Tonks, Just Tonks (gns_tonks) wrote,
Tonks, Just Tonks
gns_tonks

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Orient Express Part 3 - NC17

Lunch was wonderful, simply wonderful. I’m used to Mr. Chippy, so I always feel like such a rube whenever I end up on an adventure with Whizzy. It’s as if I feel helpless because at times I can’t even read the menus at some of the places he likes to eat. I end up having to ask him for help ordering. Well at least this time the menu was in English as well as French.


So I ordered Nicoise Salad with smoked Scottish salmon. I really can’t stomach fried fish with my pregnancy, but fresh and smoked fish are just fine for my tummy to handle.


We took tea in our compartment suite and dressed formally for dinner. Whizzy thinks of everything, so he arranged for us to have a private table, which is extremely rare on a train. The setting was quite romantic, as our table was next to the window where we could look out across the moonlit landscapes of lakes, forests, and mountains.


“Can we sleep with the windows in our cabin bare tonight?” I ask as I stare out at the silver and shadows. Whizzy looks up from his meal abruptly.


“Of course,” he replies as his eyes turn to focus past the glass toward which I am gazing. Our eyes meet in our reflections…


After our silent and shy walk back to our cabin suite, a walk filled with furtive glances and tightly held hands, our beds have been lowered, the linens turned down for us. The two beds are one above the other, like bunk beds. I grin at the thought.


“Good thing I am a wizard and can expand the bed to hold two,” he smiles as he removes his wand from his white dinner jacket. With a flourish from his hand the upper bunk lifts itself to close in place. A second flourish and the bottom bunk widens enough to hold us both, but not much bigger, just enough room for a cozy pair. “Shall you be comfortable enough, or should I extend the edges more?” he asks as I remove my earrings and bracelet.


“No, this will be more than fine.”


“Then do you wish to sleep on the inside or the outside?”


I stop to think. “Well, I know you would like the outside,” I say as he nods his agreement slowly, as if he is studying me as I speak. “But I will probably have to go at least three or four times before morning, so unless you want to get up and let me off the bed…”


“You have the outside,” he laughs as he pulls me to him, my jutting belly coming to rest against him. He draws me to him and I feel the unexpected hardness of his erection press against me. “And on top,” he smiles and bends forward until he nuzzles my ear, “If you grasp my meaning.”


“Randy again, Randall?” I giggle when he nips at my neck.


“I cannot remember you ever calling me Randall before.” Oh dear Gods, he has gotten very good at this. A slice of pain sears my throat when I feel the pressure of his lips sucking against the flesh. “I think I like it when you call me that,” he hums against my skin.


“Randall,” I whisper and in response Whizzy bites the cord of muscle and skin that connects my neck to my shoulder. He moans as I whisper his name once more and then quickly unbutton his dinner jacket before I run my hands up his chest to his shoulders and in one movement, slide the garment from him completely. The slender fingers of both his hands cup my chin, threading across my face, embracing the skin.


“It was the one thing I never asked or demanded of you,” he whispers as he gently kisses my bottom lip, “For you to ever call me Randall.” The grace of his palms brush the straps of my dress from my shoulders as the material gathers and cascades down the evident curves that now make up the landscape of my body. A final pool of liquid-like cloth collects on the swell of my stomach before spilling to the floor, leaving me bare but for my knickers and chemise. “No bra tonight, I see,” Whizzy murmurs softly.


“Built in to this,” I respond.


“I like this,” he marvels when he drags the backs of his fingers down my sides, over the silken cloth, “Very much.”


I reach up to the side of his face and become distracted by his blond hair, longer now, as if being with me has caused him to grow rebellious, daring. A long lock drapes across his eyes and I brush it back slowly. “You’re hair is getting long,” I smile.



“As is yours,” he drags his fingers over the hair that now rests mid-way down my back. He walks me to the edge of the lower, now-expanded bunk and urges me to sit. Then we watch each other. Watch each other silently, carefully noting every detail of the moment. My white gown…Whizzy slowly unbuttoning his shirt, never turning his sight from me

even when he unclasps his cufflinks. The sudden thought of the heady sight of him as he calmly undresses conquers me, possesses my reason as I realize how long this man has cared for me…maybe not utterly or completely, even though I know he would surely argue. Still, there is a sense of control to him, in the changes I see in him. He tells me he loves me and he says the words even now, but inside my heart I wonder…I wonder how much, to what point? This doubt and knowledge doesn’t take away from what he means to me, just defines it, and gives it limitations.


