A/N: Oh boy, the smutz...
This one goes out, as always, to my wonderful napchic, who inspired me to 'write the hell' out of this story by emailing me the term "rage!fuck" :D
Eye to Eye
It started with a look. Not that first frantic kiss they'd shared, but something an hour before.
He'd never been able to pinpoint specifics through their years together - when he'd first fancied her, the moment in which he'd fallen in love with her... But today, some nearly blinding connection had clicked into permanent place, reducing an epicly drawn out history of misunderstandings and frustrations to fuck all.
And now, the war was over. Their shared lives had literally been pending on an event that had started to form before they'd met. An event which had unknowingly brought them together, bound them through a common, sure goal. And today, as it all came to a crashing conclusion, he was fuming. He was torn apart by too many bleeding things to name.
After Dumbledore's office, Harry had parted ways with them, and eventually, Ron dropped Hermione's hand as they turned down yet another deserted corridor. The sun was fully up, breaking through diamond-paned glass all around them, and he thought he might be sick. He froze and half doubled over, hand against rough stone, hardly able to catch a proper breath.
"Ruddy - sodding - fucks..." he hissed, and he felt her fingertips too lightly against his arm all of a sudden. He ripped away from her, slammed his fist into the wall, and groaned.
"Ron!" she whispered taking a step back. His eyes flashed to hers and he saw, immediately, that she wasn't afraid of his outburst. Not at all. In fact, her eyes were shining the same hurt and understanding back at him.
Storm still madly brewing, he took a furious swipe at the top of the hallway cabinet, grabbing hateful fistfuls of old parchment, documents once stored safely within glass cases, now smashed to bits. Distant sounds of rubble settling could be heard as he screamed out a cry, fisting his hands into his hair, bloody knuckles beginning to throb now from his collision with the wall behind him.
"FUCK!" he screamed, his voice echoing off the walls.
She gasped in little bursts as she watched him. He tremored with pain and anger and fucking love as he stared across the corridor at her.
"This doesn't feel good," he panted.
She took a step closer.
"Then what would?" she asked.
And she took yet another step closer... another...
Breathing up and down at each other, he knew the answer to her question. And so, with no more words, desire churning together with rage, at so many things he couldn't undo, he grabbed her with two firm hands around her upper arms, and he pulled her close, knocking her body against his as he dipped to capture her lips insistently. She clutched at his shirt as she moaned out her surprise, and she pushed against him until he half-tumbled backwards, through the open door to an old broom closet. Separating from her lips long enough to comprehend his back slamming against the interior wall and the sounds of mops and brooms clattering to the walls on either side, he looked fiercely into her eyes again as she reached behind her back to slam the door shut behind them, dropping them into pitch darkness.
"Lumos," he heard her whisper, shakily, and her wand tip lit, her face now softly glowing as she reached high up to place her wand on top of the shelf, just above Ron's head.
She moved in to kiss him again, but he twirled them sideways, knocking against brooms again as he planted her arse and the upper half of her spine firmly against the wall, ninety degrees to the right of the door.
"Ron," she almost questioned, but she tugged his shirt again, pulling him in with a tentative leg around his calf.
He already wanted her so badly, it hurt. His erection strained against his jeans, quickly coming into contact, through layers, with her soft inner thigh. He dipped to kiss her again as she went momentarily rigid with so much alarmingly new closeness.
Sirens were raging in his ears, and he was prepared to question everything. Was it supposed to be like this? But she pulled her lips away from his to mutter a rough "don't stop unless you want to" against his stubble.
"That's a dangerous thing to tell me, Hermione," and her hot breath came in short bursts against his parted lips, her chest colliding repetitively closer to his with each inhale.
"Good," she breathed, eyes dark and locked so tightly onto his.
Her hands suddenly flew to his belt, her cheeks red hot and blotchy.
"Oh, God," he groaned, slipping his left hand up the back of her shirt and kissing her roughly as his belt was freed successfully from its buckle. She made quick work of his jeans' button and zipper, forehead creased, even as they kissed, with attempted concentration. He ground his hips between her legs, and she bit his bottom lip with shock as her right shoe fell off, hitting the floor with a thud as she slid her right leg up even higher, over his waist to wrap around him.
He adjusted his stance to support her off the ground, realizing too late that she would have to move away again to take off her jeans... and her left foot climbed up against the opposite wall, no more than two feet behind him, to balance her weight as he lifted her with both hands shooting down to her arse.
His own jeans sagged low and his erection strained through boxer cotton, up between her legs as he sucked her tongue fiercely between his teeth. She groaned deeply, and he pulled back to stare through her.
Left hand still supporting her arse, her tugged at one of her beltloops with his right index finger.
"How do we... How?" he panted, almost incomprehensibly.
"Are you a wizard..."
He tore his wand from his back pocket, supporting her completely by pressing her deeper into the wall with his hips.
"I'm gonna rip them," he growled, way too turned on to rationalize at this point, but also somehow obligated to warn her of his impending destruction.
"G-Go on," she stammered, shivering as he swished his wand, aimed at her crotch. Her jeans slowly fell away in strips and pieces, utterly destroyed, leaving her clothed in merely a thin, torn jumper, a threadbare undershirt, and a pair of soaked knickers.
"Wow," he breathed, admiring his sudden power, under these mental conditions.
He dropped his wand, and it clattered uselessly to the floor. And he reached his hand almost tentatively down between her legs, but she arched her back and moaned her encouragement, her left foot digging more firmly into the opposite wall of this minuscule closet, her knee bent up behind his right arm.
Hooking two fingers under cotton, he slid her knickers to the side, feeling the scorching heat and wetness of her curls.
"I've wanted to fuck you for so bloody long, Hermione," he slurred, voice thick with lust.
