FIC: Rhythm and Vocals, Fred/Hermione, NC-17
Title: Rhythm and Vocals
Pairing: Fred/Hermione
Word Count: 3093
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hermione is irritated by an Incident and Fred sets out to make the situation better in typical Weasley fashion
A/N: Written for summer_flinging, this is a bit of silly summery smut. 'Cause what says summer more than hammock sex?
Glancing out the window of the small summer cottage, Fred noted that the figure in the hammock had abandoned her book. The massive leather tome- Fifteenth Century Fiends- sat on a small wicker table that hadn't been there an hour ago. Fred couldn't help but smile- typical Hermione. Of course the book couldn't be put down on the ground- sand might sully its pages! Clearly though, she'd had trouble getting comfortable reclining in the hammock and propping up the humongous book. Not that Fred had been staring out the window for the last half hour, of course. Not at all.
Her head turned first one way, then the other, voluminous hair rustling in the breeze. He watched as she counted something on her fingers, and how she absently scratched one bare shin with her heel. She harrumphed loudly and rolled onto her side, and then onto her back again, finally settling in and staring up at the leafy canopy above her. Fred smirked. Relaxing and doing absolutely nothing was not part of Hermione Granger's repertoire.
But if anyone in the UK-- in the world!-- deserved a break, it was her. How a person could exhaust herself nearly to death to help win a war and then immediately go back to school to make up the seventh year she should have completed two years earlier, catching up and completing the curriculum with a record number of NEWTs, was beyond him. But she'd done it, and Fred had been there with her, only making her melt down by using Weasleys' Best Never-Burning Bonfire (Set Your Homework or Office Memo on Fire to the Delight Of Your Friends, and Watch It Escape Unscathed! Two galleons) on her notes when absolutely necessary.
Hermione's lips were moving, and Fred shook his head. She was bored. Visibly, bone-shakingly bored, but Fred knew that after the Incident this morning, it would take a minor miracle to get her back inside the cottage they'd rented. Fred supposed he should probably grovel for forgiveness, but that had never been his strong suit. Besides, getting mud off dragonhide trousers after kneeling in the dirt and begging was a massive pain in the arse.
So Fred decided to deal with her boredom-- and her irritation with him-- in typical Weasley twin fashion. Fetching a pitcher of pink lemonade, he artfully laced it with his latest creation, Slothful Syrup. It would add a fruity tang to the lemonade and should definitely help Hermione to learn the science of goofing off. Hey, she liked to learn, right?
Gliding down the hall with a manic grin on his face, he exited through the front door and stole around the cottage, sneaking into the back garden behind Hermione. He moved slowly and quietly toward her, listening to her muttering under her breath. She hadn't noticed his stealthy trek toward her, and, pleased with himself, he placed the pitcher of lemonade at the base of one of the large trees supporting her hammock.
"In 1677, the Second Goblin Rebellion was instigated by Roquefort the Rank," Hermione chanted, the hammock swaying a little as she emphatically ticked the event off on her fingers. "In 1689, The Goblins' Fourth Interruption was interrupted itself by the attack of the Frankish mountain trolls."
Crouching down, Fred leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "Binns would be so proud."
With a scream, she bolted upright and nearly fell out of the hammock. Fred caught her by the shoulders to steady her, his fingers squeezing her lightly and not letting go.
"Fred Weasley," Hermione snapped, "you of all people should know better than to sneak up on someone who's been through a war! I might have hexed your eyes into onions!"
"They'd probably water terribly if you did," Fred said sagely. With a helpful smile, he reminded her, "You're not speaking to me right now."
"Right. I'm not speaking to you." Her eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"
"I brought you some lemonade." He held up the pitcher and then said, "Accio glass." A martini glass sailed through the open kitchen window and smacked into his hand. He poured her a generous helping and handed it to her with a flourish.
Hermione eyed the glass suspiciously. "What's wrong with it?"
The most unbelievably innocent smile bloomed on Fred's face. "Now why would you assume anything's wrong with it?"
She sniffed it gingerly, never taking her eyes off him. "Because you're you. And because this definitely does not smell like normal lemonade."
"I added a berry-flavoured syrup for extra impact," he confessed, but from her stony expression, he could tell she wasn't buying it. "It may or may not have the capability to turn the imbiber into a three-toed sloth."
She sputtered, but couldn't form any full syllables.
