you're lucky to even know me
Oh, boy. You lot are in for a treat.
Guess what I just found?
My first ever smutlet. I remember being almost appalled at myself when I wrote this; I remember looking over it to make sure it was readable and, like, squinting at it from between my fingers.
Hahahahah. Oh. How the mighty have fallen.
I still blame this all on the Dames of Avalon. As I said on 3 May when I first wrote it - You people have corrupted me.
And I thank you.
[Potter, 'Fever']
A/N - I blame this totally on the Dames, a SCUSA discussion around that time about the kind of clothes Harry and Hermione would wear and listening to Janet Jackson's 'anytime, anyplace' on repeat at three in the morning - which is, incidentally, the song Hermione is listening to. The title and summary are taken from Peggy Lee's song of the same name.
It was one of those one-off, Mediterranean style, sweltering hot days in the midst of the London summer. The kind where the pavement seems to be shimmering in the heat, people swimming before your eyes, sweat trickling down your back.
Harry cursed slightly as he maneuvered around the throngs of tourists cluttering Charing Cross Road. His dress slacks felt like they were heat conductors of some sort, while his dress shirt clung to his chest and back. He hated wearing a suit anyways, and of course it had to be on the hottest day of the year. His jacket was draped over his arm, concealing his satchel, filled with parchment and quills, along with his wand. All he wanted right now was to get to his flat, grab a cool drink and get this damn suit off. Usually, he enjoyed the walk home from Diagon Alley to their flat off Charlotte Street; today, however, he wished he could just Apparate. But, since they lived in a Muggle area, they could never be sure of a safe Apparition spot and he really hated having to Obliviate when it wasn't necessary. Besides, the walk was usually pleasant, up through Soho where there was little traffic and even fewer tourists.
Today, though, all he wanted was to be home, home with a nice cool refrigerator and Hermione.
His pace quickened as he rounded the corner of Percy Street on to Charlotte Street. He briefly considered stopping off in the newsagents for a drink, but remembering he only had knuts with him, chucked the idea. He was almost home anyway; he could feel the sweat sliding down his neck and pooling at his collarbone. He was sure it would have been running down his back too, but, luckily, he thought rolling his eyes, his vest prevented that, instead it was stuck to him like glue. All he needed right now was something to drink and a shower.
He mounted the stairs leading to their flat, feeling almost faint with relief. Or maybe it was the beginning of heat stroke.
He came to a dead halt in their tiny entryway, listening intently. Hermione usually listened to either classical music or things her parents had liked when she was a child. Today, however, something slow and melodic, something innately sexual, was coming from the speakers. It was all breathy moans and sounded suspiciously like pop. He didn't even know Hermione knew this kind of music existed.
He certainly didn't mind it though.
Momentarily forgetting the heat, he set his satchel and jacket down. He heard the refrigerator open in the kitchen; he crept towards it, unbuttoning his shirt, vaguely hoping she wasn't trying to cook.
He stuck his head round the doorframe and felt his temperature climb a few degrees.
His Quidditch clothes had never looked that sexy on him.
Apparently, Hermione had run out of her own clothes, as she was wearing his and a load was currently turning in the machine. She was reading a tome on the counter in front of her while a solitary candle flickered on the opposite counter. The window was open, though not doing much to dispel the heat of the fourth floor flat.
Her feet were bare, all ten toenails shockingly red. He had been surprised when he'd discovered this little quirk and he remembered her laughter and the pleased look in her eyes as she regarded her own feet. Apparently, some time during their fifth year, Lavender and Parvati had convinced her to let them give her a `make-over.' None of it had stuck, not even for that night, but the red toenails did. She called them `whore-red' and liked the way they looked, even if no one ever saw them.
Harry liked them too.
In fact, he liked the look she had on at the moment very much. His Hermione usually dressed the way he did - understated, mostly casual, but always elegant. Neither of them needed to draw extra attention to themselves. Her robes were all simple, clean lines in soft colours that complimented her skin. Even her Muggle clothes were like that. She had a few tailored suits, but it was mostly skirts and button-up blouses,
though all with her ever-present pair of Doc Martens. She'd had the same pair for years, with an alternate pair, which were in nicer condition for special occasions. Harry had gotten the biggest kick out of that when he'd moved in. He'd known of course that they were the only shoes he ever saw her in, but he'd been stunned when he'd realised they were the only shoes she *owned.* He'd said something about it and her reply had been a vague "I think I have a pair of black flats around here somewhere."
