I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair
Written for Mugglemama, at the Porn in the Sun secret fic exchange at liverjounal.
Warnings: Sexual situations, swearing, etc. Keep in mind it was written for a smut fest. My first smut story, be kind!
It was a cold, lazy Sunday night, and Hermione sat on the kitchen counter sizing Ron up as he cooked them dinner. He was putting some final touches on the pasta they were having, spaghetti with a Mediterranean sauce.
"Had I known you were this resourceful around the kitchen, my love, I might've decided to live with you much sooner."
They had been engaged for almost a year, and it had been six months since Hermione had relented to Ron's request and finally moved in with him.
At first she'd felt a slight trepidation at the idea, mostly because she'd worried about their parents' reactions, which ultimately had turned out to be more sane than she had thought they would be. But then again, they were twenty-three, they were engaged, and had been together for years after all.
He winked at her as he took Hermione's favourite dessert, chocolate mousse, out of the fridge, laying it near the sink.
"So I was thinking…" she started, her heart beating fast because of what she was about to say, "…that maybe we could finally set our wedding date."
Ron's eyebrows shot up, and fear washed over Hermione's body. Maybe he thought it was too soon, maybe he didn't want to get married for years...
"Hermione, look at me," he asked, and lifted her chin up, his eyes filled with concern and love for her. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" He asked her, completely throwing her for a loop. "Because I've been ready for ages, but if you're not sure, we can wait a little longer, you know that, don't you Heart?"
Fear melted away and happiness took its place, bringing a bright, delighted smile to her face. Ron beamed back at her, settling between her legs and kissing her hand lightly, then her eyes, and then her lips.
"I take it you're ready too," he said, and she nodded before hugging him closer to her.
"I've always dreamed of a summer wedding, so I was thinking about doing it in June before it gets too hot, if that's okay by you."
"It's more than okay," he said and brought her lips back to his again, their kiss drawing out for what it felt like days but it was possibly only for a couple of minutes. "It's only four months away, and now that I know you're as willing as I am, I don't fancy waiting much longer to finally make you my wife."
"Mrs. Ronald Weasley," she sighed happily, his hands rubbing circles on her lower back, she running her hands through the soft, red hair of his that she loved so much. "Hermione Granger-Weasley."
"My wife," he growled out at her, and the mood suddenly changed, becoming charged with electricity. Ron reached out for the chocolate mousse, taking a bit off with his finger and spreading it on her lips and her collarbone and the valley between her breasts.
The coolness of the mousse made her nipples instantly peak out and Hermione arch and grind against Ron's erection wantonly. Ron smiled, slowly licking the chocolate mousse off her with a gusto that made Hermione surrender any reservations she might've had about sexing things up in their kitchen.
Wetness pooled between her legs and she undid her top, giving him full access to her brown nipples that were eager for attention.
He spread some of the cool dessert on them too, grinning mischievously at her before blowing at them, eliciting a frantic whimper from Hermione when he teasingly ran his tongue around the shape of her breasts.
She never got tired of him, and had yet of get enough of their lovemaking. This bewildered her as much as it pleased her. Ron took her in his mouth, sucking, pulling, and tasting the chocolate on one nipple while his hand teased the other.
Hermione let out a keening sound and reached for her skirt, hastily unzipping it. Ron stopped his caresses long enough to help her out of it.
"No knickers, huh, you impish witch?" he said, and parted her legs with his hands, looking into her eyes and winking before trailing kisses on her inner thighs, until he reached her folds and began to kiss, lick, nip and do things with his tongue that made her grip the cupboard with force and shout out his name.
Her last coherent thoughts before climaxing was that this was the perfect way to end the weekend, and that Ron had such a talented mouth...
They set the date for June 3 of that year. Two months into the wedding planning, Hermione was sure she would be going around the bend before walking down the aisle with Ron.
Hermione felt so stressed out that she was more than ready to give up the marriage preparations to elope with him. Their respective mothers kept badgering her to choose a band, send out the save-the-date cards, register for gifts, and find both a Wizard and a Muggle wedding celebrant, amongst other things.
There were cakes to taste, bridesmaids' dresses to pick, ballroom dance lessons to take, and the eternal, mind-boggling question:
Chicken or beef?
