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kinkfestTitle: In Conclusion
Author/Artist:
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None that the prompt don't cover.
Prompt: - Beauty and the Beast (any version), The Beast and the Beauty - Furry - His fur against her naked breasts
Word count: 2085
Summary: "Perhaps it's my fault," she said, and hid her face in her hands, letting her hair fall between them.
She found him near the lower gardens, pacing the patio on all fours. His striped fur rippled beneath the light, and when she perched on the settee and waited patiently for him to join her, he eventually came, kneading his long claws into the fabric, slicing it in long clean lines.
"I am as I was," he rumbled at last. She thought she knew him well, but she could not quite judge whether it was unhappiness or simply confusion in his voice.
Beauty looked down at her hands, clean and brown and callused from the garden. "The spell spoke of love," she said carefully.
He turned one yellow eye to her, measuring.
"Perhaps--" All her laboriously constructed explanations, apologies, hypotheses crumbled like stacks of cards, like long-dry crusts. "Perhaps it's my fault," she said, and hid her face in her hands, letting her hair fall between them. His silence made her heart lurch, nervous.
"Your fault," he said, even though she refused to believe he didn't understand what she was trying to say. The deep, rasping vibrations of his voice trembled in her ribcage, at the pit of her stomach.
"I like you," she said, "as you are." She lowered her hands to her lap, looked at him through her hair. The distance to the edge of the patio was not so great. He was swifter than her, but found it harder to climb trees. Beauty solemnly evaluated these undignified factors, and was still evaluating when he moved.
He put one almost-paw on her thigh, fingers long enough to curve over her skin and make her shiver pleasantly--and flexed them. Claws unsheathed and tore through dress and settee alike. "You want me like this?"
Beauty swallowed. Looked fixedly at the trees, into their dark branches and thick leaves, staring until they blurred vaguely. "Yes," she said, her cheeks burning, her lips pressed together and then, carrying on valiantly with the suspiciously derailed-by-subtext conversation, said, "so it may be my fault. That you don't look like you did. That you haven't changed back. That you, you know--" She darted him a frantic look. "Are still. Ah. Furry."
She'd gotten better at reading him, she was sure of it--she'd thought she was quite good--but for the life of her she couldn't tell if that was the hint of a smile or not.
"Then it does not distress you," he said, and she looked at him blankly, puzzled. "That I still wear the form of a beast."
"Of course not," she said, pressing her palms together. "I fell in love with you as you are." After a moment she added, "if you suddenly became human, it would be rather strange."
He gave that sharp coughing bark that was his version of laughter and she smiled in spite of herself. "No stranger than you yourself, my lady."
She scratched absently behind his ears, digging in her nails through the heavy fur. His laughter relaxed her. "You're lucky for my strangeness," she said. "My sisters would have fainted dead away at a proposal from someone as fearsome as you, dear as they are to me."
His fur rippled. "It might," he said sternly, "have been preferable to a face full of soup."
She burst out laughing. "It's not the sort of thing you spring on a girl," she protested. "You can hardly blame me for--"
He turned his head and licked her wrist, wet and rough. "I can," he said. "It stung my eyes."
"You know, for someone as big and furry as you are, you're a big baby!" She exclaimed.
He turned his head further to look at her. "For someone as small and soft as you are," he said, "you're rather insulting."
"You won't hurt me," she said, and her hand trailed away from his throat to his back, drawing down his side. "I know you won't, so don't try to bully me, milord."
He shook himself again, fur ruffling in offense. "I do not bully. I command."
"You're a terrible bully," she said, and bent to rub her face in his fur. "Especially when you don't get your way immediately."
His tail lashed, and then curled over the edge. "I think..." he said slowly, "that I would find human form strange to assume. Alien. I am no longer a man; my time spent thus has changed me too greatly."
"Then you don't mind?" She hazarded hopefully.
The gaze he turned on her had the distinct possibility of becoming discomfiting. "No," he agreed. "I had harboured a greater concern for your state of mind."
"Oh, that's right," Beauty said, surprised. "I'm marrying you." And then she went red, unable to stop herself.
She could pretty securely identify that expression as amused. "Yes," he said. And then--delicately, in his own way--he asked, "does this trouble you?"
"No," she said firmly, resuming her ear-scratching. His eyes slid halfway shut, and the rusty, tentative grinding purr sounded faintly.
