by Alex Jace
More chuckles. They were all distracted with lust at the thought of an incubus spread out for them like a delicious meal. Sebastian was rather distracted himself. But not quite enough to miss the fact that a moment ago, when Kit had gone to get another bottle of wine, two of his guests had slipped out after him. Alan and Aaron. A pair of sorcerers who ruled a handful of villages to the north of Summerhall.
Sebastian felt a prickle of anger. He didn’t necessarily blame them for trying their luck with Kit; he had known that that was a risk. But Kit was still unclaimed. Still vulnerable. And now he was alone with two hungry sorcerers.
Sebastian downed the last of his wine and rose from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go rescue my incubus.”
#
In the shadows of the kitchen, a fire burned low in the hearth, the embers a dying red. The air smelled of spices. Kit tried to open a bottle of wine once, twice, then stopped; his hands were shaking too badly.
One more day, he kept telling himself. Just one more day after this. If he had not succumbed by tomorrow night, he could flee, and never be in a sorcerer’s power again. No-one would look at him like they wanted to eat him. There wouldn’t be parties where people discussed taking turns fucking him.
And no Sebastian. That was good. It should be good. No warm bed to share, no dizzying kisses, no hot blue gaze.
Footsteps rang on the flagstones just as Kit managed to uncork the wine. He hoped it was Sebastian, come to ease the panic currently tightening Kit’s chest. Maybe Sebastian would reassure him that Sebastian would never let him be shared. Kit turned, the bottle still in hand.
It was the pair of sorcerers from the party, one fair, one dark. The fair one, Alan, took him by the wrist. “Careful. You don’t want to drop it.”
Kit stared at the fingertips against his pulse and bit his lip. If he pulled away, he’d spill the open wine. Maybe Sebastian had given them permission—not to fuck him, Sebastian wouldn’t permit that, but to tease him. Sebastian seemed to enjoy playing with him, leaving him aching.
The dark one, Aaron, moved behind him. Alan stroked the sensitive underside of his wrist. Kit shivered despite himself. The firelit heat seemed to be filling his stomach. This was wrong, only Sebastian could touch him this way, but Alan took the wine gently from his fingers and put it down, and Aaron drew Kit back against him.
Aaron felt hot at his back. Kit leaned into him without thinking. He could feel Aaron hard against his ass. “I don’t want—”
“Ssh,” Alan said. “We won’t tell if you won’t.”
It was practically dark in the kitchen. Only the scarlet gleam of the fire cast any light. It was too hot now, Kit was overheating. Alan cupped his face, lifting his chin; Kit caught himself wanting to be kissed. If he closed his eyes it could be Sebastian looming over him.
Behind him, Aaron slipped a hand under Kit’s shirt to stroke the taut muscles of Kit’s abdomen. Those fingertips trailed deliciously down his bare skin, drawing lines of heat over his belly. Kit squirmed, knowing he should flee, not quite wanting to. They weren’t allowed to touch him, he wasn’t allowed to enjoy it. He didn’t even know them.
Aaron opened Kit’s belt and pushed a hand into Kit’s trousers to wrap around his cock. Kit gasped and he was lost, melting into the touch. In front of him Alan kissed him, deep and strong. Kit ought to push him away but ended up gripping him by the front of his shirt.
“It’s all right,” Aaron whispered to him as he stroked him. “You’re an incubus. You were called here to give pleasure. You were made to serve us. Nobody can blame you for doing what you were meant for.”
Aaron stroked him deliberately, getting him harder. Alan angled his face to deepen the kiss. Kit clutched at Alan, trapped, uncertain, full of need.
Alan was getting breathless. “Let’s get him on the table.”
“Hurry.”
They dragged him toward the kitchen table. It hit Kit with sudden force that they were going to fuck him, and that they would thereafter own him forever. He began to struggle. “Don’t, don’t, you mustn’t—”
“Ssh,” said Alan again.
They lifted him onto the table. He couldn’t seem to breathe, dragging in big gasps. His heart was pounding in his chest. “You can’t—”
“Who goes first?” Alan asked.
