Twenty-Two Months Later: Housewarming (2/2)
Read Housewarming 1/2 here Before Continuing
Title: Twenty-Two Months Later: Housewarming (2/2)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Deathly Hallows, previous chapters
Rating: Hard R for sex, nudity, and language
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, various others mentioned
Summary: We discover that “The First Time” means different things to different people
Notes: Yes. It’s Hard R again. I think I like it, though. I like to think of this chapter as more of a character study, more of a relationship study, where we start to see the differences between the H/G relationship and the R/Hr relationship. If you’re below the age of 18, or aren’t comfortable reading semi-graphic sex, why are you even here, didn’t you see my NC17 stuff? I get naughty, people! Ah, well, you’re still here, so I would suggest that you at least read to the point where Harry and Ginny leave, as I’ve tacked a lot of exposition onto the beginning. And just skip the second half completely, although you’ll be missing out on some fun character moments.
I don’t own these characters. JK Rowling does. Sorry, you can’t have them.
Housewarming (1/2) / Previous Chapters / Two Years Later: The Dinner Date
Ginny beat Harry to the top. Of course, she did have a head start, as she was able to pin him to the stairs as she pushed herself forward, and he had to roll over, straightening his glasses before following.
Besides, with her in front, Harry had the additional distraction of being forced to stare at a beautiful, topless redhead. And that just wasn’t fair. He would have to do something about it.
He followed just steps behind as they entered his bedroom. He expected to meet her on his bed, but was surprised when she turned around and nearly tackled him with a kiss as soon as he crossed the threshold. Breasts pressed against his bare chest, they groped at each other, making sure their wands were pulled from their pockets before they attacked each other’s pants. Spinning in circles as they approached the bed, he wasn’t even sure how often Ginny’s feet touched the ground. He had her jeans off. She had his jeans off. She had his boxers off, and he almost tripped over them as they left his ankles. He removed her blue lace knickers, which he assumed matched the bra downstairs; he really hadn’t had time to study it before it flew off into the wild blue yonder.
And they were on the bed. And Ginny was straddling him once again. She ground herself against his stomach, moaning into his mouth. Her pussy was maddeningly close to his cock, and it was all he could do to not just pull her down onto him.
This is actually my first time? Harry thought. God, is this how I’m supposed to be thinking?
“Wand,” he said into Ginny’s mouth.
“Hmm?” Ginny moaned, pulling away.
“Wand.”
“Wand?”
“Wand.”
“Wand.”
It became like a chant, as both he and Ginny searched desperately around Harry’s messy bedroom, hoping they were within reach, as Harry wasn’t in any position to get up, and Ginny was in no position to let him move. They just pulled them out of their pockets thirty minutes ago (It was thirty seconds, you git, his rational mind said feebly), where were they?
“Accio wand!” Harry called out, and as it flew to his hand he thanked whoever was up there that he had learned wandless magic.
What were the spells? Harry thought, trying to not look at Ginny, who was sitting straight up on top of him, her freckled breasts amazingly distracting in the light of the bedside lamp.
“Chastitus,” Ginny reminded him, her eyes begging him to just hurry the hell up.
“Right,” Harry said, pointing the wand at her red thatch, repeating the spell.
“Coitus Interruptus,” she said, grabbing his wrist and pointing it to his own member.
“Coitus Interruptus,” he said, and felt a tingling sensation along its length.
Ginny positioned herself over him. “Are you ready for this?” she asked.
Harry nodded. Ginny closed her eyes.
“Please don’t hurt much, please don’t hurt much,” she muttered under her breath, and slid herself down onto him.
Harry moaned beneath her as he felt her wet warmth wrap around him. As soon as she slid down his length, though, Ginny cried out. He felt her nails bite into his chest, and she panted heavily above him, her hanging red hair concealing her face, her hips still.
Oh, no, Harry thought, sitting up. She’s hurt.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Did it hurt?”
“No,” Ginny said, in a voice higher than normal.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” she replied in that still-too-high voice.
“Because if you need to pull me out, I can…”
“I just came.”
