Entanglement

When Master Velkon’yss wanted him for tutoring, or assistance with some academic or arcane task, his summons would end with ‘attend at your earliest convenience.’ If Master Velkon’yss wanted him for more enjoyable purposes, the summons would end, as they had that first time, with ‘attend at once.’

Ashenivir opened each note anticipating the former but hoping for the latter. It did not come as frequently as he would have liked.

As he had expected, Master Velkon’yss was just as demanding in his private tutoring sessions as he was in his regular classes. His area of expertise was theory, and it required Ashenivir’s full concentration to keep up with the far more complex ideas the Master presented him with now. This, along with the more mundane tasks Master Velkon’yss set him to, conspired with the rest of his studies to fill his time entirely.

Yet even as busy as he was, he longed for the Master to call him to attend at once. The days between such calls stretched long, and he filled them with fantasies of the times he had been summoned, satisfying himself with the memories of being sent to his knees and commanded to obey.

Master Velkon’yss had asked nothing particularly difficult nor, Ashenivir had to admit, exciting of him yet, and as much as he enjoyed choking on cock, he could not help but wish for more.

That wish was soon to be granted.

“From Master Velkon’yss, apprentice.”

The runner handed him the missive at breakfast, raising her voice to be heard over the cacophony of chatter that filled the great dining hall. All about him, other apprentices laughed, gossiped, complained and ate as they prepared for their day’s studies. Ashenivir thanked the runner, who nodded and dashed off to carry the rest of her messages throughout the Arcanum. He unrolled the slip of parchment and bit back a smile.

Attend at once, it ended. He crumpled it into his pocket and pushed his plate aside, glad that he had no strict classes that day, only private study and a collection of half-finished essays waiting on his desk—a fact that Master Velkon’yss was no doubt well aware of. Ashenivir stood and hurried from the dining hall, trying to keep his expression neutral and impassive as he made his way directly to the lower levels of the Arcanum and Master Velkon’yss’ quarters.

“Identify the item, apprentice Zauvym.”

Ashenivir frowned at the rope laid across his palms. Some soft, pale gold weave it was—spidersilk, perhaps?—and it glittered faintly in the low light of Master Velkon’yss’ rooms. He could feel the magic inside it, a faint tingle against his skin, and he could also feel Master Velkon’yss’ eyes upon him, waiting. Drawing a slow breath, he reached out with that sense beyond sense, sending forth the part of his mind that touched the Weave to brush against the rope.

“A rope of entanglement, Master,” he said at last. He flexed his fingers around the rope, certain that he was correct, yet still feeling a flutter of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

“Correct.”

Master Velkon’yss circled behind him, hands clasped behind his back. Ashenivir’s neck prickled; the Master was waiting for more. He told himself to be calm as he murmured the words of the divination, awkwardly sketching the somatic gesture without letting go of the rope. It immediately glowed bright in his now-enhanced sight, the aura shifting and rippling along its length.

“Enchantment…” he murmured, eyes flicking back and forth, “more than the standard base properties recorded for such an item…there is a command word, to activate the new function—I can see the need for it bound in the Weave of the enchantments, but…” he shook his head, aura threads dissipating from his vision. “I cannot make out what the command might be, nor what the additional enchantments are. I do not recognise them.”

“You would not,” Rizeth said, “but an adequate identification nonetheless, apprentice.”

Ashenivir glowed internally at the praise. Master Velkon’yss stepped in front of him again and took the rope from his hands, coiling it into a loose loop in his fist.

“It is indeed a rope of entanglement—though one of my own creation,” he said. “The additional enchantments are my own.”

“Your own…” Ashenivir’s eyes widened as he gazed up at Master Velkon’yss. “Master, have you submitted them to be officialised? The Weaving of them is—!”

Rizeth gave him a sharp look, and his mouth snapped shut over the words.

“I will decide which of my spells I submit to a committee to debate whether or not they are worthwhile to propagate.”

“Yes, Master. Of course.” Ashenivir bowed his head, lowering his eyes.

“Now,” Rizeth flexed his hand and the length of the rope hit the floor with a soft thud, making Ashenivir’s stomach jump hotly. “Do not move.”

