Chapter Twelve
Mental arousal and physical arousal were not the same thing. The excitement of one did not necessarily include the other, a fact Rizeth had learned—and often unpleasantly endured—during his time as both consort and courtesan.
It was a fact he was now learning all over again.
The kiss Ashenivir had greeted him with had burned out all the tired tedium his meetings that day had induced, and it was little wonder they’d ended up in bed. Now he rocked up into the motion of Rizeth’s hips, taking him deep, and though he felt wonderful—and Rizeth’s body responded as ever it had—his mind kept drifting.
It was just sex, was the thing. And in all the years he’d lain with Ashenivir, not once had it ever been just sex.
Ashenivir’s heels dug into the small of his back and he tipped his chin up, arching his neck. “Harder, Master, please!”
Rizeth almost bit him, almost snapped his hips hard—disobeying a rule deserved such response—then caught himself. He kissed Ashenivir’s throat, a gentle brush of lips just above his collar. A break they might be on, but there was no chance at all of his taking that off. “Not for the rest of the tenday, remember?”
“Sorry,” Ashenivir said, though he didn’t much sound it. “I’d like it very much if you’d fuck me a bit harder then, please, Rizeth.”
The words made him cringe, though he tried to keep it from showing on his face. They were so unnatural, and did absolutely nothing for him—nor for Ashenivir, judging by the utter lack of heat in his voice.
Rizeth kissed him, fucking into him as he’d asked, seeking the pleasure he knew could be there if he just looked hard enough. Ashenivir opened to the press of his tongue, and, for a few minutes at least, he lost himself in the pure physicality of it. They fit together like this, bodies curved one into the other, sweat slick beneath his palms from the lingering heat of the day and their closeness, breath quick in his mouth, fast as his pulse.
Then Ashenivir’s hands lifted away, and when Rizeth drew back, he saw they were crossed above his head. He’d grabbed both wrists in one hand before he knew what he was doing. Even that brief action sparked a want in him, real desire catching between mind and body. It’s been two days, you can’t keep to your own rule for two damn days? He quickly let go.
Ashenivir huffed. “Is this really all we’re doing?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t you at least pull my hair or something?”
“Ra’soltha—” He cut himself off. It was instinctive, to react like that to Ashenivir’s complaints, and that was exactly what he was trying to wean himself off of. That instinct, and the bleedover into real life, were what had frustrated Elian’la and driven Ashenivir to want more than could ever work between them if they were to have a real, lasting relationship. Now Ashenivir was eyeing him with an eyebrow raised in a fashion that mirrored his own disbelieving expressions. “Ashenivir. We are taking a break from that.”
“Pulling my hair isn’t a scene,” Ashenivir protested. He took Rizeth’s hand and put it to the side of his head where Rizeth, without even thinking, sank his fingers into the tangles. Ashenivir flexed around him, a flutter of desire clear enough in his body.
“Please,” he whispered. The dark, blown crimson of his eyes was captivating, deep enough to drown in. Rizeth’s grip started to tighten, Ashenivir’s breath to speed—then he let go. Ashenivir groaned.
“Fine, alright.” He put his arms back around Rizeth. “Just kiss me, then.”
Rizeth did, and they fucked, and that was it. Just sex. He came before Ashenivir did, and hated how long it took to bring Ashenivir to a satisfying end. Not that it was anything like as satisfying as it could have been. He didn’t need the mark to tell him how unfulfilled Ashenivir was—the fact they cleaned up and left the bed mere minutes after the deed was done said enough.
It’s only been a couple of days. It’ll get better.
It had to. If it didn’t, Rizeth was certain they’d end up exactly where they’d been before, and despite whatever research Ashenivir had done, whatever notions Catriona had put into his head, there was no way he really wanted to live in dynamic all the time. Not the way Rizeth did, deep down in the place he’d buried after Elian’la. Owning a submissive was one thing—wanting to own a lover that same way…
It will get better, he told himself firmly, and went to make a start on dinner. It would, he was sure of it—but he was also sure it was going to be a very long tenday.
