Chapter 15: In Charge — The Key of Oslov

Volume 1: A Serviceable Boy

Chapter 15 In Charge

Chapter Notes

This story is turning out longer than I expected, but we’ve reached about the halfway point. Thank you so much for reading!

Chapter Notes

This story is turning out longer than I expected, but we’ve reached about the halfway point. Thank you so much for reading!

15: In ChargeIt was supposed to be their free-night, theirs, but Besha had invited himself over.“Don’t mind me,” he said the instant Gersha opened the door. “I’m just on my way to the Lounge, but Verán asked me to bring you the files on the Akeina case, and he doesn’t think it’s safe to do it electronically.” A roguish wink. “You know the old man, doesn’t trust encryption protocols.”Gersha took the stack of files without a word. On any other free-night, the interruption would have made him fantasize about slitting Besha’s throat with a rusty razorblade, but tonight he was almost grateful for the distraction.He’d been waiting anxiously for Ranek’s report for more than a ten-day now. The surveillance had to be finished. He’d asked after it twice, only to be told that such things couldn’t be rushed.How can I touch Tilrey and not let him know what I know? He felt guilty, self-disgusted, and under it all a little frightened, because . . . well, the possibilities. The boy was an unknown now. It was easy to tell himself Tilrey just had a gift for languages and natural curiosity, but how likely was that? How many Dissident infiltrations had started with similar fond assumptions?“Come in and have some tea,” he said in a bone-dry voice.Besha froze, as if he thought Gersha might be mocking him or setting a trap. Then he smiled a stiffer version of his usual sharkish grin. “Okay. Just for a minute.”“Rishka? Another cup.” Gersha strode back into the living room, not bothering to look back at his guest, and collapsed on the sofa.Tilrey, over-responsive as usual, was already in the kitchen. A minute of awkward conversation later, he returned, placed the cup and saucer before Besha, and settled himself on Gersha’s other side.Besha had worn his scarf indoors, the way he used to do in their school days because he was prone to colds. His nose looked red and inflamed now, and he took out a handkerchief and daintily sneezed. Then his watery blue eyes returned to following the boy hungrily.The familiar jealous rage flared in Gersha’s chest—and, just as abruptly, guttered and died. Besha didn’t even suspect. For that alone, the man was lucky.“Why does Verán want me to look at the Akeina case?” he asked.Besha dragged his eyes away from Tilrey. “Because you’re on the Int/Sec committee, and we’re considering trying him in front of the entire committee, possibly the entire Council. Making an example of him for other young Upstarts. Anyway, Verán values your Intelligence expertise. You have followed the case, haven’t you? You know who I mean?”Shame warmed Gersha’s cheeks. “Councillor Akeina’s nephew Fredrich has been charged with corrupting Laborers and corresponding with a Dissident sect. I do pay attention.”Besha inched away from him, hands raised in a gesture that might have been apology or further mockery. “Of course you do, Gersha.”“Then why suggest I don’t?”As he spoke, Gersha glanced at Tilrey—why, he wasn’t sure. Was he hoping somehow to provoke them both at once? With his eagerness to play the role of jealous rival, Besha did seem to have a way of precipitating things between them. After Gersha’s outburst in the man’s office, nearly two months ago, Tilrey had slipped into his room on a worknight and seduced him. What had the boy really been trying to do?He’d been such a fool, succumbing after a few kisses. Such an easy mark.Besha laughed almost nervously. “You should take a dip of sap, Gersha. You’ve got too many rough edges tonight.”Gersha propped his feet on the ottoman, wondering if Besha was more cowardly or just more cautious without Verán around to back him up. “You sap if you feel like it. Give the boy some, too. I suppose he’s been waiting.”“That’s not my place tonight.”“Fine, then.” Gersha rummaged in his tunic pocket for the vial he usually stowed there on free-nights, but he’d forgotten. He had to fish one out of the broken teapot on the window ledge where he kept his books.Books. Goddamn books.He splashed sap into his palm, too much sap, and held it under Tilrey’s nose. He looked at the carpet while Tilrey’s fingers encircled his wrist, steady as always, and Tilrey’s hair brushed his sensitive forearm, and then came the tongue—He clenched his other hand into a fist, face blazing, grateful that the tunic hid his involuntary reaction.A jibe from Besha was standard for this situation, but the other Councillor managed to restrain himself. When Gersha met his eyes again, they shone a little too bright.A silent Besha, with no naughty-schoolboy smirk—that was odd, but not unwelcome. Gersha poured the rest of the vial into the same palm and downed it himself.Besha swallowed—you could hear it. “My turn?”Gersha pulled out a handkerchief to swab his palm. “I think you have your own supply.”