Disclaimer: See 'All He Ever Wanted.'
Author's Note: Consider this a belated Christmas gift. I hope you all had happy holidays and Happy New Year!
Portrait of a Marriage
A Happy Family Christmas
"Daddy, what time is it?"
Harry figured it had been about three minutes since the last time Sabrina had asked him this question but he smiled indulgently down at her. "It's just a few minutes 'til 5."
Andy let out a little irritated huff of breath and even rolled his eyes at Sabrina's question and Hermione put her hand on Andy's shoulder with an expressive look, at which Andy subsided.
"Oh. Only? But we've been waiting for so long!" Sabrina was almost literally bouncing on her feet, too impatient to stay completely still.
"It hasn't been that long, love," Hermione said, exchanging an amused glance with Harry. They had only gotten to Platform 9 and ¾ perhaps 10 minutes ago, if that.
"And when will the train be here?" Sabrina asked again.
"It'll be here soon, love, I promise," Harry assured her, passing a caressing hand over Sabrina's hair. His eyes and his smile softened as he looked down at her. He had such a sweet baby girl, he thought, to be so impatient to see her older sister again. It was heart-warming. He hadn't quite realized that Sabrina missed Emily so much.
It had probably been the hardest thing he'd had to do in years to send Emily off to Hogwarts on September 1 for her first year. Irrationally. It wasn't as if Emily would be alone; she was heading there with Ron's twins, Avery and Amy, who were also starting their first years, to say nothing of the fact that she had all the older Weasley grandchildren who'd be there as well, with Ron's David and Jeff, Bill's youngest, Jack, and Ginny's Frank and Victoria (better known as Tory). Indeed, Emily was one of the kids with the largest group of ready-made friends in the entire school. Besides which she already knew Hagrid and Headmistress McGonagall relatively well.
But knowing all of that with his conscious mind had been one thing; actually feeling it, when he'd be letting his little girl go off for months-- well, that was something else entirely. (Much to Hermione's amused understanding.) He had been, Harry admitted now, something of a nervous wreck until they'd received Emily's first owls, in which she'd written glowingly of the castle and her classes and finally getting to learn the things she'd spent her life hearing about and seeing.
Harry had also worried a little over how she would be treated, the eldest daughter of Harry Potter as she was, and he knew better than anyone just how hard he and Hermione had had to work to keep their children away from all the media attention and he'd been a little afraid for how the other kids would treat his Emily. But aside from mentioning a few of the surprised and curious reactions, and laughing over how at first she'd caught some kids staring at her forehead as if expecting to see a matching scar like Harry's on it, Emily's owls had been almost uniformly cheerful. She was enjoying Hogwarts, making friends and liking her classes, and not even Harry's hyper-sensitized reading of her owls could make him detect anything bad. (And he'd tried. He'd been quite prepared to fly up to Hogwarts and bring Emily back home with him at the first sign of any trouble or unhappiness-well, to be strictly accurate, he was prepared for it but he knew Hermione would have had something to say about any such scheme.)
But no such drastic measure had been necessary but Harry still found himself quite beside himself with anticipation at the thought of Emily being home again, spending Christmas with all his kids at home, as they always had before. He felt a lot of sympathy for Sabrina and her obvious excitement; if he wasn't careful, he would start bouncing on his feet as well (and then Hermione would never, ever, let him live it down.)
As it was, he smiled down at his baby girl and wondered if it was possible for a heart to burst with love. "We've all missed Emily, love."
Sabrina reached up and grasped his hand in both of hers. "Yeah, I guess," she said dismissively, with all the innocent self-centeredness of childhood, blithely unconscious of the splash of cold water she'd just thrown on Harry's sentimental thoughts. "I want to decorate the tree. We've never waited this long before decorating it before," she fretted.
Harry blinked. So much for Sabrina having missed her older sister so much.
He felt Hermione's eyes on him and met her knowing smile with a rueful look. He should have known; Sabrina could be as single-minded as anyone and she'd been talking of little else but the tree for days now.
Hermione's eyes were dancing with amusement and he knew she had- as usual- read his thoughts and his lips quirked as he couldn't help but laugh silently at himself. Serve him right for somehow imagining his kids were angels.
Hermione tucked her hand into his arm, giving it a brief squeeze, and he smiled before brushing his lips against her hair.
And just then Andy bounded forward. "Oh, I think I hear it! I can hear the train, Daddy!"
