Title: To Kill a Sparrow
Chapter: 9
Rating: M
Chapter Warnings: SUPER DUPER M RATED. Smut chapter, basically, with a good dose of character development (of course).
Pairings: Fem!Sparrow x OC
Disclaimer: As always, I don't own any part of the Fable franchise other than a healthy dose of imagination with LionHead's toys.
A/N: Uh yeah no excuse for how long I've been gone from the FFnet scene other than school kicking my arse some more. Apologies are in order, and I bring a chapter update (that was written, like, a year ago).

A storm rolled in off the sea, all fierce wind, slanting rain, and booming thunder. Lightning lit Sparrow's room erratically, throwing every little shadow into stark relief against the walls. She flopped over in frustration, growling at the storm that kept her from getting some much needed rest. After fighting her way to the top of Garth's tower—and taking a royal beating from Lucien's men—only to end up waking up in Wraithmarsh in a cage, followed by a rather long and weary traipse through a haunted bog, she really needed to sleep.

Her body ached something mighty fierce. She may be a Hero, but she was unaccustomed to long, drawn out battles with just her and Hammer versus a whole brigade of Lucien's army. The beating those men had given her she gave back ten-fold, but not without her body paying the price. The failed way gate had drained the rest of her strength. And slogging through untold miles of bog land while blasting through hordes of hollow men and the odd banshee or two took what little energy she had left.

She was mentally and physically exhausted.

But she was hot in her stuffy room and unable to crack a window due to the rain. The thunder kept her on the brink of sleep, and the wind slammed the rain against the windows with an unceasing barrage of sharp, staccato pings. Wherever Reaver happened to be, she hoped he was just as miserable in this storm as she was.

Rose whimpered and hopped on her bed, tail tucked against his belly as he wriggled under the blankets alongside his master. Sparrow laughed softly, patting the dog's head as he let out a massive sigh. "Just a storm, boy."

Rose sighed again and gave her a sidelong, pitiful look. "It's the end of the world," his eyes seemed to say.

Thunder boomed loud enough to shake the entire inn, and with it came a cold gust of air that wailed through Sparrow's room, bringing the rain with it. She shot out of her bed in a heartbeat, halfway across the room to attempt pulling the windows closed before she ever saw the shadow in her room.

It grabbed her up in a pair of big, strong arms and crushed its lips to hers. Groaning, she pressed her body against the shadow as it slammed the window closed upon the sill. "What took you so long?" she gasped, uncaring that the shadow was soaking her night shirt.

The shadow didn't seem to care either as his mouth reclaimed hers again with a desperate kiss. "It's sprinkling out and I forgot my parasol," Brody grumbled against her lips.

She laughed softly and stepped backwards as he pushed her with his body. Already his heavy hands were on her thighs, kneading her muscles as they wandered inevitably up her night shirt. Their bodies pulled away just long enough for him to slide the thin fabric off over her head, before he was pressing himself to her again.

Her legs hit the bedside and she fell backwards onto the comforter, watching him loom over her through half lidded eyes. She couldn't make out his details as lightning lit him from behind, but she felt his eyes raking over her as she stretched out on the bed before him. Smiling, she lazily ran a hand down her stomach and into the short patch of curls between her legs.

He growled deep in his throat and hurried out of his coat. She laughed huskily, spreading her legs wide and giving him a look at what was taking him so long to get at. He cursed her under his breath as he wrestled out of his soaked clothes—leaving only his mask on. His skin was cold and clammy from the rain as he grabbed her wrists in one of his massive hands, pinning her arms above her head as he climbed onto the bed with her.

Sparrow sighed in satisfaction as his weight settled against her, the hard length of his manhood pressed snug against her belly as he kissed at her neck. The stubble of his jaw scratched at her even as his teeth nipped gently, working casually to draw a soft moan from her lips. His hands—satisfied that hers were staying put—wandered over her slowly, his touch firm and heavy but oddly reverent. It was as if he were memorizing her every curve and scar, while simultaneously reassuring himself that she was really there.

