RP log: Rita/Kingsley, NC-17 (part two)
Dec. 17th, 2006 09:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
featherxquillFurther to Part One, here is Part Two.
Rita/Kingsley - NC-17 - War backstory
He whispered her name like she was everything, and she wanted to dissolve right then, wanted to shatter because it filled her up with something that wasn't really about sex at all and she didn't know what to do with it.
His hands, his lips, his tongue, his teeth. Agony. She was on fire. She couldn't breathe. Her fingers stretched and her wrists strained against his hand. He had her strung like a bow.
OhGodohGodohJesus she felt his cock grinding against her, and she needed, fuck, she needed...
Yes. Fuck, yes.
She watched the look on his face as he filled her, couldn't take her eyes off him. He looked... he looked...
Fuck.
"Kingsley," she breathed, moving her hips against him and pulling him closer, clenching her cunt around him and oh god, oh jesus, oh god.
Gahhhhhhh, fuck shit DAMN she felt good. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. He clenched his jaw when her legs tightened around him. When her hot, sinfully slick cunt tightened around him. He breathed heavily through his nose, fighting off the need to just let go of her arms and grab her hips and mindlessly pump his way to release.
But it was the sound of his name on her lips that broke him.
He released a very unmanly whine, burying his head briefly against her neck. But no. Her lips. He wanted her lips. Her mouth.
His head jerked back up just as quickly, his gaze shifting almost frantically between her eyes and her lips. His breath short. With a muttered curse, he clamped his mouth down over hers, his lips prying hers open, tongue reaching in to taste.
He pulled back slowly and then slammed forward, unable to help himself.
Hot. It was so veryvery hot. In here, between them, fuck. He was so hot and hard inside her, his skin was damp against hers and warm through the stockings. She felt both them and him and jesusfuck, it was impossible to feel everything at once.
Then his lips were on hers and she couldn't feel anything but that, that and him inside her and her hips lifting to meet his. She sucked his tongue into her mouth, twisted her head against him, caught his bottom lip between her teeth for a moment when he pulled away.
He slipped back and no, no, fuck, she needed him there, and when he slammed back into her a moan ripped from her throat.
"Fuck, yes!"
Ohhh fuck, her moan had him reeling. That and her teeth tugging at his lip. He practically snarled, repeating the motion of his hips as he buried his face once again in her neck, alternating between grinding his teeth and licking sweat from her skin.
"Mmmmmmm."
Then he moved his hips in small circles, testing her tightness and groaning as she encased him completely. His cock was hard as granite and fit to burst, but he kept grinding down against her. Slowly. Gently.
"I'll give it to you any way you want it, love," he whispered shakily against her jaw. "Tell me." He nibbled at her earlobe. "How do you want it?"
He knew the answer already. But he wanted to hear her say it. Needed to hear her say it to justify his own animalistic need.
Another one of those hard thrust and hitting there, yes, just there and he was teasing her again. She pulled at her bound hands, arching her head back again, eyelids fluttering. His tongue against her skin was too much because it was so not enough. She let out a needy whimper.
And then he asked.
"Hard," she whispered back. "I want it all. Give me everything you've got. Please."
She moaned again, terrified for just a moment that now she'd said it he'd laugh and push her away.
Everything he had? He let out a desperate bark of a chuckle against her throat. Raising his head and looking her in the eyes, he answered by pulling out momentarily and kneeling between her legs. He hovered over her, releasing her wrists and curling her hands around the rails of the headboard, silently indicating that she would need something to hold onto.
"I was hoping you'd say that," he quietly replied.
With another brief scan of her stretched and heaving body, his gripped her hip in one hand and repositioned his cock at her slit. Then both hands were grasping her hips, fingertips digging in. He plunged forward on his knees, pulling her body up to his and immediately beginning a punishing rhythm.
Oh yes.
"Like this?" He meant for it to sound teasing, but he was so damned breathless himself that it came out as more of a hiss.
Her lips curled into a smile as she tightened her fingers around the thick iron railing, knowing what was coming so well she could almost feel it. Fuck, she needed him.
"I know," she replied in a chuckle to his words.
She watched him move, the way the light caught the sheen of sweat on his dark skin, the tattoo on his hip that flipped up and down with excitement, then stilled when his fingers gripped her hip and his jaw tightened in concentration, anticipation.
And then fuck, she felt her body leave the bed for a moment and all thought left her, he was pounding into her and oh, fuck, yes and her cunt was clenching around him with every thrust.
"Yes. Fuck. Yes. God. Yes. Kingsley. Yes."
His grip on her was bruising. She felt the heel of one shoe dig into his leg . She couldn't get enough.
He was dying. His brain was buzzing for him to hold back, to slow down, but his entire body was screaming for him to go harder. He'd always had a hard time reconciling the two. But he just kept grinding away, biting down hard on his lip as he dragged her hips up and down with his movements.
This woman made him insane. It frightened him, the force of his own need.
Then he made the mistake of opening his eyes and looking down, and ohfuckinghell. Her hard nipples strained forward as she arched her back, the pale skin of her chest washed in red splotches. There was lipstick smeared across the corners of her lips, her bra was almost completely destroyed, and god, those stockings. He could feel them rubbing against his thighs, feel her heels catching on his leg and jabbing into the sweat-slick skin.
But her cunt. He almost lost it. He looked down and saw her naughty cunt stretched wide by his cock, the lips bright red from the blows of his pelvis, the skin so sopping wet that it filled the air with deliciously obscene sounds. He watched his cock spear that tight hole over and over again, and he did lose it.
"Fucking hell, Rita," he groaned, and then, with an outright roar of desire, he dropped her hips, yanking her legs up over his shoulders. He leaned down on his forearms and ploughed harder into her, a string of muffled profanities leaving his mouth at the deepness of the angle. He had her bent practically in two. "I'm crazy," he desperately murmured against her lips. "You make me crazy."
He looked like an animal. She felt like one, clutching the bedrail so tightly it hurt. Fuck. Yes. Fuck. Yes.
She looked at him and all she could see was what she did to him.
No one else fucked her quite like this. No one else needed her quite this much.
Oh fuck. Christ. Fuck.
Her muscles screamed when he pressed down onto her, but fuck, he was even deeper than before oh merlin fuck yes there there there. She couldn't move, couldn't arch her hips or tease against him. She was completely powerless, at his whim, and fuck, why did that make her impossibly hotter, bring her so close to the edge? She dropped one hand from the headboard to grab his shoulder instead, lifted her head and caught a bead of sweat trailing down his cheek with her tongue. Tyring to do something. Anything.
"You're an animal," she hissed. Gods, it was difficult to talk. "My animal. Yes. I love it."
She loved it? Fine. Then she could take more. And yes, he realised that this wasn't the rational part of his brain working anymore. No, that part of his brain had shut down.
And even this, all of a sudden, even her bent in two and gasping for breath, totally unable to move, just. Wasn't. Enough.
"Over," he commanded simply, the word piercing the steamy heat of the room. "Turn over." He pulled out and backed off just long enough to allow her compliance. "NOW."
