A/N: For those of you reading The Coquette and the Thane, Baisyl will obviously be a familiar character to you, but it is NOT required that you read that story to understand this one (seeing as this really is, basically, porn without plot). He's about twenty in this and has not (obviously) been cursed yet (and most certainly not met Kedean, etc.).

Really I just wanted to write some porn, get a feel for Baisyl's character before his life got turned around, and let him show off his usual toppy self. Mm…yeah. Enjoy?

P.S. Please forgive the disgustingly corny title.

The Cat and the Canary

Cale swallowed, his head down, hands folded behind his back and attention everywhere but on the sharp, calculating blue-green eyes dragging their way over his body inch by inch like a connoisseur evaluating a piece of merchandise—or a fine meal. At long last, his wrists aching, his skin itching, and his pulse in his throat, the man eyeing him—Baisyl Merseille, the eldest son of the estate lord he worked for—snorted, and Cale dared to look up just in time to catch him turn up his nose.

"You looked far more appealing from a distance," Baisyl deduced icily, his gaze no longer bothering to grace Cale with inspection, and, insulted and feeling the need to defend himself, Cale opened his mouth, but Baisyl continued first. "When was the last time you bathed?"

Cale frowned. "Ah…I-"

"Your clothes look like a flea infestation waiting to happen," the nobleman carried on without pause, "…and you smell like horse manure. It's a wonder I'm not itching already."

"My…apologies, my lord, but-"

"See Clara, downstairs in the first wing to your right after the stairwell," Baisyl went on, still not looking at him. "Inform her that I sent you and that you are to wash. When you are presentable, return to my quarters…" For the first time in a minute, he glanced up, meeting Cale's eyes dead on and nearly stopping his breath in the process, "…is that perfectly clear?"

"It—y-yes, my lord, of course, it is, perfectly." Cale dipped into a low bow. When he lifted, Baisyl met his look with an elegantly arched eyebrow that said 'Well?' clearer than any words alone, and Cale gulped, nodded a last time, and fled.

An hour later, he lingered at the front of the eldest Merseille son's door, cleaner than he'd been in years and feeling oddly foreign and naked in his own skin, though he wasn't naked, of course—yet. That thought in itself made him swallow down another lump in his throat, but, gathering his nerve, he raised a fist.

"It's open," a voice from down the hall interrupted him, and he nearly tripped over himself spinning to face it. Baisyl's soft, rolling chuckle rewarded him for his antics, and Cale felt his cheeks heat in spite of himself as the nobleman approached, heeled riding boots sending echoing clicks down the hall with each step.

Silently, Cale berated himself for his own behavior—not even in the room yet and he was already acting like a fumbling girl before her first time? What was this?

"I'll rephrase that," Baisyl said neutrally, almost startling Cale enough to make him jump again with his abruptly close proximity, and Cale shivered to find the man staring him down flatly when he made himself look. "Open it."

Cheeks alight, Cale dipped his head and obliged. Perhaps all of this wasn't quite so brilliant of an idea as he'd once thought. Too late now, he reasoned, as Baisyl stepped past him. And in any case, it wasn't as if one politely refused the wishes of their estate lord.

"Follow," Baisyl's voice cut off his thought process, and again, Cale obeyed, stepping in over the threshold. "Shut the door behind you and throw the bolt."

Halfway into doing just that, Cale's movements started to slow, his eyes catching on to exactly what he'd stepped into, and by the time the bolt clicked into place, the motion was all but robotic as he fought not to let his mouth hang open like an unhinged street puppet.

A carpenter's son and a stable hand after that, Cale rarely stepped inside the areas where the nobility actually lived—let alone where they slept—and the eldest Merseille son's chambers did not disappoint: sweeping burgundy curtains of a cloth finer than any he'd ever dreamed of wearing hung across towering bay windows, rugs with enough color and design to spark a tapestry's envy covered an elegantly glazed and polished hardwood floor, and, at its heart, a bed large enough to comfortably sleep his entire family dominated the room.

"Look at me."

Cale's eyes jerked up guiltily as if they'd been caught cheating on what was supposed to be the center of his attention—not that Baisyl himself wasn't a prize enough to look at, but that was another foot-long description in and of itself.

