Peachy Keen

It’s too cold on their walk back to the apparition point. Rather than rely on the shoddy techniques of the bigger apothecaries, they had spent the night of the spring equinox fishing for mollusks in the shallow waters of the closest beach they could find. Before they reach the alley behind the oyster bar from which they mean to apparate, they pass by a boutique shop with a gaudy “Get ready for summer!” display, complete with seashells, swimsuits, and straw hats.

The overly optimistic feeling of looking forward to summer hits her like the gust of wind that is rubbing her face raw, and she looks away to spare herself the thought that is now the cherry on top of her misery. 

That’s when she notices Severus’ steps falter.

She follows his gaze and spots the emerald bikini on the plastic, curvier-than-is-customary model. The fabric has a slight sheen to it that reflects the cool light of the dawn around them.

Something lurches in her belly. Then her brain kicks in, and she realises that she could never pull wearing something like that off, not with the strings that criss-cross the front and expose her full bosom, or the two ribbons that tie on both sides of the bottoms. Tie them too tight and they’d dig into the flesh of her hips, and doing them up too loose would have her arse hanging out for all and sundry to glare at. 

And she doesn’t even know what the back looks like!

Severus grunts as he adjusts his satchel on his shoulder, and she jolts back to find him a few steps ahead and glaring at her. Neither had slept a wink all night, so she grabs his arm and they vanish back to Hogwarts.

The warmth that seeps into her bones when they reach their chambers is welcome, and they rest for the entire weekend. Her mind doesn’t quiet, though. Hermione had always loved summer. Her memories of it as a child are some of the most precious that she possesses, but as she got older, her body changed. 

As was to be expected, but still, like with anything she did, she didn’t cut herself any slack. 

It’s saddening that she’s the obstacle that stands in the way of her own contentment. She’s too aware of how her body reacts to movement, too conscious of how it catches the attention of men and women alike. She worries about what they think of what they see… how too much she is, how ample and unrestrained. It doesn’t help that summer forces her into clothes that expose so much of her skin, so she stops indulging in hopeful purchases that result in self-deprecation.

She isn’t happier for it, but her mind is, occasionally, quiet.

It doesn’t seem to matter to Severus what she wears though. Not when he shows her how much he loves her every day, or when he sucks bruises into her love handles after he trails kisses down the full undersides of her breasts. He loves her the most when he digs the pads of his fingers into her bum, pulling her onto him until he reaches the deepest part of her and gripping her so tightly that she has bruises for days.

She loves him. Every perfect piece of him that makes him hers, and how much he returns her love when he shows her just how much he adores her body. Her imperfect, scarred, rippled-with-cellulite-and-stretchmarks body, with its belly and hips and breasts and thighs.

It doesn’t help that two days later, she’s still thinking about how he looked at that woman— a fake, plastic model, she corrects herself— in the window. 

She wonders if he would look at her the same way if she wore something like that.

A week after, when Severus is busy with brewing, she apparates to the alley and steps out into the sunshine. Five minutes later, a glittery bag dangles from her wrist, and inside it, wrapped in custom-printed wrapping paper that smells like coconut and sea salt, is her latest attempt to make herself feel good about her body.

She can’t help but hide it in a drawer, pushing it to the back like she’s pushing it out of her mind. She’s certain that, given her history, it’s likely that this set will meet a similar fate to the others. Except that every time she passes by her trusty chest of drawers, it’s as though this particular bikini is taunting her, daring her to find somewhere to put it on. 

To see that flash of desire in Severus’ eyes… 

Which is how they end up here. 

With Hogwarts out for the summer, she had whisked Severus off to an impromptu holiday. They hadn’t taken a proper break since the summer before, so she surprises him with an indulgent stay in a private cottage right on the beach. The bar cart is stocked, the citrus is sliced, and the ice bucket is buried in the sand beside her. She sits stoically in a dark blue cover up, waiting for Severus to finish his rum and coke and lay back in the generous shade of their umbrella.

