Positive Reinforcement

The Arcanum library was a place Ashenivir always found comfortable. Even when, as now, the work before him refused to co-operate, the soft sound of pages turning, of pen-nibs scratching on paper, of muffled footsteps and hushed voices—all merged into a muted ambience that helped settle his mind and focus his thoughts.

He breathed a sigh and scratched at his ear. A pile of books covered the small study table before him, spread around an oasis of papers covered in his own scrawled handwriting. Much of it consisted of frustrated scribbles and scratchings out—so far his attempts to understand Scaling Weave Theory had come to naught. He could feel the edges of the concept floating at the rim of his mind, just waiting for him to reach out and grasp them with comprehension. But, try as he might, he could not quite wrap his head around the knowledge he had collected.

Sighing again, he returned his attention to the book currently before him, frowning at the archaic, obnoxiously academic phrasing. If he ever wanted to access the more powerful spells a wizard was capable of, he had to get to grips with this. The sooner the better.

He was so engrossed in the text that he did not realise someone had taken the seat across from him until they cleared their throat. Ashenivir glanced up, ready to be irritated at the interruption, then blinked in a double-take at the sight of Master Velkon’yss eyeing the sprawling mess of his work. He could not prevent the instinctive tensing of his shoulders.

“Who assigned you this?” Master Velkon’yss asked in a low voice. He picked up one of the more legible papers and scanned it with cool eyes.

“I…no-one, Master Velkon’yss,” Ashenivir answered. He span his pen over and over in his hands, staining his fingers with the ink still lingering on the nib but unable to stop. “I suppose I assigned it to myself. It seemed…I thought it important to learn.”

Rizeth continued to read over his notes in absolute silence, picking through the papers with an unreadable expression. Ashenivir gnawed the inside of his lip, waiting for the Master to laugh, to tell him how foolish he was being for wasting his time on extraneous projects. After all, there was no shortage of assigned studies he could, and likely should, be occupying his time with.

The library breathed its living quiet around them as the Master continued to read through his work, until at last he nodded and set the papers he had taken back into the messy pile, straightening them as he did so.

“An adequate start,” he said. Ashenivir stared at him, searching for mockery, for the inevitable indulgent amusement at his pitiful attempts at understanding higher magical theory. There was none. Rizeth’s face bore only the usual cool indifference. “You might find better sources than Xerre’re, though.”

The pen stilled in Ashenivir’s hands. He gripped it tight.

“Who would you suggest, Master?”

Rizeth waved a dismissive hand.

“Another time, apprentice. I did not come here to compensate for your inadequate research techniques. It was simply more expedient to find you myself today than to corral a message-runner to summon you.”

The tension in Ashenivir’s body shifted. Now his stomach fluttered with anticipation and he carefully set his pen down, trying to keep his expression neutral.

“You need my assistance with something, Master Velkon’yss?”

“Indeed. And perhaps it might be beneficial for you to take your mind off of such involved study—since this particular theory seems to be vexing you.”

“Then you require my assistance at once?” Ashenivir sat up a little straighter as Master Velkon’yss inclined his head, then stood. Rizeth was tall, not much shy of six feet if Ashenivir had to guess, and he fairly loomed over him, gazing down with an intensity that made Ashenivir hot all over.

“I believe,” he said, the low murmur of his voice now thrumming underneath with something that made Ashenivir internally drop to his knees, “that it is about time I acquiesced to that request you have been making of me for some time now.”

Oh, sweet Mystra!

“Then you will—” Ashenivir recalled where they were, dropped his voice to barely more than a whisper. “Teach me what I asked?”

“I am confident you understand the fundamentals already, apprentice,” Master Velkon’yss raised a faintly amused eyebrow. Goddess, but he was handsome! Ashenivir swallowed through a throat gone tight with anticipation.

“There is always more to learn, Master.”

Rizeth glanced at the spread of books and papers scattered across the table.

“That certainly seems to be the case where you are concerned, apprentice,” he turned to leave. “I will expect you inside the hour.”

Ashenivir was already scrambling to organise his things, wiping the ink from his fingers with the clumsiest prestidigitation he had ever cast.

“Of course, Master. Within the hour.”

---

As he had been instructed a month past, Ashenivir disrobed as soon as the door to Master Velkon’yss’ quarters closed behind him. Leaving his clothes in a neat pile by the door, he dropped smoothly to his knees—he could not see his Master, but that was no excuse not to behave appropriately. He knew just how Rizeth liked him to kneel now, and arranged himself just so; legs just over a hand-width apart, back straight, and with his hands clasping his elbows behind his back.

If nothing else since they had begun their agreement, his posture had improved considerably.

