Captivity

May 5, 2010

I wanted to see what it would be like to write high fantasy erotica. It’s harder (much, much harder) than I thought.

The way that he moved was memorizing, even Kal couldn’t deny that.

Of course that might have to do with the fact that his head was bobbing in Kal’s lap, his tongue was doing the most exquisite thing. But that didn’t change the fact that ere long, he was going to meet the sharp end of Kal’s blade. If he could find it.

His captors had made sure to snatch it away, right before they set out to break him.

Seven days. They came close to it on the eighth.

The shackles about his wrists chaffed, the chains jingling as he tested its strength again. They burned, scathing more his pride than his skin. Lash-scarred shoulders tensed, muscles-corded arms jerked, but the chains held. He slumped back against the wall.

Why, for the love of the High Bitch, was it forged of silver?

He struggled to keep his face impassive as the flaxen hair whispered against his thighs with each move. Humiliation, anger, angst, fear, and, he was horrifyingly aware of it, lust- They chased each others in wild circles, blurring into a large, volatile mess.

It wasn’t enough that he was made to watch them killed his clan, not enough to be powerless while they robbed the dead while the young laid dying. No. He was auctioned off like some animal to serve some pampered prince a decade younger than him.

His hips trembled and he turned his head away with a groan. Granted, this wasn’t what he had in mind.

Hot, slim fingers traveled along his sides, drawing small circles over the bronze skin of his hips, tracing the raised scars there. He gritted his teeth, barely stopping himself from buckling up into that lovely tight, wet cavern.

“Do they educate all of their princes to be pleasure slaves ?” He forced the words out of his lips, praying that they would hold evenly. “Should have known.” His growl hid the desire roughened voice. Only the slight ragged breath at the end belied the illusion of unaffected air.

A slick, wet pop. The sound slithered down down his spine, as did the look of his new owner. Wet lips curled into a smile. “No. I imagine I am alone in that aspect.” Hot, moist breath fanned against Kal’s neck, a single arm threw about his shoulders. The single, seed pearls woven braid swung against his throat as the youth pressed his nose into the crook of his neck, his breaths fanning Kal’s own dark tress. “Fortunate for you that I bought you, it seems.”

If the brat would just move a little to the left…Kal’s teeth ached to feel the break of that pale skin against them, to feel the slight resistance. They killed his kinsmen with a savagery that his world had long renounced, it wouldn’t be too terrible if he return it in kind now, would it? The large vein running through the youth’s throat sang in agreement, bubbling blood enticing him to follow his instincts.

It was by sheer will that he pulled himself back. The brat deserved no kindness, but neither did he deserve the tattered shreds of Kal’s humanity as his funeral companions. “You have no idea what you are playing with, whelp.”

A heavy-lidded smile. Nimble fingers curled about his member and stroked, coaxing beads of moisture forth, wetting them both. “I assure you, I most certainly do.”

“You-” He snapped his mouth shut, stifling the groan threatening to spill from him against his arm.

Tight. Hot. He curled his fingers about the chain, fighting the urge to thrust up against the slim figure. Lust, desire, they gnawed at his control relentlessly.

He flinched when those slim, slick fingers pressed against his chest. Panting, the youth swept the sweat-plastered hair out of his eyes, his hips still grinding against Kal in a languid rhythm. “Me?”

He gnashed his teeth, the muscles along his thighs flexed, quivered. “You will die by my hand.”

A mirthless chuckle.

“So you say, my love.”


“You called for me?”

There was no answer.

Ignoring the sudden hard thumps of his pulse, he flung open the heavy doors.

The slim figure almost lost within the plush blankets and lavish pillows was a familiar one. The contours of his body, the gentle slopes where his waist tapered, the sharp lines of his jaw- All breathtakingly familiar. Irritatingly so, as was the pang of desire that echoed in his chest before he shoved it aside.

The bells on his anklets jingled as he approached the bed, the heavy chains betraying their true purpose. A frown pinched his lips when the figure remained motionless. Something all too close to fear fluttered in his stomach.

The bed creaked beneath his weight. He hesitated, then reached out, his fingers stopping short of his shoulder.

The blond stirred with a groan. He rubbed his eyes, the sleeve of his robe fluttered. “Kal?”

He considered for a moment to remain silent and let him drift back into sleep. But the youth rolled onto his side. Kal drew his hand back sharply. “You called for me?”

