Broken Glass - 1/1 - Adult - Bill/Hermione
Title: Broken Glass (1/1)
Author: silvernatasha
Rating: Adult
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.
Summary: He was a starving man and this is his feast. Bill/Hermione.
A/N: Written for 50_smutlets prompt #05: rough.
Word Count: 912.
He feels more alive now that he has since the death of his wife. When Fleur died, he’d been broken and felt like a shell of who he’s been. They’d been married for two years - spent two years as man and wife, as best friends, as each other’s other half.
Now, though, it’s three years later, and it feels like his blood has finally started to pump again.
It doesn’t just pump, it courses through his veins, red hot like lava. He doesn’t know quite how it started, but it sure as hell isn’t going to stop now.
They’d just been talking. Then, they’d been arguing, this diminutive little witch with a opinionated mouth snarking at him and telling him that he needed to grow up. She’d launched herself at him with a growl, pushing Bill backwards as he pulled her forwards, lips meeting in a harsh, angry kiss as they both fell.
The coffee table breaks, glass and wood on the floor beneath them. Bill hisses against her mouth, but the pain is secondary to the other things that he is feeling. His fingers tangle in her hair and he pushes against her in a momentary lapse of confidence. Her grip is stronger than he expects. They roll and he pins her to the floor, broken glass beneath her back. If she’s hurt, she doesn’t show it, clawing at his shirt to get it off.
A button hits the mantel. Bill forces a knee between her legs, glaring down at her as if accusing her of doing something to him, when he knows perfectly well he’s in charge of himself. Their breathing is hard and, for a moment, there is silence.
The clock chimes midnight.
Hermione’s t-shirt rips as Bill yanks it up over her head. It’s an old Quidditch one which probably belonged to Harry or Ron and that she adopted when it got too old and worn, loving it like it was her own. There’s blood on the back and, as Bill throws it to the side, Hermione make a sound of frustration. Her nails dig into his arms and she forces him over so that he’s on his back. Brown eyes dark with equal parts lust and anger, her fingers rake down his bare chest, over old scars and making Bill’s back arch.
Bill sits up, bringing his lips to hers in hungry kiss. He was a starving man and this is his feast. Hands cup breasts. They pull on her bra; there’s more ripping and then bare skin. Hermione moans against his mouth, Bill drinking in the sound and then following it with a moan of his own as she touches his cock through his worn jeans.
When he releases her from his oral assault, they look at each other and it’s Can’t? Can. Must. Need to.
Hermione falters slightly, even though Bill thinks she’s the one who started all this. She bites her lip and stands, but he can’t let her get away. He can’t let her slip through his fingers when he’s already got her held so tightly. He’s missed so many chances in the past. Scrambling up after her, he pins her to the wall, strong hands gripping her wrists and holding her against the aging wallpaper that Fleur picked out one sunny summer years ago.
She gasps. He growls. They kiss again and he lets one hand go free, unzipping his jeans. When she doesn’t struggle or tell him to stop, Bill’s other hand releases her and slides up under her skirt with the other, yanking on her knickers and tearing them in his need to get them off.
Her fingers wind tightly into his fine red hair, kept long now not for fashion or to make a statement, but to hide that it’s getting thinner. That’s what it was. Hermione had been teasing him about going bald like his father and his vanity had kicked in. There was no place for vanity now, as he nipped at her neck, teeth scraping the skin.
Ripped knickers rest around one of Hermione’s ankles and Bill grips her thighs, lifting her and slamming her against the wall as he thrusts into her. Photographs on the wall shake at the impact, one falling off with just the second thrust. It shattered on the floor, the photo of Bill’s young nephew throwing a tantrum.
Hermione’s legs wrap around his waist, gripping him like she’s never going to let him go. Bill doesn’t want her to. His muscles flex as he pushes into her, a splinter of glass still digging into his shoulder. It hurts, but the part of his mind that isn’t caught up in the feel of Hermione’s clenching around his cock thinks that’s it appropriate, because this is like his rebirth and birth hurts, doesn’t it?
He grunts as he fills her, her fingers gripping his shoulders so tightly that there are going to be marks for days. Hermione makes a keening sound that signals her release, and then she falls limp against the wall with a half-sob.
There’s bloodstains on the wall from her back by the time they stagger to the sofa. The place is a mess and Bill tells her so, aching and tired and feeling so alive that it really does hurt. Hermione just glares at him and mumbles against his chest that he’s too concerned about looks.
