AN: I am rusty with my old citrus lingo, but I believe this chapter contains a lime, and the next one a full-blown lemon.
Fleur:
Fleur fled down the street, her bare feet splashing through the remnant puddles of a rainstorm she didn't remember. She clutched the turner to her chest and ran from her house.
Or rather, the building that would become her house in another…few months? Years?
The panic that punched at her ribcage tried to charge even higher and she forced it down, focusing as best she could through the throbbing hangover.
She slowed once she knew she wasn't being followed and turned down a nearby side-street.
Why hadn't she purchased a home in France, like her mother had wanted? No, she had to pick a lovely little town hours from London.
And why, why couldn't she have been holding her wand when she passed out, time-turner in hand?
She squinted down at the thing in her hand, noticing for the first time its slight vibrating hum as it pushed each grain back up to the top. Writing lined the rings that surrounded the glass ball, but their tiny engraved meaning could be deciphered some other time. When she wasn't standing in the middle of the street in her pajamas.
Shoeless.
And underclothes-less.
No, she had to be all that and hungover, in a street. In the past.
Her head thrummed and she wobbled, putting a hand out to a nearby fence to steady herself.
Very hungover, in a street.
She ran her free hand down her face and tried to focus. First thing was…a wand. So she could apparate home.
But the nearest wand-smith was Ollivander. And wands cost money.
So Gringotts. In London.
She shifted her shirt as it slipped off her shoulder and she amended her list.
First, clothes. Then supplies.
The continued down the side-street until it opened up onto the main thoroughfare of the little town. Cars shot by on their morning commute, the noise and bustle of life as welcome as sandpaper on her brain.
Clutching the turner tight, she set off towards the center of town where all the small shops would be opening for the day.
After that, London. Somehow.
Muggles crowded the pavement of her little town, each busy with their own morning routine. The stores along the main street were open and busy by the time she arrived with the cafe on the corner packed full of early risers.
She turned to the nearest clothing store—a little boutique she had never bothered visiting—and stepped inside before she could be noticed any more than she already had been, so obviously clothed in her pajamas and little else.
Anne-Marie's Boutique was empty so early in the day, with the exception of a clerk dressing a mannequin in the window. Fleur hurried inside, hoping her unshod feet and pajamaed state weren't obvious enough to get her thrown from the uptight establishment.
The clerk, however, barely said hello. The woman held two pairs of trousers in each hand and held up one after the other in front of the display.
Winding her way through the racks, Fleur grabbed a pair of trousers near to her size and a simple blouse, along with a pair of pants and a bra that she was reasonably sure would fit. She rolled them all into a ball around a pair of flats and the time turner, and set them out of sight in a small bag near the front on the opposite side from the clerk, then made her way to the back.
Sundresses of every pastel color she could stomach filled the back of the store in preparation for the coming warmer weather, spread out and hanging on racks of various sizes. The longest of the dresses hung from a fixture taller than her and blocked her view of the clerk completely.
She drew in a breath and bent down, gripped the foot of the rack, and heaved.
It tipped slowly at first, then gained speed as the dresses shifted, kicking the remaining feet out from under it and slamming the bottom into her shins.
Her cry of alarm was unfeigned and she mastered the grimace of pain that threatened to show as the clerk approached.
"I'm so sorry," she said as the clerk slowed to a halt and surveyed the damage. "I tripped over my own feet and fell into it.
"Don't worry about it," the woman said, brushing some of her dark hair from her eyes and sighing. "Just let me know if you need any help. I'll get this cleaned up."
"Sorry again."
Fleur wandered over to the bag that hid the clothes and the time-turner and waited until the clerk bent down to collect some of the spilled dresses. Once she was out of sight, Fleur grabbed the bag and hurried out the door.
Back out on the pavement, she didn't allow herself the time for relief and turned down the alley next to the old building. She watched the ground as she hurried along, careful not to dunk her bare feet in stagnant water or step on a shard of asphalt.
Tall brick walls to either side shielded her from the majority of foot traffic on either end of the alley and slight alcoves for bins and doors provided enough privacy for her to set the bag down and pull out her new clothes.
Though it felt like a late-spring day, similar to the one she had left, the air was cold against her bare skin as she stepped out of her pajama bottoms and into some pants. The trousers she grabbed fit well enough, as did the bra, to her great relief. A bit too tight for her liking, but thieves could hardly get their preference.
