Chapter Ten
It had been suspiciously easy to provoke his Master into sex this morning. Three days running Rizeth hadn’t risen to his teasing, but today it had seen him roughly stripped and shoved out of the bedroom before he could so much as think about pretending to apologise. Papers and books had gone scattering off the table when Rizeth bent him over it, and now he fought for breath as his Master fucked into him hard enough to make him see stars.
“Please touch me, Master,” he begged, clawing at the table and sending another book thudding to the floor. Rizeth’s fingers dug into his hip. Right, right, be specific. “Please, Master, touch my cock.”
The bruise-tight grip relaxed. A hand slid to his stomach, down, down, closer, closer…then rapidly withdrew. Ashenivir whined and a sharp spank stung his ass.
“Did you really think you’d be coming today, Ra’soltha?” The low rumble of Rizeth’s voice hollowed his stomach with heat. “Three mornings of attempted provocation on top of a tenday of whining and biting.” Teeth grazed his neck, and his pulse, already racing, thundered faster. “All that, Ra’soltha, and you think you’ll get what you want?”
“Please, Master!”
Rizeth’s mouth moved to his shoulder, and Ashenivir moaned as he sucked what would doubtless be a large, dark bruise into his skin. He’d enjoy it more on his neck, but then he wouldn’t be allowed to keep the mark. This one he could press his fingers into later whilst Rizeth was out, touch himself when he’d been forbidden to do so and earn an evening of kneeling in pebbles or chewing on ever-frozen ice. And afterwards Rizeth would put him in the bath and stroke his hair and—
His thoughts scattered as Rizeth drove into him. His pace was brutal, the table starting to scrape across the floor: if he kept this up, Ashenivir wouldn’t need to wait until later to earn himself a punishment. So much better to come like this, with his Master inside him, instead of mere memory accompanied by his own disobedient hand. He closed his eyes and rocked back, racing up the quickening spiral of pleasure as fast as he could.
But Rizeth could read him all too well. He stopped with his cock buried deep, a firm hand on Ashenivir’s back to pin him down. Face pressed hard against the table, too much weight on top of him—his lungs tightened as panic went skittering up his spine. A second later, his mark shivered, and Rizeth lightened his touch. His breath eased at once.
The sigh of relief turned to an overloud whine as Rizeth pulled out of him. He fully deserved the half-dozen spanks he got for it, even if all they did was make him painfully harder.
“Perhaps next time you will remember how this feels, and not try your Master’s patience quite so much,” Rizeth said.
Next time. Next time, he’d remember how it felt and misbehave all the same. Frustration today, to make tomorrow twice as good. He held onto that, a burning ember of delight deep in his chest, as Rizeth put him on his knees and came on his face. He wasn’t even allowed to touch or taste what slid over his lips, permitted only to sit there and keep his hands behind his back whilst Rizeth took his time dressing before cleaning him up.
Afterwards, he leaned against Rizeth’s legs with a dull ache low in his stomach, the unmet desire slow to fade. But uncomfortable as it was, he had a mug of his new favourite ginger-infused tea in his hands, and gentle fingers slowly stroking the tangles from his hair. He inhaled deeply, then let out a satisfied sigh.
“Thank you, Master.”
“You are not supposed to be quite so happy about this.”
He could hear the faint smile in Rizeth’s voice, and the little ember of delight flared.
“I’m not.”
“Then why—” Rizeth tipped his head back to capture his eyes “—do you seem so very pleased with yourself?”
“I’m not happy I’m not allowed to come,” Ashenivir clarified. “I’m happy you won’t let me.”
“I am beginning to think denial is your new favourite game.” Rizeth pushed his head back further, and Ashenivir’s breath caught. He could feel himself sliding back into submission—the scene hadn’t been long, he was still half-floating; it was so easy to let it pull him back in.
“Will you take me to a playroom to punish me again today?”
