One-Shot Request Completed
Hey Mandy, you haven't been on lately, so I decided to tempt you with some Tom/Minerva...hehe. I know how much you love that pairing. ;)
Title: The Puppet Master
Prompt: the puppet master
Pairing: Tom/Minerva
Category: one-shot
Word Count: 1352
Rating: M/ NC-17, to be safe
Warnings: dark, smut
Author's Notes: Dedicated to a special friend,
mandya06 , who is a big fan of Tom/Minerva. Special thank-you to
starzangelus for doing an awesome job of beta-ing this fic. *hugs*. Completion of
7spells prompt. Prompt table.
Summary: Minerva has a secret fetish for control, but she’s about to learn what true domination means.
She knows it’s not allowed.
Strictly forbidden.
Surely that was part of the appeal. Sneaking in corridors, hiding in shadows, sweet moans and gasps amidst stony silence, chased by the ever latent danger of watchful eyes, a quick wand and the promise of a lashing during detention.
Perversely, it makes this game of cat and mouse all the more interesting. All the more arousing.
There is a strange sort of headiness that comes with defying the rules for once, a subtle sense of power rushing over her head for having one-upped the caretaker and other Prefects. She finds this new sensation overwhelming.
Addictive.
It’s the last thing a Prefect like Minerva McGonagall should ever indulge in. Who would have thought that prim, proper, by-the-books Minerva would be here, safely locked in the security of an empty classroom, getting her brains fucked out by Roger Muller.
He had been surprised when she’d first suggested the idea, unable to comprehend from whom this request was coming. Was this really his perfect, innocent and brilliant girlfriend of three years speaking?
It hadn’t taken much convincing to twist his arm.
“Ahhhh-” The sound of his groan and the feel of his fingers at just the right spot finally undoes her, pullinghim on top of her frantically, kissing himfervently, an order on her lips: “Now.”
He smiles back lovingly, returning her fluster of kisses with gentler, softer ones until she is calmed down. With one last kiss and an “I love you” feathered against her lips, he slowly enters her and she tilts her head back, enjoying the feel of him within her; his hand upon her breast, his tongue expertly flicking over the other nipple.
Quick as lightning, she flips him on his back, grinning widely at the low, deep groan she forces from his throat when she squeezes her walls tightly around him. Rocking back on him, she sets her pace and waits for him to follow.
Somewhere deep down, she knows she shouldn’t enjoy this as much as she does.
----------------------------------------
She knows it’s not allowed.
And yet, he sees her running off to frolic with that clueless boy every night, the pair of them going at it tactlessly, rutting like dogs in heat. Too busy wrapped in each other’s arms to notice their surroundings, too careless to check the window, or they would have seen the boy who had a clear view to everything down below. Foolish to think they wouldn’t be noticed, wouldn’t get caught; only a locked door keeping them from months of detention, or worse…
So much risk for a quick fuck. He wonders why she bothers.
And perhaps that’s what compels him to stay, to watch this to completion.
He sees his answer as the boy climaxes, the glint that flashes across her eyes, so brief and quickly concealed by her own orgasm, that for a moment, he thinks it a trick of the light. Surely not her. But as the two of them lay there, flushed and panting, sweat sleeked across their bodies, and the buffoon of a boy cradled like a child in her arms, he recognizes that slight tilt of her lips and finally understands.
Tom grins widely as a thought enters his mind. A little experiment.
And he had already found his mouse.
He knows she would never agree to it and somehow, the thought of…convincing her, only flames his sudden excitement.
Perversely, it makes this game of cat and mouse all the more interesting... all the more arousing...
Kicking off from where he stood, Tom rushed down the staircase, making his way to her end of the castle in confident strides. He is a Prefect on duty and there is no need for secrecy. The hunter was on the move to claim his prey.
There’s a strange sort of headiness that comes with enforcing the rules for once, an immense sense of righteous power for having law, justice and light on his side. The feeling is so seldom that he feels overwhelmed. Addicted.
Tom waits. He watches silently from the shadows as they emerge cautiously from the classroom, hand in hand, memories of their lovemaking still fresh in each other’s mind. The boy’s expression is one of smitten adoration, but in Minerva, Tom senses something else. Something much more intriguing. The barest hint of darkness that he wouldn’t have imagined existed in one so pure.
It’s enough to convince him of what he is about to do next…
---------------------------
“Don’t.”
He does anyway, and she mewls out a reluctant moan, biting into her lip so hard it draws blood. Behind her, she can hear him chuckling. A deep, rich tenor that sets her nerves aflame with yearning and anger.
She hates him. She does.
Not because he’s a Slytherin, not even because he bests her in every subject. She thinks that those things, which used to be so important to her, pale in comparison to what he does to her now.
