FIC: Badinage - Ron/Hermione, NC-17
Title: Badinage
Author:
modestyrabnott
Character/Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A little playful banter always makes things more interesting. Some things never change.
Author's Notes: Post-DH romantic smut
Shite, late again. Harry's gonna kill me.
Third benefit dinner he's had in as many months. This one's for magical creatures in need of homes. Or to raise funds for shelters for magical creatures. Fuck if I know. When he first started this organization I thought it was to appease Hermione, but he actually loves this shit. Feeling like he's making a difference, Hermione says.
I can relate, but mostly I just know that he's feeling good lately. At ease.
And that's enough for me. Enough to keep me involved as long as he needs me.
But he's not my only reason to be here. Scanning the crowd, I spot her. Surrounded by three slimy Ministry gits.
I could be bothered, but I'm not. I get to take her home, after all.
Still. One of them has his hand on her arm for a few seconds longer than is necessary.
Gits.
Can't say I blame them for trying. She looks incredible tonight. She's got her hair piled up in some neat arrangement at the back of her head, but a few naughty locks are sneaking out and curling along her exposed neck. That neck...
I stay put in my spot near the entrance and wait. Watch her for a moment. She's scanning the crowd in a way she thinks is very sly, as she pretends to listen intently to Git Number Two.
That's it, Hermione. Turn, glance to your right. Here I am.
And then, in an instant - all is right with the world.
In this whole crowd of people, her face lights up just for me. Can you imagine? It's the most brilliant thing I've ever seen.
It still throws me. Physically, I mean. For her to look at me like that. Always hits me where I live. It's a bit like being punched in the stomach.
You know, if being punched in the stomach felt first-rate.
She smiles at me, and it's physically impossible not to return the gesture. But I don't head her way. Not yet.
I make my way over to Bill first, snatching a glass of something from a passing waiter along the way. Bill looks well, and sounds well. Within seconds, he's pulling out the latest picture of Victoire, despite my having visited them just two weeks ago. I love that.
As we chat I sneak little glances at Hermione. Bill doesn't say anything, but I'm sure I'm no less obvious than she was a few minutes ago. I wouldn't mind, anyway.
She's amazing to watch these days. She's more confident now than when we were at school. No, that's not right. She's always been confident. Just more … relaxed, maybe.
She laughs more; worries less.
And she teases more freely. In every way, if you know what I mean. And I'm sure you do. Which I have to say nearly kills me. I'm only human.
There are loads of differences in her. And yet, looking back she's not different at all. I just see all the things now that I missed before. Or didn't let myself believe.
Like maybe she was teasing all along.
She's absolutely teasing right now, taking longer to excuse herself from the Git Team than she needs to. Deliberately not looking at me, and yet the corner of her mouth turning up in a wicked smile that is most definitely for my benefit. Making me wait.
I can wait all night. I have waited all night. On numerous occasions. Never to be disappointed, though.
Bill is telling me something about the bank that I should probably listen to, but he only has half my attention. Because finally she decides to end my suffering and join us. Takes her a minute to weave through the dense crowd, but it feels like ten.
"Hello, Bill," she says against his cheek.
"And hi, you." Folding her into my arms is like heaven. The softness of her. The smell of her makes my body react instantly. It doesn't help that I haven't seen her in two days, as we've been working opposite shifts.
I'm relieved to catch a glimpse over her shoulder of a smirking Bill making his exit, leaving us quite alone in our little corner of the room.
"You're beautiful," I whisper into her hair. She is.
"Can we go home?" she breathes into my ear. I sputter into my drink.
"Hell, Hermione, you're getting easier and easier. One compliment and--"
"Shut it, Ron."
"I just got here."
"They'll do fine without us, I should think."
I don't wait for her to consider the matter more fully. I ditch my glass and grab her, turning into the pressing darkness that rapidly gives way to her flat.
Her mouth is on mine before my feet are firmly on the floor.
