Chapter 46: Wherein Hermione rides Viktor's broomstick.
Summary: Just exactly as it sounds. This is truth in advertising, here, people.
The Dementors were utterly relentless in their attempts on goal; you'd hardly know it was an exhibition match. They were clearly out for blood. Still, the Inferi keeper was quite good even if the defensive team was having an off day and Viktor ended it after an hour or so.
And then after the moment of celebration with his team and the formal greeting of one team by another, Viktor did what Hermione had been confidently told was a vertical mount wherein he climbed his broom rather like she wanted to climb him, did some sort of showy corkscrew maneuver that she missed the explanation of, in Harry's running commentary for the Windsors, and zoomed up to their box which comfortably sat everyone resident in The Curtain, and her in the first row, between her mother and Elizabeth, with Harry and Ginny right behind them with the Krums on one side and the Malfoys and Luna on the other of her brother and his wife.
And then he was right in front of her, shifting his goggles up to rest on his forehead, grinning and looking her in the eye before turning to Elizabeth and greeting her politely.
"What fine flying you have done, Viktor. You are a credit to your sport," Elizabeth complimented him.
He thanked her politely and in general the whole box when everyone chimed in in one way or another, particularly his friends who were less restrained as it wasn't their monarch sitting in the front row. While this happened, Hermione quietly shifted a snoozing Morning over to her mother's lap. Midnight had already taken up residence with Ginny.
"It is tradition that the one who catches the snitch keeps it, and often it is given as a gift," Viktor said to Elizabeth. He extended a hand to her and opened it, to reveal a quiescent snitch lying on his gloved palm. It unfurled its wings once, flapped them half-heartedly, and then wrapped them around again and seemed to go to sleep. "Will you accept this gift, Your Majesty?" he said on a smile.
Hermione looked over and saw Elizabeth's small but clearly pleased smile in return. "What a lovely gesture. Thank you very kindly, Prince Viktor. I shall," she said, plucking the golden ball out of his palm and holding it in her own.
"I hope you will forgive me for stealing my wife away," he said, and he was so charming she couldn't stand it. "- and I hope you all have a lovely time at the festival this afternoon. We look forward to seeing you at dinner."
"Of course, my dears. Have a nice afternoon," Elizabeth said, and then turned to Charles to remark on something Hermione didn't catch, possibly having to do with the golden snitch in her hand. But that was quite beyond Hermione because she was in a staring match with her husband.
She was waiting for him to dismount, and escort her down the stairs like a civilized human being.
He was waiting for her to mount his distinctly not a tandem broom and zip away like some sort of sex fiends eager to indulge in the decadence of their Roman House of Pleasure.
"We could walk," Hermione said gently and very quietly, aware of so very many sets of eyes on them, even if Elizabeth had given them a modicum of privacy, bless her.
"Mm. My way is faster," he said with a little grin, but then the grin fell away and she was trapped in the innocence and intensity of his gaze.
She trusted him. And she needed to show that trust in public.
Hermione took a deep breath. "Alright," she murmured. "How do I do this?
"Stand up," he directed and she did so. "Take a step toward me," and that took her to the front of the box, and the railing, with her toes against the wood. "Turn around and face the back of the box." When she did, suddenly everyone in the box was caught staring at her, and then fifty sets of eyes mostly had the good grace to look elsewhere. A few didn't, including her parents.
"Don't worry, Hermione!" said her mother who had never been on a broomstick. "He's obviously good at catching things."
Hermione bit her tongue and did not reply.
"Sit on the railing," he instructed, and she did so ever-so-slightly, just resting the back of her bum on it, really.
"Turn toward me slightly," he said, and he was right there. His left arm was coming around her waist. "Put your left arm around my neck, good. Get ready to scoot back on my lap. One, two, three, scoot," he said, and when he said scoot, he hauled her into his lap.
Oh, damn. He smelled really good.
"Are you alright?" he asked gently and so softly, his arms tight around her waist.
"Yes," she breathed out, alright enough for the moment, though perhaps not alright in the larger scheme of things compared to times when she was genuinely doing well. She put her other arm around his neck and tightened her hold. "Let's go."
Viktor then let go with one arm, twisted and leaned into her so their torsos faced each other, sort of, grabbed the broom handle with one hand, and gently brought them up and away from the stands and to the clicking of many cameras and what Hermione had a sneaking suspicion was general applause. The broom gently, so gently rose and turned and soared over the spectators' stands and Hermione focused on how grateful she was of Viktor's care for her. He was being gentle and slow, and he smelled so good, and how on earth could a sweaty man be so appealing, was that some sort of evolutionary thing?
"You smell amazing," she murmured as they flew slowly a hundred or so feet over the crowds between the quidditch pitch and the enclosure wall.
His laugh was an almost soundless rumble and shake of his chest that she could feel quite well, given the fact that she was clinging to it.
"Congratulations on a game well played, and won," she added quietly, speaking directly in his ear. There might be a hundred feet between them and anyone else, but it was a hundred feet of clear air with no impediment.
"Mm," he replied, and she could feel it, like some sort of rumbling purr in his chest, and she finally understood the whole point of sex on a broomstick, if only because it was where you happened to be when you really wanted sex.
Hermione was silent then. There were many, many things she wanted to say, but none she wanted overheard and reported in the paper tomorrow morning.
She wanted to tell him how wonderful he was. How safe she felt in his arms, even if she was on a broomstick. She wanted to tell him that she might be up for a little broomstick sex after all. She wanted to tell him to go directly to the former orgy room in the half of the New Palace they had warded for their own occasional use, alone, the half with the Roman Bath, his new weight studio, and yes, the room set aside for sex encouraged by red and white roses rather than compulsion spells with dreadful side effects.