“He seems to want it from you, Fir.” Tilrey’s voice was light, almost teasing.“Watch the cheek, lad,” Gersha snapped—and instantly wanted to take it back, because he’d sounded like his uncle.Was that so bad, though? Traitor or not, the boy needed reminding of his place. He knew far too many of Gersha’s vulnerabilities, and whose fault was that?Even Besha looked chastened for once as he gulped the rest of his tea and stood up. “I really should go. Visha’s expecting me.”“It must be so hard being Verán’s favorite, his chosen successor. Always at his beck and call, no time of your own.” Where did that cruel, sing-song tone come from? What had gotten into him?“It can be, actually.” Besha spoke stiffly, too skilled at jeering not to know when it was directed at him. “Gersha,” he asked, turning to face them both, “have I done something to offend you—something new, I mean? I thought we’d had it out already, but if you’re nursing a grudge—”Gersha cut him short with a laugh he hoped conveyed only scorn. He knows my weak spots, too, damn him.“No grudges.” He spread his hands. “No history between us. You’ve never carried on with Verán, calling me a jealous lover, and you’ll never do it again. Because I’m a Councillor of Oslov, doing my job, working for the same Party as you, and you know mocking me would be unseemly.”Besha scrubbed a hand fretfully through his wheat-colored hair. “Of course, Gersha. Point taken. I like to have a bit of fun, and sometimes I go too far.”What was this strange electrification of Gersha’s veins? Mere adrenaline, or an unfamiliar sense of power? He wasn’t done, though he was shaking now. “And next time Verán decides to do . . . well, what he did on Election Night, you won’t egg him on. Perhaps you’ll even try to discourage him. Because you should know such behavior isn’t worthy of any of us.”Besha looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek. “I appreciate what you’re saying, Gersha, I really do.” He shot a glance at Tilrey, as if seeking some form of backup, but Tilrey had his eyes turned to the floor. “You understand about Election Night . . . well, things happen when people are celebrating. We can’t all be as circumspect as you are.”A month ago, Gersha would have been shamed by the words, hearing prude and unnatural in them, but now he only said, “Maybe we should all be more circumspect, even in our celebrations. Perhaps a little more respect for our inferiors would stop things like this Akeina mess from happening. Anyway, I’m glad you stopped by.”He tilted his head dismissively, as he’d seen Verán do, and crooked a finger in Tilrey’s direction. “You can see him out, lad.”They both obeyed him.When the coldroom door closed behind Besha, and Tilrey returned, Gersha braced himself. He’ll reproach me for picking a fight again, and making a fuss about things I can’t change. And I’ll have two bad choices: be meek and apologize, or snap at him the way Uncle Per would.Instead of sitting decorously in his former place, however, Tilrey sank down beside Gersha, almost on him, in a flash of white and gold. And then, before Gersha could flinch—still expecting some kind of polite scolding—those strong arms enfolded him, and those full lips pressed him into a kiss so deep and wet he seemed to be drowning.He resisted, but only for an instant before the grunt of protest in his throat turned to surrender. He opened his mouth wider for the explorations of the boy’s tongue, groaning into Tilrey’s mouth, knotting his fingers in Tilrey’s hair.Tilrey’s free hand was unfastening his tunic, reaching under his shirt, flicking teasingly at his nipples. And as Gersha threw his head back, giving way to a tingling flood of sensation like the lurid colors of a sunset, that beautiful mouth whispered into his ear:“That was perfect, Fir. You made me so hard when you showed him—us—who’s in charge. Tell me what you want next.”“You may not actually want that, Fir,” Tilrey said, stroking one of his Upstart’s sleek black brows above the drooping lids. “If we tried it, there’s a good chance you’d change your mind.”Gersha’s finely shaped lips pouted. “I thought you wanted me to be in charge. Tell you what to do.”His head rested on Tilrey’s chest, both of them still half-clothed and covered with a sheen of sweat from the mutual groping session that had ended with Tilrey swallowing a warm vial’s-worth of the Councillor’s seed. They’d barely made it to the bedroom, and this time Gersha had been too absorbed in his own passion to try to make Tilrey come.Or so Tilrey had thought, until Gersha murmured into his ear, in the after-glow, “Tonight I think you should fuck me.”