Legend of Ransera

Kilvin's Forge, Plaza of the Jeweled Arches
69th of Frost, Year 121 Steel

Timon was at the Cintamani Pavilion for his lesson in finances that would invariably involve other lessons as well, as the Avialae nobles seemed to have taken a shine to the boy. Aurin hoped he milked them for everything they were willing to give him. He didn't hate the nobility on principle or anything, but he saw no reason they couldn't spare what they had. Thankfully, Timon would be staying with them for the night, as well. They were taking him to the theater. That would give Aurin the opportunity to give Torin a magic trick that would help him with his work and with the work he did on the side for Aurin. He would let the boy help take care of his master, but he wanted the boy out from underfoot at first, at least until he knew how bad it was going to be for Torin.

The forge itself was shut down for the evening, so he proceeded into the house and just went immediately up to Torin's room, knowing he would likely catch him in his ablutions, and he did like the view of Torin's body, wet and glistening in the lamplight.

"Ahh," he exhaled appreciatively. "Now that's a sight I'll never get tired of."

He out and out leered from the doorway. In his pack, he had supper for them from a restaurant Torin liked near the Golden Peacock Theater, as well as the supplies he would need to cut a rune into him and ensure it was bandaged properly.

"No clothes for you tonight," he said, making a casual, off-hand statement that would be like a command for Torin. If Torin got cold, he would have to come closer and try to borrow Aurin's warmth. He liked that.

"I'm going to have to get a sculptor to make a statue of you like this for the garden..."

"I know," he said, offhand almost in the way he knew that he was the star that Torin orbited, pulled inexorably by his gravity. It was a responsibility, but it helped him feel like he understood his own place in the world, too. He sauntered through the room like he owned the place when, in reality, he only owned the man who owned the place. It was an ownership they had mutually agreed upon, a consensual slavery. It worked.

Aurin took a towel and began to towel Torin's hair dry. The man didn't always seem to know what to do when Aurin chose to care for his property, but it seemed that when he relaxed into it, he loved it. Torin loved everything Aurin did, which was confusing but gratifying. Possessive hands urged him out of the water and he toweled the rest of his lover dry.

"Come along," he said. "I've got to put some supper in you before I mark you. I'd considered a brand since you're a smith, but I'm better with a knife anyway."

He already knew the thought of the pain excited Torin. It was another complementary sort of thing they had found: when Torin found a bit of a masochist within, it woke the sadist in Aurin. He was going to hurt him to help him see his own work on a more profound level. He was going to open his eyes and his senses to the world around him in a new way, just as he had been educating him on the way the world worked since his own life had been so sheltered.

It was a sort of culmination, an end and a beginning, and Torin would start to walk the world with him able to see it the way he saw it, or closer to that.

"I know," he said again, and, "You will." His voice might have sounded flippant to someone else, but by now, he hoped, Torin understood that it was his confidence. Torin seemed to need his confidence, to know that his capable lover was capable of handling whatever needed to be done. Whether that was teaching Timon how to balance the books, carving magic into his soul, or holding him when the nights were dark and full of terror, Aurin could handle it for him.

He liked the touch, needy but undemanding. But eventually, he turned around, kissed his boy, and sat him back down on the hearth. He could intuit the man not wanting his bare bottom on a chair, and he smirked at the thought, but allowed it. They ate there by the fire. Torin defaulted into serving him, but tonight, he was taking care of the smith. It was something Aurin enjoyed sometimes, and Torin knew when to let go and let him.

"Stay," he said, as if Torin were the pup. He left him to relax with the heat of the hearth fire while Aurin cleaned up the remains of dinner. He returned with the things he would need to make this clean and efficient work, crouching between Torin's legs. Leaning in, he kissed him again. "It will be strange, my boy, and it could be frightening, but remember that it will be all right and I will be here with you."

When the scalpel was clean and ready, gleaming in the ruddy firelight, Aurin took Torin by the ankle, lifting his leg up and open as his knee pushed the other one aside. The burly boy looked so vulnerable that Aurin was once again struck by his beauty, by the possessiveness and protectiveness he felt. He smirked, though, when this position gave him sense memories of other intimacies. He considered fucking him first so his body and mind would be flush with pleasure before the cutting and initiation began. Of course, Torin would recognize that flare of fire in his eyes that had nothing to do with the hearth fire behind him.

"Are you ready?"

Aurin smirked, though all Torin's gifts touched him. They were thoughtful, which was almost as marvelous as the gifts themselves, which were often runeforged things whose monetary value aligned with their sentimental value. Then, because he could, he carefully grazed Torin's sex with the tip of the scalpel. With a few flicks of his wrist, he could make a eunuch out of him, but of course, he enjoyed the young man's sex drive far too much for that.

"Mine," he reminded him: Torin's sex; Torin's body; Torin's self.

But then he turned all his intense focus upon the blank canvas of his inner thigh, and he began to cut a pictograph to match the one hiding under his left bicep. With Arry, he had been quick about it. With Torin, he drew it out. The blade was so sharp and his incisions so careful, that if he didn't pull aether through it, the most mark it would leave would be silvery threads upon the skin. It was delicate work, but he made it sting.

"Hurt for me," he commanded, though he held Torin still, knee still braced against knee, hand a shackle around the ankle. He carefully set the scalpel aside, looked over his work, and then drew his fingertip across the beading blood, making eye contact with Torin as he touched it to his tongue, and then let his lips close over it. He hummed appreciation for the coppery taste of his lover's vitae. Then, he began to draw aether through the shape wrought in blood and injury until he felt Torin's own aether catch and cling to the form he had provided. When he relaxed his own aether, Torin's continued to knit to the Rune of Semblance. His trick was transferred. It was similar to how things had played out with Arry's, but different. He supposed that made sense.

Not releasing his grip on Torin, instead, he observed him, naked, spread open, bleeding for him, feeling pain and perhaps feeling the magic altering his soul's perceptions.

"It is done," he said. "Now, what did you want to give me? Or should I patch you up first?"

He supposed some of Torin's reactions were maladaptive; at least, they would be if Aurin didn't value his safety. Whether it was healthy or not, he enjoyed that almost everything did aroused the younger man in some way. Torin always saw him, what he said, and what he did in the best of lights, and it made him feel like the things he grasped after might actually be good. That perfect trust made him feel perfect in some way he couldn't quite articulate.

His smirk sharpened at Torin's fumbling responses, and at the question, he considered. Instead of answering, though, he dropped a hand down to Torin's knee and spread him wider as if he were going to take him right then and there, but all he did was lean down and run his tongue slowly lover the delicate wounds he had infused with magic.

"All clean," he husked, eyes lambent with desire. It was an inconvenient time; he could already sense the Rune working its way into Torin's patterns; he could see it in his eyes that his senses were expanding. He kissed Torin's ankle and then eased his leg down, allowing his boy to relax. "Go fetch them. Be quick. I don't want you unsupervised for long."

That said, he stood, towering over the smith for the moment, and stepped out of his way. His senses could reach as far as the forge, though. He would still be keeping tabs on Torin, and if the man didn't return promptly, he would simply follow him out. Arry had survived his initiation, which made him more confident in Torin's. His boy was strong; he would survive and then he would thrive all the more for his gift.