Waste/Want 2 [monster] [incubus] [gentle mdom] [exile] [new beginnings] [no sex in this chapter] [ongoing story] [story chapter] [M/F]

*For the first part of this story, please* [look here](https://www.reddit.com/user/katherinesummers/comments/c8buv0/content_masterpost/)

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Sora woke in a vast four poster bed among an ocean of silk and pillows. With no way to know what time it was, she only sank deeper into the sheets, hiding from the outside world, from everyone else, from the events of the previous night. She felt loose and warm, her body aching in that pleasurable well-worked way usually following a day of hard but satisfying labour. Under the sheets, protected from the cool air in a cocoon, she ran her fingers over her naked body, touching her breasts, her legs, her sex. Nothing seemed to have changed. The incubus, Waste – or Want – had left no marks on her, no indication that he had rendered her forever different. The only difference was her knowing; a small, burning secret in her core.

Eventually, nature compelled her to leave the safety of the mountain of blankets and pad, barefoot on oak floorboards, in search of somewhere to refresh herself. The room she found herself in, a lavish, high-ceilinged chamber, made her think of a grand manor house or a castle, lightless except for a bar of light that painted the floorboards from a gap in the heavy curtains. Thankfully, there was a chamber off this one, an ensuite, clean and spacious. The entire time, she never stopped listening, her ears pricked for any sound of approaching footsteps or indications of nearby life. Nothing. Just the sound of the water in the pipes and the soft padding of her feet. She washed her face, surprised and pleased to find running hot water. She soon found a hairbrush and combed her hair out, sitting on the edge of the massive bed and taking her time teasing out the knots left by the storm. The methodical movement centred her thoughts as she considered what she was going to do next.

She didn’t appear to be a prisoner, though she did wonder if this was Waste’s bedroom and that he had left her here only to come back for her later. Every so often the thought of his hands on her body crept to the forefront of her mind, where she stamped down on it hard. She couldn’t let that happen again. Not if she wanted to go back to the village. Once could be forgotten, maybe even forgiven. But if she lost herself like that a second time… Once was a terrible, poetic tragedy; a mournful descent in a narrative of rising redemption. Twice was a fall into a world too dark and chaotic to be written.

She looked for her clothes and found nothing. Taking one of the smooth, clean sheets from the bed, she wrapped it around herself like a toga, complete with a rippling train that whispered behind her.

The door was unlocked. Outside was a corridor lit by gas lamps in pretty wrought glass cases shaped like flowers. The soles of her feet touched soft carpet. Carefully, as silently as she could, she crept down the hallway until she found a staircase. Looking over the bannister, she saw a well appointed entranceway. The home she found herself in was richer and more stately than she had ever seen. A chandelier hung from a high ceiling, though it was the golden light of the morning that caressed the Persian rug, a pond of red and purple among the dark ebony and oak of the floorboards and panelling. Two tall windows stood guard on either side of a grand doorway that could only be the main entranceway for the manor, their frames fashioned in form of creeping ivy. Slowly, one step at a time, she descended the staircase, feeling each foot forward to find where it creaked and groaned.

Nothing stopped her. Even as she crossed the entrance hall to the front door and turned the handle, she had the eerie feeling that she was the only one in the world awake. She had to use both hands and set her shoulder against the door to shift it, but when it finally gave way, she was able to stand in the shelter of a roofed patio. The storm had burnt out all the heat in the air and left the world cold and pale, the sky a sickly shade of white; the golden sunlight a weak pretence. Sora hung there for a while, shivering. The driveway seemed to end abruptly, swallowed by the shadow of the woods that Waste must have carried her through. She had no idea where her village was in relation to this place. Without a guide she would be hopelessly lost. Is this why the incubus had not left her chained to the bed?

Uncertain, but unable to stand the shivering cold of the outside, she returned to the entranceway and stood in the silence instead. Perhaps there was a map somewhere. This thought stirred her to reluctant action, moving her away from the door and deeper into the ground floor. She tried to follow the outer wall, seeking out the windows in order to keep from getting lost. In doing so, she passed through elegant sitting rooms with grand fireplaces, drawing rooms with more rich wood panelling, long corridors with tempting little nooks and hiding places, a study decorated with lush leafy plants that smelled of hot, far away places.

Finally, she slid through a narrow door and found herself in a lofty chamber, the long windows like pillars. Her heart leapt to her throat and she put her hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide. Her purpose deserted her and she stepped forward, feeling as if she had walked into a dream. Rows and rows of shelves of books, reaching back to the very edges of the vast chamber. A second floor, holding more shelves that seemed to support the vaulted ceiling. Drawn in as if by a magical lure, the heavy, secret silence of the books a tantalising promise, she explored the thoroughfares, alleyways, avenues and boulevards of this extraordinary library. Running her fingers down the spines of endless books, she pulled out one, and then another, hovering in the shadows of the shelves and losing herself in this or that passage, only to return the book to its home and move on, always searching.

