He's pretty sure it's her tenacity that stirred his interest in the younger witch at first. Over the centuries many of tried to find him, to hunt down the mysterious Mordred of legend and be able to claim they were the ones to find him. But what had interested her was she hadn't been looking for him purely for the fame of being able to say she found him. He knew that because she hadn't announced it to the world, instead returning quietly to him to spend time with him.
Her mind intrigued him, but her body also inspired a hunger in him that she seemed to share. A hunger he was more than happy to see she was interested in sharing and enjoying with him. Which is why when she knocks on the door to the little cottage he lives in, in the middle of no where, cloaked from most finding it - even wizards and witches, he's got a towel wrapped around his hips and a dark amusement in his eyes as he opens the door and motions her into the place with just a finger.
He's clearly in a mood that says any other reason she might have come to his little corner of the world can wait until she's naked and they're both sated. "Welcome back."
What he may call tenacity, others have called stubbornness and arrogance. The fact of the matter is, when in her first year as an Unspeakable Hermione stumbled onto an old manuscript citing the Mordred of legends making an appearance beyond the time he should've reasonably been alive, she'd become convinced it was her duty to find him.
Someone with that level of knowledge, not just of magic but also of Magic, could help her in her quest to right a few wrongs. Chiefly, that Sirius fell behind the Veil, that Harry's lost every Marauder.
Finding him had required tenacity and intelligence; he'd hidden very well in plain sight.
What she didn't expect was how bloody young he'd still look - as if some time around his late thirties, Mordred had decided to stop aging. The first time, she'd had a dry mouth during their entire conversation.
Now? It's been a few visits since, because apparently she gets along well with a man fifty times her senior, but he still leaves her unsettled. For different reasons.
"Shirt?" she blurts out, frozen in spot outside his home, watching a trickle of water make its way down his delectable chest and end up sinking into the terrycloth of the towel around his waist.
Gods, she'd love to dry him off. She's not surprised to feel aroused at the view; he is handsome and she is human and interested. But she's not going to tell him that she's wet for him and that if he could please order her to her knees and call her a good girl, she'd be ever so grateful. So.
"You're - I'm sorry, should I come back another time?"
He's found over the years that most people don't look so close to home, that hiding in plain sight is actually so much easier than some random cave with strange riddles to solve. But also who in this day and age wants to live in a cave anymore either. It's also been fairly easy to amass a small fortune under a few aliases so he can live comfortably in his hiding too. Not that he shows it, still living relatively modestly as far as things around him.
His house is mostly a small archive of books, mostly history and magic, and his garden has plants that are almost extinct and some that are known to have been extinct. Keeper of knowledge, keeper of history. If anyone can find a way to help Sirius back from the other side of the veil, it's definitely him. And her questions about it have left him doing a fair amount of digging when she's not spending time bent over the older books in his private library.
There's a small lead sitting on his desk, but the lead will actually require both of them having access to the room which he's not as quick to follow. Walking into the Ministry isn't exactly something that goes into his staying hidden plan, after all. Even if few would actually believe he's the Mordred of past.
A brow arches at the one word that's kind of a question, watching how her eyes follow the drop of water along his skin and he can't help the lift of his lips. He's lived long enough he doesn't need her to tell him some things. He'd bet a small fortune that she's wet just from finding him here like this. "Don't be sorry."
His finger crooks at her, motioning her to come forward, into the house instead of leaving. "Come in." It's almost a command verse a request or an invitation. There's a strong urge to call her baby girl, the words on his tongue. But he's not entirely sure how she'd respond to that, so they don't make it out. The one restraint from him, because clearly the rest is fully display to tempt the witch in front of him into sliding into her less reserved side.
He's right - there's something about watching the water drop make its sinful way down his bare chest that sends a shot of arousal down between her legs. It's unprofessional to be thirsting after an old-as-time, powerful wizard, and Hermione is usually very professional and very good.
She's haunted by the idea of him calling her a good girl while ordering her to lick that same drop of water up from his hipbone to the hollow of his throat, and in that moment he beckons her forward and she obeys. Thoughtlessly, without pausing to think about why she's so submissive to this man, when she's been submissive to nobody before.
"Right, well," she murmurs, as she steps inside, slipping past him and feeling her pulse racket, his scent catching her by surprise. He smells like dark, enchanted forests and old magic and parchment; he smells divine, has as long as she's known him, but there's the hint of water from the shower and she's making real efforts to not walk on shaky legs.
"I came over to..." She's forgotten why, it just seemed very important to come here today. See him again. "Um. As I mentioned, I rented a room at the bed and breakfast in town, but I'll have to check out tomorrow and head back to London, so I... I wanted to make sure we would have a way to stay in touch."
After all his years, professionalism is overrated. Though he would bet she was a very good girl, especially with how easily she obeyed him. What he wouldn't give to see just what other commands she could be a good girl for him. His eyes are just a little darker at how good she was to obey, and the other thoughts that linger through his head.
He doesn't move either, as she comes in. So she's close to him when she comes in, and he loves that little hint of spice in her scent. Cinnamon maybe. It clings to her, clings to his breath as he takes a slow breath in while she enters. He can't help how one hand comes to rest on the small of her back as she stumbles over her words to let him know why she's there.
