Fic: Unpredictable (Blaise/Hermione)
Title: Unpredictable
Characters/Pairings: Blaise/Hermione
Rating: Adult
Summary: Blaise is unpredictable
Word Count: 2320
A/N: For my tamlane, who has been here for over a decade now, and whose comments and support back in 2004-2006 kept me at this writing thing and continues to push me into challenging myself. Hope you enjoy, hon!
tamlane’s prompt: No matter what she says, she loves his dirty mouth.
The room is lit with candlelight, shadows dancing across the wall as the flames flicker. Hermione can sense a tension in the air, though she can’t figure out what might have caused it. Blaise is unpredictable, though, and she’s learned during the years they’ve been together that she has to accept the negative aspects to that trait if she wants to enjoy the positive ones.
As she looks around their bedroom, she tries to think of anything she’s done to upset him recently, but she can’t think of anything this time. They have a passionate relationship, after all, and one of the things that makes it that way is her inability to curtail her tongue sometimes and his inability to discuss things in a productive manner of communication. Instead, she goes too far more often than she intends, and he quietly lets things build until he lashes out, usually sexually.
While she doesn’t often mind his sexual way of communication, she’s in a bit of a mood tonight. It’s been a long day at work full of meetings and more than one argument with a Pureblood arsehole who thinks he still lives in the Middle Ages, so all she really wants to do is relax. It’s later than she usually gets home because of a mandatory meeting with the Minister that had been scheduled after work, but it’s Friday, at least, so she has the weekend to look forward to.
“You’re late.”
Hermione turns her head in the direction of the voice, finally noticing him sitting in a chair in the corner. Bloody hell. It’s not a good sign if he’s lurking in the shadows. “I sent an owl,” she reminds him. The meeting had been unexpected, so it hadn’t been on their calendar at home, but she’d still let him know she wouldn’t be home on time. Since he ran his own company and had investments throughout the world, he got to set his own schedule, but she didn’t have that luxury working for the Ministry.
“I received it. Undress.”
“Blaise, I’ve had a rough day.”
“You look stressed, sweetheart. I’m merely going to help you relax.”
The way he says the endearment gives her goosebumps. There’s just a tone to his voice when he says it that turns her on, and he knows it, the smug bastard. She sighs and considers arguing about it, but she doesn’t want a fight, especially when there’s already something bothering him. Besides, he does know the best ways to relax her. After she takes off her robes, she removes her skirt and blouse before glancing at the corner. “Everything?”
There’s a moment of silence as he considers her question before he answers her. “Yes, everything.”
He isn’t angry then. When he’s angry, he often enjoys using a knife to slice the knickers and bras off her. She actually finds it arousing to watch him have such calm control of a blade and to feel the edge of it ghost against her skin, just a hint of possible danger but trusting him to never hurt her. That trust always appeases him and the anger dissipates before he ever says a word. She’s had to get used to that, since she’s always had best friends who are hot heads and yell or talk a lot when they’re in a temper, so Blaise’s cool approach is different.
Hermione pushes her thoughts to the back of her mind and focuses on the now. She takes off her bra first, tossing it onto the pile of clothes that she’s itching to fold or put in the hamper. It’s a test, she knows, so she doesn’t actually stop what he’s got her doing to pick them up. Instead, she pushes her knickers down and steps out of them, standing completely naked before him.
“What next?” she asks, tilting her chin defiantly so he’ll know she’s doing this for him but isn’t admitting to guilt over anything yet.
“Close your eyes.” Blaise’s voice is intoxicating. She’s had friends who have sworn her to secrecy before admitting they could get off just listening to him. She hasn’t told them that she actually has before. When she’s standing there naked with her eyes closed, she suspects that might be his intent this evening. The suspicion is given more support when she feels silk brush against her face before it covers her eyes.
“Why are you still dressed?” she asks, listening to the sound of his clothing as he moves. He steps up behind her, and she can the feel expensive fabric press against her bare skin.
“Because I’m not a whore,” he says matter-of-factly, his words a whisper in her ear. “Not like you.”
“Don’t call me that,” she protests automatically, even as her nipples start to harden.
“You’re asking me to lie? Tsk tsk.” He still hasn’t touched her, but she can feel the fabric of his shirt glide across her arm. “What happened to the noble Gryffindor who values truth and honesty?”
“You know I hate lies.”
“Yet I overheard you lying just last weekend.”
“What? Last weekend?” Hermione tries to remember what they did last weekend. Dinner at Malfoy’s house, a trip to a Muggle market on Saturday, and they spent Sunday doing chores around the house. She can’t think of any reason he’d claim she had lied about something.
