heather11483 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heathershaped) wrote2007-10-15 06:27 pm
heathershaped) wrote2007-10-15 06:27 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Reunited (Hermione/Viktor, Adult)
Title: Reunited
Artist/Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
heather11483
Recipient:tattooedsiren
Characters/Pairing(s): Hermione/Viktor
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Word Count: 6429
Disclaimer: JKR owns these characters.
Summary: When she sees Viktor again after more than four years, Hermione doesn't know what to expect.
A/N: Thank you toinell for the readthroughs, and to florahart for the beta. This was written for tattooedsiren at the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sexy_brilliance exchange.
It was a gorgeous Monday afternoon; probably one of the last few temperate days that London would enjoy before slipping into an autumn that promised to be quite chilly. Hermione was spending it inside the Ministry's small law library, researching her new case. There would be time to enjoy the day after work -- provided she got this brief written for her supervisor before five-thirty -- and besides, she'd taken a table by one of the small, dusty windows in the room so that she could at least have a nice, albeit a bit murky, view when she looked up from her research. For now, though, there was too much to do.
The case that she'd been given wasn't particularly high in priority, but it was the most complicated she'd been assigned so far, and the first one she'd be handling on her own. Of course, she felt that a lawsuit against a landlord over the deplorable living situation in his block of flats should be higher priority than it was. Regardless, she was determined to see it through and succeed. Though she'd worked her arse off to earn the early promotion since taking her first entry-level position in the Department of Magical Law, she still felt she had something to prove with this case. At twenty-six, she was the youngest person working at this level, and one of the only few females. Not only that, it was a matter of pride. If it took a few working lunches over the course of a week, it wasn't too much of a sacrifice.
And her knowledge of real estate law was less than extensive, which meant even more research than usual just to catch up. She dragged a dusty volume towards her and began to thumb through it until she reached the page she needed.
A rapping sound against a nearby bookshelf had her lifting her head in time to see that Harry had come in, his hand still raised, with a knuckle resting against the wood where he'd knocked. "Figured I'd find you here."
She lifted a brow, but her lips curved. She'd not seen him since the day before yesterday, and her irritation over the fact that she'd not even heard him come into the room faded as she glanced up at him. "I'm nothing if not predictable."
"That's not always a good thing, you know," he said, walking across to sit at the table across from her. His black Auror robes were unfastened, and she was comforted to note that he was wearing denims and scuffed trainers underneath. Even if she'd never dress so casually for work herself, Harry just wouldn't be Harry in shirtsleeves and a tie, work or no. "How are you? And I don't really want to hear 'busy', because that's sort of a given these days."
"Says the bloke who's always here after I leave because he's running another operation."
"Maybe so, but I remember to take meals in a regular fashion," he pointed out, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table as he studied her. "You're coming to lunch with me."
"Harry, I'd love to, but"---
"Ah. That, er, wasn't a request."
"I hadn't realized bossing me around was one of your new job responsibilities," she said archly. "I'm very proud that you're now heading your own unit with the Aurors, but I'm not one of your new employees."
"It's just a small unit," he mumbled, squirming a bit. "And don't go all swotty on me. Just because I'm not giving you a choice doesn't mean I'm bossing you around."
"You realize that makes no sense."
"Makes perfect sense to me. If I'd asked, would you have said yes?"
"No, but you'll find that blunt orders are no more effective."
He sighed and sent her a crooked smile. "You look tired, and I'd wager you haven't eaten in days. Come and have lunch with me."
"As flattering as that was, this case is really important to me, Harry," she said patiently.
"And I'm sure you're handling it brilliantly," he said, his brow furrowing, "but there's more to life than work."
"Is there?" She couldn't have stopped the words coming out any more than she could prevent the slight wince that followed. Harry's concerned stare was starting to make her uncomfortable, and she picked up her quill and began to worry the feathers agitatedly, clearing her throat as she glanced at the clock. "Right, well. My lunch break is nearly over anyway, it seems. I'll have to take a rain check."
Harry watched her intently for a few beats, even though she didn't meet his gaze. "Fine," he said finally, but his quiet tone had a stubborn edge to it that told her he wasn't going to let the issue drop. "I'll talk to you soon," he said pointedly as he got to his feet and rounded the bookcase again on his way out of the room.
Alone, Hermione closed her eyes briefly, rubbing at the pain in her side before she drew the book toward her again. Irritatingly, she was now having trouble staying focused, which wouldn't do. She considered herself much too efficient and committed to her work to drift into non-productive thoughts. Maybe she was a bit too high-strung, as Ron was wont to tell her from time to time, and perhaps she needed to take more breaks, as Harry often told her, but this was just who she was, and she didn't know how to be anything else. In fact, her attempts at making such changes over the years had proved unsuccessful and only made her realize that she was on the right track.
If, when she was alone, she sometimes feared that her life was passing her by, it couldn't be helped.
Lifting her quill, she dipped it into the inkwell and began to move it over the parchment again, taking careful notes. The faint scratching sound and the smell of the ink as it seeped into the page comforted her, made it easier to focus, which was good. She had a meeting in a few hours and needed to make headway on this case, and there wasn't any time to stop and wonder where the years had gone.
************************
The remainder of the week passed in a blur of tenant interviews and tours of flats, more research and meetings, and so much work in general that there'd been no more time for useless thoughts and restless feelings. There had barely been time for her to read her mail, much less answer it, as she'd spent very little of her time at home. Harry and Ron had both taken to dropping by her office to check on her, though she'd only made time to eat with them once between Monday and Friday. She loved them for their concern and, truth to tell, she was tired and working more than usual. They were getting more worried and nosy, though, and more resistant to her patient claims that she was fine.
She walked down the hall, shifting her large stack of files from one arm to the other as she felt a nagging headache just beneath her temple. At least her last meeting of the day was over, even if it had been slightly more stressful than it should have been. Reynolds, one of her consults on the case, was slightly older than she, handsome, ambitious and smooth, and very good at his work. He had also been up for the same promotion she had, and hardly made a secret of his resentment over the fact that it had been awarded to her instead. It lent a tension to their meetings that grated and made her feel irrationally guilty.
With a slight frown, she headed back to her office and told herself not to let it worry her. She'd worked extremely hard for what she'd achieved so far, and there wasn't any reason to believe that she didn't deserve it. Reaching up with her free hand, she undid the top few buttons on her shirt. The day was almost over, and she was actually considering leaving work on time, or at least a lot earlier than usual. It was Friday, after all, and while she fully intended to bring some work home with her, this evening she was seriously considering reading over her files with a glass of wine and some takeaway.
When she reached the doorway to her small, cramped office, though, she realized it wasn't empty. She took a moment to wrack her brain for a possible meeting she'd forgotten as she studied the dark-haired figure occupying the one lonely chair across from her desk.
She'd not forgotten any meetings, though, and the realization of who it was hit her like a punch to the gut.
The terrible posture should have given it away instantly, even if it had been over four years. Or the dark, thick hair that flirted with the collar of his simple shirt. She'd had her hands in that hair, after all, and knew it intimately. She made a small sound as his earthy scent reached her nostrils. "Um." It came out in something dangerously close to a squeak, and she closed her eyes briefly just as Viktor got to his feet and turned to her.
