Notes: Sequel to "sweet surrender, loving you". Prequel to "hija de la muerte".

Elisabeth is sixteen at the time of this fic. Explicit (consensual) sexual content happens between her and the personification of Death. There is also a one-sided pregnancy kink on her end. If that squicks you out, turn back now.

As usual, applied actors are Uwe Kröger (Essen 2002 production with some 1992 Vienna characterization) and Pia Douwes.

Summary: Death makes good on his promise to take Elisabeth riding with the wind. And... a few other things.

Reiten mit dem Wind

The room temperature dropped, jolting Elisabeth out of a restless sleep. She glanced over, saw that Franz Joseph was still sleeping soundly, and carefully slid out from under the covers when she saw the shadow coiling at the foot of her bed was solidifying into a human shape. Her heart beat faster in anticipation as she remembered what had happened earlier that morning… and his promise to her for tonight.

"Hello, Elisabeth." His voice was as much in her mind as it was in the air, and she shivered at the effect it had on her body.

Her dark prince reached out his hand. Wordlessly, Elisabeth stepped forward and threaded her fingers through his. He effortlessly pulled her to him, his hold on her gentle, and warmth spread through her from where they touched.

"Have you come to take me riding with the wind?" she asked him, softly so as not to wake Franz.

He nodded. "I have. If you would prefer leaving one of the windows open so it would be easier for you, I can do that—but I assume you do not want to wake the Emperor."

She considered it, then shook her head. "You're right, I don't. But if you can slip in beneath doors, or… between reality or wherever it is you come from… then a window shouldn't be a challenge for you, should it?" At that last, she tilted her head to the side as she looked up at him.

His mouth twitched faintly. "I suppose not. Very well then. Hold on tight to me, mein schwarzes Vögelchen."

She did, pressing herself further against him, her arms wrapping around his neck in an embrace. Elisabeth would have been embarrassed about her position at any other time, but here with him and what they had shared earlier that day… She couldn't bring herself to feel self-conscious at the moment.

Not when Death Himself had informed her earlier that he was the one she was rightfully married to, not the Kaiser Franz Joseph von Österreich.

The feel of his arms around her jolted her out of her thoughts, and for a second she rested her head on his shoulder. Then he was turning to shadow, cradling her before she could panic. Her body began to fade, molecules urged on by the force of his own transformation, and then the night swallowed her.

Elisabeth barely had time to marvel at the sensation of being in a new form, how she saw more now with her mind than her eyes, when she felt Death urging her towards the window—and somehow, she could still sense his arms around her.

Then they were through the crack in the window frame, out in the night air, and joyful laughter spilled from her as they caught a breeze and were carried out over the grounds of the Schönbrunn.

Elisabeth could feel him guiding her, staying close; and she sensed that if she were to move too far away from him, she would fall back into her human body. As it was, his nearness comforted her as they rode on the wind, flew as shadowy phantoms through the night over the city of Vienna. The night was young, the moon full, and she felt free in a way she never had before ever since she first came to the palace and Viennese court.

-Are you enjoying yourself, little gull?- His voice whispered across her mind; if she could have, she would have smiled.

-Yes!- Responding in kind, in thoughts, was new to her, but she was nothing if not a quick study. Curious now, wanting to see what exactly she could do in this form, she slipped out of his grasp and coiled around him—making sure to stay close enough to him that his power—magic?—could keep her this shape. Now, with him, she felt more like the girl she'd been on her family's estate rather than the young Empress of a country that bordered her home kingdom. -This is amazing!-

Wanting to go faster, to play, she darted out slightly ahead of him—all while taking in the sights of the city beneath her. -Komm schon! Spiel mit mir!-

Death easily caught up with her; she darted away, he chased.

Elisabeth wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually the moon started to sink lower in the night sky and he was turning her back toward the palace—her room. A noise of protest rose in her throat as they again slipped into her bedchamber and she felt herself growing heavier, dropping back into her human form.

When he was solid, humanoid again, she turned to him and pressed close against him, burying her face against his shoulder. Instead of an Empress, she felt again like the fifteen-year-old girl she'd been a year ago when he'd first met her. "Don't go," she whispered. "Stay. Dreaming and writing poems, or riding with the wind…" She looked up, met his dual-colored eyes; saw his blond hair had turned to silver in the moonlight. "No one understands me like you."

She felt, heard him sigh. "Elisabeth…"

Her finger on his lips made him fall silent, but not before she'd caught the note of longing (and maybe exasperation?) in his voice. Then surprise flickered in his eyes at her action—Had no one ever dared to do this to him before?—and his lips involuntarily parted enough for her fingertip to be drawn in.

She froze, whatever she'd been about to say gone from her mind in shock at the sudden warmth of his tongue touching her fingertip, teasing her. Shock quickly faded, only to be replaced by a rush of heat and desire. God, she didn't know how to seduce a man, how to be enticing. Not that he was a man, exactly—he certainly wasn't human—but in that moment, all Elisabeth knew was that she wanted him.

