aphcardverse-week - Tumblr blog

aphcardverse-week · 2 months

Text

trick cards

For @aphcardverse-week's Day 7: Don't Tell Me 'Cause It Hurts | torn apart | heartbreak | "It was supposed to be you."

England/Canada, America/England | 3k words | warnings: noncon, domestic violence, major character death, NSFT

Summary:

After a heated disagreement between King Alfred and Queen Arthur, the queen decides to end things once and for all. But Arthur isn't the only one in the castle with a trick up his sleeve, and he may be the one playing the fool in the end.

Can be read on the Archive of Our Own or underneath the Readmore:

"I just feel bad about it, you know?" Matthew said, his voice hushed as he met his brother in the hallway outside the royal bedchamber.

The sun was rising outside, visible through the huge windows at the ends of the hall. The bright yellow rays turning everything in their path warm and golden, making the moment feel strangely poignant.

Alfred was paying little attention to the sunshine and even less to his brother's worries. If he didn't get his ass into that bedroom soon, then Arthur might get clued into their little game. Alfred had plenty of criticisms he could lay at the Queen's feet, but being stupid wasn't one of them. Arthur was dangerously sharp.

"That's great Mattie, I'll talk to you about it later," Alfred said absentmindedly, pushing past his brother and into the royal bedroom.

The door closed behind him. Matthew, now shut out alone in the hallway, sighed. Alfred had told him the same thing the last twelve times he'd brought it up. And kept conveniently forgetting to follow through.

****

It was deceitful. It was dishonest. It was scummy, sleazy, and outright wrong. There was no moral excuse for it. But it was damned convenient, Alfred thought.

Due to the little scheme they'd worked out, Alfred didn't have to sacrifice himself on the altar that was the royal marital bed, and his little brother Matthew got to ardently embrace the Queen he practically worshiped. And hey, even Arthur got something out of it—a good dicking.

It was a win-win all around.

And it might have gone on like that for a very long time, if not for one inconvenient stroke of fate.

****

War had been brewing between Diamonds' Kingdom and Hearts' Kingdom for ages now, and everyone in the four kingdoms knew the tension would be broken soon. The only question now on people's minds was, what would Spades Kingdom and Clubs Kingdom do? How much aid would they give, how many soldiers sent to the field?

It was an answer even the King and Queen of Spades couldn't answer. They'd been fighting bitterly about it for weeks.

"You want to sit back and do nothing while Diamonds' is ground to dust? And you call me cold?" Arthur hisses.

He's off his throne, pacing back and forth on the dais they usually make judgments from. The daily petitions are over, the only ones present now are the royal couple and Yao, the Jack of Spades.

Alfred rolls his eyes at the Queen. "I'm just saying, this is a chance for us to get ahead. We can make a killing off this war, without any risk, if we stick to selling supplies—"

"I personally promised Queen Lili our aid—we signed a mutual protection pact—" Arthur argues.

"None of that will mean anything once the dust settles," Alfred says, flapping a hand dismissively.

Arthur slaps him, the sound ringing out in the empty throne room. Yao gasps. It's not the first time the royal couple has gotten physical in front of him, but there's usually more provocation, more warning.

Alfred, who usually laughs off a slap or returns it, is holding his hand against his face. Blood is seeping out from under his fingers.

"You cut my face asshole!" Alfred snaps.

"I'm not sorry, you deserved it," Arthur says, although he feels a little bad.

Alfred had moved his face at the last moment, and the big wedding ring on Arthur's finger must have made contact with his flesh.

"You pissy little bitch—" Alfred starts.

"Stop fighting!" Yao orders, "You can discuss this tomorrow—like adults. But now His Majesty's face needs stitched up!"

Arthur harrumphs and walks away. The "tomorrows" in which to talk about this matter are rapidly running out, as is his patience.

****

Arthur walks through the hedge maze after that little dust up, trying to calm himself down. If steam were to spout from his ears, he'd be grateful—it would release some of the pressure from him.

There is no love lost between the King and Queen of Spades.

