This is a Sci-Fi/ Fantasy story involving incest, male/male, teen/adult graphic sex and it's not intended for reading by minors. If you are underage, or this type of material isn't legal where you live, stop now, and go read something else.
This is a fantasy meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading. These people don't exist, this world doesn't exist.
This story originated as part of a fiction writing game which is hosted at a site called The Palace. For those interested in the game and what is known as "key fiction," the site address is, http://www.ravenswing.com/~keys/. A version of this story is posted there under my pen name, Mickey. It appears here with the blessing of the Palace.
Feedback, always appreciated, to:
javabiscuit@hotmail.com
Starlight Reverie ~ chapter one
by Biscuit
Morgan Fahr was hardened to the curiosity of strangers, insulated as carefully as he could be by the privileges of wealth. Money couldn't keep the world at bay. Morgan was bitterly aware of that. Wealth, in fact, was the magnet that had drawn the very worst of the world to him. He used it now to provide as much of a buffer for himself and his son as he could, cocooned from strangers, in what was left of a life torn asunder. Their world was small, peopled by a few trusted individuals. The presence of doctors, detectives, and lawyers, people who'd overtaken their existence for a time, had gradually receded.
The men who'd killed his wife and tortured his son had been brought to justice. A meaningless legal term, thought Morgan. Nothing could balance the weight of evil.
He settled deep in the couch of the airport's VIP lounge, his long legs crossed, his arms around the pliant, small form of his eighteen year-old son, Marcus. The boy was tucked into the protective curve of his father's side, head resting on Morgan's shoulder, his face pressed familiarly into the warmth of Morgan's neck.
He was so used to this physical intimacy, so constantly shadowed by Marcus's mute, cuddling presence, that it felt as natural to him as the weight of his own hair at the back of his neck. Life had assumed its own flavor of normalcy, the shattered remains knitted together into a shape that fitted the father and son.
Morgan had accepted the reality of who Marcus was in the wake of what had been done to him. There were only two doctors left of the army of physicians and specialists that had swamped their lives when the twelve year-old kidnap victim had been found, physically and emotionally ravaged by his six-month ordeal. He'd been discovered, not by the police, but by a homeless man seeking shelter in the basement of a condemned building. For close to two years afterwards, Morgan allowed his son to be subjected to a battery of medical and psychological treatments. The kindest and most effective of the physicians who'd treated him were still part of their lives, but not an intrusive part. The rest were long gone.
Marcus's body was healthy though he lagged far behind his years in physical maturity, as if frozen in time by trauma. The effects of castration were carefully treated hormonally. There were mysteries that Morgan lived with, answers he no longer sought because the price of finding them was too high. Who Marcus might have become, what his life might have been, were part of the tapestry of the past. Morgan had learned to treasure his son for what he was.
Beyond the glass, snow was falling, tiny flakes visible where light pierced the dark, a shallow coating on the runways that wouldn't delay them long. Morgan nodded at the steward who set two drinks on the table beside him, a decent scotch for him, and for Marcus, a glass of juice with a straw. He was aware of the steward's gaze reading them, wondering. Indifferent to it, Morgan lifted his glass. The liquor's heat blossomed and spread through him. He saw his son's eyes follow the motion of the glass, head tilting to watch him drink. With endless fascination and devotion, those eyes attended his every movement.
Sapphire eyes, fringed by long dark lashes. Constant witness to Morgan's existence. This too, was as familiar as breathing to Morgan, to be the object of his son's ceaseless attention. Even when the dark blue eyes were closed, Marcus kept watch on him with his other senses.
Morgan held the glass of juice, steadying the straw with one finger against the edge of the glass, and brushed it against Marcus's lips. The boy took it in and drank a little, indicating that he was finished by turning his face to his father's neck. It was the face of an angel, thought Morgan. He'd grown used to the feminine silk of his son's skin. The features were a delicate, prettier version of his own. He kissed the top of Marcus's head, a gesture offered a hundred times a day, as reassuring to him, he thought, as it was to the boy. Marcus's hair, like his own, was the deepest shade of brown, like burnt chocolate, and worn long like his. His son loved to have his hair brushed, and loved to brush Morgan's. Haircuts, beyond trimming, had become a thing of the past. Whatever pleasure he could introduce into Marcus's existence, he cultivated unstintingly.
Pleasure, indeed. In Morgan's pocket was a slim leather case. In the case was a key; slender, ornate, etched with stars. The Starlight Key. A gift from Dr. Elizabeth Emery, Marcus's remaining psychiatrist, and increasingly, his own therapist as well. The key was the seed of the quest that had brought them to this airport on a cold winter night, their destination a place called the Palace, the Starlight Key their entry.
