Chapter 3: The Delivery Arrives
Will woke to the smell of Luke’s skin and the particular, heavy silence of a palace not yet stirring. The black silk curtains glowed at their edges, a thin line of incendiary gold where the morning sun fought its way through. He was on his side, and Luke’s arm was a lead weight across his ribs, his breath a steady, warm rhythm against the back of Will’s neck.
He didn’t move. He absorbed the peace of it. The obsidian collar was cool against his throat, a constant. He focused on the feel of it, the slight weight, then on the memory of the fleece-lined cuff from the night before. The ghost of its pressure still lingered on his left wrist. A pleasant, secret ache.
Luke stirred behind him, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through Will’s spine. The arm tightened, pulling him closer. A kiss, sleep-soft and aimless, landed on his shoulder blade. “You’re awake,” Luke murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep. “Thinking too loud.”
“How can you tell?”
“Your breathing changes. It gets… thoughtful.” Another kiss, this one with more intention, just below the collar. “What about?”
“The cabinet,” Will admitted.
Luke made a soft, approving sound. His hand slid down Will’s arm until his fingers found Will’s left wrist. He rubbed the spot where the cuff had been. “Good.”
They lay there as the line of gold at the window widened, illuminating motes of dust that danced like static in the air. Eventually, Luke sighed and rolled onto his back, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I have a truly tedious breakfast with the treasury council. You have the morning to yourself. Read. Explore the music room. I’ve given instructions you’re to be left alone.”
The thought was both a relief and a strange loneliness. Will rolled onto his back as well, looking at the carved canopy above them. “The envoy from the Western Isles is today?”
“Afternoon. I’ll send for you.” Luke turned his head on the pillow, his silver eyes clear now, studying Will. “You’ll have a choice then. Today, this morning… your time is your own. It’s important you remember you have it.”
The gift of autonomy, carefully given. Will understood it was part of the balance. “Okay.”
A firm knock at the chamber door, three precise raps, broke the stillness.
Luke sat up, the sheets pooling at his waist. “Enter.”
A senior servant, an older man with a impeccably neutral expression, came in carrying a long, flat box wrapped in plain dark paper and tied with a simple black cord. He bowed, eyes respectfully averted from the bed. “Your Highness. This was delivered for you through the private post. No sender listed, but the seals are from the Artificer’s Quarter.”
A flicker of something—keen interest—passed over Luke’s face. “On the table. Thank you, Gerald.”
The servant placed the box on a low satinwood table near the windows and left as quietly as he’d entered. The lock turned again with a soft click.
Luke didn’t move immediately. He looked from the box to Will, a slow smile spreading. “Curious timing.”
“What is it?” Will propped himself up on his elbows.
“A solution to a problem I’ve been contemplating.” Luke threw back the sheets and stood, stretching in a shaft of sunlight. He was unselfconsciously magnificent. He walked to the table, picked up the box, and brought it back to the bed. He sat cross-legged facing Will, the box between them like a centerpiece.
The paper rustled as he untied the cord. He folded it back with a care that seemed ritualistic. Underneath was a plain pine box. He lifted the lid.
Will leaned forward.
Nestled in folds of grey tissue paper were three objects.
The first was a paddle, but unlike any Will had imagined. It was about the size of Luke’s hand, made from a single piece of leather so dark it was almost black, polished to a soft, matte gleam. It looked sturdy, substantial, but its edges were rounded, smooth. It had a simple, brutal elegance.
The second was a string of beads. They were a deep, opaque violet, each one slightly larger than the last, graduating in size from a large pea to something resembling a ripe olive. They were threaded on a sturdy, slender cord with a loop at one end and a smooth, tapered pull at the other. They looked organic, like strange fruit.
The third was a small, intricate contraption of silver. Two tiny, padded cups connected by a delicate screw mechanism, with a fine, shining chain dangling from one side. It took Will a moment to understand its purpose. When he did, a hot flush swept from his chest to his hairline.
Luke watched his face, reading every twitch. He picked up the paddle first, turning it over in his hands. “This isn’t for punishment,” he said, his voice conversational, as if discussing the weather. “It’s for sensation. For connection. The leather is vegetable-tanned. It’ll warm with use. It won’t split the skin, but it will light up every nerve ending you have. It’s for when you’re floating away, and I need to bring you back to your body. To my hand.”
He set it gently on the tissue paper and picked up the string of beads. He held them up, and they swayed, heavy and fluid. “These are weighted. Glass, filled with a saline solution. They’re for training. For stretching.” His eyes locked on Will’s, and his voice dropped, intimate and clear. “For your virgin ass. The weight does the work slowly, carefully. It teaches you to open up. To take more. And when I pull them out…” He let the sentence hang, a promise in the air. He draped the beads over his own palm, a shocking splash of color against his skin.
