A/n: This story was submitted in the Romione Sinfest'17 under the category Wrath.

"So, as you know Auror Weasley, Jerkins thinks it's not a lone case. We might have a big fish in our net this time!" the balding man stated smugly as he raised his goblet and smiled at the two other wizards who Ron assumed were only around this man to kiss arse.

Ron smiled what felt like his thousandth fake smile of the evening and mirrored the much older man's action before gulping down the entire contents of his goblet at once. He needed one bloody good excuse to get rid of this gloating arse of a man who had been bugging his arse off for fifteen solid minutes now. Head of the Department of Accidents and Catastrophes' or not, Ron was done socialising with these Ministry hotshots. He was a bloody Auror for fuck sake! Since when did attending boring Ministry parties- correction Ministry 'Galas', fall under his job description?!

"The Minister wanted us to hand this over to you guys, the Aurors," Browning stated will ill-disguised resentment, "but I told him straight off not to underestimate my men, and just see…" he added, swaying slightly as he sipped from his goblet.

"Good for you," Ron agreed, "Would've been a tough choice, deciding between allotting my men to track those Voldy-grave-digging, aspiring Death Eaters or your cauldron charmers," he replied in mock contemplation while scratching his two days old stubble.

The man who was almost going to take another sip lowered his glass, giving Ron a good look-over from the top of his horn-rimmed glasses. If he attempted to intimidate the Auror, it failed miserably 'cause Ron was not only over a foot taller than him but also much broader than the slightly pot bellied man. He had filled out the brand new dress robes his wife had bought for him impeccably; they strained just so slightly at his shoulders. He had complained to her that they were friggin tight, but she had winked mischievously in response.

'Intimidating but debonair', she had declared instead. He had no fuckin' clue what 'debonair' meant but knew that smile; it meant he was up for a treat when this torturous pain of an evening got over.

He raised his goblet to his lips finding himself more eager by the minute to leave this circus and head home to lounge on the couch instead. He was having an exhausting week of running after a dangerous gang who seemed eager to rustle up the Death Eater trend again. He had barely had any sleep, not enough anyway, and his bones could do with some rest. Even the thought of all the paperwork that lay pending on his desk was giving him a migraine. But here he was, sipping high-end mead and hobnobbing with the bunch that were all talk and no action. Bloody fucking hell. How he hated these.

A little surprised but glad to find his goblet empty, he managed his most charming smile and gestured to take his leave to fetch another drink. Browning would have stopped him, called one of the waiters for a refill and gloated some more, but apparently, he was still nursing the dent in his ego after that last sting. He returned Ron a strained smile and took off in the opposite direction.

Ron let out a sigh of relief and manoeuvred his way towards the bar instead, scanning the crowd for two familiar faces. He could see Harry far off in the distance, caught with another Ministry hag. His best mate wore the same expression of boredom and fatigue concealed by mechanical smiles and polite conversations. Ron looked away quickly. He loved his best mate to bits but Harry was by himself in this. He had no energy left for another forced smile and courteous greeting. He looked around for a mass of maddening curls instead before remembering that Hermione had managed an absolutely impossible looking hairdo tonight.

Okay, impossible might not be the correct word- What would Ginny say? Ah! Gorgeous and intricate, maybe?

Yeah, something along those lines. It reminded him of the Yule Ball and Bill and Fleur's wedding. And their own wedding…

For the first time that evening, a genuine smile found its way to his lips. Blimey, the way she had pinned her hair leaving that gorgeous expanse of skin visible at her nape and back made the crowded gathering all the more unbearable. He wanted his wife and their bed, or any other random furniture against which he could shag her. Even the wall would suffice…

Merlin's saggy left balls…

He gruffed quietly to himself and grabbing the goblet, downed the fire whisky in one gulp. These new trousers were fucking tight, he decided ruefully.