"Temporarily," he added.
She was shaking with fury, so angry that for a moment she looked like his mum. He shrank back a little as she opened her mouth to yell... only she wasn't yelling, she was laughing. Laughing so hard she had to lay back down, the hammock vibrating. Fred stared at her, perplexed. He'd been prepared to defend himself, but he wasn't entirely sure how to react in the face of such mirth. He waited until she'd calmed down a bit.
"You were going to turn me into a sloth?" she finally managed, choking back a snort.
"Yes?"
"Why?"
"Er." He hadn't really planned anything beyond the initial slothfulness. "So that you would relax and enjoy yourself. This is our first Voldemort-free summer, after all. Now shove over."
"I will not. Go find your own hammock." But she was still smiling, so he set the pitcher and glass down, and pointed his wand at himself.
"Easiest way to get into an already occupied hammock," he told her. "Mobilicorpus!" His entire body lifted off the ground and tilted ninety degrees so that he was suspended horizontally beside her. Using his wand, he directed himself sideways until he was hovering over the hammock.
"Better budge up a bit, love, or I'll land on top of you," he warned lazily.
"I'm still cross with you for laughing at me this morning," she said, but she made the smallest bit of room anyway.
"Finite incantatem," Fred said, falling with a whump next to her. She yelped as they swayed precariously, and she grabbed him to centre herself, one arm across his chest, the other reaching down to clutch his hand.
"You're such an idiot," she sighed, drawing an absent circle on his sternum with her index finger.
Fred curled closer to her, inhaling the fresh scent of her peppermint shampoo. "To be clear, I wasn't laughing at you."
"Oh really?" she said, waspish again though she didn't let go of him.
What could Fred say? He did love a challenge. He rolled onto his side, facing her, and his hand smoothed down her bare arm, along the curve of her waist, to pause on her hip. "Really. As I recall, we started out this morning in the master bedroom in a somewhat similar position."
"I was on my back and you hadn't charmed away your morning breath," she said, clinging to her contrariness.
"You didn't seem to have any complaints at the time," he said, pushing on her hip gently. She acquiesced to the unspoken request, rolling onto her back, but crossed her arms over her chest. God but she could be the most stubborn creature on the planet, Fred thought, and it made him love her all the more. The hammock poured them together, nestling against each other at its centre, and it seemed only natural for his hand to venture beneath the hem of her skirt, coming to rest just above her knee.
"I woke you up, first by doing this," Fred continued the narrative, and he leaned forward to kiss her neck. He traced a complex sigil along her sensitive flesh with his tongue, his fingers mimicking the movement against her thigh. Her skin was so soft, and she shivered but didn't respond. His hand ascended unhurriedly, taking its time to touch as much skin as possible, his lips teasing her collarbone.
"And then I did this," he reminded her, his mouth tracking back upward, finding her earlobe and sucking it lightly. His hand curled around her inner thigh, not quite brushing against her knickers.
She huffed restlessly, but didn't acknowledge him. He kissed his way along her jaw until he was propped on his free elbow, centimeters away from her mouth. Her eyes were wide open and he watched the interplay of irritation doing battle with a quickly awakening arousal. Her cheeks were flushed but her chin was still tilted in a determined manner, not giving him an inch. He wanted to bury his hands in the chaos of her hair. He always had loved all things chaotic.
"Do you remember what I did next?" he asked, the words caressing her lips. She nodded once, and the movement was enough to bring them into contact, an accidental kiss that Fred turned into a very deliberate one. His lips moved against hers, a maddening friction that he underscored and exacerbated by stroking the pad of his thumb against her knickers. He could feel her heat and the way she jerked involuntarily once-- just once-- holding herself perfectly still afterward.
He increased the pressure and added his index finger to the mix, twin points of contact working in rhythmic tandem, stroking her while his tongue darted out to lick her lower lip.
"You were kissing me back at this point," he said, and she made a small, strangled noise that might have been his name.
Industriously, his dexterous fingers, so good at getting him into all kinds of trouble, stole beneath the elastic of her knickers, taking their time meandering over her coarse hair before dipping downward.
"Oh," she gasped, and Fred caught her bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth with a grin. She was doing everything she could not to respond to him, laying on the hammock rigidly. He continued on tenaciously, his fingers exploring, teasing her, grazing her clit and then wandering away. And god, the slippery heat of her and her suppressed reactions coursed through his veins. He wanted to push the length of his arousal against her hip but he didn't, holding himself nearly as still as she was.
