Rating: NC-17 (just)
Word Count: 1485
Summary: Hermione finds herself on an unexpected voyage.
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers, including, but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Written as a belated birthday gift for inell, who prompted me with "Blaise/Hermione, EWE (of course), though DH canon is love. Prompt: Book, desk, or rain." Thank you, Shog, for beta'ing. ♥
Hermione awoke to the feeling of a sharp, cold edge pressing into her back and the sensation of her nipples tingling, as they often did after a feeding. Rolling over, she saw that, where her husband should have lain, a large book rested. In the dim glow of the fairies sleeping atop the bed's canopy, she could just make out that the book was a treatise on Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration.
Blaise has no interest in—
The nearby sound of rain coming from inside the house interrupted her thought, and she rose, reaching for the dressing gown that she always kept at the end of the bed and drawing it on as she made towards the back staircase.
When he didn't answer, Hermione quietly padded down the stairs to the kitchen. Blaise wasn't there. He wasn't in the dining room, the little office she kept just off the kitchen, or in the library which connected to it, but the cascading sound grew louder as she continued towards the front of the house. At last, she discovered the source of the sound; it was coming from Blaise's study, which was hard by and under their front staircase. Opening the door with her wand drawn in preparation for some sort of watery household mishap, she was surprised by what she found.
Oh, she thought, as tears welled up in her eyes. You silly, lovely man.
The huge mahagony desk that had been her first wedding anniversary gift to Blaise was floating, apparently undamaged, in a small body of water; all the other furniture in the room was floating, as well, but above the water. A light rain fell just over the desk, hitting the magically solidified air above Blaise's head and then flowing around it and down an invisible spout to pool beneath his make-shift "boat"—upon which he was sitting, cross-legged in his favourite nightshirt, and cradling their daughter.
Zaida was three-months-old and loved the rain; when she was fussy, the sound of a gentle shower was often the only thing that would soothe her.
"I wondered why I felt so rested," Hermione murmured, her throat constricting a bit in the face of so tender a scene.
Blaise raised pride-filled eyes to meet hers and smiled. "Took some doing, this, but you did intimate earlier that I'd been remiss in taking my share of the night-feedings."
Hermione flushed with pleasure. Her arguments with Blaise, who was as devoted to his job at Gringotts as she was to her own at the Ministry, didn't often end so well.
"H—how did you manage it?" she whispered, leaning against a doorpost and blinking back tears.
A square of linen, one of Blaise's handkerchiefs, was suddenly levitating before her. She took it and dabbed at her eyes, annoyed at herself for crying when she was happy. She'd been so emotional since giving birth to Zaida!
Blaise laughed, a low, rich sound, and said quietly, "You have my permission to come aboard and investigate."
Hermione pocketed the handkerchief and Disapparated to one edge of the desk, gingerly drawing up her legs and scooting along it until she was also sitting cross-legged, her thigh pressing into Blaise's. He made an adjustment to allow Zaida to rest more securely in his lap, and wrapped his left arm around Hermione's shoulders before kissing her temple.
"You smell good."
Hermione tsked. "I know that's not true."
"Slytherins don't lie, love, you know that."
"Right, why keep track of a lie when 'a delicate shading of the truth' will do just as well," Hermione retorted, laying her head on Blaise's shoulder and lightly stroking Zaida's cheek.
"You smell like a proper mother—all talcum and worry and affection," Blaise asserted, producing a bottle from somewhere behind himself and holding it ready.
Hermione's eyes widened, remembering the tingling of her breasts as she'd woken and turning to look into Blaise's eyes. "Did you—"
"Express for you? Why's that such a surprise? It's not that difficult a spell—although, truth be told," Blaise continued, pressing the bottle's tip into Zaida's mouth as she began to make suckling motions with her lips, "I can think of other ways I'd like to collect—"
Zaida's mouth screwed up around the tip as if she were going to spit it out and fuss, and Blaise withdrew his arm from Hermione's shoulders and stroked Zaida's cheek until she settled and began to nurse again—and then he laughed.
