Chapter Text
Arthur was enjoying his tea with his morning paper when he caught a whiff of something lovely. It was sweet and bright, but he couldn’t quite pin down its source until he heard Hermione ask, “Would you like a top-up, sir?”
He looked up at the young woman with the lovely head of curls standing at his elbow, holding the teapot in front of her. “Yes, please.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “And please, Hermione, call me ‘Arthur.’”
Hermione nodded in response, but he knew she would continue to adopt formalities around him, as this wasn’t the first time he’d asked her to use his first name. Arthur had supposed he was fighting a losing battle until Hermione eventually felt comfortable in his presence.
Poor thing had helped them win a war only to lose her parents, and Arthur had offered to let her live at the Burrow until she found her footing. He had found her company to be a balm since he had lost his wife all those years ago, as Hermione noticeably brightened up every space with her quick wit and generous smile.
Arthur watched as Hermione filled his cup, her face pinched in concentration. She was an adorable young woman; he could tell why he heard his sons whisper about her when she wasn’t in the room. He imagined that she would have been the type of girl he’d pursued when he was younger—clever, capable, and pretty.
He caught that lovely scent again, and his eyes traveled lower. Arthur supposed he ought to feel ashamed of himself as he stared at her breasts through her tank top, but he could not look away. She had forgone a brassiere, so the elegant slope of her breast was visible. He could also make out two round nipples pushing through the white fabric. Her bosom was modest but would fit nicely in his hand. Though he imagined her chest would develop further once she had a child or two.
Where did that thought come from, you old perv?
“Would you like some milk, sir?”
Arthur grew hot under the collar at the mention of milk. He looked up at Hermione once more and into her warm brown eyes, reminding himself of their age difference and the fact that she was his son’s close friend.
And maybe something more. Arthur couldn’t be certain, but he got the sense that Ron and Hermione had a ‘will-they-won’t-they’ situation going on.
“No, that is quite enough.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Thank you, Hermione.”
Hermione beamed. “Of course. Anything for you, sir.”
Anything? he thought darkly. But Arthur mentally chided himself for taking the lovely woman’s words out of context. He needed a cold shower. And fast.
True to his word, Arthur did not touch the hot water dial before stepping into the shower. He cried out as icy needles seemed to pierce his skin. It was agony but a necessary distraction. The last thing he needed was to develop sexual feelings for a girl who was entirely out of his reach.
He grabbed the bar of soap and ran it over his skin as the cold water sluiced down his body. Even so, the image of Hermione’s pert breasts remained firmly in his mind’s eye. He could just imagine how it would feel to wrap his lips around her soft skin, his rough tongue rasping as he drew her stiffened peak deeper into his mouth.
Arthur opened his eyes. Despite the chill, his cock was hard between his legs. With a sigh, he turned off the water and grabbed a towel. He rubbed at his skin until it was red, but the sensation did nothing to detract from the raging stiffy he was now sporting. Indeed, a healthy dose of shiny precum had formed at the tip.
Nose twitching, Arthur caught the scent of something delicious. Curious about its source, his eyes snagged on the row of towels hanging from pegs on the wall. Bending forward slightly, he leaned in to sniff them until his nose located the smell in question. Arthur inhaled deeply then, closing his eyes as he was transported to that moment he shared with Hermione that morning.
She smelled so good, he bet she tasted even better. Arthur could just imagine the sweet noises she would make as he ate her out, fisting the sheets or even his hair. He would lick her dripping cunt until she begged him to stop, and he would only relent when she was well and truly desperate.
His dick twitched in his hand. Arthur hadn’t even realized that he’d been holding it. And when he opened his eyes again, he saw that he had painted Hermione’s green towel with his sticky release.
Arthur groaned. Why couldn’t he have aimed his dick anywhere else? Merlin spare him.
His heart jumped when he heard a pounding on the door. “Dad?” came Ron’s voice through the wood. “What are you doing? Hurry up! I need the toilet.”
“Just a second.” Arthur was quietly panicking. He couldn’t exactly leave Hermione’s towel covered in his spunk, but he couldn’t be seen walking out of the bathroom with it in his hand, either.
“Dad, I really have to go!”
“Use the other toilet!”
“Fred‘s in there!”
With a sigh, Arthur turned around Hermione’s towel so that his semen was no longer visible and dressed quickly. He passed Ron on his way out, who was squeezing his knees together and hopping from foot to foot. Arthur could not help but chuckle at the ridiculous sight.
“You’re welcome!” he said when Ron slammed the door in his face.
Arthur lingered by the bathroom, waiting for Ron to finish. He would grab all of the towels and do a load of laundry. This, he concluded, would not arouse any suspicion. And, he reasoned, would benefit the entire family.
“There you are, Dad!” He turned to see Ginny, hammer in hand. “Can you help me repair the garden shed?”
Arthur furrowed his brow. The last time he checked, the garden shed had been in perfect condition. What had transpired to qualify it for a repair?
“Did you hit it with a Quaffle again?” he said with a resigned sigh.
Ginny smiled sheepishly. “Maybe?”
After a bit of blood, sweat, and tears—Arthur had hit his thumb with the hammer—he returned to the bathroom, ready to clean up his mess (literally). But when Arthur reached for the handle, he discovered the door was locked.
Shit.
Arthur pressed his ear to the door. He could hear the water running on the other side; someone was showering. He sent up a silent prayer to whatever deity would listen that the person inside the bathroom was not Hermione Granger.
Unfortunately, Arthur would not be so lucky.
He was pacing the kitchen when Hermione emerged, her green towel wrapped around her head to dry her hair. Arthur’s heart was racing, but not only out of fear. He could easily picture her rubbing the towel on her skin, leaving a sticky residue in its wake. His essence would soak into her skin and into her bloodstream, filling her with him.
