O - the story continues
Yes, I finished it. I'm a horny liar, what can I say.
The first part and second part. For your reading enjoyment.
Maybe.
I'm debating on whether or not I should make this a public entry. I'll let you guys decide. Although I use lots of icky words, which in my book, makes this pretty hard NC-17. I don't know, maybe not.
I needed lots of encouragement for this one. So a shout out of thanks to abigail89, vicariousleigh and danielerin for feedback and beta services. They said I got it right. And, they're the experts. :)
ETA: The very first person that read this was 54321sherry. I'm so sorry I didn't mention you!
O
by cheeringcharm
"Harry?"
A soft knock on the door followed the hoarse whisper.
"Harry."
The door opened a crack revealing a sliver of Harry's face. "Hey. I thought you were asleep?"
"No," Hermione said, casting a fleeting look towards the door across the hall. "I had a midnight snack. I need to clean my teeth. Are you decent?"
"For the most part," Harry said, opening the door.
"Thanks," she said, squeezing past him into the tiny bathroom, trying to ignore the fact that Harry only had a towel wrapped around his waist. "I'll be quick." She opened the medicine cabinet above the small pedestal sink, grabbing her toothbrush and paste. "Did you have fun?"
Harry shrugged his bare shoulders. "It was okay. Smoky, like most clubs, so I took a shower. I didn't wake you and Ron when I came in, did I?"
"No. Ron would sleep through the Hogwarts Express running through our bedroom."
"Did I wake you?" Harry asked, reaching around her to grab his deodorant out of his shaving kit, which was perched precariously on the sink.
She shoved her toothbrush in her mouth while screwing the cap back on the tube of toothpaste and shook her head. She smiled at him and began brushing her teeth. Harry raised his left arm and a jet of aerosol spray shot under his arm. "Ron's snoring keeping you up?"
She gave him a lopsided grin through the foamy paste oozing out of her mouth. "Maybe," was the muffled reply.
"Uh-huh," Harry said, tossing the deodorant into his kit and moving it so she could spit into the sink.
She bent over, her arse nudging Harry back a step. She paused, her hand cupped under the water, her face flushing when she realised that it wasn't Harry's leg that she felt on her arse. "Sorry," she said, before pooling water in her hand, taking a sip and rinsing her mouth. She rinsed her mouth a couple more times, buying time for her face to lose its blush, and her heartbeat to stop fluttering, before facing Harry in the mirror again.
"Small bathroom," Harry said, moving to the side as much as possible, which wasn't much considering his calves were touching the edge of the bathtub.
"Small flat," Hermione said, wiping her mouth with the towel.
"Thanks again for letting me stay here," Harry said, running his hands through his hair.
"Of course. What are friends for?"
Harry continued to run his hands through his hair, trying to comb it one way, then the next. He took his palms and flattened his hair on his head, holding it there for a moment as if training it, then released it. It immediately hopped back into its perpetually untidy state.
"It's a hopeless case," he said, dejected.
Hermione chuckled. "Here," she said, pulling hair gel out of the cabinet and turning towards him. "Let me try."
"It won't do any good, Hermione. I've tried everything."
"Humour me," she said, rubbing a small amount of gel between her palms.
"You're going to need more than that," he laughed.
"You can always add more but once you've got too much…" She ran her hands through his wet hair, noticing how different it felt from Ron's. She shook her head, pushing the unfavorable comparison to Ron from her mind and tried to move Harry's hair into some semblance of uniformity.
"What?"
"What what?"
"You shook your head."
"Oh," she said, searching around for a believable lie. "You look different without your glasses," she said, looking into his green eyes.
"Different good or different bad?"
"Just different," she replied. Her hands stopped as she stared at him and was struck by the realisation that, despite the fact that she'd known him the better part of her life, she'd never been this close to him before. An unfamiliar humming sound filled her head and she dropped her hands.
"I told you it was hopeless." He lifted his hands and ran them through his hair, peeking into the mirror over her shoulder. Hermione heard a rustling noise and felt the soft thump of a towel hitting her feet. Harry's hands froze. Hermione's eyes widened and it took every ounce of willpower she had to not look down.
"Oops," Harry said, a nervous smile stealing across his face. Hermione turned away quickly, while Harry bent down and retrieved his towel. Later she would wonder why, at that moment, she hadn't turned toward the door to leave. As if in a daze, she turned back to Harry, the humming sound blocking out all rational thought. She stared vacantly at his chest for a moment, then down to the spot where the towel was tucked in on itself on Harry's hip. Before her mind caught up with her body, she'd reached her hand out and placed it on the knot. She stared at her hand, unsure how it got there and exactly what it meant to do.
She felt Harry's hand on hers before she saw it.
"Hermione?" he breathed. His fingertips were grazing the back of her hand. "What are you doing?"
She looked up at him, still dazed, and replied, "I don't know."
They stared at each other for a long moment. With each passing second she expected him to step back or remove her hand. Instead, she felt his fingertips slide up her forearm, around her elbow and down the soft inside of her arm until his hand was under hers. In unspoken agreement, with a flick of their fingers, the towel fell to the floor again.
They stood there, holding hands, and she felt herself tense in anticipation. He guided her hand, closing his eyes for a moment when her hand wrapped around his dick. She looked down at him, amazed that brushing her teeth had evolved into her holding her best friend's rock hard - and very long - dick in her hand while her boyfriend slept in the room down the hall.
The question was on her lips when Harry lifted her chin and kissed her, effectively cutting off any objections or rational thought that she had. The kiss was firm, insistent, as if he knew any tenderness might be construed as hesitancy or second thoughts. The reality was, with the taste of him in her mouth, and the feel of him in her hand, her brain had turned to mush.
She felt his fingers slide under the crotch of her knickers and enter her. No hesitancy there or with his other hand, which had moved under her nightshirt to fondle her breast. His mouth covering hers muffled her gasp. She felt him smile through their kiss as he pushed his fingers deeper into her, lifting her to her tip-toes. Her head lolled back, a guttural "God," coming from deep within her throat. She grasped his shoulders as he bent down, pushing her knickers down to her ankles. She kicked them aside before wrapping a leg around his waist. She looked into his eyes, not really seeing anything, but feeling his dick slide along her pussy, searching for entrance. His face was flushed and he was gasping with each thrust until he finally drove himself deep within her with a long, low moan.
He grabbed her other leg and wrapped it around his waist so that he was holding her, pushing her down onto him, going deeper and deeper inside her. She felt her back hit the door with a thump and Harry's mouth covered hers again.
She had no idea how long they were there, how long Harry thrust into her, how many times her heels dug into his arse, pushing him further and further in so that she felt, at the height of it, as if she was going to split in two with ecstasy. She was aware, more than she ever had been before, of him moving inside her - in and out, in and out - and how every time he pulled out her soul felt vacant and empty until finally, with a deep thrust he buried his face in her neck and groaned in release. She felt him shudder as he ground his hips into hers and thrust again and again until he was finally still, the only sign of life his rapid breathing and the fact that he still had the strength to hold her.
They stood there for a moment, joined, bodies clammy with sweat, and the magnitude of it all hit her. "What have we done?" she breathed, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Shhh," he replied, lifting his head to look at her. "Not yet," he whispered.
He unwrapped her legs from his waist and settled her on the ground, pulling his wet cock out of her. He lifted her shirt over her head and tossed it to the ground. "What are you doing?" she asked, as his hands ran over her naked body.
* * *
Enjoying the view.
That was what he wanted to say but he knew that one false step, one wrong word, would send her out the door in a flash. Now that the frenzy of desire was gone, it wouldn't take long for Hermione's logic and good sense to return. He wanted to hold that at bay for just a little longer.
He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her lips, savouring the feel of them for the first time. She tasted like mint and smelled like peaches. A shudder went through her body as his hands stroked the soft skin of her hips.
He wrapped a hand in her hair and whispered in her ear. "We didn't mean for this to happen, but it did. We can't take it back. I don't want to take it back," he said, kissing behind her ear. "And I don't want it to end just yet, either." He kissed down her neck to the hollow at the base of her throat, a hand running up and down her side in long, languorous strokes.
He lifted his eyes to her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly open. "Do you?"
She opened her eyes revealing her complete confusion, as if she hadn't heard a word he'd said. He smirked and ran his hand up to her breast, feeling the hard little nipple on his palm. "Do you want this to end?"
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Good," he said. He leaned forward, pressing his body against hers. "Now it's my turn to make you come," he growled in her ear.
"Again?" she said in astonishment.
"No, for the first time." He slid his hand down between her legs and began to rub her.
"I hate to break it to you, but you accomplished that goal the first time."
"You think so?" he asked, leveling an intense stare at her while pushing a finger inside her.
