Fic: But It's Better If You Do, Ron/Hermione, NC-17
Title: But It's Better If You Do
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hermione knows why you don't judge a book by its cover.
Author's Note: Written originally for the Checkmated MovieQuote!Fic Challenge (quote is below). I'd like to thank le_calmar_geant and fairjustice for their help in looking over this piece. And yes, the title was shamelessly snagged from Panic! at the Disco.

"Tell you what. The truth is...sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it." -Brokeback Mountain



Hermione knew she didn't look the type. Either type, in point of fact. Because there was the type of girl who looked like she was up for anything, anytime, anywhere, with anyone, and Hermione knew she wasn't that.

But there was also the type of girl – no, woman – who looked buttoned–up, prim, and proper, but was secretly wild and uninhibited. Librarian by day, sex goddess by night – that old cliché.

Well, many would agree that Hermione was proper (though some might mutter about elfish rights and upsetting the natural order of things) and some would even go so far as to call her prim (such as anyone who'd been on the receiving end of her sniff of distaste), but she just wasn't buttoned–up enough. She suspected it was the hair. To carry off the 'secretly a tiger in bed' look, one needed a bun, she decided, like Professor McGonagall always wore– and that was a train of thought that needed to stop right there.

Hermione fidgeted with her quill and resisted the urge to get up and pace in her tiny office. She should keep her attention on the task at hand, but that was easier said than done that afternoon. It was Friday. Ron would be here soon.

Ron. If she had known she was going to miss him so much, so constantly, with such an ache, she would never have taken this position abroad, no matter that it was incredibly prestigious or that she was working with the most brilliant minds of the international wizarding community or that the library here at the Seville Centre for the Study of the Longer Range Future and Mythical Past dwarfed that at Hogwarts. Thank god the fellowship only lasted a year.

The sharp crack of Apparition behind her startled Hermione out of her reverie, and soon broad hands, callused from gripping a broomstick, covered her eyes.

"Guess who?" he demanded roughly.

"The man of my dreams?"

"Close enough," Ron replied, removing his hands from her eyes. She quickly rose from her desk chair; he grabbed her shoulders with those same broad hands and spun her around to face him. She caught only a glimpse of his crooked grin before he was too close, his mouth hot and insistent upon hers as he kissed her as if he hadn't seen her in months, not just a week. For her part, she returned the kiss no less urgently, twining her arms around his neck.

After long minutes they broke the kiss, and Hermione sighed contentedly before stepping back to get a good look at him. As sexy as ever, she thought. Playing professional Quidditch clearly agreed with him, even if she would never understand the game's appeal.

"How was your week?" she began, running a teasing hand up his chest.

"Terrible," Ron replied, peppering her with kisses. "You see," –kiss– "there's this really sexy bird" –kiss– "that I'm just wild about, but" –kiss– "she's buggered off to Spain" –kiss– "and left me alone and miserable." Another kiss.

"That's a very sad tale," Hermione teased, "but you didn't mention that, being a wizard, you can Apparate to Spain and see this girl every week. Do you really miss her that much?"

"Tell you what," he said, suddenly serious, clasping the hand she had pressed against his chest. "The truth is...sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it."

He was looking right into her eyes when he said it, and the trust, longing, love and desire she saw there stunned and almost frightened Hermione, not least because she knew those feelings were a match for her own. "Me too, Ron," she murmured, overcome. "Me too."

The kiss which followed these confessions was tender, but no less hungry than those they had shared earlier. Inevitably, Hermione found herself pressed against her desk, and couldn't help but wince, breaking the kiss, as the small of her back collided painfully with the sharp corner of one of the many tomes stacked there.

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron said, looking over all the clutter, "how do you find time to miss me with all this work?"

"This may come as something of a shock, I know, but I find you, Ron Weasley, far more fascinating than any book."

He really did look surprised at this admission, and somewhat disbelieving. Hermione frowned inwardly; three years together and he was still so unsure of himself.

"How would you like," she began, the glimmer of a plan twinkling in her eye, "for me to show you how much I've missed you?"

