cribellate | SERAPHIM DIAS

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--]

[It's a bit more - a little more pressure, a little more of this environment, a little more of his touch on her skin - before she finishes, shuddering against him and just gasping out. She pulls back, looks incredibly satisfied, for all that he might not see that expression on her face, one that makes her look like she would do anything for him.

In another moment, she kisses him, slowly, then looks up and falls to her knees, her hands running down his sides until they settle on his hips. This isn't an act she's done very often, but she has enthusiasm at her side, and also a measure of control. She knows exactly how to tease to draw it out, to make him overlook the faults in technique.

She undoes his trouser fastenings, reaches in, draws him out, and looks up. She can barely see him - she can make out his features but that's almost it.]

I guess this does make me a little bit of an unrepentant slut, doesn't it?

[Just the sound of that gasp sent a prickle of chills up his spine--but then she's moving away, dropping down, and Merlin, that's direct enough. When he looks down at her, on her knees, he can hardly see her in the dark. Just the glint of her eyes, the glint of her mouth as she talks--her hand already on him, and that makes it rather difficult to string a sentence together mentally, let alone talk--]

But one that knows how to have f-fun.

[And he grins a little, despite himself, despite his breathlessness--]

Maybe my favorite unrepentant slut--

Maybe?

[She takes him in her mouth, then, but only the tip, her tongue flat on the head of his cock, because she's determined to change this from a maybe to an absolutely. Those girls in Slytherin, they might do this for him, but she doubts they get off first, she doubts that he remembers them after.

She's determined to make him remember her, although she's not sure why. She spends a few moments there, teasing, not moving much, but then she moves. It's a sloppy, wet kind of blowjob, there isn't finesse to it, not yet. She keeps on hand on the inside of his trousers, just at his hip, and the other at the base of his cock, not tight, just to keep things steady, in control.]

[Maybe. He immediately regrets that maybe. It could just be the moment, of course--she could be bloody terrible at this and he'd not notice because he's so taken up with the feeling of it--but when she starts, it's good, for all its sloppiness, it's good. That only makes it dirtier, and he likes that--God, he likes that, and his head tips back with a breathless little moan--]

Merlin--

[It's an oath, but he really wants to say her name, actually; her name is right on his lips--not yet, it's too soon, and he slips his hand forward to grip, lightly, at her hair, not to assert control so much as to steady himself--]

[She lets out a whimper when his hand goes to her hair, not because it hurts but because she can, and doesn't let up. He'll finish with her even if it means on her, she doesn't care. It's a moment of silence for her, nothing in her brain is going on about marks or her family or magic or what she's going to do when she leaves, all that there is here is Sirius Black - Merlin, Sirius Black, heir to the Black family, Slytherin's favored child, the boy who hates everyone, gasping for breath -

It makes her redouble her efforts with her mouth. She never goes too far, no, she doesn't want to gag, but she uses her hand to stroke the part she can't get to-]

[That's better--worse--better, and the sound he makes is quiet, almost vulnerable--bitten back, he bites at his lip to try to contain it but no luck, and his fingers tighten in her hair, just a little cruelly--and there is nothing else in this moment but her, and this, this, and he will finish entirely too soon, he knows that, but he can't help it, either, it's too good--

His breath is more of a pant than anything else, ragged, louder when he gets closer, and closer, and his fingers wind a little tighter as he pushes forward, once more, and then finishes, hard, with a moan--still in her mouth, or on her, he doesn't know, it's a mindless climax, too hot to think.]

[It's both, it's in her and on her, and she's standing up, wiping her mouth off, looking slightly wrecked - she'll have to shower, she thinks, but that's all right, it was worth it.

There is something satisfied to her, when she stands up and looks up at him.]

Well then.

[Girls shouldn't look so good when they're a mess. Usually they don't--there's satisfaction in dishevelment, but it's not the same as looking good with it, but she does, sort of--red mouth and flushed dirty cheeks--but her expression is unchanged, sharp and cunning, and as he tries to come back to his senses--no easy fucking feat, not after that--he reaches down to touch his fingertips against her cheek, his grin a little shaky.]

I'd say that was-- well worth it.

Now I hope you don't leave me desolate and without your company after that-

[She means in the long run, not at this moment. There is the slighest wobble of her voice, she wants more of him, but she knows he may just never let it happen again, now that the element of mystery isn't there, even if she didn't give.him everything. It's not a feeling that she likes. However she's tucking him in, doing his trousers back up, and the moment passes quickly. She smiles again like it was never there in the first place.

She turns to find the Gryffindors still there, still kissing, completely oblivious, or maybe they simply didn't care.]

[The wobble, he doesn't notice. His own voice is shaky; it's easy not to make too much of hers being the same, to not think that there might be different reasons. Her hands are easy, capable, her smile is teasing still, and when she turns away, he just wants her to turn back again. It's easy for him to get addicted, to want more--and it will pass, and fade, it always does, but for now his focus is on her.

So when she turns to watch the Gryffindors, he steps in towards her, he slips one arm around her waist and tugs her back against him, leans down so his mouth is right by her ear.]

D'you mean right now? You've got my company, right now. You've got quite a lot right now.

[She lets him, lets him pull her off-balance a bit, and turns her head a bit to kiss him, even with her mouth a mess. It's tender and just a little bit sore and it doesn't bother her at all.

She doesn't get addicted easily but even she can feel it, she should go, find someone else, find another boy, someone more her class and her station to persuade to take her to Hogsmeade in a couple of weeks, to distract her from this-

(She won't be distracted, she knows it already, but this is her game and she's in control and she won't give into him)]

Shhh, wait...

[It's another moment, before she yells-]

Filch, Filch!

