Girl, I was thinking about grim/makeup artist on set and Bill. Just think about it, grim takes a crazy amount of time, it would be hard not to catch any feelings during that. How are we feeling about that?
Feel free to not respond if its not to your liking))
You’re Eye-fucking Me, Aren’t You? (Bill Skarsgård x Reader)
Summary: You’re a makeup artist working on The Crow, painstakingly applying Bill Skarsgård’s makeup for hours every day. It would be hard enough to focus just looking at him, but Bill seems determined to make your job a million times harder.
Word Count: 6852
Warnings: NSFW, handjob, PiV sex
DISCLAIMER: Tragically, I do not own Bill Skarsgård or any of the other people in this story. This is a complete work of fiction and I don't claim otherwise. Pls don't sue me.
MDNI, fic under the cut
There’s a level of professionalism that you just have to maintain working in the movie business. Because you’re going to spend a whole lot of time up close and personal with some of the world’s hottest people, and that can be distracting as hell. In the seven years you’ve been doing Special Effects makeup, you’ve developed an impressive ability to tune out the person sitting in your chair. Sure, you’ve had your starstruck moments, applying a complicated array of injuries to Josh Hutcherson last year had been a bit of a fangirl moment, but after the first day and the initial awkwardness of working in such close proximity to him, you’d gotten over it and been the picture of efficient professionalism. That was the feedback you got most often on jobs. Professional. Efficient. As well as some… less favourable comments. Quiet. Cold. Rude. But it was these things that made you so fucking good at your job. The quickest and most accurate, when you weren’t being distracted with small talk and pleasantries. So the jobs kept coming, and by the start of the year you really did have your pick of the projects you wanted to work on.
“Prague?” Michael asks, brandishing your phone at you. “You’re gunna be gone for the whole summer.”
You hum non-committedly, taking your phone from him. “It’s a good opportunity.”
“It’s my parents wedding anniversary in August. You knew that.”
“I’m not…” you sigh, trying to put on your most patient voice. “I can’t book work based on your parents’ life events. That isn’t… reasonable.”
Michael narrows his eyes at you. “It feels like you’re not committed to this. To me. To making this work. You’re never here, and then you take jobs like this without even talking to me about it first.”
“Talking to you about it? Like I need your permission?”
Michael blinks. “I mean… yeah? Kinda. Like not in a yes or no way, but my blessing? My okay, as your boyfriend.”
“I don’t care whether you’re okay with it or not.” The words are out before you can censor yourself, and Michael jerks back like you’ve slapped him.
“Well there it is, then. There it is.”
“Michael.” You sigh, pocketing your phone. “I like you a lot. But this is my career. You knew that when you met me.”
“So I’m just not gunna see you for three months?”
“Ten weeks.” You say quietly.
His expression darkens. “I don’t wanna do long-distance for the whole summer. I can’t promise I’m not gunna look elsewhere while you’re gone.”
It’s like he’s flipped a switch inside you. You’ve never gotten the ick so fast in your life. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“Huh? Like, we do an open thing while you’re gone?”
“No.” You scoff. “If you don’t think you can keep your cock in your pants for a couple of weeks whilst I’m away, we should take the pressure off, right? I’m not your girlfriend anymore. Problem solved.”
“I didn’t… shit. No, wait. Wait!” He takes a step towards you, and you take a step back, towards the door.
“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not, but it’s fine. This has clearly run its course, and you’re clearly not that into me if you can’t stay faithful while I’m at work.”
“Wait,” he shakes his head. “You’re twisting my words here. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, I know. You were trying to manipulate me or scare me into cancelling the job and staying here with you. Which is worse, actually.” You’ve reached the door now, and you open it without turning your back on him. “So thank you, for making it so much easier for me. Now you can fuck whoever you want all summer long, and so can I.”
His jaw tightens at that, and you feel a thrill of vindication down your spine as you close the door in his face and leave him standing alone in his apartment.
*
You don’t miss Michael. You don’t, but it still feels a little bit hollow as climb out of your Uber at the airport. He’d always drive you or take you all the way to the shoot if it was on home soil. Couples and families and friends embrace each other all around you as you drag your suitcase up the ramp and into the airport, and you busy yourself with studying the concept sketches you’d been sent to avoid having to watch all the affectionate goodbyes.
Your guy had tattoos. A lot of them, all over his body and some on his face. The director didn’t want transfers, so you’d spent weeks crafting stencils and you’d have to airbrush them on regularly throughout shooting. And then, half way through, his makeup got dark and heavy. Horror movie heavy, actually. You can’t help the excited smile that stretches across your face as you scan over the design. It’s cool, and it’ll be fun to create it. You’d looked up the actor you’d be working on, obviously. Bill Skarsgård, the Pennywise guy. If he could sit for the hours it had taken the SFX team to apply all of that, he’d be able to sit for you no problem. You’d known one of the guys who worked on IT, and you’d given him a call. Artists were good at giving each other a heads up about difficult actors, but he’d had nothing but nice things to say about Skarsgård. “He’s super professional. I mean, like actually. Not much of a talker, but he doesn’t fidget. He knows the deal.” Safe to say you were feeling pretty confident walking onto set for the first time. Filming didn’t start for another week or so, but the director wanted to do some test shooting in full makeup.
“Oh good, you’re early.” Daniel holds out a hand. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
You smile, shaking his hand. “Good to see you, Dan. It’s been… two years?”
“Three.” He says. “Matrix.”
“Right, right. Well, thanks for recommending me for this. I’ve never been to Prague.”
“It’s beautiful this time of year.” His gaze travels to the side of you, and you hear a door open behind you. “Speaking of beautiful things, our canvas just walked in.”
You turn, and your breath actually hitches in your throat. Because, yeah, you’d looked up Bill Skarsgård when you took the job. But seeing him in person is… different. He’s so damn tall, and even in loungewear you can see how broad his shoulders are. Big green eyes fix on you from his angular face, and his lips curl up in a half-smile. “Hello.”
It’s humiliating. You’re humiliated, standing there in painful silence as he looks at you.
“Bill, hey.” Daniel says, brushing you gently to the side so he can shake the man’s hand. “Good flight in?”
“Sure. I took a nap.”
“Ah, so you’re ready to get right into it? This is…” He trails off, maybe noticing the dumb look on your face for the first time. “I tell you what, why don’t we grab you a coffee? Caffeinate, right?”
“I’d love a coffee.” Bill smiles, his eyes sliding back over you. Your legs feel like lead weights, pinning you to the ground, and you’re grateful because you feel so lightheaded you think you might faint if you were responsible for holding yourself up.
“This way.” Daniel points to a door through to the production area and shoots you a look over his shoulder. “Get it together.” He mouths.
As soon as they’re out of the room, you suck in a breath, exhaling shakily. What the actual fuck was that? You’ve never, ever reacted like that to anybody. And it wasn’t because he was famous. He’s been in some great movies, but you’ve worked with Oscar winners and seasoned pros. It was the electricity of his eyes, pinning you to the ground. It was the curve of his lips as he smiled. You couldn’t wait to paint those pretty lips. That is, if you could remember how to hold a goddamn brush.
You hear the door opening again and you force yourself to move, crossing to the bare worksurface and opening your makeup bags. With something to do you don’t find yourself so frozen, and you busy yourself with tacking the concept art to the mirror and pretending he isn’t there. Until “I got you a cappuccino.”
“What?” You don’t look at him, and you hope your voice doesn’t sound as weird out loud as it does in your own ears.
“Daniel said that’s your drink of choice. I got you one.”
And it would be rude not to look at him, wouldn’t it? So you turn, offering him a smile and a quick look as you reach for the cardboard cup. Your fingers brush against his, and you feel the touch like a shock, jerking your hand back.
“Unless you’re already all caffeined up. A little jumpy, huh?”
You swallow, forcing your hand to steady as you wrap your fingers around the cup further up, careful to avoid his skin. “Long day. Jetlag, maybe.”
Bill hums, settling into the chair in front of you. “Well I know what that’s like. I’ll go easy on you.”
You choke on nothing at the words, and Bill can’t stop himself from smirking. He’s fresh off a nasty breakup, pissed that he’s had to leave Stockholm right as the weather’s getting so good, and he’s feeling… destructive. You’re like a gift from the gods, flustered and stuttering and so clearly overwhelmed by him. You’re going to be such a fun distraction from all the rest of the shit going on in his life. And it doesn’t hurt that you’re pretty. That you’re beautiful, even. No, that doesn’t hurt at all. He watches your hands shake as you lean over the vanity to pin a picture of his face to the mirror, and he reaches out to brush his fingertips against your inner thigh. You jump back so fast you actually fall, sending brushes scattering over the floor. “Shit, sorry. I was just…” he retrieves a sketch of his crow makeup from the back of the vanity, tapping his fingers against it. “Studying, right?”
You’re breathing hard, and the little slip of thigh he’d touched is tingling in a way that’s unsettling. “Right. I’ve… I mean I think it’ll look good.”
“Yeah,” Bill hums, scanning over the paper. His mouth curves into a smirk at the pitchy sound of your breathing, and you furrow your brows. Had he… done that on purpose? Was he trying to get under your skin? The idea sends a shiver down your spine.
*
“Rupert isn’t worried about the ink so much.” Daniel says, perched on the opposite end of the vanity to you. You’re both looking at Bill, who is flicking through apps on his phone in the makeup seat between you. “But he thinks the crow makeup could do some interesting things, especially with all the rain and the underwater work.”
“We can waterproof.”
“I think he wants it to run a little. Like, organically.”
You hum, reaching out to pluck a palette from the table. “If we use the semi-proof, we can get him wet and see what happens.”
Bill scoffs under his breath, his cock stirring at your words. If he has his way, it’ll be you getting wet, actually.
“Alright, run with that. I’ve got some molding to do in the studio, you good here?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you feel your cheeks burn. You’ve never, ever given anyone cause to worry about your ability, and you’re not about to start now.
You nod tightly. “Perfectly fine. I’ll call you when we’re ready for tests.”
Daniel nods, pushing off the desk and clapping Bill on the shoulder. “Be good for her. She’s been known to spank actors who can’t sit still.”
Bill’s eyes lift to you, fresh amusement sparking in them. “Interesting.”
You raise an eyebrow at him, even as your stomach churns. “He’s joking, but there’s a first time for everything.”
Bill’s smirk widens. “I’ll try to… be good, then.” His eyes flick down the length of your body, and you swallow hard as arousal pulses in your core.
Bill Skarsgård is a beautiful canvas, but your SFX friend from the IT set is a goddamn liar. Because he isn’t professional. Not even close. You’re standing between his legs, tracing a thin pencil from the corners of his eyes down to his lips because you need this first line to be symmetrical. And Bill’s looking right at you. Sometimes his eyes dip to your cleavage where it spills a little out of your shirt at this angle, but mostly he’s just looking at you. You feel the prickle of sweat in your hairline, and your hand shakes on the pencil.
“Everything okay?” He asks, and your eyes flicker closed briefly as his breath ghosts against your mouth.
“Just… need to focus.” You mutter.
Bill hums, and you freeze at the feeling of his hands on your legs, wrapping around the back of your knees. “You seem a little unsteady on your feet.”
You swallow thickly. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Bill smirks, his mouth pulling up on one side and ruining the line you were in the process of drawing.
“Mr Skarsgård, please hold still.”
He huffs. “Oh it’s Mr Skarsgård, is it?”
You reach out to grip his chin tightly, holding his face steady as you try to correct the smudge of black on his cheek. “Bill.”
Bill licks over his bottom lip, revealing the fresh pink of his skin underneath the wet makeup still drying on his mouth. “You seem really annoyed.” He says, fingers skimming up to graze over your ass. “This your first gig?”
You pull back then, fixing him with what you hope is a steely glare. “No, but you’re behaving like an asshole. Is it yours?”
Bill leans back, letting his hands fall away from your thighs and bringing them to rest in his lap. “You’re right. I’m being inappropriate. It’s the… uh you know. Swedish sense of humor, maybe.”
You doubt that very much, but he seems repentant enough so you reach for a cotton swab and remove the trace of black paint from his cheek before lowering to hover in front of his face again. “Hold still, please.”
Bill does, this time. He remains frozen as you paint a thick, even line from the corner of his mouth to his eye. You cup his jaw gently as you draw a matching line on the other side, and your fingers slip to graze against the bob of his throat as you withdraw. Bill’s cock stirs at the light graze of your nails on his skin, and he’s glad his hands are resting in his lap to cover himself. You perch on the vanity, tilting your head to the side as you assess his face.
“You don’t blink much.”
You roll your eyes, blinking deliberately a few times in rapid succession. “Not when I’m trying to focus, no.”
“It’s unnerving.”
Your eyes snap to his face, your eyebrows raising into your hairline at his words. “You wanna talk about unnerving, Bill? Your eyes take up half your face you know.”
Bill’s mouth pulls up into a lopsided smirk. “I book a lot of jobs off these babies.”
You can believe it, too. Bill’s face is as interesting as it is beautiful. You’re enjoying painting it, enjoying every moment you get to look at him. Even if he’s being distracting on purpose. “Well stop moving and let me work on the moneymaker, then.”
Bill huffs a laugh, but he goes still as your fingers graze along the sharp line of his jaw, tilting his head this way and that as you assess the symmetry of his makeup.
“What’s the verdict?” He doesn’t mean to give in first, but your fingers are maddening as they brush lightly against his jaw and he thinks he might combust if you don’t stop.
You wrinkle your nose. “I need a second opinion.”
You slide off the vanity and leave him alone in the room, and Bill runs his fingers over the warm patch on the counter where you’d been sitting. He feels a carnal urge to lean over and inhale, but he fights it. Too weird, even for him. At least this early on in the game, anyway.
You return a minute later with Daniel in tow, and Bill glances at his face in the mirror, grateful that the grim, black makeup obscures the blush he can feel spreading up the sides of his neck and over his cheeks.
“Oh, yeah.” Daniel hums, walking slowly around the chair. “Oh yeah, that’s it.”
Bill swallows, focusing on his reflection and not on the way you’re studying him.
“Right? I added some little lines here,” you ghost your fingers over the corner of his eye and Bill fights the urge to flinch. “Messier. More authentic, y’think?”
“Take some polaroids, get them to Rupert. Let’s see what he thinks.”
You nod, scooping the camera off the vanity and flashing off a shot of his side profile. “Look at me, please.”
Bill does, and you snap another picture before reaching for his chin and lifting his jaw a fraction. “Hold it there.”
Bill feels heat churn in his stomach at the distracted, commanding way you say it. This isn’t supposed to happen. He’s supposed to make you squirm, not the other way around.
“Just a few more of these and we can get you cleaned up.”
Bill’s cock throbs in his sweats at that, and he pictures you on your knees, licking black greasepaint from his cock like some kind of demon. Sick fuck.
He shakes his head to clear the image, hips shifting around the increasingly painful swelling in his pants. “Do you wanna grab something to eat after this?”
You freeze, camera obscuring your face, but Bill notes the tension in your shoulders. “Uh. Oh, I mean, I was just going to grab something to-go. Wanna settle in.”
“You can’t spare me an hour? To, you know, cut through this awkwardness? We’re going to be spending a lot of time together over the next couple of months. I’d feel more comfortable if you didn’t flinch every time I moved.”
Heat burns in your cheeks as you open and close your mouth. So you hadn’t been subtle. And he wasn’t going to let you off, either. Direct Swedish fucking bullshit. “I don’t think…”
“I think it’s a stellar idea.” Daniel says absently. He’s pretending to fuss with a rack of black leather trenchcoats, but he’s clearly listening. “There is a vibe. It might do you both some good.”
Your teeth snap together, and Bill sees a muscle in your jaw tick in irritation. You don’t like being manipulated into doing things, but Daniel is sort of your boss and he’s just turned this into sort of a work thing. You nod tightly, and Bill grins.
The makeup splits his mouth open too wide, and he looks ghoulish, but you try to return the smile anyway. “Grabbing dinner would be great. Thanks, Bill.”
*
You’re supposed to be annoyed. You are annoyed that you’d been strong-armed into this dinner, but it’s so hard to keep it up when Bill is being so insanely charming.
“I saw the work you did on The Witch.” Bill says, skewering a piece of steak so rare you half expect it to start mooing. “Really exceptional.”
You blink at him. “You… know my work?”
He shrugs. “I make it my business to get to know talented people. Especially talented people who I get the opportunity to work closely with.”
“Well… thanks, Bill.” Your throat feels tight all of a sudden, like this is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to you. And it isn’t, but it’s so completely unexpected from Bill that you’re blindsided.
Bill watches your face flush as you suck your bottom lip into your mouth and stare at your plate. He hasn’t got a fucking clue what you did for The Witch. He doesn’t pay attention to makeup and wardrobe for films he isn’t in, of course he doesn’t. But it’s worth the bullshit to watch you squirm under his praise.
“You seen any of my work?” He prompts, fixing you with a smirk.
“I mean, sure.” You push pasta around your plate before taking a nervous sip of wine. “My friend worked on the IT set, so I watched that one.”
“Worked on me?” Bill asks, already mentally sifting through the names and faces he remembered from long hours in the SFX chair.
“No… I mean I don’t think so, not directly. But he said you were a pro. Nobody has any complaints about you, far as I know.”
Bill hums, chewing thoughtfully. “I shouldn’t have messed with you today.”
Your fork clatters to your plate. “So you were doing it on purpose.” You’re not as mad as you should be. It’s actually a relief to have it vocalised, in a way.
“You look really fucking cute when you’re flustered. You’ll have to forgive a man his vices.”
You huff a laugh. “You’re something else, Skarsgård.”
Bill grins at you, a faint pink dusting across his cheeks as he sips from his wine. “Right back at you.”
It shouldn’t be a surprise to you that you’re staying in the same hotel as Bill, but somehow it still is. Maybe it’s because he walks you to your room, rather than parting ways in the lobby or the elevator, but suddenly Bill Skarsgård is leaning against the wall beside your door and the air in the corridor seems to have been sucked into a vacuum and you’re lightheaded and tongue-tied.
“Thanks for coming out with me.” He says.
“Yeah. I had a good time. It was nice to… get to know you a little better.”
You feel a searing heat on your fingers and jerk your hand back, only to find Bill attached to it, his long fingers laced with yours as his thumb rubs circles on your palm. “You could get to know me a lot better if you invited me in.”
You laugh. You don’t even mean to, but it’s so absurd and so tempting and you laugh because if you don’t, you’ll kiss him. And you can’t kiss him. Makeup artists who fuck actors get reputations, and you’re not about to jeopardize your career over a pretty face and a charming, Swedish smile.
“Am I that repulsive?” Bill pouts, but there’s an edge to his tone and a tightness to his smile that stops your laughter.
“No. I mean, God, obviously not. It’s just that… well that was a line, wasn’t it? Has it worked for you before?”
Bill’s brows furrow into a frown. “Most of the time, yeah.”
“That’s good.” You nod absently as you slip your keycard from your purse and disengage the door lock. “I wish you every success using it on the next girl.”
Bill steps forward, fingers catching on your arm and turning you back to face him. “Are you saying no?”
You lick your lips, eyes raking down his body and then slowly, slowly back up to his face. “I’m saying no, Bill. Good night, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You step into your room and close the door, and Bill stands in the corridor trying to process what the fuck just happened. It’s never happened to him before. Bill wouldn’t consider himself like overconfident or anything, but he genuinely hadn’t been turned down since he was maybe sixteen. He stares at your door, wondering if you’re pressed up against the other side, and runs a hand through his hair. You let him down gently, but in doing so you’d just made yourself the most interesting target Bill has had in his entire adult life.
*
Bill’s already sitting patiently in his chair when you arrive at the studio the next day, and you slow your pace as you approach him. There’s a glint in his eye and a smirk on his face, and both things send a bolt of apprehension through you.
“You’re early.”
“Well I had nothing to keep me up late.” Bill looks you over, taking in the simple loose tee and skirt combo. Your own face is bare despite your profession, and it makes you look younger, cuter.
“Right.” You roll your eyes as you begin laying out the products you’ll need. “I’m hoping we’ll get the feedback from Rupert before we start on the-“
“We got it.”
You turn to him with a raised brow, and Bill lifts the manilla envelope from his lap and holds it out to you. “These were on the desk when I came in.”
You snatch the envelope from him, irritation making your movements snappy as you pull out the polaroids from the previous day. Rupert had written notes on the back and drawn on Bill’s face with a sharpie. “Huh.”
“You’re too neat.” Bill supplies, and you shoot him a glare.
“He wants more emphasis on the fluidity of the black makeup.” You mutter, more to yourself than to Bill. “To make it look like you’re crying.”
“I think I can muster up some tears for you.” Bill says, biting down on the inside of his cheek until his eyes water.
“Oh you can-Hey!” You reach out, cupping his jaw and rubbing your thumb against the point where his flesh is hollow against his cheekbone. “Stop that, jesus christ, Bill. I’m just gunna spray you with a little bit of water to see how the makeup interacts with it. You don’t need to injure yourself.”
Bill hums, releasing the inside of his cheek and turning his head to brush his lips over your fingers. “Always willing to go above and beyond to get the job done.”
You feel arousal throb thickly in your core, and you withdraw your hand from his mouth. “Appreciated, but wholly unnecessary. Gimme ten minutes to apply the initial lines, and we’ll get started.”
Bill is surprisingly good as you apply the spindly black lines from the corners of his mouth up to his eyes. He doesn’t move, and his breathing is so shallow you have to hover close to his mouth a few times just to be sure he’s actually doing it. He’s the perfect canvas, when he wants to be, which makes his bad behavior yesterday all the more annoying. But he had sort of apologized, and he was being good now, so you let it slide.
You pick up a plastic spray bottle of water and shake it. “You ready to get wet?”
Bill licks his lips, shifting back in his chair and spreading his legs a little wider. “Be gentle with me.”
You roll your eyes as a blush creeps up the sides of your neck and spritz his face with cold water. Bill flinches, and you take a moment to feel a little satisfaction at that before the lid to the bottle wobbles free. You watch it happen as though in slow motion as the bottle drops onto Bill’s lap, dousing him in cold water.
Bill yelps, half rising from his seat before dropping back down. His hands claw at the fabric of his shirt as it clings to his chest and stomach, the white cotton revealing the ridges of muscle beneath.
Your eyes drop and you can’t lift them back up. You fucking try to, as Bill splutters and gasps and you know you’re supposed to apologize and get him a towel or something, but you just can’t. look. away.
Bill notices. Once the initial shock of the cold water wears off, it’s impossible to ignore the way you’re looking at him; like you want to swallow him whole. His cock responds in kind, twitching and stirring with growing interest under the heat of your stare.
