This Night

So, I wrote this on Christmas Eve while my landlady and her family had a party in the living room and I sat all alone in my room having nothing to do because there's nothing open in Berlin on Christmas Eve. Somewhat annoyed and rather depressed, I decided I would write a smut story and see if I could turn myself on with it. I think it turned out rather well, so here it is:

Warning: This story includes sexual activities between an adult and a minor. I don't condone underage sex in real life, but this is just a story. About made up people. Who don't exist. So I figure they can do whatever they want.

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Dustfinger crept noiselessly through the second floor corridor of the three star hotel where Elinor had paid for herself, her nephew and his daughter to stay while they recovered from their imprisonment in Capricorn's village. Dustfinger nearly laughed as he remembered the incredulous look on the old woman's face when he told her that she needn't pay for a room for him. Comfortable, my ass, he had thought, but wisely kept to himself, when he thought about the four confining beige walls and too-soft rectangular bed. Who wants "comfortable" when you can sleep out under the stars, with the night breezes kissing your face and the hum of the earth echoing the beat of your own heart? Yes, Dustfinger thought, he needed no bed or continental breakfast. Only himself.

And yet, at the moment, he was creeping along the hallway looking for room 245, the room where he had a good idea Meggie would be sleeping at the moment. He had seen Silvertongue leave the room and go next door, where he assumed Elinor was staying. Sure enough, when he pressed his ear silently against the door to 247, he heard hushed voices that he recognized as being those of Silvertongue and the woman. All clear, he thought to himself as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the spare key he had managed to swipe from behind the concierge's desk when no one was looking. In a few short moments he was shutting the door silently behind himself and peering into the darkness of room 245, his eyes not yet accustomed to the dark. After a few moments, he saw the shape of the four-poster bed, and the faint outline of a small figure, its bright blond hair sparkling in the moonlight, curled up on one side. Dustfinger swept across the room in a few strides, almost embarrassed at his eagerness, and looked down on the sleeping figure below him.

If it was possible, she was even more beautiful when she was asleep. Her face lacked the scorn and sullenness it so often showed when awake, particularly when it was looking at him. Dustfinger was suddenly reminded with a pang of why exactly that face, which had once looked at him with curiosity and wonder, had grown to look so hostilely at him. I never meant to hurt you, he thought to himself, willing her to understand though the words remained unspoken. Anyone but you.

He should have left then. He should have slipped out of the window or back into the corridor and return to where he had left the sleeping Farid. But instead, he knelt by the bed and allowed one shaking hand to gently touch the strands of gold that lay across Meggie's face. So soft, he thought, as one finger ghosted slightly across her cheek. So, so soft. He let out a shaky sigh and attempted to pull back his hand, but found that once he had touched that creamy skin he couldn't seem to get enough of it. He was about to allow himself to trail a finger down the curve of neck that disappeared under the collar of the shirt she wore (Silvertongue's shirt! his mind screamed, Silvertongue, her father, who will kill you when he finds you in here), when all of a sudden Meggie's eyes shot open. Dustfinger's hand shot back as though he had been burned, and he stared in horror at the sleepily confused eyes that peered up at him. What would she think? Would she realize what he had been about to do? Would she betray him to her father? Why shouldn't she, he thought angrily. Hadn't he done the same to them?

But at the moment, Meggie didn't scream or cry out or do anything of the kind. Instead, she looked up at Dustfinger for a few moments with a puzzled expression on her face while Dustfinger attempted to think of a good explanation as to why he would be in her room in the middle of the night watching her sleep.

"What time is it?"

That was, inexplicably, her first question. Dustfinger couldn't answer for a moment, taken aback as he was. When he finally found his voice, he looked at the bedside table and answered, "3:45. You should be asleep."

"And you shouldn't be here." She was quite right.

"Would you like me to leave?" His voice was barely a whisper, so afraid he was of breaking the spell that had her not yelling at him.

"Not particularly," she replied, and tried to stifle a yawn. She looked so unbelievably adorable when she did that, that Dustfinger had to stifle a groan as he felt himself stiffen slightly. "What are you doing here, anyway? Where is Mo?"

"He's next door, talking to Elinor," Dustfinger replied, hoping she wouldn't notice that he hadn't answered her first question. She did notice, and he saw it in her eyes, but she said nothing. For a few long moments they sat in silence, neither looking at the other. It was not an uncomfortable silence, merely the silence of two people for whom at the moment words are not important. The silence, Dustfinger thought uncomfortably, of lovers.

