Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.
Author's Note: Well, I decided that there needed to be more married!H/Hr smut out there and I'm just loving this universe. Yet more fluff and more smut, too. Cavity alert!
Portrait of a Marriage
Anniversary
~
June 8, 2012
Harry awoke to a dream.
A very vivid, very erotic dream.
A small cool hand slipped inside his pyjamas to wrap around him and he jerked from sleep to full awareness-and full arousal-in the space of a split second. His eyes flew open on a sharp gasp and he saw her.
His first thought- utterly inane as it was (but really, who could expect anything like coherence when her hand was where it was, doing what it was)-was that she'd changed out of her pyjamas. He knew she hadn't been wearing this when they'd gone to bed. Hermione leaned over him wearing only a short silk slip with an almost nonexistent bodice, so sheer was the material, and a small, seductive smile-and nothing else. He could clearly see her breasts, not at all concealed by the slip and the slip was short enough to reveal her bare hips and- well, everything below that.
If he hadn't been lying down, his jaw would have dropped. As it was, his lips parted as his mouth went dry. He could swear his heart stopped beating and then began to pound, so fast he was almost dizzy, as all the blood left his head in a rush.
Her hand tightened around him and he groaned. "Hermione!" he croaked, her name the only thing he could think to say.
His wife-his oh-so-seductive siren and temptress of a wife-met his eyes through her lashes, giving him the look that he swore could draw the very soul from his body. "Good morning, love," she purred.
And then before he could so much as catch his breath, she bent, lowering her lips to his skin, flicking her tongue into the sensitive little hollow just beneath his Adam's apple and he sucked in his breath sharply. She kissed her way down his throat and his chest, finding, first, one flat, male nipple with her lips and her tongue and then the other, touching her tongue to it and then lightly, deliberately, grazing the nipple with her teeth, making his entire body jerk beneath hers.
He could feel the cool silk of her slip whispering against his skin and the contrast of the cool silk with the warmth of her lips and her tongue was somehow the most erotic thing he'd ever felt as she moved over him, let her lips wander, explore every inch of his chest.
Her hands hadn't been idle either, had pushed his pyjama bottoms down, taking his boxers with them, until his arousal was finally freed. But she wasn't satisfied with merely pushing his pyjamas down; no, her hands stroked, caressed his legs in a leisurely fashion as she did so. And when he was naked, her hands made their way back up his legs, her fingers deliberately wandering to his inner thighs, coming perilously close to touching his rampant body-so close he could almost sense the pleasure her hands could give him and he groaned-before she moved on.
He was burning, dying, from this deliberately sensual assault on his senses. He was going to die and she was killing him…
She bent again, lowering her lips to his chest and he groaned and jerked, the involuntary movement making his arousal brush against the cool silk of the slip and the sheer eroticism of it startled a moan from him. And he just saw the sudden, wicked intent flare into life in her eyes before she moved, her body hovering over his, until her breasts brushed against his arousal, once, twice, three times, the most fleeting and light of touches, the silk sliding over her skin and brushing against his in the most maddeningly sensual caress he could ever have imagined.
Good God!!
His eyes drifted closed, the better to enjoy the sensation but then he opened them again, to stare at her, to watch her. He loved to watch her at times like this, loved to see the expressions play across her face… She was a sensual goddess, enthralling in her passion and her inventiveness. And he was, now and always, hers, utterly captivated by her, by the sensual power she could-and did-- wield over him. It was something that never failed to amaze him, to take his breath away-and he loved it, loved her. Loved the fact that she loved him with all the single-minded devotion with which she did everything else, seduced him with all the intensity of her character, studying his reactions and his body with as much diligence as she gave to her work…
She scooted further down, first teasing his arousal by letting him feel her warm breath and then finally, enclosing him in the wet heat of her mouth.
His eyes closed, his hips jerking in automatic reaction, as he groaned. "God, Hermione!" The words were choked out but then his throat closed, what little thoughts he had splintering, fracturing, until all he could do was grip the sheets convulsively with his hands and endure. Endure the most blissful torture until he felt himself drawing close to the edge, just on the right side of sanity.
With a last lick, she drew back and he sucked in a sharp breath just before he forgot to breathe-again-as she straddled him.
