Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other game and character plotlines belong to Lionhead.
My Queen is my own, and so is this story.
I was five and he was six
We rode on horses made of sticks
He wore black and I wore white
He would always win the fight
Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down
Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) ~ Nancy Sinatra
An entanglement of limbs and lips comes crashing through the extravagant doorway of Reaver's bedroom, the gentle rocking of waves against the ship lulling the pair deeper into the room with an unnerving ease. A booted foot kicks the door shut in their wake, Reaver's lanky legs effortlessly dancing his willing partner ever closer to the grandiose bed set only a few paces away.
"I must admit, I hadn't imagined this sort of reception." Reaver gasps, breaking away from the lovely set of lips engaging him momentarily, "Not that I don't approve of course."
The Queen doesn't smile, nor respond. She instead decides to latch her still swollen lips roughly against the exposed collarbone of the tall man before her, ripping away at any material that might dare to stand in her way.
Strong hands at her back grip possessively against her, his very touch sending ripples of pleasurable electricity shooting straight up her spine. Not an unfamiliar sensation, it first occurring during their first coupling that night after the ball. Perhaps this is a side effect, be it a wonderful side effect, of the two Hero's unique senses combining together in a fantastic mix of power, the Queen can't be sure. Hell, she can barely be sure of her own hands sliding smoothly up Reaver's toned stomach, his pale skin like fire against the pads of each fingertip.
Is that a corset? She wonders for only a moment, her thoughts quickly diverted to Reaver's hands sliding down her clothed sides.
"I am beginning to really dislike you Reaver." The Queen growls in between kisses, emphasizing her point by biting down hard against the junction of his neck and shoulder. Her words and actions do not prove to dissuade the industrial magnet, gripping her roughly by the thigh and wrapping it forcibly around his waist, his hardened length straining against her heated core.
"If this is dislike darling, I am rather anxious to find out in which way you express loathing."
"I wont lie," The Queen hitches herself up against Reaver, wrapping both bare legs tightly around him and slightly appeasing the uncontainable desire stemming deep between her thighs, "That would involve a great deal of weaponry…and leather."
"I will keep that in mind." Reaver purrs, his voice a seductive and dangerous promise whispered to each one of the Queen's deepest desires.
Caught up in the madness of all that had occurred on this night, the Queen can no longer deny herself the pleasures that only this one man could grant her.
Though not nearly as experienced in sex as her current partner, the Queen has somewhat always prided herself in the choice of men she has bedded in the past, both in appearance and skill. But in that one night with Reaver, the experience was elevated to unimaginable levels, causing her physical thirst to become unquenchable by any but he.
In short, the Queen is spoiled.
Her lips return to his in a furious frenzy, fingers tangled in the ebony locks that ashamedly feels much smoother than the Queen's own highly maintained hair. Any remnants of clothing are quickly discarded throughout the elaborately decorated bedroom, a trail of shoes and ripped silks leading right to the bed where the two nude occupants collapse hastily.
Reaver supports himself from crushing the writhing Queen beneath him, covering her slender jaw line in a flurry of feather light kisses.
"So, about our deal." Previous conversations emerge into thought as the Queen's eyes wander to the curious picture still seated silently atop the mantle. The intense stare of her mother awakenes a sudden uncomfortable cramp in the legs wrapped firmly about Reaver's slim waist, along with a rather concerning tumble in the region of her lower stomach.
Reaver groans, flipping back onto the lush mattress and allowing his erect manhood to protrude shamelessly.
"Yes, our deal," He runs a hand through his tussled locks, "Best to get the juicy gossip out of the way, right right." The Queen reaches to the crimson sheets to, unlike her counterpart, shield the majority of her nudity. Reaver doesn't seem to notice, nor care for that matter, remaining sprawled out atop the comfort of his bedding, green eyes dancing gleefully over the remainder of exposed skin adorning the beauty.
"Before we begin, I must insist that you do not in any way, shape, or form, show disdain for the name of my forbearer, nor that of any of my ancestors. She was your Queen and more importantly a fellow Hero. In that respect, even you Reaver, must assume some sort of loyalty."
"Yes yes, cross my heart and hope to…well, you get the point sweetie."
"You realize I do have a name." The Queen huffs, leaning casually back against the bed with an arm supporting her weight.
"Names are so formal, so boring. When you have lived as long as I, you need to find your kicks in the littlest of things or risk rotting away in the madness of consistency." Reaver smirks, rolling onto his side and supporting his head with one long bended arm. Despite herself, she cannot help her gaze from roaming over the divine specimen lain out before her. Shooting servants and drinking oneself into a stupor seems to do wonders to the male form.
