Written for the inimitable Sarea Okelani, who won my birthday fanfic contest drive. This was supposed to be five thousand words, but would you readers be okay with thirty-three pages and over 17,000 words? This story is complete and will have chapters posted every three days. Please do not forget to nominate your favorite D/G fics in the Reader's Choice Awards. Go to the rec board and check them out!
Ginny frowned as she digested a new and unwelcome piece of information about her crush. The brainy Ravenclaw smoked. It was the least expected act Prefect Spencer Pierce could have committed.
Filing it away under the folder "things I can change about him," Ginny tried to take the news with aplomb.
"Oh, yes, he was smoking like a chimney," Luna Lovegood told her dreamily. "Filthy habit, but he was charming his exhalations into his House crest."
It was hard to imagine the dapper Spencer smoking cigarettes in a partially covered outdoor alcove of the castle with Head Boy Malfoy and Prefect Zabini.
Ginny decided Spencer was the boy to take home to her family, his interest in Muggle Studies not withstanding. She'd been his project partner in that class, as there were neither enough Gryffindor nor Ravenclaw sixth or seventh years signed up to justify a split class.
He seemed amazed by her Muggle knowledge, even musing that he'd someday like to meet her father and mother. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with capable hands that assisted her through Muggle chemistry lessons. With hazel eyes quick to crinkle in laughter and a merry smile, the dark-haired boy made her look forward to the subject she'd literally lived all her life.
When the fall term ended, she couldn't bear the thought of not seeing his sunny face each day in class. So like a lovesick girl, she'd asked Luna about his habits and found out about his least desirable one. Luna had been out on the grounds on an unseasonably warm January evening to pick crocuses and spied the three boys huddled together, smoke billowing above their heads and low voices occasionally rising in laughter.
She had heard that smokers, often bonded by their ostracism, formed good friendships. So it stood to reason that perhaps Spencer would talk about girls, or at least what he preferred, with Malfoy and Zabini.
"Luna, can you show me where that alcove is?"
The alcove itself was not located far from the Great Hall. Blaise and Spencer often patrolled together, and sometimes Malfoy would join them for a smoke after dinner before the two prefects set out.
She'd spied on them - well, spied wasn't the word, eavesdropped, really - as many nights as she dared, though a crack in the cold stone wall of the castle. It was sometimes difficult to make out voices as the winter wind whipped around them. She could often smell the pungent smoke that swirled around them, and tolerated it better than she would have imagined. Still, she thought, a little suggestion spell to the back of Spencer's head wouldn't do any harm.
Listening unhappily, she was dismayed to learn that this particular group of boys talked Quidditch scores more than anything. On the off chance that girls were mentioned, it was usually a notch on the belt for Malfoy or Zabini. And on one particular instance, both Slytherins related a raucous romp with Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode a few weekends back.
"Poor Daphne, Millie was more interested in her than us!" Blaise (or maybe it was Malfoy) crowed.
"Blaise tried to get her to pay attention by stuffing her full but she wouldn't take her eyes off Daphne's quim!" Malfoy howled. "I finally told Millie if she thought she could do a better job than I, maybe we ought to have a going down contest."
She wished she didn't remember that particular eavesdropping session.
Tonight, the boys were laughing and she could only pick our words and phrases that turned out to be nonsensical once they made it to her ears. The wind was howling so badly she was amazed the smoke was still coming in through the crack.
And then, as clearly as she could wish for, were voices directed at her. They turned toward the castle to keep the wind at bay, she thought.
"There's nothing sexier than a girl who goes right for your bits, you know?" one of the boys stated. Blaise? Spencer? Malfoy?
"As long as she knows what she's doing…can't have her be overeager and muck it all up," another said lazily. Had to be Malfoy.
"I do like educating virgins," a third chuckled. "Spoil `em for me and ruin them for another man." Positively Malfoy. Mentally deciding Spencer didn't want someone to be overexcited was better than thinking he wanted a brazen hussy or exploit a shy virgin, the very category she fit into.
"You ever put yourself between a girl's breasts?" one of them demanded from the others. "One look at her getting dizzy from it coming at her and I'm coming on her!"