She cocked an eyebrow and gave him a lopsided smirk. "Yes, but by all means, do it again."
Harry wiggled his eyebrows and began to move down her body. Her giggle was cut short when his mouth covered her breast. Her hands went into his hair, pushing his face into her chest, encouraging him to suck her entire breast in his mouth. His tongue danced around her hard nipple before he took it between his teeth and gave it a gentle bite. He vaguely registered the squeak she made as he traveled down past her belly button to what he really wanted.
He parted her lips and ran his tongue across her clit. Hermione slapped her hand across her mouth to stifle the scream that was bursting for release. She threw her leg over his shoulder and tilted her hips forward, for which he was eternally grateful. He showed his appreciation by swirling his tongue around inside her, tasting her, tasting him inside her, hardening at the thought of being inside her again.
He lifted her other leg over his shoulder, causing her to reach out for the walls to brace herself, the miniscule size of the bathroom a benefit at last. His tongue moved up to caress her clit and his fingers returned to delve inside her once more. He felt her tighten around his fingers and his dick jumped in anticipation. He moved his hand inside her, around, out, back in and around. He looked up when he heard her whimper. Her eyes were closed and her jaw was clenched. He kissed the inside of her thigh and gently removed her legs from his shoulders, his hand that was inside her continuing to move. He stood up and captured her mouth, thrusting his tongue in time with his hand.
"You're close, aren't you?" he growled in her ear.
She nodded her head vigorously, completely unable to speak. She wrapped a leg around his hip and he thrust into her as if on cue. Exquisite was the only word to describe how it felt to be inside Hermione. "What are you doing to me?" he asked, a pleading note in his voice.
She thrust her hips forward and pulled his mouth to hers, devouring him. He felt her tongue run along the stubble of his chin before she captured it and gave it a suck.
"Do you like the way you taste on me?" He stared at her, thrusting slowly into her as he waited for her answer.
"Yes. God, yes," she replied.
"Do you know how good it feels to be inside you? I want you to feel as good as I feel."
"I do."
Somehow, he doubted that.
He brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers, before guiding it down between their bodies. Hermione gave him a confused look. "Trust me," he said, placing her fingers on her clit, still wet with his saliva, and moving them around.
Her eyes widened slightly and her jaw went slack with astonishment. He removed his hand and their gazes traveled together to watch her stroke herself. His eyes moved away, back to her face, in an effort to stave off his urge to pound into her as fast as he could. Seeing the look of astonishment mingled with ecstasy almost made him lose it. He had to remind himself that this time, it was about her and, from the look on her face, he'd been right in his earlier assessment.
"You want to scream, don't you?"
She nodded her head, her hand moving in rapid circles. Harry pushed into her and ground his hips against her as he murmured, "Silencio. Now, you can be as loud as you want."
He continued to grind against her, between deep thrusts. He watched as she let loose a string of words, one of which he was sure she'd never said aloud before. Her eyes widened, her hand worked on herself frantically and she bucked her hips against him while the walls of her pussy clenched around him. Her mouth opened in what Harry could tell would have been, under normal circumstances, an ear splitting scream. He picked up his pace, pounding inside her with fervor he'd never felt before and felt himself release inside her for the second time before collapsing against her.
"Finite Incantatum," he murmured, and he heard her heavy breathing in his ear. "Jesus, Hermione," he gasped, unable and unwilling to withdraw from her, wanting to stay joined with her for as long as possible, knowing that it would be the last time he'd ever feel her this way.
"How did that feel?" he asked, giving her a knowing grin.
"Fuck, Harry. How do you think it felt?"
"If you're saying the f-word, I'm guessing pretty good."
"Pretty good is an understatement." She ran her hand through his hair and looked into his eyes. "It's never felt like…I've never…"
"I know," he replied, pushing a lock of sweaty hair behind her ear.
"You're not supposed to make me feel like that," she said in a hoarse whisper.
"I know."
Their eyes roamed over each other's face as if searching for the map to lead them down the road of their upturned world.
**
Every night, she told another lie.
I need a drink of water.
I probably should look over that report again before tomorrow's meeting.
I forgot to lock the back door.
I should probably pull chicken out of the freezer for dinner tomorrow night.
I left the lid off my ink and it'll dry out if I don't close it up.
She thought of any and every excuse, not matter how small or trivial, to swing her legs out of bed and creep out of the darkened room, the soft click of the door silencing Ron's snores and transporting her into another world.
He was always waiting, as if he knew what lame excuse her mind would manufacture that night to appease her conscience.
Leaning against the counter drinking a butterbeer…
Laying on the sofa, feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on the arm, reading a magazine…
Sitting on the steps leading out into their back garden…
Bending over and peering into the refrigerator, clad only in boxer shorts, the yellow light casting him in a warm glow…
Sitting at her desk and twirling her quill between his long fingers…
Each time the lie dissolved and she was left with only him and her inexplicable attraction. She was mesmerized by his throat as he swallowed; the expanse of his back straining against his t-shirt as leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees; his forearm (she couldn't describe what was sexy about it if she tried, but it had become her favorite part of him); and his fingers, knowing that soon they would be twirling around inside of her once again.
She didn't exist in this world; it was only him and the way she felt - the way he made her feel.
**
"Do you regret it?"
She was staring into her cup of tea, the bright morning light shining through the windows, hardening the soft edges of night into sharp reality. She shook her head and looked up at him. "No."
"But you feel guilty."
She took a deep, shuttering breath and looked again at her cooling tea. "Not as guilty as I should."
**
She loved the feel of his lips, the rasp of his late night stubble on her cheek. She loved his hands on her neck, in her hair, roaming down to fondle her breast, the smell of honeysuckle around them, the night breeze cooling their skin, clammy with anticipation.
"We can't do this here," she said, pulling away reluctantly. "Someone will see us."
He dipped his chin and stared into her eyes. "What if I told you that I put a protective charm on your garden so that no one could see us? Our own private cocoon." He ran his thumb across her bottom lip. "Would you fuck me here if I did?"
She kissed the tip of his thumb and held his gaze. She knew that no such charm existed.
"Yes."
She believed him.
**
He thought about leaving. But, he never got far. His nobility would be sidetracked by the memory of the way her neck curved into her shoulder. The way she cradled her wineglass in her the palm of her hand, like she cradled him every night after Ron was asleep.
He really should leave. It would be best for everyone. Especially him.
But, he couldn't.
He leaned back against the headboard of the bed, and waited.
**
It didn't take her long to stop lying. At least to herself.
At the first sign of his even breathing she crept out of the room again. She paused in the hall, her hand on the doorknob, and stared at the door across the hall. She released the knob and glided across the hall, leaving all pretenses behind.
**
When the door opened and she entered, he sighed with relief. Without making a sound she crossed the room and stood by the bed, looking down at him. He reached out and ran his hand up and down her inner thigh. "Hi."
"Hello."
"You thought about not coming, didn't you?"
She didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Why did you?"
She pulled her nightshirt over her head and tossed it to the side, revealing the body that consumed his dreams. She straddled him, shifted herself so that his hardening cock was nestled in her crease and leaned over him, placing her palms on either side of his head. Her hair fell down around his head, enclosing them from the world.
"As if I had a choice."
**
"Hermione? Are you asleep?"
"Hmmm?" she said, feigning drowsiness.
She felt him nestle next to her, his arm reaching around and snaking up her shirt.
"Hey," he whispered in her ear before nipping her earlobe. He pressed his erection against her arse. "You aren't too tired, are you?"
Her heart clenched with guilt as she turned her head and gave him a wan smile. "No, of course not." Even in the darkness of their bedroom, she could see his blue eyes sparkle with anticipation.
**
She made love to him last night. He knew he shouldn't hate her for it. But he did.
He didn't hate her enough to leave.
**
Breakfast had become its own kind of torture.
"Hermione, you're not eating."
"I'm not hungry." She pulled her eyes away from her tea. Harry, sitting across from her, was gazing at her with unwavering intensity. Ron sat between them, focused on his breakfast.
"You really should eat something, you know. It's the most important meal of the day."
"You're right, Molly, it is," Harry said, giving Ron a smirk.
"Hey!" Ron said, pushing Harry playfully on the arm.
"Hermione, are you sick?" Harry asked, returning his attention to her.
Ron looked up at Hermione for the first time. "You do look a little pale. Are you feeling alright?"
She gave him a small smile. "Just a bit queasy." She stood up and put her cup and saucer in the sink. "I'm sure it'll pass."
"Stay home if you need to," Ron said, putting his bowl in the sink. "Gotta run." He gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Love you." He picked up his bag and heaved it on his shoulder. "See ya later, Harry."
