Pairing: Chris and Justin
Words: favoritism; fisted; enthrall; virginal


Christian knows it's a sign of favoritism that the ruler of this
country is giving him this privilege.  Much more than just pure
favoritism, but also a test, to see if he respects the morals of
this exotic country, so different from his own.  To the eyes of
most of his countrymen, this place's ways are debauched, and the
offer is a test, to see if Chris is really what he seems.

It is a test, he believes, but not one of his morals or his ethics. 
It's rather a test of whether he is enough 'like them' for them to
be able to treat with him.  It's a problem he's run across before
in his checkered diplomatic career, but never one quite this
dramatic.

He surveys the array of children, some of the elder ones lounging,
some of the younger ones playing.  All guaranteed to be virginal,
all to be concubines and playthings for the favored and wealthy.

And he is supposed to choose one of these for his own and be bound
to him in a way that his civilized acquaintances would see as a
bastardized cross between slavery and a wedding.

Justin turns his head to the girl next to him.  "Where is he from?"
he asks her.  She doesn't know.  No one knows.  It's not
surprising.  While they're all very well educated, and informed of
world events, they are not privy to the *immediate* concerns of
their homeland.

Chris strolls around the room.  He has his hands clasped together
behind his back.  His suspicion is that the guards are more there
to prevent the children's own natural curiosity about their bodies
from making an appearance, but he has no doubt that they would take
care of him quite efficiently if he started taking liberties.

He immediately discards the girls.  All of them look far too young,
and he *would* end up married if he returned home with a blushing
and beautiful young woman at his side.  He doesn't even think about
those who are too young to merit the designation of 'young woman'. 
It would be like thinking that way of his infant sisters.

No.  It will have to be a boy.  A boy he could presumably use as an
assistant later, and will be capable of making his own way in the
world should things come to that.

Justin watches speculatively as the man moves toward him.  This
visitor is short and dark, his hair cut short in a foreign style. 
And he has a beard!  None of their men have beards.  He tilts his
head, considering which this man will pick.  Someone small.  All
the visitors pick a personal servant smaller than they are.  Justin
is going to be big, his tutors fear.  He knows, therefore, that
he'll be given to a warlord.  But this man is interesting.  Justin
watches avidly as the man's eyes slide over the girls, focusing on
the boys.

Too young is a consideration for the boys as well.  Chris has no
doubt that he'll be required to put on some show of sexual interest
in whomever he chooses, and he will not choose a mere child.  So it
must be one of the boys who are lounging, aware of their sexuality,
but not comprehending how that will be used.

He circles the three oldest, and stops finally in front of the one
with the most insolent look on his face.  This one, he thinks, will
best survive.

Justin looks up as the man stops next to them.  Lance smirks and
then blushes.  Justin envies his ability to do so on command.  No
matter how hard Justin tries, he can't seem to control his blush. 
Nick's hand twitches behind Lance, and Justin looks over at him. 
They both roll their eyes at the same time, knowing Lance may well
make another conquest.

Lance has left the grounds before.  He's been chosen, and taken
home.  Only to have the old, old man who'd taken him die in a fit
from the mere thought of such a lovely young thing in his bed. 
Justin sees that Lance *is* smaller than the man.  He'll miss
Lance.

Chris appraises the boy.  He doesn't like the blush.  Insolence,
yes.  Blushing, no.  He turns his eyes toward the other two.

Justin's still watching Lance's act.  He doesn't notice the man's
attention shifting.

The lanky blonde is appealing, but looks even more innocent than
the blushing blonde.  Naivete is also something Chris can't afford
to coddle.  He studies the third, the one with the curly hair, who
looks to grow big.

Justin feels eyes on him, and raises his gaze.  He blinks.  The man
is looking at him.  He doesn't really know why, but he finds
himself unable to look away.  His mouth goes dry.

Chris stares down this one, testing to see when he'll back off.

Justin raises his chin proudly.

"You'll do," Chris says.  "This one," he says to the guards, who
stand motionless and silent, although he knows they heard him.

Justin throws a startled look at Lance and Nick, and rises to a
kneeling position.

"Yes, you," Chris says.  The boy will have to be formally presented
to him, he knows.  He can't just take him and go.  But he suspects
there would be considerable leeway granted if he wanted to, say,
inspect the goods.  He sees no purpose in doing so though, as the
goods, such as they are, are already well displayed.  "Do you
understand my language?" he asks in his own tongue.

"Yes, sir," Justin replies.  He speaks twelve languages, though
they were torture to learn.

"Good," Chris says approvingly.  That's better than he'd expected. 
"Can you read or write?  Do you know your numbers?"

"Yes, sir.  In several languages," Justin assures the man.  To be
fair, he adds, "Many of us do."  He gestures gracefully to Lance
and Nick.

Chris's eyes narrow.  He makes his tone gentle.  "Are you saying
you would rather not be chosen?"

Justin bows his head, bending to touch his forehead to the floor in
apology.  "No, sir.  I was trying to be fair, sir."

Chris represses a sigh.  He acknowledges to himself that there was
no way to ask that question without making it into an accusation,
not given the difference in their positions.  He nods.  "I will see
you again soon."

Justin says, "Thank you, sir."

He can't quite resist the urge, not when there's no need to and
every reason to want to maintain his own position in this society. 
He reaches out and runs his hand over and through the boy's hair,
before turning and leaving.

Justin keeps his traitorous blush to the floor.

~~~~

The day goes on in an elaborate ritual of courtesy and manners. 
Like an endless array of tea parties, except here it's cool drinks,
not hot ones, due to the difference in climate.  It's the same
formal, getting-to-know-you gathering that a tea party would be at
home, except here the setting is much more elaborate.

It means the same thing though.  They don't know him and they don't
trust him.  He talks funny, he dresses funny and they don't know if
they can make a deal with someone who can't possibly understand or
respect who they are and what they value.

He hopes his choosing of this boy will help them believe that he
does.

Justin is delivered to the afternoon meeting of minds.  He kneels
in his heavy robe, next to the potentate.

The gifting ceremony is very short, and very formal.  Justin offers
his hand at the correct time, to be cut.  His blood mixes with the
pomegranate juice, and is passed over to the man.  It's during the
ceremony that Justin learns this man is a northerner.  He thinks he
hears something like 'Krees' as a name, and the man is the 'Lord'
of the Kirkpatricks.

After the ceremony, meetings are adjourned for the day.  Justin
knows it is now his time to perform, once they are returned to
Chris's rooms.

Chris undoes the heavy clasp of his neckpiece as they enter his
quarters.  He'd arrived in his traveling clothing and, as was his
usual custom, modified his formal clothes to fit wherever he ended
up.  Here, he'd almost abandoned his clothing entirely, settling on
an elaborate piece of jewelry to convey his rank and station. 
However, despite how much cooler he may be while dressing this way,
he still has a heat rash where the neckpiece rests, and it gets
worse as his stay goes on.

Justin stays just inside the door, waiting for his directions.

Chris sets the neckpiece aside, and then notices the boy.  "And
what is your name?"

"I have been called Justin, sir," Justin says.  He assumes the man
knows that Justin's name is at his whim.

Chris nods.  "That name will do.  Why don't you tell me what you
know and can do?  Acquaint me with your abilities."

"I can make that go away," Justin says, indicating Chris's neck
with his eyes.

"Really?" Chris asks speculatively.  "If you would, then."  He
doesn't repeat his earlier request.

Justin picks up a light cream and a powder from the dressing table. 
"Would you sit?  I shall answer your question as I work."

Chris eyes the powder distrustfully.  "I don't want the rash
covered up.  That would only worsen it."  But he sits.  To do
otherwise would imply a distrust of Justin that borders on accusing
the boy of insolence.

Justin wipes Chris's neck with cool water and begins carefully rubs
the soothing, medicinal cream over the rash as he speaks.  "I speak
12 languages.  I read and write only 7 of those.  I know my
numbers, and a good bit of maths.  I am trained in music, and can
sing passably, and play some local instruments.  I dance well, and
have been trained in some basic martial arts.  I am able to sew,
weave, spin and work in leather.  I can cook a variety of local
basic food, and some more elaborate dishes for formal dinners.  I
can, of course, make myself presentable in any situation.  I am
trained to care for your needs, and the needs of your other
belongings.  I know how to care for everything from armor and
weaponry to fine fabrics and children."  After the cream is coating
the rash thoroughly, Justin lightly dusts it with the powder.  "To
keep from smudging," he tells Chris, "and to absorb future body
oils.  If you powder the neckpiece and your skin before wearing it,
this will happen less.  I can also make an absorbent backing for
the neckpiece, should you dislike the powder."

"Thank you," Chris says.  He turns to face the boy.  "Courtesy is
my way.  If I address you without it, then you may assume that I am
giving orders that are not to be argued with.  I am a diplomat.  I
travel from country to country and am often in dangerous
situations.  Only in those will I forgo the use of manners.  To be
good at what I do, one must not get angry in any situation, no
matter who is causing it, whether it be a servant or the ruler of
a great country."

"I understand."

"How old are you?"

"I'm not sure, sir.  Sometime in the rainy season, I shall be
either sixteen or seventeen."

Chris nods.  Old enough for him not to feel like a complete
pervert.  He thinks about putting the boy off until later with the
excuse of work.  But, while the excuse is real enough, his most
important work right now *is* Justin.

Justin asks, "Was there anything else you wished to know, sir?"

Chris regards him for a long moment.  "Are you frightened?  Of me,
of tonight?"

Justin considers.  "I don't think so.  I'm not frightened of you. 
Not like that.  I am somewhat tentative on the exact details, which
makes me nervous.  I like to know how to do what I do, so I can do
it correctly."

Chris smiles a little.  It makes his eyes kind instead of
searching.  "You'll do."

"I hope so.  If you are unsatisfied with me in the morning, you are
entitled to choose another."

Chris shakes his head.  "No.  I know I made the right decision."

"I am flattered, sir."

Chris smiles again.  The boy's self-confidence is charming from one
expected to be compliant and biddable.  "During my stay here, I
have been seeking my bed later than this and rising late as well. 
In the future, I may stay up much later than you.  At night, I
expect you to go to sleep in my bed when you are tired.  I would
rather have you well rested when I need you than exhausted.  But,
for tonight, we'll go to bed together."

Justin, embarrassingly, blushes.  But he keeps his face fully
raised and his eyes fully opened.  "Yes, sir.  And what should I
call you, sir?"

"Sir will do for the most part.  In bed," Chris regards Justin with
a more lascivious look, "endearments will do, if you must call me
something."

Justin can feel his lips wanting to curve into a smile, but his
training warns that this is not a time for lightheartedness, no
matter how humorous the look on Sir's face is.

Chris moves over to sit on the bed, fastening his gaze directly on
Justin.  Neither of them is wearing much.  The heat here is
stifling well into the dark hours.  He gestures to Justin. 
"Impress me."

"How, sir?"

Chris doesn't quite groan.  That answers a question he hadn't asked
directly -- how much did Justin know of what was expected of him. 
"Come here."

"You wish me to impress you sexually?" Justin asks, moving closer
to Chris.

"I wished to discover what you know and what you're capable of."

"I am capable of anything you wish me to do," Justin answers
immediately.  It's one of the answers they're trained in.  "And I
have been told of a great variety of acts.  We do not... practice
them.  It would make us worth less to some visitors.  However, if
you wish, there are training areas.  While you have no need of me,
I can attend one of these, and learn more things to please you."

Chris shakes his head.  "No.  Anything I want you to know that you
do not, I will teach you."

"That is the thought of our trainers, sir," Justin agrees.

"A wise one, obviously," Chris says, beckoning Justin forward to
stand between his knees.

Justin sways as he steps forward, dropping the heavy robe that is
his only apparel from his shoulders before taking his place so
close to Sir.

Chris reaches out and touches the boy.  "Beautiful," he says in
frank admiration.

Justin bows his head, looking down.  He is expected to impress this
man?  How, when he has only words to guide him?

Chris has never had a virgin, not even when he was one himself. 
His impulse is to treat Justin gently, even tenderly.  But his
impulse may jeopardize his mission here.  He can't give in to it. 
Instead, he says, "Undress me."

Justin kneels down and unties the front of Sir's light tunic.  The
pants, though, are strange and it takes him a moment of fumbling to
find the clasps that hold them closed.  Then Sir stands, and Justin
pulls the pants down, and then the undergarments Sir wears.  Sir is
naked.  Justin wonders if he ought to -- but Sir said he would
teach Justin, so Justin waits for further directions.

Chris reaches out for Justin, putting his hands on the younger
man's ass, pulling him in close.  Their differing heights keep the
contact between them from being as direct as possible, but he rubs
against Justin anyway.

Justin settles his hands on Sir's shoulders, lightly rubbing the
firm skin.

Justin does not rub back, and that makes up Chris's mind for him. 
He lets go of Justin and lies himself back on the bed.  He motions
to his groin.  "Please me."

"Hands or mouth, sir?" Justin asks, kneeling down.

"Not sir," Chris says harshly.  "Never sir in bed."

Justin leans down and puts his mouth over Sir's penis, sucking
lightly to get used to the feeling.

That isn't an answer, and Chris knows he'll have to deal with it --
and that he won't be able to deal with it until after they leave
here.

It's guilty pleasure when he comes in Justin's mouth, and Chris
pulls the boy up.  "Good.  Very good."

Justin smiles at the praise.  "Thank you," he says quietly.  His
mouth tastes-- There's nothing to be done, he'll get used to it. 
He swallows repeatedly when Sir turns to check the light on the
wall.

Chris knows the boy is uncomfortable and probably unhappy.  He
doesn't know how to make it better for him, not without revealing
more than he wants to.  Instead, he takes refuge in further
harshness.  "If you must relieve yourself, go ahead.  Just return
quickly."

Justin nods, rising to walk to the garderobe unselfconsciously.  He
pisses, washes his hands, and returns to the bed.  He lays next to
Sir and looks at the other man.  He smiles a little, feeling good
about having done well.  He pleased Sir, and brought him release,
and Justin's body did not overcome his training.  He smiles a
little wider, feeling even more accomplished.

Chris turns on his side, throwing his leg over Justin's and
wrapping his arm over Justin's chest.  "Sleep now," he says, and
trusts the boy will not murder him in his slumber.

Justin curls close to Sir, pressing himself firmly against the
other man.  He wants, more than anything, to sleep like this, close
to someone.  He hasn't done so since he was very young.  He sighs
happily and turns his mind to sleep.

~~~~

When Chris wakes, late in the morning, Justin isn't in the bed with
him.  He rises, or starts to, but sees Justin kneeling by the bed. 
"How long have you been there?"

