Homecoming

Goddess, it was good to be home! The familiar soft blue light of the cavern was a welcome change from the endless shadowed tunnels of the Underdark. Mythen Thaelas surrounded him again with its familiar streets, its soaring stalagmites glittering with faerie fire—and at the heart of it all the great spine of the city, the mighty pillar of the Seat of Arcanum to which all roads, eventually, led.

Ashenivir couldn’t wait to go back.

“You must visit more often from now on.” His mother was watching him pack, twisting her hands together. They’d only been back from Sshamath a few days, but Ashenivir had wasted no time in arranging his return to the Arcanum.

“I will certainly try to,” he said. He almost meant it.

“I hardly saw you at all before this trip,” Matron Illiavra continued. “Seven years and counting, Ashenivir. I can’t bear such avoidance from you.”

“The arcane requires much study, mother,” Ashenivir said, his tone as apologetic as he could make it, hating the way it sounded. “I am learning swiftly, as you wished. To make up for my delayed entry.”

Six months trapped in Sshamath with her, and he was back to exactly how he’d been before the Arcanum. Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed—anything to keep her happy. She came over and took his hands, making him drop the shirt he was folding. The tiny diamonds on her rings cut into his fingers.

“And your brother and I are so grateful for your efforts. I know you won’t disappoint me again.” She smiled up at him. “I spoke with your Masters when I was arranging our trip—they’re quite certain of your skill. I knew I was right to send you there.”

“Of course, mother.” Ashenivir pulled free and picked up his shirt, feeling nothing so she would see nothing. He’d done a lot of that in Sshamath.

He finished up his packing without looking at her, though he was conscious all the while of her eyes upon him—he found he had to force his hands steady to fasten on his Arcanum insignia without pricking himself. His mother caught his sleeve as he turned for the door.

“You will visit, won’t you?” There was a familiar anxious twinge in her voice, the one that meant he had to reassure her at once.

“If it is possible around my studies,” he said. “It may not be for a while though—I need to make up for the time I missed.” It wasn’t a promise, so she couldn’t accuse him of breaking it.

Matron Illiavra beamed at him, all her worries vanishing in the brightness of her approval.

“I know, I won’t begrudge you that.” Her smile turned coy. “Go on, hurry back to the Arcanum. I’m certain Lady Eilist’tra will be most glad to see you.”

“I will give Keszriin your best regards,” he told her, and she took it however she wanted. She’d been convinced for years that he was hiding affection for Keszriin beyond the friendship they shared, no matter how many times he corrected her.

Relief washed over him the moment he was out of the estate. He would come back, though; he’d have to, if he wanted to keep an eye on Nilaena, who had enjoyed Sshamath about as much as he had. At least here she had the Shrine of the Dark Maiden to escape to, even if their mother still wouldn’t let her stay there.

Sometimes he wished he was brave enough to go back there and see her away from their mother, in a place that made her happy. To see her dance, perhaps—she must be wonderful by now, he thought. Certainly better than he’d ever been.

Ashenivir shook his head and gripped his bag tighter. He could not spin time back, no matter how much his mother might wish it. One hand went to his collar.

You will not always have to do as your family demands.

The thought of Rizeth made him ache. It made him nervous, giddy—made him want to sprint headlong to the Arcanum and fling himself at his Master’s feet with a mouth full of apologies for being gone so long. He’d spent the past six months trying to ignore that ache, the days in Sshamath dragging in an awful tedium of not being at the Arcanum, of not seeing his Master.

The enormous stone pillar loomed ahead, its myriad windows twinkling with magical light. He approached the mighty, silver-banded zurkhwood doors, the arch around glowing faintly with familiar arcane light; they swung open as he approached, expelling a cluster of chattering apprentices. Ashenivir stepped through, heart singing almost sweet enough to make him cry. He’d been back in Mythen Thaelas for days, but now…

Now he was finally home.

---

“You’re back!”

