Evan will be a three-part side story to our somewhat epic Dichotomy. This story was encouraged by interest on our livejournal community. Enjoy! (And, you know. Comment. Please?)

Dichotomy: Evan
Part One: Companion Mantheof
Fading Madness Productions

Evan knew when the trainers reassigned him to his own room, forcing him to leave his roommate of five years behind, one of two things had happened. Either they had discovered Adrian and Evan’s midnight kisses on Adrian’s sixteenth birthday (and if so, any punishment would be utterly worth it) or his time at the Center was drawing to its conclusion. When no punishment appeared forthcoming in the days following, Evan began to welcome each dawn with a curl of excitement unfurling in his belly.

After ten long years, he would be leaving the Center.

The prospect thrilled and terrified him at once. He didn’t want to leave Adrian; he’d hated that they’d been kept apart since his abrupt room reassignment. That didn’t account for his fear, however. He had always known that he and the other Companion trainees would one day part company and go their separate ways. He had decided years earlier to face the day he bonded with equanimity. Adrian, he knew, would greet his day of Bonding with blazing, violet-eyed fury, but he, having been taken later than most, had more memories of the outside than Evan or the others. Evan had just celebrated his seventh birthday when the Seekers arrived at the hovel he’d been born in. His memories of his family, parents and a little sister, had faded to little more than a disintegrating image of skinny, dirt-streaked shapes. The Center had been home for him far longer than the estate had been, so he forgave himself some trepidation at the thought of leaving the white walls for the world outside.

To be outside the Center walls!

Several weeks later, the trainers came for him before dawn. Being marked with his new Master’s brand hurt, but not terribly. Logically enough, it felt like having a needle repeatedly jabbed into his skin. He was allowed an actual mirror to look at himself and study the new crest at the base of his throat. Mirrors were rare in Helmriche, new and expensive, so he’d never seen such a clear image of his own face. He spent several minutes studying his green eyes, the dark red curls around his face, shorter than the rest of his hair, and the spattering of freckles across his nose. He’d never even known he had freckles, and seeing them made him laugh aloud. He looked younger than he’d fancied, as much 15 as 17.

“Come along then, Companion Mantheof,” one of the trainers said, pulling him away from the mirror and piquing his interest.

“Mantheof?” he asked curiously, trying the sound and shape of the new name on his tongue. Adrian always insisted on reminding Evan that his real last name was Breen, but like his family, the word held little meaning for him now. Breens starved and slaved on estates. Companion Mantheof would be well-fed and cared for.

“Yes. Magistrate Mantheof, of Renweard.” They stopped outside a door, which the trainer unlocked and motioned for him to pass through. “He’ll be here momentarily.” The trainer took a moment to look Evan over. They’d dressed him in clothes he assumed were traditional for this sort of thing: light pants and a vest, the new tattoo covered by cloth with faint dots of blood bleeding through. Evan looked down as well, running a hand along his flat belly, faintly toned. Companions in training we always kept in good shape, and Evan thought his was nice enough, though there was a smattering of freckles on his stomach as well. “Remember your training.” She paused a moment, then added, “Good luck,” and ducked back out the door, locking it shut behind her.

“Busy day,” Evan murmured, looking around the room. He spent a few minutes studying the intricate tapestries, butterflies setting to flight in his stomach at the erotic details. In theory, he and the others had learned an arsenal of techniques to please any man; realistically, he’d never been allowed to practice any of them. Companions were to be virginal in every sense of the word, and the thought of being rejected had been enough to keep Evan from suggesting he and Adrian try out a few of those techniques on each other.

Not that it hadn’t been tempting . . . and not that he would have much chance of ever seeing his roommate and friend again.

Sunlight struck the door just as the heavy lock moved again. Evan, who had once again found himself distracted by the tapestries (and his own active imagination), jumped and straightened, tugging at the vest and lifting his chin. Quickly reviewing lessons of the last ten years in his mind, Evan let his eyes drop a bit in deference as one of the Miltsian servants slid into the room. He was a skinny man, not pleasant to look at or listen to. “My lord,” he said, stepping backwards into the room. “This is the Companion who is being offered to you, to hold and use as you will. An extension of our power in defense of our Helmriche.” Then he moved to the side, and Magistrate Mantheof stepped into the room.

