Nace's Story (a sneak peek): . . . And Lovers
Wow! Being a sex slave is awesome! Being used is the most awesome thing ever! Oh, except for the part where it utterly destroys your best friend. That part sucks. :(
. . . and Lovers
"Oh, ye gods!"
"Nace, take it easy. It'll be all right. You know it will be all right . . ."
"I know! I know, I know, but I don't know . . ." It might not even be anybody. They might stop. Or it might be Sidro again.
Oh, good God, he hoped it wasn't Sidro again. It hadn't been near enough time for him to heal.
Maybe, he thought weakly, maybe it was Oraz.
But it wasn't Oraz. It was a stranger. The Pythian who came around the corner was one Nace had never seen before.
And there had never been any hope of him stopping, he had come there just for Nace. He already had the key. He laid one hand against the cell door, and leaned in to speak to the yellow-green. "Come nearer to me, young one." His voice was soft, resonant, kind. His eyes were warm and liquid, deep olive green, and Nace melted for him.
The young dragon had been hugging his own shoulders, wrapped in his wings. Now he folded all away, and came curiously to the door.
"I've been told that you were raised here."
"Uh-huh," Nace bobbed his muzzle.
"I find that fascinating."
Nace found the dragon's eyes fascinating. He leaned forward a bit.
"You're so very young," the Pythian said, a compliment tinged with a little pity. "But if you grew up here, you must know how to please another male . . . ?"
"Uh-huh," Nace answered. He smiled a little and breathed out a laugh. He wished he could say something else, but he couldn't think of anything. The only word he had for this dragon was 'yes,' and he was afraid to come right out with that.
He had been afraid to be hurt. For his all his time here, he had been incredibly afraid to be hurt. He had been sitting here, preparing to be hurt, readying what he would say, and what he could do to make it stop. But now all that fell away.
He won't hurt me. He's so handsome.
These two thoughts did not go together in any logical way, but Nace cast that aside, too.
Deep green eyes like still waters, dark gold scales like the inlay on an old, leatherbound book. He looked strong, not fat but rather wide. He was built a little like Oraz, actually. Not plated exactly, but there were different-shaped scales on either side of his belly, arrowed downwards like keels on a snake. Nace wanted to touch him, but didn't quite dare. His hands shook and he clasped them together against his breast. It must've looked like pleading, and it was, but not for what the Pythian assumed.
"I wouldn't hurt you, little one." He reached a hand through the bars and brushed the side of Nace's muzzle. The yellow-green shivered with an electric tingle.
"You'd better not," Cym put in.
Nace blinked, confused and a little disappointed. For a moment that Pythian had been all the world. He'd like to go back to that, it was nice, and not at all scary, not at all. Cym acted like something bad might happen, but Nace couldn't credit that.
"Naturally," the gold male sniffed, dismissing the red-collar with a tip of his muzzle. He brought his green gaze to bear on the yellow-green instead. Nace took a dreamy step towards him and bonked into the door.
"Oh!" He rubbed his nose with one hand.
"Oh, let's have that out of the way, certainly," the Pythian said. He took the tagged key in hand, fit it to the door and opened it like a warm invitation
Nace came out a few steps into the hall, then the dragon took his hand and drew him near, touching near, and wrapped an arm around his back. Nace shifted his wings to accommodate a little closer contact, smiling up at him.
"It'll be all right," Cym assured, making a vague gesture that undoubtedly meant the same thing.
"Uh-huh," Nace answered with hardly a glance in his direction. Of course it would be.
"It isn't much," the Pythian said. "I'm only here the night, then on to the next place. I've been flying all day. One begins to long for a little company." He opened the door ahead of Nace and motioned him in. "I hope the bed is soft, at least."
"Oh, it's lovely!" Nace exclaimed.
It was a little room. Or, it looked little, with everything set up in it. There was one of those plank beds you could fold up to the wall or use as a bench. This one would have made more of a table. It looked big enough for a dragon to sprawl upon in all directions without leaving more than the tip of his tail hanging off. The mattress was on, it was all laid out with sheets and a blanket tucked around the edges. No pillows, though, Nace noted with hardly a pang.
With that taking up most of the space, there was just enough room for a little table and two chairs. It was set with silverware and ice and food. And it must've been put up in this dragon's absence, since the food was still steaming and the ice sat unmelted in the bucket. There was a tablecloth draped under everything, and two linen napkins on the empty plates.
The Pythian plucked at one with a sigh. "They do like to make the table look pretty when the food isn't much. Canned chicken." He poked one claw at the fat bird. "It never gets brown properly."
"Chicken gets brown?" Nace asked with sincere confusion. This was the first time he'd ever seen a whole bird that wasn't wild and on the hoof. Chicken was a white meat that came all minced to pieces in a little tin that said "chicken" on it. Beef and pork were similar, slightly different colors and of course different labels. Some beef came salted and dried, too, but the children rarely saw any of that. The only meat that came in animal form was rabbit, and sometimes there was fish. Both of those had little bitty bones and were greeted with suspicion by all the young dragons. Most of them wouldn't eat anything with eyes.
"Oh, you poor creature," the gold said. "You grew up Pythian, but you grew up here, didn't you?"
