Authors Note: This one is for Clover – Happy Birthday! This is also my entry into the Twin Exchange January Challenge!
Tattooed Across Her Mind
Hermione shivered, slowly coming awake to feel the harsh bite of winter air on her naked skin. Her head felt like lead and the moment she tried to rise up from the slightly lumpy pillow she found herself collapsing back down almost instantly.
She was hung-over, that much she could admit to herself. One bleary eye cracked open to assess her surroundings and she also realized that she was stark naked, in a strange bed and in an unfamiliar room.
She cuddled into the pillow, too sore and tired to do much else but think about going back to sleep for a couple more hours, and dealing with her situation when she was feeling more human. However, movement on the other side of the bed and a deep, very masculine puff of breath threw that plan out the window.
Shooting to her feet, she had to grip the carved bed post to keep from swaying back down to the floor. Her vision swam and she had to gasp in deep breaths of the cold air to keep from losing what little food she had in her stomach.
Staring down at the rumpled bedding, Hermione felt her heart hammer when he moved again. The thick cover was drawn over his head and the sudden movement of his foot shooting from the end made her jump and suppress a girly squeal of surprise.
Eyes wide and still gasping for breath, she spun on her heel and searched wildly for her clothes or any clothes really. She needed to get out of there before he woke up, whoever he was. Spotting a white rumpled ball of fabric at the foot of the bed, she practically dove for it.
Her head spun again the moment the adrenalin rush faded and she reached out to grip the nearest object, which just so happened to be the mystery man's ankle. Gasping in shock, she pulled back like it had burned and stood up too suddenly. The last thing she saw of the room before she apparated out was the tiny Chinese dragon, curled delicately up his calf.
Silently thanking whomever it had been who had the forethought for the Burrows wards recognize its occupants, she apparated directly into her room, the white cloth clutched tightly to her chest as she appeared in the pre-dawn dimness and familiar surroundings.
She shivered as the cold that had seeped into her bedroom chilled her to the bone, and cursed herself for forgetting to set a warming charm before she had left for the new years celebrations. A glance toward the window showed they were deep in a snow storm, the world quickly becoming blanketed in white.
Opening her arms, the white cloth turned out to be a plain t-shirt, broad across the shoulders and with the smallest rip in its hem. Desperate to get warm, she threw it over her head, smelling the faint scent of cologne and the distinct masculine aroma of its previous owner.
Thinking about the man she had left back in the unfamiliar room bought a deep flush to her cheeks. She couldn't believe that she, Hermione Granger, had had a drunken one-night stand. It was mortifying, embarrassing and overall concerning. Just what had Fred and George slipped into her drink last night?
She tried desperately to bring a face to mind, but all she could think of was that tattoo.
Tattoo.
Tattoo.
Her breath caught when the distinct memory of running her tongue around the writhing magical ink swept through her mind. He'd moaned, his hands coming down to tangle in her hair, bringing her back up his body – his rather toned, tanned and oh so very masculine body – to kiss her so deeply she would have forgotten to breath if he hadn't pulled back with a chuckle.
Something about the chuckle in her memory jogged a familiar cord, as if she should have been able to recognise and identify the sound easily.
Shivering at the thought it might be someone she knew, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to abate the deep chill that was settling over her. Listening carefully for other sounds of life in the usually noisy Burrow, she heard nothing but the occasional rattle of pipes and the distant snores of someone far below her.
Opening the door to what once had been Bill and Charlie's room but now very much belonged to her, she peeked her head into the hall. Crookshank's stood in the middle of the hall, his black eyes staring at her knowingly, his squashed face set into lines she would have said were disapproval.
"What?" she hissed, opening the door for him a little further, watching as he flounced past her, his bushy tail brushing against her legs.
He paused just before he passed the threshold, took a good sniff of her, looked up with that same knowing glint, and flounced into her room to settle himself on her bed for the day.
"I don't have to answer to you," she mumbled, glaring back at her familiar before taking a deep breath and braving the cavernous hall.
