FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter two here, up about a week early because I am a kind and benevolent dragon! Enjoy!

• Master Meridian

Blood and Water

Secrets We Keep

For almost a week, Oswell didn't emerge from his private laboratory. The elder fox barely appeared before both Deacon and Bain, the latter to ask questions about his life and the former to make demands to assist him. Though both failed to produce worthy results, only Deacon was punished for it. Bain, the younger fox was told, could not for a second believe himself to be a prisoner.

It had taken every ounce of Deacon's control and intellect to keep that simple little truth from the earnest otter. For the first couple of days it had been relatively easy. Bain's questions and queries had mostly come from the sort of work they did, and the magic they wielded, and the manor itself, and so on and so forth. Deacon had told him what he could, and perhaps more than his father would have liked. It kept the otter's mind occupied.

By the midweek though, Bain's questions turned more personal. He asked after his village and his family. He asked after the bandits who'd attacked them and other threats to the region. He'd asked questions that Deacon knew he couldn't possibly answer with the truth.

For the most part, he'd avoided answering or had given only partial answers. He'd told Bain that he didn't know specifically what his family was up to. He'd said that the village was doing well so far as he knew. He assured the otter that the bandits that had attacked their town were well and truly dealt with, and that the crown had already assured the village's continued safety.

Normally, such things were Oswell's job. Normally the older magi preferred to take care of such matters himself because he possessed more mind-warping skill than Deacon himself did. Where the younger of the pair could only rely on his tongue, Oswell was always all too eager to apply his own prodigious will to override another's. Normally Oswell would have done it all himself, unable to trust Deacon to do it right.

However, in the brief moments when he spoke to his son about his findings, Oswell showed actual, genuine excitement for the first time Deacon could ever remember. "This boy is a herald of great things," he'd told Deacon in private, halfway through the week. "Everything I had hoped to discover may well reside inside him."

The first time that the three were to spend together didn't come until the end of that week. Deacon had been given very specific instructions to prepare Bain for dinner. Oswell had explained in detail all the little ways in which peasants were incapable of dressing appropriately or comporting themselves as a dinner truly required, and entrusted Deacon with ensuring that the otter didn't offend him. Improvement to Bain's manners wasn't a necessary part of Oswell's experiments, but the older fox had told Deacon that anything to make it more bearable would be entirely lovely.

So it was that Deacon led Bain carefully toward the dining room that night. While the fox was still dressed in the simple robes he always wore around the house, Bain was given considerably nicer garments than those he'd arrived in. Gone were the ugly brown rags of a peasant otter. In their place was a sheer, delicately spun ensemble of silk vest and trousers, all dyed a soft blue. It had been the first outfit that Bain had been offered, and the otter hadn't needed to see the second.

When he'd told Deacon that he could look again, the difference had been incredible. Gone was the disheveled hair and poorly-groomed fur. Regular bathing and vigorous scrubbing had done away with all of that. In their place was a pristine young otter, beaming with joy at something so simple as a new set of clothes. It'd been enough to bring a broad smile to Deacon's face, though his ears had tipped back to try and hide his blush. The silk wasn't quite as opaque as he might have expected, and Bain didn't seem to have noticed yet.

Not that it was entirely an unusual sight. The sensation orbs that Deacon himself had implanted strategically around Bain's body had done exactly what Oswell had said they would. Bain was barely an adult by biological standards, neverminding the societal norms. His libido, Deacon had learned from him in a shameless moment of self-exposure on the otter's part, had always been high since the mating urges had begun a couple years earlier. The orbs hadn't exacerbated the problem by a considerable amount, but there were several times a day when Deacon had to give his charge a few minutes of privacy to relieve himself. And then, of course, there had been Oswell's first extraction. Bain's naked body was nothing Deacon hadn't seen before.

But as he led the silk-clad otter to the dining room, Deacon's mind couldn't help but wander. Bain had been giving him odd looks all week, whenever he'd needed to calm himself down. He'd laughed at Deacon's embarrassment, joked about the strangeness of their situation, and done everything he could to set the fox at ease. He'd gone beyond what someone in his position would have done, so far as Deacon could imagine.

In spite of that, his father's words from that first extraction came back to him every single time. It'd been a matter of a couple errant words spoken before Bain had been brought swiftly to his climax, and entirely regarding how he'd made it there. The fact that Bain's body was unreceptive to a female-centric fantasy hadn't been that unusual, despite the crown's punishment for acting on the desires it implied. That Bain had reacted so strongly to an implanted fantasy of Deacon, however?

That had been a little surprising.

He'd been forced to push those thoughts out of his head when he arrived at the doors to the dining room. With a bowed head, Deacon stepped to the side and pushed the door open. He waved Bain through, and the otter had chuckled quietly and given him a little bow of his own as he'd stepped inside.

Deacon smiled as he followed. The dining room wasn't as large as it could have been, but the tall ceiling gave the illusion of greater size. A candlelit chandelier hung above the long wooden table in the room's center, surrounded by sturdy and intricately carved chairs. His smile did falter at the sight of his father at the head of the table.

There was no malice or disappointment on Oswell's face. Rather he too smiled as he waved across the table, filled with meat and vegetable and fruit and wine. "Once each week, I like to take the time to put my talents to a more selfish use," he announced, as he stood from his chair. "It takes a great deal of effort to prepare such a feast under normal circumstances, however magic eliminates the need for hired help or trained staff." He waved his paws to either side of the table. "Come, boys. Sit."

Bain was all too eager to do so, and Deacon followed. He kept his eyes off his father as best he could. After all, the silk garments that he had allowed Bain to wear had not been the sort of thing that Oswell would have classified as 'appropriate' for the situation. "I don't know what to say, Master Oswell!" Bain spoke up. The words broke through Deacon's thoughts as the fox looked up at Bain's smiling face. "I have never seen this much food in my life!"

"Magic can sustain the body and tend to its every need," Oswell said as he sat back down again. "Such a technique is simple to learn and simple to apply. Conjuring something like this requires a more delicate touch. Equally as fulfilling to one's needs, but I find the act of sitting down to dinner so much more rewarding than simply flooding my body with renewed energy." He looked Bain up and down, but only Deacon saw the twitch of his smile. "It is so very nice to see you out of the clothing you arrived in."

