idea_of_sarcasm (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
idea_of_sarcasm) wrote2006-10-31 07:54 pm
idea_of_sarcasm) wrote2006-10-31 07:54 pm
Entry tags:
Eyes Wide Open (Hermione/Bill) *Adult*
Title: Eyes Wide Open
Pairing: Hermione/Bill
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex, language
Summary:She's bringing him out of his comfort zone.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. You think JK Rowling would let her characters do these things?
Author Notes: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sexy_brilliance Exchange for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
florahart. I would suggest checking out some of the fics and art there.
Original Post
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Hermione could feel his eyes on her from across the table, as she chatted with Jonathan Enbom who was sitting to her left. But she didn’t acknowledge his interest with anything more than a casual glance, before turning back to the man beside her.
“We’re grateful for your help,” Jonathan was saying, as he filled her teacup with a swish of his wand. “The president of the bank was really breathing down our necks on this one; seems he has a bit of an affinity for artifacts of Italian origin.”
“It was no problem,” she replied, forcing her attention away from Bill and to the man beside her, giving him an easy smile. “The ministry was forcing some vacation time on me anyway, and I’m always grateful for the extra money.”
“We would have solved it on our own,” Bill spoke bluntly, not even bothering to mask his ire at her presence.
“Likely,” she replied easily, catching the warning look Jonathan shot Bill’s way, “but I just speeded up the process for you. More minds available and all that.” But despite her conciliatory words, the little smirk she threw in his direction was enough to illustrate what she really believed.
“I’ll be heading back in on Wednesday,” she switched her attention again back to the man beside her, “I know we recovered the amulet you were desperate for, but I’ve never seen Venice and I wanted to do a little sightseeing. Would it be a problem if I imposed on your hospitality here for a little while longer?”
The employees of Gringott’s had leased a flat, expecting to be there for awhile while they retrieved the large amount of artifacts they believed were hidden across the city. Even with magic, tenting in the middle of a European city was more hassle than it was worth.
She could hear Bill snort quietly as Jonathan smiled at her. “Not a problem. Our couch is always open to you, as you know. Devon will be glad you stayed anyway - he gets back from a visit to his parents in the morning and I know he’ll be happy to see you.”
She smiled a little tightly, but offered no response. Every time she helped out the group in the past, Jonathan played matchmaker better than an old woman. She never knew if his attempts to get her together with Devon were for altruistic reasons, or if he just wanted to provide more incentive to permanently join their team as a curse-breaker. While Devon was nice enough, somehow she thought his boyfriend back home that he had told her about might not be too understanding.
And he certainly wasn’t the one she was sticking around to see.
“Wouldn’t you happier in a hotel?” Bill pointed out with exaggerated politeness in his voice. “Something a little more comfortable than a lumpy couch.”
“But not as cheap,” she quipped, determined not to let him bother her, despite his best attempts.
She knew he hated her being there. He was antagonistic every time that she helped out the curse breaking team, never wanting to admit that they (read: he) needed assistance. She had known he would hate her presence even when she had accepted the banks request that she assist in acquiring an ancient mano fico amulet. But she was no longer so sure of the reason why as she had been when she arrived.
“Stop trying to chase away our secret weapon,” Jonathan ordered with a smile, but even she could hear the underlying steel in his voice. “Or next time she’ll agree to help those bastards from the American branch, and then I’ll let you deal with our boss when they retrieve the artifacts before we can get to them.”
“Sorry,” Bill’s tone was far from apologetic as he clipped out the word. Then he shoved his chair back from the table and rose to his feet. “I think I’m going to turn in now, tired you know.” Considering the fact it was nine in the evening he was no such thing, but neither of them contradicted him.
When he had stepped from the room, Hermione turned with an apologetic smile to Jonathan. “I’m a little knackered myself, it’s been a rather long day. If you don’t mind I’m going to read for a bit before going to bed.”
He shrugged, “Not like I was planning a big party. I might as well take the time to owl my mum; she’s been on my case for not keeping in touch. Then you can have the living room to yourself.” With a smile and a pat on the shoulder he left her sitting in the kitchen by herself. Smiling in amusement, she noticed the empty cups they left sitting on the table, and didn’t even bother to lift her wand as she manually dumped them in the sink.
She heard the click of Jonathan’s door shutting as she entered the hallway, and could hear someone still rustling around in the washroom, meaning Bill was still in there. Before she could think better of it, she muttered an alohomora and let herself in the door and quickly shut it behind her.
He had obviously just exited the shower, one convenience of the muggle flat that the group seemed enamoured of. While a scourgify spell worked just as effectively, it lacked the same refreshing feel of water coursing over one’s body. He wore nothing but a towel slung around his hips, and his hair - now down past his shoulders - hung limp and wet.
“Hey,” was all she said quietly, and leaned against the closed door.
He spared her nothing but a brief look before resuming towelling his hair enthusiastically and then pulling it back in it’s customary ponytail. She could see his lone earring balancing precariously on the sink’s edge, and when he finished he slipped it back into his ear.
“You know you don’t give a fuck about touring ancient ruins, or visiting Venice,” was all he replied roughly, choosing to examine his appearance in the mirror rather than look at her.
“I know,” she answered simply, pushing off from the door and taking a step towards him. “I stayed for you.”
“What the hell are you playing at Hermione?” he ground out the words as he leaned on his arms against the sink, still refusing to look at her. “I don’t want you here. I never have and I never will, I think I made that part perfectly clear.”
