Summary: The Austrian Empire needs an heir. Death, at her suggestion, is more than willing to help Elisabeth give it one.

Note: aka the one where Death and Sisi make the Crown Prince Rudolf. Here there be smut (lots of it) and impregnation kink. DL; DR.

Als wir zwei im Tanze schwebten

He saw her alone in her study, curled over her writing desk with a quill pen in hand and a fresh piece of paper stretched out. Writing poetry, he knew, was a means of escape for her—a way for her to process, to still grieve over her loss of her firstborn.

The fact he had just witnessed her reading the pamphlet slipped under her door—yet another means for her mother-in-law to exert control and make Elisabeth's life miserable—and the anger on the Empress's face when she realized what it was about only seemed to fuel the scratch of quill and ink across the parchment.

Death quietly parted the veil between worlds, stepped through and glided across the floor until he was standing in front of her writing desk. A quick glance at the door ensured that it was locked.

Elisabeth seemed not to notice him, for she continued to write. He said nothing, waited until she finally paused to dip the quill-pen back in its inkpot and lifted her head to meet his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Anger mixed with grief—along with something else—flashed in her brown eyes. Clearly, then, she hadn't forgiven him for taking little Sophie from her.

„Mein Vögelchen." He kept his voice soft, gentle as he used his nickname for her—das Vögelchen, little bird. "I wanted to see you, help you in any way I can. Surely you aren't still upset with me for doing my job?"

"You took my daughter from me!" she hissed. "I swore I would never forgive you!"

"Elisabeth." He fought back a sudden surge of annoyance, worked to keep his voice calm. "She was already dead of fever—of illness. I merely came to collect her soul. It's what I do—you've known that, what I am, who I am, from the moment you first met me. For what it's worth, I had not expected to receive her this soon. I had hoped you would have many more years together before either one of you came to the underworld."

The anger faded from her eyes, replaced by wary confusion. "Why?"

He sighed, tilted his head back as he briefly closed his eyes and raked a hand through his blond hair. "Surely you've guessed, Elisabeth, from what I told you when I collected her—how I was there for you whenever you needed me during your pregnancy." He laughed bitterly. "If it makes you feel any better, she adores hanging around some of the angels but refuses to see me."

Elisabeth hesitated, as if she couldn't quite believe what he was implying—never mind the fact he'd already told her four years ago that they were married, and twice in the same day during that first year she had taken him into her bed. "She's yours?"

His mouth lifted in a faint half-smile. "Do you remember how we shivered as we floated in the dance?" he asked, quoting what he had told her months earlier. "You need me. Yes, you need me." As he crooned the words, he glided around the writing desk until he was next to her, placing two of his fingers under her chin and gently turning, lifting her head so she would look up at him. "Just admit that you love me more than the man at your side."

Elisabeth slowly stood, her gaze holding his. Her hands fell to her sides, grasped at and folded into the fabric of her dress as if she was trying to keep from touching him. Then her eyes drifted to the pamphlet on her desk, back up to him. Sensing she was turning something over in her head, Death remained silent and waited for her to speak.

She swallowed; the tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "You said you wanted to help me in any way you can. I… Archduchess Sophie, she left me a pamphlet a little while ago, her not-so-subtle way of showing her displeasure that I have only had daughters. The public, the court, Franz Joseph… they want me—need me—to provide an heir to the throne, but I…"

Elisabeth stopped, exhaled. "I refuse to lie with my cousin again, and according to you, you are my rightful husband. If little Sophie really is yours… then you have already given me a child—and you can do so again."

His breath hitched in his throat as she reached for his hand and placed it over her collarbone. Blue/green eyes watched as she covered his hand with hers, slowly guided his fingers down over her breasts and stomach to rest over her womb. "Elisabeth…"

Her eyes seemed to be looking straight through him, in that way only she could. "I decide what I want for myself," she reminded him. "And what I want is to have your son growing within me."

