Hello lovelies! So, this is a 'side chapter' (fic-canon divergent? fic-of-a-fic?) of the fic I wrote for the UsaMamo spring exchange, Crown Me Nemesis. It takes place (kinda) between their first and interaction. Or something. I trust you to place it wherever you want that makes sense.

If you don't want to read that fic (why not?! is it not good enough for you?!) you just need to know that it's R, Crystal Tokyo, and instead of being encased in crystal NQS was captured and 'turned' by the Black Moon, becoming their queen under Wiseman.

This citrus interlude was requested by a lot of reviewers of the main fic so I did this for you! Please review! Anon if you are shy.

Endymion didn't leave the relative safety of the Crystal Palace often - there wasn't a need, and the bleak ruins of his former kingdom weren't exactly an uplifting view anyway. But something had called to him, in the cool of the evening. Something ancient and undeniable and stronger than he was. He answered like he always did.

His footsteps were the only sound, soft on the brown grass of the dead garden, but he didn't need to hear or see her to know. It was another sense that drew him toward her, around a corner, where she stood. She was fingering the thorny branches of a dead rose bush, bending the brittle stems with an almost thoughtful snap.

Serenity didn't turn to him, but acknowledged his presence just the same - with a slowing of her movements, a purposeful lift of her chin. The chill in the air didn't seem to bother her, although her dress was sleeveless, the white material thin, hugging her waist and hips as always. The black crystal earrings hung from her ears, jarring against the white of her dress, her skin, her hair.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, with curiosity rather than malice. The same first words he'd ever spoken to her, all those eons ago. The words that sent ripples through the cosmos, tearing and retearing the fabric of the universe through the destiny-bending power of this love.

Serenity finally turned, and regarded him with a tilt of her head, her proud stance and confident eyes a far cry from the shy princess who had jumped and blushed and tried again to hide, when he'd confronted her so long ago. "Is this palace not mine?" she asked. "I should be able to come and go as I wish."

"I believe you chose a different home," Endymion said, gesturing vaguely toward where the Black Moon's dark crystal fortress skulked over the Crystal Tokyo landscape. The tightness in his side reminded him of his injury - sitting just below the surface, ready to blind him with pain should he fight the dark energy.

"That doesn't mean I wish to stand by and be usurped," the dark queen said, voice dangerously cold.

He stepped closer to her. "Is that what you consider me? A usurper?"

She didn't answer, and she didn't back away as he came closer.

"Because I remember it a bit differently," Endymion continued. He lifted his hand to brush her cheek, and she caught it - tightly squeezing his fingers together in her cool hand.

"Never touch me," she hissed, "without permission." Serenity threw his hand down, furious. The pain seared in his side.

He didn't stumble, however. The energy around Serenity crackled but she didn't lash out, didn't disappear in a swirl of angry smoke. Her brows were knitted and her eyes wary, perplexed. However she'd expected this to go, Endymion guessed, this wasn't it.

He swallowed. "Then," he said, with a genteel dip of his head, "may I have permission?"

This was, he knew, utterly ill-advised and not at all a logical course of action. Not to mention, if Serenity didn't kill him, he was certain Sailor Pluto would, for being so irresponsible.

But a small, sadistic part of him couldn't stop riling Serenity up, as dangerous as it was to do so. When she was annoyed, almost shocked at the audacity of his actions, the anger in her eyes flashed from dark, evil malice to something almost familiar. It made him reckless. Heady. He could never resist her.

The dark queen eyed him suspiciously, one pale hand brushing a lock of silver hair off one exposed shoulder, and he didn't hide the way his eyes followed the movement of her fingertips on her skin. "Why?" she finally asked, hand on her hip, stance defiant and expectant and almost … just for the briefest of moments, Endymion almost glimpsed… hope? Perhaps he was projecting.

"Oh, I should think the reason is pretty clear," he said, closing the scant distance between with one purposeful step, his face so close to hers he could feel her breath against his lips.

He hovered a hand just centimeters from her waist. Waiting.

