The Telekinetic Variation

“You’re going to have to break out the full-body padding for that class,” someone said. Next to him, Lyzira groaned into her drink.

“Don’t remind me! It doesn’t seem to matter how old or experienced they are—you give an apprentice one taste of telekinesis and they immediately turn back into a child.”

“Like you weren’t the same when you learned it,” one of the other Masters, Tasen’tek, said. He grinned at her over his plate of sautéed blindfish. “Like we all weren’t. Fact is, it’s fun to throw things around with your mind. That’s what I call proper wizardry.”

“Bet you’re glad you don’t have to teach that one.” Lyzira elbowed him, and Rizeth stiffened, giving her a flat look.

“Exert a little more control over your apprentices, and you won’t have such problems.”

She rolled her eyes. “We can’t all crack the whip with a well-raised eyebrow.”

He arched one at her, and she pointed.

“Yes! That! Goddess, put it down—you’ll have me apologising and begging for an essay extension in a minute.” Lyzira shook her head, and tugged her already loose collar even looser. “Dark Lady preserve me, I can’t fathom how your pet project puts up with you. I’m surprised you haven’t driven him into a nervous breakdown.”

“Pet project? Are you referring to apprentice Zauvym?”

Lyzira stole the mushrooms he hadn’t finished and popped one into her mouth, speaking as she chewed. Rizeth suppressed a grimace.

“Mm, your prize pupil. He’s a bright one, that’s for sure. He’d pick up telekinesis like that,” she clicked her fingers. “I can see why you’re impressed with him.”

She took a large swig of her drink to wash down the stolen mushrooms, and soon had rejoined the larger conversation. Rizeth let it wash over him, picking at the remains of his food and counting the minutes until he could leave without causing too much trouble. He might not enjoy socialising, but he appreciated Lyzira’s continued attempts at camaraderie—he had no cause to upset her unduly.

Pet project, he thought, sniffing inwardly. Such a crass term for his work with Ashenivir. Still, he was glad he didn’t have to teach telekinesis to a general class, or any other spells, for that matter. He was perfectly content teaching theory, thank you very much.

That being said, he had been enjoying his practical work with Ashenivir. Since the construct summoning, he had taught him a handful of other spells, all far more complex magic than the apprentice ought to have been able to handle. Ashenivir had grasped all of them with astonishing speed.

The conversation had long since moved on from Lyzira’s grousing about her upcoming telekinesis class, but Rizeth found his thoughts remaining with the spell. An idea began to form, one which had him lifting his drink to hide a small smile.

Perhaps it was about time he taught his apprentice another spell.

---

Of all his friends, Ashenivir often found Vuzree the least draining to spend time with. Oh, he loved Keszriin dearly—she was practically a second sister to him—but the combination of her boundless enthusiasm and the Hyn’s lack of restraint could be thoroughly exhausting. It was certainly harder to focus on studying when they were around.

The hours in the library with Vuzree passed much more peacefully, the companionable silence broken only by the scratch of a pen or the clink of Vuzree’s jewellery. He was as studious as Ashenivir was, though perhaps a little less manic in his dedication—he was much better at the whole ‘study and life balance’ thing than Ashenivir was. Ashenivir very often looked up to find another month had passed and all he had done was study and serve, usually finding himself faced with Keszriin complaining about how he never spent any time with her anymore.

He’d figure out how to balance things better someday. Maybe after this next exam he could take a step back. Not take a break, exactly, but—

“I like your necklace,” Vuzree said, cutting into his thoughts. Ashenivir’s hand went automatically to his collar as he looked up. He wore it out all the time now, ever since Rizeth had refused to leave him physically marked, though this was the first time anyone had specifically commented on it.

“I didn’t want to say anything when you started with it, in case it made you self-conscious. People get like that about new things sometimes,” Vuzree continued. “But it seems like it’s a permanent addition to the look now, right?”

