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In his four years of working at the Ministry of Magic, three of them as a fully-trained Auror, navigating the place had hardly gotten any easier. It seemed as though every time he had gotten a path down they started working on the ancient tile floors, or a new Daily Prophet stand would open, or Hermione would get a promotion and be relocated once again. Ron’s ideology was that they obviously knew she was going to climb the ladder and he didn’t understand why they couldn’t have just given her the damn job from the start as it had been a vacant position since Voldemort gained control of the Ministry.
People allow him to skirt past for the sake of knowing who he was. Usually he wasn’t in a rush like this but Hermione had a meeting in less than an hour and he had planned to eat lunch with her as soon as he finished paperwork from the case he and Harry had closed yesterday. It was a luxury; when they were done with all the writing and legal conundrums, they were free for the rest of the day. He had planned his day very simply with only three steps: see Hermione before her meeting, go home and cook dinner, and read the Muggle newspapers that were delivered to their house which had been collecting for the past week. Tuesdays were his reading nights. He had started doing this after he and Hermione had decided to let the Wizarding World know that they had eloped. It was nice to see an issue full of headlines that had nothing to do with you or anyone that you know.
He enters the lift and when the balding man in a garish orange robe looks up at him he clears his throat, “It’ll be four.”
The man nods, outstretching an orange clad arm to press the circle with the number four embossed on it. Ron reaches up to grab a handle just before the compartment throws itself backwards. He sighs in relief when it doesn’t stop at the third level, the only one separating them.
“Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” rings the autonomous female voice from over their heads. He steps out and notices that a woman behind him also does but she turns the other way.
His long strides carry him rather fast. It seems each time she gets moved somewhere they move her deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of a place completely foreign to him. What had really angered him about this most recent move is that the two offices looked the exact same. Even Hermione wasn’t pleased with the lack of change. It was still windowless, dark, and had the same exact mustard yellow loveseat pushed against the right side wall.
Halfway down a hall he realises that he’s gone the wrong way, mutters a profanity under his breath, and turns around. He walks even quicker than he had before. When he finally reaches the door with a gold placard and H. Granger, Senior Advisor to the Head of the Being Division. He knocks twice just to let her know that he’s there before he opens the door.
And, of course, she’s scribbling away on the top piece of an inch thick stack of parchment with two huge books open on her desk. Her hair had been thrown up in a bun which didn’t seem to be doing much for her anymore as tendrils either dropped by her face or just stuck up from her head. It had become her go-to with all of their infant nieces and nephews having a fixation with tugging at it.
“I thought you had revised last night?”
“I forgot something,” she says quickly as if the words burn her mouth. “An act passed in 1832.”
“Ah, a very forgettable one,” chuckles Ron while he circles around the desk. They both know damn well he couldn’t come up with any idea what this ambiguous act from 1832 did or why it existed.
He stops behind her as he begins pulling her hair from the tie it’s wrapped in. Ron gathers it all in his hands, an easy task for him considering how atrociously big they were, before sliding the hair tie back around it. It didn’t look great but it would hold for the next hour and he had tried his best. Hermione’s hair was a completely separate entity and he loved waking up every morning with his face buried in it.
“Thank you,” she mumbles, now bracing her head in her left hand so she can lean against the table. She blinks drowsily and looks up at him for the first time since he’s entered the room.
“How’s your hand?” he asks as he lowers himself into the chair across from her.
“It’s fine,” Hermione places the quill down and holds it up to him, so he can see that the Muggle plaster they had put on it (with a sticking modification) was still there and had done its job to protect the blister underneath it.
Ron grabs her hand in his without thinking and kisses her fingers, the back of her hand, her palm, and her wrist. Anywhere that he could without pulling her across the desk. Short kisses that repeat themself and follow in the same path over and over her hand.
“I have to finish this, Ron,” Hermione reminds him. He can see the blush on her cheeks and the reluctance in her voice.
He looks down at the parchment, none of what he can read because it’s upside down and the letters are all close together so that she could fit as much as possible on it. “It looks pretty finished to me.”
