Stars Never Lie (a Cinderella Story), Part 3/4 | AS/S | NC-17

[persepolis130]

In the morning, Pansy wakes me. I expect her to be cross with me, or filled with uncomfortable questions, but she's not. I hear her by the window, whistling an old song about a love struck maiden.

My head is pounding, and my mouth feels like it's been packed with cotton. "Stop," I murmur. "Please stop…"

"Oh, but I'm in such a good mood," she says. "Today is my special day!"

I moan, "Special day for what?"

She giggles and comes to the bed, and I blink up at her.

She's wearing the strangest things. Thrown haphazardly over her shoulders is a cloth that upon examination reveals itself to be a richly embroidered crimson tunic; at her waist hangs a skirt with dozens of tiny pleats in an interlocking pattern of clouds, flowers, and good luck symbols. On her head sits an exquisite headdress of cloisonné flowers with leaves of jade and a curtain of pearl strands falling before her eyes. But those things could only be…

"Those are mine!" I proclaim, indignant. "For my wedding, those are mine! My wedding costume and headdress! What are you doing wearing my things?"

"Well, you're not interested in getting married, so I thought I'd borrow them for the day. I told you I'd look lovely!" she says, and turns her head so that tiny gold butterflies I hadn't noticed dance amongst the flowers on her head.

I pull my wobbly body from bed and start toward her, incensed. Behind her, taking up a full corner of my room, a half dozen trunks are piled, along with an end table, chairs, and a shelf of books. I gape at them.

"Not very ladylike!" Pansy announces.

I snap my mouth shut and clear my throat. "But what are these doing here?" I ask. My head pounds with the words, and I bring a hand to my temples.

Pansy giggles again. "They're your dowry, silly! Did you think your grandfather was going to send you away empty handed? He can't have people thinking we're poor, now can he?"

"Dowry?" I say, surveying the cache. I open the nearest trunk and find neat stacks of clothing I've never seen before, run my fingers across the spines of books I've never read. "All of this is mine?"

She leans against the wall, pulling the veil of pearls away from her eyes. "Well, you should pick a few things to give as gifts to your new sister and mother-in-law, but the rest…" she shrugs.

But this makes no sense! Grandfather's selling me off for my bride price, he said so himself. In a few days' time, I won't be his responsibility anymore, so why is he parting with so much wealth? These things cost a small fortune! Why not send me on my way with a few trinkets as custom requires?

"He didn't have to give you all this," Pansy says, as though reading my mind. "He does love you, you know. He wants you to be happy. That, and he's in a particularly good mood today. Your bride price just arrived, and the Prince threw in a half dozen peacocks."

"But I am happy," I say. "I mean, I was… before all of this madness began…"

"Well, now you're lying to both of us," Pansy tells me. She takes my headdress off and sets it on the bookshelf. The pearls click against the lacquered wood. "In another year or two, you'll be too old to marry off. Do you really want to sit around this place for the rest of your life? What good is that doing anyone? At least at the Palace, you'll be able to…"

She continues, but I don't hear her. The butterflies on my wedding headdress float daintily above their flowers, and the morning light catches on the enamel. I'm drawn to the shimmer like a moth to a lantern. The feel of it is glorious in my hands, and when I slide the combs into my hair, I feel like a princess.

My mirror tells a different story.

I haven't been eating or sleeping properly, and my face shows it. My skin looks waxy, my lips pale, and bluish bruises encircle my eyes. I turn to catch my profile, and my cheeks look pinched, my chin pointier than ever.

What have I done to myself?

"Jade, are you even listening to--"

"Dumplings!" I shriek. "Dumplings and eggs! And rabbit and pork and rice and-- anything to fatten me up! Pansy, quickly, alert the servants! Tell them to-- How long do I have before the wedding? How long!"

"And vanity saves the day once more," Pansy mutters, and orders me up some food.

She sits with me, having safely draped my bridal costume over the bookshelf, nibbling as I gorge myself on anything I can shove into my mouth. Grease drips down my wrist, and I lick it off. It's terribly unladylike, but the very smell of food makes me salivate. However did I go so long without?

"So," Pansy says, examining an empty plate, " about last night…"

I nearly choke on a mouthful of marinated bean sprouts.

"No one's blaming you, Jade," she assures me. "Being married out is never easy for a girl. We expected worse, actually, considering it's you."

