Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3328976.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Coldfire_Trilogy_-_C._S._Friedman
  Relationship:
      Gannon_(Coldfire)/Gerald_Tarrant
  Character:
      Gerald_Tarrant_(Coldfire), Gannon_(Coldfire)
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Underage_Masturbation, Anal_Sex, Non-Graphic_Rape/Non-
      Con, Consensual_Underage_Sex, First_Time
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-27 Words: 4773
****** A matter of identity ******
by hobgoblin123
Summary
     When King Gannon stumbles upon Gerald in a very private moment,
     everything changes...
Notes
     Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit
     whatsoever is intended.
     Warnings: See Archive Warnings and additional tags. Please don't read
     if you can't stomach any of these!!!
     A/N: With regard to the fact that this story is explicit and centers
     around a quite controversial topic, I decided to post it here instead
     on fanfiction.net. As I've just realized, I've already crossed the
     border into MA territory on many occasions, and I don't want to catch
     the censors' eagle eyes and get kicked out of there.
     As for the above mentioned controversial topic, considering the
     heated discussion about child abuse, it isn't altogether advisable to
     mention in certain circles that children have sexual feelings. But
     speaking from my own experience, they do, let alone that at the age
     of thirteen Gerald isn't a small boy anymore when his brother Simon
     tries to teach him a lesson (if you don't believe me, check one of
     the forums for teenagers where twelve-year-old boys ask each other
     whether they've already achieved a 'wet' orgasm). Anyway, not by any
     means this should act as an excuse for molesting a child. Child abuse
     is an appalling crime rightly punished by the full force of the law.
     I thought I'd better make this clear.
     Concerning Gerald and Gannon making love, in my humble opinion things
     are a bit different. Admittedly, he's still just fifteen in my story,
     and having sexual intercourse with him would be outright illegal for
     an adult in my country. But with regard to the fact that they live in
     dark times that usually call for young people to grow up very
     quickly, I decided not to be more Catholic than the Pope. At least
     their love-making is consensual and not just based on lust but on
     affection, as well. Furthermore, in my verse the two started their
     affair long before Almea appeared on the scene, and with regard to
     the fact that Gerald Tarrant can't have been older than eighteen when
     his first son was born, this left me in a bit of a tight spot
     concerning the time frame. So please keep matters civil and don't
     flame me.
     I don't deny that the sex scene(s) are a bit on the pornographic
     side, but I was also interested in exploring more serious stuff, for
     example Gerald's attitude towards sex as a victim of child abuse and
     how he finally manages to at least partially overcome the horrendous
     experiences of his part. Hope I could get a bit of character
     development across...
     One last remark before I start boring the shit out of you with my
     lengthy author's notes: it might seem strange that Gerald knows about
     the function of testosterone, but is utterly clueless concerning a
     certain part of his anatomy. But let's remember that the topic of
     prostate stimulation for pleasure gain only has come up quite
     recently in our western culture. I didn't believe it myself until I
     watched some guys jerking off that way on Youporn, lol...
     ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
 At first, the dream was pleasant. Floating weightlessly, Gerald Marshall
rejoiced in the languid warmth spreading through his abdomen, in the slow,
teasing motions inside him and the sweet sensations they caused, but all at
once, an aura of menace crept into it which made his skin crawl. "You like
this, eh?" an oily voice he'd rather not hear ever again whispered into his
ear, the deep satisfaction reverberating in it almost palpable. "It's no use to
pretend that you don't, brother. I've always known you for the dirty slut you
are. Feigning the little innocent to us but begging for it deep down in your
corrupted soul. If a monstrosity like you has a soul, that is."
Liar, he screamed inwardly, but as the digit penetrating him curled and touched
something he hadn't even known existed, his intended protests came out as a
moan. Simon chuckled, a grating sound which made him wish that he were a match
for him, that he could beat the grin off his ravisher's face with his fists
instead of having to endure once again what one of his siblings' twisted minds
had plotted for his benefit as so very often before. But he had learned the
hard way that wishing didn't make it so a long time ago. With his tormentor
kneeling on his spread thighs and his wrists trapped in one of the bastard's
big hands, he was as helpless as a newborn babe.
