Page 27 of Besieger
The servants pushed and guided him towards the water, stripping more of his clothes. The boxes with cosmetics stood forgotten on the edge, as their hands held on to him, mouths worked to drink all of him. Their clothed bodies pressed into Emerick, pulling him slowly down into the hot water.
Trapped against the steps of the pool, submerged in water, Emerick gasped and shivered under the caresses of the servants, his face upturned to receive their kisses, consumed by a hungry fever.
“I leave you in their hands,” Silvio bowed low, his mouth a fanged smile.
Silvio spent the next hour going through the accounts his secretary brought him, satisfied that the re-construction of the tower had not turned him into a pauper. Especially the bathhouse—a project which had proven not only too ambitious but verging on the insanity for the architects he had hired. They had to dig into earth and stone, coaxing the water to run under and into the building, then through furnaces to heat it. He wished he could go back down there and partake, to watch his lover in the revels of the flesh. The hot pulse of blood coursing from body to body.
He raised his eyes to the ceiling and found himself standing beneath a horned angel, its arms outstretched downwards. The angel’s robes were dissolving into feathers, running down its body, a devil clutched at one of its legs, dragging it closer. The devil’s head bore a halo of gold and light, its mouth full of fangs, its body half that of a beast. The figures danced and fought in a cloud, their limbs disappearing in the white folds, re-emerging in violent triumph. Their battle reflected and endlessly multiplied in the tall mirrors around the room.
With a sigh Silvio closed the ledger and put it aside. Solemnly, with the measured grace of a reverend, he made his way to the staircase, and climbed the steps to the master bedroom. It was the largest chamber on the upper floor, overlooking the gardens. Not that they could see much of the gardens at night; they would remain hidden behind the velvet drapes and stained glass. Visible only through the eyes of the servants who tended to them.
He was greeted by one of the hall boys on the landing. The youth had changed into a dry set of clothes, his hair still moist. Silvio stopped, eyes fixing on the human’s throat. Between the blooming marks of passion stood the imprint of teeth, the blood had crusted around the bite.
Silvio bit on his thumb and pressed his torn finger to the youth’s throat, healing the marks.
“Sloppy,” he tsked.
“My lord?” the hall boy looked up at him.
“Go and rest for the evening, child. You will not be needed.”
The hall boy nodded and waited for Silvio to turn the corner before darting down the stairs.
When he stepped into the bedroom Silvio was welcomed by the lingering heat from the fireplace, the smell of smoke and timber permeated the chamber nicely. The drapes were gathered to the side, inviting in the light from the night sky and the rising moon. There were a few candles lit on the mantelpiece and on the writing desk. Enough candlelight to cast shadows across the walls and make the gilded foliage of the frames glow, reflecting the light back.
The bed was a massive work of carved wood and drapes, like a ship moored on the shores of carnal famine. It stood against the wall opposite the windows, surrounded by mirrors framing it like an altar. Silvio could not see anything except the dark reflection of the room in the mirrors but he saw the outline of a figure prostrate upon the bed. High up, pressed against the bed frame and the many pillows, his lover waited, his body somewhat multiplied by the mirrors. With a sick delight Silvio noted that the mirror in the middle was the very one he got from Ingenuar. Its size fitted perfectly, capturing every inch of the bed.
Following his instructions, the servants had dressed theComtein layers of silks and tulles, a veil covered his face. In the flickering light of the candles Silvio marvelled at the waves of olive green and plum covering his lover, like the petals of a night-time flower. For a moment he regretted not accepting the tailors’ offer for white and cream, but these were not the colours of his bride. Taking off his boots, Silvio climbed on the bed.
In the dark his mouth found Emerick’s and kissed him through the veil, his lips filling with the smell of smoke and incense. Underneath it he caught the persistent smell of the humans who had touched his lover earlier. He ran his hands over Emerick’s face, cupping it in both hands and lifted it up like an offering. His thumb pressed against the veil, feeling the lips part andEmerick’s wet breath. His whole body was burning up, warm from the blood he had drunk himself full.
Looking down, Silvio gave out a growl. The hungry sound made Emerick laugh, body nuzzling closer. The servants had outdone themselves, they had put strings of pearls around theComte’s neck, dangling from a silver thread. Some of them were so small they looked like tears oozing down Emerick’s chest. The way they glistened and sparkled in the light, so delicate they might as well have been shards of glass, and still so precious to Silvio.
This is how he imagined his wedding night, bodies pinned against a sea of lace and silk. Slowly unveiling his beloved, eager to taste more, to feed on the warmth of the flesh. To consume. This was what they should have done that first night when their blood became one and their fates interlocked into eternity.
Silvio ran his hands down Emerick’s waist, watching him arch his back, desperate for more.More. There was a makeshift belt of pearls and little glittering stones around his waist, spilling like rain on his pelvis and thighs. Silvio tried to suppress another growl rising in his chest and up his throat. He wanted to rip these trinkets off and watch them scatter across the bed and click-clack on the floor as he started to devour this feast, pulsing flesh and ragged breaths.
For Emerick had always been served before him in the form of a meal. First by their mother on the battlefield, a body prostrated on the ground broken and dying, yet succulent with blood. And nowhere, in Silvio’s marriage bed, slowly becoming undone, baring all of him in the same way the dress was ripped and torn. Ah, how Emerick wriggled and begged beneath him.
Delicious. Silvio heard himself say out loud, his fingers played with the makeshift garter holding up the stockings—the servants had even dressed him in these, adding to the ensemble.
“Sil… please,” Emerick grabbed at Silvio’s shirt and tugged. Enjoying the process of undressing his bride, Silvio had neglected to dispose of his own clothes. He started to pull away, slowly, teasing, and sat on his knees between Emerick’s legs. He meant to undo the strings on his shirt and vest, and quickly do the same with the breeches, but then he lingered, his eyes locked at Emerick under him.
Propped against the many billowing pillows, his fledgling lay in the remains of the gown. Tossed and torn pieces of lace, strings of pearls dripping down his chest and limbs. The only thing intact on him were the white stockings, stretched taut over his long legs. One of the ribbons around the thigh was begging Silvio to untie it with his teeth.
Emerick’s legs were spread and slightly bent, his chest heaving, panting, his face flushed from arousal and blood, overstimulated from the play at the bath. Silvio’s eyes trailed down and he felt his tongue press against his teeth when he noticed Emerick’s hard cock, twitching impatiently. A snarl spilled out of his mouth like an animal in heat when he saw the slick mess under his lover. Earlier when Silvio ran his hand there he felt the moisture from the oils the servants had used to loosen the anus, his fingers entered far too easily and with room to spare.
What have they done to you? Had they played and teased you under the water, their eager fingers pushing and spreading, and thrusting inside until you were slick and wide open for your master?
“Am I not to theMarquis’ satisfaction?”
Emerick’s voiceforced Silvio’s gaze upwards. There was something bestial in the way his mouth curled up, the tongue moving behind the fangs.
“My clothes you tore and cast aside. Were they not to your liking? Was I not arranged in this fashion for your pleasure?”
Drawing back, forcing some distance between them, Silvio finally stripped himself bare.
“This arrangement…” he whispered, narrowing his eyes, drunk by this vision.
