Gambling Heart

by Thom Lane

  I thought he’d just hold me there while he came, while he came and came—but then he surprised me, lifting me away entirely, leaving all the length of his cock glistening and alone, abandoned. I may have whimpered a protest under my breath, but his hands were irresistible. He bent over me, held me still, and kissed me, mouth to mouth and tongue to tongue, deep and demanding. Then his grip shifted, he scooped me up in both arms and tossed me onto the bed, facedown.

  Free folk aren’t as helpless as we all like to pretend. I’d never seen him undress himself, but he must have stripped his clothes away in moments; it felt like no time at all before he was lying beside me, half on top of me, all skin on skin.

  One hand closed around my collar again to hold me still, though I had no thoughts of moving except under his command. His other hand roamed down my body, from the nape of my ironclad neck all the way to my ready butt, stroking over ribs and spine on its way, determined and unhurried and undelayed.

  His fingers were slick with something, his spit or my sweat, something. They squeezed my cheeks, then slid into the cleft between; they pressed imperiously against my sphincter, then bulled their heedless way in while I gasped and squirmed and bit my lip hard to keep from yelling.

  Then his fingers retreated and his cock came in, ruder yet, rougher, more demanding. He’d enjoyed the day’s adventure and the evening’s play, my smug master; now he was riding a wave of ebullience, shrugging everything aside except his own content and his ownership of me, his desires and my ability to satisfy them.

  Which gave me the chance to be smug in my turn, to earn my own self-content: to bring him to a place where he sweated too, where his breath came in hard-snatched gasps, where we strained against each other until at last he could hold out no longer and his body spasmed all the length of mine as he came, as he came and came and so did I.

  We find our luxuries where we may. For me, for any slave, sleep is a treat; to sleep and sleep, through dawn till midday and further yet, is a marvel almost beyond measure. Boneless and sodden with it, too deep for dreaming, I slept all day against my master’s side, rousing only to understand the wonder of it and then to sink again.

  He did wake me in the end, but gently, strokingly, his fingers light across my skin, playing with my cock as it stiffened under his touch. He was laughing and merciless, both at once: one hand tight in my collar to hold me still, the other working me, milking me till once again I was sweating and biting my lip in the desperate effort not to come until he allowed it.

  Which he did, at length, at cruel ruthless length. I cried out as I spurted, until I was spent; and then he let me go, and I turned naturally to him and rubbed my tear-wet cheeks against his shoulder and nuzzled at his chest and wished that I could tell him how I felt, how he melted me inside. But you never do, you never ever do, because why would they care, the free folk? You belong to them, you serve them, you satisfy them; that’s all. Your feelings don’t matter.

  His feelings matter entirely, to me. He felt dirty, he felt hungry; he was quite clear about that. So did I, but I didn’t bother to mention it. There was a steam bath at the end of the street, a tent that sweated aromatic clouds, but Master Jensen was in too much hurry to linger. We went down to the stream instead and scrubbed each other in bright cold water, yelping and giggling at the chill of it, rubbing each other down like horses after. Then we found breakfast, though it was almost supper now. He ate hugely and fed me generously from his fingers, from his plate—and then we went back to the Street of Games.

  And that was the plan of our days and nights for the rest of that week, that he played late and we slept late and fucked late and fed late. It could almost have been boring if it hadn’t been delightful and tense and complex and challenging, and I don’t only mean the sex.

  And then one noon I left my master sleeping, and took his linens and my own tunic down to the stream to launder. I was scrubbing away, warm sunshine on my bare back and the wicked icy bite of the water on my legs where I knelt in the current, when a shadow fell across me and I looked up to see another slave boy come on the same errand, his arms full of his master’s patched, worn smallclothes.

  Tam grinned at me privately, splashed down beside me, and for a while we worked innocently side by side, rubbing and rinsing and pounding away in the fierce chill of the water. Then we murmured together, head to head; and then we heaped up all the laundry in a still pool under the bank, weighted it down with rocks, and splashed away downstream hand in hand, for all the world like two lusty young bucks stealing an hour from their masters’ service, risking a beating each but reckoning it worth the risk, apparently.

