Chapter Text
And then, suddenly ... it's time. Yuri is going to draw a number. Someone is going to win the final prize.
Yuri speaks the final part of the fairy tale:
"As the morning approached, the Prince lay drained of energy and near death. And the spirits, who as we have said previously had no intention of honoring their bargain, began to argue amongst themselves as to who had most earned the right to kill him.
"But. The Prince had known the spirits were wicked and could not be trusted, and his plan had never been to rely upon them playing fairly. It had only ever been to distract them for the night. Because Spring had been waiting at the edges of the kingdom for some time, and with the spirits playing games in the throne room, Spring was finally able to arrive in the land.
"And those spirits of snow and ice, of wind and darkness, faded to nothingness as the kingdom awoke to Spring.
"And then the Prince was truly alone, wondering what sort of Spring it was to be."
(And thank the Goddess that's the story, both because Dimitri is toast and because the machine is finally off.)
All that remains is the question of what Spring will do with him when it approaches his throne.
Yuri reads a number aloud. With how weird the night has been, Dimitri is expecting something meaningful - his birthdate, his ID number - but no, it's just a random string of digits. Spring could be anyone.
There's a pause, and then a cheer from one side of the room.
Yuri says, "We have a winner! Hello! Oh, what lovely hair. I suppose we don't need to ask your name. He's all yours, goddess of spring. How should we arrange him for you?"
A pause, and then: "Still on the throne? Hm, kinky. Mercie, can you?"
Dimitri's ankles are unfastened briefly, then clipped again to the feet of the throne so he's in a more natural sitting position.
"Have fun, dear," says Mercedes's voice in his ear. She moves his arms too, binding them fully behind him. Now he has no leverage whatsoever. If the bearer of the banner of springtime wants to turn the chair back on, he's going to take the full force of whatever they do.
"Well," comes Yuri's voice, "we are at last at the finale of our performance. Some of you must be disappointed not to be chosen. The bar will give you a free drink, should you wish to drown your sorrows. Or the reception desk is open upstairs, should you wish to find a companion to drown your sorrows with. Just because this Winter Prince can't be yours doesn't mean there isn't an ex-Prince to catch your eye."
There are quiet footsteps, that he can just barely hear under Yuri's voice. Spring approaches. Spring has always meant flowers and warm weather and good things. But if you're winter, he supposes, it means death.
Yuri continues, "All right, I know half of you monsters are going to leave now that you don't get to rail somebody so I'm doing the credits first. Please give a cheer for the Black Metal Eagles, our in-House band!" And there is a cheer, of a mostly-happy crowd satisfied by the performance so far.
He speaks quickly, clearly trying to get everything out before the room clears too much. "Mercedes von Martritz is our healer and safety expert. Annette Fantine Dominic sang some deeply inappropriate songs for us. Kudos for trying to rhyme 'phallus' and 'Fraldarius' by the way. Lady Bergamot did our halftime show; she normally performs as The Rose Princess and is staring daggers at me from the bar make sure to tip her even if your drink is free. Tempest-92 was not supposed to be part of the show but he came here and scared the shit out of half of you anyway. I would not like to be his pet tonight!"
Yuri stops for a second and inhales loudly. "I am the astronomically fabulous Yuri LeClerc, leader of the Ashen Wolves, the Savage Mockingbird, and teacher of sixteen different classes at this fine facility! The House at Red Candle's Light stands against the darkness for another year! Give a big round of applause to the newest former Winter Prince and let's get on with the damn show!"
There are cheers and yells and whistles, and none of it matters because a hand touches his cheek and a voice that sounds like he has always imagined says, "I have been waiting for this for a long time."
She sits in his lap - no, she straddles him. Bare legs bracket his. For a moment he thinks she's naked, but he feels cool, smooth fabric press against his chest as she puts her arms around his neck. More fabric falls over his knees. A dress, then, or a skirt and blouse.
Her touch is electric. He believed, after the evening he'd been having, that he couldn't possibly want to be touched. But he's wrong. He's so wrong. Goosebumps break out on his skin and he shivers in pleasure. He tries to lean into her, straining to push himself forward even though he's trapped.
She kisses his neck, softly at first and then rougher. She places sucking, biting kisses that seem like they should hurt, but he feels no pain. He bares his throat and moans encouragement. More. He can take more. He needs more.
Please, Rose. Please.