Sabrina would have run forward (as if she could somehow pull the Hogwarts Express in faster, Harry thought with a grin) if it hadn't been for Hermione's grasping her cloak.
Andy had been right and it was only a few minutes before the train was in sight, slowly moving along the tracks along the platform.
Almost on cue, he heard Ron's voice. "Hello, strangers."
Sabrina turned, her face lighting up. "Uncle Ron!" she greeted him joyfully.
Ron bent and hoisted Sabrina up in his arms in his traditional greeting. "Hi, munchkin. You excited to see Emily again?" he asked, as he grinned at Harry and Hermione and ruffled Andy's hair.
"I want to decorate our tree!" Sabrina announced.
"Of course. Decorating the tree is the most important part," Ron agreed solemnly, although his eyes were dancing.
"It is," Sabrina agreed.
"You came alone?" Harry asked.
"Luna's at home getting things cleaned up and ready since she just got home yesterday," Ron explained briefly and Harry nodded. Luna had been away for one of her occasional magical creature sightings the past couple days and so hadn't had time to prepare.
With a last shriek of sound, the Hogwarts Express pulled to a stop and almost immediately, kids started flooding out of it and Harry's attention was immediately distracted as he searched for Emily.
He found her, along with Avery and Amy, quickly enough and had to almost physically restrain himself from running forward to greet her. Emily spotted them first and broke out into smiles as she waved, hurrying forward with Avery and Amy beside her.
Harry suppressed a brief sigh. He remembered a time when Emily would have run to him first thing, flinging herself at him after every brief absence as if they'd been apart for days… No more, though. That little girl Emily had been replaced by this one, who only quickened her steps, still talking to Avery and Amy; he was no longer the main focus of her attention after an absence. He supposed it had to happen sometime but he was almost surprised by the intensity of his regret before he shook off the melancholy thoughts as the girls arrived and then was immediately comforted as Emily threw her arms around him with almost as much enthusiasm as ever.
"Oh, Daddy, it's good to see you!"
He closed his arms around his daughter in the sort of hug a man gives the dearest thing in the world to him and could only wish he never needed to let her go again.
Harry shook off the sentimental thought as he released Emily for Hermione's hug and retrieved his youngest from where Ron had put her down as he greeted the twins. (David and Jeff had opted to stay at Hogwarts over the holiday to keep their cousins company as Ginny and Neville, along with their youngest, Samantha, had gone on a trip to Egypt, and Bill and Fleur and their two elder kids were spending the holiday in France with Fleur's family.)
Ron, Avery and Amy were off with a wave and a "See you on Boxing Day!" since, while Christmas was always spent among the individual families, on Boxing Day, the Burrow was always filled to bursting with the Weasleys and the Potters.
Harry hoisted Sabrina up into his arms and turned to put his free arm around Em as they left the station.
Emily was as bright and cheerful as he'd ever seen her and Harry met Hermione's eyes to see the smile in them. Emily was happy at Hogwarts, that was clearly, flagrantly obvious and soothed any last lingering worries he'd had-and for now, at least, he asked nothing more of life.
Sabrina almost burst into the house when they returned, heading immediately to the sitting room where the tree waited.
"Em, do you want anything to eat?" Hermione asked.
"No, we have to decorate the tree!" Sabrina answered quickly, before Em could.
Emily laughed, pretending to smother Sabrina with her scarf before she answered, "No, I'm fine, Mum."
"Maybe you want to rest a little," Harry suggested teasingly and they all laughed at Sabrina's strangled shriek of protest. "Okay, okay, we can decorate the tree now," Harry relented, as he'd always been planning to, and grinned at Hermione as the kids flew to open the baskets full of ornaments.
Harry always loved this. His kids were so different in how they went about it. Emily-ever her mother's daughter-was methodical in placing ornaments with due thought for position and color and visibility. Andy made hanging up all the Quidditch-related ornaments his personal job and Sabrina loved the most brightly colored or the sparkling ornaments most and always tried to make sure every part of the tree (that she could reach) was as bright and sparkling as possible, if not downright blinding.
Sabrina ran up to Hermione. "Here, Mummy, this is yours so you have to put it on the tree."
Harry stifled a laugh. That particular ornament was one he'd given Hermione a few years ago, of a girl holding a book on which was written, She is too fond of books and it has addled her brain.
