wl_mods (wl_mods) wrote in wizard_love, @ 2011-03-08 01:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | *fic, 2011, george, hermione |
Special delivery for coonassblondie
Title: Impulsivity
Author/Artist:
Recipient's LJ name: coonassblondie
Pairing(s): George/Hermione, mentions of prior Ron/Hermione, and very, very slight Ron/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Summary As Hermione will find out, dating George Weasley is not like dating other men.
Word Count: 2014
Warnings/Content: PWP
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
Author's/Artist's notes: For coonassblondie whose request gave me the chance to revisit one of my favorite pairings; inspired by early 90’s song “Impulsive” by Wilson Philips. Thank you to M for betaing.
Dating was not something I necessarily ever liked doing, in fact I hadn’t done much of it over my 25 years of life. There’d been Ron, but that had only taught me that a relationship didn’t always go hand in hand with true dating. With Ron, we never really went out, and if we did it was always in a group. With Ron there’d been a lot of sex and sleepovers but not the romanticism I fantasized about as a young girl. At the time it’d seemed okay, the war had just ended and I wasn’t going to complain about not being wined and dined, not when I was so thankful to just be alive. But then that relationship ended, the friendship thankfully surviving and suddenly I wanted more; a nice restaurant, a bottle of champagne, and a few chocolate covered strawberries to cap off a pleasant evening. So while my story with Ron ended (and his one began with Harry, though that’s a story for another time and place – and he thinks I don’t know) another began with what I had thought to be the least likely of men.
It began as a lot of these things do, as a game between the two of us. It really wasn’t my fault that he was such a flirt, and I, never one to back down from a challenge, began flirting back just as good as he gave. It was perfectly innocent flirtation, but now, everything was different – and I wanted him, more than I’d ever desired anyone. I didn’t know the exact moment when it changed but I knew that George also realized that it wasn’t all fun and games any more.
We were at the Burrow and we were eating dinner, a very awkward, tense dinner. I was wound so tight from the sexual tension spreading through the room that Harry was looking at me oddly, eye brows raised. I couldn’t sit still and I was just pushing the food around my plate, my eyes roaming over to George every once and awhile. Sometimes I would have sworn that I saw his own eyes on me too, but he was always too fast for me to really catch him staring.
I was feeling hot and somewhat clumsy, my body tingling with sexual desire – the area between my legs was throbbing. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and bit down just until the point of bleeding in an attempt to distract my self, to say the least it didn’t work. I knew it didn’t work when for the hundredth time that night I let my eyes stray over to one particular red head; this time I did catch him looking at me first, and didn’t look away. He held my gaze for several long moments and then winked flirtatiously, the gesture making me drop my fork back to my plate with a clatter.
“Are you alright dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked, looking concerned.
I swallowed, keeping my eyes forcefully off of George. “I’m fine Mrs. Weasley, really, I’ll just be right back.” I stood and hurried away from the table, knowing that my actions looked unusual.
I walked into the loo as quickly as possible without running and closed the door behind me. I’d never felt this way before, had never wanted anyone so bad that I couldn’t function properly, and I didn’t know what to do with myself because of it. I leaned my head back against the cool tile and closed my eyes, feeling ultra aware of my body.
While I was trying to control the mad thudding of my heart and felt, more than heard, shifting beyond the door. The squeaking door handle turned and someone stepped into the loo with me; I knew who it was and I didn’t bother opening my eyes, I could tell from my body’s reaction that it was George.
I felt the air move as he stepped closer to me and I think I might have whimpered as his body came within inches of mine. He moved closer to me and the air sparked with sexual electricity; I felt his breath ghost against my ear and I shivered, my hands reaching out and my fingers curling around the material of his t-shirt.
“I love the way you want me,” he whispered, then he really was pressing against me, every muscular, hard, length of him against my body.
I gasped his name and arched against him like a cat in heat, no hope of putting my hormones to a stop. He touched me slowly, teasingly, hands ghosting over my breasts, down my tummy; he was kissing my neck, the very tip of his tongue running in and out of the dips of my collarbone. He pulled my scoop neck shirt further down, revealing the tops of my breasts and the edge of my bra. I moaned as his hands kneaded my thighs, lifting one trembling leg to hook around his hip.
My loud moan seemed to spur him on, making him drop the teasing façade. With a determined look on his handsome, freckled face, he ripped the shirt away from my chest, leaving the garment in tatters. His hands kneaded my lace and cotton covered breasts for a moment, tugging and manipulating before he pulled my bra up, letting my breasts bounce free. His hot hands covered them again, fingers pinching and stroking my nipples until I moaned, my head falling back against his shoulder.
“Yes, that’s it,” he breathed into my ear, fingers ghosting down to the top of my jeans.
