Chapter 9: Eternity

Warning: graphic sexual content

"Captain," the queen called, and the man turned to her. Maleficent couldn't remember his name. His hair and beard were salt and pepper, but the lines around his eyes and mouth were not deep. His brown eyes were direct, and looked at Aurora with more respect than he had ever shown before. "We will hold court in the human castle this week," Aurora continued. "Our subjects deserve the chance to have their questions answered."

Maleficent jerked toward the young woman. "Aurora," she protested in a hiss.

Aurora turned a blue glare on her strongest guardian. "That is our decision." When Maleficent started to open her mouth again, Aurora added, "As queen."

Maleficent's body throbbed from her hard crash into the trees and a sharp headache bloomed in her forehead. Simply sweeping Aurora up and ferrying her to the safety of Maleficent's lair would be a devastating undermining of Aurora's authority as queen that Maleficent had just killed to establish. The Protector of the Moors bowed her head to hide her scowl. Diaval remained silent behind her.

Aurora turned expectantly to the captain, who straightened, then bowed. "As you wish, my Lady."

"Your Majesty," Prince Philip corrected.

"Your Majesty," the captain amended, and beckoned to the head of one of his units.

As the captain gave orders to his lieutenant, Maleficent turned to Diaval. She almost blurted "Go with her," but the order died on her lips when she saw his resolute face and remembered he was free. "Do you want me to transform you?" she asked instead.

He frowned in thought and tilted his head. "I feel…strange," he admitted quietly. She was about to ask if he were all right when he muttered, "I…wonder…" and squeezed his eyes shut. A golden glow seeped out of his skin and he began to shrink rapidly. Maleficent choked on panic for a second before staring incredulously at the handsome black raven standing in Diaval's place.

She gasped. "How…?" she said softly as Diaval all but smirked at her from his original form. He flew to her shoulder and they stared at each other. He leaned his head forward slowly and then gently stroked his feathery cheek along hers, careful not to nick her with his sharp beak. He turned to look at Aurora, who had her back turned as she planned with the captain, and then flew to her shoulder. The young woman smiled at the raven for a moment before continuing her conversation. Her blonde hair mingled with Diaval's jet black tailfeathers.

Within a few minutes they were all marching across the fields back to the castle. The captain had insisted on the queen riding his horse, which he marched beside on foot. The hem of Aurora's dress, and several inches above it, was charred on one side and soaked in the blood of her enemy on the other, but she gave it no notice and she looked like a conquering hero. Diaval perched on the rump of her horse, staring backward. Prince Philip rode beside the queen. The footsoldiers marched in a square formation with the monarchs in the center. Maleficent refused to walk beside the horses, preferring to fly above the procession. To keep level with the creeping pace of the army, however, Maleficent would have had to all but hover, an exhausting exercise even if she had not just taken a beating. She therefore told Aurora and Diaval that she would fly ahead and meet them at the castle. It took her a mere ten minutes to alight on the roof of the outermost watchtower, the butt of her staff clinking on the tiles as she landed. There she stood on the eaves, watching the army gradually approach. When the watchtower guards poked their heads out of the window to stare up at her, they hastily retreated after one of her flashing glares.

Today had been an unsettling day.

Taking out dissenters was child's play and Maleficent expected to lose no sleep over it. No, what would be haunting her tonight and, she suspected, for many nights to come, would be the sight of that human with her staff in his hand, shooting green lightning at those whom she loved the most. So stupid of her to be so caught up in her first attempt at shapeshifting that she had left the staff behind, unattended, just waiting for any idiot to pick it up. The young man who had grabbed it must have been separated from his unit for a long time, well before this morning, stumbling around the Moors until he just happened upon her staff. It was disgusting enough to make her want to retch. Such a failure of oversight on anyone else's part would have made Maleficent punish them severely. She deserved that fright, that icy fear stabbing into her chest as she watched the enemy brandish her own weapon, shooting Diaval, almost killing her Beastie. She vowed to hold onto the fear and torment herself with it whenever she felt she deserved it.

