featherxquill (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
featherxquill) wrote2008-02-01 04:30 am
featherxquill) wrote2008-02-01 04:30 am
Fic: And Here's to You, Mrs Robinson
Title: And Here’s to You, Mrs Robinson
Pairing: Rita/Neville
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Neville would like to... well, um... And Rita’s the only woman he knows who... well, yes. Rita is a capable and willing teacher. Neville is an enthusiastic (if slightly nervous) student.
Notes: This fic is based on characters and relationships written in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wizardwatch RPG. For the benefit of anyone unfamiliar with the game, it was basically HP Big Brother. During their time in the house, Rita and Neville slept together twice. This fic is my own imagining of what could happen two years on. Thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
celtmama for the beta, and regasssa, for not minding me usurping her fabulous Neville. FF100 prompt #10: Years. All characters in this fic are consenting adults.
She met him again in the Leaky Cauldron, one Friday night after work, two years after the competition ended.
“Neville,” she said, trying to hide the tone of surprise that came from realising she hadn’t thought of him since the publicity died down. Possibly since the last time someone hummed ‘and here’s to you, Mrs Robinson’ as they passed her in the street. If it hadn’t been for sleeping with him in front of the entirety of wizarding Britain, she would never have known so many wizards knew songs from old Muggle films.
“Rita,” he replied. His drink came over the bar, money exchanged hands, then he disappeared into the crowd. They didn’t speak again.
Two weeks later, the owl took her by surprise.
Miss Skeeter,
Will you meet me at the Leaky this Saturday night? I’ll be staying in room 14. I’d like to discuss something with you.
Neville Longbottom
Rita didn’t know whether to be intrigued or irritated. She didn’t know if ‘discuss something’ was a euphemism or not, but she’d learned over those long weeks never to assume anything with Neville. It felt like a dream now, that time in the house, but the money in her bank account told her it was real, and she could still remember his eyes full of fear and lust.
She answered the note in the affirmative, careful to keep innuendo out of it because she didn’t yet know what he wanted.
He was wearing a tie when she arrived, and his hands were in his pockets.
“I bought some gin and vermouth and olives from Tom downstairs. I remember you liked Martinis. I made you one.” And it was there on the table, right beside a pulled-out chair that she sat in without an invitation.
“How’s Hogwarts?” she asked, picking up the glass and taking a sip. “A little less vermouth next time.”
“It’s good,” he said, and smiled, and she saw a trace of the young man in the garden with the sun on his face. “Students are great. We’re potting mandrakes at the moment.”
She smiled back, but noted that he was shifting on his feet and he hadn’t taken his hands out of his pockets yet.
“How’s the... You’re still at the Prophet, aren’t you?”
“I am. I’ve moved into editing now, though. I miss reporting, sometimes, but editorial leaves me with more time to work on new books.”
“What are you writing?”
“Did you really ask me to come here so we could chat about what we’re doing these days? Surely a table downstairs would have been adequate for that.”
He flushed, and now she really was intrigued, but she remembered that she could never push Neville, only coax, because his first reaction to being pushed was to run away. She almost laughed when she realised how thoroughly he’d circumvented that particular escape this time, given that they were in his room.
“Well, n-no, I...” And suddenly the hands were out of his pockets and he was crossing the room and pouring himself a shot of Firewhiskey. He downed it in one go, turned back to her. “I wanted to ask you about what happened in the house.”
“You mean the sex.” It wasn’t a question.
His cheeks went even redder and his thumbs went into his pockets, but his hands stayed out this time. “Yes. I wanted to know if...why...why you picked me. The second time, I mean. Was it because I was easy, or the only one there who might have been interested, or was it me?”
Rita laid down her glass, noticed his feet had stilled. She wondered if it was the whiskey or the fact that he’d managed to put his question into words.
“That depends on why you’re asking, really.” He said nothing, so she thought longer on the question and came up with a suitable answer. “All of the above, possibly, only not the easy part. If I’d wanted somebody easy, there would have been other choices. You were far from easy, but I like challenges. And obviously you were there, and the most obvious choice, but I wouldn’t have tried the second time if I hadn’t enjoyed the first. If I hadn’t liked you.” She resisted the urge to add that if she’d just wanted a cock, she could have transfigured herself a substitute from any one of her possessions.
Feet shifted again. “But what did you like? I still can’t work it out, and it’s been two years.”
She considered. “I liked seeing you lose control. I wanted to show you that you had it in there, and it wasn’t nasty or wrong. Are you still afraid of yourself?”
“No.” He answered quickly. Too quickly. She arched a brow. He elaborated. “I never really thought I was. I see things differently than you, but I don’t think that makes me afraid. Just because I wanted...gentle, doesn’t mean that I was holding something back.”
“But you seemed to think that losing control made you a monster. It didn’t. It doesn’t.”
“I know that now. You did... I did learn that.” Rita couldn’t decide if his smile was sheepish or impish, but she liked the sound of the latter better.
“Have there been other girls since?” she asked.
He looked down at his feet. “A...a few. Not many during the school year, but there were a few after, and there is one now. They followed me around for months after, and other men...asked me questions. For advice. It was...” His cheeks coloured even more than Rita had thought physically possible, and she laughed.
