Day 22: "Purr" (HP, NC17)
Title: Purr
Fandom: HP
Characters: see, that's mildly spoilery. Highlight if you want to know: *Minerva/Weasley Twins*
Rating: NC17
Words: 1300
Warnings: Highlight if you want to know: *Quasi-bestiality*
A/N: This is the fault of some folks over at shocolate's LJ, who know why.
Purr
Minerva never turned away stray cats.
She didn't keep them, of course; she merely fed them, and the gentle charms on her home kept them from deciding she was their home, and from appearing in droves. She just liked the company now and again, and because they wouldn't become dependent on her, she didn't mind bringing the tame ones in, giving them some nice milk, and letting them curl against her legs and on her lap as she read, or as she listened to the wireless.
Tonight, oddly, there were a pair of them, golden-eyed orange toms that, to her surprise, were unalteredly male, but not fighting. She stopped to ask them if they intended to behave, should she let them in, and was rewarded with the sort of unblinking stare that only a cat could offer, the kind that intimated its recipient was probably a bit dim, and gave the impression the cat's time was valuable and being shared as a gift which should be recognized as an item of value.
She chuckled and unlocked the door, then waved them on in in front of her. One leaped right up on the countertop and meowed at her. "Forward, aren't you?" she asked him. The other one twined around her ankles and looked up. "All right, no need to concern yourselves," she said, looking from one to the other. She got a saucer and put out some cream, then left them lapping it up while she went to change into a bathrobe and turn on the wireless.
When she came back out to the sitting room with her book and her slippers, they were waiting, one on each arm of the couch, licking their chops.
She pursed her lips. "Yes, quite forward." She crossed to the kitchen to prepare her tea, then came back and sat in the middle between them. They walked neatly toward her, each kneading paws on one thigh.
As she finished her tea and set it down, the one on her right wormed its way up onto her lap and the one on her left jumped up onto the back of the couch to knead at her shoulder and purr in her ear. She reached up and scratched that one, then settled to petting the other in long slow strokes.
She turned a page, and then jumped slightly at the damp rasp of a tongue under her left ear. "Now, I'm not cream," she said, not very sharply at all.
The other one batted at the lapel of her robe until the pink pads of its toes brushed against her nipple through the thin cotton of her nightgown.
She raised an eyebrow. "Forward may not be the word."
The cat in her lap yawned widely and set its head down, nose at the juncture of her thighs, and licked its chops again--incidentally nosing at her crotch--just as the other one licked at her earlobe again.
She sighed and went back to reading, studiously working to ignore the increasingly arousing rasps against her ear and throat, against her collarbone, against the skin of her belly, through the nightgown, trying to remain unresponsive as kneading paws kneaded inward on her thigh, inward and up until she was practically groaning.
Over a pair of cats.
She didn't usually respond like this; it has been years since the issue of her feline self going into heat had been a problem.
Finally, she put the book down and lifted the left cat down into her lap as well. She looked at both of them. "I suppose you think you're clever?"
They stared at her.
"Fine," she said. "I'm going to bed. You're welcome to stay. There's a scratching post right over there."
She eased them both off her and stood, pulling off her robe as she walked and hanging it on its hook. She turned down the cover and doused the lamp, then slid into the bed, hiking up her nightgown as she did because else it would just get all tangled.
After a moment's hesitation, she changed her mind and pulled it over her head entirely. If she was going to do this, she might as well be comfortable. She lay on her back, one hand between her legs, slowly stroking herself and conjuring up a fantasy of a muscular young man on his belly between her legs, stroking with his tongue, firm buttocks flexing as she looked down, as he met her gaze.
The sudden shift of the bed was accompanied by a pair of meows, and she stopped, startled again, and started to sit up, but one of them parked himself squarely on her belly, heavy for a cat, and pinned her. The other wormed its way under the sheet and slithered over her leg, then started lapping again--the rough tongue that had felt so nice on her neck now driving her crazy against the soft skin of her inner thighs. She managed a bit of an oof at the pinning, and then groaned a bit at the licking.
And then the cat on her belly turned around halfway and nosed her hand toward what she had been doing before. Then it batted at the sheet until it slid down, and set about dragging its tongue over one nipple.