He would never admit it, but she knows he’s a fan of a good beach snooze. She plans to take advantage of his inattention and slowly ease herself into her nakedness, the adjustment to the flow of air over her skin and the goosebumps that will peak as a result. Maybe she’ll spend some time in the sun until he wakes…

Or perhaps she’s setting herself up for disappointment.

She wants him to be flabbergasted; to widen his eyes at her and freeze, as though struck silent by the sight of her in the most revealing thing he has ever seen her in. Her little fantasy sends a thrill through her, and before she loses her courage, she turns her back to him and slides the gauzy fabric down her back so that it falls around her. Then, not allowing herself to anticipate his reaction, she turns to lay on her stomach and rests her face on her hands. The wind blows her hair over her shoulder, and for a moment, all she hears is the water lapping at the sand and a rogue seagull in the sky above them.

She knows he’s seen her when she hears a sharp gasp, then the swift drag of limbs on cloth as he shifts behind her. Ice cubes shake in their suspension and settle when he puts down his drink.

She finally faces him.

“For me?”

His voice is low, the telltale sign of his arousal. Her mouth tips up, and the breeze carries her victory with it.

“For you.”

There’s something new in the way he looks at her, something light and delighted, like the sun has shifted from its position in the sky to flare up in his eyes. Lost in his gaze, a tug unravels the bow she had carefully crafted. He moves so he sits on his knees, and with only his swim trunks on, they dig into the sand.

He doesn’t seem to care. Positioning himself above her, he lowers his head until his lips are just above her left ear. 

“Close your eyes,” he commands. 

Goosebumps erupt on her shoulders, and he chuckles when he notices her reaction to his voice. He gathers her hair to the side, and his breath catches when he sees the bow at her neck and the clasp at her back. 

He shudders, and glances at the cottage behind them, as though checking for onlookers. He knows as well as she does that it’s a private, fenced-in cottage enforced with their wards.

They’re alone. A thrill rushes through her at the thought, and his magic brushes over her. She opens her eyes, wondering when she had closed them. 

“More wards?” she asks.

“Hmm.” His lips close over the knot at the nape of her neck, wetting the fabric. “No.”

She turns to face him, but finds herself stuck to her beach blanket.

“Severus!”

He pulls away to meet her eyes. “No?”

She sighs, because this is exactly the reaction she’d wanted to provoke from him. He didn’t always take charge when they were together, but when he did…

“Yes,” she lays back down and relaxes beneath him. “You didn’t have to use a sticking charm on me, though,” she protests feebly.

“Witch, when a scrap of fabric like that brings me to my knees,” he rumbles, his nose circling the shell of her ear, “I must.” 

Lips suck on her earlobe, and she automatically arches her back into him. 

“You, Hermione… are going to endure…” he punctuates his words with wet kisses, making his way back to the nape of her neck, “...the full force… of my desire.”

“Severus—”

His teeth pull the end of the string, and it gives. His kisses slow as he pauses to unclasp her top, his hands bracketing her shoulders and his broad chest above her. All that exists is him, even though the only point of contact between them is his lips on her skin.

She squirms, and finally, he reaches the dimples at the base of her spine. She shifts, wiggling and seeking any form of sensation from him. Her arse almost touches him, but he draws himself up and away from her.

“Tease!” she complains.

His chest vibrates as he hums, and she finally, finally feels the warmth of his chest at her back.

“And are you not teasing, Hermione?” 

He presses his weight into her, and she’s surrounded by his scent, salt from the sea, the syrupy rum of his drink, and the woodsy smell that is so unique to him. 

“All wrapped up in Slytherin green,” he tuts, “when you know that I’m a January child, Hermione.”

She smirks, “This wouldn’t work in a draughty castle in January, I’m afraid.”