His brother was intensifying the stimulation now, concentrating it on the
centre of his pleasure, and he could feel his muscles tensing up and his breath
quickening very much against his will, an involuntary reaction of his body he
had witnessed dozens of times when those bastards had groaned and grunted like
not pigs on top of him. But it mustn't be. If he gave in to the lure of this
unspeakable act now, he would never be able to look at himself in a mirror
again.
Panicking, he started a last-ditch attempt to free himself before something
happened that would rob him of the last shreds of his human dignity, and as if
by a miracle, he managed to wrench his right arm away from the vise-like grip.
It slashed through the air, struck the abhorred visage sneering down on him
with a very satisfying slapping noise…
And the adept woke up with a start as the brazen candle-holder on his bedside
table toppled over and crashed to the floor with a resounding thud. For a
moment, he couldn't make head nor tail of the situation, but then he realized
that he was in his own bed at the modest royal seat Gannon intended to
completely rebuild in the near future. Far away from the clutches of the beasts
who had made his childhood a living hell.
A surge of relief flooded through him, but unfortunately, this didn't solve
each and every one of his problems. After all, there was a real background to
the dream that had very nearly overrun the barricades he had erected around the
needs of his pubescent body. Up to a certain day roundabout eighteen months
ago, he had felt only pain when his brothers had violated him, pain so
excruciating that he had prayed for a merciful death more than once. But when
his three eldest brothers had been away, fighting in King Edward's army, Simon
had come into his moonlight chamber one cold, clear winter night all on his own
and everything had changed.
Unlike the others, he hadn't been content with hurting him. Evidently no novice
in those matters, he had taken his time, had pushed him to the brink of lust
and beyond with his skilled fingers and tongue until his body had wordlessly
begged for more while his soul had recoiled in horror at his own wantonness.
Incapable of suppressing his mounting arousal, he had been forced to fall back
on what most of his contemporaries were regarding as a sure sign of his demonic
possession. A freak of nature his father had called him on more occasions than
he actually cared to count, an accursed changeling  who had better be put to
the torch. More often than not, the verbal abuse heaped upon him had been
accompanied by brutal physical punishments he was still bearing the scars of.
However, his Working spawned by sheer despair had gained its end. Due to a
sudden outbreak of purulent pustules all over his nether regions, his dastard
brother had quickly lost interest in molesting him and had fled his attic as if
the Unnamed were after him, never to return.
Gerald smiled faintly at the memory. Not long afterwards, Gannon had appeared
on the scene, and the path of his life had taken an entirely different course.
Now nobody dared to call him names, at least not into his face or in the
presence of Edward's successor, but the close contact to their new sovereign
had opened a can of worms he'd rather have kept shut for the remainder of his
days.
Forewarned by the appalling treachery of his own body, he had reduced the
puberty-related output of sexual hormones to a mere trickle, just enough for
allowing certain physical changes to happen. After all, his somewhat effeminate
appearance had been the bane of his childhood, and he wouldn't shed any tears
over its loss. Neither did he mourn the impact of his Working on his libido. It
went without saying that he wanted to marry and sire children one day, create a
new line with no connection whatsoever to the large Marshall clan, but up to
then, he could very well do without the complications arising from taking part
in the mating game.
But there was no denying that said complications had already found him, proving
the old saying that the road to hell was paved with good intentions. With
regard to the peeks Gannon darted at him when feeling unobserved, it was beyond
dispute that he was quite taken with his young ward. As for him, after
everything he had been through, he wouldn't have thought that he could have
ever contemplated having sexual relations for their own sake. At its best, sex
was a jarring distraction from the things that truly mattered in his life:
honing his powers, gathering knowledge and rising high enough in the food-chain
that nobody could harm him ever again. And at its worst, it was a dirty,
painful business best to be avoided by all means.
Lately, though, he couldn't help but noticing that Gannon was a magnificent
specimen of what the perpetually giggling and cackling flock of nugeese
representing the queen's ladies-in-waiting would doubtlessly label as a
'perfect hunk'. When those brown eyes smiled at him and his king casually
placed his hand on his shoulder every now and then, he could feel something
stirring deep down inside him he had thought forever dead and buried. It was an
unsettling development, awakening memories of his brothers accusing him of
secretly longing for those unclean acts forced upon him and thus inciting their
desire, and he couldn't have this. In spite of having inherited his mother's
looks, he was neither a woman nor a fucking queer, another one of his siblings'
favourite derogative terms for him, but a normal male youth with a male body
and the respective urges, damn them.
