Title: A Momentary Relaxation
Author: tryslora
Characters/Pairings: Hermione/Lavender
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: phone sex
Other Warnings: D/s, toys, nipple play, rimming
Word Count: 3,124 words
Summary/Description: Someone needs to keep Hermione grounded after the stress of the day while Lavender’s away.
Author's Notes: There was a discussion on LJ about whether Lavender survived the final battle right around the time prompts were posted, and I was talking about how Hermione saving her could have changed their relationship. Next thing I knew, I had this, and I am ever so grateful to whoever posted that question about Lavender originally. As always, I do not own the world or characters of Harry Potter, I just like to play with them.


It hits her the moment Harry and Ron leave, leaning on each other, Ron’s arm over Harry’s shoulder and Harry’s arm about Ron’s waist. They are laughing and rosy cheeked, and when Harry leans in to whisper something, Hermione doesn’t have to hear the words to know what they are going home to do.

The silence falls when the door closes behind them, and Hermione is alone in her flat again.

It’s quiet at night without Lavender talking constantly about nothing at all. Hermione never really thought she’d miss it, but the quiet weighs on her now, heavy and thick, without any way to relieve the stress of the day.

She putters around the kitchen, doing the dishes by hand and setting them in the rack to dry. Every few minutes she glances at the phone that lies on the counter, biting her lip when it stays silent.

It’s getting late in London; it’s later still in Japan.

It finally rings when she’s drying her hands, and she lets it go for a few seconds, not wanting to appear too eager when she finally picks it up and touches the switch to answer. “Hello?”

“Hi, ‘Mione.” Lavender’s voice is low and a little rough, never quite the same since Greyback scarred her throat at the end of the war. “How’s it going?”

“It’s quiet.” Hermione leans back against the counter, the phone cradled in both hands, a smile lifting her lips. “I keep expecting to hear someone nattering on about blue pumps or a purple skirt or some rot.” She can imagine it if she tries, can see Lavender standing on the other side of the kitchen, pumps in her hands, toes flexing against the floor as she describes some event of the day. She sighs. “How much longer are you going to be gone?”

“I’ll be in Tokyo for three more days, then I go down to Kyoto for another two, then I’ll hop the portkeys back home.” The smile is evident in Lavender’s voice, even through the tinny sound of the long distance connection. “Miss me?”

It’s gotten easier for Hermione to admit in recent months, but it still comes out as a whisper. “Yes.”

Lavender’s voice shifts to soft and concerned. “How have you been sleeping? I worry about you there all alone. Did you tell Fidgebucket to fuck off yet?”

“Lavender!” Hermione laughs, even while she has to play shocked at the language. “It’s Fudgebuttle, which you know, and no, I haven’t. I can’t do that if I want to keep my job.”

“You could manage my business, ‘Mione.”

It’s a familiar argument by now, one that they’ve been having since they were still just friends, before they became whatever they are now. Hermione sighs. “I wouldn’t be happy with that either, Lav. It’s not what I want to do. I want to—”

“Change the world, I know.” Lavender sighs. “I’m changing the world, too. It’s just not the same way you want to. But I’d at least treat you better than Fudgebuttle ever will. There might even be mandatory relaxatory moments during the day.”

“That’s not a word.” Hermione can’t help the smile; Lavender always manages to bring her back from the edge of frustration. The made up words drive Hermione mad, but at the same time, Lavender says them with such a serious expression, while the humor sparkles in her eyes. It’s her way of teasing Hermione.

“Are you alone?”

Hermione’s breath catches at Lavender’s question. “Yes. Ron and Harry left about an hour ago. I’ve just finished the cleaning up. Why?” It’s a rhetorical question; she knows what Lavender has in mind.

“Go to the bedroom.” Lavender’s voice has dropped, taking on a tenor of command that makes Hermione shiver.

“But what if I weren’t at home?” Hermione pushes, needing to shove against those limits that she sees coming so quickly as the conversation changes. It isn’t easy to just roll over and give in.

