Night 4
12AM
No note tonight, just the candle and a mirror. You wondered what this meant. Perhaps they didn't think they needed to assure you of anything at this point, or warn you. Perhaps they'd forgotten. It didn't really matter, because you didn't need any more warning; you knew what you were up against. Reassurance, however; that, you needed a little bit more of.
Not half an hour in, you already knew you were hopeless. He wasn't going to hold back this time.
He got out of bed, he stretched, he undressed. Shamelessly and without warning, even talking do you while he did so. "I've been thinking of you," he said, hands deftly fixing his outfit. "I dreamed of you. It was a good dream. I haven't had a good dream in…literally, years."
You tried to ignore him. Your heart was already thudding. The sight of him, face to face with you in the doorway last night, his face awed as if he had seen the sun for the first time in his life…you wanted to see him look at you like that again. You wanted to stop being hunched over a mirror, hiding out alone in your room with naught but a candle for company.
His shadow seemed darker, with a harder edge tonight. You wondered what that could mean and you doubted it was anything good. Still, it behaved, staying with Hans as he went through his routine of preparing some food and nestling down into his chair to read.
He pushed aside half of the sandwich he had prepared for tonight. "I don't feel like eating, actually. At least, not food." He chuckled to himself. You wondered if that was supposed to be a euphemism. "And I can't abide reading small words on a page, not when I know you're up there pining for me. But if I sit outside your door this early in the night, I know you'll send me away. So I can hold out for now. I don't have to hear your voice just yet. You can just listen to mine."
And so began your most difficult night.
He described your lips in lively detail, tracing them out into the air as if they were inches from his own. "But I'd save those," he said. "Because first I'd have to take you into my arms and kiss your head, your forehead, apologize for all the trouble I've caused you. I'd murmur it against your skin and you'd close your eyes and I'd kiss your eyelids and feel them flutter. Oh, your eyelashes, darling, I'd feel those flutter against my lips, and you'd see me smile just before I kissed your nose, and then either cheek. But still I wouldn't kiss your lips, yet, my dear. I'd kiss your ear. I might nibble it…oh, I know you'd like that. We've covered this topic before. But let me describe in greater detail how I would suckle on that soft lobe of your ear, and you'd be able to feel my breath behind it and on your neck. Did you shiver? I swear I can feel it."
You had.
"God, that's all I would do, just kiss you, for hours; take my agonizing time no matter how much you pleaded for me to go faster. I'd kiss your neck all over. Are you imagining my hot, wet, hungry mouth on your neck, dear? The sensitive side of it, and behind it as I cradle your head to my shoulder…my breath rolling down the back of your neck, my fingers twisted in your hair. I wouldn't bite you, not yet, though I know you'd love for me to. Then I would begin to undress you, like I described last night—no, forget that. I'd tear your clothes off you. They would be shreds. I need you."
You had begun, unconsciously, to loosen the tie on the back of your dress, and then to fiddle with the hem of your skirt.
"Picture my tongue—searing hot, thirsty for you—tracing your collarbone between kisses on your shoulders. Perhaps I would lick a line connecting the bruises. Yes, that's what I would do." His voice grew deeper. The reflection of his eyes looked into yours as if he could actually see you. "I'd bite both of your pretty little shoulders, suckle hard enough to leave fat, purplish bruises that you'd have a time covering up. And then my tongue would leave a wet trail between them. I'd blow a breath over that trail and relish in the tiny bumps raised along your skin. And then, good God. And then your breasts."
You were bright red now, tingling feelings raking through your body. You stood up and tried to walk it off. This was too much, and still you daren't look away from his reflection; the way his lips pronounced all the sensuous things he wanted to do to you.
"I could probably take one whole one into my mouth," he said with a lecherous smile. "I bet I could. I would certainly try, can you imagine, dear? The way my lips would kiss and slip over one of your round breasts, how my mouth would spread and slide to accommodate all of you, how my tongue would caress your taught nipple, how my teeth would scrape and tease your skin? And once I had all of it in my mouth, I'd suck, locking eyes with you the whole time so I could see your face contorted in pleasure."
Your knees wobbled and hit the carpet. You hadn't been prepared. Not at all, not at all.
