heather11483 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heathershaped) wrote2009-01-06 10:15 am
heathershaped) wrote2009-01-06 10:15 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Jigsaw Falling Into Place (Hermione/Charlie, Adult)
Title: Jigsaw Falling Into Place
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
heather11483
Pairing(s): Hermione/Charlie
Summary: Hermione does something she might not regret as much as she thinks.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
AN: Written forsweet_lemmon in the 2008 ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
smutty_claus exchange. Thanks to florahart for the beta.
January
Hermione was almost immediately cold when she slid out of bed, picking up the first piece of clothing she touched and tugging it over her head. Moonlight filtered through the windows, but she couldn’t see much of the room at all. Not the clothes scattered all over the floor; not the cramped wooden desk in the corner or the dragon-hide work boots by the door. Not the bed.
Not the man sleeping in it.
All things considered, that was probably best. It certainly wasn’t as if the images weren’t already seared permanently on the back of her eyelids. Eventually, she was able to locate her wand on the floor by the nightstand; clearly it had been separated from her pocket at some point. She couldn’t remember hearing it clatter against the hardwood – of course, her mind, and everything else for that matter, had been otherwise occupied at the time. Gathering the remains of her wits, she wordlessly summoned her clothes and got to her feet, walking somewhat blindly in the direction of the bathroom. Once there, she closed the door quietly and leaned against it, releasing a shaky breath.
God, her legs felt like jelly. She pressed a hand to her stomach as if to stop the fluttering. She felt tingly still, all over; her hands were shaking slightly, her muscles lax. And there was, of course, the dull ache in her thighs; between her legs. Oh, god.
She lit a candle and, upon seeing her reflection in the mirror, groaned softly at her own flushed skin and swollen lips. Her wild hair and her neck, where marks were already forming.
And to top it all off, she’d put on his t-shirt – a t-shirt, she noticed, that was now gaped wide open from shoulder seam to breast pocket. Odds were pretty good that he hadn’t done that himself.
Oh, god. Hermione took a deep breath and slid to the floor. I did not just shag Charlie Weasley, she told herself. I did not shag Charlie Weasley.
The problem was that she could remember shagging Charlie Weasley – quite clearly. She hadn’t been drunk, after all – might have been out of her bloody mind, but her senses had been clear. Were still clear. And her mind seemed intent upon replaying every second. His mouth around her nipple; his cock in her hand. Her fingers, tugging at his short hair. Trying to count his freckles with her tongue, one-by-one. Hot breath against her belly-button; dragging her teeth against the curve of muscle at his hip. The scratch of his stubble against her inner thigh; the way his rough, calloused hands had felt on her skin, spreading her open. His teeth scraping the shell of her ear. His tongue all over her, inside her. Feeling his muscles bunching, working under her hands as she held onto his shoulders, arms, back. Their twin groans as he’d buried himself inside her.
She could still taste him in her mouth, could still feel his deep, rumbling moans against her neck.
Bloody hell. Sweet, buggering fuck. How had this happened? At what point had her entire world tilted and left her standing on his doorstep? What lapse of sanity had compelled her to spend her last night in Romania – for work, no less – in Charlie Weasley’s bed?
Things like this didn’t happen to her. She was Hermione Granger, and she didn’t make boneheaded decisions like the one she’d made last night. She didn’t have affairs, and she didn’t have casual sex. She didn’t agree to have dinner with her ex-fiance’s older brother in the first place, and she would never take advantage of a professional relationship. She didn’t fall for bright blue eyes and hard-packed bodies and wicked grins. And maybe it had been a while for her, but certainly, she had more self-control than to leave her clothes in a rumpled heap on the way to his bed. More restraint than to try and tear his clothes directly off his body; to try and wrap herself around him like a vine; to try and climb inside him.
Except that she had done all of those things. Oh, god.
Hermione buried her face in her hands. How could she even look at him now? No one had ever seen her like this, because she didn’t get like this.
The only thing she could think to do was leave. Leave, before Charlie woke up and saw her as little more than a semi-hysterical bundle on his bathroom floor. Which would only be slightly more humiliating than the wanton and entirely unprofessional display she’d put on a couple of hours ago. He must think … No. No; it didn’t matter what he thought because this didn’t mean anything. It was just a momentary lapse, a break in form. Just sex. Yes, he was charming in a gruff sort of way, and surprisingly sweet and easy to talk to, and seemed to listen to her like no one else had. Lord knew he was gorgeous. And …
No. Just sex.
Clumsily, Hermione pulled on her clothes, transfiguring her shirt so that it would at least remain closed on the way home. She closed her eyes and prayed that she had the energy and the wits required to Apparate all the way back to London.
April
Hermione removed her glasses, the wire-rimmed pair that she only wore at the end of the day when her eyes were tired and the words on the page started to blur in front of her. They weren’t exactly doing the trick today, because she’d been staring at the same paragraph for the last twenty minutes and hardly seeing a thing. Considering that she’d written the paragraph herself, it was probably a sign that she ought to head home for the day.
When she’d started working for the Department of Magical Creatures straight out of Hogwarts, she’d had fanciful notions of being able to change the system from the inside out. It turned out that bureaucracy was even more of a headache from the inside. Ever since the discovery of a new breed of Horntail in Romania back in January, it had been paperwork on top of paperwork, meetings with the International Magical Cooperation and the Romanian Ministry that all ran together, and miles of red tape to untangle and cut through. But finally, finally, she’d begun work on a grant proposal to start construction of a new reserve to safely house the sensitive and rare breed of dragon away from possible Muggle interference.
It was quite a coup for the department, considering that the Ministry in Romania had tried to claim credit for the discovery even though Goyle’s team had found the first remains during a fully-authorized research mission in the Carpathians. With no help from the Romanian authorities, they’d tracked the remains and other signs back to a valley deep in the mountains, where a tiny population of the dragons was still living. Not as large as the Hungarian Horntail, but every bit as dangerous, and much more sensitive to climate change - which was why they’d found a place so remote to settle. They were dying off, though, and with a reserve built to suit their needs, perhaps the breed would be able to thrive.
But not if she didn’t finish the grant proposal, and make sure that it was iron clad.
When she heard a knock at the door, she leaned back. “Come in.”
Harry popped his head in. “You at a good stopping point, or are you going to hex me?”
“Funny,” Hermione lifted a brow and waved her best friend into her office. “Fortunately for you, I was just about the stop for the day. A few minutes sooner, and I would have shown you the trapdoor.”
Chuckling, Harry walked over to her desk. “Still working on the proposal?”
“Not even halfway finished, unfortunately – and this is only the first draft.”
“How many different ways can you say ‘we found dragons, so hand over the galleons’?”
“You’d be surprised, actually.” Hermione leaned over and kissed Harry’s cheek. “What brings you by? I don’t often get to see you hanging around this department.”
“I got relegated to mail boy for the time being,” he snorted and removed a fat envelope from his pocket, placing it in front of her. “See what three years in the Auror department’ll get you? It’s a thankless job.”
“You didn’t have to do that, Harry. It would have found me eventually.” She picked up the envelope.
“Well, I was on my way over anyway,” he admitted. “Wanted to see if you had time to go grab some dinner.” He pointed to the envelope. “Brasov Dragon Reserve – isn’t that where Charlie works? You were there a few months ago, yeah?”
