a_spare_person (a_spare_person) wrote in passion_perfect,
a_spare_person
a_spare_person
passion_perfect

Title: Promises

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: McGonagall/Rosmerta

Rating: NC17 (NSFW)

Disclaimers:  Do not own them.  But McGonagall could own me any time. 

 

A/N & Spoiler:  Set after book 6.  Inspired by a line in book 6 towards the end, when Harry tells McGonagall that Rosmerta was probably imperiused.  McGonagall seemed shocked, and I quickly began fabricating possible (illicit) reasons for this.  Enjoy. :-)


            Minerva McGonagall stared at the wood grain of the door to the bathroom stall until she closed her eyes and allowed them to roll slowly back in her head.  She could feel the warm purr of alcohol coursing through her fingertips, and she tried to remember how long it had been since she had found herself in this position.  Her brow creased slightly as she recalled a skinny witch with spiky black hair who’d introduced herself as “Bliss” in the front row of a “Raging Mandrakes” concert.  About an hour and a half after meeting “Bliss,” Minerva had stared at her disheveled hair in the mirror over the sink, looked herself squarely in the eye, and vowed never to have sex in a public restroom again.  Yet, Minerva thought opening her eyes and raising a brow, here she was.

            It was not an especially graceful, nor respectable position for a woman of her age and dignity, and it was probably an awareness of these things that kept Minerva’s breath so steady and her face so composed.  She was exercising a great deal of restraint, all things considered.  Her back was pressed against one wall of the bathroom stall, her legs parted to accommodate the younger blonde witch straddling her right thigh and beginning to slide herself rhythmically against it.  The blonde’s robes had fallen open and were dangling from the shoulder of an arm that was gripping the top of the stall wall, holding her balance and regulating the pressure of Minerva’s thigh between her legs.  Her free hand had just released a fierce hold on Minerva’s shoulder and began to drifty downward.

            Minerva closed her eyes again and calculated a quiet intake of breath as a hand slid through the divide of her robes and between her legs.  Minerva felt little tremors of pleasure begin to build, but the excitement barely registered in her features; lust had carried her here, she knew that, and her expectations for this situation were not high.  A throbbing sensation was budding tight and hard beneath the younger witch’s hands, though, and Minerva could not help thrusting gently into the blonde’s palm.  The movement was read as an invitation, and the blonde slid a finger adeptly beneath Minerva’s pantyline.  Minerva groaned—less out of pleasure, however, than of resignation.  If the other woman felt any discouragement, she did not show it.  She slid a single finger softly over Minerva’s entrance, and then delicately removed it, careful not to pull too hard against the dry surface of the sensitive skin. 

*Ah, well,* Minerva thought.  She might still come, if the other woman’s fingers were careful, if they remained separated from her by that shield of cloth.  She decided not to think about that, and instead leaned forward to suck absently on the invitingly bare breast before her.  The other witch caught Minerva’s cheek with a swift caress of her free hand.

“Minerva,” Rosmerta murmured sympathetically, “how long has it been?”

Minerva bristled slightly, turning her head away somewhat defensively.  It wasn’t the same, at this age, she wanted to explain.  Skin not as firm, responses not as keen.  How long had it been since what?  The drinking and the laughing and the sudden collapse into a hospital bed, of all the bloody places, crammed against Poppy Pomfrey in a fit of moaning and desperate groping—that hardly counted, considering the climax had occurred with the two unsatisfied women remarking awkwardly on the challenge of aging and agreeing to never speak of the unfulfilling encounter again.  And how long before that?  Xiomara Hooch had gone on sabbatical two years prior, unable to stay occupied during the Triwizard Tournament, marking at last the end of a relationship that had been over long since.  When was the last time they had looked each other in the eye when they made love?  How long since they would have called it that?