Oh, Gods.
The way he spoke, ordered. She would never admit to anyone - least of all him - just how much that turned her on. Just how much she wanted to comply. Just do as he said and have him within her again.
But she knew she could make him even crazier.
Her body wasn't cooperating. She lifted herself up with one arm, shaking, then pushed herself onto her knees before him. She felt flushed and fragile and still out of breath, but she wouldn't give in.
She wrapped her hand around his cock, watching his eyes. Stroked it up and down, slick with her own juices, and scraped her thumbnail over the head. She glanced down, and the sight of her small hand wrapped around him - of her pale fingers and scarlet nails against his dark skin - very nearly undid her.
Her hand was so much smaller than his cock, but her cunt could take it, loved it, wanted it.
She looked up at him again, quirked a brow and smiled. "Turn me over yourself."
She needed him to twist her and break her; to wrap an arm around her middle and just pound the hell out of her until she felt like she had no bones left to hold herself up with. Wanted to make him do it.
For a moment, when she rose onto her knees, obviously weak and breathless from the pounding he'd already given her, the nurturing, protective side of him felt a stab of remorse. It was always that way when he let go. Her shaking arms and the finger-shaped bruises at her hips were a testament to the brutality that he kept hidden so carefully inside him, always in check. He suddenly wanted to wrap his arms around her and gently thread his fingers through her hair and kiss and kiss and kiss her.
But then she wrapped her hand around his cock, and instead, his fists clenched uselessly at his sides. His head jerked back in pleasure at the feeling of her small fingers but then jerked back down just as quickly.
He didn't want to miss a moment of this.
He suddenly realised that he was quite winded, as well.
Ohhhhhhhhhfuck, her tiny fingers worked him exactly like he needed, and he panted at the sight of them around his cock, those (FUCK)... those nails. Those blood-red nails that he loved to feel digging into his back, his neck, his arse. Her thumbnail scraped his sensitive glans, and he snapped once again.
He needed this. He hated that he needed this, but it was just that simple. It was blinding, raging need that shut off everything else.
It shut everything else off so entirely that when she replied to his command with a command of her own, he didn't even think to do anything but grab her by her upper arms and twist her around, one long arm caging both of hers as he used the weight of his own body to slam her back down on the bed, balancing on one hand to keep from crushing her entirely. He frantically lifted his hips, just far enough to position his cock, and then he was ramming forward into her wet heat once again.
"Gonna. Break. You. Rita," he gasped between thrusts. Damn the part of him that wanted to do just that. The part of him that wanted to annihilate her for making him need her this much.
He thrust so far into her that his hips barely left hers. He just buried himself, pumping wildly, and god he wasn't going to last long like this. He worked his free hand beneath her, cupping her mound, two of his fingers sliding down to encase her clit. "Fuck my hand," he desperately commanded, realising that he could do nothing else for her pleasure at this point.
She felt her legs twist beneath her and her arms pulled back, and she had no time to laugh, no time to smirk before her face was against the duvet and he was crushing her beneath his weight. One leg was folded beneath her, holding her up, the other twisted at a painful angle, but none of it mattered, because then he was pounding into her again even deeper and harder than before and fuck she couldn't take it much longer but she wanted it to go on forever.
She couldn't speak to reply to him, couldn't laugh and whisper yes as desperately as she was thinking it. Yes. Break me. I need it. Moremoremoremoremore.
But a frantic whimper escaped her throat when his fingers oh FUCK touched her clit, and she couldn't help but comply, grinding herself against his hand as hard as she could, hearing herself whimper and moan with need.
She was so close. So close.
"You... you like that?" he panted against her neck. He was almost too far gone to speak, but when he was buried this deep, fucking this hard, he often found his mouth running almost completely independently of the rest of his body.
Of course, no one but Rita had ever experienced that. Because no one but Rita could drive him this far.
He could feel the entrance to her womb as he rode her. It almost hurt, his cockhead slamming against that barrier again and again, but he kept on, a roar tearing from his throat as he bit down on her shoulder.
And she was working those hips just like he'd told her to, their rhythms in opposition but fitting together so well, and for just a moment, he paused, letting her fuck herself on him, growling at the feeling. "Fuckyeah, baby," he gasped. "Work that... nnngahhh... work that hot little snatch. You like this?" He gave her a particularly brutal thrust. "You like what you do to me?"
He could tell one of her legs was bent under her. Her face was smashed into the bedcovers, and he wondered if she could even breathe. But he. Just. Didn't. Care.
"Hell yeah." He pummeled her snatch impossibly harder. "Take that cock. Take it. You gonna come on my cock, baby? Take it."
He was practically yelling now, his voice booming through the heat of the room. "TAKE IT!"
Go on, take everything.
Her head jerked up when his teeth bit into her shoulder and she let out a cry that was almost a scream. She rutted against his hand, so close and needing release so badly that there were tears in her eyes. Agony. On fire. Oh, fuck.
"Yes," she gasped, hardly finding the air to speak. "Fuck. Yes. Animal. Bastard. Yes. Yes!" Harder again, and her breath coming in gasps, every thrust grinding her clit harder and harder into his fingers.
But it was his words that sent her over the edge. Take it, take it, take it. Everything exploded.
She shook, felt herself convulse around him, and then she was arching and straining and struggling against the arm that bound her. A high-pitched wail escaped her throat as she thrashed, all the while fucking as hard as she could against that hand.
Burning. Dying.
Slut. Slattern. Whore.
Through the haze of his own driving need, he vaguely registered the fact that she was coming. He felt the convulsions of her cunt, like little waves of random tightness around his cock, but the ultimate clue to her release was when she began thrashing.
How very Rita Skeeter. She always did that. Always fought to get away in that one moment wherein she lost herself.
He wasn't having it. "Going somewhere?" he gasped, jerking her even closer, crushing her with that one arm. He could feel her straining nipples on his forearm, and fuck. The harder she fought to get away, the tighter he held onto her, and nonononoNO, that was not an analogy, because he was past that, and because—
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" he screamed against her back. "Gonna come, Rita. Gonna come. Gonna—"
He stilled completely, feeling his cock pump her full of thick, gooey strings of his spunk. And then he thrust. And thrust. And thrust. Completely blind to anything and everything but the relief surging through his cock, every muscle in his body slowly loosening, unravelling....
He jerked his arms away from her only long enough to reposition them, digging them under her arms, his hands curling up over her shoulders as he buried one cheek between her shoulderblades and panted for dear life.
She dropped her forehead against the bedcovers, chest heaving, sucking in breath after breath after breath and feeling the world return. Slowly, slowly.
He was still inside her, his entire weight pressed against her back. Her legs were shaking, arms useless, fingers against the duvet but unable to hold her up.
"I'm not..." her voice came out a desperate whisper. "Not going anywhere, Kingsley. Let me... let..."
He didn't seem to want to let her go. She didn't want to move, either, didn't want it to end, didn't want to feel him gone from within her. But she could barely breathe.