Keszriin’s shriek drew winces and amused looks from the bustling corridor. Several classes had just finished, and apprentices hurriedly skipped out of the way of her attempt to pick Ashenivir up and spin him around. She was too small to accomplish such a feat, and ended up staggering him in a circle, grinning as she nearly pulled him to the floor.

“Oh, I missed you!”

“We missed him, I think you mean,” Pellanue drawled, though she was grinning too. She hooked an arm around Ashenivir’s neck as he straightened up out of Keszriin’s death grip and ruffled his hair with her knuckles. “It isn’t the same around here without you making us feel bad for not studying hard enough.”

Dresvan pulled Ashenivir away from Pella to wrap him in a hug of his own and smacked a loud kiss against his cheek. “All hail the return of our motivation!”

Ashenivir flushed at the attention, though his own smile didn’t shift an inch. He’d missed them all so much. Though speaking of all…

“Where’s Vuzree? Doesn’t he still have all the same classes as you?” He looked around, searching for the familiar glint of metal in a deadpan face.

“They,” Keszriin corrected him. “They, now. Half the time, anyway, he hasn’t settled.”

“Oh,” Ashenivir said, a buzz of joy darting through him. “Well, where are they?”

“Taking after you,” Pella said. She flicked his ear, making him wince. “They’re in the upper class for transmutation now, under Master Xiltael. It doesn’t start till after this one, so he’s probably in the library.”

“He’s coming to dinner with us later,” Keszriin said. She grabbed Ashenvir’s arm again, and hugged him to her as though he might vanish away again if she let go. “And so are you! You’re not even in classes yet, you have no studying to do, you have no excuse not to come out. I’ll even pay for everyone myself, we can go to—”

One of the doors up ahead opened, the movement catching Ashenivir’s eye, and Keszriin’s words, along with everything else, faded to dim background noise.

Master Velkon’yss had just stepped into the hall.

Master Xiltael was with him, presumably on her way to Vuzree’s next class, talking animatedly. Rizeth’s profile caught the light from a nearby wall sconce, all angular shadows beneath flickering magical flame, his intense ruby gaze fixed entirely on Master Xiltael. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his dark, gold-trimmed Master’s robes fitting perfectly to his tall, narrow form.

Ashenivir had spent six months telling himself he’d exaggerated the memory of his feelings, convincing himself that the intensity he recalled had been amplified by loneliness. He had missed his submission, that was all—that was all there was to miss.

Seeing Rizeth now, Ashenivir’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“—shenivir? Hello, is anybody in there? Knock, knock!”

Keszriin rapped her knuckles on the side of his head, and he yelped. Dresvan’s eyes flicked to Master Velkon’yss, and he mouthed something to his sister. Ashenivir missed most of it, but he caught the word crush well enough, and his face heated.

Keszriin ignored the twins, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, what was the point in coming back if you’re just going to ignore me? Don’t tell me you found a new best friend in Sshamath?”

“No, I didn’t,” Ashenivir snapped, too sharp for her teasing tone. He sighed. “Sorry. I…it wasn’t…I didn’t have a particularly good time there, Keszriin.”

Her expression softened.

“It’s alright. I’m just happy to see you again, that’s all.”

“You too, all of you.” Rizeth was moving on, still deep in conversation with Master Xiltael. “Look, I have some things I need to arrange before I start my classes again. I’ll come and meet you later for dinner.”

Before they could protest, he was away, weaving through the rapidly thinning crowd after Rizeth, with absolutely no idea what he was going to say when he caught up with him.

---

“—and I really do think that…well, would you look at that.” Lyzira flicked her eyes over his shoulder, a smile twitching the corner of her mouth. “Your pet project is back.”

They had paused at a turn in the corridor to finish their conversation before Lyzira went on to her next class, and now, as Rizeth turned, he saw Ashenivir Zauvym heading towards them.

“So I see,” he said, keeping his tone neutral, which Lyzira would doubtless take for cold. For all their years of friendship, she read him poorly still—and indeed, she rolled her eyes.

“It’s good he’s back. You were far more cheery when you were tutoring him last year. I think you missed having someone around who can actually live up to your impossible standards.”