She wanted to tell him how much she wanted to peel his clothes off of him layer by layer until she could finally lick the sweat off of him.
She didn't. She was silent. Waiting. Couldn't this thing go any faster?
They soared high above the enclosure wall and then circled gently down around the inside of the enclosure just the once, gradually losing altitude and then Viktor was gliding in between the columns and past the red curtain that obscured the interior but parted as they approached, and then they were in their private love nest alone. Three of the four walls of red cloth glowed purple for just a moment and Viktor must have wandlessly used the locking spell Mory had shared with them.
She really needed to work on wandless, wordless spellcasting. Half the time Viktor didn't even need to gesture. It was so impressive, and she was so jealous.
Viktor groaned and leaned back and Hermione immediately kissed him. He groaned into the kiss and Hermione decided that maybe just this once sex on a broom could be more than just okay. She shifted a bit and broke the kiss.
"Help me straddle you," she breathed into his lips and immediately he loosed his hold and leaned back a bit while helping her get her left leg between them and on the other side without kicking him in the abdomen. It wasn't comfortable until she had her legs around his hips, ankles hooked together and her boots resting on the wood behind him.
Viktor muttered something and then her jeans, while still on technically, no longer had seams that were connected to anything. Her jeans were muggle and not charmed against such shenanigans as the seam split.
She pulled the top bits of her jeans away and out of her boots and cast them off to the side, leaving the bits and pieces she was sitting on where they were, for the moment.
Viktor, meanwhile, was kissing her neck and groaning how beautiful she was and how much he wanted her. One hand was supporting her back, and the other was kneading her hip. He still had his gloves on.
Hermione sighed and reached between their bodies. She unlaced the breeches he wore and he gasped as she wrapped her hand around him. He was hard and ready. Oh, yes.
Ten rounds of sex the night before and less than twelve hours later her mouth was watering in anticipation.
She shoved her lacy knickers aside and relaxed her legs to get some more space, but the angle wasn't quite right. "Viktor," she began, and her voice came out strange and airy and high. "Can you lift me a bit?"
He did so immediately and when she swirled his tip around all the good places she started panting. He probably wouldn't last long, and as this was one of his fantasies come to life, she couldn't blame him in the least. But there was no good reason not to enjoy herself fully in the meantime.
"Stop," he said, his voice sharp.
As he took a moment, she wondered if she'd mind sitting back on his broomstick as it hovered in the air, getting eaten out. Or being bent over it. There was the cushioning charm, after all. It would probably be remarkably comfortable, at least in some ways. And if they used her broom another time, with the tandem charm, that opened up a few more avenues for not entirely dreadful sex. No, no. She could live with a bit of regular broomstick sex, after all.
"Okay, go," he growled before kissing her, and then groaned into the kiss when Hermione resumed rubbing his tip all over the head of her clit and associated areas. Then she notched it at her entrance and wrapped her arms back around his neck. She might have said something rather rough to him at that point, something along the lines of, 'fuck me, Viktor,' but her mouth was entirely occupied. In the end she just tightened the grip her legs had around him as he slowly slid in.
Viktor broke the kiss and Hermione watched in satisfaction as his head fell back and he gasped out the words, "ah, fuck, Myon," over and over in a randomized order.
She squeezed him and was satisfied both with the feeling which sent shivers up her spine, and his response, because now he was moving her up and down his length by virtue of lifting her bodily and essentially letting her drop back onto his lap.
Just as she was wondering how long his arms and back could take that sort of abuse, it paused and instead he held her tightly to him as he shifted, unfolding his legs and hissing. She could feel the difference when he stood, holding her to him. He shuffled backwards slightly while the remnants of her jeans fell away and then he sunk down again.
Hermione found herself gently laid back so that the small of her back was directly on top of the cushioning charm and Viktor cradled the back of her head in his hand against the hard wood of the broom handle.
He looked intensely into her eyes and internally her muscles spasmed against him. "Is this okay?" he asked, and in response she grinned and clenched down hard.
"Are you going to fuck me on your broom or not, Viktor Krum?"
His eyes narrowed and a thrill ran up her spine. His free hand shifted to wrap around her shoulder from behind. Just when she thought he was going to kiss her lips, he veered off and instead his lips trailed the shell of her ear. His voice was hard as he informed her that his name was Viktor Pendragon.
But then he did fuck her on his broom.
It was sweet and fierce and it wasn't doing quite as much for her as it was for him, mostly because she was concerned about falling the three feet to the floor, or the broom's emergency brake disengaging, or whatever it was they had that made them float stationary, whereas of course this had been one of his fantasies for who knew how long.
Well, possibly something along the lines of four and a half years, if he'd been a particularly naughty boy and imagined importuning the girl who fixed his nose all those years ago, giving her a world class ride on his broom, as it were.
And hadn't he admitted something exactly like that? That and instant erections when he saw her?
Clearly she needed more details. She wanted it all spelled out for her. After all, there could possibly be reenactments with a twist.
He came with a fuck, fuck, fuck, Myon, oh, fuck and she consistently liked the feel of it when he came inside of her; the momentary enlargement of his already reasonably sized member, the loss of control, his complete adoration of her. Hermione herself wasn't anywhere near coming, but it didn't bother her in the least. His recovery time, if yesterday was anything to go by, was quite short, at least in the beginning. And the fun times were just beginning.
She rubbed his back as he caught his breath.
"Can you sit upright on your broom for me?" she asked gently.
