The acid energy of the Gate lingered near Vanyel, and his body felt peculiarly numb. He wasn't sure how he'd passed through Krebain's Gate. Maybe he carried me, he thought - and the thought of being swept up in Krebain's arms confounded him. The man was alluring, yes, but the thought of being so close to him was unnerving.
He looked up into Krebain's blue-black eyes, and saw concern there in among the hunger. "It hurts you, to pass through a Gate? How strange. But we could hardly depart by any other means," and he smiled wide. "I needed to take you far, far away from them, Vanyel."
That's as I pledged. That if he left Covia alone, I'd go with him. Vanyel sought nothing else of what Krebain had promised to him - riches and revenge meant very little to him now. He only wanted the village to be safe. And it was as well if they'd Gated far away from Covia; at such distance, surely he could persuade the mage from preying on the villagers again. I'll keep him distracted.
"Where are we?" he asked. The room they were in looked like a Work Room, but not so plain as the Work Rooms that Savil or Starwind kept. The walls were covered in strange runes and pictures, and in the centre was a raised stone block with a spiral carved on its surface. The air smelt strange - almost metallic. Vanyel reached with his mind - and encounted another spell-shield not far away. So he still couldn't speak to Yfandes, even to tell her goodbye - well, hopefully the villagers would tell Savil what had happened.
Krebain threw the room's carved-oak door open grandly. "This is one of my many hideaways," he replied. He took Vanyel's arm, and Van tried not to flinch as the mage led him into a great round room with high-peaked rafters. Sunlight shone through thin window slits, scoring sharp lines across a marble floor. The room looked to be something of a parlour, something of a bedchamber; against one wall, he saw a bed strewn with sumptuous pillows.
He shivered, and wasn't sure if it was from fear or from the thought of Krebain's beauty. The mage raised his helm from his head, and white-gold hair fell around his shoulders. Vanyel wanted to touch it, see how soft it was, play with it in the sunlight, but he didn't dare move. Everything about him is so magnetically attractive...
Krebain raised a hand to his own mouth and bit the tip of his scarlet glove between his teeth. Slowly, he pulled his hand free.
Van had thought, somehow, that Krebain's theatrical costume was a masquerade and that what lay underneath could not be more peculiar than what he had seen - but he was evidently wrong. Krebain's fingers curved strangely, as if he had too many knuckles, and his nails were curved and black. That could be simple artifice - Vanyel had seen more peculiar nails gracing the hands of Court ladies - but the closer Krebain stepped to him, the less confident Vanyel was of his humanity.
And yet, the more enraptured by his beauty.
Krebain reached out a hand to caress him. A touch like cold, polished steel - scales and claws, nothing human - and he leaned into it even as part of him was frantic to draw away.
But he couldn't.
It's the pledge I made. That's why I can't stop this.
"Vanyel, rare one, pure of heart. I want to keep you that way always," Krebain whispered. "You will be my greatest treasure. Who ever knew such a beautiful man would be so willing to give himself away for others." His tonguetip slipped between his lips, hissing the final word. "Your will might be the loveliest thing about you. I'll never take it from you. Now, let me look at you," he said, and his clawed hand ran down Vanyel's neck, catching at his throat-latch. Vanyel stared at him stupidly, and he laughed. It was the most musical sound Vanyel had ever heard a human make; but then he remembered - he isn't human. A flick of that slender wrist, and Van's cloak fell down from his shoulders. "Let me look, Vanyel. Take those clothes off," Krebain urged.
Vanyel gasped.
The mage shook his head gently, as if he'd made some foolish mistake. "You've nought to fear, Vanyel. I won't let you feel cold. I won't let anyone else hurt you. I give you my solemn word." Something about the way he'd said it unsettled Vanyel - but he had no sense that Krebain was lying. "And you know the worth of the words of an Adept, don't you?"
"Yes," he breathed. Words could bind, could enspell.
"And you gave your word that you would be mine."
"Yes," and that was all of him - he couldn't recall any other pledge or purpose in his life.
"So it will be," Krebain smiled down at him. "Of your own will, you are my own. Your will is to serve my will in all things. And I know you very much want to show yourself to me," and his closeness and his beauty set Vanyel trembling. Yes, of course he wanted to unlace his clothes and display himself to Krebain - all he'd needed was to hear the mage's command.
He yanked his tunic and his layers of shirts over his head, and as he shook his hair from his eyes he looked up into Krebain's wide smile. It was a relief to know that his body could bring Krebain such delight. I can make him happy. I can satisfy him, keep him from doing any more evil.
