|yule_balls_mod (yule_balls_mod) wrote in hp_yule_balls,|
@ 2008-12-19 10:55:00
|Entry tags:||2008, character: dorcas meadowes, character: james potter, character: madam rosmerta, character: minerva mcgonagall, character: pomona sprout, character: regulus black, character: severus snape, character: sirius black, fic, pairing: james/sirius, pairing: minerva/pomona, pairing: rosmerta/dorcas, pairing: snape/regulus|
Fic: Other Realms (Sirius/James, et al., NC-17) for la_dissonance
Title: Other Realms
Pairing(s): James Potter/Sirius Black, Minerva McGonagall/Pomona Sprout, Madam Rosmerta/Dorcas Meadowes, Severus Snape/Regulus Black
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older.
Summary: Sometimes a little help is all you need to find the reason to go after what you really want.
Warnings: All manner of sex—m/m and f/f, including some light bondage.
Word Count: ~11,000
Author's Notes: This is for la_dissonance who suggested so many intriguing pairings and situations that I couldn't pick just one. So, we have a bit of teasing, bondage, and orgasm withholding and also some lovemaking and fluffy, sleepy sex. I suppose if you squint, very hard, the entire premise is your dubcon kink, although you'll have to squint very hard. The Deities mentioned in the story are: Oenghus, the Scottish/Celtic version of cupid; Cliodna, the goddess of beauty and of other worlds; and Creide, the goddess who watches over women and helpful faeries (depending upon which sources you check, there are other stories associated with these names).
Many thanks to E and L, fabulous betas. Also to the mods for their great work on this fest.
No one would have been more surprised than Rosmerta herself to find her propped on the top of a stack of cases of mead with that pretty girl's tongue drawing ever tighter circles around her clit, the bottles in the cases below clinking with each shift of her hips.
But it had been an odd sort of a day.
She had spent the early morning arranging cases of Butterbeer for easy summoning when she ran out behind the bar, as she did every Hogsmeade weekend. Pumpkin pasties and sausage rolls had been placed to warm in the oven and barley soup to simmer in a cauldron.
By a quarter until ten, she was prepared for the hoards of students, and many teachers, who would come throughout the day to escape the bitter wind and stinging snow.
Rosmerta had just sat down to have her tea when the door swung open, followed by a blast of cold air and swirl of snow flakes. The man who entered was most certainly not from Hogsmeade. Shining curls hung past his shoulders, cascading onto robes that were familiar in style, but not of a cloth Rosmerta had ever seen, nor one that seemed at all suited to the weather. He was followed in by two of the most breathtaking women she had ever seen and none of them had the dusting of snow on their heads that should have been there given the weather.
She opened her mouth to say she wasn't open yet, but when she spoke, what came out was, "Bit nippy out there, isn't it?"
The taller woman smiled at her and she felt warmth spread through her body.
"We don't feel the cold so much," the woman answered.
"No, I don't guess you do," said Rosmerta. "What can I get you?"
"Mead?" the man asked. The note of hope in his voice was unmistakable. His companions rolled their eyes at each other and settled into chairs with the look of people who'd just realised they were not leaving as soon as they'd hoped.
"Oenghus," the taller one said sternly. The younger-looking woman sidled closer to her so that their arms pressed against each other.
"One?" Oenghus asked, sounding like a little boy hoping to change a parent's mind. "I won't be long. One and just one of whatever smells like that in the oven."
Rosmerta laughed and bustled to draw the mead and plate a pastie for the young man. She could never deny someone who spoke of her food and drink with such longing. She brought the women bowls of soup and a new lager she was sampling for the holidays, no charge. The tall one looked as if she could do with a good feed and some relaxation. As Rosmerta walked away to leave them to their meal, she would swear she heard the tall one mutter something about a fondness for mortals. She reasoned she must have misheard, and she'd actually said, "Muggles." Rosmerta took care to use her wand in their sight several times after that.
Minutes before the first of the Hogwarts students began to flood the place, coming in after their elevenses, the three travellers, as she had begun to call them in her head, rose in tandem as if to some unheard command or silent agreement and left.
Rosmerta felt strangely bereft in their absence. She ran a hand over her forehead and through her hair and stared about blankly at the pub that had become the centre and only thing of consequence in her life.
She began checking in the most recent order that included, among other things, Minerva's special bottle of Firewhisky. Perched on top of the crate was a bottle that she did not recognize. It was a stunning, deep blue, the colour of the sky just before night descends. It had a beautiful label with intricate symbols and writing she couldn't read and she had no idea where it had come from or what it was. But there was the order form with her signature. She ran her hands along the bottle and found her hands moving to break the seal.
The aroma was nothing she had ever experienced. It was something like honey and something like spring and she had to taste it immediately.
The liquid was golden and glowed as she decanted it into a tumbler. Mesmerised by the sight, she let it experimentally touch her lips. It tingled like Peppermint Imps, but with none of the harshness. She let her tongue dart out to taste the drops that clung to her lips and gasped. Warmth spread across her tongue and her stomach flipped like it did during those first seconds on a broom. The first full sip and she felt the empty, undone feeling of minutes ago flee. She lifted the glass for a second taste.
The door banged open and the first batch of students poured in, talking loudly about their holiday shopping and how they'd fared on end of term exams.
Rosmerta finished packaging up Minerva's special order. She hesitated as she started to call for Willie, the village boy she had in for extra help on Hogsmeade weekends. He would need to go and fetch one of the larger owls from the post office. But first, she pulled a small flask from the drawer beneath the counter and tipped some of the honey liqueur into it, adding it to Minerva's package.
"Why did we have to leave? We haven't meddled with the Mortals for ages," Oenghus whinged.
Returning to their hilltop abode so soon after the first trip to the mortals' realm in nearly a year had put him in a foul humour. He felt the warm, soft, mossy ground give pleasantly as he flopped onto his stomach. It was more comfortable here, but it was boring. He kicked his legs back and forth in imitation of a grumpy child and cast a petulant glance at his companions.
"It's too cold down there this time of year," Creide said, shivering. "They all look so cold and unhappy." She snuggled closer to Cliodna and tucked her legs under her lover's as if shielding herself from the brutal realities of the mortal world.
"That is precisely why we had to give them a bit of something to do," he said. "Poor creatures, it's dark more than it's light and I didn't even get to see them have any fun."
"It's two moons until you usually insist on playing with them," Creide said, her voice now more than tinged with a whine. "I don't see why you couldn't wait until then."
Oenghus crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "Easy enough said for you. You two can loll about all day wrapped around each other. Some of us have to leave this mountain occasionally to find our fun."
Cliodna yawned and stretched; reaching the arm that wasn't cradling Creide to her chest toward the sky and pointing her toes almost to the ground. She resettled herself, drifting a hand along Creide's back and looked at him through half-lidded eyes.
Creide rolled her eyes and said, "I had no desire to stay down there and witness the spectacle of you and those infantile arrows again."