"Not long," Justin says.  "Maybe a half hour."

Chris nods.  Acceptable, if only here.  He doesn't like the idea of
the boy just kneeling there though.  "If you have no duties, I
would prefer that you remain..." he settles on a phrase,
"convenient."

"Yes," Justin says, thinking he's close enough to the bed for 'sir'
to be a problem.  He crawls back onto the mattress and looks at
Sir.

"Good."  Chris regards Justin for a while.  In his view, a servant
and a sexual partner are separate things.  His experience with all
kinds of people, from kings to slaves, has taught him that it pays
more to be polite to those who serve than those who rule.  A man
hears loudest words he has never heard before.  A king may hear
nothing but flattery all day long, while a slave hears only abuse.

But that is his belief, not what Justin or his people believe and,
to them, even to Justin himself, kind treatment might be a cruelty
by itself.  He doesn't know.

He does know, though, that practicing the morals and manners he was
taught as a child in another country such as this one is more
likely to get him killed than to serve him well.

He presses Justin back onto the bed and runs his hand over Justin's
chest.  Justin is lying flat and he is above him, eyes on Justin's
body, not his face.  "In the morning," he says, continuing his
exploration, "I expect you to lay out my clothes.  I may have
several sets or I may wear the same set for most of the day."  His
hand moves lower.

Justin's breath catches slightly.  "Yes," he answers.

"At present, my custom is to take my morning meal in company.  As
you are not my servant, you need not accompany me on any of my
ordinary visits.  I believe though," he says, as his hand cups
Justin's hip, "that you should escort me to the evening banquets
and other such social occasions."  He lays down, head on Justin's
stomach, to better watch his hand as it toys with Justin's thighs,
avoiding the main point that, to Chris's relief, is very emphatic
about its desire to be made.

Justin's hands twitch restlessly against the rumpled sheets.  "Oh,
yes," he breathes.  "That would be... good..."

Chris runs his nails lightly over the more delicate skin of
Justin's inner thigh.  "I have not decided yet whether you will
need additional clothing for that.  What you have is undoubtedly
suitable for your position, but perhaps not formal enough."

"I have formal clothing," Justin assures Sir.  They're all given
clothing appropriate to several situations when they leave. 
Usually, one set for housework, one for bed play, one for some
talent they possess and one for formal situations.  Justin, because
of Sir's situation, was also given traveling clothes.

"Oh, good," Chris says and runs a finger down Justin's cock.

Justin bites his lip to stifle a moan.

Chris hears the abruptly indrawn breath and raises his head to look
at Justin and see the lip drawn into Justin's mouth.  "Make all the
sound you like," Chris says.  "I enjoy hearing them."

Justin replies with a soft shocked sound as Sir's hand closes
around him.  "Oh," he whispers, hips beginning to rise to Chris's
hand.

Chris smiles.  "That's better."  He puts his head back down so that
he can watch.

Justin's hands fist in the sheets and he begins earnestly
responding to Sir's touch.  He moans, gasps, whimpers and cries
out.  Wordlessly, of course.  He does not know what to call Sir.

Chris's smile has turned into a wide grin.  The boy's very
responsive, which is good.  The idea of mutual pleasure doesn't
bother him the way the idea of using the boy for himself alone
does.  He wonders if this is the boy's first orgasm.  Surely it
can't be.  Justin must have touched himself at least.

Justin's breath shudders as the pleasure rises in him.  He knows
that this is the point where he must always stop, in pleasuring
himself.  Unless told otherwise, of course.  He's shaking as if
he's just completed the physical trials, and he feels so strangely
toward Sir for making him feel this.  He hopes that Sir does not
stop.

Chris keeps moving his hand.  He'd introduce the boy to the wonders
of oral sex, but judging by Justin's reaction to this, he thinks
that should probably wait a while.

"Please?" Justin asks at last, when he can stand no more.  He looks
down.  "Please?"

Chris's hand slows as he looks up at Justin, surprised.  "Yes," he
says as he assimilates the request.  "Yes, always."

Justin releases, crying out as he thrusts up against Sir's hand.

Chris misses the moment, but it's almost as good seeing Justin's
face and feeling the tension in that wiry body release.  He works
Justin a little while longer, until the boy's hips have stilled
somewhat, then wipes his hand on Justin's leg.  He moves back up
the bed, putting his arm over Justin's chest, and just watches him.

Justin breathes heavily.  He feels Sir moving up beside him and
turns his head, opening his eyes.  "Thank you."

Chris kisses him.  Nothing elaborate.  Kissing requires more
willingness and participation than sex, and he means it as a
gesture of affection.  "I enjoyed that."

Justin touches his lips.  "I did as well."

Chris chuckles.  "Good."

Justin smiles.

Chris rolls his hips against Justin, letting him feel his own
erection.

"How may I pleasure you?" Justin asks.

"Show me what you've learned.  Something different from last
night."

Justin nods.  He takes a deep breath and rises from the bed,
fetching oil from his belongings.  He kneels near Chris's hip. 
"May I use this?" he requests.

Chris nods.

Justin nods back.  He pulls out the stopper and allows some of the
oil to drip over Sir's penis.  He rubs at it with both hands,
spreading it evenly.  One slick hand he uses to reach back, as he's
been taught.  His finger slides into his body and he continues
stroking Sir.  He does as he's learned, one finger, then two,
ignoring the faint hurt.  They're told it hurts, sometimes.  No
more, or he won't be right for it any more.  He kneels over and
holds Sir's hardness steady as he holds himself open and tries to
lower himself correctly.

Chris's mouth is open wide.  He hadn't anticipated Justin doing
anything like this.  He winces in sympathy as the boy sits down. 
Chris reaches up to hold Justin's hips steady.  "Not yet," he says,
when the boy starts to move.  "Wait and get used to it."

Justin nods, keeping his face turned down.  He does the exercises
in breathing that he's been taught to relax the body and calm the
mind.

When the boy looks more comfortable, Chris lets go of his hips, and
wraps a hand around the boy's limp penis.  "Go ahead when you feel
ready."

Justin nods and lifts himself.  The movement is awkward, when it's
real.  Though they've practiced all the movements that would be
needed for sex, it's different while having it.  Sir's hand clasps
him again, in a clear signal for Justin to demonstrate arousal.  It
takes focus, he finds, to remember his movements, ignore the
sensations that are un-pleasurable, and convince his body to harden
again so soon.

Chris is surprised to find the boy getting hard again so soon,
especially when Chris is the first person to ever be inside him. 
He'd intended for his hand to provide a little extra stimulus for
Justin so that it would be easier for him to ignore any pain.  But
the boy's renewed arousal is obvious.

Justin raises his head and displays himself.  He knows that he's
pretty.  He's supposed to be pretty.  He shows that now.

Chris doesn't know how to tell the difference between what Justin
wants to do and what he's been trained to do and what he's doing
only because Chris ordered him to.  Chris strokes Justin's chest
with his free hand.   "Slow, beautiful.  Don't rush it."

Justin cocks his head.  "Beautiful?" he questions, rocking slowly.

Chris nods.  "You are.  Gorgeous, sexy, lovely."

"Used in place of an appellation," Justin notes, tightening his
body around Chris.  "This is an 'en-deer-ment'?" 

Chris laughs.  "Yes.  Also, pretty one, darling, dear, sweet, love. 
And you can use my name if you wish."

Justin moves slightly faster on Chris's hardness.  "What is it?"

"In bed or alone, you may call me Chris.  My name is much, much
longer."

"Oh.  Yes, Chris."

"I like the way that sounds when you say it," Chris says, and
watches Justin between slitted eyelids.  It's morning and it's been
entirely too long without sexual gratification.  Looking up at the
beautiful young man straining above him, it doesn't take long for
his body to grant him a much needed release.

Justin gasps.  Chris's body says that he's finding release. 
Justin's body thinks this is perhaps the strangest thing it has
ever felt.

Chris groans with satisfaction as he comes and Justin doesn't stop
moving on him.  It's delicious.  He'll grow addicted in no time at
all.

Justin stills only when Chris pushes him away lightly.

"No, no," Chris says when Justin moves to get off of him.  "Up, not
off."  He tugs Justin up his body and Justin is very hesitantly
kneeling over his chest, then reaches for Justin's erection,
bringing it toward his own mouth.

Justin leans forward, giving Chris better access.

Chris hums approvingly and takes it in as far as he can comfortably
go, then moves his hands to Justin's buttocks, encouraging him to
thrust.

Justin shifts slightly, sliding himself in and out of Chris's
mouth.  These are things he's learned to *do*, never to have done
to him.  It surprises him.

Chris stops pulling, and just fondles Justin's ass, massaging the
area so recently used.

Justin presses more into Chris's mouth and wills himself to come.

Chris is a little impressed by the boy's control.  Maybe he has
practiced techniques to keep himself from orgasm.  That doesn't sit
well with Chris, but then, it wouldn't make him any happier if the
boy instead pretended to enjoy something he hated.

Justin draws back.  "May I lay down?" he asks.  His legs are
trembling.

"Yes."  Chris waits for the boy to lie down then raises himself up. 
He strokes the boy's belly in a soothing way, wondering what the
best way is to ask what's wrong.

Justin stretches, pointing his toes and then flexing them.  He
rolls his shoulders a little to release the tension in his neck. 
"What is it, Chris?"

Chris admires the stretching.  "What?  Oh.  I'm not sure why you
wanted to stop.  I'm not upset that you did, I'd just like to know
why."

"Stop what?" Justin asks, alarmed.

"Ssh, sweetling," Chris says, still petting the boy.  "It's only
that if I've asked you to do that, you don't need to stop before
you're finished."

Justin flushes at the perceived failure on his part.  "My legs," he
says.  "My legs hurt, and I didn't want to fall.  I'm sorry," he
adds miserably.

Chris kisses him softly.  "That's a good reason."

Justin touches his lips again when Chris pulls back.  "What's it
called?  In your language, when the lips press?"

"A kiss.  Kissing.  Is it something not done here?"

"It isn't common, but we know of it.  I just did not know the word. 
I could not say that I like it, when you kiss me."  Justin looks up
at Chris, studying the other man's face.

"Do you dislike it?"

"I want you to kiss me again," Justin whispers.

Chris puts his hands carefully on either side of Justin's face and
kisses him.  Not so chastely this time, but moving his lips,
showing Justin how it can be.

Justin's hands raise, coming to rest lightly on Chris's chest and
side.  He mimics Chris's movements, kissing back.

"Nice.  Very nice," Chris whispers against Justin's lips.  "But I
do have things to do today besides you, pretty one.  It's time to
rise for the day."

"Yes, Chris," Justin says dutifully.  "Shall I call for a bath?"

"Please."  He gets up and begins looking through his clothing. 
He's been fending for himself quite easily.  The normal morning
routine would have a bath already waiting in one of the outside
rooms, taken care of by servants who arranged things so smoothly
that Chris rarely saw them, but things will no doubt be different
now.

Justin stands and dons his robe from yesterday.  He steps into the
hall and sends a servant to prepare the bathing room.  In Chris's
home, preparing the bath will be Justin's position.  Here, there
are many to help.  Justin returns to Chris.  "If you tell me what
you wish to wear, I will prepare your clothing," he says.  "The
bath will be ready momentarily, and I will see to your comfort
there."

"Thank you," Chris says and begins explaining his wardrobe to
Justin.  He shows him what is for mornings, what is for afternoons
and what is for evenings, and the difference between his formal and
his more casual clothing, as well as where his traveling clothing
is stored.  "Any changes you wish to suggest would be acceptable,"
he adds.  "As you count as an expert on your own culture, I would
appreciate any help you are able to give."

Justin considers the clothing Chris has been wearing for afternoons
to be of far too heavy fabric.  "How long will we be staying here?"
he asks.

"Until my assignment has been completed or the potentate tires of
me and sends me away.  I think it's a favorable sign that he gave
you to me.  As of this point, we have not yet discussed what
business brought me here other than in the vaguest of terms."

"I see.  And you have no need of me this morning?" Justin
questions.

"No.  I will need to change clothes as the heat gets more intense,
but other than that, I do not require you until it's time for the
dinner this evening."

"I will try something different for afternoon clothes then.  A
lighter fabric, when it is hottest, may help."

"Thank you.  That sounds like an excellent idea."  Chris heads
eagerly toward the bath and the carafe of cool water that usually
accompanies it.

Justin hurries after Chris, after carefully gathering his morning
clothes.  In the bathing chamber, Justin hangs the clothes, so that
the steam will take the wrinkles from them.  Chris strips and
climbs into the bath, and Justin kneels next to him and washes him.

Chris allows the familiarity, as he has not from the other
servants.  He made a point of telling them he wanted his privacy
when he first arrived here, and has gotten it.  He knows it implies
that he is secretive and has things to hide, but he is, in effect,
an ambassador from a foreign land.  And the only real difference
between an ambassador and a spy is that he couldn't be killed out
of hand.

Justin says, "If you wish the potentate to stop playing with you,
compliment his third wife, if you see her.  She is the smallest,
and has long hair worn in braids.  She attends evening meals with
him, on occasion.  She is the smartest woman here, and she makes
many choices for this land."

Chris nods.  "I will.  But I think it is more what you say that
will matter."

"What I say?  To you?"

"About me and about yourself."

"I don't speak to anyone but you," Justin says.  "Well, unless you
were planning to host a party.  Then I'd have to speak."

Chris shrugs.  He thinks perhaps Justin may be surprised who seeks
out his company today and idly inquires into his thoughts.  It is
the way he himself would operate, and he does not think he is
dealing with stupid people.  "Then I am worried over nothing."

Justin frowns.  "You assume that people will ask me," he says
slowly.  "You do not know -- I am not allowed to speak to them.  I
am yours, and yours only."

"But you must speak to some.  To arrange for the bath to be brought
in and taken out, and to get clean coverings for the bed and the
like."

"No, we have signals.  And all the things I will need to clean your
quarters will be delivered here when you leave.  I will use them,
and leave them outside, and they will be taken away.  In any case,
I may not speak to anyone beyond that.  Nor be seen not in your
presence by anyone of rank, nor flaunt what is yours when we are in
others' presences."

Chris puzzles over 'flaunt what is yours' for a minute before
realizes that Justin means that, when he is seen, he must be
modestly covered.  "I didn't know that.  Thank you for the
information."

"You are welcome.  I will try to tell you all I know about such
customs, if you wish."

"I would like that.  In my profession, knowledge is the most
valuable commodity.  And little things are as important to know as
big things."

