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hands push up the hem of her skirt, leaving bare skin in their wake, warmed by his touch. tongue flickers in want. he yearns to taste, to fall to his knees and see what the fuss is about back in the dormitories, but with knees shaking and erection pulsating, he has not the sense nor the patience to stray from this. instead, he pushes closer, trembling hand slipping between them and fingers curling at the base of his hardened cock in an act of guidence. slow as can be, slow as he can manage, he presses forth, pushing inside of her with a groan that speaks both of satisfaction and newfound hunger. and then he strokes, her name piercing the air in a new tone with a new meaning. to him, it is admission. he's a slave to her warmth.

whatever control he's clinging to is freed by the mere sensation of agile digits at the hem of his waistband. as if there was much control to start, it flees with a haste that he would be proud of, any other time at least. in light of this, all rational thought has been tossed out of the window, and his gluttony is poised to consume him. she is, after all, that which he covets, all that he has desired and all that can satisfy him in this particular capacity. hips jerk against smooth palms, his jaw slack while concentration is occupied elsewhere. he is acutely aware of the many things she can do to bring him to his knees, the mercy of which he now bows to blatant and unadulterated. he hates it, and he loves it. oh gods, does he love it. " yes. " because response appears inevitable although it has no place in the current state of things. his hands follow her lead, snapping to his waistband and unbuckling the his belt. it seems meaningless now. allowing the jeans to slip down to his knees, all action he'd taken prior to now appearing just the same; meaningless, wasteful. all he wants now is her approval, her validation. he hungers for it. " i don't think it - it'll ever be - enough for me, mckinnon. i think - i think yeh broke me. " sharp intake, staggered breath, fogged sight. he is the poster child for teenage hormones, and he can't seem to grasp that. he rolls and grinds against her palm now, desperate for that touch, his own fingers making their way towards the fabric which laces her thighs as he keeps searching for just enough friction to lead to release. hardening rapidly, his member presses against her inner thigh, but he has no shame left to offer. he's growing anxious. he's growing insatiable. " i want more. " and he'll work for it for as long as he needs to, but he isn't quite sure how long he will last. “ i need - i need you. ”

" better. " it had not been a command but an incentive, sirius pleased nonetheless to see it had been taken into thorough consideration. he doesn't know what to do with his hands first once the barrier is removed, leaving him with this vast expanse of priceless porcelain at his mercy. or rather, he was at the mercy of it. never mind that though when her mouth is now his master, leaving him disoriented and malleable, his neck exposed, his chest half past heaving. and then their lips are once more fused together, her taste emblazoned upon his tongue, his fingers tracing a map along her back and waist, up her stomach, wherever they are allowed. teeth graze plush lips before tongue demands entrance, hips rolling at a desperate pace in a show of poor restraint. every moment before this has ceased to exist. any future beyond it has lost its appeal. he has succumbed to his own ravenous hunger, lost in the heat ignited within him. hands move down to squeeze the thighs which anchor him, none too gently, provoking further action, pleading for extended entry, belonging. still, he is not close enough. still, he wants more. " but i think - we can do better' n - tha'." not that he'd call it a complaint. he simply isn't sure he has much control left. he's convinced he'd starve without her.

" for? " not that it matters. it never matters to him. he isn't in the habit of allowing things to matter outside of the things he simply cannot refrain from allowing to. she matters. his friends matter. what they've done? hardly. if that were the case, all the wrong he's done would matter too, and he isn't prepared to face that. " there's nothing to feel guilty for, i reckon. things happen. my advice is to let up on it. guilt's just - it's like an annoying pet, innit? it'll drag ya down. "