FIC: "Never Enough"
As always when I write Tom/Minerva, I am indebted to xellas and communiquills.
Title: "Never Enough"
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Pairing: Minerva/various, implied Tom/Minerva
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Kinks: S/m, blood, bondage, leather trousers
Summary: After she leaves Hogwarts, Minerva searches for what she lost.
She kept her eyes closed while he fucked her. His hips slamming viciously into her would leave her aching tomorrow, but tonight it wasn’t enough. She ground back against him as much as she could and he slapped his hand down hard onto her arse. Her lip bled as she bit into it. But it wasn’t enough, she whispered silently to the dirty outer wall she was pressed against. Her lips smeared scarlet against the graffiti and filth, and her nose wrinkled in disgust as he finally surged forward with a final cry and poured himself into her.
She stayed there, leather trousers around her ankles, cheeks pink in the cold November night until he pulled out of her, until the sound of robes settling back into place accompanied the all too familiar dribble down her inner thigh.
“Such a beautiful slut” beat out in booted footsteps across the street and the streetlamp flickered above her.
She jerked her trousers back up and straightened. She didn’t bother to cast a cleaning spell or smooth her long black hair back into its plait. She knew it wouldn’t be enough.
It never was.
****
The next one was in the gents at a converted warehouse, music jolting through as Muggle and wizard alike sought to dance the war away. Feet jittering to stop the bombs, hands shaking to end the death. And two figures pressed one behind the other against the toilet, her face against the high tank, his fingers digging into her bare hips, broken nails gouging through skin as he rutted with sharp snaps of his hips.
“Fuck, you’re tight. Such a fucking tight bitch. You like it like this, don’t you?” His words rolled over her, but her shoulders squared under them. She gritted her teeth against the tainted breath which blew in hot grunts against her cheek. Then she forced herself to inhale deeply, to pull in as much as she could of the tang and decay.
He pulled out to come across her arse, hot spurts that cooled quickly, tightening the skin underneath as it dried. As he zipped his trousers and left. As she smoothed the dress down and walked slowly out of the club, eyes searching through the crowd but never finding.
****
This voice was smoother as he turned her in his arms, fingertips moving caressingly over her cheeks.
“Beautiful. You should model. I’ve a mate who works in advertisements…”
His hands reached down and started unbuttoning her dress. “Or you could do more. Let’s see it all.”
She stopped him with a quick flick of her wand and left him in the back seat of his Phantom, his fingers limp on the buttery leather, too curious and too useless.
****
They were going to die anyway. The war would drown them all. And if it didn’t, she would… No, it didn’t do to think of the future. There was no future. Only now.
No matter what Dumbledore said when she reported dutifully back to him. His offer of sweets and hopes were empty promises, threats made in ignorance masked by good will and coolly penetrating eyes.
No matter what William begged her to consider when he found her pressed between two soldiers.
Two flashes of red and he pulled their grimy hands away from her throat and thighs. His hands shook as he hastily tugged the dress back down over mottled skin then helped her to her feet.
“You’re killing yourself. Why can’t you see that?”
But she knew the truth. She felt what others could not. The low pulse beyond the breath and blood and heart… it was still. It was silent and cold. And she was dead.
****
He started following her after that, whether by choice or instruction. She watched him the first few nights, to see if he would intervene, but he never did. So she accepted the drinks and the touch and the cocks that were offered to her, hoping that too much would drive him away.
Yet she would rise from her knees, wiping away mix of come and saliva and bile from her lips, and he would be there, a flash of red hair in the moonlight. Anger and humiliation twisted through her.
It wasn’t enough.
****
So she went farther, took him farther.
She sighed as her body was stretched in the Muggle restraints, the way her head hung limply down between her outstretched arms. The leather pulled at her wrists and ankles, body opening into a wide X. She watched the shadows shiver across the stone floor, her hair hanging down on either side of her face.
The first blow always came as a surprise, the first cut of leather into her back. The second she anticipated, relaxing instinctively as heat flared in ember fury through her skin. Another. And another. And another. Accompanied by the murmur of appreciation and an occasional gasp of shock from the shadows.
Metal creaked above her, and her feet were pulled higher, angling her face closer to the ground, just enough to send the blood rushing into her head, the pure blood rolling in crimson drops from her shoulders. She watched it fall, licking her lips as they splattered one by one onto the concrete floor. Wasted. Untasted. Unloved.