She looks at him with her eyebrows drawn in, questioning him and daring him to go on. He doesn’t say anything else but presses one last quick kiss to the back of her hand before releasing it so she can finish her writing. She checks her wrist watch before she goes back to her work.
“You need to eat,” he mentions off-handedly, looking down at his fingernails against the wood grain background.
“I will when I’m finished,” she grumbles with a quick scowl up at him. “Arguing in favor of Hags is quite strenuous.”
“I could imagine, you know, with all of the child eating,” Ron chuckles, but quickly lets it fall to a small smile when Hermione looks back up at him—the same point that had been brought up several times throughout her research was about to come back into their conversation.
“I still don’t believe that’s entirely true,” she heaves and flips a page in the large book, then another after recognizing what she needs isn’t on that one. “And there’s no child eating involved in this. The Minister of Moldova just wants them out of his nation because of the fables. I’m sure the number of hags actually there is far less than the number he gave us.”
“Oh, the eight thousand?”
Hermione nods and picks back up on her writing. Ron had basic knowledge on the case as it had been what Hermione had dedicated the last week and a half to. The Moldovan minister believed that an absurd number of hags had jumped over from Russia due to yeti invasions of their caves. Moldova didn’t have enough power to do anything about it by themselves so they had decided to seek out help from the British Ministry. This meeting she was preparing for was what the Moldovan Ministry would use against the Russian—something they couldn’t turn down because they didn’t have anything else. Still, she was pouring absolutely everything into its completion.
She lifts the quill to dip it into the ink pot, clicks it against the glass a few times, and the pointed tip scratches against the parchment some more. He watches the black ink form words in her handwriting before him, each perfect letter making a whole collection of words that would make sense to someone but definitely not him. Hermione aggressively dots the end of a sentence and begins to shuffle the stack of parchment and lands on one that only has writing half way down it. Ron recognizes that this must be the final page of her work and she’s now revising her conclusion. Hermione re-inks the quill and squints down at the parchment for a brief moment.
“I didn’t forget to mention the Act of 1832 in my closing statement,” her eyes scan again, blinking rapidly then moving up and down the parchment again. She sets down the quill and rubs her palms over her eyes.
“So, you’re done?” he asks curiously.
“For a few minutes until I present,” Hermione breathes heavily, looking down at the stack as if it makes her stomach churn. She reaches for them and sifts them into the right order. “I don’t want to think about that again until I have to.”
“Thank fucking Merlin,” his head lols back until he’s looking up at the ceiling with his neck fully exposed. He hears her chair scrape on the wood floors and the light step of her feet in the flats she wore near every day. He can feel her standing in front of him, in the small space between his legs and the board of the desk.
“Do you want to eat?” Hermione leans against the desk with her palms pressed into the top of it.
“I want you to eat because I know you’ll forget due to everything else going on today,” he leans up in his seat, hands finding her waist.
“I won’t drop a stone and wither away from one missed meal,” she tilts her head at him. “I don’t think I have the time, either. I can’t eat quick and sloppy like you.”
“Not enough time to eat, but plenty of time to turn me on, right?”
“Well, I wasn’t trying to,” she laughs.
“Quick and sloppy?”
“That is exactly how you eat! In both senses and you know that,” Hermione bites on her lips to try and stop herself from smiling. “And I did mean it in the sense of food, not me.”
Hermione pushes off of the desk, putting her hands on the side of his face. He slides up to the edge of his seat and tightens his arms around her. His face gets buried in her chest as she pulls him in. She kisses the top of his head and strokes his hair backwards. Ron feels her move her arm, the ticking of her wristwatch getting briefly louder.
“I’ve got eight minutes,” she pulls out of the embrace.
“Is there any specific reason you are updating me on the time?” Ron looks up at her.
She looks at him for a moment, then takes a step backwards before and does a small hop to sit on the desk. Ron stands up and slides his cloak down his arms as he steps forward to close the gap between them.
“Quick and sloppy?”