If they had killed Aurora, Maleficent would have destroyed them all.

If they had killed Diaval—

Maleficent shook her head. She had only just gotten him back. They had only just begun to be a team together again, if in this new and unusual way. She had vaguely feared him dead when she could not find him those past few days, although Aurora's hope had saved her from drowning in that suspicion. But to watch him die, right in front of her, knowing incontrovertibly that it had been her negligence that had led to his death—

Maleficent drew in a sudden shuddering sob and pressed her forehead hard into the gem at the top of the staff, its wooden supports digging into her skin. She could not bear it. She could not bear to have her heart ripped apart again.

This—attachment—she felt toward Diaval was both like and unlike what she had had with Stefan. She had been so much younger with Stefan, and his love had felt fresh, curious, adventurous. No one had ever looked at her with such focused interest before. No one had given her such personal attention, like everything she said and did and thought was important. Which is why when she realized he had simply used her, caring nothing for her in reality, to the point where he would chop off her body parts for his own ends, she came to understand that love is an illusion.

Of course, raising Aurora had entwined the Beastie into Maleficent's—and Diaval's—heartstrings inextricably. Even without the charm Flittle had given her, Maleficent doubted that either she or the raven would have been able to resist falling in love with the child. And the young woman she had become was turning out to be a blessing and a source of pride for them both. Neither of them would ever stop caring for her.

Maleficent thought of the looks she'd shared with Diaval over Aurora's head when the little girl had done something cute or funny or kind or clever. His humanised face, that smile that was equal parts amusement and wonder…

She sighed, lifting her gaze toward the army again. They were getting closer but still had at least two kilometers to cover.

How was she going to live with the raven, now that he was no longer her servant? What was that going to be like? Maleficent snorted at the idea that he would be giving her orders now. Of course they would not give orders to each other. If he was no longer subordinate, did that make him her equal? There seemed no other way for it to be. They already depended on one another. Their relationship had grown over the years, strengthening and solidifying until it became earth-shattering to try to dissolve it.

She tried to spot him on the back of Aurora's horse. Her keen eyes were just able to make him out, looking like a deeper part of Aurora's shadow as he kept a lookout on the rearguard. She was glad he was staying so close to Aurora. If he had decided to circle above the army, someone might have been able to get close to her before he could return to her side, newfound ideological unity be damned.

So he could transform himself, now. Well. Maleficent supposed that would eliminate a lot of the questions she would have to ask. "Would you like to be a man? Would you like to be a horse? Would you like to be a giant flesh-tearing eagle in order to destroy your enemies? How long until you want to return to your original shape?" She scoffed. It had been much easier to just flick magic at him whenever she felt like it. This way would be much less awkward. It must have happened when that terrorist shot him with her staff. Diaval had absorbed so much magic that he was now able to wield it on his own. Maleficent actually felt proud of him.

Her impatience for them to hurry up and get here increased. Some part of her wanted to congratulate him. A flashing image of happily hugging him around the shoulders made her turn her head as she blushed. She blew air out her nose. Well. If she felt like hugging him, so what? They had touched hands earlier, had they not?

She crossed her arms, staff in the crook of her right elbow, and waited.

It was like a cave, Diaval decided. Caves were the closest thing with which he had experience to this "Great Hall." Flying through the whole castle so far had felt like flying through a cave network, but with torches and windows and lots and lots of humans.

Diaval had been here before, of course. Twice. First, he had ridden on Maleficent's shoulder when she had come to curse newborn Aurora. He was glad his raven beak could not grimace the way his human lips would, or the human court assembled before Queen Aurora might misunderstand. Now he was perched on the back of Aurora's wooden human throne.

The second time had been the madcap rescue attempt about a week ago, when he had had no time to think about what the place was like, or who was in it, or anything besides finding Aurora and getting her out. He suppressed an ironic chuckle when he realized that he had been a dragon. Right over there, in fact, where all those humans were standing in neat little lines now. He could see the scorchmarks of his dragonfire all over this hall. The room had felt a whole lot smaller then.

