NEW FIC: "Cranberry Vodka", R/Hr, NC-17, Part 1/2
Title: Cranberry Vodka (Part One of Two)
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17. Very much so.
Warnings: Erm… teenage humour, alcohol consumption, bar brawling, and lots more jolly good fun most definitely including sex against an alley wall. Oh, and if you don’t like the idea of a woman ’getting pleased’, you won’t like this. And boo on you, frankly.
Word Count: 5072
Feedback: Is my Mr Tibbles, baby.
Summary: ‘"Ron," Sometimes, she once said, she liked to just say his name. "Ron."
"Hermione," he breathed into her neck, half to make her tickle and half to make her moan like that. She just smelt so good, and her skin always tasted so good; so he did, licking out at the curve of her collarbone. Fresh and clean and musky, but more dirty tonight, more salty and he loved it.’
A/N: bennmorland requested R/Hr with the general idea of a muggle date - but I’m afraid I was rather liberal with it. It’s more of a dirty, sexy post-war release fic, with dressing up and going to a bar as my version of a date. Heh. Apologies for the lateness (ill Figgy is incapable of writing porn!). This story beat me ‘round the head and refused to be anything like a normal-lengthed ficlet.
Dedications: For dear silly yet lovely bennmorland, and thanks to the unfailingly cool agentcabanas for the incisive beta - you saved this fic from being eaten alive by commas! Also, I’d like to thank my beautiful friend josephalus for some initial suggestions, and to offer the hand of reconciliation. It’s been a stressful few weeks for both of us, hasn’t it?
*
Ron Weasley groaned as he came, thrusting one last time into Hermione Granger's sinful mouth. Collapsing back onto the cool sheets, trying to catch his breath, he nevertheless picked his head up to look down at her pulling away gently and tossing her hair out of her face, throat working in a swallow. God. He could never miss that part.
Eyes hooded, she grinned at him and slid along him up the bed into his grateful arms. Their skin was oversensitive and sweaty together. She always smelt so good like this and her hair was always at its craziest. Spying a white drop still left on the corner of her perfect mouth, he leaned in and licked it off, tasting himself, then licked his way into her mouth and tasted himself some more for a good, long moment.
Quite about ready for a little nap after their little tryst, Ron yelped as Hermione pinched him hard on his arse. "Hey! If you want another go around love, you should just say!"
She laughed, loud and carefree, and suddenly he had a lapful of naked Hermione, sitting on his thighs. Hmm, she could be onto something here. "Maybe not just yet, but I'll keep it in mind for later. What I meant was - it's only six! You can't go to sleep this early."
"Says who?" Ron moaned woefully at the loss of his lapful as Hermione climbed off and picked herself out of bed. "Nooo..." He groped blindly, got a nice handful and a playful slap for his trouble.
"Says me!," Hermione called from their bathroom, the faint sound of water running, "We've got plans."
He grumbled half-heartedly and stretched naked and luxuriously on the soft, cool bed. "Oh have we, little miss - ARRGH!"
Shrieking most manfully from the splash of ice-cold water that sent him tumbling onto the floor, Ron panted and met Hermione down there, laughing so hard she was curled into a little naked ball. Her laughter turned into a high-pitched scream as she ran out of the door, Ron growling and hot on her heels, and many shrieks, laughs, and yells of triumph were heard by their flat neighbours soon after.
*
Two showers and a quickie later, Ron was standing in his boxers and staring at his wardrobe after being instructed to ‘look sexier than you normally do’. Well. Where do you go from there? He grinned widely, liking the confidence that early twenties seemed to bring, and picked out black jeans and a dark red long sleeved t-shirt that Hermione seemed to like. Pulling them on along with his boots, he appraised himself in a full-length mirror at the other side of the bedroom.
Not too shabby. He stretched up to his full height, liking the way the shirt stretched across his shoulders and tapered down to his waist. He was still a bit skinny, but Hermione said she liked it, so what else mattered? He fished out a bottle of gel from the nightstand drawer, among massage oils and lubricant and other things that still made his ears go pink. He unscrewed the bottle, dipped his fingers in and spiked his hair a bit with a shy amount. His hair was a bit darker now and shaggier without his mum to rein it in. Though he chortled at the idea of having hair like Bill’s, he had to admit he did like the way Hermione found it easier to twine her fingers in and grip.
