Work Text:
Those eyes of his were the first thing she noticed when they met.
—and after that it had started with a glance.
The first time had happened so quickly. The meeting had been unnecessarily long thanks to the noblemen eating away at her time. He had accompanied her and elected to stand silently at the doorway, and then something small and unknown had compelled her to slide her gaze from the papers before her. It was a feeling she couldn’t describe coaxing a glimpse upon him. She assumed he’d be staring at the floor tuning them all out. It was slow the way her pale blue slid upon him only to be greeted by those azure most definitely not on the floor. She swears they were on her for just a small second before they fluttered like lightning away to anything but her. It gave her a long pause. Those eyes of his danced across the floors and then the walls. They looked upon items in the room. It only further lead her to question if she had deluded herself into believing it had happened at all.
The second time felt like a haunting. The ghost of that first moment had kept at her nudging her delicately for days. It had poked and it had prodded her. It had caressed her when she allowed her thoughts to stray. The question teased her—had she gained his attention in the some way?
All the more pressing was the wonder of if she had wanted his attention, and she found she had. She had wanted his attention. The more that second of a glimpse echoed within her the more she realized she wished to have those eyes truly glance upon her. To glance and to really see her. Not just flicker away like a frightened doe in the woods.
Those thoughts are exactly why it didn’t surprise her when she had stopped abruptly in the hall with him trailing behind her. He hadn’t faltered in his own steps coming to a stop almost expectantly. She isn’t sure how he had known she would stop suddenly and without question. She had done it so subconsciously. Nerves had crept upon her, and before she could become a coward she had turned. This is what had caught him off guard—because he hadn’t had time to glance away.
It had taken him so off balance he took the smallest step back from her. Those eyes she had been yearning for in those days had widened just slightly but they held her gaze firmly no longer skittering away. His eyes had betrayed him but his mouth had not. It hadn’t shifted nor moved to give hint of what he might be thinking in that moment.
That only further emboldened her.
Before she could second guess herself she moved. She moved within his space and cupped his face. Intimately. Closely. He had been so warm to the touch, and even more, clearly, startled. He had been so unprepared he had attempted to take second step back as if he might escape her. The look on his face had not been obvious in that moment. It had made her stomach sink that she had overstepped gravely—rushing to remove her hands from him as if he had burned her.
It happened oh so fast that her head had spun as he captured her hands before they could retreat from him. She remembers how he had pressed her against the wall and kept her hands upon his face with the smallest of restraint upon her wrists. He had looked at her with a look she would become extremely acquainted with and then he had bent his head down capturing her mouth. The kiss had been slow, soft, and hesitant. It lingered and ghosted. It eased against her lips before becoming deeper. Those sensations and feelings had soared throughout her filling her for days to come after this.
Their kiss had shattered at the sound of someone coming down the hall. That hadn’t deterred him though. It had him wrap his hand around her wrist and drag her within the first door he found quickly and quietly so they wouldn't be found easily.
He had taken her then.
Urgently. Passionately. Viscerally.
Their tryst began then, and continued on. It had been going on for months. It was still happening now. His presence beckoned her in a way she didn’t know one could. Her ears fluttered at the slightest mention of him. Her eyes sought him out in any room they stood within. Her body hummed at the mere idea of him being close by.
So it’s subconscious and without thought that her ears perk when she realizes he’s being talked about by the ladies attending her ball.
‘Boyish’
That’s what those whispers that float through the ballroom of her castle describe him as. They whisper and huddle to compare notes of his every look behind their fans as if that might keep everyone, including her, from overhearing them. The list they are keeping of him is extensive. The way his brows move. The way his mouth curves. They note how those azure eyes light up when he’s sat before a plate of food. They note the way his hair curls against his cheeks. They wonder how his fingers feel and if they’re soft or rough with callouses. They ponder what he might sound like when behind closed doors.
They’re right.
He’s is attractive. Handsome.
But was he boyish?
A part of her says yes.
Another is uncertain.