A low, wordless groan escaped him at her words, at the sight of her standing before him. Then she startled him by stepping closer, running her free hand up his chest to his shoulder, removing her hand from his to press her palm up against the front of his pants. His cock twitched, hardened at the contact before he could control himself. "Give me an heir, my black prince—my husband."

Death dipped his head in a nod of acknowledgement, fought to keep his relief and longing and desire for her (and how much this meant to him) from his face. "As is your will, mein Liebling, then so shall it be." He spread his fingers wide over her lower abdomen; made no move to back away from her own intimate touch. "I'll give you the heir you want, Elisabeth. In exchange, any other future children you have will be mine."

Her palm rubbed against the growing bulge in his pants, a mock considerate look on her face. She smiled when his form responded to her touch and, despite his best efforts to remain silent and appear unaffected, a faint, low sound emerged from the back of his throat. "You know," she said, "I've always hated how my body changes during pregnancy, but this… I can live with this."

"You'll have to," he commented dryly.

Elisabeth hummed briefly as her fingers worked to undo the fastening at his waist. "That is not what I meant, and you know it. It gives me pleasure, dancing with you. And I would rather have your children than my cousin's. I…" She hesitated, her fingers pausing in their work to free him from the confines of his trousers. "I think, in a way, since I first met you, it's always been you. Even before what I thought was a dream, I… I wanted you to touch me, kiss me; wanted you to show me what it's like to lie with a man and enjoy it… wanted to feel you inside me. Somewhere in the back of my mind—or maybe in my dreams; I don't know—I've had the thought of 'wouldn't it be funny if you were the father of my children, and Franz Joseph and Archduchess Sophie would never know they weren't his?' With Gisela… I wanted so badly for her to be yours even though I knew she wasn't, because at least that would have made carrying her bearable."

His breath caught at her confession, and for a few seconds he couldn't say anything, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. "If I could turn back time and grant you that, Elisabeth, I would, but even my power has limits. As it is…" Her dress and undergarments vanished, as did his own clothes save for his long black coat. "…we can start correcting that mistake right now."

Her eyes lit up, then darkened instantly with lust. She wrapped her hand around the base of him, stroked and teased him to full hardness while he gently picked her up and set her on her writing desk (taking care first to telekinetically move her parchment and writing supplies out of the way).

Elisabeth spread her legs to give him room to move closer; kept her eye on the hand that was still stroking him. Then she looked up to meet his gaze, a conspiratory glint in her eyes. "What if I told you that on that first night, after you'd seen me that morning and then taken me riding with the wind, I saw myself round with your child?" Her hand tugged, wrist twisted. "That I wanted you—only you—to get me pregnant so badly that it scared me with how much I needed your seed inside me?"

His heavy cock twitched in her hand; she smirked as he groaned low, at his body's reaction to her words. "I didn't know it was possible at the time, Elisabeth. But when you were carrying little Sophie, I liked knowing it was my daughter growing in your womb. And if you would have told me this sooner then Gisela would be mine instead of the Kaiser's."

Her smirk turned into a frown. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Death was silent, considering his words while his fingers slid up her legs, danced across her inner thighs. "I thought my hinting while you were pregnant was enough. That aside… I panicked. I've never been a father before, it was your first time being pregnant, and I didn't want to cause you any distress upon finding out your first-ever unborn child is a demigod. You were sixteen, Elisabeth. The court thought of you as barely out of childhood yourself. More to the point, how do you think the Archduchess would have reacted if she ever suspected or somehow found out that the child you carried wasn't her son's, but mine? Death's?"

Her frown deepened; she shuddered, her eyes widening and then briefly closing as the horror sunk in. "She would have made my life even more of a living hell. Maybe even killed little Sophie once she was born and her suspicions were confirmed. I don't know."