Finally, he lifted the silver item, pinching the chain so it caught the light. “And this,” he said, even quieter. “This is for focus. The padding is lambswool. The screw adjusts the pressure. It goes here.” With his other hand, he reached out and brushed a single, feather-light finger over the front of Will’s linen sleeping pants, right over the small, hidden swell of his clit. Will jolted, a gasp catching in his throat. “And the chain,” Luke continued, his finger remaining, a maddening, gentle pressure, “I can attach to the ring on your collar. Or wrap around my hand. So every shift, every breath you take, you’ll feel it. A tiny, constant reminder. It’ll make your cock throb, Will. Just from you walking across a room.”
Will’s mouth was dry. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs. Between his legs, a familiar, slick heat was building, an ache that was equal parts terror and desperate want. He was intensely aware of his own body in a new way—the parts Luke was naming, claiming, planning for. The vulnerable secret of his anatomy felt no longer like a thing to hide, but a landscape to be meticulously, lovingly explored.
“You’re breathing fast,” Luke observed, his gaze dropping to the rapid rise and fall of Will’s chest.
“I’m…”
“It’s a lot. I know.” Luke placed the silver clamp back in the box. He didn’t close the lid. He just left them all there, exposed on the bed between them. Options. Futures. “We won’t use them all today. Maybe not any of them today. They’re just… here. For when we’re ready.”
But his eyes said something else. They said he knew exactly when he wanted to be ready. The control in him was a live wire, taut and humming.
Will’s own want was a mirror, clouded by fear but undeniable. He looked from the dark leather to the violet beads to the delicate, sinister silver. His skin felt two sizes too small.
“The box stays open,” Luke decided. “On the table. Where you can see it. Acknowledge it. Get used to its presence.” He stood, taking the box and placing it back on the satinwood table, the lid off. The three objects lay in a pool of morning light, undeniable.
He walked to his wardrobe, beginning the process of dressing for his council. Will watched him, the ordinary ritual of donning trousers, a shirt, now charged with the knowledge of what lay gleaming on the table.
When Luke was almost done, fastening the cuffs of his sleeves, he spoke without turning. “Before I go. A small thing. To set the tone for the day.”
Will sat up straighter.
“Come here,” Luke said, his voice calm.
Will pushed back the sheets and padded across the cool floor. He stopped a few feet away, unsure.
“Closer.”
He took another step. Luke finished with his cuffs and finally turned. His expression was serene, commanding. He pointed to the floor at his feet, on the plush rug before the open box. “Kneel.”
The word was soft. Absolute.
Will’s knees understood before his mind did. They bent, lowering him down until he was kneeling on the rug. He looked up, the position making Luke tower, the morning sun haloing his dark hair. The collar felt suddenly more prominent, a hinge point between them.
“Good,” Luke said. He reached out and tipped Will’s chin up with a single finger. “Now, present yourself for inspection.”
Will blinked, confusion and heat warring in his gut. “I… how?”
“Hands behind your back. Chest out. Head up. Let me look at what’s mine.”
Will’s arms moved automatically, his wrists crossing at the small of his back. He straightened his spine, pushing his chest forward slightly, and kept his chin raised, his gaze fixed on Luke’s sternum. He felt utterly exposed, kneeling there in just his thin sleeping pants, every inch of him offered up for appraisal. The air on his skin was a caress. The objects on the table were a silent audience.
Luke’s gaze was a physical weight. It traveled over his face, down the line of his throat, lingering on the collar, over the rise of his chest, the flat plane of his stomach. It felt slower, more meticulous than any look before. It catalogued. It possessed.
Will’s breath hitched. He felt his nipples tighten under the scrutiny. Lower, a traitorous twitch.
“Beautiful,” Luke murmured, almost to himself. His hand came down, not to touch, but to hover over Will’s chest, his stomach, as if feeling the heat radiating from him. “So responsive already. Just from kneeling. Just from being looked at.” His hand finally settled, a broad, warm palm flat on Will’s lower belly, pressing down gently. Will moaned, the sound ripped from him.
“This is where the beads will go,” Luke whispered, his thumb stroking a line downward. “This is where the clamp will go.” His hand slid lower, cupping him through the linen, applying a firm, knowing pressure right over his aching clit. Will cried out, his hips bucking involuntarily into the touch. “And this,” Luke’s voice was hot against his ear now, as he leaned down, “is where the paddle will fall. When you’re ready. When you beg for it.”
He removed his hand, straightening up. The loss was a physical pain. Will trembled, his whole body humming, his cheeks wet with tears he hadn’t felt fall.
Luke took his face in both hands, tilting it up. He kissed him, deep and thorough, a conquering kiss that tasted of salt and promise. “My perfect pet,” he breathed against Will’s lips. “That’s all. You can get up.”
