Post by CrankyCauldron on Mar 21, 2007 20:34:22 GMT -5
Author’s Note: I should warn you; this is an extremely unpolished piece of work; I wrote it years ago. I’m putting it up now (just on the board) to reassure you all that I am not dead, and Nouveau will be completed.
What if Albus and Minerva's relationship isn't so idealistic as we'd like it to be? An 'only human' one-off. With a touch of lemon!
‘Stay, Minerva,’ said Dumbledore, as she gathered her papers to leave the staff meeting along with the rest of the professors. She looked up at him questioningly but saw no immediate answers in his steady gaze, so she nodded and set her papers down again.
The professors left and Albus organised tea and some refreshments, Minerva stood by the fire with her hands clasped demurely in front. Waiting.
When the house elves provided tea with a selection of dainty fairy cakes, the two professors sat, each assuming a place they had had before, in well-worn, well-maintained armchairs facing the fire, a table in between with the tea and cakes.
‘Shall I pour?’ asked Minerva, then did so anyway, routine taking precedence over manners. She added a sugar lump to his porcelain teacup, and couldn’t resist the shudder of disgust as she did so. He noticed, as he always did; it made him smile to see her little fastidious ways and engrained habits. She stretched to hand his cup to him and for a moment his hand brushed hers, a cautious touch.
They sipped their tea in companionable silence, neither touched the cakes set by on delicate doilies.
‘Is there something, Albus?’ ventured Minerva finally, though there was no hastiness or ill-concealed impatience in her manner.
‘Nothing, except an overwhelming desire for your company, Minerva. If that is acceptable?’
‘You know that it is,’ she replied patiently; she had finished her tea, and glancing across saw that he also had finished and was swilling the dregs around, as if debating whether or not to drink them. ‘Are you going to tell me my fortune?’ she asked; he looked up, saw where her gaze was and laughed.
‘I’m afraid my talents lie elsewhere,’ he said, his meaning deliberately ambiguous.
Simultaneously they both returned their tea cups to the table, arms stretched out towards the other, hands set loose the cups, returned them securely to the tray, and then fingers touched and tangled.
‘Your company is a comfort,’ said Albus, his startling eyes steadfast on hers.
‘I am glad,’ Minerva murmured. She did not lower her gaze, not now, tonight, when they were all alone and there was no one but him to see how she acted.
‘Minerva-,’ he said, and no more; she waited. ‘The nights linger now that winter approaches.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, her gaze calm, knowing.
Albus’ eyes were certain, but still that pause, that slowness, despite how well they knew each other, how long they had been companions. She waited on his call.
‘There is much to do, come tomorrow,’ a slow smile made his silver moustache twitch.
‘Yes,’ she half-smiled. ‘And today is almost finished.’
‘And tonight?’ That persistence in his voice, a twang that betrayed emotion, depth behind a seemingly inane conversation, and Minerva knew that her own eyes betrayed her heart, her eager, desperate, loving heart.
She took a breath, and swallowed doubts, ‘Tonight,’ she said quietly, ‘tonight, I’m all yours.’
Albus brought Minerva’s hand to his lips and kissed it, his lips firm, insistent. Her hand was not released, instead he held out his other for her to grasp, she gave it, for both hands to be clasped warmly, kissed hotly.
‘Thank you,’ he said, standing up; the springs creaked, the fire spat, his eyes burned.
‘There’s no need,’ she murmured.
‘For words,’ he finished for her, disengaging a hand to still her mouth with a finger pressed softly against them.
When she smiled, it was almost pitying, and the regret that briefly passed through her sea-green eyes was reflected in his, hidden carefully behind sparkles of desire.
‘I know,’ she whispered, and both knew; she did.
Then his hands were on her waist, curving to her slimness, on her shoulder, easing the tenseness, pulling her against him, almost harshly. Her hands slid up to lie upon his chest even as he tilted his lined face towards hers.
