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Second Honeymoon

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Author's notes: Beta: Thanks to [info]foreword
Fantasy Fest: for [info]robin777


There are many things about Hawaii that he likes. The weather is great. It hasn‘t rained at all since they arrived four days ago, in fact. The water is ridiculously blue. It’s not tinged slightly gray like the water he’s seen in the past when his family has gone to the ocean. It’s a gorgeous shade of blue that Hermione says reminds her of his eyes, but he thinks she just says that to make him blush. The beaches they’ve visited so far are all clean and covered in beautiful white sand. He’s not sure how they keep it so white because he’d think all the people lying around and swimming would get it dirty.

He likes the hotel where they’re staying. It’s wizarding and hidden from Muggle eyes so there is quite a bit of privacy on their beach and in the nearby grounds. Their room isn’t that big, just a bed and bureau, desk and chair, and the loo is nearly as tiny as theirs at home. They both fit in the tub, though, and it’s nicely snug so he doesn’t mind if it’s not huge. It’s not the most expensive sort of room at the hotel, but it’s also not the least.

They don’t make a lot of money between them, but it’s enough for a small flat and food with a little left over so Hermione can buy books when she wants and he can attend a Quidditch match with Harry occasionally. He feels bad that it’s taken them five years to save the money for their honeymoon. Well, it’s really a second honeymoon. She doesn’t call it their honeymoon at all. To her, it’s their ‘first real holiday’, but he remembers how little they had when they got married. It had been impossible to take more than an overnight trip to Bath to see some historic wizarding ruins she’d been wanting to visit.

The trip to Bath had been a good enough honeymoon, though. She’d seen her boring ruins and he’d been happy because she was happy. They’d had offers of money, of course, from Harry and his parents and even the twins. No one seemed to understand that they were content with their overnight trip. Honestly, they’d have been just as happy staying at home as long as they’d been together. Besides, neither of them wanted to start their married lives off by borrowing money for something they really didn’t need. They’d just started to save a galleon here and a knut there whenever it was possible to take a holiday somewhere nice.

They thought they might be able to come here two years ago. They had enough in their holiday fund that Hermione had started when they were married, but they’d had to use some of it when the stove and telly both went out within a week of each other. There had been other expenses during the years that took a little out of it, but he’d try to work a little extra or Hermione would do some research at night so they would have money to replace what they took out whenever possible. They finally had the money and Hermione made all the arrangements before anything happened to prevent them from going.

He likes this small area of Hawaii. It’s beautiful and romantic; a perfect setting for seducing his gorgeous wife. She might not call it a second honeymoon, but he does. She chose the American state because of the history and the beaches. He agreed because it looked pretty and she seemed excited. He’s glad because it really is a nice place. There are actually few things he doesn’t like about it. The names are the main one. He can’t pronounce anything. Most of the words seem like the people who invented them forgot there were consonants in the alphabet.

Maiuliogade is the name of this particular wizarding beach in Maui. He wants to call it May-uu-i because that’s how it looks and he doesn’t understand why they say Mow-ee, when there aren’t any such letters involved. He can’t pronounce the name of their beach even under threat of hex. Yet the words just roll off her tongue and would sound rather sexy if not for the fact that it frustrates him to not be able to pronounce them himself.

He also hates that Hermione would rather go look at some volcano than stay at the hotel and shag. It’s their honeymoon, even if it is a few years too late. They were supposed to stay in their room and shag until they couldn’t move. They were supposed to order room service and have breakfast in bed. They were supposed to find some deserted stretch of beach and make love on the sand. They weren’t supposed to be up at the crack of dawn to spends hours walking around dried lava to look into some big hole. They weren’t supposed to spend half their day in a dull museum so full of dust he couldn’t stop sneezing for hours. They weren’t supposed to make love like they did at home.