"Let you what?" he breathed against her back.
He didn't want to pull out. He didn't want to ease up on his weight, which he knew must be crushing her. And, more than anything else in the world, he did not want to let her go.
He settled for rolling to his side, his softening cock freeing itself from her cunt as he dragged her with him. And then that arm was around her once again, and this time it was pulling her into his embrace, soothing instead of crushing.
"Rita," he sighed, totally carried away by his climax. He hugged her close, every inch of her body moulding to his, and god this felt perfect. He gave one or two last thrusts against the back of her thigh, whining at the contact to his sensitive cock. "No, don't go anywhere, sweetheart."
He kissed the top of her head. The nape of her neck. Then he grasped her chin, turning her head and capturing her lipstick-smeared mouth, kissing her from the inside out. He knew she would pull away. Eventually, she would pull away.
He released her lips and pressed her closer, not even contemplating the fact that only by fucking her so hard could he get her this close, just where he wanted her.
Rita didn't fight when he pulled her close. She couldn't. Her orgasm had left her breathless, boneless and careless. She couldn't think, couldn't fight. Their bodies fit so well together.
He spoke like he needed her.
She shifted when he turned her face toward him, turning a little so her shoulder rested against his chest, and let it happen. Let him kiss her. Kissed him back.
She lifted her free arm and caught the back of his head, trailed her fingers over his smooth, sweat-damp scalp.
"I couldn't go anywhere now even if I wanted to," she murmured against his jaw.
He hummed low in his throat when she kissed him back. Whimpered when her fingers softly curved around his head. He loved to have his head, his neck, rubbed, and this woman knew just how to touch him. She always knew just how to drive him crazy. Make him a silly mess of a man, and it didn't even occur to him to mind at the moment.
Her head flopped back against the pillow after she'd spoken, and he took advantage of the fact that she had that one arm raised and toying with him. He slid his hand up her bruised hip, up over her sweat-slickened ribs, and cupped it gently around her breast, loving the feeling of all that soft flesh so perfectly there for his taking. "So soft," he purred, his thumb gliding over her nipple. "I hope—" He quietly cleared his throat. "I didn't want to hurt you, love."
The guilt was slowly seeping in. He wanted to be a gentle man. He wanted to go to sleep just like this and wake up to see Rita Skeeter by morning light for once and make love to her. Worship her like he wanted to. Like she wouldn't let him. Like she didn't seem to think she deserved.
A small part of Rita's mind - all but silenced by the warm, sated afterglow humming in her veins - knew that her defences were down, that it was stupid, that she'd hate herself for letting it happen later, but she couldn't bring herself to take notice of it right then. The intent look on Kingsley's face was enough to make her forget everything else.
She made a little noise of pleasure in the back of her throat when his thumb caressed her nipple, scraped her nails lightly against his skin, slipping her hand lower and working her fingertips against one of the tight muscles in his neck. All that jaw-clenching, perhaps.
"Don't," she murmured when she heard the guilt start to creep into his voice. She knew he was looking at the places where his fingers had marred her skin, and regretting it, but she knew she'd wear them like trophies. They'd be there for days, and she would watch them bloom and fade. She'd go hunting for stories and labour like an insect during the day, but when she took her clothes off at night, the purple bruises marring the beetle tattoo on her hip would remind her that she was human.
She didn't want him - wouldn't let him - feel guilty about that. Her fingers tightened on his head and she pulled his gaze down to hers. She couldn't focus - not with him this close - but she wanted him to look at her anyway. "You didn't hurt me. You know you didn't. No more than I wanted you to. I knew what I was doing when I came up the stairs. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be."
You make me feel alive. But that last would remain unvoiced. She couldn't say it. She knew how - could say it as many times as she wanted to when she was alone - but something held it back, here. Years of learning what happened to people who said what they really thought, maybe. Years of destroying people who gave themselves away.
"Oh, sweetheart," he mumbled, suddenly unable to get enough of her. He kissed her lips, her jaw, her neck, the gaze of his eyes meeting hers intermittently. He loved Rita like this, and he had half a mind to tell her so, but he knew there was no quicker way to get her to leave, and the only important thing in the world was that she didn't leave. That she stay right there all night, because after it was all over, in these rare moments, was the one time he felt at peace.
Even so, he yanked at the closure of her bra almost viciously, suddenly wanting nothing between them, nothing to come between this. He slipped it off her shoulders, urging her to raise up for a moment so he could release the offending garment from her body and toss it over the side of the bed.
He nudged her onto her back once again, silently setting to work on her stockings, rolling them down her long, smooth legs. When he reached her shoes, he jerked them off with almost a sob, desperate to have her naked. Bare. Then he jerked at the covers, unminding of how the pillows went askew at the movement.
"Get under the covers with me," he asked. It was more like a plea.
She didn't have the strength to resist. Not the warmth of kiss kisses, not the strength of his movements when he moved to peel the remaining clothes from her body.
She didn't want to. I felt delicious to be naked with him. Like maybe this was normal. Like maybe she wouldn't run away from it when she woke from her daze.
She didn't know how to be like this any other time. She'd forgotten. Slytherin had beaten it out of her. Bellatrix had beaten it out of her. Watching her parents disown her sister for love had beaten it out of her. She was the older one, the strong one.
Only just not right now.
Right now his fingers against her skin felt delicious, light and gentle and tickling and fuck, no, Rita, you can't take another session like that in one night.
She slipped beneath the duvet and pressed herself close to him, breathing in the smell of his skin and letting one leg lazily tangle with his. She let her hand fall onto his hip.
You're forty-seven, for Merlin's sake. How many times do you think you can take it in one night?
Liar, liar, liar.
She could. She knew she could. And she felt desire stirring in her again. You know you won't be here in the morning.
But part of her didn't want to. Part of her just wanted to drown in his arms.
Fuck. She was practically molten beneath his hands, and he revelled in it. He lifted the covers up over them, settling between her sweet, wide-open legs, resting his weight on his forearms. He was almost forty years old, but somehow, he felt his cock stirring again at her softness. She was still wet — even more wet from their combined release — and he groaned at the thought, moving against her, his hardening length sliding back and forth along her slit.
He fisted both hands in her hair and latched onto her neck, sucking the skin between his lips. He wanted to mark her even more now... now that she'd admitted she wanted it. He hummed and purred against her throat, slipping once again into her hot cunt, even without her permission. And then he began a slow, rocking motion, wanting to carry her away with him. And even if they didn't reach release this time, he wanted, no... he had to have this.
"Want you slow," he murmured against her lips. One hand rose to gently fondle her breast, lightly squeezing her nipple like he knew she liked it. He sucked the other nipple into his mouth, tenderly closing his lips around it and pulling. "Want you soft." His hips jerked suddenly at that soft heat. "Soooo soft." He was on the verge of sleep, but half of him wanted to sleep just like this with her. Joined.
She made a soft whimpering, purring noise in the back of her throat when he started to move against her again. Everything was still so sensitive, and wet, and merlin, it felt good.