"You're very wet," he whispered into her mouth.
She whimpered a little bit didn't say anything.
"We were right about here this morning," he added, and one index finger pressed inside her.
Her hips jumped and she whimpered again, her eyes falling closed and her mouth dropping open a little. Fred kissed her again, his finger working deeper inside her. He could feel her squeezing around him, and the mere thought of his cock inside her was nearly enough to make him come on the spot. Instead, he brushed her clit with his thumb and began to stroke in a circular motion as his finger moved in and out. He nuzzled the side of her neck once more, delighting in the involuntary, breathy moans escaping her.
"Let it out, Hermione," he pleaded, kissing her shoulder. "I love the noises you make."
"You laughed at the noises I made this morning!" she retorted, eyes snapping open again, anger borne anew within them.
Fred didn't relent, adding a second finger inside her. True, she'd been making the most extraordinary sounds this morning as he'd leisurely fucked her with his fingers. He'd laughed and she'd batted his hand away and was up and out of bed before he could explain. She was so responsive to him, and to see the normally in control and uptight Hermione Granger spread before him, her body quivering because of his touch, to hear the cascade of spontaneous, unconscious moans and gasps, well...
"I was turned on by you," he said, locking his gaze with hers. His hand stilled, fingers resting motionless inside her. She started to shake her head, so he said, "I was amused by the situation, Hermione, honestly. I wasn't laughing at you. I love the sounds you make. I've never heard you quite so vocal before."
"We've never really been alone before," she countered. "Always at Grimmauld with Harry and Ron or The Burrow with your mum and various siblings, or your flat with George."
"Or in your dormitory at Hogwarts," he said with a wicked smile. She'd been two years older than the rest of the girls in the dormitory at the time, during the past year when she went back to Hogwarts, bent on finishing her education properly.
"Yes," she said. "We've never truly been alone together."
"I promise you, I wasn't laughing at you," he said. "I want to hear you." At last he pressed the full length of his very erect cock against her. "You see what you do to me?"
"Fred," she said, licking her lips, leaving them so moist that he couldn't help but lean forward to claim them. This time she did kiss back, parting her lips and drawing his tongue into her mouth. Her arms curved around his neck, fingers twining in his hair, and they both sighed.
His trousers were painfully restrictive, and the way Hermione was arching against him, tugging him closer, was enough incentive to reach between them and quickly undo his fly. He shimmied halfway out of his trousers, the hammock swinging with the movement. Shifting carefully, Fred lifted his hips and insinuated himself between her thighs, his hips resting against hers, his cock straining against her knickers. Hermione's hips bucked against him, her thighs urging him closer.
"Please," she whispered, and when he took her in a deeper, more possessive kiss, the whisper turned into an all out moan that vibrated through his body, straight to his cock.
"God," Fred groaned, and he pulled her damp knickers to the side, granting himself access to her cunt. He stroked the head of his cock against her moist skin, coating himself in her arousal, quivering with the effort not just to plunge forward.
She was shaking in his arms, her hips urging him forward. "Fred, please," she growled, and he gave in, thrusting forward and filling her. She keened with pleasure, wrapping her legs around his hips. The hammock rocked dangerously and they both froze, her body contracting around him, so hot and tight and inviting that he had to bite down on her shoulder to regain control over himself. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat. They clung to each other until the hazard of being dumped onto the ground disappeared, and then he began to move again. Slowly. Oh so slowly, to keep the hammock from swinging too much. He could feel every bit of his cock moving inside her, the fluid heat of her body all around him. Pulling out nearly all the way, he hovered for a moment, staring down at her flushed face.
"Hermione," he said, an aroused, confident smile on his lips. Their still-clothed chests glided over each other, adding friction and perfect frustration to their movements.
She responded with a high-pitched squeak of need, similar to the series of sounds she'd made this morning. He wasn't even close to laughing now as he thrust leisurely inside her once more. The noises she made tumbled in a descending glissando into a harsh, beautiful groan of satisfaction. She arched against him, clutching at his back as they undulated against one another. Fred had never taken such care or such time, each moment inside her enough to drive him mad with need for more-faster-harder and yet perfect because of the way her whole body welcomed him. He could feel her heel against his arse, pulling him closer with each thrust. She was babbling softly, words of bliss he couldn't quite make out twining around him. He snaked one hand beneath her to cradle her head, teasing her hair, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder, her groans growing louder and needier.