He pulled off his snowboots with shaking hands, and as he unfastened his breeches, Krebain's hands fell upon his shoulders. The strange, smooth touch of his fingers, the cold points of his claws, sent a thrill running all through him. He let Krebain steer him backwards, until his heels collided with that opulent bed. "Pure one," he murmured, pushing Vanyel down until they sat together. The palm of his hand slipped downward, spreading over Vanyel's chest. His nipple flushed hard against the touch. So gentle - so smooth and cold, like polished jade. "I see I please you," he murmured, and Vanyel felt like fire was running though his loins. Great gods, Krebain was so beautiful. "I would have you please me too."
"That is my will," he heard himself say. It is, it is. And he knew how to please a man. His hands fell to Krebain's hips, running over the tight leather of his breeches. Vanyel cupped the warm swell of him, and Krebain's lips parted at the sight of his willingness, showing his sharp teeth.
Slowly, he leaned forward and engulfed Vanyel's lips with his own.
It was slower than their first kiss, much more gentle. For all the fire it stoked inside him, Krebain's touch was as soft and numbing as snow. Vanyel could feel it spreading through him, and it was like his pledge was breathing its way into life. This was what he had sworn himself to - this pleasure, this need for Krebain's closeness.
A claw touched his chin, sliding up to his lips and pulling them a finger's-breadth apart. "One thing you must know," Krebain said lightly, as if it were nothing. "It would please me to hear you call me Master." And he laid back into the soft featherbed, opening his breeches with a flicker of his strange, dexerous hands. "Please me well, and you will be rewarded."
"Yes - master." He hesitated over the word - what am I saying? - but then he felt himself caught in its gravity. It seemed so right, to describe what Krebain was to him. "Of course, Master." The mage's dark eyes slitted thin, and Vanyel reached for his rising cock.
It was as sinfully, exquisitely sculpted as the rest of Krebain's body. Vanyel's hands shook with profane reverence as he put his hands gently to the smooth, scimitar-curve of it. I must please him well, he reminded himself, and ran his hands along its length - which was more than he'd ever seen a man to sport. Even the loose skin over it felt more wonderful than was possible, as tight as oiled snakeskin. The thickness of it made his mouth water. It's bigger than Lendel's - but I can still... Vanyel bent his head, and wrapped his mouth around the tip.
Krebain exhaled, and Vanyel felt a sudden surge of warmth and pleasure. I'm an Empath now, he thought stupidly. Moondance had, in fact, hinted to him of the benefits of being able ot sense how you made someone else feel. And his master felt good - like Van had done something right - I please him - and he shifted to lick further down the thick shaft of him. That was the right thing to do. He tightened his hands about the parts of Krebain's cock that his mouth couldn't reach, and the waves of satisfaction were like sunshine between his hands. It wasn't what he'd shared with Lendel - but he couldn't think of that now.
Clawtips combed at his hair. Krebain's fingers tightened on his scalp, and he could think of nothing more. His eyes slipped closed, and he let his master tug his head up and down on the thick cock that was the centre of all pleasure. Up. Down. And tighter, further down, the head of it pushing at the back of his mouth - and he sputtered, desperate for air.
His master laughed gently. "You'll learn, lovely Vanyel." As he fought for breath, Krebain rested a hand on his cheek, and spread his fingers wide - and with a flash they raked across his face. Pain stung through him, and he cried out. "Shh," and Krebain cupped his face gently, his hands only soothing again. "A little hurt will help train you in giving pleasure." He eased Vanyel back into his place - kneeling between the mage's open legs - and as his hands pulled away again, Vanyel saw three thin lines of blood cross Krebain's palm.
Not good enough - and he fought his rising panic. He had to please Krebain. The pain of the scratches was inconsequential, but he couldn't bear the thought of disappointing his beautiful master. He bowed his head and opened his lips around Krebain's cock again, hands moving frantically in an effort to make up for his shortcomings. He took it in as deep as he dared - then back, tightening his lips, dipping his tongue into the open eye. And down again. Further this time. He felt the joy of Krebain's response, and let it pull him into the rhythm, up and down and tighter, his hands clenching with the pulse of it, and then claws tight in his hair kept him still as he tasted the first salty tears of his victory.
It pounded through him. Krebain shook under his hands, and he held Vanyel down hard as seed filled the back of his mouth. "Swallow," Krebain murmured his command lightly as he relaxed his grip. Vanyel obeyed him. It was different - bitter - but he was so glad to have it, as proof that he had pleased his master.
He watched Krebain breathe deeply, and rise to his feet again - such feline, serpentine grace. "I promised I'd reward you," Krebain smiled, and Vanyel saw there was something in his hand - a thread of gold. A thin charm-chain. "Be still," Krebain commanded, and reached down Vanyel's body to take his penis in one clawed hand. Van gasped, fighting the need to lean into the rough touch - but he couldn't. That wasn't what had been asked of him. Krebain stroked him with cold clawtips, down to the base of him, cupping his balls in one hand, and Vanyel heard a soft click as the tiny chain locked into place behind them. "A gift for you," Krebain said. "I hope you like it. You certainly shouldn't try to remove it," - and no, Vanyel would never do that.
