Title: How Long?
Author:![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
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Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Length/Word Count: One-Shot, 1,493 words
Warnings/Content: Spanking, slightly rough sex
Summary: They never have enough time together.
Notes: Written for a prompt about long-distance relationships at Wizard Love 2012 on LJ. Thanks totorino10154 and samedy for their feedback and beta help. Any mistakes that remain are my own.
Disclaimer: The following is based on fictional characters I don't own doing fictional things in a fictional world I did not create. No copyright infringement intended.
How Long?
He’s not even all the way through their bedroom door and already her fingers pry at his Auror robes as she meets him with a hard kiss. He’d tease her about being more desperate for sex than he’s ever been, but it’s been three bloody weeks since they’ve even been in the same room together, much less had time for this, and he’d be lying if he said for a moment that he wanted to stop.
“How long?” Ron asks between hurried kisses. He tugs her blouse out from the waistband of her skirt and hands meet warm skin. He nearly groans with the contact.
“An hour--maybe less. I have a dinner-” She shrugs out of his grasp long enough to push his robes over his shoulders. His shirt is ripped off next. As soon as his hands are free, he starts to work on her buttons. His fingers fumble ungracefully, but he manages to get the job done. She’s not wearing a bra. His mouth waters and he dips down and takes a nipple between his teeth.
Hermione meows with the contact and arches towards him in a wordless plea; he knows want she wants. He worries her nipple between his teeth until its tender and raw, then soothes the bite with a lave of his tongue. She sighs and winds a hand in his hair, guiding him to the other.
“I would have asked you to come,” Hermione says breathlessly as he licks and sucks. His hands slide up her thighs, pushing her skirt around her waist. She’s not wearing knickers either. The idea that she’s spent the day without underthings knowing they’d be together now has Ron throbbing against the front of his trousers.
“But it’s a Ministry thing and-”
“No, it’s good,” Ron mumbles against her breast. Hermione knows he hates all the boring Ministry functions she’s forced to attend; she always goes alone and makes his excuses. He’s grateful, most of the time, but occasionally he thinks he’d be willing to go and suffer idle chit-chat with her colleagues if it meant he could spend another hour with her. They never have enough time together. Not since she’s taken this bloody job.
He pushes the thought out of his mind as he kisses up to her collarbone. He snakes a hand between her thighs and slides his fingers through her wetness. He slips two fingers in easily; she clenches around him as he thrusts and it makes him groan with anticipation. Her nails rake over his shoulders and she moans.
“Ron--I can’t wait-” she pants. His lips meet hers again in a searing kiss, then he withdraws.
He forces his voice down an octave so it comes out low and husky. “How do you want it?” He fights a wave of embarrassment--he can feel his ears turning pink--but she visibly shivers and his flush disappears as quickly as it came.
She moves to the bed and crawls up on her hands and knees, skirt falling to her sides, her arse arched in the air towards him. She looks at him over her shoulder.
“Like this,” she whispers raggedly. “Hard.”
It takes Ron less than two seconds to undo his trousers and shrug out of his pants and he’s on her, hands planted on each arse cheek, gripping her tight. He thrusts into her in one long smooth movement and they both cry out. It’s been so long, he’s afraid he’ll come right then and there so he bites the inside of his cheek to keep his arousal in check. He stays inside her for a breath, then two, and then he’s fucking her as hard as she likes it, fast and deep, his knuckles turning white with the force he’s gripping her.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God,” she chants. Her thighs flex and she pushes back to him as fast as he’s pushing into her. He smooths a hand over one arse cheek, then draws back and slaps her, biting his cheek harder as she quivers around him in response. He does it again on the other side, back and forth, over and over, until her bottom blooms a rosy red, her skin as hot as fire beneath his palms. Her fingers curl into the coverlet and he leans down over her, slowing his pace. He’s close, so close; his brain is fogged with pleasure. He wants this to last, but she moves her hand between her legs and he can feel her rubbing herself, the tips of her fingers grazing his shaft with each thrust. He can’t hold back. She clenches around him and he stills and spills himself into her, his forehead pressed against the curve of her back. He pants against her skin as she milks him dry.
His legs shake as he withdraws from her and he barely manages to roll to the side before he collapses on the bed, still breathing hard. She lays on her stomach beside him, cheek pressed to the mattress, damp curls clinging to her forehead and smushed against her face. She reaches out and tangles their fingers together as they both recover.
“I miss you,” she says quietly once her panting subsides. Ron stifles the desire to beg her to stay. They’ve been down that road before and it always ends in an argument. He doesn’t want to waste what little time they have. So instead he smiles and tells her he misses her too before dragging her into the circle of his arms.
“I need a shower,” she says protesting, but she makes no effort to pull away. Her hair tickles his chin. She drags a finger along his chest in a lazy circle.
“How long can you stay this time?” he asks. She’s quiet for a long time. It isn’t a good sign.
