Stay

Jacquin

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 29/06/2003
Last Updated: 29/06/2003
Status: in_progress

"How long can you stay?" he asks from the bed.

Chapters

1. Stay

1. Stay

Stay

A/N - A random smuttish bunny type thing that struck, a bit fluffier than what it was supposed to be, though. Review, if you read, please.

*

"How long can you stay?" he asks from the bed, lying on his stomach.

She laughs. "Well, considering I'm trying," she swats his hand away and smiles bemusedly at him, "to get dressed; not much longer." She does the final clip on her bra, and turns back to face him. In a slow moment, she has made her way to be down on her knees, and pulling his face softly towards her. A kiss, gentle. "And besides, this is my room," she flashes a cheeky grin. "So if anyone is going to be leaving..." she trails off, winks, and jumps back on her feet, attempting to find more of her clothes from the mess surrounding them. She turns around, swinging her hips slightly in his direction as she does, and no sooner finds herself flung back down on the bed, with his weight resting on top of her.

"Tease," a murmur, green eyes playful.

And then finds his mouth back on hers.

The only cloth between them is what is left of her misguided attempt to redress: a bra, and some sedate panties. He is just bare skin.

Hands wander idly for the first few seconds; the kisses are slow, relaxed, gentle; like a lazy Sunday. Then the kisses grow fierce, possessive; hands no longer gentle, but grabbing and clenching and grazing across skin. His hands are on her back, fingers tickling the small of her back before moving up and somehow unhooking her bra in fluid motion. His mouth leaves hers, and he is kissing her neck, her collarbone...

"Whatever happened to the nice, innocent boy who has been my best friend for the last seven years?" she asks, voice amused but distinctly hitched, breathless. Her hands are clasping his shoulders.

His lips leave her skin, and then his green eyes bore down into her brown as he adjusts himself over her.

"I guess that boy," a kiss, a grind of hips, "just found the woman he loved," his voice slow and tender, and then his lips pressed against hers quickly before they shower her face, soft and gentle.

"I guess so," she chokes, and she expects to have to will tears back, but there are none, just a sweet smile on her lips, blush on cheeks. He smiles at her, kisses said pink cheek, as he makes his way down again, innocently, boyishly; betrayed by his hands, as they slip off her panties. Her hands bury themselves in his hair, black, rich, full in her fingers.

Her nipples are already hard when he reaches them, but he still lets his fingers brush across them in something mixed between wonderment and desire. Her laugh is low, hollow; at the look on his face, but the laugh disappears as quickly as it came when his lips descend, latch, to her breast. He nips and sucks and licks, and she withers and moans at his touch. His hand works the other breast gently, cupping the full weight in his hand, squeezing, soft exploration, one finger still brushing across the nipple.

Then his lips move, his head buried in the crevice between, soft kisses against soft skin. Her hands move then, from hair to down his sides and then to his front, taking him full in her hands. She feels his body jerk against her. A smile on her lips, she is in control, quick as that.

"Hermione..." A breath, sharp, and then her hands are moving against him, around him; stroking and tracing and caresses. His mouth is against her neck, and she thinks wryly that by the time they get down to the Great Hall for breakfast she is going to look mauled, between now and what is still left from the night before...

The first night before.

And then he is hissing as she feels him building against her hands, and his lips are on hers in an instant and in between kisses he is halfheartedly begging her to stop, strained whispers.

"Why?" she murmurs, breaking free, "You're allowed to have fun as well, you know," voice still breathless, still amused.

He looks down at her, exasperated, like she is the most illogical creature he's ever seen. Her hands brush him as they let him go, tracing around his front until her palms are resting on his sides and her fingers are pattering against his arse. He blushes(more) but doesn't stop the train of thought.

"Hermione," he begins, voice earnest, "I'm a seventeen year old boy and I'm naked in bed with a girl who also doesn't seem to have much-"

"-anything-"

A sigh.

"Right, anything on," he kisses her smirk away, "- How could I not be having fun?" Green eyes are wide, questioning, and if she hadn't know him for so long, if she hadn't been there every day she could be for him, if she wasn't already in love with him, and if he wasn't a teenage boy; she would have thought him to be being serious, but she has, she is, he is, so she knows that he isn't.

She kisses him again, then pulls back slightly.

"You're such a boy," and she can feel the rumble in his chest against hers as he laughs.

"Mm, well, things might be a bit different if I was a girl," he murmurs with a wry grin and she lets herself giggle softly. His hands have moved from her hips and the pads of his thumbs are tracing her cheeks, his smile is soft and his eyes...

They kiss again, for a few moments this time, and she savors the taste of him against her lips and this time it doesn't heat up, doesn't turn into sweat and bites and grabbing straight away.

Just kissing, slow, steady, and the one thing that she thinks they will always be able to do, just one more thing she doesn't think she could part with if he was still around but they weren't.

"Now," a breath against his lips when she knows it is time, and then a smile from him before he kisses her again. His hands move from her face, where he cups her cheeks, and come down to rest on her thighs; fingers tracing against soft skin. He's on his knees between her legs next, positioned somewhat blindly, so her fingers come down and guide him in, and again this time, he buries himself within her without preamble, not like the first time when it was new and familiar and slow and rushed all at the same time but like the second where the only thing they were interested in was being one again.

And he stays like that just for a moment, like he has the times before and how he thinks he'll do it every time after, just to feel her, to be reminded that he is really there and that nothing has or will ever be able to feel so amazing, never be able to make him feel just like his does at that moment.

His hands move down her thighs and clench at her sides before he starts to move inside her. Thrusts, slow at first then speeding up with the pace of their breaths and moans and screams and the sweat is back as he goes deeper and deeper, plundering, searching. Her eyes have closed and her head is swung back, neck resting on the bed with her head hanging off the edge.

"Look at me," he says, in between thrusts, and then she is being pulled back and her head is resting on the bed and her eyes are open and have met his.

The look in her eyes is enough and then there are hisses of yes and cries of names and throaty moans as they find each other and their bodies rack together and the sweat makes a clapping noise as they finish and pound against each other; a breathless pile.

Silence.

"We really need a shower," she murmurs several moments later, chin resting against his hair. He's lying on her, head pillowed by her chest.

He tilts his head up, kisses the hollow of her throat as he speaks:

"Mm, I like that idea," and his hands brush against the skin of her stomach, idle circles traced. She shivers.

"I meant, by myself."

"Sure you did."

And breakfast was put on hold, again.