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Summary
“You smell fantastic. Have I ever told you that?” His hand dipped into a pocket of her robes.
She continued searching for the small fracture line, slowly moving her wand and the diagnostic readout over his ribs. She tried her hardest to ignore the planes of smooth muscle and tendon that made up his exquisite body. He was sweaty, filthy, and—Circe—it was hard to focus.
“You smell awful,” she lied.
He tugged on her robe. “Take this off and I’ll get you sweaty too.”
“No. Be still.”
“Hermione …” he groaned, his head tipping back as if he were in agony. “Have dinner with me.”
Series
- Part 12 of CaityBell's Drabbles, Collection Three