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Sexy Time
Topic Started: Feb 10 2011, 02:23 AM (1,101 Views)
Darcy Bishop
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She was a tiger on the prowl, a leopard slinking about the empty corridor, a minx, no wait that wasn’t right, well, it was sort of true in this particular moment, but it was the animal she had meant, the mink… well whatever she was, it wasn’t any type of bird, that was for sure.

Lounging languidly against the wall, bangs skimming her eyebrows, Darcy watched the hall in front of her with a bored stare. It had only been a week since Alex’s confession on that stormy afternoon, and since then, Darcy had felt so full of life, any second she thought she might burst. Kate had watched her suspiciously, finally cornering her in the common room one afternoon and demanding that Darcy identify herself, clearly believing she was a Polyjuice version. Darcy had threatened to tell everyone Kates’ teddy bear’s name, Lady Bibbles. Childhood bear, but she could accidentally omit that part. She had accepted that it was indeed Darcy after that. Really, the girl should have just been satisfied that Darcy was considerably pleased for once. Not, of course, that she was walking around shooting ponies and rainbows out of her arse, she had a reputation to maintain, after all. She was still pranking students left and right, and already this week she had been in a skirmish that had resulted in a black eye. Worse than it looked, really, and the other boys were much worse for wear than she. Who knew Kerrigan’s lesson on turning pincushions into porcupines would be so valuable? Or that porcupine made excellent projectile weapons?

The knowledge had not come without a price. Detention. Apparently lobbing pointy creatures at one’s peers was frowned upon in this school. And here she thought Kerrigan might show some leniency towards her, as she had clearly demonstrated expert skill in the assignment. Extra credit worthy.

One good thing had come of it, however, she had found that this particular broom closet lay in a, for the most part, deserted corridor. Especially since the hall was in the dungeons, far from the Slytherin Common Room. Nobody but Slytherin’s ventured down here and there was no need for them to come over here. It also was rarely used. In fact, she was certain she was the only who had ever been assigned to it. Actually, Reynolds had probably assigned her to this one out of his own personal amusement. Let’s stick her tantalizingly close to her enemy’s lair. He had already tortured her with the Owlery, after all. Even if she wasn’t, she was supposed to be using it at this very moment to carry out her mopping chore, so no other student was going to interrupt what she had planned.

Yes, she had decided to make her suggestion into a reality. The spot was convenient and quiet, a place where they were not likely to be disturbed. Now all she needed was for Alex to happen to walk down this corridor, which would be a miracle since he had decided to become the next Houdini. Or he had gotten his hands on an invisibility cloak.

Either way, she was less than amused that his presence was lacking. How was she supposed to torture him if he never ventured out into public? The only real glimpse she had of him that week was in their potions class, where she had attempted to send a spell that would smack him in the arse with an invisible hand as he was retrieving his ingredients. Unfortunately, but still hilarious, the spell had been blocked unknowingly by Carraway, Jack’s girlfriend. She, being the prude she was, thought that one of Reed’s cronies had actually sent it, which, Darcy had to admit, was a fair guess seeing as the dolt had his wand out and pointed towards her, probably pretending it was a rocket or some other idiotic play toy. Naturally she slapped him, caused a jealous Jack to enter the fray, which of course meant that more of Reed’s minions had to step in, which ultimately led to Darcy gleefully helping to defend Jack. So really, two brawls in the last week.

She blinked lazily. So, actually it had been a pretty good week, by Darcy standards.

Tapping her foot impatiently, Darcy blew chestnut tendrils out of her eyes. This whole ambushing sequence would be much more exhilarating if she actually knew he was going to come this way, and if she had a doughnut. A doughnut always made a stakeout better.

I’m a lioness lying in wait for its tempting prey… But even that had lost its fun.

Right, well she supposed she should get on with what she was really supposed to be doing, cleaning the floors. She was about to emerge from behind her statue, when she heard them. Light, nearly indistinct footsteps of one who had been trained to naturally move silently. Darcy unknowingly held her breath, barely daring to hope that it might be the one she had waited for every night thus far. Clear blue eyes, silky raven locks, a stubbled chin that scratched against her cheek when she smothered him in smoldering, lingering kisses… fucking hell. If this wasn’t him, she had just set herself up for another hot, restless night.

A tall man stepped into her vision, his movement slowing as though he had sensed her presence. Green and silver tie contrasting with midnight robes, brunette hair, the flicker of cerulean eyes… She launched herself forward before either one had really identified the other. If this was some random Slytherin boy, than she supposed it would make her grand total three attacks in one week, but it was as if she instinctively knew as she collided with his body, her momentum shoving them both through the open door of the broom closest opposite her observation point, that this was her Slytherin.

They crashed, unseen and unheard, into the shelves against the back wall. For a moment, Darcy wanted to just melt into his body, rigid with shock, but she had sternly told herself beforehand that she could not.

With considerable effort, she managed to push off him, slamming and locking the door shut, as well as casting a silencing spell with a careless wave of her wand. She forced herself to move out of his grasp, which was quite difficult when it was almost possible to spread ones arms out to either side and touch both walls. Still, she managed to press herself up against a shelf as she smiled suggestively at him, one eyebrow raised. Yes, she itched to reach out to him, desired nothing more to kiss him with a week’s worth of pent up sexual tension, but she was sure as hell not going to throw herself on him like some rabid monkey after its banana.

“Well, well, well, Mr. Flint,” she intoned, a devious glint lighting her sapphire eyes, watching his expression carefully. “This is just like my fantasy,” she continued, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the wall, looking for all the world as though they were merely having a conversation about the weather. Until a wicked smirk slowly crept across her face.

Though the ache in her body was nearly overwhelming, the idea of returning to the cat and mouse game they had played so many times before was too enticing. A game of who had the most control and who would succumb first. It made the reward that much sweeter.

Her head tilted slightly as she narrowed her gaze at him, schooling her expression into one of mild interest, though she couldn’t help the hunger burning in her eyes. Ever her weakness.

“Though in that, you were wearing far fewer clothes.”
Edited by Darcy Bishop, Feb 10 2011, 02:24 AM.
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Alexander Flint
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It had been, without question, the most excruciatingly unbearable week of his life.

And for Alex, that was really saying something.

He’d had no idea that days could pass so slowly, stretching on and on and on until every minute felt like a lifetime, every hour an eon – relentless, dragging lulls that refused to offer even the slightest hint of respite or relief. He’d known they would be a trial, those days, but this… this was another level of torture entirely. Nothing could have prepared him for it.

Alexander Flint had been reduced to little more than a walking knot of tension and barely restrained control, and every single agonizing second of it was Darcy Bishop’s fault.

Damn her. She had to have known what those lustful parting words would do to him; how much harder they’d make the time he’d have to wait (and wait and wait and wait) before he could safely see her alone again. The entire week had been spent with his teeth set on edge – which thankfully fit right in with the whole Big Bad Slytherin routine, but certainly didn’t bode well for anyone unfortunate enough to make the mistake of trying to interact with him. All this pent up impatience and preoccupation had Alex looking ten times more dangerous than he usually did.

Again. That was saying something.

If he’d made himself scarce, it was because he didn’t trust himself to even look at Darcy without being tempted into doing something monumentally stupid. Ever since a quill had snapped in half in his hand after the briefest glimpse of her all the way across the bloody room in Potions, he’d vowed to keep as much distance between himself and the vexing brunette as possible – at least until circumstances provided another opportunity for them to meet again.

Never in his damned life had his control been tested so mercilessly. Even when he couldn’t see her, she was there, never far from thoughts that lingered over the memory of her warm body pressed against his, her hot breath in his ear, the sultry words that’d had every inch of him shivering with need. He couldn’t even escape them in sleep.

Fucking hell, the dreams he’d had…

There was no way he’d last another night of them. He’d have to find her. Tonight. Maybe catch her on the way back to her common room.

He was halfway to his own house headquarters when the idea hit him, his silent strides making steady headway down the otherwise deserted, dungeon corridor. Behind pensive features, his mind whirred over possibilities and risk factors, already mapping out routes and methods of concealment. The hardest part would be slipping out of his dorm without anyone taking note, he knew, but if he could manage that, at least, then surely—

Abruptly, he tensed.

Gone was his distraction. Suddenly, every instinct in his body was calling out a warning that had him hurtling back to the present; sharpening his stare and slowing his ground-covering gait the second he realized he wasn’t alone in the corridor he’d originally believed to be deserted.

A movement to his right – his eyes flew to it, mind flooding with the improbable odds of an ambush (Reed couldn’t possibly be that stupid, could he?), but in the rush of motion that followed, there wasn’t time to identify his assailant. There wasn’t even time to steel himself for an attack. There was only a blur as a body launched itself at him from a hidden niche in the wall, slam, impact, and the next thing he knew, he was crashing through the open doorway of a nearby broom cupboard.

