Searing
Heat.
Sticky, wet, heat.
It was an uncommonly hot spring day, easily peaking as one of the hottest in recent history. Most members of the British Wizarding world sat inside their manors with cooling charms cast about by their house-elves to keep the outside scorch at bay. Muggle meteorologists were astounded at the skyrocketing temperatures, and attributed it to global warming because a cold front was moving in for the following day.
Hermione was an opportunist and did not want to waste such a day.
She laid her towel down on the lawn of the newly restored Potter Manor and smiled. Harry had immediately reclaimed his birthright once the war was over. His godfather, surreptitiously spat from the veil once his murderer had been killed, was the one who spurred him to become attuned with his family history. Upon discovering that the Ministry and Albus Dumbledore had kept the majority of his holdings hostage from him, he seized his vaults and holdings, and Potter Manor was restored within a fortnight. Harry had insisted that Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Teddy, and Luna Lovegood move in immediately.
He did a beautiful job. The lands were expansive, with Magical and Muggle accomodations alike. The rich green lawns surrounded the house for about fifty meters before giving way to orchards, forests, and a pond that ran behind the house, giving it a lush and heady feeling, especially today of all days. The manor itself was a beautiful gray stone with ivy clawing its way up any given side, giving it a very serene vibe that Hermione enjoyed immensely.
She was alone today, as all of the inhabitants of Potter Manor were on some errand or other. Taking advantage of solitude, she crossed her arms over her shirt, pulling it up and over her head to reveal a simple red two-piece — a bright contrast to her olive skin.
She tied up her curls in a messy bun atop her head, before spreading out an oversized towel and stretching out over it, enjoying the feel of the sun on her skin.
Eyes closed, Hermione allowed her mind to wander.
It was silent, except for the sound of sparrows chirping from the safety of the treetops, where they sheltered in relative shade. Even the bees had withdrawn today; on hot days such as these, the world slowed down and everything quieted.
The rays melting into her flesh were a balm to her tropical-sun-kissed skin. Hermione had spent many a holiday in warmer climates and was sure that, had she not been a witch at the forefront of the war, she would've ventured out of the UK, settling for sandy white beaches on an island where no one knew her name.
The sweat pooling in the hollow of her throat was frustrating, alluding to moisture in other places of her body that spoke of desire, of wanting — another heat altogether.
All she really wanted was to be kissed there and maybe the fire in her veins would cool to a slow burn.
She longed for sure lips and precise fingers to make her spin and sway, to alleviate this tension in a way she couldn't quite do herself, no matter how hard she tried. She longed for sweat-soaked skin to slide against hers in a way that was sensual and frantic and needy .
She longed for passion.
She'd been unlucky thus far.
Hermione opened her eyes and looked around, a devious thrill going through her at the prospect of being so open. So vulnerable.
The silence reigned.
She slid her hands down her ribcage, imagining them to be calloused and rough. Dipping into the waistband of her bathing suit bottoms, Hermione applied pressure to her center and moaned greedily. The heat was blinding, and her stomach was taut with need and frustration - desiring above all to feel satisfied and consumed in the way so many of her friends had described.
A guttural moan tore its way up her throat.
Feverish
Sirius stepped out of the garage and pulled his hair back into a messy bun, sighing in frustration.
This blasted heat was getting to him, and he couldn't figure out was wrong with his damned bike. He enjoyed the solitude that fixing the damned thing provided, but Merlin if he wasn't stuck.
Sirius exited the garage swiftly, pulling his shirt over his head and putting a cigarette to his lips. The smoke exhaled through his nose never failed to make him nostalgic. When he'd picked up the — admittedly disgusting — habit, he'd imagined himself to be a dragon every time the smoke billowed out his nostrils.
Sweat was trickling into his eyes and Sirius glared up at the sun as though the offensive thing would wither underneath his stare.
Taking a dip in the pond would be a nice reprieve to his overheated body. Moving in this weather was like being caught in a warm mist, a never-ending silk sheen, a spider's web of droplets. It stuck to the skin, a constant reminder.
Sirius lazily strolled around to the back of the house and froze.
There, lying in the lush grass, was Hermione.
A very-almost-nude Hermione.
Sirius had harbored a desire for the vivacious witch for quite a while. She had a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind, and Sirius was beside himself with want whenever she was near him.
Not that he would ever tell her, of course.
Maybe it was the heat, a shimmering mirage that his lust-fueled brain came up with; surely he was mistaken about the imagery she was providing him.