They may have their list but she has hers. She has watched the way his brows relax after one of their trysts. She has seen the way that mouth of his curves with playful intent right before it presses and molds against her own sweetly before becoming ravenous. They’ve never seen the way his eyes dance across her after they’re spent, nor the way his hair looks after he’s just awoken after several hours of sleep. Those fingers are rough with callouses but send the deepest of thrills through her as he runs them down her side whilst tangled in her sheets. The sounds he makes behind closed doors heat her skin especially as he becomes desperate, needy, and heavy for her.
Perhaps they are right.
Those looks of his could be boyish.
Subconsciously her tongue runs along her bottom lip as she considers and thinks of those expressions upon his face as he lay upon her bed lazily. He enjoys watching her as she slides from the bed and sits before her vanity. Those azure follow her every move and watch how she takes time to brush her hair out.
Yes.
He is quiet boyish isn’t he?
The clearing of ones throat grabs her attention back. Ah, she’s needed and so she comes off her throne and makes her way down to follow the nobleman. Before she’s turned the corner though she catches another whisper that flutters out the door and clings upon her down the hall. Instead of the court ladies its the noblemen with hearty laughter. She cannot make out exactly what has them in such a fit but she does catch a few.
‘—just a soft pretty boy.’
It’s churlish, petty, and filled with inferiority. She wonders if he’s heard their insults, but he’s deep within a crowd and cannot be seen as she walks further away from them all. She wonders if those brows of his shot up at their words or if he ignored such boorish bait—they are after all questioning his masculinity. Perhaps he wonders if she would allow him to respond. To defend himself.
She would. She would allow him to act improper if he desired it—but he never does.
He seems to walk upon eggshells as if in fear any response may cause her trouble.
It doesn’t.
It wouldn’t.
She would protect him within these walls no matter what improper behavior he may commit. He has her favor after all whether it is apparent to those in her court or not. They may keep their courting quiet and behind closed doors but her protection is not a secret.
Title.
She’ll give him a title. She’ll give him land, too. She’ll give him everything he needs to stand tall within her court. He’ll try to decline her. He’ll try to tell her its not necessarily—but it is. It is necessary so that those who would dare to not respect his title of Hero are forced beneath him more than they realize they already are.
The hum that escapes her has the nobleman in front of her stop mid sentence. His gaze questioning and so she clears her throat and nods for him to continue as she sits at her study and does her best to pay attention. He gives a low bow of his head when he’s finished and she gives the smallest tilt of her head to allow him leave.
Her head lays back against the chair before the next knock comes. She fills her lungs and holds it. It’s a moment to collect and reset herself. The release of that breath has the tension in her shoulders easing.
“Come in.”
The door opens slowly and she can’t stop the way her lips part only to blossom at the sight of him. The click of the door behind him comes and he stands there staring at her. He doesn’t speak. He just stands there. The shifting of weight is noted before she tilts her head coaxing him to speak. He doesn’t look to be bothered by what was said at the ball, but there is a hesitance he doesn’t need to have.
“Will you be in here long, your Majesty?”
The hum is light as she closes her eyes and gives a nod, “I’d like to draft something up quickly and then we can return if you desire.”
“Ahh.” his voice is light upon her hears as he makes his way beside the door.
He knows he doesn’t have to play guard with her when they’re alone, yet he still does sometimes so she doesn’t say anything. The silence is soft. It’s not overbearing nor heavy with tension. The only sound is her quill upon parchment. It’s lulling her and filling her with further ease, and lingering thoughts. Her eyes flutter upon him in between words, and he’s staring off at objects within her study as if he hasn’t been here countless times prior.
Soft. They had called him soft.
Hmm—his expressions could be soft.
When she pictures his face he usually does have a soft expression within her mind. A delicate tilt of his lips. Eyes gentle and filled with warmth. Was such a thing truly something to insult? She had never seen him haughty nor callous. She had seen him determined though. She had seen the way his brows pinched and his mouth pressed tight and firm as he faced the Dark Lord.
He wasn’t soft in other places either. . .No, he was firm, and lean. Muscular but not large beneath his green tunic. Those hands of his were—
“Your Majesty?” its low and caressing her ear.