Momentum carried him until he hit the back of the minuscule space with a violent rattle of shelves and cleaning supplies, and Alex soon found himself gripping the wooden slats behind him for support, body rigid out of instinct. Through a loose strand of raven hair, he watched – almost incredulously – as a familiarly lithe form tore itself away from him, slammed the door, locked it, and finally ended the flurry of movement by casting a silencing spell over the tiny room with one absent wave of an arm.

It was an ambush, alright.

“Well, well, well, Mr. Flint,” came the unmistakably mischievous tone of Darcy Bishop herself. In the darkness, her eyes gleamed with wicked intent. “This is just like my fantasy.”

Casually, she leaned against the shelves at her back, arms crossing as her lips parted in a decidedly vulgar smile.

“Though in that, you were wearing far fewer clothes.”

It took every single, last shred of his already nearly non-existent control to keep himself from bloody pouncing on the little hellion.

He would have grabbed the front of her robes if he’d relented like he wanted to; hauled her into his body, shown her exactly what it was he’d been reduced to after a week of utter hell thanks to her cruel methods of torture. He almost did. The mere thought of it had his fingers gripping the shelf behind him so tightly his knuckles turned white.

But maybe it was time for her to get a little taste of her own medicine.

The stare he fixed on her then was deliberate; dark and steady and glinting in a way that openly told of all the things he wanted to do her. Things that would probably be outlawed in the civilized world. It was animalistic, that stare, the kind of look that would have put into serious question just whom had locked up whom in this tiny little tucked-away closet.

And yet, he made no move to near her. In fact, the only thing that did move was the hand he lifted slowly to his tie. Calmly, without rush, he began to loosen it, never once lifting his stare away from hers, and when the green and silver thing finally slid free of his neck, exposing the smallest fraction of chest as his collar sprang away, he let it dangle almost idly from his fingers before dropping it directly in the middle of the space that separated them.

And then he smiled – an innocent thing that had no business being paired with such a shamelessly sinful stare. And though his voice lilted with obedience when it came out of the darkness, there was no mistaking that it was, quite purposely, a pitch deeper than his usual one.

“Better, Ms. Bishop?”
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Darcy Bishop
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Thought: Perhaps locking oneself in a broom cupboard with a man who seemed unable to decide whether he wanted to kill her or torture her was not in one’s best interests. He looked as though he was straining to remain against the opposite shelf, muscles flexing as though he was being restrained by invisible bonds. Naturally, the smirk Darcy bore turned decidedly devilish, tempting fate, always. Driving Alex to new depths of insanity was entirely too satisfying.

She tried to ignore that he sort of, kind of, had just the tiniest effect on her as well. Standing this close to him was intoxicating. It would be difficult not to have a reaction to the tense, electric atmosphere that had descended. The air practically crackled with anticipation and excitement. She couldn’t help it if she couldn’t control osmosis. Her nerves were on fire, pulse increasing its erratic tempo, breathing a bit shallower than normal, senses heightened from the boundless energy that scampered about the closet.

Already she wanted him to give in. Gods how she needed to touch him, to feel his warm breath against her cheek, the silky raven strands slipping through urgent fingers, her body pressed tightly against his… She bit her lip, hard. Darcy would never hold out if her thoughts kept wandering down that particular path. She needed to think of something else… Kate reading a book, quidditch, Reed, hitting Reed with a bludger, birds, hitting a bird with her beaters bat into Reed and knocking him off his broom… it was awfully hard when Alex was fucking her with his sexy, piercing, incredibly blue eyes!

She swallowed, unable to tear her gaze from his and the lingering promises that loomed behind his eyes. Her fingers itched to grab him by his tie. One sharp tug, that was all that would be needed and then he’d be on her. She clenched her anxious fingers into fists, nails biting deep into her palms. When that wasn’t enough, she crossed them over her chest, arched a brow over glittering eyes, and attempted to look completely at ease.

It wasn’t working. Her eyes gave her away, the dark intensity belying her level of arousal.

She was beginning to wonder why she had challenged him to undress. If she was having this much difficulty keeping her hands off him and he was still fully clothed, Darcy had a feeling the moment he revealed the smooth skin covering his chest, she was going to do one of two things: melt into a quivering puddle or launch herself at him like Kate spotting something shiny on the floor. The latter, definitely the latter. And he would be on the floor after she was through with him.

Jack in a dress. Jack in a pink, frilly, strapless…

Oh Merlin, what was he doing now? A confident hand was lazily drifting towards his tie, the very one she had been itching to grab, and slowly began loosening the knot, pulling it deftly away from where it once hugged his neck. Darcy never thought she would see the day when she was jealous of a tie. She wondered if she could squirm a bit without being seen, but she knew he would notice, smile at her darkly, triumphant. His eyes were still fixed on her. So she schooled herself into motionless, a feat made easier when she glimpsed the tiniest amount of skin the tie had revealed. It was slightly pathetic how her stare zeroed in on that spot, sliding to look at the tie lying at her feet, before darting back up to his face.

The expression that met her left her mouth suddenly quite dry. A small, knowing smile, coupled with eyes that danced wickedly, lust a quiet flame flickering in the background. And when he finally spoke, it caused a tremor of desire to wrack her body, leaving her nearly breathless.

“Better, Ms. Bishop?” he asked in a tone deep with hunger.

“Yes, Mr. Flint,” she responded, her voice hoarse with need. She couldn’t even be annoyed at its betrayal as she slowly licked her lips. But she couldn’t let him get away with his cheek. Not entirely. With every last bit of strength, Darcy managed to run a tantalizing stare down his body, slowly reversing it until she met his eyes once more.

“Though I think you have misinterpreted the meaning of far fewer,” she scolded, a wicked grin already slowly winding its way across her lips. “I’d offer to help,” she added innocently, shrugging her shoulders slightly, “but I have no patience when it comes to buttons.” Her heart thudded in her chest.

“Of course, I could always show you my way,” she continued, her words chosen to torment, tone deeper, tinged with a dark lewdness, “ripping.” Her hands moved to mimic the pretend tearing of a shirt. “I’ve always thought tearing off clothing was terribly erotic,” she breathed, an evil glint to her gaze, “Though I see you have more experience as a stripper.”

The smile was out in full force, corrupt and blatant, contrasting with eyes forced wide as she attempted a mock serious expression. Her hands dug into the pockets of her robes suddenly, coming up empty as she informed him.

“I suppose I should warn you now then, I’m flat out of Knuts.”
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Alexander Flint
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Alex had spent his entire life learning how to suppress emotion. How to numb himself down until he could stand toe-to-toe with temptation and disarm it with a barren stare. He could take a hit without a wince. Crush desire without remorse. Stand in a room with anyone and always be five steps ahead, read their reactions with the bored, measured look of someone who had long since ceased to find the game enticing. Thrills did not exist, because challenges were not provided. Nothing could provoke him, because no one had ever intrigued him enough to care.

No one but Darcy.

Only Darcy could do things to him that should have been impossible. She could make him want. She could make him need. She could coax a fire to burning, roaring, waking life inside him where before there had been only ice and stone and steel. She was the thrill he’d been missing, the challenge he’d craved, his match in every single way imaginable, and yes, she was an impossibility, this heaven-sent girl with the devil’s touch.

But she was his impossibility.

And right now, his impossibility was looking at him in a way that was going to get her into quite a great deal of trouble soon if she kept it up any longer.

“Yes, Mr. Flint,” she answered huskily. His name had never sounded so indecent.

He felt his smile edge upward a fraction in its wake, pleased by the painfully audible desire in her voice and the knowledge that he’d been the one to put it there. Not that he was doing any better at concealing his own hunger. It gleamed in the eyes that traced the path her tongue made as she licked her lips – a motion that filled him with strong and sudden envy. He wished it were his own caressing her like that, wet and languorous over the silk lush of her mouth as it slowly sought the heat within…

Fucking hell, this was killing him. He was having a hard enough time keeping himself under a reasonable amount of control without the added torture of treacherous thoughts like that one. Her nearness was narcotic. And that dark, glittering stare of hers wasn’t helping; the slow, consuming way she trailed it down the lean lines of his body. He tried to keep his breathing even, but there was no hiding the feral need in his gaze by the time her eyes finally lifted to meet his again.

The things I’m going to do to you, Darcy Bishop…

Her grin glinted in the dim light. “Though I think you have misinterpreted the meaning of far fewer,” she chided with an almost playful mildness. “I’d offer to help, but I have no patience when it comes to buttons.”

He watched her slim shoulders lift in a small shrug, not falling for the display of innocence for a second. It was as feigned as his own had been when he’d taunted her with the sole removal of his tie. Darcy likely didn’t have an innocent bone in her entire body.

But then again, neither did he.

“Of course, I could always show you my way,” she went on, voice lowering to a sultry pitch, “ripping.” His eyes followed the sharp, rending motion of her hands, mind flooding with images that curled his fingers at his sides and sent a wave of fierce desire thrumming through his veins. Buttons flying, fabric fraying, flushed skin exposed and vulnerable to wandering, wicked hands…

“I’ve always thought tearing off clothing was terribly erotic.” The breathy words filtered through his wayward thoughts, echoing his sentiments exactly. “Though I see you have more experience as a stripper.” She smiled then, a salacious parting of her lips that stayed in place even as she made a teasingly sincere show of digging deep into her obviously empty pockets.

