The Sweat of a Gladiator
A/N: My first attempt at flashback for backstory. Because I wanted to write about sand and sun - it's too damn cold and dreary in real life. And as I didn't go anywhere warm for holiday, I need to live vicariously through my writing. Those waiting for the story to actually "go" somewhere, take heart; next chapter will be out in a couple of days.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc. etc.
Chapter Eight
In the sweet and sweaty afterglow of a glorious almost-shag, Harry Potter gathered his thoughts and reached for his glasses. Because serious thinking and talking should be expected when you do these sorts of things with your best friend, and because he'd always found it hard to fully focus his thoughts when his eyes could not focus.
But the glasses were just out of reach on the nightstand, and his wand was…Merlin knows were his wand was. Probably with his trousers somewhere along the trail of clothing that led from the tent door to Hermione's bedroom. Of course, he could have just simply rolled over closer to the edge of the bed, but that would have disturbed Hermione's rest, and he didn't want to do that (particularly as she'd dozed off with her naked body draped perpendicularly over his). A wandless Accio solved the problem, and he was rewarded with a lovely view of Hermione's back, which was framed by a mass of brown curly hair at the top and a tan line at the bottom.
He considered the small triangle of pale white skin that sat just below that tan line and smiled. That triangle outlined the full extent of the thong bikini that she'd worn that past summer. It was the garmet that had ended once-and-for-all her quasi-relationship with Ron, and inspired the first of those Hermione-filled wet dreams that Harry had sworn an oath over.
Looking back at how that small piece of fabric had accomplished these two feats, Harry concluded that it was all Ron's fault. Well, mostly, at least.
The three had spent two weeks scouring northern Albania for Voldemort's old haunting grounds, just after Bill and Fleur's wedding. They'd initially camped out, as the tourist accommodations in the area were rather medieval. But after two nights of driving rain and Hermione's campfire cuisine, Ron was ready to bail. So they'd moved their base of operations just over the border, to a Montenegrin resort along the Adriatic coast. It was by no means luxurious, but it had a pretty beach and a serviceable restaurant. Then, in self-indulgent surrender to the sun and sand, they decided to make it a working holiday, and planned to spend mornings at the beach before apparating across the border to explore the inhospitable Albanian terrain.
As they hadn't packed swimming costumes, they had improvised and transfigured their own. Ron went apoplectic when Hermione had modeled her handiwork. The bottom part of her costume was a dark green thong, and the top part was…well, it was non-existent. At least in concept - she had worn a t-shirt during the show, but stated her intentions to "do as the Romans do" (as the majority of resort guests were muggle Italians) and sunbathe topless once they hit the beach.
Ron thought the costume indecent, and said as much. This, of course, only strengthened Hermione's resolve, particularly when he asked her what she thought his mum would think. When Ron put his foot down and refused to go out with her dressed that way, Hermione looked at him resolutely, threw a wrap around her hips, and grabbed Harry's hand.
That action prompted the mother-of-all-rows that night…the one that forced Ron and Hermione to recognize and accept their irreconcilable differences. Though they both pledged to work together to support Harry and remain friends, they abandoned all hope of ever being more than that for each other.
Harry felt guilty about the whole thing. He was quite certain that Ron wasn't upset with Hermione's costume per se; what bothered him more was the idea that she would be wearing it in front of Harry. Not just that first time in the hotel room, but afterwards, on the beach and without the t-shirt.
Harry had dealt with Ron's jealousy before, but the problem this time was that it was fully justified. He had beaten down his arousal during Hermione's fashion show, utilizing thoughts of Neville's dirty socks and fears that his hard-on would betray his betrayal of Ron. But then Hermione's outstretched hand forced him to choose between the two, and he had taken it and left Ron behind.
And then he saw her behind, and more.
Harry's efforts to conceal his lustful feelings once they'd reached the beach all failed miserably. When she flipped off her t-shirt, he suggested that they couldn't risk sunburn on newly exposed skin. For her response Hermione smiled and grabbed a bottle of muggle sunscreen from her bag. After forcing Harry to watch her rub lotion on her breasts, she laid face down on her towel and asked him to take care of her back. Then she decided she couldn't risk missing a spot on her legs and thighs, so she asked him do those parts as well. And of course that meant that she had to spread her legs a bit for him to have access to her inner thighs. That gave Harry a clear view of a few strands of dark curly hair as they peeked out from the sides of the thin strip of fabric.
