Chapter Text
The wrought iron curlicues of Nevermore Academy no longer fill Wednesday with the same sense of dread that they did when she first came down the long, twisting drive that fateful day with her family.
It’s with a purposeful stride (a lesser being might call it a spring in her step. The only logical response to that would be grievous bodily harm; she’s older now, but old habits die hard) that she walks through the creaking gate and up to the grand door of the school. Class is in session, so the halls are quiet and thankfully mostly bereft of tangible pubescent angst and sweat (a slight odour remains, however). She breezes through the halls, taking the familiar route to the greenhouse and pausing at the door to confirm that it’s free of students.
She had, of course, checked the schedule and made sure no class was currently being held; but the hallmark of a detective of her caliber is thoroughness.
The door swings open under her touch and she walks in, taking in the mostly-undisturbed rows of desks and plants and all the usual trappings of the classroom, barely changed from her tenure here. Her target, however, is the locked room behind the teacher’s desk.
Picking the lock with practiced ease, she surveys the neat shelves lined with violently poisonous (and, in specific cases, venomous) plants. Some of them turn at her intrusion and snap menacingly at the air. She waves them all off, focusing on the empty spot where the focal point of her investigation should be.
Exitalis Acidum: loosely translated, catastrophic death by acid. The plant is an evolutionary marvel, tiny stomas on the innocuous looking dark green leaves spraying a lethal concentration of acid upon whoever may harm it.
Use of the plant as a chemical weapon (in fact, sale, growth, and distribution of the plant as a whole) have of course been banned - but Wednesday, with her interests in the depravity of the human mind and also highly dangerous plants converging on this topic, is well aware that for someone with knowledge of the plant as well as industry connections (and pockets deep enough) would be able to get their hands on one.
She cannot, however, see how someone managed to get their hands on this particular one.
The greenhouse is undisturbed - the teacher held class as usual the day before discovering its absence, only realising when she’d entered the room to water the plants and feed some of the ones with more refined and carnivorous tastes. The perpetrator Wednesday seeks has the knowledge of the plant itself, the skills to get into the greenhouse and then the inner sanctum without damage, or is themselves a member of the faculty with access already granted to them.
She won’t bother to hold back a smile.
The game is afoot, and Wednesday has always been a prolific and relentless hunter.
-
Her mind races as she considers the implications of her investigation so far. She’d only become aware of the situation a matter of days ago, receiving a call from a clearly unwilling sheriff of Jericho. Happenings of a supernatural nature had been occurring around the town, increasing in frequency and severity, the sheriff trying to keep it under wraps and catch the perpetrator before breaking and asking the retired sheriff Galpin for advice.
Wednesday can’t imagine it had been easy for her old unwilling ally to suggest contacting her, and she can’t help the internal vindication that he had. He probably wouldn’t, had the current Nevermore professor of botany not approached him to let him know that a highly dangerous plant had been stolen from school grounds. This had given Wednesday pause - an outcast professor, willingly involving normie law enforcement of something that had occurred on school grounds?
She’d followed up contact with the teacher herself, a Ms Monstera, who’d given her more information on the specifics. In that conversation, she’d also revealed that the reason she’d involved the sheriff’s department was because Larissa Weems, somehow still the headmistress despite the PR debacle ten years ago (multiple murders, including the apparent one of Weems herself) had played the whole thing off and told Ms Monstera not to worry or look into it.
That sounded like her.
Her hand trailing the banister as she walks slowly up the stairs, lost in thought, Wednesday experiences a feeling she detests - along with most other feelings.
She’s caught off guard, if it can be believed.
So distracted by the case and pieces of the mystery, a gentle throat clearing causes her to lose her breath and almost stumble at the sight of the very person she’d been reminiscing of - speak of the devil, she thinks wryly, and Larissa Weems shall appear.
She doesn’t appear to have aged a day, presumably courtesy of her shapeshifting abilities. Wednesday is inclined to condemn it as vanity, if she herself didn’t have an enormous appreciation for the way Weems has always looked. She still towers over Wednesday, not in the least because she’s standing at the top of the stairs. Even from there, she can tell she has probably the same amount of height on her as she did when she handed Wednesday her high school diploma, a decade ago.
Her hair in an immaculate updo, her lips painted a bloody red, her tailored jacket only slightly wrinkled from the arms crossed disapprovingly over it. Her eyebrows arched in a disapproving gaze.
“And to what do these hallowed halls owe the pleasure of this alum visit?” Weems asks, sarcasm dripping from ever syllable.
“Apologies, headmistress . Does one need to make an appointment to simply look back on fond memories and treasured friendships?”
At this, Weems nearly treats her to a wry grin before catching herself.
“If it’s fond memories you’d like to revisit, let’s take this to my office.” The ‘so I can keep an eye on you’ is unspoken, but Wednesday and Weems are far too accustomed to this double speak to be ignorant to it.
“With pleasure, Principal Weems.”
Those perfect lips twist in a grimace, at that. “Please, Miss Addams. I think at this point, it may as well be Larissa.”
-
“So tell me, Miss Addams, because I think we’re both well aware that you’re not one prone to attacks of school pride,” Larissa closes the door behind them gently, “what brings you back to Nevermore?”
Wednesday looks around the room, taking in the unchanged timeless decor and grand furnishings.
