Pairings: Ron/Hermione, others implied
Word Count: 2970
Summary: "The milk, the milk is the life!"
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling, and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by the posting of this fic.
Author's Notes: Thank you, eeyore9990 and fodirteg, for beta'ing, and kerryblaze for the read-over. This fic is dedicated to shocolate, who won the tailoring of my October
daily_deviant offering by generously supporting marriage equality as a bidder in the livelongnmarry charitable event at LiveJournal. ♥
"—charging ahead into a nest. What were you thinking?"
"Someone had to—"
"You're a father now, you git!"
Not a serious injury, then, thought Hermione, watching Harry bandage Ron's arm, or he wouldn't have brought him back here. Clearing her throat and entering the kitchen, she asked, "Are you hungry?"
"Famished," Harry answered.
"She wasn't asking you."
"No," Hermione said, "I was asking you both."
"Ow!" Ron complained to Harry, as Rose's crying filtered into the room. "Be more careful, would you?"
Smirking, Hermione left them to it and went to feed Rose, electing to sit at the top of the stairs while she did so in order to better hear what had happened to Ron and Harry on their mission. The salient points were these: they'd attacked a nest of rogue vampires, killed three, and lost the fourth because Ron had been mesmerised by the fifth, which Harry had staked with his wand.
It seems as though "Number Four" is the one who keeps getting away, Hermione thought, wincing at Rose's enthusiasm. Severus is probably right about this being a coordinated effort, but the vampires' leader doesn't seem to be doing that much good, thank Merlin.
Hermione was utterly sick of vampires, even though fighting them was as much her job as it was Ron and Harry's; of course, her task was to find a way to cure vampirism—or to destroy vampires more safely. So far, however, her efforts had been in vain, and the holding cells of the DMLE were full of Aurors and other people who'd been incompletely Turned.
The Spellcraftres' Guild had plenty of its own prisoners, as well, but Severus had forbidden her to speak of this fact; understanding as she did that this was just his way of protecting the poor, infected souls from the Ministry, Hermione had found herself, for once, agreeing with Severus.
No one knew why the vampires had been attacking people so aggressively in recent months. No one actually cared any longer; the Ministry's latest directive on the matter was clear: all unregistered vampires were to be destroyed on sight, and there were four Auror teams dedicated to pursuing them. Ron and Harry's team had the highest "success" rate among them, but that fact did little to calm Hermione's fears.
"I wish your father weren't so good at putting himself into harm's way," Hermione whispered, barely able to hear herself.
"Don't worry 'bout me. I'm home, aren't I? And how's my little 'milkpire'?" Ron asked, suddenly at the foot of the stairs.
"You're not funny," Hermione replied, starting. "Where's Harry?"
"Sleeping in the lounge. We're both knackered."
"I thought," Hermione said, shifting Rose from one tender nipple to the other, "that we agreed there were to be no heroics?"
Ron rapidly pulled himself up the stairs on his hands and knees. "You said that," he replied, grimacing as Hermione licked a finger and ran it over his mouth, "but I can't help being what I am."
Ron's grimace became a sloppy grin as Hermione wiped away the dried blood and dirt from his face, and she smiled in spite of herself. Charming bastard, she thought, nevertheless slapping away his hand from the breast at which Rose was suckling.
"'M only trying to help."
"Just plumping you up a bit for the little lady," Ron continued, beginning to nuzzle Hermione's free breast with one cheek.
"Sound asleep," he murmured, latching onto the nipple.
Hermione yelped. "I'm too sore for that."
"I'll get the cream, shall I? Mummy would like that, wouldn't she?" Ron asked Rose, kissing her head before springing past Hermione.
"I thought you were tired?" she asked, when Ron returned almost at once. "And injured?"
"Can't keep a good man down. Let me—"
"Well then," Ron said, rising and swinging Hermione and Rose up into his arms, "I'll just tuck you in first."