“You and Astoria were talking about sex, giggling like naughty schoolgirls after too much wine, and you had the audacity to claim that you don’t enjoy filthy talk,” Blaise reminds her, sounding slightly amused.
“Oh God. Did I actually giggle with Astoria about sex?” she asks, remembering drinking too much wine but not recalling exchanging sexual kinks with the prissy wife of her childhood rival.
“It was most unbecoming. You’re lucky that Draco had also had too much wine or you’d have already been publically embarrassed in some way by the information he’d have learned from your loose lips.”
“I’m sorry,” she reluctantly says, hating to apologize but knowing it’s necessary. She values their privacy as much as he does, after all, and she’d be upset if he were discussing their sexual activities with his mates. It’s even worse because it’s a Malfoy, but she hopes Astoria was just as pissed as she obviously was and doesn’t remember the details.
“I’m not angry, sweetheart. I found it rather enlightening. However, you might want to limit your intake next time we visit as I think Astoria was attempting to seduce you into her bed.”
“What?” Hermione blinks behind the silk covering her eyes. “You must be imagining things.”
“If I hadn’t interrupted, I do believe the lovely Mrs. Malfoy would have given in to the urge to bury her face in your cunny.” Blaise is still moving his arms in such a way that his shirt is brushing over skin without any firm contact, and it’s driving her crazy. “Maybe you’d have enjoyed that, though. She is an uptight little thing, and seeing her on her knees with her face covered in your come would make her more tolerable. Of course, Draco would have sulked then because his wife had a taste but he hadn’t. He’d have probably begged me to let him have you, and he is so pathetic when he begs that I’d have allowed it.”
“You wouldn’t,” she insists, annoyed that the vision his words are painting is exciting her despite the fact that she actually wouldn’t want to experience it.
“I would. I’d sit there in a chair and watch them with you, sweetheart. I’d watch you fall apart on Astoria’s tongue, riding her fingers like the whore we both know you truly are, and I’d watch as Draco fucked your face with his cock, not too thick but long enough to make you gag. He’d enjoy it, too, hearing you gag on his cock, watching your lips drag back and forth across his shaft.”
“I’d rather not hear details about Malfoy’s cock, Blaise.” She knows that Blaise has been with many different people prior to their relationship, and she hadn’t been any pristine virgin by any means, but she’d rather not hear something that would make it difficult to look Malfoy in the eye next time they all have dinner. “Unless you’d like to me return the favor and describe Ron’s or possibly Cormac’s or Anthony’s.”
There’s a sharp sting on her right arse cheek when he slaps it. “I don’t need to hear details about your past, Hermione,” he says quietly, his fingers brushing over the spot he slapped. There’s a brief sensation of lips pressed against the nape of her neck, a silent apology, then he continues talking. “After you’ve come, they’d move you to the floor. Draco sliding into your cunny as his wife fucks herself on your face. They’d get off on it, having you writhing beneath them like a desperate needy slut.”
“You’d never allow it,” she murmurs, knowing he’s far too possessive to just sit and watch her get fucked by his former housemates. They discuss the idea of allowing someone to join them, to go to a Muggle pub and find someone they can both enjoy, but they never actually do it because they just don’t like to share.
“Maybe I’d join them,” he decides, ignoring her remark because he’s not going to lie and say he would, even if it helps his seductive punishment for what she said while inebriated last weekend. “You could ride Draco’s cock while Astoria licks your arse and gets you ready for me. I know what a whore you are when you’re getting your arse fucked, and you’d be begging me for my cock before she’s even got you damp.”
As if to emphasize his words, he presses his erection against her arse, rolling his hips slightly so she can just barely feel the cloth covered bulge. He is right about that, though, because she loves it when he’s in her arse, even if she used to think it was too dirty and uncomfortable to even consider doing. She probably would be begging him for his cock if she was having her arse eaten.
“It’s too bad you can’t see how hard your nipples are, sweetheart. You’re so wet, too. I bet you’re dripping down your thighs by now,” he says, voice against her ear again. “Yet you lie and say you don’t like my filthy mouth. You love it when I talk dirty to you, and you love having my mouth on you. Don’t you?”
“You’re an arsehole,” she mutters, shifting slightly so she can press her legs together. She’s so aroused despite everything, she can feel her breasts aching and her nipples tingling, and she doesn’t have to reach down to know she’s soaking wet with arousal. His words are the best foreplay imaginable, and him whispering while not touching her, taking away her sight and making her focus on his voice and the feel of fabric occasionally brushing against her skin is the greatest punishment ever.
