Sweet Revenge - a gift for pettybureaucrat
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Title: Sweet Revenge
Author: savepureness
Gift for: pettybureaucrat
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,250
Pairing: Fred/Hermione
Warnings: Well, smut. Or almost.
Summary: When Fred tries to teach Hermione how to ski and subsequently wears her out, he has no idea of the sweet revenge that awaits him.
A/N: Although I did incorporate all the prompts within the fic, I failed at writing NC17 due to lack of a proper disposition. Here’s hoping that R will be enough to suit your needs!
“I - can’t - possibly - do this!”
Hermione’s annoyed declaration is met by a hearty laughter. “Of course you can! It’s not that difficult, though it might seem so in your complicated mind!” Patiently and very much unlike his usual self, Fred grabs her steadily from behind and shows her how to step up the snowy slopes. “See? It’s like riding a bicycle.”
“I can’t ride a bicycle!”
She’s complaining, and she hates it. Such is life with Fred: a cascade of emotions; nerve-wrecking adventures that in his eyes seem but sweet nothings. Sometimes, Hermione thinks she regrets the time when, shaken from her daily inhibitions by the twins’ rebellious take-out from Hogwarts, she handed in her decision to quit.
That was a scandal.
Sources the twins still have at Hogwarts report that, in a way, it still is. There are voices accusing her of plotting in favour of Voldemort, of being his spy. Hermione is not sure whether she enjoys or she loathes this sort of attention.
“Well,” Fred says, extremely amused, “You can learn that too; all in due time. But we’re here to ski, and you’ll never learn this if you can’t climb this hill properly.”
“Who said I wanted to learn to begin with?”
“Come on, Herm - your lips may pout and deny, but your eyes sparkle at the notion!”
“I don’t know where from you inherited that big mouth of yours.”
“Hello,” laughs Fred, good-naturedly, “Have you met my mother?”
“I had the pleasure, yes. Now show me that walk once more, and if I’m still failing, I’m absolutely going in to rest!”
She fails. Fred would claim later that she did it on purpose.
Finally, she thinks, letting herself fall on the king size bed. Hermione missed the plumpness of its pillows, the inviting freshness of its sheets. She feels like wrapping herself in the cover and laying there for the rest of the day.
She can’t, though. There’s a sweet revenge she needs to plot.
Since they arrived at the mountain resort, Hermione agreed to put her work aside for as long as a few days, and try to relax. She promised she’d try to forget about Voldemort and his threat, about missing Hogwarts and her friends - she’d surely see both Harry and Ron at the Burrow once the holidays came. It was a difficult thing to promise, yet she did for Fred’s sake; but it proved itself almost impossible to deal with.
“You need to have more fun,” Fred kept saying. Then he dragged her outside, trying to teach her how to ski or simply pushing her in the snow and starting a snowball fight. What he didn’t seem to comprehend was that if there was any sort of action in her life, outdoors winter sports weren’t exactly it.
But she feels that her time has come.
It’s not an easy relationship they’re having, she and Fred. Such opposite personalities are prone to either mold on each other like fresh clay, or clash like waves onto the shore in summer storms. They’re somewhere in the middle; coping.
Regretfully getting off the bed, Hermione wanders toward the bathroom.
“Hullo?”
Fred wanders in, his clothes a mess, snow drifting off his hair and the tip of his nose. He had his fun outdoors, even without Hermione - pranks and high jinks are his specialties, after all. Sometimes, he misses his twin and thinks fondly of him; they drew straws to decide upon who’d remain to supervise the shop. George drew the shortest.
“I thought you weren’t in the mood to play games, so what’s with the hide and seek?”
He takes off his boots in the hall and gives them a good shake to get rid of the snow. They’d have to dry somehow - perhaps placing them under the radiator would be a good idea. But then again, Hermione won’t like it if their bedroom reeked of damp leather; the bathroom might prove a better spot.
Fred decides to try the other door, then. He’s moving ever so slightly, thinking that Hermione might be asleep. He’s been working her out, indeed - but one thing Fred is afraid of, and would never admit to it, is for her not to grow bored with him. They’re different, so different it’s almost painful, and even his mind can easily perceive the differences between them. Deep down, he’s more inclined to reflection than his pranks might otherwise suggest.
Presently pushing the bathroom door open, he’s surprised to notice a couple of candles burning softly on the tub’s edge. They cast a pleasant light inside, and their fragrance is reminding him of home; vanilla, maybe? He’s not sure. Still wondering, he approaches the radiator and places the boots beneath it.
As he straightens up, he feels hugged from behind.
“Her - Hermione?”
