Large Emerald
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: You're radiant, did you know that? I suppose not. I think you don't know a thing about yourself, who you really are. Because, under all these layers of metaphorical incense, there is a darker side to you. Perhaps not darker, but more fiery, passionate, you can be a bad girl, I know it, and I want to cause you to release her, to be her.
Author's Notes: This is pointless, plotless smut. Although I hadn't planned on it becoming such. Because, when I wrote this, I was just trying to write down some Draco-like thoughts. If anybody has problems with reading this, I can't blame you. This is weird.
To make things clearer to you: An I (=Draco) is talking to a you (=Ginny), but what you're reading there are his thoughts. This is one big, smutty inner monologue.
There is no such thing as a distinct setting or time this is happening. This could be anywhere and anytime, although it is post-Hogwarts.
As to the title: it has nothing to do with the story, but more how the story was conceived: it morphed into something else. Aaaaaand…the Large Emerald, also known as Geometra papilionaria is a really beautiful butterfly. Metamorphosis, butterfly…
I can't quite say why I agreed to do this in the first place. This is torture. I think I'm going to kill him as soon as I get out of here. I mean, he's my best friend and all, and one of the only real friends I have, admittedly, but ah, well, this is bloody serious, and just because I happen to be able to bear his company for longer than ten minutes without losing my patience or worse, my cool, doesn't mean I'll just let him get away with this.
How could he? He knew that there's nothing I detest more than these people, and still he had to drag me here. Why exactly I seem to have forgotten, my mind on other things. Like you for example. But not exactly the stuff you're talking about. Well, maybe if I stretched the definitions of the words you're using a little. But no, you wouldn't, would you? Of course not. I think now is the opportune moment to sigh, at least quietly. You don't even seem to notice. Damn him for doing this to me. He should have known. Wait, correction, reality check: he could not have known. He did this because he knew I'd have a miserable time. Hell, I don't even like you. Well, at least I think I don't. You've got me confused there a little.
You're going on with whatever you've been talking about all this time I've been standing next to you. Jesus Christ girl, do you never get a hint? Obviously you don't. It's kind of hot in here. Or perhaps it's not, and all these flushed faces don't originate from heat, but from far too much alcohol, and me, well me. You're driving me mad, you know? No, I forgot, you don't. Looks like I'm one of the few people who still know their name and address in here, eh? You, of course, in all your saintly glory haven't touched anything besides soda. Not even the pumpkin juice. Might have been spiked. As if… that's Colin Creevey giving out the pumpkin juice, pumpkin. Oh ye gods, I must be really desperate now. I never, never, never use wordplay. Draco Malfoy does so not speak in puns. Pun. Sounds like bun. And fun. Your hair's in a loose bun. And concerning fun, boy do I need that now.
What are you talking about? Oh, him, alright, hey, I mean, you can't be that daft, now, can you? Which girl who's been enjoying the attention of one and the same man for the whole evening would talk about how her ex-boyfriend was doing with his Auror training? Especially if said ex is Harry fucking Potter, and the guy who's so desperately trying to get into the girl's pants hates the-boy-who-is-currently-seeing-double-even-with-his-glasses-on. But you don't even know. You're waaaaay to innocent to notice. Or you don't want to. Well, there's the opportunity for the most mind-blowing experience that you'll ever have in your sorry life, and you just won't see it.
I don't even know why I'm bothering with you. I mean, I'm usually not into the Holy Virgin Mary type, and, excuse me if I'll say so, but you're exactly that. But then again you aren't, I just can't tell why. You're radiant, did you know that? I suppose not. I think you don't know a thing about yourself, who you really are. Because, under all these layers of metaphorical incense, there is a darker side to you. Perhaps not darker, but more fiery, passionate, you can be a bad girl, I know it, and I want to cause you to release her, to be her. Because she'd fit your body much better than St. Virginia. Just look at your hair. I presume you tried to tame it before coming here, but it really was of no use: it's spilling out of that bun everywhere, and in every thinkable direction. And that color, this intense tone of red that makes the skin on your pale, freckled shoulders look all the more luscious, to me at least. And the way this one stray lock of hair is falling over your shoulders just between where the valley of your breasts would be, would you not be wearing that unnecessary blouse. I must admit that it is a beautiful garment, and I wonder how you were able to afford it, but I'd rather have it gone. It's remarkably thin anyway. I actually can see through it a little, if I look really hard, perhaps I can make out the outlines of your bra? I wonder what it would look like, your bra. Three galleons that it's white cotton. That would be just so you.
