A/N: Well, I decided to write a second installment in this universe, inspired largely in part by a manip mmefleiss did for the first part, located here - http://mmefleiss.livejournal.com/51270.html - which is NOT work safe, by the way. It is lovely, however, and it made me want to write some wilderness smut. So here you go.
~
She thought things would be easier after they had sex. She thought she'd be able to focus, that she'd be satisfied.
Instead, the problem is worse. Every hour of every day, she feels his eyes on her, and her blood rises in response, flushing her skin, and at those times, she can think of nothing but having his hands on her.
They only spend their days in the wilderness now, finding what shelter they can for the nights. They don't get as much sleep as they should, naked and tangled under their sheets. Harry finds his way inside her at least once a night, sometimes twice, sometimes more. He never tires of her, and she is glad because she doesn't know what she would do if he stopped touching her.
He no longer watches her bathe; he helps. Usually, they have a bathroom where they stay. He follows her into the shower, washes her hair with firm but gentle fingers, lathers the soap between his hands before he spreads it over her body, over her breasts - suds clinging to her nipples - down her stomach, between her legs. Sometimes he'll let her rinse off before he takes her against the shower wall. Sometimes he can't wait, and she likes those times better. Those are the times when he thrusts into her as if his life depends upon it and when they finish, she has to clutch him to stay standing.
Sometimes there is only a bathtub, and then their activities make a terrible mess. They are too enthusiastic to avoid sloshing.
And then there are the times when there is no bath, and they go back to the streams to bathe. Harry isn't so helpful then; he likes the way her nipples harden in the cold and the way her skin looks against the autumn leaves. He washes her a little unconventionally then, with his tongue, following the trails of water along her body right into the crevice between her legs. She doesn't mind his methods.
Now and then, she wonders how much of what they do is about them and how much is about escape. She knows she loves him with every ounce of her being. He has been her world for as long as she can remember. He is her purpose in life.
Their sex isn't often loving, though. It's hurried and rough and animalistic. There are no leisurely caresses or tender gazes.
One day, they are walking, quite ordinarily through another ordinary wood. They don't speak; there's nothing much left to talk about. Harry walks slightly behind her, and she can feel his eyes on her, so she chooses to provoke him. Subtly, but with rather good acting skill, she thinks, she drops her wand, and bends over at the waist to retrieve it.
When she stands up, he is upon her, turning her around forcefully. She sees a flash of fire in his eyes before his lips are crashing onto hers, invading her. She welcomes him in, undeniably turned on by his aggression. She wants to be taken.
He turns them, and then her back is against a tree. The lumpy bark jabs into her skin, but the feeling only adds to the growing arousal between her legs. She wants him there as soon as possible.
His hands burrow under her shirt and palm and squeeze her bare breasts as he continues his assault on her mouth. She is moaning, keening, arching into his rough hands that pinch and tease her nipples.
His hands slip down and his lips shift to her neck as she clings to her shoulders, and she is about to protest when she feels him pop the button of her jeans and tug down the zipper. She struggles for breath as he shoves down her pants and his teeth nip at her skin. Her underwear is next, the elastic biting into her skin as he yanks them down. With one hand he struggles to undo his own fastenings; with the other, he probes her sex, torturing her clit and pressing firmly inside her with two fingers. She moans and tries desperately to kick her pants off over her shoes; eventually, she decides to rid herself of all of it, shoes included.
He finally opens his pants and pushes them down with his boxers, freeing his upright cock. Hermione is completely ready when he hoists her up, the tree scratching her bum, and nothing short of impales her.
She curses loudly as he his thrusts begin, hard, fast, and deliberate. The rough friction, inside and out, sets her ablaze. Soon she is only whimpering, almost crying as the sensation threatens to consume her completely. She needs release like she never has before.
Harry grunts and growls like a rutting animal as he nears his climax, and she is begging for hers, clutching all around him, digging her fingers into his shoulders.
Then it is upon her, flaring up inside her, and she almost sobs in relief. She clenches and then explodes, crying out into the forest. Fire flows through her veins and she shudders, completely overcome as he cries out his release and spills out inside her.
As her nerves settle down to a slow tingle and her legs start to shake, she realizes he hasn't even taken the knapsack off his back. She wonders what drives them to this, to this frantic coupling at the faintest signal.
They clean themselves up and carry on.
And through this sexual haze, they are getting no closer to their goal. They've found not one horcrux in the many places they've searched. Each failure leaves Harry more frustrated, and Hermione more hopeless. She has no answers for him, and she doesn't know how to find them. She doesn't know why she's there if she can't help him.
