(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

you did not do well in the emperor’s war council without becoming accustomed to his peculiarities. you learned to read the small gestures that he made and the way that he made them; you did not let his stone gaze intimidate you; you understood when you were being chastised to improve or threatened to be disposed of.

under any circumstances did you make even the slightest reference to his missing husband.

the last, and what many would agree was the most challenging, was accommodating the marquis. disagreeing with the marquis was extremely dangerous, and furthermore it was obvious the emperor had no desire or intent to change the behavior of his mad torturer, and permitted him to get away with anything he liked, on any scale. as a result while the emperor was obviously capable of the monstrous harm and terror that had swept him into power and furthermore into the present campaign of viciousness to conquer their enemies, it always seemed more likely you were more likely to find a swift end because the marquis had been served cold dinner, or pastries instead of rolls, or wine instead of whiskey. on only one occasion had the emperor stayed the hand of his marquis, and that was only because it was very difficult to find a decent violinist, and he did not like to have his present one murdered over a stepped-on toe.

At this particular time his war council was feeling quite relieved that the marquis was presently part of a battle. this was the opportune time to discuss things, for the emperor permitted any interruption from the marquis.

(there had been, at the beginning of the war, an effort to unseat the marquis and the emperor. suffice to say the marquis had made it so such individuals took a very, very long time to die, and they did it exceptionally publicly and quite loudly.)

they had very efficiently moved through three weeks of plans and were staring on the next week when the candlelit darkness of the tent flickered and was interrupted. the camp had become loud; soldiers were returning. the marquis would likely be with them. three weeks was enough.

they were correct, and the emperor looked up and had only eyes for his torturer, and he waved a dismissive hand at the council, who packed up their bags as quickly as they could, and departed. the marquis was bloody in the candlelight, and he pulled on the straps of his armor, leaving it to collect dust on the floor. his underclothes were bloody. his gloves, and his hands, were bloody. his face was smeared with it.

“it is difficult to express,” the marquis said, as he sauntered into the tent, leaving the pile of dented armor behind, “the most exquisite joy to be had, upon such things that you allow me to do, and then to do them in your most wonderful name, the most beautiful thing, the god of all, our great king, our great conqueror.”

the emperor sat very still in his chair. then he leaned back, his eyes the only evidence of his all-consuming hunger. “tell me,” he said.

“oh, they were decimated,” the marquis purred, and with effort he had stripped off the armor and was now working on the underclothes, “they did not see us or expect our fury. and i let them know they should die with your name on their lips.” with his characteristic murderous elegance, he moved across the tent and then sat himself on the lap of his emperor, bloodying his clothes. the emperor did not seem to mind. in fact, the emperor took that bloody face in his hand and kissed him so hard that new copper dripped between them.

“oh,” the emperor said, so close that marquis could breathe in the word, “you are so magnificent, in my service.”

“it is my service, your excellency, that makes me magnificent,” the marquis said. then with a flick of his wrist he snapped an elegant little dagger from a sheath hidden under the underclothes. this was the only part of him that could be seen that was not at present bloody. “but of course, my most powerful king, i did not let them bleed me. they are scum, unworthy of such an honor. i withhold that only for you.”

the emperor took the dagger from the marquis’ hand. he scraped up the dirtied column of the marquis’ neck, listening to the quickening rasps on his breath. at the top his neck, just under his chin, he made the smallest of nicks, enough for three drops of blood, so that the blade now matched the rest of it’s owner. Then the emperor pulled the knife back, and pricked his own finger so their blood intermingled. he offered the finger to the marquis, who took it into his mouth and sucked on it hungrily, his mouth falling open in a moan of unrestrained lust.

“you deserve to be rewarded,” the emperor said, and slid the slick finger from the marquis’ mouth. his hand closed around the noble throat of the other man, and he pulled him close for another bruising kiss.

if you were in the war council, you learned to ignore the sounds of the lovemaking the emperor made with his marquis. luckily many such military characters had already learned to ignore sobs and wails.