Alethius Swanborn

when real people do kink in real life, you gotta do all that good out-of-scene stuff like discuss boundaries, set limits and expectations, check in with each other, do aftercare, et cetera et cetera et cetera... but in fiction, everything can be in-scene!

the people in that fanfic don't exist any more than, like, the make-believe sexy football star and make-believe sexy cheerleader in a couple's roleplay exist. that couple doesn't need to get into character and then pretend to be a sexy football star having an important consent conversation with a sexy cheerleader, because that's a conversation that's already happened out-of-scene and out-of-character. (i mean, if you're into in-character negotiations, chase your bliss.) when they're in that scene, they can just pretend to be a sexy football star having sex with a sexy cheerleader. that's okay.

when i say in fiction, everything is in-scene, i mean that the fiction IS the scene.

if someone went up to their partner and said "hey, wouldn't it be sexy if we pretended you were manipulating and controlling me in an unethical way for sex reasons?", and then they talked through all the good and necessary consent and risk-awareness things, and then they played that scene out - that's a made-up scenario where pretend bad things happen, but no real-world people come to real-world harm, right?

now, if someone writes a story where one character manipulates and controls another in an unethical way for sex reasons... that, too, is a made-up scenario where pretend bad things happen, but no real-world people come to real-world harm.

You are the very definition of a trained killer, and yet here you sit, knelt on the stone floor while I circle around and around. You hate when I’m at your back, don’t you? I see the way your muscles tense up as soon as I step behind you.

I know it’s unconscious, but that simply won’t do. Do you not trust me? Your prince?

Here, allow me to approach you from behind. Stay still, now, darling. That’s it, allow my hands to run along these hard earned muscles, each one paid for with blood, sweat, and tears. Let me glide my hand to the front of your throat and lift your head. You could so easily use this war-ready body to overpower me and have your way. I know you want to.

Look at me.

Yes, that look there says you wish to spring from your knees and press me against the nearest surface. But you won’t, and we both know it. You’re too good, too obedient.

One who picks his most arrogant, condescending knight to take it out on. The others are sweet, respectful, far too kind to inflict such cruelty on. But this one? He's earned it.

By the prince's orders they meet after dark, in his private training chambers. The knight arrives wearing casual, easily removed clothes and a smirk. Clearly expecting a different meeting.

The prince rolls his eyes, but plays along. He points the knight to a pair of manacles hanging from a hoop high on the wall. The knight dutifully allows the prince to lock them, eyes filled with anticipation and never leaving his body.

Finally the Prince smiles.

"Tell me, Sir, who is the toughest knight in my court?" The knight answers that it's him, of course. That his perseverance is unmatched among his peers, though fights rarely last long enough to need it. The prince turns towards his weapon rack, and traces his white gloved fingers over his selection of swords, spears, and bows. They stop at a beautiful silver dagger, and wrap around its jeweled handle.

"Is that so?" He turns around slowly, dagger resting softly in his palm.