The tiny youma that keep track of time for him keened. Malachite
poked it, making that awful noise stop as he rose from his worktable and
went about preparing the hot water and potion. He was having a terrible
time keeping his concentration on his work. Most of it was in a worse state
than when he had started. He sighed as he pushed open the door to his inner
chamber with a shoulder, his hands full of tray. He crossed the softly lit
room and set it on the chest beside his bed and sat next to Zocite. He
reached out and placed the back of his hand against his forehead, frowned.
Zocite still burned, not as hotly as before, but still after six hours, he
wandered in and out of fever.

	He lifted the light gauze that covered Zocite's back and nodded.
Mender's medicines were working. The squiggles had disappeared and the hoof
shaped indentations held the color of healing flesh.

	"Zocite," he squeezed his shoulder. "Zocite, you must wake up for a
minute. Time to drink your tea."

	Zocite took a shuddering breath, nodded, his face turned away from
him on the pillow. Malachite helped him to sit up, let him lean against his
chest as he steadied the cup as Zocite drank. Again he had the thought of
how well this youma fit against his chest. Like he was made to go there.
Again, he pushed it firmly away. He lowered Zocite back down to the bed,
wrung out the towel that had been seeping in the hot water with Menders
medicine. He shook it out.

	"Ready?" he gave Zocite warning.

	He saw the muscles of Zocite's back tighten. This hurt, but it was
necessary. He draped the hot fabric over Zocite's back, felt his chest
tighten with distress as Zocite bit the pillow trying to muffle his cry of
pain. Zocite had borne with this torment quietly, no tears, no curses as
Malachite was sure he would be snarling. In fact, he hadn't said a thing
since they had entered Mender's House. Malachite wanted to say some word of
comfort, some encouragement, but could not. It was not youma, to do such
things. And that desire troubled him. He worried on it as he waited for the
towel to cool, dipped it again and hardened himself as he placed it again
against Zocite's trembling skin as Zocite's whole frame jerked. Six times
he must do this, every hour. And each time, Zocite seemed to grow weaker
even as his flesh mended. Zocite's sobbing breaths beat at his ears. He
needed to do something, give Zocite some reason to endure. What though? His
hand reached out tentatively to touch his sweat dampened hair. Zocite froze
as he stroked lightly along his hot temple, then relaxed, his breathing
slowing and steadying with each pass of his hand.

	He had finished with the compresses, Zocite having passed out as
the last one had touched his back, and was finishing putting the ointment
on as Mender had instructed, rubbing some onto the worst of the welts as
well, the satin texture of Zocite's skin fascinating to his fingertips. He
jerked his hand away as he realized this fact, wiped them hard on the
towel, wanting to wipe that feeling away with the ointment left on his
fingers when the Queens summons came. He growled with annoyance as he
carefully placed the blankets over Zocite's shoulders and tripled the Wards
around his bed.

	Beryl was frowning, one nail tapping the arm of her throne as he
sank to his knee before her. He wondered just exactly what he had done to
annoy her this much.

	"Come here," she bid sweetly as she pointed to the step right below
her feet.

	"My Queen?" he asked cautiously as he rose.

	She didn't answer him as he climbed the six stairs, only studied
him closely with narrowed orange eyes. A beat of unease and fear went
through him as he went both knees before her, head bowed. He started to
prepare himself for what he suspected was coming, even as his thoughts
flicked around in his mind trying to figure out what he had done to make
Beryl question him enough to do this thing. He could find nothing, was
still hunting in confusion when Beryl struck. Searing pain stabbed through
his mind and red-black came over his vision. He knew the tingle that danced
over his body was a Binding, then he was suspended in an agony filled void,
cut off from all that went on around him.

	Beryl was furious as she gestured with her finger, the binding
stretching Malachite out prone before her. One of her spies had brought a
tale of Malachite taking Zocite to Mender. She had summoned a shadow from
Malachite's chambers, had watched for hours as Malachite tended, more and
more tenderly, her newborn High Youma. This human whom she had recognized
from another time and place and turned into a High Youma to torment
Malachite on a stupid whim and in a moment of fury at Malachite's high and
haughty ways.

