Disclaimer: I wish I owned Harry, especially the Harry in this particular fic. Though this isn't quite abnormal of me, as I seem to want to own every smut Harry, because smut Harry rises…ehem…to every challenge. But unfortunately, I don't own him, or anything whatsoever; this is quite true in all aspects of my life. And I'm not making any money off of this either, which is also quite unfortunate. Oh well, at least we all get some smut!
Authors Note: For all intents and purposes, I wrote this in one sitting, although I sat down to start writing it at least three times, I kept getting IMed by 20 billion people, therefore I managed to do nothing for two of those times. This has led me to a very important conclusion: never start writing fic whilst online when logged on to AIM.
So why exactly did I write this when I have another update pending? Well, I was in the middle of writing the latest chapter of The Draught of Living Death, when I kept getting annoyed by these two randy kids who just wanted to stop all the angst and shag already! But I'm not ready to stop all the angst! So I figured I'd give them an outlet to release the tension.
Ok, now I'll shut up and just say I'd like to thank Linz for appearing out of nowhere like an angel of intervention at the exact moment when I needed a beta the most. You aren't stalking me again, are you Linz?
Hope y'all enjoy it!
*~*~*~*~*
Work Ethics
*~*~*~*~*
"She really let you do that mate?" Ron asked, absolutely bewildered.
"Yup," Harry answered simply.
"And she-?"
"Uh huh."
"And you two really-?"
"Indeed," Harry said, a very smug look on his face.
"Blimey." Ron raised his eyebrows. "Naughty, that one is. Naughty naughty naughty…"
"Who's naughty?" Hermione asked as she entered the room without preamble.
Harry smiled. He really should be doing his work; the report on the reconnaissance he and Remus had been assigned to was due in oh…an hour or so. Yet he had hardly written a word when Ron arrived, looking disheveled but completely exhilarated having pulled an all nighter at St. Mungo's. How Ron had ever become a Healer - above all things - was something that still kept Harry up at night.
"You're naughty," Harry said. He stood up from behind his desk and walked over to Hermione, giving her a light peck on the lips. "I was just discussing last night's sexual escapades with Ron."
"Were you now?" Hermione asked indifferently. "Did you tell him about the-"
"Yes," Harry answered.
"And the-?"
"How could I ever leave that out?" he asked with a grin.
"And I bloody resent you for that!" Ron exclaimed with mock irritation. "She never did any of those things with me…"
"That is because you aren't as lovable as he is," Hermione said sweetly. To emphasize her point, she gazed longingly at Harry and pinched his cheek. In turn, Ron rolled his eyes.
"I could let you borrow her if you like," Harry said teasingly.
"Darling, how many times have I told you not to share me with your friends. It tires me so…" Hermione flipped her hair as she said this, looking for all the world like the most accomplished courtesan in the Western World.
"He is our best friend you know," Harry replied. "And its not like you haven't slept with him before…"
"And how I miss those days…hey!" Hermione squealed, for Harry had picked her up and thrown her over his shoulder. "Put me down!"
Most people believed that their friendship could never survive their melodramatic romantic entanglements. In fact, the veritable hexagon that was their friendship, extending to Ginny, Luna and Neville, was something that was quite a joke amongst close friends and family. In fact, Fred and George once suggested that perhaps they should really look into meeting new people…
Not that any of them would ever do such a preposterous thing. Harry firmly believed that all of the trials of the past had led everyone up to where they were, and that now everyone had finally found their place.
Harry obliged Hermione's command by unceremoniously dropping her down on his desk, and looking at her greedily. "I should hex you into oblivion, you wretched trollop," he said with a grin.
"I reckon I should go now," Ron said, eyeing his best friends suspiciously. "Which is quite all right with me as I have a very important appointment to get to…"
Hermione snickered. "Dr. Ron's appointment wouldn't by any chance be with an offbeat blonde we all know and love…?" She gave a Harry an appraising look, which Harry quite purposely ignored.
