into Kain.

They moved together with practiced ease. Tsuzuki held him steady by the hips, his hands not tight enough to hurt but firm enough that Kain didn’t worry about falling over. There was enough room on either side of Tsuzuki’s hips for Kain to kneel on the couch and move himself, up and down, sliding Tsuzuki inside of him. He didn’t bother to be quiet, too used to the soundproof walls of the bar and not caring in the least what the neighbors overheard. They’d heard worse before, on the days when Kain was feeling more adventurous and the need to be loud and vulgar overwhelmed him. Tsuzuki just laughed and played along, much like he did most days with Kain.

The inverted cross necklace bounced against his chest, swinging with each downward thrust. Tsuzuki watched it with a broad smile. He wondered if Tsuzuki had gotten his secret love a necklace as well. A brief surge of jealousy surged through Kain, but he at least had something over Tsuzuki’s mystery man – Tsuzuki was here, fucking Kain, and then afterwards it would be Kain curled up with Tsuzuki in their shared bed instead of some other guy.

Fingers squeezed his hips briefly, the only warning he got before Tsuzuki suddenly slammed up and came. One of his hands slid around to wrap around Kain’s erection, tugging on it roughly, drawing increasingly profane sounds from Kain’s lips until he followed suit, spilling his seed across Tsuzuki’s chest. He shouted wordlessly as he came, the sound ringing in his ears for seconds afterwards.

Tsuzuki pulled him down until he rested against Tsuzuki’s chest, the cross spread out across Tsuzuki’s skin next to him. Kain stared at it and avoided Tsuzuki’s gaze. He spoke without thinking. “Who do you see when we have sex?”

Tsuzuki shifted, resettling Kain’s weight more evenly across his body. He made no move to pull out, and Kain wasn’t in a hurry to separate them. “What do you mean?”

He spread his hand over Tsuzuki’s chest, palm on his heart, fingers touching the cross. “Setsu saw Riya. Fukamachi sees his coworker Ohnuki. The client today saw a guy named Himeno. Everyone has someone they secretly lust after, so who is it for you?”

“I see you.”

Kain slowly lifted himself a few inches off of Tsuzuki’s chest so that he could stare down at the man. “No one sees me, not for all of it. So, who’s the lucky man that you’re secretly lusting after?” It pained himself to say the words but he needed to know. There was a vague fantasy building in the back of his head, and he needed to crush it before he was crushed by it.

Tsuzuki stared at him flatly. “I see you.” He enunciated each word.

Shock washed through Kain, freezing him in place. Tsuzuki pulled him back down. One of his hands twisted in Kain’s hair, stroking lightly until Kain relaxed. A blush spread across his face. It’d been years since he’d blushed this badly but he couldn’t seem to stop. He was grinning uncontrollably.

“Oh. Thank you.” Kain curled his fingers around the cross, his hand resting on top of Tsuzuki’s heart.

Tsuzuki saw him, Tsuzuki wanted him even with his strange powers and his sex therapy and his weird quirks.

He couldn’t stop grinning.

Roughly two miles outside of the village of South Glenn stands a tall stone tower. There is no road through the forest to the tower, and some wonder how all of that stone came to stand in the center of their forest. There is no door in the tower, only a small arched window set just below the gable, leaving many questioning how someone would enter or leave the tower without a ladder. When the villagers speak of the strange tower, which they do as little as possible, they do so in hushed whispers lest the witch who inhabits it overhears.

“There was singing,” Dame Gellar hissed to her neighbor late one afternoon over tea. “In the forest. My son heard it when he was hunting.” The women shared a knowing look and made the sign against evil across their chests.

Dame Leary stared through the kitchen window towards the woods that surrounded their village. “Been some years. Poor thing.”

“Do you think another prince will come round?” Dame Gellar’s voice rose a hair above a whisper, causing her neighbor to shoot her a look.

“Lord, I hope not.” She spoke softer than before, as if to balance out Dame Gellar’s change in volume. “You remember that last one?”

They shook their heads in near-unison. “God rest his soul.” They crossed their chests.

A brief moment of silence passed between them and then Dame Gellar leaned across the table, bumping the wood with her rounded stomach and making the teacups rattle. She crooked her finger and Dame Leary shifted closer, her eyebrow quirked with curiosity. Dame Gellar glanced around the room, seeming to search the shadows for hidden listeners. When she spoke, Dame Leary had to strain to hear.

