Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You really didn’t mean to break that vase. You just sort of knocked into it while hurrying past, your skirts caught on the carved leaves of its mahogany mount, and sent it stumbling towards the hard, stone floor.

So here you are, frozen and cringing as the harsh sound of its shattering rings through the midnight halls. The thought of fleeing turns in your head. It was an expensive vase--you peek at its remnants on the ground--and now it is most definitely unsalvageable. You doubt that your reputation as the sweetest maid could save you from being punished. The Lord will be very displeased…

...If he finds out.

After all it’s dark, the castle is asleep, and the Lord has an army of similarly intricate and expensive vases… You kneel down to place the evidence into your apron, gingerly gathering the shards of glazed porcelain and the flowers they held. There is the matter of the spilled water… hopefully, it will dry before the castle wakes.

There are footsteps approaching. Your hands work faster. It’s hopeless. A knight on guard-duty turns the corner of the winding corridor. It’s Sir Cerise. The moonlight glints off the pommel of her sword.

“Oh, it’s just you.” She says as she strolls closer. The sound of her chain-mail marks her steps. “Were you the one who broke that?”

“No,” you stammer. “I got here just a second ago, I thought… I should clean it up. Before someone cuts their foot on it.”

Sir Cerise hums and you avoid her eyes, bowed over the mess. The toe of her leather boot nudges at one of the larger remaining shards.

“So you don’t know who did it?”

“No, Sir,” you lie.

Your hand trembles as you reach out for the piece she is bullying. Your stomach squeezes. You put it in your apron.

“Whoever did it must have ran,” the knight tuts. She peers down the length of the corridor.

You hum weakly in agreement.

“Strange, then,” she continues, “that there are no footprints.”

You nod. You feel like a sheep being slowly circled as she watches from above you. There is a smile in her voice. She taps her foot against the ground.

“And it’s interesting, that you say you got here a second before me, yet you have already gathered most of it up.”

You swallow, refusing to meet her eyes. “I wouldn’t want anyone to be hurt, is all.”

She hums and says nothing more until you gather the last piece.

“I think you missed something,” she says, then.

With the end of her sword, she taps the wooden stand of the vase. On one of the leaves, there is a tatter of clothing. Before you can stand up and explain yourself, she steps on your skirt where it had been torn. She presses closer and your cheeks burn.

“Funny how the truth reveals itself, hm?”

“I just--I--”

“Look at me,” she commands, and the hilt of her sword comes to turn your face towards her.

Her powerful frame is lit by the moon. Her crew-cut, greying hair is like a silver halo on her head. She handles her sword like a fifth limb, making you arch your neck.

“So you don’t know who broke the Lord’s vase?”

“Please--Sir… it was an accident…” You plead quietly. “Please don’t tell him.”

She sighs, a smile playing at her lips as she considers that. “...Don’t tell him?”

You nod. The pommel is cold under your chin. The rest of the handle is warm from her grip.

“Maybe it’s possible,” she muses. “But you’ll do something for me first, hm?”

You say nothing, just blink at her. Clearly, you are entirely at her mercy. As quickly as the sword moved to tilt your head up, it could also cut your throat. You remain kneeling up in front of her and wait for her verdict.

The round pommel slowly traces up your jaw. It rests on your lower lip coolly.

“Open,” says Sir Cerise.

Confused, you furrow your eyebrows.

“Don’t make me say it again. And tongue out.”

Seeing no other option, you do it. She places the cold metal on your tongue. You twitch. It earns a restrained smile from her.

The hand that isn’t on her sword comes to push some hair out of your eyes. She rests it on the top of your head, petting gently, but making certain that you can’t pull away.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” she murmurs. “And I know you to be very sweet. So you will do what I ask, won’t you?”

You hum weakly as warmth starts to coil in your stomach.

“That’s what I thought. Suck. No grimacing,” her calloused thumb soothes out your eyebrows. “You heard me. Suck on it.”

Slowly, you take the round pommel into your mouth. You whimper when it clicks against your teeth, and Sir Cerise lets out a pitying chuckle. She pushes it slightly deeper.

“Careful. We don’t want to knock out that pretty smile.”

The handle is wrapped in leather. It tastes a little like iron and salt as your tongue presses against it. You start to suck diligently, your head in level with her hip. She lets out a pleased sigh and you glance up to see her watching you like a hawk. It makes your stomach turn, her dark eyes are entirely fixed on you, centering you in her attention. Her mouth is slightly open in a smile.

Her hand is ever so slightly rocking your head onto the hilt. You haven’t taken a lot of it, but the large pommel keeps knocking against the back of your throat. It makes you dizzy in the head, and tight between your legs. As a silent plea, you wrap a hand around the handle. Sir Cerise huffs, entertained.

“Who would have thought…” she gloats. Her hand tightens in your hair, giving a pleasant tug, but she moves you no further. “That’s not bad, for a sweet little maid.”

