Work Text:
They’d been meeting for months, ever since the first anniversary of the battle at Hogwarts. Potter’s death had sent shockwaves and in the early days after, the war had felt interminable, no end in sight. Voldemort’s victory was all but guaranteed at first, until his trusted soldiers broke rank.
Theodore Nott, is one of these soldiers.
He’d reached out to the Order shortly after Hogwarts. It was a monthly, one-sided correspondence until she requested a meeting. He’d obliged once, thinking it a single rendezvous, until it had ended with his cock lodged inside her cunt as he passed on intelligence, whispered details of the Death Eaters’ next attacks into her ear as he fucked her from behind.
He didn’t know who she was. They’d both first arrived glamoured and hidden behind masks—her, a black, glittering masquerade mask, and his, a half-broken, silver Death Eater mask. And they stayed glamoured and hidden and anonymous, though her body was as familiar as his own now.
Today would be their last meeting, though. Tomorrow, Voldemort would be traveling from Hogwarts back to Romania. The last horcrux was compromised and destroyed thanks to another leak in their camp, and the Dark Lord was finally vulnerable. The Order already had soldiers in place. This would be their final chance—their dwindling numbers could not afford any more losses.
The only thing left to pass on was a final goodbye.
He cracks open the wooden door, stepping into the small cabin. His contact is already there, sitting, legs crossed on the only available surface—a tiny tea table. She’s a brunette this time, dark hair tied into a braid, and her dark eyes are framed by her mask. Different today, but all the same beneath her jeans and white shirt.
“Hi.” She greets him with a wan smile.
“Hello, love.”
“Will you be there tomorrow?”
He nods solemnly.
Her shoulders slump.
They weren’t—friendly, not really. But he allows himself the admittance that there is affection, borne from carnal delights. He takes a seat next to her, nudging into her space.
“I don’t have anything for you this time. I’m not sure why I called,” he admits.
“I don’t know why I’m here either.”
He clears his throat. “Don’t die tomorrow, yeah?”
She grins. “Likewise,” she says. She opens her mouth again to say something, then closes it once more.
He nudges her foot with his.
She sighs. “Is this goodbye, then?”
“Could be.”
“In that case,” she starts, pulling herself to her feet, “I should probably get going then.”
He stands up, too, and grabs her hand as she turns away. They pause, and her eyes drop down to their entwined fingers.
“I’m in no rush,” he says.
She drops his hand and faces him. “I suppose I have some time.”
Her voice is lilting and amused. He takes it as a sign and closes the gap between them, his head dropping to meet hers, lips brushing against one another. It’s a questioning kiss, a request, seeking permission. She’s always so soft with her lips bitten blush red and this time is no different. She leans into the kiss in accession, her tongue sliding against his bottom lip.
Theo’s tongue traces down the curve of her neck, drawing precise sigils of need and want and protection and hope. Each one is punctuated with a moan as his fingers unbutton her shirt. His mouth follows the same path, peppered kisses along her clavicle. The taste of her skin is some heady combination between sweet almond and salt-sweat. She is a symphony of senses pressed into his body, coaxed whines that ebb into gasps, and he is addicted.
Her tits are encased in a practical black sports bra, snug-fit around her chest. He tugs the rest of her shirt open, buttons clattering to the floor. His fingers slide under the hem, pushing the elastane fabric over the globes of her breasts, palming them free. Her exposed nipples pebble. She wrenches free, pushing him away for a second as she slides her bra off and into a pile near their feet.
“You have to fix my shirt,” she pants, drawing him close again.
“Maybe,” Theo replies, massaging her now exposed breasts.
His head drops, flat-tongued against her nipple. He feathers his fingers around her other nipple, circling around it without direct contact. His points his tongue into a fine tip and follows the same path, drawing sinuous swirls around it, watching it tighten into a sensitive bud.
She writhes, groaning at his teasing, and he hears her pleading, but it falls on deaf ears as he continues to ignore her. He switches sides and teases her other breast the same way, until he feels her wand draw up against his spine.
“Fucking—touch me,” she threatens, breathless and unconvincing.
He chuckles into her warm skin before straightening up and drawing her legs around his waist. Her warm core lines up with his covered cock and it twitches on contact.
“I’m not sure you deserve it,” Theo says, pressing his cock against her.
She groans angrily.
He slips his hand into his pocket and retrieves his wand. With a flick and a whispered diffindo, her jeans slash open, falling into pieces around them. Her knickers are black, matching her bra, and he shoves his wand back in his pocket before tearing them off her body. Her cunt glistens in front of him, folds already wet and pink with arousal. He licks his lips at the sight.
“Fucking look at you,” he groans. “Fuck, you’re so—fucking gorgeous.”