Nace nodded.
"My home, when I'm home," the Pythian explained, "is much closer to the sea. There are lots more of us there . . . And actual towns, not just fortresses under the ground. The food is almost always fresh." He shrugged and smiled bravely. "Well, one has to make the best of it. Do sit. Please, do sit." The dragon actually pulled out a chair for Nace. The yellow-green sat, too wide-eyed bowled-over to question anything. He just goggled at it all, with his mouth but slightly unhinged.
The Pythian drew a large green bottle out of the bucket of ice. "Let's see if the cellar is adequate. One wouldn't think that would be too difficult, under the ground?"
Nace nodded again, as it seemed some answer was expected.
The Pythian drew the cork out with his claws. The mouth of the bottle breathed a faint, white vapor. He took the two glasses and held them in one hand, the stems between his fingers. He tipped a swallow into one, then paused. "Will you taste some?"
"Oh!" Nace answered, fumbling. He was trying to put his napkin in his lap but it wouldn't stay. He'd never actually had to do that before, but that was what you were supposed to do with a napkin. He looked up from it and smiled. "I, um, wouldn't really know if it was any good . . ." He'd barely tasted wine before, only a few sips on special occasions. Sidro's cider was another matter, but he never had very much of that either because it was sweet and he liked it and it got him hammered in nothing flat. Even if you're just ten or twelve years old, the teacher will only buy "I've got flu" so many times. Especially if you smell like the inside of an apple barrel.
"No matter," The Pythian said. He tipped a little wine into the yellow-green's glass. "I won't have it if you don't like it. I'll send it right back. I wouldn't much enjoy the evening if I had to watch you making vinegar faces."
"Oh, no I wouldn't--"
"Nevertheless." He set one glass before Nace and brought the other to his own muzzle for a sniff. "Not terrible," he said contemplatively, then he hazarded a taste.
Nace just drank his. He had no idea any ceremony was required. The handsome dragon with the pretty green eyes gave it to him, so he drank it. He licked his muzzle. It wasn't sweet like the cider, not really. There was a little bitterness to it, but it was not unpleasant, and the flavor had a richness that reminded him favorably of cream (which came powdered in a box and you could pour directly into your mouth, if no one was looking).
"It's quite nice, actually," the yellow-green said. "I like it."
"It will do, I suppose," the gold said with a shrug. He stabbed the chicken doubtfully with a fork, lifting it partway by one leg. "Now, let's see if I have to carve this bird or we can just pull it apart."
They did a little of both. Plates were filled and dishes passed back and forth. Silverware clinked on scarred crockery. The candles burned lower. Conversation was made. The dark gold was delighted to share tales of his youth with a slave who understood, and comisserated, and had even experienced similar things himself. Nace was just thrilled to be able to speak of his upbringing with someone who didn't judge, didn't care, because things had always been that way, and needed no explaining.
Nace did not notice that while the Pythian's wineglass emptied slowly over the course of the meal, his own always seemed to be full. He did notice that he seemed to be getting cuter and funnier as the evening wore on.
He was almost at the end of a rather involved joke when he realized he had no idea where he was going with it. He kept adding more and more description, hoping that something would come to him. ". . . and she's got great big green eyes, and platinum scales, and she's got curves out to here, and she climbs into the bath with me, and puts her hand on my leg, and then she puts her hand between my legs, and . . . um . . . and . . . and she's really pretty . . ."
"And he turns to the dragon," the gold put in, "and says," here he pointed knowingly at Nace, "'And that's the first time my teeth stopped hurting!'"
"Oh, you knew it!" Nace said, grinning, shamefaced.
The Pythian laughed. "That's all right. I like to hear you tell it."
The yellow-green had lost his napkin again at some point during the tale, and when he dove to retrieve it he banged his head on the table.
"Ouch!" the older dragon cried. "Did you hurt yourself? Leave it, why don't you?"
Nace placed his napkin triumphantly beside his plate. "No, I'm okay." He dipped his muzzle and snickered a bit. "Y'know, I hate to say it, but I think I might just be the little tiniest bit tipsy." Regardless, he had another sip out of his glass.
"Oh, that's quite all right," the Pythian said, smiling. He waved a hand. "It isn't as if you do this every night. Besides," he leaned in across the table and brushed the yellow-green's cheek, "a few glasses of wine are absolutely adorable on you."
Nace felt a sudden rush of heat in his ears and muzzle, though he had already been feeling quite warm. There was warmth elsewhere, too. It wasn't like the Draught, not nearly so insistent. It just made him feel lazy and sexy, like he might want to lie down on a nice, soft bed and touch himself for a while . . . Or somebody else. He looked up at the dark gold, then dropped both his muzzle and his eyes, embarrassed. If he had any idea how to do it, he might've come on to the dragon, but he couldn't bring himself to be so forward. Instinct did its level best to make him look interested, half-lidding his eyes and curving his lips into a dreamy smile.
Hot with wine, he thought. This is what they mean when they say that. It was a popular expression in stories, usually the ones in which a reluctant female was made more compliant with a judicious application of alcohol. In most of these stories, the effect backfired, and became too much for the male to handle. This is what that's like, he thought. I am getting hot with wine. The thought was deliciously sexual and it brought another flush to his muzzle.
