Inell's Fanfiction Archive

“I do not understand, Her-my-nee.”

Hermione looked away from the telly to smile up at Viktor, snuggling closer to him. “It’s just a silly joke,” she explained, not admitting that she didn’t quite understand the humor, either.

Viktor looked at the television, one of the most intriguing of Muggle items that Hermione had brought with her when she moved in he often said, and frowned. “Vy is he varing that animal on his head? That is not stationary! No, that is vrong vord. Sanitationary? Vot is right vord, Her-my-nee?”

“Sanitary?” she guessed as she glanced back at the telly. “It’s an attempt at humor, Viktor. The man actually doesn’t wear that, uh, armadillo I think, on his head.”

“Vy vould people find that funny?” he asked with a scowl at the screen. “This is not a funny program.”

Hermione watched the man on the telly use a large cactus to scratch his back and had to agree. “A lot of people seem to find things like amusing,” she told him. “Some people have an odd sense of humor, I suppose.”

“You vish to tell me I haff no sense of humor?” he queried tightly and she knew without looking that the nerve in his right cheek was twitching.

“I didn’t say that, Viktor,” she said as she turned off the telly and looked at him. “You have a great sense of humor. It’s just not as frequently seen as some people’s, I guess.”

“You haff not been laffing at that man, either,” he pointed out as he pursed his lips and tapped his foot on the edge of the table. He resembled a dangerous animal that was tense and ready to strike as he glared at the now silent television.

“If I’d known you were going to behave like a brooding child, I’d have never suggested that program,” she informed him matter-of-factly. “This is the last weekend that we’re both probably going to be home together for months and I am not going to let it become some silly fight over a man wearing an armadillo on his head.”

“You think I haff no sense of humor,” he reminded her as he turned his attention to her. “You belief I am broody child.”

“When you act like this, yes, I do think you’re a broody, petulant child,” she muttered crossly. “You took my explanation of the humor, if you can call it that, and have made it into something ridiculous, Viktor Krum. If this is how you want to spend our last two nights together before you start training your new players, I’d suggest you sleep on the sofa because I’m not in the mood.”

She stood up and prepared to flounce from the room, knowing he hated when she refused to be pulled into an argument, which wasn’t very often. However, his seeker reflexes kicked in and he had a grip on her arm before she’d taken a step.

“I haff not finished, Her-my-nee!” He tugged on her arm and she went falling back against him. His arms were strong around her as he managed to maneuver them so she was lying on the sofa and he was above her. Her wrists were gathered in one large hand, her arms over her head, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning as her anger and annoyance slowly became lust. “Vot vere you doing?” he asked, looking slightly confused as well as annoyed. “Ve always say neffer fight without the making up after.”

“This isn’t a fight,” she told him prissily as she wiggled beneath him. “This is you being a stubborn, brooding jerk!”

He growled lowly at her accusation and suddenly moved forward, pressing her against the sofa. His hair had fallen across his forehead and she gasped when she felt him rub his erection between her legs. “This is a fight,” he declared as he lowered his head and nipped at her neck. “Ve must now say sorry and make up.”

“Make me,” she challenged breathlessly as his body began to rock against hers. His teeth scraped against her neck and she moaned as she felt his grip on her wrists tighten. She spread her legs and moved one around his waist, shifting into a better position.

“I vill make you,” he promised as his free hand moved down her side and slid beneath her shirt. His hands were rough from years of playing Quidditch, not growing any softer despite his transition to coaching a couple of years ago. His fingers lightly trailed a path up her side before he teasingly moved one beneath the cup of her bra. “Vot you vant me to be doing, Her-my-nee? You vant for me touch your breast? Your nipples, they are being so hard.”

She gasped when his thumb brushed over her nipple, arching up against him as she tried to get some friction where she most needed it. “Touch me, Viktor,” she murmured as she pulled at her arms in an effort to try to get free. He pushed forward hard at her words, grinding against her he obeyed. He cursed against her neck, his native words falling from his tongue when she rolled her hips up to meet his thrusts.