"More, Fred, please," she begged, and he couldn't help but oblige, speeding up the pace, ignoring the precarious way the hammock rocked beneath them. It only made them hold each other closer, Hermione writhing beneath him as stroked into her more deeply, in and out. His control was slipping, and it snapped completely when she let go with one arm to slide a hand between them, fingers finding her clit. With the added stimulation, she cried out in earnest, her body convulsing around him.
"Oh god, Hermione." His moans joined with hers, a euphonic harmony of pure pleasure, heightened by the hammock's manic swaying, supporting them while at the same time threatening to abandon them to gravity.
Neither of them cared. "So close," she sobbed, her breath coming in jagged gasps, and his hips slammed forward, compelled by her words to join her. With a scream, her release stole over her, and she took him with her, climaxing deep inside her. He was falling- they were both tumbling, lost in a shared moment of pure, complete ecstasy.
Until they hit the ground. Fred hissed with pain as the air in his lungs was slammed out, landing on his back. Hermione collapsed on top of him, his cock still inside her. They both lay there, too stunned from their lovemaking and from their fall to move.
"Ow," Fred finally said.
"Wow," Hermione countered.
She lifted herself off him just enough to let his cock slip free of her, and then sat next to him, her hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, grinning at him with an expression of total, wanton satisfaction.
"All right?" she asked.
"I might walk a bit oddly," Fred said, rolling onto his side and rubbing his arse. It would probably bruise from the force of impact.
"That would make two of us," she said mischievously.
She didn't often make lewd comments, and, laughing with delight, Fred pulled her back down again, wrapping his arms around her. She laughed too, tucking her head beneath his chin.
"Please never hold back again," Fred said, kissing the crown of her head. "The sounds you make are so sexy."
"You know, you're not the quietest person in the world either," she observed, kissing him above his heart.
"I suppose we make a good pair, then."
"I suppose we do." He could hear the smile in her voice, and he stretched out on the sun-drenched ground, the two of them drowsing beneath the hammock in the summer warmth.
Fin
Pairing: Fred/Hermione
Word Count: 3093
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hermione is irritated by an Incident and Fred sets out to make the situation better in typical Weasley fashion
A/N: Written for summer_flinging, this is a bit of silly summery smut. 'Cause what says summer more than hammock sex?
Glancing out the window of the small summer cottage, Fred noted that the figure in the hammock had abandoned her book. The massive leather tome- Fifteenth Century Fiends- sat on a small wicker table that hadn't been there an hour ago. Fred couldn't help but smile- typical Hermione. Of course the book couldn't be put down on the ground- sand might sully its pages! Clearly though, she'd had trouble getting comfortable reclining in the hammock and propping up the humongous book. Not that Fred had been staring out the window for the last half hour, of course. Not at all.
Her head turned first one way, then the other, voluminous hair rustling in the breeze. He watched as she counted something on her fingers, and how she absently scratched one bare shin with her heel. She harrumphed loudly and rolled onto her side, and then onto her back again, finally settling in and staring up at the leafy canopy above her. Fred smirked. Relaxing and doing absolutely nothing was not part of Hermione Granger's repertoire.
But if anyone in the UK-- in the world!-- deserved a break, it was her. How a person could exhaust herself nearly to death to help win a war and then immediately go back to school to make up the seventh year she should have completed two years earlier, catching up and completing the curriculum with a record number of NEWTs, was beyond him. But she'd done it, and Fred had been there with her, only making her melt down by using Weasleys' Best Never-Burning Bonfire (Set Your Homework or Office Memo on Fire to the Delight Of Your Friends, and Watch It Escape Unscathed! Two galleons) on her notes when absolutely necessary.
Hermione's lips were moving, and Fred shook his head. She was bored. Visibly, bone-shakingly bored, but Fred knew that after the Incident this morning, it would take a minor miracle to get her back inside the cottage they'd rented. Fred supposed he should probably grovel for forgiveness, but that had never been his strong suit. Besides, getting mud off dragonhide trousers after kneeling in the dirt and begging was a massive pain in the arse.
