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There is something magical in waking up next to the person you love.
Blinking in the morning light, Hermione lets out a breath. She watches the shadows of leaves and sun spots dance over the ceiling. There is a warm weight on her chest, a thigh thrown over her hips. She smells sheets and Fleur’s shampoo. The warmth and sweetness of her kisses the night before still cling to her lips, tasting of whisky and something smoky, something heady and weak kneed. It makes her smile, thinking that even after all the years, she can still make her feel like a jittery, shaky fingered mess.
Slowly, with the care of the earth revolving around the sun, she slips her fingers up up the small of Fleur’s back, walking her fingers up her spine, tracing the curves of her shoulders. She slides her palm over the warm skin of her neck, losing her touch in her hair. Cupping the back of her head, she presses her close, reveling in the feel of her, the life and warmth of her. She feels her own breath catch and she wraps her in her arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“You’ve not had enough of me?” Fleur murmurs sleepily. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she smiles, her eyelashes fluttering.
Hermione chuckles, brushing the backs of her fingers over her cheek. “Never. I even miss you when I sleep.”
“But you should not. Because you only have to dream of me.”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you? You and your big head.”
“It is not big. It is very well proportioned, thank you.”
“Hm.” Hermione tickles her and Fleur squeals, twisting out of her arms.
“It is too early for your shenanigans,” Fleur scolds, but her heart isn’t in it.
“Shenanigans? What shenanigans?”
“Say shenanigans once more.”
Smiling, Hermione props herself onto an elbow. “Shenanigans.”
With a cry, Fleur launches herself at her. She sits on her hips and tickles her until she is weeping and gasping and laughing helplessly.
“There,” Fleur says, kissing her softly. “Now you see who is top bitch.”
“Top bitch? Are we roleplaying?”
“My morning is free…” Fleur kisses her again, beneath her jaw.
“Food,” Hermione replies, pushing at her shoulders.
“Yes, I certainly am hungry.”
“You’re incorrigible.” Perfectly on time, Hermione’s stomach growls. She gives Fleur a pointed look. “That kind of food.”
Fleur lets out a huff, sitting back on Hermione’s thighs. “Cock-blocked by a digestive system. How embarrassing.”
As is their Sunday morning custom, the witches find themselves at the Tea Shop. It is only a little way from their home and the tables inside are warm from the sun, the air smelling like flour and fresh coffee and brewing tea. Inside, Asmodeus stands slumped at the counter. His expression is bleak, his tail drooping, his dark red skin lacking its usual luster.
“It’s Vick and Lynn,” he replies to Fleur’s raised eyebrow. “They’ve given me the boot.”
“Why would they do that?” Hermione asks.
As sniffles. “I’m embarrassed.”
Fleur lays a hand over his, giving him a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to tell -”
“It’s because I don’t want to have sex!” He wails suddenly, bursting into a fresh rain of tears.
Patrons look up curiously and Hermione winces, patting As on the shoulder.
“Eat your bagel,” Fleur says, glaring at a particularly curious couple. They duck their heads.
“You don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to,” Hermione says, consoling the weeping demon.
“Vick and Lynn. What ridiculous names.” Fleur adds with a disdainful curl of her lip.
“Well, it’s what they expected,” As says. “I mean, come on. I’m a demon. They just assumed. What did they want? Leather and cocaine? Week long fuck benders?”
“All of those things are nice,” Fleur muses. She coughs at Hermione’s look. The Wife glare. Designed to make you feel an inch tall and ridiculous. “Ehm, they are nice when you want them too. But if you don’t, that’s okay.”
“I just wanted cuddles!” As wails.
Hermione holds him, rubbing soothing circles on his back.
“What’s this?” says a voice.
Fleur gives a sheepish smile as Aline and Ginny approach, their expressions confused.
“Did you stub your toe?” Ginny asks As.
Ginny grunts as Aline’s elbow lands in her ribs. She cringes under Hermione’s murderous glare.
“Come with me,” Fleur says, taking Ginny’s elbow. “Do you have any of those Muggle cigarettes?”
“No,” Ginny says loudly, her eyes on her wife’s suspicious stare. “Quick, round back,” she hisses to Fleur.
The bell above the door jingles as Fleur and Ginny make a quick exit.
Aline, a mother who is always prepared for battle, passes As a tissue. He blows his nose loudly and both Hermione and Aline rub his shoulders.
“I don’t even have genitalia!” As yells. “What do they want me to do, strap up? I’m not a lesbian.” He blinks at Aline and Hermione. “No offense.”
