A/N: A HUGE thank you to everyone reading, reviewing and following this little runaway yarn in my head.
Warnings for slash, Hadriana, Danarius, dub-con, tame bloodplay, naughty words, and teenage hormones.
Day Two
o-o
Everything about Danarius' estate screamed opulence. From the linens to the textiles on the walls and floors; the silverware, the jewel encrusted goblets, exotic plants and massive amount of servants.
Garrett's guestroom was the size of a small family home back in Lothering, the dining rooms were fitted with long dark stained wooden tables with dozens of chairs, the bathing rooms both spacious and decadent supplied with exotic soaps and fine, fluffy towels.
It was all very excessive.
A single day with servants and slaves and finery, caused the young Fereldan to long for the simplicities of home.
After a restless first night's sleep, Malcolm had suggested his son go for a 'swim in the tub' – as he used to when Garrett was eight and pretended to be lost at sea while in the claw foot bathtub instead of washing behind his ears. Though, when he discovered that the mansion's 'tub' was actually a decent sized indoor spring of steaming hot water one could swim laps in if they so desired, he was left stunned.
Firstly, before he even entered the main bath area, there was a washing room where he had been instructed by his father to remove his clothing and wash himself. That was how they did it in most residences in Minrathous. Located in a sweltering, almost desert-like locale, the rationing of water was an everyday event.
Malcolm had chuckled at his son when he admitted he worried about running into a naked Danarius – or equally frightening – a naked Hadriana in the baths. Apprehensive, threatening to forgo bathing for the entire week if he ran into either of them, his father put his mind to rest with the information that the Master of the House and any apprentices had private baths, though the rest were open for use by visitors. Since the two Hawkes were the only house guests until the festivities in a couple days time, chances were nil that Garrett would run into anyone else.
True to form, once in the tiled room, he noticed there were several wash stations and prayed to the Maker that no one would walk in on him during his scrub. Making it as thorough as he could for as brief as it was, he covered up hastily with a fluffy towel and headed into the main bath, hungry for some privacy behind the safety of another door.
The place was steamy; thick white fog swirling around his body as he shuffled along slowly, visibility reduced as though he was in a dream. Plants he had never seen the likes of before obscured the walls, growing wildly, but just so. Huge vases were set in the corners of the room, unlit torches jutting from the centre of each. Small, circular windows not covered by vines lined the room, too high to touch. The early morning sun spilled into the bath, reflecting off the mists, so that it glowed in an otherworldly way. The bath itself was square, outlined in dark marble bricks in contrast to the flecked grey and silver marble under his feet.
He could definitely relax in a place like this.
Pulling the towel from around his midsection, he dropped it on the ledge and slipped into the thermal water. Finding a seat carved out of the stone under the water's surface, he sat himself down into it with a grateful sigh, the water calmly rippling at his collarbone.
Tipping his head back, he breathed deeply a few times, letting the moist, warm air fill his lungs and work its relaxing magic through his body.
"Excuse me."
Garrett jolted upright, splashing, the drag of the water fighting against his hasty movements.
"Leto!"
Instinctively, he found his feet and took a couple slow steps backward.
"What-" Garrett's voice cracked slightly from disuse. "What are you doing here?"
Leto's eyes flitted over the other boy's bare torso, steaming water lapping at his navel.
"I've been sent to tend to you."
That was not as helpful of an answer as it could have been, but the larger boy was reluctant to ask for clarification just in case he were to receive it. Garrett had a feeling that after last night's offer from Danarius, Leto's attentions might be the of the variety that could drive a man to blush.
Leto slowly approached the edge of the bath, bright mist swirling around him, a towel draped over one arm, a woven basket handle gripped in the other hand. He was wearing a fresh linen shift which had already begun to soak up the water in the air and cling to his shoulders and upper arms.
"Oh, no. That's okay." Garrett laughed, the air suddenly too thick, choking him.
However, Leto was quiet serious; tone business like and matter-of-fact. "I've been ordered to tend to your needs while in the bath, Serah Hawke."
Garrett coughed, unable to catch his breath. "No, really. It's quite-"
"If I do not carry out my Master's wishes, he will be displeased."
Displeased?
He didn't want the elf to go through any trouble for him. Not just that, but he found it repugnant that the dirty old Magister once again attempted to seduce him into a situation that he didn't find himself even remotely comfortable with. "But I don't need tending to." His growing frustration about the old man's strange advances got the better of him, the last part of his thought coming out rather snippy. "Can't you just tell Danarius that you did and we'll call it even?"
Leto stood there for another moment, his even expression a bit creased by something Garrett couldn't identify, before he turned away, toward the entryway.
Releasing a shaky breath, Garrett felt a pang of guilt while watching the retreating figure.
What was he even doing? He wanted to get to know the young elven man better; wanted to eventually call him a friend, and yet he was willing to chase him off just because he was doing what he was told? More than that, he didn't actually want to get Leto in hot water with the Magister, because if he left now...
"Hey. Wait a second."
Mist twisting in the air as Leto turned back around, eyes landing on his sweat-beaded face, Garrett found himself feeling rather transparent. He wasn't sure how the young man did it, maybe it was the slight squint in his eye, tilted head or the lowered chin, but the elf's knowing stare shot a shiver up his spine. Garrett tried to casually take refuge in the cloudy water, realizing his entire torso was exposed.
"Uh.. Why don't you hang around for a little bit? I know Danarius told you to... do whatever it is you do, but if you go back now, he might know something's up."
The elf nodded reluctantly, seeming to find that a more suitable arrangement.
Garrett smiled in spite of himself and took a seat on the other side of the pool, water modestly level with his collarbone. Silence hung heavily in the room; Leto still staring at him. He supposed it was what he deserved after shamelessly staring him down the other day.
He wouldn't be able to take the silence very long. He had to break the ice.
"So, uh. How long have you been a ...uh..."
"Slave?" Leto supplied, his expression frozen like he had said something without such a negative connotation.
Garrett wanted to hide his head in his hands. There had to be something else he could discuss with the other young man. Throughout his life, Garrett had never been tactful, nor particularly charming, nor able to avoid the elephant in the room. As soon as the word was uttered, Hawke regretted not breaking the ice with a joke. Though, what would he joke about with an elf? And a slave at that.
"Uh, well, yeah, I mean been here. With Danarius."
"Ten years."
Hawke had to bite back a cringe. He was actually glad for the mist that settled in around his face; concealing disapproving brows. "So, that would make you... how old?"
"Nineteen."