General laughter. As she'd not even seen a penis, she couldn't really visualize what the boys were surely seeing, but imagined it was probably awkward for the girl.
"That's good and all, but nothing compares to unloading inside that hot quim," one said thoughtfully. "Gods, you spoon her and come into it from behind…your hands are free to touch everything."
"Touch her?" another questioned archly. "You even do that?" Ginny grit her teeth. Trust Malfoy not to want to dirty his hands with a woman's pleasure.
"Come on," a voice boomed suddenly. Definitely Blaise. "You get your fingers going while you fuck her, and she'll scream all night long."
"I value my hearing," was the snarky reply.
Ginny found she could only roll her eyes so far.
"I just can't handle the taste," said one. "I've tried everything I can think of, but the cinnamon-flavored charm I put on the last one made her scream and claim it was burning her. "
"You get used to it," another said thoughtfully. "If you ask me, you make her happy doing that, she's a lot more likely to try wild shite."
"And I suppose you're the master, eh?"
"Practice makes perfect."
"The ultimate is getting her to kiss you right after. If she'll taste herself, she'll do anything. Not to mention it's hot to see her licking herself off her lips."
"Oh, so you must do it with the candles on. I keep them off so they don't get any ideas that my expression when I come means I love them."
"Full on, that's me," one said cockily. "That way, you know right then and there what she looks like."
"Not one subtle bone in either of your bodies," the third scoffed. "You boff her with the lights blazing, she's nervous; you do it in the dark and she doesn't get any good out of it `cause she thinks you think she's a troll. It's all very mental."
Someone laughed at the last comment, but whoever it was had chattering teeth.
"I don't know about you blokes, but I'm going in. We've got patrol in ten minutes."
The voices trailed off and Ginny was still crouched low to the crack. Trying to process what she'd heard, she missed the sound of the nearby doors opening, their heavy bulk scraping against the flagstone floor.
Springing from her hiding place, she sought a dark corner to hide in. The three of them entered, cloaks swinging around long legs encased in dark trousers, boots stamping off accumulated snow.
"We're off, Malfoy. Blaise and I have to go relieve Weasley and Granger."
"Go on then. I've got to lock this back up tight and clean up the water, else Filch will trot down here with his mangy cat straightaway," Draco said, turning his back to his friends and muttering drying spells.
"I've heard Muggles use something called "kitty litter" to dry up such things," Spencer said absently to Blaise as they walked away.
Ginny flattened herself against the wall, and a thought flashed in her mind. What if Spencer did really like more experienced girls? She'd done nothing more than coyly kiss, and that certainly wouldn't have held up to the three boys' conversation just moments earlier.
She simply had to find out what Spencer wanted. She was sure if she could get him to notice her, he'd be willing to date her. Willing to kiss her. Willing to do some of the less distasteful things spoken about over cigarettes.
If there was going to be anyone to help her, it had to be a boy. A boy who knew Spencer. A boy whom Spencer would confide in. A boy who was known to make first years faint with a mixture of fear and lust. It had to be Malfoy.
As he started to walk toward her, toward the stairs leading to the dungeons, she darted out and caught him by the sleeve.
"What the fuck?" he swore, whirling around and wrenching her hand off his cloak before he'd even had a good look at who grabbed him from the shadows.
"Malfoy, I need your help!" she said frantically, watching his gray eyes turn to slate.
He took a deep breath and examined her.
"Are you injured?"
"No," she said, puzzled.
"Is anyone else injured?"
"Have my father and his merry men attacked the castle?" he demanded.
"I hope not," she said, blanching.
"Then what help could you possibly need besides a handout? Dash it all, I'm out of pocket Knuts. So go back into your corner and huddle. I'm going to bed."
He turned on his heel and began to stride briskly down the hallway, his one step taking one and a half of hers as she ran to catch up with him.
"You don't understand! You're the only person who can help me!" she panted, latching onto his sleeve again.
He stopped short and glared at her. "What part of `go away' don't you understand?" he asked.
"Look," she said desperately, feeling her skin prickle at the words about to come out of her mouth. "You're friends with Spencer Pierce, right?"
