Ebony Castle

“Get up.”

He said as he turned around. Doha, who had been looking down at his stinging hand, belatedly realized what he meant.

“Mr. Locke himself….”

He seemed confused, as if he didn’t understand what the problem was. Before Doha could recognize his own rudeness, he asked.

“Do you know how to trim nails?”

“…”

The man laughed, seemingly dumbfounded.

“I’m not sure what Mr. Eden thinks of me.”

Doha couldn’t imagine him holding a nail clipper. He figured that ever since he was young, a servant must have knelt before him and trimmed his nails with utmost care.

The nail clipper that Tristan had found in the bathroom drawer was studded with small jewels, like something out of an ancient relic. Tristan sat Doha in a chair inside the bathroom and instructed him to place his hands on a small marble table. Doha leaned back awkwardly in the chair.

“Hmm.”

Doha could see the top of his head as he bent down. With a serious expression, he carefully adjusted Doha’s pinky finger.

“This is my first time trimming someone else’s nails; it’s harder than I thought.”

“It’s fine if you don’t cut them too short.”

Every time the cold metal touched the soft skin beneath his nails, it sent a chill through him. He felt hyper-aware of the sharp blade, as if all his nerves were focused on the tips of his fingers.

“You need short nails to play the piano.”

“But since I’m not practicing for a performance… If it’s too difficult, we can stop for now.”

“That sounds like you don’t trust me.”

“No… Ah.”

With a sharp snap, the white part of his pinky nail was clipped, leaving just a sliver behind. Doha flinched, but there was no pain. Tristan softly scolded him.

“You shouldn’t move so suddenly.”

“…Yes.”

The cold metal was slowly warming. Tristan rounded off the pinky nail and moved on to the next finger. His pale fingers interlaced with Doha’s, firmly holding them in place so they wouldn’t move. His exhaled breath touched the back of Doha’s hand.

He didn’t say anything as he focused, his brow furrowed in concentration. Sunlight from the bathroom window dappled his light brown hair, brightening it in places. Doha, with his hands fully entrusted to Tristan, inhaled slowly, then exhaled. Through Tristan’s fallen bangs, Doha could glimpse his downcast eyes and long, light-colored eyelashes.

In the quiet bathroom, only the occasional sound of the nail clipper echoed. Time seemed to slow.

When Tristan finally finished trimming the pinky nail on the opposite hand, he smoothed out the nails with a file and admired his work in the sunlight before releasing Doha’s hand.

“…Thank you.”

Doha exhaled the breath he had been holding. His fingertips felt tingly and oddly empty. Tristan silently gathered up the trimmed nail pieces and disposed of them.

Feeling strangely unsettled, Doha looked around before standing up. Though walking felt a bit uncomfortable, he figured he could make it down to the second floor by holding onto the railing.

“I’ll take my leave now.”

Tristan, who had been filling the sink with hot water, turned around.

“To where?”

“I’ll continue my rehabilitation in my room. I have to go down before night falls anyway.”

Tristan Locke turned off the faucet and asked with a puzzled expression.

“Why do you need to go down at night?”

“Because Mr. Locke needs to sleep…”

It was only then that Doha realized: the idea that yesterday’s treatment had been crammed into one night was something only Doha had thought. After working him so hard that Doha could barely walk, Tristan still intended to continue the remaining two days of treatment as planned.

For the first time since arriving, Doha almost asked whether this much wasn’t enough. The memory of the previous night still hung over him like a lingering nightmare.

But the moment he saw Tristan Locke’s calm face, the words shriveled up in his throat. For whatever reason, he felt like he should be grateful and accept whatever Tristan wanted to do without resistance.

The late afternoon sunlight was beginning to fade. Doha silently dipped his hands into the warm water, hoping the sun wouldn’t set too quickly.

***

As Tristan slowly pulled out, the body beneath him trembled faintly. Lowering the ankles he had been holding onto the bed, Tristan spoke lightly.

