Fic Request Fulfilled for da_angel729
Title: Threshold Anxiety
Author: shyshutterbug
Beta: gingeraled
Rating: NC-17. Ohhhh yeah.
Word count: 3967
Summary: Hermione usually likes order. Usually.
Warnings: Teh Sex.
Notes: I don’t really view this as a sequel to “Above A Lake Of Fire,” but if you want to do so, knock yourself out. Many thanks to gingeraled for making this fit for eyes other than my own! da_angel729, I do hope this lives up to expectations!
It was utterly unfair, Ron being that attractive.
Hermione knew it would be perfectly within reason to be enamored with him if he were doing something more traditionally sexy - stepping out of the shower, for instance, or maybe wiping sweat from his brow on the Quidditch pitch - but to be practically salivating over nothing more than him levitating a box in the store room of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes? It was rather unsettling.
Insult to injury, really, as her reasons for coming there in the first place made her a little unsettled as it was.
“Hey you.” Ron’s deep voice startled her out of her thoughts. “What are you doing here?”
Hermione shrugged. “No big reason,” she said mildly as he slung an arm around her shoulder and planted a kiss on top of her head. “I took a late lunch and wanted to see you.”
“Well, I’m not complaining,” he replied with a grin, sticking his wand in his back pocket. Hermione smiled and nuzzled his shoulder - he smelled like cardboard boxes and a summer rainstorm - but said nothing.
The silence hung in the room for a few moments before Ron broke it. “Is everything okay? ‘S not like you to be so quiet.”
Her blood was humming with something - anticipation, excitement, glee, maybe a little fear. “Where’s George?” she asked.
“Bloody bugger’s taking the night off,” Ron grumbled, nodding toward the huge stacks of multicolored boxes lining the walls. “Said something about meeting up with Lee and Angelina. Left me to do inventory myself.” He squeezed her shoulder a little. “Why do you ask?”
Hermione fell silent again, wringing her hands; her heart was pounding so fast she could barely hear him over the rush of blood in her ears.
“Hermione?” Ron’s voice was quiet and concerned. “Are you all right?”
“I think we should have sex.” The words fell out of her mouth before her brain could fully recognize what she was saying.
They stared at each other, her words echoing in the air for a few minutes, before Ron blinked slowly and pulled himself together to force out an elegant, “Um.”
“I’m sorry,” Hermione said instinctually, dropping her gaze to the floorboards, lest she look into his eyes and lose all of her perfectly maintained control.
“No, no, nothing to apologize for, love,” Ron said, chuckling a little under his breath. He ran his fingers through his hair and folded his lanky frame into a sitting position on a nearby box, exhaling long and loud. “Believe me, I’m...way more than okay with that. I just...I guess I wasn’t expecting it...” he trailed off, shrugging. “I thought you wanted to go slow - ?”
“I did,” Hermione replied. “I just...I don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve just been thinking about it, and... you know, with me working at my parents’ office for the summer, we don’t see each other as much... and it’ll be even harder when I go back to Hogwarts, what with the wards and classes and you here at the shop... and I just... I don’t want to go back without...” She took a deep breath. “...being with you.”
Ron looked at her carefully, grabbing her hands. “You’re serious?”
Hermione nodded rather briskly, as if she was closing a business deal and not agreeing to make love with her boyfriend. It was a coping mechanism, she knew perfectly well - a way to prevent emotions from getting the better of her, which would be all too easy, given the circumstances. She handled many things in her life just this way, from bringing her parents back from Australia to deciding to return to Hogwarts without Ron and Harry to progressing her physical relationship with Ron. The more she focused on the practical issues, the less she’d be caught up in the emotional tumult that would undoubtedly come with it.
They’d never spoken of it, but she knew Ron knew this was how she processed things. And also that Ron thought she was barking.
He ran his thumb over her knuckles for a few passes before squeaking out, “When?”
“My parents are going to the theatre tonight,” she replied. “They asked me to come, but I told them I had some summer assignments to finish up on.”
“They bought that?” Ron asked doubtfully. If there were any summer assignments to be had, rest assured Hermione would have had them completed within the first week of break.
“Apparently,” Hermione huffed, a little annoyed at his interruption. “They’ll be gone for a few hours at least, if you wanted to Floo over after supper?”
He nodded dumbly. “Wait... Hermione, what about - ”
“I’ve taken care of contraception, Ron,” she replied, wanting desperately not to remember the excruciating conversation she’d had with her mother in Australia after mentioning her relationship with Ron; it had been an awful lot of talk about feelings and choices and responsibility and gynecologists. Standard fare to humiliate one’s teenage daughter, regardless of its usefulness. Ron breathed a sigh of relief.
“Okay. Tonight, then,” Ron said, trying to remain calm, a soft grin on his face betraying his excitement. He reached out and wrapped Hermione in a huge bear hug; she embraced him as well, but her arms were unusually tentative around his waist, and it made him a little concerned.
“I have some things to attend to,” Hermione said softly. Her stomach was a churning mess of butterflies. As much as she adored Ron, she felt an inexplicable need to be alone with her thoughts right now. “I’ll see you tonight, all right?”
He kissed the top of her head. “See you then.”