For the remainder of the time before Chris leaves, Justin speaks on
the culture and customs of his people.  Chris breakfasts and
dresses, and dons his powdered neckpiece as Justin helps him and
speaks.  Justin starts with the potentate, and his household, and
works his way down.  He is only just beyond the household when
Chris must leave for meetings.

It is a long day, as it always is.  The ability to make lively
conversation is one of Chris's finer qualities, even if he has to
occasionally watch himself to make sure that he doesn't misstep. 
His open-mindedness and ability to see any custom as sensible or
ridiculous make him well suited for his position, but part of him
wishes to break the rules rather than to follow them.

His hosts are watching him more closely than ever.  With his
breakfast companions, who are the least connected with the throne,
he mentions only that he is grateful to the potentate for the honor
shown to him.

As the day moves on though, the rank of the people he speaks with
increases.  As it does, he gradually adds more detail and broadens
the conversation to cover their own body servants, for those who
have them.  He finds out, without needing to ask directly, that
Justin has told him the truth about only being allowed to speak to
him and is pleased.  It means he will be able to be open with
Justin and not have to hide all of his motivations and feelings.

He returns to his suite in the early afternoon for a change of
clothing.  A nap is customary at this time of day, but not all take
one, and depending on whether anyone wishes to speak with him, he
may or may not rest.

Justin raises his eyes as Chris enters.  "Sir," he says warmly. 
"Would you dine?"

Chris shakes his head.  "No, thank you.  I am being constantly
overfed during the day.  The only thing I wish is something cool to
drink."

Justin nods and rises, setting aside the pants he's been sewing, to
fetch a cool carafe of juice from the next room.  "Would you sit?"
he asks.

"Yes, thank you."  Chris finds a seat in the shade by a window, a
palm tree keeping the sun from coming in.  The cushion is
elaborately patterned in deep green silk with metallic threads.  An
emperor would not be ashamed to sit on it.

Justin follows, sitting on the floor in front of Chris.  He begins
unlacing Chris's strange boots.

"I have the afternoon free today," Chris says.  "Probably because
everyone's trying to make something out of last night and what I
told them and didn't tell them this morning.  And probably your
carriage as well."  He reaches out and runs his hand through
Justin's curls.  "I apologize for my curtness last night.  I had
thought that you might be inadvertently used against me as a spy."

"I had not noticed you behaving in such a way."  Justin pulls off
Chris's boots and begins washing his feet with cool water and
cooling herbs.

"No, you probably wouldn't," Chris says, watching him.  He should
probably protest the service, but he's tired and hot and it feels
good.

Justin finishes by wrapping cool, damp cloths around Chris's
ankles, and laying one behind his neck.  After, of course, removing
the neckpiece.  "Is this better?" he asks, placing light fingers
against the heat rash.

"I really can't tell," Chris confesses.  "But your hand feels
good."  Justin's hand is cool like the cloths.

Justin smiles.  "You speak sweetly."

"I'm glad you think so, given that we're likely to be together for
a long while."  Chris points to the other end of the cushioned
window seat.  "Come up here and sit with me a while."

Justin does so, curling himself onto the pillow and looking at
Chris.

Chris swings his feet up and turns sideways so he can look at
Justin.  "I should say first that I consider what happened
yesterday to be binding on me.  I will take care of you and you
will have a place with me for as long as you wish it.  I do not,
however, consider it to be binding on you, as you had no choice."

"You do not want me to stay?"

"I wish you to stay," Chris says, not taking his eyes off of the
boy.  If he bolts, it could prove disastrous.  "But I want you to
do so because it is your wish as well."

"You are kind.  This is what I am meant to be.  I would not know
what else to do."

Chris spreads his hands.  "If you wish me to return you to your
family, I will.  Or if, during our travels, you should decide you
like a certain place and want to stay, or that you have found a
person who you wish to stay with other than me, you will be free to
do so."

"My... family?"

Chris raises his eyebrows.  "Do you have a family?  Mother, father,
sisters, brothers, other relatives?"

"No," Justin says simply.  "Why do you call that a family?  Does it
just mean people related to you?"

Chris thinks for a moment, and selects what he thinks is the right
word from Justin's own language.  He says that, and adds, in case
he's wrong, "It means people who you are related to, who you care
for and wish to be with."

"Oh.  We don't have those.  We're raised not with our family.  With
the trainers, and other pretties."

"Ah."  Chris doesn't ask if Justin will miss them.  Justin's spent
his whole life watching people go, and now Chris is all he has. 
"Then there is only one other thing I needed to speak with you
about now."  He sighs, trying to think of a way to say it.

"Yes, sir?"

"What we do in bed.  Most of what I said and did before was based
on the assumption that other people would find out what you
thought.  The truth is that, after we were gone from this place, I
intended to stop touching you in that way.  Now, however, I can
stop forcing myself upon you.  You are welcome in my bed, but never
required to be there."

Justin looks at Chris as if waiting for Chris to say he's telling
a tale.  Chris does not.  "You don't want me that way?  Or you do,
but not enough to miss it?"

"I want you.  I enjoyed what we did."

"Then why do you say these things to me?"

Chris looks at him and tries to figure out how to explain the
complexities of two different cultures and his own personal ethical
system to a boy who has grown up believing that he will only ever
be a slave.  "Because I need you to understand that I will not do
any of those things again with you unless you want me to."

"I want to please you," Justin says, feeling helpless.

Chris reaches forward and pats Justin's arm.  "You do.  You've
already made my life easier and more comfortable.  I'm very pleased
with you."

"I want to please you sexually."

Chris tilts his head to examine Justin's expression.  "Because you
will feel like a failure if you do not, or because you enjoy it?"

"I enjoyed what we did," Justin says.  He remembers the feeling of
it... he shivers at the memory.  "It's my place to bring you
pleasure."

"Then I would be happy to do that with you," Chris says softly.  He
scoots closer, and puts an arm around Justin.  "Very happy."

Justin leans against Chris, waiting to be pushed away if he is
wrong.  Chris does not push him.  Justin lays his head on Chris's
shoulder.

Chris moves a little closer and brings his hand up to stroke
Justin's hair.  There's many other things he could say, but they
aren't necessary.  Justin seeking comfort from him is the proof.

Justin nuzzles Chris's hand.

"I was thinking of taking a nap, if you'd like to join me."

"Yes, sir."

That sounds wrong.  "Don't call me sir, not in private, unless I'm
giving you orders or you're unhappy with me.  Taking a nap is a bed
thing.  If you do want to, say, 'Yes, Chris', or just 'Yes'."

"Yes, Chris, I want to.  Could you try on the pants for me, before
dinner?  I think they're correct, but I'm not sure."

"Would now be good, or after we nap?"

"Now would be well."

Chris nods, kisses Justin's forehead and stands.

Justin hurries ahead to get the pants.  "I've made two.  This for
morning, when it is still hot and talks are formal, no?  And this
for afternoon, when the heat is upon us and talks are more casual." 
The first set of pants is light, but looks much like Chris's
foreign attire.  The second is more what Justin is used to, loose
and baggy, allowing air to circulate next to the skin.

"The morning pants will do well.  I'm not sure these," Chris says,
brushing at what he's wearing now, "are formal enough, even for the
afternoon.  Perhaps with some embroidery?"

"Oh, yes.  But I must size them correctly first, so the embroidery
moves correctly."

Chris gives Justin a half-bow.  "I am in the hands of a master.  I
will stop correcting one who knows far more than I do."

Justin doesn't understand, but he reaches out to unfasten Chris's
breeches anyway.

Chris puts his hand on Justin's arm to steady himself as he steps
out of the clothing.

Justin kneels, holding the new pants in place for Chris to step
into.

Chris gingerly puts his foot into the leg.  The material's much
thinner, and Justin guides his foot for him.

Justin fastens the waist of the pants with ties, and then does the
same at the ankles.  The fit is fairly good, actually.  They are
perhaps an inch too long.  "Would you sit?" he requests.

Chris sits, and then looks up expectantly.  "Is this right?"

"How do they feel to you?"

Chris spreads his legs, then crosses them, then sits up, folding
his legs under him.  "Comfortable.  They won't tear, will they?"

"No.  They're very strong.  Have you a symbol?"

"Like a badge or a crest, you mean.  Hmm."  Chris gets up and goes
through his packed belongings.  He doesn't have much use for his
family's personal insignia here, so he has it tucked away.  He
brings out the items and shows them to Justin.  "These are my
family's personal colors," he says, passing the garment to Justin. 
"The colors and pattern are specific to our clan.  And this," he
says, holding the dagger on his palm so that Justin can see the
design on the hilt, "is our family's crest.  My neckpiece has my
country's symbol."

Justin examines them carefully.  "Will you leave this where I can
see it?  That I might duplicate it on the garments."

"I would rather you not duplicate the pattern," Chris says, setting
the dagger down.  "I'm not very fond of it.  It's traditional, and
I don't wear it except when I have no choice.  You may use the
colors and the crest though."

"Very well."  That's what Justin had thought to do.  He leans
forward.  "This style of dress is said to have been adopted by the
wealthy men because of its ease of wear.  And ease of access."

"Ease of access?" Chris asks.

Justin unties the ties at the waist and bends his head over Chris's
lap.  "Yes."

Chris gasps, startled, but his hands immediately go to Justin's
hair, petting him.  "The wealthy are spoiled."

"Shall I spoil you?" Justin asks.  He makes sure his breath fans
against Chris's newly exposed penis.

"Please?"

Justin takes Chris into his mouth and begins sucking; trying to do
what Chris has done for him.

Chris is undone this time by the thought of easy access and
beautiful young things on their knees.  He comes embarrassingly
quickly.

Justin swallows and lays his face against Chris's knee, waiting.

Chris finds Justin's behavior to be unbearably cute.  He's glad he
took the time to explain things to Justin -- even though he doubts
Justin understood what he was trying to say -- because it would be
easy to treat Justin like a beautiful, but essentially brainless,
pet.

Chris urges Justin to stand up and feels the front of his pants. 
Justin is hard.  Chris smiles, remembering being that young.

"Would you like to be inside me this time?" he asks, still touching
Justin.

Justin shakes his head, frightened.  "I do not know enough.  I do
not wish to hurt you."

"Did I hurt you?" Chris asks, pulling Justin closer, and laying his
head against Justin's stomach.

Justin does not know how to answer.  He makes a dismissive sound.

"Then we won't do that again for a while."  He hugs Justin, then
stands.  He strips off the pants and lays them aside, naked now. 
"Come to bed with me, and I'll return the favor.  I want you lying
down this time so you do not have to stop before you're done."

Justin follows Chris, and lays down on the bed.  He looks up at
Chris and feels safe.  It's strange, as he's only known this man a
short time.  But Chris has been very good to him.

Chris smiles down at him, then removes Justin's flimsy clothing,
taking his pants completely off, then kneeling down between his
legs.  "Touch me if you like, but try not to pull my hair."

Justin reaches out and touches Chris's beard, before Chris can
move.

Chris still and lets Justin do what he wants.

Justin smiles.  "Feels funny," he notes.  "Different."

"It helps me look dangerous," Chris says, making a growling face at
Justin.  "Without it, I look young and witless."

Justin grins.  "You are humorous."

"Thank you," Chris says, kissing Justin's hand, before lowering his
head and taking Justin's erection in his mouth.

Justin finds, to his surprise, that it's as shockingly good today
as it was this morning.  He clings to Chris's shoulders, working
his hips in controlled little thrusts against Chris's face.

Chris is deeply gratified by Justin's open response to him. 
Justin's not jaded or hardened.  Chris knows what those are like
and prefers to avoid sexual activity if the variety that needs to
be paid for is the only sort available.

Justin whimpers.  His knees bend, wanting to draw up around Chris. 
He moans, and his hips thrust roughly for a moment.  Chris does
something, and Justin's hands tighten, and he screams, coming.

Chris swallows, and keeps swallowing until Justin's cries turn into
mere whimpers.  Then he pulls away and wipes his mouth.  "Nap now,"
he says, pecking Justin on the mouth.

Justin's brow furrows.  "Kiss?" he requests.

Chris puts his hand on Justin's chest and pushes himself up,
kissing Justin.

Justin kisses Chris and notes the different taste.  He touches
Chris's lips.  "Me?" he asks, blushing.

"Yes."

Justin ducks his head.  "Nap."

