It's also erotica. Boylove. Shameless use of run-on sentences and lack of proper characterization. Read at your own risk.

In the Garden


How does my garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle shells...


Tam loved the plush carpet that ran the length of the hall. Its surface brushed soft and feathery between his toes and gave way beneath his heels, only to bounce back up and tickle the soles of his feet as he moved on. He savored the undemanding gentle touch of it as he walked, not caring where he went. It brought a comfortable drowsiness, like a dim warm memory of being held and treasured. Letting the carpet swallow the sound of his footsteps, he trailed behind the Master and the Client. There was nothing interesting about them, or the other boys that walked silently beside him.

They stopped at one of the doorways. The Master murmured to the Client, conversation that fell dimly to the floor and ran in streams around and about him, meaning lost in the transparent rippling sound of it. Tam let out a faint sigh, wriggling his toes and feeling the carpet slide-crunch across his skin. He hadn't walked nearly as far as he wanted to, and the carpet down the hall seemed to call to him. It was early enough that pale morning sunlight streaked through the windows and splashed across the ceiling, making wavy rainbows. It made him feel as if he were underwater, looking upwards to see the play of light. He puckered his lips and blinked slowly, the way he imagined a fish would.

The doorway they had stopped at was hung with a gauzy strip of fine silk. "Lilac," the Master said. One of the boys stepped forward and drew the cloth aside. At the Master's nod, the Client peered into the opening.

The boy squeezing the carpet between his toes heard the Client exhale sharply, a startled gasp that arrowed across the hall and broke in delightful shards on his skin. Although he knew exactly what the Client would have seen, Tam was unaffected. He'd seen it before, so often that the sight held no interest for him. There would be a wide-eyed boychild with tawny skin, huddled in a corner; flawlessly beautiful as all here were beautiful, a faint spray of lilacs just visible over one dark trembling shoulder. The boy outside sighed again. If the Client would just make up his mind, they could walk some more. He wanted more carpet, more waves, more washing of sensation and texture across his skin and eyes.

At length, the Client shook his head. The wisp of cloth fell across the opening once more, the one who had pulled it aside silently heading back the other way. Tam let go of the carpet between his toes and fell willingly into line again. They moved on down the hall, carpet reaching up to swallow his feet, light shimmering across the walls and ceiling.

They stopped several times more, the Client leaning forward to gaze into each doorway. There would a long-limbed young man, gaze lowered, dark braids all but obscuring the carnations wrapped about his shoulders... At another doorway, a laughing sunbrown boy, sunflowers crawling up his back... Inside the next door, another youth, hair fine and summerbright, whirling to reveal a delicate tracery of orchids from neck to thighs... Another, dreamy-eyed and all but asleep by the window, sunlight playing on the lilies dripping down his back... On and on, iris and foxglove and meadowsweet, gentle fall of hair and soft eyes and smooth slender bodies. And each time, the Client drew back and shook his head, and another of the boys that walked with them would bow his head and retreat down the hall, carpet breathing softly as he moved away.

Eventually they came to a halt again, before another gauze-covered archway. Tam stopped walking obediently, and twisted the carpet between his toes. He dimly realized that he was the only one left, just him and the Master and the Client waiting impatiently by the archway.

"Rose," the Master's voice said, the word falling solidly into Tam's ears, first concrete thing he'd felt all morning. He stepped forward and felt his fingers tingle as he took hold of the cloth and pulled it aside. Light washed watercolor-pale from the hall into the room beyond. It haloed a slender, long-limbed young man with shadowed eyes and long dark hair, lounging gracefully against the far wall. Roses were splashed verdant and lurid against his golden-hued skin. The crimson petals descended down his back in a glory of tangled leaves and delicate vines, disappearing into the bright robe that fell about his waist.

The Client made a soft sound, made of equal parts need and surprise. He inadvertently reached out towards the young man in the room. Then he pulled his hand back with a hiss, unable to reach across the threshold. "What -?"

"It's a protective barrier," the Master said, only a hint of amusement coloring his voice. "You understand why we need it, in a place like this, with such merchandise. Keeps unwelcome people out... so the Rose is the one you want?"

"Yes," the Client breathed.

The Master smiled. "You've paid already. Let him in, Tam."