She groaned again, and gave in. The cat on her chest purred and licked at one nipple until she was nearly ready to complain it would be sore, then moved to the other. The cat between her legs licked her thighs--inner, front, high, low, even up against her buttocks, until she felt ridiculously sensitized.
She slid her fingers into her now dripping wet folds and began circling again, rocking her hips until she nearly dislodged the cat on her chest, until he had to unsheathe his claws, just a bit, to hold his place. She hissed as the tiny needles went into her skin, and bucked harder.
The cat between her legs kneaded at the front of her thigh, letting his claws out as well, and she whined and pushed her other hand down to slide two fingers inside her, into muscles just on the verge of contracting around the fingers in uncontrolled spasms. She drew up her knees high for a better angle, and gasped again when the cat down there kept licking, up the back of her thigh and along the crease of her buttock until his tongue pulled across her arsehole.
She couldn't help it. Everything tightened at once, and she came, panting, as they licked and licked, undeterred by her thrashing as hard as she recalled ever doing.
Finally, her breathing slowed and her trembling thighs settled down onto the bed again as both cats snuggled against her, one on each side.
"Just one question," she said into the dark. "Which is which?"
An instant later, they transfigured, still close against her on either side. "When'd you know?" asked the one on her left. "I'm George."
"Some time ago. Most tomcats don't inexplicably pursue group sex with human women," she said tartly. "And I don't make a practice of--"
"Getting rimmed by unknown felines?" Fred said, chuckling. He rocked against her thigh, obviously aroused.
She shook her head. "Forward."
"Always," George said. He rolled away, onto his back, and the sliver of moonlight was barely enough to confirm he was slowly stroking his erection. "So. That established, any chance you'd like something bigger than your fingers? I imagine Fred would love a nice taste, too."
"Boys. Honestly. I should have thrown you out. I'm old enough to be your--"
"Incredibly experienced and worldly-wise teacher," George interrupted, pulling her close. Fred helped her roll almost without her realizing, and then she was straddling George, Fred behind her. "Also, Fred might do more than taste."
Fandom: HP
Characters: see, that's mildly spoilery. Highlight if you want to know: *Minerva/Weasley Twins*
Rating: NC17
Words: 1300
Warnings: Highlight if you want to know: *Quasi-bestiality*
A/N: This is the fault of some folks over at shocolate's LJ, who know why.
Purr
Minerva never turned away stray cats.
She didn't keep them, of course; she merely fed them, and the gentle charms on her home kept them from deciding she was their home, and from appearing in droves. She just liked the company now and again, and because they wouldn't become dependent on her, she didn't mind bringing the tame ones in, giving them some nice milk, and letting them curl against her legs and on her lap as she read, or as she listened to the wireless.
Tonight, oddly, there were a pair of them, golden-eyed orange toms that, to her surprise, were unalteredly male, but not fighting. She stopped to ask them if they intended to behave, should she let them in, and was rewarded with the sort of unblinking stare that only a cat could offer, the kind that intimated its recipient was probably a bit dim, and gave the impression the cat's time was valuable and being shared as a gift which should be recognized as an item of value.
She chuckled and unlocked the door, then waved them on in in front of her. One leaped right up on the countertop and meowed at her. "Forward, aren't you?" she asked him. The other one twined around her ankles and looked up. "All right, no need to concern yourselves," she said, looking from one to the other. She got a saucer and put out some cream, then left them lapping it up while she went to change into a bathrobe and turn on the wireless.
When she came back out to the sitting room with her book and her slippers, they were waiting, one on each arm of the couch, licking their chops.
She pursed her lips. "Yes, quite forward." She crossed to the kitchen to prepare her tea, then came back and sat in the middle between them. They walked neatly toward her, each kneading paws on one thigh.
As she finished her tea and set it down, the one on her right wormed its way up onto her lap and the one on her left jumped up onto the back of the couch to knead at her shoulder and purr in her ear. She reached up and scratched that one, then settled to petting the other in long slow strokes.
She turned a page, and then jumped slightly at the damp rasp of a tongue under her left ear. "Now, I'm not cream," she said, not very sharply at all.
