Eat Your Fill
Rizeth’s appetites are growing when it comes to his apprentice. He’s beginning to think he might be in trouble.
When first Ashenivir had offered himself, Rizeth had assumed that what he wanted was additional study, a way to get ahead of his peers and access more powerful magical knowledge. That had formed the foundation of their arrangement; Ashenivir’s submission in exchange for Rizeth’s tutelage. He had since realised that what Ashenivir wanted was that which he himself gave—the chance to submit to someone who understood what that meant.
Even knowing that, he hadn’t rescinded his services as a teacher, not after discovering how rewarding a student Ashenivir was. He soaked up knowledge like he was starving for it, was never satisfied with a surface level understanding. He was a perfect student, the kind that reminded Rizeth just why he’d chosen this path in the first place.
“Therefore, in comparing similar spells, you can see that whilst the source of the Weave may be different, the outcome can be much the same.” He leaned over Ashenivir’s shoulder and ran his finger between the diagrams spread out on the desk, tracing a path from one scroll to another. “It is difficult, but not impossible, to access magic outside of your field.”
“That’s how you were able to heat the metal,” Ashenivir breathed. “I wondered about that, afterwards. It really is all connected—right down to a fundamental level the Weave is there, if you can only learn to see it.”
His eyes were alight with understanding, and Rizeth found it hard to look away. Ashenivir was always so expressive, so open with his feelings, but it all ignited when he solved something. When all the pieces of comprehension clicked into place, he came alive in a way that was truly stunning to witness.
Rizeth realised he was still staring and tore his eyes away, clearing his throat.
“Correct, apprentice,” he said. “A key concept, yet one that even many accomplished wizards fail to fully grasp.”
“We have so much magic at our disposal already, it’s not hard to see why.” Ashenivir pored over the diagrams, his fingers now tracing the same path that Rizeth’s had. Rizeth’s fingertips seemed to burn. “But the possibilities apparent in accessing the Weave so broadly...it seems to me there is much to be learned from cross-field study.”
“We shall make a theorist of you yet, I see.”
“That’s an option?” Ashenivir looked up at him. Rizeth inclined his head.
“There are more possible ways to narrow your focus than simply choosing one school of magic and obsessing over it, despite what Dresvan Hyn might have you believe.”
“He’s a strong evoker.” Ashenivir sighed, and rested his chin in his hand. “Sometimes I envy him.”
“How so?”
“He’s always known who he is, what he wants. I’ve been here the better part of a decade now, and I still haven’t chosen a focus.” Ashenivir shook his head. “I’m surprised that doesn’t frustrate you, Master.”
“Are you human, that you must rush to a choice before you die? Patience is a virtue many lack.”
“I just wish I knew what I should focus on. It’s hindering my progress, I know it is.”
Rizeth set his hand on the back of Ashenivir’s neck. Alone in his classroom after hours there was little risk in it, though still he knew he shouldn’t. Ashenivir relaxed at once beneath his touch.
Careful, Rizeth.
“You have time enough yet to decide,” he said. “Though perhaps that is enough for today.”
“Should I attend you tonight?” Ashenivir asked, voice lowering in a way that sent a lick of heat racing up Rizeth’s spine.
He affects me far too much.
“Not tonight.” Even as he said it, he regretted it. Restraint, though, that was what he needed. He couldn’t keep taking so much of Ashenivir’s time away from his studies. “I will send for you soon—wipe that look off your face.”
Ashenivir dropped the delectable pout he had been affecting, and ducked his head on a grin. Rizeth wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss him or put him over his knee; quite possibly both.
“When next you do come to me,” Rizeth told him, lingering on the word that would make Ashenivir flush the most, “I hope you will be hungry for what I might teach you.”
“I’m always hungry, Master.”
“Oh, I know, Ra’soltha. I am counting on it.”
“What are you doing here?”
Ashenivir wasn’t certain if Dresvan was more confused or concerned at his presence in the component preparation room. Pellanue grinned at him from across the workbench, where she was busily not polishing the chunks of kuttra amber on the tray in front of her.
“I bet I can tell you,” she said, not giving him a chance to reply. “It starts with a ‘Master’ and ends with an ‘yss’.”
Dresvan rolled his eyes and dropped another pinch of phosphorescent moss into a jar. He had his curls pulled back from their usual flop into a bun, presumably to keep the phosphorescence from getting on them—smears of it still decorated his face. Ashenivir went to the storage cupboards along the wall, slightly annoyed at finding the Hyn twins here.
