Wide Awake and Dreamingtag:www.panthermoon.com,2008:/dreaming//12008-04-01T11:12:20ZFan Fiction, fandom essays, and original fiction by SyrenslureMovable Type Personal 4.1Stargate: SG-1 - Misc. Drabblestag:www.panthermoon.com,2008:/dreaming//1.1302008-02-16T11:44:52Z2008-04-01T11:12:20ZVarious ratings, pairings, etc, for various challenges.
Various ratings, pairings, etc, for various challenges.
Notes: I started this yesterday for the writing exercise at ambiguous_tales. I'm not quite happy with how it turned out. I had a good start, but I think that part of the problem was that I started out trying to write an original fiction piece, but Samantha Carter from SG-1 kept trying to butt into the story, and I couldn't clear up what my direction/focus was, which resulted in a stalled story.
This would probably be either just after Janet's death, or just after breaking up with Pete and her father's death, either of which would be very traumatic experiences for her.
250 Words, 16 Feb 08
Prompt: It was sweltering hot...
It was sweltering hot, and Sam could feel the sweat running down her back and making her t-shirt stick to her skin beneath her leather jacket. She fought the urge to fidget and the part of her that wanted to rip the offending garments from her skin and run, screaming, for the hills. The hundreds of miles that she had traveled since this afternoon hadn't quieted the instinct to run, to flee, as far and fast as she could.
She dismounted her motorcycle, right at the edge of the beach, uncaring that it toppled over in her haste. She ripped her helmet off and fell to her knees in the sand, her legs unwilling to support her any further. The dampness seeping through her jeans, and the moist breeze off the ocean brought a welcome feeling of coolness as the sun started to set below the horizon. She ran a shaky hand through her sweat dampened blonde hair, and took a deep breath, feeling the tightness of her cheeks when her tears had dried on her skin.
She knew she had to go back soon. She was too old to run away and there were too many people relying on her. Not just yet, though. Right now, she was going to stop and rest, breathe in the fresh, salty air, and remember how to pretend that nothing was missing from her life.
Title: Peaches and Cream
Author: Syrenslure
Fandom: SG-1, Sam/Janet
Rating: R
varietypack100 : 036. Smell.
The Almost Totally Random Writing Exercise Generator : 250-300 words * A Medical Professional * peaches and cream
300 words, triple drabble, 30 March 08
Janet shrugged off her uniform jacket and started unbuttoning her blouse, as she entered her bedroom. Her heels had already been abandoned by the front door. The reflected flicker of candlelight in her mirror caught her attention, and she realized that the air was humid and heavy with the scent of ripe peaches. The yankee candle she kept on her dresser was lit, and if she listened she could hear the faint splash of water against the sides of the tub in the en suite. She smiled wickedly and quickly stripped down to her panties and bra, before going to investigate.
***
Sam lay back against the rim of the tub, with her eyes closed, and a soft smile on her face, up to her neck in a thick layer of peach-scented bubbles. Janet snuck in to press a kiss to her lips. She knew she was busted, though, when a wide smile stretched across Sam's face, and her hand came up out of the bubbles to tangle in her hair just before she got close enough.
They kissed deeply, and then pulled back to catch their breath.
"Hey. You smell so good," she whispered against Sam's lips.
"Good enough to eat?"
***
"Why don't you come up out of there, and I'll show you how good?"
"Yes, Ma'am." She took Janet's outstretched hand and stood, letting Janet wrap her in a large, fluffy bath towel, as she stepped out onto the mat.
Janet slowly dried her, from her collarbones to her feet, trailing the towell with her mouth, leaving soft, open kisses. Then she tossed the towel aside, kneeling between Sam's feet, and leaned in to nip gently at her mound. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply of Sam's scent, then looked up wickedly.
"Mmm, I love the smell of peaches."
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Everybody Knowstag:www.panthermoon.com,2008:/dreaming//1.1232008-01-04T10:19:07Z2008-04-01T09:21:31Z//you've been discreet, but there were so many people you just had to meet - without your clothes //
Leonard Cohen, "Everybody Knows"
Fandom: CSI, Sheldon Hawkes, Sheldon/Stella
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: varietypack100 030. death, and for stellaluna_ who participated in a meme.
Notes: This is a much delayed answer to this challenge, but sometimes you have to wait for the inspiration to come to you. This wasn't an easy prompt, but I finally found my muse and a character that I hadn't much considered before.
//you've been discreet, but there were so many people you just had to meet - without your clothes //
Leonard Cohen, "Everybody Knows"
His skin itches with a too tight feeling that has nothing to do with the filth of this place that he has never wanted to be and can't wait to leave. It has everything to do with the thought of the bars closing in on him inside of his cell and the thick plexiglass between him and Mac, as he begged him to believe, even as he resented his need to do so.
Even now, as Sheldon walks down this grey cement tunnel, toward freedom, toward Stella - who is standing there almost like a vision - he fears that it's all a dream or some hallucination born of claustrophobia. He wants to reach out and reassure himself that she is really there - his own personal goddess to lead him from the underworld.
He wants to touch, and feel, and lose himself in thesoftness of her skin and the scent of her passion-soaked body wrapped around his. The irony is that however free he may be, and however real she may be, standing there waiting for him, he knows that if he reaches for her now, she will be just as elusive as his freedom had seemed to be forty-eight hours ago.
She hasn't let him touch her in weeks. She even flinches from casual contact lately, even though she knows, he knows that there is no danger in that. She is steadily building a fort around herself, more inpenetrable than these concrete walls, and it is as if she thinks the smallest touch, the most casual intimacies, if they slip past her defenses before they are fully hardened may cause flaws in the foundation of her defenses. She won't allow that.
He knows the risks better that anyone, and for Stella, Sheldon would take them. He hasn't felt such a need to reconnect to the world since his first six months in the morgue. It had seemed like he was trying to sleep his way through all five buroughs, and half of Jersey, too, trying to forget the twisted bodies that were his new patients. They were all too young and too beautiful to end up as they had - whatever their fates.
Six months later, he had finally found his own peace, after testifying in his first major homicide case and realizing that he could and did make a difference in these lives, that he could still help to heal people, even if they weren't the ones under his knife. He had lost that sense of desperation and has actively fought it ever since. He even transferred to CSI when the morgue started to get to be too much for him. His bi-yearly HIV tests, and the rememberence of how hollow he had felt trying to lose himself in an endless parade of willing partners seeking their own oblivion, keep him from wanting to reexplore that empty escape.
He doesn't want a random stranger. He wants Stella. It would almost be worth the remainder of his sanity (and hers) to sweep her away to his loft and bury himslef in her body until the sun rose and fell without meaning, and he could feel alive through each little death after death.
He's a practical man. You can't rejoin the world by running away, and he isn't a coward. He doesn't take the easy way out, and he has worked damn hard for the things that he has wanted in this life. He wants to rail at them all for being taken away from him so easily, but he won't give up his dignity to do so. Not even for her.
Thats how it goes
Everybody knows]]>
Faint of Hearttag:www.panthermoon.com,2008:/dreaming//1.1222008-01-04T10:16:14Z2008-04-01T09:18:30ZHow does Chris really feel about the doc who Rita is not only sleeping with, but who diagnosed her aneurysm?
Fandom and Pairing: Silk Stalkings, Chris Lorenzo / Rita Lee Lance
Rating: G
Prompt: Episode 01x01 Pilot. How does Chris really feel about the doc who Rita is not only sleeping with, but who diagnosed her aneurysm? (by vegawriters, my co-writer for this series)
Series masterlist and coclaim100 table is here.
Rita thought that he didn't get it, but he did. She didn't look sick. There wasn't anything that she could or couldn't do that would really make a difference. There was no mystery to solve or person to blame.
Except, Chris did - a little. When he watched that furrow deepen between her eyes, or watched he watched her wash down another aspirin with cold coffee and a grimace, he blamed the doc. When he heard the tired resignation in her voice after they spent the night together, he wanted to make the doc pay.
Oh, he knew it wasn't really Dr. Green Jeans' fault. He'd only been doing his job - until had he started to get extra-curricular with Rita - but he had taken something precious from her, something that she was never going to get back. Not that Chris would ever admit noticing, but part of her was so fragile now, and not just that little blood vessel in her head. Everytime she was with Mark he seemed to remind her of that. Rita said that the doc was shaking apart from the stress, and in reaction she was holding on that much tighter, taking the curves just that little bit faster.
She wasn't reckless - not any more than either of them had ever been. It was more like she was fearless, at least where her own safety was concerned, like she didn't have anything to lose. Another incident or two like that one with Willy Abbott on the yacht and he was going to be tempted to introduce her to his handuffs - and not in a manner Roxy would approve of. Rita wouldn't hesitate to do the same to him.
In the meantime, he was her best friend, and more importantly her partner. He was there to watch her back, and if she wanted to take the corners on two wheels... Well, then he was going to be along for the ride.
Summer Lovingtag:www.panthermoon.com,2008:/dreaming//1.1212007-12-30T10:12:49Z2008-04-01T09:14:34ZWhile searching for a gift for Harry, Hermione receives an unexpected treasure of her own.
Fandom and Pairing: HP, Hermione Granger/George Weasley
Rating: NC-17
Prompt:Somewhat shy Hermione, slight awkwardness, etc. Wall sex is love. As is spanking. As far as prompts, I'd love to read something to do with hot, humid weather, with old photographs, or with a farmer's field. Those are just random prompts, use any or all, however you wish.
Warnings: Explicit sex of the het variety.
Notes: Written as a pinch hit for the Hermione Granger Smut Exchange at hermione_smut. varietypack100 : 063. Summer. (2, 608 words, 08 Nov 2007)
She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a dark smear as she wiped away the sweat that was gathering along her hairline, before it could drip into her eyes. Her cooling charms were no match for the heat up here, and took too much energy to maintain. As she hauled another dusty box out of the way, trying to find Ron's old school trunk somewhere in the cramped, dusty attic of The Burrow, she blinked and tried to resist the urge to sneeze. She almost started cursing his absence before she reminded herself that this would go a lot faster without his 'help'.