1/?
He looked up into Krebain's blue-black eyes, and saw concern there in among the hunger. "It hurts you, to pass through a Gate? How strange. But we could hardly depart by any other means," and he smiled wide. "I needed to take you far, far away from them, Vanyel."
That's as I pledged. That if he left Covia alone, I'd go with him. Vanyel sought nothing else of what Krebain had promised to him - riches and revenge meant very little to him now. He only wanted the village to be safe. And it was as well if they'd Gated far away from Covia; at such distance, surely he could persuade the mage from preying on the villagers again. I'll keep him distracted.
"Where are we?" he asked. The room they were in looked like a Work Room, but not so plain as the Work Rooms that Savil or Starwind kept. The walls were covered in strange runes and pictures, and in the centre was a raised stone block with a spiral carved on its surface. The air smelt strange - almost metallic. Vanyel reached with his mind - and encounted another spell-shield not far away. So he still couldn't speak to Yfandes, even to tell her goodbye - well, hopefully the villagers would tell Savil what had happened.
Krebain threw the room's carved-oak door open grandly. "This is one of my many hideaways," he replied. He took Vanyel's arm, and Van tried not to flinch as the mage led him into a great round room with high-peaked rafters. Sunlight shone through thin window slits, scoring sharp lines across a marble floor. The room looked to be something of a parlour, something of a bedchamber; against one wall, he saw a bed strewn with sumptuous pillows.
He shivered, and wasn't sure if it was from fear or from the thought of Krebain's beauty. The mage raised his helm from his head, and white-gold hair fell around his shoulders. Vanyel wanted to touch it, see how soft it was, play with it in the sunlight, but he didn't dare move. Everything about him is so magnetically attractive...
Krebain raised a hand to his own mouth and bit the tip of his scarlet glove between his teeth. Slowly, he pulled his hand free.
Van had thought, somehow, that Krebain's theatrical costume was a masquerade and that what lay underneath could not be more peculiar than what he had seen - but he was evidently wrong. Krebain's fingers curved strangely, as if he had too many knuckles, and his nails were curved and black. That could be simple artifice - Vanyel had seen more peculiar nails gracing the hands of Court ladies - but the closer Krebain stepped to him, the less confident Vanyel was of his humanity.
And yet, the more enraptured by his beauty.
Krebain reached out a hand to caress him. A touch like cold, polished steel - scales and claws, nothing human - and he leaned into it even as part of him was frantic to draw away.
But he couldn't.
It's the pledge I made. That's why I can't stop this.
"Vanyel, rare one, pure of heart. I want to keep you that way always," Krebain whispered. "You will be my greatest treasure. Who ever knew such a beautiful man would be so willing to give himself away for others." His tonguetip slipped between his lips, hissing the final word. "Your will might be the loveliest thing about you. I'll never take it from you. Now, let me look at you," he said, and his clawed hand ran down Vanyel's neck, catching at his throat-latch. Vanyel stared at him stupidly, and he laughed. It was the most musical sound Vanyel had ever heard a human make; but then he remembered - he isn't human. A flick of that slender wrist, and Van's cloak fell down from his shoulders. "Let me look, Vanyel. Take those clothes off," Krebain urged.
Vanyel gasped.
The mage shook his head gently, as if he'd made some foolish mistake. "You've nought to fear, Vanyel. I won't let you feel cold. I won't let anyone else hurt you. I give you my solemn word." Something about the way he'd said it unsettled Vanyel - but he had no sense that Krebain was lying. "And you know the worth of the words of an Adept, don't you?"
"Yes," he breathed. Words could bind, could enspell.
"And you gave your word that you would be mine."
"Yes," and that was all of him - he couldn't recall any other pledge or purpose in his life.
"So it will be," Krebain smiled down at him. "Of your own will, you are my own. Your will is to serve my will in all things. And I know you very much want to show yourself to me," and his closeness and his beauty set Vanyel trembling. Yes, of course he wanted to unlace his clothes and display himself to Krebain - all he'd needed was to hear the mage's command.
He yanked his tunic and his layers of shirts over his head, and as he shook his hair from his eyes he looked up into Krebain's wide smile. It was a relief to know that his body could bring Krebain such delight. I can make him happy. I can satisfy him, keep him from doing any more evil.
He pulled off his snowboots with shaking hands, and as he unfastened his breeches, Krebain's hands fell upon his shoulders. The strange, smooth touch of his fingers, the cold points of his claws, sent a thrill running all through him. He let Krebain steer him backwards, until his heels collided with that opulent bed. "Pure one," he murmured, pushing Vanyel down until they sat together. The palm of his hand slipped downward, spreading over Vanyel's chest. His nipple flushed hard against the touch. So gentle - so smooth and cold, like polished jade. "I see I please you," he murmured, and Vanyel felt like fire was running though his loins. Great gods, Krebain was so beautiful. "I would have you please me too."