He squeezed a tuft of the thick moss covering the ground in his hand and huffed. "How dare you accuse me of such mediocrity?"
Creide opened her mouth, ready with a retort, but Cliodna placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and circled it to join the one on her back.
"So my dear Oenghus, what was your plan?" Cliodna asked with a voice that could travel through other realms.
He lifted his elegant hands into the air, the golden light filtering through and dancing on his cheeks. He giggled and said, "I've already done it—given them the excuse to get a bit of what they really want. I just wanted to watch." He fluttered his fingers as he let his hands slowly fall to his lap and looked plaintively at Cliodna.
And when she nodded, he clapped his hands with glee.
By noon, the Three Broomsticks was overflowing with patrons. Every seat was filled and those who couldn't find a chair stood about behind their friends’ seats and crowded in at the bar.
Rosmerta skirted through the crowds, levitating heavy trays laden with drinks and food, responding to orders she somehow managed to hear even over the din. She had never moved so fast, nor felt so ahead of it all on a Hogsmeade weekend.
That pretty Dorcas Meadowes was one of the first to come in, finding herself a seat at the bar right next to the till. She'd not come in with any of her friends, but had nothing of a look of loneliness or melancholy about her. She chatted to some other of the older students as they came by and mostly seemed content to exchange a few words here and there with Rosmerta when she stopped to retrieve sickles and knuts for a customer's change. The pleasant little flutters Rosmerta always felt in the presence of Dorcas Meadowes were more like beating wings today.
"Where're your friends today?" she asked, handing Dorcas another Butterbeer—on the house.
"Dunno," Dorcas shrugged. "Studying for NEWTs, mostly."
"I'm ahead already. Giving them a chance to catch me up," Dorcas said with a cheeky grin.
"'Lo, Dorcas," Sirius Black sauntered up next to Dorcas, putting an end to Rosmerta's frantic search for a witty response.
"Hello, Sirius," Dorcas said pleasantly.
"Now, where're your mates? Studying as well?" Rosmerta asked.
"Pfft, not likely. They're here and there," he said, shrugging, and the non-answer put Rosmerta to mind of detentions. She thought that he looked a little bereft without his usual appendages.
"What? Not pleased to have me to yourselves?" Sirius asked, affecting insult.
"Pleased enough if you're ordering," Rosmerta countered.
"I'd like a Firewhisky, please," he said, smiling charmingly.
Rosmerta shook her head, "Try again, lad. Dumbledore wouldn't thank me for serving whisky to his students." She could see the squawks of I'm of age percolating in Sirius' brain. She would never be able to tell you what made her do what she did next.
Setting two small glasses, on the bar, she poured each of these suddenly solitary young people a dram from the night-sky blue bottle that she'd not had time to consider since she'd first tasted it.
"Ooh, that's very nice," Dorcas sighed, taking a long sip. Her cheeks went pink and she smiled with genuine pleasure and surprise. The wings in Rosmerta's stomach became an entire flock.
Sirius looked from one to the other and down at his glass. "S'nice. Thanks," he said, with a shrug.
Rosmerta started to offer him another taste when a frantically gesturing Professor Flitwick and Hagrid waved her over to their table. She sorted out their orders and turned just in time to see Dorcas, who'd clearly been staring at her, look quickly away and a very bored and sullen-looking Sirius leaving the pub.
Sirius ran through the front entrance of the castle and his hand was around his brother's wrist, grasping and pulling it towards him, before he knew he had reached out.
Regulus' look could have frozen the sun as he yanked his hand back.
"What do you want?" Regulus snapped.
Sirius swallowed the burning anger and disgust that welled in his throat at what he had just seen. Regulus, gambolling up the hill from Hogsmeade, carried along on a wave of arrogance and laughter, buoyed up by a gang of bigots, all whispering too loudly about glory and power to come. All gingerly holding their left arms away from their sides.
A heart beat faster than his brother, Sirius' hand flashed out, quick as a striking snake and grabbed Regulus' left arm tightly, feeling heat and sensing pain, he squeezed.
"What have you done?"
Regulus' jaw went white as he tensed and hissed with pain, but he didn't move to pull away. "Get your fucking hands off me."
Sirius stared into the eyes that could be his own and gripped the arm tighter. "You're wrong."
"I don't think you're in any position to judge at the moment," Snape said in an oily voice, in Sirius' left ear, that bespoke more confidence than Sirius was accustomed to hearing from him.
Sirius' held his breath, scanning from side to side without moving his head, as he counted to six. Six, mostly seventh-year, Slytherins in the corridor near the Great Hall and no one else in sight. Twenty or so feet to the nearest escape route. Chances of running for it slim.
"Fuck," breathed Sirius.
"Indeed," leered Avery.
He considered the wisdom of transforming into the dog. He'd get away on shock value alone and maybe bite one or two on the way out.
"Regulus," Sirius said, ignoring the others and stalling until a plan came to him. "We weren't like this."
"The end of an era," Regulus drawled, haughty and cruel, and Sirius thought that he didn't know this person at all.
The swish of a whisper caught his ear and an open space appeared as Avery leaned to Crabbe's ear.
Sirius shouted, "Professor Dumbledore!" in a burst of mock surprise and crashed through the gap left as Avery leaned to whisper to Crabbe. He sprinted down the corridor, jeers and hexes flying after him, and dove into the entrance to the secret passageway behind the statue of Odon the Obstinate.
It took them mere minutes to give up the search. Sirius heard one of them say that they still had time to sneak back down to Hogsmeade for a drink.
"I need one now," Regulus grumbled. "Think I can get Rosmerta to give me something stronger than Butterbeer?"
Sirius waited for several minutes and then slipped from the dark corner and stomped back toward the entrance to the castle. Suddenly even this grand place felt too close.
"You see, they are so unhappy. I hate to see them unhappy," Oenghus wailed.
Cliodna shook her head indulgently and turned away from the scene.
"They make themselves miserable," Creide said. "It's nothing to do with us. We do what we've always done."
"How can you be so cold? You're supposed to be concerned with love," Oenghus scolded.
"I am. It's them that are not."
"So, what are you playing at then? You going to throw those two in bed together?" Cliodna asked, gesturing at the two arguing, black-haired boys.
"Not them. I want to give them a bit of happiness, just a wee break from all this. Not make them think they've gone mad. Remember, I have a plan," Oenghus said, as if this were still completely apparent.
Creide chortled and pointed at the taller boy. "Your plan seems to have gone a bit off for that one."
"It'll sort itself out. Just you watch."
Sirius swept out of the grand doors of the castle. It was infinitely more satisfying than storming through any average-sized door.
Thick, big, candy-floss snowflakes landed on his face and stuck to his eye lashes as he pelted across the grounds. The squeak of fresh snow under his boots was the loudest sound in the muffled hush that came just before the younger students noticed the fresh fodder for snow fights and forts and flooded the expanse of open space.
