Quidditch Robe Musings

prongs_69

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 14/07/2007
Last Updated: 14/07/2007
Status: in_progress

Ever wondered what Hermione really thought about those damned robes? well read on. frolics afoot!

Chapters

1. Dipping the Quill

1. Dipping the Quill

Quidditch Robe Musings
By Prongs_69
*Authors note* a big thank you to my new Beta *Dedicated Fan* Thank you for your guidance…

Chapter one: Dipping the Quill….

I can't really remember exactly how it all happened. Quidditch was never really an interest of mine, per se, more of a fascination of watching Harry perform. Ohmy, and perform he did. Never in my 11 yrs of being his friend, have I seen such a display of unique talent.

I remember it with such vivid fascination, the first time he donned those claret and gold robes, and headed out onto the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the team.

I knew then that I was hopelessly in love with those robes…and the person who donned them. The tousled hair, the cheeky lopsided grin, those britches what looked like Muggle riding jodhpurs, the knee pads, which reminded of the Muggle game of polo. Everything about him oozed sex appeal and I was lost in a sea of emerald so vivid, that I had to blink and re-focus in the sunny haze.

But oh those damned robes, how they would rob me of any coherent thought every time he wore them and he knew – oh how he knew – what they did to me! His well defined jaw, that aristocratic nose, those eyes, the little dimple in his left cheek as he smiled, those perfectly toned abs, that oh so perfect behind – oh yes, that behind – those buns were made to measure and were handled with all the care in the world! I made sure so! And he was mine, all mine. Plain old boring bookworm Hermione Jane Granger-Potter. Yes, I am Harry James Potter’s wife, much to the dismay of many a witches.

But how I love my husband, just the way he is. Always attentive, always affectionate in every way. He is, in a nutshell; perfect. You see, contrary to multiple accusations from the tabloids, he isn’t The Boy Who Lived or The Boy Who Conquered the Dark Lord or even the Chosen One to me. To me, he’s just Harry. Just Harry. Just my husband. And Just Perfect.

It was our 4th wedding anniversary and so for such a special occasion… let me simply say those old Gryffindor Quidditch robes would make an appearance. If my plans went according to schedule; sometime in the wee hours of the night. Now before your naughty mind goes off assuming such and such, consider this; what kind of an anniversary would it be without those damned robes? They are, in the end, what started it all off.

After a rather eventful yet romantic evening at Don Piero’s little Italian restaraunt were we feasted on bread (garlic may be a turn off in a loving situation), sumptuous lasagne, followed by a bottle of Merlot, we retired to the bedroom around 10 o’clock. Oh yes, everything was going according to plan. And if my lucky stars kept shining on me, the night would be far from over. My dear attentive husband knew nothing of the surprise I had in store for him. If he had, he remarkably showed no inclanation at all during the course of our evening.

The air was crisp, and had a slight chill to it and the air itself seem to have a charge of electricity about it. Or was it apprehension? Perhaps apprehension of what I had planned for Harry later on But as soon as the front door was closed and I prepared myself to unleash my brilliant plan, Harry’s lips locked with mine and I felt his breath quicken. Before I could utter a word, his lips took the next step of his apparent seduction. His tongue had appeared and was teasing, tasting, licking, as though I was a delicate dessert he would treasure for as long as he could.

Oh my…the man could kiss. Every little whimper that exited my mouth seemed to fuel him and it was obvious we were both very aroused before we reached the bedroom. He had pushed me up against the wall and had ridded me of my coat and shoes. Slowly-oh so slowly, the prick-he kissed his way across my collar bone, down the side of my shoulder, nipping, tasting, suckling like a newborn. Suddenly I was lifted into the air, and was being taken, rather hurriedly, towards our bedroom. “Can’t wait,” I heard him whisper gruffly in my ear. When we entered the bedroom, I gasped. It seemed as though Harry had given our anniversary some thought as well. Every inch of the comforter was covered in white rose petals, scattered to the four winds. It literally took my breath away.

“Oh Harry,” I whispered, still clinging onto his neck for balance. “Anything for you,” he whispered back, burying his face along the side of mine, inhaling my scent and kissing my neck lovingly. I closed my eyes and ignored the rest of the world, allowing Harry to do what he wanted with me. I was his. By the time my knees hit the edge of the bed, I was so aroused the irritation that my plan might be foiled by his sudden seduction was long gone. He laid me down ever so gently, and slowly he proceeded to take off my stockings, stopping all the while to nip and lick at my legs.

Slowly-ever so slowly, the prick-he hovered over me his breath coming in short pants of wispy air and said, “Mrs. Potter.” That was my undoing. I groaned and bucked my hips, crashed my lips into his, sending me in a sexual frenzy. I knew then, I was undone, and he was the one to do the undoing. I wanted him. I wanted him right now and I didn’t give a damn about my pl-my plan! As if a meteor had crashed into Earth, I suddenly remembered my not-so-foil proof plan. As much as I didn’t want to, I ignored the throbbing into my lower areas and pushed him up, grabbing his tie to keep his lips secured on mine. “I have a present for you,” I whispered with a smile, kissing and licking his lips. Harry backed his head away from mine to look in my eyes. “Hermione.” Even after all these years, he trusts me but is still anxious.