The younger, but much bigger male was taken aback by the fact that the elf was a couple years his elder. Comparing the two, no one would have guessed that the pale slave wasn't just a boy like Garrett himself.
An entire decade as a slave.
Garrett couldn't even imagine such a concept. There were so many things he'd done as he approached manhood; learned things he could only have learned from his father, made mistakes that could only be made at the impressionable, and forgivable age he was. Most importantly, his father teaching him how to be a man, and not just a man, but a good man.
Leto, unlike himself, had spent those formative years as Magisterial chattel.
Surely it couldn't have been all bad? Even if he hadn't a choice to be a slave?
He'd asked Leto two questions thus far, but he had dozens, maybe a hundred more swimming around his curious mind. He couldn't have been more nervous if he tried, but Leto's one word answers were killing him. And as the conversation lulled, his hands fidgeted underneath the surface of the water.
"Is your father a blood mage?"
"What?" Garrett almost gasped, meeting Leto's gaze, those words like a blade in his ear. He might not have been a mage, but he was fully aware of blood mages and what kind of a stain they were to the honour of all mages. He knew that Danarius was a blood mage; that everyone who was anyone in the Tevinter Imperium was. But his father? "No! Never!"
Leto cocked his head to the side. "So it is true."
"What's true?"
"That your father is the only apprentice ever to escape Danarius' grasp."
"Uhm..." Garrett hummed dumbly.
Rather embarrassed that he wasn't privy to the actual reasons why his father hadfled the Imperium all those years ago, Garrett had never heard this particular bit of the story. If he'd been more astute to piece the bits of information together that his father had offered, he might have figured it out on his own. However, pieces were few and far between; not something the family normally discussed over dinner – or at all.
Not to mention that at that moment, he had barely the mind to even keep a handle on his primary functions.
Aside from all that, it seemed that Leto was, at least somewhat, versed in the history not offered to the eldest Hawke child.
"Malcolm Hawke, your father, refused Danarius' offerings of blood magic and left Mirathous."
"Blood magic?"
Leto only nodded.
"I did not know why he left, only that he did and that I was a very little boy. But you said that he 'escaped'. Why would you say that?"
"I do not know of the accord your father held with my Master..." The elf's rich voice slipped into a low rumble, the sound alone prickling Garrett's skin. "Few are able to resist the temptation of blood magic, but those who attempt to are... encouraged to comply."
"Oh." As vague an answer as that was, Garrett caught the implication in Leto's tone.
"What about your sister?"
"Bethany? No, of course not. None of our family has used blood magic." Garrett was already proud of his family name, but with this new piece of the Hawke family puzzle unearthed, it made him even more so. "Father taught us that magic is not to be used frivolously, taken lightly, or used to hurt others."
Still on his feet, Leto's posture relaxed slightly, the inflection of his words softer after hearing what Garrett had to say. "I would have it all mages were like your father, Serah."
Garrett nodded thoughtfully, not sure what to add to the conversation before it dissipated into the mist. And soon it was awkward again. Bowing his head, he peeked at Leto from underneath the haphazard locks of hair on his forehead. Had it gotten quieter in the room or was it just him?
"Leto."
He surprised himself with how the elf's name rolled pleasantly off his tongue.
"Yes?"
"You can sit. Uh, I mean -" Garrett found himself beginning to second guess what he said to Leto, and it was beyond frustrating. At all costs, he did not want to offend him or destroy the delicate footing of friendship he felt they were on by saying something thoughtless or insensitive. "Please," he invited with an open palm "sit, if you want to." Leto hovering like that was a bit unnerving, and he needed to retain as much nerve as he could get around the slave.
It felt painfully obvious how flustered he was while they conversed, but in spite of his own feelings of inadequacy, he thought he saw a flash of a smile from the young elf.
He thought about the day before and how absorbed he was in watching the handsome creature do the littlest thing. Then when he poured wine, and that smile came. Now when he thought back on it, and the fact that there was nothing on his brain but the elf, that smile might have been the culmination of his rather childish behaviour; most likely at his expense. But, in spite of that, that small grin had made him happy, no matter what it meant.
More than that, it made him greedy to see more of that smile.
Not moving to utilize one of the low lacquered stools, Leto lowered himself to his knees where he stood, setting the basket down to fold the towel evenly and lay it on top. Sitting back on his heels, hands empty, long fingers curled loosely on his knees.
Silence crept over the room again, more palpable this time, but also more comfortable; at least for Garrett.
Leto, however, looked a bit uneasy.
"You've expressed that my services are undesired. However, I admit, that I am more at ease while performing a task."
"Oh." Awkward again. "What ...would you do?"
"Anything you need."
That baritone voice picked at the edge of his brain, burrowing its way into a warm, deep corner.
And Garrett found himself short of breath again. "I'm open to suggestions..."
Leto rose effortlessly, taking up the basket, stepping silently, almost prowling in the way he moved toward where Garrett was seated in the spring. Keeping his backside glued to the smoothly carved seat, he didn't dare move now; far too curious, and more than a little tense as the elf closed the distance.
Once Leto disappeared from his peripheral vision, his posture straightened, unconsciously puffing his chest out, squeezing his knees with tight fingers under the water. There was no sound, no indication what Leto might have been up to behind him until a warm, damp palm slipped into the unruly hair at the base of his neck, forcing his heart to surge into his throat.
Unable to breathe, he watched the elf's fingertips disappear under the prickly day old growth on his chin, easing his head back into the the elf's supportive hand.
Without preamble, Leto drew water from the bath into his cupped palm, releasing it into Garrett's thick, straight hairline. Eyes fluttered shut, heart thrumming in his ears, acutely aware of the contact with the elf, warm liquid rushing over his skin and scalp... down his neck, Leto repeated the easy action until Hawke's hair was completely saturated. For long minutes, Garrett whispered a mantra in his head, hoping that the pounding in his ears could not be heard over the quick, then slow drip of the water as it ran over his head and returned to the pool.
Leto had been cradling his head for a long time, and Garrett, concerned his big, heavy, human head would tire Leto's arm out, was relieved when the elf tipped it back upright, but lamented the loss of the other's touch.
The sound of a stopper loosened and a pleasant, woody fragrance were precursor to the return of thin, patient fingers working some unknown serum through his tresses into a thick lather. Maddeningly slowly and more than thoroughly, Leto cleansed the coarse strands, scratching short nails over Garrett's roots and skin. His once tense spine rounded as he melted under the pleasurable strokes and sweeps of Leto's meticulous attention.
