Mercy [Valerius]

[Achenar]

24th Spring 516AV

He belonged to the underworld now.

Pain governed his mind and body. It became his sustenance, cultivated by his master into a burning desire that crawled through his skin. Pain was pleasure. Pleasure was obedience. Obedience kept him out of harm's way, harm that wouldn't bring pleasure. It was as simple as that.

Zaelsen Radacke had been thorough with the slave that 'got away'. Beaten within an inch of his life, his body tortured and used; the ethaefal learned his place in due time. He was a thing; no longer a person. He was owned, chained, controlled and leashed, unable to escape the confines of the Whiplash Estate that served as his prison.

After three extensive seasons of "re-education", the life he led before his re-enslavement was regarded as a painful dream. The gods had cast down their judgement, and his place was at his master's feet.

It took two full seasons before Zaelsen Radacke shipped the ethaefal slave off to the Caged Sun. He was familiar with its walls and its distinct scent. It was a place of depravity, with the screams of slaves buried behind shielded walls that blocked out all sound. For the years up until his escape, the Caged Sun had been a second home, where the various masters of Kenashian high society dictated his every move and forced from him the very cries that they relished.

And as he stepped in the same hall again, there was only the faint breathing of the two other slaves who stood next to him. They were all nude, even himself, as clothing would be a hindrance with the various instruments used during sessions. The only accessory he had on was the leather collar around his throat and the manacles around his wrists. His silver eyes roamed the dark walls. He could hear the soft murmurs of a master as he nursed his slave. A pet, the ethaefal thought bitterly. A slave like him no longer received any aftercare, only the temporary relief of a clinic.

"Move to the corner," the orderly commanded, giving the ethaefal a light shove. "You'll await the next guests."

The slaves shuffled to the opposite wall of the lounge room, where a raised dais was constructed to show off the slaves currently available for the dungeon. There was no resistant bone in his body, only resignation. He should have been angry, afraid, humiliated. But the only thing he felt now was anticipation.

And he hated it.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

Almost a season had passed since Valerius had hastily left his home in the dead of night, without a warning, had left his research at the Kelvic Research Institute as well as his work with Ravok’s less fortunate citizens behind and moved to a part of the world that he had only heard of in stories up to then. He had not told anybody why, not his grandfather, the only man that he felt something akin to love for, not the merchant he had spent so many days on the road with, not the people he had met in Kenash.

During the day he worked and tried to forge connections with those that mattered in Kenash. He played his part almost to perfection. But once sunset approached and his thoughts were freer, the yearning returned, desires that he didn’t understand but wanted to lose himself in at the same time. The daughters and the sons of the dynasties, he knew, would never submit to his wishes willingly, and he didn’t seek their company anyway. There was nothing about them that appealed to him, nothing that they could give him, no way that they could make him feel.

He had already spent a few afternoons looking for an establishment that catered to people’s darker needs, but at first it seemed as such an establishment didn’t exist in Kenash at all. There was no gossip. There were no rumours, and he had no interest in asking around and revealing what he was looking for to all the world.

It was only after he had met a member of the Radacke family and spent some time getting to know him that the man mentioned his family’s involvement in the Caged Sun and offered the Ravokian entrance, for one day only, for now, for the price of fourteen mizas. He did not go there right away, but waited a night before he finally approached the estate in the basement of which the Caged Sun was located and entered.

To an ignorant slave such as Achenar might be he would appear to be yet another member of one of the dynasties that held all the power in Kenash, at least at first glance. His clothes were made of the finest fabrics, dark silk and velvet, fashionable and obviously expensive, but not as gaudy as those that certain other people favoured. He held himself straight, he held his head high as if he were very aware of his position in life, but he did not, at least not at first glance, appear to be cruel.

Even though he had never been in the Caged Sun before, he did not stare and barely reacted to the sounds that could be heard from another part of the building. Only the briefest hint of nods was offered to the orderly, and then he approached the three slaves that were present in the hall at the moment. His steps were measured, and the expression on his face was cool, almost indifferent, even though his heart had begun to beat a little faster.

He did not say a word to the slaves – it never occured to him to talk to them - but just quietly looked at them for a few a while, studied how they held themselves, tried to see if they had any injuries, any imperfections such as scars, checked if they were healthy. The two that stood next to Achenar were quickly dismissed as being too plain and not suited to his current purpose. The Ethaefal though, he had potential, even though he seemed to be a little resigned, a slight flaw as he far as he was concerned.