"You look a little over-warm, my dear," the Pythian noted. He rose from the table and collected a thin chip of ice from the bucket on the way to Nace's seat. "You might as well have some of this, it will only melt otherwise." Instead of just handing it to the dragon, however, he ran it over Nace's muzzle, down one side, then the other, before slipping it into the yellow-green's waiting mouth.
Nace made a soft noise of pleasure and touched the trickle of wetness on his cheek. "Oh, that felt so good."
"You can have some more if you like. I don't really want it, I've been cold enough today."
The yellow-green drew three pieces of ice out of the bucket, all he could hold in his fingertips, brought it to his muzzle and cooled his blush. Then he let the ice slip into his palm and ran his hand over the back of his neck. It made him shiver, but it was a pleasant shiver. He was not cold. Far from it. Hot with wine, he thought, and smiled.
Just as the shiver was fading, the dark gold dipped his muzzle down and licked some of the water from the side of Nace's throat, engendering another. Nace tipped his head back, exposing more scales and inviting more touching. The Pythian seemed happy to oblige.
"Come to bed with me, little one," the dragon murmured in his ear. He slipped arms around Nace's shoulders and embraced him. "Come please me."
"Ohh . . ." Nace nodded, beyond words. He went where the dragon led him and sat where he was bidden to sit, beside the dragon, in his arms, being kissed and licked and tenderly bitten by him.
"Do you know how to please a male?" the dark gold asked with vague concern. "You can't have done it very often, young as you are."
Smiling, Nace sought to erase all doubt. He dropped his hand into the dragon's lap and began to stroke there, gentle, caressing touches.
The Pythian laughed at him, and plucked up his hand like a strange, pale flower. He kissed it. "Not like that, you silly thing. Don't you know the best way?"
"Under my tail?" the yellow-green posited doubtfully. He rose somewhat from the bed and lifted it partway, willing if not exactly experienced.
"No. No. Sit down." The Pythian gave his tail a playful yank. He grinned and slid slowly off the bed and on to his knees. "I'll show you."
Nace sat forward and peered down there, wondering if he was meant to be on the floor, too, but the Pythian pushed him back on the bed and held him there, hands on his thighs.
"You'll like this," the gold said, with a faintly wicked smile. With no further pretense, he pushed his muzzle between the yellow-green's legs and took his sheath in his mouth. If Nace had been any more coordinated he would've jumped off the bed. As it was, he merely twitched a little. He looked down between his legs, wide-eyed, with a surreal feeling of detachment.
Is he biting me? Nace wondered, but he knew it couldn't be that. He was licking, running the tip of his tongue back and forth over the sensitive scales. It was nice. Nace planted his hands on either side of him, shifted his hips and moved his tail, settling. When the Pythian began to suck, Nace tipped his head back and released himself into the waiting warmth. That part of him was even more sensitive, and the flicker of a slick tongue against it made him moan.
The dragon released him momentarily and brought his head up, grinning. "I knew you'd like it." He bent his muzzle and drew Nace into his mouth again.
"Ohh-I-loooove-it," Nace replied, slurring all words into one. He fell back on the bed, propped up on bent elbows. His hips twitched and his tail lashed beside him.
"More?"
"Soo-much-moore . . ."
The Pythian snickered and his teeth prickled a little. Nace found that sensation almost as nice as the licking and he brought his hips up, hoping to find it again. The Pythian caught him, just lightly, between his teeth on one side. He moved his muzzle back and forth, an incredibly gentle imitation of a young dragon with a teething rag.
Confused memories washed over the yellow-green's mind. Cym. Oraz. Bite. Teeth . . . "Oh, God!" It wasn't the pain that brought such reaction, in fact there was hardly any pain at all, it was the dominance. He could bite if he wanted. Nace thought. He won't, but he could do anything he wanted. It was almost over right then and there, but Nace tensed up and sat up, uncertain such a thing would be allowed. The dragon had him in his mouth . . .
"Hmm?" the gold asked, noticing he was being overlooked quite closely.
"Do you . . . ? Can I . . . ? Am I supposed to . . . ?"
The dragon grinned around him, wicked grin, wicked teeth. He gave no reply, unless a doubling of suction, of intensity could be so counted.
Nace shut his eyes and whipped his muzzle back and forth, hopeless denial. He couldn't help it. If the dragon kept this up, he couldn't help it, no matter how hard he tried . . .
The thought clicked and found resonance in the deepest part of him. His eyes came open, and his mouth made a wide, wild grin. Yes. Yes. Force him. Make him. Make him so he couldn't even decide that, not even that.
The dragon worked him without mercy, and though Nace was afraid and uncertain what was required, he grew more and more assured that this, exactly this was what the Pythian wanted. As the heat built within him, made him tremble and twitch, he began to make soft noises, moans and whimpers, affirmative noises. The dragon was good to him, kind. He did not back off his attentions and make him wait, he continued unabated, and he made Nace scream.
