Maybe Just a Little

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Story Notes:
“You’re such a hopeless romantic.”

“I am not!”

Hermione merely arched a brow before looking pointedly around them. She was doing her best not to grin or give in to the impulse to snog him for his surprise. After all, it wouldn’t do if he realized that she, too, was a hopeless romantic.

“Don’t give me that look,” Sirius muttered, looking at the blanket so his hair would cover his reddening cheeks. Forty-three years old, over a decade spent in prison and another four years spent in limbo that he couldn’t even recall, and the blasted chit could have him blushing like some silly schoolboy with just a quirk of her lips.

“What look would that be?” she asked innocently. “The one that says ‘you brought us to Bath to have a picnic lunch on an estate that looks as if it could very well have been Darcy’s in my favorite book is such a ridiculously romantic thing to do that your reputation will never bee the same once I tell everyone how adorable you are’ look? Or the ‘you even rented a horse just because I’d mentioned in passing over a year ago, if I recall, that I found the idea of being swept up by the man I love onto a horse like they did decades ago was very romantic’ look?”

“No,” he said with a grin as he looked up. “The ‘I’m so bloody lucky to have you despite the fact that most people go to the other side of the street to avoid you and you’re a right handful to deal with most of the time’ look.”

“Contrary to your opinion about yourself, I am quite lucky. After all, how many witches or, really, women for that matter, have a lover who is intelligent, thoughtful, argumentative, and needs discipline in all the best ways? Not to mention older, rather sexy, on a good day, and a hopeless romantic.”

“On a good day?” His brow arched up to his hairline. Growling playfully, he pounced on her, pushing her gently against the blanket as he straddled her. “I happen to think, Miss Granger, that I am always sexy.”

“Did I mention modest and humble?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm, laughing when his fingers ran along her side, his hand gripping her wrists above her head as he began to tickle her.

“You also forgot lucky,” he whispered before kissing her, moving until his body was pressed against hers. His hand released her arms, fingers brushing an errant curl from her face. Nibbling her lip, he finally smiled sheepishly. “Okay, maybe I’m a little bit romantic.”

Hermione smiled as she pushed his hair away from his face. “Maybe just a little.”