Harry paused. “What?”
A noise came from Ginny’s throat, and Harry couldn’t tell if she was laughing, crying, or just extremely frustrated. “I just came,” she repeated. “I just orgasmed.”
“You’re… you’re joking…”
Ginny flopped down on top of him, and she was definitely laughing. “Oh, God,” she groaned. “Been looking forward to this for eight years. What a climax…”
Harry started laughing, holding her to him. “And here I thought I was supposed to be one to last five seconds.”
Ginny laughed harder. “You’re a fucking Viking, love.”
That broke Harry up completely. He let loose gut-wrenching bellows, and Ginny tensed up in his arms despite her laughing with him.
“Stop… stop laughing…” she said.
“I’m not laughing at you,” Harry said. “I’m laughing with you.”
“No,” Ginny said, pushing herself up to her hands, a smile still on her face. “I mean… uhhh… stop… laughing…”
“Why?”
“You’re… twitching… mmmm… and… aaahhh!!”
She pulled herself up straight and cried out. This time Harry felt her muscles tighten around him as she arched, throwing her head back.
“Two?” he asked. Ginny nodded, blushing, and Harry started laughing again. “Jesus, you really were horny.”
“Eight years,” Ginny growled. “Girl can build up a lot of want in eight years.”
Harry continued to laugh. “I love you,” he said, reaching up to her caress her cheek.
Ginny smiled down at him, bent down to kiss him passionately. “I love you,” she replied. “And what’s all this ‘were’ nonsense?”
“What do you mean?” Harry said, then groaned as Ginny raised her hips before coming back down onto him.
“Eight years,” she repeated, her voice gasping as Harry slid in and out of her. “Do you actually think two was going to be enough?”
The third and fourth took a little more effort. Both Harry and Ginny were both satisfied with the results.
Hermione Granger was twenty years old. Older than any of her friends. She had been reading about this for years. She found calm solace in sex education textbooks, as much of relief in the rightness of truth and education as she found in her Charms textbook, or in Hogwarts: A History.
She also found proper techniques, along with the inspiration for the occasional nocturnal fantasy when it was just herself, her hand, and a need to orgasm, in books borrowed from other girls at Hogwarts. Books in many different languages, with many full-motion illustrations. The kind of Kama Sutra-type texts that would guarantee Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati detentions for a week if Professor McGonagall had ever decided to perform a last-minute inspection of the girls’ dormitory.
Hermione Granger had been completely prepared for this night.
But that still didn’t stop her hands from shaking so badly that she couldn’t unbuckle Ron Weasley’s belt.
It helped a little that, after she and Ron had made it to her bedroom, mattress and pillows still bare, sheets and pillow covers still in one of those boxes along the side of the wall (19G, her mind answered), she found Ron just as anxious as her. As they stood in the middle of the room, kissing each other, she felt his fingers trembling as he attempted to unbutton her shirt.
After two or three minutes of him swearing under his breath, sweating fingertips slipping along the plastic buttons, her nervous arms too weak to tug the metal piece from the hole in the leather strap, she gave up, reached her hands to his, and took them.
“Let me,” she said quietly.
“Okay,” Ron nodded. “Do you want me to do mine?”
“Please,” and she stepped back, watching his eyes stare unblinking at her as she undid the top button and worked her way down.
She took her time; embarrassment and modesty seemed to overwhelm her. She had only been completely naked in front of Ron, completely naked in front of anyone, once, and that was almost two years ago. Soon after the battle, on that rare night when she was at the Burrow and Harry wasn’t, she had surprised Ron (and surprised herself) by Apparating into his room. Finding him clad in only his boxers, she had pulled the long t-shirt that had been doubling as a nightgown over her head, removed her knickers, and climbed into bed with him.
There had been a lot of firsts that night. A lot of onlys. Although they had seen flashes and parts of each other after that day, it was their first and only time nude. It was the first and only time she had taken him into her mouth. She still didn’t know if she enjoyed giving him oral stimulation, because he finished so quickly, squirting without warning down her throat after only seconds, that she hadn’t had time to fully appreciate it.