Trying to keep his head from bobbing forward was becoming more difficult as his bones turned to jelly.
Not to mention it was damn near impossible to keep his mouth shut.
Everywhere those clever hands slid left a tingling trail, and even though he had been able to contain the embarrassing sounds welling up in his throat, he couldn't suppress a telling shiver.
And he thought he caught the sound of an almost inaudible chuckle from behind him.
Before he had a chance to even think about the implication of that sound, wild pieces of his hair somehow wrapped themselves around Leto's hard working fingers, tugging slightly, adding to the complex feeling flushing over his body.
It was amazing how quickly the feeling of relaxation progressed into something more arousing.
A thick, cloud-like drop of lather landed on his shoulder, slipping its way down his clavicle. Halting ministrations in his hair, Leto dipped his hand into the water to wash away the glob, ghosting fine elven fingertips against Garrett's oversensitive skin.
The touch on his shoulder surprised him, but he attempted to downplay the reaction with a casual shift in his seat. Convinced that the Maker had it in for him, Garrett felt the delicious drag of water move against his quickly burgeoning erection, making the situation infinitely worse.
Snapping his eyes open, he drew a ragged breath, attempting to mask it in a cough, arousal close to the surface threatening to reveal itself. Intending to talk about the first unsexy thing that came to mind in a desperate effort to control himself, he opened his mouth.
His voice might have been weakened to the point of a murmur, but the room was so quiet, it hardly mattered.
He needed a save from his body's treachery.
"M-my father is considered an apostate back in Ferelden."
"An apostate?" Inquired Leto casually and just as quietly, those wicked hands rubbing over the skin behind his ears, and the side of his neck, never straying too far from the hairline.
"That's what the Chantry calls those who have escaped the Circle of Magi, or those who refuse to go to the Circle. In Ferelden, if a child is born with magical talent, then it's taken to the Circle while it's still very young." Garrett swallowed thickly before he continued, knowing that soon the topic of conversation would no longer matter if those hands didn't stop touching. "To the Chantry, there is no room for chance. As you said, the temptation to turn to blood magic for power is strong."
"It is." Leto confirmed again in a whisper, and finally the distracting caresses stopped; that palm slipping into a familiar position at the back of his head. Garrett tipped his head back co-cooperatively, but kept his eyes closed as Leto scooped more water into his palm, rinsing out the scented suds, carding his long fingers through loose tangles.
Dark behind his lids, he had no choice but to concentrate on the practiced motions sweeping over the crown of his head. Each stroke worked at his composure.
He tried not to think about it; he really really did; tried to ignore it... but the water made his member feel deliciously weightless, and in its freedom to swell unencumbered, Garrett thought he'd never been harder.
And it was all thanks to him...
He sighed...
"Maker that feels good."
...And clamped his mouth shut when he realized he had unwittingly spoken aloud and in an embarrassingly moan-like manner.
Keeping his eyelids smashed together, Garrett suddenly wished the Maker would reach down and smite him where he sat.
Though, he had needed no attention while in the bath, Leto had taken it upon himself to attend to Garrett in such a fashion. Was it uncouth of him to take such enjoyment from the efforts of a slave? He felt guilty about it now, like he had done something wrong, or taken something that wasn't his.
It was also a bit dubious that he had grown so hard under the touch of another man, but he'd have to think more on that point later.
Much later.
Perhaps after he'd completely killed his desire by thinking about darkspawn or about that time he walked in on his mother and father in a very compromising situation with a mage staff...
All he could do now, however, was hope that Leto hadn't heard the thick undertone in his voice – which came straight from his cock – and simply taken it for extreme relaxation, instead of what it really was, all without a look of disgust on his face.
Doubtful.
Summoning a sliver of courage, he peeked at Leto's face. Much to Garrett's surprise, a rather peaceful look had taken over the attendant's features. Hovering above him, there was no denying the hint of a satisfied smile as Leto concentrated on rinsing.
Just a hint – a wrinkle really – turned up corners of his moist, plump lips...
So... captivating...
No, no. Not that word...
Garrett wanted to move closer to his mouth. To touch...
"Slave!"
Jerking himself upright in guilty shock at the screech, hands that found themselves inching towards the elf's face just a breath ago slammed down on the surface of the water, sending droplets into the already saturated air.
Having destroyed the atmosphere, Hadriana stood smugly regarding the two young men.
At least now I don't have to think about darkspawn.
"The Magister commands your presence in his chambers."
Glancing back towards where Leto was settled behind him, he found the elf already on his feet, basket handle back in his hand, knuckles white. Hunched over, his posture tight, he stalked towards the brunette.
Despite what she had just said, Hadriana refused to let Leto leave and instead ran a long nailed fingertip over his pointed ear, speaking in Arcanum, the whole time holding Garrett's gaze.
Again, Leto said nothing... but neither did Garrett.
Moving aside, leaving barely enough space for the skinny elf to pass, she grinned knowingly; connivingly, just for Garrett's benefit, then took her leave.
That dangerous gleam in her eye couldn't have meant anything good.
Nothing good at all.
He had to remind himself that even though Leto had to put up with Hadriana and her instability, he probably had been doing so for years. Still, he hated how she seemed to bully him. That's all he could call it. And again it pissed him off that he couldn't speak the local lingo! Just what in Thedas was she saying while she grinned at him like that?
Garrett exhaled a long, therapeutic breath.
What the hell was wrong with this place?
Leaning back against the side of the pool, still seated in the groove, he stretched his arms out along the edge. His elbow bumped against something, a quiet tinkle of glass meeting the marbled floor, making him turn to inspect what he'd just knocked over. Picking up the small cylindrical phial between his fingers, it had a cork piece stuck in its short neck and housed a thick concoction. Pulling the stopper, he sniffed at the open hole and realized it was the woodsy smelling stuff Leto had used to wash his hair.
Closing his hand around it, he smiled to himself.
Once dried off, dressed and sufficiently calmed down – which took some real effort, especially since he decided to keep his hands off himself – Garrett decided he needed some time alone.
On the desk in his room, he found a note from his father explaining he would be in with Danarius until nightfall – when they, once again, would take their meal together.
He could have stayed in his room, but they day had turned out so nicely that it would be a waste. He wasn't much of an indoor type anyway. The gardens and their solitude were tempting, and while he was out there, he could sate his curiosity about the floral scents, and consider the strange things happening around him.
He had some feelings that needed sorting out.
Almost all of them having to do with Danarius' lithe little elf.
It seemed so inherently wrong to think of him as being property.