"So, fuck me now," she whispered gravelly, against his swollen lips. "Give me my wand."
Hermione had just said…
He swallowed through a permanent lump in his throat and his blood boiled as he followed her eyeline to the shelf just above his head, to his right. He withdrew his right hand from her knickers and reached up to retrieve her wand. Handing it to her, left hand still frozen around her arse, she dizzily performed a spell, one he distantly recognized as a contraceptive...
She handed her wand back to him, which he tossed carelessly back up onto the shelf, and he repositioned himself to hold her against the wall with his chest, her legs tightening around his hips as he reached down between them, literally ripping open his own boxers.
She shuddered against him and they both instantly tensed at the overwhelming feeling of the bare, velvet-soft skin of his cock now digging up into her curls. Swiping her knickers back again with two fingers, he boldly stared into her eyes, griping her hips firmly with his other hand.
They said so many lightning fast things, without a single word. He promised her everything. He apologized for knowing he was about to hurt her. And she forgave him, not only for the things they still hadn't spoken of, but the things he feared he'd do wrong eventually, those he now saw she welcomed - pain and fear and rage and all of his darkest days and brightest nights... He would never be alone. Not ever again.
Holding her knickers securely to the right, he slipped carefully but quickly up into her. She clutched desperately at his shoulders as he filled her, inch by inch. He felt her contracting muscles surround him, and he cried out something that vaguely resembled a slurred together series of swear words.
Her thighs tightened around him again as she panted out a breathy little high-pitched scream, sole of her left shoe still firmly planted on the wall behind him. She used her dangling, right, socked ankle to press against his arse, his jeans now slipping down to the backs of his thighs, boxers releasing some of their elastic hold on him as well from being ripped so violently down the front. Her ankle forced him deeper inside of her, encouraging him to push past her obvious pain.
Growling out a wave of pleasure, he tugged her jumper up, until she raised her arms and allowed him to remove it completely. Her thin undershirt clung to wool and tried to go with it, though it stopped short underneath her breasts. But it didn't matter - he was already immensely distracted by her newly revealed, perfectly smooth stomach skin. He flattened her thoroughly to the wall with his long torso, now buried completely inside of her.
It was approximately infinity times more pleasurable than he had ever imagined it would be.
"Oh - myfuckinggod," he moaned as she shivered out an exhale.
"You... can... move," she squeaked, and he took her advice, pulling himself nearly all the way out of her before sinking into her again.
As he closed all distance between them once more, he reached up and frantically grasped the wooden shelf to his right in his right hand, putting entirely too much pressure on it. He moved more quickly now, drawing himself erratically out and back into her.
"Iloveyou, iloveyou, iloveyou," he gasped, as the shelf completely gave way under his grip, collapsing chaotically to the floor, scattering random objects, casting them into thicker darkness as Hermione's lit wand rattled around near his feet.
It was bloody unfortunate that his ability to withstand much more of this level of pleasure was drastically beneath his desire to continue.
"I love you," she cried lightly back as he feared the impending end to this perfection. She pressed her forehead to his, but he quickly moved his head right, left side of his face now against the left side of hers. His nose brushed the stone wall behind her left ear and her teeth clamped down onto his own left ear as her foot slipped down the wall behind him, several inches.
Eyes fluttering brilliantly closed, he moved unpredictably, one last time, burrowing deeply inside of her as he convulsed, trying to catch his breath.
Each of her exhales was punctuated by a tiny throaty sound as they remained joined for several lengthy moments afterwards. At last, he lifted his head from the wall, stared into her eyes, blinked slowly, and slipped out of her, carefully balancing her until she'd lowered her feet to the floor. He buttoned his jeans around torn boxers, belt still hanging open, and he collapsed back against the wall behind him, exhausted. She was trembling all over, standing so small in the darkness, light glowing against her thin legs from her wand, somewhere on the floor between them. Her sleeveless undershirt was still caught underneath her breasts, tucked into the bottom edge of her bra. And he could just make out a small red spot at the centre of her knickers.
"How... badly did I... hurt you?" he asked gently, still trying to remember how to breathe.
"Not much at all," she reassured him, voice tiny as she shivered. "And it was perfect. All of it was... p-perfect."
"Shagging… for the... first time... against... a broom closet... wall..." he sighed. "Unexpected."
But she bit her lip and smiled delightfully up at him. He studied her for a moment before reaching tired hands out in her direction, grinning back. She slanted into him, leaning fully against the front of his body. And he wrapped both heavy arms around her, able to breathe at last.
"Ah, bollocks," he said, apologetically, after a moment. "What are you going to wear?"
She tilted her chin up against his sternum before rocking back to take her own weight on her feet again, and he watched her locate an old cloak, buried in the catastrophe he'd created by ripping the shelf off the wall. When she straightened up, cloaking herself, she was grinning broadly again. And she met his eyes through the darkness.
"You literally ripped our clothes off," she laughed. "Can't say I've never fantasized about that..."
His eyebrows shot up for a moment. But he grinned almost smugly back at her. Clenching his hands into fists, wincing at the pain across his right knuckles, he mentally gathered himself together and bent to retrieve both of their wands from the mess covering the small floor.
"C'mon," he mumbled, as he straightened up, slipped both of their wands into his back jeans' pocket together, and reached for her hand. "Prefect's bath?"
"Ohh, yes," she sighed, swiping her discarded, ripped jumper off the top of the piled assortment of now-broken things.
He kissed her temple, lingering for a moment to breathe her in.
"Nox," she sighed, plunging them into complete darkness.
He squeezed her hand once, and he opened the door, squinting as they were slapped across the face by the brightness of daytime sun, screaming through the corridor windows. And they walked, hand in hand, towards the fourth floor, his belt still hanging open simply because he could not actually be bothered to give a fuck.