“My portkey is scheduled for the morning,” she finally says, her voice muffled against his skin. Ron closes his eyes and breathes.
“Where are you off to?”
“Canada. Toronto, to be exact,” she says. He can hear excitement creep into her voice as she talks about the House-Elf reform the Canadian Ministry has managed to put in place and something about unions but Ron can’t keep up. Instead he just listens to the lilt of her voice and memorises the feel of her body pressed to his and tries not to hate her job so much. She loves it and Ron should be happy for her. And he is, mostly, when he can keep his jealousy at bay. Sometimes Ron thinks it was easier when he just thought Hermione was in love with Harry. The hot spike of jealousy burned then, but he was allowed to get angry. It made sense. He can’t be resentful of a bloody job, not when it’s so important to Hermione.
She suddenly stops mid-sentence and props herself up on his chest. Their eyes meet and she’s glaring at him, but it’s playful and her lips twitch; the twinge of fear in his belly eases.
“Are you even listening to me? Or did you doze off?”
“‘Course I’m listening,” Ron says. He snakes his hands down to her waist and wiggles his fingers. She yelps and squirms away from him but he rolls her over and traps her beneath the weight of his body. He holds himself up on an elbow and grins down at her. His grin turns soft when she reaches up and lays a palm on his cheek and then they’re kissing once more, soft and slow, but need flares up in Ron’s stomach and he wants her again. Once in three weeks isn’t enough. It’s never enough.
“Ron--” She stammers, pulling away just enough to speak. Their lips brush even as she does. “We really don’t have time.”
“I know,” he says. He kisses her again, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She meets his with her own, her hands skating across his shoulder blades, then up into his hair.
“I’ll come home early,” she murmurs against him. “I’ll sneak away as quickly as I can.”
His lips brush the corner of her mouth, then across her chin. She closes her eyes and he leans his forehead against hers.
“How long?” he asks again. He’s not asking about that night or even the next time she can come home for a day or two, but he doesn’t have to clarify. She knows.
“Six months,” she says quietly. “On the outside.” Her eyes open. She presses a palm to his chest. Her skin is warm but he shivers. “Can you wait that long?”
“Yeah,” Ron says. “Of course.” I’d wait even longer for you, he adds silently, but can’t bring himself to say it. Her eyes soften and as she pulls him down for another kiss, he realises he doesn’t have to say it. Hermione already knows.
-Fin-
Fic Index
Author:
sdkFandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Length/Word Count: One-Shot, 1,493 words
Warnings/Content: Spanking, slightly rough sex
Summary: They never have enough time together.
Notes: Written for a prompt about long-distance relationships at Wizard Love 2012 on LJ. Thanks to
torino10154 and samedy for their feedback and beta help. Any mistakes that remain are my own.Disclaimer: The following is based on fictional characters I don't own doing fictional things in a fictional world I did not create. No copyright infringement intended.
How Long?
He’s not even all the way through their bedroom door and already her fingers pry at his Auror robes as she meets him with a hard kiss. He’d tease her about being more desperate for sex than he’s ever been, but it’s been three bloody weeks since they’ve even been in the same room together, much less had time for this, and he’d be lying if he said for a moment that he wanted to stop.
“How long?” Ron asks between hurried kisses. He tugs her blouse out from the waistband of her skirt and hands meet warm skin. He nearly groans with the contact.
“An hour--maybe less. I have a dinner-” She shrugs out of his grasp long enough to push his robes over his shoulders. His shirt is ripped off next. As soon as his hands are free, he starts to work on her buttons. His fingers fumble ungracefully, but he manages to get the job done. She’s not wearing a bra. His mouth waters and he dips down and takes a nipple between his teeth.
Hermione meows with the contact and arches towards him in a wordless plea; he knows want she wants. He worries her nipple between his teeth until its tender and raw, then soothes the bite with a lave of his tongue. She sighs and winds a hand in his hair, guiding him to the other.
“I would have asked you to come,” Hermione says breathlessly as he licks and sucks. His hands slide up her thighs, pushing her skirt around her waist. She’s not wearing knickers either. The idea that she’s spent the day without underthings knowing they’d be together now has Ron throbbing against the front of his trousers.
“But it’s a Ministry thing and-”
“No, it’s good,” Ron mumbles against her breast. Hermione knows he hates all the boring Ministry functions she’s forced to attend; she always goes alone and makes his excuses. He’s grateful, most of the time, but occasionally he thinks he’d be willing to go and suffer idle chit-chat with her colleagues if it meant he could spend another hour with her. They never have enough time together. Not since she’s taken this bloody job.
He pushes the thought out of his mind as he kisses up to her collarbone. He snakes a hand between her thighs and slides his fingers through her wetness. He slips two fingers in easily; she clenches around him as he thrusts and it makes him groan with anticipation. Her nails rake over his shoulders and she moans.