The boy holding the curtain reached out and took the Client's sweaty hand, smiling happily at him. "Come," he said simply, and drew the man into the room. Plush carpet became the hard smooth fibers of tatami mats. Once the man was fully across the threshold, the boy let go, and backed to the side of the room.

"Enjoy," the Master called, his voice becoming fainter. "I'll be back to collect you in a few hours."

The Client paid no heed, already reaching for the dark-eyed youth on the sleeping mat, drawing the bright crimson robes away, exposing more of the Roses that gave the young man his name.

Tam stared at the folding silk screen in the corner, absorbed in the delicately woven crane that looked about to leap into flight. He savored the clean tang of the ricepaper walls in his nostrils and the perfect weave of the tatami mats under his feet. He lost himself in the flight of the crane, awaiting only his signal.

Of a sudden, a sweaty hand on his bare arm. He blinked. Was it time for the Client to go already? He had not heard the Master's call.

"Come, you," the Client said, tugging on his arm. "You're pretty enough... and I paid more than enough to cover the two of you. Come here..."

Tam gaped in bewilderment, torn too roughly from flight and silken cranes, the words dancing meaningless through his head. He pulled back, uncertain.

"You don't want him," the Rose said from the bed, his voice sultry. "His kind aren't for sale."

"Anything's for sale here." With an abrupt jerk, Tam found himself sprawled across the bed, his arms and legs tangling with those of the beautiful young man on the sleeping mat. Part of him found and delighted in the cool silken smoothness of the bedcovers against his cheek, but another part of him was unnerved and beginning to be frightened. Rough hands seized his hips and jerked him up onto his hands and knees. He fumbled for balance as the world tilt-spiraled, bewildering geometries of sliding walls and ricepaper screens kaleidoscoping around him. He tried to put his hands over his eyes, and lost what balance he had. He sprawled onto the bedcovers again.

"No." The Rose was abruptly on his feet. "Leave him alone."

The hands on his hips tugged him back upright. "I'll do what I like."

"Not if you touch him. The Master will be very displeased... he'll probably never let you come back."

The Client was angry; Tam could feel the promise of violence trembling through the hands on his hips, and it made him shudder. The Client's voice was rough, too. "How dare you..."

The pale youth did not waver, the sunlight picking out the roses on his back. "You may do as you like with me. That's what you paid for, after all. But leave him alone." He shifted subtly, his pose becoming suddenly languid. "Besides... why would you want anyone but me?"

The hands tightened on his hips for a moment. Then Tam was thrown off the bed, the world whirling about him again. He tumbled uncontrollably and landed on his side, the breath knocked from his lungs. Gasping, he got to his feet and retreated into his corner. On the sleeping mat, two figures grappled with one another.

Tam frowned softly, and turned his attention to the folding screen. But strangely, the woven pattern refused to draw him in. Soft broken moans and urgent grunts invaded his ears, and his eyes were drawn to the shadows flickering across the ricepaper walls. He crept forward, watching.

The dark-haired Rose was pressed against the sheets, long-fingered hands gripping the bedcovers, long legs raised to either side. The Client was above him, each movement shoving the Rose back into the sleeping mat. The Rose's head turned fractionally, and met his gaze.

Tam froze.

The corner of the Rose's mouth lifted in what might have been a smile. Then his face changed, clenched; his eyes narrowed and his head went back. The Client cried out his fulfillment as the Rose convulsed beneath him. Tam skittered back to his corner, his breathing curiously rough and his body tense. He stared unseeing at the folding screen, his hands forming fists.

Tam went to the Rose that night, when all the Clients had gone. He drew the curtain back, exposing the room beyond.

The Rose looked up from where he lay, slender and graceful on the bed, moonlight pooling in his sheets. "Just you? What do you want?"

Tam's voice broke from his throat and shivered into unintelligible pieces. He discovered belatedly that he had not spoken for as long as he could remember. He had to try several times before he could say, hoarsely, "Thank you."

"Whatever for?" the Rose asked lazily, raising himself onto an elbow.

Tam opened and closed his mouth helplessly. "You... you..." You saved me, he wanted to say. I am grateful. He would have hurt me, and you had no cause to help me, but you did, and I am grateful... but thankfulness and devotion tangled in his mind, and a mouth that had not spoken for a long time could not form the words he wanted.

