Page 60 of Dead Wrong

The memories I clung to molded together with the present until they were one in the same.

“I-I’m close,” I told him, the building heat reaching its apex as the spasm of release gripped me. Cirian pulled off enough that the tip of my cock rested against his tongue, his hand continuing the constant motion that drove me past my breaking point. With a grumbled shout, I climaxed, the fruits of our labor pouring into Cirian’s mouth and running down his chin. He kept his eyes on me the entire time, his opposite hand stroking his own member, and he finished just as my cock stopped twitching, entirely spent.

Sinking into the warm embrace of the water, I laid back opposite Cirian, watching him wipe the mess from his face.

“I think you won that point, Toto,” he said finally, reaching for the washcloth.

The laughter that bubbled up from my chest made me feel lighter than I had all day.

“You never told me why.”

Cirian lifted his head from the pillow, a piece of his crimson hair falling into his face. The two of us had spent the afternoon sparring with one another in the gardens, and now he was all mine, reclined in my bed, his body of pale marble draped in silken sheets as the golden light of dusk washed us in its radiance.

“Why what?” he replied, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Why you call me Toto,” I clarified, rolling on my side to face him. The smell of sweat clung to us still, both from the activities outside and those that we practiced behind closed doors. It was easy, this time spent with Cirian. He pushed me, out on the fencing strip, till I was a panting mess. And I returned the favor here in the confines of my bed. He was far more agreeable with a cock in his mouth, or better yet, when I was sheathed fully inside him.

Cirian pursed his lips, rolling onto his back to stare up at the canopy that hung above my bed. He remained quiet long enough that I considered abandoning the topic altogether and drawing us a bath, but then he spoke, his voice soft.

“I had a sister before my time as the Acolyte. Emma was her name.”

I waited for him to continue, my focus drawn back to the boy as he gazed past the canopy overhead, lost in thought.

“She was born…frail. The healers didn’t know what to make of her condition, as it didn’t respond to any of the poultices or magics they could think of. My mother knew that we had a limited amount of time with her. She would spend hours a day communing with the Source for answers. But despite her ailment, Emma was a rambunctious thing. She’d chase me around the cathedral, running up and down the aisles till her little lungs were about to give out.

“She didn’t speak much, just jumbled words here and there. Names were especially difficult for her, so she would cling to sounds that were easier to make. Mother was ‘mama,’ and she would call me ‘Cici.’ She had her own names for everyone we were close to.” He went quiet for a moment, his dark eyes searching the space overhead for something that wasn’t there. “After Emma passed, Mother and I kept up the practice, calling those we cared for by those simple little names. It was our way of keeping her with us, even after she’d returned to the Source. I haven’t given anyone in my life a new name since I went to live at the Cradle. But… when I met you, it was like I could hear Emma in my head, and that was the name she picked out for you.”

“So,” I said slowly once he’d fallen silent. “Does that mean you care about me, Cirian?”

He turned to look at me then, and I expected him to laugh off my comment or chastise me for my sincerity, but he reached for me instead, cupping the side of my face with his hand.

“Too much, Toto. It scares me, sometimes.”

His thumb slowly traced my bottom lip.

“Why would that scare you?” I asked, transfixed by the immeasurable depth of his eyes.

“Because everyone leaves,” he whispered, pulling his hand away but holding my gaze. “No matter how hard I try and hold on. They slip through my fingers.”

I reached for him then, wrapping my arms around him as he rested his head against my chest. “I’m here, Cirian. You don’t have to worry about me disappearing. I’m right here.”

And I sealed the promise with a kiss, planted gently on his forehead.

* * *

I’d imagined what my return to Chateau Greene would be like since the start of my second life. Initially, I wondered if Mother would even bat an eyelash if I strolled in, pretending as though nothing had happened at all. Now, as I sat in the backseat of a car with Cirian, dressed in all the finery of the personal attendant to the Acolyte, I wondered how quickly Mother would have me removed if she recognized me at all.

“Are you alright?”

I looked up from the floorboard, finding Cirian watching me from the opposite side of the bench seat. We hadn’t exchanged many words since leaving the Cradle and even fewer since extracting ourselves from the bath. If he wanted to discuss our actions, he certainly was hiding the desire well. Or perhaps he knew there were more pressing situations at hand.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice muffled by the porcelain mask that I’d been fitted for before leaving the Cradle. This one fit far more comfortably than the previous one and made me feel less claustrophobic. I’d insisted on the mask, afraid that I’d be recognized the moment I set foot in the Chateau, if not by Mother, then by one of the staff. “Or, I will be, at least.”

Cirian didn’t take the opportunity to mock me, which I found to be a surprising change of pace. Or maybe he’s actually heard the uncertainty behind my words. Either way, he didn’t press, only nodded.

As we neared the property, he gave me the run down on things to remember while acting as his servant. Ways to address him. Motions that he’d use if he needed something in the middle of a conversation. Times when it was and wasn’t appropriate to speak. I did my best to commit them to memory, but the longer the list grew, the more I suspected I was fighting a losing battle. This was pure lunacy, waltzing into the very heart of enemy territory—my childhood home. It felt like a battleground long before this day arrived, but now it served that purpose in earnest. But instead of a battle of wills between children and mother, it was a fight for my future and possibly the future of the Rebellion.

Nausea swelled in my gut.

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