Chris kisses him again, and then lies back down and closes his
eyes.

~~~~

Justin wakes before Chris, and lays quietly.  Chris sleeps with his
mouth open, making soft sounds.

When Chris wakes slowly, Justin's lying there next to him.  Chris
yawns and stretches.  "Good nap."

Justin nods.

Chris yawns again.  "I should see whether anyone has graciously
requested my presence for a before dinner chat."

"Yes."

Chris rolls on his side to look at the boy.  "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Justin says.  "I don't understand.  I wish to stay with you. 
I do not wish you to leave.  Why should it be so?"

"Maybe you like me," Chris suggests, stroking Justin's cheek.

"Of course I like you.  But it is unseemly of me to wish you always
be with me."

"I don't see anything wrong with it," Chris says warmly.  "We won't
be here forever, and once we leave, it'll no longer be unseemly."

"No?"

"No.  Different cultures think of things in different ways.  Once
we leave, you'll no longer be my," and Chris puts in the word used
in this place, which has no exact equivalent in his own tongue,
"you'll be my companion and assistant."

Justin looks at Chris in horror.  "I won't be?  What am I to do,
then?"

"Accompany me, take care of me, spend as much time with me as you
wish, all of that."

"Oh."

"It'll make more sense once it's happening," Chris says, trying to
soothe him.  "You're always welcome with me."

Justin smiles at Chris, because that is what he is meant to do. 
"I'll check to see if anyone wishes to meet with you."

"Thank you."

Justin gets up, pulls the heavy robe about him, and goes out to
greet the messengers.  He returns, saying, "There are two.  One man
from the vizier, and one from the potentate, requesting you attend
the formal banquet this evening.  The private one."

"Separate invitations, or both for the banquet?"

"Separate.  The vizier wishes to speak to you before."

Chris sighs.  "Then I have to get up."  He stands and pads over to
Justin.  Wrapping his arms around him, he breathes in deeply.  "I
don't wish to leave you either."

Justin ducks his head against Chris's neck.  "I shall dress you,"
he whispers.

"Thank you," Chris says, kissing Justin's ear.

Justin nods.  He dresses Chris, and sends him for his meeting. 
Justin is left to set out Chris's clothing for the banquet.

The meeting with the vizier is an interesting one.  The vizier
sounds him out -- very politely and obliquely, of course -- to
Chris's financial situation and what belongs to him as himself and
what belongs to his family, and then talks about where Chris will
go next and when he will see his homeland again and so on.  Chris
is amused by it for some time, until he figures out why the vizier
is asking these questions.  He's being asked his intentions.  The
man is proving to discover how well Justin will be taken care of.

Chris keeps his grin to himself and answers all of the questions
fully and honestly.  It seems to him as though his business here is
nearly complete if they're worrying about what will happen when he
goes.

Justin is ready for the banquet when Chris returns.  He has only to
don his robe.  But he is waiting to dress Chris.  "How was the
talk?"

Chris is nearly bouncing.  He hugs Justin and whirls him around,
laughing.  "I think we're almost done here."

Justin clings to Chris.  "Oh?" he asks breathlessly as Chris sets
him back on his feet.  "Good?  Are you eager to move on?"

Chris nods.  "I feel like I've been here forever.  It's a nice
enough place, but I'm ready to move on."

Justin nods, no reply coming readily to his tongue.  "Shall I dress
you?"

"It'll be all right," Chris says, hands moving on Justin's back. 
"It'll be strange."  Very strange, he amends mentally.  "But you'll
be with me."

"Yes, Chris," Justin says, smiling finally.

Chris kisses him and grins.  ""What pretty things am I wearing
tonight?"

Thus given leave, Justin dresses Chris in a cross between the
clothing Chris brought, and items of local derivation.  A small
turban, Chris's heavy tunic, light pants, gathered into Chris's
boots.  A jeweled belt and scabbard for Chris's dagger -- peace
tied, of course -- and the neckpiece.

"I look like a barbarian, don't I?" Chris asks, peering at himself
in the mirror.

"No."  Justin wraps his arms around Chris from behind to affix a
medal to his tunic.

Chris leans into Justin.  "I owe that to you, then."

Justin shakes his head.  "You were never a barbarian here."

"No?  Your people must be very tolerant and accepting then, because
I have it on good authority that my own countrymen find me to be
extremely barbarous."

Justin shakes his head.  "You're silly."

"Why, yes, I am."  He turns to Justin.  "Now.  What lovely things
are you wearing?"

Justin holds his arms wide, displaying his dancing costume.  "But
no one other than you will see it."

"And you're beautiful in it.  But what will you be wearing?"

Justin finds his robe, carefully wrapping it around him to cover
all of his body, from the high neck down to the hem touching the
floor.  He wraps his own turban, pulling the face wrap over so only
his eyes show.

"That's..."  Chris is more than a little surprised.  He's been
assuming a lot of wrong things.  When Justin said he wasn't to
flaunt what belongs to Chris, Chris had assumed that meant that
Justin would be wearing something like he himself is now.  Like the
regular servants wear.  He'd also assumed that everyone he's seen
clad like Justin was a wife or a concubine or daughter.  He's been
quite wrong.

Justin frowns.  "Is it inappropriate?  Shall I dress after your
customs?"

"No, it's very appropriate for tonight.  I think."  Chris frowns. 
"Maybe it isn't.  The point of this -- at least, what I *think* the
point of this is, is to show that I honor your people's customs. 
If I simply adopt them without making any changes, that could be
seen as paying mere lip service to those customs.  While, if I
change them, then I'm showing how I have interpreted those customs
in the light of my own culture."  He thinks some more, then grins
brightly.  "It's an interesting problem, definitely.  I love
interesting problems.  Yes, I think you should dress more like I
do."

Justin nods.  He removes the robe and turban, and then the clothing
underneath.  He stands naked, looking through his bag.

Chris goes to his own clothing.  Most of it won't fit Justin, but
that's not really why he's looking.  He fishes out a ring and a
long sash in his clan's colors and pattern.

"Will these help?" he asks, coming to stand next to Justin.  "You
would wear the ring, and something in my colors would help
reinforce the idea that you belong with me."

"Yes," Justin says.  He holds finds a pair of floaty, but opaque
harem pants and pulls them on, and then dons a short robe.  He is
again covered from neck to thigh, but less clearly hidden.  He
accepts the sash.  "How do I wear it?"

"I can think of several different ways, but like this might look
well."  Chris loops the sash around Justin's neck once, and then
lets the ends fall forward, draping down the front of Justin's
body.  "And you need a turban and boots."

Justin lifts his turban, removing the face cover, and replaces it
on his head.  He finds a sheer sash from his belongings and drapes
it across his face instead.

"Much better," Chris says approvingly.  "Your hand, please?"

Justin asks, "Which?" and offers them both.

"Your right hand," Chris says, taking that one and testing the ring
for fit.  It slides onto Justin's pinky.  "Not quite where I wanted
it to go, but it'll do."

Justin says, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"  Chris looks up, smiling at him.  "Did you deliberately
grow your fingers too big?"

"I wasn't big as a child," Justin says.

"How terrible of you to grow into a large adult," Chris says,
kissing Justin's hand before dropping it.

"I know," Justin agrees.  "Are these acceptable?" he asks,
displaying the 'boots' he'd been given for travel.  They're fabric
stiffened with laces of small rope wrapped around them and
tightened for wear.

Chris frowns.  "For tonight, yes.  Permanently?  No.  We'll have to
find you something else.  Those don't look all that comfortable or
at all good at keeping out water." 

Justin finishes dressing as the gong sounds to call them to the
dinner.  Justin searches through his bag, coming up with a
decorative collar and cuff.  "Do you think I should wear this?" he
asks.

"Cuffs, yes.  Collar... no," Chris says, after a moment.  "It'd
interfere with the sash."

"The cuff is yours.  The collar is mine.  They match, to show you
own me."

"Hmm.  All right then.  If it has symbolism, then that's probably
a good thing."

Justin fastens the cuff on Chris and arranges collar and sash on
himself.  "Ready?"

"Yes."  Chris holds out his arm for Justin.  "Tuck your hand under
my forearm and rest your hand on top."

Justin does so.  "I must behave correctly while we dine," he says
to Chris.

Chris nods.  "I don't know what appropriate is, so I can't advise
you there.  I will follow your lead."

"I will behave as the other personal servants do," Justin replies. 
They're walking down halls he's never seen before.

"No excessive bowing and scraping to me," Chris says.  "Do as you
must, but I would rather you behave as though you're fond of me
rather than servile."

"Yes, sir."

"And I'll try not to embarrass you," Chris adds.

Justin smiles.  "Yes, sir."

Chris grins and they continue walking.

~~~~

Chris makes Justin eat from the table!  At the *same time* as
everyone else.  Justin wishes the floor would open up and swallow
him.  People comment on the length of his neck, and on the skin
revealed there.  They comment on his pleasing visage, and Chris
beams and *agrees with them*!  Justin knows that Chris is unaware
that people are making fun of them.  He knows Chris doesn't
understand that these people are *stealing*, by being openly
appreciative of something meant for Chris alone to appreciate. 
Justin keeps his face averted when possible, serves Chris, and
tries to ignore the whispers.

Chris is aware of the undercurrents in the room.  He's not
precisely sure why the undercurrents exist, in other words, which
specific rules he's breaking.  He does understand, though, that the
reason for the indiscreet laughter is his treatment of Justin.  It
bothers him for Justin's sake.  Justin understands very little of
why these games are played.  Chris himself is cautiously pleased at
the way things are unfolding.  He's been watching the important
people -- the vizier, the potentate and the potentate's wives.  And
the way that they look at himself and Justin is much different than
the way those in Chris and Justin's immediate vicinity do.

He thinks he's getting somewhere, and Chris is careful to show his
approval of Justin and to guard Justin against the worst of the
remarks.  These people here see only a pampered toy out of its
place.  The people he must impress will see how Chris will treat
Justin in the days to come.

Finally, Justin settles on a cushion at Chris's feet.  It is his
place, and the other personal servants are doing the same.  Justin
keeps his head bowed and waits for the talks to begin again.

Chris passes a plate down to Justin and then puts his hand on the
back of Justin's neck, stroking it with his thumb.

Justin closes his eyes and leans subtly into Chris's hand.  His
work for this evening is done.  Now he is just another piece of
furniture, here to be, not to act.

The after-dinner conversation is desultory, as trivial and
unimportant as the dinner conversation had been.  Chris keeps
petting Justin and observing.

Now that he knows who the robed figures are, he's intrigued by how
many of those present take short walks during the evening.  Based
on his own understanding of human nature and the coarseness of the
dinner conversation, he's fairly sure what's going on there.

He whispers to Justin, "You mentioned easy access earlier.  Is that
what I'm seeing happen here, with people going out and coming back
in a few minutes later?"

Justin inclines his head under Chris's hand.

Chris nods triumphantly.  "I thought that was too frequent to be
merely a desire to relieve themselves.  Or," and he controls a
snicker, "is it only a different sort of relief?"

Justin nods again.  "Do you wish to walk?" he whispers.

"No.  Not unless you're uncomfortable."

This time, Justin shakes his head.

"If you are, just let me know," Chris says, even though he's fairly
sure Justin would do no such thing.

Justin shakes his head again.

Chris doesn't chide him.  Justin's coping very well as it is with
all the changes Chris has forced him to make to his world and his
ideas about how the world works.  Slow progress is better than no
progress.  Then someone is trying to get his attention.

He turns to face the man, a servant, who bows.

"His excellency, the supreme potentate, wishes you to take coffee
with him."

Chris controls the grin that threatens to break out, keeping it
down to a small smile.  "I would be delighted."  He stands and puts
out his hand, assisting Justin to his feet.

Justin takes Chris's arm when it is offered, because to refuse
would be rude.  He feels as if he is shaming Chris by not following
custom.  He is giving the others a reason to laugh at Chris.

Chris holds out his arm to Justin and Justin takes it, after a
moment that suggests Justin is trying to figure out what he's
supposed to do with it.  Then, together, they follow the servant.

This time the walk is a short one.  They arrive in private chambers
very quickly.

Here, some of the rules appear to be relaxed.  Chris sees the woman
with braids, the who he thinks is the wife Justin told him to watch
for.

Chris is gestured to take a seat on a low couch, easily big enough
for three people.  He suspects this is a test as well, and seats
Justin on the couch first, before sitting down himself.  He has to
hold Justin's arm very firmly to make Justin sit on the couch,
rather than in front of it, but Justin obeys after his initial
hesitation.

Justin bows his head to Marika, the potentate's third wife.  She
taught him how to dance.  He sits on the couch, but doesn't feel as
bad about it here.  In here, no one is laughing at Chris.

A servant brings a tray to Chris.  He holds it out.  There's a
steaming silver pitcher that holds the dark, bitter coffee,
delicate china cups, and all the amenities a civilized person would
want.

Chris pours a cup.  "How do you take your coffee?" he asks Justin.

"Plain," Justin replies.

Chris nods and hands the cup carefully to Justin, and then pours
his own, adding cream, sugar and cinnamon.

Justin sips his coffee and stays quiet.

Chris waits for a prompt.  He isn't disappointed.

"One would be pleased to know that your," and the potentate uses
that word again, the one that Chris isn't sure whether to translate
as 'slave' or 'husband', "is happy in his new life."

Chris nods solemnly.  "That would please me as well."

Justin raises his eyes, gazing on Chris.  He leans against Chris's
side, and Chris holds him.  Justin is content.

Chris looks at Justin, eyes fond.  Justin has a way of making
himself understood even without being allowed to speak.

There's a ripple of laughter in the room, but Chris hears the tone
of it and understands that it's not the derisive laughter of
earlier in the evening.

Justin smiles at Chris.

The evening continues from there.  No issues of substance are
discussed, because this is an after-dinner informally formal
gathering.  But they do touch on the subjects of certain goods and
supplies and how it would be nice to have such things in one's own
country, and how dreadful it is that bandits can accost caravans
and the such like.  Which is precisely the kind of thing Chris was
sent here to negotiate and which no one has been willing to
discuss.

He spends the rest of the evening in a successful glow, sipping
coffee and eating bits of dark chocolate.

Justin's eyes widen with his first taste of chocolate.

Chris chuckles when he hears a small moan of delight from Justin,
and feeds the rest of his chocolate to Justin.

"We like you," Marika says, coming over to speak with them as the
potentate deals with someone else.  "We like the way you treat the
young one, and we like your ideas."

"You are very kind," Chris says, inclining his head respectfully.

Marika looks at Justin, seeing his posture and the way he had
carried himself into the room.  "You are satisfied with this one?"

"Very much so.  He is a credit to his people, and everything I
could have wished for in a partner and a helpmeet."  He does not
use their term.  He is almost certain he does not understand it,
and he wants it to be clear from his own word choices how he thinks
of Justin.

"And he satisfies your *need*," she adds, leaving it open to being
a question or a statement.

"I would say all of our needs are well-satisfied," Chris says. 
He's not sure whether that comes off as clever or as ducking the
question.

"When you leave here, you say he is your partner and helpmeet. 
Will he continue to satisfy in this way?" she asks.  It is not as
rude a question as it could be.  It is important that their
servants be allowed to do what they have been trained to.

"He is my partner and helpmeet," Chris says, trying to make clear
that he means he regards Justin as that *now*.  "When we leave, he
will see other customs and other ways.  I will support him in
whatever he chooses to be."

Justin rapidly assures her that he will still be in Chris's bed
when they leave, but he will have the option to choose not to be. 
He speaks in a native dialect more for speed than for secrecy.

Chris watches Justin narrow-eyed.  Justin had said that he wasn't
allowed to speak to anyone other than Chris.  Perhaps that does not
apply with women?

Marika looks at him in surprise.  "You would speak without
permission?  Perhaps only to assure me that there is nothing wrong,
no?"

Justin nods.

"It matters not to me," Chris says softly, trying to reassure
Justin.  He adds, addressing himself to Marika, "I was merely
surprised at the apparent violation of what I had been told was a
rule.  When we leave here, none will know his sign language, and he
will find it most useful to be able to speak to anyone."

Marika nods.  "You will be leaving soon, I think."  She nods toward
the servants bringing in a short table and the scribes following
with elaborate scrolls and inks.

Chris's eyebrows raise.  It's a surprising kind of night, if they
are willing to sign off on a treaty with so little direct
discussion of it.

Marika nods and rises, taking her leave of them.  The rest of the
non-essential servants leave as well.  Now the discussion gets down
to the real business at hand.  Justin supplies water to both Chris
and the potentate, as the only servant yet in the room.

The discussion of terms is fast and free roving.  Chris is
unsurprised to find that the potentate is an intelligent and
well-informed man.  It matches his impression of him.

