Bearings
Disclaimer/Author's Notes: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. Here's some H/Hr fluff for the rabid readers out there… Enjoy! And review!
I woke up today in London
As the plane was touching down
And all I could think about was Monday
And maybe I'll be back around
If this keeps me away much longer
I don't know what I will do
You've got to understand it's a hard life
That I'm going through
3 Doors Down
Landing in London
Chapter 6: Show Me The Way Home
May 16th, 2002
Hermione's pussy haunted Harry's dreams. Over and over again, he walked into his room to be greeted by the rather obscene but undeniably arousing image of Hermione's splayed bum and the intimate region between. He always saw things in the same order: Hermione's puckered anus, the smooth lips of her labia, some pink folds, and a small brown tuft of trimmed hair.
Except, the dream elaborated on what he had actually seen, and he walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. In his mind, Hermione didn't jump and turn around; instead, she stayed bent over and as Harry moved closer, widened her legs a little. The view had been incredible before ("…nice…" echoed in his mind), but now he could actually see into her most private of places.
He stopped behind her, raking his eyes over her smooth and hairless bum, trying to resist the urge to look between her well-formed cheeks again, but not being able to help it. His eyes passed over the crinkled skin of her anus ("…butt pirate…"), noting that even that was somewhat pink. They passed lower and he saw the bottom-or, from this angle, the top-of her entrance glistening in the dim light of the room. He reached out his hand to touch-
But then the dream would start over, and he would open the door and see the same thing again. He walked up to her and looked, reached out his hand…
Only this time it didn't start over. His hand kept going, getting closer and closer to her-was he actually going to touch her there?-and the tip of his finger brushed against her folds. There was wetness and warmth there. Hermione cooed, but still didn't move. She hadn't moved at all in any of his dreams.
Bold now, and wondering why this dream hadn't ended yet, but not complaining, he brushed the tips of several fingers against her, and she moved back just an inch or so, forcing him to touch her a little harder. His fingers went lower, in this position toward that tuft of hair, and he felt a small nub. They had trailed the wetness along with them, and he rubbed it into the harder point.
Hermione began to gyrate her slips slowly. His other hand came forward, of its own volition because he certainly hadn't directed it to do so, and he made a fist, forefinger extended. He hesitated for a moment, and then slowly pushed it forward, into the warmth and wetness and tightness of Hermione. His knuckles came against her folds-
And he woke up. All of his muscles were clenched and he was sweating profusely. He was very hard, so hard that he could feel the throb with every beat of his heart, and he was surprised to find that he was very close to climax. He lay there for a few moments, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness (and hopefully letting the buildup of pressure recede), and finally slowly unclenched. A small sigh escaped his lips as he exhaled, and he jerked slightly as the most sensitive part of his cock rubbed against the fabric of his boxers.
After lying still to make sure nothing else happened, he looked at the clock and saw 4:04 staring back at him in the soft blue light. He closed his eyes and frowned. He had to get up in 25 minutes.
The sweat was annoying, and he waved a Refreshing charm over his body. The magical air stimulated him again, though, and he had to fight the urge to come all over the place. Merlin, that had been one of the most vivid dreams he'd ever had; he hadn't been this worked up after one since he was fifteen or sixteen.
And this one had been of Hermione! The Hermione that was currently sleeping behind him, her front pressed into his back. If he concentrated really hard, he could probably feel the points of her nipples. Harry took a deep breath, trying to focus on something other than Hermione's many intoxicating nubs, so that at the very least he didn't make a mess of things.
He almost chuckled at that. What would Hermione think if he woke her up because he'd had a wet dream…of her, no less! She would probably be disgusted, one part of his brain told him, and that was the part that insisted on remembering her for the eleven-year-old girl he'd met on the Hogwarts Express. That was also the part that he'd been fighting for the past ten days or so, because she wasn't eleven years old and she wasn't a girl anymore and she had obviously come over here for something.
He knew that there was something between them, and perhaps there always had been, but it was so foreign to actually consciously acknowledge it that he was literally fighting with himself. Earlier, he had walked in on an image that he didn't know how to deal with, at least not in the context of Hermione Granger. His hormones told him that it was a beautiful sight and an irresistible one too; his rational side scolded him for thinking like that about Hermione-she wasn't just some piece of meat; and the combination of both of them was saying that she surely wasn't a piece of meat but she was gorgeous and smart and lovely and warm and compassionate and gorgeous… And now he was just repeating himself.