“I hear they had a son. He was taken too, snatched the same as the girl was.”

“You don’t think…”

A hawk cried in the forest, startling them both. Dame Gellar stood quickly and crossed the room to pull the shutters closed. She shut the latch firmly.

That was the last they spoke of the strange tower and the girl who had once been imprisoned there.

*****

Lucian did not like the tower. It was cold and far too quiet. The latter was easy to fix, at least for a small time, but singing to himself was not the same as being surrounded by the bustle of a village. His memory of the village was starting to fade, blurred by each day that passed, and with it went the memory of his grandparents. He had little memory of his mother but he missed her all the same. All he could remember of her was her long blonde hair – a shade that he had inherited though he would never be able to match hers in length – and the lullabies she had sung for him when he’d been a small child.

“Rapunzel!” Lucian shuddered and quickly rose, straightening his skirt as he did so. He wished – not for the first time – that the witch would bring him something besides his mother’s old dresses to wear.

Stone ground against stone as a section of the wall slid away to form a small doorway. “Ah, there you are, my dear.” The witch grinned at him from the top of the stairwell. There were more gaps in her toothy grin than the last time she’d visited and she walked a bit slower.

“I’ve neglected you for far too long. You will forgive me, of course?” Lucian tried not to shudder as she embraced him. He weakly returned her hold.

“Yes, godmother, of course.” He had no idea how many days had passed between visits, but it had been quite a while. He’d learned to be conservative with the food she left him, never sure if it would be weeks or months between her visits, and his current stores had dwindled almost to nothing.

Her expression shifted in a flash. Gnarled fingers twisted in his hair and pulled roughly. “Too long. It’s too long.” Her eyes glinted feverishly.

Lucian cried out as she pulled him over to the vanity. He sat quickly, before she could push him into the chair. She opened the top drawer and pulled out a long pair of shears. Lucian sat very still.

“Can’t have that.” The witch’s fingers moved, hacking away at his hair with fast, sure snips. “Certainly can’t have that.” Snip, snip, snip. “Too long, too long.” Snip, snip. “Why do you always grow it so long, my dear? Trying to lure another prince in?”

“No, godmother,” he assured quickly.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. When his hair was long, he looked like his mother. Her picture sat on the vanity, half-hidden behind a vase of flowers. He could never tell which days the picture would make his godmother sad or angry, but both were outbursts he’d rather avoid. There seemed to be more sad days than angry. On those days it seemed like she might be close to remembering that he wasn’t his mother, but her faulty memory quickly carried such near realizations away. The scissors cut his hair, changing the reflection in the mirror into a wild-looking boy. The witch didn’t bother cutting his hair even, instead chopping it into rough chunks near chin length. He’d fix it later, when she was gone and she wouldn’t even realize the difference.

“There.” Her long, thin fingers ran through his choppy hair, raking it further askew. “Now we can’t have any more accidents.” The fingers clenched briefly in his hair then relaxed. She stepped away. “Clean that up.” She waved towards the hair shavings.

Lucian grabbed the broom and dustpan from where it stood next to the vanity. The witch watched him closely as he gathered up every last hair and dumped it out of the window. A strong breeze picked up the hair and carried it away into the forest.

“Good girl.” He’d given up on trying to correct her. “Now come help me with these heavy things.”

“Yes, godmother.”

Once again, she smiled at him, her expression bordering on manic. He wasn’t sure which he preferred – her company or the silence.

*****

Lord Alec Vilonay spluttered as the wind carried a patch of straw into his face. He coughed and brushed the straw out of his face. A few strands came away in his hand, they were too thin to be straw. He rolled a few pieces between his fingers and peered into the woods. Hair? Out here? The next village, a small town called South Glenn, was still a good distance away.

Alec halted his horse on the empty road and considered. There had been a legend surrounding the previous prince’s death about a woman trapped in a tower. He’d been little more than a boy when the prince had died but he remembered parts of the story – how he’d been found by the villagers in the woods, his face scratched up and blinded, then died shortly after from his injuries. A few years later a rumor had surfaced that the prince had left a child behind, born from the girl in the tower, but neither the woman nor her child had ever come forward.