There are no words for what he does.
Because it’s not just the way he comes for her every night, whether she’s willing or unwilling. It’s not the way he slams her hard against the corridor wall and whispers hot, dirty thoughts into her ear, or the way he rips off his tie with a definitive snap like the crack of a whip. Not the way he’ll force her arms above her head or pull the tie so hard around her wrists it’ll leave red welts the next day.
It’s certainly not the way he takes her, rough and dominating. Not at all like Roger. There is no warmth as he rips her shirt and the buttons go scattering across the floor. No kindness in the way he gropes her breasts hungrily, thumbing his hand across the nipples until they are hard like pebbles and her thighs are aching for release.
She hates him because he makes her want him without giving anything in return.
And she doesn’t know what it is that makes her go back. He doesn’t love her. Doesn’t even pretend. No honeyed lies or false endearments as his hand snakes up her thigh. Only the hot, hushed whispers of “spread your legs for me, my little whore," before his fingers are inside her panties and she’s moaning and wet under his touch with nothing but that mocking, velvety laugh for comfort.
She doesn’t know why she keeps going back.
But when he pushes inside her, full and filling her to the brim, when he moves with her stroke for stroke and she feels the fire pool in her stomach; when he pulls her so close that she feels as if she’ll meld into one with him, when she catches that certain glint in his eye-the intensity and danger lurking just beneath…it leaves her senseless.
To the point where she doesn’t know right from left or light from dark, up or down and good from evil…it’s enough to make her forget herself...and him…who he is…and what this means…
She doesn’t know why she goes back to him, but she thinks he knows.
It’s in the way his eyes glint red sometimes, and how he always holds onto her so possessively. It’s the way he forces her to call out some strange name (Voldemort) when she comes. It’s in the way he kisses her, so soft and gentle, nothing like what the rest of his body is doing.
She sees the mockery in those dark eyes and the smirk upon his lips and thinks that she begins to understand what he is doing.
Sometimes, he lets her have her way with him, simply sitting back and watching silently. It’s those times that Minerva becomes most aware of just how dangerous Tom Riddle is. It’s those times when she remembers her old self and her nights with Roger- of her former glory.
And as she straddles him, remembering her past, Minerva realizes that is exactly what Tom wants her to do. He wants her to realize his power.
Because it’s already too late. She is already his and he will never let her go.
Somewhere deep down, she knows she shouldn’t enjoy this as much as she does.
~Fin
Title: The Puppet Master
Prompt: the puppet master
Pairing: Tom/Minerva
Category: one-shot
Word Count: 1352
Rating: M/ NC-17, to be safe
Warnings: dark, smut
Author's Notes: Dedicated to a special friend,
mandya06 , who is a big fan of Tom/Minerva. Special thank-you to
starzangelus for doing an awesome job of beta-ing this fic. *hugs*. Completion of
7spells prompt. Prompt table.
Summary: Minerva has a secret fetish for control, but she’s about to learn what true domination means.
She knows it’s not allowed.
Strictly forbidden.
Surely that was part of the appeal. Sneaking in corridors, hiding in shadows, sweet moans and gasps amidst stony silence, chased by the ever latent danger of watchful eyes, a quick wand and the promise of a lashing during detention.
Perversely, it makes this game of cat and mouse all the more interesting. All the more arousing.
There is a strange sort of headiness that comes with defying the rules for once, a subtle sense of power rushing over her head for having one-upped the caretaker and other Prefects. She finds this new sensation overwhelming.
Addictive.
It’s the last thing a Prefect like Minerva McGonagall should ever indulge in. Who would have thought that prim, proper, by-the-books Minerva would be here, safely locked in the security of an empty classroom, getting her brains fucked out by Roger Muller.
He had been surprised when she’d first suggested the idea, unable to comprehend from whom this request was coming. Was this really his perfect, innocent and brilliant girlfriend of three years speaking?
It hadn’t taken much convincing to twist his arm.
“Ahhhh-” The sound of his groan and the feel of his fingers at just the right spot finally undoes her, pullinghim on top of her frantically, kissing himfervently, an order on her lips: “Now.”
He smiles back lovingly, returning her fluster of kisses with gentler, softer ones until she is calmed down. With one last kiss and an “I love you” feathered against her lips, he slowly enters her and she tilts her head back, enjoying the feel of him within her; his hand upon her breast, his tongue expertly flicking over the other nipple.
Quick as lightning, she flips him on his back, grinning widely at the low, deep groan she forces from his throat when she squeezes her walls tightly around him. Rocking back on him, she sets her pace and waits for him to follow.
Somewhere deep down, she knows she shouldn’t enjoy this as much as she does.
