Heavy Sits the Crown

by Beewritesstuff (Mimispace)

Summary:

It had to have been the humans. An attack, disguised as a friendly visit and the sharing of information. An attack on the Dreemurr line's most valuable cousin, the Lord High Engineer.

But it's too late to worry about that, now. Too late to worry about your reputation amongst the bigoted human nobles, your livelihood as an official and civil servant, or his anger when he realizes what happened...

Your Lord has been drugged, and it will burn him alive if you don't do something.

Chapter 1: Scepter

It was an event so rare as to almost be unheard of, something that only happened once every decade or so.

The Lord High Engineer, Gaster of Veiled Ebbot, was entertaining guests. With gritted teeth and anger in every line of his body, he had broken the news to you before slamming the door on his office so hard that it cracked the frame. For a man who valued his privacy and relative silence above all else, it was an almost intolerable imposition. He worked constantly, from sun up to sun down every day- couldn't he be afforded a rest? But no. With a surprising amount of regret, their Royal Majesties had said that they were forced to require it of him...and that was that. 

And not a small group of guests either- over forty nobles and their officials, servants, and assistants, all of them from not just a rival city, but the rival city, Magi. The human capital, the city that, thirty years ago, had teetered on the very brink of open war with Veiled Ebbot and all other walled Monster cities at the command of their ruling council, the Mad Mages. The Seven had claimed leadership of nearly seventeen human city-states, bringing them all to bear on the Monster capital, and battle had raged for three bloody, dust-filled days before human nobility loyal to both peoples had risen up and deposed them. Now, thirty years later, there was tremulous peace… which was why, you assumed, your Lord could not turn down the command from his Royal cousins to entertain these visiting engineers and officials, those who planned and maintained the great bridges and roadways of the human kingdom. 

As his highest ranked servant and personal assistant, tasked with helping him manage and maintain his massive public works for Ebbot and all other Monster cities, you were privy to more information than most. He’d told you, some weeks ago after receiving the letter from the Divine Queen, that the Dreemurr line wished to learn the secrets of the longevity of human roads, wanted to ease travel between the cities they ruled, and encourage more trade and Merchant movement by building those same roads. It was a plan that would span a hundred years at least, for the humans had taken just as long to build their own roadways, but you knew that didn't matter to the Great Monsters. What was a century in the face of immortality?

And so, looking as close to trepidation as you'd ever seen him, Lord Gaster Dreemurr had, for lack of better words, dropped the entire responsibility into your arms. Of course he phrased it as a sign of his trust, and as an excellent use of your organizational skills…but he'd said it all with a tiny curl to the corner of his lips, and you'd accepted the task with an arched brow, sitting on the edge of his desk. 

He knew that you knew that his words were nonsense, and that, in truth, he hated social events. And you knew that he knew that you'd give him as many opportunities to sneak away from festivities as possible. After ten years of working as his right hand, the two of you barely even needed to speak anymore. Everyday, you felt lucky to have found such a level of camaraderie and trust with another person; even moreso, an employer. Ferociously intelligent, notoriously reclusive, known for his temper and harsh, cutting words. Outwardly cold but inwardly passionate and driven in his goals…harsh toward fools yet gentle toward the innocent, intolerant of adult weakness yet soft toward children and animals…

Yes, you were lucky. Lucky to serve under a man as brilliant as him.

Even if he had put the whole damn mess into your lap.

-

It was the last day of the five-day celebration, and something was bothering you. Niggling at the back of your mind, where you couldn't quite tell what it was. 

Things had gone beautifully so far; there had been nothing but praise shared for your Master- for the ingeniousness of the dam on the Great River that generated magical power for all the surrounding Monster cities, for the cleverness of his system of public lighting that reduced crime and accidents at night, and especially for the hospitality of his house (if not necessarily him personally). For the actual planning of meals and leisure events, you had left all responsibility in the capable hands of his pantry holder and head cook, a Monster woman who had served him for over a century. Your responsibility was somewhat more nebulous, yet infinitely more important. Your Lord was sure that these humans were here to steal something, be its powerful magical relics or information- the leaders of the group of nobles were, respectively, the eldest son and daughter of two noble families that had supported the Mad Mages in their attempted siege. The whole group claimed that they wanted to visit to share information and knowledge, which they had…to a degree. You'd secured all the necessary information, blueprints, and planning required for their Majesties to begin their roadway project, had even managed to get a few other tidbits of information during conversation, including a secret Gaster had sought for years- the human’s technique of building the special concrete that seemingly didn't erode or crumble even after centuries. Your status as your Lord's highest and most trusted servant gave you a measure of power that allowed these far more powerful folks to actually speak to you and still obey propriety, though they sneered when they thought you weren’t looking.

After living for ten years in a predominantly Monster city, who culturally did not follow such things nearly as stringently as the humans, it made you roll your eyes every time you were out of sight. Monster ranks were formed by aptitude as much as heritage, to the point that a fantastically skilled shoeshiner and cobbler, whose shop was in the main square of the city, famously acted as a confidant and unofficial advisor for several Monster nobles. A woman whose inn had somehow discovered the secret of the sweetest, clearest mead you'd ever tasted proudly bore the Royal Stamp of the Dreemurr’s personal approval on her door. 

It wasn't charity. It was just a cultural difference- to Monsters, rank sometimes mattered less than skill. It was the presence of human nobility in the city, and the shaky treaties signed with the higher human nobility in their own distant kingdom, that kept things as rigid as they were in Veiled Ebbot. You had heard that other Monster cities, places where human opinion didn't matter so much, operated completely differently. 

And so you guided the nobles from place to place, acting as your Lord's mouthpiece and helping him avoid the humans as much as possible… and by the night of the fifth day, while you trudged exhaustedly back from the fine houses in the city that had been rented for their stay, you dared to hope that perhaps you'd been wrong. Perhaps nothing bad was going to happen. His gatekeeper instantly opened the gate as you arrived, scolding you for not taking a horse.

“Forgive me,” you murmured, bowing slightly to him with weariness in your very bones. “They started their activities before dawn, on a whim, and the hostler had not yet even fed the horses. They spent the entire day on foot. I could not have ridden, lest they took offense.”

The Dog clicked his teeth together in a noise of displeasure. “Uncultured barbarians. I suppose they wished to tour the temples and the castle?”

You gave him a tired smile. “Every square inch of every single one, honored Captain. I don't think I've eaten since noon.”

He went into the little station behind himself, and came out with something wrapped in banana leaves. “Here, eat. His Lordship would have my snout if you passed out before reaching your home safely.”

Offering a grateful bow, you began to pick at the pressed rice and raisin patty within. Gaster had been forced to go to a formal dinner with the nobles- it could go on for hours past sundown. Part of you wanted to return to your own home on his grounds, but the other part nebulously wanted to check on his house. It was silly - the moment you passed through the gate, you could feel the layers of his magic fall on you like strands of spider silk. His grounds were massive, walled in and guarded by power as old as the city itself, and the chances of anyone getting in undetected to do mischief were nearly impossible. He maintained them in an almost wild state, inviting the forests that surrounded the city into the walls, albeit in a more tamed way. There were no great beasts to kill you here, no venomous serpents or poisonous fruits.

But unlike the rest of the city, loud with the noise of people and industry, here you could hear only bird song and insects, the night noises of the wild. It had scared you, when you'd first moved to the city under his employ. Now, it felt like safety. There was a little pond outside of the living quarters he'd given you, and you didn't know if you could fall asleep anymore without the peeping of the tiny wild frogs that lived there.

Half-full of nerves for no particular reason and half-daydreaming in weariness, you wandered along the winding path that led to his house, wincing at your aching feet. You sincerely enjoyed working for him, but being a walking person employed by a Great Monster who enjoyed the rare magical gift of translocation sometimes seemed tremendously unfair. You had spent the last ten years centralizing some of the things on his property, so that all of your fellow non-magical servants could have an easier time doing their work. When his sons visited, a rare but joyous occasion, his eldest sometimes spent the day simply translocating people back and forth to make their work easier. He was kind like that. 

‘I'll just…check on his house,’ you reasoned with yourself. ‘Nothing wrong with being cautious.’ And then, to bed. You were off for the next three days, and planned to spend the entire first one sleeping.

Lord Gaster Dreemurr’s house was admittedly beautiful, a combination of old Monster pagoda architecture and more modern designs, full of open air hallways and roofless courtyards where he could gaze up at the Sacred Stars. Painted in shades of deep plums and sapphire blues, the intricate carvings and designs along every railing, pillar, doorway, and windowsill were nothing short of individual works of art, All of them depicting scenes from Monster faith, ancient legends, or divine mythological creatures- your Lord was a pious man in his faith to his people's Constellations. Even tired, the sight of it as you rounded the last turn of the path made you smile. A few windows glowed warmly- he always left crystals shining for you, knowing you couldn't see in the dark and trusting you in his home even if he wasn't there.

‘I'll just give everything one last look, then off to bed…’

…

‘...what is that?’

The path you'd taken brought you to the back of his home, a series of gardens that surrounded a wide veranda. Squinting, you saw it again, only visible as it passed before a dimly lit paper window…

Something was moving there. 

You swore silently; you didn't have any of your silence or safety charms along, knowing they wouldn't have been allowed in the temples or the castle. Doing your best to stay silent, you crept closer…

It was a tall figure, stumbling across the back veranda of your Lord's private house. One that caught themselves on a pillar, sagging into it like they could barely stay on their feet. 

You froze, your mind racing. Who could it be? An enemy, wounded by one of your Lord's many protection spells?

…no, impossible. All of his spells were connected to endless layers of alarms and imprisonment curses- anyone who set them off would be frozen in place, and the entire grounds would be alerted. 

A visitor, perhaps? Possible…though you could count the visitors he privately entertained, besides his family, on one hand. None of them looked like the silhouette that was now bent almost at the waist, clutching their chest and retching. You gasped, starting toward them at the run- if it was an enemy, you were well-warded by the spells on the property, even if you had none for yourself specifically. But if it was a friend, you prayed you'd get to them in time; there were few around to hear your scream, unless Lord Gaster had already arrived at home…

A terrifying thought stopped you in your tracks for a moment, before you picked up your skirts and sprinted for the house. The tall shape, dressed in formal robes…it couldn't possibly be…?

“No! Oh gods help me, my Lord!” It was him. Visibly, horribly sick, something you didn't even think was possible for a Monster of his age and power! You knew he had Mage wounds from the war, damage to his eye, hands and knees that made the common tasks of life painful. It was part of why he'd hired you- to be his hands and eyes when and where he could not. But short of that, you didn't think any normal sickness or disease could affect him! You raced up the stairs to the second floor veranda, horrified that you could hear him now, panting in pain, fighting and failing to get off his outer layer of formal robes. 

“Lord Gaster! Help! Someone-”

He threw up a hand, his voice a snarl in his throat. “Stop, silence!” He was facing away from you, his forehead pressed to his forearm as he leaned against a pillar. His other hand clenched back into a fist, slamming so hard into the wood that he left a splintered crater there. He did it again, then a third time, then dragged his fingertips down the painted wood, leaving sharp divots in the carvings. Before your eyes, dust fell in a tiny shower to the wood floor, falling from his already damaged knuckles.

The sight of it woke you from your horrible stupor- you ran close to him, your formal skirts a fluttering storm of silk. “Please, what's wrong? What happened, what do you need?!”

He turned his head inhumanly quickly, and you saw that the white light of his undamaged eye glowed golden. You were well familiar with his power, as comfortable with its yellow shine as anything else about him, but you had never seen this. It burned in his eye socket like a flare, sizzling audibly. When he opened his mouth to speak, magic dripped from his lips and teeth like yellow honey.

“Run,” he ordered, his voice cracking and screeching in his throat. “Get away from me, I command you.”

You shook your head, your hands trembling in fear for him. “I cannot. I will not. Tell me what's wrong, you know you can trust me. It would never leave my lips again.” Ideas raced through your mind. “Was it the humans? Did they do something to you at dinner?” 

He started to answer, and then his knees buckled as he cried out, clutching at his chest. All thought of propriety left your mind; you caught him, inwardly amazed at how light he was…you knew he was slim, his body usually hidden under layers and layers of robes and formal garments. But it had never occurred to you that he would weigh so little. He was so huge in your mind, such a powerful presence of personality, skill, and magic. Yet like this… it felt like you could carry him. 

Gods help you, you wondered if you would have to.

The moment he fell against you, he began to fight, trying to push you away, and his touch was searingly hot. Hot like a fever, like a bonfire, and that close you could hear his magic crackling and arcing along his bones. Sparks crawled up the visible part of his neck, burning and scorching him. “Stop, stop!” You searched around madly; there was nowhere to sit nearby, the nearest bench on the far side of the wide porch…he lost his footing and tripped into you fully for a moment, pressed against the length of your body…

And then you felt it.

Hidden under layers and layers of heavy fabric, you felt it. 

Thick, rock hard, and long, pressed against your hip. It was unmistakably his manhood, turgid and jumping the moment it touched you.

His face burned with shame when you turned your head to stare at him wide-eyed. “My…my Lord?”

“It was a…a drug, ancient and cursed- ah…” You shifted to support him easier, but the movement rocked your hip against him, and his words were cut off with a low moan. Instantly he grimaced, turning his face away from you again, his lips peeled back from his teeth in agonizing humiliation. “There is no cure, no antidote...” He spat the words with hatred. “Only agony, and fire…and...run, run from me, lock yourself in your quarters. Y-you will be cared for, in my will, you-” 

Your heart broke for him, pity filling your Soul as you put the pieces together. Sick, this was sick, this was worse than sick. How cruel the humans had been, to inflict this on one of the Monster race that they had to have known ahead of time was single, who famously took few lovers and did not lower himself to brothels or courtesans, with their temporary love spells that you’d heard allowed Monsters to find enjoyment there. It was like pouring kerosene into an unbreakable vase, then flicking in a lit match and sealing the lid. There was nowhere for the heat to go, nowhere for the desire to spend itself, except to burn and burn fruitlessly within its vessel- he was quite literally burning to death under your hands. Monsters needed to be desired, needed to be welcomed. They needed touch, warmth, skin, were incapable of ‘performing’ without another's compassion and trust. There were no solo acts of pleasure for Monsters- they needed another person there. They needed affection and care, real connection. 

…

And with that knowledge came a realization. 

You… you could provide those things for him, and yet…

If anyone saw, if anyone knew.

The thought made your stomach sink, made your hands shake as you clenched them into fists. If anyone saw, your reputation would be ruined, destroyed- marked a whore and a disgrace by the human nobility of the city, and your Lord equally humiliated . Even Gaster, with all his influence and power, wouldn't be able to fight public opinion for long on your behalf, especially in a city where the delicate balance between Monster and human traditions and beliefs had to be maintained. Great Lords did not dally with their servants. The human Church of the Shepherd was cold and distant in its judgements of pleasure and companionship, even amongst married humans. 

Not to mention what Gaster would do when he recovered from this. When the poison was out of his system…any powerful man would be ashamed. Would lash out, even at someone who had helped him.

But…

But he'd been so kind to you, in his own, gruff way. Had taken you into his employ, preventing you from going to a potentially far-crueler master in one of the human-conclave cities, allowed you to use your intelligence, your skills, openly and freely. He provided the best quality meals and medical care, and excellent quarters on his own property rather than within the cramped bustle and noise of the city. When he'd first learned you owned no cold-weather clothing, that long decade ago, an entire trunk of goods in nearly your perfect size had arrived, as well as rare, magical crystals enchanted for warmth that kept your rooms more cozy than ten coal braziers could- all of it emblazoned with permanent magical runes in your name on the inner collar, marking the belongings as yours and yours alone even if you left his employ. He regularly consulted with you, not just on subjects within your assigned purview but on matters of State, and more personal situations as well, and actively took your ideas and advice into consideration while trusting you with a level of oversight and control of his property that was unheard of for someone of your station. He tolerated no disrespect to you, demanded you be treated with honor and dignity to the letter of the law and beyond no matter who was speaking to or about you. 

Dare you say, you felt the two of you had something like an unorthodox friendship.

And…besides all of that. If you were honest, in your deepest heart, in your most secret dreams…

How could you not find him handsome? Regal and stoic, unbending in the face of endless trials and tribulations. Inhuman, yet not- his body always so starkly white against his dark, formal robes that he sometimes looked more like fine porcelain than a man. And then, rarely, his smile- soft, almost shy, as if he (rightfully) feared for anyone to see him express emotion outwardly. His dry humor, his quiet pensiveness, his enjoyment of simplistic paintings and designs. How many other nobles would have so graciously and personally accepted a gift from one of their servants- a slice of beautiful picture jasper that made a perfect, scenic landscape, set into copper on a chain -much less would have hung it in their office, as he had with your Midwinter's gift from the previous year? 

All of those thoughts and considerations tumbled through your mind in bare moments, before you heard him let out a choked, barely-controlled gasp, grabbing for him with horror as he wrenched himself sideways to lean into another carved support pillar, trying to get away from you. His movements were weaker, his breath raspier. It sounded like he truly was dying, like he would die from this poison that was burning him from the inside out…

Unless…unless you helped him. 

