Botched Romantics

Hermione heard a sort of rustling noise as she woke, followed by the sound of china splintering, and then a muffled, 'Oh, bloody Merlin.'

"Ron?"

She opened her eyes, and was met with a very strange sight.

Ron froze in horror at the sound of her voice, his eyes snapping back and forth from her to the floor at the door, where there was a mess of broken ceramic and what could have passed for a lovingly, painstakingly prepared breakfast in any other situation. He was dressed in the same pair of checkered boxers (very unsexy, she'd coolly informed him as she'd removed them the night before), her purple bedroom slippers, and was holding out a tilting tray with a dripping milk glass teetering off the edge of it. She watched in silent amusement as he put the tray down beside the mess on the floor and edged closer to the bed. Red-faced, he glanced up at her.

"Er -Merry Christmas," he said meekly.

Hermione giggled. She adored him when he was like this.

"I was, er, going to bring you breakfast in bed. But -that sort of crashed and burned. Not necessarily in that order..."

He broke off and gestured a little helplessly at the blackened sausages and toast in the doorway. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and hung his head.

"I'm sorry."

Hermione picked up his hand - literally; he seemed to have given up on them - and started drawing little patterns on his palm. There were blisters on his thumb and index finger; no doubt he'd tried to pick up the pan. She invented a sort of inward roll of her eyes.

"Oh, Ron. Don't be silly. It was..." Hermione trailed off as she surveyed the entrance to the room, biting back a smile. "It was a lovely thought, at the very least. You know, I have the honour of being the only woman I know whose husband has an actual reputation for botched romantics," She teased, running a finger up his arm and over his shoulder, trailing it down his chest and slowly onto his stomach, "It's only right that you should live up to your image." Then she paused, thoughtfully, and said, "I rather like your image, actually. You're all soft and warm and muddly."

Ron raised his eyebrows and reached up to grasp her hand before it went any further. She took her other hand and traced the line of his lips with it. He nibbled on her fingers.

"Soft, eh?" he growled, pretended to bite. "You think I'm soft?"

She nodded happily. "Like a marshmallow."

"I am not like a marshmallow. I happen to be very un-marshmallowy."

"Prove it."

Ron laughed and slid in beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Oh, so this is what it's about, then. You're just feeling randy, love, aren't you?"

She pulled away from him in mock horror. "Randy? Ronald Weasley, my mother would be shocked!"

"Your mother," he murmured, kissing her neck, "loves me. As do you."

"Mmmm. That I do, unfortunately, have to admit to."

He nuzzled his way down her neck.

"It's Christmas morning, you know."

Hermione nodded, not really listening.

"Shall we do something special today?"

"Mmmm."

She reached up around his neck and rolled them over so that she was half lying atop him. Then she dipped her head and kissed his eyes shut. He opened his mouth again.

"Where shall we go, then? I know a great place for -"

"Ron..."

"Or we could go back to my parents'. Harry and Ginny'll be home for Christma -"

"Ron, shut up."

She leaned down and touched his lips with her own. She could feel him smiling, and laughed as he pressed his lips roughly against hers and opened her mouth with his. She nibbled on his lower lip, and he growled. Ron rolled her over onto her back and moved his mouth to her ear, biting down hard on her earlobe. She smacked him, and as he lifted off her and grinned, his face flushed, she suddenly felt as though she wanted to run to the top of the snowy world and shout to everyone who'd listen that she belonged to Ronald Weasley, and that he was hers. Then she laughed.

"My own marshmallow."

Ron did a half-scowl and a half-grin.

"Still on about that, are we? Merlin, what does a man have to do?"

"I don't know," she said, snuggling against the warmth of his body. "Why don't you find out?"

He rose to her challenge and bent down to her mouth, lightly brushing his lips against the sides of it, teasing her.

"Are you going to kiss me or -oh, forget it."

She grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him, very hard. He traced her jawline with his tongue, and moved down, over her neck, past her collarbone. And, as his mouth moved further downward, their laughter turned into something altogether different, and, Hermione thought, very, very nice indeed.