Arthur tolerates Alfred's annoying, domineering, infuriating ways, because the man can usually be brought into line on the important matters (even if it takes manipulative tactics or hours of Arthur nagging) but Arthur couldn't get him to budge on this matter.

And there were lives on the line, so many lives. Of those in Diamonds, in Clubs, and yes even in Spades, even if Alfred was too dumb to see the risk to them. Can Arthur stand by while so many die because his pigheaded husband won't lift a finger?

He can't. But there's only one surefire way to overcome the obstacle that is King Alfred. Arthur weighs and considers the benefits of Alfred's existence. Can he afford to throw him away? Arthur did rule perfectly well before the King was found and brought to the castle.

Arthur nods to himself, so lost in thought he doesn't even see the vibrant leafy green walls around him. The king is amazing in bed, that's another point in his favor. But that's his only use to Arthur. And Arthur can't betray his allies, sell out all those people, just for a good lay.

No matter how skillfully and worshipfully that blabbering mouth serviced his body...He can find a new lover when the King dies. Maybe the King's brother, Matthew. They can comfort each other in their shared grief. The thought brings a sardonic little smile to Arthur's face.

The next question for Arthur to consider then is: does he have what it takes to do what needs to be done? Will he dare do such a thing?

****

The method Arthur decides on is simple, elegant, painless. The King will have a heart-attack. How sad.

To keep the amount of mana residue in the air low, Arthur will do it when they're close. It'll make cleaning up the evidence of the spell easier.

It's easy enough to get close to King Alfred in a private place with no witnesses; no matter how badly the two fight, he joins Arthur at night to cuddle, fuck, and sleep.

In fact, perversely enough, the pattern is that the King is more physically affectionate and amorous in bed on days they're fighting. And he's usually mercifully silent in the dark. Arthur would have killed him much earlier in their marriage if the idiot brought their throne arguments into the bedroom, or did his usual nonstop running of his mouth, vomiting up every trivial thought in his moronic brain.

This night starts like any other. Arthur retires to bed earlier than Alfred, settling down onto their sinfully soft mattress and waiting for his husband. Alfred usually stays up for awhile longer, getting caught up chatting to some guard or hanging out with his brother, the Ace of Spades Matthew.

Arthur is dozing, half-asleep already when the door to the royal bedchamber cracks open, and Arthur blinks awake at the light shed on his face. Sees his husband's tall lanky body slip through the door and close it, plunging them into darkness once more.

The mattress dips under Alfred's weight, and soon enough he feels strong arms encircling his body, warm lips kissing his throat.

God, he will miss this. He sighs. Might as well enjoy this one last round. Alfred's mouth travels south, trailing kisses down Arthur's body as he moves down to his groin. Arthur's hands find his soft, silken hair and grasp it tight as Alfred takes him into his mouth.

When Arthur is gasping and close and can't take being inside the warmth of Alfred's mouth a moment longer without coming, he forces himself to push Alfred off of him.

After a moment to catch his breath and back off from the edge of orgasm, he takes Alfred by the shoulder and nudges him onto his back.

Pliant, submissive like he never is during daytime (oh, how their problems would be solved if he was like this all the time!), Alfred lets himself be pushed into place.

Arthur straddles him, searches for his cock in the darkness, and finds it, heavy and engorged with blood and pulsing under his fingers.

He lines himself up and slides down, unable to bite back a groan that breaches their careful unspoken agreement of silence—but then, panting and whining and moaning and even the occasional whimper is forgiven.

Arthur never wanted to hear Alfred run his mouth in the peaceful sanctity of their bedroom, but it had surprised Arthur that Alfred didn't want to hear him either—his husband had stilled and seemed oddly upset when Arthur had called out "God yes, Alfred!" during their first time. It hadn't offended Arthur though—he could hardly begrudge Alfred a break from his own voice when he wanted the same of Alfred.

Arthur found it fitting. In this room, they joined in primal acts that were older than human language, and so left aside all the high ideas and clashing of opinions that resulted from two people who did not like each other very much being forced to wed.