Your eyes roll back. You squirm on the floor. The sword is pulled away and replaced by a broad thumb on your tongue. You pant through your nose, whining weakly.

“You don’t hate this at all, do you?”

You make a clumsy uh-uh noise. It’s confusing, and feels tight, and warm, and embarrassing… but you don’t hate it in the slightest.

“What would someone think, if they found us like this? You suckling on my sword? Whining for it? You’re drooling, Sweet.”

You just croak as she wipes her thumb on your lip. Your cheeks are burning, and your mouth is woefully empty. She tuts and lets you rest your forehead against her thigh for a bit.

“I’ll get another vase put there,” she pats your cheek. “And not a word of this to anyone, hm? Now get up, and make sure it doesn’t happen again. I won’t be so gentle next time.”

You nod and stagger to your feet. You amble off longing for a change of underwear; or perhaps another vase to break.

Chapter Text

The evening is drawing long as the lords, ladies, and their knights drink and feast in the great hall of the castle. You place down another tray holding mugs of ale on one of the long tables and endure the innuendos of the knights sitting there. One of them pinches your thigh through your skirts, but so is the order of things when the Lord is hosting the King.

You weave between begging hunting dogs and pass by the ladies’ table. Sir Cerise is leaned there, in all her silver-plated glory, entertaining the wine-drunk ladies of the court. Her sword is at her hip as always, and she flashes them a smile. It makes your throat squeeze with jealousy.

As you try to go past without showing even the slightest interest in her, Sir Cerise grabs you by the arm and draws you close.

“Refill my goblet,” she demands without any decorum and presses it into your hands. “And be careful with it.”

You move to do so, but her grip on your arm remains steady. She raises her eyebrows expectantly.

“Yes, Sir,” you mumble.

She laughs heartily at that and lets you on your way, starting to tell the noble ladies about you, the clumsy maid she must always cover for. You begrudgingly start to fill her goblet at the barrel and a thought sneakily swirls to the surface of your mind. There must be a way to get the knight’s attention again; by making a mistake, if by nothing else. You fill the goblet with the dark red wine all the way to the brim, then make your way back.

You have spent too much time thinking of the moon-cloaked night with Sir Cerise in the hall; all your time, to be precise. It made you burn with shame--but you want it again.

You half-deliberately trip in your own foot as you reach Sir Cerise’s side. The drink splashes across her armor and you flail for a grasp, finding it on her cape. The silver goblet clatters across the floor and the distinguished ladies at the table cry out in surprise.

Then you are being hauled up by a stern grip as Sir Cerise groans, shaking her other hand out, dripping with the wine.

“You’ll be sorry for that,” she snarls, with such depth and seriousness that an excited warmth flares up in your abdomen. “Collect my cup. And wash yourself off, you look like bloody game.” With that, she shoves you towards the floor.

Your hands grope for the cup; some people are watching. Indeed, most of the wine ended up on you, staining you red. When you look back to her, Sir Cerise is already stomping her way out of the hall.

Well, that didn’t work. You place her goblet defeatedly on the table and sulk off towards the servants’ quarters. It’s though, trying to get someone as rough as Sir Cerise to notice someone like you, a servant meant to fade into any background. Maybe, you reckon, this is all stupid. Surely, Sir Cerise has dozens of noble ladies falling at her feet. You sigh, trying not to trail wine all over the Lord’s halls.

In a fluid, canny motion, you are swept against someone’s chest. You yelp, but a hand is clasped over your mouth. There is a pair of lips breathing against your ear and… they are wearing a smile.

“Whatever was that, hm?”

Sir Cerise gives you a little squeeze and pulls you behind a corner. She has taken off her plate and is wearing only the thick padding from underneath it. She smells strongly of wine, but whether she is drunk or simply covered in it, you cannot tell. Your hands come to hold onto her wrists.

“Be quiet, now,” she whispers. “You don’t want anyone to see you like this.”

Her gloved palm finally slips from your mouth. You only make a whimper.

“If you wanted my attention, you could have just asked for it,” she goes on, her scarred lip brushing your ear. “Now you’ll have to wring all my gear dry…”

“You have a squire,” you point out.

She clicks her tongue, and her voice deepens. “But it’s not his fault, is it? Is it?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry…”

She scoffs and easily presses you against the cool wall. Her hand comes to grope your chest, and she keep you pinned with her weight. You fit easily into her skilled hand and she fondles you idly.

“I thought I scared you off last time,” she murmurs into your ear. Her other hand squeezes your waist. “I am starting to suspect that I was wrong.”

Her hand pushes your chest up and she watches with her chin hooked over your shoulder. You brace yourself against the wall with your forearms.

“So tell me, did you mean to spill that wine on me?”

