Author's Note: I've had this story forever. It's been in my drive since 2010 but I've never finished it. Anyway, yesterday I fished it out and thought maybe I should give it a try. Try being minor edit, churn it through Hemingway (lovely app), and then throw it out to the ocean. Maybe this time around I'll be more motivated to finish this, but we'll see. No promises.

It follows the cliché "Minerva's in heat, Albus and his giant meat pole to the rescue" plot, but blame her - of all species she chooses to be a cat, and that doesn't bode well for her character in light of Rule #34 (if it exists, there is porn of it). And I know, 5 years ago, bad bad English, not that I've improved any.

Minerva leaned back against her flamboyant purple armchair. She had an air of confidence that contrasted her unfortunate partner of the evening. Technically, the armchair was the Deputy Headmaster's, although she would think it quite distinguishable given his eccentric tastes. She had claimed it all the same since their weekly chess matches have begun. After all, not everyone is privy to the comforts of Albus Dumbledore's private sitting room.

The pair sat by the fireplace on a cold December night, a half-played chessboard levitating between them. Or rather, it was an almost finished game, as she already had him in check. Albus was rubbing his beard as he stared at the chessboard. His remaining chess pieces were mouthing their advices and demonstrating with elaborate gestures. Minerva grinned, knowing their desperation was a sign of defeat.

Albus leaned forward, eyes glimmering as his mind worked feverishly. He was deducing all possible outcomes of the game. None were favorable, and all prompted an inevitable step his partner would no doubt take. Clutched in his left hand was a half-filled cup of hot chocolate – his favorite drink for these quiet evenings. Minerva usually refrains from making a comment on his sweet tooth until he asks for his third refill from the house elves. He absently took a sip and stole a glance at her.

Minerva smiled smugly at his apparent helplessness. She had taken her square spectacles off and placed them on the small coffee table. Always the more organized of the pair, she had aligned her glasses with the rest of her belongings: her copy of Transfigurations Today, a stack of graded Defense against the Dark Arts essays, her tartan stationary wrap, and a single pink rose he had given her during their private dinner.

The black off-shoulder dress she wore for the occasion was beyond breathtaking, if not distracting. It flashed a bit of her cleavage despite the voluminous teaching robes she layered on top. Albus had unsuccessfully adverted his gaze every time it fell on her bosom.

Albus heaved a long sigh, and instead of moving his piece, he covered his face with both hands in mock exasperation. "I concede defeat," he admitted through the small gap between his palms.

Minerva almost squealed with delight. A series of floating numbers appeared above the board, showing the running tally between them. Minerva's 22 jumped off the hovering string and a 23 appeared in replacement.

Albus chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Well-played, my dear." The chess pieces revived themselves at his permission and he levitated it back to his shelf.

Relaxing into her chair once again, Minerva looked at him with visible content. "I'm going to have a good night's sleep tonight."

"It's been a while since you've won, I'm sure it feels rewarding indeed," he remarked nonchalantly. Minerva cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps if you've spent more time concentrating on the game instead of my attire, you would have kept your winning streak," she purred. Her voice turned out more suggestive than she intended it to be.

He seemed to have caught on to her flirtations, for the twinkling light blue in his eyes turned a shade darker. In a dangerous hushed tone, he complimented, "Who could blame me? You look lovely tonight. I had to place an invisible barrier around you to ward off your many suitors."

"Drunkards, you mean?" She wrinkled her nose in disgust, remembering the night's events.

"Men, nonetheless," he said with a hint of possessiveness. His knuckles whitened for a split second, then he released his grip. "Their soberness or lack thereof has little bearing on how alluring you were tonight, and I dare say a fair number of them had merely begun their drinking. If I weren't as protective and disturbed as I were, I would have been quite empathetic." He paused, amused as she frowned. "I'm joking, Min. I could never associate with those who behave less than gentlemanly to a lady."

"Hence you escorted your lady to your chambers for a chess game that you paid little attention to. How noble you are." The sly smile plastered on her face was much like the one she displayed after her little feats during his Transfiguration classes.

"But of course. I wanted to keep the pleasure for myself." He rose from his armchair and strolled around hers, putting his hands on either side of her shoulders. He massaged her gently, easing the tension away, and dropped his hands lower to meet the hems of the silky fabric clinging to her arms. Her breathing quickened at his touch, much to his satisfaction. He leaned down, whispering into her ear, "Only when I imagined Armando in all his glory was I able to concentrate on the game. And even then I lost."

Minerva turned around and gasped in mock horror. "That was the image you had in mind while you were staring at me?"

He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. "I confess, I've had more adventurous things in mind other than our naked Headmaster." He dropped his gaze from her face to the length of her body in an appreciative manner. Reaching to feel the curve of her waist, he whispered, "How could ever I avert my gaze from such a gorgeous creature?"

He eased her outer robe off to form a puddle at her feet, revealing the dress underneath. His fingers danced on her soft porcelain skin, not a blemish or a mark despite her years of Auror training. The fabric hugged her slender figure in the most appropriate yet provocative way. "This dress is a most worthy purchase," he breathed into her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

She reached for his face, marveling at his handsome features. It was quite the talk of her days when she was a student, when he was at his prime and almost every student he had taught had had a crush on him. His auburn hair had started graying at the temples, but to her the extra touch of his years only served to make him all the more dashing. There came with age an air of authoritativeness and a pinch of vulnerability that he struggled to hide. His brush with death in war had stripped him of his immortality in her juvenile delusions, and she found layered beneath her admiration for his intelligence and his talent was too much care for his wellbeing and happiness.

