Waiting For Us

Bingblot

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 29/07/2005
Last Updated: 29/07/2005
Status: completed

Harry and Hermione find what they've been waiting for all along... One-shot SWS.

Chapters

1. Waiting For Us

1. Waiting For Us

Disclaimer: HP still belongs to JKR (even if I don’t think she deserves it anymore) and I’m not making any money from this, etc etc.

Author’s Note: Because there’s no better way to get over HBP and JKR proving she’s really a mediocre writer after all than H/Hr fluffy smut. J One-shot SWS.

For oh_honestleigh.

Waiting for Us

“Well, happy birthday, Hermione.”

Hermione gave her best friend of 12 years a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Harry. I’m sorry I haven’t been much fun lately.”

He shrugged dismissively. “I always like spending time with you.” He paused and then added, frowning darkly, “I just wish you’d let me, if not outright kill the bastard, at least beat him to a bloody pulp. Nobody hurts you and gets away with it.”

Hermione sighed a little, even as she smiled involuntarily at the affection and loyalty implicit in his threat. Harry had been saying something similar for three days now since he’d come home to their flat which they shared with Ron to find her crying because Steven, her boyfriend of just over a year, had broken up with her. She supposed it had been building for a while but it had still hurt a lot and she couldn’t help the feeling of failure she always got at break-ups. Thank God for Harry who had held her while she cried and murmured soothing things as he rubbed her back and just let her cry. And every day since then he’d been more than usually sweet, making her tea without her asking and trying to keep her mind busy so she wouldn’t have time to think and become depressed again. He’d put off all other commitments outside of work to spend time with her, and even managed to make her laugh with his various threats against Steven of increasing creativity.

She’d been nearly back to her usual self but today, her 24th birthday, had been hard. It was a Tuesday so she’d told everyone weeks ago to save the large celebrations until the following weekend (especially as Ron wouldn’t be back until then), only planned to have a nice dinner with Steven—except he’d broken up with her four days ago—a fact that had Harry swearing at Steven more than he otherwise might have; “bloody sodding prick who just had to wait until right before your birthday to drop you” being about the tamest of Harry’s words.

Ron was away with the Chudley Cannons for a week of intense training so it was just her and Harry. She had had a long, tiring day at work and so they’d simply gotten take-away which they’d eaten while watching the telly and were now lying back side-by-side on the couch.

They were both silent, relaxed and comfortable, for a while until she broke the silence by asking abruptly, “Harry, why have we never dated?”

He choked on air, turning his head to stare at her. “Why have we never—what?”

“Why have we never dated—for real, you know, the two of us going out to dinner and a movie or something. We’ve never even snogged. Why is that?” Harry was still staring at her as if he couldn’t believe he was hearing this so she continued, speaking slowly, thoughtfully, finally voicing something that had been bothering her. “Steven was jealous of you, you know. He said that- that I seemed to be emotionally incapable of really opening up or that I just refused to try. That he never got the feeling he was the most important person to me or that he was the person I relied on most…”

An odd, arrested expression crossed Harry’s face. “Amy said about the same thing when we broke up,” he said slowly, referring to Amy Levenwell, his last serious girlfriend, with whom he’d broken up a few months ago.

She nodded, somehow not surprised to hear this. Harry- jealousy of Harry (oddly, it was never jealousy of Ron)- seemed to be a recurring theme in all her break-ups—even going all the way back to Viktor Krum in her 4th year. “How many times have we had to explain to people that we’re only friends?”

Harry made a wry face. “We’ve insisted until we’re blue in the face. If I had a Sickle for every time, I could retire a rich man.”

“Everyone seems so certain that there must be something more between us. I was just wondering why nothing more ever did happen. It’s not a lack of opportunity or that we don’t like each other or think the other person is ugly…”

He smiled slightly at that. “You finally believe me after all these years of saying you look great before every time you’ve gone out?”

She smiled too. “And you believe Witch Weekly after all these years of listing you as the Most Eligible and Best-Looking Bachelor of the Wizarding World?”

He made a face of mock annoyance. “How much longer are you and Ron going to rag me about that?”

She grinned. “Oh, it’ll take at least another 10 years, I think, especially since you make their list every year.”

He gave a beleagured sigh and they both laughed.

She sobered and repeated her question. “So why is it that nothing’s ever happened between us?”

He sobered too, fixing his gaze absently on a framed picture of the trio on the opposite wall as he thought.

“I think,” he finally began, slowly, “it was because I didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship.”

“Ron and I went out and we were still best friends even after we decided to end things.”

“But that was also in 7th year when everything was so intense and so chaotic. You barely had time to feel any awkwardness; you were so busy helping me to find and destroy the Horcruxes.”

“Yes, but you and Ginny are still friends, as are you and Hannah.”

