This work is a product of the author's imagination, places, events and people are either fictitious or used fictitiously and any resemblance to real events, places, or people, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author retains full copyright to the material, and sincerely hopes you like it! Acknowledgement: Thanks to Richard for editing this.
The Gift of Ys
By
Jae Monroe
Chapter 13
Isidore got dressed in the morning with a certain heavy feeling hanging about him. No matter that he tried to consider the day ahead, or various issues of an indifferent nature, the feeling would not go away. Eventually he realised it was guilt. It occurred to him, after his preparations were complete, to see if Kerim was still in his bed-chamber.
He was not completely unaware of how patient Kerim was being with him. He knew that, to the Svarya, it must seem like every time he came to see him, it was to meet with consternation and heated debate. Yet Kerim continued to seek him out.
Isidore felt especially embarrassed about his behaviour yesterday. If Kerim's advances had not come immediately on the heels of what Isidore had learned from his two preceding visitors, things might have gone much better. He might even have been able to stand defiling his mental sanctum. But the timing had been utterly wrong; Kerim had tried to engage him when he was still stewing and in no way wanted to be engaged. He had continued to nurse his indignation last evening, which he could now admit was uncharitable of him. And so, this morning, he decided to render the Svarya the attendance he had failed to give him last night.
It was always a source of amusement to Isidore to see Kerim truly taken aback, and it always seemed that Isidore was in the wrong state to enjoy it. But he did feel somewhat pleased to see the look of surprise that Kerim gave him on seeing him enter his chamber while he was dressing for the morning.
"Did you think I'd never come to your chamber of my own accord?" Isidore asked somewhat amusedly, shutting the door behind him while Kerim continued to watch him with an unnerved expression.
"It crossed my mind," Kerim replied, his eyes following Isidore as he walked into the room with an air of ease.
"Do go on with your preparations," Isidore said after seeing Kerim stand still a moment. "I came only to talk to you."
Though there was no audible sigh, it was visible in his every movement as Kerim went back to washing his upper body from the ewer, standing half naked for it, so that Isidore had to avert his gaze. He sat on the corner of the bed with his legs folded beneath him.
"Do not worry, I wish to talk, not debate," Isidore said, picking at the yellow-white fur of the pelt covering the base of the bed.
"Fine then: talk," Kerim said, his back still to Isidore as he scrubbed his face.
"Have you much to do this day?" Isidore asked absently trailing his finger through the fur.
"It shall be the same as yesterday, and I shall be busy enough," Kerim replied, setting about washing the rest of his upper body with vigorous strokes.
"You don't sound as if you much look forward it," Isidore pointed out.
"What's to look forward to?" Kerim asked, turning from the basin and fixing Isidore with his gaze. "'Tis all scrolls and tomes and debate over the finest point of law..." He smiled without much humour. "Well, you would probably enjoy it," he noted.
"I would," Isidore agreed. "But I am sorry that you don't."
"Why?" Kerim asked, leaning back against the basin-stand, his brow raised. "Because you could do so much better? You are sorry that we have a Dajan Svarya when a Daran one would be so much more capable?"
"No." Isidore prickled at the harsh response, but he quelled his affront and continued to speak calmly. "I am sorry that you are troubled by your role, though I am little surprised for, to the best of my knowledge, 'twas your brother who was equipped to rule."
Kerim regarded him darkly, no longer amused. "And I am not?" he asked. "So I must indeed need your help, for though you were not born to rule, you have every notion that you should."
Isidore gasped as though struck, and he jumped off the bed. "I am trying to be nice to you, you stupid man!" he said furiously. "I am trying to listen and understand, that is all. How are you so suspicious that you interpret a simple 'how do you like your day' as an attempt to usurp your rule?"
"Isidore, stop," Kerim said, an embarrassed sigh in his voice, which halted Isidore's furious march to the door. "Stay, sit. I am sorry. My days have been trying recently and 'tis a subject I am sore on."
Isidore walked back to the bed, resuming his place on the pelt. "I am tired of arguing," he said, staring down at the pelt.
"I thought you loved arguing," Kerim said.
Isidore looked up at him, hearing that amusement was back in the man's voice. He narrowed his eyes at it, but his pout could not last. "Then I am tired of not winning our arguments," he admitted.
Kerim grinned. He supposed they'd both got more than they'd bargained for when Isidore had come to Sherim-Ra. Kerim had been used to getting what he wanted by the use of his size advantage, and Isidore had been used to getting what he wanted by the use of his powers of reason. And yet neither of them could use their weapons to get the better of the other.
"And I am tired of the cold bed I get from your not winning them," Kerim replied.
Isidore gave him an arch look. "Then you should let me win."
"If you want a superficial victory, by all means I can give you one. But it wouldn't avail you of that which is your reason for arguing."
"Then let us not argue for a while," Isidore said, offering Kerim a smile of truce. But when Kerim climbed on to the bed, Isidore's smile turned teasing. "I suspect you are tired of not winning also."
He was nudged on to his back. "I am not used to winning arguments with words," Kerim said, taking Isidore's hand and pressing it back on to the bed.
"So you would win them with your fists?" Isidore asked, trying to wriggle his hand out of Kerim's grip, but having little success. "But verily, you must have lost a fight sometimes."
"Aye," Kerim replied, running his thumb over the palm of the small hand in his grasp. "But we prefer to settle the more serious issues with the blade."
"Then surely with a more experienced swordsman..." Isidore wondered aloud.
"It matters not how experienced they are, if they have not the Aegian gift," Kerim said.
"Oh, yes," Isidore vaguely recalled that the House of Jaal was dedicated to Aegis and said to have His gift, which made them exceptional swordsmen. "So why did not you fight my brother while he was here?" he asked.
Kerim shook his head. "I sorely, sorely wanted to," he said, the desire in his voice. "But it would have been wrong, with him imprisoned and you on your way and all that. But gods, I wanted to fight one of Lodur's line."
"I am of Lodur's line," Isidore pointed out, with a grin.
