Twisted Me

You were flustered. How could that stupid raven put you on the spot like this! “We do have a lot of empty rooms…” You reluctantly agreed with a shallow nod of your head, “but…”

Deuce was equally as flustered but he was quick to back you up, “Th-this is still really sudden… I’m sure they would feel weird having to host all of us, right?” He gave you a shaky smile and you were quick to return it. 

Ace was quick to the draw as well, “Yeaaah,” he dragged out his words, hands returning to his pockets, “I'm suddenly getting a powerful urge to drop out.”

Kalim on the other hand, unable or maybe even unwilling to read the room, seemed eager at the idea, a wide smile forming on his face, “I think a mixed dorm training camp sounds like a blast!” To prove his excitement, Kalim pulled on your shoulder and wrapped you up in a firm side hug, his side pressing firmly against your own. You felt your body freeze as his fingers gripped your thin sweater. You let out a strangled wheeze. Too close! Too close! He was way too close!

Grim was much more focused on the idea of being forced to share his space with a bunch of strangers, “Hold your horses, Crowley!” He huffed, a puff of smoke leaving his gritted teeth, “If we ain't in the ensemble, why should we contribute to this at all?” He folded his arms against his chest, “I don't want anything to do with it!”

“Should our team win first place, Rook and I will donate our shares of the prize to Ramshackle Dorm.” All eyes turned towards Vil but his gaze was low, focused more on his nails than on the crowd before him, “It is a pittance to me—hardly worth the time it would take to enter it into my ledger.” 

Rook agreed with a bobbing of his head, “It's only fitting to provide proper compensation to those contributing to Vil's cause!”

Your eyes widened. Wait. You looked down at your hands and counted, fingers shaking. Grim followed, counting on his paws with a speed you wouldn't expect from him. Your voice was thick with nerves as you quietly tried to confirm, “Wait, if the prize money is split seven ways and we get two, that's—” you gulped, “that’s 14,200 thaumarks…”

Grim stiffened before practically leaping with joy, “That... That could buy me way more than four thousand cans of tuna! Ah, but…” He glanced down at you, and lowered himself down to a whisper, “What’s your take on this?” Grim’s paw dug into your worn cardigan, the weight familiar and calming.

Even if Grim was excited at the opportunity, he was still worried about you and your secret… How kind. You reached up and slid his paw into your hand and gave it a firm squeeze before turning towards the Pomefiore housewarden with a determined smile, “Alright. We’ll do it.”

This is Hell.

Not only did you have to share your living space with seven stressed out and emotional teenage boys, but hiding the truth behind your gender just got even more difficult. Washing your clothes became near impossible because whenever Vil rounded up the boys for practice, you were dragged alongside them as their forcibly appointed manager. At least you didn’t have to participate, you don’t think your poorly bound chest would allow you to. 

“You're completely off-base, Spudling Two.” 

Deuce turned and looked around before pointing at himself, “Is Spudling Two...me?” 

Vil clicked his tongue, a hand pressed against his cheek, “Who else could I be talking about?”

You watched from the sidelines with the remote to the stereo in your hand and tried to keep yourself from spacing out. You had a sudden and new appreciation for all those idol groups that were popular back in your world. You couldn’t imagine their routine was much different then this with how hard Vil was pushing. Taking a sip of your water bottle, you could feel yourself sag. They’ve been at this for nearly two hours. Silently, you wondered if the 14,200 thaumarks was even worth it anymore. 

“I don't...want to do these.” 

This was the first time you had heard the violet haired boy speak up since this all started and you could feel yourself leaning closer. Vil had turned as well but where you had looked on in curiosity, the housewarden had a much different look on his face.

Epel’s tone might have been quiet and demure but you could tell by the rough way he was pulling at the hem of his shirt that he was furious, maybe even embarrassed. His nails were digging into the fabric and you could almost see him trembling in barely contained rage, “I’m a boy… all these girly twisting motions… I don’t want to do them.”

The room went silent, the only sound being that of your water bottle choosing the awkward time to crinkle and crack. 

“I'm sorry,” The tone in which Vil spoke was so icy you nearly felt like you needed to fall on your knees and beg for forgiveness yourself, “what was that?”

You might not have known Vil for very long but you could plainly see from the way he was glaring at his prized freshman like an angry mother that his choice of words had struck a very fine nerve. Everyone watched with bated breath as Vil reached over and firmly tugged on Epel’s ear, pulling him closer “Are you seriously gendering MOVEMENTS?”

