He sleeps. I lie on my side and watch him in his repose. Utterly relaxed, he looks like the boy I knew all those years ago. One arm is thrown up above his head, the dim light of the room making his pale skin look like marble. I don't want to wake him, so I exercise remarkable restraint and keep my hands to myself.
I am physically exhausted, longing for sleep my brain won't allow. Thoughts are reeling around in my head and I sigh and turn over on my back, envying Ron as he snores softly. Scooting a little closer to him, I am reminded of the fact that we are both naked and a shiver runs through me when our skin comes back into contact. Sleeping in the nude is not my favorite thing, but I really don't want to wake him, so I will tolerate it for this night.
This night. Never in a thousand million years would I have thought that I would end up in a bed again with Ron Weasley. But here I am. Lifting my head I glance at the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock next to the bed, wincing at the time. It's very late. Or very early, depending on how you think of things.
Okay. I can do this. I'll just close my eyes and...unbidden, images come before me. Ron in the middle of a dark road, grinning happily at me. Ron, sweaty and moving to an unheard beat, dancing with a woman neither of us know. Ron, sweating again and poised above me, blue eyes bright as we make love.
Oh God. I'm so tired, so overwhelmed. I need to sleep and recharge my batteries. I look enviously at him again. His wide, generous mouth is relaxed and so temptingly close that I almost give in. Instead, I snuggle closer and rest my head on his shoulder, draping my arm over his firm, flat stomach. He shifts a little, but doesn't wake up.
Waiting for sleep to come, I gently rub my palm over the short hairs that run in a line down to the thick thatch between his legs, remembering that he didn't have as much when he was eighteen. Eighteen. What a magical age. Old enough to do what you want, naive enough to still believe in the indestructibility of youth.
I sigh again, comparing and contrasting the eighteen year old of my past with the twenty five year old of my present. Seven years ago he had been just as tall, but thinner, lankier. Hard physical work had added more muscle, but he could hardly be considered muscle-bound and the way he moved...I don't know. Watching him tonight, I was reminded of another ginger-haired male in my life because when he walked, it was almost like watching Crookshanks stalking the lizards that sun themselves on the rocks in my back garden in Phoenix.
Smiling, I allow my hand to rest in the middle of his chest, rising and falling with his steady breathing. I think Ron would have something to say if he knew I was comparing him to my old, doddering cat. Finally feeling my mind begin to relax, I reflect on the night and circumstances that led to me being very naked and very well-shagged by Ron.
It all started with an owl from Professor, now Headmistress, McGonagall. She was opening up the position of Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts and wanted me to interview. That owl was about the biggest shock of my life, especially coming when it did as I had just returned from interviewing and touring the facilities at St Ambrose's Academy where they wanted me for a Charms instructor.
Hands shaking, I read the short, to the point letter as the large, brown owl hopped about impatiently, waiting for my response. I hastily scribbled a reply asking when she would like me to come and sent the impatient creature on his way.
Sooner than I thought I was on my way, whisked away to Diagon Alley by a ceramic cactus Portkey. At Hogwarts, I had the distinct impression that my interview was a mere formality as it was pretty much a luncheon with McGonagall, Flitwick, Professors Sinestra and Sprout.
What surprised me the most was how at home I felt in the Hogwarts halls. Being the summer holidays, there weren't any students about, but still. Something about being in the castle made me feel safe and happy and I wandered the empty hallways, remembering all of the wonderful times I'd had there with Harry and Ron as my best friends in the world.
Before leaving Hogwarts, I told McGonagall that I would take the position. I had no idea how much it paid or how I would tell my employers at the Sonoran Development Institute, but I didn't care. All I cared about was being back. Back at Hogwarts and back in Britain. The only dark cloud on my bright and sunny horizon was the fact that I hadn't spoken to or seen said best friends in the world in almost seven years.
How to get around that? I didn't know. I suppose I could have sent an owl or gone down to see them at the Ministry. But how would that seem? "Hi! Remember me? The best friend that nagged you through seven years of school so you could get those fabulous jobs? Oh, and you haven't heard from me in ages! Well, guess what? I'm back and I'm going to start nagging you again in 3...2...1...now!" Not very likely.