His cheeks were burning with the melted snow by the time he reached the Whomping Willow. Inside the tunnel, he continued to run, his lungs burning, until he reached the silence and gloom of the second floor bedroom.
Particles of dust eddied in the diffuse light as he flopped onto the bed, arms splayed across the width of the narrow mattress and eyes staring at the ceiling. Each breath fought its way through the dull ache in his chest.
It shouldn't bother him. Regulus was an idiot. He'd known that for years. It was cleaner this way. Lines were drawn and they each knew on which side they stood. He turned on his side and curled in on himself.
He didn't turn to the soft thud of a familiar footfall behind him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, certain word had already spread of his and Regulus' argument and readying himself for James' bracing comments and encouraging words about brotherhood and families you choose.
In between one breath and the next, James was behind him. Sirius heard a whisper of soft fabric slip to the bed and didn't have time to turn to the sound before he felt icy fingers on his burning cheek.
He blinked and turned his head, squinting in the eerie glow of snow-filtered light. James' hand stayed pressed against his cheek, hazel eyes bright with something new as he drew his thumb across Sirius' cheekbone.
"I—" Sirius began, but James' hand slid to cup his jaw and he rubbed his thumb along Sirius' lips, silencing him.
"Shh," James breathed, dropping to his knees before Sirius. James' hand moved to smooth Sirius' damp hair back from his face. Sirius' eyes fluttered shut again at the gentle touch.
Sirius could scarcely remember a time before James had filled his every thought. He couldn't remember when the possibility of James touching him like this hadn't hovered on the edge of his hopes—never quite being realised, never quite disappearing.
James' fingertips were cool against his throat as they skimmed toward his collar bone. Sirius turned to lie on his back and forced himself to look at James.
"James," he whispered. "What's—"
James' fingers traced the edge of Sirius' collar, making the soft fabric slip on his neck.
"I looked for you in the village. I know about—"
"I don't want to talk about—" Sirius said. His breath caught in his throat as James' index finger dipped beneath cloth of his robes.
"No, but I thought—"
"What are you, are we—"
"Odd, I feel odd, Padfoot," James said, his voice rough and foreign.
"Me, too," Sirius said and his own voice sounded far away to his ears. "What about L—"
"Shh," James said, swiping his thumb along Sirius' lips again. "Don't. Not now."
James' lips were warm on Sirius' jaw, placing small, wet kisses from his chin to below his ear. The kisses were warm and smelled of something Sirius couldn't place, like honey, but not quite. He felt strange, hyper-aware of his skin, yet as if he were part of someone else's vivid dream.
James' tongue teased his earlobe and Sirius gasped.
"Just—" James breathed into his ear, the warmth spreading to fill the ache in his chest. The press and give of the soft flesh of James' lips followed the tendon down to Sirius' collar and Sirius felt the gentle pressure of fingers against his chest, undoing robes and shirt and seeking skin beneath.
Sirius arched into the touch as James splayed his fingers over Sirius' heart. James' little finger brushed a nipple and Sirius felt a moan, low and rumbling in his chest.
The cold and the ache were gone, and nothing was real but James, nothing but warm hands kneading his muscles and soft hair tickling his cheek.
Sirius grasped James' shirt with one hand and pulled. He heard the snapping of threads and the tearing of cloth separating at the seams. James' throat and chest were there for him, above him, to taste and touch and overwhelm every other sensation.
"Sirius," James gasped in surprise. He looked down at his torn clothes and then back at Sirius. His eyes sparkled and he laughed, clear and bright and enough to chase away the last of the shadows.
James' hand moved across Sirius' chest and down his belly, opening his robes and pushing back his shirt as he went while Sirius writhed in anticipation. When he had Sirius on the bed, his clothing falling in folds to either side of his body, he lowered himself onto Sirius. He pressed down, connecting them from chest to hip and Sirius burned with desire as James dragged his cock along Sirius' through their trousers.
"Ah," he gasped. He wanted to say so much more, to tell James what he meant to him, how he wanted him. He wasn't jinxed or hexed, he knew well enough how that felt, and it was nothing like this. He wanted this so badly he was giddy with it and he felt as certain as he ever had about anything that if he voiced any of this, whatever enchantment had pulled them together after years of wanting, years of innuendo and tension, would dissolve like the snowflakes on the window sill. He could never have imagined today would end this way and he began to laugh.
James stopped his lavish attentions on Sirius' throat and the sensuous movements of his hips. He looked at Sirius questioningly, a little irritated and a little hurt and Sirius wanted to kiss away that look, but the laughter wouldn't stop.
Then a slow smile started at the corner of James' mouth. His hazel eyes began to twinkle and, through his tears of laughter, Sirius saw a broad grin light James' face.
"Idiot," James choked out, laughing and letting his head fall back onto Sirius' shoulder.
"Prat," Sirius chuckled into James' dishevelled hair.
James' soft huffs of laughter warmed Sirius' throat and made him shiver. He moved his hands to skim over James' bare back, light and tickling enough to make James wriggle on top of him. James ran his fingers along Sirius' side in retaliation, making him gasp and buck.
"Ah," James gasped as Sirius arched up into him. "You'll have to do better than that if you want to toss me off, Padfoot."
"Toss you off." Sirius dissolved into fits of laughter again.
James paused for a moment and flushed scarlet. He flopped off of Sirius onto the dusty bed and, after casting Sirius one baleful look, collapsed into the dusty coverlet, giggling like a kid.
Sirius struggled to catch his breath. Laughing with James was normal, perfect, just the thing to vanish all the strangeness of this day. But now he felt cold without his warm body, too light without his weight on top of him, and unbearably aroused.
He swiped the tears off his face with the back of his hand and leaned up on one elbow, pressing just the edge of his chest against James. James stopped laughing almost immediately and looked expectantly up at Sirius.
"James?" Sirius asked and slid his hand across James' chest.
James' pink tongue darted out to wet his lips and he nodded. Sirius bent his head close enough to feel James' breath hitch as he drew a circle with his fingers around one raised nipple.
"Sirius," James whispered and his lips were against Sirius'.
Sirius parted his lips and teased James' with his tongue, pressing in and pulling back until James moaned and twined his fingers in Sirius hair. Kissing James was like playing Quidditch with James, arguing with James, plotting with James. It was a back and forth. It was being matched move for move, each egging the other on, pushing further, until Sirius had stretched himself out on top of James, moving on him with ragged breaths, desperate for more.
"Off," he grunted. He arched away from James and reached to yank James' trousers and pants open.
"Yours," answered James and he pulled Sirius' down over his arse.
"Yes," Sirius hissed as he pressed back down onto James, aligning their bodies, fitting hipbones together and connecting the warm skin of their chests.
Sirius shifted and moved, finding just the right angle to slide his cock along James', pushing down between his legs and nudging his balls. James groaned and pushed back. Sirius' heart began to race when the head of James' cock surged past his to press against his balls. They both pulled back and Sirius felt his cock pulling out from between James' legs, sliding back in with perfect friction. Again and faster, their cocks dragged the length of each other as they thrust into one another, again and again.
