Date: Sat, 23 Nov 2002 18:24:54 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: starlight reverie, chapter one

This is a Sci-Fi/ Fantasy story involving incest, male/male,
teen/adult graphic sex and it's not intended for reading by
minors. If you are underage, or this type of material isn't
legal where you live, stop now, and go read something else.

This is a fantasy meant only for the purpose of pleasurable
reading. These people don't exist, this world doesn't exist.

This story originated as part of a fiction writing game
which is hosted at a site called The Palace. For those
interested in the game and what is known as "key fiction,"
the site address is, http://www.ravenswing.com/~keys/. A
version of this story is posted there under my pen name,
Mickey. It appears here with the blessing of the Palace.

Feedback, always appreciated, to:

javabiscuit@hotmail.com



Starlight Reverie ~ chapter one

by Biscuit


Morgan Fahr was hardened to the curiosity of strangers,
insulated as carefully as he could be by the privileges of
wealth. Money couldn't keep the world at bay. Morgan
was bitterly aware of that. Wealth, in fact, was the magnet
that had drawn the very worst of the world to him. He
used it now to provide as much of a buffer for himself and
his son as he could, cocooned from strangers, in what was
left of a life torn asunder. Their world was small, peopled
by a few trusted individuals. The presence of doctors,
detectives, and lawyers, people who'd overtaken their
existence for a time, had gradually receded.

The men who'd killed his wife and tortured his son had
been brought to justice. A meaningless legal term, thought
Morgan. Nothing could balance the weight of evil.

He settled deep in the couch of the airport's VIP lounge,
his long legs crossed, his arms around the pliant, small
form of his eighteen year-old son, Marcus. The boy was
tucked into the protective curve of his father's side, head
resting on Morgan's shoulder, his face pressed familiarly
into the warmth of Morgan's neck.

He was so used to this physical intimacy, so constantly
shadowed by Marcus's mute, cuddling presence, that it felt
as natural to him as the weight of his own hair at the back
of his neck. Life had assumed its own flavor of normalcy,
the shattered remains knitted together into a shape that
fitted the father and son.

Morgan had accepted the reality of who Marcus was in the
wake of what had been done to him. There were only two
doctors left of the army of physicians and specialists that
had swamped their lives when the twelve year-old kidnap
victim had been found, physically and emotionally ravaged
by his six-month ordeal. He'd been discovered, not by the
police, but by a homeless man seeking shelter in the
basement of a condemned building. For close to two years
afterwards, Morgan allowed his son to be subjected to a
battery of medical and psychological treatments. The
kindest and most effective of the physicians who'd treated
him were still part of their lives, but not an intrusive part.
The rest were long gone.


Marcus's body was healthy though he lagged far behind
his years in physical maturity, as if frozen in time by
trauma. The effects of castration were carefully treated
hormonally. There were mysteries that Morgan lived with,
answers he no longer sought because the price of finding
them was too high. Who Marcus might have become, what
his life might have been, were part of the tapestry of the
past. Morgan had learned to treasure his son for what he
was.

Beyond the glass, snow was falling, tiny flakes visible
where light pierced the dark, a shallow coating on the
runways that wouldn't delay them long. Morgan nodded
at the steward who set two drinks on the table beside him,
a decent scotch for him, and for Marcus, a glass of juice
with a straw. He was aware of the steward's gaze reading
them, wondering. Indifferent to it, Morgan lifted his glass.
The liquor's heat blossomed and spread through him. He
saw his son's eyes follow the motion of the glass, head
tilting to watch him drink. With endless fascination and
devotion, those eyes attended his every movement.

Sapphire eyes, fringed by long dark lashes. Constant
witness to Morgan's existence. This too, was as familiar
as breathing to Morgan, to be the object of his son's
ceaseless attention. Even when the dark blue eyes were
closed, Marcus kept watch on him with his other senses.

Morgan held the glass of juice, steadying the straw with
one finger against the edge of the glass, and brushed it
against Marcus's lips. The boy took it in and drank a little,
indicating that he was finished by turning his face to his
father's neck. It was the face of an angel, thought Morgan.
He'd grown used to the feminine silk of his son's skin.
The features were a delicate, prettier version of his own.
He kissed the top of Marcus's head, a gesture offered a
hundred times a day, as reassuring to him, he thought, as
it was to the boy. Marcus's hair, like his own, was the
deepest shade of brown, like burnt chocolate, and worn
long like his. His son loved to have his hair brushed, and
loved to brush Morgan's. Haircuts, beyond trimming, had
become a thing of the past. Whatever pleasure he could
introduce into Marcus's existence, he cultivated
unstintingly.