Properly clothed, she stuffed her pajamas into the bag, covering the time time turner, zipped it closed, and slung it over her shoulder. She hurried along the alley, away from the boutique, and emerged onto the other of the two major streets that ran through the town, this one lined mostly with closed restaurants that primarily served a dinner crowd.
Her stomach lurched, an uncomfortable reminder that she had not yet eaten and had, in fact, drank entirely too much the night before.
Whether she wanted to eat or not, she hadn't stolen Anne-Marie's cash drawer and one theft per day was probably enough.
She wandered down the street, trying her best to tune out the noise of modern muggle life—cars and the occasional person talking on a mobile phone, the clang of doors and distant beeping of horns—all of it a burden upon the ache building behind her eyes.
With an annoyed sigh, she pulled down the relatively modest top to show a bit more chest and put on her best smile as she turned down a busier street.
It had always baffled her how quickly people would approach her if she appeared at all friendly. Even while a teenager when she—perhaps a bit inexpertly—first took advantage of her appearance, the world seemed to fold in around her. People came in closer, their smiles grew brighter, and their attitudes shifted from dour or indifferent to, at the very least, pleasant.
In those awkward, teenage years, she had professed to her mother that she possessed the allure of her grandmother and could bend the weak with naught but a smile.
Her mother had laughed. Quite a lot.
Her mother had laughed and then said that no, she didn't, and yes, she could.
The novelty of it faded as it came and most often she wished to exist without the attention her body gained her. But, it had its uses, from time to dire time.
She prepared her response for whatever doe-eyed young man or woman had enough confidence to approach her.
Yet none came.
They looked, some for far too long, they winked and smiled, but none approached.
Which, she supposed, was what she wanted, deep down.
She fixed her top and hefted her bag. Perhaps two thefts in one day wasn't so bad after all.
It wasn't long before she managed to hail a cab and slide in the back.
"I'm going to London. Charing Cross Road, please."
The cabbie was an older man with a white, neatly trimmed mustache and aged bags below bright, alert eyes.
"That's quite a drive, Miss."
"I know, thank you."
With a nod, the man flipped a switch on the dash and pulled away from the curb.
The ride was blessedly quiet. The near-silence allowed her aching thoughts time to organize and settle into more solid plans.
Gringotts would give her a loan, of that she had no doubt. Unless she had traveled back to before she had worked there.
She frowned, mind working through the lingering hangover.
No, if she remembered right the muggle mobile phones were newer. She couldn't be more than a year or two back.
She cursed drunk-Fleur with a passion, not for the first time.
A loan would be the first plan of attack, then if that failed…perhaps begging would work. After that, wand, then lodging. Then figuring out how to get back.
The English countryside sped by, a rush of green trees and open fields dotted with the occasional cottage or modern house. She watched the landscape as they drove, a sight she had never seen while portkeying or apparating everywhere she went.
Clouds rolled overhead, white and free of rain. They slipped away from the sun, it's warmth seeping through the window and into her skin. Between it and the lulling hum of the car, she dozed off, hands crossed over her bag.
"Nearly there, Miss."
The driver's deep, London accented voice drew her from her nap with little effort. Any grogginess she felt slipped away when her situation reasserted itself in her mind and her pulse quickened in preparation.
After the nap, her head felt clearer, less achy, and her body took the opportunity to remind her that she would, very soon, need some food and drink. At least the headache was gone.
The Leaky Cauldron passed on their right, an address a muggle taxi-driver could never understand. He slowed before they reached the end of the block and pulled over to the side of the road.
He shifted in his seat to look at her, an apology written on his face.
"Sorry about that, Miss," he said, tapping his meter with a finger. "It's not so bad staying in-town, but it was a long drive. You were out for a little over an hour."
She nodded, mind and heart racing.
Everything would have been so much simpler with a wand. Stupid drunk Fleur.
She unzipped her bag, making a show of digging inside for money while she simply shifted the time-turner back and forth.
Her hand shot out and she shouldered the door open, ignoring the cabbie's startled shouts and swears. She didn't bother shutting the door and brushed off the calls to stop.
One call, however, cooled her blood even as it pushed at her to run faster towards the safety of the charms around the Leaky Cauldron.
"Stop! Police!"
She turned to look over her shoulder and saw, to her dismay, a young, fit man in his mid twenties sprinting towards her, face set into an angry frown.