Ashenivir closed his eyes, feeling the cool air upon his skin and slowing his breathing in an attempt to control his racing heart. He was at once ecstatic and terrified. He had wanted this since the first night he had approached the Master, since before then, even—Goddess knew how often he’d imagined it. But now that it was about to happen, now that his Master was, it seemed, at last going to fuck him…he could not stop the frantic flood of insecurity that assailed him.

What if he was no good? Master Velkon’yss had high standards and though so far he had met them, what if this was where he stumbled? He knew he was good at this, had been told as much, but that was only according to the other people he had slept with, none of which were Master Velkon’yss, and he had no idea of his Master’s preferences in this regard and—

A hand settled on the top of his head. Ashenivir’s ears twitched and his thoughts stilled at once. A soft sigh escaped his lips.

“Look at me,” Rizeth commanded. Ashenivir raised his head, breath still shaky as he gazed up at his Master. He had removed most of his elaborate Arcanum robes and now wore only a light, sleeveless outer robe. The dark blue fabric was edged with dull gold, and the colour sat beautifully against the soft lilac-grey of Rizeth’s skin. His hair was still pulled back into its standard severe tie, but that only served to further highlight the sharp, elegant planes of his face.

Ashenivir met his eyes and in their bright crimson depths all his worries fell away. He didn’t need to be concerned. Master Velkon’yss would command and he would obey. It was as simple as that.

“Open your mouth.”

Ashenivir took Rizeth’s fingers between his lips, sucking, licking up the seam of them, flicking his tongue across the pads of Rizeth’s fingertips. The simple act relaxed him still further and he let himself begin to fall.

“Much better,” Rizeth said after a minute or so, withdrawing his hand. “On your feet.”

Ashenivir went ahead of him into the bedroom, into the low blue-purple glow and the rich shadows, and knelt on all fours on the bed as he had so many times before. The racing of his heart was now pure eagerness to begin.

Master Velkon’yss slid gentle fingers into his hair, then yanked his head back, making him gasp.

“You have been very good, here and in your studies,” he said. “I am pleased with your progress.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“I think you have earned a reward. Do you agree, apprentice?”

Ashenivir arched his back, pushing into Master Velkon’yss’ grip. A hand caught his hip, stilling him with quiet strength.

“Yes, Master,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a brief, sharp smile crook the corner of Rizeth’s mouth. Oh, the things he would do for that smile.

“I am going to fuck you today, Ra’soltha,” he said, “and you are going to make perfectly clear how much you appreciate this gift I am giving to you. Am I understood?”

For a moment, Ashenivir couldn’t reply. What had Master Velkon’yss just called him? Ra’soltha. Submissive. Not just the description but the title! No-one had ever titled him before, he’d never been able to get anyone to use honorifics for him. No-one had understood what he wanted, why he wanted it, and—

The hand in his hair pulled hard enough to make his eyes water, drawing him back to the matter at hand.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Master!”

“Good, Ra’soltha. Head down.”

He did as he was told, still somewhat dazed. Master Velkon’yss had titled him, without fuss or fanfare, but that was the Master’s way, wasn’t it? A thrill went through him—he was really doing this! Not just the games he had so far enjoyed, but the real thing, the thing he had wanted most of all.

A sharp slap on his ass refocused his attention.

“Distracted?” Master Velkon’yss knelt behind him, a hand on Ashenivir’s hip. Ashenivir shook his head.

“No, Master.”

A brief murmur, then, of a cantrip he had come to know very well—one of the Master’s own, of course, conjuring slick lubrication to the caster’s hand, and of course Ashenivir had since learned it and made excellent use of it upon himself. It slicked Master Velkon’yss’ hand now, and cool, firm fingers pressed into him, stretching him easily. He let out a groan, which must have pleased his Master, for he sped up his movements, tightening his grip on Ashenivir’s hip.

All too soon his hand withdrew and Ashenivir bit his lip, waiting, legs trembling with the anticipatory rush of it. Time hung against him, an intangible weight, the seconds dragging with almost physical force. Then, at last—oh, at last!—Master Velkon’yss slid into him, slow and hard and deliberate and not stopping until he was buried deep inside.

Ashenivir closed his eyes and moaned. Goddess, it felt good. This was so much better than anything he’d been able to conjure with his mind and his own awkward fingers. He rocked back, desperate for more, but Master Velkon’yss stilled him with a flex of the hand upon his hip. He whined at the obstruction, which got him a light slap on the ass—just a warning, just a reminder.

“Master,” he sighed out, “Master, please.”

