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The Headmistress and Her Professor

12

Melisande waited for when she was supposed to meet him, pacing her room. He hadn't spoken to her since they'd left the armory yesterday morning. Would he be there? Had he changed his mind? Was this a mistake? The knots in her stomach made each second of her life ticking away into agony. She couldn't take the waiting. She sat on the edge of the large bed, exhaled with force and threw herself back in frustration, her legs dangling over the edge.

With the what if's and uncertainty plaguing her mind, her pride told her to not to go to him. Don't answer to his beck and call. Be the one in charge. Decide you don't want him. Be the strong one. She was the Headmistress of Ilvermorny, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and she would be damned if she would be strung along and teased. She was no one's plaything.

But then she remembered that day in his classroom. The day when it all started, when he had sent her heart pounding, and gave her a craving for something she never knew she wanted.

________________

She had been focused on the Samhain preparations, worried that she had given too much work to the fretful Transfiguration professor, Professor Lillith, and had wandered into the Charms classroom, her head down as she reviewed a sheaf of notes in her hand. "Good morning, bien-aimé," said a man at the head of the classroom, his smooth tenor cheerful.

She looked up to see Professor Anafiel pushing himself back from the dark, ornate desk to rise upon her entrance, always a gentleman. The windows behind him showed a forest on fire in the sunlight, the leaves saying their farewells in a spectacular array of goldenrod yellows and blazing scarlets peppered with some lingering, stubborn peridots - the latter being her favorites for their defiance. A cool contrast to the firescape behind him, the first thing she noticed was the way his silver silk cravat and matching brocaded waistcoat complemented his wolf pup blue eyes. He always dressed smartly in her opinion, though Anafiel had no patience for the frippery of ruffles, rhinegraves and ribbons, choosing instead to wear more practical, fitted attire for his dual position as Duel Master.

"Morning, Fiel," she replied, approaching his desk with a smile. When she had first had the insane idea of founding Ilvermorny, he had been the one to come to her aid when she was venturing on her own, and help her make sense out of her jumbled thoughts. He was a good listener, and a passionate believer in her ideals. Through the hard work of the first months, he was there, always willing to help. She'd grown quite comfortable in his company, and had shared many long discussions with him over a bottle of wine - sometimes about his troubled past and her troubled childhood, or sometimes just about a good book. She considered him a true friend. He had become her right hand man, and should she ever vacate her position, she knew she would choose him as her more than capable successor. Although she enjoyed his company, his guidance was what she sought now.

Setting her notes down, she leaned back on the edge of his desk, palms holding the wood behind her. She turned her head to look over at him, and sighed, getting straight to the point of her visit. "I don't think Professor Lillith is up for the spellwork we need for the Great Hall for the celebration. Do you think I've tasked her with too much? Would it insult her if I took the responsibility away?"

Fiel walked over to stand in front of her, crossing his arms and looked down, considering for a moment. "I know she has a lot on her mind. It seems the mediwizards aren't sure what is causing her fatigue and have been requiring her to do a lot of tests, which in turn is making her more anxious. But no, I don't think it would insult her. I can talk to her gently about it if you like, offer to take on the task."

"Will you have the time to do it yourself? I know you have a lot of preparations to finish for Williamstown," Melisande inquired, tilting her head to the side.

Fiel unfolded his arms and sighed, remembering his other commitments. "Honestly, probably not. If you don't mind laying down the foundational charms for the floating ornaments this week, I can come in next week and finish up."

Melisande, glad of his willingness to help, smiled at him. "Sounds good. Don't worry about this week, Fiel."

"Merci, bien-aimé," he replied, the French rolling off his tongue without thought.

He had been calling her that lately, but she had never actually thought to ask what it means. She wondered now. "Good" something? Her French was non-existent, but Fiel had been born in France, and his childhood had been split between living with the English and the French. "What is 'aimé'?," she asked inquisitively.

He gave her his charming grin, stepping forward to lean on the desk next to her, his body turned towards hers. "All one word," he explained. "'Bien-aimé' means 'beloved'."

She had laughed then, replying, "You make it sound like we're vampires." Fiel, always the scandalous flirt, always calling people "petite" and "cheré". Now this new term of endearment. He already had a fanclub among the students, both male and female, and she knew he enjoyed the attention. She expected his flirtations and knew to shrug them off.