I set down my chopsticks and bowl, feeling suddenly ill. I suppose I've been trying not to think of what happened, but it was my fault, wasn't it? Step-Grandmother is crazy, everyone knows that. She can't help herself; she can rarely even use a chamber pot properly! But she only came outside because I was there, and now our guard dog is dead, and Black…

If I didn't have these useless feet, maybe I could've saved them both.

But surely Black is fine. You can't kill someone who's already dead, right? I had him killed when he was a fish, didn't I? But what if, when he's in human form…

"Your grandmother was screaming the name Black, wasn't she?" Pansy asks me.

I wipe at my lips, guilt assuaging my hunger. "It's not her fault-- she had no idea what she was saying. She was… confused. I'm sure she would've started in on White and Red in a moment."

Pansy snorts. "Confused, is it? She murders a dog in the place of a traitor, and that makes her confused?"

"A traitor?" I ask, baffled.

She nods. "Black was a cousin of your grandmother's. He turned his back on us and supported the Manchu government. Wanted to force us to stop binding our feet and end political corruption."

I gasp at such insanity. "Stop binding our feet? How horrifying! And-- and where would politics be without corruption? The whole system is based upon lies and subterfuge!"

"Exactly," Pansy agrees. "The man was out of his skull. Thankfully, he was killed by the Flight of Death, but not before your step-grandmother's first husband… or great-uncle, or whatever you want to call him… anyway, not before Black had him executed for treason. Back when she still able-minded, your step-grandmother swore revenge upon Black's spirit for his betrayal. Maybe she'll think she's got it now and finally join her ancestors. After she's buried, I want those earrings she has, the ones with the opals…"

I wonder how much of Pansy's story is true. Black, a traitor?

In my mind's eye, Step-Grandmother's face appears as it did last night, triumphant and intelligent and sane as sane can be. The image is replaced by one of Black as a man in majestic grey robes, my would-be savior, his arm outstretched to shield me from danger.

"Was Black so very handsome in life?" I wonder aloud.

Pansy snorts. "The hopeless ones always are. But enough about that, it's water under the bridge. We need to talk about your wedding."

I sigh. Leave it to Pansy to care more about trivialities than matters of actual importance. "What about it? I'm a dutiful young woman, I obviously know what's required of me whilst my new family completes the ceremony. It's not complicated."

"Then you also know what your mother-in-law is going to give you," Pansy says, "and you can probably reason out the fact that it won't do you much good."

A flush rises to my cheeks, and I swallow hard. As my new family celebrates my arrival, my mother-in-law will give me her confidential book of knowledge for a new wife. In it will be not only a woman's secrets for a harmonious relationship, but tips for pleasing her husband on their wedding night.

Being a man myself, I have a fairly good idea of what a woman could do to satisfy one… but how am I to perform such acts? Or perhaps the better question is, how am I to feign performing them? Even if the room is dark, or I keep my clothes on, or he's so drunk he can barely stand, won't it be obvious even to someone as thick as he is that I'm not doing things properly?

Is it too late to claim I can't read?

"Not to worry," Pansy tells me, a smile on her lips. "I'm an expert in these matters."

"Don't remind me!" I groan.

She rolls her eyes. "Look, there are a dozen things you can do to make him forget all about clouds and rain."

I hang my head in shame. Clouds and rain is what they call the physical joining of bodies, the meeting of masculine yang of the earth and feminine yin of the heavens. When heaven and earth come together, the rain falls, the clouds dissipate, and harmony emerges.

But how am I to make the rain fall when I have no clouds?

"…usually works pretty well, though you'll want to be careful if he's too grabby," Pansy is explaining, oblivious as always to my emotions. "They call it 'playing the flute,' and I know you can guess what that is--"

I cover my ears. "There is no need to talk filth!" I exclaim.

Pansy pulls my hands down. "When you're married, it's not filth. It's--"

But I cover my ears back up, humming the same song she was whistling earlier to drown out her voice. She rolls her eyes, and I throw her a stern look. I'm not married yet, and I'm pretty sure filth is filth no matter what.

* * * * *

On the day of my wedding, I don't eat with my family. My fiancé has had a veritable feast prepared for them, but as custom dictates, I stay in my room to prepare myself.

We Han are particularly superstitious when it comes to weddings, and a mirror and sieve have been hung above my door to ward off any ill-intentioned spirits. My eyes keep darting to the windowsill, hoping Black will fly in, but to no avail. Is he being kept away by the charms because he means me harm? Or is he too weakened to assume another incarnation?

Pansy comes with her daughter and two servants to do my hair and makeup. Another servant comes with a dish of symbolic wedding foods: seeds of the water lily, sunflower, and pumpkin to bring many sons, and pork spareribs to give me the strength to bear them.

