pre_raphaelite1 (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} pre_raphaelite1) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} daily_deviant,@ 2008-04-19 23:06:00 |
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| Entry tags: | *fic, 2008-04, character: minerva, character: tom, content: bondage, content: breathplay, theme: salirophilia |
FIC: "We Cannot All Be Masters" (Tom/Minerva, NC-17)
Title: "We Cannot All Be Masters"
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Characters: Tom/Minerva
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bondage, breathplay, dacryphilia (arousal by tears)
Themes/kinks chosen: Salirophilia (arousal by salty body fluids)
Word Count: 1345
Summary: He licks lightly along the top of her cheekbone, tongue sliding over damp skin. His moan is pure pleasure, savouring the taste of the wetness that he drew from her.
Author's notes: Written for zevazo who rocks with a title taken from a quote by Iago in Othello: "We cannot all be masters, nor all masters/ Cannot truly be follow'd." And written while on an air mattress surrounded by cackling maniacs: (ie LJ's Sopdetly, marilla82, withsteve, theemdash, and LJ's Corbylea).
She should be studying; exams were only a week away now, inexorably rushing closer at lightning speed. But this knowledge (if voice out loud) would lonely earn her a raised eyebrow and considerable consternation for the very idea that she, Minerva McGonagall, needed to study for anything. And maybe Tom would be right, but it was the principle of the matter: the principle that study should come before sex. And yet here she is, naked, stretched out on a bed draped in scarlet, her pale limbs taut from the pull of the ropes pulling at wrists and ankles.
He drifts beside her, darkness gliding in near silence, looking, always looking. Her nipples grow hard at the soft breeze his passing created, and her cunt grows slick from the intensity of his gaze.
“I've been reading that book from Slughorn, Minerva. Do you know the things that are written down about magic? The things that no one teaches us?”
Her brows knit, debating whether or not this is a rhetorical question, but the silence continues as he just looks at her so she answers. “There's only so much they can teach us at school, Tom.”
“Mm, yes but they are so selective. They choose what is appropriate for us to learn. And what to lock away from us- metaphorically and literally.” His wand is in his hand now, as it often is as he thinks, gripped tightly as if it would disappear, as if someone is waiting to rip it out of his hand.
She shakes her head lightly, but he's not really paying attention, lost in thought, so she writhes shamelessly in her bonds, trying to draw his attention back to the fact she is naked and wanting him. He chuckles softly, lips quirking as he looks over her once more. “Do you think I'd forgotten, Minerva? That you are here for me?”
Minerva's eyes spark wickedly and she smiles slowly up at him, arching her back so her breasts jut up in invitation to him. “I was beginning to worry, yes. I know how intent you get on such subjects. I was expecting Salazar Slytherin was going to be joining us before much longer.”
He sweeps his hand along her cheek, thumb brushing over her lips. “I would not share you, even with him unle-”
But he breaks off with as her lips part and she sucks his thumb eagerly into her mouth, pulling it in deep pulses. He smiles again, dark eyes on her green ones, hot and penetrating. She holds the gaze, seeing the beautiful depth of his eyes, shivering in the hunger and power she can feel from them. Minerva could, would lose herself in Tom's eyes. There was something so palpable, so arousing to be like this, to be naked and exposed to him, to watch him watching her. His upper lip twitching slightly as he seems to fight a smile and her chin lifting up, showing off the long column of her throat. Warmth washed through her, pleasure and anticipation twisting together.
He presses his thumb as deep into Minerva's mouth as he can then pulls it back to rub over her lips, wetting them with her own saliva.
When he speaks again, his voice is lower, a soft rippling purr. “Such things we can do together, Minerva. Magic in our blood.... Nothing will be kept from us. The world will bend to us, and I will show you more than you have ever even imagined.”
His hand trails down to caress her throat and she moans quietly. “Yes. Please, Tom.”
“Please what?”
“Touch me.”
“I am touching you, Minerva.” His voice is neutral, unwavering in tone, as his fingers brush up and down her throat steadily.
“More.”
“How?”
“Any way you want. Just touch me, Tom. I want you.”
His hand pauses. “Any way I want?”
She knows the implication, knows the risk- and it makes her grow wetter. “Aye.”
Her gaze meets his again then her eyes go wide when his hand abruptly tightens around her throat, squeezing tightly, cutting off her ability to breathe. He doesn't look away, doesn't flinch as he stares at her even when she starts to twist under him, body tugging in vain against the restraints until the flesh of her wrists and ankles turns white with the pressure of it. Tears begin to fill her eyes as her head starts to pound with violent fury. Tom's lips curve into a smile then after another agonizing moment in which Minerva's eyelids start to flutter over constricting pupils, he releases his grip on her throat. She sucks in a wheezing breath, then another and another before she has enough air to start coughing, tears streaking down her cheeks as her breasts heave.
“Oh if you could see how you look now, Minerva. So beautiful for me.” He bends down to her, brushing a gentle kiss over her forehead. His lips travel down over one eyelid, and she exhales quietly under his soft lips. He licks lightly along the top of her cheekbone, tongue sliding over damp skin. His moan is pure pleasure, savouring the taste of the wetness that he drew from her.
“Tom...,” she breathes out.
He sweeps one hand down her chest, barely touching her nipple then down her stomach to the snake tattoo curving along her left hip bone. She gasps as the snake writhes under his finger, heat rippling just under her skin as it moves. When his hand moves to her cunt, quickly slicking with evidence of her arousal; she lifts her hips to him with a shameless moan. His fingers find her clit, immediately rubbing over the throbbing nub. She rocks to him eagerly- he's touching her firmly and directly, never hesitant and not teasing tonight. Tom kisses over the bridge of her nose to the other side of her face where he resumes licking up the tears which cling to her cheek. She can feel his breath growing faster so she was not surprised when he raises up from her and kneels on the bed next to her.
Tom undoes his flies with one hand, spreading them open as he continues to rapidly circle her clit. She starts to have trouble focusing on what he's doing as her body starts to demand, starts to need. Her skin feels tighter, her body so much more than what it's held in, straining and pressing and pushing outward. She can't stay still, can't open her eyes to see what he's doing with his other hand, unable to even think or understand. She exists as potential: burning, twisting potential. There's sound above her, deep tones that make her skin prickle and quiver. Heavy fluid splatters over her stomach and hips, liquid drops of heat, and then potential flashes abruptly into being and she screams with the intensity of sensations- pleasure seeming to explode between her thighs, low in her belly, behind her eyes until it's all she is and she lets it carry her away.
~*~
“Minerva.”
“Minerva.”
She groans quietly and murmurs, “It's too early.”
“It's nearly ten, my love.”
Her eyes snap open. “Ten? I'm late for quidditch?”
Tom laughs softly, his hand stroking over her hair. “No. Ten at night. You are, however, almost late for your final rounds.”
Minerva frowns as she finally takes stock of where she is: on a bed, with Tom, both covered in a soft green blanket, her wrists and ankles unbound.. Her hand raises up to her throat which feels tender and slightly raw.
Tom smiles at her, dark eyes sparkling in amusement. “You'll want to wear a scarf, Miss McGonagall. Or someone may get the wrong idea.”
Minerva laughs and curls over on top of Tom, one arm and one leg draping over him. “Damn 'someone else'. It's none of their business.”
“Not going on rounds?” he asks.
“Rounds can wait. I'm yours for a bit longer.”
“You'll always be mine, Minerva McGoangall.”
Minerva smiles contentedly, “Aye. I will be.”
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