In Life, In Death

by Adara Wolf

  Before he’d been sent to Yowalapan, Ahmiki had occasionally played with Colsatsli’s children. Ahmiki’s mother would regularly entertain the wives and daughters, and Ahmiki had no issue with showing the younger boys how to play games or telling them wild stories. Nenkawitl, as the youngest of the boys, was often shunned or ignored. Ahmiki remembered what that was like, so he’d gone out of his way to include him.

  There hadn’t been an opportunity to engage with his nephews or nieces since he’d been named ixiptla.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t mind.” Ahmiki crouched down to Nenkawitl’s level. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to play lately. I’ve been a bit busy. And—and, Teska’atl has chosen me. Soon I won’t be here anymore, but I…”

  Nenkawitl looked at him with wide eyes. “Like grandfather?”

  “A bit like that, yes. But I’m going to be with Teska’atl. And I know that I’m serving my city. Remember that. You want to do right by Xochititlan. That’s your duty as a prince.”

  Ahmiki stood and met Toskentsin’s eyes. She was frowning. “Don’t let Colsatsli hear you talking to his children. Bad enough that you couldn’t keep your mouth shut about government matters.”

  Her rudeness shocked him, and he saw the warriors guarding him look uncomfortable as well. It was their job to make sure the people respected him as ixipitla, but Lady Toskentsin was Colsatsli’s wife, and thus couldn’t be dealt with in the usual manner.

  “I just—”

  “Never mind. I look forward to seeing your performance at the festival to Ekakoapilli.” She dragged her children away.

  Chapter 5

  “Tonight, the ixiptla will bless our King, and serve him intimately, as the king serves the gods and the people!”

  Despite everything, Tlanextic sounded less enthusiastic in his speech. He put on a good show, but Ahmiki could see the slight hesitation in his words, the way he would glance at Ahmiki first before daring to voice anything.

  He had thought that Tlanextic had been kinder with him, since the vision, since that conversation just two days earlier, but that hadn’t changed the ceremony.

  If anything, Tlanextic seemed even more wary of Colsatsli. Ahmiki couldn’t blame him. He tried to forget the way Colsatsli had treated him in the audience chamber, tried to forget Toskentsin’s words. Tried to erase the many times he had now seen his brother with only a blurred mess for a face.

  Ahmiki almost wished he had been given the vision on this night. He danced close to the royal table and later sat and played flute for Colsatsli and his newest bride. The bride smiled at him while Colsatsli ignored him in favor of speaking with one of the sages. They talked of the goings on in the east, and Ahmiki longed to be a part of the conversation.

  If he attempted to open his mouth, he was sure that Colsatsli would reprimand him and tell him to focus on his duties as ixiptla.

  I wanted to be useful, Ahmiki thought. Immediately he felt chagrined: he had already committed to his role as ixiptla, and it would do nobody any good if he harbored doubts or resentment in his heart. Being ixiptla was useful, and served a much more important purpose than overseeing a vassal state. Ahmiki couldn’t risk upsetting Teska’atl, or they would find themselves in ill-favor for the next however many years. In this first year of the current cycle, it was extra important that the ixiptla play his role well.

  He still hoped that Colsatsli would allow him to sidestep that role this night.

  The festivities themselves wound down, until Colsatsli stood and bade goodnight to the people still gathered. Then he gestured for Ahmiki to follow him.

  There was nothing Ahmiki could do. No words he could think of that would let him refuse, no actions he could take that would postpone what was seeming more and more inevitable.

  They walked into the palace, past the welcoming chambers, across the courtyard, and then up the stairs to the central bedroom. The one that their father had once inhabited, and now belonged to Colsatsli.

  By the light of the torches spread across the room, Ahmiki could see a large bed in the center, with blankets of the finest wool and cotton. It spoke of how the rest of the night would turn out.

  “Strip,” Colsatsli said. His voice was cool, calm, like he didn’t care either way what Ahmiki did, except Ahmiki could see his skirt already tenting.

  “We don’t have to do anything. Nobody will know the difference,” Ahmiki said, taking a step towards his brother. He kept his hands palm up, but the gesture was lost on Colsatsli.

  “The gods will know that you defied me. Do you not remember what Tlanextic said? You must serve me.” Colatsli placed his hands on Ahmiki’s shoulders and pushed down.