  The stream wound away into the shadow of overhanging trees, so that soon enough we were entirely lost to sight. Tam led me in a scramble up the bank and through a pathless tangle of woodland, to a clearing where his master sat camped over a smudge of fire, waiting.

  Master Lucan was no less scary than before, despite his own easy manner and Tam’s best efforts at silent reassurance. I dropped to my knees, bowed my head, and waited for his interrogation.

  “Well, boy? What says your master?”

  “Please, he says that as far as he can tell the games are as honest as any. He’s played up and down the street, and every booth has a house percentage, of course—but there’s no cheating that he can detect. And nobody’s winning unreasonably; most people have runs of luck, good and bad, as you might expect. They win one night and lose the next. The only odd thing is that they just keep playing. Everyone’s keeping within their means, choosing the games they can afford, moving up or down according to their skill and their luck; it’s just that no one moves on, no one goes home unless they lose it all. Last night he had me help him. I made him as lucky as I could, as lucky as I dared—and nothing changed, no one reacted, they just took their losses and carried on.”

  “Hunh.” Master Lucan absorbed that for a minute, then went on, “And you, lad, what do you say? What can you find that your master is blind to?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing more. I can’t see any magical influence, and I can’t sense it anywhere outside the banker’s tent. There are mages there, but—”

  “Are there, indeed? I was right to keep away, then; they’d know me. I’m glad I made one good decision, at least, in all this confusion. But tell me more about these mages…”

  When Master Jensen roused at last, as the sun westered, he found all the windows open to the breeze and his laundry hung over the sills to dry, his slave boy alert and attentive and ready for him, and his mission changed.

  “Master Lucan says you should cash in your tokens, claim last night’s winnings and all the rest of your money, and leave. Or try to, at least. Just to see what happens.”

  “Does he? And what does he suggest I do about all my things being dripping wet?”

  I giggled. “I don’t think he thought about that, Master. But then, I don’t think he thinks you’ll be able to go. One way or another. And I did leave you one set of clothes to wear…”

  “Did you so? That was…very thoughtful of you. And for yourself?”

  “It’s a warm afternoon, Master. I can wear the tunic damp, and it’ll dry on me. If Master allows me to wear it, of course.”

  “Of course. That went without saying. Or it should have done.” He frowned at me mightily, then grinned and drew me to the side of the bed, running his hands up and down over my back and butt, making me shiver deliciously. “I do prefer you like this. And I don’t want you getting spoiled, thinking you’re entitled to run around in pretty clothes all day. Or any clothes at all, come to that. That tunic’s just a costume for the occasion, and I’ll have it off you as soon as we’re away from here. Remember that.”

  “Yes, Master.” I’d be just as happy naked—clothes only got in the way when he reached to touch me—but right now we were still playing our roles, a gambler and his discreet body slave. Never mind if they were as natural to us as our own skins, we still needed to act them out. So I dressed him for his par
t, and he dressed me for mine.

  “At least dark linen doesn’t show the wet,” he murmured, tugging the tunic straight across my shoulders. “Though it does show everything else,” he added, smiling as his finger traced the line of my cock where the fabric clung. “Just try not to get excited, eh?”

  “Yes, Master.” The rough chill of it against my skin helped there; simple fear helped more. I was a long way from excited as I heeled him across the camp to the banker’s tent. Free folk scared me anyway, and mages scared me more—but mostly I was really scared for him. He was pitted here against people so much more powerful, so much darker and more determined than my casual, heedless master. He could lose so much, and I’d be the least of it…

  Straight to the banker’s tent he went, like a young man intent on collecting what was owed him. Maybe he should have settled up for the room first; maybe I should have packed all his things—all his other things—and carried them with us for added conviction, but his gold was yet one more of his things, and would need careful packing in among everything else, and he’d want to see that done discreetly in the room before he left. So yes, this was right, to come here first. Nobody would see anything unusual in it; no one would think he didn’t actually intend or expect to leave.

