Can't rain all the time

The long stone hall of the Palace of the Great Sultan of Albion was silent as the guard led Draco to the Sultan’s quarters. They’d walked this hall a number of times before as the guard had escorted Draco to and from his duties in the palace.

Unlike the rest of the palace, this area was particularly ornate, as it housed the royal household. Fine draperies and curtains lined the walls, and statues were spaced evenly along the way. Even the flooring was finer—marble as opposed to the granite in the visitor’s wing, or the simple stone of the servant’s wing.

The guard himself was the one who usually retrieved slaves to tend to Sultan Harry each evening if they were needed. His red hair was as fiery as his temper, and slaves were more likely than others to be on the receiving end of it, so Draco was always careful to keep his tongue when the guard arrived to escort him.

Still, made sure to note the other man’s reactions to others. One thing he knew was that the man seemed to have a fascination with the women’s’ quarters. Though there was a more direct route to the Sultan’s quarters, the guard always took the longer route which passed by the door to the women’s quarters, and it made Draco wonder if perhaps he was lusting over one of the sultan’s wives. Still, so long as the other man didn’t try to take his temper out on him, he’d hold his tongue about it. But he stored the knowledge away for future use, just in case.

Though Draco had been here in the palace for five years, he’d never gone beyond the slave quarters, except to visit the few private rooms that he had been sent to to take care of a guest for the evening. But that did not stop him from hoping that he would become the Sultan’s personal slave. He wanted no one but the sultan to touch him, and he hoped that some day he might become even more than a simple slave.

One of the other slaves, a young man called Blaise, had warned him of thinking in such a way. “It only brings pain, Draco. Focus on your duties, and find simpler things to keep you happy. And be glad you can find anything that does.”

It was advice Draco couldn’t take. He knew life could be better. He had lived it, once. The problem was, he knew he would never be the Sultan’s equal. Even if he was, he would never be able to have him to himself. So the best he could hope for was that the Sultan would choose him for his favorite, and hope that he could be happy with that alone.

For three years now, he had spent his time using every trick and tool the other slaves used to make themselves attractive to the men they were sometimes sent to serve. Draco knew that sometimes others were even called to please the Sultan in that way, though none were willing to speak of just what he wanted on such nights. Nor were they willing to trade for those nights, no matter what Draco offered. All he could do was hope that the Sultan would finally ask for him, rather than sending for one of the others.

Unfortunately, to do that, first the Sultan would have to know who he was. Tonight had been the first time he had been asked for specifically, instead of having to trade another slave for the honour, and that knowledge made Draco’s heartbeat speed up. He only hoped that tonight would be everything he had dreamed of.

The guard turned the corner, then led the way to the Sultan’s private quarters. Draco had lost track of how many times he’d walked this hall now, but he could still remember the first, determined that the sultan would give him to the young man he had seen at the victory celebration of the end of the war. No matter what it took.

He could also remember the thrill at looking up to see that very same man sitting at his desk, distractedly writing something. It had been almost too much to believe, that the man he wanted and the man who owned him were one and the same. It still gave him a thrill.

The guard waved him into the room, and Draco moved to the cushion to the side of the door dropping onto it, his eyes downcast. “Be part of the furnishings.” That was the first thing any good slave learned, though it had taken a good deal of time for Draco to learn that particular lesson. He had not been born a slave, and had fought becoming one—until he learned just whose slave he was. After that, nothing else had mattered. He had worked especially hard to become the sort of slave that any master would be proud to own. He wanted to please his sultan.

“Ron. Thank you.” Draco let the words wash over him. They weren’t meant for him, after all, but that didn’t mean the soft voice didn’t affect him just as it had the first time he had heard it, asking him to set up supper for him that evening.

“My lord,” the guard said, bowing low.

“I need to ask you about something before you go back to the barracks…”

“Of course, sire. What is it?” The guard moved to the desk where the sultan sat.

“This proposal of Minerva’s. You’ve heard, right?”

The guard nodded. “Ridiculous woman. To think that you would ever allow women to walk about unprotected like that. Sure, she’s an excellent tactician, but even so…”

“Even if I wanted to, none of the nobles would ever allow it. Only being allowed one wife? They’d rebel against me. But she’s threatening similar if I don’t. I can’t just tell her no outright. Things are uncertain enough without this—problem.” The sultan sighed, and Draco squirmed on his cushion as he watched him run his fingers through already-mussed dark hair.