He frowned again when he realized that his erection hadn't receded at all, and took a few slower, calming breaths. He forced himself to think of something other than Hermione, but it was very difficult. That ruddy image would be burned into his brain forever!
After another minute, and even though his brain was of no help, it did start to fade, and he slowly turned onto his back, careful not to wake Hermione. Her hair had fanned out during her rest, and it fell across his shoulder, obscuring most of her face. He reached out and brushed it back, tucking most of the errant strands behind her ear. His touch was gentle enough not to disturb her.
And now that he could see her face, he felt his heart thump a little faster and stronger. Her brow, so often crinkled, was relaxed and line-free in sleep. Her nose and cheeks were still and smooth and beautiful. Her lips, her lovely soft lips, were slightly apart for her breathing. His eyes tracked to her chin and then on to the lines of her neck, and her collarbone beyond. They started toward the curves of her breasts, and perhaps the purple hint of the nipple atop each, but he forced them back to her face.
This beautiful girl had been sleeping with him for the past ten days. Hermione Granger, his childhood friend, protector, and confidante was resting peacefully next to him, and all he could focus on was how incredibly pretty she was. She was one of the brightest witches of her generation, and could have done anything she wanted; yet she chose to come out here to a foreign land to spend some time with him.
Harry turned more, leaving a little space between their torsos because of his semi-defiant arousal, and brought himself face to face with her. Her arm, which had been slung over him, was now resting between them. He stared at her for a little while longer, and then threw caution and inhibition and everything else to the wind: he moved his face closer and brushed his lips against hers. He detected no movement from her.
They had snogged the first night she'd been there, and Harry hadn't really understood why he'd gone along with it at the time, but now he did. She was Hermione Granger. He was Harry Potter.
He leaned forward again, and this time pressed his lips against hers. He held it for a second, and then leaned back. Nothing happened at first, and then he caught a flicker of a movement as the tip of her pink tongue shot out to moisten her lips. She breathed deeply and stretched slightly, and then this incredible mewling sound escaped her lungs. If his erection had been flagging, it shot back to full life.
He watched as her eyes slowly opened. She stared into his for a second or two, and then blinked owlishly.
"What was that for?" she asked. Her voice was low and thick and husky. She wasn't helping his problem, but he found that he no longer really cared-otherwise he wouldn't have kissed her.
"Being you."
"Hmm?" she purred. She brought her hand up and rubbed her cheek, and then refocused on Harry.
"You're beautiful, Hermione," he said, and that brought her fully awake. An emotion he couldn't name seeped into her eyes, and that familiar crinkle crept into her brow. Harry was vaguely aware that this was new territory, uncharted in his own experiences, but he didn't care. He was going with it, and he wanted to, because this felt right. For the first time in a long time, things seemed totally perfect.
"What did you say?"
"You're beautiful."
They stared at each other; Hermione seemed unable to move, so Harry leaned forward once again, pressing his lips gently against her. She didn't react at first, but then slowly pressed back. Her lips were soft and moist.
He brought a hand up and framed the side of her face with it, brushing his fingertips through her hair as he ran his tongue lightly along her upper lip. They parted slightly, and he deepened the kiss. Hermione reacted by moving toward him, and in doing so she poked herself in the leg with his raging hard-on. There was the briefest of pauses in the pressure of their kiss, but then she parted her legs a little to move flush against him.
He was now pressed into her; his body was against hers and his cock was cradled next to her crotch. He could feel the heat emanating from her core. She moaned into his lips, bringing his attention back to their kiss, and her tongue met his in a lovers' duel. After a moment they parted, both breathing rather heavily.
Her eyes slipped open and he thought he might have seen wonder there. He was distracted though when she squeezed her thighs together, applying wonderful pressure to his most sensitive area and eliciting a moan from his lips.
"What's gotten into you?" she asked, squeezing her legs again. Harry was working hard to avoid finishing right then and there.
"Why did you really come out here?" he asked her, meeting her question with one of his own. His voice was a touch ragged.
"Answer me first," she said. He just smirked at her, and moved his hips a little. He saw her eyes lose focus for a second and she blew out a little breath. As tightly as she had him pressed to her, he knew any movement by him would be well received.
"I think you'll find your answer when you address my question," he responded, moving his hips again. Her lips opened in a small O.
"I missed you," she whispered. He noticed that her voice was ragged as well. He was also rather amused to notice that her nipples had hardened considerably and were now scratching against his chest through their shirts when they moved.
