wanking_mods (wanking_mods) wrote in hp_wankfest, @ 2011-05-04 12:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2011 fic |
Fic: Ron Weasley in a Magical Tent with Knickers
Title: Scent of a Woman
Author: mugglemama
Character: Ron Weasley
Location: tent, magical
Prop: knickers (used)
Other Characters: Hermione Granger
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Pervy knicker-sniffing teenage boy
Word Count: 1,700
Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly.
Author's Notes: Thanks to luvscharlie for her speedy and excellent beta (and for inspiring me to join in the wanking this year)!
Ron Weasley wasn't sure what would kill him first – the suffocating silence or his aching cock. As if to vote on the matter, his prick gave a hard throb against the zip of his jeans.
Damn Harry, Ron grumbled in his head. I know he's doing this on purpose – leaving us alone every night, so we can 'talk.' However, watching Hermione sit on the floor of the tent polishing the Sword of Gryffindor was giving Ron very different ideas.
Talking's the last thing I want that swotty mouth of hers to be doing. Up, down, up, down. Fast, slow. Fucking hell, wish she'd polish my sword like that.
Ron choked down an involuntary chuckle at his own bad joke, causing Hermione to glance his way before quickly averting her eyes.
"Sorry," he mumbled, squirming slightly in his seat in an effort to adjust his uncomfortable erection.
Hermione simply shook her head, mumbling something incoherent, and bent over to continue her work on the sword. Ron could have sworn he saw a faint smile cross her flushed face before she hid behind her thick curtain of hair.
Ron tried to concentrate on the research he'd offered to help with – he really did – but his mind could not stay focused on the book in front of him. It kept straying to the girl kneeling on the floor, and her unintentionally suggestive movements.
He wasn't sure if it was the repetitive motions of her nimble hands, or the care she was giving the weapon he'd used to destroy his worst nightmare – or even the simple fact he hadn't had the privacy for a good wank in several days – that had him seconds away from throwing aside the dusty old tome in his lap and tossing Hermione to the ground, burying himself deep inside her.
Stealing a peek to make certain Hermione wasn't looking, Ron reached down and adjusted his jeans in an effort to create some breathing room for his swollen prick. A throaty moan filled the tent. Shit, was that me?
Hermione suddenly gave a small 'yelp' and dropped the sword with a loud clatter. As she rushed by him towards her bunk, Ron jumped up to follow.
"Hermione, are you all right? Did the blade cut you?"
"N-no, I'm fine," she replied, bending over her cot to gather her dressing gown and pyjamas. Her voice somewhat deeper than usual, almost husky.
"You sure?" Her flushed skin and shaky hands made it difficult for him to believe her.
"Yep." She turned abruptly, almost smacking into him as he hovered near her bed. "J-just didn't realise the time – want to wash up and get some rest before my turn at watch." She quickly brushed past him and scurried into the loo at the back of the magical tent.
Ron sank down onto Hermione's neatly made bed with a gut-wrenching groan as his mind raced:
Hermione.
In the loo.
Washing up.
Would she take a bath? Ron imagined her leaning back in the deep tub, damp curls around her face as steam rose from the bathwater, her breasts floating in the water, only her nipples breaking the surface. Would they be pale? Or maybe a dark pink? He knew whatever they looked like, they'd be delicious.
Perhaps she would be standing up, taking the shower head out of the holder, the water making her hair wet and heavy. The suds from her shampoo running down her back, over her lush arse, trickling into her crevice before trailing down her lean legs.
Oh fuck! What am I doing? Ron was reaching for the strained zip of his jeans as his mind wandered to the image of Hermione rubbing a flannel between her legs, when he suddenly realised what he was about to do.
Can't toss one off on Hermione's bed like that, you bloody idiot!
With a great deal of effort, Ron made his way back to his spot on the sofa. Just have to wait until she's asleep and sneak into the loo, or maybe stay in my bunk and dig out the manky old sock from the bottom of my rucksack. Ron usually got himself off in record time when he dared to wank with Hermione asleep across the tent. The little sounds she made in her sleep went straight to his cock and made for an orgasm like no other.
As the door to the loo opened, Ron quickly laid his abandoned book across his lap, hoping Hermione wouldn't notice the bulge in his jeans. The Hermione who emerged from the loo was not the same one who'd dashed off moments ago. Her face was still flushed with colour but it was accompanied by a relaxed smile. She walked languidly across the room, such a contrast to her usual bundle of barely-controlled energy.
