Negotiations Ch. 02

The meeting has been dragging on for hours and Vex is trying to pay attention, she really is, but the merits and demerits of a water powered pump engine for the deeper levels of the copper mine versus a refined white-stone powered one, or even one of these newfangled hell machines Percy and his little entourage of droll tinkers are so excited about, are lost on her.

Percy is going on about... something? Rubber seals and pump head, whatever in the nine hells that is. She studies him carefully: the impossible long silver lashes, that gleam in his eyes he gets when he is excited, the roguish three o'clock shadow the ridiculous dork is cultivating because he thinks it makes him look older, more dignified, the infuriating little smirk on that pretty, pretty mouth of his.

Percy and Cassandra both carry themselves with an air of... what exactly? Vex has a hard time defining it, it's not precisely arrogance. Neither is it charm, although Sarenrae's angels be her witness, the boy can be charming when he puts his mind to it.

Maybe aura of command would be the best description, it's like they don't even consider,..., no, it's like the world around them will not even consider, the possibility of disobedience. The natural and completely unpretentious assumption that people will do as they ask seems to warp the materium around them.

"Vex."

For all that she is an old hand at haggling, flirting and winking, she never had that particular skill. Probably something to do with being an uncouth half-breed.

"Vex."

Not good enough for the Hall of Whispers. Not good enough for her father. And certainly not good enough for the heir to Whitestone, not when compared to some dainty princess with a pedigree longer than her leg and, more importantly, a trade deal and a military alliance with Husland in her virginal snatch. She can hear her father's contemptuous chuckle in the back of her head.

"VEX!"

She blinks and finds Percival, Cassandra, Archibald and half a dozen members of the inner council staring at her.

"I'm sorry, Percival. I was preoccupied. Could you say that again, please?"

Percy raises one eyebrow but does not comment otherwise.

Archibald clears his throat ponderously. "We were wondering Lady Vex'ahlia, if you could use your connections with Syngorn to secure an advantageous trade deal for us. The Lady Keyleth's assistance with the winter wheat is the only reason we aren't already starving, even so the Briarwoods left us preciously little to work with. Our stores will soon be exhausted. We need to trade metal, whitestone and hard wood for food or we will be down to the seed corn before the full moon."

Vex smiles bitterly. "I can expect nothing from my father and Syngorn had to beat a hasty retreat to the Feywild, when the dragons came, so they will have lost most of the spring harvest. Even if they still have something left over to trade, they will be much more interested in selling to the quarter million hungry, desperate humans on their doorstep. They know they are within a week's march of Eman's walls and, from what I understand, the threshold crests won't take kindly to being activated again, without several months rest, at least."

Archibald sighs heavily. "Well that settles it. We need Eisenstadt."

Percy's lips tighten into a hard line. "We can trade with Vasselheim or Ank'harel, with Drynna or Trust Fields or any of the one hundred villages and towns scattered across the great plains."

Archibald snorts contemptuously. "Don't be stupid, boy. Half the villages on the plains are starving, likely because the other half robbed them. There is no food to be had between the Ozmit and the Lucidian, unless you want to fight for it."

"The airship...

"... doesn't have the carrying capacity and will need very expensive spell work maintenance, very quickly, if you insist on sending it on food runs over the Ozmit. You know that, you have run the numbers yourself. With your plunder from the dragon hoards, our mines and the expertise of you and that ridiculous fop Taryon, we have the once in a lifetime chance to change the fortunes of our city for the better. Maybe the fortunes of mankind as a whole!

Only there will be no mass production of golems if we have to waste the required investment on not starving during the winter."

"You cannot honestly believe that Wendel will help us out of the goodness of his heart? He is angling to expand his reach. Get a foothold on Tal'dorei."

"Very likely, yes. So? Like it or not, the Tal'dorei kingdom is finished. Until your army of gun wielding robots materializes, we are too small to be secure in the wars to come. Having a powerful patron is good sense under such circumstances and, as kings and emperors go, we could do worse than Bertram Wendel. He is reasonable, mostly. At the very least it can't hurt to hear his envoy and see, if we can hammer out a deal."

