Original fiction
Word count: 7,933
Notes: yaoi,
lemon, angst, drama
Topic: Lucas is young,
successful and beautiful -- and his initiation will be pursued as a great
prize. His hungry dreams have told him
so….
EXCERPTS ONLY
Read it in the Yaoi Con 2005 Anthology!
The night was thick with the
damp, silent fog of autumn. The moon was a sickly spot behind the mist, its tendrils seeping through the walls of the
In the master
bedroom, the young man moved sluggishly under his comfortable covers, the room
still warmed by the embers glowing in his fireplace. His pale, handsome face
was less than peaceful in his sleep; his closed eyelids flickered with swiftly
passing emotions. His long, fair hair was loose around his neck, wisps tangling
across his cheeks as he shook his head in denial of something that no one else
could hear.
For a moment his strong,
slender body tensed and arched up gently from the mattress. His lips were
moist, moving silently, forming unintelligible words. His hand moved slowly up
under his silk nightshirt, a soft gasp escaping his mouth.
The voice was within him
again; he knew it as certainly as he knew he dreamed. It carried the sweetness
of a caress -- the aggression of a cancer. There was no recognisable form to
it, nothing but the warm slipperiness of naked skin, and the hot, fragrant
whisper of breath on his neck. The wet imprint of lips suckled at the sinews of
his body, dragging at his flesh with a dark, damp desire. The illusion of sharp
teeth grazed his throat. Every night a new assault, a fresh
seduction. Every night the anticipation of its approach, mixed with the
despair of its arrival. Its possession of his mind and body brought with it the
unwelcome gifts of climax and conflict.
His hands pushed his
nightshirt away impatiently, the fingers of one hand sliding down between his
bare muscled thighs, probing at the soft, sensitive skin behind his sac. He
cupped and kneaded the tight balls, tormenting them. He moaned. His other hand
fisted firmly around his weeping erection, squeezing the blood-red, swollen
flesh, tugging the sheath of its skin up to the top and back down again. His
hips bucked gently in rhythm with his pumping, his buttocks lifting up from the
linen sheets, his heels digging in to hold his body taut. His mouth still
formed its silent pleas. The fingers between his legs reached further back, to
tease at his puckered entrance.
The deep, firm call commanded
him, its low tone vibrating through his hot veins as if embedded in his own
belly. It could demand; sometimes it cajoled. And sometimes it begged….
“Touch…touch
me….”
His finger slid carefully
into his entrance, seeking a spot that would conquer his resistance, demanding
his surrender to the coil of lust that was creeping relentlessly through his
limbs, deep and irresistible in the pit of his groin. He moaned again, his body
shivering from the unerring stimulation. He knew what he wanted; what he liked.
How he liked it!
The voice hissed its
approval. It knew his weaknesses, too. He felt its need like a corporeal
presence, its lips like suckers, its hands like the
sticky tendrils of a flytrap. He keened for its caress, even as he cried in
protest.
He was over the brink -- the
sexual climax wracked through him with hot, angry bursts. His body shuddered,
and his hand gripped at his cock like an anchor to the real world. His legs
stiffening, he bared his neck for an imaginary predator. Thick white seed
spattered from him, catching in his palm, dribbling across his heaving belly,
spilling on his carefully laundered covers. His hand lay damp and sticky on his
thigh, the muscles of his legs shaking..
In his dream, he struggled to
wake, but was never allowed to. He thought he could hear the echo of his own
harsh panting. The fog blanketed the sky outside the window, chilling the room around
him. There was no other voice now -- he was alone.
As always.
*
I had no taste for other business, and I showed only a cursory interest
in the rest of Valentine’s reports. Maybe I wanted him to be gone so that I
could brood on the current crisis.
But he stayed.
“Lucas, don’t be so hard on yourself,” he
implored.
His dark brown eyes met mine and for a moment I let myself drink in the
devotion I saw there. Such a quiet, compassionate man.
A pale visage framed by silky dark locks, a vivid contrast to my own fairness.
I may have struggled to prove my manhood to those in the City who still saw me
as a pretty youth – but Valentine was
that pretty youth in many ways. Deep, soulful eyes…full
lips…a slim body, but as strong as my own. He was only a year younger
than I, though I felt a lot older. He had always been beside me.
“I’m sorry,” I sighed. “I’m intolerant of so many things, Valentine. I
dislike so many of these commercial politics. Perhaps my own strategies have
brought us to this.”
*No,” he interrupted, unusually agitated. “The clients adore you, Lucas!
The quality of our stones has increased tenfold since you inherited the
business – the name of the Fides Auction House is even more deeply respected.
They thought you too young for the responsibility, I know, but you’ve proved
them wrong many times. If there’s just one criticism that I hear, it’s that you
spend so much time alone, that you so infrequently attend society events, when
your father was so gregarious. People need the chance to meet you, to bring you
their patronage, to be enchanted by you." His voice was suddenly uneven.
“You have a charisma, Lucas, that captivates us all.”
“But still we face foreclosure,” I said, a little wryly. A candle on the
wall sputtered in the quiet of the room. It had been a long day, and I’d not be
sorry to close the House for the night.
*
“Mister Gideon Arnaud,” announced Valentine, his eyes seeking mine, as
if to remind me how much depended on this meeting. There was a movement in the
shadows behind him, the rustle of cloth as a top coat was removed, and a man
strode in, passing Valentine as if he were nothing more than part of the décor.
