65Author's Note: This story was inspired by the Key-Game, a writing challenge with master/slave themes where the writer is given a character, the 'Key', complete with description, often including details of the room the Key has been placed in. The challenge is to create a story using this character, with the expectation that part of that creation will be the character of the 'master'. The other expectation, although it's not required, is that the story is yaoi/shounen ai (male/male) in nature.
Well, hope you enjoy the story. Feedback is most welcome, especially of a constructive nature.
An Unofficial Key Story
Stone Angel:
by Lady Tempest
******Part 1:
Hooded by a plain, brown cloak, Lucian stood in front of the large wooden door. An intricate carving of what appeared to be a willow tree faced him. He glanced down at the delicate key in his hand, his aqua eyes narrowing. There was no escaping the truth now. This was definitely the place Vandar meant.
He had been unsure before, considering the opulence he had observed as he entered The Palace. From the very entrance with its exotic and high arched gateway, to the lush gardens that lined the marble walkway leading to the elaborate Palace doors. Gold, marble, silk and gems graced everything within with a subtle elegance. Even the many servants that scurried about its many halls did so elegantly.
All the luxury disturbed him. Comforts were an unnecessary thing, but he supposed those without the duties of a Jiei desired such extravagance. Desire, an emotion like all others which Lucian only understood in the detached manner of an observer or scholar, never beyond. And the desire, lust, hunger he had observed as he strode past nearly-naked servants and the hungering looks of the other guests strained his understanding. He would never comprehend what outsiders saw that made them choose to be so weak, and he chose to not want to understand.
Their weakness was so strong he could feel their lust like clawing fingers scratching his skin, his plain brown cloak no discouragement to overactive desires. He felt very uncomfortable, and feeling at all made him even more uncomfortable. He wondered what sort of place Vandar had sent him to and sensed that he probably didn't want to know. His student, well friend, had insisted that he needed a vacation. Lucian had resisted, he had no need for vacations. He saw no purpose in such things. A Jiei didn't relax; relaxation meant letting down one's guard and letting down one's guard meant death, of either oneself or more importantly one's charge. But the older man had been persistent, appealing to Lucian's sense of duty. Now that he was here, he realized with aching clarity how much he shouldn't have trusted him.
Lucian took a breath and slid the key into its lock, turning it slowly. Considering the decor of the Palace so far, he was reluctant to discover how much more of the same would be his home for the next week. As the heavy wooden door swung open the sight that met him nearly brought shock to his eternally impassive face.
Black. The walls, the plush carpet, the satin covering on the bed all were black. White laced through the darkness in depictions of willow branches on the walls and silver embroidering on the satin coverlet. But the stark darkness was only the surface of his shock. Cold metal chains and rings hung all across the walls, some in unlikely positions. The bed was also equipped, chains and rings running along the headboard and the four posts.
He stood in the doorway. This had to be some sort of joke. But Vandar knew he had no sense of humor; a Jiei can't afford the indulgence. He stared at the key, an unsettling reality in iron and wood.
With a half-sigh, he started to turn to close the door, but the click of an opening door at the far end of the room distracted him. His muscles eased, by instinct, into a fighting stance as he peered from under his hood at the figure in the doorway.
The slight figure stepped forward, delicate and pale, long white hair hanging in hundreds of tiny braids, the tips tickling the back of his knees. His face, in the midst of shock and a growing sneer, had a gentle, almost feminine curve and odd eyes. And it was a he, only apparent by the flat, lightly toned chest peeking from under a pale-gray leather vest and the fit of his matching loincloth. Strange black markings covered the nearly ghostly pale skin like the bark of a willow.
Willow emerged from the bathroom and froze. He had been told that a new master would be arriving, but he hadn't expected it to be so soon. Folding his arms across his chest, he glanced up and down the much taller man, a scowl twitching his lips. An ugly brown cloak hid all but broad shoulders from Willow's scrutiny. At least he was alone. A shiver tickled his neck at the thought of his last master and his friends, and the two months it had taken to recover.
He narrowed his albino-red eyes as he walked across the room towards his new master, trying to snatch even a glimpse of what lay beneath that hood.
" What's with the hood? Hiding a face uglier than those clothes?!" Willow sneered, a hand on his slender hip. His glaring red eyes searched the hooded shadows; Chill pink lips pressed together in an emotionless line was all he found.
" Are you going to just stand there all day like an idiot?" Willow snapped. " I thought even a peasant would know how to close a damn door!"
" Who are you?" the man asked with a cold, even whisper.
" Your slave," he replied simply with an edge of irritation like the fact should have been obvious.
" My slave?"
" Yes. And that key in your hand makes you my master." He rolled his eyes, shaking his head, the tiny white braids swinging like willow branches in a summer storm.
The hand clutching the key opened and the hooded head lowered, silent, apparently studying the wood and metal key in his palm. " How can this be?" he finally breathed with a thick, smooth resonance.
" Damn! How much plainer can it be?!" Willow growled. "You own the Willow Key, so you own me. Unfortunately. What, are you ugly and stupid?!"