Can it be her? What's the likelihood of that? It doesn't matter. He can't see who it is. He can't know who it is. So she's the Blue Rose to him.
She pushes back, and Dimitri whines at her absence. There's a rustle of fabric, and a whistle, and Yuri saying, "Oh, hush, you." Then there's warm skin pressed against his mouth. He breathes in her scent. Goddess, she's so soft. He licks her, and her nipple pebbles under his touch. She is perfect, and he flexes his wrists in desperation, trying to reach her. But his mouth is all he can use, and he moves his tongue as best as he's able - a slow circle, a flicking pressure.
When she pulls her breast away he whines again, high-pitched and frustrated. he shakes his head and she shushes him, brings her other breast to his lips. She runs her fingers through his hair as he sucks. The ring won't let him nibble, and he suddenly hates it with a burning passion.
"You've become very needy very suddenly," she says. "This isn't about you." He whines again, muffled.
"Don't worry. It's sort of about you, to be honest. But be good for me." He rubs the flat of his tongue against her skin. He needs her to touch him. Anything, please. He is so hard. Fuck. He thought it would take a miracle for him to have any more energy, but she is a miracle in herself.
She leans back, leaves him bereft again. He thinks he's going to cry from frustration, but she hooks her fingers under the straps on the gag and twists until the ring pops out from behind his teeth. Dimitri sighs and starts to thank her, but she drops the gag to fall around his neck and kisses him before he can get the words out.
And maybe she's a bit desperate too, because she kisses him harshly, fingers twisted in his hair. It's clumsy and messy and he doesn't care he doesn't care. She opens his mouth and slides her tongue against his and he groans in something close to bliss.
Then she puts a hand on his cock and strokes him in firm, fast movements, and that is bliss.
She breaks the kiss with a slight pop, and says, "I had hoped so desperately to touch you for real."
"Who are you?" he croaks, voice rough from earlier screaming.
She stops her hand, and laughs. she puts her cheek against his, and he gets a faint scent of orange from her hair as she whispers, "I'm a dark feeling in an unreal place."
That means something. Someone said that to him once. When?
"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm not at my best for thinking right now."
She sighs, and says: "I sent you a picture of my boobs with HELLO PRINCE written on them."
He drops his head onto her shoulder. "Thank the goddess it's you."
She pats him on the cheek. "You're a fool, but I suppose I have no right to judge. I need you to do something for me, Winter Prince."
"Anything. Anything, Blue Rose."
"I want you to confess to that crush of yours. Stop trying to decide how your friend should feel and just talk to her. Or Goddess help me I will turn your throne all the way up and just watch the inevitable."
"I ..." He pauses, trapped emotionally as well as physically now.
(He will not later be able to say why the scent of orange is the detail that finally breaks through, as opposed to her voice, but all that matters is that something does.)
He speaks, haltingly. "Marianne, I like you. I don't just mean that as a friend. All I want is to put my arms around you and, well, a lot more than that. Your friendship is one of the best things in my life, and I've been afraid that we wouldn't be able to go back to friendship if you weren't interested. But now I think I've been wrong about everything."
"Good," she says. "Tell her just like that."
He shakes his head. "No, Marianne. Listen to me."
There is a long, uncomfortable pause, and a quiet, "Oh my. How ... how long have you known?"
"About thirty seconds."
There's another long pause, and then she laughs, and it is so clearly Marianne's laugh now that he knows. "I guess ... we have a lot to talk about later. But I've won a very rare prize and I want to make use of it. Hush now, Dimitri. Let me take care of you."
"But Marianne, I -"
"Do you want me to touch you?"
"More than anything."
"Then hush." She tugs the gag up and pushes it back in his mouth. He makes a questioning noise. "No, I know you. You're going to work yourself into some kind of angst spiral. No talking."
She doesn't touch him for a moment and he's left wondering what's coming. Then he feels vibration as the chair activates. The dildo thrusts deep, he grunts, his back stiffens -
"Too much?" she asks, and he nods, rapidly. The machine slows down until it's something approximating a gentle roll. "Better?"
He nods, slower this time, with a distorted, "Uh-huh."
"Sorry. Everyone else got to play with the remote and I wanted to as well. But I do want you to enjoy this."
She kisses his neck again, moves down to his chest, and starts playing her fingers over his nipples. He groans at the sensation. It's so good but so strange having her perched over him while he's being fucked. All this time, all these months, he's spent alone. Watched, maybe, but untouched. She is so warm. So solid and real. He's afraid for a moment that he's going to cry and she'll think it's from sadness.
