Interlude 16 - You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams

Émile, never one to balk at a chance for rest, soon settled peacefully into the warm hollow against Fabien’s chest. Their breathing slowed into a regular rhythm and they drifted to sleep in his arms without further agitation.

They unconsciously nuzzled close to him as they slept. Their bare skin was warm against his. It was a tranquil scene, the two of them tangled together in loose limbs and mingled breath. An outside observer would not have guessed the indentured nature of their relationship, calm and close as they were in sleep.

It was not long after they'd surrendered to sleep that the serene tableau was abruptly shattered by a sobbed shout.

"Non!” There was sheer terror he had never heard in their voice. It made them sound much younger than they were.

“Non, non," they sobbed. They had attempted to jolt upright but were thwarted by the press of his arms and they thrashed frantically to free themself from the blanket.

Their eyes were open but unfocused, the muscles of their body painfully taut as though braced for an attack. They managed to shake off his arms and sit half upright before the urgent fear in their body subsided and they seemed to regain some measure of awareness.

Their breath came quick and short. They sat still, quivering silently in the dark.

They did not respond if spoken to but were guided easily back against him, their body already softening with weariness. The trembling in their limbs was more persistent but soon enough it too dissolved and they lapsed back into easy sleep.

There were no more interruptions to the pair’s slumber. Émile slept deep and hard, hardly stirring as the sun relinquished its glory over the sky and slunk below the horizon.

Fabien did not sleep quite so soundly after Émile’s terrified cries had ripped him from his dreams. The press of his body did not stray for the rest of the night. He held them tight against his chest until their shivering had begun to abate, and their body softened back into rest.

At last the urchin stirred, blinking into the familiar dark until his eyes had adjusted to the weak light. He lay still at first, reluctant to untangle his limbs or do anything that might disturb the warm body at rest beside him. When he could make them out with some clarity, he carefully lent his weight on his elbow to study Émile.

The boy poured over their features with sharp interest. He had not seen them this way, devoid of the scorn that hardened their eyes and mouth. He brushed the dark shadows that haunted the skin beneath their eyes with his thumb, and slowly pressed his mouth to the curve of their neck.

"Not the worst night I have spent in this room." He murmured, his breath hot against their skin.

The youth's hand moved to their waist and stroked down, relishing the soft curve of their body with slow relish. His palm shaped over their hip, and the boy sighed hungrily and pressed his brow against their shoulder.

"Ah, if only I had strength enough." The urchin breathed, his voice thick with desire.

With immense effort, the youth proceeded to slowly and reluctantly untangle his lean limbs from around Émile. He rolled his sleep-stiffened shoulder with a groan of discomfort.

"And we did not have things to speak on."

The boy unceremoniously kicked aside the covers with one leg, and swung his body around until his feet met the floor. He stood, and was immediately swallowed up by the rich darkness of the room.

A fresh match spat and gasped into life, and the walls were bathed again in soft light.

The youth was stood by his dresser, a fresh shirt clasped in his hand. When he turned his head to regard Émile, his grey eyes were calm, but devoid of cheer.

"I have things to say to you. Things I need you to understand," he said slowly.

When he turned his head, the light struck the gold of his hair like stray embers from an Autumn bonfire.

"After, if you have any questions, you may ask me them. D'accord?"

In contrast to Fabien’s troubled sleep, Émile remained undisturbed after their outburst, the breath that fluttered past their parted lips tranquil. Their body remained a steadfast warmth at his side.

His murmured observation was not enough to pull them from the dark waters of sleep. Their eyes remained closed, the fringe of their black lashes spread in a fan on their cheek. They stirred at the press of his mouth to their bruised throat, unthinkingly rolling their shoulders to expose the smooth skin of their neck with a gentle sigh. The touch of his hands on their bare skin coaxed an appreciative murmur and they arched their back against him, muscles shivering as they stretched. Their scant clothing had shifted in the night, falling to expose the curve of their hip bones, and when they drowsily turned to lay on their back his hand brushed along the fine hairs that trailed down their soft stomach.

The sound of his voice roused them and they blinked blearily to consciousness, their body shedding its affectionate softness and stiffening beneath his hand. Their dark brows creased as their sleep-soft brain pieced together whose bed they were in. They turned willfully away from him, pulling the blanket over their bare waist.