“Am I not allowed to be sentimental, once in a while?”
“Oh, Wednesday, ” her name drips from Larissa’s lips, drenched in condescension, “you are many things. Sentimental is not one of them.”
“Oh, and you know so much about me?”
Larissa walks behind her desk, opening a door and pulling out a decanter of amber coloured liquid, holding it aloft and looking at Wednesday quizzically, pulling two glasses out at Wednesday’s nod.
“More than you may think.”
“I believe that goes both ways,” Wednesday sinks into one of the plush chairs in the middle of the room, fingers brushing the thick velvet, reaching up to accept a glass from Larissa as she takes a seat across from her.
“Oh, pray tell. I do love being psychoanalysed.”
“Well, for one, I know you’re concerned with reputation about all else. From personal experience, I’m well aware of how long you can turn a blind eye before taking action.”
“Ah, I see,” Larissa crosses her legs and traces a finger around the rim of her glass languorously, before taking a sip. “So you’ve spoken to Ms Monstera?”
Wednesday considers, for a moment, the implications of showing her hand too early. She decides it worth it, for the possibility of rattling Larissa.
“The new sheriff has also reached out. Apparently, my name doesn’t only inspire feelings of ire within the Jericho police department.”
“Oh, how delightful!” The peals of Larissa’s laughter are entirely unexpected. “I can only imagine how badly he had to grit his teeth to call you!” She looks at Wednesday then, and the expression of puzzlement she knows must be there only seems to delight Larissa further. “Oh, you didn’t think you were being sneaky, did you? I knew as soon as it happened that somehow you’d end up slithering back here. You never could keep away from things that perplexed you, even when it was good for you.”
“It’s been ten years, Larissa. You really think you still know me?”
“I’m well aware that you’ve continued this little hobby of yours in the years since you graduated.”
Wednesday takes her first sip then, mainly for something to do with her hands. It’s smooth, rich, smokey, and utterly delightful. She has to hand it to Larissa, she has impeccable taste.
She hasn’t been this thrown off balance in a long time.
“Am I to understand you’ve been keeping tabs on me?”
“You’re a hard one not to watch, Wednesday.”
Wednesday can’t help the thrill that takes her then, internally preening under the idea that she could’ve been the subject of Larissa’s attention.
“Particularly while I’m being a thorn in your side.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t give you that much credit.”
“I’ll have to try harder, then. I do so enjoy being a source of frustration for you.”
Larissa shifts, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, and Wednesday finds her eyes unwillingly drawn to the movement. She takes a sip of the whiskey, doing her best to hide the action.
“Wednesday, dear, I look forward to it.”
-
“So, Larissa, ” the name drawls delightfully off of Wednesday’s tongue, “any sordid faculty gossip you’d like to share with me? The history and biology teachers caught in a storage cupboard, perhaps?”
“Oh, I’ll definitely need another glass before I can even begin to entertain that line of questioning. Can I get you a refill?”
Wednesday nods and smiles her assent, handing the crystal tumbler to Larissa as she walks past Wednesday to get to the desk, her fingertips trailing the arm of Wednesday’s chair and lingering on her own as she takes the glass.
Wednesday finds that she’s been so engaged in conversation that at least an hour, perhaps an hour and a half have passed without either of them getting further than the first drink.
Larissa settles back into her chair, wiggling for a moment in a surprisingly childish attempt to get comfortable. The sight fills Wednesday with an unbidden rush of affection, and if it weren’t for many many years of schooling her expression she would be fighting off a rather foolish smile.
“Now, to answer your question, I run a tight ship around here.”
“You won’t find me disagreeing.”
Larissa raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Cheek won't get you anywhere.”
“Now that, I’ll disagree with. It certainly garnered your attention.”
“It did more than garner my attention. I seem to remember you being the object of many people's attention.”
“Ahh, yes. Now that was tiresome. It seems a girl can’t enlist the most basic assistance for a murder investigation without being guilted into pedestrian and gauche displays of teenage ardor.”
“Oh please, those boys were putty in your hands. Even the monstrous one, what was his name?” Larissa tilts her head.
“Xavier.” Wednesday supplies.
“Again, cheek! Tyler. Even though he seemed, in hindsight, to be ingratiating himself to you, I don’t think he was that good at acting.”
“He was a foolish, boring, pig-headed excuse for a boy. The only appeal was that he turned into a murderous monster, and even that was unforgivably cliché.”
“I can’t say I disagree with you, even if that’s a little cruel. There really wasn’t any boy that you found up to your standards here?” Larissa’s tone is casual, but Wednesday doesn’t believe she’s imagining the pointed tone of the question.
“No, the only people in my circles I garnered any real affection for were Enid, Bianca, and Eugene, for very different reasons. All of them were despite my best endeavors. Of Enid and Bianca, both of them actually tested me, argued with me beyond ‘but I thought you liked me, why won’t you like me,’ and had some kind of moral backbone. Even when Bianca was being a pillock and engaging in the most outdated modes of high school cliquishness, she was at least being interesting.”
“So, someone needs to actively irritate you to warm them to you is what I’m picking up from this conversation.”
“I wouldn’t be that uncharitable. Eugene was a delight, to the point where even I couldn’t stop him from chipping away at me.”
“That boy was almost as odd as you, and I say that with genuine warmth. It’s no surprise you took to him.” Larissa says, her tone light and playful, swallowing the dregs in her glass.