"Hello, Her-my-knee." He inclined his head in greeting as he looked at her as if committing her every feature to memory. "Vhy you stand for so long and look at me vithout speaking?"
"Um." Oh, bloody hell. "Hello, Viktor. You've surprised me. I didn't know that you were in London." She marveled at the mildness in his tone as her insides jittered wildly.
"I take it, is not good surprise?"
Not exactly. "Don't be silly," she said politely, her eyes moving over his face unconsciously. "It's lovely to see you. Please, sit down."
"You are not busy?"
"It's nearly time for me to be off for the day," she said, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to focus on work now. Viktor took a seat, and she followed suit, putting the desk between them. She couldn't decide whether it was good or bad that the desk wasn't very wide at all. He was still close enough to reach over and touch her. She did know that it was quite frustrating to discover that she felt so out of her depth. That she still did. "It's been a long time."
"It has," he agreed, his brow furrowing as he studied her. "You are vell?"
For a moment, she just looked at him, hardly able to believe that he wanted to make small talk given the way they'd left things. "What are you doing here, Viktor?" she asked quietly.
"You did not answer my owl," he replied simply.
Her eyes slid closed again as she remembered the letter that was sitting unanswered on her bedside table. "I haven't yet had the chance," she said, meeting his gaze. "Work's been quite busy."
"Is alvays busy," he said, stubbornly brushing aside her excuse.
His tone made her bristle even as she watched his eyes go hot and irritated in the way she couldn't help but find appealing. "You came all the way here, because it took me too long to answer a letter?"
"Is not like you," he began, "but no, is not only reason. I receive no answer from you, and instead I get letter from your Harry. Of course, I vos vorried."
"From my Harry?" She blinked. "Why would Harry write to you?"
"He says you vork too hard, and are not listening vhen he and Ron tell you to relax. He is concerned you are making yourself sick," Viktor said. "I think he is good friend, and I am glad he is telling me things you are not."
Hermione took a few deep breaths as she felt a painful churning in her stomach. "Harry had no right to do that," she said quietly.
"He did not vant me to tell you it vos him," he admitted, "but you should not be angry vith him for loving you."
She stared at him for a few beats before she got to her feet, turning from him. The simple movement made her feel braver. "Then why did you tell me? And don't tell me how to feel."
"I did not know if my showing up vould be enough vithout that," he said quietly. "I think I vos right, vith how you are acting."
"How do expect me to act?"
"It has been long time, like you said. You sound normal enough in your letters, even if you lie and tell me you are fine."
She turned to the window, staring unseeingly outside. She had no argument for that, but really. It was easy to sound normal in a letter, wasn't it, with the knowledge that Viktor was hundreds of miles away. When she didn't have to look at him, to hear his gruff voice and feel things that she'd been sure were just a memory by now. "Yes, well as you can see, I am fine. Not sick, not tired, but I do appreciate your concern. Do pass that along to Harry, won't you?" The attempt at keeping her tone chilly and dismissive was useless, but then she'd never been able to control such things when it came to him.
Her breath caught and her body tensed when she felt him at her back, roughened hands moving down her arms. She felt the contact through the crisp cotton as surely as if her arms were bare. "I haff missed you," he said quietly. "Haff missed seeing you. I vould very much like to haff dinner vith you."
"Viktor; you -- we can't," she said in a hoarse whisper. "We've been through this before." And she wasn't sure she could take going through it again.
He dropped his hands and stepped back fractionally, his voice taking on a stubborn edge. "Is only dinner. You vill let me see for myself that you are fine, and I vill leave you be, if it is your vish."
She turned to him, finding her face far too close to his. "Viktor"--
He lifted a hand and shook his head. "I know how you get," he murmured. "You vill think about it. I vill find you."
Hermione waited until he'd left, closing the door quietly behind him, before she walked numbly to her desk and picked up a sheet of parchment. Slowly, she tore it into even shreds, taking deep breaths. Feeling slightly calmer, she began to gather her files, deciding which of them she would need to bring home for the weekend.
************************
She woke on Saturday morning bent over her desk at home, her cheek pressed against rough parchment as her stomach grumbled painfully. Clearly, she'd forgotten to eat dinner again. Placing a hand on her side, she stood and padded to the kitchen in her flat and took out some coffee before she opened the cupboard for one of the pastries she liked to buy from the bakery on the corner. When she found the box empty, yet still on the shelf, she shook her head, smirking slightly. Ron had obviously finished them the last time he'd popped by. It was funny, though, that such habits didn't irritate her nearly so much as they had during their relationship. They were far more comfortable together when they were just friends, and she was glad they'd been able to redefine their relationship after splitting up six years ago.
Of course, it had only been a year later that she'd become involved with Viktor, and they'd not been able to strike such a balance, once it had ended. Completely different circumstances, she admitted to herself as she went into the bathroom to shower and dress for a quick run to the bakery. Despite their history, it had been so much more intense and unsettling than she ever could have expected. She'd never felt so out of control in her life, had never experienced anything so equally wonderful and scary. There'd been any number of reasons why they hadn't stayed together -- neither of them being willing to sacrifice their careers or move closer to one another being the one they'd eventually settled on. But she knew now that her inability to handle what she'd felt, to give herself over to it, had been the real issue. Time and distance had forced her to accept that she simply wasn't cut out for relationships.
She dried off, leaving her hair curling damply about her shoulders, and pulled on comfortable jeans and a thin T-shirt before she left her flat and considered the night before. It had been difficult to focus on much beyond Viktor's unexpected visit and the feelings that had resurfaced, ones she'd thought had faded to nothing. They certainly should have, after four years. Time was supposed to take care of things like that, or so she'd heard. Viktor had disproven that theory in the space of a few minutes, however.
Since the breakfast rush was over, the bakery wasn't crowded, and Hermione bought a half-dozen pastries and a fresh bag of coffee before she started the walk back to her flat. Her stomach rumbled again as she smelled the food, and she quickened her pace as she wondered if Viktor's visit had even happened. Perhaps she'd dreamt it after falling asleep at her desk, or maybe it had been a mirage, something her mind had conjured out of hunger and fatigue.
Maybe Harry was right, and she needed a break.
If it had been real, that meant she'd been rude to Viktor, who was lovely and had traveled quite a distance just to check on her, simply because she couldn't keep her emotions in check. After the way she'd acted, he was probably already back in Bulgaria, and she couldn't blame him at all.
When she stepped off the lift and reached the door of her flat, though, there he was, knocking and looking sullen. He lifted his head and looked at her. "You still live in same place," he pointed out as she stared. "I said I would find you, so."
She licked her lips and nodded before she stepped forward. "So you did. Um. Please come in."
He didn't budge an inch as she moved past him to open the door, and her shoulder and arm brushed against his solid chest she stepped inside. "Excuse me," she murmured as her mind called up images of the wiry body she knew was under his dark shirt and denims. She wanted to swear, because it wasn't the time for such thoughts.
"For vhat?" He followed her inside. "I hope it has not been so long that you vould think I mind you touching me."
After she placed the pastries on the counter, she glanced up at him. "I don't know what to think, Viktor. About any of this." She shook her head slightly as he began to speak. "I'm sorry that I snapped at you yesterday; it was uncalled-for, and I really am happy to see you. It means a lot that you care, even if you've no reason to worry."