"I wanted to thank you," Meggie said after a minute or two had passed. For a few seconds Dustfinger had no idea what she could possibly be thanking him for. Then, finally he remembered. "You didn't have to help us to escape. We probably only slowed you down. But you did it anyway. So…thank you." She ventured to look up at him, and saw that he was gazing intently into her eyes. It was an uncomfortable gaze, and she suddenly felt terribly awkward. When he said nothing, she continued. "Of course, don't think that this means I've forgiven you for betraying us to Capricorn."
"Of course not," he said, and Meggie looked slightly surprised.

"Is that why you did it? Rescue us, I mean. To make up for having told Capricorn about us?"

"Maybe," he murmured, and ventured to take a lock of her hair between his callused fingers. It was so, so soft, he thought as he stroked it lovingly with the hand that had been burned in his vain attempt to rescue one last copy of the book. "Maybe I just like you."

For a moment he was afraid it had been the wrong thing to say. Meggie's face showed no expression, like a closed book. Dustfinger forgot to breathe. The air in the room had become stiflingly hot and his trousers felt slightly tight. Meggie licked her lips nervously.

"Why are you here, Dustfinger?" she asked for the second time. Dustfinger let drop the lock of hair and his head fell to stare at his own feet. He could lie, say he was worried about her. Say he was afraid Basta would find her while Silvertongue was out of the room. But he couldn't. Not now.

"I wanted to see you," he said honestly.

"Why?" The innocence on her face he was sure would be his undoing. She was twelve, he told himself forcefully. Of course, in his world age did not matter so much as it did in this one. But still, she was a child, though the penetrating look that she gave him at this moment almost made him forget.
She waited for an answer, but he gave her none. He couldn't. Instead, he raised a trembling arm once again and laid his hand gently on the side of her face. It was so small that he could stroke the smooth skin of her neck while at the same time feel the curve of her cupid's bow mouth with his thumb. Meggie's eyes grew wide in shock, and again Dustfinger waited for the scream to come. But it didn't. And when she remained silent, he grew bolder, allowing his hand this time to venture down to the curve of her neck and stroke the smooth, translucent skin at her collar bone. Meggie still didn't move, didn't speak, didn't even seem to breathe. She merely stared into Dustfinger's eyes, eyes that had not left her own since he had first touched her.

"What are you doing?" she said finally, her voice wavering slightly. Dustfinger paused in his gentle worshipping of her skin.

"Is it okay?" he whispered. His voice was lower than usual, and huskier. It made her shiver slightly, though she didn't know why. "Would you like me to stop?" She shook her head, and Dustfinger could only assume that that meant he was free to continue. Mustering up all of his courage, hoping it wouldn't be too much for the inexperienced girl, he bent his head slightly and lowered it to her neck. He felt a shudder course through her body as he breathed gently against her skin, and feeling emboldened he allowed his lips to lower to the silky skin. Meggie's breath hitched, her hands clutching at the blanket that still covered half of her body. Dustfinger could have laughed had it been appropriate. He had forgotten how arousing those slight, first touches were to an as of yet untouched body. Again he felt himself stiffen as he realized with a jolt that this was Meggie's first experience with a man. Had she ever, he wondered suddenly, even been with a boy before? He paused and lifted his head to look at her.

"Have you ever kissed a boy before?" he asked her. Her brows furrowed in annoyance, and he could have kicked himself for spoiling the mood.

"No," she said a little too loudly. "I'm only 12!"

Dustfinger chuckled and moved his hand up to stroke her lips again. The look of annoyance slowly started to fade through his ministrations. He lowered his lips to her ear. "When I was your age," he began, his voice like a drizzle of velvety chocolate heating up her skin, "I was not so innocent as you. But perhaps that is just another difference between our worlds."

"Some of the girls in my class," Meggie whispered, although she found it difficult to find her voice with his warm breath against her ear, "have already done…stuff."

"Stuff?" Dustfinger's voice betrayed a hint of amusement.

"You know what I mean!" Meggie said crossly. She was silent for a moment as she felt Dustfinger's lips brush across the shell of her ear. "But I haven't. The boys my age are all so immature."
This time Dustfinger had to laugh. Meggie, he was happy to see, also smiled, a slightly embarrassed grin that caused her cheeks to pinken slightly. But the smile faded as the look on Dustfinger's face suddenly grew serious.

"Would you like me to kiss you, Meggie?"

She almost wanted to laugh, the request sounded so comical in its seriousness. But Meggie couldn't laugh. She could only lick her lips nervously and stare up into the strangely handsome, scarred face above her. Slowly, he lowered his face to hers, and as his lips descended on hers, she closed her eyes. And the only thing she could think at that moment was, that she wouldn't have expected his lips to be so soft.

