Ch. 2 Cold Toes and ...


Ron stood in the doorway of his bedroom, quietly watching the sleeping witch in his bed. He'd know it was her from anywhere. The bushy brown hair splayed out on the pillow was obvious. His jumper from third year – discarded years ago when he outgrew it – looked bloody gorgeous on her petite frame. It complimented her hair, with the maroon and gold threads in it. Under the gold and maroon bedclothes, he guessed she might be in a pair of knickers and a pair of long socks. Summer or winter, her feet stayed freezing, along with her hands. The healers said that was a side-effect from her torture and there was nothing they could do about it. Then again, some nights, she liked to surprise him by wearing nothing but a smile. Others, like this cold February night, she could be bundled up. He hoped that she wasn't wearing flannel sleep trousers. That might complicate things.

The clothes were no hindrance to what he wanted to share with her tonight.

John Thomas stirred in anticipation.

He took the velvet bag out of his trousers then opened the velvet box one last time. It's not or never, mate.

He took the engagement ring out, looking at the candlelight dance along the facets of the ring. I hope she likes it.

He closed the box, and put it back in the bag inside his trousers. Her ring went on his pinky finger, only going as far as the first knuckle. He knew it'd fit, since he had her looking around last Christmas. She had an idea that he was considering it, but he was able to placate her with his explanation of wanting to save more money for it, and get established as an Auror.

He shed his outer robes, leaving them lying on the chair in the corner. Next went the boots, unzipping the side so he could slip his size twelve feet out of them. Next went the socks, which were damp and rank for being on his feet for twelve hours. Great, just what I need - a hole in another pair of socks.

Hermione spoiled him after the war ended, taking him out into Muggle London for some necessary shopping. At the time, it was humiliating. Now, Hermione laughs with his Mum about it. Having a bloke fit him for robes was bad enough, but having another woman, not his Hermione, touch him to get measurements, was revolting. He cringed, thinking about the matron measuring his inseam, or insisting that she measure him in and out of his kit for new trousers.

He quit complaining when they were the guests of honor at the Ministry Christmas Ball, and five different witches acted like they fancied him. They did that with her on his arm the entire night. That row, stemming from her jealousy, ended with a wild night in this room.

His cheeks flushed at that memory, and his pants became immediately uncomfortable. Nothing like a lascivious Hermione, flushed bright red while he pinned her to the bureau of their room while he rogered her to an inch of her life – or the smile on her face the next morning when she had considerable trouble walking. Harry was embarrassed, but Ginny laughed so hard she snorted.

Hermione'd never admit it, but she loved it. She loved when he took control, and gave as good as she did.

It wasn't the first or last time the two couples saw the aftermath, whether it was in a blazing row or ear piercing shagging.

He slipped out of the trousers, letting the long buggers stay on the floor. That's a relief! Next off was the black jacket, emblazoned with epaulets, rank, chevrons and stripes on the sleeves, and insignia on the high stiff collar. Off came the white button down uniform shirt, laid on the chair also.

He stood there in the room in his undershirt and Chudley Canon's pants. The chill of the room make the hairs on his flesh stand out, craving warmth again. He would find it from the person whom was asleep only a few feet away from him. She curled his toes and boiled his blood, all from a simple smile.

He tossed aside the undershirt, deciding at the last second to keep his pants on. They would keep him focused. The only thing remaining on his person was his concealed wand holster. Hermione understood his insistence that he never remove it from his arm, or his request that she keep hers under her pillow at night too. The war might have been officially over for almost two years, but there were still some sodding bastards out there who would love to get their hands on either one of them, disarmed or not.

Ron gently untucked the covers from the front, letting the bed clothes open up. He waved his hand at the bed, casting a warming charm on the front of it. He didn't want her cold toes on his hot bits for any reason.

He knelt down in front of their king sized platform bed, sliding between the sheets and under the duvet. Sure enough, the warming charm did what it should, and the bed in front of her perpetually chilly toes was warm to his chilled skin.

Under the warm covers of the bed, she smelled fantastic: Vanilla spice, mixed with the honey soap she used. The lotion she used on her legs kept her toes and calves baby smooth. The odors from higher on the bed included the spicy scent he knew and loved about her. This late at night, under the warm covers, she was still wanton and scarlet. No one else ever knew this part of her, the salacious side. Well, maybe Harry and Ginny do, but not this way. He grinned at his cheek.

