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Title: A Mocking Line Of Red
Fandom: Once Upon A Time
Pairing: Ursula/Cruella
Rating: NC-17
Words: 594
Notes: Tentacles. For Femslash February, and a prompt at The Annual Femslash Kink Meme.
Summary: Sneers as affection, insults in the place of pretty words; Cruella has truly missed this.

She’s got three of Ursula’s fingers inside of her, the wet heat of Ursula’s mouth on her clit. Carelessly rough touches, the thrust of skin and tongue effortlessly dragging pleasure from Cruella’s body.

Nobody else has been able to make Cruella feel like this. Not the simpering men she married for their wealth, not the pretty boys and girls she’s used over the years to entertain herself, not even the practiced touch of her own hand.

There is only Ursula. There has only ever been Ursula.

“Is that all you’ve got, darling?” Cruella drawls, her top lip curling, a mocking line of red. She’s already sweating, alabaster skin gone pink across her chest and throat, but she won’t admit to Ursula that she hasn’t felt anything as intense as this since the last time they fucked all those years ago. Cloying sentiment is only useful to manipulate those weaker than her; insults and taunts are far more intimate.

Ursula laughs against her, a delicious ripple of moving sound against her cunt. She pulls back, mouth shining with Cruella’s juices, dark eyes both unimpressed and amused by Cruella’s jeering.

Cruella smirks back, her blackened heart fluttering beneath her ribs.

“For you, my dear Cruella,” Ursula purrs, her words wrapped up in both ice and heat, both vicious and seductive, “I’ve always got more. Think you can take it?”

Cruella’s legs spread wider, as do her lips. “You know I can.”

Ursula laughs again, the sound black as tar; Cruella has missed her as much as she’s missed the feeling of gleeful violence, the ecstasy of hurting others before that snivelling author’s spell robbed her of such joy.

She recognises the slide of Ursula’s tentacles over her inner thighs - no matter how many years it’s been, the sensation instantly makes her cunt throb greedily. The flesh of them is slippery, constantly wet, as if Ursula carries the ocean with her.

Cruella’s always detested the water, but the scent of sea salt in the air never fails to make her think of sex.

She feels the thinner end of one tentacle unfurl against her labia, stroking her there with far too little pressure. Cruella’s hips rock up, her eyes rolling in annoyance. “You’re still a disgusting tease,” she scoffs.

The tentacle explores her folds frustratingly slowly. “And you’re still an impatient wretch,” Ursula snorts.

There may be the faintest trace of a fond smile on both their mouths. Neither acknowledges it.

Ursula’s hand grips at Cruella’s knee, the tentacle moving with more purpose now. A growl bubbles up from Cruella’s chest when it finally starts to push inside of her, like decades of waiting clawing at the inside of her throat. Her eyes fall closed, focused on the sensation of it as it opens her up, as it fills her. Long, slick, thin at the tip but growing thicker as she clenches around it, so sinfully flexible as it twists inside of her.

Nobody else has ever been able to fuck her this deep, this thoroughly.

Cruella’s grinning, wild and wicked; when she opens her eyes, Ursula is grinning too.

“Let’s see if you haven’t lost your touch,” Cruella goads, panting a little around the words.

“Let’s see if you still scream like an alley cat,” Ursula shoots back, her pupils dilated and perspiration beading at her hairline.

The tentacle begins to move, easing back then fucking forward, and Cruella’s head tips back, her spine arching.

Their hands lace together, fingernails biting painfully into each other’s palms; it’s as sweet a touch as they’re capable of.
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