There is a moment when lips meet and bodies touch where the rest of the world just ceases to exist. There is nothing more than two mouths, four breasts, four hands, twenty fingers, two cunts, four legs. She finds comfort in the numbers, knowing it is just the two of them here now. Later there will be another moment when the world is a rush of heat and passionate, when the numbers become double and there are cocks and rough palms and bruising grips as the world explodes.

Now, though, it is their time and she thrives on these private moments when it only them. She rubs against Hermione and listens to the soft gasps of breath that only she can cause. She whines when she feels soft fingers lightly stroking her cunt in a way that only Hermione knows makes her fall apart. Their hands meet between them, two hands rubbing two cunts, two rings pressing against pale skin that are a reminder of those who will share them later.

The moment is theirs, though, and she knows they are lucky to have men who understand, who allow them this time together without harsh words or disgusted looks, who watch them together and never touch unless permission is granted. Fleur does not think of that now, though. She thinks only of the slender column of Hermione’s neck and the round plump breasts topped with nipples the color of her favorite wine. She does not remember if it was her favorite before she tasted Hermione’s nipples or after she had feasted on the sensitive flesh that makes her lover cry out with desire.

There is nothing in this world except her and Hermione as she kisses her way past the soft swell of tummy and nuzzles the coarse curls that cover the cunt already slick with arousal. She licks lazily, knowing exactly what makes Hermione moan. Long, languid strokes that tease and taste from arse to clit, a scrape of teeth on sensitive nerves, and elegant fingers that play her lover far better than she ever played Grandmere’s piano.

Her hair brushes Hermione’s thighs as Fleur licks and sucks, her thumb pressing against Hermione’s arse as she nibbles her clit. It isn’t long before she feels arousal on her hand and hears a soft cry of release. She glances up and watches, knowing there is no more beautiful a sight than Hermione coming. Hermione’s body is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, slick with sweat, her wrists tugging at the silk scarves Fleur has used to tie her up this evening as they play. Her face is flushed, lips swollen from kiss after kiss, and her eyes are passion dazed in a way that only Fleur can cause.

“You are beautiful, ‘ermione,” Fleur whispers as she thrusts her fingers deeper and harder. “Eet ees so arousing to watch you come.”

When she falls apart, Fleur is there to catch her, muttering to her in her native tongue as she rubs her clit until she knows there is nothing left to take at the moment. Fleur is ready now and unties the scarves, not having a chance to breathe before she is pressed against the damp sex scented sheets.

Hermione smiles and kisses her, claiming her in a way no one else ever truly will. Then she kisses her way down Fleur’s neck and licks her breasts, biting and sucking as her hand rubs against the shaven mound above Fleur’s wet cunt. Her hair is soft against Fleur’s chest as Hermione licks her nipples and scrapes her teeth against them, knowing exactly what she needs.

Fingers slide into her cunt, three at once stretching her as she pushes down for more. There is no gentle teasing, not tonight. Hermione is straightforward and focused even during sex, learning her lover and their response so well she could receive a snake in the subject or a newt or toad or whatever silly system they had at Hogwarts. Such things leave Fleur’s mind when she feels Hermione’s tongue against her clit.

She gasps and rocks against Hermione’s pretty face, her fingers tangling in wild loose curls that heighten her arousal as they brush against her sensitive skin. Her world falls apart when Hermione sucks her clit hard, lashing it with her tongue as her fingers push deep. Fleur comes with a whine, far more vocal in these moments than anywhere else. She urges her to fuck her faster, harder, the words spilling from her lips in her native language as she writhes on the sheets.

After she is spent, Hermione joins her and they lie together with the scent of sex and sweat surrounding them. Fleur kisses her or perhaps Hermione kisses her first. She brushes her fingers through Hermione’s hair and presses as close as she can. There is a moment when lips meet and bodies touch where the rest of the world just ceases to exist and all that is left is them.

The End