Author: gin and ironic PM
Hermione felt sure she would ask to see Harry, or even Ron, and was brushing soil off of her hands when the instinctual part of her brain screamed no. Tonks was there for Hermione. Edited for ff.net.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance - Hermione G. & N. Tonks - Words: 1,247 - Reviews: 34 - Favs: 33 - Follows: 5 - Published: 01-09-05 - id: 2212982
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Title: For Hermione
Summary: Hermione felt sure she would ask to see Harry, or even Ron, and was brushing soil off of her hands when the instinctual part of her brain screamed no. Tonks was there for Hermione.
Warning: Shapeshifting, very slight kinks
Notes: First completed femmeslash! This version on is edited to fit their ratings (I changed it from NC-17 to R), but you can email me and I'll direct you to the more explicit version.
Tonks is warm, soft, and has clever hands no matter her shape. Her form changes according to mood and to whimsy; their sex intensifies the drive. She knows exactly what Hermione wants when she wants it, drawing bits of secret fantasies out in the exquisite bow of a red Gypsy mouth, the arch of a newly blonde eyebrow, the fingernails transformed into tickling, pinching talons.
Hermione slides her fingers through Tonks' hair, which is ash-colored tonight. Her thigh is sliding and pressing against Tonks' hip. She knows things instinctively, likethere's a spot behind Tonks' neck that makes her yelp and shudder under every circumstance. It's wicked now-- Tonks using her teeth to redden a mark on Hermione's collar, and a fatly-gauged piercing shifts in Tonks' nipple every time their breasts touch. Well, Hermione thinks, reaching down and tweaking it to Tonks' moan of surprise, this is certainly different. Last week Tonks grew tiny fangs. Hermione still has the faded bruises and cuts on her thighs.
"Hermione," Tonks breathes between kisses, but the name is broken.
"Mmmnn," Hermione answers, lifting her hips. The metal buried in her lover's skin touches base against hers. Hermione uses her fingers again until Tonks is grunting, her legs shifting between Hermione's restlessly and moving the sheets. "Shh," she giggles, kissing a spot beside Tonks' mouth when the girl looks up at the sound of Hermione's voice. "Someone will hear."
"You're just lousy at silencing charms," she scoffs, sitting up. Hermione whines a protest and reaches out a hand. to touch. Tonks reaches for her wand and casts a spell doubly-strong than the one Hermione put up earlier.
"You know I can't cast when I'm like this," she says, her voice throaty now that she's speaking higher than a whisper. Tonks settles herself on top of Hermione again, but shifts so she's lower, already beginning the descent. "Oh, God."
Tonks flicks her gaze up to Hermione's face, running her tongue in little circles. She moves down, carrying the theme, biting with --- There's those fangs again, she inwardly laughs, before all dialogue both inward and outward turns to whimpering little cries. "Fuuuuuck," she hisses, when Tonks bites hard enough to leave welling spots of blood.
They weren't rough the first time. For the first few months, actually. Hermione was potting in Greenhouse Number Three (her research project for Herbology), and Tonks came by with Kingsley. "Order business," Tonks had explained, tossing her sheaf of brown hair with a smile that touched her eyes. Hermione felt sure she would ask to see Harry, or even Ron, and was brushing soil off of her hands when the instinctual part of her brain screamed no. Tonks was there for Hermione.
The rest of that afternoon was a blur, but she remembers being pushed up onto a potting table, her skirt not even off, trying to stay clear of spiky and dangerous plants as Tonks used her mouth. "Oh, oh," Hermione says, just remembering. "Oh God."
Tonks is smiling, grinning really, and Hermione watches the fangs retract until she's left with straight, white, perfectly ordinary teeth. The child of dentists, she can appreciate the pretty smile, not even giving a thought to wondering if this, like nearly everything about Tonks, is magic. Good magic, though. Nothing tricky or dangerous would ever be able to make Hermionefeel like this, she thinks.
"What do you want?" Tonks asks, because they're both so turned on they don't want to bother with games. "Do you want to be fucked, or…?"
Hermione blushes. Certainly words don't make her blush. The timbre, the low, rasping quality of Tonks' voice, it is doubtlessly rooted in sex. She offers all sorts of things in it. "No, I," is the lame, pantinghalf-statement she makes. Tonks is awfully good at simply fulfilling unspokendemands.
So, the descent is finally ended at the awning of Hermione's thighs. She looks down to see that now Tonks is blonde, not ash-blonde as before, but platinum, and the tips of her hair reach just below her breasts. Hermione takes a fistful of it and tugs. "Please?"
Strands of platinum rip out and twine between Hermione's fingers. It won't take long, now, with those clever hands and the image of a slutty little blonde busy between Hermione's legs.
The bed is starting to creak, the headboard hitting the wall in telling thumps. Hermione is very glad Tonks put up the second charm. Her mind is a whirling, heady assortment of sex; sight, sound, touch, colors weave in and out as she remembers, grappling with desperate fingers at the sheets but never finding purchase.
Hermione groans, teeth grinding. ." Her breath is hitching in her throat. Hermione thinks it will never be enough, nothing will ever be enough to make her feel like she wants to feel.
The bed ceases its creaking. Tonks is panting, mewling. Hermione looks down, still teetering on the brink, and feels a distracted sense of disappointment; she wanted to do it. "Oh, oh, oh," Tonks groans, because honestly girls all pretty much sigh the same way. Hermione thinks it's sexy, hearing her own desperation echoed back at her, watching a body not so unlike her own jerk fitfully. The whole thing lasts five, maybe ten seconds.
"You bloody bitch," Hermione growls, eyes alight. "Fuck me."
A little dazed and looking like she wants to melt into the mattress, Tonks repositions herself until she's using those same fingers on Hermione again. Hermione closes her eyes and lets her head fall back on the pillow, thrusting her body towards that hand, towards that release just out of grasp.
"I—I—" Gathering in one last ragged breath, Hermione opens her eyes and watches the ceiling swirl above her as coiling, burning tension unwinds and bursts open. She feels split open, she feels reduced to friction, she feels like her whole body is going to seize up in homage to the contractions.
And just as suddenly, it's done. It's over. She's still biting her lip raw, but her bones feel mushy and her head feels like she's been up for hours, just fucking. Tonks' face is burrowed in her shoulder, slightly sweaty and mussed blonde hair tangling with Hermione's dark brown. She lifts a shaking hand and places it on Tonks' back, stroking. "Fuck," Tonks huffs. Even after sex, they're filled with it.
"You can… take the ward down now," Hermione offers, stretching delicately. Her body feels like it's sleeping already and her brain hasn't quite caught up.
"Mm, no. I'm making you fuck me in the morning; we're going to need it." Tonks yawns and rolls away from Hermione, back onto her own pillow.
Hermione laughs, but the sound is caught in her throat. "Promises, promises."
But Tonks is already asleep.