((I'm glad everyone likes it so far! Hopefully I do not disappoint. Poor Gellert might be in way over his head.))
Kitten?!
Indignation flashed across his face before he schooled his expression back into something more neutral. He didn’t have time to be angry about this turn of events, he needed to respond and to respond correctly. There were so many connections he could lose, months of work, and most of all the obscurus that was only just now beginning to make itself known. It would be so easy to challenge her, end her… but the wards alone would make his escape after such a thing difficult.
He could ponder on how in Merlin’s name he’d missed this in Graves’ memories later, for now he needed to skim whatever he could from Piquery’s mind to give him some sort of guidance on how to respond to all of this. Clearly there was a power dynamic here that he’d already fumbled by simply answering the door instead of waiting obediently for her like a pet. It made his skin crawl, the idea of surrendering to this woman, surrendering power that he had spent so very many years amassing despite all resistance. Now to have to play this game-
A flick of her wand and suddenly the wall was solid against his back, wrists bound together by invisible ties and held aloft, his toes only just touching the floor and Gellert bared his teeth, snarling before he could stop himself.
Which was, apparently, the correct response because Piquery smiled again, dark eyes glittering with amusement.
“Oh? Is that how we’re going to play today?” Her wand slid into a holster in her sleeve and Gellert noted it’s precise location even as he focused on evening his breaths, quieting his own emotions and trying to find some logic that would explain Graves’ motivations. The whispers and impressions he could pick up from Piquery were surprisingly affectionate considering the situation he was in and he made a note, once again, to revisit Graves’ memories on her and ensure she did not begin to question his loyalties.
This wasn’t something that happened often, only when they were both at their wits end with stress. That was clear by the absence of recent memories in Graves’ mind and the eagerness in Piquery’s. Too long, five months since she’d had him at her mercy. Gellert swallowed hard, feeling an echoing shiver of that hunger ripple through him. Oh how she wanted and he let a soft growl rumble through his chest, echoing what he found in her memories and watching goosebumps break out over her skin.
Graves, always so carefully in control of every situation, surrendered his precious control to one of two people he trusted enough to be that vulnerable with. Savoring the release of the bonds of duty and responsibility. Seraphina, always fighting to keep control of an ever more chaotic city and here, with this man, she knew every step, every answer, every response before it came. It reaffirmed her control when things were at their worst.
Gellert would have grinned, cackled madly at the revelation, if he could have. It was so simple, so logical, and so very useful. He could do what was needed for the cause, for Graves’ dear Madam President and file all of this away for later use. Certainly there would be plenty of ways he could use this information.
Violet painted nails skimmed over his cheek and dark eyes that were not his own focused on the woman before him again. Another soft growl and he strained at his bonds, making her breathing deepen, watching this powerful man bound to her will. The expression slipped, a briefly feral grin chasing across Gellert’s lips. He knew that feeling so very intimately. The heady rush of power at having someone you knew to be so skilled at your mercy.
Brushing her mind, siphoning that thrill from her made his own responses more convincing. Bound and deprived of control was rather the opposite of arousing for him but Graves it seemed thrived under that careful restriction.
“You know better than to fight me, kitten.” She purred, nails drifting from his cheek down to his throat and, despite the threat, Gellert snarled again, leaning away from the wall and leaving his teeth bared as her fingers closed over his throat with just the faintest pressure. It was a warning, one he did not heed, pushing forward, daring her.
The room spun briefly around him as his head snapped back against the wall, deceptively strong fingers clenching tight over his windpipe, air gone and nails carving into the tendons of his neck.
She calls him kitten because he was in Wampus. It’s a distant, dazed kind of realization and the pet name suddenly made so much sense from Graves’ memories of Perfect Piquery, two years his junior yet constantly scolding him at school.
He’s still straining, still fighting her and the grip on his throat does not falter for even a moment. There’s an understanding there, a knowledge that he cannot simply let himself go. He needs the fight, to be made to submit. The days she comes and he’s already kneeling and waiting for her are the days she wonders if she asks too much of him, if the job will one day break him. The fight, the pride, the attitude reassure her that he is strong, strong enough to endure all she puts him through here and in the office.
