cribellate | SERAPHIM DIAS

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.]

[and the fact is he has to wait a few days, because she doesn't come out for a while. She wants to make him crazy, drive up the anticipation. It's almost a week later when she flashes him a smile after Charms and goes out the door that she decides to stay out that night. She's watching a pair of Gryffindors this time, just near the astronomy tower in a deserted corridor behind the statue of an extremely ugly witch. She's barely paying attention to anything else.]

[It's the smile that's the thing that drives him maddest of all. Yeah, the thought of her out there somewhere, getting herself off, watching other people going at it--that's maddening, that's awful, that's most of what keeps him looking. But when she looks at him during the day and smiles like that, it's like a jolt of that same energy--but during the day, around everyone else, and then he's just got to go to class and pretend as if it doesn't matter.

He's cleverer about it now. He knows something more of her, he knows what to listen for and where to look, and there's a whisper as he's passing by the astronomy tower--he's quieter than he was his first time out, it's not a whisper meant for him but one that he knows well, in tone and implication if not voice--and then he sees her.

It seems unreal, at first, that he'd have found any success. But there she is, and Merlin, but there's a sense of satisfaction from finding her at all, let alone what's going to come after.

He walks until he's just behind her, also hidden behind that witch, safe from the couple.]

Fancy meeting you here.

[She jumps, because he actually surprises her. She turns her head to look over and presses her fingers over her lips, like she's shushing him. Whoever they are, she can't quite see, but she reaches for Sirius (funny, she's thinking about him by his first name) to take his hands. Her fingers are just-]

Finally a point for you.

[ She whispers it, but the other couple, they're not looking. There is something dark in her voice, a tone that hasn't been there before.]

[He grins, vaguely. Her fingers. He can still remember the press of them that first time he'd stumbled upon her, the heat of them, in his mouth--and just now, when she'd pressed them to his lips--and he twists his hands so he can grip back at her.]

Finally. Who are your friends?

[He doesn't look away from her, even though he's asking about them. They're not really that interesting. Whatever they're doing is tame, compared to this. He's done it. He's got her now, finally.]

Do you really care?

[She pushes against him, body to body, bites her lower lip.]

I don't know. I've been watching, all I can catch is the color of their patches, but not their faces.

Gryffindors.

[He noticed that as well; he flicks his eyes up to her face. They're standing so close to one another that he can hardly see all of her, just a little glimpse of eyes, and he narrows his, with a little grin, as he leans down. Even closer now, their mouths nearly touching--]

Idiots. They've no idea on how not to be caught. You're far cleverer. Elusive.

[His hand on her hip, his fingers gripping just a little, tugging her forward.]

Still able to be caught.

[She can't help but focus on his eyes, at least for a moment, on that bright gray that even in the dark she can make out, her body flush against him]

I think you like it, knowing that catching me is hard, and managing to do it anyway.

[She tangles her fingers in his, but it's not a tender, romantic gesture. Instead she brings it down to her inner thigh, a few inches above her knee, and starts to raise her skirt with his hand]

I think it's all the better for you've earned it.

[There's no arguing or resisting that guidance--if anything, he's eager for it, and pushes his fingers up a little faster, pushing against her grip and tracing up along the inside her thigh, up and up. His breath is already a little short, but that can't be helped, that's down to the tone of her voice and the close press of her body and where his hand is, well beneath her skirt now--]

And have I earned it, miss?

Now I hardly think you really want to give me the power to say no again.

[But then she kisses him, and it's hardly a kiss that says no.

She pushes his fingers right up to her underwear, not hard, but then she moves her fingers away from his and the catch of her breath tells his exactly where they went.]

[As if she'd say no, right now. But he doesn't say that aloud, he doesn't want to challenge her to prove him wrong. Instead, he lets his fingers linger where they are--a little more breathless still--and his eyes study her face, quickly, as he listens to the sharpness of her breath--and then he slips his fingers up, following hers, with the intent to replace hers--]

[She moves her hand away, then, and kisses him again, letting him have the space and moving her hips just slightly when he does something she particularly likes. She has no reservations, although perhaps she should. But no, she just takes her free hand and presses it against his crotch to avoid trying to climb him like a tree.]

Is that what you've been after?

[Merlin. His breath catches at that press of her hand--it's a good thing she's broken their kiss to ask that question, because he'd have broken it himself if she hadn't-- and he's not so crass or cruel that he stops the movement of his hand, but he does lean against hers, a little, pressing forward--]

I'm after everything.

[It comes out a little breathless, but he's grinning, too--]

Oh-

[That's just a gasping little breath, and she squirms a bit, more than happily, her free hand going around his shoulders. The hand on his crotch presses back, her fingers skirting the outline of his cock through his trousers-]

Get me off, and I'll make it more than worth your while.

[Merlin, he thinks again, but mercifully doesn't say it aloud. Not that it's not obvious, in the hitch of his breath, and his legs nearly go weak--]

Promise?

[But he steps forward a little, to back her against the statue. The Gryffindors are forgotten by now, long forgotten, and anything else doesn't matter. Anyone could catch them at this and he'd hardly care. He wants to hear that little breath again of hers--in the dark, he can hardly see her expression, but he can imagine it, and he twists his hand a little, teasing at her--]

Promise.

[She says it with another hitch to her breath, if he keeps twisting his fingers that way - but she moves her hand away from him, back under her skirt, to take his thumb and skirt it over her clitoris, then press there.]

Here, don't neglect me -

[She's just breathing the words out, because he may not care, but she will, if they get caught. But then he presses there again and she lets out a tiny, whimpery kind of keen, the kind of noise that shows exactly how much she's enjoying herself, because she is.

Oh, she will make it worth his while, she presses her mouth against his neck, just under his ear, and sucks, there will be a mark, but it's cold enough for scarves, she thinks, and he doesn't care, not like she does]

[It's not as if he's never done this before--but not so often that he'd call himself a bloody expert. But he can take cues easily enough, he can do as he's told--there's an obedience in him, sometimes, that betrays him, something eager to please that he can usually fight down--but here, it's an asset, and he presses where she says to press, working against that exact spot, the hard little bit of nerves, keeping up with her--

And when she kisses him, just like that--it makes him gasp a little, bursts stars over his vision, and this is so going to be worth it, he can tell--]

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but now i can't tag this thread at work weeps

what has our hubris wrought!!!!

PAIN......

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