A sleek, dark gold eyebrow quirked. "About as good as you can be while smoking clandestinely outside."
"I, uh, I, well, you see, it's like this…" she said, trailing off.
"Like what, Weaselette?" he said impatiently, tapping his toe.
"I overhead - I mean, I overheard - him talking about doing things with women," she stammered. "But it sounded like he really had a lot of experience."
As if he had leftover bathwater in his ear, Malfoy cocked his head to the side and wriggled his finger in the canal.
"Come again?" he queried, his normally smirking face condensed into a frown. His swift change in demeanor made her falter, and her voice sounded shaky.
"I, uh, erm, well, I heard him talking with you and Zabini," she said uncertainly. "And well, I, um, well, I like him."
Malfoy spoke slowly, forming the words perfectly.
"You like him? As in, you are enamored of him?" he asked pointedly. Her answering blush gave him all the reply he needed. A snarky smile rushed back to his lips. Licking them, he bared his teeth slightly.
"And what exactly, my dear Weasel, do you need me for? I'm sure if you grovel at his feet, he might take pity on you. Maybe even spare a pat on the head."
Now or never.
"Because I heard what he was saying outside with you just now, and he wants someone who knows that they're doing!" she blurted.
"But that still doesn't answer…" he began, but she cut him off.
"Because you get the most arse in the castle, that's why!" she burst out, her face reddening to a most unbecoming shade.
His slate gray eyes widened, and his brain tried to process the sentence she'd just uttered. Before his cock could say She's right, mate, his head wrapped around what she was implying.
"Are you asking me to help you entice Pierce?" he asked, his voice a sibilant hiss.
"Trust me, ferret, I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think you could help me. Merlin knows I heard the vile trash you said about women tonight too!"
He didn't remember saying anything particularly vile; at least, no less vile than usual.
"Refresh my memory. What did Pierce say?" he asked, curious to learn what she knew.
"Only that he wanted a girl who wouldn't muck things up, and that he, ah, liked different positions," she nearly whispered, feeling her ears grow hot with the relatively nondescript phrasing, looking down as she spoke.
"And what did I say?" he demanded, looking very superior and smug from his full height.
Her anger over his horrible words flooded back and raised her hackles.
"Oh, I'm sure you remember. Putting a flavor spell on a girl that hurt her, not even trying to give her pleasure, `spoiling a virgin' so she's ruined for anyone else. Sound familiar?" she bit back.
She fought the urge to slap the grin off his face.
"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten that. It does sound rather familiar, now that you mention it," he said jovially. Watching her eyes narrow was the best fun he'd had all day.
"Well, Weasley, I've decided to accept your offer. Of course, you realize this will take tremendous work on my part not to curl up and die from the humiliation of consorting with a Muggle-lover, but teaching you about my considerable knowledge will be entertaining because I know fucking Potter won't be benefiting from it."
A stifled giggle broke from her throat, easing the tension. Reaching out, he snatched her forearm and began to pull her along behind him to his room.
Recoiling, she regarded him with thinly masked horror.
"What? You mean right now?" she squeaked.
Speaking coolly, he replied.
"Little girls ought not to play with dragons unless they're prepared to be burnt. Either we start now or we never start."
A moment's hesitation allowed her to reflect on her actions. If Spencer was the prize, and she only learned about sex and didn't actually experience it, no one would be the wiser.
"Let's go, then," she said, far more bravely than she felt.
With a carefully blank countenance, Malfoy gestured down the long hallway that led into the dungeons.
He stopped in front of a richly painted portrait of a hulking mansion set deep within heavy fog and trees. Tapping his wand thrice on the frame and muttering a word, it swung out to admit them.
The Slytherin Head Boy's room was somewhat different than Gryffindor's matching chamber. Floored in glossy hardwood and furnished in oak and leather, the entire setup gleamed in the brightly burning fire crackling in the grate.
She noticed a private bathroom to her immediate left, and what must have been his wardrobe. In the middle left of the room was the fireplace, and before the hearth was a plush throw rug and an enormous black leather chair, easily big enough to hold her twice over. His desk and bed were further on, the four-poster edged against the right side and his desk on the left wall. A garden-seated window was the only indication his chambers weren't entirely below ground, and had it been daylight Ginny would have seen the shimmering surface of the lake.
