Disclaimer: The Keys to the Kingdom series does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Garth Nix, etc.
rise & fall (when you're ready come and get it)
i.
Monday's pale cheeks flush so beautifully, accentuating how very blue his eyes are. Friday does not often see them anymore; Monday has taken to sleeping through most things, and viewing what remains with a heavily-lidded gaze.
"Don't tease," he says, not quite a whine. He strains against her grasp, but he was always weaker than her; he is weaker now, what muscle he had wasting away as he spends more and more time asleep.
"Or what?" Friday asks, tightening her hand over his wrists. The delicate bones grind together, wringing a groan out of him. She rises, so only the head of his cock is inside of her, and holds herself there.
"Friday-" Desperation is a good look on him; he looks alive, rather than the eternally slumbering ghost he has become.
"Monday," she sighs in return. It is as much a torture for her as it is for him; however, she knows that completion will be all the sweeter for the wait. Monday will eventually lose patience and reverse their positions; he can be quite fierce when he is roused, and Friday enjoys having him take what he wants from her.
He will fall asleep almost directly afterwards, of course. Friday has not come to expect anything more.
ii.
Noon's neat hair is mussed, his monocle fogged up and mouth wet, red. Friday drags a thumb across the swell of his lower lip; his eyelids slip down halfway as he sucks the digit into his mouth.
"I should keep you on your knees," Friday says slowly, curling her fingers under his chin and pulling him up. "Put that silver tongue of yours to good use."
"Yes," he begs, panting for breath. He is beautiful, knelt between her legs, face messy with her slick. "Yes, milady-"
Friday smiles and kisses him, licking inside of his mouth. Chasing the taste of herself. Noon whines, fidgeting. Seeking some kind of relief, Friday imagines. He is so very good at cunnilingus - he's more than earned it.
Noon goes when she pushes him down, his fingers scraping at the tiled floor, scrabbling for some purchase when she swallows him down.
iii.
She has Tuesday - or perhaps it would be more accurate to say Tuesday has her - on the lawn of his Treasure Pyramid.
"You're mine," he snarls, low and furious, as he thrusts into her. He is not gentle, but Friday has more than enough gentle, reverent lovers. Tuesday is possessive, single-minded; he seeks his own release, and any pleasure she derives from it is a secondary, inconsequential side effect.
Friday smirks, raking her fingernails up his toned back. "I am not yours," she says, arching to meet him.
Tuesday growls, muscles flexing beneath her hands, and doesn't speak again.
She will be bruised tomorrow, livid handprints framing her hips, scrapes down her back. A pleasant ache between her legs.
Friday bites Tuesday's lower lip, hard, when she comes; so they will match.
They only have each other once; Tuesday does not share, and Friday has no wish to remain tethered to a single lover.
iv.
Friday is unused to being refused.
The Mariner smiles, the lines of his craggy face softening. "I'm afraid the only woman for me is the sea, Lady," he says, not unkindly. Somehow that tone only makes the rejection rankle more. "Neither of us like to be bound unnecessarily to others, I think."
Friday inclines her head faintly; rejection tastes bitter, and it is unpleasant in the extreme. "Certainly," she says; what else can she say?
"Then, I will be off," Tom Shelvocke says, nodding to her.
v.
Her head hits the wall with a thump, hips surging against Wednesday. She is not as skilled as Noon - but then, Friday has him on his knees twice, thrice, five times a day, when she cannot find another Trustee to play with - but makes up for it with her incredible enthusiasm.
Friday gasps as another orgasm washes over her, and still Wednesday does not relent, tongue and fingers thrusting into her without pause.
"Wednesday," Friday gasps, tugging at the brown curls beneath her fingers.
She feeds Wednesday grapes after, one by one, then licks melted chocolate off Wednesday's shuddering breasts.
vi.
"Dawn does not approve," Dusk says, stepping away from the shadows after Noon stumbles out of the Scriptorium on unsteady legs and she has settled at her desk.
Friday arches an eyebrow. As if the full-length armour that he has taken to wearing constantly and the way he will not quite look at her were not indication enough.
"I was aware," she says, lazily. She feels languid, sated for the moment, but desire stirs as she takes in the long, lean lines of her Dusk. He is just as handsome as Noon, if in a different way. "Come here," she adds, and Dusk comes, halting before her.
Dusk enjoys kissing. He has never fucked her, though he seems to enjoy watching Noon do so. But then... he seems to enjoy watching Noon, period.
The purpose of her Times is to serve her, but Friday does not want any of them to feel forced into doing something unwanted. She has seen Tuesday's Grotesques; they fill her with revulsion, and even Dawn tends to stick close whenever one of the Grotesques visits with the latest shipment from the Far Reaches.
