I had to erase my original because I goofed on the formatting. Shocking, no?
Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters, I just live vicariously through them.
Enjoy and please review!
Hermione:
The cold air outside the shower shocker Hermione's body. It had been so lovely and warm inside, she wished nothing more than to take another fifteen minutes under the rush of hot water, but she willed herself to pull her towel around her torso, unlock the door, and make the short trek to her bedroom. The moment she entered, she stole a glance at the clock. It read six pm. "One hour to go," she sighed to no one in particular.
She couldn't have known anyone was listening.
She sat down at her vanity and removed her damp towel slowly, not wanting to relinquish her only defense against the cold.
She couldn't have known anyone was watching.
Hermione looked tentatively at her reflection. Without makeup, without clothing, without warning--- she suddenly looked every bit her age. Not that twenty-four was old, not by any means. She simply thought she looked... mature. Deep chestnut eyes stared back at her from within the mirror, taking in every part of her own body: her soaking wet curls, her full lips, her voluptuous curves. She was beautiful, or so others told her in passing. Hermione personally couldn't stand the slight bulge in her abdomen, or the way her hips jutted out so awkwardly. She opened the top drawer of her vanity and removed a pair of black lace boy-cut knickers and a matching strapless bra. She put them both on gingerly, then began taking the necessary actions to straighten her unruly locks. It was the night of the annual Ministry Christmas party, and she was dead tired of being the demure witch in the corner, the one whose date was always 'in the bathroom'. Not tonight. It was with that thought that Hermione splashed on her most enticing perfume.
Oliver:
The door to Hermione's room swung open, much to the delight of Oliver Wood. She was in her towel, even better. He knew, of course, that he was being quite underhanded, quite despicable in his actions. But she'd left him no choice, really. The two had been sharing the same small apartment for two years now, two long, torturous years for Wood, and she'd never once even given him a friendly pat on the back. They were no longer children, for God's sake, and he could feel the sexual tension mounting between them ever since she'd broken it off with Potter. "He was a fool," Oliver thought to himself, "for cheating on Hermione with that Weasley girl." He couldn't be bothered with remembering her name just now; Hermione had at long last removed her towel. Oliver sat in the corner stunned, draped in his invisibility cloak. Her beauty was unparalleled by any woman he'd ever known. Every inch of her now bare flesh looked like silk to Wood, just begging to be touched. Her waist was narrow above her slightly protruding hips. "Perfect for shagging," Oliver thought with a smirk. His eyes continued their downward slide until they rested on her legs. There wasn't any word to describe how absolutely gorgeous Oliver found those legs. She crossed them in the moment he was ogling them. They looked, if possible, even sexier that way. He watched as she fumbled through her drawer, her search finally turning up something Oliver thought might make him groan in excitement: perfectly naughty black undergarments. She turned slightly in her chair, lifted both legs a bit, and slid the knickers up until they finally reached their destination. "Everyone should have to put on underwear like that," Oliver said to himself in awe. "I should write a letter." Hermione hooked her bra in the back and began to apply gel to her wiry hair. Oliver stared wistfully at his flatmate, his breathing ragged and shallow. Tonight was the night, he knew, he must have her tonight. As if to test his already vulnerable restraint, Hermione sprayed a marvelous perfume on her neck which diffused its way over to Oliver's corner. "Enough fooling around, Wood, time to get to business," he told himself firmly. With that he Disapparated from Hermione's bedroom just in time to her her blow-dryer begin.
Hermione:
Pop. Hermione immediately shut off her hairdryer. She listened intently but heard only the sounds of Wood's shower being turned on. She tried to ignore this, as thinking about Oliver Wood hot, starkers, and wet would leave room for little else within her brain. She knew she'd heard a pop, the distinct pop of someone Apparating or Disapparating. The hum of the shower continued. Slowly, Hermione turned about to inspect her room. All clear. Except... what was this? A heap of silver, shiny material lay in the far corner of her immaculate room. She padded over to it, picked it up cautiously, and examined it at close range. Her mind suddenly jarred. "This... this is Wood's," she whispered hoarsely. Her body was numb, save for her stomach, which was doing a series of nauseating back flips. She looked down at her body; she was still in her underthings. As her heart began to hammer loudly somewhere within her being (her head? Her chest? She couldn't tell, the pounding was all-encompassing) she went through a gamut of heated emotions: embarrassment, betrayal, anger, and disbelief were just a few. Hermione could not believe that her housemate, her friend had been so deceptive. How long had this been occurring? She was completely baffled. If he'd only shown interest in her, any at all, she would have reciprocated without hesitation. She'd always found him extraordinarily handsome and loved to see the passion in his face, no, his whole body, when he stepped on a Quidditch pitch. But he was four years her senior. That might seem immaterial to some, but Hermione knew that those four years meant a great deal in terms of she and Wood. He had experience with hundreds of (not exactly fascinating, but still) gorgeous women. And Hermione had been with Harry, only Harry. And she couldn't even hold that together. Plus, Oliver's intelligence outshone hers exponentially. He knew at least twenty different languages and was at the top of his class while he attended University. True, Hermione herself was fluent in nineteen languages and was head of her class as well, but... there was just something so absolutely enamoring about Oliver Wood, such that she knew plain old one-of-the-guys-Granger would never be able to catch his attention. "That is," she thought, "until now." She rubbed the cloak in her hands back and forth. Suddenly a plan began to form in her head. She only hoped to Merlin that it would work. "Oliver Wood, you shameful thing, you'll never know what hit you," she said with a wicked smile.
