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Cool air brushes your shoulders as you strut onto the balcony. The ballroom is crowded and loud and hot, especially with the several layers to your dress. The twilight air is soothing against your heated skin, and you do your best to ignore the way the lace at the edges of your mask tickles your skin.
You only stay outside for a minute; there’s too much to do for you to keep to yourself for longer than a moment. Your friends - if you can call them that; you have no doubt they would stick a knife in your back the moment it became beneficial to them - are still suspicious and on edge. Not without reason, either. Tonight would be the best night for an assassination; crowded and masked and distracting as the ball is, it’s almost too easy to sneak inside.
As proved by the man wandering in from the courtyard.
Your eyes stay on him as he enters the ball and begins to mingle; whatever fabric his clothes are made of is transcendent. They sparkle in the candlelight and ripple like water as he struts around the room, accented by the golden accessories and trim. His mask matches, a beautiful gold with black around the edges designed to mimic a butterfly, and it all sets off the tan of his skin in a most beautiful way.
It’s curious; you would know if you’d seen him before, you’re sure, yet someone as starkly noticeable as he would be a terrible assassin.
Nevertheless, you’re here to do a job and gain a favor, so you make your way back into the ballroom. You catch his eye for a brief second, sending a coy smile before curtsying lightly and disappearing into the throng of dancers.
The dancing of this century is much more structured than before; it brings you comfort to know that so long as you know the steps, you can’t make a fool of yourself. Your partner for the moment is a well-known merchant. He’s not particularly handsome, or charismatic, but he’s kind enough, and his hands don’t wander.
Still, you catch the mysterious stranger’s eye several times as he joins the dancing himself. The light catches on his jeweled throat-piece nearly much as it catches on your own ruby that’s situated on your chest, just shy of being proper.
The partners change, and you catch his eye once more. You bite back a smile when you see him dancing with Lady Montilyet, a sweet girl who knows more than she should about you but never fails to get flustered when you wink at her. Her cheeks tint when you catch her eye, and the Butterfly looks intrigued when he next looks at you.
Too soon your partners change again and you lose track of him, distracted with keeping wandering hands away from the dagger stored in your bodice and the poison stashed in your hollowed ring. They’re there as precautions, of course, one can never be too careful, but there are a handful of people here who are acutely aware of just how willing you are to use them, should the situation arise.
“Someone is deep in thought.” You blink and smile when you find Butterfly before you, bowing deeply for the start of the dance.
“I was,” You agree as you curtsy in return. “Surely you don’t wish to hear about a lady’s idle thoughts, though, good sir.”
“You may call me Farfalla,” He says easily, taking one of your hands in his and leading you in the steps. “May I have your name in return?”
“You may call me whatever you wish,” You tell him; it’s habit at this point. You don’t think anyone there knows the name you were born with, and it’s been so long ago that even you only remember because you force yourself to do so.
“Well then,” Butterfly - Farfalla - says with an amused grin, “I shall call you Fiora. All butterflies are attracted to flowers, are they not?”
“Some,” You agree. He spins you in the air in time with the others and you ignore the rush of elation that comes with it. It’s a new feeling; you’re usually better than this at remaining impartial to potential assassins. “Now what is a butterfly such as yourself doing in a garden such as this?”
“I could ask the same of you,” He counters. “I’m sure I’ve never seen such a beautiful flower. Not in a Medici garden, for sure.”
“Is a Medici garden somehow lesser?” You ask, surprised. He may as well have just spat in their faces, at their own event no less. Your allies have their fair share of enemies, but none so bold as to insult them so obviously.
“Not at all,” He says as he steps back into a deep bow. “Merely an observation that they tend to choose their blooms for popularity, when the most stunning of gardens are cultivated for the rarity of the blossom and the beauty of the petal.”
You dip into a curtsy but before you can ask him anything else, he’s whisked away by the giggling wife of some beaurocrat and you’re left to politely decline the invitation to continue from someone in a swan mask. Instead you turn and make your way carefully towards the back of the room, where you know Niccoló is lurking, and you oretend you can’t feel the weight of the Butterfly’s eyes on you the whole way.
The night is calming down slightly. The drunkards have either passed out or left and now all that’s left is the hundred or so people who have actual business to conclude. You can see Giovanni near the doors to the balcony, chatting amicably with Leonardo. At least, it looks amicable. You never know with Giovanni; he tends to smile while he watches people drown.
