A Gift for keyflight790: last call, Hannah/Neville
Author: darkhairedgirl
Recipient: keyflight790
Title: last call
Pairing: Hannah/Neville
Rating: R
Word Count: 2518
Summary: Hannah and Neville navigate a late night at the Leaky Cauldron. It goes better than she expected.
Author’s Notes: Many, many thanks to my beautiful beta, S, who took time out of her busy schedule to look this over for me. Happy holidays, keyflight790! I really hope you like it! :o)
“So, you know how Ernie’s getting married?”
Hannah Abbott dims the lights, spells the remaining chairs to tip upwards onto their tables; it’s just after closing and she is the last person left in the Leaky Cauldron - the last person, save for Neville Longbottom.
“What about it?”
“He’s putting the guestlist together, and he wanted to know if I had a date, and when I said no, he asked if I wanted him to set me up with someone.”
“And?”
“I reminded him that the last time he set me up with someone, it was with one of Mandy’s Obliviator coworkers, and I practically had to hex his eyebrows off to get out of there in one piece.”
“Wait, really? What did he do?”
“Well,” she says, “To start with, he was rude to the waiter, and vaguely racist and fully xenophobic all through dinner -”
“Nice,” he snorts, “Always a turn-on.”
“I know, right? And I’m sitting there, listening to him say the absolute worst things about House-Elves, and how he ‘doesn’t usually like a girl with an appetite,’ wondering when I can make a break for it, or if stabbing myself with a fork under the table counts as an emergency, when he leans over the table and tells me - and he is dead serious, mind, absolutely serious when he tells me, ‘this was nice, but if I pay for dessert, I’m going to need a guarantee,’ and Neville - Nev, he took his shoes off under the table, and he kept stroking his feet up and down my calf, and -”
“He didn’t!”
“He did! Never date a Ministry man - it’s far more trouble than it’s worth.”
Neville leans forward against the bar on a groan, head in his hands. “I can’t speak on behalf of all wizards, but please,” he says, “Please, Hannah, tell me that the single witches of the world aren’t that bad.”
Something must flicker across her face as she crosses back behind the bar, because Neville sits upright when he sees the slight change in her expression, offering an embarrassed smile in return. “Luna and I called it off,” he says, his voice tripping lightly over her name like a loose stone on a walkway. “She’s still working on her Ramperstout research and I’m still here, and I’m tired of having a relationship by owl post.”
It takes a moment for Hannah to respond to that; she loves Luna, knows Luna, but knows even more that she is not the selfless, dizzy creature of ethereal light and pixie dust so many seem to take her for. Luna is smart, and Luna is driven, and it isn’t a happy accident Luna has lived on four separate continents in the past five years and hasn’t spent more than a few scattered weeks at a time in the UK since she graduated from Hogwarts.
“Have you told anyone?” she asks, “Is she coming back?” and Neville shrugs again.
“Ginny knows,” he says, “Harry, too, a couple others. I, um - I haven’t really wanted to talk too much about it. She’s still in Latvia, I think - she was there when we talked things out on a fire call. Her thesis advisor keeps sending me owls, though, asking if she’s sent a draft on ahead. I think it’ll be a while before he gets a response.”
A strange beat passes between them. “I’m really sorry,” she says, gently, meaning it, and then: “Let’s have a drink.” Hannah picks out a bottle of tequila from the shelf behind her. “If this is your first real night of singledom, Longbottom, let’s start you off right.”
Hannah gives him a wink as she cuts a lime into wedges and he smiles back; he follows her lead as she licks a spot on her wrist and taps a saltshaker over it, mirroring her as she raises her glass in a silent toast, licks the salt, and then tosses back the shot. He sputters and grimaces at the end and she laughs at him, biting into her lime, and before she knows what’s happened, they’re halfway through the bottle.
“To more time in the greenhouse,” Neville says. He shifts a little on his barstool; his sleeves are rolled up, now, elbows resting on the counter in a way that shows off his forearms. They’re on round four - or five? It’s their fourth round of shots, minimum, she’s sure.
“To a new adventure!” Hannah counters, pouring them both another generous shot.
