At Any Price (1/1, DOLLHOUSE)
Aug. 11th, 2010 08:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairing: Adelle/Topher
Rating: NC-17
Summary: She touches him with icy hands, her rough pinches and pokes abrading his already tender skin. There’s a certain excitement in these harsh preliminaries. Topher and Adelle - in a certain slant of light.
A/N: So, I went looking for Adelle/Topher D/s fic and fandom, I am disappoint. Where is the fucked up fic to match their OMG fucked up dynamic? Well, it's here. Un-beta'd because I don't know anyone who does Dollhouse and kinked out to heck and back. Feedback always welcome!
It’s always the same. A disturbing consistency – the hobgoblin of little minds. He just can’t remember which mind came up with this twisted game.
Maybe it was his.
She touches him with icy hands, her rough pinches and pokes abrading his already tender skin. There’s a certain excitement in these harsh preliminaries. He doesn’t call it foreplay – that would imply consideration and she doesn’t have any left.
Not for him, anyways.
He’s grateful she takes the time to prepare him. They walk so many fine lines – pain and pleasure, love and hate, and the sliver that separates what he fights but needs. Needs to fight. She gives it to him. Maybe she needs it, too.
Mommy Dearest. The Wicked Witch. Adelle. Doesn’t matter what he calls her – she owns him.
Well, technically, Rossum owns him. But her wrath is more immediate, her ownership more primal. Her fingers are digging into his hips, pulling him back. The sharp pain arouses him. He lets it. Welcomes it. Gasps against the pain and the arousal and the sick shame that lets him ride both with such ease.
Bad boy. Bad, bad Topher.
The words fall from her lips and puddle on the curve of his lower back – droplets of a truth so cold it freezes him in place. He’s a genius. Learning is what he does – what he excels at. He’s learned the first and only lesson the house has to teach: everything has a price. And that price must be paid.
He has to pay.
She pushes forward, ruthless; the blunt head of the dildo opens him up, a stretch and burn he relishes as much as he dreads. The slick glide of lube means no permanent damage – at least, he hopes. Every time, he wonders how much he can take.
Every time, she takes him a little bit further.
He screws his eye shut. He can’t watch. There’s not much to see, facedown on his office floor, but he still won’t keep his eyes open. It’s too much.
He’s close. He never lasts long under her. He never comes, either. That’s not how this thing they have works. It’s not about him coming.
He knows why he’s here. But what she gets out of this is a mystery. Control, maybe, or the satisfaction of seeing him writhe. That’s what she really loves, he thinks. Pulling strings and seeing all her little puppets dance to her tune.
She withdraws, and he’s empty. It’s a trite phrase and he hates being trite. It’s also true. The cock she uses is thick and long – it hollows him out, leaves him wanting more. He never gets more.
She unbuckles the harness and he watches, exhausted, as it drops. He loves this part, too.
She lies next to him, the soft hair of her cunt tickling and teasing his sensitive sac. She strips his cock with a brutal, detached efficiency. She doesn’t want him to enjoy his orgasm. That would ruin it.
He’s running on overload. Too much sensation, too much pain, just too much. He comes in thick spurts, grunting under his breath as she keeps tugging long after he’s empty. He stares blankly at the white ropes of come glistening on her swollen cunt.
She smiles now, her other hand sliding between them to rub his come into her pussy. He doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t want to. But he loves to watch.
She draws him to her breast and he inhales the sweet aroma of her. She’s sweat and come and lube and she’s coming, shaking next him with her fingers buried deep inside. This is her first orgasm. There will be more.
She lets him nurse , his lips wrapped greedily around her nipple, and it’s almost sweet. She whispers to him, all nonsense and sex, but she cradles him in her arms and it’s almost the perfect moment.
When she pulls his hand down her body, Topher doesn’t resist. He wants to be a good boy. He wants to be hers – at any price.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: She touches him with icy hands, her rough pinches and pokes abrading his already tender skin. There’s a certain excitement in these harsh preliminaries. Topher and Adelle - in a certain slant of light.
A/N: So, I went looking for Adelle/Topher D/s fic and fandom, I am disappoint. Where is the fucked up fic to match their OMG fucked up dynamic? Well, it's here. Un-beta'd because I don't know anyone who does Dollhouse and kinked out to heck and back. Feedback always welcome!
It’s always the same. A disturbing consistency – the hobgoblin of little minds. He just can’t remember which mind came up with this twisted game.
Maybe it was his.
She touches him with icy hands, her rough pinches and pokes abrading his already tender skin. There’s a certain excitement in these harsh preliminaries. He doesn’t call it foreplay – that would imply consideration and she doesn’t have any left.
Not for him, anyways.
He’s grateful she takes the time to prepare him. They walk so many fine lines – pain and pleasure, love and hate, and the sliver that separates what he fights but needs. Needs to fight. She gives it to him. Maybe she needs it, too.
Mommy Dearest. The Wicked Witch. Adelle. Doesn’t matter what he calls her – she owns him.
Well, technically, Rossum owns him. But her wrath is more immediate, her ownership more primal. Her fingers are digging into his hips, pulling him back. The sharp pain arouses him. He lets it. Welcomes it. Gasps against the pain and the arousal and the sick shame that lets him ride both with such ease.
Bad boy. Bad, bad Topher.
The words fall from her lips and puddle on the curve of his lower back – droplets of a truth so cold it freezes him in place. He’s a genius. Learning is what he does – what he excels at. He’s learned the first and only lesson the house has to teach: everything has a price. And that price must be paid.
He has to pay.
She pushes forward, ruthless; the blunt head of the dildo opens him up, a stretch and burn he relishes as much as he dreads. The slick glide of lube means no permanent damage – at least, he hopes. Every time, he wonders how much he can take.
Every time, she takes him a little bit further.
He screws his eye shut. He can’t watch. There’s not much to see, facedown on his office floor, but he still won’t keep his eyes open. It’s too much.
He’s close. He never lasts long under her. He never comes, either. That’s not how this thing they have works. It’s not about him coming.
He knows why he’s here. But what she gets out of this is a mystery. Control, maybe, or the satisfaction of seeing him writhe. That’s what she really loves, he thinks. Pulling strings and seeing all her little puppets dance to her tune.
She withdraws, and he’s empty. It’s a trite phrase and he hates being trite. It’s also true. The cock she uses is thick and long – it hollows him out, leaves him wanting more. He never gets more.
She unbuckles the harness and he watches, exhausted, as it drops. He loves this part, too.
She lies next to him, the soft hair of her cunt tickling and teasing his sensitive sac. She strips his cock with a brutal, detached efficiency. She doesn’t want him to enjoy his orgasm. That would ruin it.
He’s running on overload. Too much sensation, too much pain, just too much. He comes in thick spurts, grunting under his breath as she keeps tugging long after he’s empty. He stares blankly at the white ropes of come glistening on her swollen cunt.
She smiles now, her other hand sliding between them to rub his come into her pussy. He doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t want to. But he loves to watch.
She draws him to her breast and he inhales the sweet aroma of her. She’s sweat and come and lube and she’s coming, shaking next him with her fingers buried deep inside. This is her first orgasm. There will be more.
She lets him nurse , his lips wrapped greedily around her nipple, and it’s almost sweet. She whispers to him, all nonsense and sex, but she cradles him in her arms and it’s almost the perfect moment.
When she pulls his hand down her body, Topher doesn’t resist. He wants to be a good boy. He wants to be hers – at any price.