“I’m happy to do whatever you want, love, of course.” He stroked the wild curls back from Gersha’s forehead and added, with a sincerity that surprised him, “The way you schooled Besha tonight—it was fucking sweet, seeing him slink off with his tail between his legs. Ever since I met you, Fir, I’ve been waiting to see you like that, taking what’s yours with no apologies.”Good, Linnett whispered in his head. Admiration is the most addictive drug there is. Build him up. Make him dependent.Shut up. I’m not like you. Tilrey refocused on Gersha. “I meant it when I said you made me hard.”Gersha rolled over, still half on top of him, so they were face-to-face. “But not hard enough to fuck me?”The Councillor’s weight was in the exact right or wrong place, making Tilrey’s cock rigid. He tried to ignore it. “Forgive me for the impertinent question, Fir, but . . . you’ve never been fucked before, have you?”Gersha shook his head, shifting to grab hold of Tilrey’s cock. His grip, damn it, was getting better, more knowing.“I’ve never wanted it before. But with you . . . well, I’m curious.” That familiar delicate flush spread over the Upstart’s face, down his neck, making the pale skin seem to glow. “I’d like to try it.”Tilrey felt oddly gratified by the request. “It’s not something one should rush into, Fir. Before you can, uh, enjoy it, there’s some preparation involved.”Gersha bent and planted a wet kiss against Tilrey’s jugular, his hand pumping steadily between them now. “I know that. I prep you all the time.”“But I’m used to it, Fir.” And I don’t enjoy it. Mostly. Tilrey’s thoughts were starting to fray, and he needed to focus. He sat up, gingerly disattaching the Upstart’s fingers from his cock, and slid Gersha’s body off his. “The first time can really hurt if you don’t lead up to it, and I’m not, well . . .” He grimaced, with a glance at his groin.“Small,” Gersha finished for him—with a grin so bold, so lascivious, that it sent a strange shiver down Tilrey’s spine. “No, you’re not small. And I’m not afraid to have you inside me. I think that’s exactly what I need tonight.”Tilrey had heard such requests from Upstarts before—even from Linnett, on a couple of occasions—and he’d always complied. But coming from Gersha, the request was riskier. The young Councillor was so volatile, so fiercely protective of his person. If Tilrey gave him a bad experience, he would never forget it, and it might open a rift between them.“Then I’ll give you what you want, love,” he said. “In good time, when you’re ready for it. How about tonight we start smaller?”The first finger hurt the most, but it was a good pain—burning, stretching, spreading up Gersha’s spine. He gasped, knotting his hands in the sheets, and felt grateful he was facing away so Tilrey wouldn’t see him grimace.It was humiliating to crouch like this, legs spread, but it was what he needed. Something to burn away the doubts and fears and the other feelings. Tonight he was just stupid, eager flesh, and nothing that happened to this flesh could touch him.It was a subterfuge, too, he told himself. Impressed by his physical passion, his complete submission, Tilrey would never guess what was in his head.“When I move in, push out and exhale, Fir,” Tilrey said behind him, businesslike. “It hurts less that way.”Did this hurt when he did it to Tilrey? Nothing ever seemed to. Gersha obeyed, and the slick finger slid deeper, crooked, and rewarded him with a burst of pleasure as intense as midwinter fireworks in the black sky.He gasped again, feeling it all the way to his fingertips and sinuses, his cock suddenly rock-hard under him. “Oh green hills and vales, how did you . . .”“Simple. Up on your knees a bit, Fir.”Tilrey took control of Gersha’s cock with the other hand and pumped four or five times, making Gersha whine deep in his throat. “Now,” he said, “think you’re ready for another one?”Tilrey had taught Gersha to open him this way, and though he’d been a little repelled at first, Gersha had quickly learned to appreciate the sensation of making the boy writhe on two or three fingers, filling him with lube, making him his. Now he was the one who was being spread and manipulated, and though he told himself his involuntary physical responses meant nothing (stupid flesh), the sensation of fullness as Tilrey’s second finger breached him was almost unbearable.He clenched both fists and bit his lip until he tasted blood, remembering just in time not to squirm, to push out, to exhale. He was a single throbbing nerve, registering pain, then pleasure, pain, pleasure—blood beading on his lip, blood engorging his cock as Tilrey began to pump it slowly