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Marcin arrived home tired – it had been a long day waiting on the king – but full of the usual excitement at the prospect of seeing Jakub. The servant that opened the door, however, wasted no time in informing him:

“Father Adamczewski has a visitor, my lord.”

Marcin frowned. It wasn’t unheard of for Jakub to entertain some ecclesiastical colleague from out of town in the boarding-house rooms that had become Marcin’s second home. It was just rare: Jakub didn’t really have friends, which given his personality was understandable. And he’d usually inform Marcin in advance. Marcin would steer clear on those days, not wanting to add fuel to any gossip that might be whispered about Warsaw’s surliest priest and his noble patron. He didn’t want anyone but the servants to suspect that he and Jakub were essentially living together. Why hadn’t Jakub told him they were expecting guests?

“What visitor?” he asked. The servant shut the front door, turned to Marcin, and said in the good-natured tone Marcin generally inspired:

“Don’t know, my lord. Some country person. He said Father Adamczewski was expecting him – he’s been up there about an hour.” A country person? That must mean Adamczycha, thought Marcin in surprise. Very unusual: other than letters from his mother and the annual visit to the Stos Festival nearby, Jakub’s communication with his birthplace was almost nil. Marcin hoped it was nothing urgent! Protective instincts rising, he hurried up the stairs and poked his head into the large room on the second floor that Jakub was in the habit of using for their infrequent visitors. Empty. They didn’t spend much time in these rooms: Marcin rented the entire floor mainly to ensure their privacy, and it was less luxuriously appointed than their main chambers. He continued upwards.

“Father?” he called as he opened the door to their real home on the third storey. He hoped the formal address would convince this mysterious visitor that he had just popped round to consult with his spiritual advisor. “I wondered––”

He cut himself off: the pretence was pointless. Jakub was sitting in his usual chair in their parlour, looking demure and sipping at a small wine goblet. Marcin’s chair was unoccupied. The window seat, however, was very much occupied by a familiar figure Marcin had hoped not to have to clap eyes on again before summer.

“Afternoon, m’lord,” said Janusz in a friendly tone, and went on doing whatever the hell he was doing to the frame of the open window. Marcin turned to Jakub, and over the rasp of metal on wood demanded:

“What in God’s name is he doing here?”

Neither man looked offended: Janusz because he was impervious to other people’s reactions, no matter how far above him in station those people might be, and Jakub because annoying Marcin was part of his raison d’être. Marcin was annoyed, and that was putting it mildly. Janusz was a man to be endured only when his presence was absolutely unavoidable: at the Stos festival, because Jakub wanted it; at the occasional rough play session, again at Jakub’s behest; and when Marcin was forced to go away for work and left Jakub in Janusz’s care – this last had been Marcin’s idea, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. They’d not had Janusz’s company inflicted upon them for several months now, and it felt like several months too soon to be dealing with him again. Janusz never came to Warsaw. Why would he? As the servant had correctly deduced, he was a country bumpkin.

“I recommended his services to the Bishop,” said Jakub serenely, only the flash in his eye betraying how much he was enjoying himself. For a moment Marcin wondered in horror which services he meant. He knew the Bishop’s tastes tended away from women, but surely he couldn’t… “For interrogation purposes,” Jakub continued. “There’s a lot of heresy about.” Oh. Well, thank Christ for that – not that Marcin held with torturing anyone!

“His Excellency asked Father Jakub to bring me to town for a demonstration,” put in Janusz from the window. He was wearing his working clothes – he must have come straight from giving it.

“What, are we going to have a Polish Inquisition now?!” Marcin was appalled. Jakub and Janusz shared professional grins. “Regardless,” Marcin continued, discarding his cloak over the back of his chair, “what’s he doing here?”

“Planing down your window-frame.” Janusz waved flat implement with the sharpened edge that he was holding in Marcin’s direction. “Father Jakub said it sticks in damp weather.” Marcin knew it, he just hadn’t got round to reminding the landlady. “Luckily,” said Janusz, “I had a tool in my kit that can handle the job.” Shutting down any mental speculation as to what else Janusz might use said tool for, Marcin persisted:

“You invited him here to fix our window?”

“Not at all,” said Jakub loftily. “He wanted to thank his benefactor for putting his name forward. Quite right, too.” Janusz’s grin widened. “So he called round.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It meant that Jakub had given the man their home address, had allowed him to come to their rooms knowing full well Marcin would be out! Marcin peered closely at Jakub’s clothing: it looked neat and pristine as usual, but that meant nothing. They’d been alone together a full hour! And Marcin was only too aware that there were plenty of carnal acts Jakub was capable of performing without removing a stitch. Jakub was looking very pleased with himself, though that might just be his glee at provoking Marcin.

“I’ve not touched him,” Janusz said as if reading his mind. Marcin glowered at the pair of them. “I wouldn’t, not without his owner’s permission.” This prompted an eye-roll from Jakub.

“That’s as may be.” Folding his arms, Marcin addressed Jakub in the coolest manner he could muster. “But this isn’t about him.” Well, it was, but more to the point: “It’s about you. You don’t have men in our home without informing me first.”

“Oho,” said Janusz, who despite – allegedly – respecting Marcin’s ownership had no qualms about laughing at him. “I see your lordship is as jealous as ever.”

“He is.” Jakub sounded both long-suffering and smug.

“That’s enough out of you!” Marcin pointed firmly to the Persian carpet between their two chairs. “On your knees, please.”

To his enormous relief Jakub didn’t hesitate but obeyed him – he immediately started grumbling under his breath, but he was down. Janusz gave Marcin a nod. If he was being completely honest, Marcin would be forced to acknowledge Janusz’s influence on the improved quality of Jakub’s obedience. Ever since the bastard had taken him in and looked after him at the end of last year’s summer, Jakub had grown somewhat more content to follow Marcin’s instructions outside the bedroom without challenging him on every single one. Marcin deplored Janusz’s methods of getting Jakub to instinctively heel, but it had certainly worked. Even now, months later, some of it had stuck.

“That’s nice to see,” said Janusz with a proprietary air that made it clear he was taking plenty of the credit. This was also irritating, so Marcin raised his eyebrows at Jakub and told him:

“You’ll have to be disciplined, you know.”

“Oh dear,” said Jakub, a smile curling his lips, and batted his eyelashes at him. Marcin was about to order Janusz out of the windowsill – and then the entire house – so that the private fun could begin when there was a knock at the door. “Come in!” called Jakub before Marcin could stop him. He didn’t move, which left Marcin the only one embarrassed as Maria the day-maid trotted into the sitting room to be confronted by their bizarre tableau: Jakub kneeling as if he was about to say his prayers, Marcin standing over him red-faced, and an executioner in the background attacking the fixtures and fittings. Naturally neither Jakub nor Janusz gave this a second thought. It was only Marcin who cleared his throat and stepped away to remove his sword belt with all the nonchalance he could conjure up.

“…A letter for Father Adamczewski,” Maria announced, taking a good look round but remaining straight-faced: Marcin paid a high rent and gave generous tips to the servants. Jakub got gracefully to his feet and took the message from her. She bobbed a curtsey and backed out, aiming a last peep through the door before she closed it. Marcin was about to instruct Jakub to put the letter aside until he was done being punished. Before he could do so, Jakub turned it over to look at the seal. His face changed.

“Who’s it from?” Marcin couldn’t help asking. Jakub’s expression when kneeling had been anticipatory, then deadpan at Maria’s entrance. Now he looked… Marcin couldn’t tell how he looked.

“…My brother.”

“Ah!” First Janusz, now this: it seemed that today Jakub couldn’t escape Adamczycha. Stanisław didn’t usually write to him – Marcin didn’t think letter-writing would be that kindly young man’s strong suit. No wonder Jakub looked uncertain. “Would you prefer to read it in private?” he offered. What if it was bad news?

“No. Don’t go.” Jakub sat down quickly in his chair, fingering the letter, and looked up at Marcin. He made no reference to Janusz. No surprise: Jakub had always treated commoners as little more than moving furniture, and when he wasn’t in Janusz’s brutal thrall the same presumably applied. Janusz closed the mended window and sat looking on with interest.

“You don’t have to open it now if you’d prefer not to,” said Marcin as Jakub hesitated. Jakub just gave his head a stubborn shake and broke the wax seal with his fingers. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, Marcin noted with displeasure: he was as jealous over Jakub’s bare hands as he was the rest of his body. It was bad manners of Jakub to strip down even an inch in front of other men! But that could be addressed later. Discarding the protective outer sheet, Jakub had started to read.

It wasn’t a long letter. Marcin could see that from where he was standing, and being a trained priest Jakub ought to be even more literate than he was. Why was it taking so long to finish? The silence stretched out until it became concerning – to Marcin, anyway. At last Jakub exhaled slowly through his nose, folded the letter tidily, and set it aside on the small table beside his chair. Marcin gave him an interrogative look, afire with curiosity. He knew that out of all his family members Jakub had been on more-or-less decent terms with his older brother – Stanisław being both good-tempered and dim-witted had probably helped. So what had turned him so pale?

“You all right, Father?” asked Janusz nosily while Marcin worried about whether to pry into the letter’s contents. Jakub glanced at him, then told Marcin:

“Stanisław’s getting married next month.”

“Ah, at last!” Janusz exclaimed. “We were wondering how long his fine lady would put up with being a mere fiancée.” Marcin was glad for Stanisław, but couldn’t tell why the news had caused such consternation in his brother. It couldn’t be jealousy: Jakub had certainly never yearned to take a wife.

“And what else?” he asked.

“He wants me to marry them.” Jakub folded his hands in his lap. “In Adamczycha.”

Janusz looked unmoved by this. But now Marcin understood. For Jakub to be with all his family again – with his father – the cause of so much of his inner turmoil, and in that place… Jakub had avoided the village for more than two years now, for longer than he and Marcin had been together. Stanisław had come home, Aniela had come home. Not Jakub. Marcin’s love and other attentions had been able to soothe some of the ache inside him, the murky currents of Jakub’s past and his lingering bitterness. Still, it was no wonder he was distressed and confused now.

“Do you want to officiate?” Marcin inquired gently. It was no secret that Jakub liked to put himself in positions of power, at least career-wise: being the one to do this favour for his older brother might make him feel pleasantly superior – if it wasn’t for everything that would come with it.

“I want to.” Jakub twisted his hands as if unaware he was doing so. “It’s just…”

“The estate’s in pretty good shape these days,” put in Janusz, who either had no idea about or couldn’t give a fig for Jakub’s family issues and the fact that he had avoided his home ever since he’d left it. Marcin glared at him: reminding Jakub of what a good job Aniela was doing as administrator of the estate’s affairs would hardly make things better. Walking over to Jakub’s chair, he set a hand on his head and began to stroke his hair.

“You don’t have to decide now.” The urge to comfort him was strong, and Marcin didn’t care if Janusz saw him being soft. “You’ve got time to think it over. And you know you can talk to me about it.” Jakub leaned into his hand and nodded. To Marcin’s dismay, his expression didn’t clear, that unhappy cloud lingering on his brow. Who knew what he was thinking right now? Marcin wanted to hug him but wasn’t sure if he’d welcome it. After a minute or so of fraught silence, Janusz, who was still regarding them with detached interest and who had no tact whatsoever, piped up:

“Weren’t you going to discipline him? Letter from home or not, he was disobedient.”

