This entry is part of The Bastian Protocols series. If you’d like to start from the beginning, start here.
The prospect stood on the brass mark with his hands behind his back.
Sir had changed the room.
The chair remained in its usual place, but the overhead light had been lowered. A single lamp cast a warm pool across the floor, softening the corners without hiding them. A folded blanket nearby. A small bottle on the side table.
Nothing was accidental. Bastian stood in front of the prospect, close enough to be felt but not touched.
“Tell me the rule.”
The prospect kept his eyes on him.
“I don’t guess what you want, Sir.”
“And?”
“I ask when I don’t understand.”
“And?”
The prospect drew a breath.
“I tell you when something changes.”
Bastian nodded.
“Good.”
His fingers closed around the front of the prospect’s shirt. He didn’t pull immediately. He simply held the fabric, letting the prospect feel the intention before the movement.
“Tonight, I’m going to take you deeper.”
The prospect’s breath caught in his chest. Bastian noticed.
“Deeper doesn’t mean harder,” he said. “It means you will have less distance between what you feel and what you allow me to see.”
The prospect swallowed.
“Yes, Sir.”
Bastian released his shirt and moved behind him. His hands settled at the prospect’s waist, broad and steady, then slid slowly upward along his ribs.
The touch was firm enough to direct, gentle enough to leave room.
“Breathe.”
The prospect inhaled.
Bastian’s palms moved across his chest.
“Again.”
He obeyed.
His thumbs traced the edge of the prospect’s nipples through the fabric. The prospect’s shoulders tightened.
Bastian stopped.
“What changed?”
The prospect stared forward.
“Nothing, Sir.”
Bastian’s hand closed around the back of his neck.
Not punishment. Correction.
“Try again.”
The prospect’s pulse beat hard beneath his palm.
“I felt trapped for a second.”
“By my hands?”
“No, Sir.”
“By what?”
The answer caught in his throat.
Bastian waited.
The prospect closed his eyes.
“By remembering.”
The grip at his neck softened.
“Look at me.”
Bastian stepped around him and lifted his chin.
The prospect opened his eyes.
“You are here,” Bastian said. “Safe. In this room. With me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You can stop this.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You can slow it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You can ask what I’m doing.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Bastian’s thumb moved across his lower lip.
“And none of those choices will disappoint me.”
The prospect’s eyes burned.
Bastian watched him carefully.
“Do you want to continue?”
The answer came too quickly.
“Yes, Sir.”
Bastian’s expression sharpened.
“Not for me.”
The prospect breathed.
He felt the floor beneath his feet. The mark beneath his boots. The warmth of Bastian’s hand.
“Yes,” he said again. “I want to continue.”
Bastian nodded.
“Good.”
He unbuttoned the prospect’s shirt one button at a time.
There was nothing rushed or forced in it. Each opening revealed another strip of skin to the air. The prospect shivered.
Bastian pushed the shirt from his shoulders and let it fall behind him.
“Hands at your sides.”
The prospect obeyed.
Bastian’s eyes moved over him.
The inspection was slow and open. Not the hungry glance of someone prepared to take, but the focused attention of someone studying and learning what had been entrusted to him.
The prospect felt as exposed as he did seen.
Bastian placed one hand flat against his sternum.
“Feel this?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What do you feel?”
“Your hand.”
“Where?”
“On my chest.”
“What else?”
The prospect searched for the answer.
“Heat.”
“What else?”
“Pressure.”
“What else?”
He hesitated.
“Safety.”
Bastian’s gaze held his.
“Good.”
His other hand moved to the prospect’s lower back, drawing him closer until their bodies nearly touched.
The prospect felt the warmth of Bastian through his clothes. Felt the control in the way he held himself still.
Bastian’s mouth brushed the side of his throat.
The contact was barely there.
The prospect tilted his head.
“Did I tell you to offer your neck?”
He froze.
“No, Sir.”
“Then why did you?”
“I wanted you to continue.”
Bastian’s lips hovered against his skin.
“Wanting is allowed.”
The prospect trembled.
“Anticipating is not.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Return to position.”
The prospect straightened his head.
Bastian waited until he was still again.
“Now expose your neck.”
The prospect turned slowly, deliberately, offering the line of his throat because he had been told.
Bastian kissed the skin beneath his ear.
The prospect exhaled.