You run your palms over the skirts of your dress, cursing the fabric. It’s the softest silk available and yet it still feels coarse to the touch after feeling the Butterfly’s garments. Even if he is an assassin, you really need to find out who his tailor is, because snyone that can stitch the night sky together and drape it over someone’s shoulders like that needs to be in your employ. Speaking of the Butterfly, your eyes dart around for the millionth time, doing their best to spot the tall man amidst the crowd. It’s curious that you haven’t been abke to, because he’s done nothing but draw your eye all night. He’s proven charismatic and charming, always ready with a witty quip or a perfectly chosen compliment, and you wish it didn’t make heat roll under your skin.
The waning candlelight has you nervous; the wicks are burned nearly to the base, and the smell of it always makes your stomach turn. It also adds to the shadows in the room, providing ample areas to hide away. It’s useful for you, of course, but also for anyone else.
Particularly butterflies.
With a sudden gust of air, the balcony doors burst open; the scent of camellias drifts in with them and you frown at the familiarity of it. You’re already moving, taking advantage of the way everyone has stilled as half the remaining candles have blown out. You remember where Giovanni and Niccoló were, for the most part, and when you get close, you can only just catch the glimpse of gold darting away.
When you get there, Niccoló is cradling Giovanni on the ground and waves you off.
“He’s fine, just startled, go, now,” Niccoló tells you. You bristle slightly at being given orders from a mere human, but you also know that he’s right. You’re off down the halls without another moment wasted, chasing the twinkling stars kf fabric down the halls. It’s pitch black and you’re glad for your superior vision as you run, otherwise you’d likely have lost your target long ago.
You turn the corner into a long entryway and barely duck out of the way as an ornately carved dagger flies at your face. You pull your own out and tuck it against your arm.
“I see this butterfly bites,” You call. There’s a stifled laugh from the room, and you hate that you’re endeared by the sound.
“Says the flower who hid her thorns,” He calls back. You dart inside and behind a column, avoiding another dagger in the process. A careful peek around the stone shows that he’s had a similar idea; you can just catch a glimpse of his soft brown hair peeking out. The glint of light against steel catches your eye and you realize he’s picked up a sword somewhere. That won’t do at all, not when you’ve just got a dagger. You look around and smile when you catch sight of two of Giovanni’s rapiers mounted on the wall.
“Did you really expect me not to have thorns?” You call to him, tiptoeing your way around the column and towards the one beside it. Your footsteps are muffled against the marble floor, and you’re hoping your voice does more to distract from them.
“No, flowers that pretty always have thorns,” Butterfly says with a laugh in his voice. You can hear him moving as well, and you dart towards the rapiers as another dagger slams into the stone where your head was.
You rip the blade off the wall and duck behind a column again, doing your best to ignore the fire burning under your skin. No one’s gotten to you like this in a long while, and you’ll be damned if you let a would-be assassin do so.
“So tell me,” You call into the echoes of the hall, ears straining to hear if he’s moving. “Why would a butterfly want to kill one of the de Medicis?”
A noise almost like a scoff echoes around you, bouncing off the marble. You can’t pinpoint where he is, and your eyes strain to see him even with your enhanced vision.
“Why would a flower?” He whispers into your ear. You jump and turn, dagger swinging wide toward where his voice was. It’s a useless attempt, too easy for him to dodge as his own rapier slices through the air towards you. You parry and step back, doing your best to regain control.
“Flowers can be poisonous, but only to those who treat them wrong,” You tell him, attempting a thrust and jab only for him to sidestep.
“Butterflies are the same, and yet I’m left with no real answers.” He attempts his own jab that you quickly deflect, and the banter quiets for a while as you both focus on the swordfight. He’s a skilled opponent, definitively better than you are; he moves with a grace and fluidity you’ve never seen before, and it only makes the heat in your belly that much worse. The hunger begins to seep in as well, and your vision clouds as your mind wanders to what he might taste like.
It’s a poor thing to think, especially since it gives him the opening he needs. Moments later he has you against the wall, the blade of the rapier balanced carefully against your throat. You bite back a curse, but he can no doubt see it in the twitch of your nose and curl of your lip.
“So do I get an answer before you kill me?” You ask him. “Why would you want Giovanni dead?”
