tarie
in
sunandsmut
Gift fic for Sun and Smut participants and watchers!
TO: The sunandsmut participants and watchers!
FROM: ANONYMOUS
TITLE: Cliché
PAIRING: Charlie/Hermione
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Now she's twenty-seven, him thirty-five, and they're called a boring couple. They stay home almost every night, but what they do is hardly something to fall asleep to- to fall asleep from, perhaps.
WARNINGS: Uh, smut ahead.
DISCLAIMER: I think we all know that I own not-a-thing from the Potterverse.
AUTHOR NOTES: I'm not sure it makes much sense, because really, it's mostly a product of exhaustion. Sort of like vignettes that were strong together to tell the story of my pairing. Hopefully, it's half way decent. Also, an obligatory thank you note to my beta who shall never see this live because he doesn't use LJ, like, ever.
Cliché
Now, she giggles thinking of her first time. Charlie made sure it was special for her, trailing kisses down her throat and from one nipple to the other. He kissed all the way down her stomach, and Hermione blushed as her lover's tongue got familiar with her. He tickled her clitoris and tentatively pushed a finger into her. He only licked for a few moments, felt her inner walls for an even shorter amount of time. But it was the only time the bookworm had felt anything sexual like this, and every tiny, slippery movement made her shudder in excitement.
They were in love. They had been for ages, really, and everyone thought it would be Ron. Hermione thought so, too, but the war changed people. Priorities shifted. Attitudes altered. Those lucky enough to survive became whole new people, and childhood crushes couldn't hold when boys developed a hero complex, and girls just wanted to be in love.
It was an amicable split, but thinking back to five years ago still made Hermione cry a little. Letting go of the picture in her head had been hard, the one of her and her Hogwarts Sweetheart being married in the backyard of the Burrow. 4.5 kids in three years with a set of trouble maker twins. Harry visiting on the weekends to be the 'uncle', bringing Auntie Ginny along with their 'brood'. Big family Christmases and feasts and pot luck get togethers. In the end, she still became a Weasley, and her big family dreams morphed into wanting quiet nights at home, alone, with her husband Charlie.
Now she's twenty-seven, him thirty-five, and they're called a boring couple. They stay home almost every night, but what they do is hardly something to fall asleep to- to fall asleep from, perhaps.
Then seems like such a cliché way to consummate a relationship, with all the elements of a romance novel love scene. It was exactly the sort of thing bookish Hermione would want, but now she had 'experience', and the candles and the slowly being stripped of her clothes and the slow movement of him pushing into her all seemed too… Too girly, really.
When they get home from work, they make supper together. They chat about their respective day while they eat, clean the dishes after, and spend some time together. It's a nice little routine that you could set your watch to, which Hermione liked and Charlie sometimes complained about. We used to be spontaneous, adventurous, he'd say. Remember when I used to need you, and we'd find a tree or an empty room or a closet…
As he lists each naughty place they've had sex, he begins to kiss her neck and then her ear and things progress to them on the floor the living room- her on top, half naked, and loudly expressing how good everything feels. Fuck, Hermione…, he says incoherently as he reaches up to steady her bouncing breasts. I thought… you… were, she answers when she doesn't have to focus. She concentrates too much on the movement of up-down-up-down, trying to make sure that it feels right for him and that she gets just as much pleasure out of it.
When they're finally done thrusting and coming and licking sensitive skin to provoke gooseflesh, she doesn't want to go to bed. 'Msleepy, she lazily drawls, but he's older than her and gets sore from sleeping on the floor, so in he adds to his exhaustion and carries her to bed. Of course, her damn chest, still mostly unclothed, shakes with every tiny step, and the redhead knows that soon he's going to need his wife again. Or a cold shower.
And there is a certain lusty desire associated with their relationship, but it wasn't always about the sex. In fact, even the sex isn't about the sex; it's mostly about being close to one another and clichéd demonstration of love.
They came together in a moment of grief, where Charlie wanted to comfort his surrogate sister and she demanded he see her as a woman, not a little sister. Because they weren't siblings, not really, and apparently never would be, so they should act as friends. Friends who flirted and shared affectionate hugs, the occasional cuddle, and surprisingly a kiss goodbye after a Weasley family dinner one night. Charlie hadn't meant to catch her lips, just her cheek, but when he realized where exactly his own lips connected with Hermione's body, he didn't pull away, instead wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her body closer to his. They were alone in what was known as the garden, and maybe it was the fairy lights and the stars and fragrant scent of lily's wafting up her nose, but it felt fairly right to be here doing this with Charlie.
People claimed they saw it coming, but Molly's look of shock and inability to say anything when the couple announced that they were 'official', and all that entails, suggested that no one anticipated this shift in the Weasley family dynamic.
She gained loads of confidence through her romance. Constant words muttered in her ear about her sexy bum and the need she provoked in the dragon trainer made her feel like something more than an academic. The change happened overnight, or at least it seemed that way to her. One night she went to bed able to claim the top student of her class, but couldn't talk to a boy for anything. The next morning she woke up an expert in seduction and her technique could reduce any man to gasps and moans.