again.He was open impossibly wide now, or it felt that way, perhaps because Tilrey’s knuckles were so big, and it stung, and if Besha were ever to see him this way, if Besha—Then the second finger found his prostate, and Tilrey’s other hand pumped mercilessly on his cock, and thoughts of Besha vanished as Gersha came in a white-hot explosion of sheer bliss, bucking his hips and feeling the boy’s fingers still in him—large, close, tight.It was like fainting. When his eyes could focus again, when he became aware of his body, Tilrey’s fingers were gone, and the boy was reaching under him with a warm rag to wipe his cooling leavings from the sheet.Gersha rolled over with a small moan. It still stung a little, but not badly. His limbs felt wrung-out, water-logged, as if he’d just run five K at the gym.“I thought we could get to three,” he murmured.“Always the achiever.” Tilrey’s hand molded itself to his ass, then slid up to rub the small of his back. “I think we got close enough, Fir. See now why we need to go slowly?”“Yes.” Part of Gersha wanted to try it again, wanted to work up to Tilrey’s cock tonight, but the rest was exhausted. He sat up, wincing, and wrapped his arms around the boy, tugging him down so they lay side-by-side. The friction of his naked skin against Tilrey’s shirt and trousers was unspeakably titillating, shameful and right at once.“You’ve done this with others, haven’t you?” he whispered, suddenly torn in two by a desire to hear Tilrey say no, he never had, even if that meant Gersha was the only Councillor abject and decadent enough to demand such a service.Tilrey nodded, naturally.He looked tired and happy, too, brown lashes shadowing his cheeks, and Gersha wondered abruptly if Tilrey had given himself satisfaction, but by now he knew not to ask. The question always made Tilrey look uncomfortable; perhaps it was a breach of some kettle-boy protocol.He reached out and traced one of Tilrey’s brows the way the boy had done to him earlier. “What was wrong with me tonight?” he asked, words spilling out of him, as if the orgasm had swept away all his good sense. “Besha—I let him in here. I let him come between us, even for a minute, when we could have been together.”If Ranek’s team finds something, we may never be together again. The thought was a spear in his side, collapsing his lungs, choking him, and he closed his eyes and reached blindly for Tilrey, pulling the boy’s head against his shoulder.When he opened his eyes again, Tilrey was smiling gently. “You spend far more time thinking about Besha than he’s worth, Fir.”“Don’t call me that.” It emerged in a moan. “Not now. Use my name, Rishka.”“Gersha,” Tilrey said, his lips moving against Gersha’s bare skin. “Gersha, my love, Gersha.”*In the morning, Tilrey sat up and watched Gersha dress. Usually he snuck such observations of Upstarts through his lashes, but this time he hid nothing, his eyes moving over the Councillor’s slight, taut body with undisguised admiration.And Gersha, instead of rushing his routine, actually moved more slowly, giving Tilrey ample time to notice how the wan light struck the groove of a hip, how the cock swayed free from its bed of black curls, how gracefully the Councillor balanced on one foot to thread the other into his trousers.I want so much to be inside you. The thought took Tilrey by surprise, as did the sudden stiffening of his own cock, and he tugged the bedspread over it and said the first thing that came to his mind and was not that: “I think Besha wants you to fuck him, Fir.”Gersha gave a little start, then fastened his trousers. “Where on earth would you get that idea? Anyway, I thought we weren’t going to speak about Besha anymore.”“You’re right, Fir.” Tilrey lowered his eyes. “You’re right, Gersha.”Gersha tugged the heavy tunic over his shoulders and cinched it at the waist. “Anyway, you have it wrong. If he wants me at all, it’s not like that.”“I think you’re wrong, Fir.”Tilrey meant it. When he and Besha were roughhousing, he sometimes got an odd whiff of submissiveness from the little Upstart—a sense that, if he ever dared exert his full strength and turn their role-play on its head, Besha would welcome the experience of being overwhelmed. Last night, when Gersha had drawn the line and made Besha cower, he’d gotten that whiff again.If there was one thing Tilrey understood, it was submission, both the terror and the pleasure of it. Gersha was beginning to understand, too, and Tilrey had a feeling Besha had for a while, whether he liked to admit it or not.It wasn’t a bad thought, having Besha at his—at their—mercy.“Things are never as simple as you think they are, love,” he said, stretching out languidly and trying to ignore the blood pulsing in his still-erect prick. “And you have so much more power than you know.”

