A/N: I just wrote fanfic, from start to finish, on an airplane. It's smut. And I wrote it almost entirely off the ground.

Happy birthday, Ron!

He'd worked all night. On his fucking birthday.

Well, at least he had the rest of the day off, and Hermione had gotten quite good at cooking bacon to the perfect level of crispiness... Maybe he could convince her to make some before she left the flat.

Maybe he could even convince her to stay home...

No. That was just fantasising to a ridiculous degree…

She'd be getting up in less than an hour, for work, and he didn't want to wake her early by clumsily making his way to bed. Besides, the sofa looked pretty comfortable, and he collapsed on his back, not even bothering to undress. He'd showered at the Ministry, but though it had been less than half an hour ago now, and his hair was still damp, the memory was already cloudy as his eyes slipped shut...

Something was pressing down on his thighs, but he'd only moments ago fallen deep to sleep, surely. And though he was struggling back toward consciousness, he couldn't quite grasp reality yet.

A slight draft wafted down his bare legs.

Bare?

His lips parted as he sent a weak signal to his brain to open his eyes.

A concentrated weight pushed down against his already concave stomach, and he clenched his abs, finally cracking his eyelids open and grimacing.

"Oh," he choked, blinking fully awake, up at Hermione... who was currently sitting on top of him, completely naked, thighs on either side of his hips, her right palm against his stomach as she shifted.

"Hey," she smiled, slightly flushed.

She'd rid him of his jeans, but he was still in his pants and t-shirt. Thunder cracked outside, and he most definitely smelled the deliciously charred scent of perfect bacon.

"Well, this ranks high on the list of best mornings ever," he said scratchily, as her hands slid further up inside his shirt... then back down to the elastic of his pants.

"Not the best?" she teased, chewing her bottom lip.

"Dunno. Let's find out..." His eyes traveled up her body, to the top of her head, where he could see- "Is that my wand in your hair?"

"I was afraid you'd hex me accidentally, waking you up like that," she admitted, flushing a little deeper.

She'd tied her hair up in a very messy approximation of a bun, with both her wand and his criss-crossed through, sticking up at the top.

"Smart," he said, half-grinning at her as his hands finally came to life and reached for her waist, pushing her down a bit harder on top of him. Her eyelids fluttered, and she grasped his pants in her fist. "Blimey..."

She slid inches down, just far enough to reach between her legs and open his pants.

"That didn't take long," she whispered somewhat breathlessly, lightly holding his fully hardened erection in her cool hand as he groaned.

"You're naked," he pointed out, "and sitting on top of me."

"I couldn't sleep last night," she whispered hoarsely. "Wanted you."

"Shit. Need me to-" he started, hands sliding up her body toward her breasts.

"Not really," she shivered, "but please do it anyway."

He realised what she meant almost immediately when his eyes flicked down to the soaked spot she'd left on his pants.

"Fucking hell."

He skimmed his hands the rest of the way up her body, completely covering her breasts as she gasped. As he squeezed somewhat roughly, she ground herself down on top of him and closed her eyes. He pinched her nipples between long fingers, and she pressed herself harder into his hands. Opening her eyes again, she gave him the most frustrated, yet questioning, look, half-sighing out something that sounded like a slur of his name.

"You don't have to ask, you know," he shuddered. "Ever."

Her body trembled, cheeks and neck now blotched a deep, rosy red.

"Oh, good," she breathed, and she pushed both palms flat against his stomach, just hard enough to lift her body and position herself over him, his eyes darting down again to watch his erection disappear inside of her.

They let out synchronised moans of relief, and their eyes met, both laughing as her hands moved further back up inside his shirt.

She tilted her hips forward and scratched him lightly with her nails, breaking his chest out in gooseflesh before she moved back up to rub his nipples between her tiny, cold fingers. He still sometimes struggled to comprehend how amazing this was, though it had been nearly two years now. But she felt impossibly incredible, every time... especially - he realised - when he wasn't expecting it.

"Hermione..." he exhaled, wrapping his large hands around her thighs.

She spread her legs the tiniest bit wider, pushing him as deep as possible inside of her. He bent his knees and moved his hands again, clasping her arse in both palms as she slumped forward to bite his nipple through his shirt.

"Shiiiiiit."

He let go of her arse and moved his hands up her back, curving over her shoulders, up the sides of her neck... cupping her cheeks to lift her face until their eyes met again. Tugging gently, he lifted his head off the arm of the sofa in an attempt to kiss her. She grinned, moving up his body as he almost slid all the way out of her, crushing her mouth and closing his eyes as her tongue met his.

When they separated again, she swayed, as if drugged, and pressed her full weight back down, sitting up. Buried inside her, he tried to move and reached toward her hips, but she took his hands and laced their fingers together, tilting back and forth to shift angles and rubbing herself against his soaked pants.

"Let me," he groaned, mesmerised by her motions and the light sheen of sweat breaking out across her chest.

"But it's your birthday..." she shuddered.

"Yeah. Exactly."

She released his hands with no further protest, and he took her waist in his left hand, thumb pressing against her hipbone as his right hand flattened to his own stomach, two long fingers extending until the tips were just touching where they were joined. He quickly bent his knuckles up to rub against her swollen flesh, feeling her whole body react... thighs clenching as she squeezed deep inside, making him slightly dizzy.

"Bloody hell, that feels amazing," he groaned. "Better stop or I'll get ahead of you..."

"No," she panted, "won't take long. Don't... stop..."

"Fuck, really?"

She nodded and met his eyes, lips parted and red from kissing.

He increased his pressure, just enough, and, within seconds, she was squeezing his biceps in both hands and making that tiny, squeaky noise that he loved so much. Sighing heavily, he felt himself joining her, her small convulsions clenching him firmly. And he exhaled with a thick moan as he came inside her.

She collapsed on top of his partially bare torso, his shirt now bunched up at his collarbones. Her nose pressed up against the underside of his jaw, and he wrapped both arms low around her back, holding her tight as they breathed erratically.

"You win," he muttered through a messy bunch of curls that had come loose from her bun.

"Mm?" she hummed against his neck.

"Best morning ever."

He felt her grin before she sat up, just enough to slide halfway off him, extending her legs down the outside edge of the sofa and flattening next to him again.

"Not that I want to remind you," he slurred lazily, running the tips of his fingers up and down her spine, "but don't you have to go to work?"

"No," she smiled. "I took the day off weeks ago."

Delighted, he grinned at her, absently noticing the sound of heavy rain picking up on the roof and windows of their flat.

"And," she continued, clearing her throat, "there's bacon." Damn, he had completely forgotten the heavenly smell from earlier. "And... we should turn the radio on. The Cannons are being interviewed live in half an hour."

His eyes widened as she stretched out further, still half on top of him, tucking her face against the side of his neck.

"Oh my god."

She laughed and dropped her arm over his stomach, feet rubbing cozily against his calf.

"I'm obviously still asleep."

She shook her head, and he closed his eyes, smiling.

"Happy birthday, Ron."