***
Hermione Granger was nothing if not a fan of order, she acknowledged as she looked around her bedroom that evening. Bed made. Desk cleared of all nonessentials. Clothes neatly folded in her dresser or hanging in her closet, organized by color and formality. Books on her shelf in alphabetical order, the gold tooling the blue spine of Hogwarts, A History standing out rather more prominently than the others. Her fingers itched to bring it down from its shelf and devour it for the thousandth time, purely for distraction’s sake, but she refrained. Ron would be here soon.
Ron. Sweet Merlin. Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Meditation. Maybe that’ll help.
She didn’t open her eyes until she felt a soft weight settle next to her on her bed. Her eyes flew open, thinking it might be Ron, but instead she opened her eyes into the puzzled face of Meredith Granger.
“Mum, you scared me,” Hermione gasped, trying to catch her breath.
“Sorry, love,” Meredith replied airily. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. We’re about ready to leave; didn’t want to head out without letting you know.”
Hermione nodded. “Thanks.”
“So,” Meredith started in a gently teasing tone, “is clenching your eyes shut and rocking to and fro on your bed part of your summer assignment?”
“Mum!” Hermione exclaimed. “I... I was just... I needed to think about a few things!”
Meredith held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t mean to pry, dear,” she said mildly, before her face took on a more concerned affect. “Are you sure you’re all right, Hermione? You barely said two words at dinner.”
“I’m fine, Mum,” Hermione sighed, trying to collect herself. “Just a little distracted... you know, schoolwork and all.”
It was abundantly clear that Meredith did not believe a word coming out of her daughter’s mouth, but she simply gave a gentle nod. She’d been eighteen once too. “Well, try to get some sleep tonight, all right? We’ll be out till late.” She moved over and brushed a kiss on her daughter’s forehead before leaving the room.
After her mum’s departure, Hermione did take Hogwarts, A History down from her bookshelf and leafed through it, trying to get lost in passages she’d read so often she could quote them in her sleep. She was so entranced by the tales of the Founders and the intricate maps of the layout of the school that the soft sound of someone Flooing into the living room startled her a bit.
“Hermione?” Ron’s deep voice called softly. “You here, love?”
Shaking out of her momentary paralysis, Hermione walked out to the living room. If she’d thought Ron was attractive before, he was downright dangerous now, in his blue t-shirt and jeans, hair flopping in his face, looking unreasonably handsome. The huge grin he broke into upon seeing her didn’t hurt, either. Hermione didn’t think she’d done too badly, either; after she’d talked with Ron earlier in the day, she’d gone home and tried on every piece of clothing she had - twice - before settling on a gauzy green button-up shirt she’d bought the summer before sixth year on a whim but never worn and, after much deliberation, her favorite comfy jeans. She privately lamented the fact that she didn’t own any sexy lingerie, given the circumstances.
“Hi, sweet,” Ron said, embracing her. In sharp contrast to their parting hug from earlier, Hermione now flung her arms around Ron’s waist and clung to him tightly. “Hi, Ron,” she tried to say; it was muffled in his t-shirt, coming out more like “hrrmph,” which made Ron laugh into her hair.
“You all right?” he asked, squeezing her shoulders slightly.
“Fine,” Hermione replied. “Perfectly fine. Let’s... I mean... should we just go to my room?”
Ron looked slightly startled by her forwardness; then broke into a small grin. “Impatient, are we?”
Hermione turned furiously red and turned away. “I’m just trying to progress things, Ronald,” she said primly, leading the way down the hall. Ron just shook his head slightly.
Hermione’s bedroom was neat and tastefully decorated - very appropriate for her. She’d shut her lamp off, not wanting to turn on a stark bright light and alter the mood; instead, she’d opened her windows, letting the dying sunlight of the warm summer evening illuminate the room. She turned around and saw that a single stream of light from the window fell on Ron, making his bright red hair almost glow and his eyes sparkle. In spite of her desperation to remain practical, levelheaded, and herself for tonight, this image was just about too much to take. Hermione’s urge to touch Ron was becoming overwhelming. It was an all-too familiar feeling, though the fact that she didn’t have to resist it anymore was still surprising, thrilling, and about damn time.
Ron was just standing still and looking at Hermione with a strange mix of gentleness and intensity that was beyond definition. Her heart was pounding. This was it - there was nothing else to prepare. Voldemort dead. Parents away for the night. Harry out with Ginny. Every pill up to today’s date in the small pack by her bed taken. Contraception charm committed to memory, for extra protection.
Bed made. Clothes folded. Books alphabetized. Hermione loved order.
Hermione took a tentative step toward him, their eyes locking. She reached up and started to unbutton her shirt, fumbling slightly.
“No,” Ron said lowly. “Please, let me.” He sat on the side of her bed and pulled her toward him, so that she stood directly in front of him. He reached up and slowly undid the buttons of her blouse. She watched his long fingers carefully, almost as if she didn’t trust her eyes for what she was seeing.
