Date: Tue, 10 Dec 2002 03:49:22 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: Starlight Reverie, chapter 5 This is a Sci-Fi/ Fantasy story involving incest, male/male, teen/adult, graphic sex and it's not intended for reading by minors. If you are underage, or this type of material isn't legal where you live, stop now, and go read something else! This is a fantasy meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading. These people don't exist, this world doesn't exist. This story originated as part of a fiction writing game which is hosted at a site called The Palace. For those interested in the game and what is known as "key fiction," the site address is, http://www.ravenswing.com/~keys/. A version of this story is posted there under the pen name, Mickey. It appears here with the blessing of the Palace. Feedback, always appreciated & framed, to: javabiscuit@hotmail.com Starlight Reverie ~ chapter five by Biscuit Shaun stretched on the towel covered table after his workout. His muscles were tingling from exercise. He was tired, but in a very good way. Breathing deeply, he enjoyed the light hint of menthol in the air. It was scented oil his Master Trainer was warming for the massage that would end their session. Shaun looked forward to this all week, the day that the Master worked with him personally. The rest of the days a Page attended him, following the Master's instructions. This man had overseen his physical well-being for as long as Shaun could remember; determining his diet, his conditioning regimens, taking care of him when he was sick. A rarity now for him to be ill, but not in the beginning. "Master," he said, the scent of menthol stronger as warm hands cradled the weight of his head. "Yes," the man answered, his fingertips just barely pressing into the muscles at the base of the Key's skull. It was a magical touch, Shaun thought, more relaxing than the simple contact could account for. It helped him ask the question he'd been turning over and over in his mind. "Is there a way I can walk outside in the daylight without hurting my eyes?" He gazed up at the face which had been the first sight to greet him inside the Palace. A face he still took comfort from; eyes like jewels, he thought. He saw he'd surprised his Master though he was trying to hide it. "It's possible," he said at last, as his thumbs stroked along the sides of Shaun's neck. "We might be able to find a way to shield your eyes but ... what is it you want to see outside?" I want to see what they see, thought Shaun, just once. To go with them! He'd tried to imagine himself beside them outside the walls, but couldn't. If he could do it once, he thought, he could imagine it forever. Keyholders had come and gone. For each one of them Shaun had a space in his heart. Even the most fleeting companion, a man who'd had Shaun's key for a handful of hours, was kept in a special niche of memory. Lucid memory itself, which had begun in the Palace, was its own pleasure. He loved to summon up faces, treasure details, cherish them. Marcus and Morgan couldn't be contained in this gallery of remembered Keyholders. They were a whole world, like a lifetime lived in the space of weeks -- and still he hungered for more memories to store up and savor. He hadn't stepped outside the protective walls of the Palace in the six years since he'd awakened, safe, within them. He'd never wanted to, until now. "I want to see the boy and his father ... " he started and couldn't finish. Speaking his need, all the peace and tranquility he'd attained in using his muscles hard, in inhaling the menthol scent, and in the touch of the Master's hands, was lost. Shaun's eyes closed on hot tears and his body contracted with anguish. --------------------- Brian Jennings gazed at the couch as if he could still see them, Marcus draped in his father's lap. Now what? he wondered. He could try to find out who'd contracted Shaun's key. There were ways to circumvent the bureaucracy. He'd done it before when he'd had to. Would the man stay if he could give him that month? He lifted his glass, tipping a small stream of liquor into his mouth. It spread warmth over his tongue and down his throat. Damn Morgan Fahr, he thought. He'd been interested, Brian was sure of it. He'd seen him respond, almost instantly. He'd even congratulated himself for proving so quickly what he'd set out to prove; that the man was just ... a man. Like any other man who used a Key. Not worth the tears of Shaun Vidar. No one had charged him with the task of informing Morgan of the council's decision. The lawyers would get the notification any time now. He'd met with him to try to ease his conscience; the votes long since cast to deny his petition. He'd wanted to reassure himself that he'd done the right thing. And he'd intended to punish Morgan Fahr for threatening to break the heart of his first and most cherished Key. Shaun had stunned him. The revelation of his feelings, at the end of their session the day before, had shaken him badly. His vote had only been one of ten, unanimously opposed. If he could change it now, it would make no difference. Yet he wished he could. To lose Shaun would be painful, but to see him lose the father and his son was going to be worse. Much worse. He swiveled his chair slightly to look at the fire. Nothing had gone as he'd planned. Nothing. He closed his eyes and Marcus Fahr appeared in his mind's eye. It wasn't his size, in and of itself, or the smoothness of his face that had sent a chill up the back of Brian's neck. The boy wasn't frightening to look at. He was beautiful. He would go so far as to call him exquisite. It was how he'd come to be what he was that had