The crisp cotton of his dress shirt falls to the floor behind him and he moves until he stands directly in front of me, between my spread knees. His perceptive grin is self-assured and deliberate as it covers me in the pale darkness, a darkness that silhouettes him. He takes my hands in his and lets me direct my fingers to his stomach where I run the pads of my fingers barely across the surface of his skin, not tickling, yet still tantalizing.


With a predictable shift he pushes his hips forward and I allow his advance because I decide to undo his trousers, sliding them down his legs even though our bodies remain tightly pressed together. The rhythmic swaying of the moving train is at once hypnotic and soothing and the repeating pulse as we travel through the night forces my breath to quicken. He crawls over me, pulling the linen down before he lies back to settle against the mattress, his head closest to the window with its shadows and flashes. I can see his eyes. I can see the dark blue staring back at me.


I wish that things could have been different for the two of us. I wish that he and I could have been given the chance to love each other uncontrollably and without the shadow of a past haunting our thoughts. But I will be thankful for what I have with him now…try not to dwell on what might have been.


“I love you, Whizzy,” I tell him as I straddle him. His lips part when I roll my hips into his hardness. Somewhere along the way I lost my knickers and he lost his pants too, but that is just as well. It is a wonderful feeling of anticipation whenever we make love like this, with me one top, the feeling of his erection fighting to separate my folds and find purchase in my womb. We’ve gotten so good at this now that we don’t need to use our hands to guide him to the target, he makes his mark without assistance. There’s such a sweet comfort in knowing that much about one’s partner. I love to hear the gasp that escapes him when he enters me, how it is answered by my own intake of breath when the tip of his cock slams up against the summit inside of me. Then we freeze, this time for a very long moment with me looking down at him as my hands come to rest on his shoulders. His hands find my hips and his fingers lace around what is barely left of my waist. Stormy eyes gaze up at me, hypnotizing me in conjunction with the softly glowing flashes of light bursting through the massive window in our cabin, painting me with explosions of pale colors.


“Merlin, you are beautiful,” he whispers hungrily as his jaw goes slack.


With a trembling giggle I scarcely lean forward before my hair tumbles over my shoulders and the ends fall and settle onto Whizzy’s chest. After an unhurried stretch and a fluttering sigh I finally focus on the man below me, his tussled hair, his intense gaze. The connection between us incredibly fragile, yet steady, his hold on me constant although so very tenuous.


“I love you, Whiz,” I whisper down to him. He shifts his legs and bends his knees, which pushes me forward, up and into him, and his fingertips barely touch each other at the base of my spine. “I like being face-to-face with you, but it’s becoming more difficult to do that now.”


He answers me with a throaty chuckle and I bend forward until my hair curtains around his face. “Boo,” I laugh softly down to him and he answers with a brilliant and mischievous smile. Then his hand reaches for the nape of my neck to guide me closer to him until our lips touch. I love his soft lips. He knows exactly how to brush his lips across mine, the just-right way that makes me tingle. His warm wet tongue painting my mouth along the curves and corners.


“You know what?” I ask when we part. Whizzy raises an eyebrow in playfulness, but he doesn’t say anything. “You don’t talk much during sex,” I respond. One corner of his mouth curves up in silent reaction and he slowly thrusts into me. I’m sure I must look a fool but find that I really don’t care when I arch up and gasp… just before I bump the side of my head against the bottom of the top bunk that is closed above us. Whizzy is instantly in a sitting position with one of his hands cradling my head.


“Dear Merlin!” he stammers, “Are you hurt?” His expression of shock and concern catches me off-guard, makes me laugh suddenly. “Have you knocked yourself senseless, Dorrie?” his seriousness causes me to giggle hysterically. “Dorrie, love?” He’s so earnest, and cute. I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head on his neck.


“Don’t you know by now I’m impervious to these kinds of little bumps and falls,” I snort into the skin of his neck. “Besides,” I stop to drag my tongue across the sensitive flesh, “I got you to talk.” Whizzy pulls back and looks at me suspiciously as he bears an open-mouthed smile before he recognizes he has been topped. Then he purposefully closes his mouth and shakes his head slowly. “Okay,” I admit, “If you’re going to play like that….” I can still roll my hips even if my waistline is practically non-existent…and he gasps in reply. “Gotcha,” I whisper and he answers me with a laugh and a growling surge of his hips.
Tags: whizzy worthington
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