Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead.
My Queen is my own, and so is this story.
A/N: I've been browsing through Deviant art, getting a lot of inspiration for this one. There are so many talented artists on there that just adore Reaver as much as I, so you guys should really check it out if you haven't already. This one goes out to all my fellow Benjamina's out there, time to party!
Update 15/6/2013: As I wish to pick up this story and become more familiar with it, I am going back to edit and tweak previous chapters.
And I want these words to make things right
But it's the wrongs that make the words come to life
Who does he think he is?
If that's the worst you got, better put your fingers back to the keys
Thnks fr th Mmrs ~ Fall Out Boy
Reaver had really outdone himself this time.
A clash of bright colors and loud music assaults the Queen as she enters the main hall, already full to bursting with a mix of both nobles and commoners scattered about. Many bow in respect to her presence, the rest only clap their hands and raise their up-turned noses, whispering petty insults. Such is the usual reaction to the Queen.
"Ah! Now I remember why I've always hated these things." Walter fidgets with the emerald suit Jasper practically forced him into, "Ben! Quit gawking like an idiot and go find Reaver. I'm sure our host will want to know of our arrival."
Ben shakes his head, his eyes previously stuck on the scandalously clad woman passing out drinks. The Queen is barely able to contain her amusement at the sight. It only figures that Reaver would have to include some sort shamelessness, even in such a formal event such as this. She can just picture his smug grin watching somewhere, unseen, as the party plays out before him. He always struck her as the voyeur type.
Ben disappears into the crowd, the Queen fully believing she will not see him again till sometime the next day, possibly without his clothes nor any sort of remembrance of the night before.
"Your Majesty," Walter pats the lacy hand tucked beneath his arm, the Queen's brown eyes raising to meet his, "You look lovely tonight, but I must ask, what is with that cane?"
The Queen untangles her arm from his grasp, her other free hand swinging the cane up freely. Another wave of what she decides is pleasure washes throughout her, a sly grin cracking across her heavily painted lips.
"I don't know, might come in handy if I have to whack around some touchy nobles, no?" Walter chuckles lightly, shaking his head. Just as the Queen begins to relax, a familiar rush of unease takes over her limbs, the sudden sense of being watched completely overwhelming.
"My friends! I believe our guest of honor has finally decided to bless us with her presence! Your Majesty!" Horror strikes at the Queen's heart as she glances up to see Reaver slowly descending the stairs, the sight of his ensemble hitting her like a punch to the gut. His suit almost exactly compliments her own, dressed head to toe in black, gold lining running the outer length of his jacket. His top hat is average when compared to the usual one he sports, a gold stained flower tucked perfectly above the brim.
"You're late."
Reaver comes to a halt just inches from the Queen, completely ignoring the chilly glares from Walter at her side.
"I must admit, when my tailor first informed me that you decided upon black as your color of choice, I found myself a bit skeptical. But my dear, you have quite the taste! We look just marvelous!"
Reaver's hands manage to snake their way around the Queen's waist, tugging her forcibly to his side . Walter reluctantly lets her go with the snake, privately eyeing the cane, hoping Reaver will be the first to suffer it's wrath.
Reaver effortlessly spins the Queen beneath his arm, winking slyly before yanking her back into his chest roughly. His lips brush against her exposed neck, arms locking around her torso creating an inescapable prison.
"You look especially radiant, my midnight treat." Reaver whispers huskily in the Queens ear, his eyes traveling down her neck to her perky bosoms. A slight glimmer catches his eye, his glance reluctantly shifting to the cane held tightly within the Queens grasp.
"Mmm. Now, I believe that belongs to me, you delightful little thief. How very naughty of you."
The Queen has had just about as much as she can take from Reaver, already so very tired of being used as his accessory. Her elbow jerks back to hit him directly below the ribs. Reaver reacts by squeezing the Queen tighter, his grip on her turning to something more of a sinister nature as she struggles against him. His strength is unexpected. Being a Hero, she always found the efforts of those around her quite easily outmatched in comparison. Then again, Reaver is not some ordinary townsperson, nor even mortal as far as the Queen knows. Truth be told, she knows very little of the Industrial tycoon, other than that of his retched personality and disagreeable interests.
