2: Rung One - Him

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money. Special thanks go to JKR for sanctioning HP fanfic.

More thanks go to alienor77310 for painting this incredible piece of art for the story! It's wonderful - the colors, the shading, the composition. She's titled it 'Don't Move,' and it's just lovely. Thank you so much, alienor 77310!

2: Rung One – Him

June 30th, 3:05 pm

Being in a relationship – even one merely existing at the level of ‘fuck buddies,’ as Tonks so delightfully puts it – takes more work and consideration than I am accustomed to.

I, therefore, attempt to aid her in throwing the Order’s 2nd Annual Victory Celebration. My arguments that she allow Molly to once again throw the celebration at the Burrow have fallen on deaf ears. Fleur’s pregnancy and George’s wedding appear to be time consuming affairs. Similarly, my idea that if she is going to take responsibility for said monstrosity, she should consider Grimmauld Place as the venue was ignored. The pain of losing Potter makes his rather gloomy house an even more inappropriate location for the event even if the Order continues to use it as headquarters.

Since my brain seems to be unappreciated, I choose to don the role of supportive paramour for the evening and aid her preparations in a physical manner. Apparating to her flat, I decide I will surprise her – she has repeatedly said she wants me to be more playful, and it is our so-called ‘anniversary.’

I find her trying to enter her attic; although, if it is anything like her cupboards, it is a hopeless endeavor.

Tonks wears the red dress she showed me last week – one of five she was considering for the event. A pity – I was, of course, partial to the green.

Nonetheless, I can see up this one as well as the other and quickly recognize the potential of the ladder. I slide a hand up her left calf. She jumps a little and tenses to move.

“No, no – stay there,” I say quietly. “I have thought of you all day, and this position offers a delightful amount of access.”

As my hand drifts further up her leg, I begin to kiss my way to her core – hot, open-mouthed kisses that allow my tongue to swirl. Her skin is soft underneath my flesh, and she smells somehow different, as if she has used a new scent of shower gel; it is light and clean and strangely arousing. The ladder creaks with each step I take and almost drowns out the sound of her soft gasps.

Interesting – usually she is more vocal, almost annoyingly so.

My cock stirs to awareness.

As I duck my head under her dress, I smirk at the rather demure underwear she sports this evening. My typically g-string clad darling models hipster shorts of soft, red silk that cup her bottom enticingly. I am almost sad to make them disappear, but I will buy her more. Envisioning exactly what I want whisked away, I murmur, “Evanesco”– a personal variation of wandless magic I perfected years ago.

And to what benefit! Her center is spread bare before me, and I cannot resist kissing her clitoris repeatedly and ever so lightly. As her legs spread, I begin to lick instead while burying my nose in her entrance. Pausing momentarily to breathe in her scent, I revel in her reaction.

Never has she been so wet or smelled so divine.

She has also rather demurely crafted hair of a normal brown – a first, and hopefully done to please me, as I once mentioned my preference for a more natural look than chartreuse.

A small laugh of delight escapes me, and I reward her by inserting my middle finger into her and angling it until I can feel the nubbily textured area of her G-spot. I stroke in and out of her repeatedly, always catching this bundle of nerves, and my tongue lashes more firmly at her clitoris in exact time with my finger. Her gasps and pants are wonderful to hear, and my erection pulses in time with her exhalations, rubbing against the fabric of my boxers.

As she nears her crescendo, I reduce my attentions to her complaint – she is always a bit impatient. Holding my finger still on her G-spot and only licking her clitoris lightly, I take a few minutes to stroke myself through my clothing with my other hand. The mewl she gives when I will not allow her to force herself down onto my face is exquisite.

Merlin, I am harder than ever. Perhaps there is something to this spontaneity thing after all.

I begin to lick and stroke her strongly again and am rewarded by feeling her muscles clench my finger as she begins to move above me.

Damn, since when is she this tight? Perhaps it is a special indulgence she has created with this body.

It is not long before she once again reaches her edge, and I choose to hold her from completion one further time. Her groaned complaint causes me to laugh – as if she has not learned by now that such patience will be amply rewarded. Besides, this gives me the opportunity to lick her repeatedly from front to back, lapping at her nectar greedily as I pass its fount.

Even her taste differs in this form – somehow sweeter, more intoxicating.

I catch myself unconsciously grinding against a rung of the ladder and desist before I finish in my pants like an uncontrolled teenager.

Having held her at this plateau long enough that her next climb will be to a higher peak, I begin to move my finger and tongue more intensely again – over and over stroking her clitoris and G-spot with a relentless rhythm. Her wetness grows impossibly greater, her breath comes fast and shallow, and her legs begin to shake, followed by the walls of her vagina. Her body freezes at the pinnacle of a long spasm that leaves her arched, not even breathing. I ride it out with her, never decreasing the pressure on either nerve bundle until she sags above me.

Quickly, I climb the ladder until my body supports hers. As I nuzzle her neck and hold her close, I am reminded of my erection. Her weak-kneed movement against me is enough to consider moving this to the bed after all – party be damned.

“There now,” I soothe against her ear, “you should feel a bit more relaxed about throwing your first party after that.”

She tenses. Reminding her of the party may have been a poor decision on my part. She remains quiet. I wish the attic were not so dark so that I could see her facial expression.

I am just about to speak again, to reassure her of my aid, when the front door closes loudly.

“I’m back,” Tonks calls, her salutation echoed by the little plunks packages make impacting the front hall’s wood floor.

My muscles go rigid.

If that is Tonks, then …?

“I forgot to mention, Mione,” she continues, “Severus might drop in early to help, though he’ll complain about it if he does.”

Granger.

Although exclusivity plays no part in my relationship with Tonks, even I have to admit the gaucheness of performing cunnilingus on another woman in her flat. Cunnilingus on Granger.

And she loved it and I loved it.

I move down the ladder as quickly as I can and Disapparate.

My stumble upon appearing in the Leaky Cauldron causes Tom to look at me quizzically. “Moving from a spot of danger, were you?”

“Something like that,” I say.

Danger indeed.