Hufflepuff Smut
Title: Hufflepuffs Do It In The Dirt
Rating: PG-13 (depending on what you compare it to, I suppose)
Words: ~1,350
Pairings: H/G, Justin Finch-Fletchly/Susan Bones
Warnings: PWP -- a little smut, a little voyeurism. Set sometime during HBP.
For jpxthethoughts who asked for "Justin Finch-Fletchly/Susan Bones smut" in reference to his icon which says Hufflepuffs Do It In The Dirt...
"I cannot believe you want to talk about this now!" Ginny says, fighting to hold her anger in check. She plants her fists on her hips and fixes Harry with a look of disapproval that mimics her mother's with frightening accuracy.
Harry shrugs halfheartedly, avoiding her eyes as he works on the lock with his knife. "I didn't say I believed it," he says mildly.
"You believed it enough to ask if it was true," Ginny retorts. She does not want to admit how embarrassed she is by the question, does not want to admit that she too has heard the rumors.
"Forget I said anything, then," Harry says. He grimaces, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth. "Bloody thing. I wonder if Sprout charms these locks with something other than--"
"It isn't true," Ginny says.
Harry glances at her over his shoulder. "Which part?"
"Any of it. I didn't shag Michael -- or Dean, or anyone else, for that matter. I've never -- I mean, I'm not--"
"Got it!" Harry says, finally managing to break through the charm on the lock. The greenhouse doors open with a soft click. Harry stands, dusting his hands on his trousers and carefully putting the knife back in its sheath in his pocket.
Ginny's crosses her arms, avoiding Harry's gaze. He reaches out to her, laying a soft hand on her arm. "I didn't think that you had," he says quietly.
Ginny glances at him and blushes. "Come on," she says quickly. "Help me find my notes before someone comes by and wonders why the greenhouse is unlocked."
A blast of hot, humid air greets them as they push into the quiet, leafy cave of Greenhouse Four. Inside, the coppery afternoon light is tinted a weird emerald color creating a premature twilight. Harry slips off his glasses and wipes them on his sleeve as the fog over in the thick, moist air.
"It's all to do with that cow, Romilda," Ginny growls as she goes around to her workstation, scouring the potting benches and the damp earthy floor for her missing notes. "If I ever catch her at it, the little harpy, I'll pull all of her hair out and then start a rumor that she's bald because she let Walter Harper tie her braids to a bedpost and it backfired."
Harry gives a snort of laughter. A nearby snapdragon takes offense and tries unsuccessfully to bite his ear.
Ginny smiles at Harry as he bats the flower away, her anger and embarrassment ebbing. "What about you, then? You and Cho were pretty hot and heavy there for a while, from what I've heard."
Harry blushes scarlet even as he tries to laugh it off. "Well, you heard wrong," he says. "She was too busy crying on me most of the time to do much -- much of anything."
Ginny grins at the hitch in his voice and Harry, knowing he when he is beat, grabs her and kisses her fiercely. When they break apart, Ginny stays close to him, the heat of her body intensified by the warmth of the greenhouse.
"I'm glad," Ginny says. Harry kisses her again. It is so easy with her. So easy to forget everything else when she is near, when he can lose himself in the sight of her, the feel of her, her sound and scent.
Ginny sighs as they pull apart once again. "Come on," she says, taking his hand. "Let's try the next greenhouse. We were pruning the petunias today when--"
As they round the corner into the adjoining corridor with Greenhouse Five, Ginny stops speaking abruptly, cut off by a low moan from somewhere between the rows of plants. Harry nearly trips over something in the aisle. His eyes widen as he realizes it is a pile of clothes. He looks up as Ginny puts her finger to her lips and motions for him to follow her.
Two school robes, two white school shirts, and two black and yellow Hufflepuff ties make a trail down the third row. It's hard to see in the fading evening light, but there, between the exploding petunias and the snapdragons, someone -- two someones are lying in the dirt. At first, all Ginny can make out is a mess of thick strawberry blonde hair escaping from its careful plait and two large, male hands running through it like sunlight. Then, the man -- boy -- raises his head, anointing the girl's neck, shoulder, chest with a trail of kisses.
It is Justin Finch-Fletchly, lying there, shirtless in the dirt; muscles that Ginny never would have suspected gleam in the strange emerald light with a fine sheen of sweat from the warmth of the greenhouse. Dark curls, damp and clinging to his forehead, crown his face like a Roman emperor.
Harry makes a sort of strangled noise in the back of his throat. Susan Bones is tracing her fingers down Justin's spine, a rosy flush coloring her pale, freckled skin as she arches into each of his kisses. One of the straps of her baby pink cotton bra has slipped off her shoulder, revealing a tantalizing expanse of skin from collarbone to cleavage, her soft reddish hair just brushing against the curve of her neck.
