[FIC] Good Fortune Comes ... : Remus/Hermione :: for ellaselenelupin Title: Good Fortune Comes to Those Who Get Their Hands Dirty Author: Recipient:ellaselenelupin Pairing: Remus/Hermione Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 4,493 Warnings: Bathroom sex, semi-DH compliant (Remus lived and he raises Teddy), bit of dirty talk Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. Summary: Remus has avoided romance and sex since the Battle of Hogwarts, up until the time Hermione and he began working together. Remus is oblivious and desperate. Hermione wants to unwind after a long week at work—and perhaps, just perhaps, more. Author's Notes:ellaselenelupin, I hope you enjoy this! Thanks to R for the beta! My infinitesimal thanks to the mod! :D
Remus Lupin was not in the habit of dating his former students. More to the point, Remus Lupin was not in the habit of dating.
For the roughly three years following the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus hadn’t been vaguely interested in anyone, men or women. His sole concentration had been to provide for Teddy, which had mandated him to take an endless string of dead end, low paying jobs to sustain the both of them. No matter how many times Harry offered to help them, Remus refused outright.
Remus still thought of Tonks constantly. Sometimes he would see or hear something and intend to tell Tonks about it and then he would remember: he couldn’t. And whenever Teddy was happy and the tips of his hair flashed bubble gum pink, Remus felt as if a vice was griping his heart. Still, on the whole, a lot of the pain had receded, even if the memory of Tonks had not.
Life had been coasting along smoothly until Remus had picked up his latest job working at the Ministry. Even post-Voldemort, werewolf bias was still such that he wasn’t granted a legitimate job for someone of his intelligence and experience. Sorting through a backlog of old files in the Department of Magical Creatures was easier work than Remus had tackled in years, and the pay far better. Pilfering through old files and maintaining the current records was mostly monotonous, mindless work, but occasionally he unearthed interesting bits of information, such as interdepartmental memos Fudge had sent during his tenure that could, if he dared, be used as fruitful leverage over the Ministry if given to the right person—say, a certain journalist.
So, here he was. It could have easily been just another day at work. Remus’ old Muggle wristwatch read noon, which meant it was lunch hour. In his first days at the office he usually ate alone, but for the last three months Hermione Granger had begun taking her lunches with him.
While Remus sorted through boxes of old files each day, Hermione had been working to strengthen laws protecting house-elves and werewolves. She often asked him for his insight, always treating him as an expert in the know rather than as a victim.
In the beginning it had been simple.
Remus had been working at the Ministry for a little over a week, and while Hermione and he had been friendly as always, there’d been little time in either of their work schedules for more than the barest of polite exchanges. On this day specific day, however, Remus remembered he had exited the file room, where he’d almost run headfirst into Hermione. He had stilled her with a hand to her shoulder, which he still recalled as being warm.
“Pardon me,” he had said in formal airs.
Hermione had laughed and joked about not usually being so clumsy. Remus might’ve been tempted to think of Tonks, but Hermione’s brow had creased and she’d thoroughly distracted him.
She’d put a warm hand over his own—a movement that should have felt awkward but didn’t. “Are you about to take lunch?” she’d asked.
Remus had nodded, noticing the dark shadows beneath Hermione’s eyes and wondered how many late nights Hermione had pulled at the office to distract herself from her recent break-up with Ron Weasley. Maybe Remus wasn’t the only one who was lonely.
“I am,” he’d said, smiling. “Would you like to accompany me?”
Hermione had squeezed his hand before releasing it, and she’d nodded. “I have a few things I want to run by you about the Equal Economic Opportunity Act for All Magical Creatures. We’re running into problems everywhere.”
From there, it had all fallen into place. As they consistently ate lunch together, Remus had been increasingly helping Hermione with her own work. He no longer found the information in the files to be interesting. His mind was now occupied with the legislation and the politics he and Hermione discussed, and more recently, with Hermione, herself.
While today could have been any other day, with the two of them discussing Ministry legislation over lunch sprinkled in with discussion of Teddy and Harry, it was a very different day. Remus had a very different agenda.
Hermione came bustling into the file room around fifteen minutes early, her curly hair flying behind her and her brown eyes aglow.
“The Minister said he’d mention it at the next meeting!” She flung herself at Remus, who just had time to set aside the bundle of files in his arms before Hermione catapulted herself into his arms.
“The EEOA?” he asked into her hair, trying to breathe steadily in and out and desperately trying to curb his arousal to unnoticeable levels. It was rather hard to play it close to the chest with Hermione’s own chest snug against his, her breasts pressed against his chest, her hips jutting against his lower body, and it certainly didn’t help that her nipples were hard.