"Oh, indeed," Kerim replied, leaning down to kiss Isidore's neck. "But for some reason I never think of fighting when I see you." His lips wandered across the smooth skin for a moment, then he stilled, with a sound of frustration. Raising himself, he regarded Isidore intensely with smoky black eyes. "Why do you come in here all sweet and tempting and I cannot take advantage of it?" he asked, feigning considerable distress. "I must get to chambers, before they curse me again for delaying their proceedings. Yet I do not want to go..."
Isidore gave in and laughed. Wrapping his arms around the thick neck, he planted a large kiss on Kerim's lips. "I shall keep, I think, until this eve."
He was squashed back down on to the bed, receiving another lingering kiss, then Kerim leaned up. "Do you promise?" he asked grinning.
"You shall have to see," Isidore replied, and would give no greater promise than that, for all that Kerim tried to extract it from him by way of further kisses. Eventually he gave up and got up to finish his dressing for the day in all haste.
"Now, don't you go getting all worked up between now and this evening," Kerim joked as he tugged on his boots.
Isidore grinned. "I shall try not to, and I think I must give you my apology for perhaps taking a little of my frustration out on you."
"That's what it was?" Kerim said, getting to his feet and catching Isidore up for a hug. "You know what the best cure for frustration is though, don't you, little one?"
Isidore shifted in the hug so that he was face to face with Kerim, their noses touching. "You shall have to show me tonight," he said with a quick kiss, before he was wriggling to get down.
After Isidore had convinced Kerim to leave, he ate the breakfast that was laid out in the parlour for him, and then headed down to the library to continue his studies. As usual, distractions would present themselves during the day, but the second he got was a most welcome one.
"You will spend all your time in here?" Kylar asked, coming to stand over his desk and idly peruse what he was engaged in.
"Enough of it to complete the work I need to do," Isidore replied as he finished writing, then he looked up, his expression questioning. "And what brings you in here?"
"Perhaps I came to see if you needed your back rubbed," Kylar said with his easy grin, coming around the table and putting his hands on Isidore's shoulders.
"I really don't think..." Isidore's protests were lost as he felt the tension being worked from his shoulders by the large but nimble fingers. "Ahh..." A sigh escaped his throat without his being aware of it, as did a number of other contented sounds.
"You shall have to stop all that," Kylar instructed in an amused voice, though his fingers did not stop working the knots from Isidore's shoulders. "Or I shall think we're doing more than we are and want to join you."
Isidore jerked out from under the fingers, turning to give Kylar a shocked look.
"Come now," Kylar took back a shoulder in each hand, "you should know I jest. Remember, I could never find a little bitty thing like you attractive." Isidore turned and gave him another fulminating look, until Kylar raised a brow. "Unless you want me to," he said with a raised brow.
Isidore sat back, letting the man continue his massage which worked wonders to remove the stiffness from sitting hunched over his desk for many a day. He wondered why he hadn't got Kerim to give him a back-rub before, then he realised that his own peevishness was the reason his shoulders remained sore and tight from his endless leaning over the desk.
"Now, Darima; I did come in here for a reason other than to bask in your presence and watch you blush and fulminate," Kylar said after a pause.
"Ah, so you finally come to the point of your visit," Isidore nodded sagely. "I was not going to ask, figuring you were generally indolent and had grown bored with sitting before the mirror."
"I do not sit before--" Kylar stopped himself. "But you distract me, little one. I came here to give you this."
The massage stopped and a folded letter dropped on Isidore's desk before him. Lifting it, he opened the page, and then looked up in surprise at Kylar, who had come to sit on the edge of his desk.
"Where did you get this?" he asked curiously.
"While I was off on errands for our esteemed Svarya, it was passed into my hand, along with other correspondence that was due here," Kylar explained. Then he grinned. "I do actually serve a purpose in the castle, apart from keeping all its lovely Darani satisfied."
Isidore snorted. "Were I to receive your fleeting affection, I should feel very unsatisfied," he said, unimpressed.
"Not all want what you want," Kylar replied easily, not at all perturbed by the judgment.
They were interrupted by another message-bearer in the guise of a water-bearer. It was Eyon, and his eyes grew wide and appreciative when he saw that Isidore had company.
"See now," Kylar leaned over to whisper conspiratorially to Isidore, "that one is ripe for the plucking."
"You leave him," Isidore admonished, his voice likewise a whisper so that Eyon, who dallied considerably while pouring the water at the other end of the room, would be unable to hear him. "I think he looks for something more permanent than your flighty heart is capable of offering."
Kylar threw him an offended look. "My affections might be fleeting, but my heart is not flighty," he whispered back. "And he is scarce more than fourteen, how can he want a permanent attachment at that age?"
"Wants and needs are not the same thing," Isidore replied in a sharp hiss. Aloud he said, calmly: "That will be all Eyon." Dismissing the boy before he could deliver any gossip and before Kylar could get any designs on him.
"You are such a prude," Kylar said after Eyon had left. "If he'd known you'd just lost him an assignation, he would be mighty peeved at you."
"Possibly," Isidore conceded. "But what does one do with the fruit once one has plucked and consumed it? Discard the waste and move on. I find the thought of your doing so to him, indeed of any man doing the same to any other man, somewhat repellent, I confess."
"'Tis your precepts," Kylar said dismissively, "you believe love should be all purity and perfection." He smiled at Isidore. "I'd rather have love in all its hot, messy reality than in all its cold godliness."
"And this hot, messy and real love; you have had it have you?" Isidore asked, his brow raised.
Kylar said nothing for a moment. "No," he said eventually. "I have not."
"Well," Isidore replied with a smile, "perhaps your heart is not flighty, as you say, but if you continue to look for it in your pants, you too shall be left unsatisfied."
After Kylar had left, muttering something about Isidore corrupting him with all his purity, Isidore sat about reading the letter that the Daja had delivered. It had most likely been read by Kerim and several others, which meant the first paragraph made Isidore blush profusely.
