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The Babbling Brook

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"Merlin, you're so sweet, love," Ron whispered as he pressed his lips against the base of Hermione's neck and nipped lightly at the tender flesh there. "So sexy."

He'd been murmuring sweet nothings such as this, loving declarations, nonsensical endearments, as they snogged for what seemed like endless hours throughout a grey, wet and lazy Saturday. The spatter of the rain at the bedroom window, paired with the knowledge that the flat contained everything they needed for a cozy weekend — a fully stocked icebox, a crackling fire, several good books yet to read — made her thankful she had no need to venture outdoors or even to leave this soft, warm bed and the comforting cocoon of Ron's arms.

He'd made his way up to her earlobe by the time she'd completed this brief mental inventory, and she moaned involuntarily at the feeling of his breath on her skin.

"Gods, Mione," he said in response, his voice deep and low. "You drive me mad, little dove. I want you so much … I want you … always …"

It came on suddenly, the urge to giggle — so quickly that it happened before she had time to think. It bubbled up once, then a second time, and again until she couldn't hold it in and it simply rolled out of her, a peal of laughter against his warm, bare shoulder.

"Oi, what's so funny?" he asked, pulling away from her neck and leaning back on one elbow to study her face, a mildly shocked, open-mouthed grin lighting his own.

The slightly scandalized look on his face caused her to erupt in laughter again, and she pressed her head back into the pillow beneath her, even as she reached up to cradle his cheek in her hand, a gesture that was the closest she could come to an apology while continuing to be racked with waves of giggles.

"You're just so," she eventually sputtered when she could get her breath. "I'm sorry, you're adorable, honestly. It's just—" She giggled again. "I just didn't picture you being so … so … well, loquacious. In bed, I mean."

He searched her face, forehead scrunched. "Loquacious?" he finally said with a laugh. "You're going to have to translate that one for me, love."

She shifted her hand to his shoulder, tracing her finger from freckle to freckle, before looking up at him again through her lashes. "Voluble. Effusive. Expansive. Garrulous."

"You mean I talk too much?"

"No!" she said, rising up then and propping herself up on her elbow to face him. "No," she continued, more gently this time. "Not at all. It's just not what I expected," she added, pulling the duvet up an inch to cover her chest as the chill of the room hit her skin, especially when he removed his hand from her hip to rub the back of his neck. "You do have, um, quite a lot to say," she added, suddenly feeling a bit shy, though she didn't have time to puzzle out why. She bit her lip and met his gaze again, and her heart fluttered when she saw he was still smiling.

"Hmm," he said. "So I'm loquacious, eh?"

"You're a babbling brook!" Hermione answered, slapping his shoulder lightly before pulling him back to cover her again. She'd missed his warmth, even for those few brief moments, and she smiled to herself knowing she'd never be chilled sleeping next to Ron Weasley, the veritable human thermal combustion engine.

He happily settled himself above her again. "You thought I'd be the strong silent type?" he said.

"Well …" she replied.

"Oh wait, I know," he said, the cockeyed, cheeky grin still warming his face. "You're tired of hearing me say how dead sexy you are, is that it?"

She chuckled. "I didn't say I was tired of it," she said with an exaggerated huff as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I only meant I wasn't expecting it, that's all." She budged herself downward an inch or so, the better to feel more wrapped up in him. "By all means, Ronald, say whatever comes to mind."

He planted a kiss on her lips and then pulled back. "Really?" he whispered.

"Really," she answered, pulling his face back down for another, longer kiss.

"Because quite a lot comes to mind, you know," he continued some moments later as he nuzzled his nose against hers.

"Evidently so."

He kissed her again. "I've got several years' worth of filthy notions bottled up in my head when it comes to you, Granger," he continued a minute or so later. "Can't seem to hold them in anymore."

"Nor should you try."

She could feel his growing hardness against her thigh, and soon he shifted so that he was poised between her legs, his hips moving in a languid, unconscious rhythm, making tantalizing contact though their bodies weren't joined.