She finally found the battered trunk she was looking for, with its familiar worn bindings and 'R.W.' painstakingly etched above the clasp in a childish scrawl. She sent a silent prayer heavenward that Ron had known what he was talking about when he assured her that she would find what she was looking for in his old school trunk, and began tugging it across the floor along the path she had cleared to the middle of the room. She stopped next to the low, scarred and misshapen table that she had earlier charmed to have four legs of the proper height to serve as a convenient working surface. She had sat on the floor working through the first few boxes, and the top of her makeshift coffee table was covered with neat piles of photographs, both magically charmed and stills. Now, though, her back and legs were feeling the strain, so she moved them aside and grabbed one of the tattered homemade quilts that were in abundance, tossed it onto the end of the table and added a quick cushioning charm, sacrificing space for comfort.
She leaned back, sighed, and poked her foot at the clasp on Ron's trunk as she tried to summon the energy to complete her task. She debated the wisdom of pushing on ahead, or stopping to take a break and go downstairs and get a nice cold drink, and having to return later, when the attic would only be hotter and more humid as the day wore on. Having to once again wipe the sweat from her brow decided her, and she was about to head downstairs, when George bounded through the low doorway trailing a fresh pitcher of Molly's summer punch, two ice filled glasses and a tray of tea cakes and fresh fruit.
"I come bearing gifts." He smiled charmingly and she felt her heart flutter in her throat. She mentally kicked herself and tried to swallow the excitement that his thoughtful gesture had evoked, while she struggled to summon the answering banter that had been a trademark of their conversations the last few months.
"Not to look a gift horse and all that, but I'm not likely to suddenly sprout wings, or scales, other untimely side effects from a dastardly - though no doubt ingenious" she hastily added, only to ruin the sycophantic effect by snorting, "Weasley prank, am I?"
George raised a hand to his chest, in mock offense and gave her an exaggerated look of innocence that was anything but, as he arranged their impromptu tea picnic-style on another of Molly's quilts. "Did you just insult me - and call me a horse? Really, I should just take my tea and find a more appreciative wench to share it with." He waggled his eyebrows in a manner suggestive of just how 'appreciative' she could be.
Hermione once again snorted, as she struggled not to laugh, and found herself tumbled to the floor with a quick tug as George decreed it was time to join him for tea. "Time and tea waits for no witch. Now stuff your gob, haven't got all day you know, some of us work for a living."
"Hey, I work very hard, I'll have you know, those Wheezes of yours don't sell themselves, and my boss is an absolute brute to work for."
"Sell themselves - check. I'll work on that. And you know you fancy the pants off that handsome bloke, that's why you show up so early and leave so late."
Hermione laughed it off and busied herself with selecting a tiny cake with lime green icing, because for once, she didn't have an answer, and with George, the best non-answer was always a good laugh. She actually enjoyed her job very much. She had been at loose ends about what to do after the war, especially after Harry and Ron had taken themselves off to the Auror Academy and
George had been foundering a bit at running the business without Fred. Someone had made an off-hand remark about the shame that Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes would probably close before the end of the year, and suddenly she had a new cause. She had walked into the shop the following Monday and confronted George immediately, "You need help with this place and I could use a good laugh. Show me your books."
With only a startled blink, he seemed to understand her brusque manner well-enough, or had been beyond caring at the time, because he done exactly that, and other than occasionally turning her hair green, or giving her purple and orange spots, they worked well enough together. She had refused his offer of partnership, unsure if she wanted this to be a permanent vocation, and because she still privately though of the store as Fred and George's, and knew he did too, but she took a healthy salary and helped him to price and move products while making a healthy profit. He told her that her bossy attitude helped to increase sales because the youngsters got an extra thrill from being naughty when she was around to be disproving. She just laughed and told him that he could keep his naughty schoolteacher fantasies to himself and get back to work. Ron and many of their friends thought she had gone round the twist, but it was a relationship that worked well, and was quite profitable, as they competed to see who could be made to blush the most or laugh the hardest on any given day, and the pranks practically flew out the front door.
"Explain this to me again? Why are you crawling around in my Mum's dusty attic instead of buying Harry a proper wedding gift, and why isn't my oh-so-unattractive younger brother helping you?"
"Harry will love this. He doesn't have a lot of family or real friends and he loved it whenever Hagrid or Remus would give him pictures or share memories of his parents with him. I just thought that now that he's starting his own family with Ginny that he would like an album of his own that he can show his kids. I've got it mostly done. I went though Grimmold place looking for anything Sirius might have had, Harry's vaults, even contacted the Headmistress to see if there was anything in the archives. I got some pics of Ginny and your family from your Mum and the albums that were up here, and Colin gave me a bunch from school. Right now, I'm looking for a few more photos that Ron said are buried in his old school trunk, including that one of the time Ginny dumped her butterbeer over Harry's head at the Leaky Cauldron, during winter break in her seventh year. Harry's face is priceless."
"He was so clueless, poor thing. She really put him through it. She's probably known since she was eleven years old that she was going to marry him, and she still made him wait three years to put him out of his misery."
"I think she was right, though. They've both grown up quite a bit, have gotten their careers started. I think she wanted Harry to chase her a bit instead of it always being the other way around. It's better they waited anyway, people can change a lot in a few years. Look at Ron and me. I wish him the best with Hannah, but if we were still anything more than friends, he would probably drive me spare."
"That's because my brother is an idiot."
Hermione felt the skin of her cheeks and neck flush and wished that she hadn't been so diligent about taming her hair into a messy bun at the base of her neck. She couldn't hide the telltale blush that came from his words, even though she tucked her chin toward her chest and looked down to attempt just that. She didn't see him move.
The next thing that she knew, he was touching her face, lifting her chin to face him, as his thumb traced a lazy pattern over her heated cheek. "An idiot," he spoke in a low, husky voice just before he leaned in and captured her lips with his own.
His skin was warm, everywhere it touched hers and his lips were firm and slightly chapped as he coaxed her to respond to the kiss. She was a bit surprised, but quickly gave up any pretense of resistance and followed his lead, parting her lips to his and tentatively meeting his tongue with firm strokes of her own. He slid the tea tray away, while his other hand slid down her back to her hip, pulling her closer to him, and laying her down on the soft quilt. She moaned into his mouth as she felt the evidence of his arousal against her thigh.
She flung her arms around his neck and stretched toward him, trying to get closer, arching against his body and begging for more with her kiss, completely wanton, though unable to give voice her need. He gently turned them so that she lay on her back and he hovered, half over her, half beside her, and she responded by lifting her hips to grind against his thigh, as he began to kiss his way down her throat, to where her summer robes were open just above her breasts.
"George..."
"Tell me this is okay. Tell me you want this, Hermione."
"Yes. Please, yes. I want you; don't stop."
"Say my name again. I want to hear you."
"George. George. Geo-rge." The last was broken by a moan as he closed his mouth around her left nipple through the layers of her robe and bra, and sucked hard. He slowly opened the fastenings of her robe and spread it open, revealing her brief bra and panty set, the only other clothing she could bear to wear in this heat. He sucked in a breath in appreciation, and carefully ran his calloused fingertips over her stomach, in a way that made it clench and flutter in response to his caress.
"Merlin, but you're beautiful, Hermione. Good thing I didn't know what you were hiding under those robes, or I've had you shuck them a long time ago."
"Is that so? Well, just because you've seen me now, doesn't mean I'm about to start prancing around without my clothes. It might give the customers the wrong idea about what exactly we're selling."
"True. No naked workdays, then. We'll just have to take a lot of holidays, where I can have you all to myself. Nobody else gets to see you with your kit off." The last was said with a possessive growl that made her glow.
"Claiming exclusive rights, already, George? We haven't even done anything yet. I could be rubbish at it, and then you'd be stuck with me." Her bravado didn't completely cover the nervous tone of her voice.
"Impossible. We're going to be brilliant together; just you see."
"Is that so?" Her smile was pleased and slightly daring, and he took her challenge.
He placed a quick kiss on her lips and then began leaving a trail of teasing kisses - some open-mouthed, some caressing pecks - down her throat and over her shoulders to her breasts. He mouthed each nipple into sharp relief and the continued teasing them with his fingers, rolling and pinching the tips as her covered the slight roundness of her belly. He sucked a small bit of skin at the top of her hip, just above the edge of her panties, and left a small red passion mark on her fair skin.
He leaned back away from her for a moment, and she felt bereft of his touch until she locked eyes with him and saw the passion burning in his gaze. He watched her face as he slowly grasped the edge of her panties and slid them down her thighs. When he got to her knees, she bent her legs to speed him along, and her nipped at her calf, as he tossed her panties aside, and settled between her legs.
George began at her hipbone, covering her belly with kisses, and the tops of her thighs, before nuzzling the soft hair of her pubis. She inhaled sharply as he parted her inner folds, because no one had ever done this to her before, but the anticipation was overwhelming. Then she stopped thinking, and only felt, as he dipped his tongue into her sex and tasted her arousal. Her hips jerked as his tongue found her clit and lingered there. She flung one arm out wide and grasped the leg of the table, while the other fell to his shoulders and tugged at his hair. She lifted her hips to him, squirming for more, and he feasted on her, dipping his tongue down into her hole and back up around her clit, as she moaned and breathed heavily under his onslaught. She started to tremble and he grasped her ass, holding her in place until she shuddered and cried out her release.
He eased his hold on her, then, and the tempo of his intimate kisses eased toward soothing, as he carried her back from the edge, relaxed and liquid in his arms. He leaned back to shed his own robes, his face damp with sweat and her fluids, and she reached for her wand, struggling to clear her head enough to coherently cast the necessary charms. His face was a picture of possessive desire as she performed the charm, and then he was back with her, the thick head of his cock pressing against her entrance.
She welcomed him into her arms and into her body, urging him inside of her with her legs against his hips. They flowed together, moving as one, as they succumbed to the pleasure of their joining. He slipped one hand against the small of her back, as he kissed her deeply, lifting her to meet his strokes as he thrust deeply into her. Hermione could feel her desire cresting again, as he stoked their passions higher and higher, and she responded with feverish enthusiasm.