"Don't get used to it," he said, strangely devoid of his usual mocking tone. "Young Spencer doesn't get chambers like these for being a prefect."
"I hadn't intended on it," she said lightly, trying to calm the passel of butterflies in her stomach.
She looked up from her perusal of the room and saw that he had seated himself in the imposing chair, facing away from her. The crown of his bright head was just visible over the padded backing.
"Come here, Weasley," he said, and his voice sent shivers through her. Not exactly a true command, but dark enough to caress her nerves.
Slowly she skirted his chair and stood in front of him, the fire's heat scorching her backside. Dragging her eyes up from the floor, she realized that with no effort at all, he looked all the world for a boy-king in his throne, secure in his station.
"I suppose I'll have to dispose of calling you Weasley," he said cryptically, eyeing her. "Please tell me your given name isn't Virginia."
She laughed, a bright sound that seemed incongruous in the quiet dark.
"It's not," she said. "It's Ginevra."
"Ginevra," he said, rolling the name around his mouth and voicing it in dulcet tones. "Hardly something I'd remember to call out in climax."
"Ginny is fine, thank you," she returned tartly, thinking that his own name was rather silly, really.
"It will have to do," he sniffed. "The first thing I will teach you is the art of pleasing a man. There's a definite mystique to it that few women can master. With my help, you will."
She would have laughed outright at his innuendos, but delivered as they were he sounded more like a lecturer.
"First you need to undress. No matter what position you're in to go down on a man, feeling your skin against his heightens his awareness of you."
His eyes had closed, and his voice took on a slightly hypnotic tone. "I won't watch you, not now. But I will. And when I do, I expect to be entertained. When you're undressed, come closer. You will undress me."
The racing pulse at his throat would have given him away if she could have possibly discerned it in the semi-dark. If he could imitate Professor Snape's cool tones, perhaps he could control his raging erection and his reactions to this unschooled girl-woman. But this was somewhat serious business, though…not only would he get no-strings-attached action but something to hold over her odious brother and his friends.
The soft rustle of cloth to the floor broke his reverie, but he kept his eyes closed, head leant back against the chair. A swish indicated she'd probably kicked her clothing out of the way.
"I'm done," she said, voice little more than a whisper.
His eyes opened and he made his first appraisal of her.
Perhaps that disgusting red Weasley hair wouldn't look too hideous when it covered his crotch. And those surprisingly well-formed breasts fitting in his hands, or those shapely legs hitched across his shoulders while he tasted her.
Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, he saw his action had confused her.
"Kneel here, and remove my robe," he said, separating his legs enough to allow her to crouch between them.
Tentatively, she dropped to her knees, feeling the heat of his strong legs against her flanks. She hoped her hair hid the cranberry-colored blush that was surely staining her cheeks.
"We'll work later on acting like you like it," he said tightly before her hands had even reached the heavy silver clasp of his robe. Nimble fingers flicked the catch and he felt the weight of it rise from his shoulders.
His mouth opened to issue some other instruction when she cut him off.
"Malfoy, would you kindly shut up?" she asked in a low voice. His eyes snapped open at her impudent words.
"I've never done this before, but I think I understand how clothing comes off. How about you stop me if I do it wrong?" she asked, her tone more deferential.
"Fine," he snapped. She hid a small smile and turned her attention to his ridiculously sexy leather boots and socks. Setting them to the side, she decided she hated him for even having aristocratic feet.
Deciding this was taking far longer than her nerves would allow, she skidded her palms up his thighs and darted for the button on his tailored black trousers.
"Not yet," he hissed. "Shirt and tie, maybe?"
Making an indistinct sound, her fingers flew to the partially loosened knot of his Slytherin tie. Picking it apart, she soon had the ends draped around his collar. His erection was leaping against the fly of his trousers most uncomfortably. Straining to not push her head right into his crotch, he vowed that by Circe he was teaching her and there was no way he was going to let this little session be shortened by anything.
Button after button slipped though finely sewn holes until he could feel her hot fingers brushing against his skin, on their way up to divest him of his shirt and tie.
