Work Text:
"—and of course the audacity of Prince Rufus to suggest that he might 'throw me a bone' during negotiations, as if I don't know exactly what that's supposed to mean..."
"Mmmhmm." Conju sipped his drink and nodded along with what Cliopher was saying, though to be perfectly honest, he’d lost the plot about five minutes ago.
“—and I can see how he’s encouraging Princess Oriana to go against me. She’s new to the position but that doesn’t mean she’s—” he was waving around the fork with a piece of meat on it, and Conju entertained the brief horrifying thought of that morsel sailing through the air to land on some unsuspecting server’s head. Every now and then when he stopped to take a breath, Conju thought the fork might actually make its way into his mouth. But alas.
No wonder Cliopher looked so thin. He’d been ranting through the last three quarter-bells of their dinner together, and Conju didn’t think he’d eaten more than a couple of bites in that time. He’d also wound himself into such a tizzy that occasionally they’d drawn glances from other patrons of the restaurant, which absolutely wouldn’t do. If he was one of Conju’s boyfriends, he knew exactly how he would shut the man up, but—
Well actually, that was an idea…
“Cliopher,” Conju cleared his throat meaningfully, and thankfully Cliopher paused to listen. (He was very good at listening.)
“Do you trust me?”
Cliopher was very good at listening; following orders… not so much. Conju instructed him to stand in the center of the room. He raised his eyebrows in challenge, and crossed his arms where he stood in the doorway instead.
“Why should I?”
Conju instructed him to disrobe, because it would bring shame to his Radiancy if his secretary’s robes were wrinkled. Cliopher argued that he would get cold in Conju’s rooms. When told to kneel, he retorted that he only kneeled to the Sun-on-Earth. At every order, every instruction, Cliopher argued or questioned or both.
It was exhilarating.
Conju had no doubt this was exactly what he needed, and therefore continued to push and challenge and dominate their interaction in the same firm, assured manner.
He put on his best aristocratic sneer. He kept his tone cool and dismissive. He reminded Cliopher, in words and manners, that he was of the Upper Ten Thousand, so far above Cliopher in birth and rank that he would never dream of being able to reach to Conju’s level. And he let Cliopher fight back.
It was easy, almost, to draw upon his oldest attitudes. To treat Cliopher with the same distant hauteur that he’d used at the beginning of their relationship. But it was tinged, now, with the respect and admiration he’d developed for his friend. This was for Cliopher.
Conju had some non-negotiables. Some were for safety, some for preference. He could have explained the difference to Cliopher, and no doubt the man would have relented easily to a logical explanation. Instead he firmed his voice and held his court face, and left no room for argument.
“Because this is our first time, if you tell me to stop, I will stop.”
“Will you?” Cliopher scoffed. Conju didn't relent; he held that burning gaze.
“Yes.” No response. Cliopher looked away briefly before returning eye contact.
“However, that means that if you want me to stop, you will need to tell me. Do you want me to stop, Cliopher?”
Cliopher opened his mouth, then closed it again. Ah, he was starting to understand. Good.
Conju stared into those brown eyes as they smoldered with suppressed fire. Cliopher was full of fire, he always had been. Sometimes that fire could warm a community, or fuel a revolution. But sometimes, like now, Conju watched as that fire turned inward and Cliopher burned himself up instead. He needed a place to direct the flame, to let it burn out safely and allow him to return to his bright, dauntless self.
Cliopher was still attempting to stare Conju down. It was clear he wasn't going to say anything about stopping right now. (Would he later? Probably not. It was certainly something Conju would have to watch for.)
“In that case, unless you tell me to stop, I will go until I think we are done. And I expect to be obeyed for the duration of our time together.”
A scoff, then an eye roll. More blatant disregard for manners. Oh, Conju loved Cliopher like this. Conju knew, he knew , that Cliopher had a decent grasp of court etiquette at this point. (He had helped with the finer details of instruction, after all.) So he was definitely playing up his own misbehavior. That suited Conju just fine.
“If you can't behave, then I will have to issue corrections. Do you understand that, Cliopher? Your behavior determines what happens here.”
His vivacious and inelegant friend crossed his arms, smirked through his eyelashes, and said, “Good.”