The light came through thick and green, luminous in the air; it was humid, but not chokingly so. The air felt soft, and close, and it felt private here, sitting beside him with her hands in his fur, stroking his hide softly with her fingertips. She'd lost the purpose and deft pressure of scratching and just stroked, feeling his fur sleek and thick beneath her hands, temptingly soft. She wanted to lean over and press her face into it again, even knowing she'd probably come away with hair in her mouth and the water-repellent oil of his thick fur covering her cheeks, his purr rumbling through her chest. She scrubbed at her face as though to banish her blush, unsuccessfully.
His ears flicked back, then forward. "What is it?"
Beauty tucked her legs under her, leaning back on the settee. "It's so beautiful here," she said wistfully, absently pushing her skirts over her knees and smoothing the rumpled fall of it. "I missed it, when I was gone." She could feel him studying her profile. Out in the woods vines twined around a thick tree trunk in an elaborate, lethal lover's embrace. Her hand slid down her leg, came to rest on her ankle. "I thought--"
She pulled up short at a soft, flickering touch on her fingers. His tail, moving lazily, had swept over them. Beauty wrinkled her nose at him and continued. "I didn't think I'd miss it as much as I did."
His tail slowed, a lingering sweep trailing her skin. "Flattering, to know we are so easily forgotten."
Beauty narrowed her eyes at him. "You know better than that."
He yawned elaborately, showing gleaming white teeth, pink tongue curling. It was a gesture he often made when he was amused and determined to not show it, and the familiarity warmed her. She had missed this place, invisible servants, cantankerous masters and all. She reached out impulsively, stroking her palm down the thick muscle of his shoulder, fingers curling through his fur.
"You look relaxed," she blurted, voicing her thought without realizing. "I've never seen you so..." Content was the word she wanted to finish with. He turned his heavy head to look at her again.
"I'm to be wed," he said. "And I'm in my heart's form, as that witch cursed me."
"Your heart," she said flatly, raising her eyebrows at him in a silent but imperious command.
He rumbled softly between his teeth. "She said that I was a beast at heart, so a beast I should be." After a moment he added, "I was uglier in the beginning."
"And how did you become your handsome self?" She raised her eyebrows, teasing.
He curled his body sinuously, tail draping over her thighs. "I lived. I learned. But I am no longer a man--no matter how I may speak as a man, and rule as a man--" His eyes were beast-yellow, clear and alien, ears curving forward. "--desire as a man."
She was struck mute, and her fingers curled into his fur. She bit down on her lower lip and felt that flush of giddy warmth fill her, uncertain and hot, like a low humming promise between her thighs. "Milord," she began, and then stopped. Her smile bloomed, slow and shaky, her chest tight--but not with fear. They had been through too much for that. This was anticipation. Underlaid with nerves and conflict and any number of thick, roiling thoughts that came from voices not her own whispering insistently this is wrong and he is a monster.
Before they could stop her, Beauty leaned forward and pressed her forehead into the fur of his throat, her cheeks burning. "Milord," she said, her pulse thundering, and his purr began again, slow and rattling and thunderous. He rolled, and holding onto him she rolled with him, her breasts pressed against the weight of his broad ribcage, the thick fur stroking and abrading throat and collarbone. She gasped, the sound swallowed by the thick air. Her hands clenched against him and she drew herself closer, lifting her face. He pushed his against her, his cheek stroking along hers, his hot breath stroking her throat and the rapid slamming pulse.
She whispered something incoherent against his fur, his tail lashing madly against her legs. She dragged up her skirts, suddenly desperate to feel the fur against her skin, feeling the light brush flicking against her, the sensitivity maddening. She squirmed, his heavy body rolling and curling, one heavy foreleg draping over her side, claws stirring against her skin. She felt the light, prickling draw--and then a sudden wash of air that sliced through the light fabric, drawing down against the curve of her spine. The laces were in front of her dress; the dress sagged and she drew back a little to fight them, tugging them apart. And then her breasts were free, nipples tight, and the softer fur of his stomach rubbed against her. She slid her hand over his side and his belly, petting the length of his body in a slow, exploratory caress.
He growled, the rumble shaking his body, vibrating through both of them. She threw her leg over his haunch, feeling his fur against the delicate skin of her inner thigh, heating her skin. She felt liquid and heated, steaming and glowing from the core out. And she could feel him, there, dragging through her slick wetness when she moved her hips against him. His paw flexed against her back, claws unsheathing; she went perfectly still, almost quivering, as he traced her bare flesh, sweat dewed lightly on her skin.
