skylarkrogers | Magical Mafias Bonus Story: Bread and Milk

When Thairn first learned of Illa's... preferences. Takes place during their first assignment together long, long ago.

This is the last cross-post from Patreon! So I'll be shutting the Patreon down now. Nothing is paywalled any longer, and tips on Ko-Fi are welcome (especially if you'd like to help commission some non-Midjourney cover art~). https://ko-fi.com/skylarkrogers

CWs:
- consensual minor injuries
- arranged marriage
- reference to fictional slavery

I learned of Illa's preferences from a rainy night in September, picking him up from a home I'd thought belonged to his lover. He'd tried to disabuse me of that notion, but I hadn't believed it. Not seeing the way they spoke, the way their heads leaned near each other in intimate conversation, the small touches the man – Harold, I believe? – gave to Illa's hair when he thought no one was looking. I thought nothing of it, of course, other than that it might give us trouble if the wrong humans found out, as Illa's current identity was male. Most of his identities are. He's inclined that way, I suppose. Anyway, for all we are affianced, it is no problem of mine if he takes a lover, as long as none of them are fae. I've taken more than my fair share.

But, no, Harold was no lover. I learned that when Illa winced as he got into the car seat. I learned that from the horizontal line that had, just barely, imprinted itself in red on Illa’s ever-white neck. There was a bruise on his wrist, and I caught that, too, as it peeked out from the cuffs of his shirt.

"What did he do to you?" Thoughts of blackmail, abuse and traitors ran amok through my head.

"It's not your business, Thairn." Illa caught the line of my thought with just a glance at my eyes. "Nothing went wrong. Harry's not turning on us."

"Then what?" I focused my gaze on the road, pulled the car away from the curb.

"I don't want to explain this to you."

"Fine, then." It wasn't fine, but just in case. "I'll stop asking about Harold. Now, tell me, are we heading for Sunshine Place or North 5^th?" Code, in case this was blackmail, in case we were being spied on somehow.

"North 5^th," Illa said. All clear, it meant.

I took that in silence. Made the turn, kept driving. My anger did not soothe. If it wasn't blackmail and traitors, it was abuse. I think Illa realized that was where my thoughts would go. And more, since we were both partners and betrothed, that I did have a right to at least know he was alright.

"It's not what you're thinking," Illa said, that line already a cliché by then. He said it staring out the car window, the yellow streetlamps casting shadows on his face, his eyes distant and tired.

"Then what? I've rescued you from monsters in better shape."

As we held at a stoplight, his fingers drifted for a second over his bruised wrist, caressing it tender as if it were the remnants of a kiss on his hand.

"I like…" the words seemed to strain him, until he lost the will to finish the sentence.

I didn't press, hoping my silence would draw him out further. Though as we hit a bump, and his eyes closed in response to whatever ache had jarred against the seat, I think I knew.

He didn't finish the answer.

That night, I dreamt of him tied in ropes, straining. But then his eyes opened and met mine, like crimson embers, and I wanted—but woke up instead alone in bed, covered in sweat. Reality, where he had never looked at me like that, came with a familiar soreness where my heart lay.

Over breakfast, I couldn't look at him. I imagine he felt the same, for every time I did brave a look, his gaze was occupied elsewhere. The mark on his neck had faded, but I caught more glances at the already-paling bruise on his wrist, noted the wince as he sat at the table. I focused my attention on my eggs and tried not to remember the dream too clearly.

"Bread and milk," he said, with effort. I didn't think he was talking about the toast. There's a phrase in Fan, you see, that translates as to eat the bread and drink the milk, and means to be enslaved.

"You like that?" I asked, to be sure. To like to eat the bread and drink the milk, well, that's something else altogether.

"Yes." He stabbed his potatoes as I stared at his plate. I had to take it in, of course. For all he denied it, we were yet betrothed. Accepting his tastes was necessary. And though I wasn't sure what to imagine, trying brought again to mind those ember eyes.

"Very well, then."

I caught his look of surprise, but I didn't let it show.

Magical Mafias Bonus Story: Bread and Milk

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