Title: Twenty Questions
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Fleur Delacour/Rita Skeeter
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, I'm just borrowing them for a short period of time.
Words: 2, 997
The woman was infuriating. Fleur didn't even have words to describe the burning hatred she felt for the gaudy robed bleached blonde standing in front of her. Every word that came out of the woman's mouth was like a slap against the cheek, her tone and inflections like nails against a chalkboard, brutally and relentlessly assaulting her ears.
And she was absolutely fucking relentlessly. She focused on the story at all times like a hungry Panda. Nothing, no amount of begging or pleading or kicking or screaming by her subjects could get the woman to hold up for so much as a tenth of a second. It was like a game to her, she took some kind of perverse pleasure in being one of, if not the most, annoying person on the planet - muggle and wizarding world.
This was why Fleur found it so completely unbearable that her breath hitched and her eyes fluttered shut as Rita Skeeter's hand dipped below the waistband of her pants into the wet heat below.
"So how have the girls been? Truly?" Rita asked her voice strangely sharp and conversational as her fingers contacted soft, damp blonde curls, running through the downy soft hair, a smile coming to her face as she watched Fleur bite her lip in an effort to keep from vocalizing her pleasure ... and frustration. "Do they hate you because you're beautiful?"
"Everyone 'as beeen fan-tast-eeek," Fleur gasped as Rita's thumb brushed over her clit, her eyes turning to the side, cursing the Quick-Notes Quill she could make out hovering nearby. The Merlin be damned thing was still vigorously recording every word she was saying, scribbling away with zeal even during her silences.
Gasping as Skeeter's fingers playfully pinched at her clit, Fleur saw the quill began to write again and closed her eyes, unable to bear contemplating what descriptive phrases the damned thing was adding.
Turning her head away it she focused her eyes on Skeeter's face, regretting the move almost instantly. The woman's pale green eyes were focused intently on her behind the thick frames of her glasses, her gaze racking over Fleur's face, and the Frenchwoman felt her heart begin to hammer even faster in her chest. Skeeter's gaze was intent and focused ... hungry as she watched her. Her look lustful and longing, but not worshiping. Rita Skeeter wanted her, was feeling more than a little smug to be having her but Rita Skeeter wasn't enthralled by her.
Fleur sighed and found her eyes focusing on Skeeter's brightly painted lips wanting desperately to kiss them.
"Not even a few snide comments from less enlightened students who resent the fact that as a Veela ..."
"Qu'ter," Fleur moaned hips jerking as her head fell back against the plain wood wall of the broom closet. Skeeter's thumb was slowly, gently, and constantly circling around her clit, occasionally pressing down making Fleur's hips jerk before letting up once more to continue the slow, torturous teasing.
"Excuse me?" Rita asked, her fingers stalling for a moment. She had been distracted by the expressions crossing the girls face; the way her lips moved silently, and her eyes locked on her own, thanking, pleading and cursing her all at the same time. She was watching her cheeks flush red, the added colour only serving to make the Frenchwoman look impossibly young and fresh. As much as she hated to admit it, the rumor mill had not exaggerated Fleur Delacour's extraoridinary beauty.
"I 'ehm ... ownlee a ... qu'ter vEEla," Fleur clarified breathlessly her eyes burning into Skeeter's before they helplessly dropped down to look at her waist where the older woman's hand disappeared into her pants. She stared at the pale appendage for a long moment before biting her lip and directing her eyes back up to Skeeter's face.
She was swollen and wet, her clit ached, throbbed where she could feel Skeeter's thumb resting, and it took all of her self-control to stop her hips from humping Skeeter's hand in an attempt to create some kind of friction. She wanted the woman to start touching her again so badly she felt like screaming, but she'd be damned if she were actually going to ask the reporter to continue fucking her. She was Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion, the most beautiful girl in any room she happened to walk in to, and the top girl in her class. Boys would line up in the yard for the privilege of gazing at her, let alone touching her. She did not beg. But she wasn't above giving hints.
