Story Post For Today...grrrr.
10/13/04 03:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyOh my god-- these people will not play nice! I'm eye balling that golf club more and more fondly--do you hear me, you evil little fictional bastards, you! Yes. I am having trouble here, thank you for asking!
the previous parts are here, cowering from my righteous wrath.
Oh, and it's a little long, heh. Long.
Fire Bird and The Grey Wolf
Later than evening after being unfettered and allowed to stretch out he heard Boris call out to his servants. “Get him cleaned up. We have guests for dinner. I want him looking fit and clever.”
Boris went out and left him alone with the servants.
He heard whispering and little gasps. He’d smile if he could. How many times have the servants seen him like this? No wonder they all thought he was the devil-- torn to shreds at night, and the next morning moving about like nothing had ever happened to him.
Sometimes he stroked his own skin in wonder, searching the unmarked surface for some sign of the violence done to him.
Sometime he felt as if he was going mad, and all this was a dream, a black endless nightmare and none of it was real. How grateful he was for the gasps of horror, the little flinches the servants made as they attended to him. He could look into their faces and know that he wasn’t insane.
*******************
Kirill lay back in the copper tub, and reveled in the hot water cascading over him, washing away sweat, blood, and come-- without the ropes touching them, his skin began to heal almost immediately.
Thank god that Boris was occupied with his guests, he hated being watched by him as he healed. Sometimes it was worse than the lash, worse than his ridiculous toys—and the servants never knew whether to cross themselves in awe or spit to cast out the devil. He chuckled. Spit, little ones…just to be safe.
After he’d been rubbed down, and groomed and fussed over until he felt like one of Uncle’s horses and dressed in the finest clothes his Uncle provided for him, he was led to the dining hall.
The hall was bright, filled with the glow of what seemed to be hundreds of candles. All the candles in the chandeliers were lit and the flames flung darts of light into the gloom of the high ceilinged room, there were candles in sconces, candles sitting atop iron holders as tall as he was—more candles than he’d ever in his entire life seen in this place. It made him shiver—it seemed wrong for this room to be lit so, as if there had ever been anything that happened here worth exposing to the light.
Even as Kirill wondered at the glow, one of the men at the table complained in a whisper that in St. Petersburg, they had electric light, and wasn’t this primitive—but picturesque, one supposed, and then Kirill tuned out all sound below the threshold of normal hearing.
His Uncle sat at one end of the table and at the other end sat a very handsome man, dressed in a richly tailored uniform. His eyes captured Kirill even in the wavering candlelight. They held him like a pin held a butterfly.
“Prince Felix, allow me to introduce to you my nephew, Kirill --ah-Voronkov.”
Kirill smiled at his Uncle’s discomfort, and bowed low before the Prince.
The Prince.
Yes. He looked like a prince, handsomer than any man he’d ever seen. He had a regal air, the look of a man used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it. Kirill craved that feeling.
His heart sped up a bit when the Prince invited him to sit next to him. Boris Mikhail Voronkov smiled into his wineglass, his eyes dancing in the light, burning into Kirill and warning him not to fail him.
Kirill was next introduced to The Grand –Duke, Dmitri , who stared back at him wordlessly, sullenly as the introductions were made. The Duke looked towards Felix with bitterness evident in his smile.
“Well, cousin, he said. “Who would expect the country to hold such beauty in all this muck and mire?” He turned towards Boris, “ Of course I mean beauty in the sense of the masculine ideal.” He inclined his head slightly, and Boris agreed with enthusiasm, of course, like the ancients, one admired perfection where one found it.
Kirill thought he would vomit.
Dinner dragged on and on, as the Prince exclaimed over this and that, “Why, the melon is exquisite,” or “The wine! What an… interesting vintage.” The Grand Duke sneered at Boris with every exclamation from the Prince and Kirill was murderously angry, especially when the un-named men in the party snickered quietly amongst themselves.
