A/N: Hi everyone! This is a very, very smutty one-shot that was never intended to be this long but hey, things happen. It's absolutely rated M and I hope you like it!
There are pros and cons to Ron's bedroom being on the top floor, the main positive point being that the landing outside his door doesn't get a lot of foot traffic. Unless Harry's turning in for the night or Molly's dropping off fresh laundry, Hermione can pretty much expect that they'll be left alone. The negative, of course, is that heat rises, and even as the temperatures lag in mid-May, it seems all of the humidity in Britain has focused itself on one small, untidy, bright orange room.
Or maybe, Hermione reasons, it's because anytime she's in here, it's with Ron, alone, and there's a magnetism between them that makes beads of sweat pop up along her sternum and her hair frizz out to epic proportions. If she isn't touching him in some way - rather, if she isn't touching as much of him as possible - the moment feels wasted. And the cracked-open window above his bed does so little to alleviate the situation.
Ron's mum had sent them up here to tidy up his room, citing the upcoming visit of the Minister of Magic as grounds to deep-clean the entire house. A year ago, Ron would have (and had) whined that nobody would be seeing his room, but this time around he nodded, politely agreed with his mum, and casually led Hermione up the zigzagging staircase into his room. Where they proceeded to tumble onto his bed, lips fused together, hands rubbing over sweaty skin. Before Hermione realizes it, she's pulling his t-shirt over his head and sliding her hands over his chest, over the ridges of his ribcage. They're both still far too skinny, even after a month with Bill and Fleur and two weeks at the Burrow.
He kisses over her cheek and down her neck, taking time to lick away drops of sweat, making her heart race. She knew from the start that he had more experience than she did, but she's stunned herself with how comfortable she is with the progress in the physical side of their relationship. Before they left Hogwarts for the Burrow, she had broken into Professor Slughorn's ingredient cupboard and procured everything necessary for a contraceptive potion, which she had then brewed for herself and Ginny. She's been taking it daily, not knowing which day will be the day but wanting, as always, to be prepared.
Admittedly, there have been a few hiccups. They're Ron and Hermione, so of course nothing is ever perfect. The first time she felt him digging into her leg, firm and insistent through his jeans, she had to make up an excuse to dash to the loo and compose herself. After all, it's not like she doesn't know what he has down there and she's hoping one day soon to utilize it to its full potential, but to actually feel it had overwhelmed her for a moment. She's not used to feeling this strongly for anybody. As it turned out, everything she felt for him before their first kiss had really just been the tip of the iceberg.
"Hermione," he pants into her neck, his hand on her waist beneath her shirt. "I want to, erm…" She catches just a glimpse of his bright red face as he presses his lips hungrily to hers.
"To what?" Hermione kisses him again, offering reassurance. His last idea, from a few nights ago when Harry had gone on a late-night fly with Ginny, had resulted in his hands under her knickers, his fingers delving inside of her, making her moan and fist up the bedclothes. Lately, she quite likes his bouts of inspiration.
"Well, I just…" He kisses her long and slow, humming against her mouth. "I thought… is it okay if…" Another kiss. "IfIgodownonyou?"
The words tumble so hurriedly from his lips that Hermione isn't sure at first that she's heard him correctly. "What?"
"Feel free to tell me to fuck off," Ron says anxiously, "I just, y'know, thought maybe you'd like it? Since you liked the other day when-"
"Okay," Hermione agrees. If she's going to have sex with him someday (and soon), she wants to be as comfortable with him as possible. This is a step forward on that road.
"Can…" Ron tugs on the waistband of her shorts. "Can I take these off, then?"
"I don't see how you'll do it if you don't," Hermione quips back, making Ron smile and smack a kiss on her lips.
Hands trembling a bit, he unbuttons her shorts and shimmies them down her legs, taking a second to admire her hips, clad in simple cotton knickers, before pulling those away as well. Ron's kneeling between her legs, a hand on each thigh, when she becomes acutely aware that it's two in the afternoon on a Wednesday and most of his family is home. Innocuous snogging is one thing, nakedness from the waist down decidedly another.