“Dunno. William’s the better tactician, sire. Maybe you should ask him?”

“He’s on assignment. I sent him with the ambassador to Gallia.” The sultan sighed and sat back in his chair. “Well, keep it in mind? If anything occurs to you, I’d love to know what you think. You’ve not steered me wrong yet.” He smiled at the guard, and Draco’s heart turned over, even though the look was not meant for him. He had to look down to recover himself, and missed the rest of the conversation, only looking up again as the guard left.

Once he knew that they were alone, Draco stood and picked up the bowl of fruit that had been laid out for the Sultan to eat, then moved to his side, holding it out for him. The Sultan reached into the bowl blindly, taking an apple, still going over the scrolls and maps on his desk. Draco put the bowl aside, then knelt next to him, his heart beating faster now that they were alone. He was always so easily affected by his lord. It was hard to keep his tongue when he was in his presence, but he was sure if the man ever gave him permission to speak, that he would babble worse than any girl. Just the thought made his cheeks burn.

Finally, the Sultan seemed to have enough of his scrolls and began to roll them up. Draco knew what that meant, but he had to wait for the order, even so. It was always possible the Sultan might want to do things differently this night.

“Draw me a bath,” he said to Draco, not even glancing at him as he moved to his scroll chest.

Draco nodded, then stood and moved into the bathing area, stepping down into the glass-tiled room and moving to the tub. The Sultan had the best of all amenities. Even Draco, coming from a privileged family, had never seen a tub like this before, with tubes that brought water to the tub all on their own, no ewers needed. He opened the faucets, then turned away to find the oils to scent it, and poured a bit of each in, stoppering them once more and stowing them away before pulling out towels and cloths for use this evening.

The tub was mostly full when the Sultan stepped into the room, and Draco turned off the faucets, then turned to his Sultan, his breath catching in his throat at the sight. Usually, he was the one to undress the Sultan before he stepped into the bath, but tonight, he wore nothing more than tight, thin breeches that left very little to the imagination. Every curve and muscle was outlined sharply, and the curve of his cock was easy to make out where it was trapped between cotton and abdomen.

“Sire,” Draco said, the word barely more than breath. “The…bath is ready for you. Shall I help you…undress?” The words were rote, which helped him remember them, because it was getting hard to breathe between the steam and the way his heart was suddenly beating triple-time.

“Of course.” The sultan looked bored and distracted. Draco assumed he must still be worrying about the madwoman’s demand. He frowned at the thought. Didn’t she know how ridiculous she was being?

Draco moved forward, then began to untie the sultan’s trousers, pulling them down and away from his skin, already damp from the steam of the bath. The Sultan slipped out of them, then moved and sat down in the bath, reclining back against the rim of the tub, his eyes closed.

“Is your head hurting again, Sire?” Draco asked softly, moving to settle beside the tub.

The Sultan nodded slowly.

“Would you like me to massage your temples, Sire?”

Green eyes opened to look at Draco, and this time, he knew the smile was for him. His heart swelled, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “I would like that very much, yes.”

Draco shifted to settle behind his head, his fingers moving in soft, circular motions over his temples, and smiling wider when the Sultan sighed with relief. “You have magical fingers,” he said softly. “No one else ever manages to get it to fade, no matter what they try.”

The praise made Draco flush deeply, and he was intensely glad the Sultan couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t realized he’d distinguished himself in any way from the others, but it pleased him that he had. “I am glad you think I am useful, then, sire,” he said softly, careful to keep all emotion from his voice.

“You are.” The Sultan’s voice had taken on a tone that Draco couldn’t recall hearing before, but he could feel his cheeks flush at the huskiness of the tone.

“Thank you, sire. Head feel better?”

“Yes. You may wash me now.”

Draco nodded, trying to ignore that the Sultan was still speaking in that same tone, but shivering at what it might mean. He licked his lips, then picked up the pot of soap and a facecloth, then moved to the side of the tub, dampening the cloth in the water, then dipping it into the pot before rubbing it gently over the Sultan’s shoulder.

Green eyes watched him for a moment before closing. The Sultan set his head against the back of the tub, relaxing into Draco’s touches and smiling softly to himself.

