Skin

puck_nc

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 03/08/2009
Last Updated: 03/08/2009
Status: completed

Hermione finds herself obsessing over Harry's skin. One-shot PWP.

Chapters

1. Skin

1. Skin

Disclaimer: Harry treats Hermione very not-like-a-sister. Obviously that makes me very not-J.K. Rowling.

Skin

Hermione Granger Potter had never considered herself a sensualist. Oh, she could appreciate the beauty of a spectacular sunset, the scent of a newly-opened flower or the taste of a well-prepared dish. But to dwell on such things in a world full of need would be the mark of self-indulgence. And Hermione was not one to be self-indulgent.

So it took her rather by surprise when she found herself entranced by Harry’s skin.

He’d gone for a run. Dean Thomas had persuaded him to try a local amateur football league together and Harry was running several times a week to improve his stamina. He came in the door and headed straight to the kitchen for water. Hermione glanced up from her book and paused, entranced by the sight of Harry’s bare ankles and calves rising from his trainers. Her eyes followed the line from the angular bones up the graceful curve of his leg to the knees that were still ever-so-slightly knobbly. When in the world had he started wearing those short socks that were all but invisible under the shoe?

Then she imagined them in their bed, her own legs sliding up and down against his, and felt her face flame. She ducked back to her book, trying to pull herself together before Harry turned from the sink.

A few days later, Hermione came into the sitting room to find Harry watching the news hour. He absent-mindedly pulled the sleeve of his tee shirt up to scratch an itch on his shoulder, and the sleeve remained bunched up. Hermione stopped short, staring at the exposed arm. She’d seen every inch of him many times in their six years of marriage, but the slight swell of his bicep, the shoulder framed by the crumpled cloth of his shirt, caught and held her riveted.

And the urge to go up to him and run her hand along that arm was almost irresistible.

The next evening, she had to work late. She took the Floo home, loaded down with files that would need organizing before the morning. Stumbling into the sitting room, she set the files down, mentally kicking herself for not thinking of a Weightless Charm before carrying them all the way from her office. She pulled out her wand and began cleaning the soot off her clothes, calling out, “Harry? I’m home!”

“Hi, love,” he responded absently. Hermione glanced around and saw his shadow in the next room. She headed to the door, shrugging off her cloak.

Harry was seated at the table, reading through some files of his own. He leaned on one elbow, his cheek resting on his hand, and made lazy circles with a quill as he read. Hermione watched him as he read, tracing the angular line of his jaw and the wiry muscle in his neck with her eyes.

To hell with it. Work can wait.

She stepped forward and, placing one hand on his shoulder, leaned down and brushed her lips against his neck. He smiled slightly and leaned into her. “Missed you, too.”

Her lips curved into a knowing smile and she kissed him again, then moved along his tendon with her mouth slightly open, letting a trickle of breath waft against his neck. She felt his muscles stiffen slightly as Harry tensed with surprise. He asked huskily, “Hermione?”

She left a trail of kisses up across his jawline, then paused as she neared his temple. “These are in the way,” she whispered. She slid his glasses from his face, slowly and teasingly, and kissed the soft, pliant skin where the wire had just been.

Now he put down the quill and turned to face her, the grin spreading across his face. “Anything else in the way?”

“Most definitely.” She took both his hand in hers, tracing the lines in his palms with her thumbs, and he shivered. She pulled him to his feet and led him toward their bedroom.

Once there, she stopped him from switching on the light and used her wand to light the candles that sat on their dresser and nightstands. Harry moved to help her out of her clothes, but Hermione stopped him.

“Just hold still,” she told him, her voice deep and throaty, and he raised his eyebrows but obeyed.

Hermione looked him up and down in anticipation. His shirt was open at the collar, and with her fingers she followed the line of his throat over his Adam’s apple and down to the soft hollow below. Very slowly, she began unbuttoning his shirt, pouting slightly at the vest he wore underneath. When she had all the buttons loose, she slid his shirt from his shoulders and kissed his throat, running her tongue delicately across his collarbone and feeling her own desire surge as Harry’s pulse jumped under her lips.

She pulled his shirt down to where the cuffs still clung to his wrists. She lifted one hand to undo the buttons there, and bent her head so that her lips were in his palm, kissing and licking. He caressed her face and breathed, “Hermione…”

Discarding his shirt, Hermione pulled his vest out of the waistband of his trousers and raised it slowly, letting her fingertips trail up his stomach and ribs. Harry moaned and reached for her again.

“No, Harry. Be still.” She pushed the vest up, making him raise his arms to lift the white cotton over his head.

“But I want to see you, too. This isn’t fair.”

Hermione fixed him with a stern glance and picked up her wand again. “Who told you life is fair?”

And with a wave of her wand, she conjured a blindfold across his eyes.

“Hey!” Harry tugged at the cloth, which would not budge.