It was even colder outside the comfort of her own room, and she hissed as her bare feet touched the floorboards. Winter had well and truly set in and all she could think about now was taking a long hot shower, crawling into bed and forgetting last night ever happened.
Creeping down the hall on tiptoe, she cringed every time a floorboard creaked and came to a complete stop when she thought she heard Harry stir in his room. Standing frozen in the middle of the hall like an idiot, it took her a moment to realize there was a second set of creeping, creaking feet nearby.
Darting her eyes around, looking for an escape, it took the logical part of her brain entirely too long to remind her that this was her home and she had every right to head toward the shower in nothing but an oversized t-shirt at Merlin only knew what time of the morning.
She still held her breath though when those steps came closer and closer to her floor. Thoughts about darting for the bathroom, which sat by the stairwell, flashed across her mind, but by the time she had made any sort of decision a vaguely familiar and utterly unexpected redhead turned the corner.
"Charlie!" she cried in surprise, before remembering she was supposed to be keeping quiet and lowering her voice, "Charlie, what are you doing here?"
Charlie took the last stair, his broad shoulders filling much of the narrow hallway, "Looking for you,' he replied, as if it were obvious.
"What? And where's your shirt?" she asked, her eyes glued not to his face - his shaggy red hair, with its faint blonde highlights from spending so much time in the sun and the twinkle in his pale blue eyes that would have rivalled even Dumbledore's - but to his gloriously naked golden chest with the thousands of freckles that practically begged an eager tongue to explore.
That thought bought her eyes back up to his face, his expression a mixture of amusement and irritation. She couldn't possibly have... with Charlie Weasley... could she?
"I believe you're wearing it," Charlie grinned.
"I-oh... bollocks," Hermione stuttered, her treacherous hung-over brain forgetting how to speak in favour of flooding her with very distinct images of that same grin during various acts of unrepeatable pleasure.
"They were involved, but not necessarily the most important part of last night," he quipped, chuckling but stopping when he realized she wasn't joining in.
"Hermione, are you okay?"
She managed a quick, panicked series of nods that did nothing to reassure him. Charlie heaved a sigh, took the three steps it took to be at her side and gripped her hand.
"I'm not having this conversation out in the hallway. I'm freezing my balls off out here," he muttered.
And what fine balls they were, Hermione's brain sighed. She flushed and before she could snap out of this latest daze, Charlie was pushing her into the bathroom and heavily warding the door behind them.
Hermione leant back against the basin; staring at the man she had had a one-night stand with.
"How much had you drunk last night?" he asked, leaning casually against the door, his muscular arms folded over his impressive chest.
"I honestly don't remember," she confessed, "After we left the Twins shop everything became a bit of a blur."
The night had started out great. She, Harry and the Weasley's had met up in Diagon Alley to celebrate the New Year in the traditional way. Fireworks and Firewhisky.
She'd always been friends with Charlie, jokingly apologizing for taking his room at the Burrow, forcing him to rent out a room at the Leaky Cauldron for the holidays. The Dragon Tamer had laughed it off, explaining the room away from home was his escape from his crazy family. She hadn't wanted to admit it at the time that the crush she had harboured on the second eldest Weasley since her fourth year had reared it's ugly head.
Charlie seemed to be trying to will something out of her with his gaze alone, and Hermione squirmed under such close scrutiny, fighting the urge to tug at the hem of the t-shirt to cover more of her thighs.
"And how much of last night do you remember?" he asked quietly.
Hermione blushed.
"A-a little, not a lot, okay," she blurted; making serious eye contact with the faint pattern that decorated the tiles below her.
"How much?" he asked, his voice going low, his shadow falling over current tile she was studying.
Hermione bit her lip, her body reacting to that tone, her mind remembering just how it had sounded when she had been proving just how talented her tongue could be. She was sure her face was as red as a tomato as the distinct memory of his hands spearing into her hair, his fingers convulsing on her scalp and his hoarse cries of release had filled the room at The Leaky Cauldron played across her mind.
