Chapter 7
VII
I’ve never experienced weather as strange as I have around this castle. Not that I spend a lot of time thinking about the weather. In fact, I never gave it any attention.
But there’s no denying that almost every time I step onto the grounds, something odd is going on with the climate: unusual clouds, sudden switches in temperature, or for some reason, an excess of crows.
In the city, at least, things felt more orderly—the stench of summer heat, the chill of winter, or the humidity of rain, every single one of them too unremarkable to even acknowledge.
Yet here, as I am standing in the middle of the castle grounds, things are decidedly different.
What once was a completely average treeline leading to a forest is now hidden behind a wall of grey. At first glance, it might seem like regular fog, but it decidedly doesn’t behave like it. Instead, it moves like smoke.
Fog, even as ignorant as I am, isn’t supposed to move like fumes coming from an exhaust.
The more I watch, the eerier it seems. It almost looks like clouds falling from the sky and crawling along the ground. But do clouds usually behave this way?
When I look up, I see the sun shining through cracks in the cloud cover onto the weeds not far from here. Shadows run over dull grass like hurried ghosts. The longer I stand here, the closer the clouds seem to come. The wall of grey creeps toward the castle walls like a hungry beast.
There’s no way I’m staying out here to see what would happen once the clouds reach me, so I head back into the kitchen and shut the door.
As tempted as I am to do as Aba? asked, or more like commanded, a part of me is asking for defiance. And with the mystery seeds taunting me with reckless words, I’m determined to win the one-sided battle between us.
I would like to say that for the many hours I spent peeling seed after seed, I was not thinking of Aba?, that his taunting and teasing left me completely cold and unfazed.
I want to say that the pile below my fingers took up my entire attention, that my mind was filled with nothing but focused efforts and adult responsibilities.
At least, when my stomach starts to make ungodly sounds, I stand up and shove a stale piece of cheese so quickly down my throat, it almost makes me gag. I am in no mood to eat, but I want to deal with my body even less.
I sit down, holding another seed between my sore fingers, but all I can feel is the oppressive silence in this kitchen. It’s so thick, as if the walls are slowly encroaching each time I look away.
I curse this day for forgetting my Walkman in my room, and with each peel slipping between my hands, its call becomes too insistent to ignore.
I glare at the large pile, unhulled and whole, certain that I can’t face them without the small comfort of Cobain’s screaming. Frustrated, I leave the seeds behind and head to my room to look for my Walkman.
As I walk through the now familiar corridors of this castle, wood floor creaking with each step, I realise that I’ve lost my sense of time.
I think I’ve been here for about four or five days, but in a way, it feels like it’s been weeks.
There’s something about the silent and solitary nature that is hypnotic and, dare I say, even soothing?
I mean, I’m aware how many bizarre things are seemingly going on here.
Between the unstable inhabitants and the…
let’s call them quirks of the building, it’s undeniable that something is up.
But in a way, I’m decidedly less stressed here than I was in the city. I’m pretty sure the reason is because instead of constantly being in a multitude, I have to deal with only 2 individuals. And in the end, what difference does it make that they are both clearly insane?
A change in light makes me stop in my tracks. The crackling of fire. A familiar smell in the air. But the walls here aren’t whitewashed and bare; they’re covered in faded carpets hanging from the picture railing. I look up. An open doorway. Light reaching out, calling me.
“Return for more?” A creamy voice too close to my ear.
This is definitely not the servants’ wing.
“Or did I scare you off?” Aba? continues.
I step into his room. He’s sitting at a small writing desk in the corner, a smudge of ink on his left hand.
“What do you want?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow, stands up, and strides across the room. I try to stand still, to not show that the way he moves is more than intimidating. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest, face as impassive as I can muster. He stops right in front of me, almost close enough to touch.
“I only wish to take care of my staff.” His mouth quirks up.
I can’t help but scoff.
“I recollect you making certain demands of me.” His smirk turns into a grin. Like a cat. “About cleanliness and basic hygiene.”
“I should go,” I say.
This situation is absolutely ridiculous. But he’s watching me intently, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“Yet, here you still are…waiting for my next command.” He practically purrs these last words.
I want to laugh, roll my eyes, leave the room. His eyes wander up and down my body, catching at my groin. My mouth.
An involuntary swallow. What is the matter with me?
“Remove your trousers.” His voice caresses my face.
I can’t believe I’m considering doing as he says. But before I can talk myself out of it, I follow my impulse. Clumsy fingers unbutton the fly. The trousers drop with a quiet gasp.
“I want you to lean over there,” he says pointing to the armchair.
I look at him questioningly. He nods in its direction, and hesitating only a moment, I place my elbows on the back of the chair. The moment my skin scrapes across the worn velvet, my ears hum with a new sensation.
