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“Colum.”
Your cavalier turns to you attentively from the doorway of the bathroom as he exits it – freshly showered and shaved, skin clean and damp – wrapped only in a towel.
“You are mine, are you not?”
He tilts his head at you a hair, brow furrowing, and he nods, standing there and waiting for whatever your next words might be.
“Body and soul?” you press.
He nods again, looking more confused. “Yes, Silas. Of course.”
You frown at him, allowing your eyes to flick down at the towel wrapped securely around his hips. “Then why do you hide from me parts of the body that I own?”
Your nephew stares back at you for a few moments, stunned. When he responds, it’s slow and deliberate. “Would you… have me not wear a towel?”
“I certainly don’t see the point of wearing one. Surely dressing would be easier without it,” you argue, though it’s not really about that. It’s… a sort of curiosity. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself.
You’re not going to do anything, you just… want to see the rest of him. Thinking about it makes your stomach churn in a most pleasant sort of way. The idea makes you salivate with a sort of hunger that is unfamiliar to you.
You know what it is, deep down. You don’t like to think about it.
This curiosity has plagued you ever since you realized you could see the shape of him beneath the sweatpants he likes to wear around the house. It’s only brief glimpses – when he moves a certain way to allow the fabric to dip past the thickness of his thighs and reveal what lies between. The way the cloth bulges out intrigues you. It gives the impression that he must be small, perhaps even smaller than yourself; the way it tents out in the front suggests a rather short thing sticking out rather than something longer hanging down. You know you’re not particularly impressive yourself – small as you are in all manners – but yours certainly hangs down far enough not to give that sort of imprint under loose clothing.
“It would be impolite not to,” Colum answers after a short pause. He still hasn’t moved, and he’s looking at you strangely, a mix of trepidation and embarrassment and something else in his expression that you cannot identify.
“Is it impolite for a dog to wear only fur around its owner?” you retort. “Is it impolite to undress for a shower in only one’s own company? We are one flesh, Colum. You are my sword arm and my well of power. You need not worry about impropriety around the one who owns you. There should be no meaningful separation between us.”
He looks away from you, hesitation written all over his well-sculpted features, and you shiver with anticipation.
“Silas…”
You cut him off before he can get out more than that unconvinced utterance of your name. “Your insistence upon modesty around me is, quite frankly, offensive.”
He still looks uncertain. He glances at you, and then just as quickly away again, rubbing a large hand across his freshly-shaven face. He doesn’t look happy.
You feel a slight pang of guilt, but it quickly washes away when his fingers begin to toy with the edge of his towel.
“You really just… want me to walk around naked.”
It’s not really a question. You answer anyway.
“Yes.”
He gives you a dubious and uncomfortable look, and there’s a hint of pleading in it, which you pretend not to notice, and after a few more seconds of you watching him expectantly, he sighs and pulls at the edge of the towel, letting it unwrap from his body and throwing it over his shoulder instead.
He spreads his arms and gestures at himself on full display before you, as though asking if you’re satisfied.
You’re not. Not really. But you are pleased by his obedience, and your new view. You stare – somewhat ashamed, but not enough to pretend elsewise – and his eyes narrow and his frown deepens and he begins to turn away toward the chest of drawers that holds his nightclothes.
“It’s very small,” you remark, the fascination clear in your tone.
He goes still, and after a moment you can see the pink flush creeping over his cheeks and neck.
“What.” His voice drips with disbelief, as well as a note of warning.
You ignore it.
“I said, it’s very small. Your penis. Much shorter than I would expect from a man of your size. Shorter than my own.” He knows. He dresses you every day, after all.
“I…” Colum is resolutely not looking at you at all anymore. “It grows, a bit,” he mutters. And then, louder and with feeling, “What the hell am I supposed to say to that, Si?” Anger and embarrassment are appealing on your cavalier. You push down the second twinge of guilt that that thought engenders.
“Don’t swear,” you scold him, and he looks at you like you’ve gone insane. “It’s unbecoming.” Perhaps you have gone insane. Perhaps this unfulfilled lust for your cavalier has driven you so.
He gives himself a little shake and hurries over to the tall chest. His cock bounces briefly against his balls before you can no longer see it, and the motion does things to you.
