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 framed, to:
javabiscuit@hotmail.com
Starlight Reverie ~ chapter four
by Biscuit
Morgan kissed Marcus and it was like stepping off a cliff in a dream to discover he could fly. One moment his body was seized by fear, and the next he was light as air, soaring with pleasure. His son's mouth was unbelievably tender and warm, passionate. When the boy pulled back to look at him Morgan saw that his eyes that were fever bright with excitement. He heard Shaun laugh and suddenly both of the boys were kissing him and each other and it had become a game.
His arms were full of their wet squirming bodies. Morgan could hardly tell which one was which pressing up to him in the splash and ripple of blue water. Two pairs of moist lips taking turns at his mouth, roaming over his cheeks; he felt their breath as they laughed and battled with each other. It was like being attacked by wet puppies.
Morgan felt transported; traveling through time to the past when sex was something to play at, when marriage was just a rumor of the distant future. Hot summer afternoons at the pool with his friends, orgies of eager hands, stolen kisses, and flashing naked limbs. The constant burn of teenage hormones had turned their playing into sex at a moment's notice.
His stomach was jabbed by a firm little cock. This he knew was Marcus, the slim hard finger of flesh unmistakable. He heard his son's soft laughter and felt the nudge of his nose rubbing on his cheek, the pressure matching the playful little hard-on poking at his hip.
Morgan was stung through his joy by the sudden awareness that the playing he remembered, the heady pleasures and freedom of his youth, were something beyond the reach of either of these boys. His heart ached with the unfairness of it. These days with Shaun were the closest Marcus had ever come to tasting what should have been. And for Shaun, God only knew.
But they had this. These two who had so little compared to what he'd taken for granted as a boy. Morgan forced his pity aside.
Shaun was wiggling away from him, getting behind Marcus whom he hugged and lifted up out of the water so that they were both standing and giggling before falling down together -- only to rise up to do it again, and again. Each plunge sent waves of bath water over the starry edge of the sunken tub. Marcus was incandescent with joy, squealing with pleasure. Shaun's hair fell loose and streamed around them. Then the little key staggered forward with his laughing captive until Morgan found himself eye level with his son's bare cock. Shaun grasped it, lifting from under his scarred sac, pointing the hard little penis at him daringly.
"Eat it quick, don't let it get away," Shaun laughed.
Morgan was overwhelmed with the desire to feel it in his mouth and steadying the pair of giggling boys in front of him he closed his lips over the tender tip of the small engorged cock. He heard Marcus gasp and felt the boy's hands on his head. Beautiful, he thought, both aroused and moved by the silky rod sliding over his tongue. It twitched and pulsed and the tiny pouch bumped against his lip.
Morgan sucked until a precious spurt of warm fluid struck the inside of his cheek. More incredible than this first taste of his son's thin cum was once again hearing the boy's scratchy cry of, "Daddy!".
Shaun had succeeded in pushing his growing dread aside in the afternoon's playing, in the distraction of sex. It was easy to forget every bad thing in the joy of closeness. Only later, when the child and his father were dressing for their evening walk, did his upset feelings come back.
The dinner arrived while they were gone. Shaun arranged the meal on the round lacquered table. Kneeling on the pillow where Marcus customarily sat, he cut the savory filet and vegetables on the boy's plate into bite sized pieces, looking forward to putting the succulent food in Marcus's mouth.
The surface of the table cast back starlight from overhead.
Strange, thought Shaun, gazing at the varied reflections. The black veneer was spotted with points of light, the clear domed food covers distorted the shapes. The patterns struck his eyes. The struggle inside to hold his feelings at bay was lost as he stared at the strangely bent reflections on the curved glass.
Grief, the pain of missing Marcus and Morgan, as if they'd already left him, sent him spiraling deep inside himself; distant in time from this room, this meal.
The table was set for a feast! The bounty seemed to stretch forever. He was excited, one of a tumble of small ones approaching the grove. The grove. Memory teased at him, showing him a place that spoke of gatherings, of small ones and big ones coming together to celebrate. A clearing under a star filled sky. He'd longed for this place, these sensations later. Later. Much later. When he was ... trapped. A memory rose of unfamiliar scattered lights seen through a clear dome. He was bound, unable to move. He was frightened. His longing for the grove, the joy that was lost was unspeakable. An unseen hand of huge breadth had touched him. Big fingers exploring his body; the palm so vast that it covered his whole groin. His penis was hard and throbbing and his heart was breaking with loneliness. He'd closed his eyes to the unfamiliar spots of light and tried to think only of the grove and the joy of the gathering; the mouth watering scent of the food that had awaited, the laughter of other small ones around him.