Aline gives a small smile, her eyes and skin dark, her grin lethal. “You may be surprised to learn that not all of us have to ‘strap up’, as you so eloquently say. We have magic, you know.”
As gives a curious sniffle and Hermione coughs into her hand.
“Ahem,” Hermione says.
As raises his thick black brows. “Is that so?”
“Let’s not make this about me,” Hermione says, smiling nervously.
“It is because we are Veela,” Aline says proudly.
Hermione drops her forehead against the counter and groans. “Please stop.”
“I wondered where all those children were coming from,” As says. “I thought they were delivered in baskets. Shipped in from China, perhaps?”
“Babies are not iPhones,” Hermione says.
“Right,” Aline agrees. “But they are also very expensive and overrated.” She laughs at Hermione’s look of shock. “I’m joking. I’m sorry. Ginny has corrupted me.”
“Anyway,” Hermione says, still leveling an unimpressed eyebrow at Aline, “anyone who tries to pressure you into doing things you don’t want to is not worth your time. There’s nothing wrong with preferring cuddles to sex.”
Aline nods, sitting on a stool. “Love is more than sex. It is the language between partners. The routines. The jokes. The togetherness. The desire to build your future with another soul. Or souls.”
Hermione takes As’ large hand between her own, smiling into his eyes. “You’re not the problem, they are. Don’t do your head in over it. Have a good cry and put your mind at ease. Love happens when it happens.”
“Maybe I should get a cat,” As says, wiping his eyes.
“Add suspenders to that and you really will be a lesbian,” Aline mutters.
Hermione turns a stunned face to the grinning woman. “What has gotten into you?”
Aline shrugs and smiles. “Ginny.”
Leaning against the red brick wall of the Tea Shop, hiding in the alley like a couple of teenagers, Ginny and Fleur puff their smokes, sighing happily.
“Bit heavy in there,” Ginny remarks.
“Poor As,” Fleur sighs.
“We should go kick those knobs in the ass. Set fire to their brooms?”
“Make their deaths look like an accident?”
“Put hair remover in their shampoo.”
“Glue in their lotion.”
“Melt their dildos!”
Fleur nods, squinting through the smoke. “Nice.”
They bump fists.
Ginny tilts her head back, watching a bird fly over. “How about those Harpies?”
“Magpies,” Fleur says. “Your Harpies will be crushed.”
“Ohhhh. Wanna put your money where your mouth is?”
Fleur smirks and agrees. Their conversation quiets after that, the pair simply smoking and watching the birds build nests in the factory windows across the street.
Late that night, As is near closing shop, wiping down tables and setting things to rights for the next morning. The bell over the door jingles and he turns, meaning to snarl a toothy “piss off”, but he freezes. His eyes widen, his heart stops, and his tail quivers. He tries to swallow but finds that his brain is no longer issuing commands, too busy stuttering and whistling and spewing smoke.
Before him stands the most beautiful man he has ever seen.
His is not extraordinary in the sense that you would find him remarkable, per say. He is of average height, his hair a bit shaggy and in need of a cut. There is stubble on his jaw. His eyes are brown and his nose looks as if it has been broken. He smiles and there is a gap in his front teeth. There is a scar on his chin.
He is perfectly imperfect. And he is gorgeous.
As lets out a deep sigh.
“Hello,” he says.
“Hi,” the stranger says. He gestures at the wipes in As’ hand. “I didn’t realize you’re closing. No hours on the door.”
As clears his throat, giving a sheepish smile. “I open when I open, really.”
“Oh. Well, I won’t bother you. Enjoy your night.”
“Wait!”
The stranger turns, his eyebrows raised.
As shifts, his tail hiding behind his back. “I always have a beer at lock up. Would you like one?”
The stranger considers. As waits, breath held, anxiety tight in his chest. He feels suddenly very old and very foolish.
“I would like that,” the stranger says finally, his eyes soft.
As lets out a breath. “Lock the door, would you.”
The stranger does. Then he sits at the counters, pressing his palms to the sweating beer bottle As slides to him.
“My name is Stephen,” the stranger says.
“Asmodeus. As to handsome men.”
Stephen gives him a quick, shy look from under his eyelashes. “You have the loveliest eyes.”
As nearly swoons. He smiles, dropping his chin into his hand. “Do you like cuddling, Stephen?”
“Of course.”
“Big spoon or little?”
“I believe in democracy.”
As breathes.
He’s perfect.