“You’re eye-fucking me, aren’t you?” He asks.
You still don’t look up, but your tongue pokes out to glide unconsciously over your bottom lip. “I… didn’t mean to…” You sigh. “Yeah.”
Bill expected the stuttering. He expected an apology. He didn’t expect you to admit to the eye-fucking, and the fact that you still haven’t really even registered that you’ve done so is almost hot. The wet, rough denim of his jeans is made uncomfortable by the thickening of his cock, and he shifts his hips. “This doesn’t feel great.”
Your eyes drop lower, widening a little at the sight of his erection pressing against the fabric. Bill watches your pupils expand as your lips part around an inaudible gasp. “You’re hard.”
“And wet.” He adds, hooking his fingers into the hem of his shirt and dragging it up and off. “And you’re still looking.”
You blink then, shaking your head a little to clear the lust-induced fog from your mind. “Shit. Sorry. I should… uh I’ll get you a towel, give you some privacy, I-“ You turn to go, and Bill grabs your hand.
“Don’t. I mean, you can look. I’ve seen the concept art, you’re going to have to cover me in tattoos, right?”
You swallow, nodding. “I’ve… got some stencils… but Rupert wants to get this right before we-“
“There’s a horses head here, right?” He mumbles, dragging your hand closer and pressing your hand to his ribs until you flatten your palm against his skin.
“Yes,” you whisper, fingers tracing the shape of it.
Bill shivers at the contrast of your warm touch to his cold, damp skin before guiding your hand across his abs. “A broken lock, here.”
You swallow thickly. “The chains will wrap around your ribs.”
You don’t need him to guide you as you draw your fingers around to the other side of his ribs and then lower. “And words here.”
Bill knows what the words are. He’d almost blushed the first time he’d looked at the sketch. Now he thinks he’ll die if he doesn’t hear you say them out loud. He thinks he might die if you do, too.
“Good boy,” you whisper. Your fingers trail lower, running along the waistband of his jeans in a careful question, and Bill lifts his hips.
“Wanna help me out of these wet jeans?”
You don’t respond, but you do work open the button and the zipper on his jeans and Bill helps you shove them down past his knees. His boxers are soaked too, and he’s a little relieved about that because the water masks the damp leak of precum staining the front a shade darker than the rest of the fabric.
“I should get you that towel.”
Bill hums. “You should… help me out. With this.”
His words are a little commanding, and it sends a bolt of arousal throbbing through your clit. “I shouldn’t.”
“Yeah,” he teases, taking your wrist again and pressing your hand against his stiff cock. “You should.”
You let your fingers curl around his length and squeeze, and Bill lets out a pretty little moan as his head falls back against the chair. “Daniel could walk in any minute.” You murmur, but you’re already slipping your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and gliding your nails lightly against his bare cock. “I’d get fired.”
“No,” he sighs, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth and pushing it back out through his teeth. “I’d intervene.”
You roll your eyes even as his words stir butterflies in your stomach. “Chivalrous.”
Bill’s eyes open, pools of hazy green as he watches your hand move inside his boxers. “We could have done this last night in an actual bed, but-“ he cuts off with a little groan as you twist your fingers over the head of his cock. “Shit, that’s good.”
You don’t respond with words, letting your fingers coax a fresh bead of precum from his slit to massage into his frenulum before jerking your fist back down his length and squeezing him hard at the base. You repeat this motion over, and over, and over again, until Bill is a writhing mess of pants and moans and ‘pleases’ whispered under his breath. His hips buck up to meet you with every twist of your wrist, and your arm is aching from the repetitive motion and the awkward angle, but you can feel he’s getting close. “You gunna cum?”
Bill can only nod, his face flushed and his eyes glassy as he feels his orgasm building. “Close.” He spits, hips jerking up to force his cock through your fist faster and harder. The muscles in his stomach tighten, the tightly wound cord of arousal pulling taut before you yank your hand out of his pants and throw his wet shirt into his lap. Bill is about to snatch your hand back and shove it into his boxers when he hears the distinctive click of the door opening and his eyes go wide, fixed on you with sheer panic as you look anywhere but at him.
“How are we doing this mor-oh, hello.” Daniel stares at Bill, one eyebrow raised. “We’re not inking him until next week.”
“I know.” You say, tapping your fingers absently against your lips. They’re still slick with his precum, and Bill’s neglected cock leaks in protest as his mouth waters. “I dropped a bottle of water on him when we were testing methods to make it look like he’s crying the makeup off.”
Daniel steps closer, examining Bill’s face. If he notices the flush to his cheeks he mercifully doesn’t say so, though his eyes do scan over Bill’s bare torso and the distinct point where he’s pressing his balled-up shirt over his erection.
“How did you get it to look so… chaotic?” Daniel asks, gesturing at the smudges around Bill’s eyes. “He looks manic.”
Bill’s fingers flex on the wet shirt hiding his cock, and you force yourself to look away, busying yourself with arranging your brushes. “That’s all him. He’s working on getting into the mindset of a lovesick avenger, right Bill?”
Bill swallows thickly, shifting in his seat. His cock aches and he’s feeling over exposed under the scrutiny of the two artists, and he wishes Daniel would go away so he can push your hand back into his underwear. Or impale you directly on his cock, preferably. “Only made possibly by your talented hands.”
You flush, and Bill feels a sense of grim satisfaction at making you blush. Daniel raises an eyebrow. “Alright, I’m beginning to feel like a third wheel in my own studio. I’m gunna go grab a cup of coffee.” He glances at Bill’s covered crotch again. “And maybe breakfast. I’ll be gone a while.”
You flush deeper, and Bill stares at his own hands until he hears the door close.
“Shit.” You whisper, running your hand through you hair. “Shit, he knew. Shit.”
“He seemed okay with it.” Bill throws his wet shirt to the floor and stands, bracketing you against the vanity and planting his hands on the mirror either side of your head. “And now we have time.”
You swallow thickly. “This is unprofessional. I don’t usually…”
“Me neither.” Bill leans in, brushing his lips delicately against your cheek. “But there’s something about you.”
You hum, turning your head to the side as Bill feathers kisses down your throat. His hands leave the mirror to grip your hips, tugging you towards the end of the vanity until your core is pressed to his boxers. “There isn’t anything about me.” Your voice is little more than a breathless moan, and Bill’s cock twitches against your heat as he leans back enough to look at your face.
“Yeah, there is.” He says, all traces of teasing gone for a moment. He lifts a hand to cup your face, and you lean in to press your mouth to his. Bill stills, his lips frozen against yours for a moment before he relaxes into the kiss, parting your lips and licking his tongue into your mouth. You whimper, arms lifting to loop around his neck. His makeup smears onto your mouth, the taste acrid, but you don’t care. You can taste him underneath it, coffee and the spicy undertone of tobacco.
He pulls away, cupping his hands under your ass and flipping you over. You brace your hands against the vanity as Bill plants your feet on the ground and kicks your legs further apart. “You’re fucking hot,” he murmurs, running a hand down your spine. “Look.”
You don’t want to, but Bill leans forward and wraps a hand around your throat, pulling your head up so you’re forced to meet your own glassy eyes in the mirror. “I should clean up the-“
“No,” he whispers, reaching back to tug his cock out of his boxers before lifting your skirt up around your waist. “Every time we’re here, every time I’m sitting in that chair and you’re pressing your perfect tits right in my face as you-“ he glides his fingers through your slick and pushes two fingers into you, feeling you quiver and tug at the intrusion. “work on me, holy shit.” He stammers, pulling his fingers out and spreading your wetness down his length before pushing the head of his cock into you. “Every time you work on me, we’ll both be here.” He pushes into you in one long thrust, bottoming out and sending you sprawling against the vanity. Bill tightens his grip on your throat, keeping your eyes fixed on your own reflection as he fucks into you. “Look how good you look.”
You glance up at him, at the way he bites his blackened lip into his mouth as his face crunches up in concentrated bliss. “Tell me how it feels.”
You whimper, swallowing against the weight of his palm on your throat. “Feels good, Bill. You feel so good.”
“Yeah,” he whispers, reaching his free hand around your hip to circle your clit as you grind back against him. “You gunna cum for me?”
You nod, pressing your lips together to hold in a scream as Bill’s cock brushes against a sensitive spot inside you and your eyes roll back in your head.
“Pretty girl,” he spits, hips snapping hard against your ass. “Making it so hard to focus.”
You scoff even through the haze of your pleasure, because who the hell is he to accuse you of making it hard to focus when he’s been staring and touching and teasing you since the moment he arrived in your studio?
“I’m gunna come in you,” he moans. “Gunna fill you up.”
You can’t stop your orgasm washing through you at the filthy possessive edge to his words, and you clamp down on his cock as you ride the waves of your release against his hand.
Bill feels the flutter of your muscles and the way you soak his fingers, and his own release follows you. He holds himself still inside you, grinding his hips into your ass in tiny, precise motions as his cock twitches and spills his load into your heat. And God, it was better than he’d thought it would be. To watch you come apart for him, to watch your eyes well up with tears and your lips part around a whine of his name as you came… it was the best cure for a bad breakup.
Bill pulls out of you and leans over to press a kiss to your shoulder before he drops back into his seat and tucks his softening cock away. “Goddamn.”
Your legs are shaky as you push yourself up from the vanity and smooth your underwear back over your soaked pussy. You can feel the wet squelch of his cum seeping out of you to slick in your underwear, and it should be gross but it isn’t. Not with how pretty he looks, sitting in your chair obediently waiting for you to return. “Are you gunna make this hard for me?” You ask with as much sternness as you can muster.
Bill’s smirk is sinful as it spreads lazily across his face, pulling his crow makeup into an unsettling leer. “You’re making it hard all by yourself.”
You glance down at his crotch, heat pulsing fresh in your core. “This is going to be impossible.”
Bill huffs a laugh. “No,” he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your skirt and pulls you closer, leaning forward to cup your jaw and pull your face down to his for a soft kiss. “I’ll be good… at work.”
You raise an eyebrow, lifting your thumb to brush a smudge of makeup from the corner of his mouth. “And outside of work?”
He licks the pad of your thumb, drawing the digit into his mouth and sucking gently before releasing it. “I’m gunna thoroughly ruin you, sweetheart.”
You feel his hand creep up under your skirt to grab a handful of your ass in his wide palm, and your eyes flutter closed. This was going to be the hardest job of your life, and you couldn’t wait.
DESCRIPTION; for decades, the flameblood clan has warred brutally with the heretical dragonclaw clan—battling over sea ports, scarce materials, and deep religious beliefs. when edvar, younger son of the flameblood chief and commander of the firehearts, sees a dangerous but necessary chance to end the slaughter, he is captured in battle by none other than the daughter of dragons herself.
featuring: bill skarsgård as edvar halneresson , alexander skarsgård as tsarund the great & stellan skarsgård as chief halnere of flameblood
ask to be tagged!
@thedevotchka
CW; dark fantasy, violence and warfare, torture of POWs, cult/religious activity/rituals/sacrifices, explicit/sexual content, harm to animals/dragons, and more, 18+ readers only
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PITCH BLACK WAVES CURLED AROUND THE BOW OF THE SHIP AS IT CUT THROUGH ABYSSAL NIGHT. The whole moon had vanished for three consecutive nights, buried behind a thick wall of swirling dark clouds, laced with intermittent strokes of lightning.
He kept a keen eye on the shifting surface of the icy water, tracking any signs of movement. Even if he couldn’t see any spiked webbed fins circling in the depths, any long dark hair trailing behind sleek mermaidian bodies, or any eel-like tails slithering about, Edvar knew better than to dare turn his back. These were Zormir’s waters, after all, and only a fool could forget the kind of things that lurked within them.
With the waters of the coast too shallow and ice-locked to safely cruise through, they had been forced to take a wide berth deeper out to sea in order to make it back to their home fjord. The crew had been blessed enough to make it this far into the detour without the leviathan goddess sensing their trespass and tearing them asunder, but her silence could not be taken for permission. Time and her impatience would become their enemy if they did not hurry back to Rikkan.
The wind lashed at his face and tore through his curls as he powered across the deck, whipping tears from his eyes. His thick, heavy greatcoat did little to protect his bones from the shiver that wracked even a burly body like his own. Still, he relished what little warmth managed to seep into the rough skin of his palms through the bowl in his hand, letting a harsh, steaming breath seethe through clenched teeth.
He was Edvar, second son of Chief Halnere. He did not get to fuss about over a little chill, not if he wanted to set any kind of respectable standard for himself.
"Halneresson! Could use another hand over here, if you've got a free one!"
The shout came from the Captain, his face weathered grey by age and the storm, barely audible over the roar of the freezing surf. Edvar didn't argue. He set the bowl down on a nearby barrel, bracing himself against the tilting deck as he rushed to help the crew reel hefty fish nets out of the water, which seemed to hold onto them for dear life. His shoulders burned as he threw his weight into the frozen rope, his boots slipping on the slick timber.
"Reckon you’ve got the easy shift tonight," the boss grunted, wiping his hands on his soot-stained canvas trousers. He nodded toward the heavy hatch in the deck, leading below with a grim smirk.
"While we're freezing our arses off out here to keep the ship runnin', you get to go down into the dry and keep the demon company. Just don't let it bite off ya fingers, eh? You got use in you, yet"
A few of the sailors chuckled, a low, nervous sound quickly swallowed by the wind.
"Don't count me so lucky just yet, friend," he muttered, his voice thick with the heavy, rolling cadence of the northern clans. "Gotta survive just being near the thing first."
"Shit, you're right about that. Ah well, good luck to ya. I'll decide whatever the hell I ought to say to your old man when you don't come back up in one bit."
Turning away from the rail, he made for the hatch, eager to get out of the cold as the crew chuckled behind him.
The air down in the prison hold was thin, drafty and drenched in the smell of soggy old timber and stagnant bilge. Edvar descended the narrow ladder, the lantern at his hip wobbling, throwing long, twirling shapes across the low beams overhead. He balanced the bowl of broth that had since chilled in the outside air, the greasy slop clotting and splashing over the rim as the floor rolled in unison with the swell.
He set his lantern down right outside the iron bars, casting a flat line of amber light across the threshold of the cell.
From the dark beyond that line, the silence began to blister. A deep, rattling moan echoed off the metal, a sound that he had at first mistaken for the shifting of the vessel. A glottal clicking followed each heavy breath, a reptilian growl vibrating through the floorboards, driving itself into the marrow of Edvar's very bones.
He sat in the discomfort of it, his skin prickling beneath his thick wool coat, watching the boundary where the light died.
Slowly, Edvar slid the bowl forward, the wood scraping against the grit of the floor, nudging it through the bars and to the edge of the lantern's reach.
"There ya go, witch. Time to eat up," he coughed, scratching at his nose with his thumb, ignoring the instinct in his gut that warned against speaking entirely. It was just trying to scare him with its eerie noises, he was sure.
A spindly hand slid into the light, pale deathly-grey fingers tapering into sharp, blackened claws that caught the edge of the dull flame reflecting through the glass. But it was the index finger that held his gaze—missing, severed cleanly at the knuckle and replaced by a yellowed, gnarled human finger bone attached with a leather gripping glove. The skeletal prosthetic hooked over the rim of the bowl, the wood sagging beneath the sharp points of her claws as she dragged the offering back into the gloom.
The growl in her throat deepened, and the hairs on Edvar's neck shot up. The darkness of the cell felt too sweeping, too vast, hiding too much. Desperate to see the face of the thing he was feeding, he reached down to lift the lantern, intending to flood the shadows with light.
A sudden, violent lurch of her chains tore through the dark. Edvar flinched, his arm jerking instinctively as the projectile hurtled his way.
The bowl smashed into the iron bars with a clang! Broth splattered, dark grease and chunks of meat spraying across the floorboards. From the blackness, a dry, raspy voice hissed, laced with pure spite.
"You wish to poison me, like a coward, with this bile you dare call food?"
He squinted, frustration splintering through his unease as he looked down at the mess between his boots.
"It ain't poison. It's the same shit me and the men are eating," he shot back. "You're not special. You eat or you go hungry."
The shifting of chain links echoed from the corner as she tilted her head. "You wish me to weaken myself with this slop? Is that why you Flamebloods are so.....breakable? This is what your mothers feed you?"
"I'm afraid, unless you can magically conjure up your own banquet, my lady, that this will just have to suffice," he grunted, bracing his hands on his knees as he glared into the dark. "And now you can either lick up what you've spilled from the floor or go hungry. Choice is yours."
"It is preferable to starve," she hissed.
"Then you can be my fucking guest."
A silence descended on the hold again. Edvar watched the shadow of her hood, expecting another snarl. Instead, she paused.
A low, mocking sound spilled into a dry, raspy laugh, and as the laughter faded, she finally moved, sweeping forward out of the corner and into the light.
Edvar’s breath caught. Up close, the sheer wrongness of her features hit him all at once. Her thick braid was a rope of dark crimson hair dragging through the filth of the deck, coiling like a giant serpent around her bare, dirty feet. The heavy hood had fallen back just enough to expose the long, pointed sweep of her ears, both marked with brutal notches and jagged scars from past battles.
But it was the massive obsidian horns cutting upward from her brow that anchored his gaze. They were monstrous things, rising like twin serrated blades, monoliths on their own. The lantern light caught the wet sheen of the crown, highlighting the dangerous, backward-curving spikes that split off from the main vents of bone. They looked ancient and regal, heavy enough to snap a human neck had they been cursed with such things, yet she bore them with grace, like she could carry the weight a dozen times over.
He could see, undeniably, how his forefathers long ago believed that the Ikar-Drakayith were devils dragged straight from the hells themselves.
“You amuse me, you know,” she chuckled, teeth gleaming as she smiled. “You humans have quite the audacity, thinking yourself so brave.”
Her eyes were hidden behind a scrap of rag that had been tied around her head, obscuring her vision, but he knew she didn’t need to see him to track his whereabouts. He wouldn’t put it past her to be able to see him regardless.
“I don’t think myself anything,” he said. “You on the other hand are far too arrogant for someone in your spot. You got yourself caught, did you not? Makes us humans somewhat capable.”
The edge of her lip twisted into a scowl. “The dirty, underhanded tricks of humans do not hold up in an equal fight. Surely decades of skirmishes have taught the clans that much? It was a lucky shot that brought me down, nothing more.”
“And what a lucky shot it was,” he stepped back, plucking a chunk of mutton from his collar and tossing it back through the bars. “But lucky shot or not, you’re ours now, and you’ll be dealt with soon enough. The world will be better for it.”
“Oh it will, I’m sure,” she smiled.
↞⁜↠
Celebrations, banquets and drunken chatter soon quelled, an extinguished flame, as the grand doors to the Hall of Fire parted, and the returning warriors stepped inside.
Great hearths lined the centre of the longhouse, sending plumes of smoke up toward the blackened rafters, where banners and tapestries of the clan crest hung heavy and still. The air tasted of roasted boar, chicken and cow, spiced by the smell of mud and dung from the farms billowing in through the open doors.
Edvar kept his head held high, despite the shocked eyes now following him as he continued his march. His boots left wet, icy tracks across the floorboards.
Men stopped mid-swallow, horns of ale frozen at their lips, while women pulled their children closer to their wool skirts.
“He’s home,” they whispered, blinking over and over, wondering if their eyes had deceived them. “He’s not dead. He’s not a traitor after all.”
The murmurs rippled through the crowd. For two moons, the village had figured him a coward or a corpse. Whispers had festered that the second prince had fled his duties, deserting the clan after a bitter dispute with the high table. No one in Rikkan had known the truth—that Edvar had quietly gathered his most loyal vanguard of Firehearts and slipped into the Wolfmaw territories without permission, embarking on a rogue campaign that should have cost him his life.
At the far end of the longhouse, raised upon a massive stone dais, Chief Halnere sat like an old mountain carved into a high seat of dark oak. He was a truly monolithic man, a living god of weathered grandeur that commanded absolute silence without even lifting a finger. His heavy brow knitted over deep-set, calculating eyes that had seen a hundred bloodbaths, and his silver-grey hair feathered thinly around a set jaw, spliced with three deep set scars given to him years ago.
Just a step behind him stood Tsarund, Flameblood’s golden heir. A thick, intricate blond braid folded over his massive shoulder, resting against a heavy bear fur coat that hung open to reveal a muscular, sun-browned chest. His eyes narrowed, scrutinising his younger brother's approach.
“Chief,” Edvar knelt, fist pressed hard over his heart.
Chief, not Father. He kept his eyes fixed on the stone steps of the dais, refusing to let his exhaustion show.
“Please, I beg your forgiveness of my long absence. My Firehearts and I embarked on a journey south, to Wolfmaw, who wish to restore their standing with us. We return to you now with a gift, a token of their allegiance.”
A low, sharp sneer twisted Tsarund’s striking features.
“Very typical of you, brother, to pull a stunt like this,” he said, steps echoing against the stone as he stood from the table, his towering frame casting a long shadow. “You take dozens of men, of good, strong men, and you disappear for two months at sea. You dare to strike deals with our enemies when it is not your place to do so, and not only that, you dare to return—”
“Tsarund.”
Halnere rose a hand. A warning, not to stir trouble. It was a single, authoritative gesture that halted his eldest son mid-step, forcing Tsarund to lock his jaw and reluctantly, obediently, return to the high table.
“Let him speak. I wish to hear an explanation,” the old chief commanded, his heavy gaze boring into Edvar’s skull. He knew, always knew, that there was more to be said in the privacy of the council room later, that whatever he truly wanted to say could not be said in front of everyone.
"In exchange for allegiance, they offered us a gift that was impossible to refuse," Edvar said. "One I am sure that, once you see, you will understand why I had to seize it."
He turned, raising a single hand to his men. "Step aside."
The Firehearts parted cleanly, their iron shields shifting to reveal the prisoner at the center of their ranks.
He had to admit, it was satisfying to do this, satisfying to experience the deep chill that rushed through his body as he spoke. As he declared his victory, earned his respect.
“I present to you Kharlon,” he went on. “Matron of the Dragonclaw clan."
A collective gasp swept through the longhouse. Several elders sprang from their benches, chairs scraping violently against the floor as the crowd pushed backward, desperate to put distance between themselves and the creature before them.
Even in heavy iron shackles, Kharlon did not sway, nor did she kneel when the warriors tried to kick her knees in. She did not slouch; she did not cower. The Hall of Fire seemed to shrink around her. Even discounting the addition of her horns, even without boots, she still stood almost a full head taller than nearly every warrior in the room. Fire light licked across her face, reflecting in the voids of her pure black eyes. Edvar had not seen them until now, when the blindfold had been removed.
She was enjoying it, he realised, watching that smirk return to her face. She was basking in the fear that swelled in the room, thriving in the slight awe, in the undivided attention.