Small hands ran themselves up and down her body sensually, coaxing soft sighs from lips that begged to be kissed and worshipped. Wild hair was breaking away from the bun atop her head to fan out above her like a riotous halo.
Like a moth to a flame, Sirius approached her, as though his body knew no other direction to go, and his lips moved of their own accord to form words his brain had not yet computed.
"Hermione?"
A gasp, a lust-filled promise, left her mouth and she sat up frantically, eyes snapping to his.
He could see shame and embarrassment there. And maybe something else too.
"Oh, gods, Sirius! I'm so sorry, I didn't think anyone was home!"
In her haste to escape the embarrassing situation, as though she could somehow hide the obvious state she'd been in, she'd forgotten that the top that covered her had been untied. The garment dropped to pool itself into her lap, and Sirius' mercurial eyes darkened visibly.
Pert breasts, tiny pebbled nipples, blush-covered and sweat-soaked.
Begging to be touched.
"I'm just going to go…" she scrambled up, grabbing her top and towel, eyes burning.
"Wait." His hand on her wrist stopped her short, and Hermione forced herself to look up into his molten stare.
He didn't know what to say, honestly. What could he say to keep a witch like Hermione Granger there? What words would be enough to tip two people who stood on the precipice of something more , something bigger and maybe wrong and definitely frightening? Something he wanted, in that moment, more than anything he'd ever desired in his life?
"I want to touch you," he whispered.
Blistering
As soon as he said it, something inside of her screamed and thrashed. Her heart thudded against her sternum with purpose.
She allowed her eyes to roam his beautiful face. Aristocratic lines, sharp and edged. Time and crows feet did not take away from his handsomeness in the slightest. A full mouth parting to reveal white teeth and a witty tongue— a tongue she was sure held a much talent as it did in the way he shaped his words.
A tattooed chest and lean abdomen gave way to low cut jeans covered in grease stains and she thought maybe, just maybe , she could be his. Just this once, to see what the other witches had bragged about. Just once, to be consumed by Sirius Black.
His eyes searched hers, and she gave him a decisive nod, dropping the towel and bathing suit top carelessly on the ground between them.
If she had thought Britain was going through a heat wave, it was nothing compared to watching Sirius's gaze rake over her. It warmed her already too-hot flesh, leaving a trail of fire from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and she couldn't stop herself from reaching up and pulling his mouth to hers, solidifying that yes , this was happening and yes, yes, she wanted it.
He was not hesitant.
All of her experiences in the past did not prepare her for this.
This burned .
His mouth was firewhisky-laced and sensual, swallowing her moans, and his fingers danced in patterns across her skin that left a trail of fire behind wherever they touched.
"Tell me to stop," he pleaded, a final act of clarity.
"I don't want you to."
Ablaze
Sirius wasted no time in divesting the witch of her bottoms and haphazardly ripping his jeans off, before laying her back down and running his tongue along her.
This was not patient, it was not savory. This was ravenous. This was Sirius taking what he wanted and damn the consequences.
She was a completely enriching flavor and he groaned against her, smirking as her legs clenched around his head.
He forced them back open and looked up at her, "Keep these open or this ends, kitten."
She looked at him with wide eyes, a flush spread across her cheeks, and nodded before allowing her head to fall back in surrender.
Hermione was helpless to his ministrations. She had never had this done before and soon she was writhing and shaking and fire was licking its way across her skin before sparking and snapping and she let herself go—
It was beautiful.
Sirius watched her body convulse above him and smiled to himself.
I've still got it, he thought.
He allowed her to come down and catch her breath, before standing up, taking her hands and pulling her up along with him.
"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, still a bit breathless.
Sirius said nothing, leading them along with her hand in his. It was a perfect fit, but he'd dwell on that later.
Stepping into the spring was sweet relief, and Sirius couldn't help the sigh of contentment that escaped his lips.
Once they were completely submerged, he pulled Hermione towards him, internally in awe at the way she automatically wrapped her legs around his waist like she belonged there. He kissed her deep, massaging her tongue with his languidly. His hands made their way between her legs and he moved his fingers in a tantalizing motion that had Hermione groaning into his mouth.
He broke away from her, eyes dark and beautiful.
"I'm going to fuck you here, in this water, and you won't know which parts of your body are hot and which ones are cold."
Sirius was looking at her, all predator and heightened senses and Hermione immediately ground her hips into his hand, silently begging for more.
"Fuck me, please, Sirius."
He chuckled darkly, lining himself up to her entrance.