"That's why I couldn't tell you. You would have said, done something subconsciously out of fear that someone would suspect, and that would have raised her suspicions." He eased closer, wanting to just hold her, and bent his head to where her neck met shoulder. A sigh left him as he closed his eyes, kissed her there, took a moment to let the tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding within drain out of him the second this conversation started, and breathed in her scent.

Elisabeth let go of him, rested both hands on the desk to support herself. He let his left hand run down her arm, cover her hand; with his right, he began to gently tease her sex. "Not that the Archduchess didn't suspect something anyway, with her distrust of you. I wouldn't put it past her, even with little Sophie's glamour once she was born." Drawing back, he saw her frown at his words.

"Glamour?"

Death nodded. "Yes. It's what kept her looking like a normal human… and allowed her to pass for the Kaiser's daughter. Something she inherited from me as one of her powers." He slid the tip of one finger inside her, and something in him bared its teeth in a dark smile at her surprised gasp. "Our son will have the same ability, if little Sophie is anything to go by."

She shuddered at his reminder of what they planned for tonight; rolled her hips toward him in reflex. He did smile then as he slid his finger further inside her and her body eagerly reacted. "That's… good to know," Elisabeth managed to say. Her breathing hitched as his finger slowly worked her; it turned to a gasp when he added a second and she slowly lowered herself back to lie against her writing desk. "Now stop talking and get on with it."

The laugh that sounded from him was low, dark, and much the same as the one he'd given before dancing with her at her wedding reception. "Elisabeth. This is foreplay, and I would rather you didn't treat our union like something you would endure from your weak cousin."

Her expression now was one of pure frustration. "You know that's not what I meant."

He feigned innocence. "Isn't it?"

She actually snarled at him, her eyes flashing with irritation. "Bastard. I need you inside me, and I know you want to leave me with child." Her hips undulated; more of her arousal coated his fingers. Already her pale skin was starting to flush pink. "Enough talking. Enough foreplay." Her expression softened; irritation in her eyes faded, replaced by desire. One hand rested on her lower abdomen. "Soothe my aching cunt and fill me until I'm bursting."

Well, then. Surprised at hearing her talk like that, he raised one eyebrow even as her words went right to his cock and he felt himself twitch, pulse. His fingers slipped from her; before he could say or do anything else, her hand was around him, guiding him to her entrance. It was all the encouragement he needed: he pushed inside her, sheathed himself to the hilt—and although he didn't need to breathe, the heat and wet of her had him hissing faintly in shock (and pleasure).

Elisabeth purred, her brown eyes nearly black with lust and desire, and slowly pushed her upper body up into a sitting position again. One hand resting flat on the desk for support, she reached for him with the other. Her hand cupped his scrotum, the pads of her fingers caressed the tender skin there. "Mine." Her fingertips fondled him with something akin to reverence; he shivered with arousal at her touch and her inner muscles' movements around his cock. "All mine."

She was claiming him, he realized—something she'd never done before. And that had heat flickering through his form despite his normally cool temperature. "Yours," he replied—agreed. Und du gehörst nur mir, Elisabeth.

Her legs drew up, tightened around his waist; her ankles crossed to hold her in place. The tips of her fingers, her hand, lingered as her darkened gaze sought and held his. He became aware that his hands were on her hips, holding her in place—and it didn't matter when she was touching him like this, when their eyes were locked, when he was slightly angling her hips up to heighten her pleasure for when he did begin to move, and to increase their chances of conceiving this evening.

"I intend to drain you dry tonight," Elisabeth murmured. Her eyes dropped to where she was caressing him, to where their bodies joined, and the tip of her tongue wet her lips.

Death felt his mouth quirk upward in a smirk. Blue/green eyes narrowed, and he couldn't resist teasing her a little: "How many times, meine Kaiserin?" His hips shifted, pulling him out enough for her to drop her hand to her lower abdomen; then he slowly pushed back in. "I'm assuming you don't want to leave anything to chance, and I, for one, intend for you to be carrying our heir by the end of tonight."