"Hands flat on the desk," Friday says, banishing thoughts of Tuesday's unfortunate Times from her mind. She stands, drapes herself over Dusk's back and magnanimously ignores the way he stiffens. "You may tell me to stop at any time, Dusk," she adds, even as she slips a hand into his trousers.
"Yes, milady," he says, quiet voice gone breathy. He's already hard, leaking; he must have been watching them for a while.
"I think," she continues, stroking his cock more roughly than she usually would, "that you would prefer if Noon were in my place, would you not?"
Dusk's breath hitches, betraying him. "That-"
"Do not lie to me," Friday says, catching her thumb at his foreskin. A groan escapes him, and his hips jerk beneath her. "It is not quite the same for a male, I understand; but you would like to have him inside you, would you not?"
Dusk's head falls forward, eyes shut as he pants for breath. "Is that- possible-"
"Certainly," Friday purrs. "It is exquisite, being taken," she adds, conversational. "Noon's hands would be larger, large enough to hold you down as he takes you. His cock is beautiful, is it not? Can you imagine it filling you?"
Dusk moans, his hips bucking to meet the stroking her first. "Please- please-!" he gasps.
Friday smirks, leans forward to bite at the juncture where Dusk's neck meets his shoulder.
He comes with a hoarse shout, his legs nearly giving out. Friday strokes him through it, brutally unyielding, until he whines and attempts to shift away. She presses a kiss to the bruise on his shoulder as she withdraws her hand.
Dusk's lower lip is red from where he was biting it; Friday presses her fingers against his mouth and he dutifully sucks them clean.
"Noon tastes the same," she tells him, and he moans again, hips twitching. Idly, she wonders how long it would take him to get hard again. "Back to work, Guild master," she says instead, pulling her hand away. She adjusts his trousers with brisk, businesslike movements, ignoring the way he tries to squirm away from her as she brushes his still sensitive cock.
"Yes, milady," Dusk says breathlessly, stepping away. He adjusts his collar, though Friday notes with some satisfaction that she can still see her bite. He sketches a bow and moves stiffly towards the door.
"Ah, Dusk..?"
He pauses just before the exit, hand poised over the doorknob. "Milady?"
"I've already asked Noon and he is not averse to the idea," she says.
Dusk sucks in a breath, colour flooding his cheeks.
"And fix your trousers," she adds idly, smirking. "You're a mess. That will be all."
vii.
Thursday does not bother with disrobing. He is ever impatient, jerking his breeches open, shoving her dress to her waist.
Sometimes Friday likes it fast, brutal. He is strong, presses her against the wall (or the viewing map in his operations room, or the wide, broad desk in his study) and takes her like she's an enemy he wants to conquer.
Which is fitting, she muses.
Sometimes, though, she binds his hands to the sturdy posts of his bed, orders him not to come. She has her way with him until he begs her for relief, his harsh voice beautiful around please and Friday and I need-
And because he is so good at following orders, she'll let him come, after he's begged himself hoarse, can do no more than tremble beneath her, lips pursed around another please-
viii.
After the Mariner's rejection millennia ago, Friday had not sought the company of the other two of the Architect's sons; she had no interest in repeating the experience. But the Piper has none of the qualms of his older brother, and readily takes her to bed when she offers.
The Piper is clever, quick-fingered and sharp-witted, but he is also arrogant. Not as much so as his oldest brother, but it is enough.
"I did not think the Architect had created you Denizens with the capacity for sex," he says, his voice melodious and exceedingly pleasant to the ear even with a layer of lust over it. If only she could listen to the sound and ignore his words.
"How fortunate for you that She did," Friday murmurs, wrapping her legs around his slim waist and pulling him closer.
"It is fitting that you should serve me, as you served Her," the Piper says, and for a moment fury obliterates any pleasure that Friday is deriving from his decidedly lackluster performance. He seeks only to please himself, and goes about it in such a way that Friday receives little stimulation. He likes it slow, and she... does not.
Any guilt she might have felt for manipulating the Piper on Saturday's behalf flees with his words. "Is it," she breathes, "I did not serve the Architect in this capacity, however." She cups the back of his neck, Her thumb rests at the hollow of his throat. He does not seem concerned. He might even like it; perhaps he would pick up the pace out of sheer desperation if she were to asphyxiate him.
Saturday intends to dispose of him in a much cleaner and efficient way, though.
The Piper's laughter, as melodious as his voice, is nevertheless grating to her ears.
ix.
It is a strange thing, that the second and second last Trustees should be equally covetous of Friday.
"You will only sate yourself with me," Saturday says, three fingers inside Friday and moving at a maddeningly slow pace.
Friday laughs, arching as much as the ropes binding her wrists and ankles allow. "No. I am not your dog," she says.
