shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2003-02-16 01:00:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Careful Handling - R/Hr - R
Title: Careful Handling
Author:shocfix
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Rating: R
Word Count : 2000
Written for the Helmet Fest May 2008 - Harry, where my prompt was playing dirty.
No, I have no idea how that ended up as Ron/Hermione.
I seem to be in a really canon place. Canon. They’re canon. They’re MARRIED.
Not in this fic – it just hits me every now and then.
Back to the Harry.
Honest.
Careful Handling
****
They’ve obviously done… stuff.
Ron comes back to our room looking pretty dazed, but not… drained.
I know what a post-orgasmic Ron looks like – I’ve shared a room with him and seen him come out of the showers for years, after all – but he doesn’t look bone deep relaxed after spending the evening with Hermione.
Sometimes he grabs a towel and goes back downstairs for a shower, sometimes he collapses on his bed and I make an excuse and leave him to it. Either way, he clearly needs a wank after a… session, so they haven’t Done It.
Not that I can imagine him sharing the details with me, not when it involves Hermione’s… juices – I certainly didn’t tell him what I’ve done with his sister.
But there is something so fantastic about the image of my boy being all grown up and actually having a sex life, that I sometimes want to sit him down and watch him blush and ask him all about it. I know Seamus debriefs Dean very thoroughly, and they’re no closer than me and Ron.
No one is.
And after all the crap we went through, this summer has been fantastic. Yes, we’re both training at the Ministry, and Ron’s helping George repair things at the shop, so we’re pretty tired. But not the tired of getting a few hours sleep and a few hours looking out into the snowy darkness for Death Eaters, in a tent in the middle of nowhere.
The tired of blokes who do a good day’s work, have a big dinner and then access to some sort of naked girlfriend.
I didn’t get a chance to ask him how naked, because something unexpected happened.
I should have remembered that I had another best friend, whose sex life I really didn’t want to ask about.
Ron had unbuttoned his shirt and thrown it on the bed, grabbed his towel and thundered back down the stairs, and the pipes had grumbled to life and a Hermione, with tangled hair held up in a bun by her skewering wand and wearing just one of Ron’s t-shirts, had slipped into the room.
I had no idea what a post-orgasmic Hermione looked like, but I doubt she’d look so annoyed.
“Hey,” I said, expecting her to have some intellectual problem to discuss with me.
She sat down on Ron’s chair and picked up his shirt and smoothed it between her fingers.
“Um,” she said.
I waited.
“This is embarrassing,” she said. “But I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it.”
“Oh?” I said, starting to worry.
“What has Ron told you about our… love life?” she asked calmly.
“Nothing!” I spluttered. “He wouldn’t – don’t worry. You know we wouldn’t talk about you like that!”
She sighed.
“I’d hoped he’d have told you… why we haven’t,” she finished lamely.
I blinked.
“Um... No?” I said.
“Ah,” she said. “Don’t tell me. I know boys boast about these things. You have no idea how many girls Seamus hasn’t slept with. He told you we’ve done it, didn’t he?”
“Seamus?” I asked.
“Ron,” she said. “Ron told you we’ve slept together, hasn’t he? Bragged about what I’d ‘let him do’.”
“Hermione, no,” I said.
“No!” Ron said indignantly, from the doorway.
Hermione rounded on him and made a strange gurgling noise. His eyes were dark blue and angry, his hair was wet and darkened and clung to his face and neck, drops of water were running down his shoulders and chest, he had an old, rubbed soft, towel wrapped round his hips.
Just Ron out of the shower.
“Gmmmfrstl,” Hermione said.
“I wouldn’t discuss it with Harry,” Ron said, “even if we had.”
“Mmmmphrr?” Hermione asked.
“Of course not,” Ron said.
“Absolutely,” I confirmed.
“Because it’s private,” Ron said.
“I’ll go,” I said, edging towards the door and putting my hands on Ron’s wet chest, to try and push him out of my way.
“No,” he said, planting his feet firmly apart so I couldn’t move him.
His towel slid down a couple of inches.
“Mmmp,” Hermione said.
“I haven’t said anything about our… stuff,” he said. "Honest, Hermione.”
“Because there’s nothing to tell,” she said weakly, apparently having semi recovered from the sight of a wet, semi naked Ron.
“Thanks a lot,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
Hermione whimpered.
“We’ve done some lovely… stuff,” she said. “We just haven’t done very much.”
“Are you complaining that we haven’t gone far enough?” Ron demanded.
