Friday Night

Hysterical Hystorian

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 13/10/2008
Last Updated: 13/10/2008
Status: in_progress

Harry and Hermione enjoy a Friday night dinner out.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

A/N: Written for the fall 2008 Erotic Elves community “Random Kink” challenge on LJ. I was assigned “male masturbation” and “cock ring.” And since I knew what those were, I went for it! :D

*~*

Harry sees her as soon as she enters the busy pub. He’s been able to secure a booth in the rear; he stands and waves at her, but she cannot see over the bobbing heads. He sees her hop a few times; her bushy hair falls out of the serviceable bun she wears during the workday. Finally, he gives up and shouts, “Hermione!”

A few patrons turn to look at him, but Harry sees only his wife’s lovely face light up as she hears and then sees him. She waves happily and starts pushing her way through the crowd. The patrons turn away again, not realizing that the lift they feel in their spirits is caused by the physical connection of two souls once again.

“Hi!” Harry says loudly over the music and clamor of the Friday night crowd. “I’m beginning to think this wasn’t such a great idea.” He takes her bag, cloak and purse from her and stuffs it in the back of the booth.

Hermione starts to slide into the seat opposite him, but then she changes her mind. She motions to Harry to budge over and nestles up close to him. “Hi. I’m so glad to see you.”

She lifts her face and Harry obliges her with a kiss. The sweet warmth of her lips thrills him, as it always does when he kisses her.

He pushes a glass of white wine towards her, and she lifts it gratefully to those just kissed lips. “Mmm…so what do you think we should have for supper?” she asks.

“The special is the shepherd’s pie,” he says, unfolding the menu in front of her. “But it’s so big. I’m not sure I want to eat that much.” Hermione arches an eyebrow. “Big lunch.”

“Oh? Tell me about it.”

“Well, I had this huge meeting with Kingsley and the other department heads today…” He launches into a long-winded description—part rant, part report—about the lunch and the meeting and the three field mission debriefings that were tedious in the extreme.

Hermione listens with her typical polite alertness. But instead of asking a barrage of questions, she remains quiet and sits very close to him.

In the middle of his rant about a field Auror who bumbled into a Muggle home with his wand out, he feels her hand slide over his thigh, coming to rest on the inside, very close to his crotch.

He shifts his legs, not to discourage her, but rather to encourage her hand to move just a little closer. It does, and she does. The warmth from her palm is delicious.

Without missing a beat, he starts in about Dawlish’s latest gaffe, and how much it’s going to cost the department to start the investigation over again and how disgusted Kingsley is with the silly git this time, and …

A waiter comes by. “Oh, right,” Harry says, stopping mid-story. “Um…we’ve decided we’re going to split the shepherd’s pie and we also want two house salads. Is that right?” He looks at Hermione.

“That’s correct. I’d like the house dressing on the side, please,” she says.

“Same here. Thanks.”

The waiter leaves.

“So, where was I? Oh, Dawlish—god, working with him is getting harder every day…” Harry continues. After several minutes, he pauses and takes a long pull on his stout, draining it.

Hermione leans her head against his shoulder. Harry is mildly surprised. While she is very affectionate in private, she almost never touches him in public, which is just fine by him. He lays his head gently to hers. “Is everything all right?” he asks.

“Mmm, it’s fine,” she replies. Her index finger draws a small circle near the inseam of his trousers. “I’m just really glad it’s Friday.”

“Me too. Is there anything special you’d like to do?”

“I’d love to sleep in tomorrow. It’s supposed to be cold and stormy tonight and tomorrow. I have no desire to get up early and go for a run.” Her middle finger joins its partner in the slow circles. Harry’s cock twitches, which annoys him. It’s not about you, arse. Your wife is talking. Listen.

“Sounds good. I’m kind of ready to have a lazy day with you,” he says. He kisses her head.

Their food arrives. Since Hermione is sitting to his right, she doesn’t bother to move her hand. The waiter runs off to refill their drinks. Harry is feeling slightly flushed from the beer, hot food and Hermione’s circling fingers.

They eat companionably and quietly for a while. “This is good,” Harry says.

“Mmm, it is.”

Harry is becoming concerned. Hermione is usually extremely verbal and eager to tell him about her day in Magical Law Enforcement. The “Telling of the Day” has become one of his favourite times; he truly loves to hear about what she’s doing, what she’s writing, whom she’s pursuing, whom she’s prosecuting, what’s bothering her and who’s bothering her (and taking names with a thought to follow up on those who are vexing her.) He’s unloaded all the toxic information of his day, but she has yet to say anything about hers.

“Hermione, are you all right?”

She hesitates for several beats as she finishes chewing. “I’m fine. Just not in the mood to talk. I’m hungry and … and I missed you today.”

Harry can’t help feeling pleased that his wife missed him. He hasn’t been out of town for several weeks, nor working late at night, and yet she’s missed him. A little thrill of male cockiness runs through him.

He gives her his sweetest smile. “I love you.”

She returns his smile, and squeezes his thigh. He opens his legs wider, and her hand slips just a little higher, now resting in the juncture of his leg and hip. It makes his breath hitch. Hermione notices. “Do you like that?” she asks in a low voice.

He ducks his head. “I like everything you do.”