Emery, help me! He cried out silently to the kindly doctor and the thought of her helped him to corral the fresh pain of memory.
The air moved in the room as the door opened. Rustling cloth and a whisper of cold. They're here!
Shaun wiped at the tears that had rolled down his cheeks, rising from the pillow on the floor. This tiny gathering, this feast was not lost, he told himself. Not yet!
He rushed to them though he knew he shouldn't. They were the keyholders. He was the key. It wasn't right to demand; only give. But Marcus's dark blue eyes were seeking him, and when Morgan slid the coat from the boy's shoulders Marcus was holding his arms out eagerly, his pink cheeked face a portrait of longing.
Shaun scattered warm kisses on chilled skin, shivering himself at the cold touch of the boy's clothes. Marcus hugged him, pressing his erection against Shaun. Shaun thrust his own bare cock which had popped up hard in response, at the little stiffness seeking him through layers of clothing. Inwardly, he thanked Emery again for sending him Marcus and Morgan. He resolved, more firmly than before, to keep the sadness of eventual loss at arm's length.
Morgan wasn't surprised by the lukewarm response to his first inquiry. He expected the Palace managers to be more or less immune to what they must consider the petitions of a lovesick Keyholder. He was told politely but firmly that it was not possible to purchase the Starlight, or any Key, outright.
He expected his lawyers' meeting with Palace officials to be more substantive. With two weeks remaining to the end of their month with Shaun, his attorneys submitted a formal offer that he expected to have taken seriously. It was, they reported, but days were passing and he'd still had no word of the outcome.
Nothing was easy to accomplish in the almost constant company of Shaun and Marcus. Morgan had proceeded quickly, but cautiously. He was afraid to raise Shaun's hopes though he longed to talk to him about sharing their home, making a life with him and his son. He was anxious to begin planning a suite of rooms that would be a livable environment for the light-sensitive boy. He never doubted that given a choice, Shaun would want to be with them.
Only on his cell phone during the daily walks could he talk freely with his lawyers. Even this was a challenge. Marcus tolerated brief conversations but treated the phone like a rival, demanding attention if Morgan got absorbed in a long, animated conversation.
It upset him that he hadn't been able to get through to Elizabeth Emery. So much was happening, he needed to talk to her. It seemed like she was never in her office, and had her phone turned off more hours of the day than he did.
Morgan was tempted to use her emergency number, but the only time he'd ever seen her really angry was over the misuse of it. She hated to be disturbed in session. For anything short of an emergency he didn't dare.
She'll be here soon, he thought, crossing the Palace foyer with Marcus. They were dressed for their afternoon walk. Emery was due at the end of the week to see Shaun and others. So strange to know she'd been coming here at least once a month for more than ten years. How little he knew about her life, he mused.
It reassured him to know she'd be there -- if his efforts came to nothing he'd need her badly.
They were nearing the doors when a Page approached and stopped politely, but resolutely, in front of them.
"Mr. Fahr," the Page said, "my master is waiting to meet with you concerning the Starlight Key."
"Your master?" The very word made his skin crawl.
"Master Jennings," the youth elaborated. "Will you come with me, please?"
Morgan tried to read some sign in the youngster's face of what he could expect, but the Page cast his eyes down.
Not good, he thought, heart sinking.
Morgan wanted answers but he resented the summons.
He'd tried to avoid all personal contact with Shaun's keepers, to confine all communication to the lawyers. Now he felt like he had no choice.
"All right," Morgan said, keeping his tone even, trying to ignore how uncomfortable it made him that the Page, himself, was in all likelihood a slave, bound in service to this place. With Shaun, whom he'd begun to love, he had no sense of being a master, of being served by a slave.
He loves us, Morgan thought. He loves Marcus. The teenager in front of him, however, with his careful deference, seemed very much like a bound servant.
Marcus resisted changing direction.
"It won't take long," Morgan told him, pausing to hold him for a moment and look into his dark blue eyes. He hoped he was telling him the truth. He took off Marcus's hat and loosened his coat and scarf. He kissed his forehead, trying to mask his own sense of foreboding.
Once tucked along Morgan's side, Marcus accompanied with an air of resignation.
They followed the Page slowly through a maze of corridors. Carpeting gave way underfoot to polished hardwood, buffed to a dark sheen. Wood gave way to stone. It was worn so smooth that Morgan thought they must be in the original structure; the heart of the domain.
