Harry Potter Fic: "Best Laid Plans" - Hermione/Ron - Rated R/NC17
Title: Best Laid Plans
Author: femmenerd
Pairing: Hermione/Ron.
Rating: R/NC17 for first-time het sexing, some bickering and some schmoop.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit, don't sue.
Summary: Set AU Book Six-this is basically just a story about some teenagers preparing to "do it." No Lavender, so not "canon compliant" as people in HP fandom like to say. No real spoilers for anything beyond the fact that Hermione is kind of bossy and Ron is, well, a teenage boy. It’s lovely, really, figuring these things out with your best friend. But also somewhat maddening if said best friend also happens to drive you bonkers on a regular basis.
Author's Note: Both acts of beta-duty on this fic were acts of love. Many thanks to oxoniensis for the speedy and thorough Brit pick (despite the fact that she is not the BIGGEST R/Hr fan, heh) and to mekka for the handholding (despite the fact that she “doesn't read Harry Potter fic”).
Word Count: About 1800 words.
*****
Hermione Granger is a Planner. This, she thinks, is something Ron Weasley should know about her already, after six autumnal trips on the Hogwarts Express watching her arrange and count her school books and quills, wrinkling her brow at her course schedule for the umpteenth time.
“Stop fretting,” he’d always tease, sounding bored and a little bit exasperated. But only at the same level as when he, say, wondered why there weren't more sweets laying about for him to scoff or when Harry’s opinions on pro Quidditch players differed from his own.
But she wasn’t anxious then, and she isn’t really now. It’s just that there’s fun in...anticipating. You know.
So when she announces one afternoon, “I think we should have sex,” Hermione finds it rather odd that he acts surprised when her response to his half-squeaked, “Really?” (with accompanying frenzy of fumbling hands reaching out for any and all bits of available flesh) is: “Not right now this very minute, Ronald!”
“Oh,” Ron says, and takes a step back, inadvertently back-kicking into some unidentified household item. “Right,” he follows up. “Ouch.”
Hermione holds back an impulse to laugh. “We’re in a broom closet,” she explains. “At your parents’ house. Not exactly the sort of thing a girl dreams of.”
“Could be more romantic, I s’pose,” Ron agrees, trying to find something to do with his now un-groping hands before settling on an old standby: his pockets.
Hermione rolls her eyes and retrieves his fingers with her own. “We can still do what we were doing. Just, you know...think about it.”
And so the snogfest continues, more energetic and wet for all the confusion-tongues a little more eager, Ron’s breath hotter against her neck. You see? Anticipation. It’s good.
*****
It’s lovely, really, figuring these things out with your best friend. But also somewhat maddening if said best friend also happens to drive you bonkers on a regular basis.
“What are you doing down there?” Hermione queries the first time Ron has his head between her knees, robes flung up to her shoulders, knickers askew. It’s been several minutes and he’s just staring.
“Getting the lay of the land,” Ron replies, and licks his lips. “Looks different in life than in books,” he adds, and finally touches her gingerly and-oh my!-just there. “That’s your clitoris, eh?” he says rather obviously, giving said body part a light poke.
Despite the rush of warmth to her nether regions, Hermione pushes herself up onto her elbows and raises an eyebrow pointedly. Accuses, “So you’ll open a book if it’s about sex?”
“Absolutely,” he answers absently, and Hermione is about to come out with a second jab when Ron proves that he’s perhaps even been studying this book of his by circling with the tip of his finger, adding pressure that makes her gasp.
Afterwards, when she’s breathing hard with appreciation for his ministrations, Hermione asks Ron, “So, have you lent this book to Harry then?”
“Watch it! That’s my little sister you’re talking about,” he threatens, grumpiness warring with randy satisfaction in his tone.
“Actually no, I was talking about Harry,” Hermione points out, hoping for the last word.
*****
“We could use the tent,” Hermione suggests. “You could see if Harry would be willing to play alibi. What do you think, Ron?”
