“To keep a pet dove, I must feed it”. The voice of poisoned alto brushed against the shell of her ear.
The taste of pain, pleasure, and heat seared the crevices of her mind – the images burned chasms in Snow White’s brain. Her fine spine bruised against the icily cruel stone walls as heat burned against the skin that She touched. It began at the lips down her throat to fire her heart to beat, heating the coils in her stomach. Hips rode one another in clothed and skinned undulation as fingers clawed at unwelcome cloth, tearing, pulling without reservation, tangling in ebony and in blonde.
“I must wash it.” The voice grew closer.
The vision grew clearer. Cool hands, almost cold, under her blouse to press a palmed trail up her bare stomach, calling to forth a staunched guttural moan in lieu of a painful clench lower. Hot breaths met in invisible steam before she felt the force of a kiss that would steal even the steam from breath on a winter morning. Her mind hazed in red mist. Her body moved without will save to follow the trails of ferocity across her skin – arc into the firm touch upon her breasts, throw her head back at scrape of teeth on her neck, press deeper into the kiss, fighting the urge to shy away from this dance.
And it was a dance they’ve had many times before, just the two of them in a cold cell of hard stone – or so Snow White seemed to remember. She remembered the feel of the cold draft against her skin that went forgotten as a hazed ache grew in the pit of her stomach at the voiceless coaxing of a wicked hand that slid lower – the feel of cold heat radiated within her in the wake of sensations from apple red lips devouring the hollow of her throat and the expert touches upon her pert breast – and disappeared beneath the threshold of her underclothes. Disappeared, but only to the eyes.
Her heart throbbed with eagerness, and the burn in her loins craved the other woman’s touch, unsatisfied with the cruel strokings upon her moist netherlips. She could feel the other woman smirk into her skin – every move and every touch was a shot of gin through her veins. Snow White parted her lips to speak, to urge the woman to continue to take her and to take her hard, but her lips only moved with red silence.
“I must play with it.” The words were felt, not heard.
And in a single thrust –
“Dare you taste the apple?”
Snow White woke with a loud moan, startling herself, and waking in disorientation with an ache in her belly. And the sudden memory of her sleep lit a hard blush upon her face – rough caresses, harsh kisses, and… The thought brought a throb at her loins, reminding her of the moistness that dictated her ready to receive. She looked for time to distract herself; there was only a hint of dawn beyond the eastern peaks of the mountains, tinting the land with a purple chromatography with gold at its center. The beauty did little to ease her tension, and it took much of her will not to run into the woods to satisfy herself in a frenzied heat. Her shuffling snapped a twig. Birds of black feathers beat against the air to fly forth and away.
In the air, the beating of wings seemed to thrum at her soul, “Lips red as blood, hair black as night, bring me your heart, my dear, dear Snow White.” Snow White followed the trailing feathers of ravens speckling the sky as the ache of desire burned inside her. The memory of a soft raven in her hands flooded her memory. It was her answer.
Dear, dear Snow White. The Queen tasted the name on her lips; it was sweet, like chamomile soaked in honey. She wondered if the runaway girl would respond – nay, the thought was incorrect, she knew the girl would respond. She smirked, her lips curling into a grin as she toyed with an apple that was perfectly grown and harvested at the peak of ripeness – red as blood. But it had been two nights since her trick of mind upon her little Snow White, and the girl had made no entrance. She sent the maiden dreams on occasion ever since the day of her escape. It was more on whim than anything – perhaps it was a lure, but she enjoyed toying with the girl more than anything else. She felt she had the leisure of playing with her little plaything, anyhow.
Because a dove, would eventually return to its pen by night.
The girl was a dead thing though, thought the Queen, never came alive – perhaps it was her fault. She tapped her lips thoughtfully with an index finger, eyeing the apple with absent interest. But no matter. The Queen leaned into the arms of her chair. Admittedly the little enacted show had come with a price; she, herself, had not escaped the impatience that lined her every nerve. She also found that it was quite lonely in the marbled castle, the only company she ever had were the withered old hags that she created. And the wretches beyond the castle walls: she would not deal with them in person, but would give them the queen that they deserved. The youth of the girl, however, was missed, thought the Queen.
