Just the Two of Them

And at last there are only the two of them.

It had been a productive meeting. Getting city councils to agree to work without slaves was always a challenge; but Upchester was proud of its connections to Blackmoor, and most of the work had been done years ago. It had declared itself the first city without collars a mere two years after Lord Arkham had freed his own slaves. Now it was just a matter of getting them to agree to remove business from firms that relied on slave labour further down the line, in another part of the country. They had not done it yet, not completely. But tonight's meeting had promised progress; there was room somewhere for the satisfaction of both parties, and both parties had indicated that they were willing to move towards it. Prelimaries, all preliminaries -- but there was promise there for the talks to continue tomorrow.

So now Lord Nathaniel Arkham sat in his chair, reading over the notes has clerk had made; and David strolled by the walls, admiring portraits of Arkhams who had sat the seat of Blackmoor hundreds of years ago.

They had not been alone in a room for six years; since the night when Nathaniel had freed him, his courtesan, his slave, and in an overflow of gratitude later regretted, enjoyed his spoils for the last time -- so much the sweeter for being enjoyed freely. David had spoken of his master's goodness, his kindness, his sweetness, how he would never leave, but even collarless would stay and serve -- and in the cold light of morning, in the realisation of his freedom, of the injury done to him for so many years, his desperate, slave-like gratitude fading, he had slipped through the slave door and out with the first post, and for several years that was the last anyone heard of him. Realising he had but one skill, and realising also how sweet it was to have men pay for it, he had started a brothel in Upchester. In time, it had grown. Others, freed also, had flocked to him, and he had bought, and made free, skilled courtesans from the rest of the country wherever their masters could be convinced to sell -- and noble men, robbed of their customary comforts in the reforms that followed, had flocked likewise. It was then that David had discovered another skill -- one with coin -- and found that his ambition was none the lesser for his freedom. Now the brothel was one of the largest businesses in the city -- and one of the few owned by an ex-slave.

And so the fates had conspired to bring David back into the orbit of his erstwhile master. They had sat on several councils together in the last few months, and if some fear -- or confusion -- or lust -- had risen in David's throat to see the man whose collar he used to wear sat across the table, he had hidden it well. But tonight they sat in old Blackmoor, and David has lingered to remember the halls in which he had once lived, and slept, and worked -- and now they are alone. It was a fact that Nathaniel, at least, is painfully aware of.

"Your grandfather had your cheekbones."

Nathaniel all but hides behind his notes. "Did he?"

"Yes." David turns with a breath of laughter, and begins to saunter back towards Lord Arkham -- who keeps his eyes firmly fixed on his clerk's writings, and not on the boy's figure, his fine clothes, his easy confidence.

"It's been a while."

There's some softness in David's voice that leads him to put down his notes -- in truth he had not read a word in several minutes -- and answer frankly.

"It has." He swallows. "Are you -- I hope you are well."

David perches on the edge of the table with something like a smile. They are close now: an arm's reach apart. Nathaniel feels his pulse rise in his throat.

"I am." He looks through his eyelashes, eyes dark. "All the better for seeing you."

There's an intake of breath. Nathaniel fumbles with his notes.

"I never see you. You never come down to the city."

"I do -- I do come down to the city."

David smiles and blinks slowly. "You know what I mean."

Nathaniel opens his mouth to speak and closes it again. He does not look at him. "I -- have been busy."

David twists his mouth and sits back. "You were never too busy when I was just a bell away."

"I thought it would be improper." He pauses, slipping a page to the back. "I thought you would not have liked it."

David's eyes narrow. There's a fire dancing in them now, a challenge -- what Darius used to call his jousting eyes. "Perhaps I wouldn't have. At first. It would have smacked of desperation." He played his tongue on his teeth. "But now ... you know half your court comes down? It's not like I never fucked them when I wore a collar."

"It wasn't their collar."

"So I'm not good enough to pay for, is that it?"

For the first time, Nathaniel's eyes are on his. They are as dark and liquid as he remembers them; they wear dismay just as well.

"That's not what I mean to --"

"Rude, Nathaniel. Rude."

A few heartbeats pass between them. Then Nathaniel coughs, and turns back to his notes. David reaches out. Nathaniel's cheekbone is soft under his thumb, and for a moment, he thinks, the other man's heart stops.

His eyes are sweet -- pleading for certainty: how to act, how to speak, how to think.

"You were frightened I would have sent you away."