"Are you quite through ogling my furniture," Baisyl inquired calmly, "irresistibly charming though it may be?"

Right, so, apparently cocky and observant came one with the package.

"Yes, my lord," Cale answered, reining the urge to clear his throat and personally irritated that the heat in his cheeks had yet to find an opportunity to die down. "Quite through."

"Splendid," Baisyl answered, and Cale found his eyes tracing each flick of movement as the nobleman's fingers worked open the cufflinks on his jacket before moving to his collar. "Come here so I can have another look at you, then…what did you say your name was? Caine? Caleb?"

"It's Cale, my lord," Cale replied, stepping up, and found himself once again under the assault of assessing sea green eyes, though this time there was a barely perceptibly softer glint to them.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen summers, my lord."

"You're from one of the Tursian colonies."

It wasn't a question, but Cale answered anyway, "I am, my lord."

"Are you a virgin?"

There was an anticipatory flutter somewhere high in his chest, but Cale ignored it. "No, my lord."

"Have you shared a bed with a man before?"

For the first time, Cale truly hesitated, honestly uncertain. "That…depends on if you mean-"

"Yes, or no, will suffice," Baisyl cut him off, and Cale bit back his reply, blushing to his ear tips with some combination of agitation and embarrassment.

"I haven't, my lord," he answered eventually, and then, quickly rethinking that statement, he corrected, "I mean, that is: no, my lord."

"Well…" Apparently satisfied with questioning, Baisyl came to a stopping point before him, bringing a circumnavigating loop around Cale's stock still figure to completion, "…you are cleaner," he said, "…and your smell no longer makes me gag, so…" Cale wasn't sure whether to be insulted again or relieved, "…do you know exactly what you're getting into?"

"I…do," Cale said, "…more or less, my lord."

"Mm." Baisyl's arms folded, neatly, over his chest, his expression impassive, and it made Cale itch to squirm—shift his weight, move, speak, anything. "Well, seeing as you're now passable by my standards…what say I inform you of exactly what you're getting into, and then you decide whether you're still interested or not, hm?"

"That—yes, my lord. That sounds quite sensible."

"I thought so. First," Baisyl started, "I am not your lover, and I am not I your friend. What you choose to do beyond this bedroom with others is none of my concern, nor is what I do a concern of yours. You are my entertainment for the night, and nothing more. Should you prove to be sufficiently satisfying in this role, you may be invited back, in which case it will be as much a choice on your part whether or not you return as it is now whether or not you wish to participate. Is that clear?"

"It is, my lord."

Baisyl held his gaze, held off for a fraction of a moment, and then said, "It is a choice, mind you. I have no desire for you to feel obligated by my status to go through with this, and if at any point you feel no longer comfortable with the situation, you have my full permission to leave without giving so much as a reason, regardless of time or occasion. Of course," he added after another moment, "if you do leave, you will not be invited back."

"I understand, my lord."

"Very well. Second," Baisyl continued, returning to his strict, matter-of-fact tone, so crisp and impersonal that one might have mistaken him for conducting a business operation but for the heat in his eyes—which met Cale's unblinkingly and dispelled that illusion just as effortlessly, "…I am going to fuck you."

For some reason, that sent heat spiraling through Cale's gut, pooling low and knotting tight, and he swallowed without meaning to, feeling himself—as much to his own surprise as anything—growing half-hard at the promise alone.

"This isn't an experimental scuffle between boys on a haystack," Baisyl went on to say. "It isn't a midnight tryst with your female friend the scullery maid behind the barn…I know what I'm doing, I know what I want…and I would rather not hurt you. You can help me in that venture by cooperating in a timely manner when I instruct you."

After a moment, Cale took the pause to mean that it was time for his feedback, and he nodded, forcing out a rather less steady, "I understand, my lord."

"Good. And finally, third…"

Oh, gods, there was more?

A single gloved finger caught beneath his chin, tilting it gracefully up, and Cale felt his pulse take a field day as Baisyl stepped in, invading his senses in every sense of the word. He smelled surprisingly like the outdoors, for a noble, but as sharp and clean as he looked: like riding leather, a summer wind, sunshine, and expensive soap.

