Hi Everyone!
This is my first story on this site, but the second time I'm posting it due to technical difficulties (namely me being a spazzoid). Reviews and con crit are welcomed and greatly appreciated, as I'm trying to improve and would love to know what you think I can do better. :) Sorry if there are any errors I didn't catch in my proofreading: I'm also looking for a beta at the moment.
Enjoy!
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If anyone asked, it wasn't Ron's idea. It had been all Hermione, with her beautiful pleading brown eyes and an uncharacteristically shy smile as they sat together in Gryfindor's common room. As soon as she began to speak in that tone she gets, the one Ron has grown too accustomed to for his liking, the one that means she wants something and she knows she's going to get it, he knew he was doomed. Look how pretty it is outside, Ron... Why are we all cooped up in here, Ron... The teenager mockingly played back snippets from their earlier conversation in his head, when in reality he knew there was no coercion involved and he would do almost anything Hermione asked him to willingly (and probably to some reluctantly-admitted degree of happiness). But a picnic? It seemed a bit too girly, and Ron still wasn't exactly sold on the idea, even if they were already outside on a blanket spread beneath the gentle bow of a tree. But as he looked at his female companion, watching as she closed her eyes and turned her cheek happily in offering to the cool breeze, Ron decided that maybe, just maybe he could get used to it.
Can it even really be considered much of a picnic? Ron wondered absentmindedly as he surveyed the mermaid-infested lake several yards in front of them, his knees lazily held near to his chest. Their blanket was the young wizard's maroon bed comforter (something he'd griped about for a good five minutes) and all they had to eat and drink were Chocolate Frogs, several apples, and a couple cans of some surprisingly sweet Muggle drink Hermione had received from home. Also of course, Ron inwardly added forlornly, a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans with all of the decent flavors already eaten (courtesy of Fred and George). Yet he'd enjoyed himself so far, he had to admit, but that was more due to whom he was sharing this afternoon with than anything else. The two had bickered over where they were going to sit (Ron wanted to be as far away from civilization as possible so any evidence of him picnicking would be hidden, while Hermione wanted to watch a pick-up game of Quidditch) until a compromise had been made. But not before Ron had been spotted carrying the basket Hermione put together, a large wicker monstrosity complete with an atrociously ugly lace doily.
And the actual eating part of their so-called picnic had been fun, even if Ron had gotten a playful smack when he'd laughed after a Chocolate Frog wriggled down the front of Hermione's (wonderfully) low-cut top. Afterwards Ron and Hermione had talked together for what Ron supposed had to have been just over an hour, but truthfully had only seemed like minutes to him. Topics ranged from the Weasley's tendency to always have something bizarre happen on holidays to Hermione's childhood fear of swimming, until the discussion comfortably trickled off into silence. Now they sat on opposite sides of the blanket, both feeling the stress of a particularly grueling week of classes decrease with every small slap of waves on the Black Lake's shores. A bird called, hidden among the long grasses that lined the water, and Ron closed his eyes with a deep sigh of contentment as wind ruffled through his hair.
"Reinventing the wheel?" Hermione's voice was low and melodic, and as Ron turned his head from observing the murky blue-green of the aquatic world in front of them he noticed that she had stretched out to lie down on her stomach. The soft brown waves of her hair trailed enticingly down her back, leading the young man's eye to the thin strip of alabaster skin that was visible between the top of her blue jeans and the hem of her violet t-shirt. The urge to rest his hand on the small of her back and trail it up up up until he reached the ivory column of her neck, following his hand with delicate kisses was suppressed, but goddamn if he didn't want to go with it.
