Fic: Red Hot Lust
Title: Red Hot Lust
Author: liritarofrohan
Rating: NC 17
Paring: Hatian/Bennet
Summary: Bennet discovers something he probably shouldn't have.
A/N: I started this fic more than two years ago, then abandoned it. I'm trying to figure out why.
I stood, gazing admiringly at myself in the mirror. This was good. An outfit to keep. Quite definitely. A turn, so I could see my back. Yes. A slow smile crossed my lips. Fabulous, as they say.
Too late, I heard the click of the door latch, and whirled to see my partner standing, mouth agape, in the threshold. Merde. I closed my eyes. Not again.
“What the hell?” When I looked up, Bennet had collapsed weakly against the doorframe, eyes still wide in total shock.
A few long, cautious strides and I was at his side. I grabbed his arm and pulled him firmly into the room. Why the man couldn’t learn to knock… it would save him so much pain.
“You… You’re wearing…” He couldn’t seem to bring himself to say it.
I looked at him in sardonic amusement. Yes, my eyes silently glinted at him, I am. My smile was a dare: What are you going to do about it?
For the moment, nothing, it seemed. His gaze followed my arm up from where my hand rested on his wrist, skimming hurriedly over the brief scraps of lacy red fabric stretched across my chest, down my finely sculpted abdomen, sliding past the matching lace below, barely enough for decency, then down, down my long, shapely legs to my elegant scarlet shoes. I smiled. I was proud of those stilettos.
After a long moment, his head snapped up and his eyes met mine. There was still shock there, yes, but there was also a growing sense of awe.
Only expected, after all. I can be quite an impressive sight. And Bennet has never been as clean cut as he would like to appear.
My hand gently cupped his pale jaw, my skin dark and striking against his, the bright nails all the more vivid. Red, of course. Matching is always important.
He stared, taking in quick, shallow breaths. His tongue flicked out, a seemingly nervous gesture. Somehow I doubted it. Bennet was never less than composed, even when confronted with the most outré situations imaginable.
But the uncertainty, however illusory, was nonetheless more appealing than mere words could ever describe. It would take a great artist, pouring his heart out with each bold, vivid brushstroke, or a composer, full symphony at his beck and call, to even touch upon the complexity of the emotions I felt at that moment.
Chief amongst which was the desire to see how dirty that calm, painstakingly polite man could be. A step, and his body was pinned between mine and that wall. Our lips met in a smear of carefully applied lipstick.
What can I say? I look good in red.
He gasped, and I slid my tongue past his inviting lips. He tasted good, like subtle spices under the coffee he’d been drinking earlier. And he was responding much more than I would have imagined, his lips pushing against mine as our tongues twined. A swift press of my leg upwards confirmed it; the man was already hard.
Definitely not as wholesomely ‘all American’ as he tried to appear. I wondered how far I could go with him, how much he would take. My lips curled against his skin, and I pulled away.
Moments later, I was on my knees, fingers deftly sliding his belt free. No protests from him, merely slow, even breathing, too controlled to be natural. Good. His pants dropped to the floor, pooling around his ankles, and I leaned forward, looking up at him, lips parted in an alluring smile. I’ve been told I have beautiful lips, and that the merest trace of lipstick turns them into ‘cock sucking lips,’ as the man said. These were full out deep-throating lips, if I may judge. I slid a finger along his length. Tell me you want it, my eyes silently whispered. Beg for me.
He held out for a long, impressive time. But he couldn’t keep it up. Not with my light, teasing touches and the feel of my breath on his skin. “Please,” he gasped. My fingers tightened around him. Good, but not quite enough. I wanted to hear it from his mouth. In his voice. My eyes flashed. Please, what?
He let out a deep groan, biting his lip belatedly to try to keep it in. That one sound was almost worth everything. But his next words made my entire body burn for him. “I need… need you. Your mouth. Please…”
So filthy, Mr. Bennet. Does your wife know what you get up to? I smirked and took him in deep, fingers coming to rest on his pale hips. A choked moan of absolute pleasure met my ears as I sucked him hard, fast, desperate to hear more of that, to feel him shuddering beneath my hands, to taste the most intimate of his fluids.