Justin is yawning, head drooping on Chris's shoulder, before they
are done.  It's nearly dawn, and the coffee has been replaced with
thick, steaming mugs of hot milk with spices and slabs of sweet
bread with honey.

The servant who delivers the new food is a little scandalized to
see Justin nearly asleep and the potentate rising to refill his
mug, but backs out silently.

Chris laughs, but very quietly, so as not to disturb Justin, and
accepts his milk and bread when the potentate offers it to him.

"When you return," the potentate says to him, as the meeting
concludes and a servant has been summoned to take the completed
treaty away for copying, "bring the boy.  My wife is very fond of
her son."

Chris feels like a fish, gaping.

The potentate laughs and stands.  "I will seek my own bed now.  I
suggest you do the same."

Chris does, urging a mostly-asleep Justin to his feet.  "May I tell
him?  I don't think he knows."

The potentate inclines his head.  "If you wish.  She is happy to
see him settled well."

Justin bows, as he should, and takes Chris's arm, allowing himself
to be led back to Chris's rooms.  He's mostly asleep anyway.

Back in his suite, Chris gets them both undressed and Justin in
bed.  After he's laid their things out so they won't take any more
harm than they already have, he joins Justin in the bed, sighing as
he tucks his cold feet under Justin's shin and nestling close.

Justin runs his hand down Chris's stomach.  "Shall I please you?"
he asks, sleepily.

Chris doesn't open his eyes, more than ready to go to sleep. 
"Tired.  Sleep now."

"Okay."  Justin lays his head on Chris's shoulder and falls asleep.

Chris smiles and follows suit.

~~~~

Justin hates camels.  This is what he's concluded.  Camels stink,
walk funny, and spit on him.  He hates them a lot.  But they're the
only reliable way to Algiers, where Chris will send his treaty home
and pick up his next mission.  So Justin has ridden his fucking
camel for weeks.  He hopes they get something else to ride *out* of
Algiers.

"I lead a very glamorous life, don't I?" Chris calls from the back
of his own camel.  He loves camels.  They're utterly and completely
disagreeable to everyone.  He can empathize.  "Bet you wish you
chose to stay home!"

Justin just shakes his head.  He doesn't point out that he didn't
choose to leave home, because he really doesn't mind.  He misses
Nick and Lance, a little.  He misses home more.  But he likes being
with Chris, and he likes being out in the world. "We'll be there
before noon!" Chris shouts.  "Then we'll see where we go from
there."

Justin looks up.  The sun is less than an hour from overhead. 
Thankfully.

To tell the truth, Chris is a little worried about Justin.  Even
heavily swathed in black cloth, he manages to get redder every day. 
He's also afraid Justin will get heat sickness.  Justin's more used
to these temperatures than he himself.  But Chris isn't anywhere
near as heavily clothed.  His more swarthy skin tolerates the sun
well and bronzes rather than burns.

Justin sighs and lowers his face back to the dust ahead.  His
burnoose ripples in a faint breeze.  Justin turns his face to it
and doesn't breathe.  He learned quickly that the sensation might
feel good, if only because it is different, but the hot breeze will
strip the moisture from his mouth and nose faster than high noon
with no shade.

When they arrive, Chris leads them directly to the embassy.  The
guards look curiously at his companion, but nod to him.  He's a
frequent visitor here and well known.  He dismounts his camel and
turns to help Justin down from his, finding that Justin has already
slithered off.

Chris tosses the lead ropes to one of the servants who've come out
to greet them, and puts an arm around Justin's waist to lead him
inside.

The inside of the building is cooler because they're no longer in
the hot sun, but the difference is minuscule at best.  The air is
stiller and, unlike the potentate's palace, there is no lake
nearby.  The ocean is close, but provides no relief, only an
assault on the nose and ears.

They're led to a waiting room, a small room, well decorated enough
not to immediately insult anyone who might have cause to visit, and
the servant mentions cool drinks and notifying the appropriate
people before scurrying off.

Chris sits Justin down and begins unwinding his wrappings.

"Sir?  Sir!"  Justin stops Chris's hands.  "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting you disentangled from all of the cloth so that you can
cool down.  And you needn't call me sir when we're alone."

"Chris, I'm all right."  Justin smiles at Chris.  He opens the
front of his burnoose and uncovers his face, removing the heavy
turban and leaving only the wrapping cloth over his head.

Chris scowls at him.  "Well.  I suppose that's better, anyway.  Not
as bad as before.  And you certainly *sound* well enough."

"Sit down with me?" Justin requests.

Chris does, leaving enough space that neither of them has to be
directly affected by the heat pouring off of the other.

Justin sighs and leans back against the side of the couch.  "I hate
camels," he says companionably.  "That white one spit on me!"

"That's the way camels are.  They hate everyone.  That's what I
like about them.  They're so indiscriminate in their dislike."

Justin rolls his eyes.  "It *spit* on me!  It was dirty."

"Probably hasn't been washed recently," Chris says with a straight
face.

Justin scowls at Chris, then grins, because he simply has to. 
Chris makes him laugh.

"There's a very good chance that my next mission will require me to
depart via ship.  You can enjoy the marvels of sea sickness then."

"Ship?"

"A vessel that travels on the water."

"No, I meant a ship to *where*?"

"I don't know yet. We'll have to wait and see."

A crystal pitcher of water and two glasses is delivered, along with
the news that rooms are being prepared for them.  Chris nods,
taking this as a matter of course.

Justin pours the water into one glass and tastes it. Then he pours
another glass and gives it to Chris.

"Drink it slowly," Chris cautions, "but drink at least two or three
glasses."

"Yes, sir," Justin says, for he hears footsteps outside the door.
He resumes his own place, holding his glass, just as another man,
dressed like Chris has been and with short hair like Chris's comes
in.

Chris stands and grasps the other man's arm.  "Good to see you,
Harry."

"I see you've gone native on us again.  I'm afraid we can't squeeze
you in until later this afternoon, but I can give you the file now
on your next assignment if you want to look it over."

"Thanks, Harry.  I'd like that."

"And who's your companion?  I thought we sent you out solo. 
There'll be people disappointed that you've come back."

"Come back with a nice bit of paperwork, too.  His Majesty should
be pleased.  This is Justin.  I acquired him during the course of
my stay.  Think of him as my partner or my assistant.  His people
have a word for what he is to me, but we don't have a good
equivalent to it.  Think life-partner, and you'll come close."

"Indeed.  So you *have* been up to your old tricks."

Chris smiles.  "Of course.  They work so well.  Make sure they give
us one room, or two rooms that connect, will you?"

Harry gives him an assessing look.  "So it's like that, is it?"

Chris could deny it or attempt to avoid the question entirely, but
instead he meets Harry's eyes levelly.  "It's exactly like that."

"Well, well.  That does make things interesting, doesn't it?"

"I like things interesting."

After being introduced to Justin, Harry leaves with a promise that
their rooms will be ready soon, and that they'll have a chance to
clean up before Chris needs to meet to discuss what he's
accomplished and where he's going next.

Justin says, "I thought you said your people would not be bothered
by me."

"Harry isn't bothered.  However, when I said people wouldn't be
bothered, I was perhaps thinking that I would lie to them."  Chris
sits back down and drinks more of the water.  "I'm not ashamed of
what you are to me, but not many will understand it the way your
own people do.  Most will misunderstand."

"I don't understand," Justin says, refilling his glass.

"In my world, having a man as a lover is wrong.  Plain and simply
wrong.  In some cases, it's even against the law.  People like
Harry will understand -- once you've seen enough other cultures and
tried to shape yourself to fit in with them, no custom seems too
strange to understand.  But for the most part, people will assume
that you are an assistant or, as you grow older, a partner.  The
rest of it, they will not wish to know or will react badly to if
they find out."

Justin is mildly frightened.  He thinks that it may scare him more
later, when they face these people.  "Oh."

"I will keep you safe.  I know when it's right to speak and when it
isn't.  For you, you need only behave as you do, and not worry. 
For the most part, people see what they want to see."

"Yes, Chris."

Chris nods.  He's sure of his ability to take care of Justin nearly
everywhere.  His diplomatic status, if nothing else, keeps him
secure as long as he is in a foreign country.  It is his father's
reaction that could prove difficult.  He would see what's happening
and comprehend it, and be furious enough to take action again it. 
And, at home, Chris would not have diplomatic protection to save
him.

Justin smiles.  "But here, we will still be able to be together?"

"Yes, without question."

The wait isn't much longer, and it's not at all arduous with Justin
at his side.  A servant ushers them upstairs and to a large room
with a smaller, detached room, where one's valet might sleep. 
Justin, of course, will not be sleeping there, but the arrangement
is satisfactory.

Their bags have been brought up and are sitting by the door,
largely empty.  Chris knows from experience that clothing has been
removed and taken for cleaning and mending and official documents
taken and given to the appropriate persons.

There's a card on a table by the door, requesting their presence at
dinner and listing the hour, along with a sealed note that Chris
expects will be his congratulations for doing an impossible job and
summons to pick up an even more impossible one.

"I think I shall take a bath," Chris says, seeing a tub through an
open door.  "Would you care to join me?" 

"Yes, Chris," Justin says.  As if he would *not* be there, caring
for Chris's needs.

Chris kisses his cheek and goes to start the water.


Justin follows, waiting until Chris has things set to disrobe him.

"Pile everything near the door.  Someone will snatch them away when
we aren't looking and replace them with clean.  Alas, it isn't
laundry fairies, but rather hard-working people who take care of
that sort of thing.  Still, they're quite good at what they do."

Justin doesn't know what 'fairies' are, but he piles the clothing
obediently, and returns to help Chris into the raised basin.

Justin's still dressed and Chris raises an eyebrow at him.  "The
tub's large enough.  Aren't you coming, too?"

"At the same time?"

"Yes, that's the idea."

"Oh.  Yes, if you wish."

"I wish if you wish," Chris says solemnly.

Justin undresses, noting that he's streaked with desert dust in
unexpected places.  He steps into the bath and holds out his hand
for Chris.

Chris takes Justin's hand to steady him, then tugs him down to sit
between his legs.

Justin sinks into the hot water.  "Something this warm shouldn't
feel good after the desert.  But it does."

"Mmm," Chris says, settling Justin against his chest and wrapping
his arms around him.  "It does.  I suspect it's the body's desire
for water in any form after so much sand and wind and sun."

"Yes, it may be," Justin agrees.  His head lays on Chris's shoulder
and he closes his eyes.  Chris has been teaching him to accept the
pleasure of simple comforts.

They have time for this, and Chris enjoys the feeling of Justin
lying against him for a long time before reaching for a washcloth
and the soap and beginning to lather Justin.

Justin says, "This is my job."

"This is my pleasure.  I enjoy holding you and I don't want to let
go."

Justin sighs.  "Yes, Chris."

"Does it upset you?" Chris asks, continuing to wash Justin, hands
skimming over the younger man's body.

"No."

"All right then.  You can still wash me, you know."

"Oh," Justin breathes.  Chris is washing his stomach, and Justin's
body takes an interest.  He wills himself not to.  Water in the
desert is too precious to waste in such play.

"Yes?" Chris murmurs in response, but it's not really a question,
so much as an acknowledgement.  Justin likes what Chris is doing,
so Chris will continue.

"Oh, Chris," Justin murmurs.  They have sex often.  Every morning,
at least, and most nights as well.  Justin is becoming used to
Chris's desire to give him pleasure.

Chris continues washing Justin, making encouraging noises.  As he
gets down to Justin's groin, he washes there, then moves on to
thighs.  He can't reach much further than that, so he hands the
washcloth to Justin.  "Do the rest of your legs," he says.

Justin finishes cleaning himself and turns to clean Chris.

Chris doesn't let him turn.  "Your back first."  He plucks the
washcloth from Justin's hand and finishes removing the rest of the
dirt.  The bathtub is already filthy with soap scum.

Justin looks at the filthy water in distress.  "This will never
do," he says.

Chris laughs.  "This is normal, though.  It's the disadvantage of
bathtubs."

"No, you must get out.  I will fetch clean water," Justin decides.

"There's no water to be fetched," Chris says, still smiling.  "All
you need to do is pull the plug to drain the tub and then replace
it and turn the taps to get more water."

Justin turns and pulls on the slim chain Chris indicates.  The
water begins draining away.  "Where does it go?" Justin asks in
awe.

"Here?  The ocean, most likely."

"Where does it come from, then?"

"In the beginning?  The ocean, maybe."

"Strange."  The water drains away.  "You must still get out.  This
basin is dirty.  I will clean it."

Chris shakes his head.  "And let this mess dry on me?  No, I'll be
cleaner if we just refill the tub and finish the bath."

"Very well," Justin says unhappily.  But he lets Chris instruct him
on refilling the tub.  He cleans Chris quickly, washing the other
man's hair twice.  "Please, will you get out now?"  He knows his
own hair holds much dust from the journey.  His hair holds
everything.

Chris does, watching Justin as he dries himself off.

Justin dunks his head and begins scrubbing at his stubborn curls.

Chris chuckles.  Stubborn, stubborn boy.  He's going to have no end
of trouble once Justin figures out where the boundaries are now
that they're no longer in his own country.  He's sure Justin will
use every additional freedom he has to bend Chris into being who
Justin wants him to be.  Reminds him of valets he's known.  And
other people's wives.

Justin cleans his hair as best he can and pulls the plug again.

Chris is waiting with a dry towel, which he begins rubbing over
Justin's wet skin.

Justin kisses Chris.

Chris kisses him back, then grins impishly at Justin.  "So much
better to be clean, isn't it?"

"Yes, Chris."

"You're still beautiful," Chris says, and takes him to bed.

~~~~

Chris does not find the time to browse through the file before his
meeting, and so is in blissful ignorance of what Herculean task
he's been given next.  Sometimes, bliss is much better, although
preparation is also a virtue.

The meeting goes well, with the usual congratulations for a job
well done and mention made of what new honor he might be awarded
for his efforts.  Chris arranges for Justin to be included in his
official papers as a member of the diplomatic party, although such
things matter only to those who can read and who are trying to kill
him because he's stepped over the wrong side of a cultural line. 
It's no defense at all against those who simply want to murder him
for the clothing on his back and what they can sell it for.

Then comes the real challenge.

Chris takes it like a man.  Ceylon.  Currently at war with India,
and in turmoil.  His task -- step in as an interfering third party
and stop the war.  Not so that lives may be preserved or his own
country made safe from harm, but rather to restore the shipment of
certain rare spices.

Ah, well.  At least they won't be traveling by camel.  That should
please Justin.