“Will you shut up?” Marcin snapped, pulling Jakub against him in a protective gesture he just couldn’t help. “Now’s not the time!” Janusz gave him a look that managed to be both meaningful and rude, then turned it pointedly on Jakub. When Marcin glanced down he could only see the top of Jakub’s dark head, so he tenderly tilted it back to gaze into his face.

Fuck. Jakub’s huge eyes had lit. He was peering up at Marcin, still looking shaken and unsettled but at the same time hopeful. That was when Marcin realised bloody Janusz might be right: perhaps this was the time.

“…Yes,” he said grudgingly, melting a little as always at the tremulous smile that flashed briefly across Jakub’s face. “You were a bad boy.” If Jakub didn’t want to think about the letter just now, if it was all too overwhelming to consider, then an intense session might be just what he needed to put it from his mind. Marcin was annoyed that Janusz seemed to have known this by a simple glance at Jakub; then again, his job was to interrogate hapless suspects – he must be accustomed to gauging the depths of a person’s distress. No, this was no time to be petty: Marcin had to do what was best for Jakub. And if he wanted to help Jakub forget everything and slip into that half-conscious state of complete relaxation, he should do everything he could to facilitate it. It was for this sole reason that he turned to Janusz and asked:

“Will you give me a hand?” Another of those impolite grins.

“Not a problem. I hoped you’d ask.”

“I bet you did,” said Marcin sourly. “On your knees again, then,” he ordered Jakub in a kinder tone. Jakub did as he was told. He looked relieved as Janusz ambled up, both men looming over him: relief at being dominated, at the prospect of not thinking at all.

“What’s the plan, m’lord?” Janusz inquired. “I brought a bag of tools for the demonstration, if that’s any help.”

“I have my own.” Marcin received a nod: for once it wasn’t condescending, more an acknowledgement of one afficionado by another. He should probably be flattered that Janusz finally deigned to recognise him as a competent owner, though like everything else Janusz did it was mostly just aggravating. What was the plan, anyway? Since they had the bastard here Marcin supposed they might as well make full use of him. He glanced down at Jakub, who was gazing up at him in pleading expectation; then at Janusz. Jakub had been impolite, inviting the son of a bitch to their home alone without giving Marcin the slightest warning! Marcin recalled the many, many other times Jakub had played on his jealousy for his own amusement and benefit. Right back to the first time. And then he knew what to do.

“My lord…?” The words came from Jakub: another rarity. Marcin’s insolent little beloved must really need it bad if he was attempting to sway him with honorifics. Janusz shot him an amused, approving look. Ignoring this, Marcin folded his hands behind his back and began to pace leisurely around Jakub, forcing him to turn his head in order to keep Marcin in view.

“Do you remember when I first had you?” he quizzed him.

“In the confessional?” An image of that forbidden tryst flashed across Marcin’s mind and momentarily giddied him.

“No. Later – when you came to my family home to be fucked like the shameless whore you are.” He saw Jakub shiver: he did love this type of talk, however vulgar Marcin had once found it.

“Yes,” murmured Jakub, eyes shining. “I remember.”

“And what did you say to me?” Jakub shook his head. But Marcin remembered – he’d never forget it. Jakub had been taunting him, goading him past his lack of expertise, his lack of enthusiasm for hurting him. He must have recognised Marcin’s possessive streak right away. “You told me you wanted me to watch while this man and his torturers beat you and fucked you – I’d watch it all, and after I was done watching you’d service me ‘til I was satisfied.” A twitch of an eyebrow from Jakub – he evidently now recalled the conversation – reminded Marcin that it hadn’t been quite in that vein: Jakub had insinuated it would be Marcin who was helpless, that he’d be forced to watch and enjoy the sight of Jakub being debauched without being permitted to touch him. The nuance didn’t matter now. For a long time Marcin had loathed the sight of Janusz and his men interacting with Jakub – he wasn’t wild about it now – but perhaps, just perhaps, being in total control of the experience could be satisfying.

“Did he say that?” asked Janusz with a chortle, arms folded across his bare chest. “Awful little brat. Can’t imagine how you managed him, back when you didn’t know one end of a flogger from the other.” In truth Marcin hadn’t managed at all – Janusz knew that perfectly well. Marcin stopped behind Jakub, and taking a handful of his smooth hair said:

“Let’s find out if I’d enjoy it. That’s right,” he went on at Jakub’s querying whine. “I’m going to let him do whatever he wants to you – everything I permit, anyway.” He couldn’t see Jakub’s face at this angle, but he could see Janusz’s reaction: he looked highly entertained. “I’m going to watch.” That was what he’d done, after all: that first day, hidden among the foliage with the sight of Jakub’s ravishment burned into his brain. “And once you’re begging me for relief, maybe I’ll let you blow me ‘til I forgive you.” Only this time there was no panic. This time he would be in charge.

“That sounds fun,” Janusz told Jakub with a predatory glint in his eye. Marcin waited to see if Jakub had any objections he wanted to voice – it seemed he didn’t – then went to sit in his comfortable chair and propped his boots up on a footstool.

“Go to it,” he told Janusz. Digging in his sash, he tossed a key at him. “Any equipment you want, it’s in the armoire.” The fine large cupboard on the other side of the sitting room was kept locked. Not even Jakub had access to it. Janusz caught the key and went to open the heavy cherrywood doors, letting out a whistle of approbation: Marcin’s gear was all of high quality, custom made and expensive, and meticulously maintained. Jakub deserved nothing less. Jakub, who was now torn between peering excitedly at Marcin – he’d appropriated Jakub’s glass of wine and was sipping at it while trying to look authoritative – and Janusz, who took up a length of the luxurious red rope and approached him with his usual easy stride.

Janusz didn’t force Jakub to remove his own clothes, instead stripping him roughly as he had that first day. It was plain that he liked what he saw: Jakub was in fine form thanks to Marcin’s care.

“Boots too,” ordered Marcin. Though it was fun to keep them on sometimes – he wasn’t at all averse to the feeling of leather pressing against his thighs as they fucked – he took pleasure in how vulnerable Jakub looked completely bare. Janusz hooked a thick finger through Jakub’s collar and swivelled it so he could read the engraving on the plaque.

“Bite risk,” he read aloud, and laughed. “That’s new.” Marcin, who bought extra collars in different materials, colours, and thicknesses whenever the whim struck him, nodded.

“He was in an aggressive mood last night.” Jakub had been adorably frisky, nipping at Marcin’s ears and sinking his teeth into his shoulder when he came, so that was the collar that had seemed the most appropriate this morning. Maybe he’d been excited, thought Marcin irritably, knowing that Janusz would be coming to town. Janusz snorted – no doubt he would deal with a pet’s aggression in a very different way to Marcin.

“So. What do you permit?” he inquired of Marcin as he tied Jakub’s naked wrists tightly behind his back. He was so expert he barely had to look. Jakub was secured and pushed back to his knees in no time, only his cross remaining to thud heavily against his pale chest.

“Anything.” It took some effort for Marcin to say this, but as he wanted to both excite and worry Jakub he managed it. “Hurt him, fuck him – whatever you think I’ll enjoy.” Oh, that did titillate Jakub: the blue of his eyes grew so bright at the thought that it seemed almost luminous in the fading light. “But!” added Marcin, raising a warning finger. “He’s not to come.” Jakub’s expression changed so fast it was almost comical.

“Very good, m’lord.” Janusz sounded complacent. He ran his fingers roughly through Jakub’s shining hair. “That’s my specialty.” Marcin knew it, especially as it was the exact opposite of how he preferred to treat Jakub. And he knew Jakub hated it. Jakub opened his mouth with the familiar look that said he was about to start complaining. Marcin signalled to Janusz, who like the competent henchman he was reached down and wrapped his large hand around Jakub’s throat, silencing him effectively. “His lordship would like you to keep quiet,” he told Jakub. Then he turned him bodily so Marcin could see him in profile. “Let’s make sure of it.” Janusz quickly unlaced his trousers – he was already growing hard. Marcin sighed to himself in distaste but couldn’t deny the effectiveness of the method as Janusz pried Jakub’s lips apart with the fingers of one hand and pushed his prick into his mouth with the other.

“Mmf!” Jakub was capable of being quiet while he was sucking cock, but it didn’t come naturally, and Marcin had always loved the noises he made too much to make him try – the only time Jakub had ever kept silent was in the confessional. Even now, when it was another man’s erection he was taking, those lewd sounds had an immediate effect on Marcin’s loins. Marcin ignored it for the time being, just drank his wine and watched Jakub being used. Janusz had filled out quickly and was fucking his mouth as he always did when he had half a chance, without giving Jakub the opportunity to use his many skills or letting him have any say in the matter of how deep and fast he went. It was rough, inconsiderate, and Marcin shouldn’t enjoy the spectacle so much. But how could he help it? Soon Jakub was moaning, choking, involuntary tears streaming down his cheeks and drool trickling over his chin. He was gazing up at Janusz, though his eyes had grown unfocused, his bound hands flexing and clenching behind him. And he was hard.

“Very nice,” Janusz told him, somehow sounding unmoved as one hand fisted in Jakub’s hair to keep him still. “See how easy it is to be a good boy? Now why couldn’t you behave for your owner?” Jakub obviously couldn’t reply.

Marcin sighed to himself: Jakub had never been a problem when it came to anything erotic – it was in their platonic life that he delighted in driving him up the wall. Still pounding away, Janusz took hold of the sturdy gold chain threaded through Jakub’s cross and tightened it expertly around his throat. A muffled, high-pitched moan as he let it slacken a little, quickly cut off when he drew it taut again, biting into the soft skin. Janusz played with him like that a while, enjoying just as Marcin did the power that came with controlling Jakub’s breath. Marcin watched him speed up as he grew more aroused, thrusting mercilessly into Jakub’s throat until he withdrew a little and came with a savage grunt in his mouth. “Swallow,” he instructed Jakub as he let the chain relax around his neck. Whimpering, Jakub did. The gold links had left red indentations around his throat above the collar, and his face was flushed bright pink. He looked quite beautiful.

“That got you going, didn’t it,” Janusz said, glancing down and finding him erect. “We’ll have to do something about that.” He tapped Jakub’s cheek, and ignoring his coughing turned to Marcin. “Where d’you keep that thing I had made for him?”

“The cage?” Marcin gestured with his goblet. “It’s in the second drawer down on the left, in a case.” As Janusz returned to the armoire, Jakub got enough breath back to protest.

“Please, Marcin, I––”

“Men are talking,” Marcin scolded him, cutting him off. He heard Janusz let out a snort of laughter at Jakub’s expression. “Pets that want attention need to wait their turn.” If there was one thing Jakub loathed it was being ignored. He wriggled bad-temperedly as Janusz hauled him to his feet and kicked his legs apart so he could fasten the harness around his waist and secure the cage over his cock. It was made to prevent Jakub from becoming erect; putting it on while he was hard looked very uncomfortable, but Janusz managed it.

“You want him gagged?” he asked Marcin: Jakub was swearing tearfully at him, unable to do anything about his predicament with his wrists tied.

“Why not?” Jakub found time to aim a few well-chosen insults at Marcin while Janusz retrieved a leather gag, which he proceeded to wrestle into Jakub’s mouth and fasten behind his head. The shining black against the red of Jakub’s lips and the white of his skin was most aesthetic, and Marcin appreciated not being called a whoremonger now Jakub’s tongue was out of action.

“A good old-fashioned paddling should calm you down,” Janusz was telling Jakub as he manoeuvred one of the solid, highly polished tables closer to Marcin. Jakub glared at both of them, but did seem a little happier at the prospect of pain. His eyes fixed on Marcin’s erection.