“I do not need a playroom to deny you, Ra’soltha.” A mage hand brushed incorporeal fingers over his cock—he hadn’t bothered to dress as Rizeth had, giving his Master clear and easy access to what was his. “I can do that well enough here.”
Desire fogged his head, turning him pliant as molten gold. The conjured hand wrapped around his cock, and he rocked into its grasp, the heat in him blooming at the satisfaction the motion brought to his Master’s face. Was that what today was to be? Teased all day long for no release? Would he be allowed to come at midnight, or not until the sun rose tomorrow?
Ashenivir let his eyes fall closed, ready to ride as high as his Master would allow him; to take what he was given and no more, because being given it was the part he needed, orgasm only the sweet accompaniment to what he really wanted—
Rapid knocks on the door shattered the quiet.
“Ashenivir! You in? You better be!”
He opened his eyes with a groan. Verin.
“Maybe he’s out. He might be out, Miss Vee; he goes to the library all the time, we could check there.”
And Mara. Right, damn, he’d agreed to go out with them today. He hadn’t expected them to show up so early. Then again, it wasn’t that early any longer—Rizeth putting him out of his head had a tendency to make him lose track of time. The mage hand evaporated and Ashenivir got to his feet, trying to gather the wispy scraps of his thoughts into something coherent. The knocking did not abate.
“Give me a minute, Verin!” He darted into the bedroom and snatched up his breeches and underclothes, struggling into them as he cast around for his shirt. He found it in Rizeth’s hand and shot him a grateful look.
The second he opened the door, Mara pounced on him. “Did you forget we were coming? Are you ready? We have skates for you, look!”
She thrust an odd set of boots at him; they had narrow blades attached to the soles and looked decidedly dangerous.
“I thought we were going to the park?”
“We are,” Verin said. A knowing grin flickered across her face at the disrupted papers on the table. She hopped up to sit on most of them and stole what remained of Ashenivir’s tea, then grimaced. “Ugh, why is this so sweet?”
He took the mug back. “Because it’s not yours.”
“The lake’s frozen,” Mara explained. She spun in place, twirling the ends of her enormously fluffy white scarf. “So we’re going skating! Have you been before? Do you know what it is? Do you have ice in the Underdark?”
“No, yes, and yes—Mara, I’m going to break my neck on these.” He eyed the bladed boots with no small amount of trepidation.
“You’ll be fine,” she assured him. She wrapped herself around his arm and beamed at Rizeth. “You should come too, Master Velkon’yss!”
To Ashenivir’s surprise, Rizeth nodded.
“Very well. I suppose someone ought to keep an eye on the three of you.”
Mara let out a delighted squeal, and five minutes later Ashenivir found himself squeezed onto a bench in a crowded dray, skates clutched in his lap as they rattled towards the Heroes Garden park.
Pretty, perfect white lay blanketed over the trees and shrubs lining the winding paths of the park. Gentle mounds of it softened the edges of the frozen lake, which glittered in the cold sunlight, and the scent of cooking meat, roasting chestnuts, and warm spices wafted from food carts parked nearby.
“You can do this yourself, you know, princess,” Verin grumbled as she laced up Mara’s skates. “If anything, you should be doing mine.”
Mara, on the bench next to Ashenivir, ignored the complaints and continued trying to catch snowflakes with her tongue. Ashenivir finished tightening his own laces, then sat back and rolled his ankles experimentally—the skates felt strange, unbalanced. Definitely going to break my neck.
“Apprentice.”
He dropped his feet back into the snow. Rizeth had gone over to the food carts soon after they’d arrived, and now held out a small, steaming paper bag. “Since breakfast was interrupted,” he said.
Inside was a pile of small, fried balls of dough, sparkling with sugar. Ashenivir popped one into his mouth and immediately regretted it. He huffed around the hot coal of sugar searing his tongue, flapping a hand at his mouth as he chewed rapidly.
“’ank ’oo,” he managed, flushing as he swallowed and wiped sugar from his lips. Rizeth only eyed him with one slightly raised, faintly amused eyebrow, and sipped from the drink he’d acquired. Ashenivir realised he could smell cocoa—would it be completely inappropriate to ask to share it?
