HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIA bye forever

[onhisparade]

"I'm not wearing that."

He didn't miss a beat and continued to grin from his plush seat, his chin resting against the back of his hand as the woman tried to set the open box's contents on fire by sheer willpower. It looked like it would happen any time, now.

"Oh? But didn't you say you'd do anything for me?"

"I didn't, actually." Came the too cheerful reply. "I'm not an idiot."

"Come now, my dear," he purred as he pushed himself away from the table to make his way over to her her and, without so much as another wasted word, molded his hands against her hips with lazy, confident intent. With the greed and desire came the entitlement to the means to satisfy them, and not content to remain where it was, one hand smoothed its way up to the generous swell of her chest, resting there with the finality of a cat settling down for a nap in a sunbeam. He dipped his head toward the pale skin of her shoulder and kissed his way to her neck.

The more he made her spend time like this, the more he didn't care for boundaries, and the more it seemed he could never sate himself of her, no matter how much he took. True to form, there was a growing heat in the kisses he lay against her skin, meant to tease, meant to be playful, but were fast becoming a little too earnest and needy, and she wondered if any of this would even matter in another minute. His eyes shut and he breathed, the heated air tickling her neck as he made himself stop. She said nothing, did nothing, until he seemed to find enough of himself to be steady, and bit the spot just under and behind her ear. A noise broke past her lips before she could swallow it, and she could feel the triumphant curve of his mouth against her flesh.

Insufferable. Honestly.

Even if he'd stopped with his kisses for the moment, he hadn't gone away, even a little, and his hands wound around her like a living chain. Whether it was to compensate for the stopped affection or to remind her that she'd never be free of him, she couldn't tell. Likely both. Maybe there were other things than she thought. "You've always done anything I've wanted before."

Her anger simmered like late evening coals, low, but long-lasting. "That was before you started--" she cut herself off and turned to bite her lip. It's not that she had an aversion to the truth of it, not entirely (the truth was never the problem), especially not when she was angry, but she could not bring herself to say it so crassly.

He knew that, though, and laughed, the sound poisonously rich. "Fucking you?" he supplied oh-so-helpfully, whispering into her ear and tracing the shell of it with his tongue. She shuddered, and he found it delightful. It was endearing, how she could be so blunt and honest--scathing when she meant to be, and even when she didn't--and yet failed to call this what it was. It was so delicate of her, but hadn't she always wanted to be? Even if she'd always been fine just the way she was, it was still another thing to love and have to himself. The first of many tonight, and he would have them. He couldn't have everything he wanted, which was why he had to here, with her. It was only fair, the only way to balance the scales and ease his own ache of dancing on the strings of Expectation.

Something rolled in on the heels of that, though, as it often did. The smile of a woman he did not want to see (who did not deserve this), who was not suited to him at all (who tried her best and had no more asked for this than he had), who'd been nothing but an annoyance (who cared for him in spite of everything).

The air changed. She could not see his face, but the nuances of the tension, the weight that had settled onto him were expected and familiar, and her eyes grew heavy with her own weariness. A part of her, dark or moral, she didn't know anymore, wanted to let him suffer it alone, he deserved and needed it and perhaps enough of it would shake him from all this...this madness. The rest couldn't abandon him.

If he knew what lay in her heart, he didn't let on. "This is why I need you." He didn't want to see, didn't want to be reminded. "You're all I have."

Deep, deep in a place she seldom visited she was still glad to be needed and cherished, even like this, but she couldn't have it on a lie and what a line to draw in the sand that was, she thought bitterly. "I'm not. You have family. It doesn't have to be like this. You don't have to do--"

"Don't."

"She cares--"

"I said don't." He bit her again, harder and stole another gasp. She would like it or she wouldn't, but this conversation would not go easily for her. It wouldn't happen at all, if he could help it.

