Summersmut Mod (summersmutmod) wrote in hp_summersmut, @ 2008-08-25 08:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2008, marcus flint, marcus/morag, morag macdougal |
[FIC] The Games We Play : Morag/Marcus :: gift for troppo_veleno
Title: The Games We Play
Author:
Recipient: troppo_veleno
Pairing: Morag MacDougal/Marcus Flint
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2903
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Morag's pretty sure that the only way to "get over" Marcus is to shag him. That's...probably not going to work, actually.
Author's Notes: Happy, summersmut!
With the slightest twist of her wrist, the contents of the glass in her hand swirled, and she very decidedly kept her gaze on the door that lead out to Diagon Alley instead of being focused on the back to the all-too-familiar frame of Marcus Flint. Still very decidedly not looking, she sipped at her drink and tilted her head slightly as she unconsciously gave in and took a moment to look his form over. Even from this distance, she could tell that he was in great shape.
Obviously, Morag thought, none too surprised. Though she was more than sure that the credit went to professional Quidditch more than to his own personal regimen.
Unbidden, as her gaze drifted over him, she remembered, reminisced even, on the way it felt to have him lift her up in his arms as if she were lightweight and never let her go for a moment as he lavished her naked skin with kisses, his entire goal to drive her insane until she had to beg him to give her what she needed and wanted. Hell, she could see it right now. Right on the counter, she imagined, legs open wide as he thrust inside her, strong and powerful, pinning her arms above her head as her back arched with pleasure, and she started to perspire. Making her gasp for breath, and pushing her over the edge until she came while he remained relentless in his pace, fucking her into exhaustion.
Morag shifted, licking her lips for a moment as she let the fantasy play out in her mind before she shook herself and forced the thought away. She could kill him, you know. She should kill him. Because he was an awful bastard, and because she could. She knew some spells that would do him in proper, too. Right and proper, and no one would know it was the MacDougal girl who'd done it, either.
But she wouldn't. Because she didn't want to kill him. Well, she did, yeah, but not really.
Back to the door, her eyes went at that thought, and she concentrated hard on it. Or, as hard as she could manage for the two minutes it took for her to be staring at Marcus' back again. At which point, she picked up her drink, quickly emptying the glass, and set it down on the table. It burned a bit, and she paused to get over that feeling of her chest being on fire before she got up, slowly walking towards her unfortunate ex. Anyone else could tell that it was more of a sashay, though.
She remembered the first time she got him to take her home. It was right after the War, the second one, and Marcus had been trying to rebuild his family's image. Not because he'd been a Death Eater, of course. No one in his family had. But the affiliations ran deep, and the last thing he'd wanted was to be criticised for the actions of the past. Well, that was always what he'd told Morag. She was sure that a good eighty-five percent of what he said was complete and utter hippogriff shit, but she was also sure that what he said had a slight margin of truth to it.
The point, however, was that he'd been trying to rebuild his family's reputation and she'd been looking for a bit of fun, and their paths collided. A night in a pub, not all that different from The Leaky Cauldron in that it existed in a strictly magical town, and she'd decided halfway through the drink that turned slightly drunk to plastered that she'd wanted to take him home. And take him home she'd had. It wasn't the last time, either, she remembered. Quite often, she received an owl or flown call from Marcus wanting to meet up. For a while it worked. He was an arse, and she was a bitch, and they fought and insulted, played heinous mind games, maybe even hexed each other a few rare times, and they shagged, and things – as far as Morag was concerned – were perfect.
And then one day he asked her to dinner. Merlin, she'd felt so soddin' awkward sitting there, not knowing what he was up to, or what the catch was. Not that there was much of a catch. He'd wanted to have dinner, to be nice for a bit. To talk. As in not have sex. Maybe Morag being in his company had started to mess with her intelligence, but they didn't talk. She'd had it set up in her mind that it was just not something they did. Let him take her in a guest bedroom at a function, yes. Talk about Ministry politics? No. Big, red flashing no.
So, she'd run. For as far and as long as she could manage until Marcus got the hint and stopped bothering with her. It was easy at first, you know. Reading on Witch Weekly about him and Meaghan McCormack, Daphne Greengrass or some other tart. And then it had started to bother her. But she chalked that up to the fact that she missed him.
Well, not him. His cock, mostly, but that was the same thing, right? She didn't care about him, and barely knew much beyond the superficial, and didn't care or want to know. So, all she really needed was a good roll in the sack and then maybe, just maybe, she'd finally be over him. At least, that was what she tried to tell herself as she slid onto the empty stool beside Marcus and ordered herself firewhiskey, looking to her right, and pretending it was the first time she noticed him for the night.