He made a step, then another one until he was standing directly in front of Achenar. There was, seemingly, the briefest moment of hesitation, and then he let a hand run across one of the Ethaefal’s olive horns, across his bare chest, before it came to rest on his chin. His eyes met Achenar’s for a moment, and then he abruptly drew away again and curtly remarked, „This one will do.“

[Achenar]

There was a faint tinkle of glass as the masters who lounged on the divan with their pets turned their gazes to the new arrival. It was quiet, but far from silent in here; mild laughter and vivid conversations emanated from the various members as drinks were passed around by a nude slave whose arms were thoroughly bound by a contraption that transformed her into a walking table. The slaves on the dais were only one aspect of the dungeon that respected its secrecy. And though Achenar was aware that non-Dynasts could potentially have access into the highly lucrative business, he could not recognize the face that had walked in.

While the other two slaves beside him shifted uncomfortably when the man approached, the ethaefal stood stoic, his back straight, shoulders stiff. His silver gaze had wandered enough to scrutinize the outsider's seemingly expensive attire, but he was careful to avoid his eyes. What the slave hadn't anticipated was the hand that abruptly reached for his horns. His eyes snapped up to the man then, as if his touch felt like a promise of something more. But Achenar knew better. The Masters took what they wanted, whether by force, persuasion or a dash of narcotics.

But though the ethaefal had learned to read the body language of the men and women who frequented the Caged Sun, he couldn't pin point the nature of this one, even as the human's fingers lingered on his chin before he stepped away.

Achenar's eyes narrowed when the man made his choice. "The goat boy then?" The orderly smirked as he attached a leash to the ring in the center of the ethaefal's collar. "Lucky for you, he bleeds well, and heals even better." There was a harsh tug on his collar. Achenar stepped off the raised platform with a scathing look at the orderly, but said nothing. They were led down the hall, where four doors were available on either side.

"There are eight rooms total," the orderly informed the Ravokian. "Five are already occupied. Your room will be here for tonight." He stopped in front of a dark, wooden door, rummaging through a pocket to procure a ring of keys. The room's darkened walls were dimly illuminated by the unique light source that gave the Caged Sun its name. The furnishings were simple, yet menacing; a rack of floggers and gags, an X-cross, and a padded table with strap adjustments. Chained hooks and a large bar, also attached by chains, hung from the ceiling. A cage was situated in the corner along with a wooden counter and cabinet with an array of knives, scalpels and medicinal items. And in the center of the room, pushed against the wall, was a moderately sized, canopied bed with an array of manacles and blindfolds attached to the headboard. The orderly turned to address the man.

"The rules are simple. Nothing that will either kill or disfigure the slave. These ones tend to be property of the Radackes, they like to do that themselves." There was a sneer as he offered a sidelong glance to the ethaefal, whose look of disdain was more than apparent.

"Any of the instruments in the room are free for use," he gestured toward the well-furnished dungeon space. "Breaking one, however, will cost you a pretty coin. Try to avoid snapping the flogger handle, it happens frequently." He extended the ethaefal's leash to the Ravokian and stepped out. "When you're finished with him, just let us know. Enjoy your stay at the Caged Sun." The door was closed shut, and the shielded walls and doors worked their magic to procure a smothering silence.

Achenar waited several seconds as he eyed the room. Had he been a naive slave, ignorant of the nature of Kenash, he would have been trembling in fear. Instead his hands curled into tight fists. He was fraught with mixed emotions. An inner fire that screamed at him to slam his fists against the door, and a silent spectator who craved nothing more than to submit. "Are you a Dynast, sir?" The ethaefal turned his opaline gaze toward the man who'd chosen him. Achenar would admit that he was handsome, but there was an underlying aura to him that made the ethaefal's skin crawl.

He realized too late that he had been staring longer than he intended, and promptly averted his gaze. "What would you have of me?" He asked tightly.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

"Is that so?" the Ravokian asked as the orderly informed him that the so called goat boy bled well and healed even better. The tone of his voice was nearly indifferent. He didn’t care about how quickly the shapeshifter’s wounds would heal when he was finished with him, only that he would last the night without breaking down. He didn’t ask any questions nor did he look at Achenar again as he followed the orderly down the hall, but was seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Why did the man tell him how many rooms there were and how many were occupied and why should he care? Did he think it would impress him? Was he one of those that talked all the time because they found silence unbearable? Valerius didn’t say anthing, but stepped into the room that would be his for the night and let his gaze sweep across its furnishings and the tools that would be at his disposal.

He nodded. There was everything that he would need.