Her thighs tightened around him, and her inner walls clenched, as she cried out and raked her nails along his back. The pulses over Hermione's orgasm drew George's forth as well and he spent himself in her depths. They rode out their aftershocks together, until he collapsed on top of her, a heavy, but comforting weight. He wiped the sweat from her forehead, pushing back the tangles of damp hair that now surrounded her face, and kissed her sweetly, before moving to lie beside her.
They were quiet for a few moments and in the silence, the magnitude of what they had just done began to overwhelm her. The he handed her a cold glass punch with a goofy smile, and it was all right, because they were just George and Hermione, and now maybe just something a little more as well.
Nothing to Hidetag:www.panthermoon.com,2008:/dreaming//1.1202007-12-30T10:11:17Z2008-04-01T09:15:43ZShe doesn't want to need him, but she doesn't know any other way.
Fandom and Pairing: HP, Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley
Rating: NC-17
Prompt:Post-Hogwarts, post-war (it doesn't have to be completely consistant with DH but nothing too far outside canon - please note I've already decided to pretend the epilogue to DH never existed), romance, light bondage, oral, threesome, sex outdoors, light and playful, UST, spanking, teasing, anal.
Warnings: Kink and Explicit sex of the het variety, including spanking and anal sex.
Notes: Written as a pinch hit for humbuggirl in the Hermione Granger Smut Exchange at hermione_smut. This came out slightly darker and less plotty than I had intended. I hope that you may enjoy it anyway. Also prompt 13. Hidden for 30_forbidden. Title from "Nothing to Hide" by Richard Marx. (1,349 words, 08 Nov 2007)
Two years, seven months, three weeks and five days. That's how long they have been doing this, and each time she assures herself that when it's over she won't come back. She shouldn't need this. She doesn't need this, but there's something about it - something about him - that keeps drawing her back in, keeps her coming back for more.
This time it was a triple fatality. A potions accident caused the roof of the ramshackle, tiny house to collapse, crushing the occupants. The neighbors had called the aurors quickly enough, but it was still too late. Healer Granger was in the twentieth hour of her twenty-four hour shift, and had worked with them for over six hours, trying to heal their mangled bodies, and guide her team to assist. They had cast spell after spell, but it had all been in vain. The parents had both died in casualty and their daughter had followed them less than four hours later, not even old enough to attend Hogwarts.
They told her that there was nothing else she could have done. She had done her best. Even magic can't fix everything. A part of her still believed that if she had been a bit faster, a bit better, a bit more knowledgeable, then she could have saved them. It was never enough for her, and she took each loss personally.
That's why she sent the owl. She was off two days hence, for the whole weekend. She would apparate halfway and have the whole weekend for her penance, so that she could return to work on Monday with a fresh slate and a clean soul. He would come the other half to meet her and give her the release that she needed.
She knew it was wrong of her - one more thing that made her broken, wrong. Ron couldn't stand her guilt, her need to hold on to the pain, and they had many rows over her inability to 'just let it go, already,' before he had given up on her and they had called it quits. That was before she discovered the way to ease her burden, to work the pain from the inside to the outside and cleanse herself of the taint. That was before she started meeting Charlie and he helped her to heal - from the war, from her work, from her life - and taught her to let go of her burdens.
She needs him now, in a way that she doesn't want to need him, or need anything, but Friday night comes and she packs her bags and apparates to the little villa in Austria to wait for him to arrive. He doesn't keep her waiting long, just long enough that the butterflies are trembling in her stomach and her skin itches with some unidentifiable tension.
He doesn't touch her when he arrives, just looks at her in a way that seems to penetrate into the depths of her soul. He moves close to her - so close that she can feel his breath on her skin. She knows that he is searching for something from her that she isn't ready to give, but she just shrugs out of her robe, lays it on the vanity, and then meets his gaze.
"I'm ready."
His eyes are resigned and a little sad as he nods, and she knows that he wishes it didn't have to be this way almost as much as she does.
She lies over the end of the bed, feeling exposed and vulnerable, and her caresses the smooth globes of her backside with his calloused hand, and tugs gently on the thong that exposes her ass completely to his gaze. He arranges her to his liking, and the rough caress of his hands as he pulls her ass backward and pushes her head and shoulders toward the bed excites her. She feels her skin begin to flush. There is a slight rustling behind her as he sheds his own robe and prepares himself for her. He uses one hand to tug her thong upward, making the fabric pull at her ass and pussy, and as she adjusts to this new tightness, he brings his hand down hard on one side of her ass.
As he makes this first contact, heat blooms through her skin, a sharp pain that quickly dissipates. She starts to feel warm for the first time in days, and he builds up a steady rhythm of stings, and heat, and pain. Each slap is powerful and she can imagine the muscles of his forearms contracting with each strong blow, and she trembles under his skillful touch.
After a while, Charlie pauses, rubbing his roughened palm along the smooth skin, and she can feel the heat where his skin touches hers. It momentarily soothes her, then Hermione feels him tug her tiny panties down around her knees, and his wand pressed to the tiny opening of her asshole as he says the spells to prepare her.
It's not always like this. Sometimes he flips her over, so that he can stare into her eyes and devour her mouth as he takes her, grinding her sore ass into the coverlet. This is what she wants, tonight - what she needs - and he reads her like a book. It's that little extra spark of pain as his hips slam against her, that extra full feeling as he stretches her smaller passage with his girth. She sucks in a breath and feels her tight little nipples rub against the bedspread as he spears her open with two fingers, working the lube inside and stretching her passage for his thick cock.
He pauses for a moment, as the blunt head of his prick rests against her asshole, and she begs, "Please, fuck me." He can't hold back against that and he obliges, sinking slowly into her depths as she stretches open around him. He doesn't stop until he's buried balls deep inside of her, and she gives a little cry of pleasure/pain.
That's his cue to start pounding into her, slowly at first - nearly out and then all the way back in - but he soon picks up the pace. She meets him stroke for stroke. Then he reaches below her and starts strumming her clit in time, until she is nearly incoherent with pleasure, giving voice to broken cries and babbling pleas for "more" and "harder" and "yes."
Finally, he pinches her clit hard and slams into her, as he tells her, "Come for me, Hermione. Come." She trembles and cries out, unable to resist, and he follows a few strokes later, with a grunt, as he fills her with his release.
For all of his roughness before, he is twice as gentle now, and eases careful ly out of her. He whispers soothing words of comfort that she is beyond understanding, and strokes her carefully, as if she were one of his injured dragons. When she is calmed and floating a state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, he helps her up into the bed properly and rubs a cooling lotion into her abused skin. She falls asleep, knowing that he will be there when she awakes, and that she is rarely troubled by dreams when he is near.
In the morning, he will be there beside her, waiting to see if she is ready to talk about whatever troubles her. Sometimes in the half-light of dawn, she will share her burdens with him.
After they may make love, as he chases the last of her worries away. On other days, she will push him away, goading him for a fight, and he will sigh, and hurt her some more until she feels punished enough. He never stops until she is ready, until he has broken her enough that she can be whole again.
After the weekend, they will part company. He will hold her close and kiss her forehead as they say goodbye. He'll return to his life, and she to hers. Until the next time, when they'll meet again, somewhere in the middle.
Heroes - Misc. Drabblestag:www.panthermoon.com,2007:/dreaming//1.1292007-11-10T11:41:50Z2008-04-01T10:44:08ZVarious ratings, pairings, etc, for various challenges.
Various ratings, pairings, etc, for various challenges.
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What the Future Heldtag:www.panthermoon.com,2007:/dreaming//1.1192007-07-16T09:09:16Z2008-04-01T09:10:54ZA vicious attack on Hermione has unexpected consequences for Severus.
Fandom and Pairing: HP, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Hermione is assaulted by a Death Eater (NOT Snape) and bears a child. Post-war, Snape helps her deal with the trauma and raise her child. Does not have to be romance, can contain NC-17 content, though no graphic rape. Also used for varietypack100 : 029. Birth
Warnings: Obliquely mentioned rape. This fic deals with the aftermath of the assault, with mentions of the circumstances.
Notes: Written for wonderfulwrites in the Summer 2007 Fic Exchange at sshg_exchange. (2,600 words, 19 May 2007)
Severus stood in the doorway of the darkened room, and looked over to where his daughter lay sleeping. It always amazed him to see her like this - so peaceful and quiet, vulnerable. She was a vibrant and active child, running he and Hermione ragged with her boundless energy and unceasing curiosity. He was very proud to have her in his life, to have her love and her mother's as well. This was not the future that he had imagined for himself, and he had never been so glad to be so dreadful at divination - useless twaddle that it was. His life had so unexpectedly and drastically changed that summer. It was the beginning of a future that he had never thought to have.
When he had entered the new apothecary, just after the start of the fall term, he was well acquainted with the proprietress, and of her condition, but completely unaware of the relevance to himself. The Daily Prophet had latched onto the fairly scandalous situation almost as soon as it had become evident, fueled by a source at St. Mungo's and the vicious rumors and innuendo surrounding the trials of the captured Death Eaters in the wake of Voldemort's destruction. There had been speculation that her former beau, Ronald Weasley was responsible, tittilation and gossip fueled by his quick engagement and subsequent marriage to Miss Brown, and the rumors that the newest Mrs. Weasley may also be in the 'family way,' despite the lack continuing of evidence to the contrary. Harry Potter was another suspect, as he always was in Miss Granger's love life, but most disturbing were the accusations of Miss Granger having engaged in a torrid love affair with a Death Eater during the heated conflict. Very few were aware of the truth of the matter and Miss Granger had little inclination to set them straight. Severus almost respected her for that.
Severus had only snorted at the foolish ideas and lurid articles in The Daily Prophet that he would have lent little credence to, even if he, and several members of the Order of the Phoenix had not been aware of the truth. Miss Granger wasn't the type prone to flights of fancy, nor would she have jeopardized her own welfare, or that of her friends by behaving in such a matter. In fact, if he had not found her, in the aftermath of the vicious attack that had resulted in her current condition, and taken her directly to Poppy, he doubted that he or any of the others would have known the truth. She had been most stubborn in her refusal to discuss what had happened to her. For his part, Severus did not regret getting the girl the help that she needed, only that Ethan Rosier had already been dead when he had stumbled upon the traumatized girl in the Forbidden Forest.