Ron seems to have the same thought, because he fires a locking spell at the door - it will at least give them fair warning should anyone try to enter - and drops his wand onto the bed beside them. He situates himself on his stomach, face between her thighs, and presses his lips to her slit. The gasp it evokes from her throat is so sudden and sharp that Ron looks up, eyes wide.
"Are you okay?" he asks, half-panicked.
"Fine," she nods. "It's just - well - no one's ever kissed me there before."
"Right." He's also thinking thank Merlin for that but opting not to voice it. "Okay."
This time when his mouth lands on her, she's ready for it. He starts slow, gradually adding in his tongue, rhythmically caressing her folds, using one hand on her hip to hold her in place. It's half-strange and half-wonderful, even though he's just slightly off the mark from where she thinks his efforts might be most effective. Her breathing grows shallow, ragged, as she tries to angle herself toward him.
"Does it feel good?" he asks, the vibrations from his voice thrumming through her center.
"Yeah," she breathes. "Go higher."
It takes a second to click together in his brain but then he shifts his mouth upwards, his tongue just glancing over her bundle of nerves and making her whimper. He's a quick learner, focusing his attention there as a thin sheen of sweat forms over her bare skin. It's almost suffocating in the room but Hermione can't be fussed over that at the moment, not when he's making her feel this good.
"Use your fingers," she instructs, and he does, dipping two of them into her and rubbing her inner walls in such a way that she has to work not to clamp her thighs around his head.
"Ye-es," she groans, her head tossed back as his ministrations grow faster and faster. He's moaning into her now and she's not sure if it's because she's inadvertently suffocating him or if he's deriving just as much pleasure from this as she is. She doesn't have much time to consider it, anyway, because her legs have begun to shake and her back is arching up and then she collapses, sweaty and sated.
"So I take it you liked that," Ron grins, kissing her protruding hipbone.
Hermione sighs and nods, her eyes still closed, as he rests his chin on her thigh. "Did it…" She hates to voice her insecurity, but then again, this is Ron. She doesn't want anything to go unsaid. "Did it taste okay?"
She can feel him nodding.
"I like how you taste." Ron's face is brick red as he kisses up her stomach, moving her shirt out of the way until it's bunched under her ribcage and she decides to just strip it off; it's soaked in sweat anyway. Her bra is plain white lace, little scallops along the cups, and Ron smooths a hand over her breast as he leans in to kiss her. She can taste herself, a bit, but it doesn't bother her like she thought it might.
She also realizes, as his chest settles on hers, that she has never been remotely this bare in front of him. Her bra barely counts as clothing and she starts to wonder what it might be like if his shorts leave the equation and she's able to really feel him…
"Ron," she whispers, pulling her mouth from his. "Let me, erm, return the favor."
"Oh." His blue eyes are so wide. "R-really? You would?"
"Yes," she confirms. That's all it takes to get him to roll onto his back and shed his shorts and pants.
It's more difficult than she expects: he's rather big, she decides (not that she has a frame of reference), and heavy in her mouth and she keeps worrying that she's scraping him with her teeth, but the sounds erupting from his lips tell her that she's doing just fine. Experimentally she cups her hand underneath him, and that's all it takes for him to lose control, spurts of hot liquid hitting the back of her throat. She can do nothing else but swallow and lick his tip clean as he tries to bring his heart rate back to normal.
"That... was fucking brilliant," he says, coming back to himself enough to roll toward her and claim her lips.
"I hoped it would be."
There's nothing between them now except her bra, which keeps slipping off her shoulders, and the ache at her center has returned with a vengeance. Ron kisses her slowly, deeply, his tongue plundering her mouth, one hand toying with her nipple through her bra. They really shouldn't be doing this, she thinks absently. It doesn't take long to organize a room this small, especially with the aid of magic, but she doesn't want to break the moment. Her lust-ridden mind begins to rationalize: they are eighteen; they just survived a war; they should be allowed to do this, but his conservative parents probably have a different stance.
He's tugging on the side of her bra, the movements of his lips all but halted as he furrows his brow. "How does this…"
"Here, I'll do it." Smiling, Hermione sits up just enough to reach behind her back and undo the clasp. Ron peels her bra away with an expression of reverential disbelief, blinking rapidly as though to try and process that she's actually naked in his bed.
