The Ties That Bind
I finally wrote this up, after rewatching St Trinian's 2, because I needed to write some smut...I'm a bit busy at the mo, sorting out my university offers.
"No, Piers, I am not saying I'll obey you in the vows. It is just not going to happen!" Annabelle stated quite unequivocally for the umpteenth time, standing in front of him on the sofa in his…their living room.
The past few months since they had finally stopped fighting their feelings about one another hadn't led to the most felicitous of lives. Piers sighed heavily as he shifted on the cream sofa, idly staring into the depths of a flute filled with the finest champagne. Their life seemed to be filled with endless arguments about the smallest things. He had had the devil of a time just convincing her to move in with him.
So far they had fought over the wedding details, the ceremony, where they would live in town and the countryside, and about how she would continue working for M17.
Although that had resolved itself, as he remembered with a slight smile.
The door slammed shut, making Piers glance up in equal parts irritation and concern, as Annabelle marched in, still in her work clothes and a thunderous expression on her face.
He pushed his laptop away, frowning as he took in her dishevelled hair and distressed look. "Darling what is it?" he asked, reaching out to her, but she snarled and flung away. What had he done now?
He was just about to ask that in exasperation, when she turned back, and he was shocked to see she was almost in tears.
"I hope you're bloody happy!" she snapped angrily, shrugging out of her raincoat and throwing it on the sofa beside him. "Now I have no fricking job!"
"What happened?" Piers asked patiently, catching her in her frantic pacing and drawing her into his arms. Curiosity raged war with anger at whoever had hurt his Annabelle, as he held her to him.
Annabelle shivered and exhaled shakily, before relaxing into her fiancé's arms. "My Superior, she…" she began stiltedly, but Piers tilted her head up to his, stroking away the tears threatening to fall. He had never seen her like this before, so vulnerable and young. She was usually so strong…
"Annabelle, sweetheart, one thing I do know is no one could ever be superior to you," he told her earnestly, before gently pulling her down with him onto the sofa. "Now calm down and tell me what happened."
Annabelle smiled at the rare compliment from her fiancé, snuggling her head into the crook of his shoulder. "Well, she's been giving me the cold shoulder since our engagement was announced, but now…I quit. I walked out," she explained, her smile fading as all the anger and the hurt returned.
"Why?" Piers frowned. He knew Annabelle loved her job, even if he didn't agree with it. He was finding it quite easy to just live with not agreeing with her. The results of their arguments were rather pleasurable.
"She called me in, to assign me a new mission, to spy on you and that blasted society of yours. I refused, and then she told me to call off the wedding or leave the agency. She said I was just doing it for the money, that I must like being your submissive little whore…" Annabelle trailed off, swallowing hard as Piers' arms tightened around her. "Then I told her to go fuck herself since she obviously hadn't had any for years, and walked out."
"That's my girl," Piers chuckled, stroking her loose brunette hair soothingly. Annabelle lifted her head, her eyes wide and worried.
"But what if she's right, partly? What if by doing this, I do end up losing who I am?" Annabelle sighed. Piers, alarmed but refusing to show it, sat up, cupping her face between his hands.
"That won't happen," he proclaimed arrogantly. Annabelle scowled and opened her mouth to argue, but he shook his head, cutting her off. "One thing I can say is that you are not submissive, not by a long shot. Life would be so much easier it you were."
Annabelle smirked, tilting her head to the side, so her hair fell away and the long column of her neck was exposed. "But would it be better?" she asked haughtily, noticing how his lips parted hungrily, his eyes lingering on the line of her neck.
"No. Definitely not as pleasurable," he admitted hoarsely, pulling her lips to his, sliding his hands around her waist and urging her atop him, unknowingly having just eased the fears in Annabelle's mind.
The memory of that moment, and the aftermath, helped to ease some of Piers' irritation as he watched his fiery fiancée pace in front of him angrily once more.
"You wanted a traditional wedding ceremony," he pointed out, as Annabelle swung to face him.