“Yes,” Marcin informed him, stroking himself lightly through his pantaloons at the pleasing sight of Jakub naked. “I am enjoying myself. Are you?” Jakub just rolled his eyes, then squeaked as Janusz came up behind him and wrapped both muscular arms around him, pushing him belly-first against the table to give Marcin the best view of his face. Janusz was holding the decorated silver clamps Marcin had commissioned, each with a tiny cross dangling from it in a nod to Jakub’s first encounter with such devices. He leaned heavily against Jakub’s backside, pinning him to the table as he screwed the clamps to his small pink nipples. Jakub writhed a bit, then stilled beneath him.

“Have you never thought about piercing them?” Janusz asked Marcin, flicking one of the clamps to make Jakub gasp. “He’d look so fancy with little gold rings here. And you could hang decorations off them just the same.”

“Hm. I don’t know.” Marcin pulled a face: though he loved to mark Jakub and was all for placing signs of his ownership on him, putting holes in him felt…permanent. And Jakub’s body was precious. Janusz shrugged, then returned to the armoire and laid out a selection of flat wooden and leather paddles on the table in front of Jakub: wide ones, narrow ones, solid ones, perforated ones. As he had taught Marcin during one of their meetings last year, each had a different effect. Janusz nudged Jakub’s arms further up behind his back to leave his arse unimpeded. He gave those perfect buttocks – still bruised from their last playtime – a few appreciative squeezes, and Jakub sniffed, unable to do anything about the pleasurable sensation with his cock caged and his hands bound.

“Which do you prefer me to start with, m’lord?” Janusz beamed at Marcin, who nodded at one of the leather paddles that he knew would sting. Eyes now fixed on Marcin, Jakub made a small noise through the gag, a whine that could have been a complaint or anticipation. It didn’t matter which, anyway. Marcin gestured to Janusz, and the beating began.

It was long and varied and expert. After only a few minutes Jakub lost his balance and tipped forward across the table, bringing him even closer to Marcin. Hands folded in front of him, Marcin watched his lovely face: the way he bit into the gag as he moaned, the way the tears shimmered on his cheeks. Whenever Jakub’s eyes opened they met his, and the connection between them made up for the fact that it was Janusz having the pleasure of doing the hurting. Marcin wondered if Jakub had forgotten about the letter yet. He looked like he had: right now he looked as if reading would be a task utterly beyond his abilities. Jakub was an intelligent and – other than a few unusual blind spots – fairly astute young man, but it was delightful just sometimes to see him like this, as if he really was nothing but a toy created for men’s pleasure. Marcin was doing his best not to touch himself now: he didn’t want to climax before Jakub had a chance to get his hands on him.

Eventually Janusz seemed satisfied with the punishment Jakub’s buttocks and thighs had taken. Or perhaps he was just too excited to wait any longer. Holding Jakub down, he produced Marcin’s bottle of oil from his wide belt and without any tender touches to make him ready began to finger him. Jakub was sobbing quietly, but Marcin saw him spread his legs of his own accord.

“That’s right, slut,” said Janusz cheerfully. “Open for me.” He was using two fingers and was taking his time. Going by his movements and the noises Jakub was making, Marcin could tell he wasn’t making any effort to please him. Marcin knew Janusz was capable of it – oh, he’d heard all the details of that godawful pet-sitting week in the end! – and knew this must be deliberate. Good: Marcin didn’t want Jakub to come from the inside any more than the outside. Not yet – not from Janusz. “Any other requests before I fuck him?” queried Janusz, adding a third finger to stretch him. Jakub made an incoherent little noise.

“No,” said Marcin, eyes on his face. “My instructions still stand.” Janusz nodded. Then he parted Jakub’s buttocks with no consideration for the beating they had just endured, and removing his revived prick again from his trousers he pressed it against Jakub’s hole.

“Mmm,” whimpered Jakub in what was probably encouragement. Janusz teased him for a bit instead of giving him what he wanted, rubbing the head of his cock across that slick opening. Only when Jakub was weeping again did he begin to push it inside him. Marcin had noted with annoyance in the past that Janusz was big to an almost unwieldy degree. Personally Marcin had no complaints to make about his own size – it satisfied Jakub perfectly – but on occasion he did envy Janusz’s ability to overwhelm him with his sheer physicality. Jakub groaned quietly, then squealed through the gag as Janusz suddenly thrust himself home and commenced fucking him.

“Good as always,” said Janusz in a guttural voice – a master of understatement. Jakub seemed to have lost all strength in his upper body and had collapsed face-down on the table, blocking Marcin’s view. When Marcin clicked his fingers Janusz obligingly grabbed him by the hair and dragged his head up to reveal his face again. Marcin looked and was pleased: there was no way Jakub remembered a single thing that had happened in this room before Janusz had begun. He looked like an exquisite idiot. Janusz screwed him exactly as he pleased – having come once already he was in no hurry – until Jakub was trying desperately to talk through the gag, to beg for relief, to be touched. Marcin ignored him; Janusz obviously did too, just kept plunging into him, his pelvis and balls slapping with wet thuds against Jakub’s arse and slamming him into the edge of the table.

“Whenever you want,” Marcin said. He would have to take care of himself in a minute, the sight was so titillating: the arch of Jakub’s back, the trembling in his long legs, the frantic look on his face as his eyes rolled back in his head. Janusz gave him a salute and sped up, fucking Jakub with brutal abandon until at last he ejaculated deep inside him, grasping his soft, narrow waist in a bruising grip to pull him closer. He was mercifully quiet, allowing Marcin to enjoy Jakub’s cry as he was filled up. Janusz then pulled out, gave Jakub’s buttock an affectionate slap to make him squirm, and rolled him over onto his back to remove the nipple clamps. Lucky he’d left the gag on: Jakub cried out helplessly as the blood rushed back into his delicate flesh, his buttocks smarting against the hard wood beneath him. The pain must have been intense – it took him a good while to notice that Janusz had unbuckled the cage around his cock and freed him. He filled out again immediately, looking hard enough to burst.

“Poor thing.” Janusz had a knack for sounding sympathetic while clearly not meaning it. He touched Jakub’s prick, just once. As if it had unlocked his tongue, Jakub began to beg behind the gag. “Can’t hear you,” said Janusz, and laughed at him as he undid it.

“…Please,” implored Jakub weakly the moment it was out of his mouth, “touch me, please, please, I can’t…!”

“I’ve been instructed not to.” Janusz nodded towards Marcin, obviously having a fine old time. He pushed Jakub’s fringe off his forehead, cupping his cheek in a way that promised no satisfaction.

“Please, Janusz!” With what looked like the last of his strength Jakub surged upward, and to Marcin’s immense disapproval pressed his mouth to Janusz’s and kissed him beseechingly. Janusz kissed him back with every sign of enjoyment, then retreated and slapped him hard across the face.

“That’s very naughty. You know his lordship doesn’t like it.” Marcin was aware that this was precisely why Jakub had done it, and Janusz was right: he didn’t like it! Jakub turned and shot Marcin a look that was both mutinous and pleading. “You don’t deserve to be touched,” Janusz chided him. While Marcin was trying his best not to react to Jakub’s attention seeking, Janusz returned to the armoire and rummaged around in the drawer of small miscellaneous items. He strode back over before Jakub could think about getting up. Pressing one knee into Jakub’s thigh to keep him trapped against the table, Marcin saw him hold up two slender leather straps.

“No,” rasped Jakub the moment he could focus on them. “No, not that, I don’t like it, I––”

“Hold still.” Janusz leaned down and closed a hand around his throat over the collar, squeezing until Jakub lay mute and trembling beneath him. Working quickly he buckled one strap round Jakub’s testicles, the other tight around the base of his erection. As he had seen that first day. Marcin knew this was one of Jakub’s least favourite things, worse than the benign chastity enforcement of the cage. Just now, however, it was all too well deserved.

“Marcin, please don’t let him…!”

“Pardon?” said Marcin. He wanted to grin, but managed to plaster on a strict expression. “What did you call me?”

“…My lord,” Jakub managed tearfully after a long, brainless pause.

“He had enough?” Janusz patted Jakub’s belly, then flicked the tip of his cock cruelly. Marcin’s own tumescence answered that for him: it was growing urgent.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“All right.” Lifting Jakub easily, Janusz deposited him on his knees at Marcin’s feet. It took Jakub a while to find his balance with his wrists still tied behind him. While he was struggling Marcin kicked the footstool aside and took a good look at him: his nipples and the head of his cock were reddened to the lovely colour of his lips, his face stained with tears, his blue eyes enormous and desperate.

“Please,” Jakub whispered, his voice catching, “please let me…” Stifling a smile, Marcin leaned forward. He saw Jakub’s pupils dilate at the expectation of mercy, of release in return for giving pleasure. Soon. But not yet.

“You come to me leaking another man’s seed and expect me to grant you favours?” said Marcin in an exaggeratedly deploring tone. For a moment Jakub gaped at him: he hadn’t been expecting such callousness, that was usually Janusz’s role. Then he twisted to stare pleadingly at Janusz, who was polishing the paddles with a soft cloth.

“He has a point,” Janusz told him with a grin, and disappeared into the bathing chamber next door. He returned with the ewer and another cloth. With brisk, cursory motions he wiped away the semen that was trickling down Jakub’s thighs. For good measure he grabbed one of the ivory dildos from the armoire and pushed it into Jakub’s passage, stopping it up. “Go on – try again.”

Jakub was quivering all over as he focused on Marcin.

“…Please, my lord,” he said in a shaking voice that Marcin loved to hear. Gazing upward in supplication, Jakub added: “I’m begging you.”

“And are you sorry for your bad behaviour?”

“I’m sorry…!” Marcin knew he wasn’t: Jakub wasn’t ever sorry for the dreadful things he did. Everything he did he chose to do, and while it was often careless or ill-considered it was never accidental. Still, it was fun to hear him pretend to mean it!

“Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for…” He could see Jakub trying to think. “…For being a tramp…for inviting men here without your permission…”

“Yes, yes.” Marcin nudged his shoulder with a booted foot. “And for kissing Janusz?”

“…I’m sorry!” Jakub sniffed pitifully. “Just please, please, let me out of this…!”

“Apology accepted,” said Marcin with a magnanimous wave of one hand, while the other hurriedly tore open his pantaloons to release his throbbing erection. “Now get over here and satisfy me.”

Jakub fell upon him, almost losing his balance, and proceeded to service him with such ravenous skill that Marcin might have lost his mind had he not been braced for it. He clutched at Jakub’s hair with one hand, at the arm of his chair with the other as Jakub swallowed him entirely, tightened his lips and his throat, and began to fellate him as if he was to be rewarded for it with a pot of gold. Given that even Jakub’s usual standard of giving head was dizzying, this was almost transcendental. Marcin vaguely heard Janusz – who was still tidying up – laugh at him, but he didn’t care: every point of attention he possessed had fixed itself on Jakub. At this rate he would come in under a minute!

“…Wait,” he panted, dragging Jakub’s head away. Jakub, who had been choking himself industriously, let out a hoarse little moan of disappointment. Evidently he thought Marcin was planning to draw out his torment even longer. “I have to fuck you!” announced Marcin, and Jakub looked as if he would weep with gratitude. Without further ado Marcin pounced, pushed Jakub onto his back, his legs towards his head, and heedless of his bound arms and injured buttocks pulled the dildo out of him and thrust himself in. Christ, it was like Heaven! Jakub cried out sweetly as he began to move.