"And then, I might spin you around, my darling, and hold you to my chest, and then kiss down the back of your neck again and not stop all the way past your shoulderblades. I wouldn't stop past your hips. I would leave a kiss on each bump of your spine, dear, all the way down to the dimples above your buttocks. I'd be kneeling, by this point, my dear, and then I'd make you turn and face me again so I could teethe the soft flesh of your belly, press my tongue into your navel, lick your hipbones and the sensitive dip between them. Have you ever touched yourself there? Have you ever chanced to flutter your fingers across that delicate, intimate space, while you were alone in your bed on a hot summer night? Did you shiver? Imagine my tongue there. My lips. The tips of my teeth. I'd leave my kisses everywhere on you. I'd turn you around again—I don't mean to make you dizzy, I swear, just being thorough—and bite at your bare arse the same way I'd done to your stomach. All that soft, plump flesh of your backside—should I do the same trick I attempted with your breasts, and see how much I can fit in my mouth? Perhaps that wouldn't be as successful. But I would kiss instead, making sure to get every inch, spreading you apart, oh dear I'm getting very visual now, aren't I."
You set down the mirror and held onto a bedpost, trying to maintain your regular breathing.
"And I'd kiss the backs of your quivering thighs and can you feel my hands on them? Surely you can feel them holding you in place while I press my nose, my face, my mouth into your flesh and continue to praise your body. You can't see me because I'm behind you but if you could…well, it would look like this," he demonstrated, using the chair as a stand-in for you as he knelt in front of it. "I'd look like this, with my hands clutching your legs as I sink lower, just like this…and then I'd spin you around again. I'd kiss up each of your shins, taking my agonizing time until I come to that very soft nook in the top of your thigh—you know where, you've probably dipped your fingers there, as well—and I'd let you shiver and moan as finally I kissed all the way back up your stomach, across your neck, under your jaw, and kissed your lips. Gently. Softly."
Night 4
1AM
Shameful, shameful. You scolded yourself to stop pushing your hand against that heated place between your thighs. You were still fully clothed and would remain that way for the rest of the night, you swore it. And he wasn't finished, onto the last of several descriptions of how he would kiss just your mouth.
How he would bite your lips and tongue and push you down as he did so. He gave you vivid imagery of how his tongue would play with yours, would dance with yours, would dominate yours, and at one time he licked his lips.
"And after," he moved on, "after I finished kissing every inch of you…I'd do it again. Just to make sure I hadn't missed a spot. And this time I'd keep you wrapped up in my arms, my hands playing with you, with your hips and your thighs, your buttocks, your breasts. Feel my hand cradle the back of your neck, and pinch it, and rub it, rubbing away all that tension from having to watch over me. Kiss your neck again, hold your hips, hold them close to me so your naked body could feel me through my clothes."
You stared off into space as his words trickled over you, lost in the imagery he presented. He was careful to mention every detail. That sinful warmth pooling in your lower stomach began to spill out between your thighs and you wanted to cry because it felt so wrong but so good.
"And then I'd bite—" Again with the biting. No no, you couldn't even stand right now. Had he…had he slipped you something? Another aphrodisiac? Or had he just gotten under your skin that much on his own? "—and down between your thighs, where those bitemarks wait for me to reveal them—" Lord. He wasn't going to relent. "—and let you feel mine, as well, because I know how badly you want to touch—" You were on the bed on your stomach, clutching a pillow to your chest and face as you kept your legs tightly crossed. Nuzzling the pillow, you waited for him to stop—and as his voice grew more and more tired and hoarse, eventually, he did.
And you watched him as he slept, and tracked the shadows when they left him, and prepared yourself to sit by the door with a match waiting for its candle.
Night 4
2AM
The window knocking had started, accompanied by something new: scratching at the door. That was unsettling, to say the least, but as long as you had your candle, they wouldn't get in. They couldn't get in. You hoped to God they wouldn't.
Hans was still asleep, lazily so, a god in a fishing boat sleeping through a storm. You wished he would wake up and call off the shadows, because somehow you'd gotten it in your head that he had at least some control over them. And even if not, hearing his voice would help; his calm, or happy, or teasing voice to keep the mood light as the shadows hunted.