I do realize that I'm staring at your cleavage, while you're talking to my face, but I don't care and you don't notice, so I might as well continue.
"I kind of like these kitschy romance movies, you know, like, I saw Titanic four times, and cried harder with each time I saw it," you're saying. Uh-huh. Whatever. I don't know what a movie is, and I bet that I really don't want to know anyway. But the way your lips are moving is really enticing. They're just inviting me to kiss them, or bite them, or lick them, or all of the three, especially when you're chewing on your bottom lip. Did you ever realize that? You're always doing that when you seem to be thinking about something.
"I've never seen a kitschy romance movie," I reply, trying to keep you talking. You like talking, I've noticed, and you practice the art of communication a lot. With you, it really is an art, but not because of what you're saying, but because of how you're doing it. Sometimes you turn those beautiful eyes up to the sky or even tug at your earlobe lightly, which makes you look contemplative and heavenly at the same time. The way you look at me when I'm actually looking at your face instead of your generous curves, as if I were the most interesting man in the world, even if you're the one who's doing most of the talking is the softest caress to my ego, which is big enough for me to know that it's almost unhealthy to be regarded like that in my case. But I can't help notice that you seem to make everybody you're talking to feel important. And to you they are.
And your eyes. I don't think there are words on this earth to describe your eyes. I don't think I every noticed them back when we were at school, because you always held them downcast when talking to me, as far as I remember. How could you! Or perhaps I was just really daft and didn't notice. They've got this amazing hazel color that will from now on be forever burned to my memory as you.
What's it you're talking about now? Oh, sports. Yeah, I've played Quidditch a little after I left school. No, never tried, never wanted to. Being a professional is not one of my priorities right now. Other sports? I go for a jog on the Manor's grounds now and then, but aside from that, no, not really.
What do you say? You like equestrian sports? Well, yeah, being a jockey sounds fabulous…only I want to be one right now. How I'd like to tell you that. Instead I merely nod my head. Yeah, horses, fascinating. No, you're right, they're not as beautiful as unicorns. What you don't seem to realize is that even the most thoroughbred unicorn will never be as beautiful as you are to me right now. Should I tell you, or would you notice the massive bulge in my pants and finally put the pieces of the puzzle together and see that I'm suffering extreme sexual stimulation and torment here? Wait, wasn't that the plan? Perhaps I should tell you…
But then again, I could also ask you to dance and let you find out for yourself. Oh my god, is that Longbottom doing the Polka with your brother on the dancefloor? Well, forget the dancing thing. I don't want anybody else to waltz into me being extremely happy to see you. Especially not your oaf of a brother. I guess he'd realize something was amiss even through the thick veil of intoxication when confronted with a Malfoy's erection while said Malfoy is clinging to the idiot's sister.
Perhaps we should take a stroll outside, what do you say? Yeah, I know it's cold, wait a second, I'll get our cloaks.
Right, here they are. I'm kind of regretting this now. Although your robe is not all that thick, and you're leaving it open in the front I can't admire your ass anymore. Man, am I stupid!
You know, you're really fascinating, but I really don't want to talk about Pansy right now. You're going to be cold with that cloak, I can tell. Jesus, you just shivered. I don't know what I'd give to be the one to make you shiver. Or to get warm, I don't care.
Now you got me surprised! By the way your nipples are showing through your blouse in the cold so I can tell you're not wearing a bra at all. Virginia Weasley, you're a naughty girl.
And me, I've been a good little boy for the whole evening, so, care to give me a little treat? Ungh. Thank god I didn't just say that out loud. That's got to be one of the worst pick-up lines since I overheard that Hufflepuff, what was his name again?