Her hair was tumbling down her back in thick curls, damp and tangled down her back, loosed from its ties before she'd realized. His tongue rasped over her throat, up to beneath her ear and then down, over her breasts, a prickling mingle of pleasure and near-pain. She arched her hips and then pushed, writhing. A sleek tight clench of flesh, the wet stretch stealing her breath. She sucked in deep, ragged breaths, his spine curving gracefully beneath her fingers, then stretching as his mouth moved back up to her cheek. Beauty buried her face in the fur of his throat and shoved down, taking him in. She had little leverage, but she pushed, sliding over him inch by inch, a thick torturous stretch that felt good, achingly good, like she was going to come apart. Her stomach pressed against his fur, his tail coiling tightly around her ankle.
He was purring again, and the vibrations were like a hand against her skim, trembling and insistent. Her hips jerked pushing him that last bit deeper, and she came suddenly, writhing against him and clenching hard. He snarled and rolled and suddenly she was flat on her back, splayed across the cushions with the weight of his body between her legs. His claws sheared through the fabric again and he thrust once, twice, almost viciously, chasing white-lightning aftershocks through her as he came.
Briefly he slumped over her, weight stiflingly heavy, and then rolled again, off of her; landing on all fours and shaking himself, panting with his tongue out of his mouth. She curled up on the settee, her whole body pulsing with a golden, tender languor, trembling and panting softly, and watched him. He slunk closer again and dropped to the ground, and she stroked his head slowly. When he shifted, she said slowly, "upon reflection--"
His head tilted up, pushing against her hand.
"--I find myself not at all troubled by the prospect of marriage."
Author/Artist:
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None that the prompt don't cover.
Prompt: - Beauty and the Beast (any version), The Beast and the Beauty - Furry - His fur against her naked breasts
Word count: 2085
Summary: "Perhaps it's my fault," she said, and hid her face in her hands, letting her hair fall between them.
She found him near the lower gardens, pacing the patio on all fours. His striped fur rippled beneath the light, and when she perched on the settee and waited patiently for him to join her, he eventually came, kneading his long claws into the fabric, slicing it in long clean lines.
"I am as I was," he rumbled at last. She thought she knew him well, but she could not quite judge whether it was unhappiness or simply confusion in his voice.
Beauty looked down at her hands, clean and brown and callused from the garden. "The spell spoke of love," she said carefully.
He turned one yellow eye to her, measuring.
"Perhaps--" All her laboriously constructed explanations, apologies, hypotheses crumbled like stacks of cards, like long-dry crusts. "Perhaps it's my fault," she said, and hid her face in her hands, letting her hair fall between them. His silence made her heart lurch, nervous.
"Your fault," he said, even though she refused to believe he didn't understand what she was trying to say. The deep, rasping vibrations of his voice trembled in her ribcage, at the pit of her stomach.
"I like you," she said, "as you are." She lowered her hands to her lap, looked at him through her hair. The distance to the edge of the patio was not so great. He was swifter than her, but found it harder to climb trees. Beauty solemnly evaluated these undignified factors, and was still evaluating when he moved.
He put one almost-paw on her thigh, fingers long enough to curve over her skin and make her shiver pleasantly--and flexed them. Claws unsheathed and tore through dress and settee alike. "You want me like this?"
Beauty swallowed. Looked fixedly at the trees, into their dark branches and thick leaves, staring until they blurred vaguely. "Yes," she said, her cheeks burning, her lips pressed together and then, carrying on valiantly with the suspiciously derailed-by-subtext conversation, said, "so it may be my fault. That you don't look like you did. That you haven't changed back. That you, you know--" She darted him a frantic look. "Are still. Ah. Furry."
She'd gotten better at reading him, she was sure of it--she'd thought she was quite good--but for the life of her she couldn't tell if that was the hint of a smile or not.
"Then it does not distress you," he said, and she looked at him blankly, puzzled. "That I still wear the form of a beast."
"Of course not," she said, pressing her palms together. "I fell in love with you as you are." After a moment she added, "if you suddenly became human, it would be rather strange."
He gave that sharp coughing bark that was his version of laughter and she smiled in spite of herself. "No stranger than you yourself, my lady."