"Mm." It wasn't a groan that seemed to look forward to the prospect. And in fact he didn't move for a long, long moment. When he started to shift, she unlocked her legs from around his waist and they both hissed when he slid out of her. She stood and he steadied her in that awkward moment when she wasn't supporting herself but then neither was the broom. Then he sat back down on it, thunking down sideways and moaned a little bit, one more time.
Another man might look ridiculous, dressed in full quidditch gear, sitting sideways on his broom, with a semi-flacid wet cock hanging out of his breeches. Viktor, still panting slightly with hooded eyes, and radiating desire, reminded Hermione more of a quality bar of dark chocolate, the sort with sea salt and caramel, that had only the top corner unwrapped. Clearly the job was half done and you just needed to go and unwrap the whole thing immediately because clearly you were going to eat the whole thing in one sitting just as soon as the tea was ready.
She looked at him and thought about it for a moment. She could do this the easy way, or she could do this the sexy way.
Well, what the hell. He was her husband, after all.
She sauntered up to him, or she tried to saunter, stood to the side facing the front of the broom, and then bent at the waist, all the way over. Her goal, two-fold. One, unbuckle his leg guards so she could unwrap her chocolate bar. Two, present her husband with her arse, bisected by the black lace of her thong.
He groaned loudly and she could feel the leather of his gloves on her naked bum and while the skin of his hands was better, the gloves were nice, too.
She unlaced the specialty shoes while she was down there as well, and was eventually able to remove the shin guards, shoes, and socks and toss them to the side, then she slowly came back up and stretched a little bit for good measure.
Hermione considered taking his jersey off to just do this all in her underwear and boots, but then, having her on his broom, in his jersey might work for him.
He hadn't been wearing a helmet today, and his goggles had been pushed up on his forehead since he first approached the top box. But the first order was to remove the gloves, which she did, and tossed behind her on the growing pile. Then removing the forearm guards which were full of just as many buckles as the shin guards. Then she peeled his jersey off of him, and then the long sleeved undershirt beneath that.
Aah, bare chest. Sweaty, beautiful, strong bare chest with an enticing trail of hair down past his belly button leading to his cock which was not exactly spent anymore, though it was still wet.
She left the leather wand holster in place on his forearm and went for his breeches instead.
"Up," she commanded, much like she had been taught to treat a broomstick, however much it hadn't ever worked for her. It worked this time, and Viktor rose to his bare feet with sensuous grace.
She pulled his breeches down and then the under layer he wore as well, and tossed them both behind her. He was naked, save for his wand, and his other wand, and the goggles perched on the top of his head.
Hermione looked him in the eye and ordered him to put his broom at the right height to bend her over it.
One hand reached out over the broom, and it smacked into it. The other hand hauled her closer and put her within kissing range again. He nibbled at her lips and he told her how grateful he was that she was willing to play out his fantasies for him.
"Every one I can," she promised, knowing he would do the same, when she figured out what she wanted that she hadn't already gotten. "And when you're done, I hope you've also fantasized about eating me out while I sit on your broom. Because if you haven't at this point, I have."
He grinned and kissed her again, then led her to the broom. As she gently bent over, she was quite pleased with the cushioning charm. A lack of anything better to do with her arms led her to reach back and grab the broom. It might not be comfortable for too long, but as this was round two, he wouldn't last that long. Not if she spoke to him at the same time.
She could feel his bare hands on her backside now, and on her back underneath her shirt. They made her shiver, they felt so good.
"Ungh, Myon. Do you know how long I have wanted to fuck you in my jersey?" His hands roved over and over her bum as he apparently revelled in the sight.
"Mmm, four and a half years? Roughly?"
"Yes!"
She could feel him lining his cock up and rubbing the head around, as she had begun to love.
"I was such a bad boy," he admitted, and then slammed himself in and of course he went deeper in this position, and it left Hermione gasping. "But I still wanted you. I could calm myself during the day, I could be a gentleman like I was raised, but then at night, oh, God, at night, there was no escaping it, no glossing over it, and it was all there laid out in my dreams," he said thrusting into her rhythmically, and the position was good, the cock was great, but the words, Sweet Jesus, his words…
"What? What did you dream? Tell me? Please, tell me," she begged, wanting him to continue speaking.
"Oh, my own Myon. I wanted you. Your heart. Your soul. And very explicitly your body. I wanted to suck on your breasts. I wanted to eat out your pussy. I wanted to take you on every flat surface I saw. I wanted to know what your thighs felt like. I wanted to know if you would like to suck my cock. I wanted to kiss you, everywhere. I wanted to make you moan, to make you cry out my name."
She moaned, and he paused. "Viktor," she breathed. "I love your cock, and I love your words. Don't stop."
Viktor breathed heavily for a moment as he pumped into her. "Ungh, Myon. You scramble my brain. I have no poetry. No eloquence. All I can think about is your lusciousness. The shape of your ass. The feel of your legs. The perfection of your belly. The feel of your hips beneath my hands. The way your nipples harden. How sensitive the bottom of your breasts are. The feel of your hands on my skin. How you hold me tightly inside of you. Your lips, pulling on my ear. Your teeth, oh, Myon, your teeth biting my neck, my shoulders, my arms, my nipples. The way your mouth tastes. The way your skin tastes. The way your pussy tastes."
And here his words ended, or at least devolved.
The pounding got harder, faster.
Hermione keened. She was closer than she would have thought.
"Fuck, Viktor, oh, fuck. Harder? Harder?" she begged.
He was chanting her name, Myon.
"Yes! Yes, I'm here. I'm yours. I'm finally yours so fuck me harder!"
He came and it was so amazing and she was so bloody close and then the thrusts slowed and she swallowed a scream of moral outrage.
