Title: An Orange Sort of Day
Rating: NC17, course.
Pairing: Gilderoy Lockhart/Hermione Granger
Kinks: Dubious consent (dubious twice, I suppose, but also entirely willing; I am aware this makes no sense), blowjobs, uhhh narcissism?
Warnings: see kink. Also, some degree of crack; the pairing is not so much with the sane and Gilderoy is still at St. Mungo's.
Summary: It's an orange sort of day, but then Gilderoy has a guest, and things start to look up.
A/N: This month's theme is to use a past theme. I went to the themes post and scrolled all the way to the end, and the very last thing there is this pairing, the alternate pairing for March 06. Now, I suppose I was supposed to use a theme rather than a pairing, but alas, I saw that, and away we went. So. There it is. Thanks to Leni Jess and Amanuensis for the quickie betas.

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An Orange Sort of Day

It was looking to be an orange sort of day, and Gilderoy liked that sort the least; they were days of overheat and exertion, and he thought perhaps he'd once spent some time in the Amazon, or possibly Arizona, enduring an entire spate of them in the quest to rid the world of, of, the name was on the tip of his tongue. Artichokes? That wasn't right. Maybe it hadn't been the Amazon.

He considered what outfit might best shield him from the day, and wasn't it simply hideous that he had no hot weather wear? He was going to have to speak to the nurse again; mosquito netting couldn't be so hard to come by as all that. Not that it was hot in this room, no, but this didn't change the fundamental orangitude of the afternoon, and he was going to have to make do with a linen shirt. Now where was his linen shirt?

He was going to have to discuss the staff's inability to keep his clothes in order, as well, when he spoke to the nurse. All he had here was the standard fare, and none of it was adequate. He sighed and pulled on a boring nearly-white shirt over his head.

"Lockhart."

Honestly, the lack of privacy here was quite infuriating; he was standing with his utterly pinchable backside hanging out for anyone to see, and she was just going to tell him none of the other patients required half an hour to locate their clothing, which wasn't true, since some of the patients were unable to locate their own clothing in the first place, but evidently she didn't think that was a lie. He didn't bother pulling on the horrid loose trousers with their common drawstring waist before he turned; he merely held them before him.

Oh. That wasn't the nurse.

Probably.

He didn't think the nurse had hair like that. Or, he thought he'd remember if she did. Maybe not. No matter.

"Yes?"

"I expected you'd be more dressed."

"Yes, well, I was unable to find the appropriate attire," he said. He waited for her to tell him who in the world she was, but she said nothing. Typical. Don't tell the inmates anything they need to know. Though to be fair, he'd probably only forget if she did, which made maintaining his irritation slightly more difficult. The entire situation was nearly as irritating as the laundry issue. Finally, he asked, "Have we met?"

"Yes. Quite a long time ago."

He tried not to let his face fall at the lack of introduction, nor the fact he had no idea who she might be. "Ah. Well, then I shall put on my trousers, and we shall have tea and catch up." He pointed toward the little table, with the dreadfully tacky tea service. "I'm afraid there are no scones." He bent forward enough that the shirt would cover Little Gilderoy and lifted one foot to shove through the trouser leg.

"Yes, well, I'm not here about scones, exactly."

She sounded really terribly serious, whoever she was, and she didn't look away while he got dressed, though she did, after a moment, cross to the table.

In fact, he rather thought she was assessing him.

"Are you here to retrieve my memory?" he asked brightly. "There have been a number of nurses and several specialists, you know."

"In a manner of speaking," she said, watching him tie his drawstring. "You'll want to tie that more firmly."

Gilderoy didn't explain that the fundamentals of bow management were amongst those things which lived in the gaps in his mind. He sat in the little chair and poured them tea. It was quite low quality, probably purchased in gauche bulk packets of a hundred pounds at a time and divided out. Also, they didn't allow him to boil water, so it was tepid.

One made do when one had no choice.

