cribellate | SERAPHIM DIAS

Why are you thinking about the rest of my house?

[It's a kiss for two of her fingers this time--middle, and index--a lingering kiss with a little more tongue, and then he follows along her index finger, nipping lightly at it--presses a kiss down in the curve, where thumb and finger meet, lingers there, too--]

And how can I make you stop thinking about them?

That is the question, isn't it?

[She lets him kiss her hand, lets him have that.]

Did you really catch me, though?

[Ah, make your case, Black, because she's curling her hands up, her smile is turning wicked and thorny-]

[There's something in her tone that suggests that he has to act, now--something in whatever he can see of her smile, half lost in shadows--but he can act, he can, and he lets her hand go so he can take hold of her hips, so he can step in close to her, pushing her up against the wall, against that tapestry that she was just hiding behind.]

I think I have.

[He's leaning into her, insistently, grinning down at her. Pinning her to the wall--not cruelly, but holding her there.]

I'll grant you a taste from my fingers, but I think you'll have to wait until you find me in the act, I think those were the words, before I give you more than that, don't you?

[She knows he'll disagree, but this is part of the game too, the catch, the pull and push. But she's pinned to the wall and she's not squirming away, not yet.]

I'd hate for this to be too easy.

You'll grant it to me?

[He repeats her, somewhat incredulously, and the lift in his voice could turn sour at any moment. Do you know who you're talking to?]

I'm not denied things that I want. And I don't wait for people to grant things to me. What makes you think you're the exception to that?

[His words are a little sharp, but he's still smirking, and he lets one hand--the right one--slip up a little, release its grip on her hip and push up at her side.]

Perhaps I don't want to wait.

[Her expression changes, but only a bit. There's no fear in it, and she's not sure why. Usually she would be terrified of something like this, except for some reason today she's not, today she's ready to go at this from his level.]

For me, you'll wait.

[There's no magic, she just uses leverage - she hasn't got much of it but her gift with numbers isn't for naught, she knows exactly how to apply her body weight, just enough to give her space between them and slip out from under him]

You'll follow the rules to the letter. Catch me in the act, Black. I assume I'll see you at the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff game next week.

[She winds out and down the hall, and she's back to prim, as if nothing ever happened, before she disappears down the corridor]

Edited 2013-10-15 15:18 (UTC)

[Well, that's not fair at all. He considers going after her, for a moment--but that would ruin the spirit of the game, wouldn't it? Half the fun is in the chase and the pursuit, and the thought of catching her, at a quidditch game--

Merlin. All right. So that's hot, so--he makes the choice not to follow her, though he absolutely could, if he wanted to. Instead he stares after her as she slips away, a faint grin on his face.

Yeah. This game is good.

Next week is a long time to wait, but it will be worth it. The whole school turns out for the game, practically, and Sirius trails to the stands with everyone else. Usually he's with the others, catcalling and heckling, jeering at the Hufflepuff players--but this time, he only follows along until he can lose himself in the crowds, and then slips away. There are over a dozen stairways, hundreds of secret little places where she could be. She won't be near the Ravenclaw stands. That would be too obvious. So he starts at the other end, towards the Hufflepuff goal posts. The air is cool and brisk, the sky overcast, and the beams of the stands casts shadows everywhere.]

[Seraphim really likes Quidditch, it's something she went for the moment she learned about. She tried for the team, almost made it, too.

She doesn't like to watch her own team from the stands with the others because of it, so she generally climbs up under the Gryffindor stands, to one of the platforms under the main seats, about twenty feet up but still thirty feet or so down. There are two ways up to where she likes to sit, watching the game from where the drapes that hide the scaffolding occasionally part, and one of them is climbing, which is how she makes her way up, not having a broom.

She sees him down near by the posts and gets on her knees to try and get a better glimpse. It draws her attention down - Gryffindors always congregate down on the ground under the stands for mischief. Sirius, she reckons, has about ten minutes before they get bored enough to come down looking for trouble.]

[Gryffindors. Sirius can hear them before he sees them. His disdain for them is half disgust and half irritation, and zero parts jealousy. Ages ago, he had, maybe, thought differently, but now--well, he's older now, and he's got more sense.