You played back his words in your head, over and over, fixating on certain phrases that made you thrill with heat and need. Oh, please wake up, please wake up and keep teasing…or just do something. Talk about your miserable childhood or how badly you messed up with that one princess. Talk about your horse.
He slumbered on. The shadows came and went. Your candle melted and shrank.
Night 4
3AM
He still wasn't awake and you were on the verge of tears, and way past the verge of thinking too deeply; like about the fact that Hans was really your only friend at this point in time, and how badly you depended on his company. You didn't know how you could let yourself live like this, caring so deeply about a man cursed to live with his own demons.
You had to remind yourself they were his demons. He was cursed because of something terrible he did, and he deserved this, you were sure. You certainly couldn't call him an innocent man by any stretch of the imagination.
Yet you still cared about him and had sympathy for his situation. And right now, you missed him.
"I wish I knew how to un-curse you," you found yourself saying as you stroked the edge of the mirror. Perhaps in some supernatural way, he heard or felt you, because no sooner had you said that than he woke up.
He smiled and yawned. "I had a good dream," he said. "I dreamed about you. I dreamed about…mh, well, something like the things I've been telling you…only this was a bit…more. Oh—it seems my shadows are missing. Are they visiting you? I hope you're not too frightened."
You didn't want to talk about shadows. You wanted him to talk about his dream.
"You know…I really should stop telling you all the things I want to do to you," he said. "It really isn't fair to you at all; not either of us, really. So I'll stop for now. But I do feel like talking…so…do you think it's time for some fairytales?"
It was sweet of him, really, but a couple nights too late. You were already ruined by his words and you wanted more of them. But you listened, anyway, to the fairytales. They soothed you. Eventually Hans's shadows returned to him, and you blew out the candle's flame, hoping that less than half a candle could get you through the rest of the night.
Night 4
4AM
Not quite halfway through the hour, Hans made himself comfortable in your hallway. "I held out as long as I could," he said.
"It's perfectly all right," you insisted, trying to ignore how quickly the candle burned. "I missed…talking to you."
"You did?" The unmasked glee in his voice broke your heart. "You missed me."
"Yes, I did."
"I'm sorry for all the things I said," he apologized abruptly. "About undressing and kissing you. It hadn't occurred to me that it might be uncomfortable for you."
You didn't know how to reply to that, because truthfully, you were more than okay with imagining him doing such intimate things to you; but it would be unladylike to admit it. "It…was inconsiderate of you, yes."
"Oh."
Silence.
"But…what's more inconsiderate," you said, huddling your knees to your chest, preparing to pray for your sinful soul, "is that you would mention having a dream about me, and not tell me. After all, I was in the dream, so it clearly involves me."
His expression in the mirror changed to a face of knowing smugness. He wasn't sorry at all. "Are you sure you want to know?"
"Yes."
"It's quite explicit."
"I don't care." Wait, you cared a little—
"Well." He settled himself more comfortably against your door, leaned his head back against it, combed his fingers through his hair. "I had you…pinned to this door," he said, "this stupid door. It was you and me in the candlelight. Your back to the door, your hands to the door, under my wrists…your legs around me, the skirt of your dress hiked up."
You shrank into an even tighter ball.
"The top of your dress pulled down so I could see your breasts, pert and aroused, ready for my teeth to graze them. And then, all at once, my back was to the floor. You were naked. I was at your mercy. Mmh, how you bounced up and down on my hips…your lusty moans echoing through the room…"
"Please," you whispered, not knowing what you pled for.
"Hm?"
"I'm sorry, keep going…"
He chuckled.
"I flipped us over, and I spread your knees apart, and I fucked you."
"Oh dear…"
"Fucked you so hard you started screaming." His voice grew low and growly. "Left bruises on your thighs with my fingers. I—I'm sorry, was that too much detail?"
Night 4
5AM
"And what would you do to me?"
His voice was hoarse. Your candle was an inch tall. You needed to tell him to go away. "What do you mean?"