He closed his eyes, fury making him skirt the edge of his control. He risked a look at his Uncle, sure that he’d see him in a towering fury, but to his surprise, Boris looked – pleased, as though he sincerely believed the ‘compliments’ the Prince and his men showered on him. He looked closer and saw what the men did not, that Boris was highly amused by their comments—that this whole façade of country –cousin was a ruse to lull these men to underestimate him.
Boris never gave a penny without wanting five back.
Kirill studied him, noted a flicker of triumph bloom in his eyes as the Prince uttered another scathing ‘compliment’ and a smile flowed over Boris’ aquiline features, exposing his so very white teeth. In the dancing light of the dining hall, all he could see of Boris for a moment was the gleam of his teeth and by a trick of the flickering candlelight, green eyes glittering in the shadows. .
After dinner, Kirill had been sent to his room by his Uncle, and told to expect him later in the evening; he sat at his desk, and waited with dread for his Uncle. He must have been mistaken. At some point this evening, he’d angered his Uncle and now he was going to pay. Kirill lay his head down on his hands and wished he could fly away.
A sound at his door startled him, and he startled again when the door opened. And he felt a tingle of relief. It wasn’t his Uncle; it was the Grand Duke, Dmitri.
“Come with me,” he growled. “ Your presence is… requested.” He swung on his heel and headed to the guest rooms without looking back. It was obvious to Kirill that the man was in an explosively bad mood, probably angry that his Prince had sent him on an errand –boys task.
Dmitri opened the door to the guestroom that Kirill knew was the finest. He’d spent a week in hell there once, and the tapestries were beautiful, he’d counted every fucking lily embroidered in every one of them. Dmitri stepped to the side so Kirill could enter. He was nearly certain the man growled when he passed him to enter the room. Dmitri closed the door quietly and leaned back against it, letting Kirill enter alone.
His first impression was candlelight. It painted the center of the room with a golden glow, but the corners were nearly dark and he got the impression that there were people hidden in those corners watching him, a feeling confirmed when quiet whispers floated from the darkness. The air smelt of roses, and scented oil burned in lamps placed about the room. He heard the rustling of fabric, and the subtle creak of leather. And he looked straight ahead when he heard a small soft sigh.
Standing ahead of him was a woman, a beautiful woman, with fine features and big blue eyes, so blue that for a moment it was all he could see, eyes made even more intense by the smudges of kohl outlining them. Her skin looked like ivory in the golden light, and she took his breath away.
She stood with her arms slightly outstretched and her hands braced, one atop a vanity table and the other clutching the matching chair. Her lips glistened when she spoke, her tone was low and seductive and Kirill licked his own lips, they had suddenly gone so dry, and It was hard to swallow.
“So, Kirill, will you come away with us tomorrow?”
Her voice was breathy and her eyes followed the path of Kirill’s tongue across his lips. She grabbed her lower lip in her teeth briefly and breathed out a long low sigh. He noticed that she swayed back and forth a bit, and again he heard a low growl. He looked behind him at Dmitri, who was staring at the woman. The Duke looked angry, furious, but his breath was shallow and rapid, and Kirill glanced quickly downward before he could stop himself, and saw Dmitri was hard.
The woman gasped, bent forward slightly and groaned. Kirill noted that her heavy skirts were bunched, someone was behind her –
The Duke groaned when she did, Kirill felt the warm exhalation on his neck and flinched—what the hell was going on? Who was the woman, was it Dmitri’s wife?
“Now,” she groaned, passion making her voice deeper and ragged—a man rose up from behind her, wiping his wet mouth on the back of his hand. Kirill drew in a sharp breath when the man yanked open his pants, heedless of buttons breaking free, heedless of the onlookers. He pushed her head forward with a sharp gesture, one that drew a hiss from the Duke and tiny sounds from the dark around them— and threw her skirts up. He shoved forward and she made a noise between a scream and a sigh. The man began fucking her, swift hard, no grace at all, just plunging in and out of her, while she gasped and quivered.
Kirill was so hard, he was afraid one brush against his cock would make him come on the spot. He felt Dmitri’s hot breath on his neck and shivered, but besides pressing close and breathing in his ear, Dmitri kept his hands to himself. Kirill almost laughed, judging from the sounds he was keeping his hands busily to himself.