“Yes. I had a few offers myself. And people singing a Muggle song about a woman in a movie who seduced a young man.”
He looked up at her again and the smile was definitely impish this time, but he said nothing. Whatever he wanted, Rita knew they would step around it for hours unless she took control of the conversation again. She hadn’t missed the mention of the girl he had now, and it only made her more intrigued as to why they were here.
“Why are you asking?” Her voice came out quieter than she’d expected, and he looked at her for a few moments. She watched his chest rise and fall, and his jaw clench and open. He didn’t look at the floor again.
“Well, I was wondering if it might...happen again.”
Silence again, and him looking at her as if waiting for her to pounce or run. Rita felt a flicker of irritation run through her body. Even now, asking this, he stared at her as like she might rip him apart, and seemingly expected her to answer based on that statement alone. Honestly, Rita didn’t think she was a difficult woman to get into bed, but she did need more than that.
“Why?” she asked.
He took another deep breath. “The girl I’m seeing, she and I... We...” He scrunched up his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, and there was even more determination than before. “She goes down on me sometimes, and I’ve never done it back, for her. I want to, but I don’t know what to do, and I don’t want...to make an idiot of myself.” The last words came out quietly, as if he thought he was making one of himself now. “And you’re the only woman I know who-”
“Who’ll spread her legs just for the hell of it? Who won’t expect anything afterward? I remember you telling me you preferred the company of plants to Slytherins.” She took another sip of the drink and watched him. He had the good grace to look abashed. “You were a complete bastard in that last week, and now you want to fuck me again?”
“I didn’t mean... No,” he was red in the face again, but this time it was a mixture of frustration as well as embarrassment. “That last week was too much! You pushed me and I could handle that, but then they did it as well, making us act like we were married, and it was like they were laughing at me. I don’t like it when people laugh at me.”
Rita’s lip curled into a wry sort of smile. “Well, it tends to happen when you act like a fool.”
“I couldn’t help it. It was too much and I couldn’t get away. You were there; you know what it was like. We all did things... Anyway, if you were that upset you might have shown it.”
“What?” The statement took her by surprise. The hand holding the glass faltered, and she nearly spilled its contents on the table. A flicker of something other than nervousness in his eyes: the anger he had regarded her with so many times in that last week.
“You walk around like nothing bothers you, like you’ve got no feelings at all. If you’re going to act like that, it’s not fair to get angry with someone for not knowing when you’re upset. If I’d known it was hard for you as well I mightn’t have felt like I was the only one having a bad time.”
“Well, I...”
“I prefer the company of plants to Slytherins because plants are easier to understand.”
Rita didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. On some level he was probably right, but Rita had made her living from ripping apart people who gave way to weakness, and being strong and flippant was part of a lifetime of learned behaviour – a lifetime that was considerably longer than Neville’s, and that he would likely fail to understand if she explained.
“Well, I suppose my question is the same as yours, then. Why have you picked me to want this from? Is it because I’m easy and we’ve done it before, or is it me?”
“Well, it’s... You know what you want, and how to get it, and you never seemed to have a problem with taking it, and telling me what to do. I know I won’t...hurt you, and I know you won’t be nice and pretend to have an orgasm if I’m doing it wrong. I never knew girls did that until I heard them talking in the staffroom. You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
Rita snorted. “No, I wouldn’t.”
She considered the offer. What he was suggesting was hardly unpleasant, and really they had been brought together before with one or the other in a state of need. She didn’t like the idea that she was practice, but she did like the idea of teaching him.
“All right,” she said, and drained her drink.
There was a moment of silence and absolute stillness in which Rita watched a gamut of emotions run across Neville’s face – relief, uncertainty, fear, desire – and then his eyes focussed on her and they said very clearly ‘what now?’
Rita stood and Neville didn’t move, so she closed the distance between them. He stood perfectly still as she lifted a hand and worked the knot in his tie loose, and with her fingers brushing his chest she felt the furious pounding of his heart. He bent his head to let her pull the tie over it, and then she was working the buttons of his shirt undone, slipping a hand inside as she went to feel the heat of his skin and flick her fingers over one hard little nipple.
He drew in a ragged breath, then murmured, “Rita, I don’t think-”
“What?” she asked, with a little smile. “Did you think I was just going to sit on the bed and open my legs for you? It doesn’t work like that, Neville. You can’t just turn it off and on. Think of it like planting seeds, or something. You have to prepare the soil first.”
He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat, but he let her continue. When the shirt had slithered down over his shoulders and onto the floor, she looked up at him, waiting for him to move. He didn’t.
“Are you going to help me with mine?” she asked.
His fingers were shaking, but he didn’t fumble as he lifted his hands and worked her buttons undone, seeming steadier with each one plucked open, concentrating fiercely on the job he was performing. His thumbs caressed the satin as he slipped the blouse back on her shoulders, and he looked at her with an earnest sort of desire. Don’t make fun of me, she thought the gaze said.
He’d learned since two years ago. Satin slid over her arms and his fingers traced the line of her bra strap and down over the lacy edge to the valley between her breasts. Then they fanned and curled and he caught her nipple between two of them, sliding the other strap down off her shoulder at the same time. He shifted closer, reaching behind her for the clip as she slid a hand between them to work his belt undone.