In her closet was a single dress. One she had purchased specifically for this party. She had shown it to Oliver the day she bought it, praying for a favorable reaction. His open mouth and shocked stare had let her know it was a definite keeper. She donned the dress quickly, along with a particularly fetching pair of heels. She dried her hair and with a last fleeting glance in the mirror, she made her way hastily across the flat. She halted when she reached Wood's bathroom door. She laid his invisibility cloak on his armchair. The moment the shower stopped, she drew a deep breath, counted to fifteen and pushed through the doorway, across the threshold into unknown territory.
Oliver&Hermione:
There he stood, the Adonis of the wizarding world, completely naked a very clearly stunned by Hermione's abrupt entrance. He had been in the midst of drying himself off in front of the sink prior to her intrusion. "Perfect," Hermione thought with an internal smile.
"Oh, my!" Hermione exclaimed in mock embarrassment. "Oh, Oliver, I am so sorry! I thought you were out! I just came in here to borrow some toothpaste!" Much to her dismay, Oliver had wrapped himself in his towel after he'd gotten his bearings. "No matter," she told herself.
On the other side of the room, Oliver's mind was going 1000 kilometers per second. One minute he was toweling himself, wondering how to best seduce Hermione, the next he was nearly naked in front of her. And she was---
"Hermione, you look unbelievable," he managed to say. It was hardly the time for compliments, he knew, but that was all he could hear in his head. Her black dress was exactly as he'd remembered from the day she'd shown it to him. "It looks even better on," Wood acknowledged to himself. Strapless, black, and quite short. Very flattering on Hermione. Not flattering, he corrected himself, sexy. Drop-dead sexy. His towel suddenly became tighter and Wood turned to the sink and mirror in a way he hoped looked nonchalant. He could see Hermione moving toward him in the reflection.
"Thanks very much, Wood," she said lightly. Inside she was grinning like mad. Her plan was working flawlessly if his turn to the sink meant what she thought it had. As she strode closer to him, she noticed both of his hands were gripping the countertop and he was directly in front of the drawers. Perfect. She decided to continue talking so he'd have little time to realize her intentions. "As I said, Wood, terribly sorry," she inched closer. "Leave it to me to forget toothpaste at the store." She was less than half a foot behind him now. The next words she spoke were spoken directly in his ear. "Let me just get to that drawer, will you?" she said softly. Before he could respond or even think about responding, she slipped between him and the counter, his hands still on the countertop. His eyes widened as he back grazed his hips. She leaned in, opened the middle drawer, and took out the toothpaste. "Thanks, love," she said brightly. He still looked quite stunned, his hands remaining on the counter on either side of her.
"Oh, Wood, may I wash my hands? I mean, if this is the same type of soap you have in your shower. She leaned into him slightly and added, "It smells absolutely wonderful."
"Yes," Oliver replied dumbly. He moved his right arm to allow her to grab the hand towel hanging on the rack. Hermione had no intention of doing any such thing. She performed the action deftly: after washing her hands, she completely ignored the hand towel and rubbed her hands on the towel hanging precariously from Wood's waist. She straightened, and with a wink opened the door and exited.
"Oh. My. God." Wood quickly made sure his towel was securely fastened and started after Hermione. She was making her way through his bedroom when he caught her by the wrist and pulled her onto his body. Their lips met and Oliver hastily inserted his tongue into her warm mouth. She did the same. The kiss was not romantic, it was bruising. Two years of waiting had made it such. Wood tangled his hands in Hermione's hair and pulled her closer, wanting to taste every inch of her mouth. Hermione's hands were placed firmly on his shoulder-blades. She felt sure that if she let go, she'd certainly not be able to stand. Then she remembered her plan, and though every single part of her body was screaming "No! Stay here!" she moved her hands onto his bare chest and pushed him away. He looked quite disappointed to say the least. She stared deeply into his beautiful brown eyes and said calmly, almost stonily, "I'm going to be late, I have to go now."
She moved backwards a step before he grabbed her arm yet again.
"Why? What's so wrong with just staying here with me?" Oliver's voice was a mingling of fury and frustration.
"Because," she began firmly, "we're roommates, Oliver, not lovers. There's a line we simply cannot cross if we want to continue living together!" She moved toward the armchair. If all went according to plan....
"Then you bloody well shouldn't have come into my bathroom without knocking and practically felt me up! That's confusing as all Hell, Hermione! That's—"
"An invasion of privacy?" Hermione interjected. In that moment she threw his cloak more at than to him. "A dirty trick? Exploitation of trust? What is it, Wood? Do tell!" She was quite heated and by the look on Wood's face, he knew he'd been caught.
Looking up from his cloak to Hermione he could only mutter, "I'm... I'm really sorry, 'Mione." She knew he meant it. She couldn't blame him, really. She hardly looked at him while they were together in the flat these past two years. Not because she found him repulsive, quite the opposite. She felt positive that if he flashed that sideways grin or winked at her one more time, she might just shag him where he stood.
She moved close him, their lips an inch apart and said, "If you're so bloody sorry, then make it up to me." As Wood began to understand her, he pulled her so close their lips could have been only a millimeter from touching. He whispered softly, his breath on her swollen lips, "With pleasure," and took her again into a strong and passionate kiss. He hoisted her up into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He continued to kiss her while he walked over to his bed. He sat down, Hermione on top of him. He began to kiss every part of her skin from her shoulders to her forehead. Hermione withdrew, and Wood began to refute but she said "Do we really have any need for this?" as she picked up the edge of the towel still positioned on Wood's hips. Wood had forgotten he was wearing it.
"I sure hope not," he said with a devilish grin.