She scratched absently behind his ears, digging in her nails through the heavy fur. His laughter relaxed her. "You're lucky for my strangeness," she said. "My sisters would have fainted dead away at a proposal from someone as fearsome as you, dear as they are to me."
His fur rippled. "It might," he said sternly, "have been preferable to a face full of soup."
She burst out laughing. "It's not the sort of thing you spring on a girl," she protested. "You can hardly blame me for--"
He turned his head and licked her wrist, wet and rough. "I can," he said. "It stung my eyes."
"You know, for someone as big and furry as you are, you're a big baby!" She exclaimed.
He turned his head further to look at her. "For someone as small and soft as you are," he said, "you're rather insulting."
"You won't hurt me," she said, and her hand trailed away from his throat to his back, drawing down his side. "I know you won't, so don't try to bully me, milord."
He shook himself again, fur ruffling in offense. "I do not bully. I command."
"You're a terrible bully," she said, and bent to rub her face in his fur. "Especially when you don't get your way immediately."
His tail lashed, and then curled over the edge. "I think..." he said slowly, "that I would find human form strange to assume. Alien. I am no longer a man; my time spent thus has changed me too greatly."
"Then you don't mind?" She hazarded hopefully.
The gaze he turned on her had the distinct possibility of becoming discomfiting. "No," he agreed. "I had harboured a greater concern for your state of mind."
"Oh, that's right," Beauty said, surprised. "I'm marrying you." And then she went red, unable to stop herself.
She could pretty securely identify that expression as amused. "Yes," he said. And then--delicately, in his own way--he asked, "does this trouble you?"
"No," she said firmly, resuming her ear-scratching. His eyes slid halfway shut, and the rusty, tentative grinding purr sounded faintly.
The light came through thick and green, luminous in the air; it was humid, but not chokingly so. The air felt soft, and close, and it felt private here, sitting beside him with her hands in his fur, stroking his hide softly with her fingertips. She'd lost the purpose and deft pressure of scratching and just stroked, feeling his fur sleek and thick beneath her hands, temptingly soft. She wanted to lean over and press her face into it again, even knowing she'd probably come away with hair in her mouth and the water-repellent oil of his thick fur covering her cheeks, his purr rumbling through her chest. She scrubbed at her face as though to banish her blush, unsuccessfully.
His ears flicked back, then forward. "What is it?"
Beauty tucked her legs under her, leaning back on the settee. "It's so beautiful here," she said wistfully, absently pushing her skirts over her knees and smoothing the rumpled fall of it. "I missed it, when I was gone." She could feel him studying her profile. Out in the woods vines twined around a thick tree trunk in an elaborate, lethal lover's embrace. Her hand slid down her leg, came to rest on her ankle. "I thought--"
She pulled up short at a soft, flickering touch on her fingers. His tail, moving lazily, had swept over them. Beauty wrinkled her nose at him and continued. "I didn't think I'd miss it as much as I did."
His tail slowed, a lingering sweep trailing her skin. "Flattering, to know we are so easily forgotten."
Beauty narrowed her eyes at him. "You know better than that."
He yawned elaborately, showing gleaming white teeth, pink tongue curling. It was a gesture he often made when he was amused and determined to not show it, and the familiarity warmed her. She had missed this place, invisible servants, cantankerous masters and all. She reached out impulsively, stroking her palm down the thick muscle of his shoulder, fingers curling through his fur.
"You look relaxed," she blurted, voicing her thought without realizing. "I've never seen you so..." Content was the word she wanted to finish with. He turned his heavy head to look at her again.
"I'm to be wed," he said. "And I'm in my heart's form, as that witch cursed me."
"Your heart," she said flatly, raising her eyebrows at him in a silent but imperious command.
He rumbled softly between his teeth. "She said that I was a beast at heart, so a beast I should be." After a moment he added, "I was uglier in the beginning."
"And how did you become your handsome self?" She raised her eyebrows, teasing.
He curled his body sinuously, tail draping over her thighs. "I lived. I learned. But I am no longer a man--no matter how I may speak as a man, and rule as a man--" His eyes were beast-yellow, clear and alien, ears curving forward. "--desire as a man."