15: In Charge

It was supposed to be their free-night, theirs, but Besha had invited himself over.

“Don’t mind me,” he said the instant Gersha opened the door. “I’m just on my way to the Lounge, but Verán asked me to bring you the files on the Akeina case, and he doesn’t think it’s safe to do it electronically.” A roguish wink. “You know the old man, doesn’t trust encryption protocols.”

Gersha took the stack of files without a word. On any other free-night, the interruption would have made him fantasize about slitting Besha’s throat with a rusty razorblade, but tonight he was almost grateful for the distraction.

He’d been waiting anxiously for Ranek’s report for more than a ten-day now. The surveillance had to be finished. He’d asked after it twice, only to be told that such things couldn’t be rushed.

How can I touch Tilrey and not let him know what I know? He felt guilty, self-disgusted, and under it all a little frightened, because . . . well, the possibilities. The boy was an unknown now. It was easy to tell himself Tilrey just had a gift for languages and natural curiosity, but how likely was that? How many Dissident infiltrations had started with similar fond assumptions?

“Come in and have some tea,” he said in a bone-dry voice.

Besha froze, as if he thought Gersha might be mocking him or setting a trap. Then he smiled a stiffer version of his usual sharkish grin. “Okay. Just for a minute.”

“Rishka? Another cup.” Gersha strode back into the living room, not bothering to look back at his guest, and collapsed on the sofa.

Tilrey, over-responsive as usual, was already in the kitchen. A minute of awkward conversation later, he returned, placed the cup and saucer before Besha, and settled himself on Gersha’s other side.

Besha had worn his scarf indoors, the way he used to do in their school days because he was prone to colds. His nose looked red and inflamed now, and he took out a handkerchief and daintily sneezed. Then his watery blue eyes returned to following the boy hungrily.

The familiar jealous rage flared in Gersha’s chest—and, just as abruptly, guttered and died. Besha didn’t even suspect. For that alone, the man was lucky.

“Why does Verán want me to look at the Akeina case?” he asked.

Besha dragged his eyes away from Tilrey. “Because you’re on the Int/Sec committee, and we’re considering trying him in front of the entire committee, possibly the entire Council. Making an example of him for other young Upstarts. Anyway, Verán values your Intelligence expertise. You have followed the case, haven’t you? You know who I mean?”

Shame warmed Gersha’s cheeks. “Councillor Akeina’s nephew Fredrich has been charged with corrupting Laborers and corresponding with a Dissident sect. I do pay attention.”

Besha inched away from him, hands raised in a gesture that might have been apology or further mockery. “Of course you do, Gersha.”

“Then why suggest I don’t?”

As he spoke, Gersha glanced at Tilrey—why, he wasn’t sure. Was he hoping somehow to provoke them both at once? With his eagerness to play the role of jealous rival, Besha did seem to have a way of precipitating things between them. After Gersha’s outburst in the man’s office, nearly two months ago, Tilrey had slipped into his room on a worknight and seduced him. What had the boy really been trying to do?

He’d been such a fool, succumbing after a few kisses. Such an easy mark.

Besha laughed almost nervously. “You should take a dip of sap, Gersha. You’ve got too many rough edges tonight.”

Gersha propped his feet on the ottoman, wondering if Besha was more cowardly or just more cautious without Verán around to back him up. “You sap if you feel like it. Give the boy some, too. I suppose he’s been waiting.”

“That’s not my place tonight.”

“Fine, then.” Gersha rummaged in his tunic pocket for the vial he usually stowed there on free-nights, but he’d forgotten. He had to fish one out of the broken teapot on the window ledge where he kept his books.

Books. Goddamn books.

He splashed sap into his palm, too much sap, and held it under Tilrey’s nose. He looked at the carpet while Tilrey’s fingers encircled his wrist, steady as always, and Tilrey’s hair brushed his sensitive forearm, and then came the tongue—

He clenched his other hand into a fist, face blazing, grateful that the tunic hid his involuntary reaction.

A jibe from Besha was standard for this situation, but the other Councillor managed to restrain himself. When Gersha met his eyes again, they shone a little too bright.

A silent Besha, with no naughty-schoolboy smirk—that was odd, but not unwelcome. Gersha poured the rest of the vial into the same palm and downed it himself.

Besha swallowed—you could hear it. “My turn?”