"Stay," she said again, moving her hand to caress the left side of his face. A quick glance to her bed reminded her that Franz Joseph was still there; then her eyes were back on Death. "Do what you did before. Take us to that other reality where no one can disturb us. I…" She stood up on her toes, brought her mouth to his right ear, and whispered, "I want you to make love to me. Again." She dropped her head, nuzzled against his chest like a cat. "Right now."

Death didn't say a word, but she felt her dark prince wrap his arms around her and turn, his long black coat swirling around both their legs. When she opened her eyes after the slight dizziness had passed, Elisabeth realized they were again in that other layer of reality—still her room, yet different, with mist everywhere. Better yet, they were alone: Franz Joseph was nowhere to be seen.

Her nightgown was gone, and for a moment, she shivered at both the sensation of her lover using his powers to remove her clothes with a thought and the eerie dampness of their surroundings. Then he was guiding her towards the bed; her legs hit the edge; and she reclined back on the covers, looking up at him in anticipation. She ran her tongue over her lips, felt her nipples harden and heat gather in her lower abdomen. "Please…" she whispered, dropping her eyes from his to run her gaze along his body, and a low noise left her when she saw he was still wearing his clothes. She wanted them off, wanted his body covering hers, wanted him inside her…

Before Elisabeth knew what she was doing, she was crawling on the bed toward him, rising up on her knees, running her hands down the velvet of his clothing and hooking her fingers into his waistband. Part of her was shocked at her own daring—she would never have done this with Franz—but a larger part of her wanted it to be clear to him that this was what she wanted. "Süßer Tod, mein schwarzer Prinz… Ich brauche dich. Ich will dich." She nuzzled into, kissed his throat. "Take me."

Elisabeth felt, more than heard him groan; felt him shudder. Then her hands were on cool, pale skin and he was easing her back down onto the bed; settling his body between her legs, over her; his hands running up the sides of her hips, her ribs. Cool kisses that burned like fire were at her shoulder, her neck.

She gasped, wrapped her arms around his upper back, dug her nails in as her hips bucked upward in frustration. Elisabeth still didn't understand it, this need for him that sent an electric storm through her blood, liquid heat pooling in her core and dripping down her inner thighs with every moment that passed—but she knew she trusted him, wanted this with him in a way she never had with Franz Joseph, and he would ensure she felt nothing but pleasure.

One of his hands drifted down her side, between her legs; and she tossed her head back, cried out wordlessly when he cupped her mound, pressed two fingers against her swollen flesh. She heard him hiss softly in surprise; then his head jerked back from her neck and she was staring into darkened blue/green eyes. "Elisabeth…"

Moving purely on instinct, she spread her legs further apart, ran one hand down his back to flank, wrapped her fingers around the base of him. "Bitte…" She didn't even recognize the sound of her voice as her hips canted upward and her hand tried to guide him closer. "Ich will dich tief in mir. Ich brauche dich tief in mir. Lass mich nicht warten."

Death didn't say a word, but she noticed the way his pupils dilated, lust and something deeper she couldn't name (didn't want to name) flaring in and darkening his bi-colored eyes. He drew his upper body back from her, rocked back on his haunches with his legs folded underneath him. For a moment, confusion worried at her as she wondered what he was doing; then his hands were on her hips, pulling her closer, following the angle of his thighs. She let go of him, her hands falling to her sides and clawing at the bedsheets; and she nearly sobbed in relief, in need when she felt the head of him nudge at her entrance.

Then he was slowly pushing inside her; and she whimpered, moaned at the stretch and burn of it, of her body strangling him before giving way to his invasion. She was so wet that it didn't hurt, exactly, but without him preparing her it was a tighter fit than the previous time they had done this—and she didn't care, because it felt so very good.

Dimly she was aware that she was panting, her chest heaving, fingers curled into fists in the sheets, a low sound of lust and need and desire leaving her as he sheathed himself to the hilt, deeper than he'd been before, and her inner muscles fluttered around him as she struggled with the sensation of being so very full.

Elisabeth hooked her lower legs around his waist, crossed her ankles instinctively to keep them in place. Her glazed-over brown eyes looked into his; skimmed over his face, his lips; ran down his lean muscled form with grayish skin to where their bodies joined before again jumping up to his face. Then he began to move—and between his hands on her hips, her waist; his gaze holding hers; the feel of him deep inside her… it felt as if she were going up in flames despite the coolness of his body with each touch, movement, look corrupting her further. Suddenly Elisabeth felt a strange urge to laugh: she'd already lain with the god of Death, already had his seed spilled within her (her womb seemed to clench at the thought), and now she'd oh so willingly taken him again into her bed, between her legs. How much further could she sin and fall from grace?

He's your husband, a small voice in the back of her head reminded her. Before she could squash it, the voice added: There would be nothing wrong if you conceived by him.