-Right, Justin Finch, Flinch, whatever asking this girl whether she wanted him to show her his mandrake roots. And the stupid thing had actually agreed. I suspect that they went to look at some plants. I'd have never in my right mind done that. I'm of the straightforward type, and the only question I usually ask is "My flat, or yours?"
Then why the hell have I not popped the ultimate question yet? I don't know, but I sure as hell am not going to wait forever.
What the hell is wrong with you? Whoever gave you that idea? Pansy Parkinson is not my girlfriend! Excuse me, did you realize that I've been kind of flirting with you the whole evening? Well, okay, staring you up is more like it, but still. It's not my fault you're doing all the talking.
Jesus Christ, I guess you've been getting the wrong picture! I. Hate. Pansy. Parkinson. And just because she's looking my way all the time and then continuing to cling to Marcus Flint's arm defiantly doesn't mean I broke up with her. Because we never had a thing in the first place. Do you get that. No, I've not been doing the same with you. I like you. Errrrr, at least I think I do. At least your body.
Well, if you think I've been nice to you because I wanted to vex Pansy, then why'd you put up with me, Missy, huh?
"Because I don't like her either?" you're saying. No. Don't. Don't look like that. It's making me crazy. You do realize you're looking really seductive with that sexy smile and your eyebrow cocked just like that.
Right-o, that's enough. I don't think I can bear this any longer, and you're still convinced that I'm talking to you because I had a lover's spat with Parkinson, of all people.
Wait a sec. I don't think I heard you right earlier. You told me you're tolerating me to get Pansy angry because you don't like her. But you don't like me either.
Oh now, that's nice of you to say, thanks. Tolerable! Whoo-hoo, I'm tolerable. Thanks ever soooo much, Weasley. Ginny. Virginia. Whatever. Personally I prefer Virginia. Sounds so much more mature. And hell, even if you're acting all innocent, you're mature, all right.
Hey, I've just had an idea. I'm just not so sure if it'll work. But it will, it must! Because I'm Draco Malfoy, and I always get what I want, always. I'll just wait a little till we're over there, beyond the apparition barrier. And just for show, I'm smiling at you. I've got a nice smile, eh? But what if it grew more predatory, and can you see that glint in my eye? Because I can feel it.
Yeah, that's right, shiver for me, because of me. I'm still Draco Malfoy, the man who used to be the resident bad boy at Hogwarts, and right now can't get his mind out of the gutter. And you're just starting to realize that perhaps I haven't changed that much. At least when it comes to girls. But my, you're a beauty amongst the beauties who have adorned my bed until now. Perhaps I'll even keep you after I've had you.
"Where are you taking me, Malfoy?" Is that panic I'm detecting in your voice? I'm stopping now. We've just crossed the apparition barrier anyway. Can't have you be afraid of me. Well, afraid maybe, but not terrified. You're terrified right now. I'm standing right in front of you. Come on, I don't bite. Not hard, anyway. Why are you looking like deer caught in the headlights? Whatever that means. Must be something Muggle. Just don't run. See, I'm not harming you. I don't think I've ever had to move so slowly in my whole life. I'm putting my hand on the small of your back. Does it hurt? No, thought so. And if I put my other hand there as well, like this? And if I rub your back a little with them, does it make you feel more comfortable? Yeah, that's right, you're relaxing. Must have been a momentary fit of panic, after all, it's dark out here.
I can't help it. I don't want to, but I have to smile as you're laying first your hands and then your head on my shoulders. Are you tired?
"No, no, just comfortable," you reply. Thank god. That's at least a beginning. You smell so good, you know that? Now that you're so near to me I can detect the faint fragrance that you must have put on before coming here. Mmmh, fleur de lis…You're doing funny things to my body. Pressed up to me the way you are I can feel almost every curve of your body. And obviously you're still cold.
Jesus Christ, you're moving! I can feel your breasts and your hips slowly sliding along my body, and although you're just moving to the side by an inch or two it feels like an eternity.
I guess I let out a groan. You must have heard it. You just have to feel my erection. It's digging right into your abdomen for God's sake. Somehow I get a feeling you've been playing with me all along.