She didn't know how long the kiss lasted. She knew only that it was sweet and soft, slightly wet as his tongue gently brushed against her lips, and that she didn't want it to end. When he finally pulled away, Meggie felt lightheaded, and she was glad to be lying down. She smiled up at Dustfinger shyly, and was suddenly distressed to see a look of almost physical pain spread across his face. Had he not enjoyed it?

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Was it….was I bad?"

Dustfinger let out a shaky laugh, and he shook his head as he stroked her cheek again. It looked like a battle was raging inside his head, one that Meggie had neither the experience nor the intuition to understand.

"Not at all, Princess," he said, and the way he was looking at her in that moment Meggie believed him.

"Then why do you look so unhappy?"
Dustfinger drew another shaky breath and tried to think of a suitable answer to give her, one that wouldn't frighten her but that would also satisfy her curiosity and soothe her worries.

"I am not unhappy, Princess," he said slowly, "quite the opposite. The things you do to me…" he trailed off, dragging his eyes away from hers to look out the window. The stars were out. "It's just that…I'm a man, you see. And sometimes in situations like this, men require certain…things. And when they don't receive these things, it can become quite uncomfortable, to the point of being painful."

"Can I help?" Meggie's voice was small, and it made him grow even harder. He groaned.

"It wouldn't be right," he whispered, trying to convince himself. It wasn't working. Meggie sat up slowly in the bed and fixed her concerned gaze on him.

"Please," she said, reaching out a small hand to touch his face. She traced the scar that ran down from his right temple to his chin. "I want to help you." And then she kissed him.
And it was his undoing. The kiss started out tentative and chaste, as it was the first time she had ever initiated a kiss with anyone. But when she ventured to touch his lips slightly with her tongue, imitating his previous movements, Dustfinger lost all control, and with a groan he lifted her by the hips and, moving to sit on the bed, placed her on his lap straddling him. He opened his mouth and teased her lips open with his tongue, teaching her to use her teeth the way he liked. Just when he thought it couldn't get any sweeter, he felt her hands clutch him around the shoulders, her nails digging into his shoulder blades. With a growl, he tore his lips from hers and attacked her neck, licking and biting and forgetting that it wouldn't be prudent to leave any marks. Her nails dug in even harder as she panted, feeling the first twinges of arousal spark in her young body.

"Touch me," he pleaded as his mouth once again attacked her ear.

"Where?" she asked, sounding partly scared and partly exhilarated. She wants, this, Dustfinger's mind repeated over and over again. She wants this.

"Anywhere." He pulled back and allowed her to look at him, as though to plan out where she would most like to begin her exploration of his body. He had an idea where he would most like her to touch him, but he didn't want to scare her off. Not when he had her so willing and pliant underneath his clever fingers. Meggie, however, was thinking about that night at Elinor's house when he had shown her what he could do with fire, and the sight of his naked torso glimmering in the moonlight. Just the memory of it caused her to a feel a warm sensation deep within her body, and a slight dampness in her panties.

"Can you…" she began, and then blushed. He smiled to encourage her, and then she started again. "Can I see you without your shirt again?"

With a wide smile, he pulled off the blue t-shirt he had been wearing and once again, Meggie's eyes grew wide at the sight of his smooth, hairless chest, lightly muscled and pale like her own skin, with two small brown nubs on either side. She wondered if it was soft like his lips. She raised her hand up to him and placed it gently over his heart. He let out a trembling breath and willed himself not to touch her. No, he told himself firmly. It's her turn. Don't frighten the poor child. Don't dirty her.
It was hard to remember that, though, once she started trailing her fingers along his skin, which she found was just as soft as she had hoped. She splayed her fingers out across his stomach and, with the other hand, brushed her thumb across one brown nipple. His breath hitched and she looked up at him questioningly. Had she hurt him?

"Don't stop!" he begged, hating himself for the waves of arousal that washed over him at the look of her young, eager face peering up at him. So eager to please, he thought. You could ask her for anything, he thought to himself. And she would do it. "Please…use your mouth."

Timidly, she placed her lips over the same nipple, which had become stiff and erect as soon as she touched it, and kissed it tenderly. She heard Dustfinger's breath hiss out between his teeth, and she decided to assume that to be a good thing. She wondered what his skin tasted like, and darted out her tongue to taste it. She liked the soft groans and pants coming from Dustfinger, and she began with her fingers to tweak his other nipple as she suckled the first one gently. With her other hand, she reached around to stroke her hand soothingly up and down his back, loving the feel of the broad expanse of skin and surprising amount of muscle. Suddenly, his hand gripped hers tightly and, tearing it away from the nipple that she had been teasing into a peak, urged it gently but firmly downward toward the front of his trousers. Meggie gasped as she felt her hand come in contact with the roughness of his jeans, and something hard and long that was encased inside. She had heard of what happened to men when they had sex—she wasn't stupid—but she had never imagined what it would feel like. Had never actually imagined herself in a situation where she would be separated only by a layer of thick denim from that unbelievable hardness.