“Me?” He asks, a laugh in his voice. “You’re the one trying to kill him.” You cock a brow, barely visible over your mask.
“I assure you, I am not. It’s a terrible businessman what kills his customers.”
Butterfly frowns and his eyes narrow slightly. He reaches a gloved hand up and runs his thumb across your cheek, a light touch that makes you shiver nonetheless. It’s only a breath later that he’s tugging your mask off and studying your face.
“You,” He says softly. “Vampire?”
“Yes,” You say, letting your mouth hang open slightly so he can the fangs at each side. “And how do you know of me and mine?”
He grins, amused and secretive. “I trust you aren’t one to bite the hand that feeds you, then.” The wink he sends almost has you laughing at his joke.
Almost.
“No promises about the hand that has a blade to my throat,” You warn. His lips quirk in an unvoiced laugh and he steps back, sliding his rapier back into place on his hip.
“I’m not trying to kill Giovanni,” Butterfly says. “I owed him a favor that I’m repaying, much as I suspect you are, by being a watchful eye at his events for the time being.”
It makes more sense than him being an assassin. He’d be a terrible assassin; he draws too much attention.
“You were running because…?”
“I thought I saw someone run this way. And then I was being chased, and assumed you were trying to kill me instead now.”
“Fair assumption, I suppose.” You can still feel his chest against yours, the scent of peach blossoms on the air around him. He hasn’t stepped away at all, and your mouth is watering with the need to taste him.
“You look hungry, petal,” He whispers. There’s a laugh in his voice and you have to admit, it only makes him more attractive. A vision appears, him sprawled underneath as you taste him, but he steps back a ways before you can. “Go get dinner. I’ll tell Giovanni and Niccoló that there was nothing to worry about tonight.”
He’s gone before you can protest. You didn’t even see him move; one minute he was there and now he’s not, no sign that he even existed save for the mask at your feet.
Your hands tremble slightly as you pick it up, and you don’t know why but you hold on to it the entire way to your home.
Weeks pass. You haven’t seen him again, not at any of the parties that Giovanni throws or the meetings that Niccoló organizes. Nowhere, no matter how much you look.
You mourn that fact as you sit at your vanity, silk sleeping gown cascading down your crossed legs. Your mirror is useless; its made with silver and offers no reflection, and you hope that there will be something better in the next hundred years so that you can stop relying on your maids to make you look respectable.
The window to your room clicks open with a breeze, the scent of peach blossoms strong on the air before he appears. You watch it happen in the mirror; the swirl of shadow and mist and flowers before he steps inside completely.
“At least I ask for an invitation first,” You tell him. “Imagine the scandal if anyone were to know you sneak into an unwed woman’s rooms at the dead of night.”
He steps forward and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Apologies,” He whispers. “It did take me a fair while to find your abode, though. And I am a very busy man.” He looks up into the mirror and smiles at where your reflection should be. He’s even more gorgeous without the mask; full pillow lips, soft brown eyes, bone structure that humans would kill to be born with.
“I suppose the fae prince is indeed a busy man.” The way he stiffens only confirms your suspicions, and the fact that you were right just spurs you on. “I can’t imagine what he would be doing here with me.”
“Maybe he likes not being treated like a prince for once.”
“Maybe he should tell me what he wants so we can make an arrangement that will suit both of us.”
“Is it not enough that I want you?” He groans, burrowing his nose into your neck and inhaling. “Won’t you give yourself to me?”
“No,” You tell him simply. He pouts as you stand, but he doesn’t fight you as you push him towards the lush bed at the far end of the room. “But I will give you this one night.”
“I’ll take it,” He says.
His lips are on yours in a heartbeat, sealing your deal and encouraging the fire between your legs. You push him back until he sits on the bed and you climb up to straddle him, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs to keep you steady.
“You’re radiant,” He tells you. “Breathtaking in so many ways.”
“Stop talking,” You respond as you dart down to suck a bruise onto his neck. You’ve not been able to stop thinking about it; marking it, drinking from it, his throat has featured in nearly every fantasy that you’ve had lately and you’re more than ready to taste the real thing.
He goes without resistance when you push him onto his back, pulling your hips down to grind against the tent in his pants. Your wetness is already seeping through the silk of your gown and you can’t find it in you to be embarrassed.
