Fic: Foolish (Hermione/Bill)
Title: Foolish
Pairing: Bill/Hermione
7spells Prompt #6: The Blind Leading the Blind
Summary: It felt like the first time
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 2050
It felt like the first time.
It didn’t matter that he was thirty-five instead of sixteen, had had several lovers since he was a teenager, and had even been married for a couple of years. He felt like he had the first time except he was possibly more anxious and less youthfully confident tonight than he’d been back when he was younger. He was nervous, excited, awkward, aroused, and somewhat clumsy, the latter of which he found annoying.
Bill was never clumsy in any aspect of his life, and he certainly wasn’t in regards to sex, not even that first time when he’d not known anything compared to what he knew now. But he had fumbled several times during the course of the evening, nearly knocking over his glass of wine and tripping over a gap on the pavement when they’d left the restaurant and a few other things that left him feeling foolish. Hermione either didn’t notice due to her own emotions that seemed to match his or she didn’t mention it for some reason that would probably only make sense to her. Regardless, he noticed and felt rather foolish for acting in such a way.
It had been six weeks since their first kiss. Six weeks in which they hadn’t said a word about the emotions that were evident every time they looked at each other or touched even casually. He wasn’t ready to voice the words that were said every time his gaze moved over her face. He felt them, showed them, and he knew she knew how he felt the same way he recognized them in her smile and the gentle way she brushed her fingers over his face.
If he were completely honest, a part of him was scared to actually say them. He’d only said them once before, to Fleur, and he’d lost her. What if he told Hermione how he felt and lost her? It was stupid, of course, to believe not saying them somehow kept her anymore safe than she was on a normal day but he’d spent his adult life working with curses and breaking many dangerous ones in Egypt. What if somehow he’d brought one upon himself during that time and that’s why everything had been taken from him when life was happy and so promising even amidst a horrible war?
Bill had never been foolish about such things before he’d lost it all. He was frustrated with himself for even thinking such a ridiculous idea much less actually considering it as plausible. He was scared; not of curses and not of her not reciprocating his feelings but of so many other things. There were times that he didn’t benefit from having a logical and analytical mind. They were good traits for a cursebreaker, certainly, but awful for a man who had lost so much and was hesitant to open himself completely to love again.
Hermione hadn’t said the words either, though, so he wasn’t the only one hesitant at voicing something so obvious. He didn’t know her reasons but believed they might be similar to his own. Saying the words didn’t really matter. Their relationship had developed into something more that night. A kiss, a simple chaste kiss pressed against her lips, had changed it all.
They were still friends, still had their routines, but now there was also intimacy. It felt natural to reach over and take her hand, an action that had occurred many times in the months prior to the subtle development of their relationship, yet it was different now. There was an awareness between them, secret smiles that only they shared, a variety of emotions present just from feeling her finger slide across his palm.
His favorite new pastime was kissing Hermione. Bill could happily spend hours holding her against him as they kissed. Lazy kisses, gentle kisses, explorative kisses, kisses that led to his hands drifting over the soft curves of her body, kisses that became more intense and desperate as their bodies rubbed together while they snogged like teenagers. They had taken things slowly in that regard. Six weeks of kissing, touching, and rubbing had led them to tonight. Hands had slipped beneath shorts and knickers only last week, watching each other as they explored new areas until the pleasure had been overwhelming.
Tonight was the night when there would be no clothing in the way, when things wouldn’t stop with kissing and touching, and he was more nervous than he’d been his first time. God, he hoped it went better than that time. He’d only lasted about five minutes and hadn’t known what to do beyond what went where. It hadn’t been very enjoyable for his partner and he’d been so stunned at the knowledge he’d actually had sex with someone other than himself that he’d not even realized she’d not gotten much pleasure at all from the act. What if he bungled up things with Hermione the same way?
It was another foolish worry. He was thirty-five years-old now and knew far more about it all so there wasn’t any need to be so bloody nervous. He didn’t think it arrogant to acknowledge that he was a good lover. He had spent years mastering the subject, after all, and knew how to find out what drove a woman wild. Every woman was different, of course, and each had their own sweet spots. He couldn’t wait to spend languid hours discovering each and every one of Hermione’s and exploring various things to find out what she liked and what positions made her scream.
Six weeks of kissing, touching, and increasing intimacy had him ready for more. He’d wanted her far longer than that, fantasies while he wanked and dreams that left him hard and aching when he woke, and he couldn’t help fearing that he’d not even last five minutes once he was actually finally inside her. At least now he knew ways to make it good for her even if he bollocksed it up by having his body decide that he was twenty years younger. If that happened, maybe he’d benefit from that teenage stamina as well, he decided idly.
