on the dance floor, burn it up
Thanks, everyone for the schmoops and welcome! This is an amazing procrastination tool, yo.
I'm experimenting with cuts and the like, so here goes.
[Potter, 'Great Expectations']
When you think about it, you think it shouldn't happen this way. It should be some grand, romantic, passionate clinch. It should be the band playing and the music swelling. It should be dim lighting and candles lit; his eyes widening, like he's finally seeing you for the first time.
That happened once. You were fourteen. And you walked in, on somebody else's arm, and his eyes widened and you stared at each other across a table. And you shared secret smiles and you felt his eyes on you when you were dancing with that somebody else. And then you kept dancing with that somebody else, and he disappeared and you left on that somebody else's arm.
He didn't interrupt and cut in and take you in his arms and look deeply into your eyes. And his arms didn't feel like heaven around you and your feet didn't feel like they were dancing themselves, floating above the floor. And he didn't give you your first kiss.
And tonight, his eyes didn't widen, like he was seeing you for the first time and there's no band or dim lighting. There's just him and you and the counter digging into your back and his glasses jammed against your throat as he nibbles on your collarbone and his erection presses into you.
If it wasn't dim lighting and eyes widening, you think it should have been a grand, passionate fight. Angry at each other, flushed, breathing heavy; screaming one minute, fucking the next. And you wouldn't be sure when the fighting ended and the fucking began.
That happened to you once before. Ron, you remember. You don't even know what you'd been yelling about, probably nothing since the two of you yelled about everything, most of the time nothing, and then the next moment he had grabbed the back of your neck and his lips were devouring yours. You remember hardly being conscious of your decisions, hardly being conscious when you'd realized you were lying in bed, wrapped around him. You remember laughing, because your legs were all tangled up, but your feet were tickling his calves; he was so much taller than you.
Tonight, there was no fight, no screaming, just talking, like normal. You had been pouring a glass of water and he had been grabbing a butterbeer out of the fridge and the next thing you knew, you were kissing, if it can even be called kissing. His tongue and yours and hot, panting breath and your leg wrapped around his waist, tugging him to you and his hands already under your shirt and dipping into your trousers.
You think this is all very poorly choreographed; that you should somehow instinctively know where to go, where to put your hands, where to place your feet. That he should pull back and look at you, his eyes twinkling or bright with tears or mischievous or scared. You should push him away and whisper are you sure, should we do this. And he would nod and brush your lips with his and take you by the hand and lead you to your bedroom, where candles would somehow be lit and you'd undress each other slowly and reverently, and you'd stop and whisper how much you loved each other should we do this I've never wanted anyone else you're everything I want you so much
Instead, you're almost stumbling over yourselves, your hands getting tangled together and in each other's way in your haste to pull push slide caress tug pinch. His glasses kind-of hurt, digging into your neck like that so you tug them off and hear them snap; you decide to ignore it and drop them on the floor. You feel like your brain went on holiday; maybe it's off with the choreographer you think. You don't know what to do next; it's taking way too long for him to get naked and you're not doing much better yourself but your lips miss his when he pulls away, so you pull him back and ensure he stays close to you when you start sucking on his tongue.
He slams into you, his clothes half hanging off and you grunt when the countertop digs even further into your back. You open your mouth, gulping air and he nibbles on your bottom lip, his hands grappling along your back, trying to undo your bra. You almost giggle roll your eyes pull his hands away; you wonder why men can't seem to do that. You do giggle at the thought of a section in your `special' transfiguration class fifth year and this, boys, is a bra, it's got a very simple clasp at the back. Your giggle turns into a full laugh at the thought of all those boys you went to school with, Harry, Ron, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Justin, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Terry at fifteen, grappling with the mechanics of undoing a bra, Snape lecturing them that this is very important, pay attention, Longbottom, stop giggling, if you don't master this, you needn't worry about unbuttoning or unzipping pants, the ladies will laugh at you and push you away; I'm sure you'll have a long and happy life with your hand.
Harry pulls back and gasps, `What?' his hands ghosting over your back, feeling like butterflies between your shoulderblades. You continue to laugh, that image still in your mind and you tug at the waistband of his trousers.
`It's very simple,' you say, still giggling. `A man who saved the world should be able to handle a simple clasp.'
He rolls his eyes and snaps your bra against your back and you can feel your mouth drop open in surprise. You can't believe he just did that; you can't believe anything about this situation. You're supposed to be swept away by passion embarrassed euphoric telling him don't talk closing your eyes shivering. But you're laughing and he's rolling his eyes and joking with you and it's Harry, the Harry you've always known, your best friend Harry, whom you know everything about and the only difference is that now you want to yank down his pants and find out everything about Harry.
