Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/107428.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger/Pansy_Parkinson
  Character:
      Hermione_Granger, Pansy_Parkinson
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-08-15 Words: 580
****** Thinking Of ******
by tornyourdress
Summary
     Hermione doesn't really think about people when she . . . well, you
     know.


She doesn't really think about people when she . . . well, you know. Touches
herself. Masturbates. God, she hates that word. It's so technical. And being
technical is all very well when it's appropriate, but there are times when
euphemisms and synonyms are much better than being specific.
She used to have this one fantasy. Pansy Parkinson in the girls' bathroom. Why
Pansy, she has no – well, actually, she does have an idea. Pansy because Pansy
is just the sort of girl to go down on someone in a bathroom when they're
supposed to be in class. It's naughty. It's wrong. It's everything Pansy is,
and everything Hermione isn't, and that's why it's a fantasy, but nothing more,
nothing more than that.
That's what Pansy used to be to her. It didn't matter that Pansy was a bitch in
real life, it didn't matter that they hated each other. Things like that don't
matter in a fantasy.
You walk in and she's there, having slid down to the floor with her skirt
around her ankles and her hand inside her knickers, making slow circular
motions. She sees you and she doesn't say anything, doesn't look embarrassed,
just raises an eyebrow. And she knows you're getting off on this, she knows,
and she's not surprised when you join her. You're wearing plain white cotton
knickers, because that's what you wear, plain and simple and practical, not
like her in black lace, damp now, and her fingers are moving faster and faster
now, and your fingers follow a similar rhythm, circling round your clit and
then pressing down, but you're nowhere near as close as she is, and after she
comes, after she leans her head against the wall and let out an unrestrained
moan like you've never heard before, she kneels before you as though in
worship, and you wish you weren't still standing because the minute her tongue
touches those plain white cotton knickers of yours, before her fingers push
them aside, your knees buckle, and you're barely balancing, barely able to keep
breathing, even, and her tongue is wet and soft and you're wet and oh god how
can something this simple, this basic, this coming together of two body parts,
no magic involved, feel so good? And when her mouth presses into you so hard
you're not sure where you end and she begins, and her fingers slide inside you,
you moan the way she does, not caring who hears, only caring that this feels
good.
Pansy's the sort of girl to go down on someone in a bathroom. It was easier
when that's all she was to Hermione, someone to fantasise about when everyone
else was asleep and her hand was moving frantically between her legs and her
mouth was buried in her pillow so no one would hear her when she came.
Fantasising about Pansy in that way was okay. It was even vaguely realistic, it
was the sort of thing that could actually happen one day. The way she
fantasises about Pansy now – hugs and kisses, caresses and whispers, secrets
and dreams – is foolish.
And now that she has those fantasies, she can't go back to the way things used
to be. So she doesn't really think about anyone late at night, doesn't think
about her dream-Pansy, who would love her forever, and can't think about real-
Pansy, who would never love her but would probably fuck her, and so she just
closes her eyes and does it.
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