Hermione sort of can't believe it either, even when he lowers his mouth to her breast and places a kiss on the soft, sensitive skin. The pulsing between her legs grows stronger, more undeniable, as he takes it in turns to suck on her nipples, the thick, solid length of him pressing into her thigh. Ron kisses a sticky path up her chest and neck, catching her lips again; he's trying to be gentle and careful and treat her like she's made of glass, but she really isn't.
"I love you," says Hermione between kisses, feeling him smile against her lips.
"I love you too."
She cards her fingers through his sweat-damp hair, savoring his weight pushing her into the mattress, her pointed nipples grazing along his chest. Almost of their own volition, her legs spread just enough for his hips to settle between them and as he adjusts the angle of their kiss, his tip bumps ever so slightly against the folds between her legs.
Ron freezes. "Sorry," he says hastily, "I didn't mean to-"
"It's okay." She wants him. She has wanted him for years, and now they're here, happy and safe and completely naked in his bed, and sure, it doesn't take this long to clean a room that basically just contains a bed and an old fish tank, but she's never felt closer to him in her entire life. "Go in."
"Wh-what?" Propped up on his forearms, he hovers above her, staring down quizzically as though trying to be sure he's heard her right.
"I'm ready if you are."
It doesn't have to be a big deal, their first time, since she's planning on it being the first of many. Their relationship has already changed so drastically over the past few weeks that this just feels like the logical next step. She runs her hands over his shoulders, her fingertips catching in the many scars decorating his skin.
"Okay, but what about-"
"I've been taking the potion," Hermione informs him.
Ron's eyes light up like it's suddenly Christmas morning. "Have you really?"
"Yes, I - I want this with you, I want everything with you-"
"Me too," he agrees. They kiss again, slowly, and Hermione opens her legs up so that he can position himself between them. He's so close, nudging against her, and she reaches between their bodies to guide him into place. This will hurt, she knows, but any pain is worth it to be connected to him, to be as close to him as possible-
A pounding on the door so fervent that it makes the hinges squeak effectively shatters the moment; Ron looks like he's been punched in the stomach.
"Ron?" It's Ginny. "Dad wants you to come downstairs, he needs your help to fix something, I guess?"
Squeezing his eyes shut, as if willing time to reverse, Ron rolls off of Hermione. "Two minutes," he calls back with a grimace. "I'm sorry," he whispers to Hermione, placing a hand on her bare stomach. "I'm so sorry."
Hermione, a little shamelessly, watches him dress and then does the same, twisting her messy hair back into a bun. Ron takes her waist and kisses her warmly on the lips.
"Maybe it's best if we don't do it when everyone else is home," he admits.
"Probably." Hermione kisses him again, wrapping her arms around his neck and nibbling on his lower lip.
"Mmm, c'mere," he mutters, bringing her torso up against his and deepening the kiss. "I should tell you how good you look naked."
"You do, though, have you seen yourself?" He grins and kisses her neck. "Don't know if you realize-"
"Ron!" Ginny shouts again, annoyed. "Don't make me come in there."
With a long-suffering sigh, Ron extracts himself from Hermione's embrace and yanks open the door, greeting his sister with an irritated glare. Hermione decides to stay behind and actually do what they were asked to do and clean the room, as Ron steps onto the landing.
Ginny regards her brother with unrestrained disdain. "Do you realize your shirt's on inside out?"
Friday evening, they decide to try again. Charlie has already returned to Romania and Bill and Fleur have gone back to Cornwall and Percy has finally decided to live once again in his flat in London. He's in the midst of packing up the meager belongings that he had at the Burrow when Ron and Hermione slip casually up the stairs to his room, opening the window to allow in the feeble evening breeze.
They start snogging on the bed like they usually do, and it feels so good, everything feels so good, but it also feels just a hair different from their previous attempt. The spontaneity and the utter vulnerability and trust that she had felt a couple of days ago had died when Ginny knocked on the door and they haven't quite gotten it back yet. The occasional bump sounds from Percy's bedroom and she can hear Harry and Ginny talking in the garden outside and she can't shake the feeling that they're not alone, that there is, in fact, a whole world out there around them.