"I saw you watching," the Rose said abruptly, sleep clearing from his eyes. The corner of his mouth slanted upwards, sardonic. "Did you like what you saw?"

Tam's hand tightened on the curtain. "That's - that's not it. I... I just..."

"Haven't much to say, have you?" The Rose stood fluidly, reaching for his robe. The silken fire of it rose up to cover his tattoos as he paced to the doorway, stopping just short of where tatami mats met the carpet of the hall outside. "I've never heard you speak, Tam. What made today so different? Did you come back for another look? You are, after all, the only one who can draw that curtain back... makes you feel special, does it?"

The younger boy could not move.

"You're the only one, you know," the Rose said softly. "Did you ever know that? The rest of us can't even touch the threshold. That curtain works both ways, you know. The Clients stay out... and I stay in... and only you can cross freely." He smiled slowly at the younger boy, a flash of teeth deliberate and beautiful. "Do you like what you see, when you bring them in here? Do you wish, sometimes, that you were... part of it?"

He tilted his head to give the younger boy a sidelong smile. "I could give you a taste, if you liked..." His hand reached between his legs, touched, caressed. He breathed slowly and deeply, moving into his own hand, his eyes never leaving Tam's. "Would you like this?"

Tam dropped the curtain and ran, bare feet heedless of carpet. The Rose's liquid laughter chased him down the hallway.

Another Client this time, leaning against the wall, head thrown back. One hand was splayed against the lacquered surface of the wall; the other was fisted tight in the Rose's dark hair. The Rose was kneeling submissive and graceful between the Client's spread legs.

Tam stared determinedly at the silken crane, trying to ignore the Client's gasps, the wet sounds that the Rose's mouth made. It was difficult; he was accustomed to immersing himself in sensation, not shutting it out. But somehow the idea of drowning himself in whatever the Rose was doing... it twisted strange knots in his stomach. And he had to concentrate on not watching. Which was difficult in itself. Even when he wasn't watching, his mind insisted on remembering things... the way the Rose moved, the way the light glowed diffuse off his pale skin, how he would exhale as his slim thighs parted for --

A soft call from the Master jerked him into awareness. Tam found that he had to consciously put the smile on his mouth as he held his hand to the Client. Not that the Client even noticed. He could feel the Rose's eyes warm and knowing on his back as he led the Client from the room, and he had to force himself not to run.

Tam found himself outside the Rose's archway again that night, his toes burrowing into the carpet as if for support. He finally found the bravery to force a word from his throat, a word drawn from somewhere in his cloudy past, a faraway place where little things like protocol had actually mattered. "H... Hello?"

He heard a shifting of cloth inside. "Oh, it's you, is it?" Tam could almost see the smile that curved the Rose's lips. "I can't give you that taste if you don't come in."

"D - don't want it," Tam protested. "I just want to... t-talk." He took momentary pride in his speech. The words were coming easier with practice.

"Talk, hmm?" The single word was laced with innuendo, and Tam blushed. The voice was closer; the Rose was probably standing right inside the archway. "Well, my dear boy, we can't... talk... if you don't pull that curtain back. I wasn't lying when I said I couldn't touch it."

Tam blinked; he'd forgotten. Memory, too, was still new to him. He reached out and lifted the curtain.

The Rose was a bare inch from the threshold, and he was wearing nothing but a seductive smile.

Tam immediately dropped the curtain again, his cheeks burning as he heard the Rose's laughter peal out. "You're the cutest thing, aren't you?" the Rose said indulgently. "As if you haven't seen me naked before."

"That was... different," Tam protested, staring at the floor.

"Oh? And what was different about it?"

Tam frowned softly, puzzling it out. Finally he offered, "Before... it didn't matter."

Silence from the other side of the curtain, and then cloth rustling. "Open the door, and come in, boy," the Rose said, laughter still coloring his voice. "We can... talk." When Tam hesitated, the Rose laughed again. "No games, boy, I promise. Don't worry; I'm dressed."

Tam lifted the curtain, revealing the Rose seated cross-legged a few feet from the doorway, his red robe thrown over his body. "Come in," the Rose offered. He gestured at a nearby cushion. "Have a seat. I haven't had a decent conversation in a while."

