Oasis

Lavi: Huhuhu..  Sajo: Thank you! <3 Vic: I love Aren and I hate Aren too  Rose: ;D huhu Shun: Haha! It is rather rude of him. And Seral has his own demons, they just haven't come into play yet! P: Youngblood: Oh he def does, I could right a whole story about him if I wanted. But dont we all have demons? ;o 

If I missed anyone, thanks for the review! keep it up my loves. its very encouraging. 

***

A teenage Opulen sat outside in the garden, thumbing his way silently through his favorite novella. A short adventure staged in a far away kingdom, the story of an elf prince and his thirst for exploration. It was easy to reread the pages, memorize the words, pick apart every sentence, down the bones, examine the syntax and tone. See why the author wrote it that way, why he said things a certain way.



It happened like this often-- Aren would find a book, read through it (enjoying it in the way a reader should), and then read through it again, and again, compulsively picking it apart. It had happened first, on accident, or rather, out of boredom. After being punished by his father for neglecting his studies, and blowing off his tutor, Aren had been banned from his private library and only allowed to read through scrolls of history and stiff literary prose. Of course he had managed to sneak away a single book, and after completing it, simply reread it through and through as a matter of stubbornness. 



And so it was, that if you were to ask the blonde haired youth why he liked a book, he would have answered: "The author said 'damaged' when he could of said 'broken'." Or, "The flow of each sentence ended soft, the action never dominated the object, but vice versa." 



And if you perhaps found that Aren disliked a particular book and inquired as to why, his answer could be as simple as, "The words were pretentious, doubting the reader's intellgience." Or, "The author got attached to the characters, and forgot the truth in turmoil." Usually, if he found displeasure in a novel, he accredited to the writer's inability to stay omnipotent.



Perhaps this is why, on his seventeenth birthday, when his mother called for him and away from his reading, he was in the perfect mindset to scrutinize.



As he left his book behind in the garden, planning to return to it before long, he decided that if it was his father demanding an account of where he was during a lesson, he'd feign a bout of illness. Not that the General would know any better, he hardly saw his son except to keep tabs on Aren's studies and lately, in lieu of his Ranking Ceremony. It was becoming increasingly hard to stay undisturbed in the past few weeks, and each moment alone gave replenishment the blonde so hungrily craved. 



It was a wonder then that Aren, for being as observant as he was, failed to realize exactly why he had been beckoned for until it was too late. 



As he entered the hall, he spotted the familiar face of his mother, ever plump and pouty, and his father, ever the insufferable grout. And of course, he saw Mariel, standing next to Lady Opulen with her hands tucked politey in front of her. But he was not expecting the three new faces that greeted him there, and he cursed his foolishness. 



A tall, lean woman, with dark hair, dark eyes, and frown lines stood to the right of his parents. And with her, a stout man, carrying a fair amount of weight and an impressive beard, which he stroked as he watched Aren approach. And between the two, a thin, pale girl, possibly no older than sixteen, with dark eyes and inky black hair, braided and tied back beautifully above the nape of her neck. She too, had her attention focused on the approach of Aren, and seemed to take on a slight blush as he closed the distance. 



For all his surprise, he did not falter, nor sneer (as he wanted to). Instead, he bowed properly, letting his silk hair slide over his shoulders as he dipped, and spoke in a charming tone. 



"Aren Candoris Opulen, Son of the General Opulen and Lady Opulen, Lieutenant of the Royal Command." 



His voice was polished, clean, gentle. It carried nothing in it that would ever show sign of internal dismay, or boredom. It was a practiced voice. His father seemed pleased with his introduction, and puffed his chest out to glance at the guests. 



"I am Major Likenhill," The stout man said, bowing crisply in return. He motioned to his side, "This is my wife, Lady Likenhill, and my fair daughter, Amelia Likenhill." 



"How do you do," The girl said gently, giving a curtsey. Her slender form dipped in perfection, clearly practiced; the epitome of regality. Her soft eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks shyly, too proper to meet Aren's gaze directly. 



Aren observed her, feeling rather dismayed by her appearance.



She was beautiful, of course, quite the image of it. But she had no poetry to her voice, no secret symbolism in the way she was standing. She said, 'how do you do', and meant exactly that. Amelia was bred to be a proper lady and wife, and that was the extent of her personality. Her eyes did not conceal any deeper meaning, did not compel Aren to find interest in her. She had no mannerisms the piqued him to investigate.

How unfortunate. 

His thoughts were snapped away by the arrival of a new face, one that was panting and a bit flushed.