Epel reached up and quickly covered his ear, his eyes flashing in rebellion, “I’m a man! I don't wanna move all girly like!”

Ah, so he was one of those guys, huh?

Vil was quick to shut him down with a firm voice, hands on his hips and a tight frown, “When it comes to attire and dance moves, there is no such thing as "for boys" or "for girls.” Gender is not black or white. You do not suddenly become less of a man for being able to take care of yourself and a girl is no less of a woman for choosing to dress masculine if she so desires to do so.”

“But I—” Epel gritted his teeth.

“The whole idea of boys being ashamed of doing effeminate dance moves is so last century.” Vil refused to argue with the boy, instead he let out a sigh and… did he lock eyes with you??? You suddenly felt a little too seen as you ducked back to your seat, ears red. You knew he was just trying to take Epel down a peg but his last words bothered you. Sure, it could’ve been a generic statement, girls could wear whatever they wanted just like he said, but the way he almost immediately started to study you made your skin prick. Your chest tightened, your ribs straining under the tape. You held back a wince while you tried to make yourself comfortable with the growing pressure. It’d be fine. Just a few more hours after the school day and you can rip this duct tape off your chest.

You were startled out of your thoughts by a gloved hand gently grasping your shoulder. 

“Mon cher Trickster, do you mind starting the music once more?” Rook’s eyes narrowed with his smile. There was nothing unfriendly about his attention but it still made your heart leap into your throat. Where did he even come up with that nickname anyways? Quietly, you apologized and started the music over. As the boys got into their positions, you kept needing to readjust yourself while you sat. Maybe if you… would shallow breaths help? You tried to subtly tug at your shirt but the movement just made your ribs hurt even more. It was getting harder to breathe. You needed to take this off. Guess those internet forms were right about binding your chest with stolen duct tape.

With shaking legs, you tried to drag yourself to your feet but the pain pushed back even harder. You couldn’t bite back the squeak of surprise you let out as you clutched at your shirt, fingers already trying to reach for the buttons.

“I can’t – breathe…”

You could see nothing as it all faded to black.

A soft and tender voice woke you up from your dreamless sleep.

“Mon cher Trickster, pardonne moi for this ghastly invasion of your privacy, but I must remove this tape from your chest so you can breathe. I swear on my life, I shan’t look.”

The only thing your body could register was the cold touch of metal against your abdomen and then... snip, snip, snip.

You fell back in to oblivion.

When you had awoken, you found you were able to breathe again. Your chest eagerly swelled with air, your ribs freely expanding. The tape that you had used to substitute to bind your chest had been cut and peeled away and your school shirt had been carefully re-buttoned to cover the exposed skin. You were so tired and grateful you couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. 

“I am ever so pleased that you seem to be in good spirits, mon cher Trickster!” Rook spoke softly from his spot by your bedside, a hand to his chest in apparent relief, “You really gave us all quite the scare.”

You spied the scissors on your bedside table. He must’ve been the one who did all of this.

Rook, noticing your stare, only offered a smile, “As I said before and I must say it again now that you are fully awake, I am deeply sorry for the invasion of your privacy but it had to be done.”

“Did anyone else see?” Was the only question you could find yourself asking.

Rook shook his head, “As soon as I deduced the cause of your fainting spell, Vil and I were quick to shoo off the others. You gave Monsieur Heart and Spade quite the scare when you collapsed and neither seemed very pleased when I ran off with you!” He quirked his head, “I am assuming they know, no?”

You folded your hands in your lap and sighed. So even Vil was aware now. You nodded.

“I see,” Rook took this moment to move, placing himself at your side on the bed, “I hope you learn from this experience, Trickster. You could have easily caused permanent damage to your body the way you were binding.”

“One must care for the body they were given, as it is the only one you will ever have.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to hurt myself, Rook.” Your fingers absent mindedly pressed against your ribs, “I just… I had no other option.”

Rook nodded along with your words but to your surprise, he reached towards you and took your hands in his own. You could feel the heat of his palms through the leather material of his gloves. He was quiet for a moment, simply weighing your hands in his, before squeezing them and smiling.

You both were interrupted by a sharp knock on your door.

“Are they decent?” The muffled voice of Vil came through.

“Ah, yes!” You unintentionally straightened yourself up in bed, “You can come in.”