And it didn’t take him long. I’m probably much more skilled with my tongue than his wife is. And the added tawdriness of it all is quite a boost to the sensation, I have to admit. I swallowed his warm seed with a soft whimper of desire. That was all I had wanted and more. But it wasn’t enough. I knew, with a sense deeper than instinct, that this man would go much, much farther.
I stood slowly, and looked into his dazed eyes, and then down his body. His shirt still neat, his tie not even out of place, then down more, to where his bare thighs were smeared with scarlet. At that moment, I believed him to be the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
And I had to have him.
I flipped him around to face the wall, then pressed up against him. The crisp linen of his shirt felt incredible against my skin. The scent of him invaded my nostrils, strong sweat and subtle spice, intoxicating and arousing. I ran my hand down his back, slowly and gently, then softly cupped his ass. I wanted this. I wanted him. I wanted him to want me.
He pressed his forehead to the cool wall, shudders running through his body. His hands rested on the plaster, nails attempting to find purchase. I leaned forward, needing to feel even more of him, and he groaned, flexing back against me.
A smile took my smeared lips. Yes. His body knew what it wanted, knew what to do. I need only supply the motivation-which I had in plenty. I spat on my hand: disgusting, but I had no wish to waste the time in finding a less messy lubricant. A moistened finger slid inside him, making him whimper and tense; I could tell he would need only a little encouragement to enjoy this to the fullest. And so I gave it to him, a simple twist of my finger to find that oh so special spot inside. He let out a gasp, nails scrabbling on the wall in a frantic search for support. I touched it again, one more time, before adding a second finger to the mix.
Bennet made the most delightful noises, I was discovering. A delicious concerto, my fingers plucking the strings that made such glorious music. I ached for him more with each subtly different groan and gasp. And while I had a plentitude of patience, I was certainly no saint.
I pulled away, pausing only to give my hand another coating of mucus, then slid my heated flesh out of my panties with a soft gasp of relief. A few glorious strokes slickened the organ, making it ready to sate those desperate whimpers from my partner. I pressed slowly, gently inside him, sucking in a sharp breath as flesh surrounded me so very tightly. It was agonizingly sublime. My hands gripped his hips firmly, keeping them right where I wanted them.
Bennet keened, struggling to push back against me, begging with all that he was for more. And I… I was inclined to give him all he wanted, and so much more. A long, fluid stroke had me buried deep inside him, deeper than I’m sure he could have imagined possible. He gasped sharply, shuddering violently. I gave another thrust, and another, each coaxing forth a groan of deep pleasure and need. It was headier than the finest wine, more alluring than the sleekest silk. He was mine, every inch of him responding to my touch. I used him for my pleasure, and he reveled in it. He was perfect in every sense of the word.
My motions grew rougher as my desire flared hotter. And Bennet merely moaned louder and faster and more desperate in response. In the end, I was taking him savagely, teeth and nails digging into his flesh. The man made me lose all control.
And I loved it fiercely.
He screamed as he came, muscles tightening all over his body-and around my aching length. That was all I needed to break the last threads of my control, to send me spiraling into explosions of bliss. I could not think, could not see, could not hear… could only exist in my raging fire of ecstasy. Several long minutes passed before I became aware of myself once more, leaning heavily against Bennet and panting roughly. He seemed even more drained than myself, supported only by the wall, and my weight pushing him against it. I slowly pulled back, catching him in my arms when he would have crumpled.
Leading him gently to the couch, I pressed him down, then stood there gazing at him. Any plan I had at the beginning of this escapade quite clearly left him remembering none of this, as I had the few other times he had discovered one of my many secrets, but… I simply could not do that. He was… far too grand a plaything. Instead, I placed a finger on his cheek, forcing him to meet my eyes. “You will tell no one of this,” I murmured, ignoring his start at the sound of my voice. “And you will return.”
“I… yes,” he gasped, unable to look away. Unable to disobey my direct command.