Her bra came loose in his hands and he slipped it down over her shoulders, sliding it down over her arms in a way she could only think of as shedding - peeling away the layers and leaving her bare. His hands fell on her hips and he gazed down intently – seeing her properly maybe for the first time – grazing his fingers up her sides and not flinching away from the fact that her body was older than his (well maintained, of course, but one couldn’t stop time completely). One hand slipped around to the small of her back and pulled her hips against his, and the other traced her ribs higher and palmed her breast. He teased, rolled the nipple between his fingers, then bent his head and sucked it into his mouth. Rita gasped, hand sliding around him to pull him even closer and grind her hips against his, to give him back a little of the heat he’d stirred in her. She rocked against him, he rocked back, and then they were traversing the floor, manoeuvring around the table on their way to the bed.
It was only a few feet away, but they waded through fabric as they moved, shedding pants and skirt and shoes. When they reached it, it caught Rita on the back of her knees and she let herself fall, looking up at this man who had grown so much since she’d last had him, bizarrely proud of how far he’d come (where do I touch?, he’d once asked her, but now he knew and did it without having to question).
The nerves came back when he stood over her, though, just as she’d expected they would, and all of a sudden he looked lost and uncertain.
She reached up and took him by the hand. “You’ll be most comfortable on your knees.” A tug and he obeyed, dropping down and looking up at her with that same expression of fearful lust. Rita knew he might have been equally as comfortable lying on the bed, but she preferred the sight of him kneeling before her, that age-old position of worship. His gaze dropped from her face and he lifted a hand to run tentative fingers over stockings and the line of charmed elastic that held them on her thighs.
“Should I...?” he looked up at her again.
“Leave them on,” she said. “I think the knickers are more important.” She smiled again, encouraging.
“Right, I...yeah.” His cheeks were red again. “How...?”
Rita lifted her hips so he could peel them down, then there was a bit of a tangle of hands and legs, but eventually they slid over the ends of her toes. She lifted one leg over his head and let it fall over his shoulder.
“Now,” she murmured, because he was still focussed on the spot on the floor where her knickers had fallen, “look at me.”
He lifted his head and his eyes briefly met hers, but he couldn’t avoid staring at what was right in front of his face for long. She saw him swallow again.
“There’s no rush, and no rules. Take your time.”
He nodded minutely, not looking away from her cunt, as if he was afraid that if he did, he might never look back again. He reached up to her knee, adjusting her leg on his shoulder, and his fingers lingered there, moving light and gentle over stockings and up to bare skin. With the other hand, he cupped her calf and eased her legs open wider. She watched him, blood growing hot and thick with anticipation, with the knowledge that he’d never done this before and he wanted her to tell him what to do. She felt her own nerves crackle with an entirely different fear than his – she hoped she could be a good teacher, stay coherent long enough to instruct.
His mouth came down on her skin, right above the stocking-top, lips brushing and tongue flicking out to tease along the line of fabric. She hissed in a breath; let it out again in a heavy gust. His thumb stroked the underside of her knee; his lips trailed higher. He went slowly, and she had no words, but her heavy breathing told a story and one hand fisted in the duvet. He reached the most sensitive area of thigh and sucked on the skin, pulling a whimper from her lips, and then he was talking, his breath so close she could feel its humidity on her already damp sex.
“You smell like...animal, and earth. I’ve never... anything like it."
And then he moved away, going to the other leg, clamping fingers under her knee and spreading her wider still. He repeated the movements of lips and tongue, nipping lightly at that sensitive area of thigh-flesh, and she gasped, because it sent fire straight to her cunt. He soothed the spot with his tongue, then looked up at her.
“Was that bad? Painful?”
“No,” she breathed. “Not painful. Hot. Not too much longer now, though, please. Going to die if I don’t feel your tongue on me soon.”
He smiled, and it wasn’t impish this time but positively wicked. “I thought you said there was no hurry.”
Rita laughed, a sound ragged with arousal. “There’s not, but-”
Her voice drowned when he lowered his head again and dragged his tongue over the apex of thigh, hips bucking toward him. He slid his hands under her and pulled her closer, and when his tongue finally touched her, the muscles in her back dissolved and she melted onto the bed.
He was shy at first, teasing, spreading her open and exploring. His arm curled around the thigh over his shoulder and he gripped her leg like a lifeline, nudging himself right inside the V of her knees and using his fingers to spread her wider and give himself more access. Rita's hand snaked down and tangled in his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp and trying to – what? To reassure him? To urge him on?
Noise. Not making enough noise. Busy feeling, concentrating on sensation, and the idea of talking felt far too difficult. But she opened her mouth and forced her voice to form words.
“Fuck...so good. Like that, yes, teasing, yes. Fuck me...fuck me with your tongue.”
A momentary hesitation, and then he did, nuzzling in even further and pushing that velvety muscle inside her.
Dying. Burning up. He experimented, thrusting and teasing the tip of his tongue at her entrance until she was reduced to tiny whimpers, until the feeling blurred into nothing but nerve endings on fire and she had no idea what he was doing down there, only that it felt amazing and she never wanted it to end.
But not enough, it wasn’t enough.
“More,” she whispered, tugging lightly on his hair. “Need your fingers inside me, your mouth on my clit. Please.”