And if you helped him, then he would know the depths of your feelings. Feelings you had so carefully, constantly hidden over all those years. Feelings you had never, not even once, entertained, save for secretly and silently in your bed or bath. He would know, because he would be able to spend himself, would be able to find completion in the safety and affection of your embrace- your Soul could not lie to his. Such an aloof man, so stern and cold almost every moment of his life…he would hate you, afterwards. You doubted he would exile you into the wilds, but you were nearly positive that he would dismiss you from his service and from the city, would send you to serve elsewhere- he could never risk an employee feeling like she could take any allowances from him. Could never risk his image, the mask of untouchable divinity his lineage demanded. 

A soft, golden glow on the ground made you glance around, then up at his face to find its source- tormented tears traced down his cheek, quickly dashed away by a hand that shook with abject shame and outrage.

That settled it. 

“Here,” you murmured, stepping close to him. A quick glance around ensured his privacy- you were the only one allowed in his grounds at night, though there was always the potential for someone to climb the city walls and spy, since his home was tucked into the back corner of the property and of the city itself. The veranda was secluded, secure, as were the grounds below. “My lord, here-” You reached for him, letting your thin summer shawl fall from your shoulders, and, hesitating for only a moment, put your hands on his arms. “Come here, to me. Let me…let me help you.”

Gods, but the way he collapsed into you, all the fight leaving his body, sagging into your hold and practically forcing you to embrace him. Could he sense your intention? He was a tall man, a head taller than you, and crumpled to press his forehead to your shoulder, his hands coming down to brace himself on your hips. Even through the many layers of fabric that your formal robes demanded, his body was searing. This close, you could feel the heat radiating off of him so hot that it almost hurt to be close to, like the side of a freshly filled teapot. “Ignosce mihi…quaeso, ignosce mihi… pretend for me, I'm sorry, te oro…”

His rich voice was so weak, desperate- you didn't know exactly what he was saying in Celestial, but it was easy enough to guess at the meaning. Pity blurred with affection in your heart, spinning the two together with a tinge of desire just from seeing the man so desperate with want. You shook your head, hushing him as you pulled him even closer, and inwardly scoffed at his words. Pretend for him? Goddess help you, there was no need to pretend. None at all. “Shhhh…be at peace, I have you-” What had come over you, when had your voice become so soft, so cloying? "-so let us play a game of clouds and rain...together." It was a courtly term for passionate touch, for hands on each other.

“Pretend…” he whispered, rolling his head so his forehead was pressed to the side of your neck- the only bare skin he could reach. “I…no one else- ”  

Poor man. Poor, miserable man- there was no pleasure in this, he sounded agonized. You'd never heard him plead. After a moment's hesitation, you reached up and loosened the collars of your robes from their ties, letting them drape lower on that shoulder until they hung off; he pressed his mouth there instantly, but not in a kiss. His teeth were clenched , his lips peeled back in a snarl of pain. You knew he would need the contact, weren't even sure if that would be enough- everything you'd ever heard and experienced said that Monsters needed physical closeness and intimacy for this. But you also wanted to safeguard his reputation as much as possible. Better to be seen, from a distance, looking as if he was only pressing kisses to his servant’s neck. His garments were long; yours, billowing. Hopefully the fabric and the shadows would hide any further detail. 

This close, you could feel the iron-hard length of him pressed against your hip, now fading fully into physical existence in response to your closeness and the emotion in your own Soul- you'd thought he was hard before, but by the Gods, if he was a mortal it alone might have killed him, or maimed his body forever. Luck had positioned the two of you so that his left side was toward his home- it hid the motions of his arm as he fumbled the buttons of his long overrobes open, panting through his teeth and practically scalding you with his breath as he fisted himself roughly the moment he could shove his waistband down. 

No. No, you wouldn't let him injure himself, wouldn't let the hateful human saboteurs harm him any further. You covered his hand with your own, wrapping the other up around his shoulders, and whispered, “Stop, gently. Don't give them the victory of your suffering.”

His other hand came up around the back of your head and neck, cradling you wordlessly. He slowly began to touch himself under your palm, dragging his fingers up the length and across the head, then back down again. In any other situation, it would have been maddeningly arousing- all touch and sound, no visuals, the movements of your conjoined hands hidden in layers and folds of fabric. You learned his rhythm in moments, and were soon touching his manhood directly, not just keeping your fingers over his. You hadn't meant to, not originally, not wanting to overstep…but Goddess, how could you not? He was making the softest noises in his chest, stifled groans and cut off gasps, and at the first touch of your fingertips on his bare length he choked out an oath. Even you were becoming a bit breathless, your lips dropping open beside his ear, especially when you felt those first, dim droplets of translucent fluid that heralded a man's completion. 

You knew you were taking liberties you shouldn't have, but to hell with it- you were already as good as fired and homeless. Why not fulfill a moment's fantasy before you left? In for a copper, as the old saying went. You smeared the wetness around the head of his cock with your thumb, smiling at how his hips stuttered toward you, then felt yourself let out a tiny moan as he whispered your name with longing. His other hand tightened in your clothes, clenching into a fist and rumpling the fine silk- silk he had purchased for you, ensuring that you were dressed in the best possible garments, rather than the more common linens and wools of other palace officials. “I…I'm going to- your clothes, I-l don't want-”

Lost in the sound of his voice and the fantasy of the moment, you turned and pressed your lips to the side of his head, releasing your hold on him enough to quickly draw an expensive, astoundingly soft silk handkerchief from your sleeve. Perfumed by the rare incense he often purchased for you, the scent wafted into the air as you wrapped it between your fingers and reached down to him again. The sound he made when you began to jerk him off with it, a little trick you'd picked up from a previous lover, was beautiful. Low and warm, halfway between a soft gasp and a moan, it heated you from your belly to your sex. He was close, on the knife's edge- his cock jumping in your hand, pulsing…

You felt him reach his peak, right as he turned his head and caught your lips in a warm, sweet kiss. Unable to stop yourself, you moaned into his mouth as he panted and groaned, cumming hard enough into the silk that his knees buckled, hard enough that he had to throw out a hand to brace himself on the wall. It was so unbelievably attractive, masculine and sensual, that you felt your own knees go weak as your belly filled with dragonflies, and you couldn't help but to stroke your off-hand back and forth across his shoulders, trying to soothe him as he gasped against your lips. His build was so slim under the imposing bulk of his regular garments- you'd regularly seen him dressed down to a regular tunic and slacks, but even that had concealed how truly slight he was. Tall, and practically delicate in your hands.

He tucked his head against your shoulder again, catching his breath for a bit…

…

And then a distant guard called the midnight hour. 

Suddenly, everything came crashing into you- realization of what you'd done, of who you were embracing, of the liberties you'd taken with him. Yes, he'd asked for a breath of companionship, for a second of intimacy and touch during a moment of severe duress, but you had followed him into so much more than that. Had embraced him, had kissed him, long before he had willingly turned to kiss you. Had knocked his hand aside to be replaced by your own, had moaned and gasped into his ear…

“...what?” His tone was breathless, low…and furious, as he struggled to stand up right again . “What just…how could you do this…why would…”

The warmth in your belly turned to anxiety and dread, your skin going clammy with it. As he got his feet under himself, you couldn't drag your eyes off the ground. Couldn't bear to look and see the start of inevitable comprehension and anger as the enchantment faded, and he realized what you'd done. 

It was a coward's move- a delaying of the inevitable. But he took a half-step back from you, lifting a hand to no doubt strike you…no, he would never, that wasn’t the way of Monsters. To dismiss you then, to tear into you in that cold, venomous way of his that you'd heard directed at so many other fools. Still, you couldn't stand the thought of his rejection, not after such a tumultuous week. Not after the longest day of your life, working and directing events constantly from before sunrise until long after sunset. 

Not with your thighs wet with want, with your belly trembling and your body hot and desperate, still feeling his touch like a brand.

And so you ran. 

Notes:

So I binged Apothecary Diaries 😏😉

Please let me know what you think! The yearning! The misunderstanding! I actually have a prequel to this that's about half done as well, all pining and yearning from Lord Gaster's side with not a moment of contact between them. It's not common I write something that doesn't have smut inside! But we will see if people like this one before I go sinking too much time into yet another story haha.

Comments and kudos make writer hearts go doki-doki! Also, find me on Tumblr @beewritesstuff for more of the same!

Chapter 2: Lash

Your quarters were on the opposite side of his large grounds, a spacious set of rooms that shared a roof with the extensive herb storage and spell supplies that allowed him to do the greater workings of his people. They scented the air sweetly, the aromas comforting and exotic at once…but just then, it made you want to gag. Your beautiful bedroom- the blush pink and burnt orange rugs that had appeared a few years ago when you'd mentioned offhand that you loved the colors together, the wall hangings that showed the noble history of his family line, the lovely, soft bed; huge around you as if built for four people instead of one…

All of it, gone. Gone, because of circumstances far outside of your control.

Gone, because of the outrage of a nobleman understandably seeking to regain any pride and honor he could after so humiliating an attack, so mortifying the result. 

Gone…

Because you loved him. 

Sacrificed, because you loved him. Given up willingly, because you loved him…though the knowledge of what came next brought hot tears of shame and fear for your future to your face. You swore over and over, weeping through your clenched teeth as heartbreak tore through you, making you grasp at your chest…but your other hand fell between your legs, to cup your sex as she wept with desire for the man you'd fled from. Just the press of your own fingers against your lips there, swollen and pleading, felt like you were a breath away from your own completion. Shoving your skirts up and aside, you did it again with only thin underwear in the way, and moaned through your tears, soaked…

So caught up in the war within your heart, you didn't notice the three dim flashes of gold outside of your home- two close together, then a third after a minute or two. The tell-tale flickers of your Lord's translocation magic. 

You were blind to it all, crying, and frantically touching yourself with only thin, wet linen in the way, closer by the second and hating yourself for it…

Someone slammed the front door of your rooms open then, their feet pounding up the stairs with supernatural speed- you'd barely wrenched your hand out from below your robes before Gaster burst into your room, looking haggard and desperate.

You whirled, crying out in sheer shock and shame, but he strode forward and caught your wrist, trying to force something into your (wet, glistening) hand. “I could see your shadow, from below, could hear you- there's pain, yes? Quickly!” and his voice was more urgent than you'd ever heard it in your eight years of service to him. More than when the dam had cracked five years back, more than when the city barrier wards had fallen during a monsoon during the previous summer. “Drink this- the heartrend potions are made from toxins, it will kill you if it remains in your body! This is an antidote, hurry-” 

You gaped at him through watery eyes, flinching at the strength of his desperate grip on your flesh and the burning heat of his skin, and staring at the cut crystal bottle he was pressing to your hand. It shimmered, diamond-white and prismatic. “What? I-I dont-”

He gave up on trying to hand it to you and uncorked the tiny bottle with his teeth. The watchward charm around your neck leapt against your skin in response to the power of whatever was in it as light shone out the top. “This is ambrosia, the universal panacea. Here, drink!” He held the bottle to your lips despite your attempts to stop him- never had you heard of a human being given ambrosia, a Monster potion of healing capable of repairing any wounds, any poisons or illnesses; a blessed liquid that, according to myth, could extend the lifespan of a human by decades at least. It was given to Monsters only, to heal mortal wounds before the Soul could abandon the Dust, and came from the blood of their holy Queen Herself. It was a tremendous sin for it to so much as touch your lips…yet it would be sacrilege, heresy, to let even a drop fall to the floor, and he was giving you no chance to ask what the hell a ‘heartrend’ potion was, and why he thought you'd taken it. You let him tilt the bottle into your mouth, your eyes fluttering back at the taste- sweeter than honey, richer than the finest flesh, you could feel it the entire way down to your belly, as if the warmth of the spring sun was caught there. It spread to your fingertips, to your toes, into your eyes, your hair-

He let the bottle fall carelessly to the floor, clutching your face in his huge hands, then your shoulders, your waist, as if he couldn't decide where they should sit. “Does it still hurt?! Where?!”

You couldn't stand it. It was all too much, too much at once, and nothing made sense, and you were terrified and sick and glorious and uplifted all at the same time, and with desperate strength you tore yourself free of his hands and stumbled back a step. “What are you talking about? What the hell is heartrend?! And why didn't you take it?!” 

“Because I only had enough clarity to remember I had it after we…we…” He rallied. “Heartrend is the potion they give courtesans, so that they may…so they…” Something broken came over his expression, before he forced himself past it. “A potion that falsifies affection in a mortal heart, so a Monster might find p-pleasure with them.” He closed the gap between the two of you again. “I'll have them hung, I'll have them skinned , drawn and pierced in Scorpio's Hall . What of theirs did you eat, or drink? I'll ensure they taste it before they die.” 

You blinked, barely able to see through your tears. “Of the humans? N-nothing, I had nothing. You said there was a risk of interference, so none of your staff did. We all turned it down. If they gave us a gift, we d-dropped it in the moat.” Quite literally, you wondered if you were about to die. You were so confused, your body full of so many conflicting sensations and emotions, and so fucking exhausted…and this close to him, the passion from earlier was rearing it's ugly, hateful, useless head again, and your womanhood screamed for his touch. “I took nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Then a dart, perhaps, or a concentrate pressed onto your skin by a passing assassin…a plot, to ensure hatred in the heart of my finest…my…” He held a palm in front of your chest, and in a sensation so invasive you'd have slapped him if he was anyone else and damned the consequences, called your Soul out of your heart. “I have to check for residual enchantment…” He muttered it to himself feverishly, then looked up into your eyes with an expression on his face that, in any other situation and on any other man, you would call heartbreak. “I will leave, I swear. You may remain in charge of this property and its assets, may direct them as you see fit- please, forgive me, I-”

“What?!” It left you as a whisper scream, but you couldn't help yourself- you were floundering, your chest physically aching with fear and trepidation, and felt as out of control as a driverless carriage careening through the market. “Give me this property?! No, you need to dismiss me!” 

A choked breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard. “I-I…yes, of course. I do, I am. You are dismissed, your contract fulfilled, all expectations exceeded.” With a shaking hand, he took your wrist and drew his fingertip over the bindrunes of your contract there, erasing them and leaving a gold streak in your skin instead, like a tattoo of molten gold. You swooned at the sight of it- the goldbrush was a mark of the highest accolades a Monster noble could give, a personal guarantee of a civil servant's complete capability and trustworthiness. Families sometimes served flawlessly for generations to earn such a thing, for its presence on the body guaranteed near-universal acceptance. Instantly, a recipient was elevated into the lowest rank of nobility. They could find work in the highest echelons of society, could claim a command rank in the army if they so chose, and could approach their holy Royal Majesties and inquire formally about earning lands and titles.

“Now it can be yours,” he said, staring at the floor, his voice soft. “I will ensure the transition is seamless with Asgore…if you wish to, if the memory is too invasive, if I linger poisonously in your mind, then sell it all and leave at your leisure. I have heard that Menett is beautiful in summer, you've said that you miss the…the sea…” He squeezed his eyes shut, as if fighting tears.

…

Realization trickled through your panic, through your fear, and horror and shame. If his memory was invasive, if it was poisonous… he spoke as if he'd forced you to-

Taking the deepest, most steadying breath that you ever had in your life, forcing yourself to calm enough to speak with every ounce of strength left in your body, you reached out to put a hand on his arm, opening your mouth to explain…but he jerked away. 

“No!” He stumbled as he wrenched himself back from you, his knees no doubt stiff and aching after five days of more activity than he usually did in weeks. “Do not, looking at me that way…already, my sin is insurmountable…” His eye was starting to spark and flare again…

A horrible thought flickered through you, interrupting any plan to confront his beliefs. “My Lord, did you take the remedy yet? Are you still poisoned?!”

He laughed, harsh and ugly, ignoring you completely. “What a curse, for aftereffects to linger even after ambrosia….nevertheless, you will be cured soon of this…this false concern…and then you will realize my transgression-”

“Did you take it?!” You were yelling at him, practically screaming, but you had to know!

His expression tightened as magic began to crawl up and down his body again- he'd lost his overrobe somewhere between his home and yours, and you could see that his formal robes were singed and smoldering from his magic’s desperate struggle to fight the curse. Like a fever that would kill the body before it killed the disease. 

“I had only one on hand.” There was something terrible and final in his voice. “And only clarity of mind for these few brief moments to go and find it. Perhaps…when enough time has passed, you will remember that…and hate me a little less.” Yellow power began to gather around his body- the start of a translocation, though the magic jerked and jolted around him. “Just…just a little less.”

“No, damnit, wait!” You reached- you just needed to make him stop for a second!

…but he was gone.