How long has it been here? he wondered, feeling its age and solidity oppress him.
They stopped in front of a thick wooden door bearing a heavy brass plate. It was inscribed, in flowing script, with the name Brian Jennings.
The room was vast, a treasure trove of antiques. All authentic, Morgan assessed, impressed in spite of himself. Floor to ceiling interior windows were obviously a new addition to very old quarters. They faced a courtyard that was dotted with snow-capped statues. Snow was falling lightly.
At ease behind an oversized desk, sat Brian Jennings. He was younger than Morgan expected and younger than he seemed at first glance. The sweep of his silver hair fooled the eye, Morgan thought, guessing him to be in his mid thirties, no older. Disturbingly attractive.
Morgan looked away.
The air was slightly cool in spite of a blaze burning in the fireplace -- a hearth big enough for a man to walk into. He was grateful that the dance of the flames got Marcus's attention, at least briefly.
"Welcome," said Jennings.
He had a patrician face, his profile as fine as a classic cameo. Glacial blue eyes. His irises were edged with smoky rings that made them even more vivid.
The unusual eyes appraised him unhurriedly and the expression said Jennings liked what he was seeing. It was an overture Morgan declined, averting his gaze. He knew this game only too well from countless impulsive encounters -- and refused to play it now.
In another place and time he would have been tempted. He could admit that much to himself. He was attracted by the eyes, the face, the long, lithe body. Jennings had subtly spread his legs as Morgan looked at him, his hand resting on his thigh, inviting attention to the bulk of his cock. Even though he looked away, Morgan was thinking of how Brian Jennings would look naked. Pale and smooth, he suspected, all the sinuous lines of his graceful body converging at his thick cock.
Foreboding coalesced like a weight on Morgan's heart as he pushed the image aside, impatient with himself for his lack of focus.
"Another chair," Jennings said to the Page.
"No, that's all right," said Morgan.
They were surrounded by rich leather furniture.
He bypassed the chair which had been placed opposite the desk for him, guiding Marcus toward the broad couch in front of the fireplace, knowing he wouldn't tolerate a separate chair, hoping that he'd be absorbed by watching the flames.
The proportions of the room seemed designed to dwarf them in comparison to the man behind the desk. It was a display of power. Commonplace enough in the world of business, but it struck Morgan as obscene in this context.
This isn't business, he thought, it's slavery. Shaun was taken from his home. He's trapped here, living under ground, like ...
The thought opened a door into darkness. Morgan, about to remove his coat, instead embraced his son, eyes shutting tight, pressing his face into the boy's soft hair.
Not the same! he cried silently, mentally beating back the darkness, breathing the scent of Marcus.
He summoned the image of Shaun, safe under the star filled sky of his room. He saw the sparkling black eyes full of joy, the healthy little body with its easily excited cock pointing skyward.
He opened his eyes to find the Page approaching to take their coats. Morgan shook his head slightly and held up a hand to caution him away.
Marcus was looking at him, questioning with his eyes.
In his mind, Morgan said -- I love you. He didn't say the words out loud, afraid his voice would break.
"We'll have our walk soon," he said, grateful to hear himself sound steady. "I'm just going to talk to this man for a few minutes."
My son is safe, he repeated silently, brushing his lips against Marcus's silky hair once more. Shaun is safe. The boy lifted his face, eyes expectant.
"Daddy," he said.
The fine grained whisper of a voice announced in one word -- I'm here, kiss me! It banished the last vestiges of Morgan's anguish, startling a smile out of him. He couldn't resist this. Marcus used the word as if it magically compelled his father to kiss him. And only once, the first time, had it failed. Since then Morgan had rewarded every utterance. Marcus was waiting as soon as he'd said it, face tilted up, his lips parted.
"Yes, baby," Morgan said, cupping the beautiful face in his hands. He was aware of Jennings behind them, probably watching closely, but he'd be unable to see. Did it matter? he asked himself, as he took comfort in the feel of his son's lips and probing tongue.
The kiss breathed calm through both of them; the intimate contact a pleasure and reassurance deeper than they'd shared in the past.
Marcus was as pliant and clinging as melted taffy when they sat down. His arm and leg wound around his father, the cool tip of his nose and his warm breath teased Morgan's neck.
"Comfortable?" Jennings asked, with a hint of irony that put Morgan on guard.
"We're fine," said Morgan.