“Quite the delightful little love-nest you’ve got hidden away here. I can’t think why you’ve never invited me to visit.”
Rizeth crossed his arms.
“I am in the middle of work. What do you want?”
Kelran made a face, pouting like one of the brats he liked to play with. He was dressed as though en route to some high-society soiree; lace at his throat and gold on all his fingers, which Rizeth took to mean he had either nobility to harass or a playroom to attend. “Can’t I visit a friend? Particularly one who last left my presence in abject misery and who hasn’t come to see me since? You might’ve been dead for all I knew.”
“If I were dead, perhaps you might not bother me so much.”
“Stow it, you insufferable grouch. The gossip—by which I mean Miss Shemov—tells me you’ve patched things up with that boy of yours.” He peered past Rizeth into the apartment, where Ashenivir was working at the table and studiously pretending not to listen in. “I’m terribly glad to see she wasn’t exaggerating.”
“I have an uncountable number of forms to fill out for the Blackstaff, Kelran, I do not have time for your nonsense.”
He and Lyzira had finally gotten a meeting with the Archmage of Waterdeep herself yesterday, the outcome of which had bestowed upon them an Arcanum’s-worth of paperwork. Permissions and contracts and formal requests to various guild-heads; Waterdeep’s arcane society ran more on paperwork than magic, but at least they were finally getting somewhere, which would please Archmage T’sonri when he eventually received their report.
Kelran ignored him, breezing into the apartment and depositing himself in a sprawl on the couch as if he owned the place. “You don’t have anything to drink, do you? Only it was a long ride over here, and I’m parched.”
For more gossip, Rizeth thought. “Ashenivir, would you make us some tea, please?”
“Yes, Mas—” Ashenivir caught himself. “Yes, Rizeth.”
He went to gather the tea things, a tension in his shoulders Rizeth didn’t enjoy. It wasn’t his first slip of the day, and each time it happened—today, yesterday, every day since Rizeth had insisted on their break—it was like watching another crack spiderweb through damaged glass.
“How have you been finding my library, Master Zauvym?” Kelran asked, as Ashenivir handed him a mug.
“I…” Ashenivir’s eyes flicked to Rizeth, fingers drumming nervously against his thigh. “Well-stocked, Lord Stillgleam.”
“Marginally less, of late. Tell me, you didn’t happen to borrow a few of those volumes you were perusing for yourself, did you?”
“No.”
“You’re sure of that? If I go rummaging amongst all of those”—Kelran gestured at the sprawling stacks of books scattered around Ashenivir’s notes on the table—“I won’t find a tome containing the design for a certain mark you’re decorated with?”
Ashenivir’s hand went to the back of his neck. “Are you saying I stole one of your books?”
“I’m saying one has gone missing, and you—”
“He is not a thief,” Rizeth interjected.
“No, he’s too well-trained for such bad behaviour, isn’t he?” Kelran sipped his tea, little finger held elegantly out from the handle. “Ah well, I suppose I shall have to follow other avenues of investigation.” He eyed Rizeth over his mug. “Will you be coming by the House tonight?”
Rizeth didn’t miss the glance Ashenivir shot him, full of hope and wanting. “Unlikely.”
“Feeling unwell, are you?”
“Now that you mention it, I believe I am beginning to develop something of a headache.”
Kelran took another sip of tea, then set the mug on the floor by the couch and got to his feet. For a naïve moment, Rizeth thought he might for once in his life be taking a hint—then abruptly found his arm clasped in the polite-seeming grip Kelran had perfected that had a tendency to leave bruises when resisted.
“Would you excuse us a moment, Ashenivir?” Kelran asked, smiling sunnily, then dragged Rizeth out onto the balcony and kicked the door shut behind them.
“What,” he demanded, “do you think you’re doing?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”
“Do you want me to throw you over this balcony?”
Rizeth exhaled sharply. “I am following Cain’s advice, as you so helpfully sent me off to do. We are taking a break.”
