Disclaimer: the characters and places (Drizzt, forgotten realms, etc, etc)
that you've read about in books aren't mine.
Brionne, Nala, the places they inhabit and the people around them, are.
SLASH WARNING: You don't like, you don't read. Thanks.
***************
Looking back, Relder knew, to the day, to the hour, when the fey-blooded witchling had ceased to be Markell's Toy and became instead Relder's Passion. Alone in his gardens, he dwelled on the thought, the memories, trying to free himself from the spell those eyes had put upon him.
He remembered Brionne's body, lying bloodied and torn underneath his. The way he cried out as Relder pulled out of him. A vague dissatisfaction had lingered in the act. His rival, Markell, was gone, and the pleasure of using the slave as a surrogate for it's former master was beginning to fade. It was becoming a hollow act.
And then Brionne had rolled over, using the strength of his arms to move himself because there was too much pain in his lower body. The tears were gone, so completely that for a sickening moment Relder had wondered if he had imagined them. The boy's silver eyes had met his in that moment, without fear or worry, and he knew he hadn't imagined the tears, but neither had they been real. Perhaps they had never been real.
Brionne had licked the blood off of the edge of his perfect mouth, a smile curling the soft lips. Those silver eyes wouldn't release him, and he had stared in awed fascination. The spirit Relder thought he had broken wasn't even scratched.
"While I am of course yours, to do with as you wish," the boy had stated calmly, almost arrogantly, "If you tire of the fantasy of raping me, you have only to say so, and I can perform for you acts requiring more...skill."
A week, even a day, earlier, and he would have broken the young man's neck for such arrogance, no matter what it cost to buy him. A week later, and his interest would already have passed, and he'd have already given the Toy away or sold it.
On that day, at that moment, nothing else in the world could have gripped his curiosity and passion in such a way.
He had turned and left the room without a word, too stunned to gather his thoughts for a reply.
It had been almost a week before he went back to the room he was keeping Brionne in, and from that time on, he was lost in the lure of those silvery eyes.
****************
Nala sleeps. Brionne hesitated. He was being called. He fought the urge to obey out of habit. Until Nala was safe, he was no man's slave.
Am I refusing for the sake of refusing? He asked himself then. Or because it is truly how I feel?
Brionne watched the dark Fey's eyes. He knew his own face would betray none of his internal turmoil. The Fey had some skill in covering his emotions, Brionne could tell, but not like a man who had lived two thirds of his life trying to discover and become the desires of other men. Brionne could see the need in those lavender eyes, and that deep gentleness.
Drizzt just waited for him to decide. He had made his offer and seemed patient to wait and see what Brionne chose. It didn't make it any easier.
With a last glance at Nala, Brionne turned and walked back to Drizzt. Gracefully he sank to his knees again beside the man. A soft smile on his lips hid the restless uncertainty he felt. Of all the things he had done in his life, this was the hardest: choosing something for his own happiness instead of his survival.
Gently, Drizzt reached out and brushed dark fingers across his cheek. A soft question was asked. The only thing Brionne could understand was his own name, and the word "Sleep." Just the sound of the man's words was beautiful, so exotic, his tone so soothing.
And suddenly the weight of their journey rested heavy on his shoulders. Sleep had been so hard to come by, even before they left the city. Sleep. Shelter. It was what he needed most at this moment.
Drizzt combed his dark fingers through the darker hair, waiting for a reply. Brionne nodded and stretched out. Drizzt lay down beside him, his motions cautious, as if he were afraid Brionne would take offence at some stray touch or push.
I am happy here, Brionne thought. Happier than I can remember being in a very long time. He rolled over to press against the warrior's side, his head pillowed on the other's shoulder, one hand resting on his armored chest.
********** Guenhyvar was hunting. The scent of blood was in the air. The source seemed to be at the very edge of the large circle she had been guarding around the camp her friend had made in the little clearing.
Great black paws were silent on the earth as six hundred pounds of panther passed. Deer scattered, and birds went silent.
Blood. She padded into a clearing. The fur along her back bristled into a ridge.
Two men, killed clean and fast. The smell of their fear still lingered. Three dogs lay dead in their muzzles. Two had been torn apart, one cut clean like the men.
She tracked the scent of horses. Some went to the west; the others went to the south, with more dogs. Neither group headed towards her friend.
Satisfied, she turned and loped back to where she felt she belonged, at her friend's side.