Enemy territory is no place to stop for a smoke, but like he cares about Gryffindors. They're never a threat, not to him--he's got a load of cleverness and more on his side, and a certain degree of mad, ruthless defensiveness that can't be forgotten. So he leans against one of the posts, quite casually, and gets out his cigarettes. In a moment, he'll shove off and keep looking. The game's only just begun--the quidditch game, yeah, but more what he means is the game with Seraphim Dias, wherever she is.

In fact, he glances around right now, in case she's somewhereabouts.]

[She looks down just as he's looking around, and she sees - for Merlin's sake, Grigori, that's Grigori and his group of whoever it is that follow him around, half the bloody Quidditch team, how fantastic. This is a disaster waiting to happen, her twin has been chomping at the bit ever since Black broke his nose, and so she takes her wand from her pocket and uses a quick little charm to knock on the top of Black's head, knock knock, look up.]

Hell.

[Grigori doesn't see him yet, this could end not quite so badly-]

[He hears approaching voices, first--a little distant, but not terribly far off--and he perks up, the way a dog might perk up when it hears something interesting approaching. Only then he'd distracted straight after--a weird knocking at the top of his head, and he twists to look behind him first, stupidly, before he thinks to look up.

And there she is, crouched up among the higher beams. He grins, immediately, and drops his cigarette in the dirt, voices forgotten.]

Don't tell me. This doesn't count, either.

You're awful at this.

[She says it, looking over to where her twin is still heading their way.]

Are you going to come up or-

[That's when Grigori sees her or hears her or senses her or whatever and he calls out. Sera, what are you-

And then he spots Black, and she groans]

Go back up Grigori!

[But he's not going, he's just giving Black a look that would kill if it were a spell.]

[He's confused, at first, what the hell is she on about. And then he makes the connection, right, Grigori, her twin--different houses, far more obnoxious--and he glances around, and there he is himself, Grigori, and it clicks together then.

Him. Right. Broken nose. Sirius grins a little, despite himself, and--more for the show--gets out a fresh cigarette, entirely casual.]

All right there, mate? Nose looks good.

[He jerks his head up towards Sera.]

Might want to take the lady's advice.

[She's making her way down the scaffold, and Grigori is looking up at her - if Sirius looks up now he'll get a nice shot up her skirt, red pants and everything - and he just looks over at Black.

You're joking, Seraphim, you're joking, this isn't for real-]

I cannot possibly have all the monopoly on brains-

[And her twin grips her by the arm and drags her a bit, and they're clearly arguing but what they're saying is low and hissing and possibly in an entirely different language (Russian, it's Russian) before she pulls her arm away, and Grigori looks up.

Watch it, Black, he says, scowling, before touching his nose and heading back, and Seraphim turns to Black crosses her arms]

Apparently if I let you touch me I'll turn into an unrepentant slut and go after Snape, next.

[He doesn't miss that little glimpse of her pants--perhaps he was, in part, looking to see if he could see them, sort of, idly, and here he's well rewarded. Red. What an interesting choice.

So he doesn't mind waiting out their argument. He smokes his cigarette, patient, nonchalant, and when Grigori eventually shoves off, Sirius touches his forehead like the nose-touch was a salute that he's just returning.

But he's got a grin for Sera, he's fully prepared for her.]

Does he really think you lack all sense and taste? And maybe you're blind as well--noseless--not sensitive to grease--

[He ashes his cigarette, carelessly.]

Charming, isn't he.

Apparently you are the gateway to awful decisions. But well. Now he knows something, although he doesn't know exactly.

[She looks back to where he was walking, and wonders what he'll tell, who he'll tell, if he'll tell. But she turns back to him.]

Also, he thinks after you there's only one place worse and apparently that's Snape. I suppose he's never seen that man your cousin married, the blonde one-

[Sorry, she's not one for pureblood families, she only knows he exists because she's seen him around.]

Anyway.

You still haven't caught me.

Malfoy.

[He snorts, dismissively.]

You might as well snog a ferret, if Malfoy's a possibility. I can't believe I end up at that end of the spectrum. I take showers, and have a personality. But perhaps your brother's just not observant enough, or otherwise immune to my charms which, thank God.

[But she tacks on that little bit at the end, and that's unfair; he steps closer, in case she's thinking of slipping away again.]

You need to give better clues. Nice pants, by the way.

He's just mad you broke his nose.

Do you want a riddle? A map, perhaps? A list of my favorite hiding places?