“Marcin…!” It wouldn’t take long, Marcin knew – Jakub had brought him too close with his wicked mouth. He just fucked him as hard and fast as he could, grasping Jakub’s collar to keep their eyes locked. He wanted Jakub to forget everything, not only the letter but Janusz’s very presence: wanted Jakub to be conscious of nothing but him.

Jakub took his semen perfectly, tightening around him, legs hooked heavily over Marcin’s shoulders. Marcin had been in too much of a hurry to make him come from the inside, which took patience and effort. Now sated, he gazed lovingly down at Jakub. He still looked hungry, and no wonder! When Marcin carefully touched his prick he groaned as if in pain: his flesh was swollen where the straps were buckled tight. Marcin undid them as gently as he could, but still Jakub’s reaction showed his distress as the blood returned. He struggled so hard that Marcin had to hold him down.

“Shhh, sweetheart, it’s all right, I’m going to make you feel better.” He slid his fingers up the length of Jakub’s cock, then took it in his hand. Jakub ejaculated almost instantly with an agonised cry. “Good boy,” murmured Marcin. He didn’t seem to be any less hard, so Marcin kept touching him, bending over him to kiss his face, his throat, his chest, and a few minutes later he came again. “Feel better?” Marcin asked tenderly. Jakub didn’t answer, just blinked up at him with a hazy look Marcin recognised very well. Good: he was beginning to drift.

He untied Jakub’s wrists with practiced ease and chafed them briskly to revive the circulation, then took him in his arms. He kissed Jakub’s head, rocked him, whispered praise to him while Janusz finished cleaning the equipment he’d used and put it away. Janusz crooked a fond smile in Jakub’s direction and asked:

“Need anything else, m’lord?” What Marcin needed, as he needed ninety-nine percent of the time, was for Janusz to not be here.

“Just ask them to run a bath on your way out.” Janusz nodded and went to collect his work bag. “And…thanks,” Marcin made himself say.

“Anytime. You know that.” Janusz opened the door and added: “See you at the wedding, maybe.” Sighing, Marcin held Jakub tighter. That remained to be seen.

“…Maybe.”

Jakub had only been here an hour, and already he was regretting his decision to come. His main reason for agreeing to officiate Stanisław’s wedding was currently leaning on a fence in front of the manor house, looking handsome and chatting with Marianna like the egalitarian idiot he was. Jakub had decided because Marcin had let him talk himself into it, sitting and listening to him worry aloud by the hour and giving him sensible advice. Damn his sensible advice! True, Jakub probably would enjoy showing off his elevated status by marrying the long overdue couple as episcopal vicar of Warsaw. And true, Marcin had sweetened the prospect by insisting on coming with him.

“What excuse will you give?” Jakub had asked crossly, full of the jitters at having made up his mind. Marcin was always so careful of their reputations, always considerate of Jakub’s position in the Church. “There’s no harvest festival to audit this time.” Marcin had waved his hand around, then laid it reassuringly on Jakub’s knee and said:

“The eldest son of a noble family is getting married. It needs to be officially entered in the genealogies, so someone from the court ought to witness it. I’ll ask his Majesty if I can go.”

“Hmm. All right.” Hating the words that were about to come out of his mouth but unable to stop them, Jakub added: “You are…going for me, yes?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Why else?” When Jakub tried to avoid Marcin’s gaze he was grabbed gently by the chin and forced to look at him. “What’s wrong?” Oh, Jakub had a list as long as his arm of what was wrong about returning home! What concerned Marcin in particular was…

“You might be looking forward to seeing my sister.” Marcin’s face cleared. He gave Jakub an understanding smile that was simply infuriating, then leaned in to kiss him softly and said:

“That’s all in the past, kitten. I love you. I’ve loved you for years now – you’re mine, and I don’t want anyone else.” Christ, but it was effective! Marcin’s power to soothe Jakub with the simple declaration of his ownership was as irritating as it was remarkable. Jakub leaned into his hand instinctually.

“…Fine, then. But you’d better be there for me.”

And now here they were: Adamczycha. Jakub had travelled by coach, Marcin by horse, and although they’d shared the journey for the most part, they had arrived separately due to Marcin’s fears of scandal. Marcin had got there first. Seeing that smiling face awaiting him as he’d stepped bravely out of the coach had been Jakub’s one consolation. It was full spring in Adamczycha: the trees were green, the fields fresh, and the sunlit village looked prosperous. Stanisław had been the first to greet Jakub with a smothering hug, pathetically eager to thank him for agreeing to marry him to Andrzej’s girl. That had all been satisfactory: it had made Jakub feel quite superior. Next had come their mother. They wrote to each other civilly at semi-regular intervals, and Jakub knew she was proud of his rising ecclesiastical status and content that he was doing well in the capital. While she didn’t embrace him, she did press his arm kindly. Even though the wedding wasn’t until the day after tomorrow she wore her hair uncovered. To Jakub she looked very different to the pious Zofia he had left when he’d abandoned this place. But he wasn’t very intuitive when it came to people, at least not anyone but Marcin, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on the change. His father, at least, seemed unaltered from the last time Jakub had seen him – that last confrontation and everything that had come with it. Jan Paweł had simply given an aggrieved, theatrical sigh at the sight of his prodigal son, and turned on his heel to flounce into the manor house. Fine: Jakub didn’t want anything to do with the damn fool. He told himself not to watch him go.

“Come along, dear,” said Jakub’s mother, ignoring her husband’s sour mood. She squeezed Jakub’s arm until he unpursed his lips and tried to relax. The kindness in her voice felt odd – perhaps that was what was different. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.” Jakub blinked, unsure what she meant, but followed her into the house with Stanisław bouncing at his heels. Twisting his head, he saw Marcin give him a covert wave: Marcin was to stay in the other manor house, which had been reclaimed by Bogdan now that the moron had turned out not to be dead. Andrzej and his other daughters were packed in there too, likewise come up from Warsaw for the wedding. For a moment Jakub wished fervently that he was at home with Marcin in their rooms, just the two of them, alone. There were far too many people here he didn’t care for. Only the comforting sensation of the collar around his neck beneath the cassock consoled him as he was led inside without his owner.

“Here you are. Marianna will bring your baggage.” Zofia ushered Jakub into what had always been the guest room. As if he were a stranger. Jakub blinked at her in confusion.

“Me and Tereska need room to spread out, you see,” explained Stanisław, sounding abashed but delighted at his long-awaited nuptials. Yes: as the eldest son his wife would naturally come to live in the main house. “So…Father had your stuff moved to make space.” Jakub felt his heart drop.

“Let me see!” Spinning on his heel so his velvet cloak flared out, he strode away from them in the direction of his bedroom. He could remember it so clearly: the statues, the paintings of saints and Biblical scenes, the torture implements he’d hung on the walls back when his desires had been nothing but a vague dark yearning in the back of his mind. He stopped short in the doorway. “…Oh.” Nothing of it remained. It was a pleasant, bright room now, made up as a small parlour.

“We didn’t think you’d come back,” said his mother. She had the decency to sound sympathetic, though Jakub almost wished she’d be dismissive as his father had been: he hated the lump that was forming in his throat.

“Neither did I,” he said grimly. He wished to God he hadn’t. Leaving Zofia and Stanisław behind in what he hoped was consternation, he strode off through the familiar chambers – everything had been spruced up but only his room was completely altered – and out of the house into the village. That was better: he could breathe. Staring blankly across the open space that was what passed for Adamczycha’s public square, he saw a new building standing off towards the trees. That must be his sister’s house. Aniela hadn’t come to greet him yet, which was fine by Jakub. She certainly hadn’t required his services or his presence when she’d married her upstart peasant, shortly after they’d returned to the village more than a year ago. No surprise there, not when he’d done his best to have the salt-stealing pest hanged. Jakub probably wouldn’t have attended even if he had been invited: he had no desire to be seen approving that mésalliance. Especially not now Aniela was in charge.

Jakub glanced around for signs of Marcin. Suddenly he wanted his company so badly it ached. If he spotted Marcin talking with Aniela right now he thought he might do him bodily harm. But there was no-one there at all, just the Jewish proprietor of the tavern carrying two buckets home from the well. Jakub sighed and straightened his cloak. It was going to be a difficult few days.

**

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear. Stanisław was so excited that there was no talking to him, while Teresa – who had always been the least objectionable of Andrzej’s daughters – was busy being spoiled and dressed and styled by her sisters, plus Zofia and Aniela and a whole gaggle of servants. Jan Paweł was somewhere around. He was still blanking Jakub, who had thought about forcing a confrontation but at this point still felt it would look too needy. Jakub had already gone over the lines for his service: he’d performed several marriages and knew the ceremony pretty well. With his vestments perfect there was nothing else for him to do. No-one seemed to have a use for him at the moment, with his father still ignoring him like the overgrown child he was and Aniela’s low-born husband watching his every move so as not to have to get too close to him. So he wandered out of his hateful bland guest room towards Bogdan’s manor house.

“Ready?” asked his uncle, passing him halfway and clapping him forcefully on the back. In a nod to the wedding of his former fiancée, today Bogdan was wearing the eye patch with a heart embroidered on it. Good Lord, but his relatives were idiots! Jakub just gave him a regal nod and prowled on.

Marcin found him loitering about the entrance – he hadn’t wanted to risk going inside and having to make conversation with Andrzej.

“There you are,” he said quietly, hurrying down the steps to join Jakub. He was wearing his full dress uniform and looked very dapper. But it was the tone of his voice and the warmth in his eyes that managed to lift Jakub’s spirits the way nothing else in this place had since they’d arrived. They’d not had much time together yesterday: Marcin was a popular son of a bitch, being kind and practical and helpful. Jakub had stared out of the window from the hall, where he’d been putting the finishing touches on his sermon, and had seen Marcin being led by Aniela – and her husband, or Jakub would have been out there causing trouble! – around the estate. They had a group of labourers in tow, all of them falling over themselves to show Marcin Aniela’s new contraptions. The sight had put Jakub in an even worse mood than he’d been in already. He hadn’t attempted to join them. That night there had been a feast. Whoever had devised the seating plan had placed Jakub near the betrothed couple but far from Marcin. After all, how should they know how much Jakub needed him?

“Can we go somewhere?” he asked in a low voice. Marcin looked at him worriedly. “Just for a minute.” At Marcin’s nod Jakub beckoned him round behind the manor house. They walked towards the pond in silence. Stopping at its edge, Jakub began to pick restlessly at the tall grasses with his gloved fingers, tossing bits of flora into the water.

“You’re not all right, are you,” Marcin murmured. Jakub let out a profound sigh and shook his head. He couldn’t let his mask slip, not in front of anyone else – especially here. It was such a relief to tell the truth to Marcin!

“I hate it here.” He saw Marcin glance around, then set a hand on his shoulder. Jakub could feel its affection, the love that radiated out of Marcin through his touch. “They got rid of my room,” he said bleakly. It was true that Zofia had come to him yesterday with some of his smaller statues and icons and his signed letter from the Pope – he’d had to leave so much behind when he’d flitted to Warsaw. She’d pressed them into his hands in silence, then hurried away to continue the wedding preparations. Marcin squeezed his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I wish they’d told you.” Jakub pursed his lips tight and stared out over the water. He wished they hadn’t done it at all. “But,” continued Marcin firmly, “your place is with me now – not here. You belong to me: I want you, Jakub. In Warsaw, not Adamczycha. Or…wherever it is you want to be.” A shiver of pleasure ran through Jakub’s frame. Marcin did have a knack for saying the right thing! To be wanted, to be appreciated to the point of possessiveness… Jakub needed that more than anything. Marcin’s hand moved slowly from his shoulder and came to rest at the nape of his neck. His grip tightened a little, and Jakub let out a small gasp of relief. Yes, Marcin knew. “It’s good you can be here for your brother and talk with your mother.” He was presumably too wise to mention Jan Paweł and Aniela: Marcin had eyes, he would have seen how they were with Jakub and the resentment that still burned within him. “You’ll perform the ceremony perfectly – it’s what you’re good at. We’ll have the wedding feast, some speeches you can ignore or drink your way through. And tomorrow I’ll take you home.”

