He rolled his head and found Yhalen staring at him as if he were some curious wonder, mouth half open. Bloodraven lifted a eyebrow in inquiry.
“You’re smiling,” Yhalen said softly, as if it were some great shock.
“I’m capable.”
“You grin like a wolf about to take down prey,” Yhalen said, a furrow on his smooth brow. “But, I’ve never seen an honest....” He trailed off, biting his lip, embarrassed suddenly, it seemed.
Bloodraven’s mood improved, enjoying the flush on Yhalen’s face as he’d enjoyed it in the baths. It had been an exercise in restraint not to press him against the wall of the bathing cubby and take him then and there, the knight’s men scant yards away. He’d been well pleased with his self-control then.
He felt no urge to practice it now. He’d have his little slave tonight, in the comfort of this room, as frequently as his body desired. It was a just reward for so many nights of abstinence.
He rose lazily, stretching, aware of Yhalen’s wary gaze upon him. He moved about the room as he had not before, curious over the little things. Trailing fingers across the intricate carvings on the high back of a chair and noting the fine stonework of the mantle over the fireplace. There was a water closet with the most amazing plumbing off the side of the bedroom. A pitcher of water sat on a marble topped table over there, under a mirror that he first thought to be vigorously polished metal and then discovered, to his amazement, to be a sheet of finely wrought glass.
He ran his fingers over the surface, more beguiled by the sheer craftsmanship than the clarity of his
reflection. There was an assortment of lotions and scented oils in a tray of filigreed silver. These he found more practical interest in, picking up a stoppered vial of amber oil that smelled of mountain violets.
He padded back to the bedroom, setting the vial on the table by the bed. Yhalen’s eyes followed his movement, fixing on the delicate vial and widening in dismay. He began to inch towards the edge of the bed, lowering his bare foot to the floor, eyes searching a room that held no escape from Bloodraven’s intent. Bloodraven let him, sitting on the edge of the bed to unlace his boots, only keeping an eye towards the door, having no desire to pursue Yhalen down the hall. But the bolt was heavy, and it would take his little human a moment to work it—and he’d be upon him before that if Yhalen should try, he was certain.
He pulled off his boots, and loosened his tunic enough to haul it off over his head, aware of Yhalen moving near the fire, standing behind the fragile barrier of one of the large chairs. He couldn’t have thought it would protect him. It held no more protection than his fragile human strength, yet he clutched the back of it with white-knuckled fingers. His eyes were half concealed beneath the fall of heavy lashes, his expression unfathomable.
Bloodraven rose, shirtless now and barefoot, only his breeches remaining. His body stirred already beneath soft leather, encouraged by the wonderings of his mind. He met Yhalen’s eyes, a meaningful stare that held depths of promise without uttering a word. Yhalen’s face paled, a muscle flinched in his lean jaw.
“Will you make me chase you?” Bloodraven asked.
Yhalen’s eyes flickered about the room. Almost he laughed, fluttering a hand helplessly towards four windowless wall.
“There’s no place to run.”
“No,” Bloodraven agreed.
He grasped the arm of the chair and moved it aside. Yhalen let go and stood his ground, staring resolutely at Bloodraven’s chest. The hair on the top of his head was parted somewhat erratically, having dried that way without the aid of a proper comb. Bloodraven reached out, plunging his fingers into the soft mass of it at the back of Yhalen’s neck. He made a fist of his hand, drawing Yhalen forward, and forcing his head back as he bared the column of his neck. One of Yhalen’s hands came up to rest on Bloodraven’s stomach for balance.
They were small hands, long-fingered and slender. The pulse at his throat fluttered frantically, and Bloodraven longed to see the concurrent rise and fall of his flat belly. Longed with an ache that came upon him as a sudden, stabbing ache at his groin to feel the thump of Yhalen’s life surrounding the length of his cock, hot and pulsing and tight.
“Take this off. Now!”
He released his hold on Yhalen’s hair, flicking at the tunic the lord of this keep had provided. He didn’t wish to rend the fine leather and marvelous stitching. But his patience had limits and he doubted his overeager fingers were up to the task of unlacing it without damage.