"I am not yet sure about that," he said, his lips curving as he stepped closer. "I vill accept your apology, because there is very little I vill refuse from a beautiful voman. You are even more beautiful than you vere, Her-my-knee," he added quietly.
Hermione flushed and nearly took a step closer before she remembered herself and felt blindly behind her for the coffee pot. "So, how are you? Are you going to take the coaching job for Bulgaria that you mentioned in your letter?"
"I think not," he murmured, his face going to thoughtful lines. "It vill require a lot of travel, and I am very nearly thirty. Is vhy I gave up playing Quidditch. I think I vould like to stop moving so; I am getting old."
She lifted a brow as she busied herself with the coffee and chanced a glance at his lean, raw-boned face, and the rich black hair he'd trapped in a stubby ponytail with a strip of leather. "That might be a bit of an overstatement, Viktor," she said, unable to help an impish smile.
He smirked. "For Quidditch, I am old," he told her. "For ... other things, not so much, I think. I haff other offers, though; for teaching and such, all over the Continent."
"Is that what you want to do?"
"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "It may not suit me. I get offers because people vant to say that Krum is teaching flying at their school, but they do not know if it suits me, either. I think they might be disappoint. Disappointed." He looked up and smiled wryly. "I think I am just, ah. Jock? I think this is vord. Good at not very many things, yes?"
Hermione turned on the coffee and lifted a hand to his face, tracing his cheek and jaw before she dropped her hand again. "I think you're brilliant," she said simply, "and you can do whatever you fancy."
"I like to hear that," he said quietly, his lips curving. "My ego vill grow large."
"Your ego is quite healthy enough, I think," she said primly. "I'm simply stating fact. You know perfectly well that Quidditch isn't what drew me to you, so it can't be all that defines you, can it?"
He smiled. "I like that you see more than that. I alvays have. Quidditch vos my life since I vos boy, but now it is not so important. The sport, or the vay of living. I get caught up for many years, though."
She smiled slightly. "It's always been a part of you. Just not the only part. You'll have to rediscover the rest."
"I suppose," he said finally, and she felt him watching her as she set out coffee cups. His voice was low when he spoke again. "I haff missed talking to you. The letters, they are not same, yes?"
"I've missed it too," she admitted softly, her hands going still with a tremble of cup against saucer. "and no, they're not."
"It is not only thing I haff missed." His breath was warm against her ear now as he stood at her side, and her eyelids fluttered briefly as shivers moved along her skin. "Missed so much about you, Her-my-knee."
She made a small, helpless sound as she turned, not even bothering to prevent her lips from brushing against the corner of his mouth. His hands went to her waist as he caught her mouth with his, deepening the kiss quickly and roughly. His lips were still so familiar, full and firm and hot against hers, and she couldn't help lifting a hand to his hair, sending the leather band to the floor as she gripped it and pulled his face down toward hers.
Viktor pivoted, trapping her against the counter, and tore his mouth from hers long enough to meet her eyes, his gaze focused and intense, before he dipped his head and kissed his way down her throat, starting with the spot below her ear that made her gasp and press closer to him. She felt his hand slip beneath her shirt, his palm rough as it slid over her heated skin. She drew back and took his face in her hands, wanting more of the way he tasted because it had been far too long. She kissed him this time, finding his tongue with hers and letting out a muffled moan as his hand moved over her ribcage and higher to cup her breast. Her own hand found its way under his t-shirt, feeling warm skin pulled taut over lean muscle. He rubbed his palm against her hardened nipple and she arched into the touch, scratching his back in a way that made him groan.
She felt his erection against her belly as he pressed her harder against the counter, but was far too caught up to stop; her mind could find no logical reason when she'd missed this so bloody much. Had missed him. She only pressed closer and kissed him more urgently when she felt his other hand on her bum.
Suddenly, she felt a sharp, burning pain above her navel and cried out, her hand slipping from under Viktor's shirt as she wrapped her arm around herself. Viktor lifted his head and blinked, his eyes clearing and expression changing to concern as he saw that she was in pain.
"Vhat?" he looked her over, taking her by the shoulders as he spoke gently. "Vhat is it, mila?"
The pain faded almost immediately, and her stomach grumbled again, loudly. Hermione felt her face go red as she looked away. "It's nothing," she muttered, terribly embarrassed. "I just -- haven't eaten yet; I'm fine."
"When did you last eat?" he gripped her shoulders more firmly and held her gaze when she looked away. "Vhen, Her-my-knee?"
"I don't -- yesterday. Maybe." She frowned, trying to think, as Viktor let out an oath. She didn't have to know what it meant to recognize the intent. He released her and began to open her cabinets, his expression stony. She leaned against the counter as she heard mutters of 'foolish witch' along other snippets of language that she couldn't understand.
"You haff very little food."
"I'm not home very much," she defended, reaching into the box and pulling out a pastry.
"This is not point," he muttered, and glanced at her as he surfaced with a tin of soup. "You cannot eat that frosty bread and expect to haff meal."
"Bread is very filling," she countered, breaking off a piece and taking a bite.
"I vill make soup, and you vill eat that vith your silly bread," he informed her, fishing out a pot. "You keep everything in same place."
"Of course I do," she said archly, after she swallowed. "There was no reason to move it, was there?"
"Is not good," he began, as he set the soup to heat, "for a voman to have pain when a man is kissing her. Is making me vorry."
"Sorry to dampen the mood with my hunger pangs," she said dryly, breaking off another piece of bread.
"You should be," he said mulishly. "If you vere not vorking too hard and missing your meals, I vould be taking you right now. Right here, and now. I vould be making you soup after and not before vhile I am still vanting you."
His words made her flush and meet his gaze as she felt heat spread through her. Before. She was forced to consider what they'd been about to do, now that she'd brought things to a grinding halt, and found herself mired in needs and fears that she'd not faced for years. They hadn't dulled in the slightest, but this time, running from it wasn't proving to be as easy. At length, she met his eyes. "Maybe I would have been taking you."
"That is not problem," he said, lifting a brow as he looked her over and turned down the soup. "And we vill never know now. You scared me," he added quietly, and she glanced down because she didn't have a reply for that.
He poured the soup into bowls and brought them to the sofa. Hermione followed, taking her seat and narrowing her eyes when Viktor pushed a spoon into her hands. "I think I've got it from here," she muttered, earning a scowl from Viktor. She wondered if it made her pathetic to be touched by the fact that he got so irritable and stubborn in his concern for her.
"Eat," he said shortly. "Is just like you to be annoyed vith me vhen you should be annoyed vith yourself."
The meal passed in tense silence; Hermione could barely taste the soup -- her senses were otherwise occupied with Viktor, it seemed -- but she felt it begin to fill her up, and her face flushed with shame and embarrassment over being seen like this. Over him seeing her like this, even as much as she appreciated that he still -- well, that he was even here. She found herself staring at him, hunched over and poking at his soup, the dark hair that she'd freed just a bit ago falling forward so that his face was obstructed. Blinking, she glanced down into her now-empty bowl, not sure where the rush of emotion had come from, but her throat felt tight and she itched to touch him.
She didn't realize her hand had moved to his arm until she heard her spoon clatter loudly where she'd dropped it into her bowl, and Viktor turned to her, his eyes flicking down to where she touched his forearm. "You are tired?" His voice sounded tense. "I think you are not taking care of self, Hermione. This, not eating, it means you are not sleeping vell, also."
