Date: Tue, 10 Dec 2002 03:49:22 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: Starlight Reverie, chapter 5

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 the pen name,
Mickey. It appears here with the blessing of the Palace.

Feedback, always appreciated & framed, to:

javabiscuit@hotmail.com



Starlight Reverie ~ chapter five

by Biscuit

Shaun stretched on the towel covered table after his
workout. His muscles were tingling from exercise. He
was tired, but in a very good way. Breathing deeply,
he enjoyed the light hint of menthol in the air. It was
scented oil his Master Trainer was warming for the
massage that would end their session.

Shaun looked forward to this all week, the day that
the Master worked with him personally. The rest of
the days a Page attended him, following the Master's
instructions.

This man had overseen his physical well-being for as
long as Shaun could remember; determining his diet,
his conditioning regimens, taking care of him when
he was sick. A rarity now for him to be ill, but not in
the beginning.

"Master," he said, the scent of menthol stronger as
warm hands cradled the weight of his head.

"Yes," the man answered, his fingertips just barely
pressing into the muscles at the base of the Key's skull.
It was a magical touch, Shaun thought, more relaxing
than the simple contact could account for. It helped him
ask the question he'd been turning over and over in his
mind.

"Is there a way I can walk outside in the daylight
without hurting my eyes?"

He gazed up at the face which had been the first sight
to greet him inside the Palace. A face he still took
comfort from; eyes like jewels, he thought. He saw
he'd surprised his Master though he was trying to
hide it.

"It's possible," he said at last, as his thumbs stroked
along the sides of Shaun's neck. "We might be able to
find a way to shield your eyes but ... what is it you
want to see outside?"

I want to see what they see, thought Shaun, just once.
To go with them! He'd tried to imagine himself beside
them outside the walls, but couldn't. If he could do it
once, he thought, he could imagine it forever.

Keyholders had come and gone. For each one of them
Shaun had a space in his heart. Even the most fleeting
companion, a man who'd had Shaun's key for a handful
of hours, was kept in a special niche of memory. Lucid
memory itself, which had begun in the Palace, was its
own pleasure. He loved to summon up faces, treasure
details, cherish them.

Marcus and Morgan couldn't be contained in this gallery
of remembered Keyholders. They were a whole world,
like a lifetime lived in the space of weeks -- and still
he hungered for more memories to store up and savor.

He hadn't stepped outside the protective walls of the
Palace in the six years since he'd awakened, safe, within
them. He'd never wanted to, until now.

"I want to see the boy and his father ... " he started and
couldn't finish. Speaking his need, all the peace and
tranquility he'd attained in using his muscles hard, in
inhaling the menthol scent, and in the touch of the
Master's hands, was lost.

Shaun's eyes closed on hot tears and his body contracted
with anguish.



---------------------



Brian Jennings gazed at the couch as if he could still see
them, Marcus draped in his father's lap.

Now what? he wondered.

He could try to find out who'd contracted Shaun's key.
There were ways to circumvent the bureaucracy. He'd
done it before when he'd had to. Would the man stay if
he could give him that month?

He lifted his glass, tipping a small stream of liquor into
his mouth. It spread warmth over his tongue and down
his throat.

Damn Morgan Fahr, he thought.

He'd been interested, Brian was sure of it. He'd seen him
respond, almost instantly. He'd even congratulated himself
for proving so quickly what he'd set out to prove; that the
man was just ... a man. Like any other man who used a Key.

Not worth the tears of Shaun Vidar.

No one had charged him with the task of informing
Morgan of the council's decision. The lawyers would get
the notification any time now.

He'd met with him to try to ease his conscience; the votes
long since cast to deny his petition. He'd wanted to reassure
himself that he'd done the right thing. And he'd intended to
punish Morgan Fahr for threatening to break the heart of
his first and most cherished Key.

Shaun had stunned him. The revelation of his feelings, at
the end of their session the day before, had shaken him
badly.

His vote had only been one of ten, unanimously opposed.
If he could change it now, it would make no difference.
Yet he wished he could. To lose Shaun would be painful,
but to see him lose the father and his son was going to be
worse. Much worse.

He swiveled his chair slightly to look at the fire.

Nothing had gone as he'd planned. Nothing. He closed
his eyes and Marcus Fahr appeared in his mind's eye.

It wasn't his size, in and of itself, or the smoothness of
his face that had sent a chill up the back of Brian's neck.
The boy wasn't frightening to look at. He was beautiful.
He would go so far as to call him exquisite. It was how
he'd come to be what he was that had unnerved him.

As delicate as bonsai. Brian's brows creased, picturing
miniature trees created by systematic cutting of living
plants -- until they were the size and shape a man desired
-- instead of what nature had intended.

He'd been admiring the contrast between father and son.
A slight boy in the arms of a tall, broad-shouldered man.
Morgan's large hand on his son's slim leg --  close to,
but not touching his small, straining erection. It was
one of the most intensely erotic sights Brian had ever
seen.