“But as for romantic endeavours…” Wednesday trails off, her mind racing as she carefully selects her next words, “historically, I’ve never been interested in anyone weak-willed. I’ve always needed to be tested to germinate any interest.”
“I see. Verbal sparring does it for you, does it? Fitting, considering your aptitude for certain sports.”
Wednesday can feel her heart pounding as she responds, “Indeed. Not unlike the matches you and I used to have, in this very room.”
Larissa’s head turns then, her eyes snapping to Wednesday’s from where they’d been focused on her glass, one long finger tracing the rim of it. Her pupils are dark, a slight flush on her cheeks, and Wednesday forges ahead.
“You in your chair, all the authority… Me, the supplicant, trying to get through to you…”
Wednesday rises then, Larissa’s expression taken aback for a moment before muscle memory takes over and settles back into practiced impassiveness.
She rounds the desk and pauses at the grand chair that holds so many of her memories from her time at the school.
“You know, I always wondered,” she trails her fingers over the back of it, savoring the feeling of the smooth, worn, cared for leather, “how does it feel to sit in this chair? Or throne, perhaps, is a more apt description. Is it as heady as one might think?” Taking more courage than she thought she would need, Wednesday turns back to Larissa. Her old principal’s lips are thinned in displeasure, the only giveaway that Wednesday might be playing a particularly dangerous game.
Well, she thinks. In for a penny…
She hoists herself up into the chair, hoping against hope that it didn’t look too ungainly, and chances a glance at Larissa.
Larissa has given up on schooling her expression, which has turned downright predatory as she herself rises with a languid grace, unfolding to her full height. The pit in Wednesday’s stomach grows, fear and arousal mingling as Larissa stalks slowly around the desk, her fingers trailing against the polished oak, her steps measured.
“You would do well to remember, Miss Addams, that though I may not be your teacher anymore, not all forms of discipline are lost to me.”
A little breathless, but doing her absolute best to appear unshaken, Wednesday replies, “oh, what’ll it be, Ms Weems? The rod? The switch? The belt?”
Larissa reaches her then, one manicured hand landing on the back of the chair besides her head, and leans in. Her face stops inches away from Wednesday’s own, the smell of unfathomably expensive whiskey and perfume making Wednesday dizzy.
“Only,” her tone even and hushed, never even coming close to breaking the spell, “if you ask very nicely.”
Through all of Larissa’s command and power, her eyes are searching, beseeching. Wednesday knows, without a doubt, that if she were to look away or shy back, her former principal would back off immediately.
She doesn’t want her to.
Wednesday leans in, then, closer than she thought she would ever have the courage for. Her head is swimming, not with the meager amount of alcohol she’s had but with proximity to Larissa. Her fingers dig into the arms of the chair, tension wracking her body as she pauses with her lips a hair’s breadth away from Larissa’s.
“ Please. ”
Larissa doesn’t surge forward like Wednesday thought (hoped?) she would. The hand currently next to Wednesday’s face slowly makes its way over, cupping her jaw before sliding down to her neck. Twisting her fingers in Wednesday’s collar, she pulls her forward, roughly hauling her off the chair.
Wednesday can do very little but look up, craning her neck to see Larissa in all her towering glory, her breath coming quickly as she waits and wants for Larissa to make her move.
She isn’t waiting long.
Larissa, her hand still twisted in Wednesday’s collar, walks her back to hop up onto the desk and stands between her legs. Finally, finally she crowds fully into Wednesday’s space, a strong hand on her jaw and her long fingers in her hair. She pulls Wednesday in for a bruising kiss, so much power contained and held back in her form. It’s all Wednesday can do to clutch on to Larissa’s arms and return the kiss, her fingers in her hair, her hands on her shoulders, tracing anything she can touch before Larissa grabs her hands and forces them back down to the desk.
“You will not touch me, Wednesday. Not yet.”
And god, doesn’t Wednesday just grate at that. Any other time, when she wasn’t burning up inside from yearning and want, when she wasn’t willing to do anything to make sure Larissa kept kissing her, she’d probably have more to say about it.
As it is.
“Then why don’t you give me something else to focus on? Or are we having performance anxiety?”
Larissa’s gaze becomes cold steel at that, one hand reaching out to cup the back of Wednesday’s head before leaning in for a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and heat.
Her other hand reaches down, pausing on the first button of Wednesday’s shirt.
Larissa breaks the kiss, Wednesday chasing her lips with her own for a moment before coming to her senses.
“Is this what you want?” Larissa’s tone sounds far too even, and Wednesday would do something about that if she didn’t need Larissa to ruin her so badly.
“You have no idea how frustrating I can be, and you’ll find out if you don’t touch me.”
“Noted.” Wednesday takes that as her cue to kiss Larissa again, her head spinning from the feeling of Larissa’s lips on hers and her powerful hand resting almost delicately on her collarbone, the weight of her hips pressing between Wednesday’s legs.
Larissa takes one second before tearing the shirt completely, buttons scattering in a show of power that has Wednesday moaning into her mouth.
Not giving her a second to rest, her nails scoring lines down the side of Wednesday’s neck, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts, her sternum.
“That was genuine 18th century gothic, irreplaceable.” Wednesday pants out, her head tipping back as Larissa takes advantage of her distraction to lay hot, wet kisses down her neck.