They’d never been naked together before, but Ron knew Hermione’s body. He’d spent years watching as she walked down the corridors at Hogwarts, as she crossed her ankles under the table while doing homework, as she curled up in the fetal position in the bed across from his in the hospital. He’d long ago memorized the swell of her breasts and how they tapered into a slender waist, the slight curve of her buttocks, the elegance of her collarbone. She had small, delicate hands, almost laughably so when compared with his much larger, much rougher ones. Ron had meticulously chronicled every little detail, even when he wasn’t trying to, and stored in a deep, dark place in his mind, only to be recalled in the dim period between awake and asleep. He imagined he already knew the feel of these parts. He knew the sum would be far better than his wildest dreams.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders slightly and allowed her unbuttoned shirt to fall to the ground; the action made her breasts bounce just slightly and caused Ron to take in a visible gulp of air. Her breathing had quickened, and she was fighting a losing battle not to let it show. Her bra was simple white cotton edged with lace; through the material, Ron could make out her nipples, stiffening slightly under his gaze. When Hermione closed her eyes, he reached around and gently cupped her buttocks through her jeans for just a moment before moving his hands around to unzip her denims.
When Hermione realized just a moment later that she was standing in front of Ron in nothing but her knickers, she had a sudden attack of shyness, and her hands instantly moved to hide herself. Without a word, Ron took the hands shielding her breasts, squeezed them gently, and placed them back at her side. He looked into her eyes with such unabashed desire that her knees weakened considerably.
Feeling a rush of Gryffindor boldness from Ron’s gaze, she reached behind herself and unclasped her bra, watching Ron’s eyes fall from her face as it joined her shirt on the floor. The only word that came from Ron’s mouth was a muffled “Perfect.” To him, they were just the right size, just the right shape, and seemingly begging to be kissed. He leaned forward slightly, took one nipple in his mouth, and kissed it lightly, as he would kiss her mouth. Hermione felt moisture pool between her thighs, and it took all of her strength not to collapse.
Ron moved from her breast to her abdomen, kissing it as softly as he had her breast, pulling her closer with a gentle pressure on the small of her back. He let one of his hands slide under the shiny, satiny material and run across the soft contour of one cheek. Carefully, he ran his other hand up to her inner thigh, feeling the heat and dampness slowly increase as he approached her centre. Gingerly, he pulled them down, watching in absolute awe as she stepped out of them. Hermione fought hard to resist the temptation to cover herself again, and Ron could see the battle in her eyes when he leaned in and softly kissed her lips.
“Not fair that you’re still dressed,” Hermione mumbled against his mouth, fingers playing idly with the hem of his t-shirt. Remembering that worshipping Hermione’s body could be even more fun if he were naked as well, Ron rapidly stood and stripped off his t-shirt and jeans without even trying to appear sexy. His lack of effort showed, too; his hair stuck up at strange angles after his shirt came off, and one foot was inexplicably caught in his pant leg, causing him to do a thoroughly entertaining one-legged hop to rid himself of it, complete with muttering about “bloody clothes” and “stupid buggering trousers!” Hermione couldn’t help but giggle uncontrollably and collapse on the bed at the sight of her lanky boyfriend - a complete failure at suavity.
Her laughter faded, however, when a grinning Ron leaned down on the bed next to her, fisted his hands in her hair, and kissed her hungrily. Their mouths melted against each other as Hermione climbed atop him and ran her small hands over his chest. She could feel him, heavy and hard, straining through his bright orange boxers, and it caused the ache between her legs to scream with a desperate need to be satisfied. Not without a hint of fear, she reached her hand down and began stroking him gently through the fabric. Their kiss finally broke as he gasped with pleasure, his head falling back on the pillows.
Gripping her shoulders, Ron rolled them both over, so he was lying on top of her, and kissed his way down her body, just as before. This time, however, he didn’t stop. Rough patches of stubble gently scraped the soft skin of her belly as he reached the juncture of her legs and gently parted her thighs with his hands. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and blushed - Ron was looking at her, there of all places - but could not hang on to her embarrassment for one second more once she felt Ron’s lips gently, lightly kissing her soft, slick folds.
A loud moan-scream escaped Hermione’s mouth without her permission, and maddeningly, she felt Ron smile against her lower lips.
“Love you, sweet,” he whispered. Her hands fisted in her comforter as Ron ran his tongue over her opening for several torturous seconds before suckling her hypersensitive nub, swirling his tongue around it gently. The feeling was beautifully, intensely intimate, the feel of his lips and teeth and tongue smothering the complicated folds, bathing them in wetness and sensation. One finger snuck up her leg, and she braced herself without thinking. “Ron - ”
“’S all right, love,” he whispered. “I know better this time.” Slowly, he pushed his finger inside her opening, his delicacy trying to make her more comfortable, more at ease. Exactly what Hermione would have expected from her kind, wonderful, sweet Ron. His finger slipped inside effortlessly; it was a tight fit, to be sure, but she was wet enough to make the slow, gentle slide practically painless.
Hermione tried desperately to concentrate on her breathing, on maintaining control. It was immensely difficult, though, with the coil of pleasure tightening between her thighs. Finally, she breathed, “Ron... please... I want... you. ”
Breaking a particularly luxurious kiss on her thigh, Ron traveled up her body to look at Hermione’s face. She was flushed, panting, with a look half-aroused, half-frightened. Ron’s eyes had gone from crystal blue to navy in mere minutes; he was looking at her with such tenderness that she feared she might cry.