“Ah, yes, dating,” he deadpans, “I forgot that’s the next great adventure - dating, yes, truly, the last great undiscovered country -”
Hannah snickers and smacks him lightly with the back of her knuckles. Neville catches her by the wrist before she can back away, and he turns it lightly, tracing shapes along the inside of her forearm with his fingertips, driving her to distraction. Hannah feels warm all over - something equal parts alcohol and current company - and she resists the rising urge to unfasten the top buttons of her blouse.
“All right,” she says, shaking her head, trying to bring some sense back into her thinking. “That’s enough for both of us.”
“Why?” Neville keeps on touching her, blunted tips of his fingers curling over the pulse point in her wrist, and Hannah can’t bring herself to pull away. “Aren’t we having a good time?”
Hannah bites her lip, tastes lime and salt. It wouldn’t be a lie to tell him that if she has any more of this tequila, she’s going to slip right past ‘drunk’ and into ‘sick,’ or that she doesn’t want to ruin their friendship if they take this any further. But it also wouldn’t be the whole truth. God, who is she kidding? Hannah is teetering right on the edge of ‘drunk enough for this to be a good idea,’ and she wants - she wants -
“Because if I have one more shot of this,” she tells him, flicking her fingers against the base of the bottle, “I’ll want to take you upstairs and fuck your brains out.”
There’s a moment’s pause before Neville tugs her forward, pulling her so he can meet her halfway across the bar between them, the countertop cutting into her chest as he leans in to kiss her. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until Neville presses his lips against hers; she gasps into his mouth, which he takes as an invitation to deepen the kiss, slipping his free hand into her hair, thumb brushing the skin behind her ear. Hannah pulls away with a whimper, because as much as she doesn’t want to stop kissing him, she isn’t interested in doing this in the middle of the pub.
“Okay,” she manages, licking her lips, laughing as she comes around to the other side of the bar and Neville moves to stand beside her, one hand curving over her hip. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”
It takes them maybe twenty minutes before they make it all the way up the stairs to Hannah’s flat on the top floor. Neville kept kissing her on every landing, pushing her against walls, hands roaming under her shirt, and it was all Hannah could do not to strip off right there on the third - the fourth - the fifth floor, paying guests of the Cauldron be damned. By the time she gets her door unlocked, Neville wastes no time: he presses her against it once it slams shut behind them, kissing her hard, fumbling in his hurry to unfasten his belt, to yank down the zipper on her jeans. Hannah kicks off her shoes, one flying across the room, and is barely out of her pants when Neville presses two fingers over her striped cotton knickers, inhaling sharply when he feels how wet she is, soaking through the fabric.
He’s surprised. She’s surprised, feeling like all the air has been sucked out of her lungs as she shimmies the rest of the way out of her jeans, as Neville tugs her panties down and off - as he slides two fingers easily inside her, strokes the pad of his thumb over her clit.
“F-fuck,” she gasps, her head lolling back against the door. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”
Neville smiles at her, the sly curve of his mouth somehow managing to be both wicked and sheepish at the same time, and kisses under her jaw. “A gorgeous blonde said she wanted to fuck me,” he says, lips moving lower down her neck. “Figured I had to move quick, before she changed her mind.”
“So - just to be clear, we’re staying at the door?” Hannah slides her hand up under his shirt, feels how warm he is. Neville brushes his thumb over her clit again and she clenches around him. She can’t quite focus enough to get her bra off, or get her own shirt unbuttoned. “Can’t even get me into bed?”
“Not yet,” Neville laughs.