Ron sighs as he looks out at the ocean and thinks, trying to figure out where things went a bit wrong. When they first became a couple, they shagged all the time. It had started off a bit awkwardly, of course, and it had taken him awhile to get to a point where he didn’t come within six thrusts of being inside her. But they’d experimented and she’d bought this amazing book about Sutras or something like that. God, he’d barely felt like moving after some of the things they tried from that book, though there had been several suggestions that had left them both laughing or that had been so bloody uncomfortable they‘d given up and just shagged normally.

They lived together for a few years before they finally decided it was the right time to get married. Hermione had made a list of reasons for and against getting married every year since they moved in together and got engaged, but it wasn’t until that year that the logical reasons for actually outnumbered the reasons why they should wait longer. He’d have been happy to marry her the moment he slid the simple silver band onto her finger, but he was just as happy waiting until she was ready.

It’s funny that something as simple as a piece of paper changes things. He knows he can’t blame being married, but it’s the easiest thing to do. She’d started working more and so had he. His job is frustrating on a good day, and she gets pissy when her research isn’t going well. They are only twenty-seven, but sometimes he feels like they are decades older. He sits at the table and watches her cook and wonders when they grew up, wonders if they’ll ever relax again and just spend an entire day in bed doing nothing but exploring each other’s bodies, wonders if they’ll ever do something stupid and daring and laugh about it instead of think they’re too old.

They fight over silly shite like money and wet towels on the floor, whose turn it is to cook dinner and when they should start a family. Fighting has always been part of their relationship, since they were kids at Hogwarts, and it’s rather comfortable now. Most the time, it’s not meant to hurt, it’s just venting and passion, two stubborn people trying to deal with each other. When they were younger and even when they first got married, they’d end their fights with fucking brilliant sex. Now, they just go to bed angry and whisper apologies in the dark of their bedroom before he pulls her against him or she pulls him against her.

They’ve gone from making love nearly every day to two maybe three times a week when they’re not too tired and both in the mood. And, usually, one of those times is early morning when he wakes up hard and she’s right there feeling warm and soft, and he just slides into her half asleep. He wants this holiday to recapture that desire they have for each other. He knows they didn’t stop shagging constantly because they no longer want one another. He gets hard watching her brush her teeth, hearing her nag, smelling her, and she still watches him with the little half smile that tells him she’s thinking naughty thoughts and still gets flushed whenever he walks around without his shirt or deliberately has to bend over to pick up something so she can look at his arse.

They’re not even thirty! People his parents’ age should have this problem, not them. They’re really too young to feel so bloody old. He’s tried everything he can think of since they arrived at their hotel to let them feel like that again. Sexy music made her roll her eyes and change the channel on the wireless. Candlelight and flowers had her grumbling about not being able to read her book and sneezing because the room was too scented. His suggestion to massage her resulted in her falling asleep before he got to the naughty bits. It was hopeless.

They’ve made love three times since they got to Hawaii, which is better than it’s been at home for the past year, but it’s still missing something. He can’t talk to her about it because he sucks at putting this sort of thing into words. She just gets frustrated trying to understand what he’s trying to say and can’t really say so there’s no point. He saves that for when it’s something really important. Most the time, she knows him well enough to figure it out even without him saying a word. He knows she feels it, too. He’s caught her sighing and frowning, which means she’s lost in thoughts that don’t make her too happy.

He tightens his grip on the balcony rail and looks down at the beach. She’s down there somewhere. He thinks he can see her, but he’s knows he’s too far away to actually know it’s her. His cheek still tingles from where she slapped him before storming out of their room earlier. He deserved the slap. He hit low and is surprised she didn’t hex his bollocks off.

It was another stupid fight. He wanted to stay in their room today and just be lazy, act like newlyweds who can’t keep their hands off each other. She wanted to see another dusty museum and then do some swimming. He’d said no. She’d accused him of just wanting to come on this holiday to fuck constantly. He’d told her he’d enjoy fucking more if she’d get the stick out of her arse, which had definitely not been the right thing to say to her. She’d slapped him, he’d seen tears in her eyes, and then she’d left.

