Title: Harlotry.
Archiving: just ask.
Rating: R.
Date: February 2004.
Summary: Fantasies are hotter when they're forbidden. Het. Short smut. R.
Notes: For Caitlyn, who asked for my least favorite pairing and got me to write my first Harry Potter het fic.
What do you know--I had fun. And the beautiful, gorgeous artwork by Kara--that's icing on the cake. Much love, Kara.
She was wearing the corset. Good.
It dug into her waistline, hugging her ribs and pushing her breasts up tight against the frame. She was short of breath and he knew that was because she had laced it much, much tighter than she should have, just the way he had wanted.
Well. In that case, he would have to keep her in it for a bit longer than he had planned, wouldn't he.
Her face was twisted in concentration, her lips a tight dark red line, her eyelashes fluttering thick and quick under dark shadows. He knew she would never have worn so much face paint, or any at all, but for this, and he didn't hide the satisfaction that curled across his lips.
"Aren't you the harlot," he murmured.
She looked up at him and glared, hatred and guilt warring with obedience in her eyes for one most attractive moment. He chuckled and moved in, tilting her head up. She fought the urge to meet his gaze, but a muttered, "Look at me" brought her gaze squarely up to meet his and a shudder running through her body.
He toyed with the idea of pressing his lips to hers but delayed, instead flicking his forefinger around to the laces snug against her back and reaching underneath the top one to pull it loose. It came undone with a jerk, and the top of her bodice slid apart just enough to reveal her nipples, already firming between the juncture of cleavage and black lace.
She gasped and flicked her eyes down to her stiffening breasts. When he placed one hand over her breast she moved into his touch automatically, and arched her neck for him. He closed his hand over her, and encircled her waist with his other, and slipped his mouth over the side of her throat.
"Hey," she murmured, "you'd better get up or you'll miss breakfast."
Blearily, warily, he opened his eyes.
The vision of red hair in his mind had been replaced by the image of Gregory Goyle standing over his bed looking down at him curiously.
"Fuck," said Draco Malfoy.
