**So I haven't uploaded anything in ages, and I feel sort of bad. I got an urge to write, but I didn't want to add to any of my current fics (OF COURSE), so here we go! WARNING: this is really fucking smutty. If you get uncomfortable or whatever, you can't say I didn't warn you, because I totally did.**
"Harry, oh, Harry, I need you…you're incredible, oh, Harry!"
This was what he had to endure, night after agonizingly sleepless night.
"Please, Harry, I'm so close…right there…oh, HARRY!"
Seventeen year old Harry Potter turned onto his side, facing the wall, trying not to think about what his (current) best friend was moaning into her pillow. Ginny had always complained about Hermione's sleeptalking, but he'd always found it rather endearing…until now. At least Ron wasn't around to hear the love of his life shrieking his best friend's name—a blessing in disguise, Harry supposed, although he had no idea how to handle the situation. Should he talk to Hermione about it? Cast a Silencing Charm and try to forget it ever happened? Slip out of his bunk and fuck her brains out?
His brain said no, but his body—especially certain areas below the waist—screamed yes as loud as possible.
Since when was Hermione even hot, anyway? Harry hadn't noticed until Bill and Fleur's wedding, and barely then, as he had been busy watching Ginny's butt move as she walked around in heels. This trip, though, had brought Harry and Hermione together in ways he never would have imagined. Sharing a tent—even one the size of a large apartment—was an intimate experience. Harry's head filled with images of Hermione in a nightdress, Hermione removing a sweater, Hermione in a towel post-shower—she was a babe, and it was weird. Not bad weird, just…a little wrong, but in a good way. Harry's head spun. As if I don't have enough problems already…
Then he smirked, still staring at the wall. I guess having a hot girl screaming my name in her sleep isn't the worst thing that could happen.
And we're both consenting adults…
Jamming on his glasses, he turned over, eyes seeking out his roommate's bunk on the other side of the dark room. Her moans persisted, giving Harry goosebumps, among other things. All he could see was a dark lump—she appeared to be on her back, knees up, but he wasn't sure.
"Harry, yes, Harry, don't stop! FUCK ME!"
"Lumos," he whispered, voice cracking.
The light from his upraised wand revealed Hermione, blankets thrown to the ground, nightgown bunched around her bucking hips. Her long legs were bent, knees spread wide; Harry, viewing her in profile, strained to see between them. Her head was thrown back, hair wild on the pillows, and one hand disappeared into the darkness between her thighs.
Harry, mouth wide, took note of the current situation.
She's soooo hot.
She wants me.
Ron loves her.
She's soooo hot…
Ron's my best mate.
Ron isn't here. She wants me.
Ginny wants me.
She's soooo hot.
The throbbing area under his boxers won the internal argument; a closer view was definitely appropriate—nay, necessary!—if he was to get any sleep tonight. Or something.
He was on the floor next to his bunk in an instant, gliding over to Hermione's bed like a shadow. He used his hand to block the wandlight from her eyes; waking her up was not something he wanted to do, at least not yet. His positioning ended up being a bit awkward; in order to shield her eyes but see what he wanted to see, he ended up standing at the foot of her bed, leaning forward, between her legs…
When he was finally situated, Harry looked down and took a deep, calming breath. The slim, smooth hips were rolling in time with the fingers that rubbed Hermione's small pink clit. He could see her wetness; the sheets were damp with it, and her fingers…fuck, he wanted to suck them…
Looking up slightly, Harry noticed Hermione's other hand, busy under her nightgown. He reached out, hesitated, and was urged on by another lusty moan; his fingers caught the sleeve and gently pulled it down, exposing a small, round breast. Hermione's fingers tweaked the pink nipple, squeezed gently (and not so gently), played with it. Harry watched for an unknown amount of time, his own hand pumping at his swollen cock. Every time she said his name, a shiver went through his body, and he knew he was about to do something stupid—
Suddenly, the hand between her legs disappeared…Harry tried to straighten, but, too late, her fingers were entwined in his hair…he looked up in horror, realizing, as the pressure on his neck pushed his face toward her pussy, that the chocolate eyes were fixed on his own…the horror disappeared as he realized exactly what was happening…
The moans redoubled as he worked his tongue over her clit, and soon he inserted a finger, then two, receiving an excellent response. Ginny was practice, he realized. This was all meant for Hermione.
She was pulling his hair again, up, toward her; they were kissing, messy and wet, tasting pussy and toothpaste, and he was pressing against her…
"Do it," she whispered, and he did, pushing into her slowly and watching her face. The eyes and mouth, wide open; then, as he began to fuck her in earnest, the eyes rolling back in her head. (Harry was proud of his cock; Ginny always told him it was the biggest she'd seen at Hogwarts, and she'd seen them all.)* Hermione felt amazing; not only wet, but tight, too, and Harry knew he wouldn't last much longer.
"Ride me," he whispered, throwing himself on the bed and lifting her onto his dick. Hermione was only too happy to comply; looking directly into his eyes she started grinding, so slowly he thought he might melt into the mattress. He watched the movement of her hips on his, and grinned when she finally started bouncing. Her tits—small, perfect—bounced too, and Harry reached out, kneading them. She leaned forward, enclosing them in a curtain of long brown hair, and kissed him—the longest, sultriest, most sensual kiss harry had ever experienced—riding his cock the whole time. He felt it building up, the ecstasy of the moment was about to explode, and he had to fight to get the words out:
"Where do you want it?"
Hermione stopped mid-bounce, grinning, and slid off without a word. She crawled down around Harry's knees and licked his shaft, eyes locked on his. Suddenly her mouth was on his cock—it was surrounded by the warmth of her mouth—how did she fit the whole thing—?
And then he was coming, and strange sounds were coming out of his lips, and he was blowing his load down the throat of the girl he'd loved as a sister for six years, and she was swallowing it.
Harry cleared his throat. "You were, er, talking in your sleep…"
"Oh, how rude of me, I must have kept you up…so sorry, Harry…" he couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not, but she didn't seem angry…
"It's really not a problem."
"Good night, Harry."
For the first time in ages, Harry didn't dream about Voldemort.
*Sorry, but Ginny is totally a huge slut. You know it's true.