-

Word spread quickly through his staff, and by the next morning, everybody knew- Lord Gaster Dreemurr had sequestered himself in his house, with unbreakable wards on every door. No one but you knew why, or what had happened, though the entire compound was instantly suspicious of the human nobility that had visited- an idea you encouraged viciously, for you knew that they were responsible. At your command, his guard platoon took all forty nobles into custody in makeshift prisons on the far side of his property, awaiting their Lord’s return and subsequent orders. They'd poured into the city like predators, stalking the celebrating visiting humans like thieves in the night, dragging them back in groups of threes or fours, and beating them into silence. Their servants were placed under house arrest by the city guard, locked into their rented houses with soldiers on every exit.

Good.  

As for you? 

You kept his household running in perfect capacity, a bandage wrapped around your wrist to hide the goldbrush mark. You attended every scheduled function over the next three days, every necessary event and meeting, every inspection of his cityworks and projects…

…and every night, you wept until you were sick. Who knew if he was alive in there still, suffering and tortured, all alone…or worse, nothing more than a pile of silvery dust, waiting to be discovered once the latent strength of his wards failed. He'd been so frantic, so tormented when he'd burst into your rooms, not listening to a word you'd said…

And now he was gone.

So you did your best by him, in sickness or in death. His servants were a tight-knit and loyal group- no one knew what was wrong, so no one said so much as a word to anyone not of his employ. You knew if the human nobility of the city smelled weakness, they'd fall upon him like vultures, circlingcirclingcircling for a corpse to chew. So thanks to your expertise, the subtle effectiveness of his guards, and the loyalty of his staff, word did not escape Gaster’s compound. The most the city knew was that the Lord High Engineer was furious with the visiting nobility, and was enacting royal vengeance upon them.

But you also didn't dare tell anyone the real reason for his retreat and self-entombment. 

After the third day of silence, his guards threw themselves at the wards on his home with all the strength they had, to no avail. That, at least, gave you a tiny bit of hope- surely the magic would have started to weaken if he was dead, right? The moment you were free from the day's responsibilities, you ran to his bowery as quickly as your legs would carry you; he’d keyed the doorway to your hand years ago. There, you fetched down the golden dove trained to carry messages directly to his Royal cousins, with a silent prayer begging for forgiveness in your mind the entire time. Phrasing the letter as subtly and formally as you could, you sent an urgent request for assistance from the Queen Divinity…only to have the dove returned with its letter still intact, and a short, terse note on its other leg. 

“Lord Gaster,

Their Royal Majesties have not yet returned from their tour of the eastern cities. Forgive the inconvenience.”

You screamed in frustration, scaring the birds around you into a thunderclap of wings. More than one caught you with beaks and claws, and you felt Gaster’s magic, the magic that permeated his entire property, flex around you in response to your blood being shed. Its touch was so familiar, so comforting, that you went instantly from screaming to weeping.

Notes:

The DRAMA, the MISUNDERSTANDING

(Comments help author hearts go doki doki- let me know what you think! And follow me on tumblr @beewritesstuff for updates, nonsense, and fanart!)

Chapter 3: Robes

That night, you paced your bedroom- not even the meager sleep of the past few evenings would be possible now. Passing your mirror, you glanced at it and winced- you looked horrible , ghost-grey, with bruise-purple circles under your eyes. Your hair was limp, un-styled; you hadn't found the strength to do more than pin it up every morning. The staff were treating you gently, believing your appearance was in concern for the Lord you worked so closely with…which it was. 

Just not at all in the circumstances they believed. 

So caught up were you in fear and frustration and confusion, you didn't see that a rug on your floor had flipped up- you caught your toe on it, tripping flat onto your face. Swearing wildly, you pushed yourself up on your hands and knees, praying nothing was broken…

And froze.

Something under your bed had caught the light, glinting faintly. You dropped to the floor again, squinting- could it be…?

Yes. Gasping, you thrust your arm under the bed, reaching…reaching…

Your fingers closed around a tiny, cut-crystal vial. 

Pulling it forth more carefully and reverently than you'd ever handled anything in your life, sudden, desperate hope bloomed in your heart- the vial was still half-full. Its mouth was so tiny that the blessed liquid within wasn't able to drip back out on its own. That explained why there was some left; you'd sipped at it on instinct when he'd roared the command at you, but had left plenty behind too. In his panic and the barely-alleviated effects of the drug, he must not have noticed that there'd been any left in it, and had just dropped it carelessly.

Staring at it in your hand, you scoured your mind for ideas- how to get to him, so that you could force him to take this? How to break through his wards, when his magically-powerful guards could not?

Light acted oddly near the potion vial- when you held it near your lamp, the flame warped and danced, revealing fine, gossamer threads in the air. Gaster's magic, you supposed, the various enchantments and wards that he kept on the property. One, in particular, traced through the air leading back to a fine rune between your fourth and pinky finger on your right hand. It was so small and dim as to be unnoticeable…but when you held the vial close to it, it shimmered back into visibility, yellow and sparkling…a safety rune Gaster had put on you three years ago, after you'd fallen and been badly hurt when a damaged retaining wall had collapsed under you. It had taken search parties hours to find you. 

He'd told you then, after scolding you thoroughly from the side of your bed at the healers temple, that it would react to injuries. To your blood being shed in particular, and that it would call him to your location if you were wounded…

…

Resolve filled your heart. 

You knew how to get to him. 

If he was still alive, if he was still capable of movement, you knew how to reach him…for you wouldn't try to go to him. 

You'd make him come to you. 

“Holy Queen, forgive me. I know this potion was never meant for my kind,” you prayed earnestly, running into your workroom for the sharpest knife you had. “But the wound must be great enough for him to come…and all of this will be for naught if I die before giving the rest to him. Forgive me, forgive this sin…I do it only to save your family member…”

You went back to your bedroom, drawing up the hem of your skirts. Unlike heroines from stories, you weren't made of such stern stuff as being able to stab yourself, or anything else like that. No, you figured you'd need the longest continual part of your body possible, to be able to inflict enough harm on yourself in a single motion that you could complete the task before the pain stopped you. It needed to be enough blood that it tricked your Lord, in all his misled agony and self-loathing, into coming to check on you…

And then you needed to get the ambrosia into him.

“One step at a time,” you whispered, sitting on the edge of your bed and staring at the bronze knife in trepidation, the vial sitting on your little table and awaiting you. Hopefully, a tiny sip would still be enough to close a wound as severe as the one you planned to open, for you wanted to ensure that he swallowed all the rest.

Gritting your teeth, you put the tip of the blade against your ankle, praying…

‘Please, Goddess Toriel, if you hear the prayers of humanity…help me. Help me be brave, help me do this, help me save your cousin…’

And then wrenched it up through your flesh. 

The shocking cold-heat- fire of it drove through you…and you stared for a moment, struck dumb by how far you'd gotten. The blade was an inch into you, had split the skin and fat from your ankle to your thigh as easily as a hot knife through butter, and the wound bled astonishingly. “Good, that's…that’s good…” you whispered, horrified for a moment by the sheer amount of blood. It poured down your leg, puddling on the floor…how had you possibly inflicted such a wound on yourself? You'd expected to have to repeat the action two or three more times, but perhaps the Holy Queen truly had heard your prayer, and had lent you her husband’s divine strength. 

And then the rune between your fingers flared. 

Now, you realized with an urgency that cut through your bewilderment! Now, before he got there- knowing what the man had believed before he'd fled from you, he'd probably think this was the suicide attempt of a servant molested by her Master. You reached out a shaking hand and took the vial, letting the tiniest possible bit of the potion pool on your tongue- even this second time, you nearly choked on it as your throat clenched in ecstasy, the flavor of perfection upon your palate.

The wound on your leg closed instantly; even more miraculously, it pulled your blood back up into it as it did, leaving behind not a single trace of your actions. The pain vanished, gone as if you'd never been hurt at all.

The corner of your room burst into golden light, the air pressure flexing against your eardrums- Gaster! Joy and trepidation warred in your heart- you threw yourself to your feet, the vial gripped as tightly as you could, trying to be ready…

Your Lord lurched into existence, dressed only in a featureless black overrobe, black tunic, and loose pants- mourning clothes, or the clothing of a penitent. His eyesocket was scorched around the edges, blackened like the soot on the sides of a lamp, his face and hands chalk-white and dull, pitted and ash-dark in places like the stones of an ancient firepit…

Before he could speak, you held out the vial. “Take this now!” For the moment, you were past propriety. “Please, please, take it, you have to-” 

Rushing forward, you pressed it into his hand- he floundered backwards from your touch, pressing himself against your bookshelf, looking more shocked at the sight of you than you'd ever seen him look at anything before, and plainly trying to get away from your nearness.  ‘Not this time!’ you thought fiercely to yourself. His mouth was working, but no sound emerged- you clutched his hand in your own and forced the vial into it. “If you have ever had any care for me, drink it! Now!” You hated to use his guilt against him, but the most important thing was to first save his life- you let all the frustration and fear and woe of the past four days come onto your face, adding to your act. You'd thought Gaster had looked bad when you'd found him on his veranda, but he looked truly corpse-like now. Tiny yellow flames of his magic licked along his visible bones, burning him ceaselessly. Bits of Dust fell from his form in silvery, sparkling clouds, glittering faintly every time he moved, glinting on his breath as he panted. He was so hot that the air near him shimmered, like a heat mirage. “Drink it if you regret what happened!”

Bitter resolve came into his eyes, and with a hand that shook so hard that he almost dropped it, he took the vial from you and held it to his cracked lips, draining its contents dry. It fell from his fingers, truly empty now, and he threw his head back as he experienced the same touch of divinity that you had both times. White power raced over his body, extinguishing the flames of his power- the temperature in the room went down ten degrees at least. It pooled in the pits and crevices the curse had eaten into his bone, rebuilding what was lost, then pooled in his chest…his Soul, you realized.

Then, before he could recover from the sensation and flee, you finished what you'd been saying in a far gentler tone, joy and sorrow mixing in your heart. 

“Though I have no regrets. None.”

If you'd thought you were tired that night that you'd found him, it was nothing compared to now. If you'd thought you were twisted with conflicting emotion then, the entanglement had been nothing compared to the knots in your heart now. But you forced yourself to continue anyway, despite it all. Despite exhaustion, and heartbreak, and dull, distant fear for your future. Despite the Ambrosia that once again hummed and flickered softly in your belly.  

Another deep, shaking breath. “You misunderstood the truth of the situation.”

Because he needed to know that truth. Deserved to know that you had not been drugged, that he had wasted his cousin's precious blood, her holy life itself, on a falsehood. Deserved to know that his most trusted servant harbored such secret, lowborn love in her heart for her Lord, that he had been able to find pleasure and completion in her arms.

All the fight had left Gaster sometime over the past four days, with something sad and small and ugly remaining. He shook his head at your words. “Whatever they gave you was powerful indeed, he whispered, his voice rough. “ I know what they gave me was magemade, but to risk your life with heartrend of that strength?” He swallowed hard. “ Have they no honor in their hearts at all?”

“My Lord Gaster,” you said softly, but he turned from you. No matter- you would say what you had to. He needed to hear it. “Please. For all these years, you have trusted my judgment and word. Please listen to me.” 

He wouldn't meet your eye- you could see the tension in his jaw. His hands were clenched in such tight fists that his golden magic was faintly sparkling and sizzling between the damaged joints.

Fighting hard to speak calmly and clearly for the sake of a man who had come to you once before, ready to give up everything he owned to right a perceived wrong…and now, having been ready just moments before to receive what he believed to be the judgment and scorn of a woman filled with hatred…you forced the words out. “...I am not under the influence of any potion. I never was. I don't feel any differently than usual.”

“Then you don't understand how these things work.” His voice was harsh, angry, though not at you. He laughed mercilessly, and the sound of it broke your heart a little further. “Monsters cannot reach-”

“I know very well what Monsters are capable and incapable of, in terms of romance and the…things of the body.” It was a miracle that your voice was as calm and measured as it was. “I know, because I've been with two of them over the years.” Gritting your teeth for a moment, you put a hand on his shoulder, gripping him in case he attempted a translocation. The man was trembling beneath your palm, his entire body a rictus of flight and fury. Almost without meaning to, you began to stroke your thumb back and forth, trying to soothe him. “I've never known the name of the potion that they use in the brothels,” you went on, unable to stop yourself from smiling a bit ruefully, though tears began to fall down your cheeks. “I understand the necessity, but I've always found the idea so…sad. Sad all around.”

And then the final nail in your coffin.

“Call my Soul forth, like you did. Inspect it for residual magic as you'd meant to.”

For once in all your time together, the mule-hearted man obeyed you almost instantly, and you flinched at the sensation. It floated between the two of you once again, a soft, shimmering yellow. Funny- you'd never known its color before this past week, though some more superstitious people gave all sorts of meaning to such things.

“I…don't know much about magic, or Souls, I'll be honest with you. But I know the little things, of course…I know that even the tiniest magics show on the Soul.” You gestured to it with your other hand, refusing to let go of him- in for a copper, in for a gold, just like before. “Do you see any sign there that a powerful compulsion or love curse was cast on me recently? That it lingers still?”

The man stared at your face, then at your Soul, for so long that you wondered if something even more severe was wrong. Finally, he shook his head faintly, pushing it back into your body. “...no…I don't, something else must be…must…”  

“You did nothing that was unwelcome,” and now you released him, taking a step away as your cheeks burned with shame. “It took me a moment that day to realize why you were so upset- my Lord, you never forced yourself on me. You never did anything that I didn't…want. There's no need to sequester and hurt yourself, or give up your lands and work here.  I will go, now with your blessing, to some other city. I understand you wouldn't want me to remain here.” Damn it to hell, to all the nine hells, you were weeping now. Weeping in shame, and loss, and heartbreak, for a moment's dream of what could have been and never would. Weeping because you'd never wanted him to know the depth of your feelings, yet your hand had been cruelly forced. 

“I never would have let it come into our work,” you whispered, fighting as hard as you could to keep the sob out of your voice and failing miserably, staring at your beautiful rugs- a gift from a good man, who you would lose in moments, once he put the pieces together. “I never would have let you know.” And then, because guilt chewed you like razors- despite knowing he'd needed your touch in the moment, you felt sick for having inadvertently taken advantage of him -you forced your voice through your tears. “I'm sorry that I was the only person there, and not someone you would have wanted if your mind had been clear.”

He remained silent, staring unblinking for what must have been a minute at least…long enough that you turned and walked over to the dresser beside your bed, picking up the pieces of jewelry there and putting them in your jewelry box. You'd need them, to sell to pay for travel to a different city, to pay for housing there until you established yourself with a new household…and it would take a few days to pack, hopefully he would let you-

Something touched your shoulder as lightly as a songbird landing there. Gaster had crossed the room quietly, reached out, and brushed the backs of his knuckles over your clothes. When you glanced at him, then away, too heartbroken and shamed to do more than that, he caught your chin on that same knuckle, as if afraid to touch you too firmly. “I would argue,” he murmured, “That perhaps your awareness of Monsters is not as complete as you believe it to be.”

“Please, my Lord…am I not shamed enough?” Another tear traced down your cheek- you hadn't thought him the type to drip salt into a wound, but perhaps his offense was too deep for anything else in the moment. “Despise me as you need to, but know that I acted out of genuine…genuine…” You couldn't find the word…

 …and then he brushed a fingertip under your cheek to catch the tear, and brought it up to his lips, the movement intimate and inhuman and strange. 

“There must be…care and affection in their partner's heart, for a Monster to find their p-pleasure, yes-” he stuttered only a moment on the word “-but that Monster must also…desire, and care for that…partner as well, even if drugged with the most powerful passion drugs that exist, as I was. Thus, the reason why so few of my people visit the brothels. Those who do…know they are in a one-sided love with a prostitute, and use a temporary drug on the object of their desire to trick themselves into feeling reciprocation. The workers take the antidote within minutes of satisfaction, leaving the Monster empty and heartbroken.” 

“That's terrible,” you whispered…and then your mind caught on the far more important part of what he'd said, and your jaw dropped. “What, no. No. Don't lie to me, don't-”

“How could I?” For the first time since you'd run into him, shaking and sick outside his home, he gave you a small, wry smile, blushing a faint gold. “You felt the proof upon your hand yourself, no doubt.”

You shook your head, a necklace sliding from your numb fingers to pool on the floor. “Stop. Please.” You'd seen hints of the expression crossing his face as he gazed down at you- when he played with the little Monster prince and his Magelet sibling, or when one of the city children brought him stray kittens and pups with broken legs. Never had you seen it directed at another adult…until now. Was this mockery? Was it cruelty, or worse, a lingering effect of the drug? “Take the goldbrush off and let me go, this is madness- you’re sick, you need help-”

“I would not take this back-” another feather touch to the bandaged mark on your wrist “-even if it were possible, for nothing I said was a lie. You have served me in exemplary capacity since the day we met. I planned to give it on your Nameday this year- hell, I'd have given it during your third year of service, but there would have been an uproar of jealousy from your peers.” 

If you'd been in a better mood, you'd have glowed with pride. Your Lord was not the type of man to give compliments freely. As it was, you felt frozen, struck like a hare in the field, staring at him with wide eyes and a racing heart. 