Finally glancing at the envelope, Hermione’s heart slammed into her throat. “Um,” she said, trying not to blush. Even now, it was nearly impossible. “Yes. He works there; he’s actually my contact with the reserve. If this proposal goes through, they’ll be lending some of their manpower to the project. And they’re helping tend to the dragons now.”
“So, do you have to go back or something?”
“What? No!”
Harry looked at her quizzically. “Alright; calm down. Just asking.”
Hermione took a deep breath. “Sorry; I just mean that I haven’t planned a trip back to Romania; at least not until the construction begins.”
He kept looking at her as she tried to stop her mind from projecting images of Charlie’s freckled collarbones, his hands, his smile onto her eyelids. This was the problem with shagging someone she worked with: she could never quite put him out of her mind because he was always contacting her, even if just for work. Of course, she hadn’t heard from him in any capacity other than professional since she’d Apparated out of his house that night. It was just as well. She liked it that way. It was what she’d wanted; why she’d left so suddenly in the first place. That may not have explained why she hadn’t stopped thinking about him by now, but it was true nonetheless. “Is everything alright, Hermione?”
“Yes, of course,” she cleared her throat and smiled. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I dunno; you just seem really distracted all of a sudden.”
“Don’t be silly,” she shook her head and set the envelope in her desk drawer to deal with in the morning. It was cowardly and unprofessional, but she didn’t think she could look at Charlie’s cramped handwriting across the parchment at the moment. “Now; what’s this about dinner? You’re buying, right?”
June
They were right on schedule with the project. Hermione knew that her frustration with the fact that the schedule itself was so bloody slow was her problem, not anyone else’s. They’d done all they could do to expedite things, and after planning a good location for the reserve and getting the proper clearances in place, the construction would be able to proceed.
Summer in Romania was warmer than she might have expected, perhaps owing to its proximity to the sea. It was hardly hot, but even here in the Carpathian Arch the ground was no longer coated in ice and snow, as it had been the last time she’d visited. The construction would be so much easier in the more forgiving June weather, and in that respect the long approval process was a blessing. Even if they’d been able to start in the spring, the ground would have been too wet.
As she was overseeing the project for the Ministry, she’d been sent to make sure the construction was going as planned and for status updates. She didn’t anticipate being here very long for this first trip – which would be best overall. She was already annoyed that she’d thought so much about the prospect of seeing Charlie again, but she had to admit that the less time they spent working in close proximity with each other, the better. Her efforts to put him out of her mind had been completely fruitless so far, and she was afraid of what that meant. Out of all the men in the hemisphere, she couldn’t have feelings for another Weasley; it didn’t matter that she’d never been this hung up on anyone. Things were strained enough with the Weasley family since she and Ron had broken off their engagement.
Besides – the first failure still stung, and she didn’t think that she could take going through another one.
Bugger it. This was why sitting in her hotel room was a bad idea. Too much time alone with her thoughts. Wishing for once that she was the type to sleep late in the mornings, she tied her hair back in a ponytail and went downstairs, hoping that it was early enough in the morning that she wouldn’t run into anyone she’d rather not at the worksite.
They’d broken ground just last night, not long before she had arrived, and Hermione had some questions for her first status report. She’d done some reading on the type of structures they were building and the modifications they would need in order to support the dragons, but she could recognize when she didn’t know something, and intended to ask a lot of questions. For now, she just wanted to have a look at everything while the site was mostly empty.
“Everything up to snuff?”
Hermione nearly jumped at the voice behind her. She let her eyes drop closed for just a second before she turned around. “Charlie. I, um … didn’t know you were such an early riser.”
“Feeding and exercise schedules will do that to you.” There was a faint light of amusement in his blue eyes as he looked at her.
“Yes; I – I suppose that’s true.” His hair was slightly longer than before, she noticed; just as bright and coppery as she remembered with a hint of curl that showed with the added length. He wore a simple blue work shirt over jeans, and looked better than anyone had a right to. “So … how have you been?”
“Just fine,” he replied with a grin, looking utterly and infuriatingly normal as her insides jittered. “You?”
“Great,” she said, her voice suddenly taking on a higher pitch. “Just, um, thought I’d get the lay of things before it all gets started. I was actually going to find you later,” once she’d got her bearings, “and ask if you’d like to go over some of the plans with me.”
“Happy to,” he drawled – and it was a drawl; that was the only word she had to describe the tone. He was drawling at her. “How about lunch?”
Hermione hesitated before answering, a fact which would surely annoy her for the rest of the morning. It wasn’t a bloody date. It was just a professional meeting; an exchange of ideas. “Yes; of course. Lunch. I guess I’ll see you then.”
“Guess so.”
“Enjoy the rest of your morning, Charlie.” There. She was mature enough to have a close professional relationship with a man she’d slept with. Turning away from him seemed cowardly, and so she stepped forward instead to walk past him. When they drew even, their arms brushed, and he lifted his hand quickly to grip her wrist.
“You ever find that missing necklace?”
She couldn’t help it; she gasped, froze on the spot and stared straight ahead as those damned memories slammed into her again. She couldn’t quite believe he’d actually said that. “Keep it,” she managed, and yanked her arm out of his grip, walking away much more quickly and less confidently than she’d originally planned.
August
Meetings with Charlie became a regular occurrence over the next couple of months, and thankfully they both managed to keep things strictly business, even if it was mostly because Hermione tended to hightail it back to her hotel whenever they were finished. She wasn’t proud of it, but there was something in the way that he’d look at her – and it wasn’t only that they’d seen each other naked – that was disconcerting.
What was more, he seemed to be perfectly fine about what had happened between them. Hermione most certainly wasn’t fine. She’d had infatuations before, and it had never been like this. She didn’t know what this was – all she knew was that she’d never had to make an effort not to touch someone.
Charlie didn’t seem at all to be going crazy the way she was. Clearly he could handle a one-night-stand better than she could.
The sooner this project was finished, the happier she’d be.
The anti-Muggle wards around the reserve were strong, but continually needed to be re-strengthened, and sometimes, on her periodic visits, Hermione would kill time by helping to apply charms where needed. It wasn’t technically part of her job while here, but she liked to keep busy, and what didn’t go into the status reports didn’t hurt anyone back in Britain.
Most times, she didn’t run into anyone when she was all the way on the outskirts of the property, but even when she needed to be alone, she couldn’t quite avoid Charlie. It didn’t help that he considered the success of the project just as much his responsibility as hers, and liked to have a hand in as many things as possible. As such, she stumbled upon him a couple of weeks before the scheduled completion of the building, erecting some fencing out of fireproof wood for the hatchling pen on the east end of the property. Though she was focused on shoring up some of the wards there, it was impossible to pretend as if she couldn’t see him.
“Hello,” she said.
“Afternoon, Hermione.” Charlie lifted a sledgehammer, and Hermione helplessly watched the interplay of his muscles through his shirt as he drove it down onto a low fencepost, driving it a few inches into the ground. He didn’t turn to look at her.
“If I’m disturbing you –“
“Did we have a meeting scheduled, or something?”
She supposed she deserved that. “No. I was just working on some of the wards out here – the grid indicates that they need strengthening.”
“I know,” he said quietly, and finally turned to look at her, resting the head of the sledgehammer on the ground, and holding the end. “I watch you out here sometimes. Shouldn’t you be overseeing?”