“Nor for Yule before that…”

She agrees. “The green is on theme, but…”

“You planned this,” he nips the flesh at her side, licking across the dip in her back. “Are you picking up the traits of my house, little Gryffindor?”

“You are the head of Slytherin, after all,” she grins back. “You deserve a treat after the year we’ve had.”

“And what a treat it is,” he murmurs.

She shivers when she feels a slight graze of his finger over the hem of her bikini bottom. They slowly trace it until he reaches the corner, and he hooks his fingers into the knot at her side.

“With this little number…” he tugs on the end of one bow, “...covering this arse, which…” he pulls the other bow, only faster, “...is just as… sexy without it.”

He flips the triangle of fabric down to expose her, the strings caressing her thighs where they land.

“Look at you.”

She desperately wants to turn over, to look at him and touch him in return, but his sticking charm is unwavering.

“Fuck,” he curses, his breath stuttering as he inhales deeply, “You’re lovely like this.”

The rounded tip of his nose pushes into the crease where her thigh meets her bum, lifting it so that he can kiss the skin he exposes. 

“This part—” He runs his finger along it, then up the cleft of her arse, “This part of you is divine. Temptation, waiting to be plucked and pleasured—”

He smooths his hands down her silhouette, spreading them over her flesh and squeezing, his fingers pressing until a moan escapes her.

“Gods, you’re beautiful.”

It never ceases to surprise her how much he thinks so, and like he knows what she’s thinking, he responds before she objects.

“I’ll say it every day until you believe it, Hermione.” An open-mouthed kiss finds her bare shoulder, gentle and reverent. “You’re stunning, and I cannot get enough of you.”

He lifts his leg over her to straddle her, his weight distributed evenly but his presence overwhelming. His hips drop, and she gasps when she feels the swell of his erection against the small of her back. Separated only by the thin fabric of his trunks, he lowers himself until his steely thickness is wedged between her arse cheeks.

“What you do to me—” he presses himself against her, and she throbs in want. “You don’t even know the half of it, witch.”

With one arm supporting his weight, his other hand descends to widen the space between her legs. His fingers find her slit, steadily slipping between her folds to spread her wetness.

God, she wants him. 

“It’s not fair that I’m naked and you aren’t,” she whines.

“Patience…” His easy chuckle is her undoing. “The more you squirm, the longer you’ll wait.”

She didn’t know she could get this aroused at being denied so abruptly. Affronted, she wiggles again, and he pulls away from her. She can’t bear this any longer, can’t handle how turned on she is as she lays there, simply taking what he has to give and unable to return his kisses, his touches. She wants him to stop, to never stop, to keep up the slow, confident ascent that has her frenzied, her nerves sensitive yet frayed, a pendulum swaying back and forth between frustration and fulfilment.

A sharp pain brings her back to her predicament, and she realises that he’s bitten her on the arse.

“If only you could see yourself through my eyes,” he whispers against her skin.

A lump forms in her throat, and she wonders what he sees when he looks at her. Does he see the large swells and curves, the textured skin, the pillowy softness? Because all she sees is the too-much of her, the not-enough for him, and her voice breaks when she says his name.

“Hermione?” The sticking charm dissolves, and her breath hitches. She shakes her head, trying to stay composed, to not ruin this as she does everything— 

In a flurry of movement, Severus is at her side. He cups her face and swipes thumb over her cheek, turning her head towards him.

“What is it, love?”

She breathes deeply, willing herself to calm. When she opens her eyes, he’s gazing at her steadily. Caught in his attention, her panic subsides, and she smiles.

“Nothing— I’m alright,” she notices that he doesn’t take her at her word and instead searches her face for answers, “Really, I’m okay.

“Are you sure? Was it the charm?” he asks, running his hand down her arm to intertwine their fingers. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I should have—”

“It wasn’t the charm.” She surges forward and kisses him. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he murmurs against her lips.

“Severus,” she turns towards him, and her bikini drops away as she settles on her side. “Nothing you did was unwelcome. I— sometimes I have a hard time seeing myself as you see me.”