Of course, the Auror Institute didn't really mind.
He could see what she was on about now though, having dragged him to get his own pair months ago. She'd gotten sick of his cheek and challenged him to get a pair and *not* swear by them. A few months later, she had had a laugh when she caught him taking several pair of his shoes to the second-hand shop down the road.
But her Docs were nowhere in sight, just bare feet and gleaming toenails. Encasing her legs was a pair of his Quidditch cords. They were slightly long on her, even though he hadn't had his true growth spurt until almost the end of seventh year, so she was walking on the slightly frayed ends. They were loose enough that they hung slightly from her hips, the waistband slightly away from her body, accentuating her waist, but they were tight enough to cling slightly.
Harry had to stifle a chuckle at her shirt; he hadn't even known he still had it. For Christmas during his sixth year, Fred and George had specially made t-shirts for the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, in honour of Gin's new star status, even though they had left school the year before. The shirts themselves were the same scarlet as their robes, with gold writing. On the back, between the shoulder blades was a small lion, with script underneath which read - `Gryffindor Quidditch ` 97.' The fronts of the shirts, however, had been personalized, with slogans like `Beaters like it rough.' Harry's own had the ever-popular `Seekers have more fun' emblazoned on the front. He could still remember McGonagall's face when they had all trooped down to breakfast in them.
Harry's chuckle at the memory was cut off in his throat though, at the way it looked on Hermione. The sleeves had shrunk with so many washings, so almost her entire arm (and he loved her arms) were bare. The bottom of the shirt didn't quite reach the top of the
cords, so a sliver of skin was visible. It was also...clinging in certain places in a rather flattering way, due to the heat.
Her hair was wrapped up and stuck through with chopsticks, probably from their dinner last night. A few tendrils had escaped and were sticking to her neck and to the side of her face.
Last, but certainly not least, she was eating ice from a glass she had beside her. She would pull out one piece and lift it to her lips, slowly, as she was immersed in her text. Placing it in her mouth, she'd suck on it for a few seconds and then take it out, holding it in her fingers, disregarding the melting and the subsequent water running down her arm, until she put it in her mouth again.
Harry stood frozen in the doorway, feeling as if he might burn from the inside out. As he stood there, she started swaying lightly to the music, one song that was apparently on repeat.
The sexiest thing about it was that she was completely oblivious. She was simply reading, waiting for the wash, but it was one of the most arousing things Harry had ever seen.
"...thinking maybe...we could, well...you know…"
Harry jumped slightly as Hermione sang along with the song, running the ice cube along the back of her neck.
Before he'd even realised what he was doing, he was across the kitchen and licking the droplet of water off her neck. He felt Hermione jolt and then shiver as she dropped the ice cube she was holding on to the counter.
Following the path of the water, he traced his tongue from the nape of her neck to the shell of her ear, before gently biting the lobe. His left arm went around her waist, his fingers fluttering at the bare skin of her waist. His other arm reached around and grabbed the melting cube on the counter.
Slowly, he ran the cube along her arm, starting at her hand, which was resting on the countertop, up to her shoulder. Between his hand, her arm and the heat, the ice melted quickly, leaving a sheen of water on her arm and his hand.
Harry could feel her shivering and start to turn around, but before she got very far, he had very effectively trapped her against the counter, one of his legs in between hers. Before she could say anything, he spoke into her ear, his voice husky.
"Grab me another ice cube, love."
Harry could see her biting her lip as both her arms moved, one coming up to twine in his hair, the other reaching around briefly to cop a quick feel. Harry jolted at this, and grinned briefly, remembering their discussion about posteriors. Before she got too grabby he licked along her ear and reminded her, "The ice."
She could touch him all she wanted later, but right now he had some plans for those remaining cubes.
She nodded and after one last squeeze, brought her hand around and lifted another piece of ice from the glass. She slowly brought it over her shoulder; he heard her gasp as he took the entire piece into his mouth, along with her finger. He sucked on it for a brief second before gently biting the tip and releasing it, drawing back.
