Chapter Text
Satin sits in his chair and looks across the desk at the three boys standing in front of him. None of them speak, and he finds himself again reflecting on his position. A proprietor: whoring days behind him, only managing this establishment. That is a tremendous success, especially in such a young age--he's barely 19--and it's these three boys and some extraordinary circumstances that made their paths cross what he has to thank for the gift bestowed upon him--freedom. Relatively speaking.
When Loras Tyrell came to him in that dungeon in Gulltown, Satin was shocked. They only shared a few encounters scattered over several years, but Satin didn't think Loras even remembered his name--he was just a pretty boy whore and Loras didn't really visit the brothel so much. He wasn't one of his regular customers, so when he showed up that day, Satin thought he must've mistaken him for someone else. However, his initial surprise was nothing compared to what he felt when he heard why Loras was there and what he wanted him to do.
It was the new Lady Tyrell's bidding. The two of them were her brothers. The third boy was a friend of some sorts, almost a brother, and the Queen wanted them dead. The new Lady Tyrell's marriage made her safe, and now she pleaded for them. Loras didn't really care, Satin could see it, but his brother, young Lord Tyrell, wouldn't say no to his lovely lady wife. So Loras made Satin an offer--he will pull some strings to set him free, but Satin is to keep the boys safe, hidden in a brothel somewhere in Dorne that Satin himself will manage.
Loras' relationship with the brothel owner didn't interest Satin, nor was it ever explained--nobles had their intangible bonds, nets of favours owed and granted--and Satin was just a convenient pawn. But keeping the boys safely out of sight seemed like an easy task and a small price to pay for the stroke of luck he was given, so Satin agreed on the spot.
He at first thought he would just manage a brothel and the boys would remain as they were, not expected to do anything but stay stealth. On his way to Dorne however, he received a letter that told him otherwise--the brothel owner wouldn't tolerate the burden of feeding and clothing the youths for nothing. Everyone must earn their keep, and these boys were no exception. If Loras, or Lady Tyrell for that matter, knew about that, Satin didn't know. He guessed that Loras probably did. As for the Lady Tyrell, well, maybe she thought anything was better than death. Satin had to agree.
He settled in the brothel nicely. It was a fine establishment, large and elegant, four wings spread around the huge inside courtyard. It was well kept and had a large number of servants. The whores were versatile and knew their job well. Satin found it easy to run. But a couple of moons later, when the boys were brought to him, he knew there was going to be trouble.
Now, brought to his chamber, they stand awkwardly, not knowing what to make of all this. Satin can see the confusion displayed in their faces as they process the information--that they're expected to sell their bodies and not merely live there for free. They protested, argued, pleaded, but now they seem tired of it all, and are therefore silent, maybe trying to think their way out of this predicament.
Satin sighs, observing them. The tall one, called Theon, is very handsome, with dark hair and blue eyes. He was at first happy to hear he'd be living in a brothel. He didn't need to brag, although he did, for Satin to conclude he must've been a frequent visitor to such businesses in the past. And with his chatty smooth manner and handsome boy looks, girls must've been crazy about him. Now, upon hearing what they're to be, Theon doesn't seem so smug or happy anymore. His confident little smirk, that Satin found both incredibly charming and annoying at the same time, died down on his lips. He cursed and argued, finally falling silent after Satin failed to react.
Robb, the one with auburn curls, still tries to maintain some air of dignity, but Satin can see that he's scared and uncertain. Every so often, he looks at Theon, as if for guidance. He protested eloquently--big fancy words, sounding important and scholarly. And while Satin could see his reasons, there's nothing he can do about it. The orders were clear.
The third one, Jon, didn't say a word so far. He seemed sullen and gloomy even before Satin informed them of their fate. Now he's giving him these dark offended looks, but his defiance seems so vulnerable somehow. Satin finds himself strangely drawn to his gruff quiet manner.
Satin nods his head. He can sympathise. Those are noble lads, they were born into great rich houses and their lives shouldn't be this. But he has to do as he's been told, and his sympathy might be comforting, but it won't help them much.
"I understand that you did not expect this," he says. "But this is the only way you will be safe. And alive."
Theon snorts. "Alive," he says with some sort of amused contempt. "A living whore."
Robb joins the protest. "I'd rather die a hero."
For the first time, Jon speaks, "Honourable death is better."