"Neither have I," Tam admitted, and found himself oddly surprised at the fact. He seated himself on the cushion, which was soft. He trailed his fingers nervously along the weave of the tatami mats, trying to ignore the fact that the Rose's robe was falling open.

"So do you have a name, boy?" The Rose's eyes were hooded, but his tone was light.

Tam said his name, tasting it anew. The Rose repeated it thoughtfully. Then - "That's all?"

"That's all?" Tam echoed dumbly.

"That's all? Just Tam? No surname? No other words of introduction? What did you do before you came here? I may not see the world much these days, but I at least know that no children are born in the Garden."

"The Garden..." Tam repeated, closing his eyes. Memory was trickling into his head, sluggishly - each snippet new and fascinating for a moment, and then strangely old, something he'd known all along. It was dazzling, breathless. A tall form - the Master - a deep voice, offering, "...do you want to come work in my Garden...?"

"You don't even remember, do you." The Rose leaned back, resting on his elbows, regarding the younger boy from under his lashes. "They did a rather good job with that spell, didn't they. And here I'd thought you'd awakened."

Tam shook his head, trying to regain memories. "They... ?"

"They," the Rose repeated impatiently. "The Garden's spellcasters. The Master. Come on, Tam - an echo's no fun to talk to."

"Tam... Tamarin Cooper," he said suddenly. "I was twelve years old." A frown creased his forehead briefly as he realized that he had no idea how old he was now, or how much time had passed since he last remembered anything. But another thought occurred to him, one infinitely more interesting. "I was going to be a mage." His breath caught, and he was filled with a jumble of feelings - ambition and awe and respect, memories of a sunbright glory and a heady powerful joy... and, inexplicably, resentment that hovered bitter at the back of his throat.

"A mage, hmm?" One elegant eyebrow lifted, and the Rose shifted again, his robe sliding farther down his shoulders. "A mage, but a cooper's son... I suppose you had grand ambitions, my dear Tamarin. How... ironic."

Tam hardly noticed, sifting through his new-old memories, entranced. "I was a mage," he repeated with wonder. "But I didn't have enough money," he discovered. "I couldn't pay for the Academy." Shame came with that, along with other, less pleasant memories. "I was... hungry... and cold... and he came, and offered..."

"...a place to stay," the Rose completed. "Where you'd be fed and clothed and warm at night." His voice was distant. "Sounded like heaven, I'd bet."

Tam blinked, startled. "You too? Who were you?"

"Nobody important," the Rose shrugged. "I was a scholar."

"Scholar?" Tam's memories were fragile yet, but he tasted respect in the term, books and learning and mystery, and an admiration that bordered on worship. "But then... why? Why..." He gestured around, at the room in which they sat.

"Why am I a whore?" the Rose asked sweetly.

"You're not!" Tam snapped back before he thought. Even though the Rose's tone had been casual, the word itself was full of cold contempt and shame, of harsh condemnation. Nothing like the confident warm sensuality of the Rose. He didn't believe it. "Not you..."

The Rose lifted an eyebrow, and Tam's eyes widened as the word's meaning crystallized in his head.

"Indeed," the Rose said. He sat upright, and smiled. And there was no shame in the smile, no embarrassment, and Tam caught his breath as he realized that the crimson robe had slipped open, exposing the Rose's slim chest and his flat stomach, and if it fell open just a bit farther, he would be able to see into the shadows below -

He jerked his eyes away, up to the Rose's sardonic smile. "But... you... why?"

The Rose shrugged fluidly, and the robe fell completely off his shoulders, pooling around his waist. "Best of the choices available to me. But let's not talk about me - I want to hear about you." He leaned forward, so close that his breath was warm on Tam's face. "You, my dear Tamarin."

Tam's throat tightened, and his limbs felt strangely liquid. "Rose - don't..."

"Don't?" The Rose's hand touched his cheek, curved around to the back of his neck. "But why? You're pretty, Tamarin." Long fingers petted his neck, tangled in his hair. "And why would you tell me not to... when you so clearly want it?" Tam felt his head tilted upwards, and found himself very close to the Rose's face, staring into the long-lashed eyes.