“I shouldn’t be hearing this,” I said, touching his flexed bicep as I tried to edge past him again.
“Sit down, Harry,” they both interrupted and I slunk over to my camp bed and sat.
“I just wondered what we’re waiting for,” Hermione said. “Are we supposed to be ‘getting to know each other’?”
“No,” Ron said. “You… we’re… you’re going back to school, next week.”
“The castle won’t reject me if I’ve slept with my boyfriend,” Hermione protested. “Ginny’ll…” She stopped and blinked and visibly changed direction as Ron opened his mouth. “Do you really intend to wait until I finish school?”
“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” Ron said petulantly, glaring at me. “This year’ll fly by, you’ll see, and then next summer we can get married and…”
“What?” Hermione and I interrupted.
“What?” he asked.
“Married?” I said. “Are you insane?”
“We’re not getting married,” Hermione gasped.
“We’re… not?” Ron asked, wilting visibly. “Why not?”
“We’re eighteen,” Hermione said.
“We’ll be nineteen,” Ron said pitifully. “And we’re…us. We’re together, Hermione. D’you really not want to get married?”
“One day,” Hermione said in a super reasonable tone of voice. “But I’m not getting married at nineteen, Ron.”
“Why not?” Ron demanded. “My parents did, and they’ve been married thirty years. Harry’s parents did.”
He nodded at me and I made an encouraging noise, wishing desperately I could escape from the room.
“Well, my parents didn’t,” Hermione said. “They were nearly thirty and had their careers, first. Your mum and Harry’s mum – no offence Harry – were mothers at twenty.”
“None taken,” I said.
“What happened to ‘no offence, Ron’?” Ron asked. “And how long were yours married, before they had you, anyway? Five years? Ten?”
“That’s not important,” Hermione said dismissively. “The important thing is they were old enough to know what they were doing.”
“Oh!” I gasped, pointing at her and grinning widely. “Oh, Hermione!”
“What?” she said warily.
“What?” Ron asked.
“When’s their anniversary?” I asked. “March? April?”
“May,” she said tightly.
I whistled and Ron said “What?” again.
“Harry,” she said sternly.
“What?” Ron demanded.
“September baby,” I said.
“Very clever, Harry,” she said.
“If someone doesn’t explain...” Ron said, as menacingly as someone wearing only a towel could manage.
“September baby,” Hermione said briskly. “Conceived at a New Year’s Eve Dentists’ Ball; they married in the May.”
“So?” Ron asked.
“The following May,” she said.
Ron frowned, whistled, grinned, then looked confused.
“That’s the wrong way ‘round,” he said.
I choked on the laugh I swallowed.
“I am aware of that, Ron,” Hermione said primly.
“Not the already pregnant bit,” Ron protested. “I’m not an idiot. The ‘if you disapproved of it, you’d want to wait until we were married to do squelchier things’ bit.”
“I disapprove of irresponsibility,” Hermione said. “That’s why I made sure I learnt Utero Hostilium from a woman I trusted.”
“Oh my god... you didn’t ask my mother for contraceptive charms, did you?” Ron asked, looking horrified.
“Hardly,” Hermione scoffed. “I’m not sure I trust her wrist movement against Weasley swimmers.”
Ron looked revolted and offended, for a bit of variety.
“Who’d you go to?” I asked curiously. “Ginny said she’d talked to Tonks about it, but changed her mind when Tonks got pregnant.”
“My thoughts, exactly,” Hermione said. “I asked Professor McGonagall.”
Ron whimpered and collapsed on the bed, catching his towel just in time as it threatened to burst open.
“You’re going back to school,” he said slowly, “and the Headmistress will think you’re... having sex.”
“The Headmistress will think I’m being responsible,” Hermione said firmly. “Until I tell her I haven’t had to use it.”
Ron spluttered helplessly.
“You can’t discuss my sex life with McGonagall!” he gasped.
“You don’t have a sex life,” I pointed out.
Ron glared at me.
“And yes she can,” I said, “because Madam Pomfrey will have to monitor her, if she’s using the charm. Probably. I expect.”
Ron leant towards me, menacingly, opening his mouth to complain about my mysterious knowledge of contraceptive charms, and his legs to show stuff we didn’t want to see. Well, stuff I’d already seen, generally hanging around, and that Hermione apparently was quite keen to see and... more.
I didn’t mention it and Hermione made a noise like a startled Puffskein and licked her lips.
“How would you know that, mate?” Ron said quietly.
I decided that, seeing as he was already getting worked up and Hermione was already mesmerised by his bits, it’d be worth getting him that bit more flustered and then leaving them to it.
