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“What are you doing?” Hermione hisses when Sirius pulls her up, up until she’s resting on his collarbone. She has to pull her dressing robe up so that the silky, red fabric doesn’t swallow his face.
Sirius doesn’t deter, his hands glide over the smooth skin of her inner thighs, and he replies with a hint of mischief, “What do you think I’m doing?”
The cool satin drapes over his face like a rose, drops of water that hangs from her ringlets splatter over his jawline, his cheekbones, and if he’s lucky, his lips. The cold of the water sends shivers through him, gooseflesh prickling his skin and he can’t help the smirk that curls over his teeth at her flush.
Even though Hermione can feel the excitement building in her stomach, she’s apprehensive about this position. Yes, she’s heard of it from the faint gossip in coffeeshops, occasional outings and when she’s dragged to do frivolous things—drinks, for one. But she’s never actually done it, it’s nothing she’s thought about – no she’s thought about it but she’s never actually thought about doing it. Verb, action, and experiment – and certainly never with Sirius because it just wasn’t a priority.
However, Sirius is looking at her as if she’s the sun, the moon, everything, and anything.
“So, is that a yes?” he smiles sweetly, as if he hasn’t propositioned her to do something absurd; like break his neck.
“Sirius,” Hermione starts with hesitation, “I’m going to hurt you.”
He frowns, his thumbs rubbing sternly against the prominent cord that distends from the junction of her thigh and pelvis. Hermione feels goosebumps rise underneath her robe and he presses his lips to the side of her left knee, “You’re being silly, love. If anything, I might hurt you.”
She furrows her brows, concerned.
“I might get a little too enthusiastic,” Sirius chuckles lightly, the vibrations shaking her core and nerves. He inhales deeply and then groans, “I can smell you from here and it’s taking all my self-control to not shag you against the wall.”
Hermione rolls her despite herself, “Is that Padfoot or Sirius talking?”
“A little of both,” he replies mockingly offended and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “Do you want to try it?”
There’s something about the question that makes her eyebrows shoot up, a clear intonation in his voice, a wave of something that she can’t put her finger and she asks before she can second-guess herself, “Haven’t you done this before?”
Sirius blinks, a flicker of emotion flashes over mercury-grey eyes and he hesitates, “Well, no.”
Hermione’s mouth parts open, half in shock and half in disbelief. She makes a move to get off him, but his hands are faster and he stills her. She swallows, “You haven’t? Then why—”
“There are a lot of things that I haven’t done before,” he confesses and his hands drop to squeeze her hips, “I’ve never felt inclined to do so with my partners nor did I ever trust them,” he almost rambles, like she does when she’s nervous and then he smiles almost shyly. There’s a grip on her heart that squeezes gently, “But I want to do everything, with you.”
She bites her lip to hide the stupid smile that wants to take root on her face, “I might crush you.”
Sirius grins, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Hermione shoots him a flat look.
“If I’m going to die a second time – because clearly I have issues with dying – I would rather it be in between your thighs or with you wrapped around me,” he clicks his tongue, “Don’t give me that look, love. You know I love to taste you,” he eyes her curiously, softly, “Okay?”
She gives him a slow nod.
Then, Sirius suddenly grabs her thighs and pulls her until she’s resting right underneath his chin.
Hermione yelps, “Sirius!”
“Will you relax?” he rolls his eyes and then winks, “Hermione, you have to get much closer for me to do this.”
“Yeah but—” her protest gets cut off with a squeak when she feels the soft whisper of his tongue against her lacy underwear. White lace and mesh. It’s warm and feather-like, the rough buds of his tongue are equally coarse against the cloth.
He pulls Hermione closer to him until she’s straddling his face, his thumb slips under her underwear and he pushes it to the side until she can feel wet velvet moving against her folds. She gasps raggedly, his hands are warm and big grasping the back of her knees, her thighs, and her hips.
Sirius’s stubble is rough, coarse against her sensitive skin and she twitches with every kitten-lick.
Somehow, he manages to slide a hand up her torso, parting her silk robe until it curtains around his shoulders like a halo. He spreads her legs even more, until Hermione nestles onto his face, plush lips parting her folds until she’s squirming and panting against the heat of him, his breath.