“I suppose I should warn you now then, I’m flat out of Knuts.”

Cheeky little minx. She was too damned good at this. And well she knew it. Even as Alex struggled against the traitorous lust kindling to life inside him, he almost couldn’t help the small, amused smile that tugged fleetingly at his lips.

But the games had only just begun. And he had no intention of conceding so easily. Not when she hadn’t even seen a fraction of the torment he had planned for her, yet.

His smile turned crooked. “That’s too bad,” he replied, the low tone laced with an implied tsk. “The rest is going to cost you.”

Gently, with the fluid ease of someone in total control of his movements, he pushed off the shelves at his back and slowly began to near her. Eliminating the small space that separated them step by idle step.

“Free shows are for the well-behaved,” he continued as he walked, blue gaze dark and lurid as it unremittingly held her own. Only stopping when he was close enough to feel the heat coming off of her in waves, not quite touching, but toe-to-toe as one hand lifted to rest on the edge of the shelf just above her head.

“And you, Ms. Bishop,” he leaned in, eyes flickering to her mouth before lifting to meet her stare again with a dangerous, new intensity, “have been a very... very... bad girl.”

He said it with just the faintest hint of a rippling growl towards the end, breath hot on her cheek as his mouth moved slowly to her ear. Finishing with words that came out in little more than a hum, a barely-there whisper—and as he spoke, the knuckles of his free hand brushed her thigh in an intimate flutter of suggestive contact so soft it almost wasn’t there at all.

“Lucky for you, Knuts aren’t what I’m after.”
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Darcy Bishop
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Oh fuck. Darcy needed to start to remember that while she was bloody brilliant at this game of theirs, Alex was completely able to hold his own, match her word for word, touch with touch. And in this moment, his blue eyes glittering with a carnal lust that sent heat to her most sensitive places, she wondered if perhaps, just this once, he wasn’t managing to outdo her. It was enticing almost as much as it was dismaying. Her competitive streak urged her to up the game, that she had to win, while some other part of her shivered with anticipation that only being dominated by Alex could bring.

“That’s too bad,” he responded, his tone mildly scolding her, in contrast to the wry smile cast her way. “The rest is going to cost you.” She swallowed, forcing her to hold his gaze steadily, refusing to back down. The implications of what exactly it would cost her flashed before her eyes, though, rendering her nearly breathless.

When he broke into movement, a stalking, confident pace that brought him closer and closer, she actually did stop breathing. Her pounding heart was quick to assure her that she was still alive, however.

“Free shows are for the well-behaved,” he spoke, though Darcy could barely understand the words as a fog seemed to descend on her mind. What was he saying? Free shows, something about being well-behaved, certainly referring to her being shit out of luck. But gods, that boy was not well-behaved either, every curve of his body spelled sin, the rippling muscles surely were crafted by the devil himself. How she wanted to run her fingers across them, feel the raw power that was Alexander Flint. But no, she wanted more than just the touch. To see, to taste… every inch exposed for manipulation.

She wanted him, so very badly. It took all her willpower to keep herself from launching into his arms, ripping his shirt from him, hooking her legs about his waist, moving against him in wild abandon.

Fuck. Yes, that was it exactly. What a terrible, terrible curse to think at a time like this.

A time when Alex was so close, he was almost on her, his formidable presence causing her knees to weaken, causing her to wonder if she was going to crumple into an undignified puddle. His hand lifted to the shelf by her head, cutting off any escape she may have planned. As if the notion had even crossed her mind.

“And you, Ms. Bishop, have been a very… very… bad girl.” Oh Merlin, oh fucking hell, oh sweet mercy, every last nerve in her body had just quaked. She practically quivered under him, the hand that brushed against her thigh creating an electric jolt that lanced through her body. Raw energy and his proximity caused her whole form to tremble, unable to contain the excitement that rolled through her without some outward indication. His breath fanned hot against her cheek, lips barely brushing her ear. Lips, lips, lips, she needed his lips on her mouth, her neck, her stomach… fuck just everywhere. Yes, she had been very naughty, he should punish her, tie her down, ravage her… anything to quell the unquenchable thirst.

“Lucky for you, Knuts aren’t what I’m after,” he finished, his voice greedy and needing. She was going to explode, any second she was going to combust from the passion that gripped her. Her fingers itched to smooth back the raven strands that fell into his eyes, her lips ached to attach themselves to the base of his neck and work their way down, shedding any barriers she met along the way. Darcy was so losing this game, to the point that she nearly surrendered then and there. Nearly thrust herself against him in a haze of pleasure. And yet, there it was, that irritating, obnoxious, idiotic nagging of a voice that said she still had one trick left to her.

She would probably kill herself trying to do it.

“I don’t suppose it would be my superior wit?” she teased lightly, a hard feat when her voice was bent on dipping in volume. It was a last ditch effort to expel some of her tension before she allowed herself to be completely consumed by her hunger. His expression caused her to swallow against the raw lust in her throat. “No,” she continued, breathlessly at first. She cleared it, starting anew, allowing it to pitch low and husky, “No, what I think you really want is me.” It was stated, a certainty. It was the last calm before she unleashed what little game was left to her.

“Or more accurately, it’s my body that you’re after, Mr. Flint,” she told him as if he didn’t already know, her eyes heavy as they peered up at him, blatant desire sparkling in the blue depths. Here it was, blunt and forthright to the end. She was nothing but true to herself.

“But that’s not it entirely,” she continued, lazily brushing her leg against his hand again, “You want to tease me, torture me with tantalizing fingers until I am writhing under your touch, kiss me until my lips are red and swollen before turning your attention to the exposed skin of my neck, marking me as yours.” Fuck, her eyes were clouding over, her nerves completely on fire, responding to the torturous words that were supposed to be affecting him. Her voice was raspy, lascivious, and wanting.

“You want to torment me mercilessly, until I’m pressing myself against you, skin rubbing against skin, my hips grinding into yours, begging you to take me,” she continued, shivering despite herself, her fingers moving to brush lightly against his hand, pressing it firmly against her thigh. “And take me you will,” her eyes were drowning in his now, “hard and fast, pounding and thrusting until I’m gasping and groaning into your mouth, until you get exactly what it is you were after all along.” She moved his hand up, warmth radiating from his touch.

“Until I scream your name in pure ecstasy,” she finished, the corners of her mouth tugging up in a smirk. She guided his hand underneath her button-down school shirt, his fingers lightly brushing against the sensitive skin of her stomach.

She couldn’t have stopped the next noise if she had tried. It was all there, one simple word revealed the depths of her need, uncovered just what he had turned her into. How much only he could affect her, transform her into a wanton broad.

An erotic sigh of a sound. Her eyes slid shut.

“Alex.”

And when she opened them, when she tried to clear the blur of aching need, when she tried to keep herself from pitching forward into him, she somehow managed to force out the question, a distant attempt at some stupid game she thought was fun to play.

“Is that what you’re after, Mr. Flint?”
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Alexander Flint
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He was so close he could almost see how quickly her pulse raced beneath the skin on the soft slope of her neck, enough to know he’d be able to feel every rapid, throbbing beat of her heart were he to put his mouth to it. Her chest rose and fell erratically, her breathing shaky in his ear, and the fabric and folds of their clothing weren’t nearly enough to block the heat that flared between them. Alex could only imagine what her bare flesh would feel like under his palms. Surely it would scald. Ignite. Burn like an open flame.

This was how he wanted her. Forced onto the precipice of her desire, hanging on by a thread he alone could tug or release – giving, taking, pushing, pulling. Pleasure in a gasped breath; pain in a touch tauntingly withheld. Making her ache for him as he had ached for her, until she mewled and pleaded and writhed with her wanting, and only then giving her everything, all of him, again and again and again.

In the quiet thrill and heat of the moment, he forgot, briefly, that he wasn’t the only one who was capable of such effective manipulation.

“I don’t suppose it would be my superior wit?” Darcy wondered aloud, voice low but admirably controlled beneath the coquettish innocence. Alex felt his skin start to prickle – an electric urge that darkened his expression and filled his unwavering stare with something almost wryly scolding. They both knew damn well what he’d meant.

But he wasn’t expecting her to actually admit it.

“No,” she went on, throat moving in a tight swallow. The words rasped faintly on the way out, quiet with breathy certainty. “No, what I think you really want is me.” A brief silence, then, thick and lingering. Somehow her voice filtered through it in a resonant pitch even lower than the one before. “Or more accurately, it’s my body that you’re after, Mr. Flint.”

The shift in the air was palpable, a plunge into territory decidedly more dangerous. His pulse thrummed wildly in response to the stimulating force of her lust-filled stare, skin going taut as if preparing for an onslaught. And an onslaught it was.