“He’s busy with the solstice graduation exams,” Ashenivir said, trying and failing to sound casual about it. He could feel them pulling faces at each other behind him.
“So you join us in menial labour, what, on purpose? Or did you actually get in trouble for once?” Dresvan asked, as Ashenivir returned with his collection of components and took a seat next to Pellanue. Ashenivir ignored him. He’d been looking forward to doing this since Master Velkon’yss had asked it of him, but with these two here…he wasn’t exactly going to slip into his service mind with Dresvan and Pellanue around. He dropped the flakes of jade into the arcane mortar and began to grind anyway. Enjoyable or not, the job still had to be done.
“I can’t believe you still do errands for him.” Pellanue idly turned one of the amber chunks over in her fingers, letting it catch the light.
“They’re not errands.”
“Well, they’re not fun, are they?”
“They aren’t supposed to be, they’re—” he caught himself. Service, was what they were. Doing things his Master needed for the reward of simply doing them, and the praise of having done them. “They’re just what I owe for tutoring. I take up a lot of his time.”
“Uh-huh.” Dresvan zapped a tiny firebolt at him, singing his collar. Ashenivir flicked at the sparks.
“What did you two do, anyway? Set a Master on fire again?”
“Dresvan started it,” Pella said, and had to fling up a shield a heartbeat later when her brother shot a full-force firebolt at her.
“I did not, you incited violence, dearest sister.”
“It’s not my fault you’re so sensitive,” Pellanue leaned forwards, chin in her hands, and heaved a dramatic sigh. “I suppose that’s just what comes of being the younger sibling.”
“By two minutes!”
Ashenivir tuned them out and tried to let his mind sink into the preparation. Jade dust—for tonight, apparently—then fresh copper wire, and powdered silver. The graduation exams had an invisibility component, which explained the powdered silver; it would allow his Master to see his vanishing students. Fresh copper for sending, and Ashenivir always hoped to receive one when he disobeyed orders relating to his collar. Sometimes he did, and sometimes his Master made him wait, anticipating the repercussions of his not-so-idle hands.
The jade dust, though, of that he wasn’t certain. He knew he’d seen a spell it was used for, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember which one.
“Oh, shit!”
Ashenivir looked up in time for a faceful of frost from Dresvan to knock him clean off his chair. He sighed, gazing up at the ceiling as Pellanue shrieked at her brother, and Dresvan squabbled back about how much it wasn’t his fault but hers.
No, he’d get none of his usual satisfaction today, not now. He smiled faintly, and brushed ice from his cheeks.
Tonight, however, would be a different matter.
Soft leather cuffs bound him to the bed, arms stretched out to either bedpost. His legs were left free—his Master caressed one thigh, as with his other hand he toyed with Ashenivir’s mouth, teasing his tongue with probing fingers.
“Always you think of your hunger, Ra’soltha,” he said. His fingers slid so deep Ashenivir gagged. “I might not put up with it, were it not for how fine your mouth is.”
Ashenivir choked around his Master’s insistent fingers, able to catch his breath only when Rizeth withdrew, trailing spit over his chin and down his neck.
“Yes, always you think of your hunger. But have you contemplated that of your Master?” Ashenivir nodded, but Rizeth caught his chin. “I do not think you have. You are a selfish, starving creature, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Master,” he gasped. “I am hungry—please feed me.”
The grip on his chin tightened.
“You see? Even now you think of yourself. No, Ra’soltha, today I eat before you.”
Ashenivir’s breath quickened. His Master, between his legs! How often had he fantasised of such a thing? Only…Pellanue had made him think of it, when Rizeth had been denying him last year, and Ashenivir had asked about it. Rizeth had told him he did not do such things—it wasn’t something he enjoyed—and so Ashenivir had, reluctantly, let the matter drop.
What had changed?
Master Velkon’yss took hold of his knee and pulled it aside, spreading his legs. The light sweep of his fingers over the sensitive skin behind the joint made Ashenivir squirm.
“These stay open until I am finished,” he said. “You are done when I say you are done.”
Oh, Goddess.
“Yes, Master.”
From the dresser, Rizeth took the jade dust Ashenivir had prepared earlier, and also a small piece of honeycomb. It glistened in the low violet light of the sconces.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered. He set the honeycomb in his teeth, and bent to Ashenivir’s mouth—Ashenivir’s heart thudded as he bit down, the sweet taste of it flooding his senses. Rizeth’s lips pressed against his for a moment, a quick swipe of tongue, then he was gone. Ashenivir swallowed his half of the honeycomb, and his Master cast the handful of jade into the air above the bed, at a spot between Ashenivir’s spread legs.