"You're always so worried about everything. And of course you are. But I wish you'd let me help you more. Just ... relax and let me take care of you."
She sits back down, and oh, she isn't wearing underwear. He didn't realize. She rolls her hips forward and rubs her body against him. Rubs her length against his. He flexes the tiny amount he can move, trying to match her. Finally, they're in the same place and he doesn't have to imagine what she must feel like. She squeezes his thighs with hers. Her legs are strong, from a lifetime of horseback riding lessons. He sighs, and hopes she can tell how happy he is.
There's a clicking sound that must be something being opened.
"Of course I'd be lying if I pretended I weren't dying to touch you. You don't know how turned on I've been all night watching you tied up like this. Watching everyone else play with my prince."
The possessiveness in her voice makes something burn hot and bright within Dimitri. He's stopped fighting against the cuffs. He's Marianne's now, and all he wants is to feel whatever she's going to do next.
Something clatters to the ground. "Eh. Oh well. They'll have to clean anyway." The skirt is pushed aside, fabric brushing over his stomach, and slick hands spread lube over both of them. Dimitri shivers.
Quietly, Marianne says, "Ha. I guess I do need both hands, in the end."
She holds both of their cocks together, and Dimitri groans as she starts sliding her hands up and down. She's gentle at first, but that lasts only a few seconds before she speeds up. She's seeking her own pleasure as much as his, bucking her hips and pushing herself closer to him.
Her words are clipped and breathy when she next speaks. "You don't - you don't know how much I've dreamed of touching you. I've been so close to just bursting into your room and telling you to take your pants off. Or just texting you and saying come downstairs, it's me, it's me - ah - ah -"
Nothing matters except that she's here with him. Maybe the audience is still there. Who knows. Who cares.
He hears her breaths, quiet, pretty gasps and hitched noises. He's never heard her. All this time and he's never actually gotten to hear her coming undone. And he still can't see her. Fuck. Why did he insist on being blindfolded?
He doesn't have the mind to really be upset, though. The machine is still going, albeit slowly, and between it, Marianne's hands, and the wildly lewd noises she is making he is having to hold himself back from an orgasm he absolutely did not think his body had left in it .
Marianne cries, "Goddess. Oh -" and cuts off. Her hands slip. Her motions stutter. The gasps turn to a moan and he thinks he could not be more in love. she rocks and shakes and collapses into him, whispering his name into his chest.
And then he's gone, too, lost in pleasure, breath torn away. He sees sparks behind his closed eyelids, stars in the darkness, fireworks at the end of the festival, snowflakes tossed in a storm at night.
============
He must pass out, or something like it, because the next thing he remembers clearly is the mask being lifted and Yuri's concerned face looking down at him. Dimitri blinks up at him, and Yuri breaks out in a smile.
"You made it. You're done."
Everything is starting to hurt, now that he's coming back to awareness. His joints are sore and his wrists feel raw. His bones hurt. His jaw aches, although the gag's finally gone - he's going to burn it if he ever sees it again. His midsection is starting to register a number of complaints, and he doesn't want to think about trying to walk. He is also utterly, helplessly exhausted.
Thankfully, he seems to be lying down. He's on the floor, head and shoulders in Yuri's lap. His robe's been thrown over his body. Yuri rubs Dimitri's jaw, and he leans into the touch.
"How do you feel?" Yuri asks.
"Terrible," Dimitri says, weakly.
Yuri nods and pets his hair. His scalp doesn't hurt. That's something. "I'm not surprised. It's a long night, Your Majesty."
"Don't mock me. I'm ... I'm cold." He is suddenly freezing.
A blanket lands on him with a soft foomph and Mercedes appears in his vision. "That's to be expected. Rest here for a few minutes and we'll get you upstairs to bed."
Bed, yeah. Laying on something flat and soft and never moving again ... "No! Wait. Where's Marianne? I have to see her."
Yuri doesn't pretend ignorance. "Everybody's gone home to their lives. She's wherever she is. Your dorm or whatever, I assume."
"Let me up," says Dimitri, struggling and mostly failing to move. "I need to go home."
Mercedes puts a hand on his shoulder and says, firmly, "You should stay the night and rest. You'll feel better in the morning."
Dimitri pushes her hand off. "No! I have to go home! At least ... at least let me go home and die in my own bed." Somehow he's afraid if he sleeps in this place he'll wake up and find a hundred years have passed.