“Let’s rest for a bit.”

“…Okay.”

The pianist replied in a hoarse voice. Afraid that Tristan might take back his words, he used the last of his strength to crawl toward the head of the bed and turned over with difficulty.

Wearing only a robe over his shoulders, Tristan languidly crossed the room. A pale moonlight streamed through the half-open curtains. It looked like it was a full moon.

Using a poker, Tristan slowly stirred the embers in the fireplace, revealing the glowing red coals beneath the white ash. He leaned down and threw a few thin kindling sticks and some moderately thick branches from the nearby basket into the fire. After a few pokes, small flames began to spread. Tristan watched the crackling fire for a moment before returning to the bed.

Eden, who had been lying with his eyes closed as if asleep, opened them as the mattress shifted. The firelight illuminated the ceiling, the walls, and Eden’s pale face resting on the pillow with a flickering orange glow. His eyes, filled with a mixture of wariness and faint fear, looked at Tristan.

The thirst that had momentarily subsided now throbbed in the back of Tristan’s throat.

“Come here and suck.”

Tristan’s voice was soft.

Eden blinked a few times, and his face softened slightly with relief. In retrospect, his emotions were always clearly visible on his face. Tristan, having Eden kneel between his legs, guided his head down to take him into his mouth.

Though Eden wasn’t skilled, he had improved quite a bit compared to a few weeks ago. His small tongue diligently licked along the thick shaft, and his clumsy fingers gently massaged the parts that wouldn’t fit in his mouth with the same earnestness as his character.

“…Mmph…”

When Tristan lifted his chin with a finger, Eden made a sound as if he was choking. His eyes, glistening with moisture, looked up. Tristan used his long fingers to brush back the damp hair from Eden’s forehead. He softly stroked his round head, even as he kept the pressure steady, knowing Eden was struggling.

Eden took a few deep breaths before lowering his head to take in more, pushing the swollen tip into his narrow, hot throat. Tristan leaned back and exhaled slowly.

Eden’s eyes, filled with a mixture of resistance and fear, stared up at him, torn between the physical strain of continuing and the anxiety of being rejected if he stopped. He knew he had to accept whatever Tristan wanted and be thankful for it.

As Tristan’s mind wandered, he wondered who was truly at fault for Eden’s predicament.

Once deeply inserted, Tristan slowly withdrew to the entrance, leaving the thick tip inside, and waited leisurely. Soon, Eden’s insides began to tremble, as if trying to fill the empty space. Tristan gently stroked Eden’s open entrance with his flat fingernail and slowly pushed his hips forward.

“Ugh…”

The previously closed space opened with a wet sound. Eden’s thin body finally accepted the thick shaft, trembling uncontrollably.

“…Hoo.”

The heat accumulated in Tristan’s abdomen made it feel tight. He restrained the urge to move roughly and stroked Eden’s tensed buttocks. The trembling skin clung to his palm.

“Ugh, ugh…”

“No.”

He firmly gripped Eden’s waist, which was trying to escape.

“You need to stay still while it’s fully inside.”

“Locke, ah, ugh, ugh…”

Eden let out a shallow breath while curled up. Tristan withdrew slightly, stroking his stiff shoulders, curious about his expression.

When the shaft was withdrawn, he flipped Eden over, wrapped his arms around his neck, and placed his legs around his waist. He pressed his thin body down onto the bed and reinserted himself.

“Ugh…!”

Eden’s eyes widened more due to the pain compared to the prone position. Tristan stared at his tear-streaked, wet white face and then lifted his body.

“Ah-.”

“Sit on top of me.”

He positioned Eden on his thighs and pulled down the buttocks that were suspended in the air. The still-open hole accepted the thick shaft like a knife sliding into its sheath.

Tristan observed Eden’s face closely as it contorted. As he pressed down on his shoulders, Eden, unable to hold himself up, collapsed onto the vertical shaft.