"Rest assured, I have no desire to maim or kill somebody else’s property", he informed the orderly and accepted the leash. He waited several seconds as well once they were finally alone again, but unlike the Ethaefal he was at ease. There had been similar places in Ravok, but his victims had most often been Kelvic, tortured in the name of science and under the supervision of his aunt.

As Achenar asked him whether he was a dynast, he looked at him apruptly, and a slight frown marred his face, as if he disliked slaves that asked questions. After a moment though he replied, "No, I’m more. My family holds more power than any of your dynasties." He didn’t tell him what he wanted from him right away, but chained him to the bar that hung from the ceiling.

He had learned his lesson in Ravok. He would never leave a slave unchained again, not even for a moment and not under such circumstances, although the idea of a slave that submitted to him without the use of chains had its appeal.

He ignored the gags for he wanted to hear the Ethaefal’s screams, but took a flogger and a knife. Knives were what he was most familiar with from his time as an assistant at the Kelvic Research Institution and later as a doctor at the so called sanitary station.

He didn’t start flogging the slave right away though, nor did he cut him, but simply approached him again and let his hands run across his body again, almost gently, as if he were making a promise of something. Unlike the Ethaefal he was still almost fully dressed. He had only taken his coat off and rolled up is sleeves.

Finally he leaned close to Achenar and whispered into his ear, "I want you to make me feel. I want you to give me that which nobody outside these doors can give me. I want you to scream, in pain as well as in pleasure and pretend that this is what you want."

[Achenar]

He was not a man of Kenash, but his family was greater than any dynast. With his limited view of the world and his only experiences being in Kenash, Riverfall, Zeltiva and Nyka, he didn't know of any family whose wealth and violent propensities surpassed those of the dynasts. Perhaps he was a liar, as a freeborn was wont to do for a desire to be more than their station in life. But though the question was on his tongue, his lips didn't move. He knew better than to question, and he as of yet didn't know to what extent this man might go to illicit a response from him.

Instead, he watched him from where he was chained. He hadn't resisted when he was restrained, nor did he react when the client reached for the flogger and knife. An inexperienced slave might have cowered, protested, begged and been subsequently punished for it, but the ethaefal had been forced to work in these dark dungeons for years. He was intimately familiar with the depraved sounds that permeated its walls, and the inevitable pain that followed.

But instead of flogging him immediately like most inexperienced masters tended to do, he had approached. Tension built in the minimal space that was left between them. He stared at him right in the eyes, despite every inch of his instincts telling him not too. And when he leaned close, Achenar's arms twitched in their restraints.

"What would make the master think that this isn't what I want?" The ethaefal asked him quietly. He was taught to want it. He was taught to need it. There was nothing else in his world than that.

But to feel. The ethaefal's silver eyes darted across his face. He was difficult to gouge and even more difficult to read. It was here that Achenar realized he had no way of knowing what lay ahead. How far would the man go before he was a mess of blood and lacerated flesh? How deep would that knife cut into his skin?

The slave swallowed hard, his hands curling into fists.

"No one can make you feel, my lord," Achenar added in a murmur. "Only a slave is taught what to think and how to react. You are no slave. You will never know how it feels."

He lowered his gaze to the floor, jaw tight. "My pain is my pleasure."

[Valerius Nitrozian]

He had heard what the Ethaefal had said, but he had paid even more attention to what he had not said. He had noticed how his hands had suddenly curled into fists, had noticed how his voice had dropped to nothing more than a murmur. He did not like how he suddenly lowered his gaze. Valerius was a man that craved attention.

He grabbed Achenar‘s chin and forced him to meet his gaze once more. The Ethaefal could feel his fingers dig into his skin.

„Look at me!“ he demanded. The tone of his voice was sharper now. There was very little of the previous gentleness left. He was almost screaming. „Why don’t you look at me?“ Now there were suspicion and accusation. Why did nobody ever look at him and see him, really see him? Why did nobody ever care? He was so much more than they thought, so much more than just another one of Sitanos Nitrozian’s useless grandsons!

„I will teach you to pay attention to me!“ He let go of Achenar, abruptly grabbed the whip and swung it, once, twice, three times, each time across the slave’s back. He did not want to mar his chest, not yet, did not want to destroy the Ethaefal’s beauty that almost left him speechless. And then he cast the whip aside again, as quickly as he had taken it. „Will you look at me now?“ he whispered. He sounded almost as if he were sorry, as if he were pleading, as if he were disgusted with his previous outburst and wanted forgiveness.