  Ahmiki didn’t want to. Colsatsli was a handsome man, but he was still Ahmiki’s brother.

  Ahmiki didn’t want to, but Colsatsli was also right. If he did not do this, the gods might be angry, and it would affect more than just Ahmiki or Colsatsli.

  This must have been why Tlanextic had looked so guilty throughout the ceremony; he’d known that Colsatsli would not allow for anything but the full extent of rites.

  He closed his eyes and let himself get pushed to the floor. His knees hit the dirt, the mirror clattered against his back. The bracelets and necklaces, signs of wealth and status that Ahmiki had enjoyed, felt like the ropes that kept dogs from running from their slaughter. Colsatsli pushed the crown off Ahmiki’s head, then grabbed a fistful of Ahmiki’s braided hair and used it to pull his head closer, until Ahmiki’s nose was right against the cloth of his skirt. The heat, the smell of his brother’s musk, the press of Colsatsli’s erection through the cloth, all of it made Ahmiki want to vomit.

  “What are you waiting for?” Colsatsli demanded, tightening his fingers in Ahmiki’s hair.

  “Your skirt—”

  “Lift it.”

  No. Ahmiki had to take a breath and steady himself. “I can’t—brother, I can’t. I love you, I love our city, but this is—”

  He didn’t expect the kick to his side. It stripped the air from his chest, and Ahmiki toppled onto the floor. He didn’t have time to gather his thoughts, because Colsatsli kicked him again, this time his back. He cried out, fought to figure out why this was happening. His brother wasn’t like this. His brother was a good man, his brother was—

  Colsatsli grabbed Ahmiki and flung him onto the bed. “I tried to be nice, my lord ixiptla,” Colsatsli snarled, “but I will not allow you to disrespect me. Bad enough that you tried to shame me in front of the court. You will do as I demand. Now strip.”

  He still wanted to refuse, but his side throbbed and his arms burned with bruises and even if he shouted, nobody would come. Ahmiki’s hands shook as he removed the jewelry, the mirror, the cape, the sandals, the skirt. He lay bare on the bed, staring up at his brother. “Please, brother, don’t do this.”

  “I am king here, Ahmiki, not you. You are the ixiptla, and you serve me. Now turn around.”

  If he fought, Ahmiki thought he might be able to win. He was younger, and at one point he’d been stronger for sure. Maybe not so much now, half a year of doing nothing but living in supreme luxury, but Colsatsli was even softer. Yet still, even in this situation, Ahmiki thought of how Colsatsli had been a good brother, a kind brother. He didn’t want to hurt Colsatsli.

  Ahmiki turned around. His eyes blurred with tears, and it was harder than it should have been to keep those tears from falling. He was almost grateful he didn’t have to watch as Colsatsli approached.

  The other festivals had been better. Ahmiki wished again that he had the gods’ vision, which had made his body relaxed and horny and made almost everything feel good. He felt a slickness between his cheeks, but unlike Masatl, Colsatsli didn’t bother stretching Ahmiki’s hole. That was—that was just what men did, Ahmiki told himself. Used spit and didn’t care about their partners.

  The lie was hard to take when he had the memory of Masatl, the memory of his other lovers. Ahmiki had always made sure that they enjoyed themselves too.

  �
��That’s good,” Colsatsli grunted. “Just take it. You’re—” he let out a moan, “—you’re meant to serve me.”

  His fingers dug hard into Ahmiki’s hips, and Ahmiki tried to focus on that instead, the dull pain there instead of the burn of tearing skin elsewhere.

  Was this really what the gods wanted of Ahmiki? Was this what Teska’atl expected of him? Had his father treated the previous ixiptla in this way? Would Ekakoapilli see this, and feel love and affection in this act?

  Ahmiki curled his fingers into his palms, let the cotton sheets absorb his gasps of pain.

  “Please—” Ahmiki stifled another pained cry. “Brother, stop—”

  “Shut up!” Colsatsli struck Ahmiki’s flank and followed it with an even harder thrust, so that Ahmiki felt almost speared in two. “You don’t get to order me around!”

  It continued. Ahmiki stared at one of the torches, and wished for it to tip over, to light the room on fire. The flames couldn’t hurt any more than what he was living through now.

