idea_of_sarcasm: (flounder dirty fanfic)
idea_of_sarcasm ([personal profile] idea_of_sarcasm) wrote2008-11-05 12:27 am

Birthday Fic: The Very Thought of You *Adult* (Charlie/Hermione)

Title: The Very Thought of You
Author: [ profile] idea_of_sarcasm
Pairing: Charlie/Hermione
Rating: Porn light. R maybe?
Summary: Hermione learns fantasies are sometimes made to become reality
Authors note: Happy Birthday Heather ([ profile] heather11483)! I got it posted under midnight here close to your birthday. As per your request I tried to write Charlie/Hermione again, though it hasn't occured since your birthday last year! It maybe worked out, it maybe didn't – I really think I've forgotten how to write properly these days :-P I hope you enjoy this when you come down off your election high. At least it's personally just for you :)

It was hard to sit across the breakfast table from him.

In reality, Hermione knew it shouldn't be. They had never actually done anything after all. Sometimes she wondered if he even remembered her name. She was the annoying little swot who had dated his brother – the bushy haired one – who had a knack of inserting herself every time he came around to visit his family for one reason or another it seemed. Nothing more, nothing less, and for him her presence was likely noticed only peripherally.

To her, his was a little more central.

This was what came of indulging in fantasies. Those pleasant daydreams that came when she got so frustrated at the Ministry she wanted to scream and needed an escape, in the bathtub when she was trying to relax, after a few glasses of wine and a few too many nights spent in sexual frustration. It had worked the best for her when she had been blissfully aware of that side of herself – when the closest she'd come to desire was the wound up stress of academia and life, at least in terms of embarassment. When she'd finally awakened to herself as a woman it had worked almost as well when her fantasies involved a faceless stranger night after night. A few prompting questions from Ginny on a night of 'girl talk' during her bachelorette gathering had changed things however, for better or for worse.

The faceless stranger had gained a head of red hair.

A large dragon tattoo that covered the entire expanse of his shoulder and slid down the front of his torso in a trail she wanted to follow.

He gained a quirky smile, and an intensity not shared by many men of her acquaintance.

A set of muscles that made her feel weirdly delicate and aroused from the sensation. Of course that was an attraction that feminist side of her balked at, but had drawn her in none the less.

In short, she had realized she desired Charlie Weasley. Not a nameless Weasley brother, not a random muscular man, but Charlie. The rarely seen – unfortunately or fortunately depending on how you looked at it – Charlie Weasley, present from Romania only for life-altering family occurrences or wizarding world endangering crises. It was unfortunate in that it meant she was not often provided with fresh fantasy material, and that she was never provided with the opportunity to bring her daydreams to life. It was fortunate because she was never going to do the latter. Besides, fantasies were supposed to be private things. When he was around she felt guilty that she was having such depraved thoughts about an actual person she knew, and she felt the stirring of arousal that came as if they had done something. It was not an easy thing.

Depravity was of course relative. With Ginny's creativity when it came to her fantasy indulgence of Viktor Krum that she had when Harry worked too late, she would think Hermione's tame in comparison.

It was even harder this time, gathered at the Burrow for Ginny and Harry's wedding, because she was spending consecutive days with him. In the process, besides spending half her time fighting back a blush and the other half wanting him to bend her over the kitchen table, she was realizing how much she actually liked him. It wasn't just a matter of desire.

"Knut for your thoughts?" Ginny asked Hermione with a laugh, sliding into her customary chair at the table with her plate piled high with bacon and eggs. In that moment Hermione realized she had been frowning intently at the table, trying not to look at Charlie.

She might have hexed Ginny, except the other woman didn't know. It wasn't like she could have answered those pointed questions a few weeks back honestly. Charlie might not be Ron, but he was still Ginny's brother, and still not somebody she wanted to hear about in that fashion. Besides, Hermione was hardly good at talking about things like that. If she was honest with herself, she wasn't good at being a stereotypical bird. She was good at things like transfiguration, and ancient runes, and logic puzzles – and nagging at her boys. What she wasn't good at doing was acting infantile over men, and sharing everything – she was a naturally more private person. She'd made the effort though at Ginny's bachelorette party when all the rest were getting a little raunchy in the conversation.

It was a testament though to how little they knew her that they'd bought her quickly fabricated fantasy about a sweaty Oliver Wood and a Quidditch locker room.

