FIC: Night Moves (Sirius/Hermione)
To: frumpologist
From: Your Secret Santa

Title: Night Moves
Author: tattooedsiren
Pairing(s): Sirius/Hermione
Summary: She has never been good at seduction, but on this most sacred of nights, she feels like she can do anything.
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Author's notes: Obviously AU. Apologies for the crappy title and summary. I hope you like the way I included the single request you made. :O) Enjoy!!



The music is so loud it makes it hard to think. Instead, she sits in the corner, her small body seemingly engulfed by the large chair, which she can feel the music through. Nursing a drink, she watches.

The house is dim, small light sources coming in the forms of candles and fairy lights. People are dancing, almost everywhere. A small impromptu dance floor was created in the middle of the room, but still, everywhere, people are dancing; on the stairs, in the next room, even as they mingle and move about the party there is a spring in peoples step.

The room is warm and slightly stuffy. Her hands quickly and deftly twirl her hair up into a bun before the pads of her fingertips move across the damp skin of her neck. She idly watches everyone about the large room, smiling at Harry, shaking a head at Ginny when the younger woman motions for her to join them in the throng of dancers.

She lifts the polystyrene cup to her lips and drinks the last few drops of her screwdriver. With a sigh, she sits back into the chair, casually playing with the cup as her eyes, as they have done all night, move back to him.

He stands alone in a corner, watching over everyone, as if he is trying to portray some kind of parental or authority presence. But nothing could be further from the truth, for he was the one who suggested the idea of this party to Harry in the first place. He is dressed in simple blue jeans and a light blue shirt, doing better than most with the ‘muggle’ theme of the party.

She has never been one for random and instantaneous attraction, but from the moment she saw him at the beginning of the evening, she wanted him.

He looks handsome, rejuvenated. Despite the fact that most of the people currently partying in his house are between ten and twenty-five years younger than he is, he looks comfortable, he fits in, as though his spirit is as young as everyone else. But despite all that, he still has an edge of danger about him, just as he has had ever since she met him all those years ago. And it is that side of him, more than anything else, that she wants right now. For once she wants to do something reckless and spontaneous, something she knows she will probably regret but she doesn’t care because it feels so good. In short, she wants him.

She has never been good at seduction, but on this most sacred of nights, she feels like she can do anything. His eyes, which are continually scanning the room, halt on her, and she boldly meets his gaze. She can feel the pull he has on her, the heat in his gaze, and she suddenly realises, as though she knew all along, that he wants her too.

She slowly stands, refusing to avert her eyes from his. She moves through the room in his direction, smiling at the friends she bumps into along the way. Reaching his side, she grasps his large, calloused hand in hers and pulls him towards the kitchen. He follows without question.

The kitchen is large and more brightly lit than the rest of the house. When the door swings shut behind them, much of the noise of the party is somehow drowned out, the music and people of the party now a low hum.

“Great party,” she says. Her fingers are still curled around his and she looks up into his eyes.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he replies. “I’m glad Harry can finally celebrate this day. For too long he mourned it, remembering all those who fell as opposed to the defeat of Voldemort. He deserves this day.”

“So do you.”

He meets her eyes then and she grins up at him. She removes her hand from his and lightly places her palm on his chest. He shifts slightly on the spot before placing his hands on her hips, the pressure firm through the light layer of clothing. Her eyes still fixed on his, she slowly begins to unbutton his shirt with her left hand. He doesn’t look away, not wanting to be the first to break the challenge underlined in their actions.

When she finally has his shirt undone, she leans forward, pressing her lips to his warm skin. He takes in a sharp breath at the touch, making her smile. She kisses along his skin, loving the way his stomach tightens and his heartbeat quickens beneath her touch. Her tongue flicks briefly over his nipple, making him groan. She moves her mouth slowly up his neck, pressing soft open-mouthed kisses to his stubbled skin. But when she reaches his chin, she doesn’t, as he expects, kiss his mouth. Instead, she steps back, completely stopping the physical contact between them, leaving him standing there breathless, confused and turned on.

“You know, Sirius,” she says as she slowly edges away from him, “I thought you were more responsible than this. I’m very disappointed in you.”

He narrows his eyes at her, confused. Was this just a test? Did she touch and kiss him that way just to see if he would let her?

But then she grins, holding up her empty styrofoam cup. “Do you know how long these take to decompose? They are absolutely terrible for the environment. Shame on you.”

He laughs at that, both relieved and amused. Slowly, he moves forward, until he is standing in front of her, almost invading her personal space. He takes the cup from her hand, tossing it over his shoulder before leaning down and pressing his mouth to hers in a violent kiss. Tongues easily slip past lips, hot and desperate for each other. Her arms are around his neck, holding him close, pressing their bodies together.

His hands wander over her body, from her cheeks, down her neck, over her chest to her sides, finally settling over her arse, pressing her to him. His mouth leaves hers, pressing long, hot kisses down the pale column of her throat. She feels dizzy and desperate.

Escaping his embrace, she takes a step back. They are both breathless. She keeps his eyes fixed to hers as slowly and subtly puts her hands up the back of her knee-length skirt and pulls down her knickers. His breath stops at the actions in his peripheral vision, but he keeps his eyes on hers. She takes a half step back and then crosses her right leg, pulling the blue material from around her ankle before turning and heading towards the dining table. She lifts herself up onto it, her legs dangling freely from the wooden surface, just missing the floor.

