Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.
A/N: An angsty/smuffy (smut/fluffy) 7th year tent drabble. Tumblr prompt: Sitting on each other's lap. Rated M.
Need
It's colder than ever inside the tent.
Hermione blows into her cupped hands, irritation boiling through her stomach knowing that even an advanced warming charm doesn't seem to shield her fingers from the frost.
"Hermione, do you have—"
Ron ducks his head through the open flap at the tent's entry, coming to an abrupt halt as he takes in her features.
She's shivering all over again but this time it's not only due to the chilly temperature.
His eyes look tired, lacking proper sleep, and the raised stubble on his chin indicates that he's gone longer than usual without shaving.
Hermione watches him survey the room, likely doing a quick check of possible solutions to combat the cold air. Extra blankets? She already has them. His clean wool signature Weasley jumper? It's already on her body, over multiple layers of her own clothing.
Ron's lips twitch, almost daring to release a smile from the sight, and she knew he was thinking of how she nicked his clothing without asking. The hint of a smile disappears just as fast as it came along, his brows knitting together with what looks like concern for her.
"How can I help?" He finally sighs in defeat, seemingly exhausting all options he could think of. He throws his body lazily into the small rickety chair at the table, keeping his gaze steady on her.
Hermione's teeth chatter together, and she folds her arms close to her chest from her standing position. "I-I don't know."
It's unlike her to not have the answers. She's never felt this way before. As she takes a step forward, her foot gets caught on a discarded shoe lying on the ground — likely Ron's shoe — and she loses all balance.
With a soft squeak, Hermione falls backwards and clenches her eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable crash to the solid ground.
Except, it never comes.
In a series of movements that Hermione barely has time to process, Ron hooks an arm around her waist, pausing her mid-fall, and proceeds to hoist her body upright until she lands firmly on his lap.
Hermione takes in a lungful of air, gasping for breath as she rushes to brush her wild curls away from her covered eyes. When she can see clearly, she puts together that Ron is no longer in front of her.
He's behind her.
And she's on him.
The new position stirs an excited energy inside of her, so much so that she momentarily forgets how cold she was before. His hands remain firm around her waist, and she can feel his hot breath against her right ear.
"Alright there?" He murmurs, sending a jolt of heat down her spine.
When did his voice get so deep and husky?
Hermione, although well aware of her growing attraction to the ginger-haired man she is wrapped up in, admits to herself that she has never felt more aroused than in this moment.
And it is all because of her best friend.
Who doesn't seem to be in any hurry to change up their seating positions.
Instead, his hands unlock at the center of her stomach, inching their way apart until each one grips her hip bones.
"I'm-I'm fine now. Th-thanks," she manages to fumble out through stiff words, although she is certain he can hear the cracks.
His thumbs are now rubbing circles on her hips. It's a gesture that she is sure he means to be soothing, but it does nothing but light the fire she tries to quell every time he is near her.
His hands slide their way to the hem of her jumper, hesitating only a moment before dipping underneath the fabric.
She expects his hands to be cool like hers, but they're not. His fingertips practically scorch her skin upon touch. Her lips part from the shock but she clamps them shut again just as fast in an attempt to suppress a moan.
"Is this-is this okay?" He whispers.
"Yes."
Over the recent months living in the tent together, she has grown accustomed to having Ron close to her.
Never this close.
On instinct, she shifts her hips the slightest bit to the left, not realizing the effect it would have until Ron's sharp inhale alerts her of the dynamic change.
Is that…
Her bum rests on a growing bulge underneath Ron's trousers.
"Hermione," he growls again, this time burying his nose into her mass of hair bunched in the crook of her neck.
She experiments by grinding her hips into him, releasing a shaky breath as she feels his fingernails digging into her skin. She wonders if he is holding his breath.
A large part of her is grateful that she can't see Ron's face — one look into his deep azure eyes, and she'd be done for.
"You're shivering," he comments, his fingers grazing the small hairs standing up on her frail arms.
Hermione's body pulses with electricity. "It's not because I'm cold."
"Should I stop?"
The question hangs in the air. Hermione understands that her reply determines the next course of action. She could climb off of his lap, and pretend like it all never happened. They could go back to being Ron and Hermione — two separate beings sharing a living space.
Or...she could take the leap, and dive into the depths of the unknown, not knowing where or when they will come out the other side.
Her decision comes at greater speed than she expected.
Hermione shakes her head with intention. "I need you to not stop."
In the next moment, she can sense Ron's newfound confidence. He slips one hand to the top of her jean-covered thigh, dragging the base of it up and down. Feeling brave, Hermione rests her hand atop his, slowly guiding his hand towards her inner thigh.
The pleasure she feels pools low in her belly, and she traps his hand between her legs, not willing to let him move. She can hear his ragged breath against her shoulder.
"Ermynee," he groans. The way he says her name captivates her, and she is so caught up with the heat in her lower body that she almost misses his next action with his free hand.
Sweet Merlin.
His fingers trace the outline of her bra around the curve of her breast. It takes everything inside of her not to scream his name. Little droplets of sweat glisten on her forehead.
She is entirely overwhelmed by his touch, his hands moving everywhere. He's warm, and sweet, and gentle, and perfect —
The rustling of leaves just outside the tent's entrance brings her back to reality. In the next moment, she scrambles off of Ron's lap and into the empty chair next to him just before Harry pokes his head through.
"Er, hey guys," he murmurs, his eyes shifting between the two guilty-looking parties. "Everything alright?"
"Fine!"
"All good!"
They speak at the same time, both sounding much more flustered than they probably should.
Harry raises a single eyebrow, and he doesn't look convinced at all.
"I just came in for some tea…" He mumbles, and Hermione leaps to her feet.
"I'll take over for your shift. I could use the fresh air!"
It's almost laughable how the room felt so stifling now, and how desperate she was to escape the confines of it.
Harry opens his mouth to respond, but Ron is faster. "And I'll join you — I mean, m'not very tired right now."
Hermione is almost at the tent's opening when she turns back around to face Ron for the first time since their encounter.
The heat of his gaze knocks the wind out of her, and she almost loses footing for the second time in one day.
"Would you mind some company?" He asks, his voice rising unnaturally high.
She sends him her best grin. If she plans to go back out into the freezing cold, she decides she most definitely will need his company.