They remained turned away as the light sparked to life, their shadow crisp along the wall. Fabien’s assertion that they needed to speak did not at first seem to stir them until, reluctantly, they turned to face him, propping themself on an elbow with a hand in their dark hair.

They regarded him silently, their eyes narrowed against the light. The shape of their lower half beneath the blanket was all soft slopes. Their scar caught the light and gleamed pale as a fish’s throat beneath a knife.

They did not answer immediately. Their expression was difficult to read.

“Go on,” they said airily. Though their voice was still hoarse with sleep, the words were cool.

Fabien lingered with his shirt clutched almost white knuckled in his hand, and his spine brushing against the wall. With his skin pale as bleached bones and the shadow pooling in his eyes sockets, there was almost something spectral in the way he stood there, so still and quiet. When they agreed to listen, his shoulders relaxed and nodded once, before he began to make his way back towards them.

The urchin sat at the edge of the bed, his finely shaped eyes regarding the shirt that he still clutched in his hands. His fingers, always so restlessly animated, worried the material over and over. He did not meet their eyes as he spoke.

“I know you have not had many choices in your life.” He began softly, pausing to ensure they would listen without interrupting or dismissing him. “And I know also, that you do not think me fit to lick the mud from your boots.”

“But I will say this again.”

“This does not have to be hard for you, Émile.” He took a slow intake of breath. His skin flexed in such a way, that the inky mark of the victorious fox stirred across his ribs as though it intended to leap across his chest.

He turned his head over his bare shoulder to meet their green eyes.

“Be as good for me as you were last night, and I don't know.” He shrugged carefully, and then looked back down at his lap. “Maybe you will even find some peace here.”

The urchin fussed with the collar of his shirt. He plucked at the dark crimson thread attached to the collar, some useless, fashionable ornamentation to keep the material pressed tight at the throat. The boy clearly had no interest in such decoration, given the way his clothing always hung so loose from his throat.

He curled the dark thread around his finger, and pulled it free with the soft ripping of expensive cloth.

“I told Monsieur Tariq that I would make sure you do not cause trouble in this house. I would rather you gave me no reason to make good on that promise.”

The boy wound the cord around his finger as he spoke, and pulled taut, as one might test a snare for slackness. He continued to wind it this way, restricting the flow of blood until his fingertip whitened.

“I have not had many choices in my life, either. Just one second chance. This can be yours, if you want it.” He paused, and turned his body so that he might remain facing Émile as he untangled his finger.  “But you have to want it.”

“Donne-moi ta main.”

Fabien waited to see if they would obey him. But if they hesitated too long or refused, no doubt the boy would take their wrist all the same. He overturned their arm, his thumb brushing the red welts scratched into their smooth, vulnerable skin. He draped the red cord over their wrist.

“Can we make an agreement?” He asked, and gently reached for Émile’s chin to lift their head and ensure their eyes were on him.

“What I would like from you is time. Time for me to see if I can make you want this. To belong to me.

Let me tie this on you now. And If it wears away to nothingness, and you still do not want me. Fine. It is over, done. You go elsewhere, or you go back to Monsieur.”

As he said this, there was a flicker of something in his grey eyes, and his throat flexed as he swallowed. As if some emotion had suddenly surfaced, like debris from a wreck, only to sink back down into dark water.

“Is it fair?”

Émile watched him approach with a stray cat’s wariness. Their eyes were a soft, mossy green in the light. They tensed as he sat down beside them but did not draw away, looking up at him with a contemptuous roll of the whites of their eyes.

His immediate observation set them to bristling. They sat upright, the blanket falling to pool in their lap, and leaned their bare spine against the wall. The candle etched gentle phantoms into their skin.

Fabien’s guest did not interrupt his speech, though the set of their jaw betrayed the tense grind of teeth in their mouth. They did not move their head, only the flicker of their eyes revealing their reluctant interest as he tore the cord from his shirt.

They did not extend their arm when prompted but remained mulishly still. They watched him in obstinate silence. They did not struggle when he took their hand, their refusal to cooperate evidently victory enough. The skin of their wrist was soft as the satin fringe that shaded their eyelids. The lines they had scratched inside their arms were rough with torn skin and dotted with red flecks where the pores had been opened and threatened to bleed. They did not look at their wrist when he draped the cord across it - their gaze remained coolly, steadfastly on him as he spoke, nary a tremble in their eyes when he took them by the chin.