“Just admit it, Hermione. Tell me you lied, and I’ll reward you.”
He’s moving his arms again, and she bites her lip when she feels the soft fabric of his shirt brush across one of her nipples. She’s stubborn, and it’s too easy to give in yet. “I don’t lie.”
He chuckles before she feels something drag across her back, barely touching. “You’re lying to me right now as well as lying to yourself. Such a naughty whore.” She hears the sound of his zipper lowering and licks her lips, thinking about his cock and aching to feel it inside her right now. “I’m hard, sweetheart. From watching you stand there naked, your body betraying you, reacting to everything I tell you even as you lie and tell me you don’t enjoy it.”
“I don’t. It’s filthy,” she murmurs, reaching down to touch her breast. Of course, he doesn’t let her. A sharp sting on her arm stops her, and she groans in frustration as he just laughs at her.
“You’re so desperate for it that I could take you out and let anyone have you, and you’d just bend over and take it. You’d come on their cocks, one after another, but it wouldn’t be enough because it wouldn’t be me. None of them would be able to satisfy you, would they? I’m the only one who knows who you truly are, who sees who you are behind the competent mask of the workaholic and the caring mask of the best friend, who recognizes you as a woman with desires and wants and gives you what you need.”
“Blaise, please,” she whines, her stubbornness only extending so far.
“Admit it, Hermione. Tell me the truth.”
She growls softly. “Fine. I lied. I love it when you talk to me, you arrogant bastard.”
When he slams into her cunt, she almost falls over. He must have been poised right behind her, waiting, and she only keeps her balance because he’s gripping her hip and her breast as he fucks into her hard. “Love you, too, my desperate little whore.” He laughs against her ear, and she can feel the fabric of his trousers rubbing against her arse as he fucks her, knows he just unzipped enough to pull his cock out yet she’s completely naked, and that turns her on even more.
It doesn’t take long with him fucking her so hard and his finger rubbing at her clit before she’s coming. His thrusts become more frantic, going deeper as she trembles, and he spills inside her soon after her orgasm. He stays inside her for a moment even after they’ve come, just breathing in sync with her, his forehead pressed against her shoulderblade. She feels his lips brush across her skin and smiles as she reaches down to squeeze his hand.
The tension is gone, and she’s definitely more relaxed already.
End
Characters/Pairings: Blaise/Hermione
Rating: Adult
Summary: Blaise is unpredictable
Word Count: 2320
A/N: For my tamlane, who has been here for over a decade now, and whose comments and support back in 2004-2006 kept me at this writing thing and continues to push me into challenging myself. Hope you enjoy, hon!
tamlane’s prompt: No matter what she says, she loves his dirty mouth.
The room is lit with candlelight, shadows dancing across the wall as the flames flicker. Hermione can sense a tension in the air, though she can’t figure out what might have caused it. Blaise is unpredictable, though, and she’s learned during the years they’ve been together that she has to accept the negative aspects to that trait if she wants to enjoy the positive ones.
As she looks around their bedroom, she tries to think of anything she’s done to upset him recently, but she can’t think of anything this time. They have a passionate relationship, after all, and one of the things that makes it that way is her inability to curtail her tongue sometimes and his inability to discuss things in a productive manner of communication. Instead, she goes too far more often than she intends, and he quietly lets things build until he lashes out, usually sexually.
While she doesn’t often mind his sexual way of communication, she’s in a bit of a mood tonight. It’s been a long day at work full of meetings and more than one argument with a Pureblood arsehole who thinks he still lives in the Middle Ages, so all she really wants to do is relax. It’s later than she usually gets home because of a mandatory meeting with the Minister that had been scheduled after work, but it’s Friday, at least, so she has the weekend to look forward to.
“You’re late.”
Hermione turns her head in the direction of the voice, finally noticing him sitting in a chair in the corner. Bloody hell. It’s not a good sign if he’s lurking in the shadows. “I sent an owl,” she reminds him. The meeting had been unexpected, so it hadn’t been on their calendar at home, but she’d still let him know she wouldn’t be home on time. Since he ran his own company and had investments throughout the world, he got to set his own schedule, but she didn’t have that luxury working for the Ministry.
“I received it. Undress.”
“Blaise, I’ve had a rough day.”
“You look stressed, sweetheart. I’m merely going to help you relax.”
The way he says the endearment gives her goosebumps. There’s just a tone to his voice when he says it that turns her on, and he knows it, the smug bastard. She sighs and considers arguing about it, but she doesn’t want a fight, especially when there’s already something bothering him. Besides, he does know the best ways to relax her. After she takes off her robes, she removes her skirt and blouse before glancing at the corner. “Everything?”
