FIC: The Desk
I threatened mahoni with shagging on Snape's desk, in the comments to my last entry. This is the follow-through. Don't say I didn't warn you!
Title: The Desk
Author: Fearthainn
Pairing: Draco/Ginny
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Not mine. I blame mahoni.
Thank you to strangerface, beta extraordinaire.
They've met like this before, in a host of other places. Once in a disused classroom up on the sixth floor, once in the Quidditch changing roomsnot in the showers, but sprawled across a bench, her legs hooked over his hips, his splayed out in front of him as he leaned against the lockers, his calloused hands gripping her ass as she movedand once, daringly, in a study alcove at the back of the Library directly after dinner, as it filled up with students bent on revising.
But most often they end up here, late at night, when the whole school is silent and dark and they have to be as quiet as possible for fear of discovery. Snape's quarters are just off his office, which is just off the classroom, and he's got ears like a bat and never sleeps. His desk is always neat, free of everything but a single quill and a demonstration cauldron, the dark, aged, wood worn smooth from centuries of use. It's solidly built, able to hold a large cauldron full of bubbling liquid or the weight of one petite red-haired girl. It's the perfect height, too.
She shifts, spreads her legs a little wider, tightens her hands on his hips and pulls him closer. It already feels as though he can't get any further inside her, as if he's filled her all the way up until she can feel him in her heart, in her throat, in her fingertips, but it's not enough.
It's never enough.
He exhales against the bared skin of her neck, and she knows without having to look that his eyes are shut tight, that his teeth are bared, his pale cheeks flushed, his white-blond hair is falling over his forehead in sweaty locks. His hands are braced flat against the desk on either side of her hips, half covered by the material of her school skirt, and he leans his whole weight onto them as he thrusts, putting all his lean strength behind the motion. Each one makes her gasp, trying to do it quietly so they won't get caught.
She's still wearing her school uniform, minus her tie and her knickers, and he's still got his robes on. It's partly that they're too impatient to undress, partly that they're too exposed here, like this. And it's partly because she likes this; the rough cloth of his trousers against the tender skin of her thighs, the crisp fabric of his shirt wrinkling under her clenching hands. It's urgent, raw, and it makes her feel powerful to know that she can have him at any moment, without even pausing to rid himself of clothes.
Deanand it doesn't bother her at all, to think of her boyfriend when she's here, like this, and that probably says something about heris always careful. He's gentle and sweet, respectful of her personal space, never moving faster than he thinks she wants to go. And she likes that, most of the time, but sometimes...this is what she needs.
He shifts slightly, angles himself differently, and suddenly she is convulsing with pleasure as he hits the perfect spot. She must have made some noise, because one of his hands comes up, covers her mouth with long, pale fingers. She licks at them, and smiles as he makes a small noise of his own.
"Draco, please," she whispers, so quiet it's almost sub-vocal, "please, now."
"Ginny," he moans into her neck, and comes.
Title: The Desk
Author: Fearthainn
Pairing: Draco/Ginny
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Not mine. I blame mahoni.
Thank you to strangerface, beta extraordinaire.
They've met like this before, in a host of other places. Once in a disused classroom up on the sixth floor, once in the Quidditch changing roomsnot in the showers, but sprawled across a bench, her legs hooked over his hips, his splayed out in front of him as he leaned against the lockers, his calloused hands gripping her ass as she movedand once, daringly, in a study alcove at the back of the Library directly after dinner, as it filled up with students bent on revising.
But most often they end up here, late at night, when the whole school is silent and dark and they have to be as quiet as possible for fear of discovery. Snape's quarters are just off his office, which is just off the classroom, and he's got ears like a bat and never sleeps. His desk is always neat, free of everything but a single quill and a demonstration cauldron, the dark, aged, wood worn smooth from centuries of use. It's solidly built, able to hold a large cauldron full of bubbling liquid or the weight of one petite red-haired girl. It's the perfect height, too.
She shifts, spreads her legs a little wider, tightens her hands on his hips and pulls him closer. It already feels as though he can't get any further inside her, as if he's filled her all the way up until she can feel him in her heart, in her throat, in her fingertips, but it's not enough.
It's never enough.
He exhales against the bared skin of her neck, and she knows without having to look that his eyes are shut tight, that his teeth are bared, his pale cheeks flushed, his white-blond hair is falling over his forehead in sweaty locks. His hands are braced flat against the desk on either side of her hips, half covered by the material of her school skirt, and he leans his whole weight onto them as he thrusts, putting all his lean strength behind the motion. Each one makes her gasp, trying to do it quietly so they won't get caught.
She's still wearing her school uniform, minus her tie and her knickers, and he's still got his robes on. It's partly that they're too impatient to undress, partly that they're too exposed here, like this. And it's partly because she likes this; the rough cloth of his trousers against the tender skin of her thighs, the crisp fabric of his shirt wrinkling under her clenching hands. It's urgent, raw, and it makes her feel powerful to know that she can have him at any moment, without even pausing to rid himself of clothes.
Deanand it doesn't bother her at all, to think of her boyfriend when she's here, like this, and that probably says something about heris always careful. He's gentle and sweet, respectful of her personal space, never moving faster than he thinks she wants to go. And she likes that, most of the time, but sometimes...this is what she needs.
He shifts slightly, angles himself differently, and suddenly she is convulsing with pleasure as he hits the perfect spot. She must have made some noise, because one of his hands comes up, covers her mouth with long, pale fingers. She licks at them, and smiles as he makes a small noise of his own.
"Draco, please," she whispers, so quiet it's almost sub-vocal, "please, now."
"Ginny," he moans into her neck, and comes.