As a bird, he was less expected to stand still at attention than he would have been in man form, and he took advantage of it.

He flew to the left-side balcony railing well above the court's heads, looking down at them from above. A few of their eyes tracked him, but he had chosen a moment when Aurora was explaining her ideas to the court again and they were too busy trying to understand her to pay him much attention. A few people's hands were moving, clenching and unclenching fists, touching faces, fingering little objects in pockets. But nobody seemed reaching for a weapon, even for one of the little ones allowed in here. Some of them were whispering in little pairs, mostly toward the back. There were about fifty of them, mostly men, mostly more than halfway through their lifespans. The women were all older than Aurora, but then Aurora had only recently become a full adult. The door guards seemed relaxed, maybe a bit too relaxed. Diaval flew to the balcony railing at the back of the hall. He could see all their faces from here—Aurora, Maleficent standing at her right hand, Philip seated at her left, the captain standing with two guards on Aurora's left side of the dias, and three more guards on her right. Aurora looked a little frustrated but determined as she was still talking to the front row of the courtiers. She was using her hands to demonstrate now.

Maleficent was staring right at him.

He puffed up a little and then sighed. It felt a relief to put this distance between them. He had felt stuck to her shoulder from the time she had found him. Now Aurora was relatively safe, the subservience and uncertainty he had fallen right back into out of habit was starting to chafe worse than ever.

Maleficent was different, though. He looked at her yellow-green eyes, like tiny windows to a sunlit forest in that gray stone cave. She didn't bark or snap at him as much, with orders or insults. She seemed so much more uncertain around him than she had been. Her uncertainty mixed with his uncertainty and calmed it a little. Enough that he wanted to know more of it, wanted to know what she was thinking, how she thought things would turn out, so he could figure it out too. Her face focused full on him pushed warm thrills over him in ways that made him grateful again to be a raven right now. When he had arrived on Aurora's shoulder, the faerie had looked searchingly at him without a smile, and used those long, sharp fingers to stroke his feathers once from head to the base of his tail.

Would he go back to being a man? Now that he could choose when and where he wanted to? It made it much easier to speak with her and with Aurora and Philip. But other times, when he didn't much need to speak?

He closed his eyes and took a long breath as the thought of those fingers on his human skin rolled over him, and then let the thought go as he looked down at the fidgeting courtiers.

He figured it was about time this repetitive meeting was over.

"CAW!" he said, just once, just to startle them, and the echoes of the hall made his call so loud that they all turned around to stare at him. Some of the closer ones cringed and Diaval laughed a raven laugh, throaty and gravely, beak open, neck feathers frilling, head tilting with mirth. That was the funniest thing that had happened in months.

Aurora and Maleficent were both staring up at him too. Maleficent's eyebrows looked like they were crawling into her hood and Aurora, interrupted mid-sentence, looked like she didn't know whether to scold him or crack up laughing.

In the end it was too funny and the queen burst out in gales of laughter so strong that the laugh caught on with some of the nobles closest to her and then spread, diminishing in power, through the crowd. The ones directly under Diaval didn't laugh at all.

"Our advisor is correct," Aurora said, wiping a little tear from her eye. "That is all for tonight. We will resume at midmorning tomorrow."

The courtiers filed out, and the captain ordered the six guards at the dias to relieve those around the edges of the room, and for those relieved to each send back one fresh soldier.

He bowed to Aurora. "Will there be anything else, Your Majesty?"

Aurora smiled at him. "No, Captain Reynul. We will see you in the morning."

"Your Majesty." In his bow, he saluted with his right fist to his left shoulder, straightened, and walked off.

"Are you hungry, Aurora?" Philip asked her, back straight, elbow raised.

"Thirsty," she admitted, taking his arm, and they walked toward the door to the left of the dias, the guards at each of the other doors coming over to move with her. Aurora made no move to stop them as they formed a little human shield by standing behind her, filing through the door as the guard posted there opened it.

The door was too small for Diaval to fly through while the humans were all walking through, but he didn't want to be behind them all. He looked at Maleficent, and she was already looking at him, her elbow bent like she was about to raise her arm but didn't know if he wanted it.