  Actually, I thought my master did intend and expect to leave. I didn’t think he could imagine anyone getting in his way, when he was focused and determined. Privately, I thought he only half believed that I could influence his choices, when he was drunk and distracted and in ignorance. With all his senses about him, no one could catch him unawares, and who would dare tackle him head-on…?

  Boldly, then, he went straight in; I held the door flap for him, and followed as discreet and silent as his shadow.

  Just as before, there was the banker behind his table, the mages off to one side. Master Jensen didn’t hesitate; he dropped his fat bag of tokens to the table, took the banker’s receipt from his tunic pocket, and said, “I’d like to settle up and reclaim my money, please. I’m moving on.”

  “Oh, but you’ve only just arrived! Is the gaming not to your satisfaction?”

  “The gaming’s fine, but there are other places to game. I have restless feet,” he said, my truthful master, “I like to keep moving.”

  “Well, I can understand that, in a young man with resources. However, there’s no need to take your gold from me. No need to carry it with you, in all the dangers of the road. You can spare your boy the weight of it and ease your mind entirely, simply by relying on my note of hand. That’s mage-guaranteed and good anywhere in the empire. One sheet of paper, so much easier to handle and far less risky. I’ll give you silver for your tokens—you seem to have done well in this short time: congratulations!—and you’ll see, you’ll find paper just so much more convenient to a traveling man—”

  “No,” said my master, flat and firm. “I want my gold, please. All my gold. I’ll take the risk of it, and my boy can take the weight.”

  The banker made more mild protests, which Master Jensen overrode stubbornly, for all the world as though he’d been born to wealth and position and arrogance. He wanted what was his, he wanted it all, and he wanted it now; nothing else would satisfy.

  And that’s when I felt it first, the strong subtle pressure of a powerful mind. Turned not on me, of course, but on my master; I was only sensing the backwash here, and that was almost too much for me. It almost carried me along with it, helpless as flotsam. I could only resist because I knew it for what it was, a mage’s hand at work: like what I did myself when I leaned against another’s will, only a thousand times more refined. Deep, trained, mature. I barely touched that mind and flinched away instantly. I didn’t dare so much as lift my head, to see which of the mages was doing this. I clenched my fists behind my back, bit my lip hard to keep myself focused and aware, held my breath and struggled to be invisible, unnoticed, overlooked. Without leaning on anyone in the least degree, to make it so. I’d have done that almost by instinct, except that I remembered Master Lucan’s swift response the one time I tried to lean on him. I’m a quick learner, and I was never going to lean on any mage ever again. Never lean on anyone, if a mage was nearby to sense it.

  Sometimes it’s good to be a slave. No one paid me the least mind. My poor master, though: he didn’t stand a chance. His voice faltered, and I could hear all that determination ebb away from him in a moment. He wasn’t acting now, not playing the part as written; he was truly and entirely convinced that he didn’t need his money, no, and actually perhaps he wouldn’t leave yet after all, a few more days here, yes, he’d enjoy that, and perhaps he’d be lucky, perhaps he’d win more, double his money, yes…

  He came out of that tent clutching his tokens and murmuring those lines like a mantra. I dogged his heels like a good boy, until I saw that he was heading directly for a gaming tent. I couldn’t stand back and watch him play when he wasn’t in his right mind, was barely in his own mind at all; watch him lose and lose, as he surely would in this state. More, I owed it to him and Master Lucan both, to see him restored to his true self. More yet, most yet, I just couldn’t bear to leave him this way, adrift in his own skull, his will enslaved to someone else’s scheming…

  Which is a long way of saying that I broke my word, I broke my promise. I did what I had sworn I would not do. Nobody cares, of course, about a slave’s promises. No free folk care, that is. They want obedience, not promises. That’s what’s important, really: that I disobeyed my master. I could justify it any way I liked, every way I thought of; it made no difference to the fact, to the deed.