A boy, perhaps Amelia's age, stumbled in carrying luggage cases much too big for his slender body. His dark hair was sticking to his face, and wild almond eyes peeked up at Aren nervously. He ducked his head, trying to bow, and almost dropped his baggage.





Aren stifled a grin, instead, settled on watching him as keen as a hawk.





"Oh, Mariel, help the boy, will you?" Aren's mother said nonchalantly, waving her hand towards the struggling servant. Mariel scurried forward and mumbled something to him, which made him smile, and then she relieved him of some of his load and lead him away. Aren studied the way he moved, finding interest in the boy. 



"Good chap," the Major said, watching them go, "A bit of a loon, though. His mother is our maid, but fell ill as of late." 



"Indeed." Aren's father said, not particularly interested. "Shall we have some tea in the study? I'm sure we've many things to discuss." 



"Tea for my wife and my daughter," Likenhill said, smiling, "How about us men have something a bit stronger?" 



At the mention of alchohol, Aren's father smiled, and fetched a servant to see that they were served right away. 

 

*** 





Aren learned that Amelia Likenhill was his betrothed, and the news did nothing but stir him to anger. She sat prettily as their parents discussed marriage, sipping her tea with an air of propriety that made the blonde feel restless. He did not speak up at all, except for when questions were propelled his way, and did little to hide his brooding mood. It did perk up a bit when Mariel returned, the servant boy in tow, and he settled his gaze on him as they stood a polite distance away. 





After a few moments Mariel quietly approached Lady Opulen to whisper in her ear, and dipped back again to stand next to the servant boy. 



"The feast has been prepared!" His mother exclaimed, cutting off the chatter in the room. Lady Likenhill seemed pleased by this news. 



"We had no idea you had gone to such lengths," She said, setting her polished off cup down to stand. Her husband followed her lead. 



"Yes! What an honor, General." 



"It is nothing, especially considering the circumstance," Aren's father said, rising from his seat. Aren made no stirring, which elicited an annoyed look from the General. He decided the private wrath of his father due to insolence in the presence of guests was not yet worth the trouble, and rose to his feet. 



He also noticed, upon rising, that he had caught the attention of the curious servant boy from before. He felt those wide eyes stuck on him, and he relished their curiosity.



"My lady," He said, reaching a hand up to assist Amelia in ascent. She blushed up at him, but accepted his help. 



"Thank you," she said, retracting her hand before the time of lingering could be made improper. Aren found it amusing-- how desperately she clung to her formality. He let his gaze flit to the corner of the room, finding that the other boy had still not taken his eyes away, and smirked to himself. 





***





After their dinner, which was indeed a feast by all accounts, Lord Opulen had instructed Aren to take Amelia around the property. And he did: he showed her his library, the ballroom, every hall, the kitchen, the stables.. He was rightly proper the entire time, as a gentleman should be, and never allowed her to think of his intentions as anything but friendly. But he could see her anticipation, perhaps she had expected him to lean over and kiss her lips now that they had been separated from their parents, but he never did. Her predictable nature and comely ways did not only bore him, but repulse him. She would make a fine wife one day, and was entirely fit and beautiful for the job, but he did not want her as his own. When they returned from the tour, Mariel took the young maiden to her room (for it would be entirely too crude for Aren to do that), and he made his way back out to the garden to retrieve his previously abandoned book. 



The sun had begun to set by then, and a blue shadow casted over the ground as he made his way through the hedges. The chorus of the night had already begun: the shrill songs of crickets and owls slid through the air as Aren found his favorite bench, and on it, his favorite book. He sighed as he picked it up. 



What a dreary life he was to have. 



Perhaps things would be different if that servant boy had never flitted into view; just outside of his gaze, catching his attention before he could turn to leave. Perhaps he would be married, quietly accepting the fate his father and mother had laid out for him. But instead, he saw that boy, with his dark hair and light skin, staring up at the sky as he sat underneath a blossoming tree, looking like a garden nymph. Petals fluttered down around him, and Aren saw the scenario as if it were from a poem, and enjoyed the view until his attention was caught by the other. 



The image shattered as the servant boy scrambled up to his feet, looking guilty. Aren approached him, book in hand, his expression perfectly blank. 



"Ah, ah," the boy mumbled, stepping back against the tree. He had crimson painted across his cheeks, and could not meet the other's gaze. "I beg for y-your pardon, my lord. I became enchanted by the view of your garden, and-- and forgot my manners." 



Aren was unperturbed by his apologies, and tilted his head to study him. The boy had freckles pattered across his nose, he noticed, and no discernable accent. He was probably born in Iron Dale, and a servant only by trade, and not by birth. He stood a good head shorter than the blonde, too, and had smaller features.



