Fic: "Rough Seduction"
Title: Rough Seduction
Author: aella_irene
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, references to kidnapping, explicit sex, violent sex.
Summary: She is no delicate lady, as Neth imagined her to be, and she needs to prove it to herself, remind her that she can take this, that Neth has't taken it from her. Alambil of Narnia remembers who she is. Alambil/Piotr
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia and its characters, situations, settings, etc., belong to C.S. Lewis. Some characters, settings, situations, etc., belong to Walden Media. Title from a quotation by Ovid.
Almost as soon as the door shuts behind them, Alambil is pushing Piotr up against the wall, kissing him with all the pent-up energy of two weeks trapped in a tower. He puts his hands gently, almost chastely, on her hips, not pulling her in, but not pushing her away either. He doesn't respond, though, when she breaches his mouth, hard and sloppy and desperate.
"Please," she gasps against his mouth, "Please."
"Ala," he says, and pushes her away, "Ala, we can't."
"Why not? I want it, you want it, why not?"
She can feel him, hot and hard against her thigh, can hear his heart beating faster.
"Because I don't want you to regret it in the morning," he says.
"I won't. I won't. I want this, want you, and I won't stop."
She falls to her knees, feeling the reverbration as she hits the hard stone floor, revelling in it, and opens his breeches with practiced hands, cutting off his protests as she swallows him.
"Ala," he groans, deep in his throat, and she breathes in, through her nose, loving it all, the heavy weight of him, the smell, the sheer familiarity of it. Seven years, she's been doing this, and she knows full well she's at least as skilled as any dockside whore.
Piotr groans again, and she hollows her cheeks, draws back a little, using tongue, and the faintest touches of teeth, bringing her hands up to caress him, all the tricks she's learnt. Then she breathes in again, and takes him into her throat. She can't do it for very long, but she can do it, and she can feel the reaction it provokes, his hands scrabbling in her hair before she draws back to stop herself from choking. and laves him with her tongue.
He comes in a rush of heat, and she swallows it, and licks her lips afterwards. She knows what she must look like now, mouth swollen with kisses and damp with saliva, hair rumpled where Piotr was gripping at it. There is a full length mirror in her bedroom at Cair Paravel, and one of the things she held onto, in those long nights in Neth's castle, was the image of herself in it, with bitemarks on her breasts and come running down her leg, leaning back in Eddard's arms as he whispered in her ear, nearly bringing her off with his voice alone. This is what Alambil is.
Piotr leans against the wall, as if he can't stand without it, and she crouches at his feet, looking up. She's wet, she can tell, and if she stands up then he'll see it, see where she's soaked through her breeches. She could bring herself off, could slide her fingers inside her breeches, curl them in the way she knows will do it, but she'd prefer it if he did it for her. She aches to be touched, not gently, but harshly, wants to be shoved up against a wall and fucked, until her back is scraped and she feels raw, used. She is no delicate lady, as Neth imagined her to be, and she needs to prove it to herself, remind her that she can take this, that Neth has't taken it from her.
He looks down at her, and she aches at the look in his eyes, hot and hungry.
"C'mere," he says, and puts out a hand. Alambil takes it, and he pulls her to her feet, and kisses her, hands moving to the lacing of her breeches.
"The wall," she gasps, and nearly melts into a puddle as he gets her breeches open, slides three fingers into her, "Up against the wall."
Piotr removes his fingers to turn her, and she wants to cry at the loss, but he's got them back in as soon as her back thumps against the wall. He's careful, watching her face to see what makes her shudder, what makes her scream.
But it isn't enough.
"Please," she pants, twisting against him, feeling her hair catch on the rough stonework.
"Please what?" he asks, and his voice is rough and gravelly. It broke the year he was fourteen, over six months of wincing sympathy as it changed tone mid-word, but this is lower than she's ever heard him.
"Fuck me," she begs, "Please, please fuck me."
He takes his hand out of her breeches, and eyes her, then takes her by the waist to steady her, and pushes in. Alambil's so wet that it's easy, nowhere near enough friction for her.
She brings her legs up to curl around his waist, holds onto his shoulders as he pushes her up against the wall with the force of his thrusts, and gives herself over to the sensation, to the rasp of his stubble against her neck, and the way his pelvis clashes against hers. To the blast of cold air as he rips her shirt open, sending buttons flying, and bites her shoulder, making her buck her hips and scream.
