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“It’s Hermione,” Ron’s voice is harsh and grates against the walls, his Patronus floats through the living room of Grimmauld place, “We’re in the Muggle World; opposite of the chippy near Briar's Square.”
Sirius snaps his neck to look at Remus with pressed lips and wide eyes. It had been a nice evening, one filled with good food, wine, and comfort. It’s a regular Friday night and while he can’t contest that Lord Black is a fair chef, he’s pretty damn good at throwing a party—a get-together. He can leave the Sunday dinners to Molly, but Friday nights are for him and the lads—and pretty birds.
“Death Eaters?” George wonders worriedly and grabs his coat.
“Ron sounds fine,” Ginny inserts hurriedly and gnaws on her lower lip, “He sounds anxious and he’s always anxious when it comes to ‘Mione.”
“Apparate?” Tonks doesn’t look at them when she grabs Remus’s arm.
“If she was hurt,” Remus starts off before Padfoot loses his nerves, “They would’ve apparated here, it’s fine. I’m sure.”
“How sure are you?” he asks sourly, because all the terrible, horrible things that could happen, flash through his mind like lightning.
Remus doesn’t answer and they apparate into the muggle world.
.
“Is,” Tonks stares at the establishment across Shake and Bake with wide eyes and gapes, “Is this a joke?”
It’s a club. A muggle club. The type of club that Sirius and occasionally Remus would attend in their younger, more relaxed days. The type of club where Sirius would pull a woman or maybe two for the night. The type of club where Remus had gotten so shit-faced, he thought Sirius was in fact a girl and spent an entire hour trying to chat her—him up.
Fred waves his wand, “Point me.”
And it points.
“Oh, so it’s not a joke,” George raises his brows in disbelief at the confirmation before grimacing at the irony; the trio is in the club.
“What—” Sirius can’t even fathom words right now, because the dread that coiled in his chest like a snake evaporates before his eyes. He’s going to skin the young Weasley and wear his coat as a hide if it’s the last thing he does. How dare he make it seem like a life-or-death situation?
He’s been in far too many situations where it had been in the case and so he had been prepared for the worst. To realize that there was no danger—it had been so relieving that he was furious that he had to go through that range of emotions. Because there was absolutely no need for that.
“We’re not going to find any answers standing here,” Ginny rolls her eyes and walks near the door. She waves a notice-me-not charm to skip past the bouncers and the rest of her company follows suit when someone else gets in.
The club is dark with neon lights – Ginny waves her wand again and they are visible – with a loud bass rolling through the walls and it’s flooded with people dancing—drinking, heels click to the sticky floor, and they find an empty table in the corner of the room. Ron is sitting there with the heels of his palms pressed against closed eyelids and a half-empty beer sits in front of him.
“This beat is…quite lovely,” Fred bobs his head and motions for a drink, “What’d you think, Forge?”
“I think I need to come out here more often,” George comments and eyes the scantily clad women. He sighs dreamily, “I love muggles.”
Ginny slaps his brother on the shoulder in response.
“Ronald!” Fred calls out and pats his shoulder without a warning.
Ron jumps and then sighs in relief when he sees reinforcements, “Thank Merlin you lot made it.”
“I thought something was wrong, you prat!” Ginny scowls and shuffles into the booth.
“Where’s Harry?” Remus asks and eyes the crowd warily—Tonks tightens her grip on him.
“Where’s Hermione?” Sirius frowns and wags a finger in his face. His anger flares like the sudden switch of a gas stove, quick, hot, and uncontrollable. “You should know better than to send a message like that, Ron. We thought something was really wrong—”
“There is something wrong!” he interjects red-faced and rubs his cheek tiredly, “Hermione’s drunk!”
Tonks, somehow steady as she is, stumbles and then blinks, “I’m sorry, what?”
“She’s drunk!”
“And that’s an emergency because?” Fred asks incredulously, with their magical amplifier, they don’t need to yell across the club for them to hear each other.