“Please what, Ra’soltha?” Rizeth’s voice was even lower than usual, a rough, hard edge to it that made Ashenivir want to do absolutely anything it commanded. He bit his lip, then dared to raise his head and look back over his shoulder, drinking in the sight of his Master from beneath partly lowered lashes. He hoped he looked enticing. He probably just looked desperate.

“Please fuck me, Master.”

That smile, that brief, cold twitch of approval. Master Velkon’yss took his hips in both hands, held him still for a moment in which Ashenivir went briefly and quietly insane, and then his grip tightened.

“As you wish, apprentice.”

He began to move, and Ashenivir’s thoughts flew apart.

---

The sounds Ashenivir made were just as delectable as Rizeth had hoped. He was so vocal, so unrestrained in voicing his pleasure as Rizeth fucked into him, steady and even, savouring the feeling. The firm muscles of his back shifted beneath Rizeth’s hands, moving easily with his thrusts.

It had been a long time since he’d done this. Too long, he was realising now, as hot pleasure curled within him. But oh, how good to have someone under him like this again, gasping and moaning and begging for more. Ashenivir panted against the sheets, clutching at them, head half turned as though to look back at Rizeth but not seeing anything, eyes unfocused, floating away.

Goddess, he was a beautiful thing.

“Harder, Master, please,” Ashenivir begged. He moaned again as Rizeth snapped his hips, increasing his pace. “Master, please!”

He deepened his strokes, the smack of flesh on flesh an old familiar sound that began to flood his mind with possibilities. He grasped Ashenivir’s hips tight enough to bruise and the apprentice only keened sweetly, meeting his every sharp thrust with an eager gasp.

He hadn’t intended to make any plans at all, when they had begun this arrangement. He hadn’t intended anything at all, much less to take him as Ra’soltha, but…

Well. Now he had, hadn’t he? Regardless of what his intentions had been, something about Ashenivir drew him, wakened all his old desires, made him want a real submissive again.

Beneath his hands, Ashenivir whimpered and once more begged;

“More, Master, please—I want more.”

He could always dismiss him, if it became untenable.

“Master!”

He smacked a hand across Ashenivir’s ass and was rewarded with a high yelp and a gasp.

“You want more, do you?” he said, surprised by just how out of breath he sounded. He really was out of practice. He pulled himself together, hardened his voice. “You like this, then, Ra’soltha? Being fucked hard and put in your place?”

“Yes, Master.”

Rizeth spanked him again.

“Manners, apprentice. What do you say when you get something you like?”

“I’m sorry, Master, thank you, Master,” Ashenivir gasped out in a rush. Rizeth ran a hand over his rear, soothing the slight darkening of skin. Then he snapped his hand up in another sharp spank.

“What do you say, Ra’soltha?” he said over Ashenivir’s cry. It was important to reinforce the behaviours you wanted to see, after all.

“Thank you, Master.”

His hand came down again.

“Thank you, Master!”

Again, and then again, the slaps ringing out with perfect tone. Some skills you didn’t forget.

“Thank you, Master!”

Rizeth sank deep and shoved a hand into Ashenivir’s hair, pulling his head back hard and lifting him half off the bed. Ashenivir gave a gasping moan, mouth wide over the sound. Such beautiful noises he made—Rizeth wanted to catalogue them all, to learn just what drew each one from that generous mouth and orchestrate them to his whims. Ashenivir, he was sure, would be a most responsive instrument.

“Very good, Ra’soltha,” he said. He could feel the way Ashenivir responded to the praise, the way it sank into him and sent him floating. He released Ashenivir’s hair and let him fall back to the bed. “Very good. Now turn your head—I want to see your face.”

Ashenivir was flushed, indigo splashed darkly across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His eyes shone and his lips were parted, gleaming wet over hard, heaving breaths. Rizeth drove deeper, taking in with satisfaction the way Ashenivir’s eyes widened, partly rolling up in pleasure; the way that his mouth gaped over a long, throaty moan.

Rizeth reached up and pressed a thumb into that mouth, sliding it almost to the back before Ashenivir closed his lips over it, sucking as though it were Rizeth’s cock, moving more on instinct than conscious thought. The slick, wet sounds were entirely too much—Rizeth was more than aware that he would not be lasting much longer in the face of Ashenivir’s plentiful gifts. He withdrew his hand and Ashenivir whined at the loss, tongue pressing over his lip as he tried to follow Rizeth’s hand.

“Touch yourself,” Rizeth commanded. He wanted—needed—Ashenivir to come undone beneath him. He wanted to feel him come apart, to know what sound he made as he came with Rizeth inside of him. Ashenivir reached down, turning away, and Rizeth spanked him again. “I did not tell you to look away, Ra’soltha.”