He uses his tongue to part sodden folds, rolling his lips against her lips, the flexible muscle playful, stroking Hermione with the lightest taps.
“Sirius—stop teasing!” Hermione whines, hands curling into the sheets, squeezing cotton as her abdominals clench in frustration and skin flushing with every light flick. He hums into her and the vibrations trickle up her spine until her eyes roll into the back of her head.
His nose gently nudges her clit and she whimpers. He stiffens his tongue to stroke Hermione with just as much pressure as he was putting on her thighs. Her hips weaken and she grapples the bedhead in an attempt to steady herself.
Sirius takes advantage of her position, her back arches in an attempt to redistribute her weight, calloused fingers tilt her pelvis upward, opening up her hips until she’s perched just above his face and hovering. Hermione flushes when she realizes how bare, how open, how wet she is for him, and she trembles when he presses a damp kiss to the corner of her thigh.
Hermione shivers, not realizing how intense this—this position would be. Sirius lightly runs his tongue over her nub, once then twice. Gently flicking over the sensitive tissue, causing her own slick to drip down his cheeks and chin. Then, the Black heir envelopes the swollen gem into his mouth and sucks harshly.
Hermione shrieks as horrible chills of pleasure shoot up her spine. Her heartbeat thumping frantically in her ears, the back of her neck burns as the sudden flames of desire rise up her cheeks and down her throat into her belly. Her thighs quivering uncontrollably and she tightens her grip on the iron post. She gasps a sob or a moan, but it sounds all muddled to her ears, “S-Sirius. Sirius,” she inhales sharply and needy, “Please.”
Sirius’s hands slide from underneath her thighs up her torso to cup her breasts. His thumbs lightly rub over the red, neglected peaks before pinching the rosebuds with his pointer fingers and thumbs. Rolling her nipples with rough digits as his mouth sucks rhythmically onto her clit has Hermione tumbling head-first into a soul-ripping orgasm.
Her hips shudder and she swivels down on his mouth without care, writhing against each pulse of pleasure, his teeth graze her and it grounds her through the aftershocks.
When Hermione’s orgasm ran its course, she flops onto the side of the mattress, bones weak and heart racing. Her mind fuzzy with endorphins, but Sirius does not stop.
Half on his side, he licks the excess fluid from her thighs before flipping her straight on her back. She whines weakly, “Sirius.”
Sirius coos at her soothingly and rubs her hips. Slithering his tongue into her channel, she squirms at the pleasant wriggling, his tongue only slinks momentarily before he’s latching at her clit again, and slipping two fingers inside to torment her upper wall.
Hermione’s half-sobbing and half-laughing at how it hurt so good. It’s too much stimulation from all sides, she trashes underneath him, but he’s hooking her legs over his shoulders and Hermione’s head is spinning.
Sirius removes his mouth from Hermione’s spasming sex to rasp, “Again,” slate-colored eyes intense on her flushed form, “One more time, love.”
Her vision blurs with colors and stars. Brain cloudy with the overwhelming sensation of him, Sirius, his mouth, his lips, his voice his scent—him. All of him. She gasps, “I don’t think I can.”
He presses kisses over her mound, wet, lingering kisses, up her stomach, in her navel, the sides of her ribs, her breasts until he hovers right over her lips. Sirius’s voice is deeper, darker, sweeter and he soothes, “You’re okay, Hermione. I have you, darling. Be a good girl for me and come. I have you, love.”
Then his thumb catches the hood of her clitoris, his teeth scraping her earlobe, and Hermione practically wails. Hermione comes hard against his fingers, walls strangling his fingers, clenching and unclenching as she throws her head back. Her orgasm lasts much longer than the first, Hermione barely registering Sirius gliding out, until she feels him petting her folds gently, pressing soft kisses onto her face, and his free hand scratching the back of her scalp.
Hermione opens her eyes – when had she closed them? – to see Sirius smiling down at her smugly, “Hi.”
“Hi,” she breathes against him and blinks blearily; drowsy.
“Good?” Sirius presses a kiss to her forehead and pulls her closer to him.
“Mmhm,” Hermione gives him a thumbs up and flops back onto the pillow.
He laughs.