Hunter knew how this would go. How it always went and yet each and every time he felt compelled to protest. To try and protect his authority. He had worked damn hard to get this job and he was putting it on the line every single time he allowed the young girl in his room. And yet he never seemed to care quite enough as to put a stop to it. “Sometimes, your smart ass answers drive me to the fucking brink…” he spoke, as he tilted his neck instinctively allowing for the feel of her teeth, a slight shiver flooding every inch of his muscular frame. “If I didn’t know you didn’t care even in the slightest, I’d be so very tempted…” he began as his fingers dropped down to throat, gripping it lightly, “to..” he spoke, pushing her slender frame down flat, his lips pushing into her own fiercely “fail…” he groaned, his lips pressing onto her once more “…you”.
Drawing back, he hooked his fingers onto the neck of her dress, his bright eyes hungry at the sight of her, “how much do you like this dress, Jolicoeur?”. It was strange how his mood could be quite so flippant. Any fear of his job, soon distinguish as thoughts of lust consumed his mind. Oh please, it wasn’t as if anybody would ever find out, was it?
Hunter was only human and of course in the past, he’d identified the aesthetically pleasing of his students but he’d never ever acted upon his natural instincts. Not until he’d fallen into her seductive little trap. She was hard work, very hard work. And yet there was something so very compelling about that.Of course the consequences would have been huge but nobody was ever going to find out, not if he had anything to do with it, anyway. Slipping his free palm onto her waist, his fingers toyed with the neck of her dress as he waited impatiently for her answer, half tempted to just go ahead with his intentions regardless.
“You wouldn’t have any possibly reason to fail me; are you forgetting I have-” Trailing off and unable to complete her boast about her perfect grades, she felt his hand at her throat. His resolve must have vanished quicker now than it did any other time. One corner of her full lips twisted up into an amused grin, one that was borderline triumphant. She had her little victories other than acing every test she ever took without opening a single book, and Hunter Roscoe was just one of them. It was so out of her character but Lara willingly lay back and restrained any mocking grin or humorous words, and so was comfortable in her own silence.
Her hands fell away from his shoulders and pushed flat against the bed, her elbows positioning themselves as though she were ready to spring up at any given moment. Which she was — only there was no telling when. She wasn’t the sort to lie down, sit and rollover whenever the commands were spoken. She was far too rebellious for her own could, it seemed as though she couldn’t take orders at any time. Let alone in the bedroom when she would constantly struggle for dominance until she was literally exhausted. If she wasn’t panting and sweating by the end of it then she always believed she didn’t try hard enough. A shapely eyebrow arched, her gaze directed down at the neck of her dress and it took everything in her not to slap his hand away. It was one of her favourites.
“So much so,” the Gryffindor pushed up with her hands and rested on the points of her elbows, giving him no other option than to rise with her. A polished finger nail pressed against his chin and she jerked it up, her head cocked to the right. “That if you ruin it… I’ll ruin you.” An empty threat, clearly. The most she would do would be throw a hissy fit like the spoiled girl she was.
Rolling his eyes at the tone of sarcasm present in her rather alluring voice, the handsome young Professor neglected to turn, remaining in the very spot he’d begun in as she sauntered beyond him, making herself at home. Staring absently out into the otherwise empty classroom beyond him, he sunk his teeth into his lower lip, eyes darting as if he was looking for something before he turned, pushing the door shut behind him, fingers toying with the lock before he turned back towards the young girl whom had spent far more time in his office than he had anticipated.
It had, of course, never been his attention to allow his body’s natural urges to dictate his actions and yet he’d fallen so effortlessly between the sheets with Lara even as soon as the previous night. It was something he often failed to pinpoint. He didn’t understand what it was about her that drew him in and yet after some initial regular protesting, he found himself settling once more; content with heaving chest, aching hips and wandering hands. It was wrong. She knew that as well as he did and yet she seemed to have a complete disregard for the rules Hunter was obliged to comply with. She knew what he did and yet ventured beyond the boundaries with little hesitation and for some reason, he enjoyed it. By day, he would have to look at her in the same light he looked at every other student he taught and yet by night, he found it hard not to tear her clothes from her body the moment he lay eyes on her. “Good night, then?” he enquired, folding his arms over his muscular torso as he stepped towards her, standing beyond the edge of the bed as she knelt upon it.