Ron cringed. "I'm not a Doctor."
"Yet you do prick people for a living, don't you?" Hermione continued, utter mischief written all over her face; Harry turned his face away to hide his grin.
Ron glowered. "What's up your arse today?"
"Thankfully, not you anymore…"
Harry couldn't contain his laughter anymore, and Hermione readily joined in.
"Ha ha ha. Go on, laugh at my expense," Ron said, though he too was hard-pressed to stop his grin. "See you at home?"
"I think I'll be late tonight," Harry said with a scowl.
"I'll be there," Hermione said, still laughing.
"Great," Ron said sarcastically.
"Shove it, trollface," Hermione replied.
"Hag."
"Love you."
"Love you more." With an overly dramatic bow and a wink, Ron left.
"So, how was the Hearing this morning?" Harry asked as he walked back behind his desk and tried to busy himself with sifting through papers. He honestly did not understand why they always chose his office to congregate at, thereby interrupting him. Why couldn't they go to Ron's, or Hermione's?
In fact, why did they have to bugger each other at all? They bloody lived together for Merlin's sake! They saw each other every morning, every evening; they were together on weekends, they went out together. Was four hours apart too much to ask?
As much as Harry hated to admit it to himself, it was. If these two didn't come running into his office every day, he didn't doubt he'd be loitering by Hermione's or Ron's. Perhaps old habits really were hard to break.
"Bloody murder," Hermione replied, kicking her heels off and casting her formal black robes aside. "You really need to stop catching bad guys Harry; gives me more work than I need."
"You're the one who decided to join the Wizengamot because of their prejudice when dealing with House Elves, even after the Aurors explicitly demanded you-"
"Don't remind me," Hermione said darkly.
"What time do you have to get back down there?" Harry asked her with a concerned tone.
"In a couple of minutes," Hermione replied, looking weary. "It would be nice if my fiancée would escort me down there…"
"You know very well that going down there gives me the creeps," Harry said looking genuinely alarmed. "Every time I go near that place, I always feel the anxiety I did the summer before fifth year-"
"I honestly cannot believe that the most powerful wizard in England is afraid of going down into a dungeon," Hermione said with a smile.
Harry looked defensive. "I'm also terribly frightened by Ron's morning hair."
"That I do not blame you for."
Harry grinned. "So…wanna get some food before you have to go back to work?" Harry asked. He got up from his seat at his desk, reconnaissance dossier in hand, ready to run off and read over everything while munching on fish and chips, when something about Hermione made him stop.
She was sprawled on his desk, looking rather smart in her short little skirt and blouse. Her legs were crossed, and she was playing with her hair teasingly, looking at him with that certain look on her face, which only meant…
"Hermione, we're at work," Harry said sternly.
"So?" She asked with exaggerated innocence.
"So, that means we must maintain a certain level of decency."
"Tell me, were you worried about decency when I-"
"Hermione…"
"Harry…" Hermione mimicked Harry's stern voice, though her face was the very manifestation of wickedness.
"I need to finish this, or Moody will eat my head for dinner."
"Which one? I sure hope he saves me the better one…" Hermione said with raised eyebrows.
"Hermione!"
"Harry!" Hermione smiled.
Harry sighed, "Woman, you exasperate me so…"
"'Tis my foremost purpose in life." She slowly unbuttoned the first four buttons of her blouse, and Harry stood there, completely enthralled by the sight of her lovely hands exposing inch after inch of creamy skin…but then he snapped out of his trance, and Hermione was suddenly stopped by his hand.
"Hermione, I'll not shag you at work. What if Tonks bursts in as she's known to do, and sees me sprawled on my desk with you riding me like a mad witch on a broomstick…"
"So, is that how you want it?" She asked, gently nibbling on a well-calculated finger.
