Dancing in the Dark, Fred/Hermione, PG13
TITLE: Dancing in the Dark
AUTHOR: Myself
DISCLAIMER: JKR owns all HP. Springsteen owns the title.
PAIRING: Fred/Hermione
RATING: PG-13
NOTES: For 100quills Prompt: Comfort. After a long absence from fic- I HAVE RETURNED! Just a short drabble.
Hermione remembers seeing an old show on the television once when she was much younger, a ballroom dance competition, the women in bright dresses and the men absolutely debonair. She thinks of the tango, how the dancers would be so impossibly close and yet with a barely perceivable distance between them, and it reminds her of the way she and Fred now dance. It’s not the tango they are dancing; but it has the same rhythm and the same closeness, and the same imperceptible pushing away.
She thinks of the tango every time. She can’t help it; every movement reminds her of that dance. How their limbs wind together, one of her legs curling around his, her back arching involuntarily as she comes. The sound of his breathing and the way it matches his thrusts, so that as his rhythm becomes more erratic, so do his breaths in her ear. His fingers skating lightly over her curves. The way her hands grip his shoulders and then relax.
And just like the tango, she knows it can’t last forever, that the music will stop and the dress and suit will come off and the dance floor will go dark. She knows they are only finding a temporary peace within each other, searching for a way to live when their other halves are have died, trying to see a light in the dark. But she ignores this knowledge in the same way she ignores the way her heart constricts when he leaves her flat, how her mood changes with his, how she sees his face in all her dreams.
And their tango continues for the moment, her body caught against his, his lips on hers, her hands in his hair, and even in that close moment, she feels him moving further away.
AUTHOR: Myself
DISCLAIMER: JKR owns all HP. Springsteen owns the title.
PAIRING: Fred/Hermione
RATING: PG-13
NOTES: For 100quills Prompt: Comfort. After a long absence from fic- I HAVE RETURNED! Just a short drabble.
Hermione remembers seeing an old show on the television once when she was much younger, a ballroom dance competition, the women in bright dresses and the men absolutely debonair. She thinks of the tango, how the dancers would be so impossibly close and yet with a barely perceivable distance between them, and it reminds her of the way she and Fred now dance. It’s not the tango they are dancing; but it has the same rhythm and the same closeness, and the same imperceptible pushing away.
She thinks of the tango every time. She can’t help it; every movement reminds her of that dance. How their limbs wind together, one of her legs curling around his, her back arching involuntarily as she comes. The sound of his breathing and the way it matches his thrusts, so that as his rhythm becomes more erratic, so do his breaths in her ear. His fingers skating lightly over her curves. The way her hands grip his shoulders and then relax.
And just like the tango, she knows it can’t last forever, that the music will stop and the dress and suit will come off and the dance floor will go dark. She knows they are only finding a temporary peace within each other, searching for a way to live when their other halves are have died, trying to see a light in the dark. But she ignores this knowledge in the same way she ignores the way her heart constricts when he leaves her flat, how her mood changes with his, how she sees his face in all her dreams.
And their tango continues for the moment, her body caught against his, his lips on hers, her hands in his hair, and even in that close moment, she feels him moving further away.