And then she paused.
His eyes flew open to stare at her, his vision practically clouded with desire, and saw the small, sensual smile curving her lips. Gods, she was the most beautiful woman…
She met his eyes, lowering herself until the center of her hovered just above his aching erection, so close he could almost sense the wet heat of her body.
And then- finally, finally, she lowered herself fully, taking him into her body.
She filled his senses until he knew nothing else, had eyes only for her, only to see her utterly sensuous beauty as she straddled him, the look of uninhibited, physical pleasure on her face, had ears only to hear her soft, panting breaths, had hands only to touch her… At that moment there was nothing and no one else in the entire universe-and he was hers. She claimed him, stole his breath and his heart…
The movement of her hips increased as she rocked on him, his hips rising upward to meet her.
His hands slipped around from where they'd been gripping her hips to caress her inner thighs and then just touching her wet flesh where they were joined-and just like that, she threw her head back on a sharp cry, her muscles tightening convulsively around him in spasms of pure ecstasy.
And the sight of her, the feel of her, the sound of her, all of it combined to push him over the edge of insanity as his hips jerked up sharply and he exploded inside her, a groan being ripped from his throat.
He could have sworn he almost blacked out because when he returned to earth and became aware of his surroundings again, it was to find her slumped on top of him, a boneless, breathless, utterly feminine bundle of curves covered in smooth, cool silk.
He didn't open his eyes-it would have taken too much effort to open his eyes right then-it was as much as he could do to tighten his arms around her almost imperceptibly-and then he let himself drift.
He loved this time with her, the aftermath of love-making, loved the feel of her against him, loved the closeness of her in these minutes when it was only them and the rest of the world ceased to matter. There was no Ministry, no St. Mungo's, no children clamoring for attention, even, and they were only Harry and Hermione, lovers…
On the thought, he let his fingers stray over her back in a lazy caress, sliding under her slip to touch her smooth skin.
He felt her soft sigh against his ear a moment before she shifted slightly, turning her head just enough to brush her lips against, first, his ear, and then his cheek and finally his lips, her lips just touching his softly, in the world's tenderest kiss.
Until he moved his other hand to tangle in her hair, cupping the nape of her neck, and parting his lips to kiss her more deeply, a long, leisurely exploration with lips and tongues…
She finally broke the kiss but only to rest her head on his shoulder again and the words slipped from her lips in a soft whisper, hardly louder than a breath, "Happy anniversary, love."
Happy anniversary…
The words finally broke through his dreamy haze of satiation.
Oh, shit.
He involuntarily stiffened. Anniversary.
Well, that explained this morning, he thought inanely. It wasn't like Hermione changed into lingerie and seduced him on a normal morning.
"Happy anniversary to you too, love," he finally said, hoping she hadn't noticed his long silence and the way he'd stiffened.
But knew when she drew back to look at him that-of course-she had. (He couldn't hide anything from her now, had never really been able to hide much from her and certainly couldn't now, when she knew him so well, was so attuned to him in every way.) "You forgot, didn't you?"
It was more of a statement than a question, without a particle of accusation or reproach in it, but he winced a little anyway. He thought about prevaricating but discarded the idea as soon as it came. "Yeah," he admitted sheepishly. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Harry." She brushed her lips against his chin in a fleeting kiss before moving off him and glancing at the clock. "Andy should be awake soon."
He blinked, a little nonplussed at the change of subject and her utterly normal tone of voice-as if nothing had just happened. He glanced at the clock in his turn to see that it was just after 5:30 which did mean that Andy would be awake soon (he could never understand how it was that his son could essentially wake with the sun, invariably waking up before 6 every morning.)
He opened his lips to ask if she was angry, for once suddenly at a loss to read her mood. She seemed to have shrugged off his forgetting about their anniversary remarkably quickly and he just could not believe that she was as indifferent to it as she seemed, not when he knew she must have planned out this dawn seduction with the same meticulousness she gave to everything. How could she not be annoyed?
But then before he could, she had sat up and made her way into the restroom, and he gave up.
How could he ask if she was angry? Even if she wasn't, the question might annoy her for his not knowing how she felt and if she was, it would only anger her more.
