27-Feb-2004
NC-17 Noin/Dorothy PWP. Untitled.
Noin isn't enjoying this.
The windows in this room are large, almost as high as the ceiling, and crystal clear, as palace windows should be. It is daytime, and the sunlight streams in; there is not a spot of darkness anywhere. A breeze runs along Noin's back, cooling her through the thin shirt stuck to her skin. Dorothy moans and writhes beneath her.
Dorothy's hair is spread out across the bed, under her back and around her naked body. It is damp and dark with sweat at the roots, but in places it shines almost pure white. Her stomach muscles contract beneath her skin, and she arches upwards, into Noin's touch. Her breathing comes harsh and fast, and her mouth moves open and shut as she whispers incoherencies. Her arms are spread by her sides, motionless aside from the tight clenching of her fists. Dorothy's eyes are open, and dark with desire, not deceit.
Noin kneels with one knee between Dorothy's legs, the other on one side, and works Dorothy slowly. The material of her trousers feels uncomfortable against her legs; she ignores it. She is not enjoying this, she tells herself. She does this because she is cruel, or confused, or because Dorothy is the most infuriating girl in the Sphere. She does not do this for pleasure. She changes the movement of her hand, and tells herself she does not feel it as an electric shock in her spine, or a pool of heat in her stomach, when Dorothy lets out a gasp. She uses her free hand to clamp one of Dorothy's wrists to the bed. It is not necessary. Dorothy knows by now not to move more than she can help during these sessions of theirs.
A droplet of sweat forms just where the swell of Dorothy's right breast begins, and makes its way lazily down her side. Noin's head swims; she stops the movement of her hand; withdraws it. The air feels cold and dry after Dorothy's heated wetness.
Dorothy whimpers and starts to beg, fists tighter than ever. Her head lifts and her knees bend. One thigh touches the place between Noin's legs, and in an instant, Noin has slapped Dorothy hard across the face. Noin's handprint shows white against Dorothy's cheek, and then fills with blood. Dorothy's eyes sparkle with moisture. Her legs slowly straighten against the bed.
Suddenly eager to end this, Noin returns her hand to its former place, shoving into Dorothy with roughness. Dorothy jerks and cries out, loudly for once, and then throws her head back as Noin's pace quickens. Noin looks away, staring at the wood of Dorothy's heavy oak wardrobe, and then back again. Dorothy's murmurings take on a frantic tone, and then she cries out once again as she comes. Her face slackens and her body shudders against Noin's touch.
Noin leaves quickly, before Dorothy can recover herself, picking up her jacket from the floor. The rest of her clothes are still on, right down to her shoes. She returns to her room and leans back against the door, screwing her eyes shut. She does not enjoy this, she tells herself. Images of Dorothy's prone figure, of her face as she reached her ecstasy, flood Noin's brain, and she chases them away. "No," she whispers, breathless. This is not who she is. No, she does not enjoy this. No, not at all.
The End
(:./psyche/untitled)