I felt trapped by my own indecision, wanting to contact them, to see them but feeling that I couldn't because of my long silence. If there's one thing I really don't like it's horribly awkward situations. I didn't want us to be the friends that meet up for drinks and have no idea what to talk about, resorting to pulling out pictures of the kids.
That was something else. I knew nothing of their personal lives outside of what occasionally got published in the odd Daily Prophet article. I remembered seeing Harry splashed on the front page when he went on a date with a young lady, but that was a few years ago now. Nothing about Ron though and I was of two minds on that score.
If there had been something published—a wedding announcement, a small blurb in the social section, then at least I would know something. I would know if I should abandon any hope of him loving me again or if I should make sure to congratulate him on his marriage and 3.5 children.
So, I did nothing. Bummed around London on my holiday and stayed away from Diagon Alley as long as I could resist the pull of Flourish and Blott's. I didn't want to stumble upon anyone from my past; I wanted to be the one in control of the situation. Of course, nothing of the sort happened. Parvati Patil, Gryffindor's worst gossip, found me with my nose in a book in Flourish and Blott's and proceeded to bully me into coming to a party...last night now, I guess. She had the gall to dangle the carrot of possibly seeing Harry and Ron at said party and I consented, against my better judgment.
Seeing Harry was both the most wonderful and most terrifying moment I've experienced in a long time. It was almost as if I had been wandering in a friendship and warmth desert and when I saw him, I was afraid he was just a mirage. But he was real, oh so real and if he was real, then so was…
I wince when I think of what my first words to Ron were. "That was quite a show you were putting on out there, Weasley. Tell me, was that Miss Right or Miss Right Now?" There it was, that need for control. That detestable need, to be the master of the situation, to be the one to come out on top. To deliver the hurt before receiving it.
And Ron, sweet, lovely Ron took it in stride. Didn't even bat an eyelash before turning it back on me. "Ah, Hermione, still have to know everything!"
From the moment I saw him, my body was humming with the desire to touch him, kiss him, taste him. To bring his body into mine until I didn't know where I ended and he began, but I held back. I knew nothing about this Ron. This older, shaggy, tattooed stranger that did things like carry a knife in his boot and hurt people on purpose. For all I knew, he had a girlfriend or a wife and kids waiting for him to come home.
So, rather than kiss and touch we talked for a long time and gradually, I came to know him again. I began to realize that he was still the same person he'd always been, both the good and the bad. I also realized that I still loved him and wonder of wonders, he still loved me. My heart veritably sang with the knowledge and when he drove me to my hotel, I asked him to stay, butterflies on a wild rampage in my stomach.
Words cannot possibly describe how nervous I was at the prospect of sleeping with him again. We'd only been together once in our lives and I was suddenly seized by doubt and I excused myself to the loo where I worked to get myself together. Staring at my face in the mirror above the sink I saw every flaw, every line and I wondered if he would even still want me or if he still had some fantasy of the teenaged girl I used to be.
Impatient with myself, I shook my head and pushed those thoughts aside and tried to do something with my hair, taking it out of the messy, lopsided bun. I remembered that he used to like it down, that he would use any opportunity to get his hands in it and I shivered at the memory. Glad I had brought my wand with me, I performed a quick freshening up charm, stomach jumping when the faint scent of flowers drifted over me. Giving myself another quick look in the mirror, I decided to call it good.
"Okay Hermione. Time to face the music." I gripped the doorknob and walked out of the loo. He was looking out of the window, his back to me and I could see that he was nervous too. That fact and the same scent of flowers on him served to dispel some of my own nervousness and I wrapped my arms around him tightly, feeling as though I would never let him go.
Seemingly galvanized by my touch, he turned around and gave me such a kiss that I felt it all the way down to my toes and it sparked something deep inside of me, something only he has ever been able to touch. Flaring to life, this feeling, this fire, seemed to radiate outward, leaving a tingling, aching sensation in its wake. I remember feeling vaguely alarmed at this feeling as we kissed. No other lover had made me feel quite this way and it made me afraid for a moment, afraid that I was somehow losing control of the situation and myself and I backed off, burying my face in his black tee shirt, hoping to cover my sudden fear.