She could see him doing much of the same, raising an eyebrow in 'surprise'. "Fancy seein' you here. Cruisin' for a cock?" He asked nonchalantly, even as he reached for a drink.
Morag smiled thinly, a hex on the tip of her tongue, before she reminded herself that it wouldn't be such a good idea with all the witnesses the Leaky could provide and she took a slight breath, relaxing. "Ha, no, actually. Considering I've got my hands full." Her grin widened into something more genuine. "Take that as you'd like."
Marcus rolled his eyes. "I'm sure. Goin' for a record, then?"
"Not at all," Morag answered, shaking her head as her drink arrived. She took a slow sip, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He looked interested, at least, and that was good enough for her. "I've been narrowing it down, you know. Facial features first, whose voice annoys me the least, average lasting time, length, amount of power behind the stroke. Can't imagine why I bothered with you so long – they all beat you in the last two categories."
It was such a lie, as Morag hadn't gotten a shag in since the last time she'd decided to give Marcus a spin, and because she hardly believed it was possible for anyone to beat Marcus in those categories, but she felt better about it when he looked slightly put off for a moment before schooling his features into indifference. Of course it was too late, and she almost reflected on what it meant that she could affect him so easily.
"You're lying," he finally said, taking a gulp from his own drink and finishing it off. He then called the bartender over, ordering another, and Morag turned to him, smiling slyly.
"You'd like it to be that way, I think." Morag said, looking away again. "Ray – short for Raymond – knows exactly what I like. How I like it." She picked up her drink, sipped, set it down. "Remember the island in my kitchen. Yesterday, he set me on it, climbed on top and shagged me senseless. Almost fell asleep right there, he gave me such a workout. Had to carry me to the bedroom. And then he wasn't even done. Wanted another go. Fucking brill, Ray is. Brill."
Morag wanted to continue, but the part of her that was lying through her teeth was slightly distracted by what could only be Marcus' hand sliding across her thigh. She wanted badly, almost too badly, to grab his wrist and drag him out the pub, but she couldn't be so easy. Not with the way she was raving about "Raymond," who didn't even exist.
Very subtly, she shifted, pushing his hand off. Even through the fabric of her clothing, however, she could feel his touch, burning her, and she wanted more of it. But she had to be patient. So she changed the subject. From asking about Quidditch in the most bored tone she could muster, to inquiring about his family and digging a bit into his love life, until she realised he wasn't going to try again unless she did something drastic.
Standing, she tilted her head towards his ear, and softly said, "Sorry I can't stay much longer. Ray's going to come over and put me to sleep. Works every time." She pulled back, flashing a smile at him, dropped a sickle on the counter and turned to leave, only to stop when Marcus caught her by her wrist. She looked down at where her skin was touching his, and then turned to look at him, a slow smile crossing her face.
Gotcha.
--
The door swung open at the sound of Morag's breathless Alohomora, but then her mouth was back on Marcus', tongues tangling as they stumbled into her spacious flat, and Marcus kicked the door closed behind them, pushing her against the nearest hard surface – the wall right next to the door. She didn't complain about it, however slightly clichéd it was, instead attempting to catch her breath as he kissed her neck, suckling slightly at the exposed skin. She moaned slightly, breathing deeply as he reached for the hem of her shirt, slowly lifting it up just enough to run his fingers over the skin.
His touch felt hot, like a blazing fire shooting through her nerve endings and she pulled his mouth back to hers for a deep kiss, pulling away only to get her shirt over her head and onto the floor. He kissed her again, lifting her as she wound her around his waist out of habit. The bra followed, unlatched by Marcus' (by now) expert hands, and Marcus tossed it without care for where it ended up – not that Morag expected much. He kissed her hard on the lips again, his attempt to exert dominance as he pushed her skirt up her thighs. She let it go until, with an impatience she should have expected, he pulled at her knickers as hard as he could, stretching and then snapping the garment.
She glared. "That cost thirty sickles."
"Buy another." He retorted as he cupped her breasts and ducked his head to suck on her nipples, making Morag moan lightly as he nipped at the skin. "You can afford it."
"Not – " Morag stopped, running a hand through his hair as he used one arm to keep her up, and with the other his hand slid between her spread legs, his fingers lightly grazing the skin of her inner thighs, climbing higher until he found the juncture of her legs and teased her skin with his touch. "That's not...oh, please...not the point." Her breath came that tiny bit faster that told Marcus all he needed to know of her arousal, and her back arched just slightly as he eased two fingers inside of her.