"Oh dear. You're not going to die, Dimitri."
"Shh, shh," says Yuri, continuing to pet him. "Let me handle this."
Yuri convinces her. Yuri doesn't lose arguments, Dimitri has learned, and this is no exception. They talk in hushed, harsh tones, but the conversation ends with a final: "You know it has to be his choice to return or not. Fix him so I can send him home."
"Suit yourself, Yuri," Mercedes says, clipped. She flips up the blanket and robe, puts both of her hands on Dimitri's stomach, and there is a light. And ... Dimitri doesn't feel any less tired but he stops aching. He feels a thousand times better, instantly.
Sure, sure, of course. The house is too easy to get lost in and there are secret twins and he keeps hearing voices that sound familiar, and he went to high school with an Annette Dominic - it might as well actually be magic.
"What are you doing?" snaps Yuri.
Mercedes smiles at him, sweetly, and now that it's not pointed directly at Dimitri, he can see the way it's a weapon. "I'm letting him make his own decisions. He won't be content to stay away, and I want him to understand that we can keep him safe."
"You know the Winter Prince doesn't always return," Yuri says, carefully.
Mercedes crosses her arms. "And you know this one will."
No, no, stop talking about me like I'm not here. "I need ... I need to take a shower," Dimitri says. He gets into a sitting position, more by force of will than anything else.
"All right," says Mercedes. "I'll go make you a cup of tea so you have something warm to drink when you come out."
"I don't take milk in my tea!" bursts out of Dimitri suddenly. He's too tired to be anything but brutally honest. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I've never said anything. I don't even drink black tea."
Mercedes looks suddenly stricken by a terrible affliction, and Dimitri turns to see that it's being caused by Yuri's murderous expression. "You know how he takes his tea. The tea. Of course it was the damn tea. What have you done to him?"
Mercedes straightens, her expression turning cold. "Do you know how many of them I used to have to try before I could turn one over to you? All that time I spend carefully shepherding them down empty hallways, stripping pictures out of their messages, begging the House to stop popping them into the reception desk? They see one wrong face - sometimes their own, and sometimes a friend's - and they panic, and they're gone."
She shrugs. "So I simply requested he find me first, should he end up in that situation."
Yuri is shaking. "Go away, before I decide it is worth enduring Byleth's wrath."
"You know I'm right. But suit yourself, Yuri. And Dimitri - since Byleth's not here right now it falls to me to say that the doors are always open to you, whenever it is that you're ready to return. Don't hurt yourself on the way home."
Yuri doesn't exhale until she's gone, and then he laughs humorlessly. "Come on. I'll help you get to the shower and dress and I'll get you a transport home."
============
He spends the car ride thinking about details. Marianne's island is covered in blue roses. She made a unicorn shirt for her avatar. She told him to ask her out. She had the voice he expected. He looks back through his message history. Yes, there. She called him by name once, and he didn't even notice. Maybe she didn't either.
Eventually, he gets home and stumbles through the front door. He sighs at the staircase. Maybe he can just crash on a couch. He glances around and sees Marianne laying on the floor of the piano room, staring up at the fake stars.
She is wearing the dress, The Dress, the one she made with his birthday present. The skirt's ridden up over her knees and fanned out around her. Her hair is decorated with roses, pinned up in a crown, dark blue against the bright sky of her hair. She looks like a goddess in a spring breeze.
He kneels next to her, and she gives him a sad smile. He frowns, then lays down and puts his arm over her waist.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"For what? What are you sorry for? I -"
"Because I didn't know it was you. I didn't know it was you, Marianne. And I don't understand how I didn't see it. I'm such an idiot."
Marianne speaks, slowly at first but speeding up as she talks, her voice gaining a squeaking edge. "I ... did think the first message was fairly obvious. For a while I - um, this is embarrassing, but I thought you did know and we just weren't talking about it because it was weird. And then I realized you didn't know. And then for a while I was giving hints and they felt so obvious to me but you didn't react. And at some point I thought, 'He's going to think I'm mocking him when he figures it out.' And - and then I was I was just trying to enjoy it while it lasted but I'm so sorry this was so sketchy of me!" She throws an arm over her eyes.
Dimitri isn't sure he's awake enough to feel emotions, but he says, "I wish you'd told me."
