(no subject)
Title: Frame By Frame By Frame
Pairing: Rita/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: HP is not mine.
Note: Written for femslash_today.
Public opinion was that Hermione Granger was brilliant (and straight). Rita Skeeter's opinion was that she was brilliant (and a bloody good lay). After all, ever since Rita had hired Hermione six months ago as her assistant, they had been sleeping together on a semi-regular basis.
Tonight was no exception. As Rita's lips traced the latitude running down the center of Hermione's body, Hermione rolled her head back and thrust her chin upwards, reaching toward the red satin ceiling above them. She twisted her fingers in Rita's blonde hair, wrapping the curls around her knuckles until flesh and hair were as inseparable. She stared at the red satin ceiling; she was hypnotized by the color, and Rita's fingers and her lips and her tongue, against her throat, her breasts, her nipples.
Rita moved lower on Hermione's body, working it like she would an article for the Daily Prophet. She made all the proper introductions, kissing her lips softly, her breasts fiercely, running her tongue along the edge of the nipples and her fingers along Hermione's ticklish underarms. She skimmed the basics, greeting each body part in turn, kissing and caressing and whispering promises that she wouldn't fulfill, and when something interested her, she would linger and delve in deeper.
As Rita slid her index finger between Hermione's legs, Hermione breathed in sharply and focused on the red satin ceiling above them. In her opinion, red was an ambiguous color. It meant so much -- fire, blood, energy, war, danger, strength, power, determination, desire and love -- but when worked down to the core, it meant nothing. It was intense and visible, but Hermione thought it was all a bluff. Dozens of countries used it in their national flags, but what did it mean? What did this mean, Hermione wondered as their bodies shifted and she found herself straddling Rita's legs and looking into her eyes. What did Rita's fingers between her legs and her mouth pressing against hers and her arm wrapped strongly around her back mean?
Rita's fingers quickened their pace and she did something with her tongue that made Hermione forget to breathe and suddenly Hermione felt like she knew, or was on the verge of knowing. She felt as if she were climbing an impossible steep pinnacle; she knew every muscle in her body was stretched to the maximum and burning, but it was as if she were detached. She was freed from her body for that critical instant and there was the meaning of it all, just beyond her fingers grasp, and then she fell and everything came crashing down around her as she leaned forward panting. Her arms were draped over Rita's shoulders and her eyes were staring forward, neither seeing nor taking in anything, except the sharp depression of being milliseconds away from seizing the truth and missing it, and the infuriatingly red satin of Rita's sheets all around them.
"You're everything I've ever wanted in an assistant," Rita told her, kissing her throat.
Hermione knew that it was supposed to be a compliment, but she couldn't help but feel that the very thing that drew Rita toward her -- her insatiable thirst for knowledge -- would be the bitter root that destroyed their relationship. Even as she regained her breath in the arms of her boss, she was aware that it wouldn't be long before she strayed, before Rita found out, before the jealousy and resentment pushed them further apart. She knew that she was still young, and Rita wasn't, and there's too much that she hadn't experienced yet for her to be happy settling down. She knew it was a good job and a good arrangement, but that didn't stop her from picturing the entire future stretched out before her like an endless motion picture; frame by frame by frame, love and sex and heartbreak, and she knew that it was all mixed up and out of order, but it was all there, in her future.
Public opinion was that Hermione Granger was brilliant (and straight). Hermione's opinion was that she was on the verge of commitment -- to a job, to a person, to a life -- (and a coward).
Pairing: Rita/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: HP is not mine.
Note: Written for femslash_today.
Public opinion was that Hermione Granger was brilliant (and straight). Rita Skeeter's opinion was that she was brilliant (and a bloody good lay). After all, ever since Rita had hired Hermione six months ago as her assistant, they had been sleeping together on a semi-regular basis.
Tonight was no exception. As Rita's lips traced the latitude running down the center of Hermione's body, Hermione rolled her head back and thrust her chin upwards, reaching toward the red satin ceiling above them. She twisted her fingers in Rita's blonde hair, wrapping the curls around her knuckles until flesh and hair were as inseparable. She stared at the red satin ceiling; she was hypnotized by the color, and Rita's fingers and her lips and her tongue, against her throat, her breasts, her nipples.
Rita moved lower on Hermione's body, working it like she would an article for the Daily Prophet. She made all the proper introductions, kissing her lips softly, her breasts fiercely, running her tongue along the edge of the nipples and her fingers along Hermione's ticklish underarms. She skimmed the basics, greeting each body part in turn, kissing and caressing and whispering promises that she wouldn't fulfill, and when something interested her, she would linger and delve in deeper.
As Rita slid her index finger between Hermione's legs, Hermione breathed in sharply and focused on the red satin ceiling above them. In her opinion, red was an ambiguous color. It meant so much -- fire, blood, energy, war, danger, strength, power, determination, desire and love -- but when worked down to the core, it meant nothing. It was intense and visible, but Hermione thought it was all a bluff. Dozens of countries used it in their national flags, but what did it mean? What did this mean, Hermione wondered as their bodies shifted and she found herself straddling Rita's legs and looking into her eyes. What did Rita's fingers between her legs and her mouth pressing against hers and her arm wrapped strongly around her back mean?
Rita's fingers quickened their pace and she did something with her tongue that made Hermione forget to breathe and suddenly Hermione felt like she knew, or was on the verge of knowing. She felt as if she were climbing an impossible steep pinnacle; she knew every muscle in her body was stretched to the maximum and burning, but it was as if she were detached. She was freed from her body for that critical instant and there was the meaning of it all, just beyond her fingers grasp, and then she fell and everything came crashing down around her as she leaned forward panting. Her arms were draped over Rita's shoulders and her eyes were staring forward, neither seeing nor taking in anything, except the sharp depression of being milliseconds away from seizing the truth and missing it, and the infuriatingly red satin of Rita's sheets all around them.
"You're everything I've ever wanted in an assistant," Rita told her, kissing her throat.
Hermione knew that it was supposed to be a compliment, but she couldn't help but feel that the very thing that drew Rita toward her -- her insatiable thirst for knowledge -- would be the bitter root that destroyed their relationship. Even as she regained her breath in the arms of her boss, she was aware that it wouldn't be long before she strayed, before Rita found out, before the jealousy and resentment pushed them further apart. She knew that she was still young, and Rita wasn't, and there's too much that she hadn't experienced yet for her to be happy settling down. She knew it was a good job and a good arrangement, but that didn't stop her from picturing the entire future stretched out before her like an endless motion picture; frame by frame by frame, love and sex and heartbreak, and she knew that it was all mixed up and out of order, but it was all there, in her future.
Public opinion was that Hermione Granger was brilliant (and straight). Hermione's opinion was that she was on the verge of commitment -- to a job, to a person, to a life -- (and a coward).