My dearest Isidore, I write to you from Daavin, do you remember that place? If not, go and look it up on a map, I'm sure you are reading this presently in a stuffy library. I cannot imagine you being anywhere else, so there's bound to be one at hand. Well, in any case, it is neighbour to Nom-Tomik, on the western border thereof, so my original home is to the east of my temporary one. Well anyway, I digress but you should know that about me, if you can remember me - it took you more than a week to compose your first letter! It is well though; I understand because I guessed that, for all that time you spent avoiding fucking like the plague, you would, upon tasting it, become utterly addicted to it, and probably couldn't get upright long enough to pen any form of correspondence. I did miss you horribly from the moment you left, though. The whole castle did, you know, and the whole of Sheq-Kis-Ra, I dare say. And it is no exaggeration that, while your sacrifice was applauded, we were one and all desperately sad to have lost our Svaraya, well our most pretty one at least. I, for one, could not bear to be in a place, every fibre of which reminded me of you. So, I confess, I ran away to Nom-Tomik at first opportunity, which was but a month after your own departure. What a mistake that was! I was better to have remained in the City with your father, whose love for me I could count on far more than that of my own. Shortly after I had arrived in Nom-Tomik, he sends me to live with one of his friends, ostensibly to care for me while he was away. But the old man had died ere I even arrived at his home. Now his excessively hateful son has come to live here and he is a veritable cad. Yes, you can finish laughing now; it's not that funny. He is far more caddish than ever I could hope to be. How I know this is that immediately as he saw me, he appraised every inch of my body, gave a brief glance to my face, and then ordered everyone out of the room except me. Of course, nothing repulsed me more. I managed to escape by telling him I was a virgin, and only ever wanted to have sex with the love of my life - stop laughing! - and I think he got enough of a scare to leave me be. When he found out evidence to the contrary...well...that did not go down so well. Apparently, scurrilous man though he is, he has an aversion to being lied to, so now we are ignoring each other. Which would suit me no end, but I want to go home, and he won't let me, saying some rubbish about his being honour-bound by his father's word to look after me until my father returns. Ignoring the fact that I am nineteen years old and do not need to be 'looked after', he then had the gall to point out that, because I have no job, nor any real skills (he doesn't think being a courtier involves any skill, because he is an uncouth provincial,) and...because I 'continue to give it away for free', I do very much need to be looked after, so I shall not leave his 'care' until my father has returned to take me back into his. The worst thing is, he thinks by forbidding any in the castle to touch me, I shall be driven to him when my 'needs' get the better of me. And he is counting the days to such an eventuality. It will never come however; I should rather be a dried up old celibate than turn to him for relief. But I so need relief, Isidore, that it has gone beyond endurable. And every man he sees me even pass a brief at, mysteriously disappears - I have never been stood up so many times in my life! And so it goes. I miss my best friend terribly. I wish he were here to give me his counsel. I wish you'd never left Isidore. Though your letter was most complimentary of your new home, you did not write as one who had found much to love therein and it made me terribly sad to think of my most loving Isidore remaining unloved. Do write and apprise me of how things are with you. I hope for good news. And I shall write to you and tell you of how I have strangled Kiyan, and will strangle father just as soon as I get home. Yours, Eiren.
Silly that Isidore should be so homesick as he read the words of his friend. So he set his pen to writing, conveying the way in which things had progressed for himself and the Svarya since his last correspondence to his friend. He also gave what advice he could to Eiren whom Isidore knew well enough to see through the somewhat dramatic representation of things. Truly, if Eiren wanted to leave Daavin, he would have left already, likewise if Eiren's father did not think his son might benefit from being in Daavin, he would not have sent him there.
Many hours later saw Isidore up in his bed-chamber, preparing for the evening. When he entered the parlour, it was to see Kerim doing likewise from the main door, and he smiled slightly, realising that they had promised one another this night.
"Come, we will dine in here tonight," Kerim said.
"Do you not wish to preside over the meal?" Isidore asked.
"One night I shall not be missed," Kerim said, indicating Isidore should sit on one of the plush couches, while he went into his chamber to wash and change.
When he returned, Isidore let his eyes travel over the finely made form briefly, trying not to stare too openly at the figure he cut. His tan animal-hide trousers molded so well to his thighs that Isidore could just about imagine that he wore none at all, and his vest also left little to the imagination, opening deep down his chest, and fitting so tightly to the parts it did cover that these were likewise accentuated rather than concealed by the light fabric.
"You like what you see?" Kerim asked, sitting down on the couch opposite him and stretching out so that Isidore was not denied much of that which he was presently admiring.
"I have always found the sight of you pleasing," Isidore admitted.
"You could have fooled me," Kerim said, though his voice contained no accusation.
"I have never said you displeased my eyes," Isidore replied with a raised brow.
Kerim said nothing, simply reaching for the wine.
"What do you mean by that?" Isidore asked, startled out of his idle musing and sitting forward in curiosity.
"By what?" Kerim asked in surprise.
"That...look you gave me," Isidore replied.
"What? I must guard now my looks lest you take offence to them?" He smiled, though Isidore considered it to lack comfort. "Have some wine," he said, trying to change the subject. The past was the past, he cared little to have it dredged up.
Isidore was not of the same opinion, however. "How have I led you to believe that I found you unattractive?"
"You haven't," Kerim said, handing Isidore a goblet. "Let it rest, Isidore."
"No, I wouldst know," Isidore insisted.
Giving a heavy sigh, he shook his head. "You are like a dog with a bone." For his insult, he got nothing but an expectant look from Isidore, and so after another sigh, he finally answered: "You backed away when you first saw me." His casual tone belied what he'd felt at the time, mainly anger, and mainly at himself for caring that Isidore shrank away in disgust at the sight of him.
"Oh," Isidore replied, vaguely recalling how Kylar had needed to push him in the direction of the Svarya upon his first being introduced to him. "Well you must know that I was startled by your size, but never did I find it unattractive," his eyes met Kerim's seriously. "Unnerving, yes, but not unattractive."
"Ah, 'tis no matter now, though I confess at the time it may have prompted some of my less sensible comments to you. Along with the frustration of wondering if I'd ever have you. Both of these may have made me short with you and take great pains to ensure you thought I found you just as repulsive as it seemed you found me."
Isidore swallowed uncomfortably.