"I'm not tired," she whispered, meeting his eyes. "I -- thank you, Viktor."
"This is not for thank," he said, shaking his head, "is vhat you do, for vhen you are caring about someone Even vhen it has been long time, I haff never stopped caring."
"I haven't stopped caring, either," she told him quietly, dropping her gaze. "I should clean up."
"You haff rush for something?" he asked, getting to his feet and standing in front of her so that her path to the kitchen was blocked. He covered her hand with his when she tried to take his bowl from him.
"No, I just don't like leaving things about," she said, shifting as he studied her. But she lifted her head. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Good," he murmured, "I think, I am not going anyvhere, also."
Hermione nodded and brushed past him, on her way to the kitchen. She placed the bowls on the counter and then he was there, whirling her around, hands in her hair as he tipped her head back. "Viktor."
"Vant you so much," he murmured as he cupped the back of her head and moved his other hand down her body in a long, fluid stroke, and then his mouth was on hers, hard and hungry. She let out a low, throaty whimper as she returned his kiss and locked her arms around his neck. "Is enough cleaning up, I think," he said when he came up for air. "Vill still be there after."
All she could do was move a hand into his hair and press her lips to his neck. He trembled at the touch, and her lips curved as she skimmed them higher until she reached his ear, scraping her teeth lightly against it while her fingers dragged the collar of his shirt aside to dip into the hollow of his throat and trace his collarbone. Oh, god, she'd missed being close to him like this, missed touching him, and she was afraid she could waste away just focusing on how he felt and the way he sounded.
Viktor gripped her wrist and stopped her hand moving over his skin, his breathing already so ragged and his eyes intense. She gasped as he gripped her hips and lifted her so that she had no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist, and then he was walking her back to the sofa, sitting so she straddled him. Pressing close, she dragged at his shirt to get it over his head, hardly able to care when it landed on the floor. He pulled her head down to his and kissed her again, sliding his tongue past her lips as she opened for him and moved her hands over his skin.
The brush of her fingers against his nipple made him grunt and fist his hand into the thin cotton of her t-shirt, and then he yanked it up and over her head when she lifted her arms willingly. For a moment, he just looked at her, at all the skin he'd bared, and then his hands moved, rough and restless, over her skin, stroking and rubbing her breasts through the material of her bra. She heard her name rumble from his throat, her belly clenching in anticipation as his fingers messed about with the catch. He was taking too long, though, and she gave a breathless laugh.
"Is have trick," he muttered when she just reached back and unfastened the clasp herself, sliding the garment down her arms. She had a moment to recall that he would often lose his English when he was aroused, and the memory made her shiver.
He didn't waste any time after that; he leaned forward and drew one hardened nipple into his mouth, curling his tongue around it and making her moan and gasp because it had been so long since she'd felt anything like this. Unconsciously, she started to shift and writhe in his lap, wanting friction, and her hand slid down to the button on his denims. It was like no time had passed; Viktor had never left her room for the hesitancy that often came so naturally to her in such situations. But no one could make her want the way he could, in a way that made her forget herself. Made her crazy.
Wrapping an arm around her lower back, Viktor shifted, pressing her into the cushions so that she felt him hard against her denim-clad thigh. She arched up as he thumbed open the fastening on her trousers and slid the zipper down. "Can feel you already," he mumbled, warm breath washing against her ear. "So much heat, Her-my-knee."
He eased back to sit on his heels and pull her denims and knickers over her legs; she lifted her bum and kicked them off before she slid her thighs together and reached for him. When he leaned over her again, he trailed his hand up her thigh, higher and higher until she squirmed. "Viktor, please," she murmured, whimpering when he closed his mouth over her nipple again. She eased her legs apart slightly, hardly able to wait with his fingers stroking torturously along her inner thighs.
"Vhat you vant, Her-my-knee?" he whispered hoarsely, finally skirting her opening with his fingertip so that her hips jerked upward into the contact. "It has been so long that you cannot tell me anymore?"
She said his name again in a low cry. "You. God, I just need you."
On a groan, he lifted his head and kissed her then, capturing her moan as he pressed against her and into her over and over, making her shiver. "Vant to see you let go," he urged as she arched into his touch, gripping his arms as he drove her higher. When her first orgasm hit, and she gasped and held him and let it shimmer through her as her back arched and her toes curled. Viktor groaned and rocked insistently against her leg as she sagged against the sofa. His fingers were still moving inside her, and she reached for him even while she still tingled. "More, Viktor."
"You are demand," he said amusedly, watching her through glazed eyes. "Or, is demanding, yes?"
"Yes," she hissed as he curled his finger inside her again, then opened the button on his denims and eased the zip down. He pushed them down with his boxers and she wrapped her fingers around his length, her body heating again as she thought of feeling him inside her. This time, he didn't make her wait, positioning himself above her and making her groan as he pushed forward and filled her. When he brought his lips to hers and began to move with firm strokes, she moved her legs around him and met his thrusts. From there, it just built, the sensations almost becoming too much so that her cries became muffled against his shoulder. When his movements became harder, shakier, he moved his hand between them and stroked her until she came with him, clenching around him as he shuddered and released into her.
Once they caught their breath, Hermione slowly relaxed her legs as Viktor buried his face against her neck, breathing slowly. She moved her hands up and down over his back.
"You are relax, now?" he asked with a low chuckle, his face still turned into her throat. He pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw.
She laughed. "Very much," she murmured, lifting a hand to move through his thick hair.
"I am glad to help," he said. "Harry did not vrite in letter how I should make you relax. I don't think I vill tell him this is vay. Vill say I gave food, and let that be that, yes?"
"It might be wiser to spare him the details, yes," she agreed as he lifted his head and kissed her languidly. "Mmm."
"Is not only to help you relax, though," he said as he broke the kiss and settled in to look at her. "Has been long time thinking about you and vanting you. Is very hard not to touch you vhen we are close, Her-my-knee."
"For me, too," she said honestly, then paused. "That, um, wasn't enough, though. Before."
"It vos before." He lifted a hand to her face, bracing on an elbow. "Ve are different, after four years, yes? Smart and strong in vays we vere not."
"You still live in Bulgaria, Viktor," she countered even as she let herself hope. The hope was, of course, simpler than the reality would be, but it was enough for the moment.
"Is true, but I am also," he narrowed his eyes. "I haff freedom to go vhere I please, now. Also, I am vanting to be vhere you are."
It was scary to consider that twenty-four hours ago, she'd been sure she would scarcely see Viktor again, and now they were sweaty and clinging to each other and talking about the future. "I want that too."
He shifted and moved to his elbows, nodding. "I think it is backvard to ask you to dinner now, but I did ask you yesterday, so. It is good to start there, and see. Vill you come vith me?"
"Yes, we'll go to dinner." She brushed her fingers through his hair. "And we'll see. In the meantime, we should move. Your legs are dangling off the sofa," she pointed out, then smiled mischievously. "Can't be comfortable for you, old man."
Eyes narrowed, Viktor smirked and pinched Hermione's hip lightly. "For this, I am never too old."
End
Artist/Author:
heather11483Recipient:
tattooedsirenCharacters/Pairing(s): Hermione/Viktor
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Word Count: 6429
Disclaimer: JKR owns these characters.