Playing dirty, I know, but I know him.
“Let’s see,” I said, leaning forward and spreading my own legs, to make sure he carried on mirroring my body language. “How about because my girlfriend and I discussed contraception when we decided we were going to need it?”
“I’m not sure I like the idea of you sleeping with my little sister,” Ron said, muscles shifting in his shoulders and arms as his hands fisted on his barely towel clad thighs.
Hermione sighed.
“I’m not sure it’s your business,” I said bluntly. “But, either way, Ginny and I get to do anything we want, without risking any stupid mistakes.”
His jaw tightened.
“Whereas you,” I said, nodding between them. “Are getting more and more frustrated and are gonna get carried away one night and end up pregnant.”
“No we’re not,” he insisted. “We are going to do things properly.”
“Well, I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” I said. “You want to be responsible, and wait until you’re married; Hermione wants to get married at thirty. I’m sure you’ll cope.”
“That needs... careful handling,” he admitted, looking over at Hermione and apparently thinking her downcast eyes were demure, rather than fixed on his wedding tackle. “We can discuss things like grown ups, too.”
“So,” I went on. “That’s just twelve years of kissing her and touching her and wanting to do more than coming upstairs for a quick wank.”
He glared at me, nodding towards Hermione to indicate that her delicate sensibilities weren’t up to hearing about his post-snogging habits.
“Twelve years of wondering what it would be like to go all way,” I mused. “Of not even trying all the other really good stuff that I know you’ve thought about, because you daren’t get carried away.”
His eyes softened and something else didn’t as he automatically pictured some good stuff.
Involving arses, if I know my boy at all, having watched him watch pretty girls from behind for the last few years.
“All that good stuff,” I said dreamily, “all those places to... explore... and all you have is your right hand.”
His head and shoulders drooped sadly and he looked down at his lap.
And blinked at his completely towel free bits, as they blinked perkily back up at him.
He made a strangled sound and looked up at Hermione, realising she could see his semi and hadn’t told him to put it away.
“Enough, Harry,” Hermione said, pulling her wand out from her hair, sliding out of her chair and kneeling between his parted thighs. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
I gladly leapt up and sprinted to the door.
“This definitely needs some... careful handling,” I heard her say as I closed it behind me.
Title: Careful Handling
Author:
shocfixPairing: Ron/Hermione
Rating: R
Word Count : 2000
Written for the Helmet Fest May 2008 - Harry, where my prompt was playing dirty.
No, I have no idea how that ended up as Ron/Hermione.
I seem to be in a really canon place. Canon. They’re canon. They’re MARRIED.
Not in this fic – it just hits me every now and then.
Back to the Harry.
Honest.
Careful Handling
****
They’ve obviously done… stuff.
Ron comes back to our room looking pretty dazed, but not… drained.
I know what a post-orgasmic Ron looks like – I’ve shared a room with him and seen him come out of the showers for years, after all – but he doesn’t look bone deep relaxed after spending the evening with Hermione.
Sometimes he grabs a towel and goes back downstairs for a shower, sometimes he collapses on his bed and I make an excuse and leave him to it. Either way, he clearly needs a wank after a… session, so they haven’t Done It.
Not that I can imagine him sharing the details with me, not when it involves Hermione’s… juices – I certainly didn’t tell him what I’ve done with his sister.
But there is something so fantastic about the image of my boy being all grown up and actually having a sex life, that I sometimes want to sit him down and watch him blush and ask him all about it. I know Seamus debriefs Dean very thoroughly, and they’re no closer than me and Ron.
No one is.
And after all the crap we went through, this summer has been fantastic. Yes, we’re both training at the Ministry, and Ron’s helping George repair things at the shop, so we’re pretty tired. But not the tired of getting a few hours sleep and a few hours looking out into the snowy darkness for Death Eaters, in a tent in the middle of nowhere.
The tired of blokes who do a good day’s work, have a big dinner and then access to some sort of naked girlfriend.
I didn’t get a chance to ask him how naked, because something unexpected happened.
I should have remembered that I had another best friend, whose sex life I really didn’t want to ask about.
Ron had unbuttoned his shirt and thrown it on the bed, grabbed his towel and thundered back down the stairs, and the pipes had grumbled to life and a Hermione, with tangled hair held up in a bun by her skewering wand and wearing just one of Ron’s t-shirts, had slipped into the room.
I had no idea what a post-orgasmic Hermione looked like, but I doubt she’d look so annoyed.