Down boy.
A wolf whistle coming from the doorway made him spin around; Hermione was leaning against the doorframe, looking adorably fetching in a bathrobe and hair still damp. And staring it at him rather appreciatively.
The insecure boy inside him, coincidentally wearing maroon velvet dress robes with lace cuffs, did a victory dance. Me me, the clever pretty girl noticed meee… “Oh, is that how it is?”
“Yes, it is.” she grinned back, walking, prowling more like, up to him and giving him the once-over. “Just needs one more thing for where we‘re going -” To his surprise and horror, she pulled out a kohl eyeliner pencil from nowhere and tried to convince him into keeping his eyes open while she apparently tried to poke them out. After a few squawks and flails - cut off only when she barked out that it had a safety charm on it and did he want to sleep on the couch for a week? - well, that was a no-brainer, so he puffed out his chest and held still under the bizarre feminising of his face.
Once the torture was over a glance in the mirror told him he might have overreacted. This didn‘t look poncy or like something out of Knockturn, instead it was kind of… intriguing it a stylish way, the black framing his dark blue eyes and bringing out his hair. And Hermione was practically purring. “Very satisfactory, Mr. Weasley.” A slow kiss.
“Do I get a point for Gryffindor, Professor?” Strange how eagerly he wanted one.
“You get ten.” A pinch to the arse made him jump. “Made that a hundred.”
Heh. He was in and he knew it. Now all he had to do was take off the outfit -
“Now go and busy yourself, you’re in the way of the mirror and I need to look somewhere near respectable on your arm.”
What?! “But I thought - and what’s that bollocks, you always look fantastic -”
That earned him another kiss and a glowing smile, but dammit, that wasn’t enough. And now he had been shoved out of the way in favour of a mascara stick. Huh. He supposed that if she was that hell bent on getting prettied up for him, he’d have to stick around for a bit.
What seemed like hours later, Ron launched himself on to the bed, crashing about on it for awhile. Bored. Bored bored bored. He’d never had Hermione pegged as someone who spent ages in the mirror but she was apparently bent on proving him wrong. Fair play to the girl, she very rarely did this, in fact the first time was a few months back for that party Fred and George threw all over Hogsmeade. His stupid mouth had blurted out the first thing that popped into his brain as he’d watched her putting on makeup.
“I didn’t even know you owned any.”
But she’d just arched her eyebrow at him, and muttered wryly, “You’re treading a very thin line there, Weasley.”
Ron grinned now as he remembered, later on that night, her revenge: daring him to grab his Cleansweep and fly around the entire village starkers. Fortunately he’d ‘confiscated’ the pictures off Creevey - though the whole fiasco was still a running joke that he doubted he’d ever live down.
Contrary to popular belief, Hermione knew how to have some serious fun when she wanted to. And now was certainly the time for it, as the celebratory weeks turned into months after the Man Who Kicked Some Ruddy Tail (otherwise known as Harry, but the Daily Prophet and the rest of the Wizarding World had taken Ron’s drunken affections to heart) ended the war in the we-really-mean-it-this-time way that sent the darkest wizard of all time shrivelling up into himself in the middle of Godric’s Hollow. Ron had seen it with his own eyes, been right beside Harry when it had happened, and so had Hermione, and they’d lugged Harry's unconscious body off the battleground together.
Ron had finally gotten his childhood dream - he now was recognised beyond being a Weasley and Potter’s best mate, but hailed as a hero, if not as much as Harry. He’d also had the more important experience of realising what he’d absently known all along: that his and his loved ones’ happiness and the courage to stay true to what he believed in meant so much more to him than the naïve vision he saw in a dusty mirror when he was young and insecure.
Still, the streams of job offers were nice and the Order of Merlin (First Class) ceremony for Harry, Hermione and himself had been touching, particularly how his mother had cried. But the best thing about the Merlins and the pathetically grateful Ministry was the gift Galleon sachet that came with it, and what that meant for the trio. Settling down? Getting responsible? A house, a family carpet, a stuffy job at the Ministry? Nah.
They were having the fucking time of their lives together. They'd had school, they'd had war, they'd had blood and death, fear and destruction, revenge and grief. Harry had taken to it like the post-war relief it was, and Ginny was probably with him right now helping, not that Ron liked to think about that in detail. But all joking aside, it was about time they had some pure teenage fun.