Her jaw worked slightly beneath those perfect lips. Then, her hand spidered over his, pressing his palm down against her hip, and he shut his eyes, sighed, as his hand ran down over the fabric of her dress, along the curve of her hip, pulling her closer still.

"Did you forget I'm the enemy?" she countered, letting the pad of a finger brush against one of the medals decorating his formal jacket.

"Has that stopped us before?" he breathed, and she nearly scowled, her hand flattening against his chest, as if to push him away.

But instead her hand fisted in the fabric and she pulled, so it was more a stumble, of a submission, when his lips fell upon hers.

Her hand curled around the back of his neck, controlling, possessive. Her kiss was forceful, angry - all open lips and press of tongue, click of teeth, bruising of tender skin.

He matched her energy, kissing her back just as hard, gripping her bottom and pushing her into him with such strength that the wound in his side screamed for a moment. It was quickly drowned out by the distraction that was Serenity's mouth moving down his neck, ripping the buttons of his shirt open as she went, mouth hot and sharp and nipping and sucking and marking him. Hers. Hers always and no matter what.

The world would burn while he melted beneath her touch.

"You want me," she said, pulling away slightly, all cool suggestiveness.

Endymion moisted his lips, steadying his breath, in a half-ripped shirt and messed hair, bulge growing against the fabric of his pants. "Want is far too mild of a word, my dear."

With flawless grace, she slowly tossed her hair over her shoulder, took a step back and sat on a broken column, leaning back against what remained of a sculpture of dancing lovers. The last of the daylight caught her black earrings, skimmed along her shoulder. "Then prove it," she said, with a crook of her finger.

And then he was standing over her, hands braced on the stone behind her, face to face. "I don't trust you," he admitted, and she smirked up at him.

"Nor should you," she agreed, raising her lips to him. But he didn't kiss her.

Instead, he lowered his head, just barely brushing his lips along her collarbone, the swell of one silk-covered breast, her belly, until he finally knelt before her. It was second nature, the zip and pull of her dress fabric tumbling down her body, the creamy flesh of her thighs, the ends of her hair falling over his shoulder as he slipped between her legs.

He took his time, letting himself luxuriate in the soft skin of her inner thighs, tracing his mouth from the side of her knee all the way up to the sensitive, sensitive parting of her legs. Then, with a gentle exhale, he moved to the other leg, tasting and teasing her with his lips to her other knee. Meanwhile, his fingers composed sonnets, designed universes, drew masterpieces along the sensitive, delicate skin of her thighs and belly.

Each brush of his fingers and dart of his tongue caused almost imperceptible, involuntary hitches of her muscles, skips in her breathing. His fingers flexed into her flesh and she sucked in her breath through her teeth, hands fisting into his hair when he finally began to taste her. His tongue swirled along her folds, his lips humming against the sensitive area near her clit, and she was still that soft, salty-sweet, wet-sugarpop taste against his mouth, the sudden gasps from her throat the same as when she was an innocent princess, a precocious school girl, whether in the heat of that first summer pressed against the sofa cushions in his first apartment, or the exhilarating rooftop after a battle, or the four poster bed in the royal chamber, she'd always responded to the gentle suction on her clit, the daring scrape of his teeth, the deep, eager delving of his tongue into her.

In this moment, her fingers twined in his hair, her stomach hitching with each wave of pleasure - and him on his knees in front of her, vision obscured by her dress, her hair, the enticing view of her, opening for him, there was no chance to be wary, to avoid being caught off guard. But if he died now, surrounded by the taste of arousal and saltsweet sweat and her shaking legs and half-swallowed moans… it could almost be worth it. She was so close and he worked her hard, sucking and licking and touching... he wanted to hear her scream his name, to break the veneer of poise and bring her, sweaty, shaking, begging, to blinding orgasm.

Then it was her nails against his scalp, pulling his head back and away from her, the rush of air cold against his wet lips. She met his eyes, warningly, between the heaving of her chest.