----------------------------------------
She knows it’s not allowed.
And yet, he sees her running off to frolic with that clueless boy every night, the pair of them going at it tactlessly, rutting like dogs in heat. Too busy wrapped in each other’s arms to notice their surroundings, too careless to check the window, or they would have seen the boy who had a clear view to everything down below. Foolish to think they wouldn’t be noticed, wouldn’t get caught; only a locked door keeping them from months of detention, or worse…
So much risk for a quick fuck. He wonders why she bothers.
And perhaps that’s what compels him to stay, to watch this to completion.
He sees his answer as the boy climaxes, the glint that flashes across her eyes, so brief and quickly concealed by her own orgasm, that for a moment, he thinks it a trick of the light. Surely not her. But as the two of them lay there, flushed and panting, sweat sleeked across their bodies, and the buffoon of a boy cradled like a child in her arms, he recognizes that slight tilt of her lips and finally understands.
Tom grins widely as a thought enters his mind. A little experiment.
And he had already found his mouse.
He knows she would never agree to it and somehow, the thought of…convincing her, only flames his sudden excitement.
Perversely, it makes this game of cat and mouse all the more interesting... all the more arousing...
Kicking off from where he stood, Tom rushed down the staircase, making his way to her end of the castle in confident strides. He is a Prefect on duty and there is no need for secrecy. The hunter was on the move to claim his prey.
There’s a strange sort of headiness that comes with enforcing the rules for once, an immense sense of righteous power for having law, justice and light on his side. The feeling is so seldom that he feels overwhelmed. Addicted.
Tom waits. He watches silently from the shadows as they emerge cautiously from the classroom, hand in hand, memories of their lovemaking still fresh in each other’s mind. The boy’s expression is one of smitten adoration, but in Minerva, Tom senses something else. Something much more intriguing. The barest hint of darkness that he wouldn’t have imagined existed in one so pure.
It’s enough to convince him of what he is about to do next…
---------------------------
“Don’t.”
He does anyway, and she mewls out a reluctant moan, biting into her lip so hard it draws blood. Behind her, she can hear him chuckling. A deep, rich tenor that sets her nerves aflame with yearning and anger.
She hates him. She does.
Not because he’s a Slytherin, not even because he bests her in every subject. She thinks that those things, which used to be so important to her, pale in comparison to what he does to her now.
There are no words for what he does.
Because it’s not just the way he comes for her every night, whether she’s willing or unwilling. It’s not the way he slams her hard against the corridor wall and whispers hot, dirty thoughts into her ear, or the way he rips off his tie with a definitive snap like the crack of a whip. Not the way he’ll force her arms above her head or pull the tie so hard around her wrists it’ll leave red welts the next day.
It’s certainly not the way he takes her, rough and dominating. Not at all like Roger. There is no warmth as he rips her shirt and the buttons go scattering across the floor. No kindness in the way he gropes her breasts hungrily, thumbing his hand across the nipples until they are hard like pebbles and her thighs are aching for release.
She hates him because he makes her want him without giving anything in return.
And she doesn’t know what it is that makes her go back. He doesn’t love her. Doesn’t even pretend. No honeyed lies or false endearments as his hand snakes up her thigh. Only the hot, hushed whispers of “spread your legs for me, my little whore," before his fingers are inside her panties and she’s moaning and wet under his touch with nothing but that mocking, velvety laugh for comfort.
She doesn’t know why she keeps going back.
But when he pushes inside her, full and filling her to the brim, when he moves with her stroke for stroke and she feels the fire pool in her stomach; when he pulls her so close that she feels as if she’ll meld into one with him, when she catches that certain glint in his eye-the intensity and danger lurking just beneath…it leaves her senseless.
To the point where she doesn’t know right from left or light from dark, up or down and good from evil…it’s enough to make her forget herself...and him…who he is…and what this means…
She doesn’t know why she goes back to him, but she thinks he knows.
It’s in the way his eyes glint red sometimes, and how he always holds onto her so possessively. It’s the way he forces her to call out some strange name (Voldemort) when she comes. It’s in the way he kisses her, so soft and gentle, nothing like what the rest of his body is doing.
She sees the mockery in those dark eyes and the smirk upon his lips and thinks that she begins to understand what he is doing.
Sometimes, he lets her have her way with him, simply sitting back and watching silently. It’s those times that Minerva becomes most aware of just how dangerous Tom Riddle is. It’s those times when she remembers her old self and her nights with Roger- of her former glory.
And as she straddles him, remembering her past, Minerva realizes that is exactly what Tom wants her to do. He wants her to realize his power.
Because it’s already too late. She is already his and he will never let her go.
Somewhere deep down, she knows she shouldn’t enjoy this as much as she does.
~Fin