“Then it appears you’ll just have to make do. Now if you’ll be quiet, I’m busy.”
Whatever retort Wednesday might have come up with turns into a moan as Larissa brushes a thumb over her nipple. She couldn’t stop her hips moving if she tried, grinding up against Larissa’s abdomen, the fog in her head making her rhythm erratic.
Larissa’s other hand moves to Wednesday’s waist, holding her hip in a vice grip as she pins her against the desk and prevents her from moving any further. It’s with a herculean effort that Wednesday doesn’t a) cry out from the lack of contact as Larissa steps back from her, the weight and pressure between her legs disappearing, or b) cause Larissa grievous bodily harm in that moment. Option (b) is looking more and more tempting with each moment that Larissa stands and considers her.
“What did I say?”
“Now, see, I didn’t think that doing your job for you constituted touching you.” Wednesday says, all but panting as she manages to formulate a sentence despite herself.
“I see. Well, If you must continue to make things difficult for yourself…” At this, Larissa takes a moment to drag her eyes down Wednesday’s body (and oh, what a sight she must look. Hair mussed, eyes glazed, shirt ripped open and chest flushed). She pulls Wednesday to her feet, and Wednesday thanks her younger self for the years of honing her reflexes and agility, otherwise she’d be flat on her face.
Her hands encircling Wednesday’s waist, solid and strong, she turns her around until she’s facing the desk and uses but a fraction of her strength in putting a hand between her shoulder blades to press her chest down onto it.
Wednesday’s face burns, her indignation at being manhandled combined with and tempered by the rush of heat it brings. She can’t help but rub her legs together, anything to get some pressure and contact where she needs it most.
“Tsk, always taking matters into your own hands.” Wednesday feels two hands on her inner thighs, forcing her legs apart as Larissa drapes herself over her back and places a kiss to the back of Wednesday’s neck. “Will you never let someone else be in charge?”
“Why would I ever let anyone else be in charge, when I can so clearly do a better job myself?” Wednesday spits out, shuddering when the lips at her neck suck at the juncture of her shoulder before teeth close on the muscle there.
“Oh, Wednesday.” Larissa croons, before her tongue sweeps over the spot she’d just bitten and one of the hands between Wednesday’s legs rises. “You don’t ever want to be taken care of? Not ever?”
“Not if it’s going to take you so long to get to the point .”
“Can you blame me for wanting to take my time?” Larissa’s hand trails around, resting on Wednesday’s abdomen and tracing the line of the belt buckle sitting on her skirt. “I can imagine it’s not every day Wednesday Addams is bent over a desk, flushed and wrecked and begging.”
“Remind me when I begged.” Saying that might have more power, if at that moment Wednesday wasn’t frantically undoing her own belt buckle, her hand wedged between herself and the desk.
“Oh, my mistake, you’re entirely ambivalent about this, I can tell.” Lazily, so lazily, Larissa leaves Wednesday to struggle with her belt and skirt, her hands trailing up Wednesday’s bare waist. She leaves a trail of goosebumps in her wake, Wednesday shivering at her touch, before her hands settle squarely on Wednesday’s hips.
“Hard to have many feelings about this, considering there’s not much of this happening.”
At that, Larissa’s fingers dig into Wednesday’s hips cruelly, just this side of hurting, as she pulls her back against herself.
Wednesday’s vision goes white, her head slumping to the desk as she lets herself be pushed and pulled, not even caring about the gasps that escape her as she finally gets some relief, however far it is from what she actually needs. She gives up on her clothes, belt hanging loosely and skirt unbuttoned.
“That’s just it, isn’t it? I’ve barely touched you and here you are, panting and wanton underneath me.” The weight on Wednesday’s back returns, Larissa’s full length draped over her, her mouth continuing its ministrations on her neck.
Pale as milk, Wednesday knows somewhere in her lust-addled brain that she’ll be covered in bruises tomorrow; hickeys blooming on her neck, five finger-shaped marks on each hip, possibly even where her belt buckle dug in under her navel. It’s hard to care even the slightest whit when Larissa’s tongue is tracing over the shell of her ear, nor when her hand snakes up Wednesday’s stomach to trace around her nipple, pinching it and eliciting a moan.
Not being able to see Larissa almost adds to it all, not being able to predict the way her other hand rucks Wednesdays skirt around her waist and pulls her underwear down, Wednesday only just having the presence of mind to step out of them.
The weight leaves her then, one hand placed on the small of her back, one hand curving around her stomach and tracing down, down, down until it reaches the juncture of her thighs.
It’s with the barest possible contact that Larissa finally, finally touches her; two fingers part her and trace around in lazy patterns, not nearly what Wednesday needs, making her twitch and gasp despite herself. She clutches onto the desk as Larissa works her way lower, just barely dipping inside her before pulling away.
Wednesday‘s infuriated to no end, so close to getting what she needs but every time being denied. “Are you not sure how this works, Larissa? Do you need some pointers? I’m sure-“
Larissa drives into Wednesday from behind, two fingers filling her up so thoroughly and suddenly that she all but chokes on her words. She’s still and unmoving inside her, but the stretch is sudden and nearly overwhelming. Larissa’s other hand rests on the back of her neck, stroking through the downy hairs at her nape.