Not because he was a father touching his son. There was
nothing inherently arousing in that for Brian, who'd been
used by his own father.

What aroused him was Morgan's struggle, the layers of
emotion in his eyes. Guilt, desire, defiance. To see how
Marcus's need tipped the scale of the moment by moment
conflicts rippling through him. A man touching his child,
for his child's sake. That was something very rare in the
world of Brian Jennings.

He'd wondered, as he watched, if the mother had been
petite, like Marcus. Then he'd remembered the wedding
picture, one of a seemingly endless archive of published
photographs taken of Morgan Fahr. The bride had been
as tall and slim as a runway model. She'd stood nearly
eye to eye with her groom.

Arrested Development. Maybe twenty, maybe thirty
titles scrolling past his tired eyes had contained that
phrase. He'd been too daunted by the sheer volume of
material to stop and read the articles whose titles he
skimmed. But the words had come back to him with
gut wrenching impact, stopping him dead mid sentence.
He'd been unable to speak as the realization permeated
his brain.

Marcus Fahr had virtually stopped growing at the age
of twelve.

He was as small as the Starlight Key, who loved him.
Shaun's size was natural, the stature of his full maturity.
Marcus's was a travesty of nature.

Shaun Vidar, the most tender-hearted of Keys. His
affection for his keyholders was legendary. Time and
again he'd astounded his brethren with kind comments
about a keyholder's beautiful eyes, or kindness; men
who deserved his contempt. Mildly exasperating, but
not a dangerous trait. Brian had tried to tell himself
that this infatuation with the father and son was the
same. But it wasn't.

His hand tightened on his glass but he didn't drink.

Shaun had fallen in love, a condition for which Brian
felt little patience or sympathy. Affection, attraction,
committment -- these things had meaning to him. Not
love. Yet it happened, even to Keys, and now to Shaun.

He shook his head slowly, closing his eyes. Shaun had
fallen in love with a boy like himself, Brian thought.
A boy who lived like he did, in a small cirumscribed
world, with untold ugly memories locked inside him.

And Morgan.

How it had enraged Brian to hear his Key refer to the
man as, "Daddy." Outwardly he'd been calm; inside
he'd seethed. He'd wanted to scream at him -- he's not
your father! He doesn't love you.

Oh God, he thought, how could I have known?

Morgan was every bit as handsome as he'd looked in
photographs on the screen of Brian's computer, but a
thousand times more compelling face to face. The man
he'd seen in pictures was someone he could have easily
seduced and manipulated; he could have hurt him.

There had been only one or two, taken at the trial and
afterwards, that hinted at what he'd just seen. They'd
given him pause but were only hints. It wasn't until
Morgan walked into the room with his son clinging
to him like a vine, subtly adjusting constantly to
accommodate the boy, that Brian began to see what
photographs couldn't capture.

And what is it, he asked himself, that you think you
saw?

His hand strayed to his semi-hard cock.

He was dangerously attracted to Morgan Fahr.

He let his head rest on the cushioned chair back as he
unzipped his pants, freeing his growing erection. He
stroked up and down the length of his dick slowly,
caressing the image of Morgan in his mind.


"Master?" His Page's uncertain voice drew him out of
his reverie. The boy was a novice, still in training.

Brian opened his eyes. Thomas stood nearby, watching
him and trying not to; hopelessly endeavoring to
disappear into thin air and yet show that he was there,
ready to serve him, at the same time.

How ready, his seventeen year-old cock betrayed. The
narrow black pants of a Page's uniform weren't designed
to make a display, but they didn't hide much.

Blushing? thought Brian, seeing him color up. It was
appealing on his earnest young face.

Another of the never ending flock of runaways.

They showed up at the back doors in varying states of
need. Most of them were given a meal and sent away
with enough money to get back home. Some, like this
one, were stubborn enough, desperate or determined
enough to show up daily until someone took pity and
let them stay.

Thomas's looks were raw and his expression morose, but
he had a will of iron and quiet strength. He'd never be a
Key. Brian had told him so straight out. As he'd expected,
the boy had been more relieved than disappointed. His
looks weren't bad -- but they were immaterial. Contrary
to what most people thought, it wasn't looks that made a
Key, though it didn't hurt their chances. It was something
harder to identify, but Brian knew it when he saw it. His
success in grooming and training Keys was unsurpassed,
beginning with Shaun Vidar.

Thomas, he'd known at once, was a Page. He'd be a
good one, Brian thought, potentially one of the best.
Destined to serve Keys. It was his temperament. Too
serious, too thoughtful to be a Key -- but he would be
able, with his storehouse of patience and unthreatening
good looks, to soothe and attend to even the most
troubled of Keys.

"Yes, Thomas," he said, in answer to the silent question.
"You may."

The youth's soulful brown eyes showed gratitude as he
knelt in front of him.

