Summersmut Mod (summersmutmod) wrote in hp_summersmut, @ 2008-08-06 00:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2008, george weasley, george/hermione, hermione granger |
[FIC] Dinner for Two: Hermione/George :: gift for pettybureaucrat
Title: Dinner for Two
Author/Artist:
Recipient: pettybureaucrat
Pairing: Hermione/George
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,624
Warnings: adultery
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Hermione has a very interesting dinner at the Burrow.
Author's Notes: I tried to make this fit the request as much as possible, but I think I may have deviated a little. I hope you like it!
Hermione hated dinner at the Burrow. These days, all Mrs. Weasley did was surreptitiously stare at Hermione’s too-flat stomach. Percy would talk about the Ministry with Mr. Weasley in unintelligible terms, Ginny would start feeding Harry food from her own plate, and George would sit in silence at the end of the table until he quietly excused himself. She always seemed to be placed right far away from a glum Ron (who would be in between Mr. Weasley and Percy) and right next to Mrs. Weasley, forced to talk about what kind of drapes she had chosen for the living room and what color paint for her bedroom and well wasn’t it finally time to start a family?
This occasion was no different. It had been a very trying day in the department, and all Hermione wanted to do was sit around. Mrs. Weasley’s constant barrage of questions did nothing to improve her mood, and the sight of Ron shooting everyone around him nasty looks just made her more frustrated. Hermione didn’t have a short temper, but she simply wasn’t accustomed to seeing this many people when she was tired. When Mrs. Weasley rose to get the dessert, Hermione got up as well. “I just need some fresh air,” she told Mrs. Weasley, who clearly thought this was a personal affront. Ignoring her mother-in-law’s frown and determinedly avoiding eye contact with Ron, Hermione slipped out the back door.
The broom shed lay ahead of her. Hermione rounded the side of the shed, then pressed her back against the cool stone wall, sliding to the grass. She was just so tired. Ron wasn’t a very big help, either; these days he mainly sat at home, grumbling about how much work he did at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. If he wasn’t at home, he was out somewhere drinking. Hermione worked so many hours these days that they barely saw one another, and he had become just an extra nuisance in her busy life.
The breeze was cool around her calves. Hermione tugged at her skirt, but it rode up onto her thighs obstinately. She sighed and let her head fall back, hitting the stone wall behind her. Almost in spite of herself, she began to wonder how her latest case was progressing. It was the only thing she had to look forward to, after all, and she really did enjoy her work. In the past few months, her social life had gradually disappeared. She missed Harry—he and Ginny seemed to be on a perpetual honeymoon. It was nauseating to watch, especially when contrasted with her own marriage. Perhaps it was just a rut, one that newlyweds fell into once the honeymoon was over and real life began. Even the sex had a routine quality to it, and Hermione found herself avoiding Ron when he was in a randy mood. Or pretending that she was tired.
Hermione stretched, arching her back against the wall and closing her eyes. What law had she tried to cite earlier in the day? She’d gone straight home to look it up and had completely forgotten by the time she arrived in her fireplace. Perhaps she was getting older. She ran one hand up her shin—had it been one day or two days since she’d last shaved her legs?
Her shin wasn’t even that prickly, and the breeze around her legs felt good. Hermione gave up trying to keep her skirt down and let the wind play across her legs. The thin cotton of her underwear tickled her. She let all of her worries fade out of her body, breathing deep, calming breaths. She felt at peace. Maybe she could even go inside soon and deal with her in-laws. She’d chosen to marry into the bloody family, after all.
Sighing, Hermione opened her eyes—and stared directly up into the face of George Weasley.
Suddenly she was acutely aware of how awful she must look, splayed out against the broom shed, legs wide open and skirt hiked up onto her thighs. Flustered, Hermione tried to scramble to her feet. “Erm—” she tried, feeling behind her for the comforting firmness of the wall. “Erm … yeah.”
George didn’t break eye contact with her. “I came out to see where you had got to.” His eyes travelled slowly from her face down to her still-open legs. “Or, um … what you had gotten up to.”
Something about his gaze rendered Hermione temporarily motionless. They stood in a weird suspension of motion, Hermione leaning against the wall, legs wide; George relaxed, but with his eyes trained on her body. Hermione could feel a familiar itching between her legs and bit her lip quickly. This was so wrong and awkward and why couldn’t he just walk away now? She needed time to compose herself, but she certainly couldn’t do that while he stood there and stared at her.