"Oh," the yellow-green said, and he gave a little gasp, like he was trying not to cry. In reality, he was trying to get enough breath back to express some thanks, but he was shaking so hard he could only manage a little sip at a time. "Oh," gasp, "oh," gasp, "oh . . . Oh, that was sooo gooood . . ." He lay on the blanket, panting, his back arched in a quivering bow. The dark gold climbed up beside him and stroked his chest and shoulders until he relaxed some. Then he brought ice and cooled Nace's muzzle and his throat.
"Mmm," the yellow-green said. "That is the best way. It has to be."
"I've always thought so," the gold replied with a shrug. He smiled. "You're quite tasty, young one."
Nace giggled, high and faintly hysterical, though he did have enough sense of decorum to cover his mouth. He had never thought of being tasted, at least not this way.
"After all that, though," the gold went on, his tone a little wounded, "I wonder if you've anything left for me?"
"Oh, I want to!" Nace said. He slid to the floor with a thump.
"Careful, young one," the male laughed. "I said I wouldn't hurt you, but you mustn't hurt yourself."
"I'm okay, I'm okay," Nace promised, swaying slightly on his knees.
The dragon offered him a hand up. "Come up on the bed, my little love. We'll do this horizontally."
Nace got back on the bed as eagerly as he'd left it. He was almost mad with the desire to please.
"Lie on your back, now, and we won't have you falling over."
Nace did so, sinking into the soft mattress like an unwary traveler into quicksand. There was no hard crunch of straw, only the squish and faint dusty smell of feathers. It was a lovely bed. He snuggled into it and unfurled his wings slightly to either side.
"Comfy?"
"Very!"
"Good . . ." The dragon crept on top of him, careful to distribute his weight to either side, and straddled the yellow-green's chest, with one knee tucked securely beneath each wing. "We'll do it this way, if there's no objection?"
Nace shook his muzzle, then squirmed a little beneath the dragon in sheer joy. No, he had no objection to this at all. His arms were pinned at his sides by the dark gold's legs, and he made not the slightest attempt to get them free.
The Pythian bent his neck and back and licked the tip of Nace's muzzle, licked over and over and kissed him. Nace lifted his head and shivered and purred.
"Such a pretty thing you are," the gold whispered. "Such a dear little thing."
Nace began to lick back at him, and the dragon let him for a little while, but then he brought his head up again, arched his back and moved his hips forward. Nace crossed his eyes and found the tip of the Pythian's shaft peeking out just on level with his muzzle, so he licked that.
The dark gold breathed a soft, pleased sigh above him.
Though he doubtless didn't need much, the yellow-green paid a little attention to the Pythian's sheath anyway. He was curious at the different taste and texture of the scales. He slipped his tongue around them, and traced the ridge of the opening, even as the rest of the dragon's member expanded to fill his muzzle. It was warm, firm but little yielding, like a strawberry on the first day of summer. He did not bite, though he felt a faint urge to, but suckled instead, like a child determined to make a piece of candy last as long as possible. Of course, he had no thought of prolonging this or doing anything other than exactly what the Pythian wanted, but the careful movement felt good to his mouth, and he hoped it might feel good to the dragon above him, too.
Response was favorable at first, but soon grew more demanding. The dark gold caught the back of Nace's head with one hand, fingers digging but not claws, and pressed him nearer. Nace took more into his mouth, closing his lips around the base of the dragon's sheath. His tongue ran almost the length of his muzzle and he worked it back and forth, tasting, testing. A faster lick got a better reaction, and his tongue flickered as if he was drinking water from a pool. He felt the pulse and growing heat in his mouth, and an answering throb between his legs, though that had been satisfied so well, so little time ago. He was pleasing the dragon, pleasuring him, and that was pleasure to know. It was almost a power jag, though he was prone and pinned and guided in his every movement. He liked that he could make someone else feel so good. It was just what he wanted to do.
When the Pythian began to make noises, began to move his hips in time to the working of Nace's mouth, the yellow-green had every intention of bringing him off, but some whisper of the perverse made him slow his motions, made him withdraw his tongue, though he did not quite dare to stop. When the dragon twitched his hips for more, Nace gave less. It was not done in any spirit of disobedience, more in the curiousity of one who longs to press all the buttons and see what they do.
"Oh, you bad thing," the dark gold breathed. "You awful tease." His muzzle was tipped to the ceiling, his eyes glassy, transported. He squeezed them shut and smiled, panting. "Don't stop."
Nace giggled around him. He flicked his tongue out again, slow, teasing.
The Pythian arched forward, drawing his hips away, then pressing them back. Nace accepted him, gave a few rapid licks, and then another, long, slow one. The dragon shuddered above him. He braced both hands on the wall above the bed and dropped his head between them. The tense expression on his face both thrilled and frightened the yellow-green. The young dragon didn't have the heart to be very bad, not unless someone was telling him to. He closed his mouth around the Pythian's shaft and worked him with new urgency, suckling, moving his tongue. But it seemed to take a long time, too long. He wondered if he had made this impossible, by holding back at first. Oh, horrible thought! He shut his eyes and sucked harder, little noticing the drool that washed his muzzle, or the warm trickle that had begun inside it. His jaws ached from being parted so long, but he didn't care. He would've done this forever, if only he knew he was doing it right.