She shoved him off of her and spun around to sit down on the broom. The height of it seemed about right and as she hopped up, discovered it was fine. She spread her legs, steadied herself with one hand on the broom, and with the other pointed at her pussy. "Make me come!"
His look changed from surprise and confusion to relief and something perhaps approaching the worship of idols, considering his religious outlook. He fell to his knees and dove in face first, groaning and pulling the broomstick closer to him. He coaxed one leg then the other over his shoulders and she had to admit that perhaps for this one position a broomstick trumped all other sex toys. They would clearly need to keep hers in the bedroom. Hell, he could be sitting comfortably in a chair doing this.
And very likely he would be for many, many years to come.
He had a thumb on the head of her clit and a thick and eloquent tongue speared in her until he had drunk her clean, and then it was two thick, rough fingers inside of her making scissory motions while he sucked the head of her clit hard and then, then she could come.
It was her first orgasm of the day, if one didn't count all the orgasms between midnight and eight a.m. of which there were several.
Still, there came a point when she was uncomfortably over stimulated and that was the point she pushed his head away and mumbled for him to stop. He shifted her around until he rose up through her legs and she could wrap them around his waist and hold on, deeply tired if only for a moment.
Hermione realized dimly that he had mounted the broom again and held her tight as he flew them from the room they were in to the room he wanted to be in, red curtains parting before them. He laid her out on a heated stone bed, which meant, she dimly realized, that they must be in the Hot Bath room, and proceeded to feed her. More strawberries for her, more steak for him, but they both appreciated every morsel and before she knew it she had her energy back. She padded to the loo and returned to find her husband getting out of the hot pool. She was interested in following him until she realized his intention to go jump briefly in the cold pool which was absolutely out of the question for her at this point. She got in the hot pool instead and waited for him to come back. Which he did, shortly.
They relaxed in the water together, his muscles needing it perhaps more than hers, though she had had rather more athletic sex in the last twenty-four hours than she'd had ever, so it was still quite welcome.
"You know," she said as they were relaxing in the quiet. "It turns me on incredibly when you talk to me during sex."
"Yes. I noticed this," he agreed smugly.
She splashed him with a flick of water and continued on to her point. "And I love hearing the sexy things you think, and how you see me. And it does turn me on right good to hear you refer to yourself as 'such a bad boy', but you don't… you don't really think that, do you?"
A single eyebrow rose.
She waited for words to be forthcoming.
"Do you think I would have said it, if I didn't?" he asked.
She swam over to him and put her hands on the tops of his shoulders. She looked him dead in the eye. "You are the best man I've ever met. Viktor, you are the very best man I've ever known. And I do not believe that you were ever such a bad boy."
He held her eye contact, but shook his head slightly.
"No. I'm not budging on this one," she stated clearly.
He sighed and closed his eyes.
"No. Your beautiful wiles have no effect on me, now. I'm right," she said, "and I'm happy to wait for you to admit it."
He laughed slightly, and opened his eyes.
"Go on," she said. "Lay your case out before me. Argue it, if you like. And when you're done, I'll prove you innocent. Proceed."
"Hermione, it is obvious."
"Nope. Not to me. Make it plain. Use many words."
He sighed and closed his eyes again, squeezing them shut this time. "You know," he admitted slowly, "I find this embarrassing to discuss, outside of sex?"
She raised one eyebrow. "Would you prefer we continue this conversation while I suck you off?"
"That might help," he admitted with a grin.
"Up. Sit on the edge," she ordered.
He complied and she stood between his knees, playing with his thighs, and his balls, and his cock which was not yet hard. She wibbled it about between her fingers, momentarily distracted at how different it could be when it was, well, travel-sized. When she put her mouth on the tip, sucking it through her lips over and over, he sighed and began to speak.
"Myon, we met when I was seventeen. I had an adult job, adult responsibilities, and if I hadn't wanted to eventually pursue a mastery in blood magic, I would have quit school the year before. I was a formidable wizard in my abilities before we even considered the fact that I was also gainfully employed. I was ready to take over my father's estate whenever he decided he wanted to retire and I wanted to retire from sport and go raise roses and breed dogs and find a level-headed witch who didn't particularly like quidditch to settle down with. Despite the fact that I was not quite seventeen and an adult in the eyes of the government, I felt like one. I was treated like one, from my coach to my parents. I had mostly older friends who had been adults for sometime.
"When I met you in the top box, I made many assumptions. You looked young in the way many, many witches pay through the nose to look until they are well into their fifties or sixties. You were confident. You were strong. You were caring. And when you pulled a wand on me in public to heal me, I knew you were an adult, as this is not the action of a child."
She grinned up at him and shrugged.
"When I discovered you were still in school, I assumed you were in your final year, like me. It was awkward, especially if you turned out to be the school's champion, but okay. And the champions would maybe be thrown together more often, so that was okay, too. And had you been of age, and had it been a fair tournament, you would have been chosen, my powerful darling, and you would have beat us all. As it turned out, your entire life had been a tournament rigged against you, and you still won.
"When I discovered you had three full years of schooling left, which would have made you fourteen or fifteen at the most, I was horrified at myself for fantasizing about a child."
Hermione had some serious issues about what he had just said, but she wanted him to say it all before she brought in the actual logic and reason.
"And it was true that fourteen is the age of consent for Bulgaria, but we were not in Bulgaria we were in Britain where the age of consent is sixteen. And even so in Bulgaria one risks censure, courting a fourteen year old, even with her parent's permission. It is not the done thing.