He suppressed a sigh, unable to help the fleeting thought that life would be so much less complicated if things like emotions didn't get in the way.
He heard the shower begin and he stared up at the ceiling, wondering, planning. He would need to get flowers-daffodils, if he could find them since they were her favorite, if not, either orchids or white roses since Hermione liked white roses better than either pink or red ones-- on his way home. And he would stop over to Tiffany's just after lunch, he decided. (He normally got Hermione a book or perhaps tickets to see some show for their anniversary since Hermione didn't wear much jewelry on a daily basis aside from her wedding ring and a few pairs of basic earrings which she generally rotated through; she never had worn much jewelry and she wore even less now since Andy had a habit of grabbing for anything she might wear, which caused some issues. But having forgotten their anniversary, something more extravagant than a book was definitely called for.)
The sound of the shower ceased before Harry had managed to decide what kind of jewelry to buy her and in another moment, Hermione came back into their room, wrapped in only a towel, her hair wet.
It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, thousands of times, but somehow, that morning, the sight of her like that hit him in the chest with enough force to take his breath. Not with lust-no, it wasn't lust that he felt at that moment, for once-but something else that had nothing to do with physical attraction.
She was his wife…
It was an inane thought-of course, she was his wife; she'd been his wife for 9 years now-but somehow, at that moment, it struck him as profound.
It was something about the sheer intimacy of the sight of her in just a towel, the intimacy of it and the familiarity of it… it wasn't the fact that she was so nearly naked that affected him so-at least not then-but the fact that she was so comfortable in her near-nudity and it just amazed him sometimes. If anyone had ever told him years ago that he would become accustomed to seeing Hermione in various stages of undress, he would have said they were barking mad. And yet, here he was, after more than a decade of sleeping with her, as familiar with her body as he was with his own.
She was his wife… Great Merlin…
She was his best friend, his partner, his lover, mother of his children, his soul-mate… His heart was suddenly filled with a rush of emotion so intense and so pure it felt like it was something more, something deeper, than love, love that was tinged with something like reverence, adoration. He loved her and he didn't know how he had ever gotten so lucky as to have her for his wife, to wake up beside her every morning.
He watched her as she got dressed. He enjoyed watching her get dressed, he'd realized some time not long after they had first started dating. It was an odd, almost inexplicable thing, since he would have assumed-not that he'd ever thought about it before Hermione in typical, male fashion-that he would find pleasure in watching a woman get undressed. Which he did-- but he'd discovered that there was another sort of pleasure in watching Hermione getting dressed. There was something about the intimacy of it that he liked, something about the utterly unself-conscious efficiency of her movements that attracted him, drew his gaze even without his thinking about it. It was a surprisingly intimate thing, because he knew he was the only person to see Hermione before she was dressed; he was the only person to see Hermione in only her bra and knickers. And there was something… captivating… in her unconscious grace and her smooth efficiency.
"What time will you be home?"
"Probably around 3, I think. I'll be home in time to make dinner," he answered.
She gave him a quick smile, her lips parting to say something but then the orb that monitored Andy's sleep turned white and whatever she'd been about to say was turned into a half-sigh. "Well, here we go again. I'll see you downstairs," she said as she hurried out of the room.
And he waited until he heard the muffled sound of Andy's cry before he, too, got up to prepare for the day, remembering a time when days hadn't begun until after 8 or so. That had ended immediately once Andy had arrived since Andy seemed to be incapable of sleeping much past sunrise.
~
Harry opened the front door to be greeted by the familiar cries of "Daddy!" as first Emily and then Andy came running out of the family room.
Emily stopped short, her eyes widening. "Oh, Daddy, pretty flowers!"
He smiled at Em and stooped to kiss her forehead. "Hi, sweetie." He bent and scooped up Andy, making Andy giggle. "Hi, Daddee!"
Harry looked down at his daughter. "Where's Mummy, Em?"
"She's right here," he heard Hermione's voice and looked up to see her coming towards him.
He handed her the bouquet of white roses. "These are for you, love."
Hermione's smile softened. "Thank you but you didn't have to buy me flowers."
He wanted to gape at her-he'd forgotten their anniversary, flowers were the least of what he should have bought her-but with Emily and Andy present and watching the exchange, he settled for a half shrug. "I wanted to."