The dragon had begun to pound the wall above him, a solid thud that made Nace jump and made him afraid. He didn't stop, though, he didn't dare stop, and at last he was rewarded with a flood of liquid warmth inside his mouth. It was a little salty, a little sweet. It was surprising; it made his eyes go round. He swallowed, there was nothing else to do. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. It wasn't something he might choose if it were offered on a table . . .
The dark gold withdrew his shaft with a pop, cupped it in one careful hand, and let himself down on the bed beside Nace. He was panting, and the tip of his tongue peeked out between his lips. His eyes were glazed over, less like clear water now and more like a frozen pond. He was smiling, as if the corners of his mouth desired to meet in back of his head. He shut his eyes and let his head thump on the matress, limp.
Nace giggled again. He liked that look. He liked that he'd given the dragon that look. And if the taste in his mouth meant that wonderful expression, then he liked the taste, too.
"Did you do that on purpose?" the gold asked him, muffled, face in the bedding.
"I guess so," Nace said shyly. "I never did it before . . ."
"You're a treat," the dragon said, lifting his muzzle for air. He draped an arm across the yellow-green's chest. "If I were any less tired, I'd eat you like ice cream."
"Don't you want me to do it more?" Nace cried, sitting forward.
"Oh, my life," the gold murmured. He sat up too and stared at the yellow-green. "You are young, aren't you? I'd bet you ten gold pieces you're not a year past your first season."
Nace dropped his muzzle and nodded meekly. Not quite a month, actually. He'd be due for another one soon, if he wasn't having it now. This felt a lot like being in season.
"I bet you'd even go again, wouldn't you?"
Nace nodded again, eyes cast to one side, ashamed of himself.
The Pythian smiled at him, eyes alight with mischief. "Let's see then, shall we?"
"Yeek!" said Nace as the dragon's hand pressed up between his legs. He opened himself, ready at once, ready since he'd seen that glazed green look in the dark gold's eyes. The surprise of it, the shock, just made him all the more eager. He hadn't even a moment for consent, but he wanted it, he just wanted it, and the Pythian knew it, even if Nace couldn't get the words out. Or maybe he didn't know it, just didn't care. Nace didn't care. He went off like a rocket, helpless not to, unashamed, wanting whatever the dark gold wanted to give him.
The dragon kissed him, caressed him, and considered for a time, while Nace was still panting and dizzy from too much air. "I believe I will have your undertail," the Pythian said, with the absent indulgence of one adding dessert to a full meal. He rolled the yellow-green on to his belly with a paw, effortlessly. The young slave made no resistance, nor even any comment, no longer certain where he was or just what was happening. His brain was hovering somewhere near the ceiling, untethered. But he did move his tail.
"Ouch," he said, a moment later.
The Pythian pressed against him, stilled him, and lapped the side of his throat. "There, now. That's all right, isn't it?"
"Uh-huh," Nace said dreamily. The licking was all right, and the weight of the dragon on top of him was lovely, warm. The bed was soft beneath him, but even so, the pressure on his back was such that he could hardly breathe. It was nice. He'd been breathing way too much anyways.
There was sort of a pain under his tail, sharp and deep, but distant and dreadfully unimportant. Given the context, he even kind of liked it a little. He was pleasuring the dark gold again, and even if he couldn't see the expression, he knew it was there. He knew the dragon was pleased with him, and he smiled, proud of himself. There was a little pain, but that didn't matter at all.
Soon there was warmth, a slickness inside him, and he liked that very much indeed.
"How lovely you are," the dark gold whispered to him. "How very sweet."
"Was I good?" Nace asked with a giggle. He already knew but he liked to hear it, and he was still so incredibly drunk.
"Oh, terribly good," the male told him, and Nace flushed hot and dizzy. Just like that, he was ready to go all over again. The dark gold seemed quite willing to oblige him.
They did some things that Nace had only dreamed about, and some things the yellow-green had not even known about. His attentive nature and enthusiasm to learn seemed to unlock something wicked in the gold, and the Pythian played with him like a shiny new toy. It left him feeling used and dirty, crumpled like bit of tissue paper. It was a lovely feeling, new and tender, and he wallowed in it.
Empty of thought, hot and trembling in body, when the dark gold finally let him alone for a little, ceased touching and merely held him close, Nace fell asleep before the older dragon could even make the suggestion. The gold made no attempt to wake him, only stroked his forehead like a tired child's and licked him on the cheek.
Sleeping, Nace responded the only way he knew how.
He smiled.
Morning meal was huge and early and intimidating. Bacon, sausage, fried bread and jam, canned tomato and smoked fish. The dark gold Pythian hardly cared for it, particularly the canned tomatoes, which he dismissed with a roll of his eyes and shoved to the far end of the table. It was not for any lack of appetite--he said the kippers were all right and ate hugely of them--but picky disappointment.
Nace did not feel much like food. He was dazed and blinkered from too much wine and too little sleep. The dark gold pressed a glass of sweet champagne on him, professing the bubbles would help. They did, immensely, and went right to his head. He ate, and drank, and made excellent company (though he might've re-told a joke or two). The Pythian adored him.