Her wedding vows - she had convinced Ron it would be best if they wrote their own - were nowhere near done. She had tried and tried to write something down but she was rubbish at it, and had gone through books and books searching for inspiration, unable to find a poem that spoke of their love as perfectly as she wanted it to.
"Ginny, tell me what you think of this one: 'I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.'"
"Absolutely not, Hermione, it's too stuffy and morbid."
"… Okay." This was very difficult. "What about this one then: 'I love you because I know no other way than this: where I do not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.'"
"It sounds too needy and over-bearing." She sighed. Ginny was determined not to like any of the other poems either. "Hermione, what it's with all the poetry?"
"I want to tell Ron just how much I love him in my vows."
"Then why don't you write them? He loves you, not some dead poet who spoke out of his arse, so it's your words he'll want to hear, not anyone else's."
Hermione had to hand it to Ginny – though she had called her favourite writers 'stuffy' and 'needy', she had also made a good point. Maybe it would be best to write from her heart rather than to recite something to Ron that didn't come from her.
Ginny grinned placidly, knowing she'd won this one.
"We still need to choose the cake," she told her, and her soon-to-be sister-in-law groaned aloud in frustration. This was their third cake tasting.
"Just go with the white and black chocolate one and you're golden," she advised, making Hermione's cheeks turn pink and her body grow warm as she remembered her and Ron's rendezvous on the kitchen counter a couple of months ago.
"You don't want to hear this," she said and Ginny scoffed. Hermione smirked, knowing the effect of her answer. "Well, let's just say I couldn't have chocolate cake for my wedding reception without disappearing with your brother every twenty minutes into a linen closet or the bathroom."
Ginny gasped, finally getting the meaning behind Hermione's answer, the infamous Weasley blush colouring her red from head to toe.
"You were right; I didn't really need to know that."
Hermione laughed and Ginny put a forkful of the buttered pecan cake in her mouth before spitting it out, grimacing, and chugging down water to wash its taste away.
"Definitely not that one," Ginny's face was earnest and penitent, and Hermione laughed even harder before taking a bite of the vanilla and strawberry one.
She came home from the ministry to find her fiancé sitting in the chair by the fire, laughing hard while reading a book, a surprising sight to be welcomed by.
"What are you reading?" she asked, shrugging her coat off and heading in his direction, dropping a kiss to his temple. "Pablo Neruda?!"
"This bloke is hilarious," he told her as she climbed onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, his hand encircling her waist. "Here, listen to this: 'Tell me, is the rose naked or is that her only dress?' Is this what you call good writing?"
"It's a metaphor, Ron. He's one of the greatest poets of our time."
"Bollocks," he said, and Hermione heaved out a frustrated sigh. "I would much rather read 'Quidditch Through the Ages, the Deluxe Edition,' thank you very much."
"You're reading it wrong too," she said, and took the book from him. "This one is excellent, listen," and she wriggled out of his hold, now sitting and facing him.
"'I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.'"
He kissed her shoulder.
"'Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets."
He kissed her forehead.
"'Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.'"
He lifted her a little bit and settled her more comfortably on his lap, his hands running through her long hair, soothing her scalp, undoing the bun she usually wore for work. She moaned a little bit at the pleasure this contact granted her, and she could feel him start to harden against her leg at the sound.
She forgot which paragraph she'd been on and struggled to focus on getting Ron to appreciate her favourite kind of literature.
"'I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest–'"
Ron was now undoing the front buttons of her work robe.
"'–Hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.'"
He was looking at her in a way that made summersaults take flight in her stomach. He ran his hands up and down her sides as she continued.
"'I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face; I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes…'"
She trailed off; unable to remember anything else when he ran the stubble of his jaw across her cheek. Hermione crashed her mouth to his, their kiss urgent and bruising, the book slipping out of her grasp and falling to the floor with a loud thud.
The year after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic had decided to celebrate May second in a grand way; first with a memorial on the Hogwarts grounds, followed by a Heroes Ball in the Great Hall.
She and Ron had skipped the Ball every year until now, leaving right after the Memorial to go to the Burrow to commemorate Victoire's birthday.