Sirius braced himself, his hands on either side of James' shoulders. He looked down at James, ragged breath rushing over pink, parted lips, hair more tousled then ever, bright circles of red in his cheeks. He was writhing, calling Sirius, god, more. Moving faster and thrusting and the head of his cock slid into the crease between James' leg and his thigh just as James put perfect pressure on his balls. His vision blurred with pleasure and he came, warm and wet over James' cock and Sirius felt James' movements become erratic and he cried out.
Sirius cracked open his eyes and glanced sideways as James. He was lying stock-still and blinking at the spider web covered ceiling.
Sirius coughed and James arched an eyebrow and flicked his eyes to look at him.
"Well, that was probably a long time coming," Sirius said slowly.
"Reckon you're right about that," James answered carefully.
"'Bout dinner time, d'you think?" Sirius asked, stretching and yawning.
James yawned immediately after and nodded. "Likely it is."
"Should we go and see if Moony and Wormtail're out of detention?"
"Mm-hm," James said.
"Now that you've put them all in a twist, what now?" Creide demanded.
"Nothing." Oenghus flipped to lie on his other side so he could more easily reach his drink.
"You can't just muck about with them and leave them to sort it out," Creide insisted, shifting forward to see better.
"Ooo, now who's fond of the mortals?" he teased.
"I'm nothing of the sort, I just can't see that you say you love them so and yet you know they can't get anything sorted on their own."
"Och, they'll be fine, those two. I've just let them have something they've been denying themselves for years."
Wave after wave of students and Saturday shoppers came and went. Dorcas sat there through the entire afternoon, sipping slowly on a Butterbeer and taking an occasional sip of the golden liquid. Rosmerta had no idea anyone could make two drinks last so long. Good thing others hadn't figured it out, she'd be put straight out of business.
It wasn't as if she hadn't been drinking. Again and again, Rosmerta saw Dorcas lift the bottle to her mouth. Each time, her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips just before she drank.
Rosmerta cast surreptitious glances her way. She couldn't help but wonder, if Dorcas could savour the warm, buttery drink like that, letting tiny sips spread over her tongue, what else could she make last forever?
Rosmerta coughed loudly and headed to the back room to catch her breath.
A dusty crate of bottles of mead provided her with some mind-numbing busy-work. She'd noticed Dorcas before, of course. Who wouldn't notice her? She liked her as well. She was quick and chatty and they'd managed many pleasant conversations over the years. This was the first time she'd noticed that particular glint in Dorcas' eye. The first she'd taken the time to appreciate the rich dark hair and confident way she took up space in a room.
Bugger, this was not working.
Rosmerta turned and, shaking her head, made her way back to the pub and walked bang into Dorcas.
"I wanted—" Dorcas said. She held out the empty glass with a film of golden liquid, viscous threads clinging to the sides.
"Me as well," Rosmerta said, stepping close to Dorcas.
When she traced her tongue along Dorcas' lips, she tasted honey and spring and felt warmth spread, tingling and restless, through to her toes.
Dorcas kissed back with an intensity that made Rosmerta dizzy. She barely had a chance to register that Dorcas was working her hands inside her blouse before a cool hand cupped her breast. She gasped as Dorcas grazed a thumb over the fine lace of her bra, bringing her nipple to fullness.
"So fast, wait, slow d—" Rosmerta gasped. Her back connected with the wall and she no longer had breath to spare for words.
"I've been waiting a long time," Dorcas whispered in her ear. Rosmerta shivered as Dorcas' warm mouth on her ear sent heat along her spine. "Did you know that?"
Rosmerta nodded, not because she had known, but because to answer anything in the negative right now seemed monumentally stupid. From there it was a simple thing to rid Dorcas of her robes, and as the thick, black fabric slid to reveal strong shoulders and impossibly soft skin, Rosmerta realised that this was what had been missing.
Dorcas was suddenly still, allowing Rosmerta to trail her fingers down her arm. She laughed soft and low when Rosmerta lightly touched the curve of her waist and skimmed down across her hip.
The skin of Dorcas' neck felt like satin beneath her lips and she held her breath to feel the shudder as she brushed her fingers between Dorcas' legs.
"Mmm," Dorcas moaned and rolled her hips to push onto Rosmerta's hand, urging her to touch and explore. Rosmerta slipped one finger inside and caught her breath, feeling, wet, hot, slick. She angled her fingers and caressed while Dorcas rocked her hips. Everything began to blur into Dorcas grabbing, kissing, pleading, harder, more, sharing a moan and sharing breath. Dorcas' moans began to rise and her movements become frantic as she grabbed Rosmerta's hand, pressing it tight to her. She groaned so loudly that Rosmerta thought the customers must hear her even above the din, and then stilled.
"Oh god," Rosmerta moaned. "Please."
Dorcas lifted her head from Rosmerta's shoulder and flashed a grin that Rosmerta felt in her belly. Her thighs and back crashed against the crates that were stacked waist-high along the wall and Dorcas' hands ripped open the remaining fastenings on her robes and blouse.
"You said I moved too fast," Dorcas murmured wickedly as she placed her hands around Rosmerta's waist and nudged her up onto the crates. Rosmerta leaned back, feeling the cool of the ancient stone wall seep through her robes. She felt breath against her neck and craned toward Dorcas, trying to get those lips onto her skin with the force of her wanting.
Rosmerta's skin was tingling, buzzing with desire and she sighed in relief when she finally felt the heat of Dorcas' tongue as she slowly licked and kissed a path from beneath her jaw to just above her breast.
"See, I can go slow," Dorcas breathed against the swell of Rosmerta's breast.
Dorcas' hair was silken between Rosmerta's fingers and the skin of her scalp burning as Rosmerta massaged and pulled, urging her to dip that sultry mouth lower to her nipples, peaked and begging for attention.
Dorcas' hands teased down Rosmerta's sides, mapping the curve of her waist, never enough, not there or there, and Rosmerta thought she might scream with the frustration of it. The hands cupped her hips and rounded over the flesh of her thighs, settling on her knees.
Rosmerta dropped her fingers from the soft hair and grasped Dorcas' full, luscious arse, usually hidden by folds of robes. She had every intention of pulling Dorcas to her and ending this when Dorcas' fingers gripped her knees and pushed. Perched on top of crates in her store room, legs spread apart, robes open, chest flushed and heaving, she was wet and wanton and ready and she had never felt so wonderfully filthy in her life.
"Oh, yes," she hissed, certain that she was finally going to get some relief when Dorcas dropped to her knees and curved her lips in a smile. Dorcas lightly nipped the inside of Rosmerta's thighs with her lips, a promise and a tease, and Rosmerta slid forward, tilting her hips and writhing and, "please" escaped her lips.