They heard the click of the front door and the distant sound of Ron Apparating. An oppressive silence fell over the kitchen. She felt the weight of her lies and deception pressing in on all sides. She waited for him to say something, to move toward her, to break eye contact - something, anything - so she didn't feel so alone in it all. He sat and continued to stare at her.
Frustration tumbled over her and she pushed away from the counter, making for the door and an escape. She was tired of always being the one reaching out - risking everything - while he risked nothing.
He caught her by the arm and turned her around, a fiery, dangerous expression in his eyes. "Did he make you feel like I do?" he asked in a rough whisper.
She wrenched her arm from his grasp. "No," she spat. "And I hate you for it."
**
The note was innocent enough.
Meet me for lunch at Diana Fountain.
1 o'clock.
-H
He was sitting on the edge of the inoperable fountain, waiting for her, a grease-spotted brown bag sitting next to him.
"Fish and chips?" she asked, nodding to the bag.
"Not very imaginative, I know."
"But, just what I was craving," she said truthfully.
"We're in the beyond," he teased, standing up and grabbing the bag.
She rolled her eyes and started to walk. "Wait," he said, giving her hand a gentle tug. She turned to him, a quizzical look on her face. "I didn't give you a kiss hello."
He leaned down and paused, his lips a scant distance away from hers as if waiting for her to object. It took all of her willpower to not close the distance between them. Instead, she waited for him. He smiled and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. "Hello."
"Hello."
"Hungry?"
"Famished."
"Not queasy anymore?"
"It comes and goes."
He kissed her hand he was holding and led her along the path to a bench. They ate their lunch in relative silence, interspersing banal conversation between bites of fish and chips. Like most men, Harry finished well before Hermione. He wadded his trash into a ball and threw it towards the rubbish bin, where it landed with a soft thunk. He crossed his legs and angled toward her, sliding his hand under her hair to rest on her neck. He waited patiently while she finished, looking around at the various people in the park, while rubbing his thumb gently up and down the side of her neck.
A shiver went down her arm with his touch. She folded her leftover food into its wrapper and put it back in the grease soaked bag, setting it down on the ground away from them.
"You weren't finished," Harry said.
"Yes, I am," she said, giving him a smile.
He moved closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "I'm sorry about this morning," he whispered in her ear.
"So am I," she said, twisting her napkin in her hands. "I didn't mean…"
"Yes, you did," he cut in. "I hated you for sleeping with him."
Her heart clenched, the idea that he would hate her for it never entered her mind.
"But, I shouldn't," he continued.
"You couldn't possibly hate me as much as I hate myself," she said, returning her attention to her hands. "I've betrayed everyone. Ron, you, myself."
"How are you betraying me? I don't have a claim on you. I wish like hell I did, but I don't."
She looked into his eyes. "You have more of a claim than you know," she whispered.
He cupped her face in his hand and pulled her forward into a deep, all-encompassing kiss. When he released her, short of breath, he rested his forehead on hers. "What are we going to do?" he asked, a plaintive note in his voice.
"I wish I knew."
**
He would always associate fish and chips with making love. The slight tang of vinegar, the taste of salt in her mouth as he devoured her. Their naked bodies on top of the non-descript hotel bed, sweat glistening between her breasts, their breaths coming in short bursts, the groans she made when he touched her, the same noises she'd been restraining for a fortnight, finally set free by their unspoken, complicit agreement to give themselves over to the other.
He tried to focus on her, to push the visual of her with another man out of his mind, to remind himself that she was there, with him. That he made her feel like no one else had. And she made him feel complete.
**
That didn't solve anything.
**
Harry walked into the kitchen to find Hermione in her customary chair, staring down into her tea cup as if it held the secrets of the world. He watched her for a while. She had no idea he was there.
"I waited for you last night."
She didn't move or look at him. His heart filled with dread but anger over rode his fear.
"Did you have sex with him last night?"
Her head shot around, fire shooting from her eyes. "No, Harry I didn't. Everything isn't about sex, you know. Or is it? Is that all this is to you? A clandestine shag here and there to keep the excitement in your life?"
"You know better than that."
"Do I?"
"Yes, you do. You and I both know what yesterday meant."
She sighed and stood up. "I can't do this."
Harry moved to block her path. "Do what? Have this conversation? Or us?"
She lifted her eyes to his. "Both."
His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. "So that's it? You've been coming - voluntarily, I might add - to my bed for a month, turning my life upside down -"
"Your life?" she said incredulously.
"- and you just decide it's over like that?" he snapped his fingers, "And I'm supposed to say 'Okay, fine! It was great fucking you. Have a nice life.'"
"Yeah, something like that," Hermione said, her anger matching his.
"You're not getting off that easy, Hermione."
She scoffed. "Trust me. None of this has been easy."
"I, at least, deserve some kind of explanation," Harry persisted.
"You know the reason, Harry."
"I have an idea. But I want to hear you say it."
"I don't want anyone to get hurt."
"No, you mean you don't want Ron to get hurt."
"Of course I don't! I love him!"
"But you aren't in love with him."
"Just because I don't want to spend the rest of my life with him doesn't mean I want to ruin his life right now!"
"You certainly have a high opinion of yourself."
"Oh, don't be a bastard, Harry! You know what I mean."
"No, Hermione, I don't know what you mean. Enlighten me."
"If Ron found out about you and me, he would be devastated. Then he'd be angry, quickly segueing into furious, irate and murderous. I don't know about you, but I don't want to die just yet."
"Oh, please. Like Ron would have the courage to do that." Harry stalked back and forth around the table, running his hands through his hair.
"It would kill him, Harry."
Harry stopped and looked at Hermione in amazement. "It must be nice being Ron Weasley. He moans and groans about being poor for years, and instead of getting a job and working hard, he gets on with his brothers and rides their coattails to success."
"Ron works hard," Hermione said defensively.
"That's bullshit and you know it. He complains about being overlooked and overshadowed by you and me, yet he did nothing to distinguish himself at Hogwarts. He was content to ride our coattails there, too!"
"I can't believe how hateful you're being about your best friend!"
"You're goddamn right I'm being hateful. He's standing in the way of me being with the woman I love and why? Because you're afraid of hurting him!"
Hermione stood there unable to meet his eyes, arms across her chest.
"Or is it about Ron at all?"
"It's about all of us, Harry."
"I don't think it is," Harry said, realization dawning on him. "I think this is about you not wanting to be wrong."
"What?"
"You're upset because the great love of your life - the person you pined over and acted like an idiot about during sixth year - is nothing more than a fake!"
"How dare you!"
"How dare I what? Call you an idiot? Tell you, finally, what I really thought about how you acted back then? Say aloud what you don't want to admit? You don't want to break up with Ron and be with me because it'll be tantamount to saying that you made a mistake." Harry leaned close to her face. "You picked the wrong guy."
Harry heard the whistling of air around her hand a split second before it hit his cheek, the sting filling him with smug satisfaction. He leaned back and rubbed his cheek, a small smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth.
"It's true then - the truth does hurt."
**
She raised her hand again, hoping to hear and feel once more the satisfying slap of her palm on his arrogant face. He grabbed her wrist, stealing her satisfaction.
"I don't think so."
"You bas…"
He yanked her forward and crushed his mouth to hers, cutting off her insult. She pushed against his chest, revolted with the idea of touching him, or kissing him. His arms were strong around her, pushing her against him while his tongue forced her mouth open. A tiny part of her, a part she hated at the moment, wanted to give in, was intoxicated with the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him. The stronger part of her won out.
Harry released her suddenly with an exclamation of pain and surprise. "You bit me!" he said, touching his bleeding tongue with his fingers.
"Just be glad I didn't have my wand," Hermione said scathingly. "Don't you ever force yourself on me, you son of a bitch."
Harry looked genuinely perplexed. "Forcing my…"
"Has the thought ever occurred to you that maybe I don't want you? That maybe I'd rather be with Ron? Or, are you so arrogant, so in love with your own legend, that you think the choice between the two of you is a given?"
Harry stepped toward Hermione and she had to force herself to stand her ground. A small muscle twitched in his jaw and she could see his pulse throbbing in his neck. "It didn't seem to be much of a choice each night you left his bed for mine, did it?"
They stared at each other, neither willing to back down - neither willing to admit how close to the truth the other had come.
"Do you want him, Hermione?" His voice was a rough whisper, as if he was trying to control his emotions with great difficulty.
She wanted to say it. It would have made everyone's life so much easier.
Yes.
Their lives could go back to how they were before, or at least a semblance of how life was before. No one would ever know about their indiscretion. She knew that one word from her and Harry would never mention it again. They'd move forward, and in time, the awkwardness between the two of them would ease and their passion for each other would fade. With one word, two people would be hurt, with the other they risked the friendship of their best friend and the alienation of almost everyone they knew. It really wasn't much of a choice.
