Work Text:
He’ll be here any minute now
He’s called for no royal invitation
You’ve made no plans
But he’s already on his way
You know it
The door will groan and gag against his greasy fingers
Slamming wood against rough stone walls
Echoing across the snarling maw of the winding hall
Eager to swallow you whole
The scratches etching away over the door’s refined paint job
(Mahiru's work, you believe)
A reminder of who owns the place
The floor blooming with bruises
Caving underneath the weight of a dirty dress shoe
Tapping
Like clockwork
Scuffing pristine tile as he chases after you
(All that wide open room
Where will you hide?)
Brown smudging blinding white
Sweaty hands staining your gloves
Slimy fingers tangling in yours
Slobbering all over your tight-lipped mouth
Drool
dripping
down
to
the
floor
Pooling into the tile grooves
He’ll make a mess of everything
Of you
So you clean!
You roll up your sleeves
The bright silk digging into your forearms
(A gift from him, of course)
Cutting the circulation
(You feel as if you could puke up the blood
You'd only leave more work for yourself)
And put yourself to use
You scrub away any sense of innuendo
Pray the sparkling floors distract his wandering eye
Toss the freshly chopped firewood
Scattered around in the game of tag he “demanded”
(See: pleaded for)
So he gags at the smoke
Sick as the heat
Seeping into your shielded shoulder
From his arm
Restrained by bandages you so lovingly wrapped
Yet so invitingly naked
Coiled around your shoulder
You know,
Like he’s slick
Like the lopsided crown and newly crafted red cloak could only bury the sly little jester boy hiding underneath
Only peaking out to trick and tease you
Like you don’t keep watch for those kind of things
Pick apart intentions like you pick at grimy china dishes
Till they're white enough to smash against wiped down walls
Chipping ethereal murals
(What fine work Angie and her god do)
In grief,
And frustration,
And loneliness
The sort of loneliness you handle with worn gloves
Shaky hands and emboldened care
In sickness and in health
The shatter clanging against gold tableware
Leaving glass shards you’ll never stop finding in odd places
(Reminders of what you’ve wreaked)
You polish glass windows
(Let a pretty thing walk by and catch his eye
See what happens)
And the tile
Permitting your boots to clack against it
(They say a glimpse at your reflection can talk you out of plans better than your closest friend
And you're too frightened to do it anyway)
Clear the table with patience and resolve
Straighten the chairs
Careful not to scratch through your hard work
You look filthy and disheveled in comparison
You hope it covers up all that beauty he finds in you
Your palpable fear buried by the tight-lipped smile and droopy eyes
Underneath the blood, sweat, and tears
You've smeared all across your face
And when you still hear no clatter of doors
You will dust off the throne
(He will plop down
Bouncing on red velvet
Kicking his feet
And drag you down with him
Only tugging harder when you move to stand
You both will relish in the warmth of your meal and each other)
Set the table for two
(Checkered place mats
And no complicated utensil systems
Just how he likes it)
And pour poset ale
Older than you
And call for Ibuki
To let the favorites you share with him
Float in the background
And Ruraka
To bake “freaky little peasant horse bread”
(Such a way with words he has
Not a good one, mind you
Just a way)
The ones he insists on sharing with you each morning
Until busy, achy feet finally land
Square against the doorframe
(To distract your nerves
Of course)
Waiting
Rudely clean air waiting back at you
…
…
...
…
…
…
…
...
He’s requested so much of you since your arrival
(A tad ungrateful
Considering you only work for a roof under your head and a way to spend your time)
Ruling advice
Ring around the Rosie
Courtship assistance
Tic tac toe
Guidance exploring the town
Hide and seek
Kisses for good luck
(His words
Not yours)
Bedtime stories
You’ve served him without hesitation
(Whether out of duty or desire
You’re too petrified to know)
Each order verbally signed off with an “Of course, my lord”
He’d dramatically wave away
You will lay down your life for him in battle if he orders it
(He won't
Would scold you for even thinking it
It would only draw an unnecessary smile out of you)
Even rip out your balled hand from its tight grip on your gown
To offer it in marriage
If truly necessary
The demon child resting on his shoulder
Wines at him to take
And take
And take
All his growing soul thinks it needs
You have only the few constricting desires
Sewn into the borders of your heart
The lace so delicate
You find it easy to ignore the brush against your ribcage
As your
Still
Late at night
Esteemed royalty nestled between your chest
The fireplace crackling louder than your careless whispers
Empty wine bottles
Sitting at his bedside
Watching you
In eager anticipation
Stray embers tickling the arms wrapped tightly around him
His nimble, calloused hands dig into your open skin
Blood trailing down your gown
(You offer to scrub it out of the carpet come morning
He says the carpet stain can be a reminder of your talks
And how could you sneak out of bed that early
Just to let him wake up alone,
You cruel mistress!)
He plays doctor
The white wine you’ve poured and he’s offered acts as middle age anesthesia
Filthy, jagged fingernails
(Bound to infect your willing immune system
With trickery and lies
You'll pocket
Just in case)
Gingerly drag each thread out of its meticulous stitching
Tickling and kneading the offending origin with each gentle tug
Weaving each mortifying need
Into a growing tapestry
Hung above his bedside
He tends to it every day
With a spot right next to him at the banquet table
Mandatory playtime breaks
Careless affectionate touches
(Unbecoming in his case
Unprofessional in yours)
A place in his bed
Chess he “totally let you win, anyway!”
Unwanted help in the kitchen
And with greeting guests
And cleaning
And organizing
And anything to silence the rude question he found neatly embroidered on your heart
Lovingly tracing over it with his thumb
Tearfully trying to kiss it better
(You handle his scraped knees the same)
“What else can I do to help?”
How dare anything
Any one!
Ask that of you?
He laments
One bratty night
Empty champagne glasses
Diligently washed and packed away
(Why leave his buzzing mind visual clutter?
Brutal peace negotiations have worn him out well enough)
After all you do for us!
He cries
He calls for you to tuck him in
(You suspect the “us” is mostly him
But his pride is a silly, wounded thing
The only thing you enjoy nurturing)
Today you’ve poured your everything into your presentation
All your concern and trust and care
All you know how to give
Into your hospitality
If there’s any magical force out there watching over you
(And with all the wild and overbearing magic this kingdom runs into
There might as well be)
You hope and pray it’s enough for his aching heart
It is
Just this once