Holding the ice cube in his teeth, Harry began to trace it along her neck; Hermione head dropped forward to give him better access. His right arm moved from running along her arm to dip in the glass of quickly melting ice cubes. He dipped his fingers in briefly before moving his arm around to run up under her shirt. Hmm…no bra.
He heard her gasp again as his fingers began trailing cool water along her abdomen and up to her breasts. She moaned slightly as he tweaked one nipple, then ran his thumb over it gently. Her other armed raised up to twine in his hair also, arching her body back against his, offering herself to him, her head rolling to the side, still swaying lightly too the music.
Hearing her moan, Harry barely suppressed his own, folding his body around hers, swaying with her. He had never felt anything so good in all his life as her skin under his hands; he would never get enough of touching her. They stayed that way for several moments, Hermione swaying to the music and Harry wrapped around her, still kissing and sucking along her neck, his hands tracing patterns along the bare skin of her abdomen, occasionally reaching up to brush a thumb across a nipple.
While his right hand was busy teasing along the underside of her breast, his other began to snake down into her trousers and what he found there made what little blood he had remaining in his head rush immediately for more southern parts.
Along with no bra, his Hermione had on no pants. This was a first.
Dear Merlin, she was trying to kill him, he thought, as he raised his head. Her head turned as his lips stopped the assault on her neck and they locked eyes, Harry's hands still moving restlessly over her skin. Without speaking, Harry turned her around and his lips descended on hers, his tongue and lips still cool from the ice. He could feel her hands almost frantically undoing the remaining buttons on his shirt; it was quickly discarded along with the vest he had underneath it.
Harry broke the kiss, stilling her hands as they reached for the button on his trousers.
He still had plans for those ice cubes, if he didn't spontaneously combust before then.
Still not speaking, the only sound their ragged breathing and the music; Harry slowly lifted her shirt, sliding it over her head as she raised her arms. Letting it drop to the floor with one hand, his other reached into the glass for another piece of ice. Still staring intently at each other, Harry dragged the ice along her collarbone; it melted quickly, droplets of ice-cold water rolling down her chest along with sweat. He could see her nipples tightening and her breathing become shallower, her eyes darkening, willing him to do something, to do anything, besides this torture.
Quickly, he leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, his hand still running the melting cube over her body. He heard something crash to the floor as one of her hands shoot out behind her to steady herself on the counter, her knees threatening to give out - the book she had been reading earlier. The other hand came up to run through his hair, then down his back. He heard hissing and realised the ice had slipped from his hand and had slid down into her trousers. Suddenly, her hand was pulling his head back up to hers, her lips crashing into his in an out-of-control kiss.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, growling deep in his throat at the feel of her breasts crushed against his chest, still cool from the ice. The sensation was incredible - the sweat, ice and his Hermione. Pulling back briefly, Hermione plucked off his glasses, smeared with sweat and water as they were, and dropped them blindly on the counter behind her.
Bonelessly, they slid to the floor, landing on various bits of discarded clothing and lino. On the way down, Harry reached out an arm and grabbed the glass, which was slick with condensation. Tearing his lips away from hers when he felt her hands fumbling at his trousers again, he shook his head, wordlessly telling her to lay back and enjoy it. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, her neck arching, the chopsticks in her hair tapping on the lino.
Kneeling beside her, shaking slightly and shifting as his trousers were becoming almost unbearable, he reached for the button on her trousers. She lifted her hips to assist him, as he shimmied the cords down her legs. Settling his body over hers, one arm propping himself up, he reached over to the cup, grabbing one of the last remaining pieces of ice. He lifted it to her lips, tracing them until she abruptly opened her mouth, sucking it in along with one of his fingers. He could almost feel his pupils dilate at the sensation; her burning mouth suckling on his finger along with the
ice.
He tried pulling back both the ice and his finger; while Hermione let his finger go reluctantly, she still kept the ice in her mouth. Her darkened eyes looked up at him mischievously, almost a dare. His eyes bore into hers for a second before he lowered his head, his lips meeting hers.
