courting | wine | apple picking | baking/nipple play | cat/cunnilingus
“I mean it Granger, I owe you one for this.”
“Well then call me Hermione, for Circe’s sake, and we’ll call it even.”
“Thank you. Hermione. But I intend to do something to show you my appreciation. Drinks.”
“I’m not really a bar fly. . .”
“Did I meet you yesterday? I know you’re not. I was thinking more like wine at mine. We have a small orchard at the country estate and the apples are just ripening. Come out for the afternoon, we’ll pick them and bake them into my grandmother’s apple Charlotte while we drink wine and watch the foxes frolic.”
“That sounds … lovely actually.”
“Always the tone of surprise.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean it like that- ”
“ -don’t bother, I’m not fussed. How’s Sunday for 3 then? I leave my address on your desk.”
* * *
Hermione apparated onto a sprawling lawn dotted in beech and sweet chestnut whose leaves were just starting to change color with the season. The air was crisp and cool, and she breathed in the scent of leaves with a deep inhale of appreciation. The tree-lined path led naturally towards what more closely resembled a large cottage than a state house.
There was a garden in the front, and an enormous black cat with patches of white was luxuriating on the cobblestone pony wall. Also in the midst of it, wearing a pink and white checked pinafore, was Pansy.
“You made it.”
“You made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
Pansy’s smirk reached all the way to her eyes.
* * *
Three hours and three glasses of wine later, the smell of baked apple and pastry was starting to make Hermione’s mouth water. She and Pansy were cozied up on the couch, and Hermione’s eyes kept drifting towards perky little nipples, hinting at their color through Pansy’s thin white shirt. Having caught herself in the act for the umpteenth time, she looked up to meet Pansy’s eyes, which had a scarlet glint in them.
“All right, Hermione?”
Embarrassed, the first thing she could think to say was, “It smells delectable - it’s your grandmother’s dessert?”
“Her recipe. But I like to think I’ve perfected it, using apples instead of berries and a few other choice ingredients.”
“Like what?” Hermione’s head was starting to unfog the longer they talked about apples, and she kept her gaze off Pansy’s- well, Pansy.
“You’ll have to taste it, to find out.”
That phrasing couldn’t have been accidental. She chanced a glance at Pansy, eyeing her cooly over full lips, perched lightly against the lip of her wine glass. Could it?Fuck. Her eyes were back on Pansy’s tits again.
As if she knew (she did ) that Hermione was looking, Pansy adjusted herself extravagantly on the couch, like a cat waking up from a nap in a sunbeam. Her back arched in a stretch and her nipples were suddenly mere inches from Hermione.
“I-I can’t wait! To taste your pie … “ Hermione set down her glass of wine; suddenly she was feeling light-headed.
“Maybe afterwards I can taste yours.”
Pansy was in the kitchen fiddling with the oven by the time her words registered in Hermione’s increasingly fuzzy mind. Was it very hot in here? It must be . The oven had been on, afterall, and Hermione could feel her cheeks burning. Before she could compose herself (thought she didn’t know if that was in the cards at all, really) Pansy was back, wearing the pink and white checkered apron again and holding two small plates of steaming apple pie, which she set down on the ottoman.
“Hungry?”
Why did everything suddenly sound like an entendre? “Can I trouble you for a glass of water? I feel a bit parched.”
“Of course. You do look a little hot under the collar.”
Hermione’s eyes drank her in as she walked away, but were staring resolutely at the pie by the time she came back.”
“Here you ar- whoops! How clumsy of me.”
Hermione looked up at the sound of Pansy’s exclamation to see her standing there, shirt now half-drenched, with a glass of wine in one hand, and a half-full glass of water in the other.
“Oh! Let me help you,” Hermione sprung up with a cloth napkin in hand.
The moment she made contact with Pansy’s soaked shirt, napkin and purpose were forgotten. Her other hand rose to cup Pansy’s other soaked breast as the first one found a nipple, firm between her fingers. Both women sighed, and their eyes met a split second before their lips did.
* * *
Hours later, as they sprawled in Pansy’s satin sheets with the black and white cat at their feet, Hermione’s senses were returning to her.
“You spilled that water on purpose, didn’t you?”
Pansy’s laugh was warm and throaty, it made Hermione want to ravish her again. “Put that together, did you? I had to be pretty heavy-handed for you to take the hint - you almost had me thinking that I wasn’t your type, Granger.”
Hermione’s eyes drank in Pansy’s figure for the hundredth time. “Well, you’ve been wrong about me before, haven’t you.”
Pansy chuckled and leaned in for a hungry, lingering kiss.
“Are you hungry? I just realized you never tried my pie! After I made it specially for you,” she finished with a pout.
“Not yet. I’m sure it’s delicious, but right now I’m craving another taste.” Hermione’s gaze held Pansy’s while the rest of her slipped down beneath the sheets.