Evan kept his head properly lowered as his new master stepped closer. Sturdy boots, dusty from travel, stopped a few feet ahead of him. “You don’t have to look down like that . . . ah, they didn’t tell me your name.”

Evan, his heart pounding, slowly lifted his head. “Evan,” he said, not mentioning the old last name. “Master Mantheof-” His voice died in his throat as he took in the Miltsian’s face, and a not-unfamiliar emotion unfurled in his chest.

Disappointment.

Mantheof looked . . . old. Not elderly, but not young. In his forties, perhaps, his blond hair streaked at the temples his gray. He had a pleasant face, and he smiled at Evan’s moment of surprise. “Not what you expected?” he asked quietly, and the servant who had shone him in glared daggers at Evan.

“I . . . I didn’t have expectations,” Evan stuttered, embarrassed that his feelings had been overheard. Of course! he chastised himself. He’s a Miltsian with enough ability for a Companion. Of course he can read what I’m feeling!

“Companion-” the servant growled, stepping forward, but Mantheof raised a hand and smiled that same kind smile that Evan would come to know so well.

“It’s fine. You can go.” Mantheof inclined his head politely at the door. “I spoke to the trainers when I arrived. I know what needs to be done, and Evan’s done nothing wrong.”

The servant hesitated only a moment, then bowed low and backed out, closing the door behind him and leaving Master and Companion alone.

“I’m sorry,” Evan muttered, tugging nervously at one of the curls next to his ear. He hoped he’d be able to grow the front out now, to match the back. His hair straightened with enough length on it.

“Don’t be.” Mantheof reached out, his hand catching Evan’s and pulling it down with infinite gentleness. “I’m not offended. I knew it would be difficult for any young person to be paired with someone my age.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your age!” Evan argued automatically, his head lifting. “I was just . . . I was just surprised. I didn’t know they paired people who were . . . ah . . .”

“Past forty?” An embarrassed nod that earned another sweet smile. “I don’t think they do, very often.”

“Oh.” Evan shifted from foot to foot, not knowing what to say or do. The tapestries and his own training certainly provided a number of clues, but some part of Evan had been expecting a young, handsome lord, not this middle-aged magistrate. Now he felt foolishly childish. Why should all masters be young and attractive? “Well.” He looked up again, slowly. Mantheof stood watching him with gray-blue eyes, tiny lines crinkling from the corners. Some dim memory of his mother’s voice made Evan think perhaps they were the result of those gentle smiles, and laughter.

“Is there anything you’d like?” Mantheof asked. “Something to eat?”

“Water,” Evan answered without thinking. Mantheof moved into the adjoining bathroom and came back with a glass of water, which he held out. Evan accepted it, feeling foolish for not going to get it himself. “They...when they gave me your crest,” Evan rested his fingertips just beneath the bandage, “they said your name is Magistrate Mantheof.”

“It is,” Mantheof replied, sitting on the edge of the bed as Evan took a sip of the water. “Eadmund Mantheof.”

“It’s . . . nice to meet you?” Evan felt horribly awkward. He dipped two fingers into the glass of water, concentrating. The water cooled, then a sphere formed between his fingers, solidifying into ice.

“You’re a water Cildisc?”

“Yes, sir.” Evan lifted the ball of ice and pressed it just above the sore mark at the base of his neck. He hissed as some water melted and slid over the tattooed flesh. “They didn’t tell you?”

“They explained what we needed to do to Bond. They didn’t tell me your name or abilities. We’re to stay for a while, so I . . . so we can learn more about each other.”

“Oh.” The ice plopped back into the water and Evan set it on the bedside table. Heart speeding up, he perched carefully on the edge of the bed. Age could be a good thing he thought. He might know what he’s doing . . . right? “What. Well. I know what we do. I have to help you,” he searched for clinical terms, feeling his face warm with unfamiliar heat, “we have to have sex together, so that you’ll be bonded to my power.”

Mantheof cleared his throat and leaned forward, settling his elbows on his knees. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but was instead dressed in rich materials with delicate embroidery here and there; he looked like a lord, but a magistrate would work for the army. “It’s actually more specific than that.”