She could hear his breathing as he pulled back, thick and ragged. A moment of none of him, then his finger worked inside her, first to the knuckle, then all the way, adding a second and pressing deep.
“Tell me if... Tell me if I hurt you.”
She wanted to laugh but she didn’t have the breath – knew he wouldn’t have liked it, either. Wanted to tell him he could never hurt her, but didn’t have enough of her mind left for that either. “I will,” was all she could manage.
And then his lips closed around her clit and his tongue pressed against it, and he was moving his fingers in and out of her.
“Fuck, yes, curl them up, like that, there, yes, deeper, harder, yessssssss...”
One foot found purchase on the floor and she thrust her hips against him, taking those fingers as deep as they would go. Her thighs were shaking, breath a series of whimpering cries, spiralling upwards into a vortex of impossible heat.
She felt him slow his pace as if to stop and her hand tightened in his hair.
“Don’t...don’t stop. Not there yet. Don’t stop.”
He kept up, moving harder and deeper, pushing her further, and she realised her breath was making noises like dontstopdontstopsontstop over and over again, and then her voice shattered and her body went with it, thighs tightening around him and hips bucking as the vortex pulled her high and flung her out the top.
When she came down, he was still there, licking gently and pulling her back to earth, and she was grateful for his seemingly instinctual knowledge that she was so suddenly tender and broken. She couldn’t have said a thing if she’d tried.
Only when her breathing had returned to something close to normal did he stop, grazing his lips over her thigh before he finally lifted his head. Her limbs felt heavy and boneless, but she managed to lift herself onto one elbow by sheer willpower. She wanted to see him, and when she did it was worth the effort. He looked almost as dazed as she felt. His eyes were awed, mouth still damp and glistening with her wetness. The smile that spread across his face was both decadent and proud, and Rita smirked in response.
“Was that good?” The smile wavered. “I didn’t mean to stop before you... I thought you were...”
“Neville,” Rita cut him off with the sternest voice she could muster while post-orgasmic and careless. “Don’t apologise. Yes, it was. And that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? So you know what these things feel like?”
The smile came back. “Yes, I suppose. Don’t know how I could have mistaken it, really. You didn’t really make it hard to tell, in the end.”
Rita chuckled, pushing herself up to sit again. Only then did she see the tenting of his boxer shorts – the evidence of what going down on her had done to him – and the post-orgasmic fog was all but chased away by a thrill of power.
She offered her hands to him. “Up,” she said, and he took them, using her to steady his weight as he climbed onto shaky feet. She deposited his hands on her shoulders and looked up at him, reaching up to run her hands over his chest, grazing fingers over nipples again then sliding down to hook them into the waistband of his pants.
“Any harder and we’d have to cut you out of them,” she murmured, glancing at him again as she eased them down. This time, he didn’t even blush. She watched his eyes as she licked her hand then wrapped it, damp, around his cock. His pupils dilated, he let out a little hiss of breath, then it turned into a voice that was gravelly with arousal.
“Rita...don’t...” His fingers tightened on her shoulders. There was real worry in his eyes then, a kind of embarrassment that didn’t end in red cheeks. She froze where she was.
“What’s wrong? You didn’t really think I was going to leave and let you sort this out on your own, did you? Not after what you gave to me? I want to give it back, Neville.”
If she hadn’t had her hand wrapped around his cock, she thought he might have shifted on his feet again.
“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s... The girl I’m seeing, she’s not as experienced as you, and I don’t want...”
“Ah.” Rita couldn’t help a smile, a little bit cheeky, a little bit smug. “I’ll try not to outdo her, then. I’ll just use my hands, hm?”
He gave a wordless, grateful nod. She silently commended his choice of words, because a request like that had the potential to be all kinds of insulting. Still, whoever this girl was, if Neville wanted to please her so badly that he’d come to Rita and then turn down a blowjob, she must be worth it.
She started gently, sliding her hand up and down his cock and spreading the moisture that had already leaked from him, but quickened her pace when his breath became ragged and impatient, lifting her other hand to cup his balls, rolling their weight in her palm and scraping her nails, ever so lightly, over the sensitive skin behind. Despite her words, she couldn’t resist leaning forward and dragging her tongue over his glans, just to feel the answering throb under her fingers.
His fingers were biting into her shoulders by the end, and it didn’t take him long. His whole body shook, knees buckled forward onto the bed, and then he was swelling and shuddering and quaking and she felt it hot and sticky over her breasts and stomach, even as she watched his face contort, eyes squeeze shut and then fly open again so he could watch his cum splatter against her skin.
“God,” he whispered, arms sliding on her shoulders until he caught his hands together behind her, dropping his head down between his arm and her neck and gasping, all but hanging from her much smaller frame. “Bloody hell. I-” But whatever words he’d planned to say never made it past his tongue, and she couldn’t possibly have guessed what they might have been. “Thank you,” he breathed.
She chuckled. “Any time.”
Rita didn't think there would be another - not really - but she couldn't help offering. He was, after all, a commendably enthusiastic and responsive student.
----------
Wizardwatch links: The first time - In the Garden | The Second time - Rita and Neville reprised | The final week: Bedtime
Pairing: Rita/Neville
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Neville would like to... well, um... And Rita’s the only woman he knows who... well, yes. Rita is a capable and willing teacher. Neville is an enthusiastic (if slightly nervous) student.