Maybe the tacit silence was what allowed their marriage to scrape by for so long.

But now, it's finally coming to an end.

Arthur rides his husband, the pleasure welling up in him as it always does, night after night. When he approaches the edge once more, he stops. He needs to maintain very close contact for a few minutes for this.

He won't be able to allow Alfred his usual pleasure, of pushing the spent Queen onto his back and pounding into him face to face until the king releases his seed.

Arthur leans forward, the king's cock still nestled inside him, and kisses him. Alfred kisses back, slow and gentle, and Arthur is always a little in awe that a buffoon like Alfred has such sweetness and consideration in him. It must be buried deeply, deeply inside, only coming out during these intimate moments.

Arthur's palms splay out on Alfred's broad chest, one directly over his heart. Carefully, he pours magic through his fingers and into Alfred's body.

This spell is tricky, it always is, but it's secretly Arthur's signature spell, and he's used it many times. Being able to stop time, even for a little bit, is too useful for Arthur to stay away from.

Arthur freezes Alfred's heart, and the part of his brain that lets him move his body. Now there is no way the king can thrash or hit Arthur or scream out for help. They both must lay here and count down the seconds until his brain, starved of oxygen, dies.

Waiting is boring, and it occurs to Arthur that he did want one last hurrah with his husband, one last bit of orgasmic bliss granted by the long thick glorious cock that Alfred doesn't deserve to have swinging between his legs at all.

And so he begins to move once more. Alfred is utterly still beneath him, but his cock is still hard and upright. It feels as wonderful inside him as ever as Arthur grinds himself down hard on Alfred's pelvis, moaning. He comes quickly, already so close to the edge, and ropes of semen splatter their bellies and chests, some getting on the hand he keeps locked over Alfred's heart.

He's proud that his hand didn't slip off even once, and the threads of his spell didn't slacken even a little. A few moments later, Alfred dies. Arthur can feel it in the life signature fading beneath him, and in the postmortem spurts of hot semen that erupt from Alfred's cock and bathe Arthur's inner walls.

The deed is done. It's over. Arthur slowly climbs off of Alfred. He won't hear his husband's annoying voice chattering at breakfast in the morning. He won't feel safe in his arms at night. They won't create any more children together, unless this last joining was fruitful.

Arthur doesn't feel remorse or guilt for what he's done, but he does feel sorrow. He wishes it hadn't had to come to this. Why did that idiot have to be so obstinate?

It occurs to him only now that with the timing, he's going to have to lay sleeping next to a corpse all night. Arthur sighs. It won't be the first time, and it may not be the last.

****

In the morning, Arthur makes himself cry and calls for the guards, for help, for anyone! When the first servant rushes in, he’s on his knees next to the bed, clutching the corpse’s icy cold hand and sobbing.

It's a shame he hadn’t take a moment to inspect the body before summoning everyone. Eyes blurry with tears miss a few key differences about the man laying in the bed, that would have prepared him for the upcoming shock—actual shock, not the play-pretend he's putting on for the palace employees.

Arthur freezes when King Alfred bursts through the door, his annoying, nasal crying out, "What's going? What happened to my brother?"

How can King Alfred be there? Arthur rubs the water from his eyes and looks, wide-eyed, at the man standing over the bed with his face twisted in horror.

Shocked sky-blue eyes. Shorter, spikier blonde hair. When Arthur manages to pull himself back to his feet using the bedpost, he looks down on the corpse laying there. Even with the marks of death on the body, Arthur can see the difference. Longer, wavier hair. Purple eyes, staring up at the ceiling now, just as they’d stared up at Arthur in the darkness as he died last night.

Arthur feels like the world is tilting beneath him, and he clings to the bedpost.

"What?" he asks weakly, to no one and everyone.

What the fuck is going on here? How did Matthew get in the bed? What trickery is this?

The healers are trying to revive Matthew, the glow of healing spells uncomfortably bright, but Arthur knows they won't meet with any success. Matthew's been dead for too long. Maybe—maybe if Arthur had summoned them last night.