Sure they'd get proper jobs sometime; perhaps an Auror, or even a world-class Quidditch Keeper, Ron mused cockily. Hermione would probably take over the Ministry within a year and beat their sorry arses back into shape. Ron grinned at the image, his cock giving an interested twitch. Definitely put that in his Spank Bank for later.
“There,” Hermione pulled back from the mirror, examining her reflection. “What do you think?”
Ron looked, stared, then stood up quickly and stared some more. “Whoa,” He said intelligently, his voice rather hoarse owing to the tightness in his chest, throat and... other areas.
Hermione’s hair was a crazy sexy mess pilled up high on her head, with dark smudged eyes and lips that looked like she’d been snogging for hours. And she was wearing this dress. A dress of some awfully pretty dark green colour, that showed off a tiny glimpse of shapely thigh, her gorgeous generous chest and pulled in around the waist to flatter her hourglass figure.
The pretty green fabric was soft to the touch too, especially where it clung to her waist, he found. And the neckline was perfect for a bit of cleavage spying. Damn, it was good to be tall.
“You like, then?” she asked, her voice amused but a bit breathless under his scrutiny.
“I like,” Her wrists were slim and cool through the long sleeves. “Oh I like.” So were her shoulders and back and - “Mmm. Sure you want to go out?”
A little moan went into his chest as she slumped against him, making him crow with victory in his head. But then she snapped herself upright and fixed him with a glare. “Yes I do! I’ve made plans, so don’t try to distract me!”
“But I’m so good at it.”
They both laughed.
“Be that as it may, I’m going to go out to some Muggle bars and I plan on getting smashed. If you want to be boring, stay here and have a wank, but don’t wait up for me.” Her chocolate eyes glinted teasingly.
Still, the woman had a point. “Drinking time, don’t you think?”
*
“So, it’s just beer, then? No butter at all?”
“No, Ron.” She smiled in that way that told him he was being a bit daft somehow. He raised a hand to catch the bartender's eye, but it was promptly slapped away. “And you’re not having beer anyway, silly. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to mix your drinks?”
He probably shouldn’t like it so much when she did that, he thought idly, rubbing his offended hand. “Well, yeah - but I didn’t know I was to be mixing my drinks, did I? What am I supposed to be drinking, Miss High and Mighty?”
Her little nose shot into the air. “Well, if you want to be all boring and have that disgusting swill, be my guest -”
“No, no - alright, let’s hear it then. You have my undivided attention.” He did his best impression of her, blinking earnestly at and chewing on his bottom lip like she used to do back in school.
Her mouth twitched. “Weell, I was wondering - you know all these exotics things they can make?” She had somehow gotten hold of a shiny drinks menu and was running her fingers rapidly down the column of bizarre names. “They do all sorts of alcohol, do you know, Muggles? Way more than I knew about, other than the basic spirits mum and dad keep for special occasions, not just fire whiskey and rum and that disgusting mead wizards do, and they have so many flavours, and colours! They seem so pretty and interesting, but it’s very strong percentage - you see, here, the little number? Much more than butterbeer, though that pub crawl ‘round Diagon Alley with Harry was fun, I was thinking it might be rather interesting, because you’re always great handling alcohol, and I’m not as weak as Harry, so I -”
With Ron’s hand clapped over her mouth her babbling was effectively cut off. “Mmph!”
Ron grinned into her scowling face. “Sorry love, but you can keep that up all night if I let you, and then where will we be? Not pleasantly sozzled like you were planning. Which, by the way, I think is a mighty fine idea.” He flipped the menu over one-handed. “How about this ‘Banquet Bonanza’ deal - look, it’s got everything in shots - bloody hell, they look cool - ow!” She had bit his hand. He quickly got out of the line of fire.
“Yes, Ronald if you’d let me, I was just about to get to that, so what are you waiting for?” She wrapped her knuckles on the bar and called for the barman.
“Hi, yes, hello - could I please have this batch right here? Thank you so much, and no ice please, everything straight.” Smiling winningly into the poor bloke’s gazing face, she handed over some of those flimsy bits of parchment. Not long after they’d been expertly served a tray full of sparkling multicoloured liquids. Ron started salivating.