“Um, what was that?” Ron’s looking rather dazed, pulling her hair back to inspect her neck for the love bites he knows he is Not Allowed to bequeath on publicly exposed areas of skin.
She snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Pay attention. Your input is required.”
“Err,” Ron says, looking confused.
“Is that all you have to say?” Hermione snaps, almost immediately feeling somewhat contrite in the face of his earnest befuddledment. She can feel his erection poking against her leg, as though he is trying to distract her from the project of this very important arrangement-making. Doesn’t he realize that this is a very significant event in both of their lives that she is trying to plot out? No, boys only think about shagging. Of course, that is kind of the point, but he’s not doing it in the right way.
“Um,” Ron starts, looking miserable yet terribly, terribly turned on. Hermione can’t help but notice that his ears have turned the deep shade of pink that usually comes when he’s either embarrassed, angry, or really wants to get his hands in her knickers. It’s rather convenient, really, that Ron has his family’s complexion because it makes him so easy to read, even when his powers of verbal communication are at a low. And since that first time, Ron has become quite the finger-fucking enthusiast-moving past the lessons in that book of his, Hermione surmises, and tailoring his attentions to her specificities. He knows, for instance, that she prefers three fingers to two, but not four-that’s too much. He also knows that she likes it when he switches to using his mouth before the crucial moment.
But now she is getting distracted. And he’s kissing her neck again, licking slowly up to her ear the way that always makes her shiver.
“RON!” she groans.
Ron pulls away from her and makes a face. “Look,” he pleads, “whatever you want will be fine, really. I’m sure. I’m a bloke. We-we...” Hermione arches an eyebrow, bracing herself for how that sentence will end. But she doesn’t get to find out. “It’s just...you’re better at this kind of thing than I am, and...” The blush creeps from his ears and floods the spaces between the freckles on his nose. “All I really care about is that, well, you’re there and I’m there, and...that it’s us, you know,” he trails off.
She kisses him. Sometimes Ron really does know the exact right things to say.
*****
The one-sided negotiations continue unabated. But in the meantime, Hermione discovers some very Ron-specific information she certainly couldn't glean from books.
Like how he quite fancies having his nipples tugged. With teeth especially. Or how the very best way to make him into a blubbering idiot is to just wrap her lips around his cock with no preamble.
Learning is fun.
*****
In the end though, fate intervenes. Over Christmas break, the entire Weasley family goes off to Aunt Muriel’s. But Ron is excused for N.E.W.T. studying related reasons. And Harry, who is also visiting, takes the afternoon off to escape to Remus and Tonks’s place, despite Hermione’s repeated insistence that he and Ron take their education more seriously.
It’s perfect. She couldn’t have planned it better if she’d tried.
Of course, somehow they end up necking in the broom closet again anyway, even though they’re alone at the Burrow.
“Do you have a Thing for enclosed spaces? Is that it?” Hermione teases when Ron drags her away from the book-laden kitchen table and down the hall.
“No!” Ron exclaims defensively, tugging on her arm. Then he lowers his tone to a whisper. “It’s just...there are too many blasted portraits in every other room in this house. Gives me the willies. Don’t particularly feel the need for an audience when I’m making time with my girl.”
“Your girl?” she says, emphasis on the possessive descriptor.
“Well, aren’t you?” Ron sighs as he opens the closet door and whisks her inside.
For once Hermione doesn’t have the heart to argue semantics since Ron’s already got his lips to her collarbone and his hand on her hip.
Things escalate quickly, which is not altogether surprising given the amount of “practicing” they’ve been doing throughout the school term. Pretty soon they’re both starkers and on the floor, fumbling wildly, Ron’s wiry frame sandwiched between Hermione’s thighs. She’s suddenly quite glad Mrs. Weasley keeps a clean, albeit cluttered, house, because the idea of dust bunnies sticking to her bum is less than appealing. She doesn’t linger on these musings for long, however, since Ron is hard and right there, hovering, and he’s panting in her ear, at least partially from the exertion of holding himself up in a push-up above her body, but also, she hopes, just from the excitement of being in her nude presence.