They’d never discussed this aspect of their lives but he had a feeling that Ron had been her only lover, which was somewhat weird if he thought about it since it was his kid brother but it was one thing Bill had no interest in thinking about for too long. Hermione wasn’t the type for casual sex or one night stands and he did know she’d not had any other relationships until he’d entered her life. That added a bit more pressure for him to make it good for her.
The entire night, a real date that consisted of dinner and the cinema followed by a romantic carriage ride through the park and lots of kisses beneath the stars, had gone reasonably well despite his nervous apprehension. He hadn’t realized until he’d gone to pick her up that tonight would be the night that they became truly intimate, thankfully, so he’d only had the evening to think and worry and imagine all the possible ways it could go wrong.
Of course, it wasn’t as if something had to happen tonight. They’d not actually declared that they were going to make love tonight and he had no complaints if the evening ended with a good snog on the sofa. He didn’t see that happening, however, as the awareness between them seemed even more intense and he’d barely been able to stop touching her all night. She touched him, too; shy but brave smiles as she kissed his jaw or touched his hair. It had been there every time their glances met over the candlelight at dinner, every time they’d snuggled during the film they’d seen that he couldn’t remember at all as he’d been too distracted by her to pay much attention, and every time they’d kissed and caressed during the carriage ride.
Now they were at her flat and she was making tea. The tension, the good kind, was practically crackling in the air around them, and he hadn’t stopped pacing nervously since she’d gone into the kitchen. He was aroused already and had been most the night since he’d recognized that it was time to take the next step. When she came back into the sitting room with the tray of tea, Bill stopped pacing and looked at her. She was flushed and her lips were wet. She’d been biting her bottom lip, an action she performed every time she was nervous or lost in thought. He rather thought it was a bit of both tonight. She looked up at him and he felt the anxiety slowly slip away.
This was right, he knew instantly. They were right. Even if he came too soon or there was fumbling as they learned what they liked and didn’t like, it would be perfect in its own way.
With that thought in mind, he crossed the room and took the teacup from her. He put it back on the tray and smiled as he ran his knuckles over her cheek. She returned his smile and reached up to pull the cord from his hair. He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers as her fingers brushed through his hair. He would tease her about her hair fetish one day, he knew, and she’d blush and then tease him about his addiction to kissing her. There would be laughter as he pinned her to the bed and kissed her everywhere.
There would also be times when he’d not be able to laugh, when he’d leave bruises on her hips and there would be bites on her breasts. He could see that clearly, too, and it was enough to make him consider pulling back and pushing her away before she was forced to deal with him when he was in those moods. He’d barely been able to stop with just kissing a couple of weeks ago when the moon had been full and had ended up pressing her against the sofa and holding her wrists tightly as she’d rubbed against his leg until his lips had caught her soft cries of release. He’d never hurt her and never force her if she said no, but he worried about those times even more than he worried about ruining tonight by being worse than he had been the first time.
Her touch was soothing as she brushed his hair with her fingers and lightly kissed him. He raised his head and met her gaze, not having the words to express his worries but knowing she could tell what he meant by the way she smiled and pressed closer to let him know it was okay. She accepted him, all of him, good and bad, and that made him love her all the more. When she offered him her hand, looking shy and sexy, nervous and brave, he took it and followed her to the bedroom.
Afterwards, he held her against him as she slept. Their bodies were sticky and the sheets were wet. They’d fumbled together, hands in wrong places and bumped heads and sliding against instead of into and pulled hair and bites on his shoulders that had him growling as he’d managed to last more than five minutes but not much more and her so tight and wet and making the most arousing sounds as he’d moved and she’d moved and they’d moved. They’d touched and explored and managed a second time that had lasted far longer than the first as they learned each other’s bodies and languidly made love without the desperate urgency that had driven the first time, but it was still intense and passionate in a way he somehow knew would always be there between them.
It hadn’t been hours of teasing and begging, hadn’t been overwhelming multiple orgasms for her, hadn’t been free of clumsiness, hadn’t been void of laughter and sheepish smiles, and hadn’t been flawless and ideal in the way of romance books and cinema. He looked down at her and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her face as he smiled and pulled her closer. It hadn’t been any of those things but it had been perfect in its own way.