"But of course, it lasted all of one night before I gave in and fucked you," Kerim admitted. "Which you apparently liked, and then did not like, and then liked again," he commented.
Isidore flushed. "Some things about that first night unnerved me, not least of which was my body's response to it all," he confessed.
"But not only that?" Kerim asked, his brow raised.
"And...the manner of it," Isidore said, raising his eyes to Kerim's and holding them steadily. "There was a roughness to your manner which, thankfully, I have not been treated to since."
"Ah, yes," Kerim rubbed the fingers of his right hand together agitatedly, his eyes straying to the door of his bed-chamber, as though it, too, should receive some portion of the blame. But he forced his eyes back to the boy upon whom he had perpetrated such actions as he was deeply ashamed of. "I'm sorry for that," he said. "It should never have happened, and I am sorry."
"Is there a reason it occurred?" Isidore asked quietly.
"If I give a reason, it will seem that I am excusing my actions, which I do not wish to do," Kerim replied. "They are inexcusable."
"I wouldst know..." Isidore insisted softly.
Kerim sighed, holding his hands palm up on his knees, before folding the fingers inwards in agitation. He hated this, it was so uncomfortable to go over the past. He would rather Isidore accept the unconditional apology he had extended - he who never apologised - but it was wishful thinking that he'd get off so easily, his inquisition was not yet over.
"I tried to be gentle with you, I tried my hardest to make you want and not fear it, and yet you ran...I suppose it reminded me that I would always be a monster in your eyes, and so I reverted to type. I lost my temper with you and I never should have. But I can tell you that I have never been so horrified as I was when you fainted. For that proved to me I was every bit the monster you considered me to be, and so I resolved never to touch you again."
He smiled slightly, meeting Isidore's eyes again.
"But my conviction has never wavered so much as it has with you, Darima, and so that time I could not even hold out a night, and was touching you just half an hour after I had resolved never to do so again."
Isidore bit his lip. "Hazy as my recollections of that night are, I seem to remember enjoying it," he admitted. "Not the first part, but the second part, I enjoyed quite a bit."
"Yes, but we have Lodur to blame for that," Kerim said, with half a smile.
"I did say that, didn't I?" Isidore asked, smiling back, and any discomfort between them quickly evaporated. "Well, it was provoked, for you were sorely provoking afterwards."
"You are quite fearless when provoked," Kerim mused. "I confess I enjoyed it when you lost all your frosty civility."
"I suppose I enjoyed it too," Isidore replied after a moment. "I got sorely tired of saying 'as it pleases you' when I was hoping it did anything but."
"Ah, but everything about you pleased me, Darima, even your overt attempts to displease me," Kerim said with a grin.
Then the meal arrived and they were mainly silent as it was laid out for them. While they ate, they spoke on indifferent topics, both relatively hungry from the day so the food preoccupied them for a time.
Once finished, Kerim watched him for a long moment. "You look nice this night, Isidore," he said, his eyes traveling over the small form across from him.
"I look no different from the way I do any other night," Isidore replied with an arched midnight brow.
"Will you make me play the courtier?" Kerim asked, his voice deep and husky.
"Do you feel you need to with me?" Isidore asked in response.
Kerim got to his feet, and Isidore watched him, wide-eyed, as he came over to the couch upon which he sat. "I hope I do not," he told Isidore, leaning down and sweeping him off his seat, then sitting in his place, "since I've no idea how to do so."
"I could teach you," Isidore told him, trying to relax after his seat had been replaced by a lap. "But I rather like you the way you are."
Kerim grinned, then he looked at Isidore's tense form in his lap. "Do you dislike this so much?" he asked, his hand placed on Isidore's thigh.
"I suppose I mind not sitting atop your lap in private," Isidore replied. "In a great hall of your entire household, I feel not so complaisant, especially when I have to endure being fed before all as well."
"Ah, yes, my little Svaraya who was so concerned with his dignity. I remember." He smiled and ran one hand up and down Isidore's velvet-clad arm.
"I am still concerned with my dignity," Isidore reminded him.
"And so you are, but can you relax for just a moment to enjoy an embrace?" Kerim asked long-sufferingly.
"Maybe," Isidore answered archly, tracing his finger over the mound of one firm pectoral muscle, his fingertip flicking over a nipple that hardened through the overly tight fabric of the vest Kerim wore. "It depends on what you will do to make me enjoy it."
In response to the invitation, his lips were pressed in a hard kiss, one hand thrusting into his hair to hold him still for the ravishment. But he did not want to he held still, instead he shifted in the lap until he was straddling Kerim's waist and then they could kiss in earnest. While they tasted each other with lips and tongues, Isidore's hands found the ties on Kerim's vest. He freed his lips enough to mention: "I've wanted to take this off you all night."
He was aided immediately, the vest disappearing over the other end of the couch, so that Isidore had the entire, exquisitely put together upper body of his lover bared and his to explore. But when Kerim leaned down to kiss him, Isidore avoided it, squirming out of the embrace and standing up before the man. Kerim looked up at him in surprise, then grinned when Isidore held out his hand. Enclosing it within his own, he got to his feet and followed Isidore's lead into the bedchamber.
Once inside, Kerim shut the door, then walked across the room to where Isidore stood. Isidore stilled somewhat when he felt the man's arms envelop him and then he was being drawn up for a kiss, hot and deep. He opened his mouth to receive it, sucking on the tongue that pressed against his; dueling with it as it explored all around his mouth. The strong arms pressed his body up against the much larger one, while the kiss deepened.
Sliding his hands up the firmness of Kerim's back, Isidore pressed his fingers into the firm muscles, feeling both the texture and the small scars that marked it. He pulled back when they reached the bed, wriggling out of Kerim's arms to yank off his camic, and throwing it to the ground so that they were both bare-chested. Isidore looked up, smiling in the moons-light, then he pushed Kerim back on to the bed, the Daja putting up no resistance whatsoever to being placed there. He lay back on the bed and Isidore climbed atop him, straddling the narrow waist with his hips so that he could run his hands over the man's bared chest. His finger-tips grazed over a nipple in their explorations, and he pinched it, which elicited a throaty groan from the man. Placing his fingers on each nipple he pinched and teased them, flicking over them until Kerim reached up and pulled him down for a rough kiss, running his hand down Isidore's chest to his groin and stroking the hardness there through his trousers, until Isidore was moaning and whimpering into his mouth, fumbling with the ties on his trousers.