Summary: When she sees Viktor again after more than four years, Hermione doesn't know what to expect.
A/N: Thank you to
inell for the readthroughs, and to florahart for the beta. This was written for tattooedsiren at the sexy_brilliance exchange.It was a gorgeous Monday afternoon; probably one of the last few temperate days that London would enjoy before slipping into an autumn that promised to be quite chilly. Hermione was spending it inside the Ministry's small law library, researching her new case. There would be time to enjoy the day after work -- provided she got this brief written for her supervisor before five-thirty -- and besides, she'd taken a table by one of the small, dusty windows in the room so that she could at least have a nice, albeit a bit murky, view when she looked up from her research. For now, though, there was too much to do.
The case that she'd been given wasn't particularly high in priority, but it was the most complicated she'd been assigned so far, and the first one she'd be handling on her own. Of course, she felt that a lawsuit against a landlord over the deplorable living situation in his block of flats should be higher priority than it was. Regardless, she was determined to see it through and succeed. Though she'd worked her arse off to earn the early promotion since taking her first entry-level position in the Department of Magical Law, she still felt she had something to prove with this case. At twenty-six, she was the youngest person working at this level, and one of the only few females. Not only that, it was a matter of pride. If it took a few working lunches over the course of a week, it wasn't too much of a sacrifice.
And her knowledge of real estate law was less than extensive, which meant even more research than usual just to catch up. She dragged a dusty volume towards her and began to thumb through it until she reached the page she needed.
A rapping sound against a nearby bookshelf had her lifting her head in time to see that Harry had come in, his hand still raised, with a knuckle resting against the wood where he'd knocked. "Figured I'd find you here."
She lifted a brow, but her lips curved. She'd not seen him since the day before yesterday, and her irritation over the fact that she'd not even heard him come into the room faded as she glanced up at him. "I'm nothing if not predictable."
"That's not always a good thing, you know," he said, walking across to sit at the table across from her. His black Auror robes were unfastened, and she was comforted to note that he was wearing denims and scuffed trainers underneath. Even if she'd never dress so casually for work herself, Harry just wouldn't be Harry in shirtsleeves and a tie, work or no. "How are you? And I don't really want to hear 'busy', because that's sort of a given these days."
"Says the bloke who's always here after I leave because he's running another operation."
"Maybe so, but I remember to take meals in a regular fashion," he pointed out, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table as he studied her. "You're coming to lunch with me."
"Harry, I'd love to, but"---
"Ah. That, er, wasn't a request."
"I hadn't realized bossing me around was one of your new job responsibilities," she said archly. "I'm very proud that you're now heading your own unit with the Aurors, but I'm not one of your new employees."
"It's just a small unit," he mumbled, squirming a bit. "And don't go all swotty on me. Just because I'm not giving you a choice doesn't mean I'm bossing you around."
"You realize that makes no sense."
"Makes perfect sense to me. If I'd asked, would you have said yes?"
"No, but you'll find that blunt orders are no more effective."
He sighed and sent her a crooked smile. "You look tired, and I'd wager you haven't eaten in days. Come and have lunch with me."
"As flattering as that was, this case is really important to me, Harry," she said patiently.
"And I'm sure you're handling it brilliantly," he said, his brow furrowing, "but there's more to life than work."
"Is there?" She couldn't have stopped the words coming out any more than she could prevent the slight wince that followed. Harry's concerned stare was starting to make her uncomfortable, and she picked up her quill and began to worry the feathers agitatedly, clearing her throat as she glanced at the clock. "Right, well. My lunch break is nearly over anyway, it seems. I'll have to take a rain check."
Harry watched her intently for a few beats, even though she didn't meet his gaze. "Fine," he said finally, but his quiet tone had a stubborn edge to it that told her he wasn't going to let the issue drop. "I'll talk to you soon," he said pointedly as he got to his feet and rounded the bookcase again on his way out of the room.
Alone, Hermione closed her eyes briefly, rubbing at the pain in her side before she drew the book toward her again. Irritatingly, she was now having trouble staying focused, which wouldn't do. She considered herself much too efficient and committed to her work to drift into non-productive thoughts. Maybe she was a bit too high-strung, as Ron was wont to tell her from time to time, and perhaps she needed to take more breaks, as Harry often told her, but this was just who she was, and she didn't know how to be anything else. In fact, her attempts at making such changes over the years had proved unsuccessful and only made her realize that she was on the right track.
If, when she was alone, she sometimes feared that her life was passing her by, it couldn't be helped.
Lifting her quill, she dipped it into the inkwell and began to move it over the parchment again, taking careful notes. The faint scratching sound and the smell of the ink as it seeped into the page comforted her, made it easier to focus, which was good. She had a meeting in a few hours and needed to make headway on this case, and there wasn't any time to stop and wonder where the years had gone.
The remainder of the week passed in a blur of tenant interviews and tours of flats, more research and meetings, and so much work in general that there'd been no more time for useless thoughts and restless feelings. There had barely been time for her to read her mail, much less answer it, as she'd spent very little of her time at home. Harry and Ron had both taken to dropping by her office to check on her, though she'd only made time to eat with them once between Monday and Friday. She loved them for their concern and, truth to tell, she was tired and working more than usual. They were getting more worried and nosy, though, and more resistant to her patient claims that she was fine.
She walked down the hall, shifting her large stack of files from one arm to the other as she felt a nagging headache just beneath her temple. At least her last meeting of the day was over, even if it had been slightly more stressful than it should have been. Reynolds, one of her consults on the case, was slightly older than she, handsome, ambitious and smooth, and very good at his work. He had also been up for the same promotion she had, and hardly made a secret of his resentment over the fact that it had been awarded to her instead. It lent a tension to their meetings that grated and made her feel irrationally guilty.
With a slight frown, she headed back to her office and told herself not to let it worry her. She'd worked extremely hard for what she'd achieved so far, and there wasn't any reason to believe that she didn't deserve it. Reaching up with her free hand, she undid the top few buttons on her shirt. The day was almost over, and she was actually considering leaving work on time, or at least a lot earlier than usual. It was Friday, after all, and while she fully intended to bring some work home with her, this evening she was seriously considering reading over her files with a glass of wine and some takeaway.
When she reached the doorway to her small, cramped office, though, she realized it wasn't empty. She took a moment to wrack her brain for a possible meeting she'd forgotten as she studied the dark-haired figure occupying the one lonely chair across from her desk.
She'd not forgotten any meetings, though, and the realization of who it was hit her like a punch to the gut.
The terrible posture should have given it away instantly, even if it had been over four years. Or the dark, thick hair that flirted with the collar of his simple shirt. She'd had her hands in that hair, after all, and knew it intimately. She made a small sound as his earthy scent reached her nostrils. "Um." It came out in something dangerously close to a squeak, and she closed her eyes briefly just as Viktor got to his feet and turned to her.
"Hello, Her-my-knee." He inclined his head in greeting as he looked at her as if committing her every feature to memory. "Vhy you stand for so long and look at me vithout speaking?"
"Um." Oh, bloody hell. "Hello, Viktor. You've surprised me. I didn't know that you were in London." She marveled at the mildness in his tone as her insides jittered wildly.
"I take it, is not good surprise?"
Not exactly. "Don't be silly," she said politely, her eyes moving over his face unconsciously. "It's lovely to see you. Please, sit down."