The bells chimed again as long fingers teased them. “Too long ago.” The words were clipped; the honeyed voice terse. “What kept you?”

Kal stiffened as a finger brushed against his ankle, forcing himself to stay still. “I was…detained.”

“Detained?” He shifted back as the prince sat up, blue eyes sharp. “Detained by who?”

He shrugged. The rough fabric dragged across his shoulders. The marks on his back pulsed, pain flared, as though to remind him of the hand that had laid them there. Biting back a wince, he shook his head. “It is over and done with.”

“It is not.” Kal arched an eyebrow at the snap in his voice. Pale skin flushed, he caught Kal’s chin between his thumb and index fingers. The undercurrent of ownership in the grip rushed through him, ruining the tender touch. A finger swept over his bruised lips. “Was it Brother?”

Slender fingers slipped through the robe and over Kal’s lacerated back. He jerked away from the inquisitive brush. The wounds tingled; his skin attempted to knit together, but the chains held the wound apart. It was a gift in battle, to be able to plow on, mindless of the knives that fell on him. In captivity, it was a curse. They used all that they had liberally on him, painting his body with his own blood, knowing that they could keep him straddled on the line between life and death for eternity if they were careful. “Like I said, it is over and done with.”

Even the stings from the cuts didn’t stop his lips from curling in amusement as the prince pushed himself out of the bed. He followed him with his eyes as he paced back and forth before the bed, fair hair flowing as he spun on his heels.

So much anger, so much fury. But it was the wrath of a child on the verge of a tantrum. Rage from a broken toy? Or perhaps irritation at being forced to share one.

Coming to a stop, the youth gestured at the bed. “Disrobe and lie down.”

Kal obeyed wordlessly, slipping the shoulders off and down his arms. Closing his eyes, he sprawled out on his stomach  over the bed, still warm from the body that was lying there moments ago. He wrinkled his nose; the scent enveloped him, sweet with a biting tang.

Silence. Then came the sound of something being uncorked. “What else?”

“Nothing more than what you’ve done, Sire.” It’d taken three long seasons before he’d managed to curb his tongue enough that they would unchain him from the wall. Not that he was entirely without his barbs still.

Cool, wet fingers kneaded his back, rougher than they need to be to spread the salve. “You’re mine, Kal.” The fingers pressed into his back, emphasizing each word, branding them into his skin. Petulance crept into the words. “Mine.”

Kal sighed into the bed. The lavish surrounding, strong, nimble hands working out the abused muscles- He could have deluded himself easily into believing that he was back at home. But every caress scathed him, pulled him back to the reality with the possessive edge.

“What else?” The fingers brushed over his lips. The smell of cloves assaulted his nose. “Here?” He stiffened as a hand slipped down, curled about him, stroking him, kindling desire to flicker into life. “Kal?”

He groaned into the fabric as a thumb gathered the moisture seeping there, spreading it over the head of his member in lazy circles, drawing shudders that rippled through him. His breath caught in his throat as a slick finger probed against the puckered hole. “No.”

His hips thrust ever so slightly, wetting the blanket beneath him and the hand engulfing him. A murmur of pleasure rolled in his chest, desperation and exasperation roughening the noise.

He hated it, loathed it, that those hands could draw out such sensations from him, that they glided over him so knowingly and with such surety. But what he despised the most, was that more than once, he’d found himself forgetting who the owner of those hands was.

He shuddered when the hands left him. The rustles of silk sliding down and pooling on the floor came in a hushed whisper.

His body rested on Kal, sliding full length against him, his weight reassuring, blanketing him. Steady breaths washed against his neck and despite himself, he sank into the deception. He could cling stubbornly back to the unforgiving surface of his reality, only to be shoved back down into the warm depth once again and swept away by the currents.

Deception was better than facing the betrayal of his own body.

Skillful fingers snaked down between him and the bed and resumed in slow, languid strokes, drawing small moans and shivers that cascaded down to his toes. Hard, slick arousal slipped against the valley of his buttocks, hot and insistent.

A finger brushed over the sensitive cup of his ear; molten hot desire coursed through him with each caress. He writhed, fighting between arching away from ruthless teasing and leaning into those clever hands.

“Mine.” A light kiss dropped on the nape of his neck. His skin prickled. “All of you, mine.” The words fell on his ears as though an incantation.  “All mine.”

No protests slipped from Kal’s lips, his mind too engrossed with the task of silencing his pleasure to summon a retort. He shook, the muscles of his calves tensed, the bells on his ankles jingled.