	How had Malachite broken the hold of the crystal she had implanted
in his brain when she had given him his second birth? She placed her hand
on his forehead, slid like a hot knife into his being as Malachite's
muscles bunched as he tried to writhe yet was held frozen. His screams rang
like music in her ears as she examined the crystal. There was a fine crack
that ran down it's center. She snarled, let her fury radiate through his
body in waves of dark power. She didn't stop until his heart began to
stutter and pause. She couldn't kill him. She needed him. She considered
trying to mend the crystal, studied it calmly now, her temper spent. Any
tampering with it would shatter it now, and that would loose him from her
control. She tapped her nails on her throne arm again as she considered
options as she dug out Malachite's thoughts and emotions that surrounded
Zocite. Well, she would just have to use this thing that was now inevitable
between them. She'd figure a way. Yes...her eyes narrowed as a cruel smile
touched her lips.

	She stepped out of Malachites mind, gestured with her hand again,
telling the Binding to move Malachite down to his normal place and shaped
in the correct positions of respect and submission. Then she let him go.

	Malachite snapped into awareness, wasn't able to catch himself as
he slumped forwards into a boneless heap, every nerve on fire and exhausted
beyond coherent thought. He heard his Queens delicate laugh ring through
the hall, then he was dropped through a Gate to land with a pain filled
groan in his workroom. He just lay for a few minutes, trying to summon
enough strength to straighten his tortured limbs, every muscle in his body
shrieking their hurt. He managed to push himself up onto hands and knees,
knew that standing was beyond his ability at the moment and crawled for the
safety of his inner chamber and his bed.

	He drug himself up the side of the bed, blinked in confusion at the
form there. Who was in his bed? Zocite. No threat. Not beautiful Zocite. He
struggled on, stretched out beside him and fell into the darkness that
beckoned so seductively.

	Zocite snuggled closer, the rise of the chest beneath his head in
the slow even breaths of sleep soothing. Then his eyes snapped open and he
froze, eased his head back and up to see who's chest it was he rested on,
who's arm was hugging him tight. For a breath stealing second he feared to
see Nephlyte's cold features. Malachite? Malachite's handsome face,
softened in sleep was there, that lock of silver hair giving him a rakish
look even in slumber. Zoe put his head back down on the uniform clad chest
in stunned confusion. Why? And how? He had been sick, he remembered
snatches of pain made tolerable by Malachites voice. Remembered the firm
yet gentle fingers on his skin as he applied the burning ointment and at
the last, that gentle caress to his forehead. His body reacted to those
memories, his member hardening to press against the rough fabric that
covered Malachite's thigh. Darkness help him! What was he going to do? Then
he decided with a flash. Malachite would probably kill him when he was
done, but he would die happy. And he would kill himself before he let
Nephlyte touch him again anyway, so what did he have to loose?

	He cast the Binding, then reached up to brush that lock of hair
away from Malachite's face, bold now that he had chosen his own fate. Then
he leaned down to kiss each closed eyelid with whisper soft lips. He would
prove to Malachite that he was a better bed mate than any other youma in
the Dark Kingdom. He kissed the tip of his nose, then planted a soft kiss
on that firm mouth.

	*Gently* he reminded himself as he ran light fingers along that
strong jaw. *Wake him up gently.*

	Malachite's felt the kiss on his mouth, the soft stoke of fingers
against his face. Chandra? He went to put his arms around her, his eyes
snapping open when he discovered he couldn't move. Binding! He was caught
in a Binding! What in Darkness? He focused on Zocite's beautiful face
smiling down at him. Zocite?

	"Zocite!" he roared, "What is the meaning of this?"

	Zocite smiled sweetly, put his fingers over his lips. "Hush,
Malachite."

	Malachite narrowed his eyes. "I will not! You release me this
instant and maybe I won't kill you!"

	Zocite actually laughed.