Even when confronted with Severus' knowledge and suppositions, Hermione had refused to share more than the basic details of how Ethan had abducted her from the battlefield to 'punish' her, and, by extension, Potter, for killing the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, Severus knew enough of the younger Death Eater's tastes and temperament, when coupled with the witch's condition, to deduce more than he cared to know of what had likely occurred. After her cousin Evan's death at the wands of Aurors during the first uprising, Bellatrix had taken a special interest in his son, and Ethan had thrived under her tutelage. He shared her liking for torture, her devotion to Voldemort, and her madness. He had no doubt much enjoyed the 'punishment' that he had sought to impart to the Muggle-born witch.
The fool, Rosier, had underestimated Hermione's spirit, though, and her willingness and ability to fight back, even without her wand. Determination and strength, coupled by what was likely a burst of wandless magic, had sent her attacker flying off of her, and into a nearby tree. A tree branch to the base of the skull had stopped his advances, but not before the damage was done. When Severus found them, Hermione had been kneeling, bloody and bruised, in her tattered robes, cradling her broken vine wood wand in her hands, with Rosier's dead body a few yards away. It was days, and several calming draughts, later before she could be convinced to speak at all, and longer still before she ceased to flinch away from any male presence other than his own.
At first, Severus had been unsure of how to react to Miss Granger's need to cling to him for comfort. On some level, he understood that it was because he had, in a sense, rescued her when he had succeeded in convincing her to allow him to help her and had removed her from the forest to the infirmary, but her friends had no such gratitude, and expressed their disgust for him most thoroughly. He admitted that he had capitulated to her demands, in part, merely to rile the young men and sneer at their reactions, but he had, in spite of himself, eventually grown fond of the witch. He had come to know her, and she, thankfully, eventually grew less tenacious. Still, he did not think of them as friends, nor did he wish to share a familiar relationship with her along the lines of that which she had with Weasley and Potter. The bossy know-it-all could be a harridan of the order of Molly Weasley, when crossed, and he liked his ears (and his bits) quite firmly as they were.
Still, their time together was companionable and he had come to enjoy some of the intellectual discussions that they had shared, once she had grown past her insecurities and learned to not try and impress him with her knowledge. He favored well-developed opinions backed by fact, rather than parroted facts from whatever books she had read, and they had engaged in several lively debates on many varied subjects while she healed from her injuries and recovered her magic. It was longing for such stimulation, after a particularly trying day of dealing with the horrors that the Headmistress called students, that had caused him to seek out the little shop in Hogsmeade that Hermione had opened after she had bullied the others into ceasing their constant hovering. Returning to Hogwarts to teach had been more trying on him than he wanted to admit, and he had needed a break. He had hoped to find it here, in the company of another adult who could speak of more than children and curriculums, or even in a stirring row that might allow him to vent his frustrations.
Snape had entered Hermione's narrow shop - with its dark plank floors, worn but elegant rugs, and various magical and non-magical fauna arranged in various pots and planters - with a decidedly critical eye, but it was a pleasant environment with a homey arrangement that felt comfortable but not cluttered. He could find little to fault among her carefully labeled and displayed wares, or in the tingle of wards that he had felt upon entering. He had been almost convinced that Miss Granger had grown into a sensible young witch, until he heard her soft exclamation of surprise and she tumbled down off a tall ladder to land on top of him.
As soon as he had regained his breath, however, his temper had gotten the best of him and he had begun to berate her. "You stupid girl. What were you thinking? You should know better than to be so foolish in your condition. Or were you trying to get hurt? You could have damn well taken the bloody potion, if you wanted to end things, instead of climbing up on ladders and injuring me and yourself in the process."
It hadn't been an auspicious beginning, and she hadn't taken his insult well. He scarcely thought about what he was actually saying, or realized that he had been running his hands over her limbs, checking her for injuries, until she stilled in his arms, and burst into tears. He almost felt contrite for his allegations - for upsetting her - until his head rocked to the side from a fierce blow to his cheek. He quickly set her away from him and gritted his teeth stopping her commencing tirade with a terse, "Silencio!"
She stamped her foot and canceled the spell with a flick of her wand, which she then pointed menacingly at him. "Don't you ever say anything like that again, Snape. It was an accident, you git, and it was partially your fault for startling me."
"Excuse me, Madam, but I was under the impression that this was a place of business, and as such, visitors were to be expected. I'd thank you to pay more attention to your surroundings and your wards, and not go around engaging in foolish activities. I'd think you'd have sufficiently learned your lesson on that account long ago."
She had flinched a bit at his remonstrance, but stood her ground. "I apologize for falling on you, but this is my shop and my body, and I will not have you haranguing me like an errant student. Now, if you are done with your histrionics, I could use a cup of tea, Professor, and you can either join me, or bugger off. I am not in the mood to be lectured." With that, she pocketed her wand and turned away to an inconspicuous door at the rear of the shop, without looking to see if he would follow.
He had surprised himself by merely harrumphing his displeasure and following her. He had followed suit and pocketed his own wand, as she tugged on the brass knob, opening the door to a narrow, dimly lit staircase. He had followed her up the creaking stairs, to a small apartment, with a tiny kitchen, and a sitting room with a thread-worn, but comfortable looking davenport and two wing chairs. Her home had the same shabby but elegant feel of the shop below, but with slightly more clutter, in the form of books and parchment and writing supplies on most of the tables and the desk under the window. Stray hair from her and the snub-faced orange cat in the eastern facing chair were evident on the furnishings, but the tiny space was well maintained and held a pleasant fragrance that he associated with Hermione herself. He had resisted the urge to explore her overstuffed bookcase and sat on the edge of the sofa, with resignation, as she returned levitating a small tea tray.
Despite the cynicism that their encounter had so far engendered in him about the likeliness of his respite, the afternoon had taken a much more pleasant turn after that. It was a trend that continued the following Sunday, and the one after that, and the one after that. Eventually, his Sunday afternoon visits to her shop became a regular occurrence, wherein she allowed him to help her with certain tasks that he had argued that she should not be undertaking in her condition - such as climbing on ladders, or brewing certain potions - and they would pass the remainder of the afternoon over a companionable tea. The nature of 'tea' had eventually expanded to include supper, and the nature of his Sunday visits expanded to include Friday evenings, or Saturdays, when his duties did not preclude them.
He had found himself gobsmacked to realize that he counted her among his few friends and looked forward to his time in her company. However, he was unprepared for the shock that ran through him, when during one of these visits, near Halloween, she had simply reached over and grabbed his hand in excitement, to hold it to her expansive waist, so that he could feel the baby kicking within her. He had been startled by her familiarity and the realization of the depth of feeling that he had for her and her unborn child. He had almost run away, as quickly as he could, from her and this new knowledge. He had nearly succeeded, but she had read his face, as he began to hurriedly make his excuses, and had laughed at him. He had been most indignant at what he had seen as ridicule and turned to her in fury. Hermione, however, was well known for speaking her mind and had proceeded to give him a dressing down - the likes of which he had not heard since Albus - in which she eventually convinced him that had not been her intention at all. She had then, with an uncharacteristic shyness, admitted her own feelings and hopes, and in a dizzying turn of spirit, had asked him to leave then so that he may have time to think on her words.
It had been a nerve-wracking two weeks. He vacillated between running back to the small apartment (which had become like a home to him), taking the infuriating witch who lived there in his arms to resolve this mess once and for all, and hiding himself away in his dungeons to never see her again. She had allowed him the option to remain as friends, but he knew there was no going back on this, for either of them. He had called himself all manner of fool and shored up his courage. He girded himself with determination and went to her, bearing a pot of ambrosia, dandelions and ivy - which she had taken one look at and run into his arms, understanding his intentions instantly, like the bright witch that he knew she was.
They forged ahead together. Severus quit his thankless job at the end of the Winter term, and they were married in a small ceremony. Potter and Weasley were tolerable enough, though they had done their best to mope and grouse, while sticking to the letter, if not spirit, of the explicit instructions for proper behavior issued by his very hormonal wife. Her robes had been simple, her pregnancy quite obvious in its advanced state, and her bouquet had consisted of a bunch of weeds, none of which anyone seemed to find unusual, too busy as they were marveling over the strange couple. However, they pleased the happy couple well enough, and startled even their fiercest detractors by causing Severus to smile at Hermione in remembrance. Marriage suited them and they settled into a nice life together - better than anyone, even themselves, could have predicted.
When Rose Marie Snape was born early that spring, he and his wife had welcomed her with open arms and hearts, and he had raised her as his own. No one doubted his love for his wife or his daughter once they saw how truly happy the young family was. Even Potter and Weasley had grown to accept his love for their best friend, and the three men had reached a state of mutual tolerance for her sake.
Now, as he said a silent goodnight to his daughter and closed the door, he counted the many unexpected blessings he had received in the aftermath of a war he had not thought to survive. The greatest of those were his wonderful daughter, his beautiful and challenging wife, and the child growing in his wife's womb. He had found a place of his own, and a family to be proud of and love. Life could be unpleasant and cruel, but with an uncertain future, there was always hope for a better tomorrow. He had found his. These days, he looked forward to what the future held.
Lolita (Original Fiction)tag:www.panthermoon.com,2007:/dreaming//1.1262007-07-04T10:31:38Z2008-04-01T10:33:58ZWhat did Lolita care about a man's opinion?
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG (200 Words)
Prompt: original female character, an illusion of control
I recently had cause to meet up with someone from my past, a lover of my teen-age fancy. He was so much older then, a man, subject to my girlish affections. Our age difference, now, is very little in the scheme of things.
Of course, it was not insurmountable then, either. My wisdom outstripped my age, and sometimes even his. He much disliked the times when I let the artifice drop and turned that knowledge on him. It is a skill I have since perfected, and it still thrills me to turn it on the unwary.
