Strangers in the Night

A Harry Potter Fanfic

by Nox

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Overview:H/Hr. PWP, Romance. Post-Hogwarts by a year or two. Harry, the perpetually-on-the-road Quidditch star, returns to the London flat shared with his best friends for a much-needed post-season break. He meets up with his old schoolmates in more ways than one.

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and other related trademarks and copyrighted materials are property of their respective owners. Use of such properties is for entertainment purposes only and does not constitute a claim on such properties.

Chapter Notes: The NC-17 bits. Sordid, unadulterated smut. Prudes beware!

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Strangers in the Night

Something roused Harry from his sleep, and it was the sensation of a pair of hands that touched his chest for just a moment, then quickly withdrew.

'Who's there?' whispered a female voice sounding alarmed.

Through his groggy fight to consciousness, Harry only vaguely registered the question. Other than that a question was posed to him; and that it was dark. And that the scent of lavender that seemed so very close. Was that Lavender? Couldn't she see it was him?

'Uh, it's me. Harry,' he whispered thickly.

A shocked beat. 'Harry! What are you doing here?' said the female voice, now with amused relief.

What would Lavender be doing in my inn room? I didn't see her after the game, Harry thought as the twin bludger bats of confusion and sleepiness had him wondering what was going on in. Then he remembered he was back in London, not on the road. Still, why would Lavender be here? Was Ron setting him up? He answered in a slurred voice, 'Ron told me to come here.'

'Really?' The female voice giggled. 'I didn't think Ron would have let you stay the night without me here.'

'No, I couldn't—' Harry began.

'—wait for me? Aw, how sweet!'

'No, I meant—' Harry protested.

'Shhh. Stop talking,' the female whispered. The faint rustle of robes and clothing being slipped off distracted Harry for a moment, but not nearly as much distraction having the sheets tugged aside while the bed pressed downwards from the additional weight of another body climbing onto the bed. Specifically, straddling Harry.

The shock of such an unexpected turn of events had Harry gasp. He breathed deeply the tantalizingly familiar floral scent until it finally dawned on him. Lavender scent: Hermione! She's come home early from Scotland and thinks I'm her boyfriend Harold! As he felt her leaning down, he blindly reached up to restrain her, lest the situation get completely out of hand.

Harry felt a violent sensation in his groin as his hands came in contact with two exquisite-feeling — and quite bare — breasts.

Hermione's bare breasts.

A sense of shock stunned poor Harry — but not nearly as much as when Hermione pressed downwards and attacked his lips with a heated kiss. There he was, palming his best friend's breasts while being snogged (quite pleasantly, really) and—

Harry groaned softly as said best friend began slowly grinding against his boxers, the warmth from between her legs eliciting the reaction one would expect from any red-blooded male in his situation.

Now fully awake, in more ways than one, Harry tried to stay very still, hoping that Hermione would stop and he would get a chance to interrupt her and make a terribly embarrassing explanation before things really got out of hand. Despite the pleasant sensations she had evoked and was spreading through his body, the undeniably allure of having a warm, willing body riding him, he knew this was a huge mistake.

His plan worked . . . sort of. Not seeing as much reaction as she might have expected, Harry felt a smile form as Hermione pulled away from the kiss. 'Oooh, playing hard-to-get, hmm?' she giggled.

Harry felt one hand press against his chest and the cooler evening air as Hermione lifted herself off. Spinning on one knee, she swung her other leg over to reverse-straddle him. His breath caught as he felt his boxers being pushed down and Hermione grasping his shaft; he then realized why Hermione had shifted herself into this position. It wasn't enough that a warm, wet sensation engulfed him as she drew out exquisite pleasure with her tongue, but a moment later, the scent of a highly aroused woman assaulted his senses, the herald to Hermione scooting backwards and pressing her sex insistently to his lips. A sex which was decidedly damp when it got there.

Oh, Merlin, I was right, earlier. Hermione has needs and she's not bloody shy about them in bed! he thought frantically.

Hermione's lithe body slid and slithered over Harry's, the soixante-neuf bringing the Boy Who Could Now Die Happy such excitement beyond all possible measure. Friend or no, it was all simply too much to ignore; valiantly, he tried to stem his lust, but before he knew it, he had reached up to wrap his arms around Hermione's waist and reciprocating the pleasure she was bringing him.

For long minutes, their tongues and lips duelled, stimulated and explored one another. He had a guess that his namesake had taught Hermione how to please a man, and for that he was considerably grateful. He was equally grateful that he didn't turn down Maura's attentions during the Quidditch season — so he had some idea on how to stimulate a woman. At least, he assumed he did, given the vibrations Hermione's moaning sent down his shaft, threatening to have him explode before he would've liked.

Harry's hips were soon rising and falling with Hermione's suckling while his tongue danced over, under and around her clit. It wasn't long before the situation was just too much, though. With one last upward thrust, he spasmed his pleasure into Hermione's mouth. Violently. He stifled his yell by burying this mouth into Hermione, incidentally slipping his tongue deeply into her and causing her delighted muffle which vibrated along his pulsing cock.

The sensation faded quickly and Harry's hips fell back down to the bed, his wet and spent shaft twitching pleasureably in the cool evening air. His heart was beating as if he had just ran a race, his breathing equally quick from the intensity of his release. Hermione raised her head from Harry, grinding her groin on Harry's face.

'Hmm,' hummed Hermione throatily. The sound of her licking her lips with his recent offering only excited Harry even more. 'I've never seen you last that long or come so hard. It's like a whole new you!'