The otter just nodded as he laid his paws in his lap. He glanced at Deacon across the table from him and nodded again as he gave a grateful smile. "Deacon was kind enough to give me this," he said as he raised his arms. The silk sleeves rolled down for a moment before he lowered them again. "As soon as I saw it... it's so soft! I didn't know anything could feel this soft!"

As Oswell nodded once and began to draw food from the table to his plate, a frown creased Bain's brow. Deacon cocked his head to the side and perked up an ear as he followed Bain's gaze up to his father. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

The question drew Oswell's attention to Bain as well, and the older fox just lifted his eyebrows as Bain shook his head to the side. "No... no, nothing's wrong," he answered after a moment. His eyes dropped to his empty plate before they rose again to meet Oswell's gaze. "I just... I mean no disrespect, Master Oswell. But... do you not offer prayer before your meals here?"

"Studies of the arcane require a devotion that often separates us from both the gods above and the mortals below," Oswell replied. His smile had returned, still as warm and broad and friendly as ever. "I believe in the gods as surely as I believe in the soil beneath our paws, or the air we breathe. I do not offer them devotion or prayer."

Bain looked down again and gave an abashed nod. Deacon took a deep breath quickly and spoke up, "But you may offer your prayers here." A glance to the side showed a minor glance of annoyance from his father, but Deacon ignored it as he smiled over at Bain. "If they bring you comfort, we of course would not deny you them. Is that not correct, father?" he added as he turned his grin on Oswell.

When Bain's hopeful eyes also locked on the older fox, the irritation was gone beneath the mask of friendship again. "Of course it is, boy," he replied. His voice was smooth as glass and betrayed nothing that Deacon knew was even then stewing inside his mind. "Bain, you may of course offer your prayers. We will wait for you before we begin."

The otter nodded his thanks and placed both webbed paws on either side of his plate. He squeezed at the table's surface as he closed his eyes. "I, Bain Mazon, do humbly offer thanks to the gods. You who have brought me here I owe all to. To the Lord of War, for delivering two saviours to my village. To the Lord of Justice, for seeing justice delivered to those who wronged our village. To the Mistress of Fate, for drawing my path to this place. To the Mother Almighty, for protecting my family in my place." His arms crossed his chest as he bowed his head. "Blessed am I to walk in your light."

"Blessed are we," Deacon added, as he mimicked the otter's gesture. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the most miniscule shake of his father's head. Deacon knew that Oswell would not be happy with his words and actions at the table afterward, but also that he wouldn't dare lift a finger while Bain was present.

As Bain's head lifted again, he smiled across the table at Deacon. "You do know the prayers," he eagerly said as he drew some of the food onto his plate. "I was wondering if you two just didn't study the gods' works, or if you didn't care." His smile turned on Oswell as the older fox nodded to him. "Thank you, kind Master, for allowing my prayers."

Oswell just nodded and resumed loading his plate. "As Deacon has said, we endeavor to make sure that your stay with us is as comfortable as possible. If your prayers ease your mind, all the better that you speak them." He leaned back in his chair as he regarded the otter's plate. "You follow the gods well, then? A student of theology?"

Bain had to chuckle from around a mouthful of meat. It took him a moment to chew and swallow before he replied. "Oh, no. I was always going to work with my father in the bakery. But my mother is very devout! She knows all the scripture of the Mistress of Fate." He smiled across the table at Deacon. "Whenever I did anything wrong, she'd always remind me that I was walking the wrong path. She was very tough, but very fair."

"I try to do the same for young Deacon there," said Oswell, as he cocked an eyebrow and perked one ear. "Young ones need discipline. It is a credit to your mother that she raised you so well. Alas, I cannot say the same for my son."

Even as Deacon bowed his head to hide his shamed expression - though not the shamed droop of his ears - Bain just smiled more broadly. "I think you've raised a fine son, Master Oswell," he replied. "Master Deacon is very smart, and he's very kind and understanding. I think I would've been a lot more uncomfortable here if he wasn't around." When he turned to look at Deacon, all he saw was the fox's lowered head. "I'm sure you and his mother are very proud," he added, as he turned back to Oswell again.

The older vulpine nodded slowly as he chewed. "His mother was another especially powerful magi," he said. His eyes didn't meet Bain's; instead, they remained fixed on his plate. "Truly, she was the most gifted magi I have ever met. She had the power to accomplish many feats that the magi who preceded her had believed completely impossible."

"And where is she now?" Bain asked. The smile on his muzzle had begun to fade, and his ears twitched as he looked over at Deacon again.

Deacon was the one to reply, from behind his still-bowed head. "She is gone now, Bain," he replied, as he slowly turned his attention to his own plate. "She died, soon after she gave birth to me."

"Another magi took her life," Oswell bitterly added as he speared a slice of meat on his knife. "One who followed a darker path. She was a healer, a practitioner of the lightest of magic. But it drew the attention of a magi who wished to pervert her work to enhance his own lifespan. He killed her when she could not give him what he desired. It is her work that I now follow and seek to perfect." When he glanced briefly up at Bain, it was with a thin smile. "My life is darker in her absence. _I_am darker in her absence. But my cause is hers, and I would see her life's work completed."

With a slow nod, Bain let his eyes drop to his plate full of food. He pushed it around with his knife for a moment in silence before he glanced briefly up again. "What happened to the magi who killed her?" he asked.

The smile on Oswell's face stretched wider and thinner before he resumed his meal. "Trapped in a state of constant decay," answered the older fox. He paused long enough to take a sip of wine, and he swirled his goblet slowly as he looked to Deacon. "That which he feared most. He could never hide his deathly state, no matter where he went. It was a simple task to hunt him down. I could not kill him finally, such was the powerful sorcery that binds his flesh now. But his punishment is eternal, and unending. A fitting punishment for what he did."

Oswell set his fork down gently atop his plate and steepled the fingers of both paws as he regarded Bain. "But I see the question that burns within your eyes, dear boy. You seek not information on my past, or even Deacon's past. You seek knowledge of your future and your purpose, do you not?"

