Bath time was always interesting.
It had become a bit of a tradition with us. When he was younger, he refused to be touched in any way (but then, at that time he had still believed that streaking off into the forest would somehow help him. We always found him within the hour). But sadly, the little beast had clearly never washed himself, and would roll into thimbleweed and come up with all kinds of rashes and other red itching things. On this too he would refuse help—but finally I bundled him into the water and gave him a proper washing, just because it irked me so to see him so disgusting.
Afterwards, I simply continued to bathe him. The 'servitude' in it seemed to appeal to his cold little self, and I found it pleasurable to stroke and coddle him so—so it continued unquestioned. It was not intimate in the least, but a chore of sorts. Wash and be washed.
But today, bath time was to become a bit more productive. Janus had been simply blooming in magic for a very, very long time, but lately he had reached a stagnant stretch. I was told to… talk with him. We still had a long way to go if we were to have our way with him.
Own or be owned. Perhaps he had forgotten?
He lay away from me, long white body drifting in the pool. Pointedly ignoring me had become an art, but now he was rather passive. I enjoyed him this way—he let me fondle his hair, which was a rarity. Still, when I came an inch closer than necessary, he drew closer to the shore, avoiding the brush of my thighs on his.
At first, my body had been a horrific novelty for the child. My body! Our first bath, he was too occupied with screaming to notice anything of interest, but the instant I stripped in a more casual, shriek-free setting, he saw the… anomalies? Surprises, I say.
I would say he was entranced, but I know the callow human mind too well for that. I once tried to take a pretty, strapping young woodsman for a lover when I was still biting ankles myself, and I will NEVER forget how… ooh, I have no words. During a tryst he tried to make generous use of his ax and in the end I had to kill him—and without an inch of regret, mind you. I was so offended I swore never to touch a squirming human again.
Janus, of course, is more than an exception.
I studied him as he lay there, as I had done many times before. Already, his time with our charming caravan had taken its dues. Our contraband's skin had whitened, dusky lavender blotting out human, fleshy shadows-- as though someone had powdered the china boy with an artist's brush, taking care to mind the crevices.
But there were other differences. He had elongated, thinned. He was—what, entering his pubescent years? Human chronology is so fickle, but I could see his body changing. He was older, yet still a child—though our races hardly compare. Young and beautiful as I am now, I might sprout my first gray hair on his deathbed. If I'm lucky, it will be another 20 years.
But now, there were other matters to attend to besides gawking.
Janus did not stir as I approached—and for the first time in years I touched him fully. I slid my palms over his shoulders, squeezed and toyed. He twitched, discomfort roiling inside him. It was some subtle power play, though we each won when he did not pull away.
"What do you want?" I asked.
Janus grew taut. My question was unexpected, and I intended it to be so.
"Do you know what you want, little Janus?" I asked again—teasing, tittering.
I had not moved my hands. Another moment under my grip and he squirmed with some deep-rooted discomfiture. He was surprised, perhaps, that he could not answer that simple question. But wanting is a secondary emotion
His sister. His pampered life. All far beyond his reach-- far beyond wanting. All he could obtain was within his reach, and he wanted none of it. Defiant, destructive little Janus.
"There is nothing left for me." He said finally, coldly shrugging off my hands and drifting further into the reeds. My fingers lingered, trailing through his impressive hair, and though he could not see me, I smiled.
Needing was the only option. We had crafted this environment especially for that.
Self-preservation versus domination.
Suddenly I was draped over him, slick breasts pressed flat against his boyish back. Before he could recoil I cupped his chin and, like so many years ago, cocked his ear to my mouth.
"So why not take everything?" I whispered.
He froze and I closed my eyes, simply feeling him against me. I held a warm, trembling, fearing body, brimming with a concoction of revulsion and suppression, and I reveled in it.
But even as he ducked out of my grasp as rat slurps through a hole, wrenching himself up onto the shore in his haste… even as he ran and never glanced back, I could see him affected.
The idea had not left him unscarred.