It was also the first and only time that he had kissed her… well… down there. She had enjoyed that, and was pleased to know that he could bring her to orgasm, even though she took a lot more work than he did.
She reached the last button and pulled her shirt open, watching Ron as he sat down on the bed and pulled his jeans from his ankles, being careful to set his wand on the side of the bed, near where they would probably lie. She unzipped her own jeans, pushed them down to her ankles, and stepped out of them. They had been finding comfort and companionship as much as anything that night. She hadn’t been nearly as nervous that first time as she was now, because all she had wanted was a warm body next to her. Now it felt more… real. They were making a huge step, a huge choice. Consummating their relationship. It scared the hell out of her to think that she might disappoint him. That she might be disappointed herself.
Hermione sat down beside him on the bed, her in a plain white bra and knickers (all she owned was plain white. Functional. She wished that she had the courage to buy something more risqué), him in his white boxers, thin blue stripes running down the length. He leaned in to kiss her, and she responded, her lips numb with nerves, his breath short and shivering against her cheek. They pulled themselves closer to each other, and she could feel his body, thin and gangly, trembling against her. Knowing that hers was doing the same against his.
She felt his hand move behind her. Fumbling for her snap. She saved him any additional irritation by reaching around to join him, her fingers fumbling herself as she felt her breasts sag in their release. She crossed her arms over her chest as soon as the brassiere left her arms. She knew she didn’t have a model’s body. A life of sitting in libraries, reading books, had left her, not necessarily fat, but at least soft. A slight belly, legs and thighs that weren’t smooth or tight like Ginny’s or Fleur’s. And since puberty she had come to dread the day when her awkward breasts, one slightly smaller than the other, would be revealed to whoever would be her first. And she had tried her best to trim the patch of dark brown pubic hair. But it was her first time making any serious attempt, and she didn’t know if it was enough…
She looked down at her feet, wondering if he was going to say anything. If he was going to laugh. Or get up and put his clothes back on. But he leaned over, pulled her arms gently to her sides, and kissed her between her breasts. And she breathed easier.
“I’m not too hideous?” Hermione asked, not able to stop the words.
“Not too hideous at all,” Ron replied, pushing her back onto the bed. “You’re wonderful.”
Hermione lay on her back, and lifted her hips as Ron removed her knickers. She reached down and pulled at his boxers, his erect penis poking out from a patch of pale red hair. She felt his hand between her legs, felt one of his fingers slide comfortably into her (she was wetter than she even realized), and she exhaled.
As she reached for his erection, he pulled back.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It won’t take me long. If we’re going to do anything else…”
“Okay,” Hermione whispered, pulling her hand away.
“You… you do want to do something else… right?”
Hermione nodded. “If you want to.”
“Now?”
Hermione nodded again, her eyes locked on his.
His hand pulled away from her clit. Reached over to her other side, where his wand lay. He grasped it. Looked at it. Looked back at her.
“Do you think you could…?” Ron asked. “I’m afraid I’m going to turn mine into an eggplant.”
Despite the tenseness of the situation, Hermione giggled slightly at the image that had appeared in her mind. She rolled away from him, reached down to her jeans, and wrestled the wand from her pocket.
For a moment she was afraid that the birth control spells wouldn’t come to her. But, of course, they did, as her memorization skills almost never failed her. She pointed the tip of the wand between her legs and muttered an incantation. Pointed it at him, said another. Paused. Said a third, one that she had been taught, surprisingly enough, by Fleur Weasley one night when she and Bill had spent the afternoon at the Burrow two months ago. Of all of the women in Hermione’s life, Fleur was the only one who, unlike Ginny, was comfortable in talking graphic details about Ron and Hermione’s sex life (or promised sex life) while, unlike Luna, still having enough experience to give advice.
“Eet ees a simple modifeecashun on ze Eempervius spell,” she had whispered to Hermione as they sat in a secluded corner of the living room, away from the prying ears of Ron and, more importantly, Molly. “There are some nights when Bill ees not enough on his own, and needs zat leetle boost of, ah, endurance to get me over ze edge.”