Mine. Mind, body, and soul.
Author: liritarofrohan
Rating: NC 17
Paring: Hatian/Bennet
Summary: Bennet discovers something he probably shouldn't have.
A/N: I started this fic more than two years ago, then abandoned it. I'm trying to figure out why.
I stood, gazing admiringly at myself in the mirror. This was good. An outfit to keep. Quite definitely. A turn, so I could see my back. Yes. A slow smile crossed my lips. Fabulous, as they say.
Too late, I heard the click of the door latch, and whirled to see my partner standing, mouth agape, in the threshold. Merde. I closed my eyes. Not again.
“What the hell?” When I looked up, Bennet had collapsed weakly against the doorframe, eyes still wide in total shock.
A few long, cautious strides and I was at his side. I grabbed his arm and pulled him firmly into the room. Why the man couldn’t learn to knock… it would save him so much pain.
“You… You’re wearing…” He couldn’t seem to bring himself to say it.
I looked at him in sardonic amusement. Yes, my eyes silently glinted at him, I am. My smile was a dare: What are you going to do about it?
For the moment, nothing, it seemed. His gaze followed my arm up from where my hand rested on his wrist, skimming hurriedly over the brief scraps of lacy red fabric stretched across my chest, down my finely sculpted abdomen, sliding past the matching lace below, barely enough for decency, then down, down my long, shapely legs to my elegant scarlet shoes. I smiled. I was proud of those stilettos.
After a long moment, his head snapped up and his eyes met mine. There was still shock there, yes, but there was also a growing sense of awe.
Only expected, after all. I can be quite an impressive sight. And Bennet has never been as clean cut as he would like to appear.
My hand gently cupped his pale jaw, my skin dark and striking against his, the bright nails all the more vivid. Red, of course. Matching is always important.
He stared, taking in quick, shallow breaths. His tongue flicked out, a seemingly nervous gesture. Somehow I doubted it. Bennet was never less than composed, even when confronted with the most outré situations imaginable.
But the uncertainty, however illusory, was nonetheless more appealing than mere words could ever describe. It would take a great artist, pouring his heart out with each bold, vivid brushstroke, or a composer, full symphony at his beck and call, to even touch upon the complexity of the emotions I felt at that moment.
Chief amongst which was the desire to see how dirty that calm, painstakingly polite man could be. A step, and his body was pinned between mine and that wall. Our lips met in a smear of carefully applied lipstick.
What can I say? I look good in red.
He gasped, and I slid my tongue past his inviting lips. He tasted good, like subtle spices under the coffee he’d been drinking earlier. And he was responding much more than I would have imagined, his lips pushing against mine as our tongues twined. A swift press of my leg upwards confirmed it; the man was already hard.
Definitely not as wholesomely ‘all American’ as he tried to appear. I wondered how far I could go with him, how much he would take. My lips curled against his skin, and I pulled away.
Moments later, I was on my knees, fingers deftly sliding his belt free. No protests from him, merely slow, even breathing, too controlled to be natural. Good. His pants dropped to the floor, pooling around his ankles, and I leaned forward, looking up at him, lips parted in an alluring smile. I’ve been told I have beautiful lips, and that the merest trace of lipstick turns them into ‘cock sucking lips,’ as the man said. These were full out deep-throating lips, if I may judge. I slid a finger along his length. Tell me you want it, my eyes silently whispered. Beg for me.
He held out for a long, impressive time. But he couldn’t keep it up. Not with my light, teasing touches and the feel of my breath on his skin. “Please,” he gasped. My fingers tightened around him. Good, but not quite enough. I wanted to hear it from his mouth. In his voice. My eyes flashed. Please, what?
He let out a deep groan, biting his lip belatedly to try to keep it in. That one sound was almost worth everything. But his next words made my entire body burn for him. “I need… need you. Your mouth. Please…”
So filthy, Mr. Bennet. Does your wife know what you get up to? I smirked and took him in deep, fingers coming to rest on his pale hips. A choked moan of absolute pleasure met my ears as I sucked him hard, fast, desperate to hear more of that, to feel him shuddering beneath my hands, to taste the most intimate of his fluids.