Explaining time travel to the police was a surefire way to end up locked away in one institution or another, not to mention fare-dodging was her second illegal offense in as many hours.
Her feet beat at the asphalt, the officer's shouts drawing more and more muggle attention her direction. An arm reached into her path and she stumbled under the lunge of a burly good samaritan. Her feet tangled beneath her with the awkward movement and she stumbled, recovering in time to slip away from the officer's reaching grasp.
Regaining her momentum, she sped down the pavement, weaving through pedestrians and strollers as the officer closed in, voice hard and angry.
"Stop! You're-"
All at once, as if she had run into a childhood nightmare, the officer stopped his chase and the people watching turned as one, returning to their previously unhassled days. The cab, still stopped by the side of the road, waited for a hunched old man to get inside, then merged with traffic and vanished around a corner.
Fleur leaned against the cool glass of the inn window and let out a sigh that came from the soles of her feet.
Perhaps she could use the time-turner to find whoever invented the muggle-repellant and confounding charms and kiss them both.
"Bit of a mess there, eh?" a voice said from the doorway. "Pushing the statute a tad, don't ya think?"
Fleur turned to find one of the pub's waitresses standing in the doorway, arms folded.
"Hardly a risk with all the charms," she said.
"Charms that fail every century or so," the waitress said. "According to Tom, it's about time. He sent me out to see if we needed to call an Obliviator Team."
Fleur shook her head and pushed off the glass. "No, no altering memories today. I need to get into Diagon Alley and haven't got my wand. Can you help me out?"
The woman made a show of mulling it over, then waved her inside.
"C'mon. Was just about to go on break anyhow. Tom'll let every one of his patrons turn the Cauldron into the Chimney, but we have to go out back if we want a smoke."
"An injustice," Fleur said, following the woman through the relatively smoke-free pub and out back to the famous brick wall.
France had a simple door at the end of an alley that only magicals could see and the Germans had an ingenious fake-wall illusion. Only England had seen fit to make the crossover between worlds an event.
She had to admit, when the standard English pub and its back alley gave way to a bustling street of men and women in robes and casual-wear, when owls flew down and zipped between buildings, and when the occasional explosion from the Weasley Twins' shop rattled the nearby bricks, it did indeed make for one hell of a spectacle.
She thanked the waitress, who nodded and lit a cigarette with the tip of her wand.
The noise of Diagon Alley soothed her raw nerves. Sure the animals for sale shrieked as often as the buildings themselves and the roar of a thousand conversations was punctuated by the crack of disapparition, but it was full of life and magic. London, for all its marvelous technology and intricate and exacting architecture, was mechanical and gray.
She pushed through the crowd, scowling when she passed Madam Malkins, no matter how comfortable the robes inside looked compared to the too-tight muggle clothes she wore. The crowd found its stride the closer she drew to Gringotts, the majority of people at the end of the alley either coming from or going to the monolithic marble building.
Once inside, she paused, looking for a familiar goblin face. There was no way she had gone back so far as to be in a time before she had worked at the bank.
She said a silent—if reluctant—thank you to Bill for recommending she cultivate at least a couple friendships with her coworkers before she left. As friendly as they got, anyway.
A sigh of relief shot out of her when she saw a goblin she knew at one of the desks. She joined the relatively short line and was soon face-to-face with her friend…with her least unfriendly ex-coworker.
"Delacour," he said by way of greeting: a veritable hug. "What is your business today?"
"I need a small loan."
"Purpose?"
"New wand."
He glanced up at her before returning to the document on his desk. "That'll require a blood confirmation if you don't have your old one handy."
"I'm aware."
He nodded and fell silent as he finished the four-page application, then handed it over and directed her towards a door behind the teller stations.
The next two hours passed slowly, filled with redundant documentation and blood seals. Despite the throbbing at the ends of her index fingers where she had been told to draw blood and the tectonic pace of goblin banking, the process was otherwise painless.
A few hours and a couple tablespoons of blood poorer, Fleur emerged from the bank with a heavier bag and lighter spirits. From where she stood at the top of the stairs, Ollivander's sign glinted in the sun, the next easy step in her plan.
After that, the rest of the money would keep her comfortable in an inn until she could return to her own time. No sense in risking people knowing she had time traveled.
No point in returning home if she would be met with a warrant to take her to Azkaban for unapproved, illegal use of a time-turner.