“Kharlon.”
Halnere uttered her name like it caught his curiosity, as if she were a peculiarity to be examined.
“You have been afforded the dignity of standing here before my table, the courtesy of living to see another day within my sight, and yet you do not return the respect of kneeling?”
She smoothed her tongue—split into two—over her teeth, like it pained her not to use them.
“The day you wield any power over the common dragon, Halnere, will be the day I shall happily kneel for you.”
“I thought your father remained Patron of your clan. You are but a mere princess, if you can even be called such a thing,” he mused, ignoring her comment. An insult loosely disguised as intrigue. It was a dig at Edvar, too, of course it was. Because of course his son could not bring him the true leader of the Ikar Drakayith.
“He was,” the Dragonclaw answered, staring him down with eyes of shining onyx. “But no longer. I am the Child of Zormir, and it is by her will that I now lead my clan.”
She uttered the name of the forsaken leviathan like it meant anything to a man who had grown to trust his own intuition, his own eyes, over stories. It was true, as far as the rumours, the legends, went. Millions of years ago, a select group of humans believed that they could come to one day inherit draconic traits and become one with the four leviathan gods, and had set about a crusade of killing and drinking the blood of dragons. Kharlon was believed to be a direct descendant of the very first men to drink the blood of Zormir herself, and in the eyes of her people, it made her the closest thing to divinity alive.
To Halnere, though, she was naught but a petulant demon.
“Your standing with your goddess means nothing to me,” he said. “At least your father saw sense in leaving our shores alone. You are but a child playing with toys. You’ve been straying too close. Attacking our trading routes. You stir up trouble for no reason, and indeed you are becoming quite the hassle.”
There it was—a throwaway point, a slight, indirect admission that Edvar was right. That he had been right to journey all that way to get her, because having her in their custody meant saving themselves the pain of pointless loss. Having her meant having power, his father just needed to see it.
“No decision of mine is made without reason,” Kharlon tilted her head. “Is it simply not enough to enjoy the power one wields?”
“Arrogant witch,” Tsarund growled. He left the table once again, brushing off his father’s command to stay put, stalking towards her, shoulder clipping Edvar’s as he pushed past him. “My father is right. Your arrogance is childish. You are not worthy to stand here, and my brother can take you back to where he got you and they can do what they like.”
“Oh, dear,” she tutted. “You speak out of turn. Wouldn’t want to get another scalding from daddy, would you?”
In a blur too quick for intervention he reeled back his fist and let it fly. Her head snapped sideways, a spray of crimson shooting from her mouth, but she didn’t stagger.
Then slowly, so slowly, she turned back. Her eyes glowed faintly, as if embers stirred behind them.
That smirk returned, a feral crescent curving onto torn lips.
“You see, my friends. The witch is not untouchable. She bleeds the same as us,” Tsarund triumphed, pleased at the sight of her blood on his hands.
“That may well be,” she licked the blood from her lips. “But now, I suppose we shall have to see if you bleed the same as us.”
The air in the hall trembled, goblets rattling on their tables and clay pitchers shattered. The foundations groaned. Then, with a deafening, catastrophic roar, the world burst into flames.
The thatched roof tore away in shreds, collapsing as the hulking form of an enormous, onyx-black dragon smashed it to bits, her entire head blotting out the burning sky above as she parted her maw and unleashed a fire-filled scream.
Helyn the Deathless—Edvar had seen her from afar only once in battle, had been scared with bedtime stories of her as a child. The oldest dragon alive, having seen and fought through centuries of battle yet no man had come close to killing her. If the Matron had managed to bond with such a beast, there was no telling what other kind of power she wielded.
Kharlon did not move, throwing her head back with pure, incredulous laughter rippling from her throat as the inferno washed over her—but the witch did not burn. Her clothes did not catch, nor her hair, nor her horns, her skin did not melt, did not char, nor did blister. Instead, the iron cuffs around her arms and legs began to melt, dropping to the floor as the heat stripped them to nothing.
Panic instantaneously devoured the longhouse. Screaming clan folk trampled one another, scrambling blindly toward the choked exits as burning rafters collapsed into the crowd. Edvar was thrown to his knees by the blast of heat, coughing violently through the dense, black smoke.
Through the haze, he saw Kharlon raise a single grey hand toward the gaping sky. She whistled—a sharp, piercing sound that cut cleanly through the chaos. Helyn leaned her massive, scarred head lower into the ruins of the hall, letting out a low growl tremble through the structure.
In a few fluid movements, Kharlon strode forward, scaling the jagged, interlocking spires of the dragon's shoulder plates as if they were stairs. She swung herself into the heavy leather saddle strapped across the beast's neck, settling into the seat with absolute authority.
"Edvar!" a voice barked through the smoke.
It was one of his Firehearts, dragging a weeping mother and two children toward the side doors. Edvar forced his legs to move, years of training wrestling down the sheer terror attempting to freeze him in place. He grabbed a young boy by the tunic and hoisted him up, shouting orders over the roar of the flames as he guided the remaining stragglers out of the collapsing structure.
The moment Edvar burst through the shattered side entrance into the biting night air, his breath caught in his throat.
The night was gone, replaced by a devastating, hellish dawn. Looking down from the high cliffs toward the docks, his heart plummeted. Through the smoke, a dozen more dragons cut through the night, their cultist riders raining pillars of fire down upon the wooden longships and the thatched homes of the village below.
They had been tracked the entire time, he realised. Dragons had elite senses of smell, and were known to be able to track scents from islands away. They had likely been following since the moment they left Wolfmaw’s docks at their eastern village. It was his fault. It was his rogue campaign, his desperate grab for glory, that had guided the devils straight to their gates. Zormir really did want to punish them for their trespass after all.
A cry tore from his chest as he sprinted to the edge of the cliff, tracking the hulking shape of her dragon as it surged up, up, up into the night.
Kharlon had vanished, and the entire village of Rikkan along with it; consumed by flame that continued to burn for days.
Bill's more iconic feature: his eyes. Huge, beautiful, expressive. He can convey all sorts of emotions through them. They have a hypnotic quality you cannot resist, not that you want to.
I have been wanting to write a Marquis de Gramont fanfiction for ages. I'm going for a multichapter fot this one.
I had recently a request from the lovely @scarletpresentoldprofilename who wanted a certain facecard for the female character and lots of smut. (when it's about the Marquis, there's no other way 😍)
A sweet ballerina with lots of courage and determination is about to cross paths with the dangerous Marquis de Gramont and get much more than she bargained for. He will also discover that not everyone obeys him blindly.
Word count: @ 7700
Warnings: Power dynamics imbalance, smut, attempt at manipulation, dommy Vincent. MDNI.
THE SYLPH IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. CH 1
Vincent Bisset, Marquis de Gramont is a very powerful man. He also is as dangerous as he's powerful. Cruel, sadistic, ruthless, extremely intelligent… As lethal and precise as a surgical knife. He is hedonistic, he loves sensual pleasures: food, wine, women, Arts. And he indulges largely in all of them for he has a huge fortune. At 35 years of age, the world is his. By the way, he is also one of the most beautiful men alive. With gorgeous looks, an imposing physique, the natural elegance of a panther and the best wardrobe in France.
He's a criminal by profession. The High Emissary of the global organization known as The High Table. He also possesses a vast army of assassins of his own. He has no loved ones, no friends, he cares only about himself and his organization. The High Table fears him, but they also need him. To those who obey him he allows them to live. To those who fail or betray him... Well, they soon find themselves wishing they hadn't.
The Marquis is also a patron of the Arts. He's a privileged member at the Louvre, the Opera Garnier and half a dozen of prestigious cultural associations. He favours Painting and Sculpture, and especially Music and Classical Dance.
Today the Marquis is in a foul mood. Something last night has gone terribly wrong with an assignment, resulting in total chaos. He wants to find who the responsibles are and punish them accordingly. He delegates in Chidi, the chief of his men, to start enquiries immediately. Chidi doesn't say a word. He gets on with it immediately.
The Marquis, sitting at his table, and having breakfast starts opening his post. One particular envelope catches his attention. It's an invitation to attend a ballet performance at the Theatre du Chatelet. “The Sylphide”, by a ballet company whose name he doesn't recognize. He's about to discard the invitation when he sees the name of the Prima Ballerina: Delphine Vallenaire. He heard the name mentioned in circles at the Palais Garnier a while ago, and he has taken an interest in her career since. He places the invitation aside.
Delphine is 22. She's been a ballerina since she was 5 and a professional since she was 14. Delicate as porcelain, resilient as steel, and with no filter whatsoever. An intelligent and curious young woman, who, despite being the prima ballerina of a modest but well known ballet company, yearns for seeing the world and experiencing all the beauty and pleasures it has to offer.
A petite girl of pale, freckled skin, short hair, expressive eyes and the most infectious optimism. She lives in a small apartment in a quiet neighbourhood in the centre of Paris. She has very few friends, none of them close and she keeps to herself.
Dancing is her life and her love. But she doesn't enjoy everything around it: draconian rules, crowds, gruelling rehearsals, all the bitching surrounding that world, the creepy patrons who want a piece of her. That's why she chooses solitude and the pursuit of beauty in music, museums, bookshops and flea markets. She creates dancing pieces of her own, but in the world of classic ballet they're not fond of innovations.
Today they're premiering “La Sylphide”. It's one of her favourite ballets, she knows it backwards and she's very happy with the new production. When she goes tonight on the stage, she will allow herself to get lost in the magic, to truly live the story, to float, to fly, to be a wisp of air.
She has a relaxed, quiet morning at home. Preparing herself for the evening, her daily exercises, a light meal, a walk in the nearby park. When she arrives at the theatre, well ahead of the curtain call, she is ready and feeling the tingling of excitement.
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The Marquis arrives at the theatre with his usual entourage, a selection of his own men commanded by Chidi. He goes to the main Box while his men deploy all over the theatre. Everyone is already inside and the show is about to start.
When Delphine makes her appearance, delicate, graceful, ethereal, she owns the stage. She is not a ballerina anymore but a fairy, tiny and beautiful.
The Marquis is mesmerized. He watches her with his binoculars. She's small and lithe, very young and exquisitely beautiful. A true living work of Art. He is absorbed in her performance. She just doesn't move to the music, she understands it and lives it.
The performance ends and the Marquis feels the cold reality. He has been so engrossed with her that to be back from the place she has taken him to feels devastating.
He orders Chidi to bring the director of the ballet company to him, and when this one appears, he tells him that he wishes to meet the Prima Ballerina personally. The director knows this is not a request but an order.
The Marquis is taken to a VIP room where some refreshments have been set up for him. He feels like a schoolboy, which surprises him. It's been a long time since he felt this excited.
The director speaks to Delphine and she refuses straight away. The director tries to persuade her. He knows the Marquis reputation as a person who doesn't accept gracefully a no for an answer.
“Please, Delphine, just a couple of minutes, the Marquis is a very powerful man and a Patron of the Arts. I beg you! “
Delphine realizes immediately, the director doesn't want to butter up the Marquis, he is scared of him. She feels a pang of dread. There's no escaping the situation. With a sigh she agrees to meet the Marquis. The director rushes to inform him while she gets ready.
A few minutes later Delphine arrives at the door of the VIP room. There are two huge bodyguards, one on each side of the door. She knocks the door and on hearing a ‘come in’ from the inside, she walks in.
There's another bodyguard in the room, bigger than the other two, he looks mean and dangerous, but the other person in the room… That's something else.
Delphine was expecting an old creep, instead she's faced with the most incredible man she has ever seen. He's impossibly tall, about two metres. So gorgeous that it hurts. His eyes are green fire, the rest of his persona is stern, terrifying. The only thing she can think of is that she's in the presence of Lucifer.
Delphine feels dwarfed. The top of her head barely reaches his shoulder. But she's not easily intimidated, not by him, at least not with fear. He intimidates her in a very different way. She feels her pulse racing and a throb between her legs.
The Marquis approaches her, he extends a large hand, strong and elegant towards her. She lifts hers and he holds it like if it was a tiny bird, takes it to his lips and kisses it. Delphine shivers, and he notices it. His gaze is unfathomable.
“Mademoiselle Valenaire, I wanted to express my admiration for your spectacular performance. It was superb and exquisite. Your talent is immense.”
His voice was like silk, velvet, and absinthe; intoxicating, sensual and with a hint of something dangerous. Nonetheless, Delphine made a supreme effort and maintained her composure.
“Thank you so much Marquis. I'm very pleased that you enjoyed it so much. Your fame as an Arts connoisseur precedes you”
To the Marquis her voice sounded like a crystal bell. Not only was it musical, her tone and pronunciation were perfect. She was educated, cultured and reserved. She smelled of jasmine soap and fresh lemon cologne. She looked very young, but he already knew she was twenty two. Her skin was flawless, her complexion, that of delicate porcelain, but under such delightful femininity he could sense a will of steel and an unflinching courage. He would be damned if this wasn't the most fascinating woman he'd ever met.
“I was hoping you would have dinner with me Mademoiselle Valenaire “
There it was. Delphine tensed. She never entertained admirers. She just wanted to go home and curl up on her sofa.
“You're most kind, Monsieur le Marquis, but I'm not in the habit of socializing much. I wish to go home and rest, for the performance has been intense. I had enough of crowds for tonight“
Her voice was sweet and polite, but her intention was firm.
The Marquis wasn't taken aback by her words. Delphine realized then that he was still holding her hand.
“I promise you there will be no crowds. Dinner, good conversation and you'll be home before midnight. “
There was something in his voice, in his eyes and in the way he held her hand that made it impossible for her to say no. He was commanding, yet gentle. And the way he was looking at her turned her knees to jelly.
“I am a bit underdressed” she murmured, noticing his impeccably elegant three piece suit.
“You look like an angel” he replied, his eyes on her little frame wrapped in a short sleeveless boho dress and flat silver sandals.
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He waited for her in the foyer while she fetched her bag. He called ahead at the restaurant to book and he made a special request. She appeared after a few minutes and they got in his black Bentley. The chauffeur drove them to the Eiffel Tower.
The doorman at the entrance received them and they got in the lift to the top. At the door of the restaurant, the maitre welcomed and led them to the table with the most spectacular view. The restaurant was empty.
“I would have thought that this restaurant would be fully booked, ” she commented.
“It was, but I had it vacated to have it all for ourselves” the Marquis said, matter of factly and nonchalantly.
Delphine’s eyes were big as saucers. Who was this man who could book the most expensive restaurant in Paris only for himself in a question of minutes? And why was he going around escorted by an army of bodyguards?
The Marquis pulled her chair, the one facing the view of the night skyline and then sat opposite her.
“You will not enjoy the view sitting there,” Delphine said innocently.
“I already have the best view”
His eyes were fixed on her, and it took her a couple of seconds to understand the meaning of his words. But when she did, her cheeks went crimson.
The maitre took their order: Oysters and a filet mignon with dauphinoise potatoes for him. A broth and grilled prawns with lime and coconut for her. When the starters were served Delphine blushed even more at seeing him eating oysters. The Marquis didn't take his eyes off her while he ate them. She couldn't avert her eyes off him either, looking at him with horrified fascination, feeling her tiny cotton panties get soaked with her arousal and trying to pretend that nothing was happening.
The Marquis, obviously, knew better than that. And despite her efforts to look unfazed, he noticed the imperceptible squirms and the rosy hue of her cheeks. He licked his lips when he had finished and smirked mischievously at her. He enjoyed her predicament. It told her two important things about her: She was a virgin, and she was curious. It couldn't be more perfect.
During the main course, conversation flowed seamlessly. The Marquis asked about her pursuits, interests and hobbies. Delphine relaxed and talked, helped by the second glass of the excellent wine that the Marquis kept pouring her. He told her very little about himself except for his love of the Arts which both had in common.
They skipped dessert, the Marquis signed the bill and then he guided Delphine to the balcony of the second floor.
The view was breathtaking. Paris at night seemed like jewels scattered, sparkling in yellows and whites with other occasional colours thrown here and there. Delphine loved night skylines and she looked at everything with bright eyes full of wonder.
The night was slightly fresh and she hadn't brought a cardigan or a shawl. She was shivering a bit but didn't want to look needy.
Delphine didn't have to say anything, the Marquis had already noticed. She was against the railing, facing the city, with her pale hands clutching the metal bar. She felt the warmth of proximity. The Marquis was right behind her. If she moved an inch backward, her back would be in contact with his torso. Suddenly she was very aware of him and she didn't dare to move.
He placed his large hands on each side of her, holding the rail. Delphine was caged between his arms. Her heart was beating furiously, not with fear but with excitement. She didn't know exactly how to react. Should she stop him? One side of her said yes. He was very forward and she didn't want to be easy or look like a gold digger. But the other side was telling her to follow her desires. She wanted to but not at such a high cost as her dignity.
The Marquis leaned to whisper on her ear:
“I won't do anything you don't want me to, cherie. And don't worry, I don't think you're easy or opportunistic. Just the opposite, your hesitation speaks of inexperience. I think you're fascinating. Such an enchanting young woman deserves to enjoy every pleasure this world has to offer. Please, let me be the one to show them to you”
His breath fanning on her neck and his tempting, honeyed voice made her tremble. He closed in, she could feel his heartbeat on her back, their bodies touching. One of his arms circling under her breasts, his other hand ghosting over her throat, delicately, long fingers sending electric jolts of pleasure as they trailed from her earlobe down her neck and wrapped her throat without putting pressure on it.
Delphine leaned fully on him, closing her eyes. Her skin was covered in goosebumps and her breath hitched when his plush lips kissed her under the earlobe, in the pulse point. She couldn't help a small sob escaping her mouth.
“Look at me, cherie”
He turned her around slowly. Her eyes were glassy and her lips quivered, she bit the bottom one, chewing it a bit as she looked all the way up. His thumb caressed her mouth gently and pulled her lip softly from her teeth massaging the reddened part.
“No, cherie, your mouth is too pretty to be bitten like this, and if someone has to do it, that will be me”
He held her nape as he leaned over her, devouring her mouth as he would do to a juicy peach on a summer day. She succumbed to his will, unable to think, and not willing to do so. Delphine abandoned herself to the feeling. Heat pooling in her panties and uncontrollable moans escaping into his mouth, what made him even more ravenous.
The kiss was eternal. His first taste of her and he didn't want to stop, but he forced himself to do so. He wanted the frisson of the chase and he had plans for her. She looked at him confused.
“I'm sorry, I got too carried away. “ she murmured with embarrassment.
“No, cherie, never apologize for following your heart. I don't want to rush you.”
His intense eyes perforated her very soul. He wasn't smiling. Was he disappointed at her eagerness? He seemed to be able to read her mind.
“I'm just caring about you. I'll take you home, you have work tomorrow”
The Bentley stopped at her address ten minutes later. Before she descended from the vehicle, the Marquis took her hand and kissed it
“I hope you will want to have dinner with me tomorrow night, cherie”
She swallowed hard. Her heart was in her throat. She managed to nod and a timid ‘yes, of course’ was all the answer she could muster.
When she had entered the building, the Bentley left. The Marquis had a calculating expression on his face. He desired Delphine more than any other woman he'd ever been with. She had bewitched him without even realizing. How was it possible to be so alluring and being completely oblivious to it? He just knew that he had to have her at any cost. She could be only his. He knocked on the partition glass and ordered Chidi to take him to a certain address. He had pending issues to settle on behalf of the High Table. That night blood ran freely at La Grande Pagode in the Bois de Vincennes.
She arrived at the door of her apartment in a haze. But she came to her senses when she saw a large object on the floor. It was a vase with flowers: Irises in all shades of purple and magenta. The vase had a paper wrapping. She entered the apartment, locked the door behind her and placed the vase on a table. When she unwrapped it she let out a gasp.
It was a Ceylan Lalique vase.
It was worth more than ten thousand euros.
And the flowers were her favourites.
How did he know?
There was a small card with the flowers, in his handwriting
“Delphine. You are a jewel worth treasuring. Vincent Bisset, Marquis de Gramont”
Vincent….
She whispered the name in awe, asking herself what had she done to deserve such attention. Was he trying to impress her with his money? Or did he really see her? She stood there, looking at the flowers, taking in all the colours, every hue, the delicate shapes. She ran her fingers over the opalescent shapes of the glass. How did he know?
Snapping out of her reverie, she went to the shower. In her mind the kiss had been replaying over and over. His hands in her skin, his mouth oh hers, his voice, soft and yet commanding, tempting, inviting.
The memories of the Tower balcony awoke the fire on her. Consumed by the memory of it, she directed the shower jet between her legs, slowly at the beginning, circling her clit, then, directly on it. Leaning against the wall, with her eyes closed and whispering his name, she felt her orgasm building up until it exploded in blinding waves. She still kept the shower on her swollen bud, torturing it just a bit more, thinking what his fingers… or his cock would feel like. Finally with buckling knees and shaky legs, she allowed herself to stop.
She did her nightly beauty routine dazed and still wanting him. One in bed, naked, she pleasured herself again with her fingers. She fell asleep the moment her second orgasm subsided, her fingers still between her legs.
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She woke up when the sun was rising. Dreams of the enigmatic Marquis haunted her sleep. She wondered if she had dreamed the whole episode but the flower vase with irises on her window sill was the confirmation that it had been very real.
The phone rang when she was finishing her morning workout. It was Pierre, the director of the ballet company.
“Good morning Delphine, how are you? Am I interrupting?”
“Good morning Pierre,, No, I was just working out. Is everything ok? “
“Yes, It's just to tell you that you're not going to be in tonight's performance “
“What? Why? “
“You're been requested to perform privately tonight. The Marquis wants you to dance for him at the Palais Garnier. He's paid handsomely for your absence from tonight's show, and he will pay you a month's wage for one night of dancing”
Delphine was gobsmacked, she was torn between surprise, awe and anger. Yes, it was a very generous offer, but she’d rather have been asked before, not presented with the decision taken by others. Neither the Marquis, nor Pierre had thought about asking her first.
She finished the call, not knowing what to make of it. It gnawed at her to be passed on like a pawn. But the Marquis was a Patron of the Palais Garnier, he had told her so himself last night. Maybe it was a golden opportunity.
She was having a cup of green tea when her phone rang again.
“Bonjour, chérie. I trust you had a restful night. Did you like the flowers?“
Delphine’s heart skipped a few beats. She hadn't given him her phone number and now here he was, phoning her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Good morning Marquis. How did you get my phone number, or my address for that matter?”
“I have my sources, chérie”
“You could have asked me last night”
“That is true. I apologize. I didn't intend to invade your privacy “
“But you did, and it makes me very uncomfortable “
“I'm sorry, Delphine, that was not my intention at all, I assure you”
“There's also the thing about this evening. You could have asked me, not going behind my back to arrange everything with my manager. He just called me this morning”
Delphine was doing an effort to stay calm and be polite, but her voice sounded a tad upset.
