Title: Deviants
Author: songquake
Characters/Pairings: Kingsley Shacklebolt/Rolanda Hooch
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: heterosexuals, sadism
Other Warnings: humiliation, creative interpretation of the theme
Word Count: 2628
Summary/Description: At this point in her life, vanilla heterosexual sex might be the most deviant thing Rolanda could do. But she's not quite that deviant yet :)
Author's Notes: When is heterosexuality a kink? When it's expressed by a couple of queers!
And...I'm late (really late!) again, but it's still May 31st in the western parts of the US, right?



The feeling of a Snitch in her stomach wasn't quite novel to Rolanda Hooch, but the circumstance she'd put herself in was.

She took a slow, deep, quiet breath in the hope that she wouldn't bite her lip like a schoolgirl with a hopeless crush. No matter how hopeless this situation might be.

She straightened her shoulders, thanked Aberforth for the pair of Firewhiskeys, and carried them back to the booth where Kingsley Shacklebolt sat.

Her hands, she was proud to note, were not shaking.

Kingsley nodded in approval as she set both glasses in front of him on the table. She had seen him grin in the past, his way with his fellow Aurors by turns easy and stern. But right now he was smirking, confident.

Sexy as hell. As the first man to catch her attention in forty years should be.

"Sit," he said, the low strength of his voice demanding obedience. Rolanda sat. Kingsley pushed one glass across the tabletop to her.

Since he didn't order her to drink, she didn't. She wanted to at least try to keep her wits about her.

He took a slow sip of his drink, eyeing her speculatively. Rolanda found her ears heating at the attention. Kingsley raised an eyebrow in response; his smirk deepened.

"I was surprised to receive your invitation for a drink," he said.

Rolanda rallied. "Were you?" She felt the blush spreading across her face and down her neck.

Kingsley's shrug had a practised nonchalance to it. "I'd heard you were a dyke." Rolanda nodded. "And we're neither friends nor coworkers, so there's no obvious reason for you to ask me out for drinks." He caught her eyes, commanding her attention and honesty. "That you embossed the corner with the wand and ring—that made it even more intriguing."

Rolanda inclined her head, glad that he knew the insignia common to those 'in the life,' as it were. The wand and ring, sometimes called the cane and collar, were the symbols of the underground society of kinky queers in wizarding Britain.

"I'm glad you were intrigued," she said.

She took a sip of the Firewhiskey then, closing her eyes at the twin burns of alcohol and Kingsley's gaze.

"Look at me," he said, so she looked. "Tell me why you asked me here."

Rolanda nodded. "Thank you for meeting me," she began. "I wasn't sure you would be interested in any...liaison with an older woman."

Kingsley waved his hand, obviously unconcerned with her insecurities. Rolanda found she liked that.

"I have seen you publicly date both men and women," she said, waiting for Kingsley's affirmation before continuing, "but at the clubs I've only seen you with men. Stronger men, men who take some power to take down."

Kingsley smiled slowly, predatorily. "I enjoy a bit of a struggle."

Rolanda shivered. "As do I." She met his eyes again. "I believe I could provide you with one, were you so inclined."

Kingsley took her hand—no, her wrist. He squeezed. Rolanda drew a sharp breath at the feeling of her bones being crushed together and the concurrent warming of her loins.

"And my masculinity?" Kingsley asked, his voice low.

"It's novel," Rolanda admitted, her head starting to swim. "But..."

At her hesitation, Kingsley let go, allowing Rolanda's hand to hit the table. "But?"

Rolanda blinked several times before meeting his gaze once more. "But I think it's exactly what I want right now."

Nodding sharply, Kingsley threw a few Knuts onto the table to cover their tab. "Come," he ordered. "We'll go back to mine."

Even as Rolanda was grabbing her cloak, she felt his hand take her shoulder, and the familiar sense of Apparition.

She was, of course, unbalanced when they landed in Kingsley's flat, but years on a broomstick had certainly kept her agile. She took merely a step, but it was a step too much; Kingsley's large hands encircled both wrists this time and brought them above Rolanda's head. She gasped, looking at him with wide eyes as he manhandled her backwards.

She tried to pull her arms apart. "Aren't we going to negotiate?" she said, her tone sharp.

"I think we've got the measure of one another," retorted Kingsley, putting more pressure on her wrists. "Safeword?"

"Fucker, you ask for that now?" His heat was on her. Rolanda struggled both against Kingsley's grip and against her desire to submit to it.

"It's now or never." The knee forcing itself between her legs was anything but gentle. She tried not to grind into it.

"Fuck. Football." Truly, it had likely been twenty years since the last time she'd been the one who might need a safeword.

