#rokutouxei

-

She was her usual self this morning.

She scurried down the stairs, the hurried tapping of her shoes announcing her arrival to Theodorus—her partner, the word makes even him dizzy—already waiting at the entrance with his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry I’m late!” She called out, on the way down, her skirt in her hands, as she nearly jumped the last five steps of the stairs to get to him.

“What did I tell you about running down the stairs, hondje?” His voice was grumpy, but he still looked her up and down in concern—finishing by tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She smiled at the gesture.

“I’m very, very careful, I promise,” she said, taking his hand in hers instead. “I’m just excited for tonight. I was actually worrying so much about what to wear—which is why I took so long. We hadn’t had a date in a long while.”

Theo felt the tips of his ears heating up. He diverted her attention by intertwining his fingers with hers. How was it that he always felt a good kind of warm when she was around? “Work very hard today and I’ll make your night worth it. Got it?”

She grinned. “Yessir!”

-

She knew she was coming down with something before she’d even left the mansion this morning. Nothing dangerous, just that vague feeling of being a little under the weather. Not enough to beg off of work, gods no, or even telling Theo in the first place—it couldn’t be that bad. Work had been heavy the past few weeks, and with the approaching dates for the exhibits, she couldn’t just excuse herself for something so minor as a possible cold. The more hands on the job, the better. Besides, this was a client she actually enjoyed dealing with, and she’d missed visiting them and hearing their insights on art. As she rushed down the stairs to Theo, she argued to herself that she didn’t have any symptoms anyway: no fever, no cold, just that general muh state that meant life would be a little harder today than usual.

If she could handle a time-traveling door, she could handle a little bit of trembling.

If Theo was next to her, she could handle anything.

She hoped.

-

Theo wasn’t there when she collapsed.

He wasn’t that far away, just four doors down the hallway, but in his head he was still too far. After a lavish lunch with the marquis and marquess, they decided to split up; him and the marquis to talk about the nitty-gritty of the upcoming exhibit in the study, and her with the marquess to view what’s new in their lavish gallery of artworks, so that she and Theo could have a better idea of what to offer them the next time they came to visit.

This was how the two of them did the work usually, anyway. Together. Sharing. It was a regular day.

Until it wasn’t.

One moment Theo was in deep discussion about ingress with the marquis, and the next, a young girl he quickly recognized as one of the marquess’ maids ran into the study, her face pale. “Sir Theodore! Your companion—”

“What happened?”

“She collapsed, sir! She’s in the gallery with the marquess—”

He ran.

-

Shit. Fuck. This morning, on the way to work, Theo had asked her “Are you okay?” after he had promptly pulled her out of harm’s way. He had his fingers around her wrist—that was a little bony, has it always been this thin?—to stop her in her tracks; one arm braced around her waist to steady her. The carriage breezed next to them loudly, leaving behind it the steady stomp of horse shoes. She instinctively pulled closer to his warmth. Theo wondered if the shivering was only in his imagination. When she looked up at him, it was almost blearily.

Nothing escapes Theo. Usually.

“Hmm? Yeah. I’m just a little tired, but we have so much more to do.” She put on a smile that made Theo’s mind go blank for a moment.

Godverdomme. It’s not that he didn’t notice that she was a little pale, or slightly shaky, or maybe a little more tired-looking than usual. Or maybe he did. Thinking back at it, Theo didn’t know what went in his mind, letting her go on after that, deciding to trust her judgment with a mere “Well. If you say so.”

He should have sent her home, should have stopped a carriage right there and shuttled her back to the mansion. Work didn’t matter. This exhibit didn’t matter. She mattered.

Now he had to make up for lost time.

The marquis had a doctor nearby come to check on her, but not having much to say for himself—“probably just exhaustion, needs some rest”—there was little left to be done but to take her home. Theo cradled her in his arms as he deeply apologized to the marquis and marquess for the sudden interruption of business. He tried his best to not make it obvious that his hands were shaking too.

“Nonsense,” the marquis said, waving his hand. “Take care of your companion and make sure she gets better. It’s always nice doing business with the both of you. We can talk about the exhibit some other time.”

The marquess nodded in response. “Don’t tire her out so much, Sir Theodore. I’ll see you again soon.”

-

She awoke once, on the carriage ride home. Stirred ever so slowly from Theo’s embrace with a glazed look on her eyes. He wasn’t sure if she actually realized she awoke before she fell back into slumber. The fever, at this point, had begun to set in, a fever-flush resting on her cheeks. Despite the radiating heat, Theo held her against his chest, thinking to himself, I’m here, I’m here, I will take care of her, she will get better, trying to still the erratic racing of his heart.

-

Now, back at the mansion, Theo feels like he should feel more steady in a familiar place, but with her still unconscious and probably in pain, his head is spinning. And it’s just past lunch. Sebastian brings towels, warm water. Offers hot tea. Brings extra blankets, a fresh change of clothing. For Theo, rouge and blanc, some sweet bread. Sebastian is nothing but helpful, until he brings what Theo thinks would be least helpful: Arthur.

“What happened to our little miss?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe, arms across his chest. Eyes sunken from lack of sleep, glasses still on the bridge of his nose, holding a mug of coffee—Sebastian must have pried him off of writing to get the resident doctor to check on them. Theo curses inwardly, not wanting to owe this guy of all a favor.

“She collapsed while we were at work,” Theo admits, his voice shrinking with every syllable. “Now she’s got a fever. I’m—not sure what happened.”

Arthur enters the room, stands next to Theo by the bed. Theo will make fun of Arthur for his history as a “failed” doctor, but when the writer slips back into this persona, he is nothing but serious. And Theo respects that. Arthur presses a hand to her neck to check for temperature; inspects the color of the membrane under her eyes. Checks her pulse, and then takes her wrist in his hands. Theo flinches, remembering how thin it felt in his own this morning.

“Well, she’s pale,” Arthur begins. “Needs some iron in her, water. I’ll go tell Sebastian what might be good to feed her. Not much solids, probably, but I’m sure our dear butler will make good soup. Also, she might get clammy with the fever, so you’ll need to wipe her down often. But don’t let her get cold.” He pauses for a full moment, as if weighing his words, but then decides he might as well. Now, he sounds less like a doctor. He sounds like Arthur, her and Theo’s friend. “How hard have you been working her?”

Theo bristles. I haven’t, he wants to say. I take absolutely good care of her and you don’t get to ask me that, he wants to argue. But he knows defeat when it’s there. “Too hard, apparently.”

“I’m glad you know,” is all Arthur says. “Get her some rest and don’t make her do anything until color comes back to her. Understood?”

“I owe you one, Arthur.”

Arthur doesn’t turn as he leaves, just waves. “You do,” he answers back.

-

She wakes up in short bursts. Theo is there for every minute of it. To carry her to the restroom, to give her some food. She doesn’t speak, the fever making her hazy, just looks up at him with half-lidded eyes and mouths what she needs. But she doesn’t last long either; wakes up just enough for two spoonfuls of soup, or a sip of water. Any more than that seems near-impossible, agonizing, by the way she groans. Every time Theo lifts her up in his arms, he wonders if she’s actually getting lighter and lighter, like she’s slowly disintegrating in front of his very eyes.

