Prompt: Tumblr's Tomione Kink Meme '14 Challenge: "You saw me before I saw you."
Warning: M for language and smut.
A/N: Beta'd by myself because I tried, but luckily had ibuzoo to look it over to make sure I did a good job with looking it over myself...and stuff. ENJOY.
You saw me before I saw you.
I thought I was safe from the public eye. I thought we were safe, not that I cared if Bellatrix was safe from it or not, but that wasn't the case.
My wand was held tight, safely in my right hand as I flung it at the mad woman, spells upon spells flinging from the tip in rainbow colours. The woods that surrounded us in the cold, late autumn afternoon were silent, just as you were. How I didn't hear your footsteps across the dead leaves that covered the earth, I would never know. But then again, maybe I knew from the moment our eyes met.
She had stunned me and I was on the ground. The wind had been knocked right from me as I laid their, helpless on my stomach as my hands clenched at the dirt and leaves, my lungs trying their best to work again. My throat was on fire, my legs currently helpless until the stun had worn off. I barely sucked in any breath at all, my ears filling with my wheezes and the heavy beat of my screaming heart. I looked up at you and it was almost as if it was love-at-first-sight.
Not that I believe in such rubbish, honestly.
But at that moment, I did. And I knew you did too. You had that look in your eyes, as if you had found the one thing you had searched your entire life for. I knew you from the moment I saw you. Not because it was the feeling I had known you my entire life, but because I remembered seeing your face, plastered across parchment upon parchment throughout Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley as the No. 1 Most Wanted villain in all of Europe some months ago. You were known by many names that I have come to hear you by from lips upon lips.
The Dark One, The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who, (Lord) Voldemort, Tom Riddle, Heir of Slytherin, Chief Death Eater...
Almost all of those names felt foreign to your features. All but one: Tom Riddle.
"Ava-"
"That's enough, Bellatrix," I heard you cut in through the fog of both my attempt to breathe and regulate my heartbeat.
"One curse and she'd be dead," I heard Bellatrix whine behind me shakily. Our eyes never parted, and that was what struck me differently than when they first met.
What was it that you saw as you looked at me?
"We need her alive." You said it so calmly that if I could, I'd laugh out of hysteria.
Voldemort, was sparing my life.
I could have killed Bellatrix. I could have gotten her off my back. But if I had only dodged to the left and not the right...silly of me.
From the sound of silence radiating from Bellatrix, I imagined her head to be bent low to you, her way of accepting your orders in obedience.
And then I saw the chaos in your eyes.
They were a light, light green, reminding me the color of the lake I used to visit ever year with my family for camping. They belonged to an actor, which from the way you stood – rigid but calm – suggested that it was what you were. It made sense with your title and position in this world.
"Head back to the manor. I'll meet you there," you said to Bellatrix, still in the same calm voice as you used before.
I heard Bellatrix disapparate from the spot, a static-like cracking whip in the air, as she left you and I alone.
You took a few quick steps towards me, grabbing my forearm as you roughly pulled me to my feet. It took myself some effort, but the stun had worn off and my breath was almost fully caught. Your grip was terrible, bruising and rough, but I felt warmth radiating from your slender fingers and large palm, holding me steady as you looked at me with a sudden frustration.
In slow motion, I had watched your once-calm expression transform into a frustrated look.
"Give me one good reason why I should have done what I had just done," you hissed at me in a low slur of agonizing words. I would have coward back if I could, but two things stopped me.
1.) A lioness does now cower.
2.) Maybe it was your scent that filled my nose, a sharp mixture of man and spearmint that was almost intoxicating from that very distance. Or maybe it was your eyes, which seemed almost as if they were urging me not to cower. Or maybe it was your very appearance in general that had mesmerized me from wanting to be any less brave that I had already been. You were so handsome at that moment with your porcelain skin, dark wavy hair perfectly combed in to place, parted at the right, your high cheekbones, your strong jaw, which was tightened in my presence, and your set of lips that almost made me wonder if they were soft to the touch as they appeared. (If I had allowed myself to be so foolish, I would have dropped my wand and touched my fingertips to them to see.)
And at that moment, I realized I hated you. Not because you were that terrible person who had brought so many people down to their knees when they had no real reason to, and not because you were so Dark that I've heard you to laugh in the face of the people you murder. But because I didn't want to hate you.
But you saved my life.
I considered a lot all at once as you waited for my answer. You had just saved my life. And not only that, but you were the most powerful Dark wizard of all time, an heir of Slytherin. You could kill me in an instant if I bothered to put up a fight. That, or I know you'd work hard at making sure I'd regret any actions against you.
But I wanted to run. I wanted to run far away from you and never look back. Because as much as I wanted to hate you, that face...