Verin got to her feet, tugging Mara with her. They both had their regular shoes hung around their necks; Mara’s tucked neatly beneath her scarf, Verin’s bootlaces knotted in a tangle over her sternum.
“Alright, the princess is ready to go,” she said. “You good, Ashenivir?”
He stalled for as long as he could until Verin snatched the paper bag from him and swallowed the last two dough balls in one go.
“That was my breakfast,” he protested, but she only grinned her feral grin and grabbed one arm, whilst Mara took the other. The pair of them helped—dragged—him over to the lake and somehow, though he stumbled and slipped and swore, he didn’t immediately go face down on the ice. After a few minutes of ungainly flailing, he found himself skidding along if not confidently, then at least competently in his friend’s wake. The frozen lake had drawn a sizeable crowd, with enterprising vendors renting out skates for those without their own, and Ashenivir several times lost track of Mara and Verin among the growing throng.
He didn’t mind so much. It was easier to concentrate on moving his limbs in all the right directions without also having to keep up with their frequently incomprehensible chatter. And though it was more effort than he’d expected it to be, the exertion was enjoyable—even if it did have him sweating beneath his cloak.
He paused for a moment to catch his breath, grateful for the faintly falling snow that cooled his face. A trio of children went shooting past him, two humans dragging a tiefling boy behind them on what appeared to be a home-made sled of some kind, which left great weaving tracks across the ice. Other skaters scattered like ninepins in their wake.
“Bloody hooligans,” huffed a half-elf, struggling to steady himself after they’d passed. His companion laughed and caught his hands, skating backwards with easy grace.
“Shall I find a sled for you, my darling? It would be easier for you to keep up.”
The half-elf continued grumbling, but allowed himself to be dragged along. The space between Ashenivir’s fingers ached beneath the soft wool of his gloves. When he at last looked away from the couple, his eyes fell on Rizeth, sat on the bench, occupied with the book he’d brought with him. One ankle hooked over the other, hood up against the snow, recognisable only because there was no world in which Ashenivir didn’t know the shape of him.
As though aware of his gaze, Rizeth raised his head, lifting a hand in a brief acknowledgement. He was too far away to make out properly, but Ashenivir was certain he smiled, and it might only have been sweat, but he could have sworn the back of his neck prickled with magic.
He tore his eyes away and focused on the ice and his skates and not the cluster of moths that fluttered quietly beneath his heart. Where had the others gotten to?
When he finally found them, they were talking with a well-dressed man at the edge of the lake. Human, with frost-blue eyes and a scattering of stubble—handsome, in a crisp sort of way. He spared Ashenivir a brief glance, then returned his full attention to Verin.
“So, how about it?” He took her hand, lifting it briefly to his lips. “Dinner tonight?”
Verin yanked her hand away, the edges of her smile strained. “Not that kind of girl. Sorry.”
“I already said I’d pay, what’s the problem?”
“The problem,” she said waspishly, “is that I’m not your damn girlfriend. I don’t do dinner after the show.”
The man grabbed her arm. “What, now you’re too good for me?”
“Let her go, please,” Ashenivir said, moving to Verin’s side, hating how unsteady he was on the skates. “She said she doesn’t want to go with you.”
“No-one asked you, spider-fucker. Come on, Vee, don’t be difficult.”
He hauled her towards the bank, and ice sprayed as she dug her skates in. Unable to get a decent grip, she couldn’t keep him from dragging her forwards, ignoring Mara’s cry for him to stop. Off the ice, Verin fell awkwardly to one knee, and still he didn’t let go. With a snarled curse, she snapped her head forwards, but he twisted out of the way at the last second. His hand shot out, and the smack sent Verin sprawling into the snow.