I pinned him before me, with my gaze, a small, secret smile curving at my lips. I painted him the truth with my husky, child-like voice, and teased him with the description of his folly.
He turned the conversation back on me. "You think you know, but that was a long time ago. What makes you so sure you know me so well?"
"Little or nothing, I suppose, but what did Lolita care about a man's opinion, beyond that of her ability to manipulate it?" I raised one eyebrow in silent challenge and let the side of my mouth turn up in a teasing smile.
Ironytag:www.panthermoon.com,2007:/dreaming//1.1182007-07-04T09:07:14Z2008-04-01T09:08:50ZRating: G (300 Words) Prompt: varietypack100084. He Notes: Another piece that probably belongs in the middle somewhere, as the ending is not very constructive, and the beginning comes in after a lot of omitted backstory, but I have no idea where, but I liked the conversation, none the less....
Rating: G (300 Words)
Prompt: varietypack100084. He
Notes: Another piece that probably belongs in the middle somewhere, as the ending is not very constructive, and the beginning comes in after a lot of omitted backstory, but I have no idea where, but I liked the conversation, none the less.
Once again, she failed to rise to his baited comments. No matter how nasty or snide he was, she just smiled and made some polite remark, as if she had feathers between her ears, instead of acting like the fiery, semi-intelligent witch that he grudgingly admitted she was. It was incredibly boring, especially in the tedious setting of his forced attendance at yet another ministry sponsored event.
He had enough, and proceeded to tell her so. "Miss Granger, your insipidness is annoying."
"I know," she smiled indulgently. Not at all the response he was expected from the rather irritating young witch. "Haven't you figured it out, yet?" She cocked her head to the side, inquiringly, and he wondered what she was on about. "That's why I do it. Why waste my energy trying to hold an actual conversation, when you are just going to belittle and mock me, when I can skip right over that and irritate you just by being polite. There are few amusements in my life these days. Like you, I take my small pleasures where I can find them.
"You've spent years telling me exactly how ugly, stupid, annoying, and socially backwards that I am. Why should I voluntarily subject myself to more of the same? Annoying you is just a bonus."
"How terribly sad your life is." Severus' face reflected his disgust, and he barely refrained from rather obviously rolling his eyes. "What? Am I supposed to pity you?"
"Of course not," Hermione chuckled wryly. "That would be awfully ironic after all. Don't you think?"
Severus stood agape for a few moments, fury building in him, and then stalked away. How dare that impertinent know-it-all... There would be other functions that they were forced to attend, and he would get the best of her yet.
Your Fairy Tale Ending - Kingdom Of Lies (1/15)tag:www.panthermoon.com,2007:/dreaming//1.1172007-07-04T09:03:48Z2008-04-01T09:06:50ZAlec doesn't believe in fairy tales.
Fandom: Dark Angel - Max (X5-452)/Alec (X5-494), Max/Logan
Rating: PG
Prompt: Written for candycentric at da_challenge, where she requested: "WHAT IF... Alec hadn't really been with anyone else like he bragged about? What if his first sexual experience was with Max, sometime after Designate This?" The title/theme is from 15_song_titles : 74 - Kingdom Of Lies.
Notes: Post 'Freak Nation.' This is the first story in a longer series of stories to fill my 15_song_titles claim. Each one can be read as a short stand alone story, or all together for one longer story arc that ultimately makes up my answer to candycentric's request.
(768 Words - 04 July 2007)
Alec watched them, as they held hands, barriers of latex and leather between them. He saw the foolish optimism in their eyes, as if these were the only barriers between them, and scoffed at their naivety, even as he wished that he could take Logan's place and have her look at him like that. It was a dream - even more stupid than theirs. When Manticore broke something, it stayed broke, and their relationship hadn't been very stable beforehand, from what he could tell. Hell, he and Max and the other freaks weren't all that stable themselves.
He had looked long enough that he could almost see why they were attracted to each other. Logan was Max's white night - a crusading do-gooder selflessly fighting against the evil that hunted her down and haunted her dreams, and giving her the hope of freedom, of a normal life with happily ever after in the end. That was a part of Max; no matter how grown up, or how street-wise, she was part of her was that lost little girl that hoped that there was something better beyond the castle walls and still believed in fairy tales. You'd think she might have learned differently once she'd made friends with the monster under her bed, but that was Max, too - stubborn 'til the end.
For Logan, it was even simpler. Max was a beautiful, mysterious woman who was crazy about him. She'd pull crazy stunts, go to the ends of the earth for him, and make all of his whacked out plans possible. He could wine her and dine her with glimpses of pre-pulse paradise, and feel like a king in his little castle in the sky. She was the ultimate virgin bride, completely devoted and never to be despoiled by his touch, even though he had never touched her when he had the chance.
That's what he really didn't get. How could their love be so pure, so true that they didn't need each other beyond all telling of it? He didn't have the greatest track record with women, or the most practical experience - ok, almost none - but, even he could see that 90% of their 'longing' for each other was of the 'forbidden fruit' variety than any true feeling. Tell a kid that he couldn't have pizza ever again, and he'd go on a hunger strike demanding pizza until he tuned blue, or got some damn pizza. He almost wished they could just do it and get it over with already.
Maybe then Max would move on. Yet, even as he fought to suppress the growling jealousy that exploded inside his chest at the thought, he knew it wasn't quite that easy. Despite their many chances - a whole year together, temporary cures, a promised cure thrown away to save his ass (not that he wasn't grateful and all), etc. - Max and Logan still held onto their courtly ideal of love.
He perversely enjoyed their torment, since it meant that she wasn't spending her nights in Logan's arms, and Max's bed was as cold and lonely as his own. He could barely stand to be around her sometimes, with the way his skin itched and his fingers ached to reach out and wrap themselves in her long, dark hair, or along the smooth toffee colored expanse of her skin. Only the realization that she would kick every square inch of his ass if he tried it kept him in check most days.
Hell, maybe they had it right, but he didn't think so. There was no passion there. That had to count for something, right? It was in all of those cheesy romances that Gina was always reading, all of those great pre-pulse movies where the hero and heroine rode off into the sunset together. There was a pull between him and Max. He could feel it. Nothing got his blood pumping faster than taking her on - word for word, toe to toe, until he didn't know whether to kiss her or kick her. She felt it too. She couldn't hide the little tells that were clear to another transgenic - the minor dilation of her eyes, the slightly faster heart and respiration rates - fight or flight at work.
One day soon, he was going to make sure that she ran out of places to run. He may not have been prince charming, but he had his own ideas about happily ever after. He didn't believe in fairy tales, but he remembered the important parts. In the end, the princess was always saved by a kiss.
CSI:NY - Misc. Drabblestag:www.panthermoon.com,2007:/dreaming//1.1282007-06-11T10:38:15Z2008-04-01T15:13:28ZVarious ratings, pairings, etc, for various challenges.
Various ratings, pairings, etc, for various challenges.
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Playing With Fire (HP, Charlie/Remus, NC-17)tag:www.panthermoon.com,2007:/dreaming//1.1122007-06-10T06:32:25Z2008-04-01T04:39:03ZCharlie sets out to tame the wolf. PWP.
the_minx_17 for her new community dragon_handler and her request: "I wonder how [Charlie] would do with Remus. He has to empathy to deal with dragons so it would have to benefit with werewolves, right?"
2,718 Words (10 June 2007)]]>
Remus was pacing the small sitting room with a restlessness that his housemate could only liken to stalking. In the small kitchen at the other end of the room, Charlie finished the washing up and flipped the small kitchen towel over his shoulder with a twitch of annoyance. In the three weeks that the werewolf had been sharing his small cottage, he had been a fairly relaxed and companionable guest, but the full moon was only a few days away and there had been a setback in his negotiations with the local pack as tensions rose with the upcoming moon.
Romania was still a fairly unsophisticated and superstitious country, and as such was a good place for the dragon preserve and a refuge for several conclaves of vampires and one of the largest clans of werewolves in Europe. The locals mostly minded their own business and kept out of the affairs of magical creatures and folk. With Voldemort and Greyback organizing Britain's werewolves under their control, Remus had been sent out to try and rally allies for resistance under the banner of the order.
Many of the packs of Romania, Ukraine and Moldova were already allied under the ruling council of the clan, making his job easier, but he was still an outsider and things were slow going. He was using Charlie's house at the edge of the preserve as a base of operations for the duration. He wasn't able to venture out much when he wasn't coming or going, because he tended to make the dragons nervous, and right now, Charlie could understand how they felt.
Charlie had a lot of respect for Remus, especially after he had helped Bill through his transition after he survived Greyback's attack, and he had seen for himself how hard the older man worked for the order. Still, he racked his brain to think of a way to occupy the man who was currently as irritable as a Ukrainian Ironbelly when it was teething. Unfortunately, after almost of month of close company with the other man, all he could think of was a confidence that Bill had shared about how Fleur was handling the changes in him.
His brother had blushed a bit, and tried not to violate the bounds of too much information between brothers as he had hinted that his hunger for rare meet wasn't the only appetite that increased near the full moon, and Fleur taking things in hand - so to speak - was the only thing that seemed to tame the wolf in him. While his sister-in-law was easy on the eyes, he really didn't care to know much about his brother's love life with her. However, it wasn't Bill he was thinking of just then; it was the werewolf still pacing his front rooms unable to settle down.
Charlie grabbed a couple of earthenware mugs and spelled the kettle hot for tea, as Remus poked at the fire in the hearth, even though it was pretty warm for a late September evening. Charlie watched him as he absently steeped the tea. The flames glinted off of the silver in his hair and leant a soft glow to the tense features of his face. Charlie filled the waiting mugs with the tea, a large portion of whiskey and a squeeze of lemon. It was a good 'cure for what ails you,' and maybe the whiskey would help Remus relax.
He crossed the room with both of the heavy mugs, and casually bumped Remus as he handed one to him, and tossed his head toward the end table. "Let's have a game."