You breathe in to speak--

“I’ll have to punish you again, if you did,” she adds.

You whimper, then nod. Her mouth falls open against your neck in a pleased smile, then her teeth nip at your skin. You moan, and her hand abandons its ideal place on your chest to clasp over your mouth again. You whine in disappointment.

“I know…” she tuts. “But I can’t have you giving us away, Sweet.”

You nod, but her hand stays.

“Besides, I’ve already heard everything I wanted from you.”

With that, her free hand gives you a merciful squeeze, then trails down and starts to pull your skirt up in pleats. You pant through your nose, dizzy with desire, the heady scent of wine still thick on her glove. Her strong, gloved palm presses against you through your undergarments, then digs under them to find you wet and sticky with desire. She makes a pleased huff against your ear and her weight vanishes from behind you--a moment later she is pulling you along by your waist, towards her chambers.

She does not let go of you as she locks the door, then she sits the two of you on her bed with you across her lap. Her large hands knead your hips as she drags you closer, and she kisses you deeply. Her lips are rough but warm, and you fist into her short, fine hair which makes her grin proudly.

“You haven’t been running off with other knights, have you?” She mumbles into you as she slowly guides you to grind on her thigh.

You shake your head. “I don’t want the other knights… ”

She only holds you tighter when you try to squirm. The flat pressure of her thigh against you feels so good, it makes you tingle and whine. She pulls back slightly and takes her gloves off with her teeth.

“Open your mouth,” she says as the gloves lands somewhere across the room.

Two of her fingers press past your lips and rest on your tongue. They still have the faint taste of wine as she presses down.

“Now suck.”

You do, trying not to bite her. She is watching you intently, with a certain satisfaction, with her sharp eyes pinning you in place. Her free hand dips between your thighs and she rubs you with her thumb, then lower down, catching over you. You moan around her fingers and feel another drop of slick slowly rolling out.

“Good girl… ” she drawls, and starts to move her fingers in and out of your mouth. They are thick and the skin on them is hard, and they are so very sure in their movements.

You press your tongue up and the fingers are drawn away, leaving you panting. Your skirts are flipped up and her fingers are pushing into you now--there is a little resistance, but they go past easily, stretching you more than your own fingers ever could. They move inside you easily, like they are tracing a well-know path. As they go deeper they stretch you further, and you wrap your arms around her broad shoulders. She smells like a long day, like sweat, wine, and herself, and her fingers start to rub against the perfect spot inside you, curling up and up…

She adjust you in her lap gently, much too gently for a maid who spilled wine all over her, and she starts to rub the outside with her thumb. Your thighs tremble and you hold onto her tighter, letting your mouth fall open against her silver hair.

“I know, Sweet,” she tuts, her fingers brushing your cervix, then finding their spot again. “Try to be quiet, hm? We can keep doing this forever if you’re good and quiet.”

You barely realize the noises you are making and you struggle to see straight. “Forever?” You choke out weakly.

She hums. “I don’t want you running with other knights… the bastards might knock you up… I will do no such thing.” The rhythm of her fingers emphasizes her words. “If no one puts a babe in you, we can keep doing this forever. Every night--” Her skilled fingers keep seeking out the same spot, and she has rubbed it to be sensitive inside you. “--every morning.” They are relentless in their rhythm, and she rubs your clit to match it. “Every time we meet in the hall.”

You nod weakly, lost in pleasure. Your stomach is tight, your entire body is tight with anticipation, your legs are shaking, and you gasp as you claw across her back, grasping at her thick padding.

“Yeah?” She asks, breathless herself and smiling.

You nod, the urgency growing. The tension stretches and stretches… then, she slips a third finger inside and your world explodes into pleasure. You clutch around her shoulders tightly and arch your body against hers as the hot, white pleasure crashes through you, plateaus, then slowly ebbs away into gentler waves. Your body works stubbornly to pull her fingers deeper inside. She smiles, and slowly pulls them out.

You are picked up as your breathing evens. She carries you to the wash-tub in the corner and carefully towels you off, even between your legs where you are sensitive and puffy. She waits like a guard dog as you stumble to the commode at the end of the hall, then back to her room. You fall into her arms with an exhausted sigh, and she pitches into bed with you.

“You’re mine now, understood?” She asks playfully, and tweaks your chin.

You nod sleepily.

“Good. Next time, ask me instead of spilling wine on me. Hm?”

“It was more fun like this… ” You point out.

She considers that with a yawn, then looks at you as if she cannot believe her luck. “You’re going to get into trouble if you keep thinking like that. I can’t have a maid acting so unruly, I’d have to punish you, just like I did now. Do you know that?” She gives your butt a squeeze.

You nod again and smile. She shows a stern face, then after a moment smiles in return and presses a kiss to your lips. You are already thinking of more mischief to do. She pets your hair as you drift off, just as eager to catch you at it.