And she bit her lower lip until her teeth cut through the skin when the next lash fell. Copper coated her tongue as the throb in her back started to be echoed between her spread thighs. The rush of endorphins swept over her, blurring pain and pleasure with each beat of his lash, her body finally starting to burn, starting to live.
But never fully reviving, for the sensations faded quickly. Her body would tense and pull as she came, again and again as he pushed her. The sounds of the others watching her disappearing to the quiet roar in her own head, building and twisting and bursting in sharp staccato. But gone as quickly as it had come. As she had come.
She focused scalding tightness when she was brought back to her feet then released. She relished the way her back burned when she cinched her waist in again and when she bent deliberately from her waist to collect her satchel. Ignoring the other figures inside, she walked proudly out the door and down the crumbling stairs, only to meet the wide-eyed stare of William; a pale, unwilling witness to her quest.
She smiled coldly at him, one eyebrow arching up at his confused murmur before she felt a heat flash up her spine.
And in the moment before she hit the ground at his feet, she wondered if this was finally enough.
****
"Come with me tonight, instead.”
It was a familiar enough refrain, urgently whispered over a grasping hand. She merely grew tired of it. And went.
He tucked her arm into his as they walked through the city, as they looked over the gardens from the High Street, as they attended the theatre, gained entrance to the candlelit restaurant just below the castle. He was perfect. Soft, careful, affectionate.
But he didn’t know her. Not anymore. She was no longer that carefree girl he had loved in school, no longer flying with haughty optisism. No longer her. But when they returned to his flat, she let him fuck her in his bed after a careful wave of her wand plunged the room to utter darkness.
Afterward, his hand drifted idly down her body, too close to the serpentine mark of failure on her hip, and she caught it up and pressed it between her breasts, her chest rising and falling quickly.
“I love you. Stay with me. We can be brilliant together.”
The words were right, so achingly right. But his voice was too soft, his fingers too still, her body too blank.
She needed more. She needed him.
****
And so she searched, knowing that she had lost him. That it was her own foolishness that ruined it. That she didn't have the strength or the courage then to say 'yes'. That she was empty without his fingers bruising her body touch, without his voice hissing in her ear, without his magic burning under her skin.
Minerva knew. But it wasn’t enough.
Feedback is loved.
Title: "Never Enough"
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Pairing: Minerva/various, implied Tom/Minerva
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Kinks: S/m, blood, bondage, leather trousers
Summary: After she leaves Hogwarts, Minerva searches for what she lost.
She kept her eyes closed while he fucked her. His hips slamming viciously into her would leave her aching tomorrow, but tonight it wasn’t enough. She ground back against him as much as she could and he slapped his hand down hard onto her arse. Her lip bled as she bit into it. But it wasn’t enough, she whispered silently to the dirty outer wall she was pressed against. Her lips smeared scarlet against the graffiti and filth, and her nose wrinkled in disgust as he finally surged forward with a final cry and poured himself into her.
She stayed there, leather trousers around her ankles, cheeks pink in the cold November night until he pulled out of her, until the sound of robes settling back into place accompanied the all too familiar dribble down her inner thigh.
“Such a beautiful slut” beat out in booted footsteps across the street and the streetlamp flickered above her.
She jerked her trousers back up and straightened. She didn’t bother to cast a cleaning spell or smooth her long black hair back into its plait. She knew it wouldn’t be enough.
It never was.
****
The next one was in the gents at a converted warehouse, music jolting through as Muggle and wizard alike sought to dance the war away. Feet jittering to stop the bombs, hands shaking to end the death. And two figures pressed one behind the other against the toilet, her face against the high tank, his fingers digging into her bare hips, broken nails gouging through skin as he rutted with sharp snaps of his hips.
“Fuck, you’re tight. Such a fucking tight bitch. You like it like this, don’t you?” His words rolled over her, but her shoulders squared under them. She gritted her teeth against the tainted breath which blew in hot grunts against her cheek. Then she forced herself to inhale deeply, to pull in as much as she could of the tang and decay.
He pulled out to come across her arse, hot spurts that cooled quickly, tightening the skin underneath as it dried. As he zipped his trousers and left. As she smoothed the dress down and walked slowly out of the club, eyes searching through the crowd but never finding.
****
This voice was smoother as he turned her in his arms, fingertips moving caressingly over her cheeks.