“Pardon me if I got a little confused when you slept with me the first night I arrived,” she snapped back, stalking over to him and putting her hand on his arm, forcing him to look at her. “Doesn’t exactly send the right message, does it?”
“I fucked you,” he replied bluntly, physically removing her hand and giving her a push towards the door. “And it was nothing you didn’t want. It was a mistake, and it’s done, so go home. I want nothing more from you.”
She stared wordlessly at him for a moment. Ever since his wife had died he had lost that sheen of gentleness that always underscored the personality of the Weasley men. That ingrained sense of decency that was put into them by nature, or by Molly Weasley. She knew for a fact he hadn’t been home since Fleur’s funeral seven years ago, choosing instead to bury himself in work assignments. She could only imagine that that was even less of a respite than he had liked, since his wife had worked along side him in the past.
“That wasn’t it at all and you know it,” she refused to be put off, to be ignored the way that he had managed for the week she had been here. Locking them in the bathroom together seemed juvenile, but every other time he had eluded her when she tried to talk to him.
“I don’t want you,” was all he repeated, tossing the towel he had used on his hair in the hamper. “Go see the sights if you want to, even sleep here if you want to, but know that I want nothing to do with you.”
She refused to feel hurt at his words. She was no longer the shy little girl she had been at Hogwarts, nor was she some innocent virgin. And she had recognized the sexual attraction between them for what it was the first time she accepted an offer to help the team, and it was why she kept coming back. It certainly wasn’t for love of curse breaking, or an interest in ancient ruins. If that were the case she wouldn’t be working as an unspeakable at the ministry (even if the rest of the world believed she was just a drone in the ‘Improper Use of Magic’ office to protect the secrecy of the department).
“I know you don’t hate me,” she actually knew no such thing, but she had to believe that if she wanted to keep her self-respect and dignity. “You resent me, I know that. You resent that I’m better at your job than you are, and I don’t even care - it’s just a hobby for me. You curse every time they call me in to help out. But this time I’ve given you something more to resent me for, haven’t I? I’ve made you come out of that little shell you’ve kept yourself in since Fleur died.”
She could see his head snap around at the mention of his dead wife’s name before he made his face impassive. “Not only do you want me,” she continued on, determine to break through the barriers he’d set up between them since that first night. “You like me. You even respect my abilities on some level. You’re forced to see me as more than some nameless face in the night that you sate your needs with. And that kills you, doesn’t it?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” He gave a hollow little laugh, “Not the slightest little clue. You’re making so much out of my rejection that isn’t even there. Did you ever consider that maybe I don’t want my brother’s leftovers?”
She recoiled a little at that, before snapping out. “Ron and I were over years ago. . . . . .”
“Not the brother I meant.” He gave a little self-satisfied smile as his words made her stop in shock. “Didn’t think I knew, did you? Never occurred to you that you and Charlie weren’t as discreet as you thought, did it? That I, who live half a world away, would know about your little indiscretion?”
“That was a one night mistake,” her words were quiet. “Not that I owe you any explanation. I’m not asking you to account for all the girls you’ve fucked in the past, before Fleur and after.”
“It matters when it’s my brother,” and he continued on before the words could betray his jealousy. “It matters in that maybe I just don’t want a slag in my bed.”
She could feel the blood drain from her face, but she refused to be cowed. “Go to hell.” It wasn’t the most articulate of replies, but the sentiment was there.
“Been there,” he gave a hollow little laugh, emphasizing the scars on his cheekbones. And as he twisted his hand she could see the wedding band that he still wore after all these years. “Twice.”
It took all she had not to turn and run out of the room, knowing that was exactly what he was trying to accomplish, even if it wasn’t what he really wanted. She was old enough to know not to confuse sex with love, but she knew what had happened between them had meant more on some other level, and not just to her. This Bill hadn’t been there that night, the one who insulted her with every breath.
“I want nothing to do with you,” he forced out the words again, “so go.”
She forced herself to ignore the insults, to ignore his declaration, and step towards him until they were standing almost face-to-face. “Yes.” She replied, letting her lips drift towards his ears. “You do.”
She continued on before he could get a word in, or push her away, her breath a mere whisper in his ear. “You want me so badly that you ache with it. When you jerk off it’s my face you see, isn’t it? That’s what upsets you more than anything. It has nothing to do with the men that have come before in my life, or the fact you resent my talent, and everything to do with the fact I’m disturbing the precious solitude you’ve cultivated all these years.”
When she laid a hand on his shoulder his body was rigid to her touch. “Not only do you want to fuck me, you want to make love to me, the way you did that night. You want to sleep with me, wake up with me, and that terrifies you, so you’re denying all of it.”
“I don’t want anything,” the words were the same as before, but softer as she let her hand move over his skin, still warm from the pouring water.
“Liar,” she breathed the word, letting herself drift even closer to him.
She didn’t even see as he clenched his hands into fists. “You’re deluding yourself,” the tension in his voice made him sound even angrier than before.
“No?” she raised an eyebrow as she looked up to his face that was set in a stoic expression. “Then explain this.”
She let her hand drift down between their bodies and underneath the towel still knotted about his waist. Pulling it aside she let it drop to the floor, and slid her hand back to caress the erection that had already been tenting the offending fabric. “Doesn’t feel too indifferent to me,” she remarked in what she knew sounded like a cool voice, revelling in her feminine power as she felt him grow under her hand, completely at her mercy.