I watched him as he worked my body like it was an instrument. He undid the button and the zipper, pulling my trousers down with quick, clean movement. Breathing heavily and my panties soaked through, I put my weight on the counter, my palms flat against the tile. I stepped out of the jeans and George kicked them aside. He caressed my legs, up my calves and to my thighs. He removed my panties next, and two of his fingers filled me quickly, testing my wetness. His fingers turned and thrust, finding that spot in me that made me want to scream. I only whimpered instead.
Then his fingers were gone. I heard his zipper and the rustle of thick denim sliding down his legs. More heat pooled in my belly, my lust for him reaching new heights as he stripped behind me.
He pressed up against me, skin to skin and I gasped, biting my lip hard when his erection pressed against the soft skin of my arse. I was so far gone I’d have let him do anything to me in that moment.
“Please,” I begged, grinding back against him.
“Please what?” His voice had turned husky and deep and I could feel his dick pulsing with the beat of his heart against me.
He spread me and his fingers found my clit, rubbing hard until I sobbed.
“In me, please in me, need it,” I uttered, bordering on nonsensical.
He was poised at my entrance when I felt his hand on my back, and he pushed me lower until my breasts were pressed tightly to the counter top. I had to stretch up on my tip-toes, my arse high in the air, to keep standing. My fingers gripped the counter, my nails becoming embedded in the grout lines, and with his own fingers digging into my hips, he pushed into me slowly. I mewled as he stretched me, gasping as he worked the full length into me with shallow thrusts.
My mouth hung open as he fucked me, making intelligible sounds from my throat as he began to pound into me, the slightly burning, stretching pain giving away to pleasure. I felt his hand in my hair, sweeping it away from my neck so that his lips could kiss there.
I was getting close to orgasm when he pulled out of me suddenly, leaving me feeling empty. I protested the loss until he moved me, hands grasping my tits roughly as he turned me and backed us up against a wall. He lifted me, my arms wrapped around his neck as my legs wrapped around his narrow waist. Then he was moving inside me again, his hands supporting my arse.
My eyes were clenched shut, every feeling in my body intensely focused on the sensation of him thrusting, when he spoke, lips pressed close to my ear. “I wanna watch you come, touch yourself for me.”
With my hand shaking, my fingers found my wet clit and I began to stroke myself, feeling his slippery wet cock just below that. My eyes fluttered open to find him watching me, his bottom lip held tightly by his teeth in concentration. My eyes rolled back in my head, my body arched, and my toes curled as I came, spasming around his cock, his name falling from my lips in a shaky breath. It was then, finally, when he kissed me, his mouth slanting over mine again and again. I whimpered as the pace of his thrusts suddenly increased, his arm braced against the wall so that my back wouldn’t make a slap, slap sound against the wall papered loo. I held on for dear life, nails biting into his shoulders as he shagged me like I’d never been shagged before. With a few more deep, hard thrusts he came, pulsing and spilling inside me.
We were breathing hard and I couldn’t quite grasp what he had just done in the Burrow’s one and only loo. My back was against the wall again now, both of George’s arms supporting me, I could tell that his muscles were straining to keep me in his arms, but that he didn’t seem to want to let me go.
He placed open mouthed kissed along my left shoulder up to my neck, eventually reaching my ear and tracing the shell of it with his tongue. I shuddered.
“So,” he began, voice husky and deep, “you wanna go out with me sometime?”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. We had just had the most animalistic sex of my life, in fact he was still buried half hard inside me, and he was asking me out for a date. It seemed surreal. Like we had done things backwards and I was looking at the world from the wrong side up.
George nipped playfully at my neck. “Is that a yes then, silly girl?”
“Yes, definitely.”
Finally he put me down, sweeping frizzy, out-of-control hair away from my face and kissing my forehead.
I had known George Weasley for 13 years; we’d been through a war for Merlin’s sake, and suddenly I didn’t know what to say, not something very usual for me. We had had sex (crazy good sex actually) in Molly and Arthur’s loo and I had no idea what to do.
I cleared my throat, reaching for my wand and performing a cleaning charm on the both of us before pulling on my kickers. “What can I expect on this date?” I asked, honestly curious.
George grinned, white teeth flashing. “Well, I was thinking about a nice dinner in Paris, followed by a romantic broomstick ride around the city, and then when we’re back home a little privacy so that I could see how loud I can make you scream my name.”
I shivered, gasping when his fingers caressed my sensitive nipple, still dampish from where he’d suckled me.
“How does that sound?” George leaned in and gave me a chaste kiss considering what we’d just done.
“Good,” I uttered, “really good. Except you know I’ve never been very fond of flying….”
George bit hit lower lip, feigning deep concentration. He reached and arm around me and pulled me to him. “Oh, I think I could make you change your mind about flying.”
I stepped away from him to finish dressing and when I turned back he was staring at me, waiting for an answer. “Well?” he asked.
I smiled widely at him. “It’s a date.”