But he couldn't help it; she was nothing if not tenacious, far more for her own good, and they both knew it. She also didn't care. "No...just. Just stop this, this isn't like before, anymore." When, Gods help her, she'd been wary, but willing and complicit. No matter how close she'd tried to be, there would always be something to separate them: a wall, an obstacle, a burden that could not be shared. She'd given him everything she could, but it wasn't enough to protect his heart. There were so many things in this life that he did not want nor choose to have, and she could not do anything to stop them at their source, only pick up the pieces, put them back together, and pray she would not be left with fewer every time.

He'd always be a little alone, even in her company, but it had gotten worse and that had left her terrified for him. What good was she to him, then? What more could she do for him that she had not already?

Just one thing.

She ignored instincts, sense, morals, everything, and let him have her. Because he asked and she did not know what else she could do. Her eyes had gone tender and guilty with the remembering of it as she stared into his, but all they did was reflect her own shame. He had none to show her this time, too caught on something else.

"Stop?" His voice was incredulous before it smoothed, and he lifted his fingers to trace the full, sweet curves of her lips. "You know I love you more than anything, but that naivete is a little much." As if he'd let her. As if he could. Before it could make him truly angry, he perished the thought for what it was: a complete waste of time. "Aren't you my retainer, sworn to obey?"

She didn't answer him. She didn't think it worth it to correct him on the nature of what should have been their relationship, instead of how he'd twisted it. She knew she would again, soon enough.

He took her silence for compliance. It was just as well. "Wear it." his tone brook no argument before he continued merrily, his dark mood brightening in an instant. "It's my birthday, after all."

She heaved a sigh. "You have entirely too much energy." An entire day's worth of celebrating, and he was still raring to go. And she thought she was energetic. "You ought to put it to better use."

"Oh, I intend to. Believe me." He said cheerfully. He finally let go of her and she immediately started walking, taking the offensive box with her on the way to the bathroom to change. Surprisingly he didn't stop her to make her do it in front of him, and it nagged her enough to stop at the doorframe to ask about it.

"You're not being as big a creep as you usually are." Well. Sort of ask. It was implied, it counted.

"I didn't want to ruin the effect."

No, of course not. She should have guessed. With an impressive roll of her eyes, she shut the door behind her, resisting the urge to slam it. Now that she had some time, she set the box on the counter and rifled through the contents to see if there was anything more than the dress and accessories.

There was.

She lifted her hands to hold the lacy underwear to the soft light powered by magic. That scum-sucking good-for-nothing eternally perverted pig. Waste of good oxygen--a garter and stockings, too? She couldn't believe his nerve. Not that she had never employed the former, they were indispensable for concealing weapons of time of subtlety, discretion, and dinner parties, but she'd never worn one for pleasure. Least of all for his. Stiffly and with contempt, she stripped out of her nightclothes and into what he'd left her, slipping the stockings--sheer, but for the thick intricate bands--one at a time.

They fit. She scowled. Lucky guess.

The dress he'd gotten her was a lot finer than the castle standard maid uniform, though the colours remained sober. Fingers and mismatched eyes ran over it alike, but there was nothing suggestive about it that immediately jumped at her, surprisingly. In fact, if she was not mistaken, the skirt was a good deal longer than usual. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. There was nothing overly suggestive about it that she could see. No slits, no open cleavage, just layers of lovely, flowing fabric.

She quickly, but carefully put it on, expecting something to fit too tightly over her chest or around her hips, but it never did. As she slid the corset on, she pricked herself on a spare pin and immediately sucked her thumb before pulling it away to set aside. They need to be more careful with those things.

She gave herself the excuse of looking in the mirror to make certain, but if she happened to look at how she wore it too, that couldn't be helped. The modesty from the length of everything lent something of an authoritative flair. Around her hips, under the corset over her blouse, was a bundle of bustling cloth tied into a large bow at the back. It seemed in contrast to the austere elegance of the dress and yet did not detract from it in the least. To be frank, even if she did like the usual uniform, this was something she could have deeply appreciated as well, and far more if not for the circumstances. But, as she moved her arms, curtsied, bent down, bent back, curtsied again, she realised something.