His breath was coming in violent gasps now, his self-control unravelling. “You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he ground out the words, even as he inadvertently thrust into her hand, which pumped slowly up and down his length.
“No?” she asked the question with a smirk she knew would drive him crazy. “Show me then.”
She never even saw him move before she was slammed against the wall of the bathroom, his mouth feasting on her neck. She tried to move, to regain control of the situation, but he raised her hands above her head, pinning her to the wall. And she could do nothing but gasp and arch herself against him.
“Of course I want to fuck you,” she couldn’t even object to his rough words before he practically licked his way up her neck. “Who wouldn’t want to fuck you? Certainly not my brothers.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but it only gave him the opportunity to shove that same tongue halfway down her throat as he kissed her urgently, bucking his hips against her stomach. Gone was the gentle lover she had been with the first time. She wanted to touch him, to drive him to the same desperation he was eliciting in her, but he still kept her arms maddeningly pinned above her head.
When he released her wrists she grasped desperately for him, but he brushed her hands away as he practically ripped her blouse from her body in his urgency to get it off. Not bothering to even remove her bra he simply pulled the cups down before bending to encircle her nipple with his tongue, and she yanked out his ponytail before fisting her hands in his hair even as she fought against a moan.
“I bet Ron never paid proper attention to your tits,” he made the observation as he lapped the peak of one with his tongue. “Bet he never gave than more than a quick painful grope before shoving himself inside you, didn’t he?”
He was right, but she didn’t want to admit that it had taken her nearly two years with Ron to turn him into even a satisfactory bed partner. She just pushed his head closer to her chest, hoping to cut off all speech. But when he pulled forcibly away, she wanted to sob in frustration, as she felt bereft without his touch. Yanked to an unnatural position, her bra chafed, but before she could straighten or remove it he had lifted her up so that she had no choice but to hook her legs around his waist before he deposited her on the edge of the sink.
“Your bedroom is just down the hall,” she pointed out with her last semblance of reason even as he urged her to elevate her hips so he could yank her knickers down to her knees, not even bothering to remove them or her skirt.
“Can’t wait,” was all he grunted, even as she watched in stunned fascination as he dropped to his knees. And when he lifted her hips so her legs rested atop his shoulders, her head almost crashed back into the mirror before she braced her hands to steady herself.
As he kissed the inside of her thigh the expanse of her skirt covered his head, and she hitched it up as high as she could in frustration, not wanting to miss the sight of him. “Bet Charlie never did this during your night of drunken debauchery,” he told her, starting to sound a little smug before fondling her clit with his tongue.
She bit her tongue almost hard enough to draw blood in order to stop from crying out. “Actually,” she forced her voice to stay steady. “He did.” At least she thought he had; that night was little more than a haze. She didn’t know what game Bill was playing, didn’t know what he wanted to hear or what he should hear, and she didn’t know if she had just fucked it all up.
“Really?” she could have almost sworn she saw a look of brotherly pride before the haze of lust returned to his gaze. “But I bet he didn’t do this then.” And before she was prepared, he placed his hands between her legs, stretching the lips he found there, and elbowed her legs further apart, before leaning forward and delving his tongue right into the very core of her. And she could feel it, twisting and playing in a way his much larger and less dextrous cock never could.
She wanted to scream but she was vaguely aware of the presence of Jonathan not two doors down. And she couldn’t think coherently, but just felt that if he just moved his tongue a little over there, she could come, and tried to arch her hips to the right position.
Hermione could only yank his hair in irritation as he pulled back, wanting him to finish the job he had so diligently started, but he only laughed a little, ignoring her insistent and likely painful tug on his hair. “Such a dirty little whore, aren’t you? Loving every second of this,” he murmured the words before pressing a gentle kiss to the inner crux where her leg met her torso, teasing her. But the words had lost their anger from before, and she was too far gone to care if he even meant to insult her. And as he mouthed the words again against her inner thigh she thought they almost sounded like endearments. “But,” he continued as he gently kissed the other side, making her want to weep in frustration, “You’re my little whore, aren’t you?”
When she didn’t reply, not realizing it was a question that needed an answer, he bit down on the soft fleshy skin before demanding, “Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she gasped, and she would have agreed to anything at that point if she had thought it would get him to finish the job.
“Yes, what?” she could see the devilish gleam in his eyes, knew that he was fully aware of how much she hated the words, and knew that he wouldn’t move a muscle until she said them. And, in her current position, she couldn’t do much to force him.
“Yes, I’m your whore,” she meant to snap the words back at him, fill them with righteous indignation, but they came out all husky and full of arousal. And it didn’t help that she meant the sentiment behind them, because she was his to do with as she pleased, and she wouldn’t deny him anything.
She wanted to wipe the self-satisfied smirk of his face as he smiled at her, unhooking her legs from his shoulders and standing between them, but was surprised again when he leaned down and kissed her ever so gently, even as he let his hand slide down between her legs and bring her to the same state of incoherency she had been in before. And somehow the tenderness brought her to higher peaks than his rough treatment had.
She was practically shaking by the time he pulled his mouth away. “Still want to wait for the bedroom?” he asked the question in what sounded like a seemingly innocent voice as he stilled the movements of his long fingers, letting them pause, unmoving, on her flesh.
“No,” she practically screamed the word, yanking his head to hers for a bruising kiss.