He wondered how it was Leto found himself in the Magister's service. Perhaps he was born into servitude, or maybe, Maker forbid, sold into it. Garrett cringed when he thought about cute little Leto being caught and carted around from place to place by slavers.
Apparently morbidly fascinated by the very concept of slavery, Garrett knew it all had to do with Leto. Servants had a choice to be a servant, but slaves had no such choice. This he knew in theory, but what did that all actually mean? What was the real difference between the two? Other people in Danarius' employ had various tasks to carry out, some of them less pleasant than others, but what made Leto's role come with such a negative connotation?
He wondered so many things; had so many questions.
He even wondered if any of them would ever be answered.
The sun beat down on the top of his head as Garrett walked out into the courtyard, bound for the twisted paths of Danarius' beautifully maintained oasis on the outskirts of Minrathous. It was early in the afternoon when the sun was at its peak in the sky, searing, blinding. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he scanned the lush green horizon of trees dotted with a veritable rainbow of colours; both flowers and fruits.
The scenery seemed to go on forever, the main red brick path running symmetrically as far as the eye could see.
Keeping to the obvious planned route through the gardens, Garrett found it hard to keep his mind on the unique beauty surrounding him. A flirt of colour was more than enough to initially catch his interest, but as thoughts began to eat at his attention, he caught himself lingering in a single place.
What had Leto's life been like in the past?
Part of that he already knew – Danarius' slave at the tender age of nine. Garrett wondered where his mother and father were and if he had any other family. Honestly, his family may have all been living there at the mansion for all he knew. The Fereldan had precious little time with Leto, and even less time in which to carry a conversation. This morning they'd been able to exchange some basic information about each other, but it didn't serve to sate much curiosity.
Since Garrett knew one important fact about the elf, he figured a more appropriate question was what was Leto's life like now?
How did Danarius treat him behind closed doors?
What was Hadriana's problem? It was obvious that she enjoyed harassing the elf, but due to his deficiency when it came to Arcanum, he suspected he was missing a lot.
Was Leto miserable? He didn't look miserable.
Pale? Yes.
Underfed? Maybe.
Overworked? Definitely.
But even though he didn't look miserable, Leto didn't look happy either...
And then there was the undeniable fact that some part of him was attracted to Leto. The staring, the gooseflesh, the boneless moaning...
Garrett planted his face in his palms.
The moaning. Maker help me.
Feelings of attraction would only complicate their friendship... and probably everything else.
He'd been attracted to girls in his classes back in Lothering and they all got along just fine. Would it be so different with Leto?
Of course he hadn't gone around confessing to them in their turn or anything, being the shy guy he was. He'd actually managed to be friendly with more than one of them, and telling them how he felt would have just ruined a good thing, so he never did.
Garrett Hawke may have had crushes before, but none of them had ever been like this.
The way Garrett felt when he was around the older boy was nothing like being around a girl. Garrett was nervous around Leto – most times embarrassingly so – but he also held genuine feelings of friendship toward him. Not that he didn't when he was around a girl he liked, but ... it was different.
That's all he could really say.
It was complicated.
In spite of that, he would endeavour to become Leto's friend.
Moving along down the bricked pathway, he hoped it would eventually loop back around to the mansion. He wasn't sure how long he had been walking the gardens thinking about things he couldn't hope to change; the sun already having moved a fingerbreadth or two in the sky.
That's when he saw something.
A branch off the main path.
It looked like it had seen light use, but the slightly tamped down earth indicated someone had tread it recently. For some reason, perhaps his healthy paranoia, Garrett looked around him before ducking under the heavy foliage concealing the path behind it.
"This wasn't included in the tour..." Garrett muttered with a smirk. This path, in the Magister's backyard, even though it looked purposefully hidden, couldn't have been anything that would lead to trouble, he considered cheekily.
Perhaps the Magister himself that might lead to trouble, but he wasn't there at the moment.
He'd just go and take a look.
No harm, no foul.
A few steps into the brush, the path wasn't as clear as it had appeared to be, and soon Garrett had to start parting thin, whip-like branches to even take another step forward. Releasing a group to push the next out of the way, one sassy little branch slapped him in the face, leaving behind a hot little sting over his cheek.
With a grunt, he continued to propel himself through the mess, hands in front of him feeling around until he groped air. Emerging from the wicked 'trail', he stopped.
And blinked.
This was not what he expected.
A little piece of empyrean bliss.
A small clearing, completely closed in by thick leaved trees, in the middle a worn gazebo, its strong, metal supports stood straight and proud, curls of manipulated iron worked patterns served as half walls. The domed roof of the structure looked to be made of tinted glass, more intricate patterns of scrolled metal threaded throughout. Surrounding it was a wild, untouched thicket with intense green grasses and bright wildflowers woven in and between.
Carefully wading his way through the knee high pasture, he approached slowly, eyes trained on something that seemed to be suspended form the centre of the roof by heavy chains.
Closer, Garrett noticed that rust had bloomed on several spots around the supports, lending to the feeling that time had forgotten it was here. It seemed strange that such a place existed on these grounds considering how well tended they were and how wealthy the Magister was. Although, this was off the beaten path. Perhaps someone did forget about it.
He hadn't noticed earlier, probably because of the grass, but the gazebo was actually raised off the ground, its iron frame resting on a hexagonal dark marble frame, matching side for side, stairs encircling it. Taking two stairs at once, three quick strides brought him up to the entryway.
What he had seen suspended from the centre of the pavilion was a circular hanging platform. The chains it was suspended from, around its edges, met at one point in the half circle roof. Strewn across it's face were pillows and furs.
Garrett guessed he was correct when he noticed the light use of the trail, because the arrangement of the furs suggested someone had occupied this strange little bed not long ago; not too recent, maybe within the last couple days. Leaning forward, he slid his hand into the furs. They were cool to the touch which was strange considering how hot the day was.
Looking around the rest of the space, he saw no chairs or benches and no belongings save for the expensive furs and cushions. Above him, the dark glass and iron patterns provided shade from the blazing sun.
Sitting gingerly on the edge of the suspended bed, it tipped under his weight, almost dropping him unceremoniously on his ass. Pulling himself to his feet rather awkwardly, not expecting it to move like that, he snorted in laughter as it swung daringly back and forth. It might take some practice before he'd ever have a hope of mounting such a contraption, but he was game. Pushing the bunched up mass of dressings back around the sleeping area, he decided to give it another try.