She peels off her shirt, though, because it's still almost stiflingly hot in the room and his skin feels better on hers than anything else. He kisses down her neck, playing with her nipples through the satin of her bra. His lips touch the valley between her breasts and then move over her stomach, his tongue darting into her belly button to make her giggle. She realizes just how convenient it is that she wore a skirt tonight as he flips up the hem and traces a finger along the edge of her knickers.
"Can I… again?" he asks, hand on her hip. "You liked it last time, right?"
"You couldn't tell from the orgasm?"
Ron's eyes crinkle as he smiles and hooks his fingers into her knickers, guiding them down her legs. He positions his face between her thighs and places a kiss on the crease where her hip and leg connect, working his way to her damp, excited center and curling his tongue into her.
He does everything he does last time and her heart is pounding and her breathing is uneven and shallow but she keeps hearing Harry's voice float through the window, and the clucking of the chickens outside, and her mind keeps drifting away from the way his mouth makes her feel. She's hyper aware of everything around them, the way she felt in the early days on the run when she was so sure that someone would find them no matter how many protective enchantments she did.
"Am I doing this right?" Ron asks worriedly. "Last time I was just sort of winging it-"
"No, it's nice," she tells him. "It feels really good, I'm just - I feel like everyone knows what we're doing, I keep hearing Harry so I feel like he can hear us - I just don't think tonight's the night."
"Oh." He looks a shade disappointed as he stands up and walks to the window, slamming it shut. "That's okay," he assures her as he kneels between her legs on the bed. "I - I like making you feel good," he says as a blush floods his cheeks, "but I don't want you to - do you want ice cream?"
The sudden change in subject is jarring. "Huh?"
"Yeah, my mum made a bunch earlier. Let's get some."
He loves her so much, she can't help but think as she adjusts her skirt and climbs off the bed. She's known it for a while now, long before he spoke the words to her for the first time, but sometimes it hits her and takes her breath away. He knows exactly what to do, exactly what to say. If she's not comfortable doing something physical with him right now, he'll swing the complete opposite direction just to make sure she's okay. And God, does she ever love him too.
They're tucking into bowls of chocolate-strawberry swirl when Harry and Ginny come strolling into the kitchen. They look surprised to see Hermione and Ron, but don't say much and instead proceed up to Ginny's room. Hermione supposes that they expected her and Ron to stay holed up in his room as long as possible, but they're friends first. She loves talking to him, making him laugh, even bickering with him. This connection with him is the reason she enjoys the sweaty moments upstairs so much in the first place.
"Ron," Hermione says in a low voice, shifting in her chair. "I just realized… I never put my knickers back on."
His eyes dip curiously down to her hips. "Fuck," he chuckles, planting a cold-lipped kiss on her cheek. "That's hot."
On Sunday evening, Hermione has it all planned out. She's selected her only undergarments that actually match - both pale pink and satin - and she's even shaved her legs. They'll have the house essentially to themselves, since Percy moved out yesterday, George has been staying with Lee Jordan and Ron's parents have gone to the Diggorys for dinner. Harry and Ginny are not a concern: they'll leave Hermione and Ron alone unless there's a true emergency, but those are blessedly rare these days. The four of them eat a quick, simple dinner and then, without pretense, Hermione pulls Ron back up to his room. It's warm and humid as usual but she welcomes it, she's come to like his sweat, even crave it at times. Tonight is going to be perfect in its own particular way, even if the bed creaks and the ghoul in the attic is banging on a pipe.
Ron's shirt, as usual, is the first thing to go and Hermione runs her hands down his narrow waist as they stand in his bedroom, exchanging desperate, heady kisses. She can feel him standing at attention and she knows, logically, that if she wants this to last longer than about twenty seconds, then he'll need a bit of relief before she's even undressed.
As her hands reach for the button on his shorts, Ron finds the hem of her shirt and tugs upwards, bringing the garment from her body. "You're beautiful," he sighs, pressing kisses onto her shoulders. "Fuck, I don't deserve you."