He surged against her and her thoughts turned flighty at the feel of him. Like a true Hero, Brody was larger than life. Well over six and a half feet tall, he was corded with thick muscle and had little fat to him. He was the first man she had ever been with that was bigger than her, or didn't make her feel like a giant among dwarves. It was exhilarating. It was humbling. And it made her feel like a woman.

"Quit playing," she gasped as he ground against the hot core between her legs. He laughed softly but otherwise ignored her, taking his sweet time showering her body with affection. He placed soft kisses to her neck, her breasts, and up both her arms. And all the while he stroked her with his hands and his cock, stoking the fire burning deep in her belly.

Sparrow growled and dug her nails into the thick muscle of his shoulders. But he didn't react the way she had hoped: with a retaliatory snarl and a violent thrust of his hips that would seat him deep inside her. No, instead he let out a deep, throaty groan that sent a ripple of heat up her spine as he continued his slow, methodic seduction.

So she raked her nails down his arms to try and provoke him again. He simply smothered her mouth with his, his breath coming hard as he slid the whole length of his erection against her wet folds. She absolutely melted.

And then her hands were clutching desperately to his as he finally pushed inside her, slow and gentle and moving inch by agonizing inch. Gasping at the immense pressure of him against her, she threw her head back on the mattress and stretched under his weight. He gave her the time to fully appreciate just how big he really was, how thick his manhood was as he filled her to a tight fit.

"Brody…" she whined, arching her back as his hips finally met hers. She didn't have time to adjust before he was pumping into her with long, slow movements that stroked every part of the searing heat in her body. And still his calloused hands roamed over her, touching, petting, working her breasts in his strong grip.

Brody wasn't like men she had slept with in the past. He used his whole body, not just his hips and his dick. His toes dug into the mattress for support as his calves flexed and his thighs contracted, his washboard abs growing taught to bury his cock in her, all while his back and arms drew her body into his. And on the withdrawal he was like a giant coil going loose, resting for the slightest moment to gather energy before he flexed again.

And the whole time she could feel his legs against hers, the soft peppering of hair on his chest teasing at her breasts while his stubbled jaw scratched enticingly against her throat. He used his whole body to stimulate her tactilely, while his voice came in throaty groans and grunts that did the job on the audio front.

The bed started to creak with the tempo he set, the whole frame rocking. They both laughed at the sound of it, before they were too preoccupied with each other to care. She moved against him, hips rising to meet his as he pushed into her. Away with the retreat of his hips, to meet again with gasps of pleasure and groans of relief.

Her world as she knew it came to a surprising end, an orgasm plowing into her out of nowhere. Nails digging into his shoulders yet again, she groaned into the sweaty warmth of his neck as she desperately clung to him. Her stomach trembled with waves of contractions, her toes curling with complete and utter delight. And then Brody surged with strength, sitting back on his heels as he hauled her up with him.

Sparrow's voice left her in a hoarse cry of delight as her legs folded on either side of his, enabling her to use their strength to bounce herself up and down on his lap. His mouth kissed her desperately, hands clutching to her hips to pull her snug against him. It was a strange experience, wholly new to her and overwhelmingly stimulating. Because of it, she was able to ride out her orgasm until she practically collapsed against him.

Panting, she kissed him over and over again. "Lay back," she begged between quick kisses.

He crashed backwards on the mattress, those soft hazel eyes of his watching her warily through the bright crimson of his mask. She gave him a soft, coy little smile. She learned that second night back in Oakfield that he wasn't partial to being on the bottom like this. He had flat out refused by pinning her to the mattress with his big paw on her throat. So it was mildly surprising that he obeyed her so readily…

His eyes went wide behind his mask, his jaw dropping open in a soundless gasp as she moved against him. She laughed softly as his massive hands clutched at her hips, and a vein bulged in his neck as he lifted his head to watch where their bodies met. "Shit," he cursed, pulling up one of his legs so he could brace a foot against the mattress.

Sparrow had difficulty not screaming along with the thunder as he used the new found leverage to pump into her. That was definitely new for her, too. "You're supposed to just lay there," she panted.

"Am I doing something wrong?" he purred, voice low and dark and mildly threatening. It sent a ripple of excitement through her whole body. "I can stop…"

"No!" she gasped, more desperately than she had intended. His thin lips turned up in a lop sided smile, before he reached up to grab the back of her head and pull her down for a kiss.