The End
Previous Parts
1. Loneliness| 2. Routines| 3. Lines| 4. Acceptance| 5. Falling| 6. Foolish| 7. Content|
Pairing: Bill/Hermione
7spells Prompt #6: The Blind Leading the Blind
Summary: It felt like the first time
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 2050
It felt like the first time.
It didn’t matter that he was thirty-five instead of sixteen, had had several lovers since he was a teenager, and had even been married for a couple of years. He felt like he had the first time except he was possibly more anxious and less youthfully confident tonight than he’d been back when he was younger. He was nervous, excited, awkward, aroused, and somewhat clumsy, the latter of which he found annoying.
Bill was never clumsy in any aspect of his life, and he certainly wasn’t in regards to sex, not even that first time when he’d not known anything compared to what he knew now. But he had fumbled several times during the course of the evening, nearly knocking over his glass of wine and tripping over a gap on the pavement when they’d left the restaurant and a few other things that left him feeling foolish. Hermione either didn’t notice due to her own emotions that seemed to match his or she didn’t mention it for some reason that would probably only make sense to her. Regardless, he noticed and felt rather foolish for acting in such a way.
It had been six weeks since their first kiss. Six weeks in which they hadn’t said a word about the emotions that were evident every time they looked at each other or touched even casually. He wasn’t ready to voice the words that were said every time his gaze moved over her face. He felt them, showed them, and he knew she knew how he felt the same way he recognized them in her smile and the gentle way she brushed her fingers over his face.
If he were completely honest, a part of him was scared to actually say them. He’d only said them once before, to Fleur, and he’d lost her. What if he told Hermione how he felt and lost her? It was stupid, of course, to believe not saying them somehow kept her anymore safe than she was on a normal day but he’d spent his adult life working with curses and breaking many dangerous ones in Egypt. What if somehow he’d brought one upon himself during that time and that’s why everything had been taken from him when life was happy and so promising even amidst a horrible war?
Bill had never been foolish about such things before he’d lost it all. He was frustrated with himself for even thinking such a ridiculous idea much less actually considering it as plausible. He was scared; not of curses and not of her not reciprocating his feelings but of so many other things. There were times that he didn’t benefit from having a logical and analytical mind. They were good traits for a cursebreaker, certainly, but awful for a man who had lost so much and was hesitant to open himself completely to love again.
Hermione hadn’t said the words either, though, so he wasn’t the only one hesitant at voicing something so obvious. He didn’t know her reasons but believed they might be similar to his own. Saying the words didn’t really matter. Their relationship had developed into something more that night. A kiss, a simple chaste kiss pressed against her lips, had changed it all.
They were still friends, still had their routines, but now there was also intimacy. It felt natural to reach over and take her hand, an action that had occurred many times in the months prior to the subtle development of their relationship, yet it was different now. There was an awareness between them, secret smiles that only they shared, a variety of emotions present just from feeling her finger slide across his palm.
His favorite new pastime was kissing Hermione. Bill could happily spend hours holding her against him as they kissed. Lazy kisses, gentle kisses, explorative kisses, kisses that led to his hands drifting over the soft curves of her body, kisses that became more intense and desperate as their bodies rubbed together while they snogged like teenagers. They had taken things slowly in that regard. Six weeks of kissing, touching, and rubbing had led them to tonight. Hands had slipped beneath shorts and knickers only last week, watching each other as they explored new areas until the pleasure had been overwhelming.
Tonight was the night when there would be no clothing in the way, when things wouldn’t stop with kissing and touching, and he was more nervous than he’d been his first time. God, he hoped it went better than that time. He’d only lasted about five minutes and hadn’t known what to do beyond what went where. It hadn’t been very enjoyable for his partner and he’d been so stunned at the knowledge he’d actually had sex with someone other than himself that he’d not even realized she’d not gotten much pleasure at all from the act. What if he bungled up things with Hermione the same way?
It was another foolish worry. He was thirty-five years-old now and knew far more about it all so there wasn’t any need to be so bloody nervous. He didn’t think it arrogant to acknowledge that he was a good lover. He had spent years mastering the subject, after all, and knew how to find out what drove a woman wild. Every woman was different, of course, and each had their own sweet spots. He couldn’t wait to spend languid hours discovering each and every one of Hermione’s and exploring various things to find out what she liked and what positions made her scream.
Six weeks of kissing, touching, and increasing intimacy had him ready for more. He’d wanted her far longer than that, fantasies while he wanked and dreams that left him hard and aching when he woke, and he couldn’t help fearing that he’d not even last five minutes once he was actually finally inside her. At least now he knew ways to make it good for her even if he bollocksed it up by having his body decide that he was twenty years younger. If that happened, maybe he’d benefit from that teenage stamina as well, he decided idly.