She continues to eat, but rubs her hand in the crease, dipping low enough to stimulate his balls. Harry wants to spread his legs wider and moan, but then remembers he’s in a public place. Reluctantly, he tries to close his legs, but finds he can’t.

“Hermione? What—“

“Just relax. I’ve got it covered.”

Harry is a little mystified, but not worried. This is Hermione. She’d never do anything to hurt or embarrass him, but he is curious as to what she is up to. “Darling, not that I’m not enjoying this, but—“

“You’re going to enjoy it even more,” she says with a smile, taking a sip of her wine.

“Then I’m going to need another one of these,” he laughs shakily. Their waiter glides by and Harry shakes his pint glass at him.

They finish dinner. The waiter comes by with Harry’s stout and clears their dishes. “Could we order the dark chocolate fudge brownie and ice cream dish?” Hermione asks.

“Sure,” the waiter said. “But we ran out of the brownies and a new batch is baking right now. Can you wait a bit?”

Without batting an eye, she replies, “That shouldn’t be a problem. I so love that dessert.”

The waiter goes away. “Hermione,” Harry said, “I don’t want to wait. C’mon. Let’s pay the bill and get out of here.”

“But you have a fresh beer.”

“Screw the beer.”

Hermione gives him a sweet smile. “But, Harry, I adore this dessert.” She slides her hand across his thigh to give his crotch an affectionate squeeze. “Besides, we have some time.”

Harry’s eyes grow wider. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, Harry…”

Harry feels the zip of the trousers open, and instantly, he slides just a little further under the table. His eyes latched firmly to her deep brown ones, he feels her hand slide through the fly of his boxers, and take his hard cock. He freezes. “Hermione!” he hisses, but leans back and spreads his legs nonetheless.

She is sitting very closely to him, so close her fly-away hair is tickling his face and neck. She is smiling, but her eyes burn with passion. Harry is on fire; had his magic not been under control, he’s certain his hair would’ve combusted. His glasses fog; sweat beads on his upper lip.

Her hand is doing wicked, wicked things: pre-come makes his cock slip easily through the tight tube of her fingers. Just when he thinks it can’t get any better, a fingernail plays with the slit; the pleasure pain on that most sensitive spot nearly causes him to levitate out of the seat. Here, in the open of a busy Muggle pub, Harry finds his wife’s doing the most private of acts oddly electrifying. He’s never been one for public acts of affection, let alone something as lewd as nudity and sex. Though he knows the table is covering everything, the sheer naughtiness of what Hermione is doing to him excites him greatly.

Harry grips the edge of the table with both hands, his face stony. “If you keep that up, I’m gonna come,” he growls.

“I hope so,” she says sweetly, though a mischievous gleam in her eyes belies her calm exterior.

Her hand works up and down his hard shaft. He closes his eyes, willing himself to maintain his composure, though in truth he wants to scream. He feels the familiar building pressure of impending orgasm. He bites his lower lip.

Suddenly, he feels a strong pressure around the base of his cock; he nearly cries out.

“Here you are!” their waiter says. “Since you’re nice enough to wait for your dessert, the manager would like for you to have another round on him.”

“Thank you,” Hermione says primly, giving a lovely smile. Harry merely gives a tight-lipped nod.

Hermione takes a sip of the new glass of chardonnay. Harry hazards a glance, but he can’t see anything. “What the hell did you do?” he murmurs.

“Cock ring spell,” she says. “Didn’t want you coming with the waiter right there.”

“That’s a new one. Very considerate,” he grinds out. “Hermione, this is—“

“None of these people knows what I’m doing,” she says in a low, sexy voice, her body turned fully to his. “None of these people knows that I am fondling my husband’s penis under the table. No one knows that you are about to have an orgasm.” The cock ring disappears, and instantly, Harry’s cock twitches. Her finger finds the most pleasurable spot on the head of his dick, and tweaks it. Harry bites his lower lip again. “And if they did know,” she whispers, “they would be jealous as hell. Open your eyes, Harry, and watch them. Let them see you come in my hand.”

Harry doesn’t know if it was her words or the tweaking or just the sheer relief of finally being allowed to come, but he does. It takes every ounce of discipline and Auror training to not cry out or rise up from his seat. His body jerks minutely as the force of the orgasm washes through him; he’s sure he’s bitten through his lip as his teeth clamp together. Stars and lightning and all the forces in nature explode in his mind.

As soon as he can see again, he grabs his beer and gulps most of it down. The tell-tale tingle of a cleaning charm tickles; her warm hand releases his soft member and the zip on his trousers goes up. Hermione snuggles closely to him, sipping her wine, as he lays his head on top of hers. A languid peace steals over him.

“Thank you so much for waiting,” the waiter says, appearing with a huge bowl piled high with ice cream drizzled with chocolate and slathered in whipped cream. “Enjoy!”

“Oh, we will,” Hermione says. She loads up the spoon with brownie and ice cream and takes a bite, closing her eyes and moaning as she does. “This is so good.”

She scoops another huge amount and holds it in front of Harry’s face. “Open up.” He does so, dutifully. “Isn’t that the most delicious thing ever?”

He chews, his eyes closed. “Orgasm in public? Ice cream brownie?” He shrugs. “It’s a toss-up.”

*~*