Justin asks, from his perch above Chris as he rubs Chris's back the
next night, "Where's Ceylon?"

"A long way from here.  Halfway around the world almost.  It's an
island."

"How long will it take us to get there?" Justin asks, leaning into
the tight muscles of Chris's lower back.

"Hmm.  Depends on the winds and what ships are available, but it
seems likely that it will be months before we actually arrive
there."

"Months?"

"Yes, especially if we make the whole journey by sea.  There's no
way to sail directly there.  We'll have to go around."

"Oh."  Justin frowns and wonders what his duties are on a ship.

"We'll mostly be in the way on board ship, so we'll stay out of the
way as much as possible.  It can be very dull."

"And we're to spend months this way?  Doing what?"

"As little as possible," Chris says cheerfully.

Justin shakes his head.  "That will be new."

"Really?  You seemed to be doing very little when I found you."

"Well, yes, but that was an audience.  We train the rest of the
time."

"I suppose there might be things you don't know that I could teach
you..." Chris says, trailing off as Justin finds a particularly
good spot.

"Like what?" Justin asks, after Chris is done groaning over that
particular spot.

"Any languages you don't know.  The customs of Ceylon and India as
I know them.  More about my homeland and my position there.  What
additional help I could use."

"I see."

"You don't think that's enough?" Chris asks sardonically.

"Oh, it may be," Justin teases.

"Yes, I do forget that you're used to doing a lot every single day. 
I, unfortunately, am considerably more lazy."

Justin is down to rubbing firmly at Chris's ass.  "You're not.  You
conserve your energy."

"Exactly.  You never know when the next crisis is going to come."

Justin kisses the small of Chris's back and rubs his legs.  "And
when do we leave?"

"Now that they know I'm available, they've started looking for a
ship.  It shouldn't taken too terribly long to find one going in
our direction.  Not more than a week, I should think."

"Ah."

Chris laughs.  "Welcome to my life.  It's not nearly as exciting as
you imagined, is it?"

"Should I be procuring anything for the trip?"

"That's a good question.  Your traveling wardrobe is more than
adequate, but you may wish a little more variety, especially in
styles that are closer to my home than yours.  Ginger, of a
certainty, to ease nausea.  Books, and perhaps some cards and a
chessboard.  And, of course, small objects to use as bribes."

"Precious stones and metals or curiosities?"

"Some, yes, but I was thinking more of tobacco and chocolate and
the like.  Things a person might want onboard ship and yet be
unable to find because they've been at sea too long.  Also, I
think, a cat."

"Oh, bribes for the *sailors*.  Why a cat?  Can I keep her?"

"You can't really *keep* a cat.  Cats own you, rather than the
other way around.  But if the cat consents, you're certainly
welcome to be its human.  And the reason for the cat is to keep the
vermin population to a minimum.  Ships are famous for being
infested with vermin."

"But she can stay with us?"

"If she wants to.  Cats have a tendency to go their own way if
their plans differ from yours.  They're also notorious for
disliking travel."

"Where do we get her?" Justin asks, excited.

"Whenever you like.  We're free until we find a ship."

"Yes, but *where*?"

"We'll ask around for anyone who knows someone with a cat who's
recently had kittens.  Then we'll take one."

Justin bounces, feeling the mattress echo his motion.

"Tomorrow, obviously," Chris mutters into the pillow.

Justin stills.  "I'm sorry," he says, laying down next to Chris
after he finishes with Chris's feet.  "I saw a cat once.  She was
wonderful.  She purred and rubbed against me and let me hold her." 
His eyes are distant with remembering.  "Like when you hug me.  Not
alone."

Chris turns over and gathers Justin close.  "Tomorrow. 
Definitely."

Justin closes his eyes and breathes deeply of Chris's scent.  He
misses home, suddenly and fiercely.  It will pass, it always does.

"Did you know your mother is Marika?"

"What?"

"Your mother.  Marika is your mother."

"The potentate's wife?  How could she be my mother?  The potentate
is not my father."

"I don't know.  All I know is that I asked and she confirmed it."

"Oh.  Oh..."  Justin lapses into his native tongue, recalling
incidents and fragments of memories.  All concerned with Marika and
the things she'd taught him, the way she'd treated him.

Chris strokes Justin's hair.  "She wants you to return when you're
older.  She told me to make sure to bring you with me when I
return.  I'm fairly sure that was her way of saying that she hopes
we'll fare well together."

Justin says, slowly and in English, "I wanted to know my mother,
when I was young.  I wanted to know why I was what I was."

Chris keeps petting Justin, listening to him speak.  He thinks he
understands why, but he'll let Justin work it out for himself if
Justin can.

"It is not a bad thing to be as I am," he tells Chris.  "It is an
honor to be so trained."

Chris nods.  "I agree."

"I stopped wondering.  I know that my mother must have wanted good
for me."

"She does."

Justin nods.  "It is good to know."

"I believe that she knew you could not be raised as a prince, and
so wanted the next best thing for you -- to be mated to a powerful
spouse and serve him as a capable assistant."  Justin's job
description may include 'sex toy', but Chris is alive to the fact
that Justin is more knowledgeable than many of his colleagues.

Justin nods.  "Marika -- she is not from home.  She was brought to
our land."

"No doubt she has many strange ideas."

"If she is not from my land, then it is *not* my land," Justin
replies.

"It is where you grew up.  Your ideas and beliefs are all based on
your having grown up there.  Your mother may be from a different
land, but you yourself are from that one."

Justin curls against Chris.  "Yes, Chris."

"I myself was raised in a different land than one of my parents."

"Why?"

"Because my father is not my mother's husband."

"Is your mother a concubine?" Justin asks in puzzlement.  He didn't
think such things happened in England.

Chris snorts.  "No."  It's a good question though, given Justin's
background.  "My mother, as it happens, is unmarried.  My father is
the lord of his lands and my mother was born and raised there.  It
is a custom there -- more honored in its breach than its use --
that the lord of the land may lay with a virgin before her
marriage.  My father, however, used it to lay with any woman who
took his fancy, whether they were to be married or not.  She left
soon thereafter, but everyone knew she was bearing his child.  When
he came up heirless, he -- very reluctantly -- summoned me to mold
me into his ideal heir."

"This is not strange here.  Is it strange in your home?"

"Very strange.  Even wrong.  You asked if my mother was a
concubine.  She was not.  But until I came into my 'inheritance',
she slept with men in return for money and protection.  It may
sound much the same thing, but in England, a woman who does that is
much more poorly treated.  Especially if she is not beautiful."

"This is not right.  If she is unmarried, her body is hers to use. 
There is no shame in that."

"I'm glad you think so.  It will help when you meet her.  You
should know that my father despises her for that."

"Will she be displeased with me?  For being a male?"

"My mother will be happy that you care for me."

"Do you care for your father?"

"No.  I owe him respect and am to some degree dependent on his
favor while I am home, but I hate him for what he did to my
mother."

"But he must have you, correct?"

"Yes.  I am the only male among all of his misbegotten children and
he has no other heirs."

"So bugger him?" Justin suggests, using some of the language he's
picked up from Chris.

Chris snickers.  "Not literally.  But yes.  I'm rarely home, and
when I am, I spend my time with my mother and sisters."

"You've sisters as well?"

"Yes, several."

"Good."

"You like the idea of having sisters?"

"I like talking to girls."

Chris's hand stills for a second, then resumes its steady stroking. 
He's always known that this was not a voluntary choice for Justin
and that, once acquainted with his sexuality; Justin might make a
different decision.  He has to be a big enough man to let Justin
follow his heart if it comes to that.  "Well, I have enough of
them."

"They're so much better at knowing how to look pretty," Justin
says.  "And they can fix my hair."

Chris laughs, and doesn't deny to himself that it's relief more
than humor that makes him laugh.  "I'm certainly no good at any of
those things."

"It's a girl thing."

Chris gropes Justin playfully.  "You don't *feel* like a girl."

Justin moans.  "*I'm* not a girl!"

"But you're good at those things, aren't you?" Chris inquires with
mock-innocence.

"Sometimes."

Chris gropes Justin some more.  "I don't know.  You feel a *little*
like a girl."

"You wish to take me, like a girl?" Justin asks.

"Sometime, perhaps.  It can be enjoyable.  But I was thinking of
you taking me and proving that you are not a girl."

Justin replies in the only way he can.  "Yes, Chris."

"Do you not want to?" Chris asks.  He can never be sure whether
Justin's acquiescence is real or is the byproduct of a learned
obedience.

"I do not know."

Chris nods.  "Maybe another time then."

"I don't mean to disappoint," Justin quickly replies.  "I simply do
not *know*, having never done such before."

"You don't disappoint me.  I just don't want to force you into
anything you don't want to do.  But would you like to try it
anyway?"

"Will it hurt you?"

"Less than it hurts you."

Justin nods, then, because he can see that this is what Chris
wants.

"I want this to be something I can give you," Chris says, touching
Justin gently.  "And," he grins, "it feels good, too."

Justin smiles at Chris and rises to get the oil from his bag.  The
vial is close to empty, but there is enough for this, he thinks.

Chris's grin doesn't waver as he turns on his side to watch Justin.

Justin kneels next to Chris.  "How shall we do this?"

"Exactly the same way I do with you is fine.  Or you can explore if
you want."  Chris spreads his arms.  "I'm all yours, and at your
mercy."

Justin shakes his head at Chris's flights of fancy.  He kneels
there until Chris turns onto his stomach, and then he prepares
Chris as he prepares himself.

Chris makes pleased little noises as Justin works his fingers
inside.

Justin makes sure that Chris is slick as he can be.  "Is this
enough?" he asks, having no quantifiable idea of how much
stretching is enough, when it's another person you're doing the
stretching on.  Or in.  As the case may be.

"It's good."

Justin withdraws his fingers and moves his body between Chris's
legs.  He presses his penis against the entrance to Chris's body. 
But he cannot penetrate.  He keeps slipping away.

Chris bites his lip so he won't laugh.  But it's kinda comical.

Justin finally laughs.  "What am I doing wrong?"

"I think we're both too slick and you could maybe push harder.  You
really have to use your hand to guide it in."

Justin sighs.  "I would be whipped for this, at home," he notes. 
He uses his hand, pushing more firmly than he'd dared before.  He
slides into Chris's body.  And it's *hot* and *tight* and so much
better than a hand.  It's *wet*, though not as wet as Chris's
mouth.  

Chris gasps even as he's formulating a reply to Justin's comment. 
"You... no one's going to whip you..."

Justin asks, "Is it okay?"

Chris gasps again.  "Stop asking damn silly questions and fuck me!"

Justin slides and he can't help feeling that this is all too easy
now, and he must be doing something wrong.  But he can't stop,
because it also feels incredibly right.

When Justin starts to move, Chris groans deep in his throat and
angles himself to move with Justin.

Justin clings to Chris, holding tightly at whatever bit of sweaty
skin he can reach.  He can hear himself making strange, animal
noises.  He doesn't care.

Chris urges Justin on wordlessly, making crooning noises and
encouraging him to thrust as hard and deep as he wants.

Justin cries out, clutching at Chris's hips, and comes.  His hips
snap against Chris as hard as they can with each wave of pleasure.

Justin's uninhibited orgasm turns Chris on greatly.  He wraps his
hand around his own erection and gets himself off fiercely and
quickly.

Justin collapses against Chris, completely insensate.

Chris wraps Justin in his arms and kisses his temple repeatedly.

Justin blinks and turns to Chris.  "Oh."

"Yes," Chris says.

"Oh, no," Justin says, suddenly realizing.  "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm
sorry!"  He looks down, and Chris isn't hard.  Justin's nearly
crying now.  He likes Chris.  He didn't want to fail Chris,
especially not like this.

"What?" Chris asks.  He shifts to cradle Justin in his arms. 
"What, sweetling?  What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"

Chris strokes Justin's hair, holding him close to his chest. 
"Didn't mean to do what?"

"To pleasure myself, and not you."

Chris nearly laughs with relief that there's nothing serious wrong. 
"Don't worry.  I couldn't wait.  I took care of myself."

"I'm sorry," Justin whispers, and begins crying.

Now Chris is worried again.  "Justin, sweetling, you don't have to
be sorry.  I *liked* it.  You turned me on so much I had to take
care of it right then.  But even if I hadn't, nothing would be
wrong and I wouldn't be mad at you."

"But I'm supposed to pleasure you!"

"You did.  It gave me much pleasure to feel you letting go and
enjoying me.  So much pleasure that I couldn't wait until you were
finished to let you take care of me."  Chris kisses Justin's hair.

Justin shakes his head, but stays silent.  He will do better.  He
must do better.

"If you need to blame someone, blame me for being selfish and not
thinking of what you needed."

Justin shakes his head again.  This is what he is, and what he is
meant to do.  Without it, he is no one and nothing.

Chris sighs and kisses Justin's hair again.  "I love you.  I'm
sorry I hurt you.  I meant you to enjoy that."

"It was so good.  It was wonderful," Justin says.  "I just forgot. 
I didn't mean to forget."

Chris kisses him.  "I promise to do better next time and let you
give me pleasure instead of doing it myself."

"I should have brought you pleasure before my pleasure came to me,"
Justin murmurs.  He shivers pleasantly.  "But it felt *so* *good*."

Chris grins at him, enjoying the way Justin feels right now,
trembling against him.  "I liked it, too."

Justin blushes.  "Do I feel like that to you?"

"Yes.  Every time."

Justin says, "I understand."

"What do you understand?" Chris asks.  He's breathing more calmly
now that Justin seems to be over his crisis.

"How you feel.  Why it's like that."

"So intense, you mean?"

Justin thinks that that would be a 'nice' way to say what he means. 
"Yes."

Chris thinks he hears some frustration in Justin's voice at the
limitations of language to express what he wants to say.  "Tell me
how it feels to you.  Use whatever words you want."

Justin explains, haltingly, and in three different languages, that
he loves pleasuring Chris.  He loves being there, and knowing that
he gives Chris pleasure.  More than anything, he wants to always do
this.  But when Chris takes him, it hurts.  And Justin understands
now that the feelings are so intense, the sensations so great, that
there is not a way to be gentle, to make it not hurt.

Chris's expression is troubled.  "It always hurts when I take you? 
What kind of pain?"

Justin shakes his head in confusion.  "The kind that hurts the
body, not the heart?"

"Is it a sharp pain?  A big, bad pain?  Or a ripping and tearing
kind of pain?"

Justin shakes his head.  "Like fire.  Like what fire does.  Burn."

Chris nods.  "Just for a little while though?  At the beginning?"

