"Alcove" by LizieVamp
Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K.Rowling, if they belonged to me, they'd never stop shagging each-other :p
This is gonna be a two part story. If you give me a lot of reviews I'll even be inspired to write the second par quickly… Story rated M for the second part by the way… ;)
Ron swung open the door to Hermione's small alcove of a room. He braced his arms against the sides of the wooden frame and simply hung there, gazing at Hermione with a silent intensity that shook her to the core when she finally raised her head to find him so close without her knowledge, several minutes later. Her heart fluttering, her hand reached up to her throat, feeling heavy and tingling at the way he watched her. Self consciously, she crossed her legs, seeking to hide the blossoming heat between them from them both.
Having captured her attention at last Ron dropped his hands, strode two paces into the room and closed the door behind him without looking backwards. He pulled out his wand, unbroken and smooth in it's newness and cast a complicated locking charm behind him. Temporarily distracted from his silent perusal of the slight blush warming her cheeks, Hermione gazed at him and the wand with interest.
It had always bothered her in an odd way that after third year had come and gone that Ron no longer had problems with his lock charms, if not anything else. A slight frown creased her forehead and she pursed her lips, unaware that each movement of her expressive features cause a tight shock to zing through Ron's body as the woman he'd loved for so long looked a him, actually looked at him with that damn-fully sinful look upon her face. He knew she was unaware of the effect this look had upon any male who saw it.
It was a serious look, contemplative and so incredibly focused that her honey eyes darkened substantially and his groin jerked in avid response. No words were said and yet a tension rose in the room not unlike one described in the old Muggle adage that you could cut it with a knife. Not that Ron wanted to, no his tongue however, and his mouth might be a suitable alternative.
Their gazes met once more as Ron stepped forward again, the room so small that his legs were almost touching her own; trapping them against the bed sheets. She swallowed, her gaze unwittingly following the strong line of his throat, the soft shine of his hair and the lusting intensity she sense in his eyes. Her arm shifted and she whimpered as it gently brushed her breast. She was almost panting and all he was doing was looking down at her, his breath almost as unsteady as her own.
Raising her chin to meet his clear blue eyes and his strong chin, Hermione felt a strange unknown warm spread throughout her body, causing her nipples to harden instantly as her body shivered in response to the odd wordless communication occurring. The silence was deafening and her ears burned as they both searched for some way to break the verbal deadlock. Finally, he spoke, dropping down to his knees, his arms framing her body as they braced themselves against the bed.
"Did you know that all I could think about since dinner was the way your breasts pushed against the thin fabric of your shirt?" he said it so quietly, so reasonably that the breath in her throat caught at his sudden nearness and the way his words reminded her of the thinly disguised hunger he'd watched her with throughout the entire evening. Trembling she ventured a reply of sorts.
"My shirt is perfectly decent, Master Weasley." She ventured with a trembling lilt to her otherwise confident words. Grinning he moved closer, his gaze drifting downwards like a fiery brand over her body. Her eyes in delicious response gazed at his muscled arms, the forearms were long and browned from their recent ventures into the outdoors and the freckles trailed down to his large hands.
His hands that she had fantasised about so often, so near made her tremble with the knowledge that he could touch her, might touch her, would touch her with them like she'd so often dreamed made her push backwards until she met the wall, it's solid weight firm and comforting against her trembling back and the thundering of her heart at the intensity of his eyes.
"My hands tracing your face, your thighs, your lips; my… mouth following behind it. It was all I could think about." He growled as he slowly pulled himself up onto the bed and moved even closer. Shivering in response to his words, Hermione pulled her own hands to her breasts to stop them from reaching out and touching him, so raw and real in front of her. She subtly manoeuvred her legs so that they crept out, framing his torso, so that if he wished, he could move between them.
Her cheeks heating at her own daring her hands began to skim over the swell of her breasts, a comforting, and in this situation erotic reflex to the way he stared at her, putting her in mind of a hunter, and she his prey. At any other time it wouldn't have occurred. Neither of them would have lost control, but as it was…
He leaned forward, slowly. Shifting across the bed until he was kneeling between her legs, not quite touching, but close enough that both of them knew there was no going back.
His hands reached out to cup her face and stroke down the sides of her silken cheeks, his head and his lips came closer, closer, his large frame dominating her own relatively petite one and brushing impudently away the books surrounding them. His hands flew downwards to her waist, lifting her away from the wall as easily as if she were a child as her own hands reached out to grip his forearms with surprising strength as he gently lowered her down onto the bed, swinging over her in a push up position.
Their bodies barely touched and yet her breathing grew rapidly more ragged. She closed her eyes against his presence, her hands unwittingly clenching and stroking along his forearms even as he lowered his head til she could feel his own breath warm against her neck.
"Hermione." He growled, "Open your eyes and look at me." She tensed beneath him, her hands falling uselessly against the bed as she cautiously peered up at him from beneath thick lashes. She had imagined for so long, in the dark, as she pretended to scan the pages of books, texts and newspapers. But never had she thought she would be this close to him! The lines of their bodies barely touching, skimming over each-other with a faint delightful friction which almost caused a sob to rise through her throat as her eyes slowly opened, the scare light in the room hooding them like a hunting bird's as honey was met and captured by the blue silk rippling through his body and eyes.
They stayed there like that for but a few moments, both unable to blink or tear their gazes away. Then, shuddering, she lifted a single finger to his jaw line, tracing his throat, his chin and finally the lower perfection of his mouth.
To Be Continued…