Between Two Evils - Chapter 13
May. 12th, 2009 01:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
botiasI finally finished this chapter! Yay! The sex scene, the explicit sex scene, (see how I worked that warning in there?) was the very last part I wrote. Note: I went back and made a change in Chapter 11. The vibrator joke has kind of annoyed me since I wrote it, and I realized awhile back that this is supposed to be the future. Granted it's a weird future where people do lots of sword fighting and use scads of pre-industrial lighting, but still, the future, so I changed both the stun gun and the vibe to be more future-y.
Previous Chapters Here
Thanks for the encouragement beta readers! You know who you are. *smooch* Enjoy! Somewhat more angsty and less boring I hope!
“The look on her face when she recognized me was actually very amusing in retrospect. And that you felled her head of security—give me that.” Lotor deftly plucked the bowl and spoon from her hands. “Why should I ever invade? I'll just send my lovely bride for a state visit.”
Allura opened her mouth to protest and received a spoonful of some sort of creamy stuff with the sweet tang of peaches.
He made a mess of it, hardly an improvement on what she'd been managing on her own. She'd woken with the cast on her hand, but had no knowledge of having received it, only a vague memory of Lotor's voice, smooth and hard-edged at once, and a woman's voice, equally self-assured and tart as green apples. She frowned at him as she swallowed the food, but it was more out of habit than annoyance.
“It was only luck,” she said, explaining about the weapon—and the other device—that she had found on the prostitute.
“She probably alternated them on her clients. I've never cared for such things myself.”
Lotor sat before her on the bed, nude and cross-legged and looking even more pleased with himself than usual. Behind him, across the spacious room, a glass wall displayed a wide expanse of turquoise sky. Double doors let in the sound of birdsong and falling water, and a breeze that carried the building heat of the day.
He had such an air of knowing something she didn't, some delicious mischief. Not for the first time since she'd woke, Allura surreptitiously patted her hair to see if it were sticking up.
He watched with evident satisfaction as she finished licking at the corners of her mouth, then he smiled down at the bowl he held in his palm. The size of him made it look like a teacup, a single gold-green note. Allura found herself smiling too; suspicious or not, his mood was infectious. The morning light reflected off of the gilt decorating the bowl, sending a smattering of bright motes to play over his silver-blue skin—she followed them absently over the neatly defined curves of bone and muscle...
Her cheeks warmed as she shifted her wandering gaze to his face, watched him smirk as he deftly scooped up another spoonful. He looked up as he lifted the spoon—and stilled. The pleasure faded from his expression as he looked at her bruised shoulder, his mouth settling into a thoughtful curl.
There was nothing ominous about that—in a normal person—but Lotor wasn't one for introspection or philosophical puzzles. For Lotor, there was only what he wanted, and how it was best to be accomplished. Allura decided that it was too early in the day for the tortures and screams playing out behind that half-lidded amber gaze. She casually tipped her head so that her hair fell over her arm and shoulder.
“What will you do with the children?” she asked.
The glance he gave her said that he knew exactly what she was up to. Instead of answering immediately, he fed her another bite.
“They are your concern, Allura, not mine.” He smiled again when he saw that he had made another mess. “In my most recent conquest, I acquired a nanny without any charges—now that sounds like seven years' bad luck.” He didn't look at all worried. “Perhaps you should send them to her. Don't I get any thanks for buying them?”
Allura dutifully licked her lips clean. You didn't want to buy them, she thought. I'm sure you still think it was a huge waste of your time. Her expression softened. Nevertheless, she was more grateful than she could say. “Thank you,” she said.
Lotor looked pleased. “You can thank me by developing a taste for jewels and gowns. Neither might vomit on anything I own—or have you for an evening snack. I intended for you to see the lions, Allura, not walk up to one and stick your head in its mouth. I don't know why. It's not like I haven't seen you do any number of similar things.”
With everything that had happened, Allura had almost forgotten about the lions. “Is that why we came here?”
“Admes' family has kept them for generations. Did you like the lion?”
“He was magnificent. I—thank you.”
Lotor seemed to develop a taste for the words. “And what about you? Do I get thanks for saving you?”
Allura quirked a brow at him. For saving me for yourself? But she found herself smiling anyway. She was so very glad he had come.
“Thank you.” She knelt up a little and brushed a kiss across his cheek.
When she pulled back, flushing a little at the impulsive action, he was staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face. She looked into his amber eyes, flushing still more deeply as the moments passed with him saying nothing.
“There were nine of them, nine children,” he said.
She stared at him, confused, was that some sort of— Then amusement warmed her—of course, the greedy thing. Bracing one hand on his thigh she slowly knelt up, and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead.
She kissed one his eyelids, then the other, feeling them flutter closed. She found herself shivering in response to the vulnerable motion. The elusive ginger-spice scent of his skin filled her head, muddling her thoughts, but she couldn't muster any resentment. Waking to that familiar scent and his muscular warmth had made relieved tears sting her eyes. She had drawn great comfort from it as she remembered the events of the night before.
She kissed the end of his nose—that was four—and brushed a caress across each cheek bone. Kisses seven and eight she pressed to the corners of his parted lips. His warm breath rushed across her cheek. One kiss remained. She hesitated, her mouth hovering over his. He had kissed her so many times. What did it matter? She could feel the tension in the muscle under her hand.
Feeling foolish, she leaned forward and set her mouth to his.
It was completely different from being kissed... Before she had finished the thought or the caress, she heard a faint clinking sound, and his arms were sliding around her, bringing her against his body.
He kissed her then, except that he didn't, they were just eager brushes of his lips, touches of his tongue, kisses that were ended just as they were beginning. Frowning, she began to pursue them a little, clamping her hands on the back of his neck to keep her balance until she put an end to his strange game by pressing their mouths firmly together. He made a sound in his throat and kissed her deeply. This was what she was accustomed to, the way it was supposed to be, a thorough caress of his lips and tongue—and then he pulled away again.
The game became a dance that Allura didn't think to put a stop to. It was heady, the way he responded to the first small strokes of her tongue against his. He rewarded her by closing his hands over her breasts, squeezing and rubbing through the thin fabric with maddening skill until she was moving her hips against him, attempting to ease the tight ache between her legs.
