Lovers and Beloveds

by MeiLin Miranda

  Temmin's voice refused to work. He pushed back against the finger and it worked in deeper, stretching him gently. It moved in and out, always coming back to brush against the spot that made him lightheaded, near dissolving into white nothingness. A second finger joined the first. He was ready for it, wanting it; his moans grew more guttural, deeper. The fingers stayed on that spot, massaging until the fingers were all there were in the world.

  "You're all stretched out for me," said Issak in his ear. "D'you know what I'm going to do now? I'm going to fuck you." The fingers withdrew; the world returned, and Temmin exhaled in a soft wail. Issak rolled him over on his back; his eyes glowed green and dangerous, even in the low light, and his hair hung wild and black around him. And yet to Temmin, giving himself to Issak seemed like the safest, most natural thing in the world. Issak slicked himself with the slippery liquid; Temmin's cock was longer, just as he was taller, but like his body, Issak's had more weight, potent and heavy in his hand. "This is for you, and you will take it all. Won't you?"

  "Will it hurt?" whispered Temmin.

  "Do you care?"

  "No."

  "Do you trust me?"

  "Yes."

  "Then hold your legs back." Issak smiled, slipping a hand up and down Temmin's length. He slid his fingers back inside, gently stretching, then removed them and centered himself, the head pushing against Temmin's opening. "Push out," whispered Issak. "Let me in." Temmin pushed out, and Issak pushed in.

  The ring of muscle burned, just as Emmae's had, but once the head pushed all the way in, the burning receded and left nothing but the strange thrill. Issak advanced by small, gentle degrees until he was entirely inside, and he stayed there, his dark-shadowed jaw flexing until he began to move.

  Temmin had always thought it was Emmae's enchantment that had brought her such unwanted pleasure on her wedding night. But with each stroke the shivering ache pulsed through him, his skin a-quiver. Issak touched that spot again, sliding past it over and over, and Temmin's eyes rolled back in his head in unending, shuddering bliss. Even so, when he reached down between them and discovered his erection was gone, he let out an involuntary gasp of frustration. "It's normal," soothed Issak. "In time you will learn to stay hard, but going soft is normal."

  "I still feel hard," said Temmin, forcing the words out between ragged breaths. "I think--I think I have to piss!"

  "No, you don't, I promise. Let it be. Am I hurting you?"

  "No!" blurted Temmin. "Don't--don't stop!" Sweat beaded on Issak's forehead; his white teeth closed on his bottom lip. His eyes shone with a gentle cruelty, and Temmin swore he was even more beautiful than Allis.

  Issak let out a long growl and pushed deep inside, to the point of pain. A great twitch, a pulse, and Issak leaned in temporary exhaustion against Temmin's legs, stretching them back even further. "Push out again," Issak said when he'd regained his breath. His softening cock slithered out, and he collapsed onto the couch. He gathered Temmin into his arms and kissed him, licking at his lips. "You are very, very tight," he murmured dreamily. "I could've held on longer--all night, actually--but I couldn't ride you hard your first time. Some day, I will."

  Temmin lay dizzy in the safe circle of Issak's arms as his mind began to work again. It should have hurt. He should have been frightened. He should be angry with himself for letting Issak lead him into it. He shook, and gasped in dismay as he tried and failed to stop, just as Emmae had. "It's normal, the shaking," muttered Issak. "Never worry. It will pass."

  "What did you do?" he said through chattering teeth.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I didn't want that...and you made me want it."

  "I did nothing of the kind. You wanted it and you didn't know it yet. That's all."

  "I didn't even know men did this! I thought it was all hands and mouths." He shook harder; Issak responded with a reassuring tightening of his arms, and Temmin burrowed into him, relieved and humiliated.

  "Sometimes it's like this," said Issak. "Not all the time. It depends on the men involved. You've had sex with a man before."

  "Alvo?" frowned Temmin. "I don't really think of that as sex."

