Hermione collapses on the couch in her sitting room the moment she gets home from work. It was a long day, filled with three endless meetings and Seamus's tenth attempt to get her to go out to dinner with her. She has ink on her shirt and her hair still smells like him, and the salad she had eaten was a pretty pathetic excuse for a lunch. Needless to say, it has been a day that was much too long for a girl with a hangover.
Hermione rubs her neck. She can still feel his lips pressed against it, and she shivers. She can feel his hands caressing her face. Her legs wrapped around his naked body. His breath on her skin.
He was inside of her. Harry. And it was painful, and it was exciting, and it was scary, and it was wonderful. And the look in his eyes as he released – Hermione shivers. There was something there. She doesn't really know how to describe just what she saw, but it sent goose bumps up and down her arms.
There's a knock on the door, and Hermione starts, surprised. She gets up slowly, and walks to the door, opening it slowly.
It's him.
Hermione gulps. "Hi," she says.
"Hey," says Harry softly. "Can I – can I come in?"
Hermione moves out of the way, and Harry steps into her apartment. He looks around. He's been here so many times. So why does this feel any different? Why is he so bloody nervous?
Hermione closes the door quietly, and Harry turns to face her. "Um, how are you?" he manages.
She shrugs. "Fine, I guess. I had a pretty busy day but – it was fine. And you?"
Harry nods. "I'm … fine."
There's silence.
Is this really how it's supposed to be with your best friend?
"Listen, Harry, about – about what happened …" Hermione swallows. How can she put this when she doesn't even really know how she feels about the whole situation? She doesn't know whether she should tell him that it was all her fault for getting so drunk, or yell at him for taking advantage of the situation, or how she really liked those little kisses he kept planting on her collarbone, or that she wants him to kiss her lips with the same intensity that he had last night, but this time, she wants to remember every single moment.
"Hermione?"
She looks up. "Yes?"
Harry pauses, and looks away. "Um, never mind."
Silence.
"Ok."
Pause.
"Harry –"
"Yes?"
"Never mind."
And they stand there, just looking at each other. And at the very same moment, they reach for each other. He grabs her face in his hands and he kisses her roughly, and she kisses him back, and he tastes like peppermint and cinammon and something else that she didn't taste last night.
He pulls away. "We really – really should stop," he breathes.
"Right," she says, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her hips against his. And she lifts her face and kisses his lips lightly, and then a bit harder. And he groans as he pulls her as close to him as he can, and they stagger to the sofa, and he gently lays her across it, holding himself over her.
He kisses her neck.
"We – really – should – stop," Hermione mumbles, wrapping her fingers in his hair. She gasps as he tucks one hand under the waistband of her pants, and arches her back as he slides a finger inside of her. "Harry – please –"
He takes his hand out of her pants, and she grabs the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head. He rolls off the sofa onto the floor and pulls her down on top of him, sliding his hands up her shirt. And then her shirt is off and her pants are in a pile near her feet, and his are thrown up on the couch, and she has no idea where their underwear is, but she does know that she is feeling a lot more nervous than she did the first time, and at the same time, she feels a strange kind of peace. She's trembling all over, and so is he.
"Are you Ok?" he whispers, kissing her forehead.
Hermione nods, breathing heavily as he slowly lowers himself.
And it feels just as good as the first time.