Vil was silent as he closed the door behind him, “You gave us quite the scare, you know. We had to cancel a day’s worth of practice because of you.” You can tell that while he is annoyed, there’s no real bite to his words. “The boys are not going to be happy when I make them work twice as hard tomorrow so many sure you give them a proper apology.”

As he made his way over to you and stood at your bedside, his eyes lowered to your abdomen and ribs, “I’m assuming the salve I had Rook apply to your wounds is helping?”

Oh! You felt along your sides. He was right, there was no pain! Leave it to Vil to be able to concoct a salve for broken skin and burns like it was nothing.

“While I was busy wrangling the boys, I had Rook be the one that nursed you back to health. You were a horrible sight, by the way. The tape had to be carefully removed otherwise it would have pulled your skin raw, potentially even scarring it. You should be very grateful we were the ones who caught you when this happened.”

Vil sighed and tutted, his arms crossed close to his chest. Even if he tried to play it off, you could tell that your actions had really bothered him. “I care very little how you identify yourself, as everyone enrolled here has a reason to be, but if one is working towards their ideal image, I cannot help but offer my assistance… even if I have to drag them kicking and screaming.” You could sense the subtle jab there about a certain apple but you chose not to comment.

Rook smiles and pressed a hand against his chest, his eyes closed in apparent bliss, “What I believe Roi du Poison is trying to say is that, regardless of your status, be you a girl, a boy, or neither, we are all chosen Night Raven College students and we in Pomefiore seek to perfect and appreciate beauty in all of its forms! And if someone outside our dorm is stuck in a situation where they cannot perfect themselves, then it is our responsibility, no– our duty! To help!”

Vil gave him a look but made no effort to disagree. It seemed that despite the rough start, you've made two new powerful allies in protecting your secret.

"So, what," You looked up at the both of them, "You're not going to tell Crowley about this, right?"

This seemed to surprise Rook but Vil simply rolled his eyes, "Of course the Headmage wouldn't know, I can't imagine he would've willingly had offered Ramshackle to me if he knew."

His second in command looked thoughtful for a moment, a finger to his lips, "Mon cher Trickster did indeed have a truly unorthodox arrival!"

"The Carriage must've chosen me for a reason though, right?" You pressed, your fingers digging and wrapping around the blanket covering your lap, "I know that this is an all boys school but I don't want to believe me being here was an accident." You've experienced too much for this all to be some sort of coincidence. There is no way the Carriage simply sent you here by accident, it hadn't done so in the nearly 500 years it's been around and surely the Mirror would have outed you the moment it said you were colorless. Your nails dug in to your palms. You didn't want this to be some sort of fluke.

From his spot beside you, Rook reached over and patted your hand, startling you enough for you to flex your fingers. Your nails left behind tiny crescents carved in to your skin.

"If mon cher Trickster wishes to stay here, regardless of the dangers, then I believe it is only right that we offer our assistance!" He looked up at Vil and grinned, "What say you, my Queen?"

"Rest first," Vil directed, "and once the VDC is completed, we can discuss this further."

"But what about my..." your fingers pressed against your chest.

"I will take care of that. I will supply you with a proper way to bind come morning but until then," Vil gave you a look so icy it made you lie down and tuck yourself back in to bed.

"I will not move from this spot." You silently crossed your heart, not willing to get on Vil's bad side after the heart to heart you three just had.

"Good. Rest."

"Au revoir, mon cher Trickster! See you in the morning!"

Your voice, cracked and hoarse, brought his attention back to you. He sighed, pushing himself away from the wall and ebbing closer until he stood in front of you. Despite your brazenness, you shied away, sinking that much deeper into your corner. He wondered how long you’d stay there. Any more than a few hours, and he might start to worry.

“I’m going to… eat you?”

A sharp inhale, followed quickly by a shaky nod. “I—In my village, they used to say nocturnal fae considered human flesh to be a delicacy,” you managed, in time. Lilia had to bite back a laugh. “I don’t want to be eaten. If you have to kill me, I’d understand, but I don’t want to be—”

“Relax.” It was more of an order than he meant it to be. Instantly, you went rigid, pulling your knees into your chest and staring at him, doe eyed.