Will’s limbs were weak, liquid. He struggled to rise, and Luke helped him, a steadying hand under his elbow.
“The box stays,” Luke reiterated, smoothing Will’s rumpled hair. “Your day is your own. Remember that.” He gave him one last, searing look, then turned and left for his council, the door closing with a quiet but final sound.
Will stood alone in the sunlit room, his body singing with unmet need, the ghost of Luke’s hand imprinted on his skin. His gaze was drawn irresistibly to the table. The dark leather, the violet beads, the silver chain.
He walked over on unsteady legs. He didn’t touch them. He just looked.
Then, he turned and walked to the bathing chamber to get ready for his day. The objects watched him go, and he carried the weight of their regard, and Luke’s, with every step.
The objects watched him go, and he carried the weight of their regard, and Luke’s, with every step. The bathing chamber’s cool marble was a shock. Will splashed water on his face, the droplets catching on the obsidian band. His reflection showed flushed skin and wide, dark eyes. The ghost of Luke’s hand on his lower belly was more real than the tile under his feet.
He dressed slowly in the soft clothes laid out for him—linen trousers, a simple tunic. Each motion felt deliberate, as if he were performing for the empty room. His gaze kept snagging on the open box. The violet beads seemed to pulse with their own inner light.
He forced himself to turn away. Your time is your own, Luke had said. The reminder felt like a test.
The palace music room was a high-ceilinged sanctuary at the western end of the family wing. Sunlight poured through enormous arched windows onto a gorgeous, ancient harp and a sleek modern piano. Will drifted to the piano, running a finger along its polished lid. He lifted the fallboard, the ivory keys smiling up.
He played a simple, wandering melody. The notes were clean and bright, but they couldn’t silence the thrum in his blood. He imagined the silver clamp on him, the fine chain threaded through the ring of his collar. A shiver that was not unpleasant traced his spine. His playing stumbled.
“So the rumors are true. The crown prince has a songbird.”
The voice, rich and amused, came from the doorway. Will’s hands stilled on the keys. A man leaned against the frame, perhaps ten years Luke’s senior, with an easy smile and shrewd green eyes. His attire was expensive but subtly so, a diplomat’s uniform.
“I’m Kaelen,” he said, pushing off the door and approaching without waiting for an invitation. “Envoy of the Western Isles. You must be Will Tarnor.” He stopped a polite distance away, his appraisal open and curious. “I heard you sing at the Midwinter Festival two years past. ‘The Shepherd’s Lament.’ You made a room of five hundred people weep into their ale. It was magnificent.”
The praise was specific, professional. It disarmed Will’s immediate tension. “Thank you,” he said, standing. “His Highness mentioned you’d be visiting.”
“He did?” Kaelen’s eyebrows rose, his smile turning wry. “I’m surprised he bothered. I’m usually just a trade blockage to be solved. But he said I should find you here. Said you might be persuaded to perform for our treaty signing ceremony next month. For a considerable fee, of course.”
This was the choice Luke had given him. Not a command. An offer. Will felt a surge of gratitude so sharp it tightened his throat. “I’d be honored,” Will said, and found he meant it.
“Excellent!” Kaelen clapped his hands once. “We’ll discuss details with the prince’s stewards. But the agreement, in principle, is between you and me.” He glanced at Will’s throat, his gaze lingering on the collar without a hint of judgement, only thoughtful observation. “It seems the prince values beauty in all its forms. He’s a discerning man. We in the Isles understand that. An artist’s soul requires a certain… ecosystem to thrive.”
The understanding in his voice was unnerving. It saw too much. Will simply nodded.
“Until the afternoon, then,” Kaelen said with a slight bow, and took his leave.
Will stood in the sunbeam, the envoy’s words swirling with the memory of Luke’s that morning. It’s a shield, not a shackle. The collision of his two worlds—the public artist and the private pet—left him dizzy. He needed air.
He found a secluded courtyard, a patch of grass bordered by high walls. He lay back, staring at the square of sky, and tried to just breathe. The sun warmed his skin. He let his hands rest on his stomach, over the place Luke had touched. The ache had subsided to a persistent, low hum.
That’s how Luke found him hours later, asleep in the grass, chestnut curls tousled, one hand curled loosely near his throat.
A shadow fell across Will’s face, and he blinked awake. Luke knelt beside him, still in his council clothes, his expression unreadable. “Hey.” His voice was soft.
“Hey,” Will rasped, sitting up. “How was the treasury?”
“Dull as a butter knife. I thought about the box the entire time.” Luke’s silver eyes were intense, searching Will’s face. “Did you think about it?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Will looked down at the grass between them. “The envoy found me. Kaelen. I agreed to sing for their ceremony.”