The man strode toward him. Willow flinched, though he should have been used to this by now. After all, the anger was supposed to happen. The anger was what he was trained to make happen. But instead he found nothing. It was almost as though this new master hadn't heard a single word.
His master brushed past him and dropped a pack onto the bed. " I have no need for a slave," he replied bluntly, his voice low and emotionless. " You can go."
Willow bristled. His master didn't need him? Didn't want him?... What?! What the hell?! What was this fool up to? This had to be some sort of sick joke. Though it certainly wasn't funny. Not in the slightest.
" What kind of idiot comes to the Palace and doesn't want a sex slave?" He could feel the man behind him tense. Turning his head to at least have warning for the blow that was sure to come, he caught the man bent and still, hands frozen in the act of unpacking. The master straightened and slid cold, pale eyes to meet him, ice clashing with fire-red. His muscles spasmed and he fought back the trembling that wanted to break free.
He leaned casually against a bedpost, a smirk masking the fear of the inevitable; the fury which he was trained to provoke. Yet nothing. The man turned and walked toward the bathroom, his stride as cold as he was. Yet it also oozed gentle grace, a mix between an elegant dance and a stalking jungle cat.
" I have even less need for a... sex slave," he murmured calmly, only a hint of an awkward rumble in his last words. " Leave." Then he shut the bathroom door behind him, leaving Willow alone staring at the space he just left.
Willow blinked. Was this some sort of game his new master was playing? He felt more fear of this man than any of his other masters. At least he knew what they wanted, how they would react. At least he knew when they would punish him for their own sick pleasure. To a degree he controlled that, controlled the intensity, so their pleasure would be greater. And pleasure was his purpose, what he was made for, no matter how painful. Only his master and his master's desires mattered.
But this new master was a mystery. Why couldn't he just get whatever perverse game he intended to play over and done with. The waiting was agony. Not knowing when or how the man would want his desires satisfied terrified Willow. Though he would never dare show it. That could be a worse torture than the raw anger. Masters fed on fear even more than the anger. He may have to submit to their will and give his body to their abuse and lust, but he couldn't, wouldn't, give them his fear. That gave them all the control, all of him. And that was even more painful. He slid slowly to the floor, never taking his eyes off the door, his hands clawing absently into the carpet.
Lucian leaned against the door and let out a slow breath. What was Vandar thinking sending him to a place like this? And how did he not notice the insanity his student obviously had fallen into. The older man's influence must not be a positive one if his focus was slipping that deeply. His encouragements to 'loosen up' and 'let yourself be human' were causing a disruption to his stoic philosophy, a philosophy with which he had yet to see a disadvantage.
Well, he decided, he would deal with his troublesome student when he returned. No more letting Vandar disrupt his centered mind. The older man may have thought he was helping, but he would never understand the responsibilities and discipline a Jiei must maintain. It wasn't his lack of emotions that kept him from being the perfect and efficient bodyguard, as Vandar believed, but his failure in eradicating all emotion that kept him weak. That will change.
Pushing himself from the door, He stepped towards the onyx basin in front of him. Golden hair slipped from his hood as the cloth fell to his strong shoulders. Lucian stared at his impassive image in the large mirror, ignoring the decor he would find as disturbing as he found the outer room. Clasping the sides of the sink till his knuckles whitened, he clenched his eyes shut.
How many times had he failed in keeping Jet safe? How many times had she come so close to death? Every wound she received was evidence of his weakness, his failure. Every wound should have been his. It was fortunate for her that he was released from his duty to her. She didn't need him anymore. He supposed the fates realized she had become a powerful enough mage to no longer need a Jiei, no less one as pathetic as he, to protect her. At least she survived his protection, unlike...
He rested his head against the mirror with a quiet thud. No Jiei had ever lost a charge. Until him. He was a failure, a disappointment, a disgrace, to the Jiei, to himself, and to Sul'yen, his Jiei master.
Lucian stood, glancing at himself. The disgust he felt never rising to his smooth, beautiful face. Turning to the large onyx tub, he paused. After several minutes of fumbling to discover which of the many chains and rings hanging from the marble wall operated the water, he finally found a ornate lever and started his much needed bath.
Willow heard the running of bathwater and let himself relax. Hopefully his new master liked long baths; the less he had to deal with the terrifying man the better. He collapsed on the bed and staring up at the ceiling, sighed. Too bad life wasn't like in romance novels. No more masters to serve, no more torture for the pleasure of others. Or if he had a master, they would be kind and gentle and beautiful. And they would love him, and he them. He sighed again. None of that was real; it was just stories. No sense in thinking about such things. Especially not with a frightfully mysterious danger in the next room.