“…Ah! Ugh, ah…”

“…It’s okay. Relax, slowly come down.”

Tristan kept pressing Eden down until his wet buttocks were resting on his thighs.

“…Ugh…”

Eden bit his trembling lips. Tristan stroked Eden’s buttocks holding the thick shaft and embraced his waist with his strong arms. While it was just an attempt to pull him closer, his wrists brushed against Eden’s lower back.

“Ugh…!”

Eden, who seldom resisted, struggled and pushed against Tristan’s shoulders. His shaft, not yet touched, emitted clear fluid. Tristan looked down at the semen splattered on his stomach and chest, raising his eyebrows.

“There…”

Eden spoke with a wavering voice. His wet eyes looked up at Tristan with desperation.

Tristan wiped his eyes and smiled genuinely.

“If you hoped I wouldn’t touch there…”

“Ugh!”

“…You shouldn’t have given it away.”

He lifted Eden’s buttocks and brushed his name on the shaft’s tip with his fingertips. The damp skin on his fingers, with his name engraved like a tattoo. Eden, shaking his head, used his head to push against Tristan’s neck. The breath was ragged as if about to break.

“Is it that good?”

“Ah, ugh…”

“I can’t quite imagine what it feels like, so I’m a little curious.”

“Not, ugh… Ah, ah…”

He pulled Eden close and thrust rapidly, his voice mixed with harsh breaths. He easily subdued Eden’s weak attempts to push away and buried himself deeply inside, coming to completion.

After a few slow movements to savor the pleasure, he withdrew. White fluid trickled out from the round, gaping hole.

“……”

Tristan, leaving Eden lying dazed, got up. He wiped the sweat with a towel and added a few more logs to the fireplace, making the previously dying flames greedily cling to the new branches. The room was brightened by the dawn light.

Tristan picked up a water glass from the table, removed the lid, took a sip, and returned to the bed with the cup. Eden, lying as if dead, reached out his hand, parched.

To prevent him from dropping it due to trembling, Tristan helped him sit up between his legs and tilted the cup for him. The slightly parted lips touched the rim of the cup. The pale, strained throat struggled a few times.

“Would you like more?”

After the cup was empty, Tristan asked, and Eden shook his head. Tristan gently wiped the moisture from his lips and placed the cup down.

“Lie down.”

Eden looked up at Tristan in disbelief. His white face looked empty and exhausted. As if thinking it was a joke, his gaze wandered aimlessly over Tristan’s face several times.

“Today, now…”

He hesitated, starting to speak in a cracked voice, but stopped when he saw Tristan’s face. Realizing there was no intention of listening to him, his parted lips slowly closed.

Tristan watched his face tremble slightly like the surface of a rain-soaked pond. The reddened eyes and clenched jaw were shaking. When he grabbed his chin to prevent him from looking away, tears welled up in his resentful eyes and streamed down.

“Are you crying?”

Tristan asked with interest. His face, which had never shown tears despite being torn and battered, was now trembling with suppressed sobs.

Eden shook his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. After blinking a few times, he apologized with a muffled voice.

“I’m sorry.”

After wiping away the moisture, he turned his body slowly. Tristan observed him lying prone on the bed and asked.

“Is it very difficult?”

“……”

“I understand. I’ll do it one more time and then stop.”

Eden nodded his head, which was buried in the sheets. Tristan pulled his ankles, turned him over, and positioned him face up, placing himself between his legs.

His face was already dry of tear stains, but his lowered eyes avoided direct gaze, eventually closing tightly. The black eyelashes pressed against his pale cheeks, tangled with moisture.

Tristan inserted himself between Eden’s buttocks, inadvertently reaching out with his hand. His fingertips barely touched the red corners of his white cheeks.

***

Doha, holding onto the railing, slowly descended the stairs and stopped. The voices echoing in the entrance hall were clearly audible up the stairs. It was Jean and Hazel.

“…Well, what’s the big deal? Eden comes and goes once every ten days too.”