“You’re sure?” he asked, raising his eyebrows slightly to illustrate the point. Without giving herself a moment to consider the alternative, she nodded fervently.
Ron stood up, shucked his boxers, then fumbled around the twilight-illuminated room, muttering to himself, “Wand... wand... where’s my bloody - ah.” To Hermione’s slight surprise - and subsequent chagrin at not thinking he’d know it - Ron performed a textbook-perfect contraceptive charm on them both. Grinning sheepishly at the look on her face, he said, “I’m one of seven, love; you don’t think Mum and Dad drilled that one into my head as soon as they possibly could?”
Reclining next to Hermione, Ron held her, letting her breathe his scent in. She could feel him at her hip, hard as could be and far larger than she thought she could realistically accommodate inside her.
“You’re trembling, sweet,” he said in a silky, rumbling voice.
Hermione was flooded with too many emotions at one time for her to process. “Yes, well, I’m just... I suppose I’m... I’m very...” It was terrifying, not knowing what to think or how to feel. It was horrible, not being able to compartmentalize her mind with this the way she did with everything else. Clinging to him, burying her face between his neck and shoulder, she whispered, “Ron, I’m scared.”
His hands were large and warm, rubbing her back gently. “Do you want to stop?” She shook her head rapidly; they’d come too far, and she’d hate herself if they didn’t finish what they’d started.
“It’s just... such a big step.”
Ron dipped his head low and placed a very soft kiss on her lips, which she returned shakily, before he wrapped her almost protectively in his arms. He was so much bigger than she was, so solid and warm.
“I’m scared too,” he whispered, nuzzling her hair. “But it’ll be wonderful. I know it will. You and me, together... that’s always turned out more than perfect, right?” She tangled her fingers in his hair, nodding slightly.
Kissing the top of her head, he moved on top of her once again. “Just tell me to stop if you change your mind. Promise me, love. Don’t just lie there and suffer.”
“I promise,” Hermione whispered.
“Here,” Ron said, reaching down and enfolding her small hand in his larger one, running his calloused thumb over her knuckles, “hold my hand.” He smiled slightly. “Maybe then we won’t be so scared.” The gesture was so simple, so unbelievably thoughtful and sweet, that tears sprang to Hermione’s eyes.
Ron stirred himself slightly just outside her body, coating them both with moisture, letting her get used to the spread, the simple presence, first. “It’s all right, love. Try to relax. I promise I’ll be gentle.” Breathing deeply, focusing on the feel of his hand squeezing hers, Hermione tried to let some of her tension go.
The feeling of his thickness slowly entering her for the first time made Hermione gasp sharply and instinctively buck away from him, before composing herself and allowing him to slide further inside. Ron mumbled sweet, soothing phrases the whole time, mostly variants on “it’s okay,” “keep breathing,” “I love you,” and interspersed with sharp grunts and moans of “oh God, Hermione... oh, you feel so good...” He kissed her mouth tenderly as he made one smooth push through her barrier, causing her to give a small cry into his mouth and nearly break his hand. When he was finally through, he broke their kiss and sprinkled her face with tiny kisses, catching the few tears on her cheeks, whispering apologies for hurting her. Remembering something he’d once overheard George telling Fred, he moved his hand down at that point and began massaging her as he thrust gently, hoping the double stimulation would help push her over the edge.
By most standards, it was over far too quickly. Hermione’s feeling of Ron buried deep inside her, merged with her, was not something she’d describe as pleasurable, per se - rather painful, in fact, even if the sharpness and burning of earlier had subsided to a dull ache - but it seemed as though that scarcely mattered. It brought about an emotional cascade like she had never experienced. His fingertips dancing across her swollen nub, propelling her toward a climax, were far more talented than anything she’d ever even tried to do to herself. Ron had been maintaining surprising control for an eighteen-year-old virgin male, but as soon as Hermione dug her nails into his shoulders and cried his name with a little whimper in her voice, he climaxed harder than he’d even thought was possible.
Ron whispered her name over and over again and Hermione kissed his sweaty brow as they floated back down to Earth together. Their breathing slowed and their bodies twitched with mild, pleasurable aftershocks. Hermione felt like she was in a kind of shellshock. Nothing had ever been like that experience - nothing. She was, for the first time in a very long time, at a complete loss for words.
Perhaps disorder wasn’t so bad after all.
Realizing she’d wrapped her legs around his waist during their lovemaking, Hermione unclasped her ankles so that he could withdraw. Ron rolled to Hermione’s side, and she backed into him, allowing him to hold her as he would an armful of flowers. They lay together all evening, whispering to each other, sharing secrets, basking in the glow of a new world.
Ron never let go of her hand.
***
The Drs. Granger returned from their night on the town shortly after two o’clock the following morning. When Meredith went up to check on her daughter, she saw a mess of red hair curled around a mess of brown from the doorway. Smiling a little wistfully, she closed the door. Perhaps she and Evan would have a lie-in tomorrow.
Fin
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: Ron and Hermione first official date and/or first-time sex.
Preferred Genre(s): Romance, Humor
Preferred Rating(s): PG-NC-17
Canon or AU?: Canon
A specific you want: Hogwarts, A History
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): angst, character death, incest, any non-sexual bodily fluids
Thanks for participating in the Love in Full Bloom Exchange!