This was a ritual they had done many times before, but never before had Draco felt so intensely aware of the man under his fingers. Not even the first time, when it had all been new, and all he had wanted was to kiss and touch. But that was not for a slave to decide. It had been some time before he’d managed to learn to repress those desires while he washed his Sultan, but now the need to do so came roaring back, and Draco had to bite his tongue as the cloth swiped gently over chest and peaked nipples, then down a sleek, muscled abdomen.

Before he could work his way lower, though, a hand caught his, and he glanced up at the Sultan, shocked, wondering if he had done something wrong. “Sire?”

The Sultan’s green eyes glinted as he pulled the cloth-wrapped hand to his cock, and Draco’s breath caught. “Touch me.” The words were growled, and Draco felt a shiver go down his back.

“Yes…Sire.” He pulled his gaze from the Sultan’s, then began to stroke the cock in his hand, unconsciously licking at his lips as he watched the head of the cock disappear and reappear from under the cloth with each stroke. He could hear the Sultan’s breath speed up as his arousal grew, and he felt his cheeks heat once more. His hand sped up, wanting so much to finally see what he had so far only dreamed about. Before he could, though, a hand curled in his hair, then he was being tugged into a hungry kiss, and he could feel as the cock pulsed in his hand. He moaned as the devouring kiss robbed him of sense, and it took him a moment to realize that his Sultan had come, and he was being pushed gently away.

He blinked up at the Sultan as he rose, then flushed when he realized the man was waiting for him to bring the towel. He stood and held it up, watching as the Sultan’s body was hidden from his gaze, his cheeks burning even more.

“Clean up in here, then come into the bedroom.” The unspoken “I will be waiting,” echoed louder in the room than the words that had been said.

Draco nodded, then moved to drain the tub, scrubbing it quickly down with a cloth and drying his clothes the best he could before following the Sultan into the other room, the heat in his cheeks never quite fading, and his cock throbbing between his legs in a way that made it very hard not to squirm while he went about accomplishing the tasks as fast as he could.

When he entered the Sultan’s bedroom, the other man was stretched out across his bed, watching the door. He smiled when he saw Draco, then patted the bed next to him. “Take off those wet things, then come sit with me.”

Cheeks flaming, Draco nodded. “Yes, sire,” he answered softly as he began to pull off the vest he was wearing, then set it aside.

“Do you have a name?”

That brought Draco to a complete halt. Normally, men who used the slaves for sex didn’t want to know their names. And there was a secondary concern for Draco—what if the Sultan should recognize his name? He flushed and looked down while he stepped out of his loose trousers as an excuse not to meet his eyes. “I am whatever you would wish to call me, sire.”

“And if I wish to call you by your name?”

Draco stood up and looked at him, debating internally. “Draco,” he finally said softly.

“An intriguing name.” The Sultan patted the bed again. “Come here, Draco.”

Draco nodded, then moved forward slowly. “Yes, sire.” He settled on the edge of the bed, stiff with worry. The Sultan seemed friendly enough, but he knew enough about how this worked to know that men were always friendly enough—before.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Draco.” The Sultan lifted his chin. “Quite the opposite, I hope…” He smiled. “Did you like what we did in there?”

Draco nodded slowly. It was getting harder to breathe. Everything he’d always dreamed of was coming true. “Yes.”

The Sultan smiled. “Good. Come here.” He tugged Draco gently closer, then began to run his hands over Draco’s back. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but instead, he leaned forward and kissed him deep, and Draco was unable to keep himself from arching into the kiss, his hands clutching at the sultan’s arms.

Usually, he only tolerated the kisses or touches, encouraging whoever he was with to finish as quickly as he could without pushing too hard—he didn’t want to be punished, after all—so that he could leave again. But this…oh, he’d dreamed of this so many times. And now, it was real. He returned each kiss with every bit of the passion he’d been holding back since learning of the sultan, his moans growing louder as the other man continued to touch him.