He twists his fingers inside her, adding a third, moving against her in slow, sure strokes like he knows what makes her tick, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Hannah gasps again and tips her face forward, panting into his neck, clutching onto his arms. He starts to move faster, applying more pressure, and Hannah can already feel the tension pooling low and hot in her belly.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she manages, moaning into his mouth when he kisses her hard, breathless when they part. “Thought you were going to fuck me, Longbottom, you brought me all the way up here -”
And Neville laughs at that, laughs so she can feel it rumbling all the way through her, and kisses her again to stop her talking. He moves back enough so that she can help him unbutton his shirt, finally getting the belt out of the buckle, his pants around his knees as she summons a condom from her dresser drawer with her wand. Impressive, he murmurs as she drops the wand to the floor, rolling over the rug behind them in a shower of yellow sparks. Hannah tears the packet open with her teeth, Neville sucking in a breath as she strokes his cock, one hand reaching down to cover hers as she rolls the condom on. He kisses her again and lifts her up against the door, holds her there with one strong arm as he lines himself up against her cunt, as he pushes deep inside her. Hannah groans at the feeling and reflexively wraps her legs around him, pinned between Neville and the door as he starts to fuck her hard and fast, one hand buried in his hair, the other scratching at his back, his bicep, his shoulder, digging her nails into whatever she can reach.
“How’s that?” he teases, and when Hannah tugs hard at his hair in response he drops her a little, worry flashing in his eyes when he feels her slip from his grasp. “I’ve got you,” he says then, grabbing her arse to pull her up, shifting her one leg higher over his hip, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. We’re gonna have such a good time, Han - you’re so fucking beautiful, you feel so good -”
“Save the sweet-talk,” she says in his ear, “I’m already fucking you,” and Neville shifts his free hand so that he can stroke his fingers over her clit, making her jolt, her back arching. It’s a literal crime, that Neville Longbottom is this good with his hands.
“Maybe I like sweet-talking,” he murmurs back , tilting her body toward his, dipping his head to nip at her collarbone, the tops of her breasts. She is still wearing a shirt, she realizes from a distance. How is she still wearing a shirt? How are they both still half-dressed? Neville kisses down her throat, rocks his hips into hers, and the way he moves inside her sends rational thought flying right out the window. “All the girls say I’m a sweet guy, you know.”
“A sweet guy!” Hannah echoes on a laugh, all jagged and breathless, teetering on the razor’s edge of her climax, “A real sweetheart, fucking me against the fucking door -”
Neville stops her with another kiss and it’s just what she’s been looking for: he pushes into her faster, deeper, rubs the pads of those thick fingers over her clit until it’s all too much, and Hannah comes with a high, helpless noise, thighs twitching and toes curling as Neville fucks her through it. She slumps a little against him and he bears her weight, groaning into her neck, his own climax just a few sharp thrusts behind her own. Hannah isn’t sure how long they stay there like that, catching their breath, his cock still inside her, before she realizes how ridiculous they must look.
“You,” she tells him, dropping a kiss to his forehead, pushing her fingers through his sweaty hair, “Are damn lucky I didn’t get that doorknob jammed straight into my back.”
“What can I say? I lead a charmed life.” He kisses the hinge of her jaw as he shifts his hips and slides out of her, easing her down to the floor. They’re both standing on shaky legs, and Neville pulls his pants back up before he moves to get rid of the condom. “Meet me in the bed, next. No doorknobs in that, right?”
“Of course,” Hannah scoffs, reaching for her wand. A murmured spell, a quick wave and a jab, and she’s set for her own contraception spell. “I have a strict policy - ‘never sleep with anyone who has a doorknob in their bed.’ Imagine my surprise not everyone feels the same way.”
He disappears for a moment and Hannah pads off into her bedroom, suddenly very glad she managed to tidy up the place before she started her shift yesterday. She’s just put her wand away when Neville comes back, and he’s shaking his head at her, laughing a little under his breath. “No doorknobs, huh? That… must really cut down your options.”
“You’d be surprised,” she teases, “There’s a lot of strange people out there, Neville - you never know what kind of madness you’ll find on your next blind date.”
Neville’s taken off his shirt somewhere between the bathroom and her bed, and he sinks down onto the mattress and reaches for her, pulling down in one smooth motion so that she’s straddling his lap, his hands warm against her skin where they bracket her hips.
“You should just keep sleeping with me, then,” he tells her, popping open the buttons on the blouse she still hasn’t taken off. “No knobs in my bed, I promise - I mean, well, there’d be at least one -”
She kisses him to cut him off, and neither one of them can stop laughing as she does it, neither one can stop smiling. Hannah winds her arms around his neck when they finally part, playing with the hair at the back of his neck.
“Yeah,” she says, and presses her forehead against his. “Yeah, I think I could be alright with that.”