The apple had become interesting once again; she had forgotten the taste of food ever since the magic of youth coursed through her flesh. Perhaps she was envious. Magic was ancient, it was powerful, but it came at a price – and her life was the price, she thought bitterly, and bit into the apple, the juices running down her chin. She tried to remember the sweetness of an apple, the taste of autumn upon its skin, the crispness of its flesh.
But all she tasted was a bitter slime, sticky, yet dust-dry, pasting the insides of her mouth, and caking her tongue. She spat it out and hurled the red thing across the room in a fit of rage. At least that was one thing she could feel: rage. It smashed into smaller halves with a thunk upon a crossed shield wielded by a gasping girl of ebony hair, crimson lips, pale skin, flushed cheeks, and sweat pressed hair. The Queen stood, raising an eyebrow. Snow White had come alone?
She wiped the apple stick from her chin in one languid movement. “So my little dove has returned home at last.” The words rolled from her lips and struck a halt in the armored maiden who was tense in posture and expression, but wordless as usual. The Queen’s smile widened, the corners of her lips curled with predation as she observed an apparent swallow straining that ivory swan-like neck. She watched as Snow White took a tentative step forward, sword in hand, shield in hand.
The Queen tilted her chin in a familiar haughty act, challenging, daring, inviting. And she asked with a ring of amusement in her voice, “Are you going to kill me?” The thought amused her; this child would be her downfall. Part of her welcomed it, the other part drew back in fear – fear that turned into rage, then into fear again of her rage. The mere sight of this girl in plate and mail made her dead heart beat hard with the danger of leaping out of her chest and at the pale flesh before her. Everything about Snow White turned her nerves to lighted kerosene.
And much to the Queen’s fortune, Snow White had no inkling of that power; the girl’s shining naivety burned the eyes from all things. But the Queen could see the desire light in those warm chocolate brown eyes, swimming and melting. All of a sudden, it was as if the invitation had registered in the girl’s mind as chocolate lit to a glow of chestnut – sword and shield clattered to the floor, and Snow White rushed towards the Queen, forgetting all purposes but one, closing the gap of marble, closing the gap between lips.
The kiss was searing, melting lips together in a forever-mold, cast in an imprint that was their own. Guarded arms clung to a robed chest in fervor, in fear of letting go. It shocked the Queen to see so much of anything from the girl let alone passion, and it shocked her so much that she almost lost her balance and toppled to the floor. She was almost tempted to let herself go in the girl’s shaking grip, almost allowed herself to wash away in something that wanted her as she was: a wicked dead thing. She could feel the warmth of Snow White through layers of plate and cloth, and toyed with the thought of letting go.
But that wouldn’t do – it wouldn’t do for her to lose now. I am Queen; she thought. With summoned senses, she shoved the girl roughly against the polished marble pillar, and pressed further into the kiss, wrapping the girl’s compliance around her little finger as she parted those ruby lips with her tongue for a taste. A taste sweeter than the life she once had, a taste sweeter than the memory of water, the memory of honey. And she pulled away, but just enough so that their breaths mingled in heated tension.
She could feel the shaking beneath her, see the fear and apprehension in the watered earthen pools. A few more shuddering breaths from the girl before that sweet, tentative voice spoke. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to. I needed to see you…” It was so afraid, yet so courageous, so tentative, yet so sure of what it wanted. The Queen couldn’t help but chuckle and lean in to nuzzle the girl’s pale neck. Oh, how she would love to bite down and watch her squirm. But she stayed herself, only allowing chilled breaths to brush against warm skin. Snow White’s pinned grip against her robes tightened as a choked hitch of breath caught in that fine throat.