Like one time, a special occasion only made so by the complete randomness, she let him come home to a cooled-by-magic house and his favorite foods already conjured on the table. They ate their meals, him fawning over the gesture his wife prepared for him, she smiling wickedly the whole time. After dinner, dessert waited for them in the form of chocolate body paint. Both laying vertical on the floor of the hallway, Charlie wrote mostly-slightly salacious remarks on Hermione's stomach, and as he licked off every last bit of the delectable delicacy, he liberally applied more to the pieces of her body he wished to pay homage to. A whole other kind of dragon settled into her stomach, and its wings kept beating uncontrollably, unsettling her and exciting her more than just a bit.
He knew what he was doing, of course, because he knew her better than she knew her. He kissed the nape of her neck, lightly wetting the skin, and tickled the skin of her inner thighs, teasing. There he could feel her arousal as easily as he could feel his own, and she seemed just as interested in touching him as he was in touching her. As he slipped a finger between her folds, sliding up and down always just shy of touching anything that may help to relieve some of the anxiety he caused, she bit into his shoulder. Oh, she loved the freckles on his shoulder, and her own fingers tickled his abs as they made their way to his nipples. Around and around the little hard bud, the pad of her index finger went, and where it would stop, only she would know.
She liked to tease, like to thrill her husband for hours and hours before allowing him to feel any sort of completion, but that's why she'd gotten the body paint. That was their play, and tonight, she wanted just straight-forward, mind-blowing, feel-good sex. So she took control, pulling the redhead closer to her and wrapping her legs around his waist. Nearly immediately he plunged into her, frantically moving. He felt big to her, but then he always felt big to her, and she felt…
Charlie shut his eyes tightly thinking about how warm she felt, about the fiery heat and silky movements from the wetness and the clenching of her inner walls as she tightened and relaxed her muscles to hold him inside her. He reached down, knowing fully well that he wouldn't last more than three minutes and wanting to make his wife feel as good as he did. He used two fingers on her clit, fast mini strokes combined with a more-than-medium amount of pressure to make her come. Which she did, almost simultaneously with him and more than a few choruses of Charlie's name.
Afterwards, they cuddled on the couch, pulling the blanket they kept hanging over the back on top of them. Hermione sighed, happy and pleased and tired, as she very well should have been that evening. She couldn't help thinking, really, because that's who she was in life, but she thought to herself, perhaps everything in about their life together was typical, storybook romance. Maybe it had all been done before a hundred million times and they weren't unique. But Hermione spent a lifetime of being an outcast, and so she was quite ready to be a cliché girl who fell in love and lived happily ever after.
FROM: ANONYMOUS
TITLE: Cliché
PAIRING: Charlie/Hermione
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Now she's twenty-seven, him thirty-five, and they're called a boring couple. They stay home almost every night, but what they do is hardly something to fall asleep to- to fall asleep from, perhaps.
WARNINGS: Uh, smut ahead.
DISCLAIMER: I think we all know that I own not-a-thing from the Potterverse.
AUTHOR NOTES: I'm not sure it makes much sense, because really, it's mostly a product of exhaustion. Sort of like vignettes that were strong together to tell the story of my pairing. Hopefully, it's half way decent. Also, an obligatory thank you note to my beta who shall never see this live because he doesn't use LJ, like, ever.
Cliché
Now, she giggles thinking of her first time. Charlie made sure it was special for her, trailing kisses down her throat and from one nipple to the other. He kissed all the way down her stomach, and Hermione blushed as her lover's tongue got familiar with her. He tickled her clitoris and tentatively pushed a finger into her. He only licked for a few moments, felt her inner walls for an even shorter amount of time. But it was the only time the bookworm had felt anything sexual like this, and every tiny, slippery movement made her shudder in excitement.
They were in love. They had been for ages, really, and everyone thought it would be Ron. Hermione thought so, too, but the war changed people. Priorities shifted. Attitudes altered. Those lucky enough to survive became whole new people, and childhood crushes couldn't hold when boys developed a hero complex, and girls just wanted to be in love.
It was an amicable split, but thinking back to five years ago still made Hermione cry a little. Letting go of the picture in her head had been hard, the one of her and her Hogwarts Sweetheart being married in the backyard of the Burrow. 4.5 kids in three years with a set of trouble maker twins. Harry visiting on the weekends to be the 'uncle', bringing Auntie Ginny along with their 'brood'. Big family Christmases and feasts and pot luck get togethers. In the end, she still became a Weasley, and her big family dreams morphed into wanting quiet nights at home, alone, with her husband Charlie.
Now she's twenty-seven, him thirty-five, and they're called a boring couple. They stay home almost every night, but what they do is hardly something to fall asleep to- to fall asleep from, perhaps.
Then seems like such a cliché way to consummate a relationship, with all the elements of a romance novel love scene. It was exactly the sort of thing bookish Hermione would want, but now she had 'experience', and the candles and the slowly being stripped of her clothes and the slow movement of him pushing into her all seemed too… Too girly, really.