  "And yet you're getting excited again." Issak slapped at Temmin's cock; it swayed in the air. He slid down the couch and put his head between Temmin's legs, licking him in one long, wet swallop from his balls to the tip. Temmin's cock vanished into Issak's mouth, disappearing and reappearing, glistening. His hips moved in time with Issak's sucking, until a finger pushed inside him and right to the spot, that spot, oh Gods, it was that spot. Issak's mouth picked up speed, until the world vanished. He arched up into the tight wetness that was all that was left of reality, shouting as his seed shot out of him. He twitched in the void, suspended and sparking, until the world filled in the space around him once again, and he fell back onto the couch panting Issak's name.

  "I don't know if I'll ever walk again," Temmin said after a time. "I don't know if I want to walk again."

  "We're not falling asleep here," said Issak. "Up with you." He half-dragged, half-led Temmin to one of the alcove beds in the wall, large and soft; Temmin tumbled into it. Issak washed himself at the sink and tumbled in after him. They fell asleep in minutes, Temmin's blond head on Issak's chest, his fingers tangled in Issak's black hair.

  All through breakfast, Temmin wondered about his behavior. It was a silent, musing meal in which the twins respected his mood; indeed, it didn't even seem to surprise them. He wondered all through his leave-taking with the Most Highs and the Holy Ones, his enjoyment of the goodbye kisses muted and absent-minded. He wondered as he climbed gingerly onto Jebby's back, trying to form the questions as well as the answers.

  Why had he submitted to Issak--how had Issak persuaded him, when after Emmae's experience had consumed him, he'd sworn it would never happen to him, ever, assuming it would ever come up, which it wouldn't. She'd been humiliated, shamed, used, and didn't that come with it? But with Issak, he'd felt nothing but trust. Had he told Issak to stop, Issak would have stopped. He'd told Issak not to stop. He'd gone to the Temple simply for Allis. The spiritual trappings were confusing, and possibly useful; he wanted to gain the kind of control over himself and his world that Issak seemed to have. Now, he wondered if there were more to it than even that.

  Questions usually angered him. He preferred answers, absolutes, not ambiguities. He liked his world in black and white, and these questions were a stubborn gray. He wanted the answers, even though they promised to lead to more questions. He wanted to stay at the Temple, and learn.

  On the remaining ride to the Keep, he endured the sullen streets with greater equanimity, staying his heels from Jebby's ribs, and holding his head high. The barriers to Supplicancy both within and without him were gone.

  Let his father choke.

  At the Dunley Arms, in the High Street of Reggiston, lived a Corrishman. He hadn't lived there very long--only two days. He didn't look Corrish, nor did he sound Corrish, at least now; his voice lacked the melodious, doleful, singing tone largely all that was left of the Corrish language, but if need be, he could sound as posh as any Maryakuspan gentleman, as coarse as any borderlands deerherder, or as sophisticated as any fashionable gentleman on the Capital's Promenade.

  His eyes turned down at the outside corners, and when his handsome face was in repose they gave him such a naturally melancholy appearance that old women passing by in the street were likely to stop, take his hand and ask him how he did. In the course of his work, the Corrishman had schooled the melancholic, meditative gaze so characteristic of the far north from his sad eyes, the Corrish gaze that could turn on a moment's notice harsh and cold as an icy wind whipping around a corner; the long northern winters taught the inhabitants too much about the fickleness of the world.

  He'd pelted down the highway from Corland to Whithorse on his master's business, stopping only to change horses and snatch a scanty few hours of sleep before settling at the Dunley Arms. His handsome face, his demeanor of quality, and his ge
nerous purse quickly made him friends in the tap room, especially the innkeeper.

  The innkeeper was not the first Dunley at the Arms; his older brother had owned it first, he told his wealthy guest over the pint of ale the Corrishman had bought him. The brother died, leaving no son. And so in course the present Mr Dunley turned the widow and her daughter out and took the Arms for himself. "It's Pagg's Law," said the man somewhat defensively.

  "Oh, to be sure," murmured the Corrishman. "You did what was right and proper, to be sure. I do wonder, though, if the mother and daughter ended up in a Mother's House?"