Elisabeth shivered as she again lowered herself down against the desk. "Ja, doch. Now shut up and take me."

He suppressed a short laugh at her commanding tone, the obvious frustration at him in her voice—she'd certainly grown into her role as Empress the four years she'd been in Wien, and that she felt comfortable enough with him to think she could command him… That was new, something he hadn't experienced often with humans. Then again, he expected nothing less from her.

His hands moved to better support her, hold her; then he did begin to move within her—slowly, at first, and as deep as he could manage with this position and angle. Elisabeth sighed in pleasure; used her back and hands against the top of her writing desk to give herself as much leverage as possible while her legs tightened their locked position around his waist, the small of his back. It was a new location for her, he knew, but not entirely a new position—and his Empress (his wife) was nothing if not a quick study.

His gaze flicked from her to the locked door of her study, and idly Death wondered what would happen if it were to open and either Franz Joseph or the elder Sophie walked in. What would they see him as? A skeletal figure, as he was commonly depicted in a certain motif? Or the robed-in-black portrayal typical of the grim reaper? Or would they see him as Elisabeth saw him: fair-skinned, blond hair, mismatched blue/green eyes with a passing resemblance to Heinrich Heine and the shadow of black-feathered wings?

Teeth bared in a quick smile, silent laughter as he imagined their shocked expressions as either (or both, it didn't matter to him) realized what was going on in the scene before them—realized who was between the Empress of Austria's legs and buried within her body.

"Tell me, Elisabeth." Dark amusement colored his tone in an underlying purr. "What do you think anyone would see if they walked in on us right now?" As if to punctuate the question, he rolled his hips and thrust deeper inside her, one hand moving to brush his thumb against her clit.

She gasped, her hips bucking upward in reflex, and she moaned loudly before she caught herself. "Did you make sure no one can hear us?"

He considered briefly, grinned. "No, I don't believe I did. And you didn't answer my question, Möwchen."

Her body shuddered—and from the heat of her; the way she reacted to him, looked at him with lust-filled eyes… he wasn't sure how much longer he would last. Elisabeth's tongue darted out, the tip wetting her lips, and then she was answering him: "My husband… Death… fucking me on my writing desk."

He arched an eyebrow. "So that's what you're calling this now?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. I think I preferred it when you called it making love."

"That's… that's later—when you take me to bed." She broke off with a whimper as her inner muscles fluttered around him. "Gott—süßer Tod, verfluchter Tod—" Nearly-black eyes locked onto blue/green. She grasped the hand currently pleasuring her and lightly pulled it higher, resting his palm against her flat abdomen. "Release me. Fill me."

The sight of her before him like this, pleading, their hands resting together right where their son would grow within her… It was enough to bring him right to the edge and stay there, with release frustratingly just out of reach.

His thrusts became shorter, faster, deeper, and he heard Elisabeth make a low noise of pleasure. Then her body was clenching tight, strangling him; and he buried himself deep inside her with a silent snarl as his seed spilled from him.

A satisfied purr left his wife's throat as her orgasm swept through her, milking him until she could take no more. Slowly, he lowered her back down fully against her writing desk and noticed her gaze had dropped to where her hand covered his.

"Just think, Elisabeth." His voice was soft, for her ears alone. "Your son will be not only heir to the Austrian Empire, but the Underworld as well. And the court will never know that the child does not belong to Franz." Death lowered, slid his upper body along hers and nuzzled at her throat. "It will be my seed taken root within you so that your body grows round and full, your womb heavy with my son. Our son."

"Yes, I—" Whatever else Elisabeth had been going to say broke off as she cried out wordlessly, eyes closing as another orgasm broke over her.

Death lifted his head from her throat, smirked. "You like that, Elisabeth?"

