The Witch in the Garden

It was rare to find himself with nothing to do; people were fond of saying that the life of a royal concubine was one of idle pleasure but nothing could be further from the truth. They were expected to entertain at all the banquets Shah attended, they sat through with him, assisted the Queen and helped tend the royal children – and more besides.

He stretched as he strolled through Shah’s private garden, enjoying the mix of sun and shade. The heat was at its peak for the day, nearly all the palace resting until it broke.

Where had the others gotten to, he wondered. Shah must be stuck in session, and that meant Nanda and Aik were likely still with him, and Beynum was assisting the Queen…which left Witcher unaccounted for.

That mystery was solved as he reached the back of the garden and saw what he had missed before – Witcher lying on a rug which had been drug out and placed beneath one of the trees clustered around the small, rectangular pool that took up most of the back of the garden.


So well named, the others teased him. Kiah could only silently agree. He had seen foreigners before, and of course the rough savages who traded for horses occasionally. Never, though, had he seen someone quite like Witcher.

That pale, pale skin. Always so white; and Kiah knew if he was in the sun too long that Witcher would simply burn a bright and painful red. Beneath the shade of the tree, the sunlight just out of reach, he was bewitching indeed.

Kiah hesitated. He’d come here for some peace and quiet himself, and was loathe to disturb Witcher if he was doing the same – but he couldn’t linger in the garden and not speak with Witcher…

Perhaps he should just go back inside?

His feet, however, wouldn’t move, and if he were honest it wasn’t merely indecision which kept them firmly rooted to the spot.

A soft chuckle broke into his thoughts. “Now I am torn,” Witcher said lightly, sitting up just enough to prop himself on his elbows. “Should I be disappointed that you are still standing there and show signs of actually leaving, or impressed that unlike Beynum or Aik you do not already have me naked?”

Kiah flushed. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I can think of many things that would disturb me, Kiah, and you are nowhere on that list. Come and escape the heat with me, if you so desire.”

He could hardly refuse that offer. Still feeling somewhat hesitant, his stupid, traitorous mind supplying him with all sorts of memories of Witcher, he walked around the pool and dropped down to kneel on the rug. His mind still hesitated, but his hand seemed not to share the same qualms, reaching out to smooth along the bare skin of Witcher’s torso.

Witcher chuckled and moved into his touch, as though he had been expecting it – waiting for it. “You look surprised, colt.”

“You’re so pale,” Kiah said, still softly petting, unable to tear his eyes away from his own dark skin against the white of Witcher’s. “I always think you’ll be cool to the touch.”

“Not in this heat,” Witcher said, head falling back, eyes closing.

Kiah looked at him a moment, startled that Witcher would just…lie so still, just like that.

But then again, he’d seen…

His cheeks burned to recall all that he had seen, had even to some small degree participated in – Witcher always bent to the desires of the others. He did or took whatever was asked.

Despite himself, he could not resist simply touching. Witcher was beautiful to look upon, more beautiful still to touch. He wished he were as bold as the others; they never hesitated in anything they did. He wondered sometimes if they ever had. More often than not, he was painfully aware of his youth.

He splayed both hands across Witcher’s chest, feeling out every muscle, the faint rise of his ribs, the warmed metal of the rings which pierced Witcher’s nipples, face hot as he suddenly recalled the way the others tormented Witcher by playing with them.

Soft laughter washed over him, friendly and easy, as Witcher opened his eyes and reached up to lightly touch Kiah’s face. “After all that Beynum makes you do, pretty colt, I’m surprised you’ve any hesitation left.”

Kiah went still, feeling silly. He didn’t shy away from the eyes watching him, though. “I feel like a colt.”

“Far from that, Kiah,” Witcher said. “Far from that.” He tugged gently and Kiah followed helplessly, hand shifting on the smooth skin until he could just feel warm bits of metal against his fingertips.

Witcher smiled at him. “How about a kiss, hmm, pretty Kiah? I still like those best.”

“Oh,” Kiah said softly, feeling somewhat stupid, but he was not going to refuse when Witcher asked so easily…

He was as intimidating as Beynum or Aik or Shah, though not in the same way. They were intimidating for their boldness. Witcher…for his compliance.

Kiah had kissed him before, how could he not have? Witcher always seemed to taste of honey and lemon, and it was so strange the way he did not take over like the others…merely went with it, let Kiah do as he liked, and didn’t the thought of doing as he liked speed his heart to a fierce pace.

Fingers teased lightly along his sides, pressing ever so slightly here and there, making Kiah start. He broke the kiss and drew back, blinking slowly as he met the sky-blue eyes gazing up at him.

“Mmm, pretty Kiah,” Witcher said with a smile. “You’ve a wicked touch all your own, though I think in time you will acquire many of Beynum’s tricks.”

Kiah shook his head, laughing. “He’ll just come up with new ones.”

Witcher laughed, and tugged him back down, and this time it was much easier to assume control. So strange, that – he still waited for another to lead the way, but Witcher only submitted.


He kissed harder, pressing his boldness before he lost his nerve, fingers moving of their own volition once more, teasing over the gold rings, tugging slightly – and the soft, startled moan that elicited was more intoxicating than a carafe of Black Forest.

Oh, his fever reached all new heights with the knowledge that it was he eliciting those sounds from a man used to all manner of decadent pleasures. “Witcher…”

Witcher rested hands lightly on his hip, tugging him down, making Kiah groan at the contact and regret they were both still dressed. “Come now, pretty Kiah, show me that firm hand you must use to control those beautiful stallions of yours.”

That pulled another long groan from Kiah, body suddenly too hot, too tight, at the images which flooded his mind – beautiful, wonderful, torturous images that made him hotter still to even think about, never mind act upon.