He waited, almost drifting off to sleep several times. The bathroom door opened. He rolled his head lazily to the side. Danger stood in the doorway, drying fine, golden hair with a black towel. Stifling a gasp, Willow sat up and wrapped himself around the bedpost as he watched the exquisite and naked sight before him. His master was truly beautiful: Strong, slender legs, smooth and long; firm, nicely rounded buttocks; Willow bit his lip, almost hoping the man would turn around so he could see all of him; hips gently curved to a slender waist leading up a strong, toned back and powerful shoulders. The way his muscles rippled softly under his smooth, pale flesh hinted at a strength far greater than his acrobat-like built would suggest. Even the act of rubbing a towel over his hair was graceful.
Willow suppressed the gasp that nearly escaped him, and continued to watch, his hands tightening on the post. The blond stopped, hung the towel on a rack just inside the door. A quick shake of his hair, he turned then instantly froze. His blue eyes locked onto Willow's and the slave felt a flash of hot and cold. God, that face was one of an angel, a cold, marble angel. He risked a glance along his master's toned, perfect chest and flat, perfect stomach, and strong perfect hips and ...
" Perfect," he muttered, not realizing the thought reached his lips.
The nude man before him didn't seem to notice. " I asked you to leave," he said quietly.
" I can't," Willow absently replied. He tore his crimson eyes from the beautiful body before him and fell into water blue, the ice waking him from his admiring daze. He had meant it? His master had really wanted him to leave? But...
" Can't?" The blond stepped towards him. " Aren't you supposed to do as I ask?"
Willow began to panic. No. This was just part of a game. It's all just a sick game. And it was his duty to play along. No matter what. He unwound himself from the bedpost and slowly stood, scowling.
" Even an idiot like you should understand 'can't'!" His lips began to tremble, but hid it behind an angry sneer. " I'm not allowed to leave without my master, " he said slowly, mocking. " And no matter how much it disgusts me, that means you, blondie!"
Icy eyes narrowed. Willow tensed, prepared for the what he knew would come. His master lifted a hand. Willow flinched.
" He's going to suffer," the blond mumbled, pressing a hand to his forehead, slowly massaging his temples.
Willow stumbled backwards, shaking, knowing that his resistance would only bring him more pain, but not able to control himself anymore.
Golden lashes lifted to allow blue eyes to peer down at him. " Then I suppose I have no choice," his master replied with a voice deep and smooth, a whisper, and as cold as those eyes.
Willow shivered, burying his face on the bed. " Just get it over with!" he muttered into the blanket. He felt the bed shake as something settled upon it and he just waited. The bed shifted again, this time the weight lifting. Willow clutched the satin blanket and forgot to breathe.
After what seemed to Willow to be eternity, still nothing from his master. He peeked up from the mattress and saw no sign of the other man. He jumped to his feet and spun around, fearing the man was looming behind him. But in the midst of his haste, his eye caught a gold streak at the far corner of the room. The graceful figure, now wearing baggy black pants though nothing else, was absorbed in an exotic dance. Each motion flowed into another, elegant legs performing kicks of impossible flexibility, arms swaying with slow, beautiful precision.
Willow dropped to the bed, staring mesmerized and finding himself oddly disappointed that his master had covered those gorgeous legs. He wanted to enjoy the moment, enjoy the peace, and watch his lovely master and his skillful display. But his duty was to please this man, no matter how much he feared it and he had yet to figure out how. The man had to be angry with him. He had to be. All the others would have been. But he showed no sign of anger. He showed no sign of anything.
" Godammit!" Willow screamed, his hands twisting in the blanket. "What do you want?" The man's graceful movements continued uninterrupted, as if he hadn't heard. " Didn't you hear me, you bastard?! What do you want?!"
" I heard you," the silky voice was calm and unstrained, the dance unceasing.
" Well?!" the white-braided slave growled.
" I told you." Deep and even. " I have no need for a slave."
" Godamn sick bastard! I don't believe you!"
" Do as you will," somehow his tone shrugged, " but I don't lie."
He blinked, glaring at the unnaturally calm blond. He couldn't be serious, could he? Willow wasn't going to allow himself to hope. Yet part of him twinged with an unfamiliar pain at the thought that maybe his master really didn't want him.
He pulled his knees up to his chin and watched. Even if it was true, even if this master wasn't like the others, there was no way that such a man would ever want someone like him, someone so used, tainted. His albino-red eyes traced every motion his master's body made, losing himself in the tranquil rhythm of softly rippling muscles, gracefully flowing limbs, and fluttering gold and black. He savored the moment of peace as if it were his last. And he expected that it was.
(End Part 1)
(tbc)
Disclaimers: The character of Willow in the following story is taken from the Willow Key created By Koko-chan for the Key Game run by the Chatelaine. I initially wrote this because I was inspired by the character and also wanted practice writing a yaoi story before my own Key was presented to me. No offense to either the Willow Key's creator, owner, or the Chatelaine was intended.
Lucian, however, is completely my creation. He was a D & D character of mine and my favorite as well. When I read the Willow Key's description, Lucian seemed to be a perfect contrast and had the potential for an interesting and different dynamic that I couldn't resist playing with.
The characters Vandar and Jet mentioned in this story are the characters and creations of two other members of that same D & D campaign. I intend to write many stories in the future involving Lucian, so if you like him there will be more.