She hadn’t even seen him move from the wall to her. She hadn’t caught him coming around the side of the desk nor bending close. She hadn’t even noticed him pressing his hand upon the desk so close to her own. How had a man who’s boots were normally so heavy upon the stone floor managed to make it to her side without a sound? Her heart is fluttering at such close proximity and then she watches those nimble fingers of his slide from her desk onto her hand slowly and softly making their way up. The quill within her other hand is easily forgotten and dropped. Her skin shivers at this delicate contact. His own mouth ghosts upon her ear panting and hot—and then he’s grabbing her.
Those hands of his are firm upon her as he’s moving her against the desk with purpose. He’s frenzied in his movements. Her lips part with a soft sound as he uses one of his hands to work out the cords of her dress upon her back. Her fingers clutch upon his tunic as she arches at the feeling of being released from it’s constraint. He’s not gentle as he undoes her pauldrins letting them crash wherever they land and pulls her dress down to expose her completely to him. The papers and objects upon her desk are shoved from the desk loudly with no care for the mess it will create. Those calloused hands of his press her down upon the cleared off desk before sliding upon the silk he’s left to bunch upon her hips. Her skin is humming to the feel of them sliding underneath to her thigh. Azure stare down upon her heavy lidded seizing her own pale blue. His fingers press tight and rough upon her thigh—and she feels the air leave her lungs as he bends and slides his tongue along her inner thigh, over the cloth of her thigh high and up to her knee never breaking eye contact.
They had whispered and cooed he was ‘boyish’ and ‘soft’.
She had almost thought them to be right.
There was nothing boyish nor soft about him in this moment.
He was entirely masculine, and stentorian.
It’s those eyes of his. It’s always those eyes. They truly are the first thing she notices every time. The intensity of them upon her sends a shiver through her being making her legs quake. It’s lethal and meant to usurp her in this moment. They do. They are. The curling of his fingers sliding within the band of her thigh highs only adds to the how disarmed she is before him and the air within her lungs dissipates as he now drags his tongue back down the way it came. It’s enough to force her into pressing the back of her hand against her mouth in a useless attempt to silence the whimper that comes as he’s making his way beneath her skirts. Her breathing escalates as her eyes follows his descent before only the top of his head can be seen—the rest of him obscured by her bunched up dress. The way his tongue slides over her still clothed core has her arching in desperation and startle. The way in which he laps his tongue over and over again upon her has her skin warming. The friction it’s providing has her panting heavily in anticipation for when he'll slide her panties away and grace her with it directly upon her skin. The wet sounds of his tongue are somehow louder than the noises he’s amassing from her. There’s frustration and desperation building within her as she seeks to touch him back. Her teeth grab upon the cloth of her glove pulling it off and tossing it aside. Fingers slide and run themselves through his thick honey brown hair knocking off his hat before taking a firm grip and allowing her to roll her hips into the torture he’s providing her between her legs. The feel and the touch of him has her begging whispered pleas for more, and for something she cannot even put into words.
He understands though. He can always seem to understand what to give her and when to give it to her when she’s at his mercy. His fingers have found their way within her underwear and are pulling them aside finally letting her have the feel of his tongue actually upon her and sliding against her folds and opening. There's something delicious about him not removing them—just pulling them aside as if he's so heavy with need he can't be bothered to. It’s subconscious the tug she makes upon his head and had she had half her wits in this moment, instead of being a puddled mess, she’d wonder if she may have him caused some pain upon his scalp—but the groan he lets out is throaty and deep and has her rolling her hips harder to feel his tongue slide even deeper within her.
His arm wraps around her high tighter pulling her closer as if he’s a man who is starved for her. It's slippery and wet, and only becoming wetter as he swirls his tongue between her folds and sliding deep within her. Her heart is hammering against her chest and she is seized by the desire to see those eyes of his here and now. She needs them. Needs them monumentally. Needs to see the way those azure look upon her as he has her a dripping mess. She knows he must have started to become covered in her with how eager her body is responding to ever swirl of his tongue. It’s more effort than she realizes it will be but it doesn't deter her from needing to have those eyes she's enamored with upon her. The layers of her messy disheveled fabric are pulled tightly against her for a better look now that she sits up. The fingers that had laced themselves within his hair slide down to grip upon the back of his head. The tug she makes has those lashes of his flutter open. Azure slide up and ensnare her pale blue once again—that’s all it takes.