"Just tired," Hermione offered quickly, reaching for her cup of tea, frowning when she realized it had long since cooled. "Somebody kept me up late last night coming in and out of the room." She and Ginny had been sharing a room – engagement was not enough for Molly Weasley to allow Harry to share her youngest's bed. It would take a fully legalized marriage, and maybe a few years of adjustment.

When she looked up, she realized Charlie was looking at her intently, having long since finished his own food and levitated the plate over to the sink. The blush threatened almost instantly, as her thoughts jumped to more carnal things, and Hermione was glad when her comment to Ginny broke the moment – her brother's concentration now focused on her.

"Gin," he muttered in mock seriousness, shaking his head, "where is that morality your brothers tried to instill in you?"

She snorted in exaggeration, pointing her fork at him. "What morality is that you prat? Bill shagged everything that moved until he met Fleur, and you shagged a select few with relative debauchery if the rumours around Hogwarts were true. Percy even now has a broomstick so far up his arse it's a substitute for the cock that he wants but is incapable..."

Fortunately for all involved, Molly chose that moment to make her entrance, cutting off the vulgarity Ginny had started with. "Ginerva Weasley!?" She began, aghast, "What kind of language is that for a proper witch. Now I know those degenerates you play Quidditch with might think it acceptable, but here in..."

Hermione's eyes met Charlie's, and it was obvious he was biting back the urge to laugh. Adults all of them, and she had yet to see a Weasley who was immune to their mother's scolding. Bill, a married man with a child, had been taken to task for his language when cursing out Charlie during the Quidditch game they had all played the day before. By some sort of unspoken agreement they slipped from the table and out into the living room, Ginny shooting them a murderous glance for leaving her alone to face the lecture while they escaped.

Everybody else had gone to deal with flower arrangements and the horowender petunias to decorate the lawn, so the house was empty around them, Molly's lecture fading into the background. "I should probably get dressed," Hermione said awkwardly, feeling like she was regressing into that ostracized and self-conscious first year Gryffindor she had been when she was around him now, no idea of how to act. It was a ridiculous excuse to offer him, considering she already wore jeans and a jumper, and the rehearsal dinner wasn't until that evening, but it was the only one she had been able to come up with off the top of her head.

Charlie however was looking at her with something akin to amusement that she couldn't quite figure out.

"I bet they're worth more than a knut," he remarked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Her eyebrows raised, "Excuse me?"

"Your thoughts," he clarified with a smirk, "they looked rather more interesting than that pittance Ginny was offering."

"No," Hermione's laugh was slightly forced, realizing she had been thinking solely about him the whole time they had been sitting at the table, "hardly. I was just thinking about exactly how much I wish Ginny hadn't named me a bridesmaid. I've never had any desire to wear pink frilly dress robes or fawn over flowers." As covers went, it was fairly credible, given she wasn't good with coming up at fabrications on the spot. Viktor had used to call her completely without guile, which she had found condescending and ridiculous in equal parts, when he had noticed the same about her. It wasn't anything so innocent, she had just too much of a linear mind for that sort of creativity.

His smile widened, "You're holding out on me."

Of course, Hermione wanted to snap. Instead, she just tried to smile evenly back. "Of course I'm not Charlie, don't be ridiculous. I really wasn't lying about being tired. Ginny's not a quiet sort."

"Hermione," he repeated her name back to her in amusement, after her pointed use of his, "you had to be thinking about something a little more interesting than ugly dress robes and my sister's inability to sneak with stealth around the Burrow. You were looking at your cup of tea like it was going to solve the mystery to all life's problems. You don't seem the divination sort to me, so I don't think you were paying attention to the tea leaves either."

She hadn't noticed until her back had hit the wall, but as he had been speaking, Hermione realized Charlie had been stepping slowly forward, causing her to backup in self defense until they were hidden in the corner of the room, the curtains of the bay window falling down around them. She'd been distracted by his proximity, and the fact that he both knew her name and paid attention to her. "Ridiculous," Hermione said, but the word lacked conviction, her tongue sliding over her lips which all of a sudden felt oddly parched.

It was like a fantasy, except this way she had a living participant across from her. Well, and the fact they had yet to do anything, and it might not mean anything, no matter how her body was reacting to him and those fantastical pseudo-memories of him.

"You can tell me," he half cajoled, hands now on either side of her head. Hermione could see the tattoo peaking out from the arm of his shirt, the licks of the dragon's fire sliding over his skin as it was wont to do when he changed emotional state. She could smell the sweat of him on his skin, that not unpleasant odour that seemed to cling to him. A man who did things, who sweated, who worked. A man who worked with things ten times his strength, and hazardous to his health, and loved every moment of it – a man who would stick up for the creatures others might try to put down.