"Please what? You said you thought I should wait," Dorcas teased with an evil grin.
Rosmerta resolved then and there to keep her mouth shut, or quiet, rather. The girl was having far too much fun with this and was apparently never going to let her come.
"You're so beautiful," Rosmerta tried hopefully.
A small laugh burst from Dorcas, and while it was clear the flattery did nothing to speed her along, Rosmerta was rewarded with a puff of breath across her thighs. She shivered and let her knees fall until they almost rested on the edge of the crates, laying herself completely bare for Dorcas.
Dorcas gave a soft hum and laid gentle hands on the inside of her thighs. Then fingers were on her, parting and opening. She arched up, searching for more touch. She heard a quick intake of breath and then felt a long, low, exhale caress her swollen lips, tickling and arousing. She bit down hard on her lip, stifling the plea that threatened to spill out and looked down in time to see Dorcas' tongue dart out to just barely touch her clit and then retreat to trace around her own lips. Rosmerta let out a stifled gasp.
"That's better," Dorcas smirked. "Patience is a virtue." She glanced, her eyes shining and dark, at Rosmerta and then leaned in to swipe her tongue along Rosmerta's cunt, flattening it and lingering when she reached her clit. Rosmerta pushed her legs as far apart as she could, urging that tongue to move faster, press harder.
The slick, hot tongue slid down to dip inside and Rosmerta was helpless to stop her groan. She tried to thrust onto Dorcas, to push her deeper.
"Mm-mm," Dorcas sing-songed and pulled back.
Rosmerta felt herself deflate a bit. She slumped back against the wall panting and gripped the sides of the crate to stop her own fingers from finding their way to her pulsing clit and finishing herself off with two strokes.
The tongue was precise this time and Rosmerta felt the pointed tip draw a wide circle around her clit again and again, tighter, closer until Dorcas was touching the ever swelling flesh from every possible angle. Rosmerta's hips began to rock and she heard the clinking of the bottles beneath her and wondered for one moment of clarity if she were going to topple over and be bathed in mead.
The muscles in her thighs began to quiver, her nerves jangling along with them. The feather-light touches of Dorcas' tongue were almost too much, but not quite enough and she gasped, "Oh, oh, bloody, please."
Fuck. The hot, wet mouth pulled immediately back from her throbbing cunt and she felt open and raw and saw stars as she smacked her head against the stone wall behind her.
"Enough, enough, please, I can't, I have to—" she babbled. She started to reach between her legs, because for all she wanted to come with Dorcas' tongue and fingers touching her, she really could not stand it one moment longer.
She nearly sobbed with relief when she felt the warmth of Dorcas' breath on her again and, this time, fingers sliding along her wet folds. Dorcas tasted her thoroughly, seeking out every sensitive spot as a finger began to circle her entrance. The finger hovered there and Dorcas began to lick her clit with broad, firm sweeps of her tongue. Rosmerta writhed, pushing herself into Dorcas' mouth and trying to force that finger inside.
She didn't care anymore. Beg she would. If Dorcas stopped now...well, she wouldn't.
"Ah, don't stop doing...please, fuck me, fuck me, please," she stammered and she felt Dorcas smile against her. Not one, but two fingers entered her, slowly stretching and massaging the muscles that had been craving something to contract against. Her clit hardened and her hips began to roll involuntarily as Dorcas' licks became firmer and the fingers fucked in and out and in and out.
"There, just there, yes, yes," she moaned. Dorcas twisted her fingers and pressed that spot that so few ever bothered to find. The blood pounded, deafening, in Rosmerta's ears as her muscles clamped down on Dorcas' fingers and she nearly needed to pull back from the sweet, sweet mouth, away from the intensity.
Dorcas slowed both her fingers and tongue and the room swayed as bursts of multi-coloured lights swam before Rosmerta's eyes. She really was going to end up on the floor covered in mead.
Dorcas gave one last, gentle kiss to her over-sensitive clit and Rosmerta squirmed and laughed. She opened her eyes to see Dorcas getting up from the floor, all flushed and ragged breath. She needed to hold her and grasped her wrists, pulling her close until she could wrap both arms and legs around her, the pressure of her body between her legs easing the still frantic pounding of her blood.
She licked along Dorcas' lips, tasting herself there and on her tongue. They kissed until Rosmerta's heart stopped pounding out of her chest and the urgency was replaced by a glowing, languorous desire.
"I have to get back to school," Dorcas said, breaking the kiss and placing her hands on Rosmerta's shoulders as if to push away.
"I reckon you do," Rosmerta agreed regretfully. "I'm afraid that you got rather the short end of the stick here. I'd like to make that up to you."
Dorcas goggled at her for a moment. "You must be joking. That was the best, better than I'd imagined."
Rosmerta felt heat flush her cheeks. "Well, I'd like it if we were to see each other again, if you would as well."
Dorcas leaned in then and placed a simple, sweet kiss on Rosmerta's lips. "I'd be heart-broken if it were otherwise."
They straightened their robes and re-entered the nearly empty pub. She walked as calmly as she could manage back to the bar. She noticed two things at once. Severus Snape and Regulus Black were dashing out of the door and she'd left the blue bottle out on the counter in plain sight. A quick glance told her that it didn't seem to have been drained. In fact, it didn't look as if any of it had been drunk at all.
Just a few teachers and villagers remained. Most of the students were gone and she feared that Dorcas would be for it. On the other hand, she thought looking at the lovely, confident young woman beside her, she seemed like the sort who would think of something.
"Well, there you are," Oenghus announced triumphantly. "You can't have any complaints about that!"
He was greeted with deafening silence and he looked about for his companions.
Regulus shrugged his open robes off his shoulder and let them slide slowly down his arms. He tossed the locking spell Sirius used to use to keep him out of his room over his shoulder and turned back to survey his handy work.
He still felt warm and tipsy from the strong, sweet drink they had nicked from the pub. Even although they'd only managed a few gulps before Rosmerta came from the back room, he could feel it coursing through his veins.
"Get a bloody move on," Snape hissed. He jerked his head up, pulling the ties tight around his wrists, and glared.
Regulus smirked and drawled, "Tell me what to do again, Severus." He grasped the end of his school tie and yanked, pulling Snape's ankle out to the side of the bed.
"If I'd have known you were just going to prance about wanking I'd never have let you—"
"Ah, but you did let me," Regulus said, smiling and walking with an extra prance in his step to the end of the bed. From here he could see Severus spread out for him, waiting, squirming just a bit, and pretending to be irritated. As Severus had nearly flown back from the Three Broomsticks and suggested they might be fine to miss dinner, Regulus was fairly sure that irritation was not Severus’ primary feeling at the moment. "And if you haven't noticed, I haven't started wanking yet."
Regulus slowly ran his hand down his belly to cup his rapidly hardening cock. Severus eyes followed Regulus' hand and a flush spread up his chest. He strained against his bonds again, trying to arch off the bed and thrust into the air.