Remus' nose seemed to flare a bit as he accepted the cup, and he looked as if he was going to protest the suggestion, but he nodded in acquiescence and walked over to take his now customary place by the board. Charlie gave a half smile to this small victory and joined him as Remus convinced the pieces to get into position. As he took his seat, Remus held out both hands, a pawn hidden in each one. Though he was good at not giving much away, Charlie saw the knuckles of his right hand clench a little tighter. A couple of the black pawns tended to bite a bit. Charlie chose that one, leaving Remus to white and the first move.
It was a well-matched game, as they usually were. Charlie ended to lose a bit more often only because he lacked Remus' patience. Tonight, he couldn't let his attention wander, as Remus was playing much more aggressively than usual and Charlie was trying to keep him occupied.
Remus had advanced his knight and Charlie took it with his bishop, sacrificing the piece to Remus' pawn on the next move, but cutting of the possible line of attack on his king. Remus took the bishop and slammed his pawn down on the square with a low growl that caused Charlie to look up in surprise as it sent a line of fiery arousal straight to his groin. He looked at his opponent speculatively as he noticed that Remus hadn't set the captured piece aside, but was holding it in a tight grip, absently stroking the pointed length in a manner that was highly suggestive to the dragon handler.
Once more, his mind was assaulted with visions inspired by Bill's words, and he pictured pinning Remus down and taming the wildness within him. He imagined it was his cock in Remus' hand and the werewolf was stroking him to hardness so that he could bury himself deep within him, claiming him as his own. His cock hardened as if his thought were fact and he shifted in his seat, silently cursing the blazing fire as he flushed with heat.
Unable to stand it, he grasped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside. At Remus' startled look, he shrugged and tilted his head toward the fire. "A bit hot in here."
Remus nodded slowly, but Charlie saw his nostrils flare again, like they had when he sniffed the whiskey in the tea, and he could see the honeyed color of Remus' eyes shift toward amber. He didn't say anything, other than to casually lift his wand and spell the fire a little cooler, but Charlie knew that the werewolf was aware of the half-truth of his statement. He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, because the game was on, and it took almost all of his concentration to counter a series of vicious attacks on his pieces.
They were down to a handful of pieces each when Charlie lost his queen. He swallowed down the last of his drink, knowing the game was almost at its end and he had little chance of winning. Still, he wasn't ready to lay down his king yet. He wasn't the type to give up easily, even in the face of defeat. He wouldn't have won over many dragons if he was, and he didn't think Remus would care for the attitude any more than they did.
He did stretch in his seat, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders, which caused the dragon tattooed across his chest to ripple with the movement. Remus' hand faltered over his king as his eyes were drawn to his chest and the gold ring through Charlie's left nipple. He cleared his throat lightly and gave Remus a wicked grin when he met his eyes. Remus' eyes narrowed in response, but Charlie had seen how he shifted in his seat and is pleased to note that he wasn't the only one affected in this little game that they were playing.
The game only lasted a few more moves, with Remus victorious over their checkered battlefield. He reached across to offer his hand in a conciliatory gesture, and Charlie took it, tugging him off-balance over the small table as he stood. Remus stumbled, knocking over the small table, and sending the pieces crashing to the floor. He would deal with them later, but for now, he was more interested in claiming his own victory.
He pulled Remus against his chest, giving him only a second to push away or give in. Remus arched against him in a signal that Charlie took as consent. He reached down to cup Remus' balls through his well worn and patched jeans as pressed his mouth against Remus'. He pried the older man's mouth open with his lips and pushed his tongue into the moist cavern of the werewolf's mouth until he felt him yield. His cock surged in Charlie's hand, filling with blood and pressing against the seam. He felt his own cock thicken in response.
He unbuttoned Remus' shirt as he nipped at his lower lip, alternating small, sharp bites with soothing licks and suckling, until they were swollen and bee stung, and Remus was gasping against his mouth. Remus' pupils were wide, with a small band of amber surrounding them. Charlie had gotten the wolf's attention, and planned to keep him in his thrall by keeping him off balance. He threw the shirt down on the chair and tugged Remus toward the bedroom.
He debated on his next course of actions, but snippets of his conversation with Bill and the way Remus had responded to him so far tipped his thoughts in favor of boldness. He kissed him again, deeply, handling him roughly, but skillfully and the werewolf responded beautifully, coming alive under his ministrations, and began clawing at the closure to Charlie's trousers. The dragon handler batted his hands away, and then dug his fingers into the cheeks of the other man's ass, through the soft denim. He knew it wouldn't feel like much through the thick material, but Remus got the message as he stilled with a low growl. That sound turned Charlie on even further, and he ground his erection against the other man's until the layers separating them frustrated him.
He yanked the placket of Remus' jeans open and shoved them down around his hips until his ass and cock were on display, but didn't let Remus remove them completely, so that they restricted his movement. Charlie jerked Remus' cock a few times, until a drop of fluid formed at the tip, and the foreskin drew almost completely back. He swiped his thumb in slow circles over the sensitive exposed head, spreading the drop of pre-come over it and the pad of his thumb. He then smeared his thumb across Remus lips, and then shared it with him in a deep kiss.
His own trousers were becoming uncomfortably tight, and he needed to be buried inside Remus soon, or he would spend himself within them. With only that thought in mind, he twisted Remus around and pushed him down over the end of the bed. It was just high enough to put him in the perfect position, and Charlie reached out to smack the ass that was so beautifully displayed before him. Remus groaned and rocked against the coverlet and then back toward Charlie as if anticipating another blow. Charlie ran his blunt nails down the other side instead.
Charlie grasped one cheek of Remus' ass and spread his cheeks slightly and then pulled out his wand and cast a quick preparatory spell that left his tight little hole glistening. He impatiently nudged two blunt fingers against it and relentlessly pushed them inside, as he smacked his ass again, causing him to buck up and take Charlie's fingers even more deeply into him. He began plunging them in and out, opening and stretching him, as he readied the werewolf for his cock. He twisted his finger, and curved them a bit in a come-hither gesture as he sought out Remus' prostate. He landed another blow against Remus' ass as he grazed the nodule and felt him buck under his touch.
Charlie couldn't take any more and he pulled his hand free to remove his trousers and underwear. He steadied Remus with one hand and used the other to line himself up with the now slightly gaping hole, and plunged into him with one deep stroke. He felt Remus gasp and tighten around him in reflex and he clenched his jaw and pushed even deeper against the slight resistance.
A moment later, Remus relaxed and began meeting him stroke for stroke. From time to time, Charlie slapped Remus' ass cheeks, as he fucked him, no rhythm but whimsy guiding his strokes as he fucked the werewolf harder and harder. His breath grew ragged, and he forced dirty little words through his lips as he told Remus what it was like to fuck his "tight little ass. So fucking good, feeling you buck and moan under me like a fucking whore. Taking it. Begging for my cock to fill you up and split you open. Going to make you mine, make you beg for this every day. Going to keep you like a good little bitch."
Remus growled at this and squirmed under his touch as Charlie continued to pepper his hot ass with more open handed blows, and fuck him hard. When Remus began to pull away and rub himself against the bed seeking his own relief, Charlie grabbed his bony hips and pulled him up and away from the necessary friction. "Not yet. Not done yet. Not going to come until I'm done. Not until I'm ready." The last was almost breathless, and Charlie raised one hand from the werewolf's hips to pull and tug at the ring in his nipple until the rhythm of his hips stuttered and he pounded hard once more and emptied himself in Remus' ass.
He rode out the waves of his climax as Remus moaned and tightened around his cock, wringing his pleasure from him. When he began to soften slightly, he pulled out and squeezed the firm globes of Remus' ass with his calloused fingers, pinching at the reddened skin that bore several of his handprints in stark relief. He wasn't done yet, and he felt a warmth run through him as Remus cried out for relief.
Charlie turned him around and pushed him up on the bed, pulling his jeans the rest of the way off, before climbing up with him. The werewolf lay back on his elbows, watching Charlie with a look of lust and desire, as he panted with need. Charlie smiled and took Remus cock in hand, stroking it, as he lowered his mouth to lave the head with his tongue. Remus' head fell back, exposing his throat and Charlie could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed convulsively. Remus was his, and he didn't feel the need to tease him any further. He wrapped his lips around the swollen head and sucked hard for a few moments, then slid his mouth all the way down the shaft. He barely reached the base when Remus shouted and began to come. Charlie moved back a bit to swallow it down, sucking ever last drop from him, until Remus' arms gave out on him, and he collapsed back against the bed.
He let go of Remus' cock and crawled up the bed, then pilled Remus into his arms to hold him and stroke his light brown hair away from his face. After a few moments, Remus blinked and opened his eyes to look at Charlie, and for the first time that night the dragon handler felt nervous, wondering if he had done the wrong thing, or taken it to far. Remus must have seen something of his doubts in his expression, because he lifted one hand to the side of Charlie's face and simply said, "Thank you," in a soft, slightly hoarse voice.
Charlie smiled then, pleased and slightly in awe of the man in his arms. There were a lot of things yet to be resolved, and Charlie wasn't completely looking forward to the reality of Remus' 'furry little problem', but nothing would discourage him now. He had felt the heat between them and was determined that this was not the last night that that the werewolf spent in his arms and in his bed, but the first of many to come. After years on the preserve, Charlie wasn't afraid of fire.
Gold, Dust and Ashes (Harry Potter, gen)tag:www.panthermoon.com,2007:/dreaming//1.1112007-05-17T06:29:14Z2008-04-01T04:40:00ZHarry searches.
iulia_linnea offered the prompt: Rhabdomancy.
Wordcount: 375 Words]]>
Harry pushes his glasses up with his forearm to rub the sweat from his tired eyes against the sleeve of his robe, leaving a streak of dirt across his forehead. The lightweight robe holds a cooling charm, but even the imminent setting of the sun would do little for the oppressive heat around him until the storm broke. His whole body aches, and his hands have nearly gone numb from the tight two-handed grip he has on his wand, but he knows that he was close.
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, concentrating on the slight vibration of the holly in his hand, and the bite of his magic, calling out and crying back to him, 'Closer, Closer'. He follows the beckoning trail, tiredly, sweeping left and right and left again, before finally being pulled to his knees after hours of searching.