The moan she lets out is loud, and long. It’s throaty and hoarse—so wanton she’s sure someone has heard them, but that thought is so small in her head as she shakes within her release. The roll of her hips is equally rough and harsh as she presses him tightly against her riding out her release. Those eyes of his never leave hers even as she desperately tries to keep hers open within the throes of release.
The mind has dropped within a haze and is drowning as he delicately licks her release from her as if he refuses to miss even a drop. She's so incredibly sensitivities that each lick makes a shuddered breath escape her. It glistens upon his chin and this sight echoes loudly within the room.
The Hero of Twilight is upon his knees before her—but not in servitude.
He is conquering her.
He has been between her legs before. Several times before, in fact, since they started their tryst but something about this time is different. He’s a gentle and considerate lover, and outside of the first time when he had taken her so urgently, passionately, and viscerally he has always been one to take his time and really let them bathe within the moment. This time is not like those times. This time is not like the first either. This time is entirely different.
It’s still passionate. It’s still considerate.
—but it’s dominating, and it’s commanding.
And she likes it. She likes the way he has subdued her in this moment.
Completely. Entirely. Wholly.
That look he had given her as he slid his tongue upon her thigh is decorating his face once again. Only this time she is staring down at him and he is staring back up at her. His azure glow with a predatory essence in this moment. Soft and slow her fingers slide within those honey brown strands before her finger tips slide upon his wet chin cupping it. He’s slow as he makes his way back to his feet. Her hand slides from his face down his chest with his ascent aching to feel him in any way she can. Still they look upon each other as if in a game to see who will look away first. His lips release a shudder of their own as he makes work of his belt beneath the green tunic. The belt hits upon the floor hard with a loud clatter and his pants have followed it. The sound makes her swallow involuntarily and her skin hum with anticipation of what he’ll do next. Those calloused hands make their way upon her face. His thumb slides across her cheek before pressing upon her bottom lip—and then he’s bending down. His lips just a breath away from her own. Heavy lidded those azure stare deep and then he’s whispering upon her lips and she’s so overwhelmed by the sensation and the words he's uttered she can’t help the soft sound she lets out.
What he says is absolutely filthy, but she hopes he’ll say even more.
Tilting his head he parts his mouth and his thumb presses upon her own making her open it in suit with him. His tongue is sliding out and into her mouth and it’s entirely lewd making her press her thighs tightly together. She can taste herself upon his tongue, and it makes another soft sound find its way out as she savors the taste. Their tongues twist upon each other sliding and playing within the space between them and his fingers use this opportunity to make their way from her face to her breast. They’re teasing and firm upon her, and that’s finally what makes her lose this gazing session between them. She cannot keep them open when his thumb rolls across her nipple, and his other hand has her thigh hiked up and upon his hip. It’s too overwhelming to her senses. It's so heavy and needy between them the way he's coaxing her into such lewd acts.
Heavy, hard, and thick she can feel him pressing against her leg and it’s that very same hand upon her breast that begins to press her back upon the desk where she can only succumb to whatever it is that he desires in this moment. When he doesn’t move but just stares upon her she feels her cheeks and ears heat with such a gaze. He had been all precision and movement and now for some reason he doesn’t move. He’s just breathing and gazing upon her as if there is nothing else in this moment but her. Whatever he’s thought she wishes he would voice it. Those azure flutter closed and there’s no missing the way his tongue slides upon his upper lip. His body has the slightest shake to it in what she can only assume is anticipation for what he'll do next to her. Such a look has her heart hurried once again within her chest. It’s so erratic that she can’t stop herself from pressing her hands upon her chest as if that will settle it—and then she watches him grab a hold of himself, and she keeps her eyes upon his hands. Upon the way he strokes himself—once, twice—before she watches his other hand pull at her panties stretching them even more so he can slide himself against her wetting the head of his cock and his shaft with her. The shudder that escapes him as he continues to slide himself against her dripping wet folds is hauntingly sweet in it’s depth.
The only way to describe him is besotted. He’s the image of one besotted, and that has her feeling powerful and in feigned dominance when he’s the one truly in control. The roll of his head comes as he lets out a hiss between his teeth before sinking into her. The groan is loud and his pants are heavy within the space between them. The way his fingers release her panties has a plea tumbling from her lips at the arousal it causes to soar throughout her body. Hands still tight upon her chest press tighter as if it will keep her grounded as he stretches her so completely and fills her so entirely. He’s so thick and so warm and it has her feeling so impossibly full of him.
