The Old Raya
(originally in Taste Test: Sand and Heat)
It wasn't even noon yet and already it was hot. Even the thick stones of his raya's palace were no match for the sun's harsh rays during summer. Feyer sighed and lazily waved a hand. One of the boys ran forward and began to fan him.
He stretched out at the foot of the bed, skin gleaming with sweet oil and sweat, and shook his head, letting his hair fall behind him. Numi, on his knees in front of their raya, feeding the old man small bites of lychee fruit, glanced and him and licked his lips. It made Feyer smile and shift his hips, legs falling open, hand draped elegantly along his hip.
He looked good.
With the heat, he wore nothing but his armbands and his markings, bronze and gold along his arms and by his eyes, bright and shining against his skin. His kohl-stained eyelids were the same color as his hair. He was perfect. The raya had said so more than once. And well he should be: he had been chosen, made into the perfect bodyslave at a young age.
The old man, skin as wrinkled and dry as Feyer's was smooth and oiled grunted and waved Numi away. The black-eyed boy left the tray of fruit at Feyer's side and murmured quietly. "He had no more than two bites."
Feyer nodded. Their raya had been eating less and less, the heat bothering him more this year than others. Feyer would feed the old man himself. Taking a fruit, he ate it slowly, letting the juices flow from the corner of his mouth. He moaned softly, eyes slanting toward his raya. The old man's eyes were on him.
He took another fruit and placed it between his lips and then crawled up the bed, the white silk soft beneath his hands and knees. He climbed over the raya, brushing against the man, letting the fingers of one hand trail up from ankle to hip, wrapping around the mostly flaccid cock.
Pressing his lips to his raya's, he passed the fruit. The old man laughed weakly, but ate.
He smiled and moved back down the frail body, sliding the slim shaft into his mouth.
He tongued and sucked the flesh, bringing it slowly to life, twitch by slow twitch. It took longer now than it used to, and he'd been at it quite awhile, the old man's cock still not fully hard when gnarled fingers dropped onto his head, brushing through his hair and tugging him off.
"I'm tired and old. You cannot make stone pour blood."
He protested. "No. No, my Raya, there is plenty of blood left in you."
"I m too old and it is too hot. Come sit by me, let me look on your beauty as you pleasure yourself."
Pouting, he nodded.
He reached first for the tray of fruits. "Will you at least continue eating, my Raya?"
The old man's chuckles turned to coughing and Feyer frowned, worry filling him.
"You all fuss over me like old women."
"You are our Raya, our Master."
The old man's hand slid along his cheek and Feyer nuzzled into the touch.
A soft kiss was placed on his forehead and then his raya lay back among his pillows. "Entertain me, my boy."
Feyer kissed the hand that clothed and fed him and did as he was bid. His hands traveled over his own body. The oil was slick beneath his fingers, making his soft skin even softer. Moaning, he let his raya hear his pleasure. He took his time, fingers moving over every part of himself. Displaying his beauty, he made the little noises he knew his raya loved.
His own hand was warm, familiar and comfortable around his erection and at last he came. "My Raya!"
The air seemed cooler now, a hint of breeze carrying with it the promise that summer would pass them by and leave the rains behind. He waited for the words of praise, for his raya to speak of the pleasure he took in watching Feyer's passion.
The silence hurt and he raised his head. A soft smile turned up the corners of his raya's lips, the dark eyes staring. Feyer offered a smile and raised his hand to his face, licking delicately at his own seed. The expression on the old man's face did not change.
"My Raya?" His whisper was a trembling echo of his earlier cry and he put his hand on the old man, shaking him, but his raya's stare remained unbroken, his body still.
Feyer laid his cheek over the old man's heart, eyes closing on tears; there was only silence there.
© Sean Michael