Satin clears his throat. "I beg to differ. Speaking from a personal experience, I'd much rather be alive."
Their insulted gazes reach out to his heart, and he adds more softly, "If you behave, do as you're told, if you... learn well, you can be very happy here. I will treat you kindly, make sure you're never mistreated. You will have a good life."
Theon chuckles. "And all we have to do is fuck a few old ladies that come here and pay?" He shakes his head. "I am a man of taste. And standards. I like my wenches young and pretty, not some shrivelled old hags."
Satin is becoming impatient with his attitude, but he doesn't let it show. He says, composed as ever, "You will fuck whomever pays, be it a young and pretty wench or an old hag. And you will also spread your cheeks to be fucked, by whomever pays to do so."
That causes the commotion among the boys. They all speak at the same time, and Satin has to raise his voice. "Please. Stop talking. Your sister, Lady Tyrell, pulled a lot of strings to have you here where you'll be safe. Think of her sacrifice that she--"
"Sansa would never. She must have not known. She'd rather see us dead," Robb interrupts him, to the approval of the other two.
Theon adds, "What if we just walk out now?"
For a moment, it looks as if they're ready to do just that, and Satin can see the two men guarding the door place hands on their swords, ready and alert. He raises his hand in a reconciliation gesture, his voice calm when he speaks. "The guards outnumber you. And you are unarmed. You wouldn't even get past this room."
"At least we'd die fighting," Robb supplies. His brash words and his bravado betray him for who he really is--just a young boy, scared and trying to hide it.
"They would not kill you. I am ordered to keep you alive. This whole charade is precisely to keep you alive. They would simply return you here to me."
Theon asks, "They would not fight us?"
"They would. And they would find ways to bend you to my will, but they can do that without killing you."
The daring look all three boys throw him somehow manages to soften Satin even more. He wanted to be harsh and cold, and with the whores he was quite professional and distanced, but he never would have guessed he'd find himself so full of understanding for those three lads.
He says, "I understand how you feel, but you have no choice. Besides, that is not something that will happen tomorrow. You will have to be trained first. And that is never really fast. And in the meantime, maybe my instructions regarding you will change and it turns out it was a misunderstanding and you don't need to... participate in any kind of activities you wouldn't want. Or maybe your sister finds another safe place. But for now, please, for your own good, just do as you're told."
The prospect of their fate possibly changing over time, and the fact that there aren't people lined up waiting to fuck them immediately must have given them hope, for they seem to calm down, pondering on the possibility of this all being a misunderstanding. Satin knows it isn't, but he had to tell them something. They will accept the truth in time.
"Good." He nods approvingly. "It will be better for all of us if you cooperate."
He sends them then to the chamber they will share. They must be tired of their journey and the shock of the incredulous news he's told them, so he decides it's enough for now.
The room for the boys is located right next to Satin's own chamber. He thought it best that way. They will be close by and with as little contact with others as possible. The room is spacious and airy, with feather beds and a large desk. There are chairs and some toiletry supplies, clean linen and clothes. There is even a bathtub. None of those are exactly luxurious, but they're still much better than what the others get. Satin made sure they're comfortable and not in need of anything, but the boys seem unimpressed. He shrugs it off--after all, they spent their lives in castles and this is just a whorehouse.
Satin leaves them be and goes about his business--the brothel is always busy, the Dornish are a lusty folk and the business is blooming. It is only the next day, around noon, after he's broken his fast, that he decides to proceed with the boys. But for what he has to do now, it will be better if they come to him one by one.
He thinks who should he call first, then settles for the quiet boy, Jon. He is the least chatty of the three, but Satin seems to like him the most, and he also thinks Jon's quiet manner will work to his advantage--Jon might protest the least. Plus, Satin's not sure if his morning sour mood bears enough patience for Theon's mouth. So Jon it is.
The boy comes to him still wearing his black garb from the day before.
"Good day, Jon," Satin tells him, smiling. "Sit." He points to a chair in front of his desk.
Jon mumbles his greeting and awkwardly approaches, doing as he's told.
"Did you have a good rest?"
Jon nods, then clears his throat and adds, "Y-yes."
"Good. I'm pleased to hear that." Satin gives him a warm smile that grows even wider when he sees the boy shyly smile back. It was only a second before he returned to his sullen mask, but that second has encouraged Satin to continue talking.
"So how are you finding it here? All well?"