"Then what is?" Marcus asked, teasing her breasts with his mouth as he eased his fingers inside of her at a fairly quick pace, his tongue teasing her erect nipples as she found herself responding to his fingers, grinding her hips upward.
"It's – oooh – that I liked them." Morag managed to say as Marcus gave her a wicked look that sent a tingling straight to the pit of her stomach and she gasped, mouth wide as he added a third finger to the other two, slowly easing them upward and Morag found herself gasping with each one, her right hand attempting to grab the wall, the left clutching at his shoulder.
"Imagine when I'm inside of you," Marcus leaned forward and whispered in her ear as he quickened the pace of his hand. "This hard, this fast. Making you come over and over again, until you're sore."
The first thing Morag saw when she closed her eyes was the image painted in her mind of Marcus propping her against the armchair of her sofa as he fucked her into the cushion. She could almost see it as if it were actually happening right that second, just like in the pub – arms pinned, legs spread wide.
"Stop teasin' and get to the main event already," Morag gasped out, catching his wrist where it was, three fingers deep inside. Marcus only grinned at that and rubbed her clit with his thumb for a brief moment that had Morag arching her back once again.
He then captured her lips in another kiss and Morag reached for the fly of his trousers, undoing them and shoving them down just enough that she could slide a hand down the front, cupping his erection until Marcus groaned into her mouth. Slowly, almost too slow for even herself, Morag eased his cock out, lightly running her fingers up and down the length as Marcus trailed kisses from her mouth to her neck, one hand going to the small of her back, the other kneading her breast as she masturbated him.
Morag wrapped her legs around him tighter, and Marcus moved in closer, stifling a moan against Morag's skin as she rubbed the head of his cock against the lips of her vagina, teasing Marcus with a smile on her face. He wouldn't let her keep it up for long, she already knew, and was not too surprised when he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand, and guided himself inside with the other, starting in slowly.
She barely had a minute to appreciate his fullness before Marcus pulled back and thrust forward, forcing Morag to gasp in shock and pleasure. She attempted to raise her hips to meet each hard thrust, moaning and gasping his name breathlessly among curses and unidentifiable words that were most definitely Scottish Gaelic.
Her breath came quick as she the pressure built up, like something pushing down on her stomach, and she practically begged Marcus to fuck her into the wall – and then the feeling fell away without warning as Marcus stopped, slowly pulling out.
Morag gave him a dark look as the feeling continued to slowly ebb away, slipping away from her like sand. "What – " she took a moment to breathe, "the hell?"
"New position, that's all." He replied. And then he smirked as he let her down, holding onto her when she wobbled the instant her feet touched the carpeted floor. Before she could actually crumple to the ground from her legs giving out, he caught her, lifting her into his arms with another wide grin on his face, most definitely smug.
She knew exactly what he was thinking, and decided the best way to wipe the look off his face would be by kissing him and did so, catching his chin in her hands and planting a deep kiss as he stumbled in the general direction of her sofa, depositing Morag onto it and kissing her in return as he slid inside of her.
She gripped his arm tightly as he slowly picked up pace, building up to where he'd left off once more, each thrust dragging a moan from her throat as she raised her hips to meet his each and every time. She knew what he was doing, of course. Attempting to give her as hard a fuck as possible in order to prove her wrong about "Ray." Morag however was tempted to lie about the nonexistent boy toy for as long as possible if it got her this, having not seen the flaw in her plan yet.
Clutching at his arm tighter, enough that she started to dig into his skin, she came, the euphoric feeling slamming into her and then over taking her, and she cried out, his name slipping off her tongue and causing the egotistical grin on his face as Marcus' thrusts became slightly erratic – a telltale sign that he was close – and each thrust helped to prolong her orgasmic feelings as she clutched at the cushion under her, eyes closed and mouth half open.
Not too many strokes later, Marcus stilled, buried deep inside Morag as he came, and Morag instinctually clenched around him, wanting to milk him for as much as possible as he finished and promptly collapsed on Morag.
It took her a moment, after much deep breathing to notice, and when she did, she pushed him off the couch and rolled onto her stomach to look down at him.
"Boy toy?" He asked with a knowing smile, eyebrow raised as he remained on his back, glancing up at her.
"Working late." She grinned in return, all too familiar with this gane. "Another go?"
He knew she was lying, she knew he did. But the look in his eyes told her all she needed to know.