“I'm not a piece of property Marquis. Last night you were charming, I enjoyed our dinner. And the flowers are magnificent, it was a beautiful detail to remember it from our conversation. Although I'm afraid I will have to return the vase to you, I'm not in the habit of accepting Lalique vases worth thousands of euros from strangers. I'm not that kind of woman”
There was a long silence on the other side of the line. When the Marquis finally spoke, he sounded remorseful.
“I'm truly sorry that I have made you feel uncomfortable Delphine, I didn't want to imply anything inappropriate by giving you a Lalique vase. I knew you would recognize it. I was sure you have an eye for a fine Art piece. Please keep it, as an apology for underestimating you. As for tonight's event. I just wanted to get ahead of time to be able to secure the Palais Garnier. I never wanted to make you feel like a piece of property. I value you too much to treat you like one.”
His words, with that voice, soft, hypnotic, had an effect on her. When she spoke again she sounded mollified.
“ I accept your apology Marquis. We can call it a misunderstanding. You should know that I'm in the habit of speaking my mind. It's confidence and self respect and it's very important for me.”
“And I admire you even more for that. You're an exceptional woman Delphine.”
“Thank you Marquis”
“Now, about this evening, a vehicle will pick you up at your address at six, it will be a solo performance and I will be the only one attending. I leave up to you the choice of pieces you will dance. I'm sure you will be magnificent at dancing whatever you want to dance.”
“Thank you Marquis, It's a bit of a short notice, but I will prepare a list of pieces right now.”
She hesitated before continuing.
“I look forward to dancing for you, Marquis”
“And I look forward to enjoying your art and your company Delphine. And, please, call me Vincent”
“Then, goodbye for now, Vincent, have a lovely day”
“You too Delphine, Au revoir”
The Marquis looked through the window of his penthouse in a modern Parisian building. Young Delphine definitely had guts, she could stand her ground and she didn't seem afraid or impressed by him. Good, he hoped she presented a challenge because he would then enjoy taming her. The little ballerina had him completely obsessed with her. She had many layers and he was going to enjoy getting to the core of her and making her his.
He liked her more with every minute it passed. She wasn't like other women, falling at his feet and swooning over a diamond bracelet. Not Delphine. She had wanted to return a vase worth a month's salary. He looked forward to the challenge and to her reaction to his plans for her.
This was proof of how much he liked her. Any other person talking to him like she had done, would be dead by now.
Delphine worked on a few pieces to present to the Marquis. He had already seen her in ‘La Sylphide’, so she chose other pieces: A selection of Swan Lake including The Death of the Swan Princess, Maurice Ravel's ‘Bolero’, a selection from Manuel de Falla’s ‘Love, the Sorcerer’ including ‘The Dance of the Fire’ and a couple of the pieces she had been working on. She didn't only dance, she created choreographies. And currently she was working in one based on the works of Erik Satie. In total, almost two hours with a couple of scheduled breaks.
She wrote a program for the evening show, handwritten in beautiful calligraphy and decorated with tiny watercolour motifs, on a card which she placed in the matching envelope.
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At six thirty, the Marquis’ vehicle came to pick her up. It was a short ride to the Palais Garnier. It was her first time there as a dancer, the other times, many of them, it had been as a member of the public. She was taken through the main doors and a middle aged woman was waiting for her to assist her while she got ready. She took Delphine to her dressing room after she had a brief conversation with the light engineer and the orchestra.
The Marquis arrived at quarter to seven and went to see her. She was getting ready and had her leotard on but not the tutù. A silk kimono was covering her.
“Good evening Delphine, Is everything to your liking? “
“Good evening Mar… Vincent. Yes, it's more than what I would have dreamed of. Thank you for this opportunity “
She was already into performance mode, her eyes were bright and she brimmed with excitement.
“No, Delphine, thank you for dancing for me. It's a privilege to watch you.”
He just wanted to kiss her, but he held himself. There would be time for that afterwards. He was impressed with the effect she caused on him. He was usually a man in full control.
“I've got something for you, Vincent “
She handed him the card with the program, a bit bashfully. He took it, noticing the huge difference between their hands and suppressing an impulse to take hers into his.
He opened the envelope and his face changed completely when he saw the card. The sheer sweetness and innocence that had taken to craft that one of a kind program, the careful calligraphy, the delicate decorations. The little message at the end: “I hope it makes you happy”. He wasn't a man to get moved, but this was something else.
“This is an unexpected gift. It's valuable in a way you can't imagine.”
Delphine didn't miss his expression. His mask had fallen completely. He wasn't powerful and impressive but… human.
“I'm pleased that you liked it” She was smiling from her heart. “I hope you enjoy the performance too”
“I'm sure I will. I let you now to get ready”
He left and was taken by the Theatre Director to his box, the Imperial Box. His men, as usual, had positioned themselves all over the theatre. Chidi stayed in the box with the Marquis, standing at the back, guarding the door from the inside. On the other side of the door, four guards kept watch.
Delphine was ready, the curtain rose and a spotlight illuminated her. The evening opened with Swan Lake. Her dream of dancing the most famous ballet in history in the prestigious Palais Garnier, was now a reality. Even if it was only for one person. When it was the turn for The Death of the Swan, Delphine wept, she always did when dancing that piece. It was what made her an exceptional ballerina, she truly felt her characters and told their stories with her dance.
A short break to allow her a change of outfit gave the Marquis time to process what he just had seen. That was the best performance of Swan Lake he ever saw in his entire life. That incredible girl deserved to be Prima Ballerina in the Paris Opera Ballet.
The second part of the show was passionate, with the Ravel Bolero and the Ritual Dance of the Fire by Falla. Dramatic, intense. She wore customary red for the Bolero, which also suited the Dance of the Fire. She was a Goddess, a Sorceress, she was Passion itself.
When the second break came, the Marquis was devoted to her. He wanted her for himself, he wanted to worship her.
He poured a glass of McCallan 64 years old Whisky in Lalique Decanter he had bought at a Sotheby’s auction a few years ago for $460000. The perfect drink for an unique evening.
The curtain rose for the last time and Delphine had a new outfit: an ethereal, layered chiffon tunic adorned with a few crystals that sparkled like tiny stars. She danced pieces from Satie to her own choreography. The mood was magical forest in the night. A fairy dancing on a clearing bathed by moonlight. Otherworldly and angelic, she floated rather than danced.
There was when the Marquis knew he had fallen in love with her. For the first time in his life, the ruthless, violent, implacable crimelord had true feelings for someone. He had to have her at any cost.
Delphine had finished her performance, and she bowed. The Marquis stood up in a one man standing ovation. An aide brought her a bunch of flowers. Irises, this time blue ones.
She went back to her dressing room where her assistant told her that the Marquis was waiting for her in the Imperial Box. She had a very quick shower and changed into a blue dress, similar to the one she had worn for dancing but simpler. All while the assistant packed her dance outfits.
When she arrived at the Imperial Box, Chidi ushered her inside. The Marquis came to receive her and kissed her hand.
“You were magnificent! Sublime! “
He seemed content, even ecstatic, which was very rare for him. Chidi, who knew him for more than ten years, noticed. The Marquis never had lowered his guard in front of anyone before.
Delphine blushed. She had truly enjoyed dancing freely. She had immersed herself completely in the performance and she was still riding the high.
“I'm so pleased that you liked it. Tonight it felt very special. I truly enjoyed dancing. “
“And it showed! This was even better than yesterday and yesterday you were splendid”
He paused for a moment, looking her in the eyes with an intense, even feverish stare.
“Delphine, please, have dinner with me tonight. I would very much like to have the privilege and the pleasure of your company. Tell me you accept “
He asked so eagerly, so vehemently, that Delphine couldn't say no. They left the Palais Garnier in the Bentley. Shortly after they arrived at a luxurious mansion. It had an iron wrought fence all around and occupied a whole block.
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A butler welcomed them and the Marquis guided Delphine to an elegant lounge where he opened a bottle of Krug Vintage 1979 champagne and filled up their Bohemia crystal glasses before retiring to oversee the dinner arrangements.
“I want to toast to you, Delphine. To the most magnificent ballerina I've ever seen, and the most beautiful woman”
He lifted his glass and she lowered her eyes for a moment, a bit overwhelmed. She met his gaze again, her eyes had welled up.
The Marquis closed the distance between them, held her face with his hands and wiped a stray tear from her cheek
“What's wrong my minette? “
“Nothing is wrong. It's just I'm not used to this attention. You're making me feel like a queen”
“Because that's how I see you. Not like a ballerina in a modest dance company but as someone who deserves to be at the top of the world “
He had a way to pull her into his orbit. He exuded control, power and confidence. The kind of demeanor reserved for those who rule the world. How could such a man be so interested in her?
“Who are you, Vincent? Why does a man with your power and money even think about me? I'm just a plain girl.”
His face went stern, so much that she trembled. His eyes pinned her like a butterfly to the board
“You are everything but plain, Delphine. I don't want to hear you talking about yourself like this. Ever! You are perfect in my eyes. “
Delphine stood there, with eyes wide open, lips parted and her heart racing to leave her chest.
He took the glass from her hand, set both carefully on a nearby table and before she could realize he descended over her capturing her mouth in an incandescent kiss, hungry and voracious. The kiss he had been holding in the whole evening. She responded to the kiss, but he was the one leading the dance. All she could do was to drown in the sea of sensations he was awakening in her, all new and forbidden. A symphony of muffled moans and soft whimpers was all she could manage as he made her core melt like butter and every nerve in her body vibrate with electricity.
A soft knock on the door interrupted them . The Marquis knew it was the butler to announce the dinner. He also knew Delphine hadn't eaten anything before the performance. He told the butler on the other side of the door that they were on their way.
“I'm sorry Delphine. But I want to make sure you eat something, otherwise you won't last another glass of champagne “
He led her to the dining room. His hand on the small of her back. Protective and warm.
At the table, he sat at the head with her by his side. She ate very little, it seemed to be her custom. The conversation revolved about her and why she had become a ballerina.
“I cannot describe what I feel when I'm dancing. It's complete freedom, peace, like I'm on a world of my own, letting my feelings and the whole of me float in the air. Only me and the music”
The Marquis observed her while she talked, how her whole demeanor changed while she explained to him what music and dance meant to her. How her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled and her hands moved like small birds flying around each other.
“But there are things in your profession that you are less happy with, yes? “
Delphine was impressed and a bit spooked by how well he could read her. She knew almost nothing about him, yet he seemed to know her heart’s most hidden desires and wishes.
“Yes, I'm a private person, I feel uncomfortable with all the backbiting and bitching in this profession. It's a dog eat dog, a race to be the next favourite. I don't want to do that. I just want to express myself.”
“I see, I understand you perfectly, Delphine. You're a living work of Art in your own right. All the petty and mean politics around your profession are beneath you. You should be able to dedicate yourself to what you love without having to worry for gossip and backstabbing.”
“You understand me so well, you seem to know a great deal about me, yet I know almost nothing about you. Who are you, Vincent? “
He let the question hang in the air for a few seconds. Looking at her intently. His green eyes made her dizzy. She felt naked under his gaze, but in a good way.
“I'm just a businessman, I deal in security, logistics and problem solving. I run a multimillion operation that reaches all over the world. But that's nothing you should concern yourself with.”
“But you go around with a small army guarding you. Is what you do for a living dangerous? “
“In a certain way, yes. But it comes with the job.”
“Aren't you ever on your own?”
That made him laugh heartily. He took her hand and kissed it.
“Of course I am on my own many times. There are things I cannot do surrounded by bodyguards… like making love to a beautiful woman”
Delphine blushed violently as the Marquis got up, still holding her hand, and pulled her up as well.
“I know we met just yesterday, but I never have felt for a woman what I'm feeling for you now. Believe me when I tell you that I wish for nothing more than being with you. If you feel the same, stay, I beg you. If you don't, I'll arrange for my chauffeur to drive you to your home”
Her breath hitched. It was a big decision to be taken so quickly but she already knew the answer before she spoke. The two (or were three?) glasses of wine made her feel adventurous.
“Yes, I would like to stay”
On hearing that, The Marquis left the dining room pulling Delphine as he walked. They went upstairs, to his bedroom. The moment the door closed behind them, he took his jacket off, he grabbed her by the back of her thighs and lifted her in one fluid movement. She wrapped her legs around him. He pinned her against the wall, devouring her mouth furiously.
He murmured between kisses.
“I want you to be mine and no one else’s”
She sighed on his ear
“There's no one else. It never has been”
He stopped, his eyes were aflame.
“Never at all?”
She shook her head
“Never”
“Mine forever then “
He lowered her to the floorboards and slid down the straps of her dress. It fell down pooling at her feet. His fingers ghosted over the porcelain skin while his eyes devoured her. Delphine looked up, mesmerized by his hungry eyes. Biting the already swollen bottom lip. He clicked his tongue in disapproval and she stopped. The Marquis then removed her bra, feasting his eyes on her small but perfect breasts.
He liked the power imbalance of her naked before him and him staying fully clothed, the blush in her cheeks, the wide open doe eyes, her lithe and elegant body, pristine, untouched, waiting for him to open for her a universe of sensual pleasures. He was a man used to having absolute power over people. But in this case it was intoxicating, like drinking too much from a fine wine.
He nodded in her direction, indicating to her to remove her panties.
“Your eyes on me, minette”
Delphine locked eyes with him, drowning in his hypnotic gaze as she removed her cotton panties. She swallowed hard once she was completely exposed to him. He lifted her chin with two fingers.
“Where do you want it first? bed? bathroom? balcony? floor? against the table?”
“God! You're kinky!”
“You have no idea, minette”
“Against the table and perhaps the balcony too?”
“You're rather daring yourself”
Yes, and in her eagerness to be daring, Delphine threw caution to the wind. She still had a little bit of a nagging sensation that he was practically a stranger who had wrapped her in compliments, flowers, luxuries, while she still knew next to nothing about him. But he was a dream of a man, gorgeous like a Scandinavian god, educated and exquisite, yes, he had an army around him and he seemed used to getting his way but…
Well, one night adventure was not going to hurt, right? Delphine had dedicated fifteen years to dance. Because she loved it. But it also came with huge sacrifices, and an even higher cost, especially when it came to social life and normal activities for a girl her age. She had no real friends or a boyfriend either.
So, hell, she was going to enjoy a night of passion with Vincent, because yes, because she fancied him, a lot.
He hoisted her naked body and carried her near a desk in his huge bedroom. He lowered her and turned her around.
“Lean over the table”
It was an order. So the Marquis liked to be dominant. It just made her more aroused.
She leaned over the table until her torso touched the polished surface. There was a huge mirror in front of her. She could see his face, he could see hers.
He placed his hands on her hips, and caressed her buttocks with his thumbs.
“Remember, minette, eyes on me”
She couldn't look anywhere else, he was bewitching. He grinded his hips against her butcheeks and she could feel the bulge growing inside his pants.
Then he ran his middle finger along her folds, collecting the arousal dripping from her, he started rubbing circles around her clit without quite touching it yet. Delphine gasped and writhed looking for friction but he held her in place. She was so worked out that when he finally touched it she jolted, he didn't give her quarter but kept going relentlessly, all while neither of them took the eyes from the other’s reflection on the mirror.
Her breath was irregular and she was losing her mind, but that was nothing compared to when he introduced his thumb inside her without ceasing to rub her already swollen clit. His fingers were long, he easily reached that spongy zone and rubbed it in unison with her clit. She was practically melting. Moaning and begging for him not to stop.
Everything got spoiled by an energetic knock on the door. The Marquis roared
“Not now!!!!”
From the other side of the door, Chidi spoke with urgency
“I'm sorry Marquis, but this is an emergency! “
The mood was broken. Delphine was mortified. The Marquis, emergency or not, was not going to open until she had time to dress
“I'm so sorry, Delphine”
She put her dress on quickly, kicking the underwear behind an armchair. When the Marquis saw that she was presentable he opened the door, still angry at the interruption, but he knew his chief bodyguard wouldn't dare to disturb him without a good reason. Chidi entered the room. Delphine sat on the armchair, feigning normalcy.
“What is it? Speak! “
“One of the warehouses in the South Quays was blown up ten minutes ago. The one where last week's shipment was stored”
“WHAT?! Call Faure, tell him to go there and start with damage control, and have the men ready to go. Four vehicles. And tell the butler to come up”
Chidi nodded and left to execute the Marquis’ orders. And this one turned to Delphine.
“This requires my immediate attention, but I would like you to stay. My butler will make sure you're comfortable and have everything you need “
She had got up, and was going to ask him to just arrange for her to be driven home, but he seemed to have read her mind
“Seriously, I don't want to intrud… “
He put a finger on her lips.
“No, chérie, you're not a nuisance and you're not intruding. Please, stay, I beg you. Rest and relax and we can talk when I come back”
He sounded so eager, so adamant that he wanted her to stay. She nodded.
“Ok Vincent, I'll stay. Go now, I'll be fine”
He gave her a quick and passionate kiss, then left. He met the butler in the corridor and gave him specific instructions about Delphine before leaving with his men.
She, meanwhile, had fished out her underwear from under the armchair. There was another knock at the door, this time it was a young maid, she curtsied and asked Delphine to follow her. She took her to another room, a couple of doors down. A spacious and recently decorated room, all in forest greens, purples and matte gold details. A king size bed, a massive bathroom with all sorts of toiletries in it and a walk in dressing room.
The maid took some clothes from a drawer. Silk pyjamas, slippers, a robe and placed them on the bed. She left to get some tea and a snack for Delphine.
It was well past eleven pm. This had indeed been a most eventful night. She filled a bath and soaked in it for at least twenty minutes. After her nightly beauty routine, she returned to the bedroom to find a tray with a tea set, and hibiscus tea steaming from the pot. Besides there were two delicate glass dishes, one with mini macaroons and the other with expensive looking chocolates. The Marquis certainly knew how to treat his guests.
She poured some tea in the porcelain cup and sipped it while she recalled the evening. She was overwhelmed with so many events. She had danced at the Palais Garnier, she had been showered with attention by the Marquis, and she had surrendered herself to him in a way she had never thought possible. Then, in the middle of the night, he had left with his army of guards to solve a situation, a blown up warehouse? That's what Chidi had said. Who was this Marquis?
Now that the effects of the wine had dissipated, she tried to look at the whole situation from a more rational point of view. But it wasn't only the wine, it was him. What were his intentions? Why did he have such a strong effect on her?
She could feel herself nodding off, so she placed the cup on the bedside table and slid under the covers. She was asleep before she could even think further.
Her dreams were full of too many things to be peaceful. When she woke up the next morning the sun had already been out for a while. She shook the sleepiness away, it wasn't her to sleep in till late on a working day. She reached for her phone and then she remembered that her handbag and her things were downstairs. She got up and she saw her handbag on top of a table. Her phone was dead.
The rest of her things were in the dressing room. She changed into the clothes she wore yesterday to go to the theatre. She could notice a faint smell of coffee. Maybe the Marquis was back. She headed for the door, grabbed the door handle… and the door was locked.
I have been wanting to write a Marquis de Gramont fanfiction for ages. I'm going for a multichapter fot this one.
I had recently a request from the lovely @scarletpresentoldprofilename who wanted a certain facecard for the female character and lots of smut. (when it's about the Marquis, there's no other way 😍)
A sweet ballerina with lots of courage and determination is about to cross paths with the dangerous Marquis de Gramont and get much more than she bargained for. He will also discover that not everyone obeys him blindly.
Word count: @ 7700
Warnings: Power dynamics imbalance, smut, attempt at manipulation, dommy Vincent. MDNI.
THE SYLPH IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. CH 1
Vincent Bisset, Marquis de Gramont is a very powerful man. He also is as dangerous as he's powerful. Cruel, sadistic, ruthless, extremely intelligent… As lethal and precise as a surgical knife. He is hedonistic, he loves sensual pleasures: food, wine, women, Arts. And he indulges largely in all of them for he has a huge fortune. At 35 years of age, the world is his. By the way, he is also one of the most beautiful men alive. With gorgeous looks, an imposing physique, the natural elegance of a panther and the best wardrobe in France.
He's a criminal by profession. The High Emissary of the global organization known as The High Table. He also possesses a vast army of assassins of his own. He has no loved ones, no friends, he cares only about himself and his organization. The High Table fears him, but they also need him. To those who obey him he allows them to live. To those who fail or betray him... Well, they soon find themselves wishing they hadn't.
The Marquis is also a patron of the Arts. He's a privileged member at the Louvre, the Opera Garnier and half a dozen of prestigious cultural associations. He favours Painting and Sculpture, and especially Music and Classical Dance.
Today the Marquis is in a foul mood. Something last night has gone terribly wrong with an assignment, resulting in total chaos. He wants to find who the responsibles are and punish them accordingly. He delegates in Chidi, the chief of his men, to start enquiries immediately. Chidi doesn't say a word. He gets on with it immediately.
The Marquis, sitting at his table, and having breakfast starts opening his post. One particular envelope catches his attention. It's an invitation to attend a ballet performance at the Theatre du Chatelet. “The Sylphide”, by a ballet company whose name he doesn't recognize. He's about to discard the invitation when he sees the name of the Prima Ballerina: Delphine Vallenaire. He heard the name mentioned in circles at the Palais Garnier a while ago, and he has taken an interest in her career since. He places the invitation aside.
Delphine is 22. She's been a ballerina since she was 5 and a professional since she was 14. Delicate as porcelain, resilient as steel, and with no filter whatsoever. An intelligent and curious young woman, who, despite being the prima ballerina of a modest but well known ballet company, yearns for seeing the world and experiencing all the beauty and pleasures it has to offer.
A petite girl of pale, freckled skin, short hair, expressive eyes and the most infectious optimism. She lives in a small apartment in a quiet neighbourhood in the centre of Paris. She has very few friends, none of them close and she keeps to herself.
Dancing is her life and her love. But she doesn't enjoy everything around it: draconian rules, crowds, gruelling rehearsals, all the bitching surrounding that world, the creepy patrons who want a piece of her. That's why she chooses solitude and the pursuit of beauty in music, museums, bookshops and flea markets. She creates dancing pieces of her own, but in the world of classic ballet they're not fond of innovations.
Today they're premiering “La Sylphide”. It's one of her favourite ballets, she knows it backwards and she's very happy with the new production. When she goes tonight on the stage, she will allow herself to get lost in the magic, to truly live the story, to float, to fly, to be a wisp of air.
She has a relaxed, quiet morning at home. Preparing herself for the evening, her daily exercises, a light meal, a walk in the nearby park. When she arrives at the theatre, well ahead of the curtain call, she is ready and feeling the tingling of excitement.