"Of course," Rita replied smoothly, feeling the tension in the young blonde's body, watching her eyes as they blinked rapidly, feeling hips hips gyrating minutely. She moved her thumb brushing it over the French's girls hard nub once more causing her beautiful blue eyes to slide closed in pleasure. As much fun as it was watching her try to control her reactions, she wanted Fleur to remain distracted by pleasure.
"Still, having everyone at your beck and call, must inspire some feelings of ..."
"Not evree w'on," Fleur interjected, her last word turning into a gasp as her lips formed a perfect 'O' as she felt Skeeter's fingers tease her opening. She felt her legs part slightly to give the older woman better access, and as she struggled for breath she wondered why in the name of Hecate she was still answering the reporter's questions, let alone volunteering information.
However, as one of the aggravating woman's hands began to expertly push her pristine white shirt up, while the fingers of the hand that was firmly ensconced in Fleur's underwear begin to move firmly, rubbing at her pussy, creating the most delicious friction as Skeeter's neatly manicured fingers occasionally slipped inside of Fleur, shallowly, teasingly during every pass, the Frenchwoman became distracted from her musing and focused on her pleasure once again.
"That's right," Skeeter said with amusement, pausing for a moment to lean forward and neatly lick the corner of Fleur's luscious lips. "A Veela's charms have no effect on women, do they?" she continued slipping her fingers inside of the girl once more, deeper this time almost halfway to her knuckles, causing a delicate shudder to run through Fleur's body as she breathed in deeply. "In the company of the fairer sex you're left to depend on your personality," she finished, watching as Fleur's eyes moved around her their closed lids piecing together what she had said before opening quickly and flashing with anger at the veiled insult. Damnable French pride, Skeeter thought to herself as she felt Fleur's hips rising to meet her fingers even as the girl glared at her.
So beautiful and fiery despite her almost fragile looks. Skeeter licked her lips and drove her fingers into Fleur once more, wiggling them for a moment watching as Fleur chewed at her lip, before she leaned forward brushing her lips against Fleur's for the first time, finally allowing herself to kiss the young blonde's impossible luscious lips.
Fleur moaned at the contact, and almost grateful clutched at Skeeter as the older woman allowed her to deepen the kiss for a long moment, her tongue slipping into the deliciously warmth of Skeeter's mouth, tasting her with a moan before Skeeter pulled back to admire the bright red lipstick now smeared across Fleur's lips.
She began to move her hand again, drawing it over Fleur's breast as leaned forward once more, kissing the girl before pulling back to watch as her eyes hooded with pleasure as her fingers grasped her nipple.
"'Thar ees nutheeng rawng wit' my personaleety," Fleur managed to choke out indignantly as Rita's thumb circled the rapidly hardening peak of her nipple, before clamping her fingers around the hard tip and pinching it before rolling the enflamed flesh between her fingers.
She wanted to slap the woman across the face. Honestly it was a sore spot with her, and she didn't appreciate the fact that Skeeter would bring it up at a time like that. Skeeter herself didn't seem to have a problem with her personality as she continued to palm her breast, but then again they both knew the reporter didn't have to particularly like her to want to touch her. Lots of people would've been happy to trade places with Skeeter without knowing the first thing about her.
"Speaking of personalities, you didn't seem thrilled by the addition of a fourth champion," Skeeter continued feeling Fleur tense under her hands. Her last comment had struck a little too close to home it seemed. "Is this a personal grudge against young Potter, or are you simply feeling inadequate about the added competition?" she went on dipping her head down, to take Fleur's nipple into her neatly painted mouth, sucking hard at the young flesh, leaving a ring of bright red around the puckered skin.
Fleur's hips jerked and as Rita continued to suckle her breast and she felt herself release a rush of moisture coating Skeeter's fingers with her desire. For the love of Aphrodite, she just wanted ... needed, desperately for Rita to just fuck her! To just drive inside, holding her hips down, vicious but oh so talented mouth on her breasts, sucking and biting and licking as she finger fucked her into oblivion. But she couldn't ... wouldn't ask for it.
