Author's Username: ladonnaerrante
Rating: M
Word Count: 450
Pairing: Sprout/Slughorn
A/N: Written for humpdrabbles over at LJ. HTML tags fixed.
He swore he saw a slight smile on her face when Pomona saw him at the table in the first staff meeting of the year.
"I trust you all remember Horace Slughorn, who has kindly consented to resume his post as potions master." Few could have seen the devious smirk that passed briefly over Pomona's round face when Dumbledore explained his choice of staff. Horace caught it though, she made sure of that. Shivers of anticipation ran down his spine.
Afterwards, when all the professors stopped to shake his hand and feign an interest in what retired life had been like or why he had chosen to return, she hung back. Not noticeably. Few people noticed Pomona. Her plump figure and rosy cheeks were unremarkable.
Horace had, of course, noticed her. Not from the very start, but after the first time she supplied him with a perfectly grown supply of monkshood, he began to pay attention. He saw the hours she spent in the greenhouse, faithful to her plants, the steadiness of her hand at difficult tasks, and the determination with which she helped failing students succeed. None of this was lost on a man who spent his life searching out the best.
The room emptied.
"Walk with me?" He asked, proffering his arm. She took it.
"Where to?"
"Oh one of the usual places."
"Greenhouse three?" She smiled wickedly.
"So long as you keep that venomous tentacula away from me."
They strolled across the grounds at a leisurely pace. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they reached the greenhouse. She patted his paunch lovingly and turned to face him. He felt a calloused hand caress his cheek . He placed a hand at her back and bent down to kiss her. She pulled him close and squeezed a butt cheek, her full voluptuous frame pressed against his. He felt the stirring of arousal and she pulled him into the greenhouse by the collar of his robes.
They settled between two rows of gilly weed. Robes lay strewn across the floor of the greenhouse. Pomona ran her hands over his bald head, gently massaging his ears. Horace laid kisses on her neck and chest, pudgy hands kneading softly into her padded torso. His tongue curled first around one nipple and then another and his mouth traced the outline of her full breasts. He paused, placing a kiss between her breasts and inhaled deeply. Her sweet, musky scent mingled with the rich wet smell of soil and the light fresh perfume of green things growing. The aroma drove him wild. He gently laid her down and clambered on top of her as gracefully as his mature legs would allow.