Ginny pinches the bridge of her nose, “Ron, I’m going to give you two minutes to explain—”
“—you’ve never seen Hermione drunk!” Ron blurts out and he looks so frantic that even Remus is concerned. He emphasizes, “Hermione never gets drunk for this reason!”
“—And what reason is that?” Sirius frowns.
“Ron!” Harry’s voice is like a beacon to the group, and he stumbles forward. Hair skewed, glass crooked, and face flushed, “Have you seen Hermione? I lost her after she—what are you all doing here?” he gapes in disbelief, then he turns to look at Ron who looks everywhere but at him and he narrows his eyes. He exclaims betrayed, “You told them?!”
“What was I supposed to do?” Ron snaps and runs a hand through his hair, “You know how ‘Mione gets when she’s drunk, and let’s not forget mate, you lost her!”
“Harry,” Ginny starts calmly and scowls, “You skipped Friday dinner to go to a club? Without me?!”
He winces, “Ginny, I—Hermione just left, and I couldn’t let her come here by herself after what happened at the Ministry.”
Remus sighs in understanding and takes a seat in the booth too, “I thought it was strange we didn’t see her.”
Sirius demands impatiently, eyes searching the crowd looking for the curly-haired witch and ignoring the stares of women who were not Hermione. He can deal with that later, “What are you talking about, Moony?”
“Her bill for muggleborns and house elves got rejected,” he explains, “It’s supposed to help discrimination and allow magical creatures that aren’t witches or wizards to bond with elves despite not being a pureblood. Something to do with integrating magic and allowing new blood to purify magic.”
“What?” Tonks blinks and her shoulder droop, “She’s been working on that bill for over two years.”
“And now she’s pissed,” Ron scowls.
“Ronald,” Remus scolds him with furrowed brows, “This is Hermione. She dedicates her time and energy to prove that she belongs in this world.”
“What does her drunk have to do with anything? You could’ve left her here,” George points out.
“You have lost your fucking mind,”
“Ron!” Fred exclaims.
“He’s right,” Harry sighs, “The last time Hermione got drunk was when she found out that the memory charm, she put on her parents was permanent. She…uh, well she made some bad decisions which led her to locking herself in a room berating her for being so stupid and sort of used her own mind against herself.”
Sirius grimaces.
“What kind of drunk is she anyway?” Ginny asks curiously.
Ron pales and downs the rest of his beer.
Fred and George exchange a look.
Harry makes a pained noise.
“That only makes me more curious,” George says gleefully.
“Well,” Tonks starts off dryly, even a little amused, and points in the opposite direction, “I found her.”
Sirius takes a sip of his drink that Ron waved for earlier, and choked.
.
Hermione stands in the middle of the floor dancing with some strange man. Attractive he is, with his hands wrapped around her bare waist, a leather corset cropped those touches just the top of her ribs leaving her midriff exposed, and silk black pants that slide so neatly in between his legs. His arms are strong, and they make her feel grounded. He also smells really good.
Her back rests against his chest as they move with the music and the lights are so warm.
“Mione,” Harry calls out and appears in front of her.
She beams, “Harry!”
Then he’s grabbing around the hips and scowls at her partner, “Hands off my sister, mate!”
“Harry,” she scowls and giggles when she finds her feet, “Harry, he was perfect!”
“I don’t care,” Harry drags her across the floor, “We have company.”
“You’re literally the worst. I can’t believe you cockblocked me,” Hermione scowls with black ire and she hears a chorus of chokes—stammers.
“Hermione,” Ginny is the one that calls her out and looks at her with wide eyes.
“Ginny!” she squeals, drops her arms around Harry, and leaps into her arms, “You’re here!”
“Uh-huh,” she wobbles in her seat and pats her back.
Hermione spins her seat to see the rest of her company and she gasps dramatically, “Everyone’s here!”
The twins stare at her as if she’s a creature she’s never seen before, she nuzzles her head into their sister’s neck and Harry has to pry her off his girlfriend. Ron grabs another beer from the side of the table and Tonks watches with amazement.