She was struck mute, and her fingers curled into his fur. She bit down on her lower lip and felt that flush of giddy warmth fill her, uncertain and hot, like a low humming promise between her thighs. "Milord," she began, and then stopped. Her smile bloomed, slow and shaky, her chest tight--but not with fear. They had been through too much for that. This was anticipation. Underlaid with nerves and conflict and any number of thick, roiling thoughts that came from voices not her own whispering insistently this is wrong and he is a monster.
Before they could stop her, Beauty leaned forward and pressed her forehead into the fur of his throat, her cheeks burning. "Milord," she said, her pulse thundering, and his purr began again, slow and rattling and thunderous. He rolled, and holding onto him she rolled with him, her breasts pressed against the weight of his broad ribcage, the thick fur stroking and abrading throat and collarbone. She gasped, the sound swallowed by the thick air. Her hands clenched against him and she drew herself closer, lifting her face. He pushed his against her, his cheek stroking along hers, his hot breath stroking her throat and the rapid slamming pulse.
She whispered something incoherent against his fur, his tail lashing madly against her legs. She dragged up her skirts, suddenly desperate to feel the fur against her skin, feeling the light brush flicking against her, the sensitivity maddening. She squirmed, his heavy body rolling and curling, one heavy foreleg draping over her side, claws stirring against her skin. She felt the light, prickling draw--and then a sudden wash of air that sliced through the light fabric, drawing down against the curve of her spine. The laces were in front of her dress; the dress sagged and she drew back a little to fight them, tugging them apart. And then her breasts were free, nipples tight, and the softer fur of his stomach rubbed against her. She slid her hand over his side and his belly, petting the length of his body in a slow, exploratory caress.
He growled, the rumble shaking his body, vibrating through both of them. She threw her leg over his haunch, feeling his fur against the delicate skin of her inner thigh, heating her skin. She felt liquid and heated, steaming and glowing from the core out. And she could feel him, there, dragging through her slick wetness when she moved her hips against him. His paw flexed against her back, claws unsheathing; she went perfectly still, almost quivering, as he traced her bare flesh, sweat dewed lightly on her skin.
Her hair was tumbling down her back in thick curls, damp and tangled down her back, loosed from its ties before she'd realized. His tongue rasped over her throat, up to beneath her ear and then down, over her breasts, a prickling mingle of pleasure and near-pain. She arched her hips and then pushed, writhing. A sleek tight clench of flesh, the wet stretch stealing her breath. She sucked in deep, ragged breaths, his spine curving gracefully beneath her fingers, then stretching as his mouth moved back up to her cheek. Beauty buried her face in the fur of his throat and shoved down, taking him in. She had little leverage, but she pushed, sliding over him inch by inch, a thick torturous stretch that felt good, achingly good, like she was going to come apart. Her stomach pressed against his fur, his tail coiling tightly around her ankle.
He was purring again, and the vibrations were like a hand against her skim, trembling and insistent. Her hips jerked pushing him that last bit deeper, and she came suddenly, writhing against him and clenching hard. He snarled and rolled and suddenly she was flat on her back, splayed across the cushions with the weight of his body between her legs. His claws sheared through the fabric again and he thrust once, twice, almost viciously, chasing white-lightning aftershocks through her as he came.
Briefly he slumped over her, weight stiflingly heavy, and then rolled again, off of her; landing on all fours and shaking himself, panting with his tongue out of his mouth. She curled up on the settee, her whole body pulsing with a golden, tender languor, trembling and panting softly, and watched him. He slunk closer again and dropped to the ground, and she stroked his head slowly. When he shifted, she said slowly, "upon reflection--"
His head tilted up, pushing against her hand.
"--I find myself not at all troubled by the prospect of marriage."
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no subject
Date: 2010-01-19 10:58 am (UTC)And I really like how you write Beauty, btw.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-19 08:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-19 02:56 pm (UTC)This was so magnificent, I loved your characterization. Not the requester but I've been looking for this sort of BatB fic forever and I finally got to read it.
♥
no subject
Date: 2010-01-19 08:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-20 01:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-20 05:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-20 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-20 05:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-21 01:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-05 08:49 am (UTC)I always really loved that underlying theme in the fact that she offers/agrees to marry him without the knowledge that he'll go all soft and hairless afterward.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 09:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-05 08:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-24 06:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-05 08:51 am (UTC)I always wanted an ending more in line with this, in all the versions I read or watched. And Beauty was a lot of fun to write, so I'm glad you like her!