Besides, she needed to find out whoever Don was and shove the intricate time machine down his throat.
"Fleur?"
Every nerve in her body lit on fire while what blood she had left froze, locking her in place.
Coming up the steps in front of her with a version of his perfect smile she hadn't seen in over a year, was Harry.
His face lacked the lines she had seen in the pub and what had been guarded, careful hope was simply wide-open.
And he was smiling at her. Really truly smiling in a way that she hadn't seen for over a year. It hooked her heart and drew it up into her throat. How she had missed its warmth.
How she had forgotten her burning desire for more.
Whenever she had landed, it was before he had rejected her at the shop less than thirty paces from where they stood.
Drunk Fleur was definitely an idiot, but at least she knew what she wanted.
"Fleur?" Harry asked again, the smile disappearing behind a mask of concern.
"I'm fine," she said, forcing herself to grin back. "It's been a…long morning."
The long once-over he gave her sent goose-flesh rippling wherever his eyes lingered, but it vanished when he spoke.
"Long night too, if I had to guess," he said. "You sorta smell like a pub."
"Thanks for that," she said, wincing. "Is anybody at your house? I wouldn't mind freshening up a bit."
His eyebrows rose and he stared again, but this time right into her eyes.
How had she managed to forget what it was like to have his complete attention; to have him focused on her fully and without reservation, and so often with naked care written in every line of his face?
Please let there be nobody at his house.
"No," he said eventually. "Nobody's at my flat."
Right. He'd buy that cute cottage of his in a few months. The one she had only visited once.
When she had ignored his friendly advances after he had blatantly rejected her.
His voice cut through her chagrin. "You're welcome anytime," he said, "but why not just go home?"
"It's a long story," she said. "I don't have my wand and was actually on my way to buy a temporary replacement." She lifted her bag and jingled the coins inside.
"Temporary?"
"I'll tell you all about it if you let me have a nap and a nice bath before I come back to buy the wand."
No matter how he tried to cover his blush by looking around at the crowd around them, it shone on his cheeks like an adorable beacon.
"Deal."
He held out a hand and she took it, thankful there was no way he'd be able to see the quickening of her heart; as though she were a schoolgirl instead of a grown woman.
When they appeared in Harry's flat, she had to admit to being somewhat impressed. The times she had been there before had become fuzzy with the passing of time, but she remembered it being much less tidy.
Those had been friendly get-togethers, to be fair to Harry, and never the one-on-one she had desired.
She had not desired to be reeking of booze and sweat when the time finally came.
"Nap or bath first," he asked, pulling his hand from hers.
Though, it felt reluctant. She hoped.
Before she could answer, her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten a single thing since before going to the pub the night before.
"Food, got it," he said, moving into the kitchen and pulling a plate from a cabinet. "So what's going on? I'd heard you were spending some time in France, away from work. Explains why none of us have seen you for a while."
She followed him into his relatively small kitchen and took a seat at one of the stools in front of a narrow island.
She had been—was—in France. Busy sobbing and licking her wounds and generally being miserable at her parents' house. Bill had broken her heart, and it had taken time for her to recover and gather herself enough to try again to reach for what she wanted.
Only to be ignominiously shot down.
But clearly not by this Harry. Not yet.
A sandwich appeared on the counter in front of her with a clink of the plate and she jolted from her thoughts. She took a bite before answering, buying a little more time to think.
Were there rules to time-travel? Could she create alternate timelines or somehow create a paradox?
"Fleur?"
She swallowed her bite of sandwich and sighed.
"Would you hand me my bag, please?"
He went over and grabbed it from where she had set it on his small sofa, and set it down in front of her.
To satiate her still empty stomach, she took another bite of sandwich and unzipped the bag, then lifted the smaller velvet bag from inside.
She slipped the time-turner out and handed it to him.
"Do you know what this is?" she asked as he took it with a delicate touch.
"It looks like a time-turner," he said, holding it up to look at faded inscriptions on the rings.
"Er…yes. How in Merlin's name do you know that?"
He gave a lopsided grin and handed it back to her. "Hermione had one our third year."
"How, pray tell, did Hermione get her hands on one as a student?"
Harry laughed. "McGonagall gave it to her. Ron and I eventually caught on to her not-so-subtle effort to hide something."
"And it was a time-turner?"