Conju decided to start with something simple. He could see Cliopher eyeing the cabinet in the room, which he must have suspected held the implements of their play. But they weren’t there quite yet. Cliopher had removed his outer robe and tunic, but had refused to disrobe further. He cast a striking figure in only his thin leggings and efela, and Conju had a pretty good idea what he wanted to see.
“I notice that you are still not kneeling, even though I instructed you to do so.”
“I told you, I only kneel for his Radiancy.”
“Yes, and it shows.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that if you had trained for your obeisances properly, as a true courtier does, your bows would not be so clumsy.” There was a twitch in Cliopher’s cheek at that. He was sensitive to the suggestion that he did not serve their Radiancy properly. (They both knew that his Radiancy not only appreciated, but adored Cliopher’s displays of irreverence. That wasn’t the point.)
“We will start there, with improving your form for a proper obeisance. Unless you want to continue to embarrass his Radiancy at court?” A single eyebrow lifted in challenge, a withering glare in reply.
Cliopher, of course, took up the challenge. Conju allowed him to lay down on the cool floor in the full formal obeisance pose, then instructed him to lift his torso and hips, holding them a mere few inches off the ground. To strengthen his legs and arms for proper fluidity, he said.
It was fairly straightforward as a stress position, but Conju knew that it was one that required a great deal of strength to hold for long.
Half a minute passed. A minute. Then another. Conju found himself slightly impressed with how long Cliopher was able to hold the position, more so than he had expected. He knew Cliopher was more physically fit than the standard bureaucrat, but he hadn’t realized how pronounced that difference was. Clearly, Cliopher could withstand a great deal of discomfort.
He watched as Cliopher’s shoulders started to twitch from the strain. Still, when Conju released him, he didn’t collapse, just lowered himself slowly back into the formal pose.
Good.
“You did well there,” he said, keeping his voice toneless and unaffected. “Only a slight correction for keeping your eyes up. I shouldn’t have to tell you that proper submission means keeping your gaze on the floor.”
Incredulous eyes met his; he hadn’t made any comments about where Cliopher ought to look on purpose, knowing that he would be able to chastise him for it. Likely Cliopher suspected (correctly!) that he would have come up with something to criticize no matter what.
“This time, you will do it with the correct form. And just to make sure you learn, we will go for two minutes longer.”
Cliopher didn’t complain, but he did fix Conju with a look usually reserved for vapid self-important princes. But since he also put himself back into the position, he was clearly still willing to continue.
It was an indulgence, truly, being allowed to watch his friend struggle to rise to the challenge Conju had set for him. Cliopher wasn’t as handsome or muscular as, say, Rhodin, but his determination to meet every obstacle face-on was breathtaking. Cliopher was shaking now, trying to hold his form tight. A singular bead of sweat had formed in between the wings of his shoulderblades, diamond-bright against the golden tan of glistening skin.
It was beautiful, albeit in an unconventional way, and Conju always appreciated beauty.
Even more delightfully, Cliopher’s form was suffering as he strained to hold position. Conju watched as that plump, thick ass crept slowly higher.
His hand came down in a sharp smack! against one cheek. Cliopher yelped in shock, and swayed precariously, but he didn’t drop the position.
Oh, very good.
Cliopher was panting this time when Conju finally released him. His arms shook as he pushed himself up to kneeling, the dark stone of his necklace rising and falling with the heaving motion of his chest. He didn’t seem in pain though, not yet. And that quicksilver fire was still flashing in his eyes. He had plenty more fight in him.
“That’s it? That’s all you have for me?”
Conju gave his most supercilious scoff. “I did not give you leave to speak to me that way. You would do well to remember your manners around your betters. Or perhaps you need some assistance keeping that mouth quiet?” Holding up the leather strap that was currently in his hand, he let one end drop, so that the metal bit was clearly visible.
Cliopher reeled back as if slapped. Conju paused, giving him a moment to adjust to this escalation in their game, to see if he was willing to take the next step. He was personally ambivalent on gagging, but it was a good way to gauge where Cliopher wanted this to go. If he wanted to be forcibly subdued, or… encouraged instead. (Conju would not admit it out loud, but he was enjoying Cliopher’s lively barbs. He hoped he didn’t choose the bit.)