Hermione laughed and followed Sabrina's tugging to the tree where she made a great show of pondering where to put it with each of the kids offering a suggestion before she deliberately took Emily's idea, ruffling Andy's hair as she did so.
Hermione turned to Harry with a mock threatening glance. "Don't smirk at me like that. You're lucky I never made you sleep on the couch for that."
He didn't even bother to hide his grin. "What? It suits you."
"Oh, so I'm addled, am I?" she asked in a familiar refrain between them.
He slipped his arm around her waist, bringing her in closer so he could whisper in her ear. "Luckily for you, I find women who are addled to be sexy."
She tried to frown at him-really, she did!-but he dropped a kiss on the sensitive hollow just behind her ear and as usual, she felt herself melt at his touch. Really, it shouldn't be possible for a husband of more than 15 years to still be able to weaken her knees with just a touch-but he could. And he knew it too.
She leaned in closer to him until he could feel her breath on his lips, saw the flash of heat darken his eyes, as she deliberately traced her fingers along the back of his neck.
She stepped back and it was her turn to smirk at the look on his face. Oh well. If he could melt her with a touch, she could do the same to him, so it wasn't a bad bargain.
His wife was a siren-an evil siren-he thought but then was yanked from his arousal by a cry of "Daddy!"
He turned to Sabrina, "What, sweetie?"
None of the kids so much as batted an eye at their parents' little flirtatious interlude, too accustomed to the sight to react to it, and Sabrina was supremely unconscious of interrupting anything as she simply held up her arms in silent command. He understood-this was their usual ritual-and he lifted her up in his arms so she could put her ornaments on the topmost branches of the tree.
Sabrina giggled as she draped him with a sparkling garland that made his neck itch but he bore it with smiling good humor-as he would have borne much worse to see his kids laughing and giggling-even if the laughter was at his expense.
"Now, the star," Andy declared.
"Ooh, let me!" Emily volunteered quickly. "I can do it!"
"Ok, Em," Hermione agreed and held out the star that had been charmed to sparkle and shine.
Then to both Hermione's and Harry's surprise, Emily pulled out her wand. "Wingardium leviosa!" and the star rose, hovering as Emily, frowning in concentration, guided it up to perch on top of the tree and then made it stay there with another charm, the one Harry or Hermione usually used to achieve that purpose.
"Oh, wow, Em," Andy enthused.
Emily beamed proudly. "I did it!"
"Yes, you certainly did," Hermione laughed. "Nice job."
"That's my girl," Harry grinned at Emily.
"That was neat!" Sabrina clapped her hands. "I wanna learn to do that!"
Harry smiled indulgently at her. "Wait a few years until you go to Hogwarts and then you will."
Sabrina pouted. "Can't you teach me now, Daddy, please?"
Harry hesitated; he knew he had to refuse her but saying no to Sabrina when she gave him her pleading look was not easy. He suppressed a sigh, wondering if he could somehow persuade the Improper Use of Magic Office to relax the rules for Sabrina and under-age magic (he probably could, since he knew there were few Departments in the Ministry of Magic who would ever refuse a request of his-not that he was going to ask, for one thing, and, even if he were, Hermione wouldn't let him, for another). He glanced at Hermione to see her watching him with amusement-and understanding-in her eyes. "You know you can't, sweetie," he told Sabrina gently.
"Can't you change the rules, Daddy? You can do almost anything." Sabrina gifted him with the world's sweetest, most beguiling smile-and Harry wondered, half-wildly, when his daughter had learned to manipulate him so well. Powerful wizard, ha, when he was so helpless against his own children…
"Daddy can't change the rules like that, Sabrina," Hermione spoke up, rescuing Harry and he shot her a grateful look.
Sabrina looked ready to pout again but Harry hastily grabbed an ornament and handed it to her. "Here, baby, where do you want to hang this up?"
Sabrina considered the tree seriously, her pout vanishing, and Harry relaxed a little. Sabrina was generally too good-natured of a child to pout or be in a bad humor for very long. (It was one of the things he was most grateful for, he sometimes thought, that his kids were, generally, happy children and not given to pouting-although he was already beginning to live in fear of what would happen when they all hit their teenage years. He could remember what he'd been like at 15-and he frankly shuddered at the thought of his kids acting as he had that year.)