He was flipped on to his back, and then his trousers were pulled off and discarded on the floor by the bed. He was naked, for the first time in too many days, before Kerim.
"Ah, it's perfect. Did I tell you that? I always thought it was perfect," Kerim murmured as he ran his hand over Isidore's hardness, stroking over the flesh and gripping it firmly; feeling its heat radiate against his palm. Shifting the boy up, and at the same time shifting himself down, he moved to where he could better look at the hardened rod, and smell the delicious scent of it, seeing the dewy juices collect at the tip.
Isidore's moan caught in his throat as he felt his lover's mouth lower down on to his rod, the tongue swirling around the head. Kerim sucked and lapped at it, while one hand caressed across his thigh and to his balls, taking these in the warmth of the palm and kneading them gently, as the hot mouth continued to work at the engorged tip, and only that. Kerim teased him, licking the head and nothing else, so that he writhed around, whimpering for more, even though the pleasure he was getting at present was unbearable.
Finally when his whimpers became audible moans, and sounded quite tortured, Kerim slid the whole length into his mouth, engulfing the sensitised flesh as deep as it would go so that his entire cock was bathed in heat. And then he began to slide it out again, with tantalising slowness, until Isidore thrust his hand into his lover's hair, pushing down and directing the speed somewhat while he squirmed around, tensing and relaxing his stomach muscles as he thrust his hips up and down off the bed, knowing his climax was not far off.
Then, if it were possible, the grip on his mouth got tighter as Kerim brought his tongue into play, swirling it all around his rod as he bucked up and down. The tongue lapped and licked and tickled around his sensitive flesh, rolling over the tip as this was buried again and again into the tightness of his throat. And then Isidore was coming, the constant stroking on his cock-head, the hot tight stroking of the length of his rod had him shooting several heavy loads as his hips bucked and jerked off the bed, his whole body tensing with climax.
And then it was over, and he was utterly satisfied, lying back with a contented sigh as his eyelids were pulled down from the aftermath of his pleasure. He felt Kerim move up to lie beside him.
"Don't go to sleep," Kerim warned him, running one finger down the aquiline nose, then planting a light kiss on Isidore's lips.
"When we've just begun?" Isidore asked, stretching luxuriously against Kerim, running a hand down the muscles of his abdomen, which tensed a little under the teasing caress. "I think not." His fingers caught at the waist-band of Kerim's trousers and he tugged at the ties, unknotting them one by one.
"Will you tell me that you wanted to take these off me all night too?" Kerim teased, helping to remove the trousers.
"I hardly needed you to," Isidore informed him with a giggle, "they leave so little to the imagination."
He yelped as he was caught about the waist and delivered a swat on his behind. "You know you're too mouthy, don't you?" Kerim growled in his ear.
"I do," Isidore agreed, leaning up and pushing Kerim on to his back, so that he could sit back on the firm midsection.
"Ah, would you like to be in control?" Kerim asked, grinning up at him while he ran his hands up the firm thighs that straddled his waist.
"You will not mind being dominated?" Isidore teased in reply.
"Dominated?" Kerim sounded unperturbed as his hands slid up further, caressing the firm buttocks. "By my little scrap of a boy?"
Isidore slapped at Kerim, then he was pulled down so he was lying along the man's chest. He laid his cheek against the warm skin while the hands continued to caress every inch of his pert rounded buttocks. Sighing, he shifted back on his knees as he felt the moist cock-head come between his cheeks. The large fingers, slick with oil, crept down the valley to the exposed hole which had been lubricated by the phallus-tip that hovered over it, the fingers swirling the slippery fluid around and around the puckered rim, tracing over the sensitised flesh that was open and exposed until Isidore was writhing and moaning in desperation to feel something more than the light teasing around his hole.
Kerim reached around and grasped his rigid length with one hand, the heavy forearm of his other arm slung across Isidore's back, holding him still as he began to push his thick meat into the tightness, allowing Isidore to slowly wriggle down on it, impaling himself further and further until he had taken most of it. Then Kerim gripped the narrow hips and pushed Isidore into a sitting position, impaling him on the last of his thick tool and eliciting a somewhat pained cry from the boy as he did so. Of course the pain would not last, and soon Isidore was bucking up and down on his tool, loving every inch of it, his own cock drooling its sticky dew as testimony to this.
For some time Kerim was content to let Isidore ride him, watching him enjoy it while he lay, relaxed, with his hands behind his head. But after a time he wanted to take control and with one swift movement he sat upright, wrapped his arms around Isidore's back, and resumed his thrusts. Only this time they were harder and deeper, pounding into the tight sheath, plundering its hot moist depths. The small fingers gripped his shoulders, digging in and scratching them. Kerim barely noticed as Isidore tried to add to the scars and marks that already existed there. When one small hand crept down his chest, though, and pinched his hard brown nipples, his eyes snapped open and he looked at Isidore, a wicked smile curving his lips. Isidore barely registered his surprise as one large hand smothered his small one and then clamped his fingers down on the nipple, twisting the flesh in what Isidore was sure was a painful manner. He felt the hard cock twitch inside him and he realised the grip must be a pleasurable one for Kerim. When he twisted the hardened flesh of his own accord, to the extent that he had been shown the man wanted, Kerim gave up letting Isidore control the fucking in any way, throwing him on his back, his legs in the air as he pounded into the tight hole, slamming deep into the hot, slick flesh. He continued to twist the hardened flesh of the man's nipples however, loving the sense of power it gave him to drive, to some extent, the thrusts as he pinched the flesh between his fingers. Then leaned up to clamp his teeth down on one, biting it hard. This elicited a roar and quite unexpectedly Kerim gave up his load, shooting it deep into the hot canal that gripped him so tightly.