"Are you mad? We're on the stai—"
Before Hermione could complete her thought, Ron had moved them into the nursery and Hermione was once again on her feet. She snorted to think of how Ron had fussed about Harry's dressing his wound; it was just like Ron to complain about something minor. When he was truly hurt, he'd never mention it.
"Right, let's get you settled," Ron told her, leering.
In no time at all, he was rubbing the soothing balm into her nipples.
"That does feel good, but you'll regret all this post-mission, adrenaline-instigated behaviour in the morning, I think."
"Does that mean," Ron said, leaving off his application in favour of caressing the sides of Hermione's breasts, "that you're feeling up to 'behaviour'?"
Hermione flushed. She'd wanted Ron for weeks, now, but he'd been too squeamish for sex, asserting that he didn't want to hurt her. Molly had told her that it was a phase, one that Weasley men got past rather quickly, and that she shouldn't worry about Ron's reluctance.
Keeping this in mind, she murmured, "Mmm."
"Mmm, hmm," Ron seemed to agree, as he began teasing one of her nipples with his tongue.
Hermione wriggled, feeling torn; Ron's skin was a tad too hot, and she thought he might be feverish. "I really think that you should rest."
In response, he began worrying her nipple with his lips, and then sucking it, hard; Hermione gasped.
"Oh! We . . . oh, that's—but Harry's—"
A wet sound echoed through the room as Ron removed his mouth from Hermione's breast. "Asleep. 'Sides, we're married. It's his fault if—rmph!"
It only took one tug to pull Ron's mouth back to her now pleasantly half-benumbed, yet stimulated breast, and then he began suckling in earnest.
Was it wrong to find it erotic? Hermione hadn't been able to bring herself to ask Molly about it, and at the moment, she found that she didn't care. She loved to feel Ron's fingers and lips and tongue on her, especially since she'd started nursing Rose, and Ron obviously enjoyed laving her with the attention, no matter that it was the only sort of sexual attention that he'd been paying her. Sometimes, he actually managed to take milk—but, heretofore, he'd not used his teeth.
Hermione stiffened as two sharp points began pressing into her skin, and she shoved Ron away. "The baby's crying!"
"Wha—I don't hear—"
"Just . . . just a moment," Hermione said, rising and making for the door.
Ron was standing in front of it when she reached it.
Too fast, she thought of his movement, pushing a bushy fall of her hair over her head and out of her face.
It fell back down around her shoulders at once, making her feel testy and alarmed as she looked up from Ron's feet into his eyes. They were dilated more than arousal could explain, and the bandage he'd been wearing on his arm had come loose. The linen was bloody.
But there's no wound, and I know that Harry didn't use any Healing charms on Ron.
"Rose isn't crying," Ron noted, his voice rough. "What's wrong? I thought you wanted—"
Hermione kissed Ron to stop him from speaking so that she could think. Number Four wasn't mesmerising you, was he? The blood on your mouth—it wasn't yours. Increased temperature, speed, and heart rate, she thought, for she could feel the pounding of Ron's heart now that she was so close to him, these things imply . . . infection. Pulling herself out of their embrace, she muttered, "Fuck."
"I was trying—"
"Get back on the bed," Hermione ordered. "Strip, and do that binding trick of yours on yourself."
Ron's eyes lit up. "Yeah?"
"Yes," Hermione said, observing Ron's unnatural speed more clearly now as he moved to obey her, and thinking, This is bad.
She had to get Rose to safety. She had to save Ron—but she didn't know quite how to do that, yet.
Her research hadn't been successful; she didn't know how to stop a vampiric infection from running its course, and Severus hadn't approved her theories for testing.
I can't call the DMLE. They'd have to register him, and he'd be put into a holding cell, indefinitely, Hermione thought, swallowing repeatedly to prevent herself from sicking up in nervousness as she reinforced the binding charm once Ron had cast it.
The charm would wear off within the half-hour unless she removed it, first; at least, that's how she and Ron had designed it in their pre-birth, especially kinky married months, but she didn't want to take any chances at the moment.
Ron groaned in protest at her action.