"No."
His relief was palpable. He pulled her into his arms with tenderness. "Don't let go," he whispered, as the uncomfortable feeling of Apparation squeezed in upon her. She gave only a fleeting thought to where they were before they tumbled together upon the bed she had, until this moment, only shared with Ron.
**
This time, it was different. Less passionate, more intense. They never took their eyes off the other, and never spoke. They knew how deeply words could cut the other, and how shallow words could be.
Each touch was an apology; each kiss an acceptance of the other, faults and all; each thrust a confirmation of their choice.
As if they'd had a choice at all.
**
"What are our choices?"
His voice was soft, as soft as his fingers dancing up and down her arm.
"We can be completely honest and tell Ron."
"About all of it?"
"All of it."
"Er…"
"Yeah." She ran her hand down his smooth, bare thigh to his knee. She pulled gently on the back of his knee, settling his leg across her hip, and ran her hand up to his arse and back down.
"You were right. It'd kill him. I don't want that any more than you do."
"I know."
"I didn't mean…"
"Shhh," she said, putting her fingers over his lips. "We both said things we wish we could take back." She kissed him and whispered, "But we're still here. Together. I'm not sure if that means we're gluttons for punishment," she said with a small smile, "or that we understand each other better than anyone else in the world."
"I prefer the second."
"Me, too."
"What if we ran away?" Harry blurted.
"We can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because we aren't cowards, as much as I wish we were."
"Courage is over rated."
"I'm tired of feeling guilty, Harry."
"What are you going to tell him?"
"The truth, at least part of it. Not the part about us. I can't do that."
"What's the truth?"
"That I care for him, but…"
"You're not in love with him."
"That I'm not the right woman for him. And he's not the right man for me."
Harry cringed, imagining being on the receiving end of the conversation.
"I know. There's just no nice way to say it. I can't tell him I don't love him."
"When?"
"Tonight."
Harry rolled on top of her, nestling down into her, burying his face where her shoulder met her neck. "Call in sick today," he whispered, biting her neck.
"Okay," she replied without hesitation.
**
"There's really not much to offer for lunch," she said, standing in the open refrigerator door. She lifted her left foot and scratched her right calf with her toes while listing to Harry the bare contents of the fridge. He moved behind her just as she bent over to check the bin for salad ingredients. He ran his hands up her hips, moving her shirt to her waist, and pressed his pelvis against her bare bum.
"God, I love your arse," he said, rubbing his hands up and down her hips, and pressing his hardening cock into the crease of her arse.
"Do you, now?"
"Hmm," he said, pushing his boxers down.
"You aren't hungry?"
"You've got what I want." He continued to rub his dick along her arse, enjoying the smooth feeling against his skin. His fingers found her and dove inside, an oasis of warmth from the chilled refrigerated air that was surrounding them. He felt her fingers fondle her clit and her moan in response. Christ, he loved it when she did that. His free hand grasped her breast, the nipple cold, hard and erect.
"Are you going to fuck me or not?"
**
Are you going to fuck me or not?
God damn right, I am.
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Or seeing. Part of him wondered if this was all a bad dream, if he would wake up in his office, head on his desk, drool running from the side of his slackened mouth. Sometimes he fell asleep after a large lunch. This was just a bad dream.
A nightmare.
Oh, God, Harry.
The sound roused him, and his eyes settled on the scene before him. His kitchen. He loved the kitchen. Always had. Ever since he was a little boy.
He'd never thought of doing that in the kitchen.
In front of an open refrigerator, no less. That was almost sacrilegious. He'd have to throw all the food out, for sure.
**
She didn't, as a rule, enjoy cold weather. But sonofabitch. Every time Harry pushed into her, the frigid feeling on her skin became a loving embrace. She pushed back, clenching around him, and he groaned. She made him do that. She loved the power.
**
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "Do that again."
She let out a puff of air that might have been a chuckle. "What? This?"
"Yes," he hissed through his teeth, pushing further inside her as she tightened around him.
"You can feel that?" she asked in mock astonishment.
"You fucking know I do," he panted, trying to hold off his release. "Do it again."
**
What is she doing?
He watched his best friend's bare arse tense with each thrust. He should be angry. He was angry. He was furious.
He was also so fucking turned on that his cock was tenting his robes. His hand brushed against it and his dick quivered, wanting, needing to be touched.
As he stroked himself, thoughts swirled in his head.
They've done this before.
She's never moaned like that with me.
So smooth.
I'm going to fucking kill them.
God, this feels good.
What if I…?
What's he whispering in her ear?
Why is she laughing? Are they laughing at me?
So smooth and pale.
He was moving forward before he realized the idea was in his head. He couldn't help himself. He had to touch, to feel, to know…
**
He sensed him first. Later, he would wonder how he could sense anything else while making love to Hermione. He never dwelt too long on that question.
He wasn't startled. In fact, when he turned his head and saw Ron standing just behind him, he felt a surge of lust. Was that for Hermione or because Ron was watching?
He didn't dwell on that question either.
He'd always wondered how it felt for Hermione when he rubbed his dick along her arse. He loved doing it, loved the way she would clench her cheeks, capturing him for a split second. Did she do that because she liked it?
Now he knew.
**
Ron closed his eyes. Smooth, just like he thought.
Fuck. I can't believe I'm doing this.
What am I doing?
Why can't I stop? Why don't I want to stop?
Fuck. He just grabbed my dick with his arse.
I think I'm going to come.
**
She felt both of his hands on hers, rubbing her harder and harder. One moved down her leg, slick with her juices, around to her arse, slipping in between them to where they were joined. His hand was on her breast, on her clit, slipping inside her along with his dick. She'd never felt so completely fucked in her life. It took her a moment to realize…
"Shh," Harry whispered in her ear. "It's Ron."
She looked over her shoulder and saw Ron, eyes closed, head back, mouth open, looking as if he'd been transported to another world. Harry's breath caught and he was pushed into her. He put his lips right up to her ear and said, so softly that later she'd think she'd imagined them. "It's okay. I'm making love to you. Only you."
**
He meant what he said, but fuck. Whatever it was Ron was doing felt good. Too good.
He wouldn't dwell on that either.
**
He'd gone beyond thought. Nature had taken over. It wouldn't be until later that he'd realize that he'd fucked Harry up the arse.
And liked it.
And wanted to do it again.
He didn't get his dick all the way in, he knew that. Was he supposed to? He didn't know. He didn't want to find out. But the feeling of his dick, pressing, however shallowly, into Harry's arsehole, along with the periodic clenching of Harry's arse cheeks in encouragement, were enough to keep his mind off of the reality of what was happening.
They got into a rhythm. When Harry pulled out of Hermione Ron stroked his wet dick and Ron pushed into Harry. He could feel the rumble of a moan deep in Harry's chest, a moan he was trying to suppress. Lucky bastard, Ron thought. He took his hand, wet with Hermione's juices and stroked himself, before pushing a wet finger into Harry. He followed it with his slick dick, pushing farther into Harry than before.
"Fuck."
He grabbed Harry's hips and thrust again and again, completely forgetting that there was anyone else in the room besides the two of them.
**
Think about Hermione…
Think about Hermione…
I'm fucking Hermione…
I'm fucking Hermione…
Ron's fucking me…
Oh, God. Let's get this over with.
**
They didn't come all at once. He didn't know much about these kinds of situations, but he knew that that wouldn't happen. But he came last. That was what was important.
He felt, for the first time, his hands on Harry's hips. The smooth, pale, narrow hips that he'd watched, minutes before, thrust into Hermione. He looked down with astonishment, to see his dick burrowed inside Harry and wondered vaguely how it got there. He looked up to see Harry clinging to Hermione, his head buried in her shoulder.
He pulled his dick out slowly, savoring it. Knowing it wouldn't happen again. Not wanting it to happen again. At least, that's what he would tell himself later.
He stood there, alone, detatched from the two of them. "I forgive you," he mumbled before walking away.
**
Just like that, he was gone. Harry slid out of Hermione and she turned to face him. For a moment, it was like a dream. It had just been the two of them fucking in the open refrigerator door. The specter of telling Ron about them still loomed innocently before them. They were in love. Meant for each other. Destined to be happy.
The illusion was shattered when Harry bent down to pull up his boxers, trying to conceal a grimace of pain. She wanted him to hold her, to tell her that it was going to be alright, that it didn't matter. Instead, he avoided her gaze.
"Did you enjoy it?" she asked, her voice cracking with emotion.
"Does it look like I enjoyed it?" he snapped, finally meeting her eyes.
She swallowed, forcing herself to say the truth she saw in his eyes. "Yes, it does," she whispered.