"We thought it was a boyfriend, but yeah. She wanted to take a bunch of classes."
"Of course she did."
He watched as she put it back in its bag and set it on the counter-top. "But…why do you have one? And why is it humming like that?"
"It appears to be resetting or recharging or something," she said, finishing her quick meal. "As for where…I found it in an alley."
"You…what?"
"I was going to turn it in to the Ministry, but…"
"But you wanted to test it out first?"
"Kind of…"
He laughed again, but in a way that brought her up along with him.
"Can't say I blame you. I still sometimes daydream about what I'd do if I had Hermione's time-turner. I'm surprised you went through with it though."
"I had a few drinks in me," she admitted.
No reason to declare that it had been an entire bottle of wine.
"A drunken time-traveler. I'm impressed."
Her grin was half-hearted and she downed a glass of water he placed in front of her.
"I don't know how long it'll take before I can use it to go back," she said once finished. "I was going to use a lot of the money I got to rent a room to wait."
He shrugged and gestured to encompass the flat. "You can stay here if you want. It's not the biggest place in the world, but it's not bad either."
She looked around, then back at him and raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
He nodded, confused, then flushed again, not bothering to try to hide it. "I didn't mean-I'll sleep on the couch."
"We'll see," she said through the quickening of her heart. "Now, I am in desperate need of a bath."
If anything, the color on his cheeks darkened and she had to suppress the almost overwhelming desire to push him even further.
But no, it would be more fun to draw it out. After all, she had a standing invitation to stay the night. Perhaps even a few nights, if the time-turner took a while to recharge.
"The tub isn't very big," he said, stepping quickly around the island and motioning for her to follow him down the hall. "But it'll do the trick."
She smiled at his back. He was babbling and probably knew it. It wasn't her first time in his flat.
"Can I borrow your wand?" she asked after he awkwardly opened the bathroom door and stepped to the side. "I can enlarge the tub and fix my clothes."
She tugged at the low neckline of her shirt to demonstrate and kept her expression as neutral as she could when he stared for an extra moment.
Before she could press further, he raised his arm to her side and the heat of his hand poured through the side of her body, making her gasp.
"Fix as in, remove the tags?" he asked, his hand pulling away to tug on the price tag that still hung from her side.
"A drunken, pajama-clad time-traveler," she said, reaching out to pull his wand from his pocket.
He stiffened when her hand brushed against his side. "I'll…um-"
She smiled and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door with a click behind her.
Harry's wand was sturdier than her own and worked almost as well. With a simple incantation it acquiesced to her desire to expand the tub wide enough for her to lay comfortably in any direction, if she so desired. Satisfied, she opened the hot water faucet to let it fill.
She pulled off the stolen clothes, though after running from the police and generally being a sweaty mess all day, it felt more like peeling off a layer of too-tight skin. Even the clasp of her bra dug into her back, making it difficult to undo. In the end, she pointed Harry's wand at her back and undid it with a flick, saying a silent, secret prayer that the wand remember the spell for later.
While the enlarged tub filled, she set to work vanishing the tags and resizing the clothes, pulling them back on to test after each spell. After the tub had completely filled and the pants slipped down to her ankles the third time, she sighed and stepped over to the door.
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you any good at transfiguration?"
"I'm good enough. Not really my specialty though." His voice drew closer as he spoke until it was right outside the door.
"Would you mind fixing my clothes? It was always one of my worst subjects and I've gone and made them all way too big."
"It'd…it'd be easier if you were wearing them. I can do it after you're done, if you'd like."
She hesitated, glancing down at the clothes piled on the floor, then down at his wand in her hand. With a slow hand and a thundering heart, she placed his wand on her clothes and slipped into the tub.
Too busy appreciating the unique feeling of slipping into a well-earned bath, she didn't reply right away.
"Fleur?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you want to hand me your clothes and my wand? I'll try my best and we can resize once you're done."
She kicked her leg in the enlarged tub, making sure the splash was audible before answering.
"You can come in and get them."
The silence that followed was punctuated with more small splashes as she moved through the water, sidling up as close as she could to the edge. With its larger size, it would cover all the parts of her Harry wanted to see, but it was a very near thing. She draped an arm across the edge, covering her chest just a bit more.
The sound of the doorknob turning made her stomach flip and her pulse race.
Finally.
After years of dancing around one another, years of never being single at the same time, years of flirtation that left her wanting.