She's not quite sure how he knows what she likes, whether he's learnt from observation, or from talk, Ned's or others', but oh, she's glad he does, because it means she doesn't have to tell him to do anything, just has to let him fuck her, hard and fast against a wall.
Piotr brings one hand down, and swears when the angle is bad, and he can't get it inside her breeches. Alambil twists her hips, and he swears again. She's close, she can feel it, and she just needs that little bit more touch-
He pins her to the wall by her hips, and slams into her, and that's all she needs to come, thumping her head against the wall, everything but that lost in a wave of fire and sparks. She thinks she screams. She usually does.
Even as she returns to herself, she feels Piotr stiffen, feels the rush of heat as he comes, then braces his legs so that they don't end up in a tangled heap on the floor.
She brings her legs down slowly, and they barely carry her weight, but she leans back against the wall, and lets Piotr slump against her, head falling to her bitten shoulder, breathing like a bellows.
"Ala-" he says eventually, after some time has passed, "Ala, are you-"
"I'm fine," she says, and takes a deep breath, "I'm fine. I'd be better if I was in bed..."
He snorts, and picks her up, easily, carries her to the bed, and puts her down on it, tucks the covers around her.
"Sleep well," he says, and turns away. Alambil puts out a hand to stop him.
"Where do you think you are going?"
"My bedroom? To give you some privacy?"
"Don't be an idiot." She pushes the covers down. "C'mere."
He reapproaches the bed slowly, mussed and still dressed, sits down on the edge, and pulls off his boots. Alambil looks up, at the familiar emerald green bedcurtains, as he climbs in next to her. He smells of sweat and sex, and lies as if trying to avoid touching her, which is frankly ridiculous, so she turns on her side and wraps her stockinged-and-breeched legs around his. Really, she should take all her clothes off, and insist that he does as well, but she simply doesn't have the energy. Besides, in those first moments tomorrow morning, she will feel the breeches, and know that she is here, not in Neth's castle. He dithers for a moment, then puts a careful hand on her waist, fingers curling at the curve of her hip, and leans forward to kiss her on the forehead.
She pillows her head on Piotr's shoulder, and goes to sleep.
Author: aella_irene
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, references to kidnapping, explicit sex, violent sex.
Summary: She is no delicate lady, as Neth imagined her to be, and she needs to prove it to herself, remind her that she can take this, that Neth has't taken it from her. Alambil of Narnia remembers who she is. Alambil/Piotr
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia and its characters, situations, settings, etc., belong to C.S. Lewis. Some characters, settings, situations, etc., belong to Walden Media. Title from a quotation by Ovid.
Almost as soon as the door shuts behind them, Alambil is pushing Piotr up against the wall, kissing him with all the pent-up energy of two weeks trapped in a tower. He puts his hands gently, almost chastely, on her hips, not pulling her in, but not pushing her away either. He doesn't respond, though, when she breaches his mouth, hard and sloppy and desperate.
"Please," she gasps against his mouth, "Please."
"Ala," he says, and pushes her away, "Ala, we can't."
"Why not? I want it, you want it, why not?"
She can feel him, hot and hard against her thigh, can hear his heart beating faster.
"Because I don't want you to regret it in the morning," he says.
"I won't. I won't. I want this, want you, and I won't stop."
She falls to her knees, feeling the reverbration as she hits the hard stone floor, revelling in it, and opens his breeches with practiced hands, cutting off his protests as she swallows him.
"Ala," he groans, deep in his throat, and she breathes in, through her nose, loving it all, the heavy weight of him, the smell, the sheer familiarity of it. Seven years, she's been doing this, and she knows full well she's at least as skilled as any dockside whore.
Piotr groans again, and she hollows her cheeks, draws back a little, using tongue, and the faintest touches of teeth, bringing her hands up to caress him, all the tricks she's learnt. Then she breathes in again, and takes him into her throat. She can't do it for very long, but she can do it, and she can feel the reaction it provokes, his hands scrabbling in her hair before she draws back to stop herself from choking. and laves him with her tongue.