It isn’t until dark spots flicker at the edge of his vision that he finally relents, shoulders and arms losing their tension, letting her hold his head up with the weight of her hand at his throat. Her breath shudders out, fingers turning gentle, carding through his hair. Gellert tries to clear his head of the rushing of his blood in his ears, the way his ragged breaths burn in his chest and spark an infuriating heat in his blood.
It would be useful, certainly, but there’s only so much his pride will endure and the idea of this woman gaining such a reaction from him nearly makes him scoff in distaste.
Not that it would have mattered as her hand finds his cheek, hard and swift, the crack echoing in the quiet of the room and his head snapping to the side. His eyes fly wide, staring incredulously at her, mind reeling as he tried to keep up with the sensations, the expectations, the onslaught of conflicting input from both his mind and his nerves.
Oh, the pomade. He’s meant to have cleaned his hair before she arrived and now her fingers cannot glide through it as easily as she wants. The slap was a punishment then and so too was the flood of hot water that flowed over him now, leaving his shirt and vest clinging to his shoulders and, with another flick of the wand, his hair clean and soft and she drew his head back with it, teeth catching at his lower lip as he cursed Graves’ lacking height once again.
He wasn’t even aware of the fact that he was moving until his knees were pressed onto cool hardwood, his back arched and shoulders stretched to meet the new anchoring position of his wrists. It was a familiar position, one Graves’ body had been in many times though he had to wonder where the knowledge came from precisely. He blinked, focusing up on ‘Phina again. How many years had it been since he’d just absorbed the thoughts of those around him, since his careful control had slipped enough to stop blocking out all but what was useful to him? It was enough to make fear flicker through him in a way he hadn’t felt in more years than he could name.
She called him kitten, he called her ‘Phina… only sometimes Madam and always when he was weakest.
The trickle of fear had him reaching desperately for her mind, fumbling a bit compared to the liquid ease with which he could usually slink through another’s thoughts, searching for the word that would end this game before it became something too dangerous.
And then he found it, simple and mocking and he knew he’d die before he spoke the spell he had no power to enforce like this.
Fill: Unexpected Liaisons 2/?
Kitten?!
Indignation flashed across his face before he schooled his expression back into something more neutral. He didn’t have time to be angry about this turn of events, he needed to respond and to respond correctly. There were so many connections he could lose, months of work, and most of all the obscurus that was only just now beginning to make itself known. It would be so easy to challenge her, end her… but the wards alone would make his escape after such a thing difficult.
He could ponder on how in Merlin’s name he’d missed this in Graves’ memories later, for now he needed to skim whatever he could from Piquery’s mind to give him some sort of guidance on how to respond to all of this. Clearly there was a power dynamic here that he’d already fumbled by simply answering the door instead of waiting obediently for her like a pet. It made his skin crawl, the idea of surrendering to this woman, surrendering power that he had spent so very many years amassing despite all resistance. Now to have to play this game-
A flick of her wand and suddenly the wall was solid against his back, wrists bound together by invisible ties and held aloft, his toes only just touching the floor and Gellert bared his teeth, snarling before he could stop himself.
Which was, apparently, the correct response because Piquery smiled again, dark eyes glittering with amusement.
“Oh? Is that how we’re going to play today?” Her wand slid into a holster in her sleeve and Gellert noted it’s precise location even as he focused on evening his breaths, quieting his own emotions and trying to find some logic that would explain Graves’ motivations. The whispers and impressions he could pick up from Piquery were surprisingly affectionate considering the situation he was in and he made a note, once again, to revisit Graves’ memories on her and ensure she did not begin to question his loyalties.
This wasn’t something that happened often, only when they were both at their wits end with stress. That was clear by the absence of recent memories in Graves’ mind and the eagerness in Piquery’s. Too long, five months since she’d had him at her mercy. Gellert swallowed hard, feeling an echoing shiver of that hunger ripple through him. Oh how she wanted and he let a soft growl rumble through his chest, echoing what he found in her memories and watching goosebumps break out over her skin.