Yes, it was true I had seen that face plenty of times before on the Daily Prophet and most-wanted posters and signs, but none of them did justice to your beauty in the flesh.
I think you were just as struck by me as I was by you, I saw it in your eyes. They surveyed every inch they could of me. I felt them on my cheeks, my lips, my forehead, my hair, my eyes, my neck, my collarbone, the small image of cleavage from my over-worn v-neck tee shirt and tight sweater cluttered under my jacket.
I was a thing of physical beauty to you, and you knew that well.
"Answer me," you soon hissed, shaking me with just the one hand that still held tight to my forearm, I had the answer at the tip of my tongue but you just weren't patient enough for it.
"You tell me, Tom," I told you bravely as I raised my nose into the air, my face as leveled as my sight on yours.
I watched you curl your top lip inwards, as if you were biting it or keeping yourself from spitting any more words to me.
I felt your grip leave my arm, feeling it throb from the lost, abusing contact. I broke the eye contact first as I looked down to my hands. Tucking my wand away to show that I surrendered, my free hand covered where your hand once was, rubbing and massaging it back to life as I winced a bit. Surely I'd be bruised by tomorrow morning.
"I'll give you two choices, Mudblood," you told me in a voice that was only a step calmer than your tone before.
I looked back up to you, raising an eyebrow to test your words. But it didn't effect you. Not one bit. I had expected you to hex me for just that, which I knew well was a sign of disrespect.
"One: You come and serve me. In any way that I desire. Call it...being my mistress."
Tempting, as I could already tell in your eyes you needed a new fuck toy, and your looks alone were almost worth the agreement. But then again, I was a lioness. I wouldn't allow myself to stoop that low so easily. But nonetheless, your eyes searched mine, as if they saw into my soul and that I was considering it in the slightest way. I watched you smirk at this.
"Two: I take you to Azkaban where you belong with your kind and await trial for your eminent death." I almost flinched then. The warning in your voice suggested the decline in my life's worth. I was the brightest witch of my age. And I had worked hard to receive that title, or any title for that matter. But you didn't know that, yet. Or so I at least assumed you didn't. It all depends upon how long you had stood there, how long you had seen my battle with Bellatrix. Did you see my potential, did you witness first-hand how long I had lasted against such a talented and experienced Dark witch like Bellatrix?
But I didn't have a choice, did I.
That evening, I found myself in your chambers. From what little I had seen of your manor, it was more glorified than I had heard from pure-bloods gossiping in the streets about you in the past few weeks since your take-over of the Wizarding world.
I stood at the foot of your large four-poster bed, watching you undress casually, as if I wasn't even there. Your eyes met mine when you had carefully placed your black jacket on the back of your desk chair in the farthest corner of the large room and began tugging at your dark emerald tie. It brought out the coldness of your eyes, that colour.
There was something in your eyes that beckoned me over.
My bare feet tiptoed over to you carefully, our eyes never parting as I reached for the top button of your black oxford shirt. When I had arrived, one of your house elves had taken my worn ankle boots and hole-covered socks to clean and mend. And when you had brought me to your chambers, you had taken my coat from me as if I were an honorary guest.
Was I a guest? Or was I your prisoner.
Your manor was warm compared to the hours I had spent outside with rosy cheeks and my breath ghosting before me during my battle with Bellatrix. My shivering had stopped by now so that my hands no longer shook for me to gracefully unbutton your shirt. You had just thrown your tie on top of your nearby mahogany dresser, staring down at me without an expression and your arms relaxed at your sides.
My eyes finally left yours as I parted your unbuttoned oxford, looking down and seeing what lied beneath it.
You were lean, built, and just as pale as your face. But your skin was soft to the touch, I found out, when I touched a palm to the middle of your chest. I wasn't sure if that sharp intake of breath you made was because of the fact my hands were still cold or because of the contact in general. Had it been in a while since you've had this type of reprieve? How long had it been since you had been touched?
Your lips found my forehead. At first I stiffened. I hadn't been in this type of contact in years, but I didn't shy away because I had to keep in mind that I was a lioness, but because your lips were warm, soft, and gentle in a greedy sort of way. I liked it.
I unbuttoned your cuffs next, soon tugging your oxford off of you until it fell to the floor like a ringlet in a puddle around your ankles just as I slowly tilted my head up to you. As I did, your lips kissed my left temple down to my cheek, to my jaw, over to the corner of my mouth, and finally to my lips. My skin burned wherever your lips touched. I had to bury my hands into your soft hair and tug to keep myself steady from what the contact did to me – nearly sending me to my feet from how weak you made my knees.