“Your speculations continue to astound and vex me, Master Xiltael,” Rizeth said. He found he had to concentrate to keep his breath steady as Ashenivir approached. There was a feral thing inside his chest that hadn’t stirred for months and now it stopped his breath, strangled his heart. “Apprentice Zauvym. I see you have returned to us at last.”

Ashenivir bowed politely, and Rizeth realised with a jolt that he was still wearing his collar. He gripped his wrists tight behind his back.

“Master Velkon’yss, Master Xiltael. Yes, I should be resuming my studies by the end of the tenday, actually,” Ashenivir said. Lyzira laughed.

“Excellent! I look forward to seeing how much transmutation you’ve forgotten in your absence. You’ll have to think fast if you want to catch up with your friend apprentice Abbyn’tyth—he’s rapidly overtaking everyone else, myself included.”

Ashenivir’s smile was a sweet little flicker as he ducked his head. “Hopefully I haven’t slipped too much, Master Xiltael. Vuzree always had a knack for transmutation, I’m not surprised they’re doing so well.”

“We’ll see when you next make it to class, won’t we? Anyway, speaking of classes, I’d better get going—mine started ten minutes ago and if I don’t show up, apprentice Abbyn’tyth will no doubt start teaching it for me.” She grinned at Rizeth’s disapproving frown, and shot him an entirely unnecessary wink.

And then she was gone. Faint chatter emanated from the classes in progress along the corridor, distant footsteps echoed in the nearby stairwell—no-one in sight, yet still entirely too many people around for him to be seeing Ashenivir again.

He’d done a damned good job of putting thoughts of his apprentice aside over the months he’d been gone. Things had gotten too involved before Ashenivir had left. Rizeth had let himself get far too carried away, and he had used the time apart to pull himself together. He had settled his feelings, organised his thoughts.

But now here he was, his Ra’soltha, tugging at the end of the slim braid that hung behind one long, delicate ear, gazing up at him with those deep, expectant eyes—he opened his mouth as if to speak and nothing came out, his cheeks flushed, and oh, Goddess, Rizeth had missed him. He had missed him far more than was safe, and it was useless to pretend that he hadn’t.

“I take it your trip was satisfactory to the needs of your Matron,” he said. The emotionless mask slipped easily into place, moulded by long years of necessity, a shield as impenetrable as adamantine.

“It…I believe she was pleased,” Ashenivir said. “I’m glad to be back, though.”

“It is good to see that the time away does not appear to have dampened your desire for knowledge. It would have been a shame to lose one with your potential.”

He didn’t want to be talking, why were they still talking? Six Abyss-damned months his Ra’soltha had been gone, and Rizeth wanted to shove him up against the wall and kiss him till neither of them could breathe, then bend him over a desk and punish him for being away for so long.

“The time away dampened none of my desires, Master, I can promise you that.” Ashenivir toyed with his collar as he spoke, eyes not leaving Rizeth’s for a second.

“Is that so? In which case, you will be only too glad to collect all the assignments you missed from my classes during your absence.”

“My studies were paused, there was nothing to miss—”

“There was plenty to miss.”

The air between them vanished in a thrum of heat. Gods, Rizeth wanted to touch him so badly his hands ached with it. Ashenivir was right there, right there, and he couldn’t lay so much as a finger on him.

“When shall I collect my work?” Ashenivir asked softly.

He had a class in half an hour. Why in Mystra’s name did he have a class in half an hour?

“It will be convenient for you to come to my quarters tonight for it,” he said. The way Ashenivir’s eyes lit up brought every suppressed memory of his submission back in an overwhelming rush. It made him dizzy, made him reckless—he dared a mage hand to tug at Ashenivir’s collar for just a second before dismissing it, heart pounding.

“We would not want you falling any further behind, would we?” he added.

“No, Master.” Ashenivir inclined his head, still flushing. “I shall see you this evening, then. I look forward to resuming my tutelage under you.”

Goddess, give me strength.

“As do I, apprentice. As do I.”