When he kissed her it was always heaven, soft at first, almost hesitant, then passion would overcome and he would hold her tightly to him and push harder against her mouth. Some how her hair always came unravelled and he would thread his fingers through its silky length as she gripped his shoulders and returned kisses for kisses, almost frantically.
Then they would move, take the affair into his rooms, into his bed. Tonight he could not take his hands from her, maintaining a connection, a reassurance that there she was, hair released, cheeks flushed and breath ragged from glistening lips.
Like he always did, in his quaint way, he turned back the sheets before he moved to her side, but this time she was forward, teasing kisses like flower petals across his face, his closed eyes, his peaceful smile, wrapping her arms around him, to press her body provocatively against his angular, lean frame.
Shoes were flung off, carelessly allowed to bounce in any direction as they hit the floor, Albus’ long fingers were quick to undo her buttons; her robe fell away, her blouse parted. The caress of gentle lips on the slender column of her neck was wonderfully familiar. She knew how he would slide warm fingers beneath her bra straps and edge them over her shoulders, how his lips would love to follow the tan line of a summer two years previous, how his hands would draw patterns along her skin, drawing tingling sensations, gasps, sighs. She knew that when her knees gave way he would lower her carefully backwards onto the bed below, that he would follow after discarding his robes, which she would have already unbuttoned, so that she could run her hands along his naked form, feel the scattered chest hairs scratch against her smooth skin, arousing her. Higher.
Skin against skin they would lie; passionate kisses, their hands exploring, tantalising lips against her breasts, her thighs…
Together they would be, for one brief night, no barriers in love, no complications. They would lay entwined, passion spent. Tenderness would move Albus to make her comfortable, pull up the sheets to cover her nudity, cradle her lovingly, caringly within his tired arms.
Then, when dawn broke the black of the night sky, muting the stars with a line of trailing blue, Minerva would quietly dress and leave, and though he watched, and she knew he did, neither would say a word to change things. Tomorrow there was much to do. They were companions, and lovers. Lovers, on his call.
Wasn’t entirely sure where this plot-less one-off belonged, if you think it should be moved – or even made homeless- let me know!
All I can say is, I’m so very sorry about the ‘delicate doilies’…
[Cranky Cauldron]
What if Albus and Minerva's relationship isn't so idealistic as we'd like it to be? An 'only human' one-off. With a touch of lemon!
On Your Call
[/u]‘Stay, Minerva,’ said Dumbledore, as she gathered her papers to leave the staff meeting along with the rest of the professors. She looked up at him questioningly but saw no immediate answers in his steady gaze, so she nodded and set her papers down again.
The professors left and Albus organised tea and some refreshments, Minerva stood by the fire with her hands clasped demurely in front. Waiting.
When the house elves provided tea with a selection of dainty fairy cakes, the two professors sat, each assuming a place they had had before, in well-worn, well-maintained armchairs facing the fire, a table in between with the tea and cakes.
‘Shall I pour?’ asked Minerva, then did so anyway, routine taking precedence over manners. She added a sugar lump to his porcelain teacup, and couldn’t resist the shudder of disgust as she did so. He noticed, as he always did; it made him smile to see her little fastidious ways and engrained habits. She stretched to hand his cup to him and for a moment his hand brushed hers, a cautious touch.
They sipped their tea in companionable silence, neither touched the cakes set by on delicate doilies.
‘Is there something, Albus?’ ventured Minerva finally, though there was no hastiness or ill-concealed impatience in her manner.
‘Nothing, except an overwhelming desire for your company, Minerva. If that is acceptable?’
‘You know that it is,’ she replied patiently; she had finished her tea, and glancing across saw that he also had finished and was swilling the dregs around, as if debating whether or not to drink them. ‘Are you going to tell me my fortune?’ she asked; he looked up, saw where her gaze was and laughed.
‘I’m afraid my talents lie elsewhere,’ he said, his meaning deliberately ambiguous.
Simultaneously they both returned their tea cups to the table, arms stretched out towards the other, hands set loose the cups, returned them securely to the tray, and then fingers touched and tangled.
