DC (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darnedchild) wrote2018-09-12 05:01 pm
darnedchild) wrote2018-09-12 05:01 pm
Butterbeer
Summary: She tasted like Butterbeer.
Rating: G
A/N - A short fic for MHAW Summer 2018 - Day Four – Taste
It’s an Appreciation Week, and that means it’s the ideal time to write Potter!Lock. Yay! Unbeta’d again because I like to live dangerously (and I’m also lazy).
Butterbeer
She tasted like Butterbeer, which was ridiculous.
Butterbeer was a drink for children half her age, not for a responsible adult who was gainfully employed at the most prestigious Wizarding School in world (according to a relatively small population mostly located within a day’s train travel distance of said school).
Not that they were being particularly responsible at the moment, tucked away in a small alley to avoid curious eyes and wagging tongues.
They have an entire castle full of hidden nooks and secret passages, two separate living spaces, his classroom and her office in the Hospital Wing; but their first kiss happened next to the back entrance of the Three Broomsticks while chaperoning a Hogsmeade trip, where just anyone could happen across two members of the Hogwarts’ faculty making out like hormonal teenagers.
“This is insane,” Molly whispered against his lips between increasingly desperate kisses.
“I know,” Sherlock replied as he backed her further against the wall and shielded her body from view with his heavy winter cape (the one she likes the most, made out of dark wool with that odd little bit of red stitching below the collar).
Molly sucked his bottom lip between her teeth and pulled just hard enough to make him groan. “Someone is going to see us,” she gasped.
“I know,” he panted against her jaw before lowering his head to brush his mouth against her throat. She smelled almost as good as she tasted.
“How is this even happening?” she whimpered as his teeth scrap along her skin. “You don’t even like me.”
That brought him up short. He jerked his head up and took a small step back. “What gave you that ludicrous idea?”
She blinked, confused by the sudden turn around from kissing to being glared at. “You almost never talk to me in the staff lounge. You always act like taking the seat next to mine at the High Table is a taxing burden. You dug through the infirmary supply cupboard, told me it was organized poorly, and you’d be back to help me index and restock everything when you brought up the next batch of potions from your lab.”
He looked utterly affronted. “And how is any of that proof that I don’t like you? I rarely talk to anyone in the staff lounge, and almost never is not the same as never-never. I’m annoyed in the Great Hall because there are so many other things I could be doing with my time. The only reason I bother showing up at all is because I’ll be seated next to you, it’s certainly not for the food I won’t eat or some twisted desire to spend one second longer in the same room as any of the miscreants I’m forced to teach. And I was thoroughly looking forward to spending the afternoon reorganizing that cupboard with you. I was hoping you’d agree to tea in my rooms after.”
“Like-like a date?” Molly stuttered.
Sherlock frowned, as if he weren’t quite sure how to take her reaction. “I wouldn’t have used that exact term, but yes. Like a date.” He reached up to touch her hair, but hesitated before he made contact. “Would you have said yes?”
“Of course I would have.” She tilted her head into his hand and rubbed her cheek against his fingers.
“I knew that.” He tugged her a little closer and leaned toward her lips once more.
“No, you didn’t.” Molly smiled and raised up on her toes to meet him.
She really did taste like butterbeer.
Rating: G
A/N - A short fic for MHAW Summer 2018 - Day Four – Taste
It’s an Appreciation Week, and that means it’s the ideal time to write Potter!Lock. Yay! Unbeta’d again because I like to live dangerously (and I’m also lazy).
Butterbeer
She tasted like Butterbeer, which was ridiculous.
Butterbeer was a drink for children half her age, not for a responsible adult who was gainfully employed at the most prestigious Wizarding School in world (according to a relatively small population mostly located within a day’s train travel distance of said school).
Not that they were being particularly responsible at the moment, tucked away in a small alley to avoid curious eyes and wagging tongues.
They have an entire castle full of hidden nooks and secret passages, two separate living spaces, his classroom and her office in the Hospital Wing; but their first kiss happened next to the back entrance of the Three Broomsticks while chaperoning a Hogsmeade trip, where just anyone could happen across two members of the Hogwarts’ faculty making out like hormonal teenagers.
“This is insane,” Molly whispered against his lips between increasingly desperate kisses.
“I know,” Sherlock replied as he backed her further against the wall and shielded her body from view with his heavy winter cape (the one she likes the most, made out of dark wool with that odd little bit of red stitching below the collar).
Molly sucked his bottom lip between her teeth and pulled just hard enough to make him groan. “Someone is going to see us,” she gasped.
“I know,” he panted against her jaw before lowering his head to brush his mouth against her throat. She smelled almost as good as she tasted.
“How is this even happening?” she whimpered as his teeth scrap along her skin. “You don’t even like me.”
That brought him up short. He jerked his head up and took a small step back. “What gave you that ludicrous idea?”
She blinked, confused by the sudden turn around from kissing to being glared at. “You almost never talk to me in the staff lounge. You always act like taking the seat next to mine at the High Table is a taxing burden. You dug through the infirmary supply cupboard, told me it was organized poorly, and you’d be back to help me index and restock everything when you brought up the next batch of potions from your lab.”
He looked utterly affronted. “And how is any of that proof that I don’t like you? I rarely talk to anyone in the staff lounge, and almost never is not the same as never-never. I’m annoyed in the Great Hall because there are so many other things I could be doing with my time. The only reason I bother showing up at all is because I’ll be seated next to you, it’s certainly not for the food I won’t eat or some twisted desire to spend one second longer in the same room as any of the miscreants I’m forced to teach. And I was thoroughly looking forward to spending the afternoon reorganizing that cupboard with you. I was hoping you’d agree to tea in my rooms after.”
“Like-like a date?” Molly stuttered.
Sherlock frowned, as if he weren’t quite sure how to take her reaction. “I wouldn’t have used that exact term, but yes. Like a date.” He reached up to touch her hair, but hesitated before he made contact. “Would you have said yes?”
“Of course I would have.” She tilted her head into his hand and rubbed her cheek against his fingers.
“I knew that.” He tugged her a little closer and leaned toward her lips once more.
“No, you didn’t.” Molly smiled and raised up on her toes to meet him.
She really did taste like butterbeer.