Finding It All

Finding It All

A/N - Smut, written different to my others because plot usually gets in the way otherwise, but hopefully it is still okay. Please do review, if you've bothered to read.

*

Her laughter rings throughout the small cafe. "Yes, well, as good as I may be with 'feelings and stuff,' all my advice to you thus far has seen you go from one witch to another. Unsuccessfully, I might add."

He laughs back, flustered slightly with a small blush on his cheeks. "Well, you don't need to put it that way."

She smiles at him apologetically over the top of her coffee. "Sorry, I guess I'm just not so good at the advice thing after all, unless you're intending on dating me as my own advice should actually work on me-" She doesn't even manage to stop halfway through when she realizes what she is saying, but she drops off quickly at the end, blushing and looking away.

From the other side of the small table, he looks at her, carefully, looking like he is shocked by the idea but not, not really. It takes him a few seconds before he turns for second, then shakes his head a few times as he turns back around to face her, smiling. "No... No... I don't think, I know, that I wouldn't need to date you."

"Why not?" she asks affronted, absently.

He seems eager to fix this, and stumbles over his words as he replies, "Well, dating is all about finding that... everything, isn't it? and well, with you, I, um, I guess I would have all of that already and to feel that way about you about I wouldn't need to date you or anything." He seems to be having the same problem with his tongue running off as she is with hers, and his blush matches hers once he has finished, but his eyes remain defiant.

It's then she realizes that he is trying to tell her something, something very important and for a few seconds she doesn't have the slightest clue what it is.

Then she thinks about it more, his words and his look and his everything at that moment and Oh.

His hand slips across the table and his fingers entwine gently with hers.

Oh.

*

They suddenly realize, as they reach the door, that to get in, someone is going to have to take their hands off the other for some period of time.

They are both frightened by this dilemma, but you'd hardly notice. Harry's hands are well buried underneath her jumper, his hands creeping from around her stomach to be reaching for her glorious bra-covered breasts; and Hermione's hands are not quite sure where they want to be, running from his hair and down his back and up his front and everywhere that she can reach just as long as they don't have to leave his skin. Add to that, the fact that their hips are grinding together in an all too inappropriate fashion, and their lips are fastened so tight that they will have bruises for days after this, and that something of his that is very hard is pressed firmly into her thigh as they rock against each other.

In their minds, the dilemma regarding the door that was mentioned before is, surprisingly, the seemingly most urgent one to solve, with her mind running through all the logical assumptions that one can muster when your best friend's - she doesn't even want to name it - is pressed firmly in to you, and he abandoned all serious thought long ago anyway so any plan which he is managing to muster is just useless.

She tries to pull away from his lips, but it seems that she doesn't really want to, not yet, and as he is obviously not going to let him, she just rests back further on the door, hoping like hell that Ron is out with Luna and is not getting an earful on the other side of the door.

As she reluctantly pulls one of her hands away, to his disappointment (his groan into her mouth hardly leaves anything to the imagination), she reaches for her wand as quickly as possible and tears her lips away from his for long enough to mutter the Alohomora. The door opens behind them and she nearly loses her balance with him as they stumble, missing the resting weight of it, but he manages to stabilize them both and the door is closing behind them and they are kissing again, giggling against each other's lips like randy teenagers.

Inside, it all seems different, still hot and fiery like before but more comfortable because they know this place and somehow, even though they haven't been here before, they know with a strange sense of familiarity what they are doing.

"We should..." she says, relinquishing his lips for a second before he has managed to capture them again.

"Find a bed, I know," he says a few seconds later, quickly, kissing her again and beginning to stumble backwards as he blindly leads them towards a bedroom.

"Are you sure?" she asks, chocolate searching emerald green. His lips are on hers again quickly, just for a second, before he pulls away from her slightly, searching for the words but not seeming to be able to find them. Instead he answers by nervously going to shuffle off his t-shirt, with her hands meeting him halfway and helping him until he is standing bare-chested. She wants to say something back to him, but she, too, doesn't really seem to know what to say, and she finds that she doesn't have to in a second because his lips are back on hers, softly and gently like the first few, which seem like eons ago now, and then he is slowly leading her backwards again, not really sure where he is going and she doesn't seem to care.

The feel of his bare chest against her is something very strange, foreign, but her heart races hard and she can feel his beating back just as fast through the skin of his chest. His hands are under her top again, slipping up to cup her breasts, his thumbs running across her scandalously aroused nipples. She is not even shuddering or sighing anymore, or she doesn't think she is at least, she probably is but she is doing it so much that she can barely notice anymore, because the reaction he is coaxing out of her is like nothing before.

and she isn't doing so badly with him either, judging from that... thing - she somehow manages to refuse to call it by it's name, stubbornly because her "friend" Harry certainly never had one of those - pressing rather hotly into her thigh, and the flushed look on his face, and whoever knew that he was ticklish on his stomach?