Up this close, too, Cale caught the first hints of deep, mahogany red in hair otherwise almost indistinguishable from black in the fading light. It stood out against his fair skin like ink on parchment, and for several, tantalizing seconds, their faces hung so close that he actually wondered if the man might kiss him.

Then, he spoke.

"On the subject of your cooperation…" Baisyl's breath flit over his lips like a the wake of a butterfly's wings and made his skin prickle to attention—as well as his cock, much to Cale's abashment. "Once we start, I fully intend for you to do precisely as I tell you, precisely when I tell you, unless you have no intention of ever following through at all. Voice a concern, and I'll consider moving on. Hesitate, and you might as well leave. You will speak only when spoken to or given permission, and you will climax…" A gloved thumb traced his lower lip, parting his mouth gently but not fully, and drawing a shiver from the base of his spine, "…when I tell you to, not before. Is that understood?"

Cale nodded, weakly. When that didn't appear to be answer enough, he added, "Yes…my lord."

Baisyl smiled. "Good." He took a step back, and for a terrifying moment Cale thought his knees might give out for lack of support. Then Baisyl ordered, "Strip," and he had more important things to worry about.

He wasted a good three seconds mouthing thin air—before remembering with abrupt clarity the rule about hesitation and immediately jerked hasty fingers to his belt with an embarrassing lack of finesse. Fortunately for his pride—or whatever was left of it—Baisyl had turned away, fetching something instead from a far drawer and not bothering to pay any mind to his clumsy attempt at undressing quickly and efficiently without the aid of properly functioning hands or fingers.

"Leave your clothes on the floor. They aren't worth bothering with," Baisyl instructed as Cale's belt clinked open, and he obligingly let it fall unhindered, where it made a soft thud upon contact with the rug.

With his tunic loose, he pulled that over his head next, followed by his undershirt, and then shivered, nipples perking up under the assault of the night air despite the fact that it was likely warmer than his own room would be. He found that his fingers stumbled more over the laces on his trousers than on his belt, a factor that increased noticeably when Baisyl's eyes returned to him. Determined, though, he persisted, and eventually, after far too much embarrassment for his personal tastes, he stood as naked as ordered.

It wasn't that Cale was ashamed of his body—far from it. He'd worked all his life, earning every muscle and scar on him through labor and experience, and yet, baring himself in this setting, he still felt humbled somehow and out of place, every inch of the space finer than anything he could ever hope to own and the man before him as beautiful in his own way as any woman Cale had ever laid eyes on. He felt…like a wooden cut-out on a shelf of glass figurines.

Of course, it didn't help that Baisyl had yet to remove a bit of clothing, and the nobleman still said nothing as he approached, as poised and composed as ever. It only added to Cale's trepidation.

Gradually, with an entirely different air than the first time, green eyes traced their way over Cale's body once more, this time mapping each dip and curve with keen attention to detail and painfully unhurried diligence until finally, when Cale thought he couldn't possibly stand the unbroken silence any longer, Baisyl asked quietly, "Are you nervous?" and Cale released a breathless, broken laugh that lasted a half second before he reined back in composure.

"Just…a little, my lord." He dared not answer with anything but honesty, not trusting himself otherwise, and thankfully, Baisyl seemed to appreciate that, a fleeting, ghost of a smile gracing the corner of his lip before it disappearing as quickly as it came.

"Well," came the liquid cool response, "let's see if we can change that, shall we?"

Cale figured it was a rhetorical question, and thus didn't answer, and found himself very glad that he hadn't the next second, when a silken, glove-encased finger drew single, curious line up the length of his nearly-flaccid cock from base to tip, bringing it halfway to attention again in seconds with that single move. This stoked heat into his cheeks, but clearly pleased his companion.

"From that, I would venture to guess," Baisyl observed, "that though you might have your anxieties, you are not having a completely miserable time?"

"Ah, no, my lord, not-" Cale quite literally bit his tongue on the latter half of that sentence as a second, equally lackadaisical finger joined the first and repeated the previous motion. "N-not…completely miserable, my lord," he finished when he found the breath.