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The Marquis arrives at the theatre with his usual entourage, a selection of his own men commanded by Chidi. He goes to the main Box while his men deploy all over the theatre. Everyone is already inside and the show is about to start.
When Delphine makes her appearance, delicate, graceful, ethereal, she owns the stage. She is not a ballerina anymore but a fairy, tiny and beautiful.
The Marquis is mesmerized. He watches her with his binoculars. She's small and lithe, very young and exquisitely beautiful. A true living work of Art. He is absorbed in her performance. She just doesn't move to the music, she understands it and lives it.
The performance ends and the Marquis feels the cold reality. He has been so engrossed with her that to be back from the place she has taken him to feels devastating.
He orders Chidi to bring the director of the ballet company to him, and when this one appears, he tells him that he wishes to meet the Prima Ballerina personally. The director knows this is not a request but an order.
The Marquis is taken to a VIP room where some refreshments have been set up for him. He feels like a schoolboy, which surprises him. It's been a long time since he felt this excited.
The director speaks to Delphine and she refuses straight away. The director tries to persuade her. He knows the Marquis reputation as a person who doesn't accept gracefully a no for an answer.
“Please, Delphine, just a couple of minutes, the Marquis is a very powerful man and a Patron of the Arts. I beg you! “
Delphine realizes immediately, the director doesn't want to butter up the Marquis, he is scared of him. She feels a pang of dread. There's no escaping the situation. With a sigh she agrees to meet the Marquis. The director rushes to inform him while she gets ready.
A few minutes later Delphine arrives at the door of the VIP room. There are two huge bodyguards, one on each side of the door. She knocks the door and on hearing a ‘come in’ from the inside, she walks in.
There's another bodyguard in the room, bigger than the other two, he looks mean and dangerous, but the other person in the room… That's something else.
Delphine was expecting an old creep, instead she's faced with the most incredible man she has ever seen. He's impossibly tall, about two metres. So gorgeous that it hurts. His eyes are green fire, the rest of his persona is stern, terrifying. The only thing she can think of is that she's in the presence of Lucifer.
Delphine feels dwarfed. The top of her head barely reaches his shoulder. But she's not easily intimidated, not by him, at least not with fear. He intimidates her in a very different way. She feels her pulse racing and a throb between her legs.
The Marquis approaches her, he extends a large hand, strong and elegant towards her. She lifts hers and he holds it like if it was a tiny bird, takes it to his lips and kisses it. Delphine shivers, and he notices it. His gaze is unfathomable.
“Mademoiselle Valenaire, I wanted to express my admiration for your spectacular performance. It was superb and exquisite. Your talent is immense.”
His voice was like silk, velvet, and absinthe; intoxicating, sensual and with a hint of something dangerous. Nonetheless, Delphine made a supreme effort and maintained her composure.
“Thank you so much Marquis. I'm very pleased that you enjoyed it so much. Your fame as an Arts connoisseur precedes you”
To the Marquis her voice sounded like a crystal bell. Not only was it musical, her tone and pronunciation were perfect. She was educated, cultured and reserved. She smelled of jasmine soap and fresh lemon cologne. She looked very young, but he already knew she was twenty two. Her skin was flawless, her complexion, that of delicate porcelain, but under such delightful femininity he could sense a will of steel and an unflinching courage. He would be damned if this wasn't the most fascinating woman he'd ever met.
“I was hoping you would have dinner with me Mademoiselle Valenaire “
There it was. Delphine tensed. She never entertained admirers. She just wanted to go home and curl up on her sofa.
“You're most kind, Monsieur le Marquis, but I'm not in the habit of socializing much. I wish to go home and rest, for the performance has been intense. I had enough of crowds for tonight“
Her voice was sweet and polite, but her intention was firm.
The Marquis wasn't taken aback by her words. Delphine realized then that he was still holding her hand.
“I promise you there will be no crowds. Dinner, good conversation and you'll be home before midnight. “
There was something in his voice, in his eyes and in the way he held her hand that made it impossible for her to say no. He was commanding, yet gentle. And the way he was looking at her turned her knees to jelly.
“I am a bit underdressed” she murmured, noticing his impeccably elegant three piece suit.
“You look like an angel” he replied, his eyes on her little frame wrapped in a short sleeveless boho dress and flat silver sandals.
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He waited for her in the foyer while she fetched her bag. He called ahead at the restaurant to book and he made a special request. She appeared after a few minutes and they got in his black Bentley. The chauffeur drove them to the Eiffel Tower.
The doorman at the entrance received them and they got in the lift to the top. At the door of the restaurant, the maitre welcomed and led them to the table with the most spectacular view. The restaurant was empty.
“I would have thought that this restaurant would be fully booked, ” she commented.
“It was, but I had it vacated to have it all for ourselves” the Marquis said, matter of factly and nonchalantly.
Delphine’s eyes were big as saucers. Who was this man who could book the most expensive restaurant in Paris only for himself in a question of minutes? And why was he going around escorted by an army of bodyguards?
The Marquis pulled her chair, the one facing the view of the night skyline and then sat opposite her.
“You will not enjoy the view sitting there,” Delphine said innocently.
“I already have the best view”
His eyes were fixed on her, and it took her a couple of seconds to understand the meaning of his words. But when she did, her cheeks went crimson.
The maitre took their order: Oysters and a filet mignon with dauphinoise potatoes for him. A broth and grilled prawns with lime and coconut for her. When the starters were served Delphine blushed even more at seeing him eating oysters. The Marquis didn't take his eyes off her while he ate them. She couldn't avert her eyes off him either, looking at him with horrified fascination, feeling her tiny cotton panties get soaked with her arousal and trying to pretend that nothing was happening.
The Marquis, obviously, knew better than that. And despite her efforts to look unfazed, he noticed the imperceptible squirms and the rosy hue of her cheeks. He licked his lips when he had finished and smirked mischievously at her. He enjoyed her predicament. It told her two important things about her: She was a virgin, and she was curious. It couldn't be more perfect.
During the main course, conversation flowed seamlessly. The Marquis asked about her pursuits, interests and hobbies. Delphine relaxed and talked, helped by the second glass of the excellent wine that the Marquis kept pouring her. He told her very little about himself except for his love of the Arts which both had in common.
They skipped dessert, the Marquis signed the bill and then he guided Delphine to the balcony of the second floor.
The view was breathtaking. Paris at night seemed like jewels scattered, sparkling in yellows and whites with other occasional colours thrown here and there. Delphine loved night skylines and she looked at everything with bright eyes full of wonder.
The night was slightly fresh and she hadn't brought a cardigan or a shawl. She was shivering a bit but didn't want to look needy.
Delphine didn't have to say anything, the Marquis had already noticed. She was against the railing, facing the city, with her pale hands clutching the metal bar. She felt the warmth of proximity. The Marquis was right behind her. If she moved an inch backward, her back would be in contact with his torso. Suddenly she was very aware of him and she didn't dare to move.
He placed his large hands on each side of her, holding the rail. Delphine was caged between his arms. Her heart was beating furiously, not with fear but with excitement. She didn't know exactly how to react. Should she stop him? One side of her said yes. He was very forward and she didn't want to be easy or look like a gold digger. But the other side was telling her to follow her desires. She wanted to but not at such a high cost as her dignity.
The Marquis leaned to whisper on her ear:
“I won't do anything you don't want me to, cherie. And don't worry, I don't think you're easy or opportunistic. Just the opposite, your hesitation speaks of inexperience. I think you're fascinating. Such an enchanting young woman deserves to enjoy every pleasure this world has to offer. Please, let me be the one to show them to you”
His breath fanning on her neck and his tempting, honeyed voice made her tremble. He closed in, she could feel his heartbeat on her back, their bodies touching. One of his arms circling under her breasts, his other hand ghosting over her throat, delicately, long fingers sending electric jolts of pleasure as they trailed from her earlobe down her neck and wrapped her throat without putting pressure on it.
Delphine leaned fully on him, closing her eyes. Her skin was covered in goosebumps and her breath hitched when his plush lips kissed her under the earlobe, in the pulse point. She couldn't help a small sob escaping her mouth.
“Look at me, cherie”
He turned her around slowly. Her eyes were glassy and her lips quivered, she bit the bottom one, chewing it a bit as she looked all the way up. His thumb caressed her mouth gently and pulled her lip softly from her teeth massaging the reddened part.
“No, cherie, your mouth is too pretty to be bitten like this, and if someone has to do it, that will be me”
He held her nape as he leaned over her, devouring her mouth as he would do to a juicy peach on a summer day. She succumbed to his will, unable to think, and not willing to do so. Delphine abandoned herself to the feeling. Heat pooling in her panties and uncontrollable moans escaping into his mouth, what made him even more ravenous.
The kiss was eternal. His first taste of her and he didn't want to stop, but he forced himself to do so. He wanted the frisson of the chase and he had plans for her. She looked at him confused.
“I'm sorry, I got too carried away. “ she murmured with embarrassment.
“No, cherie, never apologize for following your heart. I don't want to rush you.”
His intense eyes perforated her very soul. He wasn't smiling. Was he disappointed at her eagerness? He seemed to be able to read her mind.
“I'm just caring about you. I'll take you home, you have work tomorrow”
The Bentley stopped at her address ten minutes later. Before she descended from the vehicle, the Marquis took her hand and kissed it
“I hope you will want to have dinner with me tomorrow night, cherie”
She swallowed hard. Her heart was in her throat. She managed to nod and a timid ‘yes, of course’ was all the answer she could muster.
When she had entered the building, the Bentley left. The Marquis had a calculating expression on his face. He desired Delphine more than any other woman he'd ever been with. She had bewitched him without even realizing. How was it possible to be so alluring and being completely oblivious to it? He just knew that he had to have her at any cost. She could be only his. He knocked on the partition glass and ordered Chidi to take him to a certain address. He had pending issues to settle on behalf of the High Table. That night blood ran freely at La Grande Pagode in the Bois de Vincennes.
She arrived at the door of her apartment in a haze. But she came to her senses when she saw a large object on the floor. It was a vase with flowers: Irises in all shades of purple and magenta. The vase had a paper wrapping. She entered the apartment, locked the door behind her and placed the vase on a table. When she unwrapped it she let out a gasp.
It was a Ceylan Lalique vase.
It was worth more than ten thousand euros.
And the flowers were her favourites.
How did he know?
There was a small card with the flowers, in his handwriting
“Delphine. You are a jewel worth treasuring. Vincent Bisset, Marquis de Gramont”
Vincent….
She whispered the name in awe, asking herself what had she done to deserve such attention. Was he trying to impress her with his money? Or did he really see her? She stood there, looking at the flowers, taking in all the colours, every hue, the delicate shapes. She ran her fingers over the opalescent shapes of the glass. How did he know?
Snapping out of her reverie, she went to the shower. In her mind the kiss had been replaying over and over. His hands in her skin, his mouth oh hers, his voice, soft and yet commanding, tempting, inviting.
The memories of the Tower balcony awoke the fire on her. Consumed by the memory of it, she directed the shower jet between her legs, slowly at the beginning, circling her clit, then, directly on it. Leaning against the wall, with her eyes closed and whispering his name, she felt her orgasm building up until it exploded in blinding waves. She still kept the shower on her swollen bud, torturing it just a bit more, thinking what his fingers… or his cock would feel like. Finally with buckling knees and shaky legs, she allowed herself to stop.
She did her nightly beauty routine dazed and still wanting him. One in bed, naked, she pleasured herself again with her fingers. She fell asleep the moment her second orgasm subsided, her fingers still between her legs.
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She woke up when the sun was rising. Dreams of the enigmatic Marquis haunted her sleep. She wondered if she had dreamed the whole episode but the flower vase with irises on her window sill was the confirmation that it had been very real.
The phone rang when she was finishing her morning workout. It was Pierre, the director of the ballet company.
“Good morning Delphine, how are you? Am I interrupting?”
“Good morning Pierre,, No, I was just working out. Is everything ok? “
“Yes, It's just to tell you that you're not going to be in tonight's performance “
“What? Why? “
“You're been requested to perform privately tonight. The Marquis wants you to dance for him at the Palais Garnier. He's paid handsomely for your absence from tonight's show, and he will pay you a month's wage for one night of dancing”
Delphine was gobsmacked, she was torn between surprise, awe and anger. Yes, it was a very generous offer, but she’d rather have been asked before, not presented with the decision taken by others. Neither the Marquis, nor Pierre had thought about asking her first.
She finished the call, not knowing what to make of it. It gnawed at her to be passed on like a pawn. But the Marquis was a Patron of the Palais Garnier, he had told her so himself last night. Maybe it was a golden opportunity.
She was having a cup of green tea when her phone rang again.
“Bonjour, chérie. I trust you had a restful night. Did you like the flowers?“
Delphine’s heart skipped a few beats. She hadn't given him her phone number and now here he was, phoning her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Good morning Marquis. How did you get my phone number, or my address for that matter?”
“I have my sources, chérie”
“You could have asked me last night”
“That is true. I apologize. I didn't intend to invade your privacy “
“But you did, and it makes me very uncomfortable “
“I'm sorry, Delphine, that was not my intention at all, I assure you”
“There's also the thing about this evening. You could have asked me, not going behind my back to arrange everything with my manager. He just called me this morning”
Delphine was doing an effort to stay calm and be polite, but her voice sounded a tad upset.
“I'm not a piece of property Marquis. Last night you were charming, I enjoyed our dinner. And the flowers are magnificent, it was a beautiful detail to remember it from our conversation. Although I'm afraid I will have to return the vase to you, I'm not in the habit of accepting Lalique vases worth thousands of euros from strangers. I'm not that kind of woman”
There was a long silence on the other side of the line. When the Marquis finally spoke, he sounded remorseful.
“I'm truly sorry that I have made you feel uncomfortable Delphine, I didn't want to imply anything inappropriate by giving you a Lalique vase. I knew you would recognize it. I was sure you have an eye for a fine Art piece. Please keep it, as an apology for underestimating you. As for tonight's event. I just wanted to get ahead of time to be able to secure the Palais Garnier. I never wanted to make you feel like a piece of property. I value you too much to treat you like one.”
His words, with that voice, soft, hypnotic, had an effect on her. When she spoke again she sounded mollified.
“ I accept your apology Marquis. We can call it a misunderstanding. You should know that I'm in the habit of speaking my mind. It's confidence and self respect and it's very important for me.”
“And I admire you even more for that. You're an exceptional woman Delphine.”
“Thank you Marquis”
“Now, about this evening, a vehicle will pick you up at your address at six, it will be a solo performance and I will be the only one attending. I leave up to you the choice of pieces you will dance. I'm sure you will be magnificent at dancing whatever you want to dance.”
“Thank you Marquis, It's a bit of a short notice, but I will prepare a list of pieces right now.”
She hesitated before continuing.
“I look forward to dancing for you, Marquis”
“And I look forward to enjoying your art and your company Delphine. And, please, call me Vincent”
“Then, goodbye for now, Vincent, have a lovely day”
“You too Delphine, Au revoir”
The Marquis looked through the window of his penthouse in a modern Parisian building. Young Delphine definitely had guts, she could stand her ground and she didn't seem afraid or impressed by him. Good, he hoped she presented a challenge because he would then enjoy taming her. The little ballerina had him completely obsessed with her. She had many layers and he was going to enjoy getting to the core of her and making her his.
He liked her more with every minute it passed. She wasn't like other women, falling at his feet and swooning over a diamond bracelet. Not Delphine. She had wanted to return a vase worth a month's salary. He looked forward to the challenge and to her reaction to his plans for her.
This was proof of how much he liked her. Any other person talking to him like she had done, would be dead by now.
Delphine worked on a few pieces to present to the Marquis. He had already seen her in ‘La Sylphide’, so she chose other pieces: A selection of Swan Lake including The Death of the Swan Princess, Maurice Ravel's ‘Bolero’, a selection from Manuel de Falla’s ‘Love, the Sorcerer’ including ‘The Dance of the Fire’ and a couple of the pieces she had been working on. She didn't only dance, she created choreographies. And currently she was working in one based on the works of Erik Satie. In total, almost two hours with a couple of scheduled breaks.
She wrote a program for the evening show, handwritten in beautiful calligraphy and decorated with tiny watercolour motifs, on a card which she placed in the matching envelope.
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At six thirty, the Marquis’ vehicle came to pick her up. It was a short ride to the Palais Garnier. It was her first time there as a dancer, the other times, many of them, it had been as a member of the public. She was taken through the main doors and a middle aged woman was waiting for her to assist her while she got ready. She took Delphine to her dressing room after she had a brief conversation with the light engineer and the orchestra.
The Marquis arrived at quarter to seven and went to see her. She was getting ready and had her leotard on but not the tutù. A silk kimono was covering her.
“Good evening Delphine, Is everything to your liking? “
“Good evening Mar… Vincent. Yes, it's more than what I would have dreamed of. Thank you for this opportunity “
She was already into performance mode, her eyes were bright and she brimmed with excitement.
“No, Delphine, thank you for dancing for me. It's a privilege to watch you.”
He just wanted to kiss her, but he held himself. There would be time for that afterwards. He was impressed with the effect she caused on him. He was usually a man in full control.
“I've got something for you, Vincent “
She handed him the card with the program, a bit bashfully. He took it, noticing the huge difference between their hands and suppressing an impulse to take hers into his.
He opened the envelope and his face changed completely when he saw the card. The sheer sweetness and innocence that had taken to craft that one of a kind program, the careful calligraphy, the delicate decorations. The little message at the end: “I hope it makes you happy”. He wasn't a man to get moved, but this was something else.
“This is an unexpected gift. It's valuable in a way you can't imagine.”
Delphine didn't miss his expression. His mask had fallen completely. He wasn't powerful and impressive but… human.
“I'm pleased that you liked it” She was smiling from her heart. “I hope you enjoy the performance too”
“I'm sure I will. I let you now to get ready”
He left and was taken by the Theatre Director to his box, the Imperial Box. His men, as usual, had positioned themselves all over the theatre. Chidi stayed in the box with the Marquis, standing at the back, guarding the door from the inside. On the other side of the door, four guards kept watch.
Delphine was ready, the curtain rose and a spotlight illuminated her. The evening opened with Swan Lake. Her dream of dancing the most famous ballet in history in the prestigious Palais Garnier, was now a reality. Even if it was only for one person. When it was the turn for The Death of the Swan, Delphine wept, she always did when dancing that piece. It was what made her an exceptional ballerina, she truly felt her characters and told their stories with her dance.
A short break to allow her a change of outfit gave the Marquis time to process what he just had seen. That was the best performance of Swan Lake he ever saw in his entire life. That incredible girl deserved to be Prima Ballerina in the Paris Opera Ballet.
The second part of the show was passionate, with the Ravel Bolero and the Ritual Dance of the Fire by Falla. Dramatic, intense. She wore customary red for the Bolero, which also suited the Dance of the Fire. She was a Goddess, a Sorceress, she was Passion itself.
When the second break came, the Marquis was devoted to her. He wanted her for himself, he wanted to worship her.
He poured a glass of McCallan 64 years old Whisky in Lalique Decanter he had bought at a Sotheby’s auction a few years ago for $460000. The perfect drink for an unique evening.
The curtain rose for the last time and Delphine had a new outfit: an ethereal, layered chiffon tunic adorned with a few crystals that sparkled like tiny stars. She danced pieces from Satie to her own choreography. The mood was magical forest in the night. A fairy dancing on a clearing bathed by moonlight. Otherworldly and angelic, she floated rather than danced.
There was when the Marquis knew he had fallen in love with her. For the first time in his life, the ruthless, violent, implacable crimelord had true feelings for someone. He had to have her at any cost.
Delphine had finished her performance, and she bowed. The Marquis stood up in a one man standing ovation. An aide brought her a bunch of flowers. Irises, this time blue ones.
She went back to her dressing room where her assistant told her that the Marquis was waiting for her in the Imperial Box. She had a very quick shower and changed into a blue dress, similar to the one she had worn for dancing but simpler. All while the assistant packed her dance outfits.
When she arrived at the Imperial Box, Chidi ushered her inside. The Marquis came to receive her and kissed her hand.
“You were magnificent! Sublime! “
He seemed content, even ecstatic, which was very rare for him. Chidi, who knew him for more than ten years, noticed. The Marquis never had lowered his guard in front of anyone before.
Delphine blushed. She had truly enjoyed dancing freely. She had immersed herself completely in the performance and she was still riding the high.
“I'm so pleased that you liked it. Tonight it felt very special. I truly enjoyed dancing. “
“And it showed! This was even better than yesterday and yesterday you were splendid”
He paused for a moment, looking her in the eyes with an intense, even feverish stare.
“Delphine, please, have dinner with me tonight. I would very much like to have the privilege and the pleasure of your company. Tell me you accept “
He asked so eagerly, so vehemently, that Delphine couldn't say no. They left the Palais Garnier in the Bentley. Shortly after they arrived at a luxurious mansion. It had an iron wrought fence all around and occupied a whole block.
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A butler welcomed them and the Marquis guided Delphine to an elegant lounge where he opened a bottle of Krug Vintage 1979 champagne and filled up their Bohemia crystal glasses before retiring to oversee the dinner arrangements.
“I want to toast to you, Delphine. To the most magnificent ballerina I've ever seen, and the most beautiful woman”
He lifted his glass and she lowered her eyes for a moment, a bit overwhelmed. She met his gaze again, her eyes had welled up.
The Marquis closed the distance between them, held her face with his hands and wiped a stray tear from her cheek
“What's wrong my minette? “
“Nothing is wrong. It's just I'm not used to this attention. You're making me feel like a queen”
“Because that's how I see you. Not like a ballerina in a modest dance company but as someone who deserves to be at the top of the world “
He had a way to pull her into his orbit. He exuded control, power and confidence. The kind of demeanor reserved for those who rule the world. How could such a man be so interested in her?
“Who are you, Vincent? Why does a man with your power and money even think about me? I'm just a plain girl.”
His face went stern, so much that she trembled. His eyes pinned her like a butterfly to the board
“You are everything but plain, Delphine. I don't want to hear you talking about yourself like this. Ever! You are perfect in my eyes. “
Delphine stood there, with eyes wide open, lips parted and her heart racing to leave her chest.
He took the glass from her hand, set both carefully on a nearby table and before she could realize he descended over her capturing her mouth in an incandescent kiss, hungry and voracious. The kiss he had been holding in the whole evening. She responded to the kiss, but he was the one leading the dance. All she could do was to drown in the sea of sensations he was awakening in her, all new and forbidden. A symphony of muffled moans and soft whimpers was all she could manage as he made her core melt like butter and every nerve in her body vibrate with electricity.
