Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm posting two chapters this week to make up for the obnoxiously late wait on the last one. But before you think I sat up all night writing this or something, that isn't the case. This was actually written as a birthday present for my good friend Niftygirl. And although it has been done since April, posting the last chapter was my priority so this one just hung out in my folder in the meantime.
This is set the morning after chapter 15, so if you just got here I would suggest reading it. Although it isn't strictly speaking necessary. I feel like this chapter is the first to fully earn it's 'T' rating, not that its very graphic or anything, its all just suggested. Like a giant innuendo, which is the closest I will probably ever get to writing smut. Thank you to F Maurice, chavi and LillyMay77 for the lovely reviews and to all the other people who read this, or added it to their alert/favorite. I'm sure you guys hear this all the time, but you all make me so ridiculously happy:)
But thats enough of me rambling, enjoy!
-BarbedWire

Chapter 17: The Morning After

The first thing he noted as he slowly returned to consciousness was the sound of running water. It confused him slightly, in his groggy state but even though he was sure that it would help him to understand what exactly was going on, he refused to open his eyes just yet. Despite his closed eyes his mind stubbornly continued to wake and before he knew it he was aware that his comfort was being marred by something hard and slightly sharp underneath him.

Groaning as a way to mourn the loss of his pleasant sleep, he sat up to find that the thing he was laying on was in fact the zipper from his bag. The sight of the bag, and the orange t shirt that was mixed in with the strewn blankets caused the memory of the previous night to come flooding back to him. Annoyed at her absorbance in a book on his last night home, he'd nagged his wife about the location of a shirt which had led to a critique of his unpacking system and a lot of directionless screaming. But the best part, Ron remembered was when his offending shirt had reappeared and he and Hermione had completely forgotten what the point in screaming was.

Well, fighting at least.

Smiling to himself he sat up and realized that he was alone on the bed. He was not altogether surprised that he was alone; especially since the running water had to mean that Hermione had already slipped into the shower. Still, he could not resist wave of regret and hollowness that filled him. He hated waking up alone, even if she was no further away from him than the shower. It was a shallow reminder of all the times that sleeping had been an impossible task. Once upon a time, when the nightmares were still fresh, the knowledge that she was lying beside him was the only thing that had allowed him to push them away long enough to get some sleep. Of course she had been sleeping beside him almost every night since the week he had buried his brother, excluding her final year at Hogwarts, and of course by now he did not have a nightmare every time he closed his eyes. They still happened; sometimes he would wake drenched in sweat and feeling exactly as he had when he was in the war. The content of these dreams varied. Sometimes he would dream he was running to save Fred, and that if he could only push his legs a little faster he could save him; but he never could. Sometimes he was frozen watching Harry limp in Hagrid's arms as You-Know-Who declared his best friend dead for what felt like hours. And sometimes, he could taste blood again and feel the cold of dirty stone as he slammed his fists hopelessly against it while she screamed.

When he had them, they were every bit as terrible as they had been the very first night that she had climbed into his bed at the Burrow. On the rare occasions while Hermione was away he was much more likely to have a nightmare, and if she was gone it would take him ages to calm down after he woke.

This morning however, he had not dreamt of anything and his disturbance at her being gone was simply that it denied him the opportunity to nestle his face in her hair and shut the world out for a while longer. As he was indulging these musings, the water turned off suddenly. Smiling to himself at the impending return of his wife, Ron sat up and rapidly threw his offending bag out of the bed. He heard sounds from the bathroom; cupboards opening and closing, damp towels being tossed onto the floor and at last Hermione emerged into the bedroom.

He looked up at her, blinded slightly by the light of the rising sun that was now making its way through the window. On the street below, people could be heard going about their day; honking horns and sirens, all the token noises of a busy Muggle city. Due to the unfortunate location of their cheap flat, a group of less than savory kids skiving off school could be heard laughing at their own lewd jokes. But unlike other mornings, when Ron could only focus on how tired he was of his grey walls and this "charming" corner of London, this morning he could not see anything past the dressing gown clad woman before him. Her brown curls had yet to return to their natural bushy state, but instead were sitting still damp and dripping upon her shoulders. Unable to resist, he beamed up at her hoping that he could memorize every aspect of this moment and hold onto it forever.

She blushed slightly at the intensity of his gaze, but smiled back at him just the same.

"Hey,"

"Good morning," she replied, the sunlight reflecting in her eyes and glistening of her wet face.

"Have a nice shower?" she nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed. Ron inched his way closer until he was sitting immediately behind her and rested his head against the soft cloth of her dressing gown so that he could smell the sweet smell of her shampoo, which was his favorite strawberry scent. He looked up from his position on her shoulder into her slightly amused face; the obnoxiously giddy state of mind he found himself in left him at a loss of what to say.

"Hey," he repeated while Hermione turned to run a hand through his hair, which was still messy from the way he had slept.