His fingers in her hair and lips against her throat were fire - not the burning heat of last time but soft and warm, and, oh! Her breath caught in her throat.
She slipped her hand lower, onto his ass, urging him gently with a squeeze and the light scratch of her nails, rocking her hips into his.
"Mmm," she murmured, both in response to his words and the feel of his hand on her breast, "slow is nice." She closed her eyes, arching her head back, feeling, and trying to think of a better word than 'nice', because nice was no word at all for what his fingers and his lips were doing to her.
"Slow is..." She was still searching for the word when she dropped her chin again and let her lips press against the top of his head, feeing all hot and sleepy and needing a word for it.
"Slow is perfect," she finally murmured.
Ahhhhhhh. His hips jerked again at the feeling of her soft lips on the top of his head. And her hand on his hip, her delicate hand on his ass, urging him on... fuck. He picked up the pace just a bit, resting his head in the crook of her neck. He could feel the covers moving seductively over his back, a stark comparison to her nail, which dug into his skin so deliciously.
"Rita," he breathed her name like a prayer. "Yes. You're perfect like this."
He wormed his hand between them, his thumb pressing down on her mound before finding her clit and making slow, heavy strokes, just above the tip, where he knew she was too sensitive to take too much fondling. After a few moments, his thumb and his hips began working in unison, urging her on.
"How do you do this to me?" he pleaded, not expecting an answer. "I could... agghhhhh," he moaned, his cock driving deeper, totally enveloped by her clenching heat. "I could. Do this. All night." Each phrase was a thrust, and he was already close to losing it yet again.
The motion was hypnotic. He could feel his hips rising again and again beneath the soft covers, and his free hand pulled her even closer, her name spilling from his lips against hers as he rode her slowly, his ass clenching under her nails, the sweat of their bodies soaking the sheets....
"Perfect," he agreed.
Mmmmm, Gods... She'd felt so sated before, how could he possibly be... oh yes bringing her so close, so quickly, all over again?
Perhaps it was that he whispered her name like she was some sort of deity.
When he slipped his hand between them and his fingers touched her clit, she answered with a gasped breath, cunt tightening around him in time with his thrusts.
When he spoke, when he pulled her closer and breathed her own name into her mouth, she wanted to erupt. She wanted to burn. She wanted something to take her away at the same time as wanting this moment, this now, to never end, because she knew it would be different when she woke. She knew she would have to fight him again for it next time because he couldn't let go without the battle, and because she couldn't let go without him doing it first.
Fuck. She could feel herself spinning away and coming back, feel him there and then gone, in and out. She curled her leg tighter around him and cradled him there in her arms, within her, whispered his name back at him, burying her face against his neck and grazing it with kisses.
"Yes. Yes," she whispered.
Was there a war, a world outside?
He'd said he wanted her slow, but he couldn't help the response of his body when her arms and legs and her hot cunt — all of her — was wrapped around him so deliciously, and he felt his hips begin to piston faster, harder, against his own will.
This is how it always was with Rita. She was the only one who could quiet all that damn thinking. Pondering. Worrying. All of that was gone just now, and the only thing he thought about — cared about — was getting there once again. Taking her with him, if he could, but even that was starting to look impossible because he just couldn't stop moving, stop thrusting. He wasn't himself right now. He loved it. No one else gave him this excuse to let go, and let go he did.
He growled low against her neck, feeling the pressure build once again, feeling his bollocks tighten as he drove on, feeling them slap against the sticky cheeks of her arse as he changed his angle, going even deeper.
"Oh God. Rita," he panted, slamming mindlessly into her body. He couldn't... he just couldn't stop.... She would just have to forgive him this.... "YES!" he cried, stilling completely once again, feeling himself explode inside her as he rested his head on her chest like a baby. "Yes," he whispered.
She felt the change in his movements and felt her body respond even as she fought against the something in the back of her head that said what and why and fuck then if that's how you want it fine.
She wasn't thinking clearly. She could hardly think at all.
She'd let herself be tender and that wasn't what he wanted after all.
But she gave herself away to it, felt him shift his angle inside her and ride her harder, and she arched into him, eyes closing and head thrown back, letting her arms fall and fist in the sheets beneath her as he rode her harder and harder and harder and then stilled, and she felt herself shake and shatter, letting it take her away, away to somewhere she could regain her strength and rebuild her walls.
When she opened her eyes, his head was against her chest and he looked weak and sated, and she brought a hand around to his back and held him.
Merlin, she had no idea what she wanted.
It took every remaining ounce of control that Kingsley had to not blurt out proclamations of love, when the only thing going through his head was, Love you, Rita. Love you, love you, LOVE YOU. It was the only truth in that moment. She lay beneath him, so mauled by his desire, yet still so soft, and when her arm wrapped around him, he whimpered, giving another weak thrust of his hips before his spent cock left her.
Love you.
He'd tried over and over again with Rita, but he'd found it was impossible for him to separate sex and love, especially in these moments. The fact that she would open her body to him....
He sighed against her chest. He supposed Rita would open her body to many people, but he basked in the delusion that she opened herself a bit more fully to him.
He shifted his weight to her side, still hanging onto her as though for dear life, but he was so sleepy.... Yes, if he drifted off now, perhaps he would wake before her in the morning, before she had a chance to leave.... He purred against her shoulder, imagining her pale skin all spread out on the white sheets by morning light....
Sooooo sleepy.
Merlin and fuck, she was confused, and the fact that two orgasms had left her boneless and exhausted probably wasn't helping.
He wanted soft, but he didn't. She wanted to be that, but she couldn't stand it. She wanted to leave, but she knew that if she pulled away now he'd think it was his fault and not her complete inability to exist like this.
She didn't know which thought was true. Maybe they all were. Merlin, she was tired.
She didn't pull away.
His arm was across her stomach, but his grip was loosening. He'd be asleep soon. She'd wait until he was out, wait until he wouldn't know.
She felt herself snuggle closer to him as if without any bodily command.
She'd stay awake until he slept. She'd stay... stayed... awake... she'd...
~*~
Even in the heat of summer, the light of the morning was cold.
Rita woke with dawn to the sound of birds and the scent of morning flowers, attuned as she always was to those things, and forced herself out of bed. She crept across the room to retrieve her glasses and her wand, and spent a few minutes quickly, quietly charming her clothes back together, then turning her wand on herself to clean herself up.
She left the bruises on her hips as reminders, but she couldn't stay. Couldn't face him.
Merlin, what had she said? What had she done? She remembered the intensity in his eyes, and how much she liked it, and shoved the thoughts away. What would he say in the light of morning, if he woke to her presence?
She had no idea. She didn't want to know. She'd not give him the chance to scorn her.
It would be better this way. They'd both gotten what they wanted.
She paused by the bed a moment to watch him, sleeping soundly, grey dawn light and sleep softening his features.
She turned away.
She had a war to report on, a Prophet to write.
Perhaps the memory of what it felt like to be human would get her by a few weeks more.