Shouldn’t what had come before cooled off some of the Sultan’s ardor? Apparently it hadn’t. He seemed quite happy to take his time, though. It was all Draco could do to keep from coming out of his skin—or begging. He was there to pleasure the Sultan, not the other way around. That lesson had been beaten into him well and good long before he’d even been brought to the palace. It didn’t stop him from moaning, though. Or from arching into the touches and kisses. Though he bit his tongue to keep from saying anything. Most of the things he might have said would have had him in chains—or worse. He couldn’t make such presumptions, simply because he was in the Sultan’s bed. Likely not ever. No matter how many times he was allowed there.

The sultan kissed him again, and then pulled back. “There is oil in the small table next to you. Get it.”

Draco flushed, then nodded. “Yes, sire.” For once glad that Blaise had taken him in hand after he had arrived at the palace. Otherwise, he’d likely have bolted for the door. Blaise had showed him that this act didn’t need to feel unpleasant, even when you didn’t particularly like the person you were with.

He moved to the side of the bed once more, then pulled the oil from the holder it sat in. Bottle in hand, he turned back to the sultan, holding it out to him.

The sultan shook his head. “Open yourself,” he said. His eyes were dark now, and Draco shivered, remembering all Blaise’s cautions to him about feeling too much for anyone when you were a slave. But Draco couldn’t do this and not feel something. All he could do was hope that the Sultan was as kind as he imagined him.

Draco shivered, then nodded, settling on his knees and spreading them wide so that his master could see. He poured a bit of the oil on his fingers, then pressed one inside himself, biting his lip. One was easy, of course, but he took his time before adding the second, another of Blaise’s admonitions running through his head. “Always make a show of it, Draco. Men like that a lot. Makes them more docile. And they know you won’t run if you do it yourself.” So Draco made a show of it. But for once, he found the feeling enticing, the weight of his Sultan’s eyes on him only enhancing the effect.

“Stop.” Draco’s fingers stilled at the command, and he looked up, to see that the Sultan’s interest had quite recovered. Had he taken something to help him recover before Draco had finished in the bathroom? “Come here, pretty boy,” he purred.

It was hard to hold back a moan at the words, but Draco nodded, then pulled his fingers free and crawled across the bed, dropping to his elbows, his arse in the air.

He gasped as a hand fell across his arse. “Not like that. On your back.”

The command took Draco by surprise. Few men wanted to see the face of the boy they fucked. And the fact that his Sultan did made his breath speed up. “Yessire…” The words slurring together as he hurried to comply with the order.

He settled on his back, then looked up at the man he’d wanted for years, and suddenly felt as though he had no breath at all left in his body. The way the Sultan was looking at him… And then he was bending over him, kissing him again, then pushing his legs to his chest and grinding his cock against his arse.

Draco moaned, then tried to press up against him. “P…l-let me…please you, sire?”

“Oh, you will, pretty boy.” And with that, he pressed into Draco with a loud and unabashed groan. “Yess….knew you would be this tight.”

Draco whimpered, not in pain, but in pleasure. “Ohyes…sire…” His hands clutched at the Sultan’s shoulders, trying to pull him closer. “F-fuck me…”

“I quite intend to.” Then he began to move, groaning as Draco moved with him.

As many times as Draco had done this for other men, he’d never felt anything this intense before. It felt utterly incredible. And he didn’t bother to hold back when his prostate was nudged, but cried out, his whole body arching under him. It was hard to hold on, and when he felt fingers close around his cock, he couldn’t any longer. He came with a sharp cry, his head thrown back as the Sultan continued to fuck him hard and fast, the thrusts dragging out Draco’s climax. “Oh…ohgod…yesssss…”

Still, the Sultan continued, fucking him harder and faster, his fingers tightening on Draco’s hips even as his thrusts became more erratic. “Like that, boy?”

“Ohyes…please…” He flushed at the word, but it was said, and it couldn’t be unsaid. The Sultan didn’t seem displeased, though. Instead, he moved faster, his thrusts sharp and hard, then stilled, coming with a cry, then collapsing on top of Draco and panting.

For several moments, the Sultan lay across Draco’s body, and Draco’s arms curled tight around him, wanting to keep him there always. But finally, the man rolled away. Draco closed his eyes, wondering how long it would be before the Sultan sent for the guard to take him back to the slave quarters. No matter how long he was a slave, he didn’t think he could ever get used to being seen as nothing more than an object—a piece of furniture to be moved from place to place.

The Sultan sat up. “Drink?”

