Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.
Description: Hermione & Theodore are in a relationship. What's the context? You decide.
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Theodore liked being bossed around.
Perhaps it was because his mother had died when he was so young and still desperately needed one, or because his father was so reticent and emotionally unavailable. Perhaps he was a bit of a masochist. Wasn't that some sort of prerequisite for becoming a Death Eater?
But, perhaps, perhaps he was using his Slytherin powers of cunning and deception to lull her into compliance with the pretense of power.
Because Hermione liked being bossy.
She was always respectful in public, but when they were alone, she was swotty and saucy and utterly officious. And he ate her up with a grin on his face.
With her polish tipped toes on his chest, she pushed him back down the bed when he began to crawl up toward her.
"You aren't finished," she dictated archly.
He smoothed his hand up the inside of her bare leg, inching toward the one place he could go to make her whimper and beg.
"How much longer?" he asked, his submission laced with the promise of a long, hard fuck.
She answered in that patronizing tone of hers that drove him wild with need. "Until I tell you to stop, Theodore, and not a moment before."
He slipped her toes back into his mouth and she groaned softly as the wet heat of his mouth engulfed the sensitive digits. Before Theo, she had never known, never guessed, never imagined that such a thing could feel so good. Feet were dirty and sweaty and ugly, and it was unseemly to think of them as erotic, more so to demand that ones lover acknowledge them as such. But he wasn't a normal sort of lover, and part of her demanded she defy and disrespect him. Forcing him to lick her feet felt good in more ways than one.
What sort of pervert had she become?
A well sated one, she thought as his tongue slid between her third and fourth toe before he closed his mouth around each in turn and sucked in slow, swirling strokes.
Theodore was very good with his tongue.
He circled and nibbled and ran the slick muscle down the cleft in the ball of her foot, generously laving her arch. With his free hand, he stroked the inside of her thigh, the tips of his fingers just grazing her quim.
He groaned. She was wet. So very wet.
The vibrations of his groan in combination with his sucking and licking caused her to arch up off the bed.
"Now, Theo," she ordered, "Fuck me now."
He needed no further instruction or enticement. He crawled up between her legs, and lifted them over his forearms. She reached between them and grasped him, placing him at her entrance and tilting her hips to urge him to move. To sink, to push, to stretch, and fill, and stroke, and grind her into oblivion.
He gripped her hips as he pulled her to him, slipping gracefully into her depths. He began with long deep strokes, letting her feel every inch of him. He in turn could feel every bit of her gripping him, and it was driving him mad with the desire to pound his lust into her. Oh, but it would end far too soon.
Resisting his baser urges, he withdrew, wrenching a growl of objection from her. Before she could begin to tell him where to shove it, quite literally, he rubbed the tip of his length along her quim, giving ample attention to that sweet little bud. "Oh," she sighed in pleasant realization.
"Oh," he mocked with a smug grin.
She scowled at his cheek and turned up her hips in demand for more contact. He obliged, taking breaks to dip into her and draw out her moisture before coming back to rub and swirl. Her face was flushed with the evidence of her pleasure, and her legs began to tremble and her quim began to gush. She was ready. He slipped back into her and began moving in quick strong, strokes, their bodies meeting, colliding, crashing, slapping together, slick with sweat. The air around them was soon thick with the scent of sex and the tingles of extemporaneous magic. It radiated from them both as they panted and gnashed and sought out their pleasure.
She felt lightheaded, her senses consumed, dominated by him. By the grip of his hands, the scent of his body, the sound of his impassioned grunting, his stormy gaze, and the relentless, gratifying stroke of him driving deep into her body.
She was close, so close now. He dropped down to cover her body with his, allowing her to wrap her legs high around his waist and press against him tightly. Leaning on his elbows, he cradled her head as he kissed her deep and moved against her in that way that always made her gasp, and arch, and shatter around him.
She was panting now, her hands gripping his arse, squeezing in the rhythm she needed to achieve her release. He followed obediently, tilting his hips to give her more contact. She let out a startled "Oh!" as it always seemed to come upon her suddenly. She gripped him tight, so tight, and panted a drawn out, shuddering whimper. "Oh!" And she clenched, and gushed, and tugged him with her into mindless bliss.
Sweaty, exhausted, and thoroughly sated, they curled up together and lay to catch their breath, drifting peacefully through reflections of their passions and imaginary worlds. Worlds of happiness. Worlds of safety and unencumbered relationships. Worlds of choice and truth and fairness and love.
Fantasy worlds.
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Finite Incantatum
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A/N: The name of this vignette is Other Worlds, and if you liked it, please hit the button and tell me so. I have more of these, just not sure if there's much market for them. Also, cyber hugs and cookies to the reviewers who can guess correctly the backstory.