Mystic: Time to bump this up to an M rating. Because I can never write an innocent Kuja/Hilda fic. Something sexual always happens.
A Paid Debt
I mentioned to you earlier how my only stories are nothing more than nightmares. Well, that's mostly true. My decisions in life haven't always been ideal. In my youth, I had a slew of suitors following me. Almost every night, a man would arrive at the home of my father and request permission to treat me to dinner and maybe a drink. One such gentleman was a trained blue mage, though he mainly used his abilities for cheap tricks; it impressed women with loose morals and a wild streak.
Actually, it was fairly impressive. Not too shabby for a Treno native. He even remained sober until sundown.
Now is not the time for what ifs; as I write these words, my emotions are a jumbled mix of sorrow, love, and slight pride. You'd be surprised to learn that shame is not a part of it. I made my bed, you must understand, but I refuse to lie in it alone.
"Catherine!" Lady Hilda knocked repeatedly on the door of her outspoken handmaiden. "Catherine, for Shiva's sake, open the bloody door!" The moons shone bright outside, casting an eerie red and blue light though the palace windows.
"What are you so impatient for?" Poor grammar aside, the maid stood in the servant's quarters, hand cocked on her hip.
Hilda asked a simple question. "Do you still have your mother's clothes?"
"My mother worked in a brothel."
"Yes, my question still stands."
Catherine raised an eyebrow. "I have a few. Why?"
It wasn't often that the regent's wife shocked the kingdom, but when she did, it left a lasting impression on all witnesses. "I'm sneaking out tonight and I need a disguise," she said with a not-so-innocent smile.
"What sort of disguise?" The last time Catherine saw such a smile, her mother made enough gil to pay for their home twice over.
Voice low, Hilda answered, "Like a whore about to have a very busy evening."
"I'll get the red one." Deep scarlet red: the universal colour of harlotry and whoredom.
"Isn't that one tattered, leaves little to the imagination?"
"Yeah," the maid shrugged.
"Perfect."
The door clicked shut behind them. Not once in her life did Catherine ever suspect she'd 'whore up' the noble Hilda; she thought that part of her past was far behind her. Too young to take part in the business, little Catherine mainly brushed the women's hair and stitched any damaged clothing. Some of the whores doted on the child, others ignored her. On occasions, she gambled with the men and their cards, taking the gil they reserved for women like her mother. But she couldn't really complain about her childhood. She ate well, stayed healthy, and received a basic education. Her virginity, shockingly, was left intact.
The gown Hilda requested was off-the-shoulder, low-cut in the front, and cut high to the thigh. The sleeves were tight against her skin, but slashed along their length to reveal even more of her flesh. Several more horizontal cuts ran along the front of the gown, showing off her stomach and navel. The back was cut in the same fashion, giving a gentleman's eyes and hands a most pleasurable experience. She stared at herself in the mirror, inquisitive. "How do whores style their hair, Cat?"
"They keep it down, mainly." Her fingers tousled her lady's blonde waves. "You know, loose and free."
"Hm, like I've been in bed all night?"
Catherine winked. "You got it."
"Are the high heels truly required?" They weren't too uncomfortable, no more than a usual corset.
"My lady, trust me." She placed a wave of hair across Hilda's collarbone. "If I owned a cock, I'd easily pay two thousand gil for a romp with you."
"...Two ... two thousand?!"
The maid laughed. "My mother made almost double that in her prime."
Hilda spoke, incredulous. "Four thousand gil? Honestly? For one night's passion?"
"No..." Catherine trailed, twirling another lock of hair. "Four thousand gil for each man."
"Well," said the mage, "clearly I am in the wrong profession." Regret turned sultry and wanted to find a soft bed. "I could have been one, Catherine."
"A prostitute?"
"Courtesan," Hilda clarified. "Mayhap I still can."
Save for the occasional servant, the west wing of the palace was quiet and, most importantly, private. Minister Artania supplied a room for their guest, the sorcerer, far away from the rest of the household. With her hair down and face well made up with rouge and eyeliner, Hilda was not easily recognizable. She felt like a tart, ready for whatever gift a man could grant, but in a strange way, she also felt rather good. One deep breath later, and she knocked on Kuja's door.
His mind nearly melted. Only sheer willpower kept him from grabbing her and having his way with her body. It was a beautiful body, a coveted hourglass, one that deserved hours of enjoyment. "My, my," he finally said.
Hilda flashed a grin, placing her hand on her hip as she leaned against his door frame. "Eyes front, sweetie."
He wanted to touch her exposed flesh, but feared if he did so, he'd never stop. "Please, lady; do not bother yourself with such a ridiculous request." Rose water and lavender penetrated his senses.
"Come with me," she said.
"I want to," he answered.
She scoffed. "To a night market, Kuja."
Around her throat lay a string of pearls; Kuja envied those jewels. "A night market, you say?" He risked self-control and ran his fingers through her hair. "Am I to see red lanterns and available women advertising their favors?"
"No, but I guarantee you a good time." Boundaries and morals died when the lady grabbed him by his collar and kissed him hard upon his mouth. It was not virginal, it was not proper. The kiss was strong, plenty of movement, her tongue inside and explorative. She tasted wine and fresh fruit, his typical evening meal. His willpower finally caved and fell.