There’s a moment of silence as he considers her question before he answers her. “Yes, everything.”
He isn’t angry then. When he’s angry, he often enjoys using a knife to slice the knickers and bras off her. She actually finds it arousing to watch him have such calm control of a blade and to feel the edge of it ghost against her skin, just a hint of possible danger but trusting him to never hurt her. That trust always appeases him and the anger dissipates before he ever says a word. She’s had to get used to that, since she’s always had best friends who are hot heads and yell or talk a lot when they’re in a temper, so Blaise’s cool approach is different.
Hermione pushes her thoughts to the back of her mind and focuses on the now. She takes off her bra first, tossing it onto the pile of clothes that she’s itching to fold or put in the hamper. It’s a test, she knows, so she doesn’t actually stop what he’s got her doing to pick them up. Instead, she pushes her knickers down and steps out of them, standing completely naked before him.
“What next?” she asks, tilting her chin defiantly so he’ll know she’s doing this for him but isn’t admitting to guilt over anything yet.
“Close your eyes.” Blaise’s voice is intoxicating. She’s had friends who have sworn her to secrecy before admitting they could get off just listening to him. She hasn’t told them that she actually has before. When she’s standing there naked with her eyes closed, she suspects that might be his intent this evening. The suspicion is given more support when she feels silk brush against her face before it covers her eyes.
“Why are you still dressed?” she asks, listening to the sound of his clothing as he moves. He steps up behind her, and she can the feel expensive fabric press against her bare skin.
“Because I’m not a whore,” he says matter-of-factly, his words a whisper in her ear. “Not like you.”
“Don’t call me that,” she protests automatically, even as her nipples start to harden.
“You’re asking me to lie? Tsk tsk.” He still hasn’t touched her, but she can feel the fabric of his shirt glide across her arm. “What happened to the noble Gryffindor who values truth and honesty?”
“You know I hate lies.”
“Yet I overheard you lying just last weekend.”
“What? Last weekend?” Hermione tries to remember what they did last weekend. Dinner at Malfoy’s house, a trip to a Muggle market on Saturday, and they spent Sunday doing chores around the house. She can’t think of any reason he’d claim she had lied about something.
“You and Astoria were talking about sex, giggling like naughty schoolgirls after too much wine, and you had the audacity to claim that you don’t enjoy filthy talk,” Blaise reminds her, sounding slightly amused.
“Oh God. Did I actually giggle with Astoria about sex?” she asks, remembering drinking too much wine but not recalling exchanging sexual kinks with the prissy wife of her childhood rival.
“It was most unbecoming. You’re lucky that Draco had also had too much wine or you’d have already been publically embarrassed in some way by the information he’d have learned from your loose lips.”
“I’m sorry,” she reluctantly says, hating to apologize but knowing it’s necessary. She values their privacy as much as he does, after all, and she’d be upset if he were discussing their sexual activities with his mates. It’s even worse because it’s a Malfoy, but she hopes Astoria was just as pissed as she obviously was and doesn’t remember the details.
“I’m not angry, sweetheart. I found it rather enlightening. However, you might want to limit your intake next time we visit as I think Astoria was attempting to seduce you into her bed.”
“What?” Hermione blinks behind the silk covering her eyes. “You must be imagining things.”
“If I hadn’t interrupted, I do believe the lovely Mrs. Malfoy would have given in to the urge to bury her face in your cunny.” Blaise is still moving his arms in such a way that his shirt is brushing over skin without any firm contact, and it’s driving her crazy. “Maybe you’d have enjoyed that, though. She is an uptight little thing, and seeing her on her knees with her face covered in your come would make her more tolerable. Of course, Draco would have sulked then because his wife had a taste but he hadn’t. He’d have probably begged me to let him have you, and he is so pathetic when he begs that I’d have allowed it.”
“You wouldn’t,” she insists, annoyed that the vision his words are painting is exciting her despite the fact that she actually wouldn’t want to experience it.
“I would. I’d sit there in a chair and watch them with you, sweetheart. I’d watch you fall apart on Astoria’s tongue, riding her fingers like the whore we both know you truly are, and I’d watch as Draco fucked your face with his cock, not too thick but long enough to make you gag. He’d enjoy it, too, hearing you gag on his cock, watching your lips drag back and forth across his shaft.”