  "Oh, no, no, sir!" cried Mr Dunley. "For shame, no, for who could see his own people living in a Mother's House? No, sir. Tellis--that's my sister-in-law--took in washing, and our Mattie--that's my niece--she's a grown girl. Mattie went into service at the Estate, and sent her wages to her mama like a good girl. Her mother'd served at the Estate when she was young, you see, born on the Estate. They 'most never hire from out of the Estate, oh no. No need. Plenty of help to be had, born and raised there. But the Old Duchess, she made an exception for Mattie. Even took her into the Estate school, taught her reading and writing--waste on a servant if you ask me, especially a girl, but the Old Duchess has advanced idears on such things. Much good it did Tellis," Mr Dunley snorted. He took a deep draft of his ale, and nearly wiped his mouth on his sleeve before remembering he wasn't in the back by himself. "Pretty little thing, Mattie. Very taking. Just like her mother. Would've had Tellis to wed myself, but Darwas got there first, didn't he. Ah, well."

  "I wonder if your niece is as pretty as my sister. I'd lay wages she isn't," smiled the Corrishman, producing a miniature from his pocket. "I'd lay a five silver piece on it."

  "Aye," said the innkeeper, squinting, "a lovely girl you have, but not as pretty as our Mattie." He stretched out his hand for the silver.

  "But I should like to see her myself before I pay my fiver," laughed the Corrishman.

  "Well, sir, I'll tell you," said his host. "I don't know where she is. Tellis come to us not a spoke ago, and said they was leaving Reggiston! And her, born on the Estate!"

  "How odd," said his listener.

  "Aye, sir, passing odd! Said she had money come to her from a distant uncle. Distant uncle. Her people are all Estatesmen! None of 'em have that kind of scratch, sir, and that's a fact. But she and Mattie, they're gone. Last I saw of 'em, they was off to the Owl. Hired a post and four, if you can believe it! I'm supposing they went north after this uncle. Poor Darwas, I'm glad he's dead rather than see it." He took back his hand glumly.

  "Oh, good host, never be sad. Here--I will take you at your word. Here is your fiver. And another pint for the both of us, eh?"

  "Thank you, sir, thank you very kindly!" cried Mr Dunley, happily bustling back to the taps.

  "Oh, no," murmured the Corrishman, "thank you."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Keep's servants slept little the week before Neya's Day. All the rooms, even the bedrooms in the Old Residence Wing, were turned out and prepared for guests who might or might not be staying. As they did at the turning of every spoke, the maids received new pinafores, and the footmen new shirtfronts. The maids beat every carpet, brushed every curtain and tapestry; the footmen, under Affton's hypercritical eye, polished every piece of silver, every candlestick, every brass doorknob, grand entrance and mudroom alike, even though their sheen already blinded the onlooker.

  On Neya's Day Eve, the King traditionally hosted one of the last great balls, a high point of the waning social season that would end a spoke later, along with the spring, on Nerr's Day. This year was no exception, and the day found the Keep in an ever mounting frenzy of decorating; garlands draped every bannister, huge sprays of hothouse flowers filled every alcove, topped every table, and more flowers hung in swags from the ballroom ceiling, gigantic ropes of pink, white and red. Even the servants' quarters boasted little bouquets of more common flowers, and those rarer blooms whose stems had decided not to cooperate and snapped short instead.

  Temmin let the family know he would only be attending briefly, wishing, he said, to spend Neya's Day elsewhere. His mother pursed her lips in silence; his father clapped him gently on the shoulder and said, "Why wouldn't you, indeed?"

  For her part, Sedra sighed and wished the ball already over and done. She was twenty-one, and tired of her siblings' teenaged drama. Temmin could take the whole staff to his bed for all she cared, though she wished he'd be more discreet; at least Papa stopped his whoring at the door to the servants' quarters. Ah, well, it was time. Mama couldn't keep him a child forever.

  She marched down the ballroom stairs on her father's arm, a good daughter of Tremont, if one in pinching shoes. To her relief, Temmin led Ellika out on the floor first for the opening dobla, the two near as well-matched as the Obbys, as she overheard one of the footmen whisper in exchange for an elbow in the gut from his fellow.

  At the end of the dobla, Temmin relinquished his second sister to her throng of admirers, and offered his hand to Sedra. "Just the one, Seddy," he wheedled, "and then I'm off." The orchestra struck up a modern dance, one their mother frowned on and thus irresistible even to the straitlaced Princess Royal; she fastened up the train of her dark gold gown and let him whirl her onto the dance floor.