Jade. And honeycomb. And the words, they were familiar too, and Ashenivir finally remembered the spell, even as it manifested before him.
A mouth opened in the air at the end of the bed. Semi-translucent lips, dull violet fading darker at the corners, glittering with magic. They parted, slowly, and a delicate pink tongue emerged, slick with conjured spit that drooled onto the dark sheets below.
His Master’s magic smelt like honeycomb, and Ashenivir shivered. Rizeth’s hand touched his knee.
“Keep them open,” he cautioned.
“Yes, Master.”
He’d been half hard to begin with, from the anticipation and his Master’s teasing. Now the conjured mouth slid over his eager cock, hot and wet and real enough where it engulfed him. Ashenivir let out a soft moan and canted his hips up into it—it took him down an invisible throat, he could feel it squeezing about him. As always, his Master’s modifications were erotically sublime.
The tongue slid up the length of him in a tease; it lapped at the head of his cock, as attentive a lover as could be imagined, and Ashenivir closed his eyes. The mouth felt wonderful, but with his eyes shut he could cheat and put his Master in its place. And it was his Master doing this, even if it was by proxy. His mage hands were an extension of his hands, and thus the magic mouth must be an extension of his mouth. Ashenivir pictured Rizeth between his legs, holding him down as he devoured him, and sighed.
The minutes dragged on, and heat curled low in his belly; he clenched his hands in the cuffs, tugging at the chains that held him to the bed. The mouth intensified its motions, the slick wet sound of it drawing him to the edge, and he expected Master Velkon’yss to stop, draw back, tease him and drag this out, but no, no, oh, Goddess, yes!
The mouth did not swallow. It slipped free as he came, spattering his chest, eyes coming open on a cry. The high was tinged with disappointment—was the night to be over already? So soon? He should have tried to hold out longer, he wasn’t ready to go back to his quarters yet.
Between his legs, the conjured mouth hovered, still drooling. That slick pink tongue flicked out, licked the shimmering lips.
It descended again.
Ashenivir gave a sharp gasp at the first press of a tongue against his ass. He was still shuddering from the release of moments before, and the teasing circles sent shocks echoing through his body. Instinctively, he pulled his legs closed against the overstimulating touch.
“Ra’soltha,” Rizeth warned.
Now he understood the command. Breathing hard, he forced his legs to remain apart, to let the mouth continue its wicked work.
Ashenivir writhed against the sheets as the tongue licked into him; too much, too good, too soon. He could not possibly hope to be ready again yet, not without space to recover. Unless, of course, his Master applied the same magic to him as he had when they had summoned the construct.
At the time, he’d scarcely been aware of it. He’d been lost in the pleasure, the overwhelming sensation of the machine; it had been an endless, unstoppable thing and so of course he had not stopped either. It was only afterwards that he realised what his Master had done, and the thought of it still made him go weak.
He liked the overstimulation, though. Liked riding the edge all the way into too much, to the place where pleasure became pain, and he knew Rizeth liked to watch him suffer it.
A shivering brush of magic slid into him. The whisper of his Master’s voice was hot against his skin, a feverish rush that ignited in a spasm. Ashenivir cried out loudly, desperately, as he grew hard again, even as the tongue continued to probe at him. It drew away when the magic had made Ashenivir ready once more and took him into its arcane throat. Ashenivir could not help but buck into it, mind hazy, craving more.
Even with his Master’s magic in him, he was still oversensitive. Each slide of lips, each press of tongue, all had him jerking against his bonds, trying to get closer and further away all at once. His head rolled to the side, gazing helplessly at Rizeth as the conjured mouth drew him inexorably to finish again. He locked eyes with Rizeth as he came—the mouth returned to probe at his ass, hungry as he always was, and just as insatiable.
“You are done when I say you are done,” Rizeth told him again, and Ashenivir whined.
The mouth kept going. On and on it went, again and again his Master restored him to keep taking its services, and Ashenivir ached with pleasure. Three times he came, four, five—he lost himself then, became a thrashing thing of mindless sensation. He screamed out with each new release, every nerve on fire. It was past pleasure, past pain, some impossible sensation and he didn’t know any longer if it felt good or not, he just felt.
The mouth continued to devour him, and Ashenivir did not close his legs because his Master had commanded him not to.
“Master, please,” he begged, shaking his head side to side and straining at his manacles. “I can’t take anymore, I can’t.”
“Yes you can,” Rizeth said, low. A hand touched Ashenivir’s head. He gazed pleadingly up at Rizeth.