It had only taken a bit of time travel.
The door swung open and Harry stepped in, his eyes shielded by his hand as he bent down to grab the clothes.
The laugh that bubbled out of her destroyed all the sexy poise she had prepared and she shook her head, letting her arm fall back into the water.
"Quit it with all your chivalry," she said, raising her hand and flicking some water at him. "Obviously I want you to join me."
At that, he grinned and let his hand fall as he lifted his head.
His beautiful green eyes locked her breath in her chest.
She wanted to submerge herself in them, just as she had submerged herself into the bath. She could swim in it; drown in him.
Without speaking, he reached down to his shirt and pulled it over his head.
She swallowed as inch after inch of stomach and chest was revealed to the air; to her. In her many imaginings of undressed Harry, he had been toned, but not well defined, hairy, but not overly so. And so, so smooth to the touch.
Reality turned her fantasies to mud: a pale, useless imitation of the body in front of her. The muscles on his arms flexed as he dropped his shirt atop her clothes and moved to the button of his trousers.
Something in her wanted to stare at those hands, to watch with pure, unabashed scrutiny as he slipped out of his trousers and finally revealed to her something she had secretly wondered over for years.
Instead she looked up into his eyes, and lost all thought save for the heat; the desire.
It shone in him, in the flush that colored his neck and chest and in the part of his lips. In his gaze, that never broke with hers, even as he bent to step out of his trousers and boxers.
Though her body was mostly hidden behind the modesty of the enlarged tub wall, he was erect as he stood back up, and breathing hard.
"My my," she said, finally allowing herself to sate the curiosity that burned low in her stomach. "All this before my big reveal."
She lifted her arm and beckoned him to join her, then pushed off the wall to float to the opposite side.
She watched as he moved, at the way his leg muscles flexed and the tensing of his stomach, partially hidden behind his erection. He let out a small breath as he dipped into the water and submerged himself down past his waist.
Taking a moment to appreciate the gift of his exposed body, she didn't move or speak: a decision that was reciprocated as he stared, his intensity warming her skin far beyond the heat of the water.
With great effort, she forced her gaze back to his face, warring against the primal need that thundered through her veins, bringing electricity to every inch of her skin and her senses into sharper focus. The veins on his neck pulsed and his breathing came shallow and hitched, no doubt imagining the very same things that ran through her head.
She scooted to the side so her calves could brush his thighs and he jumped at the contact, their shared trance broken.
"I'm glad you approve," she said, smiling at the way he lingered on her breasts.
"I don't think approval was ever going to be an issue," he managed.
He continued his obvious appreciation, then stopped when he finally reached her legs. His hand wrapped around the calf of her right leg, his skin rough and hot.
She gasped at the contact, then narrowed her eyes when he lifted her leg from the water.
"What happened?" he asked, staring down at the mottled, purple bruises that colored both shins.
She let the gasp out as an annoyed huff and gestured to the pile of clothes on the floor. "I was wounded in my great clothes heist."
"You were caught?"
"Nothing so grand," she said, frowning as he removed his hand. "I hurt myself causing a distraction."
Rather than being so dense as to quit touching her, he brushed his knuckles along the bruises with such care that she barely felt him at all.
"I think," she said, after the feather touch became nigh-unbearable, "that you are focused on all the wrong places."
She extricated her leg from his hand and bent it to run her foot down the outside of his thigh and back. His erection twitched again and she grinned, then drew her bottom lip between her teeth.
As if shocked, he shifted his whole body so he could run his hand along the outside of her leg, his fingertips brushing along the back of her knee and up along the back of her thigh. He stopped just below her ass, just before he would need to bend to reach any further, then slid his hand back down.
Her body ached for his touch, to have him run his hands across her skin and greedily sate his desire.
She shifted, dipping her chest below the waterline and scooting around the edge until she was close enough to drape her arm around his shoulder, just far enough away so their skin didn't touch.
He watched as she moved, his gaze erratic, jumping from place to place on her body. When she stopped next to him, he stared down at the shimmering water above her legs.
With a smile, she shifted onto her hip, giving him a much clearer view.
His shaky exhale burned a trail across her exposed skin and he focused on her face with obvious difficulty.
"Jumping through time," he said, his voice deep enough to vibrate the cool porcelain at her back, "just to drive me crazy?"