Author: shyshutterbug
Beta: gingeraled
Rating: NC-17. Ohhhh yeah.
Word count: 3967
Summary: Hermione usually likes order. Usually.
Warnings: Teh Sex.
Notes: I don’t really view this as a sequel to “Above A Lake Of Fire,” but if you want to do so, knock yourself out. Many thanks to gingeraled for making this fit for eyes other than my own! da_angel729, I do hope this lives up to expectations!
It was utterly unfair, Ron being that attractive.
Hermione knew it would be perfectly within reason to be enamored with him if he were doing something more traditionally sexy - stepping out of the shower, for instance, or maybe wiping sweat from his brow on the Quidditch pitch - but to be practically salivating over nothing more than him levitating a box in the store room of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes? It was rather unsettling.
Insult to injury, really, as her reasons for coming there in the first place made her a little unsettled as it was.
“Hey you.” Ron’s deep voice startled her out of her thoughts. “What are you doing here?”
Hermione shrugged. “No big reason,” she said mildly as he slung an arm around her shoulder and planted a kiss on top of her head. “I took a late lunch and wanted to see you.”
“Well, I’m not complaining,” he replied with a grin, sticking his wand in his back pocket. Hermione smiled and nuzzled his shoulder - he smelled like cardboard boxes and a summer rainstorm - but said nothing.
The silence hung in the room for a few moments before Ron broke it. “Is everything okay? ‘S not like you to be so quiet.”
Her blood was humming with something - anticipation, excitement, glee, maybe a little fear. “Where’s George?” she asked.
“Bloody bugger’s taking the night off,” Ron grumbled, nodding toward the huge stacks of multicolored boxes lining the walls. “Said something about meeting up with Lee and Angelina. Left me to do inventory myself.” He squeezed her shoulder a little. “Why do you ask?”
Hermione fell silent again, wringing her hands; her heart was pounding so fast she could barely hear him over the rush of blood in her ears.
“Hermione?” Ron’s voice was quiet and concerned. “Are you all right?”
“I think we should have sex.” The words fell out of her mouth before her brain could fully recognize what she was saying.
They stared at each other, her words echoing in the air for a few minutes, before Ron blinked slowly and pulled himself together to force out an elegant, “Um.”
“I’m sorry,” Hermione said instinctually, dropping her gaze to the floorboards, lest she look into his eyes and lose all of her perfectly maintained control.
“No, no, nothing to apologize for, love,” Ron said, chuckling a little under his breath. He ran his fingers through his hair and folded his lanky frame into a sitting position on a nearby box, exhaling long and loud. “Believe me, I’m...way more than okay with that. I just...I guess I wasn’t expecting it...” he trailed off, shrugging. “I thought you wanted to go slow - ?”
“I did,” Hermione replied. “I just...I don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve just been thinking about it, and... you know, with me working at my parents’ office for the summer, we don’t see each other as much... and it’ll be even harder when I go back to Hogwarts, what with the wards and classes and you here at the shop... and I just... I don’t want to go back without...” She took a deep breath. “...being with you.”
Ron looked at her carefully, grabbing her hands. “You’re serious?”
Hermione nodded rather briskly, as if she was closing a business deal and not agreeing to make love with her boyfriend. It was a coping mechanism, she knew perfectly well - a way to prevent emotions from getting the better of her, which would be all too easy, given the circumstances. She handled many things in her life just this way, from bringing her parents back from Australia to deciding to return to Hogwarts without Ron and Harry to progressing her physical relationship with Ron. The more she focused on the practical issues, the less she’d be caught up in the emotional tumult that would undoubtedly come with it.
They’d never spoken of it, but she knew Ron knew this was how she processed things. And also that Ron thought she was barking.
He ran his thumb over her knuckles for a few passes before squeaking out, “When?”
“My parents are going to the theatre tonight,” she replied. “They asked me to come, but I told them I had some summer assignments to finish up on.”
“They bought that?” Ron asked doubtfully. If there were any summer assignments to be had, rest assured Hermione would have had them completed within the first week of break.
“Apparently,” Hermione huffed, a little annoyed at his interruption. “They’ll be gone for a few hours at least, if you wanted to Floo over after supper?”
He nodded dumbly. “Wait... Hermione, what about - ”
“I’ve taken care of contraception, Ron,” she replied, wanting desperately not to remember the excruciating conversation she’d had with her mother in Australia after mentioning her relationship with Ron; it had been an awful lot of talk about feelings and choices and responsibility and gynecologists. Standard fare to humiliate one’s teenage daughter, regardless of its usefulness. Ron breathed a sigh of relief.
“Okay. Tonight, then,” Ron said, trying to remain calm, a soft grin on his face betraying his excitement. He reached out and wrapped Hermione in a huge bear hug; she embraced him as well, but her arms were unusually tentative around his waist, and it made him a little concerned.
“I have some things to attend to,” Hermione said softly. Her stomach was a churning mess of butterflies. As much as she adored Ron, she felt an inexplicable need to be alone with her thoughts right now. “I’ll see you tonight, all right?”
He kissed the top of her head. “See you then.”