The terms of this arrangement were diverting enough to soften the irritation that sparked across their features at the naked assertion that they belonged to him. They contemplated his words in silence, the point of their tongue stroking the sharp edge of a canine tooth as they mulled it over.

“You know it isn’t,” they said. “But it seems everyone in this house is inclined to making ‘agreements’ that benefit only themselves.”

There was heat in the words and they turned their head aside to swallow the anger that crawled up their throat. Their pulse beat rapidly in their neck. The cord on their wrist trembled, red as a slashed wound.

“D’accord,” they said at last. “If this is the game you wish to play, it will be, at least, an easy victory for me.”

They lifted their wrist to offer it to him, the delicate wending of veins a striking blue beneath the streak of red.

They waited until their gaze met, their own eyes dark and depthless, impossible to read.

“Do what you like,” they said deliberately, the sockets of their eyes hooded in shadow. “I will never want you.”

Fabien's storm cloud eyes remained focused with some intensity on Émile as he allowed them to consider his offer. The boy was patiently quiet as he allowed them to turn over his words, though his lips twitched in amusement at their initial response.

"Only those in a position to make such agreements, I think." He replied softly.

When Émile agreed to his terms, the urchin met the green of their eyes once more. The muscles of his shoulders loosened, and he released a soft breath that shivered past his teeth as though in relief. His fingers moved, quick and eager, as he began to bind them without allowing any opportunity for hesitation or a change of heart.

The urchin’s hands were gentle as he looped and tightened the red cord until it rested firm and secure against their skin. He checked it with meticulous care, sliding his small finger beneath to test the strength of several times over. His hand lingered against their wrist, relishing the opportunity to touch them as he continued stroking the soft flesh of their inner wrist.

Once satisfied the cord would not loosen, the boy withdrew his hand and immediately pressed his mouth to the side of their throat with a soft sigh of satisfaction.

“Merci, Émile.” He murmured warmly against their skin, the heat of his body firm against their bare chest. “It is pleasing to have your blessing.”

The pale haired youth kissed his way up their throat, tongue and teeth tasting them with an unrestrained hunger that soon his shoulders faintly trembling. His hand slid down to their hip, his palm flexing as though in hungry recollection of the way their back had arched against him only moments before. This proved almost unbearably, and he sharply lifted his hand to their beautiful mouth, his thumb brushing over the enticing curve of their lower lip.

“Well, that is no trouble, mon coeur.” The youth continued huskily. “I want you enough for both of us.”

Fabien pressed his mouth to theirs, kissing them with unshakably brazen desire, such a painfully clear sense of entitlement that was sure to irritate.  He abandoned their hip to wrench the blankets irritably aside, so that he might feel the supple flesh of their thigh beneath his palm.

“And I intend to enjoy you completely.”

Émile’s gaze remained steadily on Fabien, their eyes half-hidden behind a tousle of black hair. Their offered wrist did not waver, nor did they threaten to recant their acquiescence. The smooth skin of their inner arm, marred with rough, red lines, was warm beneath his touch.

Their eyes dropped to their new accessory as he tested whether it would hold. The curl of their lip was distinctly scornful.

They brushed their thumb testily across the red band but there was little time to reflect on this affront before the boy’s breath was hot on their throat. They stiffened against the press of his mouth but the scrape of his teeth on the delicate skin of their neck unplucked the tension in their body and they softened, their newly-bound hand grasping his forearm by the elbow. They were warm and soft and utterly enticing amid the rumpled blankets of his bed as they offered the pale skin of their throat to his hungry mouth.

Their sighed breath was very nearly a murmur of enjoyment and at this intolerable concession Émile turned their head pointedly aside. Fabien’s thumb trailed across the side of their cheek.

“Very good for you,” they said acidly. “But what are you-”

They were cut off by the press of his mouth against theirs and a spark of irritation lit their features. They strained against him and pulled away bristling.

“C'est assez,” they snapped, the intended effect of the command somewhat spoilt by the raised gooseflesh trailing down the inside of their thigh beneath Fabien’s palm. They twisted away from the smothering press of his body, though the limited space on the bed ensured they did not succeed in their disentangling. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Waiting on your knees for the old man to tell you to meddle in someone else’s affairs, peut-être?”

The soft sounds Fabien was able to entice from his new pet were ample kindling for the fire, and soon the youth's heart was pounding in his chest.  