Outside, where other people could see him, the Ravokian pretended not to have any feelings, nothing but a thirst for power. He pretended not to care about anything other than his social status. He was always cool, neutral, arrogant, but now that the door had been closed behind them, he allowed everyting that he supressed to come to the surface, his loneliness, his insecurity, his obsessions and desires that might be his downfall if they ever became public knowledge. Achenar was not a person after all, but only a slave, a tool to be used.

„I saw how you reacted, as if a part of you wanted to be anywhere but here. Don’t deny it! I’m willing to forgive you though if you say that you want me now, more than anything else in this world, that you want me to touch you. I can make this here comparatively pleasant for you or I can make you regret the day you fell from the Ukalas.“

He cast a glance at the knives that he still had not used. On some level he knew that he could not force the Ethaefal to feel anything that was not already there, but an illusion, a man that was bound by chains, was better than nothing.

[Achenar]

It was difficult to tell just how far the nature of men went. With only fifteen years of life, he'd only ever been exposed to the callous, cynical thieves and manipulators that inhabited most of the darker dwellings of cities. He'd been a part of a smuggling group; a pawn in their games, more than aware that everyone lied in their own way. No one was truly merciful or truly benevolent. People were concerned only with themselves and what they could get out of others.

The man who stood before him now had seemed like a reasonable sort to the ethaefal, though pompous in his mannerisms, but his outburst had caught him off guard. He had witnessed rage and outbursts before but the nature of this one was jarring to the chained slave. When his chin was grabbed and his face forcibly lifted, his eyes widened in panic.

This petcher is going to kill me.

It was the only thought going through his head as the man roared his demand. He jerked almost instinctively in the restraints. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to do. "I'm looking at you, m'lord, I'm--" The harsh cords of the tool struck his back before he had time to build any anticipation. The pain radiated like a sharp burn across his flesh, and he yelped with each blow, biting his lip hard on the third to silence his cry. And as quickly as the outburst had begun the man settled into a strangely calm mood.

The ethaefal breathed hard through his nose, his lip torn where he practically bit right through it. The Ravokian's whisper was barely heard above the heavy, beating of his heart. In the ensuing chaos, his eyes had gone anywhere but the man's face, but he lifted his gaze out of necessity; to fulfill that desire. But those silver eyes watched the man with anything but need. Many citizens of Kenash were disturbed, including Dynasts with all of their pretentious glory, but this one... the slave almost felt sorry for him. And that unnerved him.

His back twitching from the fresh wounds, Achenar listened. The nice ones are always the worst, he thought angrily. There was a churning in his gut. It was always difficult to say what someone as unpredictable as this Ravokian would do, but the way he had glanced at the knives made the ethaefal particularly uneasy.

He licked his lips of the blood, his jaw tense. "I want nothing more than your forgiveness, m'lord, that is all that I exist for," his voice was hoarse, but laced with a false sense of devotion. "I've seen men and women like you walk through these walls craving something that they can't get outside these doors. You are no different."

The slave jerked at the chains with his fists. "But would you willingly work here if you'd the freedom to?" The slave looked at him; the way he had craved it. Achenar could discern that much. He wanted attention. But why, he couldn't have guessed. He was no Dynasty brat, but if what he had proclaimed about his family had been true...

"There is.. nothing here that you can do that hasn't already been done to me, m'lord," the ethaefal said slowly. "If you wish to touch me, then touch me, if you want to carve my flesh then do it. Whip me, beat me, do your worst. But I will never..." He inhaled sharply, shuddering, "never admit to wanting it." There was a pause, as the ethaefal's eyes flicked to the Ravokian. He wanted to shut up, he needed to keep his mouth shut. He was a slave, his place was on the floor, silent, unquestioning. But something about this man made him want to question, like he once questioned the world around him when he'd first stepped foot outside Kenash.

"You are lonely," he said abruptly then, almost inaudibly. "That is why you're here, isn't it, m'lord?"

[Valerius Nitrozian]

Valerius’ heart began to beat a little faster as he heard the Ethaefal’s screams of pain. There was something strange, something beautiful and almost magnetic about the fresh wounds on his back that stood in contrast to his shimmering pale skin, but even as he let a hand run across them he realized that it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough to fill the emptiness. He could see that the creature was breathing a little harder now, that there was blood on his mouth as if he had bit his lip in an effort not to scream and had failed.