"Now now my dear," Reaver reaches over, forcing the Queen's gaze up with the lightest tap of two fingers at the chin, "There will be plenty of time for the tour once story time is complete. For now, we shall chat. I do not want a single excuse for any further untimely interruptions."
Snaking his free arm around the Queen's waist, Reaver slides both woman and coverlets tight against his body. If not for previous knowledge, the Queen might briefly entertain the idea that Reaver might simply want to cuddle up to her.
A quick squeeze to the rear quickly rids her of that thought.
"Ah…so where should I begin? Well, I guess it is worth mentioning that at the time of our meeting, your mother had yet to become the great Hero Queen now sung about all across the land. Rather out of tune I might add, these bards are just awful these days." Fingers tickle tantalizingly at the edge of the soft blanket, the fabric dancing across the current Queen's skin. She sighs impatiently, useless observations and the insistent press of Reaver's tempting arousal against her thigh picking away at her already waning patience.
"No, just another ratty looking adventurer was she the day your mother had wandered upon the steps of my manor. Blood dripping, mud flailing, oh it was just awful! The servants were scrubbing the entrance hall for weeks!" Reaver pauses to chuckle lightly, an unexpected smile also crossing across the Queen's own lips at the sound. Quite unsettling.
"She had fought her way through the marsh, Blackmarsh to be exact. The first to do so in well…that is neither here nor there. What is important however, is the exact reason as to why such a lovely lithe thing would crawl through the muck and other such unpleasantness." A long moan escapes the Queen's lips as Reaver runs one elongated finger gently across the folds of her womanhood, only briefly allowing herself to wonder just when he had managed to slip his hand beneath the blanket unnoticed. Instinctively, her hands shoot up from their relaxed state to once again entwine in the hairs on the back of Reaver's head, his lips crashing against her own in a rushed heat of passion.
Damn but this man is good at distraction.
Breathless she pulls away, dilated pupils locking onto his blurry face as she attempts to regain focus.
"Reaver." The Queen groans in warning to Reaver's very apparent pleasure, both mentally and physically. He clears his throat, likely unused to this level of restraint in matters such as this.
"Exactly correct! How very astute of you darling, you should be proud." He emphasizes his point with another swipe against the Queen's burning core, this time resting his thumb against the small bundle of nerves and sending a wave of pleasure all throughout her lower half.
"You…are either sick bastard…or just plain ignorant…to be, uh, pleasuring a woman in accompany to…stories of her own kin."
"Oh come now honey, you didn't really think I would make this simple for you?" Reaver peppers the Queen's exposed neck with tender kisses, "Inconsistency and whatnot." He reassumes his previous position, touches disappearing just as suddenly as they had appeared to the Queen's utmost dislike.
"Right, so there your war torn mother was, intruding upon my humble abode all but demanding my attentions to be drawn to some inconsequential matter. I, of course, never having even heard of the woman, did the most obvious thing."
"If you tell me you shot her-"
"My dear you wound me!" Reaver rolls his hips sharply against the Queen, eliciting another reluctant moan, "And don't interrupt, it is unbecoming of a woman." He clicks his tongue in the back of his throat disapprovingly.
"What would dear sweet brother think of such behavior? Oh Logan, I do miss the little scamp. He never writes anymore. Be a dear and do send him my love." The Queen grates her teeth at yet another obvious dig.
"I'll be sure to get right on that."
"Of course you will." Reaver's gaze drifts unabashedly across the expanse of the Queen's exposed collarbone, the desire to nip and bite at that creamy complexion momentarily distracting.
The Queen coughs sharply, not moving to block his obvious drift in attention and instead draping one leg lightly over his hip. She was indeed no monk, nor harbored any illusions of acting as such despite even the most unfavorable of company.
"So," She sighs and rests her head on extended arm beneath her, "as you were saying, my mother intruded upon your 'humble abode'." The Queen mimics Reaver's posh speaking tone much to his expressive delight. Long fingers trail their way up the soft skin of her thigh, rewarding her ever-present spark with a return to his previous ministrations between her folds.
"Are you sure we cannot delay this pillow talk, my dear?" Reaver purrs in response to the Queen's panted gasps. Her hands find purchase at the back of his neck as she clings on in desperation for a center.
"I-" She does not manage to get a word, nay a letter, out before two elongated fingers thrust inside her. The sudden intrusion is just what is needed to send her spiraling over the edge, fingernails scratching carelessly at the skin of Reaver's bare neck and shoulders. It will heal in just a second's time, yet another perk of sex with another Hero. Her brain still works fervently against the pleasurable distractions occurring between her legs, not wanting to lose a battle of will against the bastard.