“Technically,” she told him. He watched her? Her mind snagged on the bit of information, but she shook her head slightly. “But I don’t exactly do well standing still.”
“Well, I won’t say anything.”
A few awkward moments passed between them as Hermione tried to figure out how to navigate this decidedly non-business setting after so many months. In the end, she blew out a breath. “Look – Charlie; I know that I haven’t been as mature about all this as you.”
He lifted a brow. “Mature about what?”
Of course he was going to pretend not to know what she was talking about. “You know, Charlie. I’d never done … that, before you. Not like that, anyway, and … look, it’s not been as easy for me to forget. And I behaved badly. I just don’t really do the casual sex thing well.”
“You’re assuming that I do.”
Didn’t he? “I don’t know what – you don’t?”
Charlie shrugged. “How would you know either way? I don’t remember you sticking around for long enough to ask.”
Hermione blinked. “But you’ve seemed so normal,” she protested, “like it wasn’t a big thing; I guess I just thought that you had more experience with one-night stands.”
“The whole one-night thing was your call, if memory serves,” he pointed out with a wry sort of half-grin.
“But I was just ...” Scared. The word settled into her mind like a jigsaw falling into place, but she couldn’t voice it aloud. She could only look dumbly at him.
“Look, Hermione,” Charlie set the sledgehammer against the fencepost and walked over to her. At this distance she could smell him; a heady combination of wood and sweat. “Either it was casual for you, or it wasn’t. Whether it was one night or a hundred, that’s what you need to figure out.”
With that, he walked away, leaving her possibly more confused than before.
November
For first five or six months after Hermione had split with Ron, she’d skipped most family dinners at the Burrow altogether. Harry hadn’t understood why, and even Ron had assured her that it was fine, but it hadn’t felt right to her, even though the breakup had been mutual. As much as they’d tried to convince her otherwise, the Weasleys weren’t her family, not now that she was no longer on track to marry into it. Harry was different; he’d always been welcomed with open arms. No strings, even when he and Ginny hadn’t worked out. It had been difficult for her to accept that it could be the same for her. Harry was Ron’s brother in every way but in blood, and she felt like she’d never have as strong a tie as that.
Of course, if she really thought about it – and she didn’t often -- she could admit that it had been too hard to face them knowing that she had failed.
Eventually, she’d started to go back with Harry on special occasions, and things weren’t as strained as she’d imagined they’d be. She’d also missed it, more than she’d thought she would. Sometimes it was nice having family around, even if her own family was in Australia, with no memories of her.
A few weeks after the reserve had been completed, she was at the Burrow again. Not everyone in the family was able to make it every time, but this Sunday the house was packed with Weasleys, spouses and children. Harry had even brought Teddy along, and he was chasing Victoire around the yard.
While Hermione loved how boisterous the family could be when nearly everyone was there, after dinner she sought quiet in the sitting room, mercifully unoccupied for the moment. She found herself wondering where Charlie was this evening. She’d caught a snippet of conversation earlier indicating that he might be here, and despite everything this summer, she spent most of the time looking between the window and the framed photograph of Charlie on the mantle. Maybe the sitting room hadn’t been the best choice.
It just figured that after the last few months of being anxious about possibly seeing Charlie at the Burrow, the one time he was actually expected was the time when she might, conceivably, maybe, want to see him – and he didn’t seem to be coming.
Someone plopped onto the sofa beside her, and she turned to see George just before he hooked an arm around her shoulders. “Well,” he leaned close. “I think the coast is clear. Angelina’s full of rhubarb crumble at the moment, so I figure we’ve got about a half hour to make our escape.”
Hermione smiled slightly. “Escape?”
“We’re running away together, of course,” George said quickly, “get with the program, will you?”
“George, you know I love you, but risking Angelina’s wrath? Really? I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone that much.”
George pouted. “I see. Well, as heartbroken as I am, I reckon it’s at least good to know where things stand between us.”
She pressed her elbow into his side. “I’ll never forget what we had together, George. That’s a promise.”
He glanced at her. “As if you could forget about me,” he scoffed. “Now, why so glum?”
“Glum?” Did she look glum? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“There now, you can tell your Uncle George all about it.”
“Uncle? I thought you wanted to run away with me.”
“Well, since you nixed that idea, I’ll take whatever I can get.”
Hermione laughed and swatted him as the floo roared from across the room and Charlie straightened up, shaking a bit of soot from his work boots onto the throw carpet. When he glanced up, his gaze landed directly on hers, lingering for what seemed like a lifetime.
“Hey, big brother,” George said when Hermione remained silent, and looked between the two of them. “Don’t you know better than to show up late to a Weasley dinner? Good luck finding any food.”
“I’ll manage,” Charlie said, finally looking away from Hermione and grinning at his brother. “Going to go say hello to Mum and Dad.”
“I’ll come with,” George said, getting to his feet and clapping Charlie on the shoulder. “You’ve not seen Ang’s ring yet, have you? I swear -- the woman can’t stop flashing that rock about. Though it is pretty nice if I say so myself…”
As their voices began to blend in with the others’ in the kitchen, Hermione slumped back against the sofa cushions and released the breath she’d been holding, running her fingers back through her hair. God. She would have thought that at some point she’d get used to seeing him without her heart racing a few hundred miles per minute. After a while, she got to her feet and went out to the backyard, taking deep gulps of the night air. She’d wanted to see him, but beyond that, she didn’t know what to do.
“Running again?”
Even before he’d spoken, she’d known it was Charlie. “No,” she lied, turning to face him. “Just getting some air.”
“Plenty of it out here,” he commented, slipping his hands into the pockets of his surplice jacket. He didn’t say anything else.
“It wasn’t casual,” she blurted.
“I know it.” He said it so simply that for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. She tended to ramble, to work out her thoughts aloud, whereas Charlie always just seemed to get it.
“But I can’t … this is …” She trailed off. “You’re Ron’s brother.”
“I am?” Charlie’s eyes widened. “Damn; why didn’t you say something before now? Obviously this means I can never see you again.”
She blinked at him. “You’re being facetious.”
When he only smirked, she tutted. “I’m serious, Charlie.”
“And you’re making up excuses. I’m not saying this isn’t complicated, but that doesn’t mean it’s just going to disappear. After all this time, you should know that it won’t.”
He was right, but she couldn’t see where it was that simple. “But we can’t go off half-cocked, just because it feels good.”
A pause. “I think that ship has sailed, Hermione.”
She kind of couldn’t believe he was making jokes at a time like this. “I mean, we can’t keep -- oh, bugger it.”
But she couldn’t have got anything else out even if she’d wanted to, because the next thing she knew, rough fingers were gripping the back of her neck, and his lips were on hers, his scent clouding her senses, his hard body pressed close. She moaned softly and wrapped her arms around his neck. It had been too long since she’d felt this kiss, and she gave herself over to it because there was nothing else she could do. His fingers were warm against her neck, and his tongue swept into her mouth, making her thighs go lax. The kiss ended almost as abruptly as it began, leaving Hermione gasping as he rested his forehead against hers.
“You think,” Charlie rasped, “too fucking much. And I won’t wait forever.”