Before you can respond, before you've even forced your lower jaw back up, he's pressed against you, his hands stroking over where the elastic just snapped. He's lowered his head to the junction of your neck and shoulder, you can feel his nose rubbing gently and his erection is gently grinding into your hip. You lose all urge to laugh and struggle to catch your breath instead.
`Well,' he breathes into your shoulder, `I was a bit distracted.'
Even though he can't see it, you raise your eyebrow as your head tips back to give him easier access.
`Wanna help a friend out?' he says, his hand still tugging on the clasp, licking the hollow of your collarbone. You're definitely going to have a hickey or a bruise or some evidence there tomorrow. You shake your head and take a deep breath and you definitely want to encourage the nibbling he's just started but you're determined. You straighten up and his head raises and he looks at you curiously, his hips still rolling against yours. You push him away slightly and turn around, looking over your shoulder.
`You don't need help; it's very simple. And I'm not helping you and if you don't get it undone things progress no further and then, well then I might have to kill you.' No might about it, you think, you definitely will kill him and then things will never progress any further. You stare at him, knowing your pupils are dilated and your cheeks are flushed and your lips are swollen and slick.
He stares at you for a beat, then he raises his hand and whispers something under his breath. Before you realize what's happened, your bra has just…dissolved and his arms are wrapping around you and he's pressed against your back and his lips are at your neck.
`Nice trick,' you gasp, voice broken breathless shaking.
He chuckles, his lips vibrating against the back of your neck and one hand reaching up to pinch a now-bare nipple.
You swallow a moan at that, your nipple tightening even more in response and the lightning dancing along your skin seems to jolt and start centering around your throbbing clit. The throbbing that's getting worse better more intense as Harry's hand starts wandering down your abdomen and his lips wandering down your spine.
You never knew your back was that sensitive, but apparently it is, because it bends of its own accord, offering him more skin, and the next thing you know, your cheek is pressed against the countertop. Cool, you think, sighing in satisfaction; it's nice and cool and even though it's not even making a dent in the fever that is emanating from your very soul, it still feels nice.
Nice nice very nice, you think disjointedly, as your hands scramble around the countertop, unsure where to go. Where's that damn choreographer when you need him? Still on holiday with your brain and you think your adjectives might be about to join them as well, as Harry's hand snakes down into your pants and runs briefly too briefly over your clit.
One of his hands is painting over your back, like he's blind and needs to memorize it and his lips are running along your spine and his other hand is teasing your clit, one of his fingers occasionally slipping up inside you. You don't think you've ever imagined anything could feel quite this good or quite this frustrating. It's nice very nice too much not enough stay right there nice yes right there.
Your hands finally find somewhere to go, one reaching around behind you to twist in his hair as his lips find out what your sixth vertebrae tastes of and your other running down his arm and down inside your pants. You're close so close so very close oh my so close and you think that if he's going to keep you dangling on the edge of this cliff, you're just going to jump over yourself.
You feel Harry jolt when your hand collides with his and that's it right there circle circle right there and then he's pulling your hand away, twining his fingers with yours, pulling them both up above your head on the counter.
You growl, actually growl, your hips moving around in a little dance and your thighs pressing together trying to find some relief you were close so close so very close.
He chuckles, actually chuckles, at your growl and his lips wander back up your spine. `Not yet,' he whispers, licking over that mole on the middle of your back. `Not yet,' he repeats, rising up and molding his body to yours. His lips on your shoulder, one hand still holding yours above your heads, his other arm wrapped around your waist and his erection pressed against your ass. His erection, you think, wondering if that's the word you're looking for. Penis is too clinical and erection sounds like you're in a romance novel. And no romance novel you've ever read has had the heroine bent over a countertop, hand wet and seriously contemplating if she could get some friction against said countertop. So, erection's out too. Cock, you think, trying the word on for size, deciding that it seems to fit you quite like it sounds good that and you vaguely wonder what Harry would say.
Deciding to ask him, you turn your head towards his where he's still kissing your shoulder. You open your eyes and mouth and get a little distracted. He groans as you start sucking on his earlobe and you can feel his breath panting against your shoulder. The heat pooling in your abdomen seems to grow hotter and his hips rock even more insistently against your ass.
His head suddenly turns and his mouth replaces his ear under your lips and his tongue is plunging into your mouth so nice so very nice why can't you think anything but nice anyway and it's like gasoline on a fire igniting your blood. Pushing back against him and shivering, you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms slide down your sides, curving around and picking you up, squeezing and depositing you on the counter.
You miss the insistent throb of his cock against you, but his chest is pressed nicely so nicely there's that damn word again against yours. You shiver, nipples tightening impossibly as the light dusting of hair on his chest scrapes them. Running your hands down his arms, you realize that his shirt is still clinging on to one of his wrists. You giggle slightly at that and he laughs in response, your lips vibrating against each other. You pull back, gasping for air, still laughing and stare into his green green eyes. They're crinkled at the corners, staring at you and you wonder why you've never thought about doing this before.