And she had like it this way – Hermione had never fancied staying at the Ball, having to dance and smile at people, most of them strangers, acting like this day was supposed to be blissfully happy instead of bittersweet and heart breaking.
However, this year, she wanted to attend. It was the fifth anniversary of the battle, and the Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had made a pronunciation that the Ministry would be granting Orders of Merlin to Dumbledore's Army, to their friends that fought in battle with them for equal rights and the end of old blood-prejudices…for love.
Hermione probably wouldn't have been here now, alive and happy, soon to be married to the man she loved, a pureblood, if it hadn't been for their bravery. If Voldemort had triumphed, she would've been one of the first to be killed.
But Ron was pouting and complaining as he fixed up his formal robes, repeating that he didn't want to dance, that he hated the food that was generally served at these kinds of events, and that he really, really didn't want to go.
He was getting on her nerves, and because her patience had been short nowadays with the wedding getting closer and closer and her still having a million little things to do before the fateful day, Hermione snapped.
"Fine, then don't go!" She yelled at Ron, and even though she could tell by the taken aback look on his face that she might've been overreacting, Hermione couldn't stop herself. "If I had a Galleon for every time you acted like this, whining about every little thing, I would've been a millionaire by now!"
He clenched and unclenched his jaw, trying hard to control his temper. She didn't know why she was so furious with him to begin with, but she suddenly had the urge to take this argument even further, to scream because she would certainly go barking mad if Molly and her Mum made her try on another tiara.
"People do plenty of things they don't want to Ron," she spat, "but they do it anyway, because it's what grown-ups do. You would know that if you were one."
His eyes got impossibly bluer, his hands shaking with barely contained fury.
"You know what? I don't even know why I'm marrying you on the first place." She instantly regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth.
An eerie silence filled the room. Hermione felt tears prickling her eyes, her throat closing off on the process. She wanted to apologize but she choked.
"Then maybe you shouldn't," he said, and she could feel her blood turning into ice in her veins, shock reverberating through her system. Ron turned away from her and looked out the window to avoid looking into her searching eyes.
"If you really feel that way, then maybe we shouldn't get married at all."
Feeling torn between slapping and apologizing to him, Hermione choose the easy way out, Apparating out of their bedroom to Hogsmeade. She burst into tears just as her feet hit the solid ground and the world stopped spinning.
She nodded at Kingsley's remark about Goblins, smiling meekly when he and Harry erupted into laughter. Ginny was talking to Luna somewhere and Hermione was left with her friend and her boss.
She couldn't stop thinking about Ron – not that any of her friends would actually let her. From the moment the Memorial ended they'd mobbed her about Ron's whereabouts until she'd caved and lied, saying that he wasn't feeling well and had stayed home to sleep it off.
From Harry and Ginny's looks, she had a feeling they were onto her, but she couldn't be bothered to worry about that. What if Ron had truly meant what he'd said? What if he didn't want to marry her anymore?
What if she'd lost him forever?
Hermione's body started to shake, and Harry kindly put his hand behind her back and guided her to their table when Kingsley left to greet another group.
Ginny waved at them from the crowd and Luna hugged Hermione before she sat near her, Dean and Harry losing themselves in a conversation about the chances of the Wasps winning this Quidditch season.
"Ron was looking for you just now," Luna said, twirling her hair in her hands.
Hermione's heart fluttered, thinking she hadn't heard Luna quite right.
"Yes, and he was looking a bit constipated, so I suggested he slip off to the bathroom for a while." Laughter bubbled from Hermione and Ginny's lips.
"I know a wonderful charm for constipation, and George agreed he should've given it a try, though Ron didn't seem inclined to do it and left in a huff when his brother asked for Angelina's opinion." Luna eyes bulged out, clearly not understanding Ron's annoyance. "But he wouldn't want to dash off in the middle of the dance, would he?"
"No, he wouldn't," Ginny agreed, mirth lacing her every word. "That would be positively embarrassing."
"Do you know where he went, Luna?" She'd asked, but the blond woman just shrugged. Hermione scanned the crowd, trying to see his familiar shade of red hair and failing to locate him. Hermione was on the smaller side and had to look over people's heads, sometimes bumping into them, distracted on her search.
"Oi, watch where you're going," someone said, and she instantly recognized his voice.