Ashenivir looked back at him. His hair spilled in a great white wave across his shoulders, his neat braid undone and lying in enticing tangles. Rizeth hooked his fingers into them and slowed his pace, driving Ashenivir into the bed with each deep, hard thrust. Ashenivir kept his eyes on him as he stroked himself, crying out each time Rizeth hilted within him.

It was a good thing, Rizeth mused, that he soundproofed his quarters. Even as remote as they were, half the Arcanum would have been able to hear this otherwise.

“Are you enjoying your reward, apprentice?” he asked, as Ashenivir’s strokes quickened.

“Yes, Master, thank you, Master.” Panted out, words running together over uneven breaths. “I…Master, may I come?”

A small part of Rizeth wanted to deny him, even now, just to see if he would obey. He would, Rizeth was certain of it, but still he felt that need, that urge to test. A much larger part of him, however, was getting very close to the edge and he knew he could not stretch this out much longer, no matter how delicious a prospect that was.

“You may,” he said.

Ashenivir, ever obedient, did not look away as he brought himself over the edge, thrusting back against Rizeth’s cock as he came. A deep wash of satisfaction flooded through Rizeth—he had not realised how much he had missed this. Heat rolled within him and he bit out a growl, grabbing Ashenivir’s hip with one hand and a fistful of his hair with the other, driving into him.

Ashenivir whimpered, overstimulated and utterly lost as Rizeth fucked him through the end of his orgasm. He was a limp, panting mess against the bed, fingers curled into the sheets and no longer able to keep his head up.

A cry escaped Rizeth as he came, he was unable to keep it back, and he buried himself deep in Ashenivir, who managed a weak;

“Thank you, Master.”

Rizeth stilled, catching his breath and taking in the spent submissive sprawled on his bed as he carefully withdrew.

“You are welcome, Ra’soltha,” he said, quietly. “Well done.”

---

The sheets were a bright texture against his skin, each shift of the fabric sending a full body shudder through him. Even the dim light of the wall sconces was too bright, and Ashenivir found himself squinting to block it out as the last traces of Master Velkon’yss’ magic flickered about his body, cleaning him up.

He always resented the way it took the reminders from him, the mark of what he had done. It was an absurd way to feel—he couldn’t very well walk around the Arcanum dripping in sweat and cum, but he felt it nonetheless. Still, it was good of Master Velkon’yss to take the time to do it.

“Thank you, Master,” he said. His throat was scratchy, voice rough, and he had the vague memory of being quite loud. Excessively loud, even. He was too tired to flush at it, and besides, that had been what his Master had wanted. He couldn’t be embarrassed for doing as he’d been told. There was nothing humiliating in that, it was simply obedience.

Rizeth made a small noise of acknowledgement and handed him a glass of water. Ashenivir sipped slowly, waiting for his mind to reignite itself. He was warm all over, tingling head to toe, and wonderfully full. Texture and light and sound were too much, yes, but that was a small price to pay for everything feeling so vibrant.

“I liked that very much, Master,” he said into the quiet. He swallowed the last of the water and rubbed at the cool glass, making circles in the condensation. “When will you do it again?”

Master Velkon’yss took the glass from him, setting it aside. He put a palm to Ashenivir’s cheek, tilting his head up and brushing a thumb across his lip.

“So hungry, Ra’soltha,” he said. “One would think you were never fed.”

“I will starve if you wish it, Master,” Ashenivir told him, holding his gaze. “But I would rather feast.”

The corner of Rizeth’s mouth twitched, then the cool expression returned. He tugged Ashenivir’s lip down, holding it for just a moment, then all at once he stepped back, tucking his hands behind his back as though to prevent himself touching further.

“That theory you were studying,” he said. Ashenivir blinked, trying to get his muddled brain to follow the jump. “Scaling Weave Theory, correct?”

“I…yes, Master.”

“I will instruct you myself,” Rizeth said. “It is part of the syllabus for my more advanced students—I am certain you will be able to follow the structure I have laid out well enough. It will certainly be far easier for you than whatever haphazard method you have been attempting on your own.”

Ashenivir could only stare at him. His mouth moved over several aborted sentences before he managed to pull himself together.

“That would be much appreciated, Master, thank you.”

Rizeth gave only the merest shrug. Stepping close again, he laid his hand atop Ashenivir’s head.

“First, though,” he said, “since you are still hungry, it seems.”

Ashenivir could not keep the smile from his face, knowing that Rizeth could see the eager light in his eyes as he gazed up at his Master.

“On your knees, Ra’soltha, and open your mouth.”