He had to suppress a chuckle as her mouth opened automatically under his; before she realised what had happened, his tongue, in a rather talented move, had retrieved the ice cube. He grinned at her briefly, sucking on the ice, before, repeating his actions from earlier, he started trailing the ice along her neck using his mouth.
He moved swiftly down her neck and the valley between her breasts, down the slope of her abdomen to her navel. With a warning look at her, he deposited the ice cube there, his mouth continuing its southward journey, bypassing her centre. He could hear her growls of frustration but paid no attention.
Coming to her knees, he began moving up, again bypassing where she most wanted his mouth, eventually reaching her navel again. The ice had melted, a pool of water was forming on her stomach and he could see she was clenching her fists by her side not to do something about it. Her bellybutton was particularly sensitive for some reason, thus his reason for leaving it there.
Ignoring the water, some of which was starting to drip down her sides, he retrieved the much smaller cube and started trailing it lower. He saw Hermione raise her head, her eyes widening as his intention became clear. His hands at her hips, he finally reached the juncture between her thighs.
She gasped loudly and let out an unintelligible sound as he saw her eyes roll back in her head, her back and neck arching at the sensation, his mouth tasting her, chilly from the ice and the ice itself against her. He continued his ministrations long after the ice had disappeared, feeling her body tighten as her orgasm approached.
He was so intent on drawing it out as long as he could that he almost didn't hear her voice, pleading; suddenly, her hand was in his hair, lifting his head up, her eyes almost black with desire.
"I want you inside me," she rasped, her voice husky and low. Harry almost came undone right there; forever afterwards he was never quite sure how he managed to pull himself together enough to summon the required motor skills to unbutton his trousers and get them, along with his shorts and shoes, off. Get them off he did though, dragging his body over hers, their skin sliding together from the sweat and ice.
Hesitating for only a second, Harry plunged into her, staring into her eyes; both of them were moaning, the sounds emanating from somewhere deep in their chests. They were still for a moment; this couldn't last long though; as they both felt wound so tight they could barely breathe. He withdrew almost all the way, slamming back into her; he heard Hermione's gasp and somewhere in the small part of his brain still capable of rational thought, he told himself to slow down.
This lasted all of a second, until he felt Hermione's hips arching up to meet his. Moaning, they established a rather bruising pace, both aware they couldn't last long.
Harry felt one of Hermione's arms reach back, fumbling along the floor behind her head and hearing a clunk. He hissed a moment later when he realised she'd grabbed one of the remaining pieces of ice, simply holding it in her hand and letting it melt. He could feel ice cold water dripping down and pooling in the small of his back and some dripping down his sides, sliding between them where their skin met.
Lost in these sensations, it seemed only seconds later that he felt her tighten around him, her head arching back as she moaned. Hermione had never been a screamer; but that almost ecstatic moan got to him every time. That and her walls tightening around him sent him over the edge almost immediately after, his head dropping to the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
Regaining his motor functions awhile later, Harry rolled off her, afraid he was crushing her even though she always assured him he wasn't; his hand found hers on the floor, their fingers twining together. They lay on the floor together, panting, staring at the ceiling, watching the candlelight and waning sunlight play across it, with that same song still on in the background. A few minutes later, Harry turned his head towards Hermione, her head rolling to look at him also.
Propping himself up on to one elbow, he surveyed the scene around them. The glass was turned over above their heads, the water pooling and running along the floor; the book she had been reading was laying, upside down and open, on the floor across the room; they were laying on their various bits of clothing, some of which were wet and all of which were twisted and wrinkled and in need of a wash; there were various other pools of water in random places on the lino; one of the chopsticks had completely fallen out of Hermione's hair, the other was barely hanging on, a few strands of hair were laying, soaked, in a pool of water; they themselves were sweating, with various bits of skin reddening and bruising even as they lay there; one of his socks was still hanging half off his foot.
Hermione's eyes roved around the kitchen as well; he could see her fighting a grin as she turned back to catch his eye.
Harry winked at her. "Honey, I'm home."
END
Harry/Hermione - What a lovely way to burn.
Should I be embarrassed or amused?
And new Alias tomorrow night! I will not spoil myself for this one, like I did last time. It might mean I have to not get on the computer all day tomorrow, but I will do it. Either way, yay!