This fit, too. She bared her teeth this time. For Gods' sake.

She put her hair into a large, braided bun and topped it with a white headband. With no ceremony whatsoever, she opened the door, a sharp wind blowing in with the force of her motion. The effect of her dour entrance was made sharper by her outfit, which could have been fortunate or unfortunate, in this case.

Unfortunate if the look he gave her after his initial surprise was anything to go by. "Lovely...." he started "How are they?"

"They. Fit." she replied through ground teeth, as if this was the worst thing that could possibly happen to her. "Like a glove."

"Well, they should. They're clothes, after all." He smiled, innocent of any wrongdoing.

She cut to the quick, not in any mood for any of this. "Why in the world do you know my measurements?"

He tapped a finger to his lips and spoke around it. "I'm afraid that's a trade secret, my dear. Now, come here, let me have a look at you."

She waited before making her way closer. With him, looking always meant touching, and this time proved no different, though he only tipped her chin up. There was something behind the lust in his eyes that she couldn't discern, and not knowing frustrated her.

His voice dipped lower, more intimate, and everything she'd come to expect from him, but she also thought she heard something of the man she knew, once.

"You really are beautiful."

Her heart wrenched and immediately she wanted to scream, and, at the same time, she felt the warmth and lightness of flattery. It wasn't fair. After everything, everything, he could still hurt and affect her where it mattered. But it was still not without its cost: so quickly after she could feel the regret and guilt seep over the sentiment, a vile, oily film.

"I don't want to hear that from you." And she meant it, but something stirred uncomfortably in her stomach.

"I would have thought you were better mannered than that."

She was about to tell him where he could stick his thoughts, preferably on the exciting end of a wyvern who'd been sick, but pain flared and what she said instead was "I-I'm sorry." she covered her mouth, horrified, shocked, and confused, and looked to his face.

He smiled.

"Don't move." She didn't. Her mind raced as she could feel the thorned vines of a curse twisting into shape. Something like this would call for blood, but when had he--

The pin.

Her eyes were alight with fury at the realisation. "They just don't make things like they used to, these days." He sighed with false regret and confirmed her suspicions in the process. "Did you know, my dear? There used to be quite the slave trade in some parts, long ago. But we seem to just build people very proudly in Nohr, and it was difficult to keep them in line. However, necessity begets invention, even when that necessity is subjugation." He came around and stood behind her and fastened something around her neck.

"And so, some enterprising mage created the Scarlet Peace. Obedience written and paid in blood and passion. Such brutal methods were outlawed in many contexts--even Nohr has its limits, sometimes--but cruelty never quite goes away, does it?"

He led her to his mirror where she could see for herself. It was a choker with a small, tasteful looking gem attached to it. It would have been subtly beautiful if she hadn't suspected it was somehow responsible for her current state. "As much as I'd like and intend to spend all night with you, I'd also very much like to get something for it. I should get exactly what I want, today of all days, shouldn't I?" Her mind was aware and yet fogging at the same time. It wasn't that she couldn't move, really, it was more that she had very powerful urges not to do anything to inconvenience him. It would be easier just to listen. She would be happier just listening....

Her eyes grew wider and she breathed hard, like a woman trying not to drown and tried to pull off the necklace, but she doubled over in pain.

"W-what is this? What have you done?!" the demand rang clear even in her state.

He sighed again, this time genuine. "Your strength of spirit is one of your many qualities. I can't say I'm surprised by this, but I would appreciate it if you gave it a rest, sometimes."

The harder she tried to pull the more it hurt, until she was convinced myriad little hooks were digging themselves into her skin and trying to draw her bowels through the impossibly small holes they left behind. Mind raw with agony, she curled inward and looked down with wild eyes expecting to see grey-pink loops of her own intestines. With a sickly noise, she let go and the pain ceased after a moment, just a lingering reminder that she had not imagined it and it could and would return, before fading to nothing.