It also gave him a raging hard-on.
Harry was worried, but not overly so, as Hermione's face was down on the towel and her eyes pointing away from his trunks. But then she flipped over to thank him and say that it was his turn. Harry dove for the concealment of his own beach towel on pretext of giving her access to his back. He fancied the idea that with his face down and eyes shut that he'd calm down a bit, but then Hermione straddled his back and settled her barely-covered bum on top of his own. Unfortunately, this trapped his erection in a terribly painful position. Perhaps noticing his discomfort, Hermione lifted herself up off of him and playfully asked Harry if he needed to "readjust." Placing the welfare of his bloodline above his own embarrassment, Harry reached down to do just that.
He thought it safe to luxuriate in the feeling of Hermione's oiled hands as they rubbed down his tense shoulders, so long as his boner was buried in the sand. He used the time to think up a new excuse to get her to cover up, saying he felt bad that she was far more exposed than he was. Unfortunately Hermione had an impish solution to that problem that differed from his; once glances up and down the beach convinced her that some magic could be safely cast, she transfigured Harry's relatively modest trunks into the smallest of Speedos. When she told him to roll over so that she could "do" his front he refused. She knew, of course, why, and humored him with the statement that it was a natural reaction that would go away once Harry got used to the situation. But then she moved her towel right next to his, so close that when she laid down the sides of her arm and leg touched his.
It took a good half-hour for Harry to calm down enough for him to join Hermione for a splash about in the waves. But then a large wave knocked them both over and she ended up on top of him and they rolled about a bit before getting back up in time for the next. Harry took refuge in waist-deep water that concealed his rearousal, but that cover was blown every time their bodies came together in a crashing wave. Which was quite often, actually…he accidentally on-purpose splashed and dunked and hugged her in a game that would have been quite innocent, had they each been seven rather than seventeen.
That first day established the pattern for their mini-holiday. Ron never mentioned Hermione's beach attire again, and chose to avoid the subject by completely avoiding the beach. For the balance of the vacation the three ate breakfast at ten. While Ron slept in until 9:45 each morning, Harry and Hermione were out of the room by six. They wore shorts and t-shirts during an hour-long barefoot run along the beach, and then stripped down to thong and speedo for suncreen rubdowns. Frolicking in the surf and layabouts on the sand occupied their time until about nine o'clock, when they would share a rinse-off under a beach shower.
They had never talked about their beach attire (or lack thereof) during those two weeks in August, or of any feelings they had developed for each other. Harry had struggled with the "don't want to lose my best friend if she doesn't feel the same way" beast in the intervening months. He definitely had not wanted to pursue her so soon after she and Ron had split (out of respect for his best mate), but that excuse evaporated just as soon as Ron started spending time with Luna during their occasional trips to Hogwarts.
Ron and Luna…now there was some irony for you. He broke up with Hermione over that green thong, only to fall into the arms of a girl who accidentally broke her hymen with a vibrator? Well, at least he now seemed happy.
Harry had seriously considered confessing his feelings to Hermione for a couple of weeks, but never found what he thought was an opportune time. He therefore said a silent prayer to whatever Fates had created the fantastically implausible situation that they'd faced that morning. Now that he knew for sure that his feelings for Hermione were mutual, he was damn sure that he wasn't going to muck things up.
In a move that signaled he might actually be looking forward to talking things through with Hermione, Harry reached down, tangled his fingers in her hair, and began to lightly knead her scalp. After a few minutes time, Hermione was forced to acknowledge that she was awake when she let out a purr and pulled her knees up towards her chest.
"Oooh, Harry," she cooed. "Did anyone ever tell you that you had magic fingers?"
"I've heard it once or twice."
Such was the extent of their conversation for another few minutes. Harry added his other fingers to Hermione's scalp rub, while she began to gently play with his now-soft penis and undertake her own musing.