They’d never discussed this aspect of their lives but he had a feeling that Ron had been her only lover, which was somewhat weird if he thought about it since it was his kid brother but it was one thing Bill had no interest in thinking about for too long. Hermione wasn’t the type for casual sex or one night stands and he did know she’d not had any other relationships until he’d entered her life. That added a bit more pressure for him to make it good for her.
The entire night, a real date that consisted of dinner and the cinema followed by a romantic carriage ride through the park and lots of kisses beneath the stars, had gone reasonably well despite his nervous apprehension. He hadn’t realized until he’d gone to pick her up that tonight would be the night that they became truly intimate, thankfully, so he’d only had the evening to think and worry and imagine all the possible ways it could go wrong.
Of course, it wasn’t as if something had to happen tonight. They’d not actually declared that they were going to make love tonight and he had no complaints if the evening ended with a good snog on the sofa. He didn’t see that happening, however, as the awareness between them seemed even more intense and he’d barely been able to stop touching her all night. She touched him, too; shy but brave smiles as she kissed his jaw or touched his hair. It had been there every time their glances met over the candlelight at dinner, every time they’d snuggled during the film they’d seen that he couldn’t remember at all as he’d been too distracted by her to pay much attention, and every time they’d kissed and caressed during the carriage ride.
Now they were at her flat and she was making tea. The tension, the good kind, was practically crackling in the air around them, and he hadn’t stopped pacing nervously since she’d gone into the kitchen. He was aroused already and had been most the night since he’d recognized that it was time to take the next step. When she came back into the sitting room with the tray of tea, Bill stopped pacing and looked at her. She was flushed and her lips were wet. She’d been biting her bottom lip, an action she performed every time she was nervous or lost in thought. He rather thought it was a bit of both tonight. She looked up at him and he felt the anxiety slowly slip away.
This was right, he knew instantly. They were right. Even if he came too soon or there was fumbling as they learned what they liked and didn’t like, it would be perfect in its own way.
With that thought in mind, he crossed the room and took the teacup from her. He put it back on the tray and smiled as he ran his knuckles over her cheek. She returned his smile and reached up to pull the cord from his hair. He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers as her fingers brushed through his hair. He would tease her about her hair fetish one day, he knew, and she’d blush and then tease him about his addiction to kissing her. There would be laughter as he pinned her to the bed and kissed her everywhere.
There would also be times when he’d not be able to laugh, when he’d leave bruises on her hips and there would be bites on her breasts. He could see that clearly, too, and it was enough to make him consider pulling back and pushing her away before she was forced to deal with him when he was in those moods. He’d barely been able to stop with just kissing a couple of weeks ago when the moon had been full and had ended up pressing her against the sofa and holding her wrists tightly as she’d rubbed against his leg until his lips had caught her soft cries of release. He’d never hurt her and never force her if she said no, but he worried about those times even more than he worried about ruining tonight by being worse than he had been the first time.
Her touch was soothing as she brushed his hair with her fingers and lightly kissed him. He raised his head and met her gaze, not having the words to express his worries but knowing she could tell what he meant by the way she smiled and pressed closer to let him know it was okay. She accepted him, all of him, good and bad, and that made him love her all the more. When she offered him her hand, looking shy and sexy, nervous and brave, he took it and followed her to the bedroom.
Afterwards, he held her against him as she slept. Their bodies were sticky and the sheets were wet. They’d fumbled together, hands in wrong places and bumped heads and sliding against instead of into and pulled hair and bites on his shoulders that had him growling as he’d managed to last more than five minutes but not much more and her so tight and wet and making the most arousing sounds as he’d moved and she’d moved and they’d moved. They’d touched and explored and managed a second time that had lasted far longer than the first as they learned each other’s bodies and languidly made love without the desperate urgency that had driven the first time, but it was still intense and passionate in a way he somehow knew would always be there between them.
It hadn’t been hours of teasing and begging, hadn’t been overwhelming multiple orgasms for her, hadn’t been free of clumsiness, hadn’t been void of laughter and sheepish smiles, and hadn’t been flawless and ideal in the way of romance books and cinema. He looked down at her and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her face as he smiled and pulled her closer. It hadn’t been any of those things but it had been perfect in its own way.
The End
Previous Parts
1. Loneliness| 2. Routines| 3. Lines| 4. Acceptance| 5. Falling| 6. Foolish| 7. Content|