Marianne nods. "I'm sorry." She moves her arm and turns to look at him. "I didn't go looking for it, I swear. I was shopping and I found your reviews and I watched like three of them before I made the connection and then - oh Goddess, you must be so angry. I -"
She sits up, folds her legs like she's going to stand, but Dimitri puts a finger over her lips. "Please don't leave. I think, when I am not so tired, that I will feel some anger about this. But ... mostly because we could have kissed sooner than tonight."
He moves his hand to her cheek and draws her closer. He kisses her, very gently, and then says, "I need to sleep. I really wish I didn't need to right now, but I can barely move. Let's find someplace more comfortable than the floor, and we can talk in the morning. I'll quit my job and we can figure out where we go from there."
She frowns at him, confused. "Why do you need to quit? Didn't you just debut?"
What? "Well, I have a girlfriend now. Er, I hope."
"Sure, but why would that mean you have to quit? I thought you loved the job."
"Well, yes, but - this is also a topic for later."
As she helps him limp up the stairs, a thought strikes him. "How many tickets did you have to buy?"
She gives a small laugh. "Actually ... one. After we walked around the House and saw what it really was, I just knew. You were my Dimitri and it didn't matter how many tickets I bought. Claude bought like three dozen, though."
Oh, Claude. The memory of his monologue comes crashing back to Dimitri. Marianne must see his face, because she says, "Right. Claude says he didn't mean anything he said, and he's definitely staying with Hilda tonight, and if you're too creeped out he'll move, and he's sorry he got caught up in the moment."
Dimitri raises an eyebrow. "He meant it."
"Yeah, after that he said, 'But let me know if he seems interested.' And then, 'Uh, but obviously you have dibs.'"
"Ok. Sure. Wait, what did you mean by 'what the house really is'?"
"Oh, um, that's probably also a topic for tomorrow."
He sleeps like a rock, even though they're crammed together in a too-small bed. He'd sleep well anywhere, with Marianne in his arms.
============
There are negotiations, carried out over a number of months. Mostly Marianne leads them, though with input from Dimitri, of course.
Their primary condition is never seeing Mercedes again. But there are other things they care about as well.
The House has long had precedent for people working on an occasional basis. When he thinks about it, Dimitri concludes that he likes getting a break from his life, but not a permanent one. He does still want to make a future for himself.
(He also concludes that the job has not really been about the money for a long time, but this is news to no one except him.)
There is also a less common precedent for paired workers, and this is the bit that makes things work for Dimitri and Marianne. There are people who lie under the direct supervision - or perhaps guardianship? - of another. As such:
"I know it's been a while, darlings. You've all been so hungry and lonely. The birds are singing and the grass is growing, but what about you? Where is your precious prince? Did he really die to make the flowers bloom?
"I've been reading all the messages you've sent. The prince is so flattered by how much you care. Aren't you, Prince?"
Dimitri flutters his eyes open. He makes a questioning noise up towards his captor.
Marianne smiles down at him. Her mask is full of roses, although not all blue - there are a few in purple and gold for accents. The front of her hair is braided back, but some falls loose over and behind her shoulders.
She is shirtless, but with blue tape over her nipples. The tape might or might not come off, depending on her mood. Dimitri suspects today will just be about showing him off.
He is naked, save for the spring-green cord wound around his torso, binding his arms behind his back. (Yuri had tied it, but said Marianne wouldn't need too much more practice. Marianne had decorated it, tucking little flowers in between the loops.) His ankles are also bound, though she's likely to untie those eventually.
And, of course, there's the mask, which now has a few tiny fabric flowers glued to it. They haven't figured out who he's becoming yet. They've met with the scenario designer (Dimitri thought it sounded like Ashe's dream job and found he was correct) but nothing was firm. No rush. They'd come back - he'd come back - because they'd wanted to.
"Are you awake now? Did you have a good rest?" He nods, and tries to say yes as well as he can through the gag. "You've drooled in your sleep," she says, swiping below his mouth with her thumb.
"Sit up and let your audience see what I've done with you."
It's difficult for him to get up on his own, so she slips her hand under the rope on his chest and helps pull him up. She kisses him on the forehead, and he sighs happily.
She crawls behind him, the lace overlayer of her skirt rubbing against his hip. The skirt is, naturally, also blue, though the lace is black. the stockings are striped, blue and purple to match the mask. they come up over the knee and there is a perfect window of thigh between their tops and the edge of the skirt.