“I think I’ll manage just fine without pointers, thank you. And you?” She asks, not unkindly, lacking the audible condescension that has laced her voice thus far. Wednesday can’t help but loosen as the hand at her neck continues to gently knead the flesh there, her entire body softening.
Wednesday is sure that Larissa can feel her twitching around her fingers, but there’s no further movement from her. A picture of restraint, Wednesday is certain beyond doubt that she’ll get nothing from Larissa unless she asks her for it.
“Larissa.”
“Yes, dear?”
“Fuck me.”
It’s said in a huff, but Larissa only chuckles as she runs her hand down Wednesday’s spine and starts moving at a glacial pace.
Wednesday’s so wet that there’s barely any friction, but the fullness every time Larissa enters her up to her knuckles takes her breath away. She’s a mess, slumped over the table and moaning, probably red in the face.
The hand not currently fucking her is tracing up and down her spine, gentle strokes interspersed with nails scratching the full length of her back.
There’s only so much she can take of this pace, needing more, needing it rougher or faster or fuller. She cants her hips back to meet Larissa’s fingers, finally getting what she needs for a second before Larissa stills entirely and she nearly sobs from the lack of it, driven nearly crazy with desire.
“Wednesday. If you want something, you need to ask for it.”
“Larissa, fuck me already. I’ve asked.”
“Ask nicely. ”
Wednesday fights it for a moment, her knee jerk reaction to the debasement of begging warring with her need for everything Larissa can give her.
“Please, please fuck me. Properly.” She manages to get out through gritted teeth, hoping it’s enough to get what she wants.
“Now, was that so hard?” Larissa starts moving again, still slowly to acclimatize her, as she mercilessly pushes her hips down into the desk with her other hand.
When she picks up the pace, Wednesday can’t help the debauched moan that falls from her lips. Larissa starts thrusting into her in earnest, her long fingers filling her up and Larissa’s own hips matching the movement of her hand.
Her nerve endings feel like they’re aflame, Larissa pulling all the way out only to drive fully back into her the next moment, Wednesday empty and bereft at the loss of her fingers before she’s almost split in two at the savage pace Larissa has set.
She couldn’t possibly take any more, there’s no way-
Larissa slows, another finger poised at her entrance. “You’re taking this so well, so well. Can you do another?”
Wednesday’s body betrays her, her hips canting back into Larissa and her head nodding.
Slowly, so slowly, Larissa pushes inside with three fingers and it’s so close to being unbearable but under that pain is the most incredible high Wednesday’s ever ridden. It’s never been like this, never been this delectable combination of pleasure and pain, but she’s not sure how much more of this she can take. Her body tenses, her legs locking up, and Larissa stops pushing into her.
Larissa releases her hips, mirroring her motions from earlier, gently stroking Wednesday’s neck and the top of her spine.
She places a gentle kiss to the small of Wednesday’s back, resting her forehead there for a moment.
“You’re doing so well, Wednesday. Do you think you can handle me moving again?”
Wednesday is silent for a moment, her body relaxing under the gentle comforting pressure at her neck but still hesitant to take the full girth of three fingers.
“You look so beautiful like this, you know. Taking me so well, so pretty underneath me. We can go back to two, but I think you can take me. What do you think, dearest? Do you want to try?”
“I want to, it’s just-“ Wednesday breaks off in an uncharacteristic moment of bashfulness. Her cheeks, already as hot as she’s ever remembered them being, heat up even further.
“What’s wrong?”
“Fuck, this hurts. ”
“Oh, darling. ” The endearment and tone sends a shiver down Wednesday’s spine. “I know it does, I know it hurts. But I’m going to be so careful with you, and if you let me I can make you feel so good. Do you want that?”
Wednesday gathers her courage, and nods.
“Good girl.”
Larissa begins to press feather-light kisses all along Wednesday’s back, across her shoulder blades, atop her upper arms, still kneading the flesh of her neck, not even beginning to move the fingers sheathed inside of her until Wednesday’s body has grown completely pliant and relaxed under her touch.
Slowly and gently she begins to move again and the pain is still there, but with the comforting weight of Larissa’s body on hers and the gentle kisses and touches, the pleasure it brings far outweighs it.
It ignites something within her then, that familiar coiling deep in her belly as she’s fucked slow and sure on Larissa’s fingers.
It shows, she’s sure, when the timbre of the gasps and moans that she’s been letting slip the whole time changes. The desperation in her breath becomes more apparent, but Larissa never changes her rhythm, the inexorable thrust unchanging.
Wednesday finds the strength to hoist herself up onto her elbows, her head falling to the side as Larissa sweeps her hair back and kisses behind her ear.
“Are you feeling good?” She asks, her teeth grazing Wednesday’s earlobe. The hot breath against her neck and sensitive ears make Wednesday’s eyes roll back in her head, and her hips press up against Larissa’s hand.
“I suppose I’ve got my answer. Can you handle it a little bit faster?”
Wednesday sets her jaw, about to respond to what she’s taken as a goad, but Larissa interrupts her.
“No. I don’t want you to prove anything to me, and I don’t want you to say anything you don’t mean. Wednesday, darling, will it feel good for you if I fuck you faster?”
It’s hearing that come out of the ever poised Larissa Weems’s mouth that does it for her, her own mouth falling open in a groan as she tries to meet Larissa’s slow thrusts.
