Obligations
by Wiebke Fesch

Same disclaimers and notes as Part 1.

-----CHAPTER 17----

Like the hallway, the room was lit with candles, dozens of them lined up all along the edge of the floor, plus two sconces on the wall, flickering slightly with the opening of the door. The air was warm and comfortable, scented with perfurme, all trace of sickness flushed out. Swift heard the click of the lock behind him.

Ranat stared up from the bed, his hair set with crimson orchids, his body covered in a sheer white sheet. Swift recognized the face -- it was no longer the swollen face of Althaia -- yet at the same time, the face was new. Changed. Gone was the beard, gone along with the boy. Ranat's beauty had been transformed, smoothed, coached into a new and finer form; except for the blond hair, he looked just like his father. His new skin was virgin, newborn.

Swift came to the foot of the bed. "Hello, Ranat. May I?" he gestured to the space by Ranat's feet.

"Yes, of course," Ranat replied nervously, shifting his legs over in a jerking motion to make room.

Swift sat down. "I'm glad you're all right." It seemed the best way to start -- gradually, casually, no great ritual.

"Yes, I'm fine now, although still a bit tired," Ranat agreed. His eyes were staring at Swift, taking him in until, as Swift expected, they darted away in embarrassment. "I'm glad you--" Ranat began.

Swift waited for him to continue, but the sentence hung. Ranat's hands were clasped tightly around the edge of the sheet.

"You're glad...?" Swift prompted. He kept looking, waiting for the grey blue eyes to turn and make their admission.

Finally they did. "I'm glad you came." Ranat smiled and laughed nervously. "I'm sorry I have to put you through all this trouble, that you had to take care of me and now you have to--"

By the end of the sentence, Swift's hand was on Ranat's sweet red mouth. "No, Ranat, don't be sorry. I'm not sorry. I'm glad to be here. I want to be here. I am here for _you_."

Now was the moment. With his right hand, Swift pulled the tie on his robe; pulling his arms out of the sleeves, he let the garment drop. With his left hand, he moved aside the sheet. Ranat's eyes followed every motion, his face giving away not so much nervousness as intense concentration, a desperately heightened curiosity, heightened senses working to catch every detail.

Ranat was completely naked, his new flesh catching the yellow warmth of the sconces above, the sheen of new fine fur inviting Swift for a touch. Swift leaned over, sliding his chest against Ranat's, running his hands up his arms, onto the shoulders. Ranat's body shivered and then, as Swift's mouth came forward and met the other soul, for a full second Ranat froze, and then, yes, then, melted. Swift began the sharing of breath, thinking that at first Ranat would only receive, but almost immediately, Ranat deepened the kiss. Swift could feel the newborn need, expressed through the pulling lips, the closed eyes, and finally the hands that rose and wrapped around Swift's back, clinging tightly, yearning. It was all just as Ashmael had said.

Swift was the one to move his face away, only a few inches, enough to speak, eye to eye. "The sharing of breath, Ranat."

"Share with me again, Swift." Ranat was smiling but for all of that, he was still nervous. He was so new at this; he knew nothing except that he wanted. "Please?"

"Oh, Ranat, of course," Swift promised, leaning forward once more. In the lead, Swift suddenly realized that he felt like an adult. He was an elder, teaching a new member of the tribe. He was not _too_ young, he was only _young_.

This time it was Ranat who pulled out, grinning.

"What is it, Ranat?" Swift asked.

"Oh, just something I remembered," Ranat said. "Today's my birthday."

"Prepare for a present then, Ranat!" Swift teased, not pouncing, but shifting his legs onto the bed so that he lay pressed against the new har's side. With his hands he began to explore the firmness of Ranat's chest, his flat stomach, and finally the instrument Ranat did not yet know how to play.

As the moments passed, Ranat trembled. "Swift?" His body had been signalled, Swift knew at once. Within the newborn har, the burning had begun, the fire lit at the center of his being.

"Yes, Ranat?" Swift whispered, dragging his left leg up across Ranat's thighs, moving his lips against Ranat's ear, stroking with his hand insistently until the body bucked.

Ranat squealed. "Oooh, Swift, Swift, I--"

"I know." Swift shifted onto his knees, slipping one leg to the other side, straddling the slim hips, his eyes meeting those crystalline grey blues. Beneath him he felt the shifting and following Ranat's gaze, he looked down to see that Ranat's new Wraeththu instrument had disappeared, made the way clear.

"You feel that burning inside of you?" Swift asked in a whisper, gently lowering himself down.

Ranat whimpered and bit his lip, his back arched, straining his body upwards.

"You need me, Ranat," Swift continued, "and it is causing you pain, will cause you pain, but the pain will be short lived, I promise." It was then that he brought their bodies together.

Ranat tensed in surprise, then pain. He cried out, but all at once the muscles clenched, flexed, discovering the extent of the sensation, deciding that no, he wanted the pain. He wanted it because beyond the pain was the pleasure. Oh, exquisite pleasure.

"Focus on that flame inside," Swift murmured, the barest touch of words as their bodies continued to move together. "Let it consume you, let it overwhelm you, and become one with it."

The fire inside threw sparks, hungry, consuming. Such sweet moans, gasps, and then he was crying out. _Swift. Please. More. Yes. YES!_

The fireball pulsed, grew larger, denser, hotter, and suddenly exploded, heat rushing outward, pushing the bodies so that they were shuddering, and then, a final release, a white hot liquid lava that exploded and bubbled. It was the seal of Ranat's pact. He was now, and ever would be, Wraeththu.

TBC...