Although... she will miss this, if Saturday takes offense. Monday is not vigorous enough to sustain an erection anymore; Tuesday is not interested in sharing; as for Wednesday... sex would be impossible. The only Trustee she fucks regularly anymore is Thursday, and he would not tie down someone he views as a superior. But Friday can do without. She has Noon and Dusk, who would not refuse her anything.
Saturday is fierce, unyielding. She can keep Friday on edge for hours, that focus she uses to pursue Sunday and the Incomparable Gardens temporarily set on Friday.
"You are the only woman," Friday says; gasps, really. It's already true. Wednesday is in no condition to engage in such carnal activities.
"The only woman," Saturday agrees, circling Friday's clit roughly with her thumb. She presses their mouths together, swallowing Friday's cries as orgasm finally, finally sweeps through her.
x.
Where Noon is broad and bright, Dusk is slim and dark. The contrast is aesthetically pleasing, to say the least. Friday does not particularly care what they do together, so long as one of them is available when she wants them.
They seldom approach her for sex themselves, though she has never turned them aside when they do. Sex is not the imperative for them that it is for her. Friday is aware of her... addiction, but lacks any will to attempt to curb it. All the Trustees have similar afflictions, though some are more crippling than others'. As far as Friday is concerned, it could be much worse. The sex is enjoyable, and she still has the mind to keep the Middle House running smoothly.
They seldom approach her for themselves, and never have they done so together before. Friday sets aside the documents she's supposed to be looking over and stands up; she hasn't been able to focus for the past ten minutes. She is all too aware of the preparations taking place on the bed in the centre of the Scriptorium.
"You are too loud; I cannot concentrate," she informs Noon, running a hand through his hair. He looks so good dishevelled; even better on his hands and knees before Dusk. His eyes slip closed when she scrapes her fingernails lightly over the top of his head.
"I apologize, milady," he says, his breath hitching as Dusk slides a third finger into him without warning.
Friday hums, trails her hand down his cheek. He turns into the touch. She teases his mouth open with her thumb, then presses three fingers inside.
"You mentioned a request?" she says, looking at Dusk with a raised eyebrow. Noon shudders between them, his moan muffled around her fingers.
"It was Noon's idea, milady," Dusk says mildly, though his tone is belied by his blown pupils and the flush high on his cheeks. "I fear I would not do it justice."
Friday nods. "Can he come on your fingers alone?"
That earns her another shudder, and a high whine from Noon. Friday shushes him and strokes his hair with her free hand as Dusk smirks. "If it is his second or third time; I have not managed it for the first orgasm, however."
Friday hums again. "This request. Do you think he deserves it, Dusk?" she murmurs.
Dusk groans. "I, ah, think he should have to earn it. Milady."
"Then we are in agreement," Friday says, delighted. "Do you understand, Noon? You will have to come untouched if you wish for your request to be fulfilled. That sounds reasonable, does it not?" She pulls her fingers away, so he can answer.
"Yes, milady," he says breathlessly. "I-" He trails off into a moan as Dusk adds a fourth finger.
She pats his cheek, then sheds her dress and climbs onto the bed beside Dusk. "It might be too easy if you fucked him," Friday remarks, teasingly pressing the tip of her thumb inside Noon alongside Dusk's fingers. A noise that sounds almost pained escapes Noon and he presses back against them.
"Far be it from me to convince you otherwise," Dusk says innocently, handing her the small jar of lubricant. He leans closer, speaks lowly into her ear. "He can take more. I had him take my fist, once."
Friday shivers at the thought. It is such a delicious image. "Another time," she says, regretfully, slicking her fingers up. They are slender and longer than Dusk's. The first goes in easily; the second encounters some resistance, and the third seems to push the breath out of Noon, leaving him babbling semi coherently.
"Please- Dusk- m-milady-"
"Are you close?" Dusk asks; Noon's cock is red, dripping.
"Yes- fuck me, please," Noon gasps.
"No," Dusk says calmly. "Lady Friday said on my fingers, Noon."
"That's right," Friday agrees, withdrawing her fingers. Noon keens at the loss, clenching around Dusk's fingers.
"You didn't- you said untouched, not-" Noon's arms give out, but Dusk hauls his hips back before he can grind himself against the sheets.
"Don't you want to be good?" Dusk demands harshly.
"Yes!"
Friday moves closer, pulls Noon into her lap. He presses his face against her thigh, panting, writhing.
"His hands, milady," Dusk adds.
Friday raises an eyebrow, but it is a good idea. "Wrists crossed behind your back, Noon."
He whimpers but does as he's told, hands clenching and unclenching helplessly.
"Good," Dusk says, running a soothing hand down his flank. Noon sobs. "Good, Noon."
"So, this request," Friday says, stroking his sweat-soaked blond hair.