**
She knew what she was doing, now. As much as something like this could be known, she supposed. She had started to accept that she could no longer control every variable; certainly not when it came to Charlie. He’d said that she he wouldn’t wait forever and she could only hope that he’d still be there. It only took a week for her world to tilt and leave her on his doorstep again, and she was going to go with it.
She knocked, and considered that the last time he’d answered the door, she’d answered him back by practically mauling him.
“Come in,” he said from somewhere inside, and she was jolted out of her thoughts. As she opened the door slowly and walked inside, her heart beat thickly in her chest. “Charlie?”
“Through here.” She followed his voice to the kitchen, where he was standing at the counter, preparing some sort of dinner that involved cutting vegetables and putting them in a pot.
“You really shouldn’t leave the door unlocked,” she said by way of a greeting.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Charlie said mildly, glancing at her with a slight smile on his face.
“Hi.” She let out a breath as she looked at him. “So … I was wondering if you still had that necklace, that I left.”
He watched her for a long moment. “I do.”
“Oh.” Hermione nodded slightly. “That’s – that’s good. I’m glad.”
“It was broken,” he offered, “but I went ahead and got the chain fixed.”
“Did you? That’s good to know. Thanks.”
Charlie nodded and sliced patiently through a carrot. “We’ll need to be more careful, next time.”
“Next time,” she repeated faintly, “right. More careful.”
He kept cutting. “I’m making stew. You should stay and have some.”
“I’d like that, very much,” she began. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to come back. For the necklace, I mean. I guess I didn’t realize until now how important it is to me.”
“I’m glad you’ve realized it. It’s something I’ve known for a long time.” He finished cutting the carrots, and lifted the cutting board, sliding the slices into the pot, and then he placed the pot on the stove. “That’ll keep for a while.”
She nodded, and stood in the middle of the floor, wringing her hands. “Charlie, I’m not really sure what to do.”
“We’re going to figure it out,” he told her simply, wiping his hands on a clean towel and crossing over to her. “As for now … I guess I could go upstairs and get you that necklace. Or, and I’m partial to this option, I could do this.”
He took her face in his hands and kissed her, pulling her against him. “We were pretty good at this bit,” she said, running a hand up and into his hair when they pulled back to breathe. Swaying forward again, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth, making his breath catch.
“No fucking kidding.” He gripped her hips as he backed her toward the table, leveraging her against it, and moved his hand lazily upward, over her torso, between her breasts and up the side of her neck, keeping his touches light for now. Hermione shivered as his fingers flirted with the buttons of her blouse, leaning into his touch even as she reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up.
Without warning, he hooked a finger into her shirt and yanked, and she gasped as the buttons went flying. Like last time. “I’m going to have to keep extra shirts handy,” she said as her heated skin flushed under his hungry gaze. She couldn’t say anything else with him looking at her like that, waiting for him to do something, anything.
Just before she could reach for him again in frustration, he pushed her back, lifted her hips, and placed her on the table top. That done, he streaked his hands over her. A fumbling moment later and his wand was in his hand, moving over her, and then her bra was gone.
On a groan, Charlie bent and took a nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling feverishly around it; Hermione moaned and let her head drop backward, grabbing his hair and holding him fast to her. When he bit her flesh lightly, her eyes went wide as pleasure radiated through her. When he lifted up to kiss her again, she found his tongue with hers and pulled him closer. His hands were rough and impatient on her skin, stroking, squeezing, tweaking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
It was easy to remember how they’d ended up like this the first time. It was impossible for her to feel self-conscious with him, not with the way he looked at her, and there wasn’t any room for shyness – not when there was so much to feel, to see, to touch. Impatient now, she pulled insistently up on his shirt, and he backed up slightly to let her pull it off. He smiled wickedly at her when she pulled the collar over his head, then released a harsh breath when she leaned forward and slid her tongue along his collarbone. There was already sweat on his skin; she could taste it in the hollow of his throat as she moved her hands over his body. It was every bit as tight and hard as she remembered, and felt every bit as amazing. She traced the ridges of scars, the smoothness of long-healed burns, and wanted more. “You make me forget myself.”
“No,” he said, diving under her skirt, stroking calloused hands along her thighs. “This is you.”
He waved his wand again, and her knickers melted away, her skirt bunched around her waist. Her head lolled back again as he spread her legs apart and his thumb skimmed along her slit. “Charlie.”
Without a word, he pulled her to the edge of the table and dropped into the chair. She looked down her own body and watched his lips curve before he scooted forward, placing open-mouthed kisses on her inner thighs. The shadow of stubble on his face should have been irritating to her sensitive skin, but it really, really wasn’t. “Charlie,” she said again, breathless, but then his tongue was between her legs and anything else she might have said faded into a low moan. She couldn’t for the life of her remember why she’d waited so long; why she’d been so afraid to lose control this way.
She gasped as he explored her with his tongue, torturously avoiding her clit so that she squirmed on the table, trying to get to where she desperately needed to be. Charlie was having none of it, though, content to drive her completely mad at his own pace. His blunt finger slid effortlessly into her, and even he groaned when she clasped around it, slick and tight. Finally, his tongue flicked teasingly against her clit and her back arched as she fell backward against the table. She let out a shriek when he began to suck, twisting and working his finger inside her, and just when she was almost, almost there, he stopped, leaving her gasping and right on the edge.
She barely had time to growl in frustration before he was standing and unfastening his trousers, and with one violent thrust, he plunged deep. Her hands clasped at his arms and everything went still as she shuddered and came, clenching around him almost as soon as he’d buried himself, and ripping another groan from his throat. “Fuck,” Hermione.
He wrapped his arm around her lower back when she started to slide back toward the table again. “Stay with me,” he lifted her up and fell backward into the chair, the new position hitting something different, deeper inside her. She gripped his shoulders as she began to move, striking a bruising pace with him until he gave in and spilled into her, turning his face into her hair and murmuring something like, ‘mine’, into her ear.
It was a while before she could even catch her breath, and she peppered kisses along his neck and jaw as he wrapped his arms around her.
“So,” he said, his voice muffled slightly against her mouth as he’d pulled back a bit to kiss her, “this for real?”
“I think so,” she told him, as she slid backward and he slid out of her. “Feels real.” She supposed that it always had, and maybe that had been scary, too. “Charlie … this doesn’t mean that everything’s going to just resolve itself.”
“There you go again,” he said, “talking too much.” He pinched her thigh lightly, and she retaliated by biting his earlobe. He chuckled. “Look, I’m not pretending this is going to be some cakewalk. But I get to enjoy being with you again before we start working on the rest of it. Made me wait long enough.”
“I’m rather enjoying that part, too,” she murmured, kissing him. “I suppose at some point, we should have an actual date.”
“Oh, does this not count?”
“No, Weasley.” She smacked his shoulder. “I hope you don’t think you get out of buying me dinner, just because we’ve done things slightly out of order.”
“’Course not. Might even pick you some flowers.”
“How romantic,” she murmured. “You know, I was worried, the first time, whether you’d think I was a slag for ravishing you so soon.”
“Really?” He smiled slightly. “Would’ve been a bit hypocritical of me – I’m pretty sure I ravished you right back.”
“Point.” She ran her hands lightly up and down his sides. “But then, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly that night.”
“What matters is that you’re here now,” he told her, his fingers tracing circles on her cooling skin, “and just so you know, you’re not going anywhere this time.”