"Hermione..." I heard him say, his chest rumbling against my ear as he pulled me closer to him. "What are you doing to me?"
I looked up at him and met his eyes. Wide with wonder, he looked back at me unblinkingly and I hid my face again, making him laugh. "Why are you laughing?" I asked, sounding somewhat petulant.
"Why are you hiding?" he countered, gently drawing my face up and kissing me again.
"I'm not hiding," I insisted between wet kisses. Busted, I thought.
"Yes you are." Gracefully, he wormed out of my grip and drew me toward the large, comfortable bed and sat down on it, bringing me to stand between his knees. "I was getting a crick in my neck kissing you like that." His words were soft in my ear as he traced it with his lips, sending the most delicious shiver down my spine. I made a small sound—a gasp, a moan or an incoherent word, I don't know—but it was enough to set him off and he crushed his lips against mine, unintentionally reminding me of that first devastating kiss we shared under the oak tree at the Burrow.
The feel of his mouth on mine served to stoke that fire inside of me to new heights and I could feel it burning, threatening to consume me and I didn't care. The only thing I cared about at that moment was this man in front of me and finding out if the fire inside of him burned as brightly.
A crazy kind of urgency gripped me and I grabbed at the soft cotton of his tee shirt, working it from his trousers, completely and utterly desperate to feel his skin. In mere moments we were both bare to the waist and I was working busily at his belt and flies as his moved his mouth lower down on my neck, moving inexorably to my breasts. His hands, always warmer than my own, swept up and down my sides, seeming to hesitate for a split second before working around to my front to caress my breasts, leaving me breathless at the sensation.
Only half way done with his belt, I gave up and stood rooted to the spot when his warm mouth joined his hands, making me feel like I would simply collapse into nothing if I moved. Gentle touches quickly gave way to rougher, more urgent handling and the feel of his teeth on the swell of my breast brought me back to myself and I wrapped my fingers in his thick hair, pulling him closer. His breath was hot against my skin as he whispered my name and his fingers were busy at the buttons of my jeans, pushing them down to fall at my feet.
The fire inside me was a raging inferno now and I felt my cheeks become unbearably hot as Ron's scorching mouth moved between my breasts and down my stomach. A strangled gasp escaped my lips when he thrust his hand between my legs, feeling my wetness through my knickers. "Christ, you're soaked," he growled in a hoarse voice, making my knees go weak.
We kissed again, tongues battling for that sweet supremacy before he broke away and stood, turning me around and pushing me gently onto the bed. As I lay there, I toed off my trainers and socks and kicked my jeans the rest of the way off, watching as he swiftly bent and worked at his bootlaces, getting the heavy boots and socks off faster than I would have thought possible. His belt yielded to a practiced twist of the wrist and in mere seconds his boxers followed his trousers to the floor, finally allowing me a look at what I'd been missing.
My eyes moved over every inch of him, avidly feasting on the breadth of his chest, his tapering waist and muscled thighs. My mind briefly dwelled on the unfairness of men's legs—always so effortlessly perfect—before catching sight of a thick, angry-looking scar on outside of his right knee. An involuntary "Oh," escaped me and I looked back up into his eyes. He was looking at me, apprehensively gauging my reaction and he shrugged. "Work injury," he mumbled, "s'fixed now."
My heart broke for him that he had to suffer so and that I wasn't able to do anything about it and I felt tears spring to my eyes. "No, no, no," Ron whispered, gathering me into his arms, "no tears. It's over and done, yeah?"
I nodded and wiped my eyes, trying to recapture the feeling from a scant few seconds ago, concentrating on the feeling of so much of his skin in contact with mine. I swept my hands over his back and down to his tight bum, giving him a good squeeze and making him grunt in surprise and look at me with raised eyebrows.
I gave him what felt like a very daring smile. "Ron, are you going to put that thing to good use?" I asked, reaching my hand around to grasp his erection. He leapt onto the bed and rolled over on top of me, raising a girlish shriek as he smothered me in enthusiastic kisses in answer.