His tongue comes out to moisten his lip. David remembers that tongue -- not that he ever got much use out of it, as a slave, but a few nights come to him, the heady touch of Nathaniel's mouth, Nathaniel's eyes heavy with the weight of reward bestowed ...

"Amongst other things."

"Amongst other things." David scoffs. "I don't imagine you've been lonely. How does the House of Arkham pay its courtesans these days? Is it well?"

Something in Nathaniel's jaw sets. /That/ David remembers well: his petulance, his stubbornness, his utter refusal to accept when he is being unreasonable. He used to have reason to fear it; now it arouses the same desire as always, but stripped of fear: the desire to beat it off his darling face.

"If your curiosity grips you, you could always come and find out."

David laughs at that. "And work for another man? And work for /you/?" He scoffs. "I'd rather kill myself."

There: he's made Nathaniel's eyes drop again.

"Still, it must have taken some getting used to. No Darius. No Persephone." He turns his head slightly, his eyes fixed on Nathaniel's. "No me."

Nathaniel fixes his eyes down. "David, you know I never -- That I consider any -- That the injustices that I had committed against you, against you all -- That I -- I -- When you left, I understood, I --"

David tips his head back and laughs. "Spare me." He turns his head back to Nathaniel like he's hunting him. "And you never thought of me again?"

"That's --" Nathaniel coughs. "I didn't say that."

And at once David is standing over him, his hands on either arm of his chair. "Oh, I'm certain you did." His voice is soft; he smiles. "I'm certain you thought of me /many/ nights. /Don't/" -- his finger darts out to turn Nathaniel face back towards him -- "look away from me."

Nathaniel is breathing a little heavier. There are inches between them now. He can almost feel Nathaniel's heat. He laughs softly.

"Tell me you did." His finger traces over Nathaniel's cheek, down over his chin, down his pretty dark throat. "Tell me you thought of me."

The breath leaves Nathaniel's body as though it had been hemmed in there. "Of course I did." His voice is soft, laboured.

"When did you stop?"

Nathaniel grips the arms of the chair; again David's finger stops him from looking away.

"When did you stop?"

He swallows. His voice is so soft that even this close, David has to strain to hear.

"I never did."

David laughs in his face. "Of course not." His fingers dance over Nathaniel's chest. "But no visits, hmm?"

Nathaniel closes his eyes at the touch. His breath comes shaking. He is pinning himself to the chair, but David knows why; David knows the hunger every square inch of his body must be feeling now. David knows just how hard he is fighting it.

"I was afraid it wouldn't be the way it was."

That makes David laugh again, softer this time. "It could never be the way it was. You know that."

"I wouldn't want it to be." Guilt looks so sweet on that face. "But I didn't know -- if it could be another way." He breathes deeply. His eyes are earnest. "I didn't mean to insult you, David."

David purses up his lips. "You did," he says petulantly.

Nathaniel looks crestfallen. "Forgive me -- I would never want --"

But David's mouth is on his throat and he finds he has no more words.

David looks up at him through his eyelashes. "Suppose you had come."

Nathaniel takes a shuddering breath. "I -- I will, I will come --"

David laughs. "No. You won't." He grins. "But suppose you had." His hands are moving again: over Nathaniel's chest, tracing over his /thighs/. "How much would you have paid?" His grin turns crooked, and hands still on the arms of the chair, he dips his head. His breath is hot through Nathaniel's breeches. He is pleased to see him start to strain as he comes up. "How much would you have paid for this?" Before Nathaniel can answer, his eyes have moved back down his body, and flicked to Nathaniel's own with obvious delight. "Already?" His voice turns sultry. "My lord?"

Nathaniel gasps -- though whether at the accusation or the honorific is hard to tell. "Forgive me."

David's laughter comes wicked and percussive. "I always could have you ready in an instant." His grin is brief, but predatory. "Now. How much?"

Nathaniel briefly closes his eyes. "How much would you have charged?"

David tuts, and stands up. "That is /not/ an answer."

Nathaniel's eyes are pleading: for his hands, for his body, but first and always, for forgiveness. "David, you know there's nothing I could ever pay to make up for --"

David scoffs. There is, but they can talk about /that/ another time. "/How much/?"

Nathaniel's eyes move over him, casting around for a figure. "A thousand."

"A /thousand/?" He purses his lips. "Oh, Nathaniel. A thousand?" His fingers trace their path down his throat. "For these hands?" He leans in to Nathaniel's ear, the heat of his cheek a delight on his face. "These hands, so clever, so quick, so soft ..." He is deft with the ties of Nathaniel's shirt; as his hand goes under the fabric to Nathaniel's warm skin, every muscle in the other man's body tenses. His breath comes uneven in David's ear. "Do you remember what I can /do/ with these hands?" His voice turns softer, crooning. "Make you gasp and moan and /beg/ and /come/ --"

"Two thousand." It's a gasp.