Bain cleared his throat as he looked quickly between Deacon and Oswell. "Well... yes, sir. I've had a week to think about what I'm doing here and... what you need from me. It just... it seems strange, to me." He lifted his arms and shook his head quickly. "I mean, I don't know how magic works, but your, ah..."

"Extractions?" Deacon offered.

"Yeah, those. Extractions." Bain nodded his thanks to Deacon before he shook his head at Oswell. "I mean, I get it if you can't tell me what it's all for, or if I won't understand. I'd just... like to try." He shrugged before he shied away from Oswell and slunk back in his chair.

But Oswell just smiled warmly back at him. "Were you any other simple peasant, I might not bother. But you," he said as he waved a paw toward the otter, "are a special case. Now. The deal we brokered with your village was simple enough; we eradicate your bandit problem, and in exchange we take into our care one of the young sons of your families. Just one, and one of our choice.

"We could not allow it to be random, because only certain people possess the traits that I require in order to continue my work. Your families were willing to accept this deal because most did not believe that it would be their son that was to be taken." Again he lifted a paw, and it levelled a single finger at Bain. "It had to be you."

Bain paused in between his resumed efforts to clear his plate long enough to chew more vigorously. "But what made me so special?" he asked, once his muzzle was empty.

A chuckle rose from Oswell. "On the outside? Nothing at all. On the inside, however? Your spirit possesses what we in the world of the arcane refer to as vibrancy. A particularly vibrant spirit is often indicative of a soul who has such energy that they can likely even be trained to tap into magic."

Even as Bain's eyes lit up with excitement, Deacon interrupted him. "Before you become carried away by the notion, allow me to let you down easy," he said, as the otter turned to him with a slowly-deflating grin. "You are not here for training to become a magi. Such training must begin at a young age to teach the control necessary, and technically the crown forbids the study of magic."

Oswell waved a paw dismissively. "Please. The laws of the empire on the training of those with the innate aptitude to learn magic leave much to the imagination. There is nothing illegal about who we are born to be, certainly. The laws are in place to prevent the study of magic by those who know not what they are doing."

With a slow nod and a cock to his head, Bain looked between Deacon and Oswell. "But how then were you trained?" he asked. "And how did you manage to train your son, if the crown'd punsh you?"

The older fox snorted quietly and shook his head. "The crown and I have an understanding," he explained. "They do not come after me for my work, though they frown on it. They do not come after me for training my son, though they frown on it. They know that should the threat of dark magi rise up to threaten them, they will need allied magi in order to stop them. Thus, I am allowed some latitude in my operations and experimentations."

Deacon shook his head as he drew Bain's attention. "But it would be dangerous in the extreme for us to train you in the magi arts," he added. His ears drooped slightly as he saw Bain's eyes sink. "Your mind is trained to see the world a certain way. Magic requires an awareness to what lies behind the world. It also threatens us, with regards to my father's ability to work around the empire's laws. I am sorry, but you need to know that our intention is not to train you in the ways of the magi. I do not want you to feel false hope, Bain."

"That does not mean you should not feel pride," Oswell interjected as he nodded to Deacon. "My son has a vibrancy of spirit that rivals the most powerful magi of the world. His potential surpasses even my own, if only he could focus enough to attain it." His eyes shifted from Deacon to Bain as his son looked down again and firmly closed his muzzle. "You will have a long and healthy life, dear boy, even and perhaps especially without magic there to cloud it.

"Your vibrancy does mean that I can tap into that for the purpose of my experiments into healing magic. You see, healing power in the arcane sense manifests as an elemental force. All people possess an elemental affinity in their spirits. Mine is aerun, the element of air." He nodded to Deacon. "His is fraen, the element of fire. His mother was a master of ulurn, the element of earth." His smile softened as he took another sip of wine. "And you, Bain, have a spirit more finely attuned to ilaen, the element of water."

As he spoke, Bain had continued to tear through his food. He paused in it long enough to cock his head to the side. "And water is useful for healing?" he asked, as he brushed down his trousers.

Oswell nodded as he set down his knife and fork. "The most powerful element with regards to healing magic, yes," he answered as he lifted one paw. The plate and cutlery began to float into the air, and the fox didn't even watch it as he drew it back out of the room with his mind. "This is why I have intense need of you, dear boy. You have a strong spirit - a strong essence as a result of this - and a powerful connection to ilaen magic that I have lacked for some time."

Bain followed the floating plate with his eyes as wonder sparkled in them for a moment. "And what more do you need from me before I go home?" he asked. "I mean, I'm very grateful for what you've done for me, and for us. I just miss my family's all."

As Bain turned his attention to pushing the contents of his plate around with a knifepoint, Deacon looked over at Oswell. The older vulpine's miniscule nod was augmented with a glare strong enough to melt iron. Speak a word of it to him, came the inevitable words through Deacon's mind, and I swear by all of his silly little gods that you will never utter a word again.

His audible words were considerably softer. "I cannot promise you anything, dear boy," he said. The apologetic note in his voice was completely and obviously forced to Deacon's ears, but he didn't dare speak. Instead, Oswell continued, "When I have learned all I can from your ilaen connection you will, of course, be freed of the agreement made by your village. I understand how difficult this must be for you. I believe I know how I can make this easier for you, though."

Both Bain and Deacon's heads lifted with confusion. The younger magi perked an ear as he tucked his tail up under his chair. "You have developed a new research method?" Deacon asked.

"Not quite," Oswell replied with a shake of his head. "In fact, I have exhausted what I can learn without another extraction." He smiled softly at Bain and nodded toward his son. "However, I have ensured that Deacon has learned in the last week to engage the sensation orbs in such a way to stimulate your body in the ways necessary to expedite extraction. You do not need some old wizard like myself leering over your naked body. Deacon will take charge of your extractions henceforth."

While Deacon's eyes widened considerably, Bain's face adopted a wide smile. It was quickly brought under control as he glanced over at the younger fox and he gave a slow nod. "I don't know how that would make it easier, Master Oswell," he slowly replied, "but I'm thankful for your effort. You're always trying so hard to make me comfortable."

