a/n: I can't believe it took me so long to get back to you all. But then I had 2 relapses and at one point, did not think I would ever get back to writing. But I am sure all the love you guys have send me in these past many months has been the blessings I needed. This is all I could manage for now, but I hope to be here and keep sharing my stories with all of you again. xoxo - Azalea

Not beta read. apologies in advance for any and all errors you find. As always, look forward to your reviews

Chapter 39: First-time, yet again

They were shown their room by a courteous bellboy; the dark oakwood door opened to a spacious honeymoon suite.

Once their bags were set, the staff welcomed them in and left, closing the door behind them but not before congratulating them once again. Ron was sure there were very few occasions when he had actually felt so nervous. Hermione looked up at him, her cheeks tinged a faint pink. He managed to return an awkward, nervous smile, and scratched the back of his neck purely out of habit. His brain was still trying its best to process the events of the day. Hermione, the girl he had known forever, his best friend, the girl he was madly in love with almost all his life, someone he had never dreamt could be his, someone he had craved and ached to belong to, the one he had thought he had lost forever was right in front of him, clad in her wedding gown, his ring on her finger.

Blimey…

It wasn't a dream. He had found his way back to her somehow, found his way back home. He was always hers to begin with but now their lives were tied together by magical vows. For a fair while now happiness brought along a sense of panic, and it was no different. He forced his thoughts to focus on the good instead of the fears - no, he would not let anything touch her, he would keep her safe. He was better prepared now; he had taken all precautions. She was safer with the protection of the Praesidium Vinculum.

He watched quietly as Hermione turned away from him and took a few steps to stand in front of the full-length mirror and as Ron looked at both their reflections, he could feel something in the air. Something had changed between them; it felt like the first time he had held his chosen wand, a sort of magic that crackled around him and spread its warmth throughout his body.

He shoved his hands inside his pockets and swayed on his heels gathering his wits. Just a few hours ago they had said their vows in front of their friends and family, he had kissed her in front of everyone - technically, he was allowed to kiss her all night, but was he? Did she even realise what a predicament he had put himself into? Did she realise how crazy he was about her? How he was barely holding himself back from…

She shuffled again and he looked away quickly, feeling more nervous than he had in years.

Blimey, he could say they were friends, couldn't he? How could one even define their relationship? Perhaps they were more than friends now despite all the odd circumstances that had brought them together this time. They had come together to fulfil their own personal agendas, Hermione with her wish to see their parents happy, Ron to make sure Hermione was as safe as he could possibly ensure. They were more than friends but less than lovers and yet married. They had already spent two weeks living together under one roof albeit like roommates. Making love did not fit into the equation - not at this stage, no matter how much his treacherous body craved for it.

He gathered his wits, mentally motivating himself to take the lead and bring down the charged tension between them, normalising the situation to the best of his ability. He had to take it slow as he had promised himself. He could not fuck it up this time. He blew softly through his mouth, mentally rehearsing the sentences around the surprise he had planned for her.

But Hermione was standing transfixed, looking at something he couldn't, the wall partition blocking his view. Curious though, he took a couple of steps and came to an abrupt halt, noticing what she had.

The bed was… well, sufficient to say it was not built to sleep. "Fuck" he muttered quietly under his breath, glad that Hermione did not look at him. He swallowed thickly.

The long cream coloured lace drapes hung from the posters to the floor.

Sprigs of wildflowers were scattered carelessly giving it a rustic vibe, bringing back memories of the lazy summer afternoons spent at the Burrow. The warm hue of the room vaguely reminded him of the warmth of the Gryffindor tower. Scented candles were placed strategically to cast a mesmerising glow.

He turned around and noticed that even the couch was long and broad enough to accommodate two people. From the glass-panelled balcony that looked over the gardens to the tinted sliding door to the washroom, everything in the room screamed that it was a place built and designed for one purpose - make love.

He wanted to ask Hermione if she was aware of this 'gift' from Ginny and Harry. Did she visit this hotel and plan it out with Ginny? Was it just his sister's idea?

More importantly, did Hermione even want it at this stage?

He ached to touch her. Finally, after a lifetime of pinning, he could openly say that he belonged to her. Not that he needed any ceremony for it; he was always hers and hers alone. But he couldn't deny that the ring she had slipped on his finger marking him as hers had crumbled down all his defences. If only he could confess, muster up enough courage to open up about the darkness that had seeped into his very bones, lay bare in front of her. If only she knew the person he was now, the one she had accepted as her own. If only she knew how broken and tainted he was now! How could he even touch her before she knew his truth?

"Would you like to change first?"

He was pulled out of his reverie at her words.

"You go ahead first," he replied softly as he unbuttoned the heavy robe and discarded it over the sofa and unbuttoned his cuffs to roll back his sleeves. He felt her eyes on him and glanced up to note that her cheeks had coloured a pretty pink. Ron took a few deep breaths to stay rooted on the spot and stick to his resolution.

No, he could not kiss her, no he would not even touch her not until he was sure of her consent.

"Okay," she replied softly. Ron watched as she reached up to remove her tiara and slowly pulled out clips and pins from her hair. A thick curl was released from her hairdo and bounced gracefully, grazing her shoulder and cascaded down her back.

"Fuck..," he murmured quietly to himself, catching her eye in the reflection on the mirror. He took a few deep gulps of air, licked his lower lip before steadying his jittery nerves.

"I.. I'll be on the balcony," he managed and hurried away before she could stop him.

The heavy curtains hid her from his view but Ron could picture her clearly, images created by his memories.

Slowly that head of curls would be set free, and then she would reach back to unhook halter neck dress. He had noticed how the dress was basically backless with hooks behind her neck and her lower back holding the lacy front in place.