This time he crawled onto the face of it, trying to keep his weight distributed, tipping only once, but managing to stay upright. Once seated in the centre, he grinned victoriously. Taking a moment to look around from this vantage point, he pressed his palms into the padded mattress underneath the throws, downright feathery under his backside.
He also found he quite liked the feeling of weightlessness.
Perhaps it was the heat, or his lack of sleep, or the way the bed swayed slowly as he moved, but as he laid back, a hand tucked under his head, caressing himself in much the same manner as Leto had earlier, Garrett's eyes grew heavy.
The feeling wasn't nearly the same, but behind his closed lids, he could tell himself it was Leto.
The delicate, woody scent that lingered in his hair wafted under his nose pleasantly as he drifted off.
Waking some time later, Garrett blinked blearily, and yawned, almost forgetting where he was. Above, he could no longer see the sun's blazing brightness from where he lay. In a bit of shock, he sat upright, scanning the treeline. If he was any judge of time, he would guess he'd slept the better portion of the afternoon away.
Taking a moment to stretch, he reflected he couldn't have thought of a more pleasant way to spend the day.
Well, there was one other way... but he wasn't about to get caught up in that state of mind again.
Crawling, carefully, out of the overly comfortable hanging bed, he peeled off his shirt and shook it to air it out. It was helpful that he'd worn a light cotton blouse, but the fact that he ran hot when he slept made his clothing stick to his form.
With a great sigh, and one last stretch, he felt totally refreshed and began to make his way back toward the mansion.
He needed to get back before his father found him gone.
From the clearing, he couldn't see the mansion, though he had an idea of which way to go, even if he couldn't exactly remember where he'd emerged from the brush from. Slinging his shirt over his shoulder, he started off toward civilization; even though he didn't much feel like going back.
Turning to look at the haven he'd run across, he couldn't help but wonder who had found it first.
There was no way to know, but one thing was for certain: He'd be back.
Successfully avoiding any further sassy branches, he cleared the sweltering undergrowth without any mishaps.
Much to his dismay, however, Garrett did not end up where he had intended. He barely recalled the walk that had taken him this far out, thoughts of a certain elf filling up his brain instead of allowing him to mind his surroundings. There was a brick path beneath his feet – which meant he wasn't lost per se – but he also didn't recognize any of the shapes of the shrubbery.
Taking a second to breathe in deeply, savouring the scent – something he hadn't taken time to do yet – he strolled, rays pleasantly hot against his back.
As expected, it wasn't long before the giant, looming home of the Magister came into view. A grumble in his gut prompted Garrett to pick up the pace. Dusk would be falling upon the garden very shortly, and that would mean dinner would be on the table soon as well.
Garrett Hawke was a lot of things, but he was never late for dinner.
Rubbing his eye free of a rogue grain of sleep with a fist, his ear caught some rustling nearby; adventure about the only thing that could distract the boy from his appetite.
Taking a detour on a deviant portion of the main path, still bricked, he turned the corner around a squared off bush to see a frame standing at the end of the greenery lined passage.
Silent footfalls brought him ever closer, until he emerged onto the edge of a circular clearing, not unlike the one he fell asleep in, although in place of the gazebo, a mass of heavily scented flowers sprung forth in a veritable fountain of blossoms.
"Leto!" Garrett waved at the elf with a smile.
Leto glanced toward the sound of his name, staring, green eyes shocked for a moment, and turned his head quickly away. "Serah Hawke."
The odd glance hinted something was wrong with his sudden appearance.
Wondering why his higher brain functions always went out the window when he was in close proximity of Leto, Garrett awkwardly pulled his top over his head to cover his casual nudity. "I didn't expect to find you out here."
Watching the elf work at snipping long stems of white flowers and tucking them away into the shallow basket hanging from his forearm, Garrett's eyes lingered on those deft hands of his.
"Uh." He ran a hand sheepishly through his soft, sleep-tousled hair. "Thanks for this morning. You didn't have to do that."
For a moment, Leto paused in his search for the perfect stems to sever, his dark head bowing ever so slightly. "You are ... welcome." But he didn't look at Garrett, hands continuing to work their task.
Garrett could have – perhaps even should have – left it there and gone about his business, but he was much too stubborn to do that. He wanted Leto's company any way he could get it. He was solely dedicated to getting Leto to come out of his shell.
"Do you have time for a walk around? Maybe you could tell me more about these plants?"
Finally the elf took the time to turn around and talk to Garrett face to face. If the taller boy hadn't been so eager to see those handsome green eyes, he would have missed the quick flick of eyelashes as Leto looked at the mansion behind him.
"I do not." He replied simply, sounding a little irritated.
Laying the small set of hand shears into the basket brimming with freshly cut stems, Leto bowed his head, that subservient curve in his spine returning as he made for the main path to the mansion.
Garrett, once again, met a wall with his new friend; a cold, quiet wall that he had no idea how to penetrate.
"Leto!"
In the shadow of the hedges, he stopped as his name was called half desperately.
Garrett was at a loss. He thought they had some sort of friendly rapport after what had happened earlier, but perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps Garrett was nothing but another person to tend to, adding to the no doubt long list of 'duties' he had as a slave. For some crazy reason he wanted to befriend the older boy, but he wasn't making it easy. Leto had been hot and cold in their interactions, each time leaving Hawke with nothing but questions.
"Do you dislike me?"
Something passed over the elf's shadowed face, forcing his brows to furrow. "No."
That's a start...
Garrett shrugged, his posture utterly non-threatening. "I'd just like to be your friend, Leto."
"Slaves do not have time for friends, Serah Hawke."
It seemed the elf wanted nothing more than to be free of the line of conversation in the way he turned away again, but Garrett didn't want to let it go. Leto had to give him something to work with eventually.
"Does Danarius not grant you time for yourself?"
"I do not wish for time for myself." Leto half hissed, half muttered, leaving Garrett to strain to hear the words.
Then he disappeared down the end of the pathway, while Garrett stood stunned – and a little hurt if he was being honest.
What had Leto meant by that?
Frustratedly approaching the blooms Leto had been so discriminatingly picking, Garrett stroked a slightly open bud until his anger dissipated, the waxy petals refusing to give way under his firm finger. Finally deciding to pluck it from it's stem, he rolled it around on his outstretched palm.
Maybe one day he'd figure out something to say that wouldn't anger Leto.
He shrugged and hid the flower away in the soft leather fold at the top of his boot.
...Or he wouldn't.
But he wouldn't give up.
Sleep did not claim him that night.