Gersha pulled out a handkerchief to swab his palm. “I think you have your own supply.”

“He seems to want it from you, Fir.” Tilrey’s voice was light, almost teasing.

“Watch the cheek, lad,” Gersha snapped—and instantly wanted to take it back, because he’d sounded like his uncle.

Was that so bad, though? Traitor or not, the boy needed reminding of his place. He knew far too many of Gersha’s vulnerabilities, and whose fault was that?

Even Besha looked chastened for once as he gulped the rest of his tea and stood up. “I really should go. Visha’s expecting me.”

“It must be so hard being Verán’s favorite, his chosen successor. Always at his beck and call, no time of your own.” Where did that cruel, sing-song tone come from? What had gotten into him?

“It can be, actually.” Besha spoke stiffly, too skilled at jeering not to know when it was directed at him. “Gersha,” he asked, turning to face them both, “have I done something to offend you—something new, I mean? I thought we’d had it out already, but if you’re nursing a grudge—”

Gersha cut him short with a laugh he hoped conveyed only scorn. He knows my weak spots, too, damn him.

“No grudges.” He spread his hands. “No history between us. You’ve never carried on with Verán, calling me a jealous lover, and you’ll never do it again. Because I’m a Councillor of Oslov, doing my job, working for the same Party as you, and you know mocking me would be unseemly.”

Besha scrubbed a hand fretfully through his wheat-colored hair. “Of course, Gersha. Point taken. I like to have a bit of fun, and sometimes I go too far.”

What was this strange electrification of Gersha’s veins? Mere adrenaline, or an unfamiliar sense of power? He wasn’t done, though he was shaking now. “And next time Verán decides to do . . . well, what he did on Election Night, you won’t egg him on. Perhaps you’ll even try to discourage him. Because you should know such behavior isn’t worthy of any of us.”

Besha looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek. “I appreciate what you’re saying, Gersha, I really do.” He shot a glance at Tilrey, as if seeking some form of backup, but Tilrey had his eyes turned to the floor. “You understand about Election Night . . . well, things happen when people are celebrating. We can’t all be as circumspect as you are.”

A month ago, Gersha would have been shamed by the words, hearing prude and unnatural in them, but now he only said, “Maybe we should all be more circumspect, even in our celebrations. Perhaps a little more respect for our inferiors would stop things like this Akeina mess from happening. Anyway, I’m glad you stopped by.”

He tilted his head dismissively, as he’d seen Verán do, and crooked a finger in Tilrey’s direction. “You can see him out, lad.”

They both obeyed him.

When the coldroom door closed behind Besha, and Tilrey returned, Gersha braced himself. He’ll reproach me for picking a fight again, and making a fuss about things I can’t change. And I’ll have two bad choices: be meek and apologize, or snap at him the way Uncle Per would.

Instead of sitting decorously in his former place, however, Tilrey sank down beside Gersha, almost on him, in a flash of white and gold. And then, before Gersha could flinch—still expecting some kind of polite scolding—those strong arms enfolded him, and those full lips pressed him into a kiss so deep and wet he seemed to be drowning.

He resisted, but only for an instant before the grunt of protest in his throat turned to surrender. He opened his mouth wider for the explorations of the boy’s tongue, groaning into Tilrey’s mouth, knotting his fingers in Tilrey’s hair.

Tilrey’s free hand was unfastening his tunic, reaching under his shirt, flicking teasingly at his nipples. And as Gersha threw his head back, giving way to a tingling flood of sensation like the lurid colors of a sunset, that beautiful mouth whispered into his ear:

“That was perfect, Fir. You made me so hard when you showed him—us—who’s in charge. Tell me what you want next.”

“You may not actually want that, Fir,” Tilrey said, stroking one of his Upstart’s sleek black brows above the drooping lids. “If we tried it, there’s a good chance you’d change your mind.”

Gersha’s finely shaped lips pouted. “I thought you wanted me to be in charge. Tell you what to do.”

His head rested on Tilrey’s chest, both of them still half-clothed and covered with a sheen of sweat from the mutual groping session that had ended with Tilrey swallowing a warm vial’s-worth of the Councillor’s seed. They’d barely made it to the bedroom, and this time Gersha had been too absorbed in his own passion to try to make Tilrey come.

Or so Tilrey had thought, until Gersha murmured into his ear, in the after-glow, “Tonight I think you should fuck me.”