The sound of Andy's and Emily's laughter brought him back to the present and Harry dismissed those vague concerns for another time. For now, at least, his kids were still young, still blithely good-natured (for the most part) and they were all here for Christmas. What more did any man need? What more could any man ask from life than this? Nothing more, he thought, just this and he was perfectly happy…
~Christmas Day~
The day ended, as usual, with them all sitting around watching A Wizarding Christmas Carol-which Sabrina loved and so was one of the few things which could keep her quiet and unmoving for any amount of time on Christmas Day.
The film ended as the words, Happy Christmas to All, scrolled across the screen and Harry glanced down to see that Sabrina had (finally) used up her seemingly inexhaustible store of energy and dozed off, still hugging the large, plush Kneazle that had been her gift from Ron and Luna. Harry exchanged a smile with Hermione over her head before Harry slipped his arms under her, lifting her up so he could carry her up to her room.
She stirred a little, mumbling something he couldn't decipher, before she settled against him, her head resting against his shoulder with that instinctive, boundless trust that always filled his heart with emotion-and made him make a little prayer that he might never betray that trust.
"Emily, Andy, come on and get ready for bed," he said, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Sabrina and they both stood up.
Hermione hugged them in turn, kissing Emily on the forehead and dropping a kiss on Andy's hair, as she wished them a good night and then they trooped upstairs.
Harry put Sabrina into her bed and then paused, looking down at her for a moment, wondering-how was he to get her out of her clothes and into her pyjamas without waking her up?-before Hermione appeared. "I'll take care of it," she said softly and, with a skill that amazed him (he didn't know how she did it) she managed to unbutton Sabrina's blouse and slip it off, handing it to him without looking and then sliding her skirt off her before she repeated the process in reverse, sliding Sabrina into her pyjamas, all without Sabrina waking up, although she stirred, mumbling some more indecipherable words a few times. Really, his wife was a miracle worker.
He bent to brush his lips across Sabrina's forehead before tucking her blankets in around her and then made his way over to Andy's room to see that Andy was already in bed, reading Ron's gift to him, an illustrated history of the Chudley Cannons.
He had, characteristically, left his clothes strewn on the floor and Harry shook his head a little before he stooped and picked them up, haphazardly folding them and putting them on the chair.
"Don't stay up too late, Andy," he said.
Andy looked up and smiled. "I won't, Daddy. Happy Christmas and good night."
"Good night."
Emily was in her pyjamas and, as she usually did, putting her clothes away and methodically picking out her clothes for the next day. (She grew more like Hermione every day; it was really almost frightening. Of course Hermione always told him, half-severely, that Andy's penchant for disorder must be from him-except he, at least, had been trained to a degree after living with Hermione for so long, whereas Andy hadn't reached that level yet.)
He paused in the doorway and simply watched her for a moment, enjoying the familiar sight of her, all the more after these months of her not being home.
She glanced up at him when she was finished and smiled. "Happy Christmas, Daddy."
He gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. "Happy Christmas, sweetie. Sleep well."
She gave him the smile that never failed to warm his heart, a smile she reserved for family only. "I will. Good night, Daddy."
When he arrived in his and Hermione's room, it was to find Hermione sitting on their bed and a plain white box with a ribbon of the Gryffindor colors wrapped around it, sitting on his pillow.
He sat down beside her, lightly tugging her until she was leaning against him, while he picked up the box with his other hand. "And what's this?"
"Your other Christmas present."
"I get another one?" he grinned with a passable imitation of the kids.
Hermione laughed. "Just open it and you'll see."
He tugged on the ribbon to untie the bow but not until after he'd leaned over and captured her lips with his in a slow, lingering kiss.
When it ended, she blinked, her eyes soft and a little unfocused in that expression he loved to see, and he allowed himself a brief smile-too much of a male not to feel a little smug-before he turned his attention to the box.
He opened it and then stared, the blood rushing out of his head so fast he felt dizzy.
It was… little more than a scrap of lace and silk in a wine red color.
Slowly-his hand was almost trembling with some combination of surprise and lust-he pulled it out of the box.
It was a slip, a very short slip, with enough lace across the miniscule bodice area that it would, no doubt, leave very little to the imagination. And just the mental image of Hermione wearing it was so potent that he had to bite his lip to stifle a groan.
His mouth was dry and he had to fight to swallow.
"It's- ah- just my color, isn't it?" he tried to joke but the words were belied by the huskiness of his tone.
She laughed softly, gifting him with a seductive look from beneath her lashes. "I'd pay a lot of money to see you in something like this."
