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“Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle towards my hand?”
Hermione opens her eyes and sees Ron leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. His coat and shirt had come off, and he stands bare-chested, the scars on his arms weaving their way through the dense collection of freckles to his neck. The tan line along his bicep accentuated his muscles which stands out even in such a relaxed posture.
She slowly pulls her hand away from her clit, drawing her fingers all the way up to her breasts. She releases the sheets from her grip, now both her hands are holding a breast each, kneading and squeezing them. The other hand slides down back to her clit, resuming the rubbing motion that had brought forth moans.
Ron slowly approaches the side of the bed, undoing his belt buckle along the way and letting his pants slide lower down his slender hips. She can’t help but stare at how his hip bones are shaded against the rest of his smooth sides, the firelight dancing on its borders.
She knows he’s taking his time with it, torturing her with his walk and letting her arousal shimmer longer. It was no surprise that Ron had grown into his body, his stature now displays a confidence that wasn’t there during Hogwarts. And she thanks the stars that she had the good sense to claim him early on; she would hate to lose him to some other witch who didn’t want him as she did. No one would want him as she did. Ron was part of the life she had built for herself and wanting him came instinctually.
“Or art thou but a dagger of the mind, a false creation, proceeding from the heat oppressed brain”
She notices the way those words slipped out from her own lips, almost in a whisper, as he pries her fingers of her hand away from her dripping i refuse to write ‘pussy’ or any variant, slowly licking them clean before sucking them into his warm mouth one by one, releasing each one with a gentle pop. She really wishes that Ron would stop with all the foreplay and put his mouth on a more sensitive place.
She’d kill to have his tongue play with her clit, but all this has her so feverish with want that she’d even settle for him flicking her nipples. She just wants something more than this, and she knows he won’t oblige her, not yet, the son of a- no Molly isn’t aware of how brutally tortuous Ron was being; this is all his own doing.
“It is the bloody business which informs thus to thine eyes”
He has completely stripped clean now, and hovers over her with his eyes taking in her flushed face, and he drops that line. They both know she crumbles when he quotes her favorite books. She blames herself for it, why had she gone and convinced him to do Macbeth read alongs? In her own defense, she wasn’t aware he’d be so witty and cocky with it.
Cocky.
She looks at his freckled face, her eyes reading each freckle and each mole like she would a book. Her vision travels lower to his neck, then his hard chest that she simply loves to nuzzle into at night. She observes how his abdomen inflates and deflates as he breathes heavily, and finally she notices the few copper hairs that lead down to his dick. She doesn’t even have to feel it to know that he’s more than ready for action; it’s at its hardest. She basks in pride for a moment realising that just her touching herself gets him so randy and she has another wave of gratitude that they’re with each other now. He’s made clear before that he wants her and only her and she knows how intense his love for her runs, and now she can’t help but kiss him.
She brings her untrapped hand away from her breast to grab the back of his neck, pulling him down with such force that it should hurt her- but it doesn’t, it only feels like she’s floating up to the heavens. Her heart is racing, the gap between them is hardly present, and her core is tingling with anticipation.
He lets her hand go from under his and she threads both of her hands through his hair. His hair is so red she thinks the fire burning in their room is so unnecessary, this alone lights her entire world up. She opens her eyes again as she feels his mouth at the corner of her own, making its way kiss by kiss over to her jawline, then to her earlobe, then down to her neck where he spends quite a while making sure a mark is left on her collarbone.
Eons later, he moves down over to her breast, but she’s had enough of it. She’s had enough of his hands that have started to patrol her entrance. She’s had enough of his thumb rubbing her clit with barely-there pressure. Most importantly she’s had enough of his mouth not even sucking her nipple yet. She brings him back up, pulling him by his hair. She ignores his hiss of pain. She stares into his blue eyes, before shaking her head, “Stop toying with me, I need you. NOW!”
He smiles, that git was enjoying the challenge, no doubt looking to defy her, but she isn’t stupid enough to give him time to plan his next move like she’s a chessboard. She wraps her legs around him, right above where his bum starts, and brings him in. It’s forceful, but she’s so wet it doesn’t matter at all. She holds his face with both her hands and kisses him fiercely, conveying her needs.