You feel like so much of life is too much work, like trying to fit square pegs in round holes; you've always felt that way. And this, this thing you've never before entertained, is simple easy natural can't believe it's taken us this long so right why didn't we do this a long time ago right so right
He seems to be thinking the same thing and he leans forward to kiss you. It's a nice kiss, a sweet kiss, more lips learning each other, tongues touching briefly before retreating; a real kiss you think, not like one of those open-mouthed, panting, devouring kisses you've been exchanging tonight. But he still tastes wonderful, slightly of butterbeer, but more Harry than anything and you can feel that heat start centering around your clit again and you're reminded how very close you still are. Just one rub one touch one something would be enough.
This time, he's the one that pulls back, staring at you. `Hey,' he whispers, still impossibly close, running his hands up and down your sides. They feel marvelous, you think, slightly calloused and this is Harry, after all, your best friend Harry, whom you've known forever and you've seen the way he handles a wand and catches the Snitch and you know know his hands are very talented.
You sit back slightly, your hands gripping the edges of the countertop and whisper, `Hey, yourself.' You want to say something else, something profound, something anything, but you don't think there are any words, so you just lean forward and capture his earlobe between your teeth. He seems to understand, hissing in a breath and his hands tighten on your hips, pulling you to him. You wrap your legs around his waist, as you kiss his jaw en route to his mouth. And this, this kiss, is one of the mind-numbing knee-weakening ones, one that makes you feel boneless. You can feel your pulse pounding through your body, from the rushing sound of blood in your ears all the way to your toes.
You unwrap your legs briefly, kicking off your shoes. One thuds on to the floor, but the other one lands in the sink, where your washing up is still sitting, splashing water everywhere. Harry jolts as drops of water land on his back. You think that might be funny, but you don't feel the slightest urge to giggle or remove your lips from Harry's in any way. Your hands running over his back smear the water around; he shivers and you gasp, `Upstairs,' more breath than words, directly into his mouth.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, his tongue still dueling with yours and you know he's agreeing. He grips the sides of your hips, pressing you to him tightly and then you're off the counter. You know that you can't get all the way upstairs in your current position, you can feel Harry's arms straining, so you start to slowly slide down his body. You hiss when you feel him hard against you and you linger there for a moment, before slowly lowering your feet to the floor.
You think that this is the part that makes it real, that makes it true, this walk up the stairs. You've never imagined this walk with Harry, what it would be like, what you would feel like, how it would be, but you do know it's not like this.
You think that this is probably the point where you should be thinking about Harry, and how much he means to you, and what this all might mean. Whether this is love, and should you talk about it. How you've been friends forever, and might this fuck it up. Where the hell had this come from, and should you just ignore it.
You know you probably should, but as you lead Harry up the stairs, dragging him by one of his belt loops, the only thing you're thinking is how gorgeous he is and you can practically feel your mouth watering. He's flushed and bare-chested, he's got scratches along his abdomen and you can see his cock straining against his pants. He keeps pulling you in for kisses and his hands keep tweaking caressing rolling your nipples.
You're surprised when you actually make it up the stairs; you thought you'd surely break your necks as distracted as you were and then he's got you pinned up against the wall, one of his legs in between yours and you're moaning deep in your throat and grabbing his buttocks. You've never really thought about Harry's ass before but now you realise it's quite nice very nice nice and fits right in your hands. You drag one hand along his hip to the front of his trousers and trace his cock through the fabric. You feel his body jerk; he presses closer to you as you unzip his trousers before reaching inside to grab him. He's smooth and slick and feels absolutely marvelous in your hand.
He makes this sound deep in his throat, you're not sure what to call it, but it rumbles, rumbles deep in his chest and you can feel it in yours. You keep stroking him and pretty soon he's thrusting into your hand and your breasts are still rubbing against his chest and the nice so nice scratchy hair there and he's pretty much given you control of the kiss. You think you like this, this control, this feeling of power, like he's putty in your hands. You've never felt like that before you don't think.
Suddenly, though, that feeling, that control is gone. Harry's pulled away from you, his breath hissing out between his teeth directly into your mouth. He's pinned your hands against the wall behind your back, so your back is arched and you feel like some sort of offering. He's looking down at you with those half-lidded green green eyes and you have to close your own. You can feel him lean closer to you, the heat of his body scorching your skin and he kisses you.
Your mouth immediately opens and you draw one leg up to wrap around his waist. One of his hands is still holding your wrists together behind your back and the other is once again making its way inside your trousers. You're so wet you feel like you must be almost dripping and you can feel a whimper build in your throat. His thumb is teasing your clit and two of his fingers are inside you and you feel like you may very well die.