Ron. "Oh," he'd said once he realized it was her, and they smiled tentatively at each other. "I've been looking for you."
"Luna told me," and remembering her friend's story, she laughed, just a little.
"Yes, she did," he said, feigning annoyance, but giving in pretty soon. "Luna is something from another planet, isn't she?"
Hermione nodded, laughter subsiding as she remembered their fight. Ron looked intensely at her, solemn now, remembering as well.
"Dance with me," and his hands were already pulling hers towards the dance floor, where The Weird Sisters were playing a slow, off-beat tune.
They moved together, the slightly dimmed lights in the Great Hall creating a romantic atmosphere. Hermione wanted nothing more than to melt into Ron's arms and forget their stupid fight, forget all the horrible things they said to each other.
He brought her body closer, his hands resting on her lower back, his expression forlorn. Hermione welcomed his embrace, leaning her head on his shoulder, one of her hands encircling his neck while the other rested just above his heartbeat.
He rested his chin on the top of her head. "I love you," he quietly said, and it was everything she needed to hear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said earlier, you were just…infuriating." And hurtful, Hermione knew, though Ron had decided to leave that part out. She'd hurt him, and he'd hurt her back.
"I'm sorry too," she said, and she meant it. "You know how much I love you, don't you Ron? You know that I can't breathe right without you, don't you?"
She felt him smile against her hair, feeling that things would sort themselves out, knowing that neither she nor Ron were quite ready to give up on each other.
They were in it forever.
"I know," he whispered, "but sometimes I really need you to tell me, Hermione."
"It's the same for me too, my love," and she cuddled closer to him. "I wonder how many times we'll have to fight until we learn how to deal with each other."
"I have no idea." They both chuckled at that, "but the only thing that matters is that we'll have a lifetime to figure it out, if you'll still have me."
"And I wouldn't have you in any other way," she assured him, tilting her head up and standing on her tiptoes to kiss him while they swayed to the music.
"I want to go home," she told him, squeezing his bum cheekily, not caring about who could see them. Hermione wanted him, and made no apologies for it.
He grabbed her hand and they fled from Hogwarts, laughing loudly on their way. She thought she saw Harry and Ginny beaming at the sight of how they must've looked, two adults behaving like randy teenagers.
Just outside the school gates he drew her in for a long kiss and Apparated them back to their flat in London.
Their lips were still connected when they landed.
Ron's mouth was all over hers, demanding. Overwhelmed, Hermione stumbled away from him and her back hit the wall with a loud thud. She let out an involuntary protest. Ron broke away from the kiss and cupped her cheeks, his blue eyes searching for her brown ones, concern clear in them.
"Are you hurt?" And he looked so concerned and utterly adorable that Hermione, even though her back indeed hurt, stood up on her toes and resumed their kiss. He fought it off, his heart not truly in it, but finally gave in.
He pressed his body flush against her, his erection pressing against her hipbone on the most delicious way, and Hermione rocked a little bit against it, making Ron grunt out something that sounded like a mix between a prayer and protest.
His left hand was currently burrowed into her hair, pulling it slightly at the base of her neck, trying to bring her body as close to his as possible. Instead of hurting, it made Hermione a whole lot more excited, wanting to feel more of him, needing to feel as much of his skin touching hers as possible.
She grabbed the sides of her favourite shirt on him, the blue cashmere one she'd bought for him the past Christmas, and whispered against his lips.
"This needs to come off," She opened her eyes to find his staring back at hers through a haze. Hermione could feel herself growing wet – Ron looked at his sexiest like this, when his mouth was red and swollen from kissing hers and his eyes were heavy-lidded and mirroring the same longing she knew it was written all over her face. Urgency overcame her, and she lifted his shirt, exposing the taut, smooth skin on his midriff. "Yes, it needs to come off. Now."
He smirked, and leaned in to nibble on her ear, before saying, "Your wish is my command, Heart."
Hermione shivered and goosebumps erupted on her arms and legs. Ron's smirk turned smug, and even though she wanted to feel annoyed at him for this, Hermione was getting even more excited.
He let her take his shirt off, his grin fading when she raked her nails from his shoulder over his back, settling on his bum. He closed his eyes, his expression turning so deliciously erotic that Hermione rubbed her legs together, feeling lust twisting her stomach. She unbuckled his belt, opened his fly and helped him get out of his trousers, leaving him clad only on his black boxers.