"Excuse me, if it was up to you, we would be getting married in bloody St Paul's Cathedral! Don't talk to me about traditional," she snapped. "I'm not saying it."
Piers rolled his eyes as he stood, placing his champagne down with a clink. "I think everyone at the ceremony will know there's no chance of you ever obeying me!" he retorted pointedly, making Annabelle sigh wearily.
"That's exactly the point. We've spent enough time being insincere and lying to one another. I don't want to become your wife lying through my teeth," she explained, making Piers glance at her sharply, inwardly shocked. He reached out and drew her to him, loving the now familiar feel of her body against his. Their months living together had not dimmed the spark between them, but then again, arguing always made them rather hot, bothered and frustrated, and all too ready to work out their frustration on each other.
Usually horizontally in their bed, although there had been that memorable time in the kitchen…
Pulling his mind from his all too vivid memories before his body inevitably reacted, he looked down on his wife-to-be and smiled.
Predatorily.
"What?" Annabelle asked, suspicious at once, and then she felt his body hardening against her abdomen. A sensual smile curved her red lips, making her fiancé shudder, his arms tightening. "Perhaps we could reach a compromise?" she suggested, licking her lips.
"How like a woman," Piers growled rudely, but Annabelle just rolled her eyes. "We Pomfreys don't compromise, we take what we want."
"Really?" Annabelle asked, one fine eyebrow arching. "Then why don't you, Piers?"
Because, although Piers would never admit it, he had found the one woman who could make him shudder just by saying his name in that seductive purr, who was immune to intimidation, manipulation and arrogance. She was his equal, and if she ever found out, he'd never hear the end of it.
The very thought of it made him cringe.
Looking down into the blatant invitation in her dark eyes, Piers growled and crushed her lips to his, groaning as she undulated against his body, expertly driving him crazy. He picked her up in his arms, already walking briskly for their bedroom.
The moment Piers was in the door, he shut it with his heel, let Annabelle down and pulled her lips back to his, his hands already frantically working on the buttons of her blouse. No less urgent, Annabelle tugged at his tie, pulling it from round his neck but keeping hold of it. She had an idea.
She peeled his shirt from him, batting his hands away from her gaping blouse, making him growl impatiently. Determined to distract him so her plan could work, Annabelle slid her hand down his stomach to cup him through his trousers, making him groan and turn into putty in her hands. Now smirking evilly, she pushed him back until his knees hit the bed, determinedly undoing the rest of his clothes with one hand, while she teased him with the other.
Piers groaned, trying to work up the strength to pull the little minx's hand away but unable to as she grinned devilishly and just tightened her hand, making him growl from behind gritted teeth.
Abruptly she pushed him back, following him down before he could move and kissing him passionately, wildly, her glorious curtain of dark hair falling around their faces as their tongues duelled in that age-old dance/fight between man and woman.
Piers was vaguely aware of Annabelle shifting his hands either side of his head, against the cool, intricately moulded headboard, silk around his wrists….!
Piers broke off the kiss to discover Annabelle had tied his wrists to the headboard with his tie, the long strip of silk securely bound. Glaring, darkly, he snarled at her.
How dare she affront his dignity so?
But Annabelle, immune to his glares and moods as always, just chuckled huskily and bent her lips to his, biting his lower lips teasingly, making him reach for her mouth but she scooted back, away from his mouth. She laid a trail of wet kisses down his naked chest, lingering on the aureole of one nipple, sucking it into her mouth, waiting until he cried her name, before moving lower, to the sensitive skin of his stomach and abdomen.
Suddenly the door burst open to reveal an incandescently outraged Camilla Fritton, in full sail, Geoffrey and Peters stood behind her sheepishly.
"ANNABELLE FRITTON!" she exploded, like a foghorn as Annabelle winced, throwing a sheet over Piers while she hastily did her shirt up. "I-!" she stopped abruptly, taking in Piers' tied up state and Annabelle's partially clothed one.
"Hello Auntie," she murmured ruefully, dismounting her fiancé, "Haven't you heard of calling ahead?"
