Title: The Ties That Bind
pairing: Graham/Rapunzel, Graham/Rapunzel lookalike
Summary: It was her hair he couldn't compromise on. Never. (AKA, one of those So-and-so gets a hooker who looks just like his unrequited love so he can get over her stories.)
Warnings/stuff: Dominatrix, Hair!kink, PWP, etc...
Because I had to.
He wasn't sure what he was doing here. He only knew that he had finally found the right girl. Only she wasn't really. The right girl, that is, because the right girl could hardly look him in the eye. He had done so well. He had kept every pang in check, made every available precaution. But then... Then she told him what she had done. And he just couldn't hold back. So here he was, in the middle of the night, on the doorstep of a building he would never have looked at twice otherwise. He had taken some trouble for this, more than most would, but he had to find exactly the right girl.
He stepped out of the rain, and was immediately accosted by a bevy of blonde women, every one of them wearing something samll and revealing, and yet none made his heart race, none made heat pool between his legs. He knew why.
It was the hair.
It was always the hair.
Not a single one of them had long hair. Every one of them had it cut to their shoulders or their jawlines or their breasts. The women chattered at him, pushed him to and fro like a driftwood raft in the ocean waves. A snap of a whip sent them running. It also sent a shiver through his knees and down his chest, to where his lunghs met his stomach and air caught in the throes of ecstasy. It was her he was here for.
"You're expected, sir." Oh god, it's her voice too. They said it was beautiful, that it was light as air, and he didn't believe them. He thought that nothing could compare to her voice, but he was wrong. They're the same.
And that's good enough for him.
He follows her through the curtains, and she turns, smile set in place. He can tell it's a real smile, a wide, satisfied smirk, and he's almost afraid. UNtil she steps closer and runs her fingers up his chest. They said she worked magic. They said she was worth a thousand deaths. He'd soon see.
She undoes his shirt and tunic with her clever fingers, smoothing it down off his shoulders and pushing him into a chair. She divested him quickly of his bow and arrows and smiled that wicked smile. As she knelt down to the floor, he could see her hair, long and braided and trailing a good three feet behind her when she stood. But she wasn't standing. She spread her legs wide, still kneeling, and he can see now that underneath a trasluscent white cloak that can't weigh more than a feather, she's wearing a leotard, a white corset-suit that has no laces and no ties, but clings to her thin,pale figure, and dips down low between her breasts. He swallows unconciously, and she opens her mouth slightly, cooing silently.
She leans forward, mouth level to his groin, and she breaths out, hot and soft against his clothed length. He grits his teeth and tries desperately not to squirm, but it seems to please her. She crawls an inch forward on her hands and knees, and the chain around her neck slides across the ground. She puts an arm out, settling a hand on his thigh, and with the other she begins to tug at his pants.
She soon does away with them, and he ends up sitting entirely naked in a hard wooden chair while she smiles above him. She turns and sits on his thigh, and she just brushes agianst him. he can almost imagine it's her, not this woman he's never met. He pulls her hair off the floor and begins undoing the braid.
"My hair?" She asks, surprised, allowing one hand to stray behind her head.
"Please." He's nearly begging, because it really is the reason he came. She just shrugs, puts on the smile again once she realizes what he's planning. He knows what she's heard about him, so when she whispers what she wants into his ear, it's all the more arousing.
"On your knees." She says, and then he is. She lets her hair fall in curtains around them, sheds the cloak and tosses the end of the chain to him. She removes it from her neck and attaches it to his. She pulls, hard, and he keens, high and pleading. A dog on a leash. She reaches down below his chin and pulls harder. A huff of unvoluntary arousal is what she gets and she removes what's left of her outfit.
Clothed only in firelight and golden hair, he can almost imagine it's her skin in front of him, her hair, her face, her most private secrets on display for him.
"On the bed, dog." She commands, her voice still sweet and lovely. So lovely.
His member is dripping now, as she uses those golden locks to bind his hands and feet. She climbs above him, flicking a lock of hair over him. He gasps, sucking air in to cool the heat between his legs. She laughs, wraps a strand of hair around him and pulls. Glorious pain, glorious sunlight all about him.
She lets go and leans over him, she sits on his chest, her opening above his face, her golden locks fall in curtains around them as she pulls on the chain. She eases his mouth to her entrance, the chain cutting into his neck. All he can think of is how she would taste between his lips, her love on his tongue. He pretends until he can taste sunflowers, and she cries out above him, arching her back, pulling the chain and his mouth further into her.
"Your turn," she whispers, easing his head down onto the pillow. He's leaking onto the sheets, and when she wraps the chain around him he almost comes right then. She pulls it more tightly until he can't. she draws a finger across his slit and licks it. "Mmm." The sound sends shivers up his length and down his spine.
He whines a bit more through his teeth, and the hair tied around his wrists loosens. She smirks and licks a swathe up him. He shudders and she draws her teeth down his length. She bobs her head up and down him until he's keening and begging for more. She removes the chain. Then she straddles him properly and sinks down tightly. He throws his head back and she moans through her closed lips.
He thrusts his hips upward as she slams hers down and suddenly they're locked in a violent rhythm. They rock back and forth, and he hears her voice through his mind, a frantic, frenzied calling as ecstasy rides trough her veins. He calls out her name, and the woman above him doesn't notice, doesn't hear. He cries for the woman he loves, calls her name in his sanest insanity, and he lets go completely. He almost expects her to do the same. Instead, though, there is no sound as she comes.
He leaves once she falls asleep, knowing now that what he wants he absolutely cannot have, even by proxy. A silent, vicious ballet, lusting for what he cannot have and having what he will not lust after. He dresses and leaves, pay on the table.
Her bed is still warm.
Yay. My first smut. Tell me how I did?