the seven devils [completed]

chapter thirty-six

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

TRIGGER WARNING: SLIGHTLY MATURE

Icarus' lips trailed the nape of her neck, pressing sinful kisses where her hair raised, and she trembled under soft fingers that played with the hem of her sweater, embracing her lustfully from behind as he pressed her against the circular table in Rowena Ravenclaw's study.

Varya turned around to face him, cheeks coated in carmine and lips plum and melon-pink, and she ran a hand through silky curls as she drew the boy closer to her body, hopping on the table and entangling her legs with his.

His lips were rough against hers, and he grasped at her waist with a want he had never felt before, tentatively sneaking a wandering hand on her pale stomach as he pushed her to lay on her back, and he dragged her from her feet until he could lean over her. Icarus held himself up with one arm, and continued to bite at her neck as the girl threw her head back at the new sensation.

"God," he murmured against her skin, and then he looked at her; robe was thrown on one of the chairs, midnight hair ruffled from the constant tugging and pulling, and he let his hand trail the inside of her thigh. He pulled at her knee-length black sock, exposing her legs to the cold air, and pressed a slow kiss on her skin, before peering up at her. There was nothing godly about their next kiss, and he gripped at her neck as he guided her mouth to his.

Varya's mind was engulfed by a burning she had never experienced before, and she wondered how their conversation about an Astrology essay had even ended up in this game of temptation and roaming hands. Perhaps, it was the atmosphere of Valentine's day, or the way he had looked so entrancing as he bit his lips in concentration over another paragraph in their textbook, but she had found herself straddling his hips in a moment of uncharacteristic weakness.

She did not know what she was doing, it was her first time experiencing such sensations, but it felt so blissful that at the moment, it did not matter that the witch did not love him; the only thing she cared about was how his raspy voice breathed her name as if it was the most sacred harmony on Earth. Lestrange kissed like a rapacious demon, and his hands trailed every inch of her over a rumpled uniform, but it was when he grasped her thigh so forcefully her pale skin dripped with purple that she allowed her lips to part in a small wail.

Someone cleared their throat from behind them, and the couple scrambled apart, pulling at their clothes in hurry and embarrassment. Maxwell Nott looked at them with the most amused face he had ever had, and then he strode over to a chair nonchalantly, throwing his bag on it and pulling out a leathered book.

"Here," breathed Icarus as he passed the girl his robe to cover her bare legs quickly, and Varya jumped off of the table and hurried to pull her sweater back down. Her face was now flushed for a different reason, and she avoided Nott's smirk relentlessly.