"You are not busy?"
"It's nearly time for me to be off for the day," she said, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to focus on work now. Viktor took a seat, and she followed suit, putting the desk between them. She couldn't decide whether it was good or bad that the desk wasn't very wide at all. He was still close enough to reach over and touch her. She did know that it was quite frustrating to discover that she felt so out of her depth. That she still did. "It's been a long time."
"It has," he agreed, his brow furrowing as he studied her. "You are vell?"
For a moment, she just looked at him, hardly able to believe that he wanted to make small talk given the way they'd left things. "What are you doing here, Viktor?" she asked quietly.
"You did not answer my owl," he replied simply.
Her eyes slid closed again as she remembered the letter that was sitting unanswered on her bedside table. "I haven't yet had the chance," she said, meeting his gaze. "Work's been quite busy."
"Is alvays busy," he said, stubbornly brushing aside her excuse.
His tone made her bristle even as she watched his eyes go hot and irritated in the way she couldn't help but find appealing. "You came all the way here, because it took me too long to answer a letter?"
"Is not like you," he began, "but no, is not only reason. I receive no answer from you, and instead I get letter from your Harry. Of course, I vos vorried."
"From my Harry?" She blinked. "Why would Harry write to you?"
"He says you vork too hard, and are not listening vhen he and Ron tell you to relax. He is concerned you are making yourself sick," Viktor said. "I think he is good friend, and I am glad he is telling me things you are not."
Hermione took a few deep breaths as she felt a painful churning in her stomach. "Harry had no right to do that," she said quietly.
"He did not vant me to tell you it vos him," he admitted, "but you should not be angry vith him for loving you."
She stared at him for a few beats before she got to her feet, turning from him. The simple movement made her feel braver. "Then why did you tell me? And don't tell me how to feel."
"I did not know if my showing up vould be enough vithout that," he said quietly. "I think I vos right, vith how you are acting."
"How do expect me to act?"
"It has been long time, like you said. You sound normal enough in your letters, even if you lie and tell me you are fine."
She turned to the window, staring unseeingly outside. She had no argument for that, but really. It was easy to sound normal in a letter, wasn't it, with the knowledge that Viktor was hundreds of miles away. When she didn't have to look at him, to hear his gruff voice and feel things that she'd been sure were just a memory by now. "Yes, well as you can see, I am fine. Not sick, not tired, but I do appreciate your concern. Do pass that along to Harry, won't you?" The attempt at keeping her tone chilly and dismissive was useless, but then she'd never been able to control such things when it came to him.
Her breath caught and her body tensed when she felt him at her back, roughened hands moving down her arms. She felt the contact through the crisp cotton as surely as if her arms were bare. "I haff missed you," he said quietly. "Haff missed seeing you. I vould very much like to haff dinner vith you."
"Viktor; you -- we can't," she said in a hoarse whisper. "We've been through this before." And she wasn't sure she could take going through it again.
He dropped his hands and stepped back fractionally, his voice taking on a stubborn edge. "Is only dinner. You vill let me see for myself that you are fine, and I vill leave you be, if it is your vish."
She turned to him, finding her face far too close to his. "Viktor"--
He lifted a hand and shook his head. "I know how you get," he murmured. "You vill think about it. I vill find you."
Hermione waited until he'd left, closing the door quietly behind him, before she walked numbly to her desk and picked up a sheet of parchment. Slowly, she tore it into even shreds, taking deep breaths. Feeling slightly calmer, she began to gather her files, deciding which of them she would need to bring home for the weekend.
She woke on Saturday morning bent over her desk at home, her cheek pressed against rough parchment as her stomach grumbled painfully. Clearly, she'd forgotten to eat dinner again. Placing a hand on her side, she stood and padded to the kitchen in her flat and took out some coffee before she opened the cupboard for one of the pastries she liked to buy from the bakery on the corner. When she found the box empty, yet still on the shelf, she shook her head, smirking slightly. Ron had obviously finished them the last time he'd popped by. It was funny, though, that such habits didn't irritate her nearly so much as they had during their relationship. They were far more comfortable together when they were just friends, and she was glad they'd been able to redefine their relationship after splitting up six years ago.
Of course, it had only been a year later that she'd become involved with Viktor, and they'd not been able to strike such a balance, once it had ended. Completely different circumstances, she admitted to herself as she went into the bathroom to shower and dress for a quick run to the bakery. Despite their history, it had been so much more intense and unsettling than she ever could have expected. She'd never felt so out of control in her life, had never experienced anything so equally wonderful and scary. There'd been any number of reasons why they hadn't stayed together -- neither of them being willing to sacrifice their careers or move closer to one another being the one they'd eventually settled on. But she knew now that her inability to handle what she'd felt, to give herself over to it, had been the real issue. Time and distance had forced her to accept that she simply wasn't cut out for relationships.
She dried off, leaving her hair curling damply about her shoulders, and pulled on comfortable jeans and a thin T-shirt before she left her flat and considered the night before. It had been difficult to focus on much beyond Viktor's unexpected visit and the feelings that had resurfaced, ones she'd thought had faded to nothing. They certainly should have, after four years. Time was supposed to take care of things like that, or so she'd heard. Viktor had disproven that theory in the space of a few minutes, however.
Since the breakfast rush was over, the bakery wasn't crowded, and Hermione bought a half-dozen pastries and a fresh bag of coffee before she started the walk back to her flat. Her stomach rumbled again as she smelled the food, and she quickened her pace as she wondered if Viktor's visit had even happened. Perhaps she'd dreamt it after falling asleep at her desk, or maybe it had been a mirage, something her mind had conjured out of hunger and fatigue.
Maybe Harry was right, and she needed a break.
If it had been real, that meant she'd been rude to Viktor, who was lovely and had traveled quite a distance just to check on her, simply because she couldn't keep her emotions in check. After the way she'd acted, he was probably already back in Bulgaria, and she couldn't blame him at all.
When she stepped off the lift and reached the door of her flat, though, there he was, knocking and looking sullen. He lifted his head and looked at her. "You still live in same place," he pointed out as she stared. "I said I would find you, so."
She licked her lips and nodded before she stepped forward. "So you did. Um. Please come in."
He didn't budge an inch as she moved past him to open the door, and her shoulder and arm brushed against his solid chest she stepped inside. "Excuse me," she murmured as her mind called up images of the wiry body she knew was under his dark shirt and denims. She wanted to swear, because it wasn't the time for such thoughts.
"For vhat?" He followed her inside. "I hope it has not been so long that you vould think I mind you touching me."
After she placed the pastries on the counter, she glanced up at him. "I don't know what to think, Viktor. About any of this." She shook her head slightly as he began to speak. "I'm sorry that I snapped at you yesterday; it was uncalled-for, and I really am happy to see you. It means a lot that you care, even if you've no reason to worry."
"I am not yet sure about that," he said, his lips curving as he stepped closer. "I vill accept your apology, because there is very little I vill refuse from a beautiful voman. You are even more beautiful than you vere, Her-my-knee," he added quietly.
Hermione flushed and nearly took a step closer before she remembered herself and felt blindly behind her for the coffee pot. "So, how are you? Are you going to take the coaching job for Bulgaria that you mentioned in your letter?"