"Hey yourself." Her hand lingered for a moment on his cheek and he reached up and took hold of it, pressing her palm to his lips.

"Love you," he muttered, feeling the moment entirely too much to worry about how ridiculously, obnoxiously cheesy he was being. Just as long as Harry never heard about this; he'd rather spend the morning engrossed in how much he loved his wife rather than what his best friend would say if he saw him so in love with his wife.

"I think I've heard that before, oddly enough." She cheeked before leaning in awkwardly to kiss him lightly. "I love you too," she added, her lips lingering on his so that he could feel her words tickling, warm against him.

Getting even higher off her than he would have thought possible for such a chaste kiss, he grinned.

"Think I heard something to that effect last night." The resulting blush that spread across Hermione's face in response to his smirking reference of the previous night's activities may have been the most perfect thing that Ron had ever seen.

"Although," he added as though a thought had just occurred to him. "It could be that I just mistook all that screaming ecstasy for a declaration of love."

Hermione nodded in mock solemnity.

"You've caught me. I'm only here for your manly prowess."

"Well," Ron said smirking at the joke. "I suppose I can see why that would force you into a non emotional relationship."

Hermione turned slightly so that she was entirely between both of his arms as he sat propped up on his hands to remain upright. She uttered something that may have had something to do with 'making sacrifices' but the truth was that Ron did not hear her. Instead he found his focus torn between the neck of her dressing gown and the edges of her naked body that were visible there, and the intoxicating feel of her kiss and the gentle pressure of her hands on either side of his face. Just as he felt his mind losing itself in her touch, she pulled away softly.

"Ron," she started and he longed to ignore her words and give her lips another occupation; but if she was done then he knew better than to push his luck. He forced himself to look her in the eye, and was somewhat comforted to find that she looked unhappy about the interruption as well.

"We can't do this right now." There was a major discrepancy between what she was saying and the look in her eyes and the way that she had yet to move her hands from his face, and despite how wrong he knew it was, he allowed that discrepancy to be his hope.

"Why?" his voice was rough with sleep and passion, but to his dismay there was a distinctive pout to it. Try as he might he could never fully suppress his gut reaction to be hurt by anything that remotely resembled rejection. Even though he knew how completely ridiculous and unfounded his irrational fears were, he could not help giving in to them occasionally.

Hermione bit her lip as if she were debating something with herself. "We have work," she said, the tone of her voice making it clear that even she was having a hard time believing her argument merited observing. The idea that Hermione was so moved by him to even consider the idea of spending the morning in bed a possible excuse for being late to a responsibility would have made Ron grin with satisfaction. That is, if he hadn't just realized that he had completely forgotten that he even had a job and that she had just reminded him of said job.

"Shit," he breathed, distractedly running a hand through his hair. "What time is it?"

"7:30" which gave him a full half hour to get to the joke shop to help George for the day. Which didn't leave him enough time to walk there, but he could always apparate, or floo or—or maybe he completely didn't care.

"You know what?" he said, bringing his hand back down to twist his fingers in her still wet curls. "Work can stuff it."

Despite the fact that he had had the courtesy to censor his language from what he really thought work could do to itself, Hermione made a face.

"We've had almost two weeks off already…" It was clear that she felt they really both ought to get out of this bed, put some clothes on and go out to be responsible, productive adults. It was also clear that that was not at all what she wanted to do.

"And it wasn't hardly enough." Ron declared so tenderly that she smiled.

"That may be," she went on though Ron was no longer listening. "But it means I've missed two weeks' worth of developments and George has been all alone and" her voice trailed off as Ron began to kiss down her neck and across her shoulders, inching the neck of her dressing gown open as he went.

"Ron" she breathed sharply as he worked his way down to her collar bone. At the sound of his name he lifted his face up to meet hers.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice a low and rough whisper.

She bit her lip again, clearly caught between her desire to do what she was supposed to do and her desire to be with him.

"I can't miss a whole day," she said, catching his wrists and holding his hands before her. It wasn't exactly an answer to his question, and she surely knew that but it was also enough for him.

"So don't." he suggested, twisting his hands free to wrap them around hers. "Just be late." She looked at him for a moment, his very favorite reluctant smile playing across her face.

"What about George?"

Ron shrugged, "He's going to take the mickey out of me anyway, so I might as well give him a glorious victory that he can give me Hell for."

"Glorious victory?" Hermione raised an eyebrow at him in questioning.

"Persuading Hermione Granger to be late for something? I think that counts as a victory."

"Hermione Weasley." She corrected him so quickly that it made him smile like an idiot. "And I don't think you've persuaded me to do anything." She insisted in that brilliantly stubborn voice of hers.

Now it was Ron's turn to raise a smirking eyebrow at her, not that she was offered very long to see it before he crushed his lips against hers and pulled her into his lap, pulling away only long enough to utter one last rhetorical question.

"Oh haven't I?"