“I’ll come in after you,” said Hermione, her voice a little too high. She bit down on her lip again, hard. She saw George’s eyes follow the movements of her mouth. She swallowed; her mouth was dry.
“Right,” agreed George. He didn’t move.
Hermione got to her feet unsteadily, trying to pull her skirt down over her legs before this got any weirder. When her hand brushed her thigh she involuntarily shivered. The next thing she knew, the air smelled strongly of cologne, and George’s face had appeared right by hers, his breath hot on her ear.
“Erm—” Hermione squeaked, and then George’s mouth was on her neck, his free hand sliding up the outside of her thigh, pushing up her skirt. Much to her own surprise, Hermione released her skirt hem and let her hands travel up George’s sides toward his shoulders. This was wrong—but she gasped and let her head fall back toward the shed as he scraped his teeth along her jawline.
“George,” Hermione said, feeling her brain begin to shut down as he moved up to her ear, breath hot and persistent on her neck, “this is—”
George briefly stopped sucking on her earlobe to pull back, staring straight into her eyes again. Hermione bit her lip again, and his eyes darkened. “Shut up, Hermione,” he said, and kissed her.
This was like no kiss that Hermione had ever had before. Ron was always a little sloppy, and Hermione had been fourteen when she kissed Viktor. Kissing Ron was usual and comfortable; kissing George felt wrong around the edges, darkened by something not quite right. She couldn’t have moved from her position against the broom shed if she had tried—one of George’s arms pressed her shoulder back uncomfortably into the wall, and his longer torso pinned her to the spot. George’s mouth was hot and heavy, and when he bit her lip and pulled back Hermione made an involuntary noise in her throat, pushing up against him. With that, the kiss deepened and Hermione lost control entirely, her breath coming short and sharp as she desperately fought his tongue. Her mouth felt bruised. Her whole body was on fire, and she could feel George’s hand roughly pushing up her skirt and prying apart her legs.
Hermione let her legs come apart, sinking down on the wall a little, and George felt his way up into her crotch. “What were you doing out here by yourself?” he asked, his breath tickling her ear again. “These are nice and wet—” He pushed the band of her underwear to the side, pressing one finger up into her folds to meet her clit.
Hermione jerked upwards, but George pushed down on her shoulders with his unoccupied hand and began sucking on her neck again. She could feel his dick pressing into her thigh insistently. With the same hand, he peeled her underwear off, pulling it down, and Hermione obediently stepped out of it.
One long finger trailed from her front all the way up to her ass—Hermione shivered despite herself, it felt so odd—and then back, before George slowly pushed up into her cunt. Hermione whimpered and clenched around his finger as he pulled slowly back out, then added another as he slipped back in. She was scrabbling at his collar now, trying to get his shirt off or to reach any part of him, but George was staring in fascination at his fingers working in and out of Hermione’s cunt, slick with juices. When he added a third finger, Hermione bit down on his shoulder, pushing her hips towards him insistently, and he looked up only to start unbuttoning her shirt.
“Hermione?”
Both of them jumped. The voice came from the other side of the broom shed. It was definitely Mrs. Weasley. George leaned up to whisper in Hermione’s ear, his voice strained. “Stay very, very quiet.”
Hermione nodded, but her mind was whirling. George wasn’t moving, and three of his fingers were inside her, and her mother-in-law was on the other side of the broom shed, and he only told her to be quiet? Surely they should do something?
Footsteps rustled in the grass. “I don’t know where she went,” Mrs. Weasley called, presumably to someone still inside the house. “We won’t wait for dessert, I suppose …”
“Get it started,” said an irritable voice, and with a shock Hermione realized that it was Ron. “She’ll be back sometime …”
Appalled, Hermione looked at George. He gave her a smile that could only be classified as wicked and slowly began pumping his fingers inside her again.
Hermione bit down on her lip hard and closed her eyes, sinking against the wall, trying not to make noise. “Cast a charm!” she hissed at George, breathing hard.
“I like you quiet,” said George thoughtfully, apparently not noticing her gasp as he began to thumb her clit, “but I suppose it could be an interesting experiment to see how much noise you could make …”
With that he was dragging her around the side of the broom shed again, away from the house, and into the door. “It’s soundproof,” he hissed, unbuttoning her shirt with his other hand. “But you better hope my mum doesn’t walk in here looking for you.” He reached behind her to unhook her bra, and then his mouth was on her left breast, biting and teasing her nipple with his tongue as he steadily finger fucked her, the other hand squeezing her ass.