“But it took me and Ginny about six months to get over feeling uncomfortable when we broke up for good after those few months after the battle,” he pointed out, referring to the final confrontation with Voldemort that was always just called ‘the battle’ though it hadn’t been the only battle that last year. “And me and Hannah—we were never serious enough really, we were always just friends.” He paused, then continued on, more slowly as if just thinking out-loud. “You- you’re different. You’ve never not been my best friend. Ron and I at least went through that period in 4th year when we didn’t talk but you’ve always been there. I- I don’t think I’d know—what to do, how to function, without you as my best friend. And I just couldn’t risk that- if we ever got together and then broke up. I- I need you as my best friend more than anything else and I just couldn’t risk losing that.”

“Harry,” she finally said softly, as his head turned back to face her again, “somehow though, I think—I know—that we wouldn’t have ended.” She finished on a surprised note, not quite believing what she had just realized or what she’d just said.

“How- how can you be so sure?” he faltered.

She smiled slightly. “Harry, it’s you and me—it’s us—how could we be less than forever?”

Her words seemed to hang in the silence between them as they stared at each other, uncertainty, wonder, some amazement, and finally growing acceptance crossing both of their faces.

It’s us—how could we be less than forever?

We can’t…

And somehow they both had a sense of closure, of inevitability, as if, unconsciously, they’d always been waiting for this realization, this knowledge, this feeling—that maybe, just maybe, they’d always been meant to be…

Finally, slowly, Harry lifted one hand—trembling ever so slightly—to touch her cheek, the lightest of touches, his fingertips just brushing her skin.

He held his breath. She didn’t move, just felt the heat from where his fingertips brushed her cheek and wondered at how—different—how good—this one touch, that hardly even counted as a caress, felt. After all these years of friendship, something- somehow- had changed… They’d hugged innumerable times, kissed each other on the cheek or the forehead, even held hands a few times. She’d never felt anything other than simple, comfortable friendship—until now when this lightest, most simple of touches, somehow made her flush, her skin heating, tingles of unmistakable, undeniable desire radiating outwards from where his fingers brushed her skin.

She just had time to wonder at this when slowly—very slowly—uncertainly—very uncertainly—his eyes asking a silent question, he moved his hand to cup the back of her neck bringing her face closer as he leaned forward.

Three inches separated their lips… two inches… one inch…

Her eyes closed. His did too.

She held her breath. Her lips parted ever so slightly.

In that last moment before his lips touched hers, she suddenly knew that this was it. This was the real thing, the real love, she’d been waiting for—the real, true, last love of her life. This would change everything.

His lips touched hers and he kissed her. He kissed her lightly, gently, at first. Then her lips parted more as she responded, her hands moving to tangle in his hair, and the kiss changed, deepened, the mood shifting from hesitant, wondering discovery to something deeper, more intense, passion flaring.

She made a sound deep in her throat, pulling him closer to her, feeling herself falling backwards until she was lying on her back on the couch with him on top of her.

They finally broke apart to stare at each other, wide-eyed, both flushed and breathing hard.

“I-”he began, then stopped not knowing what he had been going to say.

She shook her head. “I know,” she said, not quite sure what she knew but somehow certain that they were thinking the same thing.

OhmyGodI’vejustkissedHarryandhe’slyingontopofmeandthisisgoingtogosomuchbeyondkissingandohmyGod…

And for the first time in her memory, she deliberately stopped herself from over-analyzing or worrying about what might happen. At that moment, she didn’t care; she just knew she wanted this, wanted more—and maybe it was long past time for this to happen.

She brought his head back down to hers, kissing him again. There was no need for words, no need to talk. Talking wasted lips that were best used for other things- like kissing, like tasting…

He moved his hand to her side, allowing two fingers to slide under her shirt, pausing- to allow her to stop him. She didn’t and he continued on, his hand sliding up her stomach in a slow caress until he cupped her breast. Cupped it, squeezed it gently, his palm pressing against her hardened nipple…

She gasped and arched into his hands, her own hands moving to wander restlessly over his back and down to his butt, making his hips jerk, his arousal grinding against her.

She had a fleeting moment of amazed clarity that she was the reason for his arousal—that she was feeling that part of him hard against her thigh. How—what—how did this happen so suddenly…

And then he moved his hand, as his lips left hers to leave a wet trail down her chin and neck, pausing to lick and suck at a sensitive spot and she thought how- right- that he who knew her so well seemed to know just where to touch her too. His hand had been busy unbuttoning her blouse and undoing the clasp of her bra until his mouth closed on her nipple and she cried out, her hands leaving off their caresses of his back to tangle once again in his hair, holding him to her.