Rita/Kingsley - NC-17 - War backstory
He whispered her name like she was everything, and she wanted to dissolve right then, wanted to shatter because it filled her up with something that wasn't really about sex at all and she didn't know what to do with it.
His hands, his lips, his tongue, his teeth. Agony. She was on fire. She couldn't breathe. Her fingers stretched and her wrists strained against his hand. He had her strung like a bow.
OhGodohGodohJesus she felt his cock grinding against her, and she needed, fuck, she needed...
Yes. Fuck, yes.
She watched the look on his face as he filled her, couldn't take her eyes off him. He looked... he looked...
Fuck.
"Kingsley," she breathed, moving her hips against him and pulling him closer, clenching her cunt around him and oh god, oh jesus, oh god.
Gahhhhhhh, fuck shit DAMN she felt good. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. He clenched his jaw when her legs tightened around him. When her hot, sinfully slick cunt tightened around him. He breathed heavily through his nose, fighting off the need to just let go of her arms and grab her hips and mindlessly pump his way to release.
But it was the sound of his name on her lips that broke him.
He released a very unmanly whine, burying his head briefly against her neck. But no. Her lips. He wanted her lips. Her mouth.
His head jerked back up just as quickly, his gaze shifting almost frantically between her eyes and her lips. His breath short. With a muttered curse, he clamped his mouth down over hers, his lips prying hers open, tongue reaching in to taste.
He pulled back slowly and then slammed forward, unable to help himself.
Hot. It was so veryvery hot. In here, between them, fuck. He was so hot and hard inside her, his skin was damp against hers and warm through the stockings. She felt both them and him and jesusfuck, it was impossible to feel everything at once.
Then his lips were on hers and she couldn't feel anything but that, that and him inside her and her hips lifting to meet his. She sucked his tongue into her mouth, twisted her head against him, caught his bottom lip between her teeth for a moment when he pulled away.
He slipped back and no, no, fuck, she needed him there, and when he slammed back into her a moan ripped from her throat.
"Fuck, yes!"
Ohhh fuck, her moan had him reeling. That and her teeth tugging at his lip. He practically snarled, repeating the motion of his hips as he buried his face once again in her neck, alternating between grinding his teeth and licking sweat from her skin.
"Mmmmmmm."
Then he moved his hips in small circles, testing her tightness and groaning as she encased him completely. His cock was hard as granite and fit to burst, but he kept grinding down against her. Slowly. Gently.
"I'll give it to you any way you want it, love," he whispered shakily against her jaw. "Tell me." He nibbled at her earlobe. "How do you want it?"
He knew the answer already. But he wanted to hear her say it. Needed to hear her say it to justify his own animalistic need.
Another one of those hard thrust and hitting there, yes, just there and he was teasing her again. She pulled at her bound hands, arching her head back again, eyelids fluttering. His tongue against her skin was too much because it was so not enough. She let out a needy whimper.
And then he asked.
"Hard," she whispered back. "I want it all. Give me everything you've got. Please."
She moaned again, terrified for just a moment that now she'd said it he'd laugh and push her away.
Everything he had? He let out a desperate bark of a chuckle against her throat. Raising his head and looking her in the eyes, he answered by pulling out momentarily and kneeling between her legs. He hovered over her, releasing her wrists and curling her hands around the rails of the headboard, silently indicating that she would need something to hold onto.
"I was hoping you'd say that," he quietly replied.
With another brief scan of her stretched and heaving body, his gripped her hip in one hand and repositioned his cock at her slit. Then both hands were grasping her hips, fingertips digging in. He plunged forward on his knees, pulling her body up to his and immediately beginning a punishing rhythm.
Oh yes.
"Like this?" He meant for it to sound teasing, but he was so damned breathless himself that it came out as more of a hiss.
Her lips curled into a smile as she tightened her fingers around the thick iron railing, knowing what was coming so well she could almost feel it. Fuck, she needed him.
"I know," she replied in a chuckle to his words.
She watched him move, the way the light caught the sheen of sweat on his dark skin, the tattoo on his hip that flipped up and down with excitement, then stilled when his fingers gripped her hip and his jaw tightened in concentration, anticipation.
And then fuck, she felt her body leave the bed for a moment and all thought left her, he was pounding into her and oh, fuck, yes and her cunt was clenching around him with every thrust.
"Yes. Fuck. Yes. God. Yes. Kingsley. Yes."
His grip on her was bruising. She felt the heel of one shoe dig into his leg . She couldn't get enough.
He was dying. His brain was buzzing for him to hold back, to slow down, but his entire body was screaming for him to go harder. He'd always had a hard time reconciling the two. But he just kept grinding away, biting down hard on his lip as he dragged her hips up and down with his movements.
This woman made him insane. It frightened him, the force of his own need.
Then he made the mistake of opening his eyes and looking down, and ohfuckinghell. Her hard nipples strained forward as she arched her back, the pale skin of her chest washed in red splotches. There was lipstick smeared across the corners of her lips, her bra was almost completely destroyed, and god, those stockings. He could feel them rubbing against his thighs, feel her heels catching on his leg and jabbing into the sweat-slick skin.
But her cunt. He almost lost it. He looked down and saw her naughty cunt stretched wide by his cock, the lips bright red from the blows of his pelvis, the skin so sopping wet that it filled the air with deliciously obscene sounds. He watched his cock spear that tight hole over and over again, and he did lose it.
"Fucking hell, Rita," he groaned, and then, with an outright roar of desire, he dropped her hips, yanking her legs up over his shoulders. He leaned down on his forearms and ploughed harder into her, a string of muffled profanities leaving his mouth at the deepness of the angle. He had her bent practically in two. "I'm crazy," he desperately murmured against her lips. "You make me crazy."
He looked like an animal. She felt like one, clutching the bedrail so tightly it hurt. Fuck. Yes. Fuck. Yes.
She looked at him and all she could see was what she did to him.
No one else fucked her quite like this. No one else needed her quite this much.
Oh fuck. Christ. Fuck.
Her muscles screamed when he pressed down onto her, but fuck, he was even deeper than before oh merlin fuck yes there there there. She couldn't move, couldn't arch her hips or tease against him. She was completely powerless, at his whim, and fuck, why did that make her impossibly hotter, bring her so close to the edge? She dropped one hand from the headboard to grab his shoulder instead, lifted her head and caught a bead of sweat trailing down his cheek with her tongue. Tyring to do something. Anything.
"You're an animal," she hissed. Gods, it was difficult to talk. "My animal. Yes. I love it."
She loved it? Fine. Then she could take more. And yes, he realised that this wasn't the rational part of his brain working anymore. No, that part of his brain had shut down.
And even this, all of a sudden, even her bent in two and gasping for breath, totally unable to move, just. Wasn't. Enough.
"Over," he commanded simply, the word piercing the steamy heat of the room. "Turn over." He pulled out and backed off just long enough to allow her compliance. "NOW."
Oh, Gods.
The way he spoke, ordered. She would never admit to anyone - least of all him - just how much that turned her on. Just how much she wanted to comply. Just do as he said and have him within her again.
But she knew she could make him even crazier.