And then he was lifting her, and she hooked her legs around his waist to keep from sliding, and for one glorious moment she thought he was going to take her against the wall. But then he bent down, and she could feel the (likely filthy) softness of the bathroom rug against her back before he muttered the protection charm, angled himself correctly, and entered her in one fluid motion.
“Maybe later I’ll let you suck me off,” he murmured, even as he pulled back and slammed into her again. “Bet you’re good at that aren’t you?”
“The best,” she replied, not wanting to let him take charge, make her feel like the slag he accused her of being. And, besides, it was a statement of fact.
She arched her hips up against him as he slid in, trying to take him deeper, and he swore before muttering, “You’re so tight. How can a little whore like you be so tight? Makes me want to come right now.”
She was tempted to cast aspersions on quality of women he had been sleeping with, but she said nothing except to squeeze her inner muscles around him even tighter, causing him to groan deeply as he dug his hands into her hips.
“Hermione? Are you in there?”
She swore she felt her heart stop when she heard Jonathan’s voice, and a knock on the door she was grateful she had remembered to lock. And she praised whatever deities were out there that he hadn’t seemed to have heard anything. Yet, at least.
“Yes?” her reply was caught between a gasp and a groan as Bill pulled out and thrust into her again, an evil glint in his eye.
“I really need to get in there,” she could hear the embarrassment in his voice as he made the statement.
She bit her lip as Bill leaned forward while still inside her and pressed a kiss to the crest between her breasts. “I’m a little, uh, busy here Jonathan. You’re going to have to give me, ah, couple minutes.”
“I’ll be fast,” she could hear him promise from the other side of the door, and wanted nothing more than to yell at him to fuck off, but she knew that was not the best way to be inconspicuous about what they were doing.
“Sorry, can’t,” she knew her voice had gone shrill, but she didn’t care.
“What on earth can you be doing in there that is so important,” he was obviously frustrated at her refusal to let him in, “Whatever female primping bit you’ve got going in there can wait. Your face or hair or whatever can stand to wait five minutes while I. . . . .”
“If I tell you I’m fucking masturbating, will you go away?” she yelled out in frustration as Bill reached a hand between them and played with her clit. She didn’t even know why she would admit to that before she would to having sex with Bill, it wasn’t any less embarrassing. Maybe it was more the added humiliation she would feel if Bill rejected her in the way she was scored he would, now trying to protect some semblance of dignity.
“Yeah, I think that would do it,” she could heard the amusement in his voice before he shut up, and she didn’t even wait to hear him go before grinding her hips against Bill in frustration.
“I bet he’s still out there,” he refused to move, even when she pounded on his chest. “If I were him I would stay. Try and catch one of your breathy little gasps, hear you call out my name in glee. . . .” And she noticed he kept his voice soft in case the man was still listening at the door.
“Not every bloke is a bloody perv like you,” she pointed out, but muttered a silencio charm anyway, grateful she had mastered that one wandlessly.
And then words seemed like a waste of time as moved within her, bringing them back to where they had been. There was none of the teasing of before as he moved quickly, thrusting in and out trying to find his own release even as she pounded the floor in frustration, wanting something more. She could hear her own voice begging him to go harder, faster, deeper. . .just about anything that would get her off, and she didn’t care how desperate she sounded. And for all that he thought he was fucking her without care, he braced his one arm so he could let his other hand drift back down between them and provide the stimulation she desperately needed.
She almost bit through her tongue when she came, everything shuddering as she felt the world explode. But there was no respite because he kept pumping into her, his end seemingly elusive, apparently unperturbed by the fact that she had practically ripped his hair out by that point. She wanted to help him, wanted to bring him over with her, but she felt too sated to really do much but make encouraging noises and let her hand drift lazily up his chest.
It was as she came back into her senses that she noticed that his eyes were squeezed defiantly shut. Not inadvertently closed in the pleasure of the moment, but forcefully, almost trying to block the experience out. And she didn’t know how she instinctively knew the reason, but she did, and it killed her that she couldn’t remember if he had done that the first time they had slept together.
“Open your eyes,” she knew her voice was rough, filled with what sounded like anger but was little more than frustration, and his eyes obediently snapped open - although probably more out of surprise than anything. “Acknowledge who it is you’re fucking. I won’t let you pretend that I’m Fleur.” Even she had a breaking point, and that was it. And at the guilty look that briefly flashed across his face, she knew that at least for a moment she had been right.
He was staring defiantly into her eyes when he came, and she felt the heat and stickiness of him inside her as he arched himself into her one last time.
They didn’t speak, but he didn’t look away, and kept his eyes locked with hers even as he pulled out of her, causing her to moan.
But then he pulled back, and was muttering a simple cleaning charm over them, and she closed her eyes in disappointment because it seemed so clinical and detached. Like he was trying to wipe away the evidence before he had to acknowledge it really happened. She kept waiting for him to curse her, to insult her, or at the very least to leave her naked and alone when he stormed back to his room.
“My bed’s more comfortable than the lumpy couch,” the words took a long time to come, and they were far from a declaration of love, but they were more than she had been expecting to hear.
She opened her eyes and smiled.
Pairing: Hermione/Bill
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex, language
Summary:She's bringing him out of his comfort zone.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. You think JK Rowling would let her characters do these things?