“Marcin…”

“Mm?” Marcin squeezed his neck lightly, smiling at his shiver.

“…I’d really like to be hurt.” Jakub had been aching for the loving cruelty Marcin was capable of dealing out ever since he’d been led to that guest room. The physical pain and pleasure, Marcin’s closeness, would surely be able to cover over the pain of being here – of not being wanted here. It had worked last month: between Marcin and Janusz, Jakub had forgotten about Stanisław’s request for an entire day. Marcin looked around again, then leaned in and kissed him, his grip for an instant turning vicious. Yes, that was what Jakub needed!

“I know, sweetheart. But it’s too dangerous right now – they’ll be gathering for the ceremony any minute. Just be strong for me, hmm? I promise you I’ll give you whatever you want once we get out of here.”

“I love you, Marcin,” said Jakub miserably.

“I know that too, honey. I love you more than anything.” Marcin smiled down at him, the striking blue of his eyes softening as they crinkled at the edges. Jakub hardly ever said it, and it always had an amazing effect on Marcin when he did. “And you’re going to show them all what a big deal an episcopal vicar is – the Bishop’s favourite!”

“…I can do that.”

“Course you can, my darling.” Marcin hugged him close with one arm. “You’re my elitist, pitiless, superior little cleric. None of them are above you! Just remember that.” Jakub appreciated the pep talk, particularly as these were the qualities Marcin nagged him about the most incessantly at home. He smoothed his hair down, then his surplice, and gave Marcin a cool smile. “That’s the way,” said Marcin encouragingly. And he escorted Jakub back to the wedding party.

**

The ceremony went smoothly – a miracle in Adamczycha. The square was garlanded with spring flowers and bunting and streamers, and what felt like the population of three villages had gathered there to celebrate the union. They’d probably come for the free drink at the party, thought Jakub uncharitably, though it was possible that simple Stanisław was just that popular. Jakub took his place – his central, all-important place – with the sickeningly loving couple standing before him. He recalled only too well the last wedding he had performed here: how his father had tried to usurp his authority as God’s minister time and again. This time Jan Paweł kept quiet under Zofia and Aniela’s commanding looks, and didn’t even say anything rude about Andrzej when Jakub asked if there were any objections to the match. Jakub supposed he should thank them, though he didn’t plan to.

He had read his sermon on the duties of an ideal wife and performed the first parts of the marriage rites almost without thinking. It was pleasing to be listened to, deferred to by his family members, even though Teresa and Aniela seemed sceptical at his exhortations to wives to obey their husbands. Marcin had been right about how it would feel. But then Aniela’s common husband – Maciej, that was his name – stepped forward and presented the ring to Stanisław. Jakub hardly had time for his silent disapproval of his brother’s closeness to this peasant to rise before the gold of the ring transfixed him.

“Stansiław Adamczewski,” he heard himself say at a distance. “Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?” He continued on, staring as Stanisław took the ring and placed it reverently on Teresa’s slim finger. It wasn’t that Jakub was a magpie, as Marcin so unflatteringly liked to call him. Well, not only that. No, there was something else. It was a gimmal ring, composed of two halves that bride and groom would wear from their engagement to their wedding day. Whole again and gleaming now, it sat neatly on Teresa’s finger as she said her vows with a spirited glitter in her eye. Jakub wondered where Stanisław had got it: it wasn’t an ancestral jewel. Perhaps it came from Andrzej’s family. Why did it make him feel so odd?

There was a lot more talk before the two were officially married in the sight of God. Jakub watched them kiss, the ring shining between them, and felt even stranger. Bitter, but not as he had thought he would, out of the old resentment at his relatives. What was it? He couldn’t tell, but he pushed on like the professional he was and said the Mass. The attention of congregations tended to flag at this point in the marriage ceremony: they were no doubt turning their minds to the celebration that would follow, with carousing and dancing lasting long into the night. Jakub could see Marcin watching him with pride and affection nearby. Somewhere near the middle of the crowd with the other commoners were Janusz and a few of his underlings. Janusz gave him a wink, but Jakub was so rattled he could scarcely glare back at him.

And at last it was over. Stanisław just had time to clasp Jakub’s forearms and thank him blissfully before all three parents descended upon the newlyweds and swept them away towards the feast, the peckish guests following like dogs in their wake. Jakub was left alone, his role and his importance at an end. He gazed down at his gloved hands, at the large ring he wore on his right, and felt…empty. He knew this feeling of old. He had been trying to fill that emptiness by letting men bed him ever since he was at the seminary.

“You did wonderfully.” Then Marcin was at his side, helping him remove his purple surplice and taking him by both shoulders. He looked rightly proud. As he got a closer look at Jakub’s face, however, his expression changed. “What is it? Did your father say something rude to you?” Jakub shook his head: even with the ceremony at hand, he and his father hadn’t exchanged a single word. He might as well be a ghost. “What’s wrong, then?”

“I…” Jakub gave an eloquent shrug. This was nothing new to Marcin: he was perhaps the only person who knew the difficulty Jakub had expressing what he was feeling, and it had taken him a long time to learn it. Jakub hadn’t made it easy. “Let’s just go inside,” Jakub said. If he had a few drinks he might be able to pinpoint why that ring had shaken him so.

“Of course.” Marcin looked as though he wanted to offer his arm. But they were in public and both sober, and there was no way he could. Jakub sighed, touched his hand, and walked ahead of him back to the manor house.

**

The wedding feast began formally. Once again Jakub had been seated near his siblings. It was a prominent place, Stanisław being the groom. Even so, Jakub wasn’t enjoying himself much. The speeches were nonsensical as he had imagined: most of the Sarmatian idiots were already half drunk. Once they were over and everyone was stuffing themselves, Stansiław and his wife – or rather Teresa and her husband, there was no doubt who would be wearing the trousers in that marriage – settled down and began yapping. They engaged Jakub in conversation often, unlike Aniela’s husband, who wouldn’t even look at him. But it was very obvious to Jakub that he had become an outsider – that he no longer understood their references, their talk about minor village events. His realisation of the change shook him, though it should in fact have been easy to predict. Understanding it, he found he had lost his appetite. It was a weight more crushing than he ever could have foreseen.

As soon as the formality had broken down under the influence of the vodka and people began switching tables and wandering outside, where the commoners were holding their part of the feast, Jakub took the opportunity to slip away from his relations. That old void within him had only grown and deepened throughout the afternoon. Now it was a black, gaping maw. Jakub knew that it had been his decision to burn his familial bridges and leave Adamczycha, but he couldn’t help but feel he was being pushed out. Not purposely, perhaps – simply because he no longer fit here. People didn’t seem to know what to do with him.

“Are you all right?” It was Marcin. He had found Jakub wandering between the tables, cup in his hand. Jakub wanted so very badly to be touched, to be reassured as he had been by the pond. It wasn’t possible in the midst of all these people.

“I’m fine,” he said, thrusting his cup towards a peasant with a bottle for a refill. “It’s a stupid party, that’s all.” He could tell Marcin didn’t think so: Marcin was flushed and cheerful beneath his concern for Jakub. He did love a celebration.

“Just bear it for a bit longer,” he told Jakub. “I’m here if you need me.” Jakub nodded gloomily and went to lurk in a corner. That was where Aniela caught him.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Marcin,” she said over the noise of the band from outside. “Talk about opposites attract!” She was tipsy, her face flushed. Jakub assumed she wouldn’t have bothered approaching him otherwise. She did look very well, he had to admit.

“Friends is not the word I’d use.” He couldn’t make himself sound amiable. Aniela took it in stride, as if she didn’t care one whit what he thought of her. Jakub gave her a glower on principle and upended his cup down his throat. He heard her sigh.

“Look, I don’t hate you, Jakub. You don’t have to be like this.” Jakub curled his lip. “Maciej does,” she went on earnestly. “And no wonder.” Yes, Jakub supposed he would. “But I don’t. You should have come home sooner.”

“I didn’t stay away because of you!” How arrogant she was, he thought, a dull blush rising in his cheeks at the thought of being so misunderstood. Jealous of her though he had been, his long absence had been very little to do with her. It was his father’s fault he’d left – not hers.

“What, then?” she asked. He wasn’t about to tell her his insecurities – no-one but Marcin truly knew what had spurred him towards Warsaw and stopped him coming home. Aniela waited patiently for a while, then sighed again. “It’s a shame,” she said. Why did she sound so regretful? She couldn’t possibly have missed him. “Feels like…it’s been too long now. That you’ve come back too late: that this place isn’t home for you anymore.”

“Did…did Father say something to you?”

“No.” Aniela gave him a quizzical look. “That’s just what it feels like.”

Jakub stared across at her – when she wore heels as he did their heights were almost equal – and resented her more deeply still. Because she had put her finger on it, and if it was plain to her it might be plain to everyone: that he no longer belonged here. It was a fact more painful than he could have imagined. Jakub had lived almost all his life in Adamczycha; he had fought his siblings for it, and later his father, and even though he had left it behind for the wide world beyond it, he had still thought of it somewhere in his mind as his. Aniela gazed into his face. She seemed about to speak – Jakub desperately wanted her not to. Just as she opened her mouth, an unlikely saviour rolled up to rescue him.

“Aniela. Let’s go, let’s dance!” Maciej shot Jakub an unimpressed look, then grabbed Aniela’s hand. Jakub noticed then that she too wore a ring, a simple gold band with no jewel. He wondered if her runaway serf had somehow made good enough to buy it for her, or if this was yet another thing Aniela had in her unwomanly way decided to acquire for herself. Nobody had thought to tell him.

Maciej dragged Aniela off to join the country dances that were merging the distinction between the aristocratic reception and the commoners’ party. For the first time in his life Jakub was grateful to him. The sight of this second ring had for some reason caused the old emptiness within him to surge, a tide of melancholy rushing heavily through his body. He turned and slipped out of the manor house.

It was better outside, darker, though if anything even more festive. Jakub drifted past the dancers and drinkers and feasters. Dressed all in black and blending into the shadows, he was largely ignored. It didn’t sting so badly coming from peasants, somehow: after all, they didn’t matter.

“Father!” Jakub turned and saw Janusz and two of his henchmen waving at him. They were drunk too, having commandeered a large flagon of vodka everyone was obviously too nervous to try taking off them. Janusz lifted a cup and raised his eyebrows, so Jakub picked his way through a sea of recumbent villagers and over to them. At least they were useful. “Nice wedding,” said Janusz cheerfully, passing him the brimming cup. Jakub downed it, wincing at its burn. “Nice sermon.”

“Thank you.” Despite being tipsy, Janusz was giving him an evaluative look. He was a good reader of people.

“You feeling okay, Father? Too much vodka?” The others laughed: as if there was such a thing! “Or has his lordship played with you too hard?” Jakub found himself too tired to bother concealing the unhappiness that had settled on him over these past few days. “If you need help,” said Janusz after a moment, staring up at him from where he was reclining against a log, “just find your owner and ask his permission. We’re always at your service.” Jakub felt a vague sense of gratitude towards the big perceptive oaf. But he shook his head.

