"Back straight." Florian gasps and straightens as the whip leaves a line of fire down his back. It doesn't hurt exactly - no more than his wrists hurt from the silken ties, or his legs hurt from kneeling for so long.
He no longer feels the cold air against his naked body, or minds the blindfold that keeps him from seeing Ray's stern expression. He can imagine it, however, and he clings to that when everything else is uncertain.
He has no idea how long he's been in this room, a small windowless chamber in Ray's private suite. He's been here often enough to envision the large oak cabinet against the west wall that holds a variety of pleasurable torments. The only other furniture in the room is an overstuffed chair, a small table, and an ottoman. They should be to his left, unless Ray has moved them, as he sometimes does for these sessions.
"Straighter!" A new line of fire draws another gasp from Florian's dry throat, but he makes no other sound. He's not been gagged today, but that doesn't give him permission to speak.
He shifts back slightly, trying to get some circulation into his legs so that he'll be able to move when Ray - when his master - commands it. He knows that today's session is a test and he's determined to succeed if only to bring Ray out of his melancholy.
Florian has reason to suspect the cause of Ray's black mood, but he dares not ask, knowing that if he's wrong, he'll do more damage to Ray's mood. Still, if it is the anniversary of Azura's death - his true death and not Florian's failed attempt - that has brought Ray such grief, Florian will do whatever he can to dispel it. Not just for Ray, but for himself as well. He's lived far too long in fear of that man.
It was Azura's presence in their lives that led Florian down this path - the one that has him on his knees and naked with Ray above him with a whip. It started as an act of defiance, a reclaiming of their own power, both for Florian and Ray - but it stopped having anything to do with Azura long ago.
Florian's thoughts are interrupted by a caress across his shoulder. It burns and tingles √ pain and pleasure lost all meaning hours ago. It takes much of Florian's remaining willpower to stay motionless.
"Good boy," Ray murmurs and puts his hand on Florian's head.
Florian can smell Ray - his aftershave and soap and his skin. He can hear the rustle of Ray's silk robes and the faint swish of the whip swinging idly at Ray's side. He aches to reach out and touch - with his fingers, his lips - it doesn't matter how. He's half-crazed with the need for contact.
"So good," Ray says as he presses a cool, wet cloth against Florian's parched lips. Florian opens his mouth obediently and takes in the edge of the cloth, sucking it, fighting the urge to moan with bliss.
"Greedy." A small tug and the cloth is taken away. Florian leaves his mouth open, waiting, just as he's been trained. After a long moment, Ray's hand rests against his face briefly and then warm flesh is pressed lightly against Florian's lips. He opens a bit wider and is rewarded by heated and hard silkiness filling him.
This time he can't suppress the moan of pleasure. Ray indulges him with a laugh and presses forward, placing one hand on the back of Florian's head. The other fumbles with the ties of the blindfold, finally releasing it.
"Look at me," Ray commands, but his tone is gentle and his smile is soft. He lets Florian blink against the sudden light without complaint and wipes Florian's watery eyes with his robe. When Florian's vision clears , he looks up into Ray's eyes and holds that gaze even as Ray's movements quicken. It's Ray who breaks the connection as he releases into Florian, his emerald eyes closing for a long moment.
Florian swallows frantically but remains still, waiting. He tries to hold the softening flesh and nearly cries out when it slips away from him. He almost weeps when Ray leans down and kisses him.
"Can you stand?" Ray asks and puts his arms around Florian to lift him before he can answer. It turns out the hold is needed when Florian's knees buckle and he nearly falls.
Ray half carries him over to the ottoman and helps him to sit, before untying Florian's hands. The feeling tries to return to Florian's arms and legs all at once and the sensation is almost as bad as the most brutal of Ray's lashings. He manages not to make a sound, but his eyes tear up and he lowers his head, hoping to hide his weakness.
"None of that," Ray chides him, using one finger to gently lift Florian's chin. "Look at me."
Florian obeys immediately and is surprised to see Ray smiling at him, so full of pride. Florian can't stop the small answering smile that curves his lips.
Ray reaches into a pocket of his robe and withdraws a leather cord with a small jeweled pendant. He shows it to Florian, whose smile threatens to break through, but he clamps it down; he won't break the ritual now. Not when...
"You've earned this," Ray tells him, leaning forward to fasten the cord around Florian's neck. When it is secure, Ray leans back and picks up Florian's right hand, chafing his wrist gently as he studies the new necklace.
"It took a long time to find the right name, and for you to earn it. But you've done it." Ray straightens, his manner becoming more formal. "I recognize you as a worthy pet, one who has earned his name: Cabochon."
Florian blinks rapidly against the tears that threaten. A name. It is a commitment as strong as any union between two people. It is a pledge that Ray will be his, will take care of him and will allow Florian to give him care in return.
A name. His. No, theirs. Something only they could share. Cabochon.
::end::