"Careful with your teeth," Brian told him. "And don't try
to choke yourself. It's not necessary," he added quietly, his
eyes appraising the boy's full lips. A nice mouth, he thought.
And large hands that were steady and dry in spite of his
blushing. They took hold of him with enough confidence that
Brian leaned his head back and closed his eyes, idly playing
with the boy's short brown hair as the warm mouth closed
around him.


"I haven't seen any aging Keys in the Palace ..."

Brian had bitten back his laughter.

Open your eyes, fool.

The former Silver Key had thought it, but said nothing to
disabuse the man of his ignorance. Retired six years before,
at the age of thirty, Brian Jennings had been a Key since
he was seven years old; sold to the Palace by his father.

Those who'd been owned became the owners. Few of the
men who used Keys knew it, fewer cared. Who owned the
flesh they used didn't matter to them. They assumed it was
men like themselves.

Fools. Outsiders.

The Palace was a vast family. It was the only one he knew.
It was the only one he wished to know. It bore no children,
stealing other men's sons to perpetuate itself.

They found their offspring on auction blocks, in seedy
"outside" brothels; some, like Thomas, whose hot mouth
was both soothing and exciting him, came running to their
doors. Others entered as he had, too young to understand,
but destined to learn.

Shaun Vidar had been discovered by a scout. A former
Key who lived outside, as some did; the eyes and ears of
the Palace.

Traffic in offworld flesh was small but growing, an
illegal byproduct of mining operations. The plunderers
of distant soil had helped themselves, when they could,
to the humanoid inhabitants of the planets they mined.
Shaun, as well as Brian could determine, had come from
one of a cluster of planets stripped and abandoned four
months prior to their finding him. His home world was
barren now.

A Palace scout tracked him to a decrepit carnival side
show, tipped off by a man he'd met in a bar. The guy
had bragged to him that he'd fucked an alien. The best
fuck he'd had in years, he claimed, though he said he'd
felt sorry for the little guy afterwards, when he was put
back in his cage.

Brian was grateful not to have been there when the scout
found him. The descriptions of the filth, the restraints,
were almost more than he could stomach. The scout
bought him for a pittance from the man who knew he
was dying. Three others he'd had were already dead.

A child. Luckless enough to have looks that appealed
to human males and a body that could be used.

Jasper, the scout who'd rescued Shaun Vidar, was one
of the ten who'd voted to turn down Morgan Fahr's
offer. He'd wanted no part of making the child he'd
saved another man's personal property -- a plaything
for his son. The consensus had been, as it almost always
was, that a Key was better off in his own home. He'd
earn the money that his family needed, against the day
when younger brothers would earn it for him.

Morgan Fahr's money could be siphoned until he grew
tired of Shaun, which they assumed he would. It was an
assumption proved so often that it carried the weight of
natural law. Men always lost interest. The Palace was a
testament to it; to men's lust and lack of control. When
the day came that Morgan wanted a younger boy or a
different boy, they'd still have their Key to draw other
men's money and Shaun would still have his home.

Shaun. So vulnerable.

What made him think that Morgan was any different?
He was just a man, not a saint; arrogant, prejudiced ...
privileged. Infuriating!

Brian clutched at Thomas, breathing hard. He held him
still and was comforted by the feel of his head, heavy
and warm against his stomach. He pet the boy's hair to
let him know he wasn't upset.

"It's good," he murmured. "Just go slow."

He tried to concentrate on the feeling building between
his legs, the tongue gliding over him, the softness at the
back of Thomas's throat that teased the head of his cock.
The sensations, like his thoughts, lead him back to
Morgan.

With the least encouragement, Brian knew, he'd have
been on his knees like a Page, worshipping him with
his mouth.

What he'd seen had filled him with awe, with desire.

A man who'd been holding his son in his arms for four
years.

That he endured the physical challenge was one thing.
But that he bore the psychic and emotional burden,
seemingly unaware of what he shouldered, had made
Brian want to throw himself at Morgan's feet.

Those arms would embrace Shaun Vidar with the same
devotion, if given a chance. Brian knew it.

No photograph could capture it.

Brian wanted it. To hold Morgan, enfold and make love
to him. To give to someone who gave so immeasurably.

He didn't fool himself that he'd ever have a chance. That
much was clear. Morgan wanted him, yes, but he wasn't
a man at the mercy of his desire.

He opened his eyes, groaning. Half in anguish and half
from the gathering tension in his groin. He looked down
at his distended flesh, reddened and wet, disappearing in
and out of Thomas's generous mouth.

A wave of warmth for his Page overtook him. Soft sounds
of pleasure were escaping from Thomas in quiet whimpers.
The boy was stroking himself as he sucked him; his whole
body in motion with a building climax. It spiked Brian's
heat to a peak.

"Good boy," he said, thrusting into the tight circle of his
clinging lips. He consigned Morgan Fahr to the back of
his mind, forcing himself to focus on Thomas. The boy
had more than earned his attention. Straining upward,
muscles tensing, he emptied his balls into the sweet,
deserving mouth of his Page.