Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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The fall is so easy. It's second nature. There isn't a single ounce of fear as he pulls her forward and she goes without a single thought. Her hands can't decide where to settle. One finds home in the front of his shirt, twisting there tightly and holding onto him with a white knuckled grip as her other curls at his shoulder, nails biting into his skin through the linen of his shirt. His own fingertips dig into her hips, bunching the fabric of her skirt around her waist as she shifts to straddle him, sinking into his lap as they devour each other with their kisses.
He draws back from her to take a sip of breath between the parting of their lips and a sound of indignation rises in her throat. Maeve's fingers tighten, spine arching and curving until she's forming herself against him, unwilling to let there be even a crack that moonlight can get through between their bodies. He tastes like salt and everything she's missed about him. How did she ever keep herself centered without him here to ground her? He was the sun in her life, keeping her tethered, casting his light on her so she might shine. Locke tilts her head to the side, exposing the milk white column of her throat to his lips and teeth, marking her with a bite that will surely bruise, but Maeve can't find it in herself to care.
His confession is a balm for her bruised and aching heart. Whatever lingering anger she held dissipates with his words and she can't help the way her breath catches in her throat. The way her heart seizes in her chest. Maeve clings to him, letting her own words come out in a hushed whisper, speaking a language he still doesn't fully know. "Je t'aime aussi, mon soleil. Je n'ai pas arrêté. Même si moi aussi je me suis perdu. Je suis désolé. Pour tout." Her breath leaves her in a shudder and she draws back enough to hold his gaze, lip catching between her teeth before she speaks again, more firmly this time. "I love you too. I never stopped. I'm sorry I got lost along the way..."
Everything about her feels solid, real, alive. Her nails dig into his shoulders in a way that's both painful and delightful. It draws him back to reality with sharp focus and he groans softly as she makes her way into his lap. He's had sex since their last tryst but nothing ever compares to her. This was never his intention, he just wanted to let her know he was back, let her know he wasn't dead, that he was sorry. All of this was the furthest thing from his intentions.
She speaks, words like music despite him only knowing a few of the words. His chest aches with how much he loves her, how much she loves him in turn. She bites her lip and he growls softly, leaning forward. She speaks again, repeating, maybe, what she said before. Locke bites her lip before kissing her softly and pulling away. "I'm the one that should be sorry. You never did anything wrong." She had given him space like he asked, had given him time, she had given him everything he wanted. Being an asshole is in his nature but even this was too far for him.
His hands roam her sides, skimming along the rucked up fabric. He's eager to touch her again, to stake his claim on the queen. Maybe people would be less confused about Edmund's parentage if he was more bold. He nudges his nose against her neck, biting at her ear. "We probably shouldn't do this in the courtyard. It's not fitting for a queen to get fucked in a flowerbed." Is this bold enough?
It didn't matter if this was his intention. Maeve doesn't care if it was in his plan. None of that matters now. The world around them falls away and everything is centered to this moment with him. His hands gripping her hips, his breath mixing with hers, and the way his heart beats in tandem with her own. Maeve hates to think that the last time she was with someone it was Sunjata. That no one has touched her since then. An apology for that sits on the tip of her tongue, too. A pained sound rising in her throat as he retorts that she has nothing to be sorry for.
Maeve shakes her head just as he leans forward, nipping at her lip, fingers tightening in his shirt. "I have so much to be sorry for, Locke." She whispers as he presses another kiss to her lips. "I'm sorry I was so blind. I won't ever be again." The Nightshade vows, kissing him again, curving herself against him and taking in his heat as she trembles in his hold.
Her head tilts back as he noses at her throat, the roughness of his beard tickling her skin and making her shiver, "Why shouldn't the queen get fucked in her garden? Doesn't she deserve it?" Maeve retorts on a sigh, shifting in his lap so she can press her forehead to his as her fingers run into his hair, making his own head tilt back. Jade eyes meet hazel and the heat that shimmers in her irises is unmistakable.