“My God, quit saying that,” she bats his shoulder. “The words themself are entirely unsexy and are not going to help us get this in under eight minutes.”
Instead of replying Ron finds himself looking at her for a handful of seconds until he physically can’t fight the force that seems to be pulling his lips to hers anymore. One hand braces himself on the desk, leaning over her and the other holds her waist.
“Don’t have time,” she gasps against his lips.
Ron nods and stops kissing, he pulls his hands off of her and begins to unbutton her blouse from top to bottom and lets it hang open when he’s done. Immediately he begins kissing the areas of her breasts that her light blue bra doesn’t cover, quickly continuing on his way down to her stomach. His teeth scrape against her flesh when her fingernails scratch his scalp. Hermione groans and pushes her center closer to him, attempting to speed up his journey southward on her body.
“Let me turn around,” Hermione tugs him away. “So I can lay down.”
He nods and steps back. He watches as she rotates on the desk, now sitting on the side of the desk and pushing her freshly finished work back so that they’re out of the way. Ron moves around, back between her legs and kisses her gently with small pecks against her lips.
“Ron,” she reminds him in a rushed tone. “We’ve got to be quick.”
“And sloppy?” he mumbles against her lips with a smile. She hits his shoulder with a tiny bit of actual strength, and perhaps anger, in it. “Right, sorry. Go ahead and lay down.”
Hermione lowers herself as Ron gets down on his knees. His face rests between her thighs, pulling her legs apart and pushing her skirt up around her hips until he feels her fingers touch his, also trying to pull it far enough to expose herself to him. He pulls the simple pink knickers down and sets them on the table. Hermione moves, propping herself up on her hands and hiking the skirt up further so that she can see him.
“Gonna watch?” he asks.
“I’ll try,” she half smiles down at him.
Ron laughs, blowing cold air onto Hermione’s wet core and making her jump. When he finally touches her he slides a finger in slowly, drawing it in and out of her while she whines with her feet dangling over his shoulders. He slips in another finger and twists them. He pushes up against her walls and she curls in and bites her lip.
Remembering their time limit he removes his hands and places them on her thighs, spreading them further apart and burying his face between them. She jumps against him and gasps when the first thing his tongue hits is her clit. His tongue winds itself around the bundle of nerves focused fully on just making her cum quickly so she can go to that meeting—he’s sure that they’ll finish this whenever she gets home.
He releases one thigh from his hand and slides two fingers inside of her, wiggling them and thrusting them inside of her. His tongue licks up and down her clit as fast as he can, knowing how she likes it, holding as much of her as he can in his mouth with the right amount of suction and his tongue flicking to her clit accompanied by the lull of his fingers. He feels drool leak from his mouth and onto his hand, sticky and thick as it mixes with her cum.
Ron slows for a moment, looking up at her and meeting her eyes. Her expression at the moment of eye contact changes in a split second. Hermione’s mouth drops open and her body jerks. Ron places his free hand against her stomach and pushes as gently as she can until she nods frantically down at him before leaning back on her elbows. He removes his fingers from her and wraps his arms under her thighs and grasps her hips, pulling her closer to the end and fully devoting himself to eating her out.
From the new angle he devours her. A hand enters his hair and pulls him up toward her cunt. He tightens his grip on her waist and buries his tongue inside of her, pulling it out and lapping at her entrance. Hermione’s moans are muffled by her thighs covering each of his ears and when her hips try to grind against his face he holds them down.
Time is running out, though, and he remembers his main goal; making her cum. He quits with the teasing and circles his tongue around his clit then suctions his lips around it. He decides he needs his hand, or rather his fingers, to be inside her so he pulls down his right hand and slides two fingers into her rather easily with the amount of wetness gathered on her.
Ron pushes them in then curls them upward repeatedly. This coordination had come with years of pleasuring Hermione—learning what to do, when, how to make her finish quickly—and he’s sure that Hermione has learned just as much about his body.