I accept what's offered and don't mention the irony of the situation.

Neither does anyone else.

The servants then wash my limbs in water scented with pomelo leaves, yet another ward against evil. Pansy washes and rebinds my feet for the last time, and I can't help but wonder who shall do it for me in my new Manchu household. I want to ask if Grandfather has included a servant in my dowry, but as there is nothing I can do if he hasn't, I hold my tongue.

The servants apply the white powder to my face, rubbing daubs of color into my lips and cheeks. Pansy pins my hair up with gold and jade hairpins, affixing my headdress atop it. My chubby step-sister brings my wedding costume, and even as she steps on the hem and pulls a stitch loose, I realize I'll miss her.

Why do we never appreciate what we have until we lose it?

In my wedding finery, I lead the women with delicate, swaying steps to our ancestor shrine, where I thank Mother and Grandmother and the rest of our family for watching over me, and say goodbye. This is my last time speaking with them; they are no longer mine, either. From now on, my guardians shall be my husband's ancestors.

May they forgive me if I'm not terribly reassured by the thought.

A few of the servants are crying, though I can't fathom why they'd be upset that I'm leaving. Perhaps they simply like to cry. Grandfather's old concubines, with their wrinkled lips, grey hair, and gnarled hands, cluck and pat at my shoulders, though I'm sure all they care about is the upcoming feast. One of them squeals, and the group makes a hasty retreat as Step-Grandmother approaches.

I take her hands before she can start fussing with the frogs of my tunic. "I wish I could take you with me," I whisper in her ear. "Just us two. Wouldn't that be nice?"

She laughs her crazy laugh, head thrown back, and then leans in to murmur, "I have total confidence in you, Scorpius. Believe in yourself, and all you wish for shall be yours."

I gape at her, stunned speechless.

She smiles, expression clever and maybe just a touch evil. Then, she goes back to staring into nothing and pulling at her own hair again.

"I love you," I whisper, tears in my eyes, and kiss her on the cheek.

Grandfather meets me at the front doors with my red silk veil. "Your life is now in your own hands," he tells me, voice devoid of emotion. "I know you will make us proud."

He lifts the veil over my headdress, covering me to the shoulders. From the murky red light within, I tell him, in the same emotionless tone, "Do not speak to me. I'm not your plaything anymore."

The noise is deafening as he leads me to the palanquin. The band that Grandfather has hired plays to wish me farewell and congratulate the family on finding a child of their House a suitable match, whilst I, all but blind beneath the veil, am helped to my seat. Children laugh and shout as they catch the treats and shiny copper cash being thrown by the men in my wedding parade, but I don't see them.

After a time, the sounds fade, and only the footfalls and panting breaths of the litter bearers and men behind them carrying my dowry reach me. I think about what I'm feeling and what, as a bride, I should be feeling. Nothing comes to mind, so lean back against the seat and close my eyes.

Before I know it, a strong hand is shaking me awake. "Time to meet your new mother," a male voice I know from somewhere says, and the hand takes mine.

I hold the veil out before me to be sure that my steps meet with solid ground as we make our way inside, but my face remains covered. Somewhere in the distance, fireworks crack and pop, and the sounds of music and happy voices drift to my ears. If my life had gone as it should have, I might have had such a celebration one day, welcoming a wife into my family, life, and bed.

"Is this her?" a woman asks.

"Well, I can't see her face, but she showed up in a palanquin dressed in bridal red, so I'm guessing it is," my escort says.

"I'm not in the mood for your jokes today," the woman snaps, and I now recognize her voice as that of the Banner Prince's wife. "Just bring her in."

His hand on my back guides me into the bridal chamber. "Would you like to take her to the shrine to meet the ancestors first?" he asks. "It might calm her to know she's being watched over."

"Tomorrow will be fine for that," she tells him. "She doesn't need to be involved in the ceremony. Leave us."

He settles me in a chair and gives my shoulders a squeeze before walking out. Perhaps the gesture was meant to be comforting, but I feel worse than ever. How could he think he might help? I'm beyond being comforted.

I believe I shall never feel comfort again in my life.

"I don't approve of my son's choice," my mother-in-law's voice states, shocking me with its fierceness, "but it is his choice, and as a mother, I'm forced to respect it. And, of course, he's been talking so incessantly about you that I might've been forced to strangle him otherwise. So tell me, are you all he says you are?"

I swallow, not sure what response she's looking for. I'm nothing he says I am. How could I be? At length, I reply, "I am what my family has made me."