She brought her hand along the side of his face and then behind, entangling her fingers in his black hair. She just looked at him, not blinking or moving or saying anything, and then leaned forward to kiss again. He met her lips and started to slowly move against her. Now that he had seemingly won the battle against his own climax-for now-he wanted to give her something too.
He trailed kisses away from her lips and down her jawline, rolling over so he was half on top of her. She offered no resistance; in fact, her moans and her movements were telling him that she was enjoying this more than he was. Not that he wasn't enjoying it. Oh no.
He concentrated on her ear for a moment, and when he flicked her lobe with his tongue he could feel her dig her nails into his back. She had a leg wrapped through his now, and they were grinding slowly against each other. Down her neck he went, lightly tonguing her pulse point, and then continued on toward the collar of her tank top.
"Harry…" she breathed. The grinding slowed even more.
"Yeah?" he asked, lifting his lips from her skin.
"No-don't stop that," she said, pushing on the back of his head to bring his lips back to her collarbone. He moved the strap over her left shoulder and kissed the newly bared skin.
"But…is this what you want?" she then asked.
Harry chuckled into her skin at the conundrum-answer her question yet doing what he was doing-and she seemed to enjoy the vibrations. Her back arched a little, and the leg curled a little more through his. His hardness was wedged tightly into the warm space between her thighs.
"Yes," he answered, only breaking contact for a second. He moved a little lower, pushing the tank top away some more, and got a little harder to find out he was kissing the upper swell of one of her lovely breasts.
"Why-so-sudden?" she asked, haltingly. One of her feet was moving up and down his calf.
"Because I realized something," he said, and pressed his lips to her breast. He pushed the offending material further away, and was rewarded with the dark pink splash of her nipple across the white of her skin. It was taught and hard and sticking up a little bit. He felt himself throb just looking at it.
When he brought his lips to it and flicked across the top of it with his tongue, Hermione's thighs clenched and that `O' sound escaped her lips again. She pressed onto the back of his head again, pressing his face into the warm soft mound, and he lightly grazed his teeth along the raised point. She inhaled sharply.
"What-did you-realize?"
"That you're gorgeous," he said, flicking his tongue again. She jerked. "And incredibly smart," he added, sucking the entire nub into his mouth. She cooed. "And probably the reason why I'm alive." He rolled his tongue around the edge. She moaned.
He moved across her chest, pushing more white fabric out of the way, and moved the right strap of the shirt off her shoulder. He pushed it down and her other nipple came into view, and he took a second to admire the view. She opened her eyes and saw him smiling down at her.
He flicked his eyes to her and then leaned down, capturing the apex of her other breast in his mouth, and she jerked again. She then brought a hand up to the breast he had just left, and he cut his eyes to the side to watch her roll her nipple between her fingers for a second.
It was incredibly hot watching her pleasure herself, even if it was only the small pink nub on the top of her breast. He was as hard as he'd ever been, and he was definitely throbbing now. The movement down there was stimulating him to the edge again, and he backed off her, rolling away slightly. She stopped touching herself and looked at him. Her eyes were a little dopey with pleasure.
"Why'd you stop?" she asked, and he almost laughed at the offense in her voice.
"Don't want to make a mess," he said, and then ducked his head a little as it heated up. Her hand was then on his chin pushing up, and he looked up into her face. She was smiling this dainty little smile, small enough to leave her teeth hidden, but there was something incredibly alluring and sexy about it. It certainly didn't help matters.
"And why not?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Merlin, here she was; both breasts exposed, lying more or less underneath him, the heat of her own arousal seeping into his shorts, and she was being coy with him. Minx!
"Er…" he said, unable to bring his thoughts to coherence. The smile widened and before he could think, she reached down and rubbed her hand along the line of his arousal. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath at the new sensation; he felt himself almost jump into her touch.
That ruddy eyebrow was still raised, tempting him! He smirked back at her, and moved his own hand lower. He reached just past hers, still rubbing him, and moved his fingers into the folds of her own shorts. The heat was incredible, and he could feel the lines of her. He began to rub back and forth, up and down, and watched as the eyebrow slowly lowered and her eyes closed.
She arched her back again, but did not stop her own ministrations. Boldly, unsure of how she would react, he pulled his hand back for a moment and then slipped it under the waistband of her shorts. Her eyes shot open and then slipped slowly closed again, and he inched his hand lower and lower, over her mons and the tuft of hair and finally into her hot, wet folds. She followed suit, and slipped her hand into his shorts. He clenched his teeth as she gripped his length, and then started to move up and down.