A furrow appears between his brows, and she smooths it away.

“I don’t— I’m not always confident, or comfortable— and you always make me feel so loved,” she explains, “Sometimes, it’s too much to feel all at once and—”

“It’s hard to believe that it’s real, or true,” he finishes.

“Yes.”

Of course he understands. He had been the same when she started teaching at Hogwarts, and their fall into friendship, then a relationship, had been gradual yet inevitable. She remembers the early days, when she had taken her time to undress him, assuring him that she found him totally, utterly perfect.

“Darling, I love you,” he tips her chin up so she looks at him. “Words are not enough to express how much, or how fiercely.”

Tears well in her eyes at the adamant devotion in his.

“You don’t know how irresistible and glorious and— Sweet Merlin, I always want you, witch. Once is never enough, and this—” he brings himself closer, and she feels his thick, hard cock nudge her thigh, “—is my constant state of being when you’re around, let alone how I become when you’re tempting me.”

She believes him, his words ringing true, and her hand drops to trace the outline of his arousal. “Really?” she asks, her question more rhetorical than serious.

“Obviously,” he answers, and she feels him twitch beneath her hand as though in agreement. A wicked idea crosses her mind, and she flicks her fingers to the side.

His swim trunks vanish into the ether, and his eyebrow arches at the sudden display of wandless magic. She moves closer to him, and he snakes his arm around her waist to pull her even closer. The heat of his skin against hers feels right, and the air electrifies between them.

Something inside her snaps. She rakes her nails across the sensitive skin of his neck and into his sand-sprinkled hair, pressing their foreheads together. Her other hand closes around the base of his cock, and he bucks, his mouth swooping down to capture her lips in a needy kiss.

He doesn’t hesitate to dart his tongue into her mouth. Her eyes slip shut when he tastes her, and she moans when he lowers his head to pepper kisses along her jaw.

“Perfection,” he rasps, his fingers hurriedly splaying out to squeeze her breast until it fits into his grip, his thumb swiping over one peaky nipple and his mouth closing over the other.

Of their own volition, her arms rise to encircle Severus’ head, clutching him to her. She clamps her thighs together to quell her desire, and he does not heed her motion. Instead, he alternates sucking and licking her nipple around with his tongue, then opens his mouth to let the air in so the sensation of wetness on her skin sharpens. She rocks against him, and he shifts his attention to her other breast, over and over until she is a quivering, whimpering mess.

Her cheeks warm when he catches her staring at him, and with a loud pop, her nipple is free. His eyes are dark, almost dangerous in their focus, blazing with desire as they rove over her nakedness. 

“Alright?”

She tries to catch her breath, and offers her hips to him in response. 

With a resolved glance, he eases her onto her back. Chuckling, he lowers his head to kiss the round of her stomach, then dips his tongue into her belly button, trailing a path down to her mound where he kisses the hood at her slit.

She bites back a scream when he closes his mouth over her clit. If he doesn’t stop—

“Turn around,” he gasps.

Rolling over to lay on her belly, Severus’ hands flex to span the backs of her thighs as he spreads her open. There’s a rogue green string caught under her, and with a growl, he impatiently yanks the whole thing out and tosses it behind him. 

“I remember this…”

He looks at her, his tongue perched in the corner of his lips as he wrenches her to her knees and lowers himself to his elbows. His breath puffs hot against her lower lips, and Hermione keens in anticipation.

“It caught me by surprise that morning…” His tongue traces an outline she’s too flustered to follow and desire coils low in her belly. “I was too exhausted to give it any thought. And then, it seems, you went back for it, and staged this just so …”

He’s teasing her, and she’s gearing up to answer him when several quick, flat swipes of his tongue on her clit take all the fight out of her. With broad strokes he works her, circling and flicking, sucking when she arches into his face. 