"Two thousand?" He rocks back on his fingers. "Oh, /Nathaniel/. My sweet, sweet man." He grins, and leans close again. His voice in Nathaniel's ear is deathly soft. "But what about my tongue?"

He feels Nathaniel shudder under him, but still, he doesn't let their bodies touch. "The words are clever enough." He bares his teeth into Nathaniel's throat. "Look how hard I've got you with a touch and a few /words/." He chuckles. "But you know that's not all it can do." Nathaniel's teeth hold back a moan that swiftly breaks free as David sinks down his body. He only goes to one knee -- he'll never go to both again -- but he finds Nathaniel's cock easy enough and mouths it through his breeches. "Don't you remember how /sweet/ --" His hand comes up to find Nathaniel's balls through the fabric; he strokes them, cups them, and passes them to his mouth --

"Three! Three thousand."

He stands, and Nathaniel, sweet, silly Nathaniel, his cock hard and his eyes closed, doesn't see the scorn in his face.

His eyes open as David climbs on top of him; as he presses them together for the first time.

"What about my /body/?" His voice is soft, sultry. "You remember my body, don't you?" And Nathaniel is all but panting, his hands floating over David's back. David chuckles. "You can touch me." And Nathaniel holds him, pulls him to him, and with an unexpected mixture of queasiness and lust, David finds his way to Nathaniel's ear again. "So open, so /inviting/ -- how would it be to have me again. Be /inside/ me again?" Nathaniel's arms are as strong as he remembers, and desire shudders to his core; he feels the first twitchings of his own hardness as Nathaniel's hands move smooth over his shoulders, his back, his arse -- but a sick feeling comes also. He had not been prepared for how much his master's grip would remind him of /servitude/.

He swallows it down, and sits back on Nathaniel's cock, rocking, rubbing, and Nathaniel cries out then.

"You've missed me, haven't you?"

His eyes are desperate, almost unfocused. "/David/ -- /my/ David."

David's laughter is ugly. "As much as you might wish it --"

His eyes switch rapidly back into focus. There is panic on his face.

"I do not -- Forgive me --"

He leans close again. "Don't lie to me, Nathaniel." He leans on his cock, hard. "Don't pretend. I know you like to tell yourself that's done with; that it's the man you /were/, not the man you are." He laughs. "Because you've seen the light now, haven't you? Seen the /depths/ of your sin ..." He snarls. "But don't pretend to me that there's not still some part of you that reaches for my neck and /longs/ to feel your collar there; that longs to have me at your beck, me in your bed whenever you wish it, that longs to hear my voice --" His voice is soft and pathetic, his lips at Nathaniel's ear. "Please, /master/, please, let me have your cock, so sweet, so /thick/, please master, haven't I been a good /boy/ --"

"Enough!" He sits back to see Nathaniel, his jaw set, the lines of his face hard. He bucks half-heartedly: get off; please stay. His breath hisses through his teeth. "If all you mean to do is /torment/ me --"

David half laughs. "Oh, Nathaniel -- if I meant to torment you this is not how I would do it."

"Isn't it?"

His mouth twists. "No." His hands move under Nathaniel's shirt, up from the bottom this time. Muscle moves under his hand. His eyes are hard. "All I want is for you to appreciate me."

That melts him, the way David knew it would. His hands too, go under David's shirt, and run, soft and softly calloused -- the blade, the reins, the pen, no more -- over his skin. "Appreciate you? David, I long for you." He bites his lip. "I have longed for you every night."

David tilts his head. "And how much for a two thousand nights of longing?"

The edge of Nathaniel's lip raises in a smile. Despite himself, he likes this game. "Four thousand. Easily." He starts to continue speaking, but David puts a finger over his lips. There is something in his expression dark and playful. He rocks forward -- his hands fall on the back of Nathaniel's chair, and they lock him there, looking down at the man who once claimed to be his master.

"So," he says. His voice is soft, and a little dangerous. "My hands, my tongue, my body. Enough to please you, my lord. But enough to satisfy?"

He tilts his head a little, but says nothing. He is Lord Arkham again, impassive and in control, and David would have him no other way for what is to come.

David's mouth twists. He half laughs. "You seem to forget how well I know you."

"Do I?"