Hermione’s breathing heavily too, and she’s the one lying down. And she’s finding thinking clearly rather difficult, though she distantly hears her own voice in her head whispering something about “full circle” and “this was not the plan!”
But all she actually says is, “Oh Ron!”
His response is less impassioned. “Um, could you pass me my trousers? They’re over there.”
Ack! He’s going to put his clothes back on. Bad plan! Bad plan!
Once she’s tossed the requested garment in his direction, Ron apparently catches that Hermione’s pouting, because he starts tripping over his words trying to reassure her. “I’ve got a, um, thing in there.”
“A what?”
“A...what do you call it? A prophylactic.”
“A condom!? You’re carrying a condom around in your pocket? Whatever for?”
“Why do you think? I mean, we've been talking about hardly anything but how we're going to shag for months."
Uh oh. Now he sounds irate, which, Hermione thinks, is extremely counter-productive to the activity she has now decided she can absolutely not wait for a single minute longer.
“Ronald,” she says gently, stroking his face. “It’s just-there are charms for that. I know you were paying attention in health class.”
“Yeah,” he replies, voice suddenly calmer, “but I figured-you’re muggle-born-it might make you feel...safer.”
“Oh Ron,” she can’t help but say-sigh-again. Planning be damned. She’s got all the proof necessary that he is, without a doubt, the right person to be doing this with, no matter the time or place.
*****
It’s perfectly imperfect. Between the two of them they figure out the (unnecessary) condom situation with a modicum of confusion. Nobody’s eye gets poked out or anything else equally tragic. He kisses her sweetly during the part that hurts at the beginning, and is still doing just that by the part at the end when Hermione discovers yet another thing she’ll never find out about in a book: the look of wonder on Ron’s face when he comes inside her.
“Blimey!” Ron cries out, and though she rather thinks he overuses that expression, this time Hermione has to agree.
“Merlin, I love you,” he says a second or two later and Hermione wonders for a brief moment why they bicker the way that they do. She doesn’t bring that up though, just says that other thing right back to him.
Because it’s all right, you see, if you agree about the important things.
*****
Author: femmenerd
Pairing: Hermione/Ron.
Rating: R/NC17 for first-time het sexing, some bickering and some schmoop.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit, don't sue.
Summary: Set AU Book Six-this is basically just a story about some teenagers preparing to "do it." No Lavender, so not "canon compliant" as people in HP fandom like to say. No real spoilers for anything beyond the fact that Hermione is kind of bossy and Ron is, well, a teenage boy. It’s lovely, really, figuring these things out with your best friend. But also somewhat maddening if said best friend also happens to drive you bonkers on a regular basis.
Author's Note: Both acts of beta-duty on this fic were acts of love. Many thanks to oxoniensis for the speedy and thorough Brit pick (despite the fact that she is not the BIGGEST R/Hr fan, heh) and to mekka for the handholding (despite the fact that she “doesn't read Harry Potter fic”).
Word Count: About 1800 words.
*****
Hermione Granger is a Planner. This, she thinks, is something Ron Weasley should know about her already, after six autumnal trips on the Hogwarts Express watching her arrange and count her school books and quills, wrinkling her brow at her course schedule for the umpteenth time.
“Stop fretting,” he’d always tease, sounding bored and a little bit exasperated. But only at the same level as when he, say, wondered why there weren't more sweets laying about for him to scoff or when Harry’s opinions on pro Quidditch players differed from his own.
But she wasn’t anxious then, and she isn’t really now. It’s just that there’s fun in...anticipating. You know.
So when she announces one afternoon, “I think we should have sex,” Hermione finds it rather odd that he acts surprised when her response to his half-squeaked, “Really?” (with accompanying frenzy of fumbling hands reaching out for any and all bits of available flesh) is: “Not right now this very minute, Ronald!”
“Oh,” Ron says, and takes a step back, inadvertently back-kicking into some unidentified household item. “Right,” he follows up. “Ouch.”
Hermione holds back an impulse to laugh. “We’re in a broom closet,” she explains. “At your parents’ house. Not exactly the sort of thing a girl dreams of.”