Stop. No. That’s not going to happen, he tells himself.

It’s past midnight now, and Theo has his armchair pulled up against the bedside, but he can’t quite sleep. The room is dim save for a lamp on the corner of the room, casting yellow light on the walls and making long shadows. He fusses with her hair, brushing off her bangs where they stick to her forehead with the sweat. Tries to smooth out the wrinkles on her forehead formed from where her eyebrows are knitted tight. He feels like he has to stay up all night to keep watch over her, or else something terrible will happen. Something worse. This time he’s not taking his eyes off of her.

Theo hears his brother’s voice in the hallway, but before he can call out, the bedroom door opens slightly. A familiar golden retriever’s face tries to fit through the little gap. Vincent peeks as well, smiling at Theo; Theo tries to return it, but he feels weak. So Vincent enters the room with King. Theo looks up at his brother, and he doesn’t know what kind of face he makes—exhausted, worried, at wit’s end—but it makes Vincent put a hand on his shoulder.

Comfort. Theo sighs at his brother’s touch. Vincent ruffles his hair.

“She’ll be okay, because you’re with her,” Vincent assures him, and though Theo thinks to himself that means nothing, changes nothing, doesn’t tilt things to his favor, Theo would like to believe his brother is right. His brother is somehow always right.

Vincent bids him good night before he leaves the room, the door closing behind him with a gentle click. Now, it’s just him again, the darkness, and the love of his life, sick in bed.

And King. The dog pads toward the bed and places his head on Theo’s knee. King whines. A small, sad noise, half in comfort, and half as if he is in pain too. With one hand, Theo pats his loyal dog in comfort; with the other, he reaches out to hold her hand in his.

“Let’s wait for her to get better, alright?”

-

Theo wakes up in the middle of the night to shuffling—a blanket being pushed gently to the side. He sits upright in a flash, a shot of pain jolting down his back with the sudden movement. The armchair he’s on creaks with the motion. She flinches at the sound.

“Sorry,” she sighs.

“No, it’s alright,” Theo says—his voice sleep-deep. He reaches out to her. “What do you need?”

She turns to the glass near him, but too far for her to reach. “Water.”

Theo takes the glass and sits on the bed, helping her drink. Her eyes close with the touch of water on her lips, sighs. When the glass is empty, he asks, “Do you want more?”

She shakes her head, places her hand on his. Theo puts the glass down and instinctively reaches out to hold her cheek. She rests against his touch.

She’s really cold now; whatever fever she had that morning, she had already long sweated off. Theo runs his other hand down her back, notices how damp the nightgown already is.

“We should change your clothes,” he says, and she only nods.

Theo goes to their shared closet to pull out a fresh change of sleepwear. When he gets back to the bed she’s rubbing her arms weakly for warmth, and he can’t help but press a kiss on her forehead in comfort. When he pulls off the damp nightgown from her still-feverish body, there is nothing in her nakedness that fires him up, just pain, just worry. Her skin is cold. Her eyes look sunken. Half of him has the wits to think maybe his mind is fooling him, making her seem more sickly than she really is, but the other half believes this is all real. And it scares him. She struggles to slip her arms in the sleeves, and Theo has to help her get them in. She can hardly sit up, much less tie the ribbons. Theo wipes off the sweat on her face with a handkerchief. Her lips are pulled taut, like she’s in pain.

When he’s content with his work, she’s already drifting back to sleep, body nudging forward head-first into the mattress. He coaxes her back to a lying-down position, tucking her underneath the sheets. He tries his best to not make his voice shake when he says, “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here with you.”

But before he can stand, she has her pinky on his, just nearly missing him. When he turns, her eyes are barely open, but she’s looking right at him—through him. She pats the empty side of the bed meaningfully. The effort seems to strain her. Her voice is a whisper so small, it’s almost just an exhale. “Please stay?”

Of course, he thinks, turning in his seat so he can lie down next to her, lying on top of the sheets next to her. Of course. I will never leave you. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head just as her eyes flutter closed.

“Always.”

-

The first thing she sees when she wakes up from what seems like a very long fever-dream is Theo’s comforting sea-blue eyes. Their light softens when she finally opens her eyes fully.

He sounds he hadn’t slept in a week. “How are you?”

“Better,” she says, and it’s not convincing because of how wrecked her voice also sounds, how dry her throat feels, but she really does. “Why are you here?”

Theo flinches. Did she think he wouldn’t be? “What?”

She turns slowly to look out the window, estimating the time in her head. It must be past noon now. “Didn’t you have something scheduled today?”

Work. Still. Every time, all she thinks about is him. His dreams. He doesn’t know how he deserves a woman like her. “It’s just a trip to the gallery… Vincent went for me.”

She nods, before pressing her face against his chest. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

He narrows his eyes at her, even if she doesn’t quite see. He doesn’t try to hide his concern. “I told you to not push yourself.”

“I just wanted to do my best,” she tries to argue, but any sort of enthusiasm or persuasiveness is shot out by how she sounds. Better, true, but still off-center. “I knew if we finished all that yesterday, we would have a little bit more time to ourselves, so…” she looks up at him, eyes wide, that look he can’t resist. Godverdomme. “Forgive me for being an idiot?”

“Only because you know it,” Theo huffs. He presses a kiss on her forehead, and she reaches out to hold one of his hands tightly in hers.

“I’m really okay now, I promise,” she says, as cheerfully as possible, to reassure him. She even goes to press the back of his hand onto her neck. “See, no fever. Not lying this time.” Then she pulls on it again to press a kiss on his knuckles. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Theo still doesn’t quite believe her though, and for sure, it’ll take him some time convincing before he finally quiets down about it. That’s okay. She’ll take all the time he needs. The same time he took all the time she needed to get better. He brushes the fingers of his free hand along her face, cupping her cheek gently. She smiles into his touch, and something squeezes in his heart. But his frown is still deep when he speaks. “You’re not allowed to make me worry like that.”

She opens her mouth to apologize, but her brain catches up to her. She scans her body very quickly, before deciding…

“I can’t help it if I have such a great caretaker,” she teases, nudging closer toward him. “If that’s what being a little sick will get me, maybe I might do it again.”

The corner of Theo’s mouth twitches. Oh, he’ll be gentle, for sure, but he has to get the point across first. He narrows his eyes before flipping her over, caging her between him and the bed. “You’re right. You seem well enough now for punishment, hondje.” He grins. “You better be ready.”

Oh, maybe if she tells Sebastian later that she’s still kind of sore, he’ll think it’s from the fever?

In the time of the virus I hope you all take care of yourselves and stay home, safe, and clean; I hope this fic can bring a little light into your lives! Sorry this took so long! 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

Ah, why must Sirius be so observant? You’ve been in Cradle for years but you’ve only crossed a total of four times for this reason or that, so you’d think he wouldn’t notice, but… “I was running around all day before I got back, I severely underestimated the sheer amount of things I’d have to do.” You bring a spoonful of food up to your mouth. Details? Lying was in the details, right?