With your panic momentarily thrown into paralysis, he took a moment to evaluate you. You really were in bad shape. Fresh bruises and cuts lined your bare arms and legs, and your clothing had been torn, mended, then torn again. You carried no supplies, but judging from the defensive edge to your posture, the extent of your distress, you’d been fending for yourself for quite a while. Most worryingly, you were barefoot. Wandering through unfamiliar terrain, hungry and cold, was unpleasant. Wandering through unfamiliar terrain, hungry and cold and forced out of comfort so suddenly, you didn’t have time to grab even the most obvious of essentials, was significantly more unpleasant.

He cleared his throat, then fell into a crouch, lowering himself to your height. “Why are you in Briar Valley?”

Your answer came quickly, reflexively. “I was lost.”

“Alright, what were you doing when you got lost?”

This time, your response was less easily provided. “.. picking berries?”

Perfect. You didn’t have nerve to meet his eyes, but lying to his face didn’t seem to cause you so much strife.

Surprisingly, you spoke up without prompting, uncurling slightly. “Are you going to let me go?”

Lilia grit his teeth. Letting you go would be a bad idea, not only because it was the dead of winter and travelling just about anywhere in your state was a death sentence. You were fickle, and nervous, and more than a little disoriented, but you were human, too, and he was in sore need of one of those.

“No,” and then, rolling his eyes as you let out another keening whimper, “For two reasons. Firstly, it’s winter, you’re injured, and if I let you go back out there, you’d only get yourself killed. Secondly, I need—”

As if rehearsed, an ear-piercing cry broke through the cottage’s quiet, immediately replacing any semblance of peace with a misery that outmatched yours ten-fold. Lilia, as exhausted as he’d ever been on the battlefield, let his head fall, forcing himself to take a deep breath before soldiering on. “I have a son,” he said, only just managing to speak over the child’s wailing. “You’ll be taking care of him, during your time here.”

In retrospect, he could’ve been nicer about it – less brisk, more accommodating, leaning more towards a suggestion than a command. But, it wasn’t in his nature to ask questions where he could dull out orders, and if the idea of childrearing was as aversive to you as that of admitting where you hailed from, you did a decent job of masking it. If anything, your expression seemed to soften, your eyes darting in the direction of Silver’s nursery. For the first time since he’d found you, you managed to say something half-way rational.

“…can I meet him?”

Lilia considered it. Waiting until tomorrow morning may have been wiser. You’d have a chance to gather yourself, and he could tend to Silver on his own in the meantime, ready the child to meet someone other than Malleus and himself. It was probably the more considerate thing to do, the smarter thing to do, but the wailing grew louder, and your eyes caught the dim moonlight in a way that almost made you seem eager, and with a rasped sigh, he stood to his full height, signaling for you to do the same. “For a minute or so. He ought to be asleep, by now.”

He turned away from you, and without a word, you scrambled to your feet, tripping over yourself to follow after him.

~

Humans were sentimental things.

Strangely so. Inexplicably so. Silver had warmed to him immediately, sure, but he’d been a newborn at the time, willing to love anyone who could coo his name and make lights in pretty colors dance on their fingertips. Adults had fewer excuses. Baur’s new son-in-law was rumored to have fallen in love with his now-wife the first time he laid eyes on her, and you…

You could’ve loved a dried patch of thistle, so long as it needed your help.

Lilia made a habit of watching you, generally speaking, but he made sure to hover a little closer whenever you had Silver in your arms – which you almost always did, these days. It was clear that your experience was limited, but you took to childrearing like a fish took to water; dedicating yourself to tending to Silver’s needs as you would’ve your own flesh and blood. Currently, you were sitting by the fire in an age-old rocking chair, bouncing him on one knee and balancing an open book on the other, doing your best to read out some nonsensical fairytale to an unruly audience of one. Or, two, he supposed. He was catching more of it than he’d like to.

When you got to the part about the princess being woken up from an eternal sleep by true love’s kiss, he cut in. “If those are the kind of stories you’ll be telling the boy, it might be better not to speak to him at all.”

Your fear of him seemed to fade more and more with every passing sunrise. Now, you only responded to his chiding with a chime of a laugh, a quick shake of your head. “Talking to children is important. It doesn’t matter what you say, so long as they hear your voice.” You paused, leaning just a little closer to Silver. “Plus, it means you’re going to love me way more than your dad when you’re older. By then, you’ll already know he’s no fun.”

By way of reply, Silver clapped merrily and curled a tiny first around your sleeve. You shot Lilia a triumphant smirk. “See? He’s already playing favorites.”