A tall man, broad of shoulder, he was a burst of energy and a bold presence, a
wind of force in the calm, quiet evening. Immaculately
dressed in a personally tailored suit and a crisp, white silk shirt, sumptuous
purple waistcoat and soft, expensive leather boots marking a confident path
across my polished wooden floor. I felt a tightening in my throat, as if
the air had been suddenly charged around me.
“Mr. Arnaud, good evening.” I struggled with
the civility, holding out a hand almost in challenge.
The man in question slipped off a glove and took my hand. “Master Lucas
Fides. They say in the City you are both intelligent and attractive – and now I
would add, quite charming. It’s a pleasure to meet you properly at last.”
A deep voice, laced with arrogance – a voice that cultivated a natural
charisma, and then assumed it would be heeded. I found my eyes drawn to his
hand, the long fingers curled around my palm. His was a firm touch that suggested
far more than politeness. “I was not aware that we’d met before,” I replied
with spirit, “in either a proper or an improper circumstance. Would you care to
tell me something more about yourself, sir?”
The man smiled and let my hand slip from his clasp. I raised my eyes to
examine him. He must have been a good fifteen years older than I, but he had
such strongly handsome features that one would have had to look twice to age
him at all. His skin was paler even than Valentine’s, but I couldn’t hazard a
guess at his nationality. Straight nose, taut cheekbones, slightly square chin
-- perhaps European? I had heard of people there with great fortunes and
unusual heritage. His hair was almost raven-coloured; he wore it loose and just
a little too long for the current City fashion. His eyes were a soft dark
brown, but sharp in intelligence, and far richer than Valentine’s young
puppy-dog look. His mouth was full and twisted in a half smile that had teased
since his first glimpse of me. There was the hint of precious metal – a gold
chain glimmering at his throat where his cravat appeared to have been slightly
loosened. I knew the man had been perfectly dressed when he first stepped into
the room and set eyes on me; I couldn’t recall seeing a hand at that throat at
any time. I felt as if time had passed and I hadn’t been aware of it, the
disorientation strange and unsettling. There was a stirring within myself that
I couldn’t identify.
He was extraordinarily striking – like no one I had ever met before. Something
teased at me, tugging at the sleeve of my mind, demanding attention.
I was afraid – suddenly and startlingly – and I struggled to hide it in
my face.
*
“Who are you?” I whispered.
He laughed, a low but vivid sound. The curtains
at the window rippled softly as if with the vibration. “But you know me
already, Lucas. I may call you that, may I not? You know me and my voice – and
I know far more of you than any
person before me.”
“No,” I said, doggedly. I turned away from him to stare into the fire,
the heat an excuse for the horrified humiliation that flushed my face. “I’ve
never met you before. I’ve never known anyone show such rudeness, such
appalling arrogance –“
“But that’s nonsense, Lucas, isn’t it? You are such a splendidly
arrogant young man yourself!” The tone of his voice was stern. “I didn’t think
you were a hypocrite, too. I have no time for the weary, wasteful rituals of
“Who are you to tell me how my life is?“
“Oh, but Lucas, I am the only one who knows!” He laughed again, and I glimpsed the brief shine of his
white teeth. “The rubies were my calling card, and only that – I wouldn’t
usually pander to such protocol, but I thought you would appreciate the
sensuality of such gems. It was important that I meet you at last – I could not
wait any longer, nor do I think could you. Come with me now and we can abandon
this charade.”
*
“No!” Valentine cried in gentle protest.
He moved over to the desk and put a hand to my forehead. I was aware of
the rustle of silk along his sleeves, as he brushed my fallen locks aside. His
fingertips were very cool, and I felt my skin shiver, as if I were still
dreaming.
“It’s very late. You must go home to bed.”
I don’t know what made me speak out then. Valentine was so tender – such
a good friend -- and I felt suddenly bereft. “I am in thrall to him, Valentine.
When this sale is done, I must be free of him.”
Help me, Valentine, I wanted to cry
out, suddenly very frightened of my weakness. He wants too much of me. Save me!
“You fascinate him,” he murmured.
He hadn’t asked whom I referred to, for he obviously knew. After all,
Arnaud had been too often at our offices in the last few weeks. When I glanced
up, Valentine’s eyes stared down at me, deep brown pools of emotion that had
always promised me sanctuary and support.
“Is that so surprising, Lucas? Or so dangerous?”
I was bemused suddenly. His tone was sharper than usual. Did he have
some issue with the disturbing man himself?
He laughed softly at my puzzlement. “What do I know of dangerous – that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? I have
a job I do well, and a modest respect from you and your business colleagues. I
am propriety’s most faithful servant, and as reward, I am engaged to a charming
and beautiful young woman.”
I was startled. “Serena? You love her, though….“
His body twisted suddenly, and his wiry arms came down on the desk on
either side of me. I spun round in my chair, no choice but to stare up at him.
His eyes were unusually bright, shining fiercely despite the lack of light in
the room.
“You are so alike, Lucas,” he hissed. “Doesn’t everyone tell you so?” He
took hold of my shoulder as if to anchor himself, but his fingers bit cruelly
into the flesh. My breath was too short, my heart pumping. “You and Serena –
she is so like you, though much more
delicate, more fragile, less….“ His head dipped
suddenly toward my neck, and I felt the brush of wet lips against the skin at
my throat. “It’s so very unnerving, sometimes, Lucas. That she’s so like you –
and yet not you!”
*