Fic: A Different Kind Of Magic
Title: A Different Kind Of Magic
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Uh. Harry and Hermione have sex.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: Many thanks to my faithful beta, aome. If you're looking for a story with a plot, you've come to the wrong place *g*
“Hermione.”
He says her name in a soft, low tone that is more of a growl than anything else. Harry is surprised he’s able to utter anything at all, given that Hermione is currently on her knees in front of him, his dick in her mouth. He’d barely stepped out of the fireplace before Hermione had pounced on him, kissing him furiously as she’d pushed him against the wall. Her fingers had made short work of his belt and trousers, and at this particular moment in time, her mouth - so well known for spouting some random, obscure fact that nine-tenths of the wizarding population wouldn’t know if their lives depended on it - is working a very different kind of magic on him.
She looks up at him as her lips move back and forth sensuously over his sensitive skin, and their eyes meet. Harry has to concentrate hard not to come on the spot, but he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. Hermione drives him insane every single time she does this; she knows exactly how to bring him to the edge and push him back again until she’s ready. Harry Potter, one of the most powerful and well-known wizards on the planet, is regularly reduced to submitting to the whims of the woman he’s known ever since his life truly began, and he loves it.
She keeps going, back and forth, back and forth, her hands touching him everywhere and anywhere, until the familiar sensation starts to take hold of him. His hips thrust unconsciously and Hermione stops suddenly, rising to her feet before Harry is done, and he lets out a frustrated groan. “No,” he breathes.
She laughs and wraps her hand around him, squeezing gently. “We’re far from done yet, my love,” she says, her voice full of promise. “But I can’t wait any longer. I want you inside me. Here. Now.”
Harry has no intention of refusing her anything. He kisses her hard, sliding his tongue into her mouth and curling it around hers as he walks her backwards towards the couch behind her. The short journey is awkward, given his trousers and boxers are bunched around his thighs, but they manage to get there, in between kisses and laughter. Harry is glad Hermione is wearing a dress today because he doesn’t have the patience or the concentration to undress her with either his hands or his magic. He pushes her dress up above her hips and then turns her around, so her back is to him. He slides his hands up under her dress, caressing the soft, warm skin underneath, while he trails kisses over her neck and shoulder. She’s moaning softly now; Harry’s touch always turns her on in a way she never thought possible.
“Enough,” he rasps, bending her over. Hermione braces herself against the couch as Harry pulls her knickers down just far enough to slide inside her with one slow, smooth stroke. Her eyes close as he begins to move in and out of her, his hands on her hips. She pushes back against him, the feel of him inside her enough to build her orgasm until she cries out, her body trembling as Harry pushes into her and holds her against him. He laughs delightedly at just how quickly she comes, and leans over to kiss the back of her neck. Hermione smiles as she helps him reach his own climax, and then they slide to the floor, their legs no longer able to support them.
They cuddle up together, their clothes in a state of entire disarray, their hair messed up from wandering hands and their lips feeling swollen from their kisses. Hermione runs her fingers over Harry’s lips and he kisses them repeatedly. Sometimes Hermione enjoys this more than the actual sex, this act of closeness where their inhibitions are gone. There’s no need for shyness or uncertainty; it’s just the two of them at their most raw, most exposed, yet safe in the knowledge than nobody loves them more than the other. This is it, for both of them. They are the loves of each other’s lives.
“Somebody must have had a good day.” Harry finally breaks the silence, his fingers toying with Hermione’s as he kisses her forehead.
She gives him a small smile. “Actually, I had an awful day. The only thing that made it bearable was coming home to you.”
Harry brings his other hand up to her face, raising her chin, and leans in to kiss her. It starts off slowly, gently, but soon changes into something deeper. Hermione takes this comfort from him, lets him kiss her troubles away. When he finally releases her, he disentangles himself and manages to get to his feet, pulling his boxers and trousers up before holding out his hands to her. She takes them, pulls her knickers up and pushes her dress down, then pats her hair down in a vain attempt to smooth it out.