Shooting a private grin at each other, they dived in.
On to Part Two.
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17. Very much so.
Warnings: Erm… teenage humour, alcohol consumption, bar brawling, and lots more jolly good fun most definitely including sex against an alley wall. Oh, and if you don’t like the idea of a woman ’getting pleased’, you won’t like this. And boo on you, frankly.
Word Count: 5072
Feedback: Is my Mr Tibbles, baby.
Summary: ‘"Ron," Sometimes, she once said, she liked to just say his name. "Ron."
"Hermione," he breathed into her neck, half to make her tickle and half to make her moan like that. She just smelt so good, and her skin always tasted so good; so he did, licking out at the curve of her collarbone. Fresh and clean and musky, but more dirty tonight, more salty and he loved it.’
A/N: bennmorland requested R/Hr with the general idea of a muggle date - but I’m afraid I was rather liberal with it. It’s more of a dirty, sexy post-war release fic, with dressing up and going to a bar as my version of a date. Heh. Apologies for the lateness (ill Figgy is incapable of writing porn!). This story beat me ‘round the head and refused to be anything like a normal-lengthed ficlet.
Dedications: For dear silly yet lovely bennmorland, and thanks to the unfailingly cool agentcabanas for the incisive beta - you saved this fic from being eaten alive by commas! Also, I’d like to thank my beautiful friend josephalus for some initial suggestions, and to offer the hand of reconciliation. It’s been a stressful few weeks for both of us, hasn’t it?
*
Ron Weasley groaned as he came, thrusting one last time into Hermione Granger's sinful mouth. Collapsing back onto the cool sheets, trying to catch his breath, he nevertheless picked his head up to look down at her pulling away gently and tossing her hair out of her face, throat working in a swallow. God. He could never miss that part.
Eyes hooded, she grinned at him and slid along him up the bed into his grateful arms. Their skin was oversensitive and sweaty together. She always smelt so good like this and her hair was always at its craziest. Spying a white drop still left on the corner of her perfect mouth, he leaned in and licked it off, tasting himself, then licked his way into her mouth and tasted himself some more for a good, long moment.
Quite about ready for a little nap after their little tryst, Ron yelped as Hermione pinched him hard on his arse. "Hey! If you want another go around love, you should just say!"
She laughed, loud and carefree, and suddenly he had a lapful of naked Hermione, sitting on his thighs. Hmm, she could be onto something here. "Maybe not just yet, but I'll keep it in mind for later. What I meant was - it's only six! You can't go to sleep this early."
"Says who?" Ron moaned woefully at the loss of his lapful as Hermione climbed off and picked herself out of bed. "Nooo..." He groped blindly, got a nice handful and a playful slap for his trouble.
"Says me!," Hermione called from their bathroom, the faint sound of water running, "We've got plans."
He grumbled half-heartedly and stretched naked and luxuriously on the soft, cool bed. "Oh have we, little miss - ARRGH!"
Shrieking most manfully from the splash of ice-cold water that sent him tumbling onto the floor, Ron panted and met Hermione down there, laughing so hard she was curled into a little naked ball. Her laughter turned into a high-pitched scream as she ran out of the door, Ron growling and hot on her heels, and many shrieks, laughs, and yells of triumph were heard by their flat neighbours soon after.
*
Two showers and a quickie later, Ron was standing in his boxers and staring at his wardrobe after being instructed to ‘look sexier than you normally do’. Well. Where do you go from there? He grinned widely, liking the confidence that early twenties seemed to bring, and picked out black jeans and a dark red long sleeved t-shirt that Hermione seemed to like. Pulling them on along with his boots, he appraised himself in a full-length mirror at the other side of the bedroom.
Not too shabby. He stretched up to his full height, liking the way the shirt stretched across his shoulders and tapered down to his waist. He was still a bit skinny, but Hermione said she liked it, so what else mattered? He fished out a bottle of gel from the nightstand drawer, among massage oils and lubricant and other things that still made his ears go pink. He unscrewed the bottle, dipped his fingers in and spiked his hair a bit with a shy amount. His hair was a bit darker now and shaggier without his mum to rein it in. Though he chortled at the idea of having hair like Bill’s, he had to admit he did like the way Hermione found it easier to twine her fingers in and grip.
Down boy.