“No. Lower,” he commands.
I comply silently, bending all the way down to the arm, my ass fully exposed now. I feel his shoe tapping my ankles. Understanding the gesture, I spread my legs wider. If he bent down now, he would see all of me, everything bared for him to take.
I wait with pebbles in my throat for what feels like an eternity until he’s back to looming over me.
His cold breath hits my lower back, and I feel it slipping up toward my nape.
He’s breathing, rough and shallow, but he doesn’t move.
A faint scent of spices drifts toward me, mixing with the smell of burning wood.
My cock aches unbearably in anticipation.
He pulls away, cold replacing the space he had filled. I hear scraping, like rock on rock. Then he thankfully returns.
Warm liquid drips between my cheeks, and I wonder if, by some miracle, this forsaken castle is stocked with lube. I don’t remember the last time I’ve been fucked, but the thought of it makes me shudder in anticipation.
But the thing that nudges my entrance isn’t a cock.
It’s something smooth and hard. Cold and unyielding.
I can’t deny my disappointment, but my need to be filled is so strong that I would take anything at this point.
I take a breath, relaxing my body, but Aba? doesn’t continue.
The thing is circling my hole in smooth motions, teasing me without entering at all.
I arch my back, holding my ass out to Aba? like a present.
“Aren’t you needy?” he says, leaning closer to me as he speaks.
“Please,” I gasp.
“Please what?” he teases.
“Fuck me. Please, fuck me,” I press out.
“So greedy, Mister Bloom. Already wanting it all,” he whispers into my ear, that thing still circling my hole.
“Astaire,” my name escapes me. I always hated being called by my surname.
“Astaire, is it?” He pronounces it in a way that sounds almost French.
I try to nod without moving my body.
“Bloom is such a tender name. Don’t you think?” he continues to tease, “But you are not tender are you, Astaire?” His voice is so deep I can feel it reverberate in my core.
Before I can agree, Aba? presses the thing inside me.
I claw at the worn fabric of the armchair as he pushes deeper than expected.
It feels impossibly long and impossibly thick.
He lingers there for a moment, letting my body get used to the stretch before he starts to slowly move back out.
Taking his time, every second feels multiplied.
I’m overwhelmed, but at the same time, this isn’t enough.
I want more. I want everything, but I say nothing, waiting for him to give it to me unasked.
In slow and smooth movements, Aba? slides the thing inside of me until my breaths turn into pants.
Just as I’m ready to beg for more, he quickens the pace, almost as if he knew exactly when I needed it the most. I feel almost dizzy, the way one does when you drop from the highest point of a roller coaster.
The blood leaves my head, and the shallowness of my breaths only adds to the sensation.
Aba? fucks me with whatever thing he’s holding, hitting the exact spot that’s urging me to moan with pleasure. I hold them in, every single one of them. I refuse to make a sound, refuse to show him how good this really feels.
He continues quickening the pace until the leaves twirling over the chair turn blurry and all that I hear are my pathetic little gasps.
The pleasure builds further, my body tensing in anticipation.
I come against the side of the chair, making a mess over the antique fabric.
My cum drips down my legs and onto the floor.
I hear a muffled moan and wonder if it slipped out by accident.
I’m too dazed and faint to place it, so I take a moment to let the world straighten itself out again.
My body crumples as Aba? pulls the thing slowly out of my ass.
Suddenly, I feel self-conscious. I’m mortified that Aba? would know that, without a single touch, I’d come so undone.
I hear him leave, followed by the rustling of sheets.
I stay still. Caught in my shameful arousal, I’m unsure if I should revel in it or simply try to disappear.
I wait for my breath to fully settle before turning around.
Even through the dimness of the room, I see Aba? sitting on the bed, a piece of grey stone in one hand, vaguely resembling an ancient dildo.
Framed by the tattered velvet curtains of his large bed, he’s a debauched Renaissance painting come to life.
It’s hard to see much in detail, but from here, he looks slightly dishevelled, his chest moving just a touch quicker than it normally should.
“Get out,” he says flatly without a glance.
“What?” I ask.
“I will not repeat myself,” he replies.
Before I can say anything, the bedroom door opens wide.
I startle, expecting Bayard, anyone, on the other side, but all I see is the dark corridor through the open maw.
My thoughts race faster than my body can follow.
I look back at Aba?, who hasn’t moved a hair.
Before I can question what just happened, I grab my clothes and leave the room.
The door shuts loudly behind me, almost catching me by the heel.
I’m certain that Aba? hadn’t stood up to close it.
I pull my scratchy uniform back on while I hurry down the hallway.