Authors Note: My entry for the Twin Exchange March 2011 Challenge, I have used the prompts Tree house, St Patrick's Day & the quote 'You're not the first.' - Enjoy!
High Up An Apple Tree
Hermione slipped away from the party unnoticed - the St Patrick's Day revellers at the Burrow all too drunk to realize that one third of the much-celebrated Golden Trio was no longer in the middle of it all.
It was a relief to get away from the constant clinking of glass on glass, the random bursts of boisterous laughter and the occasional crack of broken outdoor furniture as the party got more and more out of control.
She let her mind wander as she ambled through the long green grass that surrounded the Weasley's family home - her current residence until she found something more suitable in London.
As much as she loved her friends and their families, sometimes she just didn't feel the same need that they all did to celebrate every little occasion after the war with a massive party, but she couldn't blame them for celebrating their freedom.
Looking behind her briefly to make sure nobody had followed her away from the large picnic area that was decorated in every shade of green, she slipped into the dense apple orchid that had been let to grow wildly in the past few years.
Weaving through the tall grass, freely growing weeds and misshapen trunks she followed a path that she was certain many had before. The state of what used to be a small track indicated that not many had been this way in a very long time. Except of course she and George.
He stood waiting for her in the tree house that had been there since Bill was a boy. He smiled in greeting and let down the rope ladder she was certain was still only together thanks to magic.
"It's about time you made your escape," he said, leaning down to help her onto the platform.
Hermione gratefully accepted his outstretched hand, silently cursing her choice of sparkly green heels, which were not very conducive to any sort of physical activity. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist the moment she was upright, his face buried deeply in her curls. She felt him smile against her neck.
"What?" she asked.
"I feel like some wayward teenager coaxing a pretty girl up into my tree house," he answered, kissing her cheek and pulling back to look at her.
"Oh, so you've invited other girls up here before have you?" she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck, her chest pressing against his, her impractical heels perfect for bringing her closer to his height.
"You're not the first," he admitted, ducking his head playfully.
Hermione fiddled with the hair at the back of his neck, "I'm honestly not surprised."
"Ah, but you would be the first girl I have ever shagged up here," he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
"And who says I'm going to shag you? What happens if someone manages to stumble their way near here, then what, hmm?" she asked, feeling her pulse quicken at the thought of being intimate in such an open location.
George looked contemplative for a moment before answering, "Then I would just have to declare to the world, and Mum, that you and I have been shagging like bunnies for months."
"In those words? How romantic," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
"Well, something to that effect," he said, kissing her lips softly.
Hermione's eyes fluttered closed as she sighed against his mouth, "Why not something like, we've fallen madly in love with each other and have been having trouble keeping our hands to ourselves?"
"Or perhaps, I've been feeding you love potions and you've agreed to run away to a nudist colony with me, where we will be making sweet, sweet love for the next few years together," he murmured against her lips.
Hermione laughed, "I want to keep making sweet, sweet love to you, not have your mother lock me in a room for the rest of my life."
"Surely not the rest of your life!" George exclaimed with a mock gasp.
"Mm, maybe the rest of yours," Hermione grinned, pulling his face down to hers again, kissing him deeply.
He kissed her passionately, his hands smoothing up and down her back as he drew her impossibly close. She sighed again, letting him sweep her off her feet and lower them to the dusty wooden floor.
Hermione was aware of how little time they could steal away without their secret being discovered, and it was a secret she was content to keep between them for just that little bit longer. It wasn't that they felt their relationship wouldn't be accepted; it was more holding off the inevitable pressure of his family and her friends who were hell bent on matchmaking. She wasn't quite ready to hear Mrs Weasley's plans for grandbabies and her name in the same sentence.
George's lips on her throat bought her back from her thoughts. His fingers were slowly lowering the straps of her green dress, brushing lightly against her collarbones making her shiver in anticipation.
"I can't wait until you move to London," he whispered against her, working the neck of her dress down her breasts.
"I thought you liked coming here to visit me. I know your mother does," she moaned when his thumbs brushed against her peaked nipples.
His head dropped heavily between her breasts and he let out a groan of pain, "Please Hermione, that's the third time this week you've mentioned my mother before we have sex. I'm beginning to develop a complex."
Hermione snorted, weaving her fingers in his red hair to bring his face back up to hers, "You exaggerate. Now kiss me."
"For you, anything," he replied, kissing her again, his fingers skimming down her sides, finding the short hem of her dress. She shivered when he ran his palms up her naked thighs and squirmed when he shimmied her underwear down until he could toss them behind them.
His fingers found her core, his groan was appreciative when he found her wet and ready for him, "Been thinking about me, Granger?" he asked.
"It's all I could think about all day," she moaned, moving her hips in time to his hand, her body welcoming his touch.
"I'll try not to disappoint you then," he chuckled, inserting one long finger into her waiting heat. She cried out, her nails digging into his forearms as he relit the flame that seemed to constantly burn for him. He mimicked the actions that were to come, his hand pumping against her as he recaptured her lips.
Hermione's body reacted quickly, her whole frame arching up into his, her hips pushing insistently against his groin, urging him to join her. When his thumb joined the mix to flick lazily across her swollen nub she was certain she was seeing stars.
George seemed to recognise she had no tolerance for going slow during this stolen moment. Her reactions and insistent tugging on his belt further indication of her impatience. She watched with hooded eyes as he sat up to undo his belt and fly, and reached up to pull his hard length from the confines of his underwear.
It was his turn to let out a sting of curses as her hand pumped up and down, her thumb grazing the tip of his swollen member teasingly. That seemed to be as much as he could handle, because in the next moment his hands had slipped under her body and he was tilting her hips up to meet his first thrust.
Her whole body arched to meet his, her nails once again curling to form crescent shapes in his forearms. It was always like this between them, the urgency and the overwhelming pleasure. He continued to thrust into her, building the pace until her head fell back and her jaw went slack with pleasure.
Their location, the party and the distant noise of friends and family faded away until it was just the two of them. Hermione felt the pleasure build, the small bubble of pressure starting at her core and spreading out to her stomach and limbs. She opened her eyes to watch George's face; he smiled down at her, the strain beginning to show on his face as he tilted her again, hitting that spot deep within her.
Her head fell back, an involuntary moan escaping her lips as he found it again and again. Without warning, the bubble burst, her body finding its release. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure swept over her, and in turn crashed into George, bringing him along for the ride.
His cries echoed hers as he bucked wildly against her body, what rhythm they had was lost in the storm. George's arms gave way beneath him, his partially clothes body dropping heavily down on her, his head nestled between her heaving breaths as he recovered.
Hermione's fingers weaved in his hair once again; content to lay with him there for a very long time. She felt his lips kissing gently along the swell of her breasts and sighed.
"We should go back," she said, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Or, we could start our own nudist colony out here," he teased, rising on his elbows to kiss her lips.
Hermione laughed, "Once again, I hate to mention your mother at a time like this…"
George pulled away from her quickly, "Fine, fine, I'm getting up."
He helped her off the dusty floor, his fingers trying to bring some semblance back to her unruly curls while she attempted to make her clothing slightly more presentable. They shared one last kiss, full of longing and promise before he suddenly aparated from the tree house.
Slipping back into her heels, Hermione smiled to herself wondering how long George would hold out at the party before he started dragging her back up the apple tree.
Thanks for reading!