He laid a calloused finger on her skin, tracing a pattern on it. She didn't stir, but that didn't stop him from continuing. Behind his finger, he kissed, laying butterfly kisses on her skin, leaving heat and moisture behind.

He started at the instep, feeling the pulse through her foot. He moved to her ankle next, the one that Aunt Muriel denigrated her for. He didn't mind her skinny ankles. He thought they looked amazing when they were hooked around his neck when he pounded into her.

He didn't grasp her toned legs. She might still be asleep, but she was still ticklish on her feet and behind her knees. If he grabbed her, he might have a broken nose instead of feasting on her tender flesh. There was no choice to consider.

Ron left gentle kisses up her legs, leaving the hairs standing up in his wake.

He threaded his hands higher, feeling her start to wake from his ministrations. It didn't matter, since he was reasonably close to where he wanted to be when she woke. His hands settled on her hips, using his shoulders to wedge her legs further apart. The no knickers night was always a nice surprise.

"Ron?" he heard the muffled name through the bedclothes.

He sank his teeth gently into the soft skin of her inner thigh, letting his hand trail up her body. She would know it was him, since he had a habit of marking her in various places. His primary one might be the crux of her neck, right at the shoulder above the collarbone, where the bottom of her scar stopped. He also preferred the top of her right hip; the outside of her left breast, next to the overlapping scars on her chest; the inside of her left wrist, below where the carving on her arm. But his favorite, the one she never told a soul, was the one on her right leg just below the coifed coarse hair between her legs. She made it a special treat for him, and only him, dabbing a drop of the perfume he got for her a few Christmas past.

Her breath hitched, and her hips shifted in anticipation. "Ron! You're home."

He pushed her hips wider, making room for his axe handle wide shoulders. Her legs slid around his shoulders, one going up on top and the other outside of his arm. A nudge with his nose, and her hips were exactly where he wanted them to be.

Cerulean blue eyes looked up in the candlelight to warm chocolate ones. She hadn't noticed his hand had snuck up and over her breast, bypassing the protruding nipple he loved to lave, suck, nibble, bite, and tweak to perfection. He kept his hand still, hiding the cool metal on his finger. Not yet.

"Hermione?"

She looked down at him, almost in annoyance. Her huff betrayed her impatience. "Yes, Ron?"

"You remember that song that played at your parent's house in Australia? The one we danced to in their den after they went to bed?"

She propped up on her elbows, looking down at the ginger hair that was hanging over the end of her abdomen, mixing with the curls between her legs. "I do. That was a terrific ending to a wonderful day."

"Do you remember the song that was playing on the wireless? That song by the American singer? Didn't your mum say that it was the one that your parents' favorites to dance to? Didn't she leave that record on the phonograph?"

Hermione could only grin at his attempt to decipher the Muggle technology. "Oh Ron. That was a compact disc that she put on to play. It's not a record or a phonograph. And it certainly wasn't a wireless." She sighed. "When Mum heard it on the radio at work, she thought about me while I was at school. She thought at first it was about missing someone. It was only later that she realized it was a love song."

"But do you like it? I mean really like it?"

"It's alright. I think I heard it a few times while I was home over the summers. Why?"

"It's Valentine's Day."

"And? It's not like we've really done anything for them before."

"We've only had one before this one.

She huffed.

"Don't you remember that they played it when we went to visit them last Christmas?"

"I think we were a little busy last Christmas. I didn't pay attention to the music in my father's library because you were too busy shagging me on his desk."

Ron leered, remembering that memorable night, the next early morning, and the late night of Boxing Day. It didn't hurt that they had just really made up from a nasty fight a couple of weeks prior. Dancing in Dr. Granger's study on Christmas Eve started their festivities.

Ron waved his arm out into the room and a song started to play.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows at him. He had on his Auror face, the one that never betrayed his thoughts. "What's going on?"

"You know I'm rubbish when it comes to singing. I know I sound like an asthmatic kneazle when I sing, so you've said. So, I asked your Mum, and she was more than glad to help out. Dad even bought me a copy of the disc too."

"What's going on, Ronald?" she said in an impatient huff. "Quit being enigmatic."