A low keening noise that you've never imagined anyone making is emitting from your throat as you thrust down on to his hand. You've got no leverage and you're thrusting against him awkwardly, tugging him closer with your leg that's around his waist. He's licking a path down your neck and seems quite content to drive you mad indefinitely, though his entire body seems tense with holding himself together.
You've never really imagined yourself and Harry in this situation, but it doesn't even fit in any of your abstract wonderings about sex. You remember wondering what sex with `the one,' for lack of a better word, would be like. When you were younger, like all young girls you guess, you imagined something incredibly sensitive and caring. Someone who worshipped you and was tender gentle soft stroking hands brushing lips. And you would make love with this person and you would spend hours exploring each other and there would be mutual orgasms and screaming each others' names.
Then, you discovered that sex was messy and sometimes awkward and fun; after that, you thought sex with `the one' would be fast and furious and all-consuming. Your head would blow off and you wouldn't be responsible for your actions. You would leave scratches and bite marks and you would walk awkwardly for days.
However, pinned against the wall, thrusting against Harry's hand, you're discovering the truth is something in between the two. It is furious and all-consuming, but you remember your name Hermione Granger born 19 September and you know exactly what you're doing. But the look in his eyes is tender and makes something implode in your stomach and you sort-of feel like crying. But you're worshiping him as well and you know there is no way you're going to spend hours exploring each other. You don't know about the mutual orgasms yet and if you have anything to say about it, you're not going to be walking awkwardly for days because you're going to be spending them in bed.
You're not even sure what to call this. Making love sounds like erection, like you're in a romance novel and this reality is far better than some ten-pence paperback. Fucking sounds too harsh; you've fucked before and you could never fuck Harry. Shagging sounds like something university students do when they go away from home and live in a residence hall. Sex sounds too clinical and why are you even worrying about this when Harry's loosened his grip on your wrists?
Wasting no time, you wrap your arms around his neck and bring your other leg around his waist. For a few seconds you're suspended there, not sure if Harry's going to catch you, but he does of course he does this is Harry, your best friend Harry, of course he catches you. His hand that was inside your trousers yanks away and comes up; you can hear it smack the wall beside your head as he regains his balance; his other arm is wrapped under your ass, holding you up.
You can feel him hard against you and you feel like your body is trying to draw him inside you, even through the layers of clothing still separating you. You're not even kissing, simply rocking against each other and panting. You think you could stay like this forever; it's quite nice really nice very nice he smells wonderful feels so good, but your clit feels like it's on fire and it's just getting worse with every thrust.
Pushing back abruptly, you drop your legs and unwrap yourself from around him. He looks startled you realise as you back him across the hallway and into your bedroom. You've never felt like this before, like some sort of predator; you can almost feel the gleam in your eye and you know you look like you're stalking him. He doesn't seem to mind as he reaches for you, licking his lips. You don't say anything as you bat his hands away, your hands going to your own hips and shimmying out of your trousers and pants at once. He seems to get the idea and as you step out of the puddle of material at your feet, he's easing his trousers down as well. You still feel like some sort of overgrown cat, stalking towards him as he backs up towards the bed.
Suddenly, he smirks at you and stopping just shy of the bed, lunges for you. You go quite willingly into his arms, shivering; you've never imagined anything quite as nice as feeling Harry's bare body pressed along the length of yours. And he's captured your mouth in one of those kisses again; one of those ones that makes you want to do something anything everything. You want to fuck him shag him make love with him climb inside his mouth crawl inside his skin meld yourself to him. Your mouth and tongue are dueling with his and your arms are reaching up down around across, trying to grab caress hold as much skin muscles Harry as you can. His hands are running all over you and your feet are doing this insane little dance, not sure where to go; you feel like your body can't handle everything you're feeling now and they're trying to expel some of it.
You feel the mattress against your thighs as you turn and decide it's about time you got in bed. Pulling back slightly, you crawl on to the bed, your eyes never leaving Harry's. He follows you on, coming impossibly close; your bodies pressed together from head to knee. Neither of you say anything, you don't think even Shakespeare could think of something appropriate encompassing right for the moment, so you decide not to ruin it by trying to put it into words. You don't say anything and your eyes aren't either; it's not one of the long, searching, conversational stares the two of you are capable of having. You don't feel like you're seeing into his soul or anything and his eyes are following his hand as it runs down your arm so he's not seeing into yours either. But you already know each others' souls and then his fingers twine with yours and that's all that either of you need. You know him and you know yourself and you both know each other and what this means.
A minute ago you were almost dancing with excitement anticipation nerves love and now you're calm. You're Hermione Granger born 19 September and you're doing exactly what you've always wanted to do. Even if you didn't even know it yourself.
END
Harry/Hermione - If this isn't love, I don't think I can handle the real thing.
Hopefully that worked.
In other news, FX is the greatest station on earth. Season 7 Buffy, yo. They started last night. I missed *all* of last season, so I'm vera excited.