“So good for me,” he rumbles, when her wetness finds his mouth. “You taste like peaches, heaven—”

His fingers draw a maddening circle around her opening. At her moan, he dips into her cunt and right away, she clenches. “Yes,” Severus praises, “So tight around me—” 

She twists her hips roughly, digging her knees into her beach towel and her hand finding purchase on the ice bucket. Severus moves his lips back to her, languidly licking the wet arousal in time with his fingers. When a gust of wind blows his hair into his face, he pulls his mouth away from her to rise up and hold the convex curve of her hips, his hand relentlessly squeezing her arse, the other working her even deeper. She pushes back to chase the roaring, rising tide inside her, but at her movement, Severus stops.

“You look absolutely delectable like this, Hermione.”

With a groan, he smacks her bum sharply, and she feels it jiggle against him. His length drops between them, sliding between her lower lips and soothing the ache of her throbbing clit. A quick nudge from him splays her legs open, the tip of his cock finally slipping into her. 

“Exquisite—” he murmurs, his voice sinful with promise.

His hand smoothes over her skin, slick with sweat in the summer heat. She doesn’t answer, only pushing back to take him into her even further.

“Take what you want from me, love—” he breathes, keeping up the long strokes that are so reminiscent of their lovemaking, only now, they’re out in the open, and she can’t see him—

She feels herself tremble around him, and his hips falter.

“Fuck, you feel wonderful— taking me so well—”

She wonders if, in the midst of this, he knows how hard he’s holding onto her. She’s unbelievably floored at his adoration, and it makes her arch her back, pushing her breasts into the blanket for some much-needed friction.

He fucks her harder, intermittently tapping her bum so it jiggles in his palms, all the while rumbling, punctuating every movement with praise—

“I want to feel you, Hermione— want to—

“Darling, yes, get yourself off on my cock— 

“Fuck me, take me until you come—”

There’s sand everywhere, and as uncomfortable as he must be, his thrusts quicken, his cock piercing her, stretching her, and she knows that her peak is fast approaching when her core spasms at the thought of coming like this—

—naked, on the beach, with Severus’ cock inside her. His hands grab her thighs, his lips relentless on her back as he floats over her, worshipping her. Her wetness seeps back to her arse where he drags his cock, almost pushing into it but returning to her cunt, over and over again. Bruises litter her back, and her tits are marked as they rub the fabric beneath her.

All from the sight of her in an emerald green bikini. She remembers, seeing herself when she had looked in the mirror before she’d put on her cover-up, the thought of Severus seeing—

She shatters, her face turning to him, her mouth open in a silent cry. Severus guides her through it, relishing in the sounds she makes until she surrenders and tips forward, spent from how hard she had come. 

“Gods, just like that— for me—”

He doesn’t finish his thought, instead, his hands hold open her arse to look at where his cock enters her, the lewd sound of their slapping skin filling the air. His thrusts become erratic when she clenches to spur him on, and he grunts, his motions stilling as thick ropes of cum fill her up. 

She waits until he catches his breath, and his cock slips out as he lies next to her in the sand. His hands trace her shoulders, over the wave of her spine and down her arse, where he rubs circles into her flesh and grabs a handful of her, shaking until she smiles. 

“As far as Slytherin seduction goes, that went really well, don’t you think?” she teases, and he leans forward, as though to kiss her, but bites her lip instead.

His grin is vicious. “May I remind you that I simply indulged you?”

“Ah,” her heart tightens, and that niggling self-doubt comes to the surface again. “So it was a sacrifice on your part then—”

“An indulgence,” he croons, every syllable a kiss against her lips, “in a woman whose being I love with all of mine.”

He holds one of the hands that she rests on his chest, bringing it to his lips to kiss her palm. When she meets his eyes, they are molten, and she shakes off her disbelief and for once, reminds herself that he’s always been true to her, even if she isn’t true to herself. 

“I love you,” she whispers, her heart full, and he smiles.