**
It was over. And they knew it.
Fin
The first part and second part. For your reading enjoyment.
Maybe.
I'm debating on whether or not I should make this a public entry. I'll let you guys decide. Although I use lots of icky words, which in my book, makes this pretty hard NC-17. I don't know, maybe not.
I needed lots of encouragement for this one. So a shout out of thanks to abigail89, vicariousleigh and danielerin for feedback and beta services. They said I got it right. And, they're the experts. :)
ETA: The very first person that read this was 54321sherry. I'm so sorry I didn't mention you!
O
by cheeringcharm
"Harry?"
A soft knock on the door followed the hoarse whisper.
"Harry."
The door opened a crack revealing a sliver of Harry's face. "Hey. I thought you were asleep?"
"No," Hermione said, casting a fleeting look towards the door across the hall. "I had a midnight snack. I need to clean my teeth. Are you decent?"
"For the most part," Harry said, opening the door.
"Thanks," she said, squeezing past him into the tiny bathroom, trying to ignore the fact that Harry only had a towel wrapped around his waist. "I'll be quick." She opened the medicine cabinet above the small pedestal sink, grabbing her toothbrush and paste. "Did you have fun?"
Harry shrugged his bare shoulders. "It was okay. Smoky, like most clubs, so I took a shower. I didn't wake you and Ron when I came in, did I?"
"No. Ron would sleep through the Hogwarts Express running through our bedroom."
"Did I wake you?" Harry asked, reaching around her to grab his deodorant out of his shaving kit, which was perched precariously on the sink.
She shoved her toothbrush in her mouth while screwing the cap back on the tube of toothpaste and shook her head. She smiled at him and began brushing her teeth. Harry raised his left arm and a jet of aerosol spray shot under his arm. "Ron's snoring keeping you up?"
She gave him a lopsided grin through the foamy paste oozing out of her mouth. "Maybe," was the muffled reply.
"Uh-huh," Harry said, tossing the deodorant into his kit and moving it so she could spit into the sink.
She bent over, her arse nudging Harry back a step. She paused, her hand cupped under the water, her face flushing when she realised that it wasn't Harry's leg that she felt on her arse. "Sorry," she said, before pooling water in her hand, taking a sip and rinsing her mouth. She rinsed her mouth a couple more times, buying time for her face to lose its blush, and her heartbeat to stop fluttering, before facing Harry in the mirror again.
"Small bathroom," Harry said, moving to the side as much as possible, which wasn't much considering his calves were touching the edge of the bathtub.
"Small flat," Hermione said, wiping her mouth with the towel.
"Thanks again for letting me stay here," Harry said, running his hands through his hair.
"Of course. What are friends for?"
Harry continued to run his hands through his hair, trying to comb it one way, then the next. He took his palms and flattened his hair on his head, holding it there for a moment as if training it, then released it. It immediately hopped back into its perpetually untidy state.
"It's a hopeless case," he said, dejected.
Hermione chuckled. "Here," she said, pulling hair gel out of the cabinet and turning towards him. "Let me try."
"It won't do any good, Hermione. I've tried everything."
"Humour me," she said, rubbing a small amount of gel between her palms.
"You're going to need more than that," he laughed.
"You can always add more but once you've got too much…" She ran her hands through his wet hair, noticing how different it felt from Ron's. She shook her head, pushing the unfavorable comparison to Ron from her mind and tried to move Harry's hair into some semblance of uniformity.
"What?"
"What what?"
"You shook your head."
"Oh," she said, searching around for a believable lie. "You look different without your glasses," she said, looking into his green eyes.
"Different good or different bad?"
"Just different," she replied. Her hands stopped as she stared at him and was struck by the realisation that, despite the fact that she'd known him the better part of her life, she'd never been this close to him before. An unfamiliar humming sound filled her head and she dropped her hands.
"I told you it was hopeless." He lifted his hands and ran them through his hair, peeking into the mirror over her shoulder. Hermione heard a rustling noise and felt the soft thump of a towel hitting her feet. Harry's hands froze. Hermione's eyes widened and it took every ounce of willpower she had to not look down.
"Oops," Harry said, a nervous smile stealing across his face. Hermione turned away quickly, while Harry bent down and retrieved his towel. Later she would wonder why, at that moment, she hadn't turned toward the door to leave. As if in a daze, she turned back to Harry, the humming sound blocking out all rational thought. She stared vacantly at his chest for a moment, then down to the spot where the towel was tucked in on itself on Harry's hip. Before her mind caught up with her body, she'd reached her hand out and placed it on the knot. She stared at her hand, unsure how it got there and exactly what it meant to do.
She felt Harry's hand on hers before she saw it.
"Hermione?" he breathed. His fingertips were grazing the back of her hand. "What are you doing?"
She looked up at him, still dazed, and replied, "I don't know."
They stared at each other for a long moment. With each passing second she expected him to step back or remove her hand. Instead, she felt his fingertips slide up her forearm, around her elbow and down the soft inside of her arm until his hand was under hers. In unspoken agreement, with a flick of their fingers, the towel fell to the floor again.
They stood there, holding hands, and she felt herself tense in anticipation. He guided her hand, closing his eyes for a moment when her hand wrapped around his dick. She looked down at him, amazed that brushing her teeth had evolved into her holding her best friend's rock hard - and very long - dick in her hand while her boyfriend slept in the room down the hall.
The question was on her lips when Harry lifted her chin and kissed her, effectively cutting off any objections or rational thought that she had. The kiss was firm, insistent, as if he knew any tenderness might be construed as hesitancy or second thoughts. The reality was, with the taste of him in her mouth, and the feel of him in her hand, her brain had turned to mush.
She felt his fingers slide under the crotch of her knickers and enter her. No hesitancy there or with his other hand, which had moved under her nightshirt to fondle her breast. His mouth covering hers muffled her gasp. She felt him smile through their kiss as he pushed his fingers deeper into her, lifting her to her tip-toes. Her head lolled back, a guttural "God," coming from deep within her throat. She grasped his shoulders as he bent down, pushing her knickers down to her ankles. She kicked them aside before wrapping a leg around his waist. She looked into his eyes, not really seeing anything, but feeling his dick slide along her pussy, searching for entrance. His face was flushed and he was gasping with each thrust until he finally drove himself deep within her with a long, low moan.
He grabbed her other leg and wrapped it around his waist so that he was holding her, pushing her down onto him, going deeper and deeper inside her. She felt her back hit the door with a thump and Harry's mouth covered hers again.
She had no idea how long they were there, how long Harry thrust into her, how many times her heels dug into his arse, pushing him further and further in so that she felt, at the height of it, as if she was going to split in two with ecstasy. She was aware, more than she ever had been before, of him moving inside her - in and out, in and out - and how every time he pulled out her soul felt vacant and empty until finally, with a deep thrust he buried his face in her neck and groaned in release. She felt him shudder as he ground his hips into hers and thrust again and again until he was finally still, the only sign of life his rapid breathing and the fact that he still had the strength to hold her.
They stood there for a moment, joined, bodies clammy with sweat, and the magnitude of it all hit her. "What have we done?" she breathed, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Shhh," he replied, lifting his head to look at her. "Not yet," he whispered.
He unwrapped her legs from his waist and settled her on the ground, pulling his wet cock out of her. He lifted her shirt over her head and tossed it to the ground. "What are you doing?" she asked, as his hands ran over her naked body.
* * *
Enjoying the view.
That was what he wanted to say but he knew that one false step, one wrong word, would send her out the door in a flash. Now that the frenzy of desire was gone, it wouldn't take long for Hermione's logic and good sense to return. He wanted to hold that at bay for just a little longer.
He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her lips, savouring the feel of them for the first time. She tasted like mint and smelled like peaches. A shudder went through her body as his hands stroked the soft skin of her hips.
He wrapped a hand in her hair and whispered in her ear. "We didn't mean for this to happen, but it did. We can't take it back. I don't want to take it back," he said, kissing behind her ear. "And I don't want it to end just yet, either." He kissed down her neck to the hollow at the base of her throat, a hand running up and down her side in long, languorous strokes.
He lifted his eyes to her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly open. "Do you?"
She opened her eyes revealing her complete confusion, as if she hadn't heard a word he'd said. He smirked and ran his hand up to her breast, feeling the hard little nipple on his palm. "Do you want this to end?"
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Good," he said. He leaned forward, pressing his body against hers. "Now it's my turn to make you come," he growled in her ear.
"Again?" she said in astonishment.
"No, for the first time." He slid his hand down between her legs and began to rub her.
"I hate to break it to you, but you accomplished that goal the first time."
"You think so?" he asked, leveling an intense stare at her while pushing a finger inside her.
