Reclining Nude

A little etude for a rainy day(suggested consuming with a good cup of coffee and biscotti). I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters, J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction.

Reclining Nude

Draco leaned against the bathroom door and silently observed the picture in front of him. She was sleeping. His wife, the love of his life rested peacefully. She was unaware of her husband's predicament. Bright, morning, sunlight caressed her soft, reclining forms. Whispery flutters of curtains forced the sunlight dance on her skin. Draco's fingers flickered in anticipation and ridiculously foolish jealousy. 'How could anyone in his right mind feel envy to sunlight? Where did all my marbles go?" he thought.

Hermione slept entirely nude, except the tangled silk sheet that has snaked itself around her lower thighs. Every delicate curve, every gentle line, every contour were exposed to him. He intimately knew every angle, every cavity and every subtle peak of her body and luckily, he owned every delicious inch of it.

However, don't think it was a dumb luck, no, nothing like that. For a long time, from his teenage years Draco knew what he wanted. When he finally found her it became only a matter of time and mastery of his skills.

Let us start with a bit of history. When Draco turned fifteen years old, his father took him to Paris, to muggle Paris to be precise. At times, he didn't understand his father at all. They were on the brink of a war. Everything muggle was a taboo in their immediate circle. Suddenly and utterly out of blue for Draco, Lucius took him to muggle museum in Paris. Why? Who knows. His father always was (and still is) a mystery for him.

Draco never visited a muggle museum before; therefore, everything looked pretty strange to him. Even now, he still remembers the name of the place – 'Musee d'Orsay". Once they got there, Lucius seemed to have a very clear idea of what Draco supposed to see. They quickly moved from one hall to another until eventually they reached their destination. The works of French Artists hanged on the walls in vast numbers.

All of them were created in one particular style - slightly off focus, as if you don't see quite well and need glasses (or at least, it was Draco's perception). Bright or muted colors, flowers, women, men, children and everything in light strokes. Draco was convinced that a few more minutes and nasty headache would overtake him. Then, he saw her. It was a painting of a young, completely nude woman reclined on a bed. Draco couldn't tear his eyes of her; she was magnificent. Soft, lavish, with perfect curves, all peach and rose colored. All feminine lines of her were beautiful and perfect, especially the curves of her hips and breathtakingly delectable derriere. Draco remembered, how to his dismay his body began to react right there in the museum. It was highly embarrassing to stand in the middle of the muggle museum with rather evident "excitement" and with no robes to cover it. Terrible.

All the same, the female body in this painting (he even found out, who the artist was – Renoir), was imprinted in Draco's mind forever. From now on, he knew what he wanted. How his wife supposed to look, thanks to his father (although, Lucius motives still remained unclear). Sure enough, Draco, as a veritable Malfoy, wasn't going to settle for anything else or less.

Ever since, he searched. He patiently flipped through all eligible pureblooded girls (poor boy started early in school, keeping in mind the amount of work). Then half- bloods, and let me tell you, it was a hell lot of work. But, to no avail. He didn't find anything even closely resembling the image in his head. He wanted it all in one - peach colored skin, soft curves, rounded hips and a heart shaped butt (that was a must).

Over the years he almost gave up, until one day at the Ministry's Winter Party, he saw her, or to be precise he saw her bare back… The line, the curve, the color and the softness, everything was there. He could even imagine her derriere. Draco was sure it would be the same - delectable, heart shaped and promising the infinite pleasure.

Hypnotized and dazzled Draco went straight to the target only to find out, that all these treasures belonged to someone who was always near him, so close (oh, how stupid he was), in other words – to Hermione Granger.

It was a hard work - to win over Hermione. He treaded carefully and delicately. They had a long history after all, but eventually he's got her (and her, indeed, heart shaped butt). Hermione Granger became Hermione Malfoy, and now, he looked at her.

His treasure, his Renoir's beauty was sleeping. Draco came closer and gazed at her. She was breathtakingly sensual. He lightly touched one her nipples, and it immediately turned the darker shade of pink, then he quietly kneeled near the bed and flicked a tip of his tongue over it. Hermione stirred but didn't wake up. Draco carefully crawled behind her on the bed. He just couldn't contain himself; he needed to feel her. That was the point after all – to own, to behold and to touch… Very, very gently Draco touched her with the tips of his fingers. Next, he traced the line (his beloved line) from the nape of Hermione's neck to the rounded peak of her tailbone. Now, it was his tongue turn – first, small swirl in the nape, just to tease Hermione's curls there, and then down, down and down, all the way to her sweet buttocks. For a second, Draco froze in indecision, which plump cheek to trace first.

"The closest one of course" decided Draco and continued his journey. His tongue left wet, slightly glistening trail on Hermione's skin. While flicking his tongue, Draco mused – why is woman's body has so many hidden, intimate places: under the breasts for one, under the buttocks, on the backside of the knees and the most sacred one – between the thighs (Draco's personal center of the universe). When the considerable area of Hermione's body was wet, Draco began to nibble on her delicate flesh, starting from her calves, going up… Oh, her beautiful, beautiful bum. Plump, ripe enough to eat – Draco could spend the eternity there, just happily nibbling and licking. Honestly. If only his eager "friend", didn't bother him with "his" other needs.

The faint sigh announced Hermione's awakening. A moment later, she arched her body into his waiting hands.

And, oh Merlin, was he ready for her…

Much, much, much later, extremely satisfied Draco walked into his father's living room and said:

"Father, there is Hermione's Birthday coming up next month. Don't you think I could find a way to buy one of the paintings of this French guy - Renoir?"

Lucius silently looked at his son over his reading glasses with a bewildered expression. A while later he muttered:

"And I always thought I will be the first to lose sanity in our family. No matter…" and then more loudly:

"Come son, let's see what we can find."

Do you like it? Please review…

I know, I've made quite a few mistakes here. Sorry that you have to put up with it, English still isn't my native language. I appreciate any input.