Bill pinches her arm and she slaps his chest.
Then, they laugh.
Author: silvernatasha
Rating: Adult
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.
Summary: He was a starving man and this is his feast. Bill/Hermione.
A/N: Written for 50_smutlets prompt #05: rough.
Word Count: 912.
He feels more alive now that he has since the death of his wife. When Fleur died, he’d been broken and felt like a shell of who he’s been. They’d been married for two years - spent two years as man and wife, as best friends, as each other’s other half.
Now, though, it’s three years later, and it feels like his blood has finally started to pump again.
It doesn’t just pump, it courses through his veins, red hot like lava. He doesn’t know quite how it started, but it sure as hell isn’t going to stop now.
They’d just been talking. Then, they’d been arguing, this diminutive little witch with a opinionated mouth snarking at him and telling him that he needed to grow up. She’d launched herself at him with a growl, pushing Bill backwards as he pulled her forwards, lips meeting in a harsh, angry kiss as they both fell.
The coffee table breaks, glass and wood on the floor beneath them. Bill hisses against her mouth, but the pain is secondary to the other things that he is feeling. His fingers tangle in her hair and he pushes against her in a momentary lapse of confidence. Her grip is stronger than he expects. They roll and he pins her to the floor, broken glass beneath her back. If she’s hurt, she doesn’t show it, clawing at his shirt to get it off.
A button hits the mantel. Bill forces a knee between her legs, glaring down at her as if accusing her of doing something to him, when he knows perfectly well he’s in charge of himself. Their breathing is hard and, for a moment, there is silence.
The clock chimes midnight.
Hermione’s t-shirt rips as Bill yanks it up over her head. It’s an old Quidditch one which probably belonged to Harry or Ron and that she adopted when it got too old and worn, loving it like it was her own. There’s blood on the back and, as Bill throws it to the side, Hermione make a sound of frustration. Her nails dig into his arms and she forces him over so that he’s on his back. Brown eyes dark with equal parts lust and anger, her fingers rake down his bare chest, over old scars and making Bill’s back arch.
Bill sits up, bringing his lips to hers in hungry kiss. He was a starving man and this is his feast. Hands cup breasts. They pull on her bra; there’s more ripping and then bare skin. Hermione moans against his mouth, Bill drinking in the sound and then following it with a moan of his own as she touches his cock through his worn jeans.
When he releases her from his oral assault, they look at each other and it’s Can’t? Can. Must. Need to.
Hermione falters slightly, even though Bill thinks she’s the one who started all this. She bites her lip and stands, but he can’t let her get away. He can’t let her slip through his fingers when he’s already got her held so tightly. He’s missed so many chances in the past. Scrambling up after her, he pins her to the wall, strong hands gripping her wrists and holding her against the aging wallpaper that Fleur picked out one sunny summer years ago.
She gasps. He growls. They kiss again and he lets one hand go free, unzipping his jeans. When she doesn’t struggle or tell him to stop, Bill’s other hand releases her and slides up under her skirt with the other, yanking on her knickers and tearing them in his need to get them off.
Her fingers wind tightly into his fine red hair, kept long now not for fashion or to make a statement, but to hide that it’s getting thinner. That’s what it was. Hermione had been teasing him about going bald like his father and his vanity had kicked in. There was no place for vanity now, as he nipped at her neck, teeth scraping the skin.
Ripped knickers rest around one of Hermione’s ankles and Bill grips her thighs, lifting her and slamming her against the wall as he thrusts into her. Photographs on the wall shake at the impact, one falling off with just the second thrust. It shattered on the floor, the photo of Bill’s young nephew throwing a tantrum.
Hermione’s legs wrap around his waist, gripping him like she’s never going to let him go. Bill doesn’t want her to. His muscles flex as he pushes into her, a splinter of glass still digging into his shoulder. It hurts, but the part of his mind that isn’t caught up in the feel of Hermione’s clenching around his cock thinks that’s it appropriate, because this is like his rebirth and birth hurts, doesn’t it?
He grunts as he fills her, her fingers gripping his shoulders so tightly that there are going to be marks for days. Hermione makes a keening sound that signals her release, and then she falls limp against the wall with a half-sob.
There’s bloodstains on the wall from her back by the time they stagger to the sofa. The place is a mess and Bill tells her so, aching and tired and feeling so alive that it really does hurt. Hermione just glares at him and mumbles against his chest that he’s too concerned about looks.
Bill pinches her arm and she slaps his chest.
Then, they laugh.