A soft knock on the door interrupted them . The Marquis knew it was the butler to announce the dinner. He also knew Delphine hadn't eaten anything before the performance. He told the butler on the other side of the door that they were on their way.
“I'm sorry Delphine. But I want to make sure you eat something, otherwise you won't last another glass of champagne “
He led her to the dining room. His hand on the small of her back. Protective and warm.
At the table, he sat at the head with her by his side. She ate very little, it seemed to be her custom. The conversation revolved about her and why she had become a ballerina.
“I cannot describe what I feel when I'm dancing. It's complete freedom, peace, like I'm on a world of my own, letting my feelings and the whole of me float in the air. Only me and the music”
The Marquis observed her while she talked, how her whole demeanor changed while she explained to him what music and dance meant to her. How her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled and her hands moved like small birds flying around each other.
“But there are things in your profession that you are less happy with, yes? “
Delphine was impressed and a bit spooked by how well he could read her. She knew almost nothing about him, yet he seemed to know her heart’s most hidden desires and wishes.
“Yes, I'm a private person, I feel uncomfortable with all the backbiting and bitching in this profession. It's a dog eat dog, a race to be the next favourite. I don't want to do that. I just want to express myself.”
“I see, I understand you perfectly, Delphine. You're a living work of Art in your own right. All the petty and mean politics around your profession are beneath you. You should be able to dedicate yourself to what you love without having to worry for gossip and backstabbing.”
“You understand me so well, you seem to know a great deal about me, yet I know almost nothing about you. Who are you, Vincent? “
He let the question hang in the air for a few seconds. Looking at her intently. His green eyes made her dizzy. She felt naked under his gaze, but in a good way.
“I'm just a businessman, I deal in security, logistics and problem solving. I run a multimillion operation that reaches all over the world. But that's nothing you should concern yourself with.”
“But you go around with a small army guarding you. Is what you do for a living dangerous? “
“In a certain way, yes. But it comes with the job.”
“Aren't you ever on your own?”
That made him laugh heartily. He took her hand and kissed it.
“Of course I am on my own many times. There are things I cannot do surrounded by bodyguards… like making love to a beautiful woman”
Delphine blushed violently as the Marquis got up, still holding her hand, and pulled her up as well.
“I know we met just yesterday, but I never have felt for a woman what I'm feeling for you now. Believe me when I tell you that I wish for nothing more than being with you. If you feel the same, stay, I beg you. If you don't, I'll arrange for my chauffeur to drive you to your home”
Her breath hitched. It was a big decision to be taken so quickly but she already knew the answer before she spoke. The two (or were three?) glasses of wine made her feel adventurous.
“Yes, I would like to stay”
On hearing that, The Marquis left the dining room pulling Delphine as he walked. They went upstairs, to his bedroom. The moment the door closed behind them, he took his jacket off, he grabbed her by the back of her thighs and lifted her in one fluid movement. She wrapped her legs around him. He pinned her against the wall, devouring her mouth furiously.
He murmured between kisses.
“I want you to be mine and no one else’s”
She sighed on his ear
“There's no one else. It never has been”
He stopped, his eyes were aflame.
“Never at all?”
She shook her head
“Never”
“Mine forever then “
He lowered her to the floorboards and slid down the straps of her dress. It fell down pooling at her feet. His fingers ghosted over the porcelain skin while his eyes devoured her. Delphine looked up, mesmerized by his hungry eyes. Biting the already swollen bottom lip. He clicked his tongue in disapproval and she stopped. The Marquis then removed her bra, feasting his eyes on her small but perfect breasts.
He liked the power imbalance of her naked before him and him staying fully clothed, the blush in her cheeks, the wide open doe eyes, her lithe and elegant body, pristine, untouched, waiting for him to open for her a universe of sensual pleasures. He was a man used to having absolute power over people. But in this case it was intoxicating, like drinking too much from a fine wine.
He nodded in her direction, indicating to her to remove her panties.
“Your eyes on me, minette”
Delphine locked eyes with him, drowning in his hypnotic gaze as she removed her cotton panties. She swallowed hard once she was completely exposed to him. He lifted her chin with two fingers.
“Where do you want it first? bed? bathroom? balcony? floor? against the table?”
“God! You're kinky!”
“You have no idea, minette”
“Against the table and perhaps the balcony too?”
“You're rather daring yourself”
Yes, and in her eagerness to be daring, Delphine threw caution to the wind. She still had a little bit of a nagging sensation that he was practically a stranger who had wrapped her in compliments, flowers, luxuries, while she still knew next to nothing about him. But he was a dream of a man, gorgeous like a Scandinavian god, educated and exquisite, yes, he had an army around him and he seemed used to getting his way but…
Well, one night adventure was not going to hurt, right? Delphine had dedicated fifteen years to dance. Because she loved it. But it also came with huge sacrifices, and an even higher cost, especially when it came to social life and normal activities for a girl her age. She had no real friends or a boyfriend either.
So, hell, she was going to enjoy a night of passion with Vincent, because yes, because she fancied him, a lot.
He hoisted her naked body and carried her near a desk in his huge bedroom. He lowered her and turned her around.
“Lean over the table”
It was an order. So the Marquis liked to be dominant. It just made her more aroused.
She leaned over the table until her torso touched the polished surface. There was a huge mirror in front of her. She could see his face, he could see hers.
He placed his hands on her hips, and caressed her buttocks with his thumbs.
“Remember, minette, eyes on me”
She couldn't look anywhere else, he was bewitching. He grinded his hips against her butcheeks and she could feel the bulge growing inside his pants.
Then he ran his middle finger along her folds, collecting the arousal dripping from her, he started rubbing circles around her clit without quite touching it yet. Delphine gasped and writhed looking for friction but he held her in place. She was so worked out that when he finally touched it she jolted, he didn't give her quarter but kept going relentlessly, all while neither of them took the eyes from the other’s reflection on the mirror.
Her breath was irregular and she was losing her mind, but that was nothing compared to when he introduced his thumb inside her without ceasing to rub her already swollen clit. His fingers were long, he easily reached that spongy zone and rubbed it in unison with her clit. She was practically melting. Moaning and begging for him not to stop.
Everything got spoiled by an energetic knock on the door. The Marquis roared
“Not now!!!!”
From the other side of the door, Chidi spoke with urgency
“I'm sorry Marquis, but this is an emergency! “
The mood was broken. Delphine was mortified. The Marquis, emergency or not, was not going to open until she had time to dress
“I'm so sorry, Delphine”
She put her dress on quickly, kicking the underwear behind an armchair. When the Marquis saw that she was presentable he opened the door, still angry at the interruption, but he knew his chief bodyguard wouldn't dare to disturb him without a good reason. Chidi entered the room. Delphine sat on the armchair, feigning normalcy.
“What is it? Speak! “
“One of the warehouses in the South Quays was blown up ten minutes ago. The one where last week's shipment was stored”
“WHAT?! Call Faure, tell him to go there and start with damage control, and have the men ready to go. Four vehicles. And tell the butler to come up”
Chidi nodded and left to execute the Marquis’ orders. And this one turned to Delphine.
“This requires my immediate attention, but I would like you to stay. My butler will make sure you're comfortable and have everything you need “
She had got up, and was going to ask him to just arrange for her to be driven home, but he seemed to have read her mind
“Seriously, I don't want to intrud… “
He put a finger on her lips.
“No, chérie, you're not a nuisance and you're not intruding. Please, stay, I beg you. Rest and relax and we can talk when I come back”
He sounded so eager, so adamant that he wanted her to stay. She nodded.
“Ok Vincent, I'll stay. Go now, I'll be fine”
He gave her a quick and passionate kiss, then left. He met the butler in the corridor and gave him specific instructions about Delphine before leaving with his men.
She, meanwhile, had fished out her underwear from under the armchair. There was another knock at the door, this time it was a young maid, she curtsied and asked Delphine to follow her. She took her to another room, a couple of doors down. A spacious and recently decorated room, all in forest greens, purples and matte gold details. A king size bed, a massive bathroom with all sorts of toiletries in it and a walk in dressing room.
The maid took some clothes from a drawer. Silk pyjamas, slippers, a robe and placed them on the bed. She left to get some tea and a snack for Delphine.
It was well past eleven pm. This had indeed been a most eventful night. She filled a bath and soaked in it for at least twenty minutes. After her nightly beauty routine, she returned to the bedroom to find a tray with a tea set, and hibiscus tea steaming from the pot. Besides there were two delicate glass dishes, one with mini macaroons and the other with expensive looking chocolates. The Marquis certainly knew how to treat his guests.
She poured some tea in the porcelain cup and sipped it while she recalled the evening. She was overwhelmed with so many events. She had danced at the Palais Garnier, she had been showered with attention by the Marquis, and she had surrendered herself to him in a way she had never thought possible. Then, in the middle of the night, he had left with his army of guards to solve a situation, a blown up warehouse? That's what Chidi had said. Who was this Marquis?
Now that the effects of the wine had dissipated, she tried to look at the whole situation from a more rational point of view. But it wasn't only the wine, it was him. What were his intentions? Why did he have such a strong effect on her?
She could feel herself nodding off, so she placed the cup on the bedside table and slid under the covers. She was asleep before she could even think further.
Her dreams were full of too many things to be peaceful. When she woke up the next morning the sun had already been out for a while. She shook the sleepiness away, it wasn't her to sleep in till late on a working day. She reached for her phone and then she remembered that her handbag and her things were downstairs. She got up and she saw her handbag on top of a table. Her phone was dead.
The rest of her things were in the dressing room. She changed into the clothes she wore yesterday to go to the theatre. She could notice a faint smell of coffee. Maybe the Marquis was back. She headed for the door, grabbed the door handle… and the door was locked.
(a fanfiction inspired by Bill Skarsgård 's character in 'The Death of Robin Hood')
I'm still under the spell of that beautiful movie. Bill does not get much screen time and I wasn't happy with the end that was destined for him. So I wrote this little story in day and a half. Enjoy 😊❤️
Word count: 3900
Warnings: violence, mvrder, r4pe, age difference, s3x, piv, fingers in v, self pleasuring (m), pleasuring other (f receiving)
MDNI
Fiction under the cut
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THE REDEMPTION OF JOHN LITTLE
It had been too many years of the same monstrous life. Since he and Robin Hood had met at that bridge, long ago, when he was still a scrawny, lanky teenager, their lives had been nothing but carnage. A non stop killing spree all over the land. Stealing, pillaging, killing entire families for a few coins. Murdering savagely, with exaggerated cruelty to quench their thirst for causing death and pain. A twenty year bloodbath till they had to go separate ways to be inconspicuous.
The killings had stopped, the legend had begun. And like all legends, the truth blurred to the point of disappearing, giving way to the birth of heroes. Songs were sung, stories passed around. The people worshipped them: Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men. All but those few survivors who remembered the killings, sought to eradicate them to exterminate the plague they had become.
Robin considered John the son he never had. And if in the heart of a monster there was some shadow of a feeling akin to love, that's what he felt for John.
John had gone up north, to the lands of Scotland. Unforgiving, craggy and eerily beautiful. He found a cabin in the forest. Inhabited by an elderly couple at the doors of death. They sheltered him, he was worn out, sick of killing and of being a savage. The couple passed away within one day of each other. He buried them both. Adopted the name of the old man, Edward and made that cabin his home.
He found much needed solitude. His wild spirit rested and he was left to live with the memories of what had done and the certainty that he didn't deserve to have what good men had and he had destroyed: peace and love. He resigned himself to a life with his demons.
One day, while hunting near the mountains, some traveller told him about a massacre, five days away, south from there. A whole family: Father, mother and six boys were killed by some rogue English troops gone into brigandry to rob them of their cattle. The only daughter was taken prisoner.
This wasn't his world anymore. He shrugged, and went back to the forest, to his cabin. That night he couldn't sleep well, that story had brought back unwanted memories, things he tried hard to forget. Somewhere in the middle of the night, at the hour when the spirits of the Underworld roamed the Earth and the first snows had started, he heard a noise near the shed. Perhaps a stray animal looking for scraps of food. But then he heard the door of the shed creaking open.
His instinct, honed by years living on the edge, awoke him immediately. He took his big knife and scurried out of the house in complete silence. He went around the shed. The door was open. His tall frame blocked the door. A small shape was crouching on the floor, trying to find cover from the bitter cold under the pile of furs of John’s hunted animals. He stepped inside, letting the full moon cast its light on the intruder.
A squeal, a whimper, the furs moved and Edward pulled them in one swift move. A small figure crawled back until it was all but embedded in the corner. He saw the creature, a kid, covered in blood half naked, freezing, looking at him with wide, terrified eyes.
“Come to the light. I'm not going to hurt you”
The kid didn't move so he approached him, grabbed them by a thin arm and dragged him into the pool of moonlight to assess if he was hurt. He removed the ragged, makeshift cloak covering his otherwise bare body.
Then he saw it.
It was not a boy but a girl, a teenager, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old. Her messy hair fell over her shoulders. Her face was dirty, bloody and full of snot. She was covered in scratches and bruises and cowered in fear trying to cover herself.
Edward took his cloak and wrapped her in it. Then he took her in his arms and carried her inside the cabin. She was shaking like a leaf. He sat her on a small stool by the fire, brought water for her to drink and a rag that he dipped on another bowl with water to clean her up. He washed and dried her. On inspection of her wounds, there didn't seem to be fractures or anything major, but she almost had frozen to death. He had an idea of who she was.
“Are you the survivor of the family killed by the brigands? “
The way she jumped and her terrified eyes gave him the answer. He put a hand on her shoulder in a reassuring gesture, trying to calm her down.
“Don't fear, you're safe. Have you been wandering for long out there?”
She stared at him with sweet, huge brown eyes. Haunted eyes that had seen more than what a child should see. Eyes he recognized from the many children of all the people he had killed in front of them.
She nodded nervously and mouthed a silent ‘five days’.
“Did you escape from the men that held you prisoner?”
Another shaky nod, another silent answer
‘six nights ago’
“Are you a mute? “
Her eyes welled up and she shook her head. ‘No’
He had seen that on an occasion or two. People who were so traumatised that they had lost their voice.
“And you have wandered around for five days. No clothes or food. It's a miracle you haven't died. “
That's why she was naked, her kidnappers had taken her clothes away.
“Did they do anything to you? “
He braced himself for the answer. Even a beastly murderer like him had places he wouldn't go, things he wouldn't do.
Tears streaked down her still dirty cheeks as she shook uncontrollably, bending down and hugging her knees. She nodded and looked at him through watery eyes.
‘All of them, everywhere’ she mouthed.
She could produce sounds though. She sobbed and whimpered.
Edward felt the bile rising. Rage boiled like lava inside him. He pushed it down, for her sake.
“You are safe here. Don't fear.”
He brought her some bread, cheese and a small glass of watered down beer. She devoured everything until the last crumb. He looked at her as she wolfed down the food.
“Do you have any relatives, or anyone you can stay with? “
She shook her head. Her whole world was her family. She knew no one else. They lived in the middle of nowhere. She didn't even have ever gone to the nearest village.
The girl looked at him. He was very tall, strong, she could feel safe with him, and he had been kind to her. That was enough for her to try to latch at him like a kitten to a teat.
She just stared at him with supplicant eyes that said everything.
Edward considered the options. He was almost a hermit, but for the few times a year he ventured into the village for supplies he couldn't produce himself. He never spoke much, trying to conceal his true identity from everyone. He had no guarantee that she would be safe if he handed her to a stranger. He could use a hand to help with the few animals he had and the work around the house. He would have more time to hunt and forage.
“What's your name?”
‘Aingeal’
“Angel? Beautiful name, it suits you well”
The remark made the faintest shade of a smile to appear on her lips for a second. That was something. He could offer this girl a safe place to stay, it would maybe wash away some of the damage he had caused during his life.
“You can stay here. You'll be safe and you'll have a roof under your head and food. Take the bed for tonight. I'll prepare one for you tomorrow.”
She took his hand, large, twice as big as hers, and she kissed it with gratitude and devotion. For the first time in years, his heart felt a tug that made him feel not as bad as usual.
Aingeal stayed, and he made a small cot for her, with a straw mattress, a pillow and blankets. He placed a curtain between his bed and hers to give her a small zone of privacy. She soon learned her way around the house as she had been used to helping her mother. She could sew, cook and mend things. The house started to be clean as it never had been. It became comfortable and cosy.
She slowly started forgetting her ordeal at the hands of the bandits. At the beginning she used to have nightmares. Edward would then stay by her bedside holding her hand until the night terrors subsided. He also watched her closely for signs that she could be pregnant. After the abuse she endured it wouldn't be a strange occurrence. But nothing happened. In the two following months he knew when she had her monthly time, at the second occasion he knew she wasn't with child.
A while after, the next time he traveled to the nearest village to get supplies, he heard that the bandits had returned to the region. They had been seen in an abandoned tower near a bog. He went in that direction, waited till it was full night and he snuck behind the watcher, slicing his throat in one swift move. One by one he killed them all and then he threw their bodies in the bog, they sank quickly as he had weighed them. He brought their horses back home with him.
He next morning, during breakfast, he held Aingeal by the shoulders looking straight at her.
“Listen to me. The bastards who killed your family and hurt you are dead. I took care of them. You're avenged.”
Aingeal nodded and a small smile showed on her face. She hugged him and stayed like that for a while.
She eventually recovered her speech. And with that it came a gift for Edward for she could sing beautiful songs. She would sing when doing housework or when looking at the rain through the window. Edward enjoyed her sweet voice. It stirred something in him he had thought forgotten long ago. He remembered Will Scarlet, a young outlaw that joined Robin Hood’s band for a while. He enjoyed his music then. Aingeal’s was much better. It soothed his weary soul. She seemed to be healing from her loss and her kidnapping.
Three years passed. He got used to the simple, happy life with this girl. He considered himself lucky, undeserving of a peace he had robbed others from.
Summer arrived early that year. Aingeal liked to be outdoors, enjoying the fragrant fresh air, picking up fresh fruits from the trees and bushes, and flowers to put in bunches around the cabin and to make flower garlands. She also enjoyed bathing in the nearby river, in a secluded spot where she would wash her hair and feel the cool water on her skin.
Edward didn't know about her sanctuary. She usually went when he was away hunting or napping after having a couple of tankards of beer. But today he came early from hunting and returned home through a different path from his usual one. This path took him near the river, he approached it to have a drink of water when he heard the familiar singing voice.
He thought she would be washing clothes or picking up rocks, which was a pastime she enjoyed. He peeked from behind a bush and his heart leaped.
She was having a bath, naked.
And she wasn't a skinny girl anymore, she had grown up, she had filled out. Little Aingeal was now a beautiful woman . His breathing got heavier watching her skin, pale as cream, glistening because of the water and her breasts, fully formed, round, inviting. He stepped back slowly and silent as a ghost returned to the cabin.
He didn't have the right to think that way about her. She was sweet and innocent despite everything she had gone through. She wasn't even born when he had started his life of pillage and murder with Robin Hood. He could be some kind of father figure to her, but nothing else, let alone to allow himself to think of her in that way.
He went to the cabin and when she came back he said nothing. She brought a couple of big round rocks that she placed on the windowsill near his bed. He thought they were almost the same size as her breasts, he couldn't look at her and see a child anymore. He closed his eyes with a pained expression, knowing he was cursed.
That night he woke up thinking of her. She was in his dreams. He was as hard as one of her rocks. He scurried out of the cabin and went behind the stable to take care of himself. He leaned against the wall, taking his hardened cock out and stroking it. On his other hand he held one of the rocks while he conjured images of her in the crystalline waters of the river. He imagined the sweet mound between her legs and how it would feel to feel her pussy wrapped around his cock. It was thick, veiny and of a generous size. He pumped faster and faster, whispering her name, until hot ropes of thick, milky cum erupted furiously.
He washed his hands with water from the well, then he returned to the cabin. Shame took over, mixed with something else. He had grown accustomed to her presence, to her singing, to the way she smiled when something made her happy. John Little had never been in love. Neither had Edward. In his youth he had been with some whores, Since he had been living in the forest he only had himself. But now there was this sweet girl in his life, and for the first time ever he allowed himself a new feeling: hope.
He felt foolish but he couldn't fight that little flame in his heart. He couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. Thinking of her, so close to him behind the curtain. He heard her moan softly in her sleep and his heart ached.
He was up at the crack of dawn. He washed himself, then taking his knife he shaved all his facial hair, looking at his reflection on the pail of water. His face wasn't the same as the one of his youth. The wicked life he had lived, the battles, the horrors had left their mark. Scars, wear, guilt, all of them had worn out his features. The open air life had also contributed. But the glint in his eyes was there. He was just thirty and six years of age. Many men looked worse at twenty and five. He wore fresh, clean clothes but he stayed barefoot, his custom inside the cabin, and then busied himself making breakfast for them.
Aingeal had woken up, she took off her chemise, washed herself despite having bathed the day before. She was very keen on being clean and smelling fresh.. She wore a tunic on and a sleeveless overdress to protect the tunic from soiling while she did her chores. She slipped her shoes on and went to the table where Edward had laid the breakfast.
“Good morning Edward” she chirped.
“Good morning angel” he said, pouring hot milk on the bowls.
Aingeal sat down and it was then when she saw his face. Her eyes went big as saucers and she looked at him fascinated, her mouth agape
“Edward… “
“Yes?”
He was feeling self conscious under her surprised gaze. He busied himself dunking chunks of bread in the milk.
“I never saw you without a beard before. You look so handsome! “
He smiled, flattered but shy, not daring to lift his eyes from the bowl. Aingeal noticed his bashfulness. Used as she was to his serious, stern demeanor, she felt her heart melting.
“What's the occasion?”
“N-none, I-I just felt like doing it”
“Edward, why aren't you looking at me? What's the matter? “
His hooded, penetrating, green eyes lifted slowly from the table to hers. All the longing, the desire and the love were there for her to see, he didn't know how to hide them.
“You… you're not a child anymore, you're a very attractive young woman, besides cheerful and intelligent, more than I, and you sing like a nightingale… W-what I want to say is that… I have feelings for you”
Aingeal’s face went crimson, the revelation filled her with happiness for she reciprocated his feelings. She got up, went to him and holding his face with her small hands made him look at her
“That day you came back from travelling and told me that you had killed the monsters that murdered my family and raped me, I knew you had done it for me. And I have been in love with you since then. I never said anything because I thought you considered me a child and I felt foolish but I kept loving you nonetheless John.”
His heart stopped. Both for her revelation and because she called him by his name. His trembling fingers traced her face with devotion, as if she was a precious jewel.