"May I offer you anything? A drink? Some coffee?" Jennings's voice was cordial, but his eyes roamed over them with less than polite interest.
"Nothing, thank you," Morgan answered, wishing this ordeal were over, uncomfortable with Brian Jennings's scrutiny.
He assumed the man had done his homework and knew their history. It wouldn't take much digging, their life was a matter of public record. Newspaper stories, court documents, a host of articles published in professional journals. Doctors, lawyers, sociologists, psychologists, experts in every conceivably related field had crawled out of the woodwork to feed the media's hunger and fatten their own reputations.
A connoisseur of abused boys, Morgan thought with contempt of the man in front of him as he held Marcus more protectively. How many had he assessed with those cold eyes? The Palace surely had more than its share. Boys whose pain could be used. Boys like Shaun Vidar, so mistreated that the scrap of care they gave him passed for kindness.
He stroked the slender thigh laid across his lap and Marcus cuddled infinitesimally closer, pressing his warm crotch against his father's leg.
Morgan wished they were anywhere else. Better yet that Brian Jennings were anywhere else and he and Marcus were alone in front of this warming fire. It would feel so good to sink into the cushions with him, kiss him, pet him, caress the erection he felt budding against him.
Brian Jennings sat back deeper in his chair, his strange eyes half-veiled, but intent. He glanced away from them only to nod at the Page who quickly busied himself at a well-stocked bar lined with crystal decanters.
"Thank you for coming," he said. "I hope I haven't inconvenienced you. I thought it best to discuss these things face to face. I want you to understand our position."
It was far from the first time someone had looked at them in a speculative way, Morgan thought, surprised by his own uneasiness. Strangers making assumptions about their relationship, conjectures of incest. But it was the first time, he reflected with a stirring of guilt, that stilled his hand on Marcus's thigh, that he wasn't innocent of what he saw in a stranger's eyes.
Marcus uttered a small plaintive sound, grasping a fold of Morgan's shirt and he resumed stroking him.
I can't afford guilt, he thought. As he had years before, he made the conscious effort to suppress the flare of his self consciousness. If only he weren't aroused by the little cock getting stiff, rubbing against his thigh, it would be easier. It was more than Marcus's cuddling affecting him, he thought. The licking heat of the fireplace didn't help, and worse, the allure of Brian Jennings.
"I suppose I should come straight to the point," Jennings said, accepting a glass of amber liquor from his Page without acknowledgment.
"I'd appreciate it," Morgan said, grateful to feel Marcus's grip on his shirt loosen, his body relaxing against him.
"We've reviewed the offer from your legal staff, Mr. Fahr. It's a very generous offer. If Keys were actually for sale, it would more than meet the price. They aren't for sale, however. Shaun Vidar belongs to the Palace, and the Palace is not inclined to let go of him. You're more than welcome to spend as much time here as you like. It's his home."
"Not inclined?" He was stung by the arrogance.
"Poor choice of words, maybe ..." Jennings began.
"Evidently the offer wasn't generous enough," Morgan interrupted, trying to control his impatience. Marcus reacted uneasily, trying to shift across his lap.
I've got to get him out of here, he thought.
Not only was he getting nothing but the official Palace line from Jennings, he felt like the unearthly blue eyes were now blatantly undressing them.
Marcus was dressed in Shaun's clothes -- an outfit that begged to be taken off, he thought looking down at him now. The boys had played all morning in the Key's vast closet, making a fashion show for Morgan. The velvet suit Shaun dressed Marcus in for their walk was among the most modest things he owned. Gifts from his masters.
"Perfect for your walk, Beauty, warm and soft," the Key had said. The blue velvet shirt and pants were beautiful, but much more provocative than anything Marcus usually wore. The front of the trousers fastened like sailor pants; the buttoned flap of pliable fabric was distended by Marcus's erection. The smooth curves of his ass were pressing against Morgan's cock.
"There are Masters who purchase a Key, in effect... " Jennings said slowly, voice trailing off a moment and then coming back, " ... by reserving it for long periods of time. That option's open to you. I'm authorized to offer it. With the exception of the coming month. After that, for all intents and purposes, Shaun Vidar would belong to you, here, at the Palace."
Morgan draped his arm across his son to hide him, but Marcus tugged at his hand, guiding it to where he wanted to be touched. Though his heart was pounding, Morgan didn't resist him. He covered the little cock upthrust through the velvet.