The way I can feel your breath right next to my ear suddenly makes me jump a little. Did you just giggle? I have to fight so hard not to take you and just fuck you up some wall right now. Actually the idea seems quite appealing. But no, we're still out in public, and although there's nobody around now that doesn't mean nobody'll come later. Because, pretty lady, what I want to do to you will take long, very long, and perhaps I'm going to let you get some sleep at dawn.
Why're you gasping? Oh, sorry, I didn't even notice I was running my hand over your ass. Do you mind?
You seem to be taking an awfully long time considering that question. You're again chewing on that delicious bottom lip of yours.
"No, no I don't," you finally say. So I start moving my hand again. First it's only soft caresses of your ass and upper thigh, but then I start kneading the soft flesh, and your breathing is getting a little heavier. We're standing in a very odd position. You, with your hands clutching my shoulders, and your cheek touching mine ever so slightly, your mouth directly beside my ear, and I, with my hands massaging your ass, I don't know about you, but I've got my eyes half closed, enjoying your proximity. And all that in the middle of an empty square, at perhaps two o'clock in the morning.
Perhaps I might try for a bit more. Tentatively I run my left hand up over your hip and then your slender waist, over your ribcage until finally letting it rest above your right breast, mimicking the movements of the right hand. You don't seem to mind, in the contrary, your tightening the grip on my shoulders and you're even moaning a little into my ear.
This feels strange. We're not even kissing. It's not like I don't want to, but do you? I think…I don't know what to think anymore. My brain has shut down to only the most necessary functions. I just hope that it keeps in mind that the vegetative neural system is important, no matter what.
I start searching for your right nipple with my hand, and then squeeze it gently through the fabric of your blouse. Your moans are getting louder now, and with every breath you take, you're sending shivers down my spine.
I can barely repress a groan as you bow your head so that it is now resting against my neck and start alternately licking and biting it. I'm now drawing lazy circles on your nipple with my thumb, and you're imitating the movements with your tongue on my neck.
Suddenly, there's a banging sound from somewhere to our left, and you freeze in your movements. I also stop my ministrations to peer into the darkness that has enveloped us, but I can't make out where the sound came from.
"Perhaps we should continue this somewhere else," you're whispering. I can't believe my luck. The waiting and frustration from this evening has paid off, and I now ask the question of questions. Your place or mine?
"Yours. I'm sharing a flat with Colin Creevey," you reply. I briefly wonder whether that is to make Potter jealous, but you seem to have read my thoughts. "I broke up with him, and besides, Harry knows that Colin isn't interested in…me," you finish rather lamely. I'd go further into the topic, but right now I've got more important things at hand. Like you. I quickly grab my wand and apparate us to my flat. Glancing around I realize that I apparated into the hall out of habit and so, with a loud pop, we're standing in my bedroom a couple of seconds later. God bless apparition wards! That way I'm the only one who can apparate here…and nobody will be able to disturb us.
So what now? I don't know why, but suddenly this feels awkward. Just mere moments ago we had no inhibitions touching each other, and now, though you're still in my arms, we're both stiff as boards, me even in more than one way, and we're engulfed by deathly silence.
You're tentatively leaning your head back a little to look into my eyes. Again I am reminded of how beautiful your eyes are, and your luscious lips and everything else about you. I don't know how long we're standing like this, but eventually I break the spell by leaning in and kissing you, gently at first, but when I can feel you responding, opening your mouth for my tongue to invade I tighten my grip on your waist and start being more fierce about my actions. You've got such a soft tongue, and I know only of a few things that feel better than our tongues clashing while we're running our hands almost everywhere over each other's bodies.
I guess you must have decided that the clothes we are wearing are as abundant as I find them, because when I move my mouth away from your questing tongue over your jaw to first your earlobe, at which I nip shortly before descending to your neck, you start tugging at the top button of my shirt. All of a sudden you seem quite impatient, which makes me grin. I start undoing the buttons of your blouse while you opt to simply rip my shirt open. I quickly shrug it off my shoulders and then let go of you, and the loss of contact makes you let out a frustrated groan. Patience, my dear, good things come to those who wait. Now you're glaring at me. Can't have you be mad at me now, can I?