As much as he wants to deny her apology, for her to trust that he doesn't need it, he thinks that maybe she does. And maybe she had neglected him a bit but he might've neglected himself too, and her. But he's not good with words and he's afraid whatever he might say might chase her away. Instead he presses a kiss under her ear, an acceptance in the language he can speak.
She shifts in his lap and he looks up to find her gaze matching his. His grip tightens at her words, "Aren't you afraid someone might see?" It doesn't stop his hands from slipping under her skirt, hoisting it up around her waist so he can feel her skin. He shudders with the contact, as if it's enough to finish him. "I think the queen deserves whatever she wants though."
Locke leans forward again, pressing kisses to her clavicle as he works his way down to bite the swell of her breast. He rolls his hips against her's, despite his previous hesitation. He has a feeling this will open a floodgate and maybe he's stalling so she can gather herself. Or maybe so he can gather himself. He's not sure yet.
She’s not met with words as she apologizes, but then again, words have never been Locke’s strong suit. He’s a man of action. He speaks fluently in movements and physical expressions. That’s his second language. Not the common tongue they all pretend to speak fluently. His kiss says everything his words don’t. ’I forgive you. I love you. It’s okay now. We’ll be okay.’ The action is simple. To most it wouldn’t mean anything, but to her it means the world. It means that they have a chance
Nails rake through his curls, gripping tightly at the hairs on the nape of his neck, forcing him to hold her gaze as a quiet growl echoes through her chest. ”Let them see.” She breathes darkly, hoping someone would, willing them to spread this truth the same wildfire way they do the rumors they all love to weave about her. His hands are scorching as they find their way beneath her skirt, searing into her flesh in a brand that reaches her bones, causing her to shiver in tandem with him. ”The queen wants you.” Maeve captures his lips in another kiss, licking into his mouth, encouraging him to let go and simply exist in this moment.
He doesn’t need much more than that, quickly drifting away from her mouth to kiss along her clavicle, leaving his mark on the gentle swell of her breasts that are offered to him from the neckline of her top. A part of her thinks that maybe they should be in a bed for this. Rediscover each other properly. Perhaps even in her office on the couch in front of the fireplace. Somewhere other than a moon bathed garden. Except her mind flashes to the first second time they had each other on the beach, soaked in moonlight and with so little understanding between them, but everything is different now.
The heat in her belly flares to life as his hips press up into hers, surprising her with the friction it brings, pulling a quiet moan past her lips. This had been how it happened the last time too. Maeve’s hands suddenly have a mind of their own, needing to feel his skin, tugging at his shirt until she gets the buttons apart to expose his chest. Smooth palms slide over her sides, up his torso, and across his chest as she brushes her thumbs over his nipples until they pebble beneath her attention.
Her words thrum through him, making him heady with desire. The rational part of his brain wills him away, reminds him how dangerous this all is. But listening to that part of his brain has only lead to pain and confusion. He pushes it down, letting the overwhelming flame engulf him. One hand comes up, sliding along her neck to push her dress to the side so he can mark her better. "Does she?" He rumbles against her skin, "I suppose I can't deny my Queen, can I?"
Some part of him is begging her to take over, to almost force him into this. To take away some part of his liability in all of it. He leans back a bit, letting her tug his shirt open. Hey, those tattoos he was going show her when they weren't not flirting with each other. A snake coiling from his right wrist up to his chest, snaking its away across his pectoral. On the other side, a large jaguar. He shrugs his shirt the rest of the way off, ignoring how cold the night air is.
"Not too on the nose, is it?" He says almost shyly. It had felt like a good idea at the time, painful and permanent, just like she was. The hand tucked into her hair slips down further, skimming over her dress to pull it out of the way before reaching between them. He presses his hand against her cunt, finding it all too easily despite how long it's been. It's like swimming after a decade of not doing it, it takes him a moment of fumbling but it comes to him quickly enough.
As much as he'd like to take it slow, rediscover her body, he's feeling a bit frantic. Hopefully she understands.
His words dance across her skin, sending a shiver up her spine and making her fingers tighten in his shirt as she arches closer, head tipping back to expose the column of her throat to the heat of his mouth. Not that it's necessary with the way he searches for it without hesitation, sucking a mark into her pale skin, a splash of purple against milky white. "You cannot. I think she might have to have your head if you do." It's an underlying threat. A promise she'll make good on. Don't you dare run again, Locke or gods help the consequences.
