Purpose:
Calibrate the degree of hedonism compatible with optimized n’aashet n’aaverti.
We go through one of the double-doors into a drawing room. In front of the fireplace sits Evan, naked although his fasharp is positioned strategically. He normally wears his hair in a ponytail, but it is undone, and his beautiful golden tresses spill over his shoulders. Daniel is next to him, cross-legged, clutching a pillow to his bare chest. Quennel, also nude, is lying on his side amongst the pillows, resting his head against Evan’s thigh. « I don’t know why I’m here, » says Daniel. « They’re so elegant, and I’m so awkward. »
He’s here because Malachi and Daniel requested each other on Tarlach’s list, but they don’t know that. Evan and Quennel are ornamentation. They so clearly adore each other that I saw no good in keeping them apart.
This tableau of beautiful men holds enough interest to keep me from momentarily noticing the nature of the particular room they’d chosen. Although the back wall is hung with gorgeous tapestries, they are nothing compared to the room’s spectacular frontage – arched windows which look out upon the marbled central stair – arches surrounded by thick panels of rich, gorgeously carved woodwork.
The fireplace is burning wood.
« You asked for sin, » says Quennel. « Morbidly arousing, isn’t it? »
« It puts me on edge, » says Malachi with a shiver, « even though it’s only imaginary wood. »
And me as well. As a Dolparessan, I know the difference between the greyish-blue sacred wood and the brown wood from earth-born tree stock, wood used for utility. Nevertheless, the thought that Ash – even in the home of Mad Suibhne – would burn wood is disconcerting. I’m reminded of what Lorcan said about dissipation, about evil being a form of self-destruction.
And pleasure can be a route to that destruction. I used to be a Gyre addict. The fire is warm, and the light flickers gently on the soft, naked skin of Daniel and Evan.
« This might help soothe your nerves, » Quennel offers. He turns to a side-table of black lacquer and gilt, retrieving an ornate platter. It is full of delicacies: cheeses and confections, French patisseries and t’vorami – a style of finger food popular amongst the elite of Arthvea.
I am reasonably sure that the t’vorami aren’t historically authentic to the setting.
« Port or sherry? » Quennel asks, producing a leaded crystal goblet.
« Sherry, » says Malachi, undressing. He folds his clothes neatly and stacks them on a crimson velvet cushion. I accept a glass of port.
I undress and join the others on the floor, which is strewn with pillows and silks. « The chairs aren’t very comfortable, » Malachi explains. « All the furniture is like that. It’s as though the occupants of this palace thought of themselves as a zoo exhibit. »
« Such is the fate of the aristocracy, » I murmur. « It’s when you lose sight of your obligation to be entertaining that you get put against the wall and shot. »
Quennel wraps himself around me from behind. He feeds me a t’vorami made of smoked zkyan sweetmeats on a woven spracken thincrisp. Evan plays a song of ethereal longing as Malachi embraces Daniel. « They’re like ripe fruit, these three, » whispers Quennel. « They need to be plucked. Would you rather watch or participate? »
In response, I take Daniel’s hand, pulling him toward me. Daniel, my first love, my long lost love, the one I love best – except for all the others. I run my hands through his hair as he kisses me. His thin body may lack the elegance of Evan or Quennel, but it has the energy and freshness of unspoiled youth. I lie next to him with our legs intertwined and beckon to Malachi. He moves behind Daniel, wrapping his arms around him, kissing the nape of his neck, sucking my fingers where they grasp Daniel’s shoulders. I reach between the bodies of the two men, find Malachi’s cock pressed against Daniel’s ass and take it in my hand. I can feel his back stiffen, and Daniel giggles a little.
Next to me, Quennel is stroking Evan’s hair, licking at his ear. « Quennel, » Evan moans. « It’s wrong, so wrong to do this when we can’t even pollinate. »
« Any new pleasure will acquire glamour or grime, develop a mystique or notoriety, » Malachi philosophizes. « It won’t be long before the thought of tiny airplanes spraying pollen like crop dusters will become fetishized. »
« Tara’s here, » says Quennel, more practically. « If she allows it, how can it be wrong? »
Evan gasps; the music stops abruptly. I see him pushed down, his lovely hair splayed around him like an angel’s halo. Quennel jerks Evan’s hips up and forward, positioning himself on his knees between them. It is rare to see Evan so exposed; his erect cock bobbing in the air above his taut stomach. Desire and panic mingle on his face.
