A Forbidden Pleasure
My first introduction to the world of harry potter slash was through a reluctant confession of my girlfriend. Finding myself intrigued, I went searching, and now I am in love.
I moved from secretly reading posts to openly reading them to actively writing my own. I love it, I love the writers and I am hooked.
Here is the first of my forbidden pleasures -
Title: Trace Fire Like Lace
Pairings: H/Hr, Hr/G, Hr/D, H/S
Rating: R
Length: short
Ginny has hands that comfort her when all the lights are out and they know everyone is asleep. Ginny has hands that seek out the buttons on Hermione’s nightgown and slip inside, brushing the warm skin beneath. Ginny has hands that reach for her as they tumble into bed after hours of study by the fire.
Ginny has hands that brush away the tears after a class where Hermione catches a too private exchange, and then a shifting between a threatened hit, and a gentle - so gentle - caress through dark hair with hands that are beautiful. Ginny has hands that make Hermione forget in the long hours of the night.
Hermione doesn’t think of Ginny’s hands as she reaches up for glasses in the darkness of the library. She turns away from the memory as hands with calluses from long hours of Quidditch slide under her shirt, and wonders what blonde hair would feel like sliding through her fingers. She pushes that thought away as well.
Ginny has hands that tickle her thigh as she watches Harry glare at Draco across Transfiguration and a shadow has crept into her eyes. And when Hermione runs from lunch crying to the lavatory, Ginny follows, and has hands that seek out the hem of her skirt, and slide beneath. As Hermione closes her eyes, she tries to think about someone else’s hands instead.
Ginny has hands that teach Hermione in the darkness. She has hands that hold her trembling body behind curtains silenced by magic. Ginny has hands that push and pull and never seem to rest.
Hermione sucks air through clenched teeth as his body moves above her in the darkness. Damp stone rubs against her back and as she arches with a cry, he collapses on her shoulder and she breaths in the scent of sweat and sex and tries not to flinch when he whispers ‘mudblood’ under his breath reflexively. And as his weight shifts again, she lets her mind drift away.
Ginny has hands that rub ointment into muscles stiff from hours of huddled reading. She has hands that tease and tickle and have a magic all of their own. Ginny has hands that are quick and determined and read her body like a well-known map. She has hands that slip away in sleep as Hermione crawls quietly into the cold and leaves her hands behind.
Hermione tries not to think about Ginny’s hands on the cold walk down through Hogwarts, and as she pauses outside a door, she tries not to think at all.
Inside, the light of a few flickering candles. And in the glow, she sees him as he stands with his robe pooled at his feet like black silk and her eyes fill with bitter tears as his hands tangle themselves in dark hair. She closes her eyes and can almost feel his fingers and wishes she could tell him And as her eyes open of their own will, she see’s him as he kneels and watches another pair of hands trace lines along his body burnished gold by the light from the flames. And as the boy trails his lips across a chest taut with desire, she closes her eyes and tastes his skin beneath her lips and feels his hands slide across her breasts and she is crying silently as his breath rasps in his chest. It isn’t until, on a shuddered exhalation, he moans a name that she is brought crashing back. His body is arched, hands clenched in fists around his robe and his eyes are closed revealing a longing she could never guess, and she chokes on her cry and flees.
She is thinking of Ginny’s hands as she begins her ascent until a noise, a muffled cry and dull thud makes her pause. Turning, silent, frightened, hurt and alone, she catches a glimpse of blonde hair as he slides to the floor. He is crying, tears falling without attention, and she is amazed at the pain she sees. She wonders somewhere whom it is he’s crying for, and wants to make a noise, to show him he’s been caught and she knows, but she moves on, passing through shadows.
Ginny has hands that trace fire like lace and read goosebumps like braille and are hers . . .
But she wishes they were his.
I moved from secretly reading posts to openly reading them to actively writing my own. I love it, I love the writers and I am hooked.
Here is the first of my forbidden pleasures -
Title: Trace Fire Like Lace
Pairings: H/Hr, Hr/G, Hr/D, H/S
Rating: R
Length: short
Ginny has hands that comfort her when all the lights are out and they know everyone is asleep. Ginny has hands that seek out the buttons on Hermione’s nightgown and slip inside, brushing the warm skin beneath. Ginny has hands that reach for her as they tumble into bed after hours of study by the fire.
Ginny has hands that brush away the tears after a class where Hermione catches a too private exchange, and then a shifting between a threatened hit, and a gentle - so gentle - caress through dark hair with hands that are beautiful. Ginny has hands that make Hermione forget in the long hours of the night.
Hermione doesn’t think of Ginny’s hands as she reaches up for glasses in the darkness of the library. She turns away from the memory as hands with calluses from long hours of Quidditch slide under her shirt, and wonders what blonde hair would feel like sliding through her fingers. She pushes that thought away as well.
Ginny has hands that tickle her thigh as she watches Harry glare at Draco across Transfiguration and a shadow has crept into her eyes. And when Hermione runs from lunch crying to the lavatory, Ginny follows, and has hands that seek out the hem of her skirt, and slide beneath. As Hermione closes her eyes, she tries to think about someone else’s hands instead.
Ginny has hands that teach Hermione in the darkness. She has hands that hold her trembling body behind curtains silenced by magic. Ginny has hands that push and pull and never seem to rest.
Hermione sucks air through clenched teeth as his body moves above her in the darkness. Damp stone rubs against her back and as she arches with a cry, he collapses on her shoulder and she breaths in the scent of sweat and sex and tries not to flinch when he whispers ‘mudblood’ under his breath reflexively. And as his weight shifts again, she lets her mind drift away.
Ginny has hands that rub ointment into muscles stiff from hours of huddled reading. She has hands that tease and tickle and have a magic all of their own. Ginny has hands that are quick and determined and read her body like a well-known map. She has hands that slip away in sleep as Hermione crawls quietly into the cold and leaves her hands behind.
Hermione tries not to think about Ginny’s hands on the cold walk down through Hogwarts, and as she pauses outside a door, she tries not to think at all.
Inside, the light of a few flickering candles. And in the glow, she sees him as he stands with his robe pooled at his feet like black silk and her eyes fill with bitter tears as his hands tangle themselves in dark hair. She closes her eyes and can almost feel his fingers and wishes she could tell him And as her eyes open of their own will, she see’s him as he kneels and watches another pair of hands trace lines along his body burnished gold by the light from the flames. And as the boy trails his lips across a chest taut with desire, she closes her eyes and tastes his skin beneath her lips and feels his hands slide across her breasts and she is crying silently as his breath rasps in his chest. It isn’t until, on a shuddered exhalation, he moans a name that she is brought crashing back. His body is arched, hands clenched in fists around his robe and his eyes are closed revealing a longing she could never guess, and she chokes on her cry and flees.
She is thinking of Ginny’s hands as she begins her ascent until a noise, a muffled cry and dull thud makes her pause. Turning, silent, frightened, hurt and alone, she catches a glimpse of blonde hair as he slides to the floor. He is crying, tears falling without attention, and she is amazed at the pain she sees. She wonders somewhere whom it is he’s crying for, and wants to make a noise, to show him he’s been caught and she knows, but she moves on, passing through shadows.
Ginny has hands that trace fire like lace and read goosebumps like braille and are hers . . .
But she wishes they were his.