He half-choked on a laugh. "I think you'll look better in it."
She pretended thoughtfulness. "I'm not sure… Maybe I should try it on so we can see…"
Dear Merlin, yes! His mouth had gone too dry to speak so he only gave her a look and she smiled, a very slow, very seductive smile filled with all the feminine knowledge and age-old confidence of a woman who knows she's desired, even as a slight blush colored her cheeks. (God, he loved that she blushed. She would buy something like this, playing the role of a siren, but she would still blush…)
She brushed her lips against his in a tease of a kiss, much too quickly and much too lightly for him to respond, and he almost groaned when she drew back.
She threw him a teasing, flirtatious look just before she vanished into their closet. "Get comfortable," she said huskily.
His wife was the sexiest woman in the universe, he decided, yet again, as he quickly stripped off his jumper, haphazardly tossing it onto a chair where it was soon joined by his trousers.
After all, Hermione was probably right-as usual-in saying Andy's penchant for disorder came from him-Andy. He stilled, quickly reaching for his wand and casting a sound-proofing charm on the bedroom. He and Hermione had gotten accustomed to love-making in silence-or as quietly as possible-but he had the distinct feeling that tonight was going to be one of those times when quiet wasn't possible. No need to potentially scar the kids-to say nothing of the fact that he loved the sounds she made when she was aroused, when he touched her in certain ways…
He sensed her reappearance in their room more than anything else and a shiver of mingled lust and anticipation ran through him in the split second before he turned to see her-his body reacting immediately to the sight of her.
Holy Merlin… She was seduction and sensuality personified, a goddess, a siren, every red-blooded man's erotic fantasy come to life. And she was his… His eyes wandered over every inch of her, beginning with her eyes, dark with desire, to her lips and then down, to her breasts, covered just enough by the diaphanous lace of the bodice so as to be completely tantalizing making his mind immediately conjure up vivid images of touching her, tasting her through the lace and then stripping her bare to his gaze, further down to the curves of her waist and her hips, and down to where the slip ended, drawing attention to smoothly rounded thighs and then further still until they reached her feet. (When even the sight of her bare feet could arouse him, he didn't know, but at the moment, he rather thought everything about her aroused him.)
Vaguely, in some peripheral corner of his mind, he wondered how it was that it never mattered how many times he'd seen her body before; the sight of her still affected him just as much as it ever had when he'd first seen her, had first explored her body. He'd thought, then, that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen or imagined seeing-and she still was. Even after all these years, she still was the most beautiful woman. Her breasts might be fuller than they had been years ago, her hips wider, her stomach slightly more rounded-but none of that mattered a whit when he looked at her. She still took his breath away, made him crazy with wanting her-always would take his breath away. He would always want her…
Hermione felt heat and arousal flash through her body, desire and anticipation and lust coursing through her at the look in his eyes as he stared at her. She felt the heat of his gaze as if it were a touch. He stared at her as if she were a goddess, the most beautiful, desirable woman in the world and she loved that. She loved the way he stared at her, the touch of awe mingling in with the lust stamped on his features-and that look on his face was all she'd wanted, was what made her do this.
She smiled, a very slow, very knowing, very feminine smile. "So what do you think?"
He blinked, having to fight to remember what on earth she was asking. "Ah- I- uh- I think it's the best Christmas gift ever." His voice was hoarse, raspy.
"Lie down, Harry."
Lie down? He would have given her the moon if she'd asked for it, would give her his soul if she asked for it…
She moved onto the bed beside him, let her eyes wander over the length of his body, linger on his prominent erection visible through his boxers and then back up his chest and shoulders to meet his eyes.
"Hermione…" and her name was a groan, a fervent prayer. "Touch me…"
And she did.
She flattened her hands on his chest, her fingers caressing, exploring, brushing over his flat, male nipples until he groaned. Her hands skated lower to trace over the muscles of his stomach, that tightened and rippled beneath her hands-she loved his reactions to her touch.
She lowered her lips to his skin, dropping a light kiss on his shoulder and then leaving a string of kisses across to his other shoulder, pausing and making a detour up to lick at his Adam's apple and she felt him swallow. She moved on, her lips skimming over his chest, pausing to let her tongue flick lightly against first one and then the other nipple, as he groaned, his hips arching involuntarily.