As Émile turned aside from him, a look of fox sly delight enlivened his sharp features. Their protests did little to slow the youth, and he did not flinch at their weak resistance nor hinder the ever encroaching lean of his body and gentle stroking motions of his hands.

“Oh, I am sure he can spare me a while longer.” He replied conversationally, brushing his lips against the side of their mouth as his hand slide around to grasp the curve of their hip. “Ne t'inquiète pas, mon cœur."

The snap of Émile's jaws prompted Fabien's hand to tighten hard enough to hurt as he hauled them low in the bed, forcing their spine into soft yielding mattress. The urchin was suddenly on top of them, shifting their thighs apart to accommodate the writhing press of his body. As though suddenly, their attempts to deny him sharpened his want for them, made him wish to feel every curve of their body warm and trembling against him. He moved with a determined, unshakeable hunger, despite the flinching pain certain movements still seemed to cause.

Pressed this close, the boy's arousal at having their warm body laid beneath him was achingly evident, and he made no attempts to disguise his want for them.

“Pourquoi? Did you have somewhere else to be?” The boy breathed against their lips, as he curled his hand around their freshly bound wrist. “Or is your place right here, pleasing me?”

His other hand moved to their jaw, gently ensuring Émile's eyes were on him as he leant in to kiss them once again, this time with deliberate slowness. He tasted them as though they were some luxury, the press of his mouth both firm but indulgent.

“Be good for me.” He continued softly, his voice so low and gentle the words were almost something akin to a polite request, despite the audacious press of his body. “I have not finished with you just yet.”

The line of Émile's jaw as they turned their head from the brush of Fabien’s lips was tense. Half-sunk in the shadow cast by the nearness of his face, their features were sharply lined with black. It did little to diminish the delicate beauty of their bruised cheekbones.

They were bristling, their fists clenched, and as his hand tightened their breath was an exhale of pained irritation that was cut off as they were forced to their back.

Émile was unwilling to yield to this. They struggled, muscle shivering back against him as they were pressed to the bed. They tried to kick their feet free, their body squirming beneath him, but the weight of their host between their legs and the tangle of blankets stifling their limbs quickly revealed this to be a futile task. They strained once more, spitefully, before lapsing into hateful silence. Their spine was flexed taut as though in preparation for an opportunity to bolt.

The skin of their wrist was hot where he caught it. His fingers stroking the cloth that bound them sparked fresh ire and they lifted a knee as though to land it in his stomach but did not have the leverage and they were forced to abort the attempt with gritted teeth.

The muscles in the curve of their smooth thighs were tense and hard. Their bare belly was soft against the press of skin rousing between his thighs.

Their eyes when they met were bright with a clear anger. They were as green as a mossy river stone. He could doubtless feel how they trembled when he leaned in to kiss them, the electric heat of their indignation like the shuddering hum of a live wire. Their mouth was hard, but they did not close their teeth to him.

“I am quite finished with you,” they snapped, turning their head aside. He could see the faint dappling of purpled bruises from his hands on the smooth skin of their throat. “Are we not done with this farce for the day?”

They squirmed once more, all warm skin and straining limb. “I’ve done enough for you. Va te faire foutre.” It was spoken as a demand.

Wounded and aching though he was, Fabien was immovable. Even with only one arm truly at his disposal, he outmatched Émile in strength. His weight remained firm upon their chest, un-yeilding against any further squirming attempts to free themselves.

In truth, it seemed the boy appeared to enjoy their struggle. His grey eyes were bright, his grinning lips half parted and expression one of fond, if not feline amusement.

"Mm, c'est bien." He replied airily, his mouth upon theirs.

He continued to kiss them with infuriating slowness, his eyes on theirs, his breath hot on their lips. Their words drew breathy laughter from the youth, and he pressed an infuriatingly gentle kiss to their cheek.

"Non." He replied simply.

It was only their last comment that affected some kind of change, and here the urchin paused and lifted his head. He pulled back as though he intended to withdraw, as if that their sour remark had finally been enough to dismiss him.

The boy's expression hardened, and the change in his demeanor was sure to give Émile false hope that they had been victorious.

But then he struck them across the mouth. Sharp and sudden and accompanied by a silence and absence of expression that was unlike him.