So Fred decided to deal with her boredom-- and her irritation with him-- in typical Weasley twin fashion. Fetching a pitcher of pink lemonade, he artfully laced it with his latest creation, Slothful Syrup. It would add a fruity tang to the lemonade and should definitely help Hermione to learn the science of goofing off. Hey, she liked to learn, right?
Gliding down the hall with a manic grin on his face, he exited through the front door and stole around the cottage, sneaking into the back garden behind Hermione. He moved slowly and quietly toward her, listening to her muttering under her breath. She hadn't noticed his stealthy trek toward her, and, pleased with himself, he placed the pitcher of lemonade at the base of one of the large trees supporting her hammock.
"In 1677, the Second Goblin Rebellion was instigated by Roquefort the Rank," Hermione chanted, the hammock swaying a little as she emphatically ticked the event off on her fingers. "In 1689, The Goblins' Fourth Interruption was interrupted itself by the attack of the Frankish mountain trolls."
Crouching down, Fred leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "Binns would be so proud."
With a scream, she bolted upright and nearly fell out of the hammock. Fred caught her by the shoulders to steady her, his fingers squeezing her lightly and not letting go.
"Fred Weasley," Hermione snapped, "you of all people should know better than to sneak up on someone who's been through a war! I might have hexed your eyes into onions!"
"They'd probably water terribly if you did," Fred said sagely. With a helpful smile, he reminded her, "You're not speaking to me right now."
"Right. I'm not speaking to you." Her eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"
"I brought you some lemonade." He held up the pitcher and then said, "Accio glass." A martini glass sailed through the open kitchen window and smacked into his hand. He poured her a generous helping and handed it to her with a flourish.
Hermione eyed the glass suspiciously. "What's wrong with it?"
The most unbelievably innocent smile bloomed on Fred's face. "Now why would you assume anything's wrong with it?"
She sniffed it gingerly, never taking her eyes off him. "Because you're you. And because this definitely does not smell like normal lemonade."
"I added a berry-flavoured syrup for extra impact," he confessed, but from her stony expression, he could tell she wasn't buying it. "It may or may not have the capability to turn the imbiber into a three-toed sloth."
She sputtered, but couldn't form any full syllables.
"Temporarily," he added.
She was shaking with fury, so angry that for a moment she looked like his mum. He shrank back a little as she opened her mouth to yell... only she wasn't yelling, she was laughing. Laughing so hard she had to lay back down, the hammock vibrating. Fred stared at her, perplexed. He'd been prepared to defend himself, but he wasn't entirely sure how to react in the face of such mirth. He waited until she'd calmed down a bit.
"You were going to turn me into a sloth?" she finally managed, choking back a snort.
"Yes?"
"Why?"
"Er." He hadn't really planned anything beyond the initial slothfulness. "So that you would relax and enjoy yourself. This is our first Voldemort-free summer, after all. Now shove over."
"I will not. Go find your own hammock." But she was still smiling, so he set the pitcher and glass down, and pointed his wand at himself.
"Easiest way to get into an already occupied hammock," he told her. "Mobilicorpus!" His entire body lifted off the ground and tilted ninety degrees so that he was suspended horizontally beside her. Using his wand, he directed himself sideways until he was hovering over the hammock.
"Better budge up a bit, love, or I'll land on top of you," he warned lazily.
"I'm still cross with you for laughing at me this morning," she said, but she made the smallest bit of room anyway.
"Finite incantatem," Fred said, falling with a whump next to her. She yelped as they swayed precariously, and she grabbed him to centre herself, one arm across his chest, the other reaching down to clutch his hand.
"You're such an idiot," she sighed, drawing an absent circle on his sternum with her index finger.
Fred curled closer to her, inhaling the fresh scent of her peppermint shampoo. "To be clear, I wasn't laughing at you."
"Oh really?" she said, waspish again though she didn't let go of him.
What could Fred say? He did love a challenge. He rolled onto his side, facing her, and his hand smoothed down her bare arm, along the curve of her waist, to pause on her hip. "Really. As I recall, we started out this morning in the master bedroom in a somewhat similar position."
"I was on my back and you hadn't charmed away your morning breath," she said, clinging to her contrariness.
"You didn't seem to have any complaints at the time," he said, pushing on her hip gently. She acquiesced to the unspoken request, rolling onto her back, but crossed her arms over her chest. God but she could be the most stubborn creature on the planet, Fred thought, and it made him love her all the more. The hammock poured them together, nestling against each other at its centre, and it seemed only natural for his hand to venture beneath the hem of her skirt, coming to rest just above her knee.
