Warning: This fic contains violence, strong language and sexual situations. Don't say I didn't warn you!
Figured You Out, by Nickelback
I like your pants around your feet
And I like the dirt that's on your knees
And I like the way you still say please
While you're looking up at me
You're like my favorite damn disease
And I love the places that we go
And I love the people that you know
And I love the way you can't say no
Too many long lines in a row
I love the powder on your nose
And now I know who you are
It wasn't that hard, just to figure you out
(Now I did, you wonder why)
And now I know who you are
It wasn't that hard, just to figure you out
(Now I did, you wonder why)
And I love the way you pass the check
And I love the good times that you wreck
(Good times that you wreck)
And I love your lack of self-respect
While you're passed out on the deck
I love my hands around your neck
And I hate the places that we go
And I hate the people that you know
And I hate the way you can't say no
Too many long lines in a row
I hate the powder on your nose
March watched Calliope schmoozing with the other ladies of the Court. Her full, curvy body was packed into a black slip of a dress, leaving little to the imagination. Not that March needed to use his imagination; he'd seen every part of Calliope, tasted her, buried himself in her time and again.
Amongst the other refined ladies of the Queen's Court, Calliope alone was unafraid of him. She was a lesser Spade, no-one of any real standing or influence, but she could mingle effectively with those that had what she did not. And March was always looking for more power, more contacts, more people who would tell him secrets. Still, he could only take so much of this polite mingling. The Royals had little else to do with their time, but March was not content to make polite conversation.
He caught Calliope's eye from across the room, and with one slight tilt of his head had her hurrying over. Her long, wavy hair – so black it was almost blue – swirled at the middle of her back with her quick steps.
"March?" Calliope looked up at him with her luminous brown eyes, her hands already stroking up and down his arms. March studied her and found that he had become bored. She was always so acquiescent, always ready to do whatever he said. It was becoming tiresome. And suspicious. Time to test a theory.
"I want you," he said. "Now."
Calliope grinned, her plump lips gleaming with paint. "My rooms?"
"No." March grabbed her by the arms and spun her around so that her back was pressed against the wall. She gave a startled squeak and her eyes widened momentarily in alarm, but when March slid his hand up under her dress and forced her legs apart, she relaxed and opened up to him.
March frowned. It was as he'd suspected, then. Calliope was the Queen's. The old cow was playing him, giving him a woman who would satisfy his every need and follow his every command. No proper member of the Court would allow themselves to be groped in public.
Growling in anger, March kept one hand between her legs and used the other to rip her dress down the front. Calliope's full breasts were exposed, the nipples already hardening in response to the air and to his touch. There were gasps and murmurs from behind him, but he knew no-one would dare to interfere. He was the Queen's assassin, and therefore untouchable.
"Oh, March…" Calliope moaned, arching against him. March shoved three fingers up inside her wet opening and stroked her clit with his thumb. She came almost instantly, bucking against him and saying his name over and over.
"They're all watching you," March murmured in her ear. "You're the Assassin's whore."
"Let them watch," Calliope groaned. She captured March's mouth in a bruising kiss, biting his lip before her hand moved down to undo his trousers. "Then they'll all know what a good fuck you are."
March tore the rest of the dress off and let it flutter to the floor. There were agitated sounds coming from the others in the room, but March paid them no mind. In fact, he altered their position enough so that he could see himself and the rest of the Court in one of the large oval mirrors that hung on the wall. There were many horrified, red faces. But March could see some of the men, and some of the women as well, were turned on. And he grinned at their reflections as Calliope slid his trousers off.
"Down," March demanded. Calliope instantly went on her knees, stroking his throbbing cock before taking it into her mouth. He hissed as she used her teeth on him, fisting one hand into her hair and setting the pace he wanted. He knew she could get him off, and swallow every drop, but that wasn't what he needed, not this time.
March pulled Calliope up by her hair. She pressed herself against him, grinding, and he bit her neck so that her blood ran wet and red down her heaving breasts.
"Fuck me, March. Please." Calliope pressed wet kisses to his face and struggled to push off his suit coat. He batted her hands away and pulled her backwards with him until he was sitting on a red-velvet bench and she was straddling him. March sheathed himself in her, and she was tight and wet as she always was.
Calliope rode him at a frantic pace, her hands clutching his shoulders. She arched backwards, thrusting her breasts in his face. March put his hand on one, tugging painfully hard on the nipple, and the other he took in his mouth. He tasted her blood again, and he knew he was close.
"You're the Queen's whore, aren't you? Hers before mine." March rasped. Calliope had no response, just her moans and whimpers. He flipped their positions on the bench so that she was lying down and he loomed over her. He put his hands around her throat, squeezing even as her pussy tightened around his cock.
March continued to pound into her, even when her hands stopped clutching his shoulders and started scrabbling at his tightening grip around her neck. Even when her face turned red and her tongue protruded from her whore's mouth. And when the light began to fade from her eyes March emptied himself inside her, the orgasm more powerful than any other he had ever had.
When the buzzing in his ears had diminished, March pulled himself out and cleaned himself off with what was left of Calliope's dress; he carelessly tossed it on her body when he was done. He could hear some weeping now from elsewhere in the room, and hushed words that sounded shocked and angry. He ignored them, instead casually pulling his trousers back on and smoothing down his hair until he looked presentable once again.
March finally turned, looking dispassionately at the assembled gentry. Most looked terrified, but he made note of the others, those who looked hungry. He spared no glance for the body of his former lover.
"Let the Queen know I can find my own diversions. She need not send another." March waited, wanting to be sure they got the message, and then he turned and left. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone else sought him out, probably someone who had seen what he was capable of and wanted to play with fire. He could be patient.
Until then, March though he might just slip back to Shagtown. Already he felt his need growing, and a few whores wouldn't be missed. He grinned in anticipation, and it was fearsome.
AN:Here it is – Song Fic #50. Dun da da dun! Heard this song in the car the other day and immediately knew it would be a March fic. LOL! I know you all love crazy, scary March! And of course what better way to celebrate song #50 than with a crazy, smutty March fic.
Thanks so much for all of your support and wonderful reviews! 50. Wow! Couldn't have gotten here without you!
