Lemon Balm
Hedone:
Goddess of Pleasures
Carnal, mostly.
He had been trained, for months, by his first mistress so that he could be of use to her. He'd only serviced her once, of course, because he had then told her of his crime. Still, the training had been engrained in him, just like any good regimen would be. So, when Mael beat and tortured him for simply doing as he was trained to do, Julian accepted it as just another strange, inexplicable facet of his master's culture.
After his first year ended, and he became more student than slave, Julian did not think often why Mael had bought someone clearly marked for hedone if the concept reviled him so.
And, the years passed.
==-==-==-==
Night had fallen hours ago, and outside everything was eerily dark. Julian had been practicing, building orbs of glowing power in the centre of the larger room of their home, until his finger began to burn. His successes were growing shorter and further apart, as exhaustion set in. Still, he continued, pushing himself as far as his ability would stretch, until Mael nodded solemnly. Almost immediately, he collapsed onto the floor, he's knees too weak to hold him any longer.
He did not relish the idea of his reedy mat on the floor this evening.
Mael rose from his plush chair, and crouched beside his slave, his hands open. In each one, a glowing orb rested, flashing gently in time to some hidden beat. “Tomorrow, you will make them colored.” There was some sense of awe in those words. Julian was familiar with it. Apparently, though he had no “element” he was one of the fastest student Mael had ever seen, often taking no more than a night to master what others would take weeks of practice to grasp.
“As you wish, Mael.” Julian replied, and the sound of his voice, dry and weak, surprised him. Mael simply smiled that pitying smile he had grown accustomed to over the years. Julian suspected it was related, in some way, to his master's refusal to grow older. How no one else had noticed, he would never understand. Perhaps it was simply because he looked so ageless.
“It took me two months to make light last more than a minute in my hand. You've done it twice tonight.” Mael's tone was unfamiliar. Some sense long dormant woke up then, as his first training resurfaced. But, of course, that would be stupid of him. In their thirteen years together, the foreign man had never so much as touched another being. If anyone would know, it would be Julian, his constant companion. “I believe you've earned a night in a real bed.”
Julian's eyes widened, but before he could give his gratitude, or begin to struggle to his feet again, he was being clutched in his master's arms and carried. Not for the first time, Julian wondered what magic it was that made his slender limbs so strong.
Sleep came easily, that night.
==-==-==-==
With the shutters drawn, there was no way to tell what time of day it was. Julian had woken twice, and both times, had gone stiff with fear until his memory returned. This third time, he remained relaxed, searching in the empty blackness for some sign of the day. Behind him, his master continued to sleep, soundly.
A terrible thought came to him, then. Almost without thinking, he rolled onto his other side, arms seeking the feverishly warm flesh of Mael's body. The sleeping man responded instantly. Not with the a violent awakening, as Julian had half expected, but rather, with those strange, thin, powerful arms. If there had been any indecision in him, that confusion was torn away. Suddenly, he had no choice, and that lack comforted him as his head bowed into the other man's shoulder.
He smiled as he slept again.
==-==-==-==
The sudden absence, warm flesh replaced by cool air, jerked Julian unkindly to his senses. Once again, his body was stiff with fear, though he forced himself to relax, piece by piece. The first blow, at least, would hurt less if he were soft.
After a time, the strike never landed, and he searched frantically, looking through the dark for the other body, perhaps to beg forgiveness. He heard footsteps, on the hard floor, and felt the bed shift as someone laid down upon it.
“I apologize for waking you, Julian. Go to sleep now, it is only dawn, and you must still be exhausted.” There was that tone again. Once more, his treacherous mind mumbled that it was one of the most familiar lilts he had ever known. Once more, he forced those thoughts away.
Perhaps from his enforced relaxation, Julian didn't jump when the eerily warm body of his master once more wrapped around him. He felt Mael's hands, hot on his skin, turning his body to face away, then pulling his back close and weaving their legs together. “You will hurt yourself, sleeping the way you were.”