He turned around to the front. Achenar could feel his gaze on him, studying him as if he were a prized artifact ot a work of art in progress. He had undone the buttons of his shirt now as it seemed slightly warmer than before. He raised the chains just a little more so that the Ethaefal wouldn’t grow too comfortable, so that it would be a little harder for him to stand. Only when he was satisified did he turn back to the slave and met his gaze once more.

He found himself inexpicably drawn to those silver eyes, as much as he had felt drawn to his pain and his blood. They had been filled with fear for a moment when he had whipped him, as he had expected, but there was also defiance, entirely out of place, and intelligence, more intelligence than a man whose only purpose in life it was to serve others should possess. It intrigued him, but perhaps even more than that it angered him. How could a mere slave be like that?

“You know nothing about me or what I crave”, he said coldly. “You know nothing about what I can do, about the things I learned in Ravok. Anybody can be broken. I brought a noble lady to her knees and made her spill all her secrets before I cast her aside. Men and women were lying before me, begging. Before the night is over you will do anything for me and proclaim that you yearn for it.”

“I am not lonely”, he replied, perhaps a bit too quickly and sharply. For all the flaws he possessed, Valerius Nitrozian was quite aware that his thoughts, that the way he dealt with feelings deviated from the norm, but he was unwilling or perhaps unable to change.

He had allies and enemies, there were people that were useful and people that weren’t, but nobody that was truly close to him, not a husband, not even a wife that waited for him when he came home in the evening and got on his nerves with her insane demands, no lover and no friend that shared his interests.

Caring about others made you vulnerable, feelings clouded your mind, they made you weak, that was what he told himself. Shackling himself to another person did not make any sense, it was nothing but a means for people to blackmail him, and he did not need that. It disgusted him.

“I am never lonely”, he said and lowered Achenar again, too quickly before he grabbed him and forced him to stand upright once more. For a moment there was no room between the Ravokian and the slave before he made a step away again. His touch was bolder now, more forceful, perhaps a bit too much so.

He touched him in a way that one should only be touched by a lover, in a most intimate place, while he looked into his eyes, slightly up for the Ethaefal was taller than him. He would get a reaction from him, one way or another.

“Why do you think I’m lonely?”

[Achenar]

He heard the clinks of the chain as it rose before he felt the pressure on his wrists rise. With the majority of his weight centered on his wrists and arms, he could feel the strain of his muscles beginning to ache. But he said nothing. With his feet barely touching the floor, he was precariously balancing himself with as much effort as he could muster. The rest of him was tense, his jaws tight together as he watched the Ravokian man speak. The bastard liked this, it was even likely he got off on this, but it wasn't in the slave's place to protest or harm his client. The ethaefal had returned to Kenash a mage, but he had avoided using his powers. As much as he could have reached out with an astral limb and attempted to choke his tormentor, he knew what happened to slaves found to delve into the arcane.

They ended up on a short rope and one leap away from death. Achenar couldn't risk it, as much as his body craved the escape it gave him. Instead, he was regaled by the man as he hung, blood trailing down the length of his back and spiraling down the backs of his thighs. The lacerations still burned, and the dull, stinging ache was making his stomach churn, but not in anguish. No, in that characteristic pleasure that had been beaten into him. His stomach would have churned in disgust, but instead, he felt flutters and Achenar swallowed hard. And yet something in this man was making a heat rise up in his chest, like a burning ember waiting to be stoked by the flames.

"I am already broken," the ethaefal remarked with a harsh chuckle. "What more can you do to me?"

It might have been an innocent question in his mind, but his words were laced with a challenge. He wants me to be what a wife cannot fulfill. He could only make guesses as to what type of lovers this Ravokian took, if he took any. But it was clear to the ethaefal now that he craved someone that sought his attentions. Unsurprising, he thought, scathingly. Though the man was handsome, his behavior, his outbursts, his callousness likely repelled whatever candidates he had left.

The chain holding him high was abruptly lowered before the ethaefal had time to formulate a response. His knees buckled under him and he fell with a heavy grunt, though the very hands that whipped him now forced him to stand. Being held so close to the copper haired freeborn, Achenar could practically feel the heat emanate so close, but in another breath, he had stepped away, leaving the ethaefal confounded. Was he displaying his control? What had been a relatively distance experience so far shattered when his hand reached for the most private part of him.

Achenar bit the ragged edge of his lip, his body reacting completely out of his control. He had to breathe through his nose, to calm his nerves when his hips twitched out of instinct. His question came in the midst of the mixed emotions wracking his brain. The slave squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, as though such an action would make this nightmare end, and he'd wake up on the streets of Zeltiva.