When he broke away with another harsh curse, she pushed him down soundly against the mattress and rocked against him. It was a lot like riding a horse, really. She squeezed with her thighs, using them to push herself up and back…and as she came down she rocked forward on his cock with a firm thrust of her hips. He caught on quickly, head slamming back into the mattress with a groan as he moved to meet her.

When she sat up and leaned backwards, ever so slowly, he barked a short groan and dug his fingers into her hips. Smiling softly to herself, she watched as he writhed uncomfortably underneath her, so obviously enjoying what she was doing and hating that he hadn't come yet. Veins were popping out in stark relief on the inside of his arms and on his neck, his face turning red as he gasped breathlessly with his strain.

But he refused to move his hands from her hips to bring on the swift orgasm she knew he could, by just wrapping those huge paws of his around her throat…

He yanked her back down for a kiss, his arms wrapping around her and holding her tight against him. Now both his feet were pressed flat to the mattress, his hips thrusting desperately into her as she was reduced to holding on for dear life all over again. They were both panting and moaning as she grabbed his face between her hands, kissing his chin, his mouth, his bruised nose. She pressed her lips to his cheeks and his eyelids, all while he panted and cursed under his breath.

He didn't even stop thrusting into her as her fingers slid under the edge of his mask.

"Don't," he choked out breathlessly.

"Please," she whispered against his lips.

"No," he snarled, trying to lean his head away from her hands.

"I won't look," she begged, her own voice soft and frail between panting gasps. He was starting to get rough, his hips pounding into her ruthlessly. Every time he did, her breasts bounced and sapped her breath from her lungs. "I promise." She squeezed her eyes shut as if to demonstrate, sealing the promise with a sultry kiss.

This time, as her fingers slid under the bright crimson cloth, he didn't pull away. Not even when her fingers found the scars it hid, and traced them along his forehead and down his temple. One split right through his eyebrow and curved away just in time to miss his eye. She just had time to wonder how he got them, before his own hand tore the cloth from his head.

Gasping in delight as he slammed his hips into her, she clutched his head against the hollow of her throat. He was ratcheting himself up into a new plane of torturous delight, his whole body absolutely trembling with the pent up energy he yearned to release. It was gloriously sexy, she thought, that he had such patience and self-control over himself to delay the inevitable. There was only one way he would be coming tonight, and it seemed he was dead set against it…

His teeth bit down on her neck. Hard. Her eyes flashed open as it sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her clit, and rocketed her right over the edge and into another orgasm. She couldn't help it as she hurried to bury her face against his head—she drank in the sight of his thick head of curly dark hair. Caught the sight of a set of five scars—claw marks?—raking across the side of his head. If his hair hadn't been wet and stuck to his skull, she would have never seen them.

"Brody!" she screamed, arching backwards as her orgasm took over.

He rushed to sit up with her, hands grasping her butt firmly as his mouth found her neck again. And this time, as he growled savagely into her flesh and clamped his teeth down, he came.

Sweet gods, the moment was glorious. He absolutely exploded, his strong arms straining under her hands as he pulled her hips down to his with every ferocious thrust. He was all ruthless, raw masculine power as he came. And with one final thrust that sheathed him firmly to the hilt, he was done.

He crashed back on the mattress with a relieved groan, his chest rising and falling with great heaves—Sparrow lying against it. They both took a few moments to catch their breaths, too tired and relaxed to even pet each other like they usually did. Sparrow just stared blankly at a spot on the wall, her ear pressed flat to his chest and listening to his racing heart.

Finally, Brody let out a victorious chuckle. "Surprised you, didn't I?"

She nodded silently, his voice reverberating through his chest and in her ear.

He made a sound akin to a pleased moan, before he gently rolled them both over, her head tucked snuggly under his chin as he wrapped himself around her. With a huge yawn, she nuzzled the fine dusting of hair on his chest, tangling her legs with his. They were silent for so long that Sparrow thought he had fallen asleep, and she was just starting to doze off…

"I was a trader's son before I joined the Society," he spoke softly into the darkness.