He begins thrusting, pulling back and pushing forth agonisingly slow at first, but before long it’s the pace she wants. She’s been aroused for too long so she doesn’t think she’ll last long. He better not complain, she thought, he’s the one who made her this excited.
The sounds of moans and skin slapping against skin filled the room, it was as if they were transported to an euphoric bliss. Just the two of them, the way it should be, their bodies intertwined with each other. Their hearts were beating to the same rhythm, as their bodies were glistening with a light sweat. She was so close, and knew that he was just as close, given the way he was clenching his jaw, and biting his bottom lip-
Her climax comes crashing down on her so abruptly that she can’t even try to be sexy with it. She finishes screaming his name, her nails driving into his back and her legs holding him in as her walls clench around him. She’s panting, but knows he hasn’t finished. She also knows that he was just on the edge before, and really that’s a win considering how uneven their arousals had been at the start.
Ron’s kissing her again. She kisses back and allows his tongue to enter and seek out the boundaries of her mouth. He props himself above her with his elbows, and when she stares into his eyes, she can convince herself that the very heaven she was flying towards is hidden behind his blue eyes. She traces his eyebrows with her pinky finger, and covers his face with pecks. She loves him so much, and she wants him to know. She also hopes his core muscles aren’t tired out yet, she wants a lot more from him. She wants him to know that too, so she slides her hands down to his lower back, where she had hoped to rub his bum and give him a spank or two. It’s futile, he’s too long and he’s pulled back a bit so she can’t reach him.
Slowly he pulls out fully, and they both look down to see them separate. She can see his grin coming on and she realises which line is about to grace her ears.
“And on my blade and dudgeon gouts of come, which was not so before”
“I’d much rather have gouts of our come than just mine” She’s craving him again and she doesn’t care enough about the wittiness that Ron wants to drag on throughout their love making to speak in archaic English. She reaches a hand out and rubs his dick. His eyes slit up, confirming that he really was close. They keep kissing while their hands explore each other, and slowly she finds herself sitting on his lap, legs still crossed behind his back. She can feel his member rubbing along her belly, and has done this enough times to know that the curly hairs crowning her entrance are stimulating the underside of his shaft so much to bring out a few loud moans from him. She’s empowered each time they reunite, it’s been years since that kiss and she’s never questioned their lovemaking. She decides that one would have to be utterly idiotic to give up Ron Weasley, and she feels pity for all the other witches who don’t have a Ron for their own.
She takes a break from toying with his dagger and his balls, and now her hands are tracing along the brain scars. She fucking loves his hands, his forearms, his arms, even his shoulders are worth hours of ogling. She’s spent many mornings and evenings just watching him get dressed. She's enjoyed many showers where she’s gotten to marvel at how the water flows down in rivulets down them. And then her hands move to his back where he had muscles, she currently couldn’t see but the visions cloud her brain anyway. His back, from the neck all the way down to the crack.
Backs are meant to be bare; one shouldn’t be enamored with something so barren, but Ron’s is not. His back is dotted with so many freckles that were they stars, his back would be a galaxy splattered with constellations. She’s gazed at those too. She remembers giving him a massage after a long mission for the first time, and she remembers how he let her simply trace a quill, trying to highlight the infinite number of patterns possible there. Downward. She loves the way his ass is shaped. It’s not as firm as you would expect it to be. It’s so soft she could use it as a pillow. She’s never done so before but decides that she should - he wouldn’t be opposed. If he wasn’t opposed to her rimming him, he certainly wouldn’t be opposed to her simply playing with the cheeks themselves. Even the bottom where his legs start, it’s so impressive to her. She’s had very little use of his legs, she only occasionally grips them when she’s riding him or when they’re going down on each other at the same time. But still, she wants to kiss them all the way down.