Her nails dig into his scalp and her shadow comes over him as she leans up, curling in as her orgasm approaches. Her skirt falls into his face but he continues as the grip she has on him becomes painful. The sounds of her pleasure echo in his mind as she cums with a wail. Ron licks up the excessive mess on her slit including both his saliva and her wetness.
Hermione releases his hair and when he stands back up he’s met with her flushed face, a sheen of sweat over it, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
“You okay?” he pants, just now realising how long he had been between her legs without coming up for air.
She nods, then a shocked look crosses her face as she raises her watch in front of her. “Dammit!”
She hops off the desk and quickly works to button her blouse, Ron notices that this means she’s running late. He circles the table and collects all of the parchment she had written on. He hands them over to her as they exchange quick “I love you’s” and small peck before she turns and exits her own office.
Ron takes a deep breath and notices her underwear sitting inside out on the corner of her desk. He snatches them and stuffs them in the pocket of his trousers, feeling dirty for pocketing them and for what they had just done on the desk that had most definitely been used by other people in the past and would be used by more in the future.
Unable to bear the heat flooding his face, he exits the room and heads to the eighth floor so he can floo home immediately.
Hermione arrives home just after seven with her hair tousled by the wind from the Floo.
“It was fine,” Hermione says before Ron can ask. “No final agreements. We all have to meet up again tomorrow.”
“Same time?” he asks, shifting onto his elbows.
Hermione nods, then kicks off her shoes and slides her robe off into an adjacent chair. She approaches Ron, who lays stretched out on the sofa, and climbs directly on top of him. His arms wrap around her waist and he moves his legs to make room for hers.
“Do you know where Crookshanks is?” She props her head up on his chest so that she can look at him.
“Haven’t seen him for about an hour,” he strokes back a few tendrils of her hair. She frowns and lays her head back against his chest. “You know, you left something in your office today.”
“Oh my God—I realised while I was walking there,” she gasps and moves back up. “Did you grab them?”
“Of course,” he laughs. “They’re with the dirty clothes. Did you make it on time?”
“Barely,” huffs Hermione. “We wouldn’t have to rush now, though, would we?”
“In bed? You know it’s far too small for me here,” he tilts his head teasingly. It’s a nice place when they’re desperate and need each other immediately, but he feels as if he can survive a small stroll to their bedroom.
“In bed,” she sits up, straddling his lap. “I prefer it when you’re not stationary.”
Ron snorts and rises so that he sits face to face with Hermione. He kisses her, holding her face in his hands and pulls away after a few moments. She brings herself closer to him and he begins the well-known trail alongside her jaw and down her neck—
“I thought we were against the idea of the couch,” she tugs at his hair. Ron groans and pulls away, looking slightly down into her eyes.
He kisses her cheekbone, “Move up, then.”
She swings her legs off of him and stands, reaching for his hand and pulling him up. She tugs him impatiently to their bedroom, shutting the door behind them. Hermione turns on her heels and looks up at him.
“That meeting was actually miserable,” she sighs and braces her arms around his neck.
“I didn’t have a fun time trekking through the ministry with your underwear in my pocket,” Ron cringes, kissing the top of her head to try and wash down the embarrassment. “Felt like a bloody pig.”
Hermione laughs and tries to stifle herself in his shoulder.
“I did! It seems like something a pervert would do but I couldn’t have just left them there,” he groans at her amusement.
“That does still mean I have nothing under my skirt,” she presses her toes in the ground and stands on them, leveling herself out with him to the best of her ability.
Being on tip-toe makes it far easier for Ron to walk her backwards toward the bed. She lowers herself and slides up toward the top of the mattress until her head is cushioned by the pillows. Ron climbs over her and his knees dig into the mattress between her legs. Hermione pulls him down to her face as soon as he’s in reach.
She moves her hands down to the collar of his t-shirt and tugs relentlessly with their lips still together until he comes away from her mouth so that it can be lifted off of his body. His lips fall to her neck when they touch her again. They work in a pattern for a brief moment, then he switches across to the other side of her throat and laps his tongue at her stretched skin. Her fingers lace through his hair as he begins to unbutton her top with his own.
