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 story originated as part of a fiction writing game which is hosted at a site called The Palace. For those who are interested in the game and what's 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 eight
by Biscuit
Shaun's attention wandered from his book. He was sprawled on the bed, on his stomach, waiting for his keyholders to come back. The book lying open in front of him, was The Hobbit. It was a favorite that he loved to re-read.
Marcus and Morgan had been gone a long time for their meeting with Elizabeth Emery and he was wishing they'd come back.
What are they talking about? he wondered, his chin in hand, resting on the open book. His dick stirred a little when he thought about the father and son. He'd been longing for them since morning. He pressed his hips into the mattress to feel the pressure and the slide of the satiny cover under his cock.
He'd talked about Morgan and Marcus in his own session with Emery, but he doubted that he occupied the same place of importance in theirs.
Closing his eyes, he thought about his loved ones, as his cock grew harder beneath him. The paper and ink smell of the book right under his nose mixed pleasantly with the dab of sandalwood oil he'd put on his wrist after bathing.
He'd met with Emery that morning. Their meeting place was his training room. She'd asked Shaun to lie down on the massage table when he told her about the memories that had come to him since he'd last seen her. She'd brought the tall stool close and sat right beside him, holding his hand. It was a calming ritual they had evolved for memory sessions.
"Close your eyes," she'd said. "Picture the special place."
The cave. It was an image that had come to him the very first time Emery asked him to imagine a safe place. It was warm, dry, well-protected. The rock surface under his feet was smooth, the dark walls familiar.
He'd nodded, breathing deeply. He saw the cave by lantern light. A lantern from his homeworld, fueled by a resinous dirt that was both a blessing and curse for his people. It was this rich organic sediment that had drawn the mining companies from Earth. Shaun knew it, though he had no memory of when the men arrived.
The soil glowed softly as it burned, sparkling slowly, as tiny particles, more volatile than the rest, ignited. The smell of nutmeg from the Palace kitchens was reminiscent of the scent that wafted from those lanterns.
"Let me speak to Shaun of the past," Emery had said. "We'll talk to him, together."
Alone, he would have been afraid to summon his young self, but she was with him. Shaun felt he was both seated in the small chamber that was the heart of the cave, and with Emery. Out of the shadows at the edge of the lantern light, he saw his young self appear. So tiny! Thin, pale, with big eyes full of pain, and need. His long black hair was dull and dirty.
Shaun's chest tightened and he squeezed Emery's hand.
"Keep breathing," she'd told him, and her voice had strengthened him as he gazed at the boy he'd been.
"He's ... lonely," Shaun had whispered. "He's scared."
"You can hold him," Emery urged, and he'd opened his arms to the child, encouraging him to come closer. He'd felt a surge of relief when the small one touched him.
"I'm talking to you, small Shaun," she'd said to the boy clinging to his side. "We're always with you, Shaun and I; we're always here inside for you to find. You tell him, too," she'd addressed his present self. "Help him to understand that he survives."
"We're here," he'd said, rocking the light weight of his childhood body. He'd kissed his own hair, as he'd seen Morgan kiss Marcus. Tears escaped from under his lids but there was great comfort in the touching; he felt it in the present and the echo of it in the remembered past.
"I'm you," he told the boy. "You live."
"There are many good things in the world that will be your home," Emery had said to the child through him. Shaun felt that his boyhood self absorbed that knowledge as he absorbed the bliss of being held .
"There's a man who loves you very much," she had said, and the words thrilled both his present and past selves. "A tall, handsome man with very dark hair. There's a boy who loves you, too. A beautiful boy who needs you very badly--he's waiting for you here. Think of them, think of us, when you feel trapped."
Shaun had gently touched the tracery of blue lines that formed the flower between the child's bony shoulders. Without words, he told him to picture Morgan when the unseen hands touched his hard penis.
Think of the man who loves you in place of the faceless strangers.
He'd felt drowsy then, irresistibly drawn toward sleep. He'd stretched out on the floor of the cave, with his young self in his arms, and slept, as magic threads wove the past to the present.
Shaun had awakened in the soft starlight of his training room, to the sight of Emery. She'd held his hand in both of hers.
Before lying down with his book, he'd uncovered the flower on his back, hoping the father and son would arrive while he was reading, and be seduced by the sight of it.
It seemed to him now that he'd always known he would meet them, that he'd loved them for years and years. The day they'd arrived at the Palace, his first sight of them, was the fulfillment of a very old promise, made to him in childhood by his future self.
I'll have them another whole month, he thought. Almost a whole month. Days were slipping past.
At first he'd felt wealthy with four more weeks on the horizon. The news had come to him twice in the same afternoon! First, from his Master's page, and then from Morgan, himself.
Now it didn't seem so vast an amount of time. I'm like a hungry hobbit, he thought, closing his book. The pantry's never full enough.