“I know,” said the Queen, still tantalizing with only breath, “tell me something I do not already know.” She could hear the pounding of Snow White’s heart. So pure, so strong. If only she could tear it out and keep it in a magical little box, it would be hers forever. But then she couldn’t taste apple upon red lips, she couldn’t hear the soft mewls when she suckled upon ivory, she couldn’t feel the harsh clenches of release around her fingers she had her way.
She lifted her head, and Snow White met her icy gaze with heat, those browns never wavering. She could tell the armored maiden wished her closer, wished her firmer by the tentative pulls at the neckline of her gowns. It was something so familiar, but now unfamiliar as their last meeting drew called its opening act. The Queen surged forward, sealing Snow White’s lips in her own, discarding armor in a clanging mess with a wave of a hand – it was much better: the warmth of the girl against her cool skin, soft breasts pressing against her own.
She felt Snow White reciprocate with the clumsy art of her own, fighting to keep up with the pace of lips set by the Queen. And it became cold fire and bruised skin with Snow White shoved pinned hard between a wall of marble and the frenzied greed of hands hungering for ivory skin through cloth. The Queen drew her hands up the girl’s tuniced torso, thirsting for the feel of flesh, sending shivers and sparks into Snow White’s lower stomach, turning those knotting coils tighter. Again, the Queen pulled away in the wake of a frustrated groan tearing from Snow White’s lips.
The Queen smirked, leaning in and whispering. Snow White found it all too familiar – the very same voice from her dreams caressed her ears in the gentlest of fashions, “Little dove upon the wall, who is fairest of them all?” With that, and a roll of hips against her own, Snow White stifled a moan finding it hard not to answer the question.
“My Queen,” the girl gasped. All the while, the woman had seemed to find interest in drawing absent shapes from her pale collarbones, down her chest, down to cup the rising swells of softness, and her stomach clenched in anticipation. “My Queen,” Snow White repeated and tried to stop an involuntary gasp as the woman’s long fingers brushed against a breast’s pert and ready peak. “You ask what you already know.”
The Queen paused only in mind to think upon the girl’s statement as she continued to fondle the stiff peak between her deft fingers. Did she know? Snow White hissed and bucked into her at a particularly harsh roll. She chuckled into the crook of the girl’s neck, darting a tongue out. Like a spark to kindling, she pressed herself into the girl in a rush of passion, ravishing the exposed skin of Snow White’s neck, tearing the front of the tunic aside to expose more skin, more ivory, more beauty, more warmth.
Snow White was overwhelmed in her senses as the Queen tasted her. She writhed under the woman’s touch only to be pinned harsher against the wall with some supernatural strength. Chilled jolts of pleasure burned through her skin and lit her nerves that shot pleasure and pain to her core. All she could do to steady herself, anchor herself, was hold onto the Queen, her Queen. She desperately tore at the black garments only managing to slip them from the other woman’s shoulders before she felt a groan escape her throat as the Queen slipped her hands under cloth to take her breasts, tweaking at the hardened tips of their peaks.
The Queen wanted it all. And if she had wanted to stop herself, she couldn’t have with all the magic in the world. It was as if she felt the girl’s pleasure, felt her desire in the way she met her touch, arched into her touch with wanton abandon. Both bodies moved, rocked, in unison – sweeps of hands over skin, skin beaded with sweat and chilled with winter air, air stitched with the scent of musk and lust. But she wanted more. The little mewls and sudden jerks only served to fuel her own cold fire as she felt desire grow between her loins. And so just this, just touching, just the press of lips was not enough.
She forced her hand down between Snow White’s milky thighs, felt the heat that radiated from her core. The Queen stayed her lips and cool fire touches only for a brief moment of stilled time for a wicked smile. She brushed her fingertips passed ebony curls and against moist lips like velvet and watched through a lidded gaze Snow White – Snow White with her head thrown back as the Queen’s lips pecked smiled kisses along the exposed swan-like neck, Snow White with her chest heaving for breath as the Queen’s cool embraced her heat, Snow White with her heart pounding hard as the Queen took her time with her flesh.