***
Hermione Granger was nothing if not a fan of order, she acknowledged as she looked around her bedroom that evening. Bed made. Desk cleared of all nonessentials. Clothes neatly folded in her dresser or hanging in her closet, organized by color and formality. Books on her shelf in alphabetical order, the gold tooling the blue spine of Hogwarts, A History standing out rather more prominently than the others. Her fingers itched to bring it down from its shelf and devour it for the thousandth time, purely for distraction’s sake, but she refrained. Ron would be here soon.
Ron. Sweet Merlin. Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Meditation. Maybe that’ll help.
She didn’t open her eyes until she felt a soft weight settle next to her on her bed. Her eyes flew open, thinking it might be Ron, but instead she opened her eyes into the puzzled face of Meredith Granger.
“Mum, you scared me,” Hermione gasped, trying to catch her breath.
“Sorry, love,” Meredith replied airily. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. We’re about ready to leave; didn’t want to head out without letting you know.”
Hermione nodded. “Thanks.”
“So,” Meredith started in a gently teasing tone, “is clenching your eyes shut and rocking to and fro on your bed part of your summer assignment?”
“Mum!” Hermione exclaimed. “I... I was just... I needed to think about a few things!”
Meredith held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t mean to pry, dear,” she said mildly, before her face took on a more concerned affect. “Are you sure you’re all right, Hermione? You barely said two words at dinner.”
“I’m fine, Mum,” Hermione sighed, trying to collect herself. “Just a little distracted... you know, schoolwork and all.”
It was abundantly clear that Meredith did not believe a word coming out of her daughter’s mouth, but she simply gave a gentle nod. She’d been eighteen once too. “Well, try to get some sleep tonight, all right? We’ll be out till late.” She moved over and brushed a kiss on her daughter’s forehead before leaving the room.
After her mum’s departure, Hermione did take Hogwarts, A History down from her bookshelf and leafed through it, trying to get lost in passages she’d read so often she could quote them in her sleep. She was so entranced by the tales of the Founders and the intricate maps of the layout of the school that the soft sound of someone Flooing into the living room startled her a bit.
“Hermione?” Ron’s deep voice called softly. “You here, love?”
Shaking out of her momentary paralysis, Hermione walked out to the living room. If she’d thought Ron was attractive before, he was downright dangerous now, in his blue t-shirt and jeans, hair flopping in his face, looking unreasonably handsome. The huge grin he broke into upon seeing her didn’t hurt, either. Hermione didn’t think she’d done too badly, either; after she’d talked with Ron earlier in the day, she’d gone home and tried on every piece of clothing she had - twice - before settling on a gauzy green button-up shirt she’d bought the summer before sixth year on a whim but never worn and, after much deliberation, her favorite comfy jeans. She privately lamented the fact that she didn’t own any sexy lingerie, given the circumstances.
“Hi, sweet,” Ron said, embracing her. In sharp contrast to their parting hug from earlier, Hermione now flung her arms around Ron’s waist and clung to him tightly. “Hi, Ron,” she tried to say; it was muffled in his t-shirt, coming out more like “hrrmph,” which made Ron laugh into her hair.
“You all right?” he asked, squeezing her shoulders slightly.
“Fine,” Hermione replied. “Perfectly fine. Let’s... I mean... should we just go to my room?”
Ron looked slightly startled by her forwardness; then broke into a small grin. “Impatient, are we?”
Hermione turned furiously red and turned away. “I’m just trying to progress things, Ronald,” she said primly, leading the way down the hall. Ron just shook his head slightly.
Hermione’s bedroom was neat and tastefully decorated - very appropriate for her. She’d shut her lamp off, not wanting to turn on a stark bright light and alter the mood; instead, she’d opened her windows, letting the dying sunlight of the warm summer evening illuminate the room. She turned around and saw that a single stream of light from the window fell on Ron, making his bright red hair almost glow and his eyes sparkle. In spite of her desperation to remain practical, levelheaded, and herself for tonight, this image was just about too much to take. Hermione’s urge to touch Ron was becoming overwhelming. It was an all-too familiar feeling, though the fact that she didn’t have to resist it anymore was still surprising, thrilling, and about damn time.
Ron was just standing still and looking at Hermione with a strange mix of gentleness and intensity that was beyond definition. Her heart was pounding. This was it - there was nothing else to prepare. Voldemort dead. Parents away for the night. Harry out with Ginny. Every pill up to today’s date in the small pack by her bed taken. Contraception charm committed to memory, for extra protection.
Bed made. Clothes folded. Books alphabetized. Hermione loved order.
Hermione took a tentative step toward him, their eyes locking. She reached up and started to unbutton her shirt, fumbling slightly.
“No,” Ron said lowly. “Please, let me.” He sat on the side of her bed and pulled her toward him, so that she stood directly in front of him. He reached up and slowly undid the buttons of her blouse. She watched his long fingers carefully, almost as if she didn’t trust her eyes for what she was seeing.