“Yes, please, I want it, I want you to.”
“Oh, there we go. Good girl Wednesday, that’s it.”
A second ago it would’ve seemed impossible to Wednesday for her to be more turned on, but the praise stokes the fire in her and she can’t help but grind back into Larissa filthily and with abandon, her own arousal coating her inner thighs and probably Larissa’s entire hand as she picks up the pace.
The feeling in her gut tightens, every movement behind and inside and on top of her adding to it. Every brush of Larissa’s lips or hips or knuckles or fingertips against her sends her higher than she would’ve ever thought possible.
Larissa is at her ear, hot wet kisses interspersed with filthy praise and encouragement that makes her knees weak. She’s fucking her properly now, almost at the pace they were previously, everything on the desk rattling with every stroke.
It’s too much and not enough all at once, stimulated almost to the point of discomfort but needing just that little bit more, just a little bit further. Chasing the feeling, she’s given up any sense of decorum or having the upper hand, her legs spread as wide as possible and her hips meeting every thrust. Her head is tilted to one side, exposing her neck as much as possible for Larissa’s mouth and tongue and teeth, every sentence coming out of Larissa eliciting a sound that Wednesday would be ashamed of if she wasn’t so beside herself with want.
It’s been creeping up on her so slowly, but all of a sudden her stomach pitches and she screws her eyes shut. Larissa notices the change and fucks her harder and faster than Wednesday thought she’d be able to bear, and her orgasm hits her like a truck.
She falls onto the table, her elbows giving way underneath her as she convulses around Larissa’s fingers, starbursts behind her eyes and no strength left in her body.
Larissa keeps fucking her, slowing only slightly, her other arm cradling Wednesday and keeping her pressed into the warmth of her body.
She could’ve been coming for hours for all Wednesday knew, before the subsiding pleasure gives way to discomfort and she hisses quietly in pain. Immediately, Larissa stills inside her.
“I’m so proud of you, Wednesday, you took that so beautifully. Look at you, all flushed and wrecked for me.” She slides out slowly, making apologetic noises when Wednesday gasps at the pain. “I know, I know, it hurts. I’m going to be as gentle as I can, I promise.”
Wednesday takes a moment, lying face down on the desk, before she rolls over, cumbersomely, to face Larissa.
Seeing her face for the first time since she got bent over the desk, her heart catches in her throat. Larissa’s eyes are dark and wild in her handsome face, her lipstick smudged and mouth wet. Her face softens in an affectionate smile, and she smooths Wednesday’s hair back before kissing her forehead, her nose, finally her lips.
It’s soft, and it’s sweet, but Wednesday is not so sated as to forget about the concept of reciprocation, and she’s already started getting her energy back. She deepens the kiss, leaning back on the desk and pulling Larissa with her, glad of the height difference between them as Larissa easily leans over her.
She licks into Larissa’s mouth slowly and lazily, reveling in the tiny hitch in the other woman’s breathing. Larissa may have just broken her apart and rebuilt her, but Wednesday has some tricks of her own and intends to give as good as she just got. Which, to be fair, was very good.
She pulls away, satisfied with the unfocused quality of Larissa’s gaze, and trails her hand down Larissa’s arm before encircling her wrist and bringing it up to her face.
Larissa’s fingers are shiny and wet with Wednesday herself, and in a fit of pique her tongue darts out to lick the tip of Larissa’s index finger.
She gets exactly the reaction she was hoping for; Larissa lets slip a groan and the desk creaks where Larissa’s other hand is grasping it. Never breaking eye contact, Wednesday drags the flat of her tongue from base to the tip of the same finger, parting her lips and placing them on Larissa’s fingertip, so just the tiniest part is allowed entrance.
She feels gentle pressure against her lips, Larissa pushing her fingers in, and she’s in a playful mood so she allows the digit past her teeth before gently nipping it, raising her eyebrow at Larissa.
The wordless admonishment has its desired effect, and Larissa waits. A bastion of strength and control, she stays utterly motionless as Wednesday teases her.
Wednesday proceeds to lavish Larissa’s hand with attention, cleaning every trace of herself from it. By the time her tongue has worked its way through the webbing between Larissa’s fingers, swirled around each finger, and traced mindless patterns around each knuckle, Larissa is breathing hard and fast.
Larissa’s eyes are locked on to Wednesday’s mouth, never wavering from the motion of her tongue.
Parting her lips, Wednesday slowly but surely takes all three fingers in her mouth as she hollows her cheeks, humming in appreciation as Larissa’s pupils dilate.
Finally, she releases them with a wet pop and lets Larissa’s hand fall to the desk beside her.
Larissa remains poised above her, silent and still but with every muscle tensed in anticipation. She reminds Wednesday of some terrifying predator, power and strength coiled in every muscle but moving with grace and purpose. The sight of it turns her on almost enough to try and wrestle Larissa onto her back on the desk and ride her fingers for the next hour, but she has a job to do. Never let it be said that Wednesday Addams doesn’t do her due diligence in everything.
Still unspeaking, she slowly rises from the desk, pressing against Larissa who remains unmoving and may as well be made of steel, but Wednesday presses a hand against her shoulder and fixes her with an expression that brooks no disagreement.
