April 30, 2004

How much time was enough time between breaking off an engagement with one brother and dating another brother? Two months? Scandalous. Three months? Still scandalous. Four months? Let's face it, Hermione, no matter how long you wait, it will be scandalous to date another Weasley.

The last four months had been filled with so much sexual tension between her and Charlie at the office that she was ready to combust. The other field agents were surely aware of it. Every time they talked, or had a meeting, or were in the field, their eyes and bodies sought each other. It was like a magnet drawing them together.

She spent half her nights coming on her fingers while thinking of him. Which, frankly, was a lot more orgasms than she'd had with Ron for the past three years. Would it be like that all the time with Charlie, she wondered? Would it be like Harry and Ginny, trying to sneak off to the nearest empty room at every family gathering?

The thought was thrilling, and on this late Friday afternoon, she decided four months was long enough to wait. She was ready to come on something besides her own fingers. To see what he looked like undressed rather than fantasize about it. To know how his skin tasted rather than imagine it. To clench her hands in his red locks rather than pretend the sheets were his hair. To know what he felt like inside her, rather than make believe her fingers were his.

The two of them, along with a couple of other agents, were the only ones left in the office. She walked through his door and closed it behind her. He glanced up from his desk and his eyes grew dark, as they always did when she was near.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" she asked, getting straight to the point.

A smile curled at the corners of his lips. "That depends. Why are you asking?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Because if you're free," she stuttered for a moment as her nerves got the best of her, "if you're free, I thought maybe we could do something together?" Smooth, Hermione. She'd felt so bold when she walked in his office, but it all fell away in panic under his gaze.

His eyes grew darker, if that was possible. "Then yes, I'm free." When she didn't say anything, he stood. "What were you thinking of?"

"I don't really know," she breathed. "Um, maybe drinks and dancing at the Wild Wand? Or dinner somewhere?"

She could tell he wanted to come around his desk and stand closer to her, but he didn't. "Hermione, I'm game for anything you want to do. And, not to beat around the bush, I've been waiting for today since Christmas Eve."

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning at his words, and she tried to find some semblance of rational thought to cling to. Honestly, all she wanted to do was just go to her flat or his and shag him silly, but that seemed a little too forward.

Huffing out a breath, she asked, "How about the Wild Wand?" The thought of his body pressed against hers under the pulsing lights and music sounded lovely.

"What time?" he asked.

"Eight o'clock?"

He nodded. "I'll see you there. I'd offer to pick you up at your flat," he chuckled, "but I don't know that I'd have the self-restraint to actually make it to the club." He said it as a joke, but it was clearly the truth.

She squeaked, "See you there!" and exited his office before she did anything stupid, like babble, trip, or possibly strip.

-o~0~o-

Lights flashed above them while they danced in the middle of a large crowd. His hands hung on her hips, her hands resting atop his, while her breasts grazed his chest. He wanted his wits about him, wanted to enjoy every moment of his first time with her, and so he'd had only one drink before they hit the dance floor.

Her hips ground into his during each repeat of the current song's chorus, and he moved his hands from her hips to her bum, squeezing her gently through her denims. She leaned forward and suckled on his neck, a clear indication that his roaming hands were welcome. Then, reaching around him, she slotted her hands into the pockets of his trousers, kneading the flesh underneath.

He couldn't do this anymore. Leaning down to her ear, he yelled over the sound of the music, "Hermione, are you ready to go home?" And then he made his intention clear when he trailed his lips and tongue along her neck and jawline, tasting the salty tang of her sweat from dancing in the hot crowd.

Her fingers gripped his arse through his trouser pockets, and he barely heard her utter, "Oh my God, yes."

"Your flat, or mine?" he asked.

"Yours," she said over the heavy music.

He twisted on the spot, their arms still wrapped around each other, and they landed in his bedroom. He ripped off his shirt and groaned in relief when her eyes went wide and her fingers traced along his chest and stomach, lingering on the dragons inked onto his skin.

"Tit for tat, love," he grinned. "You can't sit here and admire me without returning the favor."

"You're so cocky," she murmured, "but I love it."

He started to undo her denims, which clung tightly to every curve of her body, and she tore off her top and undid her bra in the blink of an eye. He froze at the sight, and immediately bent down to suck one of her breasts into his mouth while he palmed the other one with his calloused fingers. She tasted like ambrosia, if ambrosia tasted like Hermione Granger.

She moaned, running her fingers through his hair, and he decided he was done with foreplay. They had been building up to this ever since that night in Scotland nine months ago, and he couldn't wait any longer. He tried to push her denims down her hips—they were so damn tight, he made no progress—and she stepped back to finish the job.

He shed his own trousers and briefs, and her eyes went wide at the sight of him hard and free before her. He couldn't help himself after seeing her expression. "Want this, love?" he taunted. "It's all yours if you say the magic word."