"Mmm," Regulus sighed and he pressed his hand against his erection. His blood pounded through his veins at the thought that merely looking at him was causing Severus to lose control. "Want me to start wanking yet?"
"I want you to bloody do something, Black," Severus growled.
The fact that Severus thought he might be able to intimidate Regulus into action with only his tone of voice—particularly when he was in his current position—was immensely enjoyable. That might work with some of his simpering classmates who had sickeningly sweet mummies and daddies who bandaged their knees and kissed their foreheads. It wouldn't work on Regulus.
Regulus pushed out his lower lip and tilted his head. "Why don't you ever call me Regulus? Why always Black? Are you trying to pretend I'm my brother, Severus?"
"Fuck you, Black."
"Mm, yes, well," Regulus said quietly. He shifted his fingers to circle his cock and dragged them slowly from the base to the head. "Seriously, Severus. It's not normal how much you hate him, or Potter for that matter. I mean, I have reason. You, well, it just seems that that much attention," Regulus said, pausing to shut his eyes as he lightly squeezed his cock. "That much attention implies an obsession. I can't help but wonder if I'm a slightly shorter, slightly prettier stand-in. It hurts, Severus."
"Bite your fucking tongue," Severus growled again, but he couldn't take his eyes off Regulus' hand moving over himself.
"I'll bite yours if you play your cards right."
Severus scowled and Regulus chuckled. He bent his knee up onto the bed, spreading his legs and giving Severus a better view. He stroked himself, slowly dragging his hand over his length and pausing to tease at the head, until he began to feel that heavy sensation in his belly. He stopped abruptly and released his cock, breathing deeply through his nose. Severus moaned and writhed and Regulus laughed.
"You know, I do like to imagine what he might say if he saw you like this," Regulus said, cocking his head and raking his hand through his short hair. Severus moaned again and closed his eyes and Regulus felt a flare of jealousy. "You'll keep your eyes open or I will not finish you and I'll leave you tied to your bed for your dorm mates to discover."
Severus looked about to speak. He inhaled and seemed to be considering his position. He snapped his mouth shut, looked at Regulus, and nodded.
"Better," Regulus murmured as he reached down to trail his fingers up the arch of Severus' foot. He bit his lip in pleasure when Severus sucked in a breath and jerked his ankle against the silver and green tie. He traced around Severus' ankle bone and up the inside of his calf, raising goose bumps and watching Severus' skin flush. His own pulse quickened as his body begged him to take this faster. But it had been a bad day and this was a rare opportunity and he would not be rushed.
"Black, fuck, just," Severus stammered. He looked wild and desperate, eyes wide and chest heaving.
Regulus lifted his hand from the inside of Severus' thigh and shifted so he was kneeling on the bed between Severus' legs.
"Just what, Snape?" He circled his cock with one hand and began to wank. "Just do this..." he paused to suck in a breath as he reached down to fondle his own balls, "to you?"
Almost immediately, Regulus had to release his cock as he had the image of himself wanking like this until he came all over Severus' chest and belly.
"Keep your fucking eyes open," he growled. He placed his hands on either side of Severus' hips, bending over to lick along the length of Severus' cock.
Severus groaned and tried again to move as Regulus slid his lips around the head of his cock. He sucked lightly and pressed his tongue to the tip. He angled his head and breathed deeply through his nose and moved his mouth as far down as he could. When Severus gasped, "Oh fuck," and Regulus felt his muscles begin to tense, he let Severus slip from his mouth and pulled back to watch the long, glistening cock bounce back against Severus' stomach.
"Ah, no," Severus moaned. "Please, fuck, you have to..."
Regulus licked his lips, carefully tasting any lingering remnants of Severus before he said, "Don't worry, Severus. Speaking for myself, I think it's past the point of no return."
He reached for his trousers, bunched up where they were on the side of the bed and pulled his wand and the small, white tube out of the pocket.
"Don't forget. You can't close your eyes," Regulus said and he squeezed some of the lube onto the middle and index finger of his right hand.
Severus nodded and attempted to tilt his hips toward Regulus, presenting himself to him.
"Uh-uh," Regulus hummed and Severus craned his neck to look up.
Regulus reached around his own body and slicked the cleft of his arse with the cool lubricant while Severus goggled and started to whimper. He braced himself with one hand on Severus' thigh, squeezing the tense muscles there.
"Watch me," he breathed and he arched back against his hand as he pushed one finger inside.
He spread he legs wider so that he was kneeling barely inches above Severus, rocking back against his finger. He pushed a second finger in and groaned, "Oh, fuck," as his cock missed brushing Severus' by fractions of an inch with each thrust.
"Two, just two. Please." Severus said in a rough, low voice.
Regulus paused and arched an eyebrow at him. He saw a momentary panic in Severus' dark eyes and felt a thrill run through his body.
"I, that is, you are going to...aren't you?" Severus babbled, rolling his hips in a circle, moving as much as his bindings allowed.
"Yes," Regulus hissed and withdrew his fingers from his arse. He moved his knees to straddled Severus, hovering above Severus cock. He considered wanking a bit more. He considered moving up the bed and sliding his cock into Severus' open, gasping mouth, but then he leaned back a fraction of an inch and felt Severus' cock press against his arse.
Regulus reached behind with his lubricant covered fingers and slid them the length of Severus' cock. When Severus groaned and tried to thrust despite being bound to the bed, he angled his hips until the head of Severus' cock pressed against his entrance. He stayed there, exerting just enough pressure to hold Severus' cock in place, teasing the tight muscles, but not quite enough to push inside.
"I want you to say my name," Regulus said. He moved almost imperceptibly so that he felt just the slightest friction. He grasped his own cock and squeezed, bringing himself dangerously close. When he finally did allow himself to sink down onto Severus' cock, he would come almost immediately. He was sure of it.
Severus' tongue was peeking out of his lips and Regulus could see his teeth biting into it. He was flushed and straining against the ties. He seemed to be concentrating with everything he was on not looking away and not closing his eyes.
"Very good, Severus," Regulus crooned. "Keep it up and I might even untie your hands and let you do this." He swiped his thumb over the head of his cock and stroked down the shaft.
He hadn't meant to do it quite yet. He had fully intended to keep on until Severus was begging and calling his name, but it didn't look as if Severus could speak and Regulus was a split second from coming. So, when he felt his cock begin to throb, he steadied himself and pushed down until just the head of Severus cock slipped inside.
"Ahh," Severus moaned. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, and Regulus was mesmerised by the look of abandon on his usually closed face.
"Look at me, Severus," he said gently.
When the glazed-over black eyes met his, he slowly lowered himself, concentrating on the feeling of Severus' cock sliding into him, until he felt the warmth of Severus' skin beneath him. He placed both hands behind him on Severus' thighs. He could feel the long, lean muscles tense and quiver as he pulled up and then back down, carefully unhurried, eyes locked with Severus.