"Just a happy accident," she murmured, closing the distance between them and pressing her side to his.
If he was going to be so frustratingly hands off, she'd make it impossible to resist.
She reached her hand up to trace a line of water across his broad shoulders, her fingertip dipping and rising across his muscles as it went. Beneath the water, she shifted and hiked her leg over one of his, being careful to avoid giving him the satisfaction of brushing against his erection, no matter how tantalizing an idea it was.
Up close, she could smell him; a mix of still present soap and sweat mingled with a heat that pulsed off him in waves, in time with the throb of the vein in his neck.
She dragged her hand down his arm and below the water, where she let it skim down the side of his ribs before pulling it away.
"Harry-"
He surged forward, arms coming out of the water; one grasping her neck and the other snaking around her back. All she saw was a flash of green and blatant need and her eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her.
It was the greedy lust she had yearned for, had all but begged for. His hands burned into her skin while his lips flitted from her mouth to her jaw and around to her ear, pulling a whimper from her throat with a careful bite. Her own hands wrapped around his frame, around his broad back where she pulled him against her, guiding him down to her collar bone.
Obedient, he trailed a path down her neck to nip across her collar to her shoulder and back, while she pressed harder against him, pushing her breasts against his chest. His hands roamed her back and she moved her arm to capture one and slide it down to her ass.
He groaned against her, the sound reverberating down through her bones.
She gasped.
"Harry-"
Understanding, his other hand dipped below the water to her hip and he lifted her over so she could straddle him.
Rather than drop down and satisfy the overflowing desire her body cried out for, she landed on her knees and pressed his face into her breasts.
His mouth was hot against the sensitive skin of her nipple and his teeth pressed hard enough to make her moan into his hair. Her legs threatened to buckle as he flicked his tongue and his hands gripped her ass harder, pressing her body against him.
Her breath came quick as he worked, her hands tangling in his hair, damp from the splashing water around them. Each time he twitched beneath her, his tip brushed between her thighs and she bucked in turn, the featherlight sensation sending aching ripples up into her body.
Every nerve coiled tight and begged her to move his hands and plunge down onto him, to sate the fire building in her core.
But it had taken years and a time turner to get here. She was going to enjoy herself.
And torture him, just a little bit.
The next time he brushed her center she pushed down enough to stop it, eliciting a rumble of pleasure that vibrated through her chest and into her ribs. He squeezed her ass and before she gave in and let him pull her down, she leaned back, removing her breast from his mouth.
Absent of his warmth, her skin turned to goose-flesh in the air, her nipple hardening until it was almost painful.
Keeping herself hovering above his erection, she bent to kiss him, pressing her tongue into his mouth the moment their lips met. The heat of his breath danced across her skin as she tasted him; drank him in as fully as she could without succumbing to the desire pulsing between her legs.
He sighed when she pulled away and let out something dangerously close to a groan when she stopped straddling him and shifted herself off him.
Her body all but rejected the lack of contact, trying to drive her closer to him, to the satisfaction that only he could provide. But she pushed herself back across the tub and smiled, letting herself take in his flushed, naked perfection.
"This isn't some sort of chase-me game, is it?" he asked once his wits returned.
"I've had to wait a whole year longer than you have," she said, letting her gaze drop obviously to his crotch, which jumped in response. She grinned. "A little longer won't kill you."
"It might," he grumbled.
"Pity for the both of us then."
With an exaggerated tilt of her head that pushed her breasts—one of which Harry had made a wonderful red—above the water, she submerged her hair in the water and ran her hands through it before rising.
"I'll be out shortly," she said when he hadn't made a move, "and we can continue. I would like to neither feel nor smell like a pub when I take you to bed with me."
A smile grew on his face as he studied her body once more, then he moved forward through the water to place a lingering kiss on the small of her neck that made her limbs weak.
She gasped when he nipped at her skin and turned to watch him get out of the tub, watching as he bent to get his wand and dried himself with a quick spell.
"If you would," she found herself saying, "grab me some of your pajamas? Mine are in my bag but filthy."
He nodded and gathered her things from the floor after slipping back into his own discarded clothes.
"Should I leave these?" he asked, holding up her now much-too-large bra.
She grinned while staring at his crotch.
"That won't be necessary."
AN: You can find the next chapter already up on the pat reon. For more info you can visit us at either:
pat reon / libjax
or on discord at APZWJwksRV