  Colsatsli leaned forward and pushed against Ahmiki’s neck, forced his head into the mattress of the bed. For a moment Ahmiki flailed, panicking at the sudden lack of air. That morning, despite everything, Ahmiki would have trusted Colsatsli. Now, he thought he was about to be murdered.

  When his vision began to fade into white, and he couldn’t find the energy to buck against his brother anymore, that was when he felt a sudden shock of heat inside him. He would die, perhaps, with Colsatsli’s seed leaking out of his ass.

  Colsatsli lifted his hand away, and Ahmiki took a loud breath. He had to cough, couldn’t stop coughing even as Colsatsli pulled completely out of him.

  “Remember this,” Colsatsli said. “I am king here. You don’t get to determine how I rule. You don’t lecture my sons. You don’t get to decide how we perform the ceremonies. And keep your fucking visions to yourself.”

  Tlanextic must have delivered his request to Colsatsli after all, and thrown in the vision for good measure. But with snot and tears streaking his face, semen and blood streaking his thighs, Ahmiki couldn’t find the energy to laugh. He could barely find the energy to breathe.

  Colsatsli dressed himself and left.

  Ahmiki started to cry.

  ~*~*~

  The next morning, Masatl took Ahmiki to the cenote and tended to him, running tender hands across his body and soothing all the hurts and bruises. He had to hold in his whimpers when those fingers trailed between his cheeks.

  “I don’t understand why he’s suddenly turned so cruel,” Ahmiki said, not really expecting a response.

  But Masatl snorted a laugh. “Suddenly! You do not know your brother, my lord.”

  The response irked Ahmiki a bit. “I knew him once, when we were young. He was always kind to me then. And you wouldn’t know him at all!”

  Masatl looked at him thoughtfully, something glinting behind his clever eyes, but he ended up simply smiling. “As you say, my lord. Come, we will sit in the water for a bit.”

  He guided Ahmiki so that he ended up sitting on a rock in the cenote, with his back against Masatl’s front, both of their torsos nearly completely submerged in the water. Masatl ran his hands over Ahmiki’s shoulders, kneading the tension out.

  It had been a while since Ahmiki had simply relaxed, and it was good to have this on the heels of what had happened the previous night. He sighed as Masatl pressed kisses onto his neck, and his hand occasionally slipped down to cup his cock. The water pushed against his body, a gentle pressure that massaged his body and made him forget the hurts.

  Ahmiki didn’t think the sacred cenote was meant to be used in this fashion. He didn’t encourage Masatl, but didn’t tell him to stop either. If Ahmiki was going to die in a few months’ time—if he was going to die to serve Colsatsli’s vision of their city—then it was his right to enjoy his life as he saw fit.

  “If you weren’t ixiptla, what would you be doing right now?” Masatl suddenly asked, his hand stilling. Ahmiki whined in protest, particularly with the subject matter.

  “I don’t know. If you weren’t my slave, what would you be doing now?”

  Masatl chuckled into Ahmiki’s ear. “I would be hunting and swimming. Fishing. Lazing in the sun. Answer my question.”

  His tongue probed along the shell of Ahmiki’s ear, and Ahmiki shuddered. It took him a moment to remember what the question was at all. “If I weren’t ixiptla, maybe I would still be in Yowalapan, making sure things were running smoothly and that the city paid proper tribute.”

  Tribute would include crops and precious stones, and slaves that might have end up as sacrifices. The judges and watchers Ahmiki had appointed would need to be monitored for a time —and Ahmiki scowled, remembering that his appointments had all been undone, replaced with judges and sages of Colsatsli’s choosing.

  “When I’m gone—” Ahmiki began, and stopped. He couldn’t really request anything of Masatl after all of this.

  “What is it?”

  “No, never mind. It was a silly thought.”

  Masatl stroked Ahmiki’s cock pointedly. “Tell me.”

  There was another moment where Ahmiki’s thoughts scattered, lost to pleasure, yet never nearing the peak. It became imperative to appease Masatl so he would finally follow through on all his teasing. “I was just thinking that you should leave after my death. Maybe take Sentewa, go back to Yowalapan if you think you’ll be safe there, or—”

  Masatl shifted Ahmiki around and kissed him hard, his tongue invading, dominating, stealing what little breath Ahmiki had. Ahmiki wrapped his arms around Masatl’s shoulders and let himself drift away on the sensations, memorizing every touch and hoping it was enough to forget the previous night had ever happened at all.