Except Ray’s hand is going up your thigh again and your brain goes blank.

Seth sighs. “Oh, Ray, really, you should go with Alice sometimes, if she’s running errands. We’ll live without you for a month. Right, Fenrir?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” You mentally slap your forehead. Ah, great, no one’s a good actor here, huh? Fenrir’s sitting on your other side, fully aware of what’s going on. He’s usually better than that, but Ray’s being really handsy tonight, and you can only imagine how distracting it is for him.

Not that you’re any better.

Sirius’ eye twitches and you freeze as you put your utensils together in the middle of your plate. Luka, ever the angel, ever the lifesaver, stands up. “Sirius. Help me wash up in the kitchen.”

The Queen of Spades takes a full moment to stare at you and your lover from across the table. Ray is just casually finishing up the juice in his glass. Sirius sighs. “Sure.”

You’re sure Sirius knows already, he’s just letting it slide. Ah, sometimes Sirius really is the best.

Seth stands up from his seat as well, humming as he’s clearing out the plates, and Fenrir takes it as a cue for him to get up too. When he turns to you he shoots you a small, comforting smile. He’ll be the one to bring you something to soothe your aching muscles tomorrow.

“Thank you for dinner, Luka!” You manage to call out, thankful your voice is steady despite Ray having had already pulled your skirt’s hem up to your mid-thigh. He squeezes the soft flesh.

Luka shoots a smile at you from the door, and seeing that innocent look on his face makes you ever so thankful he didn’t have an inkling of what was going on just two feet from him earlier. “Go get to bed, I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Yes,” Ray answers for you, his voice nearly two octaves deeper. He’s helping you up from your seat, and you’re thankful, because your legs are already wobbling. The other officers, still in the room, turn back to the both of you curiously. Your face feels like it’s burning. “I’ll make sure she rests well.”

-

Fuck, you weren’t even going to make it to the room. Ray has his mouth pressing wet kisses on your neck and his door is still three meters away. You groan, half for the touch, and half because if you don’t push him away right now (and you don’t want to) you’re going to get caught!

Ray is stronger than you are but when he’s desperate like this you can get him to do whatever you want, so when you push him back he doesn’t resist, just huffs a little in disappointment. Why is he so adorable? You pull him by the collar to press a kiss square on his mouth just enough to take his breath away before squeezing his hand in yours, marching right up to his door.

You pull him in and turn just long enough to lock the door. “I swear to god, Ray, if we were caught right there—”

Your legs are pulled out from under you. Ray has you pressed against his chest, carrying you princess-style to the bed. Breathless, you laugh, hitting his shoulder without much power.

“Warn me next time,” you say.

“You didn’t warn me that you were going to do that,” Ray chides, and you don’t hold back the smirk that graces your face.

You preen the moment he puts you down on the center of the bed, raising one leg up so your skirt slides down your thigh, one hand tracing the bare skin revealed by your little off-shoulder number, then, like a killer blow, tracing the leather of your new choker, dark black against your neck.

You ring the little bell on it like beckoning Ray to pounce on you.

Ray chucks his shirt off his frame, and you welcome him with open arms when he crawls over you. What previously was desperation when he was clamoring for your touch in the hallway is now just adoration, the worship of a devotee whose god has left them alone during a time of hunger. He smiles in that way that sends your heart fluttering before taking your lips into his.

Slowly, like he’s aware he has all night to shower you with his love, that you have much to catch up on.

He slides his tongue in your mouth the same time he brings his knee up between your legs. Just enough to keep them open, but not high enough for you to grind against. You whine and push yourself down with all the force you can muster, sighing when you feel him against you. You feel Ray smile against your mouth. You want to kick him.

This is how you make love every time you return to Cradle. Ray, hiding a month’s worth of longing with teasing, and you, taking all that you can.

Some days you kiss like you’re fighting, all teeth and tongues craving the heat of the other’s mouth, and some days you kiss like there’s no end in sight, just you, and him, and exchanging breaths. Tonight, you kiss like he’s given you the universe all over again, like he’s all you’ve really ever held in your hands. You feel your heart climbing up your throat.

You’re gasping for air when Ray finally breaks away. He only looks a little bit winded, but his face is flushed red, his pupils blown wide. This a look of hunger that’s only for your eyes. You tangle a hand in his hair to pull him close and he begins the slow, torturous journey down your body he’s missed so much.

He doesn’t mark you yet. The night is way too early for that. Instead, he presses kisses filled with reverence, tracing your curves he’s long memorized. Down your jaw; the line of your neck; the expanse of your shoulders. He strips you of your clothes without losing rhythm—opens the buttons of your blouse nimbly without even looking, pulls it off of you without a word. One hand cups the weight of a breast while his tongue traces the other. The taste of your sweat mingled with your distinct scent only amplifies his need to get his hands all over you after a month of being on his own.

You sigh as he makes his way down your torso, his hands careful on your sides—just enough to make you shiver, not really to tickle. He looks up at you as he’s undoing the ribbons on your skirt, and when your eyes make contact as it falls with a thump on the ground, the way you smile at him makes his hands tighten where he holds your hips.

“I missed you too, Ray.”

He looks at you like he knows you know what you’re doing. Oh, whatever he does after this is definitely on you—

-

Tears are pooling on the corner of your eyes, and Ray is all blurry. But you know its him, from the wild black shuffle of his hair, his deep emerald eyes, and the way his hands are pressing your hips down against him mercilessly.

He hasn’t let go for minutes. Or hours. At this point, you’re not sure anymore.

You grind your hips weakly to get a semblance of friction, the bell on your choker ringing with your movement, and Ray lets you, but only because you both know it will never be enough. You whimper weakly and meet his eyes again, just as he had asked you to.

“There you are, kitten,” he says, his voice that same timbre from at the dining table, and it sends a shudder down your spine. You know he feels it too. “Where were we?”

Where were you? More like where the hell did he learn this! You think to yourself. Exploring kinks with Ray wasn’t a new thing, but he hadn’t brought this up at all in the past, so you weren’t expecting to get home, lock yourself up in his room, and just stay here warming his cock, sitting pretty.

You drag your voice out from somewhere. It takes all your strength to. “You were asking… what I was doing when I missed you.”

“Yes, I was,” Ray says. Slowly. Like he was letting every syllable seep through your skin. “You were all I could think about. The bed was so cold. And I… I missed your heat.”

“Me too,” you say, your voice trembling. You sob when you feel Ray thrust just enough for you to feel it, but not to sate anything. “I missed you too, Ray.”

“What did you do?” Ray asks, leaning forward to press a kiss on your shoulder. The night breeze was cold everywhere he didn’t touch you. You’re fully naked save for the little choker Ray seems to fancy. “Did you think of me?”

You’d tried begging, you’d tried bargaining, you’d tried just wrestling him out of this, and none of them worked. You have one last card up your sleeve.

That card was honesty.