Her hand cupped his arousal through the cloth of his boxers and he cried out sharply, his body straining against the cloth, toward her hand. She stroked, lightly, let her fingers trace over the rigid length of him through the cloth.
"Hermione… please…" His jaw was clenched so tight it was a wonder he managed to grit the words out.
Her fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, pushing it down, finally freeing his erection, and sliding it off him and tossing it blindly to the side. And then, before he could so much as draw in a shaky breath, her hand closed around him again, robbing him of what little breath he'd had.
She knew his body, knew every inch of him-and she loved to touch him like this, so intimately, loved knowing that her touch could reduce him to incoherence, that his world at these moments was narrowed down to her and her hand and her touch… And so she touched him, explored him. Her fingers traced along the rigid length of him as he groaned, his eyes closed, his head thrown back, his hands scrambling for purchase on the sheets. And it was only then, when she saw that look of utter abandonment to sensual pleasure on his face, that she closed her hand around his length before she brushed her palm ever so lightly against the tip of him-
In a quick movement that startled a gasp out of her, his hand grasped her wrist, tugging until she lay sprawled on the bed and in another second, he'd twisted over until she was half-trapped beneath his body.
"Harry!"
His eyes burned down at her. "My turn," he rasped, the huskiness of his tone sending a fresh wave of heat through her, more liquid heat pooling between her thighs and she could only agree. It wasn't what she'd planned or expected but who cared about that? In this realm, at least, plans were over-rated.
He kissed her, hard and deep, his tongue delving into the familiar depths of her mouth, finding and stroking her tongue with his. She arched under him, her arms sliding around his neck, returning his kiss with the searing passion that was so much a part of her, the passion that never failed to steal his breath, his heart and his very soul.
He was addicted-now, as he'd been from the beginning-to her passion, loved the passion in her. She made love with all the intensity and fervor that she gave to every other aspect of her life, to everything else she did, and it was intoxicating, addicting… And hot… She made him burn…
The silk of the slip was cool against his over-heated skin and it was the most sensuous, erotic thing to feel the silk and underneath it all, the warmth and softness of Hermione, as she arched into his touch, her body moving against his in a way that sent the silk sliding over and between their bodies.
His hands skimmed caressingly down the length of her body, feeling her skin heat at his touch even through the slip. The silk was smooth against his hands, enough that it almost felt like a return caress-but he knew from long years of loving her that Hermione's skin was softer, infinitely more arousing and more sensuous to the touch than any silk could ever be.
He shifted lower on the bed, his lips moving down to find her taut nipples, suckling at them through the flimsy lace of the slip's bodice, first one and then the other, until she moaned his name. Deliberately, he let his teeth graze her nipple lightly and she cried out sharply, her hands clutching his hair, as she arched into his touch. He half-smiled against her skin-God, he loved the sounds she made…
He moved lower on the bed. The slip was lovely-and she was a goddess in it-but it had to go. His hands pushed the slip slowly up her body, caressing her thighs, her hips, as he went before he lowered his lips to her skin, kissing every inch of the skin revealed as he pushed her slip further up her body.
His lips trailed slowly, caressingly, along the soft skin of her thighs, paused to drop a kiss on the triangle of hair at their junction although he didn't lower his mouth to kiss the center of her body where she was wet and swollen for him. Instead, he moved on, his lips skimming over her lower belly and up her stomach, dipping his tongue lightly, teasingly, into her belly button until she let out a huff of breath that was half a laugh, half a moan.
He looked up at her, momentarily pausing in his caresses, as his eyes met hers, seeing the haziness of arousal in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks, her lips slick and swollen still from his kiss. "You're so beautiful," he told her, huskily, the words slipping out unbidden, blunt and utterly sincere.
Her eyes softened, glowed with all the love in the world, and she moved her hand, lightly touching her fingers to his cheek, tracing over his lips. It was an oddly intimate caress-given that she'd just been touching him in a much more intimate manner-made so by the simple emotion behind it; this had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with love.
He kissed her fingertips softly, lingeringly, before he dipped his head again, returning his attention to the bare skin of her stomach. (He was addicted to this too, the taste of her skin, the scent of her…)
He could spend hours like this, he thought hazily, kissing and caressing every inch of her, worshipping her skin with his lips and hands and tongue…
But then she shifted beneath him, twisting so her leg brushed against his arousal and he felt a fresh wave of lust jolt through him-proving the lie to his thought. He would spend hours kissing and caressing her skin-except his own control wouldn't last for it.