The irony wasn't lost on Harry, who just grunted a non-verbal response by grazing intimately on her netherlips. He flicked his tongue against her clit and she jerked in response. He did it again. She jerked again, this time with a whimper. 'Mmm, make me come . . . .' she groaned wistfully. Arching her hips downwards, she made the point quite clear that she expected a return favour.

Fair was only fair, and Harry did his best, suckling the spot Maura had taught him to seek for just such occasions. This turned out to be a good thing, as it was barely a minute later that she began bucking and panting. True to Ron's account, her cries of 'Oh, yes!' and 'Oh, Harry!' rose in volume until at that sweet moment when she finally peaked, she loosed a resounding, 'Uuunh!' that echoed in the darkness and clamped her thighs around Harry's head.

Hermione must've come as hard as I did, Harry thought with a certain swelling pride at his prowess. With just the tip of his tongue loitering at her entrance, he could feel the muscles spasming and contracting. It was all terribly exciting.

All good things must come to an end and Hermione finally collapsed to Harry's side, quivering periodically from post-orgasmic tremors. For several minutes, they both just lay there, panting and heated from all the action. She turning around, she snuggled into his arm, draping her body over his and mewling contentedly. Pillow talk at this juncture was out of the question. What could Harry possibly say now?

Somewhere in his lust-clouded mind, a familiar voice sounded: Any guy would give their left testicle to be in that spot, and you don't even indulge a little?

So when he gently rolled her over onto her back and passed a hand up along her inner thigh from her knee, it wasn't just to Hermione's surprise.

He was going to indulge.

'Harry!' she gasped as his fingers danced along the much-slickened petals his lips had been blessed to graze upon. 'You- you want to go again? But—' She groped around until her fingers wrapped around his tumescence. Another gasp.

Kneeling between her legs, he gently parted them, a task that met little resistance. As he slid over her supine form, prepared to take her, she pressed her hands to his chest for a momentary pause.

'My God, you missed me terribly, haven't you?,' murmured Hermione.

'Yeah,' Harry replied with a hoarse whisper. I did miss you — I just never thought I'd get this sort of a welcome! And with a groan, he pushed himself into her warmth, not stopping until he was fully seated in her. Hermione grabbed his head and pulled it into a hungry kiss as gently moved in and out of her. So much for stopping before it got completely out of hand.

Harry maneuvered her arms up over her head, crossing her wrists and pinning them down with one hand. This was another thing he did with Maura — though it was usually bound with a silk scarf before the sexing up. He could feel a surprised sort of gasp between kisses; this was new to Hermione. With his 'prey' secured, he increased the steady rhythm of filling her, pulling out and filling her as deeply as he could. The sensation of vague helplessness, the inability to caress the man bringing her so much pleasure didn't seem to bother her. In fact, she did the only thing she could do: wrap her legs around his thighs and thrust back at him.

Several times during the brisk pace, Harry felt Hermione go taut, shudder and he experience a velvety pulsing along his shaft that could only be experienced with such intimacy. The difference in Hermione's climaxing patterns were a fascination, a note he tucked into a corner of his mind for later analysis — Maura needed a much longer time to climax. And due to his earlier release, he remained hard and continued to drive Hermione from one crest to another, each one punctured with a sharp cry into the night.

After some number of orgasms on Hermione's part, she simply collapsed back, unable to keep even her legs around Harry's waist. As Harry withdrew, she whimpered softly from the lack of his presence within her. As it turned out, it was only temporary. Harry coaxed her to turn over onto her stomach and she found herself with her hips raised into the air.

From this position — one she had yet to experience herself — she felt Harry reposition himself behind her and before she knew it, his rutting continued unabated.

The change in sensation was a second wind for Hermione, it seemed. The former Head Girl was soon on all fours, arching back at Harry, bouncing off his lean abdomen. For her, it was back to another series of climaxes as Harry's hands gripped her waist, her hips, her shoulders, driving into her relentlessly. This was another favourite of Harry's.

I've never gone even this long with Maura. My God, when did Hermione get to be so—

Finally, the tingling pressure in his groin was too much to ignore; he had manfully held out for as long as he could, but release was beckoning him in means too difficult to ignore. Leaning over her slender back, Harry nipped at her nape as his thrusts became more and more erratic. Then— he squeezed at her hips and thrust to embed himself as deeply as he could, releasing the pressure that he had built up.

The act of release was almost as painful as the build-up. Despite the room's darkness, white blindness and stars filled Harry's sight as he completed an act of intimacy he had never thought he'd share with his best friend. If he had more presence of mind, he might have noticed that his release was enough to coax one more from Hermione.

This time, when they collapsed from their respective positions, it was even longer before they could move or do much more than groan from their nocturnal activities.

Limply dragging herself into a snuggling position against Harry, Hermione heaved a soft, shuddering sigh. 'That was brilliant! I don't know what you did, but you've never lasted so long. You haven't been practicing with someone while I was gone, have you? It's only been a few days!'

Harry shook with private laughter at Hermione's question. What could he answer with? Sure, I've been shagging Puddlemere's Chaser!

Their exertions and her late-night travelling, Harry supposed, took their toll on Hermione. She swiftly fell into a regular breathing pattern and wouldn't answer to Harry's soft calls of, 'Hermione! We need to talk.'

Unwilling to disturb her, and certainly enjoying her soft curves against him, Harry gently traced his fingertips over Hermione's slumbering form as he drifted back to sleep himself. It was one last enjoyment as he mapped his tactile explorations to his mind's eye. A strange mixture of marvel and not a little shame wrestled in his mind over what had just happened. In the morning. I'll talk to her in the morning. Yeah, that's it. . . .

Chapter 3»