She barely noticed when he peeled his shirt over her head. He lifted her up, and then she was sliding down; the all-over stroke of his sleek body against her bare skin made her cry out. He stopped her fall, pressing her to him and reached between her legs. She clasped him, bit him when he pierced her with his sex; the heft of him, the way he stretched her open made her feel fierce.
The game wasn't over. Instead of grasping her hips and thrusting up into her, he leaned back, leaving her sprawled against him, impaled and aching. She whimpered in protest, her hands sliding over his skin looking for purchase. She clasped his shoulder, the nape of his neck, using his immovable strength as an anchor. Her sounds of protest changed to murmurs of pleasure as she found a rhythm that eased her and seemed to please him too; he coaxed her along with murmured praise and nibbling kisses to her mouth and throat. The motion of her body on his became more sure; the heart stopping pleasure when their bodies meshed was both a teacher and a lure. He began to move with her, punctuating her movements with sharp little upward thrusts that quickly brought her to an intense, shuddering release.
She rested her head against him, panting, his heartbeat swift under her ear, feeling an almost tearful relief. He was still hard in her, still moving a little, and she moved with him in an unthinking, sinuous counterpoint.
His arm came around her and then she was eased, loose-limbed and glowing, onto the smooth sheets. She opened her eyes as he came over her, taking in the rapt expression on his face, unquestioning. He stroked his palm over her cheek, between her breasts, her belly, as he moved over her with slow, heavy strokes. He kept her with him, refusing to let her relax in satiation, biting her and touching her with a force that might have been painful if she were less aroused, until she was gasping and moving against him, teetering on the brink. And then she was pushed over.
The second release seized her body deeply; she could feel oblivion close on her, but she felt no fear only held him closer.
He said her name, as he often did, calling out to her as he too fell, helpless, into pleasure. She felt the slickness of his release as he finished them both with a few powerful movements of his body.
Some time later, a small smile curling her lips, Allura stirred and opened her eyes, feeling warm and sticky and ridiculously pleased.
The ceiling above the bed was painted.
The subject matter didn't alarm her; it wasn't the first erotic art she had seen in Nephalem; a number of such items decorated this very suite. She looked at the pictured couple with sleepy interest. Rumpled sheets and scattered pillows spoke a thousand words. The man was clearly modeled after Lotor—the vain thing—his big, muscular body was curved around his partner so that she looked like precious idol held in a cupped hand.
Allura felt more awake suddenly.
Lotor's companion was no one familiar to her. Her skin was golden all over, not sheltered ivory, and she was flushed here and there with a deep, healthy rose. This woman wore no circlet or other trappings of state, and her unbound hair was a mass of unruly golden curls, shining in the morning light. This woman was entwined with her lover with every appearance of affection. And she was staring back at her with horrified blue eyes.
Allura slid her hand from beneath a tasseled throw pillow. The woman did the same, revealing a bright pink cast.
It was not a painting. It was a mirror.
“Exile! For a period of two years, you will not set so much as a toe on this planet or any of its satellites!”
Still in the middle of his bow of greeting, Matheus struggled to maintain a neutral expression. When he thought he had managed it, he straightened slowly, and faced his Regent.
It had been a relief when the Regent's guard had collared him at port. The fact was, he didn't want a new life. He had found, as he waited for the ship that would carry him far away, that he already missed his old life very much.
He had made no resistance as he was brought to the palace in whose corridors he had played as a child and whose soaring ramparts had formed a stately focal point to the backdrop of his life. One day had passed, then two, during which he waited with a penitent stoicism in the small suite to which he had been confined. The guards had offered him no information, and he didn't even consider lowering himself to ask.
Well into the second day, he was offered a change of clothes; shortly thereafter, he had been brought to a surprisingly small office full of polished wood and deep jewel tones. Even then, he had felt relieved that his wait was at an end, rather than afraid. What could the Regent do to him that was worse than leaving everything he knew and loved?
The Regent wasn't finished. “Exile shouldn't be any particular hardship for you, should it?” Her scornful tone made his skin burn as if reddened with a switch. “Since you so blithely offered the entire planet up to be incinerated. Or perhaps you thought your little pissing contest with the Prince Imperial would quench the flames?”
With a disgusted sound, she pushed herself back into her chair, picked up a pen and began to write. “You have exactly one week to get your affairs in order. Though I hear there is little left to arrange.”
She looked up then, pointing the pen at him. “And stay away from that psychotic whore's son. Am I understood?”
“Stay away—” Matheus gaped like a fool as comprehension dawned. He, Matheus, was to be exiled, but that—that thing could still come and go as he wished?
“He killed my parents,” he said, grateful to sound more brave and dignified than he felt.
The Regent paused in her writing and stared at him for a long moment, her black eyes bright and unblinking. “Clearly,” she said, “They would have benefited from the same advice.”
The Regent's guard escorted him to a side gate and once more he was free. Free to choose. The Regent had made it clear: if he wished to live here, he had to put the interests of his planet above his personal vengeance. He had already signed over the remainder of his estate to the Regency and learned that pursuit of his embezzlers had already begun.
If he showed himself capable in his exile, keeping himself, and staying out of trouble, the Regent would take him into her service on his return. In time, his home and assets would be restored to him.
He looked out over the city. The Prince was out there, somewhere. Such a high-profile figure would not be hard to find. Matheus stood there for a moment feeling sorrow and a little shame that he was not more tempted. If he were going to be ready to depart in a week, there were things he needed to do and he had a long walk ahead of him.
The cool water slid over her skin. Allura arched her body and dove, scissoring her legs to drive herself forward for several strokes before letting the water push her to the surface for a breath. She hovered there for a moment with lazy motions, taking stock, before before setting off in an easy crawl. She crossed the length of the pool a few more times before heading to the side. She had been taught to swim as a child for safety reasons, and had continued because she enjoyed it.
She slowly mounted the steps, relaxed and calm, feeling gravity take her once more as she emerged into the early evening. Her swim had eased some of the soreness and stiffness from her unaccustomed exercise—and restored some of her mental equilibrium as well.
“You are truly a thing divine, Allura. What need have I for the moon rise or the morning when I have you?”
The quiet words shattered her calm. Allura started and looked about.
