Leave A Tender Moment Alone

“Stop fidgeting,” Daphne hissed.

“But I’m bored,” Harry whined in reply.

“With all due respect, Lord Potter,” the artist her father had hired to paint their portrait cut in from the other side of the easel, “The more you move the harder this will be and the longer it will take.”

“Call me Harry, and can’t we at least sit down? The painting will be animated anyways.”

“Then I would have to start over, Lo—Harry.”

“Merlin, you’re such a big baby,” Daphne said to her husband before waving her wand to conjure a chair and pushing him onto it. “And you,” she pointed at the painter as smoothed out her dress and sat on Harry’s lap, “keep what you had from our waists up and just fix the bottom half.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, tell me how to do my job some more, why don’t you,” the artist mumbled under his breath as he tried to figure out the best way to salvage what he had already done.

But he wasn’t quite quiet enough, prompting Daphne to ask, “what was that?” with a devious smile on her face.

“Hehe, nothing, nothing, You just sit still and let me paint,” a bead of sweat dripped down his brow, and this time he was very careful with his volume, “bloody aristocrats.”

For a few minutes the painting process continued peacefully. It wasn’t long, however, before Daphne noticed a disturbance.

“Harry,” she hissed, trying to stay as still as possible, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“Who, me?” she couldn’t see his face without turning around, but she could hear the grin in his voice, low though it was so as not to disturb the painter, “I’m sitting still to get my portrait done like a good husband.”

“Don’t play games. I can, er, feel you. Poking into me.”

“Well, I certainly can’t help it if my wife is the most beautiful woman in the world.”

As he spoke, his hands tightened their grip on her waist, and it only just then struck her how they must look to any observer. The completed painting would be absolutely scandalous, no doubt.

“Control yourself.”

He simply pressed her more firmly into him, such that she could really feel him rub up against her backside. 

“Stop it at once.”

Despite her words, she could feel a heat pool within her, and her cheeks reddened noticeably. 

“I want you,” her husband whispered in her ear, his breath tickling the little hairs. She shivered, held in his grip. It was unfair, completely unfair, that he was able to draw such reactions from her with the slightest of actions.

But she couldn’t let him win. “In the evening, when we have some privacy,” she said.

“But I don’t want you in a few hours,” he began nipping at her ear, gently tugging at the lobe with his teeth, “I want you now.”

Harry was so damn good at this. Did he have a lot of practice? Who was she kidding, of course he did. Infinitely more so than her. Not that she would just roll over and let him have his fun as he pleased. It was time to start fighting back. Steeling her confidence, Daphne wet her lips and then let out the barest, gentlest of moans. More of a soft “Uh” than anything really. Still, it was enough to get the painter to look at her askew and get her husband to pause his ministrations for a moment. 

She desperately held back the impulse to hide her face in her hands. She couldn’t believe she had just done that. Being married to this rapscallion had truly corrupted her. And he was not one to be shown up or deterred for long, which he demonstrated by moving his attention to the side of her neck and collar, leaving little kisses and suckles. Damn, if he was really escalating, then. . . Daphne glanced at the painter. He was getting fidgety, awkward.

A loud moan this time, only partially intended as Harry had begun working a particularly sensitive spot of hers. The mongrel, he was doing it on purpose, she knew. He had long ago memorized all the parts of the body that generated the strongest reactions, and was merciless about his implementation of that knowledge. If he wanted to take it that far then she would have to respond.

Her hips began to rock, steadily grinding her body against his. Daphne could feel his smile against her skin, and the way his hands started to trail up and down her sides was surely no coincidence. It seemed, however, they had reached a breaking point.

Finally the artist had enough. “Alright, clearly this is not working. Give me a floo call when it is a good time for you, Lord Potter,” he said as he packed up his equipment and walked out the door. The second he stepped out of the room, one of the elves popped in to walk him to the fireplace. The young couple just watched with bated breath before letting out twin sighs.

“Thank Merlin, he’s finally gone.” 

“This is going to make my father even more insufferable, you know.” It wasn’t a question.

“You can’t tell me you wanted that pompous arse in our house any longer than I did. Besides, we’re way too young to get a portrait yet, who cares if it’s traditional.”

When she didn’t argue, Harry moved to stand, but Daphne was still planted firmly on his lap. “Er, Love?”

She gazed at him over her shoulder, a smoldering look in her eye. “Our bedroom,” she said, “right now.”

“Pardon?”

Daphne shot up, pulling him along with her. “You think you can just. . . do that to me and then pretend like nothing happened? No!” She started to tug off his shirt and with the same motion push him towards the door. “You’re going to take responsibility, you lout!”

With understanding, a grin formed on his face. “If the lady doth wish it so.”

“Shut up with your clumsy attempts at being clever and get that silly thing off already!”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” he wisely complied.