“Beautiful. You should model. I’ve a mate who works in advertisements…”
His hands reached down and started unbuttoning her dress. “Or you could do more. Let’s see it all.”
She stopped him with a quick flick of her wand and left him in the back seat of his Phantom, his fingers limp on the buttery leather, too curious and too useless.
****
They were going to die anyway. The war would drown them all. And if it didn’t, she would… No, it didn’t do to think of the future. There was no future. Only now.
No matter what Dumbledore said when she reported dutifully back to him. His offer of sweets and hopes were empty promises, threats made in ignorance masked by good will and coolly penetrating eyes.
No matter what William begged her to consider when he found her pressed between two soldiers.
Two flashes of red and he pulled their grimy hands away from her throat and thighs. His hands shook as he hastily tugged the dress back down over mottled skin then helped her to her feet.
“You’re killing yourself. Why can’t you see that?”
But she knew the truth. She felt what others could not. The low pulse beyond the breath and blood and heart… it was still. It was silent and cold. And she was dead.
****
He started following her after that, whether by choice or instruction. She watched him the first few nights, to see if he would intervene, but he never did. So she accepted the drinks and the touch and the cocks that were offered to her, hoping that too much would drive him away.
Yet she would rise from her knees, wiping away mix of come and saliva and bile from her lips, and he would be there, a flash of red hair in the moonlight. Anger and humiliation twisted through her.
It wasn’t enough.
****
So she went farther, took him farther.
She sighed as her body was stretched in the Muggle restraints, the way her head hung limply down between her outstretched arms. The leather pulled at her wrists and ankles, body opening into a wide X. She watched the shadows shiver across the stone floor, her hair hanging down on either side of her face.
The first blow always came as a surprise, the first cut of leather into her back. The second she anticipated, relaxing instinctively as heat flared in ember fury through her skin. Another. And another. And another. Accompanied by the murmur of appreciation and an occasional gasp of shock from the shadows.
Metal creaked above her, and her feet were pulled higher, angling her face closer to the ground, just enough to send the blood rushing into her head, the pure blood rolling in crimson drops from her shoulders. She watched it fall, licking her lips as they splattered one by one onto the concrete floor. Wasted. Untasted. Unloved.
And she bit her lower lip until her teeth cut through the skin when the next lash fell. Copper coated her tongue as the throb in her back started to be echoed between her spread thighs. The rush of endorphins swept over her, blurring pain and pleasure with each beat of his lash, her body finally starting to burn, starting to live.
But never fully reviving, for the sensations faded quickly. Her body would tense and pull as she came, again and again as he pushed her. The sounds of the others watching her disappearing to the quiet roar in her own head, building and twisting and bursting in sharp staccato. But gone as quickly as it had come. As she had come.
She focused scalding tightness when she was brought back to her feet then released. She relished the way her back burned when she cinched her waist in again and when she bent deliberately from her waist to collect her satchel. Ignoring the other figures inside, she walked proudly out the door and down the crumbling stairs, only to meet the wide-eyed stare of William; a pale, unwilling witness to her quest.
She smiled coldly at him, one eyebrow arching up at his confused murmur before she felt a heat flash up her spine.
And in the moment before she hit the ground at his feet, she wondered if this was finally enough.
****
"Come with me tonight, instead.”
It was a familiar enough refrain, urgently whispered over a grasping hand. She merely grew tired of it. And went.
He tucked her arm into his as they walked through the city, as they looked over the gardens from the High Street, as they attended the theatre, gained entrance to the candlelit restaurant just below the castle. He was perfect. Soft, careful, affectionate.
But he didn’t know her. Not anymore. She was no longer that carefree girl he had loved in school, no longer flying with haughty optisism. No longer her. But when they returned to his flat, she let him fuck her in his bed after a careful wave of her wand plunged the room to utter darkness.
Afterward, his hand drifted idly down her body, too close to the serpentine mark of failure on her hip, and she caught it up and pressed it between her breasts, her chest rising and falling quickly.
“I love you. Stay with me. We can be brilliant together.”
The words were right, so achingly right. But his voice was too soft, his fingers too still, her body too blank.
She needed more. She needed him.
****
And so she searched, knowing that she had lost him. That it was her own foolishness that ruined it. That she didn't have the strength or the courage then to say 'yes'. That she was empty without his fingers bruising her body touch, without his voice hissing in her ear, without his magic burning under her skin.
Minerva knew. But it wasn’t enough.
Feedback is loved.