	"No. You may kill me when I'm done, but not before. So you might as
well relax and enjoy, my High Youma," he said it with such possession, such
confidence that it shocked Malachite into silence.

	"First, we need to get rid of this uniform," Zocite gestured, the
Binding followed, floating him off the bed.

	Zocite undid the shoulder closure, moved to pull it over his head
then threw it into the corner. Malachite growled his frustration and fury,
tried his strength against the Binding again. He was going to kill Zocite.
His shirt followed quickly. Then Zocite slid off the bed, turning his body
with it to struggle with his boots. Malachite glared at him even as his
eyes drank in that naked body, the  graceful movements and the erect penis
in it's golden fluff. Darkness Itself, he was beautiful! Then he hissed at
himself! What was he thinking? This insolent newborn was going to have his
way with him and there was nothing he could do about it! That was followed
by a wave of distaste and a little fear. And how was he going to go about
it? He closed his eyes against the beautiful youma as his boots came off.

	The muscles of his stomach twitched and his eyes flew open once
more as Zocite's fingers brushed lightly against the flesh there as he
undid the clasp that held his pants together, then they too were gone with
his wrapped loincloth, leaving him naked. Zocite realigned him on the bed,
let him back down gently then climbed back on to kneel beside him and just
stared at him. Malachite could almost feel his gaze touch his body.

	"Zocite, why?" he asked, wanting a reason to why Zocite was doing
this, knowing that he was in all likelihood going to kill him when he got
weak enough to no longer hold the Binding.

	"Because I love you. I want to. And I'll kill myself before I let
Nephlyte touch me again, so I might as well enjoy myself and let you do it
for me. And I have a chance at proving to be the best bed mate you've ever
had, so there is a small chance I might survive with a protector," Zocite
said calmly back.

	*Love me? What do you mean by that, stupid youma?* Malachite's
thought was interrupted by Zocite's light touch.

	He ran his fingers everywhere except his genitals. Erotic tingles
of pleasure followed those fingers. He growled as he felt his body start to
respond. Zocite changed tactic's, began to leave a trail of hot wet kisses.
Malachite's breathing got faster as he closed his eyes, tried to think of
work and other mundane and boring things, unwilling to be seduced. Zocite's
tongue pushed against one of his nipples bringing a gasp out of him as it
sent a tingle straight into his loins. Darkness Itself! Where did he learn
how to do this? Zocite teased it gently with his teeth, ran a trail of
kisses across his chest to the other.

	"Don't," Malachite growled as he bit at his lower lip, his forehead
furrowing as the erotic sensations grew.

	Zocite finally seemed to grow tired of teasing him this way and the
trail of kisses moved down the hard flat plane of his stomach, each hot
touch making him twitch. Then they were gone, those lips. He wished he
could lift his head, see what this youma was up to. His legs were parted
gently and a part of him groaned even as the other waited in anticipation.
The first kiss to his inner thigh made him gasp. If he wasn't Bound, he'd
have jerked all the way off the bed in shock at the sensation. Zocite
brought his fingers to join the kisses, went from the inside middle of his
left thigh, up to flick his tongue with maddening gentleness against his
balls as he passed to travel down the inside of the other thigh. Then back
up again. That hot mouth closed over his scrotum, his tongue pushing the
balls back and forth. Malachite took another shuddering breath, this time
his growl was of pleasure, not anger. He liked it. Liked what this youma
was doing to him! Already the pleasure was more than he had known with any
of the females he had bedded. That knowledge was as devastating as it was a
wonderment.

	"You're so big!" Zocite purred up at him as he ran his cheek along
that silken throbbing member.

	So hard. He ran the tip of his tongue lightly up from base to tip,
heard Malachite gasp. He grinned, licked again a long slow stoke, pushing
his penis down against his groin.