Two hands are weaving their way up his chest, finding the zipper of his ski outfit and slowly unzipping it.
“Is this --?”
“My turn to play.”
Fred turns on his heels and faces Hermione, who smiles invitingly and continues the unzipping. She’s wearing a short bathrobe and she smells of almonds.
“Do you like my new lotion?” she quizzes Fred, finally making it to the end of the zipper and helping him get out of it.
“Hermione, what’s this?”
She tilts her head. “This? My retort to failing at ski lessons, I guess.”
“Oh.” Fred is genuinely surprised, but he doesn’t have the time to fully express it. Rising on tiptoes, Hermione knots her arms around his neck and kisses him gently, brushing her tongue upon his lips, first the upper, then the lower. Shuddering with pleasure, Fred opens his mouth, and his own tongue meets hers; they engage in a muffled wrestle that becomes more and more passionate.
“You -“ manages Hermione between two kisses, “-had to come in wearing this, right?”
“Well, I had to remind you what you’re missing.”
Yet Fred’s certainly not missing the opportunity; or wasting any time. With deft fingers, he unlaces Hermione’s bathrobe, making an approving sound when it reveals the silk lingerie underneath. Rippling in fading green hues, the teddy seems tailored to hug and emphasize the curves of her breasts and hips.
“If this is what I get for trying to teach you how to ski,” Fred says, catching his breath, “what would I get for paragliding?”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, however, but buries his face in Hermione’s cleavage; sighing, he pushes her gently toward the bathroom wall. She helps him with taking the rest of his clothes off - while their movements are urgent, they bear a touch of tenderness as well. Finally naked, his desire made clear as daylight by the throbbing erection touching Hermione’s lower belly, Fred eases her out of her appealing outfit.
There’s nothing more glorious, he thinks.
Her answer is a ginger tug, and there they are, their bodies quickening and molding into each other against the wall; soon enough one can’t tell if the blur is caused by steam or by the passion between them .
“If you think that was fun, just wait until tonight.”
Hermione rolls over slowly, leaning on an elbow. Her eyes travel from Fred’s mischievous face to the length of his chest, still covered in a film of sweat. They’re lying on their bed, pretty much exhausted after their bathroom quest.
“What happens tonight, darling?” she asks, bracing herself.
“Ah well. Remember paragliding?”
Whatever that means, thinks Hermione, and they both suffuse in a shared laugh.
Title: Sweet Revenge
Author: savepureness
Gift for: pettybureaucrat
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,250
Pairing: Fred/Hermione
Warnings: Well, smut. Or almost.
Summary: When Fred tries to teach Hermione how to ski and subsequently wears her out, he has no idea of the sweet revenge that awaits him.
A/N: Although I did incorporate all the prompts within the fic, I failed at writing NC17 due to lack of a proper disposition. Here’s hoping that R will be enough to suit your needs!
“I - can’t - possibly - do this!”
Hermione’s annoyed declaration is met by a hearty laughter. “Of course you can! It’s not that difficult, though it might seem so in your complicated mind!” Patiently and very much unlike his usual self, Fred grabs her steadily from behind and shows her how to step up the snowy slopes. “See? It’s like riding a bicycle.”
“I can’t ride a bicycle!”
She’s complaining, and she hates it. Such is life with Fred: a cascade of emotions; nerve-wrecking adventures that in his eyes seem but sweet nothings. Sometimes, Hermione thinks she regrets the time when, shaken from her daily inhibitions by the twins’ rebellious take-out from Hogwarts, she handed in her decision to quit.
That was a scandal.
Sources the twins still have at Hogwarts report that, in a way, it still is. There are voices accusing her of plotting in favour of Voldemort, of being his spy. Hermione is not sure whether she enjoys or she loathes this sort of attention.
“Well,” Fred says, extremely amused, “You can learn that too; all in due time. But we’re here to ski, and you’ll never learn this if you can’t climb this hill properly.”
“Who said I wanted to learn to begin with?”
“Come on, Herm - your lips may pout and deny, but your eyes sparkle at the notion!”
“I don’t know where from you inherited that big mouth of yours.”
“Hello,” laughs Fred, good-naturedly, “Have you met my mother?”
“I had the pleasure, yes. Now show me that walk once more, and if I’m still failing, I’m absolutely going in to rest!”
She fails. Fred would claim later that she did it on purpose.
Finally, she thinks, letting herself fall on the king size bed. Hermione missed the plumpness of its pillows, the inviting freshness of its sheets. She feels like wrapping herself in the cover and laying there for the rest of the day.
She can’t, though. There’s a sweet revenge she needs to plot.