“I—Is that leather?” Sirius whispers over to Remus with wide eyes.
Remus gives him a pointed look.
“Uh, Mione,” Tonks starts off and pats her hand consolingly, “I’m sorry about your bill.”
Hermione visibly wilts.
Ron shoots her a look.
Remus grits his teeth.
“I need a drink,” Harry grumbles at the ceiling.
.
Sirius doesn’t know how to deal with this. Hermione is out on the floor gyrating and doing terribly utterly immoral acts under oddly colored fluorescent lights and sticky red tiles. Tonks is doing her best to support a swaying Hermione, while desperately trying not to collapse herself—there were only so many off-balance acts his cousin could take before her clumsy nature calls and rings true.
Ron has disappeared somewhere in the seedy establishment, frustrating absent and probably relieved that he doesn't have the responsibility to look after one of his closest friends, Sirius thinks aggravated.
Harry is torn between putting a sticking charm on Hermione and disappearing way with Ginny.
But then, a few blokes slink up toward her. They think they're sly, with their slimy hands sliding on the white glass of the bar, tugging a curl behind her ear and Sirius seethes inwardly. Tonks does her best to ward him off, but one of those blokes says something and Hermione throws her head back in laughter.
She puts a hand on his chest and Sirius is out of his chair before Harry can look at him.
.
Sirius doesn't know when Hermione became the center of his world. He supposed it was when she freed the centaurs from prosecution or maybe it was when she told Kingsley to shove his wand up his arse when he suggested that Sirius go back to the Veil when it magically spat him out. He couldn't pinpoint it, he thinks.
Hermione had been off and out securing bills, protecting the innocent, and helping build the world a better place, while he stared at the world wondering how on earth his life came to this.
He didn't know how to talk to her, because she was a completely different person than the one that he probably imagined her to be. Harry too, and possibly Ron, but other times he's exactly how imagined him.
The point is, trying to find excuses to spend time with her or pretending to find things in common with her when he had interrogated Remus, had become more pathetic than fun, and sometimes he wondered if she thought him irritating.
Yet, that never stopped him from wanting to spend time with her.
.
"Alright, hands off my girl," Sirius scowls at the peanut gallery watching him as he scared off potential suitors or bed partners for Hermione.
The blokes - apparently wizards - instantly recognize Lord Black and scamper away before the drunker friend could open his mouth that could possibly have him end up in Wizengamot against a jury for offending and provoking a pureblood.
"Sirius!" Hermione exclaims in unadulterated surprise, and she throws her arms around him, wobbling on her heels, "I didn't see you here! What are you doing?"
"What do you mean, kitten?" Sirius blinks and holds her steady, "I've been here the entire time."
She pouts and Sirius feels himself wilt.
"Did you mean it?"
"Mean what?"
Hermione leans into him, fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest and his breath hitches when she peers upwards, "That m' your girl."
Sirius swallows and laughs tightly, "Of course. Who else would be?"
"Hmm," she hums long and sweet, "What about tha' women you bring home?"
"I don't bring any women home, Hermione," he says flatly.
"Ron said you do," she whines both enraged and delighted that he was wrong. Deep purple nails scrape against his skin, "Want you to be happy and—and you're mad now, you called me Hermione!"
"Ron is an idiot," Sirius's heart jumps in his chest, and rubs his thumb over her cheek, "And I am happy because I have a sweet kitten."
"Me!" she shrieks gently, and he grins stupidly. "I'm the kitten!" Hermione giggles and rubs her face in his chest, "Wanna make you happy."
Sirius melts at the answer, so he drops a kiss on her head and pulls her to the table where all their friends were sitting. Instead of taking the seat next to him, she climbs onto his lap and shoves her nose into his neck. He chokes, shocked, "Hermione."
"You smell good!"
Remus has to take a bite of his chips to stop himself from laughing.
.
He did not even last an hour.
"Okay, I'm taking her home," Sirius suddenly announces and it's a testament to his patience. Because with Hermione's teeth around his lobe and her legs locked around one thigh—it's amazing how he didn't just spontaneously combust.