Harry takes her hand and leads her around to the other side of the couch so they can sit down comfortably, and she settles in his embrace without hesitation. “Tell me.” With these two simple words, Hermione spills her heart out and he listens, making the appropriate sympathetic noises. Once she is done, she is no longer angry or upset, just exhausted and sated. They talk a bit more, discuss Harry’s day and the current criminal he is pursuing, and then there is the comfortable silence between two people who don’t always need to talk to express their feelings.
“Why don’t we go out for dinner somewhere? Anywhere you want.”
Hermione ponders Harry’s offer, because she does enjoy going out to nice restaurants with good food and wine, but she’s not really in the mood to be around other people. “You’re sweet to offer, but I’d rather stay in, if it’s all the same.”
His arms tighten around her a little and he kisses the crown of her head. “Fine with me. We can owl in something instead.”
A few minutes pass, and then Hermione pulls away from Harry reluctantly and stands, stretching her arms above her head. “I think I might take a shower before dinner and get my pyjamas on.”
Harry raises his eyebrows and smirks. “Need someone to wash your back?”
Hermione’s lips curve into a smile that she tries to hide. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says airily. “I think I’m old enough to be able to wash myself.”
“Of course you are,” Harry retorts, getting up off the couch. “But it’s much more fun when I help.”
She doesn’t bother to respond, instead leading him willingly into the main bathroom of their house. It’s enormous, with two showers - one inside, and one outside in an enclosed, private area. Sometimes in the summer they shower outside, but right now it’s too cold to do so. Hermione turns the water on and starts to strip, pulling her dress over her head, and gasps as Harry helps, undoing the clip of her bra and letting it drop unceremoniously to the tiled floor. He cups her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples, which harden instantly under his touch. Hermione forgets to breathe when he leans over and replaces his thumbs with his mouth, his tongue swirling around one nipple, then the other. He sucks on them both as he pulls her a little bit closer, and then lets her go so he can undress.
Hermione steps into the shower, the heat of the water feeling so damn good on her bare skin. Closing her eyes, she gets right under the stream, wetting her hair and letting the water flow down her body. Harry’s arms are suddenly around her, hugging her to him. She opens her eyes and wraps her arms around his neck. He’s squinting a bit because he’s taken off his glasses, and he looks so utterly adorable that Hermione tells him to close his eyes. He complies without question and she leans up to kiss him. The feel of his lips against hers has the same effect it always does; she feels safe, and secure in the knowledge that Harry loves her completely and without boundaries. He makes her feel cherished.
They do no more than kiss in the shower, because they enjoy kissing a lot, and true to his word Harry washes her back and her front. Hermione reciprocates, as she feels it’s only fair, and once they finally get out, they dry each other and put on some pyjamas -- Hermione wears one of Harry’s pyjama tops, and he gets the bottoms.
After settling on dinner, Hermione writes the order and Harry places it and enough money to cover it in a small velvet pouch. He then attaches it to their owl, Achilles, who flies out the window. Once Achilles is back with their order, they sit in front of their Muggle television and watch a few programs as they eat, and as the night wears on, Hermione finds herself tired enough to want to go to bed.
Harry follows her, and after they go through their nightly routine, they settle into the large bed they bought when they moved in together. They instinctively reach for each other, and Hermione rests her head on Harry’s chest. She can hear his heart beating, strong and steady, and it makes her think of all the times Voldemort tried to make Harry’s heart stop forever all those years ago. She’s so glad that bastard is dead, because she can’t imagine what her life would be like without Harry in it.
Hermione raises her head in the dark, even though Harry can’t see her. “I love you, Harry,” she says in a voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper.
His hand comes up to caress her cheek. “I love you too, Hermione,” he replies, lifting his head up. She meets his kiss halfway. “Go to sleep, love. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
But she already does, because she is here with Harry.
