Friday, 24 June 2011

[bluebook] Changeling: The Lost - Venice - Party At The House of Spring, part two; NSFW


RATED NC-17 for adult content. Warnings: slash [boy/boysex], femslash [girl/girlsex], het [girl/boysex], slightly squicky Changeling sex.



Madam Roseblood had left abruptly after her final words to Clio, and Clio finished her cigarette before wandering around the rest of the palazzo, feeling quite lost. It was a large place, and she recognised very few of the guests, so she had nothing better to do for a while than walk along, accepting drinks when offered. She made a stop in one of the glorious, marbled bathrooms, adjusting her hair and makeup – when she had washed her hands, she spied a bowl of what appeared to be some kind of hedge fruit next to the basin. Almost like cherries… but their colour was a lurid turquoise and they were sprinkled with something that looked like sugar. Clio probably sampled a few too many – within minutes she was feeling a little ill, the hallways around her seeming to shrink and grow with every step she took. She had to close her eyes, waiting for the strange bright ripples to fade from her field of vision.

An hour or so had passed, and she made her way back to the main hall. She was now less shaken by her encounter with Madam Roseblood, though she did want to mention it to Malvolio. She couldn’t see him anywhere as she entered the foyer, but the room was slowly becoming more populated again. The string quartet still played, and a few couples were beginning to dance. As Clio stood off to the side, a shadow fell in front of her, a hand extending to hers.

Mercutio, the Fairest that she had known intimately (if briefly) was also wearing green - dark green trousers, a white shirt with ruffles on the cuffs, and a green brocade waistcoat. “Clio. You’ll dance with me?”

“I don’t know this one,” she replied, even as Mercutio pulled her forward, slipping a hand around her waist.

“I don’t think anyone else does, either,” he said, a little mocking of the dancers around them that didn’t possess his skills. “I haven’t seen you since…” he trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence.

“I know. I’ve been fairly busy…”

“Yes, so I’ve heard.” He appeared good-natured in his remark, but it was obvious what he was alluding to.

Clio let him spin her gently, then spoke when she was facing him again. “Meaning?”

“Nothing,” he chuckled. “That reminds me, Malvolio told me he took some photographs of us together…” He leaned in a little closer, whispering. “I wouldn’t mind seeing those… if only for vanity’s sake.”

“Yes… he gave them to me. I don’t quite know why… he was just being provocative, I suppose. I expect he thought I would be ashamed, but I didn’t see why I should be. I’d forgotten about it, actually.”

Mercutio’s eyes widened. “You still have them, then?”

“Yes.” Clio had stuffed them into a drawer at her apartment, along with the rose that Malvolio had left next to them. She hadn’t really thought about why she had kept them all this time, or why indeed she’d kept the rose, which was now dead, the dry petals falling off. She certainly hadn’t taken the photos out to look at them, though whenever she saw them in the drawer she neglected to throw them away.

“And why’s that?” Mercutio grinned.

“As I said… I forgot about it.”

Mercutio looked crestfallen, but in a comical way. “Hurt my feelings, why don’t you,” he said blithely, twirling her around again. “I sincerely hope I wasn’t too disappointing… because I was going to request that you come upstairs with me. I hear Madam Roseblood will be entertaining up there in a while…”

After her earlier run-in with Roseblood, Clio did not want to be caught naked and at her mercy, no matter how many others were there. “No… thank you, I have a prior engagement,” she said, as courteously as possible.

“With the Duke?”

“Not necessarily,” Clio said, though she would likely feel more at ease in Malvolio’s presence.

“Well, you can always come and find us if you change your mind.” The song ended, and Mercutio gracefully left the dance-floor, disappearing up the staircase.

Feeling slightly awkward alone on the floor, Clio stuck to the side-lines, but the amount of guests in the hall was still few and far between. From within the closed doors and curtains surrounding her, she could catch salacious giggles, the clinking of wine glasses and illicit, lustful gasps. Unsure of who she might find – or more accurately, who she might wrongfully disturb – behind each partition, she had little choice but to go back to the room she was in before. Hopefully it would be empty, or at least Malvolio had returned there. When she reached the door, it was ajar, and one of the voices unmistakably belonged to Malvolio. Clio knocked twice before pushing on the door – she wasn’t sure of etiquette, but the door had been left open.