Fabien did not however appear displeased or irritated, and when he leaned in to press his mouth to their newly reddened skin, he was no less desirous. But his silence lingered, and there was a hardness in the way he touched them that had not been there before.

He pressed his palm hard upon Émile's chest as he loosened the fastenings around his waist, and slipped the remainder of his clothing from his hips. The boy was already slick with anticipation as he leaned in, grinding himself hungrily between their legs.

"Look at me," he stated, turning their head by force if they did not comply.

"We are done-,"  he continued, spreading their soft thighs further apart as he angled their hips up toward him. He ceased rubbing himself against them, and began to slowly press into the tight heat of their ass.

"-W-when I am satisfied." He managed to continue on a shuddering exhale.

Fabien’s amusement at their futile escape attempts sparked a hot flicker of anger across Émile’s countenance and they twisted viciously, their elbow catching him on the injured arm hard enough to hurt.

“Tu vile v-” they began in a hiss, but his mouth on theirs stymied the curse along with their hot breath.

Though they were panting, the rise and fall of their bare chest rapid with their indignation, smug satisfaction smoothed their features as their insult left the boy wordless. They eagerly claimed the space he surrendered, clearly intending to wriggle free of the bed. They had evidently not yet learned to heed his ominous silence.

The shock of the slap caused their head to jolt to the side and their body to go slack. Their mouth when he leaned to kiss them was soft and yielding, their lips prickling from the impact of his palm. They did not speak, though their reddened lips were parted. The soft flick of their tongue on his mouth was surely inadvertent.

Water collected in a sheen over the cool green of their dazed eyes.. A single clear bead of moisture spilled from the corner of an eye and slithered down their cheek as he forced them to meet his gaze.

The hard heat of his cock grinding against the downy cleft of their thighs seemed to return them to sensibility and they tensed, teeth creaking in their jaw. They strained for purchase and, finding none, grasped his forearm and held tight.

“Ne t'avise pas,” they warned as though chiding him against a schoolboy prank. Their voice creaked hoarsely in their throat. Their mouth was fiercely red.

He pressed into them and they resisted, thighs trembling and body tight. They gripped his arm with such force their nails dug into the skin.

And then, as he insisted and it became clear they had little choice in the matter, Émile submitted. Their body grew accommodating, his thrust finding skin soft and creamy as a charlotte russe. They breathed out once, hard, and wiggled their hips to slide down against him, stretching their back to accommodate him. The smooth skin of their bare stomach shivered.

Though they tried, they could not entirely conceal the wince as he slid into the soft heat of their ass.

The jostling of his aching shoulder momentarily knocked the air from the boy's lungs, but did nothing to deter him. Fabien's lean body moved with a prowling hunger that only seemed to increase in confidence, despite Émile’s wriggling protests and hissed words.

The surprised parting of their mouth to him caused the boy to groan gently against their lips. He immediately took advantage, deepening the kiss until his breath was shuddering against their lips. His thumb brushed admiringly over their newly reddened skin as his hips flexed and he pushed himself deeper into the tight heat of their body.

"Comme tu es jolie comme ça." He breathed against their tear-dampened cheek. His voice was stripped of its mocking amusement, replaced by an animal want that was hot enough to blister skin.

The urchin hand slipped from their mouth, his rough palm firm upon their thigh to ensure their legs remained splayed open for him. His eyes were still upon Émile as he eased himself deeper inside them, paused with breath sharp in his throat as his hand stroked the soft curve of their hip with relish.

“Beaucoup mieux.” He murmured with something close to soft encouragement.

But even with Emile’s body softening so invitingly for him, the youth did not grow gentle and tender with his beautiful pet. His fingers moved to their bruised throat, before his palm enclosed the elegant stem of their neck. His thumb pressed into the delicate skin of their bruised throat with almost thoughtless cruelty, as he eased himself deeper into the tight heat of their body.

Soon the arm that supported his chest began to quiver, and the urchin paused to gather himself, head bowed until his lips were affectionately brushing the scar that sliced through their dark hair.

When he had regained some sense of control over his body, the boy lifted his head, feline-sharp eyes firm on Émile as he began to move inside with them slow, indulgent thrusts. He did not hasten his pleasure, despite the reddening of his skin and trembling of his body which spoke of how quickly he could.

Instead, the roll of his hips were purposefully leisurely. He pushed his aching cock deep enough into their quivering body to make their breath catch, holding there as he studied the exquisite green of their eyes.