"I've something . . . special planned, and we can't have your impatience ruining it, now can we?"
With those words, Hermione raced from the room and into Rose's, Floo'ing with her at once to the Burrow's kitchen, where she tucked her daughter into the crib there before Floo'ing home—to the lounge.
Harry was sprawled on the carpet, breathing erratically. She bound him, and then she used a spell to remove his clothing so that she could examine his skin for wounds. To her horror, she found one.
Her eyes burnt as she fought to keep her composure. With Harry also affected, perhaps she should call Severus.
He'd never allow me to—
"Hermione! Where are—"
"Coming!" she called, moving into the kitchen without further hesitation.
No matter how much Severus had objected to it, she was glad that she'd brought her work home with her. She knew that he'd strenuously object to what she was about to do—"It's water," he'd argued, "unadulterated water, and nothing else!"—but there was plenty of anecdotal evidence to support what she was planning to do with that "water." Selecting the appropriate phial, she drank it down and returned to Ron.
"Where've you been?"
"Stop complaining," Hermione instructed, taking a deep breath as she approached the bed and slipped off her dressing gown. Stepping out of it, she knelt next to Ron and ran her hands up his calves.
"Patience. I want to see you. It's been too long since . . . ."
Hermione left off speaking in favour of drawing her lips lightly over Ron's skin, which felt smoother than it should have, even considering how hairy he was. It didn't take long for her to discover the bite mark on his right shoulder. Her breath hitching at the sight, she slid back down Ron's body and enveloped his prick with her mouth, thinking about absorption rates more than the salty thickness of her husband as she sucked him. Fondling his bollocks, which were already drawn tightly up into his body, she knew that she had even less time than she'd thought.
If he comes, he'll sleep, and then . . . .
Ron groaned, thrusting upwards. "Want to fuck you, 'Mione!"
Hermione moaned around Ron's prick, pulling her mouth off him. "I want that, too."
"But not yet," she said, crawling back up his body and straddling him so that she could bend over his head. Shaking her breasts in Ron's face, she demanded, "Drink. I want to feel you suckling me again."
He had to drink. Even Sanguini—who'd registered himself at once and made himself available to the Spellcraftres' Guild for questioning—had told her he thought that a filtered purification feeding might be the only hope of saving a human from the taint of vampiric blood.
Please work, Hermione thought, as she grit her teeth against the nipple-to-clit rush of excitement that Ron's mouth on her was causing and wriggled herself down onto his prick.
It felt impossibly firm and hot and thick as Ron met her downwards thrust with a hard, upwards one of his own. His tongue was soft, yet oddly rough as it flicked quickly against her nipple.
"Stop teasing and suck!" Hermione exclaimed, arching her back as she seized in orgasm.
Ron's sudden, greedy feeding immediately caused her to come again; it felt so good that it hurt, and her nipples were buzzing, burning with sensation.
"Don't . . . stop! Don't!" she gasped, toppling forward.
Ron pushed her back up. "Legs," he panted.
Even though she knew that Ron shouldn't have been able to move his arms, Hermione was too lost to the carnality of the moment to do anything other than obey, and she wrapped her legs around Ron's waist and cried out as he shifted their position so that he was fucking her into the mattress while holding both her wrists down above her head into the pillows.
He was too strong, too smooth. It was always brilliant, shagging Ron, but this grace of movement of his was entirely new, and it frightened Hermione.
"Oh, oh, oh! I can't . . . I can't lose you!"
She wanted to cry; no matter how wonderful she felt, she was sure that her plan had failed. She wanted to cry, but she could only cry out.
The physicality of their fucking was too intense, and Hermione began to hyperventilate from fear and pleasure. Just before losing consciousness, however, she heard Ron tell her, "Never. You'll never lose me now."
"I am a man, a manly man, the manliest man alive!"
Hermione opened her eyes with a start. Every muscle stiff, she slowly sat up. It was dark, but she could hear Ron singing in the shower; this helped to orient her to her surroundings as a stab of fear shot through her.