Yhalen’s eyes narrowed, mouth tightening into an angry line. Bloodraven could feel the tremor in his body through the hand that had not withdrawn from his chest.
“I’m not your slave.” His voice shook with the vehemence of that declaration.
Bloodraven considered, as much as he was able to consider anything at length, what with the pounding surge of blood at his crotch. It was true. A slave was a weak, powerless creature, conquered and helpless to free itself. Helpless to strike back. Physically, Yhalen was weak in comparison to any ogre, full or half-blooded, but he was hardly powerless. He possessed a power that frightened Bloodraven no small bit, truth be told, and had used it to Deathclaw’s detriment and Bloodraven’s advantage.
Still, there was Bloodraven’s mark on his back, which pleased Bloodraven to no end, and the way his hands shook and his own small phallus had twitched and stirred with interest the most recent times Bloodraven had laid hands to him.
“Perhaps not.” Bloodraven allowed him that much before grasping the neck of the tunic himself, bunching it in his fist and drawing Yhalen up to his toes. “But you’re mine.”
Yhalen swallowed heavily, throat spasming, but he didn’t deny the claim. There was a pink flush at his cheeks, half seen under the fall of gleaming hair. A labored rush of breath. A swelling hardness between his legs where he leaned against Bloodraven’s thigh.
It pleased him immensely. A ridiculous satisfaction that Yhalen stirred at his touch and the prospect of what they would do. He loosened his grip on Yhalen’s shirt front, moving that hand to trail down Yhalen’s back.
And Yhalen spun, shoving off him with unexpected violence and retreating to the hearth where he snatched the iron fire poker so hastily that the stand it had hung from, clattered to the stone of the hearth with the rest of the dull iron tools.
“No!” he spat, his eyes narrow and glittering from under thick lashes and tumbled hair.
He looked like nothing so much as a wild, cornered animal, gone feral in its desperation. He backed away, edging along the wall. Bloodraven canted his head and watched him, not entirely unconcerned about the violence Yhalen might do him. He’d cut him before with a lesser weapon.
“This is not...I won’t...I
can’t
.... You cannot
do
this to me,” Yhalen cried out, hands white knuckled on the poker. It was steady enough in his hands.
Bloodraven moved a step towards him, silent and cautious, heart beginning to race with more than the expectation of sexual release. The hunt stirred his blood. The chase made his cock ache painfully.
He spread his arms, a faint grin easing over his lips, and moved to intersect Yhalen’s path.
Yhalen brandished the poker threateningly, changing his own course, eyes darting towards the bolted door. He made a lunge that way, and Bloodraven surged forward to stop him, but Yhalen feinted back the other way, quicker and more agile than Bloodraven as he darted past the fire place, under Bloodraven’s arm as he made a grab for him. He leapt onto and over the bed, having made Bloodraven circle back to chase him, and made a rush for the door while Bloodraven had the bed between them.
Bloodraven growled and lunged as Yhalen’s fingers grasped the bolt, sliding it up and back, the door half open before Bloodraven’s weight hit it, smashing it shut with Yhalen trapped between. The impact had been bruising. He’d not meant to be so, but desperation had won out over practiced grace. He slid the bolt back into place, even as he caught Yhalen up. He was gasping for breath as he forced Yhalen’s fingers to release the poker with pressure on his wrist. It hit the floor with a dull thud, forgotten a second later as Yhalen began to fight him, kicking and flinging his head back against Bloodraven’s chin, sobbing on broken breath all the while.
“Goddess...Goddess...God—”
He left off his breathless curses when Bloodraven dumped him onto the bed, coming down atop him. Not as heavily as he might have, catching the bulk of his weight with one hand and protecting Yhalen from a second impact of a body that outweighed him twice over or more. Face down, with Bloodraven pinning him from behind, there was little room to maneuver and no reasonable way to fight the inevitable.
Bloodraven drew himself up to his knees, pinning Yhalen’s lower body and legs as he worked the lacing at the sides of Yhalen’s tunic, loosening them enough to draw the thing up and off.
“You can’t do this,” Yhalen ground out, profile obscured by hair.
“I am,” Bloodraven said simply, gathering the abundance of shining hair and drawing it away from Yhalen’s back and neck, baring his face. There was the glitter of wetness at the tips of fluttering lashes.