“I’m not an animal ,” was what he spat out in response. “You can’t make me be quiet with that.”
“Certainly I could. I wouldn’t need to if you could behave yourself, however.”
Cliopher paused for longer, his eyes flicking between the bit gag and Conju’s face. Conju was a moment from breaking character to remind him that everything that happened was, ultimately, within his own control, when he straightened his spine. His eyes were as sly and teasing as the first day Conju had met him. They dared Conju to put him in his place.
“I would expect a truly noble man to be able to gain loyalty from others without forcing submission. Perhaps that’s not something an exalted member of the ‘Upper Ten Thousand’ knows how to do though.” As if anyone, up to the Emperor of Astandalas, could make Cliopher submit unwillingly!
“I won’t wear that. But I will—” he swallowed, and with some effort, continued. “I will try to behave.”
Conju wanted to smile, to laugh, to—heavens forbid it—cheer. Cliopher was so good, so clever at seeing what others needed. He was less skilled in identifying his own needs. But he had seen, with Conju’s prompting, that this was not a choice that someone could make for him. Cliopher needed to decide for himself that he was done fighting.
Not just yet, of course.
Conju instructed Cliopher to take up the kneeling position, face forward, hands held behind his back. Cliopher obeyed the instructions to the letter, but with such breathtaking attitude that Conju nearly remembered his own disdain for this upstart commoner.
“You think you’ve done well, don’t you? I can see it—you believe you’ve bested me, that you met all my challenges victoriously.” Cliopher’s eyes widened, no doubt sensing the incoming trap. He was truly terrible at hiding his emotions; his face revealed far too much. Conju started to pace in a slow circle around where Cliopher kneeled. He followed the path with his head, until abruptly remembering that he had been instructed to face forward.
“But you’ve been careless, so very careless. And we’ve already established that you are unacceptably insubordinate. So while you might be feeling pride in your accomplishment, I’ve been keeping a count. Would you like to know what your number is?”
Cliopher slanted his eyes sideways at Conju, who had deliberately positioned himself slightly behind his view. He would leave it to Cliopher to choose— turn to look and read his face, or hold the position he had been ordered to hold. Conju knew that his face gave nothing away, and Cliopher would be breaking his protocol for naught. He also knew that Cliopher would not be able to resist.
He tsk’d in faux disappointment as Cliopher turned, then sharply repositioned himself.
“I told you, no moving. This is another infraction, which I will add to your tally. Now stay where you are.” Conju continued his slow progression, tapping a count on his fingers as he spoke.
“You refused to greet me properly when you entered my space. I know I didn’t instruct you on this— I had expected your court manners to make an appearance. More fool me. You refused to kneel as instructed. You required three repetitions before removing your robes.” On and on, Conju listed as many infractions as he could think of. He made them as minor and inoffensive as he could, knowing that would frustrate Cliopher even more.
He finished his list as he came to a stop in front of Cliopher’s face again.
“You see? So many ways in which you simply cannot be good enough.”
Cliopher’s jaw twitched. Conju needed to be careful here; he wanted to give his friend a target, but he didn’t want to push him over into true anger. That was not the goal.
“Of course, we both know how relentless you can be. I believe you could improve, if that is truly what you desire. That is, if you are willing to submit to corrections.”
Here it was, the moment of clarity: he saw the click behind Cliopher’s eyes, the understanding that he would not only need to ask, but receive willingly the thing he was here for.
Conju watched the bob of Cliopher’s neck as he swallowed; watched the pearls on his efela roll up and down that small stretch of golden skin. Cliopher was battling within himself; he would need to settle that fight before Conju would be able to do anything else. But if he won— oh, if he allowed himself—
It would be so beautiful.
Conju kept his court mask in place, refusing to give Cliopher anything to work with. Those burning eyes held his, refusing to yield anything in return. But then Cliopher dipped his chin, in the smallest of nods.
Conju was so proud of him.
He smiled, his most sardonic and cutting smile, and reached out to pat gently on Cliopher’s head. Then he moved toward the cabinet.
“Are you going to punish me now?” Cliopher’s voice was edged with challenge, but Conju heard the interest in it.
