author's note: For The Quidditch Pitch's July challenge, Wear Your Birthday Suit! Many thanks to Dawn for the quick beta. She is a goddess.
It wasn't that she was a prude, but Harry's request for his birthday made her hex him before she made him sleep on the couch for a week. Honestly! A strip club? With her dancing?
But he looked so pitiful during that week that she considered his request. He was going to be turning thirty, after all. He'd never expected to live to eighteen, let alone thirty. Then he turned his puppy-dog eyes on her. She never could resist the puppy-dog eyes for long and he damn well knew it.
That still didn't explain to Hermione why she was in a dressing room, dressed in a version of her old school uniform, sliding Muggle lipstick over her lips as she prepared to dance for him. In public. And it involved a pole.
When she began to feel light-headed, she realized she was starting to hyperventilate. She quickly ducked her head between her knees.
"You okay?" Ron asked from the doorway.
She blinked uncertainly, then lifted her head to look at him. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching her.
"What the hell am I doing, Ron?" she muttered, straightening.
"Giving Harry a birthday present he won't forget," Ron answered, amusement threading his words.
She tipped her head to the side. "What are you doing here?"
He laughed as he crossed the room to sit on the edge of her dressing table. "Ah, Hermione, just because I'm gay doesn't mean I don't want to watch."
A bright red flush stained her cheeks.
"Gryffindor courage and all that, yeah?" She knew he was trying to be supportive, but that didn't mean he was safe from being hexed. "You know you can do it, Hermione. Anyone who could come up with the spell to trap You- V-Voldemort can do this."
She rolled her eyes. Even more than ten years later, Ron could barely say Voldemort's name. With a sigh, she shooed him out, slapping his ass after he made a comment about finally seeing the brass balls she must have.
She could do this. She would do this for Harry. Harry wanted to see her, had made this request for his birthday, and the least she could do was fulfill his request.
She stood, studying herself in the mirror as she smoothed her shirt. It looked like her school uniform -plaid skirt, knees socks and all -but it was spelled to rip off when pulled in the right place. Her undergarments were emerald, nearly the colour of Harry's eyes, and was done deliberately. Her knickers were lace, they rode low in the front and were no better than a thong in the back. It was uncomfortable, but she knew Harry would like it. Her bra was barely more than triangles held together by string.
She could do this. Of course, she'd never worn stilettos with her school uniform.
"And now, a very special guest dancer, I give you Jane!" The voice, under a Sonorus charm, echoed through the club and made her more nervous. Her hands shook as she fastened her emerald mask over her eyes.
Her chosen music began, the beat thrumming through her body.
With all the arrogance she could muster, she strode onto the stage. She could hear whistles and catcalls, but her eyes were only for her husband. He sat in the front row, dumbfounded. He had no idea she'd taken his admission of finding her school uniform sexy and run with it.
Draco, sitting next to his boyfriend Ron, nudged Harry, who then gasped. A smile turned the corners of her mouth. She'd driven Harry to breathlessness. It gave her enough courage to saunter to the pole in the middle of the floor, sliding her legs on either side of it and shimmying down.
She barely heard the catcalls she was receiving. Instead, she concentrated on virtually fucking the pole. Her gaze came back to her husband after each piece of clothing she stripped off until she was left only in the skimpy emerald undergarments and stilettos.
Releasing the pole and bending forward, she allowed her hair to fall to the stage, covering her. A quick tug removed her bra. A faux-innocent smile touched the corners of her mouth when she heard the noise after raising the bra and dropping it to the stage. She rose slowly. She'd practiced this move many times, wanting to titillate but not expose more than she had to. Once standing straight, her hair barely covered her nipples but did cover them.
She closed her eyes and swayed slightly. There was power in doing this. No matter that she was exposing herself; she had a room full of wizards under her control. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, she slid her hands up her body until they were crossed over her chest. A pirouette turned her back to the audience, after which she moved her hands higher, lifting her mass of hair up to expose the long line of her back.
She had intended to stop there but wicked inspiration struck. As if invisible hands were forcing her down, she bent backwards until she was in a perfect arch. A whispered spell removed her barely-there knickers, tossing them to the side.
Let them all be jealous of Harry, she thought before kicking her legs upward, bringing her into a handstand. She held the pose only for a moment, before bringing her legs back down and straightening. A shake of her ass at the crowd signaled the end.
Both horrified and proud of herself, she raced back into the dressing room. A moment later, Harry Apparated in with a loud crack. She couldn't describe the look on his face, but took a step backwards automatically, both aroused and frightened by the intensity she saw.
He waved his hand at the door, shutting and locking it against Ron -who then pounded on it -and anyone else who might think to enter. He took two steps forward and Hermione took one back, finding herself against her dressing table.
With a feral growl, Harry lifted her up onto the table, shoved both hands into her hair and devoured her mouth. She wasn't sure if the moan she heard was hers or Harry's, but the sound of it served to arouse her further. Releasing her hair, he reached down to fumble with his trousers.
Once free, he gripped her thighs, tugged her to the edge of the table, shoved them apart and drove inside her. Her hands scrabbled under his shirt to the bare skin of his shoulders, gripping them tight, as her head fell back and she gasped for breath. She heard bottles fall from the table with each thrust.
The only thing she could focus on was Harry.
He bent forward and sucked hard on her skin where neck and shoulder met. A bite to the cord of her neck sent a terrible shudder through her, making her grip his cock so tightly he could barely move. But, as if a man possessed, he merely bent his knees slightly and continued.
"Mine," he growled, finally saying something.
She arched upward, fingernails drawing blood on his shoulders, stilettos leaving marks on his ass where her ankles were crossed at the small of his back. "Yours," she panted.
Twisting slightly, he bent his head to suck on one nipple. She suddenly arched even further, head slamming into the mirror, at the electric spark that rocketed through her. It was enough to trigger her climax, her legs tightening around him enough to leave bruises on his hips later. He grunted, drove into her with a series of short, hard thrusts, and emptied into her.
Sweaty and panting, they didn't move until someone began banging on the door.
"Potter, quit shagging your wife and open the door," Draco yelled.
"Malfoy, leave them alone," Ron growled loudly enough to be heard through the door.
There were more words, too quiet for Harry or Hermione to hear, then Malfoy yelling, "Potter, you're going to be late for your surprise party."
"Malfoy, you git!"
They heard a thud, then "Weasley" in a voice that definitely was not annoyance. Harry began to laugh softly, bringing his head to rest against Hermione's. Neither of them understood why Ron and Draco's relationship worked, but it somehow seemed to work well.
"Do I really have a surprise party?" he asked softly, lowering her legs.
She bent her head, tangling her hands gently in his hair, and kissed him. "Surprise."