Oswell just chuckled as he stood from the table. "As long as you are a guest in our home, I will see to it that you are well taken care of," he answered. His eyes travelled across the table to fix on Deacon. "Boy, I would speak with you a moment. I am certain Bain is quite able to finish eating in our absence."

"I... of course," Deacon replied as he glanced up at Bain. The otter's smile had returned, a sly little thing that only barely tugged at his muzzle as he studied his plate carefully. Deacon had known that the next extraction would be his to conduct. He'd just not expected it to come so soon. "Do excuse us a moment, Bain. I am certain we shall not be long."

"Take as long as you like," Bain said as he allowed his grin to show. "This meal is amazing! I'm sorry if I'm attacking it so rudely."

There was another chuckle from Oswell as Deacon stood from the table and headed toward his father. "Think nothing of it, dear boy. It is there to be enjoyed. As Deacon said, we will not be more than a moment. Excuse us." He turned away and placed a gentle hand on Deacon's back to help draw the younger fox back from the table and out of the room.

The two vulpines walked in silence into the hall, and Deacon watched his father gently close the door. He waved a paw slowly from one side of the door to the other, and the surface began to shimmer slightly before he turned back to his son. "There. Now, he will not hear us."

Even as Deacon opened his muzzle, the back of Oswell's paw crashed down hard across it. A whimper spilled out of the younger fox as he struck the wall and slid down to the ground, and Oswell glared down at him from behind folded arms. "What have you been telling him, boy?"

Deacon just whimpered again as he pushed himself back harder against the wall. His tail tickled his belly as he hugged himself. It didn't save him from the outward lash of his father's foot. It slammed into his cheek and knocked him to the floor where he curled as tightly into a ball as he could. "N-nothing, sir," he stammered after a moment. "I s-swear!"

"Questions regarding his family and his eventual homecoming?" Oswell growled wordlessly as he knelt down over his son and thrust out a single paw. Fingers wrapped around Deacon's throat and pulled him out of his protective curl, and he slammed the younger fox's head hard into the wall. "I ask you again, boy, and do not lie to me. What have you told him?"

With a strangled gurgle, Deacon shook his head quickly from side to side. "Noth... ing," he repeated, with what little breath he could draw. Any further words were choked off as Oswell's fingers tightened, but Deacon couldn't even bring his arms up to try and push his father off. It would only be worse if he fought; that was a lesson he'd learned long ago.

Just as his vision began to tunnel into darkness, Oswell released him. The release came in the form of shoving the younger fox down to the floor again, but the lack of windpipe restraint was all that mattered to Deacon in that moment. He sucked in deep breaths and released them with a series of wracked coughs. "I... told... nothing," he reiterated with what little air he could muster.

Oswell huffed quietly as he straightened up again. Arms folded once more and slid into the sleeves of his robes as he looked down at his panting son. "He is becoming attached to you, boy," he said. His voice was calm and smooth, in spite of his casual violence. "You cannot allow yourself the same luxury."

"I'm... I am not... not attached, sir," Deacon quickly forced out. The hurried correction to his contraction didn't save him from his father's glare, and he cringed away again with another plaintive whine.

For whatever reason though, Oswell chose not to act on the slip. Instead he crouched down again and reached out with a firm hand to grip Deacon's muzzle. "He is steer_to such as we, boy. A beast of burden to be used to serve the desires of greater beings. He is a tool, albeit one with considerable value and use. That value and use diminishes considerably if he discovers the secrets that we keep from him. Do not delude yourself into believing him a person, or worse a _friend. Do you understand me?"

When Deacon hurriedly nodded as best he could while still in Oswell's grip, the older vulpine let him go. His fingertips were red with blood where they had gripped Deacon's muzzle. "I am going to conduct a few more tests with what essence I have remaining," he said as he wiped his paws clean on the inside of his robe's sleeves. "You will ensure that Bain finishes his meal and then conduct an extraction when he has regained his strength. Bring the results to me as soon as you are done, and do not tarry."

He didn't wait for Deacon to offer him a reply. Instead, Deacon watched Oswell turn on his heel and march off down the hall. It was only then that he realized that he could taste the tang of blood on his tongue, and the sensation drew a fresh whimper from his muzzle. He carefully wiped a paw up along his muzzle to clean as much of the mess off as he could as he pulled himself shakily upright again. It took a few more moments of careful tail motion to save him from the wobbliness of his legs.

When he finally placed one paw on the door, the shimmering light that had played across its surface vanished. Deacon took a long, slow, quiet breath. If he wasn't careful, everything his father had done would be unraveled by his own weakness. If he couldn't keep the pain from his face or the waver out of his voice, he'd be lucky if a beating was all he received. The breath came out in the form of a silent sigh, and Deacon forced a smile to his face and a perk to his ears as he pushed the door open again.

Bain was right where he had been left. The otter seemed to have refilled his plate with some of the vast food on the table. He still caught the sound of the open door though, and he looked over with a smile and a wave as Deacon stepped back into the dining room. "Was he giving you some tips on how to work the extraction?" he asked with a little chuckle.

"Something like that," Deacon replied. He tried to smile a little wider as he strode over to stand behind Bain. "My father sends his apologies; he had a moment of inspiration and had to retire to his private study. You are, alas, stuck with me."

Bain just chuckled as he turned his attention back to his plate. "I can think of much worse people to be stuck with," he said as he grinned. "Are you going to sit with me again, or am I gonna have to eat alone?"

A tingle worked through Deacon's muzzle at the prospect of chewing, and he forced a laugh of his own as he shook his head. Eating was not something he wanted to do with his muzzle in the state it was in. "No, I spent most of dinner eating while you and my father discussed matters," he replied. "I may finish my wine, but that will suffice for me, I think."

Bain nodded as he chewed at some bread. "Can I ask you something?" When Deacon nodded, the otter gave another little chuckle. "Do you have to talk like that?"

Deacon blinked. "Like what?" he asked.

"Like nobles and kings and priests and stuff do," elaborated Bain with a grin. "You're all so proper, you and your father. So polite, like all the highborns I've ever read about. Do you have to talk that way, or can you not?" He paused and adopted a stuffier voice and a mock-cultured accent. "I do say, it is quite positively stuffy!"