“A break.” Kelran scoffed, leaning back with his elbows on the railing. “And how’s that working out for you?”
Rizeth glanced inside. Ashenivir had returned to his notes, sat with his back to them and one hand up at his throat, where his fingers would, Rizeth knew, be tangled in his collar. Despite Rizeth’s best efforts, keeping to his rule had gotten neither easier nor more pleasant. Ashenivir wasn’t the only one who kept slipping on titles, and frankly he’d rather have had no sex at all than the awkward couplings they’d fumbled their way through the past few days.
“Fine.”
Kelran snorted. “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on. You both want what he was studying up on like a good little apprentice, why pretend you don’t?”
“Because it ruined my last relationship, and very nearly this one as well.”
“No, you being an ass meant you had a short falling out.” Kelran ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “You can’t cut off pieces of yourself to fit what you think he needs, Rizeth.”
Rizeth wrapped a hand around his wrist behind his back, nails pressing crescents into the skin. “I have to.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because I have to.”
“That’s not an acceptable answer, and you know it. Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“Because I love him!”
The moment the words were out Rizeth snapped his mouth shut, shooting another glance into the apartment. Ashenivir made no move to show he’d heard anything, pen scratching away as he turned another page. Rizeth rubbed his forehead. “If I can’t love him without titles and scenes and all the rest of it, I may as well not love him at all. I won’t lose him the way I lost Elian’la. I can’t.”
“Does he know that’s how you feel?” Kelran asked. When Rizeth didn’t answer, he cursed under his breath, fluidly vulgar Elvish. “Rizeth Velkon’yss, I am going to string you up by your bloody ankles.” He jabbed a finger at Rizeth’s chest. “You need to tell him. And stop with this break nonsense. It’s not what you want, and I’m pretty damn sure it isn’t what he wants, either.”
Kelran pushed past him, and Rizeth remained on the balcony until he heard him leave before entering himself. Ashenivir looked up at him, frowning.
“Is everything all right?”
“You have nothing to worry about,” Rizeth said. He took a seat across from Ashenivir, who slid a mug of tea to him. He sipped it gratefully, the taste of ginger sharp on the back of his tongue. They sat in silence, not nearly as comfortable as Rizeth would have liked.
Kelran didn’t understand. He loved Ashenivir. Wanted to keep on loving him, which meant keeping all notions of ownership as far away from that love as possible.
And he didn’t care how many pieces of himself he had to cut off to do it.
The magical hum of Seisheira’s engraving tools drifted from the back room of her shop. The arcane vibrations came accompanied by off-key singing; a two-line snippet of tune now firmly stuck in Ashenivir’s head after hearing it in various forms for the last thirty minutes. He sighed, slumping further down in the chair behind the counter. River, sat atop it while Seisheira couldn’t see, poked him in the knee with his foot.
“It’s not like you’re not having sex though, right?”
“No, but that’s not the problem.”
“Then what is? You made up, you’re back together. What have you got to be miserable about?”
Ashenivir fiddled with his collar. “He doesn’t call me Ra’soltha anymore.”
“Well, that’s what a break is. Cain didn’t call me puppy when we were on one.”
“But it doesn’t feel right. And he keeps almost doing it and then switching to my name instead.” Or to apprentice, which was only marginally better. His name had gone from feeling wonderful in Rizeth’s voice to feeling like it didn’t even belong to him. “I’ve had to do the same for the whole of this tenday, and I hate it. I’ve always called him Master. Everything else is just…wrong.”
The bell over the door dinged, and River hopped off the counter as Seisheira came out to greet her customer. They’d only come here to finish one of his ‘wedding chores’ and Seisheira had finished engraving his and Cain’s matching rings an hour ago. They were meant to be moving on to the next item on the list, which was talking to Cain’s shortlist of temples in the city to figure out where they were going to pledge themselves. Neither of them were particularly faithful in any specific direction, but they wanted somewhere for a dedication that was, in River’s words, ‘at least vaguely serious’.