She sighs. "That's what I was afraid of."

I don't know what that means, but if I was nervous before, I'm an utter wreck now. I've done nothing to her, yet she obviously hates me. Making enemies usually takes at least some effort, even for me!

I hear her monstrous feet slapping against the floor, first away from me, then towards, and I feel light-headed. "Here's the book," she says, and plops something in my lap. "Read it and make my son happy."

My fingers slide across the cover, trembling. I try to thank her, but my voice catches in my throat.

"You're welcome," she says. "Now let's get a few things straight. The women's quarters are my domain. You have no influence there, nor shall you seek it. You will have ten eunuchs to attend to you, no more, and you shall not attempt to commandeer anyone else's. The Imperial Prince of the Bordered White Banner is the head of your house now, and you shall always be pleasant in his presence. Do not question his authority. If my son tires of you, or you lack respect, I will see that you're divorced and sent home in disgrace. Do I make myself clear?"

Again, the words don't come, so I merely nod my head.

"That's what I thought," she says.

And with that, she stalks from the room.

I grip the book in my lap so tightly that my fingers ache. I want to read, I do, but it's clear there's no chance of that. My stomach is empty, but it churns and makes me feel as though I might vomit. My eyes water, but I stop myself from crying because it would ruin my makeup.

I sit in silence for three hours.

The weight of the headdress makes my neck terribly stiff.

Raucous voices pierce the air as the wedding party approaches to drop off the groom. The men laugh and shout, and I fear they plan to enter the bridal chamber along with him. Not wanting them to catch me with reading material of such a delicate nature, I rise to my feet, swaying to a cabinet and hiding the book in one of its drawers.

Albus bursts through the door. Behind the veil, I only recognize him by his voice. He laughs, yelling, "Oh, go home, you freeloaders! You've had your festival, this is no teahouse!"

The men roar in laughter at his words, and I hear a few of them whistle and make improper comments about my feet. The door closes on them, and they make a show of beating against it to gain entry. I take a deep breath as the noises die out, and the men return to their rice wine.

As custom dictates, Albus is dressed in red as well, the bottom of his trousers and shoes showing through the gap beneath my veil. His fingers appear beneath the edge of the fabric, and I feel the silk slide from my head.

The world is suddenly bright with candles, the nighttime air cool against my skin. I blink at my new husband, my eyes taking a moment to focus. Albus's face is flushed, his eyes brilliant and sober, smile making my heart beat that strange way it only does when he's around.

"Hey," he says.

His hair is still stupid.

He brings his fingertips to my cheek and tells me, "You're even more beautiful than I remembered."

I look away, a flush rising to my face.

"You can look at me now, we're family," he assures. His hand glides to the back of my neck, stroking at the soft hairs that have escaped Pansy's pinning.

"Isn't that convenient," I murmur, shivering at his touch.

"So do you want talk a bit and get to know each other better, or should we just skip right to the clouds and rain?" he asks.

I pull away, turning my back to him. What a crude question!

"Look, I don't know how you were raised," he informs me, voice firm though not unkind, "but in this household, you've got to speak up. We're sort of a bunch of loudmouths, and if you stand around looking prim all the time, nobody's going to take you seriously for long."

Yes, it's clear that in this family, it takes a slap across the cheek, knee to the groin, or shoe to the forehead to be taken seriously.

"Come on, you and I are married now," he urges. His hands slide across my waist, just above where the spread of my hips should be. "You don't need to be embarrassed. There's nothing wrong with getting to know each other later if you want to skip the talking for now. We've got years for that. I know how much you want me."

"I don't," I lie, wanting nothing more than to fall back into his arms. "I never have. And I never will."

He snorts and wraps his arms around my ribcage. "You're a terrible liar. Now come on, let's get you in my bed."

"For what possible purpose?" I demand. I bring my hands up to peel his arms off my middle, but for some reason I can't explain, my fingers glide along his forearms in what could almost be a caress. I make no sense to myself, and my voice trembles as I ask, "Just how stupid are you?"

His lips press against the back of my neck, and my knees feel as though they may give out. "I've got the girl of my dreams in my arms," he murmurs against my skin. "That doesn't seem so stupid to me."

I swallow and shift against him, wanting to be at once both closer and further away. He draws me toward him, the movement shifting my pleated skirt. It brushes against the hardness between my legs, and I gasp.

"My bed," he whispers in my ear. "Please."