He can’t believe he made her cry. He hates when their fights get bad, and usually stops them before emotions get too out of control unless it escalates into great fighting sex against the nearest hard surface. He wants to go find her to apologize, but doesn’t know what to say. Hermione isn’t what anyone would call romantic so he can’t buy her flowers or give her chocolate. She’d be more upset he wasted money on something silly than she would be about the reason they were fighting. His girl is practical and has no use for romantic nonsense that others girls tend to enjoy. There are times he wishes she was more normal so flowers could apologize for him, but, really, he loves that she’s unique and true to herself.

If she lets him touch her, he can show her how he feels and let his actions say everything he can’t put into words. They have problems communicating with words and always have; lots of misunderstandings and confusion because he’s not good at emotional talking and she goes on and on until he sometimes stops listening. Without words, though, is another story. A gentle caress to the underside of her breast, a soft kiss again her collarbone, a lick of her bellybutton: this is how he can show her what he feels, how he can tell her what he wants.

Ron looks down at the beach and wonders if she’ll refuse to speak to him when she finally comes back to the room. They’ve gone three days without speaking before until he finally broke down and admitted he was an arse. Neither of them ever want to admit when they are wrong, but she’s better at it than he is even if she is far more stubborn.

Today is the first time she’s actually hit him since he got jealous about her talking to Krum at a holiday party two years ago. She’d hit him then, a sharp slap across his cheek to stop him from yelling like some jealous schoolboy, and she’d pointed to her ring without saying a single word. They’d ended up shagging in the cloakroom of the party, one of the only times they’d been so daring and adventurous since they got married.

Maybe if he goes to her first, she might be more forgiving. In this case, it is his fault and he can’t deny that even if he’d like to. He said some mean things regarding her lack of interest in shagging him and sticks being placed in uncomfortable places and the word frigid might have been mentioned. Considering she’s shagged him several times in the past week, that comment was ridiculous and is further proof to him that sometimes he needs to use silencio on himself. Hermione is anything but frigid, even when they do go days without sex. She’s responsive, daring, more than a little naughty, and always wet for him.

He groans as he realizes, again, what a huge prat he is before he finally turns and goes back into their room. He’s been standing on the balcony thinking for ages, and thinking has never been one of his favorite activities unless it’s during chess or ways to make her happy. Okay. He knows she’s on the beach somewhere. She’s probably already been to the boring museum and is now down there lying in the sun or swimming. If she’s still really angry at him, she’s on a blanket or towel somewhere away from people so she can just glare at the waves and think of ways she’d like to hex him.

After he goes to the loo, he finds his swim shorts and pulls them on. He remembers to wipe the lotion over his chest and face just like she told him so he won’t burn. He’s practically one big freckle after the sun they’ve gotten this week, but she likes to kiss his freckles so he doesn’t mind that at all. Burning, however, is on his list of things to avoid. Charlie and Ginny are the only two of his siblings that seem to become golden beneath their freckles. The rest just look like frightful lobsters with spots most the time. He picks up an old T-shirt from a pile by his suitcase and puts it on before he slides his feet into the silly flop flips that Hermione bought for him. He doesn’t like them much, but they’re good for walking on sand so he’s glad she got them for him.

He puts his wand in his back pocket, tucked under his shirt, and then he leaves their room. He needs to find her so he can tell her he’s a prat, albeit a prat that just wants to spend private time with his sexy wife. Maybe it’s been long enough that she’s not quite so angry or upset. He doesn’t want her to cry, never wants her to cry unless they’re happy tears. It takes him nearly an hour of wandering along the beach before he finds her off by herself near a cove. The water where she’s at is choppy and full of rocks so swimmers seem to be avoiding it. Good. If she decides to hex him, he’s not going to have witnesses to watch.

Ron walks to her blanket and sits down beside her. She doesn’t look at him, simply stares at the water with her book open on her lap. He watches her lips curve into a small frown and he hates the bloody sunglasses that won’t let him see her eyes. His palms are damp and he suddenly feels like a foolish fifteen year-old with a crush on the girl he thinks he can never have. He wipes them on his swim trunks as he carefully moves his legs to lie in front of him, letting one touch hers casually. He waits and watches, relieved when she doesn’t immediately move her legs away.