He kissed him again, lower this time, then let his teeth close lightly against the side of his neck.
The prospect’s knees shook.
Bastian’s arm tightened around his waist.
“Stay with me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
His teeth pressed harder.
The sensation sharpened, pain edged with heat.
The prospect’s breath broke.
“Color?”
“Green.”
Bastian released the bite and gently licked the mark. The prospect’s body reacted before his mind could organize it. Heat spread down his chest. His stomach tightened. His thoughts began to blur around the edges.
Bastian’s fingers moved slowly along his spine.
“What are you noticing?”
“I feel light.”
“Dizzy?”
“No, Sir.”
“Far away?”
The prospect considered it.
“Not far away.”
“What, then?”
His voice dropped.
“Quiet.”
Bastian’s hand settled between his shoulder blades.
“We have reached the beginning.”
The prospect opened his eyes wider.
“Of what?”
“Subspace.”
He had heard people describe it as floating, flying, disappearing. He had always imagined it as surrender without thought. Bastian seemed to read the concern in his face.
“You’re not leaving yourself,” he said. “You’re allowing your mind to stop guarding every door at once.”
The prospect’s throat tightened. Bastian guided him toward the chair.
“Kneel on the cushion.”
He lowered himself.
“Hands open.”
Palms rested on his thighs.
“Eyes on me.”
Bastian stood over him, one hand in his hair, the other tracing slowly across his bare chest.
The prospect’s breathing deepened.
Bastian pinched one nipple between his fingers.
The prospect gasped as Bastian held the pressure.
Precisely.
The prospect’s back arched.
“Stay.”
He forced himself still.
Bastian released him, then stroked the tender skin lightly with his thumb.
Pleasure followed the pain so closely that the prospect could no longer separate the two.
“Again,” Bastian said.
The prospect braced.
Bastian’s expression changed.
“What are you doing?”
“Preparing, Sir.”
“For what?”
“The pain.”
Bastian crouched in front of him.
“No.”
The prospect’s breathing faltered.
“You are preparing for something that hasn’t happened yet.”
His hand slid behind the prospect’s neck.
“You are leaving the room to protect yourself from the next moment.”
The prospect’s eyes lowered. Bastian tightened his grip.
“Look at me. There is no next moment until I give it to you.”
The prospect’s lips parted.
Bastian’s voice softened.
“You don’t need to survive what I haven’t done.”
Something inside the prospect quietly broke open. His shoulders dropped. His hands loosened. His breath left him in a long, trembling exhale.
Bastian watched.
“There,” he said.
The prospect swayed slightly.
Bastian’s hands steadied him.
“Where are you?”
“With you, Sir.”
“What do you feel?”
“Warm.”
“What else?”
“Open.”
“What else?”
The prospect struggled to find language.
“Like I don’t have to hold myself up.”
Bastian’s expression softened.
“You don’t.”
He pulled the prospect forward until his forehead rested against Bastian’s thigh.
One hand remained in his hair. The other moved in slow circles across his back.
The prospect’s body seemed to become heavier and lighter at once. His thoughts no longer arrived as commands. They drifted and vanished before becoming fear.
Bastian spoke quietly.
“You’re not helpless.”
The prospect breathed.
“You’re not trapped.”
His fingers stroked the back of the prospect’s neck.
“You are choosing to let me carry the weight.”
The prospect’s eyes closed.
“Yes, Sir.”
Bastian kept him there for several minutes.
No commands.
No testing.
Only the steady rhythm of his hand and the quiet discipline of remaining present.
Eventually, Bastian crouched again and cupped the prospect’s face.
“Come back to me.”
The prospect blinked slowly.
“I’m here.”
“I know.”
Bastian opened the bottle of water and pressed it into his hands. He drank.
Bastian wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, then sat in the chair, with the prospect between his knees.
The prospect leaned back against him.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then the prospect whispered, “I thought subspace meant losing control.”
“It can feel like it.”
He stroked the prospect’s hair.
“But you didn’t lose control.”
The prospect turned his face toward him.
“You made choices. You answered questions. You told me when something changed.”
Bastian’s hand settled over his prospect’s heart.
“You let yourself be held without disappearing.”
The prospect closed his eyes.
Bastian’s voice was low against his ear.
“That was the lesson.”
The Inspection
This entry is part of The Bastian Protocols series. If you’d like to start from the beginning, start here.