Tradition
Title: Tradition
Team Name: Death Eaters
Word Count: 5x100
Challenge: Single Candle
Rating: R - naughtiness ahead!
Characters: Hermione & Severus
They had long ago forgotten whose idea it had been, but the tradition was upheld.
Once a year on their anniversary they locked themselves in their bedroom, away from prying eyes and owls and Floos. They undress each other between kisses and quiet breaths. This is not about the sex, this is about their connection.
Their room is lit with naught but a single candle, casting shadows in the corners and turning their skin to gold and alabaster. His hands trail along her shoulders and arms, she runs her fingers down his spine. No scar, no mark, goes unkissed, untouched.
~*~
Severus tilts her chin and brushes his lips gently against her forehead, his raven hair falling around them. He worships his witch, his life-line in the world, with every movement. While they give to each other through the year, this day is special. This is their renewal of life, their affirmation of love.
He discards his trousers, his boots, his weariness under her hands. He sighs her name into the dark of the room, whispers his devotion with the touch of his fingers on her hot, silken skin. With her, here, he burns just like the candle on the bureau.
~*~
Hermione lets him tangle his hands in her hair as she kisses him. She longs for this connection all year, this moment of silent perfection. In his arms she is molten, shaped like candle wax to be perfection in his eyes.
There is no judgment for her body, for it is their souls that long to touch. Their hearts beat in synchronicity, and she tells him that he holds her heart with every beat. Each breath that leaves her is for him. The candle throws his familiar and harsh features into soft relief and she loves him all the more.
~*~
They move to the bed, a rustle of sheets and creak of limbs. Severus moves down her body, all crooked teeth and velvet tongue at the swell of her breast. He is heat and light, pouring it into her with his talented mouth as she grasps at the bedclothes in desperation.
When Hermione comes undone it is to push him down, her mouth on his, feeding him purity and goodness with each kiss. She rises over him, stroking him and sinking down until he is home. His cries are bliss, music to her and his hands bite into her flesh.
~*~
The only witness to this rebirth is a candle, sitting forgotten. The shadows of the year are burned away in a night, pains and doubts guttering out. They are incandescent, their bodies shimmering with love and magic. She takes his moans, his pleasure, and returns it tenfold. He gives her all that he is and takes her very soul in return. It is a mutual heat, a slow burn. When morning finds them, their skin marked is by passion and release. It's a tradition, kept as faithfully as they keep their promises to each other: to love, honor, and protect.