“Not now.” And he meandered on.

He found Marcin in the tavern, being egged on by a group of peasants to quaff an enormous mug of ale. Marcin did so with barely a spill and grinned like an imbecile as he was cheered by all and sundry. Jakub rolled his eyes. He waited quietly for the drunken animals to find a new victim, hoping Marcin would notice him of his own accord. Marcin did – and ale or no ale, he recognised Jakub’s distress. Drink must have made him bold: impulsively he took Jakub’s hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in a low voice.

“I need to talk to you,” Jakub blurted, clinging to that strong arm. “Take me somewhere.” Marcin glanced about. Then he pulled Jakub through the tavern’s back door, startling Izaak as they went, and out into the night.

“This way,” he whispered. They left the celebration still going strong. Marcin led him through the stables and into the adjoining barn, horses watching sleepily as they passed. Jakub felt a curious sense of déjà vu. He blinked when Marcin took his elbow to help him pick his way through the hay and straw littering the ground, and that was when he remembered: Marcin had brought him here before. That very first day, when Jakub had been too stupefied by his afternoon with Janusz and his men to know what was going on. Marcin must remember too. He gave Jakub an adoring look in the dimness, then sat himself on a hay bale and tugged gently at his hand. “Down.”

Jakub sank to his knees. Without speaking he laid his head on Marcin’s thigh – and there he found it: the most profound sense of belonging he had ever experienced.

“I shouldn’t have let you come,” he heard Marcin say. “I didn’t know it would make you this unhappy… I’m sorry, kitten.”

“I wanted to come,” Jakub muttered. He let his eyes fall shut. “Not your fault.”

“At least tell me what’s wrong.” Marcin was stroking his hair, just as he had back then, the first time he had ever held Jakub in his arms. “Is it your family again? You’re feeling left out?” That was such a mild way of putting it, but Jakub nodded.

“You’re right. I...shouldn’t be here. It doesn’t work anymore.” It hurt so terribly to admit it. Still, this was the one person to whom he could say it. Marcin leaned down and kissed the top of his head.

“You can make it work if you want to. I know you can. But if it’s too painful you don’t have to!” Shrugging despondently and dismissing the image of Jan Paweł’s stupid back turned to him, Jakub confided:

“It’s not just that. It’s…” Here in Marcin’s embrace, he thought he finally understood why the sight of his siblings’ wedding rings had injured him so.

“Tell me, honey.” Jakub pushed himself up so he could look Marcin in the eye, thanking God for Janusz and his timely offering of vodka. He could say it now.

“…You’re my home.” He felt a sweet fluttering in his heart at the way Marcin’s eyes grew damp – the way he smiled and cupped Jakub’s face. “Here, Warsaw, it doesn’t matter – it’s you.”

“That’s right,” Marcin murmured. He sounded enraptured. Jakub leaned more heavily against him, knowing he would hold him firm. “I own you, Jakub, you’re mine. You belong with me the way I belong with you. Wherever you want to be, I’ll make sure you’re happy there – that we can be happy together.” His smile widened, thumb caressing Jakub’s cheek. “It’s like a marriage.”

“It is,” agreed Jakub passionately. “It’s better!” And here it was, the anxiety that had been eating at him since the ceremony. “But…I can’t prove it.” Marcin looked puzzled. Shifting his weight, he picked Jakub up and set him on his knee.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“Man and wife: it’s sanctioned by God, the Church, the law. ‘Til death do us part and all that.” Jakub glanced down at his cleric’s ring. “It’s something permanent, it’s accepted, and they have the ring to prove it.”

“…Is that what’s bothering you?” asked Marcin, looking mystified. “That Teresa has a ring and you don’t?”

“No.” It was so hard to explain. “Without the weight of God and the law behind it a ring is just an…ephemeral bauble. Not that you can’t buy me jewels whenever you like!” Jakub added hurriedly – he’d never want to discourage Marcin. Marcin gave him an indulgent smile, clearly still puzzled. “It’s just…not the same.”

“What can I give you,” Marcin said solemnly, catching him around the waist with both arms, “that will make you happy? I can’t get us a marriage certificate. But you know I love you – you know this is for always. ‘Til death do us part and beyond.” He was an awful sap! And just now Jakub loved it.

“I know that. That’s what I want, I suppose: a symbol of that.”

“Does it need to be public? A ring is all I can really think of. You already have your collar, but it’s not like we can show that to the world.”

“Mm…doesn’t have to be public,” Jakub decided. “It just has to be there.” They sat together in the warm, horsey dark and thought.

“We could pierce your nipples,” said Marcin uncertainly after a few minutes. “With gold. That’s more intense, isn’t it? And more permanent than a ring on a finger.”

“If it would please you,” agreed Jakub easily, “we can do that. Janusz knows how.” Marcin pulled a face as if to say yes, he just bet he did. Jakub rather liked the idea. If Marcin wanted it too – he had seemed rather squeamish about it before – Jakub would gladly do it. And yet somehow…somehow he was still frustrated. He fell quiet for a while, then opened his hands and said: “…But it’s not enough. I want it…it needs to have weight.” He slid his arms around Marcin’s neck, clinging to him. “It needs to be forever.” Marcin frowned.

“You mean like…ink?”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Jakub had heard of pilgrims to the Holy Land inking themselves with the Jerusalem Cross in commemoration of their journey to God. So it wasn’t only for common sailors and heathens. He tried to imagine it, what form it could take. It would hurt – all the better. Perhaps Marcin’s romanticism was rubbing off on him, but he felt that it would be all the more meaningful if he suffered and enjoyed the suffering. He tried to explain this to Marcin, who sighed.

“Yes, that does sound like you.”

“Then…would you let me?” Jakub peered down at him earnestly, feeling that vast emptiness begin to retreat in the face of Marcin’s love, his understanding of Jakub’s strange needs. “Would you agree to do something like that to me?” Marcin was his owner, after all. Just this once, Jakub wouldn’t try to manipulate him into agreeing. It had to be a mutual decision.

“Let’s talk about it when we get home,” said Marcin, and kissed him in a way that felt terribly reassuring. “If it makes you happy we’ll work something out.” He drew Jakub close, and whispered into his neck above the collar: “You’re everything to me, Jakub Adamczewski.” And for the first time since they had come to Adamczycha, Jakub smiled.

It took weeks to talk it over, to come to an agreement and make the arrangements. As always, it was Jakub who was keenest to push ahead: Marcin hadn’t found his lover’s limits yet and wondered if he ever would.

“Wouldn’t you like it?” Jakub had cajoled him, almost his old self again since the cityscape of Warsaw had homed into view on their return from Adamczycha. “Something that marks me as your possession – something nobody can ever take off me.” He pulled the neck of his cassock down and tapped the plaque on his collar that carried Marcin’s initials, the first collar Marcin had ever given him. “I know you love me wearing this, but if I really wanted to I could cut it off. Or someone else could.” Unable to stop himself, Marcin let out a growl of disapproval. He didn’t want to think about what he might do to any man who tried it! Yes, the idea appealed to his jealous side. Jakub must know how deep his possessive streak ran. Placing a permanent mark of ownership on his body, something Jakub couldn’t hide or explain away if it was ever revealed… It would be incredibly satisfying. But would it not be selfish? Jakub gave him a frank smile. “It’s not enough for it to just make me happy,” he told Marcin. “It has to make you happy too.”

“…It would,” Marcin confessed, waving the last shreds of his old morality goodbye. Jakub’s pale face lit up. He stretched his hand across to Marcin’s chair, and Marcin caught it and kissed it.

“Good! Then we just have to decide what it’s going to be.”

“Nothing too big,” said Marcin hurriedly. It should be something small and elegant, like Jakub himself.

“Your initials? Like the collar?”

“Maybe.” Marcin squeezed Jakub’s fingers, bared for him in the privacy of their rooms. “But before that comes the question of how we’re going to do it.”

“You already suggested. At the wedding.”

“The thing about ink,” said Marcin, who had been looking into it more deeply since he knew Jakub was really serious, “is that it’s very difficult to get right. You need to be an expert: not only at using the needles…” Jakub’s eyes lit up at the word. “Pay attention, kitten,” Marcin instructed, clicking his fingers in Jakub’s direction. “Not just at the needles but at art. I won’t put anything on your body that isn’t beautiful!”

“Quite,” said Jakub, preening.

“Well, I’m no expert in either field.” Marcin beckoned, pulling smoothly at Jakub’s hand until he rose from his chair and came to sit in Marcin’s lap. Gripping him tightly around the waist, Marcin declared: “And I won’t let any man but me mark you!”

“Ohh.” The corner of Jakub’s mouth curled up. “Jealousy. Yes. Got it.”

“No ink, then,” Marcin said firmly, shaking his head at Jakub’s studiedly meek expression. Jakub had become an expert at acting cute to get what he wanted. But this was too important: Marcin wouldn’t be swayed. “We’ll have to find something else.”

“What else is there?” Oh, that pout was too adorable! Marcin smacked his hand to make him lay off; Jakub clicked his tongue and lapsed back into his usual ironic expression.

“I’ll do some research. And then, I think, I’ll make the choice. Is that all right with you, sweetheart?” He didn’t think either of them would deny that he cared for Jakub’s wellbeing more deeply than Jakub did himself, but Jakub was a contrary creature and there was no telling when he’d choose to be stubborn. To his delight, Jakub melted against him.

“Yes, Marcin. You choose for me. You arrange everything – I trust you.” Blessing his beloved’s natural laziness, Marcin beamed and pulled him even closer.

**

And now everything was prepared. The night had come. Marcin worked until his usual time at the Castle – he’d been too nervy to get much done – then strolled across the Old Town to the cathedral, where Jakub was conducting Vespers for the Bishop. He sat in a pew and gazed up at him, his heart full: he was apprehensive, of course he was, but overflowing with pride at the idea of what they were about to do. Jakub looked serene as he gave the service from the high pulpit: pure and untroubled as the Bishop in his ignorance believed him to be. When he caught sight of Marcin he flushed slightly.

“You didn’t have to come,” he said once Vespers was over and he had removed his surplice and tolerated the greetings of the parishioners. Marcin knew that Jakub disapproved of his lackadaisical attitude to worship, but he accepted it just as Marcin accepted his maniacal tendencies.

“I wanted to,” Marcin assured him. “I want to spend the whole night with you.” He planned to spoil Jakub to the best of his ability before they took this irreversible step.

“Did you get it?” Jakub asked quietly, lifting his hand in a perfunctory farewell to the deacon who had assisted him.

“I picked it up at lunchtime. It’s at home.” With a flourish Marcin offered his arm. Jakub looked surprised: it was rare for Marcin to act this way when there were so many people in the streets. But tonight was special, and Marcin wanted to show Jakub he knew it. With an arch smile Jakub placed his slim gloved hand on Marcin’s sleeve and allowed himself to be escorted along the scenic route home. The evening was fine and warm, windows open and the streets fragrant with the scents of frying onions and potatoes as suppers cooked. They walked together companionably, as Marcin hoped they would walk all their lives.

“I’m hungry,” announced Jakub as Marcin handed him up the stairs to their rooms. Marcin wasn’t himself, not very – his mind was on what was to come and he was full of nerves. But he knew Jakub was made of sterner stuff.