“I’m happy to do whatever you want, love, of course.” He stroked the wild curls back from Gersha’s forehead and added, with a sincerity that surprised him, “The way you schooled Besha tonight—it was fucking sweet, seeing him slink off with his tail between his legs. Ever since I met you, Fir, I’ve been waiting to see you like that, taking what’s yours with no apologies.”

Good, Linnett whispered in his head. Admiration is the most addictive drug there is. Build him up. Make him dependent.

Shut up. I’m not like you. Tilrey refocused on Gersha. “I meant it when I said you made me hard.”

Gersha rolled over, still half on top of him, so they were face-to-face. “But not hard enough to fuck me?”

The Councillor’s weight was in the exact right or wrong place, making Tilrey’s cock rigid. He tried to ignore it. “Forgive me for the impertinent question, Fir, but . . . you’ve never been fucked before, have you?”

Gersha shook his head, shifting to grab hold of Tilrey’s cock. His grip, damn it, was getting better, more knowing.

“I’ve never wanted it before. But with you . . . well, I’m curious.” That familiar delicate flush spread over the Upstart’s face, down his neck, making the pale skin seem to glow. “I’d like to try it.”

Tilrey felt oddly gratified by the request. “It’s not something one should rush into, Fir. Before you can, uh, enjoy it, there’s some preparation involved.”

Gersha bent and planted a wet kiss against Tilrey’s jugular, his hand pumping steadily between them now. “I know that. I prep you all the time.”

“But I’m used to it, Fir.” And I don’t enjoy it. Mostly. Tilrey’s thoughts were starting to fray, and he needed to focus. He sat up, gingerly disattaching the Upstart’s fingers from his cock, and slid Gersha’s body off his. “The first time can really hurt if you don’t lead up to it, and I’m not, well . . .” He grimaced, with a glance at his groin.

“Small,” Gersha finished for him—with a grin so bold, so lascivious, that it sent a strange shiver down Tilrey’s spine. “No, you’re not small. And I’m not afraid to have you inside me. I think that’s exactly what I need tonight.”

Tilrey had heard such requests from Upstarts before—even from Linnett, on a couple of occasions—and he’d always complied. But coming from Gersha, the request was riskier. The young Councillor was so volatile, so fiercely protective of his person. If Tilrey gave him a bad experience, he would never forget it, and it might open a rift between them.

“Then I’ll give you what you want, love,” he said. “In good time, when you’re ready for it. How about tonight we start smaller?”

The first finger hurt the most, but it was a good pain—burning, stretching, spreading up Gersha’s spine. He gasped, knotting his hands in the sheets, and felt grateful he was facing away so Tilrey wouldn’t see him grimace.

It was humiliating to crouch like this, legs spread, but it was what he needed. Something to burn away the doubts and fears and the other feelings. Tonight he was just stupid, eager flesh, and nothing that happened to this flesh could touch him.

It was a subterfuge, too, he told himself. Impressed by his physical passion, his complete submission, Tilrey would never guess what was in his head.

“When I move in, push out and exhale, Fir,” Tilrey said behind him, businesslike. “It hurts less that way.”

Did this hurt when he did it to Tilrey? Nothing ever seemed to. Gersha obeyed, and the slick finger slid deeper, crooked, and rewarded him with a burst of pleasure as intense as midwinter fireworks in the black sky.

He gasped again, feeling it all the way to his fingertips and sinuses, his cock suddenly rock-hard under him. “Oh green hills and vales, how did you . . .”

“Simple. Up on your knees a bit, Fir.”

Tilrey took control of Gersha’s cock with the other hand and pumped four or five times, making Gersha whine deep in his throat. “Now,” he said, “think you’re ready for another one?”

Tilrey had taught Gersha to open him this way, and though he’d been a little repelled at first, Gersha had quickly learned to appreciate the sensation of making the boy writhe on two or three fingers, filling him with lube, making him his. Now he was the one who was being spread and manipulated, and though he told himself his involuntary physical responses meant nothing (stupid flesh), the sensation of fullness as Tilrey’s second finger breached him was almost unbearable.

He clenched both fists and bit his lip until he tasted blood, remembering just in time not to squirm, to push out, to exhale. He was a single throbbing nerve, registering pain, then pleasure, pain, pleasure—blood beading on his lip, blood engorging his cock as Tilrey began to pump it slowly again.