She smiled and quickly brushed her lips against his cheek and he knew he wasn't imagining her soft whisper of "Later," before she drew back to ruffle Emily's hair.
Harry bounced Andy on his arm, making Andy giggle. "Now, what have you two been up to today?" he asked.
Emily beamed up at him, reaching up to grab his free hand and half-pulling him with her as she led him into the family room. "Mummy read to us and then we colored pictures and…"
Harry smiled, letting Emily's cheerful voice wash over him as she continued on with her litany of what they'd done all day. Emily was always, characteristically, thorough in her answers to such questions, telling him everything to what colors she'd used on her drawings to what Andy had done to what they'd had for lunch and how long Andy's nap had been. (After all, Emily wasn't Hermione's daughter for nothing.)
Hours later, Hermione made her way back up to her bedroom. She'd been working in her office as she usually did, in the brief time in the evenings, while Harry was putting Andy and then Emily to bed, in the little ritual they had and Emily always insisted on.
As always, she poked her head into, first, Andy's room to make sure that Andy was sleeping soundly in his little bed and that the little charm set to monitor Andy's sleep was in place-he was and it was-and she smiled to herself. She was thankful every night, still, that Andy now slept the night through. It made life much easier for both her and Harry.
She went into Emily's bedroom and Emily's eyes promptly opened.
"Good night, Em."
"G'night, Mummy."
Hermione bent to kiss Emily's forehead and then left, closing Emily's door behind her.
Her room was empty when she entered it but she could hear the shower running and-Hermione paused-there was a small box in distinctive Tiffany's green lying on her pillow.
Hermione half-smiled even as she shook her head a little at Harry's extravagance. She had the most indulgent husband in the world.
She opened the box to see a delicate golden chain with a single pearl pendant and matching earrings. Oh, Harry…
She lifted her head, her gaze falling on the small pile of his clothes which he'd haphazardly folded and left on top of the dresser-he had stopped leaving them scattered on the floor.
She paused, considered-she had, of course, showered that morning but then again, it wasn't as if cleansing herself was her objective now-and made a quick decision, putting the Tiffany's box away and stripping out of her clothes, leaving them-for once in her life-lying in a careless heap on her dresser. They hadn't showered together in a while-but anniversaries did call for something special, she thought with a very small, very knowing smile.
She left her bra and knickers on the floor in the bathroom before she slid open the shower door to see Harry, his head tilted back under the spray, before he straightened his head to stare at her.
"Need any help?"
His eyes flashed down to what he could see of her body, a smile tugging at his lips. "God, yes," he breathed fervently.
She smiled as she stepped into the shower, letting her eyes wander down his body and then back up again, inspecting him as thoroughly as if she hadn't seen it all before. Water was streaming down his body, drawing her eyes down, down his chest and still-flat stomach and further-she loved looking at his body, a little broader than it had been more than a decade ago when she'd first seen it; then, it had been a boy's body, now, it was a man's body… And what a man…
She didn't touch him-yet-but even as she looked at him, his already-burgeoning erection hardened even more. Mmm… She just barely managed to keep from licking her lips and had to tear her gaze away from him to look up and meet his eyes.
She closed the small distance between them, sliding her arms loosely around his neck, as she joined him under the shower spray, feeling his arousal against her stomach. His eyes flickered and flared as he focused on her lips and she saw him swallow and heard his breathing hitch as he rested his hands lightly on her waist. "I opened your gift," she said softly, her voice coming out in a husky whisper. "It's beautiful. Thank you."
"You're very welcome." The words were almost a croak, his voice hoarse and strained with arousal.
Hermione abruptly-or not so abruptly-lost all interest in talking and tightened her arms around his neck and he bent his head to flatten his lips on hers. He kissed her hard, deeply, his tongue thrusting inside her mouth, claiming her, exploring the familiar depths of her mouth with delicious thoroughness. Her moan was lost in the back of her throat as she arched against him, clutching him even tighter, her wet body sliding against his in the most erotic way.
She had the vague thought that it was a miracle they weren't bursting into flame, what with the hot water coming down on them and the heat their bodies were generating.