“Ron--I can’t wait-” she pants. His lips meet hers again in a searing kiss, then he withdraws.
He forces his voice down an octave so it comes out low and husky. “How do you want it?” He fights a wave of embarrassment--he can feel his ears turning pink--but she visibly shivers and his flush disappears as quickly as it came.
She moves to the bed and crawls up on her hands and knees, skirt falling to her sides, her arse arched in the air towards him. She looks at him over her shoulder.
“Like this,” she whispers raggedly. “Hard.”
It takes Ron less than two seconds to undo his trousers and shrug out of his pants and he’s on her, hands planted on each arse cheek, gripping her tight. He thrusts into her in one long smooth movement and they both cry out. It’s been so long, he’s afraid he’ll come right then and there so he bites the inside of his cheek to keep his arousal in check. He stays inside her for a breath, then two, and then he’s fucking her as hard as she likes it, fast and deep, his knuckles turning white with the force he’s gripping her.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God,” she chants. Her thighs flex and she pushes back to him as fast as he’s pushing into her. He smooths a hand over one arse cheek, then draws back and slaps her, biting his cheek harder as she quivers around him in response. He does it again on the other side, back and forth, over and over, until her bottom blooms a rosy red, her skin as hot as fire beneath his palms. Her fingers curl into the coverlet and he leans down over her, slowing his pace. He’s close, so close; his brain is fogged with pleasure. He wants this to last, but she moves her hand between her legs and he can feel her rubbing herself, the tips of her fingers grazing his shaft with each thrust. He can’t hold back. She clenches around him and he stills and spills himself into her, his forehead pressed against the curve of her back. He pants against her skin as she milks him dry.
His legs shake as he withdraws from her and he barely manages to roll to the side before he collapses on the bed, still breathing hard. She lays on her stomach beside him, cheek pressed to the mattress, damp curls clinging to her forehead and smushed against her face. She reaches out and tangles their fingers together as they both recover.
“I miss you,” she says quietly once her panting subsides. Ron stifles the desire to beg her to stay. They’ve been down that road before and it always ends in an argument. He doesn’t want to waste what little time they have. So instead he smiles and tells her he misses her too before dragging her into the circle of his arms.
“I need a shower,” she says protesting, but she makes no effort to pull away. Her hair tickles his chin. She drags a finger along his chest in a lazy circle.
“How long can you stay this time?” he asks. She’s quiet for a long time. It isn’t a good sign.
“My portkey is scheduled for the morning,” she finally says, her voice muffled against his skin. Ron closes his eyes and breathes.
“Where are you off to?”
“Canada. Toronto, to be exact,” she says. He can hear excitement creep into her voice as she talks about the House-Elf reform the Canadian Ministry has managed to put in place and something about unions but Ron can’t keep up. Instead he just listens to the lilt of her voice and memorises the feel of her body pressed to his and tries not to hate her job so much. She loves it and Ron should be happy for her. And he is, mostly, when he can keep his jealousy at bay. Sometimes Ron thinks it was easier when he just thought Hermione was in love with Harry. The hot spike of jealousy burned then, but he was allowed to get angry. It made sense. He can’t be resentful of a bloody job, not when it’s so important to Hermione.
She suddenly stops mid-sentence and props herself up on his chest. Their eyes meet and she’s glaring at him, but it’s playful and her lips twitch; the twinge of fear in his belly eases.
“Are you even listening to me? Or did you doze off?”
“‘Course I’m listening,” Ron says. He snakes his hands down to her waist and wiggles his fingers. She yelps and squirms away from him but he rolls her over and traps her beneath the weight of his body. He holds himself up on an elbow and grins down at her. His grin turns soft when she reaches up and lays a palm on his cheek and then they’re kissing once more, soft and slow, but need flares up in Ron’s stomach and he wants her again. Once in three weeks isn’t enough. It’s never enough.
“Ron--” She stammers, pulling away just enough to speak. Their lips brush even as she does. “We really don’t have time.”
“I know,” he says. He kisses her again, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She meets his with her own, her hands skating across his shoulder blades, then up into his hair.
“I’ll come home early,” she murmurs against him. “I’ll sneak away as quickly as I can.”
His lips brush the corner of her mouth, then across her chin. She closes her eyes and he leans his forehead against hers.
“How long?” he asks again. He’s not asking about that night or even the next time she can come home for a day or two, but he doesn’t have to clarify. She knows.
“Six months,” she says quietly. “On the outside.” Her eyes open. She presses a palm to his chest. Her skin is warm but he shivers. “Can you wait that long?”
“Yeah,” Ron says. “Of course.” I’d wait even longer for you, he adds silently, but can’t bring himself to say it. Her eyes soften and as she pulls him down for another kiss, he realises he doesn’t have to say it. Hermione already knows.
-Fin-
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