Slowly I take your blouse and push it off your shoulders, admiring your generous breasts with their pert nipples, and with a small grin notice that they're a little freckled. I run my index fingers down the valley of your breasts slowly, and then move my thumbs up over the underside of the soft globes of flesh until I reach your nipples, where I stop and start squeezing them lightly. Until now I haven't torn my eyes away from your chest, but at this moment I decide to look up to find you staring into my grey eyes, while your hazel ones are darkened with what is undeniably lust. Your mouth is parted a little, and you're licking your bottom lip unconsciously.
I tear my eyes away from your gaze again and slide my hands down to your waist. You make a little frustrated noise, but you don't need to, because I'm leaning in and taking your left nipple into my mouth swiftly, and I hear you gasp, whether with pleasure or surprise, I can't tell. But when I move my left hand back up to your other breast and my right hand to knead the soft flesh of your ass through your skirt, while I'm twirling your nipple around in my mouth, teasing it with my tongue, your moaning gets louder and your hand grasp my head and press me even closer to your chest. You're ruffling my hair, but right now I don't care.
I'm mildly surprised when you start fiddling with the buckle of my belt, because up until now it has been mostly me who did the forward moves. But I shift a little so that you have a better angle to undo the belt and unzip my pants, which you manage after a few seconds. I jerk my hips a little so that my black slacks glide to the ground and step out of them quickly, kicking of my shoes and socks at the same time.
Feeling a little unprivileged, because I'm standing there in only my black silken boxers and you're still wearing your skirt I move to undo the zipper of the offending garment, and gasp excitedly when it gets obvious that you apparently didn't think it necessary to put on any underwear at all. You step out of your skirt and are now standing in front of me only in the tiny stilettos that cover your dainty feet.
I know that I'm staring, but I don't care. Right now, it doesn't matter anyway. It's just that I've been imagining this for the whole evening, and now that you're really standing in front of me only covered in the short red curls between your thighs, I can barely believe my luck. You're not the least bit self conscious about your body, and, ye gods, you wouldn't have any reason to be anyway.
I look up into your fascinating eyes again, and, never leaving their intense gaze, pick you up to lay you down on my king-sized bed, and, standing beside you, run my finger down from your lips over your chin to your breasts, to your bellybutton, through your soft hair which I notice with satisfaction is soaked already, over your thigh, then your knee until I reach your ankles and lastly, your feet, where I gently slide of your shoes.
With a sudden movement you somehow managed to get me on the bed and on my back, and before I know what's happening you're kissing me feverishly, running your hands over my shoulders, my chest, never letting them rest long in one and the same place, but they feel so good, especially because with each circle you draw on my chest you're letting your hands wander just a tiny bit further.
You're making me feel dizzy and clear-headed at the same time, and your warm hands that are roaming over my body, while I am clutching at your back for dear life, are teasing me to the border of sanity because each time you touch the waistband of my boxers you move them up again.
Finally I can't take it anymore and I flop over so you're lying on your back, and pull your hands away and press them against the soft mattress, over your head.
You're looking like a pagan goddess with your fair skin and flaming hair between my black silken sheets. I guess we both do, since my skin isn't any darker than yours. In fact I might be paler, since I lack the dusting of freckles that seems to cover your body about everywhere, except for your inner thighs and your belly, where they're strewn further apart.
I shift my weight so I'm resting on my knees, and my erection, which is still covered by my boxers is digging into your thighs, and start nibbling at your breasts again. I can't help it, they fascinate me.
After a while I continue to place open-mouthed kisses down your body, over your ribcage and then flick my tongue over your bellybutton, which causes you to giggle, and then release your hands which instantly nestle in my hair, so that my hands are free to join my mouth. I start nibbling at your hip a little, while my hands are traveling further down, between your legs, parting them so I have better access for exploration there. While my left hand is motioning slow circles on your inner thigh, my right thumb starts looking for the tight bundle of nerves, and when it finds it's goal you jerk your hips and gasp. I grin and start moving my thumb over your clit in circles too.
"Oh God," you're moaning. I realize it's the first word one of us has spoken in quite some time. I guess sometimes touch is communication enough.