Author Notes: Written for the
sexy_brilliance Exchange for florahart. I would suggest checking out some of the fics and art there.Original Post
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Hermione could feel his eyes on her from across the table, as she chatted with Jonathan Enbom who was sitting to her left. But she didn’t acknowledge his interest with anything more than a casual glance, before turning back to the man beside her.
“We’re grateful for your help,” Jonathan was saying, as he filled her teacup with a swish of his wand. “The president of the bank was really breathing down our necks on this one; seems he has a bit of an affinity for artifacts of Italian origin.”
“It was no problem,” she replied, forcing her attention away from Bill and to the man beside her, giving him an easy smile. “The ministry was forcing some vacation time on me anyway, and I’m always grateful for the extra money.”
“We would have solved it on our own,” Bill spoke bluntly, not even bothering to mask his ire at her presence.
“Likely,” she replied easily, catching the warning look Jonathan shot Bill’s way, “but I just speeded up the process for you. More minds available and all that.” But despite her conciliatory words, the little smirk she threw in his direction was enough to illustrate what she really believed.
“I’ll be heading back in on Wednesday,” she switched her attention again back to the man beside her, “I know we recovered the amulet you were desperate for, but I’ve never seen Venice and I wanted to do a little sightseeing. Would it be a problem if I imposed on your hospitality here for a little while longer?”
The employees of Gringott’s had leased a flat, expecting to be there for awhile while they retrieved the large amount of artifacts they believed were hidden across the city. Even with magic, tenting in the middle of a European city was more hassle than it was worth.
She could hear Bill snort quietly as Jonathan smiled at her. “Not a problem. Our couch is always open to you, as you know. Devon will be glad you stayed anyway - he gets back from a visit to his parents in the morning and I know he’ll be happy to see you.”
She smiled a little tightly, but offered no response. Every time she helped out the group in the past, Jonathan played matchmaker better than an old woman. She never knew if his attempts to get her together with Devon were for altruistic reasons, or if he just wanted to provide more incentive to permanently join their team as a curse-breaker. While Devon was nice enough, somehow she thought his boyfriend back home that he had told her about might not be too understanding.
And he certainly wasn’t the one she was sticking around to see.
“Wouldn’t you happier in a hotel?” Bill pointed out with exaggerated politeness in his voice. “Something a little more comfortable than a lumpy couch.”
“But not as cheap,” she quipped, determined not to let him bother her, despite his best attempts.
She knew he hated her being there. He was antagonistic every time that she helped out the curse breaking team, never wanting to admit that they (read: he) needed assistance. She had known he would hate her presence even when she had accepted the banks request that she assist in acquiring an ancient mano fico amulet. But she was no longer so sure of the reason why as she had been when she arrived.
“Stop trying to chase away our secret weapon,” Jonathan ordered with a smile, but even she could hear the underlying steel in his voice. “Or next time she’ll agree to help those bastards from the American branch, and then I’ll let you deal with our boss when they retrieve the artifacts before we can get to them.”
“Sorry,” Bill’s tone was far from apologetic as he clipped out the word. Then he shoved his chair back from the table and rose to his feet. “I think I’m going to turn in now, tired you know.” Considering the fact it was nine in the evening he was no such thing, but neither of them contradicted him.
When he had stepped from the room, Hermione turned with an apologetic smile to Jonathan. “I’m a little knackered myself, it’s been a rather long day. If you don’t mind I’m going to read for a bit before going to bed.”
He shrugged, “Not like I was planning a big party. I might as well take the time to owl my mum; she’s been on my case for not keeping in touch. Then you can have the living room to yourself.” With a smile and a pat on the shoulder he left her sitting in the kitchen by herself. Smiling in amusement, she noticed the empty cups they left sitting on the table, and didn’t even bother to lift her wand as she manually dumped them in the sink.
She heard the click of Jonathan’s door shutting as she entered the hallway, and could hear someone still rustling around in the washroom, meaning Bill was still in there. Before she could think better of it, she muttered an alohomora and let herself in the door and quickly shut it behind her.
He had obviously just exited the shower, one convenience of the muggle flat that the group seemed enamoured of. While a scourgify spell worked just as effectively, it lacked the same refreshing feel of water coursing over one’s body. He wore nothing but a towel slung around his hips, and his hair - now down past his shoulders - hung limp and wet.
“Hey,” was all she said quietly, and leaned against the closed door.
He spared her nothing but a brief look before resuming towelling his hair enthusiastically and then pulling it back in it’s customary ponytail. She could see his lone earring balancing precariously on the sink’s edge, and when he finished he slipped it back into his ear.
“You know you don’t give a fuck about touring ancient ruins, or visiting Venice,” was all he replied roughly, choosing to examine his appearance in the mirror rather than look at her.
“I know,” she answered simply, pushing off from the door and taking a step towards him. “I stayed for you.”
“What the hell are you playing at Hermione?” he ground out the words as he leaned on his arms against the sink, still refusing to look at her. “I don’t want you here. I never have and I never will, I think I made that part perfectly clear.”
“Pardon me if I got a little confused when you slept with me the first night I arrived,” she snapped back, stalking over to him and putting her hand on his arm, forcing him to look at her. “Doesn’t exactly send the right message, does it?”
“I fucked you,” he replied bluntly, physically removing her hand and giving her a push towards the door. “And it was nothing you didn’t want. It was a mistake, and it’s done, so go home. I want nothing more from you.”