My head reels and tips to the side, and his lips kiss a line up my neck. He sucks at my earlobe, my earring clicking against his teeth. I murmur, "I can't make you happy," even as my eyes drift shut.

"You already do, Jade," he whispers back.

"But I'm not… I don't have a…" I struggle for the words with a mind that's filled with him: his arms, his lips, his erection pressed against my backside.

I lean in so that the barest whisper can be head. "I've got a…" I swallow, my voice barely audible, and say the word into his ear.

His lips pull away from my skin, and I immediately regret saying it. I had to, there was no choice, but I feel so good when he touches me, like it's all a cruel joke. It's almost like I'm a woman after all, and he really could lay me down on his bed, press between my legs and…

He laughs. "Of course you've got a penis. What would be the point if you didn't?"

I twist in his arms to stare at him, my mouth hanging open.

"So can I undress you now?" he asks.

"But I-- you-- what--" I stammer. This is unbelievable! He knew I was a man, but he married me anyway? How is that possible? How could-- How did-- He knew?

"I thought you were pretty when I first saw you, and your feet are really sexy, but I meet a lot of pretty girls with little feet. You knew my favorite opera, though, and that really impressed me," he recounts. His eyes go misty as he adds, "But when I wrapped my hand around your cock, that's when I knew it was love!"

He's an imbecile. I should have known. No, I did know, I just didn't understand to what depth his idiocy extended.

"I'm sure you've heard stories about me," he continues, stroking at the fabric of my tunic as though he's said nothing out of the ordinary. "About how I consort with the lower classes… sowing crops, forging iron, sweeping restaurant floors… but there's a reason for all of that. The things they say I do with women, though… that's all lies, I swear. I've never touched a woman before, not even once. You see, I was waiting for you, even before we'd met!"

I cross my arms with difficulty, as he hasn't let me go yet, and I'm still tangled up in his embrace. "If you're trying to claim you've never even been to a teahouse--"

"Oh no, I've been to a teahouse. Quite a few, actually, my uncle takes me," he says. "There's one girl at a place just down the way who makes him so giddy, he walks into poles. I got pretty bored playing Double Sixes with the ugly ladies whilst Uncle made noises in the back room, though, so I got to talking with the owner's son, and he taught me about mercantilism. It's an economic theory. Do you know what the economy is?"

I roll my eyes and press the palm of my hand firmly into his face. "Of course I do," I announce, shoving hard. "What idiot doesn't know what the economy is? And who hasn't heard of mercantilism?"

At length, his arms loosen, and I'm able to pull away. He rubs at his nose, which is red from being smashed by my palm. "Um, pretty much nobody knows about mercantilism. It's a Western theory. Even Hugo hadn't heard of it when I told him."

"What's a hugo?" I demand.

He snorts. "My best friend and cousin, that's his name. He's younger than I am, but he already knows more than most of the court scholars. He brought you here from your litter. I'm going to undress you now."

I make a noise of protest and step away from him. I never got a good look at the room though, with my veil on the whole time, and I nearly fall when the side of my foot strikes a piece of furniture. I reach out to steady myself, and my hand grasps cool green stone.

The stone is jade, and it forms a massive bed behind me, with scallops and carvings like the most intricate jewelry, and arches that reach to the ceiling. I run my fingers along it, delighting in the smooth feel of my namesake, and I find the form of a tiger beneath my fingertips.

My first thought is that this bed must have cost more than what my family's farmlands net in a year. The second is:

"You sleep in a bed made entirely of jade, and you couldn't remember my name? Were you born oblivious?"

"I come by it honestly," he admits with a shrug. His fingers rub at the back of his neck, and he fusses for a moment with the plait of his queue. "Have you never seen a dragon bed before, then?"

I shake my head, emotions battling between awe and indignation.

"This one's a zodiac bed, too, it's got all twelve animals on it. Father had it commissioned when I was a boy. I was learning about the heavens from my tutor-- you've met him, the ugly one who's always hitting me-- and I was obsessed with stargazing. I fell asleep outside on the upper terrace one night and made myself sick and almost died. Father wanted to make sure I'd sleep where I should after that."

"He sounds like a very generous man," I murmur, my fingers sliding over the carved shape of a horse. "This craftsmanship is amazing."

Albus hums his assent. "The best part, though, is when you lie down. If you put out all the candles except the ones over there," he points across the room to a low table on which several slender pillars of wax flicker, "the light shines through the lattice and forms constellations on the ceiling. Here, I'll show you…"

I want to decline, but he's already blowing out the candles beside the bed, so I lower myself onto the mattress, not wanting to be rude. When I look up, my headdress flops backwards, and I have to put my hands to the gold flowers to keep it from falling off. A butterfly flutters wildly against my finger, and I cringe, hoping I haven't bent anything. "Where are the constellations?" I ask.

