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A swagger, a twinkle, and a fine arse on a broom

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As greetings go, there's nothing sexy about "Hey." If Tonks was trying to get a girl into bed, she'd use something flirtier, a line like, "Well, isn't it nice to see you?"

Of course, the key part of any pick-up line is the delivery, and the way Rolanda says "Hey" sends a thrill of anticipation through Tonks. Rolanda's tone is thick and sweet as maple syrup, but far dirtier, her tongue and lips wrapping around the word almost lasciviously. There's no logical reason for one syllable to sound so damn hot.

"Why does that sound so good when you say it?" Tonks asks, turning.

Rolanda shoots her a lazy grin. "I've spent fifty years as a butch, so I have all sorts of secrets."

"Is that so?" Tonks challenges, cocking her head, and Rolanda walks closer, a slow gait with more than a hint of swagger.

"It is," Rolanda says, coming to a stop in front of her.

Rolanda's legs are planted wide, her shoulders back, eyes twinkling. Then she reaches up to run her hand through her cropped hair, creating a just-got-out-of-bed rumple. It's such an act, Tonks thinks and stores it in her memory to try out herself.

"Want me to teach you?" Rolanda asks with just a hint of growl, and presumably that comes from thirty years drinking firewhisky.

Deliberately, Tonks sweeps her eyes down and then slowly back up Rolanda's body, taking in every toned muscle.

"Nah," she says. "I'll figure it out for myself."

Rolanda smiles, a flash of white teeth against her tanned skin, and leans in a little. Her next words flutter hotly against Tonks' cheek: "I look forward to it."

~~~~~~~~~~

Tonks has slept with a lot of women, but none of them were like Rolanda. She's been butch for as long as she can remember, and has known she was gay since before starting Hogwarts, but butch-femme dynamics always made the most sense to her. There was a complementarity to having a pair of high heels beside her boots and her trousers crumpled on the floor alongside a skirt. Besides, Tonks likes her lovers to have enough hair to stroke and tangle her fingers in.

First, there had been curly-haired Lucy, who kissed Tonks behind the Quidditch shed after dinner for three weeks before breaking it off in a panic. "I'm not gay," she'd said and promptly started dating a shy boy from Hufflepuff.

After that, Tonks made a speciality out of seducing girls who claimed to be straight. There was an art to it: being a sympathetic ear for their boy troubles, making them laugh, and flirting just a little, gently, before pulling away. She smiled at them with her eyes as well as her lips, carefully didn't stare at their boobs, and always waited for them to make the first move. Five of them did.

Jenna kissed her in the library, leaning over the table, and tasted of strawberry lipgloss. Tonks was outside the the Hog's Head when Abigail caught her wrist and pulled her in close, the taste of butterbeer still on her tongue and her coconut-scented hair falling into Tonks' face. Mei invited her back to the Gryffindor common room and squeezed up against her on the sofa before pressing a line of kisses up her neck.

Taygeta ambushed her in the corridor one night, furious from a fight with her boyfriend, and they made out against a tapestry on the fourth floor. That was the first time Tonks ever touched a girl's breast. To her surprise, Taygeta grabbed her again a week later and they fucked in the prefects' bathroom, pink lipstick smearing over Tonk's mouth and Taygeta's dark hair trailing in the water.

Tonks never intended to shag any of the girls in her house, but Hazel crawled into her bed one night murmuring, "I just want to know what it's like," and her good intentions went out the window. They messed around until dawn, navigating by sensation as lips found nipples and fingers pressed, circled, squeezed. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" Hazel pleaded as sunlight spilled through the curtains, and Tonks shook her head solemnly as she promised, "A gentleman never tells."

Since then, she's had two real relationships and a dozen flings, all of them with femmes and mostly with Muggles. Tonks is an expert at holding open doors and helping with coats, accustomed to buying flowers and delivering compliments. There are plenty of reasons to desire a femme, but part of it is the way they fit together: the contrast between a delicate, lacy bra and her own sports bra, the evening gown to her tuxedo. It's easy, familiar, as natural to her as breathing.

"Hands lower, and lean into the turn," Hooch instructs a student, her voice carrying on the wind.

There's nothing familiar about desiring another butch, but Tonks' gaze has been sliding back to Hooch even since she arrived at Hogwarts. Guarding the perimeter of the school is the dampest and dullest assignment she's ever had, but it afford fine views of Hooch in tight Quidditch breeches. If she wasn't being paid to do this, then Tonks would consider the amount of time spent watching Hooch to be unhealthy, because Hooch oversees hours of flying lessons and Quidditch practices daily, her fine arse and muscular arms always on display.

Tonks lets her eyes linger on Hooch's spiky grey hair, her shining leather boots, and thinks If that woman's straight, then I'm a monkey's uncle. The only question is who Hooch is fucking.

~~~~~~~~~~

It's a wonderful day. The grass is lush green beneath Tonks' feet, and the sky above is deep, cloudless purple, but she's not aware of any of that right now because Hooch's head is between her legs and it's fantastic. Hooch has one arm hooked around Tonks' thigh and the other hand spreading her open, tongue buried there.