Harry's hands were everywhere, it seemed, touching her everywhere he could reach-her back, her butt, her hips, her shoulders, her hair, her face- and she was vaguely aware of him nudging her backwards until her back hit the wall. She jumped slightly and then shivered at the feel of the cool tiles contrasted with her warm skin and then moaned, as he finally, finally, moved his hands to touch her breasts. His hands cupped, kneaded, his palms flattening against her hardened nipples before he flicked his thumbs against them.
Her blood was roaring in her ears, almost drowning out the sound of the shower and her own gasps for breath, and then her ear just caught some other sound, a sound that certainly didn't belong to that moment of heated sensuality.
"Daddy?"
They both froze, Harry's hands abruptly leaving her, as their eyes met in a moment of mutual panic and dismay.
Harry cleared his throat hastily, stepping away from her and averting his eyes, as he answered. "Ah, yes, what is it, Emily?"
"I wanna go on a picnic tomorrow. Can we, please, Daddy?"
"Sure, sweetie." Harry's voice was slightly hoarse, his gaze fixed on the tiles.
"Thank you, Daddy." Hermione could just picture the smile on Emily's face. "Goodnight."
"Good night, sweetie."
Hermione allowed herself to relax a little, as did Harry-and then they both froze again.
"Daddy, why is Mummy in the shower with you?"
Hermione felt as if she'd been turned to stone for a second, wishing fleetingly that a hole would just open up in the ground so she could burrow into it, and watched as Harry did a remarkable impression of a man having a coronary, his eyes widening.
"Ah, Mummy's- er- helping me." Harry's voice was strained, sounded unlike himself.
That was one way of putting it. Hermione bit her lip to bite back a sudden burst of hysterical laughter-at Harry's words, at the situation in general-caught, almost literally in flagrante delicto, by their young daughter! Harry might never recover.
"Oh. Like Mummy helps me take a bath?"
Harry closed his eyes briefly and Hermione noted-with a spurt of sympathy mingled with amusement-the color staining his cheeks. "Er- yeah, something like that," Harry answered, his voice something like a croak.
"Okay." Emily sounded satisfied. "Good night, Daddy, Mummy."
"Good night, sweetie," Hermione spoke up because it looked as if Harry was incapable of words at the moment.
She held her breath, and knew Harry did too, until they heard the sound of the door closing behind Emily.
And that was when she started to laugh, a little hysterically, her shoulders shaking.
Harry groaned, letting his head fall forward to rest on the tiles. "It's not funny."
Hermione didn't answer-couldn't answer-as she laughed. Oh God, of all ridiculous things to happen!
"I almost had a heart attack-how is that funny?" Harry groused but Hermione caught the slightest hint of amusement in his voice. And after a moment, he turned his head so his eyes could meet hers. A half-reluctant smile tugged at his lips before becoming a full-blown grin and then he was laughing too.
"I'm never going to be able to look Em in the face again."
Hermione laughed. "Silly Harry. She doesn't know anything."
"I hope she never understands what we were doing."
"I wouldn't bet on that," Hermione said lightly. "But it'll be years before she does."
"It better be at least 20 years. Better yet, 30."
Hermione laughed again, softly, at Harry's expression and his words. "I don't think it'll take nearly that long."
Harry slanted her a look. "I nearly had a heart attack because our daughter just caught us in the shower and now is the time you pick to rub in the fact that she'll eventually learn about sex?"
Hermione leaned over to brush a kiss against Harry's neck where she knew he was sensitive. "Are you going to sulk about what happened all night or can we get back to what we were doing?" she whispered breathily into his ear and felt the slight shiver that went through him in reaction. As she'd known would happen. After so many years, she knew how to arouse him, knew what to do, what to say, and how to say it-and she knew how he would react.
He turned his head to capture her lips with his in a brief but deliciously thorough kiss. The kiss ended but then he stepped back in front of her, leaning in until the length of his body was pressed against hers, and she could feel the very definite bulge of his erection against her.
Harry lifted his hands to cup her cheeks, his thumbs brushing against her skin in a tender caress, as her eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment. He brushed his lips against hers in a tease of a kiss before he whispered huskily, "Now, where were we?"