He sighed gustily. “My plan, for what it's worth, was to bring you in as a member of my household then, if you'd accepted. To elevate you and permanently place it in your care, while I turned my focus completely to the dam and its related projects.” You scoffed without meaning to, and he gave you a pointed look. “What? It was the best way that I could think of to ensure your safety and security. To give you the life you deserved, without…without…” 

A passing ghost possessed you- it had to have for what you said next, the words leaving you without permission, as frank and direct as you usually were with him. “Insanity, the golden nobility would never have accepted a copper noble as your Keyholder forever .” Then you pressed your hand over your mouth, horrified that you'd essentially scolded him during such a rife moment. 

To your surprise, Gaster grinned, and the expression changed his entire face. “Well, no…but it would have bought me at least a year or two to convince you that I am a somewhat grown boychild. Perhaps…one worth wasting some time together with.”

It was too much. “Stop,” and you pushed at him a bit, thrusting him backwards with a hand on his chest so he'd let go of your chin. “I…cannot believe you. I can't. No, this is a trick, o-or…” Your ears were roaring, your vision fuzzing at the edges slightly. “Centuries without, and then…now? Me?!

“Questions I have asked myself again and again.” He sighed. “Not due to any flaw in you. But…after so long, why indeed?” He reached out and grabbed the other necklace before it could drip off your hand, snatching it from the air so that the delicate pearl pendant didn't shatter on the floor. “...didn't I give you this?”

“...four years ago. I…wear it every day,” you whispered, like you were at confession. “Every day but for occasions like those visiting idiots. While I was dressed plainly,  I could move among them unnoted…and tell you what they discussed privately.” 

“Clever,” and you truly thought you'd faint from how he looked at you then, with fondness, and approval, and…and...something deeper and sweeter yet. “Always so clever, so sharp. My sharpest sword, my finest blade.” He sat the necklace gently on your bed.

“Stop,” you begged, like a liar, even as your body pleaded, ‘Please.’ “This is impossible, I cannot believe what you're saying. I can't. I don't know if you're trying to spare me shame, or trying to save face, or if you're still under whatever drug they gave you, or-”

“All right,” he interrupted, a sudden lightness in his tone. “So be it. I'll leave…if you'll tell me one thing honestly.”

Never had you wanted something and feared it so badly at the same time. “...what?”

“What were you doing when I barged in, four days ago? When I still thought you were suffering from poison?”

‘Damned BRUTE of a man!’ you thought with fury (and more than a little affection)- he was going to make you admit it?! Narrowing your eyes, you gave him a defiant look that, though you didn't know it yet, he had loved for years. “I was, am, upset. Extraordinarily upset, I was holding my chest- humans feel pain in our hearts in moments of severe tumult.”

“And your other hand?” He stepped closer, holding your eye, his face now inches from yours.

Desperate, you cast around for a good enough lie…and could find none. “You damn bastard…” you whispered, and saw victory come into his expression. “...you know what I was doing.” Quick as a snake, he reached out and grabbed that wrist again, drawing you close by it. A tiger in the jungle had a less intense stare than the man before you as he raised the fingers of your right hand to his ‘nose’ and took a deep breath in. Pretending to scent what he no doubt had before, when he'd gripped you the same way and forced a potion between your lips, save that he'd been too caught in horror and self-loathing to notice or admit it.

You glared at him, fighting furiously not to melt into his body. “That’s disgusting.”

“No, my beautiful goshawk-” he pulled you in slowly, until he could snag you around the waist with his other hand. “I'm just not human.” When he leaned in, you swore you felt a spark of something, like static, jump from his lips to yours…and then he paused a hairsbreadth away from you. His voice was so warm, so rich, it was like caramel dripping across your tongue. “Never would I have imagined that this could be…real.”

And then he closed the kiss. 

For a moment, sheer joy screamed in your heart, drowning out all else- the man you admired, the man you loved, impossibly returning what you had so silently, secretly dreamed of for so long. Unfortunately, the body could only withstand so much- extreme emotional whiplash, days of exhaustion, and the sudden shock of a second dose of ambrosia to your system, combined together all at once. 

You fainted in his arms. 

Notes:

The SCANDAL the INTRIGUE

(Comments help author hearts go doki doki- let me know what you think! And follow me on tumblr @beewritesstuff for updates, nonsense, and fanart!)

Chapter 4: Signet

When you opened your eyes, your mouth dry and your head pounding, it was to the horrible sight of your very own Lord kneeling beside your bed, pulling another one of those damned vials out of his pocket- where had he gotten another?! With a burst of sudden, desperate strength, you shoved yourself upright and away, warding him off with both hands. You tried to growl, “Absolutely not”, except that the words left you as a croak, making you cough tremendously. A cup of water from the pitcher beside your bed found its way into your hands- you peered into it, then at him, through watering eyes. You wouldn't put it past him to secret some of the stuff into the cup when you weren't looking. 

Sadly, he knew you quite well, and showed you the sealed bottle with a roll of his eyes. “Stars above, so suspicious.”

“I've learned that I have to be,” you muttered, after draining the cup. “Working as I do under such an open and honest Master. Where did you get it- I thought you had only one?!”

“You were insensate for longer than I was comfortable with- I broke into my cousin's bedroom some seconds ago, and took it from her personal things,” he answered, as innocently as summer rain. “Translocation is so useful a gift…”

“My Lord! The impropriety!” Dear gods, had he just admitted to having essentially stolen it from the God-Queen’s linens drawer?!

As always, he smirked at your sass…and it reminded you of countless nights together having similar conversations. Him, mildly lying his noble ass off, while you pointed out the flaws in his falsehoods. Stupidly, it made you smile a tiny bit as you glanced away from him- how many others in your position could have so much comfort with the noble they served? How many others were lucky enough to be so respected by their Masters, that they could speak so freely? 

He sat it on the table at your bedside, and you shied even further away from it, cringing. “Please get that away from me, gods preserve me if I hit the table or something, and it were to fall…”

He sighed, shifting subtly in place- it must have hurt his damaged joints to kneel on the hard floor, regardless of the rugs. You couldn't help reaching out to him. “Wait, My Lord please, don't hurt yourself-”

His cocked brow froze you in place- for just a moment, you'd forgotten all that had happened before you'd collapsed. It came rushing back, and you wilted, pulling your arms in to hug yourself as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“No, no, don't…damnit.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, and winced as he went up to one knee. “You were…like yourself, for a moment. Don't…don't retreat back from me like that.” 

What could you possibly say? What had happened on the veranda of his home had truly been one of the most erotic, passionate experiences of your life…and what had come after was easily the worst. Worse than being dismissed from your first employer on false claims of inadequacy. Worse than any failure you'd ever overcome at the University. Yet…there'd been impossible hope too, for hadn't Gaster essentially just admitted to reciprocating your feelings? You almost couldn't believe it, of course, but…it was nice to imagine, if only for a moment. 

Finally, unable to think of anything else at all, and with the blurry ache finally fading from your head, you forced yourself to look him in the eye. “I…don't know what to do. I don't know what to say.” You weren't sure if you'd ever said something like that aloud in your life. You, the consummate professional, the eternally-dependable civil servant, always ready with another option…except that you felt woefully unprofessional in that moment, and extraordinarily unreliable. If you were honest, you wanted to curl up under your blankets and cry your eyes out, just to see if it would make you feel better. Stupidly, because you'd already been a weepy fool several times that night, your eyes overflowed as you tucked your knees up too, making yourself as small as possible. “...I don't know what to do now.”

He melted- there was no other word for it. His face went as soft as you'd ever seen it, and he reached for you helplessly. “No, don't cry, I…” And then, as soft as a whisper, “Don't cry. I'm sorry.”

In ten years of service, you could count the times you'd heard him apologize on both hands…and yet, once you gave it a moment's thought, nearly all of those times had been to you, hadn't they? A moment where he'd almost tripped you while rushing from his home one morning, the time a shipment of necessary materials had arrived late because he'd forgotten to submit the request in time…over the years, had you ever actually heard him apologize to anyone else, despite spending almost all your waking hours at his side?

…no. Only you. You, and once or twice to his young cousin, the Prince, or the crown Mage. 

Something about that single, miniscule realization- in reality not, alone, proof of anything at all -started to build a tiny, tiny connection in your reeling thoughts between ‘Lord Gaster, the first-rank golden noble and the Master I work for, acerbic and bitter’ and ‘Gaster the engineer, the war hero, a fiercely intelligent man who now knelt on damaged knees beside your bed.’

You didn't know what to say…so you did what you always did, in times of crisis, as you wiped your eyes with frustration.

You fixed the smallest problem first.

“Please, my Lord-” 

“Don't call me that. Not now.” The words came out harsher than he intended them, it was obvious by the way he winced and took a deep breath. Then he tried again. “...please. Don't call me that.” 

You nodded shakily. “Okay…sir. Please, get up off the floor. You're hurting yourself, just…” Casting around helplessly- you had no other chairs or stools in your bedroom -you scooted further away, toward the headboard of the bed. “Just sit here.”

Now…you hadn't been lying, when you'd told him you'd been with Monsters before. Two lovely gentlemen, each that didn't work out for different, melancholy (but not heartbreaking) reasons. You'd learned a lot about Monsters from them, beliefs and practices. Which meant you knew how absolutely presumptuous it was, after everything that had happened that night, for you to invite him to touch your bed, much less sit upon it. But, if you were honest…you just couldn't be assed to care, in the moment. Something in your belly was warm and soft, working its way through your veins- you cast a tremulous glance toward that other vial of ambrosia -and the sensation seemed almost to be forcing a calm upon you. 

Gaster, meanwhile, looked exactly as shocked as you'd expected him to. He’d knelt relatively far from the side of your bed, had bent at the waist to avoid touching its surface as he'd checked upon you- you were willing to bet a month's wages that he'd not so much as lain a fingertip on it as he'd laid your unconscious form out on its surface some minutes ago. He was a Traditionalist to the highest degree, deeply immersed in the spirituality and customs of his people. Being invited to touch your bed sheets…

Clenching your fist in your lap, you looked up to the sky for strength- the same formalities and customs that made the night so rife for you, also entrapped him in much the same way. 

Yet because of that, in this one, single, specific instance…by the rule of Monster custom itself, if not human…

You could take a chance. 

“Please…rest beside me.” The traditional words, nearly ritualistic in nature…courtly words you'd said twice before in your life…tasted almost as sweet as the ambrosia. “Come and stay a while…a-and we may talk of this and that.”

With his strange, fey eye wider than you'd ever seen it, Gaster rose painfully to his feet, and sat on the barest edge of your bed.

After a long moment of rallying in the face of such an invitation, he turned a bit to face you. “Are you alright?” 

You thought for a moment, then nodded. “I will be. It was weariness, I think. Things have…not been good, these past few days. That and…shock, and…” A bubble of the ambrosia's magic popped in your belly, a sensation that you truly couldn't describe other than the feeling of, ‘A lady friend standing just off your shoulder, nudging you toward a man you fancied’, and you smiled a little without even meaning to as some of the stress weighing you down suddenly lightened the tiniest bit. “Well. It was…a rather tumultuous few nights." Then, seeing the creases of exhaustion and stress around his eyes, you frowned. “Are you alright, my L-...sir?”

“The drug is…tenacious. A true curse, not just a magical concoction. The mental effects have ended, thanks to the ambrosia. The rest is…up to my power.” He said it tersely, with something like shame in his voice. It made you frown- why did he sound guilty for the actions of saboteurs and assassins? “I'll be fine.” Then, in a rush- “I shouldn't have kissed you, earlier.”

You tried to hide the flash of hurt that boiled up through you, but he saw it anyway. “No, damnit, wait. Goddess help me-” He dragged his hand down his face, turning away, and spoke through his fingers. “ You know I'm not good at this. The…talking parts.”

You blew out a tiny breath through your nose- it wasn't a laugh, but…

“I wanted you to. To kiss me, I mean.” You wanted so badly to reach out to him, to comfort him; would have if he was any other man. What was stopping you? 

…the miserable weight of tradition. Ten years of constant habit and stuffing down your own feelings every time they even tried to let out so much as a peep in his presence.

He scoffed at your words.

What you wouldn't have given for some bravery charm or something, any tiny bit of magic that would help you overcome this invisible wall between the two of you. Unless he was outright lying, or had something else extravagantly wrong with him…he'd so much as admitted directly to your face that he wanted you. That he'd lain nebulous plans to court you. 

And you'd admitted the same to him. 

That same feeling came again, stronger, a flutter in your belly- you'd have sworn before the Goddess's altar that you almost felt a beautiful, feminine voice whisper wordlessly against your ear, almost felt a gentle hand between your shoulder blades. Something within you made you look at him for just the briefest second not as an untouchable noble, but as a man. He was staring at his lap, had his hands clenched around each other so tightly that his sharp fingertips were pitting the bone beneath them. His face was unreadable, but his shoulders were rigidly tense under his clothes. 

It was the look of a man who didn't know what to do.

You were there before you even knew you were moving. The moment you wrapped your arms around him, something knotted and small and fearful within you simply…let go. He jerked under your touch, still boiling hot and trembling, but you only held him closer, propped half on your hip as you rested your forehead against his slim back and locked your fingers together over his shoulders and around his chest. 

And then you waited, counting your breaths and closing your eyes. 

…

Ten exhales, and you felt him breathe under your arms for the first time- he'd been holding it. 

…

Twenty, and he relaxed the tiniest bit under your touch, going from rigidly tense to something that almost felt alive. You could feel his chest shakily rising and falling, and the soft thrum of his Soul through his clothing- a Monster's heartbeat. It was so gentle for such a hard, sometimes truly bitter man. So delicate under your hands.

…

…

…

Fifty, and he turned all at once, a flurry of movement that had him twisting on his hip and clutching you like he was drowning, a hand in your hair and the other on your back, a half-embrace that warmed you like charcoal and forced you to shift so your hands were on his upper back instead.. He was still horribly hot to the touch, though less so than earlier. 

It was easier to repeat such forbidden words, safe in his arms as you were. “I wanted you to kiss me,” (his hands twitched) “But I was afraid, too. Because I didn't think it was possible.” 

He said nothing. 

“I've been so scared for you.” Your mouth was pressed to the front of his shoulder by the twisted angle of his embrace. He smelled like ozone, rather than his usual fine resins and oils- his body off-gassing the cursed drug as it fought to destroy it, perhaps. “I thought you were dying, I truly…didn't know what to do. I didn't think anything could hurt you.” 

With a bizarre sense of finality, as if the magic of it was spent somehow, the Ambrosia gave one last tiny flutter, and one side of his unbuttoned overrobe slid the rest of the way off his leg to drape across your bed and down to the floor. The movement caught your eye… and the dim golden glow there between his legs, invisible through his thick robe before but now shimmering through the silk of his pants, was unmistakable. 

And everything clicked at once. 

The way he'd kissed you, so full of desperate passion.

The way he fought meeting your eye, as if embarrassed beyond measure about something still.

His phrasing just moments ago, that the mental effects of the curse had ended…

The scent of ozone, the heat, if his body was still frantically trying to burn something out of itself.

The ambrosia had given him back his mind, his sensibility...but it could not stop the desperate need in his body. The Monstrous need to be near another person while he spent himself, perhaps again and again- to be touched, and held, and loved, so that he could reach the peak of pleasure. It was truly a curse of the most heinous kind, taking something that should have been beautiful and making it agony at best, lethal at worst. “I will find the ones that did this,” you murmured, pulling back enough to see his expression, though he tried to keep you close. “I'll discover who they were working for, and what they used. How dare they.”

A breath, a pause, as he stared at you with such fear and hope, his handsome face strained.

“But…”

He searched your eyes, painfully uncertain. 

“I'm glad that I was the one who found you.”

That time, you kissed him. 

Oh…oh, he was fighting so, so hard to be gentle for you.  The moment your lips touched, he clutched his hands on your flesh so hard that you winced, then immediately pulled free to drop one to the fabric bunched at the small of your back, and one to the bed. His jaw flexed, and you swore you could feel that he was clenching his teeth, even as his lips remained soft and passive under yours. 

Poor man. Poor, strong man, fighting his body for you, fighting with all his strength for four days of torment and pain. He proved that strength then, truly, by pulling back from you even though it obviously hurt him to do so. “I shouldn't- you've been so scared, crying…it's not right.” 

“Are you turning me down, after I invited you into my bed? After you accepted?” You said it gently, but his answer was immediate, appalled- “No! No, I…mean you no offense…”

“Then what is it?” You cupped his cheek with your hand, and he leaned into the touch so hard. “What’s wrong? Do you…not want…?”

“I don't want to hurt you.” He ground the words out through gritted teeth. “I am not in a…gentle mood. But…I know no other way to break the curse. Only one thing lessens it, and..." His voice went so low as to be almost inaudible. "And even when I am not under such magic, I...my want comes more than once before my body is spent. It is perverse and crude; women have been put off by it in the past. I cannot expect you to-"

“Monsters are much stronger than humans…” Interrupting him and smiling slightly at his words, you traced your nose along his jaw, feeling the tension there, then pressed a kiss right below the perfectly round hole below his temple, where magic formed the cartilage of the joint. The sensation wracked him, head to toe- a full body twitch. His breath hitched in his chest, as if he was about to cry. “But surely we can figure out a new way to play this board together.”