Elisabeth had never seriously considered it before, having children (even though she'd known one day she would be married off and it was expected of her—it was expected of her now in her role as Empress), but the words in the back of her mind conjured up an image so strong that lust enveloped her all over again and she tightened the grip of her legs around him, arched her back and tossed her head back, fingers holding her onto the bed so tightly her knuckles turned white, and a whimper in her throat.

She'd seen herself reflected in a mirror, in her white nightgown, with Death behind her cloaked in black and his arms around her, his hands resting on her rounded abdomen—her womb—full and heavy with his, their unborn child.

And God, right then in that moment she wanted it with an intensity that scared her.

She slowly became aware that his hands were sliding up her waist, her stomach (her muscles clenched hard when he touched her there, and from the noise he made she knew he knew what he was doing to her), her breasts. Then his hands were on either side of her head and her own hands were running over the sides of his ribs, his back, shoulder blades, his hair.

Her eyes widened in surprise, shock, when wet warmth surrounded her right nipple, her breast. Then she realized it was his tongue, his teeth, mouth; and she gasped, tangled her fingers in his blond hair at the overwhelming sensation. This, combined with his slow, deep thrusts… Her gasp turned into a lustful whimper as her body shuddered and her fantasy played again in her mind's eye.

"Death…" It was a sigh, a plea, a prayer—for in that moment her Catholic faith was gone once more, and he was her only god.

His mouth released her breast as he lifted his head, looked straight at her. "Yes, Elisabeth?"

"I… I want…" The words stuck in her throat as she looked at him, mixed with panic. He was beautiful, so very beautiful—so ancient—and yet he hadn't said a word about what he wanted from her other than that he was her rightful husband. What if he didn't—? How could she confess her secret desire to him?

He rolled his hips on his next thrust, hit a spot deep inside her that had her seeing white behind her eyes and a cry of pleasure spilling from her lips. God, she wanted the release only he could give her, wanted him to come undone and fill her so full that she would conceive by him. She wanted it…

And she couldn't even say it.

"You want what, Vögelchen?" His left hand came up, lightly palmed her breast, rolled the hard, dusky bud of her nipple between two fingers.

She arched against him, moaned; her thoughts scattered. Everything. You. Your seed, your baby. I want to have your child. "Death, please…!"

Her inner muscles fluttered around him, gripped him tight; her hands left his hair, clawed at his upper back, his shoulders. But it wasn't until she felt his thrusts shorten, then still as he buried himself in her that she let the orgasm flood over her.

Elisabeth could swear she felt her body eagerly milking him, greedily taking in every drop he gave her and drawing his seed in further, further until even her thirsty womb could take no more. And still he was hard inside her, emptying into her.

Eyes widened in surprise; she trembled beneath him, tried to shift her hips. "How—?"

"I'm not human, Elisabeth," he reminded her wryly. "It seems to have its advantages in this particular situation."

The tip of her tongue wet suddenly-dry lips; she shook her head helplessly. "I can't. I—" Her hips shifted, and whatever else she'd been about to protest was lost on a groan as another orgasm swept over her. You can, her body seemed to say, and you will.

"That's it," she heard him murmur. Then, at last, her orgasm subsided, and he gently slid from her, lowered her hips until her lower body was lying fully on the bed.

Suddenly drowsy, muscles loose and languid, Elisabeth found she could barely stay awake as he stretched out beside her on the bed on his side, covered their bodies with the sheet. His forearm wrapped around her middle, and she only just turned her head to look at him, one of her hands resting lightly on her stomach.

Unsure what to say at first, she settled on a slow smile and moved closer to him, breathed in his scent of the night and ice and mist as she turned slowly onto her side and buried her face in the crook of his neck. "Thank you. For everything."

She felt, heard him hum wordlessly. "I'm your husband, Elisabeth. Why wouldn't I want to keep my promise and see to your pleasure?" He sounded puzzled, as if he couldn't understand why she was thanking him, or what for, and she couldn't help drawing back to look at his face and let out a soft laugh despite her tired state at his expression.

Her laugh turned into a yawn, and she again snuggled up against him, closed her eyes. Reality shifted, another human-warm body was suddenly near hers in the bed—but she didn't care as she sensed her dark prince turn to shadow and linger over her form (odd, how she was back in her nightgown now that she'd returned to her normal layer of the world—she would have to ask him how he did that sometime).

As she drifted further, she thought she felt a cool hand on her lower abdomen, her face, and then cool lips brush against her forehead.

Daraufhin schlief sie getröstet ein.

Translations:

mein schwarzes Vögelchen = my little black bird

Komm schon! Spiel mit mir! = Come on! Play with me!

süßer Tod = Sweet Death

Ich brauche dich. = I need you.

Ich will dich. = I want you. (note: has VERY sexual connotations)

bitte = please

Lass mich nicht warten. = Don't leave me waiting.

Daraufhin schlief sie getröstet ein. = Thereupon she fell asleep, consoled. (reference to the poem "Eine Frau spricht im Schlaf" by Erich Kästner)