His mind refused to shut down to grant him a reprieve from the events of the day. It had been a bit of a roller coaster with Leto sending mixed messages at every junction. The only thing Garrett had managed to figure out about the elf was that he was easily angered. Although, he seemed visibly less tense after their chat about the Hawke family's magical habits. Considering where they were, he wasn't sure why it was so important whether or not his family actually practiced blood magic.
Somehow he wasn't surprised about seeing yet another complicated facet to the elf. But Garrett wouldn't be discouraged.
Maybe he was thinking about things the wrong way.
Maybe the closer Leto was to magic, the more it disagreed with him. Not many in the Imperium would have said what Leto had said about his father when it came to magic; even going so far as to commend the Hawke patriarch. But the most interesting part of the conversation had been Leto's apparent disdain for blood magic.
Garrett could still feel those clever fingers sweeping trails over his scalp. He shuddered. If that's what a slave did, it didn't seem that bad...
But then there was Hadriana. He didn't think she was above using her magic in a torturous way to hound any servant or slave in the mansion if that's what tickled her fancy. It wasn't fair for her to zero in on Leto, and if there was one thing Garrett wanted to put a stop to, it was that. He might not have known the details of their relationship, but he knew when someone was being abused. It made him so frustrated when he thought about how little he could do.
Rolling over for the umpteenth time in the large, combed cotton dressed bed, Garrett was glad he at least got some quality sleep earlier on in the afternoon at that forgotten gazebo. He'd go there tomorrow as well and take a book this time. It was a nice getaway from the repressive air of the stodgy mansion.
Running a hand thoughtfully through his hair, he wondered if Leto knew of that perfect little spot in Danarius' immaculate gardens. Someone had been there, after all. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but the abandoned sanctuary would be a good spot to discuss things in a more private setting.
Leto.
Why was that damn guy on his mind so much?
Garrett wasn't sure if he was a masochist or just stupid; addicted to the stinging confusion the elf battered him with. But thoughts of reciprocating those gentle touches Leto gifted him earlier were slowly consuming his good judgement and healthy state of mind. Insomnia wasn't helping either.
It was completely unbelievable that he'd known the other boy for just over a day and already felt his absence so strongly.
"Leto..."
Maker, what a strange friendship he desired.
If only Leto would let him get close enough...
Garrett ran his tongue over cracked lips.
...Then what?
He thought he knew what he wanted, but that was before his mind started mass producing images of Leto; before his brain stored every syllable the other boy had ever uttered in that strange baritone of his; and way before he'd gone weak under those trained hands.
I just want to be his friend. That's all I want.
... Right?
Muffling a pent up yell, Garrett pressed his face deep into his pillow, pulling the sides over his ears.
To top it off, as if dictated by the last time they'd interacted, he'd been completely ignored by Danarius' favourite slave all night. Of course Leto served him as was his obligation, but he wasn't even afforded a glance from those stunning elven eyes. So Garrett just sat there listlessly picking at his food while the the two mages conversed more about magic.
Didn't his father ever get tired of talking about magic? Theory and practice and texts and tomes...
All of it, magic, temptation, confusion, the ridiculous air everyone put on, set his temper to smouldering deep in his belly.
For the first time in his life, since arriving at the compound, he found how little he understood about everything; how little he understood about himself.
The Maker must have been on his side in some small way, because Hadriana never took supper with the men. He didn't think he could keep his food down when she started in on her sickeningly sweet commentary or leering looks. As juvenile as it was, he just knew he would have ended up flinging a spoonful of vegetables at her.
He snorted. That would have been hilarious. She probably would have turned him into a toad or something in retaliation, but he thought it would be worth seeing a rogue vegetable stuck to her forehead and the scowl on her face.
The chuckling died off, and Garrett sat up, still completely sober; not even sleepy.
Sliding out of bed, he checked out the window, seeking the moon and any notion of what time of night it may have been. It was high enough in the sky to be past midnight, but it couldn't have been more than that, even though it felt like he'd departed the dining table for his chambers half a lifetime ago.
Climbing into his breeches and throwing his shift over his head, he opted-out of his boots. Too much noise. Padding around in bare feet would afford him a much extended chance for freedom and more opportunity at exploration.
There was still so much of the mansion he'd not seen yet, and what better time to do it. No servants running around, no maids, no slaves. Maybe the odd guard to worry about, but they'd have to catch him first.
Slipping out the heavy doorway with a naughty grin, he tiptoed past his father's adjoining suite. He'd sneaked past his parent's room quite a few times when he had an earlier curfew, and old habits seemed to die hard.
Danarius' mansion might have looked huge from the outside, but the clutter of magical artifacts and pieces of art, plants, decorations, all manner of junk – in Garrett's opinion – lined each room and each corridor. Of course it was all neatly lined and placed, but none of it meant anything to him.
He'd peeked in every unlocked room on the floor, which was a bit of a risky thing to do considering he had no idea what might have been going on inside, but he'd listened for a moment outside of each to make certain he wasn't interrupting anything. Each room had been dark, unoccupied and to his snooping eye, nothing special.
The only thing he had remembered as a sort of landmark was a garish statue Danarius had described as an old Tevinter God. It seemed as though Tevinter worshipped a pantheon of Gods many years ago – some still did – and although there were similar looking relics dotted about the floor, this particular one stood outside of Danarius' parlour. The manor only had two levels, and after walking for Andraste knew how long, he stumbled across it.
At least now things might get interesting. There had to be something intriguing and naughty or at least blood-magey in the man's receiving room.
Pressing his ear against the door, Garrett closed his eyes, tuning his ears to the quiet on the other side. It didn't sound as though anyone was inside, and his hand gripped the crystalline door knob.
Ducking quickly inside the room, he closed the door silently behind him, and surveyed its layout.
The first thing that drew his attention was a mass of white sitting on the side of a desk by the window, illuminated by the moonlight. Those were the fresh blossoms that Leto had been out picking earlier. Reaching out to touch the flowers, he remembered how, in the failing light, the elf had been bronzed by the sun's rays, lending him a healthy, handsome glow.
If only he'd hadn't chased the elf away...
Shaking his head, he dismissed the recurring thoughts of his intermittent friend.
Pulling desk drawers open one by one, Garrett shifted the papers and items inside gingerly, not wanting to truly disturb anything. The lack of scandalous material was a bit of a disappointment; some quills, ink, a pouch of incense, torn slaver invoice. Nothing of value nor of particular interest.
The other drawer was frustratingly empty. If Danarius had anything he wished to hide, he probably would have locked the room or sealed it. Garrett wasn't giving up, however.