"No!" Tam jerked himself back, out of the Rose's hold, stumbling upright. "Why?" he added, pleading. Tears were burning his eyes, another feeling that was almost familiar but still foreign. "It was so nice... just talking to you..."

"Because it's what I do," the Rose said, his tone oddly gentle. He stood up as well, robe falling completely away from his body. Tam fought to keep his eyes on the Rose's face, but found himself backing across the room as the Rose advanced on him, all golden skin and dark eyes and liquid movement.

"Don't..." he whispered again, shaking with need. "Oh, don't..."

"Don't?" The Rose had trapped him against one of the ricepaper walls, one hand trailing down the flinching skin of his neck, to slide under the collar of his tunic. His open mouth moved over Tam's temple, his ear, not quite touching, but oh so warm and sending alien shivers down Tam's spine every time he breathed. "Don't what, Tamarin?"

Tam managed to push past the Rose and flung himself over the safety of the threshold. The Rose followed but stopped at where tatami mat became carpet. His face was unreadable.

"Don't make me into one of them," Tam panted, and fled down the hall, away from the Rose, before he could convince himself to stay.

Tam had never thought of memory as a burden. In fact, he hadn't missed it for years, and now he remembered so much that he even remembered that memory hadn't been a burden before.

However, it was a burden now. He found that he could not do even the slightest thing without remembering something. He couldn't walk without remembering walking somewhere else, during some other time. He couldn't look out the window without remembering other windows, and what he had seen from them. He couldn't even lie quietly in bed without memories invading his head. There hadn't even been a "now" before now. But now he knew the difference between "now" and "later."

Distracting. He often looked around at his fellows and admired their peaceful moment-by-moment existence. Although if someone were to ask him if he wanted to give them up, in exchange for his former peace, he wasn't sure he would say. It was true that the incessant memories were annoying.

On the other hand, they were his life.

He found himself angry that they had been stolen from him. He felt cheated. He remembered the conversation clearly, now. He had been hungry, and cold, and much too proud to go home. After all, he'd left saying that he'd become a powerful mage. It would have been much too shameful to go back, begging for food. Better to die.

Better to die, also, than sell his body, as others had suggested. He'd had to fight some of them off with his waning powers. Pride was still strong in him.

But the way things were going, he would soon have nothing left but his pride. He huddled in the scant shelter of a building. The other side of the wall was warm; he could feel it. Besides, this building blocked most of the wind.

Of a sudden, a tall figure, appearing suddenly out of the snow. Deep voice. "You're cold."

He'd lifted his chin. "What's it to you?" He held up a fist, around which a faint blue nimbus glowed to life. "I'm not for sale."

"I wasn't going to offer to buy you, child." The figure came closer, took off his hat. "But... I might have a place for someone like you."

Tamarin had narrowed his eyes, already too accustomed to such words. "I've already said I'm not for sale." The blue glow at his hands grew stronger, brighter. "Leave."

"No, I wouldn't waste you as a pleasure-toy." The man's tone was definite. "I need... someone with magic. Someone with your powers."

That caught his attention. "How much would you pay?" No need to mention that he couldn't legally work magic for money, not when he didn't have an Academy license. He may have been proud, but he was also hungry. "And what would you want me to do?"

"A simple spell," the man said. "A Lock spell - that is within your capabilities, I take it?" Tamarin had nodded. The Lock spell - a spell to grant access to a particular place to one person only, that drew on the magic in that person's body. One any beginning mageling learned, to keep his things private. Tamarin, of course, had nothing left to hide.

The man went on, "I wouldn't pay you anything - but I'd give you food, and clothing, and a place to sleep. You'd be free to look for a true job in the meantime. I promise that in my Garden, you won't be touched."

Tamarin had been suspicious, but he had also been cold, and alone, and very hungry. He went with the man, who had become his Master.

The Master had kept his word; Tam hadn't been touched. Physically, anyway. Tam had performed the Lock spell, but his Master had neglected to mention that he'd impose his own spell on the boy - one to steal memories, and leave only an innocent blank mind in their place.

Tam wandered the carpeted halls of the Garden, reluctant to call attention to himself. He wondered where the gates were. He distinctly remembered entering, but he couldn't figure out how to leave.

