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Set in Avvoy, an agricultural vassal to LaGatta’s capital city. Rumours of LaGatta’s latest innovation, a flying craft, pulls Alexius away from his provincial home in search of adventure. His possessive father pulls him back.

Deceive Thee So Often As Thyself

part 6 of Imperial LaGatta

In the process of capture, the guardsmen made tatters of the youth's dignity and dress.

Rodel Lord of Avvoy surveyed the current exposition of flesh. At thirteen, Rodel's son Alexius fled both Avvoy and his father's reach. In the three years since, rumour returned to Avvoy of the prodigal's actions in the capital, news turned to barbs beneath Rodel's skin. His upset at Alexias' defiance did not subside, his offered reward for the boy's capture rising.

Alexius had been so pale, thin fingers and girlish thighs. The struggle exposed this youth's tanned skin, muscular thighs, patterned by lash, noose, life. Alexius had none of this sweating passion, the vibrant flex of muscle and frustration against an imposed bondage. Alexius would never have spat full into one guardsman's face, nor would he have fought hard enough to near break his own bones, howling through the return blows issued to subdue.

Rodel absorbed the strangeness, and despite this noted a remarkable degree of similitude he had not yet seen in the other captives his guardsmen brought home. Yet Rodel did not believe this youth to be his son. Freedom never meant so much to Alexius; therefore, this was not Alexius.

As it had many times before, this argument gave Rodel plausible excuse for not resisting his desire.

Rodel unlaced his breeches. A rope, taut between the captive's teeth, stopped the youth speaking. He strained skyward instead, throat thick with the screams, and his increased resistance said enough. Rodel was heavy, flushed full thick from watching the fight: he admired those who refused to accept futility.

The youth would not look down as Rodel stroked himself wet, his gaze instead firm and furious across Rodel's own. The guardsmen kept their eyes averted, gloved hands pushing hips and shoulders flush with fine linen, forcing ankles high and wide. The youth writhed, unable to escape from the press of Rodel's knees, hairy thighs, yet the ripple of abdominal muscle shouted a violent rejection.

This one would never assume fate could not be overcome.

Rodel approved, and stroked the youth's cheek. Alexius was a sniveling brat, a weakling to flee his home. This one would have been a better son, would have fled neither responsibility nor trial. Tongue thick with want, Rodel wanted to apologise to the youth for the presence of the guards, yet knew this way would otherwise remain closed to him.

Rodel threaded himself deep into a full-fleshed resistance, and rocked gently for some time, to compensate for the violation.

The gentleness was an abstract benevolence on Rodel's behalf.

Uncertain to begin with, the youth's response was increasingly incontrovertible. The snarl softened into a haunted anguish, reminiscent of a bright-eyed innocence that Rodel thought forgotten.

Now, when Rodel least longed for thought to plague him, the possibility demanded consideration, Alexius.

Rodel Lord of Avvoy turned away from his captive's horror-bright eyes, sudden and aghast. The only desirable conclusion was to satisfy only his own needs swiftly. He was uncertain whose shame it was, that such satisfaction would leave his own son both sticky and stiff.

June 2011

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