It's five in the fucking morning guys. I haven't slept properly in days because of work.
Please enjoy~
Alcohol Anonymous
Hermione had kissed boys before. She'd kiss Ron at one point in her life, many years ago when she had convinced herself that he would be the only person that would genuinely be interested in her. It tasted awkward, like kissing her own brother. His chin prickled hers, muscled arms warping around her thin waist.
It didn't feel right.
Once in a while, she would go out on dates with an interested coworker. The kisses at the end of the night were strange as well. Uneven, it left her feeling more alone than ever. They gave kisses that were too soft. Too demanding. Too much nose, too deep, too tall, short, unsteady, rigid…
Fleur kissed her like she didn't belong anywhere else in the world except right where she was at now; standing in front of the beautiful blonde, naked as the day she was born, hands weaved into smooth blonde hair. Fleur kissed her and the words she would've used to describe it evaporated from existence. It felt familiar—it should, they had kissed so many times before—and yet new, brighter, clearer and more definite in her sober state.
Hermione pulled away, feeling dizzy. She released a shaky breath, hitched as if her heartbeat were strong enough to offset her breathing. Fleur's face was flushed except for the soft pink that rested on the apples of her cheeks. She wondered if she looked the same. Her eyes strayed to Fleur's lips, pink and glossed with saliva.
"You're wearing too many cloths," Hermione commented, hands coming to pull the cardigan from Fleur's frame. They kissed again, this time deeper, her tongue willing pushing itself into the blonde's mouth. Hands came down to grope at her chest and Hermione leaned into them, pushing her shoulders back, offering more and more.
Between them the air was thick with want, trust, desperation and something more—Hermione didn't want to put a word to it.
Her hands continued to undress Fleur, working at incompliant denim. The other witch wasn't helping, brushing away her tentative fingers from button and then slipping a single, talented and frustratingly clothed thigh between her legs.
Hermione hissed.
Oh.
Fleur's hands shifted objectives, moving from her breasts to hips, forcing them to move at an agonizingly slow pace. Heat pooled below her navel, a familiar spring coiling inside of her begging to be released.
"Fleur." Hermione was breathless, "Fleur. Please."
Fleur responded with thrust of her hips, angled in such a way that made Hermione whimper. It seemed that Fleur knew every curve of her body, where to touch so that it would burn, where to kiss so that Hermione's thoughts jumbled into a mass of incomprehensible speech. She wanted to sputter, moan and cry out in pleasure, every centimeter of her body craving to touch, feel, mark, she was stretched in all possible directions wanting to do everything and everything at once to Fleur.
But it was so hard to concentrate, to pick a directive and then follow through when Fleur's hips rolled deliberately, when Fleur looked at her with eyes blue as the sky on a summer day and Fleur's kisses tasted like sunlight and vanilla and all the beauty in the world pressed into plump lips. She found herself helpless, muttering Fleur's name repeatedly as they rocked into each other.
Her hips grew frantic thrusting with force, edging herself on and on, slowly creeping onto a familiar yet exciting edge. Fleur's hands had long released her from her hold, allowing Hermione enough control to press forward until the blonde was pressed against the wall. The leverage was greatly improved and Hermione was rewarded with a strong upwards thrust, to which she replied with her own thigh. They moved in tandem, Fleur's lips relocating to the base of her neck and suckling as Hermione struggled to remove Fleur's shirt.
"Off." Hermione commanded at the shirt, "I swear to Merlin and all he holds dear, Fleur if your bloody shirt doesn't—"
Fleur bit down on velvety skin, scraping her canines down hard enough to make her breath hitch and send shockwaves of pleasure to her lower stomach. Thin, meticulously manicured hands tugged at the shirt until it was pulled over Fleur's head, displaying a pale pink bra. Hermione was pleasantly surprise to see that the clasp was at the front and made quick business of detaching the piece.
Shirt and bra fell onto the floor at the same time. Hermione's hips stilled.
She had seen other women naked before; living with Lavender who liked to sleep nude left less to the imagination. Hermione had seen herself naked in the mirror plenty of times, touched her own breasts, and repositioned them to fill her bra properly. Still, there was something especially glorious when she watched Fleur's nude breasts fall into place.