"I find myself agreeing with the Steward, Percival." Cassandra is coolly polite, treading a fine line between commanding and suggesting, in the way only a head of house who knows that all her immediate subordinates would rather take commands from her brother than from her, can be. "There is certainly no reason not to look into it."

Percy's face is unreadable and for a few heartbeats, Vex hopes he will come up with one of his brilliant, harebrained schemes to feed his people and let this particular cup pass them by. "Fine. We will send an envoy and five guardsmen. They can take a letter to the Sund and find a fishing ship to cross."

He stands up abruptly, "If you will excuse me. Archibald, you can handle the rest; if you have need of me, I'll be in my workshop."

If she wasn't already concerned about the letter, Percy skipping out on council meetings would be a clear sign of something amiss.

The rest of the council is still trading meaningful glances, while she quietly slips out of the door and follows him. The three inch heels on her new leather boots make walking quickly more difficult than she is used to, so it takes longer than expected to catch up with him. Last time I'm taking your fashion advice, Pike.

She finds him bent over the steam-belching contraption, set on heavy stone blocks against the far-wall of his cavernous work-shop. Most of the gas-lamps have been doused, but the coals in the forge give off a gentle glow and the amber light of the late afternoon is slanting through high, dusty windows.

Rows and rows of neatly ordered tools and part boxes line the high shelves, casting forms, ovens and work benches are arrayed neatly around the central forge. Half a dozen metal golems in various states of disassembly are spread over the workbenches, surrounded by magnifying glasses, spell books and an enormous arcane difference engine.

It's hot and humid in the workshop, from the various engines and forges leaking steam and heat, which serves her purpose just fine. She drops her belt and whips her tunic over her head, discards the cloth carelessly and saunters into the room, giving her hips an extra bit of swing.

Percy looks up from the number wheels and sector gears of the difference engine with an annoyed frown, which quickly dissipates upon recognizing her, she notices with a victorious smirk.

Her new leather boots might be worse than useless for any kind of stealth work, but she is tall enough now to meet him eye to eye and they do an admirable job of emphasizing her heart-shaped ass, especially when combined with leather pants, tight enough to be painted on.

"Hello, Percival."

"Vex." The corners of his mouth give a barely perceptible twitch, "Is there a sudden shortage of textile products, I wasn't informed about?" His eyes flicker over the skin-tight black leather pants and shoulder-free corset, baring acres of smooth bronze skin and soft cleavage to his view before settling on her face.

Cocking her hip to the side, she smiles predatorily. "Oh you know me. Always open heartedly giving away the shirt off my back to the poor and needy."

Percy rolls his eyes. "Quite. Especially when we needed to haul away plunder and had to cut back on the less important luggage. You always had an admirable sense of priorities.

"Just please try not to give any of our esteemed council members a heart attack. That would be terribly inconvenient."

"That's the reason the gods and the tailor's guild gave us over-tunics. Anyway I think I will be able to control my urge to flash a crowd of balding, portly gentlemen in their later years."

Turning back to the difference engine, Percy begins sticking his head back into the mechanical entrails of the contraption.

"In some ways a pity. At least it would prevent them falling asleep at the council table and drooling on their files."

Vex is displeased. This was not the reaction she was going for when she assembled her clothes this morning. Men ignore her at their peril, including Percival Stick-Up-His-Ass De-What's-his-face the third.

She saunters up to Percival and leans against the work table next to him, spine arched, breasts thrust forward.

"If you want to spice up the council meetings, I can think of a way or two."

There is a minuscule pause, before he continues with... whatever he is doing inside the thrice-damned metal heap.

"I have a feeling you are going to enlighten me, if I want you to or not."

"I could hide beneath the table, and open the laces to your pants with my teeth." She leans in, blowing her hot breath over the shell of his ear, watching the gooseflesh on his arm and the bulge in his pants with a victorious smirk.

"I could suck your turgid cock until you are hard like an iron bar, lash my tongue under the head, caress the glans with my lips, swirl the tip of my tongue over your little slit. Would you like that baby-boy? Exploding in my mouth? Feeding me your come like a hungry baby bird?"

Sproiiiiing. Some tortured metal spring shoots from the machine and Percival reappears, sucking on a bloodied finger and bright red in the cheeks.

"All right, lay it on me."

"I'm sorry?"

"What do you want Vex? Lay it on me."