Hermione ran a hand across his bulge making Ron hiss, loudly, bucking up against her touch, and it was Hermione's turn to smile smugly at her fiancé.
He pressed himself even more against her, and she rotated her hips a little bit just because she knew what it would do to him.
"You think you've got this under control, don't you, Heart?" He drawled out, moving his right hand from her waist to her breasts, caressing them over the thin fabric of her ivory and mauve Chinese-silk gown. "But we both know just how much I love to prove you wrong, don't we?" Her nipples peaked and hardened under his ministrations, and Hermione suppressed the urge to ask for more, for this would be exactly what Ron wanted her to do.
He unclasped the top buttons of the dress to expose a little bit of cleavage and her neck, pressing a kiss right there against her pulse, feeling it quicken.
"If this is a challenge," she breathed out, "you'll have to do much better than that, my love." In response, his left hand left her hair to travel down her spine and then around the curve of her bum, before grabbing it and enthusiastically lifting her up a little bit on the momentum.
Hermione's breathing hitched and Ron barely stifled a laugh.
"You talk all you want Hermione, but we both know who's going to win this."
She was about to protest when he unexpectedly crouched in front of her.
Baffled, Hermione opened her eyes (though she hadn't realized she'd closed them). One of Ron's hands now rested on one of her calves, massaging it, while the other travelled upward, hiking up the side opening of the dress that was cut until her middle thigh; his fingertips barely touching the exposed skin but causing an even bigger frenzy in her, for she could almost feel him getting under her skin. Maybe that was because he'd a knack for knowing what would excite her the most, or maybe it was because her skin was always overly sensitive to his expert touch.
His hand disappeared under her dress, nearly reaching the junction between her legs, but resting centimetres away from her knickers, as if teasing her.
Hermione remained tight-lipped, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her begging him to touch her, although she desperately wanted him to.
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Ron chuckled, and Hermione might've wanted to slap the arrogance out of his voice if his hands hadn't been so close to her throbbing clit. "You didn't even put up a fight," he continued, "but then again, I knew you wouldn't." He raised himself up and looked into her eyes.
"Just shut up and fuck me," she rasped out, and practically threw herself at him, her hands tangling into his hair, her legs encircling his, bringing him closer.
Her back hit the wall once again and she knew there would be purple bruises on it the next morning, but at that moment, she couldn't care less – her mind only had space for Ron, and the things he could do to her, and with her.
His stubble would leave marks on her skin the next morning as well, but it felt so good she didn't want him to stop.
He responded to her kiss with the same unbridled passion that, even though she was familiar with it, still surprised her. When the need for oxygen became more insistent Hermione regretfully broke their kiss off, gasping for air.
"Turn around," he commanded, and his voice had such an authority in it that Hermione felt her knees go weak and did his bidding. "Put your hands across the wall." She obeyed once again, and Ron conjured an object with his wand.
Darkness engulfed her – he was tying some soft fabric over her eyes.
"Ron!" She panted out, thrilled and a little bit nervous. "What are you doing?"
"You trust me, don't you, Hermione?"
"Of course I do."
"Then don't question me on this," he whispered, his breath ghosting across the base of her neck while he finished tying the blindfold.
Hermione's breath caught on her throat when she felt Ron unbuttoning her dress, raining wet butterfly kisses from the base of her neck over her shoulder blades and down to her lower back as he opened the dress.
"Raise your arms." He easily lifted her beautiful dress over her head and discarded it, throwing it somewhere across their living room floor.
Hermione was left standing blindfolded and only wearing a strapless black bra and purple knickers. She was suddenly very aware of Ron's eyes raking over her figure, and she almost whimpered at the sheer thrill that his stare gave her.
Ron grinded their hips together and she couldn't help herself – she rocked a little against him. His hands felt cool and soothing on her over-heated skin, and she wanted to drape herself over him and never let him go.
One of his hands reached for her small ones and easily held them captive, trapped between his big, calloused ones and the wall. Ron's free hand pushed her long, curly hair from her slender neck, and then caressed her cleavage, her stomach, playing with the edge of her knickers.