Malvolio was slouched on the day bed, shirtless with trousers undone – the Sage Escort, Blue Monday, was wedged next to him, mid-kiss, with a hand on his thigh. Clio couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy – not for his enjoyment of someone else’s company, but for the snowy beauty of Blue Monday. A beauty that was otherworldly, but still conformed to human standards. The Sage Escort was wearing nothing but a grey slip, cut extremely high on the leg. Her buxom breasts were very visible through the silk.

Malvolio and Blue Monday were not alone, though – Tybalt was standing at the now-open French windows, leaning against the railing and dropping cigarette ash into the water. The room seemed cold, and Clio couldn’t tell if it was due to the wintry climate outside or the presence of Blue Monday.

Ciao,” Malvolio greeted Clio, then gestured. “Close the door.” He idly pushed Blue Monday’s hand from his leg, standing up to embrace Clio’s hips. “I was worried you’d gone home,” he declared, and Clio could see that his pupils were as dilated as her own now were. His usual flowery mien seemed touched by alcohol, sweat and Blue Monday’s sharp, biting frost.

“No, I’m here,” Clio smiled. Stating the obvious, but her brain was a little short on capacity – it felt like a mirror that had been steamed up.

“Perhaps we should have that dance, then?” Tybalt chimed in, having thrown his cigarette stub into the canal. He stalked towards her, but was interrupted by Blue Monday.

“Whatever happened to ‘ladies first’?” She said light-heartedly. She beckoned to Clio. “Don’t be shy, Clio. Come here and kiss me.” Her voice, with its thick Russian accent, carried a certain chill with it as well, but it was more relaxed than it had seemed two hours before.

Malvolio looked almost giddy at the idea, as he watched Clio step up to the day bed and bend down towards Blue Monday’s waiting mouth. Blue skin met blue skin, and Clio felt the strange reality of being stared at as she kissed
cold lips. Even threesomes had been scarce in Arcadia, except for with her Keepers – such was the sense of possession over her, and the need for her clients to have her completely, if only for an hour.

At the touch of Clio’s tongue, Blue Monday let out a soft, practised moan. It reminded Clio of the rehearsed sounds she used to make, exaggerating her own desire. She gingerly touched Blue Monday’s inner leg – she had experience with women, but she was acutely aware of her audience. In fact, they both were – Blue Monday’s gaze drifted across to the others, who were now each lounging  on the rug. Malvolio sat, one knee bent, his eyes focused on the two women; Tybalt lay outstretched on his stomach, looking up.

Blue Monday’s hands found the zip fastening on Clio’s dress; brazenly, she forced it all the way down so that she was able to un-sheath the gown from her body. Clio had not replaced her underwear after her earlier rendezvous with Malvolio. She crouched in nothing but high heels, for a moment blinded by Blue Monday’s mien, before continuing the kiss, letting her fingers wander inquisitively. They ran along the outline of the Sage Escort’s slip, scrunching it upwards and feeling frozen, glistering flesh. Blue Monday did not object to this, instead arching her back and allowing Clio full access. From a slight distance Clio could hear movement from the men – they were closer together now, Malvolio absentmindedly caressing the nape of Tybalt’s neck. A distinguishable purring sound came somewhere from Tybalt’s chest, and he nuzzled at Malvolio’s mouth. Malvolio accepted the kiss, but kept his attention on the performance before him.

Clio had now moved to straddle Blue Monday’s hips, lifting the slip over her head to display the glory of her curves; again Clio felt that same envy, comparing their feminine aspects. If she squinted, Blue Monday’s body appeared much closer to a mortal woman’s than hers could ever be – it was not strewn with scales or deformed with webbed skin. It was just as she was thinking of this that Blue Monday’s mouth moved onto her throat, playfully flicking her tongue over the gill-like slits. Clio hissed, half in protest – she was not averse to anyone kissing her neck, but Blue Monday deftly struck her tongue into each gill, treating them as she would any orifice.