They’d never been naked together before, but Ron knew Hermione’s body. He’d spent years watching as she walked down the corridors at Hogwarts, as she crossed her ankles under the table while doing homework, as she curled up in the fetal position in the bed across from his in the hospital. He’d long ago memorized the swell of her breasts and how they tapered into a slender waist, the slight curve of her buttocks, the elegance of her collarbone. She had small, delicate hands, almost laughably so when compared with his much larger, much rougher ones. Ron had meticulously chronicled every little detail, even when he wasn’t trying to, and stored in a deep, dark place in his mind, only to be recalled in the dim period between awake and asleep. He imagined he already knew the feel of these parts. He knew the sum would be far better than his wildest dreams.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders slightly and allowed her unbuttoned shirt to fall to the ground; the action made her breasts bounce just slightly and caused Ron to take in a visible gulp of air. Her breathing had quickened, and she was fighting a losing battle not to let it show. Her bra was simple white cotton edged with lace; through the material, Ron could make out her nipples, stiffening slightly under his gaze. When Hermione closed her eyes, he reached around and gently cupped her buttocks through her jeans for just a moment before moving his hands around to unzip her denims.
When Hermione realized just a moment later that she was standing in front of Ron in nothing but her knickers, she had a sudden attack of shyness, and her hands instantly moved to hide herself. Without a word, Ron took the hands shielding her breasts, squeezed them gently, and placed them back at her side. He looked into her eyes with such unabashed desire that her knees weakened considerably.
Feeling a rush of Gryffindor boldness from Ron’s gaze, she reached behind herself and unclasped her bra, watching Ron’s eyes fall from her face as it joined her shirt on the floor. The only word that came from Ron’s mouth was a muffled “Perfect.” To him, they were just the right size, just the right shape, and seemingly begging to be kissed. He leaned forward slightly, took one nipple in his mouth, and kissed it lightly, as he would kiss her mouth. Hermione felt moisture pool between her thighs, and it took all of her strength not to collapse.
Ron moved from her breast to her abdomen, kissing it as softly as he had her breast, pulling her closer with a gentle pressure on the small of her back. He let one of his hands slide under the shiny, satiny material and run across the soft contour of one cheek. Carefully, he ran his other hand up to her inner thigh, feeling the heat and dampness slowly increase as he approached her centre. Gingerly, he pulled them down, watching in absolute awe as she stepped out of them. Hermione fought hard to resist the temptation to cover herself again, and Ron could see the battle in her eyes when he leaned in and softly kissed her lips.
“Not fair that you’re still dressed,” Hermione mumbled against his mouth, fingers playing idly with the hem of his t-shirt. Remembering that worshipping Hermione’s body could be even more fun if he were naked as well, Ron rapidly stood and stripped off his t-shirt and jeans without even trying to appear sexy. His lack of effort showed, too; his hair stuck up at strange angles after his shirt came off, and one foot was inexplicably caught in his pant leg, causing him to do a thoroughly entertaining one-legged hop to rid himself of it, complete with muttering about “bloody clothes” and “stupid buggering trousers!” Hermione couldn’t help but giggle uncontrollably and collapse on the bed at the sight of her lanky boyfriend - a complete failure at suavity.
Her laughter faded, however, when a grinning Ron leaned down on the bed next to her, fisted his hands in her hair, and kissed her hungrily. Their mouths melted against each other as Hermione climbed atop him and ran her small hands over his chest. She could feel him, heavy and hard, straining through his bright orange boxers, and it caused the ache between her legs to scream with a desperate need to be satisfied. Not without a hint of fear, she reached her hand down and began stroking him gently through the fabric. Their kiss finally broke as he gasped with pleasure, his head falling back on the pillows.
Gripping her shoulders, Ron rolled them both over, so he was lying on top of her, and kissed his way down her body, just as before. This time, however, he didn’t stop. Rough patches of stubble gently scraped the soft skin of her belly as he reached the juncture of her legs and gently parted her thighs with his hands. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and blushed - Ron was looking at her, there of all places - but could not hang on to her embarrassment for one second more once she felt Ron’s lips gently, lightly kissing her soft, slick folds.
A loud moan-scream escaped Hermione’s mouth without her permission, and maddeningly, she felt Ron smile against her lower lips.
“Love you, sweet,” he whispered. Her hands fisted in her comforter as Ron ran his tongue over her opening for several torturous seconds before suckling her hypersensitive nub, swirling his tongue around it gently. The feeling was beautifully, intensely intimate, the feel of his lips and teeth and tongue smothering the complicated folds, bathing them in wetness and sensation. One finger snuck up her leg, and she braced herself without thinking. “Ron - ”
“’S all right, love,” he whispered. “I know better this time.” Slowly, he pushed his finger inside her opening, his delicacy trying to make her more comfortable, more at ease. Exactly what Hermione would have expected from her kind, wonderful, sweet Ron. His finger slipped inside effortlessly; it was a tight fit, to be sure, but she was wet enough to make the slow, gentle slide practically painless.
Hermione tried desperately to concentrate on her breathing, on maintaining control. It was immensely difficult, though, with the coil of pleasure tightening between her thighs. Finally, she breathed, “Ron... please... I want... you. ”
Breaking a particularly luxurious kiss on her thigh, Ron traveled up her body to look at Hermione’s face. She was flushed, panting, with a look half-aroused, half-frightened. Ron’s eyes had gone from crystal blue to navy in mere minutes; he was looking at her with such tenderness that she feared she might cry.
“You’re sure?” he asked, raising his eyebrows slightly to illustrate the point. Without giving herself a moment to consider the alternative, she nodded fervently.
