The dress was one of his favorites. Silvery white patterned silk that hugged around his torso intimately, sleeves that reached to his elbows, open at the sides to expose his arms, and a luscious skirt that flared out over his hips. A double line of pearl buttons at the back held it on him, close as a lovers embrace. His hair was up in a silver and pearl net, and small diamonds glittered at his ears and clung to his neck.
When he stepped out at Lord Cavish’s manor, Yirel wasted no time in throwing himself into the celebration. He danced and flirted shamelessly with anyone and everyone, and drank with greedy abandon. If this was all to end soon, then he would enjoy as much as he could to the fullest. The wine on offer tonight was a white sparkling vintage, and he felt like the bubbles elevated his spirits, while the music carried any thought of the future far away. And oh, how the wine flowed! Everytime that his glass ran towards empty, a servant appeared and offered him another. He thought nothing of it; Lord Cavish was always generous to his guests. However, if he’d had a mind to look around, Yirel would have noticed that his glasses were the only ones being so carefully maintained.
The dance he was currently in ended, and his laughter carried as he caught his breath, a lovely flush pinkening his cheeks. “Oh- oh my that was delightful! Where did you learn to dance like that, Lord Berttin?”
“I picked it up last year while I was out to Ordix. We share a great many songs and dances with them it turns out, though their renditions are a bit more exuberant than what is practiced here,” he replied with mirth. “Could I tempt you to another dance?”
“Oh, I would love that, but after I’ve caught my breath! Let me regain my strength and I’ll meet you back here to share the Bernato Step with you.” Yirel smiled and curtsied as Berttin brought his hand to his lips and placed a chaste kiss to his knuckles.
“I shall count the minutes, Darling.”
Yirel blushed prettily, and extracted himself from the dance floor, back towards the quieter space of the refreshment table. A servant popped over next to his elbow and offered a glass. He took it with a murmured thanks, and hummed along with the strings of the next song.
The world turned around him, hazy and bright with mage-lights that were cleaner than any candle. The pale marble was polished enough that the lights reflected back, and the view was only softened by thick carpets on the floor, a hundred dizzying colors and patterns from far off lands. The walls were made less harsh with tapestries depicting myth and history, and short pillars held aloft priceless pieces of artwork and vases overflowing with summer blooms to scent the air. Yirel loved it, but had to escape out to the balcony walkway for cooler, clean air and softer moonlight.
Slipping through a side door, he walked to the railing and leaned against it, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes for a moment. Peace reigned, and he looked out over the scape of the city with a fondness that surprised even him. He loved it here. It hadn’t suited his mother, but the bustle of life that every new day brought was invigorating to him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, to leave this one piece behind and let go of the pretending. He drained his glass and set it aside on the top of the smooth stone rail.
Behind him, the door opened, letting the raucous noise of merriment spill out into the night before it closed again, and footsteps approached. Yirel smiled. “Lord Berttin, there is no need to chase me out into the night, I promised you a dance and I-” He turned and stopped, then dropped into a curtsy. “My Lord Cavish, please do excuse me, I had thought you were someone else.”A dark hand was held out for him, and he took it, being pulled up as Cavish grinned down at him. Rhindov Cavish was everything fantasies were made of. Tall, with a well muscled frame, and sharp features. Eyes like flecks of jade stared down at him in a way that made Yirel tremble. His fashionably short hair was still long enough to send a tendril of the russet waves down over his eyes, and he moved it back with a smooth motion. “Of course, Darling. I simply came to check on my guest, after seeing you leave the ballroom. Are you feeling well?”
He nodded, enamored with the feel of Cavish’s strong hand holding his own. The fitted suit the lord wore hugged him perfectly; deep forest green trousers and coat that seemed to call attention to the quiet power held in check under the clothes, the peek of a white shirt and velvet vest that invited one to speculate on what was under… With a start, Yirel looked away, realising that he’d been staring, and was a good bit more drunk than he usually let himself get.
Cavish’s other hand cupped his cheek and turned his face back to him, and Yirel gasped softly to find that he had leaned close. Very close. Before he could think of something to say, or a way to leave without causing offense, he was being kissed.
Warm lips moved over his, prying his apart so that a tongue could slip past and taste him. Yirel made a small noise, his hand going to Cavish’s chest even as he was pulled closer. The hand holding his own let go, but only so that an arm could be wrapped around his waist and pull him closer yet. The hand on his cheek slid back into the curls at the base of his neck, tilting his head back so that the kiss became deeper.