The problem was that every time River looked at the list he got all pale in the face and had to stop looking at it before he descended into a panic attack. The nearer it got to the date he and Cain had settled on, the worse his anxiety had grown.
Seisheira finished with her customer and cocked an eyebrow at the pair of them. “Not that I don’t love you boys, but you can’t stay here all day. Go bother Kelran.”
“But he’ll tell Cain on me,” River said, pouting. She ruffled his hair.
“I’m closing for lunch in ten minutes. Get your shit together by then.”
She ducked back into her workshop, and both the magical humming and her singing resumed. River perched himself on the arm of Ashenivir’s chair. “You had a fight. You both need time to settle. Gods know Cain and I did, and I was much more of a bastard than you were. Dynamic’s a lot after something like that, especially for your Master.”
“It just doesn’t feel like us without it. Regardless of what Catriona did, she was right about me. About what I want.” He twisted his hands together in his lap. “It’s such bad timing to ask again, but if after tomorrow he wants to keep going like this…”
“Dealbreaker?”
“No! No, I love him, I’ll just…I can live with it.”
“Doesn’t sound like you can.”
Ashenivir slid down until he almost fell off the chair. If Rizeth decided this was how things would continue to be when the break was done, that was how they’d be. Losing him—leaving him—wasn’t an option. River poked him in the head.
“You know what you have to do.”
“Talk to him.” Ashenivir threw a half-hearted glare at his friend. “How about you talk to Cain about how much this temple decision is stressing you out, and I’ll talk to Rizeth about full-time service again.”
River made a face. “What do I look like, a warlock? I’m not making a bargain with you.”
The bell dinged again, and River leapt up as Cain strolled in.
“I was about to go and start looking at the temples, I swear,” he started. Cain pulled him into a quick kiss, silencing him.
“Forget that,” he said. “Tailor’s got a cancellation, she can fit us in today. I want to play dress-up with you.” He planted another kiss on River, this one deep enough to make Ashenivir blush, then tugged him around the counter towards the door. River flailed an arm in Ashenivir’s direction.
“Save me!”
“Too late, puppy, you said yes.” Cain shot Ashenivir a grin. “You can have him back later. Thanks for the rings, Seisheira!”
She emerged as the bells died away, shaking her head. “Those two. Absolutely disgusting.” She leaned in the doorway, lips quirking in a smirk. “You going to want a set next?”
“Set of what?”
“Rings.”
His flush deepened as he stuttered a negative. Seisheira laughed. “You just keep me in mind, puppy. You know I do good work.”
“I’m not a puppy,” was the only retort he could manage.
“Collar, Master, cute little ears,” she said, counting them off on her fingers. “Makes a puppy to me.” She made a shooing motion. “Now go on, off with you. I want lunch.”
He scurried out of the shop, into the heat of an afternoon that wasn’t nearly as hot as his face. Rings. Maiden have mercy, he was having a hard enough time trying to figure out how to get the kind of dynamic he wanted, let alone anything else. Besides, it was scarcely two months since he’d admitted how he felt, and the half-decade before that hardly counted. That was bedmates and bruises, nothing deeper.
Still, as he made his way back to the apartment he couldn’t keep his hand from his collar or his thoughts from joining ceremonies, and all the ways a person could bind themselves to another.
Why did humans insist on being so damn stubborn? The Arcanum was putting as much on the line to establish this exchange program as Blackstaff Academy was—there was no sense in their being the only party to have to make concessions. Seldszar’s wards were as good as any human could cast—better, even—and the insinuation that they needed reinforcing before any surface students could attend was patently ridiculous.
Rizeth managed to walk off about half his irritation by the time he made it home. The late-summer heat, damp and close, didn’t help, nor did the cluster of worries buzzing in the back of his mind. Sex with Ashenivir had gotten no better no matter how hard he tried, today was the last day of their break, and Rizeth had no idea what he was going to do when it was over. He still wanted Ashenivir in all the ways he always had, all the ways that had driven Elian’la away, because he could cut and contort himself as much as he liked, but love and Rizeth Velkon’yss paired about as well as ink and acid.