A wolf whistle coming from the doorway made him spin around; Hermione was leaning against the doorframe, looking adorably fetching in a bathrobe and hair still damp. And staring it at him rather appreciatively.
The insecure boy inside him, coincidentally wearing maroon velvet dress robes with lace cuffs, did a victory dance. Me me, the clever pretty girl noticed meee… “Oh, is that how it is?”
“Yes, it is.” she grinned back, walking, prowling more like, up to him and giving him the once-over. “Just needs one more thing for where we‘re going -” To his surprise and horror, she pulled out a kohl eyeliner pencil from nowhere and tried to convince him into keeping his eyes open while she apparently tried to poke them out. After a few squawks and flails - cut off only when she barked out that it had a safety charm on it and did he want to sleep on the couch for a week? - well, that was a no-brainer, so he puffed out his chest and held still under the bizarre feminising of his face.
Once the torture was over a glance in the mirror told him he might have overreacted. This didn‘t look poncy or like something out of Knockturn, instead it was kind of… intriguing it a stylish way, the black framing his dark blue eyes and bringing out his hair. And Hermione was practically purring. “Very satisfactory, Mr. Weasley.” A slow kiss.
“Do I get a point for Gryffindor, Professor?” Strange how eagerly he wanted one.
“You get ten.” A pinch to the arse made him jump. “Made that a hundred.”
Heh. He was in and he knew it. Now all he had to do was take off the outfit -
“Now go and busy yourself, you’re in the way of the mirror and I need to look somewhere near respectable on your arm.”
What?! “But I thought - and what’s that bollocks, you always look fantastic -”
That earned him another kiss and a glowing smile, but dammit, that wasn’t enough. And now he had been shoved out of the way in favour of a mascara stick. Huh. He supposed that if she was that hell bent on getting prettied up for him, he’d have to stick around for a bit.
What seemed like hours later, Ron launched himself on to the bed, crashing about on it for awhile. Bored. Bored bored bored. He’d never had Hermione pegged as someone who spent ages in the mirror but she was apparently bent on proving him wrong. Fair play to the girl, she very rarely did this, in fact the first time was a few months back for that party Fred and George threw all over Hogsmeade. His stupid mouth had blurted out the first thing that popped into his brain as he’d watched her putting on makeup.
“I didn’t even know you owned any.”
But she’d just arched her eyebrow at him, and muttered wryly, “You’re treading a very thin line there, Weasley.”
Ron grinned now as he remembered, later on that night, her revenge: daring him to grab his Cleansweep and fly around the entire village starkers. Fortunately he’d ‘confiscated’ the pictures off Creevey - though the whole fiasco was still a running joke that he doubted he’d ever live down.
Contrary to popular belief, Hermione knew how to have some serious fun when she wanted to. And now was certainly the time for it, as the celebratory weeks turned into months after the Man Who Kicked Some Ruddy Tail (otherwise known as Harry, but the Daily Prophet and the rest of the Wizarding World had taken Ron’s drunken affections to heart) ended the war in the we-really-mean-it-this-time way that sent the darkest wizard of all time shrivelling up into himself in the middle of Godric’s Hollow. Ron had seen it with his own eyes, been right beside Harry when it had happened, and so had Hermione, and they’d lugged Harry's unconscious body off the battleground together.
Ron had finally gotten his childhood dream - he now was recognised beyond being a Weasley and Potter’s best mate, but hailed as a hero, if not as much as Harry. He’d also had the more important experience of realising what he’d absently known all along: that his and his loved ones’ happiness and the courage to stay true to what he believed in meant so much more to him than the naïve vision he saw in a dusty mirror when he was young and insecure.
Still, the streams of job offers were nice and the Order of Merlin (First Class) ceremony for Harry, Hermione and himself had been touching, particularly how his mother had cried. But the best thing about the Merlins and the pathetically grateful Ministry was the gift Galleon sachet that came with it, and what that meant for the trio. Settling down? Getting responsible? A house, a family carpet, a stuffy job at the Ministry? Nah.
They were having the fucking time of their lives together. They'd had school, they'd had war, they'd had blood and death, fear and destruction, revenge and grief. Harry had taken to it like the post-war relief it was, and Ginny was probably with him right now helping, not that Ron liked to think about that in detail. But all joking aside, it was about time they had some pure teenage fun.
