The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19

“Well, please …” Arel grunted, continuing to choke with laughter. “Vitor, I love you too, I’m saying just in case.”

Kors turned away, grimacing.

And Nick said:

“I'm really tired, Arel is right. It’s time to get down to business.”

“Found someone to listen to, the stupid handsome prince…”

“Vitor! Enough! I’m not your doll anymore, I’m your teacher, so shut up and crawl over here.”

“I can stand up?”

“No! I said crawl! Do you misunderstand?”

Lowering his head, Kors got on all fours and crawled to the table, trying not to touch the lying plates and not to plunge his hand into the spilled wine. His shiny ponytail slid off his back to one side, and the ends dragged along the floor. He crawled to Nik’s feet.

“You can sit on the chair,” Nik said, and Kors immediately got up from his knees and sat down.

From the velvet bag Nik took out small gold rods, the ends of which were encrusted with dark blue stones into balls.

“I’ll pierce your chest,” Nik showed Kors the jewelry, “I’ll insert these little bars, and if necessary, you can attach a chain to them.”

“Where did you get them from?” Kors was genuinely surprised. Nik pressed one small rod into his palm so that Kors could get a good look at it.

“I ordered them from a jeweler in Ore Town for you, a long time ago. Are they beautiful?”

Kors turned the delicate ornament in his fingers.

“Nik! Really beautiful!”

The bars were small and neat, Kors really liked them. He didn’t expect Nik to pick up such aristocratic jewelry for him. Knowing his vulgar taste, he didn’t count on something moderate. He expected Nik to insert his favorite thick carved rings into his chest.

“When did you order them? You were with me all the time!”

“Vitor, I don’t need to go anywhere for this, I just gave a mental order to one of my unclean ones, showed that I wanted to.”

“Your secret world that I always forget about… you do everything in a quiet way…”

“It will hurt a little,” Nik warned.

“I can’t get used to it!”

Still, Kors couldn’t help but close his eyes, clenching his teeth, as Nik pierced his nipple with a special catheter needle. All these flesh punctures Kors associated with negativity and bad moments. With heavy memories of beatings and pain in the Limit and then, when on a hike to the mountains, he fell under the monstrous pressure of Arel.

“Now I’ll paint you, no matter how long it takes,” said Nik.

“I don’t care. Paint me if you like.”

“Of course, it’s just dye. I would look at how you would behave if I said that I would tattoo you all.”

“No, I really don’t care anymore and you will do it sooner or later and so,” Kors replied doomed.

Nik knelt down in front of him on the floor and drew some signs on his ankles. They wrapped around Kors’ legs like bracelets, and the designs rose a little higher, but the design was not at all like the black stripes of slave bracelets, like Nik himself. It was a beautiful ornate pattern of intricate weaves and, as it were, letters and signs. Nik took Kors’ hand by the wrist and adorned it much the same way. Kors now had beautiful designs on his ankles and wrists.

“Hmm,” Kors said, “Nik, I didn’t expect this from you, what is this?”

“Protection,” Nik replied simply, without going into details. “Tip your head back a little.” He covered Kors’ neck with signs and patterns for a long time and very carefully.

Hell, even a high collar won’t help, Kors thought. But what could he do? It only remained to be glad that Nik didn’t touch his face and hands. The rest could be somehow hidden by clothes.

“Get up.”

Kors hastily got up from his chair.

And Nik began to draw signs on his chest, and he painted Kors in a completely different way than Marg did in the Limit. The design on Kors’ chest was more like the seal on Nik’s forehead. Circles and criss-crossing lines formed triangles, letters intertwined into words in an incomprehensible language.

“Are you drawing a Pentacle on me? Are you putting witch seals on me?”

“Are you good at this?” Nik interrupted him. “Shut up at last.”

Nik was doing everything very diligently, it seemed that now his tongue would stick out of his zeal from his gap in the bandages. Kors saw him blinking his thickly painted black eyelids, narrowing his eyes, tilting his head first to the left, then to the right. Painting his body, Nik was so close, so close, so warm, Kors felt his breath on his chest. Memories flooded over him, he was no longer afraid, he wanted his boy, the more he realized that Nik really didn’t stop loving him. Moreover, Kors still had some influence on him. From time to time, Nik slightly moved away from Kors and froze, carefully examining and, as it were, evaluating what had been done. At one of those moments, Kors leaned forward, reaching for his bandaged face, for the beaded ring hanging under his nose. He reached out, grabbing his lips and taking the jewelry into his mouth. He felt how the bead, under the pressure of his tongue, smoothly scrolled on the ring, and everything in his stomach tightened pleasantly.

Nik recoiled.