Ashenivir darted towards her, meaning to help her up, get her away from whoever this idiot was. Before he could so much as touch her, said idiot shoved him, hard, and he lost his balance. In his panic, he grabbed at the man’s arm, trying to stay upright, and the two of them crashed to the ground in a spray of snow. Something popped in his ankle as it twisted beneath him, but the pain was a distant concern compared to the furious human knelt over him.
“Bastard,” the man spat out. He drew his arm back for a blow, and though Ashenivir’s head was swimming, somehow he got his hands up and his fingers through a spell. He’d meant, he was sure he’d meant, to cast a shield.
A thunderous wave of force erupted from his outthrust hands, the crack-boom of it as loud as any thunderclap he’d flinched from on the road here. The human went flying backwards across the snow, skidding to a halt at the edge of the nearby path. Ashenivir scrambled up, heart pounding, magic churning, certain he’d come back, try something else.
“Asmodean whore!” The human spat in their general direction before taking off, scattering stunned pedestrians in his wake.
Ashenivir’s shoulders sagged in relief. He was just turning to the others to make sure they were alright when the back of his neck vibrated with magic. Snow swirled to his left in a scrawl of silver mist, and Rizeth strode into view.
“What in Mystra’s name is going on here?”
The mark snapped at him, a handful of ice shoved directly into his skull, and Rizeth was on his feet seconds before the thunderclap echoed across the lake. He hadn’t stopped to think, only judged the distance in a split second and hurled himself through the Weave to where the divinations told him Ashenivir was.
“My fault,” Verin said in answer to his demand, her expression thunderous. “Asshole client. Should’ve known he’d be trouble from day one. Clingy bastard.”
Rizeth was only half listening. His attention was wholly on Ashenivir—no blood, no visible bruises, but when he took a step forwards he stumbled immediately, wincing. The flash of pain tripped the mark, and Rizeth moved at once to his side, offering an arm. It didn’t matter then that there was a veritable crowd of curious onlookers. All that mattered was that Ashenivir didn’t fall.
“Asmodean whore,” Verin muttered, yanking at the laces of her skates. “Fucker, there won’t be a whore in the city that’ll touch you when I’m done.”
“Am I correct in assuming your Guild still prefers its own blacklist to involving the Watch in matters such as this?” Rizeth asked.
“Yep,” Verin said tightly. “Don’t feel much like skating any more, though. Sorry.”
The snow fell heavier now, a chill, uncomfortable wind hissing across the lake. Verin replaced her boots and then Mara’s in stony silence, the latter trying and failing to keep back her tears. For all Verin’s anger, she was gentle with the young half-elf; Rizeth saw more than a little of Kelran’s influence in the check-in patterns of her eyes and hands. Neither of them were injured, though, and the two soon headed off into the thickening snow.
The mark flickered again as Ashenivir shifted, a flash of pain shooting across his face.
“Are you alright?”
“My ankle,” he said, grimacing. “It twisted when he knocked me over. I can’t put weight on it.”
“Let me see.”
Rizeth got him seated on a nearby bench, and knelt, heedless of the snow soaking through his robes. He tried not to think about how much he was touching Ashenivir as he removed the skate to examine his ankle. The skin was warm—too warm—and both Ashenivir and the mark flinched each time he moved it.
“I believe it is only sprained,” he said at last. “I will take you to a cleric.”
“Can’t you fix it at the apartment? I don’t want…I’d rather just go back there.”
Rizeth set his foot down. “Are you certain? It will take far longer to heal that way, I cannot fully repair it.”
Ashenivir nodded. His brows were drawn, his face wan. Too cold, adrenaline crashing from the sudden casting, worried about his friends—he needed to be somewhere safe and calm and warm.
“Very well.”
Rizeth helped him up, and two dimension doors later Ashenivir was back in more sensible footwear and leaning heavily against him as they exited the park. The contact made his heart skip every other beat; he’d have carried him all the way back to the apartment if he could have justified it, if only to keep holding him like this. As it was, the indulgence lasted only the few minutes they had to stand at the street-side, waiting for a hire-coach. Ashenivir huffed, breath steaming in the air.