Embarrassed, Harry turns to look for Ginny, but she has ducked down behind the nearest potting bench.
Justin groans again as Susan drags her fingernails slowly down his sides. One of his hands escapes the tangle of her hair to cup her breast, his thumb racing back and forth across the round pinnacle of her nipple, erect with excitement. Ginny licks her lips as Susan tilts her head back, eyes closed in silent pleasure.
Harry moves silently to crouch behind Ginny, his hand on her shoulder for balance. Her skin is hot beneath the thin fabric of her blouse. He can feel the blood pounding through him, thrumming loudly in his ears. He slides his hand down Ginny's arm, searching for her hand, finding instead the soft, smooth skin on the inside of her wrist. He imagines he can hear her drawing in a sharp breath at the feel of his fingers, imagines he can make out the quickening of her pulse as it tattoos a message of desire against the pads of his fingers.
Susan bends one knee, her leg moving up the outside of Justin's, her grey, pleated skirt falling away to reveal the creamy skin of her thigh. Justin's other hand escapes the tangles of her hair, coming to rest on that forbidden territory.
Then Susan pushes him gently, her hands on his shoulders, and Justin obligingly sits back. Nimbly, Susan manages to undo the fly of his trousers, so that his bright yellow boxer pants are visible beneath
Ginny's fingers reach out and trace a line down the center of Harry's palm, making him shudder with sensation. His trousers are becoming uncomfortable, pulled tight across his groin as he and Ginny squat amongst the vines, and roots, and table legs behind the potting bench.
Susan arches her back again, pressing up against Justin's body as his hand disappears beneath the folds of her skirt. Ginny inhales sharply, the damp, earthy smell of soil and the heady perfume of the exotic flowers filling her head with intoxication. She knows they shouldn't be here, that Susan would die a thousand deaths if she knew that Harry and Ginny were watching, but somehow, this Susan seems miles removed from the round-faced girl Ginny knows who turns beet red the minute anyone mentions kissing. This Susan is sultry, sexy, confident and sure. Ginny twines her fingers through Harry's wondering vaguely if she too could find that kind of power inside herself.
Harry squeezes Ginny's fingers and motions almost imperceptibly to the door. She nods, looking up at him through her lashes, her lips parted ever so slightly, and a flood of relief and desire wash over him. All thoughts of notes and Herbology exams have fled; his mind is fixated on a singular problem now of finding a place where they can be alone.
* * *
Believe it or not, I think this is probably the smuttiest thing I have ever written and my first PWP. Go me. :>
Rating: PG-13 (depending on what you compare it to, I suppose)
Words: ~1,350
Pairings: H/G, Justin Finch-Fletchly/Susan Bones
Warnings: PWP -- a little smut, a little voyeurism. Set sometime during HBP.
For jpxthethoughts who asked for "Justin Finch-Fletchly/Susan Bones smut" in reference to his icon which says Hufflepuffs Do It In The Dirt...
"I cannot believe you want to talk about this now!" Ginny says, fighting to hold her anger in check. She plants her fists on her hips and fixes Harry with a look of disapproval that mimics her mother's with frightening accuracy.
Harry shrugs halfheartedly, avoiding her eyes as he works on the lock with his knife. "I didn't say I believed it," he says mildly.
"You believed it enough to ask if it was true," Ginny retorts. She does not want to admit how embarrassed she is by the question, does not want to admit that she too has heard the rumors.
"Forget I said anything, then," Harry says. He grimaces, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth. "Bloody thing. I wonder if Sprout charms these locks with something other than--"
"It isn't true," Ginny says.
Harry glances at her over his shoulder. "Which part?"
"Any of it. I didn't shag Michael -- or Dean, or anyone else, for that matter. I've never -- I mean, I'm not--"
"Got it!" Harry says, finally managing to break through the charm on the lock. The greenhouse doors open with a soft click. Harry stands, dusting his hands on his trousers and carefully putting the knife back in its sheath in his pocket.
Ginny's crosses her arms, avoiding Harry's gaze. He reaches out to her, laying a soft hand on her arm. "I didn't think that you had," he says quietly.
Ginny glances at him and blushes. "Come on," she says quickly. "Help me find my notes before someone comes by and wonders why the greenhouse is unlocked."
A blast of hot, humid air greets them as they push into the quiet, leafy cave of Greenhouse Four. Inside, the coppery afternoon light is tinted a weird emerald color creating a premature twilight. Harry slips off his glasses and wipes them on his sleeve as the fog over in the thick, moist air.
"It's all to do with that cow, Romilda," Ginny growls as she goes around to her workstation, scouring the potting benches and the damp earthy floor for her missing notes. "If I ever catch her at it, the little harpy, I'll pull all of her hair out and then start a rumor that she's bald because she let Walter Harper tie her braids to a bedpost and it backfired."
Harry gives a snort of laughter. A nearby snapdragon takes offense and tries unsuccessfully to bite his ear.