He cocked his head and shifted his feet, zeroing in on her shoulder.

He could see a little smirk tilt her lips as he flapped to her, landing on her raised upper arm.

"You little mischief maker," she murmured into his ear as he walked up to her shoulder.

He opened his beak at her in a grin and they followed the last guard out the door.

Maleficent took one step inside the tower room door and shut it behind her without turning. Diaval spotted a ledge over the narrow window and flew off to it from her shoulder. She leaned her staff against the wall behind the door with a sigh. Aurora was in her chambers now, five guards posted at her door and one at the foot of the hidden outdoor stair. Beatrice and Cheer were at the top of the hidden staircase. Now that Maleficent had charmed Beatrice's right hand never to miss, the guardswoman had a knife constantly in it, her head on a swivel as she used the spell to hear an enemy within a mile in any direction.

Now Diaval and Maleficent stared at each other. The faerie's hands were gripping her elbows, and the raven looked at her more with his left eye than his right. This room, although the castle bailiff had assured them it was meant for visiting foreign dignitaries, was only twice as wide across as Maleficent was tall, if you didn't count her horns. Little fizzles of magic slid down them from time to time, like individual snowflakes appearing and melting down their sides, vanishing when they touched her hood.

She lifted her fingers as if to snap transforming magic at him, but slowly, giving him lots of time to object.

Before she raised her hand above her elbow, he had jumped down from his perch, transforming fast enough that his human feet hit the old floorboards just as his neck feathers receded into his throat.

Now they were even closer. Diaval didn't know what to say, looking down at her face, both of them breathing a bit fast.

She threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, gripping hard and forcing him to bend down a little, air huffing out his lungs. Her embrace tightened more, squeezing her face into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. He belatedly held her back, arms under her wings, and anything less than a tight hold seemed an insult. It was a wonder to feel most of her body so close, all at once, her shape, her scent. The solid rocks of her fists and the whisper-soft edges of her feathers. Her waist and her hips and her breasts, and her arms around and behind him. She was shaking a little, tensed as if to jump into flight, breathing faster now and Diaval felt the hitch of a sob. She growled something into his shoulder.

"Mm?" he asked, and that small sound seemed so loud.

"Never again," she muttered, pulling her face out of his skin just far enough to speak. "Never, never, never…"

He put one hand on the back of her head, fingers between her horns, and tilted his head in toward hers, their temples touching, and he knew, as he had always known, that he would never be free of her. He could declare freedom all he wanted, demand respect and inclusion and a say in goings-on, but wherever he went she would haunt him, his thoughts would forever return to her. So why fly, when she was real, here, in his arms?

"Never," he said. "Never, never…"

She seized his face and kissed him hard on the mouth. His eyes flew open but shut fast, holding her yet tighter as the feeling burst through him. Human lips suddenly made all the sense they had been lacking since he had first lost his sharp, nimble beak. This is what they were for, to press against others' lips. To press against hers.

It was so good he pressed harder, backing her up against the door, where her wings splayed out to avoid being crushed and he had to move his arms out. But he had to keep touching her so his hands came back and gripped her shoulders. He felt her smirk under the kiss and she reached up to take his hands down and place them on her thighs. He choked and leaned off her, but his hands felt like they were stuck to her hips.

She smiled and held his face again, pulling him close in another kiss, but her tongue touched his lips this time and he would have jerked back but she held him there and pushed her tongue into his mouth. A noise bubbled up in Diaval's throat that he didn't even know he could make, and his knees were inexplicably collapsing without Diaval's consent.

He didn't really fall but Maleficent held him up anyway, then marched them backward toward the narrow wooden bed. Diaval had just enough time to turn his head to look where he was falling before he landed on the straw mattress. She was above him now, leaning up and letting her wings open behind her like a great brown canopy.

She looked at him again, her long skirt taught between her knees as she straddled his legs, arms by her sides, staring into his face.

"Yes." The word came from his gut, and he reached up to her from where he lay on the bed, wanting her close again.

