FICLET: "Mirror Images" (Tom/Minerva, NC-17)
Title: “Mirror Images”
Pairing: Tom/Minerva
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: This is the first my Minerva has really been back since Reversathon. She took her cloves and a bottle of whiskey and left after giving me the finger. But she's returned... I hope for a while.
"Mirror Images"
His hand caressed her cheek and Minerva leaned unconsciously into the touch.
*
His hand curled around hers, electric ice rushing up her arm and making her heart skip a beat. Startled, she looked at him to see if he felt it too. But he simply smiled at her, his dark eyes unreadable. Perhaps it was her imagination then.
“Is something the matter?” he asked, voice curling with the slightest hint of amusement.
“No. Nothing is the matter, except that I’m holding hands with a Slytherin,” she retorted, but the venom which had come to her so easily before, was no long there. Words were merely words, lacking the power to curse..
He chuckled softly and pulled her forward to him, bending so his lips hovered just above hers. “Not a Slytherin. The Slytherin, Minerva.”
Then his lips touched hers.
*
He whispered against her ear, quiet hisses that rippled through her, making her undulate in his arms. Making her wonder again, again, if she weren’t serpentine beneath her leonine locks.
*
“It’s perfect now,” he murmured and she turned to the heavy gold mirror floating only a few feet way. There in the mirror were their reflections, mirror images of pale perfection. Rather than looking at the finished tattoo, she looked to him, Tom’s dark head pressed to hers, the black hair blending with her own ebony locks.
But his eyes were nothing like hers. Hers were rich green, flecked with light sparks of gold, instead of the deep brown which saw everything. Which were lit with fire as they traveled down her naked form, displayed for him in the mirror. Rose petal skin caressed into sweeping curves that molded to his body in long legged tangles and whispered sighs. The elegant roundness of her arse nestled back to the hard ridge of his cock, hidden in wool and cotton..
His fingers trailed along her hip reverentially and she glanced down then. The green and black ink was their promise, their pledge to one another. She placed her hand on his and pressed it flush to her skin, feeling the snake shiver under her skin.
*
It shuddered in her, ever a part of her, inescapable as his presence was. His hands wrapped around her, fingers firm and body heavier than it should be as it pressed her down to the bed.
*
Her hips rolled to him, practiced from the nights spent hidden in one of the secret rooms he found in his exploration of the castle. He wanted to know all the secrets it would yield to them, to extract all the secrets and knowledge that her mind held. Penetrating through labyrinthine corridors of stone and memory, pausing to revel in his effect on her. She tightened around him, drawing him deeper, wordlessly begging him for more.
He obliged her with sharp slams, hammering his cock into her again and again, sending her plummeting into the swirling darkness as her body shuddered and writhed.
*
The shadows rushed up around her now, the uncanny awareness of surrender to his hands, to his will, and to her future. She arched under him. Once. Twice.
Then lay still.
*
That which was once Tom Riddle rose from the bed, flexing his hands to extend then hold the sensations which shivered over them. Power. The crude, but effective power of bone and muscle.
He looked down at that which was once Minerva McGonagall and nodded in regal satisfaction. He told her this day would come. Betrayal must be punished and he had taken everything from her that he could. Information torn from her mind, heedless of damage. Decades before he had been careful, caressing her with a touch as gentle as the flicker of a snake’s tongue, but now there was no need.
He knew were the boy was. Who was with him.
With one final glance at the dark hand prints around Minerva’s aged throat, he turned with a whisper of robes and swept out to his hunt, leaving death spread on tartan sheets.
*
His hand caressed her cheek and Ginny leaned unconsciously into the touch.
Commenters go to heaven.
Pairing: Tom/Minerva
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: This is the first my Minerva has really been back since Reversathon. She took her cloves and a bottle of whiskey and left after giving me the finger. But she's returned... I hope for a while.
"Mirror Images"
His hand caressed her cheek and Minerva leaned unconsciously into the touch.
*
His hand curled around hers, electric ice rushing up her arm and making her heart skip a beat. Startled, she looked at him to see if he felt it too. But he simply smiled at her, his dark eyes unreadable. Perhaps it was her imagination then.
“Is something the matter?” he asked, voice curling with the slightest hint of amusement.
“No. Nothing is the matter, except that I’m holding hands with a Slytherin,” she retorted, but the venom which had come to her so easily before, was no long there. Words were merely words, lacking the power to curse..
He chuckled softly and pulled her forward to him, bending so his lips hovered just above hers. “Not a Slytherin. The Slytherin, Minerva.”
Then his lips touched hers.
*
He whispered against her ear, quiet hisses that rippled through her, making her undulate in his arms. Making her wonder again, again, if she weren’t serpentine beneath her leonine locks.
*
“It’s perfect now,” he murmured and she turned to the heavy gold mirror floating only a few feet way. There in the mirror were their reflections, mirror images of pale perfection. Rather than looking at the finished tattoo, she looked to him, Tom’s dark head pressed to hers, the black hair blending with her own ebony locks.
But his eyes were nothing like hers. Hers were rich green, flecked with light sparks of gold, instead of the deep brown which saw everything. Which were lit with fire as they traveled down her naked form, displayed for him in the mirror. Rose petal skin caressed into sweeping curves that molded to his body in long legged tangles and whispered sighs. The elegant roundness of her arse nestled back to the hard ridge of his cock, hidden in wool and cotton..
His fingers trailed along her hip reverentially and she glanced down then. The green and black ink was their promise, their pledge to one another. She placed her hand on his and pressed it flush to her skin, feeling the snake shiver under her skin.
*
It shuddered in her, ever a part of her, inescapable as his presence was. His hands wrapped around her, fingers firm and body heavier than it should be as it pressed her down to the bed.
*
Her hips rolled to him, practiced from the nights spent hidden in one of the secret rooms he found in his exploration of the castle. He wanted to know all the secrets it would yield to them, to extract all the secrets and knowledge that her mind held. Penetrating through labyrinthine corridors of stone and memory, pausing to revel in his effect on her. She tightened around him, drawing him deeper, wordlessly begging him for more.
He obliged her with sharp slams, hammering his cock into her again and again, sending her plummeting into the swirling darkness as her body shuddered and writhed.
*
The shadows rushed up around her now, the uncanny awareness of surrender to his hands, to his will, and to her future. She arched under him. Once. Twice.
Then lay still.
*
That which was once Tom Riddle rose from the bed, flexing his hands to extend then hold the sensations which shivered over them. Power. The crude, but effective power of bone and muscle.
He looked down at that which was once Minerva McGonagall and nodded in regal satisfaction. He told her this day would come. Betrayal must be punished and he had taken everything from her that he could. Information torn from her mind, heedless of damage. Decades before he had been careful, caressing her with a touch as gentle as the flicker of a snake’s tongue, but now there was no need.
He knew were the boy was. Who was with him.
With one final glance at the dark hand prints around Minerva’s aged throat, he turned with a whisper of robes and swept out to his hunt, leaving death spread on tartan sheets.
*
His hand caressed her cheek and Ginny leaned unconsciously into the touch.
Commenters go to heaven.