Then he thought of the Rose, and wondered if he even wanted to.

This particular Client was violent. He liked pain. Two weeks ago, Tam wouldn't have cared. Two weeks ago, he wouldn't even have noticed. But now he heard the Rose moaning, and the sounds the golden young man made were not sounds of pleasure. It curled Tam's hands into fists, brought a snarl to his mouth that he hid by turning to the wall.

The fact that enraged him was that what was happening wasn't anything new. He couldn't do anything about it. And what disturbed him most of all was that the wet sounds he heard behind him made his body react, and brought heat curling between his legs as he imagined the Rose's body tensing beneath his, pictured the long pale body open to his touch.

"I'm not them," he whispered to the wall. "I'm not..." The thought of being included in the endless succession of Clients made him feel almost physically ill.

The difference between him and the Clients, he reasoned, was that he didn't think of the Rose as a thing. He thought of the Rose as a person. His friend.

Who, incidentally, he wanted to take, or be taken by, anything to ease the ache... and kiss deeply and urgently. He wanted to lie with him, warm in the night, and wake up to find him there. He didn't want anyone else to touch the golden youth that he now thought of as his own.

The beautiful youth that he was afraid to have touch him.

He noted in passing that he had regained his sense of irony.

Tam drew the curtains back without preamble that night, and walked in. The Rose looked up with a sultry smile. "My, Tamarin... we're becoming quite familiar, aren't we?"

Tam sat on the cushion. "Don't play games," he retorted. "I'm here to help you."

Instead of the interest he had expected, the Rose leaned back and regarded him. "I believe..." the Rose said eventually, "that I liked you better when you didn't remember who you were."

Tam blinked, hurt and feeling illogically rejected. "Why?"

The Rose shrugged. "You were cuter then. This... confidence..." He shook his head, long black hair tossing over his shoulder. "I don't like it."

"But..." Tam leaned forward and took the Rose's hand. "I'm here to free you tonight."

"Free me?" The Rose tilted an eyebrow.

"Yes," Tam said urgently. "You were a scholar. I could be a mage. You wouldn't have to be with ... the people you were with today, any more. I'd protect you."

The Rose stood suddenly, and Tam was reminded that the Rose was in fact older than he was, and taller. "You would, would you?"

Tam stood also, looking up to meet the dark gaze. His voice was soft as he admitted, "I don't want you to be used anymore."

The Rose's eyes narrowed. "Who asked you?" One swift movement and Tam was trapped between the Rose and the wall, the warmth of the Rose's body against his. He was suddenly, desperately aware of the need that had clenched between his legs.

"I -" he whispered, raising his hands and flattening them against the Rose's chest. The cloth of the Rose's red robe was silken and cool under his hands, and he couldn't bring himself to push the Rose away. "I love you."

The Rose laughed, a sharp bitter sound. "Do you now? Hothouse boy, rejected mage, still a child... all you've seen are the Clients, passing through. You feel friendship or sympathy or, gods help us, pity - and you think that you love?" He shoved up against Tam again, and the hardness between Tam's legs leapt in response, making him catch his breath. "You know nothing," the Rose hissed.

"Why are you here?" Tam asked, wide-eyed and needing to know, looking for something to ease the rejection.

"Because I want to be," the Rose answered. Suddenly his warmth was gone, and Tam sagged bonelessly to the floor, need still curled tightly in his stomach. He looked up to see the Rose perched calmly on the bed again. "So," the Rose said, as casually as if they hadn't been pressed together moments ago. "What's this plan of yours?"

Tam took a moment to catch his breath. "Every spell..." He caught the edge of the folding screen; dragged himself upright. "Every spell has a weakness. The Lock spell's weakness is the Lock's spilled blood." He pointed to himself. "I'm the Lock. If I spill my blood on the threshold - it breaks the spell. You can leave."

He was sure that he didn't imagine the sudden interest in the Rose's eyes, or the urgency in his voice. "Are you sure?"

"No," Tam admitted. "I'm not sure how spells in the Garden work. There might be results I'm not prepared for. But..." He stared up at the Rose, and his voice became small. He was, after all, still a child. "But they'd only affect me, since the spell binds me. And I'd give anything to see you free." His voice sank lower yet, until it was barely audible. "I wasn't lying when I said I loved you."