She is absolutely gorgeous. She is gorgeous no matter what she wears but this outfit is honed to destroy him. He knows somehow he owes Hilda for this, but that's a problem to solve later.
She pulls him back into her chest, one hand on his throat to tip his face up. She speaks over his shoulder to the camera.
"Look how pretty he is." She drags a fingernail down the side of his face and he shivers and moans into the gag. He is not acting. "He's here only for my pleasure but I'm going to let you watch."
She pinches one of his nipples and he stifles a laugh. "Oh hush. Do you want me to show them what you look like when you're tickled?" He shakes his head.
She returns to talking into the camera. "Let me tell you he was well worth the price. All that time he spent stuffing himself full of toys for you? He was so perfect for me. Do you think to rescue him? To get your old prince back? Hm, I don't think he exists anymore.
"Let me show you what I've done to him, and what I'm going to do to him. See this rope? I had to keep him tied up a lot at first but now it's just how he sleeps."
She puts her hand on his cock. "Some parts of him are unchanged." She gives him a slow stroke, up and down, and he focuses on his breathing to keep himself silent.
"And this ... she draws her hand in a small circle around the gag. Instead of a simple ball, there's - well, there's a simple ball with a silicone rose attached to the front, so that it looks like the flower's blossoming out of his mouth.
Royal blue. That's the shade, for the rose and the skirt. Royal blue for a prince, even if he's a fallen one.
"I know you must miss his voice, but I have better uses for his mouth and I prefer to keep him occupied." She kisses his cheek. "That's what you're good for, isn't it?" He closes his eyes and nods again.
Marianne has taken to this like she was born to it. May her father never discover how she chooses to practice her speaking skills. (Although one of her conditions was that nothing they make be available to anyone from home, so it should be fine.)
She pushes him forward onto the bed, face down. "Ass up, Prince. Spread your knees." He struggles himself into position.
She pats the curve of his ass. "You may recognize -" He groans as she pulls out the toy stretching him open. She holds it up. It's two shades of blue, twisted like a unicorn horn. "You may recognize this. I appreciated the offering but we've grown beyond it, haven't we, Prince?" He mumbles an affirmative. "And you're not really fit for unicorns anymore." She tosses it over her shoulder and off the bed. Yuri presumably winces but Dimitri can't actually see.
Now he's on to better and bigger things. That's the phrase, right?
Dimitri is at a bad angle to really see what she's doing, but he knows she had another toy and some lube under a pillow and she must have brought them out.
Oh, this one. Of course. He's seen it before. Felt it before. Marianne has absolutely used it to leave him shaking and spent, hand over his mouth to keep their housemates from hearing him. It was a gift from Byleth, custom-crafted, glass, clear with a rosebud and stem surrounded by snowflakes on the inside.
"Isn't it beautiful? He makes the most beautiful sounds when I'm thrusting it inside of him." He feels the smooth, cool tip against his entrance and his legs tremble.
"Do you want it?" He nods, as well as he can with his face against the mattress.
"I can't hear you, my prince."
He yells into the gag - Yes, please.
"Of course, Your Highness." There's a slight mockery to her tone, but Dimitri knows that's for the camera.
She's slow. She's torturously slow pushing it into him. It can't be more than thirty seconds but it feels like forever, dragging it in and out, a little further inside each time until it lies full and heavy within him.
She rolls him over, and he groans, already half-lost someplace calm and pleasurable.
"You're going to be good for me, aren't you? I don't want you coming too quickly. You know I like to unwind after a hard day with a long ride."
Dimitri nods, quickly. Maybe he was supposed to be shaking his head. It probably doesn't matter.
"Good, sweet Prince." She is lining up over his cock and he adores her. She has her skirt arranged to hide this from the camera, but he gets to see her, and more importantly, feel her easy slide down onto him. She sighs, and his breath catches.
Then she looks back over her shoulder. "Oh, you're not invited to this," she says, straight into the camera.
There's a tiny click as Yuri stops recording. He leaves the room to get the other camera, the better camera for the more expensive videos. He doesn't have to do this - it would make more sense to have both set up and running - but it's a gift to them, this moment alone with each other.
For a minute they can be Marianne and Dimitri before going back to the Blue Rose and the Winter Prince.
"You're doing ok?" she asks. "Nothing's too tight?" He shakes his head. "Good."
And she moves her hips, and he moans, and he doesn't have to think about anything except how lucky he is and how good it feels to do this together.