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Brush dipping into silver pot filled with dark ink, Hermione hovered the bristles, repositioning herself just an inch as she stared at the slowly dripping liquid that made its way back into the pot. The air around her was warm but she still bit down her lip as she moved her arm, arching it away from her while she felt goosebumps traveling up her forearm. Grasping the fabric of the sheet bunched between her slightly spread legs, she looked down just as she willed the brush to start its descent.

The light that spread around her, around both of them, created trembling shadows she didn’t even dare to follow with the toes of the brush far too focused as she was on keeping her pulse steady. Millimeters away from finishing the arch, however, her shoulder locked; nervousness rising on her stomach once again.

Beneath her, naked from waist up, Narcissa chuckled; the sound of her voice soft but incredibly loud on Hermione’s ears as she felt the telling beat of her heart just as deafening as the older witch’s laugh.

“Relax.” Hermione’s breath hitched as it was Narcissa who repositioned herself this time. The movement caused the brunette to tighten the hold she had on the blonde’s waist with her knees, the warmth she felt radiating against her strong enough to make her gulp. Goosebumps now running freely, skin feeling taut around her own naked torso, she pressed the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, inches away from her teeth. “I trust you.”

Those last words were spoken in an even softer tone, but they were enough to calm Hermione’s heart. Letting out a shuddering sigh, the younger witch glanced down at Narcissa, the blonde’s head resting against her crossed arms, profile vaguely illuminated.

Blue eyes twinkling, softer than their usual jewel-like glint, Hermione was able to spy the beginning of a smirk on Narcissa’s lips. A barely-there shadow that made her flush in anticipation.

“Better if one of us does.” She mumbled and even if she had been able to voice the request of doing this she now felt unsure enough for the tip of the brush to float still far enough from Narcissa’s skin to not leave a mark on perfect, pale skin. Which, she knew, deep down, was something she shouldn’t be.

A second chuckle, this one deeper, closer to a purr, startled the Gryffindor and by the time she focused back from the dangling ink to Narcissa’s face she was able to see not only the mask of assuredness the blonde always seemed to wear but the open interest that colored the blonde’s own actions. Mapping her muscles and giving her cheeks a pinkish undertone that contrasted with the blue and the silver she had learnt to always seek whenever she was with the older witch. Sucking through her teeth, the brunette clenched her knees, not with the purpose of moving closer but, as she did it a second time as Narcissa trembled beneath her, to reassess herself. And when Narcissa sighed softly, puffs of air making a few rebel strands of hair shiver, she knew she had managed to do what she wanted.

By the time she moved her hand again there was no nervousness on her but pure and simple intent.

She started by moving the brush a few inches up; until the bristles of it where hovering over the right shoulder of the blonde. The skin sported just the barest hues of gold where the light of the enchanted candles touched it and she revealed on it, on the way it made it look pliable; inviting her in. Moving her wrist in small circles, she began to draw, a droplet of ink falling as she moved the brush away from the skin. Staring at the line she had just created she watched as Narcissa’s shoulder-blades trembled, the ink running to the blonde’s side and dipping just away from Hermione’s sight.

It was her turn to chuckle as the blonde squirmed, the movement causing ripples along her back. Enough to bunch the blanket even further between Hermione’s legs and causing just enough friction for her to arch into the touch.

“Stop.” She whispered, her free hand descended, the pads of her fingers touching Narcissa’s lower back in a movement that she soon found to be the right one when the older witch halted; her pelvis dipping further into the mattress, the softness of her thighs and ass tightening just below the brunette. Humming, Hermione rose her brows, her free hand still grazing the blonde’s body, her other hand not far from where the ink was beginning to dry. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“I’m not.”

Narcissa’s response was full of feigned haughtiness, one Hermione was perfectly capable of sensing as she, in a surge of confidence, moved forward:  the grip changing from her knees to her upper thighs as she almost let her body rest prone against Narcissa’s, her hand still hovering, drawing lazy circles before she let her short nails bite into the woman’s skin. Something that only made the blonde emit a soft gasp. One that Hermione drank avidly before she let her lips kiss Narcissa’s shoulder, just at the juncture of her neck. Her own chest brushing against the drying lines, she felt her nipples harden.

“Stay still.” She commanded, and she was surprised at the heat of her own tone, at the raspiness of it. Narcissa didn’t answer to her aloud but she adjusted her back once more, the movement causing Hermione to stifle a moan of her own before she moved back to her sitting position. Taking a slow, deep breath, she dipped the brush back into the pot and watched as the ink coated the ferrule before she moved it back to Narcissa’s skin, the excess painting dots down her spine Hermione couldn’t stop herself but smile at.

This time, when she started to paint, she didn’t doubt and so she began to connect the droplets in complex constellations; lines that transformed into glyphs and incantations she hadn’t written ever since her arithmancy days. It wasn’t art, she guessed, but as she saw the ink glow and settle as it dried she smirked to herself while she pressed herself further into Narcissa’s ass; the slow yet steady grind eliciting a growl from the older woman.

“Darling, please.”

The brunette rose a brow at the muffled plea but she stilled momentarily, going back to the pot as she admired her work: Narcissa’s upper back was covered in the sigils, her chest flush against the bed, the soft skin that hadn’t been painted still calling for her. Rising her free hand from where the back curved, just above the blonde’s tailbone, Hermione skimmed her fingers over her own stomach, the lingering heat of Narcissa’s skin one she let herself be drunk on while she sighed.

“I haven’t done anything.” She replied and this time the assuredness was mixed with just enough breathiness to elicit an amused hum from the older woman. One that was cut short when Hermione pressed her thighs against her once more.

Smirking, the brunette returned to the lines, dipping them lower as, feeling bold, started to draw flower-like designs that grew on complexity the more she covered Narcissa’s back. Needing to lower herself, she moved until she straddled the blonde’s legs, carrying the sheet with her as she uncovered more of the other woman’s body.

“I love you seeing like this.”

It was the last thing she said as Narcissa used the moment she wasn’t using her full weight on top of her to flip herself over, the movement causing the pot of ink to tumble; the thud against the floor, the ink spilling over not one Hermione particularly cared about as Narcisa’s eyes; darker than before, trapped her in.

“Really?” She breathed, and the brunette was vaguely aware Narcissa had picked up the brush from between her fingers, her hands lax and unresponsive. “Because I prefer being the one who looks at you.”