Daily Deviant
- there is no such thing as 'too kinky'
Fic: " Drifting" (Victoire/Angelina Johnson, NC-17) 
19th August 2008 23:02
Title: "Drifting"
Author: [info]pre_raphaelite1
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Victoire Weasley/Angelina Johnson
Warnings/Kinks: Student/teacher, oral sex, fantasy, water sex, breathplay (of a sort)
Themes/Kinks Chosen: Insufflation
Word Count 1065
Summary: It takes Victoire a moment to realize she is underwater. It isn't the colour or the tall stalks of kelp stretching toward the receding ceiling. It isn't even the bubbles rising up from the woman's full lips as she exhales in a breathy groan. It is the gentle movement everything has acquired: a soft ripple of light and motion twined together and elegantly gilded.
Author's Notes: After a couple months' hiatus, I am back. For better or worse. :P But no mucophagy this time. It's even nearly tame for me! Nearly.


“If everyone is prepared, we will begin.”

She sighs into the sight before her. The way the older woman before her caresses herself, hands sliding up her arms to her shoulders, slowly- ever so slowly. Her hips begin a gentle sway, fabric swishing in a whisper of promise.

“Peel them carefully. Any mistake here will cost you a few fingers.”

Sitting comfortably in a wooden chair, Victoire smiles softly as their eyes meet, bright blue to deeper brown. It's a curve of her lips that is faint but a clear enough, loud enough answer to the questioning raise of dark eyebrows. The woman's fingers hook into the front of her robes, hips never stopping the hypnotic side to side rocking. One button. Another. Then another. Rich skin gradually revealed beyond the dark fabric. Oval fingernails trail from throat to cleavage, then back up again, and Victoire refuses to look away.

“Slower now. You don't want go too quickly.”

The instruction hovers between them for a moment but woman is now naked on her back on the desk at the front of the empty room. Her hands cup her large breasts, nipples dark beacons against her skin. She pushes the fullness up, pressing them together. A moan escapes her, and perhaps Victoire as well as she watches the faintly stained fingers dent the skin in a firm squeeze that make Victoire's own small nipples tighten and tingle.

”Add the pieces to the liquid one at a time.”

The room takes on an abruptly blue-green tint, the air dense and cold. It takes Victoire a moment to realize she is underwater. It isn't the colour or the tall stalks of kelp stretching toward the receding ceiling. It isn't even the bubbles rising up from the woman's full lips as she exhales in a breathy groan. It is the gentle movement everything has acquired: a soft ripple of light and motion twined together and elegantly gilded. Even the bare body before her is undulating in a rich, glistening copper as Victoire's fingers slide into her swollen cunt.

”I said 'one at a time.' Don't you listen?”

Victoire is floating at the top of the lake, clothes vanished but for the stripes of her tie. It lays between her small breasts, flat and unmoving, a long banner declaring her serpentine house. A forked tongue flickers red out just above her navel as she peers down. Through the mirror smooth surface of the lake she can see the naked woman beckoning her back to her thighs, fingers stroking through the water, stroking over fish and hip and clit. Victoire looks around, trying to figure out how get to her, but her wand is gone and the water is thick like jelly.

”Wait for them all to sink before continuing to the petals.”

Something closes around her ankles and begins to drag her down to the submerged room. The clotted water of the lake oozes around her like gelatinous quicksand. She fights against it, kicking and twisting, but the unseen grip is too tight, and the surface of the lake closing over her head. She can't breathe it in; it clings to her mouth and nose in aqua peril. Her eyes remain open and she watches the crisp light and air draw away above her.

“Blow gently. Too much and you'll scatter them rather than warm them.”

She sees the woman swimming to her, powerful long legs now replaced by a copper tail that flips smoothly through the water. Webbed hands push Victoire's thighs apart as the world starts to circle in to blackness. A soft mouth slips over her ice pale curls, down Victoire's narrow lips, and settle low to purse just against her entrance. With a steady, gentle exhalation, the walnut-skinned woman blows into Victoire's cunt. It is like breathing again; the air fills her and she draws it all in, arching into the warm ripple of water.

”Pinch the largest one at the tip to squeeze out the juice.”

Her hot mouth latches onto Victoire's clit, pressing the swollen nub together, sliding the delicate hood away from the erect tissue. Victoire gasps against the water, pleasure shooting through her in pale green and silver streaks of light. She spreads her thighs apart to encourage the attention then tips her chin down to watch the dark head between them, black curls floating out in a wide fan around them, half obscuring the glint of scales. The hair tickles over her knees and stomach but Victoire registers it only fleetingly, too lost to the tight sucking as her body swells with potential.

Miss Weasley. Miss Weasley.

Victoire opens her eyes slowly, a process much more drawn out than the smooth arch of one of her platinum eyebrows. She looks over the top of her cauldron to the source of the hail and meets the brown eyes of the less than pleased Potions Professor whose black hair is once more smoothly coiffed and whose clothing is on and unrumpled.

“Yes, Professor?” Victoire inquires nearly demurely, aware that the rest of the class has paused in their potions brewing to look at her.

“Did you have a pleasant rest?” The question is delivered sharply and Victoire knows she is expected to be bothered by the reprimand. But instead she smiles slowly, eyes sparking with heat as she remembers every shimmering detail about the sensual transformation of the woman before her.

“Mais oui, Professor Johnson. It was very pleasant.”

Someone snorts nearby then attempts to cover it up with a very indiscreet cough. Both Victoire and the former quidditch player turn to it. But only Victoire can see the confessional blush beyond her cousin's freckles and Victoire smirks at him too.

“Do try to pay awake for the remainder of my class. Don't expect Mr Weasley to do your work for you.”

“Yes, Professor,” she answers with lowered eyelashes.

“And see me after class for additional work to compensate for your nap. I hope it was worth it.”

Professor Johnson turns away as Victoire nods then eyes the rhythmic sway of her teacher's arse as she walks to the front of the class.

With a curl of satisfied appreciation, Victoire murmurs under her breath, “Oui. It has made class much more enjoyable.”

Feedback is loved!
20th August 2008 01:38
Gorgeous :). Not only that it was deliciously erotic, but the wonderful shifts of a dream and the imagery. Lovely, lovely, lovely :).
20th August 2008 01:55
Oh thank you, darling! *glomps*

I was told I don't write enough femslash, which is true. So I'm trying to expand. :P
21st August 2008 10:56
Oh, this is perfectly lovely! I reread it right away :) I love how the class instructions shape the dream (just how much of it is a daydream?) and how vivid the visuals are. It reads like a painting! And I loved Victoire's sass at the end. Te he!
21st August 2008 11:50
*grins happily* Thank you very much! Having you reread it and the comparison to the painting just thrill me! I'm a very visual person so I try to convey how I see the stories.
21st August 2008 12:03
Yay! And I love your icon! It made me giggle :D
21st August 2008 12:05
Thank you! I'm very fond of my Pre-Raphaelite ones! Like this one, especially!
21st August 2008 12:10
Hehe! Hence the username, presumably. And it's hilarious how well the captions go with the pictures! *trots off to go look through the rest of your icons*
21st August 2008 14:01
Thanks again. I had fun making them. :D
22nd August 2008 18:44
Oooh, this was beautifully written. So sensual and dreamy. Mmm.
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