“But that’s not it entirely.” Unabated, she continued, her tone so richly sensual and shamelessly unchaste it was easily, easily, the sexiest goddamn thing he’d ever heard in his life. He almost stopped breathing when her leg idly brushed against his knuckles again. “You want to tease me, torture me with tantalizing fingers until I am writhing under your touch, kiss me until my lips are red and swollen before turning your attention to the exposed skin of my neck, marking me as yours.”

There was a roar in his ears, an almost painful ache spreading over every inch of him, and the fingers that gripped the shelf above her head tightened until he was sure the wood would crack any moment now. It was the only thing keeping him from attacking her for this torturous discourse, grounding him when all he wanted to do was give in, give up, explode.

But a part of him wondered if he’d even be able to move if he tried. Her gaze was hypnotic, as binding as a spell, and it was unbearable, what she was doing to him now… but his pulse had never raced with this much excitement in his entire bloody life.

“You want to torment me mercilessly, until I’m pressing myself against you, skin rubbing against skin, my hips grinding into yours, begging you to take me.” Raw, lurid, wanting – every image she placed in his mind made him feel like he was going to combust. How he didn’t come completely undone when her fingers moved his hand to grip her thigh, he’d never know. The roar was deafening now, drowning out the rest of the world until there was only Darcy, only the heat of her beneath his hand, the way his touch alone could make her shiver like this.

“And take me you will,” she breathed, eyes never straying from his, “hard and fast, pounding and thrusting until I’m gasping and groaning into your mouth, until you get exactly what it is you were after all along.” His hand moved under her guidance, sliding over her thigh, her hip, fingertips brushing the hem of her shirt… “Until I scream your name in pure ecstasy.” And then beneath, slipping easily past the thin material, palm gliding over the smooth, taut skin of her stomach as something wicked and knowing tugged at her lips. Alex’s mouth went dry, head spinning from the contact, needing more, though he knew it would likely kill him if this was how he felt after one touch, and hardly a lewd one, at that. The fire of it still burned all the way down to his bones.

But it was nothing compared to what she did next. The way her neck tilted back almost imperceptibly, how her eyes slid shut and passion bloomed like a visible flush across every elegant line of her features, seeping thickly into the warm sigh that escaped her and ghosted like a physical caress against his skin.

“Alex.”

Holy fucking hell.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even think. Never in his life had he been so utterly incapacitated, his form so rigid he could have fractured in two right then and there and it wouldn’t have surprised him. This time the wood did crack beneath his grip, and the faint sound was the only thing that merged with the electric silence other than the violent pounding of his heart. Surely it was audible. It felt seconds away from bursting in his chest.

Only then did Darcy open her eyes to meet his, the blue cloudy with wanton hunger. “Is that what you’re after, Mr. Flint?” she finished, soft and breathless.

Oh, she was in such deep trouble.

The tension inside him rose to an excruciating pitch. His expression darkened. His breathing stilted. A fraction of a second passed.

And then he snapped.

He moved so quickly it was almost instantaneous – the broad, vicious sweep of his arm as it knocked everything off the larger shelf on the wall to their left, the clatter of supplies flying to the ground, the firm grip on her waist hauling her effortlessly onto the cleared space in a blur of skilled, fluid motion. Around them, the air crackled like magic barely withheld, even after they finally came to a standstill; Alex rooted in place between her legs, and Darcy perched just high enough now to be level with his lips. So close, but he didn’t move to meet them, not yet, too intent on making use of the last little bit of control he had left.

Fuck, he’d come this far. There was no way in hell he was going to let her get away with what she’d just done to him without a taste of retribution.

Give, take, push, pull.

“Flawless oration, Ms. Bishop,” he began lowly, the compliment convincingly mild even though his tone was strained. Its lightness still provided a startling contrast in the wake of the action that had just occurred. Jarringly soft in comparison to the tension in the air, the race of their hearts, the searing gaze he pierced her with. Something dark and promising settled in the blue, and he spoke in a whisper so close to her skin it blanketed the smooth surface with its heat.

“But show is so much better than tell.”

Lips curling faintly, he resumed, filling the heavy quiet with the cadence of his deep, graveled tone. “Where do I start, again? Teasing, was it?” he inquired lightly, as if he didn’t know. Ignorance blatantly feigned. He didn’t even bother waiting for a reply.

A slight roll of his shoulders and his robes huddled to the floor at his feet, one less layer to separate them. His lips neared hers with an apparent intent to kiss, but he pulled back at the last moment, a fraction enough for her to meet only air. Another grin, and his hand slid under the back of her shirt this time, fingers trailing a tantalizingly light path up her spine – higher, slowly, until she was arching into him, every delectable curve straining enticingly against the cotton of her thin shirt.

“Then I kiss…”

Slowly, finally, his mouth met hers. Patient at first, then demanding, coaxing her lips open for a deeper taste of her, hot and searching and passionate. He almost lost his head, kissing her like that. They moved so fluidly together, naturally, as if she belonged in his arms, against his body. The smell of her warm skin was making his blood race until he was light-headed.

But it wasn’t over yet, and with an almost inhuman surge of willpower, he managed to finally pull away from her, his ragged breathing the only thing belying his momentary loss of control. She hadn’t paid her due, and he was enjoying the game too much, anyway, even though it had to be killing him as much as it was killing her. He wouldn’t be able to last much longer.

Not that it mattered. He could perish at the end of this for all he cared.

So he moved his lips to the edge of her jaw, lingering briefly before dragging them down to the vulnerable flesh of her neck. “Mark you mine,” he growled, the word fanning wickedly across the impossibly soft, supple surface. And he did feel her fluttering heartbeat when he covered the space with his mouth, fire in the firm collision, ravenous and wanting. Possessive and greedy. His teeth grazed her skin, lips parting sharkishly when her breath hitched audibly in her throat.

Again, he forced himself away. Drawing back enough to meet her stare, see the desire there that mirrored his own, ache for her unbearably even as he spoke in a tone that was almost playful. Beneath the lightness, however, lurked a subtle reverberation of incontestable authority.

“This is the part where you beg, darling.”
Edited by Alexander Flint, Mar 4 2011, 01:21 AM.
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Darcy Bishop
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There were some things in life you could never be fully prepared for. Of course, many others had attempted to help counsel her on this particular task. There had been the forced birds and the bees talk to a glowering thirteen year old, who flatly informed her parents that she knew all of that already, having found Darien’s Playwizard stash a year earlier. There was Darien himself, who had assured her she would never have to worry about it because he would never let a boy within five feet of her. And Phoebe, who had informed her that no boy would want to come within five feet of her. Darcy herself, who had thought the whole business was just disgusting anyway.

Then of course there was Joel, a devastatingly handsome friend of Darien’s, who had shown Darcy that it was, in fact, not revolting in the slightest.

But none of this was helping her in her current state. Not even her dalliances with Joel could near this level of intensity. She didn’t remember the birds having quite this difficult of a time breathing, and the bees certainly hadn’t attacked their lovers like a dog in heat. Nobody had revealed just how hot her skin would burn as she imagined his fingertips tracing veins, or how wicked her thoughts would turn as she stared through blazing eyes. Nobody ever warned her that she would totter on the edge of a precipice, desperately attempting to hold on to her last shreds of control and dignity.

And nobody had told her that it would be Alex.

The boy was infuriatingly good at causing her arousal to peak, only to suddenly leave her cold and unsatisfied. But there was nowhere for him to go now, and Darcy was left with the very real knowledge that perhaps this time wouldn’t end in heartache. Or a busted lip.

Even while she thought this, she couldn’t help but drown in him. His fingers, splayed excitingly across the bare flesh of her stomach, his quick breath warm as it fanned against her cheek, his pulse thrumming wildly beneath her fingertips. Darcy could do this forever, taunt and tease him mercilessly, driving them both to the edge and then over it with a careless push. It took her only a moment to realize that perhaps she was closer to becoming more undone than he. The next found bottles crashing loudly to the floor, a firm arm hauling her clear off her feet, setting her roughly down so that they were eye to eye, lips to lips. She bit back a moan, pleasure quickly rushing through her entire body, amassing in sensitive regions until she thought she would explode if he didn’t touch her.

Where was the warning about sexy, possessive Slytherin’s who caused her to burst into flames with the slightest brush of his lips? Gods, she loved when he was like this. Harsh and rough around the edges, consumed with a power that only she could ignite. She reveled in it, hell, she writhed in it. And yes, she burned for it.

She wanted him. All of him. Now.

But Alex never was one for obedience. And she had the feeling she was about to suffer worse than the torture he had just endured.

“Flawless oration, Ms. Bishop,” he began, and she felt a spike of irritation tremble through her. No more words, Mr. Flint, just fucking take me already. But of course, her pride demanded she swallow that rather telling sentence. So she was forced to remain silent, quivering under his inflamed stare, fuming, lusting, and yes, apprehensive.