« Quennel, » he pleads.
« Tell me you don’t want it, » says Quennel. « You enrolled in Tarlach’s program. You wanted everyone to think you were a hot little seedling. »
« I just did it because of you, » Evan retorts. « I wanted you to like me better than Ellery. »
« Ellery is a sex crumpet, » says Quennel, « but you are a fine delicacy. »
Daniel’s shoulders shake with laughter. « Just tell Evan to go with it, Tara, » he says. « He always makes things a lot more difficult than they have to be. »
« I think the idea is extraordinarily hot, and I completely approve, but I won’t force Evan to do anything against his choice. »
Evan looks at me miserably. I know that he wants me to command him, so that he can say that he isn’t to blame for what happens. For Quennel’s sake, and for his own, I am not going to let him get out of it this easily.
I break away from Daniel, seating myself behind Evan, taking his head into my lap, linking my left hand in his silken hair, my right hand reaching for his cock. He makes an adorable little whimper.
« Quennel, is it too déclassé for you to give him a rim job to warm him up a bit? »
« A what? » says Evan, his eyes springing open.
« I should take it equitably, » says Quennel. « Malachi is right: the sublime and the filthy are equally objects of fetishization, and what is fashion if not fetish? » He bows his head between Evan’s splayed legs.
« Quennel, what? OH MY ROOTLETS. »
Malachi and Daniel burst into laughter. « I’ll never live this down, » Evan whines.
« Oh come on, Evan, » says Daniel. « I’ve known you for your whole emanation, close to thirty-five years now. How many times have I had my pollen up your stigma? We just didn’t talk about it. I think this is better. It’s a lot more honest. It’s more…»
Daniel gasps, arching his back. Malachi must’ve hit a sensitive spot.
« …fun, » he finishes.
Evan’s eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted as I stroke him. Clearly, Quennel is getting to him; his legs are starting to shake. He looks up into my eyes and says, « Tara…is it really okay that…»
His face is flushed from the heat of burning wood and anxious shame. His eyes are blue, opalescent blue with flecks of green fire in them. They aren’t human eyes. « It’s not a violation of n’aashet n’aaverti that I…that we…»
It isn’t Evan’s question.
« To experience pleasure in pleasing the Chosen is one thing, but to experience pleasure of our own…»
« What the hell did the Cantor teach you? Is she running a fucking monastery? As long as pleasure doesn’t become obsessive or a dangerous distraction, why shouldn’t you enjoy life as much as possible? »
Evan bites his lip. « This is a little different from eating dessert. »
« That depends on the dessert. Look, this is fine; it won’t hurt me. It’s not like you’re chasing those genehyped bimbos that always hit on Whirljack. »
Daniel giggles again. « We can’t even get it up for them, » he snickers. « Tommy tried once. It was a disaster. »
« He WHAT? »
« Uh oh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. It was after you kicked out Patrick. Tommy was getting kinda desperate. Not only couldn’t he get it up, but he had stomach cramps for two days afterwards. »
« He deserved it. The point is that I like watching you get off with each other. On that note, Malachi, are you in love with Daniel? »
« A little, » he confesses.
« It’s not enough. The whole universe isn’t enough to give to Daniel. That’s how I feel, and the least you can do is respect that by giving yourself entirely to him. »
Evan’s eyes open wide, and his face is transformed with a radiant joy. « I finally understand. That’s what the Gold Cards are for. »
I’m glad he understands, because I don’t.
« You fell in love with the emanations on the Gold Cards, » he explains. « By extension, it’s the duty of the other branches to fall in love with them as well. We can also aspire to be one of them, but it doesn’t really matter. By loving not only you, but also loving what you love, our n’aashet n’aaverti becomes more perfect. »
I can’t stop staring at his face. It’s so full of light.
His smile widens. « Quennel should get a Gold Card. »
« No, » I tell him as I bend forward to kiss him. « You should. »
Result of Stress-test 1:
Upon Evan’s achievement of gold status, proper calibration was achieved.