“My situation is different from Eden’s. Eden is a guest, and I am an employee of the mansion.”

It was unclear whether the raised voices were due to Jean’s increasing irritation or the acoustics of the marble entrance hall. A loud sigh from Jean followed.

“Is this mansion a prison? Why is it impossible to go to London even once?”

“If I leave, there’s no one to cover for my duties…”

“I can do the cleaning. Just go! Christmas is coming up soon; you can go as a holiday.”

This time Hazel sighed deeply, apparently frustrated. Doha, holding the railing, silently stepped back a stair.

From afar, a door opening sound and quick footsteps echoed on the floor. It seemed Ulysses from the garden had come in.

“…oh no, look at this mutt! Look at the dirt all over his paws!”

“Jean.”

“I just cleaned the floor! And now he’s tracking dirt everywhere!”

“Jean, did you clean it? No, I did.”

Ulysses let out a short bark. He was likely being forcibly held still to have his paws wiped.

Doha tried to retreat further, but it was too late. Ulysses, finally freed, ran up the stairs, dashing towards Doha. He rubbed his dirt-covered nose against Doha’s thigh, panting happily with a wagging tail.

Following Ulysses toward the stairs, Jean noticed Doha and smiled brightly.

“Eden! You were coming down.”

“…Yes.”

“Today’s the day you’re heading back, right? You should start heading to town soon.”

Doha stroked Ulysses’ dew-covered fur with one hand as he finished descending the stairs. The morning sunlight poured through the large window. Hazel, who stood by the door with a mop, gave Doha a silent bow.

As Jean fumbled to find the truck keys, he asked, “Now, let’s see… what time are you supposed to meet Peter?”

“10:30.”

“Then you should leave right away! I wanted to drive you to town, but I’ve got things cooking in the kitchen…”

“It’s fine.”

“It feels like I’ve hardly seen you these past few days. You disappeared up to the third floor as soon as you got here.”

Doha felt his face burn from his neck to his ears. Fortunately, Jean was too busy shooing Ulysses away with one foot to notice, but Hazel was watching with a curious expression. Jean, oblivious to the shift in mood, continued.

“I made a new Korean dish! But since you never came down for a meal, it got cold. And Locke kept sending up only light corn meals for you.”

“…I’m sorry, Jean.”

Doha had no excuses, so he just shut his mouth. He could barely recall what he had eaten over the last few days, as it was mostly consumed in a daze, part of the repetitive cycle of trying to recover during Tristan’s absence and then regaining strength by hastily eating whatever was brought to him.

“Well,” Jean’s expression softened as he shrugged, “I didn’t throw it away. I gave the leftovers to Mark. I’m still experimenting with it, so you can try it next time you visit.”

“Yes, I will.”

The name “Mark” rang a bell. He must be someone from the village, Doha thought. Sensing his confusion, Hazel offered a hint.

“He’s the gardener.”

“Oh, right.”

Doha recalled Hazel mentioning him near the swimming pool once. At the time, he had assumed he would eventually meet him during his frequent visits to the mansion, but they had never crossed paths, even when he was outside.

“He’s a bit peculiar, though,” Jean muttered as he wiped Ulysses’ paw prints half-heartedly with a cloth.

“He never sets foot in the mansion and always eats his meals alone in his cabin. Sometimes, when we send him food, he returns the empty dishes later, but he never says whether he liked it or not.”

“He’s a unique person,” Hazel agreed.

Doha, who had been crouching down to pet Ulysses, looked up.

“He may be uncomfortable around people, but he’s very knowledgeable about plants. There’s a rumor he worked as a royal gardener in his younger years.”

“Really? I can hardly imagine… Oh.”

Jean’s phone vibrated. Checking the time, he turned away.

“It’s time to take the pie out of the oven. Eden, are you sure you can’t stay for a slice?”

Doha glanced at the clock, hesitated, and shook his head.

“I’m afraid I need to leave now to stay on schedule.”

