by Kim Dare
“Do you have something to say, Ori?”
He licked his lips before he attempted to speak. “Shall I get dressed so I’ll be ready to answer the door, sir?”
“No.” The idea of Ori’s body being covered up, of Raynard not being able to see with his own eyes that there weren’t any truly serious injuries on him, sent a chill down Raynard’s spine and lent a snap to the word.
Ori made no comment as he resumed his lines.
The doorbell rang some twenty minutes later. Raynard left the room. When he came back, take away bag in hand, Ori glanced up.
“Shall I fetch…?” He trailed off and closed his eyes as if he couldn’t force himself to go on.
Stopping next to the table, Raynard held out his hand.
Ori looked down at the lines he’d written. The first page was full, as was a second. A third page had just been started. “I haven’t finished the thousand, sir.”
“Hardly surprising in this length of time.” Raynard continued to hold out his hand.
Ori eventually surrendered the pages to him.
“Fetch a tray from the kitchen.”
Relief poured off Ori. He scurried from the room as if afraid his master might change his mind. Raynard set the bag down on the coffee table and took a seat on the little sofa that occupied one corner of the room. He’d barely had time to set the take away cartons on the table before Ori had returned with his tray.
Either his arm wasn’t hurting him, or he was used to working through pain. Whichever it was, being allowed to provide Raynard with some kind of service seemed to have settled his nerves somewhat.
The tray was set for one. Raynard watched Ori kneel down and lay everything neatly on the coffee table before him. He was curious to see what his fledgling might do next. With the last item set in place, Ori rose. He looked toward the table where he’d been writing out his lines.
Raynard pointedly dropped a cushion where Ori had knelt on the carpet a moment before. Ori hesitated but lowered himself without needing Raynard to issue a verbal command.
Even then, Ori didn’t think he was going to be fed. Raynard could see it in his eyes.
Opening one of the boxes, Raynard ate a forkful of food. Ori made no comment. Raynard stabbed the fork back into the box and speared another mouthful. This time, Raynard offered the fork to Ori’s lips.
Ori pulled back slightly. He looked toward the table where he’d worked. “I haven’t finished, sir.”
“The lines will keep you busy for several days. I don’t intend to starve you in the meantime.” He nudged the fork against Ori’s lips.
Slowly, Ori opened his mouth and took the food from his master’s fork. A blush rose to his cheeks as he looked down at the things he’d brought up from the kitchen and seemed to realise he’d miscalculated.
“Shall I—?”
“Stay where you are.”
Raynard offered him another forkful. There was something curiously pleasing about watching the fledgling practically eat out of his hand. Raynard picked up the next mouthful of food with his bare fingers. That made an even more pleasing picture, and Ori blushing over it was hardly going to put him off—especially not when it suited Ori so well.
The colour didn’t fade from Ori cheeks as the meal continued. Not when Raynard held his glass to Ori’s lips for him to share his drink, or when he offered him his dessert, every mouthful of it lapped from the palm of Raynard’s hand. It made him look wonderfully healthy and alive. And how much of his embarrassment was down to the fact Raynard fed him by hand, and how much was due to the realisation that he was getting turned on by his master feeding him that way, was debatable anyway. As naked as he was, there was little Ori could do to conceal his cock as it stiffened and rose.
Raynard had always had a vague awareness that Ori would probably like being fussed over a little. It had never occurred to him that Ori would be turned on by it. Raynard hadn’t realised that he’d find it so pleasant a way to pass the time either.
As the food gradually disappeared from the coffee table, Raynard felt himself relax. Ori was fine. If he was in danger of anything at all, it was spontaneous submissive combustion due to Raynard’s teasing.
Reaching out to him, for once with no food on his fingertips, Raynard stroked his thumb across a heated cheek. Ori’s eyes dropped closed as he seemed to glory in his brief caress.