Still moving backwards, he stumbles back into the wall of the hallway, and the muffled laughter against each other's lips is back. She says something smart-alecky to him, but it comes out as nothing but a murmur against his lips as the kisses intensify again. His eyes look amused though, and she is glad that she has managed to keep her eyes open, because she feels that she needs to close them if she wants to remain conscious, but the look in his eyes is enough to keep them wide open and attentive like they are students in the most fascinating lecture you've ever attended.

He shuffles around so that nothing in his way again, and he makes his way into the first door he can feel - Ron's room - and opens the door quickly. They stumble in, kissing, still, and hands moving everywhere - her top is slowly creeping off and the straps of her bra are falling down her shoulders - and they stumble back to the bed, nearly falling on to it before she stops dead and holds him up to stop him as well.

Her eyes fix on the bed, and Harry's follow.

Ron, sleeping on his *own* bed.

The fucking nerve.

They both freeze for a second, and then, after a silent and quick deliberation, let go of each other and run out of the room in a tangle of legs, barely standing and holding themselves up while laughter threatens to erupt from their throats.

Harry shuts the door behind them as they leave, slamming it so loudly that if it wasn't Ron they probably would have woken the person in the other room up, then leans against the door, embarrassed and laughing slightly, while Hermione collapses into a fit of helpless laughter against the opposite wall.

After a long moment of more laughter, she turns around, her back leaning on the wall. Harry is still resting his head against the door, laughter muffled. He seems to be distracted for long enough, so she takes the chance and brings her hands to her top and takes it off, the bra following, just as he turns around. She smiles at him, nervously, with her hands resting at her side, on the wall.

She can see the swallow as it moves down his throat, and his eyes seem to darken over even more. He moves towards her, to embrace her, but he seems unsure this time, or maybe just nervous because she can see him shaking and he can certainly feel himself shaking as well. His hands reach out halfway and meet hers, and neither seems willing to move any further until she steps forward to him, letting go of her hands and sliding them around his back and she embraces him. As her breasts - her bare breasts - come into contact with his chest, he makes a strangled sound mixed between a groan and a swallow and something else that could only be from Harry. His hands come up to her sides, tracing the newly exposed bare skin that it is, until they are tracing the bare curves of her breasts. He swallows again, then bends down and kisses her lightly, sweetly, on the lips.

"Bed," he mumbles, his voice more of a growl and not portraying the sweetness of his kisses or caress in any way, instead she can hear the want in his voice, and she realizes that it is taking him all that he has to not... Well.

She pulls away from him, breathless, and leads him back over to her door. She goes to open it, taking her hands away from his back but he shakes his head, and he quickly, reluctantly, takes a hand away from her one of her breasts to knock the handle of the door and open it. They walk through, slowly but it may be quickly but they don't really know.

When they are inside the room, with the door closed, it seems to have changed again. They don't bother with the lights, it's summer and they have skylights in all the rooms anyway, so it is still fairly light, but dim enough that Harry seems to have regained his previous confidence again. His lips are on hers, forceful and demanding and hot, tongue battling with hers. And his hands are back. Moving from around her back as he pushes her over towards the bed, then tracing up her sides, resting at the curve of her hips before her knees are hitting the back of the bed and said hands are cupping the weight of her breasts.

She's gasping into his mouth, and he's making some murmured sound against her lips as well as his fingers close over her nipples, erect and hard and waiting for him. He kneads the soft flesh in his hands, seeming utterly fascinated with them - Men - and seemingly more so when he tears he lips from hers, and starts kissing down her neck, her collarbone, until his head is buried between the valley of her breasts and then with his tongue is on her right nipple.

Her hands move deftly to clutch at his head, fingers running through clumps of ebony hair, while his lips continue working at her breast, his other hand kneading the opposite. She lets herself fall back on to the bed, slowly, though maybe so not much lets herself - her legs were barely holding out - and Harry follows as she lies back on the bed, with him positioning himself, legs on either side of her and his mouth still latched on to her breasts. Her hands rest somewhere on his back, but not wanting to be completely submissive, she moves them around to his front and cups him within her hands. His mouth stops moving at her breast for a second, and he jolts, but as she starts moving her fingers against him again, he drags his lips across her breasts to the other nipple, and promptly latches on. She's shivering again - damnhimdamnhimdamnhim - so she reaches into the front of his corduroys, and pulls them down, quickly, along with his boxers so that they are resting just below his arse, of which she cops a quick feel before her hands are around his front again and she is clutching his quivering - she swallows - cock.

Distantly she hears him utter a 'Fuck' but she's not so concerned about that, only worried about the heated feeling of him in her hands and the feel of his cool hands running down from her breasts and across her stomach, dipping in and teasing her bellybutton quickly before they are moving again and resting at the top of her trousers. He seems uncertain.