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Uh. Harry and Hermione have sex.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: Many thanks to my faithful beta, aome. If you're looking for a story with a plot, you've come to the wrong place *g*
“Hermione.”
He says her name in a soft, low tone that is more of a growl than anything else. Harry is surprised he’s able to utter anything at all, given that Hermione is currently on her knees in front of him, his dick in her mouth. He’d barely stepped out of the fireplace before Hermione had pounced on him, kissing him furiously as she’d pushed him against the wall. Her fingers had made short work of his belt and trousers, and at this particular moment in time, her mouth - so well known for spouting some random, obscure fact that nine-tenths of the wizarding population wouldn’t know if their lives depended on it - is working a very different kind of magic on him.
She looks up at him as her lips move back and forth sensuously over his sensitive skin, and their eyes meet. Harry has to concentrate hard not to come on the spot, but he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. Hermione drives him insane every single time she does this; she knows exactly how to bring him to the edge and push him back again until she’s ready. Harry Potter, one of the most powerful and well-known wizards on the planet, is regularly reduced to submitting to the whims of the woman he’s known ever since his life truly began, and he loves it.
She keeps going, back and forth, back and forth, her hands touching him everywhere and anywhere, until the familiar sensation starts to take hold of him. His hips thrust unconsciously and Hermione stops suddenly, rising to her feet before Harry is done, and he lets out a frustrated groan. “No,” he breathes.
She laughs and wraps her hand around him, squeezing gently. “We’re far from done yet, my love,” she says, her voice full of promise. “But I can’t wait any longer. I want you inside me. Here. Now.”
Harry has no intention of refusing her anything. He kisses her hard, sliding his tongue into her mouth and curling it around hers as he walks her backwards towards the couch behind her. The short journey is awkward, given his trousers and boxers are bunched around his thighs, but they manage to get there, in between kisses and laughter. Harry is glad Hermione is wearing a dress today because he doesn’t have the patience or the concentration to undress her with either his hands or his magic. He pushes her dress up above her hips and then turns her around, so her back is to him. He slides his hands up under her dress, caressing the soft, warm skin underneath, while he trails kisses over her neck and shoulder. She’s moaning softly now; Harry’s touch always turns her on in a way she never thought possible.
“Enough,” he rasps, bending her over. Hermione braces herself against the couch as Harry pulls her knickers down just far enough to slide inside her with one slow, smooth stroke. Her eyes close as he begins to move in and out of her, his hands on her hips. She pushes back against him, the feel of him inside her enough to build her orgasm until she cries out, her body trembling as Harry pushes into her and holds her against him. He laughs delightedly at just how quickly she comes, and leans over to kiss the back of her neck. Hermione smiles as she helps him reach his own climax, and then they slide to the floor, their legs no longer able to support them.
They cuddle up together, their clothes in a state of entire disarray, their hair messed up from wandering hands and their lips feeling swollen from their kisses. Hermione runs her fingers over Harry’s lips and he kisses them repeatedly. Sometimes Hermione enjoys this more than the actual sex, this act of closeness where their inhibitions are gone. There’s no need for shyness or uncertainty; it’s just the two of them at their most raw, most exposed, yet safe in the knowledge than nobody loves them more than the other. This is it, for both of them. They are the loves of each other’s lives.
“Somebody must have had a good day.” Harry finally breaks the silence, his fingers toying with Hermione’s as he kisses her forehead.
She gives him a small smile. “Actually, I had an awful day. The only thing that made it bearable was coming home to you.”
Harry brings his other hand up to her face, raising her chin, and leans in to kiss her. It starts off slowly, gently, but soon changes into something deeper. Hermione takes this comfort from him, lets him kiss her troubles away. When he finally releases her, he disentangles himself and manages to get to his feet, pulling his boxers and trousers up before holding out his hands to her. She takes them, pulls her knickers up and pushes her dress down, then pats her hair down in a vain attempt to smooth it out.