"Mm," was a short, satisfied hum, and tease—fucking, gods—the man was a tease; Cale swallowed down a groan, wrestling with the instinctive urge to arch into the touch, grind, anything to get some sort of pressure when a third finger joined the second—but no, no pressure, just a slow, infuriatingly gentle, almost petting motion, and, stars protect, was he really that desperate? The man hadn't taken off a single piece of clothing, and Cale already felt half tempted to collapse to his knees, kiss the man's boots, and beg him to bring him off.

Seconds from opening his mouth to say something to that effect, a finger beat him to it—Baisyl's index finger on the opposite hand, to be precise—drawing a thin line along the valley between his lips as if making an incision, and by the time he ordered, "Open your mouth…" Cale's lips fell apart like the greedy maw of a parched beggar.

Again, a second finger joined the first, this time slipping past his lips and between his teeth before scissoring to part his mouth wider and leaving Cale feeling, for a moment, oddly like horse being inspected for gum quality. Then they relaxed and, in a fit of daring, Cale let his lips curl around them together, flicking his tongue over the trapped tips and watching with a sudden, heady sense of power as the darks of Baisyl's eyes dilated, his rigid control—for one, brief second—melting in the face of something else altogether.

He snatched back his fingers the next second, but the moment had passed, and Cale treasured the faintest hint of heat in the nobleman's cheeks like a prize hard won. Which it was, after all.

"So, your mouth is clean," Baisyl conceded, a haughty air of withdrawal defining his words, as though to make up for his fleeting moment of vulnerability, "but do you know how to use it?"

That threw Cale for a moment. Did he want him to drop to his knees now?

"Use it…?" he repeated. "In what way, my lord?"

A puff of a sigh answered him, followed by long, dexterous, gloved fingers teasing up, behind his neck, curling into the still partially damp hair at the nape of his neck, and-

Baisyl's lips stilled, hovering, a half inch over Cale's as his body drew up rigidly the instant before Baisyl made contact. "Don't tell me…" the noble said quietly, the heat of his words skittering over Cale's parted lips like an extra set of insubstantial fingers, "…that for all you came here to do, you're still ashamed to kiss me?"

"It's…" Why was it so hard to breathe? "…not that, my lord," Cale said, trying to will down the strict tension in every line of his body with minimal success. "It's merely…I didn't expect you'd…want to kiss me…"

"Mm…" Another soft hum and Baisyl's lashes dipped thoughtfully as he eyed Cale's mouth, "…a reasonable presumption, I suppose," he conceded at length, "…though a false one."

When full, warm lips brushed, feather light, against the far corner of his mouth, Cale's breath stuttered to a teetering halt, and felt himself stretch up instinctively, turning, needing to chase the kiss, but Baisyl's grip at the nape of his neck tightened instead, stilling him with a reprimanding, "Ah, now…patience," and an equally infuriating chuckle teased over the rest of his mouth at the short, frustrated sound that escaped him. "Shhh…"

Slick, wet heat curling wickedly slowly along the underside of his lip could only be Baisyl's tongue, and Cale's eyes were helplessly shut by the time it finally made its way up, licking his mouth open. Cale shuddered, eagerly accepting it and whining greedily around the intrusion, his body trembling with the restrained need to press himself closer, his starkly naked skin tingling with awareness each time smooth cloth or a cool, metallic button scraped against it.

Then, all too suddenly, it all cut off. A velvet-gloved thumb tapped his lips when they opened to protest, and Baisyl tisked. "On the bed with you," he ordered, taking a step back, and Cale positively envied that ability to speak so effortlessly calmly despite all, as if he hadn't just left Cale hanging, breathless and glossy lipped with need, like an overused street girl.

Cheeks as flushed and colored as his lips, Cale forced down his objections and obediently stepped backwards, hesitating only very briefly at the bed's edge before clamoring on, and blushing all the brighter when he did. The coverlet felt too soft, too clean, too expensive. It dipped, heavens, and he felt like he was dirtying it somehow. He didn't belong-

"I suggest you get comfortable," Baisyl advised briskly, and Cale's eyes darted up, reminded of the noble's presence. Immediately, his attention zeroed in on Baisyl's fingers, moving over the buttons on his vest, one by one, slipping down, finally unfastening his own clothes. "I want to watch you touch yourself."



Cale swallowed. "Y-you…wha…?"