He scrabbles through the dirt with his left hand, his wand still clutched in his right. A half dozen chipped and mismatched tea cups join him in his task, though he doesn't remember summoning them, and the earth feels alive, squirming under his fingernails, breaking them away, leaving his fingertips bloody and sore when he finally finds what he has been looking for. He brushes away the last layer of dirt, and the cups vanish as thoughtlessly as they came, as he pries open the moldering lid, the decayed wood splintering in his hands.
It's here, clenched tightly between skeletal hands, high on the remains of the corpse's chest, like a supplicant's offering. Harry exhales slowly, his fear and worry seeping away with the breath. He lays his hands on his tarnished golden prize and the dead hands that have kept it safe, and offers a quick benediction, to whatever deities may be listening, on her behalf, and an appeal for his own forgiveness as he wrenches his treasure free.
Harry hopes it is enough, because he already has plenty of specters to haunt him, without adding to that number. Yet, he feels only a second of remorse for desecrating this grave. He won't let anyone, living or dead, stand between him and his goal.
Surrounded by death, he shivers, feeling this oath take on a magic of it's own.
I Feel You (XMM, Wolverine/Rogue, NC-17)tag:www.panthermoon.com,2007:/dreaming//1.1102007-05-14T06:25:20Z2008-04-01T04:44:10ZRogue deals with the aftermath of her decision.
svmadelyn, Sleep and bedding themes (watching someone sleep), also includes First time, with a shy/bold virgin. Additionally, for varietypack100 : 072. Fixed. (14 May 2007 - 2,903 Words)]]>
really touched her. It's Logan that she wants - to take him in, feel him fill her up in a way that she imagines is even more intimate than sex. She wants to feel his power steal its way past her skin, into every fiber of her being. She needs the healing that only he can offer, for the price this "cure" has wrought on her.
His touch has always been her salvation, casual in a way that she hasn't felt with anyone else, not since the moment she learned of the monster that she had become. Logan has an awareness of himself and his space, but the little contact he gives her always seems more casual than calculated. He has never turned away from her, never flinched away from her reach. The slide of her hair through his fingers, or the ripple of his muscled forearm through the silk of her thinnest gloves - he has never feared her, or her touch. More than once, he has shown that he would give anything, bear it all, to save her and make her whole.
Yet, he had let her go. He had offered his support, in his own way, for her actions, even if he didn't commend them. He had even held his tongue and wrapped he in his awkward embrace when she came back broken and cured beneath the relieved facade that she had shown Bobby and her friends.
No one could have stopped her, not even him, and he is the strongest person that she knows, the man that she trusts more than any other. Even asleep, he seems larger than life, and so very unyielding. She misses the feel of him crowding in her head, thrumming through her veins.
She watches as he grimaces through his dreams, thrashing lightly in his sleep. The sheets have slipped down his body, tangling in his legs, and baring his body to her gaze. Her whole body aches with the need to make contact, to offer comfort, to rest her bare fingertips against the firm wall of his chest, and tangle them in the thick, dark hair that seems to cover him everywhere. Rogue barely catches herself, before she gives into the impulse, her fingers poised bare millimeters from his skin, so close that she can feel the heat that seemed to radiate off of him. His heat seems to slip past her defenses and begin to warm the chill that she has carried around with her since the clinic - maybe longer. It fractures the last of her resolve and she gives into her impulses.
No sooner than she has touched him, her hand grazing her lower belly, than his hand comes up like a shot and wraps around her wrist in a vice-like grip, and she finds herself pinned in place by his gaze.
"Please," she begs for permission, or release or both, as she wars between folly and flight.
"Marie." The words are hoarse, confused, but his eyes are clear, unclouded by sleep.
"I can't..."
"Go to bed, Marie. Get out of here."
She shakes her head, sadly, and lowers herself to the bed, fitting into the small space between him and the edge, her body partially covering him, touching as much as she can with her small body, clutching at him with delicate hands.
"Don't do this."
"I have to. I need to." Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears and they beg him to understand. "Please."
He holds both of her hands in his grip, firmly, but gently trying to hold her away from him, as he looks into her eyes. "You don't want to do this, Marie. This isn't the answer. You need to run along, and we'll forget all about this in the morning."
"I don't want to forget, Logan. All I do is forget, and pretend and act like nothing's changed, that this is what I wanted, to be normal. I'm not normal and I don't want to be alone, and I'm still alone, and everyone feels sorry for me, like I'm still a freak - the poor girl with the big bad mutation who couldn't handle it and went and got myself cured, and they don't want to think about that because they're either jealous, or scared, or both or just pity me, and it's still all about them, and not about me. Nobody sees me. But you do, Logan, with you I'm just Marie, always, Marie, and you're Logan, and we know each other. You've been inside my head, and I know you, how you think, and how you breathe, and how you feel, and I want to feel it again. I want you inside me. I want to be so close that I can forget that I am all alone. I want to touch and be touched, and not have to see the fear of someone flinching away because they're scared or pitying me. I want to remember and I want to forget and I want you, Logan, nobody else. I need you."
"Marie, darling, this isn't the way."
"Yes, it is. It's the only way." She knows that actions speak louder and than words, and she shows him the only way that she knows how, by pressing back against his hold and leaning in to press her lips against his. He tenses under her assault, but doesn't push her away. She knows that he would never hurt her, couldn't hurt her, that's why he has tried to talk her out of this, to push her away, and it is why she can't stop, won't stop, now.
Finally, his mouth opens under her kiss, and her tongue slides into his mouth, to dance and play along his, to slide across his sharp teeth and surprisingly soft lips. His hands slide from her wrists, up to hold her hands in his, and pull them up, above their heads. It causes her to fall across his chest and she squirms and moans, against him, already a little overwhelmed by the heady situation.
He pulls his head back against the pillow, breaking the kiss and looks up at her. "Darling, if you keep up that wriggling, this is going to be over way too fast." The wry tilt of his mouth is sexy as hell, as he half-smiles up at her.
"I don't care. We'll just keep going 'til we're done, 'til we've had enough."
"Marie," he half groans her name, and half growls, and before she realizes it, he has wrapped his arms and legs around her and flipped her onto her back in the middle of the bed, towering over her, supported by muscular arms. She can feel the wetness between her legs feel like a flood, and she lifts her hips to his, seeking friction.
"Yes."
Now, his grin becomes a full-fledged smile, and the tip of one of his claws extends a few inches along her shoulder, under the strap of her nightgown. "If we're doing this, you might want to lose this, or you won't have anything to wear out of here in the morning, and streaking down the halls probably ain't the best idea."
She knows the threat is half truth, and half bravado designed to scare her away, but it makes her blood race, as she reaches between them for the hem, and yanks it over her head and throws it to the floor in one swift motion. "Ha, you don't scare me. Besides, I'll just grab one of your shirts." She gives a quiet little snort and mutters, "It wouldn't be the first time."
He looks up, from where his eyes have been hungrily taking in the length of her, to look at her, teasingly. "Is that so? Something you need to tell me, darling?"
"No!" Rogue curses herself as a flush runs down her cheeks and over her neck and chest. "It's just. It was nothing. I missed you, and I had one of your shirts, and it was big... Hey, it was comfortable. I liked wearing it... and these." She reaches up to tug gently at the dog tags that he has only recently begun wearing again.
"Damn." She can feel his erection swell against her thigh, and her eyes widen, as he reacts to her confession.
She gulps a little, trying to swallow down a nervousness that has no place between them, and slides her hand down his body to wrap it gently around the length of his hard cock. He moans a bit, but lifts up, giving her room to explore and to look down the length of their naked bodies.
He follows her example and watches as she slides her small, pale hand up and down along his shaft. Then, he carefully lays his hand over hers, and leads her in a slow, easy rhythm, sliding her hand through the dampness along the head and then back down the length of him, before letting go. He is thick, and heavy in her hand, and she starts to imagine what he would feel like inside of her, splitting her open, and filling her up. She wonders what he would taste like, and seeking the answer, she runs her fingers over the head again, and lifts her hand to her mouth to find out.
She catches the look on his face and is awed by the raw desire that she sees there, and then he is slipping away from her, sliding down her body, all teeth and lips and tongue, as if he needs to taste every square inch of her skin. Excitement sizzles through her, and for one moment, she feels almost dangerous again, like a static charge is building beneath his mouth, drawing them together. Then he reaches her hip, and nips at the crest of it, skin stretched tightly over bone, and urges her thighs even further apart,
His tongue slides along the crease of her cunt, urging her to open to him, and his thumbs tease lightly, making it fact. He dips his tongue into her opening, lapping up the wetness that feels like it's seeping from her pores, there is so much of it, and his tongue feels slippery and rough on her. When he slides a finger inside of her, then two, drawing them in and out, spreading her open, she gives a brief thought to his claws, and remembers that she's not the only one that can be dangerous. She shudders and feels herself fly into a million pieces, all of them barely connected to his fingers inside of her, his mouth on her clit.
He's nuzzling her as she falls back together, and there is a languid satisfaction in her body, but also a charge, a need that is even more urgent than before. It's so good, but it's not enough, never enough until he's there with her, feeling what she feels, being the same as she is.
She tugs on his shoulders, trying to communicate that it's enough, she wants more, needs more now. "Logan," her voice sounds strange to her own ears, soft, blurred around the edges, "Please, now. I need you."
He makes a small sound, against the inside of her thigh, that may be her name and he's up and over her, imposing and strong, and she's right where she wants to be, as she tries to guide his thick cock to her entrance, to push him inside, where she needs him to be. The angle's all wrong, and she gets frustrated, angry at her own inexperience, irritated by her inability to make it real. He makes soothing noises, and gentles her with light touches, and she is amazed again how someone so rough around the edges can be so soft with her.
He lifts her knee, hooking it over his hip, and she lifts her other leg, too, tucking her ankles around the small of his back. He rocks against her and she can feel the tip of him sliding along her wet folds, bumping against her clit and sending sparks of desire through her body. She arches her back, desperate for more, and he suddenly pushes into her in one long, steady thrust. It's only the way his mouth has latched onto hers, distracting her with a kiss that overwhelms her senses, and swallows her cry that keeps anyone from hearing her startled pleasure/pain.