"Well, we... just got here... The room is fine." Jon shifts on the chair, looking uncomfortable again.
He is quite pretty, Satin notices. A tangle of black curls, wild and messy, makes him throw his head back slightly whenever the hair gets into his eyes. And the eyes are big and dark grey, whose depth Satin hasn't really seen before. He is slim and slender, but his clothes hide sinewy muscles, shaped by the years of whatever physical activity those young nobles partake--sword fighting or anything such. He seems to have a habit of licking his lips, probably the nerves--gods, am I making him nervous?--and his glorious full pout looks absolutely delectable. Satin thinks there will be many willing to pay to feel those lips on them. But such thoughts are distracting now, so he clears his throat.
"Jon," he starts again. "You will be living here, with me as your... um, how shall I put it... well, I am directly responsible for you. That means I will train you--" he sees the boy's eyes widen and quickly adds, "in pleasantries and appropriate conduct, and many such things. I will be the one who you can turn to for whatever you may need. So it is important that we establish this... trust. Mutual trust. And that we get along well." Satin smiles.
Jon is looking down, but he raises his eyes every so often, still looking like he'd rather be anywhere else than here.
Satin pours them a cup of lemon water. He gets up and walks around the desk, but notices that is making Jon even more nervous, so he quickly goes back to his seat.
"Can you tell me a little bit about yourself? How you got here? Where you were before? Things like that. Whatever you wish to share. You may also ask anything you want."
Jon nods, taking a sip. He takes a deep breath and gives Satin a short confused glance before he speaks, "I was up North, at the Wall, when they took me."
"The Wall?" Satin echoes. "That sounds... interesting. Were you a, how you call them, a brother of the Night's Watch?" That would explain his black clothes.
"Yes," Jon replies.
Here is a boy who decided to spend his life in the eternal cold, shunned from the world, and there are so many things Satin could ask him--how come he made such decision? is it really so cold? how big is the wall? what was his life like there?--but all Satin can think of is celibacy. Here is a boy, young and pretty, who willingly vowed to stay chaste. Forever. Gods be good.
Satin smiles again, forcing himself to find a meaningful, relevant thing to ask. "So how did you get here?"
"There was a raven. News about the... about the new Queen and... we were preparing to go on a ranging. The biggest one in the history of the Watch. But then we didn't because the Queen arrived. There was a great fire, they say it was a dragon, but I didn't see it. It killed the... the white walkers and... there was a battle and so that was it." Jon takes another sip.
Satin waits for him to continue, but as the boy is still quiet, he asks, "And then?"
"The Lord Commander, Lord Mormont, and Maester Aemon, they hid me. During the battle. Said I was killed. But they kept me hidden, thinking the Queen might want me dead." Jon sighs, shaking his head slightly, then he shrugs. "Then the carriage came and took me to Oldtown, where I met with Robb and Theon. I never thought I would see them again. And then we were brought here."
Satin raises his eyebrow. He feels strange. Jon has answered his question, but it was in so few words, and this getting to know you better, bonding kind of conversation isn't really going the way Satin planned--Jon is still tense and sullen.
Well, at least Satin tried. And now he has to do what he must.
Satin has done this to boys countless times. Some of those boys were virgins, freshly arrived to the brothel he used to work in; the proprietor there was a fat man, afraid his thick fingers would spread the boys too much, damage the goods. So he always asked Satin to check them instead. Satin's fingers were thin and delicate, his manner was gentle and kind, and the boys were barely reluctant in the end, always much more at ease with him than with the fat and austere proprietor. Satin's had his fingers up some noble boys' asses, as well. And while they weren't virgins, they were far from reluctant--all of them quite willing, in fact. This, however, is different, and Satin swears he will do his best to be benevolent in his duty.
"Stand up," he tells Jon.
Jon looks at him with uncertainty but obeys.
"Have you washed yourself last night? Or this morning?"
Jon blushes slightly. He must sense that the time for talking is over and something else is about to come. "We... we cleaned ourselves. Yes," he mutters. "In the basin. We didn't use the tub. But yes, we... um, we cleaned ourselves."
"Good," Satin praises. "You know you can ask the maids to prepare the bath for you whenever you like?"
Jon only nods. He looks around himself as Satin stands up and comes in front of him. Satin smiles again, trying to make him more at ease.
"Undress."