  “You are,” Masatl said when they broke for air, “you are a treasure. Teska’atl will be pleased to have one so thoughtful as you.”

  That only reminded Ahmiki of how limited his life was going to be. He crushed his lips against Masatl again and began his own explorations in the water. Every movement rippled out in waves from them, only to be returned in kind, until the water almost felt like another pair of hands caressing them.

  He needed Masatl inside him, erasing the remnants of Colsatsli. “Fuck me,” he whispered, the sound echoing around the cave, louder than he had intended. Masatl’s eyes darkened with lust, and he nodded, lifting Ahmiki up enough to grasp his ass cheeks. With the water buffering the motions, Ahmiki felt no pain at all, almost surprised that evidence of Colsatsli’s violence was so easily destroyed.

  If Masatl had chosen to penetrate him just like that, Ahmiki would not have complained, but instead he felt a finger breaching him, stretching the flesh. A few moments of that, and a second finger joined in, this time hitting the pleasurable spot. Ahmiki moaned, wanting more, wanting Masatl to never stop. He felt so helpless, could do nothing more but grasp at Masatl’s body and place kisses on his neck and shoulders.

  “You’re a treasure,” Masatl repeated. He nuzzled Ahmiki’s neck, breathed in deeply. In the next instance, he pulled his fingers out and lowered Ahmiki’s body onto his cock, slow and gentle, so that Ahmiki felt no pain as he adjusted to the intrusion. With his hands on Ahmiki’s thighs, he helped Ahmiki rise up and down along his cock.

  Despite sitting in the cool water, Ahmiki thought he was going to burn up. He wanted nothing more than to let Masatl have every last inch of him. Ahmiki made sure to clench, hoping to draw more pleasure from him, and was rewarded by a low moan. Masatl’s eyes fluttered closed, and he nibbled softly on the juncture of Ahmiki’s neck and shoulder.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ahmiki thought that this entire scenario was probably highly sacrilegious. The priests would have a fit if they found a slave fucking the ixiptla like this. Last time, Ahmiki had been high on the gods’ vision; this time there was no excuse. And still, he didn’t care. He wanted Masatl to possess him, to take him away from his life.

  When Masatl wrapped a hand around Ahmiki’s cock, Ahmi
ki near screamed with pleasure. He thrust forward, hoping for more pressure on his cock, then dropped down to impale himself, over and over, until there was nothing but this rhythm.

  “My treasure. You’re my treasure,” Masatl was murmuring into Ahmiki’s ear, repeating the words like a poem.

  He felt Masatl shudder, and the warmth of his come flooded Ahmiki, filling Ahmiki with a moment of sheer joy that he was able to make Masatl lose himself like this. When Masatl pulled Ahmiki into another possessive kiss, he lost himself to the pleasure, shooting into the waters of the sacred cenote.

  Ahmiki lost the strength to hold himself up, and he fell forward into Masatl’s embrace. He drifted along in his thoughts, glad to have had this, glad to know he could still receive pleasure even after what Colsatsli had done to him. He felt rejuvenated, even, stronger now than before.

  My treasure. Ahmiki rolled the words around in his mind, loved them and hated them all at once. If he had met Masatl in Yowalapan, as equals, they might have formed a real friendship. A partnership, even, where they worked together and shared their house and bed. If Masatl hadn’t been a warrior that they captured, and if Ahmiki hadn’t been chosen as ixiptla…

  “I’m not your treasure, Masatl. I’ll be gone,” he said softly, hoping to keep the sadness out of his voice. “Don’t get too attached to me.”

  Masatl only hugged him tighter.

  Chapter 6

  Two more times. There were two more festivals where Ahmiki was expected to serve his brother.

  His body shook when he thought of them, and the more days passed, the harder it was to pretend everything was all right. He wore his feathered crown and flower necklaces, smiled at everybody who crossed his path. He did his best to think of anything else—think instead of the way the city’s flowers were blooming splendidly, of how lush the fields had grown. Think of the way his sister and Pakowatl were planning their wedding, and of how to ensure that Masatl and Sentewa would be safe once he was gone. He even composed some poems, stilted and rusty after all the years of not practicing, to recite at the wedding.