Maleficent sighed, and reached up to pull the hood off her hair. It came free of her horns and her hair fell to her back. Diaval needed to touch that hair, too, and leaned up to track his sensitive human fingers through it. If ravens had hands, courtship would be longer.

As it was now. Her hair was like strands of silk, falling through and across his fingers and reflecting the light in fascinating ways. He had seen it flicking around as she walked her lair, had watched her coil it to fit under the hoods, had stared at the comb as she untangled it. His hand was the comb now, and he started his next stroke at her scalp, tracing the warm back of her head around to her ear, and she grabbed his wrist, meeting his eyes again. Her pupils were very wide and the yellow and green made amazing shapes.

Maleficent's other hand had been creeping to his chest and the first tap of her claws made him gasp in surprise. It seemed he was finding out a lot about his human shape today. Her fingerpads on his featherless skin felt like they were leaving trails of hot and cold over his chest and ribs, and he even looked down to see if they were somehow wet but she leaned forward with another kiss. When her tongue touched his lips this time he let her in, and then his tongue was moving and he was probably drowning, but how was escaping him because his arms were full of faerie and now her whole body was against his again, the weight of her delicious and her curves, which his hands were finally exploring, entrancing.

Between his legs felt warm and hot and his penis was definitely hardening. At least Diaval knew of this human—tendency—from some of those sleepless nights on the floor of the lair. But never before had she been in his arms for it and it made him seize her and roll them over. The bed was too narrow and their feet were both still hanging off, but his feet on the floor gave Diaval leverage to grind into her, an action of pure instinct, and the sound Maleficent made at that was the strongest spell she had ever cast on him.

To hear it again he would do anything.

So he ground into her again, hands under her bottom, and it felt like he should do it forever because it was too good. She was gasping against his shoulder now, her flattened wings taking up most of the bed and then some, hands gripping at his sides and back.

"Diaval," she managed, and it took him a second to stop. He turned his head to look at her and her face was flushed. "Clothes," she said.

Stupid human affectation anyway. He leaned away from her and stood up to shrug off his jacket and pull the shirttails out of the trousers.

But then he was distracted by Maleficent pulling at the ties of the back of her dress. Her head was tilted down to let her reach down her back and the sight of the ends of the cord flying this way and that, and getting longer, and the dress beginning to fall off her shoulders, stopped him.

She noticed he had stilled and stopped as well, holding the front of her dress to her chest with one hand as she checked what he was doing. Her shoulders he had seen many times before as several of her dresses left them bare. But those ties went all the way down her back…

When he knew she was changing clothes or bathing over the years, he had learned to make sure to ask to be in raven shape beforehand and had flown off to find something to eat until she was dressed again. The first time he had been stuck in man shape when she went off to bathe, he had stomped around the Moors for two hours, seeing her body in his mind better than he could see the plants and trees. He had struck up a conversation with the river mud faeries in desperation and she had found him there later, chattering about river currents and slimy things that lived in the mud.

"Will you help me?" she asked, and turned a bit so he could see the ties that held the wing holes closed, already loosened and the cloth gaping. It was ridiculous of course, because she had taken this dress on and off by herself any number of times, and he knew that, but he had done what she asked most of his life so how could he say no to touching that pale skin?

His hands seemed to have much less compunction about it than his mind because here they were, pulling ties and sliding the dress off her back, leaving her to pull the sleeves off while he smoothed his fingers over her ribs and spine. Her back was thin but strong and he caressed a wing muscle, the great feathers shuddering in response and he could barely believe what he was doing but stopping was impossible.

She leaned down to push the dress off her hips and into a heap on the floor, a light brown underskirt covering her from hips to knees. Diaval's fingers were drawn to the top of the underskirt and started creeping under the edge toward her bottom but she turned to face him, one wing curving around behind him for a moment. Her chest was lovely, her breasts beautiful, and Diaval's hands jerked but he couldn't touch her there.