A man who could lift her as if she was a feather.

Her thoughts had turned to mush, and as she fixated on that little spot at the base of his neck, so had her common sense. "You," she murmured, wanting to lean forward and lick that little spot she'd thought about so many times. It was only after the word was out that she realized what she had said, her face flaming now without reservation, but refusing to look away.

Looking at him, she could only register a mild level of surprise on his face. There was something else there though, as an odd smirk slid across his features. She would almost call it satisfaction – maybe delight – but it seemed so at odds with the hilarity she was expecting, or maybe even the insult. No, not insult, she knew men and knew their egos, he would be flattered to know that she considered him as a man – but definitely vast amusement in the fact that it was her. None of that seemed to be a factor, in fact he was only leaning closer now, eyes intent on hers.

"Me?" He raised his eyebrows. "Now, Merlin knows that's worth more than a knut. Maybe you really need to elaborate. After all, I should be privy to things regarding me now shouldn't I?"

Her hips might be feeling the urge to buck forward in invitation, but she would never turn to a total ninny over a man. Even as she felt the nearness of him, her eyes narrowed at his teasing words, "Oh bugger off Charlie," she muttered, shoving at him – though to no avail. For her that was veritable cursing, even if it would hardly take him aback, "Your ego doesn't need the stroking. Now, if you would please let me go I have very things to attend to."

Charlie grinned, not moving the arms that braced beside her on the wall. "I think my ego needs a little boosting."

It was half tempting to knee him between the legs and get herself away from him – at least lecture on his narcissism, but as her hands remained fisted on his chest, preparing to try and push him away again – she could see the new look in his eyes. It was the look that she always pictured in his eyes when she pictured him, a look of heavy desire. That look that meant he wanted to tear her clothes off, and wanted to press her against the wall no matter who was in the other room and have a little fun. Beyond that she wasn't sure of much, but she wasn't innocent enough that she couldn't recognize that in a man's eyes. She wasn't sure how to go about it, as she wasn't used to sexual teasing as sex had been entirely too serious (and unsatisfying) a business with Ron, but she knew she wanted to exact some sort of revenge.

"I...." oh Merlin, she couldn't do it. She'd wanted to tell him exactly the kind of fantasies she'd had, but the words wouldn’t cross her mouth. How could you tell somebody you had them doing sexual things in your imagination without their permission? It seemed like an invasion of privacy somehow.

She hated giving him back the control of the situation, but there was no helping it as she looked at him for a moment like a gaping fish.

Those hips of his slid closer to her. "Maybe...maybe you want me?" He murmured, sliding his hands down to her own hips. "Maybe that's what you were thinking about."

"Maybe," she conceded, moaning softly as his fingers dug a little tighter into the flesh there

"Maybe..." Charlie paused, pulling her bottom half a little closer to him, "maybe you think about me a lot. Not just today."

She didn't bother giving the verbal assent. There was no way with the way her body was reacting that she could hide exactly how responsive to him she was, and how this wasn't just a sudden occurrence. "Prat," she ground out, though without as much heat as she intended. She didn't much like being forced into revelations she'd never intended to make. Hermione wasn't the type who liked to be forced into doing anything. That didn't mean that it felt wrong though. Having this happen, having something like this really happen, felt amazingly right.

"I'll take that as a yes."

As his lips bent down to capture hers, it was with a smirking grin on them, lost as his lips moved over hers, forceful and demanding. For all Hermione might have intended on breaking it off, her arms slid up to circle his neck, pulling him closer. There was no hesitancy in the advance from Charlie, no question of technique and certainly no question of welcome. His tongue slid in a caress it had taken Ron a bloody long time to work his way up to. Her fingers slid into his hair, coarse to the touch, trying to pull him closer. Things weren't supposed to happen this quickly, not for her, and not like this – but there was no real conviction in her to stop it.

When he finally pulled back it was only to slide his lips to her ear – to her neck, to her collarbone, teeth closing gently along the way as he went.

"Maybe," he muttered against the skin he found there, "you should tell me what you thought about."

Embarrassment would have been too easy to cave to. Instead, she let moment carry her on. "It might embarrass you," she snorted, hands still on his head, holding him to her body.

"I hope so," Charlie's face tilted up to hers, "I really really hope so. Tell me Hermione," his hands slid up to cup her breasts, "did you think about me, alone in bed? Did your hands slid below your knickers?"