“I can’t,” he sobbed, but his Master’s face held no sympathy, only that firm control, that undeniable aura of command.
“You can, till count of ten,” Rizeth said. Ashenivir moaned, a high and whining thing, and squeezed his eyes closed.
“One.”
The mouth took him again. He was painfully hard in its hot, wet grip, just as sweet as the first time. He could taste honeycomb on the back of his tongue.
“Two.”
Ashenivir shook, strained—there was nowhere to go. He couldn’t escape, he couldn’t even want to. Rizeth continued to count and he was nothing but body now, vaguely aware he was speaking, though what he was saying he hadn’t the faintest idea.
“Seven, Ra’soltha, yes you can.”
Rizeth curved a palm to his cheek, his touch far too gentle for the agony he was inflicting. Ashenivir thrashed and screamed until, finally, blessedly, he heard his Master say ten.
Ashenivir ignited. With a howl, his eyes went wide, thoughts flying utterly apart, lightning in his blood and white-hot heat rocketing up his spine and he could taste nothing but honey, sweet and bright and beautiful. He stared up at Rizeth, mouth agape, with just enough presence of mind to thank his Master before he collapsed against his bonds, wordless and spent.
Rizeth knelt on the bed and carefully unfastened the cuffs. Ashenivir made soft, whimpering sounds as his bonds were removed, still twitching against the sheets.
“Good boy,” Rizeth murmured, rubbing Ashenivir’s wrists as he checked them over. “You did so well, you are always so obedient, you—”
Ashenivir flung himself into Rizeth’s arms, cutting him off with a kiss. He whined in the back of his throat and clutched at Rizeth with weak fingers. His lips were clumsy, his co-ordination off, and Rizeth hesitated only a moment before kissing him back. He tasted like honeycomb.
“You are still hungry?” Rizeth drew away to take in the dishevelled glory of his Ra’soltha. “After all that?”
A soft whimper, and two taps on his chest. Hands on his thighs, trying to push his legs apart.
“I did say I would eat before you, and I have had my fill.” He held Ashenivir’s chin, and swept a thumb across his lower lip, savouring the sigh it conjured. “I suppose it would be unfair to starve you now, wouldn’t it?”
Another nod. Goddess, he was so beautiful like this—wordless, needy, desperate to serve. Rizeth hooked his fingers into Ashenivir’s collar, tugged it tight against his neck. Ashenivir followed his pull, leaning close to him, so near Rizeth could taste his shaky breath. His lips parted, wet and inviting, and the desire to kiss him again was frighteningly strong.
“Very well, Ra’soltha,” he whispered hoarsely. He released the collar and moved to settle back on the bed, up against the frame where the manacles still hung. One bumped against his shoulder, clinking lightly. “Sate your hunger.”
Ashenivir crawled between his legs, sliding hands up his thighs and wetting his lips. Rizeth tugged open his laces, knowing Ashenivir would not have the dexterity or presence of mind to accomplish such a task right now. Ashenivir pulled his cock free almost reverently, and took the tip between his lips with a soft moan. His tongue flicked out, taste and tease all in one. Rizeth swallowed hard as a spiral of heat twined up his spine—his apprentice really did have a wickedly fine mouth.
Ashenivir hummed happily, taking Rizeth deeper into his mouth; a slow, hot slide that made Rizeth moan softly. As he lowered his head, one hand went to Rizeth’s hip, pushing his shirt up to splay a warm palm over the skin beneath. Perfect, wet sounds filled the room, accompanied by Ashenivir’s pleased whimpers, as though Rizeth had truly sated his starvation.
On impulse, Rizeth reached down and slid his fingers into Ashenivir’s where they lay against his hip—Ashenivir did not much notice, occupied as he was with the cock in his mouth. A bright wave of heat hollowed Rizeth’s chest as Ashenivir dipped his head again and again. He gripped Ashenivir’s hair with his free hand, and Ashenivir whined. The feel of it was too much; the way he looked up from between Rizeth’s legs absolutely diabolical. Rizeth’s grip tightened, on hair and hand both.
He bit his lip hard as he came, muffling a groan as Ashenivir swallowed him down.
“Good, Ra’soltha, good,” he said, far more breathless than he would have liked. Ashenivir lay his head on Rizeth’s thigh, licked his lips, and sighed. A mumbled sound that might have been a thank you slipped out and he closed his eyes. Rizeth started to reach out, to stroke his hair; he caught himself, and set his hand on the back of Ashenivir’s neck instead.