He lowered his face to her chest again and started suckling on a nipple, though he was concentrating more on the slickness his hand was rubbing through. He moved lower with it and found the warmest, wettest part and pushed slightly. She hissed as a finger slipped just inside her, and that arch in her back became more pronounced. Her hand moved to the base of his erection and then lower, cupping his balls.
It was new sensation and Harry was unprepared for how intense it was, and paused for a moment in his pleasuring of her to get lost in it. She must have sensed it, because she began to knead them in earnest. He was fighting a losing battle, and any second he was going to go over the edge…
He pushed his index finger a little further in-
"Harry!" she cried out, and her entire back and bum lifted off the bed for a moment. He must have done something right, to get that type of response from her, and indeed he felt her clench around his finger, so he kept on doing it. She gripped his shaft once again; pumping once and then one more time, and then shuddered beneath him. The clenching was more powerful now, almost insistent, drawing his finger further and further inside her. She pumped again and he knew that he was so close, a few more strokes and he'd be there, and she would too, all he had to do was push in and out a few more times. He flicked her nipple with his tongue and she pumped again, he pressed in again, and they were both so close-
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP…!
They both froze, unable to bring their minds from the edge of their ecstasies as the ridiculously invasive sound assaulted their senses, and then the moment was lost. Whatever collective wave they'd been riding crashed, and Hermione sunk slowly back to the bed, letting go of Harry. He blinked a few times, withdrew his finger and then his hand from her and her shorts, and sat up. He glanced over at the alarm clock, which was blaring away. Ruddy sodding piece of shite fucking cuntish alarm clock! He was sorely (yes, literally) tempted to just blast the thing to pieces with the strongest curse he knew, but then didn't because it would probably blow a hole through the wall too.
"Accio clock," he grumbled, and it flew into his hands. He saw "4:30" whiz toward him and then blink out as the plug was pulled from the wall. He set it on the floor after catching it. He looked at Hermione.
She was lying prone on the bed, chest heaving, with her arm across her face. He felt a twitch at seeing her perky breasts, but his arousal was gone for good it seemed, and at what a lousy fucking time! They had both been so close…
"Talk about horrible timing," Hermione muttered, and Harry opened his mouth to agree, but couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped first. Hermione moved her arm away from her eyes and looked at him for a second, seemingly offended that he could laugh at something like that, and then smiled. She then started to chuckle too.
Soon they were both laughing loudly and he fell back on the bed, wiping tears away from his eyes. She turned slightly and laid her head across his chest, still laughing.
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May 17th, 2002
Somewhere over the Atlantic during the predawn hours Hermione's voice cut across the vast silence that had settled across first class.
"Harry?" she asked.
He had been sinking into the plush leather seat, perhaps on his way to a short nap, but the sound of her query roused him and he sat up. He scrubbed his face hard for a moment and then looked over at her through the gloom of the darkened plane. She was wide-awake, staring at him expectantly.
"Yeah?"
"Didn't you say we were getting into Heathrow at two?"
"Uh…yeah," he said. She looked at her watch, a small silver thing.
"It's two-thirty right now, London time," she replied.
Harry scratched his head and shrugged. "So I was wrong?" He searched around the pocket in front of him, and found the small envelop with his tickets. He found the right one and examined it.
"Says six-thirty," he said, and shrugged again. "Guess I didn't look at it close enough."
"Oh," Hermione said, but Harry could tell by the inflection of her voice that something else was coming. And sure enough:
"Harry?"
"Yeah?" he echoed, holding back a small laugh. It was incredible how well he still knew her.
"What happened this morning?"
"Don't you mean yesterday morning?" he asked. She hit his arm lightly.
"Don't play semantics with me," she said. "But really, what was that?"
"An almost-mind-blowing mutual orgasm?" She smiled, then looked around quickly as if to make sure no one had overheard, and leaned closer to her him. He leaned in as well.
"Come on," she whispered, "I'm serious."
"Hermione, I…" he started, but what was he going to say? He felt something for Hermione, and he knew that part of that something had always been there, at least since the troll incident when he was eleven and she was twelve, but how could he articulate that to her?
"You what?" she insisted. She wasn't going to let it drop. Harry sighed; it wasn't an unhappy sound, though.
"What if I told you that you showing up at Stanford rearranged my priorities?" he asked. When she didn't respond, he proceeded: "What if I said that before I saw you on the pavement, I had no idea what I was going to do after graduation? I hadn't really gotten that far.