"Well, then," he said after he took a mouth-puckering sip--and would it kill them to choose a less bitter blend? But then, they hadn't asked his opinion. So far as he knew. "What manner of speaking would that be?"

"I'm after a rather specific set," she said, pulling the other chair around next to him. "One I'm not certain you retain."

"Ah." He took another sip, the smallest he could manage. It really was worse than usual today. "Well, if it's to do with Antarctica, you've chosen the right day for it."

"Nothing like that," she said.

"Ah. Too bad, it's a perfectly good day gone to waste, then." No need to tell her he was a bit put off by the hue.

"We'll see. Tell me, how's your tea?"

"A bit bitter," he said, "but I believe the taste is growing on me." One had to put one's best foot forward, mother… or perhaps it had been the lovely Rebecca, or, ah, Eve… in any case, someone had always said.

He wondered, after a moment, who Rebecca and Eve might be, then added, "Yours?"

"Tepid."

"Yes, they've a rule."

"So they said. Are you thinking anything unusual, just now?"

"Well, I can't be sure, but it seems I've just now recollected a young lady in London… or perhaps New York. Have you been?"

"No, never. And what about this young lady do you recall?"

"Lovely mouth, she had. Quite vigorous with her lips, as she--oh, dear. I'm afraid the staff won't like me saying."

She smiled, and he thought he remembered a mouth like that, too, slightly wicked under eyes that spoke of clever intent. Only she seemed shy, which didn't entirely mesh with the wickedness. Perhaps he was mistaken. That happened sometimes. "I've disabled the monitoring charms on your room," she said.

"Really?" He was quite interested to hear, though his focus remained mostly on her mouth. "I didn't know that was an option! I'd much rather they not listen in, when, ah, Little Gilderoy and I take our exercise together."

"I'd rather, as well."

He sipped once more. She hadn't touched hers, but to wrap her hands around the ugly little cup. "I'd no idea you'd an interest in Little Gilderoy's well-being," he said. He licked his lips and tried to adopt an expression of concern, though honestly, the presence of a woman with a mouth who wished to discuss Little Gilderoy made him slightly giddy. That hadn't happened in far too long for a man such as himself; it should be commonplace. He made a mental note to ask the other nurses, when they reappeared, why they never…what had he been thinking about? Oh, dear. Well, no matter. Something compelled him to ask, "What did you say your name was, again?"

"I didn't."

"I see." He flashed his most charming toothy smile. "But I must ask you not to be coy; Little Gilderoy can't possibly make your acquaintance if he doesn't learn your name."

She looked at him sideways, flushing fetchingly pink. "And does he? Want to make my acquaintance?"

Gilderoy considered the sensation of the tented fabric pulled up away from his lap, and tried to work out whether mother--or Rebecca, or perhaps Anamaria, would chastise him for this. He hadn't seen any of them in ages, after all. Possibly because he'd kept away from the Congo; at least one man there had been quite unamused, once upon a time. …Or was it Canada?

But that was neither here nor there; the question at hand was regarding his terribly-tight trousers and the shiny-pink lips of this girl who clearly wasn't a nurse. At length, he flashed his teeth again. "I believe he would."

"Excellent." She set down her undrunk tea. "You may call me Miss Granger."

There was no pussyfooting around for this one; she stood and pulled him upright before her. He always liked that. Probably. He frowned. "What sort of memory is it you hope to acquire?" He wasn't sure why this seemed important to him--after all, if he didn't have it, he could always stall until after the introductions--but it did, and she scowled.

"It's really quite simple," she said.

"Ah, good. I sometimes don't fare well with complication," Gilderoy explained. "I used to be…"

"Yes, yes. You wrote stories--"

"You've read them!"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Lovely! Is that why you want to meet Little Gilderoy? That happens sometimes, you see. It's what happened with… what was her name? Minerva, I believe… No, no, I think that was someone else entirely."