“Flip a bloody coin,” Aaron said. “Otherwise I’m doing him right now before anyone comes looking for him. He won’t say anything. Nobody will know.”
There came the sound of a belt opening. Kit was shaking. He wanted this, didn’t want this. Let them, don’t let them. He struggled uselessly. Alan pushed him harder into the table, trapping him under his weight, starting to unbuckle his belt, Kit squirmed desperately and—
“Oh,” said Sebastian behind them. “There you are.”
Kit drew in a huge breath of relief. Alan scrambled off him, leaving him still on the table, trembling violently, the cold creeping into him.
Sebastian stood in deep shadow. Kit could only see his hands, fisting slowly, and for a moment Kit thought he was going to kill them where they stood. The pair of sorcerers froze.
When Sebastian spoke he sounded very calm. “I don’t think I gave you permission to touch him.”
Alan began, “It’s not—”
“I think it is.” Sebastian kept looking at them, his voice dangerously level. “Why don’t you leave. Now.”
Alan looked like he still wanted to explain, but Aaron dragged him away. Their dark and fair heads bent together. Sebastian watched them leave in steely silence.
Kit pushed himself off the table, fumbled to do up his trousers, straighten his shirt. Tried to, anyway. His hands were shaking too badly for the buttons.
Sebastian took over doing up Kit’s buttons in silence. His sudden nearness was startling; Kit flinched. He felt the stupid need to apologise. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Are you all right?”
“I—Yes.”
“Good.”
Kit wanted to say something. Didn’t know what. He had come so close to losing everything right there on the table. They would have owned him for the rest of his life. He pressed into Sebastian, into the shelter of those strong arms.
“I didn’t give them permission to touch you.” Sebastian rubbed the nape of his neck, a soothing touch. Kit pressed harder. “I don’t trust them to stop.”
“Would you stop?” Kit dared to ask.
“I already have,” Sebastian said. “Many times. Every time I look at you I think of throwing you down and finishing this already. And every time, I stop. Even when you’re in my bed begging me to kiss you. I will not claim you until you ask. I promised.” Sebastian stroked his cheek, making him shudder. It was so difficult. Kit was meant to want this, meant to need it. He had been called, he had to obey, he had to have a master.
“And if I never do?” Kit whispered. “Ask?”
“Then you walk free tomorrow.”
Kit didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what he wanted. He turned his cheek into Sebastian’s palm, leaning helplessly into Sebastian’s warmth.
Sebastian took his hand. “Come.”
Kit continued serving the wine. The other sorcerers teased him, telling him how pretty he was, how much they’d like to steal him, but Sebastian forbade them to touch him, though their hungry eyes still followed him.
The wine flowed freely. Another servant joined Kit as the guests became rowdier. He was young, maybe nineteen, with an angelic face and golden curls; Kit thought his name was possibly Tom. He was wearing a white shirt only half buttoned up, showing his lean, taut body, and trousers that clung to his rounded ass.
Then Sebastian stroked Tom’s wrist as he was serving, exactly as Sebastian had done to Kit. Tom jumped too. Their eyes met.
Kit froze. He felt like he’d swallowed something wrong, his throat tight and prickly. He spilled more wine and the sorcerer he was serving laughed, but it was all distant. He couldn’t stop staring.
Seb
astian hooked a finger in the open collar of Tom’s shirt and drew it slowly off Tom’s shoulder, exposing skin pale as cream. Tom bit his lip, his eyes dark and wide. He couldn’t seem to look away from Sebastian. Kit couldn’t breathe.
“Come here, sweetling.” Sebastian pulled Tom into his lap. Tom gasped, but let him. Sebastian stroked the inside of one thigh, teasing lightly with his fingertips, intent on this interloper.
Tom’s shirt was falling off his shoulder. Tom blushed, stammered.
“Hush.” Sebastian cupped Tom’s crotch. Tom was panting now, starting to fidget. The guests were silent, looking on. Perhaps this was a ritual of theirs.
Sebastian stroked him. Murmured to him. Stroked him some more.