The fingers hesitated. “Though…” They twirled over the tip of his member, the flat of a thumb tracing the pulsing vein there. Kal shuddered, his fingers tightening on the blanket. “I can’t say all of you is mine yet, can I?”

The words cooled his heated body and cleared his thoughts. “As per the law of the land, Sire, all that which is mine is yours.” Even desire couldn’t soften the ire in his voice.

“Ah. You are familiar with the laws?”

He should, as the prince should well know. Kal bit back a growl. After all, it was by them that the prince had taken possession of his sword and made it a point of flaunting it.

And in one moment of foolishness when he decided to try and reclaim that blade- the prince revealed where his brother had acquired his skills with the whip from.

Hot breaths ghosted over his ear once more. Questing fingers caught a hardened nipple between them, rolling and pinching it between them. The sharp sizzling waves of pain seared him, darting straight to his groin, pulsing in time with each lazy stroke there. Slick sounds of wet skin against skin echoed in his ears. “Let me mark you, Kal.”

Mark. He’d been marked. He’d been kissed by the whips, embraced by the knives, caressed by the brands, and whatever else had struck his tormentors their fancies. He had his fair of admirers who enjoyed watching him bleed. It shouldn’t surprise him that the prince would join their ranks eventually. He closed his eyes, struggling to anchor himself to that spark of anger, to not be swept away by the seductive sensation humming through him. “You had never asked me permission to do so before, Sire.”

He hissed as nails bit into his chest. The youth clucked his tongue, the sound of it clipped and hard against his ears. “I have never marked you before, Kal. I’m quite mindful of not damaging my properties. Those were merely proper chastening for your actions.” The fingers eased. “Let me mark you as your kinsmen would, permanently.”

“My…” The sparks of pleasure fluttering up his spine was replaced by a chill when the intentions behind those words sank in. He twisted about, the damp fabric beneath him clinging to his legs. Ignoring the hardness digging into his thigh, he stared up at his captor, his mouth suddenly dry.

He would’ve asked him if he knew exactly what he was asking for, if he hadn’t caught the trepidation in those sharp features. Kal’s laugh came in a bark, rough against his throat. “Sire, all that you could claim, you have.”

His captor’s face paled, then flushed red. He propped himself up, arms braced against Kal’s chest. “All that I could?”

The crush of lips against Kal’s was sudden, unexpected, drawing his breath from him in that bruising meeting of their lips. Lips, tongue, teeth- they consumed him, devoured him, conquering every crevice. Confident, sure, his tongue curled against a smooth canine, pulling forth a shudder from Kal. Teeth caught his lips, dull edges digging into his flesh.

He shoved himself up, ignoring the yelp of surprise. His fingers tight about the slim wrists, he pulled the slight figure close. He leaned forward, his forehead against the prince’s, his breath fast, ragged. Exotic, spicy, the scent filled his nostrils, musky mix of sweat and arousal teasing him.

He was close, close enough that every frantic flutter of eyelashes brushed against him. The blood laced kiss lingered on his lips, the metallic tang of it intoxicating, wicked. Wide, cerulean eyes bore into his, a tongue darted out to wet swollen lips expectantly.

He released his grip the wrists, sword-roughened fingers traveling up, tracing the pulse thumping there beneath the skin, anticipation fair humming against his hands. He spoke, his lips brushing against his captor’s, the taste of blood dancing in the air between them. “All that you could, Sire.”

He couldn’t deny that it was gratifying to see the triumph slip from those arrogant brows, nor could he ignore the satisfaction from the surprise at his words.

It wasn’t the first time that he’d crossed his captor, but it was the first time that he saw and felt the reverberation of it hitting its mark.

“Bastard.”

The word barely registered before a ring encrusted hand slammed into the side of his face.

He reeled back, his ears ringing from the blow, blood filling his mouth from where his teeth had cut the inside of his cheek. A droplet of it licked along the side of his chin and landed on his hand. He looked up.

The robe was wound tightly about the prince again, the twist of his hands in the fabric belying the impassive mask he’d slipped over his face. “It seems like your clans have left survivors.” The hem of the robe rustled as he crossed the room. Stooping once, he threw open a trunk. “They have rallied with Heille and will be coming here soon.”

“Here?”

“They will be repaying us in kind, I suspect.”