Notes: This fic is based on characters and relationships written in
wizardwatch RPG. For the benefit of anyone unfamiliar with the game, it was basically HP Big Brother. During their time in the house, Rita and Neville slept together twice. This fic is my own imagining of what could happen two years on. Thanks to celtmama for the beta, and regasssa, for not minding me usurping her fabulous Neville. FF100 prompt #10: Years. All characters in this fic are consenting adults.She met him again in the Leaky Cauldron, one Friday night after work, two years after the competition ended.
“Neville,” she said, trying to hide the tone of surprise that came from realising she hadn’t thought of him since the publicity died down. Possibly since the last time someone hummed ‘and here’s to you, Mrs Robinson’ as they passed her in the street. If it hadn’t been for sleeping with him in front of the entirety of wizarding Britain, she would never have known so many wizards knew songs from old Muggle films.
“Rita,” he replied. His drink came over the bar, money exchanged hands, then he disappeared into the crowd. They didn’t speak again.
Two weeks later, the owl took her by surprise.
Miss Skeeter,
Will you meet me at the Leaky this Saturday night? I’ll be staying in room 14. I’d like to discuss something with you.
Neville Longbottom
Rita didn’t know whether to be intrigued or irritated. She didn’t know if ‘discuss something’ was a euphemism or not, but she’d learned over those long weeks never to assume anything with Neville. It felt like a dream now, that time in the house, but the money in her bank account told her it was real, and she could still remember his eyes full of fear and lust.
She answered the note in the affirmative, careful to keep innuendo out of it because she didn’t yet know what he wanted.
He was wearing a tie when she arrived, and his hands were in his pockets.
“I bought some gin and vermouth and olives from Tom downstairs. I remember you liked Martinis. I made you one.” And it was there on the table, right beside a pulled-out chair that she sat in without an invitation.
“How’s Hogwarts?” she asked, picking up the glass and taking a sip. “A little less vermouth next time.”
“It’s good,” he said, and smiled, and she saw a trace of the young man in the garden with the sun on his face. “Students are great. We’re potting mandrakes at the moment.”
She smiled back, but noted that he was shifting on his feet and he hadn’t taken his hands out of his pockets yet.
“How’s the... You’re still at the Prophet, aren’t you?”
“I am. I’ve moved into editing now, though. I miss reporting, sometimes, but editorial leaves me with more time to work on new books.”
“What are you writing?”
“Did you really ask me to come here so we could chat about what we’re doing these days? Surely a table downstairs would have been adequate for that.”
He flushed, and now she really was intrigued, but she remembered that she could never push Neville, only coax, because his first reaction to being pushed was to run away. She almost laughed when she realised how thoroughly he’d circumvented that particular escape this time, given that they were in his room.
“Well, n-no, I...” And suddenly the hands were out of his pockets and he was crossing the room and pouring himself a shot of Firewhiskey. He downed it in one go, turned back to her. “I wanted to ask you about what happened in the house.”
“You mean the sex.” It wasn’t a question.
His cheeks went even redder and his thumbs went into his pockets, but his hands stayed out this time. “Yes. I wanted to know if...why...why you picked me. The second time, I mean. Was it because I was easy, or the only one there who might have been interested, or was it me?”
Rita laid down her glass, noticed his feet had stilled. She wondered if it was the whiskey or the fact that he’d managed to put his question into words.
“That depends on why you’re asking, really.” He said nothing, so she thought longer on the question and came up with a suitable answer. “All of the above, possibly, only not the easy part. If I’d wanted somebody easy, there would have been other choices. You were far from easy, but I like challenges. And obviously you were there, and the most obvious choice, but I wouldn’t have tried the second time if I hadn’t enjoyed the first. If I hadn’t liked you.” She resisted the urge to add that if she’d just wanted a cock, she could have transfigured herself a substitute from any one of her possessions.
Feet shifted again. “But what did you like? I still can’t work it out, and it’s been two years.”
She considered. “I liked seeing you lose control. I wanted to show you that you had it in there, and it wasn’t nasty or wrong. Are you still afraid of yourself?”
“No.” He answered quickly. Too quickly. She arched a brow. He elaborated. “I never really thought I was. I see things differently than you, but I don’t think that makes me afraid. Just because I wanted...gentle, doesn’t mean that I was holding something back.”
“But you seemed to think that losing control made you a monster. It didn’t. It doesn’t.”
“I know that now. You did... I did learn that.” Rita couldn’t decide if his smile was sheepish or impish, but she liked the sound of the latter better.
“Have there been other girls since?” she asked.
He looked down at his feet. “A...a few. Not many during the school year, but there were a few after, and there is one now. They followed me around for months after, and other men...asked me questions. For advice. It was...” His cheeks coloured even more than Rita had thought physically possible, and she laughed.
“Yes. I had a few offers myself. And people singing a Muggle song about a woman in a movie who seduced a young man.”
He looked up at her again and the smile was definitely impish this time, but he said nothing. Whatever he wanted, Rita knew they would step around it for hours unless she took control of the conversation again. She hadn’t missed the mention of the girl he had now, and it only made her more intrigued as to why they were here.