She feels so tight - way too tight and small - as if he'll never fit, but he does. He's inside her, with his fists clenched tightly in the sheets, and she can tell that he is fighting not to move, to not just pound away and rip her open, but that's not what she wants. She doesn't want his control; she wants him to be vicious, and to take and to give. She pushes against him, forcing the issue, in a move that is slightly more painful than pleasurable, but he opens his eyes and begins to move with her, shifting the focus back in the other direction, until she forgets the pain altogether, except for the occasional twinge of newly stretched muscles, and just rides out the joy of him thrusting into and out of her body, as close as they can be, closer even than she had expected.
Their bodies slide easily against one another, sweat slicked, and she can see the drops gathering along his hairline, feels them under her fingertips, and leans up to taste him, to draw his scent and feel and taste into her mouth, connecting them one more way. When his hand snakes between their bodies and rubs against her clit, she is taken by surprise by the sudden blossoming of pleasure and bites down on his shoulder, sinking her teeth in as she tries to scream his name. He tenses under her mouth, and grunts his own pleasure. With a hard snap of his hips, he is buried to the hilt inside her and tumbling over the edge after her, flooding her with his own pleasure, and she can almost feel it like it is her own.
He collapses on top of her, and she realizes how heavy he actually is, but it is a comforting weight, for a few seconds, anyway, until she has an urge to breathe. "Oomph. You're not exactly light, Logan."
He rolls to the side, and flings his arm over his eyes. She can see the moment he regains his senses, and starts to pull away, even before he speaks. "Marie. We shouldn't have done that."
"Shh," she places her fingers on his lips, almost hurt until she finds her resolve again. "Yes. Yes, we should. No regrets, Logan." She snuggles against his side. " Thank you. I'm going to stay for a while. I'll leave in the morning. Then, tomorrow, you're going to take me for a ride on your motorcycle. I want to do everything, while I can." Living in mutant central means that the rumors have already begun filtering in that this cure may not be permanent after all, and she know that there are no guarantees. She knows that Logan may not stay, that he might run again, but she's going to hold on for as long as she can.
When she finally falls asleep to the steady rise and fall of his chest and the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her head, she knows that he's still awake, still thinking, probably still having regrets, but she can feel him - under her, inside of her, all around, and she can almost feel normal again.]]>
Surrendertag:www.panthermoon.com,2007:/dreaming//1.1072007-03-06T20:24:27Z2008-04-01T04:44:46ZHarry tests his limits by surrendering himself to his lovers' passion. PWP.
The Harry Potter Quills for a Cause. This story is dedicated to my sponsor softly_sweetly. Also counted toward 100quills : 068. Surrender. 1,550 Words (27 February 2006)]]>
Harry shivered lightly, despite the raging fire in the fireplace, as he said the word that would lock the cuffs into place around his outspread wrists and ankles. His glasses were neatly folded on the bedside table and the thick, black blindfold was already in place over his eyes. The flickering light that the flames cast over the room barely penetrated it, allowing him to see only hazy shadows.
He had been thinking of this for so long, yet, he was nervous at actually bringing his fantasy to reality, despite the trust that he had in his lovers. Harry and Severus and Draco had been together for almost eight months, and this is the first time that he had allowed himself to be placed in this precarious position.
It wasn't unusual for Draco to spend the night bound to one of their beds. Harry had almost come at the sight of the pale beauty splayed and restrained across the midnight blue counterpane the first night that he had joined Severus and Draco as their lover, but Harry hadn't been able to give himself over to that same condition when it had first been suggested to him. Long months, of Draco whispering of pleasure and freedom in his ear, as Harry slid in and out of his displayed body, of Severus pinning him to the mattress with his hands and legs, while he cajoled and teased Harry, as he squirmed beneath the weight of his lover bearing down on him, had caused Harry to reconsider.
His breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed back a plea for reassurance, of acknowledgement, as the door to the bedroom quietly slid open and shut again. Speaking was against the rules, and would only be met with disapproval. He had agreed to this, wanted it with every fiber of his being, but he couldn't help the sliver of fear that being so vulnerable caused in him. His lovers must have sensed it, though, because a softly gloved hand stroked across his chest, and stilled him.
Because of the soft, velvet-like material, he was unable to tell if it was Draco's soft, manicured hand, or Severus' work-roughened, calloused fingers that touched him. He just gave himself over the sensation as the bed shifted next to his hips, and one of them began trailing light caresses across his chest and belly, up along his arms, and down his legs, checking the cuffs for comfort and security along the way.
A second person joined them, and the other side of the mattress gave beneath his weight. Another set of gloved hands began exploring his face, checking the blindfold, and brushing his thick hair off of his forehead. They trailed down across his cheekbones, across his jaw, and then to his lips. Harry opened his mouth slightly, and used his tongue to lap at the fingers, this time covered in soft, silky gloves. When they didn't pull away, he became bolder, sucking one into his mouth, and teasing it with his tongue, like a small cock.
He heard a small, choked off groan, that sounded like Severus' throaty bass, but he couldn't tell where it came from. He didn't care, but the sound urged him on, and he sucked harder, until the hand was pulled away, and the now damp material began weaving a trail down his neck and across his collarbone. His breath came in small little huffs between his still parted lips. Then the soft, wet fingers closed tightly around his left nipple and it was his turn to groan.
His other lover, with the velvet touch, settled over his groin, and suddenly a warm, wet mouth engulfed his cock. He arched up, unthinkingly, forgetting his bonds, and had a moment of panic at the restraints. His lovers paused as Severus murmured calming words into his ear, and gentled him with long, slow motions. Draco. Draco's mouth surrounded him with steady suction, and he would know that sensation anywhere, it was so familiar and comforting. He relaxed into the pleasure.
Draco was sucking his cock, and Severus shifted to present his own hardness against Harry's lips. Harry greedily lapped at the tip, and then sucked the head into his mouth. He knew where each of them were now, who his mystery lovers were, but the blindfold added an unexpected level of sensation, as he couldn't see them, could only focus on their touch.
Harry groaned around the length of the cock in his mouth, as Severus pushed in and out, controlling the pace. He could only relax into it, lick and suck, and let Severus control the pace, as his hands were bound, and he was pinned in place, unable to move. His head began to spin at the sensation, and he gave himself over to it, beginning to understand why Draco enjoyed this so much.
He felt Draco's fingers probing wetly at his entrance, stretching and lubing him, and he felt like he was being speared open by them. He was so willing, so open, and he could feel two fingers sliding easily in and out of his hole. He wanted to babble and beg, to tell Draco to fuck him, to fuck him now, but Severus' cock was better than a gag, and he could only moan incoherently.
Then, Draco pulled out and there was a new sensation, a thick, hard pressure against his ass, and Harry jerked his head up, almost choking himself as the head of Severus' cock hit the back of his throat. Severus grabbed his hair and anchored it to the bed, and shifted to fuck his mouth harder and deeper, distracting him from the burn and stretch as something wide and blunt that was not Draco's cock was pushed into his ass. His ass clamping around the flared base, and the sudden sensation of the vibrator rippling through him let him know that it was Severus' favorite butt plug, and only Draco's secure velvet-covered grip on the base of his cock was enough to keep him from climaxing on the spot.
Severus chuckled knowingly, and then there was wetness on his cock, and then - tight... hot... tight - Draco impaled himself on Harry's erection. Harry swallowed frantically, trying to gulp down huge breaths between Severus' thrusts.
Then, it was gone, and Harry could only keen in disappointment and sensation as Severus moved away. The blindfold was pulled away, and Harry was blinking rapidly, his eyes watering as his sight unexpectedly returned to him. It was a vision to see, as Draco was fucking himself on Harry's cock, his head thrown back, and his long blonde hair trailing behind him.
Severus moved into position behind him, and held Draco in place, with Harry buried deep inside of him. He brushed Draco's hair to the side, placing his hands on Draco's shoulders, and capturing Harry's gaze with his own. Then he pushed Draco forward slightly, and one hand disappeared between their bodies. Suddenly, there was a pressure that he had never experienced, as Severus' cock pressed against his own, and he slowly pressed inside of Draco's body alongside Harry.
Harry's eyes grew wide. The tight, vice-like grip of Draco's stretched opening acted like a cock ring, barely preventing him from blowing his load, along with his mind. Draco made a little whimpering sound, panting as Severus buried himself inside of him, and Harry threw back his head and yelled his pleasure, every muscle in his body tightening, arching, reaching for completion. The motion of his hips bucking up caused Draco to yell, and spurt after spurt of his cum coated Harry's stomach and chest. A small amount of it even splashed across his face, and Harry licked it from his lips, and began shivering and shaking as Draco collapsed across his chest, spreading the wetness between them.
Severus began moving, slowly rocking against Draco's abused entrance, and reached down and pulled the vibe out of Harry's ass. The sudden loss left his ass clenching around the emptiness, searching for the stimulation that was no longer there, until the spasms traveled up to his dick and he was coming. His entire body was like a live wire, as his orgasm crashed along his nerves, over and over again.
He vaguely heard Severus cry out, as he followed him over the edge, but he was insensible with sensation. Moments later, Severus carefully pulled out, and then eased Draco onto the bed beside him. He felt the tingle of cleaning charms, and heard the soft whisper of a healing and soothing spell for Draco. His hands and ankles were suddenly free, and he reflexively curled in on himself, reaching blindly for Draco who seemed as out of it as Harry felt, blindly placing small, lazy kisses on any part of Harry that was near enough.
Severus lowered the fire, and dimmed the lights with a quiet spell, then settled himself along Harry's back, reaching around to pull him into a tight embrace, and to place his hand comfortingly on Draco's side. Harry felt himself quickly losing the battle with consciousness, and barely managed a whispered, "Thank you. Love you," before he succumbed to Morpheus' embrace, surrounded by the lovers and secure in a feeling of peace that he had never known was possible.