The Cantrip Variations

Time at the Arcanum had a tendency to fly past while Ashenivir wasn’t looking. Even five years into his training there was still so much to learn, and for every concept he mastered, four new ones appeared to clamour for his attention. His studies—both those assigned by the Masters and those he took upon himself—filled his days, and it was easy to lose himself in them.

And so the months passed, and he filled his head with spells and ancient lore; twisted his tongue over High Drow and the Elvish of the surface and the Draconic of the ancients; bruised his knees and opened his mouth for Master Velkon’yss again and again and again. It was exhausting.

It was the most fulfilled he had been in years.

He was on his knees once more this late afternoon, tired from a long and fruitless day of trying to settle an uncooperative spell in his mind, and Ashenivir was more than ready to let it all go in service of his Master’s needs.

“Cantrips,” Master Velkon’yss said, pacing slowly around him where he knelt in the middle of the bedroom, “Are elementary things. The building blocks, as it were, of arcane mastery. Any fool can learn one or two and impress those who do not know better.”

He uttered the quick words of a prestidigitation and a puff of cool air brushed Ashenivir’s cheek. He shivered, the sensation making his skin prickle.

“Those that apply themselves, however,” Master Velkon’yss continued, “can find far more mastery in a simple cantrip than many wizards find in far more complex spells.”

Ashenivir closed his eyes as Master Velkon’yss pushed his hair aside, tilting his head to expose his neck as he uttered another cantrip. Ice-cold fingers pressed into his skin and he gasped—of course, he knew that cantrip, frostbite! He had been taught it as a minor offensive spell, not for…for this!

Rizeth’s icy fingers dipped beneath the high collar of his shirt, and Ashenivir could feel trails of frost left in their wake on his skin, quickly melting against the warmth of his body.

“H-how did you modify it, Master?” he managed to ask. “You used the ordinary wording.”

“Well-observed, apprentice,” Master Velkon’yss withdrew his hand. “However, I am certain you are aware that there is much more to casting than simply babbling spells by rote. Strip,” he added, voice sharpening on the word. The command sent a thrill through Ashenivir as he hurried to comply, moving as smoothly as he could out of his robes before returning to his knees. He lay his palms on his thighs and bowed his head.

Rizeth tapped his upper arm.

“Behind your back,” he said. Ashenivir complied, grasping his elbows. He would remember that Master Velkon’yss liked that, in his kneeling. It would please him if Ashenivir positioned himself the way he best enjoyed.

“The Weave responds to your will as much as to the precise usage of words, gestures and components,” Rizeth stepped in front of him and cupped his cheek, tilting his head back so that he was gazing up at the Master’s stern expression. “But you know this, because you were in the class in which I introduced the concept.”

“Yes, Master,” Ashenivir said.

“And were you paying attention in that class, or were you too busy thinking about how much you would like to have my cock in your mouth?”

His face heated. He hesitated too long, and Master Velkon’yss spoke another cantrip that sent a jolt of power crackling over his scalp. An involuntary yelp escaped him and his thoughts scrambled—no chance of an answer now. Rizeth regarded him coolly, then hooked a finger under his chin, tilting his head even further back.

“Go and lay down on the bed,” he commanded. “You will close your eyes and you will not open them again until I give you permission. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

Ashenivir was fully aware of his Master’s eyes on him as he crossed the room, and made certain to keep his movements fluid, arching his back and angling his legs just so as he lay upon his back. Master Velkon’yss gave no sign of being unduly affected by such actions, merely watching and waiting with one eyebrow slightly raised. Goddess, Ashenivir loved that look, and he bit his lip to ward off a smile as he closed his eyes. His body prickled with tense anticipation; the waiting itself was arousing to him, and naked as he was he knew Rizeth could certainly see quite clearly how he felt.

The room was cool, though not unpleasantly so. Ashenivir lay there for some minutes, waiting, as his mind stilled, like waters calming after a disturbance. He would have lain there an hour or more if that was what was required of him, for in submission, as in all his endeavours, he desired nothing less than perfection.

A breeze brushed his leg, and the unexpected sensation made him gasp. Another swept over his knee, then up his thigh, Master Velkon’yss manipulating the small gusts of air with such smooth ease that Ashenivir could not predict where the next would touch him. They wound about him so frequently and so quickly that he felt cocooned in the rippling air, shivering at its touch. He could not hear Master Velkon’yss reciting the cantrip and could not open his eyes to check—he had been instructed to keep them closed, after all.

Flickering fingers of air darted up his cock, drawing another gasp from him. Faster and faster they came, taunting and teasing so that he tried in vain to press up into the insubstantial touches, gaining nothing but frustration. Then, abruptly, the sensation was gone. Ashenivir relaxed—though it was more of a collapse—against the bed, breathing hard.