"And yet you were magnificent. I could not look away. I could not train my thoughts. I could not rein in my desire. I could not redream my dreams. My heart was already gone, and so I vowed to make up for it all by waiting to court you, waiting until you had grown up. But that only made things worse for me. A perfect gentleman on the outside. A seething sack of hormones on the inside. Somehow with the thought of courting you properly, securing your hand in marriage, it gave something inside of me license to imagine such debauchery. By the time I put my hands around your waist as we danced at the ball I had made love to you in my mind a thousand times, and fucked you crudely a thousand more. And you, still a child.
"No. I should be ashamed of myself. I am ashamed of myself. And yet by the grace of God we are here, and you love me, and we have married. And I should not be ashamed of what we do now, this beauty and pleasure we have together. I should not be…" he trailed off meaningfully.
Hermione let up and worked him slowly with her hand, kissing random portions of his anatomy she could reach.
"Subjectively speaking, I do understand your point. And before we look at the objective view, let's look at my subjective view, shall we? This is year four of my schooling, which means I've already survived two years of direct attack from Tom and one year of indirect hell because of Tom's madness. And in all of this, none of the adults around us could really keep up, which is patently ridiculous so we'll put that aside for a moment. But what it meant was that we had to grow up quickly. And as much as Harry has some distinct issues with a savior complex because he's actually had to save everyone over and over and over again, I have had some significant issues having to play the role of responsible adult to people only nine months younger than me and age be damned, it's made me feel like an adult. Viktor, for better or for worse, I felt middle aged from the moment a mountain troll nearly killed me, six weeks after I turned twelve. That was the first time I faced death, and it was certainly my worst showing at it. You faced a dragon when you were seventeen, in a controlled atmosphere with dragon handlers watching on, having had time to prepare, with spectators for God's sake. I faced a dragon when I was eighteen when I broke into Gringotts and believe you me, it was put there to eat me. But by the time I faced the dragon you know what? It was just one more fucking thing on one more fucking day. I didn't expect to get through the war alive, but neither did I expect to die that particular day."
Viktor stilled her hands on him, and slid back down in the pool to face her.
She took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to turn into a round of I Was More Adult Than You Were. My point is that by the time you came along, yes. I really enjoyed the moments when I could just be a student because I loved learning, and I still do. It's possible I always will. And though it was hard for me to believe that you were interested in me, once I could take that on, I loved it. I loved your attention. I loved feeling my heart race when our eyes met. I loved… being in love with you. And there was a certain thrill because you were older. But, and please don't take this the wrong way, because I adore you, and I don't want to hurt your feelings. You still felt like a boy to me. A manchild at best. Terrifically more polite than anyone else I'd met at school. Kind. Powerful. Exciting. But Viktor, you hadn't finished growing into your limbs, yet. And yes, you had an adult job and that was a bit bizarre, and yes you had groupies, but so did Harry, so that was somewhat normal to me. And when I compared you to Harry and Ron, there was no comparison. You were like a prince standing next to peasants. But I came to understand that that was because you were dedicated to your studies, wildly intelligent, wonderfully powerful, and deeply compassionate, and added unto that you had excellent manners. Seeing you was like seeing the sun on a cloudy day, Viktor. And perhaps because you were three years older than them and two older than me it was unfair of me to compare you to them in my head, but you also outshone the other seventh years I knew. But I didn't see that as a product of you being more adult. I saw that as you being you. And… well, I'll just say it. You felt like more of a kindred spirit to me than anyone else I'd met and known well. Okay, I downplayed that a bit. Oh, gosh, this is really hard to say. Okay, I feel like a selfish bint here, but total honesty: When you were around, it honestly felt like you were the only one worth my time. I mean, friends being friends aside, and it's not like I've ever tossed them over, only recently have I cultivated friends who value thinking. I'm not sure why it took me this long. And I only did it because I desperately needed it, which doesn't speak highly of me and my motivations, however much I enjoy their company and their friendship. But before this year, Viktor? You were the only one worth my time. And I didn't cultivate you before this year, either. But not because you were some adult figure. It's because you lived in Bulgaria.
"So that's my subjective view. But, and no, wait, I'm not done yet. Let's consider the objective view.
"In Muggle Britain, one is an adult with some rights at the age of sixteen, which includes sexual consent, and all rights at age eighteen. In Wizarding Britain one is a witch or wizard with rights the moment one has a wand, presumably at eleven, and one is an adult at aged sixteen, or whenever one passes one's OWL's, which happen at the end of the fifth year. That's when we're allowed to get apparating licenses, and licenses to try for animagi status. And yet, one is still in school until one is nearly or already eighteen, so there are plenty of grey areas to be had.
"So objectively, by British standards you were already an adult, but not with all rights and responsibilities, but you were still in school, and so treated as a minor, and it was a social contract that despite a job, you agreed to. And objectively, by British standards, I was still a child, though on the cusp of adulthood, only one year away. And I was still treated as a minor, as you were, and I still abided by the social contract, as you did.
"And my darling husband, part of the social contract of being a minor in school is that you fancy other minors in school. And an important part of the social contract, whether we personally agree with it or not is to fancy them without actually having sex with them. And so we all did.
"And while there weren't many students dating with huge age gaps, you were permitted to take me to the Yule Ball, and I think that's a pretty good indicator that we were allowed to fancy each other. That it was still within the social contract. Yes, you had the right to consent to have sex and I didn't, but we didn't have sex. It was not a morally grey area. You were in the right, and so was I.
"Did I fancy you, as a student in my school on a foreign exchange? I absolutely did. Did you fancy me, as a student in a school you also attended? Yes you did. And your fantasies were a little more detailed, but you're also a boy. By the next summer I was masturbating to the memory of that moan/groan thing you do, and the way your voice goes low sometimes when you call me Myon, though I wouldn't have admitted it to anyone.