She pushed her knickers down her legs and, before he could fully admire the beauty she revealed to him, she pushed him forcefully back until he landed on the bed. He didn't know it was possible to get any harder than he already was, until her palm pressed aggressively against his chest. When he landed on the bed, she gave him almost no time to react before she scrambled on top of him and slotted herself over his throbbing erection. "Please," she purred, with a smirk on her face.

Dear Merlin, Morgana, and all the knights, if he died tonight, he would die a happy man.

She sank down onto him, and they both groaned as if they were bringing dying stars back to life. She felt hot and slick around him, and his thoughts ceased; he succumbed to pure ecstasy.

-o~0~o-

Hermione had read romance novels and deemed them all bunk. They were nice for a quick pick-me-up—it was fun to imagine something so intense yet frivolous could happen in real life, but she had thought them, simply, fiction.

Until now. She suddenly understood why Ginny wanted to sneak away any chance she got to ravish and be ravished.

Truly, she had never felt this kind of frenzied need before. She traced every hill and valley of his shoulders, arms, chest, torso, trying to memorize them all while she rocked up and down on his full and inconceivably beautiful cock, which was infinitely more satisfying than her fingers. Even if nothing long-term came of this, it was worth it to end things with Ron just to know this kind of feeling existed.

When he pressed his fingers to her clit while she rocked on top of him, she keened.

"Does that feel good?" he breathed.

"Oh God yes, Charlie!" She bent forward and pressed kisses against his chest, her lips relishing in its firm planes and taking time to briefly suckle each nipple.

When she lifted up, he pulled out of her and flipped them over, pressing her into his bed. "I'm not coming before you, love. And I've been dying to taste you for months now."

He scooted down and flicked his tongue across her clit, then suckled on it, alternating his movements until she was writhing underneath him. She heard him mutter, "I've imagined you spread open for me like this since that night we kissed under the stars in Scotland, love. You have no idea…" In mere minutes, he had her flying. Her fingers gripped his hair, probably hard enough to hurt, had she been aware of what she was doing.

With one last set of hard sucks and flicks of his tongue, he sent her soaring. She tried to suppress her scream, but his lips continued insatiably devouring her, and she couldn't hold back. It was the most intense orgasm she'd ever had, and though her screams might be waking up the neighbors, she couldn't bring herself to care. His tongue continued to caress her through the waves of her high as she slowly came down.

When her moans finally turned into pants, he crawled up her body and kissed her. Then, "Can you turn over, love?"

She obliged, and, as soon as her stomach hit the sheets, he entered her from behind. He moved slowly, gently as he rocked back and forth inside her. She could tell he was holding back, and she wanted more. She and Ron had never talked much during sex, but she got the feeling Charlie was open to anything.

"Harder, Charlie. I need to feel you. Don't be afraid you'll break me; you won't."

He hesitated for a moment, and then thrust more vigorously, his fingers digging into her hips. It still wasn't enough, and she knew he was still holding back. "Goddammit, Charlie, fuck me!" She was briefly appalled at her language, but when he responded by rutting into her, and all her nerve endings lit ablaze, her embarrassment disappeared. "Oh God, Charlie, yes! Like that!"

"You like it rough, love?" he growled.

"Apparently, yes," she breathed. Then louder, "Yes!" She thought she might die, and then he reached his arm around and began fingering her clit again. "Charlie!" she moaned. "Oh God, keep doing that!"

She pressed back into him, fingers grasping at the sheets, pulling at the pillow, scrabbling through her hair, anything to help ground her while she spiraled out of control… she bit her arm as he brought her to another high, and she let out a high pitched wail as her orgasm washed over her.

By the time she came back down, he was thrusting into her so roughly she almost came again, and then with a loud groan, his movements stuttered, and he emptied himself into her. He continued to rock against her body, riding out the waves of his own high, and slowly, he came back to earth and lowered himself against her.

They lay there, panting for a minute or two, and then Charlie shifted onto his side, bringing her with him. They lay there spooned, with him still inside her, and their heartbeats slowly calmed, pulses regulating. She heard Charlie's breathing slow into the regular rhythm of sleep. She shifted a bit, startling him slightly awake, and he wrapped his arm more tightly around her.

"That was the best sex I've ever had in my life," he murmured in her ear, half-asleep.

"A nine-month build-up will do that to you," she breathed back.

"It was worth the wait." A few steady exhales came from his mouth, then he tugged her even tighter into him and whispered, "I've fallen for you, love."

She had fallen for him, too, but before she could respond, he was out, his breaths slow and deep in the rhythm of sleep while he was still ensconced inside her. She cast wordless Tergeo and contraceptive charms, then settled comfortably into his arms and succumbed to sleep as well, under invisible stars traversing the sky above London.

-o-o~0~0~o-o-