"Thanks, mate," Ron says blithely and Harry glared at him.
"Do you need any help?" Fred and George eye her suspiciously, to them it looked like she had been sleeping against Sirius's neck, but Remus could smell their arousal from the other side of the room.
"No," he blurts out. Quickly realizing how he might have sounded, he shakes his head, "It's fine, she's nearly asleep."
Hermione giggles into his throat and continues to lick a path around his pulse.
Sirius's voice cracks and he digs his nails into his legs, "I'll just apparate and pray she doesn't vomit."
"Cheers," Ginny raises her beer and Sirius hauls Hermione around his waist as he quite literally stumbles out the door.
.
Thankfully, Hermione doesn't vomit over him.
But those are small mercies.
She thinks herself hot, warm, and overheating, and pulls off her leather corset and tosses it in the fire, he watches mournfully. Then she pulls off her pants, complaining of the silk sticking to her skin and he stares at the lavender lace barely covering her cunt—some of the soft brown curls tumble over the band, peeved that they are being contained so, and her brassier a mere whisper against those rosy nipples.
Sirius feels a headache starting behind his left eye.
He is being punished; he believes.
"Hermione," Sirius calls out weakly and grabs her hands before she can start yanking off her knickers, which would then cause him to dangerously edge the beginnings of cardiac arrhythmia. "Let's get you upstairs, yeah?"
"Carry me," Hermione is suddenly in his face and nuzzles his chin with her nose.
"I-I don't think that's a good idea," Sirius stammers, if he feels her legs wrapped around his waist, he may lose his mind.
"I'm not heavy!" she scowls and then frowns, "Right?"
"What?—Hermione," he refuses to lose the very few brain cells that he has at the moment, "No love, we're just going to get you up the stairs, and then I'm going to put you to bed."
Hermione frowns, again.
.
"Hermione, darling, just a few more steps, and I'll tuck you in," Sirius groans when she starts to wiggle against him again.
"Sirius," Hermione whines and nips his collarbone when he deposits her on the bed. He races into the bathroom for some potions, a sleeping draught, a hangover slip, and—and there were no sober-up potions!
"Fuck," he mumbles and goes back into the room where Hermione lies spread for him. He keeps his eyes on her face and coos, "Drink your potions and I'll give you a treat."
Her eyes brighten and she sits up immediately, "A treat?"
Sirius bobs his head and holds out the potions for her to drink—though not trusting her enough to spill, he helps toss the potions back and gives her a bottle of water, "That's a good girl."
Hermione wipes her mouth and pulls him down on top of her, "Now, will you shag me."
A hysterical laugh bubbles up his throat and a hand curls a fist into the sheets, "Hermione."
"Please," she pleads and kisses his chest, "M' asking nicely."
"Darling, you're drunk," Sirius pleads this time and curls the blankets around her, "You don't know what you're saying."
"But you would never want me if I was sober," Hermione sniffs and her eyes prickle with tears.
"Who on earth told you that rubbish?" Sirius could hardly believe his ears.
"Everyone!"
"Then they can go to hell," he exhales tiredly and leans down over her hairline, "I will still want you even if you change your mind when you wake up. I will always want you, love. To hell with everyone else, yeah?"
Hermione stares at him, "But I won't change my mind."
Sirius's heart twists in his chest and smiles a bit sadly, "You don't know that."
"Of course, I do," Hermione says stubbornly, and then, "Will you stay with me, please Sirius?"
And how can he possibly say no?
.
He is being punished; he confirms tiredly.
Hermione's arse, clad in a tiny pair of knickers, presses tightly against his crotch, and her hair carelessly sprawled across his shirt. He had removed his shirt and pants, a little after Hermione fell asleep, needing to cool his blood before he decided that she wouldn't choke on her own saliva, and before he could make a break for his room—she twisted on the sheets and blatantly draped herself all over him.
"Merlin, if I have ever done something wrong, I apologize most humbly," Sirius moans dramatically and whimpers when she wiggles down his boxers.
