Date: Wed, 01 Jan 2003 01:33:49 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: Starlight Reverie, chapter 6

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 six

by Biscuit


The room where they met with Emery looked out on the
same courtyard Morgan had seen from Brian Jennings's
suite. The French doors of Emery's rooms presented a
much cozier view of the winter garden.

The colors here were sunny, and the place smelled like
apples and cinnamon. It fascinated Morgan that every
door of the Palace seemed to open into a different world.

There was an office-like area, a desk and an arrangement
of chairs for conversation, but their therapist was sitting
on a pillow, waiting for them in the midst of an informal
ring of cushions in front of a well-stoked fire. The floor
itself was covered in soft carpeting, warm underfoot.

Morgan would have been glad to see her -- anywhere,
but was relieved to find her in such a welcoming place.
If anything, it was more inviting than where they held
their sessions at home.

He felt like a long distance swimmer setting foot on land.
Not a drowning man; he was an experienced swimmer.
He'd paced himself since their last meeting and still had
strength, but he wasn't sorry to feel solid ground beneath
his feet.

If anyone could help him make sense of things and decide
what to do next, it was Emery.

"You two look wonderful!" she said, watching them
approach, and Morgan felt good, affirmed by the
pleasure in her eyes and smile.

Marcus seemed surprised and happy, turning his head
to look at her, urging their progress forward.

Morgan almost laughed at his maneuvering. He steered
him subtly to sit closer to Emery than they usually did,
but he kept Morgan squarely between himself and her.
As soon as they were seated, however, he was leaning
across his father's lap to look at her.

"You look very well, yourself, Emery," said Morgan.

"It's all the apples they've been feeding me. The kitchen
boys spoil me terribly." She waved at the coffee table by
the couch where there was a bowl heaped with apples,
and next to it Morgan saw the source of the butter and
cinnamon smells; a pie carved in huge slices.

It was during the somewhat messy but very enjoyable
process of eating apple pie and feeding it to his son that
Morgan started talking. So much had happened since
they'd seen her. Marcus was restless, but not distressed,
as his father loosed the floodgates of all he'd saved to
tell her.

Between the bites of pastry and apple that Morgan fed
him by hand, the boy moved and shifted. That he loved
the pie was clear, in the humming sounds he made and
his movements. As Morgan talked, and fed him, he
enjoyed the boy's energy; active, affectionate, in gentle
motion. He'd once asked her how she could conduct
therapy for Marcus without speaking.

She'd said, "He speaks to me, Morgan, with his body,
and through you."

Morgan's outpouring slowed as he described his meeting
with Brian Jennings. It was harder to talk about than
the happiness they'd shared with Shaun, the excitement
of hearing Marcus speak. Hesitantly, he confessed his
attraction to the man and the confusion he'd felt at the
end of their meeting.

He suddenly doubted that talking about it had any point.

The process of therapy was still a mystery to him. At
times he thought it was a matter of figuring things out
as he talked. Lately, he'd felt that it was Emery herself,
just her presence that worked transformations; her eyes
observing, absorbing, offering compassion and
understanding, as much as her specific guidance.

It was amazing to consider how differently people's
gazes affected you, he thought -- as if you weren't
just taken in or perceived, but given something back.
He considered the effect of his son's steady attention,
how he'd found sustenance in it, the strength to bear
things. And there was Shaun's gaze, loving, full of
lust and never judging; it had given him physical
freedom.

He saw unsettling blue eyes in his mind, with smoky
rims. Brian Jennings. He paused. He'd lost track of
what he was saying.

He scooped the last scrap of the apple pie off the plate
and was about to put it in his son's mouth when he
realized that Marcus had succeeded in traveling from
one side of him to the other without his really noticing.

The familiar motions of feeding him, his cuddling,
and the comforting lull of talking had distracted him
from what his son was doing.

Marcus had been moving with a purpose, not just
hugging him or shifting in his lap for the pleasure of
the contact. He was planted in the hollow of Morgan's
left arm now, not his right, and he'd extended his
foot to Emery. She was looking at Morgan, but her
hand was on Marcus's foot, gently kneading his son's
wiggling toes through his fuzzy, soft sock.

Marcus was touching her.

"I think you should have dinner with Brian Jennings,"
Emery said in the silence that had fallen. Morgan felt
a tug his wrist. His son wanted the last bite of pie that
was tantalizingly close to his mouth.

Dinner with Brian Jennings?

"I couldn't," he said, surprised.

"Why?"

"I haven't even mentioned him to Shaun," he said,
though there were a million more important reasons
why he couldn't do it.

"That's not all you haven't mentioned to Shaun," she
said, with a hint of reproach. "You haven't asked him
how he would feel about leaving here. All you've put
yourself through trying to make it happen, and never
asked him."

"I didn't want to raise his hopes."

"His hopes? Are you so sure it's what he wants?"

"He loves my son," Morgan said, disbelieving his ears.

Her expression warmed.

"He adores your son. And he adores you, Morgan.
Nothing in the world would make him happier than
knowing he won't lose you." Her eyes challenged
him.

"I don't want to leave him," Morgan said. "I won't
desert him, you know that. I think you knew it before
I did."

"I hoped," she admitted. "I saw ... possibilities."

"But I've got to get him out of here."

He sounded almost pleading in his own ears.

"And why is that?" she asked him, gently. "Why can't
you stay here, with him?"

He gazed at the room around them. It scared him to
realize how just how appealing the thought actually
was, to stay at the Palace.

He pictured their own home in his mind and the image
was pale by comparison, a very large space they had
inhabited alone. Whatever he could create there for
Shaun would only be a poor imitation of the Starlight
rooms. It was more than that. He'd found himself
wondering what the gardens they walked would look
like in Spring. In the peace of knowing that the Shaun's
key was in his safekeeping, he'd begun to feel more
curious about what was behind the many doors they
passed. Like Brian Jennings, the Palace was alluring,
but fundamentally wrong; something he had to resist.

He tried to summon the outrage he'd felt just a week
ago, his awareness of the suffering housed here. It was
a brothel, a prison. Why did he feel so at home here
now?

His eyes were drawn back to the miracle of Emery
caressing his son's foot and he almost understood. It
teased at him. So much good had come to them since
they'd arrived here. Emery was trying to make him
see that, trying to make him accept being here. And
he was tempted. If it tempted him, how must it be
for a boy like Shaun? How could he envision life
anywhere else?

Had he known in his heart all along that Shaun
wouldn't want to leave here? Had he been afraid
to ask?

If I wasn't before, he thought, I am now.

"It's comfortable here," he conceded. "But it's a lie.
The keys are slaves. Brian Jennings is a slave dealer.
I need to make Shaun understand. You could help me,
Emery. You're his therapist, too."

"Morgan," she said, almost hesitantly, "I'm going to
tell you a story that isn't really mine to tell, but there
are things you don't know, that you should know."

She sighed and then smiled as Marcus eased toward
her. He was reversing himself so that he lay on the
pillows between them with his legs in Morgan's lap
and his head near her knee.