“Beautiful day,” he says softly. I’m sorry for being a prat.

“Hmm,” she replies, still not looking at him. You’re an arse and it’s going to take far more for me to look at you.

“The sand is really white, and the water is so blue. It’s beautiful here,” he stammers and is again reminded of a tongue-tied adolescent who doesn’t know what to say to the girl he fancies. I suck at this so please forgive me before I make myself look like a bigger prat.

“Yes, it is,” she agrees quietly. You hurt me.

“I’m, uh, sorry,” he whispers as he turns to look at her. He brushes a stray curl away from her cheek and hears her sigh as he gently caresses her face. I love you. You’re so beautiful and I wonder every day why you chose me.

“Why?” she demands in a voice barely above a whisper. I love you, too, and that’s why your words hurt. I hate when you speak before you think, when you attack and lash out like some silly child.

“Don’t know,” he admits as he turns her to look at him. He removes her sunglasses and flinches when he sees the red eyes that still show evidence of her tears. “I fuck up sometimes.”

“We all do.” Her smile doesn’t look right and it doesn’t reach her eyes. He hates that.

“I think I get an O in Fucking Up,” he declares as he traces the curve of her lips with his thumb. “Just wanted to spend the day making love.”

“I know,” she whispers as she kisses his thumb. “I suppose I get an O in Stubborn Bitch.”

“You’re not a bitch,” he says firmly, sincerely. “Stubborn, however…”

“We’re not twenty years-old anymore, Ron,” she reminds him gently. “Things aren’t going to be the same as they were five years ago and, in five more years, they won’t be the same as they are now. We’ve both grown up, and making love, it’s not something we have to do every night to prove our love or feel like we’re sharing our lives with each other. I know you love me even if we go months without sex.”

“It’s never been about proving,” he denies with a frown. “Why is it wrong that I enjoy shagging you? Is it bad that I still want you and like to fuck you?” He struggles to put it into words, and knows it won’t sound right. He sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair. “We‘re not sixty, Hermione. We‘re twenty-seven! We‘re young and in love and the sex is bloody amazing. It‘s just…I miss it, sharing that with you like we used to.”

“I miss it, too,” she admits so quietly he barely hears her. He looks into her eyes and finally knows, without a doubt, that she feels it, too. It’s still there; they just have to try a little harder now is all.

“I love you,” he tells her before he kisses her softly. He groans when her lips part beneath his and her knuckles brush along his throat. One kiss is all it takes to have him half-hard. He pulls back and rests his forehead against hers. “We should go back to the room.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” he asks as he rolls his eyes. He takes her hand and places it on his growing erection. “That a big enough reason?”

“I don’t know,” she teases softly as she squeezes. “Not too big yet.”

“Hermione, seriously,” he moans as he shifts on the blanket so he’s able to really look at her. “About today, I didn’t mean-”

“I know,” she says as she puts her fingers against his lips. “But, Ron, you can’t keep doing that. I love you, love you so much, but I won’t let you attack me just because you’re not getting your way or you don’t know how to say what’s in your head. I know it’s partially my fault because I was too busy talking about schedules and plans that I failed to miss the fact that you just wanted to spend time with me.”

“Guess we both get an O in Fucking Up today then, huh?” he asks with a crooked smile before he kisses the tip of her nose. “Can we go back to our room now? I think I’d like to work on extra credit in Pleasing My Wife.”

“Why?” When she asks the question this time, he frowns, uncertain what she means. It takes him a minute of confused silence before he notices the half-smile on her lips that always says she’s up to no good. He’s only partially surprised when she kisses his jaw a heartbeat later and whispers warm against his skin, “Why do we have to go back to the room, Ronald?”

He can’t even think of a word to describe the noise he makes as her intentions become obvious. It’s a groan and gurgle and he may very well have begged in the midst of it. He looks around the beach and can see people not that far away. He can hear laughter and some woman with a shrill voice calling for Martin to bring her hat. Finally, he looks back at his wife, the woman who isn‘t even very fond of holding hands in public and barely lets him get away with a right good snog occasionally, and whimpers, “Here?”