Perhaps an hour later, his muzzle still fizzling pleasantly, Nace stumbled back into the cells in the care of a guard. The dark gold had left him reluctantly, with many sweet words, but he was on some kind of schedule and simply had to keep going. He had given the guard a coin and asked him to be very nice to the little green-collar. The guard was nice enough. Nace wouldn't have been able to walk without him.
"You're nice," Nace said, hanging on him. "Did I tell you you're nice?"
"Many, many times," the guard replied with a sigh. He checked the tag on his key. "All right, young one, let's pour you into your cell."
"Oh, that's nice." The guard put a hand on his shoulder and guided him through the door. When he let go, the yellow-green collapsed like a broken doll, first on to his knees, then on to his belly.
"That's okay!" Nace volunteered, lifting a hand. "I'm okay!"
"Fine," said the guard. Tip earned, and responsibility jettisoned, he shut the cell door and made off with himself.
"Nace, are you all right?" Cym asked him.
The yellow-green lifted his head and saw the blue through a forest of shifting lines. He put his hand out and tried to brush them out of the way, but the bars were a good three feet beyond him. He smiled anyway. "Oh, yes, thank you. I'm very lovely. We had kippers."
That did it. Not the taste or the memory, but the mere abstract idea that somewhere, in some language, there might be something called 'kippers'. He lurched to the back of the cell, a scramble of legs and wings and tail, and lost his meal down the trench. "Ack."
Cym spoke in mock disgust that was almost laughter. "You are drunk, Nace."
Nace didn't catch the mock part of it. He drew himself upright with dignity. "No, no, I am not drunk. I . . . hungover. I threw up," he added, gesturing at the trench.
"I hate to be the one to tell you, kiddo, but you can be both at once."
"Oh, I didn't know that," Nace murmured, swaying.
"How about you try to sleep it off, and we'll talk about it later?"
"That would be nice, but it's so bright in here . . ."
"Put your blanket over your head," Cym said. "Cover your eyes." He did so himself, demonstrating.
Nace caught his blanket in his claws and pulled it awkwardly over his face. "Oh, yes, that's much better." His next words were a slur. The ones after that, a snore.
Cym let him sleep through lunch. Lunch was probably not warranted at this point. The yellow-green woke on his own, a little before evening meal. The dinner conversation was interesting, and Nace was rather forthright. He knew too little not to be. He was seeking reassurance, and some kind of approval. He wanted to know if what he'd been through was in any way ordinary, or _extra_ordinary. Cym hazarded that it sounded rather nice, picking up on the yellow-green's barely-contained enthusiasm. Nace responded with relief.
"It's all right I liked it? Really?"
"It's really not for me to say," the dark blue replied with a shrug. "But if you can like it, there's no reason you shouldn't. I'm certainly not going to dun you about it. We all have to get through in our own way. Just because I don't like it . . ." He snickered. "More's the pity for me, I guess."
If Cym wasn't going to hold it against him, Nace had no willpower to hold it against himself. He mooned around his cell for days afterward, lost inside of his own head, playing stupid fantasies that nonetheless had power to fascinate.
He won't come back, the young dragon told himself sternly. He'd have to go a long time and a long way before he even could come back, and anyway, he never even asked my NAME. Though, he had never asked the Pythian's name, either. They had seemed to get past that somehow. They made no small talk. They had connected on a deeper level than names, or perhaps, Nace thought with a snicker, a lower one.
Anyway, if he did come back, he wouldn't want to KEEP me . . .
But maybe he would. Nace was unique, a perfect storm of circumstances. Even if other slaves shared his proclivities, they would never have his upbringing. That was something too cruel and stupid to be allowed on a regular basis, even if some slavers wanted to try it.
He'd make me a drunkard, Nace scolded himself. He touched the soft plates of his belly with a finger. And FAT. But that thought only made him laugh. None of it was enough to stop him from dreaming. It took something much harsher than that, and much more sudden, to wake him.
The yellow-green got up and padded to the front of his cell, curious instead of afraid at the sound of unwarranted footsteps. There were many of them, loud, and laughter, and a soft clink of overlapping plates.
Plates, Nace thought, curling fingers around a bar. He was definitely in season, and with all the stimulation he'd got at the start, he felt he might go the whole rest of the month. Not that he'd mind it. He just hoped someone would choose him for something before he was done. And a dragon with plates would be particularly nice. Someone kind and shy, like Oraz. But the voices were loud and brassy and a little bit cruel.
"I told you they'd let us in if we brought Ugly with us."
"Yeah, but will they give him a key?"
"Will we find anything worth unlocking?" the first voice countered. "Pfft, look at this one. Drooling."
"Oh, here's a red-collar!" the second one cried, with an air of one who has found a truffle in a box of chocolate creams.
Nace could make out a yellow-gold through the bars of Cym's cage. He was soon joined by a silver-green. Both were young-looking, maybe too young-looking. Cym regarded them with easy disdain, reclined against the wall of bars he shared with Nace. He shot a glance back at the yellow-green and rolled his eyes heavenward. Assholes, he might have said.