As Bain laughed at his own voice, Deacon had to force his smile to stay steady. He couldn't feel his father's presence in the back of his mind, but that didn't mean for a moment that Oswell wasn't listening to every single word. "My father teaches that we who use speech should use it well, and properly, and not abuse our words by shortening them and stealing away their meaning. He says that language is how we truly separate ourselves from mere beasts, and that it must be respected."

"But he's not here," Bain said, his voice low as he lifted his eyebrows. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he grinned up at Deacon. "C'mon. I've heard you slip a couple times. It's just us here. For me?"

A glance over his shoulder out of paranoia came with the slip of his smile from his sore muzzle. Oswell wasn't in sight, and he wasn't inside the fox's mind. If it helped set Bain at ease though, wouldn't his father want that? "I'm sorry," he replied as he turned back to Bain again. "I can't. I don't think it's a good idea."

Bain began to laugh again as his grin split his face. The sound drew a smile back across Deacon's features, and not one bit of it was forced. Even the pain in his muzzle was dimmed as Bain laughed. "Now, hurry up. We have work to do."

"Yes, sir!' Bain replied. His grin didn't go anywhere as he began to dig back into his food again. "I'm looking forward to seeing if you're as good at it as your father is, too!"

Deacon's smile wavered slightly as he patted the back of the otter's chair. "Yeah," he replied as he reached for more wine. Thoughts of how he would appeal to Bain and how his father had done flashed through his mind and set him ill at ease. "That would make two of us."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dinner hadn't taken long to conclude after that. Bain had mowed through his food with a speed that went beyond being hungry to being openly and outwardly eager for what was to happen afterward. The otter had been shameless in his interest in what was to be his dessert, of sorts.

Deacon however had felt enough embarrassment for the both of them. On more than one occasion while he led the otter to his bedchambers - Bain's idea, for comfort and privacy - he'd caught sight of the otter's malehood. It wasn't fully free of his sheath any time he saw it, but it was still a fine visual reminder of Bain's barely-contained excitement. The silken nature of his trousers probably as little to quell any rising lusts as it did to conceal them.

Bain's chambers weren't large by any stretch of the imagination, but they were larger than anything he'd ever lived in previously. Simply decorated and with a warm, luxurious carpet - one that Deacon had caught the otter rolling about upon when he'd first discovered it - across the floor, it had all that Bain had needed to be comfortable and then some. He'd told Deacon when he first entered the room that he felt like a king. Deacon had neglected to mention the considerably larger and more intricately decorated bedroom he claimed as his own.

As Deacon closed Bain's bedroom door behind them though, he began to question the wisdom of allowing Bain such free will in this extraction process. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes hadn't abated at all in the time since the dinner table. Whether or not the otter knew that Deacon was aware of his secret interest in the fox, he still had no idea of how pervasive Oswell's senses were inside his manor. He still believed his every thought and whim to be private. Deacon wondered for a moment what it would have been like to have been born with parents he could actually conceal things from.

He snapped out of his musings as Bain slowly shrugged off the silk vest. It pooled behind his legs as he chuckled over at Deacon's abrupt glance away. "You're not embarrassed, are you?" he asked as he began to hook his thumbs down into the waist of his trousers.

As the fox brought his eyes back to bear by force of will, it wasn't without looking the otter over from webbed footpaws to warm eyes. Gaze lingered briefly on Bain's malehood, all of a sudden fully hard and leaking against his trousers. "No, of course not," he said. In spite of his attempt to keep his voice even, he berated himself internally for the little squeak that slipped out. "No," he said again as he forced his eyes to fix on Bain's. "That would be silly. It would imply I have something to feel ashamed about."

"And I'm not the one who's going to be inside your head through this whole thing, either." Bain grinned wide and rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug before he turned away and began to slide his trousers down. His tail flicked up as he bared his rump before the fox, though he was so lost in the show and the action that he didn't see Deacon avert his eyes again. "Wonder what I'd have to show you to get you going like your dad did."

Gods blood, the otter knew! Or suspected, Deacon corrected himself as he forced his eyes back to Bain again. When the otter turned around it was without any clothing and a volume of shame to match. The grin on his face gave it all away. Deacon was sure that Bain knew that Oswell had implanted the fantasy of him. He knew that the older magi had given him a pleasurable vision that violated all the laws of the land and of nature, and he was fishing for Deacon's stance. "I've... never given it any thought," he answered at last. Truth, after a fashion.

As Bain backed up to the edge of his bed and gently sat himself down atop it, the grin didn't show any signs of fading. "For how brazen your father is with the topic, you're very shy," he pointed out as he pressed his paws down on the plush quilt either side of him. "Surely you've pleasured yourself too. You're as old as I am; you've got to have figured out how it all works!"

A cough broke through Deacon's muzzle as he stepped over past the bed and toward one of the small cupboards scattered around. Ears flattened to hide the burn of his blush. His father_was the brazen one? Had the otter heard himself speak? "I... bearing in mind that we _must get to the extraction soon-"

"And that's kinda my point," Bain interrupted with a chuckle.

"- I don't really give it any thought," he finished as he pulled a cupboard drawer open. Inside were some of the beakers and vials that his father wished him to use to collect the otter's essence. He'd prepared them all over the house in case of emergency. What emergency would warrant bringing the otter to his climax in the kitchen eluded Deacon, but he figured it couldn't hurt to be thorough. "I, ah... I complete the act and be done with it."

Again Bain chuckled as he watched Deacon fish out the glassware. "Oh, there's gotta be someone you'd imagine, even if they're made up!" he persisted. "Like... the queen's daughter! I hear she's a beautiful young wolfess, and probably just as smart as you!" He winked as Deacon turned back to glance at him. "You've never thought of getting in her? You foxes are close enough, right? Got the same bits? Do you have the part that swells up when you're gonna go? Does it feel good when you squeeze it?"

"I... yes, I do, and yeah, I've heard of her, but I don't... ugh!" Deacon's eyes widened as he raised both paws, shaking them side to side while Bain laughed. "We're not having this conversation!"

"We're not; I am!" Bain managed to say through his laughter. "I'm sorry. You're uncomfortable. I should shut up."

Deacon sighed quietly as he nodded once. "I... yes. Thank you."