He sucked and then she felt his tongue dart out to lick her nipple and then—dear God—he nibbled, lightly, but those were definitely his teeth she felt and dear Lord, how was it possible to be this aroused…

Her hands slid under his shirt to caress his stomach, his back and she felt the shudder that went through him.

Their clothes were an unnecessary, unbearable barrier; she wanted to feel his skin against hers, wanted to feel every inch of him, get to know every inch of his body…

They broke apart quickly to strip off their remaining clothes and he took off his glasses, dropping them blindly on the floor along with the rest of his clothes and then they came together again, hands grasping, touching, caressing greedily.

He made his way down her body, dropping kisses on her breast, her stomach, his tongue darting into her navel making her squirm and then gasp, until they reached the center of her and she only had time to suck in her breath sharply, surprise momentarily breaking through the fog of arousal in her mind, before his mouth was on her.

Dear Lord…

She hadn’t thought- hadn’t expected—because somehow she knew he didn’t go down on anyone on their first time. She didn’t know how she knew this—they’d certainly never talked about it and she’d never thought about it—but she was somehow certain that he wouldn’t, it’d be too intimate an act for the first time—but not with her. She felt the same. But not now, not when it was Harry, Harry whose mouth was on her like this. Because this was different… There was no awkwardness, no shyness, no inhibitions, no uncertainty as to how to touch the other or what was okay and what not; there was only them—and somehow they just knew.

So he licked; she moaned, her eyes closing, her head falling back. He sucked, his lips and tongue working magic; she screamed, the world exploding around her, sparks going off in her peripheral vision.

She’d only just stopped seeing stars, was slowly regaining her sense of time and place, when he moved back up, kissing her deeply so she could taste herself in his mouth—an oddly arousing thing.

She slid her hands down his body to grasp him in her hands and his eyes closed on a groan, his hips thrusting automatically. Her fingers touched, stroked, learned this part of his body that she’d never thought of before. He was longer than she might have expected—and as hard as a rock.

He let out another groan and then his hand gripped hers, stopping her exploration, his eyes opening to burn into hers, asking, seeking, finding…

A muscle worked in his cheek as he guided himself into her and then he was inside her, completely buried.

His body joined with hers as if they were made for each other—hadn’t they been? His body merged with hers as if they were half of the same whole. His body filled hers as if she were empty and waiting for him alone—and maybe, just maybe, she had been. Waiting. For him, for this…

He kissed her again, his tongue thrusting into her mouth in deliberate imitation of his hips thrusting into her body—and any thoughts of destiny or any deeper feeling vanished from her mind like a puff of smoke, leaving only lust, pure and simple and hot.

She met his thrusts with her own, welcoming him, her legs wrapping around his, feeling the tension building, building, building inside her.

He moved one hand to touch the spot where they were joined—and the tension exploded inside her and she screamed, the sound swallowed by his mouth, her body convulsing around his.

Above her, his hips thrust one last time and he spilled himself inside her with a sound that was part-shout, part-moan and part-cry, a sound in which her name, “Hermione”, was just barely distinguishable.

He collapsed on top of her and she wrapped her arms around him, feeling reality begin to return, nudging aside the euphoria of her own orgasm.

She could feel the beginnings of exhaustion from the intensity of the past minutes—hours?—overtake her and she closed her eyes, succumbing to it, feeling Harry shift position slightly so they were spooned together side-by-side.

And thought, in that last moment before she drifted to sleep, if she had known how incredible it would be, she should have kissed Harry, shagged Harry, a long, long time ago…

She awoke slowly to find his hands wandering idly over her breasts and stomach and sides and smiled, her hands capturing his, lacing her fingers with his.

She felt him kiss her neck softly and shifted her head to allow him better access, making a soft sound of pleasure deep in her throat.

She felt him smile against her skin. “You purr, did you know that?” he asked softly. “I never expected that- that Hermione Granger, bookworm, would purr like that.”

She felt herself blush—and allowed herself another fleeting moment of surprise that she was with Harry, like this, naked—and it only felt right.

She sighed a sigh of completion, of fulfillment, of happiness. “I think,” she said quietly, “all those people were right about us. Steven was right; he wasn’t the most important person to me or the person I depended on. How could he be—when I had you? How could I really give everything of myself to anyone else—when the best part of me has always been yours?”

His arms tightened around her, his lips brushing her skin again in a silent acknowledgement of her words.

“Maybe,” she continued softly, “all these other relationships were just—to pass the time. Because, somehow, we knew—if we ever happened, it would be forever—and we were waiting for that, waiting for us.”

“I think you’re right.” She could hear his smile in his voice as he said those words he’d said to her so many times before but never about something like this, never about something so personal… And though neither of them said it, she knew they were both thinking of her words from earlier, her words that had really started all this, her words that they both knew, somehow, deep in their hearts, were true…

It’s you and me—it’s us—how could we be less than forever?

The End