At a word from Master Velkon’yss the rope slithered across the floor and Ashenivir made a startled noise as it twined up his leg, winding about his thigh and then higher, whispering against the fabric of his robes as it looped itself around him, wrapping under and over its own length into knots, forming criss-cross patterns as it went. When it finally stopped, his arms were pulled behind him, palms pressed together, the rope all about him in such a way that he had no choice but to stand very straight and very still.

He strained against it a little, felt it strain back. Ashenivir bit his lip.

“Oh,” he said, softly.

“No,” Master Velkon’yss rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, then shook his head, frowning. “No, that won’t do.”

Ashenivir gasped as the rope lost all tension at once, dropping into a tangled puddle around his feet.

“Strip,” Master Velkon’yss commanded.

Ashenivir slid his outer robes from his shoulders, and where they fell the rope slithered out of the way like a living thing. He thought of it touching his bare skin as he stripped out of the rest of his clothes, fumbling with belt and laces and fastenings. The idea made him shiver.

Naked, he burned pleasurably beneath Master Velkon’yss’ intense gaze as it raked him head to toe. Ashenivir shifted his weight a little, tilting his chin up to show himself to better advantage. Rizeth’s expression did not change that he could tell, though he hoped at least a portion of the severe gleam in those crimson eyes was lust.

“Go to the bedroom and kneel by the bed,” Master Velkon’yss said.

He did as bidden, biting the inside of his lip and trying to control his quickening, excited breath. He knelt at the end of the bed, facing the door, head bowed and palms on his thighs, and when he heard the soft shff of the rope sliding across the floor he swore he could feel his pulse beating all the way to the tips of his ears. Rizeth stepped into the room after the rope, speaking another command word—this one in high Drow, though Ashenivir was far too distracted to try to translate it—and the rope began to twine around him again.

Up and over his thighs it went, tugging his legs further apart; up his chest now, knotting into a pattern along the centre of his torso, flowing around to tug his arms tighter behind his back then looping up and over his collarbones. The magic within the rope left tingling lines where it passed, not burning but making his skin prickle. It tightened itself, held tension on its own as it criss-crossed back and forth. Occasionally Master Velkon’yss would speak another word of command and it would shift, adjusting the tie to fit his liking.

Ashenivir’s lips parted, sighing beneath the sensation of the rope like a caressing hand upon his skin. Bit by bit, as it formed its pattern, his thoughts relaxed their ever-present grip upon his mind, and when Master Velkon’yss stepped up in front of him he had to blink a few times to get his eyes to focus.

“You do not seem concerned by your situation,” Master Velkon’yss said. Ashenivir wet his lips and swallowed, pulling himself together enough to speak.

“Why would I be concerned, Master?”

“Because you have no way out of that rope—only I know the command word for it to release, and,” here the Master’s mouth quirked in a brief, cold smile, “even if you knew it, I have heard your attempts at High Drow. They leave much to be desired.”

Something else to add to his schedule, Ashenivir thought. He lifted his chin to look up at Rizeth fully as he replied.

“If I ask you to stop, Master, will you stop?”

“Of course,” Rizeth frowned as though the question were a foolish one.

“Then I have no reason to be concerned.”

Master Velkon’yss gazed down at him, his expression utterly unreadable. He hooked a finger beneath Ashenivir’s chin and tipped his head back.

“You,” he said, “are entirely too trusting. You know I am from Menzoberranzan, do you not?”

“Yes, Master.”

If his accent had not given it away, the relentless gossip among the students would have. This, despite the fact that Master Velkon’yss had taught at the Arcanum for years—had lived in Mythen Thaelas for many, many more. His origins followed him, clung like webs to his reputation, encouraged to stay there, no doubt, by his cold, untouchable demeanour. Ashenivir knew little of Menzoberranzan, save that he counted himself fortunate to have been born Mythen Thaelan.

“Yet you trust me when I say I will stop when you ask,” Rizeth continued. He took a firm grip on Ashenivir’s chin, holding his head still. His hands held such restrained strength and, Goddess, Ashenivir wondered what it would take to get the Master to manhandle him a little more. The rope about his body pressed tightly to him, shifting a little, threatening to carry his mind away again.

