Yaoi Prose

Royal Pain Copyright © 2010 Yaoi Press.
Story and Cover Color by Yamila Abraham
Cover linework by M. A. Sambre

The young man kneeling before King Jereth’s raised throne was fair-skinned with gleaming locks of spikey black hair.  He had a delicate build hidden beneath drab but finely tailored clothes.

The courtier Lowry began his pronouncement as servants carried in a table covered in devices.

“This is Moors, from the south.  He claims he can bring advancement to the kingdom if granted the position of royal alchemist.  He’d like to do a demonstration.”

“By all means,” Jereth said, with little enthusiasm.  The word alchemist conjured images of hucksters exploiting greedy kings.  At least the man before him seemed too young, sober, and thin to be of that ilk.

Moors rose and stepped around the table without looking toward the king.  Jereth found his nervousness charming.  He liked how his tunic slung over his curved narrow hips.  His buttocks were full enough to smooth out the fabric’s creases at his rear.  Jereth imagined supple pliant flesh yielding to his fingers.  The delicate contour of his spine was outlined by clinging brown fabric.

“Ahem.  Your majesty, noble sir.”  The voice was sharp with traces of a guttural accent.  “The men of my homeland called me a warlock.  They were ignorant and superstitious.  I seek a more enlightened court where I may pursue my inventions without fear of persecution.”

Moors attended to his device.

Jereth leaned near Lowry with one brow lifted.  “Our southern neighbors are ‘ignorant and superstitious’?”

“Blatant chicanery,” Lowry whispered with a cluck of his tongue.  “Those kingdoms are pillars of philosophy and invention.  He must have learned the word ‘warlock’ from the Christians there.  He presumes we’re too simple to doubt his claim.”

“Everything I show you can be explained by science,” Moors said, standing behind his device.  “There’s no magic.  It’s science that will bring advancement to society.”

The most prominent apparatus on the table was composed of two long metal spikes tapered outwards to form a V shape.  They were affixed to a wooden base with coiling wires entangled about it.  Moors held a small square device linked to the base by one of the wires.

“I’m sure what you’re about to see will dumbfound you,” Moors said.  “I remind you this is not magic.  I’ll explain precisely how it all works.”

“Quite cheeky, isn’t he?”

“Proceed,” Lowry said.

Moors cranked a lever on the side of the spikes, and then did something with the device in his hand.  There was a zzztt sound above the wooden base followed by a tuft of smoke.

Lowry sneered.  “You think a mere—“

A loud zap echoed through the throne room followed by burst of blinding light.  Bands of white energy rode up in waves between the two spikes.  King Jereth’s lips parted.  The electric stream stung the eyes as virulently as the sun.  Deafening crackles and sizzles came from the device.  The light reflected a white gleam on Moors’ dark eyes.

Lowry’s scream became audible when the electricity stopped.  He’d hidden behind the throne.

Jereth leant back in his seat.  Moors’ was meeting his eyes now with the hint of a cocky smile.

The king grinned at him.  “What is it?”

“Bottled lightning.  It can draw a wagon without the need for a horse, heat without wood or coal, and make nighttime as bright as day.”

Lowry peeked around the side of the throne.  “He is a warlock, your majesty!”

“Perhaps so,” Jereth said, loud enough for both Lowry and Moors to hear, “but I’ve never seen a more comely sorcerer.”

“Imbeciles!  I said it wasn’t magic!”

Moors’ covered his mouth with both hands a moment too late.  Two guards bolted for him with outstretched partisans.

Jereth let a grain of a laugh through his nostrils.  “Hold a moment.”

The guards looked back at him while keeping their weapons poised on Moors.  His face had flushed red.

“Surely your manners lapsed in the heat of passion.  I may allow this transgression to pass.”

Moors swallowed.  “Thank you, your highness.”

“If you apologize and kiss my ring.”

The outraged face he flashed was that of a spoiled noblewoman.  He muttered his apology while nearing the throne.

