Runs with Scissors
title :: runs with scissors
summary :: minerva can't keep
her hands to herself. wicked girl.
pairings :: minerva/albus, minerva/tom
warning :: teacher-student sex and lots of it. au.
rating :: r
"It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything." - fight club
sweet sixteen and a schoolgirl, albus was old enough to be her father but he still wanted her--up against the dripping walls of the dungeon, behind the drapery in the banquet Hall, on the lichen-encrusted bench beside the rose arbor, before it burned down. his hands were damp and slimy as they pressed into her shoulders, and as minerva wrapped her legs around his hips and he thrust expertly into the sweetness between her legs, she had to admit that albus knew what he was about, unlike the stammering boys she usually had to put up with. she delighted in the subtleties she could engage in with albus--the coy sideways glances, the way he would lean over her in the classroom, his breath hot on her neck, his hands cupping her breasts when no one could see. no one knew the difference between the marks she got from binns and the marks she got from albus, but in the chill mornings of the dormitory, minerva would loosen her hair the way she knew he liked it, toy with her nipples until they were hard as pebbles. shealways took her time showing up for their liasions--make him wait, wonder, suffer. jealousy might eat him up inside, but minerva always got what she wanted.
didn't she fuck all night and still get top marks? wasn't she Head Girl? she deserved this for herself, if nothing else. this was lust, plain and simple. true, the frantic heat and the rushed, heart-pounding excitement of youth was curiously absent, but minerva didn't miss that. what she missed was human feeling.
~*~*~
minerva mcgonagall was a tease--from the long, shapely legs that were so provacatively outlined by her clinging robes, to the sweet, chocolatey perfume that seemed to float in waves off her skin.
"you smell good enough to eat," albus had whispered that afternoon, but minerva had only smiled. once she got a man in bed, she kept him there.
he was begging for her touch before long, but soon school would be over, and she'd be gone. she had a cousin in america who needed an illusionist to help him with his bootlegging business. maybe albus would try to keep her--no other girl could make him come using simply her hands, feather-light swirls against the tip of his cock. they didn't know how she teased him until he shuddered with mingled frustration and pleasure. and that was the least of her sins. there wasn't a Head Boy in Hogwarts, 1927, who hadn't dreamed of his fingers up into her impossible tightness, or had nipped the side of her neck just the way she liked it.
minerva mcgonagall was an ice queen--boys both feared and worshipped her, girls either hated her or wanted to be her. albus wanted her too, but in a different way--hopelessly. he had been lost from that first moment when she'd opened her rosebud lips and intoned in a soft, steely voice you didn't argue with: "i want you to fuck me."
he'd fucked her, all right. he fucked her so hard that his hands left bruises, bruises he would be shocked to discover the next day, even seventy years later. he never meant to hurt her. there were too many times to count after that--tender and sweet, rough and tumble, all impossible. minerva was like nicotine--once you had her, you began to crave her.
~*~*~
twenty years later, albus' mouth goes dry when he sees young tom riddle follow minerva to her chambers like a puppy. he imagines them together. he wonders if tom knows how to stroke her inner thighs until she purrs like a kitten. he wonders if she still tastes of nicotine.
~*~*~
sweet sixteen and a schoolboy, she's old enough to be his mother.