Her hands were tugging at his shirt, though, and his view was obstructed for a second as she pulled it off him, and he felt the chill of the draught from the window. But her breasts were still beautiful when he could see them again, and his hands went back to the waist of her skirt, holding her hips. When her hands found his waistband and started to pull at the ties in the front, though, his eyes snapped up to look at her face. She was concentrating on his trousers, brow furrowed as she pulled the ties from one loophole, then another, and another—

"Maleficent," he said, just to slow her down, because in a moment he was going to—

His erection came free and the air was cold but it felt so much better not to have the trousers squeezing him any longer. He gasped at the change and then choked when three of her cool fingers slid down his length.

"I don't want to stop," she said, looking him in the eye now, the color up in her face, down her neck, rosy all the way to her chest, where her breasts were still lovely. One finger of her free hand pushed under his chin to force his eyes back to hers. "Do you?"

"No," he huffed out, and her hand gave his erection a squeeze. "Hnnn," he said, and tilted his head back.

"Good," she said, and leaned forward so he was on his back again, her hand still on him, the other beginning to push his trousers off his legs. He wiggled to help her but the ways his body wanted to move in response to her hand on his erection made it difficult. His voice was humming now, the pleasure taking root in his core and seeming to make its own sound. He missed her sounds and leaned up to kiss her again. The twin pleasures of her kiss and her hand made him grab the sides of her face and push his tongue in her mouth as she had done. She wavered, trousers forgotten, until Diaval's legs really started to get tangled and he broke away to shove them and his boots all the way off in frustration. Now it was easy as flying to kneel before her on the bed, kissing her, while his hands trailed over her back and hers over his.

It was annoying that she was still half-turned away from him, sitting with her feet off the bed and that stupid skirt still on. Clothes, honestly, of all the dumb human inventions. He tugged impatiently at the ties that held it closed in front and the moment it was loose enough he pushed it off her hips. She kicked it away and then finally she was facing him, pressing her body against his. So much of her skin on so much of his skin and he was drowning again, mind on fire and wanting to touch every part of her. Her curves were just as he had imagined so many times, and he knew them already, it was like finally being able to speak to an old friend. The scars, the hollows, the swells of her body were fascinating and there were new ones to discover. He dared to reach for her breasts and instead of a slap got a moan, so he spent plenty of time there, massaging those necessary sounds from her throat. When she broke the kiss with a gasp his lips went to her shoulder, and lips were wonderful, lips were the best thing about being a man, because now he could kiss her shoulder, her arm, her chest, her nipple.

She seized his hair when he did it but she didn't yank him off, so he got to know it a little, feeling around with his lips and tongue and this made her make such sounds that he didn't want to stop this new thing.

Until her hand found his erection again with a squeeze and then a pull and he lost his breath as lighting flew up his spine. He had to let go her nipple to breathe, but it came in pants as if he had run a mile and he incredulously saw her smile as her hand began to work on him.

Shudders overtook him, but instead of the pain of absorbing the shot of her magic it was pleasure gripping him now, and all he could think of was each of her fingers, her palm, now warm, and the slide she was creating.

"Never again," came Maleficent's voice from far away, and he opened his eyes—when had he shut them?—to see her staring at him again, face intense and eyes searching.

"Nn—" It was hard to speak through the pleasure. "Never," he gasped. "Never—again." And he reached up to hold her face again and kiss her. She put a hand on his breastbone and pressed, harder and harder until he had to move his feet out in front of him and lay back, her kiss following him down until her wings made that great canopy above him again. He was sure he would dream of it later. Probably for the rest of his life.

She let go the kiss and sat up, knees on either side of his hips, and to Diaval's amazement moved her hand between her own legs, where dark hair obscured a mystery. Diaval had seen humans mating, before he had met Maleficent and started this new life. It hadn't been that interesting and he hadn't stopped to watch long enough than to see much more than what went where. But the faerie's long fingers, tilted up at the tips to keep the claws clear, were now making circles under the hair, and Maleficent tossed her head back. The arch of her body was magnificent and Diaval's hand was drawn to it, propping himself on one elbow so he could hold one of her hips. Her head came forward so she could look at him again, her eyes moving from his face down his flushed chest to his abdomen and fixing on his erection. Her free hand grabbed the one holding her hip and brought his fingers between her legs, under where she was still circling with the other hand.