Lavender laughs, the soft, smoky sound very different from the high pitched giggle Hermione remembers from their school days. “Then you’d better hurry up and get to the loo or someplace private, ‘Mione, because you have exactly ten seconds to get your knickers down around your knees.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hermione’s eyes flutter closed, and she is already counting in her mind. One—breathe in, two—breathe out. At three she tucks the phone under her chin and hitches her shoulder up to hold it, and by four her fingers are on the zip of her pencil skirt, undoing the small clasp before she pushes the zip down for five. Six and seven have her wriggling, frustrated by the tight skirt, and on eight she simply bunches it up around her hips. By nine the lacy knickers are already damp as she pushes them down, capturing the phone again on ten and leaving her knickers tangled at her knees, keeping her from spreading her legs too far.

“Where are you?” The words are soft and slow, wrapping around Hermione like a warm blanket.

“In the kitchen,” she murmurs back, one hand on the phone again, cradling it close to her ear. “I couldn’t get my skirt off, but my knickers are down.”

“Sit on the counter.”

It’s an order, and Hermione cannot refuse. She hitches herself up awkwardly, bare bum against the cold marble, knees slightly spread. She shifts and feels the drag and push of her damp curls against the countertop, and she whimpers.

“Do you like that?” Soft laughter rumbles. “I can imagine you there, spread out like dinner, love. Get those knickers off completely. I want you to put one foot on the counter, show yourself off. Imagine I’m standing right there in front of you.”

Hermione can see it in her mind, the way Lavender would lean against the other wall, casually naked except for the heels. Lavender likes to wear heels, likes the way she can press one toe against Hermione’s skin and leave a small mark that has Hermione gasping. She likes the way they make her taller than Hermione, the way they emphasize her legs. Lavender likes to make Hermione kiss her toes sometimes, lips against leather before she works her way up.

Maybe Hermione likes the heels too, just a bit.

“You’re leaning against the wall,” Hermione whispers as the knickers slide down. She lets them fall on the kitchen floor, then leans back, her head against the upper cabinets, her right foot up, heel against the counter as her knee falls to the side, baring her for view. “You’re watching me, and I’m open for you. I’m showing you how wet I am. How ready I am for whatever you want from me.”

“Do you know what I want tonight?”

The words are a whisper, licking under her skin, and she imagines Lavender’s tongue dragging across her lips as she speaks. Scarlet lipstick, ready to paint Hermione’s skin with each kiss. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I want you to kiss me, though. On my mouth, on my breast. On my…” Her voice trails off.

“Say it, ‘Mione.”

She hesitates.

“Say it.”

“I want you to kiss me on my fanny,” Hermione whispers. “I want to feel your tongue on me. I want you to taste my lips, and I want you to stick your tongue in me and fuck me with it.”

“Do you want to come apart while I suck your clit?” Lavender’s words roll off the tongue; they are so easy for her to say, and they make Hermione flush brutally warm.

“Yes.”

“What was that?”

“Yes, ma’am. I want to come on your tongue.”

There is a moment’s pause, and Hermione wonders if Lavender is naked on the other end of the phone. It isn’t for her to ask; she isn’t in charge here, but she hopes that Lavender is. She wants to know that Lavender needs this as much as she does, after a week apart.

“I’m crouching down in front of you,” Lavender whispers. “But I’m not going to lick you. Not yet. I want you to show me where you like to be touched.”

“What?” Hermione’s hand shakes, the phone almost slipping free. “What do you mean?”

“Touch yourself for me.” There is a soft rustling noise. “Slide your fingers down over your body. Touch your nipples. Pinch them, just as hard as you want me to. Then I want you to slip your finger between those wet lips and stroke yourself. Because I can’t lick you until you show me where to do it.” A small pause, a soft hitch of breath from the other end, and Hermione feels a fresh flood of arousal at that sound. “Tell me everything, ‘Mione.”

