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Disclaimer: JKR's creations are definitely not mine *sob*, but the story idea is and I'd like to keep it that way.
Author's Note: As odd as it sounds, this one-shot was inspired by me unbraiding my hair. I must have a kinky mind, eh?
She stood in front of her dressing table gazing into its embellished mirror at her timid reflection, her rich sienna eyes flickering over her visage, her frame, scrutinizing and criticizing it. She let her ebony robe slide off her slight shoulders and puddle around her feet in waves of liquid fabric and pulled her grey jumper over her head, her copper braids hitting her shoulder blades lightly as they came back to rest upon the white fabric of her shirt. One hand rose and gently grasped the triangular knot of her Gryffindor tie and slowly slid it down a few notches to release its restricting hold around her neck. Then came undone the first two buttons of her uniform shirt to nonchalantly show a glimpse of the fair skin below her neckline in an attempt to rid herself of the constriction that came with her standardized ensemble.
Her hands deftly reached behind her head to grab the first braid and slide off its holder. In a few mere seconds the entwined locks of fire became free and tumbled over and behind her shoulder, lapping at its obstacles with clinging determination. Almost immediately after, the second braid had been taken out of its intricate hold and joined its twin in partaken activities. Both slender hands now circled around the back of her head and ran their fingers through the liquid waves to join both sides in union.
She stopped and looked at herself for a second time in the mirror. The setting sun had its last rays splayed over her hair, illuminating golden highlights that became only visible under the sun’s revealing gaze, throwing a halo about her head. Smiling to herself, she wrapped her hand around the ivory handle of her brush and ran it through her tresses.
Eyes closed, she repeated this ritual a second time when she felt his hands hovering lightly over her shoulders and the cold emanating from them. She halted in her ministrations, afraid to open her eyes and displease him, afraid that if she did so he would leave. Instead she stood still and lowered her poised arm, brush in hand, and placed it quietly on the dresser.
She could feel his light touch, his teasing, trying to bring a reaction out of her. She could almost see his aristocratic fingers barely touching her and the smug smirk playing on his lips as she shifted with both hesitation and anticipation. Then came his cool breath upon her neck and she shivered with fear because she knew he was hungry, because she knew he enjoyed these drawn out games, and because she knew there was nothing she could do to stop him.
Her body betrayed her whenever he was close, whenever she could feel his metallic gaze boring through her soul. A warm tint would colour her cheeks and work its way up to the tops of her ears, making her feel ashamed that she was feeling the way she was, that she wanted more than what he’d been toying her with.
And there was nothing she could do about it. He controlled the game, he initiated everything from the first move to the very last. It was always him that whispered something in her ear while he passed her in the corridors. It was always him that pulled her from the hallway into a dark, empty classroom by the wrist, a smirk dancing over his features knowingly. All she could do was think about him because she knew if she tried anything that it would be over, and she wanted him to want her, to need her.
Oddly enough he never did anything more than put her into a flustered state, leaving her chest heaving as she gasped for air after their illicit outings. He never did anything more than kiss her and touch her, each kiss and touch searing with passion. He’d slide his hands under her skirt and caress her thighs and would occasionally venture out and slide a thumb or finger under the hem of her knickers, teasing, probing, and she’d feel him smirk against her mouth as she’d tremble or moan at his touch, but he’d just press his lips harder against hers to silence her and her eyes would roll back under her lids in ecstasy.
Then he’d move higher, his hands flittering lightly under her shirt and tracing circles on her abdomen, and she’d sigh into his mouth. With this encouragement he’d travel higher to her waist and pull her closer to him so that she could feel every part of him pressing into her while he had her back pressed hard against a cold, stone wall. She’d tremble at their close proximity and his fingers would flutter at the hem of her undergarment that so dared to keep him from touching her. His hands would travel over the fabric and cup her breasts, kneading them to satisfaction. Each thumb would travel lightly over the middle and she’d arch against him in surprised fervor, head thrown back and moans escaping her rosy lips.
Her hands would slide up under his own shirt and wrap around his back in their attempt to pull him closer, to satisfy her body’s hunger. Then her hands would travel to the back of his head and press his mouth closer, her fingers deftly entwined in his rich, fair locks. Her thumbs would brush the outer shell of his ear as she kissed him passionately, fervently.
And then he’d end it. He’d back away and survey her in her disheveled state, his metallic eyes taking her in, and he’d smile to himself and then raise one delicate eyebrow at her before stalking away to leave her by herself. She’d always wonder why he never took her because she knew he could if he wanted, he knew she wouldn’t stop him. Maybe, she’d think, there was more to it than that. There was always something she’d catch in his eyes as he backed away and she’d look at him questioningly, but he’d shadow it with his cold demeanor before she could voice her concerns, leaving her in the dark.
But now he was here again and it would start all over.
She gasped as he placed kiss after kiss on her neck, so light that it seemed part of her imagination. Again and again he did it until she felt her knees become weak and she could hold herself up no longer. She waited for his strong arms to support her as she gave in, but she felt nothing.
Losing her balance, she gave a little shriek and fell backwards, her arms flailing to the side. A whoosh of air escaped her lips as she hit the floor of her dorm and lay flat on her back.
Confused, she quickly stood up and turned around, only to find no one there. Her brow furrowed, she looked in front of her in thought when her eyes lay upon the open window.
It was just the wind.