"I should hope so," Miss Granger said. "And no; it's only that my boyfriend--"

"Oh! Is he here, too? Perhaps he could take a photograph for me to sign! Or he might--"

"No! God, no. And we're currently not exactly together, because I was a bit, well. I wasn't quite …ready, and we're taking a break, and wouldn't you know, his new--old, whatever--girl's not exactly discreet. He's fucking around with Lavender again."

"Lavender! My favorite color!" He smiled again, though she appeared to have a more subdued response, so he added, "Of course, it doesn't suit everyone." It wouldn’t do to make her flounce out over a simple issue of her poor taste; not when there was a lovely Little Miss Granger to meet! At least, he expected it would be lovely.

"No, it really doesn't. In any case, it's not your business, but I suppose given I dosed your tea to make you a bit more interested and temporarily a bit less forgetful, I owe you some explanation. I'm sure… well, either way, even if it's not him, I wanted the experience, and you can't tell. That is, you can't tell him, and if he can fool around with an old crush, well, so can I. Regardless of my current opinion of, well, that's irrelevant anyway. So. I get experience, you get relief, and no one needs to know."

Gilderoy was nearly sure there was something about this conversation he wasn't quite following, but Little Gilderoy had ceased to care and was demanding attention right this minute, so he nodded. "Well, then I suppose we shall have to make it a proper one. Experience. Only temporary, you say? Ah, well. We shall make do. And as anyone will tell you, I'm an excellent teacher."

An odd look crossed her face, but she nodded.

"First, you'll need to get much shorter."

"What?"

"If you intend to wangle an introduction to Little Gilderoy, after all. He's down here." He grasped the aforementioned and gasped, momentarily confused as to whether he should groan from the contact or wince because he'd been slightly overenthusiastic. "So, to your knees, then! I fear I can't simply grow taller." Not that he would; then his head would have to bend away from the ceiling and it would be most uncomfortable.

"Oh, right." She looked up at him and pursed her lips. "I don't suppose we could retire to the bed? I don't think my knees will like this floor."

"Ah, yes!" Gilderoy liked his bed; the sheets were crisp and sometimes smelled like sunshine. Plus, the usual nurse, after a great deal of badgering, had finally brought him a lovely violet pillow-slip! It was nice, living in a single room; there were no difficult walls and doors around which to navigate, and all it took was one good leap to land on the bed and bounce.

Miss Granger followed, somewhat more slowly. She didn't bounce.

"Come on, then," he said, shoving his hand down his stomach to push the loose front of the ridiculous trousers out of the way. Little Gilderoy stood up proudly.

Miss Granger swallowed thickly. "And so, I should just suck that? Like a lolly, or…" He voice squeaked slightly, but Gilderoy had seen that response before.

"Exactly so! Don't be shy! I imagine he's rather more impressive than you're accustomed to, but he's not particular!"

Miss Granger nodded and bent over him, taking Little Gil's head in her mouth. Oh! It was lovely! "Very nice," he said. "Do take a bit more…"

She slid her lips down further and gagged, sitting up quickly, blinking back tears as she coughed. "Sorry, I--"

"No need to be sorry! We all gag the first time!"

"Uh. So you do this often?"

"Me? Oh, well. When one is interviewing the… the thingies. What did I interview? Someone told me once. Perhaps it was vampires. I'm don't recall; I'm not sure doing an interview with a vampire would be a good idea. Though perhaps it would make a good story."

Miss Granger lifted a brow. "Which has what to do with--"

"Oh, nothing, nothing; however, I expect at some point I must have had to give my bona fides, don't you think?"

"And you assume you'd have done that by giving them blowjobs? Do vampires even get aroused?"

"They must! How else would there be all the lovely stories?" Miss Granger frowned as though confused, though Gilderoy was sure he couldn’t see why she would be, but didn't say anything else, so he added, "But I was just trying to make you feel better, my dear. I think feeling confident is important to this sort of thing." He wasn't sure why that would matter, but he always felt confident, and he and Little Gil were always excellent in bed.