Kit made himself breathe. He was painfully hard. Only this morning it had been him in Sebastian’s lap. Breathless, needing, delightfully trapped. Now Sebastian was unbuttoning Tom’s shirt and pulling it off. Tom’s lean chest gleamed in the candlelight. Everyone watched, riveted. Sebastian stroked his chest, teased his nipple.
Tom whimpered, starting to squirm. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“More.”
Sebastian took his nipple in his mouth. Tom’s head tipped back and he gasped, clearly overwhelmed, as Sebastian nipped hard. Tom spread his legs wider, inviting Sebastian’s touch. Sebastian cupped the bulge in his trousers and rubbed. Tom groaned.
Kit clenched his fists. He was thinking now of Sebastian stroking him, nuzzling his throat, biting down. How flushed and shy and happy Kit had been in Sebastian’s bed.
One of the guests had stopped with his wine glass halfway to his mouth. They had definitely seen this before, no-one was shocked, but it was still entrancing. A show put on to tantalise.
Sebastian squeezed and Tom arched up in his lap, clutching Sebastian’s arm. Tom’s golden curls fell into his dazed face. Sebastian drew them back so that the others could see Tom’s open mouth, his hazy eyes.
Sebastian should be doing this to Kit. Kit was so jealous, so needing in that moment that it was overwhelming, a single fierce thought that thumped in time with his heart: it ought to be him.
Sebastian stripped Tom of his last stitch of clothing and pulled his thighs apart. The guests got a good look at Tom, spread wide in Sebastian’s lap. Tom’s voice was inching higher. “Please. Master. Please!”
(Kit, Kit, it ought to be Kit.)
Sebastian stroked him. “Should I give him what he needs?”
“Tease him some more,” another guest said, his voice rough.
“Better make some room,” Sebastian said.
They swept things hastily off the table. Glasses clattered as they were pushed to one side, wine slopping onto the tablecloth. Sebastian laid Tom down in the cleared space and pushed his knees up and apart. The guests crowded around Tom. (Kit.)
Tom squirmed, dazed. Sebastian let his fingers run down between Tom’s legs, daringly low. He let the very tip of one finger find the pucker of Tom’s ass.
Tom arched practically off the table. The guests held him down, laughing. Kit felt his belly clench, his head spin with the fierceness of his need. He staggered, held himself up against the wall. It was too hot in here, he couldn’t get enough air.
Sebastian circled Tom’s pucker with his fingertip. Tom cried out, struggling against their grip, trying to push himself down on his finger. Sebastian was ruthless with him, not giving him what he needed. Only when Tom was thoroughly teased did Sebastian give him his fingertip. It slid in easily. Tom gasped, his breath hitching. Sebastian pushed deeper slowly, slowly.
Kit couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe. The thought of Sebastian doing that to him had gripped him so hard that his knees were giving out. Kit needed it so badly. So badly.
The guests couldn’t handle the tension any longer either. “Oh fuck, just take him.”
Sebastian smiled. “Oh, we’re all ready now?”
He opened his belt. Tom was gasping, saying yes, yes. Sebastian pushed his legs even wider, settled between them, braced over him. Tom arched, clutching at him. And Sebastian drove home.
Tom screamed when Sebastian entered him. Judging by his fierce grip, his arching body, he might even have climaxed right there and then. Sebastian took him roughly, hands on his thighs holding him open, rocking his body with the force of his thrusts. And Kit couldn’t even stand. He was falling into the wall, dazed, barely holding himself up as Tom cried out his pleasure.
Afterward Kit stayed slumped against the wall. His face was so hot, his belly one tight ache. Tom was panting, his body trembling, his thighs open. Sebastian pulled out of him, breathless. Everyone was happy. It was clearly their turn next.
Sebastian turned. Looked at him. It was a look so intense that Kit could barely hold it. Kit was certain with a force that shook him to his bones that Sebastian was thinking about claiming him just as Kit was: the servant had only been a substitute.
“You have only to ask,” Sebastian promised him.
Kit fled. He had to. It was that or beg.
After the stifling heat, the servant’s cries, the hall outside was freezing. Kit leaned against the wall, pressing himself into it. It was steady, unlike him.