"Mmm," she breathes into his ear and presses her cheek against his heartbeat, relaxing against the soothing sound.
He runs a hand down the gentle curve of her back and rubs a slow circle in the center of her lower back.
Hermione reminds him of Crookshanks when she rubs her cheek against his chest.
Sirius laughs lightly at that and then his moment of mirth disappears when she slips her hand inside the slit of his boxers—her fingers lightly resting on his half-erect cock.
"Prongs, I swear to Merlin—if this is your doing..."
"Siri," Hermione slurs and stills against the crook of his chest.
Prongs wouldn't do this to him, Sirius realizes after a moment, but Lily might.
.
Hermione wakes up to the morning sun, a high-pitched noise leaves her mouth before she even registers it. A high, keening sound echoes against the windowpane, and then she flops over. Her face is smooshed against a strong chest and she peeks upwards to see Sirius with his eyes closed and praying for patience.
Mortified, she drops her head into his arm and squirms against him—completely out of her depth.
Desperately, Hermione wonders how on earth she's going to salvage her now painfully awkward relationship with Sirius, it's so obvious that he's only here for—
"For the love of Merlin, Hermione," Sirius hisses and grabs her hips hard enough to bruise. He snaps, "I am only a man, and I am desperately trying not to imagine you impaled on my cock. Do you understand me, witch? The blood had left my brain the moment we left that house of horror, and I am losing my goddamn mind. So, if you do not want me to slide into this lovely, little quim of yours that I have been dreaming about for months and shag you until I render you speechless. Stop. Moving."
Hermione freezes for exactly five seconds, eyes wide enough to see the clear amber spindling around her pupil, this allows Lord Black exactly five seconds of reprieve, before the small witch jumps into action, and renders his mental capacities quite useless.
She cautiously watches his reaction as she slides her hand down his abdomen and slips it into his boxers.
Sirius inhales in shock, his own eyes widening, and jerks when a soft hand wraps around his aching cock. He nearly wept, when she twists her wrist just so, as to catch the head of his length with the jut of her palm and slides down. His fingernails dig into her hips when she squeezes harder and moves her hand faster.
He can smell her—smell her arousal from underneath her knickers, perfuming the room, on his tongue, and the scent of her amplifies the ache, the mere need he has for her.
Hermione doesn't say anything but grabs her wand - his hips arch on instinct - points to her abdomen and then vanishes his boxers.
Sirius can't really think of anything, not when she tosses her wand to the side, pulls her knickers to the side, and swallows him in one fluid motion.
Sirius's brain fizzes into a black screen. Hermione is wet, hot, and tight. Her walls clamp firmly around his tortured cock and his gums ache now that her scent is trapped around the sheets.
Hermione wiggles a little more onto him and he writhes against the sheets—nails scrape up her ribs until they are firmly planted in her back.
He pants like he had just run through the Forbidden Forest, for his brain has gone silent and his heart has dropped into his stomach.
"Oh," Hermione whimpers and squeezes him so tightly that he chokes out a breath. It takes a moment for her to adjust, not because of well he spreads her, but because of how long she had wanted this, had wanted him. It feels too good to be true. She spreads her legs wantonly, the rosy folds of her flesh are partially obstructed by the lilac lace of her knickers, and a teasing thatch of brown hair.
It's enough for Sirius's primal urges to kick in.
"Fucking hell," Sirius swears vehemently, then he rolls his hips and his eyes in tandem. The sweet, tight, wet heat of hers strangled his cock wonderfully, and it is a privilege to watch her ride him so earnestly—so unabashed.
"Yes," Hermione exhales and props her hands on his calves to bounce over his hips. Her knickers fold over her cunt and Sirius has had enough of the damning piece of fabric. He rips the lace in two, tossing the strands thoughtlessly onto the floor and running his hands over her wet folds. She gasps at the sting but can hardly care when his hands are all over her.