He just looks at her for a moment, sitting there so peaceful and free. She is so young, but he also knows that her mind and soul are much older than the twenty-one years of her body. But there is something else too. Seeing her there, with her flushed cheeks and sweaty skin and sparkling eyes, she looks beautiful. He had always thought of her as nice looking, pretty but a bit plain and non-descript. But seeing her sitting there, smiling, waiting for him, she looks breathtakingly beautiful.

He stalks towards her and meets her upturned, waiting mouth. Her lips are soft against his. She wraps her legs around him as his hands wander to her chest, cupping her breasts through her top. But it isn’t enough, so he undoes the top few buttons on her top and moves the material aside. He pulls his mouth from hers and immediately presses his lips to the warm skin of her chest. She places her palms flat on the table behind her and leans back, giving him better access. He pulls the lacy material of her bra cup down, taking a rosy nipple into his mouth. She moans. Her legs tighten around his waist. His tongue swirls around her, tasting, teasing. His mouth moves across to her other breast, repeating the action, only this time adding a few small nips of his teeth. Her breathing is shallow. She starts grinding against him, desperate for friction.

His mouth meets hers once more. His hands have slipped under her top and are flat on the smooth skin of her back. Her hands move to his jeans and she flicks open the button. But before she can get to the zip, his mouth breaks from hers.

“We should take this upstairs.” His voice is low, his breathing laboured.

“No,” she replies between shallow breaths.

“Anyone could come in here,” he tries to be the rational one, such a role reversal from their normal relationship.

“I don’t care,” she replies. And she really doesn’t. Her need for him greater than anything. She places her hands on his chest, her fingertips teasingly light as they skirt over his nipples down his stomach. “I need you … inside me … right now.”

He groans at her words, and when he doesn’t immediately reply, she knows she has won. She grins wickedly, her fingertips continuing their path down his stomach until they reach his jeans. Only this time he doesn’t stop her. He lets her unzip him and push the jeans and his boxers down to his knees.

She leans back once more, grinning temptingly. It’s his turn now. He rests his hands on her knees before they slowly move up. He reaches the hem of her skirt, the material sliding between his fingers as his hands skim up along her thighs. She lifts her body and he pushes the material of her skirt up to her hips.

She sits back up straight, her body edging closer to the edge of the table as her mouth latches onto his chest once more. Her tongue flicks his nipple before her mouth explores the rest of him. His hands are on her thighs, slowly edging them apart. Her hands move around to his arse, pushing him forward, letting him know how much she needs him. Needing no further encouragement, he positions himself and then, after one final deep breath, pushes inside her.

They both moan. She wraps her legs around him, pushing him deeper. He cups her cheek, making her look up at him. She is malleable under his direction, meeting his eyes with a smile. He starts moving, in, out, shallow movements at first but progressively deeper. Her mouth falls into a silent 'O' as ripples of pleasure flow throughout her body. She wraps her arms around him, gripping his back for purchase as their thrusts become more frantic. Her mouth is at his collarbone and she grazes her teeth lightly along it.

A noise in the distance catches her attention. She looks up and over his shoulder and sees the kitchen door swing open slightly. Her grip on the back of his shirt tightens. But then the door stops, and she can see fingers wrapped around the stationary wooden doorframe, as though whoever was about to enter the room had stopped, possibly to talk to someone. She knows she should stop him, that they are about to get caught, but she is too far gone to care. His hand cups her breast, thumb rubbing back and forth across her taut nipple, and she knows she is about to be caught fucking her best friend's godfather on the kitchen table.

She struggles for breath as the tension within her builds. She comes, biting her lip to try and remain silent, so as not to catch the attention of whoever it is that still lingers in the doorway. A groan escapes her lips anyway as her body becomes like jelly, her hold around his back and hips loosening, her eyes fluttering close.

His grip on her tightens, one hand to her back and one to one of the legs wrapped around him. She reopens her eyes and looks over his shoulder. The kitchen door is closed again. She doesn’t know if they were seen or not, though she thinks not. She retightens her grip around him and it only takes a few more thrusts before he comes, his body shuddering against hers, his voice a low moan laced with a single word. “Hermione.”

They hold onto each other, waiting for their heart rates to stabilise. When they manage to catch their breath, he pulls away, taking a few steps back from her, his head bowed. A few beats pass, and when he finally looks up and meets her eyes, he looks sheepish. But then she grins at him, big and brilliant, and he knows guilt over what has just happened is useless.

She springs off the table and they both straighten themselves out; he pulls up his pants and buttons his shirt while she grabs her knickers from the table and puts them back on before straightening her bra and top.

“So,” she says afterwards as they both just stand there, looking at the other expectedly. “Same time next year.”

He laughs at that, his grin matching hers. He nods, his shoulders shrugging in a non-committed way.

She leans forward and kisses his lips briefly. “Great party,” she repeats as she walks away. She slips back into the darkened party, already looking forward to next year and once again fucking this amazing man.

If they could both wait that long.