Tonks has done this plenty of times herself — although not on the Quidditch pitch — but if she'd known Hooch was this good with her mouth, then she'd have come to her years ago requesting tips. As if to drive home the point, Hooch sucks at Tonks' clit and makes a "Hmmmn" sound that Tonks feels all the way up her spine. She arches, back scraping against the goalpost, and Hooch presses harder against her, fingers splayed and biceps flexing.

Hooch is kneeling with her legs spread wide, and Tonks can see the damp grass staining the knees of her Quidditch breeches. From this angle, Tonks has a view right down the front of Hooch's singlet: the swell of her breasts in the sports bra and then lean, muscled stomach. Hooch's arms are bare and the bronzed skin is scattered with freckles, a sharp contrast to her paleness beneath the singlet. A Farmer's Tan, her dad would call it.

Then Hooch flickers her tongue in a way that leaves Tonks gasping, head spinning, and all thoughts leave her mind. She reaches out for something to hold onto, and her fingers slide through Hooch's hair.

Hooch glances up at her, amber eyes behind brown eyelashes, and for a moment that hawk-like gaze pins Tonks to the spot even more effectively than Hooch's hands. Then the breath is startled out of her again as Hooch quickens her pace, tongue moving slick and sure, playing Tonks' body the way an expert musician plays an instrument.

She takes one last look at Hooch, savouring it, then tightens her fingers in the grey hair and tips her head back. The world narrows down to sound and sensation: birdsong, the jagged noise of her breathing, and the heat of Hooch's hands and mouth. Tonks doesn't know if it's seconds later, or minutes, when she comes.

Tonks feels a damp kiss on her hipbone, then Hooch releases her. For a moment the loss of contact is disappointing, but before she can summon any words, there's pressure on her shoulders and bum, and then the world spins. Tonks yelps in surprise, eyes flying open, and finds herself hoisted into the air, lying horizontal between Hooch's arms.

"That was a bit unexpected," she says and knows from the way Hooch's gaze snaps upwards that her hair changed colour.

Hooch's eyes slide back to her face, and she smiles, slow and sweet. "You've spent too much time with femmes."

Tonks shrugs awkwardly. It's weird being held like this, like a bride about to be carried across the threshold or a damsel mid-rescue. On the other hand, it's undeniably sexy that Hooch can throw her around like this without breaking sweat.

"Sweeping me off my feet?"

Hooch smiles and flexes her shoulders, settling Tonks more securely in her arms before starting to walk. "D'you like it?"

"Not usually my style, but I'll let you know," Tonks says, wondering where on earth they're going. Surely Hooch can't be planning to carry her into the castle? Aurors learned some mean concealment charms, but nothing in her spell arsenal will keep her bare arse out of the sight of a hundred students heading in to dinner.

"If I recall correctly, your style was fierce pursuit and seduction of half the girls in your year."

"Not half," Tonks protests, and Hooch's mouth quirks in amusement, eyes twinkling. "A quarter at most."

"Ah, I stand corrected," Hooch replies gravely, and then the world tilts again as Hooch deposits her on the ground. Hooch lowers herself to the grass, and Tonks realises that they're tucked behind the Quidditch stands, out of sight of the school.

"You've done this before," Tonks says, amused.

"Not on this particular pitch, as it happens," Hooch replies, settling in close to Tonks so that their thighs press warmly together.

"Oh, yeah, Number Five for the Magpies. Hoopin Hooch, wasn't it?"

"Putting your Auror investigative skills to work?"

"Perhaps a little," Tonks admits, smiling.

"Anything you want to ask me directly?"

"Uh," Tonks says, because her brain really isn't at it's clearest five minutes after a shattering orgasm. "So, you're not—" she waves a hand in a complex gesture.

"Fucking," Hooch supplies helpfully.

"—anyone else? I sort of assumed you were in a relationship until, well..."

"Until this," Hooch finishes. "No, I'm not involved with anyone at the moment."

"Right, well...good," Tonks says awkwardly, feeling her cheeks flush, and Hooch throws back her head and laughs. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be coherent."

"I think I prefer you when you're not coherent," Hooch says, turning those amber eyes on Tonks again. "After all that stiffness on duty, it's healthy to relax."

"Is that your professional advice, Coach Hooch?" Tonks asks, making it sound dirty, and Hooch smiles at her, eyes crinkling.

"Call me Rolanda," she says, leaning in to press a kiss beneath Tonks' ear. "And yes, I recommend vigorous sexual activity on a regular basis."

Tonks catches Hooch's — no, Rolanda's — neck with her hand, and Rolanda resists for a couple of seconds before allowing herself to be pulled down into a kiss.

This butch-butch dynamic is new and not quite comfortable, throwing Tonks' sense of herself just a little off balance. There's a lot she doesn't know about Rolanda yet, but what she does know is promising: laughter, great sex, and just enough friction to make it exciting.

"Stop thinking," orders Rolanda, words vibrating against Tonks' skin.

"Make me," she challenges, smiling into the kiss, and Rolanda does.