“Could be more romantic, I s’pose,” Ron agrees, trying to find something to do with his now un-groping hands before settling on an old standby: his pockets.
Hermione rolls her eyes and retrieves his fingers with her own. “We can still do what we were doing. Just, you know...think about it.”
And so the snogfest continues, more energetic and wet for all the confusion-tongues a little more eager, Ron’s breath hotter against her neck. You see? Anticipation. It’s good.
*****
It’s lovely, really, figuring these things out with your best friend. But also somewhat maddening if said best friend also happens to drive you bonkers on a regular basis.
“What are you doing down there?” Hermione queries the first time Ron has his head between her knees, robes flung up to her shoulders, knickers askew. It’s been several minutes and he’s just staring.
“Getting the lay of the land,” Ron replies, and licks his lips. “Looks different in life than in books,” he adds, and finally touches her gingerly and-oh my!-just there. “That’s your clitoris, eh?” he says rather obviously, giving said body part a light poke.
Despite the rush of warmth to her nether regions, Hermione pushes herself up onto her elbows and raises an eyebrow pointedly. Accuses, “So you’ll open a book if it’s about sex?”
“Absolutely,” he answers absently, and Hermione is about to come out with a second jab when Ron proves that he’s perhaps even been studying this book of his by circling with the tip of his finger, adding pressure that makes her gasp.
Afterwards, when she’s breathing hard with appreciation for his ministrations, Hermione asks Ron, “So, have you lent this book to Harry then?”
“Watch it! That’s my little sister you’re talking about,” he threatens, grumpiness warring with randy satisfaction in his tone.
“Actually no, I was talking about Harry,” Hermione points out, hoping for the last word.
*****
“We could use the tent,” Hermione suggests. “You could see if Harry would be willing to play alibi. What do you think, Ron?”
“Um, what was that?” Ron’s looking rather dazed, pulling her hair back to inspect her neck for the love bites he knows he is Not Allowed to bequeath on publicly exposed areas of skin.
She snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Pay attention. Your input is required.”
“Err,” Ron says, looking confused.
“Is that all you have to say?” Hermione snaps, almost immediately feeling somewhat contrite in the face of his earnest befuddledment. She can feel his erection poking against her leg, as though he is trying to distract her from the project of this very important arrangement-making. Doesn’t he realize that this is a very significant event in both of their lives that she is trying to plot out? No, boys only think about shagging. Of course, that is kind of the point, but he’s not doing it in the right way.
“Um,” Ron starts, looking miserable yet terribly, terribly turned on. Hermione can’t help but notice that his ears have turned the deep shade of pink that usually comes when he’s either embarrassed, angry, or really wants to get his hands in her knickers. It’s rather convenient, really, that Ron has his family’s complexion because it makes him so easy to read, even when his powers of verbal communication are at a low. And since that first time, Ron has become quite the finger-fucking enthusiast-moving past the lessons in that book of his, Hermione surmises, and tailoring his attentions to her specificities. He knows, for instance, that she prefers three fingers to two, but not four-that’s too much. He also knows that she likes it when he switches to using his mouth before the crucial moment.
But now she is getting distracted. And he’s kissing her neck again, licking slowly up to her ear the way that always makes her shiver.
“RON!” she groans.
Ron pulls away from her and makes a face. “Look,” he pleads, “whatever you want will be fine, really. I’m sure. I’m a bloke. We-we...” Hermione arches an eyebrow, bracing herself for how that sentence will end. But she doesn’t get to find out. “It’s just...you’re better at this kind of thing than I am, and...” The blush creeps from his ears and floods the spaces between the freckles on his nose. “All I really care about is that, well, you’re there and I’m there, and...that it’s us, you know,” he trails off.
She kisses him. Sometimes Ron really does know the exact right things to say.
*****
The one-sided negotiations continue unabated. But in the meantime, Hermione discovers some very Ron-specific information she certainly couldn't glean from books.