If they weren't in here, then where else would Danarius hide all his secrets? It didn't matter; Garrett was sure he had more sleepless nights ahead of him.
Sneaking his way back out of the Magister's parlour, he looked down the opposite direction. It was much darker than where he'd come from, and that part of the corridor hadn't been included in the tour route either.
Garrett was almost going to leave it for another night, but when he heard the sharp gasp of a voice, he froze. Sneaking as quietly down the carpeted hall as he had been the rest of the night, the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he descended the poorly lit corridor. There were braziers on the walls, but far enough apart that he was left in the shadow for a good three strides before the next glow of light. Keeping his ears open, his pulse a bit quickened in his chest, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he shouldn't be here. It was completely his fault that he was too curious for his own good; he was completely aware of his own nature which was essentially why his father demanded he behave himself.
But this... this was far too interesting.
There was no decor on the walls, no expensive and gaudy paintings, nothing lining the walkway except for luscious carpets, different from the others, plush under his feet and soft in between his toes. The doors were different in this part of the house, sliding instead of the normal ones he was used to. And they were all locked.
Intrigue? Check.
In mid attempt at opening yet another unwilling door, a louder moan prompted him to abandon it. This sound was much closer, directing his steps further into the dark. Quick on the heels of the undeniable exclamation of pleasure, were murmured words. Not any he recognized, but he wasn't imagining them.
Rounding a corner, a sliver of light through the sliding door at the end of the open great room drew his eye. Moving carefully, Garrett strained to hear anything in the deep dark, and when another gasp came, he started. Nerves a bit frayed, he summoned up some courage and continued across the lush floor.
Silence fell over the space again.
Maybe these were Hadriana's apartments. He hadn't gotten a tour of those and realized that he had no idea where anyone of consequence indulged in personal time, nor where any of the servants or slaves slept. Though, he would have been more interested to know where Leto took rest.
And now, thanks to overworked hormones and wanton sounds coming from the room he was just about to spy on, he was way more curious than he should have been.
The door was ajar just enough to peek through, so he did.
Past the door was a dimly lit space, Garrett's roving gaze uncovered the barest glimpse of a bed to one side, and a fireplace across the room.
Seemingly from out of nowhere, a figure with a bony backside and greying hair sauntered directly past his field of vision. Snapping his head to the side, back into the darkness, he had to stifle a laugh. He could have lived the rest of his life without literally seeing Danarius' old ass. And even though it most definitely didn't rank on his list of things to do today, he didn't come all this way, and peek in all those rooms to go back without something entertaining to think about through all the boring hours the days here brought.
Psyching himself up a little, he turned back toward the light, and much to his disgust, the nudity of his host.
Danarius was standing at the foot of the bed, almost skeletal in form, raising a bony arm, curling a crooked finger.
Obviously someone else was in the room with him.
But who? Hadriana?
She was definitely a hell-cat – not bad looking, but not Garrett's type at all – and perhaps Danarius liked a little bit of domination. She seemed the sort to be on top.
If he didn't find Danarius so repulsive, he would have grinned. Admittedly, for him to be nude in the room using his finger to draw someone, he must have been a spy old man. Surely there were women lined up to get a piece of that Magisterial 'power'? Garrett offhandedly wondered what other interesting things transpired when his father used to live in this estate.
Slowly, a finely crafted foot emerged into his view. Garrett's eyes followed the delicate bone structure all the way up; lightly muscled calf, supple thigh, followed by the rest of a pale, but definitely masculine body topped with a mop of ebony hair. He took his time teasingly approaching the salt-and-pepper Magister.
And all of a sudden it wasn't funny or entertaining anymore, leaving Garrett to suffer a boulder in the bottom of his stomach and a faltering heart.
Leto, his lithe, young, handsome elven friend, was Danarius' midnight visitor, clad only in tight leather shorts. Emotions swirled in him, as he fought with himself as to what he should do. Once again, Garrett was at a loss, trapped between knowing better and wanting better for Leto.
Maybe Leto was there to clean something up. Maybe he had made a snack for Danarius.
...or maybe Leto was the snack.
And twice within two days of arriving, he wished for the Maker to take him.
Garrett heard the sound of his teeth grinding anxiously in his ears.
As he saw it, he had two options. Go back to his room and forget he ever saw anything – including a naked Danarius – or stay to witness what was not intended to be witnessed.
It really was none of his business what happened behind closed doors, but he couldn't help himself. If Leto was involved...
Danarius was usually seated whenever he'd seen the two together, and now he realized how tall the slight mage really was. Without robes or adornments, he towered over Leto, even though he looked downright sickly; not like the powerful blood mage everyone in Minrathous, perhaps even everyone throughout the Imperium itself, feared and respected.
Nudity had a way of rendering someone harmless, but when he thought about Leto bare before him, it was the most dangerous thing in the world.
However, he couldn't take his eyes off the older boy.
The elf didn't flinch as Danarius closed the small distance between them and slipped his arms around the slim waist, drawing Leto into him, pressing noisy, open mouthed kisses to the boy's neck. A breathy gasp came from the slave, his trim arms curling around the older man's shoulders, long hands dipping into short, silvering hair.
The back of Garrett's neck tingled familiarly. A strange intolerance began to grow somewhere in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. Leto had his eyes closed, but the faint blush on his fair cheeks spoke volumes. It looked very much like he was enjoying himself under the Magister's busy hands...
...which were now slowly rubbing over the front of Leto's bulging smalls.
Wait. They were... lovers?
It couldn't have been as it seemed; Leto was a slave.
There had not been need of an explanation about the nature of their master and slave relationship; Garrett never imaging this type of bond between them when Danarius offered Leto to come to his bedchambers, and then sent him to 'tend' to him in the baths. Now, on top of that mass of confusion, the Magister's hands roved over the boy – Garrett's friend – like a greedy child coveting a prized bauble.
So what was Leto? A toy or something else...?
"I can't wait any longer. Take me in your mouth." Danarius growled, grabbing the boy's hand to tug him down to his knees.
Revulsion bloomed in his stomach as those words met his ears.
"Yes, Master." Leto's voice rumbled, causing Garrett to shiver.
He didn't think he could watch anymore or he just might vomit. He also knew he should have just stayed in his room, but instead he had to be curious and get into trouble.
Maker, he hated when his father was right!
He should have looked away – not just looked away, but turned around and ran – instead, he could only lean closer to the crack in the door.