"Come now…you're eighteen summers, a man in your own right." Finishing with his vest, Baisyl shucked the material back with a quick roll of his shoulders and promptly slid it from his arms. "You won't be convincing me you haven't had any practice…" His smile, devious, like a cat, sent heat to places Cale would never talk about in public—or possibly to anyone, ever, "…it should be easy."

Easy wasn't the adjective Cale would have chosen.

But then, Cale wasn't the one making the rules, so, biting his lip, and with Baisyl's eyes on him, Cale stamped down his nerves and willed his hand to move. With anxious, guilty fingers, he took himself in hand, and-

"Nnnh…hhha…" Lashes fluttering low, heavy to keep up, the tips of his ears burning and his body quivering up into the motion as his lips parted around a groan, Cale swallowed thickly, and okay, perhaps there was something to this.

In all fairness, Cale had never touched himself with anyone watching before, but maybe that added to it, and he felt a tremor ripple under his skin as he took up a slow rhythm, unwilling or unable to drag his eyes off the smug, predatory smirk that curved onto Baisyl's lips at his reaction. The look fit him.

And, watching his lord undress was undeniably fascinating.

Baisyl stood a good three to five inches taller than Cale—probably over six feet in all—broader in the shoulders than him, too, though not by as much, and he sported a lithe, tastefully sculpted body under his noble's attire, more like a racehorse than an ox, but suitable fuel to make Cale's grip stutter in its pace along his cock, in any case.

And whatever the man lacked in bulk, he made up for with absolute self-assurance, which he wore like a cloak—or a birthright. As Baisyl stooped to work free the various fastenings on his boots, Cale silently bemoaned the catastrophic injustice of putting such an incontestably mouth-watering ass on a man that would clearly never be spreading his legs for anyone.

Honestly, how unfair was that?

When the man stood again, Cale jerked his eyes guiltily away, as if they alone might betray his traitorous thoughts about how fetching Baisyl would look bent over a table when Cale was quite clearly the one about to be fucked into the mattress. But, Baisyl remained blissfully ignorant and approached unawares, layering his vest, overshirt, and undershirt over the footboard when he arrived, his belt and trousers still in place, and dipping his knee into said mattress the next second.

"Do not stop," he instructed when Cale made to pull his hand away, and, though mildly startled, Cale obliged, heat returning afresh to his face. When Baisyl moved in, he bit back a groan, shivering instead as the noble planted one clothed knee between his legs, almost close enough to grind on if he dared—but he didn't. A relaxed elbow settled in to the side of his head.

Then, warm, bare fingers joined his, and Cale gave a choked whine. "W-wai—ahh…hhnn…" Fuck, it would be a hell of a lot harder not to climax uncalled for like this. Baisyl, of course, remained infuriatingly composed as ever.

"Hn?" The heat of his wordless question teased the line of Cale's jaw. "Was that something you'd like to add?"

"Y-y—no, it's…I-I mean, ye—oh…" Cale's lashes fluttered against his cheeks, neck arching, and, oh gods, teeth on his earlobe, and—at this rate his eyes were going to roll back in his head and get stuck there, and he was going to come so hard he went blind with-

Oh, wait, no, he couldn't yet. Damn his fate to hell.

"S-stop, wait, I'm…gnnnh…" He bit hard on his lip till it hurt, keening around the bite, "…going to…ah…if you keep doing that…"

"Stop?" Baisyl repeated curiously with mock innocence, his hand stilling at the base of Cale's cock but not leaving, holding off his climax but letting it hang there, tantalizingly close.

"Ah, n-no, please…" With all else swept from his mind but the promise of completion, Cale was not above begging, "…please let me…" His body arched, quivering under Baisyl's idle, domineering grip, and his last words came out in a panted plea, "…please, I want to come…"

"Oh, is that all?" Baisyl asked, and Cale might have thrown propriety and etiquette to the wind and sworn at the man if his brain hadn't been so busy tripping over itself the following moment with the all-encompassing tidal surge of sensation that came in the wake of the noble's hand moved again. "Well, seeing as you've done such a good job remembering…"

Lips skimmed the hinge of his jaw, a thumb drew a circular sweep over the head of his cock, and something buried in Cale's gut knotted, ever tighter by the passing second, teetering on an invisible, inevitable precipice.

