4Hey- have some smut because it's about time I did this given the rating. It's been, what, over two years since I started this, haha! Feel free to skip it if you're not down for that though- I'll mark where it is. It is most of this chapter though. Next chapter's on the 25th of May.
Florence steps into the vault, feeling taller somehow in her old clothes.
She'd put them aside for so long, mementos of a time which she didn't believe would exist again. She tugs on the ends of the sleeves, straightening them out and smiling at the Mistress who stares at her, gaze travelling up and down though she doesn't move her head.
Her chin is set in that restrained way she has, lips parted just a little- the hint of teeth beyond them itching, Florence knows, to find purchase against her skin. Her eyes are lidded heavily and then they lock to hers, blue chips of glass which cut right through her but, right now, Florence is not a mother, is not a woman, is not a human.
The Mistress draws in a breath, an audible breath, but stays perfectly still, waiting.
Florence can feel the curiosity which the Time Lady allows to escape, gently pressing at her mind. She pushes it away as she steps forwards, soft.
It sounds to her like her steps ring and she is aware of the ground meeting her feet, pressing into her heel and then curving around to the ball of her foot through the shoes she's wearing.
So many little things aren't right with them now but when they get on the tardis they can change that.
Florence sits down on the piano stool, inches away from the Time Lady and takes her hand in both of hers, pressing down on the small object that she'd brought with her, pressing it into the Mistress' palm and curling her fingers over it.
"It's time, Mistress." She says, firm yet soft.
She takes her hands back and watches the Mistress' face shift through so many different emotions, able to pick out each of them as if no time had passed between when she was travelling with her and today.
Missy brushes her thumb over the carved face of the cameo brooch, touch delicate as if it would be proven to be an illusion.
Her grip tightens around it, fist clenching as she looks to Florence, something lost somehow in her expression.
She kisses her desperately, empty hand clutching at her hip and the other burying itself in her hair, knocking the hat even further askew though the pins refuse to let it fall.
Florence opens her mind and lets the Mistress see everything.
SMUT
The Mistress' nails dig into her scalp as she pulls her head back, grip fierce and merciless.
Florence gasps just to part her lips further, feeling the Time Lady's tongue against the backs of her teeth as she runs her own over the Mistress' bottom lip, slipping into her mouth as they shift for more contact. The Mistress' hand grasps at her thigh, pulling it so that she straddles the bench. She can feel the press of each finger into her flesh through the fabric of her jeans. She can feel the Time Lady's knee between her thighs.
The Mistress stands, pushing Florence down with one hand and pulling her up with the other.
She moves with her, head moving to the side as Missy tugs at her hair, breath shuddering as she grinds her knee against the front of her jeans and presses hot, open-mouthed kisses across her cheek to her neck, teeth touching, touching, touching her skin, closer and closer until she nips gently, once, twice, three times, four, harder each time as she moves around the bottom of her neck.
Florence's hands clutch at air, voice catching in a small cry as she arches deliberately towards the Mistress, neck stretching so that she can touch it- touch her.
She wants this and her so badly.
And then the Mistress' hand is on her throat and her single heart is thundering, thundering in her chest as Missy bites down hard, teeth clamping down in a way which brings tears to Florence's eyes but she doesn't care, can't care when the Mistress is touching her like this, no space between them.
Her lips are on hers again and it's delirium and nothing else as she feels the Time Lady's tongue inside her mouth and presses hers against it briefly before she's being kissed, lips against her bottom lip, her chin, the underside of her neck and her head is tilted so far back she can feel the strain but doesn't care, crying out again as the Mistress' tongue travels up the column of her throat and she bites down, teeth grazing the soft skin between her chin and her neck and she arches up involuntarily this time.
She is aware that the hat isn't on her head anymore and feels the coat slip off her arms.
She helps, shaking her arms to free herself from it and slips her hands under the Mistress' coat, feeling the solidity of her body beneath them.
Florence fumbles with the buttons in her haste, frustration setting her jaw even as the Mistress' thigh slips beneath her and she feels the weight of her settle over her own thigh, skirts between them still another frustration.
Her voice tumbles from her again, acting of its own accord as she feels the pressure of the Mistress moving against her and her heart beats, beats, beats, like it could break free of her chest.
There are lips in her hairline, against her eyelid which shuts to oblige it, a cool hand on the side of her face and beneath her chin as their lips are brought together again.