He could not want Sebastian to take him. It would be the beginning of his enslavement. But he did. It was terrible and undeniable. He craved this, body and soul. He had pictured it and now it was real, this thing he needed, as real as air.
He stumbled away. He could not stay here another hour, much less another day; he would surely crack. He had to get out of here right now.
He went into the library, where the heat of the fire had died down somewhat. Yesterday he had noticed a bay window that faced out into the grounds. Now he fumbled with the bay window and cracked it open.
It was full dark now. Cool air scented with pine hit his face. He pushed through the gap, caught his shirt on something, slid, fell. Soft grass waited to catch him. He picked himself up, took a steadying breath, and walked away.
Away from Sebastian’s protection.
Away from Sebastian’s bed.
Away from Sebastian.
Because if Kit stayed one night longer in this house, he would beg Sebastian to claim him for his own.
ESCAPED
Kit fled into the night, leaving behind the sorcerer who wanted to be his master.
His heart stayed in his throat as he pushed through the grounds of the sorcerer’s manor, made threatening in the dark. Trees loomed out of nowhere; thorns caught at him, ripping the sleeves of his shirt. Unseen lakes lay waiting in hollows to drown him. The gleam of eyes in the dark startled him; a fox watched him pass from a nearby hedgerow, its ears pricked, its expression predatory. Once or twice Kit thought he heard someone following him—the crack of a branch, the whisper of a footstep—but when he froze, he heard nothing but the rapid beat of his own heart.
He did not know if he was relieved to be alone. If part of him was secretly hoping that Sebastian would drag him back.
His throat had gone dry. He swallowed hard. Miles ahead, a cluster of tiny gold lights gleamed in the darkness, marking a village half hidden among trees. If he could make it there, maybe he could escape for good.
Behind him, light spilled from the cracked-open window of the great ivy-covered house he had fled. He could hear the servant still crying out in pleasure inside. The local sorcerers were taking turns with the servant as they would eventually have done with Kit.
Kit shuddered. The familiar ache built inside him, heated and urgent. Sebastian had woken a part of him that should have been left sleeping, and now Kit was alive, awake, afire. He imagined Sebastian kissing him again and it was so intense he couldn’t breathe. Sebastian would pin him against a wall so Sebastian could devour his mouth, grinding his hot body against his. And then Kit’s resolve would melt completely and Kit would beg Sebastian to take him.
When Sebastian finally claimed him, the act would have a ritual power; Sebastian would enter his body and capture his soul in the same mom
ent. Kit was an incubus, he was meant to serve a sorcerer, it was in his nature. Kit would never escape another meeting with Sebastian. He would surrender completely.
Never again. Nobody could ever touch him.
He was so hard he couldn’t think. It should be him in the house crying out, not the servant. The heat of longing throbbed in time with his pulse.
The ache died slowly as the night wound on, as the house became distant behind him, as its lights dimmed against the vastness of the sky. Stars arced above him in one colossal curve of diamonds.
He’d done the right thing, he was sure of it. He could never allow himself to be claimed, it was madness. It was surrender. It was a lifetime of servitude, devoted to pleasing his master, giving up his body, his magic, his heart, his soul. Better to escape while he could.
He did not see the shadow leaning against the drystone wall until it spoke.
“You owe me another day,” said Sebastian.
Kit startled so badly his heart tried to escape through his throat. He took a sharp step back and the grass gave beneath his feet.
Sebastian peeled himself off the wall, a shadow in the night. As he straightened, Kit’s throat went dry; Sebastian towered over him, six feet at least and powerfully built. Sebastian was so handsome in the starlight that it made Kit’s breath catch; his hair seemed very black, his eyes very pale. “Three days,” Sebastian said. “That was the deal. If you can last three days without begging me to claim you, you can go free.”
“I’m not going to beg you!”
“I’m sure. That’s why you’re trying to escape. Because you’re not worried.”
The words stung. Kit felt his fists clenching. “I—You don’t understand. I can’t risk this. I would be bound to serve you my whole life. You could leave me, but I couldn’t leave you. You could take another servant, but I couldn’t have another master. Anything you wanted, I’d have to give. You would steal this magic I can’t even touch, you’d use me—”