“Hey,” I said, expecting her to have some intellectual problem to discuss with me.
She sat down on Ron’s chair and picked up his shirt and smoothed it between her fingers.
“Um,” she said.
I waited.
“This is embarrassing,” she said. “But I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it.”
“Oh?” I said, starting to worry.
“What has Ron told you about our… love life?” she asked calmly.
“Nothing!” I spluttered. “He wouldn’t – don’t worry. You know we wouldn’t talk about you like that!”
She sighed.
“I’d hoped he’d have told you… why we haven’t,” she finished lamely.
I blinked.
“Um... No?” I said.
“Ah,” she said. “Don’t tell me. I know boys boast about these things. You have no idea how many girls Seamus hasn’t slept with. He told you we’ve done it, didn’t he?”
“Seamus?” I asked.
“Ron,” she said. “Ron told you we’ve slept together, hasn’t he? Bragged about what I’d ‘let him do’.”
“Hermione, no,” I said.
“No!” Ron said indignantly, from the doorway.
Hermione rounded on him and made a strange gurgling noise. His eyes were dark blue and angry, his hair was wet and darkened and clung to his face and neck, drops of water were running down his shoulders and chest, he had an old, rubbed soft, towel wrapped round his hips.
Just Ron out of the shower.
“Gmmmfrstl,” Hermione said.
“I wouldn’t discuss it with Harry,” Ron said, “even if we had.”
“Mmmmphrr?” Hermione asked.
“Of course not,” Ron said.
“Absolutely,” I confirmed.
“Because it’s private,” Ron said.
“I’ll go,” I said, edging towards the door and putting my hands on Ron’s wet chest, to try and push him out of my way.
“No,” he said, planting his feet firmly apart so I couldn’t move him.
His towel slid down a couple of inches.
“Mmmp,” Hermione said.
“I haven’t said anything about our… stuff,” he said. "Honest, Hermione.”
“Because there’s nothing to tell,” she said weakly, apparently having semi recovered from the sight of a wet, semi naked Ron.
“Thanks a lot,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
Hermione whimpered.
“We’ve done some lovely… stuff,” she said. “We just haven’t done very much.”
“Are you complaining that we haven’t gone far enough?” Ron demanded.
“I shouldn’t be hearing this,” I said, touching his flexed bicep as I tried to edge past him again.
“Sit down, Harry,” they both interrupted and I slunk over to my camp bed and sat.
“I just wondered what we’re waiting for,” Hermione said. “Are we supposed to be ‘getting to know each other’?”
“No,” Ron said. “You… we’re… you’re going back to school, next week.”
“The castle won’t reject me if I’ve slept with my boyfriend,” Hermione protested. “Ginny’ll…” She stopped and blinked and visibly changed direction as Ron opened his mouth. “Do you really intend to wait until I finish school?”
“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” Ron said petulantly, glaring at me. “This year’ll fly by, you’ll see, and then next summer we can get married and…”
“What?” Hermione and I interrupted.
“What?” he asked.
“Married?” I said. “Are you insane?”
“We’re not getting married,” Hermione gasped.
“We’re… not?” Ron asked, wilting visibly. “Why not?”
“We’re eighteen,” Hermione said.
“We’ll be nineteen,” Ron said pitifully. “And we’re…us. We’re together, Hermione. D’you really not want to get married?”
“One day,” Hermione said in a super reasonable tone of voice. “But I’m not getting married at nineteen, Ron.”
“Why not?” Ron demanded. “My parents did, and they’ve been married thirty years. Harry’s parents did.”
He nodded at me and I made an encouraging noise, wishing desperately I could escape from the room.
“Well, my parents didn’t,” Hermione said. “They were nearly thirty and had their careers, first. Your mum and Harry’s mum – no offence Harry – were mothers at twenty.”
“None taken,” I said.
“What happened to ‘no offence, Ron’?” Ron asked. “And how long were yours married, before they had you, anyway? Five years? Ten?”
“That’s not important,” Hermione said dismissively. “The important thing is they were old enough to know what they were doing.”
“Oh!” I gasped, pointing at her and grinning widely. “Oh, Hermione!”
“What?” she said warily.
“What?” Ron asked.
“When’s their anniversary?” I asked. “March? April?”
“May,” she said tightly.
I whistled and Ron said “What?” again.
“Harry,” she said sternly.
“What?” Ron demanded.
“September baby,” I said.
“Very clever, Harry,” she said.
“If someone doesn’t explain...” Ron said, as menacingly as someone wearing only a towel could manage.
