The Greenhouse
Parvati's getting dirt on her knees. That's the only thing Hermione can think about as she's gripping the edge of the table, nails digging into the humidity-softened wood. Parvati's getting dirt on her knees and Parvati's hands are pushing apart her thighs and Parvati's head is under her skirt and Parvati's mouth...oh...
She can hear the plants rustling in the pots next to her, and she wants to reach into their pots, lifting up handfuls of dirt and compost and squeezing squeezing squeezing as she comes, dirt under her fingernails and Parvati against her clit. She can't grab the plants, she can't do anything but grab the table, because the table's holding her up, her hands are keeping her up, she can let go with one hand and lift up her skirt and run her hand through Parvati's long cascade of hair and press her closer and to the left and just so and...and...and...
She falls back against the table, knocking over one of the ferns, arching her back and moaning loudly, leaves and branches tangling in her hair. Parvati is kissing her thighs gently, her knees still on the ground, dirty and bruised.