Grinding against him hoping it’ll make your strategy a little more effective, you wind your fingers in his hair and stare at him straight into his eyes. Well, as much as your teary-eyed ones can. “I did,” you say, nearly out of breath. “I did think of you. I thought of you every night. My bed was cold too. I know that’s the world I’m from, but everything felt so unfamiliar.” You lick your lips. “I wanted to go home. Here. With you. On our bed. Where everything smells like you.” You buck against him particularly hard, and Ray holds back a groan. “I touched myself. I pretended it was you, Ray. All the time. I was never as good as you. But I missed you so much… everything you did to me, I wanted it.” You grin. “Even when you tease me like this, until I’m crying.”

Ray grins. “You enjoy what I do to you.”

And, well, there’s no denying that. “I do. I do, everything you do.”

That seems enough to break him.

Ray pulls you off of him in a move that makes you cry out with the sudden loss of his comforting weight inside of you. Just enough to get you on all fours, and then to bury himself back into your welcoming heat.

“Ray!” You call out, as he begins to thrust, slow, and then faster, because you’re ready for him and you’ve been ready for him from the moment your feet touched Cradle again. His hands’ hold on your hips is bruising but it’s a sting you’re thankful for feeling.

The bell on your neck keeps ringing. It sounds like it’s counting down to you finally breaking, right into a puddle of love and limbs for your beloved. 

When he finds his groove, Ray usually is pretty quiet, but tonight he’s different. When he groans out your name, it’s followed by a hoarse “I love you,” and that’s when it finally feels like you’re home again.

Ray is home.

He hovers over you, pressing kisses down the nape of your neck after he’s brushed your hair aside, and then sucking bruises onto your shoulder until they’re a multicolored mess. You belatedly realize it’s a reprimand, for that off-shoulder blouse you’d chosen solely to mess with him. You laugh when it dawns on you, and Ray pulls your hair back in response.

“What’s funny?” he growls in between thrusts, and it only makes you laugh even more.

“Didn’t think you’d be jealous, baby,” you say. “They weren’t even staring.”

Ray huffs. “Only because I wasn’t letting them.”

As if to drive that home, he changes his pace and angle so that he can thrust into you even faster, one hand straying from your hips to mess with your clit that exact way you like it. You feel him everywhere.

“Fuck,” you drawl out, “Ray, Ray, Ray, I’m cumming—"

“Do it,” he says, orders, as if your thighs weren’t shaking, hadn’t stopped shaking, because you’ve already cum twice just before, with his mouth and his fingers. As if you weren’t collapsing into the black hole of pleasure all because of his doing. “Do it, baby.”

“You’re so good to me,” you gasp out, teetering, so close—“You’re so good to me, always, I love you, I love you, Ray, my King—”

You lose yourself into the white-hot searing flames of your orgasm, walls clenching around Ray, at the very same moment Ray’s entire world shrinks into your small, shaking voice, calling him your king.

That’s all he needs to finally surrender as well.

When consciousness finally returns to you, you’ve settled on the bed as Ray’s little spoon, the both of you still catching your breaths.

You feel the drip of his cum coming out of you. You have half a heart to reprimand him. Instead, you snort. “Really?”

Ray nuzzles your neck guiltlessly, the movement causing your little bell to ring. “Couldn’t help it.”

And as comfortable as the cuddle is right now, you want to see him, so ignoring the ache of your straining muscles, you turn to face him, your noses nearly touching.

“I really missed you, you know,” you say softly.

He grins, that boyish grin that made you fall in love with him in the first place. “I know.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, like willing you to sleep. “Welcome home, my Alice.”

-

Ray spots the empty bottle of aphrodisiac in the kitchen late the next morning, when he’s gone to get coffee for the both of you. Fenrir bought it for him as a gag while he was lonely waiting for you, and he’s sure he’d joked about taking it when you came back, but he didn’t drink it last night.

And he didn’t really mind, if someone had messed with him, he’d openly said he’d be up for it, it’s just that he just wanted to know who did it...

Sirius, who was in the kitchen with him, frowns in disappointment when Ray glances at him suspiciously. “Really, Ray?”

“Okay, fine, sorry,” Ray concedes. “I didn’t really think it was you, I just thought you’d know something.”

No one takes Ray seriously over lunch when he uses his “I am the King of the Black Army” voice to ask who put an aphrodisiac in his drink the night before.

“Fenrir,” Sirius pointedly calls out with no hesitation.

“HAH?!” Fenrir is mid-chew, and food nearly falls out of his mouth. “No way that was me. Ray’s been waitin’ for little Alice to come home for weeks, I ain’t gonna ruin it for ‘em like that.”

Sure, you think to yourself, ‘ruin’. Quietly taking a sip of your drink, you wonder if someone’s spiked this one with aphrodisiac too. .

“I betcha it was Luka,” Fenrir finishes.

Everyone turns to Luka, who is quiet, a solemn expression on his face. There’s a pause before he finally speaks up. “Why me?”

The others are silent for a moment, considering, and then they nod in agreement.

Luka seems to hesitate, but he offers, “Maybe it was Seth.”

“Luka! Is this what you think of me?” Seth has an expression that’s a cross of shock and offense. “Did you think I’d resort to low-level crime like Fenrir would?”

“Hey, whaddya mean low-level—”

“Besides, it was probably Ray from the beginning! Setting us up to take the fall,” Seth sighs. “Ray, you just have to be honest about your feelings, okay?”

“I don’t need an aphrodisiac to improve my performance—“

“We’re not talking about your performance!”

The Black Army officers bicker like children until lunch is over.

-

You hear a knock on your door later that day, and in comes Sirius, with a glass of water… and the empty bottle of the aphrodisiac.

You already look pretty silly enough in the turtleneck Ray made you wear under your usual clothes, but you look doubly silly now, sitting on your bedside with a look of bewilderment.

And also mild amusement.

Sirius sighs. “Look, he missed you so much, I had to make sure he could get it all out of his system as quickly as possible. I needed him back on his work. I’m sorry if he went too hard on you, little miss.” Sirius hands you the glass of water and a small white pill. “Here’s a painkiller.”

Ah, you think to yourself. Sirius really is the best.

Your skirt hung over the chair with your underwear, but your shirt was nowhere to be found. And to add to all this, it was Sunday, meaning it was laundry day, and if Isaac had accidentally placed your shirt in his clothesbasket, thinking it was his, before he left in the morning, that means Sebastian probably already—(you peeked out the door to see if the basket is there, praying, praying, praying, but damn, it’s not there anymore!)—brought it downstairs in his washing queue.

You take one last desperate peek underneath the bed, to no avail.

Well. No shirt.

You slump to the floor.

While you can’t exactly stay here forever, you can’t leave this room naked either. You check the clock. 6:25. You should be starting on breakfast by now; it’s a time-consuming feat to cook for a full mansion. 

Your eyes turn towards the cabinet in the corner of the room.

Well… it wouldn’t hurt to borrow a shirt would it? Plus if you find time during the day you can just sneak back to your room and change into yours. Then when it’s laundry day again, you can wash Isaac’s shirt, then return it back to him, like nothing happened.