Hermione slides her free hand down over her body, stroking around one breast, trying to remember how Lavender touches her, trying to imagine that it might be Lavender’s hand. “I like it when you pinch my nipples.” She takes one between forefinger and thumb, rolling it slightly, teasing herself. “I like it when you’re rough, when you tug and make me cry out. I like it when you suck them into your mouth and when you bite me.”

“That’s what you like,” Lavender tells her, voice stern. “I’m very proud of you, love, for being able to tell me that, and I know it’s hard for you. But I want you to tell me what you’re doing now when I’m not there. I want you to tell me exactly how you will please yourself for me.”

Hermione bites down on her lower lip, trying to keep herself from crying out. “I… I’m rolling my nipple between my fingers. Pulling on it, so I can feel my breast move. I… I wish I had the clamps. I want to feel something pinching at them, tugging on them.”

“Get them, love.”

It only takes a thought, a quick summons and the clamps fly to her. They are small circles, magically charmed so that as soon as she sets one over a nipple, it tightens down hard, biting into the tender skin. She moans at the feeling and looks down. “They’re red, ma’am. They’re so red, and tight and it hurts and it feels so good. I’m touching the tips, just the little tips that peek out and I’m thinking about your tongue. I love that feeling, that soft, soothing feeling when I’m so sensitive. I could… I feel like I could come just from this.”

“Don’t.”

Hermione’s hand drops to her side, breath heavy. She doesn’t dare touch them again. “I won’t. I promise. Not until you say so.”

“Good girl.” Then there’s nothing but silence for a moment, as Hermione struggles to stay still and not touch herself, waiting for more instruction. Lavender’s voice is hoarse when it returns. “Hold yourself open for me. Show me where you want me to lick you.”

Hermione reaches, but her hand isn’t enough. “May I put you on speaker?” When she receives permission, she touches the button and sets the phone down on the counter. With two hands, she can hold her slick lips apart with two fingers, while the other hand strokes between them. There’s a soft, squishy, wet noise, so she does it again, hoping Lavender can hear how ready she is.

“From top to bottom,” Hermione whispers. “I’m so wet. So, so wet, I can feel it on my thighs, and when I lean back, it’s pooling down to my ass. And your tongue feels so good on me. The way you tease me, when you touch my clit and then stop to push it into me. Right here, like this, you like to lick me until I scream. You’re going to fuck me with your tongue, aren’t you? Please?”

“Lean back.” Lavender waits until Hermione settles herself carefully, one foot braced on the counter, her back wedged against the cabinets. Hermione murmurs that she’s ready, and Lavender speaks again. “My tongue isn’t touching your clit tonight.”

“No?” Hermione whimpers and Lavender laughs softly.

“No. I’m trying something different. I’m letting my tongue slide all the way down… show me where my tongue is going, ‘Mione. Can you feel it?”

She can imagine it, Lavender’s tongue stroking so softly, fluttering against sensitive skin as she teases at the back of her sopping hole. “I can feel it,” she whispers.

“Think about what it feels like when I go back just a bit further, behind your hole.”

Hermione lets her finger slide back, and she squeaks when she realizes where she is, touching that sensitive place between pussy and ass. It is slick and soft, slightly swollen in arousal. “I can’t…”

“‘Mione.” Lavender’s voice lashes out, and Hermione’s hand slips, pushing back, rimming that tight edge. She cries out, and Lavender soothes her with nonsense words.

“I can’t…” she whispers again.

“It’s my tongue, love. I’m circling your ass with my tongue, making you so wet. Doesn’t it feel good?”

Hermione lets her finger move lightly around the rim of that tight puckered hole, spreading slick warmth. It does feel good, but it feels so wrong at the same time. Nothing should be touching her here. Not her finger, not Lavender’s tongue. But there is something about that dirty feeling that is also good, and she gives herself a little more pressure and moans at just how good it feels.

“Good girl.” Lavender is pleased. “Oh my darling girl, you’re beautiful like this, you know. When you’re scared, and trying so hard to be brave and do everything I want. I’m going to fuck you so hard when I come home, until you’re screaming for me. I’ve bought you presents, love. Wonderful, lovely, fun toys that we’ll have such fun with. Do you want that, ‘Mione?”