"I should shut up and let you get me off. If you like."

If both paws weren't filled with glass equipment, Deacon may have brought both paws up to cover his face. The otter was playing with him. His eyes shot open, and he barely managed to control his expression as he hurried over to sit down on the bed next to Bain. "Let's just get this done," he said. The words came out of his muzzle in a rush as he set the glassware in his lap. "Lay down, please."

With a giggle, Bain followed the instruction and spread his arms out wide. One paw brushed along Deacon's tail as it moved away, and the fox twitched the length away as he closed his eyes. He sighed quietly as he reached down to the beakers in his lap and pressed them down a little more firmly.

Spitefully, the burgeoning erection beneath his robes refused to reduce itself.

When it had begun and what had sparked it was beyond the fox's ability to figure out for the moment. "I'm going to put you in the same trance state my father did when we made our first extraction," he said as he lifted his emptied paws out of his rebellious lap. "It should feel like falling asleep, nothing more or less."

"I remember how it felt," Bain replied with another little giggle. His eyes closed as Deacon's hands lifted up over his body, and he wriggled in comfortably down against the quilt in anticipation of the fox's magic.

Deacon began the motions both physical and arcane, but paused in the midst of them. Bain's shaft was still firmly pointed upward, sustained perhaps by some intense lust of the otter's native manufacture. It drew the fox's attention, a pink pillar from the forest of brown fur that blanketed Bain's body. Curiosity won out over anything else in the fox's mind as he let one of his paws slip down to gently stroke over the side of the otter's length.

The soft sigh of appreciation was lost to Deacon, so focused was he. For the first time he properly looked at the focus of his father's arcane efforts; the literal font from which flowed the key to his research. It wasn't so much a matter of want or desire on Deacon's part. He marveled at the little differences in colour, texture and shape.

It wasn't until he felt a throb run through Bain's shaft that Deacon jerked his paw away again. A slender river of pre ran down the underside of Bain's length as the otter smiled from behind closed eyelids. "If you just want to touch me, you could try asking first," he said.

Horror and embarrassment took immediate hold of Deacon, and the fox reached out with his other paw to press against Bain's forehead. The otter immediately fell limp against the bed as Deacon bade his body fall into sleep, and the paw stayed still for another shameful moment to make sure that Bain was actually asleep. Bain's steady breathing and the slackness of his fading smile did little to encourage him.

It was only the barest sliver of Deacon's awareness that wormed its way through the otter's mind. Even as one of the fox's physical paws grasped at the largest of the beakers and the other stroked across Bain's forehead, his mind slid deeper and deeper into the sleeping otter's awareness. It manifested as little more than a void, filled only by Deacon's ethereal self and the ghostly outline of Bain's body, wrapped in wispy versions of the clothes he'd arrived in. As he slept but before he was able to build a dream out of the void, his mind was like clay for Deacon.

But even as his awareness circled the otter's dormant self, Deacon found himself lost. His father was older by far and had lived a rich life of experience. He was no stranger to sexual activity, certainly; he'd fathered a son, after all. All the younger of the vulpine pair knew of mating consisted entirely of theory. All of that theory was built on the compatibility of the male and female bodies; the only natural compatibility in the world. It was all the theory he'd ever need, after all. Anything else was unnatural and abominable. None of that theory even remotely touched on what two _males_might do. And therein lay his problem.

How do you appeal to someone when their desires violate all that you know?

But there was only so long he could wait before Bain's unconscious mind began to fill in the void itself. Deacon knew that if he didn't begin somewhere, the otter would beat him to the punch. His mind would assert its dominance over his will, and he would have to force Bain's mind to bend to his own. That was the last thing Deacon wanted to do, even if it was just the sort of thing his father would have had no qualms with. Especially if it was just the sort of thing his father would do.

Memory took shape around him. Out of the void shimmered wood and stone, a blurry representation that gradually coalesced into a recognizable scene. It was the village feast hall that Deacon and his father had first selected Bain and taken him from his home. Half-remembered tapestries flickered into view, lit by flaming torches that waved back and forth in an unfelt breeze. Long wooden benches melted through the floors and into shape. The ceiling grew as an organic thing that became solid under Deacon's efforts.

When he was done though, nothing was truly tangible. Everything shimmered and shone with something unreal; something out of a dream. It wasn't real enough to fool the otter's mind. Deacon felt a momentary twinge of panic as he looked around at his creation. It was going to fail. It wasn't going to be good enough for the otter to take as a slice of reality. A twitch of his mental self brought the solidifying presence of Bain's self into view. The otter had begun to uncurl. He was entering the dream.

The panic intensified for a moment before Deacon felt everything snapping into place around him. Without an effort on his part, the walls began to lose their shimmer. The torches slowly started to still themselves. Minute details of the feast hall etched themselves into place. The little things that Deacon hadn't ever known about or noticed filled themselves in, as Bain's mind and memories and experiences began to shape the dreamscape. Panic gave way to relief. He'd built the foundation, and Bain's mind was accepting it. Better than that, the otter's mind was perfecting it for him.

When Bain's mental self was fully actualized within the dreamscape, Deacon's mental projection of himself was at his back and draped in the robes he always wore around Bain. The otter was sat down in the middle of the feast hall, on one of the many benches scattered about. He sat up a little straighter as he looked around himself, almost in confusion.

Without knowing precisely what to do, Deacon at least knew that he needed to do something. The dream was his own construct, but Bain's unconscious mind would take control of it if he didn't take steps to establish himself. With a flicker of thought, the fox brought his awareness into metaphysical being inside the dream and slid in beside Bain with a smile. "I remember taking you out of here," he told the otter.

"It's good to be home," Bain replied as he shuffled closer. His eyes kept darting over to the large wooden double doors that marked the entrance to the feast hall. The ear closest to them twitched every now and again as if concerned. "I don't know why you wanted me to come here so late. We should be asleep."

Several responses filtered through Deacon's awareness before he smiled and settled on one. The otter had a thing for him? That was the key, as his father had said. "We're here because everyone else is asleep," he told Bain, and allowed himself to wriggle a little closer. Dimly he felt a flash of concern from his physical body. He needed to direct the dream. Did that mean he needed to take an active role in whatever fantasy he concocted for Bain?