"And as for our first meeting we met stripped of all those expectations, those social contracts, almost entirely. I knew you were an athlete. You knew I was a spectator. You had no idea I couldn't stand quidditch, or what year I was born in. I had no idea you were so intelligent, so gifted, so kind. But the first thing, the very first thing I felt when I saw you was wanting to go to you. To help you. You looked wounded, physically and emotionally crushed, and you were actively bleeding, and no one was helping you. And you. Total honesty. What did you think when you first saw me?"
His arms had been around her for some time, and her hands on his chest as they spoke. It was very comfortable, just standing in the deep warm water.
"First thought or first emotion?" he asked.
"Mmm, both," she decided.
"Emotions flooded eventually through the defeat. First, like a magnet reorienting to North, like a very deep awareness. Then, desire. Thoughts? Who are you, and how do I get to spend more time with you?"
"What that tells me is that you've always treated me like an equal, and I've always treated you like an equal."
"Go back to this social contract. What is this? I think I understand, but make it plain for me."
"Right. So a social contract is a way to describe the way we act and react when we're being appropriate, but it's often behavior that isn't actually regulated by laws, or behavior that isn't part of any contractual obligation anywhere. And so sometimes a social contract is something we all agree upon and abide by, and other times we rebel against it and make our own because we're asked to abide by it, but we never actually got to negotiate it to begin with. Which is why communication is so important, so we can be clear on what we need, and what we expect from others, and whether or not we or they can abide by the clearly defined needs of others. Because by your own admission, Viktor, you were holding yourself to a higher standard within your social contract that you held everyone else, or than anyone else held you. And I and Harry do the same thing, just in different contexts. Harry routinely expects that he is the one who will have to die for everyone, and he never, ever expects anyone else to have to make that sacrifice, or want to make that sacrifice, and if they do, he feels it's his fault because it should have been him. Because in his social contract, he's the savior of the world. And unfortunately, way too many people buy into that same social contract and reinforce its truth for him. And in a way, it's total bullshit. And in a way, it's painfully true."
"And what is in your social contract?" Viktor asked, his hands making little patterns at the small of her back.
Hermione sighed. "I'm the only one who is prepared. I'm the only one who has thought it through. I'm the brains, the rational mind, the voice of reason. I'm not the one who won the war. I'm the one who made sure we won the war. I'm the one who figures it out first. I am relentless and unyielding and I will do whatever it takes."
"So, you are the mastermind? And no one else is allowed to be the mastermind?"
She smiled ruefully. "I think very few bothered to try. With Headmaster Dumbledore scheming his schemes, doing everyone's thinking for them and sharing the whole picture with no one else, and I mean no one else, everyone bought into his social contract."
"Nearly everyone," Viktor amended, evidence to the contrary in front of him.
"And your social contract?" Hermione asked, a lopsided smile on her face.
He sighed. "I am the adult." He sighed again. "But when I left Hogwarts that year, I was just a broken child that my father had to piece together."
"Tom ruins everything he touches," Hermione pointed out. They stood in silence for a while, just holding each other. "Returning to my original argument," she said gently. "All teenagers are sacks of raging hormones. That's part of being a teenager. And I get why they try to keep us from having rampant sexual encounters whenever the whim takes us. We'd hardly get any studying done, first off, and that's why we're there. Also, we'd have to be parents while still children ourselves, and thus perpetuate our worst habits and tendencies before we get a chance to grow out of them. Also, sex is so intimate. I mean, I don't judge people who have a bunch of it with a bunch of different people before they find their life partner, but when I think of who I've fancied and think of it now, I'm totally grossed out by the prospect of having fancied them much less snogged them, for those I did, and I'm thrilled I never shagged them. And okay, for the kissing it's just you and Ron and very briefly Cormac, but still. Ick.
"All this boils down to this: By one contract you were a child, by another you were an adult. And so when you were in the adult realm, you were treated like an adult, and I'll say probably acted like an adult. And when you were in the child realm, you were treated like a child, and you acted like a child insofar as you abided by the child's rules. That you were hyper responsible and in those ways acted like an adult doesn't mean that you also took for yourself adult privileges, and this is key. You took adult responsibilities without taking also the adult rights and privileges. You abided by the child's rights. This is key because children don't actually have the right to have consenting sex with other people when they want to. Adults do.
"And so, my beautiful, thoughtful, moral man, you were never in the wrong. You were never a bad boy, no matter how much you imagined having sex with your girlfriend, no matter how much you masturbated with thoughts of her going down on you. And if you hadn't been as in love, if you hadn't been as dedicated, Viktor, my darling Viktor, if your fantasy life had been tame and uninspiring, we wouldn't be married right now."
She let that sink in with a bit of silence and put her head on his chest. She couldn't hear his heartbeat, exactly, but she could feel it like a tiny shiver in his chest and through her cheekbone.
"I think I see your point," he said quietly and slowly. "I will consider changing my opinion on this. But it has always felt so wrong, so tainted, and I am not sure that even if I want to this will be a thing I can let go of easily."
"Well, you know, alternately, I'm happy to tie you to the bed. Gently, this time. But I'd really rather do that playfully, in fun, and not as an actual punishment because you genuinely feel ashamed of who you were and what you felt. Because I have no desire to punish you, Viktor. You've done nothing wrong. You are wholly innocent, and I want you to feel that as strongly as I know it to be true."
"I have done nothing wrong," Viktor whispered. "I am wholly innocent."
"You have done nothing wrong," she agreed. "You are wholly innocent."
His breath shuddered against her, and she couldn't tell if he was crying or not. "You have done nothing wrong, and you are wholly innocent," she said again. And then she said it again, and again, and again, and again, still cuddled up to his chest, her arms around him, now.