Quite an attractive little thing.



The way he nervously jittered excited Aren; it was such a rare thing to see, and it filled him with wonder. A wonder that could rarely be elicited in his bored world. Something that tickled his curiousity. 



"What is your name?" Aren asked smoothly, casting his eyes along the other's body unashamedly.



"T-tobias," Tobias squeaked, squirming under Aren's gaze. Those soft brown eyes kept darting to and fro Aren, shyly taking in the other's appearance. 



"It is my favorite place on the property," Aren said, taking a step closer, "You're welcome in it during your stay." 



"Thank you," Tobias said breathlessly, peeking down at his feet. 



Aren smiled then, in understanding.



He had opened up Tobias's pages and read through them carefully, digesting every mannerism and action slowly, finding the other a palatable read. He licked his lips, undisturbed and unsurprised with the way heat had settled in his groin, stirring. Aren watched the servant dart his tongue out over his lips nervously, the pink muscle sending a shock down his stomach, and let out a low sigh from the sight. 



It's hard to say what happened next: for even in Aren's mind, it is still fuzzy.



But he remembers clearly that he engaged the other in small talk, only for a few moments, evaluating and finding pleasure in his company, before he was pressing the smaller boy against the trunk of the tree by the shoulders. His knee rubbed against the other's crotched, pressed snuggly into the growing hardness there, and he revealed in the way Tobias seemed to sing out for him. He remembers clearly the way the servant boy, for his innocent demeanor, had met his mouth just as lustfully and even more excitedly, and the way he dropped to his knees to fumble with the hem of Aren's pants desperately. 



Aren's hands had dug into the soft hair of the boy, gripping him as Tobias moaned around his length and sucked him until he could barely stand it anymore.



And then he had pushed him away before it was too late, to pull the other up from his knees and turn him around, so that Tobias's pert ass was flush against him.



It was how he lost his virginity, right there, in that garden.



He didn't know if Tobias had been a virgin, nor was he concerned or in love, but in the heat of the moment it was as if time had been snapped in two. And so he bent the other boy over, with his pants around his ankles, and rubbed his member in between the rolls of the servant's ass in ecstasy before plunging in to take Tobias's hole for himself. It was different than how he had read it to be, he found.



It could never be described in words: the way you could make someone writhe from hitting them just so, or the way a voice would get raspy from moaning too much, or the way you could feel the muscles shuddering and squeezing around you as you brought someone over the edge of ecstasy, into blissful orgasm. 



He pounded into Tobias, making him mewl and groan, until they had both come more than once and been reduced to sweaty panty figures, enclosed in darkness. 



If Aren had been less absorbed in his love-making, he would have been aware of an intruder to their display, but alas, he was a devoted lover.



And so he did not see poor, proper Amelia running from the garden as hot tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. But even if had been aware, it is doubtful the blonde would have even faltered. The way Tobias had enchanted his interested would not have allowed him to suffer anything less, and so a week later, when the Likenhill family had departed, Aren was quietly relieved to hear that Amelia had rejected their proposal offer, though she would not say why. 





A few years passed, filled with other failed engagements, and more reckless love affairs, but Aren proved himself to be a fine Captain and a strong leader. His father, though initially dismayed by his inability to find a match for his son, soon settled on having a prosperous war prodigy under his wing, and allowed his son to engage the opposite sex in his own ways and on his own time.



It was not unheard of for men to marry later, much later, in life, especially if they were as important as the young Opulen was blossoming into being. His parent's settled on 'eventually' then, and less and less, imposed their dictations into Aren's affairs. There was a time in his adult life he could not avoid though, and at the age of twenty two, went out into the world to test his knowledge in battle and in the Royal Command.



By twenty four he had returned, more hardened and withdrawn than before, but seemed to settle back into life rather easily. Except, of course, for the random outbursts of drunkenness (which his mother blamed on going into active duty) or the occasional disappearance. Sometimes he writes, though it is a private affair that usually only happens with a wine glass in hand, after the sun has long set. It is unsure what he writes about, but after, he drinks himself to sleep and doesn't awaken until late noon the next day. 



At the age of twenty seven, Aren Candoris Opulen had purchased his third, and what he believed, is his last pleasure thrall. Someone who is riddled with stories he can read. Someone who reminds him of poetry. 







little bird, little bird, 

why do you fly so

little bird, little bird, 

I am the cat who

questions where you go

little bird

have you ever wondered 

what its like to be tame?

could you fly so

if you had a home?