Evan frowned. “How? They said we have sex, and taught us how to do things our master will...enjoy, and then we’ll be bonded. You’ll be able to help me control my power and,” he lifted a hand to his neck, where his training collar held his abilities in check, “I can take this off.”

Mantheof smiled again, but somehow it didn’t seem a mocking expression. “I asked your trainers, specifically, what we needed to do for us to be bonded. They gave me some more details. You see, in order for it to work, only you need to climax. Your mind will open when you do - as all minds do - and I will be able to combine my will with your own. Then we’ll be a bonded pair.”

“You . . . but you’ll need to-”

“No.” Mantheof shook his head. “Just yours will be enough.” He touched Evan’s hand. “You won’t have to be hurt or forced in any way.”

Evan’s brows drew together as he puzzled through this. He had been taught to provide pleasure to his master, and he knew that his body enjoying being touched, even if only he had ever been allowed to touch it. “You . . . don’t want to have sex with me?”

“It’s not that I don’t find you attractive,” and now Mantheof’s voice sounded as gentle as his smile and eyes. His hand closed more over Evan’s, which the younger man suddenly realized were clenched on his knees in something akin to shame.

“I’m sorry,” Evan whispered.

“Don’t be. Evan. Anyone would find you attractive.”

“Then why-because I’m a man?” That only made sense as well, Evan thought now, and again that sense of naive foolishness came back to him. Not all Cildisc men wanted other men, why should Miltsians be any different? But he’d been taught to bring pleasure in ways that both men and women could provide, and surely most masters found their Companions attractive enough to indulge from time to time?

“No. Man or woman . . .” Mantheof let go then, and Evan looked up to see an undefinable expression on the older man’s face. “I believe we’re going to be extremely compatible, Evan, despite our differences. And that’s a relief to me. So I hope you’ll understand that I’m not speaking of you, specifically, or saying that I wouldn’t want you, when I say that I don’t . . .” he seemed to struggle for words, “have the urges I’m sure you have.”

Evan stared at him, feeling his jaw drop a bit in shock. Not have urges?! Sometimes Evan felt like he had nothing but urges, and this man claimed to have none?!

Mantheof chuckled at the expression, and Evan snapped his mouth shut with another blush. He’d never been one for embarrassment, and he didn’t think he was going to care for the new trend. “It’s not as uncommon as you might think, Evan. And I know it will be difficult for you, an attractive young man of . . . how old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

This time, the Miltsian’s eyes grew wide a moment, surprised at the number. Evan wondered if he had thought Evan younger or older. He hoped older; he didn’t want a Master who found sexual appeal in children. “That’s . . . well. I can see where it could certainly be frustrating for you. Perhaps we can think of something during our stay here.”

“But we’re supposed to bond now,” Evan argued. “If they think you’ve refused me, I’ll be sent away.”

“We will bond now.”

Evan let out a huff of annoyed air. All his anticipation from the last few weeks had disappeared, all the night imaginings and half-hard mornings disintegrated in the face of reality. “But you don’t want to have sex with me!”

For a moment, Mantheof didn’t answer. He seemed to want to consider his words, and Evan squirmed unhappily until the Miltsian broke the silence. He shifted on the bed, facing Evan more fully. “We will. You’ve touched yourself before?”

Evan scoffed at this, “Everybody’s done that.”

A low chuckle. “Of course. And you climaxed because of it?”

“Yes but-” Evan bit off the words, feeling his shoulders slump. “Oh. So you want me to . . .” Disappointment, again, and Evan wondered fleetingly if this was his punishment for not listening to Adrian’s rants about how Cildisc were meant to free. He couldn’t even remember that word his friend used, the one Adrian claimed to be the real name of their race, as if Evan wouldn’t know what his own people were called. Cildisc. Du . . . something. He searched for the word, as if it would somehow change these circumstances to something that would help him deal with all his body longed for.

“Close your eyes.”

Trained to obey, Evan instinctively let his eyes fall closed. The bed dipped and moved around him, and then a warm body pressed along his back. He made a sound a bit too much like a squeak, eyes half opening before he let them fall shut again. A hand settled low on his bare stomach, and he felt his breaths quicken. “Sir?”

“You don’t have to call me sir, Evan. Mantheof is fine. No one calls me by my first name anymore, but you’re not one of my soldiers.” The gentle, low voice sounded near Evan’s ear, sending soft breaths over his neck. Evan shivered.