Yirel moaned softly, weak against the firm hold and expert exploration of his mouth. Cavish’s tongue lured his into a lustful tangle, only for him to pull back and nibble at his lips. He gasped and pushed ineffectively against the other man. “M-My lord-”
“Call me Rhindov, Darling.” Cavish murmured to him, trailing his lips over to his ear and teasing the dangling gem hanging from the lobe. “I’ve been watching you for some time… I got tired of just watching.” He bit the spot just under his ear, and Yirel moaned again.
“I-oh…” Yirel tried to gather his quickly unraveling senses.
“You’ve been attending these events for years, and not a single man or offer has tempted you to stay. Nothing wrong with enjoying yourself though. I could give you something more to enjoy, make you a wealthy woman from it.” His words were thick with hunger and promises as he kissed and nibbled across Yirel’s neck.
He had to stop this, quickly. But his wine addled brain was drowning in the erotic thrill, and his drunken struggles meant nothing against the immovable force of Cavish. He was pressed back against the railing, his legs forced apart as Cavish wedged himself between them. “Ngh-No, my lord, please,” he gasped, even as he shuddered and moaned when his lips found a sensitive spot on his throat. “S-stop,” he pleaded softly as he tried to push him away. Under the dress he was getting hard. It was impossible to deny the pleasure that the other mans’ touches elicited.
And Rhindov didn’t stop, he continued to bite and kiss and lick down his neck, across his shoulder. Yirel didn’t realise he’d lifted the back of his skirt until he felt a hand on his bare thigh. A spike of fear struck his heart, and he pushed harder against Cavish’s chest, struggled to close his legs. There was nowhere for him to run or escape to, and he wasn’t stopping.
“Cavish.. Rhindov, please don’t..!” Panic overtook pleasure as he felt the hand sliding over and up his thigh.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt, and you’ll be paid well for it.” The hand in his hair tightened. “I get what I want, Darling, and I want you. Berttin has already been informed that you won’t be joining him for that dance.” He bit down at his chest, perfectly aimed for his teeth to close around a nipple and tug.
Yirel couldn’t hold back the moan that pulled from him, even as tears formed and fell down his cheeks. Please no, not like this..! “My lord please stop..! I can’t..! You mustn't!” He gasped out and whined, giving up on pushing Cavish away and trying to stop his hand from inching any closer to his groin. It was useless. Even if he hadn’t been drunk, Rhindov was stronger, and he was determined.
“Are you saving yourself for marriage then? Or do you plan to sell your flower to a lover and be kept in luxury for it? Either way, I can more than pay a dowry to keep you in style and comfort. Stop fighting me and enjoy it, Darling.” He bit down again on his nipple, pulled his hair, both hard enough to make him cry out in confused pleasure-pain. His hand easily moved from Yirel’s grip.
“N-no..!” Yirel gasped and closed his eyes, the tears flowing down his cheeks that were heated with shame as Cavish’s hand cupped between his legs.
There was a moment of quiet stillness from the lord, while Yirel wept softly and trembled under his hands.
“Oh. What have we here?” He squeezed gently, and Yirel gasped. He wanted to turn his head, but Rhindov held him still. “A depraved liar… And you’re excited.”
Yirel hiccuped and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “P-please. Let me go. I’ll leave, and-” he licked his lips. “I can pay you-”
“I don’t want your money, Lord Quaice.”
He flinched under the hard tone.
“I want you… And now I have all the, cards-” Cavish smirked, Yirel could hear it in his voice as he continued to grope him. “-in my hand. So to speak. You want my silence? Then it’s not even a question. You will come to my bed. And you’ll stay there until I grow tired of you.”
Yirel swallowed hard and dared to open his eyes. “What..?”
Cavish was smirking just like he’d thought, and there was a hint of cruel humor to his eyes. “This changes some things, but not all.” He let go of Yirel, and stood back, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his mouth. He reached out and tidied Yirel’s face too. “You belong to me now, unless you want all of Society to know that you’re nothing but a trickster of the worst sort. Understand?”
In a daze, he nodded.
“Good.” Cavish tucked the square of linen into the front of Yirel’s dress. “Down the south hall, to the double doors. Go wait for me in my room. I’ll be there shortly… And keep the dress on.”
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