As she took a circuitous way back, a new scent came to her sensitive nose. It was the smell of men. Their destination lay in the same direction hers did. Feeling a new tension, she increased her pace.
SLASH WARNING: You don't like, you don't read. Thanks.
***************
Looking back, Relder knew, to the day, to the hour, when the fey-blooded witchling had ceased to be Markell's Toy and became instead Relder's Passion. Alone in his gardens, he dwelled on the thought, the memories, trying to free himself from the spell those eyes had put upon him.
He remembered Brionne's body, lying bloodied and torn underneath his. The way he cried out as Relder pulled out of him. A vague dissatisfaction had lingered in the act. His rival, Markell, was gone, and the pleasure of using the slave as a surrogate for it's former master was beginning to fade. It was becoming a hollow act.
And then Brionne had rolled over, using the strength of his arms to move himself because there was too much pain in his lower body. The tears were gone, so completely that for a sickening moment Relder had wondered if he had imagined them. The boy's silver eyes had met his in that moment, without fear or worry, and he knew he hadn't imagined the tears, but neither had they been real. Perhaps they had never been real.
Brionne had licked the blood off of the edge of his perfect mouth, a smile curling the soft lips. Those silver eyes wouldn't release him, and he had stared in awed fascination. The spirit Relder thought he had broken wasn't even scratched.
"While I am of course yours, to do with as you wish," the boy had stated calmly, almost arrogantly, "If you tire of the fantasy of raping me, you have only to say so, and I can perform for you acts requiring more...skill."
A week, even a day, earlier, and he would have broken the young man's neck for such arrogance, no matter what it cost to buy him. A week later, and his interest would already have passed, and he'd have already given the Toy away or sold it.
On that day, at that moment, nothing else in the world could have gripped his curiosity and passion in such a way.
He had turned and left the room without a word, too stunned to gather his thoughts for a reply.
It had been almost a week before he went back to the room he was keeping Brionne in, and from that time on, he was lost in the lure of those silvery eyes.
****************
Nala sleeps. Brionne hesitated. He was being called. He fought the urge to obey out of habit. Until Nala was safe, he was no man's slave.
Am I refusing for the sake of refusing? He asked himself then. Or because it is truly how I feel?
Brionne watched the dark Fey's eyes. He knew his own face would betray none of his internal turmoil. The Fey had some skill in covering his emotions, Brionne could tell, but not like a man who had lived two thirds of his life trying to discover and become the desires of other men. Brionne could see the need in those lavender eyes, and that deep gentleness.
Drizzt just waited for him to decide. He had made his offer and seemed patient to wait and see what Brionne chose. It didn't make it any easier.
With a last glance at Nala, Brionne turned and walked back to Drizzt. Gracefully he sank to his knees again beside the man. A soft smile on his lips hid the restless uncertainty he felt. Of all the things he had done in his life, this was the hardest: choosing something for his own happiness instead of his survival.
Gently, Drizzt reached out and brushed dark fingers across his cheek. A soft question was asked. The only thing Brionne could understand was his own name, and the word "Sleep." Just the sound of the man's words was beautiful, so exotic, his tone so soothing.
And suddenly the weight of their journey rested heavy on his shoulders. Sleep had been so hard to come by, even before they left the city. Sleep. Shelter. It was what he needed most at this moment.
Drizzt combed his dark fingers through the darker hair, waiting for a reply. Brionne nodded and stretched out. Drizzt lay down beside him, his motions cautious, as if he were afraid Brionne would take offence at some stray touch or push.
I am happy here, Brionne thought. Happier than I can remember being in a very long time. He rolled over to press against the warrior's side, his head pillowed on the other's shoulder, one hand resting on his armored chest.
********** Guenhyvar was hunting. The scent of blood was in the air. The source seemed to be at the very edge of the large circle she had been guarding around the camp her friend had made in the little clearing.
Great black paws were silent on the earth as six hundred pounds of panther passed. Deer scattered, and birds went silent.
Blood. She padded into a clearing. The fur along her back bristled into a ridge.
Two men, killed clean and fast. The smell of their fear still lingered. Three dogs lay dead in their muzzles. Two had been torn apart, one cut clean like the men.
She tracked the scent of horses. Some went to the west; the others went to the south, with more dogs. Neither group headed towards her friend.
Satisfied, she turned and loped back to where she felt she belonged, at her friend's side.
As she took a circuitous way back, a new scent came to her sensitive nose. It was the smell of men. Their destination lay in the same direction hers did. Feeling a new tension, she increased her pace.