---

Six months was not a long time, for a drow. Little more than a blink, really, practically nothing. Had it been long enough to forget all he was supposed to do? Ashenivir remembered to disrobe as he entered Master Velkon’yss’ quarters, and set his folded clothes into a neat pile by the door. He remembered to kneel, legs just over a hand-span apart, with his back straight and his elbows clasped behind him. He let his gaze lower, his eyes lose focus.

If he had forgotten something, he’d hardly remember he’d forgotten it, would he? But should his legs be wider, his head lower, should he have untied his hair? No, not that last, his Master enjoyed it coming undone over the course of the scene, didn’t he, or was he misremembering that as well?

“Ra’soltha.”

Oh, how he had missed that voice, that tone, that name. A hand brushed over his collarbone, across his shoulder. Ashenivir sighed and leaned into a touch more insubstantial than he’d hoped for. He ignored the flare of disappointment and tried to enjoy it as the mage hand trailed down his arm—its ghostly touch was still enough to make him shiver.

“Do not move, Ra’soltha,” Rizeth said. Ashenivir remained perfectly still as something golden slithered across the floor towards him.

The rope of entanglement wound up his torso and twined its clever knots across his chest and around his arms, binding them into position behind his back. He had forgotten something, he realised—how good the rope felt wrapped around him. Another sigh fell from his lips and he shifted, straining to feel the bind flex against him.

“Trying to escape?”

“No, Master,” Ashenivir said. “I have no desire to be punished on my first day back in your service.”

The mage hand trailed down his chest, over the rope and its perfect knots, and Ashenivir made himself bold enough to look up at his Master. Rizeth stood some feet away, closer to his desk than where Ashenivir knelt, with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Master, please touch me.”

The conjured hand slid over his stomach, his hip, and he liked it when his Master teased him, yes, but it had been too long for him to be so distant. The hand caressed his inner thigh and Ashenivir’s breath hitched—he met Rizeth’s gaze, trying to send his need across the intolerable gap between them.

“Master, please.”

---

He couldn’t do this. The mage hand was safer, it was necessary; he had to keep the distance he’d known they needed before Ashenivir left, but he could not do this. Not with Ashenivir begging on his knees, all perfect violet skin under glittering golden rope, all wide eyes and gasping mouth and shining collar, and had he taken it off at all whilst he’d been gone?

Rizeth took a step closer, then another—Ashenivir gazed up at him, need written clearly across his face. He directed the mage hand to Ashenivir’s cock, stroking lightly with its unreal fingers as his own dug bruises into his wrists. He shouldn’t touch him, he still wasn’t thinking clearly, he could hardly breathe just looking at him, he—

“Please,” Ashenivir begged again. He rocked his hips up into the mage hand, the rope rendering him incapable of nothing but short, twitching motions that gave him little but more tease.

“Open your mouth,” Rizeth said, too fast. Ashenivir obeyed, and Rizeth slid two fingers between his parted lips. Ashenivir’s excited breath was uneven around the slow press of his fingers, enough that Rizeth was certain he wouldn’t feel the slight tremble in his Master’s hand. His tongue flexed eagerly beneath Rizeth’s touch; Rizeth tilted his head, just slightly, and even after so long away, Ashenivir knew exactly what to do. He closed his mouth and sucked.

“Good boy.” Rizeth pushed his fingers deeper, and Ashenivir made a dangerously delicious noise, licking at the seam of Rizeth’s fingers. Rizeth saw the moment he let go, saw the shift in his gaze as his apprentice became his Ra’soltha.

“Hungry?” he asked. “You must be, having not eaten for half a year.”

Ashenivir nodded frantically. Rizeth trailed his fingers over Ashenivir’s chin, painting them with the slick evidence of his starvation. His lips glistened, and the way they parted was so inviting, so perfect, that Rizeth could not restrain himself. He bent and kissed him, drinking deep of the sound Ashenivir made, savouring the sweet slide of tongue against his. The taste of him was too good, too much, he didn’t want to stop, didn’t ever want to stop—

He broke away with a sharp inhale. Ashenivir was breathless before him, chest heaving.

