Breakfast

A man loses his sense of direction after four drinks. A woman loses hers after four kisses.

H.L. Mencken

Sunday mornings were her favorite time of the week. Sunday morning was that time to herself that she could simply ignore the rest of the bloody world and focus for once on herself. She could curl up on her couch with a cup of tea, Crookshanks, and a good book on a Sunday morning. But her favorite and the most religious part of her Sunday mornings, was her strawberry jam.

Sure strawberry jam was fantastic with morning coffee, butter, and a bit of toast. But the best part about strawberry jam was when it got on your fingers. See, strawberry jam got messy and sticky and all over your fingers for the sole purpose of licking it off. It wasn’t that jam with butter and toast or with morning coffee was bad, but the thing is strawberry jam was meant to be licked off your fingers. It was at its best when you could savor each final remnant on your fingertips.

But now, this particular Sunday, she was faced with a dilemma. Sitting across from her was her best friend, also eating toast with butter and jam and a side of morning coffee. The perpetrator had jam on not only his fingertips, but the side of his mouth as well. And he was about ready to commit ritual suicide with his napkin.

It was time for an intervention. “Stop!”

Harry jumped, his eyes wide and the napkin forgotten. “Merlin’s sake, what’s your problem, Hermione?”

“You’re doing it wrong,” she responded crossly. What on earth was he thinking, the idiot?

“How else am I supposed to get the jam off my face, then?”

She rolled her eyes and inched her chair next to his, grabbing his wrist in a firm grip. “This is how you’re supposed to do it.”

Hermione leaned forward with her eyes closed and took his index finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue against his skin. She then proceeded onto the next finger and then to his thumb, savoring the sugary sweetness. Her eyes opened slowly and she was greeted by desire-molten eyes.

“You have some on the corner of your mouth, too,” she murmured.

His lips curved slightly. “You might have to help me then. I don’t want to do this wrong.”

She nodded, fighting a grin back. “Come here, then.”

And he did. Their lips met in a gentle kiss but as soon as she decided to dart her tongue out to taste the lingering smudge of jam, they broke into a feverish kiss. He groaned and yanked her from her chair onto his lap, crushing her into his embrace. They broke apart finally and she licked her lips for any remaining jam.

“And that,” she spoke finally, "is the right way to eat strawberry jam.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against her own and his lips breaking into a lop-sided grin.

“So then what’s for lunch?”

finished

Author’s Note

It’s short. I know. It’s exam period right now, so what can you do. Please review to your heart’s content and ease the suffering of this poor college student. You know you want to.