The sword landed softly next to him. It didn’t take more than a glance for Kal to recognize it. His fingers ached to close about the rough hilt, to feel the edge of it against his palm. He swallowed and turned away. “What is this?”

“Your sword.”

Adrenaline surged through him along with a frisson of irritation. “I know what it is. But why are you doing this?”

Long hair slipped over his forehead as he dipped his head, obscuring his expression from Kal. “You were-are a slave. They saw you as my plaything. Soon they will see you as a prisoner of war.” He tilted his head back, eyes fixed steadily on Kal’s, daring him to disagree. “Let me assure you that this will all seem like heaven when they do.”

The blade slipped free of its sheath in a well-oiled snick. He ran his fingers over the edge of it, relishing in the familiar weight of it in his hand- Along with an weight of an entirely different sort on his shoulders. He glanced between the sword and the prince.

It would be so easy to swing the blade down upon that pale throat, to bloodied it, leave his permanent mark there. He would be swift about it too. That his captor had taken such good care of his weapon would provide for his less painful death. “And what will you have me do?”

For a moment, he thought the youth would step forward. “Leave.” His eyes flickered beyond Kal. “You shouldn’t encounter any guards if you move along the east wall. I have seen to it that they’re…preoccupied for the evening. There is a blacksmith along the river that has been given instructions about removing the chains for you.”

The words fell faster than he could comprehend, chasing any thoughts of revenge away. Tidbits and detailed slipped between his fingers, all overshadowed by the single word hidden in the conversation. Freedom. “Why?”

“You’re mine, Kal.” The vicious pride in those words distracted him from retying his robe. He stole a look at his captor and tormentor. In the dimming light, his profile was breathtakingly young, innocent. His gaze distant, he continued, each word measured, equally weighed. “You will always be mine. They will not lay a hand on what’s mine. I will not let them.”

Possession. Property. That was all the reminding that Kal needed.

“I do love you, you know.”

The words came, barely audible, quivering tentatively there in the wake of Kal’s bells.

He paused by the door; a scoff escaped from his lips, tinged with a bitter bite. “So you say, my love.”


His boots clapped against the stone stairs as he climbed the tower, each steps jolting up his legs, familiar in its impact. Flecks of dried blood cracked off as he flexed his fingers. Grime and something that he didn’t want to identify trapped beneath his nails.

Even if the rest of the kingdom had fallen, the tower remained the same. Unguarded. Isolated.

His free hand grazed against the rough surface of the walls. He didn’t doubt that he traced over the same paths that his nails had carved out before. Odd that he’d never noticed the lack of windows in the ascension, no light to guide the visitors on their quest.

The door of the room hung crooked on its hinges. His stomach rolled at the dark smear on the wall. He shoved at the door.

“You came, Kal.”

The tip of his sword lowered. Words struggled to untangle themselves from his throat. “You expected otherwise?”

Blood streaked hair, skin paler a good few shades than he remembered, the figure swayed on his feet. A hand pressed against the gaping gash on his chest. “No.” A ghost of a smile flitted over his lips. “You were wrong though, Kal. It’s not by your sword that I’ll die, it seems.”

His words. Spoken ages ago- A lifetime ago. That the prince had remembered it was surprising. “There is still time.”

That same mirthless laugh came again. It’d haunted him, chased both his dreams and nightmares. “True.”

The rugs barely suppressed the dull thud of his body hitting the floor.

Without thinking, Kal stalked forward, stopping only when he stood close enough to see the blank expression in his eyes. He hovered over his prone figure, fingers curled tight about the hilt of his blade.

His blood called to Kal. The  spark of anger that flared whenever his face surfaced in his thoughts during the brief respites from the battlefields grew, smoldered. And a part of him, a large part, longed to hurt him in every way that he had been under his captivity.

But the unabashed stare stilled his hand.

Slim fingers closed about his ankle. He could feel the press of it through the grass-stained leather, remembered the way they felt smoothing over his raw, abused skin. “I knew you would return.”

He remained standing. “You did?”

“And I had hoped you would make good on your promise.”

“As I said, there is still time.”

“So you say.” A corner of his lips curled. His expression turned wistful. “Do you know why I knew you would return?”

The labored breathing didn’t escape Kal’s ears, nor did he failed to notice the pool of red gathering by his feet. The long, pale lashes fluttered, lethargic. The fingers tightened about his ankle. “No.”

A sigh. Exasperated. Amused. Knowing.

Relief.

“I told you, Kal. You’re mine.”

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