Gazing down towards her, the male extended a finger, dragging it tentatively across her cheek before backtracking and slipping a stray hair from her face. The man found it so difficult not to simply act upon his impulsions. To retain some sort of control of the situation. Sighing huskily, he curled his fingers around her chin, tilting her head up towards him. Dipping his own, he tilted it, brushing his lips lightly along her jawline and up towards her ear before allowing hushed words to escape his lips, “you shouldn’t be here”.
Lara didn’t even attempt to conceal the roll her brilliant eyes did in their sockets. She had no care, really, for soft movements like the brushing of her hair or the stroking of her face. She hadn’t showed up at his office to be cuddled or cradled like an infant, and as soon as the deed was done she would more than likely strap on her shoes again and hurry back to her dormitory before the day began and students started leaving theirs to spill down into the Great Hall for breakfast. That probably was partly the reason why they had gotten away with it for so long; she was so horribly unattached and she knew how to conduct herself during the day — no disgusting puppy-dog eyes while he lectured them on electricity. Granted, she did push him a little more than the others with her smart-assed answers and lack of consideration for his position. But detentions just allocated for more free time. As if she would ever sit and write lines.
“And Elliot Page shouldn’t be Minister of Magic.” She drawled in response, only slightly tilting her head to allow the Professor better access to her expanse of smooth and freckled skin. Lara had always gone against the rules, though, so all of this was just a step beyond that in her life. She hadn’t gone as far to involve herself with a teacher before but she wasn’t exactly worried by it. What was the worst that would happen? He would lose his job, which was no skin off her nose, and she’d either be forced into counselling or would transfer to another school. No big-deal, no serious issue. The only thing she would miss about Hogwarts would be Clara.
Her ringed fingers slid up to rest on his bare shoulders and she nudged at his cheek, moving his face so she could easily drop her lips to the side of his neck. No chaste kiss was offered to soften his skin; she only gently nipped a patch between her teeth and carried on with the small bites up until she reached his jaw. “Lets skip the whole, ‘But Lara, this is wrong,’” she mimicked his deep tones and again nibbled on his flesh. “‘I’m your professor — you’re just a girl!’” Lara laughed lowly, her face cracking into a blatant grin she should have tried to conceal.
But sir, where do you sleep? Nobody had ever really understood the idea that Hunter Roscoe’s office was his home. It was his livelihood and his private space. The students had shared dormitories but the young Professor would simply wind up each night in the security of his large office, the flick of a wand transforming it into more than merely a place of authority. But of course it was rarely the case that a student would see his office come night, not unless he was called to immediate attention in some complete emergency or unless, on the rare occasion, he had company after hours.
At night, the desk that engaged the bulk of the space would sit pushed back up against the wall, overlooking the stained glass window which he often left edged slightly open, allowing the sound of the night to settle him. Taking the desk’s original place was a large bed, draped in the finest silk sheets and made to perfection, every finer detail taken care of, everything in it’s rightful place. It wasn’t exactly practical, but it was everything that the handsome Professor required.
Having long accepted that early morning was drawing close, Hunter found himself nestled amongst the silky sheets, his bright orbs caressing the ceiling. Over time, he had grown very familiar with each and every crevice within the ceiling; where it dipped, where it raised and every last spot of wear and tear from years of use. It had become his only real way of retaining composure. Quiet, and familiar, he felt safe in the comfort of his bed, late at night with no students, no noise and nothing to annoy him.
As he heard the knock on his door, he bolted upright, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of this intrusion. Lifting his bare wrist, he searched for the time before rubbing the ball of his palms into his eyes, fingers extending and rolling through his messy blonde hair. He wasn’t used to being disturbed at any time of the day, especially any time beyond the usual night time dinner. Students would eat then disappear, keep themselves to themselves, disruptive only within the confines of their common rooms. Swivelling onto his feet, the handsome man stood, flinging his arms up behind his head, tilting it as he stretched every inch of his exposed body with only a pair of tight black boxers to cover him. Teetering effortlessly towards the door, his fingers enclosed around the brass handle which he lifted with ease as his other hand toyed with the lock at the top of the door. Shifting backwards, he pulled open the door, allowing it to swing to his side, his bright orbs settling on the slender frame of the young student he had recently grown more accustomed to seeing. “It’s late…” he breathed softly, “what are you doing up?”.