He was dizzy from lust, the sight and smells, the sounds were making him feverishly hot and he thought he’d explode when the woman let out a hoarse scream, and began to beg the man for release. Kirill was shocked. None of the women he’d fucked had ever been so vocal in their desires, so loud in their pleasure.
The man reached up under the front of her skirt and did something that made her tremble and scream—Kirill could tell the man was close too, and at the crucial moment he found himself staring into eyes the color of a winter sky. He came, staring into Kirill’s eyes as he did, and Kirill froze, pierced by that gaze. He drank in the sight, wanted to kiss the mouth twisted into a snarl with the force of his release.
The man stepped back and buttoned his coat, and the woman leaned forward, supported on her hands again and trembling. Kirill saw the colonel’s insignia on the man’s coat as he stepped around the woman without a backward glance. He stopped in front of Kirill, looked him up and down, then slowly pushed an elegant finger between his lips, added another as Kirill watched him with an ache in his groin that turned into a flash of lightning that swept his body when the man – the Colonel—sucked on his fingers like he was sucking a cock.
He laughed at Kirill’s moan, and pressed his palm briefly against Kirill’s mouth. He jerked his head back when thick warm fluid smeared on his lip and his tongue swiped it up in reflex.
The Colonel laughed as he left the room. He turned at the door, and grinned at Kirill again. “So, how does it taste, hmm--- the spunk of royalty? Different than stable boys? “
He laughed softly and called out., ”A pleasure fucking you, Felix. I adored your clever little wig. Sorry about the skirt.” He slammed the door behind him.
And before he could even make sense of what happened the woman—the Prince-- was on his knees before him, begging him to open his trousers. Even without the wigs he was beautiful, the thought of his cock in that mouth made him flex. God yes, he thought and unbuttoned as quickly as he could.
When he came, wild gray eyes filled his mind, burnt him to a screaming ash and promised him …everything.
tbc...if I don't kill them all first! Grrrrr!
ETA: erf! Sorry!
the previous parts are here, cowering from my righteous wrath.
Oh, and it's a little long, heh. Long.
Fire Bird and The Grey Wolf
Later than evening after being unfettered and allowed to stretch out he heard Boris call out to his servants. “Get him cleaned up. We have guests for dinner. I want him looking fit and clever.”
Boris went out and left him alone with the servants.
He heard whispering and little gasps. He’d smile if he could. How many times have the servants seen him like this? No wonder they all thought he was the devil-- torn to shreds at night, and the next morning moving about like nothing had ever happened to him.
Sometimes he stroked his own skin in wonder, searching the unmarked surface for some sign of the violence done to him.
Sometime he felt as if he was going mad, and all this was a dream, a black endless nightmare and none of it was real. How grateful he was for the gasps of horror, the little flinches the servants made as they attended to him. He could look into their faces and know that he wasn’t insane.
*******************
Kirill lay back in the copper tub, and reveled in the hot water cascading over him, washing away sweat, blood, and come-- without the ropes touching them, his skin began to heal almost immediately.
Thank god that Boris was occupied with his guests, he hated being watched by him as he healed. Sometimes it was worse than the lash, worse than his ridiculous toys—and the servants never knew whether to cross themselves in awe or spit to cast out the devil. He chuckled. Spit, little ones…just to be safe.
After he’d been rubbed down, and groomed and fussed over until he felt like one of Uncle’s horses and dressed in the finest clothes his Uncle provided for him, he was led to the dining hall.
The hall was bright, filled with the glow of what seemed to be hundreds of candles. All the candles in the chandeliers were lit and the flames flung darts of light into the gloom of the high ceilinged room, there were candles in sconces, candles sitting atop iron holders as tall as he was—more candles than he’d ever in his entire life seen in this place. It made him shiver—it seemed wrong for this room to be lit so, as if there had ever been anything that happened here worth exposing to the light.
Even as Kirill wondered at the glow, one of the men at the table complained in a whisper that in St. Petersburg, they had electric light, and wasn’t this primitive—but picturesque, one supposed, and then Kirill tuned out all sound below the threshold of normal hearing.