“A long time,” Minerva said brusquely at long last.  She began to stand.  She knew her body, and knew that whatever ambitious flirtation had brought Rosmerta to follow her into the bathroom, whatever youthful impulses had brought them into such a hasty position—those things were over now.  She wasn’t twenty years old at a concert, in fact, she was nowhere near it.  With blank eyes, she was suddenly unsure of why she had ever thought this was a good idea at all.

“Hey,” Rosmerta whispered, pressing the whole of her torso into Minerva and straining against her precariously positioned leg.  “If it has already been such a long time..” she gave a coy smile and nestled against Minerva’s neck, allowing her lips to just graze Minerva’s ear, “surely you can give me fifteen more minutes to make you come.”

It wasn’t a question or a hope or a wishful reference to younger days.  From Rosmerta’s lips, it was a promise.  Minerva was still skeptical, but laced her arms behind Rosmerta’s back, then twisted them upward, entangling her fingers in the witch’s curly hair.  Rosmerta’s returned her hand to Minerva’s thighs, finding the patch of cloth that she could touch to elicit Minerva’s subtle response.  The younger witch felt her own body swell with pleasure as she traced tiny shapes against the warm cotton.

Minerva could feel her own heat rising as she and Rosmerta began to rock  against each other in rhythm.  The barmaid was letting out soft moans now, and Minerva could feel her leg slicken at Rosmerta’s arousal.  Minerva contemplated her response for a moment, then moved a curious hand tentatively towards Rosmerta’s bare breast again.  The curly-haired woman tightened her hold on the top of the wall and clenched her jaw.  Minerva’s tongue circled her nipple firmly, and then Rosmerta felt Minerva’s teeth bite delicately on the hardening flesh.  Rosmerta did not conceal her desire and let out a low cry.  Minerva released her bite, and Rosmerta drew herself close, eying her hungrily.  Minerva responded by reaching to her own leg, at the point of her thigh that met Rosmerta’s body.

She peeled back Rosmerta’s undergarments carefully, so as not to interfere with the increasingly feverish rocking.  As soon as her thumb crept beneath an elastic barrier, her long fingers were met with wetness, an excess of arousal that Rosmerta’s body could not contain.  Her thumb slid easily toward Rosmerta’s clit; Minerva tried to concentrate on memorizing this feeling—mostly to keep her mind grounded amidst the hailstorm of sensations gripping hr body.

Rosmerta threw her head back, mouth open and gasping for air.  Then she released her grip at the top of the stall, grabbed Minerva’s wrist and pulled it away. 

“I don’t want to come yet,” she gulped, in way of Minerva’s puzzled expression.

“Oh.  Um… what?”

Rosmerta licked her lips slowly.  “I am very sensitive,” she said, “and if you keep doing that…” she lowered her gaze to Minerva’s lips, “I will not be able to keep myself from coming right now.”  And then her lips closed the space between hers and Minerva’s. 

At first, Minerva didn’t know how to respond.  How long had it been since she had been kissed?  She and Poppy had skipped over any such affection, and that aspect of the relationship had all but vanished by the time that Xiomara announced that when she returned to Hogwarts, she would be keeping her own room.  At the thoughts, Minerva’s lust began to border a longing—intimacy.  No apologies could be mumbled, muttered for whatever reason.  The warmth of Rosmerta’s lips and the faint taste of mead upon them made a mockery of what she had thought would be her plateau.  Rosmerta’s kiss sucked the air from her lungs and, Minerva realized with a great surge in her abdomen, drew arousal from deep within her core.  She felt the thick warmth as it crept from her entrance and began to pool there.

Minerva let a little noise of surprise escape, and with a wicked grin, Rosmerta guessed the cause.  She slid her hand once more beneath the older woman’s undergarments and let out a heavy breath as her prediction was confirmed.  “Perfect,” Rosmerta murmured.  Two fingers gathered moisture from the base of Minerva’s folds and drew easily up to her clit.  It was all so unexpected that staunch, demure Minerva almost cried out.  Instead, she bit her tongue as she felt the smooth fingers tease her clit, and then explore up and down her entrance.  Oh, it had been so long since she’d felt—that—that penetration—Rosmerta had slid a slender finger inward.