If she'd been asked, she would have said that Lotor was not the sort to make use of the verandas, but there he was, sitting in one of the low chairs holding a drink loosely in his long fingers, legs stretched out in front of him. His white hair was still damp from the shower, and he was wearing only a pair of the drawstring pants he used to train in. The intent expression on his handsome face said that he liked what she was wearing very much, which happened to be nothing more than a little water.
When he looked at her, did he see that rosy-lipped hedonist she'd seen in the mirror?
Allura did her best to seem nonchalant as she padded over the warm stone to retrieve the bath sheet she had left on one of the chairs.
“Will we be staying here much longer?” she asked to break the silence.
After a moment, Lotor accepted the topic. “Are you tired of Nephalem's entertainments after only five nights? In any case, it would be best if you completed your treatment before we depart.”
Once she was safely bundled in the thick fabric, Allura turned to look out over the city. Golden and mysterious, with its romantic domes and graceful spires, Nephalem gleamed and glittered in the twilight valley below like a careless heap of pirate's plunder. The planet's sole moon was unusually large and bright, blurring the boundaries between day and night.
“It's vengeance you're waiting for—isn't it?”
Lotor didn't respond right away, then he said, “Don't you want vengeance? I'm sure I don't have to tell you that you were very lucky.”
Allura hugged her arms close to her chest. Instantly she was back in that dark, damp little room, hearing a vicious fate beating down the door, a fate that was coming not only for her, but for those she had promised to protect. There was a part of her that wouldn't mind seeing a certain young man receive a good thrashing, not to mention a long lecture on the evils of slavery and retribution. She decided that both of them could answer questions with questions.
“Isn't that what he was after? Vengeance?”
Lotor seemed amused rather than offended. “I don't intend to be better than he is, Allura.”
“Just less dead?” she said tartly, looking over her shoulder at him.
“I find that being 'less dead' adds a certain panache to being richer and better looking.”
“Why did he kidnap me?”
Lotor glanced at her, and then took a leisurely sip of his drink. “I doubt you would like such a sordid tale.”
She watched him as he looked out over the shining city like a well-fed lion surveying his domain. He had cared for her over the past days, his playful and indulgent aspect very much on display: he had fed her most of her meals, fastened—and unfastened—her clothes, harassed her when she forgot to apply cold to her hand, and insisted that she use the local anesthetic. He seemed to enjoy having her further at his mercy.
To her surprise, he'd also begun her lessons with the sword, stating that he considered it foolish to be adept with only one hand. He'd offered dryly to teach her to strike properly as well once she was healed, and then laughed at her rueful confession. She already knew how, she'd told him, but she lacked the practice to keep proper form when she was angry. He wasn't just playing at teaching her either, and she found the demanding sessions exhilarating. She knew she would miss them when he finally got bored.
In the evenings he took her to see spectacles and shows. Lotor did not bother to conceal his identity and seemed to enjoy the attention and gossip that clearly resulted, but he was not the only one providing entertainment to his neighbors: one evening, he had been amused and Allura shocked to see a duel break out in one of the theater boxes. It seemed that the masks let people proposition—and accept—those they might not otherwise, but they could also conceal the proximity of spouses and lovers.
He'd been in such boundless good humor that she could only think of one time when he'd been less then amiable. Allura wrinkled her nose. It seemed he didn't care for waking and finding her missing from the suite.
Pleasant as it all had been, she thought she was doing an excellent job of keeping it in perspective.
Except for the things they did in bed.
Allura felt a shiver of panic. The image of them curled around one another like lovers haunted her, and he seemed unwilling to return to the status quo. Kiss me, Allura, he would say. And she would. That she did so at his request should have been comforting, but somehow it made it worse! There was no command in his tone when he said this, only a naked anticipation. Then he would rub her fingers over his skin until the satiny temptation grew too much for her, and she would take over, stroking him until he groaned.
Did she want to hear a sordid tale?
Allura pulled the toweling more closely around herself. No, she felt in desperate need of four or five such tales. "I'd really like to know," she said.
She watched as Lotor settled deeper into the chair and hooked one long leg over the arm, the very picture of indolence, but his amber gaze moved restlessly over the cityscape. The corner of his mouth turned up a little, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "I take it back," he said, "You may like this one...
“Not everyone was pleased by my presence in Nephalem, years ago. Namely, jealous husbands and lovers. But, Richard Aolani, Duke of Ostfaire had nothing to worry about. He and the Duchess had been a love match who had defied their family rivalries to be together,” The cynical curl of Lotor's mouth spoke eloquently of his thoughts on the matter.
He lifted his glass in a small, mocking toast. “Muriel was said to be as virtuous as she was lovely.”
Frowning, drawn in spite of herself, Allura drifted to one of the chairs next to him and perched on the edge. “You put her on your list didn't you?”
“And one fine morning, I woke in her bed, with a bad hangover, a dagger in my thigh, a sword by my hand—neither was mine—and two people who had managed to be less fortunate than I. The lady was missing her head, and the gentleman—Gods, what a reek.”
Allura looked away, tears coming to her eyes in a painful rush. She had already known how the story ended, but—
“The dead Duke had been betrayed twice over. A close friend and former lover of his had helped me to lie and flatter my way into the Duchess's bed.
“This 'friend' had recently been unlucky in love you see—the latest in a string of stinging disappointments. The hope was that the Duke would finally see his wife for the mere human woman that she was, not as some angel descended from on high; the Duke was then to abandon his odd and bothersome fidelity to her, and return to his good friend's longing embrace. The tale did not turn out that way.”
Lotor took a leisurely sip of his wine. “Nor does it end there. Their son and his nursemaid walked in on this delightful scene. It was their screams that woke me.”
Allura gasped, “Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes. It was absolutely brutal on my headache.”
Allura stared at him, feeling a welcome mix of righteous anger and disgust. How could he be this way? “Are you even capable of remorse?” she asked under her breath.
She didn't expect an answer or even for him to hear, but those pointed ears were quite keen. His lips twisted. “You'll have to be more specific. Should I be sorry for showing a lady a good time or for defending my life?”
Allura could only shake her head, looking away. She was no stranger to an orphan's pain. All of that grief, all those years of suffering and loneliness, all so that he could—
“How odd that you should mention remorse.”