Draco nodded. “Yes, sire.” He sat up to get the ewer filled with wine, but the sultan stood before he could, then poured two goblets. Nonplussed, Draco watched as the Sultan returned to the bed, handing Draco one of the goblets, then settled on the bed once more, his eyes scanning his face.

“I’ve seen you around,” he said softly before taking a sip of his wine.

“Sire?”

“You come to my quarters a lot, don’t you?”

Draco flushed, then looked down at the goblet the Sultan had poured for him. Pouring a slave a goblet of wine? Draco couldn’t help feeling worried. “I…did not mean to upset you, sire,” he finally answered softly.

“Do I seem upset, boy?”

Draco shook his head, then looked up at him. “No?” The statement ended up sounding more a question than a statement, but his world had been upturned before, and for what had seemed like far less reason.

The Sultan reached out to stroke Draco’s cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you, Draco. You’ve just roused my curiosity. I don’t imagine you have always been assigned to me so often, have you?”

Draco’s heart was beating faster again, the touch making him close his eyes. “No, sire.”

“Harry.”

The name made Draco open his eyes to meet those impossibly green eyes. “What?”

The Sultan smiled. “When we do this, I would like you to call me by my name. Harry.”

‘When we do this…’ Draco’s head whirled at the implication. The Sultan wanted to do this with him again? “Yes, si—er…Harry.” He managed a vague smile, his throat tightening at the smile Harry returned. God, the man was truly beautiful. Draco’s smile became more genuine with the sight. “Thank you…Harry.”

“I hope I was not too…forward?”

Draco blinked, surprised that the man would think this anything other than his due. “No. Of course not, sire. I’m just a slave. And it is an honour to be chosen for your pleasure.”

Harry frowned, looking down into his goblet before responding. “I do not like unwilling companions in my bed. If you do not wish it, simply say so in the future.” He looked angry now, and Draco shrank back. How could he think he would not want this?

“Of course I…” He looked down and away from the sultan, unable to finish the statement. A slave’s wishes matter not at all, Draco, he could hear Blaise’s voice say in his head. “You need not worry that I did not enjoy it, sire. I was pleased to be chosen tonight.”

Strong fingers turned his face back. “I was not wrong, then? You wanted this?”

It was hard to keep the strength of his emotion from his voice when he responded. As it was, he had to close his eyes to manage. “Oh, yes, sire.”

“Look at me,” Harry said, and his voice was so gentle, Draco couldn’t help but comply. This was no order, but man to man. “You would want to repeat the experience?” Harry asked.

Draco swallowed thickly and nodded, unable to say the words.

“Good.” Harry put his goblet aside, then took Draco’s as well before pulling him close. “Because I want to do this again. As often as we are able.” Before Draco’s shock had faded enough to respond, Harry was kissing him again and pushing him down onto the bed once more.

It was enough to pull another moan from Draco, and his arms twined around Harry, pulling him closer.

“So sweet and eager… Makes me wonder where you came from,” Harry was murmuring between kisses.

The words were enough to kill Draco’s ardor, and he stilled once more, wary. “Does it…matter?”

Harry pulled back, watching Draco’s face. “No. I didn’t mean to frighten you. You have nothing to fear, Draco. Not from me.”

Draco turned his face away, glad the man wouldn’t push, but terrified at the same time that he might change his mind.

Sighing, Harry moved to settle beside him, then pulled him into his arms so that his body pressed against Draco’s back. “Whatever has happened to you, Draco, I assure you that it will not affect you while you are here. You can even tell me whatever you need—while we are alone. And I will do whatever I can to help. Do you understand?”

Closing his eyes and pressing back against Harry, Draco nodded. “Yes, sire.”

“Harry,” Harry told him more firmly this time.

“Harry,” Draco agreed softly. It was a privilege he’d not expected ever to be granted, but now, he could barely manage pride at the granted ability, his past rising in his mind to blot out the pleasure of it. How would the Sultan feel if he knew who he held in his arms? Where, exactly, Draco had come from before he had been made a slave?

“Talk to me,” Harry urged.

“And what am I to tell you, sir—Harry?” Draco asked, biting his lip as he waited for the answer.

The sultan sighed, then rolled him to his back. “Tell me what has you so upset. So that I can help.”

“And if you cannot?”

“Then I will do my best to comfort you.”

