Lucius gently brought Mantis out of the Imperius Curse, kissing him softly the whole time. ‘Mantis,’ he said softly.
‘Mm?’
‘How do you feel?’
‘Full…’ Mantis said, and giggled. ‘Sort of buzzy, like when I’m coming off of anaesthesia… ‘s nice… You’re pretty, you’re so pretty, like… biseinen….’ He sighed a little. ‘And you like me…’
‘I do,’ Lucius said, smiling at the intoxicated rambling.
‘He’s pretty too,’ Mantis whispered.
‘Who is?’
‘The servant over there,’ Mantis whispered. ‘I know I’m not apposed to notice him, that’s why I’m whispering.’ He gasped the smallest little gasp, eyes widening with dramatic realisation. ‘Is he your valet?’
‘He is, pet. Come, can you stand up for me?’
‘Prolly not,’ Mantis said, looking down at himself and pausing. ‘…Tiddies!’ he cheered, cupping them in his hands. ‘Ohmygawd tiddies tiddies tiddies heeheeheehee…’ he laughed a tiny little throaty laugh, impish and gleeful. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Waitwaitwait, it’s after lunch. I gotta get clothes on!’
My, the brain came back quickly with this one—then again, he was very crowded in that interesting mind—very crowded, very loud, very fast, like a tempest. Still, Lucius would not let this energy deceive him; the boy had masks upon masks, as wary as a unicorn.
‘Mantis, darling, please tell me why you can’t stand up, hm? Tell Daddy?’
‘I’ll swoon,’ Mantis said, still running his hands over himself, more curious than sensual. ‘Did… did I actually…?’
‘The potion I gave you added a few curves rather faster than nature can,’ Lucius said, indulging in a wicked smile. ‘You look so pretty, my sugar, you should see yourself—Honeywood,’ he called over the valet, before talking to Mantis once more. ‘We’re going to help you to stand, and try and get inside, to the sofa, alright?’
‘Thank,’ Mantis said, still cheerfully woozy. He knew how to be helped up, though, and leaned on them, letting them take his weight, going slowly, his breaths deep, and measured, and slow, movements deliberate. ‘I feel like I’ve had eight orgasms,’ he said, as he sat down on the green chaise lounge near the French doors. ‘Honeywood, that’s a pretty name,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ Honeywood said, and Mantis did not miss that he left off the ‘sir’. He shimmered off, and Mantis wondered if he was going to pick out some new clothes for Mantis, since Evers wasn’t around.
‘What is an “orgasm”?’ Lucius asked, knowing Mantis would answer instantly.
‘Ohhh, that’s right, it wasn’t a word until the seventies! It’s sexual climax. From “orgy”, I think. Or somewhere around there. I mean I feel… buzzy, full of… afterglow, you know.’ He giggled. ‘It’s silly, usually I would say I want a sandwich or some water, but…’ He giggled again, blushing when he heard Lucius’ rather more wicked chuckle.
‘I don’t—I don’t know what I need,’ Mantis went on, quieter, ‘to come down safely.’ He looked up at Lucius, blue eyes pleading and a little tearful. ‘I know you’ll take care of me, right? Please tell me what to do,’ tears started to fall. ‘I don’t wanna hurt anymore.’
Lucius sat down beside him, arms around him immediately. ‘You were so good, Mantis, it was so delicious to feed you,’ he began, remembering what Evers had said, about Mantis needing to be told directly. ‘I could feel you enjoying it.’
‘I diiiiid,’ Mantis said happily. ‘It was so nice to be able to enjoy eating, and I’ve always wanted to try that kink. And also try the enema kink. And just… gosh you’re such a perfect fit for me….’ He snuggled against Lucius.
‘Oh, such a silver tongue our lord has given you, I want to taste it,’ Lucius said, and kissed him, as Mantis hummed happily. Lucius stroked his belly again, lingering on the softness of the apron. It had doubled in size, hanging well down, beautiful and creamy and so, so soft. ‘Are you comfortable enough to carry on outside of sex? I’ve asked your body to do so many new things today, and it isn’t even noon yet.’ He stroked Mantis’ face with the backs of his fingers gently, feeling the thin stubble on his cheek.