"Untie me," Severus said, words breathy and hoarse.
Regulus was beginning to lose himself. Heat flooded his body as he sped up and angled his body, so that the head of Severus' cock caressed his prostate and he thought he might collapse onto Severus with each downward push.
"Mmm," he moaned, torn between going on like this, clutching his thighs and rocking languidly on top Severus, until neither of them could bear it any more, and fucking him hard and fast and stroking himself until he came over Severus' flushed skin.
"Untie me," Severus repeated. Regulus heard the words, but he couldn't take them in. And then, "Regulus, please untie my hands."
"Oh." Regulus bent his knees until he was sitting, arse flush with Severus' body, Severus' cock deep inside him, and he grabbed his wand. With a flick and a swish, the ties slithered from around Severus' wrists.
They were both still for the space of two breaths and then Regulus moved his hips in a tight little circle.
"Oh, fuck, Regulus," Severus panted and Regulus let his eyes drop shut as he felt warm hands, one grasp his hip and the other begin to rub his cock.
He had been so aroused for so long. Severus’ fingers dug into the flesh at his hip, guiding him, rocking him faster and harder. And now Severus could move and he thrust up, deeper, and Regulus thought if he could just push down harder, just get a little more of Severus' cock, that would be it.
"Harder, ah, shit, more," Regulus stammered between breaths.
Severus braced himself against the bed with the hand that had been on Regulus' hip and squeezed Regulus' cock with the other and heat exploded in Regulus' chest and head and belly. His cock throbbed and he slammed down onto Severus, every muscle in his body contracting. He paused to savour the feeling of intense arousal giving way to blissful satisfaction and Severus grabbed his hips with both hands, shouting his name as he came.
He slumped forward and fell onto Severus. His lips found Severus' mouth, still gasping from his orgasm and kissed him, tasting his lips and teeth and tongue until Severus began to kiss him back.
He broke the kiss to nuzzle in to Severus' neck. Exhausted and happy for now, he pushed away thoughts of tomorrow and what this might mean.
He was just slipping into sleep when he heard Severus' near whisper, "Regulus? It isn't your brother who I think about."
"Oenghus?" Creide said quietly.
"What did we miss?" she asked again.
Oenghus crossed his arms over his chest and turned to scowl at the two very relaxed looking goddesses.
"Oh, come now, little one," Cliodna said in her mother-of-beauty voice. "Surely you don't begrudge us a moment. Bringing people together is what you do. This should please you."
"You missed the best one. The others knew, or at least they should have known, if they had eyes in their heads, which mortals don't. But these two, they were both so lonely and had no clue they needed each other. No clue and you missed it." He kicked the ground.
"Well done, I'm sure," Cliodna said gently.
"What's next, Oenghus?" Creide asked.
He felt a stab of satisfaction that they felt the need to cajole him. Then thinking of what was next and the years and years of unnecessary loneliness he'd be fixing here, he couldn't help but grin.
"You'll like this one."
"Unforgivably sentimental," Minerva said, shaking her head and tutting slightly.
Pomona paused, her hand in mid-air over Minerva's goblet, clutching the bottle of Firewhisky out of which she had been about to pour a healthy measure.
Minerva coughed and beckoned, waving her hand over her goblet, "Just a wee bit more. Medicinal purposes."
"Right you are, dear," Pomona said. She hated seeing her friend this way. She poured some more whisky in the goblet and added just a touch more of the lovely, sweet liqueur that Rosmerta had given them for this long evening.
Unflappable and solid the rest of the year, this one night, Minerva fell apart. That is to say, she fell apart Minerva McGonagall-style, which consisted of drinking herself into a near stupor on a rare whisky from a small distillery in Islay and reminiscing.
Pomona had witnessed this spectacle annually for the past six years, since the time she had come to ask Minerva's counsel and found her staring with an uncharacteristically soppy expression at a photograph of a beautiful young witch.
She had come in and then found herself leaving at dawn when Minerva finally fell asleep in her armchair by her bedchamber fire. She had pulled a tartan blanket over Minerva and taken one last dram of the smoky, peat-scented whisky for her chilly walk back to her quarters. It was very good whisky.
Pomona stood and moved close to Minerva.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" she asked tenderly.
Minerva lifted her goblet to her lips once more and sipped.
"S'my fault," she slurred.
Pomona shook her head, but Minerva held up a hand to stop her.
"No, no, t'is. You always say it's not, but I know better, I do," Minerva said, nodding emphatically. "If I hadn't been so cowardly, she'd never've left that day." Minerva frowned at Pomona as if she'd argued instead of sighing. "You weren't there, Pomona Sprout. You don't know."
"Minerva McGonagall, self-pity doesn't suit you," Pomona said sternly. "You are one of the bravest people I know and I know that she would not want you still moaning about all these years later."
Minerva breathed, "Hmph," and lifted her drink to her mouth again.
"It's true and it's a shame and a waste that you've never let yourself find someone else."
"Pft, who would have me?" Minerva asked, waving her hand as if shooing something away and there was not a trace of self-pity in her voice. She asked as if the answer were established fact.
"I would," Pomona blurted out.
She froze. Every now and again, her mouth ran ahead of her brain and this was clearly one of those times. To say that now was not the time to broach this subject would be understating things dramatically.
To her great surprise, Minerva looked up, her eyes trying to focus on Pomona's and then she chuckled.
"I'm afraid you'd find you'd landed yourself a bit of a pig in a poke," Minerva slurred, raising her goblet and squinting at Pomona through the thick, bevelled glass. It made her eyes look huge and oddly shaped.
"Sorry?" Pomona asked.
Minerva let the goblet fall, sloshing some of the amber liquid onto the bedside table. Pomona thought idly that the stuff would probably remove the varnish. Minerva stood with surprising speed, but swayed on the spot once she'd reached her full height.
"Thanks for the shoulder. I'm for bed. Away w'you then or stay if you'd like. No matter," Minerva said simply and she turned and fell into her bed fully clothed.
Pomona sank into the chair, still warm from Minerva's body, blinking and trembling a bit.
The sharp pain in her neck woke her at three in the morning if the clock on the mantle were to be believed. Sleeping sitting up in an arm chair at her age was as ill-advised as getting drunk and admitting your unrequited love to your grieving and even-more drunk colleague.
She twisted and stretched, rolling her neck and standing in the middle of the room, and the way the floor dipped beneath her told her that the alcohol had not quite left her system. She crossed to the pitcher of water and downed a full tumbler. Perhaps Minerva hadn't understood, or wouldn't remember. Perhaps she had. Amidst the lingering whisky and this time of night when everything seems larger, she had no idea which scenario she wished for more.
"I'd thank you for some of that, if you wouldn't mind," a rough, yet apologetic voice came from across the room.
Minerva was propped up on one elbow, the hand of the other arm pressed to her forehead.