“How did you find out? “
“Because of your knife. My father made it, he was Richard Banbury, the blacksmith. He was for a while in Robin Hood's band, when I was little he used to speak fondly of you”
The world was indeed a very strange place, and unbeknownst to men, the paths with others crossed in the most unlikely circumstances.
For Little John it felt like a sign. He had atoned for so long to make up for the pain and misery he had caused. He couldn't have fathomed that the day he found Aingeal in the shed, was the day his salvation had begun.
His large, strong hands grabbed her by the hips and sat her on his lap. He kissed her hungrily, biting her lips softly, licking them after to soothe the sting, exploring her mouth with his tongue. Worshipping and claiming her all at once. She moaned in his mouth and that sound unmoored him.
He stood up, holding her by her buttocks and carried her to his bed where he helped her out of her clothes, surprised to know that she didn't wear any undergarments. As it had happened when he saw her in the river, the sight of her pale, creamy skin was a vision of beauty. He pulled off his tunic and pants and crawled on top of her, straddling her.
Aingeal gasped at the sight of his cock, hard, thick, with precum glistening from the reddened head. John saw her face.
“Does it bring bad memories, angel?”
“No, you chased them away when you killed those bastards. It's just that…Yours is huge! “
“Yes? Don't worry, I'll make sure you're ready before I go in. I want to make you enjoy this”
He caged her between his arms, one on each side of her head and lowered himself to kiss her again, slower, more deliberate, tasting her like he would taste a spoonful of honey. His hardened cock brushed against her inner thigh causing her core to throb. She felt her arousal dampening her pussy and dripping onto his tip.
He descended on her breasts, kissing and sucking one while he rolled the other's nipple between his fingers and alternated from one to another. She writhed and whimpered, her parted lips letting out the most delicious sounds.
“Open your legs for me sweet girl”
She did and he positioned himself between them. He dipped his thumb in her and rubbed her sticky juices on her little bud. Slow, excruciating circles that made her lose her mind. He introduced his middle finger inside her, pumping carefully to give her time to adapt. Then he curved it, finding that spongy point that women found so full of pleasure. He tried a second finger. Aingeal’s breath had become laboured, writhing on the bed and clawing at his arms while she meowed like a happy kitten. Something was building up in her core and before she could even wonder what was happening, everything inside her exploded and melted. John held her against him, cradling her and whispering sweet things to her while his fingers fucked her through her entire orgasm, leaving her like a trembling mess in his arms. He still held her until she stopped trembling and yet a bit longer, loving her with all his heart.
“Are you ok, angel? “
“Yes” she murmured, totally spent and dazed.
He fetched a ceramic pitcher from the stool by his bed and poured her a cup of water which she drank in small sips. When she started breathing normally, he laid her on the bed again, caressing her all over with his long fingers, the relaxing sensation soon gave way to arousal. She found herself wanting to be touched down there again. John’s cock was again hard. He rubbed it against her bud.
“Wrap your legs around me, my girl”
She did and he aligned his throbbing cock against her entrance. He penetrated her slowly, feeling how she clamped around his girth. Aingeal felt full and a bit painful but he started moving rhythmically, out bit by bit and when only the head was left in, he would thrust slowly but inexorably till the head touched her cervix. He increased the pace and she adapted quickly, until he was pounding her pussy and she was moving in unison. He was about to erupt but he wanted her to come so when he felt she was about to go over the edge he let go and they came together. Him filling her up with his seed, hot and abundant and her clenching around him as the spasms of her second orgasm milked him completely.
He laid down by her side, taking her in his arms, kissing her forehead, wiping sweat from her brow. She let him shower her with those sweet demonstrations of affection while she curled against him and peppered his body with tiny kisses.
For the first time in his entire life, John Little experienced pure happiness. A sense of peace and contentment like he had never known before. He felt reborn. His past was behind, and for the rest of his life he was going to love this woman, his woman, he would dedicate his life to make her happy.
“I love you Aingeal, more than anything in this world. Would you be my wife? “
Aingeal looked up into his eyes, hers had welled up. She was overcome with emotions.
“Yes John, there's nothing I'd like more than being yours. And live happily in our home, forever”
Later he carried her in his arms till the river, where they bathed and promised each other in marriage under a weeping willow. They made love again in the water. He braided her hair, she made leafy crowns for him, they fed each other berries.
John Little had washed his crimes with love, a little girl who had lost everything had come into his life to redeem him.
Still reeling from the visual and emotional feast that was The Death of Robin Hood. As a movie is magnificent. The acting, the cinematography, the music, the costumes, the story. Brutal and violent at the beginning, poetic and intimate the rest of the film. A beauty to watch. Do yourselves a favour and check it out.
Bill Skarsgård is unrecognisable, and as intense and splendid as usual.
New Marquis de Gramont multi chapter fanfiction landing soon. I have wanted to write a Marquis story for a long time. Now I have a request so I'm jumping head in.
It will be luxurious, decadent and smutty. And we'll see Vincent in all his cruel, douchy, dommy self.
After a tedious episode of writer's block that lasted for almost three months, I can finally deliver Chapter three of my Roman's fanfiction. It was a bit lengthy, so I drew the line and sent the rest to become the beginning of Chapter four.
Things get angsty for Roman as Olivia has a poisoned gift for his birthday. But then , when was she a good mother?
Word count: 9055
Warnings: Swearing, Blood k1nk, Mentions of abuse, Mention of 1ncest, Murd3r, Gore,
Roman couldn't remember a time when he had woken up to the singing of birds. Even if the Godfrey Mansion had gardens and trees all around, birds didn't nest nearby. It was as if they sensed the evil coming from the mansion.
But here, in Luna's small cabin in the woods, the chirping and singing was everywhere. Still half asleep, he enjoyed the moment. Bundled under the covers, relishing the peace and the warmth… and his tiny girl curled into a ball in his arms. Fragrant, sweet and adorable. He listened to her little sounds: whimpers, meows, mumbles from her dreams. He softly kissed the top of her head. Luna shifted slightly, snuggling even more against him.
At last he had told her how he felt. And she felt the same for him. His heart soared. Now, closer to his 18th birthday, ready to receive his vast inheritance, the most precious thing in the world for him was his Luna. He wanted to put the world at her feet and bring her the moon if she wanted him to. He knew she wouldn't ask for anything. She only wanted him, and that made him love her even more.
He caressed her face, she meowed a bit and started opening her eyes.
“Good morning my tiny Luna”
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“Morning” was the meow that came from somewhere between Roman's chest and the covers where Luna had her face buried in. Then the rain of little kisses peppered over his chest. He laughed because they tickled him. He pulled her up, closer to his face and kissed her, slowly, unhurried, relishing the feeling of her lips, her sweet mouth, her cute noises.
For Luna that was what being in paradise must have felt like. Someone who loved her, and for who she was. Her Roman, the strange boy, misunderstood by all. And now here she was in his arms, being kissed, feeling cherished.
“I'm so happy, Roman. You make me feel like this just by looking at me”
“Likewise my tiny girl. I adore you”
And the kissing, the sweet caressing, the tender words started all over again, and again. Roman went easy and slow. Luna was special to him, he would wait until she felt ready to have sex with her. Her lack of experience was so obvious, so endearing. At the same time it gave him the chance to be the one to teach all those things to her, to guide her in her first steps into intimacy. She was a natural, just kissing him, touching his body, giggling with abandon. He performed an excellent exercise on restraint, controlling his impulse of devouring her whole. Instead he revelled in the feeling of pure love and joy.
After making out for the best part of a couple of hours, they got up, had breakfast and went for a walk in the woods. Luna knew them like the back of her hand. She showed Roman her favourite places, they picked berries and rocks, they played, they made out a bit more…
Back in the house, that afternoon, they curled on the couch making plans. The finals were in two weeks and they were planning to study together.
“Is it ok with you if I bring some of my clothes here? We can study for longer and I prefer this rather than my mother making stupid drama all over the house”
“Sure thing! It will be great to study together. If you go now, you'll be back for dinner”
Luna was delighted with the prospect of studying and spending time with Roman. He left and in the meantime she made a cheesecake with the berries they had picked up in the forest.
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Roman arrived at the Godfrey mansion. Olivia seemed to be in the conservatory. He went straight to his room, packed a few clothes and toiletries, put a few blazers and trousers in a suit bag and his laptop in the laptop bag, which he hung over his shoulder. He was going down the staircase when Olivia appeared. She stood at the bottom with an expression between sarcastic and pissed off.
“Well, look who has decided to grace us with his presence. Where are you going? Aren't you going to have dinner with your mother? “
“Sorry, can't do. I got plans already.” was the curt answer from Roman. He stood one step over her. To have even more height advantage.
“And what are these plans, darling? “
Olivia had changed tactics, trying to wrap Roman in her web, but it didn't work.
“They're not your business.”
“But darling, tell mommy, “ she pleaded with a honeyed voice that concealed the poison. She tried to wrap an arm around him and Roman rejected her like she was a snake.
“Take your hands off me!! “ The tone made Olivia stop mid-gesture. It was commanding, imperative, not open to discussion. But what she noticed more was how she reacted to his voice. The sheer power it emanated from him was scary and compelling. For the first time in Roman's life, she looked at him with…fear.
Roman left the house swiftly. Put his bags in the trunk and left, leaving behind him a cloud of dust and a pensive Olivia who watched him disappear in the distance.
“Soon you'll be ready, my darling, my boy”
She went back inside the mansion and filled up a glass of red wine, pondering about her and Roman. She felt the moment was near. Soon Roman would be hers forever.
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(Roman’s POV)
The cherry red Jaguar stormed away. With every yard of distance between the car and the mansion, Roman's mood improved. Just a few more days and he would be free from that bitch.
Since his father's death when he was just five years old, Roman had the feeling that his mother wasn't good. As he grew up he realized that this was a huge understatement. Olivia kept him and Shelley on a tight leash but when she started visiting his room, sometimes in the middle of the night, and suffocating him with her presence, her touch and her attentions, Roman rebelled. He started doing things just to upset her or to forget about her. Alcohol and drugs drowned his hatred for her into a haze and sex with many other women helped wash the feeling of her hands on his skin. He endured family meals and outings just to be there for Shelley. When she disappeared, he started distancing from Olivia more and more. He was now almost an adult. He was finding it easier to reject her. He felt no remorse, he had no feelings left for her except loathe and contempt.
“Three weeks” He thought, “and she'll be out of my life forever”
His future was with Luna. He concentrated his thoughts on that. As the daylight was fading, his head was full of projects, ideas and dreams. He wanted to talk about them with his tiny girl.
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Luna had a quick shower and changed into a pretty and colourful hippie dress. She made, a salad, a chocolate mousse and set the table. Music was playing. She loved music, and thanks to Roman, to be now able to access any song she liked was one of her most favourite things.
Roman arrived just as the sun had just set. He could hear the music from outside. He smiled thinking of a happy Luna. When he went in, she was in the kitchen, preparing that delicious pasta they had the night before.
“You're just on time “ she chirped happily.
“That smells amazing, let me just drop all this in the room’
So he did, and then joined her in the kitchen. He hugged her from behind, kissing her head and her temple. Luna turned around and they kissed slowly, intensely. He felt her small body trembling, responding to his touch. His long fingers ran through her hair, down the back of her neck, and down her back. Her skin was covered in goosebumps. Her arousal provoked his own, but he was determined to wait until she felt ready. When they broke the kiss, they got lost in each other's eyes until the gurgling of boiling water brought them back to reality.
“Take the salad. I'll bring the ravioli”
They had dinner while chatting like parrots. Roman didn't remember having talked that much in all his life. What a difference the simple life with Luna was compared to living with Olivia in the mansion. The happy moments in this cabin in the woods versus the old money luxuries in a bleak house where there was no love, no warmth, no joy.
Luna noticed his mind drifting off for a moment. It was just a split second but she saw it. His eyes darkened. He went from summer skies to pitch black storms.
“Are you ok?, what's wrong?“
“Nothing, I just want to keep you from Olivia, She's poisonous, I won't let her harm you”
Luna had heard things about Olivia. She seemed to be a first class bitch. But the contempt in Roman's voice was such that she wondered what monstrosities she was capable of.
“Don't worry, you're about to become an adult. There's nothing she can do to stop that. You will be in charge of your destiny”
“Yes, and soon she won't be able to bother us”
He held her in his arms, caressing her head while he vowed to himself that he would never let Olivia come near his tiny Luna. She wouldn't have her life ruined, like his and Shelley’s had been. He would protect her whatever the cost.
❇️🏡🌙🌹📜🎓 💕❤️💕🎓📜🎂💰🏢❇️
For the next two weeks they settled into a cosy routine. There was school only in the morning. They would return home for lunch, then they would revise together for a few more hours, after studying, they would go for a walk, have dinner and relax in the evening.
They slept together every single night. Roman had never known what a good night’s sleep was. No waking up in the middle of the night and staying awake for hours, no nightmares, not relying on drugs and alcohol to pass out till the morning.
The week of the finals arrived. It was pretty intense. Two exams a day and then back home to brush up on the ones for the next day. They were done by Thursday. On Friday they returned to school to find out their results,.They went to the assembly hall where all the senior students were congregated. Luna started having last minute anxiety.
“You don't need to worry, tiny girl, you're the best student of the whole school.” Roman said, trying to soothe her. He held her hand squeezing to reassure her.
“For four years I have put all my heart on this, because it's my only chance to get into college. I don't want to be a nobody”
The anguish in her voice was evident. Roman's heart hurt to think that the most deserving person in the whole school still thought herself as potentially unworthy. He took her small hand to his lips and kissed her fervently.
“ That won't happen my tiny girl, no while I'm here. But you will succeed on your own merit. No one is more deserving than you”
Luna leaned on his shoulder and took a moment to compose herself and be brave. She smiled shyly at him while he kissed her forehead. Roman was aware that they were the talk of the school. The Heir of the Godfrey Empire dating the poorest girl in Hemlock Grove. He didn't give a fuck. No one of them could compare to this girl, who had the purest and kindest heart.
The Principal and the teachers of the senior year made their entrance on the stage. After a short speech, the Principal made the announcement that everybody was waiting for.
“And now, the time has come to know who the valedictorian and salutatorian will be. This year the valedictorian is a tie between two students. Both of them have brilliant minds. The first one is Mr. Roman Godfrey, following the tradition of his father and his grandfather. He has proven to be an excellent student. I am proud to give him this well deserved honor.”
Everyone applauded while they thought he had got the honor purely for who he was. Roman couldn't care less about their opinion. He knew who he was and he knew what he wanted to be. Luna cheered louder than anyone, she was almost jumping out of her chair, while she applauded enthusiastically. She smiled the biggest smile Roman had ever seen on her.
When the applause subsided the Principal continued with his announcement.
“The second valedictorian this year has achieved something that no student in this school had achieved before: The highest GPA in Pennsylvania. A perfect 12, with every single result of the four years being always the highest. The intelligence, passion, and dedication of this student has caused a deep impression on the teachers and myself. This honour belongs, in all justice, to Miss Luna Kyle.”
It took a few seconds for Luna to realize. People were already applauding when she fully realized the meaning of those words. Roman got up and taking her hand made her get up too. Luna couldn't control her emotions and started sobbing. She looked at Roman as the emotion got the best of her. He hugged her, covering her with kisses.
“I told you, you're the very best, I hadn't any doubt of it. I'm so proud of you that I think I'm going to burst.”
The Principal had given the name of the salutatorian as well. When all the applause had subsided, the three students were called to the stage. The Principal had still another surprise in store.
“As a reward for surpassing the State's highest GPA, Hemlock High is very pleased to present Miss Kyle with a grant of thirty thousand dollars. Pennsylvania and Princeton Universities have expressed interest in Miss Kyle, and have offered fully funded scholarships for her University studies: tuition, books and materials, accommodation and a generous grant to cover all her expenses while she's in college. ”
It was a good thing that Roman was by her side, because Luna was overwhelmed and couldn't stop crying. After a few moments she composed herself.
“Thank you Principal Turner, and thank you to Hemlock High for this huge opportunity. Today you have made my dream of four years to become a reality. I couldn't be more grateful.”
A thundering applause suffocated her last words. Mr. Turner then took the microphone and looked directly at Luna
“ Is not us the ones you owe this to, but to your own efforts, dedication and resilient spirit to rise over your circumstances and emerge triumphant, by your own merit. You are the pride of this school, Miss Kyle”
While another deafening applause filled the assembly room, Roman couldn't help but feel total contempt towards everyone in that room. For four years Luna had been invisible to every student in the senior class. Not even one friend, no one acknowledging her existence. The pariah of the school just for being poor. And now, all of a sudden everyone cheered for her. The sheer hypocrisy made him feel sick. But he held his temper for her. This was her moment of glory and she deserved to feel top of the world.
Only one person didn't cheer for Luna: sitting at the back of the assembly room, Brooke Bluebell sulked, while she felt the bile of jealousy rise from the pit of her stomach. If she already despised Luna, now the hatred she felt for her was borderline murderous. Not only did she get Roman Godfrey as her boyfriend but she also was the star of the school. Compared to her mediocre grades, that little piece of trash was getting access to the best Colleges. She got up and stormed out of the room. Not even Roman noticed, focused as he was, on watching Luna enjoying her moments of glory.
❇️🏡🌙🌹📜🎓 💕❤️💕🎓📜🎂💰🏢❇️
Once the ceremony had finished, Roman and Luna went back to the Jaguar. They stopped at their café and Roman bought a little picnic of Italian sandwiches, a small box of summer berries and two bottles of the pomegranate drink they both liked. He drove to the lake to a secluded spot under the trees. They laid a blanket on the grass and both sat under an weeping willow, near the water. They talked about the results and the graduation while they had the sandwiches. Luna was still recovering from the news and couldn't stop giggling every time she replayed the moment in her head.
“Tell me I'm not dreaming, and if I am, don't wake me up, please “
“You're well awake, tiny girl. I was convinced that you would get it.”
“And you. People assume that you got everything handed out on a gold platter just for being who you are, when you are so intelligent and dedicated. I'm so proud of you, Roman”
And she brought his large hand to her lips, covering it with soft little kisses. Roman's heart ached with her sweet and innocent acts of affection. She had no filter. She loved him unapologetically, unashamedly, sincerely.
He slowly stroked her head and told her something he knew it would make her uncomfortable.
“Listen, now you must prepare a speech for the graduation”
Luna almost choked on her drink and looked at him with panic in her eyes
“I didn't even think of that. What am I going to do? I'm not good at speaking in public, I will stutter and ruin the speech! “
“No, you won't. I will help you, You will be wonderful, you will see”
She looked at him with worry, but as it was becoming the norm, his eyes infused her with calm and confidence. She took a juicy, ripe strawberry, hulled it and took it to his lips. Roman opened his mouth slowly, with his intense gaze fixed on her eyes. He took the fruit carefully in his mouth while at the same time he held her fingers. He chewed the strawberry and then licked her fingers and put them in his mouth. He sucked them slowly. She tasted delicious, even better than the fruit.
Luna blushed crimson and felt shivers running down her spine. She inhaled deeply and bit her bottom lip. Then Roman took a big, plump raspberry and fed it to her. She took his index finger and repeated his actions, sucking it with her lips dripping with red juice. He almost lost his mind. They never took their eyes from each other.
Like in the two previous occasions, when the pillow fight and in the car park, Luna sensed the atmosphere change from a sweet intimate moment to something charged with eroticism and something else, something dangerous and irresistible. She felt the electricity between them, his sharp inhale, her skin covered in goosebumps, his heartbeat, hers adapting to the rhythm of his. His mouth hovered over the pulse point under her ear, his teeth grazing the delicate porcelain skin, the tip of his tongue, hot against her jugular.
❇️🏡🌙🌹📜🎓 💕❤️💕🎓📜🎂💰🏢❇️
ROMAN'S POV
He kissed her neck, inhaling her scent. Since they were together and they had made out so many times, he could feel it even stronger than before. As if his senses were tuned on her body, her heartbeat, the minimum changes in temperature… Everything was intoxicating and irresistible. He craved her, badly
Her heartbeat drummed in his ears, the pounding rhythm echoing inside his skull, and a thirst that had now become familiar clouded his senses. Not only he desired her, her blood called to him with the promise of unlimited pleasure and the taste of forbidden fruit.
For the past weeks, his blood kink had grown into hunger. His mind fantasized with sexual acts involving blood and smearing hers all over her body with his lips.
He kept himself in check just in time. He fumbled in his jacket pocket and produced a barber’s razor. Without stopping devouring her mouth, he opened it a little and sliced his thumb. He broke the kiss just enough to smear his blood all over his lips, like lipstick.
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Luna watched him do it, completely mesmerized. She had suspected his blood fetish. She had looked it up on the Internet and she wasn't put off by it. On the contrary, she felt the frisson and she liked it, a lot.
Roman, licked his lips, and smeared blood over them again. As if that was her cue, Luna kissed him, devouring his mouth. The metallic taste made her dizzy, but in a tipsy or high kind of way. His heart swelled at seeing her so eager. She lapped him clean.
“ That was hot!. Would you like to taste my blood?”
The look Roman gave her was so hungry and ravenous that she shivered. It was dangerous, predatory. They stayed like that for a long while. He could hear her blood pumping and it made him salivate. He looked at her with fascinated horror.
Luna took the razor that had fallen on the picnic blanket and sliced her thumb before Roman could stop her. From there on he saw red, literally. The rich scent of the viscous fluid filled his nostrils. She presented her dripping hand to him, like an offering. That's all he needed.
He grabbed her thin wrist with his large hand, gripping it like a vice. His other arm circled her waist pulling her towards him. Just one look into her eyes and she succumbed. His mouth latched on her thumb, suckling the precious liquid as if his life depended on it.
Roman drank with his eyes on her. His pupils were so dilated that the green had almost disappeared. Luna couldn't tear her gaze from those pools of darkness, and yet she wasn't afraid but even more aroused. His long, deep ‘hums’ as he indulged his kink were making strange things to her core and she could feel her cotton panties dampening.
He noticed it immediately. The scent of her arousal was now mixed with the scent of her blood. Just when he was on the brink of losing his mind to the animal inside him, a spark of lucidity stopped him. He closed his eyes, then he opened them again. They were back to green. He had stopped drinking.
“Forgive me my tiny girl. I got carried away”.
He sounded ashamed and apologetic. He was breathing heavily. He never had acted his kink on another person.
“But… but, I liked it!
Luna protested. There was a note of disappointment in her voice, but mostly concern at his sudden change of demeanor.
“Are you ok, Roman?”
He was already wrapping her thumb on a paper napkin. He looked a bit lost and sad
“Yes, tiny girl, nothing you should concern yourself with. I just got carried away a bit too much. I don't want to hurt you “
“You wouldn't hurt me, ever. I have complete trust in you “
The look Roman gave her spoke volumes. She was the only one aside from Shelley, who trusted him completely. She was his jewel and his treasure.