Since they arrived at the mountain resort, Hermione agreed to put her work aside for as long as a few days, and try to relax. She promised she’d try to forget about Voldemort and his threat, about missing Hogwarts and her friends - she’d surely see both Harry and Ron at the Burrow once the holidays came. It was a difficult thing to promise, yet she did for Fred’s sake; but it proved itself almost impossible to deal with.
“You need to have more fun,” Fred kept saying. Then he dragged her outside, trying to teach her how to ski or simply pushing her in the snow and starting a snowball fight. What he didn’t seem to comprehend was that if there was any sort of action in her life, outdoors winter sports weren’t exactly it.
But she feels that her time has come.
It’s not an easy relationship they’re having, she and Fred. Such opposite personalities are prone to either mold on each other like fresh clay, or clash like waves onto the shore in summer storms. They’re somewhere in the middle; coping.
Regretfully getting off the bed, Hermione wanders toward the bathroom.
“Hullo?”
Fred wanders in, his clothes a mess, snow drifting off his hair and the tip of his nose. He had his fun outdoors, even without Hermione - pranks and high jinks are his specialties, after all. Sometimes, he misses his twin and thinks fondly of him; they drew straws to decide upon who’d remain to supervise the shop. George drew the shortest.
“I thought you weren’t in the mood to play games, so what’s with the hide and seek?”
He takes off his boots in the hall and gives them a good shake to get rid of the snow. They’d have to dry somehow - perhaps placing them under the radiator would be a good idea. But then again, Hermione won’t like it if their bedroom reeked of damp leather; the bathroom might prove a better spot.
Fred decides to try the other door, then. He’s moving ever so slightly, thinking that Hermione might be asleep. He’s been working her out, indeed - but one thing Fred is afraid of, and would never admit to it, is for her not to grow bored with him. They’re different, so different it’s almost painful, and even his mind can easily perceive the differences between them. Deep down, he’s more inclined to reflection than his pranks might otherwise suggest.
Presently pushing the bathroom door open, he’s surprised to notice a couple of candles burning softly on the tub’s edge. They cast a pleasant light inside, and their fragrance is reminding him of home; vanilla, maybe? He’s not sure. Still wondering, he approaches the radiator and places the boots beneath it.
As he straightens up, he feels hugged from behind.
“Her - Hermione?”
Two hands are weaving their way up his chest, finding the zipper of his ski outfit and slowly unzipping it.
“Is this --?”
“My turn to play.”
Fred turns on his heels and faces Hermione, who smiles invitingly and continues the unzipping. She’s wearing a short bathrobe and she smells of almonds.
“Do you like my new lotion?” she quizzes Fred, finally making it to the end of the zipper and helping him get out of it.
“Hermione, what’s this?”
She tilts her head. “This? My retort to failing at ski lessons, I guess.”
“Oh.” Fred is genuinely surprised, but he doesn’t have the time to fully express it. Rising on tiptoes, Hermione knots her arms around his neck and kisses him gently, brushing her tongue upon his lips, first the upper, then the lower. Shuddering with pleasure, Fred opens his mouth, and his own tongue meets hers; they engage in a muffled wrestle that becomes more and more passionate.
“You -“ manages Hermione between two kisses, “-had to come in wearing this, right?”
“Well, I had to remind you what you’re missing.”
Yet Fred’s certainly not missing the opportunity; or wasting any time. With deft fingers, he unlaces Hermione’s bathrobe, making an approving sound when it reveals the silk lingerie underneath. Rippling in fading green hues, the teddy seems tailored to hug and emphasize the curves of her breasts and hips.
“If this is what I get for trying to teach you how to ski,” Fred says, catching his breath, “what would I get for paragliding?”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, however, but buries his face in Hermione’s cleavage; sighing, he pushes her gently toward the bathroom wall. She helps him with taking the rest of his clothes off - while their movements are urgent, they bear a touch of tenderness as well. Finally naked, his desire made clear as daylight by the throbbing erection touching Hermione’s lower belly, Fred eases her out of her appealing outfit.
There’s nothing more glorious, he thinks.
Her answer is a ginger tug, and there they are, their bodies quickening and molding into each other against the wall; soon enough one can’t tell if the blur is caused by steam or by the passion between them .
“If you think that was fun, just wait until tonight.”
Hermione rolls over slowly, leaning on an elbow. Her eyes travel from Fred’s mischievous face to the length of his chest, still covered in a film of sweat. They’re lying on their bed, pretty much exhausted after their bathroom quest.
“What happens tonight, darling?” she asks, bracing herself.
“Ah well. Remember paragliding?”
Whatever that means, thinks Hermione, and they both suffuse in a shared laugh.