Such a reaction to a mere cantrip! Then again, it was no mere cantrip, was it? Not the way Master Velkon’yss wielded it. Ashenivir wondered how much practice the Master had with this sort of thing, how many he had taken like this before him. It was not a question he would ever dare to ask. That was too far beyond the bounds of the agreement.

“Tell me what you feel, apprentice,” Master Velkon’yss was suddenly close, voice right up against his ear, and Ashenivir gave a yelp of surprise and very nearly opened his eyes. Something brushed against his inner thigh—a mage hand, judging by the delicate arcane fingers that stroked the sensitive skin. “Describe the sensations. Clearly.”

Ashenivir swallowed.

“Strange, Master,” he began. “It was a gust cantrip, wasn’t it? Though it seemed as though there were dozens cast all at once. It was impossible to tell where each one ended.”

“Chaining cantrips is a skill you may yet grasp,” Master Velkon’yss said. “As you have experienced, it can be quite useful. Now…” The mage hand slid up, caressing his cock for just long enough to make him whine when it moved away, trailing up over his hip. “You are going to continue to describe the sensations I subject you to. If you can do so to my satisfaction, you will be rewarded.”

Ashenivir could not keep the eagerness from his voice.

“Will you fuck me, Master?”

The mage hand tweaked one of his nipples.

“You have some way to go before that, apprentice.”

“Of course, Master,” Ashenivir hoped he had kept the disappointment from his voice. He so badly wanted for Master Velkon’yss to fuck him, but a reward was a reward. Especially when given by one’s Master.

The mage hand vanished, and Ashenivir’s ears twitched at the sound of Master Velkon’yss moving about the room. The lack of vision seemed to make his hearing more sensitive, and this time he did hear the casting; low, smooth words in that confident voice he had enjoyed so many times in the classroom. Ashenivir had a moment to recognise the cantrip, and then—

“Ah!”

Lightning crackling over his skin, pinpricks racing down his arm in a buzzing line from shoulder to wrist. It didn’t hurt, but it made him shudder head to toe, startled his thoughts out of order. No, no, he had to stay focused, he had to speak, he had to—

“It stings, Master. I feel as though it should hurt, yet it doesn’t, not truly,” he spoke through trembling lips, managing to keep his voice steady. “It’s as if the lightning is restrai—”

He was cut off as another jolt shot through him, scattering across his abdomen and making his muscles tense involuntarily. That one had been stronger, had gone deeper. It had felt much better.

“It feels good, Master,” he sighed. “That moved beyond the skin, it affected my muscles.”

Another shock prickled over him, dancing like tiny stings all the way down to the soles of his feet and he jerked away from it, even as it drew a delighted noise from his lips. Another jolt raced back the other way, and he writhed against the sheets—Master Velkon’yss waited until he had relaxed from it, until the effects had almost worn off, before sending another more powerful jolt through him.

It hit his arm and made it jerk up, spasming, fingers twitching.

“It’s like a…a vibration. It…” he wet his lips. “It makes it a little hard to think straight, Master.”

“And yet you continue to speak,” Master Velkon’yss said. “You have excellent focus, apprentice. I shall have to find a way to test that further.”

A different sensation covered him then, cold again, frostbite chasing away the humming buzz of the shocks. Fractals of ice ran from the briefest touch of Master Velkon’yss’ hand, melting almost as soon as the casting was done only to be layered back on moments later. His moan came out high and shivery.

“Cold, of course,” Ashenivir heard himself speaking, detached from a mind which had begun rolling in confused delight and was making a fair bid to float free of his control. He desperately wanted to go with it, but then he would lose his voice entirely and be unable to describe the sensations and would not get his reward. He very badly wanted his reward.

“I feel like moonstone, Master, bright inside and blue with cold but frosted on the outs-side—ah!”

The frost covered over his thighs now, and Ashenivir was not sure if he wanted more or less. His head span.

“It…it tickles, Master,” he had to say, for it did. A mage hand brushed his cock again, gripping it firmly now—his reward, at last? Yet no, that was not a mage hand, it was too warm, too solid, it—

“I did not tell you to cease your descriptions, apprentice.”

Master Velkon’yss was on the bed with him. Ashenivir had not realised, too lost in the cantrips playing over his skin. Master Velkon’yss was on the bed, straddling his legs, and his hand—his real hand—was upon Ashenivir’s cock. Goddess, he wished he could open his eyes! He wanted to see it, to fix it in his mind to replace the imaginary images he had conjured with the real thing.

“No, Master,” he said, and a soft moan slipped from him as Master Velkon’yss stroked him. He wet his lips. “Your hand is warm, and pleasant. It is much better than the mage hand, Master, though that is as skilled as y-you.”