And it all is too much for her again. She lets out a whimper as Ron squeezes her tits. He’s being loquacious, he’s complimenting her while her mind is doing the same to him. She adores how vocal he is, even the dirty talk. It dawns on her that she should speak, voice out all the thoughts she’s had. It’s this very moment Ron chooses to notice how quiet she is being, for all the moaning, groaning, and whimpering, she’s said very little. He asks her if she’s okay and enquires if he’s overstepping. “If you knew what I was thinking, you wouldn’t be asking that.”
“Macbeth never used legilimency on Lady Macbeth, love” he husks out before he kisses her neck. She arches her back in response, and before she can articulate a Shakespeare inspired response, his mouth has captured her breasts. While she doesn’t appreciate him eliciting her reflexes like this just for mechanical and maneuvering advantage, she could not be bothered to stop him. And her need for him is coming back like a flood. She wants him inside her and doesn’t want a repeat of all the teasing.
“Ron, darling, learning Shakespeare has only made you so much more sexier” she breathes out in gasps as she pushes his head into her chest.
“Was I sexy even before having Macbeth’s soliloquies memorised then?” She can barely make out his words as they vibrate around her mounds, and the sensation has her impatient. She pushes him down back onto the mattress without giving him an answer, and she places her hands on his pecs, such that his nipples are between two of her fingers on each hand. She brings them together and gaps them again. His nipples aren’t as sensitive as hers but she can still see how it drives him nuts.
“I wanted you in me yesterday,” she declares as she lines up their nether regions, but Ron stills her with his hands on her hips, moving her around so that she’s grinding atop him. Why he’s doing this is beyond her because she’s certain he needs her as much as she does him, she can feel it with how hard he is beneath her. “What about today?” She can’t do much else but nod, and as soon as his grip weakens, she aligns herself against him and drives downward. He lets out a moan of nonsensical syllables which was clearly meant to come out as a witty addition to his previous question.
As she starts riding him, his rough but oh so soft hands are playing with her breast again. It’s hard for him to perfectly angle his hand to her clit, especially with her riding him liking this, but he manages. Soon they’re both screaming messes, and she drops down to let Ron take over the motion; he’s stronger and faster with it, even when he’s on the bottom. It surprises her how he’s able to string words together to form a coherent sentence when he asks “What about after today, still want me then too?” She’s not sure if this is just him seeking praise or if he’s setting himself up for another line, but when he stills his movements, she gets the ordeal of it over with. “Yes, Ron, I want you in me always, now MOVE!”
“Then let’s make love, today, Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow… till the last syllable of recorded time.” His speech is such an erotic mix of his Devon accent with hints of Royal Posh with the way he accentuates his Ts, and it’s like having elixir injected into her veins. She adds on, matching his thrusts with her own gyrations and suddenly they’ve both finished, him having cummed inside her. She doesn’t mind at all, in fact she wants it inside most of the time.. He hasn’t pulled out yet, and even as he’s softening, she likes the feeling of being connected. Only later when she will fantasise about this night on lonely evenings will she realise that he had effortlessly combined two separate lines of an entirely separate monologue. She will then have sinful thoughts of him being witty and clever, but she doesn’t know that yet.
“You didn’t tell me what was on your mind, you know.” She realises that he’s right, and knows that what she’s about to say about his body will turn him on enough to make him hard again. She can’t fault him, she has a massive praise kink as well, and she isn’t against having another go. As a matter of fact, as time goes on, she’s very keen on it.
So, she climbs off and starts listing off what was on her mind earlier, and this time she kisses each part she mentions. She starts with the obvious manhood, in not too unrealistic hopes that he’ll return the favor, and moves down the list to his hands, arms, shoulders… only she doesn’t know how her leaving love bites all over him has turned to her lying flat on her stomach as he hovers near her lower lips. His tongue has started dancing around, performing its own waltz, seemingly a hitherto unplanned routine, but without a single break. She’s chanting his name, begging him to never stop and hopes to have his jaw glued to the sides of her thighs. She’s so pleased with how things have gone-going-and will go, that she thanks herself for forgetting to lock the door. Then she thanks Ron, out loud this time, even before she’s gotten her oral sex induced orgasm. And she summarises that, maybe, Shakespeare deserves some thanks too.