With every circle I'm drawing your breathing is getting heavier, and once that you've started speaking, you keep doing it. Most of the things you're panting are just affirmations that what I'm doing to you feels good, but when I replace my thumb with my tongue and start to lick the nub of flesh my hand has just left to run through your incredibly slick folds your words are getting incomprehensible while you're tearing at the sheets frantically with your hands.
Slowly I slide my right index finger into your soft warmth, and start moving it in and out in coordination with the movements of my tongue. Your hips are jerking now, and I'm surprised when I hear you moaning my name. My first name. So surprised actually, that I stop moving, which causes you to huff and squirm impatiently underneath me.
But I don't think that I can wait any longer. I know exactly where I want to be, and so do you, so I move up to kiss you again. You hesitate at first, I guess because the thought of your own juices on my tongue may not seem all too appealing to you, but after a moment you start to kiss me back with a passion that hasn't been there before.
I moan when you slide your hands down my back to the waistband of my boxers, and finally tug them off. I can't repress the groan that gets muffled by your kiss as you reach down and touch my bulging cock with your silk-like fingers, and my hands are massaging your scalp while yours are stroking my erection in a way that suggests you've done this before. You feel so good.
My hands reluctantly desert your hair to part your legs further, and your hands slide over to lightly stroke my firm ass. I know I'm conceited, but I've got a nice ass. I can't deny it.
With one swift movement I bury myself deep inside you, and Gods, Virginia. I wouldn't be surprised if I started seeing stars soon. I pull myself up so that I'm resting my weight on my elbows now and start moving, first slowly, but getting quicker with each stroke. You're wrapping your legs around mine and are digging your heels into the backs of my knees while your hands are skimming over my back and we're moaning into each other's ears.
"Yessss, faster," you're hissing between low guttural sounds that are indescribably sexy and make my cock harden even more inside of you, if that is even possible, and I am pleased to oblige, picking up speed.
Virginia, Virginia, I don't think I'll manage to hold back much longer. You're moving your head so that it's directly below my face and start licking my lower lip, and the corner of my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye I can see beads of perspiration running down your forehead as I'm pumping in and out of you, while your hips are rising to meet each of my thrusts.
I tear away from your mouth to suck at your nipple while I let one of my hands run down your body to fondle your clit, which causes you to arch your back. The familiar tugging at the back of my spine tells me I'm nearing my climax, so I stroke your clit harder until you start screaming and I can feel your walls clenching spasmically around my cock while you're screaming my name, which only adds to the many sensations that are flowing through my body right now, and with a few jerky thrusts I reach my release and spill into you, collapsing on your body. We lie like that for a long time, waiting for our labored breathing to slow down. After what seems like ages I pull out of you and let you snuggle up to my chest. You fall asleep right away, and I'm left to my thoughts for a while.
I don't know why, but I've got this urge to kiss the top of your head, but ah-I won't do that. That's far too sappy a thing for me to do. I'm Draco Malfoy, for chrissakes. But it is like an itch that won't go away until you scratch it and in the meanwhile drives you half crazy, so I give in to my inner demon and hesitantly kiss the top of your head. There. Better. You don't notice, since you're asleep. No harm done.
I can't explain exactly why, but I think you've got a good effect on me, Virginia. Right now, there is a lucidness to my thoughts that I haven't had in a long time. Perhaps you should stay. Perhaps we should do this again. But I won't ask you to. I won't beg. I'm Draco Malfoy. And although everything seems so absolutely clear right now, I can't think straight. I haven't got the slightest clue what's going on, but that I know for sure. At least that's something. Good old Socrates.
You're beautiful when you're sleeping. Innocent. When I look at you now it is hard to believe what we've just done. Except for the fact that you're naked, and that your hand is drawing circles on my chest.
I move to pull the covers over us, since you're getting goosebumps. I don't think I've been that comfortable in a long time, a very long time. I'm getting sleepy too now.
I guess we'll have to see what happens tomorrow. And I don't care what happens. As long as you stay.
Please, have mercy, don't laugh too hard, and just refrain from leaving any flames. This was a mood thing, and the first time I've written something NC-17. And I'm not a guy either, so, this is a story by a person who doesn't know what a guy's thinking when he's trying to seduce a girl, and who's got no experience with writing her ignorance down. Why the hell did I write this again?