Malvolio had teased Tybalt onto his back, crawling on top of the smaller man and goading him to dig his claws in farther, deeper. He kept stealing glances back at the women – Clio writhing from the touch of Blue Monday’s tongue, pulling at her hair – as he fought back bites from his catlike paramour.

Blue Monday paused her delicious torture, giving Clio a chance to grind herself against her – but it was only a few moments before she was flipped over onto the day bed, and the ice maiden planted her head between her thighs. Clio was about to speak, but was hushed by Blue Monday’s finger over her mouth. Without warning, that chill tongue was swirling round her clitoris, making her squirm and buck her hips. She turned her head to see Malvolio, now nude, on his knees behind Tybalt, stripping down his trousers –  fingers pinching the scruff of his neck, paralysing him. Tybalt felt the agonising first thrust of Malvolio’s cock as he was pushed down onto all fours.

Blue Monday kissed along the folds of Clio’s flesh, leaving her hands free to apply some relief to herself. She was quietly smug about her performance’s effect on the others – Tybalt was doubled over, grasping at the rug, Malvolio driving into him with relative ease. She could tell that Clio was close; the tension below growing tighter, but before it happened she heard Clio speak breathlessly. “You don’t want me to pleasure you?”

Blue Monday considered for a second. “Of course… if you like,” she said breezily, as though she didn’t hold out much hope for Clio’s pleasuring skills. Her tone touched a nerve with Clio – she sat up and shuffled closer, pressing her hands to Blue Monday’s hips. Blue Monday rose onto her knees, leaving her pubis level with Clio’s mouth.

Behind them Clio listened to Tybalt’s weakening growls as she traced her tongue around Blue Monday’s clitoris; she used her fingers to part the tight creases of skin that surrounded her opening. Feeling Malvolio’s eyes on her, she thrust two dry fingers inside, causing Blue Monday to cry out. Then, a slow flexing motion, and she could already feel her digits getting moist, drenched with Blue Monday’s juices. A minute or so passed, and Blue Monday’s orgasm came strongly and suddenly. She didn’t tremble as she opened her eyes afterwards; she was the pinnacle of poise, her statuesque form holding up against even the last waves of climax. Meanwhile, Malvolio and Tybalt had cut their union short, too engrossed in the show to continue. Malvolio’s hand grabbed at Clio’s, enticing her into a clinch – without a word, Blue Monday slipped off the day bed and crawled forward to take care of Tybalt.

Clio let Malvolio prise her legs apart, hardly giving her a moment’s notice before beginning to pump his cock recklessly to the hilt. She was distracted by Blue Monday in the background, clamping her mouth over Tybalt’s manhood – Malvolio grasped her chin, making her focus on him instead. He rasped something so throaty that she could barely catch it. It must have been something vulgar; he licked his lips. The sight of it pushed her over the edge, prompting him to stop holding back, and Clio felt the flood of his seed as his groans subsided.

The last thing she remembered afterwards was playing voyeur to Blue Monday and Tybalt; even then she could sense her eyes closing against her will.


Clio awoke, covered in a thin blanket, to see stinging sunshine, shining through the French windows and glancing off the canal. It seemed to be late morning. It took her a moment to realise that Malvolio was stood there, wearing some kind of kimono. He held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, listening to the stirring sounds of life outside. The room was otherwise empty.

Hearing her shift, Malvolio turned to look at her. “Buon giorno.” There was a tray next to him on a table – another cup, a jug of coffee, a small container of milk. Clio slipped off the bed, twisting the blanket around her and clutching them like a towel, before padding across towards the coffee. Malvolio seemed to grin at her sense of modesty – but it had been almost instinctive to her. Perhaps it was because it was morning, but she didn’t feel like a whore parading herself for the pleasure of others. She held the blanket to her body with one hand, whilst pouring espresso with the other – luckily she was practiced at serving hot beverages, even when she was still half asleep. She tossed a splash of frothed milk into the cup, stirring the liquid then leaving it to cool.

