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Grigory’s expression – already half-dizzy with want – broke into a broad, lustful grin. An indecent grin. No matter how obvious the answer seemed to be, or might be, it never failed to fill him with satisfaction, make the buzzing beneath his skin reach almost fever pitch.

He barely had a second to be smug before he was lurching forward again, between Prim’s legs, reeled in by another kiss that was enthusiastically returned. He angled his head to lick into her mouth. The hand on her waist rose until only the seam of her jacket kept it from going any higher.

Then that was gone, leaving a flushed and disheveled Prim in its wake, and for that she was tugged even closer, matched heat for heat. As both palms mapped the soft curves of her breasts, Grigory dragged his lips down to her neck—the floral scent from earlier was stronger there, tinged with just a hint of sweat. He mouthed at it eagerly. The heavy thunk of a fallen paperweight didn’t register at all.

Urgent tugging, on the other hand, was, and so Grigory obligingly started on the buttons. In his haste, the last few popped free, but that only made shrugging out of his shirt (and kissing) that much easier. He still had a tank top on, but before long that was easily rucked up, too, aided by finer hands that soon fanned themselves on his skin. When he pulled back once more, it was to yank it over his head; they were kissing again before it was cast aside.

They were still kissing when he returned the favor without prompting. He shoved it off her shoulders, balling it up and tossing it somewhere behind her. A shirtless Prim, as it turned out, was much more impressive than a shirtless Grigory.

Still, they had pants on, and removing them proved to be slightly more difficult. Tethered by fists in his hair, he scrambled to make quick work of his belt, almost falling into her as he kicked his boots off as well—then the pair of copper buttons on her front, ones that proved tricky in the face of a particularly breathy moan, a scratch of her nails. Fuck. Fuck.

They had a desk, he thought muzzily, as he helped yank down cream-colored pants, her own boots sagging to the floor. A desk with things on it, a hard desk, but a desk nonetheless.  Or–

Tucking his hands firmly – securely – beneath her, Grigory cupped her ass and lifted, hefting her up against him before carrying her over to the bench.

The flurry of discarded clothing only began with her jacket.  Everything seemed to be moving so quickly, but that was somehow better.  Prim spent her days and nights carefully planning each movement she'd make, plotting how she would maneuver the legislature to elicit the changes she wanted.  It was slow, methodical work, but here she didn’t really need her brain at all. 

Instinct was a powerful thing and it was clear both parties were operating on it.  Prim was more than responsive as his hands explored and she took the opportunity to do the same. Warm, muscular, and hot  skin met her palms.  As they travelled upward, so did the undershirt that needed to be discarded.  After (probably) being discarded to the floor, Prim’s hands wound their way into his hair, so she could drag her nails lightly over his scalp and shift her hips with a moan.  She almost couldn’t believe it. 

It all almost ended swiftly, however, when Grigory tipped forward and Prim couldn't help herself: she laughed and had to ask if he was okay.  It appeared so, mainly because he was undeterred and she took it upon herself to help when she finally realized what he was going for.  There was that moment (all women had it at least once in their life) when you for a moment forgot what under things you had on and panicked. But, a quick glance down made her relax - pink, matching.  She closed her eyes for a moment and said a private thanks in her head before setting to the task of trying to kick off her boots.  This was done none-too-gingerly and they fell with a thunk. 

Unfortunately, that was not the end of the difficult bit, however.  There were still pants to contend with.  Muttering under her breath, Prim almost felt like cursing – after all, if there was anything to curse at (Prim never cursed) it would have been these pants!  They were practically painted on for sport but proved none too fun to remove in haste.  Several mumbled apologies later, Prim had managed to kick her riding gear away.

When she finally thought the uncomfortable awkward part was done… no such luck!  The desk was definitely cutting into the back of her thighs and he must have heard her grunt in pain because all of a sudden Grigory was hefting her up.  Prim squeaked, wrapping her arms and legs tight around him at the sudden height and movement.  It didn't stop her from kissing him though and Prim turned her head to break away from his lips, kissing along his jaw, pausing by his ear to pay attention to the space just below before continuing down toward his shoulder. 

This state was even shorter lived than the last because in short order she was deposited (mostly softly) on the bench in the middle of the room.  It was usually reserved for putting on boots.  Not quite its purpose today… Shifting on the cool leather, Prim finally realized how hard her heart was beating.  The thrill of anticipation was energizing. It pushed her to forward as he stood in front of her and continued the work on the belt that could almost resulted in some very hard to explain bruises and a broken desk.  Now it was much easier to handle though and as Prim's hands made quick work of the leather strap and buttons of his jeans. Denim, that was a novel fabric. She had never worn it.  But as she took advantage of the opportunity to drag her palms over his hips, she marveled at how the denim was both soft and sturdy…

Prim shifted her gaze upward.  Large, dilated eyes - rims of cold, blue surrounding dark pupils searched to meet his, smiling when they finally locked.  Prim allowed her to tug the jeans downward, holding his deep, brown eyes.  Even as her hands shook - a few nerves, mostly excitement -- they were finally on equal footing as far as clothing was concerned.  Prim took the moment to just look.  Grigory was tall and broad, muscular in a way that most men she came into contact with were not.  She wouldn't have believed it if she weren't sitting here either.  Without a hint of her own trepidation (it was considerable, given observation alone), Prim reached forward again and ran her fingertips over his lower stomach, down and to the band of his boxers and paused.  Out of nerves she wet her lips and decided to continue past the band, still teasing as a more confident smirk spread across her lips.  She watched to see if his skin twitched as her nails lightly ran down his thighs.