She stared wordlessly at him for a moment. Ever since his wife had died he had lost that sheen of gentleness that always underscored the personality of the Weasley men. That ingrained sense of decency that was put into them by nature, or by Molly Weasley. She knew for a fact he hadn’t been home since Fleur’s funeral seven years ago, choosing instead to bury himself in work assignments. She could only imagine that that was even less of a respite than he had liked, since his wife had worked along side him in the past.
“That wasn’t it at all and you know it,” she refused to be put off, to be ignored the way that he had managed for the week she had been here. Locking them in the bathroom together seemed juvenile, but every other time he had eluded her when she tried to talk to him.
“I don’t want you,” was all he repeated, tossing the towel he had used on his hair in the hamper. “Go see the sights if you want to, even sleep here if you want to, but know that I want nothing to do with you.”
She refused to feel hurt at his words. She was no longer the shy little girl she had been at Hogwarts, nor was she some innocent virgin. And she had recognized the sexual attraction between them for what it was the first time she accepted an offer to help the team, and it was why she kept coming back. It certainly wasn’t for love of curse breaking, or an interest in ancient ruins. If that were the case she wouldn’t be working as an unspeakable at the ministry (even if the rest of the world believed she was just a drone in the ‘Improper Use of Magic’ office to protect the secrecy of the department).
“I know you don’t hate me,” she actually knew no such thing, but she had to believe that if she wanted to keep her self-respect and dignity. “You resent me, I know that. You resent that I’m better at your job than you are, and I don’t even care - it’s just a hobby for me. You curse every time they call me in to help out. But this time I’ve given you something more to resent me for, haven’t I? I’ve made you come out of that little shell you’ve kept yourself in since Fleur died.”
She could see his head snap around at the mention of his dead wife’s name before he made his face impassive. “Not only do you want me,” she continued on, determine to break through the barriers he’d set up between them since that first night. “You like me. You even respect my abilities on some level. You’re forced to see me as more than some nameless face in the night that you sate your needs with. And that kills you, doesn’t it?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” He gave a hollow little laugh, “Not the slightest little clue. You’re making so much out of my rejection that isn’t even there. Did you ever consider that maybe I don’t want my brother’s leftovers?”
She recoiled a little at that, before snapping out. “Ron and I were over years ago. . . . . .”
“Not the brother I meant.” He gave a little self-satisfied smile as his words made her stop in shock. “Didn’t think I knew, did you? Never occurred to you that you and Charlie weren’t as discreet as you thought, did it? That I, who live half a world away, would know about your little indiscretion?”
“That was a one night mistake,” her words were quiet. “Not that I owe you any explanation. I’m not asking you to account for all the girls you’ve fucked in the past, before Fleur and after.”
“It matters when it’s my brother,” and he continued on before the words could betray his jealousy. “It matters in that maybe I just don’t want a slag in my bed.”
She could feel the blood drain from her face, but she refused to be cowed. “Go to hell.” It wasn’t the most articulate of replies, but the sentiment was there.
“Been there,” he gave a hollow little laugh, emphasizing the scars on his cheekbones. And as he twisted his hand she could see the wedding band that he still wore after all these years. “Twice.”
It took all she had not to turn and run out of the room, knowing that was exactly what he was trying to accomplish, even if it wasn’t what he really wanted. She was old enough to know not to confuse sex with love, but she knew what had happened between them had meant more on some other level, and not just to her. This Bill hadn’t been there that night, the one who insulted her with every breath.
“I want nothing to do with you,” he forced out the words again, “so go.”
She forced herself to ignore the insults, to ignore his declaration, and step towards him until they were standing almost face-to-face. “Yes.” She replied, letting her lips drift towards his ears. “You do.”
She continued on before he could get a word in, or push her away, her breath a mere whisper in his ear. “You want me so badly that you ache with it. When you jerk off it’s my face you see, isn’t it? That’s what upsets you more than anything. It has nothing to do with the men that have come before in my life, or the fact you resent my talent, and everything to do with the fact I’m disturbing the precious solitude you’ve cultivated all these years.”
When she laid a hand on his shoulder his body was rigid to her touch. “Not only do you want to fuck me, you want to make love to me, the way you did that night. You want to sleep with me, wake up with me, and that terrifies you, so you’re denying all of it.”
“I don’t want anything,” the words were the same as before, but softer as she let her hand move over his skin, still warm from the pouring water.
“Liar,” she breathed the word, letting herself drift even closer to him.
She didn’t even see as he clenched his hands into fists. “You’re deluding yourself,” the tension in his voice made him sound even angrier than before.
“No?” she raised an eyebrow as she looked up to his face that was set in a stoic expression. “Then explain this.”
She let her hand drift down between their bodies and underneath the towel still knotted about his waist. Pulling it aside she let it drop to the floor, and slid her hand back to caress the erection that had already been tenting the offending fabric. “Doesn’t feel too indifferent to me,” she remarked in what she knew sounded like a cool voice, revelling in her feminine power as she felt him grow under her hand, completely at her mercy.
His breath was coming in violent gasps now, his self-control unravelling. “You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he ground out the words, even as he inadvertently thrust into her hand, which pumped slowly up and down his length.
“No?” she asked the question with a smirk she knew would drive him crazy. “Show me then.”
She never even saw him move before she was slammed against the wall of the bathroom, his mouth feasting on her neck. She tried to move, to regain control of the situation, but he raised her hands above her head, pinning her to the wall. And she could do nothing but gasp and arch herself against him.
