[GW] Squeeze My Lemon Squeeze My Lemon by cozzybob
Rated: NC-17
Pair: Dx6, mentions of Dx1, Dx2, Dx3, Dx4, and most especially Dx5. Not all at once, mind.
Warning: het, BDSM, bondage, toys, emotional lemon/orange, sappyness, some implied slash, femslash--but it's very slight.
Note: For Princess, who needs more het, more Dorothy, and more love in this crazy fandom. She knows why. ^^;
Summary: The woman they call Elphaba tames the impossible.
"Be quiet, Miri." Dorothy dragged her tongue along the shell of his ear, and he shivered. "No whimpering."
Oh, but he couldn't help it.
She raked sharpened nails along his back; he bit at his lip, his large, calloused hands fisting at the fires laced in his blood. The crowd murmured, following her hand as she played with the bead on the end of his groin, and the shaft of the wand in the untouchable place inside him. Prince's wand for a prince, she'd said.
Six--Zechs--whimpered.
"No," said louder, for the benefit of the public. Her fist squeezed him, teeth biting down on his neck. He would have fallen to his knees, were he not already there. "Not a sound."
Not a sound.
The Cellar named Dorothy "Elphaba" after the Wicked Witch of the West, if only because she was so feared, and she seemed have near-magical prowess over the most impossible men. In her career, she had tamed the Sandman, Dragon, Nanashi, Wing, and even Death.
But no one had expected Six. Six had been a well-known dom for years in the Cellar, and it took seven days for Dorothy to make him her favorite sub, loyal and perfect, a slave to her every word. Seven days--not the longest or shortest of anyone she'd ever seriously dominated before, but to the Cellar, it seemed like a twisted rendition of the Genesis. In the underworld, Six was one of the top doms there was, and Elphaba was the top. They were the celebrity pair of the age; the twisted, the unexpected, the envied. None could resist Six, none could resist Elphaba, few ever had either, and every reader of Chains Weekly wanted to know every last one of their secrets.
'ZECHS MARQUISE, ONCE PRINCE OF SANQ, ENSLAVED IN BONDAGE BY DOROTHY CATALONIA.' Let that one make the headlines and every front page from here to Moscow.
She grinned a private grin, and even through the haze of his frustrations, he grinned right back.
Not a sound.
"Good boy. Now lick."
They were jealous of her, but that was to be expected. It wasn't every day a woman could say she'd fucked all six remaining gundam pilots, and every last one of them had come crawling back for more. Being the best had that sort of charm.
They--that is, the public--wanted to know how she did it, but she didn't kiss and tell. She didn't have to. To her, it was painfully obvious, and she didn't understand why the world couldn't get it. Her secrets were kneeling right in front of them, on display for all to see however they chose.
And still they asked her, as they asked him. All he had to do was smile in a certain way, and they should have known, but they didn't. She'd smiled in a certain way ever since she had claimed him, and it seemed like only the two of them ever knew what it meant.
Her nails sifted through his long white mane, pressing him lower, lower, lower until his lips softly kissed her knee-high black leather boots.
He glanced up at her, inquiring, his royal brow lifted in a slight arc.
Her eyes said, Lick them.
But there was no challenge, and no humiliation.
There was something else. Something in his lips and his eyes beyond compliance.
The crowd murmured, but there wasn't a sound between them.
She hadn't wanted to take the stage so soon with Zechs--it had taken her nearly three months to trust Quatre in public, three and a half for Duo. Trowa had been two days, but he was a quick doming, never took her seriously enough. Heero had taken two weeks, Wufei almost a year.
It took Zechs seven days to surrender. Seven days of hell for both, perhaps, but they were some of the most enjoyable for either in a very long time. Dorothy had taken Wufei nearly two years ago, and he'd moved on to other men and women since. She hadn't felt the kind of connection she felt with Zechs since her Dragon, and she knew that meant Zechs wouldn't be going anywhere. But he knew it too, and he hadn't argued.
He'd argued over many, many things, granted, fought her every step of way as was his nature, but he had never once threatened to leave. Dorothy had the suspicion he'd even forgotten his safe word, or hadn't cared to remember it at all.
But then, how are you going to forget a safe word like thirteen?
And it always, always came back to that number... spoken by a ghost at the back of their necks, dead lips blowing cool air against those little hairs standing on end, whispering threats, and advice, and memories. Screaming in terror, in delight.
Don't you ever leave him be, Dorothy. That's what Treize had told her before she'd joined White Fang. Don't you ever leave him be to die alone without his family.
Zechs obediently slid to the floor and nuzzled her left boot, inhaling the sharp leather and a scent that was heady, powerful; entirely woman, entirely Catalonia. An almost shy, red tongue parted from his lips and lapped at the toe of her boot, a deep red blush blossoming up and down his nude flesh. He wasn't embarrassed even though it was a play on his ego--he was nervous, and he trusted her, and that made all the difference.
Dorothy's thumb slid over the beaded tip of his erection, slowly and gently grinding the moisture back into the delicate slit. Zechs was shuddering relentlessly now, but he uttered not a sound and dragged that long red tongue along the inward arch of her foot from toe to heel. As she teased him, cruel, constant, drunken, Zechs took her boot in a suddenly fierce grip, and nibbled at the lace, untying with his teeth. She fisted his hair to issue pain, and he stopped, bowed his head, kissed the toe of her right boot.
No questions, no sound.
Again, the crowd murmured.
Dorothy pulled Zechs up by his hair so that he was kneeling again before her, and she bent down, kissing him chastely on the lips.
In a bare whisper, she said, "I'm very proud of you."
He smiled so slightly, but there, in that certain way that made her grin her private grin.
She tapped his lips with a finger, motioned him up with the slightest movement of her chin. He stood, faced the crowd, and the crowd wasn't murmuring. They were applauding. Noin and Une were sitting the front row with stunned expressions on either face, and Heero was in the back chained to Duo's side, giving Zechs an invisible smirk of appreciation. Death was hooting, cheering her on, and Quatre was away on business, but Trowa had his cell phone out, recording the entire thing to send to him later. Sally had Wufei on his knees, but the Dragon was giving Dorothy a certain eye that she'd only received from few precious men in her life. He'd always love her. She'd taken him first.
She wrapped her arm around Zechs' shoulder in what could be called protective, and he leaned into her, his vision cast to the floor. She grabbed her coat off a nearby stand and sheltered it around him before bowing to the rest of the club and walking off stage.
It hadn't been the most spectacular show of the night, and no one had expected that it would be. She hadn't come to give them a show. She'd come to prove that she owned Six, Zechs Marquise, Milliardo Peacecraft, Wind. She'd come to prove that once again, she'd done the impossible. She'd come to retain her title as Elphaba.
As they walked, there were whispers by the hands and further acts behind the curtain, giving them the eye, asking each other and their turned backs how she'd done it. Whispers of jealousy, whispers of romantic sighs, whispers of people who didn't understand.
Zechs was still shivering in the attention and his need, and he nuzzled her neck as they made their way to a private room, not to hide, but to smell her. She sheltered him with a solid arm regardless, and glared to those who came too close to touching him, because despite how very tall he was, she hated to think of how much he needed her. How much she needed and wanted him back.
They were still whispering when she came to their room and shut the door. Zechs would later say that he could feel their eyes burning through the walls, smell their tongues wagging in the wind, whispering, always whispering, their names.