Her mask doesn’t hide the blush along her cheeks.
He gathers her in his arms, her legs still around his waist. The window to their left had a sill that was just high enough, and he hoists her onto the ledge. She doesn’t fight him, leaning back into the glass and swinging her legs over his shoulders as he sinks lower. Her legs drift apart as his arms come up between them, and he spreads her open.
Her clit pokes out beneath the hood, though he avoids it entirely. His tongue slides up along her slit, collecting her arousal on his lips. He reaches the base of her clit before moving to lick her again—and again, and once more for good measure, until she rocks her hips into his face.
He pulls back. “Mm, patience, darling,” he admonishes.
“Fuck you,” she whines.
He grins. He teases her slit with a single finger, shallowly pushing it just before the first knuckle. Even still, he can feel her walls try to pull him in deeper—she drips down his digit, into his palm. Her calves wrap around the back of his neck, beckoning him closer.
“I will make you come,” he says, drawing a wide circle around her entrance, “when I want you to come.” He snaps her legs apart, scraping her thighs on the concrete ledge.
“You’re an arse. A fucking snake,” she hisses, the abrasions turning her skin red and raw.
“Well-spotted, I was in Slytherin,” he laughs.
“Prick.” She fists her hand into his hair.
He allows it for a moment, lets her pull his mouth into her cunt before drawing his wand.
Her hands loop into soft rope tied above her head with a silent incantation.
“Keep testing me and I’ll silence your pretty mouth too,” he threatens.
She whines, crescendoing into a loud groan.
He chuckles again, his nose nudging her now erect clit. It twitches at the stimulation and he’s tempted to take pity on her, to wrap his lips around it and suck on her needy bud until she falls apart. But she called him an arse and a snake and a prick and—
“If only you’d been nicer,” he tsks. She doesn’t respond, her head falling back against the glass with a dull thud.
He starts again, with light licks along the sides of her folds, pulling them gently into his mouth, his teeth grazing along the sensitive skin. She is wet—so fucking wet, puddling onto the window ledge. Her clit quivers again, pulsing in time with his ministrations. He gives it a lick before blowing a thin stream of cool air onto the bud. She moans, wanton, on the precipice of an explosion.
He stops, pulling away from her.
“Tell me who you are.”
Her pupils constrict immediately and her body goes still. He peers up at her through his mask and meets her gaze.
“Everything is going to end tomorrow, one way or another,” he presses on.
She takes a deep breath, holds it in her diaphragm for a beat before exhaling. “I can’t.”
“You’re not curious?” His finger traces the base of her nipple.
Her teeth peek out, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth. “I’ve got my guesses.”
“I’ve mine too.”
“You first,” she says, her boot knocking into the stone wall.
“Fine,” he concedes, “Your facial glamours change often enough, but your body stays the same, so I reckon we’re close in age. Likely, we went to school together.”
He drags his finger down again to her core, tapping it against her slit as if he’s in deep thought. “Your allegiance to the Order is quite admirable. I’d expect you’re one of those Dumbledore’s Army gits.”
She curves a kick into his side with her free leg. Her resolve is admirable.
He laughs, then wrenches her back into place. “Clearly, you’ve some anger issues.”
“Oh, fuc—”
“Are you really in a position to be so rude, love?” He raises her knotted hands higher with his wand, until the tips of her fingers graze the ceiling.
She grits her teeth. “I’m not telling you who I am.”
“Anyway,” he continues, “I thought you were maybe Lovegood at first. The first time we’d met, your hair was blonde like hers.” He drags his tongue along the base of her scraped thigh, licking away the shallow wound. “But then I bent you over the counter, and I’d bet my whole vault that Lovegood isn’t into a wizard’s wand.”
She snorts in response.
“So I thought maybe you were one of the Patil twins, until I remembered one of them died at Hogwarts and the other got knocked up by that Irish bloke. Not them.” Theo straightens his back to look her in the eyes.
“You’re not even close.”
“Maybe. My last guess was Granger. She’s petulant enough. But I know that’s wrong now.”
Her eyes tense behind the mask. “How?”
Theo grins, “Because I’d be a dead man if my cock even glanced in her direction.”
She shuffles slightly, her mouth morphing into a quizzical pout. “A dead man,” she echoes.
“Darling, if you think I’m the only traitor in our midst, then you’re definitely not the brightest witch of our age.”
“Hermione’s with—what? Who?” Her mask is all but shattered, curiousity laced around her words.
“Then, what was it? A few months ago, when we’d met along the shore? You’d come in on a broom, zipped right into that cave,” Theo ignores her questions entirely. “You’re a fair flier. Figured maybe you were a Quidditch player once.”
