Word Count: 1845
Summary: Severus goes drinking with his dictionary and ends up shagging a Ravenclaw.
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling, and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by the posting of this fic.
Author's Note: A late bit of birthday fluff for chiralove, who enjoys a good dictionary reader as much as the next Ravenclaw.
The Hog's Head was cold, loud, and smoky, but Severus didn't care. No one was bothering him, and Aberforth had provided him with a clean glass for his drink.
Drinks, he thought, staring balefully at the empty bottle before him and wishing that the Firewhiskey had filled something of the vacivity that he was feeling.
He should have been detailing the results of his latest experiment towards publication of its results, but he hadn't felt writative in days. For some reason, the fact that no one had even deigned to look at him when he'd entered the pub was bothering him. His presence usually inspired at least one amarulent word from someone.
Not that I like other people's bitterness turned on me, he thought, giving in to pandiculation, a word he'd learnt only that day which meant to stretch and yawn in tandem, and at least being here means I'm not at home reading the damned dictionary for company.
It was at this moment that the blonde he'd seen sitting in the back as he'd arrived approached him.
She took the stool next to him and said, "You know, florisugent behaviour is rather more eleutherian in quality than the imbibation of Firewhiskey—and it doesn't leave one as dehydrated in the morning."
Severus stiffened. Is that Ravenclaw for flirting? No, couldn't be. "'Imbibation' isn't a word. You mean 'imbibition'."
"Oh, good! You're not as inebriated as I thought. So, would you like to shag me?"
"What are you doing here?" Severus demanded, too stunned by the girl's brazenness to respond to her question.
"Looking for a shag, obviously."
"Hardly. You're not pissed, so my sudden Venustation in your eyes must be prank-related," Severus accused, staring sidelong at Lovegood from under his fringe as he hunched over his glass in an attempt to appear uninterested in her proposal.
"Well, all right, I suppose you would think that—and I'm not opposed to shagging you, you know, as I've always found you callipygian and liked your hirquitalliency—but I did come over because you seemed so sparsile and tristifical."
Severus turned to glare at the girl, who'd just used three words with which he was entirely unfamiliar—not that he was about to tell her that. "You don't seriously expect me to believe that you think I've got a nice arse, do you?"
"Why wouldn't you? I've never lied to you before."
"Ha!" Severus exclaimed, pounding once on the tap for emphasis. "That's a lie."
Lovegood smiled as she caught the book that Severus had been reading and he flushed. "You're thinking of Sixth Year, but I never did lie to you. It was disobeying you I was up to—and don't you think it was good that I did? Neville, Ginny, and I helped so many students that you couldn't, even though you tried so very hard."
"If you like," Lovegood replied amiably, offering him his dictionary.
Snatching it from her, he said, "No, that's not what I meant. You're . . . you're too young for me, girl. Go back to your friends and—"
Lovegood quickly leant towards him and pressed her mouth against his, and suddenly, there was tongue, her tongue, moving against his. He was vaguely aware of people cat-calling, but he didn't care about that—much.
"You're . . . you're serious," he murmured, straightening upon his stool.
"I usually am," she agreed.
Her mouth looked swollen, her lips, red, and Severus flushed more deeply to realise the meaning behind her initial suggestion: "sucking honey from flowers," that's what florisugent meant, and "flower" was a euphemism for—
"Mr Dumbledore?" Lovegood called.
"What is it, woman?"
"May I have a room?"
Severus was horrified by her indiscretion, no matter how interested he was in getting her to that room, himself. Fuck.
"Oh," Lovegood continued in a lowered voice as Aberforth handed her a key, "and could you Obliviate everyone? I'll pay a Sickle per patron."
"Make it two per, and it's done."
Luna counted out eleven Sickles and stared pointedly at the greedy bastard, and Aberforth shrugged.
"Had to try, didn't I?" he said.
"There are fifteen people here by my count," Severus noted, deciding that he'd had more to drink than he'd realised and was now hallucinating.
"Oh, but the four ladies with me are hags, and you—"
"Don't want to go about Obliviatin' hags," Aberforth asserted.
"Besides," Luna told Severus, leading him towards the stair at the back of the pub, "they don't won't tell anyone."
The hags' cackling was their only response as Severus followed Luna to their room.
"Why are you consorting with hags?"
"I'm consorting with you," she told him, dropping her robes.
"Good gods, woman! You're nude."
"And you're not, which will make consorting together difficult."
Severus swallowed and clutched the dictionary tightly.
He had no idea what to do with Lovegood now that she'd got them upstairs. And she was nude. And soft-looking. And touching him!
"You've never done this before, have you?" she asked, her hands splaying across his chest.
As obvious as that might be, Severus had no intention of voicing his answer. Instead, he asked in turn, "What do hirquitalliency, sparsile, and tristifical mean?"
"One definition per article of clothing—fair?"
Severus nodded shakily, hoping that his nervousness wasn't quite as noticeable as he imagined it to be. He laid the book on the battered bedside table and slipped out of his robes.