Lilia pursed his lips. “He never seemed to mind being along with me.”

“Only because he didn’t know any better. You were trying to nurse him on wine, and—”

“Fruit juice,” he corrected.

“Fermented fruit juice. In other words, wine.” Almost protectively, you gathered Silver in your arms, propping him against your shoulder. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to say his name more, either. You should get into the habit while he’s still too young to remember being called ‘the boy’.”

At that, Lilia turned away entirely, huffing. He knew you were right. He’d known that when he named Silver, when he decided he was fit to raise a child with a face he still saw in his darkest dreams. Still, to love a child unconditionally and to be a father were two very different things. He was currently stumbling through the latter, but accomplishing the former was proving more difficult than he would ever care to admit aloud.

With a sigh, he edged closer to you, perching himself on the arm of your chair. “May I hold him?”

You feigned reluctance, but didn’t put up a fight. Silver was passed from one pair of hands to another, and Lilia held the child in his lap. “Silver,” he muttered, bringing up a hand to pinch his cheek gently. Good-tempered as always, Silver stared at him wide-eyed, as if in anticipation. “My first son was much more durable. Then again, he did have the decency to hatch from an egg.”

“That actually explains a lot about Malleus.” You straightened abruptly, clapping your hands together. “Oh, and we’re running low on powdered milk. You should ask him to pick some up, if he plans on visiting this week.”

 It was Lilia’s turn to laugh, now – not at anything you’d said, but at his own early misconception. He’d been too embarrassed to say anything after your hasty correction, but now, the confession came more easily, more naturally. “Honestly, I thought that’d be less of a problem with you here. I suppose I was under the impression that humans can make their own.”

A beat passed, then another. When he glanced toward you, he found your head bowed, a prominent flush spread over most of your face. It was cute, in a vulnerable sort of way. Lilia took longer than he should’ve to look away. “…some humans can. Only after they’ve had, uh, a child of their own first, though.” You shrugged. “There are a lot of conditions that have to be met before it’s something you really have to worry about, I guess.

“And you haven’t met those conditions, yet?”

Your blush darkened. “No, I haven’t.”

Ah.

On second thought, you weren’t very doe-like after all. Even a deer would’ve had more talent when it came to hiding its expression.

You were quick to divert your attention, pushing yourself to your feet and smoothing over your skirt. “The sun is setting and I’m getting hungry. Could you watch Silver while I start dinner?”

“I was actually thinking I could—”

“I’d rather starve.”

~

Humans were confounding things.

Emotional, irrational, ineffective. Pleasure and comfort were put above survival in almost every circumstance, hierarchy was treated as more of suggestion than a rule, and attachments could be formed to anything your unknowable minds deemed worth pitying. The weather grew warmer, the snowstorms fewer and further between, and yet, the idea of you leaving was never revisited. He wasn’t especially eager to broach the topic either, but Lilia had a good reason to want to keep you nearby, to make sure Silver had another set of eyes to watch over him. The same couldn’t be said for you.

“Mind if I join you?”

He glanced up and, of course, found the source of his misery. The picture was perfect; the set that of his cottage painted in the colors of dusk, the focus you dressed in the simple dress and apron gifted to you by Malleus. There was a low huff, a shallow nod, and you crossed the shallow stream, setting yourself next to him where he kneeled. “Silver just fell asleep,” you explained. “I’d give it a good hour or so before he so much as stirs. That kid could sleep through a war if he wanted to.”

“I think he might’ve,” Lilia muttered. You only laughed, leaning into his side.

“So,” you started, peering into the steam, empty save for the occasional chunk of ice drifting on the current. “What are we looking at?”  

“Lost in thought, that’s all. There won’t be anything worth looking at until Spring.” He sighed. “I suppose you’ll have returned to your proper home, by then.”

To your credit, you only faltered for a fraction of a moment – catching yourself before you let so much as your sweet, simpering smile fall away. A lesser man may not have noticed it, but Lilia was not a lesser man.

“Do you want me to leave?”

No. He’d give an arm and leg to keep you here. He’d let it snow through Spring, Summer and Fall. He’d teach Silver how to cry whenever you so much as thought about a home outside of his cottage. There were few things he wouldn’t do, if it meant you never left.

“I might be old, but I’m not delusional.” He forced himself to chuckle, the loud airy and only somewhat strained. “There’s some place you belong, some place you came from, and I don’t think it’s in this valley. It’d be selfish of me to keep you any longer than you ought to stay.”