The man appeared to have been cosseted in his former home.  Yet he fled without servants or family.  Jereth’s order to Lowry was simple: uncover the truth about Moors.

The new alchemist took over half of the catacombs below the castle for his laboratory.  At the same time, he drew plans for a water wheel to be built on the sloping tributary below the draw bridge.  Noise from construction besieged the castle for weeks.  Lowry reported his discoveries just as the wheel paddled its first turn.

“I’ve learned of Moors from the saffron merchant.”

Jereth attended to his paperwork in the sun room as he listened.

“No one accused him of witchcraft.  The eldest prince was his most generous patron.”

“Hmm.”

“When this prince succeeded the throne he installed Moors in the palace, but then ordered him to renounce his title.”

Jereth stopped writing and looked at him.

“The prince’s intention was to have Moors as part of his male harem.”

“A male harem?”

“It’s not unheard of.  The merchant didn’t refer to it as though it were something disgraceful.”  Lowry continued in frank monotone.  “Moreover, Moors consented for at least a month.  He continued work in his laboratory, but slept in the harem chambers.”

“He did, did he?”

“The new king destroyed the laboratory.  He insisted Moors focus all his attentions on him.  That’s why Moors fled.”

Jereth scratched his beard.

He ensured Moors had the authority to obtain whatever equipment he needed.  The servant assigned to him still came to the throne room, humble and sheepish.

“He hasn’t enough copper m’lord,” said Rex, a lanky 14 year old red-head.

Jereth’s brow furrowed.  “Didn’t we grant him a bale’s worth?”

“Tell him to make due,” Lowry said.

The next day the wisened blacksmith reported that Moors had taken apart his copper bed frame and thrown it into the forge.  Jereth laughed half a minute imagining it.

“His tantrums are delightful.”

The blacksmith’s angry face was unwavering.  “M’lord, he’s pushing one of them giant vases outside this throne room door to the workshop right now.”

Jereth rose from the throne.  Lowry kept pace with him across the immense room.  They peeked out the double doors.  Moors was no taller than the vase he pushed.  He leaned into it with all his might to nudge it along slower than the speed of a snail.

Jereth covered his mouth to keep him from hearing his laughter.  He continued to watch, listening to his grunts and gasps.  Moors’ enticing ass was thrust outward toward them as he pushed.

“How does he intend to lift it into the forge when he gets there?” Lowry whispered.

“Put him out of his misery.”  Jereth headed back to his throne.

“It’s brass, fool!” Lowry shouted.

He heard a gong sound from Moors apparently kicking the vase.  Jereth smiled.

The next day he sent all the broken or chipped copper items from the vault to him in order to pay a visit without being troubled by the issue.  Jereth entered the lab without knocking on the heavy wooden door he’d installed.  His alchemist was seated at a broad work table covered in mysterious devices.  Jereth could hear the scratching of quill on paper.

“How goes your work, alchemist Moors?”

He spoke without turning back.  “Alchemist is a wretched description of what I do.  I’d rather have no title at all.”

For a moment Jereth wondered if he’d ever cease to find Moors amusing.  If he had a more delicate ego this attitude would bruise it.  He leaned his back against the edge of the table to face Moors with his arms crossed.

“I’m only on a first name basis with friends or lovers.  Which may I consider you?”

Moors blushed.  It gave Jereth a thrill.  His teasing couldn’t have been slighter.

The alchemist ran his fingers through one of the ebony locks of hair he wore in front of his ears.  He avoided Jereth’s eyes.  “I sent Rex to you twice today.  I’m tired of this struggle.  I need more copper.”

“It’s not my intent to struggle with you.  I consider it quite a distinction to have you grace my court.  I may come to favor you even more due to our common virtues.”

Moors glowered at him.  “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Yes I do, Moors.”  Jereth became somber.  “It’s naïve of you to think I wouldn’t have your history uncovered.”

The alchemist looked away from him.  “What is this?”  He was frightened.

“Nothing.  As I said, we have common virtues.  You’re most welcome here.”