"If I was in there with you," he began to whisper, "what would you want to do with me? I've told you all the terrible things I'd do with you, so…tell me, dear watcher. What would you do to me, if you had me in there with you, at your complete disposal?"
You flushed brightly. "I can't…I can't tell you."
"Please?"
Who could it hurt? You couldn't touch each other. You were only talking about it. And ever since last night when you had opened the door, had looked on his face and his form, you had been suppressing thoughts of exactly what you wanted to "do" to him. Heart racing in your chest, making your lips quiver, you began, "I-I want to kiss you."
"That's a start."
"And while I kiss you…while I kiss your lips, I want to touch you all—all over. Over your clothes. I want to get to…to know you before I see you naked," you said, blushing heavily. "And…I would…I would wrap my arms around your neck and press my cheek against yours. I would feel the warmth of your skin and we would dance softly as you held me. Oh, this is embarrassing…"
"It's not," he said. "It's sweet. Please continue."
You took a deep breath. "I would want it to be slow, at first. I'd look into your eyes as I started to undress you, and you would have to be patient."
"I wouldn't be patient," he laughed. "I'd try to kiss your neck."
"I would push you away," you said. "And tell you to wait…and…I'd r-run my fingers through the hair on your chest."
In the mirror, he bit his lip. "Please go on."
"I would grab your shoulders so that I could reach your ear to kiss it, and to…and to whisper something obscene into it. And then I would…I would push you back onto the bed, and undress in front of you, and ask you to praise my body—"
"With my hands?"
"With your words," you said, growing a bit more confident. "I'd tell you to point out everything you liked. And then I'd kiss you some more and…uh, and then…and we'd make love."
"How would we make love?"
"We just would. Like one of the ways y-you think of."
He moaned or purred and you more felt it through the door than heard it. He bit his lip, his green eyes slits under his long lashes. "But there are so many ways, my dear. How would you most like to do it, hm? How would you want me to make love to you? I can't be the only one getting what I want."
You shook your head, forgetting he couldn't hear you. "I-I…"
"You need help, perhaps. Well…I could pleasure you, first," he said. "I could start with kissing."
"You already described kissing."
"I mean," he chuckled, "I would start between your pretty legs. I would spread you apart and kiss you down there…take a moment to picture it. Is that what you want?"
"I…yes…"
"Okay. So while I'm kneeling, kissing—"
"No, you wouldn't be kneeling," you said, regaining that hint of boldness from earlier. "You would be lying on the bed. I would…uh, I'd be…on top of you."
"Oh!" He seemed very pleasantly surprised, shuffling where he sat. "So you would ride your prince's face."
"And I would grab your hands and put them on my thighs. I imagine you have a firm grip."
"I do."
"S-so…I would do that. Until it was enough. And then—" You found yourself reaching unconsciously for the doorhandle. He was so close to you. You could see on his face, in his smile, his wet lips, that he wanted to please you. If you just let him in…
The candle began to fizzle, flame dancing on top of a bubbling pool of wax. You gasped, darting away from the door. "Hans, you have to go. My candle. It's almost out."
"But I—"
"Please, Hans!"
He left, however reluctant, and fortunately none of his shadows stayed behind. You huffed out the candle and crawled onto your bed, dying to get some sleep.
But Hans kept you up, speaking to you through the magic mirror.
"So you would ride my face, my lady," he said as he settled onto the library's sofa. "You would feel my soft lips against your most sensitive parts. Imagine where I would kiss and suck you. My fingers dimpling the flesh of your thighs, the hair on my cheeks" He ran a finger over each of his neatly-kept sideburns "tickling and stroking your sensitive skin. My teeth nibbling at you here, there, elsewhere. And I wonder what else you wanted me to do to you, but I guess I'll have to ask tomorrow night. We'll just drive each other mad again, wanting each other's skin and heat and heartbeat with only that door keeping us apart. But if that's how you want it, I suppose that's how it'll be."
A very young brother came to fetch you when the clock struck six. Prince Lukas yawned, combing a hand through his messy black hair, covered an incriminating mark on the side of his neck. "Sorry I didn't leave a note. I was…a bit busy, last night, before bed."
"That's fine," you said dazedly, secretly jealous of the purpling spot on his neck.