Or so he tried to convince himself. But as much as he wished otherwise, the
mere thought of Gannon fondling him where no man should touch another sufficed
to rekindle the tension in his loins which had somewhat subsided over the last
minutes. Sighing softly, Gerald stared at the impressive bulge tenting his
pajama pants as if he could make it disappear by the sheer force of his will.
All things considered, the feat shouldn't be beyond one of his kind. Instead of
taking a cold bath as he was wont to when even the scarce flow of testosterone
was causing him to toss and turn restlessly on his bed, digging his fingers
into the mattress in order to prevent them from straying where they shouldn't,
he could utilize the fae to trigger the reflux of the blood from the erectile
bodies of his penis and thus put an end to the matter. Or he could just do what
his peers were boasting about while being among themselves and jerk himself off
with a few quick motions of his hand. Considering the state he was in, it
certainly shouldn't take him long to get it over with.
But if he finally gave in to his desire, he intended to do it in a manner which
would get things straight concerning his sexual orientation once and for all.
He needed to know whether Simon had been on the right track, or he would never
be able to make peace with the darkest chapter of his in any case less than
stellar childhood.
Fetching a decent oil from the kitchen in the deep of the night was out of the
question for obvious reasons, but there were other ways and means at his
disposal to achieve the desired effect. Since he had abandoned the foolish
notion for good that each act of sorcery was tantamount to spitting in the face
of God and had accepted what he was, he had been giving a lot of things a trial
he wouldn't have dared a mere year ago. Some of these experiments had very
nearly killed him, in particular tapping into the currents too soon after a
quake and attempting to Work the tidal fae, but all in all, the results had
exceeded his wildest expectations by far. Hence, accelerating the production of
mucus in his rectum shouldn't prove too much of a problem for him, let alone
that considerably bigger objects than a single finger had been rammed into him
without the aid of any lubricant whatsoever.
The actual Working was a matter of just a few seconds, and Gerald made use of
the idle time by lighting a candle, ridding himself of his pajamas and
reclining on his bed with a pillow in his back, his head resting against the
headboard and his legs drawn up in order to grant him convenient access to his
entrance. If he wasn't completely mistaken, his measures should have proved
successful by now, and it would be utterly childish to postpone the moment of
truth out of a misplaced bout of apprehension.
Steeling himself to the inevitable, he relaxed his abdominal muscles and
carefully pushed inside. It burned a bit, but the slight discomfort couldn't
hold a candle to his previous experiences with anal penetration. After a short
period of adjustment, he started to move his middle finger, working it back and
forth in the tight heat surrounding it ever so slowly. As inspired as he was,
it was a pleasant, strangely sensual feeling, but he was soon all but certain
that it wouldn't be enough to raise the level of his arousal in a significant
way. So his thrice-damned brother had lied, after all. Nothing was wrong with
him in spite of his delicate features and lithe build, and in due time, he
would lie with a woman just like any other healthy man and sire the son
intended for inheriting the title and fortune he would have earned by then.
The adept burst out laughing, the utterly unwonted emotional release sprung
from a profound sense of relief, just to freeze to the metaphorical pillar of
salt a heartbeat later. The convulsive motion of his body had caused his digit
to shift inside him, leading to a rather disturbing discovery. With abated
breath, he felt around like a blithering idiot until he had found the sensitive
spot at the front of his rectum again. What the heck...?
As the veil of denial was torn from his eyes with sickening finality, he was
forced to admit that it hadn't been the simple in-and-out motions Simon had
driven him up the wall with. These had left him relatively cold. But then the
son of a bitch had curled his finger and hit something inside him, and in no
time at all, he had found himself writhing on the frayed sheets as if in
intolerable pain. Just that it hadn't been pain which had made him pant and
whimper but sheer delight.