“Master, are you certain we shouldn’t speak to the Watch? What if he tries to hurt Verin? Or Mara?”
Or you. Then again, he needn’t worry—Ashenivir had very aptly demonstrated he could take care of himself.
“The Courtesans’ Guild takes care of its own,” Rizeth said. “They have a somewhat turbulent history with the Watch.”
Though things were far better now than they used to be, and they’d always been better in Waterdeep than in Neverwinter, where there wasn’t any formal Guild and what protection you had was whoever you could convince to work together. As a wizard, he’d been tolerated. As a drow…
“If you say so.” Ashenivir shifted his weight, leaning more of it on Rizeth. His arm was around Rizeth’s waist and it would take only a slight turn of the head to kiss him. “But if he shows up and calls me a spider-fucker again, I’ll hit him with worse than a thunderwave. I hope the Arcanum has enough funds to have me un-arrested.”
His tone was light, if annoyed, but the words made Rizeth tense. Gods, it had been a long time since that particular insult had come his way, and hearing it from Ashenivir’s mouth… He hadn’t gotten a good look at the human who’d run off as he arrived, but if he—if anyone—directed that phrase at Ashenivir within his earshot, it wouldn’t be his apprentice who’d need to be bailed out of a cell.
Back at the apartment, Ashenivir seemed cheery enough despite his pain. He hobbled over to the couch, whilst Rizeth fetched the supplies he needed from the bedroom. They were about as well-stocked as any reasonably competent physician—over-prepared, some might say, but Rizeth had spent too many years needing and not having to ever want to be caught out again. Now, his diligence paid off.
He joined Ashenivir and lifted his injured foot into his lap. He started to feel over it, then stopped—his hands were almost certainly too cold. With a motion, he increased the heat from the charms he’d laid, and followed up with a cantrip to warm his palms.
“We should’ve stayed here.” Ashenivir hugged his other knee to his chest. “You could have spent all day denying me, and I’d still have a working ankle—if not a working brain.”
Rizeth gently probed the joint, searching for any damage he might have missed. Just the sprain that he could tell, but he was no real doctor, just knew the basics. Kelran had insisted on that.
He laid out a length of bandage on the arm of the couch and, after an age of rummaging, found the salve he needed at the bottom—why was it always at the damn bottom?—of the supply bag. At least it hadn’t all dried up in its jar, small mercies. He began anointing the bandage, slowly, methodically, to ensure it was correctly saturated. If he didn’t use enough, it would be less than useless and Ashenivir would still be in pain.
“I suppose I shouldn’t kneel for a while, though,” Ashenivir said, sighing.
Knees feeling sore, slaver? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.
“No. Keep your weight off it for a few days, at least.”
Almost done. Better to prepare more than he needed, though, in case he wrapped it wrong the first time. So many times he’d patched himself up badly, too much a coward to seek out even the most mundane doctor to fix what rough hands had broken. Rizeth unrolled another length of bandage and began again.
“Oh, well.” Ashenivir leaned forwards, resting his chin on his knee. “I can serve well enough on my back, Master.” Rizeth could hear the tease in his tone, feel it radiating off him. He ignored it. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. The salve smelt of nothing; shouldn’t it smell of something? Had it lost its potency?
“Or you could try out the spell you’ve been working on,” Ashenivir continued. “A power word of pleasure, if I read your notes right.”
“It is not finished.”
Salve. Bandage. Salve. Bandage. Spider-fucker. His hand shook. Too cold still. Another cantrip, there, that was better.
“I could help you finish it. I like your modifications, Master, they—”
“That’s enough, Ra’soltha!”
Salve all over his hand—he’d spilled it. Ashenivir got to the prestidigitation before he did. “Master, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He righted the jar, screwed the lid tight. “You are hurt. Sit still and let me do this before you make it worse.”
There was a long moment of silence, then Ashenivir said softly, “Master, I can’t help if you don’t tell me. Let me serve you, please.”