The witch’s touch grew firmer to draw against an engorged bundle of nerves – and there it was, the whimper squeezed through clenched teeth as Snow White felt pleasure shock her entire core. “My Queen,” Snow White gasped through a heated haze, rouge painted across her cheeks, “please…” Her breath was coming out in huffs as she felt a mocking nuzzle at her neck.
“Hmm? Please what?” The Queen’s voice hummed against nerve-lighted skin. She pressed a harsh finger against the sensitive nub.
“Please!” With a cry, Snow White nearly screamed, her voice coming out in stutters, “Take me.” Her eyes clouded over in need.
The Queen lifted herself to meet Snow White in an impassioned kiss once again, satisfied with the reply. And with a firm thrust, she plunged inside the girl’s velvety slick warmth, tearing a thick groan of relief and want from their connected lips. It was as if the line that held restraint had finally snapped. The Queen took Snow White in hard thrusts and curls of limber digits, invoking constant waves of pleasure invading the once-armored girl’s senses in the form of cries and broken hitches of breath.
Lips upon lips, and skin upon skin upon disheveled cloth of a fated dance of convoluted pleasure and pain, Snow White wanted to melt into her Queen, wanted to stay bound to her, wanted to ride the waves of pleasure into that cold, cold heart to light it, to warm it, to love it. And she fought as though she would never see the Queen, this person, this woman again, and clung to her with all strength reserved for revolution as the invading digits curled inside her, pulling her to greater and greater heights of pleasure that she so craved, pulling her closer. Snow White squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her teeth, and buried her face into the Queens shoulder – almost.
The Queen felt the early spasms of release inside the girl’s warmth. This was what she had been waiting, what she wanted to hear, to feel. It wouldn’t be long now. And a final curl. The Queen felt the heat and warmth of moist, slick flesh clamp down onto her fingers accompanied by a ringing cry that bounded off marble pillars and a hard jerk against her body. She felt the girl’s rocking hips against her hand and continued until the final waves of the release had washed over the glistening body.
It was now time to decide: would she kill Snow White?
Snow White shuddered when the Queen pulled out to lick her fingers clean. It was like she was contemplating something, thought Snow White, her breathing still a bit uneven. And a different thought crossed her mind; she had come to do something. And so she spoke tentatively.
“Ravenna.”
The Queen’s smug smile froze. That name was hers, yet it was unfamiliar.
“Ravenna.” This time the name came with strength. Shining hazelnut brown pierced and melted the steel gray that was her own. Ravenna fought the urge to look away, but those eyes wrapped her steely gaze in a warm embrace, holding her fast just as naked arms wrapped upon her neck to pull her into a bodied embrace. Ravenna wanted to shy away, but in the arms of this girl was warmth that drew her like a moth to a flame.
Snow White followed instinct, pulling the Queen, her Queen, into her arms and held her frozen form, leaning her head against the woman’s chest, listening for a heartbeat. Perhaps a few years back she would have been surprised to find a faint but fast thud, thud, thud. But she knew now – all those times together, “You can’t feel nothing for me.” Her voice sounded bitter.
“I feel hate for you,” Ravenna responded. But even to herself, the reply seemed uncommitted.
“You love me.” It was a statement – the firmest sentence that Snow White had spoken to the Queen.
Ravenna drew back, as if in rage – in fear? The girl was stronger, clinging to her, holding her steady. And Ravenna thought of all the incantations that would strike this little girl to hell – by imploding, freezing, burning, bleeding, rotting from the inside out… All the spells rocketed through head, but not a single one would leave clenched jaws, so she merely stood at a loss, glaring into the eyes of compassion.