  Temmin beamed down at her. "You're in wonderful looks tonight." He himself looked older; his beard had filled in since his arrival at the Keep, and he held his head more confidently. Perhaps he was growing up more quickly than she'd thought.

  "And you are looking suspiciously cheerful, baby brother," she replied.

  "Baby, am I?" he cried. He seized her firmly round the waist and romped her down the room double time, scattering the other dancers. Temmin's hair flew all around his face, a gangly, exuberant, golden puppy in spite of his newfound poise. He danced her around in such a hectic way that she hung on for dear life, a task made harder by her own helpless laughter.

  "Temmy, do slow down!" she gasped.

  "Say I'm not a baby!"

  "You're not a baby! You're not a baby!"

  He smirked, and resumed the usual pace of the dance. "You're entirely too serious, Seddy. You should laugh more."

  "You're entirely too ridiculous," she said, smiling up at him as she caught her breath against her corset. If she were queen, tight-lacing would be the first thing she outlawed. "I take it your giddy demeanor can be traced to your trip to see your little friends."

  "Ah," he said, his face closing in a way she'd never seen before, irritatingly secret and a tad superior. "You might say that." The dance ended. Temmin kissed both of her cheeks before he released her. "Wish me well, Seddy."

  "Wish you well? It's Neya's Day Eve. You should be wishing your sisters well."

  "Even so. Please."

  She studied his face, open once again and earnest, a seriousness her little brother rarely wore. "Yes, of course, Temmin. I pray for you every day, just as I've sworn to on all the Nerr's Days of your life, you zany."

  "'Zany,'" he repeated. "Yes. That's me." He kissed her cheek again. "Goodbye." She watched him out of the ballroom, ignoring several attempts to lead her into the next dance. Troubling and unlike him. His infatuation with that maid and her man had changed him.

  Two hours later, Ansella retired for the night, leaving her daughters with the King; unlike the Queen, neither princess could leave until he did. To Sedra's frustration, Harsin, his white smile sharp within his salt and pepper beard as he worked the room, showed no signs of boredom.

  And then: "Where is Prince Temmin?" She was tiring of the question.

  Usually by now her father had made his excuses and slipped off with one of his mistresses. Sedra saw his new favorite, the odd little thing with a pointed chin and dark, feral eyes that already sparkled with too much wine, and wondered again why he would not leave. Her shoes hurt, and she wanted to go upstairs and curl up with a book by her fire.

  Lord Corland appeared in the corner of her eye, in urgent conversation with her f
ather--when had Corland come back to town? She prayed he'd left his odious son Fennows in Maryakuspa, for Ellika's sake if no one else's.

  The urgent conversation appeared to be one-sided from a distance, but on closer inspection, both parties were fully involved, a small pulse in the King's jaw the only sign of increasing tension. "Master yourself, Corland. What do you mean, Temmin's lovers are a sham?" said Harsin, keeping the smile on his face.

  "I mean, he's pulled the wool over your eyes!" hissed Corland. "He still qualifies! Your son means to take Supplicancy!"

  "How do you know this?"

  "Fennows found it out--His Highness must have confided in him," Corland said evasively.

  "He would never have thought up such a plan. He doesn't have it in him--doesn't have the courage. He's as guileless as a child..."

  "He's not a child any more. He's fooled you. You must stop him. Where is he?"

  "He went to Whithorse to spend Neya's Day with his--with his lovers..." Harsin thought back over his conversations with Temmin. In none of them had the Prince said outright that he'd taken those servants into his bed. "Pagg damn him. Pagg damn him!"

  He left the purple-faced Corland and exited the ballroom as naturally as he could. Winmer fell into his wake as he climbed the Residence Wing stairs. "Call Miss Selvaci out of the dance, as if I'd sent for her. I don't want my absence to raise suspicions. Take her to one of the suites connected to mine--you know which one. Send Teacher to my study. See if Temmin is in his rooms, then send the Colonel to me as well, damn them both. Then go back and keep the girl busy--get her drunk. She loves sparkling wine and it won't be long until she passes out. Put her to bed, then come to me yourself." Winmer nodded, and peeled off as Harsin tried not to slam the door to his study.