A/N: To accompany scaragh's beautiful art entitled "Pain." Her drawing was directly inspired by a scene in Antiphony, while this short fic is not part of that universe.

Theme 20: Pain

The glow of the crystals heralded her arrival with cold precision. Despite the strong winds tonight, she had still made the journey and kept their appointment. As usual, he welcomed her with a cold smile and a proffered hand she would not take.

She stepped down from the window on her own and brushed past him without ceremony. The magic carpet that had borne her here drifted away in reluctant obedience, clearly preferring to bring its mistress away from this place and him as soon as possible. It was equally clear what she preferred.

She kept her back turned to him as she pulled the gems and silk from her hair and set them on the dresser in methodical order. The ornamental restraints had not been enough to preserve her normally pristine appearance from the wind; her long hair was disheveled and she was already working to untangle the mess, fingers combing from the scalp.

"I take it your journey was less than pleasant," he said.

She tilted her head to ease the passage of her hands through a difficult knot. "As if that's something new."

He chuckled and moved to the dresser, fingering the priceless gems she had tossed aside like small inconveniences. "I appreciate the commitment, sultana."

Her hands paused for a split-second in response to the jab, resuming their task more forcefully as heat briefly prickled the cold silence.

He touched her shoulder with his gauntleted hand and turned her to face him, meeting only slight resistance. He returned her resentful stare with an easy smile, stroking her face once with his knuckles.

"Ah. Now this will not do." He inspected the smear of dirt on the back of his hand with disapproval. "We'll have to get you cleaned up."

Her delicate mouth tightened in a frown and though there was little point in objecting, she still spoke against him. "I'm not wasting any more time here than I have to."

"This is my time as well, and it isn't going to waste," he said lightly. "Come with me."

…

His hands moved in a gentle rhythm through her long damp hair, brushing the slick skin of her back with each iteration. She relaxed by slow degrees, shoulders falling from their rigid posture, weary body soaking in the warmth of the water and his breath on her neck. Her arms still rested on the sides of the bath as if allowing her an escape, to stand to her feet and leave in a moment. A little more time and she would relinquish the notion.

The knots that had given her such difficulty separated easily with small currents of magic from his hands. The gauntlet was not necessary for such low level spells and he had set it aside with his robes. The skeletal fingers of his right hand proved useful in this, combing through luxurious strands of hair with meticulous precision. He was careful not to brush her skin too often with them. Though he relished each unguarded shiver, it would not help to accomplish his purpose.

In time her breathing grew even and he knew without seeing that she had closed her eyes. She unconsciously leaned back against him so that he could only brush her hair around her shoulders, down the smooth skin of her arms and into the water where it fanned out in a horizontal curtain. The crown of her head came to rest under his chin and her face tilted slightly to the side, drawn slack with the need for sleep. He shifted to hold her more comfortably, securing her legs between his.

He smiled at the sigh that escaped her lips with the next purposeful touch of his hand against her skin. He lowered his cheek to hers and she leaned into him instinctively, already lost in careless slumber and reminiscence. His lips murmured words she would recognize in his warmth and her unspoken need, and his smile grew wider at her answering whisper.

"That name is dead," he whispered back, and stopped the current of magic from his hands.

Pain bloomed in her eyes as his fingers forcefully tugged through a thick knot in her hair, sharp bones raking downward and cutting into her shoulder. She jerked forward out of his embrace, unheeding of the rude splash of water on his floor. She whirled to face him, the nails of one hand haphazardly grazing his skin beneath the surface. The fury in her eyes promised vengeance that she would not deliver.

…

He allowed her some quarter the first time as she lay face down, eyes and expressions hidden from him. He allowed himself more time to compensate, easing into her with maddening slowness, drawing out the wait until she pushed back in impatience and took him within her fully. Her hands clenched into fists above her head, nails biting into the soft fabric of the pillow as he began to move, still taking his time.

She was hot and slick and it was only out of practice that he restrained himself, chest brushing lightly against her back with each slow thrust. She kept rigidly still and unresponsive as he knew she would, determined to defy him as long as he would play this game. They both knew she would lose; it only sweetened his victory.

With calculated timing he pushed in at an angle and elicited a stifled moan, a first concession of what would be many. He pressed his body against her back, driving deeper into that hot juncture between her legs. His hands trailed up her sides and she tensed further when his palm sought her mouth. She met his hand with her teeth and he covered her lips nonetheless, pulling her head back from the pillow, craning her neck toward him as he thrust harder.

She fought him the rest of the way as expected, striving to break his rhythm and force her own upon him, ignoring the skeletal hand that dug into her delicate flesh, refusing to bend to his will. He only drove into her faster, meeting her challenge and giving her more than she demanded on his own terms, testing just how much she could take.

Be careful what you ask for.

Be more careful who you ask.

He wondered if she had begun to forget what he had warned her from the start.

…

The wall was cold at his back the second time, shoulder blades shifting against the stone with each push. Her hands were splayed against the unyielding surface on either side of his head, resolutely refusing contact as she rocked her hips against him.