Hermione had always been very good at finding ways to motivate Harry Potter. Favorable comparison with Ronald Weasley's typically lackluster efforts was one of her favorite methods, whether it involved completing assignments or studying for exams. Unfortunately, this technique didn't seem very attractive now that Harry had completed such a brilliant start to a new course of study. For example, Hermione couldn't hear herself saying, "Oh, well done, Harry…you suck my nipples so much better than Ron ever did."
Well, actually, she could hear herself say it, and the thought was quite amusing. So amusing, in fact, that she couldn't help but let out a snort.
"Hey," Harry asked softly, "what's so funny?"
She flipped over, stopping mid-way to kiss the narrow soft strands of hair that stretched down from his navel. As she turned to face him, Harry scooted up onto his elbows. As a result, Hermione's cheek ended up resting on top of Mr. Phoenix. Neither one seemed to mind.
"Comfortable, Hermione?"
"Hmmm….yes, very."
"So really," Harry asked, "what was so funny down there?"
"Nothing bad," Hermione said a bit more adamantly, "I was just trying to think how to reward you for being such an attentive student."
Harry smiled. "I thought that you just did…though I must say, I was far from perfect."
"Hush now," Hermione replied. "You have a very talented tongue, and considering it was the first time…erm, sorry, it was the first time, wasn't it?"
"Hermione," Harry asked with a raised eyebrow, "I know you like to know everything about anything that interests you, but do you really want to talk about what Ginny and I did when we were together?"
She crinkled up her nose. "No thank you…no more than you probably want to talk about me and Ron."
"Madame, you are most certainly correct," he replied with mockingly crisp formality. "But just so you know," he added, "today has been full of firsts for me."
"First time for what, Harry?" Hermione teased. "You mean you've never had a girl wank you in her mum's office before?"
"Hermione," he gently chided.
"Okay, okay."
Hermione propped herself up and swung a knee over Harry's chest. Harry responded by trying to lean up and catch one of her hanging breasts with his teeth. But as he did, she tried to lean down and give him a passionate kiss. Both missed, and Harry caught her chin on his forehead.
"Ouch"
"Oooph,"
Hermione leaned back on her haunches and straightened her back. "Sorry about that."
"S'okay."
Hermione then moved her hands to his chest and scooted back just enough for her bum to graze Mr. Phoenix, and for her still swollen labia to graze his pubes. "Guess we have some work to do on our choreography."
"Yeah, guess so," Harry replied nervously. "Erm, Hermione?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"We've still got our haloes, right?"
"I would think so….why?"
"Because your bum is playing with fire right now."
Hermione twisted her head around for a look over her shoulder. "Four times in three hours?" She wiggled back and forth. "Well, he is a phoenix, I guess."
"Yes, he is, and your roost is a rather tempting perch."
Hermione let out a giggle before covering her mouth. "Roost," she said, "I like that."
"Did you just giggle?"
"No, I most certainly did not."
"Did to."
"Did not."
"Hermione Jane Granger just giggled!"
"She did not."
"Roost!"
A pained look spread across Hermione's face as she tried to suppress an outburst. She failed miserably, and a long string of giggles escaped from her lips as fire dazzled in her eyes.
"Giggler!"
Hermione broke out into uncontrollable laughter at the accusation. Embarrassed by her reaction, she dove back down on top of Harry and buried her face in her chest, then cuddled up against his left side with a hand up to shield her face from his. He smiled and wrapped his arm around her. After a few seconds time, Hermione calmed down enough to place her shielding hand down onto his chest. A moment later she let out a sigh.
"Merlin help me, Harry, you're turning me into a giggling school girl."
"Well you are, aren't you?"
"Oh, well…technically, I guess, but you know what I mean."
"What, that you are acting contrary to stereotype?"
"Uh huh."
Harry kissed the top of her head. "I really don't mind," he replied, "and your secret is safe with me."
"Thanks." Hermione then let out a sigh of contentment and noted, "This is quite comfortable."
"Yes," Harry replied tenderly, "it is."
"A perfect fit," Hermione added.
"Just like a phoenix on his roost."
"Harry, stop it!"
"Okay, okay" he said. "Shouldn't be surprised, I guess."
"What?"
"That we fit so perfectly."
"And why is that?"
Harry was about to say something about how she completed him, but was afraid that it would be too much mush too soon. So he tried to change the subject.
