Post by amandahleigh on Nov 6, 2005 15:06:30 GMT -5
Practice Makes Perfect
Rated R to be on the safe side (though it's not erall explicit or anything, it just contains 'adult themes')
--- --- ---
It was exactly 6:07 PM when Albus came charging into Minerva’s private chambers, startling her. She jumped as the door flung open unexpectedly, and the quill in her hand made an odd slashing movement in the air, splattering ink spots across the bridge of her nose and left cheek.
“Albus, you scared me half to death!” Minerva snapped, her right hand resting dramatically on her chest as she attempted to regain composure (and breathe normally again).
“Constant vigilance, Professor McGonagall,” Albus jokingly scolded, and she rolled her eyes in response. There was a moment of silence as the pair simply stared at each other, until Albus awkwardly cleared his throat and looked away. Minerva caught site of herself then in the mirror on the wall and realized that she was speckled with ink, so she tapped her wand to her nose and whispered a quick cleaning spell, thus the black spots evaporated. Albus was still staring at the wall, looking quite uncomfortable.
“Well?” said Minerva finally, and Albus was confused.
“Well what?”
“Well why on Earth did you come barreling in here as if a herd of hippogiffs were on your tail?”
Albus laughed, his blue eyes sparkling. Minerva tried to control the goosebumps rising on her arms. That laugh…did something to her. And while she did not exactly mind the feeling, it was best to try and keep composed.
“Do I really need a reason to stop in on my favorite Deputy Headmistress?”
In spite of her initial annoyance at getting interrupted, Minerva had to return his grin. She would not admit it to anyone, but she had often hoped that Albus would, unexpectedly one evening, charge into her rooms for no reason at all…or, that is, for no work-related reason at all. She blushed at the very thought.
“Seriously, Albus, what can I do for you?”
Now it was Dumbledore’s turn to blush. ‘What can I do for you?’ She had asked. And suddenly several answers came to mind, each just a little more interesting than the last.
“It’s a dance contest,” he explained, figuring it best to get right to the point so as not to allow his mind to wander any further into the proverbial gutter.
Minerva sat back in her chair and pushed up her glasses. “And you want me to…judge?”
“No!” He responded gleefully with a chuckle. “I want you to enter!”
The color drained from the 50 year old witch’s face. “Enter?” she repeated.
“Well, yes. You are a lovely dancer, Minerva.” He was nervous again. She would agree to dance with him…wouldn’t she? He hoped so. He had already entered their names,
“Correction, Albus. I was a lovely dancer. Thirty years ago, when I was just a girl. Now I am…”
“Do not say old, Minerva,” he ordered seriously, stroking his long white beard thoughtfully.
“I was going to say ‘out of practice.’”
“I already entered us!” He exclaimed, and she mentally noted that despite his reputation, talent and dignity, he could certainly whine just like any little boy when not given his way. Suddenly, Minerva fully grasped his sentence. He already entered ‘us.’ Us? Them! Together! He wanted to dance with her! Well, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
“Please, Minerva?” He asked sweetly. “Minerva, I’d do anything you ask of me, if you just do me this one favor."
This intrigued Minerva. “Anything?” She asked, one eyebrow raised, her lips forming a coy, mysterious, knowing smile.
“Yes,” replied Albus with conviction. “Anything.”
“Well, in that case,” Minerva said slowly, flirtatiously. Or was Albus just imagining that it was flirtatious? She stood and made her way over to his side. Her fingers crawled up his arm as if her hand was a little person and she practically purred her next words: “Do you really mean, anything?” Unable to speak, Albus nodded vigorously.
She stepped even closer to him. He could feel the heat from her body on him; they were nearly flush against one another. “So no matter what I ask in return,” she whispered seductively, “You’ll say ‘yes’?” Again, he could only nod.
“Well then,” she whispered, and her breath danced across the skin of his neck, “I suppose I’ll do it. With you.”
“Wha..what?” He stammered.