The gulp must have translated to the dreamscape somehow, because when Bain looked back up at him it was with a sly smirk. "Naughty fox, trying to get me all alone," he said as he slid the last couple inches of distance in and pressed against Deacon's side. Even in the quasi-real state of the dream, he could feel the otter's warmth as if he was physically there. "What, you got something you wanna say?"

If Deacon's nervousness translated through to the dreamscape, some small part of him reasoned it was all the better. Bain would latch on if his dream-Deacon wasn't at least partially like the real thing. His father could have created a fine mental simulacrum, but Deacon was there this time. He had to play to Bain's fantasy. He had to _be_the otter's fantasy. "I... don't know how to say it," he finally pushed out, as Bain's arm slid around his waist and pulled him closer. "I've never... I mean... I don't... I'm not..." He took a deep breath and looked the otter in the eye. This was harder than he thought.

His breath caught for a second. It wasn't real breath, and it wasn't Bain's real eyes. They looked like them and held the same depth that the real pair did, but they were just a creation of his mind; an avatar of his thoughts through the dreamscape. He'd not paid attention to them before, but he couldn't allow himself to in the moment. "It's... it's wrong," he settled on, as he tore his eyes away and flattened his ears. Fear ran through his nerves as he felt his physical body's heart quicken. If that was wrong, Bain would retreat from the dreamscape.

But instead he smiled and looked up at the ceiling. "This is where they taught me it was wrong," he said, as he tugged Deacon a little closer. "This is where they showed me how to get drunk and meet females and flirt and seduce. Maybe I'd even find someone higher-born than who's stuck in this little place, someone travelling through. This's where they taught me what was right... but it's not right for me."

It surprised Deacon somewhat when he felt Bain's body push up against him. One moment the otter was beside him, but the next found him suddenly straddled atop the fox. The otter's ragged clothes were gone, and it took Deacon a moment to realize that his robes had been drawn up. They splayed to either side of his hips, as he felt the otter's heat against his lap. "But you didn't want me here to _talk_about right and wrong, did you?" he asked Deacon. The otter grinned wide as he ground down against Deacon's lap.

The fact that the dream was Bain's didn't help Deacon any. The sensation orb that he'd used as a doorway into the otter's mind was open, and doors didn't just allow travel one-way. His paws drifted up to squeeze at Bain's side. The otter felt the squeeze, and Deacon felt the fur in his grasp as if he'd actually flexed his muscles and worked his fingers. Every sensation he visited upon Bain was something amplified in the otter's dreamscape, but every sensation that required something of Deacon was echoed in his body through their connection.

When he felt the stirrings of his malehood under Bain's rump, Deacon was simultaneously surprised and scared. He couldn't remember willing it to firm for the sake of the dream. He couldn't remember attempting to do anything for his own pleasure or benefit. The fantasy was a construct for Bain, to drain him of his essence. It wasn't there for the fox's arousal. What in the world would the otter want with his shaft, anyway? "Bain, we-" he began.

By the time Deacon realized he had lost control of the dreamscape, it was too late. The otter's legs wrapped tightly around his middle as he bore down against Deacon's lap. He ground and rubbed himself along the fox's rapidly firming length, even as Deacon tried to fight back. Every teaching and every law said that such a thing would be wrong; males were _not_meant to engage in such things with one another! There was nothing there that made sense to thrust into, anyway! He needed to break free of the dream. He had to escape the otter's mind before he did it harm.

Then Bain started to kiss his neck.

All at once, every single sensation that wrapped around Deacon's body exploded into warmth. The mental projection of himself shuddered and moaned quietly. Seconds passed before he realized one of his paws was on the back of Bain's head. He couldn't bring to move it as the otter's nibbles and licks and kisses worked up and down his throat. They sent tingles through him that were only amplified when he remembered his position. Hips rose, ground up. They weren't real, and they didn't meet anything real. In the dreamscape though, they were real enough to tease him with imagined sensation, solidified through arcane power.

Deacon felt his head spin as the dream shifted again. Clothes were gone. Deacon's arms were wrapped tight around Bain's middle. Bain's were draped over Deacon's shoulders. He could feel the otter's heart thudding against his chest as their foreheads touched together. There was heat - delicious, intense, tight - wrapped around his shaft as Bain wriggled down into his lap. The feast hall faded from the dreamscape. All that was left was the bench and two bodies pressed together.

He knew what had happened, intellectually. Bain's mind had taken the fantasy scenario that the fox had created and recovered full control. While Deacon's mind was still feathered through the otter's awareness, all he could do was influence it. All he could do was alter his 'physical' self. He'd lost control of the situation. If he didn't fight to force his control to reassert himself, he would either have to accept Bain's fantasy or retreat and start again.

But every wriggle of Bain's body sent shivering tendrils of pleasure right through Deacon's entire self and robbed him of the desire to fight orflee. They echoed back through the arcane connection and threaded themselves through his physical body. He felt every nip, every grind, and every squeeze as if the otter were really seated in his lap. In his distracted and entirely too innocent state, Deacon couldn't even comprehend how he was inside Bain. The otter's malehood ground up through the fur of his belly. He had no womanhood to take him in, but Deacon was still inside him.

Ignorance aside, there was nothing Deacon could do. The dream was Bain's. The fantasy and the direction were all at the whims of the otter's unconscious mind. Whatever Deacon had started, he was no longer in control. He was a passenger, active only in his participation in Bain's desires. His father had been right, at least; Bain was more than a little interested in the young fox.

Each rock of Bain's body down into Deacon's lap spread and worked heat and sensation along the fox's malehood. He found his paws on the otter's hips, and he squeezed them as he panted heavily for breath. Deacon could see Bain's muzzle move. His lips shaped words, but nothing reached the fox's ears. Instead there were moans and twitches, arches of his back and pulses that ran through him from crown to tail tip. Every one of them teased Deacon, as his hips rose instinctively to buck into the otter.