"That is my will," he heard himself say. It is, it is. And he knew how to please a man. His hands fell to Krebain's hips, running over the tight leather of his breeches. Vanyel cupped the warm swell of him, and Krebain's lips parted at the sight of his willingness, showing his sharp teeth.
Slowly, he leaned forward and engulfed Vanyel's lips with his own.
It was slower than their first kiss, much more gentle. For all the fire it stoked inside him, Krebain's touch was as soft and numbing as snow. Vanyel could feel it spreading through him, and it was like his pledge was breathing its way into life. This was what he had sworn himself to - this pleasure, this need for Krebain's closeness.
A claw touched his chin, sliding up to his lips and pulling them a finger's-breadth apart. "One thing you must know," Krebain said lightly, as if it were nothing. "It would please me to hear you call me Master." And he laid back into the soft featherbed, opening his breeches with a flicker of his strange, dexerous hands. "Please me well, and you will be rewarded."
"Yes - master." He hesitated over the word - what am I saying? - but then he felt himself caught in its gravity. It seemed so right, to describe what Krebain was to him. "Of course, Master." The mage's dark eyes slitted thin, and Vanyel reached for his rising cock.
It was as sinfully, exquisitely sculpted as the rest of Krebain's body. Vanyel's hands shook with profane reverence as he put his hands gently to the smooth, scimitar-curve of it. I must please him well, he reminded himself, and ran his hands along its length - which was more than he'd ever seen a man to sport. Even the loose skin over it felt more wonderful than was possible, as tight as oiled snakeskin. The thickness of it made his mouth water. It's bigger than Lendel's - but I can still... Vanyel bent his head, and wrapped his mouth around the tip.
Krebain exhaled, and Vanyel felt a sudden surge of warmth and pleasure. I'm an Empath now, he thought stupidly. Moondance had, in fact, hinted to him of the benefits of being able ot sense how you made someone else feel. And his master felt good - like Van had done something right - I please him - and he shifted to lick further down the thick shaft of him. That was the right thing to do. He tightened his hands about the parts of Krebain's cock that his mouth couldn't reach, and the waves of satisfaction were like sunshine between his hands. It wasn't what he'd shared with Lendel - but he couldn't think of that now.
Clawtips combed at his hair. Krebain's fingers tightened on his scalp, and he could think of nothing more. His eyes slipped closed, and he let his master tug his head up and down on the thick cock that was the centre of all pleasure. Up. Down. And tighter, further down, the head of it pushing at the back of his mouth - and he sputtered, desperate for air.
His master laughed gently. "You'll learn, lovely Vanyel." As he fought for breath, Krebain rested a hand on his cheek, and spread his fingers wide - and with a flash they raked across his face. Pain stung through him, and he cried out. "Shh," and Krebain cupped his face gently, his hands only soothing again. "A little hurt will help train you in giving pleasure." He eased Vanyel back into his place - kneeling between the mage's open legs - and as his hands pulled away again, Vanyel saw three thin lines of blood cross Krebain's palm.
Not good enough - and he fought his rising panic. He had to please Krebain. The pain of the scratches was inconsequential, but he couldn't bear the thought of disappointing his beautiful master. He bowed his head and opened his lips around Krebain's cock again, hands moving frantically in an effort to make up for his shortcomings. He took it in as deep as he dared - then back, tightening his lips, dipping his tongue into the open eye. And down again. Further this time. He felt the joy of Krebain's response, and let it pull him into the rhythm, up and down and tighter, his hands clenching with the pulse of it, and then claws tight in his hair kept him still as he tasted the first salty tears of his victory.
It pounded through him. Krebain shook under his hands, and he held Vanyel down hard as seed filled the back of his mouth. "Swallow," Krebain murmured his command lightly as he relaxed his grip. Vanyel obeyed him. It was different - bitter - but he was so glad to have it, as proof that he had pleased his master.
He watched Krebain breathe deeply, and rise to his feet again - such feline, serpentine grace. "I promised I'd reward you," Krebain smiled, and Vanyel saw there was something in his hand - a thread of gold. A thin charm-chain. "Be still," Krebain commanded, and reached down Vanyel's body to take his penis in one clawed hand. Van gasped, fighting the need to lean into the rough touch - but he couldn't. That wasn't what had been asked of him. Krebain stroked him with cold clawtips, down to the base of him, cupping his balls in one hand, and Vanyel heard a soft click as the tiny chain locked into place behind them. "A gift for you," Krebain said. "I hope you like it. You certainly shouldn't try to remove it," - and no, Vanyel would never do that.