I'm experimenting with cuts and the like, so here goes.
[Potter, 'Great Expectations']
When you think about it, you think it shouldn't happen this way. It should be some grand, romantic, passionate clinch. It should be the band playing and the music swelling. It should be dim lighting and candles lit; his eyes widening, like he's finally seeing you for the first time.
That happened once. You were fourteen. And you walked in, on somebody else's arm, and his eyes widened and you stared at each other across a table. And you shared secret smiles and you felt his eyes on you when you were dancing with that somebody else. And then you kept dancing with that somebody else, and he disappeared and you left on that somebody else's arm.
He didn't interrupt and cut in and take you in his arms and look deeply into your eyes. And his arms didn't feel like heaven around you and your feet didn't feel like they were dancing themselves, floating above the floor. And he didn't give you your first kiss.
And tonight, his eyes didn't widen, like he was seeing you for the first time and there's no band or dim lighting. There's just him and you and the counter digging into your back and his glasses jammed against your throat as he nibbles on your collarbone and his erection presses into you.
If it wasn't dim lighting and eyes widening, you think it should have been a grand, passionate fight. Angry at each other, flushed, breathing heavy; screaming one minute, fucking the next. And you wouldn't be sure when the fighting ended and the fucking began.
That happened to you once before. Ron, you remember. You don't even know what you'd been yelling about, probably nothing since the two of you yelled about everything, most of the time nothing, and then the next moment he had grabbed the back of your neck and his lips were devouring yours. You remember hardly being conscious of your decisions, hardly being conscious when you'd realized you were lying in bed, wrapped around him. You remember laughing, because your legs were all tangled up, but your feet were tickling his calves; he was so much taller than you.
Tonight, there was no fight, no screaming, just talking, like normal. You had been pouring a glass of water and he had been grabbing a butterbeer out of the fridge and the next thing you knew, you were kissing, if it can even be called kissing. His tongue and yours and hot, panting breath and your leg wrapped around his waist, tugging him to you and his hands already under your shirt and dipping into your trousers.
You think this is all very poorly choreographed; that you should somehow instinctively know where to go, where to put your hands, where to place your feet. That he should pull back and look at you, his eyes twinkling or bright with tears or mischievous or scared. You should push him away and whisper are you sure, should we do this. And he would nod and brush your lips with his and take you by the hand and lead you to your bedroom, where candles would somehow be lit and you'd undress each other slowly and reverently, and you'd stop and whisper how much you loved each other should we do this I've never wanted anyone else you're everything I want you so much
Instead, you're almost stumbling over yourselves, your hands getting tangled together and in each other's way in your haste to pull push slide caress tug pinch. His glasses kind-of hurt, digging into your neck like that so you tug them off and hear them snap; you decide to ignore it and drop them on the floor. You feel like your brain went on holiday; maybe it's off with the choreographer you think. You don't know what to do next; it's taking way too long for him to get naked and you're not doing much better yourself but your lips miss his when he pulls away, so you pull him back and ensure he stays close to you when you start sucking on his tongue.
He slams into you, his clothes half hanging off and you grunt when the countertop digs even further into your back. You open your mouth, gulping air and he nibbles on your bottom lip, his hands grappling along your back, trying to undo your bra. You almost giggle roll your eyes pull his hands away; you wonder why men can't seem to do that. You do giggle at the thought of a section in your `special' transfiguration class fifth year and this, boys, is a bra, it's got a very simple clasp at the back. Your giggle turns into a full laugh at the thought of all those boys you went to school with, Harry, Ron, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Justin, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Terry at fifteen, grappling with the mechanics of undoing a bra, Snape lecturing them that this is very important, pay attention, Longbottom, stop giggling, if you don't master this, you needn't worry about unbuttoning or unzipping pants, the ladies will laugh at you and push you away; I'm sure you'll have a long and happy life with your hand.
Harry pulls back and gasps, `What?' his hands ghosting over your back, feeling like butterflies between your shoulderblades. You continue to laugh, that image still in your mind and you tug at the waistband of his trousers.
`It's very simple,' you say, still giggling. `A man who saved the world should be able to handle a simple clasp.'
He rolls his eyes and snaps your bra against your back and you can feel your mouth drop open in surprise. You can't believe he just did that; you can't believe anything about this situation. You're supposed to be swept away by passion embarrassed euphoric telling him don't talk closing your eyes shivering. But you're laughing and he's rolling his eyes and joking with you and it's Harry, the Harry you've always known, your best friend Harry, whom you know everything about and the only difference is that now you want to yank down his pants and find out everything about Harry.
Before you can respond, before you've even forced your lower jaw back up, he's pressed against you, his hands stroking over where the elastic just snapped. He's lowered his head to the junction of your neck and shoulder, you can feel his nose rubbing gently and his erection is gently grinding into your hip. You lose all urge to laugh and struggle to catch your breath instead.