Allura stilled. Then she looked up, frowning.
He was looking into his wine glass, not a sliver of amber visible under his dark lashes. “By all accounts, Muriel was a doting mother,” he muttered, before taking a quick drink.
He had lost a parent as well, she remembered, just as he lowered his glass to the arm of his chair a little too hard, making her jump.
“They had to die—both of them. For Nephalem's elite, there are only two crimes, you see: to be unfashionable, and to be indiscreet. I had managed both most spectacularly—the Duke and Duchess were the most popular, highly-visible couple in the city. The woman was a witness, and the boy could only ever be an enemy to me...”
Allura went cold. In her mind's eye she saw the terrified woman and hysterical child facing a wounded Lotor with a sword in his fist, savage with pain and spattered with gore. How had—
“I spared them,” he said, looking as though the words were sour on his tongue.
Allura took a deep surprised breath.
He took another drink. “It caused me no end of trouble even then.” Lotor turned his head and looked at her. His gaze was cold, pitiless. “That was the mistake which endangered your life.”
His smile then was small and cruel. “But don't worry, Allura. It's not a mistake that I make often.”
Allura stared at him. He was still smiling that awful smile. He seemed to be daring her. Daring her to what? To find him weak? Find him fallible?
Looking away, she stood up, clasping her elbows in her hands. She had expected a tale of the strong preying triumphantly on the weak. It was not what she had wanted at all! Struggling to make sense of her thoughts, her emotions, she spoke without thinking, spoke from her heart. “You can't kill them all, Lotor. Don't you see?”
Lotor scoffed. “And you can't save them all, yet still you try. It's kept me alive.”
His dry, dismissive tone struck emotions that were already raw, close to the surface. She spun toward him, flinging an arm toward their luxurious surroundings. “Is this what you call living?” she cried. “You have no friends, no one you trust—you don't even have any pets.”
She bit her lip, stilling the rash words.
For a moment she thought she'd gone too far. There was a stillness and intensity about him that had her on edge, waiting.
“I have a wife,” he said softly. There was a clear challenge in his amber gaze.
Allura was the first to look away.
“Am I your wife?” she asked after a moment, plucking at the bath sheet. “They all said that I was dressed as a slave...”
It wasn't until she heard his irritated tone that she realized: she had known the question would annoy him.
“You are most certainly and irrevocably my wife,” he growled. “That was for your protection.” Then, “And my amusement. Anything else you would like to know?”
She should say nothing, stop provoking him. “It was Admes, wasn't it? The one who betrayed the Duke?”
“Yes, it was,” he said, scowling. “But I tell you this in confidence, Allura.”
Allura felt a flash of anger; she didn't want his nasty confidences. She lifted her chin. “And was Admes on your list as well?”
Lotor stared at her for a moment, an odd expression on his face.
Then he smiled, a genuine one this time.
“No, Allura. If you'll recall, I said it was a list of ten women.”
He took advantage of her confusion to lean forward and pull her into his arms.
"Enough questions." He settled her unresisting body against his own with a sigh of satisfaction. Setting his glass aside, he began to dry her with firm, leisurely strokes.
"But she—he—and the Duke—"
Lotor laughed, the tips of his canines catching the light.
"I forgot that you have only seen him dressed for Festival. He usually prefers trousers, both on himself and his lovers." Blinking lazily, he continued, "As for the late Duke, it's not uncommon for the men here, especially in the heat of their youth."
He eased the toweling away, surveying her bare skin with warmth and possessiveness, even a bit of wonder.
"For myself, I find males somewhat... lacking."
Allura quelled an urge to cross her arms over her breasts; her defiant lack of modesty had unaccountably abandoned her lately, and she didn't like it one bit, this new vulnerability.
He closed his hands on her waist shifting her upward. Allura closed her eyes. His lips and cheek brushed against her nipples as he explored the surrounding skin. The tiny caresses were electric, and soon she found herself aching for a firmer touch. She gasped silently just at the thought of his mouth enveloping the tip of her breast, tugging and suckling. Her entire body tightened in pleasurable anticipation—and worry.
He had told her once that the pleasure she felt with him was nothing to be afraid of, that it was just a pleasant sensation—like water sliding over her skin. Gradually, her fears had faded that she would turn into some sort of degenerate, or somehow become infatuated with him. Now those fears returned in a rush. She refused to think about what the future might hold, but she didn't need a crystal ball to know that she shouldn't give more of herself to her husband than she had to.
“I'm not feeling well,” she said in a weak voice. It was not a lie.
He lifted his pale head to look at her, his cat's gaze a little unfocused. She had never tried to refuse him before; would he be displeased, perhaps insist?
To her surprise, instead of annoyance, his expression softened, became almost sappy; his thumb rubbed across her belly in a caress that was soothing rather than sexual.
Allura felt angry, incredulous—and, she realized with great dismay, a little disappointed.
She suddenly wanted to leave Nephalem with its confounding blend of stricture and license and its complete inability to be what it seemed, and she wanted to leave this house with its bright airy spaces, and disturbing memories. If he was going to behave this way, she may as well see if he would grant her wish.
Before she could speak, she heard a faint chime coming from the direction of their suite. It sounded like Lotor's little gizmo, but it was a tone that she'd never heard before. The words died in her throat as she took in the change that had come over him. He went so still beneath her it was almost as though he'd disappeared.
“You'll have to pardon me, my dear,” he said. “I have to return a family heirloom.”
On to Chapter 14
Previous Chapters Here
Thanks for the encouragement beta readers! You know who you are. *smooch* Enjoy! Somewhat more angsty and less boring I hope!
Chapter 13
“The look on her face when she recognized me was actually very amusing in retrospect. And that you felled her head of security—give me that.” Lotor deftly plucked the bowl and spoon from her hands. “Why should I ever invade? I'll just send my lovely bride for a state visit.”
Allura opened her mouth to protest and received a spoonful of some sort of creamy stuff with the sweet tang of peaches.
He made a mess of it, hardly an improvement on what she'd been managing on her own. She'd woken with the cast on her hand, but had no knowledge of having received it, only a vague memory of Lotor's voice, smooth and hard-edged at once, and a woman's voice, equally self-assured and tart as green apples. She frowned at him as she swallowed the food, but it was more out of habit than annoyance.