She cocked an eyebrow and gave him a lopsided smirk. "Yes, but by all means, do it again."
Harry wiggled his eyebrows and began to move down her body. Her giggle was cut short when his mouth covered her breast. Her hands went into his hair, pushing his face into her chest, encouraging him to suck her entire breast in his mouth. His tongue danced around her hard nipple before he took it between his teeth and gave it a gentle bite. He vaguely registered the squeak she made as he traveled down past her belly button to what he really wanted.
He parted her lips and ran his tongue across her clit. Hermione slapped her hand across her mouth to stifle the scream that was bursting for release. She threw her leg over his shoulder and tilted her hips forward, for which he was eternally grateful. He showed his appreciation by swirling his tongue around inside her, tasting her, tasting him inside her, hardening at the thought of being inside her again.
He lifted her other leg over his shoulder, causing her to reach out for the walls to brace herself, the miniscule size of the bathroom a benefit at last. His tongue moved up to caress her clit and his fingers returned to delve inside her once more. He felt her tighten around his fingers and his dick jumped in anticipation. He moved his hand inside her, around, out, back in and around. He looked up when he heard her whimper. Her eyes were closed and her jaw was clenched. He kissed the inside of her thigh and gently removed her legs from his shoulders, his hand that was inside her continuing to move. He stood up and captured her mouth, thrusting his tongue in time with his hand.
"You're close, aren't you?" he growled in her ear.
She nodded her head vigorously, completely unable to speak. She wrapped a leg around his hip and he thrust into her as if on cue. Exquisite was the only word to describe how it felt to be inside Hermione. "What are you doing to me?" he asked, a pleading note in his voice.
She thrust her hips forward and pulled his mouth to hers, devouring him. He felt her tongue run along the stubble of his chin before she captured it and gave it a suck.
"Do you like the way you taste on me?" He stared at her, thrusting slowly into her as he waited for her answer.
"Yes. God, yes," she replied.
"Do you know how good it feels to be inside you? I want you to feel as good as I feel."
"I do."
Somehow, he doubted that.
He brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers, before guiding it down between their bodies. Hermione gave him a confused look. "Trust me," he said, placing her fingers on her clit, still wet with his saliva, and moving them around.
Her eyes widened slightly and her jaw went slack with astonishment. He removed his hand and their gazes traveled together to watch her stroke herself. His eyes moved away, back to her face, in an effort to stave off his urge to pound into her as fast as he could. Seeing the look of astonishment mingled with ecstasy almost made him lose it. He had to remind himself that this time, it was about her and, from the look on her face, he'd been right in his earlier assessment.
"You want to scream, don't you?"
She nodded her head, her hand moving in rapid circles. Harry pushed into her and ground his hips against her as he murmured, "Silencio. Now, you can be as loud as you want."
He continued to grind against her, between deep thrusts. He watched as she let loose a string of words, one of which he was sure she'd never said aloud before. Her eyes widened, her hand worked on herself frantically and she bucked her hips against him while the walls of her pussy clenched around him. Her mouth opened in what Harry could tell would have been, under normal circumstances, an ear splitting scream. He picked up his pace, pounding inside her with fervor he'd never felt before and felt himself release inside her for the second time before collapsing against her.
"Finite Incantatum," he murmured, and he heard her heavy breathing in his ear. "Jesus, Hermione," he gasped, unable and unwilling to withdraw from her, wanting to stay joined with her for as long as possible, knowing that it would be the last time he'd ever feel her this way.
"How did that feel?" he asked, giving her a knowing grin.
"Fuck, Harry. How do you think it felt?"
"If you're saying the f-word, I'm guessing pretty good."
"Pretty good is an understatement." She ran her hand through his hair and looked into his eyes. "It's never felt like…I've never…"
"I know," he replied, pushing a lock of sweaty hair behind her ear.
"You're not supposed to make me feel like that," she said in a hoarse whisper.
"I know."
Their eyes roamed over each other's face as if searching for the map to lead them down the road of their upturned world.
**
Every night, she told another lie.
I need a drink of water.
I probably should look over that report again before tomorrow's meeting.
I forgot to lock the back door.
I should probably pull chicken out of the freezer for dinner tomorrow night.
I left the lid off my ink and it'll dry out if I don't close it up.
She thought of any and every excuse, not matter how small or trivial, to swing her legs out of bed and creep out of the darkened room, the soft click of the door silencing Ron's snores and transporting her into another world.
He was always waiting, as if he knew what lame excuse her mind would manufacture that night to appease her conscience.
Leaning against the counter drinking a butterbeer…
Laying on the sofa, feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on the arm, reading a magazine…
Sitting on the steps leading out into their back garden…
Bending over and peering into the refrigerator, clad only in boxer shorts, the yellow light casting him in a warm glow…
Sitting at her desk and twirling her quill between his long fingers…
Each time the lie dissolved and she was left with only him and her inexplicable attraction. She was mesmerized by his throat as he swallowed; the expanse of his back straining against his t-shirt as leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees; his forearm (she couldn't describe what was sexy about it if she tried, but it had become her favorite part of him); and his fingers, knowing that soon they would be twirling around inside of her once again.
She didn't exist in this world; it was only him and the way she felt - the way he made her feel.
**
"Do you regret it?"
She was staring into her cup of tea, the bright morning light shining through the windows, hardening the soft edges of night into sharp reality. She shook her head and looked up at him. "No."
"But you feel guilty."
She took a deep, shuttering breath and looked again at her cooling tea. "Not as guilty as I should."
**
She loved the feel of his lips, the rasp of his late night stubble on her cheek. She loved his hands on her neck, in her hair, roaming down to fondle her breast, the smell of honeysuckle around them, the night breeze cooling their skin, clammy with anticipation.
"We can't do this here," she said, pulling away reluctantly. "Someone will see us."
He dipped his chin and stared into her eyes. "What if I told you that I put a protective charm on your garden so that no one could see us? Our own private cocoon." He ran his thumb across her bottom lip. "Would you fuck me here if I did?"
She kissed the tip of his thumb and held his gaze. She knew that no such charm existed.
"Yes."
She believed him.
**
He thought about leaving. But, he never got far. His nobility would be sidetracked by the memory of the way her neck curved into her shoulder. The way she cradled her wineglass in her the palm of her hand, like she cradled him every night after Ron was asleep.
He really should leave. It would be best for everyone. Especially him.
But, he couldn't.
He leaned back against the headboard of the bed, and waited.
**
It didn't take her long to stop lying. At least to herself.
At the first sign of his even breathing she crept out of the room again. She paused in the hall, her hand on the doorknob, and stared at the door across the hall. She released the knob and glided across the hall, leaving all pretenses behind.
**
When the door opened and she entered, he sighed with relief. Without making a sound she crossed the room and stood by the bed, looking down at him. He reached out and ran his hand up and down her inner thigh. "Hi."
"Hello."
"You thought about not coming, didn't you?"
She didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Why did you?"
She pulled her nightshirt over her head and tossed it to the side, revealing the body that consumed his dreams. She straddled him, shifted herself so that his hardening cock was nestled in her crease and leaned over him, placing her palms on either side of his head. Her hair fell down around his head, enclosing them from the world.
"As if I had a choice."
**
"Hermione? Are you asleep?"
"Hmmm?" she said, feigning drowsiness.
She felt him nestle next to her, his arm reaching around and snaking up her shirt.
"Hey," he whispered in her ear before nipping her earlobe. He pressed his erection against her arse. "You aren't too tired, are you?"
Her heart clenched with guilt as she turned her head and gave him a wan smile. "No, of course not." Even in the darkness of their bedroom, she could see his blue eyes sparkle with anticipation.
**
She made love to him last night. He knew he shouldn't hate her for it. But he did.
He didn't hate her enough to leave.
**
Breakfast had become its own kind of torture.
"Hermione, you're not eating."
"I'm not hungry." She pulled her eyes away from her tea. Harry, sitting across from her, was gazing at her with unwavering intensity. Ron sat between them, focused on his breakfast.
"You really should eat something, you know. It's the most important meal of the day."
"You're right, Molly, it is," Harry said, giving Ron a smirk.
"Hey!" Ron said, pushing Harry playfully on the arm.
"Hermione, are you sick?" Harry asked, returning his attention to her.
Ron looked up at Hermione for the first time. "You do look a little pale. Are you feeling alright?"
She gave him a small smile. "Just a bit queasy." She stood up and put her cup and saucer in the sink. "I'm sure it'll pass."
"Stay home if you need to," Ron said, putting his bowl in the sink. "Gotta run." He gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Love you." He picked up his bag and heaved it on his shoulder. "See ya later, Harry."