“This is incredibly inappropriate, uncle, and I think you know that.” The warning in his voice is stronger, and there’s a bit of fear in there too, now.
You get up from your seat on your bed, walking towards him and feeling a bit like a predator stalking its prey when he tenses up at the sound of your movements. “Why should I not comment on my things?”
“You know that’s not what I mean. You’re neither stupid nor naïve, don’t act it.” He pulls a piece of clothing out of a drawer hastily, but you’re already there to snatch it from him.
He looks down at you, a little bit afraid, letting you take the nightshirt from his grip, and something thrills inside you. You’ve never felt more powerful in your life, somehow – not even while siphoning him. That’s a physical sort of power, a thing that you can do, and the laws of reality fall into compliance around you like matter falls to gravity. An inevitable outcome of a skill that you’ve worked hard at.
This is something else. This… control over another person’s will. You know in that moment that he won’t refuse you anything. That he never could and never will, not even this.
“I want to see if it really can grow.”
The anger on his face is brief and brilliant, like a flash of lightning and then it’s gone. Contained. Your nephew turns bodily into the dresser for a moment, pressing his face against it, shutting his eyes. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and when he turns back to you his expression is entirely different.
Calm, accepting. The embarrassment remains. You’re glad for that.
When you reach out and touch his most intimate of parts, he doesn’t attempt to stop you.
The skin of his penis is soft and smooth against your palm, and you marvel at how different it feels to touch this part of another person. It fits easily in your hand – small as it is – though you hadn’t quite realized from across the room how thick it actually is. Certainly short, but not as overall small as you’d thought.
It responds well to your touch, and you watch and feel as it engorges itself at your brief handling of it. You hear your cavalier’s breath beginning to shake above you, one of his hands gripping one of the chest’s handles with white-knuckled intensity, and you stroke the short, thick thing that does indeed grow beneath your attention.
You take the opportunity to fondle his testicles, too. They’re much larger than yours, which is a bit strange given the size of his member, but they’re far more proportional to the rest of his body so you suppose it makes sense. The tip of his penis leaks a little, and you smear it around the bit of his head that isn’t covered by his foreskin before pulling your hand away to taste it.
Your nose wrinkles at the taste. You won’t be doing that again.
You suddenly realize how hard you yourself are under your nightshirt, and after a moment more of stroking and deliberation you take your hand away from your cavalier’s penis and tug demandingly at his hip, pulling him closer to you as you slide your underwear down a few inches and pull your nightshirt up to bare yourself.
You turn the both of you. He goes compliantly where you forcefully direct, allowing you to push his back up against the furniture. He doesn’t touch you back, but he lets you do as you please.
“Legs together.”
He obeys, and you lean against his chest, resting your head there as you slide home between those thick, muscular thighs into the tight press of skin you’ve created for yourself.
One flesh. His and yours, yours and his, pressed together with no space between.
His hand falls upon your shoulder as you thrust between his legs, and his hips move in what seems like involuntary little jerks as his cock smooshes against your stomach each time you press toward him.
It doesn’t take long for you to get close. All of this is too intense, too new, too… powerful. How could you be expected to resist what’s right in front of you? What has been, all this time…
It’s simply an unfair expectation. He was made for you. He belongs to you.
One flesh, you swore together, but even his birth was a sort of promise.
Surely the Kindly Prince will forgive this sin against your own flesh as exactly what it is: only the sin of self-pleasure, nothing more.
You cry out against his chest as your essence splatters the furniture and the insides of his thighs. Your grip on his hip tightens near-bruisingly, and you ask.
“Who does this flesh belong to?”
“You.”
You smile up at him, and he looks down at you impassively, emotions walled off from your gaze – but you know what he feels, you’ve already seen it.
You’ve also felt the way his hips press into you, felt his cock dripping against your skin.
“Finish,” you order him, and the hand on your shoulder moves to brace against your lower back, the tips of his fingers just over the miniscule swell of your rear. His other hand reaches up to grip the lip at the top of the chest of drawers behind him, and he rolls his hips up against your body until he makes a mess of your skin, too.
That, you think, is what satisfaction feels like.
You thank the Lord for your obedient cavalier, and then you pull away.
You don’t even have to ask him to clean you both up.