"Yes," Hermione says firmly, meeting his eyes with hers. "You do. Don't say that."
Sometimes she thinks she's the one who doesn't deserve him: she's too critical, too analytical, a little ruthless, a little close-minded; he's selfless and funny and he has the biggest heart; he's loyal and strong and anyone would be lucky to have him.
And standing there, shirtless and flushed and a little disheveled, he also looks downright gorgeous. Hermione presses a kiss to his lips and reaches again for the waist of his shorts, unbuttoning them and pushing them down his legs. Kissing his neck, she reaches inside his pants and grasps his length, gently gliding her hand up and down. As his eyes widen, pupils dilated, she works his pants down over his hips and drops to her knees in front of him.
"Fuck," he says again when she's clambering to her feet, wiping off her mouth and smiling shyly at him. A perfect score on an exam never made her feel that accomplished.
Ron walks Hermione over to the bed, his hands fumbling with the zipper on the side of her skirt. The back of her knees hit the edge of the bed just as he manages to loosen the garment, letting it fall to the floor.
"Aww, you remembered your knickers this time," he said, feigning disappointment as he runs his hands over the smooth fabric on her bum.
"Well, if you're going to make fun of me, maybe I'll just keep them on," Hermione teased, lightly pinching his side.
"No, no, come here," he grins, hugging her close as he fiddles with the clasp on her bra. He lands kisses on her neck, which she suspects are excuses to peek at what his hands are doing because he manages to unhook the bra with relative ease. His blue eyes are dark with lust as he ducks down to kiss over her flesh, making her knees buckle.
All that's between them now, as he covers her body with his and showers her with kisses, is the thin fabric of her knickers, but his mouth blazes a now-familiar path down her torso. There's already a dark, damp spot on the satin fabric as he pulls it from her body. She's aching to feel him inside her, desperate to know what it's like when they're one, when they're the only people in the world who exist. His face dives between her thighs for the third time that week, more confident now that he knows what she likes, and his fingers dig into her thighs to hold her in place as she writhes against him. Beads of sweat drip between her breasts as her legs start to quake and suddenly she's tightening forcefully around his fingers and panting out his name and-
And kicking him in the ribs, evidently; her heel strikes him in the side and he yelps, looking up at her in alarm.
"Sorry," she manages to choke out, waiting for the room to stop spinning. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, fine," he chuckles, kissing her thigh. "I guess I'll… take it as a compliment?"
Hermione laughs, looking down the length of her body to see him kissing away a drop of sweat near her belly button.
"Ron, kiss me," she requests in a breath. He wastes no time obliging, bringing his mouth to hers in a remarkably gentle fashion. Kissing him is its own thrill, but paired with so much of his skin touching so much of hers, it's dizzying, the blood in her body all rushing between her legs.
She spreads them, just as she did before, tilting her hips toward him so that he's just barely touching her. Ron, however, brushes a strand of hair from her forehead and kisses her lips.
"Are you sure?" he asks, mouth touching hers as he speaks.
Hermione nods. "Are you?"
"Yeah," he says with another kiss. "Erm, maybe… we should do the charms? Just, y'know, to be extra safe?"
"Okay," Hermione agrees even though she's sure her potion was brewed perfectly. If it'll give him peace of mind, then she'll do it. She loves him, and she's sure he's her future, but they're a bit young for parenthood, so she grapples for her wand and casts a spell over his midsection, then hers. She's practiced it before under less intense conditions, and it feels as it always has: an odd chill passing through her stomach.
As her wand clatters to the floor, Ron kisses her again. He can't seem to get enough of kissing her even while her hand roams down his stomach and curls around him, positioning him right at her slit. Her breath catches in her throat and now her heart is pounding in her ears. This now feels like a huge deal, the biggest deal. Who was that person last week who had thought that it wasn't? This is Ron, her best friend, the man she's been in love with for years, and she's about to have sex with him for the very first time. And even if she hopes to make this moment the first of many, it still feels monumental, it still feels like a shift, even if it's a good one.
