Word Count: 620
She likes making him flush.
It's a hobby of hers, by now, or maybe even her job. Before they had gotten married, it could have been classified as a hobby, but now that there's a ring on her finger, it's her duty to cause him to turn red whenever she can. Besides, she likes him that way. She likes it when his hair clashes with his face and his hands grip the bedcovers and when he makes these little noises in the back of his throat that cause her neck and chest to turn the same color as he is.
Besides, one gets paid for doing a job, and Hermione always gets a reward in return for her trouble.
His boxers have been on the floor for the past ten minutes, and maybe she shouldn't have distracted him from painting the living room wall, but she hadn't been able to help herself. There's a certain newness of everything, having finally moved in here, and it heightens every emotion that Hermione feels of late. But then she sees the familiarity of his body stretching upwards to get a corner of the wall, and his white shirt is pulling up and his trousers are slipping low on his hips and before she knows it, she's got him pressed against the freshly painted wall, paint sticking to his shirt while he sticks his hand up the back of hers.
From there, it only makes sense that they end up on the floor (after all, she doesn't want paint in his hair.) And while they're on the floor, it genuinely makes sense that she gets him naked and begins torturing him.
He's been expecting her to finish the foreplay for the past five minutes, but she's not nearly done with counting all of the freckles that stretch across his stomach, hips, and arse. She moves her lips and fingers over his flesh tantalizingly, remembering all of the times that she would see little glimpses during school. Tiny, precious moments in the library, during which he would stretch onto his tip toes to grab a book for her and end up exposing half of his stomach. Desire and love would shoot up Hermione's belly in a lethal combination, causing her to squirm in her seat.
And now, it's time for payback.
She moves all around him, practically circling, until she ends up at his hips. They're pale and white, and a few burns rest there from past pains that she doesn't want to think of. She likes the way the skin is pulled taut over his bones; likes his bones, too, and the way they interact with the rest of him, and the way that they move and allow him to move over her.
For a few moments, she explores his hips with her fingers, brushing them over his skin in a feather light manner that causes his hips to buck, as if he can get relief from the air. She remembers the time that he decided to go swimming in the black lake May of sixth year and remembers the way that her body had reacted and how confused and horrified she had been following that response, and then she decides that he can wait a few more minutes.
She raises her head to meet his eyes, which are desperate by now, and so, so blue. With a small smile, she slowly lowers her lips to the hip bone that is jutting out, keeping her eyes on his. The blue vanishes as her tongue pokes tentatively out, sweeping over the skin. She moves, repeats the action. Moves, repeats the action. Follows the bone closer and closer and closer and-
He swears. She grins triumphantly.