TITLE: Who Needs A Reason?
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Hermione & Fleur
BY: Seraphyne
DISCLOSURE: I make-y no the money.
I pondered how my life had changed so much over the years. My school days at Hogwarts seemed ancient history when I look back now. The hair-brained schemes were ridiculous and dangerous and I was beginning to believe that Harry Potter had had some kind of death wish. Friends were friends though and best friends didn't doubt each other. I brushed the short bangs off my forehead. I was beginning to regret my hasty decision to cut my hair, but then I had long since grown tired of the bushy mess. I wonder what Harry's doing right now... Or Ron. Are they happy? Surely they are...
"What are you thinking?" The voice floated through the darkness. It was light and airy just like it's owner. How does she do that? I wondered as I turned my face in her direction. I couldn't see her because my eyes were still blinded by the recent lights, but I knew where she was and it was natural to face whom I talked to.
"About Harry and Ron... Again." I said admitting my guilt. She sighed, a light and almost unnoticeable sound. "I'm sorry." I said apologizing. I reached out blindly with my hand and found hers in two seconds.
"It's alright. I knew you were somewhere... Just not here." The defeat sounded wrong in that musical voice that still carried the slightest French accent. I wanted to wipe away the small frown that would surely be there, but I still couldn't see her face. Instead I squeezed her hand. I slid, as best as I could, closer to her form and rearranged the covers so that I could feel her next to me.
"I wasn't thinking what you think I was thinking... That stopped weeks ago."
"Really?" The word had a hard edge to it. An edge that I recognized all too well. It was two parts hope and one part disbelief. I smiled at her uncertainty.
"Yes, really." I said as my smile grew. I could see her hair now, which was always the first thing I could see. I loved the way it glowed even though there was nothing magical about the glow. It was so white that it seemed to repel the blackness. The only thing that came close to the paleness of her hair was her skin... Judging my the dark space the hair haloed around I sent my other hand in search of soft skin. Caressing the smooth white flesh that I was beginning to see now. "I was contemplating what they were doing... If they were happy. I mean, I know Harry is. He has Ginny." I stopped as I realized where my thoughts were heading. My expression changed to anger. I will NOT think about this now! I scolded myself as my fingers continued to caress her face. I could see she wasn't smiling now.
"...And that Ron has no one." Her expression was sad as the whisper-y words were said. That's how she talked when she was upset. When she was mad was when she screamed and did all her little Veela things. When she was upset and depressed or guilty was when she became a demur kitten. I hated myself for loving that kitten. She was older than me, she was harder than me... Having seen things she hadn't needed to. Having lived through the death of a husband. Seeing her younger sister married (happily) while she still mourned for Bill Weasley. Witnessing her parents murders because they had insisted on digging up the filth connected to Bill's murder. All through those years she'd been the strong woman. The one who hadn't wanted sympathy but had needed it. I loved being able to comfort her. I loved being the rock that she depended on... And I hated myself that I needed that kitten... A lot.
I could see her clearly now. Her glowing hair surrounded her pale face. Her bright blue eyes shadowed by the night. Her mouth a dark stain, the darkest part of her really since she tended to dress in pale colors. The night gown almost blended into her skin, but I was able to tell the slippery silk from the feathery skin. I used my hand in hers to pull her body closer to mine. I used my hand on her face to cradle the back of her neck as she scooted closer. Face to face now I could see the furrow between her eyebrows, the sadness in her eyes, and the frown on her lips. "You don't need me to say this time and again, but I will because it lights up your face. It makes you smile that smile I love so much. It eases your eyes and then they too glow for me." I stopped seeing the effect my words had already had on her. The slight ease of tension above her brow. The faint un-creasing of lines at the corner of her eyes. The small almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of her mouth. "I don't regret turning Ron Weasley down."
The reactions I knew would take place did. The smile hitching my breath as it always did. "I'm sorry that I need to be reminded so often." She said in that demur kitten purr. The smiled was beautiful, but it hadn't touched her heart yet. Her mind was probably still racing over facts and 'what if's. I smiled at the purr.
"No worries love. You know my guilty pleasure all too well." I said trying to make her really smile. I saw the moment she caught my meaning. I wasn't thinking dirty, but she sometimes slipped in the gutter when I mentioned the word 'pleasure.' Her pretty pale cheeks darkened and her lips parted with the glint of teeth. Up till now one of her hands had been in mine and the other had been curled before her, close to her chest, but now she snaked that hand forward and touched my cheek. Whenever she turned her back on that feisty Veela with the hard edges and became my demur kitten she seemed naive and pure. Almost as if she hadn't lived seven years as a wife. Almost as if she'd never heard of death or sex. I always felt older at these times and, again, I was ashamed that I liked it too much.
"I need a reason..." Her voice trailed off as her fingers trailed along my cheek and brow. I removed my hand from hers and circled it around her narrow waist. We were the same clothing size, but where I had the curves (hips, butt, thighs, chest) she was tiny with only the smallest hints of roundness. I couldn't help it once my hand was at the small of her back, but to sneak under the silk top she wore and caress the soft skin there.