“On my face,” He says, panting. “Want you to ride my tongue.” Heat hits you again and you nod. You like to think you’re always graceful, but you know how you must look, scrambling to hike your gown up to your waist and plant your knees on either side of his head.
He isn’t afraid to tease, giving soft kitten licks to the sensitive skin of your thigh before darting in to lap at your folds for real. Your moans can’t be contained so you don’t try; you’ve had several bed partners, but none have felt like this between your legs.
“Christ, Butterfly-”
“Jin,” He says, hands gripping your ass to lift you up. “You can call me Jin tonight.” He’s back to work in no time, tongue dipping into your tight heat to swirl around before licking up to your clit so he can suckle on it.
“God, Jin, yes!” Your hands grip his hair tightly and he moans into your folds at the feeling. It only spurs him on, sucking hard on your clit before he starts to fully fuck you with his tongue. It’s a glorious feeling and you nearly cum just from that as you grind yourself down onto him. It’s been too long since you had a partner as enthusiastic as you are, and it shows with the way your legs tighten around his neck.
A strangled choke comes from between your thighs and you lift off him immediately.
“I’m sorry, I-”
“No,” He interrupts. With a brief scoot, he’s watching you with eyes blown black, your wetness dripping down to land on his neck. His chin is already soaked, but something about seeing yourself on his neck - something you’ve already fantasized about tasting - has your hips moving in aborted thrusts.
He notices and cocks a brow. It only lasts a moment before realization creeps over him, eyes turning impossibly darker as his grip on your thighs tightens. He moves one hand to the small of your back, guiding you carefully down until your folds rest against his throat.
“What…what are you-”
“Ride,” He commands. There’s power in his voice, an authority that even you can’t question, so you do. Your hips are guided by his hand on your back, and you can’t lie, it’s heavenly. His throat is thick and firm against your heat, and provides the perfect amount of pressure to your aching clit. His Adam’s apple hits you just right, and you’re moaning before you can even register the sound. Jin himself is clearly into it; the hand not on your back has disappeared, and if you cared enough to pay attention, you might look back to see it rubbing gently at his hardened length.
As it stands though, he’s gasping for breath against your weight and the way it makes his throat clench makes you clench in return. You grind hard against his throat and he moans - loud and unabashed; the vibrations go straight to your clit, and the heat inside of you nearly explodes at the feeling. It’s one thing to hear someone moan, and it’s another thing to feel them moan while they eat you out. But to feel their throat vibrate with pleasure as you ride it?
Transcendent.
You raise slightly to allow him to breathe, hips still grinding mercilessly against his skin for any sense of friction. He pushes you back down and gives you a taunting smile.
“Are you close, petal?” He asks, vibrations from his voice making you whine. “You’re so close just from grinding on my throat. I wonder what would happen if I touched you right now. Would you cum for me so easily?” You whimper and nod.
“Please, Jin, I want to cum,” you gasp. Something about it strikes a nerve in him, because he groans again. You’re already half-gone, but then he swallows; his Adam’s apple hits your clit hard and your orgasm explodes through you.
Jin waits until you’re finished spasming on top of him before he flips you around, carefully laying you back on your bed before stripping out of his shirt and unlacing his leather breeches to pull himself out.
You’d heard rumors about the fae, of course; everyone said they were supernaturally gifted in certain areas. You’d previously thought that was all a trick, one of the many ways they use their magic to goad humans into selling their souls. Looking at Jin, though, is a learning experience. There’s no magic in the way that he weighs down his hand, or the throbbing purple of his head. Not in the way he strokes it slow and languid as he settles between your thighs.
The stretch as he slides into you is all too real, and has you quaking around him.
“Oh my god, Jin,” You gasp, hands darting up to grip his broad shoulders. “Fuck, you’re huge.”
“Thank you,” He chuckles, continuing to press his length into you. It isn’t hard; you’re soaked and relaxed after your orgasm, and all too willing to take every inch he gives you. When he finally bottoms out, you both groan, your pussy contracting around his thick shaft.
No one that big had ever been inside you, and he was reaching places nobody else ever had.
“Fuck, my pretty petal,” He whispers as he slides halfway put before pushing back in. “You’re so wet for me, petal. Did you like that then? You liked riding my throat so hard you came on it?” You moan and your walls flutter around him, and he takes the opportunity to speed up.