Pleasure, indeed. In Morgan's pocket was a slim leather
case. In the case was a key; slender, ornate, etched with
stars. The Starlight Key. A gift from Dr. Elizabeth Emery,
Marcus's remaining psychiatrist, and increasingly, his own
therapist as well. The key was the seed of the quest that had
brought them to this airport on a cold winter night, their
destination a place called the Palace, the Starlight Key
their entry.

Please God, thought Morgan, let this be right -- for him,
for me.

The thought of entrusting his son's body to a stranger was
frightening. But Morgan, accustomed as he was to Marcus's
physical closeness, teetered with fear at the line between
intimacy and sex. His own needs he satisfied as quietly as he
could, while his son slept beside him. It had been surprisingly
easy for him to give up the lifestyle he'd once lived. His
behavior, like his wife's, a mockery of their vows.

A loveless marriage between the troublesome heirs of
two wealthy families. He and Renee had married barely out
of their teens and it had never been more than an alliance of
wealth and power. The conception of an heir ended their
physical relationship. Morgan's life had reverted to what it
had been before the marriage, revolving door to a constant
parade of male lovers. He was hardly impinged upon by the
duties of fatherhood, while Renee devoted her attention to a
steady stream of women.

He thought back on his life as if it had been lived by
someone else. Overnight, Marcus had become the center
of his existence. Lovers had fallen away, unable to cope
with the transformation of Morgan Fahr from light-hearted,
self-centered sensualist, to widower and grieving father.

Nothing mattered to him but the safety and care of his son.

Morgan would have been content to live out his life with
his hand for a partner; his need for intimacy filled to
overflowing by the innocent presence of Marcus. The boy
had seemed to be rendered sexless by castration, content
with the pleasures of cuddling and petting that were the
heart of his life. But this was changing. Whether it was the
gradual result of hormone treatments, or a healing wrought
by time, Marcus had begun to exhibit much more sexually
explicit behavior, to attain erections and look to his father
for relief.

"A whore?" Morgan had demanded in disbelief, outraged
by Dr. Emery's proposal. "You want me to hand my son
over to a whore?" The gentle doctor had quietly weathered
his outburst of anger. "Never! What we talked about for
him was a therapist, a professional, not some pleasure slave.
Do you have any idea what they're like? What the Palace is?
They're prisoners, Emery. They'd just as soon kill you as
fuck you. I can't believe you would even consider such a
thing."

His heart had been hammering, his anger so palpable that
Marcus had burst into tears, cowering.

The room devoted to work with Elizabeth Emery was a
place without formal furniture; the setting where she met
with them three times a week. The man, his son, and their
doctor, faced one another on a thickly carpeted floor,
strewn with pillows.

"Good Lord," Morgan had reached for his son, forcing
himself to breathe deeply, to calm himself for Marcus's
sake. The mute boy, whose only sounds were chimes of
laughter or whimpers of crying, had folded up tight
with his knees to his chest.

"Morgan," the psychiatrist said softly, "I am personally
acquainted with Shaun Vidar and I do not suggest that
you hand Marcus over to him, literally. I think you should
see him, together. He is far from the angry slave you
imagine. If anything, he is overly grateful to his masters
for providing him with a home and people to give pleasure
to. Believe me, Morgan. I don't take your son's welfare
lightly and I've been considering this for a long time."

Breathing more normally, feeling his son's body relax in
his arms, Morgan continued to rock Marcus gently in his
lap, gazing into the now content deep blue eyes.

"Is it for me, Emery?" he asked at last, knowing her
concerns. She didn't approve of him closing himself off
sexually and had raised the subject from time to time,
testing the waters.

"It's for both of your sakes, Morgan." After a short silence,
she added, "I must admit, that I also have Shaun's welfare
at heart. He's a very sensitive and loving creature. At least
partially non terrestrial. He's humanoid, but free of the
prejudices that even you harbor. Your physical closeness to
Marcus will delight him, not disturb him. I think all three
of you could benefit from each other."

This actually brought a smile to Morgan's lips.

"Your strength and your weakness, Emery, to love your
clients."

"Maybe," she admitted, with an answering smile. "Shaun is
more than worthy of a caring patron, and you and Marcus
have reached an impasse."

As she spoke, Marcus was playing with his father's hand and
carried it between his legs, pressing Morgan's palm against
his budding erection.

"Yes, sweetheart," Morgan said to his son, suppressing the
flare of anxiety this gesture evoked in him. He turned their
joined hands so that Marcus was caressing himself. He gazed
up at the doctor who'd been their emotional support for
more than four years. "We'll meet this Shaun of yours.
When can he come here?"

"He can't. You have to bring Marcus to him, to the Palace."

"Isn't there something about keys?"

"Indeed there is. My gift to you both," she said, producing
the slim leather case. "The Starlight Key. It's yours for the
month, Morgan. Speaking of time, be patient with them
both, and yourself. No stranger will be easy for Marcus to
touch. You have to help him. You understand?"

"Of course," he had answered, but now he wondered if he
really did.