She opened her eyes to meet his and then she was the one to kiss him. "Well, if memory serves," she responded in the same husky tone, "you were touching me here…" and reached up to grasp his wrists, moving them down until his hands were cupping her breasts.
As close as they were, their breaths mingling, it was easy for her to see the flicker of surprise-and arousal-- at her boldness in his eyes. But then, with him, it wasn't boldness; it was confidence-confidence and a level of comfort which she felt with no one and nothing else in her life. With him, she was free to show him and tell him all she wanted. With him, she was herself.
He kissed her then, with a half-groan caught in his throat, kissed her long and deeply, his tongue taking possession of her mouth, dueling with hers. His hands tightened on her breasts, kneaded, his fingers teasing her already-hard nipples into even harder points.
And then his hands left her breast and he broke off the kiss, his lips skating down her chin and her neck in a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses, down, down, until his lips closed over her nipple. She gasped, arching into his mouth, her hands flying into his wet hair to hold him in place. She could feel his lips and tongue, lightly tugging at her sensitized nipple, the sensation shivering through her body to pool in the wet heat between her legs.
He moved on to her other breast as his hands slid down her body, one hand slipping between her legs to that most sensitive part of her body. And she was suddenly grateful for the wall behind her as otherwise, she rather thought she would have slid down into a boneless pool at his feet.
He slid his fingers along the center of her, touching her, exploring her body with all the skill and knowledge that came from years of loving her.
Her breath was coming in pants and gasps now, mostly drowned out by the sound of the shower but not entirely.
He let his teeth graze her nipple ever-so-lightly and her shriek was strangled in her throat as he slid one finger inside her, caressing her ever more deeply and ever more intimately.
"Oh… Harry…" The words were fractured, his name broken up into something more like three syllables than its usual two, punctuated with gasps.
She was on the edge, she could feel it, the mounting pleasure building, building, inside her…
But then his hand abruptly left her and she opened her eyes in protest, every nerve in her body keyed up and screaming for release. She just saw the intent gleaming in his eyes, just had time to catch her breath sharply, before he knelt in front of her, one hand lifting one leg until she could brace her foot against the opposite shower wall.
And then he paused for a fleeting, eternal second, looking up along the length of her upper body to meet her eyes.
"Harry, please…" She was panting, half-sobbing with want and need, vulnerable, open to him, pleading.
"Hermione," he breathed and her name was a caress. She swore she could feel his breath against the center of her and a shiver racked her.
And then-finally-he put his mouth on her, kissing the quivering center of her, before touching his tongue to her. He licked and sucked and swirled his tongue over that one spot and…
And the entire world dissolved around her into one swirling maelstrom of physical sensation. Her toes curled, her eyes closed, her head fell back against the wall with a thump that might have been painful if she'd been capable of feeling any pain or aware of any sensation besides those centered on the spot Harry's tongue was touching…
"Harry!" She would have shrieked his name if she'd had the breath for it but as it was, her voice emerged as a gasping cry.
She returned to an awareness of her surroundings slowly and was vaguely amazed to find she was still standing upright, even if she was sagging against the wall. Slowly, her foot slid down from the wall until it was flat on the shower bottom and she was standing on two feet-shakily-but standing.
Harry had stood up, was watching her with the half-tender, half-awed, and wholly lustful look that he sometimes had when he witnessed her ecstasy. And as always, something inside her-her very soul-seemed to soften and melt, even as her senses were still purring from physical pleasure.
Moving slowly, languorously, she straightened, sliding one hand around his neck as she shifted closer to him-
Only to get the shower spray directly in her face.
She blinked and sputtered a little, shifting backwards, the thick silence between them momentarily broken as they both laughed softly, smiles slowly fading as their eyes met and held for a long, long second.
She reached out blindly for the soap, lathered up her hands and then returned the soap to its tray, all without once taking her eyes from his. "My turn," she breathed huskily and she heard his breathing hitch and then quicken. The slightest smile touched the corner of her lips; she loved how he reacted so, when she hadn't so much as touched him yet.
And then touch him, she did.