Would the dress come apart if she unhooked it at the back of her neck? Would it come apart exposing her breasts? Was she wearing a bra underneath? But any bra he had ever seen her wear always had a backstrap holding it in place - how did this one work? Fuck, he didn't know how women's wedding gowns worked did he? Also why was he so fixated on what Hermione wore underneath or did not wear for that matter?! And why the fuck couldn't he stop thinking about her undressing herself!

"Get a grip, you bugger!" he admonished aloud, adjusting himself and feeling rather annoyed at himself.

He would have to face her in a few minutes, he would not be able to look her in the eye. "Breathe," he reminded himself. "Breathe," he said again and pulled out his wallet to retrieve the parchment where he had scribbled his notes.

"Ron?"

Steeling his resolve to act normal, he pushed the door, hoping to see her dressed casually. "Are you do- oh…"

"I can't manage it, help?" Ron felt like a bludger had crashed against his stull. Hermione had managed to get her hair free, and the brown curls cascaded down till her waist, but she had not managed to undress herself and by the look of it, needed his help.

"What - ahem - what should I do?" he inquired stupidly, watching their reflections standing side by side. She threw her hands down on her sides with an exhausted sigh, eyes locked at his reflection.

"I can't unhook it myself," she replied, sounding rather tired. Gracefully, she swiped her left hand over her shoulder, arranging her curls such that they fell over her left shoulder, giving him a clear view of her back. She looked up at him expectantly. "The dress is rather heavy," she added quietly.

He gulped and nodded and took a step forward to stand right behind her. His heart was thudding madly in his chest and fingers felt like lead. The clasps were rather delicate and it was an effort to get his thick fingers to manage the dainty little things out of their neat little hooks. Finally, the third hook was done; he let go with a small sound of triumph and looked up gleefully only to panic the very next second - the front of the dress actually fell off revealing glowing skin and peach coloured nipples… Hermione let out a gasp and clasped the articles to her chest - her cheeks flushed red.

Ron turned away sharply, fisting his fingers, breathing deeply to steady his jittery nerves. At this rate, he would not survive the night.

Few long minutes were spent in stunned silence before she called in a very quiet voice.

"Will you help with the ones at my waist too?"

Ron sucked in a breath.

"Please?" she added when he did not reply immediately. He turned around, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor where the gown spilled around her in delicate ripples of satin and lace.

The evening sky had turned darker and he haltingly placed his palms at her waist to turn her towards the light, fidgeting with the hooks that held the cloth in place around the small of her back.

This was harder.

"Can you," he licked his parched lips, "bend a little?" he asked after a was too fucking tall when compared to her - despite her heels.

"Yes," she muttered but swayed on the spot as she adjusted her dress. There was the softest of groans as she moved and instinctively, he bent down to lift the hem of her dress. Her heels, though very pretty and laced like she had worn during Harry's wedding, did not seem to be the most comfortable footwear. And to think she had spent hours wearing those already.

He picked her up in his arms before he could overthink and Hermione let out a small gasp, her palms still pressed onto her chest, holding the front of the dress in place as he carried her and sat her down on the bed gently. He avoided her eyes although he was extremely aware of her gaze. Kneeling down at her feet, he lifted up her gown to her knees, ignoring her tiny squeals of protest. He untied the lace of her footwear, first one and then the other before lifting and placing her naked feet on his thighs, gently massaging the deep welts left behind on her calves.

Finally, he looked up to meet her eyes. "Since when do you prefer fashion over comfort?" he asked, massaging her right ankle. She let out a tiny sigh of relief.

"You do realise you are very tall, don't you?" she responded.

He allowed her foot to rest on his thigh as he diverted his attention to her left one. "I can pick you up if you need help to reach me," he added jokingly and she chuckled.

"I know that now," she replied quietly.

He met her eyes; it was getting harder to deny what he could read in them.

"Still want me to help with your dress?" he asked after a while. She nodded, "Do your feet feel better?"

"Yes," she muttered.

He swiped his tongue over his lower lip, bit down a little hard before he stood up. "Turn around," he told her, his voice came out deeper and he heard her suck in a breath.

He sat down behind her. His arm found its way to her hair, and he brushed them away to fall over her left shoulder, mimicking her action from before, his calloused palm grazing the soft unblemished skin of her back.

"Bend," he told her, and she did.

The hooks fell off easily - perhaps he had figured how, perhaps they were charmed to open at his touch, Ron wasn't exactly sure. But he knew one thing. If Hermione stood up and let go of her arms, the dress would slip off and pool over at her feet. It would also rip away his last strand of control.

He left the bed and Hermione turned around and wrapped her fingers around his wrist before he could move away further.

She would never know the effect of those eyes as she looked up at him, face flushed, questions and a plea glinting in those pretty orbs that were etched onto his soul.

He closed his eyes and inhaled through his mouth before he pried her fingers off without letting her go.

"Too soon," he told her, pleading.

She looked away, hurt. Ron let out a sigh to take his place back on the bed, in front of her this time.

He pressed his lips to her knuckles in a chaste kiss. "Too soon, Hermione," he repeated. He couldn't let her get carried away, couldn't let himself touch her before he was sure she was ready. He feared she felt obligated to let him consummate their marriage - his heart carried a lot of guilt anyway; he would not survive living if he breached that barrier.

"Hey…" he called when she looked away, clearly upset, and he bit back a chuckle at how adorable she looked. He placed a finger to her chin and guided her to face him before pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Freshen up, won't you?" he asked, tenderly brushing away a lock and tucking it behind her ear. "Can't wait to share the surprise I planned for you."