Reticence was Cym's policy around Pythians. He would neither encourage nor discourage (since neither might have the desired effect), until some decision was made. Nace picked up on his silence and mirrored it, he was an obedient little thing, but could not stifle a laugh. He nodded to the blue's opinion, or started to, but his muzzle froze in mid-bob and his eyes went round.
"Please," a third voice pleaded. "Can I . . . can . . . can . . . can I . . . can't I go now? You said I could go. I don't want . . . I don't . . . I . . . I . . . I . . ."
The silver-green looked back over his shoulder. "Idiot," he said. "You're not going anywhere till you get us a key. Do you think you can ask for a kuh-kuh-kuh-key?"
"I don't know," Oraz whispered. He was still hanging back. Nace could hardly hear him, let alone see him. He couldn't stand it.
"Oraz!" the yellow-green cried.
The yellow-gold and the silver-green exchanged a sly grin. They both turned to look behind them. Their eyes were cold and predatory. "Oh, this one knows you!" "He knows you!" "You've been here before!" "You've got friends down here, have you?" "Were you down here using or getting used, faggot?"
"Please . . ." Oraz managed, no nearer. He had either gotten even quieter, or he had drawn away, perhaps at a run. The other Pythians went after him, latched on to him, and dragged him around the corner, shoving him playfully back and forth between them. He was bigger than either of them, though younger (and he didn't look it). He could've beaten both within an inch of their lives, but the thought would never occur to him. Since he was too small to fight back, he had always been the one beaten, always been the one hurt.
"You're so rude," the yellow-gold chided.
"Aren't you going to say hello to your friend?" the silver-green added, pushing him forward.
Oraz would not look up, perhaps could not. His mouth was drawn in a grimace of pain. "Please. Oh, God, please. I don't want to be here . . ."
One of the others echoed him in a teasing whine. Cym snarled at him to be quiet and the Pythians answered back laughingly. Nace didn't hear them. Neither did Oraz. At least, he did not react.
"Oraz . . ." The yellow-green reached through the bars and touched him, but he did not look up. He brought his wings around instead, slipped the touch, and curled in on himself. Nace took his hand away. "No, Oraz. I'm all right. It's just me. I'm just the same. Not hurt . . . They didn't do anything to hurt me, nothing at all. Please come out and look at me . . ." His voice had narrowed to a whisper. It was all he could do not to cry, not to make this any worse.
"I don't want this," Oraz said. To Nace, to the others, or perhaps to himself. "I never, ever wanted this."
"I didn't either," Nace said. He tried to smile. "But it'll be all right. Look at me. I'm all right."
Oraz peeked out at him. The dark male's eyes were watering and he wiped them with both hands. He touched the bars of the cage, held them, white knuckle tight. "No," he said. "No you're not."
"But I am, though, really." Nace sniffled, but his smile stayed on. He slipped his hands over Oraz's. He couldn't get his fingers inside to hold, but his touch was steady and warm. "I don't mind being used. I can manage that. And the Draught was all right . . . I would've been an awful soldier, anyway." He laughed a little. "Hopeless. I was never any good for fighting, you know that."
Oraz shook his head. He didn't stammer. He wasn't frightened anymore. This was what he'd been afraid of, and now that it had happened, he was only miserable. "I don't want you to be a slave. I want . . . my friend . . ."
"I am your friend," Nace said softly. He could never say it before. He could never ask it, because it was impossible, but it wasn't now. It might be a good thing, in the middle of all this. It might be some comfort. It was the only comfort he could give. "This doesn't have to be forever. When you're older, you could keep me."
"What?" Oraz replied, wide-eyed.
"You could keep me." Nace glanced up at him once, but couldn't manage it again. He felt ridiculous and shy, but he was hopeful. He examined his claws while he spoke. "I could just be yours, forever, and stay with you . . . I want to. I've always wanted to . . ."
Oraz stumbled back away, warding him off with both hands. He broke through the pair of older Pythians and slammed against the empty cell behind them. He cleaved to the bars and pressed his muzzle against them, bruising hard. "No," he insisted, a whisper, building to a shriek, "no, no, no . . . I don't WANT to keep you!" He screamed again, no words this time, and ran from them. Fast, as fast as he could, with no care about the noise. It drove out the sound of them, the sound of Nace, and the sound of his own tears.
The two Pythians exchanged another glance. One quirked a brow. The other shrugged. They began to grin, those predatory grins.
"Oh, Orrraaaz!" one of them cried, sickening sweet.
"Won't you keeeeeep us?" the other added, hands clasped to his chest.
They tore off after him, shrieking laughter.
Nace stood behind, slumped, limp, seeing nothing. Saying nothing. It felt as if he'd been kicked in the chest. "No. . . ?" he managed at last. "No?" His jaw quivered. Oraz didn't want him? Oraz didn't want him anymore? Why? He wanted Oraz, never wanted anyone nor anything else. Not even the male that had used him, not like this, never so much. Never that he thought he'd like to kill himself if it couldn't happen, never like this.
He sank down to his knees, trembling, already crying, though he had not yet managed a breath, managed a sob. He clutched his shoulders, wrapped his wings around him, tight like a blanket. "No . . . No . . . No . . ." It was all he could say, all he wanted now. He wanted to take it back. He wanted Oraz to come back, and take it back, and say he didn't mean it . . .
