Fandom: Snow White: A Tale of Terror
Rating/Classification: mild adult content, filler scene, Will/Lilliana, flowery prose warning!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. Nope!
Summary: Not quite dirty dwarf porn, but about as close as I can get. The missing scene from this made-for-cable fairy tale.
Notes: Written in about an hour in between the stuff they pay me for.
Lilli: I take it you have no manners, then.
Will: No manners then, and no manners now...
The chill of the wind and rain, the sound of her own heart thundering in her ears, nearly stayed Lilli's hand...but the thin, red, network of lines across his skin were like a spider's web, beautiful and tantalizing, drawing her forward, trapping her fingertips against the expanse of his back. He shuddered, wrenching away as if her simplest touch brought pain, and faced her, the accusation dark and damp in his eyes.
How often she'd seen him watching her with those eyes, just that very look, as if her face held a thousand counted sorrows. As if the reflection of his scars were there, before him.
Oh, Will. Beautiful Will. How had she ever thought him unmannered? Ugly? A brute? This dear face. This countenance that stood guard over her waking hours and her slumbering ones, too. She traced the base of the cross that stopped before it cut his whole cheek, her fingers were wet with rain and tears and he shivered. *Please*, his eyes beseeched her, *please don't touch me*. And yet she could not stop.
He fed her from his own portion of bread. He offered her his ale, his bedding, his secrets, and his truths. What did she have to give in return? What did she have but this...?
Her body aligned to his, as if she could ward away the cold and the wet and his shame with her warmth. He gazed down at her...at her mouth. As if it was bread to sate his hunger, or perhaps the most forbidden of fruits. She arched upwards, offering it to him.
He tasted of rain, of misery, of nightmares and dreams. Of her own innocence. Of her salvation.
"Lilli..." he gasped. And he waited but an instant, the barest, briefest of moments, before he crushed her against him, thigh to thigh, breast to breast, and devoured her like the wolves who so often bayed at the church door.
He bore her further into the shadows of the crumbling ruins, away from the others, who slept and mourned and tended the fire. Perhaps they would still hear her frantic breaths, his whispered oaths, the sharp cry of pain as he gathered up her skirts and sank between her thighs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He kissed her eyelids, her throat, the rise of her breasts, as the length of him eased inside her. "Lilli...my Lilli...I..."
"Will..." She gave him the tears. The stones were rough, scraping, as he rocked her against them.
She remembered Nannau telling tales of husbands and the blood of the marriage bed, telling her of the pain and what she was to bear as a good wife. But she was not Will's bride...and this...this...was not something simply to be borne. Again and again, he thrust inside her and where pain ended and pleasure began, she could not have named for all the riches in the world...for the only name on her lips was his.
He wept when it was over, when they were tangled together in the dust, telling her, "I'm a monster" and "I didn't mean to hurt you" and "I would die before I hurt you." She hushed him with her kiss before he could call himself "savage." That word that had wounded him so when she uttered it. She would not let it tear from his throat. Not now. Not ever.
She had been right. He was no gentleman.
But she did not want a gentleman. Just a man who was gentle.
She caressed his face, knelt before the cross.
A thousand counted sorrows. And one immeasurable joy.
March 1, 2005.