When had this become you seducing him? The thought was dizzying, but you were far past worrying about such things. You shifted, and the tiny ache on your shoulder- one you'd been ignoring for days -gave you an idea. Moving very carefully, you reached up and flicked open the first three catches on your top, the ones that held the diagonal neckline and high collar closed. “Can I tell you something?”

He didn't turn to you…but you hadn't expected him to yet. “...what?” 

Sitting up, you shifted your shoulders, and the fabric slithered down on either side, baring you from your cleavage to your chin with only your thin, sleeveless undergown and shift in the way. “Well, I was with a man earlier this week-”

He jerked in place, whipping around to stare at you in outrage, only to immediately freeze at the sight.

“-and while I felt so badly for the way I found him-”

The moon highlighted the purple, four day-old bruise on your shoulder, where he'd pressed his clenched teeth as hard as he could. You dropped your voice low, watching as he trembled like a pressure cooker about to explode,  staring at the bruise with an eye that flared like a star.

“It was…the most handsome thing I've ever seen in my life.”  

Motionless…a voiceless rumble in his throat, somewhere between a hound's low snarl and the purr of a great cat...

You had nothing left but raw sincerity and his name, as your pulse pounded between your legs and your body begged for him. You wouldn't bed him- not when things were so nebulous and new, not when he may hurt you without meaning to -but there were many ways to share pleasure, weren't there? “My Lord… Gaster …let the poison run its course in my hands. As long as it takes.”

He stood abruptly, turned as you fell back from his sudden movement, reached down to grip the two sides of your robe and slips, and ripped them all in half down to your waist.

Notes:

*GASP*

(Comments help author hearts go doki doki- let me know what you think! And follow me on tumblr @beewritesstuff for updates, nonsense, and fanart!)

Chapter 5: Cape

You gasped, shocked despite yourself, but Gaster didn't hesitate. He shoved himself forward on his knees, hunching over you in a truly ungainly position so that he could press his face to your bare breasts. He didn't even do anything that was necessarily carnal; he just pressed his fever-hot skin against your chest, rolling his forehead back and forth.

“S-sir?”

“You feel like ice,” he muttered, his voice muffled in your cleavage. “I am boiling alive, and your touch is like snow against me. The relief…”

Humming in sympathy, you pressed your hands to his head with your fingers spread- he'd been so coherent since showing up in your rooms, especially after taking the ambrosia, that you'd almost forgotten that the physical aspects of the curse were still ragingly in effect. He arched into your touch like a cat, making a soft noise in his chest. Feeling fluttery and unsure and terribly fond, you reached down and tugged at his overrobe- you wanted to touch more of him. “This,” you murmured, and he shrugged it off without moving away from you for so much as a second. His shirt collar was loose enough that you could slide your hands underneath it then, pressing them to the delicate bones of his shoulders and back- a shiver rocked him from his toes to his head at the touch. “More…if you are willing…” he whispered, shame in his voice, “The heat, the burning…”

A moment's effort had your sash untied. He stiffened at the sight of it falling from your hand to the floor beside your bed, and pulled back slightly to stare as you began undoing the few buttons left on your top, raising himself up enough for you to sit up and slide it off, the torn pieces of your breastband going with it. The ties of your wrapped skirt soon followed, and you let it fall open so that you were beneath him clad only in thin linen undergarments. “The window, my L…please,” you asked, pointing to it above your bed. "The poison- the heat is intense.”

He did as you bid one-handed, letting in the chill nighttime breeze, then returned to pressing himself to your now bare skin. When you fingered his tunic and made a noise of question, he shook his head. “...a disgraceful sight for eyes accustomed to beauty, I assure you.”

“I know the war left you with wounds.” You dipped your hand in the pitcher beside your bed, then ran it over his head and neck. He gasped at what you could only imagine was a shock of coldness. “They're of no consequence to me. That isn't…well…”

Even with his earnest permission, you were still so afraid to speak your feelings openly. 

“I learned to judge the inside of a home, long before I ever saw its walls and pillars.” The water on your hand had already evaporated- you did it again, sliding your fingers down his collar and wetting the bones of his spine there as he hissed. “In this case…the foundations are strong and the furnishings beautiful, regardless of what time has done to its exterior.”

He took a deep breath of your skin, then reached up and pulled the garment off over his head, throwing the black silk aside and leaving his torso bare above you. You clucked your tongue in sympathy- you'd never known the extent of his scars. An entire side of his odd, somewhat-human ribcage was almost melted , as if Magefire had blurred the delicate, thin bones there into each other like dripping paint. The old spell’s impact was visible in a spray of liquefied, then solidified, bone across his chest. It was a wonder he'd survived it at all- it was plain that the casting Mage had aimed at his Soul.

He grimaced at your inspection, but you shook your head. “An excellent purchase,” you whispered, running wet hands over the damaged bones and watching as the water practically steamed off of them. You often bought and sold property for him, and saw recognition come into his face at your familiar phrasing. “Sound and proven, assuring the safety of those under its roof regardless of personal cost.”

He said nothing, but pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your chest…while his hands were fisted in your bedclothes so hard that you could hear the fabric tearing. Plainly, he needed more, needed anything …but was trying to settle for your comparative coolness in the moment, his Monster Soul basking in your affection like a serpent in the sun.

“We shall take turns,” you said softly, hugging him close. “Until it has burnt itself out of you. Lay beside me, think how good I will feel against your back.” 

He rolled off of you, and you spooned yourself up behind him before he could escape further, throwing an arm over his chest and tucking a leg between his. The curve of his spine left little to hold, but so be it- you'd figure something out. “Come, my Lord-” and the tone in which you said it made him arch into your body with a noise of something very close to desperation “-let us go flower picking together.” 

Astoundingly, he was nervous- without the drug's mental effects to numb his worries, he seemed terribly ashamed. “This cannot be enjoyable for you, watching an old man grip himself.” As he spoke, he loosened the tie of his waistband. “Humans do not-”

“I've decided that I don't care for humans and their opinions, much,” you interrupted, putting your hand over his, and grimacing where he couldn't see you at how hot his back was against your breasts and belly. “In fact, I've taken forty into captivity until I decide what to do with them.”

He froze at your words, which allowed you to slide your conjoined hands down to where his length strained against silk, tenting it erotically. 

Then-

“C-Captivity?”

“Indeed.” He eased himself from his pants, his breath catching. “If you had been found dead, I'd have had them questioned until confession, then sacrificed. Every. Single. One.” Just the thought of them made you grit your teeth in anger. “I may still.”

He'd started touching himself slowly to your words, a slow motion of his fingers under yours, up and down his shaft. “And how did you do this, my goshawk?”

“...I took command of your household guard.” God, you had to press your thighs together- it was as if your body still remembered every drop of heat from four nights ago. “And had them taken from the streets.” 

He moaned softly- nothing was more erotic to Monsters than their mates defending them -gripping himself more firmly and starting to pleasure himself in earnest. Belatedly, you wondered how much you'd given away to the rest of his staff- all Monsters, save for you -with your fury in his defense. Ah, well…you couldn't undo the past. 

How much did you want to admit? You'd given the orders under such duress and rage…orders the Dogs had carried out with brutal, eager efficiency. “The main nobility languish with broken bones, knees and hands, just as their elders so inflicted on you.” You whispered the words into the back of his head. “And now await judgement, depending on your life or death. The others? One is beaten for every day that someone does not confess to the drug-”

He stiffened, groaning through his teeth, and you felt his essence fall in ropes over your hand and bed. Poor man, riding a hair trigger for the past four days, unable to find pleasure alone and slowly dying from it. The moment his panting breaths slowed, he started again.

“My Lord is sacrosanct,” You continued, pushing his hand away and replacing it solely with your own as your head spun with desire. He turned onto his back, giving you some relief from his heat, and stared at you with a desperate eye that still burned golden despite the ambrosia. “I will not stand for it-”

“You are making me mad for want of you,” he growled, cutting you off and catching your chin in his clean hand, his hips already moving as you gripped him harder. “Perhaps I will breed you before them, so the last thing they see as the moonaxe falls is the beauty of your expression in pleasure.”

Your lips dropped open without you even meaning them to- filthy, how deliciously crude! His eye rolled back as you pulled your hand away, spat into your palm, then focused just on the head. “Th-That is so rich a feeling, so soft. I cannot replicate… yes…”

His fingers traced down your cheek, your neck, to your chest…he pressed his palm flat there, and you knew he was sensing your Soul. “So it really is true..” he said reverently, gazing up into your eyes with something terribly young and excited in his own. “This is not the curse, or a deathbed dream, or madness overtaking me…it's real- ahh…”

You'd found a good rhythm, it seemed; down to the base, then up to squeeze your fingers around the head and back down again, the result of previous pleasure and your own saliva giving your palm an easy glide. He was humping up into your hand, frantic and close to completion again already, and you wondered if you'd have to let him bed you a few times for this to finally burn itself out. Truly, you'd have to tie his arms down if you did- his grip alone would shatter bones.

“Like that, I…yes, yes-” 

“For me… Gaster.” The words, his name, left you as a soft moan, and he kissed you in reply. It was messy and uncouth, and exactly what you wanted- his tongue curled against yours so deliciously that you felt the sensation pour down your spine and into your belly. Within moments he reached his peak once again, one hand squeezing and massaging a breast, and the other clutching the pillow beside his head. 

There was no refractory period between each moment of completion, none at all- thus was the torment of the curse. The moment ropes of magic stopped pulsing from his straining cock, he pulled at you until you crawled up the bed further, until he could press his mouth to your breast and grip himself with both hands, his feet coming up to brace flat on the bed. It was so animalistic, so crude and attractive, as he began thrusting up into his own hands, that it took you a moment to realize what he was doing.

He was pretending to be fucking you. Trying to trick the magic, his own instincts, into believing it.

You swore softly, unable to drag your eyes away from the sight, then gasped as he began suckling at your nipples. Licking and sucking, nipping and mouthing, the man was far past propriety or even self-awareness. You twisted to dip a shaking hand into the water pitcher then ran it across his acrid chest, and he arched into the touch, his lips popping free of your flesh as he cried out deeply, his hips speeding. 

Perhaps the magic was catching, like a disease- you felt as if you were boiling within. “Whatever it takes,” you said, your voice lower and hotter than you'd ever heard it before, burning for the man in your arms. “As long as it takes.”

“Te imploro, I need more, I need more…” He turned his head to bury his face in your chest again, his eyes rolling back. “You are so much softer than me…”

“One more like this,” you moaned, “And then my…” Dare you say it? Dare you act out such a fantasy? “M-My mouth after, if it pleases-”

“Fuck!” His hips jolted and sped. “Oh gods, oh!”  

Something was starting to happen, to change. His immortal Soul glimmered in his chest, white-hot, and tiny sparks and glitters of that light slowly began to spread into his sternum. You stared at it with hope; was his power finally winning the fight against the drug?? Was it finally fighting back against the curse that tricked it into burning itself??

“Yes, your lips, your tongue, I cannot imagine…I have never felt such a thing before.” Possessiveness shot through you- whether he meant that he'd never been with a human, or that the women he'd been with before refused to do such an act, it didn't matter. 

“You're so handsome, like this, always.” The words felt more scandalous than anything you’d said so far, so much more forbidden and telling of your own heart. Plain, and unhidden behind courtly euphemism and metaphor. “Sometimes I can only stop and look at you…but never so much as now-”

Your words brought him over the edge. His peak was silent, hard, and wringing, his legs shaking and his toes curling as he reached up with a desperate hand to grasp you by the back of the head just for the touch as he gripped himself with the other. He caught his breath for a few seconds, then muttered, “Ah, fuck, fuck…yes, th-there is no pain with you here, save for the urgency of wanting to…no, I cannot risk your harm...” It sounded more like he was speaking to himself than to you- privately, you almost had to agree with him, despite your body's desperation. If he was arguing with himself over bedding you, then you were still on the side of ‘not yet’, simply due to his uncontrolled strength. He'd torn several holes in your sheets already, had ripped the corner of your pillow off- silk was not a weak material, either! As much as you wished to bed him, as much as you wanted to cry for want of touch on your own womanhood, you truly didn't know if it was safe.

So instead, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, then pulled back to crawl down his body until you were laying between his legs. It was, admittedly, slightly less convenient than on a human man or a more physical Monster- he had no belly or flesh on his thighs to rest upon, and the bones of his hips were angular beneath his half-off pants. But at the same time, his length bobbed raw and desperate a few inches above the bowl of his pelvis, where it would sit if there was also flesh and muscle there, so it was easier in that way too. 

He was just different. Like the other two Monsters you'd been with. 

The head dribbled fluid constantly, pooling down its length and dripping across his tailbone before disappearing into soft shimmers- seemingly, the magic dissipated if spent outside of a body, though that didn't seem to be the case for his actual essence. That lay in a ruin of golden stripes and pools across his spine and your bed; there was probably some in your hair from his last peak, when he'd clutched the back of your head. Ah well- it could be washed, and the sheets were already damaged anyway. He thrust himself up onto his elbows, watching, as you examined him for a moment. Comfortably sized, proportional to his height, and a familiar shape…you could work with this. “Don't pull my hair out,” you warned, and he shook his head as eagerly as a new guard recruit in reply. He also wrapped both hands in your damaged sheets, doubling the fabric over them like restraints. 

His gaze was so intense that you bizarrely felt a moment of performance anxiety- this would be his first time experiencing this, he'd said. Glancing up one more time to ensure that the brilliant sparkle of his Soul was still slowly spreading and fighting back against the curse, you took a steadying breath, then closed your eyes against his scrutiny and took him into your mouth. It wasn't the time for teasing licks or coy kisses- you swallowed him, setting a slow, steady rhythm for him to decide if he liked this new sensation or not. 

He was silent for a moment…and then you heard only a whispered “Oh…” . It made you smile, despite everything- it felt good to make him feel good. His hips jumped, hard enough that you used your weight on your arms to hold his legs down. There wasn't really an opportunity to explore technique or preferences- you simply worked his length with your lips like you would with your hands, slowly taking him deeper as your body relaxed into the idea. At one point, your hair fell into your face- an immensely gentle hand pushed it back as Gaster shifted under you, half sitting up so that he could hold it off your shoulder and watch you between his legs at the same time. The hollowness of his body allowed him to do so, and though you couldn't see his face anymore, you could see that the shimmer of his Soul's power had spread the whole way down to his spine now. Just as you'd suspected- the closeness of another person, being ‘inside’ you in a way, was working with his innate Monster instincts to accelerate the breaking of the curse. 

“Slower, but…a bit harder, if…if you can.” He was rubbing his thumb back and forth across your collarbones, his tone as sweetly unsure as you'd ever heard it. “Suck just a bit harder- ah…yes.”

You did as he'd asked, hollowing your cheeks and giving up a bit of depth, and the result was immediate. His breathing picked up, his thighs twitching under your arms. In seconds, you could feel him building, could hear the deep groans starting to build in his chest…

“Yes, I…this is the end of it, Stars, let it be the end of it…there is a finality in the m-magic, oh…”

His manhood swelled in your mouth slightly, just like a human's, and he fell onto his back, his hips thrusting up despite you using all your strength to hold them down. “Yessss…my beautiful…yes, yes…!”

You felt your own eyes roll back for a moment as it started, his length jumping and twitching in your mouth, his cum pouring down your throat as quickly as you could suck it from him while he cried out your name. Under your hands, white, twinkling magic raced down his legs- when you glanced up, it was swiftly spreading to the top of his skull too. Just as his orgasm slowed, the magic reached the two end points of his body, and a series of white signs flashed over his chest, where his Soul jumped and jerked in exertion. 

Then, right as he started to relax back, glowing and handsome with the aftereffects of pleasure…he started to cough. 

It was horrible, visibly painful and wracking- you pulled yourself free, your eyes watering, and shakily rushed up to him as he struggled onto his side, coughing so hard it made him retch. Squinting, you realized you could see it in the dim lamp light- something black and ugly, made of a thousand tiny hair-like arms that grasped and clutched as it was expelled from his Soul and forced up as if through an esophagus. His eyes were watering golden tears as he choked and fought, leaning into you for strength as you helped hold him up. Finally, it reached his mouth, reaching out to grasp at his lips and nose in a way that made you cry out in horror and disgust. Fighting to breathe, he retched a final time, and the thing flew to the floor where it began to twitch and writhe, crawling back toward him, spreading like mold, like a disease…

“No,” you growled in your throat, tossing him aside with a strength you didn't know you had to lunge for the bronze knife on your bedside table, moving with instinct and nothing more. Gripping its familiar handle, you threw yourself off the bed with inhuman grace- a tigress in the jungle, your claw extended and your eyes furious -and somehow drove the blade straight through the roiling curse and three inches into the wooden floor below. 