That sleek elegant black gown she was wearing tonight showed a lot of skin, dipped almost till the small of her waist. He'd have liked better if she'd have let her hair down and allowed that mass of unruly curls to hide it. But of course, she had done exactly the opposite. Used some potion and a spell she had picked up from Ginny. He smirked to himself. If Hermione ever knew what he'd done, she'd have his balls. He only hoped she'd have them in a way that was enjoyable rather than painful…

He glanced at the crowd again, scanning the faces for the one he sought most, and sure enough, found her near one of the tables not more than ten feet from where he sat.

She was talking to some international delegates and something important by the look of it. He leant against the bar counter and watched her over his goblet. Yes, his spell was working. A couple of curly tendrils had already escaped the intricate web of pins and were gently swaying across her back.

Fuck… He hadn't realised a couple of brown locks would look so sexy against that expanse of flawless skin.

She shook her head to emphasise something, and another lock easily abandoned its position from that hairdo. Hermione's annoyance was clearly visible, to him at least.

She had spent an insane amount of time on it and only because she couldn't bother to waste precious minutes during the Ministry gala trying to keep that unruly hair in control. She had more important things to do tonight when there were wizards from all of Europe gathered under one roof- like socialise and extend her already exhaustive professional connections in addition to gathering more supporters for her Werewolf's Rights Program. And now her hours worth of artwork was coming loose, one curly tendril at a time. Ron bit back a chuckle.

By the time Ron had finished his second drink, his wife was already excusing herself- to go to the ladies room to fix her hair for sure as half of the intricate hairdo was already out of place, locks of thick curls grazing her back, cutting off the delectable view of her skin. Ron dropped his goblet in a hurry and quickened his steps. He couldn't waste this opportunity.

He found her in the corridor right behind the ballroom, furiously pulling out her wand, muttering under her breath, displeasure evident all over her face.

"Hey," he called softly, trying his best to keep a straight face. She turned sharply, still brandishing the wand, looking thoroughly pissed.

"Just look at me, Ron! I hate my hair." she declared before turning around to quicken her steps but Ron was next to her in a few quick strides.

"Looks better this way, if you ask me."

Bloody hell, did she know how turned on he was? The mass of curls was a riot, her face flushed scarlet and her chest was heaving causing the soft black satin to stretch across those…

She reminded him of the mornings they woke up together, naked and dreamy from a night of amazing love-making.

Bloody fucking hell, his brain wasn't helping matters…

His hand found the soft mounds before he realised what he was doing and Hermione let out a gasp as his thumb grazed over her nipples. Covered though they were, he knew very well how they would feel against his skin.

"Fuck…" he muttered aloud.

"Ron!" she admonished scandalised and looked both ways to ensure the corridor was empty. She was practically red at this point, although his years of experience told him not just out of rage. She'd fly off her handle once she knew what he'd done.

He stared hard at her boobs before meeting her eyes, pleading silently. She shook her head infinitesimally.

"No." She stated firmly, perhaps to herself as well. "I need to fix this mess and then I go back. I was in the middle of something extremely important," she announced as she sucked in a deep breath, assuming one of her best professional looks. "Argh!" she groaned as more locks fell out.

She had already walked a few steps down the corridor when Ron grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to his chest, manoeuvring them both next to the wall.

Fuck… he had her and now there was even a wall…

"Let's just go home, 'ermione," he breathed into her nape taking in her fragrance, the need intensified immediately. He heard her draw in a shaky breath and desperately hoped she'd agree. He sucked in harder, although his tired brain reminded that this tactic wasn't going to work with his wife. But in his defense, a bloke could hope.

"I need to get back, Ron," she replied while pushing him off "This is important."

"No, you don't," he murmured wrapping his fingers in the hair at her nape and chuckling softly at the mess her curls were turning into.

"Ron!" she admonished while using her weight to push him off, "I'm telling you this is important!"

His patience snapped. It took him mere seconds to cast the nonverbal spell that allowed him to break the heavy anti-apparition charms set over the premises for security. And before his wife could process what happened, they had landed with a crack in their bedroom.

"WHAT THE HELL, RON?!" she screeched the moment she found her footing and pushed his arms off.