"What do you have in mind?" he asked, intrigued.

Grinning as wickedly as the twins could hope to manage, she locked the office door with a flick of her wand. "Strip," she casually ordered him, beginning to unbutton her own blouse.

"Wha– what?" Ron stammered, completely gobsmacked. "Hermione– you want to shag? Here? Now?"

"What's wrong with here and now?" she innocently inquired.

"It's– it's an office, Hermione, and it's the middle of the day! Someone could hear," he blurted uncomfortably.

"We'll just have to be quiet, then, won't we?" Or cast a Silencing spell, she thought, but where's the fun in that?

"And– and there's no bed or anything," he added.

Another flick of her wand and the expansive surface of the desk was cleared of the earlier clutter. "Will this do?" she asked. "I can conjure some cushions if you like."

He gaped at her, incredulous, and for a moment her confidence faltered. "You're serious, aren’t you?" he asked. "You really want to do this."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak– she might back down, say she had just been kidding.

The forcefulness with which she suddenly found herself being pressed – once again – against the desk surprised her. "Fuck, Hermione," Ron whispered, grinding his hips against hers so she could feel his already burgeoning erection, "you're dead sexy when you're completely mental, you know that, right?" His frantic kisses, and the distraction of his hands moving under her blouse, hardly gave her a chance to respond to this observation, though.

He moaned rather loudly as she fumbled clumsily at his flies, and she removed her lips from his long enough to shush him. "We have to be quiet, remember? My advisor's office is just next door."

He nodded obediently before bending to suck on a newly revealed nipple, and now it was her turn to moan and bite her lip to keep from further noise.

The sensation of his tongue and teeth on her always sensitive nipples was especially maddening without the ability to voice her pleasure – or just as frustratingly, her disappointment when he pulled away.

Disappointment didn't last long, though, as Ron slowly slipped his shirt over his head, revealing expanses of freckled flesh and the shockingly ginger chest hair Hermione loved to run her fingers through (much to his bafflement). She'd already undone his flies, so he easily let his trousers drop from around his slim hips. They bunched around his ankles, and she had to swallow an admonition not to trip. Now wasn't the time.

As he pulled them down, she could see his pants were already damp with precome, and knew her own were likely in much worse state. Suddenly feeling overdressed, she hastily shrugged off her previously unbuttoned blouse and removed the bra which had been shoved aside rather uncomfortably as part of Ron's earlier actions. She quickly unzipped her skirt and let it drop, tugging her knickers down as well. She was glad it was always too hot here to wear tights.

Now they were both naked, they spent a moment staring at each other, drinking in the sight. Hermione was perched on the edge of her desk, and Ron approached carefully, looking faintly ludicrous with his trousers and pants bunched at his ankles, though by this point Hermione hardly would've cared if he was wearing Neville's grandmother's hat. The week they'd spent apart seemed like an eternity, and the impulsive scenario she'd thrown them into turned out to be erotic beyond her wildest expectations.

As soon as he was in reach she grabbed him, pulling him down onto her and overwhelming him with kisses. Twining her legs about his waist, she guided him into her.

"Fuck, Hermione," Ron hissed as she thrust her hips up to meet him. "Fuck," he muttered again as she twisted them slightly, striving for the perfect angle. "Fuck," once more, as she grabbed his arse and ground into him.

She pulled back slightly, and he followed her, thrusting urgently but steadily, finding a rhythm that soon had both of them gasping and biting their lips and cheeks to keep from crying out.

Hermione succumbed first, as quietly as she could, eyes rolling back into her head with both pleasure and effort as she focused on not broadcasting her ecstasy to the rest of the Centre. Next time, she would cast a Silencing Charm.

Ron cursed softly a final time and went still for a long moment before rolling off her. Once her head had cleared, Hermione sat up to gaze at him, collapsed on the desk next to her and ruddy from exertion.

He met her eyes, still a bit dazed. "Bloody hell, Hermione," he panted. "That was brilliant."

Oh, Hermione knew she didn't look the type. But sometimes, looks could be deceiving.