"Permission granted," Baisyl uttered, and Cale's world obediently tipped over the edge of existence and shattered.

It took him some time to recuperate.

By the time he managed to work his eyes open, his chest still rising and falling at a heavy, exaggerated rate, he found Baisyl already sitting back comfortably on his haunches.

"You know…" the nobleman said with a lazy, distinguished air that felt terribly at odds with Cale's embarrassing state of dishevelment but still worked its way under his skin like nothing else, "…I did intend to give you a chance to show off what else you could with that mouth of yours…" Cale found his eyes latched on the nimble, precise movements of the noble's fingers as he undressed himself, "…but now…" Baisyl's eyes raked their way shamelessly down Cale's body, and he felt himself swallow as his cheeks heated under the inspection, "…I believe I've changed my mind."

When he finished with his clothes, Cale almost wished the man hadn't changed his mind. At least his attitude wasn't a guise to compensate for anything; Baisyl clearly held his own in this respect as well as any.

Absently, Cale swept his tongue out over his lower lip, his attention locked on the other's approach, and as soon as the man made it within range, he reached out. Curling his fingers around the rigid length of his bed partner's erection, he watched the startled widening and subsequent lulled dip of the noble's eyes with curious fascination. Encouraged, he gave another, surer stroke, never letting the man's shifting expressions out of his sight. It was addicting, to watch someone with such flawless, ever-present control teeter on the brink of it.

"Let me taste you," he offered, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them, and Baisyl's eyebrows arched, surprised, but—to Cale's relief—not offended by his breech in the rules. "It's the one thing I've had practice in…"

"Is it…" Baisyl repeated, sounding pleased, but in a disappointingly off-handed way, as if he'd come across a curious and pleasant discovery, but one that only barely deserved his interest. "Well, perhaps I'll have to let you show me then after all…but not tonight." Apparently, his deflated look showed, because the noble chuckled, a lukewarm, self-satisfied sound that made heat trickle back up into Cale's cheeks. "Turn over," Baisyl instructed.

Warm in the face, Cale complied.

He wondered how it was, after all that had already transpired, that he still managed to feel increasingly embarrassed as he did so, arranging himself on his hands and knees with his back to the noble and all the while fighting the urge to sink his heated face into the sheets below. Then, a single, unhurried hand trailed its way down his back, tracing the curve of his spine, waist, and finally ass, as though appraising their value, and Cale shivered, willfully curbing the need to squirm.

"My lord-"

"It's a wonder you've never taken a man, if you expressed any willingness to," Baisyl observed curiously. "I can't imagine anyone who'd refuse you."

Cale's cheeks burned, and he swallowed, uncertain whether to respond or nod and take the comment at face value. "I, ah-"

"Spread your knees farther apart," Baisyl instructed, cutting him off, and there was a quiet pop behind him, like that of a small bottle opening, as Cale shut his mouth and obliged.

Then, something heated and slick – Baisyl's oiled fingers, Cale realized dizzily – brushed over his entrance, teasing the cleft and then pucker, and Cale did bury his face in the sheets, muting his first, undignified whine.

The oil must have been either magicked, he decided, or at the very least designed for more than its standard purpose, because it not only felt warm instantly, but heated the longer it stayed, and though it didn't burn, precisely, his senses tingled in its wake, the heat seeming to all but sink into his skin, leaving an imprint every place it touched. When Baisyl pressed, one finger breaching and slipping deftly into the tight confines of Cale's body, he swallowed hard around a groan and a muffled expletive.

"Relax," the noble advised. "It will be easier on both of us if you can manage it."

"If—mmnh…" Cale bit his lip, eyes squeezing shut as a second finger joined the first, slipping in and then twisting slickly, and he managed a weak nod. "Y-yes, m'lord…"

"Have you ever touched yourself this way?"

"I…ah…" The question caught him off guard, for one, but the addition of a pivoting and then scissoring motion of the fingers inside him made concentration tenfold more difficult. "O-once," he managed at last.

"Only once?"

