[Mad Muses] Jan 2.3 - "Whataya Want From Me" - Adam Lambert
Hey, slow it down whataya want from me
Whataya want from me
Yeah I'm afraid whataya want from me
Whataya want from me
There might have been a time
When I would give myself away
Oooh once upon a time I didn't give a damn
But now, here we are so whataya want from me
Whataya want from me
He hadn’t understood the intrigues at court at first, hadn’t seen how deadly they were--as deadly as any played in Elizabeth’s, perhaps even moreso. He knew that nothing came for free in this life, knew that the Prince Consort came to his bed for some reason of his own. The Fae were cold. They did not love, not the way mortals loved, or so Kit told himself. When the hand tipped, when the request came and he saw what skills they needed...well, then.
He knew why he’d been spared, did he not?
He was a spy, and a Queen’s Man, and well, enough, he’d serve the Prince’s wife and mother, though the loss he felt at his ejection from Murchaud’s bed left his head spinning.
Another betrayal, the magic they’d worked on him.
‘Twas Will’s arrival that put things in perspective, but it wasn’t love that drove him back to the Elf-Knight’s bed, but vengeance and heartbreak that his love was elsewise. And when he wasn’t, the petty games of love and betrayal seemed to consume them all.
It never occurred to him the part Murchaud played, or what he might be doing or thinking or feeling underneath it all. For what could a Elf-Knight truly feel for a mortal man?
The next betrayal stung more--not that they would send him to Hell, but then forbid to go after his Will, to save his Will. That Murchaud would dare forbid him, anything, as if he had dominion or say over Kit’s life. As if he cared what happened.
Kit didn’t give a damn as he rode away. He certainly wasn’t thinking of his Prince as he walked into Hell.
Just don't give up I'm workin it out
Please don't give in, I won't let you down
It messed me up, need a second to breathe
Just keep coming around
Hey, whataya want from me
Whataya want from me
Whataya want from me
He couldn’t bear their touch, after. Not Will’s. Not Morgan’s. Not Murchaud’s. Not even a friendly hand on a shoulder, let alone a lover’s caress. Too much damage done, remembered, all the walls torn down from the trauma at Rhiems, the memories he’d never forgotten, but had shrugged off as ones he’d walked away from.
He wasn’t walking away anymore. He was lost, caught, trapped, held prisoner by his own fear, his and his angel’s. What had been done, what had been wrought, what they’d suffered, what they’d endured...The thought of any physical intimacy made him shy away, and though he saw the hurt most in Will’s eyes, ‘twas Murchaud who came to him, to offer a solution.
He wasn’t ready for it. Not then, not when he couldn’t trust...didn’t know...what could they need...but he filed it away. It was a way, maybe, someday, to end it all, on his own terms. And an offering of freedom--to not be used.
It was something.
Yeah, it's plain to see
That baby you're beautiful
And there's nothing wrong with you
It's me, I'm a freak
but thanks for lovin' me
Cause you're doing it perfectly
Lucifer had proven false. That ought not have hurt as much as it did--The Father of Lies lied, how very unsurprising, in the end--but he was still reeling from the sick betrayal of it when he looked up from where he’d fallen when Mehiel had given him control back to see Murchaud fallen. He didn’t think his body would cooperate to move that fast to get to him, but it did and he did, falling by the Prince’s side.
That Lucifer’s sword had no iron in it was a blessing, though the blood they both were now covered in was less comforting. That Murchaud had come...and to stop the ritual his mother wanted to interrupt only after it had started. The Fae had wanted the power Baines would have brought forth.
Murchaud had wanted him unharmed, had worked with Will and his friends to save him. Had betrayed his mother, his wife, his Queen to do so. The world shifted a little under his bare and bruised feet, and though ‘twas back to Will’s side he stumbled, when they emerged from the bowels of the Tower, he walked between the two of them.
There might have been a time
When I would let you slip away
I wouldn't even try
But I think you could save my life
“My Prince...”
“Is that all I am to thee?”
“No...”
He hadn’t expected to survive it, the private ritual, the sacred marriage, the freeing of his angel, the undoing of what was done to him. His death was the key, after all, and Murchaud had promised him anything to prove his love, even that, because he could not bear to live like this, broken and damaged and with a trapped and broken angel in his breast.
It would destroy something in him to do it, Kit knew, but he’d do it. And when the knife pierced his heart to finish it, there was, indeed, peace, surprising and shocking, for he’d expected to get himself tumbled straight back to Lucifer.
Except...grace. Grace in freeing the piece of God he’d held inside him for so long. Grace in second chances. Grace in the stuttering breath drawn through blood and pain and the new scar he bore in proof of the ways he’d been claimed by so many.
And the pain in his lover’s touch was gone, even as he felt the hot tears scalding his chest as his Prince grieved for what he’d done. Kit pulled in another breath, hips arching slightly up against Murchaud’s as he opened eyes sticky with blood. “Consummatum est,” he whispered, and tugged lightly at his bonds, wishing more than anything to wrap his arms around his Elf-knight and hold him close, and never let him go again.