A look? Ashenivir had never considered himself as having one of those, not the way the others did. Keszriin added as much feminine glamour as she could get away with, fitting petticoats under her robes and spending many hours and as much money maintaining her hair. Pellanue cut all her sleeves off because she said they were too restrictive, though Ashenivir thought it was so she could show off her well-muscled arms to anyone who cared to look. Dresvan had some kind of allergy to fastening his shirts all the way, and elevated dishevelled into an art form. And Vuzree…

Vuzree had pierced every inch of his ears and then some, capping the tips with silver. His eyebrows bristled with rings and studs; two more rings sat in his lower lip, and he had recently put a spike through his septum. A half-dozen necklaces tangled around his throat, different every day, and his fingers were always laden with dark metal rings.

“I…I suppose,” Ashenivir said at last.

“You should get something pierced to go with it,” Vuzree said. “Silver’s good on you.”

“Thank you.” Ashenivir flushed at the compliment, and hoped Vuzree didn’t interpret it the wrong way.

“I could do it for you, if you wanted.”

“No, I don’t…that’s alright, you don’t have to…” Ashenivir lifted his hands, warding off the offer. Even as he did so, his traitorous thoughts put studs in his ears and Master Velkon’yss’ teeth around them. His flush deepened and he was sure Vuzree was getting ready to ask him something that would make it even worse, when salvation arrived in the form of a message runner.

“Message for you, apprentice Zauvym!”

He took it, grateful for the distraction, and it took him a moment to realise that the runner hadn’t left. He glanced up—it was Yevena, who brought almost all of his messages these days, even those that weren’t from Master Velkon’yss.

“Did you need to take a reply?” he asked. Yevena blushed, as she often did, twining the end of her ponytail around one finger. He’d hoped before that she hadn’t gotten her heart set on something foolish where he was concerned, but it seemed his hopes had not been answered.

“No, but, um…I was wondering if…” She went deep indigo. “You know, I should get going, lots to deliver. Good luck with the studying!” She dashed off, weaving through the shelves at top speed and almost taking out a librarian with an armful of books in the process. Vuzree chuckled.

“One of these days you should tell her she hasn’t got a chance.”

“I never did anything to make her think she did.”

“You’ve never told her to get lost, either.”

“Vuzree!”

“What?” Vuzree raised an eyebrow. “If she can’t tell from a hundred paces how gay you are, that’s her problem. You’re too nice. You know she’s just going to keep on being infatuated with you unless you say something.”

“I’m not going to be rude just because she doesn’t know something about me.” Ashenivir opened the note and couldn’t suppress a smile. At once, it ended, and even better, it had begun with attend this evening.

“Speaking of infatuation,” Vuzree poked Ashenivir with his pen. “Let me guess—more studying with Master Velkon’yss tonight?”

Ashenivir shoved the note into his pocket. “You’re as bad as Dresvan. I’m not infatuated with Master Velkon’yss. He’s tutoring me, and it’s been very helpful.”

“Uh-huh. It’s been what, two years now? You do realise he isn’t going to sleep with you, right?”

Ashenivir almost choked. He covered it quickly with a cough, pressing his hand to his mouth. Vuzree grinned, clearly enjoying having rattled him.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Keszriin,” Ashenivir said. “Come on, we’ve still got a lot to get through.”

He turned back to his books, and spent the next three hours trying to ignore Vuzree’s not-so-subtle jibes.

---

Rizeth’s hands slid down his arms, his breath hot against Ashenivir’s ear.

“Like this, Ra’soltha,” he murmured. He joined their hands to sweep them through the somatic gesture in smooth, even motions. Without the verbal component the spell was neutered, only dull flickers of Weave tugging at Ashenivir’s senses. It made him shiver—though that might equally have been how close his Master was behind him.

“Very good,” Master Velkon’yss said. Ashenivir felt the words vibrate in his chest and pressed back into the touch. Soft cloth, the cold press of a belt buckle in the small of his back, the familiar heat of his Master’s body. Teeth scraped his earlobe. “Focus, apprentice. Once more, now.”

“Yes, Master.”

Again Rizeth moved his hands, and together they sketched out the gestures, catching the Weave and tugging it into shape. The touch of Rizeth’s fingers against his own was slow and subtle, almost a caress. Ashenivir’s breath stuttered.

