Mishka: Silverlit

[WARNING: A bit dark.]

--

Aleksei had been a bard. A strong one, too. He was a prodigy in his family. He was one hundred or so when they got engaged, and Mishka had been only sixty.

He had a spell that could change people’s memories. That one was fucking fascinating. He could only change fifteen minutes or so, but those fifteen minutes could be critical. You could erase the best fifteen minutes—or worst fifteen minutes—of someone’s life.

Sometimes, he wondered if Aleksei had ever used it on him.

--

Goro was being nice to him again. Well… not nice, exactly, because Goro didn’t do nice, but nice in his own way.

He caught Goro glancing at him a couple times, too. That certain way, regarding him. He got the impression that Goro’s interest in him was primarily sexual, and always had been. That rattled him a bit. Worse, it made him realize his interest in Goro… **wasn’t** just sexual. It made him realize he’d been unconsciously looking for something else, wanted something other than sex. He hadn't wanted to sleep with Goro. He'd wanted Goro to like him.

That rattled him worse.

At some point, he figured Goro was going to say something, or do something—it might take a few weeks, but at some point. Goro might come onto him. Suggest they have sex.

Mishka wasn’t sure how to explain all the thoughts in his head about that. *I’m wildly attracted to you. I want to fuck you. I just don’t think I can.*

That might be too honest. It stung: he’d spent months working on getting closer to Goro and it felt like he’d gotten nowhere. And Hansel had won him over in an instant. Yeah. Mishka was too proud for that. It made sense; but it still fucking stung.

He could probably just keep it simple. No need to explain. *I don’t think I’m interested in fucking around. Sorry.* Goro didn’t generally pry, and didn’t chase people. It would be easy to just dismiss him and let it lie. Goro would shrug and take a step back and leave it alone.

He was still glad Hansel and Goro were together. It was sweet, and it was probably good for both of them. Goro seemed like he needed something stable to hold onto.

They were spending a lot of time together. Goro seemed to want Hansel’s attention all the time. And Hansel was obviously fucking infatuated with him, which was charming. Besides, the kid seemed to need it. Probably hadn't gotten enough when he was younger. Had to make up for lost time.

He wanted to help them make up for lost time, too. He thought— a few times— about inviting them both out to go drinking. The three of them. Help Hansel fuck with Goro or help Goro fuck with Hansel. But even though Mishka really fucking wanted to, it felt like… things never worked out the way he wanted them to. Like his eyes were on Goro and Goro’s eyes were on Hansel. Goro sought Hansel out all the time, but he never sought both of them out. It was always just Hansel, alone. It felt like involving himself somewhere he wasn’t wanted, wasn’t needed.

Yeah. Way too fucking proud for that. So Mishka left it alone.

--

The problem was—

The problem was.

He was really worked up. All the time. He kept thinking about the things the three of them could do together in bed—and then he’d remember that wasn’t going to happen. He’d idly think about things he wanted to do to Goro, show him, teach him, and then remember those things were bad ideas.

Mishka still wasn’t sure how his own fucking sex drive worked. It’d flicker in for a while, burn like wildfire, then go cold for years. Mishka wasn’t sure what his needs were, much less how to fill them. He was dying for sex and couldn’t let himself have it. Something felt damaged, somehow.

It just didn’t make sense to him. The way he felt.

He remembered, vaguely, having sexual thoughts and feelings before meetings Aleksei. Then it felt like things had gotten… twisted, somehow.

--

There were whores in Skyport. Expensive ones. Good ones. Sweet. Easy. Gentle. (Or rough, painful, and mean, depending on what you liked.) They were workers with a job, and they were good at it. Sometimes Mishka thought about that. Turned it over in his mind. He had a healthy respect for whores. They were professionals and he needed work done.

He loved Hansel, but frankly, he wasn’t sure Hansel could keep up with his needs now that Hansel was juggling a new boyfriend and a needy husband. Hansel liked to hold back, and deny him, and make him work for it, and Mishka...