With that paltry explanation, Mael's head came to rest against Julian's neck, and silence overcame them. Julian was all too familiar with his master's breaths, and Mael knew how to read a body like a book. Both knew that there was no sleep to be had.
Julian found that he still had reservoirs of surprised left in him, when Mael's hand slid from its vice grip around his waist, to rest lightly on his hip. Without him, his body folded back, against his master's narrow chest, and he whimpered. After a long moment, when no other movements came, Julian let his own training- not his master's magic, but the art which had saved him from a death at the stake- overcome him. Better judgment was clearly not what the situation called for.
He rolled, with an almost calculated grace, and suddenly his lips met another pair, stunned soft. The edges of a smile pulled his own mouth taut. Surprising his master was a hard task. Then, with the bright ferocity Julian had expected, there were teeth and tongue. Mael's mouth was as wickedly warm as the rest of his body. Did he find Julian's to be exotically cold? One day, he would ask.
Now, though, there were better things to do. He pulled away from that warm mouth, showing a clearheaded resistance that any untrained slave would kill for, as his slowly latched his teeth onto Mael's neck, seeking a place that would make his master stiffen, in more way than one. It took almost no time, following the grain of the muscle, to find just such a sensitivity. There was that hasslesome smile again, as his master twitched and groaned. Julian let his mouth act independently of his mind, sucking, lick, biting through that juncture and down his master's chest. How long should he draw this out? Thirteen years of celibacy would undoubtedly break hard and fast, almost to the point of pain. He knew personally just how long that span of time was. So, what should he do, to banish his master's well known hatred of these acts? Probably, the best choice would be slow going. He made his decision with an rough, almost painful bite just above Mael's hip.
Then, as if he hadn't been moving down at all, his straightened his back, and pushed himself up to eye level with his master. Mael's face was red, and his breathing was ragged. His eyes begged to know what was happening, but his mouth stayed stalwartly shut. For the first time since his purchase, years ago, Julian was the one in control. The mabson's hands went to his master's shoulders, and it took nearly no effort to force him flat onto his back. Julian straddled his master, careful to keep from touching him. It would be fast, but there was no reason he could draw it out for a while longer.
“I have always wondered,” the slave began, his voice hoarse but steady, “why you bought me. I had to assume it was ignorance. But then, why did you keep me, after I showed you?” Julian shifted his weight to one hand, fingers splayed. His other began trailing nonsense patterns on his master's flesh. Mael was clearly too distracted to answer. “You do so hate what I am doing to you, or so you claimed. Why was that?” has asked, his hand lazily gliding towards Mael's hip. “Was it that my status was lower than yours? You clearly aren't disturbed now, not that we are equals in every way. Now that I am the expert, and you are the novice.”
His had clamped around Mael, and the Unseleigh's breath hitched, followed by an almost pained sound. Julian grinned and summoned a miniscule ball of light, filling the room with a dim glow. Now, he watched his master's face contort, and held his hand still, carefully. “Do you know, Mael, how many times I have watched the floor, imagining how you look, doing this? Mmm, no, you wouldn't. You never did try anything while you were awake. It was always the duty of your dreams.”
Finally, slowly, Julian's hand trailed upward, seeking out a sensitive head that he knew was waiting for him. It was not. His eyes widened, for a moment, but he forced it aside. Another bizarre custom of his master's homeland, probably.
“And even now, you sit as still as you can manage, unsure of yourself. The great Mael, master and conquerer, reduced to a frightened child.” There was the look Julian sought, the permission to change his tactics. The begging, pleading eyes were replaced by gloss and wide pupils.
“Now!” As much of a command as Mael could muster. Julian had to admit, he was impressed by the stability of his voice.
Oh, fuck it. Permamently incomplete. I was never meant to write sex scenes. I should have learned that from Penny and Klara.
I suppose the in depth description of all the ways Mael's pnis is totally unlike a human's will just have to wait until another day.