Bedwarmer

A/N: Somewhat inspired by 1 Kings 1:1-4. Distortion, who is briefly mentioned, belongs to Allison Lightning.



Heat.

It was all that coursed through her blood, sending it near-enough to boiling. She let the fire's warmth fill her from the inside, causing a slight flush to spread across her skin. It was uncomfortable rather than soothing; bearable, certainly, but the sheer physicality of it was an unwelcome distraction.

The tract she studied was some twenty sheets of closely-written parchment, meticulously coded by the Crow of the Carnival before its sending. She sighed, allowing herself to stretch; the left sleeve of her gown fell, exposing her shoulder. The dress had lost even the suggestion of modesty with the shawl discarded, spider-fine lace at the neckline cut around an expanse of pale green skin, and a bare foot and calf showing through a side slit, resting on the dark green hearthrug on which she sat.

I have spoken to the Justice Minister regarding Granger Industries v Mindmeld and he tells me that my proposal for amendment of the paranormal trespassing laws will be considered...The usual consignment of powered refugees will arrive in Wyrdhaven under Bleyd's management...In re the trade agreement, the General has attempted to cut the price for Nevershine iron, but I hold firm and expect he will comply...

The miniscule copperplate seemed to blur across the page in the shifting light. She narrowed her eyes as she continued to read, running a nail painted dark red along the lines. The fire was the only source of light in the large room, although an unlit lamp stood above the organ to the right; she looked almost colourless in front of its brightness, dove-grey silk against pale green skin. A diamond-shaped patch on the skirt stood out like a strawberry bloodstain, the same shade as her lips.

No door stood in the room, but opaque blackness was contained within an oaken frame; stars swirled within it, heralding an entry, and she quickly got to her feet, laying the papers on the desk.

"My lord. Good evening," she said, dipping her head in greeting. She walked to him, and he allowed her to take his coat.

"Closer to morning," he replied. "What were you reading?"

"The Crow's latest dispatch, my lord," she said, hanging the coat from a metal hook. "She's expecting a favourable trade agreement. The agenda for the Domina Council has also been finalized--the new diamond mine, the proposed Lebon Mort expansions, the Carnival-wide warding alterations, and Houses Silver and Copper's agreed settlement."

"The settlement being?" He had moved to the fire, and she returned to him to stand opposite, her back to it.

"The mine to be owned by Silver but cheaply leased to Copper for the next century, blood-payments exchanged to Copper's benefit, and the Viscount's son to wed Alycia Silver some years hence," she said, naming the five-year-old younger daughter of Silver's Duke. "The death of Lilias Grim is likely to be a sore point for the Viscount, and Silver could raise the Zarsen deeds in response."

"The death is of little account, and the deeds will be irrelevant." He pulled out a chair for himself and sat, watching her. "Your friend Distortion wants records of the House of Illusion's reconstruction."

"Not a bad idea; I'll ask Quill to make them public," she said.

He laughed. "You concede easily."

"I have nothing to hide--in this instance." She smiled; the gown slipped slightly further down her shoulder. "Was there anything else they asked of you, my lord?"

"Nothing that concerns you, my dear." He reached out a hand to her; she allowed him to take her wrist, stepping further from the flame.

"Is it true the Pontifex wants to reinstitute the Soldiers of the Faith?" she asked, slipping closer to him.

"He is a fool who listens too much to his inferiors; I may have to restrict his revenues. But that matters not." He stood, and placed a hand on her bare shoulder, bone-white hand tracing a cold pattern across pink-flushed skin. "Come here."

She obeyed gracefully, pressing herself to him and touching the hollow of his cheek. "Would that please my lord?"

"It would." He pressed her face to his, in what wasn't quite a kiss as the sharpened edges of his mouth scraped lightly along her upper lip. She leaned into him; he was still almost grave-cold despite the fire's nearness, a release from the burning heat. Warmth bled from her flesh to him.

He followed the lace of her neckline, the fine smoothness of skin over delicate collarbone, and paused in the hollow between her breasts, where lacings of a lighter grey moulded her dress to her form.

"I would compliment you on your earlier appearance," he muttered into her ear, parting the slit in her dress with his other hand. The points of his fingers scraped over her thigh like cool pinpricks. "Though that would seem pointless now..."

She began to shed the dress, colours dancing from her ankles as it seemed to dissolve around her, but his tightening grip on her prevented the transformation.

"Allow me," he said, and neatly unhooked the first of the lacings. "Come. Make yourself comfortable."