He (along with most of the male population of Hogwarts) had noticed how pretty Hermione had gotten in the last several years, growing from frizzy-haired know-it-all to the object of much Quidditch locker room talk, to Ron and Harry's chagrin. Ron had always seen her as more of a sister than a girl he'd want to date or kiss, let alone have sex with. More recently, however, once he'd begun to notice the sweet scent that always somehow surrounded her, the way she'd taken to saying his name when she saw him, full of unbridled excitement, and once he'd awoken in hot sweats from dreams in which they were definitely more than friends, Ron began to view Hermione as something more. Occasionally talk among boys in the dorm and hanging out would turn to girls, and every time Hermione was brought up Ron felt himself grow hot and angry, and, dare he say, more than a little possessive of the brown-eyed beauty. Eventually he'd realized, after several late nights sitting with her in the common room, that he had developed more than a simple crush on or lust for his female best friend. If Ron had to put a label on it, he'd have to say he was head over heels. And that, considering he was one of the most tactless, awkward people he knew, was bound to be nearly impossible to deal with around the object of his affections.
"Ron?" Hermione smiled at him, her head resting sideways on her folded arms. That same smile that bewitched countless boys had the ability to stop Ron dead in his tracks.
"Huh?"
"You know, 'reinventing the wheel?' It's a question, an expression; my mother says it whenever I'm thinking too hard. You just look deep in thought, that's all. I was wondering what you're thinking about."
"Oh, um..." Another deep breath, this time from the nerves that instantly fluttered in his chest when he realized that not only had her shirt ridden up but her pants had ridden down, exposing the very tiptop of her light pink underwear. "You know, the lake; things that live in the lake. Like mermaids. And how they sing. And swim. And… held you… hostage…"
Perfect cover up, Ron thought, mentally berating himself for forgetting until mid-ramble that Hermione might not be too fond of merfolk. If I had Crabbe or Goyle's mental capacity.
Hermione cocked an eyebrow, opening her mouth to speak when Ron cut her off, his burst of courage coming a bit late but better than never.
"I mean, I was actually just thinking how we should do this more often. This whole 'us alone thing.' If you'd like to. Maybe. Not actually about mermaids."
Hermione's laugh was soft and quieted, either from the rustle of the leaves and the grass around them or from the pounding of blood in Ron's ears, he wasn't sure which. She slowly sat up, crawling over to the young wizard's side of the comforter and stopping mere inches in front of him. Gentle sunlight trickled through the shifting branches above them, pooling in Hermione's hair and across her face as she knelt, locking eyes with a more-than-confused, more-than-helpless Ron. Her fingers brushed up against the back of his left hand, seeking permission for his fingers to intertwine with hers, and he fought not to suck in a breath as a thrill shot through his body. Lowering his legs he realized that Hermione was leaning towards him, and as she sucked her lip into her mouth, looking up at him from underneath long eyelashes, he felt a familiar pang in the pit of his stomach. Fuck...
She spread her legs, placing one on either side of his, began to lean closer, Ron thought he was about to have a heart attack, and... wait, what is she doing anyways?
"Herm-Hermione-"
His barely-formed question was silenced by Hermione's soft, wet lips against his, moving tenderly, and instinctively Ron's hands broke from their shared hold and moved to clasp her back as her body slanted towards his, her fingers tangling in his white t-shirt. Ron was on fire; he didn't know kissing could feel this good. The feeling of the skin of her back underneath his palm, the scent of Hermione's shampoo that he had learned to love, her warm breath, her silky skin, her body pressed to his, the unexplainable electricity that was somehow generated from simply kissing. If Ron didn't know any better he would swear it was magic. It certainly hadn't been like this with any other girl, not that he had much experience. It was unique to Hermione. Warmth blossomed deep in his chest, running through his veins and burning so ferociously he thought it was either going to consume him entirely or he was going to combust. And when Ron swept his tongue over her lips and she opened hers to him, making a happy, breathy sound, almost a gasp, he thought he'd died and gone to heaven.
After several heart-stopping, inexplicably dream-like moments they parted, Ron looking up at Hermione with clouded eyes and swollen lips while she blushed and cupped his face in her hand. "Ron, I'd love to do this more often."
If anyone asked, this picnic was totally his idea.
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Yay, you made it to the end! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it. I didn't originally intend for it to turn out as dirty as it did, but... well... XD
Please take the time to review and give some feedback/con crit. Thanks!