Another nip, this time to the hard muscle of his chest, alerted Kerim to the fact that he had collapsed upon Isidore who now wanted to come up for air. With a worried sound, despite his post-climactic languor, he rolled off Isidore.
"Did I crush you?" Kerim asked him, brushing a strand of midnight hair off Isidore's cheek.
"Not overly," Isidore sighed contentedly after their love-making, then rolled over and threw one arm possessively across Kerim's midsection.
Hours later, Isidore's post-climactic sleepiness had left him. He lay in Kerim's arms, his head on the large chest that was rising and falling in sleep, but he was no longer in the same relaxed state. His thoughts buzzed around in his head, making restful oblivion impossible. The arm around him tightened, then shifted, then pulled him closer, and he made himself more comfortable within the sleeping embrace.
He had noticed Kerim was very affectionate, always wanting him close by his side, reaching out to touch him when they were nearby one-another. It might be said that Sherim-Ranians were, on the whole, a more openly affectionate bunch. Isidore remembered, when he had served in the meal hall, that there was much touching that occurred between the Dajani and Darani. Not all of it was lascivious groping either, he could admit when he thought back with an eye of less censure. Very often it was simply touching, hands held, a warm-hearted pat on the back, and kisses that bespoke nothing more than a brotherly affection.
Of course, then Isidore had viewed it with all his dignified Sheq-Kis-Ran sensibility - or was it cold, intolerant prudery? He was reluctant to answer such a question - he'd vilified such behaviour, along with its perpetrators. Neither the open lechery of the Dajani or the wanton appreciation thereof by the Darani had escaped his censorious Sheq-Kis-Ran eye. He realised that he'd seen, of the Sherim-Ranians, only what he wanted to see. Assuming that no man would like to be treated in such an undignified manner, he had made his judgment accordingly, just one of many.
When first he had arrived, he had disparaged far less the deeper problems, and far more the minor differences between this society and the one into which he'd been born. Not only had he considered the open displays of affection inappropriate, he had also disparaged the clothes the Darani wore, thinking they did so to titillate and invite. Yet how tempting - from a completely functional point of view - had they looked to him when he'd sweltered in his clammy, cloistering velvet? His arrival to Sherim-Ra had been only the very beginning of the warmer months, and he might be forgiven for not having seen the necessity of light clothing. But, now that the heat had risen, he realised that dressing immodestly was more a case of practicality than anything else.
There were grave injustices that took place in Sherim-Ra, to which he could be neither blind nor silent. But he was aware that, upon the smaller seeming injustices, he'd turned a very prejudiced eye. And he could chastise himself for that. He could readily accept that he had come into Sherim-Ra with some pre-conceived notions, for he had never been out of Sheq-Kis-Ra his entire seventeen years.
Deciding he needed some air, he sat up straight. Kerim rolled over, one arm sweeping him back down, but Isidore wriggled his way out of its loose embrace and instead climbed off the bed.
"Where're you going?" came a sleepy murmur as Kerim threw his forearm over his eyes.
"Nowhere, I just need air," Isidore replied, though he got no answer but a resumption of the snores that had punctuated his thoughts before.
One thing he found amusing about Sherim-Ra is that they never wore, and indeed had scarce heard of, robes. It made for pleasant viewing, Isidore had to admit, seeing none of Kerim's splendor covered up by a robe. Since it was past midnight, he decided it would not be too much of a risk to go outside on the deck naked. It was certainly warm enough at night not to need coverings.
Bathed in the bright silver glow he drew his knees up with his arms around them as he sat on the ledge, his eyes instantly drawn in the direction of Sheq-Kis-Ra, as they had been so many times.
He used to look to it for comfort when he had grown weary and oppressed under the burden of the Sherim-Ran life. Did he feel so weary now? he wondered. Not in his own position, no. He had it well in the castle, as had been frequently pointed out by his main benefactor. He enjoyed a lot of privilege. But it was not his own privilege he sought; he was not content with merely improving his own lot and letting the rest of his kind do for themselves. While there was injustice, while there was not only inequality, but exploitative oppression of his kind to the benefit of their big brothers, he could not be content living here.
"I know you forbade me from speaking to you about this..." Isidore spoke to the Svarya the next morning while they both lay in bed. His tone was less than comfortable. "But I am curious to know what you ended up doing about the temple of the Dara-ya?"
They had spoken briefly on it, in Kerim's office a couple of days after Isidore had first made the state of affairs known to the Svarya. Unfortunately, the interview happened to follow the punishment Isidore had received on only his third day in Sherim-Ra. His sore behind, and even sorer pride, had allowed him to do little more than give cold, snappish responses to Kerim's questions. He finished up by accusing the Svarya of being an idiot and a heretic, and a filthy pervert who was willing to compromise his position in the afterlife in order to run a cheap brothel served by the priests of the Dara-ya. Kerim's response had been to inform Isidore that he would task one of his men to dealing with the problem, but if Isidore was ever to speak to him of it again it would be at his peril. Respecting that the Svarya wished never to be reminded of such unforgivable insolence as he had been treated to that particular morning, Isidore had remained silent on the matter. Nonetheless, it pricked him off and on to ask, out of curiosity, what had come of the task.
"Oh yes, that," Kerim answered, recalling himself the conversation with the boy.
At the time he had thought Isidore insolent to the point of being intolerable, but he had been aware of the hurt dignity that had prompted most of Isidore's words, so he had simply sent him back up to his chambers, to await his escort for the day. It had been a flicker of goodwill that saw him appoint one of his men to take care of the temple.
"I did as I said I would," Kerim informed him, running a hand along Isidore's back. "I appointed a man to see to it."
"And of the...nature of the supplication being engaged in?" Isidore asked with some embarrassment.
"That is not of any pressing concern," he told Isidore nonchalantly, "for he has closed down the temple of the Dara-ya."
Isidore started, placing his palms on the hard midsection and sitting up in Kerim's arms. "Say you jest," he breathed, his midnight-blue eyes widened in horror.
"I cannot when I have spoken only truth in this," Kerim replied, his brow furrowing.