She pressed his fingers over her vagina and Diaval felt a thrill as if she were still caressing his erection. But this was heat and wetness and softness and he had to know more so he continued pressing up, actually slipping inside her with his middle fingertip and she gasped, eyes flying to meet his. She was shaking now and that was good, she should shake more, so he slid his finger in as far as it would go, leaning up to do it. She made another of those sounds he wanted to hear and moved over his hand so the finger slid back and forth inside her. That was amazing so he let her do it a bit until he had the bright idea to add another finger.

"Kchsh," she hissed and gripped his shoulders with both hands. Her rhythm stuttered but now continued, slower than before but still mesmerizing, and beginning to speed up again. Diaval was just wondering if his wrist would stay bent like this for much longer when she seized it and dragged his fingers out of her.

He frowned, falling back, but then she was holding his erection again and pulling in a way that sent the blood rushing there to reharden where it had flagged a bit. And it was wet now. He looked down to see her taking wetness from her own body and smearing it across his penis and the sight made explosions behind his vision, his body tensing like it would burst apart. But then she let go, and it felt cold, and he looked dazedly at her face where she was smirking again.

And then she lowered her body onto his.

She was hot inside, molten, and her body was a squeezing softness that pulled another groan from deep inside him. He held on for dear life to her sides, and she folded over him and put her elbows to either side of his ears. Her face was inches from him. "Always," she breathed, and then moved her hips.

Diaval's body arched on its own, pressing his head back against the bed, driving him deeper inside her like it knew what to do even if he didn't. He gasped for breath and stared into her face, one arm going around her back under her wings and pulling her tight to him.

"Always," she repeated, like she was prompting him, like speech was possible at the moment.

Always what, anyway? Both his arms held her tight as his hips thrust three times fast into her, making her gasp too and cling to his shoulders. Then he found a rhythm and began to rock under her, holding her where he wanted her as the back and forth built pleasure like a fountain in a town square, rushing endlessly upward.

She grabbed his hair and yanked his head to the side and the pain snapped him back to her face. "Always," she insisted.

"Always," he agreed blankly, anything to go back to moving with her, anything to stay with her. Oh, of course. The clarity was like punching through low clouds to the open sky above. To stay with her. "Always," he repeated, and he heard his voice register deeper, the conviction cutting through the pleasure like a sword through a feather pillow.

Maleficent's breath hitched and her eyes snapped shut, whole body tensing as shudders ran through her, the fluttering clenching of her vagina around his erection sending white through Diaval's vision for a moment. Golden sparks flew off her horns and wings in every direction. Then the faerie was sagging over him, drenched in sweat and breathing hard.

She was draped over him, languid as she had been tense a moment before, only her hands still gripping him with any strength. And her vagina, of course. That was still tight and warm and Diaval missed the sliding motion so he began again, planting his feet on the bed when it seemed she was too relaxed to help. Little cries came from her mouth with each movement and drove him mad. He held her around her back again as he thrust into her, in pursuit of an end that he could feel building in his core.

She revived quickly and her cries were louder now, her knees firm again beneath her and her hands back on his shoulders. Every sound she made sent pleasure to his mind while her body sent pleasure to his body and then Diaval was kicked over a cliff, clinging to her as he shuddered and felt himself come inside her. Her presence consumed him, her scent, her touch, her yellow-green eyes heavy-lidded and gazing at him.

He rode the wave like flying in a gale, letting it take him where it needed to go because to fight it would mean to break. It left him dragging breath in, his joints becoming wobbly, his eyes focusing back on her face. It was soft, a tired little smile pulling on her lips, sweat beaded on her forehead. His hands relaxed from clinging around her back and then found her bottom, which was a novel wonder that he began to explore.

She sighed and laid over him, wings draping around them both, the tips of one set of primaries dragging on the floor. She was so warm.