The chapel had been the only building to carry what could charitably called a library in the village. Sora had prized every moment she could spend in there, treasuring any opportunity to be left alone with the knowledge contained within. Now, compared to this place – a village in and of itself – that collection was pitiful; a house of ignorance and limitations. Eventually, she found something that sucked her in completely, and she sank to the floor, the book open on her lap, her whole body curled around it as if it were some priceless thing she had to protect. Time passed. The pillar of light turned on the floor like the hand of a clock, but she couldn’t care less. The incubus, her predicament, it all seemed less important now.

The world ticked on without her for a time. Then she held soft, slippered footsteps approaching her. She knew it was Waste before he announced himself. Reluctantly she lifted her head and saw him at the entrance to her aisle, standing straight and languid, as perfect as a statue of some ancient hero or saint.

“You like poetry?” he asked.

His voice brought her right back, right to when it was rumbling in her ear and he had her in an embrace closer than her own heartbeat. A shiver ran through her. She nodded.

“Breakfast is being served. Will you come and join us?”

“Us…?” Her voice came out hoarse.

“I have guests here from time to time.”

“Is this your home?” She got to her feet, never taking her eyes off him.

“Not exclusively. I believe it once belonged to some old vampire prince who fell to some madness or other in the days when this country had a different name. The stones still stand and I live here and keep them. But the door is open to those who seek.”

“Seek what?”

“Something more.”

“I didn’t come here looking for anything,” she told him, returning the book to its place. “I was brought here.”

“Left here,” he corrected her gently. “Lost and found. Perhaps someone here is looking for you.”

She stared at him, trying to decipher if what he said was a suggestion, a threat, a promise, a joke or idle speculation. For a long time, she was silent, confused.

“Breakfast?” he reminded her.

A moment of indecision, then she nodded and followed him as he turned about and led her away from the books. Now that she was standing and moving again, she realised how hungry she was. “What do you eat?” she asked him.

“I have a particular liking for eggs,” he said. Even when he spoke about the most banal thing, he purred like a cat, drawing her in like the rhythm of sweet music. She thought of the name he had given her. Want. Seeing him now, it seemed to suit him better. “There is ham, and sausages, fresh bread and cheese.”

She vaguely wondered where it all came from.

He walked quickly. Sora soon lost track of the doors and turns after he led her down a narrow staircase that looked as if it might have belonged to servants long ago. This part of the house was simple but clean, not for the eyes of the pretty lords and ladies of the house. Through another door and she was in a large room that was mostly taken up by a long, plain table that looked as if it could seat twenty. Narrow windows that ran along the walls just below the ceiling implied that they were partially underground. The walls were lined with counters, an impressive range cooker that made the room cosy and warm, and boxes and jars of this or that powder, spice, preserve or non-perishable.

There was only one person sitting at the table. A ragged man hunched over a plate of bread and eggs, eating with his face close to the food. Long, dull hair hid most of his face and beard, neither grey nor brown but something in between. He glanced up at them when they entered and froze, fork hovering in the air, dark eyes narrowed. Then, without a word, he threw down his fork and got to his feet, scraping the chair over the stone floor.

“I thought you said there were no women here, Want,” he growled.

“There were none when you asked me,” the incubus replied pleasantly.

“She can’t be here while I’m here.” The man looked at his plate, considering whether to take it with him and then thinking better of it. “And if she’s here, I can’t be here.” His voice crunched like gravel, low and dry, softened almost imperceptivity by a gentle accent that caught Sora’s curiosity.

“Nonsense. Rikard, please sit down.”

Rikard was already moving around the table. “If you give a damn about her, Want, you’ll send her away before nightfall.”. He passed them by on the way out, looking doggedly ahead; anywhere but at Sora. The door closed with a snap.

Want sighed, reaching up with his hand to rub his eyes, an uncharacteristically human movement. After a moment, he offered Sora his hand. “Forgive Rikard,” he said. “He prefers his own company.”

She took his hand and allowed him to lead her to a chair. Despite still being dressed in wrapped bedsheets, the strangely princely gesture made her feel warm and girlish. Want busied himself in reawakening the range and gathering objects. She caught him using his long, powerful tail to reach for the bread board and scoop it towards him. Instead of frightening her, however, it made her smile. In the light of day, he was far less the beautiful, monstrous mystery he had been during the storm. His body was hidden in an elegant robe, his hair less like blood and more like fire. Still, in every moment, every glance, deeply seductive. Just not overpowering.

Once again her memory went to the previous night and she felt herself getting smaller, retreating into herself. She couldn’t let him lure her into a false sense of security.

In order to distract herself, she asked; “Why does Rikard dislike women?”

Want – she was getting used to thinking of him as Want – appeared to hesitate. “Eggs?”

“Yes, please.”

“Bacon?”

“If it is not so much trouble.”