Jon opens his mouth, blushing even brighter shade of red. But Satin is now stern, as he stares straight at him, not moving, so Jon reluctantly starts undoing his doublet, then, even more slowly, the laces of his shirt.
Once the shirt is gone and Jon is naked from the waist up, he looks at Satin expectantly. Satin gives his torso an appreciating glance. He looks at Jon's breeches, and nods.
Jon shifts from one foot to another, but other than that and his pout becoming more prominent, he doesn't really move.
"Go on," Satin urges him. "Breeches too. Then the smallcloths, if you wear them. Undress until you are completely naked."
"My lord, I--"
"I am not a lord. Call me by my name only. And undress."
When Jon still doesn't move, Satin sighs, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Should I have to call the guards to undress you? Or would you rather do it on your own free will, while it's just the two of us present?"
That seems to work, and Jon starts dabbling with the laces of his breeches, then quickly steps out of his boots, pulling the breeches down, then folds them neatly over the chair. He is in his smallcloths, giving Satin a pleading look.
Satin can't not find this entertaining. He chuckles. "Those as well. Come on, Jon, be good for me."
With a deep breath, Jon slips out of his smallcloths, shielding his crotch with his hands. Loras Tyrell must be mad. This shy boy being a whore--Satin would gladly laugh out loud, but he doesn't want to make Jon even more uncomfortable, so he only smirks.
"Good," he tells him. "Very good."
Satin takes his hand to Jon's, and it is with some effort that he manages to remove Jon's hands from the pretty thing he's been hiding. This slow cautious undressing has managed to stir something in Satin, and he feels himself hardening, but he controls himself, taking a step back, tapping Jon's hand gently when he again tries to place it over his crotch.
Satin observes him. His cock is nice and white, nestled in the dark bush of his pubic hair. Jon's skin is milky pale, he looks smooth and beautiful. A boy and a man at the same time. Satin circles him, admiring the view from behind. His ass is round and firm, pert little thing. It's all Satin can do not to touch it.
"Bend over the desk."
"What? No." Jon turns around.
Satin knew this would be hard. He sighs. "Like I said, we can do this now, just the two of us, or I can call the guards to hold you down."
Jon licks his lips. "Please." His voice is faint. "What do you want to do to me?"
"Oh don't worry, nothing of the sorts you might think." Satin assures him. Though that's not really true, as Satin would most certainly want to do all sorts of unimaginable things, but now he only needs to inspect him. "Go on, bend over."
Jon bends over, blushing wildly, seeming stiff and restrained.
"Have you ever been with a girl?" Satin asks.
"No."
He takes out the little jar of oil, dabbing his finger in it.
"With a boy?"
"N-no."
"So you are a virgin?"
"Yes."
"Good," Satin says, as he gently touches Jon's asscheeks.
Jon tenses to the touch, but stays in position. Satin slowly spreads the flesh of Jon's buttocks, to Jon's faint grunt of distress. "It's all right, I won't hurt you. This is just to check some things. Relax," Satin tells him.
Jon doesn't relax though, he is taut and fidgety, but he still stays bent over as Satin's oiled up finger touches his asshole. Satin is now hard as a rock, with this beautiful boy bent over his desk, ass spread ready to be fingered, but he is a professional, if anything, so he stays focused on the task ahead of him.
He slowly inserts one finger, just the tip, when Jon's hand reaches back. Satin slaps it gently. "Nu uh," he coos, pushing it away.
"Please," Jon begs. "Stop."
Satin pushes his finger just a little bit further up, and then he stops. The boy is a virgin all right, tight and sweet, all seems to be well, no use tormenting him further. He takes the finger out, giving Jon's ass a fond pat.
"You can get dressed now," Satin says, and Jon rushes to obey.
Once Jon is clothed, Satin looks at him, smiling again. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?"
"It was," Jon says, sulking.
Satin chuckles. "No, it wasn't. It didn't hurt. That was just the tip of my finger. I was gentle. And I stopped when you told me."
Jon nods, blushing. But Satin can see it was his pride that took this badly, the pain wouldn't have really been an issue. Well, that is something we can work on.
Satin goes back to his chair. "Now you may return to your room and rest some more. I am sure you must still be tired."
"Thank you, my lord," Jon mumbles, obviously happy he's been given leave.
"Please, it's Satin. I am far from being a lord." Satin smiles, then adds, "Send Robb to me next, alright?"
Jon frowns. "My-- Satin, he's... Robb is not used to... this."