What she hadn't expected was him moving closer to her. Melisande's eyes widened as his hand rose to brush a strand of her amethyst hair from her face, letting his fingers lightly trail down her cheek. He had never touched her before, never stood this close. Her breathing became shallow as he held her gaze with his beautiful eyes. (Beautiful eyes?, she thought to herself. Since when have I thought that?) He leaned in, his chest touching the side of her arm as he palmed her cheek, guiding her face towards his. Softly, pressing his lips to her parted ones that were open slightly in shock, he kissed her. It was only once, but it was enough to unhinge her.

Pulling back, he gave her his smirk and said, his voice low, "I would happily spend eternity in your company."

The sounds of students approaching down the hall startled Melisande from her paralysis and she jolted away from him, not wanting the students to see the lack of distance between her and Professor Anafiel. "Uh, I..." she stammered. Rattled, she hurriedly grabbed her notes and started walking out of the classroom as the first students made their way in. "Thank you for your help, Professor," she managed to say as she tried not to flee the room.

Where had that come from?!, she wondered. Thinking of his new address for her, she tried to remember when he had started calling her that, and realized that she had never noted it in her memory. Had she missed something? Some change? His flirtations were to be discarded, she thought. They meant nothing. He flirted with everyone. She'd enjoyed his charming attentions before, but it was all harmless fun. But this. This was dangerous. In the span of a few seconds he had changed their dynamic from one of easy friendship to... something she couldn't quite name.

Distracted, she proceeded with her day, teaching her Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, trying to decide if she should slap him the next time he took such liberties, or if she should follow her curiosity and let him continue. She hadn't seen him during the midday meal, and in an attempt to shut off her mind before dinner, she retired to her study above Horned Serpent to read.

Melisande was a few minutes into reading when Fiel came in unannounced, which wasn't unusual for him to do, but after this morning, she wasn't sure if she welcomed his presence. She resolved to ignore him, but Fiel was unfazed, and sat down near the other end of her sofa. At least he was keeping his distance now.

Except he wasn't. He was only sitting there so he would have enough room to lay down, his head in her lap as he closed his eyes. "I cannot escape these overzealous students," he groaned. "Wake me up when today is over please, madame."

She tensed, holding her book rigid, and registered that somewhere behind the confusion, indignation and anxiousness, there was also a longing inside her. She wanted to push him off the sofa as much as she wanted to reach down and touch him. She finally said sarcastically, "If you're going to act like a lapdog, should I get you a collar and leash as well?"

She had intended it to annoy him, but he made a sound of enjoyment at the thought. He rolled over and nuzzled closer to her. "Pet me. Please."

She thought about how close his face was to her center and swallowed. He'd said please, and she wanted to, so she did, running her fingers hesitantly through his short, light brown hair. "Good boy, remembering your manners ," she said, keeping with the lapdog routine.

"If it gets me want I want," he replied mischievously, his eyes closed.

The indignation flared again in Melisande. She removed her hand from his hair and after turning the page in her book, put her arm behind her head, refusing to pet him any more. "Well, if you're going to yap..."

Fiel opened his eyes, looked up at her, and gently bit her dress, tugging. With the cloth still in his mouth, he looked up at her and muffled out, "I don't yap."

Not sure what possessed her, she smacked his conveniently accessible flank, and replied angrily, "If you're going to bite, bite my skin, not my clothes."

With a predatory slowness, Fiel raised up. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, Melisande dropping her book in surprise. Brushing his lips just barely against the pulse in her neck, he whispered, "As you wish." Then adding with a slight growl in his voice, "And still, I Do. Not. Yap."

Melisande shivered at his words. No, not a lapdog, then. A wolf. One that could show his teeth at any time. Fiel began to alternate nips and kisses down the line of her throat, eliciting involuntary soft murmurs of pleasure from Melisande. He bit with more force and she gasped. He pulled back to look at her flushed face and chuckled. "Problem, bien-aimé?"

"Fiel, I...," she began, her face uncomfortable.

Seeing her expression, Fiel drew back, releasing her. "I've no wish to overstep my boundaries."