“Of course I want to fuck you,” she couldn’t even object to his rough words before he practically licked his way up her neck. “Who wouldn’t want to fuck you? Certainly not my brothers.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but it only gave him the opportunity to shove that same tongue halfway down her throat as he kissed her urgently, bucking his hips against her stomach. Gone was the gentle lover she had been with the first time. She wanted to touch him, to drive him to the same desperation he was eliciting in her, but he still kept her arms maddeningly pinned above her head.
When he released her wrists she grasped desperately for him, but he brushed her hands away as he practically ripped her blouse from her body in his urgency to get it off. Not bothering to even remove her bra he simply pulled the cups down before bending to encircle her nipple with his tongue, and she yanked out his ponytail before fisting her hands in his hair even as she fought against a moan.
“I bet Ron never paid proper attention to your tits,” he made the observation as he lapped the peak of one with his tongue. “Bet he never gave than more than a quick painful grope before shoving himself inside you, didn’t he?”
He was right, but she didn’t want to admit that it had taken her nearly two years with Ron to turn him into even a satisfactory bed partner. She just pushed his head closer to her chest, hoping to cut off all speech. But when he pulled forcibly away, she wanted to sob in frustration, as she felt bereft without his touch. Yanked to an unnatural position, her bra chafed, but before she could straighten or remove it he had lifted her up so that she had no choice but to hook her legs around his waist before he deposited her on the edge of the sink.
“Your bedroom is just down the hall,” she pointed out with her last semblance of reason even as he urged her to elevate her hips so he could yank her knickers down to her knees, not even bothering to remove them or her skirt.
“Can’t wait,” was all he grunted, even as she watched in stunned fascination as he dropped to his knees. And when he lifted her hips so her legs rested atop his shoulders, her head almost crashed back into the mirror before she braced her hands to steady herself.
As he kissed the inside of her thigh the expanse of her skirt covered his head, and she hitched it up as high as she could in frustration, not wanting to miss the sight of him. “Bet Charlie never did this during your night of drunken debauchery,” he told her, starting to sound a little smug before fondling her clit with his tongue.
She bit her tongue almost hard enough to draw blood in order to stop from crying out. “Actually,” she forced her voice to stay steady. “He did.” At least she thought he had; that night was little more than a haze. She didn’t know what game Bill was playing, didn’t know what he wanted to hear or what he should hear, and she didn’t know if she had just fucked it all up.
“Really?” she could have almost sworn she saw a look of brotherly pride before the haze of lust returned to his gaze. “But I bet he didn’t do this then.” And before she was prepared, he placed his hands between her legs, stretching the lips he found there, and elbowed her legs further apart, before leaning forward and delving his tongue right into the very core of her. And she could feel it, twisting and playing in a way his much larger and less dextrous cock never could.
She wanted to scream but she was vaguely aware of the presence of Jonathan not two doors down. And she couldn’t think coherently, but just felt that if he just moved his tongue a little over there, she could come, and tried to arch her hips to the right position.
Hermione could only yank his hair in irritation as he pulled back, wanting him to finish the job he had so diligently started, but he only laughed a little, ignoring her insistent and likely painful tug on his hair. “Such a dirty little whore, aren’t you? Loving every second of this,” he murmured the words before pressing a gentle kiss to the inner crux where her leg met her torso, teasing her. But the words had lost their anger from before, and she was too far gone to care if he even meant to insult her. And as he mouthed the words again against her inner thigh she thought they almost sounded like endearments. “But,” he continued as he gently kissed the other side, making her want to weep in frustration, “You’re my little whore, aren’t you?”
When she didn’t reply, not realizing it was a question that needed an answer, he bit down on the soft fleshy skin before demanding, “Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she gasped, and she would have agreed to anything at that point if she had thought it would get him to finish the job.
“Yes, what?” she could see the devilish gleam in his eyes, knew that he was fully aware of how much she hated the words, and knew that he wouldn’t move a muscle until she said them. And, in her current position, she couldn’t do much to force him.
“Yes, I’m your whore,” she meant to snap the words back at him, fill them with righteous indignation, but they came out all husky and full of arousal. And it didn’t help that she meant the sentiment behind them, because she was his to do with as she pleased, and she wouldn’t deny him anything.
She wanted to wipe the self-satisfied smirk of his face as he smiled at her, unhooking her legs from his shoulders and standing between them, but was surprised again when he leaned down and kissed her ever so gently, even as he let his hand slide down between her legs and bring her to the same state of incoherency she had been in before. And somehow the tenderness brought her to higher peaks than his rough treatment had.
She was practically shaking by the time he pulled his mouth away. “Still want to wait for the bedroom?” he asked the question in what sounded like a seemingly innocent voice as he stilled the movements of his long fingers, letting them pause, unmoving, on her flesh.
“No,” she practically screamed the word, yanking his head to hers for a bruising kiss.
And then he was lifting her, and she hooked her legs around his waist to keep from sliding, and for one glorious moment she thought he was going to take her against the wall. But then he bent down, and she could feel the (likely filthy) softness of the bathroom rug against her back before he muttered the protection charm, angled himself correctly, and entered her in one fluid motion.
“Maybe later I’ll let you suck me off,” he murmured, even as he pulled back and slammed into her again. “Bet you’re good at that aren’t you?”
“The best,” she replied, not wanting to let him take charge, make her feel like the slag he accused her of being. And, besides, it was a statement of fact.