“Oh, hi, Mr. Weasley. Didn’t see you there. Do you need help with anything?”
His erection was starting to press against his zipper. She undoubtedly had some of his semen in her hair as well. Arthur thrilled at the prospect of Hermione smelling of him. The idea sent a jolt of possessive pleasure down his spine.
But he needed to act normal. Then he could run upstairs and take care of his straining need, after which point he might finally feel normal again. “No, thank you, Hermione. If you’ll excuse me, I have some important business to attend to…”
Arthur practically sprinted up the stairs to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and locked it. Then he fiddled with his belt buckle, practically tore his zipper down, and lay back on his bed. He fisted his dick with abandon, nearly halfway there already. In his fantasies, Arthur imagined bending Hermione over and filling her with his cock, holding her down. She might struggle initially, but eventually, she would succumb to his pleasure and his teeth on her neck.
He came with a stifled groan and a full-body shudder, absolutely drenching his hand, legs, and duvet with semen. Arthur had expected to make somewhat of a mess, but this was something else. Was his load volume greater than usual?
He used an old rag to sop up the whitish liquid. Then Arthur pulled up his trousers and smoothed his shirt, prepared to continue his day like nothing was amiss. Sure, he had been thinking impure thoughts about his son’s friend, but they were just that—thoughts. It would only become a problem if he acted on them. But that would never happen because he’d closed off that part of himself. And, okay, his fantasy might have involved biting Hermione, but that didn’t have to mean anything, right?
When Arthur stepped off the stairs, he was prepared to start a new leaf. He would no longer ogle Hermione—no matter what she was wearing—and would be the perfect gentleman around his young guest. Such was well within his abilities as a mature adult.
But then Arthur turned the corner and saw Hermione’s familiar curly head. She was sitting on the couch with… Charlie? They were pressed close and Charlie leaned forward to whisper something in her ear, which sent them both into a fit of tittering giggles. That alone might not have been enough to send Arthur over the edge were it not for the conspicuous hand on Hermione’s creamy white thigh.
“Charles!” he barked. Charlie was too old for Hermione, didn’t he know that? The irony was not lost on Arthur, but he also knew better than to touch her.
Charlie’s head snapped up, shock written plainly across his freckled face. He scooched away from Hermione. “Yes, Dad?”
Arthur searched his mind for something to complain about other than Charlie’s proximity to Hermione. “Have you spoken to Bill?”
“Bill?” Charlie repeated, dumbfounded.
“Yes, your brother. Do you know if he’s coming to dinner tonight?”
“I don’t know. Should I send him an owl?”
“Please do. I need a headcount.”
Though Charlie was nearing thirty and hadn’t lived at home in some time, he still shot up from the couch and headed up the stairs to Ron’s room to find Pigwidgeon, the dutiful son as always. Mission complete, Arthur spun on his heel in the direction of the kitchen.
“Mr. Weasley?”
Arthur turned his head in a manner, he supposed, not unlike their beloved Pig. “Yes, Hermione?”
“Do you need help with dinner?” she asked, her voice sweet. Hermione was looking up at him with those wide brown eyes, which were so full of warmth.
“I, er…” Sure, it would be nice to have a bit of assistance in the kitchen, but this would not help him keep his distance from her in the slightest.
“It doesn’t have to be much. I can help you cut vegetables or set the table.”
“Fine,” Arthur said, sounding much harsher than he intended. “You may set the table.”
Hermione stood up, the force of the motion causing her breasts to jostle. Arthur’s stomach roiled with self-hatred as a fresh wave of blood traveled to his cock. Merlin spare him.
“Thank you, sir. I promise I won’t let you down.”
Arthur’s heart sank. Hermione had been trying to help around the house all summer, but he’d been hesitant. He didn’t know why he was so resistant, but it was only fair to let her participate, even if he was desperate to keep her at arm’s length.
“Did you get your important business done?”
“Hmm?” Arthur hummed absentmindedly as he ran some carrots under the tap.
“The important business? You mentioned it earlier.”
“Oh, yes.” Arthur felt his cheeks redden. He hoped Hermione wasn’t paying attention to him. “Emergency at work. But it’s settled now.”
“I’m glad. Although, it’s unfortunate you had to work on a Sunday.”
Arthur nodded, guilty for his lie, and that Hermione felt pity for him when he had been doing that instead. From the corner of his eye, Arthur caught sight of Hermione standing on her tiptoes, reaching for the plates on the highest shelf on the cabinet. He had a vision of her stumbling and the plates smashing into a thousand pieces on the floor, so, without even thinking, he stepped behind her, grabbing the plates for her.
He paused when he realized just how close they were, his front pressed against her back, his arms framing hers. Hermione’s sweet scent filled his nostrils, overwhelming all other senses. Arthur looked down at her short shorts and how high they were riding up her thighs. It would be so easy to bend her over and fuck her against the kitchen counter. One quick move, and he could be buried within her heat.
Arthur imagined thrusting deep inside her soft cunt, squeezed by her velvet walls. She would cry out in pleasure as he filled her just right. Their coupling would culminate as he bathed her womb in his seed, and she swelled with his child, her breasts heavy with milk.
His dick was rock hard now and pressing into the small of Hermione’s back. Arthur backed away abruptly, plates in hand. “Here,” he said, shoving them in her direction.
She took them, and he prayed that she wouldn’t see the erection he was now sporting. But all she said was, “Thank you, sir,” and went about setting the table.
Arthur’s shoulders sagged, and relief flooded his system. That had been close. And he didn’t know how many close calls he could endure. He had masturbated twice—two times!—already today, and it still hadn’t been enough to blunt his sexual appetite.
Keep it together, Arthur.