It was late. Ori was in no condition to be taken to his master’s bed. Still, when Raynard rose to his feet he couldn’t bring himself to send Ori back to the servants’ quarters.
Ori wasn’t a servant, he was a submissive, and a submissive slept wherever the hell his master wanted him to sleep. Raynard had every right to take the boy up to his room.
“Follow me.”
Ori had already started to collect up the empty take-away cartons, but he stopped what he was doing and clambered to his feet as soon as Raynard spoke. He followed Raynard out of the study and up the stairs without a word. Within a minute, they both stood in Raynard’s bedroom.
Tentative pleasure shone in Ori’s eyes, screaming his relief at being wanted there. Raynard looked across the room. As much as part of him would have loved to push Ori down on the bed and bury himself inside his body, to feel the life pounding through Ori and prove to the whole world beyond any doubt that Ori was fine, Raynard held back.
Ori’s ribcage rose and fell as he took a deep breath. He could easily have cracked a few ribs when he’d fallen.
Ducks were said to be hardy creatures, but Raynard didn’t have enough experience with them to know how quickly marks would show on a duckling’s skin to reflect any damage that lay beneath it.
Raynard stepped forward. Ori smiled cautiously up at him. Raynard caressed his cheek first, just as he had in the study. The same delight at his touch spread across Ori’s face.
Keeping his examination light and careful, Raynard began to explore the rest of Ori’s body, looking for hidden wounds as he gloried in the health and vitality that pulsed through Ori’s veins.
Ori stood very still, a touch of confusion creeping into his eyes as he registered that he wasn’t receiving the kind of caresses he’d come to expect from his master when he invited him to his bedroom.
Raynard ignored that. The inspection was too important for him to allow himself to get distracted. Gradually, his hands mapped out every inch of Ori. No complaint was uttered, but Raynard had a good enough read on Ori to notice the tension that crept into his muscles as Raynard moved his hands over his body.
There were a few shallow scratches that had already stopped bleeding. By the end of the examination, Raynard had a good idea where the bruises would be by morning too.
The only place he hadn’t examined for himself was the forearm beneath the bandage. No blood seeped through the crisp white fabric. Raynard was loath to unwind the material unnecessarily. He ran his fingers lightly over it. “Painful?” he asked.
Ori shook his head.
“The truth,” Raynard demanded.
“It was at first, sir. It’s not so bad now.”
Raynard continued to glare at the binding. “If the pain gets worse, you’re to tell me immediately—the same if it starts bleeding again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Raynard tucked his knuckles under Ori’s chin and made him meet his eyes for several long seconds, so he could see how important the matter was to him. “I’m serious, Ori.”
Ori’s jaw twitched under Raynard’s touch as he swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
Raynard made him hold his eyes for a few seconds longer, before he was finally satisfied with what Ori understood.
“Into bed.”
Ori turned away from him. He didn’t seem to know quite what to do with himself. By the time Raynard had tossed aside his clothes and was ready to slide between the sheets next to him, Ori was still sitting on top of the blankets, apparently awaiting further instruction.
Raynard tugged the covers as far back as they could go w
hile Ori sat there. The duckling shuffled around until they were freed from beneath him. Raynard lay down next to him and pulled the blanket up over them both.
Ori frowned slightly as he stared across the bed at him. There was little point in Raynard pretending that all he wanted to do was sleep. If there had been fewer injuries hidden just beneath Ori’s skin, there would be no question of what they would do next. Raynard couldn’t be the only man in the room who knew that.
As things stood, Raynard merely lay under the blankets on the other side of the bed and tried to push his pillow into some position that might allow him to sleep. Switching off the light, he stared up into the darkness.
For a long time the room was silent enough that he was almost willing to swear he could hear the wheels turning around in Ori’s head.
“Speak,” he ordered, when the tension in the room built up to a level he wasn’t willing to tolerate.
“If you’ve changed your mind, sir…” Ori whispered.