"Back towards the wall," he says. "You've got to look closely, they're just pinpricks of light. Lie down, you'll see them better that way."

I squint and still see nothing, but the silly pearls are hanging in front of my face. Holding the headdress still with one hand and making sure to keep my legs covered by my skirt, I lie back and rest my head against the pillow. I see the candlelight on the ceiling at last, tiny dots twinkling like stars in the heavens. How clever!

Albus says something, and I hear the sound of a drawer opening, but I ignore him, wondering how the stars are oriented. Were they set, perhaps, as they had been on the day of his birth? How happy it would make me to find my own constellation!

"Which way is North?" I ask.

"The way you're facing," he answers as his weight dips the mattress beside me.

I squint and trace the dots with my finger, but as pretty as the sight is, I can't find Scorpius. I look for Draco next, with Rastaban and Eltanin for eyes, but I don't see that either.

"I don't understand. Where are they?" I ask, puzzled.

"Oh, the constellations?" he asks, voice low and silky smooth by my ear. "I made that part up, actually. Sorry about that."

What an irksome boy! Who does he think he is, making his own wife feel a fool on their wedding night, looking for nonexistent stars! I push aside a strand of pearls, intent upon informing him just how I feel about his inane little games, only to discover that speech is impossible.

He's lying next to me on his side, head on the pillow beside me.

He has no shirt on.

I know what a naked male chest looks like; I've seen my own more times than I could count. While mine is pale and slender, though, with the curve of my ribs showing through the skin like a delicate birdcage, his is strong and supple with wide, tanned shoulders. His hardened nipples are held on a plateau of muscle, which dips downward in ripples toward his navel. A trail of dark hairs below it disappears beneath his trousers.

That crazy feeling takes me over again, the one that makes me perform the most rash and unpardonable acts, and I reach out a hand and run my palm across his chest. His breath draws in sharply, and mine catches in my throat.

"I'm going to undress you now," he whispers.

In his eyes is a reckless look I've never seen before, boldness and daring held in its depths, and I'm caught up in it like a fish in a trap. His hands are on the front of my tunic, working at the frogs, but even recognition of what he's doing can't break the power his gaze has over me. My mind screams, No! when his fingers brush against my bare skin, and I swallow.

"Take off my headdress," I whisper, "or you'll ruin it."

"If I ruin it," he whispers back, "I'll buy you a new one."

I run my hand down the muscles of his abdomen, fingers feeling out every magnificent bump and hollow, and murmur, "See that you do."

He laughs, eyes finally breaking from mine, and his stomach clenches beneath my touch. My fingers are pale and fragile looking against his skin. He places his hand over mine, fingers square-tipped and nails blunt, and draws my touch downward. My fingertips rasp against the course hair beneath his navel, and I can't help but notice how tightly his trousers have been drawn across his hips.

He shifts, and a dark spot forms on the red fabric, wet with his desire. My own desire throbs between my legs, drawing my skirt up like a tent. I bring my knees up so that Albus doesn't see, and it hangs stiffly between my thighs, an uncomfortable weight I can't ignore.

Albus leans over me, and his mouth is on my neck again, sending frissons though my body on its wet trek across my skin. His tongue circles the shell of my ear, then plunges inside, wet and slick and hot. The sound is enticing in its obsceneness, and it touches on something visceral inside me, sets my head reeling. I grope for something to steady myself against, fingers of one hand biting into his wrist, and the others scrabbling to grab hold of him through his trousers.

He's so warm down there, solid and firm in my grasp. I press my thumb to the wet spot on the cloth, and he grunts, his teeth nipping into my earlobe.

"Don't bite!" I hiss, liking it too much. My voice breaks and sounds more masculine than I should allow. I clear my throat, worried he'll be offended.

I don't think he noticed my voice, though, as one of his hands runs down my side, coming to rest on my thigh. His fingers pluck at the fabric, and I feel it inch up my leg until he exposes my bare skin to the air. A stark white knee pokes out from beneath red silk, and I wince. If my skirt falls to my lap, my maleness shall be exposed in a terribly inelegant manner! A surge of shame flows through me, and my hand grips involuntarily at the bulge in his trousers.

