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thelonelylakedamaged like me. the locked tomb series - tamsyn muir, cytherea/mercymorn, cytherea/loveday, cristabel~mercymorn. can you cheat on your cavalier after you've eaten them, and other questions mercy and cyth are very ill-equipped to answer. 952w, rated m.
The day before they left each other for another two hundred years, Mercymorn the First did not kick Cytherea out of bed. Whether that was a miscalculation or not did not bear examining, but she did eventually, perhaps a hundred or so years into that particular estrangement, admit that that bit of sentimentality — yuck! — may have led directly to said estrangement.
Time existed on the Mithraeum, of course, but in the absence of anyone paying close attention to it, it tended towards the odd. Still, Mercy thought that morning was wearing on towards its inevitable end — as much as anything could be said to end, these days — when Cytherea stirred, wrapped herself in something teal and frothy that looked like a stomachache waiting to happen, and went to rest her head against the window.
Cytherea looked tired, Mercy thought, tired in the way she always was, but pleasantly well-fucked on top of that. Her hair was a wild cloud springing forth from the ruins of her braid, and the fabric of her gown clung appealingly to all her edges, doing nothing to soften them and everything to make Mercy want to cut herself on them just to see what would happen. If she could get the bone to break either of their skins.
Mercy flexed her fingers, which had cramped so deliciously in the heat of Cytherea's body last night, and contemplated the merits of another round. Of course, Cytherea ruined the mood immediately by saying, "Do you ever wonder if you look like her?"
At least she had the decency not to use her name. Mercy sat up, adjusting her body's internal temperature as the sheets pooled around her waist. "You don't want to do this."
Maybe she did, though. Maybe they both needed this, after a morning that had been surprisingly quiet, after a night where they had fucked and not looked at each other and not torn any pieces off each other either.
"When you see," Cytherea pressed, before pausing to cough, and Mercy met her reflection's gaze where the stars washed the colour out to something bearable. "When you see us, the world, do you think she's seeing it too? If the part-"
"I will tear out your cavalier's eyes and feed them to you," Mercy said pleasantly, because she was not quite sure what would happen if she tipped over into furious. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as threatening Augustine in the same manner, but it felt like the sort of thing that should be said anyway. "And then the question will be answered."
Laughter bubbled up from Cytherea's throat, along with a splash of blood that trickled over her lips. "All these years and you still haven't let go of hating her."
And oh, she knew, of course she knew that Cytherea meant Loveday, but for the space of a breath she hardly needed to take she imagined Cristabel's name in that space, and she had flung herself out of bed and across the sparse room to Cytherea before her mind had caught up to her body. She clenched a hand around the pale column of Cytherea's throat, and watched the shiver wrack her frame.
It felt better than Cytherea's mouth between her legs ever could, better than her own nails in Cytherea's breasts. And from the way Loveday's eyes in Cytherea's face opened blankly to the ceiling, she thought — and was it for the better or for the worse? — that Cytherea understood the same.
"We'll never be free of them," Mercy hissed. "They're gone because of what we are and we are this because they're gone and — and that's the point you — you ignorant — augh!"
Mercy bit down, because she could, and ripped her mouth away with skin caught in her teeth, because Cytherea was still the most fragile of them all, and Mercy, in defiance of her name, was the one who cared the least.
(Perhaps the name had fit her better, when Cristabel was still alive on her own, but she would prefer to stare a Resurrection Beast in the eye than think about how hazy those memories had gotten.)
Cytherea, perhaps on a mission to make Mercymorn regret her life even more than usual — and after all the orgasms I gave her last night! — simply laughed. She licked away the blood pooling in the corner of her mouth and lifted her hand to press Mercy's fingers into the holes newly ripped into her shoulder and did not seem to notice at all that she was crying.
"I know," she said. "I know, I know, but — feel. Is she there? Do you think they know what we—"
"Shut up," Mercy howled, and watched as if from a distance — as if from Cristabel's eyes — as she shoved Cytherea back against the wall, rucked up her skirt and shoved three fingers inside her — like Loveday used to — did, when Cytherea touched herself? — like she never quite had to Cristabel—
"Shut up, shut up," the words spilled from her without permission, each one punctuated with the thrust and slide of her fingers inside Cytherea's body, so easy she knew on some level that Cytherea had to be allowing, encouraging this in a way neither of their cavaliers would ever have permitted.
It wasn't cheating, in the technical sense of the word, could hardly be called betrayal, and yet—.
After it was over, it would still be another two hundred years before she saw Cytherea again, and fifty more before she gathered herself enough to speak to her, before she could look at the wrong face with the wrong eyes and not think that there were two other people they deserved to have in bed with them.
The day before they left each other for another two hundred years, Mercymorn the First did not kick Cytherea out of bed. Whether that was a miscalculation or not did not bear examining, but she did eventually, perhaps a hundred or so years into that particular estrangement, admit that that bit of sentimentality — yuck! — may have led directly to said estrangement.