He gripped her waist loosely, the gauntlet once again on his right hand to prevent further damage to her delicate skin. He watched her through a warm haze of pleasure, observing how she breathed, damp hair falling around her face. As expected, she was still trying to hide, this time merely through closed eyes. The pace she had set was steady and unerring, sufficient and nothing more.

He had to admire her again for how much and how quickly she had changed—adapted, more precisely, to blind circumstance and what her kingdom demanded of her as its ruler. A burden she had learned to bear alone by breaking nearly all of what she had once been as Agrabah's cherished princess, and constructing piece by piece the new role she had taken on as the kingdom's first true sultana.

And she had adapted to this—agreement, liaison, partnership, even—surprisingly well, in spite of all that had once marked them as mortal enemies. On the contrary, he was certain this was actually the reason she had sought him out in the first place.

There was no enemy to keep closer than him. She had realized it as soon as the cordial threats from neighboring kingdoms had begun, enterprising rulers seeking an easy target in a newly isolated kingdom with a childless widow at its head. He remembered clearly the night she had first visited him, alone, without any magical guardians or concealed weapons. She had come to negotiate with nothing but herself as the opening offer. He had laughed, as intrigued as he was amused. It was strange, regarding her with both ridicule and respect, but the terms had been appetizing enough. He remembered the rest of that night with even sharper clarity.

But at times this worked almost too well, and the knife's edge that divided them seemed to have grown dull. Dull and tedious, as if he were a mere task to complete instead of her most dangerous enemy and most valuable ally. He had always preferred a challenge and knew she could offer it, if he only pushed her in the right way.

His hands stroked her hips and the curves of her thighs, palms sliding smoothly over her skin each time she rose and sank onto him. Leaning forward, he kissed her slowly, tongue meeting hers as she panted against his lips, not allowing the distraction to break her rhythm. It was slightly irritating, her persistence in finishing sooner, as if she expected to leave then. He would have to correct that.

She flinched and drew back when his hand found that core of pleasure between her legs and began to work her in a new rhythm. A hiss of protest passed between gritted teeth and she brought her hand away from the wall to grasp his wrist. But she stopped short of fighting him, grip going slack within seconds as her body adjusted its pace to match his, eyelashes fluttering with each conjoined stroke. His mouth trailed over her cheek to her ear, murmuring poison and provocation, and he savored the way her breathing quickened in resentful passion. With his gloved hand he caressed her face, brushing her hair back each time it cascaded forward.

"Look at me," he commanded softly.

There was a delay before she obeyed, and he almost paused at the sight of the watery film over her sharp irises. She met his gaze unrepentantly, eyelashes glistening.

As always, her silence spoke more clearly than any words she could have voiced.

…

"They should reach Suharren within three days and Erias the night after. Prince Tessur will be waiting for them there."

One hand ran a brush through her now dry hair while the other replaced the ornaments in memorized order without the benefit of a mirror. The straight path of her eyes was fixed on the open window, where the desert and sky were nearly the same shade of black.

"Wait until the last of them leaves Suharren. That city is not to be touched," she said, sliding a jeweled pin above her ear. "When they reach the border of Erias, make sure none of them makes the crossing."

He chuckled, trailing her movements lazily from his vantage point on the bed. One hand traced absent patterns in the empty sheets beside him.

"Prince Tessur is quite fortunate to be spared your vengeance."

The reply was tempered, brief. "I'm not sparing him."

He raised an eyebrow curiously and craned his neck to continue following her as she walked to the other side of the room.

"Suharren would serve better," he offered. "A city and an army at once—there are few stronger warnings to deliver to an enemy. It would be no additional trouble on my part."

"No."

He drew himself up on his elbows, watching her with a crooked smile. "Still have a heart for human collateral?"

She tied the last strip into her hair and returned his amused gaze without humor. "It has to be at his borders, right at his doorstep. I want him to see it as it happens."

For a moment he had nothing to say, wondering if the woman standing before him had kept anything from her past life other than her hatred for him.

"As I said, I'm not sparing him," she said simply.

"Indeed," he mused, as close to open admiration as he could get.

"Four days, then."

"Four days," he affirmed. It still bothered him slightly, the way she spoke in commands as if he were a servant instead of her master. He knew she would never acknowledge the truth, but he supposed he was content for now. It was a telling sign of her insecurity, belying her pride and ruthless efficiency as mere constructs each time she traveled across the deserts for him.

She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and was already moving toward the window when he stopped her.

"Wait."

He spoke a simple spell as he approached her and his gauntlet glowed briefly. She looked down at the slim gold chain that had appeared in his palm, linked with a single onyx stone shaped in the crest of his domain. She did not move as he placed it around her neck and felt the slight flicker of energy of the enchanted gem recognizing its wearer.

"This will allow you to come here directly," he said. "No need for archaic transportation through desert winds and storms."

She looked at him warily for a long moment, questioning his purpose, an unexpected maneuver outside the terms they had set.

"It's late," he said lightly. "I'll return you to your kingdom."

"I'll manage on my own." She moved back, eyes never breaking contact. "Just carry out what we agreed upon."

He smiled as she stepped onto the carpet at the window, soon to leave his land with one more adornment than she had arrived with.

"I won't disappoint you."