“Why are you asking?” Her voice came out quieter than she’d expected, and he looked at her for a few moments. She watched his chest rise and fall, and his jaw clench and open. He didn’t look at the floor again.
“Well, I was wondering if it might...happen again.”
Silence again, and him looking at her as if waiting for her to pounce or run. Rita felt a flicker of irritation run through her body. Even now, asking this, he stared at her as like she might rip him apart, and seemingly expected her to answer based on that statement alone. Honestly, Rita didn’t think she was a difficult woman to get into bed, but she did need more than that.
“Why?” she asked.
He took another deep breath. “The girl I’m seeing, she and I... We...” He scrunched up his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, and there was even more determination than before. “She goes down on me sometimes, and I’ve never done it back, for her. I want to, but I don’t know what to do, and I don’t want...to make an idiot of myself.” The last words came out quietly, as if he thought he was making one of himself now. “And you’re the only woman I know who-”
“Who’ll spread her legs just for the hell of it? Who won’t expect anything afterward? I remember you telling me you preferred the company of plants to Slytherins.” She took another sip of the drink and watched him. He had the good grace to look abashed. “You were a complete bastard in that last week, and now you want to fuck me again?”
“I didn’t mean... No,” he was red in the face again, but this time it was a mixture of frustration as well as embarrassment. “That last week was too much! You pushed me and I could handle that, but then they did it as well, making us act like we were married, and it was like they were laughing at me. I don’t like it when people laugh at me.”
Rita’s lip curled into a wry sort of smile. “Well, it tends to happen when you act like a fool.”
“I couldn’t help it. It was too much and I couldn’t get away. You were there; you know what it was like. We all did things... Anyway, if you were that upset you might have shown it.”
“What?” The statement took her by surprise. The hand holding the glass faltered, and she nearly spilled its contents on the table. A flicker of something other than nervousness in his eyes: the anger he had regarded her with so many times in that last week.
“You walk around like nothing bothers you, like you’ve got no feelings at all. If you’re going to act like that, it’s not fair to get angry with someone for not knowing when you’re upset. If I’d known it was hard for you as well I mightn’t have felt like I was the only one having a bad time.”
“Well, I...”
“I prefer the company of plants to Slytherins because plants are easier to understand.”
Rita didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. On some level he was probably right, but Rita had made her living from ripping apart people who gave way to weakness, and being strong and flippant was part of a lifetime of learned behaviour – a lifetime that was considerably longer than Neville’s, and that he would likely fail to understand if she explained.
“Well, I suppose my question is the same as yours, then. Why have you picked me to want this from? Is it because I’m easy and we’ve done it before, or is it me?”
“Well, it’s... You know what you want, and how to get it, and you never seemed to have a problem with taking it, and telling me what to do. I know I won’t...hurt you, and I know you won’t be nice and pretend to have an orgasm if I’m doing it wrong. I never knew girls did that until I heard them talking in the staffroom. You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
Rita snorted. “No, I wouldn’t.”
She considered the offer. What he was suggesting was hardly unpleasant, and really they had been brought together before with one or the other in a state of need. She didn’t like the idea that she was practice, but she did like the idea of teaching him.
“All right,” she said, and drained her drink.
There was a moment of silence and absolute stillness in which Rita watched a gamut of emotions run across Neville’s face – relief, uncertainty, fear, desire – and then his eyes focussed on her and they said very clearly ‘what now?’
Rita stood and Neville didn’t move, so she closed the distance between them. He stood perfectly still as she lifted a hand and worked the knot in his tie loose, and with her fingers brushing his chest she felt the furious pounding of his heart. He bent his head to let her pull the tie over it, and then she was working the buttons of his shirt undone, slipping a hand inside as she went to feel the heat of his skin and flick her fingers over one hard little nipple.
He drew in a ragged breath, then murmured, “Rita, I don’t think-”
“What?” she asked, with a little smile. “Did you think I was just going to sit on the bed and open my legs for you? It doesn’t work like that, Neville. You can’t just turn it off and on. Think of it like planting seeds, or something. You have to prepare the soil first.”
He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat, but he let her continue. When the shirt had slithered down over his shoulders and onto the floor, she looked up at him, waiting for him to move. He didn’t.
“Are you going to help me with mine?” she asked.
His fingers were shaking, but he didn’t fumble as he lifted his hands and worked her buttons undone, seeming steadier with each one plucked open, concentrating fiercely on the job he was performing. His thumbs caressed the satin as he slipped the blouse back on her shoulders, and he looked at her with an earnest sort of desire. Don’t make fun of me, she thought the gaze said.
He’d learned since two years ago. Satin slid over her arms and his fingers traced the line of her bra strap and down over the lacy edge to the valley between her breasts. Then they fanned and curled and he caught her nipple between two of them, sliding the other strap down off her shoulder at the same time. He shifted closer, reaching behind her for the clip as she slid a hand between them to work his belt undone.