Her silence is deafening. He holds her gaze, his eyes roving over hers.
She clears her throat. “Any other guesses?”
“Fresh out, I’m afraid,” he replies, staring into her eyes. “I think I know.”
Her hips shift on the ledge and she shivers. He takes her silence as an opportunity to resume his prior teasing, fingers dancing along her exposed skin. She tenses at first, until his fingers twist and pinch her once again pebbled nipples. She arches into his touch and he feels her warm skin through his clothes. Perhaps she’ll be more agreeable later.
He pushes her back into the cool glass, anchoring her in place. Her cunt grinds along the front of his trousers, his cock throbbing in anticipation. Still, he doesn’t react, rather reaching around to hold her by the base of her neck. It’s a punishing grip and she moans, head thrown back when he skates light kisses across her chest.
“Just—fuck me.” Her tone is pleading and needy and it almost works.
“If this is the last time, I want to savor it,” he says. He bends down again, lets his saliva pool in his mouth before letting it slowly drip onto her clit. He wishes he had the time to fuck every hole and leave her full of his cum, but everything is ending and tomorrow is so soon.
He finally gives in, finally pushes two fingers into her entrance. She keens on contact. He can tell she’s holding back, can feel the tension in the muscles in her thighs strain against him. She’s soft, mewling gibberish under her breath—he catches a curse or two directed at himself, but they’re lost in the mess of the rest of her brainless rambling.
He closes his teeth softly around her clit, his tongue lashing over it. Pain and pleasure at once, while his fingers languidly fuck into her. Her whines morph into sobs, pleading with him for a release. He sucks her clit into his mouth, glazing over it with his tongue repeatedly, and the steady pressure finally breaks her.
She comes hard, squeezing around his fingers. Her orgasm gushes, washing over his face as he works her through it. She snaps her legs shut around his head. He can barely hear her scream, muffled by her viced thighs. He continues to lave his tongue over her core until her breathing slows and she relaxes.
He doesn’t say a word when he comes up for air, mouth twisted into a roguish grin.
She glares at him through her mask, but it’s not nearly as threatening as he’s sure she hopes it is.
“Fuck—you taste like liquid luck.” He breaks the silence, licking his lips.
“Thanks.” Her blush deepens, matching the warmth that’s risen to the surface across her whole body.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says.
“Fuck,” she echoes, voice airy and light. She scoots to the edge of the windowsill and pulls him closer to her.
He unzips his trousers, letting them fall just enough to pull his cock out. He fists his hand around it once, though it was hard already, precum dripping from the tip. There is no preamble. He sinks himself into her to the hilt in one thrust.
“Fucking hell,” she breathes.
It’s his turn to groan as her still twitching walls quake around him. He pulls nearly all the way out before pushing back into her with more force this time. And then again. And again. She is still tied in place, but she meets his thrusts eagerly. He pushes a hand to the base of her toned stomach, feeling how deeply he’s penetrating her. She is tight and wet and hot and his tempo skips into a faster speed.
“Tell me,” he demands.
“No!” She moans.
He stills, sheathed inside her. “Tell me.”
He can see her decision making in her eyes, skating across his face.
“We could die tomorrow.” He plays his last card.
“Fine, fuck. Everything is damned, anyway.” Her eyes soften, if only slightly. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Frankly, you’re on display, love.” He fucks her again once, just to make his point.
“And whose fault is that?” She groans, “Take off your mask.”
“You first,” he teases.
She shuffles around, tugging at her knotted wrists. He rolls his eyes and accedes, freeing her hands with another swish of his wand. She summons her wand wordlessly and drops her glamours first. Her mask warps slightly to fit her natural face as her features morph. Her eyes go from brown to dark blue and her hair lightens into a bright red, while her mouth shifts, cupid’s bow becoming more pronounced.
He recognizes her immediately.
She nudges him with her boot. He balances himself again, his cock still inside her, and waves his wand with a flourish before dropping it to the floor.
“Nothing’s happening,” she deadpans.
“Silly me,” he says, “I’ve no glamours on today.”
“So your hair is naturally a rat’s nest?”
“I’ll have you know, my hair is my best feature,” he retorts. He pulls his mask off before returning his hand to her hips.
She tips her mask over her face and places her hands on his shoulders for leverage. They pause for a beat, taking each other in. It was a long time coming, this moment.
He slides out of her, then impels his hips forward, plunging past her walls. He sets a punishing pace this time, chasing his own gratification. It comes fast, barrels over him, and his hips stutter, staccatoed into her until he growls out his own unintelligible gibberish. He comes in thick pulses inside her, until his head lolls forward onto her soft shoulder. His ragged breathing slows shortly, and he finally looks at her again.
“Theodore Nott. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Weasley.”