“That’s a shame. Well, travel safely this time, too!”

Jean hugged him tightly, giving him a hearty pat on the back. His chef’s coat smelled sweet, like sugar and cinnamon. Hazel, waiting patiently, took the truck keys from Jean once they were done.

“Shall we go?”

“Yes.”

Leaving Ulysses and his droopy ears behind, Doha climbed into the truck’s passenger seat. The truck rolled out of the garage, and the mansion gradually faded from view in the side mirror.

“…….”

For the first time, Doha felt a sense of relief as they left the estate.

He sat quietly, catching his breath. Outside the window, the lush forest passed by, damp with morning dew, but he didn’t have the energy to take in the scenery. Every jolt from the bumpy downhill road reverberated through his body, and the thought of having to sit through a flight to London felt overwhelming.

Tristan Locke had acted like a man possessed over the last three days, reminiscent of their first week together, although without the bloodshed. Doha spent most of his time in Tristan’s bed, eating quickly to regain his strength, and desperately grabbing moments of sleep until dusk, when Tristan would pull him back awake.

And yet, this morning, Tristan had simply gotten up, dressed in his robe, and left the room, without even mentioning Doha’s upcoming absence. He showed no sign of regret or longing about Doha being gone for the next ten days.

The truck gave another hard jolt. Hazel, slowing the vehicle, looked out the side window.

“Here it is, the spot where the truck got stuck.”

“…Ah, right.”

The area looked different in daylight, but upon closer inspection, Doha could see the dried mud where the truck’s back wheels had gotten stuck a few days ago.

“By the way,” Hazel said casually, “thank you.”

“Pardon?”

“I checked the pantry. Jean mentioned it to me.”

His usually stern expression had softened slightly. Doha, realizing what Hazel meant, quickly shook his head.

“Most of it probably crumbled because I had to bring it in my bag.”

“It’s fine. I don’t eat it often, so feel free to take it whenever you need it.”

“Thank you. And if you ever need anything from London or something you can’t find here, let me know.”

Doha expected Hazel to decline as usual, but surprisingly, he replied, “Are you sure I can ask for something?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then I’ll think about it.”

“If you come up with anything in the next few days, send me a message. I’ll bring it the next time I come.”

Aside from a toothbrush, clothes, and rehabilitation tools, Doha’s bag was almost empty. Even with three cups of instant noodles packed, there was still room left.

The truck turned the last corner. As Hazel pressed a button, the tall iron gate leading to the village slowly began to open. Driving slowly through the gate, Hazel spoke, his words unhurried, as if revealing thoughts he had often kept to himself.

“If there’s something not available in Inverness, it can sometimes be delivered from Edinburgh through the village… but it takes a long time, and the process is complicated, so we often end up giving up. After thinking about it for a while, you start to wonder if you really need the item. Slowly, you begin to let go of your desires, I suppose.”

“……”

“What’s scarier is how you become numb to that change in mindset. Then, when you meet someone from the outside world, it wakes you up, and those desires for various things come back to life. I’ve been feeling that way more often since you started visiting the mansion, Eden.”

Doha remained silent, unsure if this was meant as a reprimand. Hazel glanced briefly at him and continued.

“I imagine it’s not easy for you, either, Eden, going back and forth between two very different environments. Your expression when you arrive here and when you leave is always different.”

The narrow roads of the village were as quiet as usual. Hazel parked the truck in front of Peter’s house and shifted gears.

“I’ll see you again.”

The conversation seemed to end there. Doha snapped out of his thoughts and belatedly unfastened his seatbelt.

“Thank you for driving me.”

He grabbed his backpack and got out of the truck. As he stood at the end of the path leading to Peter’s front door and looked back, he could still see Hazel through the truck’s windshield, not yet having driven off. Their eyes met, and Doha instinctively raised a hand to wave. Hazel, who seemed unlikely to respond, raised a hand in return after a brief pause.