"How much?" he repeated, his finger tipping her chin up until she met his eyes.
"Some," she squeaked, recognising the heated look in his eyes.
Charlie didn't seem embarrassed at all; in fact all he seemed interested in was reminding her of just how thoroughly he had taken her the night before.
"But not all?" he asked, those pale blue eyes so striking she couldn't have looked away if she tried.
"No," she admitted, feeling breathless at his close proximity. She remembered now the night had started with a kiss at midnight. And boy could the man kiss, her lecherous inner voice sung at her.
"I guess I'll just have to remind you then," he breathed, his mouth descending on hers, his kiss everything she remembered it to be.
Everything came flooding back to her as his body pressed against hers, his hands feeling curves he had spent hours the night before exploring. It was as if the entire evening had been tattooed across her mind, a permanent mark she would carry with her for the rest of her life.
Her fuzzy hangover seemed to fade and she gasped and threw herself into the kiss, giving as much as she took, demanding as much as he did from her. Charlie was an amazing lover, he coaxed and encouraged and her memories of the night before told her that he wasn't afraid to ask for what he wanted, and practically demanded the same back.
She may have been drunk at the time, but so had he. And the night before had been wild and exhilarating and every one of her hang-ups had been thrown out the window. She was no prude, and Charlie knew that now and would expect her to be as open today as she was last night.
His hands gripped the back of her thighs, his strong arms lifting her so she was propped up on the counter beside the basin. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, moaning when the coarse denim of his jeans came into contact with her naked core.
"You're not wearing any underwear," the Dragon Tamer grinned, pulling back to kiss and nip at the sensitive skin of her neck. His fingers moved to the hem of the white shirt, brushing against her sides before he pulled it up and over her head, the contact between them broken for only a moment.
His mouth descended on her again and Hermione sighed, her head dropping back as he found the spot on her neck again that could make her whole body shiver, "I couldn't find them."
"Mmm," he murmured, moving down to graze her collarbone with his teeth, his mouth moving in a steady path toward her breasts, "If I recall correctly there wasn't much left to find of them."
"Oh," she breathed, her back arching with the gentle pressure of his hands, his lips wrapping around one hard nipple.
"Not that I'm complaining now," he smiled, kissing the valley between her breasts before switching his attention to the other nipple. He worshiped her breasts, licking, teasing and playing with them until she was limp with desire and panting with need.
"Silencing charm," she gasped when he began to kiss down her rib cage, recalling her response to the kind of pleasure he was about to give her.
Smirking up at her, Charlie pulled his wand from his back pocket and flicked it at the door.
"Now nobody will knock down the door when they hear you scream," he teased, his tongue darting out to follow one rib before he continued his decent.
"I'm going to scream am I?" she laughed breathlessly, squirming when his thumbs traced her hip bones, her heart pounding as he drew closer and closer to where she so desperately wanted him to be.
"Like you never have before," he promised her, his fingers parting her folds, his hot breath washing over her.
Hermione moaned, her fingers tightening in his hair, her back falling to slump against the cold bathroom mirror. Charlie's tongue followed the path he had claimed as his own the night before, finding every erogenous zone she possessed and setting her body on fire with several thorough flicks in all the right places.
Her body remembered this too and responded in ways that both scared and delighted her. She bucked and writhed until he was forced to hold her hips still, his focus never wavering until he got what he set out to do. All too soon her traitorous body gave in to the onslaught and with a scream of release her painfully tight muscles convulsed in a body jarring orgasm.
Charlie crawled back up her body, his lips tracing an invisible pattern until he captured her sobbing pants with his lips. His hands soothed up and down her body as she came back to herself and she was kissing him back again.
It didn't take her long to register he was still dressed in those deliciously tight jeans, and with her last coherent thought, she pulled the wand from his back pocket and vanished them in seconds.
Charlie moaned into the kiss when she ran her hands down his chest, her fingers finding every groove of his hard work honed muscles. He bucked into her hands when she wrapped her fist around his length, squeezing the base and thrusting her tongue into his mouth at the same time.