For about ten seconds Gerald came damn close to cancelling the entire thing and
to hell with gaining insight into his sexual predispositions, but he wouldn't
fool himself ever again. Not to mention that the fleeting touch had felt so
good that he simply couldn't bring himself to let the matter rest. And so he
repeated the motion deliberately, barely brushing the small bump he could feel
under his fingertip at first, but then pressing down harder as he faint spark
of pleasure was gradually flaring up to a veritable firestorm.
Mesmerized, he stared at his straining erection. The colour of his penis had
changed to a deep red, and its veins stood out in stark relief against the
velvety skin. It was a somewhat exciting sight, not half as repulsive as he
remembered it from his siblings' nocturnal assaults. All at once, it started to
twitch as if having developed a life of its own. Simultaneously, the
pleasurable sensation inside him soared in intensity, and his eyes closed in
rapture. From far, far away he could hear himself moaning, but rapidly
approaching the first orgasm in his life, he didn't give a shit for his pride
and dignity, nor was he even remotely interested in his gender preferences
anymore.
So very alluring scenarios were appearing before his inner eye now: Gannon
standing right in the centre of the audience chamber in full regalia, every
inch a king. And even more mouth-watering, the very same man washing off the
dust of the road at a clear spring, the drops of water running down his body
glittering in the sunlight and his muscles playing beneath the bronzed skin at
his every movement.
The latter figment of his imagination propelled his arousal to unprecedented
heights, and his hormone-addled brain couldn't help but replacing his own digit
with a much sturdier one. Now it was his monarch who was massaging whatever
that little lump inside him was faster and faster until he was dead sure that
he would go crazy if he didn't find release soon. "Oh God, Gannon, don't stop
now! I think I'm going to come," he panted out in his frenzy of desire.
"I won't stop unless you ask me to, Gerald."
The so very familiar deep voice somehow made it through the lusty daze clouding
his mind, and his eyes flew open. If he hadn't suddenly gone stark mad indeed,
this had to be either just another nightmare or a faeborn succubus conjured up
by his overactive imagination. At least he prayed that it would be so. Battling
a demonling was nowhere near as terrifying as facing the man himself under the
given circumstances.
In the end, it was the deep-rooted affection for him shining in those striking
hazel eyes which convinced him that his prayers had gone unheard as usual. His
cheeks flaming with embarrassment, Gerald pulled out his finger and set about
jumping up in order to flee the place of his humiliation and hide his disgrace
God knew where, but a restraining hand on his chest froze him to utter
motionlessness. "It's alright. You don't have to be ashamed," Gannon reassured
him. "If you truly want this, I'd be only too happy to comply."
The only thing his higher consciousness was currently asking for was that the
earth would open up and swallow him whole, but the animal instincts of his body
demanding their rights with jarring insistence begged to differ. At least on
not paper, putting mind over matter was a worthwhile goal. But when his vis-à-
vis casually untied the belt of his dressing gown, let it slip off his
shoulders with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and joined him on the bed
without further ado, all his resolutions went to hell in a handbasket.
The sight of the object of his desire laying right beside him without a stitch
of clothing on his muscular frame and obviously no less aroused than he himself
was too good to be true, and Gerald quickly banished all thoughts of making a
bolt for it like a frightened child. He sighed wistfully as calloused fingers
came to rest on his perineum, but very much to his dismay, they stayed exactly
where they were instead of picking up the activities which had been so rudely
interrupted a few minutes ago.
Meeting his questioning gaze, Gannon's face suddenly became dead serious. "As
I've already pointed out, I'd be delighted to meet your needs," he said
reluctantly. "But there's something I have to ask you first. I know what those
cruel bastards did to you, may they roast in hell for their deeds, and I won't
complain if you can't stomach what I've in in mind. But could you, well,
contemplate allowing me to make love to you? To lie with you? It's just a plea,
not a command. I would never hurt you, nor will I force you into doing
something you detest."
A surge of terrible fear so overwhelming that he could hardly breathe welled up
inside the adept, and he could feel his privates flagging and his sphincter
clenching involuntarily. Giving in to the demands of his juvenile body at long
last, he had already betrayed a lot of his principles that night, had
masturbated in a fashion utterly unbefitting a normal man and even hungered for
his king shoving his fingers inside him and finishing the job. But the mere
thought of reliving what was still haunting him in his nightmares threatened to
freeze the marrow in his bones.