"I think not," he murmured, his face going to thoughtful lines. "It vill require a lot of travel, and I am very nearly thirty. Is vhy I gave up playing Quidditch. I think I vould like to stop moving so; I am getting old."
She lifted a brow as she busied herself with the coffee and chanced a glance at his lean, raw-boned face, and the rich black hair he'd trapped in a stubby ponytail with a strip of leather. "That might be a bit of an overstatement, Viktor," she said, unable to help an impish smile.
He smirked. "For Quidditch, I am old," he told her. "For ... other things, not so much, I think. I haff other offers, though; for teaching and such, all over the Continent."
"Is that what you want to do?"
"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "It may not suit me. I get offers because people vant to say that Krum is teaching flying at their school, but they do not know if it suits me, either. I think they might be disappoint. Disappointed." He looked up and smiled wryly. "I think I am just, ah. Jock? I think this is vord. Good at not very many things, yes?"
Hermione turned on the coffee and lifted a hand to his face, tracing his cheek and jaw before she dropped her hand again. "I think you're brilliant," she said simply, "and you can do whatever you fancy."
"I like to hear that," he said quietly, his lips curving. "My ego vill grow large."
"Your ego is quite healthy enough, I think," she said primly. "I'm simply stating fact. You know perfectly well that Quidditch isn't what drew me to you, so it can't be all that defines you, can it?"
He smiled. "I like that you see more than that. I alvays have. Quidditch vos my life since I vos boy, but now it is not so important. The sport, or the vay of living. I get caught up for many years, though."
She smiled slightly. "It's always been a part of you. Just not the only part. You'll have to rediscover the rest."
"I suppose," he said finally, and she felt him watching her as she set out coffee cups. His voice was low when he spoke again. "I haff missed talking to you. The letters, they are not same, yes?"
"I've missed it too," she admitted softly, her hands going still with a tremble of cup against saucer. "and no, they're not."
"It is not only thing I haff missed." His breath was warm against her ear now as he stood at her side, and her eyelids fluttered briefly as shivers moved along her skin. "Missed so much about you, Her-my-knee."
She made a small, helpless sound as she turned, not even bothering to prevent her lips from brushing against the corner of his mouth. His hands went to her waist as he caught her mouth with his, deepening the kiss quickly and roughly. His lips were still so familiar, full and firm and hot against hers, and she couldn't help lifting a hand to his hair, sending the leather band to the floor as she gripped it and pulled his face down toward hers.
Viktor pivoted, trapping her against the counter, and tore his mouth from hers long enough to meet her eyes, his gaze focused and intense, before he dipped his head and kissed his way down her throat, starting with the spot below her ear that made her gasp and press closer to him. She felt his hand slip beneath her shirt, his palm rough as it slid over her heated skin. She drew back and took his face in her hands, wanting more of the way he tasted because it had been far too long. She kissed him this time, finding his tongue with hers and letting out a muffled moan as his hand moved over her ribcage and higher to cup her breast. Her own hand found its way under his t-shirt, feeling warm skin pulled taut over lean muscle. He rubbed his palm against her hardened nipple and she arched into the touch, scratching his back in a way that made him groan.
She felt his erection against her belly as he pressed her harder against the counter, but was far too caught up to stop; her mind could find no logical reason when she'd missed this so bloody much. Had missed him. She only pressed closer and kissed him more urgently when she felt his other hand on her bum.
Suddenly, she felt a sharp, burning pain above her navel and cried out, her hand slipping from under Viktor's shirt as she wrapped her arm around herself. Viktor lifted his head and blinked, his eyes clearing and expression changing to concern as he saw that she was in pain.
"Vhat?" he looked her over, taking her by the shoulders as he spoke gently. "Vhat is it, mila?"
The pain faded almost immediately, and her stomach grumbled again, loudly. Hermione felt her face go red as she looked away. "It's nothing," she muttered, terribly embarrassed. "I just -- haven't eaten yet; I'm fine."
"When did you last eat?" he gripped her shoulders more firmly and held her gaze when she looked away. "Vhen, Her-my-knee?"
"I don't -- yesterday. Maybe." She frowned, trying to think, as Viktor let out an oath. She didn't have to know what it meant to recognize the intent. He released her and began to open her cabinets, his expression stony. She leaned against the counter as she heard mutters of 'foolish witch' along other snippets of language that she couldn't understand.
"You haff very little food."
"I'm not home very much," she defended, reaching into the box and pulling out a pastry.
"This is not point," he muttered, and glanced at her as he surfaced with a tin of soup. "You cannot eat that frosty bread and expect to haff meal."
"Bread is very filling," she countered, breaking off a piece and taking a bite.
"I vill make soup, and you vill eat that vith your silly bread," he informed her, fishing out a pot. "You keep everything in same place."
"Of course I do," she said archly, after she swallowed. "There was no reason to move it, was there?"
"Is not good," he began, as he set the soup to heat, "for a voman to have pain when a man is kissing her. Is making me vorry."
"Sorry to dampen the mood with my hunger pangs," she said dryly, breaking off another piece of bread.
"You should be," he said mulishly. "If you vere not vorking too hard and missing your meals, I vould be taking you right now. Right here, and now. I vould be making you soup after and not before vhile I am still vanting you."
His words made her flush and meet his gaze as she felt heat spread through her. Before. She was forced to consider what they'd been about to do, now that she'd brought things to a grinding halt, and found herself mired in needs and fears that she'd not faced for years. They hadn't dulled in the slightest, but this time, running from it wasn't proving to be as easy. At length, she met his eyes. "Maybe I would have been taking you."
"That is not problem," he said, lifting a brow as he looked her over and turned down the soup. "And we vill never know now. You scared me," he added quietly, and she glanced down because she didn't have a reply for that.
He poured the soup into bowls and brought them to the sofa. Hermione followed, taking her seat and narrowing her eyes when Viktor pushed a spoon into her hands. "I think I've got it from here," she muttered, earning a scowl from Viktor. She wondered if it made her pathetic to be touched by the fact that he got so irritable and stubborn in his concern for her.
"Eat," he said shortly. "Is just like you to be annoyed vith me vhen you should be annoyed vith yourself."
The meal passed in tense silence; Hermione could barely taste the soup -- her senses were otherwise occupied with Viktor, it seemed -- but she felt it begin to fill her up, and her face flushed with shame and embarrassment over being seen like this. Over him seeing her like this, even as much as she appreciated that he still -- well, that he was even here. She found herself staring at him, hunched over and poking at his soup, the dark hair that she'd freed just a bit ago falling forward so that his face was obstructed. Blinking, she glanced down into her now-empty bowl, not sure where the rush of emotion had come from, but her throat felt tight and she itched to touch him.
She didn't realize her hand had moved to his arm until she heard her spoon clatter loudly where she'd dropped it into her bowl, and Viktor turned to her, his eyes flicking down to where she touched his forearm. "You are tired?" His voice sounded tense. "I think you are not taking care of self, Hermione. This, not eating, it means you are not sleeping vell, also."
"I'm not tired," she whispered, meeting his eyes. "I -- thank you, Viktor."
"This is not for thank," he said, shaking his head, "is vhat you do, for vhen you are caring about someone Even vhen it has been long time, I haff never stopped caring."
"I haven't stopped caring, either," she told him quietly, dropping her gaze. "I should clean up."