Harry takes her hand and leads her around to the other side of the couch so they can sit down comfortably, and she settles in his embrace without hesitation. “Tell me.” With these two simple words, Hermione spills her heart out and he listens, making the appropriate sympathetic noises. Once she is done, she is no longer angry or upset, just exhausted and sated. They talk a bit more, discuss Harry’s day and the current criminal he is pursuing, and then there is the comfortable silence between two people who don’t always need to talk to express their feelings.
“Why don’t we go out for dinner somewhere? Anywhere you want.”
Hermione ponders Harry’s offer, because she does enjoy going out to nice restaurants with good food and wine, but she’s not really in the mood to be around other people. “You’re sweet to offer, but I’d rather stay in, if it’s all the same.”
His arms tighten around her a little and he kisses the crown of her head. “Fine with me. We can owl in something instead.”
A few minutes pass, and then Hermione pulls away from Harry reluctantly and stands, stretching her arms above her head. “I think I might take a shower before dinner and get my pyjamas on.”
Harry raises his eyebrows and smirks. “Need someone to wash your back?”
Hermione’s lips curve into a smile that she tries to hide. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says airily. “I think I’m old enough to be able to wash myself.”
“Of course you are,” Harry retorts, getting up off the couch. “But it’s much more fun when I help.”
She doesn’t bother to respond, instead leading him willingly into the main bathroom of their house. It’s enormous, with two showers - one inside, and one outside in an enclosed, private area. Sometimes in the summer they shower outside, but right now it’s too cold to do so. Hermione turns the water on and starts to strip, pulling her dress over her head, and gasps as Harry helps, undoing the clip of her bra and letting it drop unceremoniously to the tiled floor. He cups her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples, which harden instantly under his touch. Hermione forgets to breathe when he leans over and replaces his thumbs with his mouth, his tongue swirling around one nipple, then the other. He sucks on them both as he pulls her a little bit closer, and then lets her go so he can undress.
Hermione steps into the shower, the heat of the water feeling so damn good on her bare skin. Closing her eyes, she gets right under the stream, wetting her hair and letting the water flow down her body. Harry’s arms are suddenly around her, hugging her to him. She opens her eyes and wraps her arms around his neck. He’s squinting a bit because he’s taken off his glasses, and he looks so utterly adorable that Hermione tells him to close his eyes. He complies without question and she leans up to kiss him. The feel of his lips against hers has the same effect it always does; she feels safe, and secure in the knowledge that Harry loves her completely and without boundaries. He makes her feel cherished.
They do no more than kiss in the shower, because they enjoy kissing a lot, and true to his word Harry washes her back and her front. Hermione reciprocates, as she feels it’s only fair, and once they finally get out, they dry each other and put on some pyjamas -- Hermione wears one of Harry’s pyjama tops, and he gets the bottoms.
After settling on dinner, Hermione writes the order and Harry places it and enough money to cover it in a small velvet pouch. He then attaches it to their owl, Achilles, who flies out the window. Once Achilles is back with their order, they sit in front of their Muggle television and watch a few programs as they eat, and as the night wears on, Hermione finds herself tired enough to want to go to bed.
Harry follows her, and after they go through their nightly routine, they settle into the large bed they bought when they moved in together. They instinctively reach for each other, and Hermione rests her head on Harry’s chest. She can hear his heart beating, strong and steady, and it makes her think of all the times Voldemort tried to make Harry’s heart stop forever all those years ago. She’s so glad that bastard is dead, because she can’t imagine what her life would be like without Harry in it.
Hermione raises her head in the dark, even though Harry can’t see her. “I love you, Harry,” she says in a voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper.
His hand comes up to caress her cheek. “I love you too, Hermione,” he replies, lifting his head up. She meets his kiss halfway. “Go to sleep, love. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
But she already does, because she is here with Harry.