	Malachite wanted to move, to bring his hips up to meet that tongue,
groaned in frustrated pleasure as he could not as Zocite continued that
slow mad torture. Then it stopped. He quivered, wanting more, heard himself
moan a little pleading sound. Why did he stop? He felt Zocite move beside
him on the bed, then he was straddled, Zocite's flushed face smiling down
into his own. Zocite rose to his knees, backed a little. Malachite's eyes
widened as he felt that tight ring slip over his tip. Zocite closed his
eyes, lowered himself slowly, this time it was his way, his speed and his
pleasure.

	Malachite groaned. Darkness! He was so tight! So hot! Hotter than
any female's sheath. Zocite moved on him slowly, up till just his tip was
engulfed, then down, the downy hairs of his balls tickling against his
skin. It was torment. It was pleasure. Up and down, Zocite rode him, his
head thrown back, palms pressing Malachite's nipples down against his
chest. Malachite felt himself go rock hard, groaned as his orgasm rippled
through him as Zocite continued that slow, maddening rhythm. He lay slick
with sweat, panting, lost. This youma had captured him, he knew it. Zocite
continued, an evil gleam in his eyes, eyes locked on Malachite's own.
Continued to move until Malachite re-hardened, then he was off of him. The
cold air was a shock against his hard flesh as Zocite rolled him to his
side. What? No! He wouldn't!

	"Zocite!" his voice was supposed to hold warning. It held fear instead.

	"It's all right, Malachite. I won't hurt you," Zocite's whispered
as he planted shivering making kisses along the back of his neck.

	Zocite move Malachite's top side leg, bent it, making a space for
himself. Malachite hissed, tried to arch away as he felt the head of
Zocite's penis push between his buttocks. He growled warning. Warning that
changed into a gasp as the tip hit his opening, pushed through slowly.
Zocite reached over the top of his hip, took hold of his erection with one
delicate but strong hand and began a slow maddening caress as he pushed
slowly in. Malachite froze as the sensation took him. It was strange to
have this hard flesh in him, yet at the same time pleasure rushed through
him.

	Zocite went in till his balls hit Malachite's flesh, stopped to
give Malachite time to stretch out around him. It was beyond his wildest
dreams, this sensation. He was determined to make it last as long as
possible. His love making was slow and gentle, his enveloping hand
mimicking on Malachites penis his thrust in and out of Malachite's rear.
Malachite's quivering body and pleasure filled gasps were music to him.
Finally, he couldn't take any more. He tightened his grip on Malachite,
pumped him hard as he pounded into him, felt Malachite's penis twitch and
jerk in his hand as they came together. He lay behind him, both of them
slick with sweat and breathing fast. He felt himself re-harden but pulled
out, cuddled for a moment then rose.

	Malachite just lay luxuriating in the after-tingles of his passion,
decided he liked the way Zocite's heart pounded against his back, then
wondered as that warm presence left him. He could see Zocite as he came
around the foot of the bed, watched as he went to the wall and took down
his sword. He put it next to him on the bed, then the Binding was gone in a
tingle and Zocite dropped to one knee in the position of respect, moved his
hair off his neck, baring it then his hand went across his chest in
submission.

	Malachite's hand closed on the hilt of the sword as he slid off the
bed, held it at his side as he gazed at the lowered blonde head before him.
For the first time in his memory, he didn't know what to do. He should kill
this youma. Kill him for even daring such a thing. Yet it had been a brave
thing to do, a very youma thing and Darkness help him,  he had loved it.

	*Kill him. He is dangerous to you,* the youma part of his being
whispered.

	Yet even as he closed his other hand around the hilt and brought
the blade up to the ready he knew another part of his soul would die with
him. He stood there, frozen in indecision as two conflicting parts of his
soul warred.

	Zocite closed his eyes so he wouldn't flinch when the blade fell.
It had been worth it, he thought with a smile. Malachite took him off
guard. Suddenly he was swept up into those strong arms and Malachite's
mouth covered his in a lingering kiss. He opened his eyes in shock as
Malachite broke their kiss and grinned down at him.

	"You are mine now, Little Youma. Mine. No other shall touch you.
Now, shall we try that again with out the Binding?"


End

**********************************************************