Sirius puts his fingers in his mouth and tastes her—along with the lubrication spell she used, the minty aftertaste makes him to shiver and tells him that she wanted him so much that she couldn't wait to feel him. It's almost like he's living someone else's life and he sure as hell isn't it giving it back. Not with this view, not with Hermione bouncing on his cock lustfully, with her cheeks a burnt apricot, the sunlight washing over her skin like a roll of silk, and her breasts—
—he vanished her brassier without a second thought.
He thinks there seemed to be too many obstacles shielding her from him, irritated.
Sirius groans when her tits are revealed. Her gorgeous chest, capped with light pink nipples and a dusting of freckles over the perimeter, his hands rough and dry cups the mounds to give them a good squeeze. Fingers already swirling around the areola, puckering the bud, and teasing the tip with a coarse finger pad.
Hermione shivers at the sensation and bores down on him harder.
"Yes, yes," Sirius isn't aware he's saying this aloud, not even when his mouth latches onto a perky breast, teeth skimming the sensitive skin and suckling the pod viscously.
Hermione's vision hazes over and she doesn't know how to get him deeper—how to feel him closer and she moans high and needy.
Padfoot recognizes the call and Sirius's lizard brain takes over.
Sirius pulls her off his cock, a wet schlick echoes in the room, he lifts her up, and adjusts her to his liking. She yelps when she grabs her legs and pulls her down the mattress. When her toes touch the carpeted ground, he kicks the inside of her insteps to part her thighs and presses down on her upper back so she can arch.
Hermione suddenly understands the position and like anything she learns, she does her best to excel. So, she wiggles a little lower down on the mattress until her feet is flat against the floor and arches her back higher until her arse brushes just above his navel.
Sirius pants heavily and leans down to suck the entire landscape of her cunt into his mouth. Hermione gasps high and sharp when he sloppily licks her folds, teeth carelessly grazing her throbbing clit. When he pulls her cheeks to sink his tongue into her channel, she clenches down in response, and he groans. The vibrations have her shaking on the mattress to need for his cock has driven her desperation into overdrive.
Sirius pulls back to give her clit one abusive suck and the suddenness of the suction forced a scream from the back of her throat.
He slides back in one smooth stroke and Hermione swears to God, she can feel him in her chest.
"Perfect, so fucking perfect," Sirius groans wondrously, wheezing red-faced, and smooths his hands over the nail marks he left on her back. He presses her neck into the mattress for one moment, one soothing second, almost as if to calm her because the need she has for him transcends verbal speech, and then he snaps his hips into her in a punishing rhythm.
Hermione grabs the sheets and curls her fingers into the flannel for her dear life.
Sirius fucks her without pause. She wraps around him like a glove, a hidden route, sliding into his chest and making its way into his stomach like a blanket. The wet slaps of his scrotum against her clit stings maddeningly, yet he makes no move to soothe the nerves. He switches to downward strokes, just so the head of his cock can catch that rough patch of nerves, and when he does—she gets louder.
Whimpers and soft moans, but he wants her to scream—scream so that big, beautiful brain of hers empties out until there are only thoughts of him in her head.
"I've thought about this for months," Sirius pants hypnotized, and slides a hand around her mound—cupping her sex so he can feel himself pistol into her, "Thought about the way you feel, the way you would taste, and how you would sound when I slide into your cunt."
"Sirius," Hermione sobs frantically, she can feel herself drip down her thighs and she hasn't come yet. She thinks he might be punishing her for last night and her mouth waters at the delicious pressure he puts her under.
"This perfect cunt," he hisses, pressing down on her mound, and she stumbles into an orgasm. It's one that she wasn't prepared for, it's unsatisfying, and it starts just as quickly as it ends. She doesn't register it happening until the wet clap of her cunt seeps down onto the sheets and he swears darkly, "Greedy, aren't we?"
Then, Sirius pulls her hair and curves into her a deeper arch that should defy the laws of arithmancy, but that doesn't matter as long as he keeps holding her like that, fucking her like that, and talking to her like that.