The thought suddenly occurred to her as he neared, lips moving so very close to her milky skin. She wasn’t going to win. Darcy found she was far more accepting of that at the moment than she normally would have been. Probably had something to do with the next words that whispered so seductively from his mouth, causing a shiver to travel down her spine.

“But show is so much better than tell.”

Was it even possible for her heart to pound any harder without exploding? Was it even possible for her to remain sitting there, motionless, when her arms itched to fling themselves about his neck? Yes, it was. And it stung like hell in the meantime.

“Where do I start, again?” he asked her mercilessly, lips curling to mirror how very wicked he truly was. “Teasing, was it?”

Darcy glared.

Darcy sort of glared.

Darcy showed a hint of a glare behind sensually parted lips and darkened irises. But it was there, nonetheless.

A glare.

Not a wanton lass sitting atop a shelf in a broom cupboard with a gorgeous god between her legs.

Definitely not that.

In her mind, she imagined herself watching with an indifferent stare as Alex carelessly discarded his robes, following their descent with a detached, almost bored look. Nothing could have been further from the truth. The fabric pooled around his ankles, but she didn’t notice them. She was much too busy letting her gaze wander hungrily over the last unbearably thin material that separated her from her prize. In her mind’s eye she saw glowing skin and firm muscles. Merlin help her, she was going to start drooling soon.

She should have known better than to lean forward as he neared her, but her body had ceased long ago to listen to her. A frustrated noise escaped her as he pulled back, leaving her with naught but air that crackled with electricity instead of dominating lips and a smooth tongue. Her eyes narrowed dangerously at his smirk, feeling the rather strong urge to take his lower lip between her teeth and bite down… hard. Show him not to mess with Darcy Bishop when she was in full hussy mode.

But he was already taking revenge to new heights, ones that had her arching into him without a second thought as his fingers teased up her spine, causing jolts of electricity to erupt downward. She wanted to sob from the pleasure of it all, wanted him to stop because it was overwhelming, but continue because it felt so damn good. Merlin, she had never felt this way, had never before reacted in this way to anyone. It was both terrifying and exhilarating, and a whole mess of other emotions that she couldn’t concentrate on when his husky voice was in her ear and his enticing fingers were pressing into bare skin.

“Then I kiss…” And he did. A slow, lingering kiss that quickly became needy, for gentle kisses had no place in this closet. Delicate fingers twisted brutally in his shirt, wrinkling it in her need to plunder his mouth thoroughly. And as she nipped and sucked and tasted and searched, and warred for him for dominance, she found the brief glimpse of a memory surfacing, so long ago when she had barely known him, yet perched on a desk, legs swinging as she goaded him. Her mouth curved into a smile against his because progress had been made, and even if she lost today, she had won that game.

He was here wasn’t he? And, might she add, wearing less garments at present than she. And contrary to what he may have believed, she had never begged.

Though she realized she was perilously close to doing just that as Alex somehow managed to pull himself away. Damn the boy to hell. No. Damn the boy to sharing a room with Reed in hell. He was slowly working his way into a place that he most certainly didn’t want to be.

Her chest heaved, straining against her crisp white shirt, gulping in breaths of air to combat her dizziness. Her breath was stolen before she properly recovered as he returned his lips, this time to her jaw, sliding his mouth over the bone in a whisper of a touch. Her eyes fluttered as she struggled to keep them open, surrendering as soon as she felt the warm caress of breath that lingered over her defenseless neck. Unconsciously, she angled her head, giving him further access to the expanse of vulnerable flesh.

“Mark you mine,” he growled as he covered her erratic pulse with a much more demanding touch of skin against lips. She sucked in a breath, her fingers curling reflexively in the cotton as she bit back a guttural moan. A small twinge of pain that was all but smothered in desire, her eyes squeezed shut against the waves of pleasure that wracked her small form. She cursed the thin layer that prevented her from grazing his chest with her nails in retaliation for the red mark that now marred her pale skin.

And she pretended like she wasn’t completely satisfied with its creation.

His. She was absolutely his. And he was hers. And Darcy, who never thought in a million years she would willingly allow a man to be possessive of her, was thrilled.

He drew back again, leaving her a panting mess of thwarted hunger. A deadly panting mess of thwarted hunger. Frustration crept upon her once more, entering her expression as she looked him over. Clothing disheveled, raven locks falling messily across his forehead, flushed cheeks and overbright eyes, dark in their intense regard of her, mirroring hers in carnality. She could have groaned again.

“This is the part where you beg, darling,” he commanded beneath an almost mild tone.

She nearly did. Nearly. Her open mouth was a testament of just how unhinged she was, but she wouldn’t be Darcy if she wasn’t able to gather some tattered bits of her pride back to her. And so when she spoke, it wasn’t something that resembled what her frantic mind urged her to say, Please, Alex, please, anything, I want you, I need you, just stop teasing and fuck me. Instead, her voice was low and ragged.

“Sorry, love, I don’t beg.” Her gaze smoldered as she allowed it to trace every curve of covered skin. Her fingers twitched in the tangled mess of his shirt. Her dark hair fell into her desirable eyes with a casualty she did not feel.

“I threaten,” she growled, using her hold in his shirt to jerk him towards her, needing more friction, more of his body against her. She hissed at the contact through gritted teeth, her eyes nearly falling shut. It still wasn’t enough.

“So you can bloody well put that wicked tongue of yours to good use,” she demanded, her eyes flashing to his swollen lips, faltering slightly as she added hoarsely, “or your hands, or well do anything but this insufferable teasing before I tear your clothing to shreds and resort to more unethical means to quench my desire.” The ending was strong, but revealed the insatiable lust the choked her. She sucked in a breath. “Binding you to a shelf is starting to look like a mighty fine idea, Alexander.”

And when he still paused, using some sort of inhuman strength to keep from attacking her like a Neanderthal (and honestly, it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds), Darcy exploded.

It had been a good run, she supposed. A girl could only take so much pent up sexual frustration.

A satisfying ripping noise rent the air as buttons flew across the small space. Greedily, she pushed his destroyed shirt off his shoulders, throwing it down to join his robes. She could not have prevented the gasp that escaped her no matter how hard she tried. It was unreal, his beauty, his perfection. Scars criss-crossed his supple skin, pulled taut over honed muscles that were just begging for her touch. For a moment, her consuming passion faded into awed reverence as she traced his skin with light fingertips, finding it to be smooth and silky, yielding slightly to her touch. She stared brazenly, a new, darker hunger filling her eyes as she looked her fill and then some, hand pressing harder, working its way lower, trying to scorch his skin as much as hers flamed.

“Now,” she warned, her voice riddled with raw need, breath hitching in a way that made her have to clear her throat before she could end it. Her hands slid over his pants, cupping his firm ass, pressing him closer to her own quaking flesh.

“Finish what you started, Mr. Flint, before I suddenly decide I’d rather leave you tied up and wanting.”
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Alexander Flint
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He almost smiled when the first hint of rebellion sparked fire-bright in the dark of her sapphire stare. A smile like triumph, because even her defiance was its own kind of victory.

He’d counted on that boldness. Knew her well enough by now to anticipate its arrival like clockwork, like a homecoming, and of course this was a victory, because Darcy was what he wanted; and Darcy was stubborn and reckless and headstrong. Darcy didn’t do as she was told, didn’t compromise her will for anyone, not even him, and even though it was quite easily her most frustrating trait, it was also her most admirable.

It made her who she was. She wouldn’t be Darcy if she listened to him. She would have left him to die in that cold hall that night, or given up on the idea of a future for them that afternoon in the rain. She wouldn’t be here right now, warm and wanting in his arms, ablaze with her dark-eyed beauty. She wouldn’t be the girl he’d fallen for. The girl he loved beyond reason, sense, possibility. The girl who’d conquered the unconquerable Alexander Flint.

He didn’t want her obedience.

He just wanted her.

“Sorry, love, I don’t beg,” she breathed in low dissent. And like the heartening flare of a familiar, treasured flame, she blazed up to meet him.

“I threaten.”

It ripped from the back of her throat like a snarl; a harsh avowal before collision. Sharply, she tugged him forward – hips on hips, thighs burning on either side of him, fingers tangling possessively in the material of his shirt. His chest tightened beneath the unyielding grip, breath catching behind clenched teeth, because fuck the friction ached like hell, but felt so good, and gods he wanted her. Every inch. Every curve. Every brush of heat of lips and palms and breath on skin.

“So you can bloody well put that wicked tongue of yours to good use,” she ordered roughly, and though her tone belied her desperate need it brooked no argument, “or your hands, or well do anything but this insufferable teasing before I tear your clothing to shreds and resort to more unethical means to quench my desire.”

She hummed with that desire. He was so close he could feel it pulsing through her skin, singing for him with every wild, raving beat of her heart, and the glow it lent her vivid blue stare made him feel like he was unfettering right where he stood; thread by hungering thread. She’d always been his downfall. His lovely, darling doom.

“Binding you to a shelf is starting to look like a mighty fine idea, Alexander.”