Mantis closed his eyes and leaned into Lucius’ hand, but the shapes of his well-arched brows were clearly thoughtful. He opened them again.
‘Two questions, before I can say for sure—and I need full answers, or I can’t give you an accurate answer.’ He did his best to pout and bat his eyelashes, hoping it worked. ‘And I do so want to give you what you ask.’
Lucius kissed his forehead. ‘O for effort, darling. Ask away.’
‘Evers sealed me up, I’ve suspected that for a while; so the enema is meant to just absorb completely, right?’
‘Correct.’
‘That’s my favourite kind. And is the green potion some kind of thing that balances all my gut flora and cuts the acid my body produces down to a normal level?’
‘Yes, among other things, such as increasing your appetites for food and sex—and sleep, though that last is a consequence of any healing magic.’
‘Because healing takes energy, and you can only speed up or direct your body’s natural process, right?’
Lucius startled. ‘…If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d actually been educated in magic.’
‘Nope, I’ve just been educated in natural philosophy and I’m a writer with an imagination. Designed a magic system before, for a world I built for a story. I’d like to tell you sometime, it’s fun, I made up symbols for all the elements and everything.
‘I was a little scared when I felt all of this growing,’ he said, running his hands over his new curves again with fascination. ‘But my skin didn’t hurt at all—I think it’s a little looser than it was before, even! Thank you,’ he said, looking up at Lucius and leaning sideways to hug him. Lucius hugged back. ‘Do I seem okay to you?’
Lucius pet him. ‘You were very good to yourself, and that’s what I like to see.’ He said, and kissed Mantis again.
There was a soft sound, and Mantis thought to himself, oh, so that’s what “A sheep clearing its throat on a distant cliff” meant. Before Lucius pulled back from the kiss.
‘The Young Master is here,’ Honeywood said, unobtrusively. ‘There are new clothes laid out for the oracle,’ he said, and Mantis was relieved somehow, that he didn’t hesitate before saying “oracle”.
‘Are you feeling less dizzy?’ Lucius asked, and Mantis thought about it.
‘Yeah, enough that I think I could try standing, though I don’t know how my joints are gonna like all this new weight, all of a sudden…’
‘If it hurts, you can stay there,’ Lucius assured him. ‘I know what it’s like.’
‘You… oh, I heard you say that, yesterday…’ Mantis said, remembering—and brightening. ‘I keep forgetting you said it was something you could fix.’
‘In time, yes. I may be guilty of pushing you a little earlier than I was told I should.’ He kissed Mantis. ‘But I don’t plan on harming you, even so. Try standing, and if something hurts, sit down.’
‘Yes, Daddy,’ Mantis said happily. ‘I promise I won’t tell your potion master friend you filled me against his advice,’ he added, with a mischief-curl to his voice. Lucius laughed.
Mantis was… more than a little scared to even try standing up. He didn’t feel like there was a lot more weight, but even a little would be too much. Well, it couldn’t be as much as the backpack he used to carry, so… He braced for the horrible feeling of his arches subluxating, and carefully got to his feet—and sat down again, quickly, as he felt the warning twinges in his feet. ‘Nope. Nope that’s not happening. At all.’
‘Good boy,’ Lucius said. ‘Honeywood, help Mantis dress; I’ll have a word with Draco.’
As soon as Honeywood came over, the tunic draped over his arm, Mantis tried to figure out if he was supposed to talk or not for a moment, before realising he could always just ask.
‘Am… I allowed to talk to you?’
‘Yes,’ Honeywood said, as he helped Mantis slip the tunic over his head. It was very fine, soft linen of a damson colour, rich and dark, with blackwork on the hem and cuffs and neckline, in what was probably silk thread. Mantis was much more comfortable in it, even if it wasn’t black, than he was in the blue of before. Something about wearing blue made him feel really nervous and ugly…. Deep dark black-purple was much better.