Ron removes himself from her neck so that he can sit up and focus on getting her shirt undone. Hermione does the same when the buttons are no longer connected as it slides down her arms. She props herself up and he reaches behind her to unsnap her bra. Ron gently pushes her back down and cups her left breast in his palm, her jaw dropping and a small sound escaping.
“Forgot to pay any attention to this area earlier,” he shifts lower and lays down with his head adjacent to her chest.
“As long as you make up for it,” she hums lazily, relaxed and ready for him to put his mouth in her.
He chuckles then leans down and kisses the center of her sternum before he leans to one side and laps at her skin. Ron circles around her nipple, purposefully avoiding it with the small kisses he places all around it. Her hand toys with the hair at the nape of his neck.
Ron finds her nipple and tugs at it with his teeth, making her swear under her breath, then begins to start a rhythm with his tongue against it. Hermione squirms at the wet warmth of his mouth. She can feel his erection against the inside of her knee and it sends an ache through her core, knowing that he wants her. In the back of her mind the fact that he has already made her cum today while he hasn’t settled in the back of her mind as his hand slowly massages the breast that his mouth isn’t on.
It then leaves, falling down to her waist line and slipping underneath it.
“Ron?” she calls out quietly. He looks up at her with his eyebrows creased. Hermione believes for a moment that he almost looks annoyed. “You don’t have to do all of that.”
“I really like to, though,” he draws his hand back from under her skirt. “At least let me focus on your tits for a bit longer.”
“Take your pants off,” she demands. He sits up with a grunt and slides his boxers off of his hips. He then finds the zipper on the side of Hermione’s skirt and pulls it down off of her body.
Hermione tugs on his arm to pull him back down on top of her. He braces himself from collapsing on her with his elbows.
“Always rushing me,” he mumbles into her neck with a smile so wide that she can feel it.
“From what I could feel and from what I can now see you seem ready,” she pulls him off of her neck and to her face. “Every now and then I think you need to put your own pleasure ahead of mine.”
“Getting you to cum first makes it a lot better when I do,” Ron comments absentmindedly. “I don’t enjoy doing things just for me.”
“Not everything would be just for you,” she cards her fingers through his hair. “What if I wanted to suck you off or—”
“I can hardly hear you then,” he pecks her on the mouth. “Do you want me to go ahead and fuck you? Is that what you’re getting at?”
“Not entirely,” Hermione holds his face just inches from hers. “Just fuck me how you want to. However you’d like.”
“Hermione, my love, no matter how my cock is in you it feels amazing for me,” he strokes back her hair. Her stomach churns at his words and the verbiage he uses.
“Go ahead,” she pushes at his chest.
He sits up and shifts down the bed slightly so that he can line his cock up with her entrance. She feels the head of it bob against her clit—then she realizes that he’s rubbing it against her clit. A low moan escapes her mouth at the feeling of the head of his cock circling around her. Ron lines himself up, but once again lets himself rest against her entrance.
His hands skirt down her waist and to her thighs. He grips them and pulls them around his own waist. Hermione locks her feet behind him, growing impatient from the feeling of him dripping down her.
Ron takes his cock in his hand again and finally pushes inside. He leans over Hermione again, looking down at her, before leading into a slow thrust. He shudders with all his weight on his hands and knees as his cock slides entirely inside of her.
Hermione grips his face in her hands. She pulls him down to her lips so roughly that he nearly falls down on top of her. Her hands roam into his hair, down his neck, to his back, and back up again following the same path.
He readjusts himself and moves with long thrusts and groans rising from his throat. Hermione watches as his cheeks flush to match his hair until the continuous feeling of him pushing back into her finally disrupts her focus when her breath catches and her mouth opens.
Ron pushes himself upward, grabbing one of her legs again and pulling it from around his waist. He places her foot against his shoulder then turns and kisses the inside of her ankle. She curses under his breath as he grabs the other to place it in the same spot.
She gasps as she feels him tug her closer again. This time only by her thighs, holding her against him while he thrusts into her. When he entirely fills her out again he pauses.