"I woke you up, first by doing this," Fred continued the narrative, and he leaned forward to kiss her neck. He traced a complex sigil along her sensitive flesh with his tongue, his fingers mimicking the movement against her thigh. Her skin was so soft, and she shivered but didn't respond. His hand ascended unhurriedly, taking its time to touch as much skin as possible, his lips teasing her collarbone.
"And then I did this," he reminded her, his mouth tracking back upward, finding her earlobe and sucking it lightly. His hand curled around her inner thigh, not quite brushing against her knickers.
She huffed restlessly, but didn't acknowledge him. He kissed his way along her jaw until he was propped on his free elbow, centimeters away from her mouth. Her eyes were wide open and he watched the interplay of irritation doing battle with a quickly awakening arousal. Her cheeks were flushed but her chin was still tilted in a determined manner, not giving him an inch. He wanted to bury his hands in the chaos of her hair. He always had loved all things chaotic.
"Do you remember what I did next?" he asked, the words caressing her lips. She nodded once, and the movement was enough to bring them into contact, an accidental kiss that Fred turned into a very deliberate one. His lips moved against hers, a maddening friction that he underscored and exacerbated by stroking the pad of his thumb against her knickers. He could feel her heat and the way she jerked involuntarily once-- just once-- holding herself perfectly still afterward.
He increased the pressure and added his index finger to the mix, twin points of contact working in rhythmic tandem, stroking her while his tongue darted out to lick her lower lip.
"You were kissing me back at this point," he said, and she made a small, strangled noise that might have been his name.
Industriously, his dexterous fingers, so good at getting him into all kinds of trouble, stole beneath the elastic of her knickers, taking their time meandering over her coarse hair before dipping downward.
"Oh," she gasped, and Fred caught her bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth with a grin. She was doing everything she could not to respond to him, laying on the hammock rigidly. He continued on tenaciously, his fingers exploring, teasing her, grazing her clit and then wandering away. And god, the slippery heat of her and her suppressed reactions coursed through his veins. He wanted to push the length of his arousal against her hip but he didn't, holding himself nearly as still as she was.
"You're very wet," he whispered into her mouth.
She whimpered a little bit didn't say anything.
"We were right about here this morning," he added, and one index finger pressed inside her.
Her hips jumped and she whimpered again, her eyes falling closed and her mouth dropping open a little. Fred kissed her again, his finger working deeper inside her. He could feel her squeezing around him, and the mere thought of his cock inside her was nearly enough to make him come on the spot. Instead, he brushed her clit with his thumb and began to stroke in a circular motion as his finger moved in and out. He nuzzled the side of her neck once more, delighting in the involuntary, breathy moans escaping her.
"Let it out, Hermione," he pleaded, kissing her shoulder. "I love the noises you make."
"You laughed at the noises I made this morning!" she retorted, eyes snapping open again, anger borne anew within them.
Fred didn't relent, adding a second finger inside her. True, she'd been making the most extraordinary sounds this morning as he'd leisurely fucked her with his fingers. He'd laughed and she'd batted his hand away and was up and out of bed before he could explain. She was so responsive to him, and to see the normally in control and uptight Hermione Granger spread before him, her body quivering because of his touch, to hear the cascade of spontaneous, unconscious moans and gasps, well...
"I was turned on by you," he said, locking his gaze with hers. His hand stilled, fingers resting motionless inside her. She started to shake her head, so he said, "I was amused by the situation, Hermione, honestly. I wasn't laughing at you. I love the sounds you make. I've never heard you quite so vocal before."
"We've never really been alone before," she countered. "Always at Grimmauld with Harry and Ron or The Burrow with your mum and various siblings, or your flat with George."
"Or in your dormitory at Hogwarts," he said with a wicked smile. She'd been two years older than the rest of the girls in the dormitory at the time, during the past year when she went back to Hogwarts, bent on finishing her education properly.
"Yes," she said. "We've never truly been alone together."
"I promise you, I wasn't laughing at you," he said. "I want to hear you." At last he pressed the full length of his very erect cock against her. "You see what you do to me?"