She hummed appreciatively and met his rhythm with her own.

"Like that, do you?" he whispered.


"I can't get enough of you, Hermione," Ron said breathlessly. "As soon as we're done making love, I want you again."

He buried his hands in her hair and kissed her deeply, silent for several minutes as they let their bodies speak for them.

Then, from out of nowhere, he pulled back slightly from the kiss, though his lips were still pressed to hers. The undulating movement of his hips had ceased and Hermione noticed that, beneath her hands, his back seemed to be wavering slightly. She opened her eyes to see that—

"Wait, are you laughing?" she said indignantly.

That seemed to be all Ron needed to let the chuckles burst forth, and he buried his reddened face in the pillow next to Hermione's head in a vain attempt to stifle his mirth.

"What on Earth is so funny?" Hermione continued, slapping his back for emphasis.

"Nothing," Ron said before descending into another fit of giggles. "Sorry, sorry…"

He rolled off of her and flopped onto his back, covering his eyes with his free arm as the remaining giggles escaped him.

Hermione rolled onto her side to face him. "Are you going to tell me what's so, so … risible or aren't you?"

Ron took a deep breath and uncovered his eyes, chuckling softly again when he saw the look of mild annoyance on her face. He pulled her to him with the arm still tucked beneath her head — punctuating his action with a come-hither look and a deep "c'mere," which he knew she could rarely resist — and she molded herself to him willingly. "I just caught up to what you said earlier," he explained.


"You didn't picture me being so loquacious."

"Yes. So?"

"You pictured it."


He pivoted so she was pinned beneath him again and gave her a penetrating look, though the curl at the corner of his lip indicated he was enjoying himself very much indeed. "You. Pictured. It," he repeated.

"I don't—" she sputtered, cheeks pinking up rapidly. "I don't know what you could possibly mean."

His lip curled a fraction more and he pulled her tighter to him. "You pictured what I would be like. In bed," he said, nudging one knee between hers. "Don't deny it."

She felt the temperature of her face go up a few more degrees, and she stiffened beneath him even as he levered a second knee into place next to the first and angled himself more firmly above her. She was just gathering her wits for a biting reply when he spoke again.

"You thought about me," he whispered. "Straitlaced Hermione Granger. You thought about me and wondered what it would be like," he said, nudging himself against her as he'd done before, the friction sending waves of warmth through her abdomen, "what kind of lover I'd be. Didn't you?"

She was so turned on that she'd forgotten to be annoyed with him, and whatever expression of effrontery she had been formulating in her head evaporated in the heat of his gaze. She nodded and bit her lip, which only made his lip curl more deviously as the rocking of his hips intensified. Soon, her legs, which she'd tried moments earlier to pin together to resist him out of sheer vexation, were wrapped around his bum, egging him on.

"You pictured what it would feel like to be in bed with me — and don't get me wrong, I'm chuffed," he continued. "S'long as you didn't picture anybody else."



He sank his face into the well between her neck and her shoulder then and nibbled her there. "I thought about you," he murmured into her ear, "so many times. What you'd feel like. What you'd taste like."

Pulling back, he looked her in the eye again before slipping himself inside her, drawing a deep moan from her.

"Hard as I tried," he said as he resumed his movements, "I could never quite picture this, though—what it feels like to be inside you."

Hermione pressed her hands against his lower back to urge him that much deeper. "Tell me," she whispered.

"Hmm?" he replied, his eyebrows raised teasingly.

"Tell me what it's like."

"You sure you want to hear?" he asked, and she slapped his bum. He chuckled and then lowered his face to speak against her lips. "You feel so, so, so warm," he whispered, feathering kisses across her lips and jaw. "You feel so soft. You feel like you're mine. All mine," he said, thrusting deeper. "And I'm where I belong and I never want to be anywhere else."

Hermione hummed and ran her hands up from his bum, caressing the expanse of his back before grasping his shoulders tightly in her hands. "Never stop telling me, Ron," she murmured. "Never stop. I'll never get tired of hearing it — never."