The soft look in Harry’s eyes was almost enough to break Draco’s resolve. “I miss…my parents,” he said softly.

“Are they slaves?” Harry asked softly.

“I…don’t know. They may be dead, for all I know.”

“I’m sorry. I could have my men look for them. Would that help?”

A spike of panic made Draco close his eyes once more. Even though Harry had appeared not to recognize his name, there would be no chance the same would be true of Draco’s parents. They were too well-known. “I…perhaps.”

Harry waited silently for him to say more, then smiled. “I’ll need their names, Draco.”

Draco swallowed, flushing, then nodded. “L-Lucius…and Narcissa.” He closed his eyes, waiting for the angered response when Harry realized who he was. He could already feel his dream shatter around him.

So he was shocked when all he felt were soft lips against his own. His eyes opened, and he saw Harry smiling softly at him. “I’ll have my men find them, Draco. I can’t guarantee their freedom, but I will make sure they are taken care of.”

Surely Harry couldn’t have missed who they were? But perhaps he had never heard their names, during the years when his father had sent their kingdom’s armies against him? Malus might not have been a large kingdom, but his father had always been very vocal—until the day they had been captured and sent into slavery.

Still, if Harry was willingly ignoring who they were, or if he truly didn’t know, Draco wasn’t going to question it. Not now. “Thank you,” he whispered, then kissed him again.

Harry drew out the kiss, stroking Draco’s side. “I would be pleased to tie you closer to me,” he whispered with a slightly wicked smile.

“You have already done that, Harry,” Draco whispered, flushing. “Simply by choosing me tonight.”

“Mmm. I could resist no longer. None of the other boys are nearly so tempting as you.”

“Oh?” Few of the other slaves talked of what the Sultan asked of them, though he knew that the Sultan did occasionally indulge. He’d clung to the fact when Blaise had admitted that he had been with the Sultan once himself. But, he had cautioned Draco, it had never happened again. He went on to assure Draco that the Sultan never chose the same slave twice for such an honour, and he shouldn’t assume that he’d be allowed to have him again if he were given the chance.

“Yes. They are…appealing. In an aesthetic way. But you are…intriguing. Sweet and yet there is something more about you.” Harry’s fingers traced over Draco’s face. “You are…very tempting.” He began to grind against Draco once more, and Draco had to swallow before he could answer him.

“I’m glad I please you, then.”

“Mmm…” Harry nuzzled his neck, his hand sliding up sleek, milky skin to tweak a nipple gently. “I hope you will continue to come see me so that you can keep doing so,” he whispered.

“I am…yours, sire. Harry. If you wish, I am yours always.” The words were true. Even had he not been a slave, Draco was sure he would have wanted it.

“Good.” Harry shifted Draco so their hips were pressed together, and Draco moaned softly as he felt the Sultan’s regained interest press against his arse. He couldn’t stop himself, and pressed himself back against the heated length.

“Oh…yes…”

“So eager,” Harry whispered. “The others are willing enough, but none open to me so easily.” As if to prove his words, he shifted, pressing into Draco once more, biting his shoulder as he did, and Draco groaned at the dual sensation, arching back against him.

“So good in me…” he whispered.

“Yes. Like a hand in a glove.” Harry began to move, nuzzling Draco’s neck.

“Oh…sire…yes…yours. Take me…” If he’d been more in his right mind, he’d have flushed at the words, even true as they were. Instead, he arched back more, clenching around Harry’s cock as he moved, making him groan.

“Perfect, beautiful boy. I’m so glad you’re mine,” Harry whispered, reaching down to stroke Draco’s half-hard cock to full erection. “Show me that beautiful face you make when you come again,” he said softly.

Draco did his best to comply, thrusting into Harry’s hand, then back against his cock, moaning as his arousal spiked once more, and finally coming with a shudder. Once Draco had climaxed, Harry shifted, pushing him to his knees and fucking deeper into him, his fingers clutching at Draco’s hips as he thrust. Finally, he came with a cry, collapsing against him for a moment, then rolling off to the side and pulling Draco into his arms.

For a time, the room was silent but for soft, contented sighs and heavy breath as the two men continued to kiss. Then Harry spoke. “I am very glad you are mine, Draco.”

Draco flushed, unable to speak, but his mind supplied the answer easily. Always.