Graves, always so carefully in control of every situation, surrendered his precious control to one of two people he trusted enough to be that vulnerable with. Savoring the release of the bonds of duty and responsibility. Seraphina, always fighting to keep control of an ever more chaotic city and here, with this man, she knew every step, every answer, every response before it came. It reaffirmed her control when things were at their worst.
Gellert would have grinned, cackled madly at the revelation, if he could have. It was so simple, so logical, and so very useful. He could do what was needed for the cause, for Graves’ dear Madam President and file all of this away for later use. Certainly there would be plenty of ways he could use this information.
Violet painted nails skimmed over his cheek and dark eyes that were not his own focused on the woman before him again. Another soft growl and he strained at his bonds, making her breathing deepen, watching this powerful man bound to her will. The expression slipped, a briefly feral grin chasing across Gellert’s lips. He knew that feeling so very intimately. The heady rush of power at having someone you knew to be so skilled at your mercy.
Brushing her mind, siphoning that thrill from her made his own responses more convincing. Bound and deprived of control was rather the opposite of arousing for him but Graves it seemed thrived under that careful restriction.
“You know better than to fight me, kitten.” She purred, nails drifting from his cheek down to his throat and, despite the threat, Gellert snarled again, leaning away from the wall and leaving his teeth bared as her fingers closed over his throat with just the faintest pressure. It was a warning, one he did not heed, pushing forward, daring her.
The room spun briefly around him as his head snapped back against the wall, deceptively strong fingers clenching tight over his windpipe, air gone and nails carving into the tendons of his neck.
She calls him kitten because he was in Wampus. It’s a distant, dazed kind of realization and the pet name suddenly made so much sense from Graves’ memories of Perfect Piquery, two years his junior yet constantly scolding him at school.
He’s still straining, still fighting her and the grip on his throat does not falter for even a moment. There’s an understanding there, a knowledge that he cannot simply let himself go. He needs the fight, to be made to submit. The days she comes and he’s already kneeling and waiting for her are the days she wonders if she asks too much of him, if the job will one day break him. The fight, the pride, the attitude reassure her that he is strong, strong enough to endure all she puts him through here and in the office.
It isn’t until dark spots flicker at the edge of his vision that he finally relents, shoulders and arms losing their tension, letting her hold his head up with the weight of her hand at his throat. Her breath shudders out, fingers turning gentle, carding through his hair. Gellert tries to clear his head of the rushing of his blood in his ears, the way his ragged breaths burn in his chest and spark an infuriating heat in his blood.
It would be useful, certainly, but there’s only so much his pride will endure and the idea of this woman gaining such a reaction from him nearly makes him scoff in distaste.
Not that it would have mattered as her hand finds his cheek, hard and swift, the crack echoing in the quiet of the room and his head snapping to the side. His eyes fly wide, staring incredulously at her, mind reeling as he tried to keep up with the sensations, the expectations, the onslaught of conflicting input from both his mind and his nerves.
Oh, the pomade. He’s meant to have cleaned his hair before she arrived and now her fingers cannot glide through it as easily as she wants. The slap was a punishment then and so too was the flood of hot water that flowed over him now, leaving his shirt and vest clinging to his shoulders and, with another flick of the wand, his hair clean and soft and she drew his head back with it, teeth catching at his lower lip as he cursed Graves’ lacking height once again.
He wasn’t even aware of the fact that he was moving until his knees were pressed onto cool hardwood, his back arched and shoulders stretched to meet the new anchoring position of his wrists. It was a familiar position, one Graves’ body had been in many times though he had to wonder where the knowledge came from precisely. He blinked, focusing up on ‘Phina again. How many years had it been since he’d just absorbed the thoughts of those around him, since his careful control had slipped enough to stop blocking out all but what was useful to him? It was enough to make fear flicker through him in a way he hadn’t felt in more years than he could name.
She called him kitten, he called her ‘Phina… only sometimes Madam and always when he was weakest.
The trickle of fear had him reaching desperately for her mind, fumbling a bit compared to the liquid ease with which he could usually slink through another’s thoughts, searching for the word that would end this game before it became something too dangerous.
And then he found it, simple and mocking and he knew he’d die before he spoke the spell he had no power to enforce like this.
’Finite’