"Neither are you, but we've managed alright."
Jon shakes his head. "No, you don't understand. I am... a bastard, so it doesn't matter. But Robb is different. He's highborn. He shouldn't be trea--"
"Just send Robb next," Satin cuts him off. Seeing Jon starting to sulk, he adds more softly, "And don't worry about it. I will not hurt him. I haven't done anything horrible to you either, he will be fine."
Jon leaves the room in silence, and Satin drinks some more of the lemon water, wondering how his meeting with the other boy will go.
Robb comes to him, obviously apprehensive, but smiling. They exchange pleasantries and Satin finds Robb more approachable than Jon. He is certainly more talkative. Satin at first finds his seemingly easy-going manner a bit strange, given the circumstances, but then he guesses that Robb somehow must be thinking there's a way out of this, that he can win Satin over if he makes him sympathetic enough.
That must be why he tells Satin pretty much his whole life story. About the great northern castle they grew up in. About the siblings he now misses so much: his sister Sansa now married to Willas Tyrell and how beautiful she is and such a lady; his two brothers escaping the Queen's horrible revenge on the families of those who fought for Robert Baratheon, by venturing far up north, beyond the Wall, to the lands of always winter; his another sister missing without a trace, probably dead somewhere. He talks about his parents: his father beheaded, and his mother, mad with grief, killed in wights' gruesome attack on Winterfell. He talks about the war that made him king and the battles he fought and won. And most of all he talks about Theon. He is always there, present in Robb's stories. They grew up together and Satin can see Robb holds him in high esteem, looking up to him. He explains how the Queen stormed the countryside, killing everyone who wouldn't bend the knee. He knew his northern army was no match for dragons but, just before he decided to kneel, they heard how she fed both Tywin and Jaime Lannister to her fire-breathing beasts, and everyone was saying she would do the same with the Starks, even if they did bend the knee. So a couple of his bannermen thought it better not to risk it, because of his father's involvement in Robert Baratheon's war, and hid him. He would not go without Theon though, so that's how Theon came along, even though the Greyjoys were spared as allies--Theon's own father lead a rebellion against Roberth Baratheon after all. But Theon himself chose to stay with Robb.
He talks and talks and talks. Satin listens, amused. He feels this will help him get to know them better. The politics never concerned him. One king or queen or another, that's all the same to Satin, none had any impact on his life. However, this new Queen's arrival did, and he finds himself fascinated with the stories Robb tells him.
Robb keeps on talking even as he undresses at Satin's command, but his voice becomes shaky. Satin realizes that, while he is definitely less shy than Jon, Robb's constant chatter isn't merely him trying to win Satin over. Robb is actually incredibly nervous, but his talking is a way of hiding it--he is so tense, but acting like he isn't. Satin can't help but feel sorry for the boy.
When Satin tells him to bend over, Robb makes a break in his story.
"Did Jon have to do the same?" he whispers, lowering his head.
"Yes," Satin replies, with a patient smile.
Robb hesitates for a little longer, nervous chuckle escaping his mouth. "Will Theon have to do this too? Are we all going to--"
"Yes, Robb," Satin interrupts. "All of you, and there's nothing to fear, I will not hurt you. It's just a little check I need to make."
Robb blushes a bit, his pink smooth skin glistening in the sunlight, freckles burning bright red. But then he bends over, resuming with his story in a feeble voice.
He tenses when Satin's finger probes into him, and stops talking altogether. He's tight and all seems well, so Satin's finger is gone in a second and Robb relaxes again.
"You are a virgin?" Satin asks him.
"Um, yes. Yes, I am. I've never been with a girl. There was a war and--"
"What about boys?"
Robb laughs. "What about them?" He starts getting dressed again.
"Have you been with boys?" Satin clarifies.
Robb shakes his head, denying.
"Good." Satin smiles. "You may return to your room, Robb. And tell Theon he's to come next."
Robb walks towards the door, obviously relieved, and Satin can see the amused little smile on his face when he turns around. "Theon's next?"
"Yes, that's what I said."
Robb walks out with a mysterious smirk, leaving Satin to ponder how is it possible that this young boy was made a king. He no doubt has many qualities, and Satin is sure he's well taught and diligent, but he is still just a young boy. The wars made the whole country insane. Satin goes back to his desk to wait for Theon.