"Yes." He grins, and the grin goes sour. "I know every desire in your body. As well as if were my own." He raises an eyebrow. "It was my role to know. Sometimes even before you did."

Understanding comes soft into Nathaniel's eyes. He says nothing. David's voice drops honeycombs in his ear.

"You know what you've missed?" They breathe together. "You know what you've longed for?" He pulls back. "How much for my strength?"

Nathaniel wets his lips.

"How much for my power? You can't lie to me. Not after what we've shared."

His voice is surprisingly even. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Tell me, then. Tell me exactly what it /is/ you've longed for."

He looks away, and David pulls him back. "David -- "

"I already know. I know what you want. I know what you were /thinking/ when you saw me. In my boots and my /breeches/ and my rich furs." He laughs. "Don't I look every inch like a man richer than half your vassals?"

Nathaniel swallows.

"And even then -- when I had nothing -- you still wanted it. My strength. My power." His voice is a snarl in Nathaniel's ear. "You wanted to /feel/ me inside you. Rough. Demanding. Wanted to be put on your belly and /fucked/ like a whore. Wanted to whimper. Wanted to beg. Wanted just that /little/ bit of pain." He pulls back. "Or don't you remember?"

And it is all Nathaniel can do to get the words out.

"I remember."

David grin is just a baring of his teeth. "Oh, how /embarrassing/, my lord, to want that from a slave." He laughs. "How much more embarrassing to want it from a free man. Who's had you like that since I've been gone?"

Nathaniel's breath comes in bursts. He sounds like he's running; he sounds like he's about to cry. "No-one. David, no-one."

"No-one." But he bares down. "How much?"

"Five." He waits. "Six -- seven thousand."

"Seven thousand." His words are slow, triumphant. He smiles. "Oh, Nathaniel. Sweet, stupid Nathaniel. I'm going to have you. I was going to have you the moment I walked into this room. So /generous/ of you to pay for it." He snarls. "So generous of you to /ask/."

And fear leaps in Nathaniel's eyes. The bell is not far behind him: the bell he could pull to summon guards and sharp swords, that with a word would pull David off, with a word would throw him to floor, with a word would bury a blade deep in his soft, bleeding flesh. But he doesn't. And after an instant, David knows that he never will. That somewhere he knows now that he deserves whatever David sees fit to give him.

He snarls into Nathaniel's face. "I'm not your slave any more. And I'm not your whore. And that means --" He laughs. "And that means you get what you asked for. But you get what you ask for the way I want it." He watches Nathaniel's face. "Do you understand?"

And Nathaniel's eyes plead with him: plead for his dignity. "I understand."

David will leave him none.

His lips go first to Nathaniel's throat; his hands to the ties of Nathaniel's breeches. He finds Nathaniel's pulse, quick under his tongue: he bites. Now Nathaniel breathes like he is wounded; he strains at his breeches; he starts a soft, quick, delightful monologue in David's ear.

"David, my David, so beautiful, so clever, I've missed you, I've wanted you, every night I've wanted you -- ah!"

David finds his cock and strokes it, gentle at first, feeling the familiar thickness, the warmth of flesh, the hardness yielding just a little to his hand. He pulls back and makes hard eye contact, biting his lip. "I've missed you too." And he grins.

Nathaniel looks at him as if he were a god.

Harder now, pumping, and he leans over Nathaniel and kisses all the sweet way down his collarbone, and tightens his hand enough to hurt, just a little, and Nathaniel's moans come shuddering in his ear. He grins up at him. "What were you saying?"

And Nathaniel is lost. "I've needed you, David. I've needed you." He swallows. "And not just for this."

"No?"

"David, I've been so lonely."

David laughs. "Don't you have friends?" It's a little cruel; the Lord Arkham never had been very skilled at befriending his equals. They had used to joke that he had bought all his friends.

Nathaniel gasps, moaning. "None like you." He shudders, tries for a grin. "No-one likes the stars like you liked the stars. Or books, or -- or -- ohhhhh --"

David has slipped to one knee and pulled Nathaniel's cock free. He looks up at Nathaniel's face and grins. "Or cock?" And he licks the precum from Nathaniel's cock.

Nathaniel tilts his head back and moans.

David's tongue is soft and slow. All these years, and Nathaniel tastes just the same, and oh, how he /missed/ it -- the warmth, the salt, the way his foreskin slips back to reveal sweet, raw, wet flesh beneath. He paints the length of it, and settles in to torment the tip: flicking and swirling as Nathaniel's moans fill the air, hard and appreciative.