I grinned, suddenly feeling very dominant and pulled him close once again by his tie. I moved my head and kissed his ear (melting against his shudder) before whispering the magic words I wanted him to say. I pulled away and he looked at me longingly. He then proceeded to walk to the wardrobe, whisper the incantation, and in a flash, he stood there in full Gryffindor robes. Oh Merlin’s socks, save me Godric. What a specimen of a man stood there, in all his Gryffindor glory. His soft burgundy sweater, his tight cream pants that didn’t hide his excitement well, his arm and leg pads. And all topped off with his heavy burgundy robe that could envelop both of us from society in the middle of the Quidditch field.

In a desperate sprint, I was across the room, jumping against him and literally pulling him on top of me on the bed. I was naked, laying there in all my glory for my husband to see. Sometime between understanding what my ultimate fetish was in Hogwarts and me attacking him like a randy animal, he had used non verbal magic.

With a flick of my wrist, his robe was unbuckled and slid off the bed rather quickly from its weight. My hands caressed his chest and started to work on getting his sweater off. He wasted no time in peppering lingering kisses to my jaw line and neck, emitting a nuzzling sound as he went. “Thought you didn’t like Quidditch, Hermione,” he said as he kneaded a breast and used the other hand to caress my side.

“Oh hush up,” I whispered. My fantasy was occurring and he was not going to ruin it for me by acting cocky-I mean, overconfident. “Lift up your arms,” I commanded, although I wanted nothing more than for him to continue with his busy hands. He lifted his arms up high and his sweater was gone. Now to get to work on those britches and what lay behind them. Forbidden treasure that I, and I alone, had the key to unlock. Suddenly I felt his hand nudge my knees apart, sending a gush of warm air around my groin. I waited in anticipation of his next move. The britches could wait.

Slowly-ever so slowly, the prick-he dragged his roughened tongue over my lips and then in one swift move, he thrust forward. “Oh my God,” is what I think I said. Warmth flooded through me, over and over as he nipped & suckled my neck, as though his life depended on it. My failing hands and fingers somehow found their way to the zipper on his britches. Like a mad woman, I did what I had wanted to do for so long. I grabbed it and forced it down, pushing his britches and briefs down along with them. “Harry, please, now!”

He knew what I wanted. He lifted my legs and positioned them over his shoulders then rocked back onto his heels. In one fluid motion, he drove home. “Ohh!” I gasped loudly. The louder I moaned the harder and faster he pounded into me. He picked up his pace, driving relentlessly into me, with each stroke he brought me nearer to the pinnacle. He was grunting and groaning and slipping my name in every now and then. I felt my body begin to shudder and spasm, buck and writhe beneath him. Moments passed and Harry’s thrusts became more and more desperate. My hands clung to his shoulders, sometimes scratching, sometimes squeezing. He bowed his head down to my ear and groaned. “Can’t last. Can’t-Oh Mione… ohhhh - I’m – ohh!” I moved my hands to his hair and gripped tightly. “Harry! Just there! Harder!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ White light flashed before Harry’s eyes and he too tumbled over the edge, his body jerking spasmodically as her wet warmth milked him for all he was worth. He collapsed on top of her, sated. They clung onto one another, still, before slowly letting go. “Oh my.” Hermione breathed. “That plan went extremely well.” “You were an animal,” Harry replied breathily against her ear. Hermione grinned. Harry laughed between pants. “Happy anniversary, Hermione, I love you so much.” “Happy anniversary Harry, I love you too.” Harry waited for Hermione to regain some sense of control and for his own blood in his own veins to cool…he gently swept her hair away from her face.. She looked like an angel lay there all innocent and at the sane time, so devishly erotic! Harry blinked and looked down at her. His heart constricted in his chest. Never before had a women made him feel like this, but then again, Harry knew he was Hermione’s from the first day he set eyes on her all those years ago. Pity he did not get to thank the Troll back in first year. He was brought out of his thoughts when he felt her hand caress his wet hair. “You’re wet,” she mused, referring to his body and hair. “You’re one to talk,” he grinned. She playfully hit his arm. “I fancy your Quidditch robes,” she said shyly, suddenly the same Hermione she was at the beginning of the night. “I see,” Harry said proudly, “Well, we are both wet. I suggest we take a shower.” Hermione smiled almost evilly. “Will you wear your robes?” “In the shower?” She nodded, almost giggling. He laughed and kissed her nose. Then he got out of bed, pulled his sweater and britches back on before racing her to the bathroom.

A Big thank you to my Beta *Dedicated Fan*..
Without your help I would be a lost cause…..

To all the H/HR fans out there.. Love & friendship does prevail in the end…..

Copyright Prongs69 2007