Ficlet: Sweet Tooth Sirius/Minerva
Title: Sweet Tooth
Pairing: Sirius/Minerva? (Sort of)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 711
Written from a prompt given by
redvelvetcanopy , who asked for Sirius/Minerva with a donut. This is so late it's not even funny, but I do try to keep plugging away.
He wishes now that he'd thought to watch her more closely during meals in the Great Hall. Seven years of savouring the experience would really have been something to hold on to during those long years spent solely with what the Dementors left of his own thoughts. Odds were, they wouldn't have taken that memory, right? It might have been one of those mundane, everyday things they left alone.
But he doubted the younger, more self-centered Sirius would have had the ability to appreciate all the subtleties and nuances of Minerva McGonagall enjoying a donut. Or a strawberry tart. Or lemon bars, or divinity, or whatever lovingly baked concoction that Molly saw fit to contribute to the Order meetings.
It was an accident, the first time he saw it. She had excused herself to use the bathroom, (not that she ever would have said it quite that way, mind you-he doubted she had ever said anything to give someone the impression she did something as undignified as urinate) and on the way back (after washing her hands for precisely two minutes-he would have bet money on it) she nicked a doughnut off the communal plate. It was done with an impressive amount of finesse; one hardly saw her hand move, and Sirius was quite certain that she never touched even the smallest bit of any of the others on the stack, and that she chose the pastry in question carefully, finding the best of the lot with just the right golden brown colour and a perfectly symmetrical shape.
And then, not realizing that he was sulking in the corner (if she'd been in feline form, she'd certainly have noticed him) she broke off a small morsel and popped it in her mouth. One would have thought she hadn't had sweets in twenty years at least given the smile that transformed her face and the way her eyes rolled back just a little before she closed them in bliss. And then there was that small pink tongue, darting out of her mouth and capturing whatever crumbs might have dared to linger on her lips. It was bloody well beautiful, or maybe he just thought so because hadn't seen a look of pleasure on a woman's face in twelve years, at least.
He had to be impressed, too with how after having repeated the experience six times in quick succession , she brushed the crumbs off her hands, completely composed her features, and made her way back to the room. He felt as though he had watched something intimate, almost dirty.
Or maybe he was so hard up that most anything seemed dirty these days, like the way that Remus' fingers circled his knees every time that Tonks got up to speak and the way that Arthur always focused on his wife's bosom whenever Deladus spoke, as if he'd much rather be asleep with his head resting on it. Or the way that Dung's eyes followed Hestia's ample bottom around the room, causing him to lick his chops like a hungry wolf.
At any rate, it was something that stuck with him, so much so that he tried to catch her at it again, but she made it bloody difficult. He'd never noticed before how rarely she ate with the group. Tea, yes, that she would permit herself, and she would drink it with her lips pursed and her back ramrod straight and her legs crossed at the ankles. No fun at all, that.
He managed it by stealth, though, and possibly only because he knew the secrets of the house well (and happened to have access to a particular mirror his mother used to spy on her guests whenever she left the room, trying to catch them at disloyalty.)
It was this way that he discovered that her weakness for sweets was not limited to doughnuts-not by a long shot. The best one of all was Tonks' birthday cake, all creamy and decadent and brightly coloured, with tiny pink icing roses that she lapped up with her tongue and audibly moaned over.
Yeah, he was a sick and twisted pervert, there was no question about it. But at this point, he would take what small pleasures he could get, and be happy for it.
Pairing: Sirius/Minerva? (Sort of)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 711
Written from a prompt given by
redvelvetcanopy , who asked for Sirius/Minerva with a donut. This is so late it's not even funny, but I do try to keep plugging away.
He wishes now that he'd thought to watch her more closely during meals in the Great Hall. Seven years of savouring the experience would really have been something to hold on to during those long years spent solely with what the Dementors left of his own thoughts. Odds were, they wouldn't have taken that memory, right? It might have been one of those mundane, everyday things they left alone.
But he doubted the younger, more self-centered Sirius would have had the ability to appreciate all the subtleties and nuances of Minerva McGonagall enjoying a donut. Or a strawberry tart. Or lemon bars, or divinity, or whatever lovingly baked concoction that Molly saw fit to contribute to the Order meetings.
It was an accident, the first time he saw it. She had excused herself to use the bathroom, (not that she ever would have said it quite that way, mind you-he doubted she had ever said anything to give someone the impression she did something as undignified as urinate) and on the way back (after washing her hands for precisely two minutes-he would have bet money on it) she nicked a doughnut off the communal plate. It was done with an impressive amount of finesse; one hardly saw her hand move, and Sirius was quite certain that she never touched even the smallest bit of any of the others on the stack, and that she chose the pastry in question carefully, finding the best of the lot with just the right golden brown colour and a perfectly symmetrical shape.
And then, not realizing that he was sulking in the corner (if she'd been in feline form, she'd certainly have noticed him) she broke off a small morsel and popped it in her mouth. One would have thought she hadn't had sweets in twenty years at least given the smile that transformed her face and the way her eyes rolled back just a little before she closed them in bliss. And then there was that small pink tongue, darting out of her mouth and capturing whatever crumbs might have dared to linger on her lips. It was bloody well beautiful, or maybe he just thought so because hadn't seen a look of pleasure on a woman's face in twelve years, at least.
He had to be impressed, too with how after having repeated the experience six times in quick succession , she brushed the crumbs off her hands, completely composed her features, and made her way back to the room. He felt as though he had watched something intimate, almost dirty.
Or maybe he was so hard up that most anything seemed dirty these days, like the way that Remus' fingers circled his knees every time that Tonks got up to speak and the way that Arthur always focused on his wife's bosom whenever Deladus spoke, as if he'd much rather be asleep with his head resting on it. Or the way that Dung's eyes followed Hestia's ample bottom around the room, causing him to lick his chops like a hungry wolf.
At any rate, it was something that stuck with him, so much so that he tried to catch her at it again, but she made it bloody difficult. He'd never noticed before how rarely she ate with the group. Tea, yes, that she would permit herself, and she would drink it with her lips pursed and her back ramrod straight and her legs crossed at the ankles. No fun at all, that.
He managed it by stealth, though, and possibly only because he knew the secrets of the house well (and happened to have access to a particular mirror his mother used to spy on her guests whenever she left the room, trying to catch them at disloyalty.)
It was this way that he discovered that her weakness for sweets was not limited to doughnuts-not by a long shot. The best one of all was Tonks' birthday cake, all creamy and decadent and brightly coloured, with tiny pink icing roses that she lapped up with her tongue and audibly moaned over.
Yeah, he was a sick and twisted pervert, there was no question about it. But at this point, he would take what small pleasures he could get, and be happy for it.