“The contest. You, me, dancing, remember?” Yup. Definitely flirty.
“Oh, ah, yes. Anything. You, me…dancing,” he said stiffly. (No pun intended)
Minerva decided that now was a good a time as any…to get back to her work. “I’ve really got to grade these papers, Headmaster,” she said, returning to her normal voice and backing up a step or two. “Shall we get together and practice at some point? And when is this contest, anyway?”
Albus shifted in place, mentally trying to curb his growing arousal and get back to normal conversation. Minerva noticed his seemingly slight discomfort, and tried not to smile. She knew she was being a little cruel, but he HAD interrupted her! And besides, he had also been playing with her all year, always ‘accidentally’ brushing against her and leaning his leg or foot against hers during meals, or speaking to her in that low, husky voice, right in her ear as he said goodnight, and then only giving her a kiss on the cheek, forehead, temple or hand. .
“So what is it?” asked Albus, wrought with anticipation.
Minerva smiled innocently and perched on the edge of her desk, facing him. “What is what?”
He sighed, exasperated. “What is it you want from me? What do I have to do?”
Her voice lowered to a whisper again. “What do you want me to want?”
He took two steps and was right in front of her. He put his hands on the desk on either side of her and leaned in until their noses were nearly touching.
“I want you to want to dance with me,” said Albus quietly. Minerva slid her hands up his arms and around his neck, threading them into his hair. “I want more than that,” she whispered, and scarcely a second later she felt his lips on hers.
When they broke apart, Minerva spoke again. “So, Albus, shall we practice?”
“Well,” he said thoughtfully. “I suppose we could, though I think we’re pretty decent kissers already…”
She laughed, and he joined in. “I meant practice dancing,” said Minerva. “But to practice kissing, now there’s an idea. After all, practice makes perfect.”
“In that case,” he said with a Cheshire Cat smile, “I can think of a few other things I’d like to practice, you know.”
“One thing at a time, love.”
Needles to say, they did not practice much dancing that evening.
They did, however, win first place in the dance contest.
Rated R to be on the safe side (though it's not erall explicit or anything, it just contains 'adult themes')
--- --- ---
It was exactly 6:07 PM when Albus came charging into Minerva’s private chambers, startling her. She jumped as the door flung open unexpectedly, and the quill in her hand made an odd slashing movement in the air, splattering ink spots across the bridge of her nose and left cheek.
“Albus, you scared me half to death!” Minerva snapped, her right hand resting dramatically on her chest as she attempted to regain composure (and breathe normally again).
“Constant vigilance, Professor McGonagall,” Albus jokingly scolded, and she rolled her eyes in response. There was a moment of silence as the pair simply stared at each other, until Albus awkwardly cleared his throat and looked away. Minerva caught site of herself then in the mirror on the wall and realized that she was speckled with ink, so she tapped her wand to her nose and whispered a quick cleaning spell, thus the black spots evaporated. Albus was still staring at the wall, looking quite uncomfortable.
“Well?” said Minerva finally, and Albus was confused.
“Well what?”
“Well why on Earth did you come barreling in here as if a herd of hippogiffs were on your tail?”
Albus laughed, his blue eyes sparkling. Minerva tried to control the goosebumps rising on her arms. That laugh…did something to her. And while she did not exactly mind the feeling, it was best to try and keep composed.
“Do I really need a reason to stop in on my favorite Deputy Headmistress?”
In spite of her initial annoyance at getting interrupted, Minerva had to return his grin. She would not admit it to anyone, but she had often hoped that Albus would, unexpectedly one evening, charge into her rooms for no reason at all…or, that is, for no work-related reason at all. She blushed at the very thought.
“Seriously, Albus, what can I do for you?”
Now it was Dumbledore’s turn to blush. ‘What can I do for you?’ She had asked. And suddenly several answers came to mind, each just a little more interesting than the last.
“It’s a dance contest,” he explained, figuring it best to get right to the point so as not to allow his mind to wander any further into the proverbial gutter.