"OH, JUST RELAX WON'T YOU?" he snapped. "It's just another boring party, 'ermione!" he added, his tone softening at the sight of her. Damn these muggle 'fairy lights' she had installed!

"Come on, love, you can't go back with that mess of a hair, can you?" he chuckled moving closer and pulling out a couple of pearl embedded pins from her curls. "I could help you getting these insane amounts of pins from this mess," he joked giving her a smile that he knew always worked to get her to agree.

But Hermione was watching him dangerously, and he gulped before reminding himself that he was an Auror and a fucking good one if he could say so himself.

"What?" he asked hoping that his innocent look was in place.

"You messed it up."

Sweet Merlin, that wasn't even a question.

He tried to deny straight off, and then thought of playing clueless but ended up smiling and scratched the back of his neck consciously. Godric save my arse.

"Mione, I just-"

"You. Arse. Ron!" she fumed pushing him off with her palms before crossing them at her chest. She turned away briefly before spinning around to meet his eyes again.

"I TOLD YOU THIS IS IMPORTANT! AND YOU JUST MESSED IT UP FOR FUN? WHAT THE HELL'S WRONG WITH YOU? GROW UP, RON!"

"Come on, Hermione! Relax! It's just another-"

"NO. It's not 'just another party', Ron! Not for me! It's a part of my work! Why don't you get it?!"

He gave her a good long stare.

"It's. just. another. god. damn. party." he said through gritted teeth. "We have these every. single. month. All I wanted was to get home and spend some time with you. Why the fuck don't YOU get it?"

"And we could've always done that after this was over. Why do you have to be so juvenile?!"

He inhaled deeply trying his best to hold back his temper and frustration. Finally, he took a few steps back.

"Fine. Go."

He turned around, slamming the bedroom door hard on his way out.

Hermione came out of their bedroom precisely five minutes later. He glanced up from his goblet of fire whisky to notice that she had pinned her hair into a bun again, not as intricate as the one before but fancy enough. He looked away, drowning his anger in his drink.

Brilliant. She'd now go back and he'd be here, alone at their flat drinking away his misery. He had seen how many in the crowd eyed her tonight and if he wasn't trying to be mature, he'd have beaten the shit out of those buggers way earlier. But she'd already accused him of being 'juvenile'.

He tried to control himself but caught sight of her again. She looked fucking sexy in that gown. Why didn't she realise how the men were ogling at her? Especially 'cause she had no fuckin' clue how sensuous that gown and her hair looked tonight?

He gulped another drink fighting the urge to return to the party after her. He knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself and he wasn't the least worried that she'd find herself another bloke in his absence. But one ought to be around when your wife was looking so drop dead gorgeous. He poured himself another drink and forced himself to cool down.

Bloody hell, alcohol made things worse, the anger and the hurt- and also the need.

His brain conjured up the image of her messy curls, with those tiny pearls hidden away in them like stars in the sky. All he wanted was to carry her to bed and pick them out from that gorgeous if maddening mane. He loved her hair, even when she complained about it in the mornings. In fact, he thought she looked absolutely adorable in the mornings. So natural and – pure. She looked like he remembered her from school, bushy-haired know-it-all. It reminded him of the time he fell in love with her, the time when she wasn't this perfect lawyer and symbol of sophistication. When she was Hermione- just Hermione.

"Fuck it all! I'm going back!" He picked up his tall frame and grabbed the robe he had thrown over the chair when a sharp crack broke the silence of the flat.

"Where're you going?" she asked.

"To my wife. Can't just let her attend the boring parties alone. Also, she has no fuckin' clue how wickedly sexy she looks tonight."

She blushed and took a few quick strides to reach him.

He wrapped his arm around the small of her back the moment she was within reach. Bloody hell. The touch of her bare skin felt divine under his palm.

"Are you gonna go back?" he asked running the pad of thumb over her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed softly.

"No. You were right. It really isn't that important…" she whispered as his lips pressed down on her nape, slowly making its way to her throat and collarbone.

"Oh…" she managed in a shaky whisper.