Yup. Yup. Good idea. You open it and take the first button-down you see. Off-white, a creamy hue, something that suited Isaac’s skin. But it was definitely not your usual white ones, and you knew it would stand out. Alas. It wasn’t like you had a choice. You couldn’t exactly run off to your room naked, and it was quite a trek to go there. Who knows who you’ll meet in the hallway. Comforting yourself with the idea that this is all you can do, you slide your arms through the sleeves, sniffing what’s left of Isaac’s scent on the collar.

Gingerly, you tuck it underneath your skirt and check yourself in the mirror. Not that unusual, actually. It doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb, at least. It looks… normal. A button-down with your skirt. Just a normal outfit. But the shirt is obviously not yours, the shoulders too wide, the buttons too far apart, and it’s too long.

But it’ll do.

You tidy your hair to a practical, acceptable affair, checking the shirt twice over. You feel the jitters, but decide, hey, it’s just a shirt, it wasn’t like you were doing something scandalous. I think. You decide you’re good to go. You take a deep breath before opening the door, and rather hurriedly, get on with the rest of your chores.

Theo nods to you on his way out of the mansion (so early… you wonder if he ate), unable to spare more than that, so you get no reaction from him. Safe.

When you emerge from the kitchen with pancakes and eggs, Mozart is there. You try not to pay attention to him, but you feel him giving you a thorough up and down. (You wonder if he can see the bite mark on the corner of your neck and your shoulder.) He doesn’t say anything though, so that’s safe again.

When Jean sees you in the hallway, he instantly turns pink. You do too, but duck away before he can say anything substantial. That’s… a safe too, right?

Running downstairs, when Sebastian sees you, he only coughs, but doesn’t bring it up. That’s a safe for sure.

Le Comte, spotting you in the halls, only gives you that mysterious smile. Well, so long as he doesn't ask you about it. Safe.

When Vincent approaches to help you with hanging the clothes, he smiles like the sun and asks you if it’s a new shirt, because it suited you. Well… he’s not wrong, but you don’t have the courage to correct him. So safe again.  

Arthur is really the only one who brings it up, (“Watcha doing in an Englishman’s shirt, little bird?”) and you’re torn between admitting the truth (and therefore telling him that you were busy with Isaac the night before) and just straight up lying (which is equally embarrassing, because the only lie you have on you is “I wanted to”)—so you settle with just shoving him away rather awkwardly. He laughs, and since that’s apparently enough of an answer for him, you quickly run away before he insists. Safe-ish.

It felt like forever, but in truth, after the second hour with the shirt on, you had hardly noticed it anymore. There was just so much to do, as with all Sundays: it was laundry day; and then you had to change all the beds with fresh sheets; and then you had to take down the curtains as well; and then you headed out to town to pick up some groceries for dinner. Before you’d even noticed it, it was already nighttime, and you were laying down utensils on the table, humming quietly.

“Good evening.”

The sound of Napoleon’s voice guides your gaze to him. You turn with a smile. Isaac's not yet there, but he should be only a few steps behind. “Welcome home! Long day with the kids?”

Napoleon pauses for a millisecond, but then he smiles back at you. “Somehow Isaac kept them entertained longer than I did, which I’m a little envious about.”

That makes you beam. You give yourself a few seconds to imagine Isaac explaining some science concepts excitedly to a welcoming audience. “Nice to hear. Take a seat, we’re just about to get dinner out. It’s roasted duck—Sebastian always prepares it so well.”

You settle back into the kitchen, tell Sebastian that Napoleon and Isaac are home, before taking the plates and setting them onto the table. When you catch Isaac’s gaze, you smile at him and mouth a “hello”. Which is normal, except this time he only turns away from you, mumbling something.

You don’t catch it, but if you did, you would have seen him say what the hell does she think she is doing?

Dinner goes on without much event. The residents are excitedly piping about Sebastian’s cooking skills again, and soon the plates are empty and stomachs are full. You stand up from your seat to begin helping clean up, but instead you feel a hand around your wrist tugging rather strongly.

You turn to see Isaac, but he’s facing Sebastian, to whom he says, “Can I leave this with you?”

Sebastian nods, and then Isaac turns, pulling you with him.

“Hey, let go, I can walk—” he only walks faster. “Isaac!”

He faces you, and then you see it. His eyes are on fire. They’re dark rosy pearls swirling with something overwhelming. It sends a flush down your entire body, goosebumps rising behind your neck. If you weren’t prey then, you were now. Isaac does let go of your wrist, but only to slide his fingers to interlock with yours.

You quickly realize he’s headed straight to his room, and when you get there, he tugs at you strongly enough for the both of you collapse to his bed with a thud. He presses his face against the crook of your neck and sighs.

“You… are completely oblivious,” he whispers there, and his breath tickles. Another wave of heat runs through you. Desire drips onto his tone. “Do you know how ravishing you look right now, in that?”

Oh.

He traces kisses down your shoulder and neck, making his way to your collarbone, one hand up your skirt and another popping open one button, two, to reveal more of your now-pink flesh.

“You threw my shirt into the laundry,” you say, accusatorily, but it doesn’t have the effect you intend as you’re already breathless. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Looks good on you,” he hums, canine scraping against thin skin. “Maybe I should do that more often.”

“Isaac!” He doesn’t answer, just sucks a kissmark into your skin. He pulls away just far enough to tug you by the collar, stealing a kiss from your lips. His mouth is warm and it sends a flutter of butterflies into your stomach. It fills you with a golden kind of confidence.

You part from him a bit, just for you to tease: “Like what you see?”

He answers with a moan into another bruising kiss; you open your mouth to let his tongue in. He grabs a fistful of your hair, pushing you against him. You wrap one arm over his shoulder, other hand helping his own in untying the knot holding up your skirt. You pull away when it loosens, enough to shimmy off of it, but Isaac doesn’t let you go too long as he takes another open-mouthed kiss. He slides his free hand under your, well, his shirt, cupping the round of a warm breast. You fall forward to his touch, and Isaac slowly lowers you against the bed until you’re flush against him.

“Want to fuck you with that shirt on,” he says, and his voice is half-pleading, you can hear it.

You press a hand against his chest in an effort to push away. “Wait wait wait wait,” you say, flushed. “We can’t—we just ate, I don’t think we sh—”

“And?” Isaac looks up at you, his eyes twin pools of need. “I’m still hungry.”

He presses a mark into your other collarbone, and it leaves you shuddering. You arch up against him, and then he’s holding you up with one hand as the other is snaking its way to the center of your thighs, tugging off your underwear. You try to keep your legs closed, but you are no match to his vampiric strength as he keeps them open, in full display for his eyes only.

Isaac tucks his arms underneath your legs, keeping them locked into place. You watch him disappear in between your thighs and it takes all your self-control not to just push him forward with your hand holding his hair tightly in your fist.