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” she grumbles as she presses his very willing body back against the blanket. “I can be daring sometimes, you know?”

“Right, but not like this and, uh, are you really sure, Hermione?” He doesn’t want her to do something she doesn’t really want to do just because she thinks he might enjoy it. “And, um, my wand is poking my back so let up a minute, yeah?”

She moves so he can remove his wand from his back pocket, which he lays on the blanket beside them. He can feel sand on his feet and in his hair and it itches a bit but it’s a small price to pay for her to be looking at him like this especially after he fucked up so badly earlier. He watches her drag her bottom lip into her mouth and chew on it as she looks around them and thinks. His cock throbs when she looks down at him and smiles. “I’m sure. No one is close enough to really see what we’re doing, though I may cast a quick concealment charm just in case,” she mutters the last bit to herself before she reaches for her wand.

“No muffling charms,” he tells her with a wicked grin. “Gonna have to just be quiet unless you want them to hear.”

“You know,” she says thoughtfully in the voice that always makes him hard even as it scares him, “I could easily bind you like this and have my wicked way with you. After all, I do recall allegations that I’m frigid and what was it? Have a stick up my arse?”

“Hermione,” he whines as he bucks up beneath her. “I said I was sorry.”

“So you did.” She meets his gaze and he sees that his words hurt her. She may have forgive him, but she’s not forgotten.

“I know you don’t have a stick in your arse. Hell, you rarely even let me in your arse much less a stick,” he says before he realizes that might not be the best way to apologize. He tries again, a bit more confident now that the emotional bit is sort of out of the way. “You’re far from frigid, Hermione. God, you’re so bloody amazing. Do you know how hard I get when I watch you cooking? Takes all my restraint not to bend you over the table and shag you right then and there. And you’d be wet for me and your nipples would be hard, and you’d squeeze me until I’m begging you to let me come.”

“It’s really not fair,” she mutters as she puts her wand down. “It’s difficult to stay angry with you when you’re adorable and so, well, awful at saying the right thing. It’s endearing but annoying.”

“So you’re not still mad?”

“My husband called me a frigid prude who has a stick up her arse. Of course I’m still mad,” she says as she rolls her eyes. She grins. “However, I know he plans to do his best to earn an O in Making My Wife Scream so that might assuage some of my anger.”

“An O? Hell, I’ll go for a NEWT level in that,” he promises after he spends a moment trying to figure out what assuage means. He’s still not exactly sure but she’s grinning and her tits look fucking fantastic in her bathing suit so it’s not something he spends too much time thinking about. “Take your suit off for me, Hermione. I wanna see your gorgeous tits.”

“These?” She moves her index finger along the curve of her breasts teasingly and gives him a deceptively innocent smile. “You want to see these?”

“Yes,” he says eagerly. He curses when she slaps his hands down after he tries to unfasten her suit himself. He shifts beneath her and the blanket bunches up against his lower back as he moves. The sand is fucking hot when his ankle moves from the blanket and makes contact with it, but he bites his tongue to keep from cursing loudly.

“I think you’re overdressed,” she decides as she leaves her suit on and pushes his shirt up. He helps her remove it and lies back on the blanket, now able to feel scratchy sand poking his bare flesh. How did those people in the cinema films she’d had him watch roll around on the sand and shag? He was rather uncomfortable and even had a blanket. “Much better.”

She kisses his neck, sucking on the sensitive skin right beneath his ear that makes him whine, and her fingers are moving over his bare chest, tracing his collarbone and rubbing his nipples and tracing his ribs as she deliberately rubs herself right against his erection. “Hermione,” he moans as he thrusts his hips up to press his cock against her arse.

