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The fireplace grumbled, spitting out sparks, coals tumbling amongst each other; and then the face of Hermione Granger resolved amidst the flames.
"Good evening, Ron," she said.
Ron grinned. "Hey, babe. How's the conference going?"
Hermione had left for a diplomatic conference in Italy that morning. That was nothing unusual, at this stage of her career. She was a rising star in the the Department of International Magical Cooperation; helped along, no doubt, by her status as a war hero. This, however, was one of the biggest deals of her career, if she could pull it off. Ron had no doubts. He believed in his wife.
"It's going well," Hermione said. "The Italians are rolling out the red carpet. They've put our negotiating team up in a beautiful villa."
"They sound keen."
"That's the hope! But I always thought they needed this trade deal as badly as we do. Amante knows he has the election coming up, he needs the good headlines, and of course with Baciatore's recent scandals–"
"Yeah, yeah," Ron laughed. He'd heard all of this before, and not just the once. "Tell me about the villa."
Hermione rolled her eyes. It was amazing, really, how well a bundle of coals and curling flames could capture such a subtle gesture in such a lifelike way.
"The villa is lovely," she said after a moment. "It's classical – neoclassical, rather, and in Italy you do have to make that distinction, of course."
"Lots of columns and that?"
"You do listen," Hermione said drily. "There's a beautiful garden with an orange orchard–"
"Your favourite colour."
"... Yes. There's six bedrooms, so I've got a room to myself. The floo's in the main lobby, though. That's why I'm calling so late, really; everyone's in bed now."
"What, the others won't let you call?"
"It's not that. It's just that if I'm going to be on all fours to use the floo, I'd rather not do it in front of all my colleagues."
Ron took a moment to picture the way Hermione must look: her face hidden amongst the flames, her arse high in the air. She'd been wearing a knee-length skirt that morning, and he could just imagine the way it would be stretching over her arse right then...
"I dunno," he said, "I think that sounds like fun."
Ron had discovered quite a few things about himself over the last few years. The most surprising discovery, however, was that he liked the idea of other men looking at Hermione. It wasn't that it didn't make him jealous – it really, really did – but the jealousy lit a fire in him. And he was safe in the knowledge that while other men could fill the stands, he was the one who was catching the snitch.
An ego thing, Hermione had called it once. Well. Yeah. He was okay with that. He was a bloody war hero, after all, he'd earned a bit of an ego.
"But," Hermione said, "we can have a much more interesting conversation this way."
"Yeah?"
"Oh yes."
Ron felt a stirring of excitement in his gut. "Then let's start with what you're wearing."
"You saw me this morning."
"Remind me."
"A red button-down blouse and a black knee-length skirt. Under that..." Hermione's voice took on a mischievous note. "A lacy black bra and my tiniest thong."
"You've been planning this all day, then?"
"Perhaps."
"That's bad, Hermione."
"I'm bad."
"Prove it," Ron said. "Unbutton your blouse."
A few seconds of hesitation passed, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Hermione chewed on her lip, the motion captured in crackling flames. "Someone might walk in."
"You said they're all in bed, didn't you?"
A beat. "Yes. But someone might get up for a glass of water, or..."
Ron knew the rules of this game; it was one they'd played more than a few times. Hermione would demur and play shy, he'd push and prod, and she'd do exactly what she'd been ready to do the whole time. "You said you're bad," he said sharply. "Was that all talk?"
"Okay," Hermione said. Her brow furrowed, the way it always did when she was concentrating, and seconds ticked past in silence. Then. "Okay. Done."
"Good, now take it off."
"What?"
"You thought unbuttoning it would prove you're bad? I can picture it. You're on all fours. Anyone walks in, your blouse will look loose, that's it, position you're in."
"... okay."
Ron almost laughed at the fake hesitation. No. Don't break character, he told himself. That was their rule, when they got into this sort of game. He watched as Hermione's face wobbled around in the coals.
"It's off."
Ron closed his eyes and pictured it. Hermione, face in the fire, blouse on the floor beside her. Her breasts hanging beneath her, wrapped in black lace. Not half bad. He felt his cock start to grow stiff beneath his trousers.
"Now the skirt."
"Ron... If someone walks in..."
"Then what?"
"You know how tiny this thong is. It's barely there. They'll see my whole arse, both cheeks. It's tiny, Ron, the string... It's practically invisible between my cheeks."
Minx! She knew exactly what to say to get Ron going.
"Yeah, I suppose you best not," Ron said slowly. "If you're too much of a good girl."
"Okay, I'll do it..." A pause. "There. It's off. I'm knelt here in just my underwear, Ron... What if someone walks in?"
"Then they'll get a fucking good view. They'll get hard in an instant. I know I am."
"Can I see?"
"Let's do a deal," Ron said, seeing an opportunity. "You take off the bra, I show you what you want."
