Back in my room, I’m somewhat satiated and completely exhausted. But the feeling of my sweat-soaked skin makes me too uncomfortable to go to bed. I look at the pathetic little water basin and decide that it’s time for me to have, at the very least, a real shower.
Even better yet, a scalding hot bath.
I’ve never gone this long without properly washing myself, so I gather my tired limbs into a heap and head back out to find something at least semi-suitable. Down the hall is the tiny dark-paneled cubby Bayard called the water closet. Inside is the old-fashioned-looking toilet and ant-sized sink I’ve been using since staying here. I’m convinced, though, that there must be a proper bathroom somewhere in this ridiculous castle. At this point, I’m so desperate for a bath that I would be willing to venture back to the tapestried corridor.
In this wing, all I find are dusty rooms, each of them identical to mine. It seems that all servants are expected to share that one sad excuse of a toilet and wash themselves in the room’s basins. I honestly don’t know how anyone could live like this. Bathing, after all, is one of the few pleasures of life.
Feeling a bit obstinate, I decide to check for a tub on the upper floor—the same floor I wandered through last night. Iknow that for some, it might be crazy to go back up there, but the disgust I feel in my own skin is much worse than whatever could happen.
Once I reach the top of the stairs, I decide to be a bit more cautious than the evening before. It’s not that I’m trying to meet Abas on purpose. I’m not scared of him, but I’m not really in the mood to get shouted at right now.
Treading lightly to avoid the betrayal of a creaking floor, I go from door to door, peeking through keyholes in the hopes of finding an empty bathroom. I pass countless rooms, all completely devoid of furniture. Others are filled with unknown objects covered by giant black sheets. After several of these deserted rooms, I finally see light shining from underneath a threshold. I sneak up to it as quietly as I can, almost crawling along the floor, until I reach the door. Once there, I peek through the keyhole. I smell the fire before I see it. When my eyes adjust to the change of the light, I make out an armchair and, to the side, a bed.
Just as I’m about to leave again, I notice movement in the corner of my eyes. A man steps in front of the fireplace, completely naked. His back is turned to me, and I notice a web of deep scars crisscrossing his skin from the nape to his thighs. Black thick hair falls in waves to his shoulders.
“Oh, shit,” I mumble to myself as recognition sinks in.
Abas turns around, and my eyes immediately catch on his body. Every part of him is thick and impenetrable. He looks like if he were to dig those ditches, it would take him only an hour for all two.
He walks over to the armchair and sits with his legs spread wide. Only now do I notice his hard cock, which is standing at attention and languidly nudging toward his abs. I want to leave, but I’m fixated on his form.
To my surprise, I have to suppress a gulp. I’m not a horny person by any means. In fact, at times, I wonder if I’ve ever enjoyed sex at all. It’s a fact of life that sex, like everything else people seem to enjoy, leaves me completely cold. Personally, I could take it or leave it, and since I prefer not to bother with other people, I usually leave it.
I want to look away; I know I should. Some part of me knows this is entirely inappropriate. He is my employer, but Abas, he looks so…so… I feel breathless, and my skin tightens around my bones. My thoughts slow while my eyes can’t get enough of him. I stay, heating up with each second I continue to watch. Transfixed.
He takes a hand and grabs his cock, stroking it very slowly from the bottom all the way up. The firelight makes one half of him glow while the other is cast in shadows. He continues stroking slowly, and I can see the muscles of his forearm flexing as he does. My pulse accelerates at the sight. I’m not sure if my body is reacting to the way he looks, or if it’s because of the voyeuristic thrill. I don’t doubt I would get fired if I were caught. Possibly—or, maybe, probably—something much worse.
I start to get hot at the thought, and the more I think about it, shivers run down my spine. He’s gradually quickening his pace, and I wonder what he’d do if he caught me. My cock hardens, trying to escape its scratchy woollen prison. I squeeze it hard, hoping for some relief, but the sight of Abas’ taught muscles, his hard cock, is doing strange things to me. It makes me feel too full.
My breath comes in short, shallow bursts. I have to focus, have to keep myself under control not to let out any gasps as I rub against my trousers.
Suddenly, Abas looks up, his gaze locked onto mine. Palpable.
I freeze, certain he can see me, expecting him to come and do something, anything, to me.
Then I remember with aching knees, I’m crouched behind a keyhole and there’s no way he can see me.
Despite that, the sensation lingers. Possessive. It feels like his eyes are caressing my face. Dragging a finger down my throat toward my yearning cock.
Then, without warning, I hear it, “Still watching?” Abas’ voice. Right in my ears, inconceivably close.
I jump back at the impossibility, startled. Crawling back from the keyhole, I look around the corridor, expecting him to be standing near, but there’s no one. The door is still firmly closed. Had I imagined it? How could I have heard him from this far away? This is ridiculous, my mind must be unable to function through the lust filled haze.
I stand, disconcerted and confused, trying to pick up the pieces that I felt like I lost while watching him. I shake my head to clear it. You’re in a cold and dark corridor at the centre of the castle, Astaire. Get your shit together, man!
With one last glance at the door, I make my way back to my room, the groaning floorboards barely registering beneath me.
Usually, I’m pretty unfazed, but I have to admit, this rattled me. The arousal I felt when watching Abas…it’s never happened before. It’s unsettling.
Once in my room, I strip off my clothes, letting them fall to the floor, and collapse onto the bed. I don’t care that I’m filthy anymore, my sticky skin nothing compared to the ache I feel between my legs. By the time my cap hits the floor, my cock is hard again. I stroke myself in quick and desperate movements, my thoughts filled with images of Abas.
His glowing eyes full of anger when he discovered I was spying. The names he would call me—half insulting, half teasing.How he might taunt me, maybe even dare to take what I secretly wanted. But what did I want?
I come on my sheets gasping in desperate humps. It’s pathetic. Lying in my own cum like a pig. My face is pushed into the pillow, but I don’t pull away, letting it constrict my breath until it slows down. Why does his presence alone make me feel things I never thought capable of? When I feel settled enough, I stand and toss aside the soiled sheets.
Just as I’m fumbling for my pyjamas in the dim light, I feel the temperature drop in the room. My skin prickles with the chill, then, suddenly, a scream pierces the silence. I freeze. Straining my ears to determine where the sound came from.
Another scream follows. Only this one is quickly muffled by something.