They heard the click of the front door and the distant sound of Ron Apparating. An oppressive silence fell over the kitchen. She felt the weight of her lies and deception pressing in on all sides. She waited for him to say something, to move toward her, to break eye contact - something, anything - so she didn't feel so alone in it all. He sat and continued to stare at her.
Frustration tumbled over her and she pushed away from the counter, making for the door and an escape. She was tired of always being the one reaching out - risking everything - while he risked nothing.
He caught her by the arm and turned her around, a fiery, dangerous expression in his eyes. "Did he make you feel like I do?" he asked in a rough whisper.
She wrenched her arm from his grasp. "No," she spat. "And I hate you for it."
**
The note was innocent enough.
Meet me for lunch at Diana Fountain.
1 o'clock.
-H
He was sitting on the edge of the inoperable fountain, waiting for her, a grease-spotted brown bag sitting next to him.
"Fish and chips?" she asked, nodding to the bag.
"Not very imaginative, I know."
"But, just what I was craving," she said truthfully.
"We're in the beyond," he teased, standing up and grabbing the bag.
She rolled her eyes and started to walk. "Wait," he said, giving her hand a gentle tug. She turned to him, a quizzical look on her face. "I didn't give you a kiss hello."
He leaned down and paused, his lips a scant distance away from hers as if waiting for her to object. It took all of her willpower to not close the distance between them. Instead, she waited for him. He smiled and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. "Hello."
"Hello."
"Hungry?"
"Famished."
"Not queasy anymore?"
"It comes and goes."
He kissed her hand he was holding and led her along the path to a bench. They ate their lunch in relative silence, interspersing banal conversation between bites of fish and chips. Like most men, Harry finished well before Hermione. He wadded his trash into a ball and threw it towards the rubbish bin, where it landed with a soft thunk. He crossed his legs and angled toward her, sliding his hand under her hair to rest on her neck. He waited patiently while she finished, looking around at the various people in the park, while rubbing his thumb gently up and down the side of her neck.
A shiver went down her arm with his touch. She folded her leftover food into its wrapper and put it back in the grease soaked bag, setting it down on the ground away from them.
"You weren't finished," Harry said.
"Yes, I am," she said, giving him a smile.
He moved closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "I'm sorry about this morning," he whispered in her ear.
"So am I," she said, twisting her napkin in her hands. "I didn't mean…"
"Yes, you did," he cut in. "I hated you for sleeping with him."
Her heart clenched, the idea that he would hate her for it never entered her mind.
"But, I shouldn't," he continued.
"You couldn't possibly hate me as much as I hate myself," she said, returning her attention to her hands. "I've betrayed everyone. Ron, you, myself."
"How are you betraying me? I don't have a claim on you. I wish like hell I did, but I don't."
She looked into his eyes. "You have more of a claim than you know," she whispered.
He cupped her face in his hand and pulled her forward into a deep, all-encompassing kiss. When he released her, short of breath, he rested his forehead on hers. "What are we going to do?" he asked, a plaintive note in his voice.
"I wish I knew."
**
He would always associate fish and chips with making love. The slight tang of vinegar, the taste of salt in her mouth as he devoured her. Their naked bodies on top of the non-descript hotel bed, sweat glistening between her breasts, their breaths coming in short bursts, the groans she made when he touched her, the same noises she'd been restraining for a fortnight, finally set free by their unspoken, complicit agreement to give themselves over to the other.
He tried to focus on her, to push the visual of her with another man out of his mind, to remind himself that she was there, with him. That he made her feel like no one else had. And she made him feel complete.
**
That didn't solve anything.
**
Harry walked into the kitchen to find Hermione in her customary chair, staring down into her tea cup as if it held the secrets of the world. He watched her for a while. She had no idea he was there.
"I waited for you last night."
She didn't move or look at him. His heart filled with dread but anger over rode his fear.
"Did you have sex with him last night?"
Her head shot around, fire shooting from her eyes. "No, Harry I didn't. Everything isn't about sex, you know. Or is it? Is that all this is to you? A clandestine shag here and there to keep the excitement in your life?"
"You know better than that."
"Do I?"
"Yes, you do. You and I both know what yesterday meant."
She sighed and stood up. "I can't do this."
Harry moved to block her path. "Do what? Have this conversation? Or us?"
She lifted her eyes to his. "Both."
His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. "So that's it? You've been coming - voluntarily, I might add - to my bed for a month, turning my life upside down -"
"Your life?" she said incredulously.
"- and you just decide it's over like that?" he snapped his fingers, "And I'm supposed to say 'Okay, fine! It was great fucking you. Have a nice life.'"
"Yeah, something like that," Hermione said, her anger matching his.
"You're not getting off that easy, Hermione."
She scoffed. "Trust me. None of this has been easy."
"I, at least, deserve some kind of explanation," Harry persisted.
"You know the reason, Harry."
"I have an idea. But I want to hear you say it."
"I don't want anyone to get hurt."
"No, you mean you don't want Ron to get hurt."
"Of course I don't! I love him!"
"But you aren't in love with him."
"Just because I don't want to spend the rest of my life with him doesn't mean I want to ruin his life right now!"
"You certainly have a high opinion of yourself."
"Oh, don't be a bastard, Harry! You know what I mean."
"No, Hermione, I don't know what you mean. Enlighten me."
"If Ron found out about you and me, he would be devastated. Then he'd be angry, quickly segueing into furious, irate and murderous. I don't know about you, but I don't want to die just yet."
"Oh, please. Like Ron would have the courage to do that." Harry stalked back and forth around the table, running his hands through his hair.
"It would kill him, Harry."
Harry stopped and looked at Hermione in amazement. "It must be nice being Ron Weasley. He moans and groans about being poor for years, and instead of getting a job and working hard, he gets on with his brothers and rides their coattails to success."
"Ron works hard," Hermione said defensively.
"That's bullshit and you know it. He complains about being overlooked and overshadowed by you and me, yet he did nothing to distinguish himself at Hogwarts. He was content to ride our coattails there, too!"
"I can't believe how hateful you're being about your best friend!"
"You're goddamn right I'm being hateful. He's standing in the way of me being with the woman I love and why? Because you're afraid of hurting him!"
Hermione stood there unable to meet his eyes, arms across her chest.
"Or is it about Ron at all?"
"It's about all of us, Harry."
"I don't think it is," Harry said, realization dawning on him. "I think this is about you not wanting to be wrong."
"What?"
"You're upset because the great love of your life - the person you pined over and acted like an idiot about during sixth year - is nothing more than a fake!"
"How dare you!"
"How dare I what? Call you an idiot? Tell you, finally, what I really thought about how you acted back then? Say aloud what you don't want to admit? You don't want to break up with Ron and be with me because it'll be tantamount to saying that you made a mistake." Harry leaned close to her face. "You picked the wrong guy."
Harry heard the whistling of air around her hand a split second before it hit his cheek, the sting filling him with smug satisfaction. He leaned back and rubbed his cheek, a small smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth.
"It's true then - the truth does hurt."
**
She raised her hand again, hoping to hear and feel once more the satisfying slap of her palm on his arrogant face. He grabbed her wrist, stealing her satisfaction.
"I don't think so."
"You bas…"
He yanked her forward and crushed his mouth to hers, cutting off her insult. She pushed against his chest, revolted with the idea of touching him, or kissing him. His arms were strong around her, pushing her against him while his tongue forced her mouth open. A tiny part of her, a part she hated at the moment, wanted to give in, was intoxicated with the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him. The stronger part of her won out.
Harry released her suddenly with an exclamation of pain and surprise. "You bit me!" he said, touching his bleeding tongue with his fingers.
"Just be glad I didn't have my wand," Hermione said scathingly. "Don't you ever force yourself on me, you son of a bitch."
Harry looked genuinely perplexed. "Forcing my…"
"Has the thought ever occurred to you that maybe I don't want you? That maybe I'd rather be with Ron? Or, are you so arrogant, so in love with your own legend, that you think the choice between the two of you is a given?"
Harry stepped toward Hermione and she had to force herself to stand her ground. A small muscle twitched in his jaw and she could see his pulse throbbing in his neck. "It didn't seem to be much of a choice each night you left his bed for mine, did it?"
They stared at each other, neither willing to back down - neither willing to admit how close to the truth the other had come.
"Do you want him, Hermione?" His voice was a rough whisper, as if he was trying to control his emotions with great difficulty.
She wanted to say it. It would have made everyone's life so much easier.
Yes.
Their lives could go back to how they were before, or at least a semblance of how life was before. No one would ever know about their indiscretion. She knew that one word from her and Harry would never mention it again. They'd move forward, and in time, the awkwardness between the two of them would ease and their passion for each other would fade. With one word, two people would be hurt, with the other they risked the friendship of their best friend and the alienation of almost everyone they knew. It really wasn't much of a choice.