He lifts his mouth gently to you, tongue leaving a heated stripe along your slit. You shiver and shake with the sensation, but Isaac makes no move to let you go. Cool air brushes your burning flesh as he licks you open, his tongue tracing every inch of your delicate folds. He kisses your folds hotly, presses his mouth as close to you as possible, prodding and teasing and then breaking away, tongue snaking around your clit and teasing the bud until you’re nothing but a mess of tremors and the oncoming of sweet release.

You feel a finger prodding at your entrance, gently coaxing dampness out of you. You sigh and shudder with every in and out, the feeling amplified with every sweet suckle of your sensitive clit, scraping lightly against teeth, the suction of his mouth. Soon there are two fingers, and you try not to buck up his face too hard, but there’s no stopping the sway of your hips.

“Isaac—I’m going to—” you hold your breath as you feel yourself toppling over. You rise, half-seated, fist in his hair, body cold and hot at the same time as fire burns through your nerves, and with your eyes squeezed shut and all your body seemingly spasming into full pleasure, all that you get to say is a long, breathless “Fuuuuuuck.”

When your eyes flutter open, Isaac’s just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes seemingly burning every inch of you into his memory: the crumpled shirt revealing patches of skin, your legs splayed open, your flushed cheeks, messy hair, the drool on the side of your mouth, the sweat turning the shirt near translucent.

And then, like it just hit him, Isaac’s cheeks turn into a beautiful apple red and you know it’s mirrored in your own face too.

Rising from his knees, he hides once again into the crook of your neck, the flush of his cheeks concealed by the fluff of your hair. There’s no hiding the red on the tips of his ears though. You press a kiss to his temple and let him hold you like that in bed, all sticky yet sweet in all the right ways.

“You should do this more often,” he mumbles.

“Steal your clothes?” you say, playfully.

He teases a fang against your neck, just enough of a threat to shush you. “Don’t taunt me,” he says, sounding drunk with lust. “I’m not yet done with you.”

And as he pulls you up into an easier, well, fucking position, you think, if this is what you get for wearing a shirt that it isn’t yours. Maybe it’s something you should do more.

When the two of you started dating officially, after a bursting announcement to the Black Army so Seth-like and yet so unexpected, every single person in the headquarters began to witness just how possessive Seth could be if he wanted to. He would constantly talk to you, and about you. Whenever you were together, he had a hand on your waist. When he sat or stood further away from you, he was constantly turning to your direction. When you went out with him for patrols, you always sat with him on his horse or walked next to him with your hands interlocked. As much as Seth could humanly do, you were inseparable.

But that was what people saw on the outside. Alone with Seth, behind closed doors, it was as if he was a completely different person. He was no benevolent, kind, ever-gleeful older sister when you were alone. In fact, he was the complete opposite: ravenous, demanding, the sweet kind of cruel that made you beg him for more. It didn’t take you long to realize that Seth had a hungry mouth, craving hands, always claiming whatever space he could make his own.

(You let him, of course.)

Now, no matter how high you wore your collars, the marks were always there. In a range of colors too, betraying the timeframe when they’d been put on your body. Purple. Red. Sometimes they were kissmarks. Sometimes they were bite marks. Love pressed into bruises against sensitive skin. The contour of his teeth against your neck. (Just the memory of it made you shudder.)

One morning, you feel the press of his nimble fingers on your forehead, smoothing out the creases that have formed there on account of you thinking so hard. You take a deep breath and look up at your ever-unrelenting boyfriend.

This shouldn’t be legal. He can’t look so beautiful like that, with his soft brown eyes and his bright blue hair, talking like the nicest older sister you can ever meet, and then also be able to fuck the lights out of you, leave marks everywhere he can.

“It doesn’t suit you to look so gloomy in the morning, Alice,” he sing-songs, presses a kiss on your now-smooth forehead.

You only pout. “How am I supposed to hide these?” you ask, holding your hair up so that the entirety of your problem is visible: a beautiful violet field of love’s flowers, each one planted with shuddering kisses, his unsaid you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine alone.

Remorselessly, he presses his lips against your ear and says: “Well, you don’t need to hide them.”

-

(collarbone.)

“What if we get caught?”

Pressed up against the hallway wall; just another Monday morning for Alice. Your blouse is pulled open at the chest, chest spilling out from above your corset, your skirt hiked up to the thigh. Seth’s wet mouth is pressing kisses down your shoulders, one hand holding you up and the other around a warm breast, and he has a knee lodged firmly in between your legs. You’re trying—trying—to be subtle in grinding against it.

The sounds of the Black Army soldiers training outside audible through a window.

Half of your brain is thinking of the worst: of Sirius finally getting tired of waiting for Seth to come out (at this point your boyfriend is at least 20 minutes late for training, his hands busy with you instead of daggers). The Queen of Spades, storming into the headquarters to find the two of you in that… interesting position. You think of the flush that he’ll see on your skin, the exposed parts of you that only Seth usually gets to see. Of the glint that’ll be on Seth’s face when he turns to Sirius, the pure ownership, the wordless “hands and eyes off of what is mine.” Of how Seth would grind even harder against you, to get you to make a sound, a moan that would embarrass you but also light a burning flame, and—

The sting of the bruise Seth is kissing right underneath your collarbone brings you back to reality. Your mind is still fuzzy from your little daydream, your heart thumping so hard against your chest you know someone can probably hear it from outside.

But Seth is Seth and you know Seth, and that half of you probably isn’t on the wrong track when he says:

“If we get caught, my dear Alice?” he presses his lips against the fresh kissmark blooming on your skin. “Then we’ll give them a show.”

-

(thigh.)

“Seth!”

“Shh, Alice.”

Seth kisses your leg as he finishes tying your ankle against the foot of the chair. You know there’s no use, but you gently tug and struggle against the kerchiefs holding you in place. You close your hands into your fists, feeling the fabric dig against your skin, try to move your feet.

You’re secure. There’s nowhere you can go, no way you can get away from the voracious monster waiting in front of you.

Not like you’re looking for escape.

Knowing Seth likes to watch you, his eyes stuck to your skin like glued, you arch your back, jutting your torso forward. You’re dressed in nothing but a pale pink nightgown, more lace than satin, something Seth picked out for you. You can’t feel his touch—not yet—but you know he’s watching. You bite your lip.

Times like this, you want to see the expression he’s making, want to see on his face just what you do to him, to maybe prove to yourself that you have as much an effect on him as he does to you. But tucked behind the darkness of the blindfold tied snugly around your head, all you can do is imagine.

You wonder if he looks predatory yet.

His breath begins to trace your neck, down your right ear, following your jaw. It makes you shiver, sigh his name softly under your breath. He’s only moved away a little bit when you groan impatiently, so he returns and nips your ear, swipes his tongue along the bite. “Don’t be too loud, Alice.” You hear him walk around you. He pushes your head up with a thumb. Without the blindfold, you would be eye-to-eye. Just the idea of eye contact makes you weak. “Unless… you want me to gag you. You seem to like that.”

His hand makes its way up to your face; every where your skin touches feels electric, burning. You want him everywhere. When his thumb brushes against your lower lip, you dart your tongue out to press a wet kiss on his finger. He forces your mouth open and you shudder.

“Hungry already?”