“Now cast with me,” Master Velkon’yss commanded, and began the telekinesis spell in his low, rolling tones.

Ashenivir recited along. He had studied the spell before now, even though it had been far beyond his grasp, and recalled the verbal component easily enough. By rights, the spell still should have been beyond him, but with his Master guiding, pulling him into the Weave with him, a great many things became possible.

Their voices joined, almost completely synchronised, and as the final syllables left his lips, Ashenivir felt the spell take hold. There was a subtle shift in a part of his mind he had not touched before, and for a moment his senses expanded, fluttering against the Weave that rose from Master Velkon’yss. Rizeth released his hands, took hold of his shoulders, and turned him towards the workbench.

“Lift it,” he said.

Ashenivir swallowed. The bench was large, fashioned of solid zurkhwood and littered with Master Velkon’yss’ arcane tools. Rizeth squeezed his shoulders, soft enough to encourage, hard enough to command.

“Lift it, Ra’soltha.”

Ashenivir reached for the new sense that had spawned within him, and pulled.

The workbench rose an inch, then two and five and ten, hovering in the air under his control with scarcely a tremble. Furious joy rose in his chest, and Ashenivir felt in that moment all the great, wide possibilities of magic open up to him—there was nothing that it, or he, could not do.

“Excellent work, apprentice,” Master Velkon’yss sounded faintly amused against his ear. His hands skimmed down Ashenivir’s sides, curving in along his ribs and over his stomach. The workbench wobbled as his control wavered. He straightened it just before a vial could slip to the floor.

“A-are you to test my focus, Master?”

“I think,” Rizeth licked a hot, wet stripe up his neck, over his pulse, “that there is little short of world-ending calamity that could disrupt your concentration.”

He palmed Ashenivir’s cock and started to stroke, whilst his other hand drew circles over Ashenivir’s hip, a shivering touch almost too light to bear.

“Master,” Ashenivir sighed out. He tilted his head as Rizeth sucked a kiss into the junction of neck and shoulder, right up against his collar. The workbench wobbled again, but did not fall. “Master, please will you fuck me tonight?”

“No,” Rizeth said, and he whined. Teeth sank into his neck, and despite what Rizeth had told him, he still wished he could keep the marks they’d leave. Bites were easier to explain than burns, and no-one would ever suspect Rizeth of giving them to him. “I have something else in mind for you tonight, Ra’soltha. Release the spell—and put my workbench down first, if you would be so kind.”

Rizeth’s hand on his cock moved with more deliberation now, and Ashenivir grinned around the moan his Master drew from him. He set the bench back down and, somewhat reluctantly, ended the spell. The extra sense fled his mind at once, leaving a lonely and barren gap where it had been.

The hand on his hip moved away, and Ashenivir frowned as it sketched out a familiar gesture. Lips brushed his neck, and the words of the telekinesis hummed against his skin again—before he could ask why, he found himself lifted from the ground, and let out a yelp of surprise. He flailed in the air, grasping at nothing, and then he was upside down and gasping, all the blood rushing to his head. He blinked rapidly, trying to fight the dizziness that tangled his thoughts.

Master Velkon’yss circled him, holding him in place effortlessly. He trailed a hand over the back of Ashenivir’s thigh.

“You,” he said, “are my Ra’soltha.”

“Yes, Master.”

The hand snapped a spank to his ass, the sound so perfect and the sting so sweet that Ashenivir’s moan was more of a sigh. Another snap followed to even him out, but it was only to be a tease, for Rizeth’s hand soothed over the skin, then continued up his back in a delicate trace of fingers before pulling away.

“And what does a Ra’soltha do?”

“Anything his Master wants—ah!” Ashenivir was spun upright, hair flying back, and his arms were yanked against his sides, pinned there by the force of Rizeth’s mind. Rizeth stepped in front of him, hands clasped behind his back. He cocked his head.

“But can a Ra’soltha be trusted to do as he is told?”