“Not yet,” she whispers against his ear before she scratches his chest. He gasps and bucks again, wondering if this is her punishment for his insults earlier because, if so, he might not survive. She sits up and unties the back of her suit, letting it fall to her waist to bare her tits. She has the best tits ever. They’re not that big and the left one is actually just a bit bigger than the right, but they fill his hands perfectly and her nipples are a pretty shade of pale brown with a hint of pink that fascinates him.

His hands move behind her back to catch her as he leans up and attacks her tits. He licks, sucks and nibbles, tasting coconut from her sunscreen and salty sweat. One of his hands leaves her back and moves into the bottom of her swim suit. He grips her arse as he sucks her nipple, her fingers are in his hair tugging just a bit, and she’s making the sexiest noises above his head. She never gets that loud, but he thinks her soft sounds are far more arousing than if she were to scream or have loud theatrics.

He moves his hand from her arse around her hip until his fingertips feel wet curls. He slides his fingers between her lips and presses one inside her cunt. “So wet, baby,” he mutters against her tit before he places an open-mouth kiss on the underside of one. Her hands are on his back and in his hair, and she’s rubbing against his hand and her arse is against his cock.

She presses against his fingers and gasps when he rubs her clit. He’s so hard after awhile of kissing her and sucking her tits and fucking her with his hand that he‘s not sure how long he‘s going to last. The smell of Hermione and sex, sounds she’s making, and feel of her against him almost enough to make him spill in his swim trunks. “Ron, I need you,” she groans as she pushes him back against the blanket.

His hands fumble with hers as they try to get rid of her swim suit and his trunks. She is wiggling the suit past her hips and they laugh when she loses her balance and falls beside him, their legs all tangled together. He manages to get his trunks past his thighs and just leaves them there. His fingers wrap around his cock as he watches her finally get the swimsuit off. “No,” he tells her when she crawls up him, her long hair brushing against his legs, and opens her mouth to suck him. “Want to come in your cunt, not your mouth.”

“Language,” she scolds breathlessly as she straddles him.

He grins up at her, knows how fucking hot it makes her when he talks like that, and says, “Feel how wet you are, baby. Push your fingers inside your tight cunt and get them soaked. I wanna taste while I thrust my cock inside you.”

She looks at him a moment, her face flushed and sweaty, and then she moves her hand between her legs. She moans as she pushes her finger inside and her hips move forward, seeking fulfillment. He loves watching her like this and bends his legs so she can rest against his thighs. She leans back and fucks herself for him, spreading herself open so he can see how pink and wet she is, but the angle isn’t good enough to really see, not the way he really likes. “Please, Ron,” she whimpers as she removes her wet fingers and rubs her cunt against his cock.

He grips her wrist and brings her hand to his mouth. His tongue snakes out and laps at her wet fingers before he sucks one into his mouth. “Taste so fucking good,” he mutters against her damp palm. He’s tempted to have her straddle his face so he can lick and suck until she’s screaming, but he can tell she’s close and he’s close and, “Now, baby. Need you so much, Hermione.”

Her hand reaches down to hold him, her fingers pushing his hand out of the way. He moves his hand to hold her hip tightly as he goes back to licking her fingers and watching. Wet heat slowly envelopes him as she pushes down. It’s taking all his control not to thrust up and push her against the blanket so he can fuck her hard and deep. Finally, he’s completely inside her. She leans forward and grinds slightly before she begins to move.

He finishes cleaning her hand and places it flat against his heart before both his hands grip her hips. He pulls her down hard, arches up into her, toes curled against hot sand. He feels itchy and knows he needs a shower because the sand is sticking to his now sweaty body and he thinks there may be some around his arse, which isn’t good. However, Hermione is riding him hard and fast and her tits are bouncing up and down in a way that distracts him from annoying sand and the people nearby.

He tries to last longer, but it’s been a stressful day and she’s so tight and wet, and her tits. God, her tits alone are enough to have him coming. He grunts as he spills, back arches off the blanket, and he’s pretty sure he sees stars as his orgasm hits. Or maybe he’s just looking into the sun. She keeps moving but doesn’t come yet and he flushes as he realizes he’s, once again, come before her.