Mishka needed to work off some energy.

--

Mishka never really understood why sex freaked him out so easily. For some reason, it just… did. Likely he was just defective.

Sometimes he idly wondered why he was like that. Sometimes it felt like something had happened, something that’d kicked him down and broken him. But nothing had.

Nothing bad happened to him, he didn't think. Not that he could recall. There was the half-orc in the alley that one time, but Mishka had gotten away easily; he'd been prepared for it, almost like he was expecting it to happen the moment he said *no*. And Mishka had been touchy way before that. As long as he could remember.

He was just born like this, he supposed.

—

Brothels in Skyport hung lights outside their doors. The color of the lights indicated what kind of services they had available. A red light meant they had female whores who slept with women. Blue meant male whores who slept with men. Orange was men for women, and green was women for men. Most of the brothels in Skyport had multiple lights.

The Silverlit Inn had five lights hanging by the door: all four colors, plus a gray lantern in the middle. The Silverlit Inn was a tavern in the front—where Mishka usually drank and fucked around—and a small brothel in the back.

That night, Mishka put on his mask, made himself look human, and went around the back.

The back was just as warm, spacious, and inviting as the front. A small handful of prostitutes lounged about on couches. They played instruments, or served drinks, providing conversation and company. Some told stories or sang. Occasionally, one of the clients would select a prostitute to sleep with, then go upstairs with them—after paying the fee, of course.

Mishka had been back here before, in various disguises. He was friends with a couple of the prostitutes; they were well-educated, sharp, and charming, and they always knew some interesting secrets. Sometimes he’d hire them to attend parties at his estate and get dirt on nobles he wanted to blackmail.

Today, though, he wasn’t Mikhail Haeth, former pirate captain turned courtier. Tonight he was someone else.

“First time, honey?” said the woman at the door kindly. She looked a bit older and was dressed in heavy jewelry and robes.

Mishka started to deny it. But—ah. The mask. His disguise. Without his elven ancestry, he looked human… and young. “Yeah,” Mishka said. “First time.”

He could explain: *No. I’m well over a hundred years old, but I’ve always been weird about being touched, and my first boyfriend fucked me up. I thought he loved me and I always felt so fucking guilty I didn’t love him back, but he constantly pushed me into doing shit I didn’t want. I think I hate him. I miss him. I’m glad he’s dead. I have no clue what a normal sex life looks like. I’m so fucking sick of feeling broken.*

But Mishka held his tongue.

“I’d recommend Shalana,” the madam said kindly. She indicated a curvy woman sitting on the couch.

“Sorry, I’m not, ah—well. No women, thanks.”

“Ah,” the woman said. “Perhaps Erasmus, then.”

--

Erasmus turned out to be a human. There was something a little bit different about him, though—something different about his features. His face was a very pleasing shape, a little too broad, somehow. His ears were slanted. When he spoke, Mishka caught a hint of sharp upper and lower canines, just a touch too big.

Eramus caught Mishka staring and bared his teeth with a smile. “Grandmother was a half-orc,” he said. “Grandfather was a half-elf. I’m mostly human.”

He made good conversation. Mishka was quiet the whole time. He didn’t get drunk. He had one glass of wine, then stopped. He spun his empty glass between his fingers and let Erasmus gently cajole him into having sex. After an hour or two, Mishka paid the fee, and they went upstairs.

--

Erasmus said: “You’re beautiful. You don’t have a boyfriend to take care of you?”

He said: “How do you want me to touch you?”

He said: “Let me show you. If we get some oil, I can… oh? You don’t want to—okay. That’s fine, sweetheart. There’s plenty of other things we can do. Let me show you…”

He was careful. So fucking careful. Treated Mishka like finespun glass.