Satin knew Theon will be difficult. He sits in the chair offered, his legs spread wide, arms crossed on his chest, giving a lot of attitude. He definitely doesn't seem to be in a friendly mood, and since Satin's heard about him from Robb already, he decides to go straight to the point.
"Undress."
Theon scoffs. He is not moving.
"Theon," Satin explains, "do obey me. Undress. Unless you'd want me to call the guards to undress you?"
That works and Theon stands up and starts carelessly tossing the clothes down to the floor. He doesn't shield himself, like the other boys, but stands confidently in all his naked glory. And he is indeed very handsome. Satin observes, then nods his head approvingly.
"Are you a virgin?" he asks.
Theon snorts contemptuously. "Of course not."
His almost offended response Satin somehow finds endearing. He smiles a bit, then proceeds with the questions. "So you have been with girls before?"
"Thousands of times." The tone of Theon's voice is flat, but daring.
"And with boys?"
Theon chuckles, but says nothing.
Satin waits for a few moments before repeating his question. "Have you been with any boys, Theon?"
He fixates Theon with his eyes. He can play this game too, besides he's the one in charge.
After what seems to be a small eternity, Theon finally looks to the side, slightly flustered. "I might have fucked a few boys as well. So what?"
Satin smiles, but remains gracious in his triumph. "Has any of those boys ever fucked you?"
"What? No. I'm an Ironborn, we don't do that. We're not thus inclined. We only ever do the fucking," Theon says, grinning.
Satin wonders if that was supposed to be a provocation of some sorts, but he decides to let it go. He comes to stand closer to Theon. "Bend over the desk."
But Theon has seen the jar in his hand and, once more full of contempt, snorts. "No fucking way."
"Theon, please do as I tell you, it's nothing to fear and will be over in a moment. Don't make me call the guards." Satin tries to reason with him.
But Theon is adamant. "No. We don't do it like this. I will fuck you, if you want it so bad, but I'm not bending over any desks. Not for you, not for anybody."
"Theon, I'm not gonna fuck you. Just do as you're told." It's not that Satin starts losing his patience, but he knows that Theon will just not do it.
He gives Theon a few moments, then calls for the guards. And it's such a struggle. But it's two of them and they do manage to hold him down, as he trashes with his legs, swearing all the while. Satin stands behind him, oiling his finger.
He gently kicks Theon's legs apart, leaning against his thighs to keep them in place. Satin is gentle, no doubts about it, but Theon shouts at the intrusion, torrent of curses and threats that Satin pays no attention to.
He pulls his finger out after making sure all is as he's expected, but he doesn't give leave to the guards just yet--Theon is angry, and bigger and stronger than him. Satin isn't afraid of any blows he might inflict, but he is the brothel's proprietor and it would be unseemly to sport a black eye. He'd much rather not take any risks.
Theon, after he registers that the intrusive finger is out and that Satin is no longer touching him, calms down, still mumbling something under his breath. When the guards let him go, he grabs his clothes and hastens to put them back on, looking daggers at Satin.
"I will give you boys a few days to rest, get used to this place, but then we will start with your training," Satin tells him. "You may return to Robb and Jon now."
Theon storms out of Satin's chamber, not even dignifying him with a reply, and Satin wonders if the task ahead of him, that he agreed so eagerly to undertake, might be a bit more than he can manage. Robb seems the easiest to handle, but Jon and Theon, each in their own way, will be hard nuts to crack.
He busies himself with some paperwork, then goes to rest before the evening. As he lies in his bed, warm wind rustling the silk curtains on his chamber window, Satin feels restless. His hand reaches down, beneath the soft sheets. He would never do it, he knows it's out of the question. Maybe later, when the boy is no longer a virgin, if the feelings are mutual. But not now, the virginity is a highly priced commodity, and Satin takes his job as a proprietor seriously--it's either that or the dungeons of Gulltown, or worse--no, he won't even touch Jon. Neither one of them, for that matter. But as the early dusk starts to fall, Satin finds his skin covered in goosebumps. He shifts on the bed. The hand goes beneath his tunic. It brushes the nipple, pinching slightly. Satin closes his eyes, as his hand travels further down, inside his breeches. No, he won't even touch him, he mustn't. But now, alone, as he strokes himself languidly, his mind summons the memory of how it felt to have Jon bent over his desk, his pretty pale skin soft and warm, and Satin's finger inside his tight virgin asshole.