Harry tried hard to keep himself from grinning, though he was fighting a losing battle. He remembered the first time he and Hermione had ever made love; what a different woman she had become since then. She was now so free of inhibitions, ready to challenge him, surprise him, take risks with him, bring him to new places…whatever happened to the demure, coy little thing that could barely say the word "sex" without blushing ten shades of scarlet?
"The answer is no."
Hermione pouted. "This is all your fault you know! I was preparing for the day's hearing, minding my own business, when suddenly Lucius Malfoy walks in. 'Twas his day for trial, and he goes on and on about the day that you captured him…do you remember what happened the night you captured him?"
"Of course. I came home, all tattered and weary, and you had a bath running and oh…OH!" Suddenly Harry's eyes widened, and Hermione nodded her head slowly.
"Lucky I'm a girl," Hermione said solemnly. "Or I would've made quite a spectacle of myself…"
"If I interrupted your hearings every time I fantasized about you during the day, we'd never work," Harry replied, though the severity in the tone of his voice was gone. Hermione knew she was breaking him…
"So you fantasize about me a lot then?" She asked, genuinely curious, thought still considering her mission.
"Do you even need to ask this?" Harry asked, sitting down and making himself comfortable on his chair. He suddenly abandoned thoughts of fish and chips, and found his own office to be a decidedly cozier place to pass the midday hour.
"Do you ever fantasize about having me…here?" Her eyes were bright, and somehow all the buttons of her blouse had come undone. How did that happen?
"I - uh - well…" Harry stammered over his answer. Every single one of his "work fantasies" involving Hermione, his office, and that wonderfully large desk of his seemed to flash before him uncontrollably.
"How do we do it?" Hermione asked eagerly. "On this desk I'm sitting on? Up against the wall? On that big, comfortable leather chair…"
Harry vaguely remembered something about having to turn in a report to someone about something work-related sometime within the next…when exactly was this due? What was due? To whom? What was this odd dossier thing sitting on his lap?
Godric's teeth he was doomed.
"Hermione, I know what you're trying to do," Harry said, small beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
"And is it working?" Hermione asked, grinning.
Why that little strumpet…
"No, it isn't," Harry said firmly. He had to maintain control of himself…he was completely ready to just throw off her advances…even if he had to fight himself the way he fought Lord Voldemort…
Hermione looked put out. "Oh fine! Be a git! Perhaps I should just go back down to the dungeons then…"
Harry sighed in relief. He might actually be able to turn in his - thing - on time!
"But before I leave," Hermione demanded modestly, "you must come, and give me a good bye kiss."
Harry sighed, a got up from his chair. Goodbye kiss. No problem. Just kiss her, and she'll leave. He was in control…of himself and the situation…right. Right…
Right?
Hermione inched herself closer to him, so that she sat on his desk with her legs on the sides. She grinned up at him, and opened her arms and legs to allow him entrance.
Harry sank into her happily, finding complete oblivion on her lips, in the way her tongue lazily worked against his, in the gentle way she nibbled on his lower lip, in the wonderful way her legs wrapped around him and pulled him closer…
Hermione stopped abruptly. "I really should get going," she said breathlessly. She was about to get up and find her robes, but she found it impossible to do so, as Harry was blocking her.
"Stay," he growled.
Hermione smiled triumphantly, and without another word, pulled him toward her.
Harry was broken. She had broken him. With that smile, with those lips, with those nimble little fingers…she had broken him. He was supposed to be the man in this relationship, the domineering figure, the one that had the upper hand. But all Hermione had to do was put her hand in the right place and by God he was gone…
He contemplated this as he helped her rip his robes off his own body, half of him giving in to the wonderful sensations that were assaulting him, half of him fighting with his other half. You are in control, it said. Take control you bloody ninny.
And take control he would.
But before he could gather enough wits about him to do so, Hermione shoved him back, so that he fell on the leather chair that he had been sitting on. "I'd like to try it here…" she purred, all the fake timidity she had used to win the game gone. A Hermione in control was a Hermione at her best.
