Summary: Lips just barely touching, you breathe each other's air, and on her breath is your name, "Lucius."All she sees is in you is good.
Characters: Lucius, Hermione. Pairing: Lucius/Hermione. Tags: Smut, Love, A little angst, POV Second Person. Rating: M
Claire de Lune
Moonlight falls across the bed, clear, strong, brighter because it is reflected off the snow outside.
It illuminates her as she lies smiling, languid on the sheets, as though the silver light were stroking her naked thigh, tracing the path you long to follow with your hands, your lips, your body, as you anticipate, let pleasure build in an intensity of delay.
You could look at her forever, your body primed with energy, anticipation.
Almost.
But looking could never be enough; you cannot resist the desire to move and touch. You trail your hand along the smooth skin, and slowly towards the soft, curling brown hair between her legs.
She smiles; squirms prettily; your senses sharpen, at the same time your mind relaxes, your body floods with heat and life.
She looks at you with eyes that want you. Truly want you. Reaches a hand to draw you closer. Angles her hips to give you access. Inviting you to take her.
Again, you delay. Always there is a hiatus when you wonder, on the cusp, why she gives herself so freely.
Tonight, the moonlight illuminates everything.
Not just her beauty, but the stain of the Dark Mark above the fingers now inside her. The juxtaposition kills you every time, the exquisiteness of pleasure mixed with pain.
She has seen the evil in you first hand: the evil in you; the evil you did in the world; the evil you did to her.
And yet now all that she sees in you is good.
All she sees in you is good, and you see that reflected in her. Your forget how much you doubt yourself as your arousal grows, as you harden, and your fingers find the wetness her arousal brings.
"Closer," she murmurs.
You're dizzy for her, skin prickling, tension building, and you remove your hand, use it instead to pin the wrist that she has rested above her head, and shove your hips together.
Lips just barely touching, you breathe each other's air, and on her breath is your name, "Lucius."
You are inside her.
She arches her hips, and you push deep, biting back a moan. One final delay, for her, for her completion, holding on until she gasps, her muscles pulse around you, her free hand presses against your lower back, the coiled spring inside you tightens, burns like trails of fire, and then lets go.
"Hermione."