“We are not in Menzoberranzan,” he managed to say. If Master Velkon’yss really were as cruel as Menzoberranyr were reputed to be, then so be it—there was nothing Ashenivir could do. But he did not think that was true. Rizeth was harsh and cold and sharp, yes, and why else would Ashenivir have wanted him so badly? But he did not believe that anyone who chose Mythen Thaelas as their home would continue to cling to the viciousness of the City of Spiders.

“No,” Master Velkon’yss said at last. “No, we are not. And I will stop if you ask it—though I hope that you won’t.” His hand slid down Ashenivir’s neck, fingers brushing over the rope where it lay over his shoulder. His eyes burned. “Because you look rather fine like this, apprentice.”

“Thank you, Master,” Ashenivir whispered. Rizeth’s hand trailed over the top of his shoulder, caressing down his arm. Ashenivir shivered, sighing as Master Velkon’yss knelt before him and continued his touch, light fingertips over his chest that brushed against his nipple and made him gasp.

“Yes, quite fine,” Master Velkon’yss said softly, and Ashenivir couldn’t tell if he was talking about him or simply admiring his own handiwork with the rope. The Master trailed his hand to the other side of Ashenivir’s chest, caught his nipple and squeezed, rolling it between his fingertips. Ashenivir let out a short, quiet moan as the touch seemed to vibrate outwards, carried all throughout his body by the binding rope.

The hand went lower, across the knotted rope against his abdomen, over his hip and along the top of his thigh. Ashenivir’s breath slowed, hitching a little when the Master’s hand traced the line of his inner thigh down to his knee. He shifted his weight, heat building in him as he grew hard at the touch. The rope flexed against his skin with the movement, the discomfort of the bind bringing attention to every part of him at once, carrying his mind into his body.

With a soft sigh, Ashenivir gave himself over to it.

“Have you done this before, apprentice?” Rizeth asked, trailing his fingers up and down Ashenivir’s inner thigh, watching his breath hitch and his cock twitch in response. The apprentice did not speak, only shook his head. Floating already, vanishing beneath the binding. “Really? You take to it well.”

“Thank you, Master.” The words were faint, sighed out. Rizeth withdrew his hand, and Ashenivir whined at the loss. He strained against the rope, which tightened to keep him in place. The pale gold wrap of it did indeed sit very well against the deep violet of his skin, and so far it was performing precisely as Rizeth had hoped. Enchanting it had been a damnably difficult business, and he was glad not to have wasted the time or the effort in doing so.

He was also glad that apprentice Zauvym had allowed himself to be bound. Rizeth wanted to test his limits, true enough, but he did not want to send him running. Ashenivir was an interesting one—quite full of potential, Rizeth thought—and it would be a shame to frighten him off before finding out all he might be capable of.

Rizeth stood, sliding a hand into Ashenivir’s hair and tilting his head back. The apprentice went easily with the touch, mouth open, the tip of his tongue pressing out over his lower lip.

“Hungry, apprentice?” Rizeth asked. Ashenivir opened his mouth wider. “Quite predictable, yet you do seem to enjoy it.”

“Yes, Master,” Ashenivir said—or rather, panted. A little light had come back into his glassy eyes, and they flicked from Rizeth’s face to his crotch and then back again. “Please?”

“Such good manners you have,” Rizeth said. He tightened his grip. “But no. I have something else in mind for you today.”

He snapped out a command word and the rope slackened—not falling away entirely, just enough so that he could pull Ashenivir to his feet by the hair, thrilling at the noise of pleased protest the apprentice made. Rizeth directed him up onto the bed, and Ashenivir went perfectly pliantly, kneeling when Rizeth asked, and gasping when the rope sprang to life again.

He made such delightful noises. Rizeth was beginning to enjoy wringing the sounds from him.

The rope wound about Ashenivir’s body again, as obedient as the apprentice, and when it was done he lay on his back with his hands bound beneath him and his knees bent up and apart, calves bound tight to his thighs. One final word and the rope came up around the back of his head, gagging him. Rizeth allowed himself a small smile.