"I felt…ashamed, I didn't da—aah!" When Baisyl's intruding fingers found something very right within him, Cale's toes curled, fingers fisting into the sheets as his buried his exclamation into them. His legs trembled, shaking but needing to feel that again. Fuck.


Damn that man for being so calm.

Cale swallowed, and nodded, face hot and cock rock hard again, jutting out eagerly as though he hadn't been made to climax minutes before. Apparently, this didn't escape his companion's notice, and Cale bit hard on his lip so as not to keen when Baisyl's spare hand circled over his cock.

"Impressive. Do you always recover this quickly?"

Cale shook his head. "N-no, my lord, not…usually."

"Mm…so I'm to believe that you're only this much of a slut when warming my bed?"

Cale opened his mouth only to lose whatever he intended to say in face of a low, ragged moan as Baisyl teased his prostate again, and he cursed himself as the sound petered off into a broken mewl. Still, he managed to shake his head. "No, m'lord," he answered breathlessly. "I'm a slut all the time, just…not as responsive with most."

When Baisyl chuckled, soft and low like sin and pride melded together and translated into a single sound, Cale decided that he was very ready for the events of the evening to progress to the actual fucking portion. As if reading his mind, Baisyl withdrew his fingers.

"Honesty," Baisyl proclaimed complacently, "is a rare but attractive characteristic. I'd advise that you don't hold your breath."

Cale's mind was still trying to parse together how those two statements related to one another when the head of Baisyl's cock aligned with his arse and it dawned on him that they had nothing whatsoever to do with each other. Still, he almost forgot the advice entirely, only remembering to exhale and draw a fresh breath halfway through, and even then it was chopped at best.

He heard Baisyl's first, soft moan at the instant the man buried himself completely. It struck him, then, that it was the first explicitly sexual sound the man had uttered all night, and abruptly Cale wished he were in a position to see the man's face, to witness the hard lines of his rigid composure fall apart.

Then Baisyl drew out, slowly, before promptly driving back in – hard – and Cale more or less forgot everything else.

In a fraction of a minute, all things aside from the cock in his ass, the breath in his lungs, and the heartbeat in his throat might as well have ceased to exist for all the attention he paid them. Baisyl learned to hit his prostate at will, and then made a game of driving him to the brink of release only to ease off at the last possible moment until his body shook with the need for satisfaction, aching for it, and his throat felt raw from his own noises.

Then, finally, when he thought he might quite literally be driven mad with need, Baisyl caught his forearm, dragging him up until he was perched in the man's lap, his back to Baisyl's chest, and the noble's cock still buried balls deep in his ass.

"Want to come?" The words were close, hot and heavy against the skin of Cale's throat and he shivered to hear them. He barely managed to nod. "Convince me…" Long, dexterous fingers curled around his cock, drawing a slow, torturous stroke up the length of it to match the pace of the noble's hips as he fucked up into him, and Cale's whimper was piteously needy. "Beg."

"Please," he choked out the word, not caring how desperate it sounded. "Please, gods, I need…I want…I'm so close, let me come…fuck me…"

"Hnn…" The curve of Baisyl's smile was close enough that Cale felt it against his neck, smug as a cat with feathers in its teeth and as wicked, and he nipped, not hard enough to break the skin but plenty enough to make Cale jerk with startled surprise. "Good boy," Baisyl praised, and released his hold, letting Cale fall back onto his hands and knees on the mattress. "Scream when you do…loud enough that my father can hear you."

Cale barely got a chance to start processing that when Baisyl leaned forward, taking his cock in a sure, firm grip and driving into him hard the next second. In his state, it didn't take much: two solid strikes to his prostate along with tight, synchronized jerks along the length of his cock and one sweep of Baisyl's thumb over the tip, and Cale screamed, obliging in every sense as he fell apart.

Everything immediately proceeding that was an indistinct blur. His body slumped, sinking weakly into the mattress like a cut puppet, and he was only off-handedly aware of Baisyl's subsequent release, preceded only by a single chopped pant before the noble spent himself with him. He wasted no time pulling out afterwards, and didn't so much as spare Cale a glance when he rolled over, sinking onto his back on the mattresses.

