RATED M, CAREFUL! Another attempt in sharing the Hardbroom love in English! I've noticed I've never written about HB/Drill *GASPS*, so here it goes! This fanfiction is a little more dark-harsh-femslash then we are used to. I'm sorry if it does not correspond for what you are seeking for with HB/Drill. Hope you will enjoy :)
This moment is exactly what she has been non-patiently waiting for. Recently, the months have shortened to weeks, and these necessary, compulsory episodes begun to happen episodically, each day. True to her nature, when Constance Hardbroom adopts a routine, it must be respected. And at this time, with her teeth biting above her right hand, her eyes firmly shut and her head pounding against the wall of Imogen's room, she realizes how much she needs this. The recurrence, the urge… these blue and intense eyes she is trying to avoid. Her toes supporting the intensity of her rhythm, it's quite unimaginable that she is still standing up. How could she fall, when Imogen is holding her, both hands on her behind, caressing her thighs as the famished mouth explores her center. Her black dress had been ruffled up to her waist, not wasting time undressing.
During her daily routine, simply thinking about Imogen would have made Constance yell at her students to hide any transformation in her voice. And by the frequent yelling, she must think about Imogen a lot. It started very soon, both closeted women tried to offer and give what they couldn't name. Years have offered them several nights where they would experiment, kind of a revival after a long deprivation. But this kind of addiction is fresh, very new and was occasioned by Constance herself, at her own surprise. Not being used to share or to communicate, it seems like giving a title and actually talking about their form of relation was a turn on to her, therefore for Imogen. It's the use of the word lesbian that makes her world turn upside down, that makes her vibrate. In front of such a beautiful term, Constance understands what is going on inside of her. It's an apocalypse provoked by the most powerful feeling now named. Kind of secret, forbidden, it would illuminate her silent darkness, allowing her all access to her long-termed desires. It is possible for Constance to fully be aware of the connection that reunited her with Imogen on these dark nights. And now, up against a wall in her lover's chamber, rethinking about her realization about herself, she holds on to anything she can grip – the door handle, Imogen's hair – and shakes violently while opening her mouth, releasing a stunning low moan. Stars are seen in Imogen's eyes.
It has become almost dangerous. Constance is continually yelling at her pupils these days. There is lack of substance in her lessons, her course is incomplete and the class work is unsupervised. It seems like everything she needs anymore is to correspond to her new favorite word. As soon as time allows, she throws herself all over Imogen. It could be when Imogen arrived from running, it could be when Imogen was about to get to bed, it could be when Imogen was having tea and biscuits. Today, it was Imogen in front of the window in the teacher's room. Because of their bodies sliding up and down the window, Imogen's shirt is lifted up to her chest and her small breasts are pressed against the glass canopy. Both of her hands lie flat in front of her, holding on tightly as Constance is fervently penetrating her from behind. The witch had appeared from nowhere and roughly kissed Imogen's neck, already moaning and, without preamble, Constance slipped two fingers inside Imogen's wet center. She is murmuring delicious words to her blonde lover, her eyes opened so that she could see the pleasure ascending in Imogen. She gives her soaked kisses, opening her mouth to lick the back of her ears and neck. It has become dangerous now, because Constance Hardbroom wants nothing else than this. She does not care of the public place, of the time of the day. She is making love to Imogen, and she can sense her own orgasm building inside as she feel Imogen's walls contracting around her fingers.
Constance Hardbroom is lesbian. Or is a lesbian. She does not know exactly how to handle the syntax of her new favorite word. Though, she must not think about it too often, because it is really dangerous. Her whole identity draws up from her desire towards Imogen. Why Imogen? Is it related to the fact that she loves women as much as her? Is it because she is the only woman available in the castle? The answer to her question hits her violently, very strongly as she is lying on her bed, her long brown hair declining on the curves of her chest. Imogen is naked and exposing her beautiful tanned skin. Imogen is blue and gold, beige and brown. Her legs sitting on each side of Constance's body, the non-witch needs to lean closer to be able to look at her carefully. She just leans, creating beautiful shadows on her face from the candles on the table that Constance adores to contemplate. A tin gold necklace is suspended from Imogen's neck, balancing between both of the women. It is a jewelry Constance gave her long time ago, and she is still wearing it. It is the only thing touching Imogen's body, her gift. At that moment, it is Constance that leans upward, rejoining Imogen's mouth, holding her face with gentle hands. They fall backward; Constance's back hitting the bed, Imogen adjusting over her, moving their bodies in a familiar rhythm. It is very, very dangerous, because Constance Hardbroom has deeply fallen in love. Oh how the pupils will have to put up with her shouting tomorrow morning!