Author's Note: As odd as it sounds, this one-shot was inspired by me unbraiding my hair. I must have a kinky mind, eh?
She stood in front of her dressing table gazing into its embellished mirror at her timid reflection, her rich sienna eyes flickering over her visage, her frame, scrutinizing and criticizing it. She let her ebony robe slide off her slight shoulders and puddle around her feet in waves of liquid fabric and pulled her grey jumper over her head, her copper braids hitting her shoulder blades lightly as they came back to rest upon the white fabric of her shirt. One hand rose and gently grasped the triangular knot of her Gryffindor tie and slowly slid it down a few notches to release its restricting hold around her neck. Then came undone the first two buttons of her uniform shirt to nonchalantly show a glimpse of the fair skin below her neckline in an attempt to rid herself of the constriction that came with her standardized ensemble.
Her hands deftly reached behind her head to grab the first braid and slide off its holder. In a few mere seconds the entwined locks of fire became free and tumbled over and behind her shoulder, lapping at its obstacles with clinging determination. Almost immediately after, the second braid had been taken out of its intricate hold and joined its twin in partaken activities. Both slender hands now circled around the back of her head and ran their fingers through the liquid waves to join both sides in union.
She stopped and looked at herself for a second time in the mirror. The setting sun had its last rays splayed over her hair, illuminating golden highlights that became only visible under the sun’s revealing gaze, throwing a halo about her head. Smiling to herself, she wrapped her hand around the ivory handle of her brush and ran it through her tresses.
Eyes closed, she repeated this ritual a second time when she felt his hands hovering lightly over her shoulders and the cold emanating from them. She halted in her ministrations, afraid to open her eyes and displease him, afraid that if she did so he would leave. Instead she stood still and lowered her poised arm, brush in hand, and placed it quietly on the dresser.
She could feel his light touch, his teasing, trying to bring a reaction out of her. She could almost see his aristocratic fingers barely touching her and the smug smirk playing on his lips as she shifted with both hesitation and anticipation. Then came his cool breath upon her neck and she shivered with fear because she knew he was hungry, because she knew he enjoyed these drawn out games, and because she knew there was nothing she could do to stop him.
Her body betrayed her whenever he was close, whenever she could feel his metallic gaze boring through her soul. A warm tint would colour her cheeks and work its way up to the tops of her ears, making her feel ashamed that she was feeling the way she was, that she wanted more than what he’d been toying her with.
And there was nothing she could do about it. He controlled the game, he initiated everything from the first move to the very last. It was always him that whispered something in her ear while he passed her in the corridors. It was always him that pulled her from the hallway into a dark, empty classroom by the wrist, a smirk dancing over his features knowingly. All she could do was think about him because she knew if she tried anything that it would be over, and she wanted him to want her, to need her.
Oddly enough he never did anything more than put her into a flustered state, leaving her chest heaving as she gasped for air after their illicit outings. He never did anything more than kiss her and touch her, each kiss and touch searing with passion. He’d slide his hands under her skirt and caress her thighs and would occasionally venture out and slide a thumb or finger under the hem of her knickers, teasing, probing, and she’d feel him smirk against her mouth as she’d tremble or moan at his touch, but he’d just press his lips harder against hers to silence her and her eyes would roll back under her lids in ecstasy.
Then he’d move higher, his hands flittering lightly under her shirt and tracing circles on her abdomen, and she’d sigh into his mouth. With this encouragement he’d travel higher to her waist and pull her closer to him so that she could feel every part of him pressing into her while he had her back pressed hard against a cold, stone wall. She’d tremble at their close proximity and his fingers would flutter at the hem of her undergarment that so dared to keep him from touching her. His hands would travel over the fabric and cup her breasts, kneading them to satisfaction. Each thumb would travel lightly over the middle and she’d arch against him in surprised fervor, head thrown back and moans escaping her rosy lips.
Her hands would slide up under his own shirt and wrap around his back in their attempt to pull him closer, to satisfy her body’s hunger. Then her hands would travel to the back of his head and press his mouth closer, her fingers deftly entwined in his rich, fair locks. Her thumbs would brush the outer shell of his ear as she kissed him passionately, fervently.
And then he’d end it. He’d back away and survey her in her disheveled state, his metallic eyes taking her in, and he’d smile to himself and then raise one delicate eyebrow at her before stalking away to leave her by herself. She’d always wonder why he never took her because she knew he could if he wanted, he knew she wouldn’t stop him. Maybe, she’d think, there was more to it than that. There was always something she’d catch in his eyes as he backed away and she’d look at him questioningly, but he’d shadow it with his cold demeanor before she could voice her concerns, leaving her in the dark.
But now he was here again and it would start all over.
She gasped as he placed kiss after kiss on her neck, so light that it seemed part of her imagination. Again and again he did it until she felt her knees become weak and she could hold herself up no longer. She waited for his strong arms to support her as she gave in, but she felt nothing.
Losing her balance, she gave a little shriek and fell backwards, her arms flailing to the side. A whoosh of air escaped her lips as she hit the floor of her dorm and lay flat on her back.
Confused, she quickly stood up and turned around, only to find no one there. Her brow furrowed, she looked in front of her in thought when her eyes lay upon the open window.
It was just the wind.
The End.
amor_quies is the author of 6 other stories.
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This story is a favorite of 6 members. Members who liked Just the Wind also liked 1222 other stories.
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