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rarepair_shorts2008-04-13 03:29 am
tristesses.livejournal.com) wrote in rarepair_shorts2008-04-13 03:29 am
Entry tags:
Ficlet: The Ballroom at Midnight (Rufus/Tonks, R)
Title: The Ballroom at Midnight
Pairing: Rufus/Tonks
Prompt: masquerade
Rating: Very intense R, for sex. But still R.
Word Count: 1353, which I hope isn't too long.
Summary: Tonks gets drunk at a Ministry event. Rufus is surprised.
Author's Notes: The previous fics aren't necessary for understanding, but they're nice to have read for background. Find them in the prompt table, linked below.
Prompt table: [link]
She’s got him pinned against the wall, gripping his hips, and although he’s not quite putting out the effort she’s used to it’s fine to her scotch-addled mind, which is more concerned with undoing the buttons on his trousers than critiquing the poor lad on his technique. Tonks has the feeling he’s alarmed at her aggressiveness, but she doesn’t care; if he didn’t want her he’d push her off, right? She’s a small girl, relatively speaking, and clumsy even without alcohol, so really, just one tip! and she’d be down for the count, but he’s not doing anything, therefore she’s going to do it, she wants something she can’t have so she’s going to settle for the fucking surrogate –
“Auror Tonks.” The voice could have frozen mercury, melted nitrogen, made dementors cry, and it sends her stumbling down and away and to the floor, which seems like a longer fall and a closer hit than she’d imagined. The boy – and he’s really just a boy, stupid Tonks, dirty old woman already – flees, sweet redheaded boy, she wants to apologize for gratuitously groping him at a Ministry party but he’s gone through the door and that leaves her to deal with Rufus Scrimgeour, glowering down at her, canary eyes like miniature supernovas positively radiating fury.
“Unprofessional.” It cuts her, and she flinches as if it were physical. It’s quite possibly the biggest insult in his mental dictionary, right alongside 'Death Eater' and 'downright idiot', the latter of which could be applied to her, since he’s the one she was pretending to be snogging against the wall.
“Yes,” he snaps, and drags her to her feet roughly, her wrist’ll bruise later but that’s okay because he touched her, and she’s so pathetically attuned to their proximity it barely registers when he keeps speaking until she suddenly snaps to and hears what he’s saying.
“Unprofessional, immature, idiotic, far below what I would have expected of you as an Auror and as a woman, disgraceful, humiliating! How you can even think of shagging bloody teenagers across the hall from your superiors is beyond me – ” and Tonks is hurt to the point of tears but she’ll be damned if he sees her cry, and she’s sick of his hissed insults and his denial of his lust for her and she just wants him to shut up and kiss her already, so –
“Shut the fuck up,” she says, and jerks her wrist from his grasp. For a moment he looks completely floored, and she revels in that, then his face closes, hardens, and he opens his mouth to say something else, but no, she’s not going to let him.
“You heard me,” she repeats, “I said shut the fuck up and listen to me.” She’s not slurring, which is impressive, but she thinks she may be speaking louder than she should, so she tones it down and grabs him by the collar and drags him to her, her lips at his ear.
“How dare you condescend to me like that,” she hisses, “how dare you treat me like a chit of a girl, a stupid slag you get to boss around and fuck with because you like the power trip so much.”
He jerks his head at that, smacking into hers, and although that sends her reeling she fists his jacket and catches herself at the last minute, refusing to stop her stream of thought, the words she’s been wanting to say for so long but has been too much of a coward to say.
“You have no idea – that’s right, no fucking idea! – what you’ve done to me, you and your bloody smirks and your bloody eyes and the way you talk to me. It’s not – ” despite her best attempts at control, tears are leaking out the corners of her eyes and weakening her, weakening her resolve and making her want to curl up and ignore the world “ – it’s not fair, that’s what it’s not! Because after all this, after all I put myself through, you have the bloody nerve to go and lecture me about sleeping around when it’s all your fault, all your fucking – ”
He kisses her, crushing their lips together like he’s recovering from oxygen addiction, it’s harsh and messy and painful but oh holy mother of fuck it’s so good. She stumbles back and inadvertently yanks him forward but since he’s pinning her against the wall now and gripping her wrists, holding them against the cold stone and absolutely ravishing her with his mouth and teeth and tongue, she doesn’t mind her clumsiness so much. There’s a sharp pain on her lip that sends a throb of sensation to the pit of her stomach, where it collects and pulses between her legs, and now she tastes blood in her mouth (or it could be the whiskey) but no, she doesn’t care at all, she’s far too focused on the scent and taste and feel of the moment to worry about things like blood.