Ron stood up, shucked his boxers, then fumbled around the twilight-illuminated room, muttering to himself, “Wand... wand... where’s my bloody - ah.” To Hermione’s slight surprise - and subsequent chagrin at not thinking he’d know it - Ron performed a textbook-perfect contraceptive charm on them both. Grinning sheepishly at the look on her face, he said, “I’m one of seven, love; you don’t think Mum and Dad drilled that one into my head as soon as they possibly could?”
Reclining next to Hermione, Ron held her, letting her breathe his scent in. She could feel him at her hip, hard as could be and far larger than she thought she could realistically accommodate inside her.
“You’re trembling, sweet,” he said in a silky, rumbling voice.
Hermione was flooded with too many emotions at one time for her to process. “Yes, well, I’m just... I suppose I’m... I’m very...” It was terrifying, not knowing what to think or how to feel. It was horrible, not being able to compartmentalize her mind with this the way she did with everything else. Clinging to him, burying her face between his neck and shoulder, she whispered, “Ron, I’m scared.”
His hands were large and warm, rubbing her back gently. “Do you want to stop?” She shook her head rapidly; they’d come too far, and she’d hate herself if they didn’t finish what they’d started.
“It’s just... such a big step.”
Ron dipped his head low and placed a very soft kiss on her lips, which she returned shakily, before he wrapped her almost protectively in his arms. He was so much bigger than she was, so solid and warm.
“I’m scared too,” he whispered, nuzzling her hair. “But it’ll be wonderful. I know it will. You and me, together... that’s always turned out more than perfect, right?” She tangled her fingers in his hair, nodding slightly.
Kissing the top of her head, he moved on top of her once again. “Just tell me to stop if you change your mind. Promise me, love. Don’t just lie there and suffer.”
“I promise,” Hermione whispered.
“Here,” Ron said, reaching down and enfolding her small hand in his larger one, running his calloused thumb over her knuckles, “hold my hand.” He smiled slightly. “Maybe then we won’t be so scared.” The gesture was so simple, so unbelievably thoughtful and sweet, that tears sprang to Hermione’s eyes.
Ron stirred himself slightly just outside her body, coating them both with moisture, letting her get used to the spread, the simple presence, first. “It’s all right, love. Try to relax. I promise I’ll be gentle.” Breathing deeply, focusing on the feel of his hand squeezing hers, Hermione tried to let some of her tension go.
The feeling of his thickness slowly entering her for the first time made Hermione gasp sharply and instinctively buck away from him, before composing herself and allowing him to slide further inside. Ron mumbled sweet, soothing phrases the whole time, mostly variants on “it’s okay,” “keep breathing,” “I love you,” and interspersed with sharp grunts and moans of “oh God, Hermione... oh, you feel so good...” He kissed her mouth tenderly as he made one smooth push through her barrier, causing her to give a small cry into his mouth and nearly break his hand. When he was finally through, he broke their kiss and sprinkled her face with tiny kisses, catching the few tears on her cheeks, whispering apologies for hurting her. Remembering something he’d once overheard George telling Fred, he moved his hand down at that point and began massaging her as he thrust gently, hoping the double stimulation would help push her over the edge.
By most standards, it was over far too quickly. Hermione’s feeling of Ron buried deep inside her, merged with her, was not something she’d describe as pleasurable, per se - rather painful, in fact, even if the sharpness and burning of earlier had subsided to a dull ache - but it seemed as though that scarcely mattered. It brought about an emotional cascade like she had never experienced. His fingertips dancing across her swollen nub, propelling her toward a climax, were far more talented than anything she’d ever even tried to do to herself. Ron had been maintaining surprising control for an eighteen-year-old virgin male, but as soon as Hermione dug her nails into his shoulders and cried his name with a little whimper in her voice, he climaxed harder than he’d even thought was possible.
Ron whispered her name over and over again and Hermione kissed his sweaty brow as they floated back down to Earth together. Their breathing slowed and their bodies twitched with mild, pleasurable aftershocks. Hermione felt like she was in a kind of shellshock. Nothing had ever been like that experience - nothing. She was, for the first time in a very long time, at a complete loss for words.
Perhaps disorder wasn’t so bad after all.
Realizing she’d wrapped her legs around his waist during their lovemaking, Hermione unclasped her ankles so that he could withdraw. Ron rolled to Hermione’s side, and she backed into him, allowing him to hold her as he would an armful of flowers. They lay together all evening, whispering to each other, sharing secrets, basking in the glow of a new world.
Ron never let go of her hand.
***
The Drs. Granger returned from their night on the town shortly after two o’clock the following morning. When Meredith went up to check on her daughter, she saw a mess of red hair curled around a mess of brown from the doorway. Smiling a little wistfully, she closed the door. Perhaps she and Evan would have a lie-in tomorrow.
Fin
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ORIGINAL REQUEST
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: Ron and Hermione first official date and/or first-time sex.
Preferred Genre(s): Romance, Humor
Preferred Rating(s): PG-NC-17
Canon or AU?: Canon
A specific you want: Hogwarts, A History
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): angst, character death, incest, any non-sexual bodily fluids
Thanks for participating in the Love in Full Bloom Exchange!