He didn't know what it was-not at first.
It was just a simple book with a light blue cover. It was torn at the edges, and rather worn, as though it had been kept for sometime. Years, maybe. It didn't have a title.
So he opened it to the inside cover. Nothing there, except for artfully cursive words that read 'My Owner Is' with a line to be filled in beneath. And it was, in a childs messy script, large and looping, that said 'Wein Cruz'.
He began to suspect then, but wasn't sure.
So he turned the page again. It had some dates he couldn't make out at the top, but the script itself was bold and dark. It had been written in with a marker.
'I'm going to meet Arieta tomorrow. She says it's the last time, so I promised I'd be there.'
He knew, then. He considered putting the journal back where he had found it, amidst a bunch of old blankets (he was going to wash them, and the book had fallen out), but curiousity overwhelmed him. What else had been written?
He flipped through a few pages, watched the handwriting grow progressively neater, more mature, and stopped on a random page;
'I met Maximillian Schneider today. I hope we will be good friends, even though ours paths are pretty different. He wants to be a politician, and help bring peace to this world. Of course, so do I, but in a different manner-Imperial Knighthood!'
'I heard from Lord Reaves that Lord Lyell was expelled from the country. I hope they know what they're doing, especially since Lyell originally would have been executed'.
He stopped on one dated a few months prior…
'My duties as an Imperial Knight are going exceptionally well. Makes sense, since I'm doing my best! I'm getting along well with all of my colleagues, which is a relief, because I didn't think I could really get to like Julia. She seems a little distant, sometimes.
Reaves, on the other hand, is someone I'm proud to call a friend. He's perfectly reasonable, and is very graceful and eloquent. It'd be nice if my manners were as good as his. His Majesty isn't too bad either-not at all spoiled, as royalty is often stereotyped. Lyell-'
He stopped for a moment, wondering if he could guess what would be said for him, and then continued.
'-Is my favorite, I guess. It's most likely because I traveled with him for so long. He's amazing in battle, and it gives me an awed feeling, to watch him. Much better a fighter he is than I-even though he likely wouldn't agree, and say I was the better. He's a bit of a soft spot with me now, and it hurts to hear anyone talk bad of him, even in jest.
He isn't all that bad to look at either. His eyes are a nice ruby color, so it's such a relish to look at them. And a very alluring body too- tall, taught with muscle, and a nice, broad chest. But maybe I'm growing too fond of him…
Still, even personality wise, he's great- persistent, dry humor, and ready wit. Even though others have described him as 'As cold as charity'. What's that mean? Well, I'll allow he's a little funereal, but it's no big, bad thing, is it? Whoops, maybe I –do- like him too much. I've been feeling rather odd around him lately. I look at him a lot- he isn't dainty and delicate like people say –I- am, but…. He's so… well, handsome doesn't suffice, and pretty is demeaning. How come my face goes hot around him? I'm well aware of the sensuality of his body and face, but he's so... Tempting to me, whether he knows it or not. Why do I feel this way?'
It was more than he
anticipated. Amazing, to think, what was thought of him. 'Does he
love me?' he wondered. 'No-surely this is just a... crush.' He
reread it again, maybe trying to prove it to himself, to no avail.
'He thinks I'm beautiful? Sensuous? He's not thinking clearly.'
Still, the thought pleased him.
'He says I tempt him? What nonsense…' But the thrill was there, and he felt oddly like memorizing all this praise.
He turned the page. Written yesterday.
'I'll never get over this. Guess what happened? Guess? Alright, I –get this- had one of –those- dreams about Lyell!'
His mouth suddenly felt as dry as cotton balls, and the rapid, heavy beating of his heart seemed to drown out all other noise. Trembling a little, he continued reading.
'I don't think I'll ever forget it. When I woke up, I felt as though I had died and gone to heaven. We were just talking over a nice cup of coffee somewhere, and all of a sudden, he kisses me! (Not unwelcome, but I nearly died of shock, I think) He pulls away a little, and I pull him back.
After a nice little kiss, I pull away, and nibble his neck. He moans, and I can feel the vibration rumble in his throat, deep and arousing. I began kissing his collarbone, and he removes his jacket for me, pulling me tightly to him afterwards. I rest my head against his shoulder, using my hands to feel him. Warm and taut. I press a palm against his stomach, and slowly bring it upwards, brushing against his chest, grazing against a nipple. He tilts his head back, and lets out a moan through clenched teeth.
I lay him gently against the floor, and straddle his waist.
He's a festival full of touch and taste, so I play to the full. During this, I take a hard nub into my mouth and bite down, a little ungentle. He whimpers, maybe from a little pain, but definitely in a lot of pleasure as he grabs my waist, and grinds my bottom against his crotch. Roughly so, I let out a short cry, invariably relinquishing my seme role. With that, he rolls me over, and I make no complaints (why would I want to?) as he pulls my pants down, undies along with it.
He leans over me, and our noses touch, as is our proximity. I'm a little occupied just by looking at him, and I guess he knows I'm a little unawares. Thus my surprise when a hand roughly grabs my cock, and slowly strokes it. I moan, and he breaks it off with a kiss. He fastens and roughens up, building me up for the release, My face heatens, and I kick my legs a bit, unable to do much else.
A little faster. A little harder. I mewl, and he begins moaning into the kiss. It sounds muffled, as though he's eating something delicious. At the thought (I'm delish!) my breath catches, and I almost laugh. The kiss deepens, and as the threshold is reached, the dream ends… Of course, in the real world, my blankets were kind of messy. I needed to take a trip to the launderer, and so I was a little late…'
So, that certainly explained his tardiness the other day (he said that he slept in, which was rather unusual) and why he refused to look at him…. But could he really think the same of him again after this?