“Now, just use your imagination for a few minutes and be good, or it’ll be the Full Body-Bind next.”

He swallowed hard and left the blindfold alone.

Smiling in satisfaction, Hermione laid down her wand and stepped up to Harry again. She leaned forward and ran her tongue over one nipple, feeling the soft skin draw up immediately as Harry let out a strangled groan. She touched his wrists, caressing the tendons gently, and slid her hands up his arms, letting her thumbs trace the swell of his biceps that she had admired just the day before. Her mouth left a trail of kisses from the nipple she’d been working on across his chest to the other one. His heart was pounding, thudding against his ribcage, and she pressed her cheek to his chest to feel the throbbing for a moment.

She slid her arms around, laying her hands on Harry’s back and letting them glide from the shoulders down to his waist. Smooth skin, warm skin. She started to press herself against him, then realized that she was still in her starched shirt and wool skirt. That wouldn’t do at all.

She stepped back to her wand, not answering Harry as he called out uncertainly, “Hermione?” A quick Transfiguration, and she was dressed in a negligee. Slippery silk trailed from her shoulders to the floor, gilding her body with sleek, cool sensations. She considered for a brief moment, then ran her hands down Harry’s trousered legs. She carefully lifted one foot and then the other, slipping his shoes off and laying them aside. Rising, she reached for his belt and slowly worked it free, smiling again as his erection bulged when she unzipped his trousers.

She let the weight of the belt draw the trousers down and stroked the firm muscles of his thighs. Really, Harry had just about the best legs she’d ever seen on a man. She helped him step out of the trousers so he wouldn’t fall, and pulled his socks off.

As he stood in front of her, clad only in his pants, Hermione took a moment to indulge herself, raking him up and down with her eyes from the sweep of his jawline to the toned torso, past the narrow hips and down to those ankles that had caught her attention a few days ago. Then she stepped forward, circling him and letting her hands and lips trail along.

Harry shivered as the silk of her nightgown brushed against his bare skin. “At least tell me what colour you’re wearing?”

Hermione paused, amused because she hadn’t even looked. She glanced down and pulled the hem up from where it trailed her calves, running the silk over his back with her hands. “Red,” she whispered into his ear, letting her breath tickle the sensitive skin. “Deep, ruby red.” She moved around, caressing him with silken strokes, and when he was trembling all over in the effort not to reach for her, she put two fingers in the waistband of his pants and began pulling them down.

She grinned, anticipating exactly what she would do next. She guided one of his hands to the dresser for support and said throatily, “You may take those off.”

While he moved carefully to obey her, Hermione went to her vanity and found a stray bit of ribbon to tie her hair back loosely. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror: in red silk, her skin flushed and her eyes sparkling with mischief and power.

For the first time since her wedding day, she truly felt beautiful when she looked at herself.

Is this what Harry sees every time we make love?

Excitement built in her as she turned back to Harry. She started at his throat, kissing and nipping gently, working her way down. She teased his nipples, ran her tongue to the left of his navel—a familiar sensitive spot on him—and down to his erection. She let just the tip of her tongue trail up the shaft to the ridge of his foreskin, swirling her tongue around the tip and smiling at the deep groan he let out. She opened her mouth and went to work in earnest, moving up and down slowly at first, and then speeding up her rhythm.

Harry grabbed frantically for the dresser as he swayed, his body quivering and his knees no longer reliable. “Hermione, please!”

She leaned back, sucking hard as she let him go, and smirked as she took up her wand and banished the blindfold. Harry blinked a few times, his eyes dark with enormous pupils. This smouldering look, so different from the normal blaze of green, brought an even more intense heat to the knot of excitement in her belly.

Harry took her by the shoulders and backed her to the bed. She fell across it and he leaned over her. She moved to pull the negligee over her head, but he took her hands. “Not yet.”

And he began to work on her.

He let the silk carry his touch as he slid his hands across her breasts, down her sides and to her hips. He drew the silk up her legs, as slowly as she had done with his clothing, and her anticipation made her shiver. His fingers made long, feather-light strokes up as he inched the silk up higher and higher. Hermione was so caught up in the tightening of her groin and the gliding of silk across her skin that she barely heard him chuckle, “My, my…no knickers?”

He skimmed his hands up her thighs and paused briefly. Then in one motion he pushed the red silk up past her breasts and dove in like a striking hawk, his head between her legs and his tongue caressing her clit. Hermione nearly screamed in delight.

As he continued, his lips and tongue causing electric twinges in her, Hermione tried to get the gown over her head. When she had freed her hair from its clinging straps, she moved to slide it off her arms.

Harry glanced up and frowned for the briefest second in concentration.

And Hermione gasped when she realized her hands were bound at the wrists in red silk.

“That’s cheating!”

