A dangerous notion. There was more than warning in Sovele's glare, and Basren ducked under it as his mind raced to plans of recovery. Otherwise, it might hurt. He should have known better than to tease, though, especially about that. It was a reminder of too many other things.<br/><br/>Like Basren's father.<br/><br/>It was too late, then, to apologize. Basren's quelled the drop of ice to his stomach and resolved just to be good. Sovele shoved him back, shoved in, and Basren was careful not to look too pained, to tell himself that he enjoyed it. He didn't know how long Sovele's mood would last, now that he'd riled him. He knew better than to even touch himself, lest Sovele thought he was being selfish again.<br/><br/><i>You </i>will<i>always serve me, Basren.</i><br/><br/>"Yes, sir," Basren said on a breath. "However you please."<br/><br/>That might have been wheedling, too, but it soothed with reassurance. Basren's will was nothing to Sovele's. He would go where his king told him to, give him anything he asked for.<br/><br/>Basren sighed as Sovele pulled him to his chest, his rhythm softening as he sought Basren's mouth. Basren went pliant, a little eager, to cement his earlier conviction of it all--another reassurance. When Sovele tired, Basren took over, ignoring his own throbbing cock completely. When Sovele had come, Basren didn't dare wind his arms around his neck as he might have, but let Sovele clutch him as he pleased.<br/><br/>He was still panting himself by the time Sovele was lucid again. He leaned back against the table, in a display that might have been begging, but he knew it was only a hope for Sovele to touch him for his own release. It was just a parting image, not a temptation.<br/><br/>When Sovele gave the least indication that he was done, Basren slipped off him, careful not to be clumsy even if his thighs burned. No one would likely walk in on them, but there was always the threat. If Sovele's wife saw the servants had retreated for example...<br/><br/>Basren snagged a napkin and cleaned Sovele up first, and only then put the cloth to himself. He didn't mind the slick feeling between his thighs, the echo of Sovele still inside him. When dinner was over, he might have another bath, and please himself, where any evidence could flow down the drain where even Sovele couldn't be told.<br/><br/>Sovele starting speaking, and Basren looked up from sliding his pants on and adjusting himself and tried hard not to look guilty at being caught in his thoughts.<br/><br/>He caught up quickly, though, unwilling to let Sovele think he was slow or not paying attention.<br/><br/>The Langlais boy. Basren had heard of the family, of course, but only passing things about the boy. He did know that anyone who was an heir would be high enough content to tempt the king, though. And here was Sovele asking him to spy.<br/><br/>Basren scolded himself. Sovele could choose who he liked, and, anyway, he only seemed peripherally interested,<i>and </i>he had just been telling Sovele he would do anything for him without complaint.<br/><br/>Even if it meant finding Sovele a replacement of himself. One who liked plants the way he did, even.<br/><br/>"I'll send him an invitation first thing in the morning," Basren said.<br/><br/>He finished dressing and helped Sovele with his own clothes, then rearranged their plates again. Valet, servant, whore, courtesan. Basren played each part. When they finished eating, he played escort, at least until there was a danger of Sovele's wife or children seeing.<br/><br/>Retreating back to his own room, he composed an elegant note of invitation, then laid it out for a servant to deliver. He ran a bath, but in the end had no heart for it for any small act of defiance, watched just soap and water run away from his feet down the drain.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>He invited the Langlais boy to his garden. A first, secret peek that only his servants and workers had seen so far, but since Langlais had apparently an interest, Basren feigned the need of a second opinion even as he welcomed him as a court ambassador.<br/><br/>The statue of his father had been moved in to its spot, looking bright against the dark, fertile soil. Basren had a small folding table set up on the gravel in front of the plot, and various plants in pots acting as representative of whole swathes of their kind sat nearby.<br/><br/>Basren didn't look at the statue much. He had a long curl of paper and a pencil on the desk, plotting out this space, moving the pots as needed for visualization, and sketching out corrections. His sleeves were rolled up, dirt already smeared halfway up his forearms. He nearly didn't hear someone crunching up the gravel.<br/><br/>"Oh, just a moment," Basren said. He scrambled for a cloth to wipe down his arms, and then for his coat. He didn't want to appear indecent if Sovele had his own spies out. "Thank you for meeting me. Am I the first to welcome you to court?"