Ron decides that it’s only fair she get sand on her arse too so he pulls her off him and pushes her against the blanket. He has to knock their wands out of the way and move her book, but she doesn’t have time to protest before his tongue is lapping at her. He tastes his come mixed with her pre-come as he licks her cunt. His finger pushes inside her, getting nice and wet, and then he reaches up, feels her tongue licking it before she sucks it. It only makes him lick her harder, tongue lashes against her clit and then he sucks it into his mouth.

Her hips are jerking and she’s moaning, so close. He thrusts two fingers inside her, crooks them and tries to find that spot that sends her over the edge. He finally does and begins to rub as he nibbles and sucks on her clit. He looks up from beneath his sweaty hair to watch her face as she comes. “Ron,” she whimpers right before she tightens and then lets go.

Her body shudders as she comes, and he feels her wet and sticky on his fingers. He moves his head lower, nuzzles her with his face before he begins to lick, wet fingers holding her thighs down so he can lick her from arse to clit. It’s only when she’s trying to push him away that he stops. He crawls up her body and kisses her thoroughly, his hand caressing her tits and hips as he brushes sweaty hair away from her face with his fingers. His weight is on his elbow and he simply looks at her when he ends the kiss. “Love you,” he finally whispers.

“Me too,” she says with a gentle smile before she kisses his cheek. “I think, Mister Weasley, that you’ve definitely earned an O this afternoon.”

“Have I, Missus Weasley?” He grins as he reluctantly moves to his knees and picks up his shirt. He pulls it over her head and helps her pull it on before he picks up her discarded swimsuit and puts it in her bag. “Well, now, I do believe that I’d like to see about earning my NEWT. After all, my wife would be most impressed with a NEWT and might let me shag her on the balcony tonight when the moon is out and we can see the stars.”

“I don’t think your wife would ever be impressed enough to step onto the balcony much less shag out there,” she tells him as she dusts sand off her arse.

“Maybe I can distract her enough that she doesn’t even think about the height,” he decides.

“Maybe you should hope she lets you conserve water by taking a shower with her to get all this sand and sweat off,” she says as she gathers up her book and sunglasses.

“Right. Shower is good,” he agrees. Maybe he’d get her onto the balcony tomorrow. They still have three days, after all. He looks at her and catches her hand, bringing it to his lips. He kisses it gently, his eyes on hers. This is what I missed. This intimacy even if we’re not having sex. I love you.

She smiles gently and strokes his cheek. “I know,” she whispers in reply to all the things he doesn’t have to put into words.

“Let me carry that,” he says as he stands up and takes her things from her. She folds the blanket and puts it into the canvas bag he’s carrying and then she takes her book out of his hand and puts it on top of the blanket. He grins as he watches her arrange the contents of the bag, wondering if she has any idea how adorable that is. He puts his wand back in his pocket and waits for her to end the concealment charm.

“You know, you’re right.”

“I am?” He arches a brow and looks at her. “Should I write this in your planner thing? Bright red letters, ‘Ron was right today’, and maybe circle it a few times. Uh, what was I right about?”

“Prat,” she scolds as she slaps his shoulder before hooking her arm through his. “But, actually, that’s not a bad idea. It happens so rarely that it might be nice to keep track of the few occurrences.”

“Brat,” he teases as he bumps her hip with his.

She looks at him and smiles. “It is a beautiful day.”

“Yeah, it is,” he says with a smile. “You chose a good spot for our holiday, Hermione. I really like Maui.”

“It’s not May-uu-i,” she grumbles as she rolls her eyes. “Really, Ron. It’s not that difficult to pronounce. Mow-ee.”

He listens to her lecture him on the local language and nods his head in the right places. There are always going to be bumps in their relationship, he supposes, but it’s lucky they’re both stubborn and passionate enough to work through them. He looks at her, not listening to a single word she’s saying about Akaaratuio or whatever it is she wants to visit tomorrow, just admiring the way the sun catches the highlights in her hair and the excitement in her eyes as she talks about the island, and he smiles.

The End