Her body wasn't cooperating. She lifted herself up with one arm, shaking, then pushed herself onto her knees before him. She felt flushed and fragile and still out of breath, but she wouldn't give in.
She wrapped her hand around his cock, watching his eyes. Stroked it up and down, slick with her own juices, and scraped her thumbnail over the head. She glanced down, and the sight of her small hand wrapped around him - of her pale fingers and scarlet nails against his dark skin - very nearly undid her.
Her hand was so much smaller than his cock, but her cunt could take it, loved it, wanted it.
She looked up at him again, quirked a brow and smiled. "Turn me over yourself."
She needed him to twist her and break her; to wrap an arm around her middle and just pound the hell out of her until she felt like she had no bones left to hold herself up with. Wanted to make him do it.
For a moment, when she rose onto her knees, obviously weak and breathless from the pounding he'd already given her, the nurturing, protective side of him felt a stab of remorse. It was always that way when he let go. Her shaking arms and the finger-shaped bruises at her hips were a testament to the brutality that he kept hidden so carefully inside him, always in check. He suddenly wanted to wrap his arms around her and gently thread his fingers through her hair and kiss and kiss and kiss her.
But then she wrapped her hand around his cock, and instead, his fists clenched uselessly at his sides. His head jerked back in pleasure at the feeling of her small fingers but then jerked back down just as quickly.
He didn't want to miss a moment of this.
He suddenly realised that he was quite winded, as well.
Ohhhhhhhhhfuck, her tiny fingers worked him exactly like he needed, and he panted at the sight of them around his cock, those (FUCK)... those nails. Those blood-red nails that he loved to feel digging into his back, his neck, his arse. Her thumbnail scraped his sensitive glans, and he snapped once again.
He needed this. He hated that he needed this, but it was just that simple. It was blinding, raging need that shut off everything else.
It shut everything else off so entirely that when she replied to his command with a command of her own, he didn't even think to do anything but grab her by her upper arms and twist her around, one long arm caging both of hers as he used the weight of his own body to slam her back down on the bed, balancing on one hand to keep from crushing her entirely. He frantically lifted his hips, just far enough to position his cock, and then he was ramming forward into her wet heat once again.
"Gonna. Break. You. Rita," he gasped between thrusts. Damn the part of him that wanted to do just that. The part of him that wanted to annihilate her for making him need her this much.
He thrust so far into her that his hips barely left hers. He just buried himself, pumping wildly, and god he wasn't going to last long like this. He worked his free hand beneath her, cupping her mound, two of his fingers sliding down to encase her clit. "Fuck my hand," he desperately commanded, realising that he could do nothing else for her pleasure at this point.
She felt her legs twist beneath her and her arms pulled back, and she had no time to laugh, no time to smirk before her face was against the duvet and he was crushing her beneath his weight. One leg was folded beneath her, holding her up, the other twisted at a painful angle, but none of it mattered, because then he was pounding into her again even deeper and harder than before and fuck she couldn't take it much longer but she wanted it to go on forever.
She couldn't speak to reply to him, couldn't laugh and whisper yes as desperately as she was thinking it. Yes. Break me. I need it. Moremoremoremoremore.
But a frantic whimper escaped her throat when his fingers oh FUCK touched her clit, and she couldn't help but comply, grinding herself against his hand as hard as she could, hearing herself whimper and moan with need.
She was so close. So close.
"You... you like that?" he panted against her neck. He was almost too far gone to speak, but when he was buried this deep, fucking this hard, he often found his mouth running almost completely independently of the rest of his body.
Of course, no one but Rita had ever experienced that. Because no one but Rita could drive him this far.
He could feel the entrance to her womb as he rode her. It almost hurt, his cockhead slamming against that barrier again and again, but he kept on, a roar tearing from his throat as he bit down on her shoulder.
And she was working those hips just like he'd told her to, their rhythms in opposition but fitting together so well, and for just a moment, he paused, letting her fuck herself on him, growling at the feeling. "Fuckyeah, baby," he gasped. "Work that... nnngahhh... work that hot little snatch. You like this?" He gave her a particularly brutal thrust. "You like what you do to me?"
He could tell one of her legs was bent under her. Her face was smashed into the bedcovers, and he wondered if she could even breathe. But he. Just. Didn't. Care.
"Hell yeah." He pummeled her snatch impossibly harder. "Take that cock. Take it. You gonna come on my cock, baby? Take it."
He was practically yelling now, his voice booming through the heat of the room. "TAKE IT!"
Go on, take everything.
Her head jerked up when his teeth bit into her shoulder and she let out a cry that was almost a scream. She rutted against his hand, so close and needing release so badly that there were tears in her eyes. Agony. On fire. Oh, fuck.
"Yes," she gasped, hardly finding the air to speak. "Fuck. Yes. Animal. Bastard. Yes. Yes!" Harder again, and her breath coming in gasps, every thrust grinding her clit harder and harder into his fingers.
But it was his words that sent her over the edge. Take it, take it, take it. Everything exploded.
She shook, felt herself convulse around him, and then she was arching and straining and struggling against the arm that bound her. A high-pitched wail escaped her throat as she thrashed, all the while fucking as hard as she could against that hand.
Burning. Dying.
Slut. Slattern. Whore.
Through the haze of his own driving need, he vaguely registered the fact that she was coming. He felt the convulsions of her cunt, like little waves of random tightness around his cock, but the ultimate clue to her release was when she began thrashing.
How very Rita Skeeter. She always did that. Always fought to get away in that one moment wherein she lost herself.
He wasn't having it. "Going somewhere?" he gasped, jerking her even closer, crushing her with that one arm. He could feel her straining nipples on his forearm, and fuck. The harder she fought to get away, the tighter he held onto her, and nonononoNO, that was not an analogy, because he was past that, and because—
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" he screamed against her back. "Gonna come, Rita. Gonna come. Gonna—"
He stilled completely, feeling his cock pump her full of thick, gooey strings of his spunk. And then he thrust. And thrust. And thrust. Completely blind to anything and everything but the relief surging through his cock, every muscle in his body slowly loosening, unravelling....
He jerked his arms away from her only long enough to reposition them, digging them under her arms, his hands curling up over her shoulders as he buried one cheek between her shoulderblades and panted for dear life.
She dropped her forehead against the bedcovers, chest heaving, sucking in breath after breath after breath and feeling the world return. Slowly, slowly.
He was still inside her, his entire weight pressed against her back. Her legs were shaking, arms useless, fingers against the duvet but unable to hold her up.
"I'm not..." her voice came out a desperate whisper. "Not going anywhere, Kingsley. Let me... let..."
He didn't seem to want to let her go. She didn't want to move, either, didn't want it to end, didn't want to feel him gone from within her. But she could barely breathe.
"Let you what?" he breathed against her back.
He didn't want to pull out. He didn't want to ease up on his weight, which he knew must be crushing her. And, more than anything else in the world, he did not want to let her go.