Hermione’s lips moved against the sensitive curve of his neck, and Remus fought not to moan. “Yes! I can’t believe they finally accepted our proposal.”
Remus smiled despite his sublimely tortured state. “You mean your proposal.”
Hermione pulled away to look him in the eyes. “You know your ideas are what moved this along in the first place. Without you, I don’t know what I’d have done.”
If Remus had the capacity to blush, he would have blushed. Instead he offered a half-smile. “You’d have done brilliantly as always.” Hermione’s eyes were brown and alive with enthusiasm. He averted his own eyes, lowering them—which was a huge mistake considering her nipples were still hard, visible through her thin white blouse. He tore his gaze away with effort.
“Shut up, you.” Hermione punched him gently in the shoulder.
They were standing much too close together and Remus knew it was best to get out of the stale, mouldy air of the closet-like room unless he was going to do something unfortunate—or, rather, fortunately regrettable.
He looked at his watch, delighted to discover it was almost noon. He cleared his throat. Hoping he didn’t sound too pathetic, he said, “It’s time for lunch.”
Hermione smiled. “Yes, it is.” She smoothed her fingers over her blouse, fingers brushing the swells of her breasts, and Remus was now certain his arousal was truly noticeable—Ministry robes or not. “I was thinking Chinese.”
I was thinking of fucking you against the wall, tempting though it might be, probably wouldn’t go over well, so Remus opted for another truth instead: “Me too.”
***
The time until they were to return to the Ministry was dwindling and Remus still hadn’t done it. Instead of battling his nerves, he had succumbed to them and was toying with his mostly uneaten eggroll.
“Remus?”
“Hmm?” Remus looked up to see Hermione staring at him. She was frowning as she twisted a tendril of hair around one finger. Her plate was clean of lo mein.
“Are you going to eat that?” she asked, nodding towards the eggroll Remus was rolling between his fingers.
“May I?” she asked. She waited until Remus extended the eggroll to her before taking it. Remus carefully avoided touching her skin. He hadn’t felt this awkward for years. Here he was a grown man, with a child, and he couldn’t even ask her…
“Remus?”
Remus shook himself from his stupor, this time picking up his fortune cookie to roll between his fingers.
Hermione sighed audibly and snatched the fortune cookie away. To his amazement, she began to unwrap his cookie for him. It was on his lips to say but it’s mine! but then surmised he would really sound childish then.
Hermione cracked open the cookie and popped one half into her mouth and began to chew delicately. Her lips were chapped and red, and Remus wanted nothing more than to kiss them or perhaps slide his…
Hermione snapped her fingers in front of his face and he jumped.
She was leaning halfway over the table, examining him like he was a perplexing Arithmancy equation begging to be solved. “Remus, you’re acting very peculiar. You seem startled.” She paused. “Is everything okay? Is Teddy all right?”
Remus attempted to string together a multitude of reassurances. “Everything is just fine. Teddy is being uncommonly well-behaved lately—especially during the day when I leave him with Andromeda. She entertains him all day so by the time I have him, he’s absolutely knackered.”
Hermione looked a bit reassured but there was something about her expression that seemed off to Remus. “Forgive me for prying,” Hermione began, sounding not in the least remorseful, “but why are you in such a haze today?”
Remus didn’t know what to say—not without telling a blatant lie—so he said nothing.
Hermione smiled. “Well, let’s read your fortune cookie, shall we?” She waved the little piece of paper between her fingers, clearly taunting him—with a piece of paper. She handed him the other half of the cookie.
“You know this is sacrilege?” he asked and reluctantly popped his half of the cookie into his mouth. Hermione raised an eyebrow as if to say of course and opened the paper. She read it to herself then began to laugh. Loudly.
Remus choked. “What?”
Hermione continued to laugh until she was red in the face. She drank water, sobered slightly, and then looked at Remus’ face, whereupon she began to laugh again—now almost cackling.
Shoulders still shaking with mirth, Hermione calmed enough to read: “Don’t fear the answer for it will be yes. Fear the opportunity that will slip past.
“Perhaps the Muggles have been dabbling in a spot of Divination?” Hermione asked, then began laughing again, and Remus surrendered to insanity and began to laugh, too. They both laughed so loudly that people in the Muggle restaurant began to stare in their direction.
“You realize you’re being silly?” Hermione asked as Remus’ chuckles waned.
Remus sighed. Hermione, he remembered, was a clever witch and he’d apparently been transparent in his intentions at lunch and perhaps for far longer. “Quite,” he admitted.
“Well,” Hermione said, settling her elbows on the table and leaning in, “the fortune cookie was right, you know.”