Before she is even able to consider forming a retort, Reaver's lips are being forcibly pressed upon hers. A quick nip demands entry, nor is she is resistant with her mouth drawing open in one long moan that then disappears into his throat. The hand not already occupying itself tickles up her bare ribs to her breast, fingers wasting not time to twirl about her nipple before pinching it slightly.
The Queen cannot force her eyes open as Reaver breaks away momentarily. She doesn't need to. The clear look of arrogance and amusement is forever etched into her mind's eye from so many moments before. He truly is a scoundrel in every way imaginable, still the Queen simply cannot draw herself away.
Reaver is fast becoming the only constant in her life, the only solid base to set her feet upon.
Surprisingly he doesn't speak before positioning himself betwixt the legs of the woman beneath him. The Queen wants to scream like a child as the fingers leave her warmth, any protests dying on her lips when the digits are quickly replaced by the familiar sensation of his own sexual organ gliding tauntingly over her opening.
"No snide remark Your Highness? I must say, I find myself somewhat disappointed." She can feel Reaver's smirk against her cheek as he leans in towards her ear, whispering the taunt. It is more than enough to toil at the Queen's foolish pride.
"I must have lost my sharp tongue along with the dignity that allows me to lie here beneath you," She licks her bottom lip while peeking at him beneath heavy lust induced lids, "Better make haste lest I regain my better judgment." Reaver's laughter is brief, dying out at the end of a strained groan as he penetrates her tight entrance.
They begin at a furious pace, it never taking long for the Queen's advanced body to adjust to his length. Like everything else about the man, Reaver is not wide but long, enough to send her legs locking in place at his hips as she rides out his thrusts. She moans loudly as she too begins to buck up to meet them.
"You…are exquisite." Reaver's breathy confession causes her pause, her dark eyes glancing up to the face hovering above her. His own eyes are closed, pinched in focus of the task at hand. However the Queen can still read the clear honesty etched onto every inch of his sharp features.
"Quiet." The Queen commands, using the strength in her thighs to force the man above to roll suddenly to his side. She takes only a moment to straddle and once again impale him inside of her, wishing to waste no time in returning to the bliss climbing up through the depths of her gut. It is far easier to focus on that, than the sudden and disconcerting ache now thrumming with each beat of her heart.
For once Reaver seems only happy to obey his ruler. Though fighting for dominance is more than enticing, the Queen is sure he is not fool to think that submitting to this somehow diminishes his sense of masculinity. Either way, with her hands pressed flat against the hard muscles of his chest she is more than sure he enjoys the view too much to give it much thought.
The soft wave of her release begins to make itself known, the tight grip of Reaver's hands at her hips no doubt a signal of the approach of his own undoing. He thrusts up into her with no sense of rhythm, the slight rocking of her hips causing just enough friction to send her walls constricting and pulsing around him. As she begins to moan through her orgasm Reaver's hand reaches up to her neck and pulls her down, his tongue darting into her mouth as the warm of his end spreads throughout her. She allows the kiss to continue throughout the fading embers of their passion.
Wordlessly she falls to his side, a hand remaining at his chest as she contemplates the dull thudding of the heart beneath. It is easy to assume that the organ had died out long ago with any sort of morality and empathy that the man once retained, yet there it lie beating steady just as her own.
You are exquisite
The words echo in her thoughts as Reaver begins to trace small patterns over the course of her skin. No doubt the curling designs of her Will lines are beginning to make themselves known from such rigorous activity, also assuredly peaking the tireless deviant's lust for already another go at the female Hero. She can only continue to stare at the extravagant ceiling, the troubling twinge at her chest doubling in continuous consideration of the compliment. It is not so much the words that bother her, so much as the lack of words following them. No sarcastic observations, no attempts at crude sexual temptation.
Mere words born of affection from one lover to another leaves the Queen absolutely terrified.
A/N: Hi guys! I know this story is under Hiatus statues in my profile, but I had this chapter partially finished and I was finding myself unable to focus until I finally got it done. Especially since I hope this will be pay dirt for a lot of you waiting for the Reaver/Queen sexy time. This is my first attempt at writing smut, so I really hope it didn't come off as cheesy or anything. I'd love to hear what you guys think. I do sort of feel on a roll with this story right now, so I will probably be working on it here and there. With any luck, I'll be able to make this a very short hiatus status!