“You sleep where your master wants you to sleep,” Raynard said, leaving no room for argument in his tone.
Silence seeped back into the room. Then, finally—“Yes, sir.” He sounded thoroughly obedient, but as Raynard lay listening to his breathing, it was obvious his fledgling wasn’t making the least attempt to sleep.
Reaching across the bed, Raynard caught Ori around the waist and pulled him back along the sheet until Ori was curled in front of him, while Raynard spooned behind him.
Every muscle in Ori’s body tensed, yet it only took him a second to alter his position, and offer his body for his master to take whatever he wanted.
“Sleep,” Raynard reminded—himself just as much as Ori.
“I…” Ori hesitated. “Yes, sir.”
Knowing he was curled up safe in his master’s arms seemed to reassure Ori that he truly was welcome in his bed that night. If the knowledge didn’t sink in to his mind, it at least registered with his physical self. Within a few minutes, the heat from Raynard’s larger body mass seemed to have soothed him into a deep, contented slumber.
Moving carefully, so as not to wake him, Raynard rested his temple on the back of Ori’s head. That was right. Their positions were solely for his fledgling’s benefit, so Ori would be able to sleep knowing he was safe.
Ori was safe. Raynard repeated that fact just one more time inside his head, and it was impossible to believe that anything was entirely for Ori’s benefit.
Raynard would just take one night to reassure himself that Ori was fine, and that would be the end of it, Raynard told himself firmly. Tomorrow everything would be back to normal, and Ori would mean no more to him than any of the other avians who’d submitted to him in the past.
And Raynard almost believed everything he told himself. Almost.
Chapter Seven
“Busy day, Ori?”
Ori spun around.
Raynard stood in the kitchen doorway. Today, of all days, he’d come home early. All of Ori’s plans to have everything perfect for Raynard as he stepped through the door were ruined, but he still couldn’t help but be pleased to see his master. The house was different when Raynard was home. The world was a very different—much better—place.
Raynard walked slowly across the kitchen toward him. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
“Hello, sir,” Ori offered.
“I asked if you’ve had a busy day,” Raynard reminded him, as he stepped past and around Ori.
“I couldn’t find the lines, sir,” Ori blurted out. And he’d wanted so badly to have them finished for his master when he came home.
“I locked them in my desk drawer.”
Not sure what to say, Ori studied the kitchen floor just in front of his feet.
“Punishments are always supervised—you don’t have permission to work on them unless I’m here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Raynard was standing right behind him by that point. He settled his hand on Ori’s waist and stroked his thumb back and forth over a rare patch of unbruised skin. Ori closed his eyes.
Raynard had already thoroughly inspected the injuries that had become visible overnight. It had been a torturous, teasing process that had left Ori with an erection that had lingered long after Raynard had left the house that morning.
“Were you good while I was out?”
Ori nodded. Raynard leaned forward and pressed his body against Ori’s back. Ori whimpered helplessly with need as Raynard moved against him. But he couldn’t completely give himself up to the embrace. His master had asked him a question. Had he been good?
Ori took a deep breath. Raynard had provided him with a long and detailed description of what being good entailed on that particular day. It principally involved not clambering about on unsteady bits of furniture, and resting if his injuries made his chores too painful to complete.
“Yes, sir.” He’d been good.
“Did you rest?”
“I…I didn’t need to, sir.” Ori’s voice faltered as Raynard wrapped his hand around his hardening cock. It was, much to Ori’s relief, one of those rare parts of his body that didn’t bear any marks from his fall. There was no need for Raynard to let his fingers play there unless it was for the pure joy of seeing his submissive squirm while he teased.
“You’ve been cooking.”
“Yes, sir,” Ori managed to whisper.
“What?”
“Sir?”
“What have you been cooking?” Raynard clarified, more than a little amusement creeping into his voice as he rubbed his thumb across the head of Ori’s cock, smearing the pre-cum that leaked from the slit all over the glans.