She can see the way he’s biting upon his tongue between parted lips as he rolls his hips against her as she envelopes him.
So tight—
It’s a whisper so soft she might have missed it with how loud she sounds to herself. Those brows of his are pinched together as he pulls himself back out only living the tip of his cock within her warmth only to snap and send himself deep inside her again. It makes her voice echo against the stone walls so much that she does miss part of what he’s muttering out next.
—Wet.
That one one makes her whimper and start to plea for more. She wants him deeper. She wants him faster. She can’t help but gasp and let out the softest of sighs as he continues to slowly tease her by sliding out only to thrust back within her. The sound of his voice is so light compared to her own, and it only serves to make her feel like she’s spiraling and drunk upon those little whispers he's giving her. Those fingers of his are tight and harsh upon her hips each time he pulls her forward to meet his cock as it makes itself deep. Half lidded she gazes upon him so entranced by the absolutely focus he has watching his cock slide out of her only to disappear within her warmth a moment later.
"Link."
It’s breathless. So light and the barest of sounds. The way she's said his name is a whispered plea that falls from her lips without thought, and something about the way she's spoken it has clearly grabbed his attention as his eyes snap back to hers from it's intoxicated haze upon their coupling. It's caused him to still their movements to suddenly responding with frantic skin again skin. He’s all consuming and all devouring as he thrusts within her without remorse. He has never been so rough with her before—it’s not bad. It’s not hurting her. It’s different and making her head spin in the most delightful of ways. His voice is louder and higher than hers now as if whatever restraint he normally has, has finally snapped. She’s so wet that the sounds coming from them has her quaking as they dance within her ears. Legs shake and the shiver up her spine has her letting out a whine. Her hands are desperate to find some kind of purchase—only able to find the edge of the desk by her head to grip and hold onto.
Those sensations are building and the roll of her head across the desk adds to the delirium. The hiss that escapes him has her ears desperate to capture every sound he makes to memory.
It’s a murmur between pants desperate for salvation “—taking me so good.”
The squeal she lets out at such praise would be embarrassing if she wasn’t drowning in him in. Part of her knows she needs to be quieter but she cannot contain herself in this moment. They never should have started such acts within her personal study as anyone could truly walk by and hear him have his way with her—and have his way with her he is. He seems all the more emboldened and sanguine when she does let her voice out too loud. As if her letting go of her inhibitions is a sweet victory he’s longed for.
Building. That's the word that comes to mind as she feels herself beginning to tighten and her arousal begin to overwhelm her. His thumb is suddenly upon her swollen clit. One, and then two—a third roll of that thumb of his upon her sensitive nub has her body aching and arching and then suddenly and without a second to even catch her breath she is quaking. The build up finally releasing. Blinding is the next word that follows as this washes over her. Her hips roll without control as she rides out that relief of having let go. Her legs continue to shake but he’s entirely unfazed like a man dazed in his single minded pursuit for conquest. He slides her legs together and against his shoulder hugging them against him tightly. His lips kiss against her knee and calf as he continues thrusting over and over and over again. Their skin is so slippery and wet thanks to her release. The sounds that had been dancing within her ears somehow becoming lewder now that she’s come as he continues to have his way with her.
This man who feels so impossibly fulfilling as he takes her somehow makes her feel even fuller in this position. His thrusts are militant as his head slides against her legs he holds close. She can feel the way he inhales deeply against her as if drinking her in and savoring the smell of her that is thick within the room.
A lewd whisper escapes his lips. She can almost grab the words as he’s spoken them against her leg as he presses his lips against it.
Gripping—Milking.
And that by far is even filthier than what he’s said earlier. As if he hadn’t realized he had said it out loud his eyes snap open immediately seizing her barely opened pale blues. She’s not sure what expression is upon her face in her exhaustion but whatever it is has him biting his lip with wide eyes and then slamming to the hilt. The sound he lets out is deep within his throat and the shake of him against her has her moaning along with him—because it feels good. It feels so incredibly good. The grip he has upon her is bruising in his release. It’s full of shivers that course throughout his being as he grinds it out, and the wetness she had, had is even stickier and flooding out of her.