She was crouched on the floor, trembling and holding her intact stomach, unsure of when exactly she sank, slipped, or fell down. A hand came to cradle her face and turn it to him with warm affection.

"The rules are simple: I make the rules. If you defy them, you suffer, if you please me, you're rewarded, and you'll always want to please me. You just need to let it happen. It's harder not to."

She was still trying to put her mind together, but she recalled how earnestly and easily she apologised to him when she was caught off-guard. She glared at him balefully and willed her breathing under control.

"I would kill anyone that hurt you, but I must admit how lovely you wear pain, and I know you can take it. I just hope you won't too much." He let his hand fall away. "But a little is fine, especially if it's for my sake, the way it should be." It's what she swore herself to do for him, after all.

She started to say his name, but he cut her off with a sing-song, disapproving tone. "Ah, ah, ah. I think I would prefer 'Master', tonight." He eyed her expectantly, but when nothing happened, he straightened and cradled his chin between his thumb and forefinger and hummed thoughtfully. "No, there's something missing...ah yes.

"Odegri. I Call to you and order you to name me Master."

A lance of pleasure ran up her spine and struck between her legs and she gasped before feeling compelled to Answer. "I have heard your Call and will follow your will, Master."

There was nothing but silence after, how could there not be? He'd known her to be defiant, proud, and relentless stubborn, and he had known her her entire life. And look at her now? On her knees, and just shy of being in the palm of his hand. Never could he have imagined this! It was too much--too perfect--and he broke into joyful, raucous laughter. "Wonderful! Wonderful! Exquisite. Don't you see? They've literally made it a pleasure to serve!"

Her already pale hands turned an angry white as she clenched her fists against the carpet, and she looked down. She wanted to feel ill, disgusted at this new low he's dragged her to in more than one way, but the feeling grew more and more distant as it competed for against the blissful, obscene joy at having pleased him. The want to remain herself combated with the desire to serve his next and every whim, nothing was too small. She burned with the urge to shout but what left was a whimper instead.

For his part, his delight and cradling hand had yet to cease, and he did not move to draw her up to her feet, where she would be on equal footing with him. "What's this, my dear? So eager, but I suppose you would be. You've always wanted to be useful, haven't you? After all, a maid that isn't might as well not be anyone at all."

It was lightning, instantaneous and destructive, the hatred she felt for both him and herself, and the speed of the anxiety that bloomed inside as quickly, the vines of it seizing her totally and painfully. He could make it grow, but the seed had always ben there. She'd always wanted to be good, to protect, to be worthwhile, to be seen.

To never be cast away.

"No...." Her voice was small and desperate, barely a whisper as her eyes stared, wide and horrified, into a wretched future of solitude and insignificance. No, no, no, nononono. He could not leave her. She did not want him to, she would prove that she was worth keeping. She must prove to him that she was worth keeping. She ached for it, ached for him, and thought all of the ways she could convince him, all the things he liked. She remembered them all.

But she said nothing and did nothing, because he did not order her to.

"But it's fine. I won't consign you to that. I love you too much for it. Stand. Kiss me." He brook no argument and she had none to give, too relieved to think of anything else. She stood and felt a gentle wave of pleasure lap at her inner self. Whenever they kissed, it was often a battle, if she even cared to fight him like that in the first place. Sometimes, she would not at all, in steadfast defiance. But not always. He knew he enjoyed that, the thrill of getting her to engage and then trying to overcome her.

But she knew what he really wanted, what he craved, was affection and love, things she's deliberately withheld or scarcely given him since the start of all this. How couldn't she? She had to make a point, and was angry, disgusted, and guilty besides. She had nothing to give someone who would use her like that, even if it was him. Especially because it was.

All that was all gone, now.