It screamed in a thousand tiny, discordant voices- eyes rose to the surface, staring up at you in fear and agony, before bursting like bubbles. You bared your teeth at them, snarling like a woman possessed- you hoped the Mage who'd made this curse could see through those eyes. You hoped one of the screams you were hearing was theirs, and the thought brought a vicious smile to your face as you twisted the blade, gouging out a deep divot of wood.

The thing swelled, curling and boiling, then burst in a puff of black smoke on a final, singular, and distinctly female scream. Panting, you stared at the scorched mark on your floor as the smoke dissipated into nothing, your mind catching up with your fury and actions…then glanced up, suddenly mortified by your feral behavior and remembering you had an audience. 

Gaster was staring at you with the strangest expression you'd ever seen on his face, his hand pressed to his chest over his Soul. Off-kilter, still half running on instinct, you pointed at the other bottle of ambrosia on the table with your blackened knife. “...drink it.” You had no idea if it would help, no idea if it would have any effect at all now that the cursed drug was presumably destroyed, but you didn't care. Something in your face made him obey instantly, reaching for it and downing the entire thing as he held your eye, only looking away to stare down at the bed and shiver at its power. You watched as its magic raced through him beautifully, prismatic and pure, and sighed with relief. Then you had to look away with a smile, because he'd put a hand down on a particularly wet spot in the bed and immediately yanked it back up again, looking disgusted. 

“I might be sleeping on the floor tonight,” you murmured with a low laugh, only half joking, and wondering if Cook still had a few pallets and bedrolls in the store rooms below you. 

“...come here,” was the only answer he gave. You stood, closing your eyes for a moment as the press of your thighs made your core scream for his attention, then went to him as he beckoned. You'd honestly been expecting to give him a hand up…which was how he caught you entirely off guard, yanking you in and wrapping his arms around you. 

The two of you disappeared.

 

Notes:

Mmmmmmmmm :3

(Comments help author hearts go doki doki- let me know what you think! And follow me on tumblr @beewritesstuff for updates, nonsense, and fanart!)

Chapter 6: Throne

He steadied you as the two of you flashed back into existence, sighing patiently as you groaned under your breath- he knew you hated being translocated. Once you stopped feeling like your belly was about to crawl out of your mouth, you opened your eyes and glanced around…oh. He'd brought you to his house, into the personal sitting room connected to his bedroom. You'd been there many, many times, whether for work, or simply to talk or play chess with the man. 

A wave of his hand lit a few crystalline lanterns. Then he stepped away for a moment, coming back from his bedroom to wrap your almost-naked form in a thick silk duvet, the material, and the soft down within, heavenly against your oversensitized, chilled skin. You'd hadn't even realized that you'd been shivering, swaying on your feet. That done, he walked over to his desk, grasped something that sounded metallic, and dropped it in his pocket. You cocked your head, weary but curious…yet when he returned to you, it was only to steer you gently to a comfortable chair. 

“Do you want anything?” His voice was a rumble in his chest as he pried the knife from your fingers- gods help you, you hadn't even realized that you still clutched it. You actually fought him for a second without even knowing why you did it, resisting him as he uncurled your grip- it didn't matter. He'd been a battlefield commander long before he was a Lord, and it didn't phase him in the slightest to pry a weapon from the hands of a fighter who hadn't realized yet that the fight was done. He knew to squeeze your hand around it, knew to press your fingers to the hilt to the point of pain- not to hurt you, not as punishment, but as a raw acknowledgement of your accomplishment. Well done, good and faithful soldier. 

“Um…” You weren't sure where you stood with him now, weren't sure how to act. Your legs felt watery and your head was swimming, as if your body knew the crisis of the last week was over and it was writing you a bill for the neglect. “I…a drink, perhaps. Juice, something more than water…I haven't eaten much, lately.”

His eyes softened. “A moment.” Then he laid the knife reverently on the table in the middle of the room, and vanished in a flash of yellow magic. The house was cool to the point of chill- there was wood in the lovely hearth of the room, but it was unlit, had probably been that way for the last four days. Shivering still, you stood and went to it, reaching without needing to look for the flint striker he kept atop the mantle, for the little pile of kindling you knew rested in a copper basket to one side. It was a moment of normalcy, after so much madness, to sit and blow softly on the embers, the dry wood catching quickly. You'd lit this fire hundreds of times, listening to him mutter each time you did it- Gaster felt that he would go soft if things were done for him, and you felt like it was your duty to remind him of his nobility. Push and pull, push and pull, like the sea between you two.

Perhaps this had all been inevitable. The thought made you smile as you watched the flame grow in the well-seasoned wood. It banished the cold from the corners of the house, the one around you and in your mind. Alive, he was alive, you loved him and he was alive, and his house had light again. 

A yellow flash behind you heralded his return, but you didn't turn away, huddled in the voluminous blanket and crouched before the fire as it slowly grew. 

“I could have done that,” he said, like he always did, but you shook your head. “Your house was so dark, these last days…I couldn't stand it another second.” 

Gentle hands pulled you to your feet, pressing you back toward the same chair. He'd gotten an entire tray of foods- cold things or stable things, put in storage overnight by Cook -as well as a pitcher of juice. When he poured you a cup, your breath caught. The man was considered a Divinity in his own right, sometimes leading the Midwinter rituals, pouring the cup of sacrifice for communion at the Star Temple. To see it done just for yourself…

“I don't have the litany memorized, so if you want to hear it, you'll have to let me get the little cheat page I sew into my sleeve,” he murmured, and you smiled despite yourself. “My Lord is a mind reader,” you answered with a touch of fond teasing, taking the cup from him and draining it. It felt holy, in a far more corporeal way than the distant stars…heresy, but only a little one. 

He twitched his fingers at a footrest, dragging it over with magic, and sat it at your feet. Then he took a crock of something and put it near the fire to warm, before picking choice morsels from the other dishes he'd brought and putting them on a plate for you, settling on the footrest. He watched you so closely, literally watching each bite that you shyly put between your lips, that you felt more than a bit uncomfortable…but his expression relaxed more and more with each mouthful. 

Three bites into a dish of sweet plums in syrup, you realized that every single thing he'd brought was one of your favorites. 

“Oh Gaster,” you whispered, tears overflowing for what felt like the millionth time that night, touched beyond words and unsure what to do with the feeling. Had you known that he knew such things about you? 

“I told you…I have been a hopeless fool for some years now.” He sighed…and then he winced slightly. “And, er, no, not a mind reader. But general concepts and feelings, for a day or two…yes. All Greater Monsters are the same.” 

“...did I know you could do that?” You reached for a dish of lightly smoked fish with a hand that trembled, and he moved to steady the bowl for you. “I should hope not. It would mean a level of prior sleepwalking into your bedroom that could surely damage my reputation…”

Now you laughed a little, using one hand to wipe beneath your eyes- again, just as he had before, he caught a tear on his thumb and tasted it. “It will start to go the other way too, if you…wish to remain close to me.” He smiled shyly up at you as he poured another cup of juice. “You will spend your days feeling myriad, distant flavors of annoyance.”

“Oh…” You considered his words, fighting to stop crying- you were tired of crying, damnit, had done enough crying in the past few days for the rest of your life. Everything had been so much, so terrifying and painful, blooming into such hope and passion. From the roots of your hair to the tips of your toes, you felt strained, shaking slightly in your very marrow- an overstressed strut trying to hold up far too much weight. Your mind was racing, numb from a thousand thoughts at once, from the strain of managing an entire property with the subtlety needed to do so without technically holding the proper station, and constantly turning away or foiling every busybody’s questions as to the nobles’ visit and subsequent arrests. Property inspections, project inspections, deliveries, organizational tasks for upcoming holidays- the city work that was usually split between yourself, Gaster, and his veritable flotilla of assistants had been done entirely by you, all while you were on constant guard of your words and actions, constantly wary and watchful, and all of that- all of it! -while you screamed in your Soul that he was dying dying dying. Truly, the calmest you had been in days was when you were laying beside him in your bed, working the curse from his body, and you yearned for the same contact now. 

Before you could even finish thinking ‘I wish he would hold me’, he was there, pulling you against his chest. “Shhh…you have saved me, you saved my life. Thanks to you, everything is as it should be.” He pressed his lips to the crown of your head. “Peace now, I will take over- rest your mind. Surely I can manage a day or two of my life without you, though doubtless it will not be to your standards.” 

The very core of your being lurched against the idea- stop? Now??? 

Rest?!  

Impossible. 

“What? No, you don't understand, there's so much that I had to do to make things work for the past few days, I need to catch up-”

“ I will do what you need me to.” He said it calmly, stroking his hand up and down your back. “Put it down, let me carry it. I will finish what you started.”

Were there any words truly more romantic, more meaningful, for a woman to hear from a man she trusted? To hell with poetry and flowery nonsense, or idiotic, overdramatic promises of eternal love. You sagged into his hold, suddenly so physically weary that you could barely keep your head up. It wasn't sleepiness, no- you doubted you'd sleep that night. It was sheer exhaustion of the body and mind, held at bay for days with nothing more than willpower and desperation. He started to rock you slightly, and it felt so good and comforting that you couldn't even muster up the slightest indignancy at being treated like an infant. “In the morning, you will lay in bed and give me a list, and direct me as you need me.” It was one of the rare, rare times that he'd ever given you a direct order…and silly man, now he practically couldn't. “And you will rest.”

“I don't know if I can,” you admitted softly, rubbing against his bare ribs like a cat. “I've never known how to before.”

He sighed. “We are too much the same. But if I have learned to let things happen around me, then so shall you.”

After a moment's thought, you nodded, relaxing further into his hold. Being in his arms was an odd experience…for the obvious reasons, of course, but also because you couldn't sense the slightest strain in them. Any human man, no matter his strength or stoicism, would have started to feel the weight of cradling an adult woman. Gaster felt comparatively like a bench, or a stone- comfortably immovable, like you weighed nothing. He shifted to lift you, sitting in your chair and pulling you in again.

“May I ask- how did you call me?” You blinked, called from a daze. “The days before I came to your rooms again…they blur together, the pain was too great. But I remember something was wrong…”

“I opened an artery in my thigh to trick your alert spell.” 

He jerked under you, peering at your face with alarm. “You what?!” 

“It's okay. I fixed it afterward.” You pressed your cheek to his bare chest again. “The potion…I took a tiny bit. I'm sorry, I know humans shouldn't-”

“Toriel would embrace you like a daughter if she knew why.” The tenderness in his tone was fit to undo you. “Am I right in assuming you used that blade to do it?”

You nodded, pointing a weary finger at your bronze knife on the table. 

“I wondered…that explains, then, how you killed the curse.”

When you made a questioning noise, he pulled you closer. “You risked your own life, in an act of pure goodness. Pure…pure l-love.” He swallowed hard at the word, so new and sweet, then went on, “The blade is blessed, though you cannot see it. You sit here worrying about juice and ambrosia…yet you, a mortal human woman, took a common blade and made it holy- I can feel its power. Do you understand what that takes? In this world of magics, that is a rare and priceless one. Forgive me if I claim the blade as my own…but it is too precious to me now to abandon.”

“I just wanted you to live,” you whispered shakily. “More than anything else in…the world. I’d have given anything. I hadn't eaten, hadn't slept…it was all I could think about.” 

“And so the magic followed. It is sanctified now- human magic.” There was awe in his voice. “I wonder if you killed the Mage who made the curse.”

“I hope I did. I heard her cry out, in the end.” A sanctified blade, he'd said? That explained your floor, at least - you doubted you had the natural strength to drive a bronze blade half its length into hardwood otherwise.

The two of you were quiet then; you, breathing him in and thinking about nothing in particular, and him staring inscrutably into the fire above you. Eventually, from the front sitting room of his house, an imported clock chimed three in the morning. 

He took a breath. “So Snarl took commands from you?” There was such pride in his voice. 

You nodded shyly. “I was…not acting in a level-headed manner, and…well…now that you're okay, it feels like perhaps a bit of an overstep-”

“Like hell it was.” He fell silent again for a few moments, pressing his lips to the top of your head. Then-

“I want to court you. I want to marry you. After what you've done for me, no one could claim it was improper. Even kitchen maids have been gifted titles for such acts, much less an official of your skill and status.” 

What could you say? You buried your face against his bare chest, against his damaged ribs, and smiled so widely that it hurt your lips. Your hand came up to grip him, twining between the delicate bones…and then something cold slid between your fingers.

Gaster had put his housekey- in essence, only symbolic, since he used magic for all his doors and windows -into your hand.

“Come and walk my gardens, sometime,” he whispered, his voice tight on the traditional words that began true courtship among his people. They were the same, no matter the speaker’s rank. “Come and see if you enjoy the view.”

What else was there to say? You strung it onto your simple silver chain, your eyes watering at the sight of it resting beside the original little rose charm the necklace had come with. The customary reply came to you easily. “I'll be by in the morning…and stay past sunset.” Then you yawned so hard that your jaw cracked. “Gods…sorry.”

He shook his head, standing easily under your weight. “I can't imagine something more understandable, given the circumstances.” Halfway down the hallway, you realized he was carrying you toward the small bathing room attached to the back of his home. The city was so close to the Holy Mountain that its heat bubbled up through the ground in countless hot springs and geysers, providing natural hot baths and boiling huge reservoirs of clean water far below the stone streets. Even the simplest homes had clean, hot water plumbed to them, thanks to the Lord High Engineer's efforts- those reservoirs, and the copper piping that carried their contents, had been his first great works for Ebbot.  Tens of thousands of pilgrims and travelers came every year just to see and enjoy the wonders, and in doing so, stayed to spend money in the city. During your time at the Grand University, you'd learned that almost a tenth of the kingdom's total riches came from the custom of those very visitors in the capital.

“Now, you know Cook is quite the gossip…” He started, a touch of mirth in his voice. You grinned despite yourself- the Eye-eye was famously as loose-lipped as a clam; she made oysters and scallops seem chatty. “But would you like me to call her to help you? She has many daughters and granddaughters…ahhh, with Dahlia, how many would it be now…?”

“Seven daughters, nineteen granddaughters. Her family line hasn't thrown a single colt in three generations.” 

He shivered playfully above you. “Stars be with their husbands, I'll bet they work them like slaves in those bakeries. Do you want her help?” He offered a regretful smile. “I…don't really know what to do with hair, or…skin.”

You considered it a moment, testing the strength in your arms, then shook your head. “I think I'll manage. Just…stay, if you would, to ensure I don't sink under and go to the Gods.”

The room was so simple as to be spartan, save for the sheer size of the bath within- with a touch of mischievousness as he sat you on a bench, you thought that would be one of the first things you'd change, now that he wished you to be part of his life. It was a crime to ignore such an opportunity for luxury. Turning on the water then rooting in a wicker cabinet nearby, you heard him quietly grumble, “...damned goos and slimes and oils, flowery nonsense…it's perfectly fine as it is for me” and bent your head to hide your grin in the folds of the blanket around you. When you peaked up again, he was poking through a basket that he'd found, but was smirking as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

You made a face. “That seems abjectly unfair, you know. Quite a bit more detailed than ‘general concepts and feelings’, my Lord Greater Monster.” 

He sniffed, closing his eyes for a moment in noble disdain. “If you must know- and I know you must, for you must know absolutely everything around you -it truly will fade a bit after this night and tomorrow. An ancient defensive instinct, from a time when a female of my species may have simply chosen to kill me after bedding me, for the crime of my incursion on her territory. Gave us poor males a bit of a head start.” 

“Huh.” You let the blanket relax around yourself as the room began to heat. “Does it happen with neutrelle Monsters?”

“I have no idea, I've never been with one personally." He sat a series of glass bottles down on the edge of the wide tub. “Though I don't deny the usefulness of the question.” Walking over, he pulled you to your feet. “In that same vein- I have been considering, lately, making a pivot in my studies. My sons are well-capable of stepping into wider roles within the city, though Sans will whine and whinge about the extra work.”

You hummed in interest, letting the duvet fall to the floor and your undergarments along with it. Seeing him blink at the sight of you finally and fully bare before him sent a trickle of warmth down your spine. “So yes…I, errr…I…well hell. I don't remember what I was saying.” 

Taking his hand to step down into the bath, you sighed at the heat, relaxing down onto a bench within. “Pivot in your studies?”

He shook himself slightly, tearing his eyes away from your breasts as the water covered them- they were riddled with red marks and tiny, purplish-dark bruises, where a certain maddened Monster had perhaps not checked his own strength as he mouthed at the soft flesh. “...ah, yes. I wish to make a study of my people proper, of species and magic.” He handed you a bamboo scoop for water. “Lately, I've been thinking…what would have happened, if war had truly been joined thirty years ago? If Magi had turned all their armies against the Mountain, rather than the past centuries of border wars and skirmishes?” Shaking his head, he opened a drain and set the water to a trickle so that it would continually refresh itself, then settled down onto the same bench beside the door that you'd been on. “Entire peoples, lost. All their knowledge, their histories and unique capabilities. No one has ever attempted it before. I'm not sure where to start.”