`Well,' he breathes into your shoulder, `I was a bit distracted.'
Even though he can't see it, you raise your eyebrow as your head tips back to give him easier access.
`Wanna help a friend out?' he says, his hand still tugging on the clasp, licking the hollow of your collarbone. You're definitely going to have a hickey or a bruise or some evidence there tomorrow. You shake your head and take a deep breath and you definitely want to encourage the nibbling he's just started but you're determined. You straighten up and his head raises and he looks at you curiously, his hips still rolling against yours. You push him away slightly and turn around, looking over your shoulder.
`You don't need help; it's very simple. And I'm not helping you and if you don't get it undone things progress no further and then, well then I might have to kill you.' No might about it, you think, you definitely will kill him and then things will never progress any further. You stare at him, knowing your pupils are dilated and your cheeks are flushed and your lips are swollen and slick.
He stares at you for a beat, then he raises his hand and whispers something under his breath. Before you realize what's happened, your bra has just…dissolved and his arms are wrapping around you and he's pressed against your back and his lips are at your neck.
`Nice trick,' you gasp, voice broken breathless shaking.
He chuckles, his lips vibrating against the back of your neck and one hand reaching up to pinch a now-bare nipple.
You swallow a moan at that, your nipple tightening even more in response and the lightning dancing along your skin seems to jolt and start centering around your throbbing clit. The throbbing that's getting worse better more intense as Harry's hand starts wandering down your abdomen and his lips wandering down your spine.
You never knew your back was that sensitive, but apparently it is, because it bends of its own accord, offering him more skin, and the next thing you know, your cheek is pressed against the countertop. Cool, you think, sighing in satisfaction; it's nice and cool and even though it's not even making a dent in the fever that is emanating from your very soul, it still feels nice.
Nice nice very nice, you think disjointedly, as your hands scramble around the countertop, unsure where to go. Where's that damn choreographer when you need him? Still on holiday with your brain and you think your adjectives might be about to join them as well, as Harry's hand snakes down into your pants and runs briefly too briefly over your clit.
One of his hands is painting over your back, like he's blind and needs to memorize it and his lips are running along your spine and his other hand is teasing your clit, one of his fingers occasionally slipping up inside you. You don't think you've ever imagined anything could feel quite this good or quite this frustrating. It's nice very nice too much not enough stay right there nice yes right there.
Your hands finally find somewhere to go, one reaching around behind you to twist in his hair as his lips find out what your sixth vertebrae tastes of and your other running down his arm and down inside your pants. You're close so close so very close oh my so close and you think that if he's going to keep you dangling on the edge of this cliff, you're just going to jump over yourself.
You feel Harry jolt when your hand collides with his and that's it right there circle circle right there and then he's pulling your hand away, twining his fingers with yours, pulling them both up above your head on the counter.
You growl, actually growl, your hips moving around in a little dance and your thighs pressing together trying to find some relief you were close so close so very close.
He chuckles, actually chuckles, at your growl and his lips wander back up your spine. `Not yet,' he whispers, licking over that mole on the middle of your back. `Not yet,' he repeats, rising up and molding his body to yours. His lips on your shoulder, one hand still holding yours above your heads, his other arm wrapped around your waist and his erection pressed against your ass. His erection, you think, wondering if that's the word you're looking for. Penis is too clinical and erection sounds like you're in a romance novel. And no romance novel you've ever read has had the heroine bent over a countertop, hand wet and seriously contemplating if she could get some friction against said countertop. So, erection's out too. Cock, you think, trying the word on for size, deciding that it seems to fit you quite like it sounds good that and you vaguely wonder what Harry would say.
Deciding to ask him, you turn your head towards his where he's still kissing your shoulder. You open your eyes and mouth and get a little distracted. He groans as you start sucking on his earlobe and you can feel his breath panting against your shoulder. The heat pooling in your abdomen seems to grow hotter and his hips rock even more insistently against your ass.
His head suddenly turns and his mouth replaces his ear under your lips and his tongue is plunging into your mouth so nice so very nice why can't you think anything but nice anyway and it's like gasoline on a fire igniting your blood. Pushing back against him and shivering, you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms slide down your sides, curving around and picking you up, squeezing and depositing you on the counter.
You miss the insistent throb of his cock against you, but his chest is pressed nicely so nicely there's that damn word again against yours. You shiver, nipples tightening impossibly as the light dusting of hair on his chest scrapes them. Running your hands down his arms, you realize that his shirt is still clinging on to one of his wrists. You giggle slightly at that and he laughs in response, your lips vibrating against each other. You pull back, gasping for air, still laughing and stare into his green green eyes. They're crinkled at the corners, staring at you and you wonder why you've never thought about doing this before.