“Did you forget the rules, Ra’soltha?” How little breath he himself had sent terror racing up his spine. Rizeth swallowed, hard, and shoved his hand into Ashenivir’s hair to haul his head back. “How do you get what you want?”

“Please, Master, let me suck your cock,” Ashenivir strained in his grip, his words a frantic, panted rush. “Please, Master, I’m so hungry, please let me, please-please-please—!”

Rizeth cut him off with a sharp yank of his hair that drew a throaty moan—Goddess, he’d missed those sounds, missed Ashenivir’s voice, missed all of this.

“Open wide,” he ordered, and when Ashenivir’s mouth wrapped around his cock, hot and wet and perfect, Rizeth knew that six months had not been long enough. Not long enough at all.

---

A part of him that had lain empty since he’d left Mythen Thaelas now sang with fullness. Ashenivir’s unfocused eyes drifted half closed as he gagged on his Master’s cock again and again and again. Goddess, how could he have forgotten just how good this felt?

The mage hand reappeared in his peripheral vision. It caught at his collar and pulled it tight as Rizeth thrust deep and stilled. Ashenivir choked, let loose a moan which he knew his Master would be able to feel along the whole length of his cock. That was good, that was right; he wanted his Master to know just how much he appreciated what he was being given.

“Six months you have gone undisciplined,” Rizeth said. He rocked his hips to emphasise his words—Ashenivir could only whimper incoherently, eyes watering. “Six months in which you have grown who knows how disobedient.” Ashenivir shook his head as much as he could. Rizeth arched an eyebrow. “You behaved, did you? Did you even think of your Master whilst you were gone?”

Ashenivir nodded, making muffled noises around Rizeth’s cock. Rizeth pulled free, and Ashenivir heaved a gasp, desperate for air but more desperate to please his Master. His entire body was alight, more alive than he’d felt in months. He licked his lips, not wanting to lose a single sliver of the long-denied taste

“I thought of you almost every day, Master,” he panted. Rizeth tightened his grip.

“Only almost, Ra’soltha? Why only almost?”

“Some days it hurt too much.”

It wasn’t what he’d meant to say, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them. Ashenivir froze, breath catching in his throat.

Rizeth was unreadable above him, his hand still perfectly tight in Ashenivir’s hair. Ashenivir had grown able to decipher some of his subtle expressions before he’d left, but not that many, and it had been so long. He wasn’t angry, that Ashenivir was certain of. Rizeth had never been angry with him, though what he was right now, Ashenivir couldn’t say. His foolish, over-honest words hung between them, turning the air so taut it might snap at any moment.

And then it did. Rizeth hauled him to his feet, the rope fell away on a sharp command, and Ashenivir found himself shoved up against the wall, face pressed against cool stone beneath the warm violet light of a wall sconce.

“Hands above your head.”

Ashenivir complied at once. Slick, warm fingers teased at his ass, and he spread his legs eagerly, arching his back.

“So desperate.” Rizeth sucked a kiss into his neck. “Do you want something, Ra’soltha?”

The teasing fingers pushed in maddeningly slowly, until Ashenivir squirmed in place, held against the wall by Rizeth’s firm arm across his back. He struggled and writhed as Rizeth worked his fingers deeper, harder, faster—still not enough.

“Fuck me,” he begged, when he could take it no longer. Rizeth curled his fingers and Ashenivir’s mouth worked over half-aborted sounds; keening, panted moans that had his Master kissing his neck again, low praise against his pulse. Ashenivir needed, with a terrible urgency that carved hollow heat into his chest—he twisted his head to look back at Rizeth, let all the desperation of the past six months flood his voice. “Please, Master, I want more, I want you inside me, please.”

He kept on begging, until the words ceased to have any meaning, and it was then and only then that Rizeth gave him what he wanted. He worried Ashenivir’s earlobe between his teeth, distraction and reward as his fingers vanished, then Ashenivir let out a low, rolling moan as at last his Master slid into him. The full place inside him, beyond the physical needs that Rizeth filled so perfectly, sang once more.