“Quit stopping,” she hisses.
“You said that I could do what I wanted,” he points out.
Hermione rolls her eyes, “I meant to make yourself cum.”
“What if this does make me cum?” he teases further, completing another thrust and drawing a low moan from Hermione.
Ron kisses the inside of her ankle again then thrusts twice for the first time. Hermione groans in impatience.
“Fine,” he sighs, nowhere near as frustrated as Hermione.
He moves each of her legs back down to circle his waist. They wrap around him with ease, knowing exactly where to go due to the amount of times they had lain like this. He thrusts over and over, not stopping, and Hermione’s mouth is drawn open so that small noises can continuously flow from her mouth.
Ron leans over and kisses her on the mouth. His thrusts slow but they never stop. Her hands thread messily through his hair in a frantic attempt to pull him as close as possible. Her palms stay on his cheek bones and his fingers in the sweat-damp locs of hair. She brings him down for another sloppy, slobbery, open mouthed kiss. A string of saliva connects them for a mere second whenever he pulls away to sit back up.
He speeds up and pushes her legs down against her chest, hands on the underside of her thighs and her knees bent.
“Oh my God,” she finally says.
She grasps onto one of Ron’s lean biceps and searches for his hand with the other. When they find each other he presses her hand into the mattress beside her. He takes her hand off of her arm and moves it over her lower stomach. With their fingers interlocked and hand splayed he presses them down and curses.
“Fucking hell,” he grunts.
“I’m gonna cum,” she pants. “Go faster.”
Ron nods to himself and releases her hand against the mattress, keeping the hand against her stomach where it is. His hips begin snapping against hers at an incredible, unbearable pace and her orgasm sneaks up sooner than she had expected.
Her body curls and shakes. Her eyes focus on Ron’s flushed face while he continues moving in and out of her. Her ears ring and she can only hear her own moans for a series of seconds until she feels Ron cumming inside of her, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her cheek and forehead.
“That felt quick,” he says when he’s done panting. “Are we getting old?”
Hermione laughs, “I think it was great. No complaints.”
Her hands card lazily through his hair, the weight of his flaccid cock still inside of her. Hermione wraps her arms around his shoulders and finds that despite her orgasm, she wants more. She shifts under him and tries to suppress it.
“Do you want me to pull out?” he asks at the movement of her body.
“No, no of course not,” she shakes her head. “Just needed to move a tad.”
He smiles down at her and starts a path from her neck up to her cheekbone and down to her lips.
“I love you,” he says softly.
“Love you,” she strokes her hand through his hair over and over again.
He kisses her neck, sucking lightly on the skin, just gentle enough to not leave a mark. He follows behind with lapping his tongue against the skin then peppering soft kisses before moving to another spot. Hermione moves her hands down to his back. She circles her fingers around his upper-most swirl of the scars on his shoulder blades. The skin feels thicker and bumpier there, something she had discovered years ago. She follows the pattern backwards and forwards.
“Ron?” she mumbles. He looks up and detaches from her neck. “I want you again.”
He raises his eyebrows and shifts onto his palms so that he looks down on her, “I’ve got to pull out and get hard again.”
Hermione nods and immediately misses the feeling of him inside of her once he’s gone. He lays beside her and reaches down for his cock before Hermione interrupts and grabs it herself. His breath stutters when she takes her first stroke. Slowly, she moves her hand up and down with the clear intent of getting him hard again and just that. She leans across him and kisses his lips.
His hips twitch involuntarily, to which Hermione chuckles and presses a small kiss to his cheekbone. Ron’s hand comes down to grip Hermione’s working wrist.
“I’m ready,” he mumbles. “How do you want me?”
“Just sit up some,” she says, equally as quiet. He pushes his hands down into the mattress and slides up. When he’s fully sitting Hermione swings a leg over his thighs. “Maybe this will tire me out.”
Ron laughs and reaches for her face, pulling her down for another kiss. She blindly grabs his cock to align it with herself before sliding down and shivering against him.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Might be over quicker.”