You think of the implications. How you’d love to be his little doll, your hair into the curl of his fist, tugging strongly with every thrust, his voice dipping into baritone as he croons out your name with every suck, every slurp—

But that’s not what you want right now, and you tell him that. “No, Seth, I want a kiss, please,” you beg.

There’s no man out there who will be able to resist you when you ask so nicely like that, he told you once, and you’re happy that’s true as he complies, his mouth warm and caramel and all you can ask for. Seth has been an excellent kisser from the start, just the right amount of lip and tongue and teeth, cradling your head, making you dizzy. You don’t see it, but when you part, a string of saliva links the both of you for a moment.

Another thing he told you is that he loves your kissed-out face. You’re sure that’s the look you have on because you hear his pleased chuckle.

“I think I’m ready for dessert.”

You feel his hands hold your knees apart, as he crouches in front of you expectantly. You’re pliant to his touch, and Seth begins to pepper innumerable kisses to your inner thighs, up and down except to that very place you want him the most. When you finally can’t bear it anymore and plead—“Seth, please”—his mouth chooses a spot and he kisses, sucks hard, making sure to leave his mark. You can’t see it yet, but you’re sure: it’s angry, red, stinging but also welcomed; the bruise stands out from the smooth skin of your thigh.

“If I mark you in a place they won’t easily see, you’ll let me leave as much as I want, won’t you?”

You flush. You’d brought it up again recently, and you didn’t think he would retaliate like this. But before you could voice any objection his hand begins to slip properly between your thighs, and you sigh your gentle “yes” as you push your hips toward him.

Seth hums in delight. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

-

(wrist.)

Seth has always seen himself as a monster. A “beautiful beast”, you had once called him, but never has he seen himself as anything more than the pain and the dirt he has mucked through to get where he is now.

But you saw something more than what he saw. When he asked you if you would fall with him to hell, you said you would take him out of there with you. You are the brightest thing he has ever seen. And most days, he wonders what he’s done in this life or a past life to deserve this, or maybe what painful thing he will have to go through later on, to be able to experience a love, a joy like this.

This morning, he wakes up before you, and the sunlight streaming in through the window shines like a halo around your naked form, curled in bed next to him, half-covered by sheets. An angel, he softly thinks, as he takes your hands from underneath the sheets.

Your hands, which cleaned and dressed his wounds.

Your hands, which held him whenever he was afraid.

Your hands, which took the chains and locks of his heart and broke them open.

Your hands, which let him in.

He lifts your hand to his lips, kisses your knuckles, says your name against the skin of your wrist like a prayer, asking the universe, let me have her, let her be the one thing I ask for, let her be the one thing I can call my own. He sinks his teeth into your wrist, sucking a mark into it, the only way he knows to claim.

“Again?” you whisper, still hoarse and half-asleep, lifting your bruised hand to brush against his cheek. He smiles like something in him has melted.

“Always,” he says. Seth shifts so that he holds you in his arms, and you press your face into the crook of his neck, relishing in his warmth.

Seth knows that the damned can never have what they want in the end. So the least he can promise you is everything, all he can give, before there’s nothing left but to leave. He whispers into your hair, “I’ll love you until my time is up.” He tightens the embrace, and you reciprocate.

You sigh into his skin. These monsters are familiar and maybe they will always be shadowing the both of you. But you will also be there, and that’s all that matters. You promise, “I’ll love you until we’re both born again.”

“And then after that, I promise, I’ll love you again, and again, and again.”

Devil, or demon, or beautiful beast, Seth will be anything for you. Everything for you. Even the most monstrous of things. And he will love you as ferociously as he can, for as long as the universe permits.

.

.

.

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ii.

“Wait, what?”

“Nothing~” Seth says with a small grin, and he’d even throw a peace sign if he wasn’t holding the oven door open. He hums a happy little tune as he turns to face the slowly-becoming-very-confused Jack of Spades, who was busy mixing sauce for some pasta. “Don’t mind me.”

“Seth, you are very hard to not mind,” Fenrir says from where he’s leaning on the kitchen counter.

“Excuse me?”

“No fighting,” Sirius says over the both of them, taking out the warm batch of muffins from the oven. Seth huffs. “And hands off the muffins, Ray.”

Ray frowns as he withdraws his hand that was only mere centimeters away from picking up a piping-hot muffin. Luka stirs the pot one more time before covering it, and then turning back to the rest of the black army’s officers, who were unusually gathered in the kitchen with him. 

“I don’t think I’m the best person to stay behind and cheer her up,” he says. 

Seth’s plan was simple: get Luka and Alice together on their own with no one to disturb them, and give them a little push to finally admit their feelings for one another. He’d done what he could with Alice, and now he was doing what he could with Luka. 

The cover story was that Seth and Fenrir were supposed to take you out with them to the center because you “haven’t been feeling well lately.” However—and this part is true, just blown to a larger proportion—they had received, just on that very morning, what a shame, several reports of attempted robberies around the outskirts, so now everyone has to go out and patrol. 

Except, of course, as if by fate, Luka’s unit, who was supposed to keep headquarters safe.

Fenrir nudges Luka with his shoulder and ruffles his hair. “Nah, ya got this.”

“You’ll just need to serve her some dinner, talk to her a little,” Sirius says. “Ray and Fenrir already cleared out the meeting room and prepared a table.”

“Don’t forget the candlelights,” Seth notes. “They’re very relaxing, and kind of gives it an ‘oomph’ factor doesn’t it? We even went shopping for new clothes~ It’s aaaaaall about making Alice feel better.”

“You’re the most angel-like out of all of us,” Ray attests. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“You better be ready though, Alice being Alice, she’s going to be really—” Seth does Luka an up and down—”very hungry.”

Luka doesn’t respond, only mumbles to himself, “Serve her some dinner, talk to her a little,” turning back to the pot of spaghetti sauce he was cooking. Seemed simple, maybe he really was overthinking it. 

But he still didn’t get it. What did Seth mean when he warned him to be ready for the unthinkable?

iv.

The words I love you hung in the air like paper lanterns hovering over an open sea. 

You didn’t expect to get here. You did what Seth told you: put on the lovely purple dress you got the other day with him, match it with those beautiful gold dangling earrings, and just relax. He had done your hair in neat braids before he left for patrol, and even complimented your pretty, but simple makeup. 

He said: “Luka will be ready, just slowly pry him open.” You didn’t know what you meant, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious.

Over the many courses of dinner, Luka entertained you with a variety of different conversation pieces. He started with Chutney, for some reason, and then you transitioned to talking about cooking, and then life in the Black Army.

Food was eaten. The magicked wine bottle was slowly being emptied. You started to feel a little more loose around the edges. Luka asks you how you’re doing, now that you’re part of the Black Army: like really part now, family more than guest. You don’t know if it’s the alcohol, the magic, or Luka himself, but the words are slowly drawn out of you. You talk about Ray and Fenrir like they’re your brothers. Seth, the best friend who always has your back. Sirius, like some sort of mother-father combo that’s always looking out for you. Luka agrees on all your points, interjecting with his own little thoughts, his own anecdotes. 