It took less than a minute for Hermione, panting and whimpering, to come messily all over George’s hand. “Merlin,” she said, trying to wriggle out past him. “Well, you know, erm …”
“You’re not getting out of here easily,” said George, and he brought his hand up to her mouth. With misgivings, Hermione looked at him, and then she realized what he wanted her to do. That was not normal, but … Tentatively, she let her tongue run from the base of his thumb to the tip, and he shoved it gently inside her mouth.
Hermione sucked his thumb first, moving out to his index finger, and George sighed as he pushed it into her mouth. “I have on a lot of clothes,” he told her pointedly, looking at her mostly naked body.
Hermione pushed her hands up under his shirt, running them up his sides as she sucked his fingers, and pulled his shirt off over his head. His torso was lean and only slightly muscled, but Hermione rather enjoyed the view. She let her fingers run lightly over his nipples, and he shuddered, pushing his crotch insistently into her thigh.
Unbuttoning his pants and letting them drop, Hermione ran her hands under the waistband of his boxers, enjoying the tension. But then the situation flipped on her again—George’s mouth was on her neck again, insistently sucking her sore skin as he ran his hands over her ass, and Hermione no longer wanted to go slowly. She pulled down his boxers as he inserted a knee between her legs, pushing them apart. Hermione grasped his dick and felt him expel a breath onto her collarbone as he licked his way down her chest.
Hermione let him push his dick between her legs, feeling the length on the inside of her thighs, and George hoisted her up, grabbing her hips, letting her straddle his thighs. His head was positioned at her entrance, and Hermione rocked her hips forward, feeling a moan rise in her throat. Then he was pushing roughly up into her, and Hermione nearly screamed as George grunted sharply, pulling her down onto his dick as her back scraped against the wall.
George was huge and much longer than Hermione was used to. She had absolutely no power—George controlled the depth of his thrusts, and at first it was painful. But then as he found a rhythm, Hermione bouncing up and down on his cock, she began to breathe harder, letting him fuck her as he wanted to fuck her, her tits going up and down, squeezing his hips with her legs and opening wide. Hermione could hear something falling over, and she was hitting the wall with every thrust, her shoulder blades banging on the stone.
Just as she was about to perhaps come again—a major milestone in the life of Hermione Granger—George set her down abruptly. “Turn around.”
“What?” said Hermione, indignant, but again she had little choice in the matter. George was spinning her around, and then Hermione was leaning on something—a short cupboard, perhaps, who knew what you even kept in broom sheds—and George was spreading her ass cheeks, and then he was sliding into her cunt again, his fingers digging into her ass. Hermione moaned and pressed her tits down into the table-cupboard-thing, pushing her ass back towards him, and George began grunting desperately, going deeper and deeper with every thrust. Then Hermione was coming again, and a few minutes later she could feel George harden and spill inside her as she clenched her pussy around him.
“Merlin, Hermione,” said George, hitting her ass with a resounding slap.
He showed no inclination to pull out and let Hermione clean herself up. She tried to get up, but George was firmly in the way. “I need to get up,” she said, a hysterical note creeping into her voice. This was ridiculous, of course, but she couldn’t deny that even the thought of George still inside her was making her a bit hot again.
“No,” said George equitably, rubbing her ass with one large hand. “I think we need to test out a few more things. Like this marvelous arse you’ve been hiding from us all this time.”
“Hmph,” said Hermione, but she let him stay. One of his hands was already creeping up to play with her asshole, and the sensation was not altogether unpleasant.
“Hermione?”
George and Hermione froze again. The sound came from right outside the broom shed door, and it was most definitely Mrs. Weasley. George unnecessarily slipped a hand over Hermione’s mouth, but they heard her footsteps recede again.
“How are we supposed to get out of here?” Hermione whispered, suddenly very fed up with the whole situation. Reluctantly, George slipped out of her and stepped away, and Hermione stood up, feeling very self conscious.
“I think I left your underwear outside,” said George, looking completely unrepentant.
Despite herself, Hermione laughed, and then George laughed, and then they were laughing together, naked, in the middle of the broom shed. “It’s all right,” Hermione said, and she knew it was, somehow, all of it. All of it was all right. And she wouldn’t say no if he wanted to make it all right again in the future.