"I have done nothing wrong," he said with quiet intensity, "I am wholly innocent."
She agreed and there was silence between them again.
"If I was not a bad boy, as I have so often thought, then… how do I think of this time in my life?"
"Mmm, if I had to label it? I'd say you were in the first throes of love and lust, and it seems from all you've said that it totally blindsided you much like a tsunami would an unprepared surfer."
"Mm. Is not very flattering image, Myon."
"I don't know. I think there's poetic possibilities in you, drowning in lust. I'm certainly feeling inspired."
At that his hands started moving, rubbing and skimming over and swirling around all of her good spots. At some point Hermione realized that to be totally level with his face would require very little effort on her part, and so she climbed him easily in the water and kissed him gently at first, and then ferociously, until he turned her around and lifted her out of the water until she sat at the edge of the pool. He spread her knees and feasted on her pussy, and her sighs echoed between the stone ceiling and stone floors. She clutched gently at the back of his head as his hands caressed her thighs.
It would take a while going at this pace, she thought, for her to orgasm, but to hell with orgasm right now. It just felt good. Comforting, loving, lovely, and good.
He surfaced in the due course of time. "Drowning in lust. I still am, you know."
"You think so?" Hermione countered. "Because it seems to me you've learned to surf the wave." She scooted backwards several feet as she did so, but kept her legs open to him.
He lifted himself out of the pool, his palms on the edge and Hermione watched with her own wave of lust cresting as the hot water streamed off his body. He crawled toward her, as he had on the bed last night and she didn't really know herself if this was drowning in lust, or if it was surfing the wave.
"Maybe. Sometimes," he conceded before he crawled right over her open and inviting body and sunk down inside of her. They both sighed at the feeling of reconnection and he moved slowly and gently within her.
"So much time," he murmured, "so many fantasies, so much shame."
"Sounds like you need to rewrite each one," Hermione said breathlessly. "Viktor was a good boy, drowning in lust for the woman he loves. He does not think of others, only her. What a compliment that is to her. His mind is consumed with her, yet he still manages not to get eaten by a dragon, he still manages to win quidditch games. What a compliment that is to him. Viktor was a good boy. Viktor was such a good boy."
"Is that what you thought at the time?" He asked, grinding his hips into hers as he bottomed out.
"You know it wasn't. I was woefully ignorant and off my game. No one was trying to kill me that year, so I missed many things. That's something for you to watch for. When my death isn't imminent I get complacent and just want to study all the time."
"I am happy to provide healthy distraction," he said, emphasizing the last two words with singular thrusts.
She sighed and moaned his name. "But, oh, Viktor. I can see more clearly now. You were such a good boy, in so many ways. And while sex was off the table for me then, I would have loved to have been kissed by you. Held by you. I dreamed of holding your hand and sneaking the odd kiss, but realistically speaking, and I have been considering this more since we last discussed it, I would have been open to some quite extensive snogging sessions where everything was game so long as the clothes stayed firmly in place. And you know, you didn't rush me. Not in the least. No matter how much you wanted on your own. And that's part of what makes you a good boy in my eyes. You never rushed me. You took such care of me."
"I would have kissed you after the Yule Ball, if you would have welcomed it. Well, and if I could have found you. You disappeared, if you'll recall."
"Ah, foiled by my friend being an idiot. Well, I no longer associate with him, so that's done then."
"Mm." It wasn't one of his pleased and sexy grunts.
"How would you have gone about it? How would Mr. Krum, the Durmstrang Champion, gone about kissing Miss Granger, Gryffindor Know-it-All?"
"Feels moot as we are having sex," he pointed out.
"Humor me," she asked.
He rolled them over. "Ride me."
He propped his feet firmly on the floor just a little ways away from his own bum, so his knees were high and supporting her, and he was also able to lift her up whenever he felt like it. Still, she found a reasonably comfortable position, and then wandlessly accioed one towel each for between her knees and the stone floor, wondering how he'd managed when he was on top. When she was finally comfortable, she did ride him and he closed his eyes. She wondered if he wasn't going to play along, until he finally spoke.
"We would dance the last dance together, and I would ask if you wanted to take a walk in the rose garden together before the evening ended. If you said yes, at the end of the dance I would kiss your hand and place it on my arm and I would walk out the door of the great hall with you, and down the staircase and we would go out into the night. And I know we would not be alone there, chaperones and other children, but it might be beautiful, the stars and the roses and you, and in the dark I might have the courage to ask you for a kiss. It might also be cold, and so I could take off my cloak and wrap it around you, and so all the rest of the year it would smell like you, and I would drown a little every time I put it on."
"And if I gave you permission for a kiss?"
"Then I would ask if you knew a good place, a private place. Because rose garden was not that place. And what would you have said?"
She rocked on his hips and thought about it.
"You know, I think I would have asked you to meet me during lunch the next day in Greenhouse Three. Because there really was no convenient place that wasn't tightly parolled. And while the back stacks of the library would be good for a quick kiss, and that might have sufficed us in other moments, if we wanted a decent snogging session I'd have to borrow Harry's invisibility cloak, which he would have loaned me, or we'd have to get creative about it. And Greenhouse Three would have done for that season. So what would you have done with thirty minutes of entirely alone time with me the next day? Actually?"
She rocked on his hips as he closed his eyes again, moaning slightly with a tiny smile on his face.
"I would have brought oranges. And fed you slices. And kissed you in between bites. I would have bitten half a slice and then offered you the other half, and then kissed you, so that every time you saw me in the great hall eating an orange you would know that I was thinking of kissing you."
"And when the oranges were gone?" she asked.
"Clean up with wandless magic to impress you."