Hermione stared at Fleur, whose head was tilted back against the wall, breathing deep heavy breaths, eyes darkened tinged with insecurity. She looked especially beautiful, hair in complete dishevel, lips swollen, blushing from Hermione's hard gaze. Keeping eye contact, her hands traveled to meet soft, fleshy mounds, thumbs grazing tighten nipples.
Fleur made a sound.
Delighted, Hermione let her nails scrape against Fleur's nipples again, this time harder with more confidence. Again, Fleur held herself back.
Third time's the charm, Hermione thought, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Fleur wholesomely, sucking on her bottom lip the same time she took the sensitive skin between her thumb and forefinger, pulling slightly. Fleur moaned into her mouth, long and melodic. Hermione squeezed, caressed, kneaded, wanting to hear the sound again and again.
It was an admission of want, if one was ever needed.
Their pace increased again, Fleur actively arching into her hands, messily kissing her and whatever skin her lips could touch. The bump and grind resumed with more urgency, the need for release boiling to a point where both were moaning into the morning light, breakfast cold and forgotten. Summer was slowly slipping into fall, Hermione could feel it in the air.
Things were changing; something inside of her had clicked into place.
She had friends, a job and now—Fleur.
I have a job, Hermione thought suddenly. I have a job.
She froze.
"It's Monday," she declared, her voice reached a new octave. "Work. Fleur. I forgot. I—we, Fleur. Oh Fleur. "
She was frantic, the reality of the situation crashing down on her until the blonde recklessly ground her leg up onto her core, continuing with desperation. Arms came around her waist, holding her there as Fleur worked her to the edge again.
"I want to make you scream," Fleur husked into her ear.
"I am," Hermione whimpered, turned on by such words. "I will, Fleur. Fleur. Please, I need—"
"I need you."
Hermione pulled away completely, startled at the confession. She watched Fleur's expression fill with regret and anger—at herself.
Too much.
Too soon.
"I…" Hermione was dizzy. She panicked.
"I'm sorry." Fleur's hands balled into a fist. "That was not needed."
"I need to go to work."
She disappeared in a pop, apparating with her wand leaving her cloths and Fleur behind.
She ruined it.
Fleur slid down the wall she had been leaning on until she was hugging her knees, tears welling in her eyes.
She had Hermione and now…
…she didn't.
Work was unpleasant.
The throb between her legs was distracting. Hermione found her thoughts wandering back to Fleur. To the morning and the night before. And the nights before those.
There was something between them. Hermione couldn't pinpoint what it was. She was never interested in girls—not consciously anyways. But Fleur, Fleur with her bright blue eyes and natural grace. Ever since she first laid eyes on the other witch, she knew there had been something. At Hogwarts, at the age of fourteen, Hermione would dismiss and ignore that something as annoyance.
Immense annoyance.
Annoyance at the fact that she, too, felt a certain attraction towards the part veela. It wasn't how Ron described it, she didn't accidentally ask Fleur to the Yule Ball, nothing about the veela thrall compelled her to do anything ridiculous. But her thoughts wandered and so did her eyes, to the sway of Fleur's hips as she walked the long hallways of Hogwarts, she took a secret liking to the damned charming French accent. So she put distance. And so there was distance and feigned hatred, even more distance when Fleur began dating Bill. But the couple fell apart shortly after the war, similar to the way she and Ron did. Not out of hatred or infidelity. Simply because they were better as friends.
When Harry told her of the available flat next to Fleur's, she didn't hesitate to accept. Her two best friends were close. There was security in numbers. That part of her, the one that longed to hold Fleur's hands and dance to the delicate rhythm of music at the ball all those years ago, was buried. She disregarded Fleur's shy smile and the thump of her heart when they had met eyes again.
Hermione wasn't sure when the dreaded shopping trips started or when she and Fleur actually became friends but it was a slow, delicate, grown through years. Now, she was twenty three, that attraction to Fleur had reawakened. It didn't help that Fleur only grew increasingly beautiful through the years, braver, more confident in her abilities as a witch and in English until she was successfully bantering with Hermione.
She wasn't gay, Hermione deduced. Maybe Fleur-sexual. Maybe.
And Fleur! How long had the woman felt about her in such a way? They had nearly shagged, again. And a part of her was filled with delight, knowing that her feelings were not unrequited. A larger part of her was terrified at the prospect of being in a relationship. With another woman, no less!
Hermione shook her head and refocused on her work.
There was a time and place for everything. She had work to do. Tonight, Hermione told herself. Tonight, she was going to sort things out.
Hermione was brave, she was a Gryffindor after all. Brave, when she finished her work and began to pack piles of papers into her bag. She was brave as she threw the floo powder into the fireplace to head home. Hermione was brave when she combed her hair and straightened her cloths, brave until she was standing in front of Fleur's door.
Dementors, she could withstand. A war with the most powerful wizard that had split his soul into pieces never meant to be found? Piece of a cake. Fearlessly breaking into Gringott's bank and escaping on a dragon? She would rather do it again than stand there nervously shifting from foot to foot.
How would Fleur react? Would she be welcomed or denied entry? Would the blonde slam the door in her face? Swallowing all the possibilities, she knocked.
Fleur opened it, holding a glass of wine.
In her nervousness, Hermione blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"See I told you, you were an alcoholic."
Fleur froze, regarding her with curiosity. "You came here to tell me about my drinking habits?"
"No." Hermione tried to focus but her eyes drifted to Fleur's delicate form, clothed in a casual blouse and long skirt. "I—uhh. I wanted to talk."
"There isn't much to talk about." Fleur shrugged, "We can set this morning and the past weeks behind us, if that is what you wish."
That would be nice, Hermione though. These feelings, the way her eyes undressed Fleur openly after knowing what delicate skin laid beneath those layers of cloth, she could completely disregard them and she could possibly savage a friendship that took years to build. The thought was tempting.
It was the easy way out though and Gryffindor students are known for their bravery.
"What if I don't want that?"
Hermione watched as Fleur nearly choked on her wine but recovered with grace. She was French after all.
"What if, hypothetically, of course, I didn't want to forget about it because, theoretically speaking, I liked you."
Fleur's eyebrows curled in confusion. Hermione's words hung in the air. She fiddled with her wand.
"I suppose, if this scenario had presented itself, I would invite you in. We would talk." Fleur paused, a blush blooming across her countenance. "I would tell you how I feel. At best, you would return my feelings and I get to kiss you again. Worst case? You're disgusted and leave. "
Hermione's hand shook; she stuffed them in her coat pocket.
Be brave!
"However, seeing as this is purely speculative, I won't be wasting any more of your time. Good night Hermio—"
"You're the worst, Fleur." Hermione declared. "When something bothers you, you act like it doesn't. And you're completely okay with the outcome despite the fact that it may leave you miserable. And an alcoholic! I can't believe I like someone like you!"
"A glass a night does not constitute me as an alcoholic." Fleur rebutted. "It helps—"
Hermione stepped forward, crushing their lips together.
"Are you daft? I just told you I like you." Her hands gripped the collar of Fleur's shirt. "Do you know how nerve wracking it is to stand here and tell you that?"
"Do you know how much I like you, back?"
Hermione sputtered, the bravery disappearing with her ability to speak. She buried herself in the crook of Fleur's neck in pure nervousness, face crimson. She wasn't expecting such a comeback. They stood there like that for a moment, Hermione pressed into Fleur, hugging each other in the hallway of a muggle flat. The world didn't shift, it didn't stop spinning or shrink like it did in all those romance novels. Simply, the world felt balanced in a way Hermione didn't know it could.
"Can you look up so I can kiss you, ma cherie?" Fleur nudged her with her nose.
Slowly, Hermione did, meeting eyes with the young Frenchwoman. Their kiss felt right, no prickling mustache or too much tongue. It was chaste, soft and pleasant. Fleur tasted like cheesecake and wine, like sunlight and beauty, like the future. Instinctively, her hands wrapped around Fleur's neck, deepening the kiss until a soft cough broke them apart.
To Hermione's horror, Harry, Ron and George stood slack jawed, holding bottles of beer, wine and whiskey.
Of course.
It was Monday Night Quidditch .
And you thought there was going to be SEX? Only after two chapters?! Well. I did plan this to be a oneshot. It's obviously taking its damn sweet time. :3 See you next chapter! As usual, I want to thank you all for reading. I love response but if you feel like "reviewing" would somehow give the story a better rating than it deserves, please PM me or send me an ask on tumblr. Good night!