“All . . . all right.”

“Have you ever had a dream that inspired you?” The implication of “inspired” came through crystal clear when Mantheof’s other hand caught Evan’s and moved it beside the magistrate’s on his stomach.

“Um.” Evan wriggled again, not used to thinking about these sorts of things with sunlight against his eyelids. “Yes?”

Mantheof took a slow breath against his ear. Evan realized that he could feel Mantheof’s heart beating against his back, tripping a bit faster than normal. “Then think about it.” The voice at his ear didn’t sound low, practiced, or sensual. It sounded . . . encouraging and sweet. Not what Evan expected, but then what had been? An older man who didn’t have sex?

“I’m not . . . I’m not sure I can.”

The hand on his stomach faltered, then gently dipped into his loose pants. Fingers traced over him, and Evan felt himself stir despite the awkwardness. “I know this is difficult. Just relax. Lean your head back.”

Faltering, Evan did as he was told, resting his head against his master’s shoulder. “Yes si-ah. Yes?”

Mantheof’s hand covered Evan’s own, pushing it down a bit. The soft voice in his ear murmured, “Now think of those dreams. Think of what you imagined.”

“But I’ll never have any of those things.” The words came out unbidden.

“You may. There are many Cildisc in Renweard, Evan. I’m sure you’ll find someone you’ll like.”

Evan’s eyes half opened, taking in a sliver of the images on the wall. “I could do that?” he breathed, images of violet eyes and black hair swirling around in his mind.

“Yes.”

“That’s . . . I was told I could only . . . with you.”

Evan felt the magistrate shake his head, chin brushing the top of the small Cildisc’s hair. “Another Cildisc is fine. Evan, I’m not going to keep you locked in my rooms. You will be free to roam Renweard, and spend time with whatever Cildisc you choose, though I do hope you’ll come to help me. My job is extremely demanding, and I believe I could trust you with duties I might not trust to others.”

“Oh.” Mantheof’s hand over Evan’s tightened, and his hips rose into it. Instinctively, Evan’s hand grew wet from his power, warm and slick in his hand. “I . . .”

“What would you like in . . . someone?” Mantheof sounded uncertain, and somehow that made Evan relax minutely.

“I . . .” Violet eyes, Evan thought. Black hair. Words in a language no one else understands. Stubborn pride. “I don’t know.” He didn’t have to give voice to his desires, though. Over the weeks since he had been reassigned to his own room, Evan’s dreams had taken on new flavors, images his ever-ready body remembered and responded to. His hand tightened and slid, flesh hardening under his fingertips. He bit his lip, head pressing back as he pressed into his own grip under the large, dark hand covering his smaller, pale one. No one else had ever touched him before.

“You do,” the magistrate murmured, and Evan shivered to know that he couldn’t lie, that this man would know. He wondered if the images in his mind were spilling over: pale skin slick with sweat, trim waist and flat belly, and thin fingers, bandaged from time to time from the pricks of needles. He shifted, feeling Mantheof’s solid body behind him. Something warm tickled at the back of his mind, an odd but not uncomfortable sensation that made him wiggle some more. His hand tightened, then stroked, and he let out a little panting moan.

Mantheof didn’t speak often, just now and again as Evan stroked. Evan’s eyes never quite closed, focus sliding in and out as he stared at the tapestries on the wall as his mind conjured up all those images of what he’d imagined this day would be like - foolish, childish, imaginative fancies - and his hand grew slick with more than water. When he came, it did feel different than in his room, alone in the dark; the warm body behind him, the explosion of sensation in the back of his mind, and a strange, lingering sense of something that fluttered somewhere in his head, just beyond reach, added a new dimension.

“Did . . . it work?” he whispered, boneless against the Miltsian’s larger body.

Silence reigned for a long moment, and then he heard that voice as he had never heard another person, as he would only ever hear these kind, low tones.

:Yes. It worked. You did well, Evan.:

Evan shivered at the intimacy of it, and wondered what it would be like, if Mantheof were just a bit different. He wouldn’t know until two years later, when the person he’d feared never to see again would come to him with uncertain questions and descriptions of a master so different from his own.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have hurt so much, had it been anyone other than Adrian Craft.