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Kerik moves closer, leaning forward on the bed. He slides his hand to cup Perl’s cheek. Perl seems to shiver as he does so. It would be only a matter of moving another inch to kiss Perl’s mouth. But Perl wants to discuss the next test. So Kerik decides to deny him what he clearly wants as much as Kerik does, for a moment, at least, and says, “What else will I have to do? Surely there is more to this service test than kneeling and prostrating myself.”

“There is,” says Perl, his voice coming back to a more reasonable, calm tone. “You will be required to obey simple commands. Like a servant. You will not speak, which I know is always a challenge for you as you think every thought that enters your head is so important it must be spoken aloud. You will be silent and you will fetch me things, pour my wine. And,” he pauses, before continuing, thickly, “during service, some fae put their thralls to use.”

“Use?” Kerik asks, although he is quite certain what kind of use Perl means.

“Sexual use. However that will not be necessary. I will not command it of you.”

“That would be suspicious. Perhaps you should. What sort of sexual use?”

“Kerik—” Perl begins.

But Kerik cuts him off, “In this chamber,” he says in a low soft voice, “I am your Master and you will answer my questions. What sort of use?”

Perl gasps and Kerik thinks that if Perl’s scar was not covered by the golden collar he would use it as a map for his touch and curl his fingers around Perl’s throat to make the point clear. But he restrains himself. There will be time for that. At least he hopes there will be. Time for all he wishes to do to this infuriating, beautiful creature.

“There may be cock warming,” Perl says.

“I see.” Kerik smiles. “And hadn’t you better demonstrate how I would be required to do that.”

“Don’t you know?” Perl says, leaving a pause before he adds, more sweetly, “Master.”

“It might be different here. You have already declared my attempts at kneeling and scraping to be substandard, perhaps you ought to show me the correct way a thrall should warm his Master’s cock?”

“I’m sure it's not different at all.”

Kerik hides a smile. So this is how it will always be with Perl. And he cannot say it surprises him. This, Kerik thinks, is not reluctance, but another mask. A need Perl has to deny himself what he wants at each step. Perl is ashamed of his own tastes. He fights his desires. He needs to take his pleasures under the cloak of lack of control, the pretence that he doesn’t want it. Kerik says, “Must I command you to do it, thrall?”

Perl makes a sound like a broken gasp. It is wholly satisfying.

Kerik keeps his voice in the same dark tone and says, “Take my cock out.”

When Perl lifts a hand to move Kerik’s sleeping shirt out of the way, Kerik snaps. “No, put your hands behind you,” remembering a particularly arousing way of taking pleasure from one with desires like Perl’s.

Perl obeys. The golden cuffs sparkle as he moves his wrists behind his back. Then, with his watery elegance, he leans forward and plucks at the hem of the sleeping shirt with his mouth, moving it aside. His breath is coming heavy, Perl’s need obvious.

Kerik is roused beneath the shirt, his cock stiff and eager. “Take me in your mouth,” he says. And he half expects Perl to refuse. To sit back on his heels with a smug expression and tell Kerik this game has gone far enough. But he does not. He leans forward without hesitation and swallows Kerik’s cock with a slow, needy groan of pleasure.

Kerik echoes his moan. Perl’s mouth feels exquisite, cool and soft, unbearably arousing.

But after a moment he pulls back, looking up at Kerik. His face is blood-flushed. His lips pink against his pale skin.

“So,” Perl says, voice raw. “That would be the way of the practice.”

Kerik smiles down at him. “Thrall,” he says, making the word long and soft. “Did I tell you to stop?”

Perl’s face changes. He drops his gaze and looks at Kerik through his pale eyelashes. Softly, he says, “No, Master.”

Kerik reaches out and strokes Perl’s cheek. “Do you want to be punished, thrall? Whipped before all the court?”

Perl makes the most beautiful needy sound. He looks wrecked, like a drunkard deep in his cups. Kerik strokes his thumb across Perl’s cheek to his lower lip. “Zai’s right eye,” Kerik growls, “you are so beautiful when you let go and show me your desire.”

Kerik thinks he has never spoken anything more true. He feels a great wave of emotion. He is certainly overwhelmed with lust for Perl on his knees, the haughty, smug creature, broken by his own needs before him, but there is something more. Something like respect for the power Perl has. The power to resist his desires and the power to act on them. It takes Kerik’s breath.

He uses his thumb to pull down on Perl’s lower lip, levering his mouth open. Perl does not resist. With his other hand, Kerik takes hold of his roused cock, spit-wet from Perl’s mouth and offers it. “Do you want this?” he says roughly. “Do you want to suck me?”

Perl pulls back a little so Kerik’s thumb slides from his mouth, in a soft, breathy tone, he says, “I’ve never wanted anything more.” He sounds so beautifully, utterly broken. “Master.”

Darkly, Kerik says, “Pleasure me, thrall.”