He pushed the slip further, all the way up to bare her breasts-her lovely, perfect breasts-and then up over her head where he tossed it onto the floor-and then paused to stare at her, just drink in the beauty of her. He could never get enough of seeing her like this…
Her eyes were dark and dilated with arousal as she looked up at him and the barest hint of a smile-the smile of a seductress-touched her lips before she reached for him, her arms sliding around his neck and bringing him down to her.
Her lips found his as she kissed him, first slowly, languorously, and then heatedly until he was reeling, dizzy, from lust and love and the full force of the sensual power she could wield over him.
And he was lost.
He deepened the kiss, pressing her further into the mattress, as one hand slid into her hair to cup her head. His hips shifted until his arousal was where he wanted, needed, it to be, and she arched up beneath him, pushing herself towards him until the slick core of her body slid against his erection and he broke the kiss on a strangled groan. It was a pleasurable agony and he had to grit his teeth as he thought, for the barest second, that he might just come right then. He fought it back and lowered his lips to hers again, his tongue delving into her mouth as, in an oddly parallel movement, his hips thrust forward, entered her, filled her, until he was fully sheathed inside the slick heat of her.
She was the one who ended the kiss on a soft sound, that wasn't quite a gasp but was more just a simple breath, a sound she almost always gave whenever he entered her, a sound he loved. It was an intimate sound, a sound only a lover would know, a sound only he knew, familiar to him from years of loving her.
She tightened her muscles around him in an evocative caress. "Harry," she breathed, the word barely audible, the husky tone of her voice nearly as evocative as the feel of her wet warmth surrounding him.
And he obeyed the unspoken wish in her movements and began to move, withdrawing from her and then sliding back in. He tried-he really tried-to keep it slow-he loved being able to savor this, this joining with her-but she urged him on with her arms and her legs and her hips, arching beneath him. And then before he could so much as catch a labored breath, he felt her thighs tense and he could only roll with her as she shifted, straddling him now.
He saw the sensual intent gleam in her eyes a moment before she rose and then lowered herself, letting him slide deeper into her body and his eyes rolled back in his head with a groan as he gave himself up to the exquisite torture of it all, of her and of the pleasure she clearly meant to lavish on him, on them both.
Her body knew the movements by now, knew just how to shift and tighten and then rock above him and she let her lids fall, her senses stretching, as she moved, setting the pace that he met and matched with his hips.
She felt the pleasure building, welling up inside her, surging, as she quickened the pace. His hands came up and found her breasts, cupping them, flattening on her over-sensitized nipples, and that caress was all it took and she was there, ecstasy bursting inside her, pulsing through her body, as she threw her head back with a sharp cry.
He followed her almost immediately, his hips thrusting up sharply one last time as he found his release, exploding inside her with a guttural groan.
Hermione slumped over, boneless, breathless, mindless, her body sprawling wantonly above him. Vaguely, she was aware of his arms around her, anchoring her to him, and-although she was too tired to think of it-something inside her smiled, and she relaxed, sleepy, satiated, loved…
Harry relaxed into the mattress, feeling as if the bed was almost enfolding him, his thoughts fuzzy, unfocused with bliss, but always aware of the warm and deeply sated bundle of female limbs and curves that was Hermione above him, in his arms. He let his eyes close as his mind found its leisurely way back to the world, to the wonderful reality of her and him in their bed.
It was some time before he managed to stir or regain enough coherence to speak and even then, it was only to brush his lips lazily against her temple and murmur, the words almost more a rumble of sound in his throat, "That was definitely the best Christmas gift ever."
He sensed rather than saw her small smile, heard it in her voice as she murmured-purred, really-"It was my pleasure."
There was another pause, another silence, before he broke it again. "Happy Christmas, Hermione."
She looked up as she shifted off him until she was lying snugly against his side, although her head remained resting on his shoulder. And as usual, she answered his thoughts rather than his words. "I love you too, Harry."
With an effort, he summoned the mental energy to turn off the lights without his wand before he turned back to her, his eyes meeting hers. "I know you do," he said, the ghost of a smile curving his lips.
She smiled and stretched up to brush her lips against his, lightly, tenderly, before she settled back against him.
He shifted just enough to close his arms more comfortably around her and then let himself drift into sleep, knowing that she was, as always, right beside him as he did so.
~The End~