The other one batted at the lapel of her robe until the pink pads of its toes brushed against her nipple through the thin cotton of her nightgown.
She raised an eyebrow. "Forward may not be the word."
The cat in her lap yawned widely and set its head down, nose at the juncture of her thighs, and licked its chops again--incidentally nosing at her crotch--just as the other one licked at her earlobe again.
She sighed and went back to reading, studiously working to ignore the increasingly arousing rasps against her ear and throat, against her collarbone, against the skin of her belly, through the nightgown, trying to remain unresponsive as kneading paws kneaded inward on her thigh, inward and up until she was practically groaning.
Over a pair of cats.
She didn't usually respond like this; it has been years since the issue of her feline self going into heat had been a problem.
Finally, she put the book down and lifted the left cat down into her lap as well. She looked at both of them. "I suppose you think you're clever?"
They stared at her.
"Fine," she said. "I'm going to bed. You're welcome to stay. There's a scratching post right over there."
She eased them both off her and stood, pulling off her robe as she walked and hanging it on its hook. She turned down the cover and doused the lamp, then slid into the bed, hiking up her nightgown as she did because else it would just get all tangled.
After a moment's hesitation, she changed her mind and pulled it over her head entirely. If she was going to do this, she might as well be comfortable. She lay on her back, one hand between her legs, slowly stroking herself and conjuring up a fantasy of a muscular young man on his belly between her legs, stroking with his tongue, firm buttocks flexing as she looked down, as he met her gaze.
The sudden shift of the bed was accompanied by a pair of meows, and she stopped, startled again, and started to sit up, but one of them parked himself squarely on her belly, heavy for a cat, and pinned her. The other wormed its way under the sheet and slithered over her leg, then started lapping again--the rough tongue that had felt so nice on her neck now driving her crazy against the soft skin of her inner thighs. She managed a bit of an oof at the pinning, and then groaned a bit at the licking.
And then the cat on her belly turned around halfway and nosed her hand toward what she had been doing before. Then it batted at the sheet until it slid down, and set about dragging its tongue over one nipple.
She groaned again, and gave in. The cat on her chest purred and licked at one nipple until she was nearly ready to complain it would be sore, then moved to the other. The cat between her legs licked her thighs--inner, front, high, low, even up against her buttocks, until she felt ridiculously sensitized.
She slid her fingers into her now dripping wet folds and began circling again, rocking her hips until she nearly dislodged the cat on her chest, until he had to unsheathe his claws, just a bit, to hold his place. She hissed as the tiny needles went into her skin, and bucked harder.
The cat between her legs kneaded at the front of her thigh, letting his claws out as well, and she whined and pushed her other hand down to slide two fingers inside her, into muscles just on the verge of contracting around the fingers in uncontrolled spasms. She drew up her knees high for a better angle, and gasped again when the cat down there kept licking, up the back of her thigh and along the crease of her buttock until his tongue pulled across her arsehole.
She couldn't help it. Everything tightened at once, and she came, panting, as they licked and licked, undeterred by her thrashing as hard as she recalled ever doing.
Finally, her breathing slowed and her trembling thighs settled down onto the bed again as both cats snuggled against her, one on each side.
"Just one question," she said into the dark. "Which is which?"
An instant later, they transfigured, still close against her on either side. "When'd you know?" asked the one on her left. "I'm George."
"Some time ago. Most tomcats don't inexplicably pursue group sex with human women," she said tartly. "And I don't make a practice of--"
"Getting rimmed by unknown felines?" Fred said, chuckling. He rocked against her thigh, obviously aroused.
She shook her head. "Forward."
"Always," George said. He rolled away, onto his back, and the sliver of moonlight was barely enough to confirm he was slowly stroking his erection. "So. That established, any chance you'd like something bigger than your fingers? I imagine Fred would love a nice taste, too."
"Boys. Honestly. I should have thrown you out. I'm old enough to be your--"
"Incredibly experienced and worldly-wise teacher," George interrupted, pulling her close. Fred helped her roll almost without her realizing, and then she was straddling George, Fred behind her. "Also, Fred might do more than taste."