‘I love your nails,’ Mantis began, leaning to the side to work the tunic down over his hips without standing up. He expected it to be snug, but it wasn’t, and that helped assuage his nerves about sudden weight gain a great deal—he didn’t hate the idea of being fatter, he hated that he had such a hard time finding clothes that fit even at his thinnest, because even while he’d been underweight, he wasn’t built like a waif—he was tall (for girl clothes and avant-garde Asian-sized clothes, anyway), and he had hips (even if he didn’t have an ass—or… did he? Wiggling around had kind of made clear there was a bit more back there, and it wasn’t just on top of his ass). ‘Can I see them closer?’
Honeywood held out his left hand, and the thumbnail, where the sun was, correctly assuming what Mantis meant was that he wanted to see the sun—he was rather proud of the sun, the face on it.
Mantis looked, without touching, and catalogued every little detail: Honeywood’s nails were his own, and short—but not bitten short, not cut-within-a-hair-of-their-life short, just practically short, shaped beautifully into ovals; and they were lacquered, though Mantis knew nail lacquer here would be very different than the fume-miasma polish he was used to (and used to get happily high on). The lacquer wasn’t natural either, it was a sort of sky-blue, and as Honeywood helped smooth down the tunic, Mantis had been able to see there were little white clouds painted on it, and a detailed little sun, though Mantis hadn’t been able focus on the details, the nails hadn’t been close—or still—enough. It was why he’d asked.
‘Wow, this is gorgeous…’ Mantis said, awed and knowing enough from his own endeavours to really appreciate it. ‘Seriously, amazing detail-work happening here.’
Honeywood was pink—nobody had ever used the words Mantis did, such superlative ones, like ‘amazing’ and ‘gorgeous’ and ‘I love’. The other staff had commented on it, how enthusiastic the American was, how big his compliments were, how overstated and wildly earnest; and it was just as overwhelming to be the subject of. ‘I—my blushes, sir,’ the honorific slipped out on reflex.
‘Well, you deserve it, though,’ Mantis said, looking up at him. He glanced over toward the door, leaned forward a bit, his voice lowering to a whisper. ‘You have my dream job,’ he whispered. ‘I’m a little like… ahhhh,’ he fanned himself with both hands, the way many of the other staff did when they were happy, ‘you’re so cool, you know?’
In that moment, many things about Mantis’ interaction—and nerves about the staff thinking well of him, about being polite to them—made sense. …And, well, Honeywood couldn’t help but like him, then; he hadn’t been entirely sure, before—he was never really sure about slaves, until they’d been about for a while, and it had always seemed that muggles did not understand Downstairs, were often rude to them. But not Mantis. He was painfully aware of them, but also assiduously did not interact, did not even look at them, even as he neatly stacked his dishes, neatly draped his clothes, fastidious and tidy and, seemingly, aware of how to make a servants’ job easier.
And he was always so, so very polite with Evers, the one staff member he was expected to interact directly with, ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘is it “okay” if I…’ and all. Evers already adored him, and Honeywood could see why, just as much as he could see why Mantis had never managed to stay in service; Honeywood was not so uncouth as to mention it, however. He was only vaguely aware of what ‘cool’ meant by inference, but hid a smile in his eyes as he replied:
‘It is gratifying to have one’s skills noticed,’ and once again was struck with the relative discomfort of whether or not to call him ‘sir’. Mantis’ position was very unclear; though, now that Honeywood understood why, he was not so resentful of it. He supposed he ought to simply use the same manner of rules he used on cats, which always did end up with a rather ironic, playful use of ‘sir’ or ‘madam’. Perhaps, though, there was some proper address for an Oracle… he would have to look that up in the library, later….
He wished Mantis was wearing more than a simple slave’s tunic, so that he could interact more with him. Evers was right, the American was rather magnetic, if only because he was so exotic, so strange—but they were done, for now at least, and he needed to get back to his gentleman. So, he left Mantis in the bedchamber, and went out to Lucius’ sitting room, unobtrusive as always.