Always the Big Brother

He heard the creak of the door downstairs, alerting him to her arrival, and laid down the book he was reading, stretching his long frame as he rose from the chair. Running his hand over his bare stomach, Bill stared out the window a moment, watching the rain splatter the small window, blurring the view of the brick wall of the building an arm's length from the flat. The weather reflected the storm within him, the war that raged every time she entered the flat. Yet even as the storm raged, he found the light shining through the dark clouds whenever she entered this room, thoughts of why he should fight so hard against the storm diminishing. As if on cue, the bedroom door opened and he turned, the thunder in his soul quieting when he saw her.

She stood in the doorway, a forced smile on her lips, lips he knew too well, lips he shouldn't have known at all. Her hair clung to her face, wet from the rain. It wouldn't have done for her to walk through the Muggle streets unscathed from the downpour by magical charms. "Forgot your umbrella?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Something like that," she remarked lightly, her smile relaxing as her eyes lingered on his face a moment before sliding down his naked torso. "I was rather in a hurry. You see, I had this important meeting to attend this afternoon and I was afraid it couldn't wait."

"An impatient woman," he drawled, walking purposefully toward her. Bill brushed back a wet curl from her shoulder, a veiled emotion in his blue eyes. "I rather like that," he murmured, lowering his head to kiss her cheek near her ear. "I'll get you a towel."

She was in only her bra and panties when he returned from the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and running her fingers through her tangled wet hair, wet clothes spread over a chair. His body had begun reacting the moment she'd set foot inside the flat, his cock growing inside his denims, anxious to be reunited with his lover. Seeing her in only her underwear only made his ardor increase.

Dropping the towel on her head, he rubbed the long mass of hair, the muscles in his stomach flexing when she leaned near him, her warm breath ghosting over his skin. The towel slipped unnoticed onto the bed, his fingers entwining in the wet curls just as her lips ignited the skin right above his navel.

Pulling her head back, he lost himself in the dark brown depths of her eyes, seeing their raw need in his reflection. His mouth covered hers as she worked open his jeans, his tongue sliding over her lips before slipping into her mouth, teasing and exploring, drawing forth a moan of impatience from her. His own moan was caught in her mouth when she pushed his jeans over his hips, the cool air in the room making his cock harder, the warmth of her small fingers wrapping around his length, making it even more so.

Her bra fell free, her knickers following their mate to the floor moments later, and he was pushing her onto her back, her knees still over the edge of the bed. Bill's fingers moved with familiarity over her body, tweaking a taut nipple, sliding into the nest of curls between her legs. "You're wet," he said, his voice almost accusing, knowing she liked it, liked the rough way he pushed two fingers inside her cunt without preamble, stroking the tight muscles of her inner walls. He slapped her thigh with his other hand, eliciting a small gasp from her. There was a time for gentle, tender lovemaking but he somehow knew that right now she needed more, they both did, they needed to postpone the inevitable.

She protested when he removed his fingers and he smile wickedly at her, bringing the digits up to smear her juices over his lips while kicking his loosened jeans off. Dropping to his knees, Bill jerked her legs further apart and buried his face in her pussy, running the flat of his tongue up her deep pink slit, a groan in the back of his throat at the musky aroma filling his nostrils. He then plunged his tongue deep within her honeyed opening, lapping at her juices. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, keeping her still, denying her the ability to arch up, to seek more as he continued to fuck her with his mouth and tongue, alternating from delving inside to flicking and sucking over the nerve bundle that made her squirm and curse, calling him a bastard in one breath, begging him with the next. The sharp tug on his hair made him nip lightly on her nub, eliciting a scream as she came, the surge of wetness coating his chin when he dipped back down to catch everything she offered.

His eyes burned hot with need, piercing hers, as he stood, grabbing her around the waist to pull her further up on the bed. He plunged into her, the slick flesh parting greedily for him, the light tremors of her ebbing orgasm clenching and pulling on his cock. He bruised her lips with his kiss, his tongue demanding against hers, sharing the musky taste of her pussy. Bill fucked her with long, deep strokes that made her whimper and mutter, and she wrapped her legs high around his waist, her hands tearing at his shoulders to find an anchor.

Rolling over, he brought her with him. Stilled joined he laughed throatily at the look of pure lust on her face as she settled down on him, his cock completely buried. Biting her lower lip, she braced her hands on his stomach and began to ride him with short strokes, grinding herself down upon him.

Soon he reached for her, his fingers digging into the soft skin over her hips, helping her movements, wanting more as he easily lifted her almost off his cock and growling when she slammed down on him, skin stinging skin, the sound of slapping echoing their gasps and groans. A firm touch of his thumb on her over stimulated clit brought her over again, her scream echoing his roar as they came. She collapsed on him as he continued to buck up, draining the last of his semen deep within her before he too fell back limply to the mattress.

The storm was over, leaving an eerie calm in its wake, but there would be no rainbow to announce that calamity was not waiting around the corner. Stroking her damp tangled curls, Bill closed his eyes and held her close, their labored breathing and the rain that continue to beat lightly against the windows the only sound in the room. His eyes opened when she shifted, her lips soft on his chin, and he breathed in, smelling the heady musky scent of their joining as their bodies parted, gathering her close after she'd stretched out beside him.

Bill's hand caressed her arm, slowly moving down to her stomach, gliding over the slight swell there. It was barely perceivable, no one would have noticed, but he did. They'd been lovers for eight months and he noticed, had noticed for the past month. Like she, he had chosen to ignore, to not speak the words that would end this, this affair.

"How far along are you, Hermione?"