Sure they'd get proper jobs sometime; perhaps an Auror, or even a world-class Quidditch Keeper, Ron mused cockily. Hermione would probably take over the Ministry within a year and beat their sorry arses back into shape. Ron grinned at the image, his cock giving an interested twitch. Definitely put that in his Spank Bank for later.
“There,” Hermione pulled back from the mirror, examining her reflection. “What do you think?”
Ron looked, stared, then stood up quickly and stared some more. “Whoa,” He said intelligently, his voice rather hoarse owing to the tightness in his chest, throat and... other areas.
Hermione’s hair was a crazy sexy mess pilled up high on her head, with dark smudged eyes and lips that looked like she’d been snogging for hours. And she was wearing this dress. A dress of some awfully pretty dark green colour, that showed off a tiny glimpse of shapely thigh, her gorgeous generous chest and pulled in around the waist to flatter her hourglass figure.
The pretty green fabric was soft to the touch too, especially where it clung to her waist, he found. And the neckline was perfect for a bit of cleavage spying. Damn, it was good to be tall.
“You like, then?” she asked, her voice amused but a bit breathless under his scrutiny.
“I like,” Her wrists were slim and cool through the long sleeves. “Oh I like.” So were her shoulders and back and - “Mmm. Sure you want to go out?”
A little moan went into his chest as she slumped against him, making him crow with victory in his head. But then she snapped herself upright and fixed him with a glare. “Yes I do! I’ve made plans, so don’t try to distract me!”
“But I’m so good at it.”
They both laughed.
“Be that as it may, I’m going to go out to some Muggle bars and I plan on getting smashed. If you want to be boring, stay here and have a wank, but don’t wait up for me.” Her chocolate eyes glinted teasingly.
Still, the woman had a point. “Drinking time, don’t you think?”
*
“So, it’s just beer, then? No butter at all?”
“No, Ron.” She smiled in that way that told him he was being a bit daft somehow. He raised a hand to catch the bartender's eye, but it was promptly slapped away. “And you’re not having beer anyway, silly. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to mix your drinks?”
He probably shouldn’t like it so much when she did that, he thought idly, rubbing his offended hand. “Well, yeah - but I didn’t know I was to be mixing my drinks, did I? What am I supposed to be drinking, Miss High and Mighty?”
Her little nose shot into the air. “Well, if you want to be all boring and have that disgusting swill, be my guest -”
“No, no - alright, let’s hear it then. You have my undivided attention.” He did his best impression of her, blinking earnestly at and chewing on his bottom lip like she used to do back in school.
Her mouth twitched. “Weell, I was wondering - you know all these exotics things they can make?” She had somehow gotten hold of a shiny drinks menu and was running her fingers rapidly down the column of bizarre names. “They do all sorts of alcohol, do you know, Muggles? Way more than I knew about, other than the basic spirits mum and dad keep for special occasions, not just fire whiskey and rum and that disgusting mead wizards do, and they have so many flavours, and colours! They seem so pretty and interesting, but it’s very strong percentage - you see, here, the little number? Much more than butterbeer, though that pub crawl ‘round Diagon Alley with Harry was fun, I was thinking it might be rather interesting, because you’re always great handling alcohol, and I’m not as weak as Harry, so I -”
With Ron’s hand clapped over her mouth her babbling was effectively cut off. “Mmph!”
Ron grinned into her scowling face. “Sorry love, but you can keep that up all night if I let you, and then where will we be? Not pleasantly sozzled like you were planning. Which, by the way, I think is a mighty fine idea.” He flipped the menu over one-handed. “How about this ‘Banquet Bonanza’ deal - look, it’s got everything in shots - bloody hell, they look cool - ow!” She had bit his hand. He quickly got out of the line of fire.
“Yes, Ronald if you’d let me, I was just about to get to that, so what are you waiting for?” She wrapped her knuckles on the bar and called for the barman.
“Hi, yes, hello - could I please have this batch right here? Thank you so much, and no ice please, everything straight.” Smiling winningly into the poor bloke’s gazing face, she handed over some of those flimsy bits of parchment. Not long after they’d been expertly served a tray full of sparkling multicoloured liquids. Ron started salivating.
Shooting a private grin at each other, they dived in.
On to Part Two.