That shriek turned into a moan when I felt his hand sliding down my superheated body and his fingers move into my knickers and over my wet folds. Wanting to feel more, I wantonly moved my legs further apart and thrust my hips, shuddering at the sensation of his fingers sliding inside of me. His lips were fastened on my nipple and he tugged gently, setting off sparks behind my closed eyelids. I gripped his shoulders, surprised at the dampness of the sweat I felt as he let go of my nipple with a final nip from his sharp teeth.
I groaned in protest when he removed his hand from my knickers and I opened my eyes to see him removing them all together. A moment later his skilled fingers were back in action, thrusting quickly in and out of me as his thumb slid over my clit. He watched his actions for a moment and then turned to look at me, blue eyes burning with tightly controlled desire. Laid bare before him, I could only hold his gaze for a second before shutting my eyes again, afraid of the raw emotion coursing through me.
"Hiding again, Hermione?" Ron's breath was hot on my neck and this time I could not deny it and I only nodded weakly as he continued to work me over. Operating on pure instinct, I lay on the posh hotel bed and gave in to the sensations he was creating. My breath was exploding out of me in little gasps and I heard my own voice calling out disjointed words, causing Ron to chuckle against my throat. "No one's ever an atheist during sex, yeah?" His voice sounded breathless and rough in my ear, causing me to cry out in response.
Straining for release, I heard his voice again. "I want to watch you come, Hermione. I want to watch you come and then I'm going to fuck your brains out." The sound of his words and the meaning in them drove me over the edge and I finally found my longed for release, curling up into a shuddering, whimpering ball, trapping his wrist with my thighs.
Extricating his hand from between my thighs, Ron expertly turned me over onto my back and spread my legs with his knee, absolutely intending to give me no time to recover. Still too numb to move my own limbs much, he hiked my legs up high on his broad shoulders and slowly moved into me, sucking air in between clenched teeth. The feeling of him so deep inside me was...very...satisfying. Even though we had only shared this one other time, my body remembered him and at that moment, it was like everything fell into place. Our eyes met and I knew he felt it too.
He stayed still long enough to make sure I was comfortable and then he began to move with slow, powerful strokes, angling down to kiss me again, stealing my breath. A few more intense kisses and he moved away from me, changing to faster, shallower thrusts. His eyes were closed, brow creased in deep concentration and his face and chest were both flushed a brilliant pink. His sweat-darkened hair clung to his forehead and I longed to reach up and brush it away but my hands weren't listening to me and continued to grip his trembling forearms.
Blue eyes sprang open and I could see Ron's Adam's apple bob, but all that came out was a sort of a combination between a wheeze and a groan and he began to breathe in short, hard pants and I knew he was very close. The slow, forceful strokes started again, pushing me up the bed and bringing forth my own groans until one particularly enthusiastic push made my head hit the very solid headboard.
"Sorry, love," Ron panted, managing to look both sheepish and on the verge of coming at the same time. Another hard one and then I felt him jerk inside me and his hips gave several short, sharp jerks as he came. To his credit, he continued to move, rubbing his dwindling erection against my clit in the most delicious way until I began to shake and tremble in my own right.
Kneeling between my sore legs he swept his long hair back with both hands before scrubbing them over his face and grinning at me. I must have looked quite the idiot lying there naked grinning back up at him, but I didn't care. All too soon, my practical side woke up and I excused myself to the loo, catching sight of myself in the mirror. My hair was a fright and I swear I was glowing, a nice, rosy tint all over my body. This time, I did not look for any flaws.
I decided not to cover up and went back into the room, finding all the lights out and Ron already under the covers. Snuggling next to his warmth, I kissed his scratchy cheek and smiled up at him. "I think you look pretty good in my bed."
"This isn't your bed," he said, already sounding sleepy.
"Oh?"
He turned to me and looked at me through heavy-lidded eyes. "No. It's the hotel's bed. Besides, you'd look loads better in my bed." I would swear before a jury of my peers that he dropped off to sleep about two seconds after that statement, one arm flung above his head and his face turned toward me.
Which brings us back to the present. A warm tingle spreads through me as I think about our earlier lovemaking. Not quite the blazing inferno it once was, but I feel the fire inside of me, banked and waiting for Ron and only Ron to stir it up again.