He gasps. "Jade! Jade, I've waited so long--"

"I don't want to see," I whisper, panicked, and bring both hands to my body. I pull my tunic to cover the flat plain of my chest, wishing I could curl into a ball and hide. "Please, I don't want to…"

"But you're so beautiful," he tells me.

"No," I cry, face burning with equal parts shame and desire, "it's disgraceful!"

"Shh…" He brings his lips to mine, but I turn away.

Sighing, he props himself up with a sturdy, tanned arm, and reaches for my foot. I'm sure he's going to do something strange to my lilies, and I brace myself for his perversions, but he's only taking my shoes off. His hands urge my legs apart at the ankle, and my heart flutters.

"I don't want to see it!" I remind him.

"Then close your eyes," he advises, and slides a hand up the inside of my thigh.

I shouldn't like it. I should scream or burst into tears, or try to escape. It would only be natural.

But I don't. I don't even want to. In fact, it's the last thing I want to do.

Taking a deep breath, I shut my eyes, trembling as his lips join his hand, kissing up the inside of my thigh and leaving cool, wet patches in their wake. When he reaches that place between my legs that feels hot and achy, he pauses. His breath puffs against my skin, and slowly, ever so slowly, he presses his tongue against the soft sack of skin between my thighs.

He whispers something that sounds like beautiful, but the noises I'm making drown out his voice and would bring a blush to my cheeks if my face weren't already flaming red. I have to clap a hand to my mouth when he gently sucks one of my testicles into his mouth, and his nose nudges the base of my erection.

It's alright, though, doing these things with my eyes closed. Things are alright this way. I'm not a girl or a boy or a husband or a wife, or anything else I have to pretend to be or not be. I'm just me, free and alive.

Have I ever been such a thing before?

Albus is mouthing gently at the soft flesh beneath my skirt, hands stroking my thighs, and I still think he's an imbecile, but I don't even care. Nor do I care when his fingers drift, rubbing at the pucker of skin further down; my entire body is tingly and blissful.

His hair tickles my legs in the nicest way, and I reach down and thread my fingers into it. Tightening my grasp, I give an experimental tug.

The noise he makes in response has my stomach gripping, and even though I don't mean for my hips to jerk into him, they do. His tongue runs across something blissful, and it's perfect, just perfect, and if he could just… if he would only…

"Please," I murmur. It's insane, and I don't even know what I want, but I know I've got to have it. "Please, Albus…"

I shiver as his breath puffs hot against my skin. His mouth runs up the length of my shaft, glides across the tip, and then encircles me in white-hot pleasure.

It happens just like that, quicker than I can think, and I'm not at all prepared, and I don't mean to do it in his mouth. I don't, but I can't help it when he's doing things like that! It's not my fault!

He says nothing, but I feel him slide away from me, and even though the strength has been sapped from my body, I reach out to him. "I'm so sorry!" I squeak.

When I open my eyes, he's kneeling next to me, undoing the buckle knot clasps on his trousers. His face is red, his mouth bolted shut, and his fingers tremble.

I try to help, but he pushes my hands away, shaking his head. He makes a noise in his throat as he finally frees his erection, and it springs into view, dark and angry looking, the tip glistening purplish in the candlelight. It's as long as mine but thicker, and it points so high, it nearly brushes his stomach.

I want to touch it, but I know I shouldn't. It wouldn't be proper. A real woman wouldn't want to. She's never seen such a thing before, and she'd be frightened.

Wouldn't she?

His head is back between my legs before I can decide. Everything is sensitive there now, and I wince as he nudges my penis. It hangs half-hard between my thighs, filling with a renewed interest even as I watch, and I wish I'd remembered not to look. His mouth presses beneath it, and something warm trickles down the crack of my arse. I squirm at the feeling.

"Relax," he tells me, and his fingers poke into the pucker of my hole, sticky wet.

"But what are you doing?" I murmur.

"Shh," he says, and then replaces his fingers with his tongue.

It feels strange and can't be cleanly, but my body reacts to it, erection fully stiff and throbbing once more. When he presses my knees to my chest, I take hold of them, pulling my feet up beside his shoulders, opening myself to him. His hands grip my thighs in response, fingers biting deliciously into my flesh, and as a reward, I run my toes across the line of his jaw. He moans and presses his cheek to my arch, inhaling the sweet fragrance.

When his eyes turn to me, I send him a wicked look, daring him to whatever act of boldness he's dreaming up. I've lost my mind, I know, but I want that feeling again, the one where I'm me and no one else. His face goes blank before offering up an expression to match mine, and he slides his body up between my legs. His bare chest brushes against mine, his lips warm on my neck, and something larger than a tongue presses at me down below.