Ashenivir’s right arm raised, bent; his fingers opened and closed in a loose fist. No mental domination forced the motion, the telekinesis puppeted him entirely, his Master manipulating him like a toy. It was a fascinating sensation, an incredible display of the power and control Rizeth had over his magic.

It was also extremely arousing.

“You don’t trust me, Master?”

“Oh, I trust you, my apprentice. I do not trust that you will do what you are told. No, you need a firm hand to guide you.” Master Velkon’yss moved Ashenivir’s hand to his cock and wrapped his fingers around it.

“Break the spell, if you can,” he said. “If you can do it before you come, you may have any reward you like.”

Ashenivir’s fingers twitched, and in their motion he recognised the cantrip his Master wanted him to cast. He stumbled through the words and slick lubrication filled his palm, and then he was stroking himself, his Master was making him do it. Such power put to work on him, such a Master he had, able to do this to him. And he could not look away from Rizeth’s gaze, from those cold eyes so intent upon him. A soft moan escaped him and he wanted to move his hand faster—he could not. He could do only as his Master wished.

Any reward you like.

Heat coiled up his spine, and Ashenivir put his will to work as he sought to break the spell.

---

There had always been, for him, a great satisfaction in watching another pleasure themselves at his command. Having their desire under his control, their release subject to his order—it was a powerful feeling.

Rizeth watched Ashenivir flush, arousal and slight embarrassment at being observed so keenly staining his cheeks that pretty, perfect indigo. His breath came in short, hard gasps as he struggled to order his mind enough to break the spell. The promise of any reward he desired was a very sweet bribe for his always eager and ever curious apprentice.

Rizeth was certain he would not succeed in escaping the spell, but as he felt Ashenivir’s will pushing against his, he realised he was having to exert more concentration than he had anticipated to keep his hold. He ought to have known it would take more effort to hold him—Ashenivir was proving to be a powerful caster, and if he carried on at the rate he was going, Rizeth held little doubt that his apprentice might even outstrip him in time.

Right now, though, he was still an apprentice, and he had a long way to go before he could stand against his Master.

He tightened his grip and took hold of Ashenivir’s free arm. Ashenivir made a sound of protest that sent a hot thrill down Rizeth’s spine. He could feel him fighting hard against the movement, but he would not stop, not until Ashenivir asked it of him. Any other complaint was only token, a part of the game. He would take care though, in this forcing—Ashenivir appeared to have recovered well from the assault former-merchant Despett had inflicted upon him, but Rizeth did not wish to trigger any unpleasantness. The hurt he gave his apprentice was a deliberate thing; he wanted him begging, not broken.

“Open your mouth, Ra’soltha,” he said, low. Ashenivir obeyed. He looked deliciously desperate, and there was a familiar hope in his eyes as his tongue slid out over his lower lip. Always so hungry for me.

“Not for you, not tonight,” Rizeth told him. A flex of his mind and he had placed Ashenivir’s fingers into his mouth. “You know what to do.”

Ashenivir sucked, letting out a soft moan, and Goddess, what a sight. Rizeth squeezed his wrists behind his back as he drank it in. How had he gone so long without this? He had pushed his needs so far down he had forgotten how good this felt, and every time Ashenivir submitted it was another reminder of just how much they were a need.

More than two years now, he realised. He continued his careful manipulation of Ashenivir’s hand over his cock—fingers were tricky, but he managed it, rolling Ashenivir’s thumb over the tip, making him tease himself. His apprentice moaned again, panting around his fingers as drool slid down his wrist.

Two damned years.

It was the longest he had kept anyone since her. How had that happened? And what was he going to do about it, that was the real question. He had always held in the back of his mind that he could dismiss Ashenivir, if the arrangement proved unsatisfactory, but it had not been and the idea of sending him away was intolerable—yet how could he keep him? Oh, he had years left at the Arcanum, yes, but not many. Not in the scheme of a drow’s life.