She fought to blink back the sleep that weighted her eyelids. "Hm?"

"My family owned a shop in Bowerstone North, among all the noble's houses. We were minor nobles, really. Just a simple merchant family that somehow amassed enough wealth to be considered upper class."

She was still and silent as he spoke, catching on to the hollow tone of his voice.

"But we still ran our own caravan in person. Every couple of months, we'd all pack up into the wagons with all sorts of various goods and head off to Oakfield to trade. We'd hit all the little towns on the way and buy the local specialties. Black diamonds, hand crafted lutes, swords with blue tempered steel… Any of Albion's best and rarest.

"It was early spring, and we were doing a routine route from Oakfield back home. That old dirt road that arcs towards Westcliffe?" he paused, waiting for her to respond.

"The one that goes by that waterfall?" she replied sleepily.

Brody laughed softly. "Yes. Beautiful, isn't it? We used to camp there for a night. All the caravan kids and I would go play in the water. It was a gorgeous day. Warm for spring, mid eighties. Not a cloud in the sky. Everyone set up camp for the evening without so much as a worry. Cook fires were going full swing, and a bard that had joined the caravan started playing. It was great."

"What happened?" she murmured, nuzzling his chest. Idly, her fingers swirled little patterns against his damp skin.

She fell still when she felt the tremble in his body. Not from her touch, but from what he was remembering.

"We didn't know anything was wrong," he croaked past a suddenly tight throat. "We were just being kids. Splashing around and everything."

Slowly she pulled away from him, looking up to watch as his jaw worked to grind his molars together. He didn't seem to care that she was looking at him without his mask on—that she could finally see all of the handsome face that he hid for so long. His hazel eyes were staring off into the distance, seeing another world entirely. His strong brows were furrowed over his hard eyes, the deep tan of his face colored pink from their recent exertion. He was so handsome…

"The bard stopped playing," he said at last. "Cut off right in the middle of my favorite song. Things just got really quiet for a moment, as if the whole caravan was confused why he would stop. And then the women started screaming."

"Brody…"

He shook his head slightly, to silence her as much as to give himself courage. "I was the only one that didn't run back right away, you know. All the other kids, they tore off through the underbrush to get back to the caravan and see what was happening. The older ones had crossbows. They thought they could help. They thought it was just hobbes; they weren't unusual around those parts.

"But then they started screaming, too. And I hid, Sparrow," his voice cracked, the Adam's apple in his throat working to swallow past a dry throat. "I hid in the bushes until it was all over. It seemed like forever, listening to the men die. The women weren't so lucky. They got used for hours. And I just stayed in my hidey hole, cowering the whole time."

Sparrow was silent as she started to stroke at his chest again. It was just a soft touch, but it seemed to help him. He looked down at her suddenly, eyes watery and throat swallowing convulsively. She kissed his cleft chin.

"The bandits passed right by my spot when they finally moved on. It was almost night time, and it's never good to stay near so much blood after dark. I nearly suffocated myself with my own hands I was so scared that they could hear me breathing. They were our guards—all twelve of them. Fourth time that year we had traveled with that particular crew and I don't think any of us suspected a thing. They took two wagons. They did all that damage just to take two of our fourteen wagons.

"When I couldn't hear them anymore, I finally went back. They ransacked the whole place. Every man was dead. The women lay broken and beaten without even a shred of clothing, dying in the muck. I couldn't help them. I couldn't even approach them, I was so scared. And all around me my friends…" he choked, before swallowing and continuing. "They had even raped the little girls."

Sparrow felt her heart breaking for him.

"I found my mother," he let out a short, sharp laugh of pain. "She was the worst off. They had mutilated her while she was still alive. She had bled out. You would have loved her, she was so sweet and beautiful and pure…

"Anyway, night came and I couldn't leave. I was in shock, I guess. I just sat there at my mother's wagon, trying to put her clothes back on and put her to bed. I was thirteen; my voice hadn't even started to change yet."

"Clarissa's age," Sparrow offered absently.