‘Your company is a comfort,’ said Albus, his startling eyes steadfast on hers.
‘I am glad,’ Minerva murmured. She did not lower her gaze, not now, tonight, when they were all alone and there was no one but him to see how she acted.
‘Minerva-,’ he said, and no more; she waited. ‘The nights linger now that winter approaches.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, her gaze calm, knowing.
Albus’ eyes were certain, but still that pause, that slowness, despite how well they knew each other, how long they had been companions. She waited on his call.
‘There is much to do, come tomorrow,’ a slow smile made his silver moustache twitch.
‘Yes,’ she half-smiled. ‘And today is almost finished.’
‘And tonight?’ That persistence in his voice, a twang that betrayed emotion, depth behind a seemingly inane conversation, and Minerva knew that her own eyes betrayed her heart, her eager, desperate, loving heart.
She took a breath, and swallowed doubts, ‘Tonight,’ she said quietly, ‘tonight, I’m all yours.’
Albus brought Minerva’s hand to his lips and kissed it, his lips firm, insistent. Her hand was not released, instead he held out his other for her to grasp, she gave it, for both hands to be clasped warmly, kissed hotly.
‘Thank you,’ he said, standing up; the springs creaked, the fire spat, his eyes burned.
‘There’s no need,’ she murmured.
‘For words,’ he finished for her, disengaging a hand to still her mouth with a finger pressed softly against them.
When she smiled, it was almost pitying, and the regret that briefly passed through her sea-green eyes was reflected in his, hidden carefully behind sparkles of desire.
‘I know,’ she whispered, and both knew; she did.
Then his hands were on her waist, curving to her slimness, on her shoulder, easing the tenseness, pulling her against him, almost harshly. Her hands slid up to lie upon his chest even as he tilted his lined face towards hers.
When he kissed her it was always heaven, soft at first, almost hesitant, then passion would overcome and he would hold her tightly to him and push harder against her mouth. Some how her hair always came unravelled and he would thread his fingers through its silky length as she gripped his shoulders and returned kisses for kisses, almost frantically.
Then they would move, take the affair into his rooms, into his bed. Tonight he could not take his hands from her, maintaining a connection, a reassurance that there she was, hair released, cheeks flushed and breath ragged from glistening lips.
Like he always did, in his quaint way, he turned back the sheets before he moved to her side, but this time she was forward, teasing kisses like flower petals across his face, his closed eyes, his peaceful smile, wrapping her arms around him, to press her body provocatively against his angular, lean frame.
Shoes were flung off, carelessly allowed to bounce in any direction as they hit the floor, Albus’ long fingers were quick to undo her buttons; her robe fell away, her blouse parted. The caress of gentle lips on the slender column of her neck was wonderfully familiar. She knew how he would slide warm fingers beneath her bra straps and edge them over her shoulders, how his lips would love to follow the tan line of a summer two years previous, how his hands would draw patterns along her skin, drawing tingling sensations, gasps, sighs. She knew that when her knees gave way he would lower her carefully backwards onto the bed below, that he would follow after discarding his robes, which she would have already unbuttoned, so that she could run her hands along his naked form, feel the scattered chest hairs scratch against her smooth skin, arousing her. Higher.
Skin against skin they would lie; passionate kisses, their hands exploring, tantalising lips against her breasts, her thighs…
Together they would be, for one brief night, no barriers in love, no complications. They would lay entwined, passion spent. Tenderness would move Albus to make her comfortable, pull up the sheets to cover her nudity, cradle her lovingly, caringly within his tired arms.
Then, when dawn broke the black of the night sky, muting the stars with a line of trailing blue, Minerva would quietly dress and leave, and though he watched, and she knew he did, neither would say a word to change things. Tomorrow there was much to do. They were companions, and lovers. Lovers, on his call.
~*~
Wasn’t entirely sure where this plot-less one-off belonged, if you think it should be moved – or even made homeless- let me know!
All I can say is, I’m so very sorry about the ‘delicate doilies’…
[Cranky Cauldron]
Wonderful little fic.