“You tell me. Do you think that you are done making mistakes that need punishing?” It was a trick question, because Conju was already pulling out his tools. But he knew that the uncertainty of what was coming was more uncomfortable for Cliopher than anticipation would be.
“I haven’t made any mistakes yet. I’ve done exactly what you asked for.”
“Very well. You believe that you can withstand anything that a noble thinks to offer you. Perhaps you will be able to withstand something more direct?”
Conju walked back to the spot where Cliopher was kneeling. On a low bench nearby, he slowly set out the items he had acquired.
Dark, supple leather gloves.
A flogger of soft suede, dyed a rich burgundy red.
A multi-tailed rope whip, each end holding a tight knot, like a bunch of wildflower buds that had not yet opened to bloom.
A short, whippy, highly polished length of reed.
He heard Cliopher suck in a breath behind him, but continued laying out his supplies. He paused to consider how he wanted to do this. Cliopher could stand against the wall, or Conju could buckle him into the hardpoints he had set up.
But he wanted to see Cliopher’s face when he broke. He had a feeling he would need to move quickly when the time came, and didn’t want to fuss with restraints.
The kneeling bench it was, then.
“Come here,” Conju ordered. He had inadvertently softened his voice from his aristocratic sneer into the more patient voice he used on favored subordinates. Cliopher, of course, responded much more quickly to the directive. He was so quick to obey when it was someone he trusted. (Conju wasn’t supposed to be trusted right now. He was supposed to be an opponent.)
He watched Cliopher kneel on the bench, leaning his torso forward into the padded frame. He had removed his hands from behind his back, to grasp onto the handles at the front of the bench. Conju took a moment to admire the view.
Cliopher really was exceptionally fit. Those shoulders, particularly, were far more impressive than any bureaucrat writing reports all day would need. And though his waist was fairly trim, his buttocks and thighs were round and thick enough to offer any willing partner a delicious meal. Conju spared a moment of silence for the many flirtations that had sailed past Cliopher’s awareness, and refocused on what he was there for instead.
Cliopher was still wearing the linen leggings, and given how things had gone so far, Conju didn’t think he was willing to remove them this time. Which meant the lower half was off limits.
No matter. He could do wonderful things with those shoulders.
“Before we begin, I will remind you that if you tell me to stop, I will stop. There is no negotiation about that. There is no shame in that.”
Cliopher grunted. “This is not where I stop,” he said, in that determined and abrasive way that pissed off princes and pushed through government reforms.
Very well.
Conju started with the flogger. He trailed the soft ends up Cliopher’s back along his spine, from the dip in his lower back up to the wings of his shoulderblades. He stroked across one shoulder, trailing down one arm, then back up and across the other side. He wanted Cliopher to know the implements that would be caressing him this evening. A few more soft strokes, to wake up all the nerves, and then Conju let loose.
He began with light strokes, just the tips making short, stinging contact with skin. It wasn’t meant to hurt, not yet. Nevertheless, he could see where Cliopher’s skin was waking up. A soft warm glow was building from underneath. Conju increased his tempo, and added more impact. He kept his strikes rhythmic and even, alternating speed or intensity only sporadically. Now there were marks just starting to appear. He admired the pink lines, even as they faded faster than he could fully appreciate them. Conju worked over Cliopher’s back methodically, striking the full expanse of his shoulders and sturdy areas first, covering them until the golden glow turned pink as a sunrise.
He paused there, letting the flogger rest at his side as he held his palm to Cliopher’s skin. It was warm as a heated pot of tea. Perfect.
Cliopher was breathing heavily, the sharp edge of his shoulderblades bobbing up and down. His hands were gripping the handholds, and a thin vein was emerging on one bicep. Otherwise, there was no indication that he had felt anything at all. He had kept his grunts and noises to a minimum, his eyes locked firmly in front of him.
He was clearly ready for more.
Conju had planned to move on to the rope cat-o-nine next, knowing that the thud of the knots would provide a nice contrast to the soft sting of the suede. But first, there was something he wanted more.
“You are allowed to voice your discomfort,” he said casually as he walked back to the bench. “My staff is quite discreet, no one will know if you need to yell.”