“Oh, I’m not, am I? Is that an order?” Her lips curved against his neck. “Well, fortunately for you, I’m okay with that.”
End
Author:
heather11483Pairing(s): Hermione/Charlie
Summary: Hermione does something she might not regret as much as she thinks.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
AN: Written for
sweet_lemmon in the 2008 smutty_claus exchange. Thanks to florahart for the beta.Hermione was almost immediately cold when she slid out of bed, picking up the first piece of clothing she touched and tugging it over her head. Moonlight filtered through the windows, but she couldn’t see much of the room at all. Not the clothes scattered all over the floor; not the cramped wooden desk in the corner or the dragon-hide work boots by the door. Not the bed.
Not the man sleeping in it.
All things considered, that was probably best. It certainly wasn’t as if the images weren’t already seared permanently on the back of her eyelids. Eventually, she was able to locate her wand on the floor by the nightstand; clearly it had been separated from her pocket at some point. She couldn’t remember hearing it clatter against the hardwood – of course, her mind, and everything else for that matter, had been otherwise occupied at the time. Gathering the remains of her wits, she wordlessly summoned her clothes and got to her feet, walking somewhat blindly in the direction of the bathroom. Once there, she closed the door quietly and leaned against it, releasing a shaky breath.
God, her legs felt like jelly. She pressed a hand to her stomach as if to stop the fluttering. She felt tingly still, all over; her hands were shaking slightly, her muscles lax. And there was, of course, the dull ache in her thighs; between her legs. Oh, god.
She lit a candle and, upon seeing her reflection in the mirror, groaned softly at her own flushed skin and swollen lips. Her wild hair and her neck, where marks were already forming.
And to top it all off, she’d put on his t-shirt – a t-shirt, she noticed, that was now gaped wide open from shoulder seam to breast pocket. Odds were pretty good that he hadn’t done that himself.
Oh, god. Hermione took a deep breath and slid to the floor. I did not just shag Charlie Weasley, she told herself. I did not shag Charlie Weasley.
The problem was that she could remember shagging Charlie Weasley – quite clearly. She hadn’t been drunk, after all – might have been out of her bloody mind, but her senses had been clear. Were still clear. And her mind seemed intent upon replaying every second. His mouth around her nipple; his cock in her hand. Her fingers, tugging at his short hair. Trying to count his freckles with her tongue, one-by-one. Hot breath against her belly-button; dragging her teeth against the curve of muscle at his hip. The scratch of his stubble against her inner thigh; the way his rough, calloused hands had felt on her skin, spreading her open. His teeth scraping the shell of her ear. His tongue all over her, inside her. Feeling his muscles bunching, working under her hands as she held onto his shoulders, arms, back. Their twin groans as he’d buried himself inside her.
She could still taste him in her mouth, could still feel his deep, rumbling moans against her neck.
Bloody hell. Sweet, buggering fuck. How had this happened? At what point had her entire world tilted and left her standing on his doorstep? What lapse of sanity had compelled her to spend her last night in Romania – for work, no less – in Charlie Weasley’s bed?
Things like this didn’t happen to her. She was Hermione Granger, and she didn’t make boneheaded decisions like the one she’d made last night. She didn’t have affairs, and she didn’t have casual sex. She didn’t agree to have dinner with her ex-fiance’s older brother in the first place, and she would never take advantage of a professional relationship. She didn’t fall for bright blue eyes and hard-packed bodies and wicked grins. And maybe it had been a while for her, but certainly, she had more self-control than to leave her clothes in a rumpled heap on the way to his bed. More restraint than to try and tear his clothes directly off his body; to try and wrap herself around him like a vine; to try and climb inside him.
Except that she had done all of those things. Oh, god.
Hermione buried her face in her hands. How could she even look at him now? No one had ever seen her like this, because she didn’t get like this.
The only thing she could think to do was leave. Leave, before Charlie woke up and saw her as little more than a semi-hysterical bundle on his bathroom floor. Which would only be slightly more humiliating than the wanton and entirely unprofessional display she’d put on a couple of hours ago. He must think … No. No; it didn’t matter what he thought because this didn’t mean anything. It was just a momentary lapse, a break in form. Just sex. Yes, he was charming in a gruff sort of way, and surprisingly sweet and easy to talk to, and seemed to listen to her like no one else had. Lord knew he was gorgeous. And …
No. Just sex.
Clumsily, Hermione pulled on her clothes, transfiguring her shirt so that it would at least remain closed on the way home. She closed her eyes and prayed that she had the energy and the wits required to Apparate all the way back to London.
Hermione removed her glasses, the wire-rimmed pair that she only wore at the end of the day when her eyes were tired and the words on the page started to blur in front of her. They weren’t exactly doing the trick today, because she’d been staring at the same paragraph for the last twenty minutes and hardly seeing a thing. Considering that she’d written the paragraph herself, it was probably a sign that she ought to head home for the day.
When she’d started working for the Department of Magical Creatures straight out of Hogwarts, she’d had fanciful notions of being able to change the system from the inside out. It turned out that bureaucracy was even more of a headache from the inside. Ever since the discovery of a new breed of Horntail in Romania back in January, it had been paperwork on top of paperwork, meetings with the International Magical Cooperation and the Romanian Ministry that all ran together, and miles of red tape to untangle and cut through. But finally, finally, she’d begun work on a grant proposal to start construction of a new reserve to safely house the sensitive and rare breed of dragon away from possible Muggle interference.
It was quite a coup for the department, considering that the Ministry in Romania had tried to claim credit for the discovery even though Goyle’s team had found the first remains during a fully-authorized research mission in the Carpathians. With no help from the Romanian authorities, they’d tracked the remains and other signs back to a valley deep in the mountains, where a tiny population of the dragons was still living. Not as large as the Hungarian Horntail, but every bit as dangerous, and much more sensitive to climate change - which was why they’d found a place so remote to settle. They were dying off, though, and with a reserve built to suit their needs, perhaps the breed would be able to thrive.
But not if she didn’t finish the grant proposal, and make sure that it was iron clad.
When she heard a knock at the door, she leaned back. “Come in.”
Harry popped his head in. “You at a good stopping point, or are you going to hex me?”
“Funny,” Hermione lifted a brow and waved her best friend into her office. “Fortunately for you, I was just about the stop for the day. A few minutes sooner, and I would have shown you the trapdoor.”
Chuckling, Harry walked over to her desk. “Still working on the proposal?”
“Not even halfway finished, unfortunately – and this is only the first draft.”
“How many different ways can you say ‘we found dragons, so hand over the galleons’?”
“You’d be surprised, actually.” Hermione leaned over and kissed Harry’s cheek. “What brings you by? I don’t often get to see you hanging around this department.”
“I got relegated to mail boy for the time being,” he snorted and removed a fat envelope from his pocket, placing it in front of her. “See what three years in the Auror department’ll get you? It’s a thankless job.”
“You didn’t have to do that, Harry. It would have found me eventually.” She picked up the envelope.
“Well, I was on my way over anyway,” he admitted. “Wanted to see if you had time to go grab some dinner.” He pointed to the envelope. “Brasov Dragon Reserve – isn’t that where Charlie works? You were there a few months ago, yeah?”