Their mutual panting is the only sound in the room. The release of her legs makes her realize how numb they are after such acts. They feel liquefied as they dangle off the edge of the desk. He hasn’t removed himself yet though leaving her spread before him. His hair hangs within one of his eyes as he stares down where they stayed joined—as if bewitched. Bewitched by the state he’s left her in. The slide of his tongue upon his bottom lip comes and then the firm press of his lips. She doesn’t make a sound. She just watches him, and watches those azure wash over her so entirely filled and entirely full of him and his come. Her skin dewy with sweat has already started to cool and it’s not until a few moments later that she finally begins to slowly prop herself up upon the table. One of her hands grabs ahold of the top of her dress bringing it to cover her breasts while the other runs over his chin and upon his cheek—almost as if a sudden movement may startle him from this haze of afterglow he’s found himself in.
He doesn’t startle, though. He instead leans into her hand taking the deepest of steadying breaths and just enjoy the feel of her fingers upon him his skin. His own hand eventually finds its way to hers and he holds hers gently as he presses his lips against her palm.
She has no control in the way it makes her face blossom before him. It's entirely responsive to the sweetness of such a gesture. They sit like that enjoying the quiet company the other is giving with soft smiles lingering upon their lips, and the occasional kiss upon her palm. Soothing circles upon her thigh help to ease some of the soreness that lingers under the skin, and it coaxes a hum from her lips in contentment.
They don’t speak as he cleans her up. He’s back to being the expected gentle and considerate lover—no longer dominating and commanding. The panties he's clearly ruined are removed. They're soaked and stretched. She doesn't catch what he does with them. He takes his time humming lightly behind her as he works upon the cords of her corset and tries his best to make her presentable to leave the study. The care he gives her as he tries to smooth out her hair from their chaotic coupling is undoubtedly sweet. He's not great at it but he doesn't need to be as she assists him with putting herself back in order. They don’t bother with the mess they’ve made of the objects he had shoved upon the floor. He does help her around the spilled ink that lays splattered upon the floor, though. She’ll deal with it later, and she’ll quiet any whispers that make their way down the hall.
The yawn that escapes her is light as they make their way down the hall but she knows she has to make another appearance before heading to her room otherwise rumors will definitely become inflamed within the court. There’s a silence that hangs over the room as he leads her in. All eyes upon them. His hand holding hers to bring her forward makes her question if she's missed something to give way to the illicit acts they were committing. That's quickly dispelled as she realizes it's because his hand still holds hers. They're all hesitant as they glower and stare upon their sovereign and then all at once the ball room is once again impossibly loud with only the briefest of looks fluttering too them. It’s so odd a reaction that she cannot stop herself from looking at him only to catch the remnants of some look he must of made to make them go back to their gossip and whispers. The feel of his fingers leaving hers as he sets to leave her side leaves the tips of her fingers feeling cold, but those azure are looking back at her as he departs from her. It’s reassurance and a promise.
He’ll find his way to her room tonight.
Those eyes of his were the first thing she noticed when they met.
—and everything after that has always started with a glance.
She doesn’t make eye contact with any one else as she makes her way on barely concealed unsteady feet to her throne. She sits and she settles knowing she’ll only have to stay for a short while longer. He’s behaving as if she hadn’t caught some look upon his face when they had entered. He’s acting as his usual self truly. Warm and friendly.
There’s another crass comment about him being soft and boyish. That he's acting a little too bold when giving them such a look—and this time she doesn’t pretend like she can’t hear them. She turns her glance upon them making them pause. Her eyebrow raises in a knowing manner as if to contend. Silently, and quietly. When they make no effort to respond she takes a deep breath letting her eyes flutter closed and a smile ghost it's way upon the corner of her lips. Slow and worn her eyes make their way to him conversing with another. Her court had understood some of this man, but they had also misunderstood him gravely.
They’re right.
He’s is attractive. Handsome.
But was he boyish?
No.
He was entirely masculine, and stentorian.
There is nothing boyish nor soft about him.