Jaw dropped open, Garrett stared unblinking as Leto wrapped his hand around the older man's rather thin, half-spirited cock and guided it towards his waiting mouth.
He half expected, maybe half wanted, for Leto to go slowly; take in a little at a time; unpracticed and inexperienced, maybe even gag; defiant disgust etched on his face. Anything to convince Garrett that Leto wasn't this; wasn't a slave of the most degrading kind. However, the dark haired boy took the entire length of his master in between his lips, pausing once his nose nuzzled into the unruly hair at the base of Danarius' cock, the delicate skin covering his jawline and throat fluttering as he worked.
Garrett's breath caught in his chest when Leto began sucking in earnest, his defining elven cheeks hollowing. The wet sounds of his mouth, and the glistening of firelight on the drenched cock sliding past his lips over and over made Garrett's own length twitch. Those plush lips he so admired earlier parted so wide, pink tongue sneaking past to stroke and curl in place of long elven fingers.
Garrett had not physically touched the Magister, but he always imagined the mage would be cool to the touch, so sallow and rail thin. Garrett was a stark contrast, always hot to the touch; like he was close to running a fever; thin nowhere – neither in his chest nor his groin – farm and country fed; not picking at food and meals as Danarius did. He knew hard, honest work and had been rewarded with the muscled body he possessed.
From the looks of him, Danarius only need raise a hand to get what he wanted in his life; not a sickle or a bail of hay, nor a hammer or wooden planks. Garrett had gone to school to learn things, but that was where Bethany excelled the most; Carver also a very smart child. Though from a young age, Garrett knew things that weren't written in the various books his twin siblings devoured; things that could only be learned by doing and not reading.
And, as any teenage boy, Garrett also knew the weight of his own hard desire.
For most his age, self-knowledge was all they possessed, and Garrett wasn't much different when it came to the type of activity Leto was performing. That was, up until a few months ago when he had had a girlfriend who attempted to perform such an act upon him. Maker bless her heart, she had been eager, but she was all teeth and, well, it hadn't been a happy ending; Garrett having to comfort her after he cried out in pain from an inadvertent nip, and she bawled. The next day he let her down easy, but one thing was for sure; he wasn't going to let her near his sensitive bits again.
But Leto, as in all things, looked like he had been well trained.
It probably would have felt like it should if it had been Leto doing it.
Garrett's hand cupped his crotch firmly, the supple leather hot against his clammy palm.
The mage moaned; breathy and vulgar; a disgusting noise that brought Garrett back to reality, and his hand off his erection in shame. Danarius thrust a crooked hand into Leto's hair, gripping it in a fist, to hold his head still while boney hips thrust, fucking Leto's obedient mouth.
Absolutely repulsed, but more aroused than he should have been witnessing this type of abuse, Garrett's eyebrows furrowed, hands crushed into fists.
"Take those off." Danarius demanded huskily, his cock coming loose from Leto's lips with a distinctive plop.
"Yes, Master."
The elf stood straight, his face shadowed, while he hooked his thumbs under the waistband.
Garrett's tongue slipped out of his mouth to dampen his open lips, eyes trained on the bulge as the black tanned hide was peeled off.
With a pop of the fireplace and a noiseless slide of leather, the remainder of his clothing was pulled down over slim hips. For such a slight frame, Leto was well endowed; jutting out proudly from a neat patch of stick straight, dark hair. Watching it pulse, bouncing slightly, Garrett's brain short-circuited.
Running completely on auto-pilot, hand back on his own straining erection, Garrett kneaded hard.
Glancing to see Leto's expression, he discovered that that blush was still clinging to his cheeks. It even extended to the tips of his ears! Garrett wasn't sure why the wanton blush sent his libido into overtime, but when Danarius flung Leto cock-first against the foot board, his wrinkly old leg forcing the supple limbs of the elf apart, an old veiny hand gliding up from between Leto's cleft backside and up the boy's back to bend him over, the illusion was shattered once again.
Garrett shook his head mutely; forcing his mouth into a tight scowl.
Maker, no.
Cock still shiny and slick with Leto's saliva, Danarius latched onto his tight backside, spreading cheeks wide, resting himself in between while he massaged and pinched them until they were an angry shade of red. With a vicious slap of flesh on flesh, the mage's palms came down on Leto's hips. Garrett couldn't fool himself into believing what he saw were not trails of blood drip down Leto's flanks, tributaries drawn from the old man's long, sharp fingernails piercing skin. He heard Leto gasp into the bedding, a hiss of pain, as Danarius ruthlessly closed the distance between their bodies, his hips flush with the ripe, pinked buttocks he defiled.
Fingertips coated in elven blood, Danarius traced an index finger in some pattern on Leto's lower back, then raised them to his lips, lapping at the digits until they were clean. Returning his palms over the crescent shaped incisions, he left smudged, bloody hand prints behind claiming the smooth expanse of fair skin.
Without any more hesitation, drawing himself out from the prone body beneath him, Danarius flicked his scrawny hips forward unforgivingly, brutally until he was buried hilt deep again, and Leto cried out, arching his back.
That wail did nothing for his nerves, and he shifted his weight, hands now squeezing the tops of his own thighs, the pain he caused himself the only thing that stayed his hand. He wanted to go crashing into the room and pummel Danarius until he bled; just like he'd done to Leto.
But all he could do was watch.
And he shouldn't even have been doing that.
He shouldn't be seeing this; seeing either one of them in this way. Leto's own hands were wrapped around the edge of the mattress by his knees, on the balls of his feet, ass as high in the air as he could get it and still Garrett couldn't help but stare.
Curdled stomach; sour and unsteady, screamed for him to look away from the debauched scene, but the flames under that, somewhere low in his abdomen burned, his arousal still aching traitorously, caught inside the confines of his trousers.
Too busy watching Danarius manhandle his 'property', Garrett hadn't noticed the face of his friend twisted in what he could only assume was pain, bared to him, eyes open, staring straight at him. Pink splashed sensually over his face, he panted raggedly; those telling green eyes, half-lidded and there in the moment, blinked every time Danarius grunted, ramming himself into Leto, the force of which ruffled the dark hair on his head.
He knew that he couldn't possibly be seen from behind the dark crack in the door, but Garrett stumbled backward in spite of himself, falling on his backside, desperately trying to get away from those eyes. Regaining his feet, he fled the great room silently, torn between the traitorous aching in his trousers and the bile in his throat.
The last sound Garrett heard before he managed to escape earshot was a single broken snarl of depravity courtesy of the Master of the house.