You pondered his words for a few minutes as you soaked, letting an idea slowly surface- it had been a nebulous project idea of your own for some time. “A kingdom-wide census,” you murmured, thinking aloud. He'd set a series of bottles along the edge; you poured powdered soap gritted with finely ground shells from one into your cupped hand. It smelled like him, and you smiled as you began to scour away the stress of the past few days. “You could collect the information that way, and use the census takers as a way to also gather information about the roads, lands, and waterways. The King Divinity has mentioned several times that he wants to review the landworks and canals as well. And it's practically the perfect training for would-be couriers and military scouts, they'd learn every inch of their assigned regions.”

He was quiet for a moment, then laughed softly. “Damn it all, that's brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant. I was thinking to do it as people came to the city, but your idea kills a whole flock of birds with one stone.” Leaning back against the wall, he rested his head against the side of the cabinet and gazed at you with that same, soft expression. It truly changed his entire face, making him look completely different from the man you usually saw. “What did I ever do without you?”

You dunked your hair, then glanced around, feeling awfully burdensome. “Suffered greatly, my Lord. Um…I'm sorry, none of the soap here is right for hair. And I need my vinegar rinse for it too. Could you…? If you feel well enough?”

He stood. “A moment. In your bathing room?”

“Green clay bottle and the grey crock with a red lid, it has a wicker strainer on top. I'll need that for the herbs within. And my comb beside them.”

He disappeared, and you cleansed the parts of yourself that you didn't necessarily want such a new relationship to watch, then relaxed back and waited…until an idea occurred to you. When the man reappeared with both in hand, you took them from him, then gestured shyly to the water. The inset tub was huge- four people could have fit sprawled without touching. But he was just as stained and bedraggled as you, in his own way…and it would feel so nice to be near him again. 

He glanced down a little, blushing faintly. “Are you sure? I have…availed myself of your company so severely already.”

“Just come here,” you called softly with your eyes closed, starting to work the thin, liquidy hair-soap into your scalp. “Please.” 

A few moments later, you heard the soft susurration of silk falling to the floor, before the water splashed and lapped gently. “I would help you…but my people are made of sharper angles and edges than would suit such softness. I'm afraid I would scratch your scalp.” There was old, soft regret there- someone in the past, perhaps a lover, had not been kind about such features of his body. 

“I'm perfectly happy as I am. Doubtless, having to feel ten-thousand strands of hair pass through your joints would be quite the disturbing experience. Let us both save each other from the discomfort.” You dunked your head again, rinsing the soap out, then turned and started to mix your rinse decoction with a scoop of water. 

“Why vinegar? Does it have special properties?” You could hear him splashing as he washed himself.

“It softens the strands after soap. Use stiff soap, and hair becomes almost unmanageable even with a tonic rinse.” It was obvious that he was asking simple, common questions just to get to know you, and you squeezed your thighs together for a moment- it shouldn't have had such an effect on you…but it did. You poured the rinse through your hair, biting your lip. Everything about him affected you deeply, now that your heart had been given permission. His low voice, the knowledge that he was bare beside you in the water, the memory of his lips against your own…

He took a deep breath, and you realized belatedly that he probably could sense your musings. Glancing back at him, you ducked your head to hide a smile. “Oh, um…sorry. How embarrassing, heavens…”

“Would you be embarrassed?” He propped his head in his hand, leaning comfortably on the edge of the tub and gazing at you. “Would you be anything but immensely flattered and grateful for such attention?”

You sighed, bemused. “No…you're right. Gods, sometimes I wish I'd been born a Monster. My family were strict Church of the Shepherd, you know. My sister was beaten until she couldn't walk, all because she was sneaking out to see the man she was already betrothed to! It… so many years, yet the childhood lessons linger still.”

His face became drawn at the mention of your sister's abuse. “...the sickness of humanity begins and ends with the ease with which they harm their children. I'm sorry that you grew up in such a thing.” He ran a hand through the water, then reached over to adjust its temperature. “Is that why you don't attend Star Temple services? Not that it particularly matters to me, I think you've known me quite long enough to know that I'm not a particularly good Divinity. But you fit yourself so easily into Ebbot in every other way.”

“Honestly? I…felt odd, seeing you there like that…m…my love.” The ‘my Lord’ almost slipped from your tongue- in your haste to cover it, you ended up saying something far sweeter, and far more familiar. He'd just reached for your bottle of hair soap to sniff at the contents, and fumbled it at “my love” so badly that it escaped his wet, smooth grip three times before he caught it and set it back shakily on the edge. Pretending that you hadn't noticed, you closed your eyes and went on. “I think part of me knew if I was forced to face, really face, that other aspect of you… my raising would interfere. You didn't hire me for doggish dedication or religious worship. But besides that, it just felt…intrusive, somehow. We've ended up spending so much time together these last few years, that I guess…above all…I wanted you to be able to have some time away from me. Time away from your one human employee, in case there were things that you just didn't want me to see. I don't know if that makes sense.” 

He didn't say anything in response to your long answer, but when you picked up your comb, he was there behind you, taking it from your hands. “A part I can do,” he murmured. “If you'll instruct me.”

You nodded, touched, and sat between his spread legs at his direction. It took only a few moments to teach him to start at the bottom, to hold the roots at any snarls. Soon, he was stroking it through in slow, meditative movements, and you were unable to stifle the soft noise in your throat. It felt so good, so gentle and relaxing and intimate, and your body couldn't decide if it was slowly sinking into something near sleepiness, or if warmth was lazily pooling in your core at the sensation.

After a few more strokes he stopped, set the comb down, then pulled you back against his chest. “I would give back what you did for me,” he said, his voice low and rough in your ear. “My hands would feel sharp to your womanhood, but…they are not my only feature.” Then he pressed a kiss just under your ear, his mouth lingering against your skin. “I would show my gratitude, if it pleases you.”

Your eyes fluttered back. “Oh... I…I don't expect any-”

“But you want .” Another kiss, lower, then another, pressed to the bruise on your shoulder, and you felt yourself quake in his arms. “You yearn, I feel it like a second body atop my own . You wish for me, wished for me that very night when you first found me. Have you found your completion since then?”

You didn't have to answer aloud. Heart and Soul and mind came together to answer so clearly, so desperately, that even if he hadn't had such a connection to you as he did, you were almost positive he still would have heard it.

‘No.’

‘Please...’

He pressed a last kiss to the back corner of your jaw, turning your chin a bit to be able to reach it, then murmured, “Sleep with me tonight. Come bare, and I will give you all you need. Come clothed, and we will rest together easily.” Then he took your waist in his hands and moved you to the bench beside him, before standing from the water and stepping over to a pile of drying cloths on a low table beside the cabinet. You could do naught but watch him, charmed by his body and the warmth of his words. Your fascination was complete when, after stepping out of the bathing room for a minute or two, he returned in a thin, flowing pair of pants, and draped a simple robe over the back of the bench beside the door. It was undyed silk, soft against your fingertips once you got out and dried yourself- you had no idea where he'd gotten it, for it seemed too big for his slim form. It smelled like the herbs his housekeeper used to freshen clothes put into storage, so whoever's it was, they certainly hadn't worn it in a long time. Feeling nosy, you searched through his cabinet and found tooth cleaning sticks and powder, which you availed yourself of gratefully.

As you chewed one, you also came across a series of small bottles of bath oils and soaps tucked in the back, herbal and fresh. Those made you grin- slimes and oils indeed! Even the most austere man couldn't keep himself from a bit of luxury, it seemed. Once you finished, you turned off the water, and set it to drain with a little lever beside the copper spout. His towel cloths were lovely and soft- even more luxuriously, each was embroidered with warming runes. They added to the sensuality of your body, somehow giving the night an odd, dreamlike quality. You squeezed the water from your hair then combed it smooth, looking at yourself in a silver mirror on one wall. What did you want to happen tonight? You were weary beyond recognition, and yet…

When you approached his bedroom, you heard him speaking quietly, and could see the soft, flickering flares of a speech spell. Stopping to get a drink from the juice he'd brought earlier, and bending to check the crock now hot before the fire- a good herbal tea that you ladled a cup from, sipping with appreciation - you realized after a bit of listening that he was speaking to Guard Captain Snarl. Good, the Captain had been sick with worry for his Lord. He was assuring the other man of his well-being, and giving commands for Royal message runners to be sent to his cousins immediately. You lazed before the fire for a few minutes, letting him attend to his duties while you enjoyed your tea and the comfort of his home- a space you knew so well, that now looked so different…

…no. You were the one who had changed. You'd sat in this room with him countless times, doing anything from working on projects until the wee hours of the morning, to simply playing a game of chess together. Now the two of you were courting, and if things worked out in that direction, then this space, this property, would become yours. It was the traditional way of his people, a dowry paid to ensure the safety and stability of his line. Perhaps, someday, there would even be children, for you knew such things were possible. 

The thought, not necessarily just of children, but of being wedded to the man…it bloomed within you. A Divinity of the Monster people, yours, yours. Yours to hold, yours to tease, yours to uplift and be uplifted by. Yours to learn in new, beautiful ways, and be learned by. 

You untied the belt of your robe. 

Notes:

He's loved her for so long ｡°(°¯᷄◠¯᷅°)°｡

(Comments help author hearts go doki doki- let me know what you think! And follow me on tumblr @beewritesstuff for updates, nonsense, and fanart!)

Chapter 7: Mantle

When you entered his bedroom he had his back to you, sitting on the edge of his bed and speaking into the braided copper wire that facilitated the spell. He bade the other man a good night, then turned…and his eye fell half-closed as you let the open robe pool off your shoulders and onto the floor. Stepping between his legs after he turned to face you, you leaned down, and kissed him with every drop of want that had built in your heart since the night on his veranda. The copper charm fell to the floor, forgotten. He swept his hands down your body, following the curves of your waist and hips, then up to your breasts, your shoulders, your neck- appreciating you, and learning you in a way he hadn't had the patience for earlier in your bed. Then he framed your hips with his fingers, brushing his thumbs softly over the hair between your legs. “Soft,” he murmured, leaning in to press his lips to your belly. “Like all the rest of you- a trap to keep me at home, in bed, whiling my days away forevermore.”

“I'm afraid you've caught me,” you replied, your voice breathy and caught in your chest. “My plans, foiled.”

“I'm almost grateful for the stupid clunches in Magi.” He was drawing you in slowly with a hand on your waist, the other on the bed as he moved backwards onto it, and his gaze went dark with want as you crawled onto the mattress. “Look how great a gift they've given me.” Then he bore you down to the bedsheets, pressing kisses down your neck, lingering when you sighed or shifted beneath him- learning you in a soft, unhurried way. When he brushed his mouth over your chest, you let your thighs fall open to cradle his hips- if he wanted to, you'd let him. You didn't know if he even could bed you that night, after what had happened a scant hour or two ago…but if he wished for it, you would allow it. Your body thrummed for him, your belly fluttering, your heart fit to burst with…

Yes, you could say it now. 

With love. 

But it soon became obvious that he'd been quite literal in the bath- he meant to do for you what you'd done for him, literally. It made sense that he'd be accustomed- his lips and tongue were far gentler than his angular hands. Still, when he mouthed at the bowl of your belly, right above your sex, it sent a wash of anticipation through you…but you wanted to be sure he understood your mind, too.

“Truly, don't do this as a form of repayment,” you said, reaching down to stroke a hand over the top of his head. “What happened earlier…there is no need to keep a score.”

“Perhaps I do it because I want to,” and Gods, but you'd seldom heard such lightness in his voice. Such playfulness. “Because I consider myself rather good at it, have you thought of that? Oh knower-of-all-things?” 

Grinning, you stretched lazily as he dragged his hands down your thighs, shaking for a moment from the tension before relaxing down into his hold. “Alright then… my Lord. Do as you please.”

He snorted, jiggling the flesh of your hips for a moment in repayment for the title, then swept your leg higher. Surprisingly, he started not at your womanhood, but at the crease of your thigh. Long licks that seemed less for pleasure, and more…

Your eyes fluttered back as you realized what he was doing- he was practically washing you. Was luxuriating in your wetness, rolling the taste around in his mouth, a soft noise of pleasure in his chest. It made your breath catch, and sparked an ember in your belly like a spark falling on dry wood. He worked his way up that way, slow and unhurried, until his mouth hovered warmly over your spread sex and you were writhing with anticipation. “That I can taste your want, born of pleasing me , born from the memory of it … there are no words. None at all.”

You meant to answer him, to say something sweet, or perhaps a bit flirtatious, but all that left you was a wordless noise of pleading. You were past propriety, past decorum and sensibility- you wanted him, and so you called for him. 

He whispered something in Celestial, taking a steadying breath, then fell to press his lips softly to your sex. He couldn't use his fingers- the severity of his body was too extreme, the tips of them too sharp to thrust within you. It had to be his mouth only, though he used the flats of his hands to spread you open. The first time he dragged his tongue deeply through your core, both of you cried out. The second time, he lingered at the peak of your sex, where your clit throbbed after days of intense desire without completion, and you threw your head back against his pillows as he lipped at it. The third, and he dipped as deeply in as he could, pressing his tongue so far up inside you that you shook from the rawness of the sensation. 

“Fuck!” He swore against you then, his hands kneading the softness of your thighs as he buried his face in your sex, and there was real desperation in his voice- as if he was the one being pleasured. He licked at you until you were panting, your breath coming high in your throat, then tore himself away to mutter into your flesh. “Stars above me, the taste, the scent. I drove myself mad in here for those days, with the smell of you in my mind. I couldn't stand to admit what I'd scented, but I knew, I knew…”

“I've never wanted someone like I want you.” Your voice was tight, as desperate as it had ever been in your life- he was good at this, and you were closer than you'd expected. “Never, I wanted to scream I wanted you so badly- ah!” 

He fell into you like a beast at your words, sucking and licking, rubbing and moaning, before latching his lips around your clit and suckling you there loudly. It sounded dirty, should have sounded disgusting, but all you could do was brace your feet on the bed and ride his mouth, single-minded and desperate. Your cries were loud, sometimes guttural- you didn't care. Your hair was stuck to your face, sweat misting your chest- you didn't care. Everything in the world focused down on your sex, on the man licking and sucking you like he was starving for the taste of a woman. At some point you reached for his hand; he met your grasp, twining his fingers with yours, and for some reason that was what drew you to the pinnacle. Crying out, you felt it start in the arches of your feet.

“Oh, Gaster… Gaster!” 

You couldn't help it- you pulled yourself up by your grip on his hand, reached down, and grasped him by the back of the head, forcing his face into your folds as you ground yourself on his lips and screamed for him, the pleasure searing you as four days of waiting finally came to completion. He submitted willingly, sucking and sucking at you until you fell back and shoved him away with your foot to his shoulder, gasping. “ Gods, oh gods, oh… oh…”

You could only watch, glowing with pleasure and trembling with the after shocks, as he shoved his waistband down and took his cock in hand. In moments he was groaning your name, his hips jumping, and his essence splattering across your belly and sex. Hot approval made you shake, made you moan at the sensation- you felt like a beast in the jungle, marked by your mate, wordless and pleased. Perhaps his Monster-ness was rubbing off on you, for it was a rather distinctly inhuman thought. He only added to the satisfaction by rubbing his spend into your skin, crawling up beside you and collapsing back on the pillows. You arched into the touch, your eyes falling closed, and swore you could feel ‘protection-satisfaction- mine’ flickering on the edges of your thoughts, a sensation as deep as his voice. 

No words were needed. You reached down blindly until you found his askew waistband, and tugged at it gently- he stripped off his pants, pressing up naked against your side after using them to wipe his face. Then, feeling his magic flicker again on the edge of your mind, just as he'd said you would, you kissed him because you could feel him yearning for your touch and trying very hard to hide it. He had told you- his completion didn't usually come in single bursts of pleasure. He was still hard.  

Feeling mischievous, you caught your breath snuggled in against him, then squirmed down until you were curved around his legs, your head at height with his pelvis. Gods all bless the man's enormous bed- you could get lost in the thing, even with him beside you…or, like you were then, you could comfortably lay with your head pillowed next to his hips as he turned onto his side to face you when you pulled at him, and still have room left at the bottom.

The shape of his body was perfect for this- the hollowness of his belly leaving plenty of room for your head. His cock bobbed before you, sunshine-yellow and weeping…so you took it into your mouth with a hum of satisfaction. Gaster practically jumped with surprise beside you- silly man, what else did he think you were going to do down there? Your hand curved up behind him to encourage his hips, and soon he was thrusting into your lips, moaning above you. The position didn't allow for too much movement, but he could grind himself against your tongue, against the back of your throat, and plainly it was driving him mad. It was astonishing that no other woman had done this for him before; the reward was beautiful. He was completely incapable of keeping his composure, as lost in it as he had been under the effects of the curse. He'd taken his pillow between his teeth, you could hear it muffling him, and reached down to wrap a hand in your hair.

