Disclaimer: I take them out to play and put them back (more or less nicely) where they belong.
'I have no interest in witches, Minerva.'
'I know,' Minerva replied crossly. She disliked the gentle resignation in his voice, and although there was no hint of condescension, she felt its looming presence and frowned at it. 'I'm not an idiot, Albus.'
A look of confusion darted briefly across his face, though he hid it well. She felt a flash of triumph that was quickly smothered by guilt. She sat down next to him on the sofa, close but with careful space between them.
'Then I do not understand.'
'I am offering comfort,' she explained, having chosen the word well in advance. 'You are a dear friend, Albus, but you cannot convince me that you are not lonely.' It may have been a bit harsh, but she had no patience for delicate dancing around the issue.
He looked surprised at that, turning to face her. He had not been expecting this. 'Minerva…'
'I know I'm not your equal,' Minerva said simply, and that was a fact, not because she was a witch but because no one she'd ever met equalled him in any way. She had glimpsed the life of great men before, and had no desire for it. 'And I know it may not be what you need. But I am offering it to you because I think it might be.'
'I can't ask this of you.'
'Which is why I'm offering,' Minerva said again, struggling to keep the impatience out of her tone. 'It could be mutually beneficial, if you'd let it.'
He smiled slightly at that and she was glad of it. 'Mutually beneficial?' he repeated, sounding amused.
'I think you'd be a marvellous lover,' she said primly, and he burst into laughter before sobering.
'It has been many years, Minerva. I doubt you have considered – '
Minerva knew she was one of the few who felt comfortable interrupting Dumbledore, and she made use of it now. 'Albus,' she cut him off, 'let me assure you that I have considered this very seriously, for quite some time.' She hesitated but ploughed forward, 'If this is your way of refusing, you need only say so. I am not a wizard, after all. That ought to be reason enough.'
Again the slight smile, the quiet twinkling eyes. 'I am greatly touched, Minerva.' She felt the pending refusal, the gentle rejection, but thought she saw for a moment a flash of deep sadness in his eyes, and latched onto it desperately.
'Just try it,' she said hurriedly, 'just once. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't, but there's no harm in trying. You deserve happiness, Albus,' she added gently. And then it seemed she had said all there was to say, and clasped her hands together as a sign that she was done.
She waited for what seemed like an eternity, listening to the ticking of the clock, counting her heartbeats. She had made her speech, now she would let him choose.
'Very well,' he said finally, with the slightest of hesitation. 'Perhaps – just to try.'
With the softest smile she could muster, Minerva stood and offered her friend her hand. He took it and she lead him to his own bedroom, stifling a laugh at how ridiculous it all was, glad she had worn her nice undergarments, wondering if this had any hope of success.
When they reached the bedroom she made to disrobe, quickly and efficiently, but he stopped her with one hand on her wrist and undressed her slowly, tenderly, with affection born from years of friendship.
Soon she stood before him, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight. She did not feel self-conscious about her body – she was still young, and comfortable in her own skin. But she may as well ask –
'Will you need a potion?'
Albus observed her nude form carefully, almost comic in his perusal, before shaking his head slightly from side to side. 'Perhaps not. You are a beautiful woman, Minerva.'
She smiled and stepped forward, sliding his robes from his shoulders gently, taking her time. She wondered if anyone had done this for him before and was glad of the darkness to hide the sadness in her eyes.
She ran her hands gently down his shoulders, brushing her fingers over the soft hairs of his forearm, trailing circles on his wrists. His back was firm with muscles and his shoulder blades made strong lines in his skin. There was a slight softness to his belly that she smiled at, running her fingers over the bones of his hips. She knelt to remove his shoes and socks, stroking the strong muscles in his calves, scraping her nails lightly over his shins. When she rose again he was beginning to harden against his thigh. She resisted the urge to reach out a hand, and instead lead him to the bed.
He protested slightly when she lay him down on his back. 'I wish to do something for you as well, Minerva. Please, let me – '
'Not yet,' she whispered, and spent long, lazy minutes learning his body, the contours of his bones, the softness of his skin, the sparse hairs on his chest. She rubbed his feet and his shoulders but she liked his chest best, the spot over his heart. Light kisses soon followed her touches, soft breaths whispered into his skin like secrets.
She pretended not to see the tears streaking down his face, though her heart broke at the sight of them.
When at last she allowed him to turn her over and slide into her warmth, she relished his groan as much as she did the glorious pleasure of it. He began to rock, slowly and tenderly, and she knew there would be times, in the future, when they would be rough and wild, when he would pound and she would ride and they would slip and roll together, but tonight he was slow, and she felt each and every tear drop as it landed on her chest.
She reached down to touch herself where it felt best, and came soon after, the muscles of her abdomen coiling in anticipation, the tingling in the arches of her feet, her breath catching, her back arching, and then it was over, as he came with a quiet groan, shuddering and collapsing on top of her.
She put her arms around him and held him to her breast, stroking lengths up and down his back, whispering nothings into his ear. She knew the crippling loneliness of never being touched, knew how few people recognized it for what it was.
They lay there together, he wrapped in her arms, taking silent comfort from each other as the night wore on.
Many years and countless nights later, they shared smiles when people gossiped and whispered and suspected about their relationship. She was tempted to answer some of the questions, only because she knew it would cause more confusion and questions than resolution and answers, but the secret was theirs.
Did she love him? Of course she did, but she was glad they were not in love. After all, he had no interest in witches, and Minerva had no interest in broken hearts.