Standing On The Rainbow; Toenail Challenge
Title Standing In The Rainbow
Team: Death Eaters
Challenge: Toenail
Length: 4 X 100
Rating: G
Warning: Fluffamundo
A/N: stgulik suggested something erotic, but this isn't it. Ive got something else in mind about that. But in the meantime...
Even at his most sly, obvious, manipulative, Slytherin worst, it is very hard to deny Severus Snape anything. He expects more than he lets on, and yet he is genuinely appreciative of Hermione’s thoughtful little gifts. Though he is not a wizard given to overly-romantic gestures, he has carved her heart to its very sinew with the tenderest moments of thoughtfulness.
“I should like to paint your toenails,” he announces that evening. His words and manner are as stiff as his collar.
“Why?” she asks.
“Is an explanation compulsory to permitting the act?” he retorts.
Hermione smiles. “Not at all.”
“This is new,” she says, as he pulls her bare feet into his lap. He says nothing, but merely glances up at her as he opens a small glass vial and dips a tiny brush into the opening. Black, viscous liquid drips from the bristles, and he clasps her foot, steadying it against his thigh.
Hermione has never let anyone paint her toenails; she can’t be arsed to do it herself. But if she had the inclination, she certainly wouldn’t choose black.
“Severus, I’m not sure I─”
“Shh.” His downcast eyes hide behind long lashes even darker than the lacquer.
He starts perversely at her pinkie toe, stroking across the surface of the nail with all the delicacy of a calligrapher.
A black swipe appears at the end of her foot, then turns blue.
Across her senses burst a myriad of sensations; the salty spray of sea air from their first holiday at Freshwater Bay. The taste of the chocolate-covered blueberries he feeds her when the migraines come.
“Severus?”
He doesn’t look up from his handiwork. Instead, he continues to paint each nail with slow, meticulous strokes, his brow furrowed in concentration, his burning, formidable focus solely on his work.
Each toe is painted with tender attention, and each becomes a different colour, each colour the most perfect of its hue. In the bright orange, she feels the warmth of the sunrise that greeted them after their first night together. Her taste buds recall the sweet, heady wine that toasted their first new year in the rich purple. The flaming red of the gown she wore on their wedding night whispers against her skin.
Taste. Touch. Sight. Sound.
“I am painting our memories,” he explains, “that you may walk with them every day. This way, you will never lose them.”
Team: Death Eaters
Challenge: Toenail
Length: 4 X 100
Rating: G
Warning: Fluffamundo
A/N: stgulik suggested something erotic, but this isn't it. Ive got something else in mind about that. But in the meantime...
Even at his most sly, obvious, manipulative, Slytherin worst, it is very hard to deny Severus Snape anything. He expects more than he lets on, and yet he is genuinely appreciative of Hermione’s thoughtful little gifts. Though he is not a wizard given to overly-romantic gestures, he has carved her heart to its very sinew with the tenderest moments of thoughtfulness.
“I should like to paint your toenails,” he announces that evening. His words and manner are as stiff as his collar.
“Why?” she asks.
“Is an explanation compulsory to permitting the act?” he retorts.
Hermione smiles. “Not at all.”
“This is new,” she says, as he pulls her bare feet into his lap. He says nothing, but merely glances up at her as he opens a small glass vial and dips a tiny brush into the opening. Black, viscous liquid drips from the bristles, and he clasps her foot, steadying it against his thigh.
Hermione has never let anyone paint her toenails; she can’t be arsed to do it herself. But if she had the inclination, she certainly wouldn’t choose black.
“Severus, I’m not sure I─”
“Shh.” His downcast eyes hide behind long lashes even darker than the lacquer.
He starts perversely at her pinkie toe, stroking across the surface of the nail with all the delicacy of a calligrapher.
A black swipe appears at the end of her foot, then turns blue.
Across her senses burst a myriad of sensations; the salty spray of sea air from their first holiday at Freshwater Bay. The taste of the chocolate-covered blueberries he feeds her when the migraines come.
“Severus?”
He doesn’t look up from his handiwork. Instead, he continues to paint each nail with slow, meticulous strokes, his brow furrowed in concentration, his burning, formidable focus solely on his work.
Each toe is painted with tender attention, and each becomes a different colour, each colour the most perfect of its hue. In the bright orange, she feels the warmth of the sunrise that greeted them after their first night together. Her taste buds recall the sweet, heady wine that toasted their first new year in the rich purple. The flaming red of the gown she wore on their wedding night whispers against her skin.
Taste. Touch. Sight. Sound.
“I am painting our memories,” he explains, “that you may walk with them every day. This way, you will never lose them.”