Given that he kept his eyes closed, Cale took the opportunity to get a proper look at him. Sweat darkened his hair, making the deep, red-brown waves look black, particularly in the places where they clung to his neck and forehead. He had long lashes, Cale noted, and full lips, but a strong, stubborn jaw, and for a brief, foolhardy moment Cale wished it were within his rights to reach out and trace his hand over lean definition on the man's chest. But he knew full well that it wasn't so.

Now that things were 'over,' any physical contact, unless explicitly invited, wouldn't be welcomed.

"There's a washroom," Baisyl spoke out of nowhere, causing Cale to start in surprise, "in…that…" Baisyl waved vaguely towards the far side of the room without opening his eyes, "…general direction, should you choose to make use of it. If you do not wish to leave tonight, you are welcome to stay so long as you do not snore or otherwise disturb me. Naturally, I still expect you to rise promptly in the morning to attend to your duties in the stables without, mind you, waking me when you do so. Do not be so foolish to presume you are magically relieved of any responsibilities simply because I've had a turn on you. Is that all perfectly clear?"

Cale frowned, but nodded. Then, realizing the other's eyes were still closed, he said aloud, "Yes, my lord."

Apparently, something in his tone betrayed him, because Baisyl opened one eye, tossing him a glance. "Something you'd like to add?"

Flushing, Cale shook his head. "No, my lord. It's nothing. I-" Then, Baisyl's last words mid 'act' came back to him, and Cale hesitated, uncertain on whether or not he dared ask.

Baisyl huffed, impatient. "If you have something to say, by all means-"

"Are you at odds with your father?" Cale blurted, and Baisyl's eyebrows arched up. Bad question, Cale decided, and immediately lowered his head. "I apologize, I didn't mean-"

"No," Baisyl answered, and Cale glanced up, surprised. "I'm his eldest, his first and favored son and he makes sure everyone knows it, why would I be? As far as he's concerned, I'm everything he ever wished for…"

"I see," Cale murmured apologetically. "I don't know why I assume-"

"Oh, except," Baisyl cut in meaningfully, "…for my taste in bed partners."

Cale blinked, watching curiously as a small furrow developed on the young man's previously relaxed brow.

"It's my only flaw, in his eyes," Baisyl continued, "…but a drastic, and embarrassing one, and he makes sure that I know it. So…" There, he shrugged, the bitterness in his tone unmistakable despite his obvious effort to maintain a more or less neutral tone, "…I make sure that he knows I cannot and will not change. I will wed with woman he's chosen for me…but I will not be a priest simply because I find cunts – forgive me – women…as sexually exciting raw pig intestine." Cale winced, and Baisyl spared him a glance. "Does that answer your question?"

"Ah…" Cale cleared his throat, nodding. "Yes, my lord, it does…thank you."

"Mm." Baisyl grunted noncommittally, and Cale eyed the door to the promised washroom.

After a moment's debate, he decided it would likely be worth it, the prospect of having drying cum in his ass all night not the least bit appealing, and he shifted to move off the mattress. As soon as he did, he winced, drawing a short, sharp breath through grit teeth without meaning to.

"There's healing salve on the second shelf to your right as you go in," Baisyl commented, his eyes closed again when Cale looked. "It's in a small, cylindrical blue bottle with a cream top. If you wash first and then apply it, it should help heal any minor damage as well as help ease your soreness come morning. If you're still in pain tomorrow, find Clara again sometime after noon and have her show you to the family healer. I'll inform them both when I wake that you might stop by."

After a brief, startled moment, Cale found himself suppressing a smile, and nodded once more. "Thank you…" Baisyl glanced to him, watching him, patiently, as if waiting for something, "…my lord," Cale added as a sudden, awkward afterthought, and the amused twitch of Baisyl's lips before he shut his eyes and shook his head, neutralizing his expression again, may or may not have been a figment of Cale's imagination.

"Cute," Baisyl assessed. "Now, if I might be so bold as to suggest that you get your pert arse in there before I give it more reason to hurt than it already has?"

Face burning, Cale scrambled over the edge of the bed to oblige.

A/N: Alright! Believe it or not, this is the first time I EVER managed to write and finish a one-shot smut story (that didn't turn into at least two to four chapters). I hope it wasn't too bad seeing as I did actually have some fun with it.

Tell me what you thought of it? =D