She nods to herself and leans back, pressing her hand into his thigh. Her opposite hand reaches between her thighs for her clit. Ron curses again when she begins to bob up and down on him.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he mutters. “Every time I look at you all I can think about is how much I love you.”
Christ, he had been right that this would be quicker. She had discovered pretty quickly, maybe even before she was with Ron that she enjoyed being complimented on her physical aspects. She never really made an effort to look anything more than presentable but it was nice to hear. But she is sure that no one else in their right mind, at least not a post-orgasmic one, would agree. She can feel tendrils of her hair sticking to the sweat on every part of her body they can reach.
She leans forward but keeps the hand between her legs, crushing it between their bodies. She buries her face in the junction of his neck and shoulder. There’s a scar there; Hermione darks her tongue out to lick it. She can tell that Ron can feel it from his reaction. One of his hands grips her backside and the other seems determined to make a knot in her hair.
“Do you want to stay like this or fuck?”
Hermione swallows shakily, “Stay like this.”
It’s calm and mellow. They’re really only waiting on her. When she cums and tightens around his cock he will too. She can already feel the sticky load from their last round leaking out of her, back onto the base of his cock and smearing on both of their thighs. She grinds down on her hand now instead of fingering herself so that he can feel some of the movement too.
She likes the slowness of it compared to the rush of what they had done earlier. No one was going to rush them, she didn’t have another meeting for another fifteen hours or so, and they weren’t in the middle of a government building doing something that could get both of them fired, or fined, or detained. They’re in their own bed in the comfort of their own home and no one should interrupt them.
He holds her tightly against himself, beginning to lay small kisses on her forehead. With a small shuffle he begins making shallow thrusts into her.
“Said I could take care of it,” she sits up in his arms.
“It’s incredibly hard for me to sit here and do nothing,” he replies quickly, one arm moving down to hold her waist. “We can still go slow.”
Hermione nods and resumes the first position she had been in. A hand braced against his thigh and the other between her own. She notices his eyes tracing her body, up and down from her chest to where her hips widen out and where he enters her. His hands grip her hips tightly which she takes as a sign to start moving.
She goes as slow as she can force herself to. Deep down she really wants to just push him flat down and ravish him but they had plenty of time to do that. The slow, trusting thrusts with locked eyes were often what they were never able to receive from the other.
He begins to lean up from where he had been sitting with his back against the headboard, a hand leaving her hip and pulling her face closer to his. The other one goes between her legs and slides under hers.
“Let me?” he asks, his eyes pleading for permission. “You just keep rocking on me.”
Hermione nods and swallows. She takes her hand from between her thighs and leans back on both hands. She tries to get leverage and rock slowly on his cock but when his thumb starts circling her clit she loses all focus. The caution that he proceeds with drives her insane. He knows what he’s doing too, but she had told him to be like this, after all.
She grips his skin when he flicks her clit back and forth, just up and down in small movements until a weak and suppressed moan leaves her mouth.
“Why’re you holding back?” he laughs. She hates him.
“Shut up,” she murmurs. “Put my legs over your shoulders.”
Ron grabs her right leg, then her left and holds them in place on the tops of her thighs. He looks up at her and she shakily nods in approval without saying a word.
“Are we still going slow?”
She shakes her head no. Even with her eyes half closed as she adjusts to the new angle she can see that stupid smirk on his face. His hands leave her thighs and land on her waist, squeezing tight as he begins shallow thrusts. Hermione moves her hands off his legs so he has more ability to use them.
He bends his knees and pulls Hermione’s upper body closer to his. Her hamstrings stretch incredibly to the point where she groans but when she can hear his heartbeat and feel his sweat slicked chest against the side of her face she determines that the small pain is worth it. She can hardly tell where his hands are—one second they’re in her hair and face but then they’re on her back and then they’re on her bum.
He begins speeding up, his groans now filling her ears. Her nails dig into his shoulders next to her calf and she turns her face to finally look at him. She can hardly get any words out once she registers that he’s looking directly back in her eyes. She swallows roughly and gasps out a moan when he fills her back up all the way.