"Do you expect me to believe," Morgan said, forcing Brian Jennings to look up, "that Keys never leave here?" He felt the finger-like hardness rub into his palm and willed himself to continue speaking. He swore silently, bitterly resenting that his son's innocent expression of need should be exposed to Jennings. "I haven't seen any aging Keys in the Palace. It's really just a matter of time, isn't it?"
Time he could ill afford, he thought miserably, but had no intention of saying so.
Jennings smiled slightly.
"Shaun Vidar is far from retirement."
It alarmed Morgan that he could still feel attracted to the man who was making him so angry, to the body that was angled toward him in flagrant invitation. The audacity of it galled him, and yet his own body was responding to him, and to Marcus.
"This meeting's over," he said. Ignoring Jennings, he caressed Marcus like a promise and held him closer in his encircling arm.
"We're leaving now," he told him, kissing the side of his son's face. "We'll have our walk and then we'll see Shaun."
Marcus seemed content, releasing his father's hand.
Morgan signaled to the Page for their coats.
"I think any further negotiation can be left to the lawyers," he said, rising to his feet with Marcus gripping his shoulders as he stood up with him.
That was as much of a concession to cordiality as Morgan was willing to make.
"Would it be better to meet less formally?" Jennings asked. "I'd be grateful if you'd consider being my guests for dinner -- at your convenience, of course."
Is he crazy? Morgan wondered.
"Thank you, but my son is uneasy with strangers."
"Think it over," he said, "and leave word for me at the front desk if you change your mind."
He took his time putting Marcus's coat on him, fixing his hat and scarf; determined not to run from the the way the man continued to gaze at them.
"If it's any consolation," Jennings said as they were nearing the door, forcing Morgan to pause. "Which I'm sure it isn't, I'd like you to know that if it were my decision alone, I'd release Shaun to you, for your son's sake. I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Fahr, and I hope you change your mind about dinner. If you like, Shaun could join us."
Morgan nodded, the sudden show of compassion making him uncomfortable.
It was a relief when they finally stepped outside of the building, even if it was into the overcast and waning afternoon. The snow refreshed Morgan's eyes.
He didn't want to dwell on the meeting, but it was impossible not to. He felt confused, unhappy with both the outcome and that he'd let Brian Jennings get under his skin. The parting words kept sounding in his head. Had he misread him from the start, or was Jennings so cold that he could say something like that completely disingenuously? The more he thought about his own defensiveness, the more disturbed he felt.
A brief talk with his attorney didn't do much to help. Morgan wanted a bigger offer put on the table. His lawyer was insistent that they wait.
"If you do it now," his attorney warned him, "there's nothing to stop them from pushing for more. It's too soon."
"I don't have time," Morgan said. "I want it done."
The conversation shook him and frayed at Marcus. His son clung tightly, repeatedly losing his footing as he tried to walk backwards.
Morgan's only consolation was at last getting through to Elizabeth Emery.
In a white haze of tiny snowflakes, he held Marcus still when he heard her voice instead of her answering service.
Marcus became alert, trying to get his face between Morgan and the phone. Morgan hugged him, so happy to hear her voice that he was amused by the boy's button nose nudging at the phone, in spite of how hard it made it to talk.
"Emery, thank God ... just for a minute, baby," he pleaded gently with his son and heard the doctor laugh.
"I got your messages, Morgan. I'm beside myself with happiness. I hope you don't mind me taking the liberty, but I was so excited to hear that things were going well I reserved Shaun's key for another month."
"You!" Morgan cried. "Oh God, Emery. Hold on."
The relief was so swift and intense that Morgan felt weak. The swirl of snow around them seemed as dreamlike as the soft flurry inside a snow globe. He let the knowledge sink through him, holding Marcus close.
"Emery? Still there?" he said, aware that he'd let long moments pass. "I'm so grateful. I can't thank you enough for this. But how can you possibly afford it? I can't let you spend your money." It was only very recently he'd learned the small fortune it cost to buy Shaun's key for a month.
Marcus moaned at the phone impatiently.
"We'll talk when I get there next week," Emery said. "Give the boys my love and take care." She clicked off quickly, he thought, but reasoned she knew the sound of impatience from Marcus. Emery understood better than anyone how hard it was for him to tolerate the phone.
Elated, he kissed his son, the meeting forgotten. Let the Palace drag its feet, it didn't matter. The wolf was away from the door.
"We're going to Shaun now, baby," he said, dotting the side of Marcus's mouth with a last kiss. "No matter what," he told him, believing that the limpid dark blue eyes showed understanding, "we won't lose him now."