“I’m sure they are very discreet, but I would not give you the satisfaction.”
Conju scoffed. “I do not expect to be satisfied with you, Cliopher. I expect to be impressed. So far, you are not impressing me.” He picked up the gloves. They were a rich dark brown, buttery soft, and went halfway up Conju’s forearms. The extra protection was rarely necessary when wearing them with partners, but the added length made them exceptionally nice for swinging.
He did so now, leveling a quick smack! against Cliopher’s heated skin. The surprise, as much as the impact, caused him to jump and gasp before he grunted and settled back into position. Conju stepped into his line of sight as he pulled the gloves on, making sure that Cliopher got a good look at his hands as they flexed.
“It’s time for your correction. I know you are a very capable secretary, so I trust I do not need to repeat the accounting of your infractions?”
Cliopher glared at him, clearly deciding whether to challenge Conju’s previous tally. Conju was giving him an opportunity to pull back, to reduce the intensity of the session. He knew, they both knew, that Cliopher wouldn’t take it.
He dropped his eyes to Conju’s hands, shook his head softly. Closed his eyes.
Conju moved alongside him again, trailing his gloved hands along Cliopher’s overheated skin. It was beyond delightful to watch him shiver in their wake—it was practically sinful . He rested his palm on Cliopher’s back, not moving it, just holding. Waiting. Cliopher’s breathing picked up as he tried to anticipate what Conju would do.
The first hit cracked through the room like a lightning-bolt. It startled a grunt out of Cliopher, who quickly bit his lip to stifle further sounds. Conju responded with another smack, close but not on top of the first. Then a third, in a different spot entirely.
Ten strikes. He was careful not to overlap any one spot too much, but the variety of locations and intensity kept Cliopher off-balance and tense. He was letting out small grunts and noises now, which gave Conju immense satisfaction.
At the end of the first set, Conju’s own hand was stinging a little, and Cliopher’s back was covered in bright red splotches. The canvas was not fully covered yet, but Conju could see the shape of the piece that he was painting.
He picked up the rope whip.
Unlike with the flogger, Conju did not drape this one on Cliopher’s skin first. There was no need to give him time to prepare, not when he was already so deliciously primed.
The whiptails didn’t crack like the spanking had. The sound was softer, like the whistling thud of hailstones on stone. Which was perfectly fine. What Conju truly wanted to hear was the cry that Cliopher let out with the first strike. It rang through the room like the bells of the Palace; calling to Conju and demanding action.
There was no need to alter his strokes now. Conju simply let loose in a relentless torrent. He kept count in his head, but did not give Cliopher any indication when a respite might come.
After a dozen or so lashes, he paused. Cliopher sagged onto the bench, his breathing heavy and his voice hoarse, a low moan trickling out like tree sap.
Conju took the moment to check on his friend. Most of Conju’s first time partners would quit here, if they hadn’t already. It was a perfectly reasonable place to stop. Of course, he already knew that Cliopher had never been reasonable .
Cliopher had tear tracks on his face, and an indent in his lip from biting back his screams. But his eyes were not distant, as those pulled under from pain often were. He was still alert, still blazing. Still challenging Conju for more. Conju looked back at the reed cane.
He could keep going. He could keep punishing Cliopher, for whom pain and discomfort were merely obstacles to overcome. But he had seen his friend work himself through illness, to illness. He knew that Cliopher was far less concerned with his own physical well-being than most.
If he wanted to help, to truly help, he needed a different approach.
“You have taken your corrections beautifully,” he murmured. He reached out and ran one gloved hand through that short bureaucratic-cut hair. Cliopher’s eyes fluttered closed at the soft touch. A few more tears leaked out.
Oh. Of course.
“You needn’t prove yourself anymore. Not to me. I know who you are.” Cliopher whined, a more painful, broken sound than any he had let out so far. Conju continued stroking his head, tugging gently at the hairs and scratching at his scalp. “You are strong. You withstand all that the Council of Princes gives you, and all that I give you as well.”
A violent shake of his head loosened Conju’s grip. Cliopher was mumbling under his breath, so Conju knelt down to listen better.
“—no, no, no—not… not where I stop, not where I stop…”
“No? You don’t want to stop?”