You feel like so much of life is too much work, like trying to fit square pegs in round holes; you've always felt that way. And this, this thing you've never before entertained, is simple easy natural can't believe it's taken us this long so right why didn't we do this a long time ago right so right
He seems to be thinking the same thing and he leans forward to kiss you. It's a nice kiss, a sweet kiss, more lips learning each other, tongues touching briefly before retreating; a real kiss you think, not like one of those open-mouthed, panting, devouring kisses you've been exchanging tonight. But he still tastes wonderful, slightly of butterbeer, but more Harry than anything and you can feel that heat start centering around your clit again and you're reminded how very close you still are. Just one rub one touch one something would be enough.
This time, he's the one that pulls back, staring at you. `Hey,' he whispers, still impossibly close, running his hands up and down your sides. They feel marvelous, you think, slightly calloused and this is Harry, after all, your best friend Harry, whom you've known forever and you've seen the way he handles a wand and catches the Snitch and you know know his hands are very talented.
You sit back slightly, your hands gripping the edges of the countertop and whisper, `Hey, yourself.' You want to say something else, something profound, something anything, but you don't think there are any words, so you just lean forward and capture his earlobe between your teeth. He seems to understand, hissing in a breath and his hands tighten on your hips, pulling you to him. You wrap your legs around his waist, as you kiss his jaw en route to his mouth. And this, this kiss, is one of the mind-numbing knee-weakening ones, one that makes you feel boneless. You can feel your pulse pounding through your body, from the rushing sound of blood in your ears all the way to your toes.
You unwrap your legs briefly, kicking off your shoes. One thuds on to the floor, but the other one lands in the sink, where your washing up is still sitting, splashing water everywhere. Harry jolts as drops of water land on his back. You think that might be funny, but you don't feel the slightest urge to giggle or remove your lips from Harry's in any way. Your hands running over his back smear the water around; he shivers and you gasp, `Upstairs,' more breath than words, directly into his mouth.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, his tongue still dueling with yours and you know he's agreeing. He grips the sides of your hips, pressing you to him tightly and then you're off the counter. You know that you can't get all the way upstairs in your current position, you can feel Harry's arms straining, so you start to slowly slide down his body. You hiss when you feel him hard against you and you linger there for a moment, before slowly lowering your feet to the floor.
You think that this is the part that makes it real, that makes it true, this walk up the stairs. You've never imagined this walk with Harry, what it would be like, what you would feel like, how it would be, but you do know it's not like this.
You think that this is probably the point where you should be thinking about Harry, and how much he means to you, and what this all might mean. Whether this is love, and should you talk about it. How you've been friends forever, and might this fuck it up. Where the hell had this come from, and should you just ignore it.
You know you probably should, but as you lead Harry up the stairs, dragging him by one of his belt loops, the only thing you're thinking is how gorgeous he is and you can practically feel your mouth watering. He's flushed and bare-chested, he's got scratches along his abdomen and you can see his cock straining against his pants. He keeps pulling you in for kisses and his hands keep tweaking caressing rolling your nipples.
You're surprised when you actually make it up the stairs; you thought you'd surely break your necks as distracted as you were and then he's got you pinned up against the wall, one of his legs in between yours and you're moaning deep in your throat and grabbing his buttocks. You've never really thought about Harry's ass before but now you realise it's quite nice very nice nice and fits right in your hands. You drag one hand along his hip to the front of his trousers and trace his cock through the fabric. You feel his body jerk; he presses closer to you as you unzip his trousers before reaching inside to grab him. He's smooth and slick and feels absolutely marvelous in your hand.
He makes this sound deep in his throat, you're not sure what to call it, but it rumbles, rumbles deep in his chest and you can feel it in yours. You keep stroking him and pretty soon he's thrusting into your hand and your breasts are still rubbing against his chest and the nice so nice scratchy hair there and he's pretty much given you control of the kiss. You think you like this, this control, this feeling of power, like he's putty in your hands. You've never felt like that before you don't think.
Suddenly, though, that feeling, that control is gone. Harry's pulled away from you, his breath hissing out between his teeth directly into your mouth. He's pinned your hands against the wall behind your back, so your back is arched and you feel like some sort of offering. He's looking down at you with those half-lidded green green eyes and you have to close your own. You can feel him lean closer to you, the heat of his body scorching your skin and he kisses you.
Your mouth immediately opens and you draw one leg up to wrap around his waist. One of his hands is still holding your wrists together behind your back and the other is once again making its way inside your trousers. You're so wet you feel like you must be almost dripping and you can feel a whimper build in your throat. His thumb is teasing your clit and two of his fingers are inside you and you feel like you may very well die.