The same thing he said when Rizeth was sick or overworking or both, turning his submission around to make his Master rest. A bittersweet twist coiled in Rizeth’s heart. You know me too well, xi’hum.
With great care, he began winding the bandage around Ashenivir’s ankle.
“When I first arrived in Neverwinter,” he said, “I worked as Verin does. At the time, no-one was willing to hire a drow, much less one who barely spoke Common. There were, however, plenty of people who wanted to play at drow captive for a night. Or vice versa.”
Any number of awful things they’d call you in the daylight afterwards, but how else to keep food in his belly and a roof over his head? And it hadn’t been that bad. No worse than the things he’d done serving House Velkon’yss, and at least no-one expected him to bloody his hands with sacrifices, or chant adorations to a goddess he knew despised him.
“What happened earlier…” he took a breath to steady his voice, hating that he had to do so. “Let us just say I am more familiar than I would like to be with men like that. And that spider-fucker is not the worst thing I have been called.”
“Oh,” Ashenivir said. “I’m sorry.”
“What for? It was work.” He tugged the end of the bandage tight and fastened it into place.
“But you didn’t want to do it.”
Rizeth looked up into bright, clear eyes full of concern and understanding, and it seemed that all his insides had turned to glass.
“No,” he said. “I did not.”
Outside, the snow had frozen to hail, clattering off the windows. Rizeth upped the heating charms again, then went to make lunch. He kept Ashenivir confined to the couch, an order received with much pouting and complaint, both of which he was beyond relieved to endure. Ashenivir was fine. They were both fine.
“Master,” Ashenivir said, some hours later. He’d been reading whilst Rizeth worked, but now set his book aside. “Master, are you sure Verin will be alright? I know you said her Guild will take care of it, but…”
“She will be quite safe,” Rizeth said. “The Courtesans’ Guild is a formidable force in its own right, and Lord Stillgleam will step in to assist if he needs to.”
“Really?” Ashenivir tilted his head. “Why?”
“He has supported them for many years. The House avails itself to those in that line of work in the city.” Rizeth paused, tapping a nail on the edge of the table. He shuffled a few of his notes around, pointlessly. “That is how I first came to it.”
“Is that where you met Lord Stillgleam?”
“No, we met in Neverwinter. He…hired me.” Rizeth’s mouth crooked at the memory. “Not for sex, apprentice, get that thought out of your head.” Ashenivir flushed.
“Then why?”
“Curiosity. A drow was a novelty on the surface then, even with Mythen Thaelas making inroads. He wanted to talk and decided that was the best way to meet with me. I was less than polite about it.”
Ashenivir sat forwards, thoroughly intrigued. “What did you do to him?”
“Pretended I spoke less Common than I did. I needed money, not conversation, and he hadn’t paid me all that much. But he has ever been a persuasive sort, and that is how I ended up in Waterdeep, at the House.”
“Is that all?” Ashenivir sounded disappointed. “I thought you were going to say you polymorphed him or something.”
“Apprentice, you think so little of me?”
“Well, you are from Menzoberranzan.”
Rizeth arched an eyebrow. Ashenivir held his gaze, bold, daring, and…trying not to smile. Trying to cheer him up. Following his duty as Ra’soltha—and as a friend. If they were nothing else to each other, at least they were that. Rizeth huffed a laugh.
“Manipulative little Ra’soltha. You are the one who was hurt. I am perfectly alright.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Master.” Ashenivir picked up his book, feigning innocence. Rizeth gave in and tapped the mark, and felt the burbling flicker of satisfaction, amusement, relief. He wished he could send his own feelings back down the connection, as he had when he’d carved it into Ashenivir’s skin, because he had no idea how to express his gratitude now without giving away everything he ought not to.
So he kept his face neutral instead, and gave Ashenivir a hard, assessing look that had his cheeks darkening, his ears twitching, and said,
“You are still not coming today, Ra’soltha.”
Ashenivir’s cry of protest was the sweetest sound he’d heard all day.