But he did mean it. He did. He did. The look of horror on him at the thought, the very thought . . .
Nace wept. He rocked himself and he wept like a child. It was the worst thing, worse even than being here. It was being alone. Forever.
Cym shouted at him, and would have shook or slapped him if he could have reached. At long last he began to make some kind of impression. Nace came out of his wings and was able to speak to him.
"Why won't he keep me?" the yellow-green whispered. "Does he hate me? Why won't he keep me? I need him . . . I love him. He . . . He was my best . . . my bestest-best friend . . ."
"Well, it's a bit of a leap, isn't it?" Cym put in. "From 'you're my bestest-best friend,' to 'I want to be your sex slave,' all in one go."
"Oh my God, you're right," Nace said. He clasped hands to his muzzle. "Oh my God, I'm so stupid."
"No, Nace. Let's not start that again." Cym motioned the dragon over. "Come back to the tap and wash your face. Get yourself together." He reached through the bars and turned it to a trickle, tempting. "Come on, it's nice and cool."
Nace washed his muzzle. He cupped water to his face and banished the heat of tears and hysteria. He wanted to cry more and he drank to stop the sound. The water killed the pain in his throat, if not the ache in his chest. When he looked up at Cym again, he seemed much steadier, and he only sniffled a little.
Cym reached forward and flicked the tip of his muzzle with a claw. "It wasn't stupid. It was supremely bad timing, especially with those two there--" He diverted for a moment and glared at the young dragon, warning off another spate of tears, "--and that wasn't your fault. If he'd been brave enough to come here by himself, it wouldn't have been so hard for him, but apparently he couldn't manage that and you had to go with what you had."
Nace cried out with surprising violence, "I should've kept my big mouth shut!"
"And then where would you be?" Cym said, still glaring. "He'd probably think you hated him. At least you'd think he thought you hated him and we're right back where we started. You had to say something."
"Not that."
"Well, maybe not all that. But it wasn't stupid. Now he knows you're not angry with him, and he knows you're all right. And, the other thing, well . . ." Cym was getting rather out of his depth and he drew back with an apologetic shrug.
"That was stupid," Nace said.
"--a little strange, maybe," Cym allowed. He was blushing. Embarassment turned his ears and muzzle almost purple. "We don't have to talk about that." He would be rather relieved not to talk about that. He wouldn't know where to begin.
"I like boys," Nace muttered, head down and eyes on the floor.
Cym nodded, gulping nervousness. Well, that was as good a place as any.
"I don't like girls. I wouldn't have wanted a female even if I could get one." He looked up. "Are you going to tease me about it?"
"No. No, I mean . . ." Teasing was about the farthest thing from his mind. "You don't like me . . . like that?"
"I like you. I think you're pretty, but I wouldn't want to do anything unless you wanted it, too"
"Pretty?" Cym said.
Nace shrugged.
"I, uh, don't like boys," Cym said.
"No, I didn't think so."
They were quiet for a little while, Nace in sadness, Cym in shock.
"They always teased him," Nace murmured at last. He gave a nod into the hallway, towards the dragon that was no longer there. "I don't know if he's that way or not, I think he is, but they always teased him. No one ever teased me, even though that's what I am."
"Aren't you--Well, I mean, aren't all Pythians supposed to be that way?"
"Don't be stupid," the yellow-green spat. "There wouldn't be any of us at all if we were all that way. Sex with males is one thing, but you're supposed to want the females. Everything you do is to get access to the females. Not wanting females is not wanting status or money or a job or anything. It's being worthless."
"You're telling me Pythians are straight," Cym said.
"I don't know what that means."
"That's just wanting females, if you're male. Or males, if you're female."
"What's a male wanting males, then?" Nace asked through a painful smile. This topic touched a raw nerve in him, and any hint of disrespect got his back up. "Crooked?"
"Queer, I think, my tribe would say."
"Weird."
"Yeah. Weird."
"Just wanting females would be weird here, too," Nace said. "You'd be acting like an ass, spoiled." He spoke haughtily, looking down his nose, "'I only drink red wine. I certainly won't have a beer with you people.'" It was, perhaps, a little too good an impression of the dark gold Pythian who wouldn't eat canned tomatoes.
Cym laughed a little. "That is absolutely bizarre. You can have it on my authority that everybody else thinks Pythians run around fucking anything they want, whether it says 'no' or 'yes' or 'moo'. And really you're as touchy about it as anyone else. Just different." He glanced around the cells, humor fading. "Maybe not good-different."
"Maybe not," the yellow-green agreed. (Though, personally, he didn't think Oraz would take any better to "hey, queer!" than "hey, faggot!")
"Still friends?" Cym asked.
"If you want me," Nace said softly.
"Aw." The dark blue cuffed him gently, the hooks of his claws bringing his head up. "Look at you. You're pitiful. You're like the last free kitten in a crate. Who wouldn't want you?" He held up a finger. "Not that I want carnal knowledge of you, mind."
"Glad to know you're not queer for kittens," Nace replied, so low Cym almost didn't catch it.
The dark blue put out a hand and shoved Nace's muzzle lightly backwards. "Ass," he said with a grin.