"No."
His relief was palpable. He pulled her into his arms with tenderness. "Don't let go," he whispered, as the uncomfortable feeling of Apparation squeezed in upon her. She gave only a fleeting thought to where they were before they tumbled together upon the bed she had, until this moment, only shared with Ron.
**
This time, it was different. Less passionate, more intense. They never took their eyes off the other, and never spoke. They knew how deeply words could cut the other, and how shallow words could be.
Each touch was an apology; each kiss an acceptance of the other, faults and all; each thrust a confirmation of their choice.
As if they'd had a choice at all.
**
"What are our choices?"
His voice was soft, as soft as his fingers dancing up and down her arm.
"We can be completely honest and tell Ron."
"About all of it?"
"All of it."
"Er…"
"Yeah." She ran her hand down his smooth, bare thigh to his knee. She pulled gently on the back of his knee, settling his leg across her hip, and ran her hand up to his arse and back down.
"You were right. It'd kill him. I don't want that any more than you do."
"I know."
"I didn't mean…"
"Shhh," she said, putting her fingers over his lips. "We both said things we wish we could take back." She kissed him and whispered, "But we're still here. Together. I'm not sure if that means we're gluttons for punishment," she said with a small smile, "or that we understand each other better than anyone else in the world."
"I prefer the second."
"Me, too."
"What if we ran away?" Harry blurted.
"We can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because we aren't cowards, as much as I wish we were."
"Courage is over rated."
"I'm tired of feeling guilty, Harry."
"What are you going to tell him?"
"The truth, at least part of it. Not the part about us. I can't do that."
"What's the truth?"
"That I care for him, but…"
"You're not in love with him."
"That I'm not the right woman for him. And he's not the right man for me."
Harry cringed, imagining being on the receiving end of the conversation.
"I know. There's just no nice way to say it. I can't tell him I don't love him."
"When?"
"Tonight."
Harry rolled on top of her, nestling down into her, burying his face where her shoulder met her neck. "Call in sick today," he whispered, biting her neck.
"Okay," she replied without hesitation.
**
"There's really not much to offer for lunch," she said, standing in the open refrigerator door. She lifted her left foot and scratched her right calf with her toes while listing to Harry the bare contents of the fridge. He moved behind her just as she bent over to check the bin for salad ingredients. He ran his hands up her hips, moving her shirt to her waist, and pressed his pelvis against her bare bum.
"God, I love your arse," he said, rubbing his hands up and down her hips, and pressing his hardening cock into the crease of her arse.
"Do you, now?"
"Hmm," he said, pushing his boxers down.
"You aren't hungry?"
"You've got what I want." He continued to rub his dick along her arse, enjoying the smooth feeling against his skin. His fingers found her and dove inside, an oasis of warmth from the chilled refrigerated air that was surrounding them. He felt her fingers fondle her clit and her moan in response. Christ, he loved it when she did that. His free hand grasped her breast, the nipple cold, hard and erect.
"Are you going to fuck me or not?"
**
Are you going to fuck me or not?
God damn right, I am.
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Or seeing. Part of him wondered if this was all a bad dream, if he would wake up in his office, head on his desk, drool running from the side of his slackened mouth. Sometimes he fell asleep after a large lunch. This was just a bad dream.
A nightmare.
Oh, God, Harry.
The sound roused him, and his eyes settled on the scene before him. His kitchen. He loved the kitchen. Always had. Ever since he was a little boy.
He'd never thought of doing that in the kitchen.
In front of an open refrigerator, no less. That was almost sacrilegious. He'd have to throw all the food out, for sure.
**
She didn't, as a rule, enjoy cold weather. But sonofabitch. Every time Harry pushed into her, the frigid feeling on her skin became a loving embrace. She pushed back, clenching around him, and he groaned. She made him do that. She loved the power.
**
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "Do that again."
She let out a puff of air that might have been a chuckle. "What? This?"
"Yes," he hissed through his teeth, pushing further inside her as she tightened around him.
"You can feel that?" she asked in mock astonishment.
"You fucking know I do," he panted, trying to hold off his release. "Do it again."
**
What is she doing?
He watched his best friend's bare arse tense with each thrust. He should be angry. He was angry. He was furious.
He was also so fucking turned on that his cock was tenting his robes. His hand brushed against it and his dick quivered, wanting, needing to be touched.
As he stroked himself, thoughts swirled in his head.
They've done this before.
She's never moaned like that with me.
So smooth.
I'm going to fucking kill them.
God, this feels good.
What if I…?
What's he whispering in her ear?
Why is she laughing? Are they laughing at me?
So smooth and pale.
He was moving forward before he realized the idea was in his head. He couldn't help himself. He had to touch, to feel, to know…
**
He sensed him first. Later, he would wonder how he could sense anything else while making love to Hermione. He never dwelt too long on that question.
He wasn't startled. In fact, when he turned his head and saw Ron standing just behind him, he felt a surge of lust. Was that for Hermione or because Ron was watching?
He didn't dwell on that question either.
He'd always wondered how it felt for Hermione when he rubbed his dick along her arse. He loved doing it, loved the way she would clench her cheeks, capturing him for a split second. Did she do that because she liked it?
Now he knew.
**
Ron closed his eyes. Smooth, just like he thought.
Fuck. I can't believe I'm doing this.
What am I doing?
Why can't I stop? Why don't I want to stop?
Fuck. He just grabbed my dick with his arse.
I think I'm going to come.
**
She felt both of his hands on hers, rubbing her harder and harder. One moved down her leg, slick with her juices, around to her arse, slipping in between them to where they were joined. His hand was on her breast, on her clit, slipping inside her along with his dick. She'd never felt so completely fucked in her life. It took her a moment to realize…
"Shh," Harry whispered in her ear. "It's Ron."
She looked over her shoulder and saw Ron, eyes closed, head back, mouth open, looking as if he'd been transported to another world. Harry's breath caught and he was pushed into her. He put his lips right up to her ear and said, so softly that later she'd think she'd imagined them. "It's okay. I'm making love to you. Only you."
**
He meant what he said, but fuck. Whatever it was Ron was doing felt good. Too good.
He wouldn't dwell on that either.
**
He'd gone beyond thought. Nature had taken over. It wouldn't be until later that he'd realize that he'd fucked Harry up the arse.
And liked it.
And wanted to do it again.
He didn't get his dick all the way in, he knew that. Was he supposed to? He didn't know. He didn't want to find out. But the feeling of his dick, pressing, however shallowly, into Harry's arsehole, along with the periodic clenching of Harry's arse cheeks in encouragement, were enough to keep his mind off of the reality of what was happening.
They got into a rhythm. When Harry pulled out of Hermione Ron stroked his wet dick and Ron pushed into Harry. He could feel the rumble of a moan deep in Harry's chest, a moan he was trying to suppress. Lucky bastard, Ron thought. He took his hand, wet with Hermione's juices and stroked himself, before pushing a wet finger into Harry. He followed it with his slick dick, pushing farther into Harry than before.
"Fuck."
He grabbed Harry's hips and thrust again and again, completely forgetting that there was anyone else in the room besides the two of them.
**
Think about Hermione…
Think about Hermione…
I'm fucking Hermione…
I'm fucking Hermione…
Ron's fucking me…
Oh, God. Let's get this over with.
**
They didn't come all at once. He didn't know much about these kinds of situations, but he knew that that wouldn't happen. But he came last. That was what was important.
He felt, for the first time, his hands on Harry's hips. The smooth, pale, narrow hips that he'd watched, minutes before, thrust into Hermione. He looked down with astonishment, to see his dick burrowed inside Harry and wondered vaguely how it got there. He looked up to see Harry clinging to Hermione, his head buried in her shoulder.
He pulled his dick out slowly, savoring it. Knowing it wouldn't happen again. Not wanting it to happen again. At least, that's what he would tell himself later.
He stood there, alone, detatched from the two of them. "I forgive you," he mumbled before walking away.
**
Just like that, he was gone. Harry slid out of Hermione and she turned to face him. For a moment, it was like a dream. It had just been the two of them fucking in the open refrigerator door. The specter of telling Ron about them still loomed innocently before them. They were in love. Meant for each other. Destined to be happy.
The illusion was shattered when Harry bent down to pull up his boxers, trying to conceal a grimace of pain. She wanted him to hold her, to tell her that it was going to be alright, that it didn't matter. Instead, he avoided her gaze.
"Did you enjoy it?" she asked, her voice cracking with emotion.
"Does it look like I enjoyed it?" he snapped, finally meeting her eyes.
She swallowed, forcing herself to say the truth she saw in his eyes. "Yes, it does," she whispered.
**
It was over. And they knew it.
Fin