Finally glancing at the envelope, Hermione’s heart slammed into her throat. “Um,” she said, trying not to blush. Even now, it was nearly impossible. “Yes. He works there; he’s actually my contact with the reserve. If this proposal goes through, they’ll be lending some of their manpower to the project. And they’re helping tend to the dragons now.”
“So, do you have to go back or something?”
“What? No!”
Harry looked at her quizzically. “Alright; calm down. Just asking.”
Hermione took a deep breath. “Sorry; I just mean that I haven’t planned a trip back to Romania; at least not until the construction begins.”
He kept looking at her as she tried to stop her mind from projecting images of Charlie’s freckled collarbones, his hands, his smile onto her eyelids. This was the problem with shagging someone she worked with: she could never quite put him out of her mind because he was always contacting her, even if just for work. Of course, she hadn’t heard from him in any capacity other than professional since she’d Apparated out of his house that night. It was just as well. She liked it that way. It was what she’d wanted; why she’d left so suddenly in the first place. That may not have explained why she hadn’t stopped thinking about him by now, but it was true nonetheless. “Is everything alright, Hermione?”
“Yes, of course,” she cleared her throat and smiled. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I dunno; you just seem really distracted all of a sudden.”
“Don’t be silly,” she shook her head and set the envelope in her desk drawer to deal with in the morning. It was cowardly and unprofessional, but she didn’t think she could look at Charlie’s cramped handwriting across the parchment at the moment. “Now; what’s this about dinner? You’re buying, right?”
They were right on schedule with the project. Hermione knew that her frustration with the fact that the schedule itself was so bloody slow was her problem, not anyone else’s. They’d done all they could do to expedite things, and after planning a good location for the reserve and getting the proper clearances in place, the construction would be able to proceed.
Summer in Romania was warmer than she might have expected, perhaps owing to its proximity to the sea. It was hardly hot, but even here in the Carpathian Arch the ground was no longer coated in ice and snow, as it had been the last time she’d visited. The construction would be so much easier in the more forgiving June weather, and in that respect the long approval process was a blessing. Even if they’d been able to start in the spring, the ground would have been too wet.
As she was overseeing the project for the Ministry, she’d been sent to make sure the construction was going as planned and for status updates. She didn’t anticipate being here very long for this first trip – which would be best overall. She was already annoyed that she’d thought so much about the prospect of seeing Charlie again, but she had to admit that the less time they spent working in close proximity with each other, the better. Her efforts to put him out of her mind had been completely fruitless so far, and she was afraid of what that meant. Out of all the men in the hemisphere, she couldn’t have feelings for another Weasley; it didn’t matter that she’d never been this hung up on anyone. Things were strained enough with the Weasley family since she and Ron had broken off their engagement.
Besides – the first failure still stung, and she didn’t think that she could take going through another one.
Bugger it. This was why sitting in her hotel room was a bad idea. Too much time alone with her thoughts. Wishing for once that she was the type to sleep late in the mornings, she tied her hair back in a ponytail and went downstairs, hoping that it was early enough in the morning that she wouldn’t run into anyone she’d rather not at the worksite.
They’d broken ground just last night, not long before she had arrived, and Hermione had some questions for her first status report. She’d done some reading on the type of structures they were building and the modifications they would need in order to support the dragons, but she could recognize when she didn’t know something, and intended to ask a lot of questions. For now, she just wanted to have a look at everything while the site was mostly empty.
“Everything up to snuff?”
Hermione nearly jumped at the voice behind her. She let her eyes drop closed for just a second before she turned around. “Charlie. I, um … didn’t know you were such an early riser.”
“Feeding and exercise schedules will do that to you.” There was a faint light of amusement in his blue eyes as he looked at her.
“Yes; I – I suppose that’s true.” His hair was slightly longer than before, she noticed; just as bright and coppery as she remembered with a hint of curl that showed with the added length. He wore a simple blue work shirt over jeans, and looked better than anyone had a right to. “So … how have you been?”
“Just fine,” he replied with a grin, looking utterly and infuriatingly normal as her insides jittered. “You?”
“Great,” she said, her voice suddenly taking on a higher pitch. “Just, um, thought I’d get the lay of things before it all gets started. I was actually going to find you later,” once she’d got her bearings, “and ask if you’d like to go over some of the plans with me.”
“Happy to,” he drawled – and it was a drawl; that was the only word she had to describe the tone. He was drawling at her. “How about lunch?”
Hermione hesitated before answering, a fact which would surely annoy her for the rest of the morning. It wasn’t a bloody date. It was just a professional meeting; an exchange of ideas. “Yes; of course. Lunch. I guess I’ll see you then.”
“Guess so.”
“Enjoy the rest of your morning, Charlie.” There. She was mature enough to have a close professional relationship with a man she’d slept with. Turning away from him seemed cowardly, and so she stepped forward instead to walk past him. When they drew even, their arms brushed, and he lifted his hand quickly to grip her wrist.
“You ever find that missing necklace?”
She couldn’t help it; she gasped, froze on the spot and stared straight ahead as those damned memories slammed into her again. She couldn’t quite believe he’d actually said that. “Keep it,” she managed, and yanked her arm out of his grip, walking away much more quickly and less confidently than she’d originally planned.
Meetings with Charlie became a regular occurrence over the next couple of months, and thankfully they both managed to keep things strictly business, even if it was mostly because Hermione tended to hightail it back to her hotel whenever they were finished. She wasn’t proud of it, but there was something in the way that he’d look at her – and it wasn’t only that they’d seen each other naked – that was disconcerting.
What was more, he seemed to be perfectly fine about what had happened between them. Hermione most certainly wasn’t fine. She’d had infatuations before, and it had never been like this. She didn’t know what this was – all she knew was that she’d never had to make an effort not to touch someone.
Charlie didn’t seem at all to be going crazy the way she was. Clearly he could handle a one-night-stand better than she could.
The sooner this project was finished, the happier she’d be.
The anti-Muggle wards around the reserve were strong, but continually needed to be re-strengthened, and sometimes, on her periodic visits, Hermione would kill time by helping to apply charms where needed. It wasn’t technically part of her job while here, but she liked to keep busy, and what didn’t go into the status reports didn’t hurt anyone back in Britain.
Most times, she didn’t run into anyone when she was all the way on the outskirts of the property, but even when she needed to be alone, she couldn’t quite avoid Charlie. It didn’t help that he considered the success of the project just as much his responsibility as hers, and liked to have a hand in as many things as possible. As such, she stumbled upon him a couple of weeks before the scheduled completion of the building, erecting some fencing out of fireproof wood for the hatchling pen on the east end of the property. Though she was focused on shoring up some of the wards there, it was impossible to pretend as if she couldn’t see him.
“Hello,” she said.
“Afternoon, Hermione.” Charlie lifted a sledgehammer, and Hermione helplessly watched the interplay of his muscles through his shirt as he drove it down onto a low fencepost, driving it a few inches into the ground. He didn’t turn to look at her.
“If I’m disturbing you –“
“Did we have a meeting scheduled, or something?”
She supposed she deserved that. “No. I was just working on some of the wards out here – the grid indicates that they need strengthening.”
“I know,” he said quietly, and finally turned to look at her, resting the head of the sledgehammer on the ground, and holding the end. “I watch you out here sometimes. Shouldn’t you be overseeing?”