But he did not let go of Ashenivir’s hand for the few minutes it took to catch his breath. He could allow himself that much.
He was in the bath again. Pleasantly hot water soaked into his aching body, and there was an arm around his waist holding him up; which was good because he was so tired he didn’t think he could manage it otherwise. Ashenivir sighed, leaning back against the warm body behind him.
“Welcome back, Ra’soltha,” Rizeth said softly. Ashenivir started, sending ripples rolling across the bath. He was sat between Rizeth’s legs, skin on skin, the closest they had ever been after a scene was done. His pulse thudded. “How are you feeling?”
He had a vague memory of his Master coming in his mouth, a hazy recollection of moving from the bed to the bathing room on legs almost too shaky to hold him upright. The edges of the recall were fuzzy, reverie-soft.
“I…” Ashenivir’s voice croaked; he cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m fine, Master, thank you.”
“Good.”
A soft cloth brushed over his arm, reminding him he was back in his body, every inch of him thrumming with the aftermath. He relaxed against Rizeth, indulging in the feeling of being so close. It was a new sensation, and he might not get it again, so he intended to savour it.
“Did you mark the spell, apprentice?”
“Mm? Oh, yes, Master—jade and honeycomb…magic mouth, heavily modified with your own Weaving.” The words tumbled out, half a yawn by the end of it. Goddess, but he was drained; and no wonder, after all that. The cloth finished with his arm and moved to his chest, soothing circles that did nothing to make him more wakeful.
“So observant,” Rizeth murmured against his neck. “You do impress me, Ra’soltha.”
Ashenivir shivered, flushing at the compliment as usual. He barely felt he deserved it, and Rizeth was not exactly prone to giving them out—not in his classroom, anyway. Here though, in his quarters, in their scenes…Ashenivir had fumblingly told him how much he enjoyed praise, back when Rizeth had been so curious about his wants, and his Master made much use of that particular desire. That was all this was, wasn’t it? His Master, using what he knew Ashenivir wanted to get a reaction—that was how this worked.
Wasn’t it?
Rizeth gently moved his hair aside, and passed the washcloth over his neck, his shoulder. The motion was so tender, so unlike anything Ashenivir had ever felt from him, that tears pricked his eyes. He swallowed hard. It was just aftermath, just comedown from such an intense high. It had made everything too much, all his senses and emotions overwhelmed and vibrating still.
“Can you stand?” Rizeth cut into the confusion of his thoughts and he quickly blinked away the tears. Pull yourself together, Ashenivir.
“I…yes, I think so.”
Rizeth helped him up, helped him dry and dress. When he was done, his hands lingered at Ashenivir’s collar.
“I should punish you for flaunting that.” He spoke low, though there was no warning in his voice. “I never gave you permission to do so.”
“It wouldn’t stop me.” Ashenivir’s heart thundered in his ears as he met his Master’s eyes. He reached up and laid his hands over Rizeth’s, pressing them to his neck. “No matter how many times you put me over your knee, or how many pebbles you make me kneel in. I’d write that I wouldn’t do it a thousand times, hands or no hands, and keep on wearing it anyway.”
“I know.”
Rizeth’s eyes flicked to his lips and back. There was something in his face…Ashenivir couldn’t read it. He could read Rizeth better than most, of that he was sure, but not so well yet that he could see everything. His Master hid so much.
“I did well today, didn’t I, Master?” he said.
“You did.”
“May I have a reward?”
“Presumptuous creature.” But there was a faint smile curving the corner of his mouth. “Ask, Ra’soltha. You may not get.”
“May I have a kiss, Master?”
He had asked for that so many times since their first. It was the simplest of rewards, the sweetest. The feeling of his Master’s lips against his own was so familiar now, kissing him after a scene was almost a ritual of its own.
Somehow, this time felt different.
Rizeth looked at him for a long moment, then took Ashenivir’s face in his hands and kissed him deep and slow. His fingers slid into Ashenivir’s hair, his thumb brushing a gentle line along his cheek. His lips were warm, the motions of his mouth tender and soft, the press of his tongue more desire than demand. Ashenivir was out of breath when Rizeth finally let him go, as wordless as he had been after the scene.
“You had best return to your quarters, apprentice.” Was it his imagination or was Rizeth as out of breath as he was? “You ought to get some rest before your classes tomorrow.”
Ashenivir could only nod.
“Yes, Master. Of course.”
He took the stairs slowly back up through the Arcanum, touching his fingers to his lips, and the fading feeling of his Master’s mouth that lingered there.
Oh, Mystra, what was that?