"Don't!" I hiss, pushing at his chest with my palms. "It's dirty!"

He says relax again, takes hold of my hip, and in one smooth motion, pushes inside of me.

It's disgusting and tight and terrible, and I don't like it at all. I don't!

But then I do.

I like it a lot.

Pinned between us, my penis aches to be touched, and it seems that my whole body aches with it. I shift my hips toward his stomach, trying to rub against him, but the angle is wrong.

"Albus," I murmur, and tap with tenuously held politeness against his shoulder.

His eyes are squeezed shut, mouth open and puffing into the air above me. The scent of perfumed incense, smoke, and warm flesh come from his body, intoxicating me. He presses his hips in, burying himself even deeper, and the tendons in his neck pull taut, an enticing display of masculinity. I bring my lips to his skin, and when my headdress bumps his chin, I yank it from my head in a spray of hair pins and toss it aside.

His neck tastes like salt with a tinge of sweetness behind it, and he trembles as I draw my tongue across it. Then his hips jerk into me, my erection throbs with it, and I bite down hard on his collarbone. A guttural noise escapes his lips, and I feel his length sliding back out, only to thrust back in with such force that my eyes fly open.

"Again!" I gasp.

He bites out a lewd word that should offend me, but my body is so wracked with pleasure, all I can do is gasp and think, again, again, again! He does what I ask, driving in even harder, and I'm barely over the delirious shock when he's repeating it over and over, quick jabs that slap his hips against me with fleshy little noises.

It's like nothing I've ever imagined, and my head turns from side to side, thrashing against the pillow in abandon, hips jerking in time with his motions.

"More," I moan. "More, more, more--"

He groans, digging his fingers into my side. Drawing breath through clenched teeth as he thrusts into me, he manages, "Jade… Jade, please… I can't… going to… please!"

His face contorts, movements going ragged, and I fall out of synch. It's going to end now, he's going to finish, and the mere thought has me crying out in frustration. Not yet! Please!

"No, no, no!" I hiss, cuffing him about the ears. Not yet, not now, I have to--

His breath catches, and I feel his body tremble above me, and utter desperation fills my being. I hiss a stream of obscenities I hadn't thought my well-bred mouth capable of forming, and squeeze a hand between us to wrap around my erection. He pounds hard into me, strangled noises escaping his throat as I work frantically at myself, teeth clenched. Too soon, he stiffens, emptying himself with a flood of warmth inside me.

It lasts only a moment, but it seems so intense as to be painful for him. I want to sooth, and press my mouth to his swollen lips, tell him in all truth that he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I'll love him until the day I die.

But of course that would be foolish.

Instead, looking into his half-closed eyes, I pull on the sticky heat of my erection until I feel the spasms hit. I drag the orgasm out of myself, surrendering to the feeling but brutalized by its intensity. My screams are harsh and dissonant in my ears as the fluid spills over my knuckles, coating my fist and running down my wrist in steamy rivulets.

Afterward, our bodies shudder together, exhausted by their efforts, and Albus rests his forehead against my chest, panting.

With heavy fingers, I cup his cheek and stroke through his hair, sluggish and torpid. I feel remarkably undisturbed, though I'm sure I should be upset by the indignity of the situation. My own hair hangs in my face, disgracefully mussed, and my chest is sticky with my seed. When I pull my hand out from between our stomachs, my fingers are webbed with goo.

"Mmm," Albus moans, disturbed by my movement, and slides out of me with a wet pop. "That was… incredible…"

I snort most indelicately and wipe my hand on his trousers.

"My yang feels so much better," he murmurs, settling in beside me and drawing me into his embrace. "Doesn't yours?" His fingers against my collarbone feel like the soft touch of a bird's feathers.

"You're an idiot," I tell him, voice wholly unguarded and deeper than his.

He laughs, a light, giggly sound, and brings his lips to my neck, pressing into that lovely spot just below my earlobe. He whispers, "I knew you were the girl for me…"

Despite myself, I give a contented sigh and rub my hands across his shoulders.

Why did I ever doubt my ability to please him? I've been such a fool. Of course I have a natural talent at this sort of thing. It should have been obvious that I could satisfy him more than a real girl, and bring pleasure to myself in the process. I am, after all, superior to female creatures in every way!

Feeling sated and quite smug, I turn my eyes toward the ceiling. The candlelight stars twinkle in the night, and as sleep takes me into its grasp, I'm almost sure I see Scorpius shining down on me.

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