“But I always feel safest with you, you know?” you say, swishing your glass. “You always make me feel warm and content, and I like that feeling a lot.”

And that’s when he finally asks if you’re flirting with him.

That was thirty seconds ago.

Now, there was a weird kind of silence that enveloped the both of you—one that was contemplative and quiet and at the same time awkward and jittery. You drink whatever’s left in your glass hoping whatever courage is left in there makes it out your mouth, to rescue this failed attempt of a romantic dinner with the boy you loved. 

“Do you mind that?” you ask, slowly, scared of every word. “Do you mind that I’m flirting with you? That I… I have feelings for you?”

“No,” Luka says, breathless. “It’s just, I don’t know… what happens next.”

“I have an idea,” you say, grinning. “Let me show you.”

i.

“I don’t think there’s anything more for me to do,” you sigh over tea. You put down the teacup on its plate and press your hands over each other on your lap. “I don’t want to force him to do anything, but I want him to have some sort of reaction anyway. He acts like he doesn’t know.”

“He probably doesn’t,” Seth sadly agrees, to which your pout deepens. “But it’s no fault of your own, Alice. You know how Luka is.”

“I just wish there was something that could… make it more obvious to him, you know? Something I could do, like magic.” 

It’s like a lightbulb was set off in Seth’s head. “And Cradle’s the best place to ask for that! I have just what you need.” He pulls out a little bottle in his pocket, filled with a shimmering golden liquid. It’s innocuously just labeled Liquid Courage. He hands it to you. “Nothing a little bit of magic won’t fix.”

“Liquid Courage?” you look at it doubtfully. “What does this do?”

Seth takes his time sipping his tea, contemplating what to say. He got the bottle from a shopkeeper the other day, only because they kept insisting that he take it, as “an army man might find it handy for interrogations.” He hadn’t really thought about if it actually had magical properties, but this alchemist man was really famous around town, and sometimes a little bit of brain-magic just does the trick. 

“Well, in theory, you put it in your drink, you put it in his drink, and then you get honest with each other,” he tries to explain, rather simply. “It doesn’t mess with your head, really, so it’s not like you’re getting him intoxicated and forcing him to like you. It works closer to a truth serum.”

You’re about to reject it when you look out the garden and see Luka talking to some of his troops, his eyes golden and setting off a warmth through you. You surrender and sigh. “Are you sure about this, Seth?”

“Have I ever failed you, my Dear Alice? Besides, don’t worry, I’ll make sure Luka’s is ready for you before you begin—”

v.

And now you’re here. In the Black Army Headquarters meeting room, lit by candlelight, food half-finished, on your knees, looking up at Luka with half-lidded eyes. 

You ask for permission. You mouth: please?

Luka’s face is red as roses, but his eyes are dark, the way that makes you shiver. He covers his face with a hand as he nods. You brace yourself, pull down the zipper of his pants with your teeth. 

This is what Seth meant with ‘hungry.’

You hear him hold back a groan through bit lip.

You’ve loved Luka for a long time, you just didn’t know how you were supposed to let him know. You never really thought he saw you as anything more than the Black Army’s special guest, the “Alice” that kept the nation of Cradle on a temporary (hopefully forever) truce. But maybe tonight you could show him how much you worship the ground he walks in. How much he really means to you. 

You still taste liquid courage in your mouth. You make a mental note to thank Seth later.

The sound of his voice brings you back to the surface. “Al...ice…” you cradle the weight of him in your hands, slowly pumping him into half-mast. You squeeze, and let go, watching his face shift expressions and contort. The hand he used earlier to cover his face is now curled against the chair, squeezing so hard his knuckles are white. You watch, mesmerized, as he slowly unravels, from shy, to pleasured, and you just want him to just break—

You press a rather chaste kiss at the head of his cock before you let your tongue out, swirling around his head with gentle suction. Luka lets out a shuddering moan you feel through your bones. He likes what you’re doing. You like what this is doing to him. You could probably make love with him forever. 

You take him into your mouth slowly, back and forth, inch by inch; the rest that you haven’t reached kept warm by your soft hands. You sigh with every further bit of intrusion, squeezing with your tongue, keeping him in place. You can feel him tensing up, trying not to just fuck your throat (not that you’d mind.) Instead, you bob your head up and down, a wet, sloppy kiss that leaves him breathless.

That’s when you feel his hands finally make their way to your hair, and the way he tugs at it just enough for you to push forward to take him all the way to the hilt. You feel the tip of him touch the back of your throat and you choke out a moan.

That makes him panic. He pulls back so quickly, his cock out of your mouth so fast you suddenly felt empty at the loss of warmth. 

“Sorry!” is what he says, but you’re quick to stand up and press a kiss on his mouth to shush him (you wonder if he can taste himself on it).

“No, Luka,” you say, enunciating each syllable, “I want this. Don’t hold back.”

You slink back to your place on the floor, and this time Luka’s hold on your hair is less helplessly and more of purposefully. You take it even slower this time, wanting to enjoy every second Luka lets you be with him like this. You lick a stripe from his balls up to the head before slowly sinking back down, tongue curling over every sensitive spot. You can feel the dangling earrings swishing back and forth as you set a steady pace up and down Luka’s already-twitching cock, your hands pumping where your tongue can’t reach. 

Luka steels his nerves and looks down at you. His voice is trembling but his eyes are full of desire when he says, “I thought this was only something I would have in my dreams.”

You moan at his admission of fantasizing, and Luka gets louder and louder with every thrust into your mouth’s maddening heat. His free hand is caught in between his teeth; he’s biting so hard for sure it will either leave a mark or bleed. But his voice still escapes, little sighs and choked-out moans that have you wanting more of him, hopefully to have again for later.

So you decide you’re going to make him feel so good, he’s going to ask for seconds. Gently, maintaining your pace, you make your way further down his cock until the head is grazing the back of your throat; tears form at the corner of your eyes as you begin to gag, but the sounds Luka is making is a symphony that makes the pain no big deal at all.

“Alice!” Luka shouts desperately, “I’m going to—I’m going to—”

Then give it to me, is what you’d say, if you weren’t stuffed to the throat with him. So you answer in kind instead, mustering a swallow or two constricting the tip of him, hollowing out your cheeks, just enough for him to reach his end. Luka breathes deeply through his mouth as you slowly extract him out from between your lips with a resounding pop.

Luka’s eyes are dazed, bleary, but deep gold; he looks down at you as he is riding out the high. When your eyes meet, you smile as innocently as you can before opening your mouth, revealing your tongue still coated with the white of his own cum. You hear his first curse of the night—a soft fuck—as you keep eye contact when you put it back in your mouth to swallow.

You smooth your tousled hair (long out of its beautiful braids) and smooth your skirt as you stand up, like a lady far more proper than you just were. You even say, “Thank you for the meal.”

vi.

The next day, as the Black Army gathered in the mess hall for breakfast, you slip a small plate with a heart-shaped scrambled egg next to Seth. It says “Success! Thanks BFF ;)” written with catsup on it.

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