Mortified to know how much of her Blaise must have seen, Hermione snapped, "It's not funny."
"You shouldn't have—I mean . . . oh, I look awful, and you—"
"Saw a lot more of you than I have in months, but not as much as I'd've liked to."
"You're no such thing. You're prosperous, and I like it."
Hermione sniffled. "Y—you do? You're not just saying that because you h—have to?"
Blaise sighed. "Take her for a moment?"
Hermione did, watching as Blaise turned to open the top drawer of his desk, which, leaning back a bit, she could see had been Transfigured into a cradle chamber of sorts.
"I think she's had enough of this," Blaise said, taking the bottle from Hermione and tucking it into a small compartment in the drawer before settling Zaida into the cradle.
"Is that safe?"
"Safe as houses, love," Blaise assured her, moving to take Hermione into his arms and cradle her. "Mmm, just like a proper mother," he whispered into her hair, inhaling deeply.
"Don't tease me," Hermione protested, though she clung to Blaise a bit more tightly and allowed the warmth of his body to seep into her own.
"I never tease, and I never lie—and there'll be no more maudlin nonsense aboard my vessel, understood?" he instructed, pulling back to push Hermione's chin up so that she was looking at him.
The heat in his eyes was unmistakable, even to Hermione, who'd been feeling nothing close to desirable since giving birth.
I've missed you, so much. "Aye, aye, Captain."
"Going to have the last word," Blaise told her, one eyebrow arching mischievously. "Of course, it will be more of a gasp, I should think," he continued, moving his hands up to cup Hermione's breasts.
"Is sleeping," Blaise mouthed more than said, before nibbling lightly up Hermione's neck.
"A 'proper mother' wouldn't—"
Blaise's tongue slid over hers then, silencing her protests, and Hermione gave in. It had been too long since she'd felt like a wife to ignore the insistent pressure now building low in her body, and a sleeping baby was too much a gift to deny.
Breaking the kiss, she panted, "Want . . . you—"
"And you'll have me."
"To have . . . several 'last words'."
Blaise rolled her over onto her back and straddled her, pinning her arms above her head; it had almost no effect upon the motion of the bobbing desk.
I've got to know more about this spell!"
"You'll remember you said that, yes? Because I doubt I'll be in any condition to remember anything aft—oh!"
Hermione, having found Blaise's prick with a questing thigh and begun rubbing it lightly, managed easily to turn Blaise until she was astride him. "First mate tops, I should think," she said, grinning as she lowered her mouth to meet Blaise's own.
"First . . . first in everything, Hermio—ione!" Blaise exclaimed.
More aroused than she'd felt in ages and grinding herself into Blaise's body, it didn't take Hermione long to come, either; soon, she was lying atop him and sharing gasped air, with the only other sounds in their own private "sea" being those of Zaida's gentle breathing and the comforting slip-slaps of the waves hitting Blaise's desk.
I am, Hermione thought, the wonder of it bringing new tears to her eyes. I'm his first in everything, and he's mine—so lucky. "So . . . lovely, your boat. I like this way of sailing."
Blaise laughed. "You'll like it even better once you know how I achieved it, won't you?"
"Well," Hermione began, her usual curiosity sharpened in the wake of so much pleasure, "I would like to know—"
"And I'll tell you, after we disembark. I know how tired you've been, love, even though you haven't looked it."
"Slytherins don't lie, remember, Mrs Zabini?"
Zaida begun to fuss.
"What a good girl you are," Hermione cooed, "yes, such a good girl to give Mummy and Daddy some time to 'sail'."
"Right, and we burp babies, as well."
Hermione shifted so that Blaise could lift Zaida out of the drawer, luxuriating in the sensation of her body's post-coital throbbing and the fulness of her heart. "I love you, Captain."
"Of course you do," Blaise quipped, Transfiguring, or so Hermione thought, Slytherin arrogance into the perfect expression of charm.
Yawning in renewed exhaustion, she rested her head on her arms and gazed lovingly at Blaise until she drifted off to sleep, content in the prosperity she'd found with her proper husband.