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Crumbs of Love, Favorites
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Published:
2021-09-23
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1,977
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1/1
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Deprivation

,

Summary:

deprivation (noun): the state of being kept from possessing, enjoying, or using something, the state of being deprived
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Pansy gets a very special birthday present.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Pansy has to remember this was her idea.

Tonight is the culmination of hours spent dropping hints and clues about her desires. More experiment than proposition. He is and always has been willing to give her whatever she wants. And today, of all days, is hers to enjoy the fruits of her labour.

But now that she's here, the binds on her wrists are just this side of too tight and the blindfold robs the room of light.

She hears herself breathing, panting, but it's not in fear.

Only anticipation.

There's no other sound in the room and she wonders if Neville cast a silencing charm or if he is simply standing still.

Bare beyond the silk covering her eyes and the fabric binds pulling her arms wide, she is sure the picture she paints is a sight he won't soon forget.

One minute bleeds into the next, marked by nothing more than each laboured breath.

The way Pansy's body hums makes her question how long she'll even last.

The soft sound of footsteps across the polished floors is her only warning before the faintest tingle as Neville drags his finger along the inside of her ankle. Over the years, Pansy has learned her own body and is all too aware of the countless ways to weaponise every part.

Her hands may be tied, but her feet are not.

She opens her legs in invitation, focusing on the building tension as Neville traces senseless shapes into the bare stretch of her thighs.

His answering groan only urges her on.

Straining for any sort of contact, his touch is like mist. It lingers, caresses her senses, but is ultimately intangible.

By the time he really touches her, she's panting hard.

Neville settles on the bed beside her and ghosts teasing kisses along her neck.

He frames the curve of her waist with a hand large enough to span her ribcage before he settles on her breasts. Cupping them and squeezing gently, he swirls a finger around one nipple as his mouth latches onto the other and sucks.

"Gods."

He doesn't stop toying with them, pinching them, circling them.

It's too much and too little and driving her mad.

"I imagined this, you know." His voice is as warm as his hands on her skin.

When he moves away, she is somehow both chilled and overheated.

"Nev—" Pansy chokes on her own moan. She needs him to touch her again.

She pulls at the binds uselessly.

She hates them.

She wants to touch him. To feel him.

He keeps talking and Pansy can't breathe.

"When you first asked, I—I wasn't sure, but…"

His hands return to her body, grazing the bend of her knee as he charts a familiar course. Marking his trail with kisses, he leaves sparks of heat until they grow into an inferno as he inches closer to her core. Though she can't see anything, the lack of pressure in his fingertips is infinitely more infuriating.

He touches her like she's made of glass, fragile at the seams, and with an undeniable admiration.

Normally she might luxuriate in his lazy perusal of her body, but she's not known for her patience.

Pansy trembles with each heaving breath.

"I knew you'd like this." The smug lilt in her voice is intentional.

"H-how could I not?"

She's told him she likes it, too, despite her needy impatience. And if she has learned anything over the course of her life, it is that few things can compare to the way he makes her feel.

Neville is a giver in every sense of the word: his trust, his time, his heart. Pansy, on the other hand, has never shared anything without ulterior motives.

She didn't understand the benefit found in balance—until now.

Until him.

His unhindered devotion intoxicated her into opening the cracks of herself enough to let his affection seep straight to her heart. She wouldn't consider herself a romantic, by any stretch of the imagination, but everything is different with him. Has always been.

Sucking in a breath, he moves his fingers higher. "Are you ready?"

She can only moan and it might as well be a rhetorical question for the way his fingers effortlessly glide between the lips of her cunt. Arching up to feel him, she's thirsty for his touch, parched from insatiable desire.

He pulls away, and Pansy almost mourns the loss until she feels him settle between her thighs. Holding her legs open, his hair tickles her inner thigh.

The most intimate parts of her are for his eyes only.

Her cunt clenches around nothing at the mere thought.

Pansy has memorised the way he looks between her legs, but right now she is deprived of the pleasure.

She would give anything to see him.

But all she can do is feel.

No touch or sight.

It both drives her mad and forces her to focus on what sensations remain.

The open-mouthed kiss that he drops high on her thigh.

The shock of his fingers spreading the lips of her cunt.

Pansy stifles a sob when his tongue flicks against her clit. But the sound escapes when he begins to devour her like a starved man in the desert finding water for the first time.

Shifting her hips up, pushing her legs wider, Neville makes little pleased noises with every adjustment while he eats her cunt. Tongue slipping in as deep as it can as his hands squeeze her arse, he urges her to move against his face.

She can't breathe, her body is tense, and she's whining and moaning in some pitch she wouldn't recognize as her own if not for the pull against her vocal cords. The loss of sight narrows all her focus on the flick of his tongue and caress of his hand.

And the way he sounds. A deep rumble vibrates against her core and she clenches around nothing again.

Pansy feels her orgasm building, dancing on the outer edge of her consciousness, but it's just out of reach.