Harry allowed himself to be controlled; he was buying his time, strategizing. He bloody led a war! Taking control of a witch would be no big deal…
But Hermione was no mere witch.
Hermione sat on Harry, straddling him deliciously, so that Harry felt every single little twitch in the place he needed to the most. And Hermione was not holding back; she was happy to oblige…
Hermione thrilled in taking off Harry's shirt. She loved it, and could not remember a time when she ever allowed Harry to take his own shirt off; that was her job. She loved running her hands over his hard chest, loved that exaggerated pelvic line that was more reminiscent of a Greek statue than an actual human being…There was no doubt about it; a shirtless Harry was a Harry at his best.
She was impatient; Harry could tell by the way she tore his shirt off - like a rabid banshee. Usually she took her time with such things, relishing in his body, as if she were finding a hidden treasure. But the true sign of her impatience was the way she practically disintegrated his belt…poor belt. He loved that belt; Remus had given it to him.
Dilly-dallying was not an option today. Under normal circumstances, Hermione loved the luscious torture of waiting until the last moment to get what you want…but she had been aroused the second she had thought of Harry during the Hearing, and it killed her to wait for a recess; and to keep from attacking Harry the second she reached his office she had to sit herself down on his desk and cross her legs tightly. Now she was itching to reach her goal. She was after all a goal-oriented human being, and this was definitely a goal she wanted to fulfill as quickly as possible.
In retaliation for destroying his belt, Harry went ahead and reciprocated by vanishing her knickers; thank Godric for wandless magic. Instead of being upset, as he thought she would be, she simply kissed him harder, and whispered, "Excellent," into his ear, which then resulted in ear lobe licking and nibbling, and desperate, grinding pelvises.
Although his pants weren't off, his fly was open, and he was completely exposed to the elements. A short skirted, knickerless Hermione did not hesitate in positioning herself, and descending on Harry in one swift, delectable move. She threw her head back in rapt pleasure, and Harry was suddenly grateful for Hermione's wantonness.
Hermione was in charge; she was in a prime position to be in control. She set the tempo, though Harry had his hands on her hips, and managed to position her every which way he wanted…
Harry could tell that Hermione was moving in for the kill; he never thought he'd seen those little hips move faster than he did that day, and thank Merlin for that. She was warm and wet…perfect, and Harry wondered if he might die trying to contain himself. But he had committed himself to the cause; if Hermione thought that a quick little shag was what she had come up here for, well, she was seriously mistaken…
Soon, it would be his turn.
Though enjoying Hermione's triumph wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He could feel that Hermione was about to finish; her inner walls were constricting around him delightfully, and he was quite worried that he wouldn't be able to fulfill his secret mission. Yet the more he thought of the situation, the more aroused he got; it was after all his fantasy.
He was at work, shagging Hermione, hearing her moan uncontrollably, seeing her clutch onto the sides of his chair frantically, watching the rise and fall of her sweat streaked breasts behind that cute little blue bra…they were still half clothed! It was scandalous, licentious…dirty. And he was loving it.
This is it, Hermione thought as she finished off. This is what I've been wanting…
When she came, she came loudly, so that everyone in the bloody ministry probably heard, though Harry was quite sure he had a silencio charm around his office.
Maybe not.
Hermione looked quite pleased with herself, completely oblivious to everything in that wonderful after feeling of an awesome orgasm. At least that was until she felt that she was still sitting on something quite stiff…
"No," Hermione whispered, half aghast and half elated at the prospect.
"Yes," Harry hissed into her ear, and suddenly taking the control he had so badly wanted to exert since the beginning, he lifted them off the chair and threw them against the wall, all the while staying inside her.
What followed was a maniacal Harry, thrusting as eagerly as Hermione had bucked. At first all that Hermione did was brace herself for the assault, stretching her hands against the wall in every direction, but soon enough she was pulling Harry harder against her, wanting a repeat of that wonderful orgasm.