Larissa frees her, standing up and taking a moment to adjust her clothes. The sight of Larissa Weems, having just fucked her to senselessness, lipstick everywhere and hair a mess but still fully clothed, smoothing out wrinkles in her pencil skirt is almost hilarious. Almost.
Wincing at the pain between her legs as she gets up, Wednesday stalks right up to Larissa and presses her hand against her shoulder once again.
Larissa only looks amused, but willing to see where Wednesday is taking this. She allows herself to get pushed back until the backs of her knees hit the grand chair next to the desk, and she sits.
Wednesday takes a moment to appreciate the sight before she divests herself of the rest of her clothing. She takes her time pulling the ruined shirt off her arms, sliding the belt and skirt down her legs before they join her underwear on the floor. Through it all, Larissa watches her silently, her lips parted and her eyes dark and wanting.
Wednesday manages to get herself onto the chair without lacking too much grace, and straddles Larissa.
“Having fun with your illusion of control, Addams?” They’re the first words spoken to each other since Larissa was inside of her, and Wednesday can’t help but scoff.
“Oh, please. You’ve had your fun. My turn now.”
From where she is, sitting astride Larissa, they’re almost of a height; Wednesday is very appreciative of this fact when she places both hands on either side of Larissa’s face and pulls her in for a slow, filthy kiss.
Larissa’s hands wander, meandering over all the exposed skin presented to her before placing her hands on the backs of Wednesday’s thighs and pulling her in against her own abdomen, throwing Wednesday off balance.
Various reactions flit through Wednesday’s mind then, before she makes her choice. If Larissa wants to play dirty, she’ll be beaten at her own game.
Wednesday regains her balance, delicately plucking Larissa’s hands off her thighs and placing them around her waist, where they’re nearly able to encircle her completely. She leans in, an elbow on either side of Larissa’s face, kissing her slowly as she rolls the entire length of her body against the solid mass of Larissa.
Wednesday pauses, noting how Larissa tries to follow the action, sees the frustration in her face when she realises it won’t be that easy.
“Sorry, Larissa. You’ve had your turn. The plan was that I get you off as a token of gratitude for you fucking me, but you ruined that for yourself. So now, before that, you have to sit there while I get off again. You don’t touch me, you don’t move a muscle except to kiss me.”
Larissa sets her jaw, her eyebrows knitting together in displeasure before Wednesday strokes her brow sympathetically.
“I’m not that cruel, I promise you’ll have your turn. But for now, you just sit there and look beautiful and let me use you.”
With that, Wednesday surges forward to catch Larissa’s mouth in another kiss, biting her lower lip as her own hips grind down, seeking friction.
For whatever reason, maybe the thrill of having Larissa helpless underneath her, she can feel the tension in her rising already.
She rocks against Larissa, never breaking the contact between their lips, shamelessly moaning into Larissa’s mouth with each grind of her own hips. With each sound and movement, she can sense Larissa struggling more and more.
Her hands, still around Wednesday’s waist, dig into her hips with more bruising force than before, her breath coming in shorter and shorter pants.
Those fucking hands will probably become a big thing for her, Wednesday thinks nearly deliriously as she chases her orgasm. So much power and strength, able to pick her up and throw her down on the floor if she so wanted but not doing so, all because of Wednesday’s word. She can feel Larissa’s desperation to touch her, and the rush of power is heady and all-consuming. Larissa can’t touch her, and won’t touch her, until Wednesday says she can.
It’s these thoughts that truly tip her over the edge, the release overtaking her only a little weaker than before, easy to reach from the arousal still present at the core of her. She sinks her teeth into Larissa’s bottom lip just as the tension within her snaps, and finally she manages to tear a sound from Larissa. It’s quiet, but that wrecked groan is the sweetest thing Wednesday’s ever heard.
Breathing hard, Wednesday tips forward and rests her forehead against the other woman’s.
They stay there for a moment, motionless but for Larissa’s thumbs making mindless circles on the skin just below her ribs. Wednesday shifts, tucking her face into Larissa’s neck, basking in the afterglow of two fairly astounding orgasms.
She places a kiss on the soft, smooth, delicately perfumed skin of Larissa’s neck. It’s meant to be purely affectionate, but Larissa can’t hide the tremble that runs through her and Wednesday is reminded that she still has barely gotten to touch her.
Slipping off Larissa’s lap regretfully, she holds out an imperious hand. The hand is taken, and Larissa rises with a quizzical look on her face.
“Undress for me.”
A beat of silence, before Wednesday illustrates her point by reaching up and flicking the top button of Larissa’s blazer.
“This suit seems expensive, and I’d hate for it to meet the same fate as my shirt. Strip. ”
For a second, it appears Larissa will make this difficult for both of them. However, after a long moment of consideration, (where Wednesday can almost see the gears turning in her head) Larissa slowly undoes the buttons of her blazer.
It’s not a performance, but Wednesday finds that her mouth gets drier and drier with every movement. Larissa finally rids herself of her ridiculous blazer, then takes even longer on the shirt under it.
She reveals an expanse of creamy skin, and of course the most utilitarian brassiere covering her breasts. Next is her skirt, an intricate system of loops and snaps and buttons that seems to take forever before it’s sliding down the vast length of Larissa’s legs.
She stands before Wednesday, clad only in her bra and underwear, in all her Grecian hero glory. The softest skin and the most luscious curves Wednesday has ever seen invite her touch, and before she knows it she’s stepped back into Larissa’s space, looking up at her face as she unclasps her bra and slides it down her arms.