As I kissed you back, prodding my lips in sync with yours and allowing your tongue entry to touch mine, the roof of my mouth, my teeth, I felt you at my sweater, your slender fingers working easily with the scuffed wooden buttons and their worn holes. My sweater fell heavily to the polished wooden floor, your fingers curling around the hem of my shirt. I raised my arms above my head the farther you slid the shirt up my torso. When you had tossed it carelessly to the side, your hands wrapped around my bra-clad breasts, squeezing at them with a greedy, primal need. Were they perfect to you? Did they satisfy you?
I worked at your buckle next, pulling it out from its loops and tossing it aside to earn a clang from the section of wood near the door. I unbuttoned your dark denim jeans, about to unzip them when you threw me back. My back collided with your mattress, gasping when I looked down at found you stepping out of your pants. You were wearing boxer briefs, enough to leave room for imagination when I saw the bulge right between your slender, muscular legs. I wanted you and you wanted me.
You were completely naked when you climbed on top of me, first stopping at my waist where you unbuttoned my jeans, tugging them off roughly as if you were impatient to be buried within me. Your impatience left my stomach fluttering with anticipation, my body beginning to tremble under your gaze. Left in my cotton underwear and my faded black bra, you froze. I looked deep into your face, seeing your eyes furrow, your eyes focusing on every inch of me, your hand slowly, gently gliding up my smooth legs to grip at my hip as the other arm supported your weight. I wonder what you were thinking.
"Tom," I whispered to you, causing you to look up and meet my eyes with questions in them.
"You're mine," was all you told me. You pulled yourself up so that your hand was cupping the side of my neck, your other bending so that you could gently rest your body against mine. I felt your heat, the connection of your skin upon my skin. It sent a shiver coursing through me to where my arms wrapped around you so that my nails could dig claw marks down the top part of your muscular back. Your lips kissed me with such a primal desire that I feared I'd melt with the sensation of being this wanted. My past boyfriends, Victor and Ron, had never wanted me like you wanted me.
"What is your name?" you asked me when our lips parted so that you could help me with my bra. Your voice was husky, under the influence of arousal.
"Hermione," I told you, my voice breathless, my heart leaping in time with my impatience for you to do what you and I both wanted you to do with me.
"Hermione," you echoed as if you were testing it. It teased across your lips as if it belonged there. You said my name once more and buried your nose into my neck as you bit circles into the skin, each time your tongue flicking across the abused flesh. Each bite and lick sent a jolt of sensation traveling down my entire body and ending at my core. My back arched so I could press my bare breasts to your chest, shivering at the sensation of this form of contact. It felt...
Perfect.
You pushed yourself up a bit so a hand could grasp at my breast, pinching my nipple to send another shock of pleasure to my core. You moved your hips slowly four times (I counted), helping me realize that I wanted you more than I thought I did at first. I felt myself throbbing, aching for you as I'm sure you did for me.
"How wet are you?" you whispered to me. I felt your warm breath hit my face as you looked at me with wonder. Were you entertained? Was I proving my worth to you?
I said nothing, my lips sealed as the hand that was pinching at my nipple left it, slowly, seductively sliding down the side of my body. You touched under my breast, down my ribcage, to my bellybutton, across where the waistband to my underwear laid, and you slipped beneath it. The minute I felt you touch my little bud of nerves, my eyes closed, my eyebrows knitted together, my head fell back, and a loud gasp escaped my lips.
You were experienced, you knew how to touch a woman, how to make her gasp from the sheer pleasure. I knew this from the way you rubbed the edge of my clitoral hood, the way you slid that finger down, into my opening, and back up to the bud where you spread the juices to enable direct contact. I was so sensitive that I shivered not only from the anticipation, but from the amount of pleasure your gentle touches had coursed through me.
How could such a rough, Dark, murderous, sadistic, schadenfreude man be so gentle?
"So wet I could fuck you right now." I heard the tease in your voice, which made me bolder than I was a minute ago as my eyes opened to look to see you watching me.
My hand reached down and wrapped around the thick base of your rock-hard shaft. What I felt, was enough to make my lips stretch into a smirk. "You're so hard and thick that you could fill me up to the brim," I teased back.
Your eyes darkened and suddenly, all gentleness left you. I watched it float away from your body like a raincloud.
One minute you were looking at me with that dark, aroused expression, the next you had ripped my underwear into two pieces and shoved yourself inside of me. I might have wanted it at first, but when you had filled me to the hilt, I couldn't help but tense at the sudden invasion. Years of loneliness had left me tighter than I used to be. It was uncomfortable at first.
But you froze there, and I felt your body shake with pleasure. I heard your breath, heavy and forcibly slow. Your eyebrows were furrowed again. It felt unbearably good to you. I could tell.
When the discomfort had faded, my eyes narrowed with yours and I whispered, "Fuck me hard." When I watched your process these words, barely moving, I wiggled my hips to urge you on, earning a tiny, muffled moan from you.