"Someone," Achenar swallowed hard. "Someone doesn't satisfy your needs." His voice was hoarse, quiet. "No one does... isn't that right?" He opened his eyes once more, to look at him, really look at him. "You want me to beg for it, to yearn for your touch, the way you are now. You want someone to do that for you... or you hurt them. A man that already has what he wants does not need to threaten for it... they take it." There was a growl in his words as he abruptly jerked on the chains until he was a hairs breadth away from Valerius' face.

"Isn't that why you're lonely? Or is it because you're not a man, nor a slave, but a thing that yearns as much as a slave and as vigorously as a freeborn, m'lord?

[Valerius Nitrozian]

Blood trickled down the slave‘s back in crimson rivulets. A few drops landed on the floor. There was not a lot of it, not yet. He had held back - to some extent, but as he stood there now he realized that maybe that had been the wrong decision, that he should have whipped him harder, even if he might not have lasted as long then. There had been a time when blood, when any kind of bodily fluid had disgusted him, when touching another, when any kind of physical contact had been unacceptable, but now he craved it, maybe he had always done so, in secret. A part of him hated himself for it, but another part of him wanted to loose himself completely and was willing to do anything, anything to make it stop.

“You are not broken”, he retorted sharply. “You may have deceived your owner, but I am not as gullible. I saw how you looked at me, I saw how you tried to defy me. Your question … a broken man would never have dared to ask it out loud.” He knew what people were like. He had seen it in his family’s slaves, in the Kelvic that had suffered in his aunt’s laboratory in Ravok, had seen it in Alice Lark before she had finally told him the truth. He was intrinsically familiar with those that walked the world of Mizahar, their weaknesses and the lies they told themselves on a daily basis. How could Achenar think that he would believe him, even for a moment?

He did not answer as Achenar asked him what more he could do to him. The Ethaefal, for all his otherworldly beauty that had left him speechless when he had first seem him, was only a slave, a thing. He didn’t have to answer him. He would not make the mistake of seeing him as a person.

No, there was nobody, but he was much too proud to ever admit it out loud. There was nobody that satisfied his needs, no confidant, no lover. Oh, there had been hurried contacts in the dead of night, accompagnied by threats that he would kill them if they ever told anybody, but never more than that, never anything or anybody that satisfied his mind.

Valerius Nitrozian wanted power, he wanted to be in control and was unwilling to relinquish that control, even for a moment. He did not know any other way. He was used to just taking what he wanted, without any regard for others. He didn’t understand that there was more to it than that, more than violence and pain and threats, more than torture, that there was supposed to be some kind of exchange, even though those brief encounters never made that empty feeling go away for longer than a few bells, at most.

For a moment their faces were just a hair’s breadth from each other. The way that the creature struggled against the chains and growled at him did little to deter him, on the contrary, it had the opposite effect. The Ethaefal’s impudence made his blood boil. He found himself gazing down the creature’s bare chest, wondering what it would look like in red. A part of him wanted to finally take one of those knives and carve his mark into his body, even though he had vowed not to maim or kill, but another part of him wanted something else, to press his mouth unto the Ethaefal’s, to find out what he tasted like. There was nothing gentle about the gesture and the touches that accompagnied it, his grip was firm, but then he let go just as abruptly as he had grabbed him.

“You said that you would never admit to wanting it …” he spoke. He met the creature’s gaze unflinchlingly, betraying only the barest hint of what he felt inside. His pale cheeks were colored with a hint of red though. All those things that Achenar had accused him of, they were true, but the world would have to end again and Aquiras would have to awake from his slumber before he admitted it. “You may be able to lie with your words, but you can never lie with your body. I saw it. You want pain as much as you want pleasure. You yearn for it as much as I do, maybe even more so for I would never lower myself to this here. Tell me, what did you enjoy more – the whip …” He gestured towards the whip that was lying on the floor next to him. “… or this here?”

He was still much too close to Achenar, so close that the Ethaefal could feel his breath on his skin, so close that he could feel his heart beat, faster and faster. His touch was more intense this time and lasted longer. His voice was but a whisper now,, as if he did not entirely trust himself anymore. He still had not pulled his gaze away. He wanted to see the look in the Ethaefal’s eyes and his reaction. “Is that why you are here? Did you tell Lord Radacke to enslave you because it is the only way that your needs can be met? Tell me to stop. Deny that you want it. Beg me to let go, to leave this room, to spare you …”

OOCI’m really sorry about what Valerius does or will do to your PC! I needed to tell you that!