It smacked her in the face and fell into her lap. Biting her lip against the sting, Hermione raised it and scooted to the edge of the bed. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could barely hear over the rushing of her blood the smug snatches of song emanating with the steam from the loo.
It had to be dawn, she was sure of it, but when she swished and flicked at the curtain, no light shone into the room.
"—so manly a manly man am I, that—"
"Would you belt up, you great berk? You'll wake—"
Abruptly, the sound of water ceased. Hermione, furious with herself for her outburst, closed her eyes and attempted to summon the necessary will to blast Ron with an offensive spell. As the squish, squish of footsteps padding over the carpet from the bathroom towards the bedroom door met her ears, however, she wasn't certain that she could do it—not to the father of her child.
And then light blazed in the room, bringing with it cold air from the corridor as the door was opened.
"Oi!" Harry exclaimed, while Hermione threw herself against the headboard and shakily kept her wand raised, partially opening her eyes so that they could adjust to the brightness. "I didn't need to see that!"
"You didn't mind when—'Mione? You all right? Oh! Shite! Hermione, it's all right!"
"Don't you move!"
"Ron," Harry said, "tell her!"
"It's me, human me," Ron said at once. "What you did, it worked! And I treated Harry, too!"
"Stung like fuck going down," Harry added.
"Show me your shoulder," Hermione insisted, steadying her wand arm.
Ron turned and knelt, inching towards the bed on his knees. "See?"
Harry coughed. "Er, mine's gone, as well."
"Show me!" Hermione ordered.
"I'd rather he didn't."
Hermione jabbed the air with her wand in Harry's direction, blinking back tears. Her arm was feeling weak, she was scared, and she wasn't in the mood to entertain anyone's modesty.
Harry, blushing, turned to display his arse to her before lowering his trousers. "All right?"
"No, it's not all right!" Hermione shouted, dropping her wand and bursting into tears, barely registering the fact that Ron had moved to embrace her.
Harry followed suit, murmuring, "It's not the way I wanted to spend Halloween, either."
"Someone had better tell me exactly what kind of a 'cure' this is, this instant, or—"
Coughing out a laugh, Hermione snapped, "Do shut up, Severus!"
In the presentation that Hermione and Severus made on behalf of the Spellcraftres to the Ministry, no mention of Harry's wound—or its cure—was made; they'd agreed with Ron and Harry that some things just weren't anyone's business. Of course, Harry angrily refused to partner with someone other than Ron, and emotions were strained for a time as Hermione worked with Severus to cure those Aurors and other vampire-bitten victims of their infection.
It wasn't all bad, though, as Ron had been arriving home on time almost every night since the incident, and that had left Hermione with plenty of time to enjoy her husband's breast fixation. She did have her limits, however, as she proved to Ron during one evening of post-coital relaxation when he teased, "The milk, the milk is the life!"
"Ow! I was only—"
"Being an arse! Do you want to sleep on Harry's sofa tonight?" Hermione demanded, smacking Ron with her pillow again.
Ron flushed. "Er, I don't think his greasy git would let me."
Hermione was preparing an angry retort when Rose began to fuss; she Summoned her wand and pointed it at Ron. "Lactatio!"
Seizing his chest, which was suddenly rounder than usual, Ron exclaimed in horror, "What did you do?"
"Oh, settle down. It's only temporary, and you've worn me out. It's your turn to feed Rose, anyway, I think," Hermione told him, throwing herself onto her side and staring at the wall while trying not to laugh as Ron, grumbling, went to nurse their daughter.
She had no intention of telling Ron whose spell it was that made his nursing possible, but she hoped that Severus, vengeful prick that he was, would be pleased when she told him that she'd employed his spell.
Hermione was extraordinarily well-pleased, herself, when Ron returned to their room, fondling himself in fascination and asking, "Want to know what it's like?"
Seeing him grin when she nodded her assent made her happier still: Ron was the life, her life; she couldn't imagine life without him.