A low keening noise that you've never imagined anyone making is emitting from your throat as you thrust down on to his hand. You've got no leverage and you're thrusting against him awkwardly, tugging him closer with your leg that's around his waist. He's licking a path down your neck and seems quite content to drive you mad indefinitely, though his entire body seems tense with holding himself together.
You've never really imagined yourself and Harry in this situation, but it doesn't even fit in any of your abstract wonderings about sex. You remember wondering what sex with `the one,' for lack of a better word, would be like. When you were younger, like all young girls you guess, you imagined something incredibly sensitive and caring. Someone who worshipped you and was tender gentle soft stroking hands brushing lips. And you would make love with this person and you would spend hours exploring each other and there would be mutual orgasms and screaming each others' names.
Then, you discovered that sex was messy and sometimes awkward and fun; after that, you thought sex with `the one' would be fast and furious and all-consuming. Your head would blow off and you wouldn't be responsible for your actions. You would leave scratches and bite marks and you would walk awkwardly for days.
However, pinned against the wall, thrusting against Harry's hand, you're discovering the truth is something in between the two. It is furious and all-consuming, but you remember your name Hermione Granger born 19 September and you know exactly what you're doing. But the look in his eyes is tender and makes something implode in your stomach and you sort-of feel like crying. But you're worshiping him as well and you know there is no way you're going to spend hours exploring each other. You don't know about the mutual orgasms yet and if you have anything to say about it, you're not going to be walking awkwardly for days because you're going to be spending them in bed.
You're not even sure what to call this. Making love sounds like erection, like you're in a romance novel and this reality is far better than some ten-pence paperback. Fucking sounds too harsh; you've fucked before and you could never fuck Harry. Shagging sounds like something university students do when they go away from home and live in a residence hall. Sex sounds too clinical and why are you even worrying about this when Harry's loosened his grip on your wrists?
Wasting no time, you wrap your arms around his neck and bring your other leg around his waist. For a few seconds you're suspended there, not sure if Harry's going to catch you, but he does of course he does this is Harry, your best friend Harry, of course he catches you. His hand that was inside your trousers yanks away and comes up; you can hear it smack the wall beside your head as he regains his balance; his other arm is wrapped under your ass, holding you up.
You can feel him hard against you and you feel like your body is trying to draw him inside you, even through the layers of clothing still separating you. You're not even kissing, simply rocking against each other and panting. You think you could stay like this forever; it's quite nice really nice very nice he smells wonderful feels so good, but your clit feels like it's on fire and it's just getting worse with every thrust.
Pushing back abruptly, you drop your legs and unwrap yourself from around him. He looks startled you realise as you back him across the hallway and into your bedroom. You've never felt like this before, like some sort of predator; you can almost feel the gleam in your eye and you know you look like you're stalking him. He doesn't seem to mind as he reaches for you, licking his lips. You don't say anything as you bat his hands away, your hands going to your own hips and shimmying out of your trousers and pants at once. He seems to get the idea and as you step out of the puddle of material at your feet, he's easing his trousers down as well. You still feel like some sort of overgrown cat, stalking towards him as he backs up towards the bed.
Suddenly, he smirks at you and stopping just shy of the bed, lunges for you. You go quite willingly into his arms, shivering; you've never imagined anything quite as nice as feeling Harry's bare body pressed along the length of yours. And he's captured your mouth in one of those kisses again; one of those ones that makes you want to do something anything everything. You want to fuck him shag him make love with him climb inside his mouth crawl inside his skin meld yourself to him. Your mouth and tongue are dueling with his and your arms are reaching up down around across, trying to grab caress hold as much skin muscles Harry as you can. His hands are running all over you and your feet are doing this insane little dance, not sure where to go; you feel like your body can't handle everything you're feeling now and they're trying to expel some of it.
You feel the mattress against your thighs as you turn and decide it's about time you got in bed. Pulling back slightly, you crawl on to the bed, your eyes never leaving Harry's. He follows you on, coming impossibly close; your bodies pressed together from head to knee. Neither of you say anything, you don't think even Shakespeare could think of something appropriate encompassing right for the moment, so you decide not to ruin it by trying to put it into words. You don't say anything and your eyes aren't either; it's not one of the long, searching, conversational stares the two of you are capable of having. You don't feel like you're seeing into his soul or anything and his eyes are following his hand as it runs down your arm so he's not seeing into yours either. But you already know each others' souls and then his fingers twine with yours and that's all that either of you need. You know him and you know yourself and you both know each other and what this means.
A minute ago you were almost dancing with excitement anticipation nerves love and now you're calm. You're Hermione Granger born 19 September and you're doing exactly what you've always wanted to do. Even if you didn't even know it yourself.
END
Harry/Hermione - If this isn't love, I don't think I can handle the real thing.
Hopefully that worked.
In other news, FX is the greatest station on earth. Season 7 Buffy, yo. They started last night. I missed *all* of last season, so I'm vera excited.