"It's quite an interesting little objet damne of mine. Perhaps I could enlighten you with that rather exciting tale over breakfast? Or, if you are finding yourself most impatient, I could include it in a little pillow talk." Reaver growls seductively as he grinds his hips into the Queens backside, finding himself unhappy to be met with only layers of cloth and silks.
For once, the Queen is very thankful of the pointless, elaborate fashions that are expected of royalty these days.
Suddenly, Reaver releases the Queen from his iron grip, his presence disappearing from behind her entirely just as soon as it had appeared. Curiosity eventually gets the better of her, turning around to spot the new object of his interests.
Another imagined hit to the stomach manages to strike the Queen, this time though, it drives straight through her heart.
Standing near the door, looking rather fearful, is the only man the Queen had ever loved. The warm arms that once embraced her are now wrapped around his pretty wife, her protruding belly announcing their love to all those in the room. The cane so tightly wrapped in her grasp falls to the floor, the sound never reaching the Queen's ears.
"Why Master Elliot! So glad you could join us, and with your lovely wife, practically glowing! What are we, five, six months along now? Just splendid." Reaver almost seems to consider rubbing the pregnant woman's stomach, instantly deciding against it and only shaking her hand rather awkwardly. His sly eyes roam the crowd, knowingly falling upon the Queen still rooted to the spot where he had left her.
"Your Majesty! Come, greet your guests! We don't want to seem rude now, do we?"
The Queen cannot move, she cannot breathe. She feels as if the world is collapsing around her, unable to break her gaze from the bump that seems to be taunting her. The faint tug of Reaver's arm once again wrapping possessively around her waist pulls her along, the fingers of his free hand dancing playfully against any amount of exposed flesh he can find.
"Elliot." The Queen can only mutter her former lover's name, her dead eyes not even slightly able to lift from her shoes.
"Your Majesty." The Queen feels as if she had just been slapped as Elliot bows down before her, his boyish, shaggy hair falling into his eyes as it had done so many times before. The urge to reach out to him, to brush away that hair and kiss him is almost maddening. Reaver is much too preoccupied with his distracted Queen's body to even slightly notice, or care for that matter. In his mind, everything is going swimmingly!
"Maestro!" Reaver snaps at the band, his tall stature allowing him easy sight of almost everything and everyone in the room, "Something lively for my guests! I'm feeling most peppy, and craving a dance."
A swirl of bodies and faces pass through the Queen's vision as she is swept away to the dance floor. Reaver's hand finds it's appropriate position on her hip, the other snatching up her limp fingers.
With an aggressive tug he draws the Queen in close, licking his lips as he revels in the feeling of her breasts pressing firmly up against him.
"You are mine tonight, your Majesty." He plucks the gold flower from his hat and places it safely in the vast amount of curls adorning the Queen's head, "Let us enjoy life!"
The upbeat mix of piano, violin, lute and numerous other instruments emit throughout the room, other couples soon following Reaver's example and joining the dance floor. The Queen's eyes follow Elliot and his bride as they too enter the dance floor, his loving hands caressing her swollen belly before twirling her joyfully around.
Had she not been the one who sent him away? He had given her the choice after all. But how could he expect her to be the one to take someone's love away? Just as he had been taken from her. She would be no better than Logan had she told him to choose her over the commoner who so deftly stole his heart in her absence.
Still, their outright expression of their love infuriates the Queen, Reaver's roaming hands feeling numb against her glowing skin. Carefully, he traces the intricate will lines crawling across her body, his one arm supporting her full weight as he dips her dangerously low to the floor.
"My dear, I am finding myself most bored with your lack of attention. I mean surely, my handsome face is clearly more deserving of those most intense stares, than the Shelter Boy."
Sure to Reaver's wish, the Queen's furious eyes snap up to the joyful green ones peeking down at her, his dark eyebrow quirking in amusement.
"You…you vile snake!" Reaver jerks the Queen's body upwards and catches her swinging hand with his own. She pushes against his chest with her only free hand, Reaver pulling her even closer and molding her body against his own.
"You planned this! You invited them knowing how it would make me feel!" Reaver leads the Queen in a dance of what is turning into a fight of wills, elegantly spinning and gliding among the massive crowd that exists around them.
Reaver laughs horridly, noting how lovely the Queen's glowing, now blue, eyes twinkle up at him in rage. Angry sex with the woman must be marvelous!