"You haff rush for something?" he asked, getting to his feet and standing in front of her so that her path to the kitchen was blocked. He covered her hand with his when she tried to take his bowl from him.
"No, I just don't like leaving things about," she said, shifting as he studied her. But she lifted her head. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Good," he murmured, "I think, I am not going anyvhere, also."
Hermione nodded and brushed past him, on her way to the kitchen. She placed the bowls on the counter and then he was there, whirling her around, hands in her hair as he tipped her head back. "Viktor."
"Vant you so much," he murmured as he cupped the back of her head and moved his other hand down her body in a long, fluid stroke, and then his mouth was on hers, hard and hungry. She let out a low, throaty whimper as she returned his kiss and locked her arms around his neck. "Is enough cleaning up, I think," he said when he came up for air. "Vill still be there after."
All she could do was move a hand into his hair and press her lips to his neck. He trembled at the touch, and her lips curved as she skimmed them higher until she reached his ear, scraping her teeth lightly against it while her fingers dragged the collar of his shirt aside to dip into the hollow of his throat and trace his collarbone. Oh, god, she'd missed being close to him like this, missed touching him, and she was afraid she could waste away just focusing on how he felt and the way he sounded.
Viktor gripped her wrist and stopped her hand moving over his skin, his breathing already so ragged and his eyes intense. She gasped as he gripped her hips and lifted her so that she had no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist, and then he was walking her back to the sofa, sitting so she straddled him. Pressing close, she dragged at his shirt to get it over his head, hardly able to care when it landed on the floor. He pulled her head down to his and kissed her again, sliding his tongue past her lips as she opened for him and moved her hands over his skin.
The brush of her fingers against his nipple made him grunt and fist his hand into the thin cotton of her t-shirt, and then he yanked it up and over her head when she lifted her arms willingly. For a moment, he just looked at her, at all the skin he'd bared, and then his hands moved, rough and restless, over her skin, stroking and rubbing her breasts through the material of her bra. She heard her name rumble from his throat, her belly clenching in anticipation as his fingers messed about with the catch. He was taking too long, though, and she gave a breathless laugh.
"Is have trick," he muttered when she just reached back and unfastened the clasp herself, sliding the garment down her arms. She had a moment to recall that he would often lose his English when he was aroused, and the memory made her shiver.
He didn't waste any time after that; he leaned forward and drew one hardened nipple into his mouth, curling his tongue around it and making her moan and gasp because it had been so long since she'd felt anything like this. Unconsciously, she started to shift and writhe in his lap, wanting friction, and her hand slid down to the button on his denims. It was like no time had passed; Viktor had never left her room for the hesitancy that often came so naturally to her in such situations. But no one could make her want the way he could, in a way that made her forget herself. Made her crazy.
Wrapping an arm around her lower back, Viktor shifted, pressing her into the cushions so that she felt him hard against her denim-clad thigh. She arched up as he thumbed open the fastening on her trousers and slid the zipper down. "Can feel you already," he mumbled, warm breath washing against her ear. "So much heat, Her-my-knee."
He eased back to sit on his heels and pull her denims and knickers over her legs; she lifted her bum and kicked them off before she slid her thighs together and reached for him. When he leaned over her again, he trailed his hand up her thigh, higher and higher until she squirmed. "Viktor, please," she murmured, whimpering when he closed his mouth over her nipple again. She eased her legs apart slightly, hardly able to wait with his fingers stroking torturously along her inner thighs.
"Vhat you vant, Her-my-knee?" he whispered hoarsely, finally skirting her opening with his fingertip so that her hips jerked upward into the contact. "It has been so long that you cannot tell me anymore?"
She said his name again in a low cry. "You. God, I just need you."
On a groan, he lifted his head and kissed her then, capturing her moan as he pressed against her and into her over and over, making her shiver. "Vant to see you let go," he urged as she arched into his touch, gripping his arms as he drove her higher. When her first orgasm hit, and she gasped and held him and let it shimmer through her as her back arched and her toes curled. Viktor groaned and rocked insistently against her leg as she sagged against the sofa. His fingers were still moving inside her, and she reached for him even while she still tingled. "More, Viktor."
"You are demand," he said amusedly, watching her through glazed eyes. "Or, is demanding, yes?"
"Yes," she hissed as he curled his finger inside her again, then opened the button on his denims and eased the zip down. He pushed them down with his boxers and she wrapped her fingers around his length, her body heating again as she thought of feeling him inside her. This time, he didn't make her wait, positioning himself above her and making her groan as he pushed forward and filled her. When he brought his lips to hers and began to move with firm strokes, she moved her legs around him and met his thrusts. From there, it just built, the sensations almost becoming too much so that her cries became muffled against his shoulder. When his movements became harder, shakier, he moved his hand between them and stroked her until she came with him, clenching around him as he shuddered and released into her.
Once they caught their breath, Hermione slowly relaxed her legs as Viktor buried his face against her neck, breathing slowly. She moved her hands up and down over his back.
"You are relax, now?" he asked with a low chuckle, his face still turned into her throat. He pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw.
She laughed. "Very much," she murmured, lifting a hand to move through his thick hair.
"I am glad to help," he said. "Harry did not vrite in letter how I should make you relax. I don't think I vill tell him this is vay. Vill say I gave food, and let that be that, yes?"
"It might be wiser to spare him the details, yes," she agreed as he lifted his head and kissed her languidly. "Mmm."
"Is not only to help you relax, though," he said as he broke the kiss and settled in to look at her. "Has been long time thinking about you and vanting you. Is very hard not to touch you vhen we are close, Her-my-knee."
"For me, too," she said honestly, then paused. "That, um, wasn't enough, though. Before."
"It vos before." He lifted a hand to her face, bracing on an elbow. "Ve are different, after four years, yes? Smart and strong in vays we vere not."
"You still live in Bulgaria, Viktor," she countered even as she let herself hope. The hope was, of course, simpler than the reality would be, but it was enough for the moment.
"Is true, but I am also," he narrowed his eyes. "I haff freedom to go vhere I please, now. Also, I am vanting to be vhere you are."
It was scary to consider that twenty-four hours ago, she'd been sure she would scarcely see Viktor again, and now they were sweaty and clinging to each other and talking about the future. "I want that too."
He shifted and moved to his elbows, nodding. "I think it is backvard to ask you to dinner now, but I did ask you yesterday, so. It is good to start there, and see. Vill you come vith me?"
"Yes, we'll go to dinner." She brushed her fingers through his hair. "And we'll see. In the meantime, we should move. Your legs are dangling off the sofa," she pointed out, then smiled mischievously. "Can't be comfortable for you, old man."
Eyes narrowed, Viktor smirked and pinched Hermione's hip lightly. "For this, I am never too old."
End
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They're both well-written and believable, and I really adore Viktor here, from his terrible posture (yay!) to his stubborn concern to his irritable temper, to (not least) how he manages to be BOTH irritated and patient at once. *g* I love how well he knows her -- two of my favourite lines were "I know how you get," he murmured. "You vill think about it. I vill find you," and "Is just like you to be annoyed vith me vhen you should be annoyed vith yourself." (Viktor ftw.)
The smut is both warm and playful, I could tell the ease of a previous relationship underlying the carefulness of starting afresh, and Viktor is gnurgh lovely!
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Thank you so much for reading!
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