Guess what I just found?
My first ever smutlet. I remember being almost appalled at myself when I wrote this; I remember looking over it to make sure it was readable and, like, squinting at it from between my fingers.
Hahahahah. Oh. How the mighty have fallen.
I still blame this all on the Dames of Avalon. As I said on 3 May when I first wrote it - You people have corrupted me.
And I thank you.
[Potter, 'Fever']
A/N - I blame this totally on the Dames, a SCUSA discussion around that time about the kind of clothes Harry and Hermione would wear and listening to Janet Jackson's 'anytime, anyplace' on repeat at three in the morning - which is, incidentally, the song Hermione is listening to. The title and summary are taken from Peggy Lee's song of the same name.
It was one of those one-off, Mediterranean style, sweltering hot days in the midst of the London summer. The kind where the pavement seems to be shimmering in the heat, people swimming before your eyes, sweat trickling down your back.
Harry cursed slightly as he maneuvered around the throngs of tourists cluttering Charing Cross Road. His dress slacks felt like they were heat conductors of some sort, while his dress shirt clung to his chest and back. He hated wearing a suit anyways, and of course it had to be on the hottest day of the year. His jacket was draped over his arm, concealing his satchel, filled with parchment and quills, along with his wand. All he wanted right now was to get to his flat, grab a cool drink and get this damn suit off. Usually, he enjoyed the walk home from Diagon Alley to their flat off Charlotte Street; today, however, he wished he could just Apparate. But, since they lived in a Muggle area, they could never be sure of a safe Apparition spot and he really hated having to Obliviate when it wasn't necessary. Besides, the walk was usually pleasant, up through Soho where there was little traffic and even fewer tourists.
Today, though, all he wanted was to be home, home with a nice cool refrigerator and Hermione.
His pace quickened as he rounded the corner of Percy Street on to Charlotte Street. He briefly considered stopping off in the newsagents for a drink, but remembering he only had knuts with him, chucked the idea. He was almost home anyway; he could feel the sweat sliding down his neck and pooling at his collarbone. He was sure it would have been running down his back too, but, luckily, he thought rolling his eyes, his vest prevented that, instead it was stuck to him like glue. All he needed right now was something to drink and a shower.
He mounted the stairs leading to their flat, feeling almost faint with relief. Or maybe it was the beginning of heat stroke.
He came to a dead halt in their tiny entryway, listening intently. Hermione usually listened to either classical music or things her parents had liked when she was a child. Today, however, something slow and melodic, something innately sexual, was coming from the speakers. It was all breathy moans and sounded suspiciously like pop. He didn't even know Hermione knew this kind of music existed.
He certainly didn't mind it though.
Momentarily forgetting the heat, he set his satchel and jacket down. He heard the refrigerator open in the kitchen; he crept towards it, unbuttoning his shirt, vaguely hoping she wasn't trying to cook.
He stuck his head round the doorframe and felt his temperature climb a few degrees.
His Quidditch clothes had never looked that sexy on him.
Apparently, Hermione had run out of her own clothes, as she was wearing his and a load was currently turning in the machine. She was reading a tome on the counter in front of her while a solitary candle flickered on the opposite counter. The window was open, though not doing much to dispel the heat of the fourth floor flat.
Her feet were bare, all ten toenails shockingly red. He had been surprised when he'd discovered this little quirk and he remembered her laughter and the pleased look in her eyes as she regarded her own feet. Apparently, some time during their fifth year, Lavender and Parvati had convinced her to let them give her a `make-over.' None of it had stuck, not even for that night, but the red toenails did. She called them `whore-red' and liked the way they looked, even if no one ever saw them.
Harry liked them too.
In fact, he liked the look she had on at the moment very much. His Hermione usually dressed the way he did - understated, mostly casual, but always elegant. Neither of them needed to draw extra attention to themselves. Her robes were all simple, clean lines in soft colours that complimented her skin. Even her Muggle clothes were like that. She had a few tailored suits, but it was mostly skirts and button-up blouses,
though all with her ever-present pair of Doc Martens. She'd had the same pair for years, with an alternate pair, which were in nicer condition for special occasions. Harry had gotten the biggest kick out of that when he'd moved in. He'd known of course that they were the only shoes he ever saw her in, but he'd been stunned when he'd realised they were the only shoes she *owned.* He'd said something about it and her reply had been a vague "I think I have a pair of black flats around here somewhere."