"A way to stay in touch would be good, though I'm going to be sad to see you return to London." His body shifts, just a little more into her, so he can close the door behind her. If it presses his chest to her arm a little, and his hip close to her hand, more than his hip really, well, that surely must be an accident right? Just a happenstance. "Sure I couldn't persuade you to stay a few days more? I think we're almost on to something." He nods over toward the desk, and yet doesn't move, curious to see if that hand will twitch in any kind of interesting way before she can help herself.
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timeasmymeasure
For Hermione
Date: 2022-08-10 10:07 pm (UTC)Her mind intrigued him, but her body also inspired a hunger in him that she seemed to share. A hunger he was more than happy to see she was interested in sharing and enjoying with him. Which is why when she knocks on the door to the little cottage he lives in, in the middle of no where, cloaked from most finding it - even wizards and witches, he's got a towel wrapped around his hips and a dark amusement in his eyes as he opens the door and motions her into the place with just a finger.
He's clearly in a mood that says any other reason she might have come to his little corner of the world can wait until she's naked and they're both sated. "Welcome back."
no subject
Date: 2022-08-13 05:09 pm (UTC)Someone with that level of knowledge, not just of magic but also of Magic, could help her in her quest to right a few wrongs. Chiefly, that Sirius fell behind the Veil, that Harry's lost every Marauder.
Finding him had required tenacity and intelligence; he'd hidden very well in plain sight.
What she didn't expect was how bloody young he'd still look - as if some time around his late thirties, Mordred had decided to stop aging. The first time, she'd had a dry mouth during their entire conversation.
Now? It's been a few visits since, because apparently she gets along well with a man fifty times her senior, but he still leaves her unsettled. For different reasons.
"Shirt?" she blurts out, frozen in spot outside his home, watching a trickle of water make its way down his delectable chest and end up sinking into the terrycloth of the towel around his waist.
Gods, she'd love to dry him off. She's not surprised to feel aroused at the view; he is handsome and she is human and interested. But she's not going to tell him that she's wet for him and that if he could please order her to her knees and call her a good girl, she'd be ever so grateful. So.
"You're - I'm sorry, should I come back another time?"
no subject
Date: 2022-08-13 09:04 pm (UTC)His house is mostly a small archive of books, mostly history and magic, and his garden has plants that are almost extinct and some that are known to have been extinct. Keeper of knowledge, keeper of history. If anyone can find a way to help Sirius back from the other side of the veil, it's definitely him. And her questions about it have left him doing a fair amount of digging when she's not spending time bent over the older books in his private library.
There's a small lead sitting on his desk, but the lead will actually require both of them having access to the room which he's not as quick to follow. Walking into the Ministry isn't exactly something that goes into his staying hidden plan, after all. Even if few would actually believe he's the Mordred of past.
A brow arches at the one word that's kind of a question, watching how her eyes follow the drop of water along his skin and he can't help the lift of his lips. He's lived long enough he doesn't need her to tell him some things. He'd bet a small fortune that she's wet just from finding him here like this. "Don't be sorry."
His finger crooks at her, motioning her to come forward, into the house instead of leaving. "Come in." It's almost a command verse a request or an invitation. There's a strong urge to call her baby girl, the words on his tongue. But he's not entirely sure how she'd respond to that, so they don't make it out. The one restraint from him, because clearly the rest is fully display to tempt the witch in front of him into sliding into her less reserved side.
no subject
Date: 2022-09-10 11:35 am (UTC)She's haunted by the idea of him calling her a good girl while ordering her to lick that same drop of water up from his hipbone to the hollow of his throat, and in that moment he beckons her forward and she obeys. Thoughtlessly, without pausing to think about why she's so submissive to this man, when she's been submissive to nobody before.
"Right, well," she murmurs, as she steps inside, slipping past him and feeling her pulse racket, his scent catching her by surprise. He smells like dark, enchanted forests and old magic and parchment; he smells divine, has as long as she's known him, but there's the hint of water from the shower and she's making real efforts to not walk on shaky legs.
"I came over to..." She's forgotten why, it just seemed very important to come here today. See him again. "Um. As I mentioned, I rented a room at the bed and breakfast in town, but I'll have to check out tomorrow and head back to London, so I... I wanted to make sure we would have a way to stay in touch."
no subject
Date: 2022-11-11 11:47 pm (UTC)He doesn't move either, as she comes in. So she's close to him when she comes in, and he loves that little hint of spice in her scent. Cinnamon maybe. It clings to her, clings to his breath as he takes a slow breath in while she enters. He can't help how one hand comes to rest on the small of her back as she stumbles over her words to let him know why she's there.
"A way to stay in touch would be good, though I'm going to be sad to see you return to London." His body shifts, just a little more into her, so he can close the door behind her. If it presses his chest to her arm a little, and his hip close to her hand, more than his hip really, well, that surely must be an accident right? Just a happenstance. "Sure I couldn't persuade you to stay a few days more? I think we're almost on to something." He nods over toward the desk, and yet doesn't move, curious to see if that hand will twitch in any kind of interesting way before she can help herself.