Please God, thought Morgan, let this be right -- for him, for me.
The thought of entrusting his son's body to a stranger was frightening. But Morgan, accustomed as he was to Marcus's physical closeness, teetered with fear at the line between intimacy and sex. His own needs he satisfied as quietly as he could, while his son slept beside him. It had been surprisingly easy for him to give up the lifestyle he'd once lived. His behavior, like his wife's, a mockery of their vows.
A loveless marriage between the troublesome heirs of two wealthy families. He and Renee had married barely out of their teens and it had never been more than an alliance of wealth and power. The conception of an heir ended their physical relationship. Morgan's life had reverted to what it had been before the marriage, revolving door to a constant parade of male lovers. He was hardly impinged upon by the duties of fatherhood, while Renee devoted her attention to a steady stream of women.
He thought back on his life as if it had been lived by someone else. Overnight, Marcus had become the center of his existence. Lovers had fallen away, unable to cope with the transformation of Morgan Fahr from light-hearted, self-centered sensualist, to widower and grieving father.
Nothing mattered to him but the safety and care of his son.
Morgan would have been content to live out his life with his hand for a partner; his need for intimacy filled to overflowing by the innocent presence of Marcus. The boy had seemed to be rendered sexless by castration, content with the pleasures of cuddling and petting that were the heart of his life. But this was changing. Whether it was the gradual result of hormone treatments, or a healing wrought by time, Marcus had begun to exhibit much more sexually explicit behavior, to attain erections and look to his father for relief.
"A whore?" Morgan had demanded in disbelief, outraged by Dr. Emery's proposal. "You want me to hand my son over to a whore?" The gentle doctor had quietly weathered his outburst of anger. "Never! What we talked about for him was a therapist, a professional, not some pleasure slave. Do you have any idea what they're like? What the Palace is? They're prisoners, Emery. They'd just as soon kill you as fuck you. I can't believe you would even consider such a thing."
His heart had been hammering, his anger so palpable that Marcus had burst into tears, cowering.
The room devoted to work with Elizabeth Emery was a place without formal furniture; the setting where she met with them three times a week. The man, his son, and their doctor, faced one another on a thickly carpeted floor, strewn with pillows.
"Good Lord," Morgan had reached for his son, forcing himself to breathe deeply, to calm himself for Marcus's sake. The mute boy, whose only sounds were chimes of laughter or whimpers of crying, had folded up tight with his knees to his chest.
"Morgan," the psychiatrist said softly, "I am personally acquainted with Shaun Vidar and I do not suggest that you hand Marcus over to him, literally. I think you should see him, together. He is far from the angry slave you imagine. If anything, he is overly grateful to his masters for providing him with a home and people to give pleasure to. Believe me, Morgan. I don't take your son's welfare lightly and I've been considering this for a long time."
Breathing more normally, feeling his son's body relax in his arms, Morgan continued to rock Marcus gently in his lap, gazing into the now content deep blue eyes.
"Is it for me, Emery?" he asked at last, knowing her concerns. She didn't approve of him closing himself off sexually and had raised the subject from time to time, testing the waters.
"It's for both of your sakes, Morgan." After a short silence, she added, "I must admit, that I also have Shaun's welfare at heart. He's a very sensitive and loving creature. At least partially non terrestrial. He's humanoid, but free of the prejudices that even you harbor. Your physical closeness to Marcus will delight him, not disturb him. I think all three of you could benefit from each other."
This actually brought a smile to Morgan's lips.
"Your strength and your weakness, Emery, to love your clients."
"Maybe," she admitted, with an answering smile. "Shaun is more than worthy of a caring patron, and you and Marcus have reached an impasse."
As she spoke, Marcus was playing with his father's hand and carried it between his legs, pressing Morgan's palm against his budding erection.
"Yes, sweetheart," Morgan said to his son, suppressing the flare of anxiety this gesture evoked in him. He turned their joined hands so that Marcus was caressing himself. He gazed up at the doctor who'd been their emotional support for more than four years. "We'll meet this Shaun of yours. When can he come here?"
"He can't. You have to bring Marcus to him, to the Palace."
"Isn't there something about keys?"
"Indeed there is. My gift to you both," she said, producing the slim leather case. "The Starlight Key. It's yours for the month, Morgan. Speaking of time, be patient with them both, and yourself. No stranger will be easy for Marcus to touch. You have to help him. You understand?"
"Of course," he had answered, but now he wondered if he really did.