Maeve gets his shirt open, pushing it off of toned shoulders and arms, drawing back enough to get a look at him. His tattoos are a splash of color across his skin, winding across his chest and down his arms, curling over his shoulders and she wants nothing more than to trace every line with her tongue. She doesn't deny herself the opprotunity to run her hands across them, the tips of her fingers barely featherlight as she licks her lips, "I like them. Ink looks good on you." Maeve breathes, dipping her head forward to catch his lips in another searing kiss as his fingers find the heat of her cunt, fumbling for only a moment before he finds his rhythm.
Her breath catches, a hiss pushing past clenched teeth, lashes fluttering against her cheekbones. She rocks her hips of her own accord, shivering at the rush of heat that fills her belly, but she doesn't lose herself there. If only because she's just as desperate for him as he is her. She wants to take her time and relearn all of those spots he loves her to touch so much, but the need for him is just too much to ignore. Her fingers trace down his chest, fumbling with his belt and the button of his pants, reaching inside to find him just as eager as she is.
He can't tell if she's serious or not and he can't tell which one turns him on more. He truly is fucked in the head but she seems to like him, so it's alright. Eventually they'll have to talk, honestly, but for now he just wants to devour her and she seems content to let him. Her skin is salty and perfect and he only shudders a little as her hands roam his body.
Locke hums softly, mouth finally detaching from her neck. He watches her pale hands run over his body, shivering. "Maybe I should get more." It's muttered against her lips as she pulls him into another kiss. The way her breath hitches makes him grin and he bites her bottom lip. He's always loved fucking around and it's just always so good with her. The little noises, the way she writhes in his lap, makes him absolutely throb.
Speaking of, her hand is sneaking it's way down his torso, and one day he needs to compliment her on her ability to unbutton his pants with one hand. He growls softly against her lips before leaning back. "Should we.." A beat passes as he thinks, brain torn between his hand, her hand, and the words he's trying to make. "Should we use protection?" Another beat passes, "Not that I wouldn't mind another." It's mumbled to himself, something entirely selfish to say but true.
"Should definitely get more." She breathes in return, a soft whine rising in her throat as he nips sharply at her bottom lip, the faintest hint of fangs making her shiver or perhaps it's the way his fingers tease at the slick center of her cunt. Either way, she's not complaining. If anything, she's encouraging with the way she rocks against his fingers even as her hand works at the buttons of his own pants.
The Nightshade is just about to wrap her fingers around him, intent on working him up all that much more before drawing him into her, but growl is cut through with his words and she pauses. Jade eyes flash up to his, a flush coloring the high points of her cheeks as she looks at him with lust blown pupils, her need burning hot in her belly. "As tempting as another is..." And believe her, it was definitely tempting, there were greater things to worry about right now. War was coming and she couldn't manage carrying another child now. "We don't have to worry about that right now. I'm back on my regimen."
She murmurs, lips curling into a soft smile as her free hand slips into his curls, fingers coming through the long strands. The heat is still there, but her expression is calmer almost, relaxing the longer she's in his embrace.
Fangs indeed, hints of claws, it's all primal and he still doesn't have a good grip on any of this. Himself, her, the jaguar. But when has he ever had a good grip on anything? His teeth drag across her neck and he wonders what it'd be like to be Ascended. To draw her pleasure simply from his own fangs. The thought is brief, it would mean no more children for them, and he's not sure he could handle that. She seems on the same page about another and that feels him with something he can't explain.
She wraps her hand around him and he huffs softly, reaching down to pull her hand away. He's had enough of being teased. He wants her and he plans on taking what he wants. It's a claw that rips away the last of the fabric between them and he presses against her. He's hot and hard but she's even hotter and slick, waiting. He should apologize for not working her up more but he can't stand to wait a moment longer. Locke presses into his queen slowly, achingly.