He settled for rolling to his side, his softening cock freeing itself from her cunt as he dragged her with him. And then that arm was around her once again, and this time it was pulling her into his embrace, soothing instead of crushing.
"Rita," he sighed, totally carried away by his climax. He hugged her close, every inch of her body moulding to his, and god this felt perfect. He gave one or two last thrusts against the back of her thigh, whining at the contact to his sensitive cock. "No, don't go anywhere, sweetheart."
He kissed the top of her head. The nape of her neck. Then he grasped her chin, turning her head and capturing her lipstick-smeared mouth, kissing her from the inside out. He knew she would pull away. Eventually, she would pull away.
He released her lips and pressed her closer, not even contemplating the fact that only by fucking her so hard could he get her this close, just where he wanted her.
Rita didn't fight when he pulled her close. She couldn't. Her orgasm had left her breathless, boneless and careless. She couldn't think, couldn't fight. Their bodies fit so well together.
He spoke like he needed her.
She shifted when he turned her face toward him, turning a little so her shoulder rested against his chest, and let it happen. Let him kiss her. Kissed him back.
She lifted her free arm and caught the back of his head, trailed her fingers over his smooth, sweat-damp scalp.
"I couldn't go anywhere now even if I wanted to," she murmured against his jaw.
He hummed low in his throat when she kissed him back. Whimpered when her fingers softly curved around his head. He loved to have his head, his neck, rubbed, and this woman knew just how to touch him. She always knew just how to drive him crazy. Make him a silly mess of a man, and it didn't even occur to him to mind at the moment.
Her head flopped back against the pillow after she'd spoken, and he took advantage of the fact that she had that one arm raised and toying with him. He slid his hand up her bruised hip, up over her sweat-slickened ribs, and cupped it gently around her breast, loving the feeling of all that soft flesh so perfectly there for his taking. "So soft," he purred, his thumb gliding over her nipple. "I hope—" He quietly cleared his throat. "I didn't want to hurt you, love."
The guilt was slowly seeping in. He wanted to be a gentle man. He wanted to go to sleep just like this and wake up to see Rita Skeeter by morning light for once and make love to her. Worship her like he wanted to. Like she wouldn't let him. Like she didn't seem to think she deserved.
A small part of Rita's mind - all but silenced by the warm, sated afterglow humming in her veins - knew that her defences were down, that it was stupid, that she'd hate herself for letting it happen later, but she couldn't bring herself to take notice of it right then. The intent look on Kingsley's face was enough to make her forget everything else.
She made a little noise of pleasure in the back of her throat when his thumb caressed her nipple, scraped her nails lightly against his skin, slipping her hand lower and working her fingertips against one of the tight muscles in his neck. All that jaw-clenching, perhaps.
"Don't," she murmured when she heard the guilt start to creep into his voice. She knew he was looking at the places where his fingers had marred her skin, and regretting it, but she knew she'd wear them like trophies. They'd be there for days, and she would watch them bloom and fade. She'd go hunting for stories and labour like an insect during the day, but when she took her clothes off at night, the purple bruises marring the beetle tattoo on her hip would remind her that she was human.
She didn't want him - wouldn't let him - feel guilty about that. Her fingers tightened on his head and she pulled his gaze down to hers. She couldn't focus - not with him this close - but she wanted him to look at her anyway. "You didn't hurt me. You know you didn't. No more than I wanted you to. I knew what I was doing when I came up the stairs. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be."
You make me feel alive. But that last would remain unvoiced. She couldn't say it. She knew how - could say it as many times as she wanted to when she was alone - but something held it back, here. Years of learning what happened to people who said what they really thought, maybe. Years of destroying people who gave themselves away.
"Oh, sweetheart," he mumbled, suddenly unable to get enough of her. He kissed her lips, her jaw, her neck, the gaze of his eyes meeting hers intermittently. He loved Rita like this, and he had half a mind to tell her so, but he knew there was no quicker way to get her to leave, and the only important thing in the world was that she didn't leave. That she stay right there all night, because after it was all over, in these rare moments, was the one time he felt at peace.
Even so, he yanked at the closure of her bra almost viciously, suddenly wanting nothing between them, nothing to come between this. He slipped it off her shoulders, urging her to raise up for a moment so he could release the offending garment from her body and toss it over the side of the bed.
He nudged her onto her back once again, silently setting to work on her stockings, rolling them down her long, smooth legs. When he reached her shoes, he jerked them off with almost a sob, desperate to have her naked. Bare. Then he jerked at the covers, unminding of how the pillows went askew at the movement.
"Get under the covers with me," he asked. It was more like a plea.
She didn't have the strength to resist. Not the warmth of kiss kisses, not the strength of his movements when he moved to peel the remaining clothes from her body.
She didn't want to. I felt delicious to be naked with him. Like maybe this was normal. Like maybe she wouldn't run away from it when she woke from her daze.
She didn't know how to be like this any other time. She'd forgotten. Slytherin had beaten it out of her. Bellatrix had beaten it out of her. Watching her parents disown her sister for love had beaten it out of her. She was the older one, the strong one.
Only just not right now.
Right now his fingers against her skin felt delicious, light and gentle and tickling and fuck, no, Rita, you can't take another session like that in one night.
She slipped beneath the duvet and pressed herself close to him, breathing in the smell of his skin and letting one leg lazily tangle with his. She let her hand fall onto his hip.
You're forty-seven, for Merlin's sake. How many times do you think you can take it in one night?
Liar, liar, liar.
She could. She knew she could. And she felt desire stirring in her again. You know you won't be here in the morning.
But part of her didn't want to. Part of her just wanted to drown in his arms.
Fuck. She was practically molten beneath his hands, and he revelled in it. He lifted the covers up over them, settling between her sweet, wide-open legs, resting his weight on his forearms. He was almost forty years old, but somehow, he felt his cock stirring again at her softness. She was still wet — even more wet from their combined release — and he groaned at the thought, moving against her, his hardening length sliding back and forth along her slit.
He fisted both hands in her hair and latched onto her neck, sucking the skin between his lips. He wanted to mark her even more now... now that she'd admitted she wanted it. He hummed and purred against her throat, slipping once again into her hot cunt, even without her permission. And then he began a slow, rocking motion, wanting to carry her away with him. And even if they didn't reach release this time, he wanted, no... he had to have this.
"Want you slow," he murmured against her lips. One hand rose to gently fondle her breast, lightly squeezing her nipple like he knew she liked it. He sucked the other nipple into his mouth, tenderly closing his lips around it and pulling. "Want you soft." His hips jerked suddenly at that soft heat. "Soooo soft." He was on the verge of sleep, but half of him wanted to sleep just like this with her. Joined.
She made a soft whimpering, purring noise in the back of her throat when he started to move against her again. Everything was still so sensitive, and wet, and merlin, it felt good.
His fingers in her hair and lips against her throat were fire - not the burning heat of last time but soft and warm, and, oh! Her breath caught in her throat.
She slipped her hand lower, onto his ass, urging him gently with a squeeze and the light scratch of her nails, rocking her hips into his.