In response he felt her hands sliding up his back and shoulders, her fingers threading through his strands of wavy blond hair. "Oh, yes." She stretched beneath him as much as she could, her legs slipping from their grip around his waist. "I told you, I loathe what pregnancy does to my body and how the court treats me, but it's so much easier knowing I'm carrying my husband's child—your child." A content expression flickered across her face for a moment, then vanished as she frowned. "Carrying Gisela felt… wrong, somehow, like my body knew she wasn't yours and was fully human before my mind suspected anything."

As if she was trying to avoid thinking about it further, she curled her body into him, around him, and buried her face into his shoulder. "Now take me to bed and make love to me." Her mouth nuzzled at his throat until her lips were by his ear. "I want to be so full of your seed that we will conceive this night."

Well, when she phrased it like that… How could he refuse? Lifting her, he slid into another plane of reality and carried her through the ghostly halls of the palace to her bedroom. As he did, he was fully aware of the warmth of Elisabeth's body pressed against his—her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her arms around his neck, her nails digging into his back, her lips and tongue tracing the line of his jaw to his ear.

Once in her room, he returned them to the living world and laid her down on her bed. Elisabeth loosened her hold on him, and the expression on her face reminded him very much of the cat that had gotten the canary—or a full bowl of cream, however the expression went. She looked pleased, content—and the darker side of him growled softly in satisfaction at the knowledge he had put that expression there, that he would give her what she wanted, that she would be growing his heir within her right under the noses of the entire Viennese court.

He slowly slid from her—she winced slightly in mild discomfort, at the feeling of loss—and stood at the foot of the bed, running his gaze over her slim, pale form. Her own dark brown eyes stared back at him, traveling slowly from his face down over his chest, then lower. A frown pulled at her mouth when he didn't move closer, then a pout as she ran one hand down between her breasts to her lower abdomen. „Komm hier, mein schwarzer Prinz."

Death smirked, shook his head. „Ich habe eine bessere Idee, meine schwarze Möwe. Bitte wenden."

For a second, mild confusion flickered over her face—and then understanding lit in her eyes before she turned over onto her stomach, settling her legs curled beneath her: He'd taken her in this position before, when she'd been heavy with child and her body still craving him, and both of them had found it heightened her pleasure.

She turned her head to look at him, her long dark hair falling over her shoulder. Before she could say a word, he was on her, his left hand on her hip while the other again guided himself inside. Elisabeth gasped, instinctively pushing back against him to bring him further, deeper into her. Fully sheathed once more, he gave into the urge and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, the curve of her throat. Then his teeth lightly tugged at her earlobe, released it. His right hand moved to rest his palm, fingers spread, over her abdomen. "I know you want this, Elisabeth. Need this. Believe me, you will have our son—your crown prince—conceived by morning." His voice was soft, low, for her ears alone. Hips shifted, set a slow rhythm. "Now let me give you what your womb craves."

Her slim form trembled beneath him; she moaned low in her throat. "Yes. …"

So he did.

-oOo-

Several intense lovemaking sessions later, Elisabeth was curled up next to him, her chest rising and falling in the deep, heavy sleep of mortals. Death took a moment to watch her, mildly fascinated at how she could sleep so heavily, and let his hand drift down her body to rest against her lower belly.

Yes, he could sense it there: the tiny fertilized egg that in a few days would travel upward to latch onto her uterine wall, grow, develop, and become the crown prince that the Austrian throne needed so desperately. Elisabeth's son.

His son.

Theirs, even if only he and Elisabeth knew the truth of the prince's parentage.

A faint smile curved Death's mouth, and then he let his gaze drift to her face, studying just how different she looked in sleep. Younger, more relaxed. She reminded him of the fifteen-year-old princess he'd first met after her near-fatal accident at the family gathering, when he'd returned her to her bed and she'd recognized him, called him a dark prince. The stress from her years at court, from dealing with Archduchess Sophie faded away.

Curious now, wondering what she was dreaming about as she made a small noise and shifted closer to him, he closed his eyes and slipped into her dreams.