  I took him by the elbow and led him between one booth and another, into the quiet space behind. He was still so dizzy that he came willingly enough, just frowning at me in his confusion where my sharp master should have been cuffing me away for my impertinence. I stretched up and kissed his cheek lightly, just because I wanted to—and then I did it.

  I leaned into him, clear and strong and commanding.

  Don’t listen to those voices in your head, those other voices. Just listen to me. Come back to me, be yourself again. Your name is Jensen, and you make your own choices. You don’t let anyone else dictate to you. Not even me. You’re your own master, and mine too. Come back to me…

  It wasn’t that easy. The mage’s touch was deep in his head, insidious, persuasive; and I wasn’t trained, only self-taught and well practiced. It took me longer than I liked, to reach him. I was almost giving up, beginning to think the task too much for me—perhaps I ought to abandon my master to the voices while I ran for Master Lucan?—when at last there was a responsive gleam in his eyes. His hands closed on my waist, first sign of his own will returning. I closed my eyes for a moment in relief, leaned my head against his shoulder, and spoke aloud for the first time, murmured, “Master?”

  “Jay,” he said, speaking softly and effortfully. “I called you Jay, because you belong to me.”

  “That’s right, Master. Welcome back.”

  I smiled up at him hopefully, and his lips twitched in response. He brushed a kiss across my brow, and my heart leaped. Then he frowned, and shook his head, and clung close to me as if I were the rock he needed.

  That made my heart melt altogether. I wrapped my arms around him and held him safe and warm in the shadows there, and tried to wish all the world away. All the mages of the world especially: I wished them all in hell, the banker’s pair and Master Lucan too. They should all just leave us alone, let us be, free of all their bindings and demands.

  I could only hope the mages in the tent wouldn’t feel this, as he struggled up into his proper consciousness again. It was a slow and a difficult journey, and once he’d started on it there was really nothing I could do to help. Only hold him and be there and be patient, strong to meet his weakness, submissive beneath his hands.

  That last at least was easy. It came naturally to me, to stand still under his touch and take his weight until he could balance for himself, to wait until he was ready to move on.

 
“Jay, what happened to me?”

  “Don’t you remember?”

  “Not properly, no. It’s all a fog.”

  “We did what Master Lucan wanted.” Curse his dark eyes and his dark demands. “At least, I hope… Anyway, you did what he wanted; you went to the banker and asked for all your gold. Only the mages leaned on you, and changed your mind for you—”

  “Leaned on me? Magically, do you mean? Like you did?”

  “Y-yes, Master,” though it had never felt like magic to me. It wasn’t any kind of spell, just a gift I had, to lean on someone’s mind as readily as I could lean on their body. If I dared to. “So then you went all foggy, but you were going to do just what they wanted. You were going to stay here and keep gaming, and that wasn’t… Well, I didn’t think that was what you wanted, not when you were thinking clearly. So I…I…”

  “Well? What did you do?” His voice was as crisp as he could make it, the free man demanding an answer from his slave. His hands were kinder, working gently on my body, coaxing a confession.

  I trusted the promise of his touch and leaned into him, purely physically, mumbling into his shirt. “I’m sorry, Master. You told me not to, never to, and I never would, only they were doing it too, and worse than I can. Better than I can, I mean. They’re master mages, they could make you dance any way they wanted to; but once I got you away from them, at least I could break that grip they had and bring you back to yourself again.” As he was now, my sturdy master. Strong and resilient, slipping his hand under the skirt of my tunic, rubbing his thumb thoughtfully back and forth across my pelvic bone in a way that almost took my mind off anything else, almost.

  “You mean you did the same thing yourself. You went into my mind.”

  “Yes, Master.” It was nothing but relief to say it, in the two words that came most readily to my tongue. “Only to push them out of it, but…I did it, yes. Are you going to whip me again?”