"Over the last two weeks, though, I think I might have found a little of that direction that I've been searching for. And I'm not trying to be sentimental," he continued, when he saw her dubious look. "I'm totally serious. You made me remember what it felt like to be needed, to feel accepted without any disclaimer. And I don't mean that in a platonic way.
"I'll be honest here-I hadn't really ever considered you as you before these past weeks, but that's not a reflection on you. That's all me. I couldn't see it, Hermione, and I'm glad that you showed me it. I'm glad that you're showing me the way."
He looked into her eyes after he finished his improvised and, he thought, poor speech, but he saw tears at the corners of hers. She reached a hand over and gripped his that was laying on the arm rest. She sniffled once and then laid her head on his shoulder, and they stayed like that for quite some time. Silence settled over first class again, and for a while Harry just listened to the sound of Hermione breathing.
Soft noises then wafted in their direction, and shortly thereafter a flight attendant rolling a cart of beverages and snacks through the aisle came by. She stopped next to their seat when she saw they were both awake.
"Care for a drink? Or something to nibble on?" she asked. Harry and Hermione both looked at her. Harry thought the attendant looked extraordinarily tired.
"No thank you," Hermione said, politely.
"Uh, can I have some water?" Harry asked. The attendant nodded and poured some bottled water into a small plastic cup, dropping an ice cube in as well. She handed it over to him. He sipped it as he put the seatback down, and set it down on there. He looked back at the flight attendant, who was still looking at them. He noticed she was smiling.
"How long?" she asked, quietly.
"Pardon?" Hermione asked.
"How long has it been for you two?"
Harry looked at Hermione, who turned her face toward his. She looked just as confused as he felt.
"I don't follow," Hermione said, after looking back.
"Married, I meant," she clarified, and Harry's heart did a funky little two-step for a few seconds. "How long have you been married?"
"Oh, we're not married," Hermione answered, quickly. Her voice was a little higher in pitch than usual.
The flight attendant cocked her head to the side and gave them an odd look, with a queer little smile on her lips, and then shook her head lightly. She started pushing the cart further down the aisle.
"My apologies," she said, and then she was gone. Harry didn't say anything for a moment, and neither did Hermione, but they finally looked at each other.
"Married, huh?" she asked.
"I guess so," he responded, smiling at her. It broke whatever strain the moment had held and they resumed their earlier, more comfortable position. Silence settled over the cabin once again, and it remained long after Harry finished his water, and even longer after he felt Hermione's even breathing against him.
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"Hermione," Harry said. She didn't move. He nudged her, and she grumbled. "Hermione," he repeated, this time a little louder and more insistent. She made this weirdly cute snorting noise and sat up quickly. She looked around wide-eyed for a moment, as if she couldn't figure out where she was, and then settled back into her seat. She looked over at Harry with slightly bleary eyes.
"What is it?" she asked, almost whining. "You woke me from an amazing dream," she pouted. Damn, he just wanted to kiss those lips. Those ruddy pink pouted lips.
"We're about to land," he said, wrenching his eyes away from their molestation of her lips.
"Oh. Thanks," she replied, and started to gather her things. He saw her twist her wrist to look at her watch. "Six-fifteen…not too bad."
"It feels like we've been up forever," Harry commented, and yawned to punctuate it.
"Well, you did wake me up, you know," she said, pausing in her organization to stare pointedly at him. He realized that she could have been talking about just now or back in California, but he knew which she really meant. Her eyes were doing that twinkling thing again. He would have to learn how to do that someday.
"You liked it." He bent over and retrieved his small bag from under the seat, and when he sat back up, he found her contemplating him with her trademark-the raised eyebrow.
"So did you."
"I didn't say otherwise," he said, and laughed at her.
"Please fasten your seatbelts and return your seatbacks into the upright position," the pilot's voice came over the loudspeakers. "We've been cleared for arrival at London Heathrow Airport; local time is six-seventeen and the weather is a cool eighteen degrees. Conditions are good and visibility is unlimited. Enjoy your stay in London or wherever you're connecting to. Thank you for flying British Airways." There was a click and then a brief hubbub of commotion as passengers secured themselves and their bags.
"Well that was informative," Hermione said, dryly.
"Sure was," Harry said, thinking of breathing in British air for the first time in eighteen months. He turned his head and looked out of the window, seeing the dark blue light of dawn spreading across the land below and the sky above.
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