The Rose frowned briefly at him, then got off the bed. His movements as he approached the boy were ... strange. Tam stared for a moment before he realized that the Rose was not moving in any way seductively, or sensually - merely normally, with his intrinsic grace - nothing more. He felt the Rose's fingers, light on his cheeks, and somehow moist. It occurred to Tam that he had been crying.

"Tears?" the Rose said quietly. "For me, Tamarin?"

Tam couldn't move, the Rose this near to him, and not acting at all threatening. "You could die," the Rose said. "Had that occurred to you? You could die for my freedom."

"I wouldn't care," Tam said honestly. "You don't deserve this."

"Silly boy," the Rose smiled. "You know nothing of what I deserve." And in the Rose's dark eyes Tam saw something else, something old and bitter and fleeting...

...and gone. The Rose's mouth was on his, warm, tender, and sweet, and Tam gasped into the kiss. "If you're going to leave me," the Rose breathed, "let me have you first."

Tam tore his mouth away with an effort of will, even as the heat between his legs spread to warm his entire body. "What if it works?"

"Doesn't matter," the Rose whispered into his ear, his mouth so close that Tam shivered uncontrollably. "I've wanted you for quite a while anyway." With that, he bent to kiss Tam again, one hand diving between his legs, the other going around his back to catch him as his knees gave way, and Tam lost coherent thought as the Rose carried him to the bed. At one point he vaguely realized that he was being positioned between the Rose's legs, and directed to push in. He resisted, concern briefly overcoming lust - but the Rose assured him that it wouldn't hurt, and after all wouldn't he know better than anyone what pleased him? And after that Tam made no more protests, but thrust blindly into the golden youth, feeling the other arch and tremble beneath him, and gods but it was so much better than he'd ever imagined...

He woke drowsily, curled into the Rose's embrace. The Rose smiled down at him. "Liked that?"

Tam ducked his head. "Yes..."

"Good." The Rose ran long fingers through his hair.

Tam suddenly sat upright, gasping. "The spell!"

"Hmm?" The Rose sat also, far more slowly. "Can't it wait?"

"The spell, we have to do it before the Clients arrive for the day!" Tam scrambled upright, then blushed when he realized he wasn't wearing anything. He fumbled for his tunic, dragging it over his head. The Rose was laughing at him.

"No time," Tam cried, pulling at the Rose's hand. "No time... do you have anything sharp?"

"No," the Rose said, "unless you want to try to give yourself a paper cut..."

"Can't," Tam said distractedly. "Needs a good puddle of blood... oh well." He swallowed, took a deep breath, and bit into the fleshy part of his wrist, tearing out a good chunk of skin.

The Rose looked faintly curious as Tam, wincing, squeezed his hand to let the blood cover the threshold. It drained him more than he expected it to, and he staggered backwards when he was done. His legs gave way, and the Rose caught him gently.

"Spell's broken," he managed to whisper. "It's over..." The room was spiraling dizzily.

"Oh yes," the Rose said, from far away, a note of unexpected tenderness in his voice as he laid Tam on the floor. "It is."

And Tam, feeling sensation drain from his limbs, realized with a stab of betrayal that another spell was at work, and had been all along. His lips moved, trying to form words even as the world blackened around him.

"Don't," the Rose murmured, touching his mouth. "Far too late for that now."

The Rose gazed calmly at the blood flowing over the tatami mats, seeping into the cracks. It was really quite pretty, bright red on sullen cream, pooling and staining, creeping towards him. He dipped a fingertip in the thick warmth of it and brought it to his mouth, tasting the saltiness of it as the boy on the floor drew his last breath.

A familiar tingling, this time on the inside of his thigh. He lay back on the bed and stretched languidly, delicious pull of muscles and the slide of silk against his skin. When the sensation stopped, he twisted to look at the new-bloomed image.

A butterfly. Incongruous that, when he had expected blossoms, crimson petals, green vines. A blue butterfly, delicate wings spread defiantly against his thigh. Beautiful.

A startled laugh escaped his lips, and he reached over to stroke the round cheeks of the dead boy on the floor. "Darling Tamarin," he murmured. "So you did love me, after all."

04 December 2000

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