He stuttered as the touch continued, strokes firm and steady, the palm slick against him with something that made the slide deliciously smooth. He whimpered as Rizeth rolled his thumb over the head of his aching cock, back and forth across the sensitive flesh.

“Master, you will undo me.” He squeezed his eyes tightly and dug his fingers into the sheets.

“Not yet, I will not,” Master Velkon’yss said. His hand withdrew and Ashenivir whined, bucking his hips up and arching his back, chasing the touch. Master Velkon’yss put a hand on his knee. “Spread your legs.”

He spoke a cantrip Ashenivir did not know, and when shortly after there were warm, slick fingers pressed into him, Ashenivir realised that this was his reward. He breathed out a long sigh, relaxing into the press of his Master’s hand. A familiar stretch, a welcome burn, and Master Velkon’yss soon had two fingers curled inside him, whilst his other hand returned to Ashenivir’s cock.

“Continue, apprentice,” he said, pressing deep as Ashenivir rocked against his hand. The fingers thrust into him, pulsing, and he keened out his pleasure.

“Oh, it feels good, Master. It’s so good when you do that, please will you do it a-again!”

Rizeth did it again. Then again, finger-fucking him steadily, the hand on his cock equally so. Ashenivir moaned, pressing his head back into the pillows with his hands now clutching fistfuls of the bedsheets. Such a simple act, yet Master Velkon’yss did it with such skill that it had him nearly floating. And still he had not been bidden to open his eyes, damn it all!

“You look frustrated, apprentice,” Master Velkon’yss moved his fingers faster, counterpoint to the slide of his other hand. Up, down, in, out, over and over and over—Ashenivir nearly screamed. He could not possibly last much longer.

“I am frustrated, Master,” he said. “May I open my eyes yet?”

“You may not,” Master Velkon’yss replied. “Why do you wish them open? Is what you feel—” he thrust deep, pressed his fingers up to make Ashenivir moan long and low, “—not enough, apprentice?”

“I want…it feels so good, Master, I want to see. I want to see you do this to me,” he writhed as Rizeth continued to draw him higher, higher, closer.

“Yet what you want does not drive you to disobey. You do very well, apprentice, very well indeed.” Master Velkon’yss drew slick circles over the head of his cock and Ashenivir moaned again, heat coiling within him. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Beg, apprentice.”

“Please, Master, may I come?” Ashenivir gasped out, hovering so violently close to the edge he could hardly breathe.

“You may,” said Master Velkon’yss and Ashenivir cried out as fingers thrust deep, pulsing into him, fucking into him the way he wished Rizeth truly would, and he came undone over the Master’s hand.

Rizeth cleaned up with a flick of his hand and stood for a moment, watching Ashenivir breathing hard on the bed, his eyes still closed. He had to admit, he was surprised—he had not expected such determination from him. Then again, perhaps he should have. He had seen the way Zauvym studied; despite coming later to the Arcanum than most, he applied himself with a zeal that even many more experienced students did not possess.

That facet of his personality carried over into other aspects of his life, apparently.

“Master?” Ashenivir’s voice was rough, breathy. “Are you still there?”

“I am,” Rizeth replied, wondering at the way the tension left Ashenivir’s body when he spoke. “Open your eyes, apprentice.”

Ashenivir blinked a few times, as though to clear his head, and looked over at him.

“May I get up, Master?”

Still asking for permission. Still in his role. Yes, thought Rizeth, he had potential. And he had touched him now, without the medium of the mage hand to mitigate it—he had been pleased at how responsive the apprentice was.

He made a gesture and cleansed all trace of the encounter from Ashenivir, who gasped at the suddenness of it and looked a little disappointed to be so abruptly rid of all reminders.

“You will sit, until your mind has cleared.” Rizeth clasped his hands behind his back. “Then you will return to your studies. For the next two tendays, I will impart to you the art of chaining cantrips.”

Ashenivir’s smile was bright, delighted, and no wonder—typically that kind of more complex magic was reserved for those further along at the Arcanum than the mere five years he had been here. It was a treat for him, and a species of bribe, for Rizeth was already contemplating what he might do to the apprentice next.

“Thank you, Master,” Ashenivir said. He drew his legs up beneath him and soon dropped into a light, restorative reverie.

Rizeth watched him a moment longer, then went to his desk to search for the address he wanted. The artificer ought still to be in business, despite the span of years since Rizeth had last made use of him. How strong would Zauvym’s obedience be, he wondered, with such devices as he intended to acquire at work upon him?

It would take a little time to gather what he needed, and then he would find out. He glanced back through the bedroom door at the apprentice in reverie upon his bed, and a wry smile crooked his mouth.

Oh, yes, he would find out.