“So you said,” Remus said, a smile curling his lips. “But there are several questions to ask and my fortune only specified the answer is yes to the one question. It’s a bit of gamble, wouldn’t you say?”
Hermione scoffed. “You know, I thought you were different, but you’re just as infuriating as any other man—”
Remus opened his mouth to object—he should know, shouldn’t he? He had dated men!—but Hermione beat him to it.
“Look, let’s make this easy. Let’s go out tonight and celebrate the temporary success of the EEOA.”
“Okay. I know a good place to get drinks. It’s right off Diagon Alley.”
“Sounds promising. I need drinks after this week.”
“Then drinks you will have,” Remus promised and internally hoped he’d be able to give Hermione a lot more than just drinks.
***
That evening found Remus pacing in front of the bar he’d suggested to Hermione. She wasn’t late, he was twenty minutes early and now it was ten till nine. His fists were stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. Remus looked down and realized he’d accidentally worn his blue jumper with the hole near the hem.
At least Teddy was with Harry for the weekend. That was one worry crossed off his list, at least.
Remus stopped and demanded himself to stop pacing. He abandoned his nervous to and fro and leant against the side of the door, waiting.
In a few minutes, there was a tap at his shoulder. He turned around to see Hermione smiling up at him. Her hair was up in a bun, leaving her slender neck bare.
“To sound incredibly cliché, my face is up here.”
Remus jerked his head up. He was pleased to see she was still smiling.
He returned the smile, his self-deprecating. “I have seen a woman before, all evidence to the contrary.”
Hermione crossed her arms over her purple shirt. “You haven’t really seen many lately, though, have you? Not in that regard.” She smirked. Was she making fun of him?
“No.” He frowned, taking his hands from his pockets to gesture helplessly. “I really haven’t.”
Hermione stepped closer. Her fingers brushed against his forearm. “Would that explain the cloud you’ve been wandering in for the last, oh say, two months? This lack of women?” Hermione tilted her head up toward him, her brown eyes flecked with gold and her cheeks flushed.
“Partially.” Remus sucked in a breath, looked Hermione in the eye and told himself to grow up. Tonks was gone and Hermione was a beautiful, talented woman, one he very much wanted. “But mostly, the haze has been induced by you.”
Hermione looked surprised for a brief moment—perhaps surprised that he’d finally said something. She shifted closer and raised one hand to his jaw, her fingers tracing the stubble there. Hermione’s fingers were hot and her eyes hotter as she watched her own movements as if entranced.
“I didn’t think to shave—“
“Shh,” Hermione said, and more effectually quieted him with a finger to his lips. Her touch was like a supernova. Her long, capable fingers—perpetually ink-stained—traced around his lips and over them, and Remus wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and take them to the back of his mouth and suck and lick—and fuck, he had stop this.
“I’m going to be presumptuous,” Hermione told him.
Her fingers were tracing the bow of his lip, and Remus really felt no inclination to speak. None at all.
She smiled. “I can think of a better way to unwind after a long week, other than having drinks.”
Her words were earnest, not intentionally flirtatious, but the message sent all the confirmation Remus needed to his already half-hard cock. He was now inching towards fully hard. Unbidden, the tip of his tongue slipped out to caress the pad of one of Hermione’s fingers and she groaned under her breath--groaned. Pleased by the reaction, Remus licked with a broader stroke, stroking the soft skin of her finger with the roughness of his tongue.
“God,” Hermione gasped. She pulled her fingers from his lips and touched them to her own mouth.
“What’s your better way to unwind?” Remus asked, hoarsely.
Hermione put her hands on her hips. “Please,” she said. “You’re oblivious but you cannot possibly be that oblivious.”
Hermione though he was oblivious. He’d wanted her--this--for month. Remus knew Hermione didn’t think him stupid but perhaps she thought he was a bit pathetic. Maybe he was a bit pathetic.
Well, then. He’d just have to establish that wasn’t the case. An idea was brewing in his mind and his cock pulsed in would-be agreement. He didn’t answer her question. Instead he said, “Come with me,” and took her hand. She looked at him curiously but made no move to refuse.
Remus led her into the bar, their fingers laced together. It was warm and comfortable and surprisingly easy. Remus forgot to question what he was about to do and concentrated instead on navigating his way through the mass of people bustling around the bar for drinks. With every step closer to the back of the bar, Remus’ cock grew increasingly harder, a twinge of pleasure had settled at the base of his spine. He was wound so tight with tension he thought he might combust.
Oh, and he would—just not yet.
“Remus!” Hermione yelled over the jazz music.
He swivelled his head so he could see her, but he didn’t stop. Her paces had slowed, so Remus jerked his hand a bit and gave a quick shake of the head, its intent clear: no questions.