Fleur groaned in frustration. The situation was untenable, simply untenable. She was feeling aggravated by Skeeter and her jabs, felt like slapping her across the face, but she also wanted to kiss the woman senseless, thoughts of dropping down to her knees and pushing the awful green skirt Skeeter was wearing up her thighs until Fleur's mouth as inches away from her salivating sex were running through her brain as well.
Her annoyance with the situation overshadowed by her desire for it to continued.
Still, she didn't understand how she had ended up with Rita's Skeeter's hand down her pants anymore than she understood the woman's insulting segue's. She had entered the broom closet intent tolerating the brash, touchy woman's questions for the mandatory five-minute time period and then high tailing it out of there like a dragon was on her ass.
But then she had entered the broom closet, and it was smaller than she had imagined - and she had imagined a broom closet. And then Skeeter was brushing up against her, the whole front of her body pressed against Fleur's, rubbing against her as she wiggled around, speaking a mile a minute while pointing to the self-writing quill nearby. And Skeeter was so close to her that her head began to swim with the scent of her perfume making her feel dizzy and hot, and before she knew it Rita Skeeter's legs were brushing against hers, her knee falling in-between Fleur's as she seemed to loose her balance and fell even farther into the natural blonde's personal space.
And then all that Fleur could smell and see and feel everywhere around her was Rita Skeeter; skin against skin, breath mingling, bodies pressed against each other until Fleur felt as if she were free falling down a deep, dark hole and found herself grasping at Skeeter, seeking anything to help stabilize her and clear the fog.
And the woman was still asking her questions, practically whispering them into her ear as Fleur's hands clutched at her arms, while the Frenchwoman's own lips moved as well, answering Skeeter as the older woman's body shifted against her, Skeeter's thigh moving along Fleur's, inching up higher and higher until Fleur was actually breathless with anticipation, waiting while trying to convince herself that she wasn't, for Skeeter's thigh to press against her sex.
Her own thighs began to move restlessly against Skeeter's and she felt herself licking her lips as Skeeter's moved in speech a few scant, tantalizingly centimeters away from her own.
And Fleur had felt hot, and disoriented, and horny, and had wanted to get as far away from Skeeter as possible, but the little electric shocks running through her body made it impossible for her to move. And then Skeeter's hand was in her pants, her lips were on her breasts, and her fingers were easing in and out her.
Fleur knew now that her five minutes had to be up, that they had to have been up a long time ago, but as Skeeter rhythmically entered her, it became clear to her - and to Skeeter she was sure - that she wanted the older woman keep on doing exactly what she was doing, and that as long as she continued to bring Fleur off she would be able ask her as many questions as her calculating little heart desired.
Fleur knew this, that it was a rouse; that she was being seduced but she was captivated. The raspy rumble of Skeeter's voice rolled through her body like waves inflaming her, her feel of the other woman's body pressing against her, pinning her against the wall made her heart triple hammer in her chest, and the flawless alabaster skin laid out in front of her made her want to kiss, and suck and lick at Skeeter's skin until it was raw.
She was captivated, entranced, enthralled, even though she didn't want to be, and suddenly found herself wondering if this was what it was like to be on the other side of a veela's charms.
"'Et is unprecedented. But 'et is not ez point," Fleur managed to choke out knowing that she had to answer the question, that it was a game and Rita would stop touching her if she didn't continue to play along. "'E es too young, 'e does not have ez training yet. 'E es a little boy, and could be sereeeously 'urt," every word a struggle to get out, barely conscious of what she was saying, not even really remembering the question as Skeeter slipped another finger inside of her.
"That's touching. Really," Rita said, her voice full of self-importance yet somewhat distracted as she dictated for her Quick-Notes Quill. "Fleur Delacour, as beautiful inside," she continued curling her fingers and driving inside of the beauty she had pinned against the wall once more. "As she is out. A true flower of the court," she finished feeling Fleur's legs widen a tad more to give her even more access to her sex.