He felt her stiffen, the air in the room changing with the sudden tension. "Almost twelve weeks," she said at last in a small, quiet voice.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded, his eyes closing at the ramifications of the news. It was what they'd planned, why they'd started this illicit affair. What they hadn't planned on was falling in love. "I've been offered a position in Egypt again," he said calmly, turning his head to look at her, a sad smile on his face. "I'll be leaving at the end of the week." He flinched inwardly seeing the tears gathering in her eyes but held firm in his resolve. One thing he couldn't do was be around, to see her and not have her, especially as she grew large with their child.

Hermione bit her lip, the words 'don't go', 'stay', so close to the surface they were painful to hold in. "I haven't told Ron yet," she said, in a strained voice. "I'll wait until you've left. No doubt Molly will want to have the family together to share the news."

He kissed her forehead, sighing. "You've got that right," he said, pulling her into his arms, not wanting the afternoon to end, not wanting to be anywhere in England when the woman he loved told her husband 'they' were having a child.

Ron had been wounded in the war, a nasty injury that had almost cost him his life and his right leg. Thankfully he'd pulled through. Yet it did cost him and his young fiancée the chance of ever having a family, the Healers informing a stoic Hermione that it would be a million to one chance that he could ever father a child. She had told them it didn't matter, told him a hundred times it didn't matter, that she loved him, and being together was enough, never imagining a decade later she would physically 'hurt' from want of a baby, that she couldn't stand the look in his eyes every time her cycle came.

They'd remained positive the first few years, Ron jokingly saying that a million to one shot meant that they would have to shag at least 999, 999 times before it happened and he needed to get busy. Then he'd gotten a position on the Chudley Canons, partly because he'd been a hero of the war, but to be fair, he really could do a superb job as Keeper, his confidence growing in leaps and bounds with each game.

It was an act of fate that brought Bill to their home, his youngest brother's home, to deliver a chocolate cake Molly had baked for Ron, to find Hermione sobbing in despair. She'd finally given up and was mourning what could never be and told him everything as he held her, his first mistake, rocking her petite frame, smoothing back the wild curls. When he'd looked into her tear streaked face he'd made up his mind to help her, though he didn't know how then.

Soon they were meeting for tea twice a week when Ron was gone. Hermione needed the company, someone to talk to, and Bill, ever the big brother, ready to listen, wanted to help. Somehow he knew that things were going too far when she'd entered that day carrying stack of pamphlets, chattering about some Muggle clinic that dealt with helping infertile couples. When she finally grew quiet, staring at him with an intense look that he'd seen on the faces of the desperate, Bill knew what she was going to ask before she spoke.

Would he be willing to go to this place and through the means to give her a baby?

The tea in his stomach turned over and he swallowed hard then gave her a lopsided smile, joking that if he were going to 'give' her a baby it would have to be the old fashioned way. Truly, he couldn't imagine going into a sterile clinic, wanking off in a bottle and having her insert what sounded like an ice lolly into her in hopes of getting pregnant. He wasn't serious, but his stomach clenched when she agreed; they could do it the old fashioned way.

He should have said no, should have gently broke off and left, no more teas, no more talks. Yet, he reached across the small table and took her hand, pressing her sweaty palm into his and nodded, pushing aside the accusing voice, 'traitor', 'adulterer', 'he's your brother'. Hermione looked pale, her lower lip trembling but there was a fierce look of determination in her face and their thoughts echoed each other’s; it was only a means to an end, nothing more. It wouldn't be cheating.

Yet here they were eight months later, emotions entangled too deeply to voice, in a rented flat used only for this purpose. At first it had only been during those days Hermione insisted were her fertile ones. Then slowly it was once a week, twice, three times, the Quidditch training season keeping her husband away for weeks on end until it was every afternoon.

A child, his child, something he'd not thought about in the years since the death of his wife. He had no desire to remarry, to seek out another, until now, and he'd chosen the least available woman in all of England, his brother's wife.

Her fingers were tracing over the largest scar on his cheek, drawing him out of his thoughts. Bill kissed her palm before entwining his fingers with hers, suddenly desperate to not let her go. His lips sought hers, demanding, wanting to claim what he couldn't have, as he rose up, covering her body with his, renewed arousal pressing urgent into the soft flesh of her thigh.

There were no words, only the sounds of soft moans, the creak of the bed as he drove into her, hard and fierce, etching on his memory how she felt, the way her face looked when she approached climax, her lips parting to allow the cry of his name to issue forth. Bill swallowed the rest of her cries, his mouth claiming hers for one last time, his own release making his body tremble. In the midst of tangled, sweaty limbs they held each other until the sweat on her body made her tremble.

"You should go," he said at last, kissing her temple and untangling himself from her. Their eyes met, understanding painful between them and she nodded, climbing out of the bed to gather her clothes.

He watched her dress with deliberate detachment, ignoring the feelings that were trying to surface. She wasn't his, could never be; it was over. Buttoning the last button, Hermione twisted her hair, piling it on top of her head and fastened it with a clip, never once looking in his direction.

Goose pimples appeared on his thighs, the air in the room cooler then he'd remembered it ever being but he didn't pull the duvet around his nakedness, his attention too focused on her, seeing her petite frame swollen and heavy with their child. Bitterness filled his gut, knowing he would never truly see the vision in his mind.

Fastening her cloak, Hermione walked slowly to the door. He could see the tremble in her lower lip even though her back was to him, saw her shoulders square, the resignation, determination that he'd witnessed the first time they had been together. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned and looked at him, a forced smile on her face. "Goodbye Bill," she said softly.

Bill didn't smile, couldn't smile. "Take care of yourself, love," he said, his voice sounding hoarse and foreign to him. And Ron. The door shut, the click sounding large and hollow in the empty room, echoing the emptiness within him.


Thanks to Gryfforin for betaing