Florence looks, trying to focus, to see, but the world is useless, unnecessary, background noise, when her Mistress has a hand on her chest and is pulling her forwards and easing her back against the piano stool's cushioned seat and she can see her face, eyes dark now, blue swallowed by need, lips parted.
They freeze for a moment.
The Mistress' leg falls from the piano stool and she frowns in irritation, swallowing.
She shucks the coat and it falls to the ground and Florence watches, hoping, hoping, but she doesn't go any further to undress herself.
Florence sits up, breathing heavily as the Mistress closes the lid on the piano keys heavily then marches around to the other side, tension in her shoulders as she pulls out the stay and closes the top of the piano too.
Florence has every intention of pointing out that there's a bed and that it isn't too far away. She really does.
The Mistress comes around, back to her and stands over her, taking her chin and forcing it upwards so that she's looking at her and can see her face. Her eyes are full of a darkness that Florence wants to drown in as the Time Lady scowls without any of the feelings usually associated with it.
She presses her thighs apart again, standing between them and then kneeling, hand which isn't on her chin gripping at her bum.
Florence shivers.
Something in her expression softens, eyebrows unfurrowing slightly as she brushes her thumb against Florence's lower lip and then gently pulls it down.
Florence opens her mouth, obliging.
The Mistress kisses her hungrily.
Her hand drops from her chin and comes to her chest, palm pressing into her sternum for a moment before she starts pulling at the buttons on her shirt. Florence's hands move to do the same for her, spasming uselessly and settling for clutching at the half-open blouse as the Mistress slides a hand over her breast and under her bra and cups it in her hand. Her lips part from hers a moment later and her breath falls hot over Florence's neck as she redoubles her efforts, each breath a shuddering cry now.
She pulls at each end of the bow and undoes the final button, pulling it free of the skirt, high around the Mistress' waist.
There's a scramble as they both shed their blouses, Missy's wrist taking a few tugs to be freed which Florence uses to reach behind and unclasp her bra, slipping it off her shoulders and to the floor. Her fingers slide against the smooth fabric of the Mistress' corset, aching to touch her skin and she pulls her closer until her breasts are pressed up against her and their lips touch again, that being all that is required to make the Time Lady press forwards, tongue delving again into her companion's mouth, stroking across the roof of it in a way which makes Florence gasp though there is nowhere for her breath to escape.
Her fingers climb the rivets on the back of the Mistress' corset, practise letting her find the loops and tug them free.
The Time Lady gasps in response, parting from her briefly before her breath is hot, loud in Florence's ear and she cries out again as she feels the firmness of her tongue slide against the shell of her ear, clutching at the skin bared on the Mistress' back desperately, legs tightening around her hips with need.
The Mistress bites down, not enough to truly hurt her, Florence pushes herself against her until there is no space, another noise choked off ass he squeezes her eyes shut and waits for the haze to recede enough to- enough to.
It passes and the Mistress' breath is still hot on her ear and she's crying out on each exhale but she manages to finish loosening the corset and pries herself away for long enough to free the Mistress from it. There's a hand on her breast and it's damp.
The Time Lady shudders, head arching backwards as Florence leans down to take her breast into her mouth, sucking on it as her hands smooth over cool skin, not truly aware of the scars and folds there. The hand on her own breast squeezes and then releases, kneading it, nipple pinched between two of the Mistress' fingers, and she arches into it.
The Mistress cries out and Florence presses herself firmly against her, lips travelling up her neck to kiss gently, softly, butterfly kisses up and down the column of her throat, until the Time Lady's hands slip beneath her, cupping her ass as she lifts.
Florence grips her more tightly between her thighs, holding herself there until Missy puts her down on the top of the piano with a slight thump which echoes low in the chamber below. She puts her feet on the lid of the keys for purchase.
She feels the flit of the Mistress' mind against hers again, as she has multiple times so far, a test of her want, whether she wants this, wants her and what she is offering.
Florence knows that the Time Lady feels her desire because she climbs up on the piano too, straddling her companion, hands on her hips slipping past the hem of the jeans and hooking themselves on her underwear. Florence lifts enough that the Mistress can pull them down, managing after several attempts to kick off her own shoes and then the clothing around her ankles and then she is sitting, completely bare and consumed by desire, on the polished surface of the piano.
She breathes out, feeling like she can't get enough air as her hands clasp the edge for support.
The Mistress is all she can see, hands working at the back of her skirts which fall to where her knees are balanced on either side of Florence's hips.
She wants this.