“Let me help you with those.” Ashenivir greeted him at the door with a kiss, taking the pile of folders from his arms. “Why is there so much? I thought Master Xiltael was meant to be helping with all of this?”
“Master Xiltael, it appears, has developed a severe allergy to paperwork,” Rizeth grumbled. He flopped down with grateful ungrace onto the couch, massaging his neck. He’d closed his eyes for only a moment before he felt a touch at his feet. He glanced down. Ashenivir knelt before him, back straight, knees just over a handspan apart, head bowed reverently over Rizeth’s boots as he unlaced them. He slid a hand up Rizeth’s calf as he tugged one free, eyes flicking briefly up as it reached his thigh.
Rizeth pushed his hand away. “I am not in the mood for that right now, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want sex.” Ashenivir tugged his other boot off and set it carefully alongside the first. The way he moved, Rizeth was certain he was about to fold his arms behind his back, take his usual position.
“I will give you a scene tomorrow, now stop—”
“I don’t want a scene either,” Ashenivir said sharply. “I mean I do, I miss them, but I just…” He made a frustrated noise. “All I want to do right now is serve you. You need it, I need it, please just let me do it.”
“Ashenivir—”
“Don’t! Don’t use my name when I know you want to call me something else!” Ashenivir took a breath, very deliberately, then exhaled slowly. He knelt up taller, laying his palms on his knees, and met Rizeth’s eyes. “This past tenday has been awful.”
Rizeth couldn’t say a word against him. It was true and they both knew it.
“I hate not having scenes. I hate not calling you Master and not being Ra’soltha and cutting ourselves off all the time. I want to go back to the way we were.”
“And which way is that?” Rizeth asked, his heart suddenly in his throat.
“I want to be your apprentice,” Ashenivir said. Rizeth’s world shrank to an airless pinprick—of course Ashenivir regretted ever telling him anything about how he felt, this was hardly an ideal relationship—but then Ashenivir continued; “And your partner, and your Ra’soltha. They’re all the same thing for me. I can’t separate them, and I don’t think you can either. All that I’ve read—and don’t tell me I don’t understand, I’ve studied this as much as anything I studied for my exams—says that’s half the point, if not all of it. It’s all one thing. All the time. That’s what I want; that’s what I had, before you decided it didn’t work.”
“It doesn’t work.” His voice came out a whisper, a croak. Ashenivir took his hands, grip firm, eyes soft.
”It does.”
“For other people, perhaps. Not for me.”
“Are you saying that because you really believe it, or because of what happened with Elian’la?”
His heart thudded so hard it must have been audible. How frighteningly well Ashenivir knew him. How clearly he saw him, to not simply pierce his armour but to pull it away, piece by piece, until there was nowhere left to hide. He clasped Ashenivir’s hands tight, afraid they might vanish if he let go.
“If I hurt you the way I did her, I will never forgive myself.”
“You won’t,” Ashenivir said.
“How can you know that?”
“Because I know you.” Ashenivir shifted up, moving Rizeth’s hands to his mark. “I let you burn this into my skin for a reason. I might not have realised then that I loved you, but I knew what I was. What I wanted.” He pressed his mouth to Rizeth’s, slow and gentle. “I’m yours,” he said quietly. “That’s all I really want to be, when it comes down it.”
Rizeth stared at him. He’d convinced himself Ashenivir didn’t want to be marked, and he’d been wrong. Told himself over and over that Ashenivir didn’t want him as a partner, and he’d been wrong. He had such capacity for error it was a wonder anyone trusted him to be right about anything.
“Alright,” he said. “Alright. As usual, Ra’soltha, you will get your way. We will try.”
The smile that broke over Ashenivir’s face was radiant as the dawn. “Thank you!”
He scrambled up into Rizeth’s lap, throwing himself into a kiss that pressed Rizeth into the back of the couch. He repeated his thanks over and over, littering Rizeth’s face with kisses. Rizeth returned them in equal number, and hoped he wasn’t making a terrible mistake.