Recipient: keyflight790
Title: last call
Pairing: Hannah/Neville
Rating: R
Word Count: 2518
Summary: Hannah and Neville navigate a late night at the Leaky Cauldron. It goes better than she expected.
Author’s Notes: Many, many thanks to my beautiful beta, S, who took time out of her busy schedule to look this over for me. Happy holidays, keyflight790! I really hope you like it! :o)
“So, you know how Ernie’s getting married?”
Hannah Abbott dims the lights, spells the remaining chairs to tip upwards onto their tables; it’s just after closing and she is the last person left in the Leaky Cauldron - the last person, save for Neville Longbottom.
“What about it?”
“He’s putting the guestlist together, and he wanted to know if I had a date, and when I said no, he asked if I wanted him to set me up with someone.”
“And?”
“I reminded him that the last time he set me up with someone, it was with one of Mandy’s Obliviator coworkers, and I practically had to hex his eyebrows off to get out of there in one piece.”
“Wait, really? What did he do?”
“Well,” she says, “To start with, he was rude to the waiter, and vaguely racist and fully xenophobic all through dinner -”
“Nice,” he snorts, “Always a turn-on.”
“I know, right? And I’m sitting there, listening to him say the absolute worst things about House-Elves, and how he ‘doesn’t usually like a girl with an appetite,’ wondering when I can make a break for it, or if stabbing myself with a fork under the table counts as an emergency, when he leans over the table and tells me - and he is dead serious, mind, absolutely serious when he tells me, ‘this was nice, but if I pay for dessert, I’m going to need a guarantee,’ and Neville - Nev, he took his shoes off under the table, and he kept stroking his feet up and down my calf, and -”
“He didn’t!”
“He did! Never date a Ministry man - it’s far more trouble than it’s worth.”
Neville leans forward against the bar on a groan, head in his hands. “I can’t speak on behalf of all wizards, but please,” he says, “Please, Hannah, tell me that the single witches of the world aren’t that bad.”
Something must flicker across her face as she crosses back behind the bar, because Neville sits upright when he sees the slight change in her expression, offering an embarrassed smile in return. “Luna and I called it off,” he says, his voice tripping lightly over her name like a loose stone on a walkway. “She’s still working on her Ramperstout research and I’m still here, and I’m tired of having a relationship by owl post.”
It takes a moment for Hannah to respond to that; she loves Luna, knows Luna, but knows even more that she is not the selfless, dizzy creature of ethereal light and pixie dust so many seem to take her for. Luna is smart, and Luna is driven, and it isn’t a happy accident Luna has lived on four separate continents in the past five years and hasn’t spent more than a few scattered weeks at a time in the UK since she graduated from Hogwarts.
“Have you told anyone?” she asks, “Is she coming back?” and Neville shrugs again.
“Ginny knows,” he says, “Harry, too, a couple others. I, um - I haven’t really wanted to talk too much about it. She’s still in Latvia, I think - she was there when we talked things out on a fire call. Her thesis advisor keeps sending me owls, though, asking if she’s sent a draft on ahead. I think it’ll be a while before he gets a response.”
A strange beat passes between them. “I’m really sorry,” she says, gently, meaning it, and then: “Let’s have a drink.” Hannah picks out a bottle of tequila from the shelf behind her. “If this is your first real night of singledom, Longbottom, let’s start you off right.”
Hannah gives him a wink as she cuts a lime into wedges and he smiles back; he follows her lead as she licks a spot on her wrist and taps a saltshaker over it, mirroring her as she raises her glass in a silent toast, licks the salt, and then tosses back the shot. He sputters and grimaces at the end and she laughs at him, biting into her lime, and before she knows what’s happened, they’re halfway through the bottle.
“To more time in the greenhouse,” Neville says. He shifts a little on his barstool; his sleeves are rolled up, now, elbows resting on the counter in a way that shows off his forearms. They’re on round four - or five? It’s their fourth round of shots, minimum, she’s sure.
“To a new adventure!” Hannah counters, pouring them both another generous shot.