Camilla stopped gaping, and bristled. "There's no need. This is an intervention!" she pronounced, taking hold of her niece's wrist and yanking her out of the door before Piers could do more than blink.
Plus Annabelle's knot-tying ability had only improved throughout the years.
"Auntie!" Annabelle pulled herself free. "I am not going anywhere! I am marrying Piers, and there is nothing you can do about it!"
"He's a Pomfrey! He's AD1!" Camilla spluttered indignantly, golden curls bouncing. Geoffrey stepped forward to try to calm things down.
"Perhaps, my dear, we should-" he began, but both Frittons turned to him and snapped in unison, "Shut up!"
He backed down, retreating to the shadows alongside a terrified looking Peters. He glanced sideways as Camilla and Annabelle continued to argue, and smiled, commiserating.
"Are they always like this? Fritton girls?" Peters asked nervously, to which Geoffrey nodded. Peters shuddered.
"God help us when they have kids," the young assistant shuddered, making Geoffrey smirk.
"Yeah, and you still married Geoffrey!" Annabelle pointed out angrily.
"Yes well," Camilla spluttered. "I actually love Geoffrey. Whatever hooks Piers has in you, it isn't love and-"
"Auntie, I do love him and he loves me," Annabelle sighed, calling on all her patience. Camilla became silent, watching her young niece shrewdly.
"Well, at least you have him…in hand, as it were," Camilla finally sniffed curtly. "That Fritton blood starting show through at last."
"Oh Auntie, I have him well tied down, I assure you," Annabelle muttered coolly. Camilla's eyes glinted wickedly, and her face softened before she swept away.
"I shall expect an invitation, Annabelle. Come along Geoffrey," she called imperiously, her husband hurrying to catch up as they left the house. Closing her eyes, Annabelle snorted in relief, as Peters discreetly disappeared.
He really didn't want to be around when Sir Pomfrey got free of those ties holding him imprisoned to the bed. No siree…
Working for Sir Piers Pomfrey and the soon-to-be Lady Annabelle was mentally traumatising enough. He was disturbed enough, according to his psychologist.
Annabelle slipped back into their bedroom, to find Piers still tied to the bed, glaring at her evilly, still very much aroused.
She grinned. "Sorry darling, just got a little tied up," she murmured sensuously, making him shift.
"Enough with all the tying up jokes. Get over here, and finish the bloody job woman!" he growled, making her roll her eyes.
"Now what did we say about misogyny in the bedroom, Piers?" she asked, slowly approaching the bed with a very dangerous light in her eyes. Piers gulped.
"You like it," he offered, pulling himself up so he was closer to sitting, eyes trained on his now kitten coy fiancée, kneeling on the bed and crawling between his spread legs. She knelt above him, and arched an eyebrow.
"Occasionally," she admitted, slowly undoing the buttons of her blouse she'd hastily done back up when her Auntie had rudely interrupted them. Piers' eyes widened as she teasingly removed every inch of her clothing, not letting him touch or kiss any part of it, his eyes hungrily feasting on her body.
By the time she was finished, she was as hot and panting for him as he was for her, and she groaned when her skin made contact with his hair dusted chest. His lips hungrily licked down her throat, rocking against her hips needily.
She leant back, to meet his eyes as he coolly asked, "Is this one of those occasions?"
"This is one of those occasions," she breathed wantonly, fingers already tugging at the restraints until they were free. Piers took instant advantage, sitting up and pulling her lips to his, greedily sucking at her lower lip and making her moan. She broke off the kiss, arching her neck and offering it to Piers. He took, pulling her closer to him by the small of her back, burying his face in her breasts and marking them every time she rocked into his hips.
Growling, as his arousal reached a torturing peak, he turned and flung her into the mattress, spreading her thighs and sinking into her with a cry of relief. Annabelle arched beneath him, nails cutting his back, twining her legs around his waist and moving with his every thrust.
"If this is compromise," she managed to gasp, "we need to do this more often…"
"Oh shut up," he muttered, smothering her laughter with his lips. He wasn't about to admit he felt the same.