"You want to be fucked hard? That I can promise you I'll do," you told me through clenched teeth. You grasped my wrists, roughly resting them on each side of my head with your knuckles white and my wrists to be covered in bruises tomorrow. I didn't complain.
You pulled out of me and I awaited in anticipation.
And then you were fucking me, harder than I planned. You were swift, quick, and rough as each time, I felt the your pelvic bone brush against m clit with a force that all I could do was accept the doubled sensation of you fucking me and the feeling of my clit being pleasured at once. My back arched and my body slowly wriggled with a wonton-notion as it increased the pleasure. I moaned every now and then for you, knowing it helped me feel freer – to let my moans free – and it made you feel better – knowing you could pleasure me like this, in the way you wanted.
The times I had sex, it was always ordinary and simple. Ron wasn't a rough guy, always asking me if I was alright and asking me if it felt good with what he was doing. I had always craved more. And it only now that I had realized that it was exactly this that I had been craving.
The amount of pleasure coursing through me drove me wild.
"Fuck," I'd hiss every now and then, hearing your grunts, your moans at my ear as your pressed your cheek to mine.
I felt your breath at my ear as you said, "You. Are. Mine," with three harsh thrusts. You were sending me over the edge, causing my to open my legs as wide as they could go, but you suddenly stopped.
I actually whined.
"Turn over," you ordered huskily. And I did.
I turned onto my stomach with violently shaking and weak legs. You grasped onto my waist, pulling it up so that my knees were bent, my face buried in a pillow that smelled like you, my ass in full view for you. I felt the bed shift and I looked to the side so that I could see you getting onto your knees in the corner of my eye. You thrust into me again, this time a different sensation. I had never been fucked doggy-style before, but I wish I had before. I felt you, rubbing against my g-spot, filling me to the brim and leaving my opening pulsating for you ever other second. I felt your hand leave a mark in my right ass cheek, sending me yelping. That must have turned you on further because you stopped and pulled me to you, letting my pussy rest for a few minutes as you kissed me hard. I buried my hands in your hair, tugging at the strands as your fingertips buried into my hips. You probably even drew blood, but I didn't care.
"Ride me," you told me next. You let go of me, leaving me be as I watched you pull yourself over and lay where I had just been lying moments ago.
How does one ride another with barely-working legs?
I crawled onto you nevertheless, obediently as I grabbed the based of your rock-solid shaft covered in my juices. I easily slid you into me, whimpering at the sensation of you being back inside of me again. I leaned back a bit, my hands resting my weight on your thighs right before my ass and I slowly gyrated my hips.
"Fuck," you said frustratingly. I watched you throw your head back, your mouth parted as if you were letting out silenced moans. I wished you would have moaned loud for me. Your moan does to me what mine does to you.
As I gyrated my hips, I felt my swollen clit, which was poking out from its hood by now, rubbing against your pelvis. I felt my orgasm build up.
"I might come soon," I whined shakily to you.
"You keep doing that, and I'll fuck you then. I want you to come hard for me," you said greedily. You grabbed my waist, pulling me up just a bit to leave you some extra room as you began pounding into me. It wasn't as rough as before because of the little space. But the penetration added to the sensation of my pleasured clit. I moaned for you, louder this time as I continued gyrating my hips. I leaned forward and rested my hands on your shoulders, sticking my ass out so that my clit had more contact with you and you had more room to fuck me.
"Come for me, Hermione," you urged on. And I did.
With an earth-shattering orgasm, I screamed your name and you twisted us over so you were on top of me, fucking me as hard as before as you helped prolong the orgasm until you came yourself. You moaned this time, saying my name over and over again along with words I knew were pointless to both you and I.
When we were both spent and satisfied. We froze, looking at each other with tired eyes, heavy breaths, and sweat-clad bodies.
I slid off of you, cringing as I slowly slid completely off of you and collapsed beside you.
After a few moments filled with heavy breathing, I felt you turn your head to look at me, so I turned my head to look back at you.
"Congratulations, Hermione. You've proven your worth."
You wrapped your arms around me and pulled me to you. My life was saved, I was alive, I'd be okay. I'd learn to be happy. You knew how to treat me. That was all that mattered.
"Let's share a bath," you said next, getting up and pulling me with you as you led me into a separate room that looked like your bathing room.
A porcelain claw foot tub sat in a corner with a toilet and a high-class sink and mirror. Silver racks with snakes at the edges held towels and cloths. You walked over and began filling the tub with steaming water as you added soaps and oils.
You turned to me, beckoning me over with an outstretched hand. "Tomorrow, you become my mistress," you said with a small smile.
I shivered with fear and got in the tub first.