“It was only luck,” she said, explaining about the weapon—and the other device—that she had found on the prostitute.
“She probably alternated them on her clients. I've never cared for such things myself.”
Lotor sat before her on the bed, nude and cross-legged and looking even more pleased with himself than usual. Behind him, across the spacious room, a glass wall displayed a wide expanse of turquoise sky. Double doors let in the sound of birdsong and falling water, and a breeze that carried the building heat of the day.
He had such an air of knowing something she didn't, some delicious mischief. Not for the first time since she'd woke, Allura surreptitiously patted her hair to see if it were sticking up.
He watched with evident satisfaction as she finished licking at the corners of her mouth, then he smiled down at the bowl he held in his palm. The size of him made it look like a teacup, a single gold-green note. Allura found herself smiling too; suspicious or not, his mood was infectious. The morning light reflected off of the gilt decorating the bowl, sending a smattering of bright motes to play over his silver-blue skin—she followed them absently over the neatly defined curves of bone and muscle...
Her cheeks warmed as she shifted her wandering gaze to his face, watched him smirk as he deftly scooped up another spoonful. He looked up as he lifted the spoon—and stilled. The pleasure faded from his expression as he looked at her bruised shoulder, his mouth settling into a thoughtful curl.
There was nothing ominous about that—in a normal person—but Lotor wasn't one for introspection or philosophical puzzles. For Lotor, there was only what he wanted, and how it was best to be accomplished. Allura decided that it was too early in the day for the tortures and screams playing out behind that half-lidded amber gaze. She casually tipped her head so that her hair fell over her arm and shoulder.
“What will you do with the children?” she asked.
The glance he gave her said that he knew exactly what she was up to. Instead of answering immediately, he fed her another bite.
“They are your concern, Allura, not mine.” He smiled again when he saw that he had made another mess. “In my most recent conquest, I acquired a nanny without any charges—now that sounds like seven years' bad luck.” He didn't look at all worried. “Perhaps you should send them to her. Don't I get any thanks for buying them?”
Allura dutifully licked her lips clean. You didn't want to buy them, she thought. I'm sure you still think it was a huge waste of your time. Her expression softened. Nevertheless, she was more grateful than she could say. “Thank you,” she said.
Lotor looked pleased. “You can thank me by developing a taste for jewels and gowns. Neither might vomit on anything I own—or have you for an evening snack. I intended for you to see the lions, Allura, not walk up to one and stick your head in its mouth. I don't know why. It's not like I haven't seen you do any number of similar things.”
With everything that had happened, Allura had almost forgotten about the lions. “Is that why we came here?”
“Admes' family has kept them for generations. Did you like the lion?”
“He was magnificent. I—thank you.”
Lotor seemed to develop a taste for the words. “And what about you? Do I get thanks for saving you?”
Allura quirked a brow at him. For saving me for yourself? But she found herself smiling anyway. She was so very glad he had come.
“Thank you.” She knelt up a little and brushed a kiss across his cheek.
When she pulled back, flushing a little at the impulsive action, he was staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face. She looked into his amber eyes, flushing still more deeply as the moments passed with him saying nothing.
“There were nine of them, nine children,” he said.
She stared at him, confused, was that some sort of— Then amusement warmed her—of course, the greedy thing. Bracing one hand on his thigh she slowly knelt up, and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead.
She kissed one his eyelids, then the other, feeling them flutter closed. She found herself shivering in response to the vulnerable motion. The elusive ginger-spice scent of his skin filled her head, muddling her thoughts, but she couldn't muster any resentment. Waking to that familiar scent and his muscular warmth had made relieved tears sting her eyes. She had drawn great comfort from it as she remembered the events of the night before.
She kissed the end of his nose—that was four—and brushed a caress across each cheek bone. Kisses seven and eight she pressed to the corners of his parted lips. His warm breath rushed across her cheek. One kiss remained. She hesitated, her mouth hovering over his. He had kissed her so many times. What did it matter? She could feel the tension in the muscle under her hand.
Feeling foolish, she leaned forward and set her mouth to his.
It was completely different from being kissed... Before she had finished the thought or the caress, she heard a faint clinking sound, and his arms were sliding around her, bringing her against his body.
He kissed her then, except that he didn't, they were just eager brushes of his lips, touches of his tongue, kisses that were ended just as they were beginning. Frowning, she began to pursue them a little, clamping her hands on the back of his neck to keep her balance until she put an end to his strange game by pressing their mouths firmly together. He made a sound in his throat and kissed her deeply. This was what she was accustomed to, the way it was supposed to be, a thorough caress of his lips and tongue—and then he pulled away again.
The game became a dance that Allura didn't think to put a stop to. It was heady, the way he responded to the first small strokes of her tongue against his. He rewarded her by closing his hands over her breasts, squeezing and rubbing through the thin fabric with maddening skill until she was moving her hips against him, attempting to ease the tight ache between her legs.
She barely noticed when he peeled his shirt over her head. He lifted her up, and then she was sliding down; the all-over stroke of his sleek body against her bare skin made her cry out. He stopped her fall, pressing her to him and reached between her legs. She clasped him, bit him when he pierced her with his sex; the heft of him, the way he stretched her open made her feel fierce.
The game wasn't over. Instead of grasping her hips and thrusting up into her, he leaned back, leaving her sprawled against him, impaled and aching. She whimpered in protest, her hands sliding over his skin looking for purchase. She clasped his shoulder, the nape of his neck, using his immovable strength as an anchor. Her sounds of protest changed to murmurs of pleasure as she found a rhythm that eased her and seemed to please him too; he coaxed her along with murmured praise and nibbling kisses to her mouth and throat. The motion of her body on his became more sure; the heart stopping pleasure when their bodies meshed was both a teacher and a lure. He began to move with her, punctuating her movements with sharp little upward thrusts that quickly brought her to an intense, shuddering release.
She rested her head against him, panting, his heartbeat swift under her ear, feeling an almost tearful relief. He was still hard in her, still moving a little, and she moved with him in an unthinking, sinuous counterpoint.