It was, in one simple word, love.

He smiled and held her closer by her waist, leaving only a step between them. A step, she believed, crossing the line between friendship and something more intimate. Her hand came to brush and comb out his soft beard, another feature she had only dreamed of touching. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest.

"I did pay a generous sum for this dress. It would be wasteful if I only have the courage to wear it once," she whispered. Her thoughts started losing their coherency as he leaned in to plant butterfly kisses down her neck.

"I would brew a pot of Liquid Luck for you if only that would motivate you to wear it again in my presence." He paused in his ministrations to look at her. She saw the unmistakable twinkle in his eyes as he brought his hand up to caress her cheek. He ran his fingers down from her ear to her chin, and curled a stubborn lock of hair behind her ear, admiring her matchless beauty.

"Frankly I'd use Liquid Luck for more important purposes," Minerva drawled.

"This is an important purpose," he countered defensively. "Although, seeing the power you have over me tonight makes me question whether you truly harbor such hesitations."

"I did, but tonight feels most rewarding. I might change my mind. And if I don't," she paused for a moment, thoughtful, "You'll just have to remind me."

"I endeavor to do more than 'remind' you. I ought to shower you with dresses of my own liking, and allow you to parade them for my viewing pleasure. It would be most… entertaining, don't you agree?"

"I'd wager the word you were thinking is 'titillating'. But I agree, it would be an enjoyable evening."

"Even better when I undress you," he murmured.

With his body pressed against hers, she could feel his telltale erection pulsing against her abdomen. His desire filled her with courage that she had never conjured quite enough throughout her love life, or lack thereof.

The most courageous she had been was when she was eighteen and fueled by the powers of first love. Even then, the best she could do was a written confession on a Valentine's Day card. She had charmed it to resemble Rolanda Hooch's illegible handwriting, before dumping it into his mess of Ministry letters and love confessions. She never found out whether he had read it, kept it, or burnt it, and she reckoned she never would.

She knew exactly why she reveled in his attention. He looked at her now as a man looking at his woman. Not a teacher at his student, or a mentor at his apprentice, or a professor at his colleague and dearest friend.

She searched in the darkened wells of his eyes to find evident signs of his insatiate carnal hunger. Their fragile professional façade was breaking with every breath and touch. She wanted to savor the unstoppable flow when the dam collapses.

He leaned into her, breathing warm gasps of air against her skin. "I can ravish you here and now, Minerva. I am too strained in my pants to think, and I have too much blood rushing south for me to be a gentleman," he muttered huskily. "I am giving you a window of opportunity to run away as far as you can. If you don't take it, I can only assume you have given me permission to claim you tonight."

She blushed furiously, but shook her head with finality.

The look he gave her was almost mesmerizing to look at. A signature Albus smile that had bordered on a naughty, satisfied smirk, tinted with sincere care and pride. The smirk reduced her to the love-struck eighteen year old, but the caring smile raised her self-worth above all else.

He interrupted her thoughts with a sudden resolution. "I believe a mattress is more comfortable than an armchair." He scooped her up with ease and headed towards his bedchambers.

In Albus's arms, she clung to him like a kitten, feeling his chiseled chest and thumping heart beneath his blue robes. With each confident stride, she felt her breath hitch and subside, her heart pounding, every nerve in her stirring. She reminded herself that their relationship, as bizarre as it felt, was about to change. Never would she be able to see her friend and mentor without the overlay of him being her lover.

Yet terming him her 'lover' was no less an overwhelming thought. Gods forbid, she was so aroused, she could feel the wetness in her knickers.

There were other things that made the heat within her grow to an almost unbearable state. All Minerva could make out with her acute sense of smell was the sweet chocolaty smell on him, no doubt a reminder of his late night drink. The smell of chocolate was coupled with something she had always recognized to be distinctly Albus. It was of Sherbet Lemons, old books, and a faint musky scent that often sent her libido in overdrive. That resulted in many nights of self-gratification in her dormitories, and later her bedchambers. It made her mind wander, wondering what he would taste like if she dared place her lips on his.

Albus lowered her onto his bed. It was an elegant four-poster, curiously void of his usual possessions. With a careless wave, the fire roared under his command. He then climbed on top of her, supporting his weight on his elbows and lowering himself till he was mere centimeters away from her. Captivated by her youth and beauty, he was momentarily awestruck.

She ran her hands through his auburn hair, and wrapped her arms around his neck, closing the distance between them. The kiss started gentle and innocent, but quickly evolved to a new level of urgency. His lips felt warm, wet, and soft against hers, though she couldn't quite place what he tasted like.

She parted her lips and responded enthusiastically, delving into the depths of his mouth with her tongue. Her experimental moves turned desperate as his mouth felt dryer, less responsive, and less eager, much to her dismay. His entire being was melting away when she finally recognized the item her memory had managed to place.

He tasted of… her cotton pillowcase.