Sometimes, very late at night, he calls to me in dreams; he cries out in his beautiful, broken voice: Help me, Sebastian, save me!
And when I come into his room, bearing a candelabrum full of light, he peers out from beneath his duvet and his eyes are shining and blank and frightened. I reach out to him, to answer his call, to bring him comfort, and sometimes he slaps my hand away, wanting no kind touch, no comfort I can offer, nothing except that I stand guard over him as he sleeps. I often wonder if he realizes what a contradiction this is, how futile it is as a defensive measure, because he’s far more vulnerable asleep than awake, and why in the world would he trust me to watch him sleep when he cannot trust me to touch him?
Sometimes, though, on very rare occasions, he welcomes me with open arms, and clings to my clothing as he shakes himself nearly to pieces; even more rarely, he will bid me to blow out the candles and come to him, and there in the darkness, he writhes under me, his small body feverish and damp with sweat; he clutches at my shoulders, my arms, my neck, my hair; and his voice is full of the desperate ecstasy of one who is trying to forget his suffering by drowning it in pleasure.
Sebastian, he calls, Sebastian, Sebastian! His cries stir my blood and my body and I am responding in every way I can, sheathing myself so deeply within him that I can feel his heart pounding, the heat burning all around me as surely as the fires of Hell; he moans and shudders and his climax is a violent, pulsating thing that makes me fear he will shatter in my arms and crumble to dust, even as I whisper kindly to him.
It is nights like these that I crave and despise the most, for they both offer me a tiny sip of his soul and break me down until I want nothing else. How reassuring it is to be relied upon, to be called for, to be held and desired as no human being has ever been – and how frustrating and irritating it is that this only happens when he is shaken and feeling alone, deeming me only worthy of his rare affections when he realizes that there is no one else. Perhaps I am expecting too much of him, given that the only reason I am bound to him is because his sorrow and despair were great enough to summon me in the first place. And yet—And yet—
His head turns slightly on the pillow, his lips swollen and pink from my kisses, the sweet smell of his body an intoxicant that settles over me like the scent of flowers; come the morrow, he will treat me coldly - even more so than usual - to make up for this night of weakness and affectation, and I have begun to worry that is the real reason why I both love and hate these passionate encounters. I am his and he is mine, and I shall gladly do as he wishes, whether it is to couple with him until he falls into exhausted and dreamless sleep, or bow my head and acquiesce to his insulting language meant to put me in my place and remind me that he cares nothing for me, truly.
Why should this bother me? Surely, having a mercurial master is frustrating at times, but it should not vex me so much as it does – he is merely one human in an endless sea of many, and I could easily replace him with another, softer, sweeter soul.
But when his eyes half open, the mark I put upon him glows dimly, lighting my face for his feeble human vision, and in the darkness, he smiles, thinking I cannot see. Sebastian, he says, his voice like the fall of a raven’s feather, Sebastian. I breathe a small sigh in response and he touches me – sometimes as intimately as the brush of his hand on my cheek, and sometimes as reservedly as dropping his hand near to mine so that his smallest finger overlaps my thumb. Sebastian…
Yes, my merciless little master, I shall always come when you call. I am always glad to guard you, hold you, pleasure you until your fear vanishes. I am ever grateful for your soft cries and salty kisses, the heat of your body, the press of your smooth skin against my chest. Ah, yes, come, let me in, guide me into the deepest, most hidden places inside you, shake and throb and arch beneath me as I stroke all of those tender, sensitive places that make you shiver and burn. Call my name, look upon me with those lovely, fragile eyes, feed back to me the power I give you, increasing it so many times over that when I spill into you, the pleasure courses back and forth between us, building and crashing like waves until we are both undone.
Sebastian, he whispers as he rests against me, his hair dripping with sweat, his body lax and boneless in my gentle embrace. Ahh, Sebastian…
Yes, I am here, as I shall always be.
Yes, my lord.