She flattened her hands on his chest, beginning to stroke him, running her hands, slippery with soap, with deliberate, leisurely care, over his body, hearing his breathing grow increasingly harsh. Slowly, slowly, her hands inched down his body, sliding around to his butt and then forward, caressing his hips and then down his thighs…
His hips twitched involuntarily as he groaned and it was only then that she touched his straining erection, wrapping her hand around him with delicious, excruciating gentleness, stroking him with a deliberately light touch.
"Hermione…" Her name emerged in a guttural groan.
She turned him around, her hands on his hips, as she stepped up close behind him until her breasts were brushing his back. Her hands continued stroking the front of him, with delicious and deliberate thoroughness, this time to wash off the soap, in the most sensual cleansing.
And she knew the moment he was clean because he abruptly grabbed her hand and then spun around until her back was once more pressed against the shower wall. His other hand slid between her legs to touch her where she was wet-and not from the shower-and then in one swift motion, he was inside her, filling her.
His hands grasped her hips and she wrapped her arms around him, wrapping one leg around his hip, encouraging him further, deeper, into her, gasping almost in time with his movements as he thrust.
Oh, God… Hermione closed her eyes, her hands clinging to him.
They were both so close that she was half-surprised they didn't come right then and even so, it was hardly any time at all before she could feel the familiar tension coiling inside her. She could feel him nearing the edge, could feel the tension gripping his body, with a knowledge bordering on instinct after so many years, and then he moved one hand to touch her where they were joined and as always, that one touch was enough.
Her fingers were digging into his skin, her mouth open on a sharp cry, her muscles convulsing around him, and she was only peripherally aware of his groan as he thrust one last time, his body shuddering as he exploded inside her…
When she drifted back to reality, it was to find him slumped heavily against her, half his weight pressing her into the shower tiles and the other half leaning against the wall beside her. His face was buried in her shoulder and then she felt him stir, felt him brush a kiss against her shoulder.
"Mmm," she sighed softly, turning her head so her lips could meet his in the merest brush of a kiss as he lifted his head.
"The water's getting cold," he finally murmured.
"Mm, I suppose we should get out then."
He turned the water off and slid open the shower door, handing her a towel as he stepped out and appropriated the other one for himself.
Their movements were slow, leisurely, as they dried off and then hung up their towels.
When they were both finished, he tugged her gently into his arms and kissed her, lightly, languorously, both of them too satiated for passion.
Still exchanging soft, lazy kisses, they stumbled back into their bedroom and only broke apart so they could get into bed, arranging themselves in their habitual position with him on his back and her tucked in snugly against his side.
Hermione closed her eyes, feeling every muscle in her body relax into him, as her very soul seemed to let out a blissful sigh. There was nowhere else in the world she would rather be…
"I'm sorry I forgot our anniversary." The words were quiet, a murmur of sound, but with a thread of remorse running through them.
She moved her hand on his chest in an idle caress as she turned her head so she could meet his eyes. "I wasn't angry."
He blinked-he believed her, couldn't not believe her. He knew her too well and he could see the truth in her eyes. And he was feeling too content, too filled with peace, even to feel even a flicker of hesitation as he asked, simply, "Why not?"
Her expression softened even further, even as she lifted the hand resting on his chest to touch his cheek lightly with her fingers. "Because," she said very softly, "I know."
She saw the question flicker in his eyes and continued on, still softly. "I don't need jewelry or grand gestures on our anniversary to know you love me. I know you do, know what all this--" she waved one hand in a small gesture meant to encompass them, together, and Emily and Andy, safely asleep in their respective beds-"means to you." She paused and then added, still more softly, so softly it was hardly more than a breath, "I know you."
There was a long minute of silence and then-"Of course you do," he murmured, and for once, the words were more tender than teasing. "My know-it-all."
A smile just touched her lips and she stretched up to kiss him again, lightly, before she relaxed back against him, his arms tightening around her almost imperceptibly.
His eyes drifted closed, a smile lingering in his heart. Of course she knew. She, Emily, and Andy, were everything to him…
And so they slept.
Postscript: Sabrina Lily Potter was born nine months later…
~The End~
A/N 2: The second half of this fic essentially came to me in a dream (and I'm not sure what it says about me that I dream in fic-form.) I wasn't originally going to include Emily's interruption but decided I simply had to-and Harry may never forgive me. ;-)