“I hope you didn’t have work this morning,” he said wryly. “You may be running late.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Not until later.” A pause. “Where did the others go?”

“After you fell asleep, they stayed until sunrise, then I dismissed them,” he shrugged.

Clio bit her lip. “But you let me stay.”

“You were passed out, Clio. I’m hardly cruel enough to just put you outside,” Malvolio laughed.

“And if I’d been awake?”

“Well, there’s room for two on the bed, either way.”

Clio glanced downwards for a second. This did not help her at all, especially since members of the Spring Court appeared to pounce on any snippets of gossip that they could. She picked up her coffee cup and walked steadily ba
ck over to the bed. Seating herself on the edge of the mattress, she blew gently at the coffee’s surface and took a careful sip. “Did you to happen to see Madam Roseblood last night?”

“See her? Yes. She was here with me, before I met with you. So was Tybalt. I didn’t come across her for the rest of the evening, though. Why?”

Clio hesitated, not wanting to sound petulant, or as though she was telling a tale. “She had a word with me when I first left you. She seems to think I’ve become involved with you to… well, she thinks I have ulterior motives.”

Malvolio sipped at his coffee. “Do you?” He asked bluntly, if playfully. When Clio looked up at him, his eyebrow was raised.

“Of course not,” she answered, though she felt her cheeks glow a little red at the question, feeling guilty nonetheless.

He smirked. “Maybe you should.” At her look, he added, “I know what they’re saying about you;  the rumours come back to me quicker than anyone else. The Spring Court thrives on ulterior motives. And Roseblood’s one of the worst for it. She’s just annoyed that she has yet another rival to compete against.”

Clio smiled a little, bitterly. “I didn’t want to be anyone’s rival.”

“Well, you’ll just have to accept that you are. Whatever you do here, it’s bound to ruffle a few feathers. Sometimes you just have to ignore… or better yet, aggrandise.” Malvolio set down his empty coffee cup. “Which is why I’d like you to accompany me to the Carnival ball.”

A moment passed where Clio wondered if he was being serious – but there was no humour in the sentence, just an airy statement of fact. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” she replied, putting it lightly.

“Why not?” He asked. “I was going to ask you anyway; now I’m even more certain.”

“But… I wouldn’t like to offend anyone,” said Clio, a little meekly.

He scoffed. “They’ll be offended, regardless. And if they ask, tell them you were obliged to accept my invitation.”

She blinked at him. “Am I obliged?”

“That’s up to you to interpret. I thought you enjoyed spending time with me.” A hint of emotional blackmail, but very difficult for Clio to detect.

“I do,” she confirmed.

“Good. Then it’s settled.” He walked over to the bed, perching next to her. “You know, the only way you’re going to survive in the Spring Court is to be a little less modest and a little more… audacious.” He lifted a hand to stroke the length of her hair. “You can come here on Wednesday and we’ll make final decisions on your masquerade costume. I trust you’re heeding my advice about the black.”

Clio nodded slowly, and let him continue to caress her red locks for a minute or so. “Before I forget… I’ve been thinking about returning the book. The Book of Names… to the House of Winter.”

He paused, considering this. “Why’s that?”

“As I mentioned to you… I don’t know if it’s what I want.” Those words rang true now, even if she had been exaggerating them the first time. “Or at least, that’s not the way I should go about it…”

“I understand. But I wouldn’t suggest you go back to the House of Winter, that’s far too dangerous. If you bring the book to me, I can get someone to take it there for you.”

She frowned. “It’s probably better for you to have them meet me at the Florian. I’ll give the book to them there.”

Malvolio smiled. “Why, don’t you trust me?”

“I was thinking more of your safety. But I do recall you having a vague interest in the book when I first acquired it. Am I wrong?” She flinched inwardly as she said it.

His eyes glistened. “No, you’re not wrong. Unfortunately I don’t think I’m ready to share all my secrets with you, Clio.” He kissed her on the lips before standing up to retreat back to the window. “More coffee?”



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