InsaneJournal

WHO: Therese Bonaccord and Derek Dobbs
WHAT: Therese has blatant disregard for thread purposes but you would too I think?
WHERE: Her house!
WHEN: ...tonight!



It was a night that felt somewhat routine, but wasn’t. Therese slipped out of bed as quietly as she could to avoid waking up Derek; canceled appointments and shifted schedules had made for a surprise evening together and she could not say she was bothered by it. She lit her wand to pulse faintly to keep her from bumping into furniture (or dogs, sometimes those two boys of hers found themselves in the strangest of places) and it was a quick trip to the loo and back.

But, she stopped in the doorway as she re-entered the bedroom, getting a sense that her sneaking about hadn’t been so good after all. Lifting her chin with an amused smirk, Therese moved carefully back to the bed and pressed her knees to the mattress. She placed her still-lit wand on the side table and in one fluid motion swung her leg over Derek and settled firmly on top of him.

“Did I wake you, Mister Dobbs?” she asked lowly, dipping forward on the chance that she had been wrong to think he’d stirred awake, and now, well, would forget all her attempts to let him sleep some more.

There might have been a window during which he'd have been able to return to his slumber, but it had closed swiftly. He squinted a little as he opened his eyes, adjusting to the dim light. "Were you trying to be quiet?" Derek rumbled drily, voice still hoarse from sleep.

He could no longer, however, deny that he was awake—that, in fact, certain parts had been awake for quite a while, and were not quite so eager as the rest of him to go back to sleep. Adjusting himself so he lay flatter on his back, the warm, pleasant weight of her settled just into place.

Suddenly, sleep could wait just a little while longer.

"Well, you've got me," he sighed, crossing his hands behind his head and settling back into the pillow. "I sure hope you know what to do with me."

Her chin lifted with a haughty smirk. She knew what to do with Derek Dobbs, she knew what he liked, she knew what she liked. Therese had a competitive streak that during some of the more lackluster years of her life she’d forced herself to subdue, but Derek seemed to bring it roaring out of her. She mused, out loud sometimes but mostly to herself, that he was quite aware of the benefits he reaped from riling her up.

Therese pressed her hands to his chest and slid them up to his shoulders, using her grip as leverage so that her hips could press down harder. She moved slowly, mimicking a familiar rhythm as she leaned forward to graze her chest against his.

When her lips had finished making their slow trek up the side of his neck and to his jawline, all while she maintained the very deliberate motion of her hips, Therese sat up quickly like a spring, lifting her arms up to tie back her hair, her smug expression returning.

There had been a moment where Derek contemplated rolling them over, taking the reins, driving the encounter exactly where he wanted to go—but Therese seemed to have a perfectly clear destination in mind, and she had roused him from what could have been a very deep sleep…

It just wouldn't do to make the situation easy for her, after a thing like that.

Instead, a lazy smile turned up the corners of his mouth as one hand shifted to grip her hip, his fingers tracing light circles on warm skin as she rocked her body against his.

Cocking his brow in challenge, his hand slid behind her hip and lightly squeezed.

Her eyes drifted down to his hand, feeling a great pleasure course through her at the sight of---Therese let out a light breath, quite honestly for a few reasons, but mostly out of surprise as the outline of a mermaid fin crept up her thigh just underneath Derek’s forearm. Her tattoo! It had become routine for her to place a concealment charm on it, but the surprise of seeing him tonight had caused her to forget---she often lost her senses when---

Bother.

Far too turned on to stop, but still conscious enough of the little humility she had left around Derek Dobbs, Therese leaned forward again and kissed Derek soundly, for her own enjoyment and to keep his gaze from wandering, all the while slipping herself off of him to press against his side. But, to be safe, her hand slid down his chest and further still.

Perhaps she could single-handedly control the situation.

While still deeply committed to the path of least exertion, Derek did turn to his side and raise himself up on his elbow, all the better to run his hand slowly along her shapely form, stopping at the points that interested him most.

Breaking the kiss, he moved lower to her neck, very mindful of the ministrations from her hand below. As he nipped lightly at her shoulder, he tilted his head slightly. "When'd you get a tattoo?" he muttered against her skin.

Therese may have to begrudgingly admit that she would never be able to slip anything past a hit-wizard. She let out a sigh, her feelings of pleasure beginning to greatly outweigh her burgeoning embarrassment.