“Congratulations for being able to tell the time,” the blonde cooed back in response, sarcasm lacing her dulcet tones but it was without malice — unlike it was every other bloody time. Lara slipped in past Hunter and strolled into a room she had become accustomed to over the past while, and although she knew he shifted it about at night it never failed to amaze her how clinically he did it every time. Even with moving things around everything had its own place, and she did a small and slow spin as she surveyed the room bright eyes. Her small hands clamped together as she stood in the centre of the floor, all her weight leaning onto the one hip and she shamelessly allowed herself a brief sweep of his almost naked frame.
“Clara and I were out,” she began with a nonchalant shrug. “We came back, she wanted to go to bed, and I wasn’t tired…” She said it as though it were blatantly obvious why she was awake at such a late hour. If the dress and the heels hadn’t shown that then she was sure his sleepiness must have addled his brain — because she knew he wasn’t stupid. If he had of been then she wouldn’t have even been wasting her time showing up. She could be snuggled up in the confines of her personal dormitory right now, cosy between expensive floral sheets and slipping away into her dreams. Lara seated herself down onto the edge of his bed and kicked her gold shoes off to the side and dropped her bag onto the floor to accompany them. She had no need for such things when her feet were safe amongst silk sheets.
Lara shifted her legs beneath her and rose on the bed so that she was positioned on her knees, only slighter shorter than she would be had she been standing on the floor. “So here I am with all this extra energy I’m just dying to burn off.” She couldn’t have been any more suggestive if she tried. Her blossom-pink lips stretched into a cheery smile, one that should have been impossible for how late it was and definitely considering where she was. But no matter how much he protested she eventually always got her own way. Lara had been spoiled since birth and things hadn’t really changed.
Harshly was how Lara Jolicoeur would describe the way that she pulled at her hair whenever Professor Binns went into one of his unrelenting and impossibly tedious rants. The ethereal blonde sat near the back, unbothered by the cluster of Slytherin students that frequently surrounded her because she so often found herself in their company rather than that of her own house. Not that she didn’t have any Gryffindor pride — because the girl had grown rather found of her house-mates ever since her transfer two years ago — but she found she shared qualities with the house of snakes more than any other. Briefly she found herself wondering how she had ended up in a house with people she didn’t believe she was anything like, and then at other times she was thankful for it. The rest of her siblings were lions, what kind of daughter would she have been if she broke the streak?
Her mixture of cerulean and emerald orbs glazed out a window, staring at nothing really in particular until she heard the History of Magic professor up his dreary tones just a little more than normal. That meant it was either time to assign homework or some stupid group-task the ghost was fond of doing. She straightened in her chair and lifted her pristine white quill from the top of her desk, ready to jot down any instructions into her leather-bound notebook as soon as the words fled his transparent mouth. He cleared his throat — was there any fucking need for a ghost? — and what he said wasn’t quite what she was waiting on. “Because of the work required to complete this task I will be putting you into pairs. By the end of the week I expect you all to provide three scrolls-”An audible groan sounded throughout the hoard of Slytherins and Gryffindors. “-THREE SCROLLS! Concerning a giant war of you and your partner’s choice. I also want a profile done on a specific giant.”
Lara’s brilliant blonde head lolled back and she rolled her beautiful eyes up at the high ceiling, resisting the urge to growl like an irritated badger. Yet she did listen as he began going through his list of names and he began pairing people off with others. When it came to the ‘Ls’ she expected him to pair her up with someone with a completely different surname. Only when he spoke ‘Frederick Lynch’ did the skin on her nose scrunch in disgust and her hawk-like gaze sought out the boy among the other students. Why did she get all the bad luck? There wasn’t a chance she was going down to him to discuss their paper and so sat where she was, picking at her nails with her quill, wishing she were anywhere else but there.