Curiosity made Alec turn his horse and head into the woods. He checked that his sword was loose in its scabbard and that his bow was fully strung. There was a good chance that he would find nothing but Alec had never been one to turn away from a possible adventure.

*****

It took him three days to find the tower. There was a thick patch of briars surrounding the base, their thorns nearly as long as his finger. He circled it once but could see no entrance beyond the window set at the top of the tower. Twilight was approaching, casting the forest in growing shadows. A faint light came through the window. Smoke curled out of the thin chimney.

“Hello?” He shouted.

There was a faint sound and then a head appeared in the window, staring down at him with blatant surprise. Instead of a lonely maiden, a young boy stared back at him. His blond hair fell about his face like a halo. The boy bit his lip and shouted back. “Go away.”

Alec gaped. “Pardon?”

The boy’s eyes scanned the woods around them. “You need to go away.”

Alec stepped closer. A wide grin spread across his face. “Because of the witch? Are you Rapunzel?”

“Yes. And, no. She was my mother. If you know of her then you should know why you need to go away.”

“I’m not going away.” This was the rumored child! He couldn’t believe it. The legend was real and here he was, staring up at the prince’s son trapped by a witch in a tower. He had to rescue the boy and take him back to the palace. The king and queen would be ecstatic. First, however, he needed to find a way into the tower. “What’s your name?”

The boy leaned further forward to watch Alec as he tied the reins for his horse to a tree and carefully pushed his way through the briar patch. A few of the thorns pricked him, but he found that if he moved slowly enough, the brushed off his clothing. “If I tell you my name, will you go away?”

“No.” He smiled up at the boy.

The boy rolled his eyes and frowned. “If I don’t tell you my name, will you go away?”

“Oh, definitely not.” He felt a thrill of pleasure as the boy glared at him. “How does the witch get in? You certainly don’t seem able to lower your hair.”

“She never used the hair, only the prince did. There’s a door.”

Alec pulled off a glove and felt his way along the wall. There had to be a catch hidden somewhere that would open it. He circled the tower three times but found nothing. If there was a latch, it was too well hidden for him to find in such low light. “I can’t find it.”

“Then go away.”

“Not a chance.” He couldn’t remember when he’d had this much of a challenge. An idea came to him and he pushed his way back towards his horse. Alec pulled a thin length of rope from his saddlebags and tied it to an arrow. “Please go inside.”

The boy’s eyes widened as Alec pick up his bow. He ducked back inside and Alec aimed. The arrow buried itself deep in the underside of the roof, just above the window. He pushed his way back through the briar and tugged. The rope seemed like it’d hold his weight. The boy’s head appeared again.

“Go away! You can’t do this.”

Alec stared up the wall. “You won’t dissuade me.”

The boy’s hand wrapped around the shaft of the arrow. “I could pull it out. You’d fall.”

Alec turned to stare down at the briar patch below him. The thorns were quite thick but if he fell just right he could avoid too much damage. He took another step up the wall. “Then do it. I’m coming up.”

The boy glared at him but he released the arrow and disappeared back into the tower. Alec grinned with victory. Relief washed through him as he finally reached the window. He held tight to the rim of the window as he threw a leg over and started to pull himself inside. He stopped on the ledge and stared. It seems he’d have to change his impression of the boy. He – or was it she? – was dressed in a soft blue gown with ruffles around the base.

“My apologies. I took you for a boy at first.”

“I am.” He flushed and stared at the wall to the side, avoiding Alec’s gaze. “There aren’t any other clothes up here.”

Alec tried very hard not to smirk. He let his eyes rove over the boy’s slender frame. The dress fit him in all but the chest. If he’d been a girl, he would have looked ravishing. As a boy, he was still quite fetching, but there was an extra air of eroticism seeing him dressed so strangely. Alec shifted and tried to stamp down on his interest.

“You never did tell me your name,” Alec reminded.

The boy looked at him, blushed, and turned back towards the wall. “Lucian.”

Alec let himself grin at the boy, and hoped his slowly growing desire wasn’t showing too badly. He stepped forward and took the boy’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Prince Lucian.” He pressed his lips to the back of Lucian’s hand. His words hand the desired effect of flustering Lucian.

Lucian spluttered and snatched his hand back, holding it protectively against his chest. “P-Prince?” The blush remained on his face, giving Alec the idea that Lucian wasn’t entirely opposed to the kiss Alec had placed on him.