She went with him to the coffin, pausing posed on the edge of it before he swept her into it. Its reddened plush surrounded her, and she lay back like a seamaid in foam as he knelt atop her, slowly pulling the dress apart. She exhaled as her chest was bared to the air, and he paused in his movement, his eyes raking her.

"Sit up," he said, and she did so, slipping both sleeves from her shoulders in quick, graceful movements, posing for him. She was still slightly flushed from the fire's heat, slim and supple as she turned to him.

She was grateful for his touch as he reached for her again, mercifully cool and unnervingly skilful; he claimed to prefer her this way, warmth for dead bones. Her nipples hardened under his touch, areolae flushed dusky rose. She let him manoeuvre her to lie back again, arching her back as he ran his left hand underneath her, questing for the waistband of the dress. He slowly drew it from under her, his hand wandering as he did so, sharply cold at the small of her back and a tingling shiver along her inner thigh. She shuffled her feet to free herself from it, leaving herself bare.

He summarily disposed of her clothing, letting it fall in a heap on the ground below them like a broken swan, and returned his hand to between her legs. She moaned then, leaning into him as he touched her; pleasure, for her, and something for him, whatever remained of his capacity to feel--or control, she supposed, abandoning that thought to focus on the physical sensations.

"Rose-lipped," he said almost languidly, half-covering them as he twisted his arm to continue touching her, "light-footed, fawn-eyed, eldritch-dusky, dark lady..."

Words pleased him, mostly his own; she smiled up at him like a gaudy mask, bold and wanton, moving her hips to request an increase in his pace. "Flattering, my lord," she whispered to him, and kissed him. She remained warm, feeling the effects of his exertions; and yet he was as cold as ever. The sharpness of his mouth scraped across her face, and as she shifted position she felt the skin break on her cheek, a small stripe of blood appearing across it.

He seemed to hear her slight moan, and lifted his face from hers, watching her. She cried out again, more loudly, as she felt his right hand place sudden pressure on her nipple, and then she felt him inside her, two fingers stretching to fill her.

It was forceful, though not painful; she clung to his shirt, breathing in short gasps. She was tousled, disorganized; not what he usually preferred from her, but he appeared to approve of the reaction, moving inside her and adding a third finger. His other hand rested on her shoulder, curling underneath to touch the back of her neck; sharp-stone-cool, inescapable in sensation.

His arm twisted, and she felt renewed pressure on her clit, shifting below him as he manipulated her body.

She let out a shuddering cry at last, coming to completion; he did not stop touching her, and sealed her mouth, taking his hand from her shoulder to her lips. She gradually calmed, resting a hand against the side of his face.

"Satisfied, my dear?" he said, not-quite-drowsily, slowly withdrawing from her. He removed his hand from her lips, allowing her to speak; instead of answering, she took it in her left hand, and pressed the back of it to her lips.

He rested atop her, a hand still on her inner thigh, wet with her sweat and fluid. As per routine, he would likely dismiss her soon enough; she started to disengage herself, but his grip tightened around her.

"Stay a while," he said, enveloping her in his height; she smoothed herself against him, placing an arm around his ribcage. Not....common; he preferred to sleep alone, and it had already been late when he had returned from the conference with the Powers of church and judgment, but she could certainly take encouragement from it. And he seemed to rest, or whatever he did in place of sleep, though she could still see the glow of his eyes.

She must have allowed herself to succumb to at least some state of dreamlike suspension as well, for she returned to alertness, shifting her position slightly; and then he seemed to shake in response.

"Still warm," she heard him mutter as his hands tightened around her waist, "hard not to grow cold--" and then he paused, staring at her.

It almost qualified as an admission of vulnerability; she pretended to have not heard. "My lord?" She shifted again, pressing her body to his, stroking her hands along his back. "Would you have--"

"You disturb me," he said abruptly, pushing her from him; but then he seemed to relent, and placed a hand under her chin. "It was not your fault, snookums. But you may return to your chambers."

She knew a dismissal when she heard one; she want to the ground, standing on the stone floor, and picked up her discarded clothing. She spun it around her with the morphing power, changing herself to immaculately-composed Lady; he watched her as she drew on a translucent shawl and slippers.

"Shall I attend you at the Fae Court tomo--today, my lord?" she asked lightly, deliberately casual.

"Yes," he said. "Ensure your presence is timely."

She bowed. "My lord," she said, and departed in a swirl of light, to the cold air of her own room.

--



Afternote: This is the first time I've posted something like this online; I guess that's Internet-deflowering, sort of. Feel free to hit me with concrit--first try, want to improve, want to reduce inhibitions about being willing to post sex scenes, etcetera.