Just don't give up I'm workin it out
Please don't give in, I won't let you down
It messed me up, need a second to breathe
Just keep coming around
Whataya want from me
Yeah I'm afraid whataya want from me
Whataya want from me
There might have been a time
When I would give myself away
Oooh once upon a time I didn't give a damn
But now, here we are so whataya want from me
Whataya want from me
He hadn’t understood the intrigues at court at first, hadn’t seen how deadly they were--as deadly as any played in Elizabeth’s, perhaps even moreso. He knew that nothing came for free in this life, knew that the Prince Consort came to his bed for some reason of his own. The Fae were cold. They did not love, not the way mortals loved, or so Kit told himself. When the hand tipped, when the request came and he saw what skills they needed...well, then.
He knew why he’d been spared, did he not?
He was a spy, and a Queen’s Man, and well, enough, he’d serve the Prince’s wife and mother, though the loss he felt at his ejection from Murchaud’s bed left his head spinning.
Another betrayal, the magic they’d worked on him.
‘Twas Will’s arrival that put things in perspective, but it wasn’t love that drove him back to the Elf-Knight’s bed, but vengeance and heartbreak that his love was elsewise. And when he wasn’t, the petty games of love and betrayal seemed to consume them all.
It never occurred to him the part Murchaud played, or what he might be doing or thinking or feeling underneath it all. For what could a Elf-Knight truly feel for a mortal man?
The next betrayal stung more--not that they would send him to Hell, but then forbid to go after his Will, to save his Will. That Murchaud would dare forbid him, anything, as if he had dominion or say over Kit’s life. As if he cared what happened.
Kit didn’t give a damn as he rode away. He certainly wasn’t thinking of his Prince as he walked into Hell.
Just don't give up I'm workin it out
Please don't give in, I won't let you down
It messed me up, need a second to breathe
Just keep coming around
Hey, whataya want from me
Whataya want from me
Whataya want from me
He couldn’t bear their touch, after. Not Will’s. Not Morgan’s. Not Murchaud’s. Not even a friendly hand on a shoulder, let alone a lover’s caress. Too much damage done, remembered, all the walls torn down from the trauma at Rhiems, the memories he’d never forgotten, but had shrugged off as ones he’d walked away from.
He wasn’t walking away anymore. He was lost, caught, trapped, held prisoner by his own fear, his and his angel’s. What had been done, what had been wrought, what they’d suffered, what they’d endured...The thought of any physical intimacy made him shy away, and though he saw the hurt most in Will’s eyes, ‘twas Murchaud who came to him, to offer a solution.
He wasn’t ready for it. Not then, not when he couldn’t trust...didn’t know...what could they need...but he filed it away. It was a way, maybe, someday, to end it all, on his own terms. And an offering of freedom--to not be used.
It was something.
Yeah, it's plain to see
That baby you're beautiful
And there's nothing wrong with you
It's me, I'm a freak
but thanks for lovin' me
Cause you're doing it perfectly
Lucifer had proven false. That ought not have hurt as much as it did--The Father of Lies lied, how very unsurprising, in the end--but he was still reeling from the sick betrayal of it when he looked up from where he’d fallen when Mehiel had given him control back to see Murchaud fallen. He didn’t think his body would cooperate to move that fast to get to him, but it did and he did, falling by the Prince’s side.
That Lucifer’s sword had no iron in it was a blessing, though the blood they both were now covered in was less comforting. That Murchaud had come...and to stop the ritual his mother wanted to interrupt only after it had started. The Fae had wanted the power Baines would have brought forth.
Murchaud had wanted him unharmed, had worked with Will and his friends to save him. Had betrayed his mother, his wife, his Queen to do so. The world shifted a little under his bare and bruised feet, and though ‘twas back to Will’s side he stumbled, when they emerged from the bowels of the Tower, he walked between the two of them.
There might have been a time
When I would let you slip away
I wouldn't even try
But I think you could save my life
“My Prince...”
“Is that all I am to thee?”
“No...”
He hadn’t expected to survive it, the private ritual, the sacred marriage, the freeing of his angel, the undoing of what was done to him. His death was the key, after all, and Murchaud had promised him anything to prove his love, even that, because he could not bear to live like this, broken and damaged and with a trapped and broken angel in his breast.
It would destroy something in him to do it, Kit knew, but he’d do it. And when the knife pierced his heart to finish it, there was, indeed, peace, surprising and shocking, for he’d expected to get himself tumbled straight back to Lucifer.
Except...grace. Grace in freeing the piece of God he’d held inside him for so long. Grace in second chances. Grace in the stuttering breath drawn through blood and pain and the new scar he bore in proof of the ways he’d been claimed by so many.
And the pain in his lover’s touch was gone, even as he felt the hot tears scalding his chest as his Prince grieved for what he’d done. Kit pulled in another breath, hips arching slightly up against Murchaud’s as he opened eyes sticky with blood. “Consummatum est,” he whispered, and tugged lightly at his bonds, wishing more than anything to wrap his arms around his Elf-knight and hold him close, and never let him go again.
Just don't give up I'm workin it out
Please don't give in, I won't let you down
It messed me up, need a second to breathe
Just keep coming around