He lets go of her wrists to grab her hips and reposition them closer to his, cupping her arse with one hand and propping himself against the wall with the other. She takes advantage of her freedom by winding her fingers in his hair, which is more wild than usual, and flinging one leg around his hip. The sudden friction between them makes her gasp and push against him, craving more, but he shakes his head in frustration and moves his hands to her shirt, and oh Merlin he’s unbuttoning it, from the dressy collar downward, until their combined impatience makes him curse under his breath and rip it open, scattering the pearl buttons everywhere.
At the first brush of his lips against her skin she inhales sharply, and whimpers on the exhale when his mouth starts lapping, teasing, provoking. This is a side of Scrimgeour she hasn’t seen, one she’d only imagined in her dirtiest fantasies, controlling and violent and positively feral, and it’s making her squirm, making her beg incoherently for his touch, his fingers elsewhere than skating down her side, raising goosebumps on her skin.
He rises and looks at her, looks her in the eye for the first time this whole night, and the possessiveness in his gaze makes her almost giggle with happiness and a little bit of anxiety.
Tonks unzips her fitted slacks, fumbling with the clasp, and shimmies her hips to shake them down, flicking them away with her foot. His hands are on his own belt, hurriedly unhooking it, but they stall for a moment when she pushes her lilac panties to her ankles and steps out of them. She fancies she hears a groan from the back of his throat before he unhooks, unbuttons, and smacks her against the wall and presses against her, deliciously tense, tantalizingly aroused.
For a moment they pause. It’s one of the weirdest sexual moments Tonks has ever experienced, but absolutely beautifully erotic in its clarity. He is breathing heavily, but still, so still a spark of worry digs inside her and she ducks her head to hide her self-consciousness. She presses her lips against his throat and feels his pulse, thudding like a jackhammer, she sighs Rufus against his skin and their fingers slide, grip, dance across flesh and slip in, dart back and forth. They’re both trembling, lips barely touching, he’s whispering her name like a precious secret into her mouth and she doesn’t mind the awkward syllables because for once they flow, in his voice they sound like the name of a goddess.
When the wave hits she’s unprepared, too caught up in the perfection of the moment, and she cries out and arches against his fingers. It rolls, over and over, swamping her in intensity, until she’s shuddered back into reality and sees from his dilated pupils he went with her.
It’s clear he’s astonished, because for once the cynicism and hardness is washed away from his stare. As if she’s a hallucination, as if he can’t believe she’s here, he stares at her, and she peers back.
Pairing: Rufus/Tonks
Prompt: masquerade
Rating: Very intense R, for sex. But still R.
Word Count: 1353, which I hope isn't too long.
Summary: Tonks gets drunk at a Ministry event. Rufus is surprised.
Author's Notes: The previous fics aren't necessary for understanding, but they're nice to have read for background. Find them in the prompt table, linked below.
Prompt table: [link]
She’s got him pinned against the wall, gripping his hips, and although he’s not quite putting out the effort she’s used to it’s fine to her scotch-addled mind, which is more concerned with undoing the buttons on his trousers than critiquing the poor lad on his technique. Tonks has the feeling he’s alarmed at her aggressiveness, but she doesn’t care; if he didn’t want her he’d push her off, right? She’s a small girl, relatively speaking, and clumsy even without alcohol, so really, just one tip! and she’d be down for the count, but he’s not doing anything, therefore she’s going to do it, she wants something she can’t have so she’s going to settle for the fucking surrogate –
“Auror Tonks.” The voice could have frozen mercury, melted nitrogen, made dementors cry, and it sends her stumbling down and away and to the floor, which seems like a longer fall and a closer hit than she’d imagined. The boy – and he’s really just a boy, stupid Tonks, dirty old woman already – flees, sweet redheaded boy, she wants to apologize for gratuitously groping him at a Ministry party but he’s gone through the door and that leaves her to deal with Rufus Scrimgeour, glowering down at her, canary eyes like miniature supernovas positively radiating fury.
“Unprofessional.” It cuts her, and she flinches as if it were physical. It’s quite possibly the biggest insult in his mental dictionary, right alongside 'Death Eater' and 'downright idiot', the latter of which could be applied to her, since he’s the one she was pretending to be snogging against the wall.
“Yes,” he snaps, and drags her to her feet roughly, her wrist’ll bruise later but that’s okay because he touched her, and she’s so pathetically attuned to their proximity it barely registers when he keeps speaking until she suddenly snaps to and hears what he’s saying.