Yet act he did, driven by the images in his mind, the intensity of those sky blue eyes, and the blatant proof that Witcher was far from unaffected by his hesitant attentions. Though he seemed to be growing less hesitant with every second; certainly when he kissed Witcher this time he took control of it immediately, wishing only that he had the skill to which this beautiful man was accustomed.

Still, Witcher did not seem dissatisfied, those hands on his hips encouraging Kiah’s every movement. Bracing himself on one hand, Kiah used his free hand to play with the small gold rings again, tugging gently at first and then more firmly, truly shocked at the noises that drew from Witcher.

Noises he alone was causing. Making a low, needy noise of his own, Kiah gave in to an impulse and broke the kiss to put his mouth where his fingers had been, sweeping his tongue over one nipple, taking the ring between his teeth and tugging hard, gasping as Witcher bucked beneath him.

“Pretty colt,” Witcher managed. “You learn fast.”

Kiah laughed. “No wonder Beynum insisted upon these.”

“Pirates,” Witcher said with a fond smile.

Still smiling, Kiah went back to tormenting Witcher, moving across his chest to tease the second nipple, then exploring further, fascinated as ever by the pale skin that somehow tasted both salty and sweet, lapping at the flat stomach, smiling at the way Witcher arched up into his touch.

His fingers ghosted of their own volition over the hardness still trapped beneath layers of cloth, heart beating out of his chest as he was tormented by all the ideas flooding his mind. He was used to being part of a group, guided by men bolder and more comfortable than he, or alone with either Shah or Nanda. Men who took the lead.

Hands ghosted over his own clothes, Witcher undoing the fastenings of the split skirt before pushing fingers beneath the waistband of his pants, pressing gently but firmly. A kiss was pressed to his jaw, and the softness of it all in stark contrast to the hard heat beneath his hand was a startlingly arousing counterpoint.

“Are you going to take me, pretty Kiah?” Witcher asked, the words spoken oh so softly in his ear, and Kiah groaned loud and long, shaking hard in an effort not to spill himself then and there.

He shook his head, drawing in a deep breath. “I’ve never—”

Witcher kissed him, long and slow and sweet. The blue eyes shone warmly when he finally pulled back, hands gently petting and caressing. “There is no one better than I, pretty Kiah, and I think you would feel very fine indeed.”

Kiah whimpered, giving in, for how could he say no when it was something he so badly wanted and Witcher looked at him like that? The man was well named indeed. He slowly let go of the heat he still held, fingers fumbling to undo Witcher’s skirt and pants, tugging them away to bare pale, muscled legs and a well-formed cock. He reached out to touch, first the soft skin of Witcher’s thighs, then the thatch of pale curls, at last running his fingers along Witcher’s cock, wrapping a hand around it, spreading the wetness that said Witcher wanted this just as badly.

Still he hesitated, even as he felt silly for being hesitant – certainly he knew how it went, was far from ignorant. Only yesterday he’d been between Aik and Beynum, his mouth upon Aik while Beynum took him. He had witnessed the way all the others ravaged Witcher without hesitation…

Witcher spread his legs, cradling Kiah between them, wrapping a hand around Kiah’s cock, and he nearly thought he might lose it then and there except he wanted so badly…

He bent to take a kiss, needing it, steadied by it, slowly pulling away to act before his boldness slipped away again. Giving Witcher’s cock one last caress, he furthered his explorations, fingers sliding over the heavy balls before slipping behind them to press one finger at his entrance. He gasped to find it was not only hot, but slick – ready for him.

A groan tore from his throat and ducked his head, unintentionally catching himself on those wicked blue eyes.

Witcher chuckled and tugged him close enough to kiss again. “Come now, pretty Kiah…” He winked. “I believe you are the only one among us taught properly how to ride. Show me you can.”

Kiah would have glared if he’d had the strength, because Witcher truly was evil to say such things, but the tormenting words were all he needed to shut away his remaining hesitancy. Slowly he pushed inside the tight heat offered up so easily, gasping and moaning at the feel of it, as exquisite as every torture laid upon him during his time in the harem so far.

Sweat stung his eyes, and he wondered belatedly if this was really the smartest thing to do at the hottest point of the day with nothing but shade to protect them – but then Witcher moved, taking in more of his cock, and Kiah’s thoughts skittered away, mind incapable of focusing on anything but pleasure.

He moved slowly at first, not wanting to do something horribly wrong, but Witcher only encouraged with touch and sound, meeting his every thrust until Kiah realized just how silly he was being. After that, it was all too easy to increase the pace of his thrusts, driving into Witcher’s tight heat, feeling almost drunk at the easy willingness of the handsome heathen to be taken, even by someone barely considered an adult.

Just when he thought the pleasure could be no greater, Witcher came with a hoarse cry, body clamping down tighter still around his body, and Kiah could not bite back his scream as he finally came, spilling inside Witcher and collapsing atop of him.

He could feel the beads of sweat trickling down his back, making his hair stick to his skin, but found he could not be bothered by it. He stirred enough to look at Witcher, who smiled back and kissed him deeply.

Kiah groaned and returned the kiss full measure, breaking it only to pull slowly from Witcher’s body and stretch out alongside him. He wondered briefly if it was okay to do so, or if Witcher wanted his solitude back, but the brief uncertainty was immediately dispelled when Witcher shifted and settled an arm around his waist.

“Pretty colt,” Witcher said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You are, I think, settling in just fine here.”

Kiah kissed him back, not quite trusting himself to speak, rather overwhelmed by what he’d done now that sense was returning. Still, it was a deeply satisfied overwhelmed, and he was too tired and hot to move now anyway. Beside him Witcher relaxed, clearly dozing, and Kiah could only follow suit, wondering idly what would happen when the others found them.