“You are the son of the prince who met Rapunzel in this tower, correct?”

“Y-yes, but…”

“Then you’re a prince.” He bowed again and gestured towards the window. “Your kingdom awaits. Will you be okay climbing down? I can lower you if needed.”

Lucian shifted on his feet and took a step back. “I can’t. She’ll come after me.”

Alec straightened and let his hand settle on the pommel of his sword, putting on a show of confidence greater than he felt. “Then I shall dispatch her for you.”

“No!” Lucian’s sudden shout rocked Alec back a step. He gaped.

“But…”

Lucian fidgeted and toyed with a strand of his hair near his ear. “She’s just an old woman.” He wavered visibly for a moment and then seemed to gather his resolve. “I know that she’s not the most honorable of people but you can’t kill her.”

“She’s a witch. She killed your father and imprisoned your mother. I can-”

The slap came unexpectedly. He heard it before he felt it. Shock spread through him as he finally registered the sting on his cheek.

Lucian stood inches away, his hands on his hips. “She’s a lonely old woman. She thinks I’m her adopted daughter, Rapunzel. I know she’s done bad things, but-”

“She’s holding you here against your will,” Alec argued, cutting Lucian off. He fingered the sleeve of Lucian’s dress. “Can you honestly say that you want to stay here?”

The boy faltered for a moment. He pulled his sleeve away. “I can’t just leave. She’ll come after both of us.”

Alec shifted closer. He tried to touch Lucian again but he pulled away. “I can protect you.”

“Are you sure? She’s a witch. I don’t know how much power she still has, but I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

“I’ll take you to the castle,” Alec insisted. “There are guards. We can make sure she doesn’t get near you. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

“And what will you do when she does come?” Lucian asked softly. “Will you have the guards kill her? She won’t leave without me, and if you don’t kill her, she’ll kill you.”

Alec had no answer, at least not one that he felt wouldn’t earn him another slap.

Lucian’s hand settled on his chest, keeping an arm length of distance between them. He looked uncertain and Alec had a feeling that if he pressed, just a little bit further, then Lucian might give in. He didn’t get the chance to.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Alec quirked an eyebrow. “The witch has been getting forgetful. She’s growing older, and I don’t know how much longer she’ll keep coming back. If a year passes and she doesn’t return, then I’ll go with you.”

Alec glanced pointedly around the small, sparse room. There were a handful of sacks and two crates stacked near the dresser, but little else visible in the way of provisions. “A year is a long time and you can hardly provide for yourself up here.”

“I’ll be fine.” Lucian’s expression didn’t match the confidence of his voice. “She leaves me enough provisions.”

“Half a year,” Alec countered. “If six months pass without her return, then you’ll return with me.”

Lucian hesitated a moment. “Alright.”

“Then we have a deal.” Alec smirked and shifted closer. He placed his hand on Lucian’s hip and rubbed the boy’s skin through the fabric of his dress. “Would you be so kind as to grant me hospitality for the night? I promise to leave in the morning.”

The shy smile on Lucian’s face was answer enough. Alec bridged the small gap between them to kiss Lucian lightly on the lips. They didn’t part for the rest of the night.

*****

The villagers of South Glenn got few strangers passing through their village, thus it made quite a stir when a young lordling came to stay at their inn. The lord stayed for three days. On the second day he rode out into the forest, not returning until early on the third day, when he gathered his belongings without a word to the villagers and went on his way. Six months passed before the villagers saw him again, then another six months, and another. Each time he came, he stayed for exactly three days, always disappearing on the eve of the second.

“He’s possessed,” Dame Leary whispered, in the same tone usually reserved for talk of the tower.

“He’s in love,” Dame Gellar countered. She’d seen much the same look on her own sons’ faces before they’d announced their intentions to marry. “And not so pleased about coming away with naught,” she added. She’d chanced upon the young lordling a few times on the third day of his stay, and he’d never seemed happy to leave.

A commotion on the road drew their attention away from their tea. They both hurried over to the window. The lord was due to return this morning, and Dame Gellar had been hoping to see him pass. They caught sight of the lord easy enough and with it, the reason for the villager’s commotion. The lord had returned from the forest, and this time he wasn’t alone