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no loneliness in this dream

Chapter 7: tango in the night

Notes:

A short epilogue, because I really needed it... Also, I'm proving to myself I actually can write these two without (too much) angst. 😅

Story and chapter titles are the amazing Fleetwood Mac, whose album (and song) Tango in the Night was a major inspiration for this story. Their music in general speaks Remadora to me.

A massive thank you to everyone who followed, liked and reviewed this story! Lots of love to you all, stay safe! 💞

Chapter Text

Saturday dawns sunny and stifling and their skin feels too warm against the cool cotton sheets they have tangled themselves into.

She is not used to waking with the weight of his limbs pressing her down and towards him. He is not used to taking as much space as he currently is, sprawled in the middle of the bed, wrapped around her like this. She twists and stretches against him and buries her nose in the hollow of his throat. His calloused fingertips trace a swirly pattern from her hip upwards. He opens his eyes and is blinded by the glow of her fair skin in the morning sun. As he trails kisses down her hairline, she breathes out his name while still half-asleep and it's the most thrilling sensation in the world.

Their first time was quick, both of them so crippled with longing it took only a few touches to push them both over the edge. After that, they took their time. They dedicated the night to reacquainting themselves with each other, for the first time completely bared to one another, fingers and lips wandering freely, without shame. And now, as he finds her mouth again and she blinks up at him, it's almost with practiced ease that she pulls him on top of her and spreads open for him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

They make love slowly, foreheads pressed tightly together, lips brushing between soft moans, never breaking eye contact. They hold each other tightly afterwards, savoring the contact they have denied to themselves for so long. She is off duty, the entire Ministry is given a day off before Dumbledore's funeral. He has no plans nor intention of leaving her side any time soon as it is. They doze on and off as the sun moves across the sky.

He is busy counting the freckles on her shoulder with his lips when her stomach suddenly growls and it's so unexpected that she bursts laughing, like a cork popping from a champagne bottle, uncontrolled giggles bubbling over. He stares in wonder because he has no words to express how much he missed that beautiful sound, then laughs along with her because he never wants to stop hearing it. She struggles to catch her breath against his shoulder and he twists his hand in her hair, pulls her in, desperate to taste her again, and the fine strands that wind between his fingers are the softest, palest pink.