One step ahead of me as usual.
The warmth of her mouth is like a drug, and I detect the faintest taste of champagne as her tongue slides along mine. Impatience presents itself through groping hands and pleading moans. We fumble to the sofa and she hurriedly rescues a file folder from under us and moves it to the tea table.
It strikes me how very grown-up we really are. Jobs, paperwork, flats, the whole package. And yet, when she slides her hand down my stomach, and then lower, I feel like I'm sixteen again.
I groan. She giggles.
Not much has changed, really.
"Now who's easy?" she whispers, snaking her hand into my robes and cupping me in her hand. A prime example of the aforementioned teasing.
I counter by kissing a path along the swell of her breast, gently pushing the curve of fabric away to reveal more and more skin. "You are," I say when she whimpers.
"Call it a stalemate?" she suggests as I slide her dress off her shoulders, and then down further, allowing her pale breasts to spill out into my hands. I swear I'll never tire of Hermione's breasts. My calmly paced approach is shot to hell as soon as I have access to them, and she gasps at how suddenly I bring my mouth to her nipples. I can't resist; so much for the notion of a draw.
"Ohh..." she sighs, threading her fingers through my hair to pull me closer. I know exactly what she wants, exactly what she needs. She likes a little teeth in the equation. Gently at first, and then a bit rougher, until she's frantic, practically tearing off my shirt and trousers and pants. I struggle to remove the rest of her dress without stopping what I'm doing.
I have to pause, though, to take in the spectacular sight of her. She's sprawled across the sofa in nothing but tiny pink knickers, breasts heaving and wild hair all over the place, no longer any evidence of the posh hairstyle she was wearing a short time ago. The stuff most of my school-day fantasies were made of.
"Please, Ron," she says, reaching to pull me back to her.
Oh, Merlin help me. Begging. The stuff the rest of my school-day fantasies were made of.
All bets are off at this point as I pull her on top of me, planning to offer the top half of her more attention, as I know how it gets her.
Of course, I say planning as if I was the only one planning.
She has her own plans, and she likes being on top. Before she's even settled astride my lap, she hastily slides her knickers aside, not bothering to remove them, and slides smoothly down onto my cock.
Without warning.
"Fuck," I say through the air I'm sucking in. She shoots me a teasing smile and starts to grind. She's really gotten quite naughty, and sometimes she likes things to move quickly and roughly. Knowing that she's out to finish me, I have no choice but meet her halfway before it all gets away from me. She's already in motion, eyes closed and head back, before I pull myself together enough to get into the game.
Her tits are level with my face, which is another great thing about her being on top. The way she's arching back, offering them up to me, there's nothing to do but bury my face in them and get to work.
"Yes! Ron, oh God," she moans, leaning back further and resting her hands behind her on my knees. It's harder for her to sustain her rhythm from this position, though, and so I graciously help her out, getting my hands under her arse and lifting her easily. Supporting her weight as I slide her up and down on my shaft.
Busy as my dual tasks keep me, it's not until I feel her fingers against the base of my cock that I realize she's touching herself. That's she's about to come.
I don't want to chance breaking her concentration, so I won't change a thing I'm doing until she does. But as I continue to lick and suck at her nipples, I lift just my eyes, desperate to get a glimpse of her as she finishes. And then she does.
She does this the way she does everything. No holding back, and no halfway. She's bloody beautiful. Every sound she makes and every muscle she flexes and every expression on her face. I've never once yet been able to watch Hermione come without following directly along with her. She drives me that insane.
That being the case, it's not long before we're just a tangled bunch of limbs, sweaty and exhausted. Her head is in my neck and her hair is in my face, and my arms are wrapped around her with both hands still stroking her arse. I'm the luckiest bastard in the world, I tell myself.
"And don't you ever forget it." She raises her face to mine; places a kiss on my chin.
"Was I thinking out loud again?"
Again with the teasing smile. "You wish."
Like I said, always one step ahead of me.