"It's all.  Not as bad as at the beginning, but all through." 
Justin shakes his head.  "I don't understand.  What did I do
wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong.  If you feel like that every time I
take you, then I have been doing something wrong."

"No!"

"No?  No about what?"

"No, you have done nothing wrong!  This is how it feels.  We
learned this."

"No.  That is a mistruth.  Not a lie, but not the truth either.  If
you are stretched and made slick within, and I take care to give
you pleasure as I have you, then it should only burn at first, for
a little while, then feel good."

"This is not what we learn."

Chris closes his eyes, feeling sad.  "What you learn is also true. 
But only if the one taking you has no care for how you feel."

Justin touches Chris's face, fingertips ghosting along Chris's
cheek.  "You have care for how I feel," he replies.

"Yes, sweetling, I do.  I am sorry that I've been hurting you
without knowing it.  I will try harder so that I may never hurt you
again."

"I don't have care about the hurt."  Justin presses his face to
Chris's.  "I have care about you."

"And I have care about you," Chris says, stroking Justin's cheek. 
"I do not want you to ever be hurt."

Justin nods.  "I want to hold you, in my heart."

"You are already in mine."

Justin kisses Chris, slowly.  Because he may love Chris already. 
He just doesn't know, yet, what love really is.

Chris feels the cautious beginnings of happiness blooming inside
his chest.  He already has Justin's adulation and devotion.  But
it's Justin's willing friendship and love that he treasures as
Justin slowly opens to him.

Justin breaks the kiss and smiles stupidly at Chris.

Chris brushes Justin's smile with his thumb and smiles back.

"So.  A boat."  Justin's not homesick any more.  He's got Chris.

"A ship," Chris corrects.  "A boat is a vessel that can be carried
by another vessel.  A ship is a vessel that can carry other
vessels."

"Will there be other vessels on our vessel?"

"Yes.  There will be small boats for putting into shore and for
other things."

"Putting what into the shore?"

"People.  Ships need a harbor to sail into.  Some places don't have
harbors.  So they ferry people and goods to and from the ship with
boats."

"Oh."

"It's a small thing to people who stay on the land," Chris
explains, enjoying the feel of having Justin close, "but a sailor
considers it a great insult to have his ship called a boat."

"I'll be careful," Justin assures Chris.

"Good."  Chris kisses him.

Justin kisses back.