“Was it supposed to tingle like that?” Ron asked now.
“I think so,” said Hermione. “It will help. I promise.”
Ron nodded. Gulped. “Are you ready?”
Hermione nodded, and he climbed on top of her.
“Be careful,” she whispered as he tried to adjust himself to get a proper entry. “It’s supposed to hurt the first time.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ron said, and she could feel his arms shaking as they held him up over her.
“It’s only for the first time,” she said, kissing him. “Just… go easy, okay?”
Ron nodded. Hermione reached down and took him in her hands. She adjusted him until the tip of his penis was right where it needed to be, and a gasp escaped her lips as, probably despite himself, he pushed in about an inch.
“Am I in the right place?”
“Go slow,” said Hermione, resting her hand on the small of his back. “Please.”
Ron carefully, lovingly, slid himself into her. And it did hurt. It hurt a lot. More than she had expected, although she, quite frankly, didn’t know what to expect. One hand tightened on the back of his neck, the other curled into a fist against his back. She cried out in pain, and wondered if there would be blood if she looked down.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry!” Ron cried, looking anxious. “I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay,” Hermione breathed, her teeth gritted. “I’m fine. It’s… it’s already better. Just stay for a minute. Don’t leave.”
“Okay,” said Ron, kissing her. “Just tell me when, okay? Your pace.”
“Right,” Hermione said, nodding. “My pace… alright…”
“I love you…”
“I love you,” she whispered. Squeezed her muscles around him, testing. It felt better already. Felt wonderful, actually. “Go ahead. But… slow.”
And he did. Moved out. And in. Slow. And it felt…
“I love you,” she whispered again, and wrapped her arms around him, wrapped her legs around him, and felt him love her back.
“Thanks for the housewarming present,” Ginny Weasly said as she lay atop Harry Potter, their hands entwined on his chest.
“I like how you celebrate your first night in your new place by not being there,” Harry smirked.
“I don’t hear you complaining,” Ginny said, kissing his chin.
“Not at all,” Harry said, running his hand along her back.
“Besides,” Ginny continued after a moment’s pause. “It’s not really my place. It’s theirs. I’m just a temporary placeholder. They needed tonight.”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s right.”
“This is my place,” Ginny said, her voice fading. “Right here, with you. I just won’t be done moving in for a few more years.”
Harry nodded as Ginny began to snore quietly. He looked down at their hands, at Ginny’s engagement ring (peridot, her birthstone, and she always said it matches his eyes), and his mind drifted to the still-formless moment one year, two years in the future when it really would be theirs.
This is her place, he thought as he fell asleep. Our place.
Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger lay side-by-side in each other’s arms. Ron felt the urge to start asking a lot of questions, to reassure himself that he had made her happy. Hermione felt the urge to roll over and grab a shirt, as her modesty felt like it was starting to kick in again.
In the end, they were both content to hold each other in silence, with Hermione’s cheek against Ron’s chest, Ron’s fingers running through her sweaty hair.
“Thank you,” Hermione whispered eventually.
“Hmm?” Ron replied, realizing that he was moments away from falling asleep.
“Thank you for the perfect night,” she said.
Ron snorted. “Well, I was probably far from perfect, but… you’re welcome.”
“You were perfect for tonight,” said Hermione, kissing his chest. “We’ll have other nights. Other kinds of perfect.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, hugging her close. “First of many.”
They continued to lay in silence.
“Did you, um,” Ron couldn’t help but ask. “Did you have one?”
Hermione smiled. Nodded. “First of many,” she said.
Ron felt a lot better.
“Thank you for loving me,” Hermione breathed, on the edge of sleep.
“I couldn’t love anyone else.”
Hermione mumbled something quietly (I love you more, it sounded like), and Ron heard her breathing flatten as she nodded off beside him. He smiled, shifted himself on the still-undressed mattress, and faded into a contented slumber, his love in his arms.
Housewarming (1/2) / Previous Chapters / Two Years Later: The Dinner Date