"You already have," she retorted, angry again, but now at herself for stopping him. Damn him, she was the Headmistress and he was making her feel like a little girl!

"Ah. I'll withdraw then, cheré. I have no wish to upset you," Fiel intoned with resigned disappointment.

He made to get up, but before Melisande knew what she was doing, she was on her knees in front of him, preventing his exit. "No. Don't." He settled back on the sofa, watching her. Noticing he hadn't called her bien-aimé, and registering sadness at the name's absence, she asked, "Only 'cheré'? Have I displeased you?"

Fiel leaned forward and brushed a finger against Melisande's cheek, slowly tracing down her jaw. "No...," he said seriously. "Though perhaps I am no longer sure I please you..."

She shuddered at his touch. Then, feeling bold, she gently bit the tip of his finger, sucking it briefly. "Do I have the option to change my mind? Or is the moment well and truly gone?"

Slowly, Fiel had withdrawn his finger and then placed it on her bottom lip. He looked at her intently, asking low, "And do you wish to change your mind?"

Looking into his wolfish eyes, his finger still on her bottom lip, Melisande gave in with a breathless "yes". Fiel ran his other hand gently through her hair for a second, then tightened his fingers and yanked her head back. Sliding his hand from her lip to her throat, he captured her mouth with his own.

Melisande welcomed the pain, knowing she deserved it, her lips parting as she returned the kiss. Her heart raced as she ran her hands up his strong thighs. Breaking away, their lips still barely touching, she licked his top lip and asked, remembering a confession made while playing a drinking game one of those nights with a bottle of wine, "Do you enjoy punishing as much as you enjoy being punished?" She digs her fingers into his upper thigh as she bites his bottom lip, a mischievous spark now unleashed in her eyes, "Or do I need to make you get on your knees, wolf?"

He drew in a quick breath, eyes wide. "I do, bien-aimé. But tonight, I am your wolf to command."

She grinned, pleased at having thrown him finally off guard, and stood up over him. She grabbed underneath his chin and made her wolf look at her. "Good boy," Melisande cooed, her eyes lidded. Leaning down, she began giving him a gentle kiss, but when he began running his hands up the sides of her dress, she threw him back into the cushions. Putting her foot up onto the sofa in between his legs, she slowly began to lift her skirts, revealing the silk stockings beneath. "Take it off," she ordered, the in control Headmistress that she was. Then, adding with a smirk, "You may use your teeth if you like."

Fiel slowly ran the tips of his fingers up the silken clad leg, edging her skirts higher up her thigh. With a wicked grin he leaned forward and licked the strip of bare skin that had been revealed. Gently, he curled the tips of his fingers over the edge of the stocking, beginning to slide it down, ever so slowly, following it with his mouth, laying kisses along her inner thigh, grazing each sensitive area with his teeth. "Now, belle, silk stockings aren't easy to come by in the New World. You wouldn't have me ruin these just for a night's pleasure, would you?"

She grabbed a fistful of his hair, holding his face still near her now bare inner thigh, her hair falling down in a curtain around her face as she used her other thumb to caress his lips. She was about to respond - when suddenly there was a loud rapping knock on her study door, and a muffled voice calling out "Headmistress?"

Anxiety flitted across her face as she tried to remember if Fiel had the foresense to lock the door upon his entry. The door handle turned... and Melisande sighed in relief when she saw the door stay shut.

"Headmistress?," a student repeated his call.

"I'll be there in a minute," she shouted back, trying to keep her voice steady as Fiel gave her thigh a lick. "Advanced spellwork, can't move."

Not to be deterred, the student continued on. "We need you, ma'am. There's a Wampus and a Thunderbird about to duel in the Great Hall. Professor Amber is trying to keep the peace, but there's already sparks, and we can't find Professor Anafiel to break them up!"

She sighed and responded loudly, "I'm coming." And then not quite so loudly, added ruefully, "Or I was going to." She looked down at Fiel, still in place next to her thigh like a good wolf. He hadn't even looked nervous about a student almost walking in on them, and was smirking up at her. He gave her thigh one last bite, this one hard enough to leave a mark (she hoped) before sliding her silk stocking back into place.