“Ah, yes, dating,” he deadpans, “I forgot that’s the next great adventure - dating, yes, truly, the last great undiscovered country -”
Hannah snickers and smacks him lightly with the back of her knuckles. Neville catches her by the wrist before she can back away, and he turns it lightly, tracing shapes along the inside of her forearm with his fingertips, driving her to distraction. Hannah feels warm all over - something equal parts alcohol and current company - and she resists the rising urge to unfasten the top buttons of her blouse.
“All right,” she says, shaking her head, trying to bring some sense back into her thinking. “That’s enough for both of us.”
“Why?” Neville keeps on touching her, blunted tips of his fingers curling over the pulse point in her wrist, and Hannah can’t bring herself to pull away. “Aren’t we having a good time?”
Hannah bites her lip, tastes lime and salt. It wouldn’t be a lie to tell him that if she has any more of this tequila, she’s going to slip right past ‘drunk’ and into ‘sick,’ or that she doesn’t want to ruin their friendship if they take this any further. But it also wouldn’t be the whole truth. God, who is she kidding? Hannah is teetering right on the edge of ‘drunk enough for this to be a good idea,’ and she wants - she wants -
“Because if I have one more shot of this,” she tells him, flicking her fingers against the base of the bottle, “I’ll want to take you upstairs and fuck your brains out.”
There’s a moment’s pause before Neville tugs her forward, pulling her so he can meet her halfway across the bar between them, the countertop cutting into her chest as he leans in to kiss her. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until Neville presses his lips against hers; she gasps into his mouth, which he takes as an invitation to deepen the kiss, slipping his free hand into her hair, thumb brushing the skin behind her ear. Hannah pulls away with a whimper, because as much as she doesn’t want to stop kissing him, she isn’t interested in doing this in the middle of the pub.
“Okay,” she manages, licking her lips, laughing as she comes around to the other side of the bar and Neville moves to stand beside her, one hand curving over her hip. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”
It takes them maybe twenty minutes before they make it all the way up the stairs to Hannah’s flat on the top floor. Neville kept kissing her on every landing, pushing her against walls, hands roaming under her shirt, and it was all Hannah could do not to strip off right there on the third - the fourth - the fifth floor, paying guests of the Cauldron be damned. By the time she gets her door unlocked, Neville wastes no time: he presses her against it once it slams shut behind them, kissing her hard, fumbling in his hurry to unfasten his belt, to yank down the zipper on her jeans. Hannah kicks off her shoes, one flying across the room, and is barely out of her pants when Neville presses two fingers over her striped cotton knickers, inhaling sharply when he feels how wet she is, soaking through the fabric.
He’s surprised. She’s surprised, feeling like all the air has been sucked out of her lungs as she shimmies the rest of the way out of her jeans, as Neville tugs her panties down and off - as he slides two fingers easily inside her, strokes the pad of his thumb over her clit.
“F-fuck,” she gasps, her head lolling back against the door. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”
Neville smiles at her, the sly curve of his mouth somehow managing to be both wicked and sheepish at the same time, and kisses under her jaw. “A gorgeous blonde said she wanted to fuck me,” he says, lips moving lower down her neck. “Figured I had to move quick, before she changed her mind.”
“So - just to be clear, we’re staying at the door?” Hannah slides her hand up under his shirt, feels how warm he is. Neville brushes his thumb over her clit again and she clenches around him. She can’t quite focus enough to get her bra off, or get her own shirt unbuttoned. “Can’t even get me into bed?”
“Not yet,” Neville laughs.
He twists his fingers inside her, adding a third, moving against her in slow, sure strokes like he knows what makes her tick, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Hannah gasps again and tips her face forward, panting into his neck, clutching onto his arms. He starts to move faster, applying more pressure, and Hannah can already feel the tension pooling low and hot in her belly.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she manages, moaning into his mouth when he kisses her hard, breathless when they part. “Thought you were going to fuck me, Longbottom, you brought me all the way up here -”
And Neville laughs at that, laughs so she can feel it rumbling all the way through her, and kisses her again to stop her talking. He moves back enough so that she can help him unbutton his shirt, finally getting the belt out of the buckle, his pants around his knees as she summons a condom from her dresser drawer with her wand. Impressive, he murmurs as she drops the wand to the floor, rolling over the rug behind them in a shower of yellow sparks. Hannah tears the packet open with her teeth, Neville sucking in a breath as she strokes his cock, one hand reaching down to cover hers as she rolls the condom on. He kisses her again and lifts her up against the door, holds her there with one strong arm as he lines himself up against her cunt, as he pushes deep inside her. Hannah groans at the feeling and reflexively wraps her legs around him, pinned between Neville and the door as he starts to fuck her hard and fast, one hand buried in his hair, the other scratching at his back, his bicep, his shoulder, digging her nails into whatever she can reach.