"Do you tell me the ceremonial fires remain lit, that there remains a priest to tend them." Isidore asked, his voice rising in panic.
"The whole place is closed down, as far as I gathered from my mediary, and the priests have been suspended from all duties." Kerim's response was somewhat halting.
"Oh no," Isidore cried. "Oh no, no!"
"Come now, what is the problem with that, the place will be reopened in good time," Kerim said, trying to pull Isidore back into his embrace.
"Kerim-ya, stop!" Isidore commanded, his arms straightening out between them, maintaining his distance. "We must repair to there immediately, we must spare not a second more to anger the little-brother-god."
Kerim laughed. "Come now, 'tis only the Dara-ya, I'm sure he will be well enough without a few fires burning in one of his temples."
"Ah, does Sherim-Ra have another temple of the Dara-ya in operation?" Isidore asked, relief flooding through him.
"No, 'tis just that..." Kerim stopped seeing the boy's face whiten.
"How did he just shut down the temple?" Isidore demanded. "Did your advisors stand idly by while he did?"
"No, they were in agreement," Kerim said with a frown.
"Ah, Lodur help us," Isidore said, jumping off the bed. "Kerim-ya come! We must set this aright and pray the forgiveness of the Dara-ya."
Kerim rolled his eyes. "Is not little-brother-god quite the forgiving sort, surely his wrath is not something too troublesome."
Isidore looked at him incredulously. "Do you mock the gods themselves?" he asked, amazement stealing his breath away. "The least one of them is infinitely more powerful than the mightiest man."
Kerim sighed, only slightly more reverent in the face of that information. "Well then, I suppose we'd better go to the temple district."
He climbed off the bed, walking to his chest and yanking out some clothing. Turning to Isidore, who seemed to have frozen in place, his arms across his chest and his brow deeply creased as he considered the case before him, he ran his eyes up and down his naked form. "Best you get yourself dressed, yes? If you are to serve the gods, at least might you do it with clothes on."
Isidore looked up at him sharply. "Now he becomes scrupulous," he murmured as he hastened out the door and across to his own chamber so that he could likewise dress, though bathing would have to be bypassed at this stage, since they were in a hurry. Once dressed, they convened in the parlour and then were out of the chambers, hurrying through the passages until they were out of the castle itself and to the stables, the Svarya giving the order crisply for his horse.
Unlike the manner in which he had ridden with Kylar and Jalen, Kerim sat him behind him on the horse and Isidore wondered why for two moments until, at Kerim's order to hold on, they set off.
Survival would have him do little else but hold tight to the man's waist, bury his face in the large back, and try for the very life of him not to fall off. The scenery flew past them, too jolting and fast for him to take account of it as they sped towards the temple district.
They reached it soon enough, however, and only once they were before the closed temple was the horse allowed to come to an exhausted halt, lathered and breathing heavily, too spent to do much but stand there as his two riders dismounted.
"Where are the priests?" Isidore asked after Kerim had lifted him from the saddle.
"They are lodged in the temple of the big-brother-god," Kerim replied and Isidore had to grimace. He could very well guess what was being extracted from them by way of rent for their lodgings.
"We must summon the chiefest amongst them," Isidore told Kerim who nodded, well aware that they were drawing a crowd.
It was a matter of some interest to see the Svarya come in person to their district. But that he brought the Dara-Svaraya made all turn and watch with utmost curiosity, much as they had when Kerim da Jaal had brought the other Sheq-Kis-Ran Svaraya to this very place some months ago.
Ignoring the stares as the priests of the various temples watched him, some overtly, some covertly as they went about their morning duties utterly curious as to what their sovereign was up to, Kerim marched into the temple of the Daja-ya. Not one eye of a single priest was anywhere but upon him as he strode into their midst with Isidore behind him.
"Sovereign Svarya." The priest in attendance came forward, his head bowed before his supreme leader, for the Svarya outranked the chiefest priest in the temple of the Daja-ya, as the highest ranking warrior in the land. "It is an honour."
"Raise your head." Kerim barked the order. "Find the chief-priest among your little brothers."
The priest nodded and obeyed in all haste. He turned and strode toward the back, Isidore noted, and he supposed the little-brother priests were forbidden from entering the temple main, kept in its back so they might fuck and serve as their big brothers willed it. Kerim meanwhile had walked to the image of the Daja-ya, slapping his right palm on his chest and then placing it on the statue; a sign of worship to his god.
When Isidore's eyes strayed around to the rest of the building he could see Dajan priests regarding him with varying amounts of curiosity and disapproval. Upon catching the eye of one whose expression displayed far more of the latter, he cast a pointed eye to the Svarya and then looked back to the priest, his expression questioning. The priest looked away, duly chastised, for to question Isidore's presence was to question the Svarya's presence of mind in bringing him here, and this the priest clearly realised with not a little chagrin.
Presently the chief-priest among the Dara-yan brotherhood was brought forward by the Daja-priest on duty, who then stepped aside as the chief-priest of the Daja-ya stepped forward to stand beside the smaller priest. Isidore took one look at the Dara-yan priest then turned to Kerim in a fury.
"Do you tell him to put on some clothes, majesty," he said in a low voice.
The priest was dressed in his filmy robes, which barely offered covering to his lithe form.
"Do you tell him yourself, Isidore, this is your undertaking," Kerim informed him with his arms folded across his chest.
Isidore turned to the priest. "Do you dress yourself appropriately." His voice was ice-cold.
"This is my priestly garb," the chief-priest told him in an equally cold tone. Dara that he was, and regardless of the manner in which he was treated by his Dajan counterparts, he was firmly of the opinion that he outranked all Darani in this land.
"It is the garb of a Purdiya, faithless apostle!" Isidore yelled, to the shock of just about everyone in the temple. "Put some clothes on!"
The chief-priest sucked in his breath, turning and looking at the Dajan priest, then allowing his eyes to flick up to those of the Svarya and dropping them immediately when he received no expression of support from either. He whirled about on his heel, walked to the back of the temple and, after a short while, returned adorned in a heavy cape that afforded him considerably more modesty than his filmy robes. He kept the front of the robe closed. He stood before Isidore, his expression furious to be so dressed down by one of his own.
