[ surprisingly, saber doesn’t flinch at the evidence she’s done this before (or the marks of the beast that killed her, cut from between her breasts to the raised ridge of her collarbone, split across her torso, where it rended her open). and he answers correctly. no, rightly, honouring her station and inclinations both, though he’s only beginning to learn of the latter.
as a reward, she allows him to remove her mask, breath hitching at the reveal. like a veil, lifted before a husband younger and more deserving than the one that was forced upon her. she sees him more clearly without it (or simply more vividly, a wonder of flushed skin and firm muscle). she tilts her chin up in defiance, even as her eyes fix upon his pink mouth, thinking of how it might feel against her throat (a leftover fixation from her time as a vampire, or—) undaunted, she flutters a hand to his chest, smoothing over the swell of it to the strong curve of his shoulder. as strong as he seemed in the fights against the undead.
she parts her mouth under his, performative at first (the blushing maiden, liked best by all) though the gasp that follows at his touch is wholly genuine. she feels — aflame, liquid warmth flooding her from her legs to her throat, swirling low in her stomach, under his hand. she never wanted to be fucked and filled, in her marital bed, but this boy — this man — would do so much better than the perfunctory rutting of her king. she knows it. needs it. already wet from the exhilaration of the chase. ]
[ gently mocking, ] A pity I don’t yet know what it’s good for. Might it praise me — [ she slides her other hand to his nape, fingers twisting in the short hairs there. ] — kiss me —[ grip harsh to force him to bend closer as she leans up on her toes and into the cup of his hand, the heel of his palm flush against auburn curls. ] — please me?
[ without waiting for an answer, she kisses hard and hungry, licking into his mouth like a woman starved. perhaps she is, after denying herself for so long. ]
cw ref to forced marriage, marital rape
as a reward, she allows him to remove her mask, breath hitching at the reveal. like a veil, lifted before a husband younger and more deserving than the one that was forced upon her. she sees him more clearly without it (or simply more vividly, a wonder of flushed skin and firm muscle). she tilts her chin up in defiance, even as her eyes fix upon his pink mouth, thinking of how it might feel against her throat (a leftover fixation from her time as a vampire, or—) undaunted, she flutters a hand to his chest, smoothing over the swell of it to the strong curve of his shoulder. as strong as he seemed in the fights against the undead.
she parts her mouth under his, performative at first (the blushing maiden, liked best by all) though the gasp that follows at his touch is wholly genuine. she feels — aflame, liquid warmth flooding her from her legs to her throat, swirling low in her stomach, under his hand. she never wanted to be fucked and filled, in her marital bed, but this boy — this man — would do so much better than the perfunctory rutting of her king. she knows it. needs it. already wet from the exhilaration of the chase. ]
[ gently mocking, ] A pity I don’t yet know what it’s good for. Might it praise me — [ she slides her other hand to his nape, fingers twisting in the short hairs there. ] — kiss me —[ grip harsh to force him to bend closer as she leans up on her toes and into the cup of his hand, the heel of his palm flush against auburn curls. ] — please me?
[ without waiting for an answer, she kisses hard and hungry, licking into his mouth like a woman starved. perhaps she is, after denying herself for so long. ]