“I’d rather not hear details about Malfoy’s cock, Blaise.” She knows that Blaise has been with many different people prior to their relationship, and she hadn’t been any pristine virgin by any means, but she’d rather not hear something that would make it difficult to look Malfoy in the eye next time they all have dinner. “Unless you’d like to me return the favor and describe Ron’s or possibly Cormac’s or Anthony’s.”
There’s a sharp sting on her right arse cheek when he slaps it. “I don’t need to hear details about your past, Hermione,” he says quietly, his fingers brushing over the spot he slapped. There’s a brief sensation of lips pressed against the nape of her neck, a silent apology, then he continues talking. “After you’ve come, they’d move you to the floor. Draco sliding into your cunny as his wife fucks herself on your face. They’d get off on it, having you writhing beneath them like a desperate needy slut.”
“You’d never allow it,” she murmurs, knowing he’s far too possessive to just sit and watch her get fucked by his former housemates. They discuss the idea of allowing someone to join them, to go to a Muggle pub and find someone they can both enjoy, but they never actually do it because they just don’t like to share.
“Maybe I’d join them,” he decides, ignoring her remark because he’s not going to lie and say he would, even if it helps his seductive punishment for what she said while inebriated last weekend. “You could ride Draco’s cock while Astoria licks your arse and gets you ready for me. I know what a whore you are when you’re getting your arse fucked, and you’d be begging me for my cock before she’s even got you damp.”
As if to emphasize his words, he presses his erection against her arse, rolling his hips slightly so she can just barely feel the cloth covered bulge. He is right about that, though, because she loves it when he’s in her arse, even if she used to think it was too dirty and uncomfortable to even consider doing. She probably would be begging him for his cock if she was having her arse eaten.
“It’s too bad you can’t see how hard your nipples are, sweetheart. You’re so wet, too. I bet you’re dripping down your thighs by now,” he says, voice against her ear again. “Yet you lie and say you don’t like my filthy mouth. You love it when I talk dirty to you, and you love having my mouth on you. Don’t you?”
“You’re an arsehole,” she mutters, shifting slightly so she can press her legs together. She’s so aroused despite everything, she can feel her breasts aching and her nipples tingling, and she doesn’t have to reach down to know she’s soaking wet with arousal. His words are the best foreplay imaginable, and him whispering while not touching her, taking away her sight and making her focus on his voice and the feel of fabric occasionally brushing against her skin is the greatest punishment ever.
“Just admit it, Hermione. Tell me you lied, and I’ll reward you.”
He’s moving his arms again, and she bites her lip when she feels the soft fabric of his shirt brush across one of her nipples. She’s stubborn, and it’s too easy to give in yet. “I don’t lie.”
He chuckles before she feels something drag across her back, barely touching. “You’re lying to me right now as well as lying to yourself. Such a naughty whore.” She hears the sound of his zipper lowering and licks her lips, thinking about his cock and aching to feel it inside her right now. “I’m hard, sweetheart. From watching you stand there naked, your body betraying you, reacting to everything I tell you even as you lie and tell me you don’t enjoy it.”
“I don’t. It’s filthy,” she murmurs, reaching down to touch her breast. Of course, he doesn’t let her. A sharp sting on her arm stops her, and she groans in frustration as he just laughs at her.
“You’re so desperate for it that I could take you out and let anyone have you, and you’d just bend over and take it. You’d come on their cocks, one after another, but it wouldn’t be enough because it wouldn’t be me. None of them would be able to satisfy you, would they? I’m the only one who knows who you truly are, who sees who you are behind the competent mask of the workaholic and the caring mask of the best friend, who recognizes you as a woman with desires and wants and gives you what you need.”
“Blaise, please,” she whines, her stubbornness only extending so far.
“Admit it, Hermione. Tell me the truth.”
She growls softly. “Fine. I lied. I love it when you talk to me, you arrogant bastard.”
When he slams into her cunt, she almost falls over. He must have been poised right behind her, waiting, and she only keeps her balance because he’s gripping her hip and her breast as he fucks into her hard. “Love you, too, my desperate little whore.” He laughs against her ear, and she can feel the fabric of his trousers rubbing against her arse as he fucks her, knows he just unzipped enough to pull his cock out yet she’s completely naked, and that turns her on even more.
It doesn’t take long with him fucking her so hard and his finger rubbing at her clit before she’s coming. His thrusts become more frantic, going deeper as she trembles, and he spills inside her soon after her orgasm. He stays inside her for a moment even after they’ve come, just breathing in sync with her, his forehead pressed against her shoulderblade. She feels his lips brush across her skin and smiles as she reaches down to squeeze his hand.
The tension is gone, and she’s definitely more relaxed already.
End