Of course, the Auror Institute didn't really mind.
He could see what she was on about now though, having dragged him to get his own pair months ago. She'd gotten sick of his cheek and challenged him to get a pair and *not* swear by them. A few months later, she had had a laugh when she caught him taking several pair of his shoes to the second-hand shop down the road.
But her Docs were nowhere in sight, just bare feet and gleaming toenails. Encasing her legs was a pair of his Quidditch cords. They were slightly long on her, even though he hadn't had his true growth spurt until almost the end of seventh year, so she was walking on the slightly frayed ends. They were loose enough that they hung slightly from her hips, the waistband slightly away from her body, accentuating her waist, but they were tight enough to cling slightly.
Harry had to stifle a chuckle at her shirt; he hadn't even known he still had it. For Christmas during his sixth year, Fred and George had specially made t-shirts for the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, in honour of Gin's new star status, even though they had left school the year before. The shirts themselves were the same scarlet as their robes, with gold writing. On the back, between the shoulder blades was a small lion, with script underneath which read - `Gryffindor Quidditch ` 97.' The fronts of the shirts, however, had been personalized, with slogans like `Beaters like it rough.' Harry's own had the ever-popular `Seekers have more fun' emblazoned on the front. He could still remember McGonagall's face when they had all trooped down to breakfast in them.
Harry's chuckle at the memory was cut off in his throat though, at the way it looked on Hermione. The sleeves had shrunk with so many washings, so almost her entire arm (and he loved her arms) were bare. The bottom of the shirt didn't quite reach the top of the
cords, so a sliver of skin was visible. It was also...clinging in certain places in a rather flattering way, due to the heat.
Her hair was wrapped up and stuck through with chopsticks, probably from their dinner last night. A few tendrils had escaped and were sticking to her neck and to the side of her face.
Last, but certainly not least, she was eating ice from a glass she had beside her. She would pull out one piece and lift it to her lips, slowly, as she was immersed in her text. Placing it in her mouth, she'd suck on it for a few seconds and then take it out, holding it in her fingers, disregarding the melting and the subsequent water running down her arm, until she put it in her mouth again.
Harry stood frozen in the doorway, feeling as if he might burn from the inside out. As he stood there, she started swaying lightly to the music, one song that was apparently on repeat.
The sexiest thing about it was that she was completely oblivious. She was simply reading, waiting for the wash, but it was one of the most arousing things Harry had ever seen.
"...thinking maybe...we could, well...you know…"
Harry jumped slightly as Hermione sang along with the song, running the ice cube along the back of her neck.
Before he'd even realised what he was doing, he was across the kitchen and licking the droplet of water off her neck. He felt Hermione jolt and then shiver as she dropped the ice cube she was holding on to the counter.
Following the path of the water, he traced his tongue from the nape of her neck to the shell of her ear, before gently biting the lobe. His left arm went around her waist, his fingers fluttering at the bare skin of her waist. His other arm reached around and grabbed the melting cube on the counter.
Slowly, he ran the cube along her arm, starting at her hand, which was resting on the countertop, up to her shoulder. Between his hand, her arm and the heat, the ice melted quickly, leaving a sheen of water on her arm and his hand.
Harry could feel her shivering and start to turn around, but before she got very far, he had very effectively trapped her against the counter, one of his legs in between hers. Before she could say anything, he spoke into her ear, his voice husky.
"Grab me another ice cube, love."
Harry could see her biting her lip as both her arms moved, one coming up to twine in his hair, the other reaching around briefly to cop a quick feel. Harry jolted at this, and grinned briefly, remembering their discussion about posteriors. Before she got too grabby he licked along her ear and reminded her, "The ice."
She could touch him all she wanted later, but right now he had some plans for those remaining cubes.
She nodded and after one last squeeze, brought her hand around and lifted another piece of ice from the glass. She slowly brought it over her shoulder; he heard her gasp as he took the entire piece into his mouth, along with her finger. He sucked on it for a brief second before gently biting the tip and releasing it, drawing back.