And for a moment, he stilled – checked by the name he only ever heard from the dark circle of people he consorted with when he wasn’t with her. But hearing it now, spoken firmly on a heated, ardent breath – no stiff, Pureblood formality, no frigid detachment – did something more than just set his heart racing. Because it was Darcy saying it now, and for some reason that felt strangely significant. Like she was reclaiming him in some small, essential way. Taking another little piece from the shadows. Freeing him.

Which is she, Flint, your doom or your salvation? his mind wondered with a touch of sardonic amusement.

The sound of his shirt being torn from his body rent the air before he could come up with an answer.

After that, he wasn’t doing much thinking at all.

Her stare devoured him in the quiet that followed, gleaming with an awe that would have tilted his lips if her touch hadn’t arrested him so thoroughly. He drew still beneath it, muscles contracting under the five dots of warmth that left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The exploration was almost tentative at first, her fingers barely a flutter across taut skin marked by the travails of his past; nicks and lines and jagged white markings. Some so faint they were nearly invisible. Others stark, like the one that had come dangerously close to ending it all. The one that had almost stolen him from her.

But it had also brought them together, that scar. That night in the hall. The tranquil days that followed after. It hadn’t fazed her then, and it didn’t faze her now – not with her touch growing more brazen the lower it went, how she splayed her palm eagerly across the ridges of his well-defined torso; the result of every grueling test and battle and duel he’d ever had to endure in order to prepare himself for his violent future.

She reclaimed that too. Mine, her touch whispered, and it hit him in his most primal places – somewhere low, somewhere raw, somewhere marrow-deep and vital. He’d had hands on him before, been the receiver of sly smiles and covetous stares, tried to sate a hunger in search of something he’d never been able to find in another person, but none of it had ever felt like this. Like Darcy.

She was it. She was what he'd been looking for.

“Now,” her voice returned on a faint, quivering breath, but there was nothing weak about the hands that slid around him, yanking him closer with impatient, greedy fervor. “Finish what you started, Mr. Flint, before I suddenly decide I’d rather leave you tied up and wanting.”

He couldn’t have held a grin back if he tried. Merlin, she was so sexy when she wanted something.

Especially when that something happened to be him.

His hands had been resting on her thighs until this point, but he moved them up now – strong, smooth, and unapologetic, his grip firm enough for her to feel every indent of his long, patient fingers. Glinting eyes fell on her red and gold tie, then, and he lifted a hand to it almost idly.

“You really should have been a Slytherin, you know,” he told her in a low tone that carried the faintest hint of a teasing lilt.

Right before his fingers clenched around the silky material and pulled her sharply forward again – meeting together in a deep, demanding clashing of lips that surely complied with her wishes for him to ‘put that wicked tongue of his to good use.’ He tasted her fervently, fire in every smooth, teasing stroke, but even though his eagerness was more than apparent, there was nothing rushed about his actions. No frenzy in the way his hand loosened her tie before sliding it away from her neck. No loss of control as he stripped her of her robes, skillfully, never once breaking contact with her impassioned mouth. His pace was restrained just enough for one last act of torment, because he loved the way she looked when she didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss him or kill him. How her cheeks flushed enticingly with anger, and ardor, and sexy-as-hell frustration.

The Sorting Hat hadn’t gotten him wrong at all.

He drew away again, breathing raggedly, but a slight smile parted his lips when he saw the telling crest of color pinkening her cheeks. Gently, he lifted a hand to her face and brushed a thumb across the burning surface. “We’ll get there, love,” he promised in a murmur as soft as it was seductive. “Let me show you my way.”

Slowly, then, his fingers trailed a path from her flushed cheek to the line of her jaw, ghosting downward across the velvet surface of her neck until they reached the top button of her collar. An expert motion of his hand and it popped free – and for a moment, he had to pause, because the urge to rip the rest of her shirt away when he saw that small, new section of flesh he’d exposed almost overwhelmed him. But he centered himself, knowing his patience would pay off in the end, and swallowed hard before continuing. Button… by button… by button. Savoring the act of uncovering her, basking in the slow reveal, relishing the way her chest rose and fell with every wavering breath she took.

And when he was done, he slid the thin material from her shoulders too – tenderly, as if she were something precious he wanted to handle with care, something to revel in and worship. And she was. The pale, smooth skin of her stomach, the swell of her breasts above the satin material of her bra, the way her beauty and perfection almost glowed from her—he was captivated. Rapt. Ensnared entirely.

He wanted more.

His gaze was dark as he lifted his hand to the thin strap at her shoulder, using his knuckles to coax it over the curve until it fell away to dangle at the side of her arm. Something primitive rose in him now, something driven by need, want, desire, and every single one of his nerves were on fire as his fingers trailed a slow path across the slightly flushed skin just above the edge of her bra – tracing their way downward until they came to the small connecting strip at the center. He hooked one finger beneath it, undid the clasp behind her back with a deft movement of his other hand, and tugged.

Away it fell, joining the other clothing they’d divested each other of, and his eyes stilled on her in silent, revering relish.

She was exquisite. Superlative. The most heart-rendingly beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life.

He had to bite back a groan as he drew her closer, dipping his mouth to her neck, needing the relief of her skin. “Do you know how lovely you are?” he breathed coarsely, reverently, hand splaying across the small of her back. “Have you any idea what you do to me?”

The words were a silky hiss across her flesh, hot and shaken. Unraveling. He brushed his lips over her collarbone, trailing a fiery path to the hollow at the base of her throat.

“I see you in the halls and ache I want you so badly.” His other hand skimmed her waist, her ribs, the side of her breast. He felt like he was plunging into the heart of a flame. “I think of stealing you away...” he whispered, voice a rumble against her skin, “... carrying you off somewhere... keeping you all to myself.” His palm covered her breast now, thumb whisping delicately over the sensitive peak. “I think of your lips... your skin..."

He took a shivering breath, lifting away enough to meet her stare with his hooded one. And then he reached for her wrist, drew it gently to the center of his chest, and pressed her palm above his heart so she could feel how powerfully it thundered just beneath the surface.

“You maraud me, Darcy Bishop," he told her, voice so soft it was nearly inaudible. "Every beat of this is yours.”
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Darcy Bishop
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Hard fingers moved along her thighs, hitching her skirt up slightly as they continued a long trek to her front, twisting in the scarlet and gold tie that still hung about her neck. For her part, Darcy forced herself to keep breathing, a difficult feat when every breath seemed to catch in her throat. Gods this boy was going to kill her before they even got to the good part. Not that this wasn’t good, this was wonderful, superb, excellent, infuriating, why was he such a bloody tease?

“You really should have been a Slytherin, you know,” he casually commented, as if he was just so damn witty. Her mouth dropped immediately, scathing remarks to that particular gem already on the tip of her tongue, but apparently Alex had been expecting this reaction. A sharp tug was all it took for her to fall and him to meet her with his mouth, swallowing the biting words before they could be uttered. And when his tongue darted skillfully to meet hers, exploring and plundering her so thoroughly her senses practically burned, she wondered why she had been about to curse him into a next life.

Something about being Slytherin, but she didn’t have to worry about that now, she had taken care of that matter back in her First Year, when she had threatened the Sorting Hat that she’d replace him with a fedora and turn his pitiful, ridiculous self over to Shaw for all eternity. But even this memory was hard to conjure up when her thoughts were being scattered, drowned by the overwhelming sensations that Alex was generating. But there was something missing, something that wasn’t quite right, and when he pulled away, looking at her with a tamed quality to his intense eyes, she gave him her most lethal glare.

Dear Alex was teasing her. Again. Bloody, shitastic, whore-fucking, teasing bastard, son of a bitch—

“We’ll get there, love,” his seductive murmur broke quietly through her thoughts, his thumb stroking her cheek in the barest of caresses. She found, rather belatedly, that red and gold was mixing with green and silver on the floor. And when had she been divested of her robe?

“Let me show you my way.”

She should have known better than to let anticipation flare, for it was extinguished by lazy movements and a patience that was entirely inhuman. Darcy found she cared not at all for his way. It was like those nightmares where you were trying to run away, but no matter how much you pushed, you never could seem to move faster than a snail’s pace. Yes, it was that. Only with buttons… on her shirt… which seemed to require an infinite amount of care in their undoing.

Strange, it hadn’t require this much care to undo her.

The sudden, inexplicable urge to bite him rose sharply within her.

She would have if he hadn’t chosen that exact moment to slide her blouse from her shoulders. His tenderness caused her stomach to churn anxiously, a moment’s unease stealing over her confidence. It wasn’t in him, it wasn’t in what they were doing, it was the fact that Darcy suddenly found herself wondering if he would approve of her. If he would find her as breathtaking as she found him. He was an absolute god of a man, and she was some peasant mucking about in the pig sty. For once, she wished she had taken more care with her appearance, slaved over herself in the mirror to ensure maximum appeal.

She wondered why it even mattered when such thoughts never had before, whether she was with guys or not.