“We are done,” he repeated, with breath ragged and voice thick with pleasure as he continued to thrust into them with agonising slowness. “When I am satisfied.”

When Fabien lifted his eyes to them, he would find his breathless observation held a ring of truth. Émile’s features as they met his gaze were as fine as any noble’s he had observed from the street, their body shapely and lean and ripe with seemingly endless potential to please. Now that their mind was fixed on behaving they responded to his every touch with the willing devotion of an attentive dog. When he spread their legs to push deeper into the tight heat of their body they arched their back until their ribs showed in a stipple down their sides. He could see the white of their teeth as their lips parted.

The creamy white of their skin had coloured with a becoming blush. The imprint of his hand across their mouth had darkened to a red as rich as the crimson cord binding their wrist. Even the shadows conspired to dapple their limbs and cheeks with a dusting of darkness that suited them.

At the press of his palm, they offered their throat to him as though by instinct. Though the pressure of his thumb forced their breath to come shallow and hoarse and though the ache of raw, bruised flesh made them shiver, they lifted their chin and pressed their neck into his hand. His cruelty only seemed to coax them to unfurl for him like a night-blooming primrose opening its ivory petals for the moon.

With every stroke deep into the velvet heat of their body, he could feel how their breath trembled in their strained throat.

They struggled to accommodate him, tensing at the height of his thrust and tightening in a way that did little to discourage him. It was evident he had found the hard knot of pain they carried somewhere deep in the soft animal flesh of their body. It was likely to occur that his master had sown it there while enjoying them exactly as he was now.

Their grip tightened on his arm, though it did not feel like a prompting to stop. They shivered when he brushed his lips across their scar.

They made soft sounds with every thrust. It was not quite a whimper, though it veered perilously close, their breath a soft whine at the back of their throat they did not seem conscious of. Stripped of haughtiness, they were almost sweet.

Their dark hair had fallen messily over the green gleam of their eyes. They were beautiful as he rolled lazily into them, their eyes liquid and their skin hot and shivering beneath him.

“D'accord,” they breathed as he held himself deep inside them, their voice a thin, gasped whine. When they met his eyes, their defiant gaze had transformed into something else entirely, something aching and starved that darkened with the wince of hurt as he thrust into them once more.

Fabien's rough palm relaxed from their neck and slid down and over Émile's chest. He stroked over the contours of their ribs over the smooth stretch of their skin in slow, explorative caresses. The boy seemed unusually drawn to the warmth of their body, as though he had been deprived of the heat and softness of a lover.

His hand reclaimed its grip on their throat as the roll of his hips grew shorter and sharper. It was clear the youth was unable to maintain his teasingly slow pace, and Émile's soft sounds only hastened the thrust of his hips.

The boy's grip tightened and his body shuddered as he pulled out from their body to grind himself teasingly between their spread thighs. He took a moment to regain his breath, shaft slick and throbbing against their skin.

His grip withdrew, as though to allow Émile a mild reprieve before he struck them again. It was as ever, sudden and without warning. The impact of his long fingered hand sure to demand the skin of their cheek darken with a crimson blush.

The grey eyed boy caressed the stinging heat of their skin tenderly with fingertips.

His affectionate touch did not linger as his hand slid to their beautiful lips, and the boy, his eyes narrowed with sharp intensity, stroked across them.

"Open your mouth." He instructed in a throaty whisper, almost groaned from between clenched teeth.

His thumb pressed against the points of their teeth, firm and intrusive.

"Suck. He demanded, his breath shuddering as he pressed his cock slowly back into their body.

The quivering that was beginning to overwhelm his limbs spoke of almost agonising strain, as he held himself back with chest heaving and muscles taut.

Émile was stubbornly struggling to cling to their sullen resentment, but it was clear their resistance was unravelling beneath the possessive press of Fabien’s hands on their warm skin. As he roughly claimed them, the hard tension in their body melted into the liquid heat of pliant wax.

The boy would find no matter where his hands swept they were met with skin soft as the downy back of a swan. Émile’s limbs were unspooled and loose, their thighs trembling against Fabien’s hips as they moved instinctively with him. They were unable to muffle the soft cries, the exhales that were becoming short moans, as the boy’s thrusts into them grew shorter and sharper. He could feel their cries vibrating huskily in their throat beneath his palm.

