[Ficlet] (Cold) Iron

[deegeeak]

Title:  (Cold) Iron
Pairing:  US/UK
Genre: Angst, AU, Genderbend.
Rating: R
Summary:  The only keeping her safe is that she knows how to block him, and all her cold iron.
Notes:  If you can spot all the references I used you get a cookie.

It's not what he expected.  But then to be fair, Amelia rarely does  as expected, especially when it's something he's expecting.  Still  winding up tied to her old [cold] iron bed in rope is unique. 

The [Cold] iron is a bit of a problem - his magic is still too close to the fae,  the middle road, and the under hill for it to work properly.  She knows  this, and even if she doesn't admit to it, Amelia has always kept cold  iron on herself since her Revolution.  He doesn't admit to himself, but  knows, given half a chance he'd steal it away, throw it into her harbor,  and whisk her away Underhill, where she'd stay forever there.

Even  now wearing nothing but an old flannel shirt, open, framing her sun  kissed breasts, she still has [cold] iron on, taunting him.  It's so  close, he could grab it and throw it away, leaving her stripped of her  defenses and open to him.  He'd grab it, ignore the burn across his  palms, and as her sky blue eyes open in alarm, he'd twist, tumbling them  into Underhill, where it was his allies that held sway, and would keep  her there.

It's all he can focus on, even as she slides his trousers and pants down, freeing his cock to her talented hands and mouth.  The pleasure is intense - she rarely does this - but it'd be better if his hands were free, free to grab and tear like he so wants to do.  She sits up, wiping a hand across her mouth, making a face like she's found the taste even more bitter then the sour lemon candies she's always got stashed away in her pockets.

She swings a leg over his trapped ones, and rests for a moment.  He meets her eyes and then with a smile, she slides, down, engulfing him in wet heat.  Arthur can't stop himself, but he arches up and tries to press deeper.  Too quick she establishes a rhythm and then they're off. 

She's bucking on top of him, hair tossed back, eyes narrowed and glowing on top of him.  That stupid flannel shirt (she ought to be wearing the finest silks and cottons, something that sets her off - or nothing at all, so she'll always be open and ready for him), opens and closes, teasing him with glimpses of those glorious breasts, and sometimes, he can see where he's thrusting up into her.

He's always aware of the [cold] iron on her; although it's not cold, it's hot, warmed by her heat.  Cold iron in her ears, in her hair, and around her neck.  He's never been sure, but he thinks her glasses have it in them too.  He knows the tongue piercing she never tells anyone about is [cold] iron too.  [It burns him so sweetly.]  Arthur wants to rip it all off and out of her.

He comes back to himself as above him she's screaming, and then he's joining her, crashing over that edge, and at that moment, he fights his bonds, tries to reach up to Amelia, and fails.  There's silence in the room.

Amelia smiles grandly at him as she gets dressed, leaving him to cool on the bed.  She steps carefully over the broad line of salt in her rowan wood floor, and smiles as she leaves, his bonds loosened just enough that he'll eventually be able to squirm free.

Arthur closes his eyes and thinks.  Oh what he'll do when he gets free.  He will one day, and he plans to make sure that unlike her, he'll not make a mistake to let her go again.