"You don't need a reason..." I said smiling. Her face was so uncertain but her smile was blinding. "You know already." I leaned my head closer to hers. Brushing my cheek over hers... The one I had been caressing moments ago. Lying side by side was an awkward arrangement for what I wanted to do and so silently moving out of the cheek-to-cheek caress I sat up in the bed and brought her up with me. Instinctively she scooted closer and wrapped her thin but well muscled legs around my waist sitting in the circle that I made with my own legs. Both my hands were at the small of her back now, caressing as my eyes caressed her face. As usual her hands found my bouncy hair (what was left of it now) and roamed all through it.
She'd commented once that the reason she loved my hair was because she could mess around with it and it wouldn't look bad. Meaning I had the worse case of bed-head and no amount of finger combing through it would mess that up. I smiled at the memory as she leaned her head closer. She wouldn't kiss me yet. We both knew the routine too well. It pulled on my heart a little to think of this as 'routine,' but the prospect of things to come still had me excited. Her face with those pinked stained lips of hers nuzzled my neck and I inhaled sharply as her tongue licked my skin. I could feel the hard muscles of her legs on my back as the heels of her feet massaged the area above my behind. Massage wasn't really the right word.
I had discovered over time that she flexed her feet when she concentrated on something. Languidly pointing her toes and then flexing them back as her heels pointed out. The first time I had noticed this wasn't a 'sexual' moment. We hadn't even kissed for the first time then. No, it had been when she'd been reading the financial papers that belong to Bill and her's marriage. Those final bits of parchment that had put the period and therefore the finality to the whole situation. I had sat across from her, in my favorite armchair, while she sat curled on the couch. Silent tears dripping down her face as she read. I hadn't ever paid too much attention to feet before probably because mine were hideous things with my second toes being longer than my biggest ones, but hers were dainty, tiny even. It was hard to see those small things holding all of that woman up.
I had cried silently with her as she read. Watching the expressions swim around her face, but the movement of her feet; the only movement she was making, had drawn my attention. The actions were so fluid and sensual it was almost as if they had a mind of their own and it wasn't on death at all. That had been an inappropriate time to ask her about it. Later, several months later I had finally gotten the courage to ask and was rewarded with a blank stare. I had felt foolish at the time, but I hadn't let it deter me.
So when she'd first wrapped her legs around my waist (as in our current position) and those dainty feet had started kneading the air they'd also worked my lower back which had felt so, so good. It had been unexpected and that first time had been embarrassingly short. She hadn't understood then. Now she did. That memory was really strong even with my embarrassment, but her actions now were demanding my full attentions.
I became aware of her hands roaming over my naked back and realized that somehow we'd already lost our pajama tops. My hands were at her waist just holding on as she took control of the situation. Her mouth was at my throat kissing it's way up and I admit that I'm a bit impatient when it comes to kissing. I dipped my head when she inched back for a breath and caught her mouth with mine. Older and more dominate, she was lead in our duet, but at times my obstinate way roared it's ugly head and I lept foreword. It wasn't always the right move. Rushing things when she wanted to be slow and tender or sometimes reading her mind and doing to her what she had had planned for me. We weren't perfect. We couldn't anticipate each other like clock work. Sure the 'routine' always, always started the same way, but the acts between the opening and closing ceremonies were never the same.
Her legs tightened around my waist and I felt her heels dig into the top of my butt. I winced into her mouth which released hers long enough for a lilting laugh. The musical bells began as our act became a comedy. She liked a little bit of roughness and I played the part of the hurt victim. My acting sucked and she usually got more laughs than anything else from the experience. I laughed too because her laughter is infectious. I brought my hands up, trailing my fingers along her bare sides, which pulled a shiver from her and ended the comedy round. I pulled her hair over her shoulders leaning back just enough so it would fall between our bodies covering her small round breasts. I loved how they fit my hands perfectly. They'd be too small in a man's hands, but they were just right for mine.
I loved the look of her. Pale skin glowing as brighter and yet paler hair covered her innocently. The glint behind those blue eyes was anything but innocent though. I leaned back into her feeling the silky strands of hair on my own breasts and stomach. I kissed her again slowly and sedately... Lovingly. My hands caressed her arms from shoulders to wrists and then back again as her hands found my face. I pulled on her tongue as she parted her lips for me and I smiled around the kiss. We broke apart chests heaving for breath. She sedately laid her forehead on my shoulder and hugged her arms around my neck crushing me to her. I ran my hands and fingertips along the tops of her knees and then thighs. "I love you..." She said in her whisper-y demur kitten voice. It always unnerved me that she said it so shyly as if to prepare herself to take it back if I didn't return her affections. The tall strong Veela woman was again absent at these tender moments.
"I love you too." I said reaffirming her thoughts. She pulled me tighter and I tightened my fingers into the skin of her thighs as well. She gasped as I knew she would. She liked roughness, but not if she was the receiver. I liked seeing the bruises (she bruised easily, that fair skin of hers) and I only made them where she could hide them. She shivered against me as I loosened my fingers on her. I figured that the shiver was her way of anticipating the remaining acts of our love making. It had never just been sex. She was dominate enough. She was demanding enough and even after three years of abstinence since Bill's death it hadn't been need. It had always been want. She was sometimes rough and I was sometimes rough to her, but it had always and probably would always be love. Not just sex.