She curled stray locks of blond hair behind his ears. The tender gesture seemed to surprise him and he blinked with it, too used to having to fight her nearly every step of the way in some form. Her hands rose to caress and hold either side of his face before she leaned in to press her mouth to his, lightly at first. Her lips fluttered against his like butterfly wings, soft and flighty and fleeting. She wouldn't fight him again, that person was gone and the need to reacquaint and present herself differently to prove it was overwhelming. His own lips were firm and receptive and fit against her own as though they were made for one another.

This was better than expected, far beyond his imagining. He'd only wanted a night of this, but to feel and have her love him like she should have was completely and wholly addicting. He couldn't possibly have it just once. His blood thrummed hotly in his veins, lustful and impatient, and he pulled her flush against his body with a low growl. Without warning or mercy, he slipped his tongue into her mouth to tangle with hers, pleased to be met halfway. She tasted of spiced wine and peaches, and something entirely herself. He was too eager for more, but he could spend hours kissing her like this and not tire of it, if only to make up for time lost.

Every passing moment pounded against his already fragile self-control, the pieces and plans left to scatter. It was fine, he had no need for such useless things. He'd picked her up and carried her to the bed, all but dropping her before he was on her again and shoving her skirts up. The stockings underneath were a rich, indulgent purple, a stark contrast to the sober colours of the uniform. He'd chosen them precisely because of that, but also as a reminder of to what and whom she'd always belong: purple was a Nohrian colour, after all. Even in this mad haze, he managed to appreciate and congratulate himself.

He pulled himself away just enough to run his hand along the tantalising sheen of her clothed leg, humming and possessive. "They suit you." It would only stoke the flame but he stopped to look at her, flushed, panting, whimpering, her dark hair mussed and falling into her brown and blue eyes. They were earth and water, the whole world in one person. Why would he ever need anything else?

He meant to shove her wet panties away but could almost swear he heard something tear instead. He was too far gone to pay attention, and in no time at all stood poised with her legs around his hips, and his hands on hers. Hot and unbearably hard, he stroked himself against her and watched her squirm shamelessly beneath him and bit down on his lip.

"Ask for it." It was a farce of a cruelty to demand it, and he knew it; he wouldn't have been able to keep himself from her for another second any more than he could make the sun shine here. But he wanted to break the unbreakable, just a little.

He barely finished his order before she was already begging, her voice a moan. "P-please, Master! Please!"

And that was it.

He pushed himself inside with a gasp, and it was the start and end of something. He could have waited, savoured, relished done anything to take more time but only fumes remained of his patience. He should have--she was always so very tight, too small for him--but he didn't care. Couldn't have. There was nothing left. His fingers dug into her skin and as his hips worked in a furious rhythm against hers. She cried out every time they met and between them they were a choir, singing of desires longing to be fulfilled. Her fingers dug through the fabric covering his back as she arched into him determined to become of one body. He spilled inside her when they both came, together, white behind both their eyes.

He finished, but was not spent. Far from it, but he thought she deserved a break for that. He kissed her and kissed her, only to pull away to survey the damage.

She lay there, sweating beneath her gown and hair sticking to her forehead. Her thighs were slick with him. One of her shoes had fallen off, a garter strap had snapped, and the skin of her hips were a deep red, sure to bruise. All the air in the world did not seem to be enough and he could see her trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

It was exquisite.

That was meant to be someone committed to order and composure, but so thoroughly debauched and in a wreck was both satisfying and made him want to have her all over again. He would.

Eventually, her breathing came under control and when she opened her eyes again, the light that came with the pleasure of obedience flickered and dimmed. The stone at her neck pulsed with the energy of expenditure as she weakly tried to break through the haze a final time. Her will was uncommonly difficult to bend, but it would. "T...troy. S...stop...."

In answer, he reached to thread his little sister's fingers with his own and kissed the back of her hand, gentle as falling flower petals, his voice just as sweet.

"Who am I to you?"

Her heart shattered, the pieces falling into the silent dark with a final thought.

'My love. My reason. My mistake. My brother. My life. My ruin.'

"My Master."