He made a point of not looking at you, his gaze focused on the lining the streambed. There was a long exhale, then a hollow thud as you fell back – collapsing to the half-frozen ground. Just barely above a whisper, you admitted, “I like it here, Lilia.”

“Surely there are things from your own world that you miss.”

“Not as many as you’d think.”

“Comforts, then. I’ve heard wonderful things about electricity.”

“I’m plenty comfortable already. More than I ever was back home.”

“There has to be someone you miss, (Y/n).”

He heard the grass rustle as you rolled onto your side. When he stole a glance in your direction, he saw that you’d left your back to him. “Yeah.” And then, after a long moment, “I guess there should be.”

In an act of either sympathy or cowardice, he gave you time, allowed you space. Long seconds passed before you pulled yourself upright, letting your hands fall into your lap with a weary sigh. “I’ll leave on the first day of Spring,” you decided. “Before you forget how to take care of Silver on your own.”

“He’s still my son, you know.”

“Sure.” And just like that, you were back to beaming. This time, Lilia couldn’t stand to tear his eyes away from you.

“But I’m always going to behis favorite.”

~

Humans were softened things.

You, more so than most. Your skin felt like milkweed and velvet where his calloused fingers grazed over it, growing softer the farther up he travelled. There was still a winter chill in the air, but the weather was warming steadily, and at some point during the night, you’d kicked your quilts and blankets to the side, leaving you sheltered by only a cloth sleeping gown with sleeves prone to slipping down your shoulders and a skirt eager to pool around your waist. Any other night, Lilia might’ve rolled his eyes, lit the hearth in your bedroom, and left you to your own devices. Another other night, but not tonight.

It was strange, the way he loved you. He’d loved Maleanor, and a part of him always would, but that’d been different. To love Maleanor had been to love a force of nature; a storm as untouchable as it was destructive. He was never going to have her, and in a certain way, he’d always known that. You were different. You weren’t Maleanor. You weren’t distant, or untouchable, or destructive. He already had you.

All he had to do was make sure you couldn’t get away.

He’d expected there to be more guilt, more resignation. Instead, there was only relief as he propped a knee on the edge of your bed, rested a hand next to your sleeping face, allowed himself to ebb and sway closer to you until he was positioned in the space between your legs, his chest nearly pressing into yours. His gaze never left your expression; panicked and contorted, not completely unlike the face you’d worn when he first brought you home. Poor thing. You were having a nightmare.

Removing your dress came first. You were a fitful sleeper, prone to waking at the slightest disturbance, but he wasn’t green to delicate work. You whimpered as he dragged a pointed talon from your collar to your navel, but didn’t stir, didn’t shift, didn’t do anything that might’ve stopped him from bringing his mouth to your collarbone and pressing a feather-soft kiss into the base of your throat, the curve of your chest, the last blue-ringed bruise you carried from the night you met. A selfish, territorial part of him hoped it would never fade, that you’d always carry a mark connecting back to him. A more optimistic, more reasonable faction reminded him that he could simply make more.

His mouth wandered in time with his thoughts. He was careful, cautious as he curled his hands around your thighs, kneading with as much force as he could risk. You were beautiful in your obedience; spreading your legs reflexively, letting out a soft, breathy noise as Lilia settled into the now-open space. The thin fabric of your panties gave away as easily as your gown had, and Lilia’s patience reached its breaking point. Weary of his fangs, he bowed his head and—

Ah.

Humans were sweet, too.

And reactive. Even unconscious, you responded to each hasty swipe and drag of his tongue with a moan, a whine, a mewl so pitiful and so heartbreaking, the idea of ever letting you travel beyond his sight suddenly seemed irresponsible, cruel, unfair to a creature so delicate, it could hardly stand imagine itself to be unwanted. He sighed, letting his hands drift to your waist as he lapped over your clit, as eager to pleasure you as he was to drink in the fruits of his labor. It wasn’t long before your sleep turned restless, your body shifting underneath him in an attempt to escape unfamiliar stimulation. When he refused to let you go so easily, you reacted on instinct; snapping your thighs shut around his head and drawing out a low, reverberating grown from your willing victim.

