Fic: The Walls Have Ears
Title: The Walls Have Ears
Rating: Mature
Category: Angsty UST
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Word Count: 844
Summary: Harry listens to things he was never meant to hear.
Notes: I realize this is a bit short, but hey, it's porn, so that should count for something, right? ;)
She must not have realized how thin the walls of their house were.
Sometimes he wished that he hadn't picked the room right next to hers when they had first moved into the nicely-sized home that they shared with Ron.
But that would have meant that Ron might well be in his same position, laying in bed, hearing the distinctly private sounds that seeped through the wall from Hermione's bedroom. And in all honesty, those sounds were something that deep-down, Harry wanted to keep for himself.
After the first time it had happened, he should have found a way to let Hermione know that he could hear her. Delicately, of course. But he hadn't said a word. He could blame his lack of forthrightness on the fact that he knew he wasn't especially tactful, and that if he had in fact said anything, she most likely would have blushed bright red with embarrassment, and that their friendship would have been strained with awkwardness.
Yes. He could have blamed it on that. But he didn't. Because he knew that the only reason he never said anything was because he didn't want it to stop. He didn't want her to stop.
Not that he didn't know that what he did was wrong. But he couldn't seem to help himself. Hearing her muffled moans and gasps as the darkness surrounded him in his bed... It had become almost a ritual for him. He would lie there, letting the sounds wash over him, arousing him as he imagined what she did to herself to elicit those wonderful groans of satisfaction. Did she completely strip herself naked, laying on top of the bed covers as she would stroke her pale skin with her small yet sure hands? Or did she lie under her quilts, fully clothed, moving her hands under her knickers, playing with her wet folds until she came in a quivering mass?
He imagined countless scenarios of his supposedly prim and proper best friend bringing herself off again and again. How she would play with her small breasts, rubbing and tweaking her nipples until they were erect and begging for a mouth to close around them. How she would run her palms over her stomach and thighs, bringing a rosy flush to her skin, as her body began to heat with arousal. How she would rub at her clitoris, eyes closed tight as she moved the fingers of her hands over her pussy, feeling the thick wetness coat her fingers as she writhed against the bed.
He stifled his own moan as his cock swelled in reaction to Hermione's sighs of self-pleasure. As he pushed down his boxers and began to fist his erection, his breath quickened, imagining his calloused hand replaced by her silken heat. He ran his thumb over its already seeping head, fantasizing that it was her tongue, her lips and her breath washing over him.
"Ohhhh… Oh, god!"
Her plaintive wail managed to reach his ears, and he began to stroke himself in earnest, hearing his name on her lips as he thrust into her again and again. The walls would be no barrier to the screams he wanted so desperately at that moment to rip from her throat.
He could see her above him, her body bared, her head thrown back as she would ride him harder and harder. "Yesssss…" he couldn't help but hiss in concert to her own guttural moan that invaded his ears more seductively than he would have thought possible.
His body now taut with lust, he closed his eyes, imagining how complete he would feel to be buried within her, her sweet body wrapped around his. Not for the first time he wondered if such thoughts ever crossed her mind, if she ever pictured him, imagined him as she brought herself to ecstasy in her room, her bed so close to his, her climax followed with his.
He brushed away the doubts that she would never have imagined such a thing, that she filled her fantasies with men other than him. For that moment, he chose to believe that she saw his face, felt his hands, shuddered around his cock, all the while wishing that she cold cry out his name.
He knew that she was close; he had been an unknown observer for far too long to not know. And there it was. Her final throaty moan followed by silence. And with that he let himself reach his own orgasm, his hot sticky climax shaming him even as he had to bite his lip against the pleasure.
After a few moments of trying to still the rapid drumming of his heart, he took deep breaths against the silent blackness that pressed against him. With a muttered charm, he vanished the evidence of his disloyalty. Holding back an oath, he flopped in his bed, trying to find a comfortable position. But he knew that the effort was in vain. Just as he knew that he would fall into a fitful sleep.
