fic: on the dark horizon
on the dark horizon
harry potter- remus, hermione (remus/hermione) pg-13
she's still there, gazing up at him, lips still parted and wet and...
-
She's sitting in the kitchen, shoulders shaking slightly and he's not sure what, exactly, he's meant to do.
"Hermione- " but he’s not sure where to go from there.
And she's standing, still trembling, fingers twisting together and they're close.
Too close.
She kisses him first.
She tastes of butterbeer and a warmth he hasn’t felt in years.
She pulls back, eyes widening and he waits for her to run. It wouldn’t be the first time.
It wouldn't be the last, either.
But she's still there, gazing up at him, lips still parted and wet and...
He half-wishes he could stop himself.
They stumble towards the stairs. She's too small, too delicate and he's a little scared of breaking her.
Holding her close, he turns on his heel and they're in his bedroom and she's gazing up at him again, something he can’t quite place behind her eyes.
"Are you sure?" Because it sounds like the sort of question he's supposed to ask right now.
Her brow furrows and her finger curl beneath the cotton of her top.
She's small and soft and comfortable, and he should not be doing this.
It's almost romantic, but her breath’s hot and heavy on his throat and he's aching for her, for this. So he just knots his fingers in her hair and closes his eyes.
When he wakes she's gone.
Sitting in the kitchen, shoulders shaking slightly.
end.
harry potter- remus, hermione (remus/hermione) pg-13
she's still there, gazing up at him, lips still parted and wet and...
-
She's sitting in the kitchen, shoulders shaking slightly and he's not sure what, exactly, he's meant to do.
"Hermione- " but he’s not sure where to go from there.
And she's standing, still trembling, fingers twisting together and they're close.
Too close.
She kisses him first.
She tastes of butterbeer and a warmth he hasn’t felt in years.
She pulls back, eyes widening and he waits for her to run. It wouldn’t be the first time.
It wouldn't be the last, either.
But she's still there, gazing up at him, lips still parted and wet and...
He half-wishes he could stop himself.
They stumble towards the stairs. She's too small, too delicate and he's a little scared of breaking her.
Holding her close, he turns on his heel and they're in his bedroom and she's gazing up at him again, something he can’t quite place behind her eyes.
"Are you sure?" Because it sounds like the sort of question he's supposed to ask right now.
Her brow furrows and her finger curl beneath the cotton of her top.
She's small and soft and comfortable, and he should not be doing this.
It's almost romantic, but her breath’s hot and heavy on his throat and he's aching for her, for this. So he just knots his fingers in her hair and closes his eyes.
When he wakes she's gone.
Sitting in the kitchen, shoulders shaking slightly.
end.