Like how he quite fancies having his nipples tugged. With teeth especially. Or how the very best way to make him into a blubbering idiot is to just wrap her lips around his cock with no preamble.
Learning is fun.
*****
In the end though, fate intervenes. Over Christmas break, the entire Weasley family goes off to Aunt Muriel’s. But Ron is excused for N.E.W.T. studying related reasons. And Harry, who is also visiting, takes the afternoon off to escape to Remus and Tonks’s place, despite Hermione’s repeated insistence that he and Ron take their education more seriously.
It’s perfect. She couldn’t have planned it better if she’d tried.
Of course, somehow they end up necking in the broom closet again anyway, even though they’re alone at the Burrow.
“Do you have a Thing for enclosed spaces? Is that it?” Hermione teases when Ron drags her away from the book-laden kitchen table and down the hall.
“No!” Ron exclaims defensively, tugging on her arm. Then he lowers his tone to a whisper. “It’s just...there are too many blasted portraits in every other room in this house. Gives me the willies. Don’t particularly feel the need for an audience when I’m making time with my girl.”
“Your girl?” she says, emphasis on the possessive descriptor.
“Well, aren’t you?” Ron sighs as he opens the closet door and whisks her inside.
For once Hermione doesn’t have the heart to argue semantics since Ron’s already got his lips to her collarbone and his hand on her hip.
Things escalate quickly, which is not altogether surprising given the amount of “practicing” they’ve been doing throughout the school term. Pretty soon they’re both starkers and on the floor, fumbling wildly, Ron’s wiry frame sandwiched between Hermione’s thighs. She’s suddenly quite glad Mrs. Weasley keeps a clean, albeit cluttered, house, because the idea of dust bunnies sticking to her bum is less than appealing. She doesn’t linger on these musings for long, however, since Ron is hard and right there, hovering, and he’s panting in her ear, at least partially from the exertion of holding himself up in a push-up above her body, but also, she hopes, just from the excitement of being in her nude presence.
Hermione’s breathing heavily too, and she’s the one lying down. And she’s finding thinking clearly rather difficult, though she distantly hears her own voice in her head whispering something about “full circle” and “this was not the plan!”
But all she actually says is, “Oh Ron!”
His response is less impassioned. “Um, could you pass me my trousers? They’re over there.”
Ack! He’s going to put his clothes back on. Bad plan! Bad plan!
Once she’s tossed the requested garment in his direction, Ron apparently catches that Hermione’s pouting, because he starts tripping over his words trying to reassure her. “I’ve got a, um, thing in there.”
“A what?”
“A...what do you call it? A prophylactic.”
“A condom!? You’re carrying a condom around in your pocket? Whatever for?”
“Why do you think? I mean, we've been talking about hardly anything but how we're going to shag for months."
Uh oh. Now he sounds irate, which, Hermione thinks, is extremely counter-productive to the activity she has now decided she can absolutely not wait for a single minute longer.
“Ronald,” she says gently, stroking his face. “It’s just-there are charms for that. I know you were paying attention in health class.”
“Yeah,” he replies, voice suddenly calmer, “but I figured-you’re muggle-born-it might make you feel...safer.”
“Oh Ron,” she can’t help but say-sigh-again. Planning be damned. She’s got all the proof necessary that he is, without a doubt, the right person to be doing this with, no matter the time or place.
*****
It’s perfectly imperfect. Between the two of them they figure out the (unnecessary) condom situation with a modicum of confusion. Nobody’s eye gets poked out or anything else equally tragic. He kisses her sweetly during the part that hurts at the beginning, and is still doing just that by the part at the end when Hermione discovers yet another thing she’ll never find out about in a book: the look of wonder on Ron’s face when he comes inside her.
“Blimey!” Ron cries out, and though she rather thinks he overuses that expression, this time Hermione has to agree.
“Merlin, I love you,” he says a second or two later and Hermione wonders for a brief moment why they bicker the way that they do. She doesn’t bring that up though, just says that other thing right back to him.
Because it’s all right, you see, if you agree about the important things.
*****