[She tilts her head up, and doesn't move away]

Or maybe just some motivation.

[She reaches up her skirt with both hands but keeps her modesty as she takes te aforementioned pants off. They're red and only just modest.]

Do you want them?

[He was all ready to dismiss her first options as too easy--there's hints and then there's outright blatant tells--but then she's shifting around, and this has definitely got his attention now, as if she didn't have it before--

He grins, first, takes a moment just to look at her--at her hand, first, at the pants--at her hips, still hidden under that skirt, but that's it, just a skirt and then her, and Merlin, but that's something. And then he takes her hand, pants and all. They're warm, he can feel that. Right from her.]

Where have you been all my life.

[Muggleborn, that's where. Dirty blood. It's really a shame, but that doesn't stop him from having a good time with her, does it. In fact it almost makes it better. Ultimate slumming.]

[She lets him, doesn't pull away even if she could, quirks her lips up. Most people don't see this side of her, this slightly cunning, daresay Slytherin part of her personality.]

Russia. Paris. Oxford. In the sewer getting all filthy and dirty-blooded, just for you.

[Just for him indeed. She's not a slut, no matter what her brother thinks.]

Really for me?

[He steps in just a little closer, his eyes flicking hungrily over her face, taking in the wicked little curve of that smirky smile. God, he wants to kiss her, and more--start with a kiss, though, and he slips his free hand up to touch it against her cheek, gently--]

[She doesn't move, just looks up at him, and licks her upper lip quickly, just once.]

Who else do you think I'm doing this with? Who else would I bother with?

[She says it and realizes a moment later that maybe that's too close, too much of his ego can read into that-]

Suffice to say, Black, that this may not be the exact first time, but it's the first time anyone's actually tried beyond just making a show of it.

[She's had boys try and play this game before but they've all failed - they thought she was kidding, joking. One, or two. Not many. And they wouldn't ever talk about it, it's embarrassing to lose to her, she thinks.]

That's because everyone else in this school is pathetic.

[A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, quick, a little dark. There's something in the way that she licks at her lip, just a little, something that makes his skin prickle, makes him want to lean forward and kiss her. He could. He's that close. He might, still. Not yet.]

And I'm not. And neither are you, I'm thinking.

[Except for her blood. But that goes without saying--and adds an unsavory dirty quality to this that acts as an enhancement, in this case. He leans in then, just a little, enough so that their mouths are so close to touching, one breath away, and he's stepped in again, a little nearer, so close he can feel the heat from her body, so close he's nearly got her backed up against one of the support beams.]

And I don't intend to fail. Next time, I'll catch you at it.

[She moves one leg, so she's almost straddling one of his, almost, so if he nudged his leg up just a bit it would be between hers, and just doesn't kiss him, although she could, although a part of her kind of wants to, she's saving that.]

How kind of you to say, Lord Black.

[Her mouth is just open for a moment, and then she moves her head, so she's speaking at his ear.]

You'd better. I'm starting to get lonely, a girl and just her fingers, you can't expect me to be satisfied just thinking of your cock for long.

[And that is pure teasing, but she looks absolutely satisfied when she presses back against the beam. She slips her pants into his back pocket, and raises her other hand to press a finger against her lips, halfway looking between like she's saying shush, or just thinking about it.]

[There's an edge to his grin, there's something in it, sharp and needy--God, he wants her now, right now, that little smirk of hers, the way her finger looks against her lips and her hand in his pocket--only for a moment, but enough. Girls don't talk like this. He's always going after them, and this is no different--the game is built on him going after her--but that wicked look on her face, and the curl of her voice against his ear--it's dirty, and it's perfect, it's what he wants.

And it would ruin it, to kiss her right now, even if he wants to. He'd not be able to stop at a kiss anyways, not the way she's got him feeling.

And he's determined, now, to catch her, to claim his reward. Anyone that teases the way she does is worth it, worth so much more, dirty blood and all. Maybe it's her blood that makes her the way that she is--but whatever the reason, he can't get her out of his head over the next few days, a fact that he loves as much as he resents. No muggle-born girl should be able to do this to him: but she does, and he sneaks out every night to wander the halls, checking behind tapestries, listening for her. His lack of caution makes him brazen in his rule-breaking. Filch be damned, this is important. He is going to find her.]

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