He was open impossibly wide now, or it felt that way, perhaps because Tilrey’s knuckles were so big, and it stung, and if Besha were ever to see him this way, if Besha—

Then the second finger found his prostate, and Tilrey’s other hand pumped mercilessly on his cock, and thoughts of Besha vanished as Gersha came in a white-hot explosion of sheer bliss, bucking his hips and feeling the boy’s fingers still in him—large, close, tight.

It was like fainting. When his eyes could focus again, when he became aware of his body, Tilrey’s fingers were gone, and the boy was reaching under him with a warm rag to wipe his cooling leavings from the sheet.

Gersha rolled over with a small moan. It still stung a little, but not badly. His limbs felt wrung-out, water-logged, as if he’d just run five K at the gym.

“I thought we could get to three,” he murmured.

“Always the achiever.” Tilrey’s hand molded itself to his ass, then slid up to rub the small of his back. “I think we got close enough, Fir. See now why we need to go slowly?”

“Yes.” Part of Gersha wanted to try it again, wanted to work up to Tilrey’s cock tonight, but the rest was exhausted. He sat up, wincing, and wrapped his arms around the boy, tugging him down so they lay side-by-side. The friction of his naked skin against Tilrey’s shirt and trousers was unspeakably titillating, shameful and right at once.

“You’ve done this with others, haven’t you?” he whispered, suddenly torn in two by a desire to hear Tilrey say no, he never had, even if that meant Gersha was the only Councillor abject and decadent enough to demand such a service.

Tilrey nodded, naturally.

He looked tired and happy, too, brown lashes shadowing his cheeks, and Gersha wondered abruptly if Tilrey had given himself satisfaction, but by now he knew not to ask. The question always made Tilrey look uncomfortable; perhaps it was a breach of some kettle-boy protocol.

He reached out and traced one of Tilrey’s brows the way the boy had done to him earlier. “What was wrong with me tonight?” he asked, words spilling out of him, as if the orgasm had swept away all his good sense. “Besha—I let him in here. I let him come between us, even for a minute, when we could have been together.”

If Ranek’s team finds something, we may never be together again. The thought was a spear in his side, collapsing his lungs, choking him, and he closed his eyes and reached blindly for Tilrey, pulling the boy’s head against his shoulder.

When he opened his eyes again, Tilrey was smiling gently. “You spend far more time thinking about Besha than he’s worth, Fir.”

“Don’t call me that.” It emerged in a moan. “Not now. Use my name, Rishka.”

“Gersha,” Tilrey said, his lips moving against Gersha’s bare skin. “Gersha, my love, Gersha.”

In the morning, Tilrey sat up and watched Gersha dress. Usually he snuck such observations of Upstarts through his lashes, but this time he hid nothing, his eyes moving over the Councillor’s slight, taut body with undisguised admiration.

And Gersha, instead of rushing his routine, actually moved more slowly, giving Tilrey ample time to notice how the wan light struck the groove of a hip, how the cock swayed free from its bed of black curls, how gracefully the Councillor balanced on one foot to thread the other into his trousers.

I want so much to be inside you. The thought took Tilrey by surprise, as did the sudden stiffening of his own cock, and he tugged the bedspread over it and said the first thing that came to his mind and was not that: “I think Besha wants you to fuck him, Fir.”

Gersha gave a little start, then fastened his trousers. “Where on earth would you get that idea? Anyway, I thought we weren’t going to speak about Besha anymore.”

“You’re right, Fir.” Tilrey lowered his eyes. “You’re right, Gersha.”

Gersha tugged the heavy tunic over his shoulders and cinched it at the waist. “Anyway, you have it wrong. If he wants me at all, it’s not like that.”

“I think you’re wrong, Fir.”

Tilrey meant it. When he and Besha were roughhousing, he sometimes got an odd whiff of submissiveness from the little Upstart—a sense that, if he ever dared exert his full strength and turn their role-play on its head, Besha would welcome the experience of being overwhelmed. Last night, when Gersha had drawn the line and made Besha cower, he’d gotten that whiff again.

If there was one thing Tilrey understood, it was submission, both the terror and the pleasure of it. Gersha was beginning to understand, too, and Tilrey had a feeling Besha had for a while, whether he liked to admit it or not.

It wasn’t a bad thought, having Besha at his—at their—mercy.

“Things are never as simple as you think they are, love,” he said, stretching out languidly and trying to ignore the blood pulsing in his still-erect prick. “And you have so much more power than you know.”