"Duty calls," he grinned.

She took his face in her hands, kissing him hard. "To be continued, then, my wolf."

He winked, still grinning. "Now, if you will pardon me Headmistress, I have a couple of students to kill."

________________

Disappointingly, Fiel hadn't tried to get her alone again that night, causing Melisande to begin to question his intentions. But the next morning, to her relief, he ran into her in front of the forge while she was on her way to her classroom. "Good morning, bien-aimé," he said with a wicked smile. He snaked an arm out and pulled her close. "I must go... check the rapiers forged this week. Would you care to... assist me?"

Hands on his chest, she nodded assent, saying, "We mustn't let any subpar weapons be distributed."

Chuckling, and with a wicked glint in his eye, he grabbed her hand and walked swiftly through the forge to the enclosed room beyond. Pushing open the doors, a long, dark room was revealed, filled with racks upon racks of weapons, sunlight barely peeking through the curtains at the far end. He bowed and indicated for her to proceed him, stepping in behind her and pulling the door shut. Fiel locked the door with an audible "click".

Melisande pinned him against the door then, pressing her body against his. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about their last encounter, and she kissed him hungrily. Without thought she began to grind herself against him as their tongues caressed each other, her reluctant daydreams having already worked her up into a frenzy. When he put his arms around her and held her tight, she moaned a little into his mouth.

Fiel, holding her close, had relaxed into her as she pressed into him. Until she moaned. Something broke inside of him and he growled, one hand reaching up to tangle in her hair as he spun their embrace around, slamming her against the wall. With a quick nip first on her lower lip, he moved to devour her neck, slowly moving down to the hollow at the base of her throat.

She shivered and reached up, tangling her fingers in his hair as her breathing became shallow, a sensitive spot rediscovered from yesterday. She ran her free hand down his side until she found the top of his breeches. Curling her fingers within the band, she pulled his body as close as she could, reveling in the feel of her body trapped by his as his mouth claimed her.

Feeling her arch up against him, he ground his hips hard, driving her into the wall at her back. Slowly, his mouth trailed down to the swell of her breasts, only to be hindered by the stiff fabric of her bodice. "This needs to go," he said in a husky voice. He leaned back and raised his eyes to meet hers. With a smirk and a whispered word, her dress vanished, only to fall in a silken pile in the corner of the dark room.

Melisande gasped at the sudden removal of her garments. He had charmed her clothes off in a most literal sense. She covered herself instinctively, nervous at being naked in front of him for the first time, her breasts pouring over one arm stretched across to cover her nipples, her other hand cupping her sex, only giving him a moment to take in the neatly trimmed mound. This coyness surprised her, and she wondered what he'd make of it, but more excitedly, what he'd do next, with all of her body now available to him.

His breath caught at the sight of her, but his smile returned as she moved to cover herself. Gently, he took her hands and pulled them away. "Bien-aimé...," he murmured, his voice low. "Would you deny me the pleasure of drinking in the sight of such beauty?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing that he was going to insist on making her display herself to him. "You want to look, well then look only," she instructed, recovering from her shyness. She moved her arms seductively above her, turning her head to the side, letting him have his voyeur fill. Running her legs together, she slowly swayed her hips back and forth, her bare buttocks rubbing the stone behind her.

She lowered her arms and turned around slowly to show him her round ass, the kind you could dig your fingers into while rutting like dogs. With her long legs locked, she began to bend over at the waist until her back was horizontal, forcing her pink lips on display with the dimmed light revealing her wetness.

She knew from their previous discussions that Fiel currently preferred men, and wondered as to what his reaction would be to her revealing herself, her most intimate self, to him.

"Look only?" He whispered, voice strained. "I think not..." Dropping to one knee before she could turn around, he leaned forward, hands running up her thighs to grip her hips, holding her still. With tantalizing slowness, he leaned in and licked the center of her, tongue flicking between the folds. Again and again, his tongue probing slightly deeper each time. She cried out when his tongue found her clit, and had to hold onto the wall to steady herself as she leaned deeper, pushing back gently on his working mouth. He was an artist, a dancer, a writer, a professor, a tailor. She had called him a Jack of all trades once - he could happily count this among his skillset.

12
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