He comes in a rush of heat, and she swallows it, and licks her lips afterwards. She knows what she must look like now, mouth swollen with kisses and damp with saliva, hair rumpled where Piotr was gripping at it. There is a full length mirror in her bedroom at Cair Paravel, and one of the things she held onto, in those long nights in Neth's castle, was the image of herself in it, with bitemarks on her breasts and come running down her leg, leaning back in Eddard's arms as he whispered in her ear, nearly bringing her off with his voice alone. This is what Alambil is.
Piotr leans against the wall, as if he can't stand without it, and she crouches at his feet, looking up. She's wet, she can tell, and if she stands up then he'll see it, see where she's soaked through her breeches. She could bring herself off, could slide her fingers inside her breeches, curl them in the way she knows will do it, but she'd prefer it if he did it for her. She aches to be touched, not gently, but harshly, wants to be shoved up against a wall and fucked, until her back is scraped and she feels raw, used. She is no delicate lady, as Neth imagined her to be, and she needs to prove it to herself, remind her that she can take this, that Neth has't taken it from her.
He looks down at her, and she aches at the look in his eyes, hot and hungry.
"C'mere," he says, and puts out a hand. Alambil takes it, and he pulls her to her feet, and kisses her, hands moving to the lacing of her breeches.
"The wall," she gasps, and nearly melts into a puddle as he gets her breeches open, slides three fingers into her, "Up against the wall."
Piotr removes his fingers to turn her, and she wants to cry at the loss, but he's got them back in as soon as her back thumps against the wall. He's careful, watching her face to see what makes her shudder, what makes her scream.
But it isn't enough.
"Please," she pants, twisting against him, feeling her hair catch on the rough stonework.
"Please what?" he asks, and his voice is rough and gravelly. It broke the year he was fourteen, over six months of wincing sympathy as it changed tone mid-word, but this is lower than she's ever heard him.
"Fuck me," she begs, "Please, please fuck me."
He takes his hand out of her breeches, and eyes her, then takes her by the waist to steady her, and pushes in. Alambil's so wet that it's easy, nowhere near enough friction for her.
She brings her legs up to curl around his waist, holds onto his shoulders as he pushes her up against the wall with the force of his thrusts, and gives herself over to the sensation, to the rasp of his stubble against her neck, and the way his pelvis clashes against hers. To the blast of cold air as he rips her shirt open, sending buttons flying, and bites her shoulder, making her buck her hips and scream.
She's not quite sure how he knows what she likes, whether he's learnt from observation, or from talk, Ned's or others', but oh, she's glad he does, because it means she doesn't have to tell him to do anything, just has to let him fuck her, hard and fast against a wall.
Piotr brings one hand down, and swears when the angle is bad, and he can't get it inside her breeches. Alambil twists her hips, and he swears again. She's close, she can feel it, and she just needs that little bit more touch-
He pins her to the wall by her hips, and slams into her, and that's all she needs to come, thumping her head against the wall, everything but that lost in a wave of fire and sparks. She thinks she screams. She usually does.
Even as she returns to herself, she feels Piotr stiffen, feels the rush of heat as he comes, then braces his legs so that they don't end up in a tangled heap on the floor.
She brings her legs down slowly, and they barely carry her weight, but she leans back against the wall, and lets Piotr slump against her, head falling to her bitten shoulder, breathing like a bellows.
"Ala-" he says eventually, after some time has passed, "Ala, are you-"
"I'm fine," she says, and takes a deep breath, "I'm fine. I'd be better if I was in bed..."
He snorts, and picks her up, easily, carries her to the bed, and puts her down on it, tucks the covers around her.
"Sleep well," he says, and turns away. Alambil puts out a hand to stop him.
"Where do you think you are going?"
"My bedroom? To give you some privacy?"
"Don't be an idiot." She pushes the covers down. "C'mere."
He reapproaches the bed slowly, mussed and still dressed, sits down on the edge, and pulls off his boots. Alambil looks up, at the familiar emerald green bedcurtains, as he climbs in next to her. He smells of sweat and sex, and lies as if trying to avoid touching her, which is frankly ridiculous, so she turns on her side and wraps her stockinged-and-breeched legs around his. Really, she should take all her clothes off, and insist that he does as well, but she simply doesn't have the energy. Besides, in those first moments tomorrow morning, she will feel the breeches, and know that she is here, not in Neth's castle. He dithers for a moment, then puts a careful hand on her waist, fingers curling at the curve of her hip, and leans forward to kiss her on the forehead.
She pillows her head on Piotr's shoulder, and goes to sleep.