Gods, it was handsome, he was so handsome. You couldn't do much with your arms, had to keep them tucked down the front of your body to give him room…but it was hard to care when he crossed a leg up onto your shoulder and began thrusting faster into your mouth with a low whine, panting and scrabbling at the bed like he needed something to hold onto. He edged himself with your mouth, slowing down until the head was just resting between your lips and swearing between stuttering breaths as you swirled your tongue around the silk-steel magic then stuck it out enough to be able to graze the top of his sack underneath, pulled up tight and desperate as it was. That drove him crazy, made him nearly whimper your name, petting the top of your head and gently rocking back and forth with his hips again. It was the slowest, laziest, most sensual blow job you'd ever given, and the sweet man sounded like he was near tears of pleasure after the third time of forcing himself to slow, to hold himself still and let you torment him. 

“Yes, Stars, yes-” The poor thing was past sentences, it seemed- he crossed his leg further over your head, until his knee was touching the mattress, gently pinning you with his cock in your throat. Then he started to work himself in earnest, pulling back only when you tapped his leg to breathe. But it was impossible to feel powerless in such a position, not when just flicking your tongue across the head, across the tiny, delicate opening there, made him shudder as his toes curled, squirming to get away as much as to get closer to you. When you hooked a hand behind one knee, keeping him close, you could feel the tremble there. You could also feel the awareness on the edge of your mind that he liked being held down that way by you. Not for any sort of power play, but rather because it proved that you wanted him there. 

“I, I'm- oh, fuck!” 

His hips stuttered, his thighs twitching  and you closed your eyes, savoring as his manhood jumped in your mouth and he grit your name out through his teeth. Then you grinned, flicking your tongue against him and making him curse like a sailor, trying to get away from the overwhelming sensation…but you had a good grip on his hips by then, and forced him to spend every last drop between your lips as you tormented him that way.

He didn't try very hard to escape. 

When you finally released him to flop onto his back, working your jaw to relax it, you glanced up and laughed outright- he had a pillow over his face and was sprawled out like a dead man after your attentions. Leaving him with a kiss on his thigh (he swatted at you gently, mumbling something in his throat), you stood on shaky legs and wandered out to find your tea, now cool. Adding to the cup, you took it back in with you, sitting it on the table beside his bed and crawling in with him again. He'd pulled up the blankets while you were gone, and was resting with his eyes closed. The moment you were beside him, he turned into your body and pressed himself to your chest in the most vulnerable act you'd ever seen from the man, wrapping his arm around your hips. He soon fell asleep, snuggled in with his lips pressed to your skin, and you watched his features relax with such love in your heart that it felt like it would burst. Yes, the sun would soon rise…and eventually, that would mean getting up and dealing with the actual day-to-day of the mad change that had come into your life…

But at least you had a few hours alone with him. 

You laid there and watched until the sunrise spread across his face…and at some point, drifted off yourself. 

-

Morning came, and with it, the soft sounds of your Lord…no, your lover, writing in the next room. The rhythm of him grinding ink was like music, familiar and soothing to your very Soul. The smell of Cook's congee, fragranced heavily with ginger and garlic, made your stomach growl- the small table in the corner of Gaster's bedroom was laden with breakfast dishes, covered and seemingly awaiting you. It looked like he'd already eaten, and that touched you. You liked that he’d been in the room having a quiet start to his morning while you still slept. Finding the tossed aside robe, you slid it on and finger combed your hair, sitting in one of the padded chairs at the table and picking through breakfast eagerly. Your body was not thrilled with your recent treatment of it, it seemed, and had decided to protest its hunger and discomfort loudly. Eating cleared your head, as did wandering out through his sitting area in search of the privy on the other side of his house- a facility he'd solely added for you some years ago. He didn't seem to notice your passing, engrossed in writing two letters at once- one with his real hand, one with a spectral, magical creation -a talent that always made you green with jealousy. He'd been at it for some time that morning, writing so quickly that he had parchments spread out across the floor around him to dry.

Bodily needs attended, teeth cleaned, and face washed with lovely warm water, you ambled back into his personal sitting area feeling suddenly…rather lonely? It was a silly, unfamiliar sensation, for you didn't often enjoy company first thing in the morning…

Oh. 

It wasn't your feeling. 

What an odd, but beautiful, gift. 

Picking your way around the drying letters- addressed to magistrates, city officials, high ranking civil servants and palace staff, the city guard captain, and others -you came up to Gaster's side and boldly hugged him, wrapping your arms around his head and shoulders. That reflected feeling of loneliness abruptly vanished, replaced by something that felt like sheer, simple happiness. Gaster sat the brush down, sweeping the letter he'd been working on to the side, then turned on his backless bench to pull you close, spreading his legs so you could step between them. He was fully dressed, an overrobe hanging on the back of a nearby chair as if he'd worn it already that morning, and looked so handsome in the dark blue silk that it took your breath away. He also looked healthy and hale compared to the night before, no longer chalk-white and dust pale.

“Good morning,” you murmured, feeling a bit shy in a robe and nothing else, your hair loose and your feet bare. “Are you feeling alright? Any lingering pain, or…?”

Shaking his head, he ran his hands down your waist, spanning it with his long fingers. “Because of you, I am restored.” Then he frowned. “I hope I didn't wake you.” 

“No, love,” and how easily the pet name came to your lips. His key around your neck felt like a promise against your skin. “Not at all.” 

After a few quiet moments, he took a deep breath, then laughed softly at himself. “I…damn it, I don't really know what to do here.” He looked so young and so sweetly nervous as he glanced up at you. “It's been a long time since I did…this.”

Oh you couldn't help it- you bent and kissed him softly, drawn by the promise of his lips. He chased you when you tried to pull away, drawing you back in and making your breath catch, deepening the kiss until you made a tiny noise in your throat. When you finally could escape him, breathing a little hard, you watched as he glanced down and grinned. Following the line of his gaze, you realized what he was so proud of- the thin silk robe hid nothing, including how hard the peaks of your breasts had gone from his kisses. 

“Goodness,” you muttered, crossing your arms over them as you blushed. Chuckling, he half-turned from you to motion to his desk and the floor. “You are an exemplar of organization and effort. These are replies to a portion of missives, requests and correspondences received this morning, sent in reply to your efforts over the past four days. Why didn't you let some of these fall to the wayside? Half of the ones I'm replying to weren't even signed from you, but from my other lesser assistants and officials- fantastic forgeries, by the way. Did I know you had that talent?”

You turned aside to hide a smile. “I wouldn't know what my Lord means.” Then, more seriously. “Message runners and couriers make the majority of their money off of bribes from city nobility. Usually they don't open the letters, the risk of being caught is too great, and the punishment is severe. But just knowing who is sending to who, and the quantity and changes therein, is so valuable. And that's nothing to say for the actual gossip between officials and nobles.” You sighed. “I can't command your outer servants, and the inner household all feared any news spreading that you were in danger. A perceived weakness, in a city of carrion crows…no. I was the only one who knew all of it, who could continue conversations and projects as if I was a group of twenty instead of one. So…I did.”

“I absolutely cannot let my cousin know of your skill,” he said, looking surprisingly serious. “She would conscript you into palace service in an instant for your level of talent. Of course I knew you were gifted, but…Stars above, woman.” He held up a letter that must have been included in a reply. “You even put cedar shavings into the wax seal on this one, just like Eileni does. Something I've forbidden her from ever sharing the specifics of with another person.” 

Eileni was his personal palace message runner- of all his outer servants, you'd thought she was the most trustworthy, and had morbidly planned to tell her the situation if Gaster hadn't been found or recovered after the first week of his self-imprisonment. Thank all the gods that it hadn't come to that. “I…make it a habit of seeing how all seals in your household are poured. That's how I know that Snarl and the rest of the guard use a secret code within, the shape of the poured seal meaning as much as the contents of the document it protects.”

Gaster shook his head, and you felt his pride bloom in your heart. “My goshawk, how did I ever presume to keep anything from you? I needn't have even bothered. If you don’t know the code system Cook and Jara are trained on-” Jara was his housekeeper “-then you should be, immediately. They were nervous to share such a thing with a human at first, just in case. But I doubt they still retain those feelings. It is number and knot based, and can be sewn into clothes, the edges of flour sacks, etc.”

Huh. You nodded eagerly. “Please! I enjoy such things very much.”

“Would that I had had you during the warring years,” he muttered, pulling you even closer and squeezing you until you squeaked. “Also, you should be resting.”

The moment you started to tell him that you were perfectly fine, and that you weren't even tired anymore, you yawned so hard that it shook you. “Mmhmm.” He rolled his eyes…then looked at you suddenly very slyly, sliding his grip down to cup you by the back of your thigh with one hand, the other going to touch the golden mark on your wrist. Already, it had spread further- within weeks, you knew, the two ends would connect like a permanent bangle of gold. “My Lady needs her rest.” He gazed up at you so warmly while he said it that your heart fluttered, even as you pursed your lips against his (handsome, charming, bossy) manipulations. “Does she find my bed so unpleasant?”

“You're a wretch.” There was absolutely no admonishment in your voice at all, despite your best efforts. “Conniving…”

“Of course, of course.” The ease with which the damn man swept you into his arms as he stood should have been illegal. “And all other terrible insults as well- don't even bother voicing them, I'm imagining their sting already.”

Despite yourself, you were grinning- you'd loved this side of him first, in the very beginning. His dry humor, his wit. “Good. I hope you feel properly chastised.” 

He laid you back in his bed, full of satisfaction at the sight of you there. “You will be happy to know that your own bedsheets have been replaced, as well as your poor pillow- Stars sake woman, did you let a wild tiger into your room last night?” He could barely keep the smirk off his face as he said it. Then he looked a bit more serious. “I…don't expect you to change your life on the edge of a silver piece for me. I doubt you planned to move in with another person this week- if you'd prefer your own bed, I understand-”

“Such a wishy-washy lover, my Lord is,” you said with a gentle smile, interrupting him while you snuggled down into his sheets. You'd never heard him so unsure, so unconfident, as over the past twelve hours- perhaps you could alleviate that a bit. “First he wants me in his bed, then he invites me back out of it…what if I wish to be here, hmm? I'm sure I'll find my own way back to my rooms eventually.” An idea occurred to you then. “The outfit I'd laid out over my desk chair yesterday would be nice to have here, just in case, and the two silver hair pins on my desk. That will make me somewhat decent if we're called upon in a hurry.”

He kissed you so gently then, so sweetly and with such love, that it sent a shiver down to your toes. “I do not want you to feel pressured, by station or formality, or anything else. Stay where you please, sleep where you please- this property has been yours since the day I met you. I just didn't know how to say it. And I will happily fetch your things.” 

You knew Monsters were an on-sight race, sometimes choosing mates within moments of meeting a person and feeling some unspeakable, esoteric compatibility within them. But to hear such a thing from such a man's own lips…

“And I have tended it for you with as much care and love as I will tend you, now.” You reached up and cupped his face, feeling shy and bright and gentled and bold all at once. “Are you sure you feel alright, though? You know you can tell me. No lingering effects? No weakness or discomfort?”

He shook his head, pressing his cheek to your palm and closing his eyes. “My power is formidable- you know this. Once the curse-cycle was broken, I recovered quickly.” Then he brushed a kiss against your fingers. “And you helped, more than I can even say. Your care, your concern, your will that I recover- they are tangible balms to Monsters. The determination of mankind cannot be overstated.” 

Your eyes were growing so heavy so quickly. “Good…did House Carit answer yet? I was waiting for their reply since yesterday morning-”

“Done and recorded for the summer festival, a token sent to their Matriarch.” He smoothed your hair back from your face. 

“And the lumber shipment from Bai-Tai?”

“Confirmation of the delay was received this morning, along with an apology from the merchant- the lie you constructed for the past days, that I was withdrawn in Celestial meditation, covered us well. The reminder of my status makes them eager to retain our business, with all sorts of promises for the future.”

You yawned again. “And…um, oh yes, another two incredibly polite marriage proposals from Lady Sanai and from House Bloom, and confirmations for support on dam repair from the Mason's Guild and the Mage Alliance?”

He smiled. “A moment, taskmistress. Allow me to attend to your other command first.” Vanishing on the spot, he reappeared a few moments later with your things draped over his arm, holding your hairpins carefully in one hand. “Why are these so sharp? Stars above, they come to a razor point. I don't even think they're pure silver either; is that steel underneath?”

Your eyes widened a moment- he saw it. “...that scared you. Tell me why.”

Swallowing hard as you sat up in bed, you glanced at your wrist again to assure yourself that the goldbrush was still there. “My Lord…my love… It is forbidden for any below the nobility, unless they carry a guard's emblem, to carry arms on private grounds. Technically they can be carried on public grounds, but…you know these cities Gaster, they're a patchwork of properties. Half the roads are actually owned by the manors along them, and they all have weapon alert spells. We'd have to stop every two hundred feet for inspection by that family's guards, then be escorted to the next unowned crossroads.”

Gaster frowned, testing the points on his bone fingertip. “That's…impossible. I am the one who required all University students to have basic combat and defense training, to ensure a trained populace in the event of another invasion.”

“And the nobility of all the major cities, Ebbot included, amended that requirement in the Delta Treaty to exclude their own properties, unless permission is expressly granted otherwise.” You cocked your head at him. “You really didn't know?”

“No, I…this is ridiculous. What is the point of training if the tools of that training are not kept with the ones who would use it?! I was only gone for days after the Delta Treaty was drafted, by all the Gods!” He took a deep breath, laying your clothes out carefully over an open drawer of his clothespress, then sat your hairpins atop them. “So I assume, then, that this type of thing is how the gentry and merchant classes avoid such stipulations. Concealment as accessories?”

You nodded, sighing. “Weighted sashes, reinforced hat pins. Wood or steel toes in walking shoes, bodices that conceal thin knives as extra boning. The worst is when the Lords and Ladies avail themselves of you- you cannot fight back, or else the game is up. They'll know that the whispers are more than whispers, and start inspecting clothing and belongings far more closely. Then all chances of protection are gone.”

Gaster flat out dropped the hairpins. “Tell me that has not happened to you.” 

“Under your service? Of course not, your staff is inviolable.”

The man was wise enough to notice your gentle avoidance- he clenched his fists. You tried to soothe him. “I…no, truly. At least not to the most severity. I’m lucky that way, and my position as a civil servant before service to private households gave me the influence to turn down most such things safely.” He still wouldn't look at you. “My L…Gaster, please. Don't let it disturb your morning. Such things…I do not want to normalize them, they are hateful. But they happen. A symptom of the system of Nobility and lesser peoples. Doubtless if you put a hundred naked humans in an empty room and gave one a leaf, the leaf-human would establish themselves as the Great Leaf Lord and abuse the nearest non-leaf bearers.”

“This changes.” There was iron in his tone. “I will change it, for all the necessary reasons. The Treaty has been amended before; it will be amended again. An armed populace without arms or continual training is worthless…as is a human nobility so weak that they force themselves on those who cannot resist, rather than compete for the hearts of the willing. Weakness all around. Pitiful, slovenly weakness. They should be culled like sickly cattle from a herd- there is no value to the continuation of such bloodlines.” 

What else could you say? “...I'll have copies of the initial draft of the Treaty, versus the current, brought in.”

He sat your hairpins down beside your clothes…then quickly picked them back up and held them at arms length, drawing a fingertip down the length of each, his lips moving. For the briefest moment, you swore you saw a cold, distant light around his hands- starlight, condensed and focused. When he finished, they somehow looked sharper, the tips exuding an aura of something you couldn't quite see. “There,” he whispered. “Touch her now, filth.” He motioned to them, turning to you. “They will alert no spells now. None but you will even see them, unless the moon is full. And their strength will not fail you. Their very prick will bring a freezing death at your command.” 

“Oh…” You motioned for them, and he brought them over. “I don't suppose you'd…no, sorry. I don't want to-”

“My power is at your command, until the law is changed.” He had the funniest look on his face. “Whatever you would wish that I can do. Let…let an old man show off for you, a bit. If you would.” 

That made you smile. “Stop that. You're not, conceptually, that old. And fine, I have a bodice with a thin knife down the front. I'd love that one to be particularly hateful, since I only wear it in the worst situations.” You covered another yawn. “Excuse me…oh, right; marriage proposals, and Mage Alliance, and Masons?”

He sat down beside you and kicked off his shoes. “The first two can wait- they will wait -though I will answer Sanai sooner. She has been a good acquaintance to me, and her offer is one of courtesy. The Mason's Guild has not yet sent a reply, but the Alliance is eager to test out some of their younger apprentices. I visited them this morning.” His shirt followed, as you scooted over happily to make room for him. “I…find myself wanting to join you. Is that alright?”

Nodding, you twitched the blankets back for him. “I thought you didn't sleep well with others. You've said it before.”

“I didn't think I did either.” He turned, putting an arm around your waist. “Now, already, I feel like I would miss you.”

The day was breezy and a bit chill, his bed was warm and soft, his curtains blocking some of the sun and blowing gently…and his hand a comfort you could have never imagined. 

You fell asleep.

Notes:

They're so hot togetherrrrr

(Comments help author hearts go doki doki- let me know what you think! And follow me on tumblr @beewritesstuff for updates, nonsense, and fanart!)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Crown and Scepter