"I-I want- I can't-"
Dusk takes pity on him. "He wants to fuck you while I fuck him, milady." That is a beautiful image, actually. However, Dusk is already speaking before she has a chance to respond. "Or perhaps we could both fuck him. Noon likes being on the bottom, and he has been so very good so far. I'd be fucking him and you could ride his cock."
Noon wails, bites at her thigh as he comes, shuddering.
"That is an excellent idea, Dusk. Is that your request, Noon?" Friday asks, tilting his head up and leaning down to press kisses to his trembling eyelids.
"Yes, please- both of you-" He whines, pulls away from Dusk's fingers and slumps onto his side, panting.
Friday slides her fingers through the mess of come on the sheet and presses them to Dusk's mouth. He sucks them clean, then leans in to kiss her. She gasps, arching, when he presses two fingers into her, thumb working her clit.
Noon and Dusk seldom approach her for sex, but it is always exquisite when they do.
xi.
It is the first time in almost ten millennia that she has been to the Incomparable Gardens, though Sunday only allows her to see the outskirts of his Demesne.
He is not the worst lover Friday has ever taken to bed - that dubious honour lies with the Piper - but it is a close second. She supposes she should not be surprised that Sunday is just as selfish as his youngest brother. She wonders if the Mariner would have been similar; somehow she doubts it.
"You may take this elevator back to the Middle House," Sunday tells her after. As if Saturday does not monitor the movement of the elevators, and who rides them; particularly those into and out of the Incomparable Gardens.
"Your actions continue to excite Saturday's envy," Friday says, not quite accusingly. Sunday is the ruler of the House, after all; even if they were in the Middle House, she would not stand a chance against him.
Sunday smiles faintly. The expression makes his impossibly handsome face even more of a trial to consider. "That will be all, Lady Friday," he says, turning away.
Friday clenches her hands, resisting the urge to slap him. The fool. Does he not see that his actions hasten the downfall of the House? Saturday has been moving to allow the other Demesnes to fall into Nothing since before this 'Lord Arthur' entered the House and defeated Monday, all because she wishes to see the Incomparable Gardens once more.
"Yes, it will be," she agrees, raising the mirror. If he gives any reply, she does not hear it, for she has already left the Incomparable Gardens behind.
xii.
Lord Arthur continues to defeat the other Trustees one by one, until only Friday, Saturday and Sunday are left.
He is little more than a child; he could pass for one of those mortals the Piper brought into the House two millennia ago. Except there is something in his bearing that hints at his true status; and of course, the Fourth Key in his hand.
Friday feels a pang at the sight; she imagines that Thursday is dead, as the three Trustees before him are.
"Lord Arthur," she says, then looks beyond him. "Dawn." Her lips curl up into a smile, though there is no mirth in it; no warmth. She feels tired, so very tired; she should perhaps be more surprised than she is that Dawn has betrayed her and led the Rightful Heir to the Scriptorium.
"Friday," Part Five of the Will says. She hadn't noticed it perched on Arthur's shoulder. "You will relinquish the Fifth Key, or it will be taken from you by force."
"Certainly," Friday murmurs. Who is she turn aside the Rightful Heir? The thought of fleeing occurs to her; but where would she go, in that case? She would be thrown out of the Incomparable Gardens; and she has no wish to throw herself at Saturday's mercy. "I have one request, however. A kiss from the Rightful Heir, and I will gladly give up my Key."
Arthur splutters, red flushing his cheeks. "That's not-"
"That is inappropriate," Dawn says flatly.
Friday smirks at him. "As inappropriate as betraying one's master, Dawn?"
Dawn's eyes flash with anger. For the first time in longer than Friday can remember, he actually looks at her, instead of staring several crucial inches to the side, avoiding her gaze. "You betrayed the Architect first."
It was the Architect who betrayed the House first, actually; what choice did the Trustees have but to break Her Will? "Well, Lord Arthur?" she asks, ignoring Dawn's words. "A kiss? Or will you be taking the Key by force..."
Arthur bites his lips; a nervous tic, surely. "Fine. One kiss, and you'll relinquish the Fifth Key."
"I swear it," Friday agrees, slipping gracefully to her knees. She is much taller than him, after all.
Arthur takes a deep breath and walks forward, his eyes on her hands. Likely he suspects treachery. Friday has little patience for such games, but perhaps it is good; he will have to overcome Saturday, after all.
"It will help if you look at me, Lord Arthur," she says lightly.
He scowls faintly and turns those blue eyes to her face. "One kiss," he repeats, then leans forward and brushes his lips across her cheek.
Friday stares at him for a moment, stunned. Then, she laughs. "Very good, Lord Arthur," she says as she rises again, reluctantly impressed. "My Key, then, as promised. I, Friday, Trustee of the Ultimate Architect..."
Perhaps, youth and inexperience aside, he will prove cunning enough to outsmart the Will; though she doubts she will be around to see the conclusion either way.