Shah looked up from his papers as the candle light flickered, expecting to see a servant or perhaps Nanda, who most often visited him when he worked so late.

The papers slipped from his hands, forgotten on the table, as Witcher moved forward. Candlelight and moonlight from the open balcony mingled on his white skin, making it almost seem to glow. The gold hoops piercing his nipples glimmered as Witcher knelt, setting a tray of wine and bread upon the table.

“You are feeling better?” Shah asked, reaching out to touch one pale cheek, stroking gently when Witcher nuzzled into his touch. Indeed, Witcher looked much better than he had the past day.

“Much,” Witcher said quietly, kissing his palm before turning away to pour the wine.

Shah pushed his papers aside, not even attempting to focus on his work with his witch before him. He glanced at the wine as it was poured, noting the barely-there delicate silver of it. “Reflected Moonlight? There cannot be much of that one left.”

“Only a cask,” Witcher said quietly, moving closer to him, raising a tissue-thin silver wine dish to Shah’s mouth, eyes dark in the weak light.

The wine was as light of flavor as color, cool and sweet, hard to pinpoint.

Witcher swallowed the remaining sip in the dish, tilting his head ever so slightly back. Shah traced the bare expanse of skin, fascinated as always by the stark white of it against his own dusky complexion.

From there it was simple to lace his fingers through Witcher’s hair and tilt his head just so for a kiss that started soft and slow but grew rapidly in fervor. Always so cool-looking, his witch, but ever hot to the touch.

Arms twined around his neck as Witcher pressed closer, and Shah did not even consider resisting an urge to touch, stroking and petting every bit of bare skin he could reach. Witcher moaned softly, utterly pliant in his arms, and it was the most intoxicating of spells to know this man who could have been his equal had chosen instead simply to be his.

Witcher pulled back, blue eyes not quite so focused, licking his lips as he turned to pour more wine.

Shah smiled faintly and cupped the hand that offered the wine, sliding it back along Witcher’s arm as he finished drinking, tugging his witch close again as the wine dish tumbled from Witcher’s hand.

He fell back upon the floor, and Witcher atop him was satisfying – but not nearly satisfying enough. Twisting, Shah reversed their positions, desire increasing a thousand fold at the sight of his witch spread out on the expensive carpet, positively glowing against the rich dark greens and reds and blues.

Shah kissed him deeply, breaking away only because there was so much more of Witcher he wanted to touch and taste. Nibbling at Witcher’s jaw line, he worked his way slowly down the fine, pale throat, down the smooth chest to take first one ring and then the other between his teeth, tongue flicking out to tease and torment further.

When Beynum schemed, he schemed so very well indeed. Shah typically thought his men needed no extraneous ornamentation. They each were breathtaking all on their own…but he was more than a little fond of Beynum’s tattoo, and utterly enamored of Witcher’s piercings.

Witcher groaned loudly, body rippling with need, but he did not push or encourage, merely sank his hands into the carpet above his head and waited, stretched out and so perfectly, beautifully willing. “Shah…”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Shah said, leaning up to kiss him once more, deep and slow, tasting delicate wine and the faint honey-lemon that was always a part of Witcher.

Fingers brushed lightly against his skin as Witcher undid the intricate fastenings of his robes and pushed away the layers of costly fabric. “They’re only headaches,” Witcher said lightly. “They go away. I’m sure half the palace thinks you indulge and spoil me.”

“Mmm,” Shah murmured, closing his eyes briefly against the hands raking lightly down his chest before circling around to his back. He went gladly as Witcher tugged him back down, kissing hard and deep before tearing away to resume enjoying the rest of Witcher.

With deft fingers he undid the knots that kept the skirt and pants in place, stripping the clothes away, tossing his own to join them, and it was always such a risk to play so where anyone might burst in with some emergency…but he had been bespelled from the moment he had looked into sky blue eyes that met his unflinchingly despite the pain and unhappiness in them.

“You should be spoiled, my witch,” Shah finally said, smoothing hands up Witcher’s thighs, petting and teasing, absorbing every movement, memorizing the way Witcher looked lost to passion, kissed by moonlight and candlelight.

“I would rather be the one to spoil my King,” Witcher said softly, hands landing lightly on Shah’s shoulders, tugging him gently down, kissing him in the same easy manner, at complete odds with the tension throughout the rest of his body, the hard cock leaking between them.

But if there was one thing Witcher had, it was control.

Shah wrapped a firm hand around Witcher’s cock, stroking him lightly, teasing more than relieving, extracting the gasps and moans that were more necessary than air. “You cast a spell with every breath, my witch. However did you come to be mine to touch?”

Witcher moaned, eyes dark and dazed, and spread his legs at Shah’s gentle urging. “You are my King.”

“By some strange fortune,” Shah replied softly, bending to kiss him again as he abandoned Witcher’s cock to explorer deeper, immediately pushing two fingers inside, Witcher more than ready for him, swallowing the hungry moan fed into his mouth. He pulled back enough to enjoy the sight of his witch consumed by passion, the way Witcher moved so beautifully in need, riding his fingers, eyes locked with his, and Witcher was never more breathtaking than when he surrendered wholly to the wants and desires of others – because he was never happier than when he was surrendering.

This witch who could have been one step from King, who had fit so seamlessly into the life of a concubine.

Shah pulled his fingers out and shifted, lining up carefully before pushing slowly inside, groaning deep at the tight heat of his witch.

Hands landed on his shoulders, a silent begging for more, and Shah complied eagerly, moving with sure steady strokes. There were nights where it was a fine thing to push Witcher, to use him roughly, to see the things which Beynum and Aik could do to him, the slow tortures which could be wrought by Nanda and Kiah. Tonight, however, he wished he could touch Witcher as lovingly as the moonlight and candlelight which bathed his skin.

He increased the pace of his thrusts as Witcher tugged, arched, begging for more still, and bent to kiss his witch thoroughly. Reaching down, he grabbed Witcher’s cock again, stroking in time with their thrusts, eyes fastened to Witcher’s face, which hid nothing and gave up everything.

“Now, my witch,” Shah murmured, and the way Witcher looked in that moment of release was the most potent of spells, and Shah kissed him hard as he found his own climax.

Some minutes later he stirred, reluctantly pulling from Witcher’s body, caressing with light, lazy motions.

Witcher sat up and fetched their clothes, cleaning and dressing them with a care and touch that made Shah want to remove them all over again.

“Will you be much longer, Shah?” Witcher asked, pouring more wine and taking a small sip before holding the dish up for Shah.

Shah drank it gratefully, then shook his head. “I think not. I cannot get much further tonight, and I think perhaps an enchantment has broken my concentration anyway.”

Witcher laughed and poured more wine, taking a healthy swallow and then leaning up to wrap his arms around Shah’s neck, kissing him deeply, sharing the wine and the smile which still curved his mouth, and Shah firmly believed some part of Witcher was truly magic, and happy was he to be caught in it.