She gives him an incredulous look.

"I don't think I'm being subtle here, Percy. Should I draw you a diagram?"

"That's not what I mean. If you are laying it on this thick, you are working an angle, which means some likely idiot is shortly going to ask himself where his wallet disappeared to. I'm the only other person in the room, which instills a certain level of, I don't want to say worry, but... So. What do you want?"

So many things. All of which she can't ask for. She can steal, lie and cheat, even kill, for her happiness, for her family, but she will not ask him to choose between her and Whitestone.

Not that there is much doubt how that would turn out, even if she scraped together the courage. Deflect and hide then. Do what you do best.

"Ohhh?" Vex smiles her raptor smile, the pink tip of her tongue flicking over sharp teeth. She drags her finger from the triangular cut-out at the bottom of her corset, baring her navel, then lower over the golden skin of her stomach to where the smooth, hairless swell of her mons is showing over the rim of her low riding, leather pants.

"Maybe you should make sure I'm not planning anything devious?" She steps into his personal space and palms his groin. "Tie me to the bed and spank me until I'm truly sorry for being such a cruel tease?"

Nuzzling the side of his face, she slides a long leg between his and whispers into his ear.

"You could punish me for being such a bad girl, making your poor balls all achy and full, keeping you from coming. You could wrench my arms behind my back, bind them there with smooth rope and force me to my knees. Please don't darling; please don't force me to suck you off, until you shoot your creamy spunk into my mouth. Please don't make me hump my empty, aching pussy against your leg, while kneeling before you. Please, darling please."

She is trailing soft butterfly kisses along his neck and the underside of his jaw, watching him through long lashes.

He sighs quietly and leans against her, burying his nose in her long midnight tresses.

"I don't think I have it in me today. I'm sorry, dear. Could you..."

She smiles tremulously, "Say no more baby-boy. I have got you."

She takes his hand and pulls him to the bed set up in a corner of the room, until Percy slips his hand from her grasp and the cold ball of fear that has taken up residence in the pit of her stomach, begins crawling up her airways, filling her chest with ice.

"Excuse me, my dear."

He pulls a silk handkerchief from one of his many pockets and blows into it, making a sound like a rusty war trumpet.

"Well, that's attractive."

His look of wounded dignity makes her break out in a fit of giggles, edged slightly with hysteria. She throws her arms around his neck and hides her face in the crook of his shoulder until the hiccups have subsided.

This is getting ridiculous. She can't get a heart attack every time he won't hold her hand.

"I'm sorry dear; I seem to have acquired a stuffed nose and a bit of a cold. Maybe you should keep your distance for the time being."

Rolling her eyes she pokes him in the chest. "First of all, fuck that. Secondly, this wouldn't happen if you slept once in a while or had a meal, you big baby. If you feel the need to martyr yourself, at least have the decency to inform me, so I can enjoy it properly."

His crooked smile makes her flush from ears to toes, her hardening nipples brushing uncomfortably against her corset.

"I'll see what I can do," he says, the smirking idiot.

She knows this is stupid and short sighted. They should be having a conversation about the future of their people, about why he still hasn't told her about the letter, about why he hasn't come to her.

She is more than familiar with not wanting to face uncomfortable truths. She understands he needs time to work through this at his own pace, but it still hurts.

She has never been good with words. Oh, she can make charming conversation, flirt and wink with the best, but her tongue grows slow, awkward and stupid when there is something on the line that actually matters. Speaking with her body, though... that's a dance she knows.

She pushes him back on the bed and begins unlacing his boots, stripping him quickly and efficiently.

"Lie back on the bed, baby-boy -hands over your head."

His eyes darken to cobalt, the darkest edge of a feywild sunset sky and gods help her she is waxing poetic. She folds her hands in her lap to hide the shaking and tries to ignore her heart jackhammering against her breast bone. Long sprawling limbs, the faintest hint of pale freckles spread over his nose, protruding rips and skinny muscles, six, nearly seven, years her junior and beautiful enough to make her heart ache.

It's not supposed to feel this way. She has fucked more than her fair share of men and women, liked some of them well enough. Once the original lust has worn off, ideally there is supposed to be comfort, maybe friendship even. The wildness and the needy want he ignites in her, frighten her.