But there was something about Alex, something that made her want to be flawless. Which was absurd really, since he had seen all her vices… and still had yet to run.

His irises darkened, her chest heaved. He pushed the strap of her bra over her shoulder, running a tantalizing finger down the skin, following curves, forcing her breath to hitch as the hook was undone. Freedom and cool air and she found him gazing at her almost painfully. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once, as though she had just shed another layer of her protection, entrusted it into his care. Worry gnawed at her as he observed silently, needless, for in the next moment his lips were at her neck, and all her concerns were allayed with a pained sentence.

“Do you know how lovely you are?” he murmured into her skin, causing her hands to creep back up his spine, fingertips digging into the taut skin. “Have you any idea what you do to me?” No, but yes, because he had the same effect on her. Bewitching, beguiling, I can’t breathe when I think about you. Her head tilted back as lips found purchase against her collarbone, electricity jolting up her spine, forcing her back to arch against his touch.

“I see you in the halls and ache I want you so badly,” he told her, low and hoarse, his skin warm against her stomach working upwards in a way that had her panting. How was she ever going to walk past him again without becoming instantly arousing knowing what wicked images played through his head? A groan escaped her at the mere thought.

“I think of stealing you away… carrying you off somewhere… keeping you all to myself,” he continued, heedless to the pink tinge her cheeks had taken, the way she fought to keep from squirming at his words.

“Gods,” she breathed in a barely there whisper, shuddering as his thumb brushed across the delicate peak of her breast, eliciting a current of pleasure that ran straight to her core.

“I think of your lips… your skin…” It was too much, but not enough. Agonizing ecstasy. Her hand moved to his waist, brushing his skin idly, no longer able to recognize what she was doing anymore. His words reverberated in her head, yet didn’t seem to make any sense as they fought the haze of lust that enveloped her in a cloud.

It cleared slightly when he moved, gazing into her eyes through the filmy veil of desire that had descended over his. He moved his hand down to grasp her wrist, sliding it upwards to press firmly into the center of his chest, his heart thumping wildly beneath their clasped hands. It was erotic, yet loving in a way that had a glowing warmth spilling through her.

“You maraud me, Darcy Bishop,” he whispered so low, she almost didn’t hear it passed the pounding in her ears, “Every beat of this is yours.”

And in that moment, she gave herself entirely to him.

“Careful, Alex,” she responded, her voice a breathy whisper, which she supposed was better than the moan it wanted to be, “You’re getting sappy in your old age.”

How many times had she deflected these serious moments in thus a way? How many times had she fled, running behind a wall that kept everybody at a distance, even those who cared for her? Darcy, for all her bravado, all her refusal to acknowledge any insecurity, was only human. Rejection was a sting that she could not bear. But his heart pounded wildly beneath her fingers, the crystalline blue swirled with sincerity and awe and love. And for the very first time in her life, Darcy let her heart reach out to his, let herself trust him completely in this profound moment. Besides, the strain of caging her heart would have killed her.

“And you’re in very real danger,” she continued, her tone colored by so many emotions, it sounded almost choked, as though she were about to burst into happy tears at the enormity of what she was allowing herself to say, “of me falling completely in love with you.”

A tentative smile crossed her lips, a feeling of elation flooding her chest. She couldn’t fully confess the depths of her feelings for him, not when she was only beginning to accept them herself, but she could show him how far they had come, how far she was willing to go. It was a new, wondrous feeling, this light and warmth that spilled from her. A bright cacophony of colors that made her want to throw her head back and laugh for the sheer pleasure of it. And it was all for him. It was all because of him. She wondered if he knew that he was the only who could ever invoke such gaiety in her, wondered if Alex knew that he was the only one she had ever fallen head over heels for.

The only man she ever would love with every fiber of her being.

Her fingers latched around his neck, tilting his head forward so she could rest her forehead against his. A tender moment, one that Darcy could never have predicted in a million years. All her passion and ferocity transforming into a calm pool of contentment and joy. Everything seemed magnified in that stillness. His breathing, fast and heavy, the warmth that exuded from his skin, the rising and falling of his bare chest, the sweet smell of lust that rolled off him in waves.

She grinned. “It was always you,” she whispered, another revelation to join the others that had echoed in this tiny closet, “Only you.” Her words were almost lost as she met his lips, slow and lingering and gentle. A stolen moment of softness before the impatient tide could sweep her under again.

And sweep it did. She backed away from him, eyes smoldering like embers as she licked her lips, tasting him on her tongue. “Now you’re never getting rid of me,” she informed him in a much more forceful voice, fueling strength with need. “Because you are mine,” she growled possessively, twisting her fingers into his hair, tugging his head back slightly to give her access to the smooth expanse of skin along his neck as she continued to torment him. “I want you to think of my lips…” she began, her mouth brushing ghost-like along the throbbing vein that ran down his neck, pulling away only far enough to stare into his eyes as the hand he had caught began a slow, firm descent.

“… and my skin…” Her voice was wicked as fingertips danced over his sensitive nipple, glided along ribs, following them as the curved towards the center, removing fingers as she went until there was one, circling his bellybutton in a moment of playfulness, before resuming the task at hand, dipping just under the waistband of his boxers, stopped from reaching her goal by encumbering garments. It deterred her only as long as it took for her to undo his belt, distracting him with teasing kisses to the underside of his jaw. A careless thump announced the successful removal, her fingers sliding to undo the button with ease, the zipper falling quickly. Only then did she resume, one hand winding back around his neck as the other dipped gracefully between his trousers and boxers.

“… and I want you to ache,” she hissed, cupping him through the thin material, mouth taking an impish curve as she peered up at him through her lashes, “for me… every day, for the rest of our lives.” The wicked glint in her eye covered the immensity of that implication slightly, as she couldn’t help but add with an endearingly innocent look she gave him, marred by the tiniest hint of a smirk, “And if you’re a good boy, I might just help you with that ache every few months.” Her grin was sharkish as her fingers stroked him almost unconsciously, knowing ‘every few months’ would never be satisfaction enough for him.

And then she turned entirely cruel. With great effort, she moved both hands to the shelf she perched on, using them to support her as she leaned back slightly, an attempt at breaking contact with the gorgeous man in front of her. Dark tendrils fell in waves down her bare back as she regarded him, a devilish light in her stare.

“Speaking of being good,” she began, tilting her head slightly, trying to force her lips into a frown when all they seemed capable of was a glittering smirk, “I’m not sure I should be so obliging with your current problem… not after that Slytherin remark.” Triumph tasted suspiciously like a death wish.

Darcy was back in the game.
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Alexander Flint
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Something inside of him was convalescing, ribbons of daylight stretching into the dark, making possible the quiet words of devotion that had slipped past his lips so simply. Years spent behind closed doors witnessing the kind of strength and magic most wizards could only dream of, and love was still the greatest miracle Alex had ever known.

She was changing him. Him. Had she any idea how significant that was? How remarkable? His foundations had been set in steel since birth, and she’d altered them with little more than a look – one glimpse into eyes that burned with a fire only she could produce so blazingly. For the first time in his entire existence, Alex could actually feel something. Joy. Love. Aching, radiant life.

His eyes traced the lines of her features in the darkness, soft and marveling. This was the girl who’d made the world unfold around him like a banner stitched with colors he’d previously known only by rumor. Who’d awakened his heart, filled in the cracks with her light. They were so entwined now his fate was bound in her bones, wrapped in her soul, locked in her gaze, and yes, this heart was hers. Entirely. Eternally. Beat by ardent beat.

“Careful, Alex.” A sly glint lit eyes still dark with lust, and the teasing lilt in her breathy voice was signature Darcy. “You’re getting sappy in your old age.”

His mouth quirked. It was true, he supposed. Impossibly, preposterously true. But only she could claim the rights to this candor, the sight of him laid bare; such an enormous departure from his usual detachment, it probably would have rendered him unrecognizable to others that knew him. Out there, he was impervious and cold-hearted, merciless and cruel, but with Darcy, he transformed. Shed layers and walls. Became something he was never meant to be, never fated for.

It was momentous in a way even her gentle teasing couldn’t touch, and the proof was in her slowly softening stare, in the warm trust that gleamed in her tender regard of him. How she opened, too, lowering her walls in a show of bare, honest affection that was just as significant as his had been. Just as miraculous.

“And you’re in very real danger,” she continued, brimming with so much emotion her voice nearly shook with it, “of me falling completely in love with you.”

The candid confession, the fragile smile, the faith and fondness in her eyes… Alex took all of it in, felt every ounce of its enormity, knowing how much it had cost for her to be able to entrust him with something so precious and dear and easily broken. It rocked him, igniting a reaction inside his heart so fiercely powerful it rivaled anything else he’d ever experienced in his entire life.

Gently, she drew his forehead down to meet her own. There, they rested, encased in each other’s warmth, and the grin that parted her lips was so breathtakingly bright and genuine it could have lit up a thousand nights.

“It was always you,” she murmured, low and loving, a secret devotedly imparted. “Only you.”