"Mmm," she murmured, both in response to his words and the feel of his hand on her breast, "slow is nice." She closed her eyes, arching her head back, feeling, and trying to think of a better word than 'nice', because nice was no word at all for what his fingers and his lips were doing to her.
"Slow is..." She was still searching for the word when she dropped her chin again and let her lips press against the top of his head, feeing all hot and sleepy and needing a word for it.
"Slow is perfect," she finally murmured.
Ahhhhhhh. His hips jerked again at the feeling of her soft lips on the top of his head. And her hand on his hip, her delicate hand on his ass, urging him on... fuck. He picked up the pace just a bit, resting his head in the crook of her neck. He could feel the covers moving seductively over his back, a stark comparison to her nail, which dug into his skin so deliciously.
"Rita," he breathed her name like a prayer. "Yes. You're perfect like this."
He wormed his hand between them, his thumb pressing down on her mound before finding her clit and making slow, heavy strokes, just above the tip, where he knew she was too sensitive to take too much fondling. After a few moments, his thumb and his hips began working in unison, urging her on.
"How do you do this to me?" he pleaded, not expecting an answer. "I could... agghhhhh," he moaned, his cock driving deeper, totally enveloped by her clenching heat. "I could. Do this. All night." Each phrase was a thrust, and he was already close to losing it yet again.
The motion was hypnotic. He could feel his hips rising again and again beneath the soft covers, and his free hand pulled her even closer, her name spilling from his lips against hers as he rode her slowly, his ass clenching under her nails, the sweat of their bodies soaking the sheets....
"Perfect," he agreed.
Mmmmm, Gods... She'd felt so sated before, how could he possibly be... oh yes bringing her so close, so quickly, all over again?
Perhaps it was that he whispered her name like she was some sort of deity.
When he slipped his hand between them and his fingers touched her clit, she answered with a gasped breath, cunt tightening around him in time with his thrusts.
When he spoke, when he pulled her closer and breathed her own name into her mouth, she wanted to erupt. She wanted to burn. She wanted something to take her away at the same time as wanting this moment, this now, to never end, because she knew it would be different when she woke. She knew she would have to fight him again for it next time because he couldn't let go without the battle, and because she couldn't let go without him doing it first.
Fuck. She could feel herself spinning away and coming back, feel him there and then gone, in and out. She curled her leg tighter around him and cradled him there in her arms, within her, whispered his name back at him, burying her face against his neck and grazing it with kisses.
"Yes. Yes," she whispered.
Was there a war, a world outside?
He'd said he wanted her slow, but he couldn't help the response of his body when her arms and legs and her hot cunt — all of her — was wrapped around him so deliciously, and he felt his hips begin to piston faster, harder, against his own will.
This is how it always was with Rita. She was the only one who could quiet all that damn thinking. Pondering. Worrying. All of that was gone just now, and the only thing he thought about — cared about — was getting there once again. Taking her with him, if he could, but even that was starting to look impossible because he just couldn't stop moving, stop thrusting. He wasn't himself right now. He loved it. No one else gave him this excuse to let go, and let go he did.
He growled low against her neck, feeling the pressure build once again, feeling his bollocks tighten as he drove on, feeling them slap against the sticky cheeks of her arse as he changed his angle, going even deeper.
"Oh God. Rita," he panted, slamming mindlessly into her body. He couldn't... he just couldn't stop.... She would just have to forgive him this.... "YES!" he cried, stilling completely once again, feeling himself explode inside her as he rested his head on her chest like a baby. "Yes," he whispered.
She felt the change in his movements and felt her body respond even as she fought against the something in the back of her head that said what and why and fuck then if that's how you want it fine.
She wasn't thinking clearly. She could hardly think at all.
She'd let herself be tender and that wasn't what he wanted after all.
But she gave herself away to it, felt him shift his angle inside her and ride her harder, and she arched into him, eyes closing and head thrown back, letting her arms fall and fist in the sheets beneath her as he rode her harder and harder and harder and then stilled, and she felt herself shake and shatter, letting it take her away, away to somewhere she could regain her strength and rebuild her walls.
When she opened her eyes, his head was against her chest and he looked weak and sated, and she brought a hand around to his back and held him.
Merlin, she had no idea what she wanted.
It took every remaining ounce of control that Kingsley had to not blurt out proclamations of love, when the only thing going through his head was, Love you, Rita. Love you, love you, LOVE YOU. It was the only truth in that moment. She lay beneath him, so mauled by his desire, yet still so soft, and when her arm wrapped around him, he whimpered, giving another weak thrust of his hips before his spent cock left her.
Love you.
He'd tried over and over again with Rita, but he'd found it was impossible for him to separate sex and love, especially in these moments. The fact that she would open her body to him....
He sighed against her chest. He supposed Rita would open her body to many people, but he basked in the delusion that she opened herself a bit more fully to him.
He shifted his weight to her side, still hanging onto her as though for dear life, but he was so sleepy.... Yes, if he drifted off now, perhaps he would wake before her in the morning, before she had a chance to leave.... He purred against her shoulder, imagining her pale skin all spread out on the white sheets by morning light....
Sooooo sleepy.
Merlin and fuck, she was confused, and the fact that two orgasms had left her boneless and exhausted probably wasn't helping.
He wanted soft, but he didn't. She wanted to be that, but she couldn't stand it. She wanted to leave, but she knew that if she pulled away now he'd think it was his fault and not her complete inability to exist like this.
She didn't know which thought was true. Maybe they all were. Merlin, she was tired.
She didn't pull away.
His arm was across her stomach, but his grip was loosening. He'd be asleep soon. She'd wait until he was out, wait until he wouldn't know.
She felt herself snuggle closer to him as if without any bodily command.
She'd stay awake until he slept. She'd stay... stayed... awake... she'd...
Even in the heat of summer, the light of the morning was cold.
Rita woke with dawn to the sound of birds and the scent of morning flowers, attuned as she always was to those things, and forced herself out of bed. She crept across the room to retrieve her glasses and her wand, and spent a few minutes quickly, quietly charming her clothes back together, then turning her wand on herself to clean herself up.
She left the bruises on her hips as reminders, but she couldn't stay. Couldn't face him.
Merlin, what had she said? What had she done? She remembered the intensity in his eyes, and how much she liked it, and shoved the thoughts away. What would he say in the light of morning, if he woke to her presence?
She had no idea. She didn't want to know. She'd not give him the chance to scorn her.
It would be better this way. They'd both gotten what they wanted.
She paused by the bed a moment to watch him, sleeping soundly, grey dawn light and sleep softening his features.
She turned away.
She had a war to report on, a Prophet to write.
Perhaps the memory of what it felt like to be human would get her by a few weeks more.
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Date: 2006-12-18 01:34 pm (UTC)This was AMAZING. Holy. Fuck. Shit. Damn. Slut.
I loved this, HOT! You two write perfect together, I loved it :D Great job!
♥
no subject
Date: 2007-05-03 08:25 pm (UTC)Bravo!
So sad that the both of you aren't writing together anymore. :(