He is cursing as they come out of another cave empty-handed. She is silent, solemn.
"Let's find somewhere to stay while there's still light," he says, briskly, and she can only nod and follow.
They find an inn in a small village, a little shabby, but clean. Harry takes his shower without her and goes to bed. She has her turn in the bathroom and stays up, reading, researching. She must find the answers.
Hours later, her eyes are beginning to blur, but she presses on.
"Hermione, come to bed," Harry says, startling her. She turns in her chair to look at him.
"I'm not done yet."
"You're going to be too tired to walk tomorrow. Come to bed," he tells her, and reluctantly, she does so, feeling his words like a weight. She is a burden now. She has no answers, and she cannot find them; if she keeps searching, she won't be able to keep up. She has nothing to offer.
Reluctantly, she turns out the light she's been reading by and joins him in the small, rickety bed. He draws her into his arms, but she feels more isolated from him than ever. She thinks he is sleeping when she starts to cry, but he is awake to notice.
"What's wrong, Hermione?" he asks quietly.
She tenses, sorry to have shown him anything. She would rather suffer in silence.
"Nothing."
"Don't lie to me," he says, eyes glittering in the darkness. "I know you better than that."
She sighs and looks away. "I can't find the answers anymore," she says. "I can't help you…I have nothing left to offer."
"Hermione, I don't need you for answers. I need you because you keep me sane." He pulls her closer and kisses the back of her neck. "You're the reason I get up every morning. I couldn't do this without you."
She wants to believe him, wants to be needed and loved, but she needs proof. She turns over and reaches for him under the covers.
"Is it…because of the sex?" she asks.
"No! I mean, it's great, but it's because of you, just…who you are. I mean, that's why I can't keep my hands off you. It's just…you. I need you."
She sighs and sinks into his embrace. "Really?"
"Really," he kisses her forehead and traces down her spine. She tilts her head up and finds his lips, chapped but eager for hers. Her body molds against his and all is right with the world again.
He rolls her gently onto her back, still kissing her with a slow passion that spreads heat throughout her body. No one but Harry has this effect on her.
Off goes the T-shirt she put on for bed, replaced by Harry's hands, stroking fire over her stomach and breasts. She writhes and his mouth moves to better satisfy her, suckling down her neck, to her chest, where he licks and bites her nipples until she wants to beg him to get inside her.
Lavishing kisses on her stomach, he peels off her flimsy cotton panties, fingers trailing down her legs as he does so, making her squirm again. He's very good at what he does.
Back up her legs he goes, up to her center that burns for him. He caresses her aching clit with his tongue, probes inside her just enough to tease, strokes her trembling thighs with steady hands. She whimpers.
Still working her closer to the edge, he removes his boxers and slides up her body, his chest brushing against hers as his manhood brushes against her folds. She reaches for him, consumed by the need to touch him, to feel the hard muscle of his back and know he's hers.
Harry kisses her deeply and then his cock surges inside her. She moans, ecstatically full.
He moves over her and inside her, pushing another thought from her mind with every thrust and every brush of skin on skin. His lips meet hers often, as if he's desperate for them to be joined every way possible. She knows the feeling well.
She is flooded with heat, struck with a new wave of tingling pleasure every time he moves inside her, caressing her sensitive walls, and she clutches at him, feeling her release growing closer…eminent, so that unless he stops this very moment, she will come gloriously.
He thrusts into her again, panting into her ear as he does so, and the whisper of breath beckons her to her release, to clench all around him and cry out as she is taken over completely by sensation, lights flashing behind her eyelids as her climax hits every nerve in her body.
She bucks against him and trembles with aftershocks, sparks still flying where they're joined and her toes still curled with pleasure.
He grows frantic as he continues pumping into her, almost growling as he chases her release, and she helps him on, pressing against him and kissing his mouth and neck and squeezing him inside her, urging him to let go.
He does so with a cry and after a few sharp thrusts as he explodes within her, he collapses against her, his sweaty body covering her own as he catches his breath.
"That might be the best it's ever been," she whispers, and he doesn't reply verbally, but she feels his enthusiastic nod against her shoulder.
He rolls over and gathers her against him. Their skin sticks slightly as she slides her thigh over his.
"I love you," she admits, looking not into his eyes but at the smooth skin of his shoulder.
"I love you, too," he says. She meets his eyes in the darkness and knows that it's true.
They'll be all right.
The End
Again.
A/N 2: This isn't going to be a WIP now. It's just become a two-shot instead of a one-shot. No more chapters, unless I get inspired again.