He spread her legs wider, shuddering when her thumb ran over his tip. They both paused, only sound in the tiny bathroom was their harsh breathing and Charlie ran his palm up her calf, gripping her thigh and placing her heel over his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her leg, keeping her in place.
Her other leg remained dangling from the bathroom counter and the new position left her completely open to him. All it took to bring them together was one sharp thrust of his hips.
Hermione keened, her head thrown back against the mirror, her body completely focussed on that point where he slid in and out of her with such delicious precision. He reached out, tugged at her shoulder until her upper body was pressed to him again, and kissed her with that same overwhelming passion she remembered from their night together at the Leaky.
She clung to his arms, which held her steady as he pounded into her body, barely aware that her permanently ink stained fingernails were digging into his tanned flesh. He didn't seem to mind however, just gripping her tighter to him as he shifted his footing and changed his angle, thrusting in and up.
The promised screams tore from her mouth as he bumped against her clit and hit that spot deep within her that had her head swimming with a multitude of colours so brilliant they would have rivalled a fireworks display from Fred and George.
Charlie gasped when her walls begin to tighten around him, and she watched his face as he fought to keep his own release at bay, obviously determined to see her let go just one more time.
"You can't believe how I felt when I woke up this morning," he gasped, watching as he slid out of her again, only to slam back in moments later, "I didn't know what to do, to think I would never be able to…' he panted, looking up and finding her watching him.
Hermione was so close to release, and concentrating on his words, his deep voice wasn't helping her control at all, "Please," she said in a hoarse whisper.
"I wanted to do this again. Needed to do it," he groaned, shifting her leg higher and fighting through her tightness.
Her breath caught in her throat as he body gave an involuntary buck, pushing her harder into him as the fiery heat swept across her body, ending where they joined and sweeping her up in an orgasm that bought down all of Charlie's self control.
Her leg slipped from his shoulder as she wrapped her body around him, their cries of satisfied release echoing off the tiled walls. He buried his head in her shoulder, his breathing harsh, his hips still rocking into hers as the residual pulses washed over them until they faded to nothing.
Charlie was the first to recover, finding the wand she had flung into the sink and flicking it at the shower, the steamy spray was pouring out from the glass door in seconds, beckoning them in. He slid her off the counter and into his arms, her legs tightening around him as he stepped into the hot water.
She slid her legs to the floor, her head resting on his chest as she tried not to slide into a puddle on the floor.
"I'm sorry I freaked out. I panicked," she said, her voice hoarse from a night and morning spent in the throes of passion.
Charlie was running soapy hands up and down her back, warming her as much as the water was, "That's okay, you were pretty sloshed," she could practically hear the grin in his voice.
"But not today, this morning," she whispered, standing on her toes to kiss his neck, finding fading marks she didn't remember putting there.
"No, not today," he agreed with a groan, his fingers kneading into her aching muscles.
"So how come you're not hung-over. If I recall correctly you had more to drink than I did," she asked with a chuckle, not feeling hung-over in the least anymore, all she could feel was the delicious floating sensations that came with being utterly satisfied.
"Because, I learnt long ago not to accept drinks from Fred and George," he murmured in her ear, kissing her cheek.
"Oh," she sighed, turning her head, her face inches from his, "I'll have to remember to thank them later."
"Why's that?" he asked, kissing the corner of her mouth before he turned her so her back was to his chest, picking up a bar of soap again and rubbing it between his hands vigorously.
"I don't think I would have had the confidence to approach you if it hadn't been for all the alcohol," she sighed, closing her eyes when his hands rubbed over her still sensitive breasts.
"And what makes you think I wouldn't have approached you sooner of later?" he growled in her ear, making her shiver.
"Were you going to?" she asked deliberately rotating her hips, rubbing against him.
"Yes, I was just looking for the right excuse," he said. She spun around and found his expression had gone more serious and less teasing.
"And did you?" she asked softly.
His smiled, "Yes, I think I did."
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