It doesn’t take long for him to begin really pounding into you. Your legs are hitched up around his waist, ankles crossed over his lower back as he slams into you over and over again. The curses you spew are in so many languages you can’t count them all, a mixture of all the ones you’ve learned in your time on this earth, and Jin sounds like he’s praying, the way he’s moaning softly above you.
It’s minutes before you can feel the string inside you growing taut once more. Jin must notice because his palms push at your calves until your knees are as close to your shoulders as they can get, and suddenly he’s that much deeper inside. You can feel him up to your cervix, fucking hard and fast into you, and he watches as you bring one hand down to tease circles into your clit.
“Beautiful, petal. Love watching you touch yourself for me, watching you cum for me. Come for me, let me feel you come on my cock, give me another and I’ll give you all the seed you could ever need. Does that sound nice, petal?” You nod, fingers speeding up as his thrusts become more pointed, searching.
It takes four. Four thrusts for him to find that spot inside you that makes universes bloom behind your eyelids. You scream when he does, pushing down hard on your clit so that the constant pressure might distract you, might prolong the feeling.
“Oh no, sweetheart,” Jin tuts gently. He drops a hand to push yours away from your clit and resumes the teasing himself. It’s different when it’s him; where you had been keeping rythm with his thrusts, he doesn’t bother, instead moving slowly and teasingly against the bundle of nerves as he continues to pound hard and fast into your heat. “No, I want to feel this sweet pussy come around me. I want to watch you fall apart on my cock, and then I want to fuck you full of my cum. Will you make that happen for me, my sweet petal? Will you be a good girl for me?”
You don’t even get a chance to warn him before you’re coming, contracting so hard around him that you’re worried he might get pushed out.
It doesn’t stop him though; he continues his thrusts. He changes it though, shifts so he’s sitting back on the bed and you’re in his lap, propped up against his chest so he can thrust up into you. His hands are on your hips, lifting you up just to pull you down to meet his hips as they fuck harder into you.
“Very good, petal,” He murmurs. “You were so good, so now it’s my turn, right? I get to use your pretty pussy. God, you’re too fucked out to even speak, aren’t you?” You manage a quick nod and he laughs, sweet and lilting, and pinches at your nipple. A third orgasm rushes through you and you’re jolting against him, riding the waves as he continues fucking you through the overstimulation.
“Fuck, you’re so good for me, the perfect flower. Can you give me one more, petal? One more orgasm. I know you can do it.”
“No,” You whine, even as your hips grind down to meet him. “Can’t, I’m, too much.”
“Okay, petal, okay,” He whispers, massaging the muscles in your back as he fucks you. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet, the perfect pussy for me. You take it so well, like you were made for me.”
“Was,” You mutter, too high on your own orgasms to manage proper words. “Made…just for you…” There’s more you want to say, like how the smell of peach blossoms has always been your favorite and how you’ve never seen anyone handle a dagger or a rapier like he does, but it won’t come out.
It seems to do the trick though, because a minute later, you can feel him coming inside you. It triggers a fourth orgasm, both of you shuddering as you ride the highs. You pant ass he slides you off his dick and lays you back; he groans as he watches his cum slide out of you and stain the sheets underneath.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers as he throws an arm over you and pulls you close. You don’t respond, already half-asleep. “I’ll have breakfast ready when you wake up, petal. You rest.”
You manage a nod, a mumbled ‘thank you’ barely making it out before you’re asleep.
When you wake the next evening, the scent of peach blossoms hangs in the air. Your thighs are almost as sore as your pussy, the bed is cold next to you, and there’s a beautiful woman sitting at your vanity, brushing her hair. You frown at her, rubbing your face. She hears you moving and turns with a bright grin.
“Oh, you’re awake. The Prince mentioned you might be hungry when you woke, so I’m here with breakfast.” She stands, the silk nightie leaving nothing to imagination as she slides into the bed beside you.
“And where is the prince?” You ask her, already leaning forward to press kisses to her neck.
“He left you a - ah! - a note,” She says as you sink your fangs into the tender flesh of her neck. You drink until you’re sated and refreshed, and you wave her out after she’s done cleaning herself up.
There is indeed a note left on your vanity, in the quick scrawl you imagine is Jin’s.
Thanks for a good time, petal. I won’t forget it. -Butterfly