He hadn't cried in ages. Begged for mercy and screamed in pain alright, but
since the burial of his mother, not a single tear had ever left his eyes. But
now, he couldn't prevent one from slowly rolling down his cheek. A hand so much
larger than his own wiped it away with amazing gentleness. "Blimey, Gerald, I'm
such an idiot!" Gannon reprimanded himself, his handsome face the very picture
of remorse. "Forgive me. I'll never mention it again."
But there were things which couldn't be undone anymore and words that couldn't
be taken back. They would stand between them forever unless he finally freed
himself of the burdens of his past and made his own choices instead of acting
on the fears lurking in the darkest recesses of his soul. It had taken him the
better part of his young life to accept his adeptitude. Maybe it was high time
for coming to terms with other aspects of his personality, as well. And as for
the physical discomfort doubtlessly laying in store for him... Gerald shrugged
inwardly. It couldn't be worse than what had been done to him a hundred times
over.
Gannon's eyes had never left his face while he had fought his lonely battle.
Registering the tenderness in them, the deep caring and sorrow, he pushed down
his misgivings with all his might and main and pulled the man on top of him.
For a while, the king stayed perfectly still as if frozen to ice, evidently
feeling a tad overtaken by the unexpected turn of events. But then he lowered
his head and kissed him, gently parting his lips with his tongue and exploring
his mouth as if it were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.
Sharing their breaths and soft sighs of pleasure was a wondrously erotic
experience which caused the adept's blood to rush southwards again at amazing
speed, and he didn't flinch when his lover-to-be finally broke the kiss and
placed his erection at his opening. "Are you sure?" Gannon breathed, his voice
so hoarse with desire that he got goosebumps all over.
"Yes." As sure as he could ever be, anyway.
"Gerald, I... it very likely would be easier for you to come if I took you from
behind, but I'd rather see your face. We can still change position if need be.
But your wish is my command."
Instead of answering, he just grasped the king's hips and pulled him closer.
Due to the afflux caused by his precedent almost-orgasm, he was uncomfortably
tighter than before, and he had to clench his teeth against the burning pain as
he was being stretched to the brim. Gannon instantly paused, granting him some
time to adjust to the increase in size. "We don't have to go on if it hurts too
much, beloved," he said softly. "There are other ways to pleasure each other."
The adept shook his head. Breathing deeply helped him to weather the initial
discomfort, but much more important for his decision to go ahead with this no
matter what was something entirely different: for the first time in years, he
trusted another human being, trusted him so much that he dared to battle the
demons of his past in his arms.
When his clenched fists somewhat loosened their death grip on the strong
shoulders and his breath had evened out, Gannon started to thrust, slow and
shallow at first to spare him any further pain. To his disappointment, the
friction caused by the rigid hardness moving inside him was much less intense
than the manual stimulation had been, and he couldn't help but fearing that it
wouldn't be enough. To a certain degree, the joy of being one with his lover
made up for this drawback, though, and for a while he was quite content with
letting his hands roam over the battle-hardened body atop him and imprinting
every line of those cherished features on his memory.
His pupils so dilated that the iris was almost invisible, Gannon was
accelerating the pace now, his eyes glued to his face. Obviously registering
his lack of enthusiasm despite his own mounting arousal, the king settled for
pushing a pillow under his behind, and the slight change in the angle of
penetration made a hell of a difference in terms of pleasure gain. All at once,
each and every of the rhythmic pelvic motions sent a shudder of lust through
his abdomen, and it didn't take long until he could feel the tension rising in
his body again.
Just an inch short of drowning in the sensations, he averted his face out of a
strange notion of shame, but Gannon turned his head gently back into his
direction. "Don't, Gerald," he whispered. "Let me watch you. You're so
beautiful in your arousal."
Nobody had ever told him that he was beautiful. 'Weak sister with hands more
suited for holding an embroidery frame than a sword' came much closer to the
matter. But the man currently giving him more pleasure than he could have ever
imagined appreciated his looks, didn't condemn him for his lack of masculinity.
The ring of sincerity in his voice left no doubt about it.