“Unprofessional, immature, idiotic, far below what I would have expected of you as an Auror and as a woman, disgraceful, humiliating! How you can even think of shagging bloody teenagers across the hall from your superiors is beyond me – ” and Tonks is hurt to the point of tears but she’ll be damned if he sees her cry, and she’s sick of his hissed insults and his denial of his lust for her and she just wants him to shut up and kiss her already, so –
“Shut the fuck up,” she says, and jerks her wrist from his grasp. For a moment he looks completely floored, and she revels in that, then his face closes, hardens, and he opens his mouth to say something else, but no, she’s not going to let him.
“You heard me,” she repeats, “I said shut the fuck up and listen to me.” She’s not slurring, which is impressive, but she thinks she may be speaking louder than she should, so she tones it down and grabs him by the collar and drags him to her, her lips at his ear.
“How dare you condescend to me like that,” she hisses, “how dare you treat me like a chit of a girl, a stupid slag you get to boss around and fuck with because you like the power trip so much.”
He jerks his head at that, smacking into hers, and although that sends her reeling she fists his jacket and catches herself at the last minute, refusing to stop her stream of thought, the words she’s been wanting to say for so long but has been too much of a coward to say.
“You have no idea – that’s right, no fucking idea! – what you’ve done to me, you and your bloody smirks and your bloody eyes and the way you talk to me. It’s not – ” despite her best attempts at control, tears are leaking out the corners of her eyes and weakening her, weakening her resolve and making her want to curl up and ignore the world “ – it’s not fair, that’s what it’s not! Because after all this, after all I put myself through, you have the bloody nerve to go and lecture me about sleeping around when it’s all your fault, all your fucking – ”
He kisses her, crushing their lips together like he’s recovering from oxygen addiction, it’s harsh and messy and painful but oh holy mother of fuck it’s so good. She stumbles back and inadvertently yanks him forward but since he’s pinning her against the wall now and gripping her wrists, holding them against the cold stone and absolutely ravishing her with his mouth and teeth and tongue, she doesn’t mind her clumsiness so much. There’s a sharp pain on her lip that sends a throb of sensation to the pit of her stomach, where it collects and pulses between her legs, and now she tastes blood in her mouth (or it could be the whiskey) but no, she doesn’t care at all, she’s far too focused on the scent and taste and feel of the moment to worry about things like blood.
He lets go of her wrists to grab her hips and reposition them closer to his, cupping her arse with one hand and propping himself against the wall with the other. She takes advantage of her freedom by winding her fingers in his hair, which is more wild than usual, and flinging one leg around his hip. The sudden friction between them makes her gasp and push against him, craving more, but he shakes his head in frustration and moves his hands to her shirt, and oh Merlin he’s unbuttoning it, from the dressy collar downward, until their combined impatience makes him curse under his breath and rip it open, scattering the pearl buttons everywhere.
At the first brush of his lips against her skin she inhales sharply, and whimpers on the exhale when his mouth starts lapping, teasing, provoking. This is a side of Scrimgeour she hasn’t seen, one she’d only imagined in her dirtiest fantasies, controlling and violent and positively feral, and it’s making her squirm, making her beg incoherently for his touch, his fingers elsewhere than skating down her side, raising goosebumps on her skin.
He rises and looks at her, looks her in the eye for the first time this whole night, and the possessiveness in his gaze makes her almost giggle with happiness and a little bit of anxiety.
Tonks unzips her fitted slacks, fumbling with the clasp, and shimmies her hips to shake them down, flicking them away with her foot. His hands are on his own belt, hurriedly unhooking it, but they stall for a moment when she pushes her lilac panties to her ankles and steps out of them. She fancies she hears a groan from the back of his throat before he unhooks, unbuttons, and smacks her against the wall and presses against her, deliciously tense, tantalizingly aroused.
For a moment they pause. It’s one of the weirdest sexual moments Tonks has ever experienced, but absolutely beautifully erotic in its clarity. He is breathing heavily, but still, so still a spark of worry digs inside her and she ducks her head to hide her self-consciousness. She presses her lips against his throat and feels his pulse, thudding like a jackhammer, she sighs Rufus against his skin and their fingers slide, grip, dance across flesh and slip in, dart back and forth. They’re both trembling, lips barely touching, he’s whispering her name like a precious secret into her mouth and she doesn’t mind the awkward syllables because for once they flow, in his voice they sound like the name of a goddess.
When the wave hits she’s unprepared, too caught up in the perfection of the moment, and she cries out and arches against his fingers. It rolls, over and over, swamping her in intensity, until she’s shuddered back into reality and sees from his dilated pupils he went with her.
It’s clear he’s astonished, because for once the cynicism and hardness is washed away from his stare. As if she’s a hallucination, as if he can’t believe she’s here, he stares at her, and she peers back.