(no subject)
Title: Untitled
Pairing: Angelina/Montague
Authur: dracoginevra
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Montague wanderlusts through history of magic. Set in their fifth year.
Disclaimer: Not mine etc.
Notes: I was reading the community user info, is this considered 'wank'? I'm not sure what wank is, but if this breaks that rule then I'm sorry. : )
“The Werewolf Trials of the late 7th century were revolutionary in the sense that this was the first occasion werewolves had to be proved guilty before their execution and in the sense that…” Binns droned on. That ghost needed to get laid.
Montague sat back at his desk, arms crossed and head tilted back, trying to find the most comfortable position to fall asleep in. Fifth year was turning out pretty boring, what with quidditch cancelled and everyone under house arrest. He wished Sirius Black would just chop off Potter’s head already.
Miles Bletchley was snoring loudly to his right, while Pucey flipped through a Which Witch underneath his desk. Adrian must have silenced the dirty mag, usually the busty girls exhibited a constant stream of encouraging words as they crawled across the pages.
Montague was settling back in his chair with those happy thoughts, when out of the corner of his eye he noticed one of his favorite skirts scrunching up from its normally floor length position. He jerked his head towards Johnson so quickly he must’ve pulled a muscle. A few desks over she was leaning far back in her chair, eyes shuttered close and legs tightly crossed, skirt riding up mid-thigh. He’d never seen so much of those long lean legs before. The gryffindor chaser was tall and toned, and he'd caught himself staring more than once. He began wondering how it would feel to have those strong thighs wrapped around his waist... how it would feel to have those long skilled little fingers gripping his belt buckle, undoing his zipper… those silky braids tossing across his pillow… no, across the floor of the boys changing rooms… though she’d probably want to be on top… or maybe against the lockers…
Suddenly those long fingers settled on those bronze thighs. Montague’s eyes snapped open as her fingernails dug right across the place where the hem of her skirt teasingly sat. His pants were getting uncomfortably tight. Gulping, he lowered a hand to his knee and tried to discreetly tug at the inner hem of his pants. That small amount of friction just made things worse, his crotch tingled and he inhaled shallowly.
Johnson crossed her arms and she shifted further back in her seat, skirt riding up obscenely. He was starting to wonder if she was doing it on purpose. He analyzed her relaxed face and tightly shut eyes. She wasn’t bad to look at either… almond-shaped eyes, cheekbones, and full lips. It was a shame she always said the bitchiest things.
And then she inhaled. Her chest arched up, breasts straining against her blouse, buttons put to the test. Johnson shifted and recrossed her legs, thighs clenching together. All his blood rushed to his groin.
He needed to get out of this classroom and into a bathroom stall. Since that wasn’t an option, he folded his hands across his lap to conceal the growing bulge and leaned forward. His chair squeaked from the shift of his weight and scraped across the floor.
At the sound, Johnson’s eyes fluttered open and she looked sleepily in his direction. He stared menacingly back. She narrowed her intense brown eyes, shooting him a nasty look and turning sharply away.
Gritting his teeth and crossing his arms, Montague tried to ignore the heat pulsing through his veins. It wasn’t as if he’d ever find out if she preferred being on top.
END
Pairing: Angelina/Montague
Authur: dracoginevra
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Montague wanderlusts through history of magic. Set in their fifth year.
Disclaimer: Not mine etc.
Notes: I was reading the community user info, is this considered 'wank'? I'm not sure what wank is, but if this breaks that rule then I'm sorry. : )
“The Werewolf Trials of the late 7th century were revolutionary in the sense that this was the first occasion werewolves had to be proved guilty before their execution and in the sense that…” Binns droned on. That ghost needed to get laid.
Montague sat back at his desk, arms crossed and head tilted back, trying to find the most comfortable position to fall asleep in. Fifth year was turning out pretty boring, what with quidditch cancelled and everyone under house arrest. He wished Sirius Black would just chop off Potter’s head already.
Miles Bletchley was snoring loudly to his right, while Pucey flipped through a Which Witch underneath his desk. Adrian must have silenced the dirty mag, usually the busty girls exhibited a constant stream of encouraging words as they crawled across the pages.
Montague was settling back in his chair with those happy thoughts, when out of the corner of his eye he noticed one of his favorite skirts scrunching up from its normally floor length position. He jerked his head towards Johnson so quickly he must’ve pulled a muscle. A few desks over she was leaning far back in her chair, eyes shuttered close and legs tightly crossed, skirt riding up mid-thigh. He’d never seen so much of those long lean legs before. The gryffindor chaser was tall and toned, and he'd caught himself staring more than once. He began wondering how it would feel to have those strong thighs wrapped around his waist... how it would feel to have those long skilled little fingers gripping his belt buckle, undoing his zipper… those silky braids tossing across his pillow… no, across the floor of the boys changing rooms… though she’d probably want to be on top… or maybe against the lockers…
Suddenly those long fingers settled on those bronze thighs. Montague’s eyes snapped open as her fingernails dug right across the place where the hem of her skirt teasingly sat. His pants were getting uncomfortably tight. Gulping, he lowered a hand to his knee and tried to discreetly tug at the inner hem of his pants. That small amount of friction just made things worse, his crotch tingled and he inhaled shallowly.
Johnson crossed her arms and she shifted further back in her seat, skirt riding up obscenely. He was starting to wonder if she was doing it on purpose. He analyzed her relaxed face and tightly shut eyes. She wasn’t bad to look at either… almond-shaped eyes, cheekbones, and full lips. It was a shame she always said the bitchiest things.
And then she inhaled. Her chest arched up, breasts straining against her blouse, buttons put to the test. Johnson shifted and recrossed her legs, thighs clenching together. All his blood rushed to his groin.
He needed to get out of this classroom and into a bathroom stall. Since that wasn’t an option, he folded his hands across his lap to conceal the growing bulge and leaned forward. His chair squeaked from the shift of his weight and scraped across the floor.
At the sound, Johnson’s eyes fluttered open and she looked sleepily in his direction. He stared menacingly back. She narrowed her intense brown eyes, shooting him a nasty look and turning sharply away.
Gritting his teeth and crossing his arms, Montague tried to ignore the heat pulsing through his veins. It wasn’t as if he’d ever find out if she preferred being on top.
END