At the back of the bar, a man already had a woman pushed up against the back wall, her body fit snug within the cradle of his open legs. They were obviously well on their way to a night of fucking and if the woman’s glazed eyes were any indication, already drunk off their arses.
Remus pulled Hermione along still further, her palm already sweaty. When they reached the back of the club and turned into a back hallway, he felt Hermione tense.
“You have to use the loo?” Hermione asked slowly, pulling Remus around by his shoulder.
He turned easily, casually, finally feeling at ease despite the odds. He tugged on a tendril of hair that fell at her left temple, teasing. “Hermione—” he wagged his other finger “—who’s being oblivious, now?”
Hermione’s eyes widened slightly but with no real surprise. Her pupils were dilated; her breaths irregular, coming in tiny gasps that surely mirrored his own breathing.
“Pardon me.” A man leaving from the vicinity of the lavatories shouldered Remus hard in the midsection as he moved around him. Hermione acted as if she hadn’t even noticed. She only had eyes for Remus.
“Shall we?” Remus asked, lips quirked.
“We’ll get caught,” Hermione hissed.
“Ex-Marauder,” Remus said, and offered a mischievous smile worthy of Sirius Black.
Hermione snorted and pushed her hair away from her face. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Someone here has to be the voice of reason. Here, I always thought that’d be you.”
He leant down to speak low. “We won’t get caught. Is that your only caveat?”
Hermione bit her lip, but nodded nonetheless and the tension in Remus’ lower stomach tightened that much more.
“After you, then, Miss Granger,” Remus said and extended his arm in the direction of the loo.
Rolling her eyes, Hermione shoved past Remus. Remus followed, looking his fill even though it was a picture he’d already memorized and reproduced nightly: her arse firm in tight black trousers and her hips rounded.
Hermione chose the door to her left—the men’s. Remus followed in after her, letting the door slam shut. “Accio,” he whispered and his wand flew to his hand. He began to cast a Locking charm on the door, but when Hermione said leave it and kissed him soundly on the lips, he didn’t protest.
The kiss was a sliding together of lips, warm and coaxing and delightful—but nothing miraculous. She teased at the corners of his mouth, the stubble on his jaw, and when one of her hands cupped the back of his neck and brought his head down closer to hers, he felt like he might’ve been floating, high on desire, the pressure in his pants tight. Something inexplicable threatened to undo him—something that might have had more to do with himself than Hermione.
As they kissed, Hermione backed him up against the door. He settled back against, thankful for its sturdy presence.
Remus’ hand was trailing through Hermione’s hair—the other still gripping his wand uselessly by his side. When Hermione’s tongue flickered over his lips, he lost it.
Barely cognizant, he jammed his wand into his pocket and laced his fingers into the hair at the back of Hermione’s head, bringing her closer, so that she was pressed snug to his body, his own back tight against the door. This time he didn’t feel guilty that he was hard against her—so fucking hard that he feared he might come in his pants from a mere kiss, delightful though her tongue was as it slipped past his lips and found his own.
He groaned low in his throat and pushed her further against him. Hermione’s nipples were hard against his chest. Remus began to rock her back and forth against his chest so that her nipples brushed up against him roughly, the friction making her even harder.
Hermione’s hips were already rocking against his and Remus really wasn’t sure now if they would get their clothes off at all. He’d thought of little else but fucking her for months—sinking his thick cock into her cunt, which would be tight and wet, and she would make the delicious noises—moans and gasps and ahs and oohs.
Fuck.
But now he wanted nothing more than to see her come, see her face alight with orgasm, her limbs thrashing with pleasure, and he no longer cared how it happened, just so long as it did.
As he worked his mouth down her long neck, licking down her skin and topping off the open mouth kisses with bites, his fingers went to the fastening of her trousers. He worked them and it didn’t take long for his questing fingers to find the soaking crotch of her knickers. “So fucking wet,” he said, in awe. Hermione whimpered. His fingers dipped below the fabric, bypassing any teasing, and went directly for her clit. His fingers found it, engorged and wet. As he stroked it, his fingers slapped wetly against her skin.
“Too sensitive,” she said, whimpers and moans falling from her lips, an erotic prayer.
“No such thing,” Remus whispered. “I want to see you come, Hermione. I’ve been imagining it for months.”
“M-me too.”
“Really?” he asked, his fingers worked faster, circling her clit now instead of providing direct stimulation just to hold her off for a moment.
“Yes—but, I wanted more…” she started and buried her face against his neck. Hermione murmured against his skin: “Want more than sex.”