Minerva sat back in her chair and pushed up her glasses. “And you want me to…judge?”
“No!” He responded gleefully with a chuckle. “I want you to enter!”
The color drained from the 50 year old witch’s face. “Enter?” she repeated.
“Well, yes. You are a lovely dancer, Minerva.” He was nervous again. She would agree to dance with him…wouldn’t she? He hoped so. He had already entered their names,
“Correction, Albus. I was a lovely dancer. Thirty years ago, when I was just a girl. Now I am…”
“Do not say old, Minerva,” he ordered seriously, stroking his long white beard thoughtfully.
“I was going to say ‘out of practice.’”
“I already entered us!” He exclaimed, and she mentally noted that despite his reputation, talent and dignity, he could certainly whine just like any little boy when not given his way. Suddenly, Minerva fully grasped his sentence. He already entered ‘us.’ Us? Them! Together! He wanted to dance with her! Well, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
“Please, Minerva?” He asked sweetly. “Minerva, I’d do anything you ask of me, if you just do me this one favor."
This intrigued Minerva. “Anything?” She asked, one eyebrow raised, her lips forming a coy, mysterious, knowing smile.
“Yes,” replied Albus with conviction. “Anything.”
“Well, in that case,” Minerva said slowly, flirtatiously. Or was Albus just imagining that it was flirtatious? She stood and made her way over to his side. Her fingers crawled up his arm as if her hand was a little person and she practically purred her next words: “Do you really mean, anything?” Unable to speak, Albus nodded vigorously.
She stepped even closer to him. He could feel the heat from her body on him; they were nearly flush against one another. “So no matter what I ask in return,” she whispered seductively, “You’ll say ‘yes’?” Again, he could only nod.
“Well then,” she whispered, and her breath danced across the skin of his neck, “I suppose I’ll do it. With you.”
“Wha..what?” He stammered.
“The contest. You, me, dancing, remember?” Yup. Definitely flirty.
“Oh, ah, yes. Anything. You, me…dancing,” he said stiffly. (No pun intended)
Minerva decided that now was a good a time as any…to get back to her work. “I’ve really got to grade these papers, Headmaster,” she said, returning to her normal voice and backing up a step or two. “Shall we get together and practice at some point? And when is this contest, anyway?”
Albus shifted in place, mentally trying to curb his growing arousal and get back to normal conversation. Minerva noticed his seemingly slight discomfort, and tried not to smile. She knew she was being a little cruel, but he HAD interrupted her! And besides, he had also been playing with her all year, always ‘accidentally’ brushing against her and leaning his leg or foot against hers during meals, or speaking to her in that low, husky voice, right in her ear as he said goodnight, and then only giving her a kiss on the cheek, forehead, temple or hand. .
“So what is it?” asked Albus, wrought with anticipation.
Minerva smiled innocently and perched on the edge of her desk, facing him. “What is what?”
He sighed, exasperated. “What is it you want from me? What do I have to do?”
Her voice lowered to a whisper again. “What do you want me to want?”
He took two steps and was right in front of her. He put his hands on the desk on either side of her and leaned in until their noses were nearly touching.
“I want you to want to dance with me,” said Albus quietly. Minerva slid her hands up his arms and around his neck, threading them into his hair. “I want more than that,” she whispered, and scarcely a second later she felt his lips on hers.
When they broke apart, Minerva spoke again. “So, Albus, shall we practice?”
“Well,” he said thoughtfully. “I suppose we could, though I think we’re pretty decent kissers already…”
She laughed, and he joined in. “I meant practice dancing,” said Minerva. “But to practice kissing, now there’s an idea. After all, practice makes perfect.”
“In that case,” he said with a Cheshire Cat smile, “I can think of a few other things I’d like to practice, you know.”
“One thing at a time, love.”
Needles to say, they did not practice much dancing that evening.
They did, however, win first place in the dance contest.
Nice response.