It did; above, Grigory’s eyes, impossibly, darkened even further. It was easy – too easy – to imagine the steady curl of her hand, the hot slide of those lips. It might not be what he wanted now, but the look he gave Prim was downright incendiary. “Tease,” he said raggedly.

But it was far from a complaint.

He pushed down his boxers and kicked them away, and felt another hot curl of satisfaction at the way Prim’s eyes widened; he knew that even half of what he had could be another guy’s entire package, just this shy of being a problem—a fact made all the more clear by how he was only half-hard. But he was already gently nudging her to move farther back – “up, up” – on the bench, to give him room to rest his good knee on it, and then his other, her legs still spread.

And then his eyes caught the hard shine of the trunk behind them. In a flash he imagined Prim’s shoulders pressed against it and finding no give. He imagined her head hurting, and small bruises forming—ones he didn’t put there.

Grigory made an executive decision.

He climbed off of Prim and settled in the space next to her. “Sit,” he said, leaning back on his hand and patting a thigh. As he did, the slow smirk that spread across his face was its own tease, a challenge beneath heavy lids. It only grew hotter when Prim returned it with a sultry look of her own, thumbs hooking into the waistband of her bottoms, and let them pool to the floor.




Afterward, Grigory lay flat on his back, sweaty, spent, and staring up at the rafters, though he scarcely registered anything past the weight that had settled on top of him. All he could do was try to catch his breath; even dwelling on what had just happened was difficult, and it was all he could think about.

After Prim had batted his hand away, all focus on the slick coating his fingers had shifted to that tight, perfect heat—the minute shifting it took to adjust to his girth, the experimental lifts, the gradual pickup in speed once they found their rhythm. Desire had surged, nearly suffocating in its intensity. There had been a really good moment when Grigory had held her down by the hips, his own rutting into the meat of her thighs. She hadn’t even finished the last of her aftershocks before he was chasing after her, and when he had–

He was still seeing spots, he realized with no small amount of awe. Spots. It took a moment for him to find his English. “Please say we do again,” he managed.

Prim could not help but looked pleased at herself.  The smug, satisfied feeling was short-lived however, because with very few barriers left, it was safe to say they had crossed the point of no return.  Not that Prim wanted to cross back, of course, she was just… well, if her eyes nervously darted upward to lock into his for reassurance, it wasn’t her fault. 

At the very least, it wasn’t difficult to smile, which was perhaps the first easy one she’d experienced in the past couple of weeks. There was usually always an undercurrent of nerves simmering below her surface, but even if that was a problem tonight… the way he looked at her would instantly dispel the worry and replace it with something else entirely.   As a result, this was one of the few situations where Primrose heeded requests without question.  When time seemed to break free of that momentary stilness where she could process just who what she was looking at and the situation she was in, a chill shot down her back.  Sure, a lot of it was not exactly new territory as far as actions were concerned, it was exciting: there was a thrill of something foreign and familiar at the same time that never seemed to lose its power.

The level of her enthusiasm dictated that the moment he was close enough, Prim tried to catch him in another kiss – notably missing by a long shot, but not really minding wherever her lips ended up – especially given the circumstances.  She didn’t have much energy to dwell on it because as close as they had been, all of a sudden the warm, looming heat over her was gone.  She opened her eyes, half dazed and completely shocked.  Blinking slowly, there was a moment and then she fully understood what he was asking… or telling. 

Either way, Prim felt the warmth bubbling under her skin, lighting every surface aflame.  On shaky legs she pushed herself up, feeling very exposed but absolutely humming underneath.  She let her eyes travel upward, finally locking her eyes with his as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.  Full of want, Prim hooked thumbs over her hips and with a slow, deliberate shift in weight, the fabric slid and was gone.



Forehead pressed into the crook where his neck met his shoulder, Primrose just herself breathe.  Her breath was even with his (she could feel the rise and fall of his chest) and just… she needed a moment.  Maybe a lot of moments, if she couldn’t collect herself.  Every little movement sent a tremor through her, so Prim wasn’t sure she’d be even able to get up if she wanted to.   It was much better, and easier, to just stay. 

When Grigory finally spoke in a hoarse (Oh Merlin) voice, Prim lifted her head with heavy lids and a lazy smile.  A jolt of – was that pride? – surged through her and she turned her sharp chin, while her ponytail spilled over her shoulder.  Prim was not equipped with enough strength and presence of mind to pull herself to kiss him, so she did the most reasonable thing instead.  She laid her head down again and pressed her lips to his salty skin before closing her eyes. “I’ll be sure to send that owl, Grigory,” she laughed breathily against his chest and avoided the struggle of sitting up for just another minute.