He nodded. "I was covered in my mother's blood when the balverine came. It was so busy gorging on the other corpses that it didn't even pay any attention to me. But it kept moving closer to my mother. So I went into our wagon, and found her rifle. It was an ancient piece of shit that used to belong to her grandfather, but she always kept it clean and loaded when we were on the road. I didn't hesitate to pull the trigger."

"Oh, Brody…"

He turned his head slightly, so that she could see the side of his face that had been hidden in the pillows. The scars started at the midline of his forehead, at first just one cruel slashing line and then a second paralleling it. A third started just above his strong brow line, blazing a bare path through his eyebrow and along the bone structure of his eye socket. Two more scars joined over his temple, where the inside of the balverine's claws had finally made contact with his skull. Slowly, he parted his hair so she could see how each claw had torn all the way to the back of his head.

"And these?" she asked softly, her hands finding the five-fingered scars that marked his chest, one of his hips…a long thigh…his stomach. She knew there was a long set down his back. "I had assumed that you got them as an adult, traveling on a contract…"

He nodded with a grim smile. "It got its jaws stuck on my rifle, or I'm sure it would have killed me."

"You killed it?"

Another short nod. "First time I ever used Will. I didn't know what happened. One minute I had this balverine pinning me to the ground about to gut me and the next there was this bright flash of light and the beast was fried to a crisp."

She propped herself up on one elbow to look down at him, watching as his eyes wandered past her again. "You called lightning."

Smiling grimly, he placed a soft kiss to the tops of her breasts. "Some traders found me in the morning. They helped me bury the dead and burn the balverine. Even cleaned all my wounds. But they left me there in the wilderness to die. They thought I was going to turn into one; didn't have the balls to kill a little boy, though."

"I'm glad they didn't."

"It would have been a much kinder thing to do," he snarled under his breath. "Instead I was left wandering through the wilderness, starved and delirious from the infection. I don't even know how I did it myself, but I got to Westcliffe and stowed away on a ship heading for Bloodstone. Before the week was out I was on my knees in front of the master and begging him to take me as a pupil in exchange for a contract on those guards.

"Imagine his surprise when I didn't turn and the infection didn't kill me. Hah, he knew I was a Hero long before I even fancied the thought. But he carried through and Steve brought twelve heads back for me. I still have the skulls on display in my room. The only trophies I have of any mark."

They fell quiet for a while, her eyes watching as he just stared at seemingly nothing. But he wasn't trembling any more, and his breathing seemed under control. Whatever memories he was seeing now weren't as bad as the one of the destruction of his world.

"The last person to ever call me Brody before you came along was my mother," he said at last. "The whole Society knows my birth name, but they never called me by it. It was like they knew I didn't want someone saying it. Master asked me what I wanted to be called, but I didn't care. So he called me Fox, because I had narrowly slipped through so many tight situations."

She ran her fingers through his hair and he finally looked back up to her. "Thank you for telling me," she murmured, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead, right against his scars.

He let out a huge, weary sigh before pulling her back into his arms. She snuggled against his immense strength, secretly loving the way he made her feel so small. "Least I could do after I tried to kill you."

She laughed softly against his chest. "It was hardly a try. You had already made up your mind not to before you entered my home, didn't you?"

She felt him nod. "I didn't know it until I let go of you. I guess I have a mommy problem, but I couldn't leave your children without theirs. Not to mention, you're not my type of mark."

"Curious, were we?" she smiled and reveled in the feel of his chest rumbling with his laugh. His arms squeezed her in a gentle hug.

"I guess I was. You're the only other Hero I've ever heard of. I thought I just wanted the challenge but more than anything, I suppose, I just really want to…see what you were like."

"Disappointed?"

"Gods, no," he ran a calloused palm down her side, leaving goose bumps in his wake. Huskily, he murmured in her ear, "You are the most intriguing woman alive."

She chuckled seductively, running the soft interior of her thigh along his. "Is that so?"

"Mm," he purred low, before rolling them both over so he was on top. Sparrow let out a feminine giggle as she felt his growing need pressing in to her again. "Let me show you how intriguing…"

A/N:

So here's how I basically picture Brody: tall, dark, and gorgeously handsome with ridiculously rugged good looks and a big ass scar. Heart~