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hp_ssc_fest2010-08-17 12:13 am
hpsscmods) wrote in hp_ssc_fest2010-08-17 12:13 am
Fic: Hands (Hermione/Minerva) by mcgonagallsgirl
Title: Hands
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mcgonagallsgirl
Pairing/Character(s): Minerva and Hermione
Rating: NC 17
Contains: Light bondage, explicit sex
Word count: 1101
Summary: One shot. Hermione reflects on Minerva
Author notes:
Elegant and skillful, it was her hands I noticed first. How her slender fingers embraced her wand. The way her pale skin danced across the fine bones. Eventually I noticed other things, but at first, it was always her hands. Of course then I could only imagine their dexterity. Confined to the realms of my imagination was the feel of her fingers snaking their way up my thigh, the sensation of her fingers entering me. The fine line their tips could tread, somewhere between pleasure and pain as she toyed with my nipples, was only to be dreamt of. The taste of myself, as I ran my tongue along the groove between her fingers, existed solely in my fantasies.
Tonight, as I watch her hands strain against the black leather cuffs, I can barely remember a time I didn’t know them intimately. Nor can I truly remember what it was like to fixate only on her hands, when there was so much more to appreciate. Dropping gentle kisses along her collarbone and up her slender neck, I marvel at the softness of her skin, the taste that is uniquely her, and the gasp as I reach that spot. When finally my kisses reach her lips, I am amazed by the passion I find there. As I slide my leg between her thighs, I savour, all at once the groan that escapes her, the involuntary arching of her back, the cascading dark hair and the slick wetness on my thigh. Pulling away, I delight in the whimper she makes at the loss of contact, and in the guttural noise drawn from her as my lips find her nipples.
One of my favourite things about Minerva McGonagall, however, is the streak of kink that courses through her, and the fact that I am the person with whom she shares it. In times long passed, I imagined her to be a little dominant, and always in control, just as she is in other areas of her life. I learned quickly just how wrong I was. As she lies on our bed, bound at the wrists and blindfolded, I know that what is really turning her on, is not the feel of satin across her eyes, or the tightness of the leather cutting into her wrists. It’s not even my tongue trailing a path down her abdomen, stopping just short of her centre. No, what’s really turning her on is the loss of control. Not knowing whether the next touch will be a feather light kiss, the searing heat of candle wax, or the soft wetness of my tongue on her clitoris.
I delight in the sight of the woman I once knew as my strict transfigurations professor, bound and helpless before me, and in the sight of the woman I now know as my everything, opening her legs before me, inviting me in. Kissing my way up the inside of her thigh, the heady scent of her arousal causes my own to peak. I run my tongue slowly along the slit between her lips, too gently to part them, but hard enough to draw a groan from my lover. Reaching the top, I apply a bit more force, and she unfolds before me. I flick my tongue across her clitoris, prompting her to buck her hips and I take the opportunity to slide my hands below her buttocks, drawing her toward my mouth. Using my tongue to alternately draw lazy circles around her clitoris and enter her I can sense her orgasm building. I slowly insert two, then three fingers into her. I hear her breath becoming more erratic as with my other hand I reach for the latest addition to my armory. Long, thick and black it is an imposing sight, but, of course, she can’t see it. I withdraw my touch from her, leaving her confused and bereft. I tie the straps around my hips, and slowly slide the dildo into her. I can see it is unexpected, but her moan tells me it is not unwelcome. I reach up and undo her blindfold, I want her to see me fuck her. I want to watch her eyes darken in lust.
I start to move, gently easing the dildo into her, pulling out again with exquisite slowness and taking time to tease her clit with its tip. I repeat this action, keeping her just on the edge of orgasm, until her moans become almost incoherent and she begs me to take her. I start to thrust into her, she makes the most delicious noises. Another thing that surprised me about this woman. I had expected the same restraint in private that she displays in her public persona. In reality, she knows how to abandon herself to sensation better than anyone I’ve known. I continue to thrust, with increasing force and speed and her cries increase in frequency and volume. Finally I reach down between us and skim my thumb across her clit. She arches into me, her head flung back as she screams. When finally the waves of her orgasm subside, I withdraw, and undo the handcuffs. She sits up, temporarily dazed as she always is by her new-found freedom. It doesn’t last long however as she tangles her hand in my hair and draws me into a fierce kiss. She may enjoy the submissive role, but she knows how to give as good as she gets. Quickly our positions are reversed, she straddles me, and immediately I am reminded why it was her hands that started this. Hands that are currently raking across my skin, up my sides to find my breasts. Hands that hesitate a moment before toying with my nipples, rolling the buds between their tips. Soon lips replace fingers as her hands find alternative employment.
Later we lie spent, a tangle of limbs and sheets and once again she is Minerva. Quietly and confidently in control of herself and everything around her. It is in these moments I am most struck by the privilege of seeing the vulnerable side of her; most aware of her sheer power, and most in love with her.