His Uncle sat at one end of the table and at the other end sat a very handsome man, dressed in a richly tailored uniform. His eyes captured Kirill even in the wavering candlelight. They held him like a pin held a butterfly.
“Prince Felix, allow me to introduce to you my nephew, Kirill --ah-Voronkov.”
Kirill smiled at his Uncle’s discomfort, and bowed low before the Prince.
The Prince.
Yes. He looked like a prince, handsomer than any man he’d ever seen. He had a regal air, the look of a man used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it. Kirill craved that feeling.
His heart sped up a bit when the Prince invited him to sit next to him. Boris Mikhail Voronkov smiled into his wineglass, his eyes dancing in the light, burning into Kirill and warning him not to fail him.
Kirill was next introduced to The Grand –Duke, Dmitri , who stared back at him wordlessly, sullenly as the introductions were made. The Duke looked towards Felix with bitterness evident in his smile.
“Well, cousin, he said. “Who would expect the country to hold such beauty in all this muck and mire?” He turned towards Boris, “ Of course I mean beauty in the sense of the masculine ideal.” He inclined his head slightly, and Boris agreed with enthusiasm, of course, like the ancients, one admired perfection where one found it.
Kirill thought he would vomit.
Dinner dragged on and on, as the Prince exclaimed over this and that, “Why, the melon is exquisite,” or “The wine! What an… interesting vintage.” The Grand Duke sneered at Boris with every exclamation from the Prince and Kirill was murderously angry, especially when the un-named men in the party snickered quietly amongst themselves.
He closed his eyes, fury making him skirt the edge of his control. He risked a look at his Uncle, sure that he’d see him in a towering fury, but to his surprise, Boris looked – pleased, as though he sincerely believed the ‘compliments’ the Prince and his men showered on him. He looked closer and saw what the men did not, that Boris was highly amused by their comments—that this whole façade of country –cousin was a ruse to lull these men to underestimate him.
Boris never gave a penny without wanting five back.
Kirill studied him, noted a flicker of triumph bloom in his eyes as the Prince uttered another scathing ‘compliment’ and a smile flowed over Boris’ aquiline features, exposing his so very white teeth. In the dancing light of the dining hall, all he could see of Boris for a moment was the gleam of his teeth and by a trick of the flickering candlelight, green eyes glittering in the shadows. .
After dinner, Kirill had been sent to his room by his Uncle, and told to expect him later in the evening; he sat at his desk, and waited with dread for his Uncle. He must have been mistaken. At some point this evening, he’d angered his Uncle and now he was going to pay. Kirill lay his head down on his hands and wished he could fly away.
A sound at his door startled him, and he startled again when the door opened. And he felt a tingle of relief. It wasn’t his Uncle; it was the Grand Duke, Dmitri.
“Come with me,” he growled. “ Your presence is… requested.” He swung on his heel and headed to the guest rooms without looking back. It was obvious to Kirill that the man was in an explosively bad mood, probably angry that his Prince had sent him on an errand –boys task.
Dmitri opened the door to the guestroom that Kirill knew was the finest. He’d spent a week in hell there once, and the tapestries were beautiful, he’d counted every fucking lily embroidered in every one of them. Dmitri stepped to the side so Kirill could enter. He was nearly certain the man growled when he passed him to enter the room. Dmitri closed the door quietly and leaned back against it, letting Kirill enter alone.
His first impression was candlelight. It painted the center of the room with a golden glow, but the corners were nearly dark and he got the impression that there were people hidden in those corners watching him, a feeling confirmed when quiet whispers floated from the darkness. The air smelt of roses, and scented oil burned in lamps placed about the room. He heard the rustling of fabric, and the subtle creak of leather. And he looked straight ahead when he heard a small soft sigh.
Standing ahead of him was a woman, a beautiful woman, with fine features and big blue eyes, so blue that for a moment it was all he could see, eyes made even more intense by the smudges of kohl outlining them. Her skin looked like ivory in the golden light, and she took his breath away.