“None.”

She said nothing, waiting to see if he would answer her original question.

Eventually, over the crackle of cooking bacon, he said; “I am not certain how much Rikard would like me to reveal to you. Know only that he does not dislike women. Quite the opposite, I believe he holds a significant degree of respect for them. It is himself that he considers unworthy.”

“What do you mean?” Her curiosity was rapidly overcoming her discomfort.

“He believes himself too coarse. Too rough.”

Sora had no answer to that. Once again she thought of her screams and pleas against the roaring thunder and for the first time she felt a shiver of fear. If that man, Rikard, had known the animal that she had made of herself so recently, would he still consider her too delicate and clean for his company? Whatever he believed of himself, it was she who was soured and coarse. She had thought to return to the village, but even if they believed that she had resisted, that she had not been touched, she would always know the truth. She sank down in her chair, hugging herself. The warm, pleasant feeling she had enjoyed when she took the incubus’ hand had turned to a cold, metallic dread in her stomach.

When Want put the plate down in front of her, the smell made her queasy. She had once heard a fairy story in which the unsuspecting children had been trapped in the fairy world after being offered food by their crafty hosts. She stared at the glistening bacon and soft, fluffy bread and didn’t think she could stand to eat a bite.

Want had taken the seat opposite her.

“Talk to me,” he said, watching her.

She looked up at him. Swallowing, she gathered all her courage. “I want to go home.”

He didn’t deny or give his assent. He inhaled and regarded her with his intense gaze while she continued to examine her food. Finally, he said; “they left you bound on the alter, Sora. What do you think will happen when you return?” There was no challenge or ridicule in his words. It appeared to be a genuine question.

“It was a test, I think,” she replied. “They thought I was a toxic influence, so they left me out for you to see if I would… come through.”

“Did you pass this test?” he asked her. Again, just a question.

She bit her lip. It was strange to be talking to him about this, to be negotiating her purity with the creature that had taken it from her.

When she didn’t answer, he tried again. “What happens if you fail?”

She carefully tore off a piece of bread crust and nibbled it to give herself time to think. “I think you were supposed to consume me in some way,” she mused, more to herself than to him. “Take everything from me and leave me an empty husk or a muttering madwoman.”

“You seem quite healthy, in mind and body,” he remarked.

“You could still do that to me.”

“No. I told you. The only thing you have to lose is your fear.”

She frowned. “Fear of what? Fear of my own ruin?”

He did not answer her, simply gave her that bland, open look that was part invitation, part something else that she couldn’t quite name. She could not look at those eyes for longer than glance. She was scared they’d arrest her and she would never be free.

“I want to go home,” she repeated.

“I know a little something of your people,” he said softly. “Are you prepared for what might happen if you try to go back?”

“They’ll understand!” Her voice was louder and higher than she had meant for it to be. She forced herself to take a breath. “I am not so ruined yet. It was not as if I ran into your arms. Unless you were to confess to them your terrible sin upon me, no one will know it happened.”

“Sin?” he exhaled. “Tell me, why did they leave you on the alter for me?”

She turned back to her food, eating a little more. It was surprisingly good, the bread really only just baked, the salt and savour in the meat making her want to slow and down really taste it despite her stomach tying itself in knots.

“You are not the first to have been left for me,” he told her, as if choosing to fill her silence for her. “There was a man who had been caught drawing obscene images of the men he lusted after in a little red book. He begged me for release and then spat back my name in the blackest of curses. There was a woman who had been falsely labelled an adulterer. She decided that the accusation was as good as the crime and threw in her lot with me for a time before she went her own way.” He paused, a little wistful smile at the corner of his lips. “I hope she is happy where she is.”

Sora stared at him, her eyes wide. She remembered the man that he spoke about. He had been her teacher. But she had been a child when he had been banished, too young to understand what had happened to him. Her father had only explained that the man had ‘gone away’. Realising the truth made her blood run cold. Sol had been kind to her. He had let her read his books…

“I will fetch you proper clothes,” he told her. “And I will take you to the village. Not all the way, for if your plea is to stand a chance, then they cannot see you with me. I will wait a little while, close by where you know to find me. If they welcome you back and you spend a day and a night there as you did before, then I shall leave and you will not see me again. If you must flee -”

“I won’t.”

“If you must flee,” he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted him, “then you know you will have shelter and care until you decide what you want to do next. Is that acceptable?”

She looked at him, searching for the catch, the trick. Finding none, she nodded.

He got to his feet, apparently to fulfil the first part of his promise. He paused, looking at her again while she pretended to be fascinated by her food. She could feel his eyes on her, could sense the unspoken emotion in his posture. When he spoke again, she wasn’t sure if he were addressing her or himself.

“The last time I had to deal with them,” he said, “they… disappointed me. I hope that they have changed.”

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/k2p56w/wastewant_2_monster_incubus_gentle_mdom_exile_new