More. That was what you must’ve wanted – more. He buried himself that much deeper in his task, nuzzling into the inside of your thigh as his tongue spread you open, curling against the walls of your cunt, seeking out anything sensitive, anything vulnerable, anything to make your hips buck into his mouth and your thighs shake where they were still trapped in his hands. He let his teeth scrape over the tender junctions between your thighs, and when that wasn’t enough, ground the bridge of his nose into your clit. Admittedly, it was messy effort; too hasty for your first time. He was tempted to chide himself for being so overly enthusiastic, but the awareness that this was only the first time of countless was enough of a comfort to spur him on.

It wasn’t long before he felt you tense underneath him, sucking in a harsh breath as your cunt clenched around his tongue. He nursed you through your climax (your first ever climax, he chose to believe) until your little whines had turned to near-pained whimpers, until he could no longer stand to limit himself to simply rutting against cold, lifeless bedding. With one more fleeting kiss to the apex of your hip, he pushed himself onto his knees and took to aligning the leaking head of his cock with your entrance, now dripping with arousal and spit. His gaze fixed on your peaceful expression, he thrust into you, no longer patient enough to be quite so gentle.

It was in a state of unparalleled bliss that the watched your eyes snap open, immediately finding him. Your lips parted, a scream already rising in your throat, but he forced his hand over your mouth before it could surface. It wouldn’t do to wake Silver, not at a time like this.

“Easy, love, easy,” he cooed. Your only response was a wince, a twist, a ragged sob reverberating against his palm. He might’ve been offended, had he not been able to feel you growing warmer, growing tighter around his length. “I apologize if there’s any pain. Can you try and relax for me?”

Apparently not. Your hands found their way to his chest, clawing frantically thought the thin material of his tunic. You tried to move his legs, too, but he was quick to put a stop to that, leaning his weight against you and pinning you to the bed. A bit selfishly, he took the opportunity to press his chest to yours, his hips to yours, to root himself that much deeper into you. It was paradise, the way you clung to him. He could only wonder why he didn’t realize how precious you were sooner.

“Easy,” he repeated, more breathlessly. “Would you rather I restrain you?”

The clawing stopped immediately. After a moment, he felt you shake your head.

“And you don’t want to end up hurting yourself, now, do you?”

Another shake, this one more trepid than the first.

“Then listen to me.” He rested his chin on your shoulder, careful not to raise his voice. “Make all the noise you want, but don’t scream. I’m not afraid of seeking out more permanent solutions.”

That was enough to get you to stop moving entirely. He held you close for a second, then another, before pulling away. True to your word (or lack thereof), you kept quiet, catching your bottom lip in your teeth and shutting your eyes so tightly, he could almost believe you no longer cared to look at him. With an airy laugh, he rested a hand next to your head and started to move.

It was your first time. It had to be. If you’d had any experience at all, you wouldn’t have responded to every slow, sentimental thrust with such adorable squeaking, wouldn’t have clung to the sheets with such a heartbreaking desperation. With your compliance ensured, he tried to be delicate, to give you time to adjust, but you made it difficult not to seek out the reactions you seemed so ready to provide. You made it hard not to use more force than he should’ve, not to root himself deeper than he should’ve, not to grind and rut and fuck like some drooling animal, caught up in its own heat. He could tell you were trying to ignore him, but even that had to break, eventually; your hands shooting to his shoulders as he lost his pace, your nails digging into his skin as he found something more substantial, something bordering on rabid. This time, he welcomed your violence. It was the least he could do, to help ground his distraught little love.

“You’re going to stay here.” He didn’t realize he’d meant to say anything aloud until he heard his own voice, low and drawn-out, playing just above your miserable whines and pleasured moans. “You’ll never have to leave. You’ll belong here. You already belong with me.”

“I don’t—”

“You won’t have a choice,” he assured, the comfort in his voice thick and prone to clotting. “Not after tonight.”

He watched horror flash across your expression, then something else, something he couldn’t quite name. It didn’t matter. His lips were already crashing into yours, dragging you into a kiss put off for far, far too long. Light flashed behind his eyes, and some unnamable tether drawn taut inside of him finally snapped. With his hips pressed flush to yours, he stilled and came undone. You followed a moment later, milking him for all he had.

For minutes, it was all he could do to stay trapped there; your warm body pressed into his, your stifled crying the only sound filling the empty space. When he did break from his trance, it was with an airy laugh, a brush of his cheek against yours before he dipped lower, taking shelter in the crook of your neck. Whether or not you could hear him was irrelevant. You’d have plenty of time to listen, from now on.