Lovegood perched on the edge of the bed and said, "Hirquitalliency means 'strength of voice', and yours is very strong, very sexy."
"Nonsense," he replied, his hands faltering at his throat.
"Would you allow me?"
Severus dropped his arms to his sides as Lovegood rose and began undoing his buttons. Removing his shirt, she dropped it and reached up to caress the scars on his neck.
The words were spoken before he'd even thought them, and Severus hung his head in embarrassment.
"You're not," Lovegood whispered, tip-toeing up to kiss his mangled flesh.
"Ah, that means 'of a star, not included in any constellation', and it suited you, sitting there amongst people but not with them."
"Oh," Severus said, unbuckling his belt and handing it to Lovegood.
"And tristifical means 'gloomy, grievous'. You're not in pain, are you? Well, except from what loneliness brings?"
"I don't want to—"
Lovegood pushed his trousers down and moved to embrace him, saying, "You don't have to talk. I was just hoping that it was me you were interested in shagging."
"My interest should be plain enough," Severus said, thrusting his prick against Lovegood and ignoring the implication of her words.
"But that wasn't an answer, not really."
For some ridiculous reason that Severus could not define, he found himself being honest again. "I only brood about Li—her on . . . special occasions."
"So it's everything else you brood about on everyday occasions?"
"Are we going to fuck or not?"
Lovegood stepped back and beckoned to him, so naturally, Severus made to follow her—only to end up falling on his face as his shoes, which he'd not removed, became entangled in his pooled trousers.
"Wouldn't it be easier just to take off your shoes?"
"That's it!" Severus exclaimed, struggling to sit up. "I'm not doing this!"
But the stubborn woman had already achieved his discalceation and was gathering his clothing onto a chair.
"Is that black silk?" Lovegood asked, offering him a hand up and staring at his pants.
Severus cringed. This was not how he'd imagined his first shag. And he had no intention of explaining his pants to a former student.
"Enough, Lovegood. This is—"
"A reasonable beginning, I think. You're almost naked. You're still mostly interested, and I'd very much like to gumfiate you, Severus."
"You want to make me—"
"Swell, yes. I think that would facilitate our shagging nicely, don't you? Up," she insisted, thrusting forth her hand again.
Severus, still mortified, took it and stood.
"Better. Now then, I meant what I said about the cunnilingus, but if you'd rather we just get to it, that's—"
Kissing Lovegood the second time was more brilliant than the first, mostly because it stopped her from speaking. And she tasted sweet. And she was naked, warm, and pressing against him.
And it occurred to Severus that if they didn't 'get to it', he wasn't going to be any damn good. With this in mind, he backed Lovegood into the bed and followed her down upon it, half-lying on her as his hands began to explore her body.
"Oh, I like that. Do that again," she insisted, as Severus rolled one of her nipples between two fingers, "but just a tad more lightly, please."
Abashed, he demanded, "Is it your intention to define my every action?"
"Oh, no—just the ones I want you to do to me."
Severus' prick twitched and he growled appreciatively into Lovegood's throat before nibbling on it. The squeak of pleasure this action elicited from her was very welcome, indeed.
"I . . . I thought I wanted . . . foreplay," she said, sounding breathless as she pushed him up and pressed him down onto his back, "but I was wrong."
Straddling him, her long hair framing her face and falling over her breasts, Severus felt Lovegood's hands as they guided his prick up against and then inside of her. "Oh, fuck."
Tight and hot and slick and perfect—and she was moving! Up and down, so slowly, moving and grasping and making some lovely sound of incoherence that he barely registered matched his own—Severus fought not to pound up into Lovegood as she fucked him steadily and inexorably towards an all-too-hasty orgasm.
He thought that he might come again as he opened his eyes and saw her rubbing herself with fast, nimble-looking fingers—and then he gasped and half-laughed through the feeling of her muscles clenching his prick as she came.
"Yes, yes, yes, that was, that was very good, wasn't it?" she asked, collapsing atop his chest and breathing as hard as he was.
Fucking incredible, thought Severus, who was relieved not to have disappointed Lovegood after such a dismal beginning.
"I knew you'd . . . be . . . redamantical."
"I don't . . . know that word."
Lovegood lifted her head to gaze down at him. "Well, I'm not using it literally, just . . . ."
"Tell me," Severus insisted, emboldened by her uncharacteristic shyness.
"Capable of 'loving' in return."
Ah. "Mutual redamancy suits me, Lovegood, as you've ample evidence," he assured her, moving them over to a drier portion of the bed.
He found that he didn't mind it.
"Since we're fucking—and you don't seem averse to doing it again—would you please call me Luna?"
Severus threaded a hand through her hair. "Luna." The moon to my solitary star.
If she hadn't been looking at him, he would have rolled his eyes at himself for thinking something so idiotic, but although she knew that he enjoyed the dictionary, he had no intention of revealing to her his more . . . poetical inclinations.
Not yet, anyway, he thought, taking comfort from Luna's sleepy presence and feeling, he had to admit, quite happy to find himself in a constellation of two.