“Yes.” It’s a soft whisper, drawn from somewhere deep inside that makes her flush hot all over, skin bright red and warm. She loves the things Lavender brings her, toys from other places in the world, things she would never dream of buying for herself, or trying without Lavender. “Are you… are you still licking my ass?” She says the words carefully, slowly, enunciating every one, and she hears the pride when Lavender approves.

“I’m going to push my finger in, just a bit,” Lavender murmurs. “Just the tip, just enough to feel full.”

Hermione presses and feels the circle part just enough to let her finger in to the knuckle. It feels so odd, but there’s a fresh flush of wet between her legs, and she wants so badly to be filled. “Lavender… oh sweet Merlin, I need you here and fucking me.”

“Get a toy.”

Hermione doesn’t think past the order, the toy flying from the cabinet in their room. She slides it into her wet hole, pushing it deep until she feels it bottom out. She cries out loudly, withdrawing it with a wet slurp and pushing it in again. “I’m close. I’m so close. Oh please let me come. Please.”

“Am I fucking you? Which toy is it?” There is an urgency in Lavender’s voice, and Hermione can hear the tinny sounds of something stroking wetly as Lavender fingers herself.

“Yours.” Hermione has presumed, but this is the one she likes the best, the one she misses the most. It is the one that Lavender wears, the thick bulb inside of Lavender normally, while the long, thin cock fucks Hermione deeply. It lets her imagine Lavender over her now, imagine that her tits are right there for Hermione to suck, nipples taut and hard when Hermione pulls on them with her teeth. “You’re fucking me so hard, I can’t even think.” She cries out. “Please let me come. Please. I need… I’m going to break apart. I’m going to shatter and there’s not going to be anything left and… Lavender!”

She’s shaking with the effort of holding back, the cock pushed deep inside of her, a finger two knuckles deep in her ass. She is tight, taut, and wire sharp, and she waits, poised on the edge.

She hears the soft sounds of Lavender gasping, then the whisper, “Come for me,” and Hermione does. The world goes into shades of grey and red as her body clenches tightly around the invasions, and she collapses back on the countertop, only vaguely aware of the sound of Lavender’s orgasm on the other end of the phone line.

Hermione sucks in breath and lets it out, shuddering as aftershocks shiver through her.

“Feel better?”

She summons a tea towel and wipes her fingers before picking up the phone. Her body is loose and lax, and she thinks she might be able to sleep now. “Much.” She touches the phone lightly. “I still miss you, Lav. My bed is empty without you. The flat is quiet.” Hermione hesitates, considering her words carefully before she says them. “I love you.”

There is a soft hiss of indrawn breath at the other end. “I thought you didn’t believe in love.”

“I thought it was a fairy tale that we were taught to keep us in control,” Hermione says quietly. “We grew up thinking that every princess has to have her prince, but they never mentioned what to do when the prince started fucking his best mate.”

“And now?” Lavender prods gently.

Hermione licks her lips. “Now I know it isn’t about princesses or princes. It’s about someone who makes me feel amazing, and who makes my life complete. Someone I miss when they’re half a world away, and whose stupidest habits are the things I look forward to seeing. It’s about a laugh making my body hot, and about a single word making me want you more than anything. It’s about how you are everything I need, and everything I can’t live without. You understand me in ways that no one else ever has, Lavender.” She says the words more strongly. “I love you.”

She can hear the way the smile rounds the words that come back to her across the miles. “I love you, too, ‘Mione. Call me tomorrow on your lunch break, all right?”

“I might not get a lunch break,” Hermione admits. She hasn’t had one since Lavender left.

That firm voice returns, sending a shiver down her spine. “Take one. And call me. And ‘Mione?” Lavender hesitates, waiting even though Hermione knows what is coming next. “Make sure to set a privacy ward first. I’m going to expect to hear you scream.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hermione cradles the phone to her ear, whispering her goodbyes and holding it still after the connection is cut.

There are only five more days until Lavender returns. Until then, at least they have this.