Ron moves his hips forward, pressing into her, his brow furrowed as she stretches to accommodate him. It isn't terribly painful, at least not yet, likely because he was so successful at warming her up, but it isn't exactly comfortable yet either. Inch by inch he enters her, their eyes locking, and when he can go no further he stills, shoulders shaking.
"You okay?" His voice is raspy, edged with nerves.
"Yeah." Hermione wiggles her hips, trying to get accustomed to the sensation of being filled, and Ron groans and drops his face into her neck. "What? What happened?"
"No, that just -" The sweat on his forehead glues their skin together. "That felt really fucking good, can I - is it okay if I move?"
"Oh - yes," says Hermione, moving her hands to his waist as he draws his hips back and then pushes into her again.
It's slow and careful and cautious, his breath hot on her neck, the only sound in the room the sticky slapping of their bare skin and occasional spurts of breath. She can tell that he's worried about her, afraid that he's hurting her or that she's bored or regretting it when it's nothing of the sort, it's more that her mind has gone blank from the sheer intensity of it all. Hermione lifts her head off the pillow to try to kiss him but her lips fall on his chin and he lets out a little laugh of relief, like maybe this isn't the most serious act of their lives. It's just the two of them, connected.
Ron flattens one palm against the mattress by her head and uses it as leverage to sink even deeper inside of her; a breathy moan escapes her lips before she can help it.
"That felt good," she gasps, "do it again."
His thrusts, still slow, become more deliberate, more powerful, Hermione drawing her knees up to his sides to open herself up as much as possible. It isn't just physical; she's as vulnerable as she's ever been, giving all of herself to him, completely surrendering, and for once it feels good to relinquish control and just feel.
"Fuck," he growls into her ear, moving faster now, "Hermione, I don't know how much… longer I can…"
She responds by hugging him closer, arms locked around his chest, as his hips give a little spasm and he lets fly one last curse word before going almost completely limp.
He withdraws, and cleansing charms are cast to tidy up their nether regions and there's a brief, half-successful attempt to Scourgify away the large wet spot on the comforter before they decide that can wait. Ron turns onto his side, letting his fingers ghost over her shoulders, down her waist, along her ribs, gazing at her with awe and affection.
"You alright?" His voice is soft, careful not to break the afterglow around them. "It didn't hurt too bad, did it?"
"No, only a little bit at the beginning." Hermione brushes her lips over his.
"That's good." His hand finds hers, their fingers lacing together by her hip. "I love you."
"I love you too."
They lean in at the exact same moment, noses bumping before their lips meet, and Hermione lets out a sigh into his mouth. She could probably kiss him forever and never grow weary of it.
"Ron," she begins, nudging him onto his back so she can lie with her head on his chest. "Come to Australia with me."
His muscles all tense up at once. "Australia?"
"Yes." She looks up at him and plants a kiss on his jaw. "I need you there, I can't do it alone."
But then she stops and thinks about what would happen if he were to decline, or if his mum were to forbid him to go and lock him inside the house without a wand. She'll still go, she'll still find her parents, she'll still do everything in her power to bring them back. She'll accomplish it all, but without the added benefit of having her biggest supporter by her side.
"Actually, that's not true," she realizes aloud. "I can do it alone. I can do most things alone. But we're always a team, and I really want you there. I can't imagine doing this without you."
He's part of all of her biggest moments: they met on her first train ride to Hogwarts, he was one of her first friends (after an admittedly rocky start), they've fought dark wizards together and he nursed her back to health after she was tortured and now they've just done the most intimate thing they can possibly do. And she wants him there for all the other moments that haven't even happened yet.
"Okay," he readily agrees. "If you want me there, then I'll be there." He pauses, his hand absently running up and down her back. "That's how it's always been."
Hermione squeezes him around the middle, silently thanking him, and he seems to understand because he kisses her hair and rests his cheek atop her head.
"So when we're in Australia," Ron says after a few moments of peace, "we'll probably have a hotel room, won't we?"
Affecting offense, Hermione pinches him playfully on the arm. "You've got a one-track mind now."
"Maybe," he replies, purposely coy, "but all I'm saying is it might be nice. I think we've learned, privacy around here can be a little hard to come by."
Thank you for reading! Please review :)