His arm came around her and then she was eased, loose-limbed and glowing, onto the smooth sheets. She opened her eyes as he came over her, taking in the rapt expression on his face, unquestioning. He stroked his palm over her cheek, between her breasts, her belly, as he moved over her with slow, heavy strokes. He kept her with him, refusing to let her relax in satiation, biting her and touching her with a force that might have been painful if she were less aroused, until she was gasping and moving against him, teetering on the brink. And then she was pushed over.
The second release seized her body deeply; she could feel oblivion close on her, but she felt no fear only held him closer.
He said her name, as he often did, calling out to her as he too fell, helpless, into pleasure. She felt the slickness of his release as he finished them both with a few powerful movements of his body.
Some time later, a small smile curling her lips, Allura stirred and opened her eyes, feeling warm and sticky and ridiculously pleased.
The ceiling above the bed was painted.
The subject matter didn't alarm her; it wasn't the first erotic art she had seen in Nephalem; a number of such items decorated this very suite. She looked at the pictured couple with sleepy interest. Rumpled sheets and scattered pillows spoke a thousand words. The man was clearly modeled after Lotor—the vain thing—his big, muscular body was curved around his partner so that she looked like precious idol held in a cupped hand.
Allura felt more awake suddenly.
Lotor's companion was no one familiar to her. Her skin was golden all over, not sheltered ivory, and she was flushed here and there with a deep, healthy rose. This woman wore no circlet or other trappings of state, and her unbound hair was a mass of unruly golden curls, shining in the morning light. This woman was entwined with her lover with every appearance of affection. And she was staring back at her with horrified blue eyes.
Allura slid her hand from beneath a tasseled throw pillow. The woman did the same, revealing a bright pink cast.
It was not a painting. It was a mirror.
***
“Exile! For a period of two years, you will not set so much as a toe on this planet or any of its satellites!”
Still in the middle of his bow of greeting, Matheus struggled to maintain a neutral expression. When he thought he had managed it, he straightened slowly, and faced his Regent.
It had been a relief when the Regent's guard had collared him at port. The fact was, he didn't want a new life. He had found, as he waited for the ship that would carry him far away, that he already missed his old life very much.
He had made no resistance as he was brought to the palace in whose corridors he had played as a child and whose soaring ramparts had formed a stately focal point to the backdrop of his life. One day had passed, then two, during which he waited with a penitent stoicism in the small suite to which he had been confined. The guards had offered him no information, and he didn't even consider lowering himself to ask.
Well into the second day, he was offered a change of clothes; shortly thereafter, he had been brought to a surprisingly small office full of polished wood and deep jewel tones. Even then, he had felt relieved that his wait was at an end, rather than afraid. What could the Regent do to him that was worse than leaving everything he knew and loved?
The Regent wasn't finished. “Exile shouldn't be any particular hardship for you, should it?” Her scornful tone made his skin burn as if reddened with a switch. “Since you so blithely offered the entire planet up to be incinerated. Or perhaps you thought your little pissing contest with the Prince Imperial would quench the flames?”
With a disgusted sound, she pushed herself back into her chair, picked up a pen and began to write. “You have exactly one week to get your affairs in order. Though I hear there is little left to arrange.”
She looked up then, pointing the pen at him. “And stay away from that psychotic whore's son. Am I understood?”
“Stay away—” Matheus gaped like a fool as comprehension dawned. He, Matheus, was to be exiled, but that—that thing could still come and go as he wished?
“He killed my parents,” he said, grateful to sound more brave and dignified than he felt.
The Regent paused in her writing and stared at him for a long moment, her black eyes bright and unblinking. “Clearly,” she said, “They would have benefited from the same advice.”
The Regent's guard escorted him to a side gate and once more he was free. Free to choose. The Regent had made it clear: if he wished to live here, he had to put the interests of his planet above his personal vengeance. He had already signed over the remainder of his estate to the Regency and learned that pursuit of his embezzlers had already begun.
If he showed himself capable in his exile, keeping himself, and staying out of trouble, the Regent would take him into her service on his return. In time, his home and assets would be restored to him.
He looked out over the city. The Prince was out there, somewhere. Such a high-profile figure would not be hard to find. Matheus stood there for a moment feeling sorrow and a little shame that he was not more tempted. If he were going to be ready to depart in a week, there were things he needed to do and he had a long walk ahead of him.
***
The cool water slid over her skin. Allura arched her body and dove, scissoring her legs to drive herself forward for several strokes before letting the water push her to the surface for a breath. She hovered there for a moment with lazy motions, taking stock, before before setting off in an easy crawl. She crossed the length of the pool a few more times before heading to the side. She had been taught to swim as a child for safety reasons, and had continued because she enjoyed it.
She slowly mounted the steps, relaxed and calm, feeling gravity take her once more as she emerged into the early evening. Her swim had eased some of the soreness and stiffness from her unaccustomed exercise—and restored some of her mental equilibrium as well.
“You are truly a thing divine, Allura. What need have I for the moon rise or the morning when I have you?”
The quiet words shattered her calm. Allura started and looked about.
If she'd been asked, she would have said that Lotor was not the sort to make use of the verandas, but there he was, sitting in one of the low chairs holding a drink loosely in his long fingers, legs stretched out in front of him. His white hair was still damp from the shower, and he was wearing only a pair of the drawstring pants he used to train in. The intent expression on his handsome face said that he liked what she was wearing very much, which happened to be nothing more than a little water.
When he looked at her, did he see that rosy-lipped hedonist she'd seen in the mirror?
Allura did her best to seem nonchalant as she padded over the warm stone to retrieve the bath sheet she had left on one of the chairs.
“Will we be staying here much longer?” she asked to break the silence.
After a moment, Lotor accepted the topic. “Are you tired of Nephalem's entertainments after only five nights? In any case, it would be best if you completed your treatment before we depart.”
Once she was safely bundled in the thick fabric, Allura turned to look out over the city. Golden and mysterious, with its romantic domes and graceful spires, Nephalem gleamed and glittered in the twilight valley below like a careless heap of pirate's plunder. The planet's sole moon was unusually large and bright, blurring the boundaries between day and night.
“It's vengeance you're waiting for—isn't it?”
Lotor didn't respond right away, then he said, “Don't you want vengeance? I'm sure I don't have to tell you that you were very lucky.”