“How’s that?” he teases, and when Hannah tugs hard at his hair in response he drops her a little, worry flashing in his eyes when he feels her slip from his grasp. “I’ve got you,” he says then, grabbing her arse to pull her up, shifting her one leg higher over his hip, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. We’re gonna have such a good time, Han - you’re so fucking beautiful, you feel so good -”
“Save the sweet-talk,” she says in his ear, “I’m already fucking you,” and Neville shifts his free hand so that he can stroke his fingers over her clit, making her jolt, her back arching. It’s a literal crime, that Neville Longbottom is this good with his hands.
“Maybe I like sweet-talking,” he murmurs back , tilting her body toward his, dipping his head to nip at her collarbone, the tops of her breasts. She is still wearing a shirt, she realizes from a distance. How is she still wearing a shirt? How are they both still half-dressed? Neville kisses down her throat, rocks his hips into hers, and the way he moves inside her sends rational thought flying right out the window. “All the girls say I’m a sweet guy, you know.”
“A sweet guy!” Hannah echoes on a laugh, all jagged and breathless, teetering on the razor’s edge of her climax, “A real sweetheart, fucking me against the fucking door -”
Neville stops her with another kiss and it’s just what she’s been looking for: he pushes into her faster, deeper, rubs the pads of those thick fingers over her clit until it’s all too much, and Hannah comes with a high, helpless noise, thighs twitching and toes curling as Neville fucks her through it. She slumps a little against him and he bears her weight, groaning into her neck, his own climax just a few sharp thrusts behind her own. Hannah isn’t sure how long they stay there like that, catching their breath, his cock still inside her, before she realizes how ridiculous they must look.
“You,” she tells him, dropping a kiss to his forehead, pushing her fingers through his sweaty hair, “Are damn lucky I didn’t get that doorknob jammed straight into my back.”
“What can I say? I lead a charmed life.” He kisses the hinge of her jaw as he shifts his hips and slides out of her, easing her down to the floor. They’re both standing on shaky legs, and Neville pulls his pants back up before he moves to get rid of the condom. “Meet me in the bed, next. No doorknobs in that, right?”
“Of course,” Hannah scoffs, reaching for her wand. A murmured spell, a quick wave and a jab, and she’s set for her own contraception spell. “I have a strict policy - ‘never sleep with anyone who has a doorknob in their bed.’ Imagine my surprise not everyone feels the same way.”
He disappears for a moment and Hannah pads off into her bedroom, suddenly very glad she managed to tidy up the place before she started her shift yesterday. She’s just put her wand away when Neville comes back, and he’s shaking his head at her, laughing a little under his breath. “No doorknobs, huh? That… must really cut down your options.”
“You’d be surprised,” she teases, “There’s a lot of strange people out there, Neville - you never know what kind of madness you’ll find on your next blind date.”
Neville’s taken off his shirt somewhere between the bathroom and her bed, and he sinks down onto the mattress and reaches for her, pulling down in one smooth motion so that she’s straddling his lap, his hands warm against her skin where they bracket her hips.
“You should just keep sleeping with me, then,” he tells her, popping open the buttons on the blouse she still hasn’t taken off. “No knobs in my bed, I promise - I mean, well, there’d be at least one -”
She kisses him to cut him off, and neither one of them can stop laughing as she does it, neither one can stop smiling. Hannah winds her arms around his neck when they finally part, playing with the hair at the back of his neck.
“Yeah,” she says, and presses her forehead against his. “Yeah, I think I could be alright with that.”