Kingsley snorted in amusement. "Muggle sport. Perfect." He kept her moving backward until she hit the wall, then used his grip on her wrists and the leg between hers to pull her up the wall until she hung, her shoulders just above his. His hips pinned her to the wall; she noticed that he was not yet fully aroused.

Then he bit her, hard, on her lower lip. She cried into his mouth, but he took it away when as she kicked at his knees.

"Oh yes," he said, "this will be fun." He maneouvred her wrists into one hand and used the other to pull her hair hard so that her right ear pointed to her shoulder. He bit her again, this time on her neck.

This time instead of kicking, Rolanda bucked. She felt his cock more firmly against her now.

"No turnabout with you, is there?" she gasped. "With no hair to pull."

Kingsley laughed, his chest rumbling against hers. "Don't even dream of it."

Rolanda didn't, not really. Her neck and lip stung where he'd bit them; she thought for sure the skin had been broken. Kingsley moved his hand from Rolanda's hair to tug her shirt free and shove down her brassiere. Her breasts, larger and less firm than they once were, sat atop the simple fabric of it.

Kingsley bent and bit the border of her areole, tugging it up until her voice rose as much as the skin.

Rolanda's heart raced. "You're mean," she said, huffing a bit of a laugh.

"I'm just what you wanted," Kingsley said. He had a wicked gleam in his eye.

Rolanda groaned in agreement before adding, "But I also wanted a fight."

She stomped quickly, catching just Kingsley's toe, and used the hips she'd long trained to guide a broomstick to twist out from under Kingsley's looming form.

Kingsley still had one of her wrists in his hand, though, and when she swung away he pulled her back and wrapped an arm around her chest.

"You bitch," he hissed, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. "It looks like I'm the one who's got a fight."

Rolanda's arms were well-pinned at her sides, and her struggles just made Kingsley's arms close tighter around her. She still struggled against him, marvelling at the sensation of a real live cock brushing against the small of her back. When Kingsley bit her again, viciously and on the ear, she felt that cock bob.

"Now listen here," he growled. "You came to me, knowing that I dominate. Having seen that I like to hurt people. Didn't you?"

Rolanda nodded and Kingsley dug his fingernails, like pincers, into her breast. They hurt even through the fabric of her blouse.

"Yes!" Rolanda gasped.

"That's right," Kingsley murmured. Then his voice hardened again. "So you are going to take what I dish out like a good girl, even though you're nothing but a deviant."

Rolanda moaned.

"That's right," Kingsley said. "I know what kind of woman you are. You're the sort who only likes to do things so long as they make you feel like you're being naughty, like you're breaking the rules." He moved his hand, using those same fingernails to pinch Rolanda's flank.

It hurt worse than her breasts. She gave a high, broken whimper. She could hear Kingsley grinning in her ear.

"That's what I like to hear. Let's get to the bed."

He manhandled her down a dark corridor, into a bedroom lit only by the streetlamp outside the bay window. There, he pushed her hard, face down on the bed. He shoved her; Rolanda thought she might have a friction burn on her nose.

By the time she heard Kingsley Vanish both their clothes, she'd never been wetter in her life.

"So you've made your life out of breaking the rules, haven't you, Rolanda?" Kingsley continued his monologue from the foyer. "When you let boys diddle you at Hogwarts—when you even let them fuck you—you felt a little dirty, and you loved it." He spanked her. Not only did it sting, but the strength of impact pushed her forward again. Her chin rubbed against the coverlet. She felt the handprint on her arse warming. She arched her back, offering her arse for his use.

Kingsley slapped it over and over. Rolanda counted the strikes in her mind; she could keep from crying out that way. Twenty, thirty... Finally her breath was so shallow that she couldn't hold onto her voice anymore. She shrieked. Kingsley chuckled and then bent over her. She could feel his cock, bigger somehow than even the most generous toys she'd played with and hot, dragging its wet head through the crack between her cheeks. He knelt above her and smacked her arse with it.

Rolanda moaned brokenly.

Now his body heat was a little further away. She heard a slight creak, and his voice from across the room. "But by the time you were out of school, by the time you were flying with the Harpies, well, extramarital sex wasn't exotic enough, was it? So you moved on to women."

Rolanda's face heated. It wasn't just the rawness of her skin; it was the shame that Kingsley could read her desires, her past, so well--Kingsley, who was a near-stranger despite their current scene.

She heard the whistle of the cane before it hit her, and the pain of it rose up only after he'd drawn it away from her skin. Her first cry was strangled. By the sixth stroke she was fighting back tears, gulping.