There are many more things Chris could find to say, but Justin is
very distracting and he has no reason whatsoever to resist.

~~~~

Chris wakes up next morning to Justin sitting up next to him on the
bed.  Justin's got his hands around his middle and is nearly
bouncing with restrained excitement.  His eyes are bright and his
smile gleams when he sees that Chris is looking at him.

"You found someone who has kittens, didn't you?"  Chris asks.

Justin nods.

"And you want to pick one out as soon as possible."

"When you're ready.  They're not going anywhere."

Chris raises his eyebrows at that.  "Really?  That's interesting. 
I'd expected you to rush me out of bed because you're thinking that
all of the kittens will be gone before you can get there."

"They said they'd wait for us."

"Got everything covered, do you?"  Chris heaves himself out of the
bed.  "Better not waste any time then."

Justin rises to get Chris's clothes for the day, as Chris uses the
bathroom.  "Are we having sex this morning?" he calls to Chris.

"No.  I want to get going and get you a kitten before you die of
excitement."

Justin beams.  "You have no idea how hard it was to find kittens
without talking!  Well.  It wasn't really hard," he admits a moment
later.  "They're in the kitchen."

Chris comes out of the bathroom and stares at him.  "You do know
that you are allowed to talk with other people now, do you not? 
Particularly people with whom you need to conduct business."

"No, I didn't know.  But it's what I'm used to," Justin says.

"You are," Chris says firmly.  "Although," he adds more gently,
stepping forward and caressing Justin's arm before moving to dress,
"if it is not necessary to speak to someone other than me, then you
need not.  I respect your intentions, and am honored by your
devotion.  But unfortunately, it's unlikely that anyone we will
meet would know your sign language, and it is better to speak than
to do without vital supplies or information due to custom."

"Yes, Chris."  Justin holds Chris's pants, shirt and vest for him.

Chris lets Justin assist him into his clothing, and then stops
Justin, putting his arms around him.  Looking into Justin's eyes,
he says again, "Your behavior honors me."

"I am glad."

Chris kisses Justin's cheek.  "Am I presentable?  If so, we'll
fetch your kitten now."

"Yes, you look most fine."

Chris wriggles his feet.  "Could use shoes, though, I suppose."

Justin laughs and kneels to pull Chris's boots on.

Once he's suitably accoutered, Chris leads the expedition to find
Justin a kitten.

Justin leads Chris to the kitchen, and then to a neat and tidy
storeroom.  The kittens are unattended, curled up in a corner.

"Fuzzy and adorable," Chris pronounces.

Justin kneels beside them.  "They're so little."

"Surprisingly," Chris observes dryly, "they grow."

Justin looks up at Chris.  "Should we not take a big one, then?" 
He regretfully stands.  "One that is already as large as it will
be, so we know what we are getting."

Chris shakes his head.  "The size of the grown cat is not of any
great importance.  The demeanor of the kitten is the best
determiner of what the grown cat will be like."

Justin nods.  "You know much more than I.  Which should we take?"
he asks.

"One of our adventurers, I should think," Chris says, pointing out
two who have strayed from their mother's side.  "The question is,
are they fearless explorers and friends to all they meet, except
their dastardly enemies, the rats -- or are they vicious little
brutes, hiding in the dark and waiting to strike?  Or for that
matter, cowards."  Justin is looking at him expectantly.  "Go
ahead.  Conduct reconnaissance."

"Recon--?"

Chris smiles.  "Go.  Look.  See."

Justin sits on the floor and looks at the little cats.  The cats
look back, sort of.  They mew in his direction anyway.  Justin mews
back.

Chris's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

One kitten skids over its own feet to run away.  The other just
cocks its head and mews louder.

Chris watches as Justin stretches out and puts out his hand.  The
kitten sniffs it, kneads it with two tiny paws, then tries to get
inside Justin's sleeve.

Justin giggles, charmed.

"It seems we have our future cat.  Is it male or female?"

Justin looks at the cat.  "It's furry."

Chris laughs and kneels down.  Inspecting the kitten, he says,
"You're in luck.  It's a she."

Justin picks up the kitten.  She starts crying worriedly.

"She's sad," Justin says, frowning.

"She will be for a while.  Perhaps a day or two."

Justin looks at Chris, brow furrowed.  "Is it not cruel?"

Chris's hand makes an abortive move toward Justin.  "Was it cruel
to take you from your home?  Would you prefer that I had left you
there or that I return you?"

"But I am a man.  I understand the whys of my life.  Besides, I do
not have a family.  Or, I did not."  He frowns.  "I am unsure on
that."

"It was cruel," Chris says.  "Cruel beyond belief.  And so is this. 
But in time, she will become used to us and you to me, and it will
seem normal.  Perhaps even preferable."

"It does not feel cruel," Justin says.  "Leaving my place."

"I'm glad for that."

Justin lifts the cat up, cradling her close to him.  "It's all
right."  He looks up at Chris.  "Is the big cat going to be mad at
us?"

Chris shakes his head.  "No idea.  You'd think she'd be relieved
that there's one less to have to feed."

"Is this one big enough to leave yet?"

Chris looks the kittens over with a critical eye and spots one
lapping at a bowl of water.  "Yes, I think they are.  They're
trying to feed themselves; that's a good sign."

Justin holds the fuzzy kitten against his cheek.  "I like her."

"You can name her.  Not that she'll answer to it, naturally."

"What does one name a cat?"

"As it does not matter to the cat, whatever one wishes."

Justin holds the cat up to Chris.  "You name her."

Chris shakes his head.  "The privilege is yours."

"I've never named anything," Justin says.  "I know not how."

"One way is to use the name of a favored friend or relative. 
Another is to name the animal after a quality it possesses.  For
some reason, white kittens are frequently named 'Snowball'.  Or you
may simply call her 'Cat'."

"I don't think she wants to be called 'Cat'," Justin says, standing
carefully.  "I did not like being called 'boy'."

"Then a different name," Chris says, rising as well.  "Think on it
a while."

Justin holds the kitten close to him.  "What will she eat?  Other
than mice."

"Milk.  Water.  Meat, if ground sufficiently or not too tough. 
Cats, and most especially kittens, take very small bites."

"They have very small mouths," Justin says solemnly.

"Yes, they do.  And she is all yours now.  I leave all matters of
kitten care, training and feeding to you."

"Yes, sir."

Chris hurts a little hearing that, but eventually, he hopes, he
will be Justin's lover and not his master.

Justin nods silently to the head cook, who is watching them
closely.

"So he does talk," she says.  "We'd thought he might be a mute."

"He is not mute, merely under an oath of silence."

"He's a nice one," she says approvingly.  "Always real polite."

Chris nods and leaves, making sure Justin is with him and not
lagging behind.

Justin stays a proper half step behind Chris.

Chris waits until they're in more neutral surroundings.  "Do you
wish to stay here and acquaint yourself with the kitten and the
kitten with her new surroundings, or would you prefer to go
shopping with me?  You're welcome to bring her with you."

"Go?  Out there?  I'm allowed to go out?"

"Of course," Chris says, brows furrowing.  "Why would you not be?"

"Personal servants rarely leave their homes, unless traveling."

"In your country," Chris says.  "However, here, it's more common
for those of high rank to never leave their homes unless for a
party.  They would send a servant to do their shopping.  However,
while it is possible and allowed for you to do so, I would not
advise going out alone in this place.  You would be at risk in this
city.  And I, being a cad, a rogue and a scandal, enjoy doing my
own shopping."

"Our powerful do not go out," Justin says.  "But their *personal*
servants do not go out either.  We will go with you, if we may," he
adds.

"You may," Chris says.

Justin smiles and finds his newly cleaned burnoose.  Covered thus
from head to toe, he tucks the kitten inside the folds and looks
expectantly at Chris.

Chris shakes his head, but smiles.  "That's fine here, but when we
leave, you'll need to either learn how to fit in there and show
your face, or find a way to adapt your coverings to match the
styles of the different cultures we will meet."

"Yes, Chris."

Chris leads them downstairs, where an efficient servant says that
he'll have a carriage brought for them immediately to convey them
to the market section of town and that it will wait for them if
they so choose.  Chris thanks him and accepts the ride, but tells
the man not to have the carriage wait, as they'll be some time.

Justin's kitten has stopped crying and made herself into a little
ball in his pocket.  She's a warm weight against his lower chest,
and he can feel her breathe.

Chris takes Justin's hand on the ride in, squeezing it gently
before loosening his grip and moving to rub small circles on the
back of Justin's hand with his thumb.

Justin lays his head on Chris's shoulder.  By slumping down, he can
make it look like a perfectly natural, fraternal thing to do.

Chris nuzzles Justin's hair.

Algiers is the kind of city where anything can be had.  The reason
Chris had not wanted Justin to come here alone is that he is
certain that someone like Justin ranks high on the shopping list of
more than one potential buyer.  He does not know that Justin can
defend himself, or would, if threatened.  Chris can and will.

The carriage lets them out on the fringes of the market district,
before the streets become too narrow to traverse.  Chris makes sure
to assist Justin down, then uses the opportunity to draw Justin
close.  "Stay at my side at all times," he says quietly.  "Do not
stray and do not walk behind me.  I do not wish to lose you."

"Yes," Justin agrees.

Chris gives him a quick, tight smile, and leads him into the noisy
bustle of the market.  The sound is of hundreds of people all
talking at once, some shouting.  Chris follows his nose toward the
cinnamon.

Justin keeps his eyes mostly on Chris, but he's still fascinated by
all the unusual goods he glimpses out of the corners of his eyes.

Chris is not actively seeking cinnamon, as it is rare here and
common where they are going, but he is interested in spices.  What
is common here will be priceless abroad, and spices are light and
travel well.

Justin sneezes as multiple scents come to his nose.  He opens his
eyes and Chris is a step away.  Justin rushes to catch up.

Chris doesn't notice Justin being lost.  He's inquiring into local
prices for cacao beans and tobacco, as well as sea salt and other
such commodities.

Justin catches up to Chris, settling his body very close to Chris's
side.

Chris rubs his cheek absently against Justin's shoulder.  The basil
is dried, not fresh, as one would expect considering it's being
advertised as authentic Italian.  He doesn't like the smell though. 
"Do you have a favorite spice, Justin?" he asks.

"No, Chris."

Chris buys some of the better-priced and less expensive spices.  He
doesn't care for curry, which is used in an overabundance in Indian
cuisine.

Justin says, "I should have brought a basket."

Chris grins at him.  "We can get one.  They do sell baskets."

"Yes, but I have one.  It's wasteful to buy another."

Chris shrugs.  "If we need it, then it's not wasteful.  Come. 
There's many other things to see and buy."

Justin falls back into place next to Chris.  After a moment he
laughs.  "The kitten is sneezing."

Chris chuckles.  He buys a basket despite Justin's disapproval and
carries it until Justin sulks so much that Chris hands it over for
him to carry.  Chris does not take everything he buys with him. 
Some things he makes arrangements to have delivered.  Others, like
a pack of cards and a pair of dice are wrapped up and dropped into
the basket.

Chris stops to look at local perfumes.  Justin studies the fabric
booth next to the perfumes from Chris's side.

When Chris is through inventorying the perfumes and assessing the
level of craft available here, both for profitability in taking
elsewhere and for profitability in importing it back, he buys two
small vials.  He turns to Justin, whose gaze is fixated on the
cloth merchant.  "Is there something you would like or could use?"

"I don't think so.  It's just pretty.  Interesting."

Chris tucks his hand under Justin's arm.  "You have a good eye for
cloth and clothing.  Better than mine.  If you see something that
might be useful, say so."

Justin flushes.  "It really is just pretty," he protests, but he
leads Chris to the shimmering fabric he's been looking at.  There
are lengths in a number of different jewel and earth tones.  He
touches the fabric and finds it comparable to what he's worked with
before, though with a little more body for all it is lightweight.

Chris watches him and nods as Justin explains which lengths he
likes most and why.  When Justin finally runs down, Chris buys all
of the lengths Justin had indicated.

Justin's eyes are wide.  "Chris!"

"Do you think we need some contrasting shades to go with this? 
Plain, perhaps, to show it off to its best effect?"

"Yes.  That one."

Chris smiles at him and buys that, too.  He should have thought of
cloth before.  This region of the world is renowned for its weaving
and fabric making.

Justin frowns.  "This place we go, how do their formal outfits
look?"

"They're..."  Chris tries to gesture with his hands, but it's
futile for pointing out detail.  "Their clothes are tight and
frequently silk.  Frequently, it's a long, closely fitting,
elaborate patterned tunic over fuller pants, all of the same color
and material."

"With trim or embroidery?"

"No real trim; a thin black border when there is.  No embroidery --
all of the patterning is in the fabric."

Justin sighs.  "Can one weave on a ship, do you suppose?"

Chris shrugs.  "Fine weaving, no.  In terms of basic sewing and the
like, the crew does that daily."  He considers Justin.  "But if
your needs are not too great, it is possible we can acquire
whatever it is that you would have to have."

"The fabric, Chris.  If the pattern is inlaid, I have to *make*
it."  He looks at the stall, finding only small amounts of such
fabric at what he considers an exorbitant price.  Especially
knowing that those who made it were most likely not paid at all.

"I know nothing of such things.  But if it's possible, I will help
you do it."

Justin considers, biting his lip and petting the kitten, who is
awake and battling with his fingers.  "Are there other cloth
merchants?  We would not need *much*.  And, truly, it is very hard
to weave what you describe without a large space."

"There are no large spaces aboard a ship.  All space will be filled
by crew or by cargo.  But there are other cloth merchants.  We can
visit all of them until you find something to your liking."

"May we?" Justin asks.  "That would be so much simpler."

"Of course."

Justin smiles.

Chris smiles back at him, hoping they're one day closer to Justin
realizing that Chris would give him anything he desires so long as
it isn't something that would harm him.

Justin's stomach rumbles at the walk.  He ignores it and
concentrates on the textiles they pass.  He also convinces Chris to
buy a quantity of glass beads for trade purposes.  "All women love
beads.  They're pretty and simple and shiny.  Of course, I like
beads, too."

"Which is why I find it so easy to tell you apart from a woman,"
Chris teases.

Justin smiles and says, "Ooh!  Ribbons!"

"Yes, you're definitely female," Chris says, and steers them closer
to the ribbon stall.

Justin frowns.  "Chris, I think the kitten is thirsty."  He brings
her out of his robe, and she immediately starts sucking on the
fingers of the hand holding her.

Chris nods and changes direction toward the sound of bleating.  "It
should be easy enough to get some goat's milk."  The idea of
adorable young helpless things being hungry makes him think of
Justin.  "Shall we pause for the moment and get something for our
own selves to eat once we've satisfied the kitten?"

"If you wish.  I could eat."

"If you are hungry, then it is my wish that you eat."

"After the kitten," Justin insists.

Chris nods and keeps walking.  He negotiates purchase of a skin of
goat's milk and passes it to Justin, leaving it to him to discover
how to get the kitten to drink it.

As Justin lets the kitten lick drops of milk from his fingertip,
Chris puts his hand back under Justin's elbow and steers them
slightly away from the market district and toward a restaurant he
saw on his last visit.

Justin croons to the kitten and lets Chris guide him.

As they step in out of the brightness into the relative gloom of
the restaurant, Chris has to pause to let his eyes adjust.

In that small space of time, the proprietor notices them and rushes
forward to find he and his 'wife' seats.

Chris is quietly amused, and orders for both himself and Justin,
seeing that Justin's attention is too much taken by the kitten to
bother with small matters like the ordering of food to sate his own
hunger.

"What kind of place is this?" Justin asks.  The kitten is done
eating, and now slowly totters around the table, exploring.

"Truthfully?  It's a Moroccan restaurant that pretends to be Greek
and fails.  But their pastries are quite excellent, although, while
they seem to understand the general concept of salad, they lack the
requisite variety and freshness of vegetables to pull it off and so
substitute creativity."

"Oh."  Justin has no idea what Chris just said.

"I think you'll like them, and if you don't, there's still dinner
later."

Justin smiles at Chris.  "I'm sure I'll like them."

Chris really has no defenses against that smile.  "We could see
about having your ring resized today, so that it fits on the proper
finger."

Justin looks down.  "I've gotten used to it.  I forget I'm wearing
it."

"Does that mean you'd rather not?" Chris asks softly.  "I thought
it would be a good idea to do things properly, even if the meaning
is only symbolic.  But if you're comfortable like this, I'll not
make you change."

"No, it would be well to do it right.  I will get used to the
feeling again.  With or without the ring, I know I am yours."

"With or without the ring, I know that I wish you to be mine."

Justin blushes and ducks his face, smiling hard at the table.  "I
am."

"As I am yours," Chris says quietly.

Justin smiles at Chris.  He has no words.

Chris holds his tongue after that, not wishing to embarrass Justin
into silence.

Justin's kitten begins trying to climb Chris's shirt.  Justin
giggles behind his hand.

Chris carefully untangles the kitten's claws and settles her on his
shoulder.  She mews pitifully at him for a few moments, then starts
licking his ear lobe.

Justin watches, wide-eyed.  Chris likes it when *Justin* does that.

Chris makes a face at Justin.  "She must think I need washing."

"I washed you last night," Justin notes.

"Not thoroughly enough, apparently."

"I'll have to take her method, maybe?" Justin suggests, looking at
Chris through his lashes.

Chris laughs, then sobers as he realizes Justin is serious.  He
swallows.  "That, ah, sounds good."

Justin smiles a small, satisfied smile.

Chris plucks the kitten off his shoulder and passes her back to
Justin.  He doesn't think it's a safe idea to sit there and be
licked by anything while looking at Justin and thinking about his
clever tongue.

Justin accepts the kitten.  "Ow!  She's sharp," he says, settling
her back in his burnoose.  He sucks on the bleeding finger her
claws pricked.

"Cats frequently are, although they tend to get better at only
clawing those who have offended them as they get older."

Justin pouts.

"What?"

"I thought you'd say I was cute."

"You're not.  You're lovely, lithe and could arouse lascivious
desires in a dead man.  But you know that already."

"I do?"

Chris lifts his eyebrows.  "You don't?"

"If you say I do, Chris."

"You're lovely to behold, and I know no one who would disagree. 
Except, obviously, yourself."

"No, Chris, I don't disagree."

"Then why do you say you only know it if I say you do?"

"I know I am lovely.  I am meant to be lovely.  You said... you
said 'lithe'?  And that I could arouse a dead man.  This is not
true."

"Lithe.  Graceful, slim.  Long limbs arranged just so and spread
out beckoning on a bed.  The other was hyperbole."

Chris was thinking of him naked.  "Hi-per-bowlee?"

"An exaggeration."

"Oh."

"Are you upset?" Chris asks, just as food is set down on the table.

Justin waits until the boy leaves to answer.  "No.  I am confused."

"I am glad that it is only confusion.  I would be upset with myself
if I had hurt your feelings or made you angry with me.  What are
you confused about?"

"Should I like that I would be arousing to other men?"

"You should be proud that you're attractive."

"I see."

"Are you ashamed that I find you so?"

"No!"

"You are mine and mine alone, but I confess that I am proud you
are."  Chris takes fork in hand and begins to eat.

Justin copies Chris.

Chris eats slowly.  He isn't particularly hungry, but a meal will
do him no harm.  He must remember to compensate for Justin's
appetite in the future.  There is no reason at present for Justin
to be skipping meals, although, in the future, that may change. 
Chris is certainly good enough at forgetting to eat if something
more exciting is going on.  It is also one of the hazards of
diplomacy.  Both overeating and never eating.  "Thinking about
eating," he says, "I would appreciate it if you could think of a
discreet way to remind me to do so when we actually visit Ceylon. 
It is something I often forget."

"I will, Chris."

Chris smiles at him.  "Thank you."

Justin smiles back, and attempts to eat more of this strange food.

When they're done eating, Chris takes Justin back out into the
market.  He asks Justin's opinion on most of his purchases, and
anything Justin disapproves of, he doesn't buy.

Chris hires a conveyance to take them back once he realizes that
the basket has gotten too heavy and unwieldy for Justin to carry it
easily.  Not that Justin utters a word of complaint, of course. 
Chris suspects that Justin would rather let Chris parade him around
barefaced than complain about anything.

The carriage on the way back to the embassy is a little bigger. 
But not much.  Justin settles the basket on his lap and removes the
squirming kitten from his robes.  "Would you like to carry her?" he
asks Chris.

"I could take the basket," Chris suggests.

Justin's taken aback.  "Whatever you wish," he murmurs.

"Play with the kitten, Justin," Chris says and takes the basket
away from him.

Justin offers the kitten his hand.  She disdains to care,
proceeding to jump into the basket.

Chris laughs.  "Nothing's more contrary than a cat."

"I see."

"You might try getting her to drink more of the milk, if you have
any left."

Justin pulls the skin out of the basket along with a scrap of
fabric.  "Here, kitty," he croons, offering her the wetted corner
of the cloth.

Chris grins as the kitten is coaxed ever so slowly into Justin's
lap.

Justin feeds the kitten until she looks up at him and mews rather
than sucking at the fabric.  She turns and climbs back into the
basket, curling up on top of the fabrics to sleep.

"Only likes you while she's eating.  I know people like that."

"She's probably better like that, though.  Then she'll kill the
rats better," Justin says.  It doesn't matter if the kitty likes
him, after all.  She's supposed to be a necessity.

"Mmm.  Maybe.  Some of the best mousers adore people.  They bring
the rats back as gifts for you even.  And some of the worst
people-hating cats sleep all day and do absolutely nothing."

"Well.  She likes you," Justin says.  The cat is now curling up
against Chris's stomach at the edge of the basket.

"Probably because I'm all soft around the middle."

"You are?"

"Yes.  Did you want to feel for yourself?"

Justin feels.  "But I didn't notice.  That you were *soft*, I mean. 
I just like you."  He leans into Chris's side.

Chris doesn't have an arm free to wrap around Justin, but he would
if he could.  "And I appreciate that."

They come to a stop before the embassy.  Justin climbs down and
steadies Chris as he descends with the basket.

Chris hands the basket to Justin when it looks like Justin might
faint from the stress of having his 'master' doing manual labor.

Justin holds the basket close.  "Where's the...?"  But the kitten
is on Chris's shoulder, draped out and sleeping.  Justin nearly
laughs.

Chris puts his finger to his lip and walks with exaggerated care so
as not to disturb the sleeping kitten.

Justin has to bite his lip to keep from giggling as he follows
Chris back to their rooms.

Several of their purchases are already piled inside.  They make a
bulky stack, which he'll have to reduce to as small a size as he
can, because most of these will be traveling with them, rather than
packed in the hold.  For that matter, he needs to sort out what can
go in the hold with the rest of the diplomatic baggage like the
costumes he'll be wearing and the gifts from His Majesty's
government and interested companies.

Justin sorts through the bundles.  "Do we need the finer fabrics on
the way?  I'd thought they'd make better gifts once there."

"Whatever you think is best.  I wouldn't have thought of taking
cloth.  It would probably be best to take along enough to keep you
busy.  There will be much time.  But do set aside anything you
think is especially fine.  We may indeed be able to make use of it
as a gift -- or we may find ourselves stunningly underdressed and
in need of making a better impression."

"Yes, Chris.  The scents?"

"Mmm.  Leave one or two in our baggage; they might be useful as
trinkets to convince others to do what we wish them to do.  But
most should be packed."

Justin continues sorting things, occasionally packing and unpacking
one of Chris's trunks.

Chris sits down cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching
Justin.  "The hot spices go in our luggage, the rest are for
Ceylon."

Justin nods and finally packs the trunk for real.  Their purchases
for the day take up less than a third of the space, once he has
tightly rolled the fabric and packed the glass vials in the middle
of the rolls.

"Don't fret.  We can still buy more.  We have yet to find any
books."

"It will be very heavy," Justin notes.

"Heavy is fine.  It's the amount of space it takes up.  By the time
we get to Ceylon, most of it will be gone."

Justin nods.

"Come here?" Chris requests.

Justin knee-walks over to Chris.

Chris ignores the protests from the kitten as he reaches up to
frame Justin's face with his hands.  "Thank you." He kisses Justin
softly.

Justin kisses back, hands resting lightly on Chris's knees. 
"You're most welcome," he whispers when Chris pulls back.

Chris smiles at him.  "Would you care to rest or to bathe before
dinner?"

"Rest?"

"Lie in bed and play with the kitten and let me pet your hair?"

"Yes." Justin crawls onto the bed.

Chris follows him, humming happily.  He scoops the kitten up and
deposits her next to Justin, then lies down next to Justin.

Justin offers his fingers to the kitten.  She lays down in his
hand.  "So little."

"Yes." Chris curls up beside them and reaches out a hand.  Gently
he strokes Justin's hair and watches him taking care of the kitten.

Justin's eyes close.  The kitten is purring in his hand and he
feels like purring under Chris's.

Chris watches them until he's yawning, and then he closes his eyes
and lets himself fall asleep.

~~~~

Justin doesn't get seasick, though Chris does.  Justin spends that
week teaching the cat to stalk and kill mice and rats in their
cabin.

As soon as Chris is able to get out of bed and slip past Justin, he
does.  The worst place to be while seasick is below deck.  Much
better to be above deck.  Plus then the vomit -- if properly timed
-- goes overboard and doesn't keep stinking up the place for hours
afterward.

Justin hears Chris leave.  He takes the opportunity to clean up the
cabin.

Chris is a lot happier up on deck, hanging over the railing.  The
sea air doesn't hurt either when it comes to making him feel
better.  He'd do the whole trip from up here if it wouldn't upset
Justin.

Justin waits an hour before following Chris.  "Do you need
anything?" he asks quietly.

Chris bumps elbows with Justin.  "Not right now.  I feel better
already."

Justin smiles.  Not that Chris can see it.  Justin's back to
wearing his robe from home.

"Is it that cold out here?" Chris asks.

"No.  It is nice."

Chris nods.  "Because if you're too warm, you don't have to wear
all of that."

"I am well," Justin says.

"All right then."

"You feel better now?"

"Yes.  Just don't mention food."

"I shan't."

"Thank you.  Did I ever mention how good and kind and wonderful you
are?  Because I really appreciate you.  Especially right now."

Justin leans into Chris for a moment.  "I am glad to be of
service."

"Yes," Chris agrees after a moment.  "You are of much good
service."

Justin says, "I can be of service any time you wish it."

Chris reaches out and pats Justin's hand once, before resuming his
death grip on the rail.  "That's very kind of you, but I do not
wish any service at the present moment."

Justin sighs.  "I'm sorry you are ill.  It is not fair.  You do not
deserve to be ill."

"Fair is a myth.  Most of us never get what we deserve, and as much