a writer, perchance

“Sir,” he whines, and then, oh god - “Sir, sir, stop.”

And he does. “Yes, dear?”

Fuck, he sounds so smug, and Milo’s left trying to find a way to say I’m leaking on the suit without burning up and dying right here and now.

He manages, though, and in short order he finds himself on his knees on the floor, untouched, breathless. “I couldn’t, I can’t help it,” he tacks on apologetically, but he can’t be sure it lands well when he’s this giddy. 

Octavius, meanwhile, inspects the wet spot on his thigh. “You had, as they say, one job,” he notes, and then he buries his hand in the back of Milo’s hair and yanks him forward. “Clean it up.”

There’s no question what he’s being asked to do so Milo opens his mouth and laps at the fabric, and years from now he knows’s he’ll be calling this to mind to finish himself off. The command’s crisp authority, the startling strength of the fingers wrapped in his hair - yeah, safe to say this'll live rent-free in his head.

After some honestly vigorous work, Octavius releases him, unaware of all the ways he’s actively altering Milo’s brain chemistry. “Good boy,” he states. “You’re a helpless, messy little thing, but at least you know how to tidy up after yourself.”

“Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Touch me, god, please sir.”

Octavius laughs. Fucking laughs, and leans down to pinch his cheek like a fussy, benevolent grandmother.

The slam of the door rang through the vast space, the finality of the sound falling on deaf ears. My thoughts were racing, thinking of who I should dispose of to ensure their silence and who was already loyal enough to the house that a large sum would suffice. I thanked the gods for the butler, loyal to the house for longer than my lifetime; he was a constant comfort in an otherwise cold, even hostile estate. I rushed through the space, scrambling to find the materials I'd need and cursing at Nisien's choice of death: poison was always the hardest to compensate for, as it destroyed a variety of internal organs to varying degrees depending on the mixture itself. I wished I knew what he had used, but I had no time to parse it out myself: already some of his smaller digits would be unusable to him as they were. I rummaged around for my spare parts, preserved by an old family spell, and pulled out any organs I thought I might need.

Finally, with everything gathered, I stood over Nisien's prone body and all at once it hit me. Not only had he died, quite unexpectedly, but he had killed himself in my estate. He had made the decision that he didn't want to live. What could that mean? Was he not satisfied with his life with me, here? I had taken his increased time spent at the manor as a desire to be here, not as a withdrawal. It stung.

No, this wouldn't be permitted. If he wanted to die, he should have negotiated it with me first. I had a long list of commissions that I was constantly adding to, anything to keep him here, keep him close to me, and he hadn't even finished my latest request. But truly, the worst part was that he hadn't even had the strength in his final moments to confess his obvious desire for me.

Did that make him a coward? Had I fallen for a sheep in a wolf's cowl? I suppose he was an artist, after all. If I wanted a warrior, I should have gone to some dingy sailor bar instead. The very thought made me shiver in disgust. It mattered not what his thoughts had been in his final moments, because I would not allow those to be his final moments. He belonged to me, and only I had the power to grant him life or death. And I intended to grant him life until my own final breath.

I had already started the process of replacing his insides- the most time sensitive part of the whole process- when I realized that there was, perhaps, a silver lining to this whole thing. Here he was, the man of my dreams, completely at my mercy under my practiced surgical scalpel. As long as I got the spell started soon, it mattered not what happened before I woke him up. He was, for the first time, completely and utterly mine.

I made quick work of him after my little epiphany, sewing his new parts in place with an unrivaled precision. I had replaced all his digestive organs, a couple fingertips that had lost some of their motor abilities overnight (I mourned the loss of the perfection of his broad hands, and prayed to every god I thought would listen that he could maintain all the artist's skill he had built over the years), and one of his eyes that had just started its path to liquification. Otherwise, though, I tried to keep his body relatively intact. I needed him to be perfect.

I started the spell almost thoughtlessly, focusing just enough to trigger the start before my thoughts shifted aggressively to that of my long-contained desire. It had grown hot and spiteful over the years as every night I begged the gods to tell him to make a move. I saw the way his gaze lingered over the lines of my body that I had revealed for the second painting we ever did, the way his smile peeked through his stoic demeanor whenever I sent him a subtle wink. I knew he wanted me. But the brute never seemed to pick up on my relentless flirting, and it had slowly eroded parts of my ego. Was it all in my head after all? Was I too delicate for him, too far from the rugged strength he was likely accustomed to from the slums of his previous life? I had done everything right, shooting him little glances and hints that would be clear as day to anyone else, but which seemed to fly right over his beautiful head. It had all built up, and now was my chance, my perfect evening to relieve all those frustrations and take control over my own desire for once in my deprived life.

I peeled the rest of his clothing off almost reverently, admiring every little ridge and plane of his cold body that I had been denied for so long. It was softer than I imagined, but I supposed that made sense: he was strong, but I'd never caught him putting any particular effort towards his physique. My long fingers pressed into his flesh, the slowly rising temperature of his skin sending a little thrill through my body. It occurred to me, as though through a thick haze, that I was pretty sure my father had warned me against this sort of thing; something about the sanctity of the dead and that persistent, corrupting seed of lust and avarice, but I quickly banished the thought from my mind. He was long gone, and this wasn't his business. instead, I lost myself in the soft curls of Nisien's chest, letting my cheek brush against the feathery texture of the hair trailing down his torso.

Soon, I found I had mounted the ceremonial table, straddling his clothed hips and studying his perfect face. it struck me how soft he was, how he had rounded out a bit with my influence and the security of my well stocked kitchen. I smiled, revelling in the feeling of knowing I had improved his life in such a small but meaningful way. Very slowly, I lowered my face down to his, my pale hair pooling next to his like a drop of pure moonlight and finally I kissed him.

His lips were softer than I expected, especially as my fingers brushed against the rough stubble of his soft jawline. I savoured the feeling, letting myself deepen the kiss and ignoring the aftertaste of the poison coating his tongue. I had made sure to purify the body before my explorations had started, so I was confident in the knowledge that the worst it could do was leave a sour taste in my mouth. It was worth it, though, to run my tongue along his teeth and know what he felt like from the inside. I suppose I had already learned about that in a way no one else ever would, but this was different, special. This meant I knew him as a lover would know him.

The thought sent a shiver through me so powerful it made me gasp, and suddenly I was rushing to pull at the clasp of his pants, to get them over his hips and off of his body. He was flaccid, of course, but that was easy to remedy, and after a moment of concentration I was able to draw his not-quite-congealed blood to where I wanted it, where I needed it. I hadn't changed out of my own nightclothes, a simple but delicate nightgown under my favourite elegant robe, and I was grateful at the lack of an undergarment. I arranged my robes carefully around our hips, pressing the tip of his generous member to my ass, whispering a quick spell to assist me as I realized I had forgotten any kind of lubricant, and slowly lowering myself onto him as I had only ever done in the dirtiest of my dreams. I let out a loud gasp, moaning as I pushed him deep inside my body and finally felt full.

The feeling of his body was heavenly, and I lost track of time pleasuring myself with his perfect body and savouring the sensations that I had been denied for so long. Eventually I noticed his finger twitch and I was jolted back to reality. I quickly finished myself off, climbing off of him and willing his blood back into place, quickly covering his hips with a small cloth and wiping my fingers clean with another. I positioned myself over him just as I had a million times as a child over rats, birds, and small prey, and I began the ritual that would ease his way back into life.