“I vill be touching you,” he promised in between kisses on her neck and shoulders. “I vish to be touching you foreffer.”

He finally let go of her hands and she wasted no time in touching him the way she’d wanted since this had become less about fighting and more about making up. She pulled up his shirt, scratching his back as she held him and rocked against his body. He groaned as he kissed her jaw before his lips were on hers. They kissed the way they did everything, gentle and passionate, fiery and tender. Her fingers gripped his thick black hair as he rubbed against her.

They didn’t speak as they moved together. They didn’t need to talk, not now. Words were saved for when they were being exceptionally naughty and wanted to tease a bit. Neither of them wanted to tease right now. His hips pushed forward firmly, grinding his erection against her as their kiss deepened. He squeezed her breast, tugging on her nipple, nibbling on her bottom lip before he licked and kissed her once again.

She felt his hips begin to make familiar jerky movements and wasn’t surprised when he soon thrust forward hard enough to send her deep into the sofa cushions. His lips left hers as he grunted against her cheek, his body trembling as he came. Hermione wiggled a bit until she was in a position that gave her the friction she needed and then she rubbed against him until she felt the tension build and finally snap.

His breath was warm against her neck as she shuddered from her orgasm. He held her until she stopped trembling, kissing her throat and rubbing his face in her hair as he caressed her breast, gentler now than before.

“You are okay?” he asked as he brushed his knuckles over her cheek. He moved and raised up so he could look at her, putting most of his weight on his elbow.

“Uh huh,” was about all she could manage at the moment. She felt lazy from her orgasm and was still having difficult breathing properly as she wiggled again to try to get her wet knickers to stop rubbing against her. Her trousers were also wet as were his, she noticed, feeling a bit like a teenager making out instead of a woman nearly thirty.

“I haff to be making a confession,” he told her seriously, though his dark eyes were gleaming with humor and mischief that so very few were allowed to ever see.

“A confession?” she asked with as much as seriousness as she could manage, which wasn’t much considering she was already thinking about taking a shower and possibly enjoying their last weekend before Quidditch season began by staying in bed.

“I vas not angry about you haffing said I haff no sense of humor,” he admitted with a sheepish grin that made his angular face seem boyishly handsome instead of imposing and harsh. “I vas, how you say, trying to be making a joke?”

“You git,” she accused affectionately as she understood what he was saying. “You just wanted to fight, didn’t you?”

“No, I vas trying to be showing you I haff sense of humor effen if I do not understand silly man with animal on head. Her-my-nee, I haff no vish to be fighting vit you,” he said softly before his lips twisted into a very wicked grin. “I vill say that the making up is vorth fight, though.”

“You’re impossible,” she muttered before she leaned up and kissed him. “Get up. I need a shower. I’m all sticky and wet.”

“Vill I be able to be seeing how vet you are?” he asked with a playful leer as he moved to his knees and helped her sit up.

“If you’re really lucky, I might even let you wash my back.” She winked at him as she stood up and stretched. She smiled as she leaned forward and kissed him, dragging her lips over his jaw and cheek in soft kisses until she reached his ear. She nipped at his earlobe before she admitted, “I didn’t think that stupid man with the animal on his head was funny either. Your sense of humor is just fine, Viktor.”

She squealed as he stood up and tossed her over his shoulder, his palm slapping her arse lightly when she wiggled and laughed. “You vere being bad girl,” he told her as he clucked his tongue and headed upstairs to their bedroom and the shower. “You say I haff no sense of humor vhen you not effen be finding telly show funny. I think I haff earned right to vash your back and your front, Her-my-nee, yes?”

“Yes, but on the condition that I get to wash your back and front, too,” she decided. She laughed softly at his groan that followed her words. She slapped his arse as he carried her like he was some sort of Neanderthal, not about to admit she found such actions rather arousing because a wife should always keep such weaknesses from naughty husbands even if said husbands would exploit them in the best ways imaginable.

She grinned as she moved her hand over the curve of his arse and pinched, listening to his low growl that was a promise she’d not be able to walk on her by the time they left the shower. God, she loved those kinds of promises.

The End