Holding the ice cube in his teeth, Harry began to trace it along her neck; Hermione head dropped forward to give him better access. His right arm moved from running along her arm to dip in the glass of quickly melting ice cubes. He dipped his fingers in briefly before moving his arm around to run up under her shirt. Hmm…no bra.
He heard her gasp again as his fingers began trailing cool water along her abdomen and up to her breasts. She moaned slightly as he tweaked one nipple, then ran his thumb over it gently. Her other armed raised up to twine in his hair also, arching her body back against his, offering herself to him, her head rolling to the side, still swaying lightly too the music.
Hearing her moan, Harry barely suppressed his own, folding his body around hers, swaying with her. He had never felt anything so good in all his life as her skin under his hands; he would never get enough of touching her. They stayed that way for several moments, Hermione swaying to the music and Harry wrapped around her, still kissing and sucking along her neck, his hands tracing patterns along the bare skin of her abdomen, occasionally reaching up to brush a thumb across a nipple.
While his right hand was busy teasing along the underside of her breast, his other began to snake down into her trousers and what he found there made what little blood he had remaining in his head rush immediately for more southern parts.
Along with no bra, his Hermione had on no pants. This was a first.
Dear Merlin, she was trying to kill him, he thought, as he raised his head. Her head turned as his lips stopped the assault on her neck and they locked eyes, Harry's hands still moving restlessly over her skin. Without speaking, Harry turned her around and his lips descended on hers, his tongue and lips still cool from the ice. He could feel her hands almost frantically undoing the remaining buttons on his shirt; it was quickly discarded along with the vest he had underneath it.
Harry broke the kiss, stilling her hands as they reached for the button on his trousers.
He still had plans for those ice cubes, if he didn't spontaneously combust before then.
Still not speaking, the only sound their ragged breathing and the music; Harry slowly lifted her shirt, sliding it over her head as she raised her arms. Letting it drop to the floor with one hand, his other reached into the glass for another piece of ice. Still staring intently at each other, Harry dragged the ice along her collarbone; it melted quickly, droplets of ice-cold water rolling down her chest along with sweat. He could see her nipples tightening and her breathing become shallower, her eyes darkening, willing him to do something, to do anything, besides this torture.
Quickly, he leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, his hand still running the melting cube over her body. He heard something crash to the floor as one of her hands shoot out behind her to steady herself on the counter, her knees threatening to give out - the book she had been reading earlier. The other hand came up to run through his hair, then down his back. He heard hissing and realised the ice had slipped from his hand and had slid down into her trousers. Suddenly, her hand was pulling his head back up to hers, her lips crashing into his in an out-of-control kiss.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, growling deep in his throat at the feel of her breasts crushed against his chest, still cool from the ice. The sensation was incredible - the sweat, ice and his Hermione. Pulling back briefly, Hermione plucked off his glasses, smeared with sweat and water as they were, and dropped them blindly on the counter behind her.
Bonelessly, they slid to the floor, landing on various bits of discarded clothing and lino. On the way down, Harry reached out an arm and grabbed the glass, which was slick with condensation. Tearing his lips away from hers when he felt her hands fumbling at his trousers again, he shook his head, wordlessly telling her to lay back and enjoy it. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, her neck arching, the chopsticks in her hair tapping on the lino.
Kneeling beside her, shaking slightly and shifting as his trousers were becoming almost unbearable, he reached for the button on her trousers. She lifted her hips to assist him, as he shimmied the cords down her legs. Settling his body over hers, one arm propping himself up, he reached over to the cup, grabbing one of the last remaining pieces of ice. He lifted it to her lips, tracing them until she abruptly opened her mouth, sucking it in along with one of his fingers. He could almost feel his pupils dilate at the sensation; her burning mouth suckling on his finger along with the
ice.
He tried pulling back both the ice and his finger; while Hermione let his finger go reluctantly, she still kept the ice in her mouth. Her darkened eyes looked up at him mischievously, almost a dare. His eyes bore into hers for a second before he lowered his head, his lips meeting hers.