Remus smiled. His fingers slipped from her clit and he flexed his wrist so that he could find the entrance, and he circled it slowly with one finger before carefully plunging in. “Me too, Hermione, me too.”
“Oh, Remus, that feels amazing.” Hermione’s lips were moving against Remus’ neck. When her moans reached fever pitch, Remus slipped another finger into her cunt. Two fingers, and she was so tight.
Two thrusts of his fingers and Hermione’s lips fell open, and she began to shake. Remus pulled her hair back and lifted her head so he could see her.
“Want to see your face,” he said, as her eyes, almost completely black, met his. She was gasping and trembling and when he tweaked her nipple through her shirt, she reached the tipping point, spiralling into bliss. Her face was an exercise in beauty: cheeks flushed, red and bruised lips open in an ‘o’ of bliss. He held her close as her tremors subsided, high on an intense show of protectiveness and lust and desperation to keep her near for longer than this moment. Moments like this felt etched in permanence and fleeting, transitory.
“Hermione,” he said urgently. She looked up at him, still panting. His hands went to her hips and he they began to rock together, faster and faster, Hermione seeming to know what he wanted. They resumed kissing, tongues working against each other in a mimic of penetration.
Remus wanted to come so badly. He grabbed her arse, each cheek in one hand, and began to work her hips faster against him, controlling the pace so that the door creaked with every thrust. Remus’ rested his head back against the wall.
The tension was tightening and thickening and when Hermione pushed backward, he couldn’t help the pathetic groan of urgency that escaped his lips. Hermione fell to her knees on the floor.
Oh fuck, yes. He’d dreamt of this for so long. Hermione Granger on her knees before him—her eyes molten and needy. Needy for him. She undid the zip on his trousers and her fingers began to fish through the slip of his pants for his cock, the head already peaking out above the seam of his pants, dripping with precome, suffused purple-red, veins pulsing.
When Hermione pulled out his cock, her pale fingers wrapping around its circumference, his hips canted hard towards her. It wouldn’t take much, oh God, no. He was already trembling. He just needed that bit more, needed something, needed her.
“Do you want to come, Remus?” she asked, and he gasped.
“Yes, God, yes.”
He couldn’t drag his eyes away from her cleavage, the rounded swells of her breasts revealed by her low cut shirt. Her skin was still glistening lightly with sweat.
“What do you want?” she asked. He groaned, unable to believe this was actually happening. “Someone could walk in any moment, you know,” she said, chiding.
“Your mouth--” he croaked.
“Oh?” she asked innocently. She raised the hem of his jumper and planted a kiss on his lower abdomen. His hips thrust dangerously, his cock slapping against her cheek. He gasped at the contact. “There?”
“No. Please.”
“Please what?”
“God, Hermione, you’re such a tease.” He hit his head against the wall in frustration. “Put you lips on my cock. God, now.”
Hermione’s lips were already on the head of his cock when she laughed, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure coursing through him.
“Yes, mmmm. Put your hand--”
The hand at the base of his cock moved and Hermione’s fingers moved to play with his foreskin, playing with the bit of tissue that was pulled away from the head. Her tongue wriggled into the slit of the head—so wet and so good and sensitive—and when Hermione hummed her approval, Remus began to shake, body quaking with pleasure so intense he couldn’t even scream. The shudders overwhelmed him as he came hard, too wrought with pleasure to think. He shot spurt after spurt into Hermione’s mouth, some of it dribbling down her lips and onto her fingers, and it was so messy, and she quite possibly was even more beautiful for it.
Hermione lifted her fingers to her mouth, swirling her tongue around her fingers. He pulled her to her feet and kissed her deeply and soundly
It was then that someone tried to push open the door to the loo and couldn’t with Remus’ back pressed against it. Hermione, to his surprise, was giggling as she zipped up her trousers. Remus tucked his spent cock back into his own trousers and licked a remaining smear of come from Hermione’s lips.
“All clean,” he said and they both laughed, as they exited the loo as they had entered, hand-in-hand, their fingers warm and damp, but now smelling of sex—and still so easy.
***
A few weeks later, Hermione and Remus were eating Chinese again, celebrating the passage of the EEOA. Hermione had—yet again—stolen his fortune cookie.
“Hey!” he said, sounding petulant even to his own ears.
Hermione smirked and ignored him, unwrapping the cookie. She cracked it open and pulled the paper out with a flourish.
She grinned upon reading it, dissolving into giggles.
With a sigh, Remus held out his hand, wondering why his fortune was always the one being mocked by his girlfriend.
When he read the cookie, however, he couldn’t help to laugh, too. It read: “In order to find true love, sometimes you have to get your hands dirty.”