"My my, you have some deviant little ideas swirling around in that pretty head of yours. And here I thought you were all sweetness and purity." Reaver clicks his tongue at the Queen, daringly lowering his head to nibble at her collarbone. He can feel every muscle tighten beneath her dress, her footing shifting slightly in a manner that Reaver is all too familiar with.
The Queen is going to kick him, hard. And if luck allowed, she is hoping to make him use that cane for just more than a fashion statement.
Reaver is one step ahead of her, once again twirling her off and away from his body, careful to keep two of his most prized possessions intact. The Queen is undeterred however, readying herself to land a punch squarely on his oh-so-perfect jaw.
Without any warning, Reaver removes the pistol hidden discreetly beneath his jacket and points it directly at the Queen's forehead. The crowd, either to preoccupied to notice, or too fearful of Reaver's wrath at mentioning anything, continue their dancing unaffected, more laughter and chatter erupting throughout the patrons.
"Perhaps we should continue this discussion elsewhere, my sweet. I know how heated our little banter can get. We would come off as such poor hosts if, say, one of our unfortunate guests got hurt, you see." The Queen's eyes widen as Reaver's hand pivots to point the pistol at Elliot and his wife dancing carelessly in the distance, his other hand yet again yanking her forcefully back into him.
The Queen simply nods, relaxing her aggressive stance and letting the blue will lines fade from her skin. She remains silent as Reaver places a hand gently on her lower back, leading her back into the main hall and directing her up the stairs to his bedroom.
The Queen is the first to enter, readying herself as she hears Reaver close and lock the door behind them. She doesn't waste any time to survey her surroundings. His bedroom is a extravagant and flamboyant as the man himself. It is unimportant. She spins on her heels to face Reaver once more, electricity still sparking at her fingertips despite the lack of her gauntlets. Reaver is much too intelligent to face an angry woman, let alone an angry Hero, unprepared. His pistol is once again directed at the Queen's head, his ability to pull the trigger much quicker than that of hers to charge up a spell.
The Queen lets out a disgruntled cry, her hands falling helplessly to her sides as she glares tearfully up at Reaver, still brandishing his weapon.
"What is it you want from me Reaver? To break me? To make me as utterly hopeless and cold as yourself?" She rips out the golden flower still clinging to her hair, tossing it back in his direction, "Well, mission accomplished! I am completely and totally broken!" She turns away to hide her shame, a few clear droplets of tears beginning to stream down her made up face. Where was Walter when she needed him? Probably already drunk downstairs somewhere, retelling one of his favorite war stories to some unfortunate party go-er.
"Now now, my sweet. That is not what I desire from you." The Queen flinches as Reaver's cold hands snake onto her shoulders, his chest pressing lightly against her back, "I only wish to spread love, you see! I merely thought seeing your former flame, so happy with his new family, would bring you joy!" Reaver pushes against her shoulder, spinning the Queen around to face him. He cups her chin, thumbing away whatever tears remain.
The Queen blinks slowly, lifting her eyes to stare into Reaver's.
"You are a liar Reaver, and a cheat. I detest everything you stand for, and everything you do." She states as if it were simply a matter of fact, rather than an insult. Without warning, the Queen reaches up and pulls Reaver's face down to meet her own, his lips and teeth crashing against hers with enough force to bruise the next day.
It takes a moment for Reaver to register her mouth on his, recovering quickly and placing each of his hands lustfully against the Queen's body. His hands dance hungrily over her curves, cupping her bottom roughly while pulling her tightly against him. Even through the confining layers of clothing, she can feel him roll his hips against hers. She nips playfully at his lower lip, his tongue slipping into her more than welcoming mouth.
She cups his face gently as their tongues wrestle for dominance, neither the sort to yield control without a good fight. There is really no good reason as to why the Queen is acting like this. Maybe it's the pain of seeing her lost love with another, or maybe Reaver really is just a charming devil whose constant attempts have finally taken hold. In truth, she isn't really trying to figure out why her lips are moving so hungrily against his, or why she doesn't stop his hands ripping at the buttons along the back of her bodice and hiking her skirt up to her thigh.
Just as quickly as it began, the Queen pulls herself away from him, her eyes burning with hate, lust, and everything in between.
"I am not your Queen."
The Queen disrobes her ruined gown for the deviant, wasting no time in pulling him back against her naked body.