He holds her gaze, expression only faltering as he starts to lose himself in her. A breath and he leans forward, "I love you, I still love you." It's almost a plea, as he pulls her against him. There's so many other things he wants to say but he can't find it in himself. She'll just have to take him like he is, for now.
She barely has a chance to touch him before his fingers are latching around her wrist, drawing her hand away from his cock as he chooses to press into her instead, filling her up with something other than his fingers. Her breath is punched out of her as he sinks to the hilt, stretching her out and making her tremble, a whine catching behind her teeth. It's been a while since she's had anyone and the stretch has her seeing stars behind her closed eyes, trembling as nails dig into his bare shoulders, giving her further leverage to rock against him.
Maeve allows herself to be lost in the sensation of him until his voice cuts through the pleasure, whispering his confession, pressing his words against her lips as she writhes on his cock. "I love you too." A rasp returned with a shuddering breath, lips parting in a quiet gasp as she forces her eyes open, hand slipping around his throat. Her fingers press just enough to slow the flow of blood, creating that lightheaded feeling that makes one feel like they're floating, "But if you ever leave me again, I will drag you back here by your throat and have your heart on a platter. You're mine and I'm yours."
It's a dark promise. One that burns in her eyes like starfire, flickering in jade irises as she holds his gaze, giving his throat another squeeze as she waits for him to acknowledge her words.
He wonders if he should be scared of her, as small and dainty as she is. But he made no move to pull her hand away, no move to stop the slap earlier. He may be bigger, able to physically overpower her, but she holds some kind of unexplained control over him. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk when he fails to properly draw a breath. "Is that a promise?" He knows it is, can feel it deep down in his bones, but he has to play with her anyway.
Mostly to distract himself. The faint grip on his throat, her words, the way she feels, all bring him entirely too close to the edge and as much as he'd love to end this quickly, he'd be kind of embarrassed. Might as well make their first night back together a good one right? One hand slips between them, claws lightly raking across her front until he finds her clit. He's always thought it was rude to cum first and he clearly can't be rude to his queen anymore.
"And you're mine too. If I ever find another in your bed or you in theirs, you'll wish I were merely a man again. Be the chosen Queen all you want but don't forget who you belong to." It's growled through a mouthful of fangs. He's not the only one that can make promises, Maeve.
Is that a promise? Oh, it's more than a promise. Maeve hisses a breath out between clenched teeth, feeling her walls flutter around his cock at the sight of his smirk, watching the way the fire in his eyes matches hers. Her own smirk is sharp even on her kiss swollen lips. That flush that's coloring her cheeks travels down her throat to the tops of her breasts, goosebumps pebbling across her skin, molten need curling in her belly. She flexes her fingers at his throat, applying slightly more pressure, "You know it is." The Nightshade manages through a gasp, lashes fluttering shut as her head tips back, exposing her throat to him as she arches.
Claws drag kiss their way over her skin, leaving trails of red in their wake across her milk white skin, stark against her flesh in the moonlight. It's a strange sensation, the sharp point of his claw against her clit and she knows he could ruin her with one swipe, but he doesn't. Instead the pad of his thumb presses there instead, circling the swollen bundle of nerves, alighting her nerves with pleasure.
Maeve's cunt clenches at his words, the vow burning through her veins, making her jerk in his arms. She forces her eyes open, head dropping until her forehead touches his, nails digging into his shoulder and surely breaking skin. "Don't let me forget. Remind me every day for the rest of our lives."
She tightens her grip and he growls in return. It's too much and not enough at once. She needs to destroy him and put the pieces back together how she wants him to be. He's already so very close to breaking. Just a little more and he won't be anything other than hers. The touch of her forehead against his is so very confusing, so different than the other touches. It pulls him back for a moment. He looks at her, writhing and wanton in his lap.
Oh he'll remind her. He'll never, ever let her forget. Locke's lips trail along her jaw, soft little kisses until he reaches her shoulder. And he bites, hard enough to break skin. His neck is littered with Ascended bites but hers is all too barren. It may not scar in the same way but it's what he has to remind her. He growls, pulling her tight against him as he finally breaks. He had aimed for her pleasure first but his own body betrayed him. He just couldn't help himself.