"Speak your name," Isidore ordered him.
"Anakh no Domiyar." The priest did as ordered.
"Explain why you allowed the sacred flame of your temple to be extinguished, Anakh no Domiyar," Isidore instructed, his voice rising as he struggled to control his fury.
"It was extinguished for us," the priest replied.
"What did you do to stop this from happening?" Isidore asked.
"We could do naught. The Svarya's men came and shut down the temple. We were moved here and that was that," Anakh answered him, cocking his head to the side and looking at him pointedly as a way to chastise him for questioning the actions of the Svarya's men.
"And you spoke not a single protest?" Isidore asked. "The sacred fires of the Dara-ya, those that burn to keep Him in the hearts of all those He protects, these you let be extinguished without protest?"
"It was not our place to protest," Anakh said defensively. "It was the order of the Svarya."
"Is this true, majesty?" Isidore turned to Kerim, his voice softened slightly.
"I ordered that the temple be closed for supplication, and it is possible my men took the order to mean the fires be extinguished also," Kerim answered calmly.
"Anakh no Domiyar, how many years have you been chiefest of the priests of the Dara-ya?" Isidore asked.
"Five years," Anakh replied, his voice cold and smug.
"Know you so little of His ways that in five years you allowed His temple to be filled with smut and sexual acts?" Isidore demanded to a murmur of surprise from all in the temple.
"Supplication is made with a representation of the acts between the sun-brothers," Anakh replied. "It is heresy to call them smut as you do, Sheq-Kis-Ranian."
"It is heresy what you do!" Isidore replied, his fury no less. "Do you tell me how you could have read the scrolls of the Dara-ya and came up with that as constituting rightful worship of Him."
There was a murmur around the gathered priests and a few stifled laughs. Isidore frowned to hear them, and to see the Daran priest's expression carrying a smirk. He turned to Kerim, his expression questioning.
"Darani do not read in Sherim-Ra," Kerim reminded him, his voice quite nonchalant and not at all apologetic.
Of course Isidore knew this, but it was a blow all the same, to realise that no Dara read in Sherim-Ra, and he turned back to the priest, his eyes widening. "Not even the priesthood are gifted with the knowledge of written word?" he asked incredulously.
"No Dara is so gifted, 'tis not a gift of your god to your people," Kerim reminded Isidore, but more for the benefit of those gathered.
Oh how dearly Isidore would like to make rebuttal to that statement, but now was not the time.
"Then who taught you of the Dara-ya and His ways?" he asked the priest.
The priest looked at him rather curiously. "The priests of the Daja-ya, of course," he answered, mirth in his voice. Some of this mirth was echoed around the temple room and Isidore's hackles rose even more to know he was the centre of it.
"Then my complaint is with them." He turned to the priest of the Daja-ya. "Do you tell me who is chiefest among you?"
The Daja-yan priest, who was in fact the chiefest, did not even deign to answer him, merely turning to Kerim, all deference, where he had been barely concealed contempt toward Isidore, and addressed him.
"Sovereign Svarya, your charge does overstep himself to question us in our own temple."
Kerim folded his arms across his chest, frowning as he contemplated this. Outwardly his expression was one of calm consideration but inside he was excessively uncomfortable to be faced with this kind of religious problem. He was utterly incompetent when it came to arguing points of religious order. But he was standing next to one who surpassed him in that area, so he decided to let Isidore argue the case for him.
Turning to the boy, he gave him a severe expression. "Isidore, do you explain why you think you might call the Daja-yan priests to account."
"Majesty, if it pleases you, the Daja-yan priests think they may serve their own needs and those of their kind in Sherim-Ra by providing the priests of the little-brother-god with misinformation. In doing so they do both underestimate and undermine the bond of brotherly love. I ask them why they imagine the Daja-ya will stand for them, mere mortal men, before He stands for His brother, whose very image has been ridiculed and reduced to that of a sex object and slave? I ask them why they presume there will be no retribution for their enslavement of a god?"
"He puts the case across effectively," Kerim stated, turning his cold gaze back to the priest. "Do explain yourself, chiefest of the Daja-ya."
The priest looked unperturbed. "There has been no wrongful enslavement. The Dara-ya is a slave to His big brother, all know this, you have wasted our time, foolish Dara."
"If you speak of the tampered tomes which detail such as the case then 'tis you who waste our time, Daja-yan priest, for I will accept no case predicated on such spurious proof," Isidore replied to a collective sucked in breath.
"Sovereign, he speaks of your grandfather's work in the gravest terms," the Dajan priest said, his expression utterly severe, fully expecting the Dara to be beheaded for such questioning of the sovereignty of the House of Jaal.
Since it was not the first time Isidore had spoken thus of his grandfather's work, Kerim was far less perturbed than the rest in the temple. "Answer the allegation, Isidore," he told the boy in a detached voice.
"I know some little of the work your grandfather undertook during his reign, Kerim-ya, but the secular rule matters not for religious discussions, the point is irrelevant."
"The Svarya leads the priesthood of the Daja-ya," the Dajan priest argued. "His rule prevails."
"For so long as he lives, the Svarya rules the Daja-yan order, aye, so 'tis our present Svarya's rule that matters, not his grandfather's," Isidore argued.
"Vemiyar da Jaal was Svarya when he made the changes," the priest replied.
"Aye, but no longer," Isidore answered easily. "Upon death, the changes cease to be enshrined, if 'twas not the case, they could never have been made in the first place."
The priest paled, this Dara had obviously stolen a Daja's quickness of mind. "He questions your grandfather, he questions you, sovereign Svarya," the priest told Kerim.
"This point will not be resolved quickly I think," Kerim said with finality. "Isidore, deal with the Dara-yan priesthood as you see fit. Priests of the Daja-ya, consider notice served upon you. The chiefest among you will report to my castle in a fortnight's time with proof that your religious duties have been adequately performed."
With that he turned, bowing once to the statue of the Daja-ya, and then, with his small attendant, quit the temple, leaving what might be considered utter chaos in his wake.