"I didn't say you could cum," Sirius warns against her throat, and Hermione gasps as if her own question had been asked, "Not after last night, not after I watched you get pawed on by those men at the bar. Not after you teased me in my own bed, slept on my chest as if you belonged there, you didn't even kiss me, kitten."
Hermione knows that he isn't cross with her—just by this alone because Sirius never calls anyone kitten.
And when he does this it's a secret tell. It's letting her know that she is safe, and this is a game, and that he would never do anything to hurt her—not unless she asks him to, and she adores him a little more for this.
So, Hermione sinks into him a little more and Sirius pauses mid-stroke to suck a bruising kiss into her throat in praise.
"Do you deserve to cum?" Sirius demands and slaps her arse in response.
She yelps in turn and bucks deeper into his cock. He moves onto the bed, pulling her into a half-sitting position, still, with a tight grip on her hair and her back still holding onto that delicious arch.
"I asked you a question, Hermione," Sirius slaps the inside of her thigh and clit is on fire.
"No," Hermione chokes out and straddles his thighs to ease the pressure off her back.
This in turn has his immobile cock resting sharply against her g-spot and he twists until he slides a palm down her breasts, over her abdomen, to cup her mound, two fingers spreading against her outer folds holding her open as he starts rough, slow half-strokes. "That's what I thought, love."
Hermione tries to sneak her hand towards her cunt just to get some fucking relief because he's leaving her clit exposed, a mere afterthought—not an afterthought, a taunt, as if to say no, he knows what she wants and he isn't going to give it to her, because the heat from his fingertips is so close to that one place she really needs it and—
He drops his fingers to slap her clit and she screams as she's held over the edge. The sting on her clit burns into a hot pleasure that has even more fluid leaking out of her. He hisses into her ear, "That is mine. Put your hands in my hair, right now, Hermione."
She's delirious with the heat and smell of him that she's much too desperate to comply.
Hermione threads her fingers into his hair backward, holding herself away from his chest, Sirius drops his hand from her hair to cup her breast and her cunt as he quickens the pace. "That's it. You can come after I do."
"Sirius," Hermione whines, and her thighs are beginning to tremble from the exertion she uses to hold her body upwards.
Sirius pinches a nipple and tugs it out. When he's more coherent, he'll give them the attention they deserve, his mouth, his tongue, and his teeth. Gnawing on the most wonderful tits he's ever seen and then he'll let her come by just letting her warm his cock. But right now, he has the most perfect woman in the world letting him take her like this and he'll make it up to her with—with rose petals and candles later, he thinks deliriously.
He gives three more deep-seated thrusts before he spills into her and his ears ring with white noise.
Hermione squirms in his lap at the splash of hot liquid, but she hardly cares when Sirius stretches his fingers and scrubs her clit with enough strength to break it. She screams and clamps down on him when she gets the orgasm that she finally, finally deserves. Her knees weaken and she slumps downwards onto the mattress. Sirius follows her digging his cock into her g-spot, grounding down on the swollen patch of nerves while he continues to torment her clit carelessly - still in the throes of his own orgasm - until she can't breathe, but this time he kisses her when her head hits the pillow and steals the air in her lungs.
Hermione can't even kiss him back—can't find the motor skills to do so.
She can't think of anything but the white-hot pleasure that keeps pouring out of her and splashing on the sheets.
Then he slides out of her with a wet squelch, when the blood finally returns to his brain, trembling as he holds her close to his chest, he drops random, lazy kisses to her neck, her chin, her cheek, and just one her mouth.
Eventually, Hermione's heart rate drops, and she falls back into reality with an airiness that's far too novel-like to articulate.
She moans contently and then turns around to see Sirius fast asleep.
There's a splash of drool on the side of his mouth and his whistling snores are muffled by the blanket.
She supposes she can let him sleep, after the night she gave him, and the orgasms he gave her—Sirus must deserve it. She pulls the blanket over their shoulders, and smoothens it across his chest, smooshing her breasts across his chest and his hand wrapped securely around her hips.
Hermione presses a light, lingering kiss to his lips, and smiles against his mouth when she feels him kiss her back.