Her bra came loose in his hands and he slipped it down over her shoulders, sliding it down over her arms in a way she could only think of as shedding - peeling away the layers and leaving her bare. His hands fell on her hips and he gazed down intently – seeing her properly maybe for the first time – grazing his fingers up her sides and not flinching away from the fact that her body was older than his (well maintained, of course, but one couldn’t stop time completely). One hand slipped around to the small of her back and pulled her hips against his, and the other traced her ribs higher and palmed her breast. He teased, rolled the nipple between his fingers, then bent his head and sucked it into his mouth. Rita gasped, hand sliding around him to pull him even closer and grind her hips against his, to give him back a little of the heat he’d stirred in her. She rocked against him, he rocked back, and then they were traversing the floor, manoeuvring around the table on their way to the bed.
It was only a few feet away, but they waded through fabric as they moved, shedding pants and skirt and shoes. When they reached it, it caught Rita on the back of her knees and she let herself fall, looking up at this man who had grown so much since she’d last had him, bizarrely proud of how far he’d come (where do I touch?, he’d once asked her, but now he knew and did it without having to question).
The nerves came back when he stood over her, though, just as she’d expected they would, and all of a sudden he looked lost and uncertain.
She reached up and took him by the hand. “You’ll be most comfortable on your knees.” A tug and he obeyed, dropping down and looking up at her with that same expression of fearful lust. Rita knew he might have been equally as comfortable lying on the bed, but she preferred the sight of him kneeling before her, that age-old position of worship. His gaze dropped from her face and he lifted a hand to run tentative fingers over stockings and the line of charmed elastic that held them on her thighs.
“Should I...?” he looked up at her again.
“Leave them on,” she said. “I think the knickers are more important.” She smiled again, encouraging.
“Right, I...yeah.” His cheeks were red again. “How...?”
Rita lifted her hips so he could peel them down, then there was a bit of a tangle of hands and legs, but eventually they slid over the ends of her toes. She lifted one leg over his head and let it fall over his shoulder.
“Now,” she murmured, because he was still focussed on the spot on the floor where her knickers had fallen, “look at me.”
He lifted his head and his eyes briefly met hers, but he couldn’t avoid staring at what was right in front of his face for long. She saw him swallow again.
“There’s no rush, and no rules. Take your time.”
He nodded minutely, not looking away from her cunt, as if he was afraid that if he did, he might never look back again. He reached up to her knee, adjusting her leg on his shoulder, and his fingers lingered there, moving light and gentle over stockings and up to bare skin. With the other hand, he cupped her calf and eased her legs open wider. She watched him, blood growing hot and thick with anticipation, with the knowledge that he’d never done this before and he wanted her to tell him what to do. She felt her own nerves crackle with an entirely different fear than his – she hoped she could be a good teacher, stay coherent long enough to instruct.
His mouth came down on her skin, right above the stocking-top, lips brushing and tongue flicking out to tease along the line of fabric. She hissed in a breath; let it out again in a heavy gust. His thumb stroked the underside of her knee; his lips trailed higher. He went slowly, and she had no words, but her heavy breathing told a story and one hand fisted in the duvet. He reached the most sensitive area of thigh and sucked on the skin, pulling a whimper from her lips, and then he was talking, his breath so close she could feel its humidity on her already damp sex.
“You smell like...animal, and earth. I’ve never... anything like it."
And then he moved away, going to the other leg, clamping fingers under her knee and spreading her wider still. He repeated the movements of lips and tongue, nipping lightly at that sensitive area of thigh-flesh, and she gasped, because it sent fire straight to her cunt. He soothed the spot with his tongue, then looked up at her.
“Was that bad? Painful?”
“No,” she breathed. “Not painful. Hot. Not too much longer now, though, please. Going to die if I don’t feel your tongue on me soon.”
He smiled, and it wasn’t impish this time but positively wicked. “I thought you said there was no hurry.”
Rita laughed, a sound ragged with arousal. “There’s not, but-”
Her voice drowned when he lowered his head again and dragged his tongue over the apex of thigh, hips bucking toward him. He slid his hands under her and pulled her closer, and when his tongue finally touched her, the muscles in her back dissolved and she melted onto the bed.
He was shy at first, teasing, spreading her open and exploring. His arm curled around the thigh over his shoulder and he gripped her leg like a lifeline, nudging himself right inside the V of her knees and using his fingers to spread her wider and give himself more access. Rita's hand snaked down and tangled in his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp and trying to – what? To reassure him? To urge him on?
Noise. Not making enough noise. Busy feeling, concentrating on sensation, and the idea of talking felt far too difficult. But she opened her mouth and forced her voice to form words.
“Fuck...so good. Like that, yes, teasing, yes. Fuck me...fuck me with your tongue.”
A momentary hesitation, and then he did, nuzzling in even further and pushing that velvety muscle inside her.
Dying. Burning up. He experimented, thrusting and teasing the tip of his tongue at her entrance until she was reduced to tiny whimpers, until the feeling blurred into nothing but nerve endings on fire and she had no idea what he was doing down there, only that it felt amazing and she never wanted it to end.
But not enough, it wasn’t enough.
“More,” she whispered, tugging lightly on his hair. “Need your fingers inside me, your mouth on my clit. Please.”
She could hear his breathing as he pulled back, thick and ragged. A moment of none of him, then his finger worked inside her, first to the knuckle, then all the way, adding a second and pressing deep.
“Tell me if... Tell me if I hurt you.”