She looked up at him questioningly. He said nothing, but his eyes pleaded, touch me! Touch me! Put me out of my misery. Hesistantly, she reached her hand down between his skin and the dark denim, and felt him for the first time. Again, she was shocked at the softness. She had always imagined, in the limited amount of time that she had spent thinking about such things, that penises would be rough and unpleasant, or perhaps slimy like a worm. But Dustfinger was soft and dry as silk, and he whimpered helplessly as she touched him tentatively. With fingers that would have moved faster had he been in a different situation, he unbuttoned his fly and, pushing Meggie gently off of his lap, pulled the offending material down his strong legs. Meggie felt embarrassed to look, but Dustfinger was unashamed of his nakedness and, with a gentle hand, coaxed Meggie to once again touch him. Once again curiosity got the better of her, and she grasped his cock tentatively in her small hand, eager to see what the reaction would be. She was not disappointed. He groaned heavily, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and he dropped back onto his elbows, leaving himself open to her ministrations.

Meggie was not sure what one was supposed to do in this situation, but she was too curious to worry about doing something wrong. She stroked him, a little harder than before, and felt the drops of sticky substance that coated his tip. Using the tips of her fingers, she spread the liquid along his length and stroked up and down, unaware that what she was doing was driving Dustfinger wild with pleasure. He tried to stop himself from bucking helplessly into her hands, wanting it to last forever.

"Please, kiss me," he whispered as he clutched the bedspread desperately. Meggie wasn't sure what he meant, as his lips were too far away for her to kiss him and continue what she was doing at the same time. So she lowered her mouth to his stomach and kissed the alabaster skin she found there, hoping that was good enough for Dustfinger. Meanwhile, her hand continued working up and down his shaft, which was pulsating with blood and pumping eagerly back into her hand. Meggie stroked her unoccupied hand along Dustfinger's inner thigh, wanting to feel every inch of his flesh. Suddenly, without warning, he bucked wildly into her and spouted liquid into her hand, over and over again until he was spent and lay gasping for breath on the bed. Meggie sniffed the liquid curiously and found that she did not care for the smell of it, but was too drunk in the moment to mind. She wiped it on the leg of Dustfinger's jeans which she found on the floor next to the bed, and then crawled up to lie beside the man she had just brought to orgasm. Immediately he reached for her and drew her into him, wrapping his arms possessively around her small frame. She felt his body still recovering from the waves of pleasure she had given him, and smiled. She had done that. No one else, just she.

"Does this mean you've forgiven me?" he murmured against her ear.

"No," she answered truthfully. There was a moment of silence.

"Good," he said quietly. "You shouldn't." He ducked his head down and kissed her again,
passionately and desperately, and she opened up to him eagerly. This time their tongues pressed against each other and their teeth snatched at each other's lips, and Dustfinger was pretty sure that within a few moments he would be ready for another go.

But they both knew it was long past time for him to leave. Dustfinger gave Meggie's pink, swollen lips one last reverent kiss and then slowly, regretfully, unwrapped his arms from her sweet body and reached for his clothes. He knew that he should be ashamed, but he wasn't. Meggie lay back on her pillow and watched as his beautiful body disappeared under his jeans—he seemed unconcerned with the stain she had left on them—and then his shirt. When he was done, he paused for a minute and at first Meggie wasn't sure what he was doing, until she realized he was listening for movement from next door. When he was sure he could still hear the faintest sound of male and female voices, he moved back to Meggie's side and, kneeling, buried his face into the warmth of her neck.

"Whatever happens," he whispered, "don't forget this night."

"What?" she whispered as she felt his warmth leave her. "What are you going to do?" But he was already gone.

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I don't know if there's actually anyone else in the fan fiction world who read and enjoyed Cornelia Funke's Inkheart (or Tintenherz in the original German), but ever since I read it in English for the first time I've been waiting for someone to write something about Dustfinger and Meggie. It's been several years and no one's done it yet, so I figured it was up to me. Just a little one-shot that adds a little depth to their relationship, which obviously is neither sexual nor romantic in the book. Because it's a kid's book and all that. *grumble grumble*