"Merlin, what an idiot I've been," he admitted.
"Why an idiot?"
"Because I've dreamed of doing this ever since Montenegro, and I think you have as well."
"I think you're right."
"What…that I'm an idiot, or that you teased me with that topless thong thingie because you fancied me?"
Hermione smiled. "Both."
Harry chuckled, and then asked, "Think that I have time for a nap now?"
"Hmmm…I still don't know all of the details about that deal that you made."
"Guess you weren't paying attention while we were inside the pensieve, huh?"
"Guess not."
"So….want to see it again?"
"You mean you and me dive back into pensieve-land?"
"Yeah."
Hermione slid her hand down Harry's chest and lightly grasped his semi-erect shaft. "I doubt my attention would be any more focused a second time."
"Hmmm…imagine you're right." Harry looked at the wall clock and wandlessly Accio'd the blanket that they had ripped off the bed.
"Give him a rest, will you?" he asked, as he spread the blanket over them.
"Do we have anything else scheduled for today?"
"Hmmm…got a meeting back at Hogwarts at seven-thirty…plenty of time."
"True, but I promised my parents that we'd let them know what happened."
"Oh, great," Harry whined.
"It'll be fine," Hermione said. "Daddy will be happy we didn't have to shag."
"True," Harry said, "but we might still have to, you know, in a week's time."
"Hmmm…" Hermione replied. "Guess that will give us some time to work on your control."
"Any specific ideas in mind, Miss Granger?"
Hermione smiled, thinking about the "squeeze and release" technique that she'd read about on-line. Harry was going to love that, for sure.
She gave Mr. Phoenix a loving squeeze, then asked, "Practice, practice, practice?"
Harry smiled and once again kissed the top of Hermione's head.
"Sounds like a plan to me."
+++
They rested for a little over an hour, then shared a shower and a plate of cheese and crackers. Hermione surprised Harry with the suggestion that they go back to bed and nibble on the Stilton while they were still starkers. She reasoned that if they were eventually going to be shagging in Luna and Susan's presence that they best be comfortable in their own skin in places other than the beach.
As they lay facing each other, Harry asked if she was rationalizing again, and tempting Mr. Phoenix not because she had to, but because she wanted to. She replied by lightly teasing one of her nipples with the cheese knife's forked tip, and asking if he would rather dress and move to the dining room. The phrase "Only if I could eat you again, instead of this bloody cheese" immediately leapt to mind, but Harry paused, wondering if the line was too, well, "cheesy."
He said it anyway, and the risk was rewarded with an endearing giggle.
Once they'd finished eating crackers in bed, Hermione pushed him off with orders to retrieve the pensieve that they'd left outside the tent.
"You want it projected, right?" he asked.
Hermione nodded. "Don't think I could trust myself in a place where we could enjoy some guilt-free sex."
"You make it sound like a bad thing."
"Only because I actually have to pay attention to the memory."
"So you wouldn't mind going back in with me some time?"
Hermione smiled and gave him a reassuring squeeze on his knee. "I'm looking forward to it. But before we do we really need to make sure that what we do there won't tarnish your halo."
Harry's eyes lit up. "You mean…"
"Yes, Harry, I want to shag you senseless in the very near future, and if we can do it within the pensieve without risking pregnancy or loss of virginity…so much the better, right?"
Harry smiled and once again thanked those Fates. "Better make sure I choose a long enough memory this time," he reasoned.
"Please do," Hermione replied with a smile. "And maybe pick one that won't annoy me so much?"
"Right," said Harry. "No flying, and no Susan…more of a romantic background then?"
Hermione nodded. "Just don't think it has all fluffy, though. I mean, the lakeshore, or the Astronomy tower, or even your bed would be so…cliche. A bit of naughtiness wouldn't be half-bad."
Harry snickered. "Let me guess, an hour-long memory of the two of us studying right next to the library's Restricted Section?"
Hermione's eyes lit up. "So that we could do it standing up, with me bent over and you behind while we were in between the stacks…."
"Sure you don't want to dive?" Harry asked, as he pointed to his temple. "I've already got that memory cued up for you."
She looked at him and pouted. "Yes I'm sure, you prat. Now go and get that pensieve."
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