“Good. I’ve borrowed a chef from a friend.” The boarding-house fare was perfectly satisfactory. Tonight, though, Marcin wanted to indulge Jakub’s appetite for fine cookery. One of his fellow aristocratic marshals had a French chef. Under the impression that Marcin was trying to placate a temperamental mistress, he had lent him the man for the evening. If all had gone to plan the chef would be down in the kitchen now, probably complaining about the limited space and equipment and getting on the servants’ nerves. Marcin didn’t care: he was paying them enough. Jakub gave him a fond glance, patted his own black-clad stomach in appreciation, and let Marcin open the door for him.

The table was laid with the fine Chinese porcelain and Venetian glassware Marcin had bought for their rooms, letting Jakub choose the patterns for both of them. The set wasn’t quite complete – Jakub had smashed some plates in a deliberate tantrum for which Marcin had punished him thoroughly – but it looked wonderful, sparkling there in the candlelight: a little oasis of luxury in this very ordinary street. Marcin helped Jakub remove his cloak, seated him, and poured them the wine he had brought from his father’s cellar. Jakub gave it a judgemental sip, then smiled.

“To you, kitten.” Raising his own glass, Marcin toasted him. “For being mine.” Jakub looked smug and joined the toast.

“You’re very charming tonight,” he said. Marcin reached across the table – which Jakub had just a month or two ago been fucked on by Janusz – and took his free hand.

“Kind of you to say so!” He knew Jakub wouldn’t usually acknowledge it. Jakub had just opened his mouth, probably to contradict him, when there was a knock at the door and the food arrived.

The meal was served not by courses in the new style of the French court, but with all the dishes spread out at once on the table to create a spectacle that had Jakub licking his lips. There was fish in a delicate sauce, venison, a rich potato dish the chef called gratin dauphinois, vegetables, some pretty little cakes with whipped cream, and a plate of unfamiliar cheeses with soft white bread. Marcin toyed with his food in a way that the chef, who Marcin’s colleague swore blind had worked at Versailles, would probably have found most offensive. At least he could enjoy Jakub eating: he looked almost orgasmic.

“Take it easy,” said Marcin with a smile. “Or you won’t want to play later.”

“I will.” Jakub licked cream off his fingers in a way perfectly calculated to make Marcin’s pulse race. “But don’t worry. I’ve finished.” They sat there and chatted as the dishes were cleared away. Jakub drank more wine – Marcin didn’t. He needed a clear head. As soon as the last servant had gone, Jakub leaned forward and said with an excited shine in his eyes: “Can I see it?”

“Of course.” Marcin dearly hoped he’d approve it! Jakub had ceded control of the process to him, but that didn’t mean he had no opinions. Marcin went to the armoire, unlocked it, and took out a long, polished case of walnut wood. Placing it on the table in front of Jakub, he opened the clasps. “Go ahead.” It was wrapped in velvet. Jakub lifted it out carefully.

“It’s light,” he said as he unfolded the cloth.

“Yes. It’s quite delicate. The jeweller did a wonderful job.” Jakub set the fruit of Marcin’s artistic endeavour down on the table, and for a minute only looked at it. His pretty face was grave. “…Do you like it?” asked Marcin.

“I love it.”

The little branding iron looked gold in the candlelight. It wasn’t: Marcin had asked various farmers and artisans for their advice at length, and they’d all concluded that for precise, detailed work the only material was brass. Still, it gleamed prettily. It had a long handle with a comfortable grip moulded at one end. At the other was Marcin’s design, painstakingly described to the craftsman who had made it for him and improved on his vision. It was less than an inch across: anything else would look crude on Jakub’s small frame. Jakub picked it up again and examined it at close range. He seemed fascinated.

“And…you’re sure this is the way you want to do it after all?” Marcin had asked him again and again in the days leading up to this evening, second-guessing himself as he’d told himself he wouldn’t. Perhaps marking him with a knife, their third option, would be better after all: simpler and less painful. It was true that Jakub’s answer had never changed, but that had been before he’d seen the thing, touched it. The metal was cool now – it wouldn’t be later. Marcin noticed that Jakub was fidgeting slightly in his seat. Perhaps, now he’d really imagined it, he was afraid.

“Yes,” said Jakub quickly. “We’ve discussed it dozens of times!” They had. Both of them knew it would hurt like Hell and would need careful treatment for a long time if it was going to scar nicely. Marcin hadn’t been enthused about the idea of Jakub being in pain for so long, but Jakub had argued him down – and if there was anyone who knew about enduring and even relishing pain, it was him. “We wanted it to be you who marks me,” Jakub reminded him, stroking his fingers across the face of the design. “And this way it can be. It’s perfect, Marcin.” Thankful beyond measure to have been blessed with such an extraordinary partner in life as Jakub, Marcin bent and kissed him reverently.

“Thank you for trusting me.” Jakub smiled against his lips. “Well. Shall we get you ready?”

**

They began with a bath. Marcin slowly stripped Jakub of his vestments and jewellery and boots, leaving only his collar on. The servants had prepared the big copper tub while they’d been eating. Kissing Jakub again, Marcin lowered him into the hot water and settled his head back against the lip of the bath, padded well with muslin cloths. Peeling off his uniform jacket he proceeded to wash Jakub in his shirtsleeves. He used Jakub’s favourite soap, the scented oil and soft sponges, stroking him, kissing him, relaxing him until Jakub was floating there boneless except for his semi-erect cock. When he was as clean as he could be and the water was growing tepid, Marcin lifted him out and dried him meticulously in front of the blazing fire in the bedchamber. He touched him everywhere, very gently, marvelling yet again at how exquisitely he had been made. More than ever before he felt with all his being that Jakub was precious. Marcin would do anything for him – including this. Perhaps Jakub read it in his face: God knew his feelings must be plain enough. Jakub wrapped both arms around his neck, rose up on tiptoe, and pressed their mouths together.

“I’m ready, Marcin. Are you?”

“…Yes.” Marcin caught him in a tight hold, his fingers digging into Jakub’s back. For the first time in an age it was unmarked, unhurt, just as the rest of his body was. Ever since they had agreed to do this Marcin had refrained from any kind of play that would cut or bruise Jakub. He wanted a clean canvas, a symbolic beginning of this permanent connection between them. Jakub had sulked at first but had come round to it when Marcin proved he could find other ways to torment him in the meantime.

“I feel so virginal,” said Jakub with a huff of laughter as he caught sight of his unmarred white figure in the mirror.

“That must make a change.” Jakub swatted him with one hand but pushed further into his embrace. Marcin kissed his cheek. “Come over to the bed then, sweetheart, if you’re ready.”

He’d planned this in advance too. It was crucial that Jakub be immobilised: for all that he swore he could hold himself still, Marcin knew this new type of pain might be a shock when the moment came. It would be very different from melted wax, the closest they had got so far to heat play. Under his direction Jakub lay down obediently on his back. Smoothing his hands lovingly up those slender arms, Marcin closed his wrists in padded cuffs and fastened them to two posts of the canopy bed. He did the same with Jakub’s right leg, pulling the ropes taut until Jakub was spreadeagled and could barely wriggle. Marcin buckled a wider leather cuff around his left leg above the knee. It was attached to a rope that was thrown over the top frame of the canopy, close to the ceiling. When Marcin hauled on it Jakub’s shapely leg was lifted up and outwards. He tied off the rope.

“Are you comfortable, kitten?” Jakub nodded. He looked content, trusting. “Try to move.” Jakub squirmed. The leg had a bit too much play in it for Marcin’s liking, so he tightened the rope and tied another to Jakub’s ankle for good measure. “That’s better.” Kicking off his own boots, he walked back into their sitting room and carefully picked up the branding iron. He’d been given detailed instructions by his experts, who’d been paid enough not to care exactly what Marcin would be branding. The fire was made up just as he’d asked it, with plenty of hot coals. He pushed the iron down into them, making sure the handle stood away from the heat. Then he returned to the bed, climbed up on it, and laid himself over Jakub. “You’re still sure?” he whispered.

“Mm. Still sure.” Jakub had always loved to feel his weight. He lifted his head as best he could and captured Marcin’s lips, tongue nudging past his teeth to kiss him ardently. Marcin returned it. He let his hands skim worshipfully along the lines of Jakub’s body: soft and healthy, just as he wanted to keep it. Jakub was sighing into his mouth, his prick stiffening against Marcin’s hip as Marcin started to attack his throat and chest with kisses, licking and nibbling at his nipples. Marcin was gentle with him for a change: what they were about to do would hurt enough. “…Feels good, Marcin,” Jakub assured him, trying in vain to push his hips up and stimulate himself.

“Allow me,” Marcin told him, and moved lower. He sucked Jakub’s cock tantalisingly slowly. Jakub urged him on verbally but there was nothing he could do to hurry him, and he was likewise unable to reciprocate. It was true that Jakub was most easily aroused when it wasn’t only his cock involved, but Marcin wasn’t about to fuck him yet.

“…Let me…blow you at least,” panted Jakub as Marcin bobbed his head at a teasing pace.

“Want to beg me?”

“Please…”

“All right,” said Marcin, and swivelled round to let Jakub do what Marcin was doing to him. He wanted Jakub as filled with pleasure as possible when the moment came. If this would help get him there, Marcin wasn’t about to say no – especially when it felt so incredible!

He could feel Jakub beginning to tremble under him. His cock was twitching against Marcin’s tongue: if they weren’t careful he would come soon, and that would never do. Marcin moved away from him with an effort and sat up to cup his cheek.

“…Do it,” Jakub said frantically. “I want it, Marcin, do it now…!”

“I will,” replied Marcin, swallowing hard. “Would it help if you have something inside you when it happens?” He knew Jakub very well. Jakub nodded, so Marcin prepared one of the medium-sized toys, and after relaxing and stretching him out – carefully, so as not to get oil everywhere – he slipped it inside him. Jakub sighed and grew harder than ever. So, thought Marcin, suddenly feeling light-headed and not from the wine. They had come to it. And now he was frightened: the responsibility was immense. But his fear wasn’t enough to wipe away the image of Jakub in the stable at Adamczycha, frustrated and unhappy because – yet again – he couldn’t have what his brother and sister had. Jakub was certain this would make him happy, and that was enough for Marcin. He got off the bed, walked over to the fireplace, and gingerly touched the handle of the branding iron.

“…Is it hot?” asked Jakub faintly, craning to see.

“Not the handle.” It was warm, but Marcin could hold it with ease as he drew the other end out of the coals. “But yes. It’s hot.” He paced very cautiously back to the bed and stood at its foot to let Jakub look. He heard him catch his breath. The iron was glowing brightly; Marcin could feel the fierce heat radiate off it. He’d taken the instructions to heart: it should be hot enough for the mark to be permanent. With infinite care he knelt between Jakub’s legs. They couldn’t dawdle too long unless he wanted to reheat it, but he had to be doubly sure. “Jakub,” he murmured, repeating it until Jakub’s rapt attention turned from the iron to himself. “I love you, so much. For the last time, then: are you certain you want this?”

“I want it, Marcin.” Jakub’s eyes were enormous, but he had stopped shivering. His light voice held the utmost conviction. “I’m yours. Forever.”

“Forever,” Marcin promised. With his left hand he took hold of Jakub’s raised leg, gripping it tight but calm as he would a highly-strung animal. He breathed in deeply, and with the other hand he pressed the head of the red-hot iron to the inside of Jakub’s thigh.