“September baby,” Hermione said briskly. “Conceived at a New Year’s Eve Dentists’ Ball; they married in the May.”
“So?” Ron asked.
“The following May,” she said.
Ron frowned, whistled, grinned, then looked confused.
“That’s the wrong way ‘round,” he said.
I choked on the laugh I swallowed.
“I am aware of that, Ron,” Hermione said primly.
“Not the already pregnant bit,” Ron protested. “I’m not an idiot. The ‘if you disapproved of it, you’d want to wait until we were married to do squelchier things’ bit.”
“I disapprove of irresponsibility,” Hermione said. “That’s why I made sure I learnt Utero Hostilium from a woman I trusted.”
“Oh my god... you didn’t ask my mother for contraceptive charms, did you?” Ron asked, looking horrified.
“Hardly,” Hermione scoffed. “I’m not sure I trust her wrist movement against Weasley swimmers.”
Ron looked revolted and offended, for a bit of variety.
“Who’d you go to?” I asked curiously. “Ginny said she’d talked to Tonks about it, but changed her mind when Tonks got pregnant.”
“My thoughts, exactly,” Hermione said. “I asked Professor McGonagall.”
Ron whimpered and collapsed on the bed, catching his towel just in time as it threatened to burst open.
“You’re going back to school,” he said slowly, “and the Headmistress will think you’re... having sex.”
“The Headmistress will think I’m being responsible,” Hermione said firmly. “Until I tell her I haven’t had to use it.”
Ron spluttered helplessly.
“You can’t discuss my sex life with McGonagall!” he gasped.
“You don’t have a sex life,” I pointed out.
Ron glared at me.
“And yes she can,” I said, “because Madam Pomfrey will have to monitor her, if she’s using the charm. Probably. I expect.”
Ron leant towards me, menacingly, opening his mouth to complain about my mysterious knowledge of contraceptive charms, and his legs to show stuff we didn’t want to see. Well, stuff I’d already seen, generally hanging around, and that Hermione apparently was quite keen to see and... more.
I didn’t mention it and Hermione made a noise like a startled Puffskein and licked her lips.
“How would you know that, mate?” Ron said quietly.
I decided that, seeing as he was already getting worked up and Hermione was already mesmerised by his bits, it’d be worth getting him that bit more flustered and then leaving them to it.
Playing dirty, I know, but I know him.
“Let’s see,” I said, leaning forward and spreading my own legs, to make sure he carried on mirroring my body language. “How about because my girlfriend and I discussed contraception when we decided we were going to need it?”
“I’m not sure I like the idea of you sleeping with my little sister,” Ron said, muscles shifting in his shoulders and arms as his hands fisted on his barely towel clad thighs.
Hermione sighed.
“I’m not sure it’s your business,” I said bluntly. “But, either way, Ginny and I get to do anything we want, without risking any stupid mistakes.”
His jaw tightened.
“Whereas you,” I said, nodding between them. “Are getting more and more frustrated and are gonna get carried away one night and end up pregnant.”
“No we’re not,” he insisted. “We are going to do things properly.”
“Well, I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” I said. “You want to be responsible, and wait until you’re married; Hermione wants to get married at thirty. I’m sure you’ll cope.”
“That needs... careful handling,” he admitted, looking over at Hermione and apparently thinking her downcast eyes were demure, rather than fixed on his wedding tackle. “We can discuss things like grown ups, too.”
“So,” I went on. “That’s just twelve years of kissing her and touching her and wanting to do more than coming upstairs for a quick wank.”
He glared at me, nodding towards Hermione to indicate that her delicate sensibilities weren’t up to hearing about his post-snogging habits.
“Twelve years of wondering what it would be like to go all way,” I mused. “Of not even trying all the other really good stuff that I know you’ve thought about, because you daren’t get carried away.”
His eyes softened and something else didn’t as he automatically pictured some good stuff.
Involving arses, if I know my boy at all, having watched him watch pretty girls from behind for the last few years.
“All that good stuff,” I said dreamily, “all those places to... explore... and all you have is your right hand.”
His head and shoulders drooped sadly and he looked down at his lap.
And blinked at his completely towel free bits, as they blinked perkily back up at him.
He made a strangled sound and looked up at Hermione, realising she could see his semi and hadn’t told him to put it away.
“Enough, Harry,” Hermione said, pulling her wand out from her hair, sliding out of her chair and kneeling between his parted thighs. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
I gladly leapt up and sprinted to the door.
“This definitely needs some... careful handling,” I heard her say as I closed it behind me.