It's going to devastate her, and Gods, she's never been more ready for—

Neville pulls away and Pansy tries to lock his head in place.

"Wait." He kisses her knee, sounding just as ragged and breathless as she feels. "Want you to sit on my face."

With little preamble, her arms are free and she's reaching for him blindly, desperately, until she feels hands gripping hers and a gentle tug that brings her against his chest. Neville knows what she wants, what she needs, and he tilts her head and gives it to her.

She tastes herself on his lips and deepens the kiss, taking more, taking everything she's been craving since she was bound to the bed.

But just when she's about to lose herself in the ecstasy of his lips, he pulls away.

"I'm not done."

Pansy's rarely compliant, always stubborn to the bitter end, but fuck if she doesn't follow his lead when he positions her on her knees, and nudges them just wide enough for him to get right where he needs to be. He pulls her hips down until she is flush against his face before he goes back to drawing her soul from her body with every flick, lick, and suck of his tongue and lips.

 


"Nev—fuck!"

She can barely hold herself up but Neville's grip is solid and steady. She can't stop touching herself or him as she reaches back to grip his hair while twisting her nipple between her fingers. Her moan is a chant that grows louder, only dulled by the rising orgasm that spreads like Fiendfyre through her veins.

Spurred on by Neville's noises as he squeezes her breast and hums against her clit like he can't help himself, Pansy quakes and shakes and chokes back a sob.

She doesn't come with a scream, a shout or a moan.

It's a wisp of a sound.

Not a word.

His name.

She shudders and falls apart in his waiting, willing hands.

Every second is saturated in sensation. She slumps forward in a boneless, shaking mess, held only by Neville's arm as he works her through it and licks her clean.

Laying her down, he covers her body with his, and draws the breath from her lungs with each kiss, until she's honed in only on him and where his hard cock twitches against her thigh.

Neville doesn't wait long before he moves, filling her until she gasps.

Without her sight, all she can do is feel. And all she can feel is him.

The rough way his hips snap is a stark contrast to the whisper of his affirmations against her neck. His pace is nothing short of punishing and she thinks he's racing to the edge of his climax as quickly as she is inching towards another.

She sings his praises in a symphony of moans and groans and gasps.

And he worships her with a row of reverent kisses across her collarbone.

Marking the pristine slate of her skin, he sucks his signature in the bend of her neck and embellishes it with his teeth and tongue. She loves it when the evidence of their affections follows her for days. He does, too, so she sinks her nails into his shoulders and hopes the bite of pain will drive him to the edge.

When she tilts her hips up so he can reach that spot that makes her body thrum, his groan is deep enough to shake her to the very marrow of her bones.

His breath is hot against her neck when he grunts, "Fuck."

For a curse, it sounds dangerously close to divinity.

She wishes, more than anything, that she could see him in this moment.

Neville is more than just handsome. He is undeniably attractive in any scenario, even with dirt beneath his nails, though she'd never admit as much to him. But caught in the fierce grip of passion is the way she likes him best.

The silk tied tight against her temples is warm from the fire burning across her skin, and she wants nothing more than to pull it off entirely.

Everything about Neville is oversized—his height, his hands, his cock—and when she is beneath him like this, bare and at his mercy, he uses that to his advantage.

It's habit by now for him to slide his hands under her shoulders and hold her tight as her own arms wrap around his neck. She is fluent in the language of his need. His speed is frantic, snapping his hips faster as he chases his own end, and she is malleable in his arms, letting him wring her body dry for his pleasure.

"I'm so close." The words sound more like little whimpers but he must get the message because he mumbles that he is, too.

Reaching up, he rips the silk from her eyes and rests his forehead against hers. Pansy can't help but lean up to capture his lips before she pulls back on a gasp.

 


Everything is too bright and her vision needs a minute to adjust before she locks in on the intensity in his eyes and—

Her cunt clenches around his throbbing cock as they fall into the oblivion of bliss.

With her eyes now open wide, she can watch every sharp detail of his face as he comes. Beads of sweat hug his hairline, and his cheeks are flush from the rush of his release.

He leaves a lingering kiss against her cheek before he rolls over to lay on his back. In the span of a heartbeat, she snuggles against his side and curls around him.

"Happy birthday, Pansy."

She smiles, exhausted and sated and utterly spent. There is no doubt in her mind this has been the best one yet.

Notes:

Happy birthday crumbs! We all love you so much we couldn't just NOT collab for your birthday. Hope your day is as fantastic as you are *blows kisses*

Ina is in her facesitting era, K is in her Panville era, and Saph approves of all these messages.

Beta credit goes to the lovely PacificRimbaud.

Embedded art by saph_xxi [ find all of her socials on her Linktree ]

Ways to connect:
🌱 Ina's Tumblr & Twitter & Dazed and Amused FB Group
☕ Dreamsofdramione's Tumblr & Twitter