This realization was a mighty turn-on, and suddenly the adept didn't care
anymore that his lover would see him in his most private moment. Surrendering
to his need without a shred of remorse, he locked his legs behind him and
arched his back, a course of action that brought its own sweet reward since it
allowed Gannon to hit the throbbing bump inside him even harder. It was bliss
beyond words, increasing tenfold as a series of short, rapid thrusts were aimed
directly at the spot where all his nerve-endings seemed to converge. "Yes,
right there," he moaned in utter abandon. "Oh God, it feels so good. Oooh..."
His climax shook him like one of the quakes making living on their new home at
the outer fringes of the galaxy a precarious business, causing his toes to curl
and his fingernails to leave blood-shot crescents on tanned shoulder blades,
but the king wasn't finished with him yet. Instead of easing up on him, he kept
up the pace, pushed him on relentlessly to a ever higher level of arousal until
Gerald thought he would pass out. If this went on, he would come again. Soon.
The way his breath was flying and his heart hammering in his chest, there
couldn't be a doubt about it.
"I can't hold out much longer. You're so fucking tight," Gannon suddenly
shouted, but he needn't have worried about a potential lack of stamina. His
hips bucking spasmodically, the adept squeezed his eyes shut as the next, even
more powerful wave of sweet agony crashed down on him. He had always raised a
sceptical brow at stories about people yelling and thrashing about in the
throes of passion, but he had been wrong. A simple moan would have never
sufficed to vent the blinding pleasure of the rhythmic contractions tearing
through his abdomen, pumping out his seed in fervid, shuddering spasms for the
second time, and his voice pitched up to a piercing scream which seemed to go
on forever.
When Gerald's brain slowly but surely was resuming its functions, the enormity
of what he had just done sent a cold shiver down his spine. Although he was
very well capable of appreciating their beauty in a detached, clinical manner,
none of the young ladies fluttering about in abundance at the royal court had
ever managed to stir so much as a faint spark of longing in him.  Come to think
of it, some of them might very well have tried to draw his attention, but
convinced that he was lacking all the attributes women usually fancied in the
opposite sex, he had taken their advances for a cruel joke at his expense. And
he wouldn't have been interested, anyway. But now he had lain with a man of his
own free will and had enjoyed it, had enjoyed it so much that he had completely
lost control, something he had vowed would never happen to him again. It was...
frightening.
"Gerald, what's wrong? Do you regret it?"
Good question. No, he didn't. Not honestly. But this didn't mean that certain
insights were easily to digest. His eyes averted, he shook his head and hoped
for being spared any further explanations, but his lover didn't let up. "So
what is it then? Are you in pain?"
"No. No pain. But I can't help asking myself a question, Your Majesty. The
things we've just done together... what does that make me?"
"A man?" Registering his disbelieving gaze, the king chuckled. "Before we
thrash out this matter of identity, would you mind calling me by my given name
while we're among ourselves hereafter? Just thinking of you moaning 'I'm
coming, Your Majesty' gives me the creeps."
The adept snorted. "That's not funny."
"No, maybe it isn't." Somewhat sobered by his retort, Gannon furrowed his brow.
"Listen, Gerald," he said after a while. "I married solely for dynastic
reasons. Women just don't turn me on. It's always been like this, but my sexual
preferences don't make me less of a man. Finding pleasure in having it off with
a guy has never barred me from wielding my sword and defeating my enemies in
open combat. That's just stupid prejudice. And as for you... you're still so
very young. Many boys experiment at your age. Masturbate each other. This
doesn't necessarily make you a homosexual. Or an accursed sodomite, as our dear
Father Ragnor would doubtlessly put it. There are men who are perfectly
straight and take delight in anal play, nonetheless. Others feel attracted by
both sexes. As much as I'd regret it, you might meet your dream girl tomorrow
and I'm out of the picture henceforward. But even if you are like me: does it
really matter?"
Gerald didn't have an answer to this question. Not yet. But in a way, the king
was right. Although his heart was telling him that for both of them their
coupling had been about much more than mere lust, only the God of their common
faith knew where this road would lead them. But whatever would come out of it,
he would never again let the cut and dried opinions of his contemporaries rule
his actions. This was as sure as death and taxes, as their forefathers on Earth
would have put it.
More at peace with himself than he had been in a long, long time, the adept
cuddled up to his royal lover and went to sleep in his arms, a faint smile on
his face.
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