The ceiling was wooden, rafters pointing up into a cone. There were a few spiders there with webs both fresh and raggedy. Their breathing was slow now, and Diaval thought the faerie might get a chill from the window, although she was giving off such heat he wasn't sure.

What had they done?

Did this mean offspring?

He tensed and slipped out of her. A rush of warm fluid followed and she sat up, grimacing. Diaval got up on his elbows and looked at the dark stain on the canvas skin of the straw mattress.

"Maleficent…" he said, but she was getting off him, straddling air as she clutched herself.

A week ago he would have called her Mistress.

She stopped and looked at him, chest expanding with each breath, wings half-open, her hand still between her legs. Her eyebrows were high, her eyes wide, lips just slightly parted. Diaval sat up with his bare feet on the floor, fingers balancing him on the mattress. She looked down with frown and closed her eyes. Lazy green flames peeked between her fingers, up into her pubic hair and around her backside. She straightened with a sigh and looked at him again, wings curling around her shoulders into a halfshell. Then she looked away. "We'll talk about it," she said, and turned her back.

Her grand wings were still a sight to behold, although now a few feathers were out of place. Diaval stood up and began to gently straighten one of the primaries, the biggest feather that was askew, pressing the ruffled barbs back together with his fingers. Fingers didn't work as well as a beak, but right now he needed his lips to kiss her shoulder. He smoothed his hands over the sides of her wings where they were still curled around her.

"Yes," he said. "We will."

She sighed again and bent to pick up her dress. Diaval scoffed before he could stop himself and she glared at him from her stoop. Her skin looked so pale after seeing her always in dark clothing. Stooping over was making interesting shapes out of her breasts.

She huffed and smirked unwillingly, dropping the dress and picking up instead the linen underskirt. Diaval watched her step into it and pull the ties into place with magic. Even mourning the sight of some of the most fascinating parts of her body, he had to admire the dextrous touch of the magic as it finished off with a neat bow.

He could still see her breasts as she faced him again. Her nipples were a different color than the rest of her skin. His right hand rose to touch one but Diaval covered the motion at the last instant by reaching up instead to grab the roots of the hair behind his ear, flicking his eyes back up at the ceiling, which he couldn't even tell what it looked like anymore because he was thinking about her breasts, which were still naked right in front of him.

She laid her hands on his shoulders and Diaval realized he was still naked too. He looked at her quirked eyebrow.

"Trousers?" she asked.

The idea of putting his body back into that rough cloth, especially his genitals, which could still feel the ghost of her, was almost enough to put him off clothes for the rest of his life. "Stupid human affectation anyway," he blurted.

She giggled and steered him toward the bed again. She laid down with her back to the wall, one wing tucked neatly behind her and the other extending over enough space on the mattress for him to sleep, one arm beckoning.

The pull to go to her was strong as a spell even though Diaval knew she wasn't using magic. He lay down facing her, hands reaching for her face again. She turned her head away with a tiny coy smile but just ended up pressing her lips into his palm. Her wing settled over him and the smooth, cool softness of her feathers sent thrills over his skin.

Her eyes were huge this close, the yellow and green facets a maze he would gleefully wander any day without hope of escape. Her pupils were still wide, lips closed but still with that tiny smile. He grinned in response, hands leaving her cheeks to wrap his arms behind her neck. He pulled her just the slightest bit closer.

Being free was wonderful. It was intoxicating. Knowing that if she protested he could just leave, leave and go anywhere he wanted and do anything he wanted.

So every time she didn't protest, every time she let him touch her, every time he pulled her close, every time she pulled him close, meant that she wanted him there, wouldn't protest because she knew he would leave. Her smile was real because at a little frown he would pull his hands away, at a sharp word and he would find another room to stay in, and at flaring rage he would be gone, on to whatever came next. So when she tugged on his shoulders to flip himself over and put his back to her, and she draped one arm, one leg, and one wing over his side, and sighed, he knew he would stay.

Always, if that's what she wanted.

Eternity seemed short and pleasant as his eyes closed.

His hip was in the wet spot, though.

They would talk about it. Diaval would make sure.

Reviews are encouraged! Thank you!