unnerved him. As delicate as bonsai. Brian's brows creased, picturing miniature trees created by systematic cutting of living plants -- until they were the size and shape a man desired -- instead of what nature had intended. He'd been admiring the contrast between father and son. A slight boy in the arms of a tall, broad-shouldered man. Morgan's large hand on his son's slim leg -- close to, but not touching his small, straining erection. It was one of the most intensely erotic sights Brian had ever seen. Not because he was a father touching his son. There was nothing inherently arousing in that for Brian, who'd been used by his own father. What aroused him was Morgan's struggle, the layers of emotion in his eyes. Guilt, desire, defiance. To see how Marcus's need tipped the scale of the moment by moment conflicts rippling through him. A man touching his child, for his child's sake. That was something very rare in the world of Brian Jennings. He'd wondered, as he watched, if the mother had been petite, like Marcus. Then he'd remembered the wedding picture, one of a seemingly endless archive of published photographs taken of Morgan Fahr. The bride had been as tall and slim as a runway model. She'd stood nearly eye to eye with her groom. Arrested Development. Maybe twenty, maybe thirty titles scrolling past his tired eyes had contained that phrase. He'd been too daunted by the sheer volume of material to stop and read the articles whose titles he skimmed. But the words had come back to him with gut wrenching impact, stopping him dead mid sentence. He'd been unable to speak as the realization permeated his brain. Marcus Fahr had virtually stopped growing at the age of twelve. He was as small as the Starlight Key, who loved him. Shaun's size was natural, the stature of his full maturity. Marcus's was a travesty of nature. Shaun Vidar, the most tender-hearted of Keys. His affection for his keyholders was legendary. Time and again he'd astounded his brethren with kind comments about a keyholder's beautiful eyes, or kindness; men who deserved his contempt. Mildly exasperating, but not a dangerous trait. Brian had tried to tell himself that this infatuation with the father and son was the same. But it wasn't. His hand tightened on his glass but he didn't drink. Shaun had fallen in love, a condition for which Brian felt little patience or sympathy. Affection, attraction, committment -- these things had meaning to him. Not love. Yet it happened, even to Keys, and now to Shaun. He shook his head slowly, closing his eyes. Shaun had fallen in love with a boy like himself, Brian thought. A boy who lived like he did, in a small cirumscribed world, with untold ugly memories locked inside him. And Morgan. How it had enraged Brian to hear his Key refer to the man as, "Daddy." Outwardly he'd been calm; inside he'd seethed. He'd wanted to scream at him -- he's not your father! He doesn't love you. Oh God, he thought, how could I have known? Morgan was every bit as handsome as he'd looked in photographs on the screen of Brian's computer, but a thousand times more compelling face to face. The man he'd seen in pictures was someone he could have easily seduced and manipulated; he could have hurt him. There had been only one or two, taken at the trial and afterwards, that hinted at what he'd just seen. They'd given him pause but were only hints. It wasn't until Morgan walked into the room with his son clinging to him like a vine, subtly adjusting constantly to accommodate the boy, that Brian began to see what photographs couldn't capture. And what is it, he asked himself, that you think you saw? His hand strayed to his semi-hard cock. He was dangerously attracted to Morgan Fahr. He let his head rest on the cushioned chair back as he unzipped his pants, freeing his growing erection. He stroked up and down the length of his dick slowly, caressing the image of Morgan in his mind. "Master?" His Page's uncertain voice drew him out of his reverie. The boy was a novice, still in training. Brian opened his eyes. Thomas stood nearby, watching him and trying not to; hopelessly endeavoring to disappear into thin air and yet show that he was there, ready to serve him, at the same time. How ready, his seventeen year-old cock betrayed. The narrow black pants of a Page's uniform weren't designed to make a display, but they didn't hide much. Blushing? thought Brian, seeing him color up. It was appealing on his earnest young face. Another of the never ending flock of runaways. They showed up at the back doors in varying states of need. Most of them were given a meal and sent away with enough money to get back home. Some, like this one, were stubborn enough, desperate or determined enough to show up daily until someone took pity and let them stay. Thomas's looks were raw and his expression morose, but he had a will of iron and quiet strength. He'd never be a Key. Brian had told him so straight out. As he'd expected, the boy had been more relieved than disappointed. His looks weren't bad -- but they were immaterial. Contrary to what most people thought, it wasn't looks that made a Key, though it didn't hurt their chances. It was something harder to identify, but Brian knew it when he saw it. His success in grooming and training Keys was unsurpassed, beginning with Shaun Vidar. Thomas, he'd known at once, was a Page. He'd be a good one, Brian thought, potentially one of the best. Destined to serve Keys. It was his temperament. Too serious, too thoughtful to be a Key -- but he would be able, with his storehouse of patience and unthreatening good looks, to soothe and attend to even the most troubled of Keys. "Yes, Thomas," he said, in answer to the silent