“Comfortable, apprentice?”

Ashenivir moaned around the rope and rocked his hips up. He was still hard, no doubt desperate to be touched. Rizeth brought forth a mage hand with a quick twist of his wrist and sent it out as he clasped his own hands behind his back. He directed it to slide slowly up the inside of Ashenivir’s leg—the apprentice moaned louder as the hand reached his cock and began to stroke, rutting up into the magical grasp.

Rizeth could have touched him himself, but he was not yet certain if he wanted to. Safer to maintain a little distance for now. And it was more pleasing by far to stand at a remove and watch as Ashenivir squirmed and writhed, turning the bedsheets into a messy tangle beneath him, the rope rendering him unable to do more than buck his hips and whine incoherently. Rizeth was so enjoying the sight that it took him a moment to realise Ashenivir was trying to say something around the rope in his mouth.

He murmured a command word and the rope slackened, falling from Ashenivir’s mouth. Ashenivir gasped deeply, breathing hard and flushed.

“What was that apprentice? You have something to say?” Rizeth asked.

“Fuck me,” Ashenivir begged. His eyes shone with desperate need. “Master, please, fuck me like this.”

Rizeth raised an eyebrow.

“You think you have earned such a reward? So soon?”

The mage hand drew away from his cock, trailing off with teasing fingers. Ashenivir whined, arching his back off the bed as Rizeth held it just out of reach.

“Master, please,” his tongue slid over his lips, “I’ll do anything.”

“Is that so?” Rizeth stepped nearer the bed, savouring the smell of sweat and sex and submission. He let Ashenivir strain a few moments more, then returned the mage hand to his cock.

“Yes,” Ashenivir moaned, thrusting eagerly into the touch. Rizeth tightened the magical grip. “Master! Yes, Master! Anything!”

“I will hold you to that,” Rizeth said. The mage hand stroked faster; with his mouth panting open like that, Rizeth was almost sorry he hadn’t taken the chance to fuck his face again.

“But mind,” he continued, “you will have to prove your dedication significantly more before I will do anything so generous as fuck you.”

“I will, Master, I will,” Ashenivir promised, breathlessly. He cried out loudly as he came then, his eyes rolling back as his lips moved over words that made no sound—completely and utterly gone.

Ashenivir blinked out of haze to find himself laying on the bed with Master Velkon’yss sitting beside him, winding the rope of entanglement into a neat coil with quick, confident hands. He shivered, remembering the brief moments those hands had touched him.

“Welcome back, apprentice,” Master Velkon’yss said. Finished, he set the rope aside and turned to Ashenivir. “Can you move?”

Ashenivir started to push himself up, and his arms trembled beneath his weight. Without a word, Master Velkon’yss reached over and helped him into a sitting position. Ashenivir’s head still felt light, not quite attached to his body, and when Master Velkon’yss pressed a cup of water into his hands, Rizeth had to hold them in place around it to keep it from falling. Ashenivir blinked. When had the Master gone to fetch that?

“Drink,” Master Velkon’yss commanded, and Ashenivir did. The water was icy, a sharp and clarifying spike to his muddled head. He inhaled sharply. Master Velkon’yss kept a hand on his elbow, not letting him go until he had drained the cup. As the ice of it melted into him, his head began to feel much clearer, his body his own again. He held the cup in his lap, faint ghosts of the rope still tingling against his skin.

“Do you want me to pleasure you, Master?” he asked.

Rizeth stood, saying nothing, and a few moments later Ashenivir had his own folded clothes piled into his arms—with the rope of entanglement laying atop them.

“I want you,” Master Velkon’yss said, “to master enough High Drow to command that rope yourself. I expect progress in the next tenday.”

Ashenivir could only nod.

He sat in his quarters later that evening, staring at the rope laid out on his desk amid piled books and papers he had shoved aside to make space. Candlelight flickered over its golden weave, sparkling faintly. Ashenivir clasped his hands and rested his chin against his knuckles.

High Drow. Ten days.

He’d do it in five.