Luke’s smile was instant and brilliant, a flash of genuine pride. “Good. That’s very good, Will.” He reached out, plucking a blade of grass from Will’s hair. “But that’s for later. Right now, we’re here.” He stood, offering his hand. “Come back inside with me.”
The walk to the bedchamber was quiet. The box still sat on the table, its contents untouched. Luke closed the door. The click of the lock was a sound that now meant world’s end, world’s beginning.
“You presented yourself so beautifully this morning,” Luke said, leaning against the table. He didn’t touch the toys. He just looked at Will. “You’re still presenting now. I can see it in your posture. That quiet readiness.”
Will swallowed, his mouth dry.
“I want to use one,” Luke said, his tone conversational, as if choosing a wine. “Just one. The mildest one. To keep the promise.” His gaze flicked to the box. “Which one calls to you?”
Will’s eyes were drawn irresistibly to the delicate silver chain. It seemed less intimidating than the paddle, less invasive than the beads. “The… the clamp,” he whispered.
Luke’s smile held a deep, secret warmth. He picked it up, the fine chain slithering over his fingers. “A good choice. It’s about focus. About a persistent, gentle awareness.” He walked to Will. “Take off your clothes. Everything. Then kneel on the bed, on all fours.”
Will’s fingers trembled only slightly as he obeyed. The air was cool on his naked skin. He climbed onto the massive bed, the silk sheets cool underneath his knees and palms. He kept his head down, his back curved, feeling more exposed than he ever had. The afternoon light painted his body in long shadows.
He heard the soft click-click of the screw mechanism adjusting. Then Luke’s warm hand was between his legs, cupping him, parting him with a terrifying gentleness. Will shuddered, a whimper caught in his throat.
“Breathe through it,” Luke murmured, his other hand a steady pressure on Will’s lower back.
The first touch of the padded silver cups was cool. Luke positioned them with meticulous care, one on either side of his small, sensitive clit. The pressure began as a faint presence, then gradually tightened as Luke turned the screw. It wasn’t pain. It was a bright, sharp pinpoint of feeling, a focused throbbing that echoed through his entire pelvis.
“There,” Luke said, his voice thick with satisfaction. He let the fine silver chain drape, then carefully looped it through the O-ring on the front of Will’s obsidian collar. The chain was just long enough to allow movement without slack. “Now, feel it.”
Will took a shaky breath. The slightest shift of his head sent a tiny, metallic tremble through the chain, a vibration that zinged directly to that hyper-aware point between his legs. He gasped.
“See?” Luke’s hand smoothed over his flank. “A constant conversation. Between my will,” he tugged the chain lightly, making Will cry out, “and your body.” He attached a shorter, lighter lead to the collar’s ring. “Now, walk.”
Will crawled backwards off the bed, his limbs uncoordinated. Every step, every minor adjustment for balance, made the chain sway. The clamp’s presence was a relentless, sweet ache. He was painfully, visibly hard, his cock straining, beads of moisture already forming at the tip.
Luke led him on a slow circuit around the room, the lead loose in his hand. Past the cabinet, past the mirror, past the open box holding the other toys. Will was panting, reduced to the feeling of the chain, the clamp, the pull of the lead, and Luke’s approving eyes.
“Beautiful,” Luke whispered, stopping him before the mirror. He stood behind Will, one hand on his hip, the other gathering the chain in his fist, applying a gentle, constant upward tension. “Look at yourself.”
Will forced his eyes open. The sight was devastating. Himself, flushed and desperate, the silver chain gleaming against the black obsidian, a delicate line of connection. His own want stared back at him, stripped of all pretense.
“This is you,” Luke said into his ear, his voice a rough caress. “This honest, wanting creature. This is what I get to see.” He released the chain and turned Will around, kissing him with a hunger that matched the throbbing in Will’s blood. He broke the kiss, his forehead against Will’s. “Do you want it off?”
Will, mindless, shook his head. “No. Please. Not yet.”
Luke’s grin was wild. He guided Will’s hand down. “Then touch yourself. Just there. Around it. Let me watch.”
Will’s fingers, clumsy with need, found the silver and his own heated skin. The added pressure, controlled by his own touch under Luke’s watchful gaze, unmoored him. His knees buckled. Luke caught him, lowering them both to the floor in a heap of limbs and desperate sighs.
Will came apart with a broken sound, his body arching, the chain trembling wildly. The sensation was magnified, echoed, a feedback loop of pleasure that left him blind and shuddering.
Long moments later, he lay spent in Luke’s arms on the rug. Luke reached between them, his movements tender now, and with a few deft twists, removed the clamp. The sudden absence was its own shocking sensation, a flood of relief and sensitivity. Luke soothed the spot with his thumb, whispering nonsense praises into his hair.
The violet beads and the dark leather paddle still waited on the table, patiently, for another day.