"Enjoying yourself?" Harry asked between ragged breaths, trying to distract himself from that overwhelming urge to give in. He had to be strong; he had to maintain control.
Hermione moaned in reply, and suckled on Harry's scrumptious neck, which only made Harry's inner struggle more difficult.
To counter this, Harry decided that the best thing to do was to change positions. So with another magnificent display of strength, Harry pushed them off the wall, turned them around, and managed to place Hermione back on top of his desk, right where they had started. Harry was supremely happy that he had chosen to become an Auror, as all that hard training had made it possible for him to execute such strenuous acrobatics.
And of course there was stamina; stamina was important too.
Hermione didn't seem to care that she was sitting on some very important looking work papers; if Harry didn't seem at all bothered, why should she? After all, she was far too engaged in much more pleasurable things…
Harry climbed on top of Hermione, supporting himself with one hand on his desk, and the other hand grabbing Hermione's thigh, and continued to thrust into her wildly. He couldn't hold this off any longer. Hell, he was amazed he had lasted the first four seconds; he was way overdue.
Hermione was about done, all he had to do was maintain control and wait…wait…
Soon enough, Hermione began clutching at his arm painfully hard, which was always a sign that she was coming. Sure enough, he began to feel her inner walls tightening erratically, and he was quite relieved to finally be able to let himself go...
*~*~*~*~*
Tonks was always one to follow orders, no matter how mundane they were. Sometimes Moody asked her to run out and fetch him lunch, which, although a task way below her rank, was something she did not mind doing as she prided herself in being above such pettiness. So when Remus asked her to check on Harry's progress on the reconnaissance report, she was quite happy to oblige.
Poor Harry, she thought as she made her way to his office. She knew how he absolutely detested writing up reports. His love of the game was out on the field, catching the baddies and ridding the world of evil. The poor dear had probably been slaving away at his desk all day…
However, she was quite shocked at the sight that greeted her eyes when she burst into his office.
Harry was standing around with an untucked, unbuttoned shirt, presumably looking around for his belt, as he wasn't wearing one. His hair was untidier than usual, and his glasses were askew. Standing right next to him was a barefoot Hermione, whose hair was in a similar state of disarray. She was buttoning up the last couple of buttons of her blouse, and trying to tuck it in.
Robes were strewn about the floor, shoes…and the room was so hot, practically stifling. The air was quite fragrant, suggesting sweat…and sex.
Tonks might be a world-class detective, but it did not take a detective to figure out what had just happened here.
"Oh, I -um…sorry to interrupt," Tonks was quite abashed, and quickly turned around to leave.
"No, its all right…did you require anything?" Harry asked, looking as if nothing had just happened at all.
Tonks turned to look at Hermione, who was completely ignoring the conversation entirely; she was too busy trying to find her other heel. Tonks silently applauded her; in her position, she would've died of embarrassment.
"Remus wanted to know how far along you were on the report...but that's all right. I'll tell him you need more time."
Harry nodded, and returned to looking for his belt. Tonks stood there for a few more seconds, trying not to look too awkward and out of place, but resolved that that would never happened, and without excusing herself, left.
Done dressing herself, Hermione walked over to Harry, and pecked him on the lips. "Do you think she'll be all right?" she asked, concerned.
"She's a big girl," Harry said, wrapping his arms around her.
"I really should be getting on," Hermione whispered, not looking at all like she had the slightest inclination to leave Harry's arms.
"I think you should be getting on too," Harry replied, kissing her forehead. "But before you go…what did you do to my belt?"
Hermione smiled widely, and looked up at him innocently. "I'll tell you, when you tell me what you with my knickers."
Harry grinned like a lecherous fool. "See you later?"
"Prat."
"Slattern."
"Love you."
"Love you more."
With another quick kiss, Hermione left, and Harry was left by himself to continue his report. When he closed the door behind her, he sighed, and turned to look around his office.
How he was supposed to work, let alone concentrate in that office ever again was beyond him. Quite beyond…
*~*~*~*