"Are you ready to beg yet, Hermione?"
She wanted him to touch her there, but whatever was left of her pride kept her from giving in. Instead, she shook her head and felt Ron smiling against her shoulder. His teasing hand left its resting place and Hermione felt like sobbing – she'd come so close. He unhooked her bra and freed her breasts, taking one of them in his hand while the other still trapped hers against the wall.
He fondled the already hardened and sensitive nipples, and Hermione realized she couldn't take this teasing anymore. Ron just had to touch her, or otherwise she felt like she would explode from the pent-up desire she was feeling.
"Ron..." She sighed, losing her train of thought when he pinched one of her nipples hard. "Ron, I want..."
"What, Hermione? Tell me what you want." He nibbled on her ear, and Hermione fought to make sense of her words through the fog of her own desire.
"I want you to..." He gently bit her shoulder, encouraging her to talk to him.
"I need you to touch me," and she struggled her hands free of Ron's and took hold of his, guiding it to the place clamouring for his attention.
"Please," and in any other circumstances Hermione would've felt mortified for begging, but this was Ron, and she loved him, and they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. She knew this man, trusted him, and she was his to take.
"You don't need to ask twice, Heart," and she instinctively parted her thighs for his fingers to explore her. Ron used one finger, then two, alternating rubbing her clit with his thumb, while his other hand pinched and fondled her nipples.
Hermione braced herself against the wall, trying to keep her shaking legs from giving out on her at any moment.
"Dip you head back," he told her, and they shared a passionate kiss before his fingers reduced her to a heap of trembling, sweating need, ready for more.
Ron turned her around and stepped away. Hermione cried out a half-whine, half-plea at the loss of contact, but because of the blindfold, she couldn't really see what he was doing. Suddenly, his mouth was on her again, and Hermione finally felt Ron's nakedness against her own, his body just as heated and sweaty as hers.
He trailed open-mouthed kisses across her collarbone and caressed her breasts, taking them in his mouth; then raining kisses on her ribcage, her stomach, belly button, hipbone, lighting patches on fire in his wake.
His hands finally reached her knickers and ever so slowly took them off, pushing them past her legs. They lay on their hardwood floor, already forgotten.
Ron took her in his arms, their skin touching at every possible inch, just as Hermione had wanted. She could feel him harden even more, begging for attention, and she was more than eager to comply.
Hermione, with Ron's help (for she couldn't see a thing), dropped to her knees in front of him. At first, she caressed his length, excruciatingly slowly, then picking up the pace, just as he liked it.
Ron's hands tangled in her hair and she heard him murmuring disconnected words of encouragement to her. Their positions were now reversed – he was in her hands just as she'd been in his just moments ago.
His hands gripped her hair with more force, but not enough to hurt her. This was his way of asking her to move things further, and Hermione felt the familiar surge of power she'd always felt when they were at this position – like Ron was hers to take and do whatever she wished with.
"What, Ron? What do you want me to do?"
She was going to make him beg for it just as he'd made her.
Hermione licked her lips and Ron groaned, making her smile. She could only imagine how she looked, kneeing naked on the floor of their flat, blindfolded and flushed, her hair probably a bushy mess.
Nevertheless, Ron made her feel attractive and powerful just because of the way he touched her every time, reverent and fervently longing, as if he couldn't get enough of her taste.
She stopped her ministrations and felt him tensing up.
"Hermione?" It sounded more like a plea than a question, but she still wanted him to suffer. "Don't this to me, luv…You know how much I want it."
"Then say it, simple as that."
"Fine," he relented after a brief pause, as Hermione knew he would.
"I need to feel that hot, tight mouth of yours all over my cock, Hermione;" and she wasn't prepared for the jolt of longing running through her body that this little sentence caused. She happily obliged, and took him in her mouth, savouring him, running her tongue down his length, sucking off the tip, doing all the things that she knew it would drive Ron nearly off his rocker.
He suddenly hauled her up by her shoulders and devoured her mouth with his, his hands on her jaw and shoulder, bringing her fully against him.
"I love you," he told her, and Hermione said it back. He promptly changed their positions again, pinning her to the wall, lifting her by her bum, she accepting him between her thighs, him positioning himself against her wet entrance.