His chest tightened in a way that was almost painful, easing only when their lips met again – tenderly, this time, without show or ceremony. They didn’t need them. She was soft and lush against his mouth, and it felt as natural and right and easy as breathing. Real and unforced, connecting like magnetic opposites—two poles drawn together, atomically attracted, inescapably linked. Perfect, soul-deep alignment.

They were it.

Never again would he hurt her. He made it then and there, the vow, cradling the trust she’d granted like it was the most valuable treasure on earth. To him, it was. They’d been through so much trying to reach this point, an arduous, backbreaking trek down a perilous, obstacle-strewn road that had nearly killed them both, but they were here, together and breathing, and he would protect that now with all that he was, his very life if he needed to. Death, alone, would tear him from her.

And even he would need to put up a damn good fight. Alex wouldn’t go down without one.

Darcy, it seemed, was similarly minded.

Drawing back, she regarded him hungrily, eyes already rekindled with that wicked spark she wore too well. “Now you’re never getting rid of me,” she attested, firm and inarguable. Slender fingers twined in his kohl-black hair, tightening their covetous grip as her voice fell to a rippling growl. “Because you are mine.”

A sharp tug exposed his neck, and she covered the pulse fluttering blue beneath his jaw with the blazing heat of her mouth, breathing words against his shuddering skin. “I want you to think of my lips…”

He would. Merlin, he would.

“… and my skin…”

Fingertips skimmed his chest, his ribs, eliciting a slow burning ache inside him that coiled tight in his stomach before spiraling down, following the wicked trek of her wandering hand. He was so beset by her, he didn’t know what arrested him more – the anticipatory thrill that shot through him as she tugged insistently at his belt, or the torturous kisses she peppered along the tight line of his stubbled jaw. Involuntarily, his eyes closed, throat tightening when he felt her clever, artistic fingers undoing the button and zipper of his trousers, swallowing back a moan as she slipped deftly, easily, below.

“… and I want you to ache…”

Fuck,” he hissed, buckling, hands falling to either side of her on the shelf. Tendons rose on his arms in barely restrained tension, and oh, god, the friction of her fingers was almost unbearable. He ached beneath it, cursing the material separating her skin from his, needing her raw touch more than he could possibly articulate. Especially now, when every idle movement felt like an explosion in his veins, a spark of ignition building into cataclysmic lust.

“… for me… every day, for the rest of our lives.” Her lips curved impishly, siren eyes gleaming with a borrowed innocence that didn’t belong in their wicked, blue depths. Alex found he hardly cared. He’d crash into her willingly, let the tide pull him under, drown with her song in his ears, anything, anything, if he could only have her for a moment, a second, one taste of how it felt to be inside…

“And if you’re a good boy, I might just help you with that ache every few months,” she teased with a devil’s grin, and somewhere behind the buzz in his ears, he recognized the beginnings of a growl deep in the back of his throat, but she pulled him asunder again with one leisure stroke of her hand. Instantly. Effortlessly. How he remained standing, he’d never know.

How he kept breathing, he’d never know. And later, he’d marvel over how he managed not to kill her when she broke all contact entirely, without warning, leaning back against the shelf to study him with a languid and seemingly unconcerned gaze. Another act, surely, but the difference this time was that he did care. He cared a great goddamn deal. Especially if caring meant pinning her with the most dangerous glare he had at his disposal.

Unsurprisingly, she pretended not to notice. “Speaking of being good,” she breezed onward, adopting a small frown that clashed with the cruel mirth glinting in her eyes, “I’m not sure I should be so obliging with your current problem… not after that Slytherin remark.”

He held her gaze darkly for one thick, suspended moment, a muscle ticking faintly in his jaw; the only outward sign of the fierce struggle for control going on inside him.

One he lost in a millisecond.

So long self-restraint. It snapped the moment he hauled her into him, seizing her from her perch and bearing her in his arms so agilely there almost wasn’t time to blink before they’d spun, descended, finding inevitable refuge on the clothing-covered floor. More space, easier access to that agonizingly gorgeous body of hers, and the irony of exploring it atop robes and ties adorned with a forbidden conglomeration of reds, greens, silvers, and golds wasn’t lost on him.

The capricious smirk of Fate.

Anchored above his Gryffindor hellion, pulse still wild with the hunger she’d instilled, Alex soon felt his own lips begin to tug at the corners. It screamed of ill intentions, that look, and no other gesture could better compliment the simple words he issued next.

“Well, if you’re having a moral dilemma, darling, I suppose I’ll have to be snake enough for the both of us.”

His smirk deepened, edging darkly into his bristled cheek, and his eyes trailed a salacious path down every curve of her prone figure. Lightly, suggestively, he began tracing his fingers across the top band of her skirt, and for a brief moment, his gaze flickered up to meet hers again, glinting blue and devious beneath a loose strand of raven hair.

“Starting… here, I think,” he mused, as if there’d ever been a question. And with impatient efficiency, his hands fell to either side of her hips, hooked beneath what remained of her clothing and tugged down hard, once, knickers and all.

“That was for the shirt,” he informed her mildly. Trying not to lose his damn mind. She was ivory in the dark, pale and perfect and as softly bright as the moon at dusk, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so glorious in all his life.

“And this...” his voice fell a pitch, husky with the onset of desire, but he forced himself onward, because he wasn’t near finished with her yet. “... is for everything else.”

He kept the words purposely ambiguous, leaving her to wonder whether it was pleasure or punishment he promised, and slowly… methodically… began drawing her wrists above her head. The bones were light and pliable, so slim he could easily encompass both in the fingers of one hand, and he did so firmly, locking them together in a grip gentle enough not to harm, but unyielding enough to imprison. Another sinful thing ghosted across his lips, but this one was almost lost in the act of bringing his mouth to her ear, tracing the intricate inner edges with a lilting whisper.

“If you’re not going to be nice, you’re not allowed to touch.”

Unfair, really. Especially since Alex had no intentions of being nice himself. That much was clear as his lips began their slow descent, grazing her skin with lingering kisses, devouring her like she was all he’d ever been hungry for. Her neck, her collarbone, the smooth expanse just above her heart – he savored every inch of it, breath fanning hotly over skin already flushed with a fire that burned beneath the surface for him. All his. His at last.

A lawless grin spread shameless across his lips. He found her breast, brought the budded peak into the silk-tongued heat of his mouth, torturing with a flick, a gentle tug of teeth. Above her head, his hand tightened around her wrists instinctively, hindering escape for the space of a breath... and then, slowly, unexpectedly, he released her.

It wasn’t mercy. He was intoxicated, half-drunk on the need she was igniting in him, but he wanted her pushed to the brink before he took her. He wanted her to hang as precariously on the edge of insanity as he had done, bewitch her with the fiery enticement of his touch. Pleasure and punishment both, all at once, and with hands now free, he could bestow it.

Down, he moved, corded arms braced on either side of her, viciously adoring as he dragged his lips over her smooth stomach. He felt her body quiver, react, grow more and more taut the further he went, slowly, slowly down, until hands curved around her thighs, and he reached her intimate heart, her warm center, descended. He took her in his hot mouth, artful and ruthlessly patient, skilled tongue darting deep, stroking the most sensitive part of her until she bucked, writhed, whimpered, and he braced her as she trembled, urging her towards release, pushing her to the edge…

But not yet.

He was only half-aware of his own movements, the forced retreat away from her, extinguishing the last vestiges of his control in the swift act of stripping himself bare, kicking free his restrictive clothing. He couldn’t wait anymore, had no more strength in which to torment, and they were both ready now, both ablaze. He’d never intended to let her suffer for long.

She could kill him later. After. Provided they lived through this at all.

Alex wasn’t entirely certain he would. His heart raced errantly as he levered himself above her, braced on his elbows just enough to feel the soft length of her beneath him. Their stares smoldered as they met, blue as the heart of a flame, and she was so close to coming undone, so bewitching and beautiful with her alchemy, that his gaze grew dark with want in the electrifying stillness – a predator’s focus, intent on her capture.

But there was something deeper there, too; something tender far below, a brief search in her eyes for an acceptance she’d already granted him. He found it easily, the trust that had never left, and only then did he finally allow his last self-imposed barrier to break, dissolve away in a flood of love and lust and her.

He let go.

With a thrust, he entered her—fierce, wild, and deep. Every single muscle in his body seemed to sigh in the collision’s aftermath, a collective exhale of finally. His eyes slid shut, rapture rushing over him in aching waves that made him bow his head to her neck, blanketing the skin with his shivering breaths. Every exhalation was dedicated to her, every murmured endearment lost in the ardent heat of their union. They fell easily, automatically, into synchronization, moving as two halves, matching each other motion for motion. Barely divisible from one another as they blurred at the edges, a molten coalescence of lips and skin and hands.

They were unmasked and artless, lost in their magic, and this love for her was the only thing time or shadows couldn’t steal. Here, they were untouchable. Here, they blazed.

Together, they could make the sun stand still, and they opened to one another like blossoms in the light.
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