AN: This is the first time I've logged into here for ages - I just don't have that much free time at the moment. Anyway, I was looking over my list of stories and I don't remember writing half of them, let alone publishing and reading the reviews. But I have, and now I realise how much I've actually missed it this year. I will make an effort to write at least one story every month from now on.
"Not now, Charlie..." A hand swatted at him as he tugged playfully at the skirt swirling round her legs. She wasn't watching him, her attention was focused almost completely on the mirror in front of her, pinning her hair into some stupidly elaborate do (over-elaborate, if you asked him, he personally liked it loose and tumbling over her shoulders, down her back, tousled and sticking to heated skin - his or hers, it didn't really matter). But she'd decided that having her hair down didn't portray the professional image she wanted for this evening's dinner, so up it went.
"Hermione, we've got ages yet, don't worry so much." Ok, it was an hour before they were expected to arrive, and it wouldn't take him longer than five minutes to throw on his dress robes anyway. And maybe run a brush through the hair he was currently growing, having heard Hermione comment once about liking Bill's ponytail.
"No, we haven't. We did, until you got ideas when I was in the shower..." She started to blush, still unable to talk about all the things they did without her cheeks colouring, even after five years together.
"Complaining, honey?" That wicked grin was on his face again, the one that made her melt every time. It was a good job she wasn't looking at him, but at the dressing table mirror instead. That is, until she felt his hands on her hips, pulling the skirt up, then sliding her knickers down. She wasn't complaining, not in the least, especially when he started to slip inside her and she looked up, catching his eyes in the mirror and accepting the fact that, once again, she was going to be late to an important business dinner. It really was becoming a bad habit...
And that was when his movements turned from slow and sensual into hard thrusting, her fingers digging at the surface of the table, trying to find something to hold onto, and thoughts ceased to exist, unless it was related to him, and to her, and to what exactly she wanted him to do right now...
.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Apparating to the entrance of the Diagon Alley restaurant, Hermione pushed her unruly hair back with one hand. After all the effort she'd put in, she still hadn't had time to arrange it properly. It would just have to do. Beside her, Charlie smiled knowingly and gestured for her to lead the way. They weren't that late, really, and Hermione would come up with a perfectly logical explanation. She always did.
AN: So, another Charlie/Hermione story. Prompt 22 from the list, "Flushed cheeks".