Again, the height difference comes in very handy when she finds herself at exact eye level with Larissa’s chest. Drinking in the sight of the body bared before her, Wednesday slides the last piece of Larissa’s clothing down her legs and walks her back into the chair.
She resumes her previous position (to be honest, she’s getting quite used to it) straddling Larissa’s lap, sighing at the skin-on-skin contact.
Larissa has been entirely silent throughout this entire exchange, merely waiting to see what Wednesday will do next, and Wednesday is hit with a sudden wave of uncertainty.
“Have I made you uncomfortable?” She asks, tilting her head.
“Not at all.” Larissa replies.
Wednesday waits for her to elaborate, but no answer is forthcoming. “Do you not want me to reciprocate? Pardon me for being presumptuous, but I assumed this was how it would go. You seem a great deal more hesitant than when you were fucking me over your desk.”
“I don’t-“ oh, and isn’t that marvelous. Larissa has averted her eyes, and the very tips of her ears have turned a delicate pink. Wednesday can’t help but plant a kiss on one of them before turning Larissa to face her.
“You don’t what?”
“I- this is not a comfortable subject to broach, but I don’t want… reciprocity, out of a sense of obligation. It was a long time ago, but we can’t avoid the fact that I was your teacher, and I would never-“
Wednesday can’t help but bark out a laugh at that.
“Good grief, Larissa. Please, allow me to set the record straight. I am under no sense of obligation, and reciprocity would be my pleasure. I mean that in the most biblical sense of the word. On the other subject, I’m a twenty-eight year old woman, who hasn’t seen you for ten years, and the idea that you have any authority over me beyond what I allow you is laughable. Now,” she nuzzles Larissa’s neck, peppering it with delicate, closed mouth kisses, “are you suitably reassured? Can I touch you like I’ve been dying to do since we sat down in your office?”
“I suppose I would be amenable to that, yes.”
“Listen to her. Amenable. I’d be insulted, if I didn’t have an unshakable ego.”
Wednesday shifts so she straddles one of Larissa’s thighs, bearing down but trying not to put too much pressure on her own overstimulated flesh.
She works her hands through Larissa’s hair, doing her best to find and remove all of the offending pins that are just barely managing to keep that absurd updo in place. Once she’s succeeded, she cards her hands through newly freed blonde tresses and smiles when Larissa leans into her ministrations.
“I can’t say I’ve ever seen you with your hair down.”
“There are many ways you’re seeing me tonight that you’ve never seen me before.”
Good point, Wednesday thinks. Probably time to make use of that. One of the hands currently in Larissa’s hair tenses into a fist, pulling her head to the side to expose more of the neck that Wednesday’s been so fixated on. ‘Mauling’ would be a polite term for what she’s doing, biting and sucking and licking at all the flesh she can get her mouth on. She catalogs all of the ways in which she manages to elicit a reaction from Larissa, be it a twitch in the thigh between Wednesday’s legs or the most imperceptible hitch in her breathing or a tightening of the fingers around her waist.
She wants to ruin Larissa, and she will get her to break her sense of decorum if it’s the last thing she does.
Easing the fist in Larissa’s hair, Wednesday puts a hand on her jaw and turns it to face her.
“Do you want me to touch you?” She asks.
Larissa’s face goes on an interesting and almost unreadable journey before she replies, “yes.”
“Where?” Wednesday asks in a purely conversational tone. Her hand trails from Larissa’s jaw to her neck, stroking and applying the barest pressure before continuing downwards.
“Here?” She cups one of Larissa’s full breasts, thumb flicking idly across her nipple. “Like this?” Watches the change in her face, before kissing Larissa’s clavicle. Her lips follow the same path as her hand before it, waiting for the telltale speeding up of Larissa’s breathing before giving in without too much teasing. She laves at her chest, a choked moan coming from Larissa when she sucks a nipple into her mouth and flicks her tongue across it. She cherishes that sound, filing it away to replay forever, before doubling in her efforts.
She continues lavishing Larissa with attention, her hand getting rougher in its movements until it’s pinching her and Larissa is writhing where she sits.
Still, so little sound coming from her. Not good enough.
“Maybe here?” She continues moving southward with her fingertips, pulling away to watch Larissa’s reactions as she passes her navel.
The anticipation is writ plainly across Larissa’s face, her brow tight and her mouth the tiniest bit open.
Wednesday reaches her destination, her fingers trailing through the coarse hair before she makes the split second decision not to tease.
She runs her fingers through the full length of her, all hot and soft and open and so wet for her. Larissa’s mouth falls open further, her brows furrowing even more.
Wednesday begins touching her with purpose, zeroing in on Larissa’s clit and tracing gentle circles around it. Light pressure to start, gauging the reactions it garners. It doesn’t seem like it will take long, a thought that disappoints Wednesday as much as excites her. Larissa is wound tight beyond belief, every muscle tensed and trembling.
Her mouth falls open in a silent scream as Wednesday touches her more directly, wetter and wetter with each passing second.
Wednesday slows, then, pulling her hand away entirely as Larissa clutches desperately at her waist.
“You-“ Larissa can’t even finish her sentence, her voice gravelly and rough.
“Oh, don’t you worry. I’m not nearly done with you yet.”