“On a trip to Spain,” she breathed, and though her eyes shot open at a particular touch, she couldn’t look down at the mermaid tattoo resting on her hip. She and Derek were no strangers to conversations in bed (literal or figurative), but they normally did not consist of things that made her bashful (well...).

“I usually conceal it,” she said in a shy manner, though how she could feel shy while in the middle of their compromising position, she couldn’t be sure. Therese shut her eyes momentarily, sinking back into the pillows with a tug of Derek’s side to hopefully pull him on top of her.

As she spoke, Derek thought for a moment she'd gone on holiday to Spain since last he'd seen her and returned with a souvenir, but then—his brow furrowed.

Admittedly, Therese did not strike him as the sort of person to get a tattoo, but that's what made the discovery rather interesting, wasn't it? You never really knew who had what going on underneath their clothes.

(Though Derek could not say he'd ever had difficulties finding out the answer to this question.)

Instead of lowering himself onto her, he rested on one forearm and angled his head for a better look at the ink. "Why?" he asked after a beat, bafflement evident in his voice. He did not presume to know her life, but he couldn't imagine it needed to be masked for professional reasons.

She knew she should’ve had the thing permanently removed. Therese ran a hand over her face to try and physically force the redness from her cheeks away, but she knew it was fruitless. She dared to twist her hips and her hand moved to trace down the form of the mermaid.

“I didn’t get it under the best circumstances,” Therese admitted, putting the entire escapade (and subsequent banishment out of the country from the muggle officers) lightly. She could admit to herself that the artwork was very nice, her intoxicated state had at least chosen an artist with some skill. “I wasn’t really at a good place in my life.”

Were her adventures with Rupert fun? Of course, he did a lot more good for her than he would probably ever realize, but knowing deep down that she was using the excitement to cover up how miserable she still was over the bastard that only continued to hurt her made Therese’s stomach churn.

Her palm laid flat upon the tattoo and she turned more on her side to face Derek, “It reminds me of those times.”

He didn't necessarily agree with her approach; tattoos to him were like scars, a symbol of what you were going through at that given moment in time. You could cover them up, conceal them, but no matter who they were visible to or not, you couldn't conceal the knowledge of having them, of having gotten them.

But Derek wasn't unsympathetic—even if they weren't in a place other people could see, sometimes you just didn't feel like staring at your own scars in the mirror every day, either. Thinking on his own marks, put on his body by choice or not, he could relate to that desire very well.

"Okay," he nodded. "Nice ink, though."

Turning red now for yet another reason, Therese twisted her lips. That wasn’t as awful and mortifying as she had imagined revealing the tattoo would be, which was something she would have told her patients if they had come to her with the same worries. She’d always been quite terrible at taking her own advice, and thinking that what’s done was done, her expression began to slowly return back to the mischief in which she’d began this whole late night romp.

Her hand that was still pressing against the tattoo pushed down a little harder, jolting the mermaid into life. It swam down the curve of her hip, up her torso, giggling against the bumps of her ribs, before perching on her chest to blow a kiss Derek’s way before making its way back to her hip.

“I suppose it is a little nice,” Therese said with her own share of giggles, pressing her face into the pillow. That had been a bit of magic she’d discovered while trying to rub the the tattoo away.

Derek thought he might be a smidge too Muggle to appreciate the extent to which some of wizarding kind's magic went. While he discerned that Therese probably had not chosen it in a sober or otherwise right state of mind, he still threw up silent thanks that his own stayed in the place he'd elected to put them.

At least, he was fairly certain they did.

"Well," Derek said, after a beat in which he wondered if, while concealed, he had caused that to happen before. Could she feel it? These were probably questions he didn't need answers to. "May need some assistance with forgetting I saw that, or I'm liable to get performance anxiety."

That caused a bigger laugh to escape her and without hesitation Therese pushed forward and clambered atop him once again. Thankfully for Derek, her mermaid friend only moved at her touch and she realized she’d never asked Rupert if the magic (or the tattoo for that matter) had been his idea.

Regardless of whose highly-intoxicated mind it had come from, it was there, her constant companion, and perhaps it would see the light of day a bit more often than it had. Feeling invigorated, Therese kissed Derek soundly before taking his lip between her teeth for a playful tug.

“You know how I rarely pay compliments, Mister Dobbs,” she said with a voice full of mischief. Her hands moved to perform a different type of magic, “but your performance certainly doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

With his eyes narrowed to slits, muscles tight with a pleasurable tension, Derek resumed his earlier position of one hand resting under his head and the other lazily grasping her hip.

"Guess I'll have to take your word for it."