If he even so much as tried to touch her? -Ha- Kuja planned on far more than a simple touch as he ran a palm along her back, bringing her inside his room. He saw her shut the door with her heel, a skill many eager women pick up when propositioned. Their kiss continued, Kuja reciprocating and tugging at the thin fabric of her attire. His hand slipped through one of the slashes along the front, grasping at bare flesh, reaching up toward her chest. "Sweet Hilda," he whispered, eyes heavy with lust. "You have no idea what you just started."
Hilda promised herself that this would end once she kissed him, paid her debt from a gambling loss, but now, as she ran her hands over his shoulders, shuddered and moaned when his lips nipped at her throat, it seemed all manners of self-respect disappeared into a realm of satin sheets and dark rooms. She could hear all the words for women who performed in this way, and when she found herself sandwiched between Kuja and the door, his hands and mouth everywhere her dress would allow, she could almost resign herself to the labels.
Slut, harlot, whore -but sweet Shiva, this sorcerer electrified every nerve in her body. Somewhere in their kiss, when they groped and pawed at each other, he had shrugged out of his shirt. "I've paid my debt to you, sorcerer." Her attempt to catch her breath seemed foolish when she tangled her hands through his hair and pulled him back for another, deeper kiss. There was a hand along her thigh, trailing up to an indecent level.
"And I still demand interest," he said, parting her legs so they wrapped around his hips. She made it so easy; she wore nothing beneath her gown. His hand reached around, grasping at the lean muscle of her rear. "If you wish to stop our little dance, you'd best have a damn good reason." He purposefully rocked his hips, showing her, making her feel how close he was to roughly taking control.
She didn't wish it to stop. She wanted him to tear off her dress and throw her on his bed. Hilda, the respected herbalist, wanted nothing more than to be ravished and possibly bruised. To wake up sore and unable to walk straight. "Take me to the night market, Kuja; I wish to discuss an arrangement with you." Whore seemed more appropriate the more she sighed and let her body writhe.
"We can discuss it here." Between kisses and moans, ripping off clothes and leaving fingerprints on each other's skin.
"No," she protested. "I'm supposed to be at the tribunal court. They'll come searching for me."
He tugged at the front of her gown, exposing her breasts, making her gasp. "Let them discover us. Maybe your husband will learn a thing or two." One hand held her against the wall, the other unbelted his trousers.
"Kuja, please."
"Yes, beg for it." Another kiss, another tug at cumbersome clothes.
Could they be quick enough to avoid confrontation? Would she and Kuja have enough energy afterward to run away into the night? "If you'll join me in the market, I promise you my body there." The sorcerer paused his actions, stared at her, inquisitive. "Not here, Kuja. Not yet."
With great reluctance, he released his hold. Disheveled and breathing heavily, Hilda used the wall to help her stand. "It is what I expected to happen, lady. You in my arms, giving me access to your body."
A quick adjustment to her clothes made her semi-decent. "I realize this, Kuja. I knew good and well that after I gave you my blood, I'd have to give you the rest of me." She watched with great pity as he replaced his shirt. "My palace, my rules."
"You told me to break them."
"You will break them by stealing me away from the court proceedings. Meet me out in the garden."
He caught her by the wrist when she turned to leave. "And how are we supposed to travel to this night market? I'm not riding some rickety broom." However, he'd happily stand on the earth and watch from below as she rode around in the air. At the right angle, naturally.
"And I can't steal another airship." Hilda shifted out of his grip. "Don't you still have your dragon?"
"Her offspring."
"See?" she winked. "It all works out."
A faint growl emanated from his throat. "If it all worked out, you'd be screaming my name and running your nails down my back."
"Won't that leave a scar?"
"Like the one on your wrist?" Check and by all things behind closed doors, hopefully mate. Kuja reached for her once more, kissing tenderly the faded scar. "I desired you long before you gave me a vial of your blood." Goosebumps traveled up her arm. "My mind was unfortunately occupied on other things."
"Oh, Kuja..."
"Shh." This time, his kiss on her lips was softer, fainter. "Leave if you must, and I shall join you in your secret garden."
Lady Hilda, the true mind behind the regency, knew when to speak and when to remain silent. One of her many talents. She toyed with the idea of telling Kuja how rich and moist the soil was in her secret garden, how it was all prepared for proper plowing and watering. And yet, she'd likely end up on her back while he dutifully demonstrated his skills with a hoe.
"Hilda, you're smiling and it's making me quite excited."
The judges of the tribunal court whispered in concern when Lady Hilda did not arrive for the scheduled proceedings. Catherine poorly tried to hide her smile as she and Billie poured wine for the many gentleman. "That woman is an hour late!" cried one frumpy, overweight man. "Something has happened! Something horrible has happened!"
Catherine snickered and bit her lip. "Relax, you brutes. My lady is perfectly fine." She winked at Billie's questioning stare.
"Then where is she?" asked Regent Cid.
"Out," she answered with a shrug. "Here, have more wine."
"Where's the sorcerer?"
"Dunno. Seriously, drink this."
Minister Artania cleared his throat. "Sir, I saw him earlier in the garden." Hm, how to put this politely. Nope, can't be done. "A whore accompanied him."
Catherine burst out laughing, whispered a few words to her fellow servant. Billie's eyes widened like saucers before she erupted in laughter herself. "Ha, that's brilliant! We've got to tell Freema!"
"I'm right behind you!" Ignoring the stares from the frumpy-dumpy men, they ran down the hall, cackling the entire way.
Cid sighed, but finally sipped the muscadine wine.