She could feel every curve and movement of Rosmerta’s fingers, feel the whispering movement of each joint as they curled deeper within her.  Blood rushed to the walls of her insides, which fluttered against Rosmerta’s fingers promisingly.  Minerva could not feel herself getting any closer to orgasm as this point, but she could feel her arousal intensifying within her, signaling that if—no, when—she came, the flutter of her walls would grow into a pull of that would clench every neglected muscle and electrify every dormant nerve.

Using two fingers, Rosmerta dipped in and out of Minerva, as though testing the sensation.  Then she let out a moan, as though she were the one being touched, and began to pump her fingers more quickly.  Minerva had, at this point, begun to meet each thrust eagerly.  Her spine was tingling now, as her breath began to quicken beyond her control, and sounds threatened to escape from lips that were locked so firmly now against Rosmerta, she sough to concentrate on the other woman.

She moved her hand frantically towards the other witch, slipping inside her with a quick ferocity that made Rosmerta inhale sharply and shudder.  Rosmerta’s hand fell away from Minerva and reached beneath the woman’s arm to come up to grip her shoulder.  Her hips began to buck frantically.  As the growl in the back of Rosmerta’s throat became nearly constant and only barely masked the creaking of the wooden stall giving under the weight of the women, Minerva drew her thumb down to pulse against Rosmerta’s clit.  The effect was almost immediate.  With only four more frantic thrusts that set her so hard against Minerva’s thigh that she was positively crashing against the older witch, Rosmerta squeezed her legs tightly together and closed her eyes.  Minerva felt fingernails cut into her shoulder and heard a loud, uninhibited exclamation as Rosmerta came hard in Minerva’s hand, muscles clenching tightly together.  Rosmerta’s shoulders collapsed as panting, she sank to the ground.

“I—oh god,” she said with an exhausted little laugh.  “I don’t think my legs can support me right now.”  As she said it, she looked up to Minerva’s face and then grabbed hold of the waistband of Minerva’s undergarments.  “But,” she continued lowly, “I suppose I don’t need to stand.”

Minerva felt her garments slide to her ankles.  She kicked one leg free and held her breath.  She could feel Rosmerta’s curly hair tickling her thighs.  Then her breath, and teasing fingers.  All at once, the fingers were plunging into the wet folds once more, and now, Rosmerta’s tongue rolled over her clit, sending rushes of ecstasy through Minerva, and now she knew she was close to peaking.  She reached both hands up to the top of the wall and clung to it for what seemed like dear life as she felt her legs weakening and her pulse quickening beyond reason.

Time suddenly slowed.  The space of time between the loping ministrations of Rosmerta’s tongue expanded, and the rhythm of her fingers became a torturously slow stimulation of her inner walls.  At last, the throbbing of her clit slowed from a rapidly pounding bass drum to the lazy, feather-light beating of a butterfly’s wings.  Then time slammed ahead with a lurch of Minerva’s whole body.  Minerva heard herself release a faint, “oh!” that would have deceived an onlooker.  The soft sound might as well have been a scream for the quiet woman.  It echoed in her ears as at last, with Rosmerta’s curled fingers inside her and her mouth encircling every trembling part of her outside, she rode her tremendous and long awaited orgasm for what had to have been minutes until the waves subsided.

Rosmerta smiled devilishly as she rose to kiss each of Minerva’s eyelids, then give her a playful peck on the lips.  “There you are, love,” she said.  “Wait a few minutes before you come out.  Else we’ll be dreadful obvious.”  She swung the stall door open, performed a few quick spells to secure stray strands of hair and tidy smeared makeup, and left.  Minerva blinked after her and stifled a delighted laugh.

 




Tags: harry potter
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