Work Text:
He found her gazing out into the gardens, a weak, watery sunlight playing against her red hair and picking up the facets in the jewels adorning her gown. His breath caught at the sight of her, unguarded for once.
She started when she noticed him.
“Sebastian! We must put a bell on you so that I will know when you approach.” Her hand rose to her pounding heart.
“You must call me Matthew now, Majesty.” He licked his lips, tasting the increase in her heartbeat, and dropped into a deep bow. “Matthew Roydon, at your service.”
“Matthew?” The new Queen’s brow wrinkled. “I do not think it suits you. We shall have to find you another name.”
“As your Majesty wishes.”
“And are you to be my Shadow still, Matthew? Or did he die with Sebastian?” She had crossed the room and now stood before him, closer than propriety should have allowed. He rose from his bow slowly, drawing his eyes up over her embroidered skirts, her fitted bodice, her fine jaw.
“I am as your Majesty desires me to be.” He allowed his gaze to catch hers, testing the boundary of what she would allow.
“Oh, I suspect my desires align with yours, Shadow.”
She moved closer, only a breath away, and let her hand come to rest on his fine doublet. He took this as invitation, wrapping one broad hand around her waist and cupping her chin with the other. He pulled her to him in a rush of need, her lips opening under his almost immediately, begging him to enter in. Her fingers tugged on his hair, clung to his back, gripped his hips. It was almost too much — it had been too long —
Elizabeth’s sighs of pleasure brought him back to himself, and to the matter at hand. Matthew lifted his queen off of her feet and growled a question against her eager mouth, “Here?”
“Yes,” she breathed, holding fast to his shoulders, “We will not be disturbed.”
In answer, he settled her back against one of the walls, away from the window so they could not be seen from outside. She gasped at the contact with the cold stone as Matthew began rucking her many skirts up her legs.
“How do you women put up with all this?” he grumbled, finding skin under the layers of fabric at last. He sighed in relief, snaking his hand up Elizabeth’s leg until he found the wet heat he had been seeking. Any answer she might have made to his query was drowned out by her moans as Matthew’s fingers made contact with her clit. Her head lolled back against the wall as he worked her, listening to the song of her blood to tell him exactly where she wanted to be touched, and how. She rocked against him, desperate for the release that he would not allow her. Not yet.
He wanted more of her, needed to touch her skin to skin. There were too many clothes in the way. He slowed the pace of his hand and whispered into her ear, “How highly do you value this gown?”
He moved his fingers under her skirts again and she cried out in pleasure. “The gown is not irreplaceable,” she breathed. “Do what you must, Master Roydon.”
He smiled against her neck and bit down on the tie that held her ruff in place. He tugged, releasing the stiffened fabric and letting it fall to the floor. He kissed the places where it had been digging into her skin, laving the red marks left behind, letting his teeth graze gently along her jawline. She melted under him, a mix of his many names falling from her lips.
With swift tugs, he detached one sleeve, then the other, the ties holding them to her bodice tearing with a satisfying sound. He withdrew his hand from between her legs, and she whimpered in protest.
“Fear not, Bess,” he murmured against her lips, before setting her feet back onto the floor. “I shall not be absent long.”
He knelt before her and used his teeth to separate the ties holding skirt to bodice. The heavy, embroidered fabric fell to the floor. Matthew tore away the underlying petticoats, shredding them beyond repair, and pushed the long chemise up to her hips before hooking Elizabeth’s leg over his shoulder. He inhaled, long and deep, against the sensitive place at the edge of her bodice, scenting the unbridled desire coursing through her veins.
“Shadow,” she moaned, “please—“
He smiled. “As you command, Majesty.”
He started slow, drawing his lips and tongue along the length of her dripping cunt once, twice, again before pursing his lips to suckle gently at her clit. Her standing leg buckled, and he wrapped an arm around her thigh to help her stay upright, his palm gripping the swell of her bum. She trembled from head to foot, her hands fisted in his hair, her curses and prayers reverberating in the empty room as he nipped, licked, and sucked.
Annoyed at his own state of over-dress, Matthew brought one hand to his collar, tugging off his ruff and opening the ties around his throat. His mouth never let up on his queen as his hand traveled lower to loosen the ties at his hips and free himself from his breeches. When he was bare below the waist, save his hose, he let his palm rest against his hard, heavy cock. He was ready, so ready for her —
Elizabeth was through waiting, too. With a particularly sharp tug on his hair, she forced him to look up at her. “Take me, Shadow. Now.”
He nodded, leaving one last kiss against her sex before swooping Elizabeth into his arms and depositing her in front of a large chest in one corner of the room. He stood behind her, bending her over and pulling her chemise up around her hips again.
They both groaned when he slipped inside her at last—just the tip at first, so she could get used to his size. It had been far, far too long since they had met together in this way. Impatient, Elizabeth thrust back towards him, but Matthew gripped her hips to still her. She huffed petulantly and threw him a wicked look over her shoulder.
“You torture me, Master Roydon.”
“Come now, Majesty. Surely Sebastian St. Clair taught you the importance of patience in these matters?”
As he spoke, he moved against her slowly, almost painfully so, allowing her another inch or two before pulling back again. It was a kind of torture — an exquisite, perfect torture. She keened, her knuckles white as she gripped the carved lid of the trunk in front of her. When finally, finally he was fully seated inside her, she gave a deep moan and tried again to thrust back towards Matthew. This time, he indulged her, setting a punishing pace.
“Oh God, Matthew, yes—“
Matthew practically roared, Elizabeth’s cries spurring him on. When he felt her beginning to spasm around him, he snaked one hand around her hips to stroke her clit.
The Queen fell apart at his touch, collapsing into his strong arms and shouting his name— “Matthew, yes, Matthew!”— over and over. The force of her climax pulled him over the edge, and he came with a cry, his face buried into her hair.
Matthew cradled Elizabeth’s body against his as he collapsed to the floor. His nose burrowed into her hair, breathing in the last blossomings of her arousal, relishing the way it amplified the aftershocks of his orgasm. Elizabeth relaxed into him, still trembling.
“Oh, Shadow,” she purred when she had regained her powers of speech, “I have missed you.”