Time existed on the Mithraeum, of course, but in the absence of anyone paying close attention to it, it tended towards the odd. Still, Mercy thought that morning was wearing on towards its inevitable end — as much as anything could be said to end, these days — when Cytherea stirred, wrapped herself in something teal and frothy that looked like a stomachache waiting to happen, and went to rest her head against the window.
Cytherea looked tired, Mercy thought, tired in the way she always was, but pleasantly well-fucked on top of that. Her hair was a wild cloud springing forth from the ruins of her braid, and the fabric of her gown clung appealingly to all her edges, doing nothing to soften them and everything to make Mercy want to cut herself on them just to see what would happen. If she could get the bone to break either of their skins.
Mercy flexed her fingers, which had cramped so deliciously in the heat of Cytherea's body last night, and contemplated the merits of another round. Of course, Cytherea ruined the mood immediately by saying, "Do you ever wonder if you look like her?"
At least she had the decency not to use her name. Mercy sat up, adjusting her body's internal temperature as the sheets pooled around her waist. "You don't want to do this."
Maybe she did, though. Maybe they both needed this, after a morning that had been surprisingly quiet, after a night where they had fucked and not looked at each other and not torn any pieces off each other either.
"When you see," Cytherea pressed, before pausing to cough, and Mercy met her reflection's gaze where the stars washed the colour out to something bearable. "When you see us, the world, do you think she's seeing it too? If the part-"
"I will tear out your cavalier's eyes and feed them to you," Mercy said pleasantly, because she was not quite sure what would happen if she tipped over into furious. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as threatening Augustine in the same manner, but it felt like the sort of thing that should be said anyway. "And then the question will be answered."
Laughter bubbled up from Cytherea's throat, along with a splash of blood that trickled over her lips. "All these years and you still haven't let go of hating her."
And oh, she knew, of course she knew that Cytherea meant Loveday, but for the space of a breath she hardly needed to take she imagined Cristabel's name in that space, and she had flung herself out of bed and across the sparse room to Cytherea before her mind had caught up to her body. She clenched a hand around the pale column of Cytherea's throat, and watched the shiver wrack her frame.
It felt better than Cytherea's mouth between her legs ever could, better than her own nails in Cytherea's breasts. And from the way Loveday's eyes in Cytherea's face opened blankly to the ceiling, she thought — and was it for the better or for the worse? — that Cytherea understood the same.
"We'll never be free of them," Mercy hissed. "They're gone because of what we are and we are this because they're gone and — and that's the point you — you ignorant — augh!"
Mercy bit down, because she could, and ripped her mouth away with skin caught in her teeth, because Cytherea was still the most fragile of them all, and Mercy, in defiance of her name, was the one who cared the least.
(Perhaps the name had fit her better, when Cristabel was still alive on her own, but she would prefer to stare a Resurrection Beast in the eye than think about how hazy those memories had gotten.)
Cytherea, perhaps on a mission to make Mercymorn regret her life even more than usual — and after all the orgasms I gave her last night! — simply laughed. She licked away the blood pooling in the corner of her mouth and lifted her hand to press Mercy's fingers into the holes newly ripped into her shoulder and did not seem to notice at all that she was crying.
"I know," she said. "I know, I know, but — feel. Is she there? Do you think they know what we—"
"Shut up," Mercy howled, and watched as if from a distance — as if from Cristabel's eyes — as she shoved Cytherea back against the wall, rucked up her skirt and shoved three fingers inside her — like Loveday used to — did, when Cytherea touched herself? — like she never quite had to Cristabel—
"Shut up, shut up," the words spilled from her without permission, each one punctuated with the thrust and slide of her fingers inside Cytherea's body, so easy she knew on some level that Cytherea had to be allowing, encouraging this in a way neither of their cavaliers would ever have permitted.
It wasn't cheating, in the technical sense of the word, could hardly be called betrayal, and yet—.
After it was over, it would still be another two hundred years before she saw Cytherea again, and fifty more before she gathered herself enough to speak to her, before she could look at the wrong face with the wrong eyes and not think that there were two other people they deserved to have in bed with them.
no subject
Date: 2024-03-03 02:40 pm (UTC)perhaps a hundred or so years into that particular estrangement, admit that that bit of sentimentality — yuck! — may have led directly to said estrangement. lmfao this voice
your mercy's description of cyth post-sleep is hot and with such pretty prose
Of course, Cytherea ruined the mood immediately by saying, "Do you ever wonder if you look like her?" / "I will tear out your cavalier's eyes and feed them to you," a++ interaction, no notes
eee choking, and the name reflection *happy sighs*
cyth explicitly bringing up the other two and how frayed it gets as mercy fucks her, Art(tm)
mercy's narration is such a delight, i really loved her voice, fabulous work \o/
no subject
Date: 2024-03-03 11:06 pm (UTC)('Necromancers become Lyctors by eating their cavaliers' souls, and certain cavs force their necros' hands by committing suicide' is like. Worldbuilding of all time. Everyone say thank you and do it with fewer quoted tumblr posts next time Tamsyn!!)