"Well, if you insist."
He sheathed himself in her with one swift motion, easily finding a hard and fast rhythm. She felt hot as hell and tight, and perfect in every way he'd never thought to imagine. She was bouncing against him, grinding her hips into his, matching his frantic motions with the same intensity and she thought he might have just been made for her.
Sirius had been an enigma to her in the last few years. With molten stares and heated words, always toeing the edge of a friend and…. something else. As he rolled his hips and his cock hit a part of her she hadn't known existed — Hermione was sure she would spend many hours learning the planes of his body and to interpret every gasp that left his mouth.
This was what she'd been wishing for.
"Sirius, I'm close," she breathed, and he increased his pace, knowing he himself wasn't going to last much longer.
He looked at her, mesmerized by the way the sun shone off the water droplets that were rippling across her skin. Her hair had completely come apart from the tie she'd thrown it in, creating a chaotic mane that hung over her shoulders, the strands weighed down slightly by their soaked ends.
Her lashes were long and curled against her cheekbones. Her skin was freckling in the sun and her mouth was parted beautifully.
Her walls fluttered around him and she was sighing his name in breathy pants.
Sirius was lost as she shattered around him.
The water against them stilled, and the heat around them scorched.
Sirius ran his hands through her hair and kissed her forehead, more content than he'd ever remembered being — hating that he was about to break it.
"This can't happen again," his voice was laced with regret, and Hermione looked up at him confusedly.
"Is it because of Harry?"
He nodded, "That's a part of it. I'm sorry, Hermione, I should've been more in control. I've ruined everything."
She scoffed.
"I do not regret a single moment, Sirius Black. You were wonderful. I've never felt this beautiful before."
He smiled genuinely at her.
"You are," he insisted. " So beautiful ."
"I'd like to try," she said, "with you. If you want."
"I wish I could, more than you know. But I can't."
As he waded away from her, Hermione sunk into the water.
She didn't resurface until she was sure he wouldn't see her tears.
Slow burn
Later that evening, Hermione sat pensively at the dinner table, observing her friends, her family as they chattered with each other in merriment.
Harry was placing a sweet kiss on Ginny's cheek, his own reddening.
Ron was listening to Luna natter on, an amused look on his face.
Tonks was shooting bubbles out of the end of her wand and Teddy was reaching his chubby fingers towards them, a delighted laugh escaping his mouth.
Remus was watching with an indulgent smile on his face.
Sirius was staring at her, liquifying her with his intensity.
Thinking about what he'd been doing to her just a few hours prior had her clenching her legs together, and he narrowed his eyes at her as if silently communicating that she did not need to be thinking about it.
She excused herself a while later, thinking that maybe a good night's sleep would ebb the feeling of longing that his absence and rejection had created.
Tossing and turning — she let out a frustrated sigh when, hours later, she was still wide awake.
Hermione did not do this. She did not get twisted and bent out of shape over wizards, but Sirius Black had somehow come into her life, and her metaphorical bed, and now the witch was arse over broomstick.
It had felt so right .
She wanted him. And Hermione Granger could be stubborn when she wanted something.
Slipping out of her bed, she padded quietly down the hall, where she quietly opened the door to his suite.
It was massive, Gryffindor red and gold, with plush couches and wide, expansive windows that made the room inviting.
He was sleeping, one arm was thrown over his face, looking rumpled and completely fucking sexy.
Hermione eased into the bed next to him, and ran her finger along the seam of his lips, down the column of his throat.
His arm moved from his face to still her hand as it made its way down his chest.
"What are you doing here, Hermione?" Sirius's voice was gravelly with sleep and maybe a touch of desperation.
"I think you should reconsider."
His eyes met hers and she saw nervousness there.
"We have to think about Harry."
"I have, Harry will understand."
"I'm impulsive and reckless."
"It's a good thing that I'm not then, isn't it?"
"Azkaban changed me, it ruined me."
"I was tortured, and yet here we are."
"I'm too old."
"I'm still more mature than you."
He finally smiled at her. "Well, that's certainly true. Hermione, I'm not good enough for you."
She clicked her tongue in annoyance, "Don't you think that should be my decision? Sirius if I think you're good enough for me, then you should get over yourself."
He pulled her towards him, and she laid her head against his chest, hearing the sure drum of his heart.
He sighed, and she placed a kiss over his heart, a promise that she would take care of it.
There was a moment of silence, a gentle warmth seeping between them.
"Okay."
The End.