He had to suppress a chuckle as her mouth opened automatically under his; before she realised what had happened, his tongue, in a rather talented move, had retrieved the ice cube. He grinned at her briefly, sucking on the ice, before, repeating his actions from earlier, he started trailing the ice along her neck using his mouth.
He moved swiftly down her neck and the valley between her breasts, down the slope of her abdomen to her navel. With a warning look at her, he deposited the ice cube there, his mouth continuing its southward journey, bypassing her centre. He could hear her growls of frustration but paid no attention.
Coming to her knees, he began moving up, again bypassing where she most wanted his mouth, eventually reaching her navel again. The ice had melted, a pool of water was forming on her stomach and he could see she was clenching her fists by her side not to do something about it. Her bellybutton was particularly sensitive for some reason, thus his reason for leaving it there.
Ignoring the water, some of which was starting to drip down her sides, he retrieved the much smaller cube and started trailing it lower. He saw Hermione raise her head, her eyes widening as his intention became clear. His hands at her hips, he finally reached the juncture between her thighs.
She gasped loudly and let out an unintelligible sound as he saw her eyes roll back in her head, her back and neck arching at the sensation, his mouth tasting her, chilly from the ice and the ice itself against her. He continued his ministrations long after the ice had disappeared, feeling her body tighten as her orgasm approached.
He was so intent on drawing it out as long as he could that he almost didn't hear her voice, pleading; suddenly, her hand was in his hair, lifting his head up, her eyes almost black with desire.
"I want you inside me," she rasped, her voice husky and low. Harry almost came undone right there; forever afterwards he was never quite sure how he managed to pull himself together enough to summon the required motor skills to unbutton his trousers and get them, along with his shorts and shoes, off. Get them off he did though, dragging his body over hers, their skin sliding together from the sweat and ice.
Hesitating for only a second, Harry plunged into her, staring into her eyes; both of them were moaning, the sounds emanating from somewhere deep in their chests. They were still for a moment; this couldn't last long though; as they both felt wound so tight they could barely breathe. He withdrew almost all the way, slamming back into her; he heard Hermione's gasp and somewhere in the small part of his brain still capable of rational thought, he told himself to slow down.
This lasted all of a second, until he felt Hermione's hips arching up to meet his. Moaning, they established a rather bruising pace, both aware they couldn't last long.
Harry felt one of Hermione's arms reach back, fumbling along the floor behind her head and hearing a clunk. He hissed a moment later when he realised she'd grabbed one of the remaining pieces of ice, simply holding it in her hand and letting it melt. He could feel ice cold water dripping down and pooling in the small of his back and some dripping down his sides, sliding between them where their skin met.
Lost in these sensations, it seemed only seconds later that he felt her tighten around him, her head arching back as she moaned. Hermione had never been a screamer; but that almost ecstatic moan got to him every time. That and her walls tightening around him sent him over the edge almost immediately after, his head dropping to the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
Regaining his motor functions awhile later, Harry rolled off her, afraid he was crushing her even though she always assured him he wasn't; his hand found hers on the floor, their fingers twining together. They lay on the floor together, panting, staring at the ceiling, watching the candlelight and waning sunlight play across it, with that same song still on in the background. A few minutes later, Harry turned his head towards Hermione, her head rolling to look at him also.
Propping himself up on to one elbow, he surveyed the scene around them. The glass was turned over above their heads, the water pooling and running along the floor; the book she had been reading was laying, upside down and open, on the floor across the room; they were laying on their various bits of clothing, some of which were wet and all of which were twisted and wrinkled and in need of a wash; there were various other pools of water in random places on the lino; one of the chopsticks had completely fallen out of Hermione's hair, the other was barely hanging on, a few strands of hair were laying, soaked, in a pool of water; they themselves were sweating, with various bits of skin reddening and bruising even as they lay there; one of his socks was still hanging half off his foot.
Hermione's eyes roved around the kitchen as well; he could see her fighting a grin as she turned back to catch his eye.
Harry winked at her. "Honey, I'm home."
END
Harry/Hermione - What a lovely way to burn.
Should I be embarrassed or amused?
And new Alias tomorrow night! I will not spoil myself for this one, like I did last time. It might mean I have to not get on the computer all day tomorrow, but I will do it. Either way, yay!