"No." Kingsley pulled her head up by the hair so she had to look at him. Her eyes burnt. Her face burnt. "I want your tears, Rolanda. I want your screams. And I will have them." He dropped her head, which flopped back onto the bed. Rolanda moved her arms beneath it, cherishing the coolness of them.

When Kingsley struck her again, she lifted her head and screamed for him.

"Good," he said, and laid stroke upon stroke, waiting for each sob or howl to subside before attacking again.

When she was a shuddering mess, he rolled her over.

"And so you fucked women for decades," he said, looking into her eyes. "You fucked them good, and let them fuck you, and as time went on, you didn't feel so ashamed of it, and you didn't feel like it was deviant enough. So you started playing with power. And with pain." He slapped her face, just once. "And with humiliation. And you found that you liked dominating other women best."

He pushed her legs apart, played with her clitoris a little. Played with it more. Even with the tears streaming down her face, Rolanda spread her legs wider in invitation.

Kingsley slapped her, right on the clitoris. Rolanda's eyes widened as she gasped in surprise and exquisite pain. She blinked a few times, then exhaled a moan.

"Yes, and this is the secret shame you have now, isn't it, Rolanda?" Kingsley said, pinching her clit with those same nails that had tortured the soft white parts of her body before circling it with his fingers again. It was almost soothing, until his hand came down with a smack that lit up her entire cunt.

"Look at how wet you are now," he continued, holding up his hand so she could see the juices glistening on it. "Now, after all those years of kinky sex with women, that feels too acceptable, doesn't it? And what is left?"

Rolanda was sobbing now, the pain and the truth opening the floodgates of all the shame she had sought, all the feelings of there never being enough, of fearing that she was insatiable, that she couldn't possibly be good enough for a good woman when her needs were so extreme.

"Look at me," Kingsley barked.

He was kneeling, straddling her legs. His skin was shining, magnificent. His cock was even huger than she'd surmised from the feel of it behind her. Fully tumescent, it was bigger than the largest dildo she had ever even considered for a lover. For herself—well, a finger or two was all that had gone into her cunt for decades.

"What is left, Rolanda," Kingsley said, pointing that enormous cock between her cunt lips, "is full submission to a man. It's getting fucked like the little whore you know you are."

Kingsley was not gentle. He pushed into her swiftly, authoritatively, as if he were taking a virgin.

Which, in a way, he was.

Rolanda felt his cock spreading her lips, spreading her whole, pushing deep into her, and pressing into her cervix. She ground against it, despite the painful tightness. "Please," she groaned softly, "please."

"Please, what?" Kingsley said, reaching down and pinching her clit for good measure.

Rolanda bucked. "Please, please, please..." she chanted, nonsensical. She wanted, so much. But she could hardly say what it was she wanted.

Kingsley slapped her face. "Look at me," he demanded. "Please, what?"

Rolanda breathed sharply through her nose. She blinked. Her first attempt at speech was a croak. "Please, hurt me. Take me. Split me open. Own me." She couldn't bear to look anymore; she closed her eyes.

"Rolanda, look at me." Kingsley's voice was commanding, but somehow gentle. Rolanda looked back at the man still slamming his cock into her. "I will. For tonight, I will."

He had his wand in his hand. Shoving into her as far as he could, he rocked in and out. And then, with a whispered spell, he set his wand to vibrate and placed the tip to Rolanda's clit.

It seared her. Her clit was already oversensitised from the slapping and the pinching; the vibrations hurt. And they finally pushed her over the edge.

The orgasm was immense. All orgasms are overwhelming, but Rolanda felt like a doll, shaken, with useless limbs flopping about and a voice that didn't belong to her. It was too high.

She was crying. She might always be crying. She hurt, but she was also cleansed and new.

Kingsley growled, and then, licking her tears from her face, he stiffened and came.

Rolanda trembled for a long time. She pulled Kingsley to her like a blanket. He, in turn, stroked her short hair and kissed her tear tracks.

Finally, Rolanda wanted to speak. She coughed. "Thanks," she said, voice roughened from the screaming but soft.

Kingsley drew back enough to look at her. "You're welcome," he said, and kissed her gently. "That's what you needed?"

Rolanda nodded. "I can't believe how well you got me," she admitted.

Kingsley snorted. Then he chortled.

"What's funny?" Rolanda asked, the part of her that was still raw irritated by his laughter.

"Not you," he said, taking a deep breath and caressing her back. "It's just that, well." He paused. "I understand you all too well."

At that, Rolanda chuckled too. She squeezed his arm.

"Well, you know how to find me if you have need."

Kingsley nodded and drew her into his chest.