“Technically,” she told him. He watched her? Her mind snagged on the bit of information, but she shook her head slightly. “But I don’t exactly do well standing still.”
“Well, I won’t say anything.”
A few awkward moments passed between them as Hermione tried to figure out how to navigate this decidedly non-business setting after so many months. In the end, she blew out a breath. “Look – Charlie; I know that I haven’t been as mature about all this as you.”
He lifted a brow. “Mature about what?”
Of course he was going to pretend not to know what she was talking about. “You know, Charlie. I’d never done … that, before you. Not like that, anyway, and … look, it’s not been as easy for me to forget. And I behaved badly. I just don’t really do the casual sex thing well.”
“You’re assuming that I do.”
Didn’t he? “I don’t know what – you don’t?”
Charlie shrugged. “How would you know either way? I don’t remember you sticking around for long enough to ask.”
Hermione blinked. “But you’ve seemed so normal,” she protested, “like it wasn’t a big thing; I guess I just thought that you had more experience with one-night stands.”
“The whole one-night thing was your call, if memory serves,” he pointed out with a wry sort of half-grin.
“But I was just ...” Scared. The word settled into her mind like a jigsaw falling into place, but she couldn’t voice it aloud. She could only look dumbly at him.
“Look, Hermione,” Charlie set the sledgehammer against the fencepost and walked over to her. At this distance she could smell him; a heady combination of wood and sweat. “Either it was casual for you, or it wasn’t. Whether it was one night or a hundred, that’s what you need to figure out.”
With that, he walked away, leaving her possibly more confused than before.
For first five or six months after Hermione had split with Ron, she’d skipped most family dinners at the Burrow altogether. Harry hadn’t understood why, and even Ron had assured her that it was fine, but it hadn’t felt right to her, even though the breakup had been mutual. As much as they’d tried to convince her otherwise, the Weasleys weren’t her family, not now that she was no longer on track to marry into it. Harry was different; he’d always been welcomed with open arms. No strings, even when he and Ginny hadn’t worked out. It had been difficult for her to accept that it could be the same for her. Harry was Ron’s brother in every way but in blood, and she felt like she’d never have as strong a tie as that.
Of course, if she really thought about it – and she didn’t often -- she could admit that it had been too hard to face them knowing that she had failed.
Eventually, she’d started to go back with Harry on special occasions, and things weren’t as strained as she’d imagined they’d be. She’d also missed it, more than she’d thought she would. Sometimes it was nice having family around, even if her own family was in Australia, with no memories of her.
A few weeks after the reserve had been completed, she was at the Burrow again. Not everyone in the family was able to make it every time, but this Sunday the house was packed with Weasleys, spouses and children. Harry had even brought Teddy along, and he was chasing Victoire around the yard.
While Hermione loved how boisterous the family could be when nearly everyone was there, after dinner she sought quiet in the sitting room, mercifully unoccupied for the moment. She found herself wondering where Charlie was this evening. She’d caught a snippet of conversation earlier indicating that he might be here, and despite everything this summer, she spent most of the time looking between the window and the framed photograph of Charlie on the mantle. Maybe the sitting room hadn’t been the best choice.
It just figured that after the last few months of being anxious about possibly seeing Charlie at the Burrow, the one time he was actually expected was the time when she might, conceivably, maybe, want to see him – and he didn’t seem to be coming.
Someone plopped onto the sofa beside her, and she turned to see George just before he hooked an arm around her shoulders. “Well,” he leaned close. “I think the coast is clear. Angelina’s full of rhubarb crumble at the moment, so I figure we’ve got about a half hour to make our escape.”
Hermione smiled slightly. “Escape?”
“We’re running away together, of course,” George said quickly, “get with the program, will you?”
“George, you know I love you, but risking Angelina’s wrath? Really? I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone that much.”
George pouted. “I see. Well, as heartbroken as I am, I reckon it’s at least good to know where things stand between us.”
She pressed her elbow into his side. “I’ll never forget what we had together, George. That’s a promise.”
He glanced at her. “As if you could forget about me,” he scoffed. “Now, why so glum?”
“Glum?” Did she look glum? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“There now, you can tell your Uncle George all about it.”
“Uncle? I thought you wanted to run away with me.”
“Well, since you nixed that idea, I’ll take whatever I can get.”
Hermione laughed and swatted him as the floo roared from across the room and Charlie straightened up, shaking a bit of soot from his work boots onto the throw carpet. When he glanced up, his gaze landed directly on hers, lingering for what seemed like a lifetime.
“Hey, big brother,” George said when Hermione remained silent, and looked between the two of them. “Don’t you know better than to show up late to a Weasley dinner? Good luck finding any food.”
“I’ll manage,” Charlie said, finally looking away from Hermione and grinning at his brother. “Going to go say hello to Mum and Dad.”
“I’ll come with,” George said, getting to his feet and clapping Charlie on the shoulder. “You’ve not seen Ang’s ring yet, have you? I swear -- the woman can’t stop flashing that rock about. Though it is pretty nice if I say so myself…”
As their voices began to blend in with the others’ in the kitchen, Hermione slumped back against the sofa cushions and released the breath she’d been holding, running her fingers back through her hair. God. She would have thought that at some point she’d get used to seeing him without her heart racing a few hundred miles per minute. After a while, she got to her feet and went out to the backyard, taking deep gulps of the night air. She’d wanted to see him, but beyond that, she didn’t know what to do.
“Running again?”
Even before he’d spoken, she’d known it was Charlie. “No,” she lied, turning to face him. “Just getting some air.”
“Plenty of it out here,” he commented, slipping his hands into the pockets of his surplice jacket. He didn’t say anything else.
“It wasn’t casual,” she blurted.
“I know it.” He said it so simply that for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. She tended to ramble, to work out her thoughts aloud, whereas Charlie always just seemed to get it.
“But I can’t … this is …” She trailed off. “You’re Ron’s brother.”
“I am?” Charlie’s eyes widened. “Damn; why didn’t you say something before now? Obviously this means I can never see you again.”
She blinked at him. “You’re being facetious.”
When he only smirked, she tutted. “I’m serious, Charlie.”
“And you’re making up excuses. I’m not saying this isn’t complicated, but that doesn’t mean it’s just going to disappear. After all this time, you should know that it won’t.”
He was right, but she couldn’t see where it was that simple. “But we can’t go off half-cocked, just because it feels good.”
A pause. “I think that ship has sailed, Hermione.”
She kind of couldn’t believe he was making jokes at a time like this. “I mean, we can’t keep -- oh, bugger it.”
But she couldn’t have got anything else out even if she’d wanted to, because the next thing she knew, rough fingers were gripping the back of her neck, and his lips were on hers, his scent clouding her senses, his hard body pressed close. She moaned softly and wrapped her arms around his neck. It had been too long since she’d felt this kiss, and she gave herself over to it because there was nothing else she could do. His fingers were warm against her neck, and his tongue swept into her mouth, making her thighs go lax. The kiss ended almost as abruptly as it began, leaving Hermione gasping as he rested his forehead against hers.
“You think,” Charlie rasped, “too fucking much. And I won’t wait forever.”
**
She knew what she was doing, now. As much as something like this could be known, she supposed. She had started to accept that she could no longer control every variable; certainly not when it came to Charlie. He’d said that she he wouldn’t wait forever and she could only hope that he’d still be there. It only took a week for her world to tilt and leave her on his doorstep again, and she was going to go with it.