"Right. Which is my point here, so I'll just try again, shall I?"

"Excellent." He pushed up to meet her lips and tangled a hand in her hair to guide her down. She choked again, but one only could improve through practice, of course, so it was a kindness to hold her in place.

Though he did let go and then encourage her up after a moment. He didn't want her to start dripping any fluids on him, and besides, if she kept working him with her mouth, he was never going to get to meet any other parts of her. "Is that better?"

"I… Yes, I think I just had to get accustomed to how to breathe. Or something. But see, this is why I didn't want to practice with Ron. He already knows what he's doing, so I didn't want--"

Gilderoy nodded. "Of course. After me, getting him all down will be a walk in the park. Though I expect he won't smell as nice. Now, onward; practice makes perfect!"

Miss Granger shook her head slightly, but only said, "Of course." She dropped her face again, licking shyly, then taking Little Gil into her mouth again, bobbing her head up and down more boldly after a moment. He did like a bold woman.

"You're quite good at this," he said a moment later. Not that there was anything much about which to complain; a warm wet mouth was a warm wet mouth, after all. Still, he had a vague recollection that praise of students was one of the guiding principles of …something. How was he to think with lips sliding up and down Little… He bit his lip and groaned; given that it wasn't just himself in the room, there was no need to be a prude. How was he to think with his cock fucking a pretty witch's mouth?

Well, pretty enough. Plain, he supposed, but not everyone had the flair for wardrobe and cosmetics that he did, and his cock didn't care.

He probably ought to have warned her he was going to come, but then, he'd never been fond of that particular nicety; it took his concentration off his own pleasure, and Gilderoy was never wholeheartedly in favor of anything that removed attention, anyone's attention, from himself.

"You might have said," she gasped, fluids spilling from her pink, pink lips as she stayed bent over him.

"Sorry; I'm forgetful, sometimes." He smiled brightly again; usually he wasn't fond of that fact, but it made an excellent excuse in this case. Though even if she didn't agree, the sight of the dripping come made it all worth while.

Oh, drat. Now he'd come, and he really had been forgetful; he'd wanted to meet her… again, no being a prude, he reminded himself. He'd wanted to come in her cunt and watch her experience him fully. She'd be tight, wouldn't she? Tighter than her mouth, tighter and slicker than his hand… He thought quickly. "You'll need additional lessons, of course," he said.

She shook her head. "No."

"But--"

She waved her wand, and Little Gil stirred. Oh. "In that case," he said, "We'll move on straightaway to the next bit."

She stood to unzip her skirt and push purple knickers down her thighs, and Gilderoy stared, fascinated, as he revised his assessment. Not plain; just hiding, and apparently possessed of taste after all--well, more taste than her decision to come to him had already demonstrated.

She stretched out on the bed next to him and looked up. "I won't need recovery time, so I suggest while we wait, you teach me what cunnilingus is supposed to feel like."

"I don't usually--"

"Yes, I imagine. Still, you owe me, and you might as well, while Little Gilderoy, there, gets himself going again. Besides. How often do you have sex?"

He had to admit, she had a point, and he'd wanted to introduce Little Gil… Well, rules were made to be broken, after all, and he did like pink lips, regardless. He had a sudden thought. "I don't suppose you could take off your jumper."

She rolled her eyes and pulled it over her head, then started to unhook her brassiere. He shook his head. "Leave it."

As he'd hoped, it was also purple, which reminded him of himself. Excellent; this would make him that much more enthusiastic, and help alleviate the orange smudginess he was still feeling.

Although, perhaps if this were how orange days were to go, he'd have to re-evaluate their place on his hierarchy of favorites.

He lay on his belly, allowing Little Gil to rub pleasantly against the crisp sheets, and whispered hello to Little Miss Granger.