There was only so much she could admit to, even if it had been true which it wasn't. In all honesty, she wasn't that sort of girl. Prudish, no, no matter how much Ron might have insinuated she was a bit of a cold fish. Her own fingers though held nothing for her, and the thoughts had only provided a sexual tension she wanted somebody else to release.

"Maybe I thought about you the way you looked when you took off your shirt after a family Quidditch game," Hermione was amazed at the teasing note that slid into her voice, seemingly belonging to another woman. "Maybe I thought about the way you were with your neice, maybe I thought about the way you're more than the sum of your parts – the way you know about things I would have never thought held your interest…" her voice trailed off with a cough, knowing she was delving into territory they weren't really dealing with, the feelings that had come, "maybe I thought about your hands. Your lovely large and capable hands. Maybe I thought about the things they could do to me, the way they could touch me."

Gaining confidence at the way his pupils dilated and his trousers raised in the front, she took it a step further, "Maybe I thought about the way I might want you, no matter who was around, who might hear. How you could rub against me, trying to bring me off, having to stay silent because somebody might discover us." That one was strictly fantasy, arousing in thought but less in practice, but she loved the way it made him moan at the thought.

"Maybe," she stressed- and if she could have seen her face, she would have been amazed by the coquettish look that slid across it, "I thought about the way you are with the dragons, the way you work with them as they struggle against you. Maybe I thought about the way your muscles rippled as you held them down by physical means as much as magical. And maybe, just maybe, I thought about how it would feel to have that be me."

Hermione took a deep breath, going for the gusto, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "Maybe, just maybe Charlie, I thought about the whip that's a tool of your trade."

It had taken all her courage to run through the statements, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Charlie had moved to cover her mouth with his again. His hands were everywhere, finally settling on the slide between her legs, and she let out a startled "Eep!" against his mouth that she wanted to smother the moment it was out. Still, as the fingers moved against her even through the material of her jeans, she could feel the fabric dampening, and she arched wantonly against them, wanting just a little more.

"Fuck," he muttered, stepping back an inch, and sliding his fingers away even if he couldn't seem to move apart from her entirely, "my fucking mum is in the next room."

Hermione almost said so?, However she really wasn't an exhibitionist, not really. Licking her lips again, wishing his hand was back between her legs she offered, "The rehearsal dinner's not for hours. My flat is empty, and two apparitions away." She forced herself to work through the haze of arousal adding, "Of course they'd probably miss us. Maybe if we use..."

He cut her off, "Hermione, I don't bloody care if they do."

As she straightened her clothes, he did the same, both glancing guiltily towards the kitchen where voices could still be heard. "Don't," she hissed and swatted his hand away, when he noticed her jumper had been pulled down to the curve of her breast and reached for her again, "do you want your mum to walk in on us?"

For a moment she thought she might have ruined the moment. It had been part of their downfall, her and Ron, her bossiness when it came to sexual matters. Really though, it wasn't like she had liked it, always having to give instructions instead of just enjoying herself. She'd always had to be fending him off in public too, him being fond of unskilled gropes that didn't even belong in the bedroom let alone where somebody might see them. Not that she thought the latter of Charlie, but she simply couldn't stand accusations like those had come before.

Her and Ron's end might have been amicable, but that didn't mean it had been all sunshine and roses during.

It was a relief though when Charlie just grinned, reaching for her and giving her a relatively chaste kiss to the ones before. "Come on," he murmured, pinching her arse once before releasing her, "I'll tell my mum we've got to go deal with some kind of napkin related emergency and we can skive off to your flat. At which point I can tell you all about the things I've liked to think about since you ceased to belong to my little brother, especially during the lonely nights on the reserve."

"Belong? Charlie, I don't belong to..."

Rolling his eyes, he cut her off with a hand to her lips. "I've thought about a lot of fun and exciting things," he smirked. "Maybe even this delectable little fantasy I have about this imperious little swot who gets a little domineering in the bedroom and starts giving me instructions."

He winked at her when a blush threatened on her cheeks again, "Very detailed instructions of course."

"Wanker," Hermione muttered, dredging out the worst curse she muster.

Nothing could deter Charlie because he only smirked again, heading to the kitchen to divert suspicion from their disappearance, "Quite frequently actually, when it comes to the thoughts of you."

Post a comment in response:

Anonymous( )Anonymous This account has disabled anonymous posting.
OpenID( )OpenID You can comment on this post while signed in with an account from many other sites, once you have confirmed your email address. Sign in using OpenID.
Account name:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.


Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of everyone who comments.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.