6 for 30days
Title: Waterfall
Theme: Rainy Days
Rating: R
Warnings: mild sex scenes
Waterfall
Rain licks its way down the glass. She watches it a moment, watches the way the droplets slide slowly downward, drawn towards the earth in some ancient dance.
His hand on her back moves lower, mimicking the languid journey of the beads of moisture down the window and she sighs.
There is something about days like this, something that keeps people locked away, cocooned in their private spaces. Rose likes it, enjoys it, lives for it. For the moment when all else ceases to exist and the only that matters are his hands, his mouth, and the feel of his skin as his body presses against hers.
These are blanket days, soft days and she rolls over with a smile, stretching back against the pillows as his fingers become his tongue. He traces a heated path downwards and she remembers that the first time she ever bared her body to him it was raining.
*
They were in the garden at the Manor, watching as the sky darkened and the clouds grew purple with weight.
“We should go in,” she said.
“Why?” He put his lips on her throat, teasing a groan from her mouth.
“Well, the rain.” She gestured at the sky.
He smiled against her skin. “So? Afraid of a little water, Rosie?”
She hated it when he called her ‘Rosie’ like that. “Never,” she scoffed and let him continue the wonderful work his lips were making of her flesh. The second the first drop touched her face and the scent of damp earth filled her nostrils something kick-started inside her. Something deep and primal and alive and she trembled with the weight as it surged through her blood.
“What are you doing?” Scorpius asked in disbelief as she pulled her shirt over her head and stood up, turning her face to the rain. “You’ll catch cold.”
“I won’t,” she answered. How could she, when she was burning inside? When her blood and muscle and bone were molten liquid and the place between her legs ached with all the ferocity of a wound. She stripped, knowing he was watching every movement her fingers made. It was soothing and erotic, that knowing, and as his eyes walked her flesh she shivered.
“Rose,” he murmured, his voice sending a wave of electricity through her. He hurriedly pulled off his clothes, not wanting to let the moment pass, and guided her down onto the sodden earth.
They ‘d had sex before; a hurried half-clothed moment spurned on by anxiety, both terrified that her parents would catch them.
This was different - they had all the time in the world. In this secluded corner of the Manor’s lush garden, no one would come looking for them.
She blinked the rain from her lashes, tasted its sweetness on her lips and when he covered her body with his, the rain made slick puddles between them. It rain in rivers from his shoulders as he arched his back; it raced down her exposed thighs, as gentle as the touch of his fingers; and it dripped from his hair as he captured her mouth.
They were muddy and leaves were tangled in her hair but neither of them cared. Rose felt herself turning to liquid, felt bone and sinew sink into the earth as he pressed her into the drenched grass and afterwards, he helped her pull on her sodden clothes and untangle the leaves from her hair.
*
“Rose?”
“Yeah?”
He lifted his head from where it was buried against her thigh and smiled at her, a sneaky, knowing smile. “Would you like to go outside?”
She laughed.
Theme: Rainy Days
Rating: R
Warnings: mild sex scenes
Waterfall
Rain licks its way down the glass. She watches it a moment, watches the way the droplets slide slowly downward, drawn towards the earth in some ancient dance.
His hand on her back moves lower, mimicking the languid journey of the beads of moisture down the window and she sighs.
There is something about days like this, something that keeps people locked away, cocooned in their private spaces. Rose likes it, enjoys it, lives for it. For the moment when all else ceases to exist and the only that matters are his hands, his mouth, and the feel of his skin as his body presses against hers.
These are blanket days, soft days and she rolls over with a smile, stretching back against the pillows as his fingers become his tongue. He traces a heated path downwards and she remembers that the first time she ever bared her body to him it was raining.
*
They were in the garden at the Manor, watching as the sky darkened and the clouds grew purple with weight.
“We should go in,” she said.
“Why?” He put his lips on her throat, teasing a groan from her mouth.
“Well, the rain.” She gestured at the sky.
He smiled against her skin. “So? Afraid of a little water, Rosie?”
She hated it when he called her ‘Rosie’ like that. “Never,” she scoffed and let him continue the wonderful work his lips were making of her flesh. The second the first drop touched her face and the scent of damp earth filled her nostrils something kick-started inside her. Something deep and primal and alive and she trembled with the weight as it surged through her blood.
“What are you doing?” Scorpius asked in disbelief as she pulled her shirt over her head and stood up, turning her face to the rain. “You’ll catch cold.”
“I won’t,” she answered. How could she, when she was burning inside? When her blood and muscle and bone were molten liquid and the place between her legs ached with all the ferocity of a wound. She stripped, knowing he was watching every movement her fingers made. It was soothing and erotic, that knowing, and as his eyes walked her flesh she shivered.
“Rose,” he murmured, his voice sending a wave of electricity through her. He hurriedly pulled off his clothes, not wanting to let the moment pass, and guided her down onto the sodden earth.
They ‘d had sex before; a hurried half-clothed moment spurned on by anxiety, both terrified that her parents would catch them.
This was different - they had all the time in the world. In this secluded corner of the Manor’s lush garden, no one would come looking for them.
She blinked the rain from her lashes, tasted its sweetness on her lips and when he covered her body with his, the rain made slick puddles between them. It rain in rivers from his shoulders as he arched his back; it raced down her exposed thighs, as gentle as the touch of his fingers; and it dripped from his hair as he captured her mouth.
They were muddy and leaves were tangled in her hair but neither of them cared. Rose felt herself turning to liquid, felt bone and sinew sink into the earth as he pressed her into the drenched grass and afterwards, he helped her pull on her sodden clothes and untangle the leaves from her hair.
*
“Rose?”
“Yeah?”
He lifted his head from where it was buried against her thigh and smiled at her, a sneaky, knowing smile. “Would you like to go outside?”
She laughed.