Allura hugged her arms close to her chest. Instantly she was back in that dark, damp little room, hearing a vicious fate beating down the door, a fate that was coming not only for her, but for those she had promised to protect. There was a part of her that wouldn't mind seeing a certain young man receive a good thrashing, not to mention a long lecture on the evils of slavery and retribution. She decided that both of them could answer questions with questions.
“Isn't that what he was after? Vengeance?”
Lotor seemed amused rather than offended. “I don't intend to be better than he is, Allura.”
“Just less dead?” she said tartly, looking over her shoulder at him.
“I find that being 'less dead' adds a certain panache to being richer and better looking.”
“Why did he kidnap me?”
Lotor glanced at her, and then took a leisurely sip of his drink. “I doubt you would like such a sordid tale.”
She watched him as he looked out over the shining city like a well-fed lion surveying his domain. He had cared for her over the past days, his playful and indulgent aspect very much on display: he had fed her most of her meals, fastened—and unfastened—her clothes, harassed her when she forgot to apply cold to her hand, and insisted that she use the local anesthetic. He seemed to enjoy having her further at his mercy.
To her surprise, he'd also begun her lessons with the sword, stating that he considered it foolish to be adept with only one hand. He'd offered dryly to teach her to strike properly as well once she was healed, and then laughed at her rueful confession. She already knew how, she'd told him, but she lacked the practice to keep proper form when she was angry. He wasn't just playing at teaching her either, and she found the demanding sessions exhilarating. She knew she would miss them when he finally got bored.
In the evenings he took her to see spectacles and shows. Lotor did not bother to conceal his identity and seemed to enjoy the attention and gossip that clearly resulted, but he was not the only one providing entertainment to his neighbors: one evening, he had been amused and Allura shocked to see a duel break out in one of the theater boxes. It seemed that the masks let people proposition—and accept—those they might not otherwise, but they could also conceal the proximity of spouses and lovers.
He'd been in such boundless good humor that she could only think of one time when he'd been less then amiable. Allura wrinkled her nose. It seemed he didn't care for waking and finding her missing from the suite.
Pleasant as it all had been, she thought she was doing an excellent job of keeping it in perspective.
Except for the things they did in bed.
Allura felt a shiver of panic. The image of them curled around one another like lovers haunted her, and he seemed unwilling to return to the status quo. Kiss me, Allura, he would say. And she would. That she did so at his request should have been comforting, but somehow it made it worse! There was no command in his tone when he said this, only a naked anticipation. Then he would rub her fingers over his skin until the satiny temptation grew too much for her, and she would take over, stroking him until he groaned.
Did she want to hear a sordid tale?
Allura pulled the toweling more closely around herself. No, she felt in desperate need of four or five such tales. "I'd really like to know," she said.
She watched as Lotor settled deeper into the chair and hooked one long leg over the arm, the very picture of indolence, but his amber gaze moved restlessly over the cityscape. The corner of his mouth turned up a little, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "I take it back," he said, "You may like this one...
“Not everyone was pleased by my presence in Nephalem, years ago. Namely, jealous husbands and lovers. But, Richard Aolani, Duke of Ostfaire had nothing to worry about. He and the Duchess had been a love match who had defied their family rivalries to be together,” The cynical curl of Lotor's mouth spoke eloquently of his thoughts on the matter.
He lifted his glass in a small, mocking toast. “Muriel was said to be as virtuous as she was lovely.”
Frowning, drawn in spite of herself, Allura drifted to one of the chairs next to him and perched on the edge. “You put her on your list didn't you?”
“And one fine morning, I woke in her bed, with a bad hangover, a dagger in my thigh, a sword by my hand—neither was mine—and two people who had managed to be less fortunate than I. The lady was missing her head, and the gentleman—Gods, what a reek.”
Allura looked away, tears coming to her eyes in a painful rush. She had already known how the story ended, but—
“The dead Duke had been betrayed twice over. A close friend and former lover of his had helped me to lie and flatter my way into the Duchess's bed.
“This 'friend' had recently been unlucky in love you see—the latest in a string of stinging disappointments. The hope was that the Duke would finally see his wife for the mere human woman that she was, not as some angel descended from on high; the Duke was then to abandon his odd and bothersome fidelity to her, and return to his good friend's longing embrace. The tale did not turn out that way.”
Lotor took a leisurely sip of his wine. “Nor does it end there. Their son and his nursemaid walked in on this delightful scene. It was their screams that woke me.”
Allura gasped, “Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes. It was absolutely brutal on my headache.”
Allura stared at him, feeling a welcome mix of righteous anger and disgust. How could he be this way? “Are you even capable of remorse?” she asked under her breath.
She didn't expect an answer or even for him to hear, but those pointed ears were quite keen. His lips twisted. “You'll have to be more specific. Should I be sorry for showing a lady a good time or for defending my life?”
Allura could only shake her head, looking away. She was no stranger to an orphan's pain. All of that grief, all those years of suffering and loneliness, all so that he could—
“How odd that you should mention remorse.”
Allura stilled. Then she looked up, frowning.
He was looking into his wine glass, not a sliver of amber visible under his dark lashes. “By all accounts, Muriel was a doting mother,” he muttered, before taking a quick drink.
He had lost a parent as well, she remembered, just as he lowered his glass to the arm of his chair a little too hard, making her jump.
“They had to die—both of them. For Nephalem's elite, there are only two crimes, you see: to be unfashionable, and to be indiscreet. I had managed both most spectacularly—the Duke and Duchess were the most popular, highly-visible couple in the city. The woman was a witness, and the boy could only ever be an enemy to me...”
Allura went cold. In her mind's eye she saw the terrified woman and hysterical child facing a wounded Lotor with a sword in his fist, savage with pain and spattered with gore. How had—
“I spared them,” he said, looking as though the words were sour on his tongue.
Allura took a deep surprised breath.
He took another drink. “It caused me no end of trouble even then.” Lotor turned his head and looked at her. His gaze was cold, pitiless. “That was the mistake which endangered your life.”
His smile then was small and cruel. “But don't worry, Allura. It's not a mistake that I make often.”
Allura stared at him. He was still smiling that awful smile. He seemed to be daring her. Daring her to what? To find him weak? Find him fallible?