Jakub screamed. Marcin didn’t startle, couldn’t afford to: he’d known Jakub would, and it was a sound he’d heard before, though never quite so raw as this. The hiss and the smell were far more disconcerting, but he knew he mustn’t recoil. Concentrating furiously so as not to jog his hand in any way, he lifted the iron away from Jakub’s flesh. Jakub had quietened down after that first heartfelt cry. Now he was sobbing, his prick miraculously still hard, but Marcin couldn’t comfort him until he’d removed the lethal stick of metal to the fireplace. Hurrying back, he took Jakub’s face in both hands.

“There. It’s done. It’s done, my love – you were perfect.” He lowered his head and pressed his brow against Jakub’s. They were both slick with sweat from the intensity of it, Jakub from the great pain he had felt and must still be feeling. He keened softly beneath Marcin, narrow chest heaving. “It looks beautiful,” Marcin assured him. And it did: they had done well. Jakub sniffed.

“…Yes?”

“Yes, darling. You’re mine, you’ll be mine always, and now there’s proof. You can show it off in as many public bathhouses as you like!” He heard Jakub let out a strangled laugh through his tears. Marcin sort of hoped he’d forget about that suggestion by the morning, but he was glad to get a smile out of him.

“Want to see…” managed Jakub at last.

“I’ll have to dress it before I let you loose,” Marcin warned him. He pushed the hair back from his pale forehead and kissed it. “But yes, you can see.” He uncuffed Jakub’s hands, then knelt behind him and helped him sit up. Jakub leaned against his chest – he was quivering again, perhaps with some delayed shock, Marcin would have to watch for that – and peered down at himself.

“I can’t see.” Marcin pushed him forward a bit, and holding both his arms to keep him from touching the burn manoeuvred him until he caught sight of it. Jakub exhaled unsteadily. “…Oh, Marcin. It is beautiful.”

The little brand had come out precisely and neatly, a glaring red circle high up on the inside of Jakub’s white thigh. Marcin knew it wouldn’t always be as bright, but that if it healed and scarred the way he intended it to it would still be visible. He’d have to take the best care of it to keep it pretty. The design was simple, but looked elaborate because the skilful jeweller had made it so small. The central feature was a capital M; Marcin and the craftsman had consulted extensively about the exact shape of the letter, which was clear and elegant. Around it was a circlet of minute leaves, so that the design resembled a kind of personal seal with a border. At the top, crowning the M, was a tiny cross: the marriage of Marcin’s symbol with Jakub’s.

“You can have a better look when it’s stopped hurting as much,” Marcin told Jakub, squeezing him around the middle and kissing the nape of his neck.

“…It does hurt… It really hurts…” Jakub swiped tears off his cheeks with the heel of one hand. This caused a pang of guilt to strike low in Marcin’s stomach: though they had both known it would, he never wanted to cause Jakub any pain he didn’t find enjoyable.

“I’m so sorry,” he told him, pressing more kisses to his neck and shoulders. “You’re the most precious thing in the world to me, Jakub, you know I’d do anything to stop harm coming to you…” Jakub nodded, holding on to Marcin’s forearms.

“It’s what I wanted.” He was breathing very carefully, not lost in the pain but still here with Marcin. “…It’s still what I want.” With a long sigh he tipped his head back against Marcin’s shoulder.

“What can I do for you?” asked Marcin. “Some wine? Something stronger?” He was relieved and delighted to hear Jakub laugh, small and shaky but genuine.

“What do I always need after you hurt me the way I love?” Twisting to nuzzle his face against Marcin’s neck, Jakub said: “I need you inside me…”

“You do…?” The entire ritual had been so fraught with risk and at the same time deeply moving for Marcin that he’d completely forgotten about sex. He wasn’t hard at all – but he was amazed. Jakub was simply astounding. “…Yes,” he said softly, running his hands in a covetous sweep over Jakub’s body. “You can have that. But not before I look after that leg.” Jakub made a small complaining noise. He sounded so very like himself, and Marcin sent up a rare prayer of thanks to God that the branding hadn’t been traumatic for him. “Lie down and be patient,” he ordered, and eased Jakub back to relax against the covers.

Marcin had prepared this well in advance too. Having described the nature of the burn to a physician at the Castle, he’d had a medicine made up to prevent infection and keep the skin supple. The physician had warned him that scarring was inevitable, but as that was the whole point Marcin had just nodded gravely and accepted his instructions. He applied the ointment to Jakub’s thigh as delicately as he could.

“Ohh…” Jakub gritted his teeth on a whimper, then relaxed into Marcin’s touch.

“That’s my good boy. Nearly done.” Marcin kissed his knee, then placed a soft dressing over the brand and fastened it with linen bandages. “There. Don’t fiddle with it!” Jakub let out a mumble of acquiescence, so Marcin untied his legs. Jakub’s thighs were divinely plump and touched together when he was standing naturally. He’d have to learn to adjust his movements until the burn healed. This left Marcin with the problem of how exactly they were going to fuck. “I can’t let anything touch you there,” he explained to Jakub, who had made a convulsive grab for him and was kissing his chest hungrily over his undershirt.

“Mmm,” muttered Jakub, breath warm and teasing on his left nipple. “Figure it out!” One clever hand dropped to Marcin’s open pantaloons, drawing out his cock again and fondling it until both their breaths quickened and Marcin hardened. Marcin held him still, kissed him hungrily and with huge respect, and tried to work out what the best position would be before he was too mindless to think at all.

In the end he eased the toy out of Jakub’s arse and lifted him into his lap, Jakub lying back warm and heavy against his chest. He kept one arm hooked through the crook of his left knee, lifting and spreading his leg so his bandaged inner thigh was in contact with nothing but air.

“You’ll have to help,” he told Jakub, giving his prick a squeeze for encouragement. To his amazement Jakub didn’t complain at having to do the work himself: as Marcin’s free arm clamped around his waist he lined himself up and with a delighted groan sank down on Marcin’s cock. “Fuck,” said Marcin hoarsely. “Yes, good, perfect, sweetheart…” Jakub was clinging to him. “Just relax now, I’ll take care of everything. Just feel good with me…”

It had been a long time since they’d done it this way, thought Marcin blissfully as he thrust up slowly into Jakub, the sweet smoky scent of him in his nostrils and the music of Jakub’s moans in his ears. They were accustomed now to hard fucking, often with Jakub still bound or gagged – that was what Jakub liked, and Marcin couldn’t deny that he had grown to love it too. This was different: this was making love, gentle and considerate but no less passionate for that. Jakub had put himself through so much, had given him so much tonight – no, not only tonight – and Marcin wanted to let him know he was the greatest treasure a man could possess.

“…Marcin,” whispered Jakub, moving with him in rhythm as best he could with one leg held tight in Marcin’s grip. His hand rose to slide behind Marcin’s neck and hold him as if he was the only thing keeping Jakub tethered to the Earth. Marcin clutched him tighter, fucked him deeper. “I do love you…!”

“I know, honey…” As Jakub came, shuddering in his arms, Marcin prayed again: this time to Jakub himself, his mumbled words of devotion lost in that beautiful little neck. “You’re mine, you’re home…you’re just…” His own orgasm hit then and the rest of the litany was lost in the harsh groan he stifled with a bite in Jakub’s shoulder. Jakub cried out quietly, then lay limp in his arms. “…You all right?” asked Marcin when he could speak again. What they had done tonight had been so different to their usual comfortable play that he couldn’t tell whether Jakub would drift away from him into that strange, peaceful place he could only find through pain and pleasure.

“…I’m all right,” Jakub murmured. He sounded lucid, still with Marcin, and right now Marcin was glad: he felt that tonight he needed comfort too, needed Jakub’s presence and mind and body all together, all those parts of him that he loved beyond description. He stayed inside Jakub as long as he could, leaning back against the bedhead and kissing him lazily everywhere he could reach. Always he was aware of Jakub’s injury: keeping him safe was the most important thing he could do.

Eventually Jakub shifted against his chest and asked for a glass of wine.

“If it’s for the pain,” said Marcin worriedly, “I can bring you vodka instead.” Jakub gave him a small smile.

“Not for pain. I don’t mind the pain – not just now, anyway.” He was definitely going to grumble about it in the morning, thought Marcin fondly. “I’m just not sleepy yet. I’d like to relax with you.”

“Yes?” Marcin lifted him tenderly out of his lap and propped him up with a stack of pillows, enjoining him not to touch his thigh. He trotted through to the living room – but before collecting the glasses and the open bottle the servants had left, he went quietly to the armoire and unlocked it. He’d meant to wait and do this another day, thinking Jakub would be overwhelmed by what they’d already done tonight. But now seemed the perfect time.

He took the wine through and set it on the gilt table by the bed. When Jakub gave it an expectant look, he sat down next to him and took his hand.

“I’ve got another present for you, kitten.” At that Jakub stopped eyeing the bottle and fixed him with the magpie look Marcin had grown to adore: his avaricious little cleric, it was really the most charming thing! Reaching into the waistband of his pantaloons, Marcin withdrew a small, carved box. He saw Jakub’s blue eyes narrow, then widen. “I know it doesn’t mean anything legally,” he told him, gulping a little at his expression. Christ, he hoped this would please him! “But you never know – it might mean something to God. And it means something to me.” He opened the box.

“Ohhh,” said Jakub. Inside was the ring Marcin had commissioned after they’d returned from Adamczycha and decided to unite themselves in the way they had tonight. Jakub had obviously taken great notice of Teresa’s wedding band: he’d described it in detail, unable to keep the jealousy and melancholy from slipping into his voice. The gimmal ring Marcin had designed with the jeweller was gold of the highest quality. Its two halves were a little thicker than Teresa’s but still elegant enough for Jakub’s slender fingers. In one half a ruby was embedded. It had come from a set of jewels belonging to Marcin’s grandmother – the jeweller had whistled when he’d seen it.

“I thought you could wear the jewelled half under your glove,” said Marcin, trying to read Jakub’s face. Did he look happy? Marcin hoped so. “If you’d like to. And I’ll get a chain to hang the other half round my neck.” He couldn’t wear a ring like that in public without a thousand questions, most of them from his mother. But he could still keep it next to his skin. Jakub reached out slowly and took the ring; separated the two halves and fitted them together again. “…What do you think?” asked Marcin.

“That I love you even more!” said Jakub, and smiled his real smile, that bright, greedy, sly smile Marcin had learned to cherish because he knew it meant something when Jakub aimed it at him. Marcin grinned back at him, and like a foolishly adoring bridegroom slid the ring with its blood-red ruby onto Jakub’s finger. It sat there sparkling, and Jakub watched it as if mesmerised.

“I know it’s something you can take off,” Marcin told him, raising his hand and kissing it. “And I know it can’t be public any more than my mark on your body is public. But it’s like you said: this is just as good as a marriage to me. Better.” Jakub nodded, his eyes shining as the tears welled. Then he threw his arms around Marcin and held him tight.

“It’s not public,” he agreed, breath tickling Marcin’s chest. “But I’ll always know it’s there.” Marcin nodded and stroked his hair. “Anyway,” Jakub went on, lifting his head abruptly to peer up at Marcin with the wicked spark Marcin knew all too well. “I know at least one person we can show it off to.” Marcin groaned.

“Ugh. If you must! But at least wait ‘til it’s healed. And ask my permission this time!”

Jakub gave him a squint, then began laughing his high little laugh that was as a warning sign to any sensible man. Marcin heaved a sigh, then chuckled. After all, nothing else mattered: Jakub was his, forever. Whatever mischief he might make on a daily basis from now until the end of time, nothing could spoil that. He took Jakub’s face in his hands, and still laughing kissed him.