Bloodraven leaned down and pressed his mouth to the back of Yhalen’s neck. Caught a naked earlobe between his teeth and gently pulled. Yhalen shuddered and sobbed and not completely with revulsion.
No, revulsion wasn’t even foremost in that particular sound.
Bloodraven slipped a hand under his belly, felt the hot, fully erect proof of the hypocrisy of Yhalen’s plea. Satisfied, he slid his hand up the smooth expanse of Yhalen’s belly, found a taut little nipple, and rubbed the rough pads of his fingertips across it in lieu of the fondling he’d have preferred. But his hand pressed between the bed and Yhalen’s body prevented that.
Yhalen gasped regardless, flexing his back as his skin quivered in response. Bloodraven lowered his head, fastening his mouth to the sleek muscle that joined Yhalen’s shoulders with his neck and tasting the faint flavor of the soap they’d both used to wash, the compelling tang of sweat, the rich scent of human male. He bit down, relishing the feel of pliant flesh beneath his teeth. Not enough to draw blood, but a mark would be left in his wake.
Yhalen made a sound. A little whimper of not quite pain. His hips pressed back against Bloodraven’s cock, rubbing the fabric of his trousers against hypersensitive skin. Bloodraven licked the spot his teeth had marred. Ran his hands down Yhalen’s ribs to his waist, trailing his mouth in the wake of his touch. He traced down the line of Yhalen’s spine until he reached the vivid black of his
brand.
He caught the lip of Yhalen’s trousers and pulled them down, baring the swell of firm buttocks, of long, lean thighs and graceful calves. Yhalen didn’t protest it. The fight had gone out of him. He lay there, his thighs parted enough to see the plump sacks of his balls and the blushing pink head and hard shaft of his cock, dragged down from his stomach by the extraction of his trousers. Bloodraven put his hands on Yhalen’s thighs, stroking from the back of his knee to his buttocks and back again, shifting Yhalen’s legs further apart as he did and baring more of his pretty, pink-tipped cock. He brushed his thumb across the head of it and heard Yhalen’s intake of breath. Saw his fingers curl in the blankets. He lowered his head and touched it with his tongue, lapping at the clear liquid that gathered at the delicate tip.
Yhalen sobbed with need. The smell of his sex so close and vibrant made rational thought an incoherent, distant thing. Bloodraven’s indignant cock would be denied no longer with trivial foreplay.
He tore at the lacings of his trousers, releasing his hot, thick length. Took his cock in his hand and stroked it once or twice to relieve some of the intolerable demand. The scented oil was within arm’s reach, and he grabbed for it, fumbling with the stopper and pouring a draught across Yhalen’s buttocks.
He licked his lips in a tremor of almost painful anticipation as the clear oil dribbled down the crack and pooled in the small of Yhalen’s back, where his brand rested.
He took a breath, forcing patience. Forcing calm. If he didn’t take the time to prepare, there would be damage done and he’d never mindlessly damaged anything in his care, be it dogs or human slaves that had meant nothing more than a symbol of status, much less one that held a baffling and not altogether comfortable value.
“No pain. No pain.”
He murmured the promise, settling between Yhalen’s legs as his fingers spread the oil across the glistening swell of his buttocks. He slid his fingers between Yhalen’s cheeks to massage the sensitive spots there, knuckles brushing Yhalen’s balls, then the head of his cock, evicting more moans and twitching of muscles. There would be pain though, of that he was sure, no matter his promises on the matter. But he knew from experience that it would be endurable and that this little human, once engaged, would find pleasure in it. He spread the cheeks of Yhalen’s buttocks, baring the puckered pink entrance to the place his cock so longed to be. Lowered his head and circled the soft, slick flesh with his tongue.
Yhalen whispered something, muffled by the blankets he pressed his face into. Bloodraven brushed his tongue across the taut, red balls, sucked the head of Yhalen’s cock between his lips, and then went back to the spasming lips of his hole. He circled it, teased it, pressed the tip of his tongue inside and the muscle gave way easily, grasping at him even as Yhalen’s hips pressed into the mattress, then arched backwards.