Mishka knew why. It was because he was pretty, and now that he was disguised as human, he looked young—like some noble’s kid coming for his first time. Skittish, unsure of being touched. The man thought he was a virgin. Mishka felt more comfortable, hiding behind that lie. Easier than saying: *Nope, the terror of the Calish Seas is a full-grown and experienced man. I’m a murderer and a thief and I’ve got no fucking excuse for being scared of sex. Just fucking skittish, I guess.*

It felt good, getting off. Like a relief. He had sex with the man three times, until he was exhausted. He told the man exactly what he wanted. Exactly how to touch him, and where. Mishka was in control of every step in the process. That made it… better, somehow. Easier.

It always felt easier when he was in control.

It was hard with Hansel, sometimes. It was amazing—but hard. And sometimes he couldn’t take it. It got too good, or too real, and Mishka had to back off or take a break. Hansel was always good about that. Even when Mishka was begging to be tied down and whipped, fucked for hours and denied over and over again, beaten and told no until he was a sobbing mess, Hansel was so fucking careful with him. Watching to see Mishka tense up, or draw away, or start to say the safeword. And then Hansel would back off.

--

When Mishka was done, he paid Erasmus well, and left. And then he started to head back to the castle.

--

Sometimes he wondered if Aleksei had… done something to him, then erased his memory of it. But those thoughts were paranoid. Mishka always over-thoughts things, over-worried. Aleksei used to call him neurotic.

He always felt so fucking guilty for not trusting Aleksei. Aleksei always told him things like: *You’re too untrusting. I love you. Why won’t you let me touch you? You’re too hard to get. Don’t make me chase you. I'll follow you even if you break me. It’s okay if you don’t love me back. I forgive you. I give you everything and you never give me anything back. Let me touch you. I love you. You owe me. Let me touch you. You’re too skittish. I saw you kill a basilisk the other day. I saw you talk ten guards into letting us go. Stop acting scared of me. Let me touch you. I love you. I forgive you.*

It still made Mishka feel guilty.

It'd been such a fucking relief when Aleks had died; it felt like a burden had eased off him. Which made the guilt worse.

Mishka rode back to the castle alone in the dark. He supposed he could light a lantern-- he had one tied to the horse-- but he liked the dark. It made him feel marginally safer, more protected.

Sometimes he thought: If Aleksei had cast a memory spell on him, he could just go get it removed. A strong restoration spell could reverse it. Joan’s girlfriend could probably do it. Set the paranoid thoughts to rest.

He didn't, though.

--

Sometimes Mishka had nightmares about Aleksei.

He dreamed about killing Aleksei. He dreamed about Aleksei crawling out of the sand in the desert and coming to get him the same way Asenka had.

But the worst nightmare was... well... worse.

He had nightmares about Aleksei saying: *Let me touch you. I love you. I followed you. I forgive you.*

He had nightmares about Aleksei saying: *You asked me to come with you. You came to my room in the middle of the night and invited me to run away with you. Let me help you remember.*

He dreamed about-- not being able to move. Not being able to get away. He remembered thinking he needed a spell to get away. Something that would let him just vanish whenever he needed to. Crack away in an instant. He remembered wondering if that was something he could learn. Remembered thinking: *Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me.*

--

When he got back to the castle, the lights inside were already dark. He felt the sting of nail-marks and bruises and bites, places Erasmus had touched him. He drew a bath and scrubbed himself, trying to get the feeling of fingers off his skin.

The marks remained. He touched them idly. Maybe he could ask Goro to heal them. Goro didn't ask questions. Seemed unlikely he'd give a shit about where Mishka had been or what he'd been doing.

Mishka liked it when Hansel made the marks. They felt like marks of ownership, sometimes it felt... good to be owned. Safe, somehow.

When he was done, he went upstairs. Goro and Hansel were in bed, and both of Hansel's arms were wrapped tight around Goro. Mishka stared at them a long moment, then crawled onto one side of the bed. He pulled one of Hansel's arms loose and wrapped it around himself. He squirmed one of his arms around under Hansel's waist and pulled him a little closer, then went to sleep. .