![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Two Can Play That Game
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ceredwensirius
Prompt: A Taste Of Summer
Word Count: 680
Rating: PG13
Warnings/Notes: Mentions of masturbation, Sirius’ POV, oh and since I haven’t mentioned this before, this is all mostly crack, unbetad
One| Two| Three| Four| Five| Six|
Sometimes, in the interest of a larger goal, sacrifices must be made. Sirius wasn’t happy about that, but then he knew what a stubborn witch Hermione was when her married her. No longer was his morning run about the exercise, or about feeling the pavement solid and real beneath his feet, it was also about running off some added tension. As was the wank in the shower after.
He’d only gotten one more opportunity to push her to the edge of climax and then deny her the finish her body was screaming for. On reflection he may have tipped his hand too soon, promising her brightly colored fireworks and the orgasm of her short, young life if she would pick just one thing from her books. She almost broke, he could see his victory warring in her brown eyes, so clouded over with lust and pleading with need.
He should not have underestimated her, a mistake he won’t make twice. His sweet faced wife was made of steel, and now, damn it, she knew his game. That was not part of his plan. There would, he knew, be hell to pay, and if he was honest, he would admit that it made his toes wiggle in anticipation.
What he knew was that the little witch so central to all of his thoughts was more devious than she let on, even to herself. He knew she was fighting against desire and curiosity. He also knew that when she did ask, it would be for something that she had given a lot of thought to, something sure to melt his brain. He couldn’t wait to find out what that might be.
So a couple of days later, after his run, once his shower and stress relieving wank were well in hand (he does love his little jokes), Sirius prowled back into the kitchen. It was a Sunday morning, their day to be lazy and wander around in Camden or stretch their legs beside the Thames.
Hermione was there already, and with one look he cannot understand why she thought she was plain or boring. The soft swell of her breasts were displayed in a perfect exhibition by the low cut blouse that stopped short before her naval. Her shorts rode low on her hips and while still modest, moderately high on her thighs. The sandals displayed every one of her perfect toes, painted a bull baiting red and looked sinfully delicious. Merlin, she would be death of him.
In her hand was a peach, soft and golden-rosy hued, ripe and perfect. When he walked in, she caught his eye and brought that perfect taste of the summer crop to her mouth and crushed into it. Juice flowed over her lips and down her chin and for a moment, Sirius couldn’t breath. When her tiny pink tongue darted out, the same tongue that had done wickedly wonderful things to parts of him that were currently in an uproar, and caught a droplet of sweet fallen nectar, Sirius groaned low in his throat. She was fighting dirty, the saucy little bitch.
There was a moment when he almost gave in, but looking at her so alluring and self-assure, confident enough in his love and desire to be so brazenly coquettish, that he steeled his resolve. He wanted to unlock this lovely creature, his wife, and show her who she really was, who he knew her to be even though she wasn’t allowing it. He wanted to encourage the idea that whatever it was she was struggling against, it was fine and perfect and good between them. Let it deepen our bond, he wanted to tell her, let us descend into temporary depravity and in so doing reach heights we couldn’t attain any other way.
He leaned into the doorway, enjoying the show she was putting on for him, smirking because now he knew how this would end.
“You know you aren’t going to win, don’t you?”
In response, Hermione took another bite of her peach.
Author:
ceredwensiriusPrompt: A Taste Of Summer
Word Count: 680
Rating: PG13
Warnings/Notes: Mentions of masturbation, Sirius’ POV, oh and since I haven’t mentioned this before, this is all mostly crack, unbetad
One| Two| Three| Four| Five| Six|
Sometimes, in the interest of a larger goal, sacrifices must be made. Sirius wasn’t happy about that, but then he knew what a stubborn witch Hermione was when her married her. No longer was his morning run about the exercise, or about feeling the pavement solid and real beneath his feet, it was also about running off some added tension. As was the wank in the shower after.
He’d only gotten one more opportunity to push her to the edge of climax and then deny her the finish her body was screaming for. On reflection he may have tipped his hand too soon, promising her brightly colored fireworks and the orgasm of her short, young life if she would pick just one thing from her books. She almost broke, he could see his victory warring in her brown eyes, so clouded over with lust and pleading with need.
He should not have underestimated her, a mistake he won’t make twice. His sweet faced wife was made of steel, and now, damn it, she knew his game. That was not part of his plan. There would, he knew, be hell to pay, and if he was honest, he would admit that it made his toes wiggle in anticipation.
What he knew was that the little witch so central to all of his thoughts was more devious than she let on, even to herself. He knew she was fighting against desire and curiosity. He also knew that when she did ask, it would be for something that she had given a lot of thought to, something sure to melt his brain. He couldn’t wait to find out what that might be.
So a couple of days later, after his run, once his shower and stress relieving wank were well in hand (he does love his little jokes), Sirius prowled back into the kitchen. It was a Sunday morning, their day to be lazy and wander around in Camden or stretch their legs beside the Thames.
Hermione was there already, and with one look he cannot understand why she thought she was plain or boring. The soft swell of her breasts were displayed in a perfect exhibition by the low cut blouse that stopped short before her naval. Her shorts rode low on her hips and while still modest, moderately high on her thighs. The sandals displayed every one of her perfect toes, painted a bull baiting red and looked sinfully delicious. Merlin, she would be death of him.
In her hand was a peach, soft and golden-rosy hued, ripe and perfect. When he walked in, she caught his eye and brought that perfect taste of the summer crop to her mouth and crushed into it. Juice flowed over her lips and down her chin and for a moment, Sirius couldn’t breath. When her tiny pink tongue darted out, the same tongue that had done wickedly wonderful things to parts of him that were currently in an uproar, and caught a droplet of sweet fallen nectar, Sirius groaned low in his throat. She was fighting dirty, the saucy little bitch.
There was a moment when he almost gave in, but looking at her so alluring and self-assure, confident enough in his love and desire to be so brazenly coquettish, that he steeled his resolve. He wanted to unlock this lovely creature, his wife, and show her who she really was, who he knew her to be even though she wasn’t allowing it. He wanted to encourage the idea that whatever it was she was struggling against, it was fine and perfect and good between them. Let it deepen our bond, he wanted to tell her, let us descend into temporary depravity and in so doing reach heights we couldn’t attain any other way.
He leaned into the doorway, enjoying the show she was putting on for him, smirking because now he knew how this would end.
“You know you aren’t going to win, don’t you?”
In response, Hermione took another bite of her peach.
Tags: