AN: Apparently, JKR never said that Krum had a son named Septimus, which is news to me. I could've sworn she did. So we're just working under the assumption that he did and Septimus (whom Lily calls Set) was raised as a family friend.
Lily Luna Potter and Septimus Krum are same-year Slytherins. They have been best friends since before they could walk, and thus far, they have done everything together. This is no exception. (Sixth year.) For Grace.
WARNING: Graphic sex, proceed only if you are 18+.
.heart.
He is so much taller than her, towering over her. She stands on her tip-toes to give him a hug, their standard I-haven't-seen-you-since-yesterday-how-was-your-night routine. He inhales. She smells spicy; like her always-present chai tea, and faintly smoky; reminiscent of her strawberry cigars. She oozes familiarity; sixteen years of birthday parties and Transfiguration tests, of lost teeth and familial gatherings. Neither of them knows which one decides to turn it into more; her hands lace through his dark hair at the exact time his hands find her elfin waist. They rest there, large and strong and modest, as solid as their friendship.
She is his opposite; a miniature with delicate features who is at odds with his height and brute strength and his strong jaw. Her passion is sparked with their physical contact. She walks forward, her small hands on his huge chest, and he naïvely allows her to push him toward her bed. She exhales his name as her lithe fingers make rapid work of his buttoned shirt.
His brain is jammed; he cannot form a coherent thought. All that registers is that the girl he has loved for his entire life is kissing him, is undressing him, is pushing him down onto her bed.
I love you, he breathes, honesty spilling out before he can stop it. She stops, suddenly, jerks back, her emerald eyes wide. Then, as if she has made up her mind,she leans back in and intones I love you too against his smooth throat. He smiles, his world complete. She loves me too, he thinks, elated. His heart slams against his ribcage; surely she can hear it. Suddenly he is distracted by her teeth, which are leaving purpling bruises against his collarbone.
Lily, his voice comes out, strangled. She hmmms in response, her tongue doing something to his neck that he didn't know was physically possible. His jeans are so tight and strained, they're hurting him. He shifts slightly below her, gently, and she is abruptly standing up, shaking her long, tomato-red hair out of its elegant knot. He is temporarily disappointed, until, suddenly, she is peeling off her black dress, stripping off her black lace stockings, diving back onto her bed, next to him. His hands land on her shoulders; it's the one place he can trust himself to not do anything stupid.
She shakes her head and he pulls away. He should have known it was too good to be true. His heart plummets. Set, she says, with the air of explaining potions homework as though he's dim-witted, you can participate. I want you, I don't want to just lay here and- she is cut off as he kisses her this time, more urgently, full of happiness once again. She smiles. It's his turn to kiss down her neck, bite her shoulder, make her let out a gasp of Oh!
His immense hands trail down her body. Thumbs find a home on her chest, and she bites a lip. He grins. He is mad with this lust for her, this power he suddenly has. Experiment; what does she do when you move your thumbs like that? Oh! Oh my.
Boxers? Gone. Her see-through scrap of black lace? Gone. They find a home next to his socks on the floor.
There aren't words for this, for these moving hands and breaths. For the way she makes him feel. She has returned something to him that he hadn't known had broken away.
He is supporting his whole weight in his hands- I love you, he breathes and she nods, her teeth on her lip drawing blood. He kisses her, tastes rust and salt and rawness.
Hel-lo! He exclaims. He can't help himself. She giggles and they both blush and somehow it's awkward and perfect and beautiful at once.
They find an easy rhythm, and he can't help but stare into her eyes, clear and deep and bottle green, rimmed in gold. He kisses her, bites her neck, pressure. Nibbles on her ear and she lets out a little shriek. He grins.
He's holding onto her headboard. She is oh-ing as he quickens the pace. She's louder, louder, but neither of them cares.
Oh-oh-oh-Set!-oh-oh-god!-oh! She's ridiculously loud. This is the noisiest she's ever been in their whole life, and he knows it's him, he's making her do that and that turns him on even more if that were possible.
And then; Oh-Oh!-OHHH!
He's following right after her; watches her head throw back, her back arch, her mouth falls open. She is bright and lovely and they are joined in a way they hadn't been before.
He relaxes on top of her not-all-the-way, careful to keep his weight off the delicate body beneath him. She pokes him in the ribs and he collapses onto her, both of them chuckling. He rolls to the side and gathers her into his arms.
I love you, the both say. Smiling, happiness, perfection.
She holds herself close to his chest, looks up at him through her Bambi lashes. Marry me, she says. Not an order, not a command, simply a big question in small words that make his stomach drop and his heart kick-start.
For an answer he brings his mouth to hers and somehow gets out the word yes.