She knocked, and considered that the last time he’d answered the door, she’d answered him back by practically mauling him.
“Come in,” he said from somewhere inside, and she was jolted out of her thoughts. As she opened the door slowly and walked inside, her heart beat thickly in her chest. “Charlie?”
“Through here.” She followed his voice to the kitchen, where he was standing at the counter, preparing some sort of dinner that involved cutting vegetables and putting them in a pot.
“You really shouldn’t leave the door unlocked,” she said by way of a greeting.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Charlie said mildly, glancing at her with a slight smile on his face.
“Hi.” She let out a breath as she looked at him. “So … I was wondering if you still had that necklace, that I left.”
He watched her for a long moment. “I do.”
“Oh.” Hermione nodded slightly. “That’s – that’s good. I’m glad.”
“It was broken,” he offered, “but I went ahead and got the chain fixed.”
“Did you? That’s good to know. Thanks.”
Charlie nodded and sliced patiently through a carrot. “We’ll need to be more careful, next time.”
“Next time,” she repeated faintly, “right. More careful.”
He kept cutting. “I’m making stew. You should stay and have some.”
“I’d like that, very much,” she began. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to come back. For the necklace, I mean. I guess I didn’t realize until now how important it is to me.”
“I’m glad you’ve realized it. It’s something I’ve known for a long time.” He finished cutting the carrots, and lifted the cutting board, sliding the slices into the pot, and then he placed the pot on the stove. “That’ll keep for a while.”
She nodded, and stood in the middle of the floor, wringing her hands. “Charlie, I’m not really sure what to do.”
“We’re going to figure it out,” he told her simply, wiping his hands on a clean towel and crossing over to her. “As for now … I guess I could go upstairs and get you that necklace. Or, and I’m partial to this option, I could do this.”
He took her face in his hands and kissed her, pulling her against him. “We were pretty good at this bit,” she said, running a hand up and into his hair when they pulled back to breathe. Swaying forward again, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth, making his breath catch.
“No fucking kidding.” He gripped her hips as he backed her toward the table, leveraging her against it, and moved his hand lazily upward, over her torso, between her breasts and up the side of her neck, keeping his touches light for now. Hermione shivered as his fingers flirted with the buttons of her blouse, leaning into his touch even as she reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up.
Without warning, he hooked a finger into her shirt and yanked, and she gasped as the buttons went flying. Like last time. “I’m going to have to keep extra shirts handy,” she said as her heated skin flushed under his hungry gaze. She couldn’t say anything else with him looking at her like that, waiting for him to do something, anything.
Just before she could reach for him again in frustration, he pushed her back, lifted her hips, and placed her on the table top. That done, he streaked his hands over her. A fumbling moment later and his wand was in his hand, moving over her, and then her bra was gone.
On a groan, Charlie bent and took a nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling feverishly around it; Hermione moaned and let her head drop backward, grabbing his hair and holding him fast to her. When he bit her flesh lightly, her eyes went wide as pleasure radiated through her. When he lifted up to kiss her again, she found his tongue with hers and pulled him closer. His hands were rough and impatient on her skin, stroking, squeezing, tweaking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
It was easy to remember how they’d ended up like this the first time. It was impossible for her to feel self-conscious with him, not with the way he looked at her, and there wasn’t any room for shyness – not when there was so much to feel, to see, to touch. Impatient now, she pulled insistently up on his shirt, and he backed up slightly to let her pull it off. He smiled wickedly at her when she pulled the collar over his head, then released a harsh breath when she leaned forward and slid her tongue along his collarbone. There was already sweat on his skin; she could taste it in the hollow of his throat as she moved her hands over his body. It was every bit as tight and hard as she remembered, and felt every bit as amazing. She traced the ridges of scars, the smoothness of long-healed burns, and wanted more. “You make me forget myself.”
“No,” he said, diving under her skirt, stroking calloused hands along her thighs. “This is you.”
He waved his wand again, and her knickers melted away, her skirt bunched around her waist. Her head lolled back again as he spread her legs apart and his thumb skimmed along her slit. “Charlie.”
Without a word, he pulled her to the edge of the table and dropped into the chair. She looked down her own body and watched his lips curve before he scooted forward, placing open-mouthed kisses on her inner thighs. The shadow of stubble on his face should have been irritating to her sensitive skin, but it really, really wasn’t. “Charlie,” she said again, breathless, but then his tongue was between her legs and anything else she might have said faded into a low moan. She couldn’t for the life of her remember why she’d waited so long; why she’d been so afraid to lose control this way.
She gasped as he explored her with his tongue, torturously avoiding her clit so that she squirmed on the table, trying to get to where she desperately needed to be. Charlie was having none of it, though, content to drive her completely mad at his own pace. His blunt finger slid effortlessly into her, and even he groaned when she clasped around it, slick and tight. Finally, his tongue flicked teasingly against her clit and her back arched as she fell backward against the table. She let out a shriek when he began to suck, twisting and working his finger inside her, and just when she was almost, almost there, he stopped, leaving her gasping and right on the edge.
She barely had time to growl in frustration before he was standing and unfastening his trousers, and with one violent thrust, he plunged deep. Her hands clasped at his arms and everything went still as she shuddered and came, clenching around him almost as soon as he’d buried himself, and ripping another groan from his throat. “Fuck,” Hermione.
He wrapped his arm around her lower back when she started to slide back toward the table again. “Stay with me,” he lifted her up and fell backward into the chair, the new position hitting something different, deeper inside her. She gripped his shoulders as she began to move, striking a bruising pace with him until he gave in and spilled into her, turning his face into her hair and murmuring something like, ‘mine’, into her ear.
It was a while before she could even catch her breath, and she peppered kisses along his neck and jaw as he wrapped his arms around her.
“So,” he said, his voice muffled slightly against her mouth as he’d pulled back a bit to kiss her, “this for real?”
“I think so,” she told him, as she slid backward and he slid out of her. “Feels real.” She supposed that it always had, and maybe that had been scary, too. “Charlie … this doesn’t mean that everything’s going to just resolve itself.”
“There you go again,” he said, “talking too much.” He pinched her thigh lightly, and she retaliated by biting his earlobe. He chuckled. “Look, I’m not pretending this is going to be some cakewalk. But I get to enjoy being with you again before we start working on the rest of it. Made me wait long enough.”
“I’m rather enjoying that part, too,” she murmured, kissing him. “I suppose at some point, we should have an actual date.”
“Oh, does this not count?”
“No, Weasley.” She smacked his shoulder. “I hope you don’t think you get out of buying me dinner, just because we’ve done things slightly out of order.”
“’Course not. Might even pick you some flowers.”
“How romantic,” she murmured. “You know, I was worried, the first time, whether you’d think I was a slag for ravishing you so soon.”
“Really?” He smiled slightly. “Would’ve been a bit hypocritical of me – I’m pretty sure I ravished you right back.”
“Point.” She ran her hands lightly up and down his sides. “But then, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly that night.”
“What matters is that you’re here now,” he told her, his fingers tracing circles on her cooling skin, “and just so you know, you’re not going anywhere this time.”
“Oh, I’m not, am I? Is that an order?” Her lips curved against his neck. “Well, fortunately for you, I’m okay with that.”
End
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