Those burning eyes locked onto him again.
“This is not where I stop.” Cliopher’s voice was firm and clear. Conju was momentarily breathless.
“Very well. You will take more then.”
Conju went back to the bench. He set aside the implements already used, and pulled off the gloves. He needed full sensitivity for this next part. Picking up the reed, he gave it a few experimental swipes through the air, listening for the satisfying thwip! sound that it made.
From his position kneeling on the bench, Cliopher’s whole body twitched in reaction.
Conju quickly recalibrated. He could see that Cliopher wanted—no, needed more. The cane was an effective, if brutal, means to achieve this. But this was still Cliopher’s first time with him, and the one thing Conju had learned was to not trust Cliopher to know his own limits.
He decided that four strikes, evenly spaced across his back, would be sufficient.
He told Cliopher so.
“I know that you are determined to show your strength to me, and anyone else who challenges you.”
A zing, and a snap as the cane collided with Cliopher’s upper back. Cliopher screamed. A bright red line appeared on his skin, glistening from the sweat like a red sun across water.
“But you must remember, it’s not me that you serve. It’s not even you that you serve. You serve his Radiancy.”
Another strike, laid just below the first. This time the red mark bloomed faster, and Cliopher arched his back in an attempt to slide away from the pain. The bench held him in place.
“You can take what you must in service to your lord, because you know that you are more powerful on your knees than any aristocrat on their feet above you.”
The third hit, laid above the first, so that three parallel lines decorated Cliopher’s back. The final would rest across those magnificent shoulders, completing the visual.
“When you kneel for his Radiancy, you kneel not out of submission, but out of service.”
Cliopher was actively sobbing now. His hands were gripping the holds on the bench so tightly that his knuckles had gone white, as he pulled in gasping breaths.
Conju held his own breath as he let the cane fly. The final blow landed with a soft, ringing finality, and they both exhaled in relief. Cliopher allowed himself to collapse against the bench, and Conju stepped back to admire his work.
Conju’s art was in the precise, the detail, the particulars. He knew he was finicky and temperamental, but he could use that to pull out the most beautiful results from the most astringent ingredients. Cliopher’s art was in the stubborn, the intractable. He could sit and wait, or push and push, whatever it took until the world shaped itself to his will.
Looking at the beautiful marks blushing and blooming along Cliopher’s back, Conju marveled at this art that they had created together.
Returning his implements of pain back to their resting spots (he would worry about cleaning them later) Conju gathered up the supplies for this next stage. He brought over a shining silver bowl into which he poured a sweet-herbal smelling tincture, and soaked several strips of the softest cloth.
“You were marvelous,” he whispered as he kneeled down next to Cliopher. He brushed his fingertips along Cliopher’s forehead first, wiping away the sweat that had gathered on his brow, and brought down his palm to cup his friend’s cheek. “Rest now. Let me take care of you.” He laid a gentle kiss on Cliopher’s cheek, and got to work.
First, the strips of cloth laid across Cliopher’s back to sooth and clean any injuries. While those worked, he gently wiped down Cliopher’s face and neck. The tear tracks vanished easily enough, but Cliopher had bitten his lip hard enough to bleed. That required extra care. Cliopher was not fully alert, but his lips chased Conju’s thumb as he dabbed at the cut. Conju kept up a litany of praises, reminding Cliopher that he had done well, that he was worthy, that he was good. He was so good.
After that, Conju removed the cleaning strips and helped Cliopher to rise from the bench. It took both of their efforts to unclench his hands, and then to stretch and bend his knees so that he could stand. Conju gingerly led his friend over to the couch where he could lie down more comfortably on his stomach, while Conju applied the creams and lotions that his training would not allow him to forgo.
Cliopher would feel the bruises and marks for days to come, if he was lucky.
If he was lucky…
If he was lucky, Conju would not need to do this again. But he knew his friend, and he suspected this would not be the last time that Cliopher required such care.
After he was done massaging those sore and bruised muscles, Conju fetched the softest blanket he could to wrap Cliopher up like a butterfly in a cocoon. He sat on the couch, bringing Cliopher’s head to rest on his lap, and settled in to wait.