He smiled lazily. “You started it.” He took her by the knees and turned her so that she was lying in the centre of the bed, then she felt her hands being pulled over her head as the ends of the silken ropes wound themselves around one of the spindles in the headboard and drew tight. Then, as Harry looked at one ankle and then the other, more silk appeared to wrap around her ankles and draw her legs apart, pulling one foot toward each bedpost.

He looked her up and down appreciatively, and Hermione shivered. She was aflame, almost desperate for Harry to touch her again, but also just a little afraid. They had played with blindfolds before, but this was the first time that actual restraints had entered the arena. And the analytical part of her mind that never seemed to rest completely was busy admiring how far Harry had come with spells that were both silent and wandless.

And then he surprised her yet again.

He was still standing at the foot of the bed, not moving as he looked at her, but sensations were hitting her from all sides. Unseen satiny silk trailed up her arms. Downy, tickly feathers danced across her ribs. Plush velvet glided up her calves. Cool sand poured over her stomach. She was drowning in the sensations as they came, one after the other and hitting her skin from every direction except the one place where she was all but crying for release.

“Harry! Oh, god, Harry!”

And now tiny champagne bubbles broke and snapped across her breasts. Soft cashmere wound around and down, travelling from shoulder to hip. She felt as if her skin was at once reaching out for the next sensation and drawing back, begging for a respite. She squeezed her eyes shut as the invisible impressions hit in rapid succession.

“Harry, I can’t…”

And then his hands were on her, stroking and fondling her breasts. And then more hands were caressing her face, massaging her feet, moving in long strokes down her arms and sides to her hips. She looked around wildly, disoriented at the feeling of half-a-dozen invisible men indulging themselves on her, and Harry, unmoved from the foot of the bed, tutted.

“Ah-ah, no peeking!” And her vision was cut off as the blindfold appeared and wrapped itself around her head.

And the hands began again, tracing lines across her belly, caressing her legs, touching her lips gently. Every touch made her writhe against the silk holding her down. She was inundated in the sensation of dozens of hands as they explored her skin, finding and claiming every inch of her. Her body was pleading for release, but the hands carefully did not answer as they traced everywhere but the hard, tingling knot of pleasure in her groin.

“Harry, please! I can’t take it!”

His answer was something that felt smooth and cool and solid between her legs. They’d joked once, a few months back, about how they might use a vibrator if they had one. And before Hermione could draw breath to ask Harry if he’d actually bought one, whatever was poised at her groin began thrumming intensely. She bucked against the silk that held her down as her belly tightened, answering its rhythm with her own. Quivering electricity built, contracting across her body and down until she shrieked as her orgasm crashed through her.

And before the ripples of pleasure coursing through her had subsided, Harry slid into her.

Hermione felt the bonds around her wrists and ankles release and the blindfold vanished, letting her see Harry’s face. He was flushed with desire, his eyes still dark and boring into her, devouring the sight of her. She threw her arms around him, kissing him deeply. He thrust into her, carrying her climax on and building it again, and Hermione had to fall back, gasping for air as he sped up.

“I love you, Hermione!” His voice was deep and rough.

“And I love you, Harry,” she replied, her voice jolting as they moved together. They rode the wave together, cresting and falling at the same time. Harry let out a ragged cry of triumph with his final thrust, and he collapsed on Hermione. He looked at her, smiling, and gently pushed a stray lock of her hair back. She responded with a futile attempt to neaten his hair around his face and they both chuckled.

He waited until their breathing had evened out, then rolled off her and pulled her into his arms. As they lay together, letting the pounding rhythm of their hearts settle, Harry stroked her shoulder with one hand. Hermione shivered as his fingers slid along her skin, remembering the feeling of so many hands on her. She wondered how long it would be before his touch didn’t trigger that memory.

“That was brilliant. Thank you for indulging me.”

Hermione blushed. “I was indulging myself, really, until you turned the tables. I’ve been more than a little obsessed with you lately.”

Harry smiled at that and tightened his arms around her. “Really? Then you should act on your obsessions a little more often.”

Hermione felt as if she would burst into flame if she blushed any harder, and turned to hide her face in Harry’s chest. He lifted her chin, making her looking his eyes.

“You are beautiful, Hermione. You’re strong, you’re smart, and I consider myself very, very lucky to be married to you.”

She wanted to respond, but was at a loss for words, drowning in the brilliant green sea of admiration and appreciation in his gaze. Harry must have seen what she wanted to say in her expression, for he leaned over and kissed her gently, parting her lips with his tongue and sliding one hand up to caress her cheek.

“I love you, Hermione,” he whispered as he pulled back, keeping his hand on her face and stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I want you to indulge yourself with me.”

“As long as you indulge yourself as well. Fair’s fair.” She slid closer, nuzzling her face into his neck.

Hermione felt the vibrations in his throat as he chuckled. “Indeed, fair’s fair. Done and sealed with a kiss.”

He followed word with deed and placed one more gentle kiss on her lips. They settled into one another’s arms, letting their hands drift in affectionate touches as they lay together, skin to skin.