“Fuck,” is surprisingly the only word she’s able to mutter, despite it hardly being in her vocabulary.
Ron’s arms wrap around her body like a bear hug. She knows this is it for him—when he’s nearing an orgasm he holds her so tightly that sometimes she thinks they may melt into each other.
“Her-my—”
“I know,” she nods.
“I’m not—”
“Cum in me,” she pants.
“Are you… are you close?” He looks dizzy.
“Doesn’t matter,” she reaches for his face. “Just want you to fill me up.”
Hermione leans closer and lays her head against his shoulder. She kisses old scars and digs her nails into the opposite one. She was probably closer than she thought but perhaps she had bothered him enough today with the quickie in her office which he didn’t cum from and then making him sit inside of her for several minutes. She’d cum twice already—this was evening it out.
Her legs ache and her body moves as he thrusts up into her. One of his hands is tangled in her hair as if making sure she can’t slide away. She turns her face so that her mouth and nose are on his skin, crooks her neck so that her eyes are in the dip of his shoulder and neck. In deep breaths she inhales the scent of him. For a instant she thinks that this is rather absurd of her, to sit here and huff the smell of his sweat while he fucks her, but it turns her on more. She bites down on his protruding collarbone. He cries out but doesn’t pause or slow down.
“I’m cumming,” he heaves out. “Fuck.”
Hermione looks up into his eyes, surrounded by his pinkened face. She can tell he’s actually cumming from his expression before she can feel it inside of her. His lips stutter and his mouth hangs agape as he stares across at her. She then feels it between her thighs, oozing out, or maybe it’s the remnants from the first time.
He reaches for one of her legs so that he can pull it down from her shoulder, and then the other. She hisses.
“Was that a bit much?” Ron asks, sliding his hand down the thigh.
“No, not really,” she admits. “Maybe just for special occasions though.”
“If you lay down I’ll rub the backs of your legs,” he offers. “Or flip over.”
“You giving me a massage has never not ended in us having sex,” she scoffs, but leans back anyway. Ron slides out of her with a sound she’d rather forget.
“We can take a shower,” he suggests. “I’m too scared of nearly dropping you again to try and seduce you in there.”
“A bath would be better to help relieve the fact you just bent me in half,” Hermione stretches her hands up above her head.
“You’re the one who always tries to jump on me when we’re in the tub,” he grins down at her from between her legs, beginning to press his fingers down into the backs of her thighs. “If you think you’ll be able to resist me I can start running the water.”
She considers for a moment but pauses, “What about dinner?”
“Merlin, yeah, you skipped lunch didn’t you?” Ron digs his thumbs into her skin.
“I wonder whose fault that was,” she props herself up on her elbows. “If you go make us something I can rinse myself off then draw a bath.”
“If you were hungry you could’ve just told me,” he moves his hands up her legs, to her calves, and kisses the inside of one of her ankles. “Any requests?”
“Something I can eat in the bath,” she yawns and then sits back up.
“Alright,” he leans forward and kisses her gently on her lips. “I’ll be back.”
Hermione silently nods before he moves, almost knocking their foreheads together, but then he gets off of their bed and begins hunting for his boxers. She stands and walks in the opposite direction, to the bathroom. Her legs don’t ache at all yet but she knows it’ll probably be slightly worse in the morning—or maybe not. She liked to mess with him sometimes. Her body was becoming more and more accustomed to the occasional positions she moved into for sex; never anything too extreme but everything seemed extreme to her joints and muscles when she rarely used them in her entire life.
She can hear his footsteps down the hall, into the kitchen, and then the padding fades until she can hear him shuffling through pots and pans. When it’s obvious that he’s selected one to use there’s no more sound.
The faucet turns under her hand and she hopes that whatever he makes for her to eat serves as a good enough distraction for her to not pay attention to his naked body that will be positioned behind her own. On the other hand, she could ask him to pour wine too and ensure that she becomes distracted.