She stood with her arms slightly outstretched and her hands braced, one atop a vanity table and the other clutching the matching chair. Her lips glistened when she spoke, her tone was low and seductive and Kirill licked his own lips, they had suddenly gone so dry, and It was hard to swallow.
“So, Kirill, will you come away with us tomorrow?”
Her voice was breathy and her eyes followed the path of Kirill’s tongue across his lips. She grabbed her lower lip in her teeth briefly and breathed out a long low sigh. He noticed that she swayed back and forth a bit, and again he heard a low growl. He looked behind him at Dmitri, who was staring at the woman. The Duke looked angry, furious, but his breath was shallow and rapid, and Kirill glanced quickly downward before he could stop himself, and saw Dmitri was hard.
The woman gasped, bent forward slightly and groaned. Kirill noted that her heavy skirts were bunched, someone was behind her –
The Duke groaned when she did, Kirill felt the warm exhalation on his neck and flinched—what the hell was going on? Who was the woman, was it Dmitri’s wife?
“Now,” she groaned, passion making her voice deeper and ragged—a man rose up from behind her, wiping his wet mouth on the back of his hand. Kirill drew in a sharp breath when the man yanked open his pants, heedless of buttons breaking free, heedless of the onlookers. He pushed her head forward with a sharp gesture, one that drew a hiss from the Duke and tiny sounds from the dark around them— and threw her skirts up. He shoved forward and she made a noise between a scream and a sigh. The man began fucking her, swift hard, no grace at all, just plunging in and out of her, while she gasped and quivered.
Kirill was so hard, he was afraid one brush against his cock would make him come on the spot. He felt Dmitri’s hot breath on his neck and shivered, but besides pressing close and breathing in his ear, Dmitri kept his hands to himself. Kirill almost laughed, judging from the sounds he was keeping his hands busily to himself.
He was dizzy from lust, the sight and smells, the sounds were making him feverishly hot and he thought he’d explode when the woman let out a hoarse scream, and began to beg the man for release. Kirill was shocked. None of the women he’d fucked had ever been so vocal in their desires, so loud in their pleasure.
The man reached up under the front of her skirt and did something that made her tremble and scream—Kirill could tell the man was close too, and at the crucial moment he found himself staring into eyes the color of a winter sky. He came, staring into Kirill’s eyes as he did, and Kirill froze, pierced by that gaze. He drank in the sight, wanted to kiss the mouth twisted into a snarl with the force of his release.
The man stepped back and buttoned his coat, and the woman leaned forward, supported on her hands again and trembling. Kirill saw the colonel’s insignia on the man’s coat as he stepped around the woman without a backward glance. He stopped in front of Kirill, looked him up and down, then slowly pushed an elegant finger between his lips, added another as Kirill watched him with an ache in his groin that turned into a flash of lightning that swept his body when the man – the Colonel—sucked on his fingers like he was sucking a cock.
He laughed at Kirill’s moan, and pressed his palm briefly against Kirill’s mouth. He jerked his head back when thick warm fluid smeared on his lip and his tongue swiped it up in reflex.
The Colonel laughed as he left the room. He turned at the door, and grinned at Kirill again. “So, how does it taste, hmm--- the spunk of royalty? Different than stable boys? “
He laughed softly and called out., ”A pleasure fucking you, Felix. I adored your clever little wig. Sorry about the skirt.” He slammed the door behind him.
And before he could even make sense of what happened the woman—the Prince-- was on his knees before him, begging him to open his trousers. Even without the wigs he was beautiful, the thought of his cock in that mouth made him flex. God yes, he thought and unbuttoned as quickly as he could.
When he came, wild gray eyes filled his mind, burnt him to a screaming ash and promised him …everything.
tbc...if I don't kill them all first! Grrrrr!
ETA: erf! Sorry!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
10/14/04 04:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/14/04 05:00 am (UTC)I can SEE YOU doing that.
And bein' all...eeevol.
*squeak*
Hee!
*the steepling of the t-rex paws!!!*
(no subject)
10/14/04 05:02 am (UTC)