"Are you ready?" Hermione nodded, and Ron kissed her again, never breaking the kiss until he filled her to the brink, until he was completely inside of her.
It felt as delicious and wonderful as it felt whenever they made love.
They began to move, Ron setting the pace at first, then Hermione mirroring him the best way she could, with the limited possibilities to move.
Hermione was on sensory overload – she could feel him everywhere, his hands on her back, his mouth sucking on her collarbone in a way that predicted there would be marks there as well; the smell of his hair, a poignant scent that was so purely Ron overpowering her as their slick bodies moved together.
She tightened her hold against him, and he grunted when she took even more of him in, rocking her hips against his, moaning when the friction it created between them made her clit ache and throb with urgency, her orgasm building up fast inside of her, his tongue now caressing hers again.
Ron quickened his rhythm, Hermione struggling to accompany him, their balance becoming precarious in the process as their release fast approached.
"So close," Ron murmured, and Hermione could barely reciprocate the sentiment, but he understood it well, because the next thing she knew, his hand was there again, using those wonderful fingers of his on her.
Hermione couldn't restrain herself anymore, a sigh of relief and want escaping her lips when her orgasm swiftly washed over her body, making her walls stiffen around him.
"I can't hold back for much longer, Hermione," and she kissed his forehead, his blue eyes with their red lashes, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose.
"So don't," she commanded, and finally kissed his lips, tongue melding with his.
Ron grunted and kissed her back, more than happy to comply with her orders.
The sun was rising when they finally made it into their bedroom, their bodies exhausted from their frantic love-making.
"I love make-up sex," Ron said, and she laughed, raiding her underwear drawer for something to put on before slipping into bed.
"Then maybe we should fight more often," she offered. Ron groaned against his pillow, his body naked and lean against their sheets. Hermione felt another jolt of desire running through her body, amazed by how aroused she felt even after being with him the whole night.
"There's no way in hell I'm fighting with you anymore," and she snorted, because that would be…something. When they haven't fought? "At least, not like that."
"Never like that," she agreed, and fell into their bed. Ron sidled closer to her and kissed her hair, yawning in the process.
"I'm knackered, woman, and it's entirely your fault for being so damn irresistible," and Hermione let a small, satisfied smile grace her lips.
"I'm almost sad it's Sunday, because come Monday, the wedding madness will begin again." She grimaced, thinking of taffetas and the seating charts.
"Maybe we should just elope," and she pondered this for a moment.
"It would break our mother's hearts," she pointed out.
"They would recover." Hermione felt a tingling of excitement that had nothing to do with Ron rolling her nipples with his hands and everything to do with the prospect of just marrying him already. "This day was supposed to be about us anyway, not about them, and I don't see you having fun."
"I'm not. I wanted a small wedding, with white roses and lilacs and our closest friends, but they're making me invite 150 people and use sunflowers."
"I hate sunflowers," he murmured sleepily against her shoulder.
"I know. I hate them too."
"You should get everything that you want, Heart. It's your only wedding after all. At least I hope so."
"You're right," she said, and that gave her an idea. "Get up. We're going out."
"What? But we just made it to bed!"
"Do you want to marry me, Ron?"
"What gave you that hint? Was it the ring? Or maybe the proposal?"
She rolled her eyes and reached for the box where her wedding dress was, kept away from Ron's curious eyes and prying hands. She turned around and saw him frowning in their bed, exposed and beautiful, and she smiled daringly at him.
"Then I dare you to elope with me, right now." She shrank the box and put it in the first purse she saw, grabbing her wedding shoes in the process. "So?"
His smile is enough of an answer, but he climbed out of the bed saying, "Well, since you are daring me…"
A.N: What did you guys thought of it? Many thanks goes to Lauryne and Kim for the help with this story, their quick and flawless beta work and tips were fundamental to convince that it didn't completely sucked. The first quoted poem belongs to Elizabeth Barrett Browning, an excerpt from "Sonnets from the Portuguese". The other poems belong to Pablo Neruda, the first called "Sonnet XVII" and the second one from "The Book of Questions". This story is titled after the third one, "I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair". Ron also quotes Queen Gertrude, from Shakespeare's play "Hamlet".