He cursed at himself for being such a creep. Neville had no idea how he'd be able to look Pansy in the eyes ever again. And he still had to see her in a few hours for Harry's birthday. He fell asleep shortly after, naked and still half hard. Her shimmering smile haunted him well into the night.

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He cleaned himself quickly and walked out the bathroom, feeling dirtier than when he arrived home. Guilt and selfloathing coiled in his stomach as he slumped into bed. He groaned, buring his face on his pillow, he was the worst friend, the worst human being alive.

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Hot, thick ropes painted the tiles, the bathtub and his stomack as he collapsed against the wall, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. He stood there for a while, the water turning cold as he came down of his orgasm.

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He panted, silent curses falling from his lips as the heat in his abdomen burned him, the image of her tongue stabbing on the fruit playing in a loop behind his eyelids, her throat working the pulp down. The tension building in his lower back finally snapped.

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He wanted to lick the juice from her arm, to suck it from her lip, to share it on her tongue. He wanted her tongue to roam over his skin, her lips to get all puffy and swollen from sucking at him before licking the last traces of his spent from the corners of her mouth.

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