His cock is already hard and straining, smooth, pale pink against the golden loops of the snake curling around it. She can feel the slickness trickling out of her, the friction of her tender clit against the swollen folds of her sex and the soft leather of her pants.

She has always scoffed at men who prefer virgins, considered the primitive urge to claim and possess what no one else has taken, distasteful at best. Horny dogs pissing on walls, thinking they own people. Now she desperately hopes she was his first woman, the first to steal his kisses and his cum. He has never mentioned anyone, no pretty blacksmith to press her breasts against him in the heat of her forge, no beautiful tutor to lean over him and whisper verb declensions in his blushing ear. That has to mean something.

Some forest clans in the jungles south of Syngorn, consider the one you share your first time with more important to your life's weave than the one you marry.

(She can hardly remember the name or face of her first bed-mate, but she remembers rather clearly the garlic on his breath and the 5 gold, 37 silver pieces and two good horses, she and her brother stole off him, the very same night.)

No matter who comes after her, this part of him will always belong to her and she has never been good at sharing her possessions. Always such a greedy girl.

She swallows thickly to get rid of the desert dryness in her mouth and says:

"Give me your hands, please, beautiful." She was going more for confident and seductive than squeaky and pathetic, but she will have to make do.

She carefully winds loops of smooth coils of rope around his wrists, double checks for constricted blood flow and possible nerve damage, before tying it off to the posts of the bed.

She hungrily rakes her eyes over his pale, hairless, helpless body; takes him into her arms and kisses him like a conqueror, licks into his mouth, sucks on his tongue. His head falls back onto the pillow as he yields to her assault, moaning prettily.

Breathing heavily she leans her forehead against his.

"Pike will soon be back and we have to prepare you for her, here." Her hand dips between his legs, her fingers gently, but insistently, massaging his anus.

"She is so full of love for you."

His smile is bright enough to light the room, when he bumps his nose against hers.

"For us. So full of love for us."

She lowers her eyes, uncomfortable: "Maybe. Although I think she will be plenty cross with how much I make you suffer for my pleasure."

Percy opens his mouth to protest, but she shuts him up by thrusting her tongue into his mouth. "Don't argue with your mistress, baby-boy. Now be quiet and let me fuck you."

"Can you imagine her? The big, cornflower blue eyes, the cute, little pointy ears, her luminescent blush, when you smile at her?"

Her mouth is trailing lower over his helpless body, teasing his nipples to stiffness, before wandering downwards. Avoiding his cock entirely she takes his smooth balls in her mouth, sucking gently, caressing them with her bee-stung lips..

"Her beautiful breasts, full and high, the hard muscle in her flat tummy, the silver-gold hair falling in waves to her tight, little ass. I'm going to shave her sex, slide the razor over the soapy caramel skin and pink lips until she is smooth and slick for you. She has always wanted so badly to be pretty in your eyes. Would you like to see that baby-boy? My full lips sucking on her pink, little clit, my tongue deep in her sweet cleft?"

"I'm going to tie you up with your ankles above your head, so she can take her pleasure. Like this."

She folds him in half with remarkable ease, stowing his long legs beneath his bound arms, tying his ankles to the same posts that hold his wrists. Her father's voice whispers to her. Maybe not a blacksmith or a tutor, but a pretty acrobat, member of some wandering troupe that took him in, before they meet?

She shakes her head; torturing herself like this will do no one any good. Trailing kisses over smooth, white skin she meanders downward from the taut skin of his balls to suck on his puckered anus, swirling her tongue around his opening with abandon.

He cranes his neck to look at her and her heart stutters in her chest. The kiss-swollen lips, parted by soft puffs of heavy breathing, the pink blush, the look in his eyes. The soft worshipfulness.

Oh, she could come from being looked at like that alone, if only she could grind her drooling pussy against the mattress once or twice.

This, this must be how Pike feels all day, a being of ethereal light and love and fire. No hard edges and embarrassingly needy thoughts, no memories of blowing some fat butcher behind his shop for a hunk of spoiled meat because the hunger is gnawing at her innards, and Vax can never know, but they cut the hands of thieves in this town and they need to eat. No sibilant voice of her father hissing her inadequacies in her ear while she sleeps.