When they get home from work, they make supper together. They chat about their respective day while they eat, clean the dishes after, and spend some time together. It's a nice little routine that you could set your watch to, which Hermione liked and Charlie sometimes complained about. We used to be spontaneous, adventurous, he'd say. Remember when I used to need you, and we'd find a tree or an empty room or a closet…
As he lists each naughty place they've had sex, he begins to kiss her neck and then her ear and things progress to them on the floor the living room- her on top, half naked, and loudly expressing how good everything feels. Fuck, Hermione…, he says incoherently as he reaches up to steady her bouncing breasts. I thought… you… were, she answers when she doesn't have to focus. She concentrates too much on the movement of up-down-up-down, trying to make sure that it feels right for him and that she gets just as much pleasure out of it.
When they're finally done thrusting and coming and licking sensitive skin to provoke gooseflesh, she doesn't want to go to bed. 'Msleepy, she lazily drawls, but he's older than her and gets sore from sleeping on the floor, so in he adds to his exhaustion and carries her to bed. Of course, her damn chest, still mostly unclothed, shakes with every tiny step, and the redhead knows that soon he's going to need his wife again. Or a cold shower.
And there is a certain lusty desire associated with their relationship, but it wasn't always about the sex. In fact, even the sex isn't about the sex; it's mostly about being close to one another and clichéd demonstration of love.
They came together in a moment of grief, where Charlie wanted to comfort his surrogate sister and she demanded he see her as a woman, not a little sister. Because they weren't siblings, not really, and apparently never would be, so they should act as friends. Friends who flirted and shared affectionate hugs, the occasional cuddle, and surprisingly a kiss goodbye after a Weasley family dinner one night. Charlie hadn't meant to catch her lips, just her cheek, but when he realized where exactly his own lips connected with Hermione's body, he didn't pull away, instead wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her body closer to his. They were alone in what was known as the garden, and maybe it was the fairy lights and the stars and fragrant scent of lily's wafting up her nose, but it felt fairly right to be here doing this with Charlie.
People claimed they saw it coming, but Molly's look of shock and inability to say anything when the couple announced that they were 'official', and all that entails, suggested that no one anticipated this shift in the Weasley family dynamic.
She gained loads of confidence through her romance. Constant words muttered in her ear about her sexy bum and the need she provoked in the dragon trainer made her feel like something more than an academic. The change happened overnight, or at least it seemed that way to her. One night she went to bed able to claim the top student of her class, but couldn't talk to a boy for anything. The next morning she woke up an expert in seduction and her technique could reduce any man to gasps and moans.
Like one time, a special occasion only made so by the complete randomness, she let him come home to a cooled-by-magic house and his favorite foods already conjured on the table. They ate their meals, him fawning over the gesture his wife prepared for him, she smiling wickedly the whole time. After dinner, dessert waited for them in the form of chocolate body paint. Both laying vertical on the floor of the hallway, Charlie wrote mostly-slightly salacious remarks on Hermione's stomach, and as he licked off every last bit of the delectable delicacy, he liberally applied more to the pieces of her body he wished to pay homage to. A whole other kind of dragon settled into her stomach, and its wings kept beating uncontrollably, unsettling her and exciting her more than just a bit.
He knew what he was doing, of course, because he knew her better than she knew her. He kissed the nape of her neck, lightly wetting the skin, and tickled the skin of her inner thighs, teasing. There he could feel her arousal as easily as he could feel his own, and she seemed just as interested in touching him as he was in touching her. As he slipped a finger between her folds, sliding up and down always just shy of touching anything that may help to relieve some of the anxiety he caused, she bit into his shoulder. Oh, she loved the freckles on his shoulder, and her own fingers tickled his abs as they made their way to his nipples. Around and around the little hard bud, the pad of her index finger went, and where it would stop, only she would know.
She liked to tease, like to thrill her husband for hours and hours before allowing him to feel any sort of completion, but that's why she'd gotten the body paint. That was their play, and tonight, she wanted just straight-forward, mind-blowing, feel-good sex. So she took control, pulling the redhead closer to her and wrapping her legs around his waist. Nearly immediately he plunged into her, frantically moving. He felt big to her, but then he always felt big to her, and she felt…
Charlie shut his eyes tightly thinking about how warm she felt, about the fiery heat and silky movements from the wetness and the clenching of her inner walls as she tightened and relaxed her muscles to hold him inside her. He reached down, knowing fully well that he wouldn't last more than three minutes and wanting to make his wife feel as good as he did. He used two fingers on her clit, fast mini strokes combined with a more-than-medium amount of pressure to make her come. Which she did, almost simultaneously with him and more than a few choruses of Charlie's name.
Afterwards, they cuddled on the couch, pulling the blanket they kept hanging over the back on top of them. Hermione sighed, happy and pleased and tired, as she very well should have been that evening. She couldn't help thinking, really, because that's who she was in life, but she thought to herself, perhaps everything in about their life together was typical, storybook romance. Maybe it had all been done before a hundred million times and they weren't unique. But Hermione spent a lifetime of being an outcast, and so she was quite ready to be a cliché girl who fell in love and lived happily ever after.