Author:
mcgonagallsgirlPairing/Character(s): Minerva and Hermione
Rating: NC 17
Contains: Light bondage, explicit sex
Word count: 1101
Summary: One shot. Hermione reflects on Minerva
Author notes:
Elegant and skillful, it was her hands I noticed first. How her slender fingers embraced her wand. The way her pale skin danced across the fine bones. Eventually I noticed other things, but at first, it was always her hands. Of course then I could only imagine their dexterity. Confined to the realms of my imagination was the feel of her fingers snaking their way up my thigh, the sensation of her fingers entering me. The fine line their tips could tread, somewhere between pleasure and pain as she toyed with my nipples, was only to be dreamt of. The taste of myself, as I ran my tongue along the groove between her fingers, existed solely in my fantasies.
Tonight, as I watch her hands strain against the black leather cuffs, I can barely remember a time I didn’t know them intimately. Nor can I truly remember what it was like to fixate only on her hands, when there was so much more to appreciate. Dropping gentle kisses along her collarbone and up her slender neck, I marvel at the softness of her skin, the taste that is uniquely her, and the gasp as I reach that spot. When finally my kisses reach her lips, I am amazed by the passion I find there. As I slide my leg between her thighs, I savour, all at once the groan that escapes her, the involuntary arching of her back, the cascading dark hair and the slick wetness on my thigh. Pulling away, I delight in the whimper she makes at the loss of contact, and in the guttural noise drawn from her as my lips find her nipples.
One of my favourite things about Minerva McGonagall, however, is the streak of kink that courses through her, and the fact that I am the person with whom she shares it. In times long passed, I imagined her to be a little dominant, and always in control, just as she is in other areas of her life. I learned quickly just how wrong I was. As she lies on our bed, bound at the wrists and blindfolded, I know that what is really turning her on, is not the feel of satin across her eyes, or the tightness of the leather cutting into her wrists. It’s not even my tongue trailing a path down her abdomen, stopping just short of her centre. No, what’s really turning her on is the loss of control. Not knowing whether the next touch will be a feather light kiss, the searing heat of candle wax, or the soft wetness of my tongue on her clitoris.
I delight in the sight of the woman I once knew as my strict transfigurations professor, bound and helpless before me, and in the sight of the woman I now know as my everything, opening her legs before me, inviting me in. Kissing my way up the inside of her thigh, the heady scent of her arousal causes my own to peak. I run my tongue slowly along the slit between her lips, too gently to part them, but hard enough to draw a groan from my lover. Reaching the top, I apply a bit more force, and she unfolds before me. I flick my tongue across her clitoris, prompting her to buck her hips and I take the opportunity to slide my hands below her buttocks, drawing her toward my mouth. Using my tongue to alternately draw lazy circles around her clitoris and enter her I can sense her orgasm building. I slowly insert two, then three fingers into her. I hear her breath becoming more erratic as with my other hand I reach for the latest addition to my armory. Long, thick and black it is an imposing sight, but, of course, she can’t see it. I withdraw my touch from her, leaving her confused and bereft. I tie the straps around my hips, and slowly slide the dildo into her. I can see it is unexpected, but her moan tells me it is not unwelcome. I reach up and undo her blindfold, I want her to see me fuck her. I want to watch her eyes darken in lust.
I start to move, gently easing the dildo into her, pulling out again with exquisite slowness and taking time to tease her clit with its tip. I repeat this action, keeping her just on the edge of orgasm, until her moans become almost incoherent and she begs me to take her. I start to thrust into her, she makes the most delicious noises. Another thing that surprised me about this woman. I had expected the same restraint in private that she displays in her public persona. In reality, she knows how to abandon herself to sensation better than anyone I’ve known. I continue to thrust, with increasing force and speed and her cries increase in frequency and volume. Finally I reach down between us and skim my thumb across her clit. She arches into me, her head flung back as she screams. When finally the waves of her orgasm subside, I withdraw, and undo the handcuffs. She sits up, temporarily dazed as she always is by her new-found freedom. It doesn’t last long however as she tangles her hand in my hair and draws me into a fierce kiss. She may enjoy the submissive role, but she knows how to give as good as she gets. Quickly our positions are reversed, she straddles me, and immediately I am reminded why it was her hands that started this. Hands that are currently raking across my skin, up my sides to find my breasts. Hands that hesitate a moment before toying with my nipples, rolling the buds between their tips. Soon lips replace fingers as her hands find alternative employment.
Later we lie spent, a tangle of limbs and sheets and once again she is Minerva. Quietly and confidently in control of herself and everything around her. It is in these moments I am most struck by the privilege of seeing the vulnerable side of her; most aware of her sheer power, and most in love with her.