“How dare you?” His Master’s voice was almost a growl. It was an iron threat, a velvet promise, and it went right through Ashenivir like the keenest blade. He could hardly breathe. “How dare you leave?”

Ashenivir didn’t have time to apologise. Rizeth snapped his hips and pressed him hard against the wall—he clawed at it, off-balance, crying out each time his Master hit deep. White-hot pleasure coursed up his spine with each thrust; he was dizzy with it, high on it, he couldn’t think, could hardly speak. All that wanted to come out of his mouth were gasps and desperate moans, cries of thank you and Master and more.

“I’m sorry, Master,” he finally managed. “I won’t…I won’t leave again.”

“No,” Rizeth said. “You won’t.”

His fingers dug tight into Ashenivir’s hips when he came, and Ashenivir prayed to whichever Goddess might be listening that he’d leave bruises. Rizeth hauled his head around into a furious kiss almost impossible to keep up with—he was not kissing his Master, he was being kissed, and Ashenivir panted into his mouth, every piece of it spurring the song inside him louder and louder. When a hand wrapped around his cock, it was almost immediately too much—Rizeth stroked him fast and hard, without so much as a second to catch his breath. He tried to ask permission to come, really he did, but all that came out was a high, desperate whine.

His Master understood. His Master always understood.

“Come for me, Ra’soltha,” he commanded, and Ashenivir obeyed.

Rizeth stroked him through the aftershocks, enough to have him twitching and keening at the perfect too-much of it all. When at last he let him go, Ashenivir sagged against the wall, fighting for breath. Rizeth kissed his neck.

“Well done, Ra’soltha,” he murmured. “Welcome back.”

---

Ashenivir lay sprawled on his bed, half in reverie, fucked out and floating. Rizeth sat at the edge with his hands clasped in his lap, and forbade himself to move any closer. Ashenivir was too far gone now to notice his distance anyway, though he’d noticed it earlier—Rizeth had seen the disappointment on his face when he’d realised it was a mage hand touching him. His apprentice had never been able to conceal his feelings very well.

He had pushed his own down, told himself he’d misremembered, that what had arisen between him and his apprentice had not been so intense. The sight of Ashenivir, the feel of him, the taste of him—it had undone every last inch of distance he’d thought he had imposed.

It was too much, too fast. Too dangerous.

Ashenivir shifted slightly, the sheets rustling softly beneath him. Rizeth tore his eyes from Ashenivir’s sweetly dozing form, and twisted his fingers tight together. He needed more time. More space. They could not go back to how they’d been before Ashenivir had left, no matter how much he wanted it. They could not go back because of how much he wanted it.

He’d been calling Ashenivir too often; three or four times a tenday, at least half of which had been scenes. Even the times he called him to study had taken on shades of the dynamic, and he knew Ashenivir thought of his assistance in component preparation and other such matters as part of his service, part of his submission.

If Rizeth was smart, he’d dismiss him. No more tutoring, no more scenes. Cut the whole thing off dead before he took too much of Ashenivir’s life just to serve his own selfish desires.

The idea of never touching Ashenivir again made him cold.

Rizeth finally dared to look back at him. The low light blurred Ashenivir into the rumpled shadows of the sheets, indigo darkness accenting every dip and curve of his lithe form. His hair lay tangled, his face pressed against the pillow so Rizeth could see only a sliver of cheekbone, a tantalising curve of neck darkened with bite marks he needed to remove before Ashenivir left. Rizeth could still taste him on the back of his tongue.

He had to pull back. Limit their encounters, concentrate on tutoring—Ashenivir’s studies were paramount, after all. He was here to study, not to submit.

Rizeth exhaled, slowly. Perhaps he could make this work, just so long as he was careful.

Ashenivir made a soft, sleepy noise against the pillow, one hand curling into the sheets as he started to wake. Rizeth clenched his hands tighter in his lap.

Just so long as he was careful.