And it didn’t take him long. I’m probably much more skilled with my tongue than his wife is. And the added tawdriness of it all is quite a boost to the sensation, I have to admit. I swallowed his warm seed with a soft whimper of desire. That was all I had wanted and more. But it wasn’t enough. I knew, with a sense deeper than instinct, that this man would go much, much farther.
I stood slowly, and looked into his dazed eyes, and then down his body. His shirt still neat, his tie not even out of place, then down more, to where his bare thighs were smeared with scarlet. At that moment, I believed him to be the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
And I had to have him.
I flipped him around to face the wall, then pressed up against him. The crisp linen of his shirt felt incredible against my skin. The scent of him invaded my nostrils, strong sweat and subtle spice, intoxicating and arousing. I ran my hand down his back, slowly and gently, then softly cupped his ass. I wanted this. I wanted him. I wanted him to want me.
He pressed his forehead to the cool wall, shudders running through his body. His hands rested on the plaster, nails attempting to find purchase. I leaned forward, needing to feel even more of him, and he groaned, flexing back against me.
A smile took my smeared lips. Yes. His body knew what it wanted, knew what to do. I need only supply the motivation-which I had in plenty. I spat on my hand: disgusting, but I had no wish to waste the time in finding a less messy lubricant. A moistened finger slid inside him, making him whimper and tense; I could tell he would need only a little encouragement to enjoy this to the fullest. And so I gave it to him, a simple twist of my finger to find that oh so special spot inside. He let out a gasp, nails scrabbling on the wall in a frantic search for support. I touched it again, one more time, before adding a second finger to the mix.
Bennet made the most delightful noises, I was discovering. A delicious concerto, my fingers plucking the strings that made such glorious music. I ached for him more with each subtly different groan and gasp. And while I had a plentitude of patience, I was certainly no saint.
I pulled away, pausing only to give my hand another coating of mucus, then slid my heated flesh out of my panties with a soft gasp of relief. A few glorious strokes slickened the organ, making it ready to sate those desperate whimpers from my partner. I pressed slowly, gently inside him, sucking in a sharp breath as flesh surrounded me so very tightly. It was agonizingly sublime. My hands gripped his hips firmly, keeping them right where I wanted them.
Bennet keened, struggling to push back against me, begging with all that he was for more. And I… I was inclined to give him all he wanted, and so much more. A long, fluid stroke had me buried deep inside him, deeper than I’m sure he could have imagined possible. He gasped sharply, shuddering violently. I gave another thrust, and another, each coaxing forth a groan of deep pleasure and need. It was headier than the finest wine, more alluring than the sleekest silk. He was mine, every inch of him responding to my touch. I used him for my pleasure, and he reveled in it. He was perfect in every sense of the word.
My motions grew rougher as my desire flared hotter. And Bennet merely moaned louder and faster and more desperate in response. In the end, I was taking him savagely, teeth and nails digging into his flesh. The man made me lose all control.
And I loved it fiercely.
He screamed as he came, muscles tightening all over his body-and around my aching length. That was all I needed to break the last threads of my control, to send me spiraling into explosions of bliss. I could not think, could not see, could not hear… could only exist in my raging fire of ecstasy. Several long minutes passed before I became aware of myself once more, leaning heavily against Bennet and panting roughly. He seemed even more drained than myself, supported only by the wall, and my weight pushing him against it. I slowly pulled back, catching him in my arms when he would have crumpled.
Leading him gently to the couch, I pressed him down, then stood there gazing at him. Any plan I had at the beginning of this escapade quite clearly left him remembering none of this, as I had the few other times he had discovered one of my many secrets, but… I simply could not do that. He was… far too grand a plaything. Instead, I placed a finger on his cheek, forcing him to meet my eyes. “You will tell no one of this,” I murmured, ignoring his start at the sound of my voice. “And you will return.”
“I… yes,” he gasped, unable to look away. Unable to disobey my direct command.
Mine. Mind, body, and soul.