If he'd known it was Matthew dead and cooling underneath him, he might have called them.

Arthur makes his way over to Alfred, and tugs on his sleeve to get his attention. Alfred's attention is riveted on his brother, watching as Matthew's body jolts as life energy spells are sent coursing through him. Alfred barely glances at Arthur.

"How did—how did Matthew get in our bed?" Arthur asks.

"I'll explain it all to you—later." Alfred mumbles.

There are tears pouring down his face, and Arthur supposes he'll just have to wait. He slips out of the room and heads to the kitchens to grab a bite to eat. It wouldn't look proper, would look too uncaring, if he were to settle down at the royal dining table for breakfast as usual. The King may not be dead, but the death of the courts' Ace, of Arthur's brother-in-law, should be something that ruffles him. He's mostly just confused. But he can nick some food and disappear into the gardens for now. Answers will come later—they always do.

****

They're in Arthur's study, Alfred in an armchair, Arthur on the loveseat adjacent to it.

"I've never slept with you, not even once." Alfred is saying, patient for once.

"But how can that be? We have two children together!" Arthur protests.

"No, you and Matthew have two children together," Alfred explains.

"This whole time you were swapping him into our bed at night?!" Arthur explodes, "You piece of shit—"

"Yeah, I know." Alfred says.

Arthur's never seen him look so defeated. There's none of the usual life, the bright enviable vitality, running through King Alfred now. He looks older than Arthur now, and Arthur is ten years his senior.

"So, all that time, it was Matthew—" Arthur can't help but let out a laugh, a disbelieving one, as if waiting for the true punchline to be revealed.

Matthew, the quiet and meek Court Ace who'd probably exchanged a dozen words with Arthur at the most, despite living in the castle for years.

It was Matthew who'd made tender love to him thousands of times and held him so sweetly in his embrace nearly every night.

Alfred just nods.

"That explains a lot, actually." Arthur murmurs.

What a waste, he thinks. All that time, such a loving and exquisite man existed right under his nose, and now Arthur had lost him because he didn't even know it.

Of course, sleeping with Arthur in such a manner was a rotten deception. Letting Arthur spread his legs for him thinking he was having lawful sex with his own husband, not consanguineous sex with his brother-in-law. But Arthur could forgive him, because he was dead, and because he'd made Arthur come many, many times.

It seemed the swap really had been for the best—until Arthur had stopped Matthew’s heart. Damn, if only Arthur had known the truth! He wouldn't have been that mad at Matthew, and he could have killed the stubborn dumbass he was intending to.

For the first time in his life, Arthur is regretting his ruthlessness.

What will they tell the children? They believed King Alfred to be their father. But they'd always loved dear Uncle Matthew, who doted on them more than their own dad...so many memories were being shifted now, the implications changing now that Arthur had the missing piece of the puzzle.

Of course Matthew had adored Arthur's children—they were his own.

****

"Pretty strange for a man so young to die of heart failure," Alfred says, his gaze cold enough to send chills through a lesser man.

"Yes, it's a shame. I suppose he always did seem a bit sickly though, frail in comparison to you," Arthur replies, unfazed.

When Alfred's intense, piercing stare doesn't ease up, Arthur shifts slightly and says, "Such a pity. I hope the same weakness isn't lurking in your heart too," there's a hard gleam in his emerald eyes.

Alfred holds his breath.

Arthur stands up. Just like that, the moment passes, the tension lessening to something less crushing but not completely gone.

"Come now, we must see Yao about the funeral arrangements. Such a man as Matthew deserves to be sent off in honor," Arthur says.

They leave the study together, united in purpose for once.

Soon it'll be time to make their final goodbyes to the man they both loved more than anyone else in all the four kingdoms.

#day 7 #engcan #hws england #hws canada #hws america #cw noncon #cw domestic violence #cw major character death #(இ﹏இ`｡) noooooooooooooooo poor mattie TT_TT </3

4 notes · View notes