She slowly approached Ron, never breaking eye contact. Placing her hand gently on his shoulder – her first non-violent physical contact with him since his return – she whispered, "Good night, Ron." She leaned forward as she spoke and lifted the book out of his lap, the hard binding scraping against his even harder cock.
"Do you mind if I borrow this?"
Ron simply shook his head, his brain too addled to remember how to talk. There was no way Hermione could have missed what he was hiding under that book.
Clutching the book to her chest, Hermione continued toward her bunk. She looked over her shoulder and offered a small smile. "Sweet dreams, Ron."
Hermione had no sooner pulled the curtains closed around her bunk and Ron was off the sofa and heading into the loo.
Fuck waiting until she's asleep. Damn minx. She has to know what she's doing to me. She can't be that naive.
Ron whipped his wand out of his pocket and sealed the bathroom door. The faint odour of the soap Hermione used fused with the steam circling the room; Ron ripped his shirt off to let it wash over his skin. He released the button of his jeans and had just pulled down the zip when he noticed a small scrap of black fabric on the floor.
He scooped it up, and upon closer examination, he realised the satin and lace concoction he held in his hand was Hermione's knickers.
Buggering fuck!
Ron had never imagined Hermione wearing such provocative undergarments. Ron had always imagined Hermione's knickers – and yes, he'd spent a lot of time imaging Hermione both in and out of her knickers – to be somewhat plain (though still undeniably sexy to him).
He sure as hell hadn't been expecting her to be hiding such flimsy knickers under her robes all these years.
His slender finger traced the lace edging, picturing it wrapped around her legs, coming up high to frame the 'V' between them. His hand ran over the satin, thinking the skin it usually covered must be just as soft.
Turning the knickers over, he noticed the cotton lining covered with a damp creamy substance, a stark contrast to the black of the fabric. With shaky hands Ron brought the garment up to his face. He had never touched a woman's fanny and he was anxious to know what it smelled like – what Hermione smelled like.
Despite feeling dirty and slightly ashamed, Ron let his long nose take a deep sniff. Powdery, musky. Yet, clean... natural. Hermione. He ached to flick his tongue out, to suck her essence off the scrap clutched in his hand. He held himself back, knowing just one taste would never be enough. He'd quickly become addicted and there was no knowing if he'd ever have the chance to experience it again.
Ron's cock lay hard and weeping against his taut stomach, aching for relief. Quickly shoving his jeans and pants to his ankles, Ron wrapped his hand around his shaft and stroked slowly from root to tip. Looking at Hermione's knickers still clutched in his other hand, he reached under and let the soft fabric run across his full bollocks.
After several, increasingly firmer passes, he put his cock into the lace leg hole and wrapped it tightly around the base of his prick. He watched with fascination as he grew even harder, the throbbing almost painful. Taking the excess satin in hand he held it to the underside of his cock, groaning at the silky glide.
Eventually loosening the grip of the knickers around his base, he moved the creamy crotch over the tip of his prick. "Fuck, yeah," Ron cried as he felt the dampness rub against his sensitive bell end. He smeared his leaking cock over the evidence of Hermione's arousal and sped up his strokes.
Ron imagined what it would be like to be buried deep inside Hermione; he knew the walls of her fanny would grip him as tight as his own fist and would be even softer than the fabric of her knickers. He thought about her essence – not just on the cotton crotch of her discarded knickers – but surrounding him, mixing with his own as he filled her.
The scent and feel of her knickers, along with the images he conjured, caused Ron to release a shout of ecstasy. He threw his head back, moaning Hermione's name as he came – using her knickers to catch his load.
Taking several deep breaths, Ron managed to pull himself together. Dressing and cleaning himself, he pondered what he should do with Hermione's spunk-covered knickers.
Could just clean 'em and leave them here. 'Course I'm pants at cleaning spells, and jizz usually leaves things a bit manky... Maybe I should just keep them – hide the evidence and all that. She's bound to have plenty of knickers, doubt she'd miss one pair.
Having decided to stash the knickers inside the sock at the bottom of his rucksack (after all, they could come in handy again), Ron caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His face was flushed and he wore a very relaxed, satisfied smile – just like the one Hermione had worn when she exited the loo earlier.
There's no way Hermione was in here getting herself off... is there?
Oh fuck, now I'm hard again...