Snow White say it all, all the thoughts, all the fear, all of it. She wanted to silence it all, quell the fluttering heart of her injured raven. So, she leaned up, tilting her chin and sealed her lips with the stunned woman’s. It was a slow kiss, gentle and kindly. Ravenna reveled in how soft these lips were; how hadn’t she noticed before? With a bit of coaxing, Ravenna found herself returning the lipped caress with the awkwardness of a newly hatched fledgling. Bit by bit, Snow White felt Ravenna give in to her ministrations, the woman now returning her embrace. She slipped the remains of Ravenna’s robes off her slim shoulders in a flutter of cloth.
How, thought Ravenna, are these little touches over her shoulders, over her arms, along her waist, making her shudder. She had been ready before, but she had never allowed the girl to touch her. Never allowed the girl so close. And for good reason, she thought. This girl, made the simplest grazes of skin feel like fire igniting trails of lightning along her skin. To much of her surprised reluctance, Ravenna felt Snow White leave her lips and trail kisses down the curve of her neck, the touch of soft skin akin to the feel of the beat of moth wings.
Snow White felt Ravenna shift against her – wanting more? Snow White complied, sliding her calloused palms against the cast curve of Ravenna’s waist, up to give her breasts an experimental grasp. She earned a quicken of breath, and continued, brushing her thumb over an already stiff raspberry peak. Ravenna hissed in pleasure and clasped the girl’s wrist to stop her.
“Don’t you dare,” Ravenna growled.
Snow White stopped to look at her in question. And she smiled, bringing her other hand up to brush her palm against Ravenna’s magic-softened cheek, cupping it. “I dare.” The statement was not challenging, but it rung of truth and raw emotion. She leaned up to take the Queen’s lips in slow passion.
Ravenna felt as if her world begun to spin. Never had she felt this. Never was she allowed to. Never did she want to. But her inner ravings were silenced by tears steaming down her cheeks. And what was this? Tears that weren’t hers glistened in the light-stricken room. The taste of salt stung their sweetness.
During some point, both women had crashed to the stone floor, Ravenna pressed gently into the discarded garments and Snow White pressed gentler against her. Touches slowed following the detail of all curves, breathing deepened taking in the scent of frost and musk, heartbeats, however, quickened in lieu of a rekindled fire. Fire of warmth. Fire that did not sear, but chased away the cold.
Ravenna felt Snow White’s digits at her center, taking her time to prepare her, but only whatever gods knew that Ravenna had been ready. Snow White felt the impatient stare of the woman beneath her and blushed at her inexperience. Slowly, she entered.
Ravenna stifled a moan, attempting to be embarrassed by the situation, but accepting it, allowing it to fill her to the brim. She felt Snow White move – too tentatively – and bucked her hips to let the girl know. And soon, body was upon body, warmth heated flesh began moving in unison, with one another. Sweat lined their skin – this feeling of familiarity yet of unfamiliarity sent them into a dance of one. Thrust meeting thrust. She slipped inside Snow White once more, wanting something different, some unification.
Two became one in an ancient dance of riding waves upon waves – the crest of watered pleasure rising until it plummets in tantalization, then rising higher and higher until both entities saw only white behind their eyes, higher until they reached the apex of pleasure, standing there together, laying together for what felt like frozen time.
Then they fell in a cry of release. Their true names leaving the hearts of one another, riding out the final waves of love-making, coming out of their high.
So that was what it was, thought Ravenna, breathing still uneven.
Snow White propped herself up on an elbow, to look upon the beauty before her.
“So, what will you do now, Snow White?” The question came rhetorically, but apprehensively.
“Nothing.” Snow White swallowed hard, invoking all courage within her to speak, “I have brought you my heart, for it is yours, for it was always yours, Ravenna.” She leaned down to kiss the Queen in chastity.
Ravenna laughed. There was no malice behind it, for her rich alto rung against the walls of the chamber. She looked into Snow White’s eyes. “So it is you who is fairest of them all.” Ravenna pulled Snow White into a final kiss, a final embrace of the moment until the sun dipped below the horizon and cloaked them in gold.