There was no hesitation this time. "It's off."
Ron unbuckled his belt, then hooked his thumbs into the band of his trousers. He hauled them down, boxers coming with them, and kicked the clothes across the room. His cock bounced free, hard and oozing precum, and wobbled to a standing position.
"Fuck..." Hermione sighed.
"You like what you see?"
"A lot."
"Yeah? Getting wet for me?"
Hermione's head bobbled in the fire; a nod, Ron supposed, though it was hard to tell.
"Stick your hand in your knickers," Ron said. "Tell me how wet you are."
"Soaking," Hermione moaned. "I'm oozing wetness all over my fingers. My thong is so damp."
"But my cock's just come out. No way it gets you wet that fast... I think you're a slut for the thrill, aren't you?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe?" Ron scoffed. "You've normally got the words for any situation. Let's hear them, Hermione. Tell me what you're feeling."
There were a few seconds while Hermione thought. Ron reached down and took his cock in his hand, giving it a slow stroke. A grunt of satisfaction escaped between his lips; he'd been imagining this – or something, at least – all day. Now it was time to enjoy.
"The risk turns me on, Ron," Hermione said. "The idea that someone might walk in and see me like this."
"Like what?"
"Basically naked. Arse in the air. Hand in my knickers. Like I'm waiting to be fucked."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. The idea that one of my colleagues might see me like this..." Hermione's voice was breathy, her eyelids fluttering; she must be touching herself. "Think it's an invitation and come walking over..." She shifted suddenly, cut off.
Ron's jealousy surged, and his cock throbbed beneath his fingers. His hand moved up and down faster, long strokes up and down the length of his shaft. "Keep talking."
"Then he'd kneel behind me. Put his hand on my arse. Make me jump."
"He'd be so lucky. That plump arse is all mine," Ron growled.
"I'm all yours," Hermione confirmed. "But I'm just a face in a fire. My body... It's sticking out there, where I can't see or hear... All I'd be able to do is feel his fingers digging in to my flesh."
Hermione, Ron thought, was a natural storyteller. The words she was coming out with... They were filthy, they were fire, they had him wanting to plunge through the fire and fight her hypothetical man. But more importantly, they had him enraptured, hand stuck to his cock as though with spellotape.
"Do you think my thong would last long?"
"No," Ron grunted.
"Merlin, he's ripping it off of me! I'm naked, Ronnie!"
And a natural actress! The way her eyes had widened as she spoke. That's what years of playing these games did, Ron supposed.
"I bet," he said, impressed.
"He can see my wet cunt. My thighs must be shining with wetness. And I shaved this morning. I'm all on display."
She'd changed something in the way she was speaking. What was it..?
"Ohhhhhh god that feels so good," Hermione moaned. "He's rubbing my clit..."
The tense, that was it. She'd started talking about what might happen, now she was talking like it was happening, right then and there. Fuck, but that made it so much hotter.
"Keep going..."
"Should I... Should I stop him? Mmmmh... I don't want to..."
"Don't stop."
"His other hand is running up my side. Now he's grabbing my tits, squeezing them."
Ron could see it like he was there: thick hands around Hermione's tits, flesh spilling out between greedy fingers. "Keep talking."
"Ohhhhh god– he just– just slapped his cock against my cunt. It feels so hard. Mmmmh– he's rubbing it against me... Teasing me... Please..."
Ron grunted something incoherent; even he didn't know what he was trying to say. Between picturing the scene Hermione was describing, and trying to pump his cock as fast as possible without cumming, he didn't have any mental effort left for things like words.
"Ohhhhhh– he's, he's, fuuuuck– he's sliding that big cock into me... Fuck he's so big, so fucking big, he's stretching my little cunt out–"
Hermione's face swayed in the fire, back and forth. She must really be fingering herself hard! No wonder, Ron supposed, when they were sharing in such a hot fantasy.
"Bad girl," he managed to gasp.
Hermione moaned, the burning coals of her eyes rolling up into her head. "I am. I am. I'm so bad. Yes–"
"Bad, bad, girl–"
"Yessss, I'm so bad–"
"Gonna cum for me?"
"Yeah– all over his cock– gonna make him–"
That did it for Ron. The pressure that had been building suddenly released, and he felt his cock spasming in his hand. Jets of cum arced into the air, splashing down onto the floor, into the fireplace, leaving a mess.
"Yesssssss!" he heard Hermione scream, the sound coming as though from far away.
Ron breathed deeply, his hands shaking, he shoulders trembling. That had been... intense. Very, very, very hot, but intense. They'd shared dirty fantasies before, but this had been a step up from that. And in present tense! He wasn't sure... Fuck, what was there to be sure or not sure of? Already his cock was starting to ache with need again.
"That," he growled, "was a hot fucking story."
"Yes," Hermione said from the fireplace. "Just a story."