She arched her hips up against him as he slid in, trying to take him deeper, and he swore before muttering, “You’re so tight. How can a little whore like you be so tight? Makes me want to come right now.”
She was tempted to cast aspersions on quality of women he had been sleeping with, but she said nothing except to squeeze her inner muscles around him even tighter, causing him to groan deeply as he dug his hands into her hips.
“Hermione? Are you in there?”
She swore she felt her heart stop when she heard Jonathan’s voice, and a knock on the door she was grateful she had remembered to lock. And she praised whatever deities were out there that he hadn’t seemed to have heard anything. Yet, at least.
“Yes?” her reply was caught between a gasp and a groan as Bill pulled out and thrust into her again, an evil glint in his eye.
“I really need to get in there,” she could hear the embarrassment in his voice as he made the statement.
She bit her lip as Bill leaned forward while still inside her and pressed a kiss to the crest between her breasts. “I’m a little, uh, busy here Jonathan. You’re going to have to give me, ah, couple minutes.”
“I’ll be fast,” she could hear him promise from the other side of the door, and wanted nothing more than to yell at him to fuck off, but she knew that was not the best way to be inconspicuous about what they were doing.
“Sorry, can’t,” she knew her voice had gone shrill, but she didn’t care.
“What on earth can you be doing in there that is so important,” he was obviously frustrated at her refusal to let him in, “Whatever female primping bit you’ve got going in there can wait. Your face or hair or whatever can stand to wait five minutes while I. . . . .”
“If I tell you I’m fucking masturbating, will you go away?” she yelled out in frustration as Bill reached a hand between them and played with her clit. She didn’t even know why she would admit to that before she would to having sex with Bill, it wasn’t any less embarrassing. Maybe it was more the added humiliation she would feel if Bill rejected her in the way she was scored he would, now trying to protect some semblance of dignity.
“Yeah, I think that would do it,” she could heard the amusement in his voice before he shut up, and she didn’t even wait to hear him go before grinding her hips against Bill in frustration.
“I bet he’s still out there,” he refused to move, even when she pounded on his chest. “If I were him I would stay. Try and catch one of your breathy little gasps, hear you call out my name in glee. . . .” And she noticed he kept his voice soft in case the man was still listening at the door.
“Not every bloke is a bloody perv like you,” she pointed out, but muttered a silencio charm anyway, grateful she had mastered that one wandlessly.
And then words seemed like a waste of time as moved within her, bringing them back to where they had been. There was none of the teasing of before as he moved quickly, thrusting in and out trying to find his own release even as she pounded the floor in frustration, wanting something more. She could hear her own voice begging him to go harder, faster, deeper. . .just about anything that would get her off, and she didn’t care how desperate she sounded. And for all that he thought he was fucking her without care, he braced his one arm so he could let his other hand drift back down between them and provide the stimulation she desperately needed.
She almost bit through her tongue when she came, everything shuddering as she felt the world explode. But there was no respite because he kept pumping into her, his end seemingly elusive, apparently unperturbed by the fact that she had practically ripped his hair out by that point. She wanted to help him, wanted to bring him over with her, but she felt too sated to really do much but make encouraging noises and let her hand drift lazily up his chest.
It was as she came back into her senses that she noticed that his eyes were squeezed defiantly shut. Not inadvertently closed in the pleasure of the moment, but forcefully, almost trying to block the experience out. And she didn’t know how she instinctively knew the reason, but she did, and it killed her that she couldn’t remember if he had done that the first time they had slept together.
“Open your eyes,” she knew her voice was rough, filled with what sounded like anger but was little more than frustration, and his eyes obediently snapped open - although probably more out of surprise than anything. “Acknowledge who it is you’re fucking. I won’t let you pretend that I’m Fleur.” Even she had a breaking point, and that was it. And at the guilty look that briefly flashed across his face, she knew that at least for a moment she had been right.
He was staring defiantly into her eyes when he came, and she felt the heat and stickiness of him inside her as he arched himself into her one last time.
They didn’t speak, but he didn’t look away, and kept his eyes locked with hers even as he pulled out of her, causing her to moan.
But then he pulled back, and was muttering a simple cleaning charm over them, and she closed her eyes in disappointment because it seemed so clinical and detached. Like he was trying to wipe away the evidence before he had to acknowledge it really happened. She kept waiting for him to curse her, to insult her, or at the very least to leave her naked and alone when he stormed back to his room.
“My bed’s more comfortable than the lumpy couch,” the words took a long time to come, and they were far from a declaration of love, but they were more than she had been expecting to hear.
She opened her eyes and smiled.
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*glomps you*
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And all those things you liked? Thank the fic recipient for the prompts. For example, I never write dirty talk, ever. But she asked for it, so it's in there.
And I might have liked it just a little
It may be horribly wrong to be proud of your own stuff, but I love the way this one turned out. Even if it's a little (but really not that much) dirtier than I sometimes write.
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♥
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Glad you liked it.
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I'll just, uh, be in my bunk.
(Soooo hot. Good God)
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I can say..
*GLOMPS YOU*
^___^
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Holy man, that was intense. Brilliantly put together. You have every right to be proud. The emotional highs and lows, were right there flowing from your words.
Bravo!
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Trins. xxx
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He sais some hurtful things, but I liked her conviction ... which faltered just a tiny bit at the end. Very nice.
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