Growling, her caught both her hands by their fragile wrists and bored his gaze into surprised eyes.
"I made a mistake," he said tightly. "It is time for this." Bringing his hands together, he pushed her small palms down and covered the throbbing length of him that was threatening to burst.
Nearly frightened of doing anything else, she immediately flicked the button through its hole and pulled the zipper down with more force than was really necessary.
And then, unencumbered by an undergarment, his erection sprang forth, jutting hard and heavy into her fingers. In a split second, his body relaxed.
"That's better," he said pleasantly. "Now, take some time, and find your way around. If you get lost, let me know."
She looked up to see him languidly tilting his hips toward her, cock framed by the split halves of his trousers, the defined musculature of his chest outlined in stark relief by his white button-down as he raised his still-clad arms and crossed them behind his head.
He was perfectly still, but Ginny could tell he was utterly relaxed now that he'd been freed from the confines of his pants. There was something vaguely obscene about the tableau she was sure they were presenting, but it was difficult to feel embarrassed. Being presented with her first penis was too interesting a task to pass up, even if it was attached to a Malfoy.
He made nary a sound as she explored the ridges and veins of his sex with her fingers. She placed the tip of her middle finger at the base of it and measured it against her palm, noticing it came to her wrist. Having a fair idea of the distance and instinctively knowing Malfoy wasn't lacking, she allowed herself a secret smile and continued feeling her way around the soft, musky skin.
A pearly drop of moisture wept from the tip and she swept it away, feeling its texture between her thumb and forefinger. Since she knew the mechanics of this business, she figured she might as well get used to the taste.
Draco opened his eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of her dainty tongue tasting her thumb and nearly exploded. Wrestling mentally with his unruly cock, he calmed down and she was none the wiser.
He didn't urge her on; after all, he had no real desire to speak and hadn't had a virgin in this room for months. Though he'd not have admitted it to anyone else, it was a small treat to be serviced by someone who wasn't jaded from dozens of other encounters.
It took all his strength not to rocket out of the chair when she first closed her mouth around him.
It was strange to be doing this, but not unpleasant. Though she couldn't fit all of him in her mouth, her hand rose to assist. Taking her time, she traced her tongue around the lines of his head, sweeping through the tiny slit at the top and earning a languorous stretch from him. Experimenting, she discovered how far down she could stroke her tongue and bring it back up, and that moving her head up and down and in swirling motions simultaneously seemed to draw a tiny sigh from Draco's lips.
She'd once heard a fifth year Slytherin slag tell her equally distasteful friend that if one made these motions fast enough, it would precipitate the man's release. Wondering idly how fast that was, she increased her speed, bobbing up and down on him. His legs clamped unexpectedly at her sides, and she was startled enough to slacken her furious rhythm. She could feel the muscles in his legs flex against her, even thought the fine fabric of his trousers.
Her unschooled ministrations pushed him to the brink, and her speed encouraged his release. If she kept up, he'd not only spill before he wanted to but she'd undoubtedly choke, an unpleasant occurrence. Levering his hips up and into her one more time, his wantonly relaxed arms came down and long fingers touched her head softly, just above her ears.
She was about to flick his hands away like an airborne pest when his ten fingertips slowed her speed, and guided her up and down with the lightest of pressure. The unexpected warmth of his fingers shot south and she felt her previously disregarded sex release a torrent of heat.
Merciful Zeus, he could smell her excitement, and even if she had no idea what it meant or how it affected a man, he knew all too well. Tipping his head once more and clearly envisioning the picture they made, he arched his back and brought her down one last time, as slowly as he could bear.
And as though she'd been made to anticipate his every move, she accepted his release into her mouth and didn't let him go until she was positive he had nothing more to give. His hands were still tangled in her hair when she allowed him to slip out of her mouth.
"Excellent, Ginny," he said, the words foreign on his tongue but meaning them. He was utterly at ease and finally deigned to open his eyes to see her still kneeling between his legs, clearly waiting for his signal to leave.
"Come back tomorrow night."
She noted as she left that he still looked majestic, half-undressed in his leather throne.