Bite Me, I\'m British

Title: Bite Me, I\'m British
Pairing: Remus/Hermione, yay!
Dedications: Oh, er, let\'s see, according to LJ: Ron, Becca, Kaylin and, dun dun dun, Candy! That sounds about right.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her Harry Potter universe. Any profits made from this are being donating to the Church of Sexology. Only kidding. There is no such church.

Notes: First time real smut, except not really, because it\'s not that smutty, is it? Bite Me, I\'m British is a play on Kiss Me, I\'m Irish, if you couldn\'t figure it out.
Thanks to: The beta! Everything is her fault. Always.

Bite Me, I\'m British

Hermione sits on the ledge of the bathtub, wearing only a towel that threatens to slip. She touches the warm water with her fingers, but doesn’t feel like getting in. The air already smells strongly of soap, strangely reminding her of when she was small and her mother use to prepare her bubble baths. She’s about to take off her towel, when someone knocks on the door, and Remus steps in.

He’s dressed in an old shirt that says, “Bite Me, I’m British” and a pair of blue boxers, and holding what looks to be a cup of tea in his hands. The clothes are all wrong for him, but Hermione gives him a small, timid smile. “I was just about to take a bath,” she says. Smart, Granger, she thinks to herself, angry at stating the obvious. It’s not as if you were going to play cricket like this.

Remus smirks and settles his cup on the sink. “I didn’t think you were going to do anything else,” he says, sitting next to her, and looking at her hungrily.

Hermione flushes, and stares at the floor. He didn’t want to…? They had just… The bed! The floor! How horny could Remus be? She looks up at him, and squeaks when he pulls her towards him, and kissed her. Oh, very much so, she concludes dreamily, allowing Remus’s tongue to enter her mouth.

She clings to him for a while, kissing him, taking him in. She supposed what her mother said was true: men were better in their forties. Of course, she doubted her mother had thought her only child was going to have sex with a man twenty-years her senior.

While her arms are securely wrapped around his neck (the last thing she needed was to get a concussion from hitting her head on the tub), his hands are everywhere on her body.

They slide up her thighs, pushing the towel away. Hermione moans and almost slips, when his fingers dip between her legs, exploring already familiar territory. She slouches against him, trying to regain her breath, while he continues, kissing her neck. Her muscles clench greedily, and he gives a growl when she kisses his neck, her hands moving under his shirt.

“You bastard,” she mutters, when he pulls his hand away before she can orgasm, “don’t you dare leave me like this.”

He takes her mouth again, biting her lip lightly. With one fluid movement, her towel is gone, and he’s already taking off his shirt. They move off the ledge, and take the floor instead. Hermione gasps when her back makes contact with the cold concrete, but Remus is already lowering his kisses, only to end up taking her left nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue and teeth.

She whines, arching her back, begging for more. His hands are caressing her stomach, every so often running a bit lower, teasing her, then coming back up. Remus changes nipples, but not before muttering, “For someone who wanted to take a bath, you sure are a feisty wench,” in a lusty voice that makes the blood rush away from her brain.

Hermione digs her nails into his back, giving another small moan. Gods, if every woman was treated like this, it’d be a very happy world, she thinks briefly, before Remus stops his licking and teasing and biting to look her in the eye. He has a saucy grin on that makes her flush, and she unconsciously nudges his hips with her.

Remus smiles and gives her a quick kiss, using his knee to spread her legs apart. He muses on how beautiful she is, with her lust-filled eyes and curly hair, spread upon the floor. Her hands do patterns on his chest, and he moans when her fingers passes by his nipple. She grins cheekily.

Crash! There’s a sound coming from below, and they both freeze, exchanging worried glances.

“Fuck,” swears Remus, wondering what in Hell could be happening.

“Yes,” says Hermione, nervously, “that’s what I thought we’d be doing.” Her hand flitters around his thigh to emphasize her statement.

He growls and does a quick calculation. They have possible five minutes to finish, which, unfortunately, seems to be enough for now.

Hermione looks to be getting up, possibly worried about who might be breaking into his house, but he shifts his weight to pin her to the floor. She looks at him, ready to object, but Remus silences her with a kiss, and proceeds to trust into her.

“Rrrmph,” she says into his mouth, but it’s soon followed by moans and panting as she fight to meet his rhythm.

There’s another crash, only this time the sound is closer, and Remus feels Hermione’s hand on his chest, trying to push him off.

Tonks, he thinks, recognizing the light footsteps and familiar crashes, and uses his own hands to stop Hermione from thinking she can escape.

“Remus, what if they come in here?” Hermione asks, her voice raw from moaning, but a slight look of panic in her eyes.

“It’s just Tonks,” he mutters, thrusting a bit harder and making Hermione squeak. “She knows better than to go barging into bathrooms.”

“Maybe we should stop,” she says, although she’s matching his thrust one by one.

“Don’t worry,” he rasps, nibbling on her neck, “if Tonks does come in, she’ll know what we’re doing.” He pretends to think it over. “Although, I’m pretty sure the sounds already got to her.”

Hermione looks terrified, but she isn’t making to leave again. Although, Remus supposes, she probably couldn’t. “Come on, Hermione,” he whispers huskily, “a bit more. Or maybe, just maybe, you want Tonks to walk in, eh? I knew you were a kinky one.”

“Th – that’s absurd,” she mutters between moans, and he takes her mouth before one final thrust.

Hermione gasps, and her head falls back as she shivers with the orgasm. Remus’s panting has diminished, and he snuggles against her neck, muttering that he loves her. She plays with his hair, trying to get her strengths back, and they can both hear Tonks calling his name.

“I think your water will be cold now,” he tells her, getting up, and offering her his hand. She takes it and looks lazily at her bathtub.

“It’s not like I’ll be going out there anyway,” she says. “They still don’t know we’re…. do they?”

“No,” he assures her, wrapping her towel around her again, kissing her forehead. “Not yet.”

“Well, you better get dressed then,” Hermione says. “I don’t think Tonks would like you running out of the bathroom like that.”

He smirks, and pulls on his clothes, as she drains the water, looking forward to a real bath this time.

They exchange one last kiss, before he leaves, and she can hear him exclaim, “Tonks, is everything all right? You’re yelling like a banshee!”