She wanted to laugh but she didn’t have the breath – knew he wouldn’t have liked it, either. Wanted to tell him he could never hurt her, but didn’t have enough of her mind left for that either. “I will,” was all she could manage.
And then his lips closed around her clit and his tongue pressed against it, and he was moving his fingers in and out of her.
“Fuck, yes, curl them up, like that, there, yes, deeper, harder, yessssssss...”
One foot found purchase on the floor and she thrust her hips against him, taking those fingers as deep as they would go. Her thighs were shaking, breath a series of whimpering cries, spiralling upwards into a vortex of impossible heat.
She felt him slow his pace as if to stop and her hand tightened in his hair.
“Don’t...don’t stop. Not there yet. Don’t stop.”
He kept up, moving harder and deeper, pushing her further, and she realised her breath was making noises like dontstopdontstopsontstop over and over again, and then her voice shattered and her body went with it, thighs tightening around him and hips bucking as the vortex pulled her high and flung her out the top.
When she came down, he was still there, licking gently and pulling her back to earth, and she was grateful for his seemingly instinctual knowledge that she was so suddenly tender and broken. She couldn’t have said a thing if she’d tried.
Only when her breathing had returned to something close to normal did he stop, grazing his lips over her thigh before he finally lifted his head. Her limbs felt heavy and boneless, but she managed to lift herself onto one elbow by sheer willpower. She wanted to see him, and when she did it was worth the effort. He looked almost as dazed as she felt. His eyes were awed, mouth still damp and glistening with her wetness. The smile that spread across his face was both decadent and proud, and Rita smirked in response.
“Was that good?” The smile wavered. “I didn’t mean to stop before you... I thought you were...”
“Neville,” Rita cut him off with the sternest voice she could muster while post-orgasmic and careless. “Don’t apologise. Yes, it was. And that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? So you know what these things feel like?”
The smile came back. “Yes, I suppose. Don’t know how I could have mistaken it, really. You didn’t really make it hard to tell, in the end.”
Rita chuckled, pushing herself up to sit again. Only then did she see the tenting of his boxer shorts – the evidence of what going down on her had done to him – and the post-orgasmic fog was all but chased away by a thrill of power.
She offered her hands to him. “Up,” she said, and he took them, using her to steady his weight as he climbed onto shaky feet. She deposited his hands on her shoulders and looked up at him, reaching up to run her hands over his chest, grazing fingers over nipples again then sliding down to hook them into the waistband of his pants.
“Any harder and we’d have to cut you out of them,” she murmured, glancing at him again as she eased them down. This time, he didn’t even blush. She watched his eyes as she licked her hand then wrapped it, damp, around his cock. His pupils dilated, he let out a little hiss of breath, then it turned into a voice that was gravelly with arousal.
“Rita...don’t...” His fingers tightened on her shoulders. There was real worry in his eyes then, a kind of embarrassment that didn’t end in red cheeks. She froze where she was.
“What’s wrong? You didn’t really think I was going to leave and let you sort this out on your own, did you? Not after what you gave to me? I want to give it back, Neville.”
If she hadn’t had her hand wrapped around his cock, she thought he might have shifted on his feet again.
“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s... The girl I’m seeing, she’s not as experienced as you, and I don’t want...”
“Ah.” Rita couldn’t help a smile, a little bit cheeky, a little bit smug. “I’ll try not to outdo her, then. I’ll just use my hands, hm?”
He gave a wordless, grateful nod. She silently commended his choice of words, because a request like that had the potential to be all kinds of insulting. Still, whoever this girl was, if Neville wanted to please her so badly that he’d come to Rita and then turn down a blowjob, she must be worth it.
She started gently, sliding her hand up and down his cock and spreading the moisture that had already leaked from him, but quickened her pace when his breath became ragged and impatient, lifting her other hand to cup his balls, rolling their weight in her palm and scraping her nails, ever so lightly, over the sensitive skin behind. Despite her words, she couldn’t resist leaning forward and dragging her tongue over his glans, just to feel the answering throb under her fingers.
His fingers were biting into her shoulders by the end, and it didn’t take him long. His whole body shook, knees buckled forward onto the bed, and then he was swelling and shuddering and quaking and she felt it hot and sticky over her breasts and stomach, even as she watched his face contort, eyes squeeze shut and then fly open again so he could watch his cum splatter against her skin.
“God,” he whispered, arms sliding on her shoulders until he caught his hands together behind her, dropping his head down between his arm and her neck and gasping, all but hanging from her much smaller frame. “Bloody hell. I-” But whatever words he’d planned to say never made it past his tongue, and she couldn’t possibly have guessed what they might have been. “Thank you,” he breathed.
She chuckled. “Any time.”
Rita didn't think there would be another - not really - but she couldn't help offering. He was, after all, a commendably enthusiastic and responsive student.
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Wizardwatch links: The first time - In the Garden | The Second time - Rita and Neville reprised | The final week: Bedtime
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And you know I'd read this if it weren't NC-17.
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Fixed it.
And no your wouldn't :P. Rita, and all. lol.
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Thankye! :D
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I love how Rita's default is set to innuendo. :D
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*grins*
Rita rather likes her innuendo, yes. And Neville seems to be much too practical for his own good ;).
I'm glad you enjoyed!