Moors was still ill at ease.  “My only virtue is devotion to my work.  There’s nothing more important to me than progress.  Any other ‘virtues’ aren’t worth keeping if they stand in the way of that.”

Jereth nodded, enlightened.  “You speak of why you acquiesced to your former king’s desire, of course.”

Moors’ cheeks flushed crimson.

“Don’t be distressed.  I understand you even better now.”

“The devil you do!”  Moors dipped his quill in the inkwell.  His hand was trembling.  “The only thing you need to understand is that I require copper.”

Jereth kept his composure.  Perhaps he pushed too far.

“I had quite a bit sent down here this morning.  Didn’t you receive it?”

Moors strode to a table covered in the copper items.  He picked up a shard of metal as though a prop were needed.  “These are scraps.  I asked for bushels.”

“I gave you a bushel.  Then you destroyed your lovely bed.  Now I’ve provided you still more.  How is it you can still be in wanting?”

The king turned to go then.  He’d scrape more copper for him from the vaults he supposed.

“What kind of pathetic kingdom have I–?”

“You’re growing tedious.”  He kept walking.

“Go to Hell!”

There was a clang, and then Jereth felt a stab on his bottom.  He darted around.  Moors’ was making that terrified pose where he covered his mouth with both hands.  He’d thrown the scrap on the floor, and it had bounced.  Jereth rubbed his smarting flesh.

“That was an accident,” Moors said as the king strode for him.  “I-I’ll kiss your ring?”

Jereth grabbed his arm.

“Gah!”

“I think I’ve just been spanked.”  He yanked Moors’ chair out from the table and sat in it.  “Fine idea.  That’s just what you need!”

He threw Moors over his knee and gave furious slaps to his bottom.

“Aaiiee! Ah!  Ow!  Ow!”

Jereth’s hand slowed when he realized Moors was accepting his punishment without resistance.  It’s true he’d been spurred by anger; no one had ever dared assault him before.  After the first six vicious strikes the foolishness of what he was doing occurred to him.

No noble had ever riled him this way.  Jereth should have been embarrassed.  And yet, nothing seemed more appropriate for Moors.  The alchemist just encouraged him further with his delicious yelps of pain and a docile bearing.

He began again, this time making slow deliberate strikes to the left side and the right.

“Ow!  Ow!  Please!  Ow!  It hurts!”

Jereth was growing aroused.  This distressed him.  His intent was to punish, not to thrill himself.  Moors’ hot delicate body braced over his lap was a delirious enticement.   The pliant mounds of his ass cascaded with each strike.  What lord wouldn’t want him in their harem?

He forced himself to stop.  Moors hung over his legs, trembling and gasping.  The king’s hand rested on the buttock nearest to him with the tips of his fingers slightly curved in the midline groove.

“Where does it hurt most?”

He heard Moors swallow.  “B-beneath your palm.”

Jereth started to rub him.  He made contact with the whole of his hand, and massaged in a circular motion over one side of his ass.  The cloth moved with his hand like a glove, but the flesh below yielded and eased.

“Here?”

It took a moment for Moors to respond.  Jereth worried he’d become upset.  The single word he uttered was with raspy with pleasure.

“Yes.”

He raised his brow.  The man’s muscles had slackened.  Jereth gave into the urge to massage both supple mounds of flesh at length.  He could feel heat radiating through the thin fabric, and then he heard Moors’ breathing growing deep.  There was even the hint of something thickening against this thigh, but with Moor’s long tunic as a secondary barrier he couldn’t be sure.

“There,” Jereth said.  He continued to feel him.  “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Moors said softly.  “I’m sorry, your majesty.”

Jereth had a shudder of ecstasy.  Oh, you sweet defiant kitten of a man. It didn’t matter if this obedience was from training in his former king’s harem.  It still intoxicated him.  Subjugating such a willful creature was magnificent.

Thoughts raced about the possibility of pursuing a romance.  It could be real this time—not fleeting pleasure with illiterate guards.  For once someone of his class seemed a prospect.

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