A shiver cut deep as he pulled away, their body loathe to relinquish him. They gasped appreciatively for air when he released their neck. Their breath came so quick it whined in their throat, their bare chest rising and falling rapidly.

Their cheeks and chest were flushed with a blush as crimson as dawn. The slick heat of his cock pressing against their soft thighs had them grinding against him with indecent impatience.

They were watching him as they panted, their eyes little more than a thin line beneath their dark lashes, but they did not anticipate the blow and they started, shuddering at the impact. It drew a low moan from deep within their chest and their lips when he stroked them were parted and trembling.

The pretty green of their eyes was hazy and unfocused and they did not quite meet his gaze as his thumb brushed their lips. Their lips were warm and soft and red as cherries tempting one to bite.

He did not need to coerce - they were as eager as a fine-nosed hound quivering beneath him. They opened their mouth when bid, their tongue wet and hot and heady with potent visions of where it might be applied.

Their gasp became a soft whine as he pressed into the heat between their spread thighs. This command was easy to follow and they closed their lips around his thumb and sucked, pulling him deep into the velvet heat of their mouth with a moan.

Fabien could not quite conceal the vicious pleasure that Émile's compliance provoked. His lips parted, and the ease with which they accepted his fingers caused the boy's breath to sharpen into softly moaning gasps.

He watched them with hard, unflinching intensity. The soft heat of their mouth and silken wetness of their tongue almost too much for the urchin to bear. His thrusts into their body again grew sharper, though there remained something of a trembling strain to his body. And every so often he withdrew, his shoulders quivering, and breath groaning low in his throat.

Suddenly the boy's hand suddenly pulled from them, his fingers slick from their mouth as he reclaimed his firm grip on their throat. He held them, feeling the vibration of their soft whines against his palm.

He came against his will, forcibly, his body writhing as he released with a long, aching groan that was half stifled again at the side of Émile's mouth.

The boy's lower body jerked almost violently, and then all at once he grew soft, panting mouth pressed against the side of their lips. He met the green of their eyes unblinking, strands of burnished gold hair curling slick to his forehead. Then he tenderly lowered his wet brow against theirs, and closed his eyes as he swallowed slowly.

The youth's breath was still ragged and his feline-sharp eyes glazed with pleasure as he began to untangle from them. He offered no gentle words nor tender compliments as he pulled from their body, leaving a cold emptiness in his wake.

"I am going to bathe now. Your time is yours til I have need for you." He said thickly, moving as though in a drunken, weary stupor as he collected his clothing. He did not turn to regard them as he spoke.

"I will leave out food, if you want it, in the kitchen."

The boys fingers were trembling as he pulled his shirt over his sweat slick shoulders.

"Stay out of trouble, Émile."

Émile had been reduced to an utter mess.

Damp strands of hair clung in dark curls to their forehead. Their skin was flushed and sheened in sweat and any colour - the wine-dark mark of his hands on their throat, the crimson lines scored along their inner arms, the deep, rich blue beneath their eyes - was stark in contrast.

The scant clothing they had been wearing had long been impatiently thrust aside and was lost in a tangled disarray amid the bedclothes. Fabien would find he had plenty to observe in the curves of their naked body.

Their panting breath was hot on his fingers, their tongue wet as they hungrily sucked him. They shuddered whenever he withdrew, the absence of his demanding body firm against them causing them to falter.

They choked against his hand at their throat, their breath vibrating like a plucked string, but made no move to resist him. The smooth front of their neck pressed firmly into his palm as he restricted their air and their spine arched in response, their breath a soft groan as he drove deep in to them.

They fell still as he came. They were trembling as he filled their insides with heat, their grip tightening on his forearm. Their own legs twitched as he moaned into the corner of their mouth.

They were panting when their eyes met. There was a flicker of movement, a slight lifting of their chin as though in anticipation of their mouths meeting. Instead, they allowed him to hold their head in place as he regained his breath.

Émilebdid not protest as Fabien pulled away. Their parted lips were glistening, the inside of their thighs slick as they lay back against his bed.

They flinched as though struck when Fabien spoke. Without a word they turned away from him, the line of their bare spine a sinuous groove down their curled back.

They remained curled against the wall, unmoving and unspeaking as he collected his clothes. He could see the quivering in their shoulders as he dressed.