“Not a chance Clara; for a girl so small you hog all the covers. I’m not spending another night in the dungeons freezing half to death!” The sultry tones of Lara Jolicoeur rang out clearly through a deserted corridor as she tried to convince her friend to scurry down to her dormitory without her. It was tradition, really, that the girls would spend their Saturday nights in the Three Broomsticks or in a wizardry club nearby purposely teasing older men for the sheer thrill of it. They donned their little short dresses and their high heels, the bait for luring in their unsuspecting prey, and then they let them off the line because they never really wanted the attention to begin with. Be it the satisfaction they got from continuously rejecting man after man throughout the night or be it how the experience enhanced their already throbbing egos, they never failed to show up. It got them into trouble more than it didn’t, and more than enough times they’ve had to curse or repel a being that got a little too-handsy.
Eventually the girls parted company, Clara hopping down towards the dungeons while Lara opted to begin climbing the stairs. Like a good little Gryffindor she should have carried on up the ever-changing stairs towards her House tower and called it a night like she had promised Clara she would do. Her mixture of cerulean and emerald eyes drifted from the stairs above to the door to her right and she gave into temptation; that was the only true way to ever get rid of it, after-all. The blonde’s heels clicked against the stone floor and echoed eerily around the empty hallways and she couldn’t have looked more out of place in the darkened area. Her white dress practically glowed despite the lack of light and her sun kissed skin shimmered — she was only missing the halo and the big fluffy wings.
Still with the taste of her last rosato martini on her plump lips, the Gryffindor removed her wand from her gold clutch and easily unlocked the main door to the Muggle Studies classroom. Totally unacceptable behaviour from a student? Yes — but Lara was no stranger to breaking every rule that was put in front of her. Besides, it wasn’t as though it was the first time she had sneaked into the room long after the clock had struck midnight. She didn’t even know what time it was. She would have said she and Clara stumbled up from Hogsmeade but the girls never got drunk, they were too aware of themselves and how they looked to ruin such a beautiful thing. It was said there was truly nothing as dangerous as a woman who knew just how beautiful they were. If that was the case… Lara was a weapon of mass destruction.
Stopping at the ornate wooden door that led off from the classroom to Professor Roscoe’s private chambers, the teenager cocked her head in curiosity and wonder at herself. It was so unlike her to go to a boy first — but then, there weren’t many boys she had ever gone to — and it was probably the restrictions that encouraged her to stretch out her arm and rap her dainty knuckles against the door. The seeker leaned lazily against the frame of the door waiting for her answer, her lean legs folded neatly across one another.
Baiting came in many shapes and forms and for many different reasons. Fishing, muggle-baiting — the list went on. What Lara Jolicoeur and her closest friend preferred to spend their time doing was considered man-baiting, or even purely being simple teases for the heck of it. Both girls were just that; girls at seventeen years of age with little to do with their time at Hogwarts other than spend it sneaking down to Hogsmeade and further to waste their nights away drinking free cocktails and speaking to men they would most likely never break breath to again. They were too good looking for their own good, too mature for their age, and it all got them into more trouble than it didn’t. Teases generally were bound to ruffle a few feathers, especially as the night wore on and the people got drunker.
Slinky body clothed in an equally slinky white dress, Lara lazily leaned against the counter in the Three Broomsticks as she waited for the vibrant blonde head of Clara Page to come striding through the door with absolutely no apologies for being late. She wouldn’t have blamed her — Lara couldn’t remember a single point in her life when she had apologised for showing up anywhere late. Before her father had died he had continuously chided her for her tardiness, even going as far to say she would be late to her own funeral; but she hadn’t been late to his.
Between her teeth she scraped an olive off the middle of a cocktail stick and fiddled with the sharpened wooden point between her nimble fingers. Where on earth was she? Her blue and green sharded orbs flitted absently around the crowded bar and she wished to Merlin she’d show up. She had already finished her second rosato martini.
A foreign hand touched her hip and before the owner of it could rasp in her ear she swivelled her wrist and dug the toothpick below his skin, hard enough to make a point but soft enough that she didn’t break the skin. “I’m not nearly drunk enough.” Lara’s sultry tones cut through the music wafting through the establishment, and she didn’t drop the wooden implement until the man — who as he walked away looked to be in his late twenties — until he removed his hold on her and trudged off to lick his wounds. She flung her weapon into the empty class and signalled for Rosmerta to bring her over another glass of the crimson beverage.