But that was what he deserved.
The End.
Rating: Mature
Category: Angsty UST
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Word Count: 844
Summary: Harry listens to things he was never meant to hear.
Notes: I realize this is a bit short, but hey, it's porn, so that should count for something, right? ;)
She must not have realized how thin the walls of their house were.
Sometimes he wished that he hadn't picked the room right next to hers when they had first moved into the nicely-sized home that they shared with Ron.
But that would have meant that Ron might well be in his same position, laying in bed, hearing the distinctly private sounds that seeped through the wall from Hermione's bedroom. And in all honesty, those sounds were something that deep-down, Harry wanted to keep for himself.
After the first time it had happened, he should have found a way to let Hermione know that he could hear her. Delicately, of course. But he hadn't said a word. He could blame his lack of forthrightness on the fact that he knew he wasn't especially tactful, and that if he had in fact said anything, she most likely would have blushed bright red with embarrassment, and that their friendship would have been strained with awkwardness.
Yes. He could have blamed it on that. But he didn't. Because he knew that the only reason he never said anything was because he didn't want it to stop. He didn't want her to stop.
Not that he didn't know that what he did was wrong. But he couldn't seem to help himself. Hearing her muffled moans and gasps as the darkness surrounded him in his bed... It had become almost a ritual for him. He would lie there, letting the sounds wash over him, arousing him as he imagined what she did to herself to elicit those wonderful groans of satisfaction. Did she completely strip herself naked, laying on top of the bed covers as she would stroke her pale skin with her small yet sure hands? Or did she lie under her quilts, fully clothed, moving her hands under her knickers, playing with her wet folds until she came in a quivering mass?
He imagined countless scenarios of his supposedly prim and proper best friend bringing herself off again and again. How she would play with her small breasts, rubbing and tweaking her nipples until they were erect and begging for a mouth to close around them. How she would run her palms over her stomach and thighs, bringing a rosy flush to her skin, as her body began to heat with arousal. How she would rub at her clitoris, eyes closed tight as she moved the fingers of her hands over her pussy, feeling the thick wetness coat her fingers as she writhed against the bed.
He stifled his own moan as his cock swelled in reaction to Hermione's sighs of self-pleasure. As he pushed down his boxers and began to fist his erection, his breath quickened, imagining his calloused hand replaced by her silken heat. He ran his thumb over its already seeping head, fantasizing that it was her tongue, her lips and her breath washing over him.
"Ohhhh… Oh, god!"
Her plaintive wail managed to reach his ears, and he began to stroke himself in earnest, hearing his name on her lips as he thrust into her again and again. The walls would be no barrier to the screams he wanted so desperately at that moment to rip from her throat.
He could see her above him, her body bared, her head thrown back as she would ride him harder and harder. "Yesssss…" he couldn't help but hiss in concert to her own guttural moan that invaded his ears more seductively than he would have thought possible.
His body now taut with lust, he closed his eyes, imagining how complete he would feel to be buried within her, her sweet body wrapped around his. Not for the first time he wondered if such thoughts ever crossed her mind, if she ever pictured him, imagined him as she brought herself to ecstasy in her room, her bed so close to his, her climax followed with his.
He brushed away the doubts that she would never have imagined such a thing, that she filled her fantasies with men other than him. For that moment, he chose to believe that she saw his face, felt his hands, shuddered around his cock, all the while wishing that she cold cry out his name.
He knew that she was close; he had been an unknown observer for far too long to not know. And there it was. Her final throaty moan followed by silence. And with that he let himself reach his own orgasm, his hot sticky climax shaming him even as he had to bite his lip against the pleasure.
After a few moments of trying to still the rapid drumming of his heart, he took deep breaths against the silent blackness that pressed against him. With a muttered charm, he vanished the evidence of his disloyalty. Holding back an oath, he flopped in his bed, trying to find a comfortable position. But he knew that the effort was in vain. Just as he knew that he would fall into a fitful sleep.
But that was what he deserved.
The End.