question. "You may." The youth's soulful brown eyes showed gratitude as he knelt in front of him. "Careful with your teeth," Brian told him. "And don't try to choke yourself. It's not necessary," he added quietly, his eyes appraising the boy's full lips. A nice mouth, he thought. And large hands that were steady and dry in spite of his blushing. They took hold of him with enough confidence that Brian leaned his head back and closed his eyes, idly playing with the boy's short brown hair as the warm mouth closed around him. "I haven't seen any aging Keys in the Palace ..." Brian had bitten back his laughter. Open your eyes, fool. The former Silver Key had thought it, but said nothing to disabuse the man of his ignorance. Retired six years before, at the age of thirty, Brian Jennings had been a Key since he was seven years old; sold to the Palace by his father. Those who'd been owned became the owners. Few of the men who used Keys knew it, fewer cared. Who owned the flesh they used didn't matter to them. They assumed it was men like themselves. Fools. Outsiders. The Palace was a vast family. It was the only one he knew. It was the only one he wished to know. It bore no children, stealing other men's sons to perpetuate itself. They found their offspring on auction blocks, in seedy "outside" brothels; some, like Thomas, whose hot mouth was both soothing and exciting him, came running to their doors. Others entered as he had, too young to understand, but destined to learn. Shaun Vidar had been discovered by a scout. A former Key who lived outside, as some did; the eyes and ears of the Palace. Traffic in offworld flesh was small but growing, an illegal byproduct of mining operations. The plunderers of distant soil had helped themselves, when they could, to the humanoid inhabitants of the planets they mined. Shaun, as well as Brian could determine, had come from one of a cluster of planets stripped and abandoned four months prior to their finding him. His home world was barren now. A Palace scout tracked him to a decrepit carnival side show, tipped off by a man he'd met in a bar. The guy had bragged to him that he'd fucked an alien. The best fuck he'd had in years, he claimed, though he said he'd felt sorry for the little guy afterwards, when he was put back in his cage. Brian was grateful not to have been there when the scout found him. The descriptions of the filth, the restraints, were almost more than he could stomach. The scout bought him for a pittance from the man who knew he was dying. Three others he'd had were already dead. A child. Luckless enough to have looks that appealed to human males and a body that could be used. Jasper, the scout who'd rescued Shaun Vidar, was one of the ten who'd voted to turn down Morgan Fahr's offer. He'd wanted no part of making the child he'd saved another man's personal property -- a plaything for his son. The consensus had been, as it almost always was, that a Key was better off in his own home. He'd earn the money that his family needed, against the day when younger brothers would earn it for him. Morgan Fahr's money could be siphoned until he grew tired of Shaun, which they assumed he would. It was an assumption proved so often that it carried the weight of natural law. Men always lost interest. The Palace was a testament to it; to men's lust and lack of control. When the day came that Morgan wanted a younger boy or a different boy, they'd still have their Key to draw other men's money and Shaun would still have his home. Shaun. So vulnerable. What made him think that Morgan was any different? He was just a man, not a saint; arrogant, prejudiced ... privileged. Infuriating! Brian clutched at Thomas, breathing hard. He held him still and was comforted by the feel of his head, heavy and warm against his stomach. He pet the boy's hair to let him know he wasn't upset. "It's good," he murmured. "Just go slow." He tried to concentrate on the feeling building between his legs, the tongue gliding over him, the softness at the back of Thomas's throat that teased the head of his cock. The sensations, like his thoughts, lead him back to Morgan. With the least encouragement, Brian knew, he'd have been on his knees like a Page, worshipping him with his mouth. What he'd seen had filled him with awe, with desire. A man who'd been holding his son in his arms for four years. That he endured the physical challenge was one thing. But that he bore the psychic and emotional burden, seemingly unaware of what he shouldered, had made Brian want to throw himself at Morgan's feet. Those arms would embrace Shaun Vidar with the same devotion, if given a chance. Brian knew it. No photograph could capture it. Brian wanted it. To hold Morgan, enfold and make love to him. To give to someone who gave so immeasurably. He didn't fool himself that he'd ever have a chance. That much was clear. Morgan wanted him, yes, but he wasn't a man at the mercy of his desire. He opened his eyes, groaning. Half in anguish and half from the gathering tension in his groin. He looked down at his distended flesh, reddened and wet, disappearing in and out of Thomas's generous mouth. A wave of warmth for his Page overtook him. Soft sounds of pleasure were escaping from Thomas in quiet whimpers. The boy was stroking himself as he sucked him; his whole body in motion with a building climax. It spiked Brian's heat to a peak. "Good boy," he said, thrusting into the tight circle of his clinging lips. He consigned Morgan Fahr to the back of his mind, forcing himself to focus on Thomas. The boy had more than earned his attention. Straining upward, muscles tensing, he emptied his balls into the sweet, deserving mouth of his Page.