"Fred," she said, licking her lips, leaving them so moist that he couldn't help but lean forward to claim them. This time she did kiss back, parting her lips and drawing his tongue into her mouth. Her arms curved around his neck, fingers twining in his hair, and they both sighed.
His trousers were painfully restrictive, and the way Hermione was arching against him, tugging him closer, was enough incentive to reach between them and quickly undo his fly. He shimmied halfway out of his trousers, the hammock swinging with the movement. Shifting carefully, Fred lifted his hips and insinuated himself between her thighs, his hips resting against hers, his cock straining against her knickers. Hermione's hips bucked against him, her thighs urging him closer.
"Please," she whispered, and when he took her in a deeper, more possessive kiss, the whisper turned into an all out moan that vibrated through his body, straight to his cock.
"God," Fred groaned, and he pulled her damp knickers to the side, granting himself access to her cunt. He stroked the head of his cock against her moist skin, coating himself in her arousal, quivering with the effort not just to plunge forward.
She was shaking in his arms, her hips urging him forward. "Fred, please," she growled, and he gave in, thrusting forward and filling her. She keened with pleasure, wrapping her legs around his hips. The hammock rocked dangerously and they both froze, her body contracting around him, so hot and tight and inviting that he had to bite down on her shoulder to regain control over himself. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat. They clung to each other until the hazard of being dumped onto the ground disappeared, and then he began to move again. Slowly. Oh so slowly, to keep the hammock from swinging too much. He could feel every bit of his cock moving inside her, the fluid heat of her body all around him. Pulling out nearly all the way, he hovered for a moment, staring down at her flushed face.
"Hermione," he said, an aroused, confident smile on his lips. Their still-clothed chests glided over each other, adding friction and perfect frustration to their movements.
She responded with a high-pitched squeak of need, similar to the series of sounds she'd made this morning. He wasn't even close to laughing now as he thrust leisurely inside her once more. The noises she made tumbled in a descending glissando into a harsh, beautiful groan of satisfaction. She arched against him, clutching at his back as they undulated against one another. Fred had never taken such care or such time, each moment inside her enough to drive him mad with need for more-faster-harder and yet perfect because of the way her whole body welcomed him. He could feel her heel against his arse, pulling him closer with each thrust. She was babbling softly, words of bliss he couldn't quite make out twining around him. He snaked one hand beneath her to cradle her head, teasing her hair, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder, her groans growing louder and needier.
"More, Fred, please," she begged, and he couldn't help but oblige, speeding up the pace, ignoring the precarious way the hammock rocked beneath them. It only made them hold each other closer, Hermione writhing beneath him as stroked into her more deeply, in and out. His control was slipping, and it snapped completely when she let go with one arm to slide a hand between them, fingers finding her clit. With the added stimulation, she cried out in earnest, her body convulsing around him.
"Oh god, Hermione." His moans joined with hers, a euphonic harmony of pure pleasure, heightened by the hammock's manic swaying, supporting them while at the same time threatening to abandon them to gravity.
Neither of them cared. "So close," she sobbed, her breath coming in jagged gasps, and his hips slammed forward, compelled by her words to join her. With a scream, her release stole over her, and she took him with her, climaxing deep inside her. He was falling- they were both tumbling, lost in a shared moment of pure, complete ecstasy.
Until they hit the ground. Fred hissed with pain as the air in his lungs was slammed out, landing on his back. Hermione collapsed on top of him, his cock still inside her. They both lay there, too stunned from their lovemaking and from their fall to move.
"Ow," Fred finally said.
"Wow," Hermione countered.
She lifted herself off him just enough to let his cock slip free of her, and then sat next to him, her hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, grinning at him with an expression of total, wanton satisfaction.
"All right?" she asked.
"I might walk a bit oddly," Fred said, rolling onto his side and rubbing his arse. It would probably bruise from the force of impact.
"That would make two of us," she said mischievously.
She didn't often make lewd comments, and, laughing with delight, Fred pulled her back down again, wrapping his arms around her. She laughed too, tucking her head beneath his chin.
"Please never hold back again," Fred said, kissing the crown of her head. "The sounds you make are so sexy."
"You know, you're not the quietest person in the world either," she observed, kissing him above his heart.
"I suppose we make a good pair, then."
"I suppose we do." He could hear the smile in her voice, and he stretched out on the sun-drenched ground, the two of them drowsing beneath the hammock in the summer warmth.
Fin