He’s the first and with reason --- the paragon, in what she can describe in only the most respectful of ways, of a complete and total childish jackass. The fire king is many things; he’s brash, he’s selfish, and he destroys everything that stands in his path to what he wants, but one thing that he cannot label himself is a conquering soul, for she so proudly claims the title for such honor. ‘ He deserved it ’ is a constant mantra that sings behind starry eyes. He deserved it, and she stands behind such verdict. He should have known it was coming, should have predicted that she would come for him, that she would stake her vengeance into his coal heart. He should have known from the second that he set fire to such prophecy’s skin that she would come for him. And he shouldn’t have banked on the fact that she was a marriage less woman, that she would be all too willing to comply to his scorching demands to be her lawfully wedded. It was only fair. She debated on whether or not she should target one of his brethren as had hers, to distinguish the flame of his own as he has shattered the light of hers, and of course, he would have deserved it. But she hadn’t. She’s better than to target a soul who wasn’t involved in the first place in her own personal matters; or perhaps it’s the fact that she wouldn’t dare offer any chance for another to compare her to the likes of a hot-headed baby. No, she targets him, and she does it well.
Gold band surrounds her finger, a scowl painted heavily on wan features; she crosses her arms over her chest and she stares unto the bleak wall. She tilts the glass situated between her fingers to and fro, the shimmery liquid sloshing about in clear capsule. Nail taps against the container, her vexed expression only deepening at the thought that perhaps she might consider kneeling on the floor before her fire-tempered husband finds his way to her. It’s only a matter of time before he comes to claim what he believes is rightfully his. So she kneels, thought quite the challenge considering the copious amounts of expensive fabrics that line her limbs for such special occassion. She hears his footsteps near and the soft closing of shōji before he enters, his lip curling up softly, if she can even use such a word for him; though he doesn’t make noise about such position as she thought he would. Perhaps he viewed it as respectful to the traditions in which they both grew that she kneels the way she does. She doesn’t speak. He asks her to stand, offering his hand in a chivalrous manner in which she applauds, but still, he’s ever so hated as he was from the beginning. She takes his hand and stands, curiously watching as burnt fingers leave the skin of palm to trail the flesh of her wrist, all the while free fingers toy with the obi situated at her hips. She makes no move to halt him. She stands still, keen eye watching as he slowly unfastened the sash around her hips, pulling it free before slipping his fingers under the layers of her hirosode, watching the layers fall from her shoulders. She makes no move to halt them. In all, she’s motionless as he strips her, as he runs curious fingers over frigid skin, as if mapping out shimmering flesh under their wake. He asks her to step forward from the ring of her garments and she does, grasping onto the arms that he offered. He’s much more gentle than she would have imagined, though, she fears should she try him as she knows she will, he will become much more brutal in his ways. He motions for her to stand before him, his hand smoothing over her hips before grasping, the other trailing up her stomach, passing over the swell of her breast and up her neck to cup her cheek. It’s loving and there’s adoration in his golden eyes. For a fleeting moment, she ponders the idea that perhaps he did love her as he spoke of for years before this, before he held her as his, but such thought leaves as it comes. She doesn’t believe such man is capable of such emotion after such ruthful display she has witnessed in the past. Should worse come to worse, she’ll be proven right, that he’s an effrontery pig who’d waste no chance to slight her, however, there’s no doubt in her mind that she’s correct about her assumption. She pours him a drink on command, though, she’s taken a much more ballsy move with her deliverance. Upon pouring the drink she’d tipped for him passed her welcoming lip, she moves towards him, fingers tracing the skin of his cheeks as her lip caught his, she allows the drink from her to pass to him and he welcomes the tang of liquor upon his tongue; though not short after, his lip caught hers in the process, offering a light suck in response. He doesn’t seem as displeased with her less than innocent act as she assumed he would, but she’s quickly brought out of thoughts when the same hands that held her in light embrace before now grip her ferally, blunt nails digging into her hips. He wastes no time shifting to place her upon the futon, rough fingers slipping up between her knees to push apart such anatomy to lead him to his endpoint. Fingers swipe up her core, such appendage just barely tapping the bundle between her thighs, but it’s enough to make her hips rise to follow. As much as it nails her pride to admit, he’d gotten her much more aroused than she intended with just tender touches along her hips. She curses herself for being as touch starved as she is, but she supposes it might be a more positive response than negative in the light of it all. Yet she such thoughts are banished as the sound of a ‘pop’ sounds, his fingers coated in his own saliva glitter in the dim light, but nothing’s as bad as the croon of crude thought of how sweet she is and how tight he knows she’ll feel. Though soon, his fingers begin to hastily untie the sash around his hips, the material falling away much faster than hers had, and he’s all too quickly parting her thighs once more and positioning himself to breach her. She figured it was coming and she knew it would happen someday, but he’s much too fast for her comfort. And all too soon has he sheathed himself inside her all in one thrust, a breathless gasp parting from him while a grunt of discomfort passes from her; either he hadn’t heard her plea to let her adjust or he just didn’t care as he began to move within her, small hisses of approval sounding in the space between. She hadn’t made a move to stop him save for the digging of nails into biceps and the pinch of her brows, but how the words are stuck on the tip of her tongue for him to just let her breathe --- He picks up speed, his pelvis grinding into her much more harshly than she originally thought he would, his grip on her much too tight, and that wicked ( shit-eating ) grin that slithers on tanned features is more than unsettling, but she’s proven right, he missed no chance but to fuck her right to hell and sow a deeper seed of malcontent within her core for her beloved husband; and that in itself is enough for her not to feel guilty for wait awaits him. Afterall, she is quite sure he’ll paint quite the pretty silver picture for her in enough time. Hand come from bracing the side of her head to toy with her breast, fingers pinching much too harshly on rosy bud for it to ever be considered pleasurable, and all is topped with a breathy laugh laced with bitter symphonies of a moan fill the air as well as the sweet scent of sweat and iron. He’s nearing his end, considering his jerky thrusts and choked noises that are all too obnoxious for her tastes. She places a cold hand on his chest, one that makes heated flesh flinch under her touch and a hand raise to pin hers down, but she’s come too far for such feeble efforts to stop her. She’s waited for the most perfect of all moments, where he’s his weakest and most vulnerable to send jolts of her energy through his bones, pieces of her divinity through his blood all in reparation for the starkissed blood he spilt in his name. And he’s far too weak to stop the progression of her stars love to the center of his being, far to frail to stop the bursting of his cells under her ever so loving touch, and he’s far too damned to even begin to comprehend the silver that course through his veins and dye him such a wonderful blue. She concludes that yes, this is a beautiful sight, indeed. He collapses on top of her, the once golden eyes now bloodshot and so prettily glazed peer up at her, a wheeze passing through once heavenly coated lips. She presses a finger to his metallic mouth as if silencing him as he had done her. Small tsks filter between them, her own red stained lip curling at the sight of the man she slain in her own name, his once grandiose fire now nothing more than a smoulder. All too soon had the golden king met the silver queen, and all too fast had the king tried to tame his ever clever queen. And she decides that all was worth her night of satisfaction. All was worth marrying the man who slaughter her prophecy, all was worth being fucked by a man akin to a hog, all too watch him fall apart from the inside out. She’d taken from him as he had done to her, and what a malicious way of doing so; to give him everything he wanted only to strip it away the second he basked in the glory. She’d taken life from him as he had done to her. She had conquered him as he had her; she had branded him the same; she had climbed inside his divine body as he had to her, and most importantly, she had made that once hot god as cold as ice.