Looking away, she stood up, clasping her elbows in her hands. She had expected a tale of the strong preying triumphantly on the weak. It was not what she had wanted at all! Struggling to make sense of her thoughts, her emotions, she spoke without thinking, spoke from her heart. “You can't kill them all, Lotor. Don't you see?”
Lotor scoffed. “And you can't save them all, yet still you try. It's kept me alive.”
His dry, dismissive tone struck emotions that were already raw, close to the surface. She spun toward him, flinging an arm toward their luxurious surroundings. “Is this what you call living?” she cried. “You have no friends, no one you trust—you don't even have any pets.”
She bit her lip, stilling the rash words.
For a moment she thought she'd gone too far. There was a stillness and intensity about him that had her on edge, waiting.
“I have a wife,” he said softly. There was a clear challenge in his amber gaze.
Allura was the first to look away.
“Am I your wife?” she asked after a moment, plucking at the bath sheet. “They all said that I was dressed as a slave...”
It wasn't until she heard his irritated tone that she realized: she had known the question would annoy him.
“You are most certainly and irrevocably my wife,” he growled. “That was for your protection.” Then, “And my amusement. Anything else you would like to know?”
She should say nothing, stop provoking him. “It was Admes, wasn't it? The one who betrayed the Duke?”
“Yes, it was,” he said, scowling. “But I tell you this in confidence, Allura.”
Allura felt a flash of anger; she didn't want his nasty confidences. She lifted her chin. “And was Admes on your list as well?”
Lotor stared at her for a moment, an odd expression on his face.
Then he smiled, a genuine one this time.
“No, Allura. If you'll recall, I said it was a list of ten women.”
He took advantage of her confusion to lean forward and pull her into his arms.
"Enough questions." He settled her unresisting body against his own with a sigh of satisfaction. Setting his glass aside, he began to dry her with firm, leisurely strokes.
"But she—he—and the Duke—"
Lotor laughed, the tips of his canines catching the light.
"I forgot that you have only seen him dressed for Festival. He usually prefers trousers, both on himself and his lovers." Blinking lazily, he continued, "As for the late Duke, it's not uncommon for the men here, especially in the heat of their youth."
He eased the toweling away, surveying her bare skin with warmth and possessiveness, even a bit of wonder.
"For myself, I find males somewhat... lacking."
Allura quelled an urge to cross her arms over her breasts; her defiant lack of modesty had unaccountably abandoned her lately, and she didn't like it one bit, this new vulnerability.
He closed his hands on her waist shifting her upward. Allura closed her eyes. His lips and cheek brushed against her nipples as he explored the surrounding skin. The tiny caresses were electric, and soon she found herself aching for a firmer touch. She gasped silently just at the thought of his mouth enveloping the tip of her breast, tugging and suckling. Her entire body tightened in pleasurable anticipation—and worry.
He had told her once that the pleasure she felt with him was nothing to be afraid of, that it was just a pleasant sensation—like water sliding over her skin. Gradually, her fears had faded that she would turn into some sort of degenerate, or somehow become infatuated with him. Now those fears returned in a rush. She refused to think about what the future might hold, but she didn't need a crystal ball to know that she shouldn't give more of herself to her husband than she had to.
“I'm not feeling well,” she said in a weak voice. It was not a lie.
He lifted his pale head to look at her, his cat's gaze a little unfocused. She had never tried to refuse him before; would he be displeased, perhaps insist?
To her surprise, instead of annoyance, his expression softened, became almost sappy; his thumb rubbed across her belly in a caress that was soothing rather than sexual.
Allura felt angry, incredulous—and, she realized with great dismay, a little disappointed.
She suddenly wanted to leave Nephalem with its confounding blend of stricture and license and its complete inability to be what it seemed, and she wanted to leave this house with its bright airy spaces, and disturbing memories. If he was going to behave this way, she may as well see if he would grant her wish.
Before she could speak, she heard a faint chime coming from the direction of their suite. It sounded like Lotor's little gizmo, but it was a tone that she'd never heard before. The words died in her throat as she took in the change that had come over him. He went so still beneath her it was almost as though he'd disappeared.
“You'll have to pardon me, my dear,” he said. “I have to return a family heirloom.”
On to Chapter 14
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-05-12 08:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-12 08:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-12 11:20 pm (UTC)be a cliffhanger cause trust me I'm hangin just dying to know?
no subject
Date: 2009-05-12 11:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 04:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 03:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 01:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 02:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 02:06 pm (UTC)However, I find the only thing I want to say is that reading this particular chapter made me feel like I was in Italy - like it was summer in some beautiful foreign city and that I was surrounded by priceless works of art. Your writing places me where I most want to be - it is both pleasant and lavish at the same time.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 03:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 05:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 03:30 pm (UTC)And Lotor spared them. And this mercy endangered Allura. What will he do now?
Lotor and Allura are not analyzing their relationship; they go with the flow and end up in bed.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 03:40 pm (UTC)Allura at least is beginning to fight the tide. :) I don't think Lotor likes to analyze. If something's pleasing him, it must be right.
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Date: 2009-05-15 02:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-15 06:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-17 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-17 04:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-29 10:37 pm (UTC)The lovemaking was erotic and beautifully described and I enjoyed Allura finally being the aggressor. Her quiet observation of the erotic ceiling art was delightful, especially her reaction to the couple pictured. How embarrassing to not realize you're admiring yourself after mentally chiding Lotor for being so vain!
Lotor's compliments and doting were delightful, especially hearing and seeing them through Allura's confused eyes. Her husband is not always acting to part, and somehow she finds herself entranced by him, most of the time. It's delightful to read her confusion and growing passion. When he throws in tales of his harshness and cruelty, it's like getting a cold bucket of water thrown in her face. Poor thing.
Lotor's smug happiness makes me shiver with delight, and this drove the point home completely: To her surprise, instead of annoyance, his expression softened, became almost sappy; his thumb rubbed across her belly in a caress that was soothing rather than sexual. There's going to be an Allura or Lotor, Jr. running around the palace. What a happy picture. I can't wait to read Allura's reaction to the news.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-04 05:14 pm (UTC)I love smug Lotor. :) He's always been quite free with his admiration and compliments where she's concerned, though one gets the sense that he wouldn't settle for anything less.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-02 10:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-03 03:00 am (UTC)