“I know, my tiny Luna. And I love and value you over everything else in the world.”
He caressed her cheek and kissed her softly. An almost chaste kiss, given with the purest love. Luna could sense his feelings, and wondered why he hadn't continued when she was so obviously eager and wanting him to do so.
“Roman, I know that you have lots of experience with women and I haven't got any experience of sex at all, but, do you think I'm not ready yet?“
His heart ached. It was so her to think that it was something wrong with her instead of thinking that the problem lied on his side.
“It's not that, my angel. It's me. Of course I want to have sex with you! I've never desired any other woman as much as I want you. Because this time my desire comes from love. But I want our first time to be special for you. Something to last the whole night. I want to pour all my feelings on you when we make love. A moment ago I was going to consume you. I would have devoured you in a few minutes, carried away by this blood lust I feel sometimes. You don't deserve that”
Roman wasn't a man of many words. To hear him putting every ounce of himself in that speech was beyond moving. It was a declaration of love and an apology all at once.
“You always think of me first, Roman. It shows me that I am right in trusting you”
Luna rose on her knees and kissed him all over his face. He laughed at her sweet way of showing her. affection.
“Come on tiny girl, let's go home”
He stood up and pulled her on her feet. They cleared the picnic and returned to the cabin.
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ROMAN POV
During the entire ride home, he appeared carefree and nonchalant. The reality was different. He was very worried. His fixation with blood wasn't just a sexual fetish. He had thought of drinking Luna's blood, all of it. It was like a frenzy taking hold of him. Her taste was delicious and intoxicating. It was as if there was another being inside him. Some kind of bloodthirsty monster.
But his primary instinct had been to protect Luna, to keep her safe. This time his rational self had won. But what if the monster inside him broke loose?.
He was determined to control that side of him. He wasn't going to give up Luna. Not for the world
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During the week up to graduation, Luna and Roman prepared their speeches. When the day came, he was calm but Luna was ecstatic and nervous. Roman had helped her rehearse her speech till he saw her confident enough to do it.
They arrived at the ceremony and as they were walking to the lawn where the Graduation was taking place, Olivia showed up in front of them. Dressed in her trademark white: a tailored fitted dress and matching big pamela, and dripping arrogance and authority, she approached Roman and kissed him on the cheek. He made a superhuman effort to not push her away. He remained cold and detached so as not to cause a scandal.
“You look so gorgeous and grown up, my beautiful boy. I'm so immensely proud of you”
He was going to clap back but Luna squeezed his arm slightly. He composed himself and decided to be civilized.
“All I have done is my own merit. There's no room for you to try to claim it for yourself Mother dearest”
Olivia smiled. A smile full of teeth and composure. She was a pro at keeping up the appearances.
“Of course darling. I want to celebrate your triumphs “
Just then, she looked at Luna as if she just realized she was there.
“Ah! You must be the mysterious girlfriend who keeps Roman away from his home and his mother”
Her tone was frivolous and casual but her eyes were those of Medusa wanting to turn that insignificant girl into stone. Luna didn't even flinch. Even if Olivia was using her height as an intimidating weapon for she was almost as tall as Roman, Luna held her head high and following Roman's cue she also spoke in a polite and collected tone.
“As Roman's mother you must surely know that Roman doesn't stay where he doesn't want to be. You're giving me too much credit if you think that his absence from your mansion is my doing”
Olivia wasn't used to insolence, however politely it might be presented. She gave a scathing stare at that little nobody and then turned around and left, making her way to the guest seats.
Roman couldn't believe his eyes, Luna not only had stood up to his mother, but she made her retreat without knowing what to say.
“Well done, tiny girl! I don't recall any moment in my life where my mother was lost for words”
“I didn't want to be disrespectful, but if she thought that she could make me feel small just because I'm tiny and poor, she better think twice. I'm done with people treating me like trash”
Roman looked at her with unbridled admiration. That was his little Luna: fierce and fearless when the occasion required it, sweet and innocent the rest of the time. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.
Meanwhile, sitting on her chair, all majesty and airs of dominance, Olivia tried to digest the insolence of that girl. Who instead of feeling grateful because she, the most powerful person in Hemlock Grove had deigned to acknowledge her, had the nerve to clapback. She would make sure that the little slut paid for the humiliation. The occasion for revenge might be near.
The Graduation ceremony started. After the speeches of the Principal and a few teachers and representatives of the Department of Education, the time came for Roman to deliver his speech. Instead of going for something outrageous and iconoclastic, his speech was surprisingly moderate, with mentions of following the tradition of his father and grandfather and to continue their legacy. He truly didn't give a monkey about everyone's opinion. He knew he was a hellraiser but also that he had worked his ass off to get these marks, he couldn't care less if they thought he had it handed to him on a gold platter. He thanked all the Hemlock High teachers and went back to his seat, next to Luna.
Her time of going up to the lectern had come. Roman was eager to see how she would deliver the speech. It would certainly ruffle a few feathers. She walked calm and collected and took a breath before starting. When she spoke, her sweet voice was clear as a bell, she wasn't a timid little girl, but a confident young woman who knew her worth.
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LUNA'S SPEECH
“Today is the culmination of a dream that started four years ago. That little girl from the woods had big expectations on her first day of High School. Soon she understood that in the big scheme of secondary school relationships, she was rather unimportant. Social life was an alien concept to her. She didn't lose heart and tried to fit in: the school newspaper, a theatre play.. I got myself a place in these activities and many other extra curricular ones, but I kept being a shadow backstage.
As I had almost no friends, I concentrated on studying. Then in the second year my world collapsed with the death of my grandmother. My only living relative, who raised me in poverty but with dignity. I did the unthinkable and carried on as usual. I wanted an education, a chance to go to College. So I kept studying while my economic situation worsened. Almost nobody noticed my loss, and those who knew, didn't bother to check on how I was doing. By Senior year things were dire, but I didn't want to ask for help from people who never had cared about me.
Only one person noticed me, only one person gave me the gift of his friendship. That person is Roman Godfrey. The only one with enough heart to really care.
So today I want to express my gratitude to Hemlock High for acknowledging my efforts and for the grant they have given me. I wish I could say something nice or grateful about my classmates and peers. And I would have done it if it wasn't for the events of a few weeks ago at one of my classmates' parties.
What I have today is the product of my own effort and sacrifice. I owe nothing to any of you except the fact that with your behaviour you made me stronger.
I got my life ahead of me. And I plan to live every minute to the fullest. Because even in the darkest moments, the only thing to remain is hope. My triumph today is dedicated to my grandma, who would have been so happy for me, and to my boyfriend Roman, who always believed in me, I love you both more than words can say. “
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Luna descended from the stage. The silence was deafening. Her speech was not the usual valedictorian schmaltz but the hard truth of her reality during her high school years. Those who had attended Brooke’s party, knowing well what was going to happen, felt the sting of shame. So did the rest of her classmates and teachers.
The Principal didn't object to her speech because it was purely the truth. She had been shunned and ignored by all of them and she had risen like a Phoenix. He was the first one to applaud, and little by little the whole congregation joined in an ovation. This time Luna didn't cry. She just sat by Roman who held her hand.
After the students had collected their diplomas, the assembly dissolved. Olivia approached Roman while Luna was talking to a Princeton representative.
“Would you come to have lunch with your mother? To celebrate”
“I have plans already.” was Roman's curt answer.
“I'm so proud of you, Roman. Your father would have been proud as well if he had been here”
She stood by him caressing his nape. He wanted to push her away, but he limited himself to moving away from her.
“Well, we both know the reason he cannot be here today, don't we? “
The rebuke made her flinch. She gave him a hurt look designed to make him feel guilty.
“Don't talk to your mother like this, you know how much I care about you “
“It's a little bit too late to play the loving mother. You should have started with Shelley. But thanks to you, this family is nothing but a pile of ashes”
Olivia saw that she couldn't fool him. Yet she tried one last move.
“Will you at least come tomorrow night? Like a sort of… farewell. Let me have one last birthday with my son. I will personally hand you your legacy and if after that you want nothing else to do with me, then I will not bother you anymore.”
Roman seemed exasperated, but then, tomorrow he would be eighteen, one last concession to Olivia was a small price to pay for a lifetime of freedom from her. He would have to tell Luna.
“Ok, but it will be the last time. I'm going to live my life the way I want, and you won't stop me anymore. “
“I promise darling. Your uncle Norman wants you to drop by his house before, around five, then from there you could come home around seven, what do you think? “
Roman shrugged. Just wishing for all that to be over as soon as possible. Olivia left and he went to meet Luna who was waiting under the big oak.
“I didn't want to interrupt you. I got the impression that your mum hates my guts”
“You're probably right. She's a jealous, possessive bitch. She wants me to go to the mansion tomorrow, some kind of final birthday celebration before I ditch her. It felt bad to say no. But I'll make it up to you, my tiny girl”
He wrapped Luna in his arms and gave her a peck on the tip of her nose
“Don't worry. We can celebrate the next day”
“We can still do something. My uncle Norman also wants me to drop by his house before going to the mansion”
“Then we can have lunch in our cafe, yes?”
“That will be the best part of the day. Uncle Norman is cool and I love to see Letha, but nothing compares to being with you. We have lots of plans to make.”
Luna was an uncomplicated person. It was only normal that his family wanted to celebrate him on such an important day.
They went back home and after lunch they went for a walk in the woods. Luna told him about his conversation with the Princeton representative. He would send an information pack to her in the next few days.
The following day, Luna made berry pancakes for breakfast and gave Roman an antique silver pocket watch with a silver chain as a present, engraved on the inside with a short phrase. ‘Roman, I love you endlessly, no matter what. Yours forever, your tiny Luna’
Roman loved it. He was not used to thoughtful gifts chosen carefully and presented with such love. It was perfect. He had wanted a pocket watch since forever. He wore his father's Rolex, but he had a thing for pocket watches. Luna’s one was plain silver except for a Fleur-de-Lys engraved on the cover. Simple but very classy. His heart clenched at the happy and hopeful expression on Luna's face. He brought her into his arms as if he never wanted to let her go.
“Thank you tiny girl, I'll carry it with me, always “
They made many plans for the future ahead of them. Then they went for lunch and for a walk around the lake. In the afternoon, Roman took Luna home before heading for his uncle’s.
Luna settled for the evening with her laptop and a couple of movies. Roman had left about twenty minutes ago when there was a knock on the door. She went to open it and to her huge surprise, it was Olivia.
“Mrs Godfrey. Roman left less than half an hour ago. “
She was confused. She thought that Olivia didn't like her. What was she coming to do there?
“I know darling. He doesn't know I'm here. I thought that it would be a nice surprise for him if you would come for dinner as well. I wasn't very nice to you last time we met, I'd like to make amends”
These words caught Luna off guard. She blinked, initially lost for words. She never got to answer Olivia's invitation. Everything just went black.
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Roman had a good time at Letha's house. His auntie had made a cake and he blew the candles. This had been a tradition since his father died. Norman made the point of trying to bring some normality into Roman and Shelley’s lives. Every year for the last 12 years he had celebrated their birthdays in family. Him and Marie knew too well that this would be the last celebration. Roman would take over Godfrey Enterprises and he would become an adult. It felt bittersweet but Norman made a point of making Roman feel loved
Letha, being her sweet, happy self, kept him laughing non stop. There was a toast, presents and speeches. The time for Roman to leave arrived too soon. He said goodbye to his aunt and cousin and Norman walked him to the car, watching how he drove away to meet Olivia.
Roman had the feeling that a part of his life was ending today. No more carefree rich kid, no more manwhore bedding all the girls in Hemlock Grove, no more drugs and alcohol to cope with Olivia and piss her off.
In the Eve of coming into the possession of his vast inheritance, he had very clear plans. He wanted to make his father proud, to honour his memory. He wanted to make Godfrey Enterprises even better, bigger, more successful than it already was. He would rebuild his grandfather and father’s empire.
To drown the uneasiness of having to meet Olivia, he focused on the life he would have from now on. With his tiny Luna by his side. Together there wasn't anything they couldn't do. The world was theirs.
He arrived at the Godfrey Mansion just as dusk was giving way to the night. The building was wrapped in an aura of gloom. Roman had never paid attention to it, but after all this time in Luna's cabin, which both of them had transformed into a home: happy, cosy and comfortable, the mansion resembled a mausoleum, cold and dead.
There weren't any live-in servants with the exception of an elderly couple who inhabited a small house across the back garden. They usually retired by 6pm. Roman couldn't recall to have crossed more than a dozen words with them.
His memories of the mansion were of total loneliness, Just Shelley, him and their mother. Not many happy memories to treasure from a house where there never had been any love and it showed in the outdated state of the place: luxurious but lifeless.
He opened the main door with his key. The dim staircase landing looked as bleak as always. There was light in the dining room. He made his way there. Olivia had displayed dinner for them both on the table and she was lighting up some candelabra, bone china, silverware, and crystal goblets were on opulent display.
“Hello Olivia”
He said in a neutral, emotionless tone. He was determined to get done with this last requirement from her as quickly and diplomatically as possible.
Olivia raised her eyes from the table to him and smiled with her typical insincere, arrogant and triumphant smile.
“Hello darling. Did you have a nice time at Norman’s?“
“It was ok.”
Strangely, or perhaps not, he had a feeling of dread since entering the mansion. His stomach churned. He bit the inside of his cheek till he tasted the blood. That calmed him slightly. But he had noticed that he was depending more and more on the taste of blood for comfort, and lately that wasn't even sufficient.
He sat at the table, across Olivia, away from her reach and her demonstrations of affection. She went on rambling about him being a man now and about him receiving his inheritance, his father's empire. Roman let her talk, not giving a shit about what she had to say. He didn't touch the food.
But then she went onto something else. She started talking about him receiving his birthright from her side of the family. He focused on her.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Darling. I have waited until this moment to reveal the truth of your lineage to you. You are my favourite, my blood, the one destined to greatness, and all the signs of who you are are already on display, you just need to take the final step”
“Shut the fuck up! I'm your ‘favourite‘ because I was the only one born without physical defects. I know about Juliet, and what you did to her! “
Olivia deliberately ignored Roman's outburst. She put her cutlery on the plate and got up, beckoning Roman to follow her. His patience was wearing thin, but he followed her, eager for all that charade to be over as soon as possible.
They went all the way up to the attic. To what it had been Shelley’s bedroom. Last time he walked up there the attic was completely empty, but now there were black sheer curtains in the centre of the room. Surrounding black bed with black bedding. Scattered around the walls of the room there were several candelabra and candlesticks, all shimmering with the glow of two dozens of lit up candles.
Roman looked at all that display like he was hallucinating. Olivia then started talking again:
“My family is from Romania. We have been an aristocracy for centuries. We ruled the regions we inhabited because of who we are. We aren't normal humans but something far superior”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Let me finish, darling. All will make sense soon”
She took his hand and walked him till he was facing a huge full body mirror. Besides it there was a small table with a very old book on it. She wrapped her arms around him from behind. Roman made a huge effort to not shove her away.
“We are Upirs. Like the vampires in folk stories. But stronger, more lethal, we feed on the blood and flesh of the humans. Our power and abilities are immense. I know you can mesmerize people. And I also know of your craves for blood. It's the Upir inside you, awakening. And today. The day of your eighteenth birthday, is the time for you to become who you are meant to be”
Roman was speechless, thinking that his mother had gone completely insane. But there was a feeling inside him compelling him to listen to what she had to say.
“To fully become who you were born to be, you must take a life, the moment you do, your transformation will begin. You will be able to carry a normal human life but you will feel the hunger from time to time. Animals and blood pouches can quench it temporarily, but only fully feeding from a living human being will sate the need completely” She pointed at the table. “Everything you need to know is in that book”
Roman was about to floor her with a sarcastic comment but he felt in his gut that she wasn't crazy. His thirst for blood had grown stronger in the last few weeks. He thought of him drinking Luna's blood and he felt his mouth watering.
“Let's suppose that what you're saying is the truth and not the feverish ramblings of a lunatic. Why me? Why not Shelley or Juliet? “
“Because I mated with a human. And the possibilities of one of you being a full Upir were slim. Shelley was a half-Upir. Juliet was born human. But you were born with a caul covering your head. I knew you were a full Upir the moment I saw you. Now we will live together.
“So you murdered Juliet because she was human? You're a monster!”
He broke free from her embrace, feeling the rage starting to boil in his stomach.
“I already have a girlfriend and I don't plan on leaving her or doing any of this crazy shit you're talking about “
“Ah, your little girlfriend” Olivia cooed as she took him once more by the hand and led him to the bed. “She has a role to play in your birth as an Upir “
Roman's heart stopped. He could see something on the bed. He moved the curtain away and approached the bedframe. There was a heap on top of the mattress, with a black satin sheet over it. He pulled the sheet away.
Luna laid there, she wasn't moving.
He leaned over her, feeling her neck for a pulse. She was just unconscious.
“What have you done to her!!!” He roared
“Calm down, darling, she's just sedated. I thought it would be fitting if she was your first prey. You can feast on her and then, after your transformation, you and I will make love on the same bed. Sex and blood, two of my favourite things together. We will be together for eternity”
She was so sure of having Roman wrapped around her little finger that she was brimming with arrogance and lust. All these years tantalising herself, kissing Roman, running her hands through his body, laying next to him on his bed when she thought he was sleeping. And tonight she would satisfy her appetites with someone of her kind, her own flesh and blood.
Oh boy, she was terribly mistaken.
Roman turned to face her. He was furious. his blood called for more blood, taking over everything else. The green in his eyes had almost disappeared, they were black and bloodshot now. When he spoke, his voice thundered all over the attic.
“I love Luna!! She's the only one who I will ever want to be with. Not you! You're repulsive and make my skin crawl. All these years of you touching me, your hands left a stain inside me. She's the total opposite of you. I love her, and only her!!
Those were Roman's last words as a human.
He pounced on Olivia, both falling to the floor. He had caught her by surprise, so she didn't have enough time to react. Before she could retaliate, his jaw, wide open, more than normal, had preyed into her neck, tearing the flesh and muscle into shreds, crushing the trachea. Blood gushed out like a fountain. He gorged on it. He drank and ate her with a monstrous voracity, while his human side exorcised all the damage, abuse and cruelty she had inflicted on his father, on Shelley and Juliet, on him. When she was just a heap of torn flesh and broken bones, he ate her heart as a final act. Olivia Godfrey had ceased to exist.
Then he felt it coursing through his veins.
The Power.
The Life
Like sweet fire, consuming and nurturing at the same time.
Like a Phoenix reborn.
Roman rose from the floor, drenched in blood and walked to the stone wall. He opened his arms and ropes of blood flew everywhere against the slate, painting red wings. The monster had awakened, the dragon was alive.
Time ceased to have any meaning, he stood there while centuries of power and knowledge ran through him. The whole story of his lineage, imprinted in his soul. Where there was confusion now there was clarity. Self-loathing gave way to almost arrogant confidence. The messed up boy was now a predator: intelligent, precise, lethal.
Yet his humanity didn't die. There were now two beings inside that body: Roman Godfrey and The Upir. He was forever cursed to know the kind of animal he had become. Like having a nightmare living inside him.
Through the skylight,, the light of the moon filtered, falling over him. Then he remembered:
Luna.
The Upir approached the bed and took a look at the small form laying on top.
Roman was hit by the wave of love and pain that came sweeping over him. He was now a monster, an abomination, but he loved her above everything else in this world.
He remembered the scent of her blood. Unique and intoxicating, and he realized he was a danger to her. He had to keep her safe. Sweeping his gaze all over the attic, he could see the mess that was everywhere. If Luna was to wake up now… It didn't beat thinking about it.
He wiped his hands on the black curtains, then he leaned over Luna, caressing her cheek.
“Listen tiny girl, you will sleep until I tell you to wake up”
A little whimper escaped Luna's lips, as if she was acquiescing.
Roman closed the curtains and started cleaning the mess. He put Olivia’s remains in a bin bag, took them to the basement and threw them in the furnace, cremating them to ashes. Then he cleaned the blood from all over the attic, and disposed of rest of the evidence the same way.
He showered and put on fresh clothes. Then he returned upstairs. He picked up Luna in his arms and carried her to his Jaguar. She was in her little pyjamas: a light vest top and tiny shorts. His heart ached seeing how vulnerable she looked. He felt the bile rising up in his stomach thinking of what Olivia had planned for her. But he quickly discarded the thought. There was no more Olivia. She left this world leaving her poisoned gift for him. A curse worse than death.
He drove through the silent and deserted roads. Feeling the breeze, getting used to his new heightened senses. Everything was different and yet familiar: the night, the forest, the sounds, the smells. The power inside him thrummed through his veins.
He arrived at the cabin, took Luna and deposited her carefully on the bed. Then he sat on the side of the mattress.
“Luna, wake up now” he commanded.
She stirred lightly and opened her eyes, trying to focus.
“You're back! “ she said happily but still foggy
“How are you feeling, tiny girl?“
"I was dreaming, a strange dream. Your mom had come here”
“It was just a dream”
She incorporated, still a bit drowsy, and hugged him. She went to kiss him and he hesitated. She frowned, looking at him with worry.
“Are you ok, Roman? You look haunted”
“I'm ok tiny girl”
And he leaned over her, kissing her like if the world was about to end. She could feel his intensity, but also his sadness. She surrendered to the kiss, pouring all her love on him to soothe whatever was making him sad. Roman noticed it. Now he could read her like an open book. Her feelings and moods were crystal clear to him.
He broke the kiss and put his hands on her shoulders.
“My sweet girl. Listen to me”
“Yes, Roman? “
“There are some things I must take care of. It will take me some days, maybe more. But it's necessary. During that time I won't be coming over. But I will call you every day, and you will lack nothing. I'll take care of it.”
Luna was taken aback, but she thought that he had to sort out all the issues of his inheritance and get to grips with the Company. She looked at his face. Something had changed in him. He was… dark, like if he had a horrible experience.
“O-ok. I trust you completely, you know that. Are you sure you're ok? You seem a bit off. “
“I will be ok, my tiny girl. I'll explain things to you further ahead. But always keep this in here” He poked her forehead softly. “I love you above anything else. My priority now is to keep you safe. Don't ask questions. I cannot give you answers right now. But I'll be watching over you”
He kissed her farewell and left the house swiftly. Luna choked on a sob and forced herself to be brave. For him. For them both. As she fought the tears, it dawned on her what seemed off with Roman.
His smile had gone. He didn't smile, not even once. He had a face like three days of storm. He was still Roman, but also something else. Something different and terrifying.