The wrongness faded away from his awareness as the pleasure built. That he was feeling those sensations while pressed against another male - and not even a fox, at that! - were footnotes to the litany of sensations that teased him through their link. The squeeze of Bain's legs around his middle tugged him closer. The blunt clawing of his webbed paws down Deacon's back pulled him up. Sticky heat clung to the fox's chest fur as streaks of pre added new, wet patterns to his body. The little wriggle of his hips whenever he sank down easily over Deacon's shaft stole his breath and turned society's concerns into lustful whimpers.

It came as a surprise still when Deacon felt himself peaking. His shaft pulsed and throbbed as he squeezed tighter at Bain's hips. Bucks upward broke through the rhythm of the dream as he tried desperately to bark out a warning. No warning was enough for Bain, as the otter's muzzle continued to try to form words. As the sensations of their coupling shuddered through Deacon's mind, he started to make the otter's words out. Just one word, over and over again as the fox teetered on the edge of his control. Please.

The very last thing Deacon had control over snapped. He poured himself into Bain; gripped the otter tight and buried his face into Bain's shoulder as he erupted inside his partner. He felt the sensation surge up through his malehood, and his pleasure echoed through every fiber of his being. Dimly he was aware of the otter's own peak, as thick, white streaks of his seed raced up to paint Deacon's chest. No sooner had the first struck him than he was pulled back through Bain's mind, ripped clean back through the otter's sensations and feelings and memories until the tendril of himself was vented from Bain and returned to his own body.

But the pleasure didn't stop. One paw was lifted, beaker prepared as Bain's shaft erupted in exquisite ropes of thick essence. It was drawn right into the beak, but Deacon's attention was far, far from his work. His other paw was tucked deep in his robes, ostensibly stuffed inside at some point while his mind was distracted. Fingers were curled around his knotted length, squeezing tightly, and his tip-

Eyes snapped open wide as another shuddering surge ran through his body. His tip was more than just dripping. It was_gushing_. Every surge of Bain's length was mirrored by a sympathetic jerk from Deacon's. The fox's familiar scent mingled with the newer, more exotic musk of the otter. His seed drooled out under his robe to the carpet, even as Bain's was drawn right into the beaker.

Panic and disgust set in as he pulled his paw back out of his robe. Black fur around his fingers were stained with white, and those fingers began to tremble in horror as he looked down at Bain. The otter's face was contorted in pleasure still, though it melted into contentment and satisfaction as the flow of his seed tapered off. Breath caught in Deacon's face as he felt his gaze drawn down to the otter's spent length.

He quickly pushed his sticky paw to Bain's forehead again. Before the otter could stir, Deacon reached into his mind and pushed him gently back into sleep. He panted as he pulled away from Bain as quickly as he could and wiped his paw down over his robe before he stopped up the beaker. The fox gulped quietly as he glanced over at the door. His father would need the otter's essence immediately. There would be barely any time to change.

But there would be time enough, he reasoned. If his father thought for even a second that he had derived his own pleasure from the extractions, he would not be involved with Bain again. Deacon paused for a moment as that thought struck him. If he wasn't involved with Bain any more, he might not have to go through that again. Whatever the otter had done to him wouldn't be an issue anymore. He could go back to being normal... or as normal as a magi could get, anyway.

Still, Deacon lingered in the doorway as he looked back to Bain again. On the other paw, if his father thought he had derived his own pleasure from the extraction - if he thought for a second that Deacon shared Bain's perversion - then the punishment would far outweigh the benefit of not having to deal with the teasing otter anymore. The crown might have allowed Oswell latitude with magic, but not with violating the laws of nature.

With a deep breath, Deacon clutched the beaker tighter and headed out into the hall. He had to get changed and cleaned up first. His father might be upset with the delay, but he couldn't let Oswell think he was like Bain. He couldn't let his father think anything unusual had happened. He couldn't let his father think that he'd lost control of the situation.

And he definitely couldn't let his father know how much he'd liked it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bain's eyes fluttered open slowly, and immediately his nostrils were assaulted with musk. He shivered for a second as he realized he was naked and exposed, and then he remembered why all of those individual sensations were important. He sat bolt upright on his bed and glanced around the room.

It was empty save for him. There was no Oswell, and there was no Deacon. There was no sign of the fox's glassware or other magical implements. There was only his shaft, still half-hard even as it retreated back into his sheath. The rim of that fuzzy little sleeve was sticky with some of the seed Deacon hadn't collected, and a deep sigh rolled out of Bain's muzzle as the details of the dream flickered through his mind. They gradually faded even as he sifted through them, latching onto the key moments and the particular details.

It hadn't been like when Oswell had performed his extraction, for sure. It had been something much more like himself, and like his own desires. Deacon had been adorable, like he always was. The little fox, stammering and unsure of himself, only to really get into it once he was shown what another male could do for him... just liked he'd thought about so many times since they'd first met in his village.

When he sighed again and rolled over, his head dipped off the edge of the bed. A new scent caught his nostrils, and he frowned as he started to look about for the source. It took him a few moments to realize it came from 'above' his head, and Bain glanced up at the floor. When his eyes zeroed in on a new, sticky stain in the carpet there, they widened considerably.

To be sure, he let himself slink gently off the edge of the bed until his head was almost touching the floor. He ran his nose just over the sticky spot and took a deeper breath, and his muzzle broke into a broad grin. There was no mistaking Deacon's scent. The fox had been there, and that spilled seed had certainly not been the otter's.

As he pulled himself back up into the bed again and curled inward to hug himself tight, Bain allowed himself a little smile. Maybe he wouldn't be trained as a magi and maybe he'd have to go home after everything was said and done. Maybe who he really was would be discovered and maybe they'd put him to death for it. Maybe he'd be hated and maybe he'd be reviled.

Or maybe Deacon would understand. Maybe he could help Deacon understand. Maybe Deacon could help him, too. Maybe, together, he and the fox could explore what they were together. Maybe he wouldn't have to go. Maybe Oswell might understand. Maybe he could stay in their home, safe from the empire's laws. Maybe Deacon would want him. Maybe they could even do something more than just dream about enjoying each other.

After all, there was no maybe about the fact Deacon had liked what had happened in his dream. It was an opening; a chance. It wasn't a chance Bain was going to let pass him by. If there was a way to convince the fox to give him a try, then Bain wouldn't let his newfound opportunity go to waste.