"Still impresses me, you know," she pointed out, rolling her hips.
He grinned at her and a single eyebrow quirked just once.
"And how would you have kissed me? How would you have initiated it all?"
"I wait outside of the greenhouses. I get there early and wait. When you come, you guide me in. Are there benches?"
"Some potting benches, yes. None too clean."
"Clean wandlessly. Invite you to sit with me. Probably get very nervous and not be able to speak for a little bit."
"Well, then. I'd have to turn to you and look up at you. Would that have helped?"
"Mm. Yes and no. Better position to kiss you, but still lost in your eyes, nervous I might ruin it and you never speak to me again."
"I'd probably just be direct. Say something like, 'I thought you wanted to kiss me?'"
"That would help a great deal, yes. So then I would lean in. I would be terrified to touch you in any other way, but I would lean in and down and touch your lips with mine, so softly, so gently, maybe as many as three times to test my luck."
"Well, I would be just as likely to put my arms around your neck as anything else somewhere in those three chaste kisses I'd just received."
"Mm. Encouraging," he murmured, thrusting up into her just once before focusing again on their shared fantasy. "Then the kisses might not be so chaste after that. I might kiss your cheekbones." Then he raised a hand and trailed it down her jaw and past her ear, down her neck to where a collar might be. "And over, and across, and by the time I was hiding in your neck I might have the courage to nibble a little bit right here," he said, scratching at the area just under her ear.
"Ooh, I would have gasped and tightened my grip on you."
"With your gasp, I would look up. I would be worried. You would be able to see it very clearly on my face."
"And then I would have kissed you. And it probably would have started out chaste, but with the inspiration of nibbling, I might have done just a bit. Maybe to your lower lip. And if I nibbled a bit, well, then I might sooth it over with my tongue afterwards."
"I would have met you tongue for tongue and tried not to make any noises. But I might have groaned."
"Oh, and if you had. Mmm. We would have had a right proper snog before you brought out the oranges."
"And if all of this had happened, and we had snogged in Greenhouse Three and kissed as often as we dared in the back stacks of the library, what would have happened when I left?" he asked, his hands massaging her hips as she languidly rode him.
She leaned over and braced her hands on the stone floor by his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "Then I would have written more, and pined more, probably never dated Ron, Cormac would have held no appeal at all, and it would have ripped my heart in two, but I still would have snubbed you at Bill and Fleur's wedding."
He met her gaze and his hands soothed her back. "Then I am glad I did not ask for a kiss that night. I'm glad I could not, and so lost my nerve afterwards. Your heart had enough burdens on it, and I would have wanted only to give you strength and aid, whether I was near or far."
Somewhere along the line they had lost the sexy, though he was still hard and she was still wet.
Hermione just rested on top of him, her chest against his, her legs folded up on the side of his hips and her arms folded up comfortably at the sides of his torso.
"Is this okay? I'm not squashing you?" she murmured.
"No," he assured her. "This is good. Very comfortable. Though," he raised an arm and another fluffy white towel floofed into his hand from across the room and he shoved it under his head. "Ah, perfect."
His hands returned to his gentle caress of her back, soothing and calming her in ways she hadn't realized she needed. And when he cast a warming charm over her it gave her more than just warmth.
"Thank you," she murmured.
They lay in the quiet and periodically Hermione would squeeze her muscles around him and his breathing would become momentarily audible.
"I love you so much," Hermione whispered, though it was still loud in the red chamber of stone and water. "No matter how we got here, I'm glad we're here. Even though it hurt. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, with anyone else, Viktor. Thank you for waiting for me."
He held her gently and thrust into her as she was curled up on top of him. She hissed and groaned.
"Was worth it," he whispered, still thrusting gently. "We are together now, forever. And have learned valuable lessons on the way."
"Like what?" she gasped out, happy that she hadn't ruined the moment entirely and accidentally put them off sex for some unforseen amount of time.
"Patience, definitely." He thrust and she groaned and wriggled on him.
"And insight," he said, another thrust, another withdrawal.
"Forbearance and maybe wisdom," and this time when he thrust she sat back up with a whimper and slowly rocked with his thrusts. They were silent after that, or at least the conversational words had come to an end. They still moaned and gasped and when they each got closer to their peak, Hermione massaging her own breasts and lost in pleasure, Viktor watched with wide eyes.
"How close are you, Beautiful?" he gasped out.
"Mmm, I don't know," she demurred, writhing on top of him.
He flattened his legs out behind her. "Ride me. Just for yourself. Let me watch you come."
One hand left her breasts and sought out the head of her clit and Hermione tossed her head back with her eyes closed.
When she felt her neglected breast enveloped in a large, warm, calloused hand she grinned, eyes still closed. "Mmm, I thought you were just watching."
"Myon, your skin is impossibly soft," he responded, as if that explained things. Which perhaps, for him, it did.
"Well, then at least you could get over here and suck on them," she pointed out, rather wanting a bit more stimulation at the moment, and it might just put her over the edge.
Viktor growled and his whole body curled in. Hermione leaned back a little to give him more space and then held his head with her free hand, as both of his were now on her. His hands were exquisite and his mouth was almost perfect. Almost.
"Harder," she whispered, slamming down on him now and grinding, grinding, grinding her hips around on his. Her fingers clenched in his hair when he sucked a tiny bit harder, but not nearly hard enough.
"More, more, more, more, more," she chanted as she ground on him.
Finally it was perfect and she swallowed her scream, the orgasm coming in wave after wave. She clenched down on him in an entirely involuntary manner that made him moan around her breast in his mouth and she could feel - ah, ah - his orgasm chasing after hers.
So perfect. So perfect.