Both hands against his ruined shirt, she pushed him down against the cold ground, straddling him, flipping her hair back behind her shoulders with one graceful shake of her head. Long, cool fingers wrapped around his wrists, pulling his hands up over his head and she leaned down, mouth to his ear, shifting her hips so his hard-on felt her wet heat through the fabric.

"Now then, pretender to the White Throne," she said, "can you really make me scream?" Her teeth nipped his earlobe, tongue slipping hot hot hot against his ear.

And then she straightened, flexing her thighs around his hips to keep herself steady, as she slowly, sensually pulled the fabric of her dress down to her waist, before carefully, deliberately, unbuttoning his pants.

His hands, now freed, greedily reached to touch, curving his hands around her breasts, thumbs circling nipples, strands of her hair sliding between his palms and her flesh.

Serenity had skillfully freed him from the constraints of pants, a bracing shudder running through his body when the cold air hit his straining hard-on. He watched her through glassy eyes as she curved herself over him, nails scratching down his exposed chest and mouth just inches from his.

He fought the desperate urge to buck his hips up, into her, to feel the slick heat of her as she positioned herself so, so, so, achingly, desperately close, barely brushing his tip.

But no. She was waiting, and so he did, too. Held his breath.

"I could kill you, you know," she said, looking down at him with intense burning eyes, waves of silver hair tumbling over her bare chest, the black moon between her raised brows startling against pale skin.

She brushed herself against him again, his arousal throbbing at the aching nearness, hips rolling forward despite himself. He curled his hands around her wrists, shuddering with want. "I would let you," he breathed.

And then she took him into her, rolling her body forward. And then he was finally inside her, her slick heat surrounding him, roiling waves of blinding desire… She knew just how to move her body, to clench and undulate around him to drive him mad.

Her movements were sensual, controlled, poised to pull an orgasm out of him before he could reach her, before he could affect her the way he wanted to. And she was good.

But so was he.

Endymion half sat up toward her, moving his body toward and with her, her eyes meeting his with half-surprise. With deliberate, languid movements, he lowered his mouth to her neck, running his tongue along her pulse points, sucking gently on her collarbone, worshipping all the small and secret places he knew, following her body like a memorized treasure map. He let one hand fall to where their bodies met, moved this thumb and forefinger to right above where he thrust, filling her, teasing her, drawing her pleasure out.

She gasped, jaw clenching and hands tightening on his shoulders. And soon her movements were less controlled, less purposeful, rocking against him with rapid breathlessness. Endymion matched her pace, aching with desire as she writhed her body around him, nails on his chest and gasps on her lips and he kept going, hands, lips, every movement, every touch designed to make her come apart in a shattering of pleasure.

Serenity tried to swallow her cries, to shake her head against the waves of undeniable ecstasy, to fight the fall over the edge. But he was relentless in his touch, and she ended up screaming into his shoulder, her teeth pressing to his skin, the sharp pain of the bite igniting into his veins, so he came with the shuddering, shaking, violent release only seconds after her.

She collapsed against him, sweaty hair and soft damp skin and gasping breaths and Endymion felt himself slowly unwind inside, softening. He went to wrap his arms around her, but she sat up, brushed hair off her face in one fluid, confident movement.

"I suppose you do have some talents," she acquiesced, the wall back up behind her eyes.

He reached up, grabbed her chin with one large hand, gently tugged her down to his lips.

"Please know I love you…," he murmured against her skin. She pulled back, her eyes a warning, her lips a twist of a 'tsk'.

"Oh, darling." The words curled out of her like ribbons of ice. Serenity leaned back down over him, putting her lips right to his ear, plush-soft and wet-hot. "Loving the feel of your dick inside me doesn't mean you love me."

He struggled to sit up, as she pushed herself away and off of him. "No," he managed, his body weak with shudders he knew couldn't just be afterglow. The pain in his side pulstated blindingly as he reached out for her and met nothing but cold air.

She was gone, leaving nothing but the scent of her hair, the taste of her still on his tongue.