Rizeth pushed Ashenivir’s fingers deeper, fucking into his mouth. The sound was incomparable—wet and needy and perfect, accented with breathy gasps and stuttered moans. Was he even trying to break the spell any more, or was he too far gone? Rizeth tightened his grip and yes, there it was, Ashenivir’s will still fighting against his, still pushing back with all the strength Rizeth knew him capable of. He was so determined, so focused, and he gave it all to Rizeth.

His chest felt suddenly, incomprehensibly tight.

He can’t leave. He’s mine.

Rizeth crossed to him in two strides, yanked Ashenivir’s hand from his mouth, and grabbed him by the hair to take him in a rough kiss. Ashenivir’s gasp dissolved into a hungry moan that Rizeth devoured as though he were starving; he pushed on the spell and Ashenivir squeezed his cock, hand sliding faster. Rizeth saw again the chain marks burned around his neck, his stupid mistake that Ashenivir has asked to keep, wanting to be marked, wanting it because Rizeth had given it. Two years, two years, and still Ashenivir came to him.

“Come for me,” Rizeth growled. He bit Ashenivir’s lip, felt the perfect softness of it give beneath his teeth and knew if he pressed much harder he’d draw blood. He pressed harder. “Now.”

Ashenivir shuddered in his grip, physical and telekinetic. Rizeth deepened the kiss, forced his tongue further into Ashenivir’s mouth as he came with a throaty cry. He revelled in the sound—the vibration of it sent a spike of possessive pleasure right through the centre of his mind.

He’s mine.

Such thoughts could only mean trouble, but right at that moment, Rizeth couldn’t bring himself to care.

---

Hot water was, Ashenivir mused, a magic all its own. He let out a contented sigh as the mage hand massaged his sore limbs, chasing away the aches and turning his thoughts hazy. He hadn’t realised how much he’d tensed up trying to break the telekinesis until it had dropped.

“Thank you, Master,” he said. Rizeth sat cross-legged at the edge of the bath, the reflected light from the rippling water throwing beautifully strange shadows over his angular features. He did not reply at once—his thoughts seemed to be uncommonly far away. Ashenivir bit his lip, still pleasantly sore from where Rizeth had made him bleed. “Master?”

“Hm? Yes, you did very well, Ra’soltha. Your willpower and focus are commendable, as always,” Rizeth said.

“I didn’t manage to break free, though,” Ashenivir said. “I’ll have to try harder next time.”

The corner of Rizeth’s mouth twitched. He was fully present again now, Ashenivir could tell by the way his ruby eyes fixed so sharply upon him as he spoke.

“It seemed to me you were quite hard enough.”

Ashenivir flushed, and ducked his head below the water to hide it. His Master was so good at that, at drawing a reaction from him with just a few simple words. Rizeth seemed to enjoy taking advantage of how little it took to make him blush, turning him indigo as often as possible. Ashenivir didn’t find it unpleasant, it was merely another means of control his Master had over him, another part of him that belonged to Rizeth. Body and pleasure, action and reaction—when he served, his Master owned it all. It was a good feeling.

He surfaced, and started when Rizeth caught his shoulder and drew him against the edge of the bath. Without a word, he began working his fingers through Ashenivir’s hair with motions as swift and precise as his spellcasting. Methodically, deliberately, he untangled the knots and the tangled remnant of the collapsed braid, even going so far as to have the mage hand bring over a soap that he worked into Ashenivir’s scalp. The scent was unfamiliar but pleasant, and Ashenivir’s eyes drifted closed as Rizeth washed his hair.

“You shall have a reward anyway,” Rizeth said. Ashenivir blinked back to wakefulness at once.

“Really?”

“Not merely for your efforts today, exemplary though they were. You have served me well for over two years now—I should like that behaviour to continue. A little positive reinforcement is good for a Ra’soltha, now and again.” His careful fingers massaged Ashenivir’s neck, and Ashenivir let out a soft moan of relief. “Well, apprentice? What would you like?”

Ashenivir didn’t have to think long. He turned to rest his arms on the edge of the bath, and gazed up at Rizeth. “A kiss, Master.”

His Master’s smile was indulgent as he leaned down and slid his fingers into Ashenivir’s hair.

“As you wish, Ra’soltha.”