1: Trouble - Fred Weasley

20. pretty visitors

all the pretty visitors came and waved their arms

and cast the shadow of a snake pit on the wall

all the pretty visitors came and waved their arms

and cast the shadow of a snake pit on the wall

-

The morning of the final task of the Triwizard tournament, Imogen awoke at Gryffindor tower, to the noise of George and Lee chatting as they dressed. Behind the drawn curtains of Fred's bed, she rubbed her eyes, wondering what the time was.

"Shit," she mumbled, realising something more important. "It's a school day."

Fred gave an amused exhale out of his nose.

"Oh no," he said sarcastically. "We could just skip."

Imogen was about to tell him no, when George's voice cut across her.

"Are you two ever going to get up?"

"Piss off," said Fred.

Lee laughed. "Come on George, the love birds want some alone time."

Imogen heard the door open and then shut behind them. She waited a moment, making sure they hadn't forgotten something, and then sat up and clambered onto Fred's lap, straddling him where he lay. He was wide awake, then.

"Is that a yes to skipping?" he asked, grinning.

"No," she said, as his hands ran up her thighs and to her hips. Merlin, even that made her wet, just his hands on her skin.

She lay a hand on his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his breath, and told him "but if we're quick, we might still make breakfast."

If there was one thing Fred Weasley loved, it was a challenge. Last night they'd snuck off early, hoping no one saw them as they slipped up the staircase. They'd had an hour to themselves, and by the time Fred's dorm mates had found them they were sleepy and spent, and luckily fully dressed. She had made him finish twice, and Imogen intended to get one more in before they were separated by the breakfast tables.

Fred wasted no time, and there was none of the savouring of the night before, only a starved desperation, as if it had been eight years since he'd last had her, instead of eight hours. Luckily he was already hard, and she pushed aside her underwear and guided him inside, earning a delicious ragged grunt from him. It was music to her ears. He came in the position they'd started in, her astride him, and with Imogen setting the pace, rocking her hips, she found that she was finishing with him. It shuddered through her, the gentle waves of the orgasm, all through her legs, and she felt obscenely drunk on it, only capable of burying her head in his neck and letting noise of approval escape her mouth.

Once they were showered and dressed, they held hands all the way the great hall, running and laughing like kids, hoping there'd be some toast left. They stopped before the doorway, slightly out of breath.

"I'll see you later on," she told him, "at the tournament."

Fred was looking at her strangely, the hint of a smirk on his face.

"What?" she asked.

"It's nothing," he said. When her eyes implored him to speak, he lowered his voice, and darkened his intense gaze. "It's just, you're gorgeous when you cum."

Colour rose to her cheeks, and her eyes darted around, checking no one was nearby. The corridor was deserted, but when her eyes met his again she blushed all the harder.

"You don't have to look so proud of yourself, you know," Imogen scorned.

He laughed and wrapped an arm around her, "Merlin, you're just as gorgeous when you're embarrassed, Falker."