The Frenchwoman's eyes were now screwed shut and her breathing had been reduced a series of ragged panting. Little tremors were constantly running through her body and her face was covered in a fine sheen of sweat.
She was stunning. Absolutely stunning, her body arching and straining as she flew towards nirvana.
Skeeter realized that she was going to have to wrap up the interview.
"Tell me Fleur, after meeting young Potter, do you think that did indeed enter his name into the goblet?"
"Yes ... yeeeeeeeeeees," Fleur moaned her eyes closed as Rita's voice pounded against her ears like the tide and stars danced behind her eyelids.
She was so close, her body was shaking, she could feel the older woman's fingers moving inside of her, twisting, her other hand cupping her breast, squeezing and teasing her nipple as Skeeter continued to pump into her. She was going to cum, she was on record and she was going to cum. It was crazy, but as she felt her hips bucking up into Skeeter's hand she knew it was too late.
"One more publicity seeking stunt, in a young life dedicated to maintaining unearned fame?"
"Oh god, yes!" Fleur cried out as the quill scribbled away, noting that her tone was emphatic.
"One last question if I may?"
"Pleeeeez," Fleur responded groaning, her leg lifting and wrapping around Skeeter's waist, drawing the woman closer into her body, her hands on the reporter's hips, keeping her close, tugging occasionally trying to draw her closer. "Pleez, do eet now!"
"From the mouth of babes," Skeeter dictated for the quill though her eyes were firmly locked on Fleur Delacour as she undulated in the throes of passion. "Is there any truth to the rumors that the two Hogwart's champions have been ..."
"Ohhh, OHHH," Fleur breathed out body stiffening momentarily before her hips began jerk and her eyes rolled back in her head. Her fingers dug into the bright, slick material of Skeeter's shirt grounding her as she rode the older woman's hand extending her pleasure for as long as possible as her orgasm ripped through her.
Rita watched the emotions playing over the girls face, watched the way her body moved as she came, and thought that she looked absolutely radiant with wisps of blonde hair stuck to her forward. Her thoughts were interrupted however as she felt the Frenchwoman release her shirt and drop her leg back to the ground before slumping bonelessly against the wall.
Fleur remained like that, her head dipped down low as she breathed in deeply, her hand still on Skeeter's hips, holding on as if she feared she would slid to the ground without the support. And then Skeeter felt Fleur straighten against her, heard her breath even out and knew that their time together had come to an end.
"No," Fleur said smoothing her shirt. "'Thar eez no trooth to des rumor, dey are both gentlemen," she continued lifting her eyes to gaze at Skeeter, taking in her smeared lipstick and askew glasses. She was as lovely as she was infuriating and Fleur had to fight the urge to smear her lipstick even more.
"I'm sure we're all relieved to hear that," Rita responded with a smile, brushing her thumb against Fleur's clit for effect as she slowly removed her hand from the girl's pants.
"It was, truly a pleasure getting to know you Ms. Delacour," she continued swiping at the corner of Fleur's mouth with the thumb of the hand that had just left her breast, wiping at some traces of lipstick around the girl's lips. "We'll have to this again soon," she went on, ceasing the useless wiping and removing her wand from her robes, waving it wordlessly until Fleur's face was as rosy fresh as it had been when she walked into the broom closet. "You're an absolute gem."
"'Ze pleasuure was all mine, I ehm sure," Fleur replied smiling at Skeeter, her eyes fluttering briefly as the older woman finally pulled her hand all the way out of her pants. "I look fahward to speeking wit' you again," she continued as Skeeter settled her glasses on her nose once more and tapped at the corner of her mouth with her wand, restoring her lipstick to its formerly pristine appearance. "Au revoir," she continued pausing, as Skeeter's tongue snuck out of her mouth to moisten her lips. "Unteel we met again," she finished her eyes lingering on Skeeter's mouth before flittering up to meet her eyes a smile wicked with promise spreading across her lips.
As she walked out of the broom closet, Fleur Delacour realized with exasperation and a shiver of excitement that she was likely going to end up the most interviewed tri-wizard champion in the history of the tournament.