Ginny smiles at Harry as he bats the flower away, her anger and embarrassment ebbing. "What about you, then? You and Cho were pretty hot and heavy there for a while, from what I've heard."
Harry blushes scarlet even as he tries to laugh it off. "Well, you heard wrong," he says. "She was too busy crying on me most of the time to do much -- much of anything."
Ginny grins at the hitch in his voice and Harry, knowing he when he is beat, grabs her and kisses her fiercely. When they break apart, Ginny stays close to him, the heat of her body intensified by the warmth of the greenhouse.
"I'm glad," Ginny says. Harry kisses her again. It is so easy with her. So easy to forget everything else when she is near, when he can lose himself in the sight of her, the feel of her, her sound and scent.
Ginny sighs as they pull apart once again. "Come on," she says, taking his hand. "Let's try the next greenhouse. We were pruning the petunias today when--"
As they round the corner into the adjoining corridor with Greenhouse Five, Ginny stops speaking abruptly, cut off by a low moan from somewhere between the rows of plants. Harry nearly trips over something in the aisle. His eyes widen as he realizes it is a pile of clothes. He looks up as Ginny puts her finger to her lips and motions for him to follow her.
Two school robes, two white school shirts, and two black and yellow Hufflepuff ties make a trail down the third row. It's hard to see in the fading evening light, but there, between the exploding petunias and the snapdragons, someone -- two someones are lying in the dirt. At first, all Ginny can make out is a mess of thick strawberry blonde hair escaping from its careful plait and two large, male hands running through it like sunlight. Then, the man -- boy -- raises his head, anointing the girl's neck, shoulder, chest with a trail of kisses.
It is Justin Finch-Fletchly, lying there, shirtless in the dirt; muscles that Ginny never would have suspected gleam in the strange emerald light with a fine sheen of sweat from the warmth of the greenhouse. Dark curls, damp and clinging to his forehead, crown his face like a Roman emperor.
Harry makes a sort of strangled noise in the back of his throat. Susan Bones is tracing her fingers down Justin's spine, a rosy flush coloring her pale, freckled skin as she arches into each of his kisses. One of the straps of her baby pink cotton bra has slipped off her shoulder, revealing a tantalizing expanse of skin from collarbone to cleavage, her soft reddish hair just brushing against the curve of her neck.
Embarrassed, Harry turns to look for Ginny, but she has ducked down behind the nearest potting bench.
Justin groans again as Susan drags her fingernails slowly down his sides. One of his hands escapes the tangle of her hair to cup her breast, his thumb racing back and forth across the round pinnacle of her nipple, erect with excitement. Ginny licks her lips as Susan tilts her head back, eyes closed in silent pleasure.
Harry moves silently to crouch behind Ginny, his hand on her shoulder for balance. Her skin is hot beneath the thin fabric of her blouse. He can feel the blood pounding through him, thrumming loudly in his ears. He slides his hand down Ginny's arm, searching for her hand, finding instead the soft, smooth skin on the inside of her wrist. He imagines he can hear her drawing in a sharp breath at the feel of his fingers, imagines he can make out the quickening of her pulse as it tattoos a message of desire against the pads of his fingers.
Susan bends one knee, her leg moving up the outside of Justin's, her grey, pleated skirt falling away to reveal the creamy skin of her thigh. Justin's other hand escapes the tangles of her hair, coming to rest on that forbidden territory.
Then Susan pushes him gently, her hands on his shoulders, and Justin obligingly sits back. Nimbly, Susan manages to undo the fly of his trousers, so that his bright yellow boxer pants are visible beneath
Ginny's fingers reach out and trace a line down the center of Harry's palm, making him shudder with sensation. His trousers are becoming uncomfortable, pulled tight across his groin as he and Ginny squat amongst the vines, and roots, and table legs behind the potting bench.
Susan arches her back again, pressing up against Justin's body as his hand disappears beneath the folds of her skirt. Ginny inhales sharply, the damp, earthy smell of soil and the heady perfume of the exotic flowers filling her head with intoxication. She knows they shouldn't be here, that Susan would die a thousand deaths if she knew that Harry and Ginny were watching, but somehow, this Susan seems miles removed from the round-faced girl Ginny knows who turns beet red the minute anyone mentions kissing. This Susan is sultry, sexy, confident and sure. Ginny twines her fingers through Harry's wondering vaguely if she too could find that kind of power inside herself.
Harry squeezes Ginny's fingers and motions almost imperceptibly to the door. She nods, looking up at him through her lashes, her lips parted ever so slightly, and a flood of relief and desire wash over him. All thoughts of notes and Herbology exams have fled; his mind is fixated on a singular problem now of finding a place where they can be alone.
* * *
Believe it or not, I think this is probably the smuttiest thing I have ever written and my first PWP. Go me. :>