Still stroking him in her hands, she murmurs softly, "Take them off." As she feels his hands start to shake, she smiles, just slightly, reassured of his nervousness. It only takes him a few seconds to start, and less to finish, leaving her only in lacy - the good ones, thank god - knickers. His mouth leaves her nipple as he moves up to look at her, and she can see the swallow move in his throat. "Thirsty?" she asks quietly.

As his eyes roam over her, feast over her, he laughs hollowly. "No... no... well, maybe, maybe a bit." Her breath catches in her throat, because it is certainly not sounding like he is wanting Butterbeer. Then he is leaning down and softly kissing her lips, murmuring against them, "You're beautiful."

She looks away for a second, releasing his lips, before she turns back, cheeks rosy. "You're quite pretty, too... I mean, handsome, as well." He laughs as he looks down at her, that grin forming on his face, the same one that maybe got them into all this trouble. She tries to chase the smirk on his face away by kissing him, quickly, her tongue sliding in to meet his as soon as their lips meet. He seems a bit startled at first, all the kisses she has initiated until now have been sweet and gentle, not this, with tongues clashing and teeth hitting as she drives her face up towards his. Her hands are clambering down at his waist again, clutching and grinding his arse for a few seconds before they're at the top of his pants again, struggling with them as she tries to push them down. His hands come down from her sides and her face to help her with them, pushing them easily down his legs until they lie on a heap on the floor, followed swiftly by his boxers.

Her legs slide in between his, and if the mood was different she'd laugh at the "Oh, that's right, I'm naked, aren't I?" look that flickers on his face. Instead she keeps kissing him, her hands exploring the new skin keenly, from sides to front to his arse cheeks again. Then his hands are at her front, deftly slipping her knickers down while he raises himself above her, just slightly. When they come back together, there is nothing but bare skin, roaming hands, fused lips. His hands trace down her body, flitting from her neck to brush her nipples. A finger brushes her belly button lightly. She feels one brushing at the nexus of her thighs, then a second later feels his moan into her mouth as his fingers deftly come into contact with her folds, wet and warm. They seek out of her clit, one finding it quickly and making fast work of it, stroking it furiously while a few of his other fingers thrust into her. She moans into his mouth, hands fisting at his hair, crawling down his back and clutching it, nails digging into his skin.

She feels it building at his fingers, and nearly goes to stop him but finds that he already has. He tears his lips away from hers, breaths heavy. "Are you.... you sure?"

"Yes," more of a hiss than anything, before his lips are on hers again for a second, sweet and reassuring. She reaches down where he is straining towards her, and clutches his cock, guiding him in until she can feel the head pressed up against her.

With one final search of eyes, a searing kiss, and a thrust; he is buried to the hilt within her, holding like that for a few moments and starting to kiss her again, green eyes boring into hers. Her hands slip down to his sides, and her fingers clench against the skin there, nails digging in, urging him on, and at this he starts to move, slowly at first and gaining speed quickly. His tongue mimics the action, thrusting against hers, mouth hot and wet and consumed.

"Fuck," he's muttering it over and over again against her lips, in between the moans and the hisses and whatever else those sounds he is making are called. His hands are clutched at her hips as he thrusts, quickly and wildly now, and he looks torn between containing himself and savoring it all. She starts to grind her hips against his as he thrusts into her, rolling them and pushing back when he thrusts deeply within her.

"Harry," she murmurs, hotly against his lips, her voice husky. He answers back with her name as he picks up the pace even further, their skin sticky with sweat as their bodies move together, her nipples pressed tightly against his chest.

She feels it building, like before, but this time she knows he isn't going to stop and after a few more furious thrusts, it comes. She rides it out, arching herself into him as he continues to thrust into her. His forehead rests on hers, and he mutters, "Fuck. Amazing," against her lips, still thrusting into, but slower for a second.

He is done a few moments later, after a few more relaxed thrusts and a throaty cry into her neck. His head pillows against her chest, their breathing heavy, and he gently slips out of her, both missing the warmth of each other almost immediately. They shift closer, moving so that they are more comfortable, with arms wrapped firmly around the other and legs entangled in a mess.

When their breathing has eased, they shift apart slightly to look at each other. His eyes are the same as before, nervous, but hopeful, and she wonders why he is still feeling like that after... that. She moves a hand from his back to come and rest it on his heart, which beats firmly under it.

Eventually, she smiles at him, and speaking softly, says: "Don't think that this, and that lovely little speech of yours means that we don't have to date, Harry Potter." He grins back at her, chuckling. Then he brings one of his own hands to her front, pressing it fondly against her heart.

"Deal."

And they seal it with a kiss.