“I…” Ori couldn’t make his mind work. Food. He’d been making something. He knew that. After failing to prepare anything the previous day and Raynard having to order a take-away when he might not have wanted to, Ori had been determined not to fail at the same task two days in a row. There was food on the cooker top. He just couldn’t remember what the hell it was.
Raynard chuckled as he turned Ori around. He brushed his lips against Ori’s mouth very lightly. It was just as much a tease as his fingers were against Ori’s skin.
Ori’s eyes dropped closed. He savoured Raynard’s acceptance until he felt him step away and leave him standing alone by the kitchen table, not entirely steady on his feet.
Raynard turned and walked away. As he reached the door leading back up to the main part of the house, he looked over his shoulder. “Ori?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Spaghetti.”
Ori blinked at him.
“Dinner tonight—it’s spaghetti.” He tilted his head toward the pans on the cooker. Ori followed his gaze. The scent of the sauce made its way back into his senses. Spaghetti. That was right. He heard Raynard chuckle as he left the kitchen.
Ori remembered how to breathe. Shaking his head at himself, he turned his attention back to his duties, but his mind didn’t seem to be willing to come back under his control.
Raynard had been angry with him. He remembered the feeling well. Raynard had been furious with him. And he’d also fussed over him, and let him sleep upstairs in his bed for no reason at all and…Ori shook his head again. Replaying it all over and over inside his mind wasn’t making his mind work, it was just starving his brain of blood supply as it all rushed to his cock instead.
Raynard was pleased with him now. He even seemed to have gone out of his way to tell him so. Lifting his hand to his collar, Ori just reminded himself, one more time, of the things that were really important. He belonged to his master, and Raynard wasn’t going to send him away. Everything else could be worried about later—or maybe never at all.
He didn’t let any doubts creep back into his head until the last of the dinner things were put neatly away, the kitchen cleaned and he was free to go in search of his master once more.
Slipping into the library, Ori found Raynard already there, sitting in his usual chair
by the fireside. Ori was halfway across the room, heading for the cushion by his master’s feet, when Raynard looked up.
A nod from Raynard directed Ori’s attention to the table on the other side of the room. The pad of paper Ori had started to write his lines upon rested on the polished mahogany surface. A pen lay next to it.
Ori looked toward Raynard. Their dinner had passed very nicely, almost companionably, while Raynard patiently tried to explain to him exactly why it was so important to keep proper business records and just how much of a fool his uncle had been.
There was no hint of the man who’d sat opposite Ori at the kitchen table now. It was as if the simple act of taking the pen and paper from his desk drawer had reminded Raynard just how angry he had every right to be.
Not knowing what else to do, Ori retreated to the table and sat down.
The lines weren’t a problem. They weren’t even a real punishment. There was no harm they could do him, except give him a slightly sore wrist. Part of him understood that.
Being banished from his master’s side was a different matter. Ori hadn’t really realised how much he loved that quiet part of the evening when he was allowed to simply sit with Raynard and feel both his presence and his approval wrap around him after a hard day’s work.
Ori stared down at the lined paper for several long seconds before he could bring himself to pick up the pen. Raynard had said it would take him days to finish the lines. If the only time he’d be permitted to work on them was during this part of the evening, he was right. Ori could easily believe it would be weeks before he was allowed to crawl back to his master, before he could know if he would truly be welcomed back at the end of it all.
Finally, Ori put the pen to the paper and set about copying the same words out again and again. The ink slowly filled the page. Forming each letter as neatly as he was able, Ori concentrated all his energy on completing the task to the best of his ability in spite of the way his hand wanted to shake and tremble.
His other arm burned beneath its bandage. Scrapes and bruises that hadn’t bothered him through the day started to complain loudly. It was as if Raynard’s disapproval made them worse than they could ever be while Raynard was pleased with him. With every moment that passed, more and more pain rushed through Ori, until he was lightheaded with it.