"Of course," Pomona reached another tumbler and managed to pour the water, shaking only slightly. She crossed the room and handed Minerva the glass, avoiding her gaze. She didn't think she wanted to know until morning.
"I heard you," Minerva said quietly. She blinked groggily and lifted the heavy blanket on her bed. "There is no reason you should sleep in a chair. You'll do yourself an injury." She turned to the wall and seemed to be asleep before Pomona could catch her breath.
The next time Pomona awoke, it was to a sharp elbow in her ribs.
Minerva had turned onto her back. Tendrils of deep auburn hair laced with silver had escaped from the severe bun she'd not bothered to loosen before falling into bed. Her breathing was deep and peaceful and she looked like neither the woman who could quiet the Great Hall with her presence alone, nor the melancholy, vulnerable soul with whom Pomona had spent the night. She'd never seen this Minerva and she couldn't stop her fingers from reaching out to caress her cheek.
Minerva turned to the touch and her eyelids fluttered open, bewildered and sleepy.
"Oh," she said.
Pomona opened her hand to cup Minerva's cheek. Minerva neither objected nor turned away. Pomona knew she would do this now or regret this moment forever.
She kissed Minerva first, heart in her throat, but Minerva moved to her and kissed her back so quickly that she wondered if she were still asleep and this was a dream.
They moved their lips softly together, eyes closed against the day and reality and any worry about what this could mean. Pomona smoothed her hand over Minerva's square shoulders and felt Minerva's fingers skate along the curve of her hip.
She reached for the neck of Minerva's robes and fingered the fastening. "May I?" she whispered against Minerva's lips, barely breaking the kiss.
"Shh," Minerva hushed. She slid her hands underneath Pomona's shift and Pomona sighed as strong fingers touched and explored her skin.
Slow, gentle hands pushed clothing aside and when they were bare to the waist, Pomona wrapped her arm around Minerva, kneading the firm muscles in her back that rippled as she shifted closer.
Soft, sleep-warmed skin connected and Pomona arched her neck and nearly sobbed with desire when her full breasts slid against Minerva's smaller, firmer ones. She let herself just move against her, tongues curling languidly around each other, hips swaying together, and hands learning the places that caused a shiver and a sigh.
Pomona dipped her head and kissed a path down Minerva's neck, across her breast bone and to her breast. She grinned wickedly as she murmured, "Just a mouthful is just enough," and took the hard, pink nipple into her mouth.
Minerva barely made a sound, but her mouth fell open in a gasp and her fingers tangled in Pomona's hair, pressing her to her breast. Minerva's hand fumbled between them and found Pomona's breast, light touches that made her shudder and pull harder on the nipple in her mouth.
Minerva's long, lean thigh nudged between her legs, and Pomona bore down, seeking the pressure and feeling a rush of wetness and a wave of pleasure flood her.
Pomona wanted to cry out, she wanted to moan, "I want you," but she feared that anything more than a single word would bring them back to reality and away from these delicious, entrancing sensations.
"Here," Minerva gasped in a ragged voice, her hands on Pomona's back and waist guiding her, urging her back up, aligning their bodies, rolling their hips together and taking Pomona's mouth in a kiss that was far too urgent to still be a dream.
She snaked her hand down past Minerva's stomach to skim across curls she imagined to be a deeper shade of reddish-brown. Minerva moaned and tilted forward, encouraging her inside. Pomona ran her hand down Minerva's thigh, pushing and nudging until the leg was bent and she did the same, their knees pressing against each other, supporting each other.
"Touch me," she whispered.
Minerva reached down and to curve her hand around her and she gasped as she felt Minerva's long fingers slide into her, moving silkily across the slippery, sensitive skin. She nearly wept with relief at the touch of Minerva's finger to her clit.
"Mmm," she sighed and when she found Minerva's clit, soft and firm at the same time, she moaned low and rumbling in her chest.
Minerva's fingers slid back and forth, excruciatingly tender, and they rocked their hips against each others' hands, hugging and exchanging sweet kisses all the while.
The orgasm began to build slowly. Blissful waves radiated from the touch of Minerva's fingers as they coaxed her to higher levels of arousal. It was lazy and sleepy and delicious, moving to her belly and chest and then she felt the heat spread all through her body.
She grasped Minerva to her as she came, her mouth pressed open against Minerva's neck, hips thrusting until she stilled. Minerva knew exactly how to just stop and hold her through it, her hand cupping and pressing, so soothing as Pomona felt her muscles become languid and loose.
"Now you," she whispered against the salty-sweet skin of Minerva's neck. She laid one finger on either side of Minerva's clit, stroking firmly but slowly, just grazing the sensitive nub with each pass of her fingers. She found her rhythm, found Minerva's rhythm and held on and moved with her. She looked down at Minerva. Her eyes were still closed, her head tossed to the side and her lip clamped firmly between her teeth. Her hair had come completely free of its bun and her cheeks were red as roses as she writhed and moaned. Pomona carefully memorized every detail, uncertain again whether this were a dream.
Minerva hugged her close and Pomona felt her tense as she came, murmuring incoherently. Minerva shifted and Pomona had a moment of panic that she was pulling away, that she was about to hear that this was a mistake. But Minerva simply flopped onto her back and yawned hugely, her eyes fluttering shut once again.
"That was lovely," Pomona said, daring to interrupt the dream.
Minerva didn't move and she didn't open her eyes and Pomona's heart sank. She gathered her Hufflepuff determination and reached for Minerva's hand under the blanket. Minerva didn't pull away. Pomona lay listening to her breathe and watching the anaemic morning light begin to filter through the falling snow.
"Thank you," Minerva muttered so quietly that Pomona wasn't sure she had spoken.
"For giving me a different memory for today," Minerva said, finally opening her eyes and turning to Pomona with a small smile.
Oenghus turned immediately to Creide and Cliodna. He was gratified to see Creide wiping tears from her cheeks.
Cliodna took a deep breath. "That was a lovely thing you did, and not waiting for two more moons was correct. This was the day."
Oenghus closed his eyes for a moment and let the lovely images of the day run through his head. "Oh, I can't remember when I've had such fun," he chirped.
"What will they do now?" Creide asked.
Oenghus stayed quiet. He'd done his part, given them each their chances. This was not for him to say.
"That will be up to them," Cliodna said quietly.
Rosmerta rubbed her eyes sleepily as she descended the stairs. She pointed her wand at the barely smouldering fire and it sprung to life. Tea. She needed tea. She felt both exhausted and as if she'd slept for a very long time.
She reached behind the bar to grab a cup for her tea and nearly knocked over the tall, beautiful blue bottle. Despite all she had drunk, and others had drunk, it still appeared to be full.
Rosmerta waved her wand at the painting of Venus that hung in the back corner of the pub. It swung open to reveal a small door. She tapped it three times with her wand and muttered an incantation told to her by her mother. She carefully placed the bottle in the space in the wall, sealing it back up, and returned to make her tea.
She had the feeling that she, at least, had no more need for it now.
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