[And the two Gryffindors look up and take off and she presses a hand to her mouth, that was mean, she shouldn't be mean, and turns back to him]

No, I mean I hope you won't stop playing, now that you've caught me once.

[It's mean and he loves it, and he laughs--a little too loudly, maybe; between the two of them, Filch might actually come running. But he doesn't, and now they've got the corridor to themselves--and Sirius leans in a little to press a kiss to her cheek--and then another, back a little--]

I don't intend to stop playing.

[Another kiss, down towards her throat. His arm is still at her waist, and he twists his hand a little so he can grip at her hip, keeping her pressed close--her arse against him, and he's still a little tender but God, he could keep her pressed just there forever--]

Next time I find you, we'll have to advance. That's how you play a game, right? [And he presses a kiss at her throat, now, lingers over it--]

[She pushes back against him, just a bit, and that is mean, because she's giving him no more satisfaction tonight.]

Yes, that's right, next time you find me, we'll advance, a bit-

No marks, Sirius, please.

[It's the first time she's said his proper name, the first time she hasn't called him Black, and it just came out, informal. After having a boy's cock in her mouth, she rationalizes, she has the right to call him by his first name.]

[It's more than a little mean, it's downright unfair. And no marks--that's less of an unfair request, but still not one he's happy about obeying. If they're doing this, then they're doing this.]

D'you really get to make rules like that?

[He asks it somewhat archly, with some of his usual arrogance. No matter how secret they are, someone will find out, regardless. The school is only so big. It's something, him agreeing to fool around with her. Comments will be made. The least he can do is leave a mark, get what he wants--

But he pulls back a little, and when he kisses her neck again, it's a softer little kiss.]

But because you asked. Please--I think you could ask a bit more nicely, honestly, if you tried.

I get to make all the rules. This is my game, you know.

[Although she knows that she can't force it, he'll get angry, she knows. It's not that this is a secret, but she's seen the way girls fight over him, she doesn't want that aimed at her, and that is cowardice.]

More nicely?

[She turns in his arm and kisses him, the kind of filthy kiss that is usually followed by something different, and looks down, bashfully, playing-]

Thank you so much, for not marking me.

[That's a show, the submissiveness, or maybe it's a promise of something else, different elements of this game.]

Will you walk me to the showers, or am I off alone?

[Whatever it is--a show, submissive or promising or whatever--he likes it, and it quells whatever irritation there might have been (small, minor, under the surface) at her request. Temporary, maybe, but good enough for now. The kiss seals it, makes his skin prickle a little--so when she asks, he's ready to take her hand, with a smile that's more a smirk than anything else.]

I'd never let you go off to shower alone.

[And he steps back, tugging at her.]

Lead on. I'll be your escort, see that you get there safe. And then some.

[Her fingers lace with his, they're holding hands, and for all that she's a mess and anyone who caught more than just a glance of her would be suspicious, they look -

Cute. It's strange. She doesn't cling, she just leads him up to the prefect's bath, and looks back at him. She's not a prefect, but it doesn't matter, she knows the password, of course she does.]

Well, this is where I should leave you for the night.

[There's a smile on her face that is perfectly satisfied with that, with making him wait to see more of her skin.]

But I suspect I'll see you sooner, rather than later, won't I?

[He doesn't let go of her hand, even though they're standing in front of the door. And it's not as if he needs a label to tell him what room this is--he knows the school, and anyway he's been here before, even if he doesn't know the password for the week.]

Or you could see more of me now.

[It's not a forceful suggestion, and honestly it probably won't suddenly become forceful, not with the way he's grinning. But she's going to give him some response, something that prolongs the game and the chase--and he likes that nearly as well as the act itself. Pushing a little to get that is natural.]

After all, you don't know what's waiting in there. Might need a bit of help.

Oh, I think I'll manage.

[She leans in and whispers]

Wouldn't want to spoil the reward, would you?

[She slips her hand from his and whispers the password, and slips in quick.

The next week, she'll keep giving him that same slip, because she's busy, focused on things like should she be doing this, should she keep this up, where could this possibly go? But she smiles and studies and brushes by him with a flick of her hips, she can't help it, she can't.

It's a gloriously sunny day, for all that it's freezing, and she's sitting out studying near the lake, bundled up in her scarf and cloak. It's been a damp fall, and now it's sunny and she needs the weather, and she thinks, what in blazes is she going to do, will she let him near her again?

(Yes, of course you will, she responds to herself.)]

[He's not looking for her, not really. The game's a good one but he's reluctant to rush it, to come off as too eager. He wants her but he doesn't need her, and he's not about to let her have power over him.

So he grins at her when he sees her in the hallways, and when she moves past him he watches her go, he gives himself that small indulgence. It's better than nothing, while he's waiting.

But one day he's down by the lake, chucking rocks in it, and he sees her, sitting there. He recognises her even though she's wound in a muffler and wearing her cloak. And he directs his meandering towards her, until he's standing just a little ways off, watching her.]

This can't be what you do for fun.

[She looks up and tries not to let herself get too eager about it. He's looking sufficiently delinquent for the both of them]

I'm a Ravenclaw, isn't it part of the description?

[She moves her bag over, if he wants to sit.]

Sitting outside in the bloody cold is meant to be clever, now?

[He stays where he is, for a moment longer--but then shoves away from the tree he's leaning against and comes to sit down beside her, taking his hands out of his pockets. He gets out a cigarette while he's at it, and offers her one.]

Want one?

I rather like the cold-

[She takes a cigarette and waits for a light. She probably won't finish it, but it's a far cry from the first day, where she didn't take one at all.]

And what are you doing here, pray tell? Not looking for me.

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