"Really?" he asked nuzzling her earlobe with his nose and heard her suck in a breath, "Well, actually, it is important-" she chuckled before her tone became serious but sincere, "-but not more than you, not more than us."

"Wicked," he muttered grinning and pulled out one of the pins from her hair and then another. Curls tumbled down her back and he bent to capture her lips in his as her arms wrapped around his neck and she moaned into his mouth.

It had been a long wait. A. fuckin. long. one.

He kissed her slowly, leisurely, tasting her lips like a well-brewed wine and while his lips were busy, his hand weaved in through her hair flicking out pin after pin and dropping them on the floor. She was probably a bit shocked when he turned her to face away and messed up her finally freed curls. She literally gasped aloud when he kissed her at the hairline, just behind her ears. It was a good thing they were standing next to their dining table for she placed her palms down for support as his fingers loosened the thin black straps from her shoulders and peppered kisses down her back. That expanse of skin had tortured him so much all evening…

With the straps falling off, his hands travelled in front to place themselves over her naked breasts, and she moaned aloud, throwing her head back. Ron's lips latched onto the crook of her neck and sucked as his fingers paid special attention to the now pert nipples.

Hermione was breathing heavy and so was he. His hand got busy travelling down searching for the hemline of her gown. Fuck, why wasn't there an end? He needed to feel her skin.

"Wait!" she managed and turned around resting her back against the table before fumbling with his shirt. She pulled it loose from his waist and worked her way on his trousers even as his hand continued their ministrations over her breasts and his eyes watched them at work.

"FUCK!" he screamed aloud realising that her smaller hands had found their way inside his boxers and were stroking him.

"These effin' trousers… are… tight!" he grumbled kneading her nipples harder, "need to get these off," he added.

"The trousers aren't tight, Ron, you are hard," she chuckled while continuing her work devotedly and with the utmost attention to detail. He groaned aloud and released her only to push down the confounding article down his legs. He paused to take off his boots, chucking them off haphazardly in different directions before peeling the trousers and boxers off completely. And then he moaned aloud as Hermione knelt and enveloped his shaft in her mouth.

"Bloody hell, woman! don't…I won't… fuck… if you… Argh!" he mumbled as she began pleasuring him and his fingers wrapped in her hair, guiding her. It was getting insanely hard to remain standing and he swayed against his will, worried that he'd collapse on her.

" 'ermione, you gotta stop!" he cried and literally guided her off himself by holding her at her shoulders. He gulped in large amounts of air to get his spinning world straight and pulled her up to stand, instantly capturing her lips in his. She was wearing heels, making the kissing part a lot easier.

"Mmm, was just getting you ready," she said against his mouth as his hand moved to grab her arse. He thrust his hard self against her belly.

"You're barmy! I've been goin' fuckin' mental all evening tryin' to keep my hands off ya!"

She laughed pressing herself closer to him. Both moaned in unison.

"Table?" she asked in a strained whisper.

"Couch," he responded.

How they covered that distance he would never know, but soon she was lying on the plush surface, the black satin pulled up and bunched at her waist, knickers lost somewhere while he returned her the favour. She mewed and moaned, her fingers running through his hair, pulling him closer to her core and he gladly obliged.

"Ron, now! Please!"

He didn't need to be told twice. He entered her warm folds easily and relief and love, an insane amount of it, flooded his veins at the coupling. He was home. He lowered himself on top of her carefully, wrapping her much smaller body in his arms while kissing her frantically as he continued to thrust. She wrapped herself in his embrace, arms and legs clung onto him and kissed him back fervently.

"I'm sorry for- getting- so- angry," she gasped between his thrusts, and he managed to arrange a lock of hair out of her sweat soaked forehead as he looked into her eyes, not stopping or slowing down.

"I'm sorry too. I love you so fuckin' much, 'ermione,"

"I love you too, Ron, so so much!" she gasped and cried out his name, gripping him harder than ever.

He followed suit, grunting out loudly before finally collapsing over her, his face pressed into her nape breathing in the fragrance of her curls.

A/n: Thanks for reading. Although I have to admit, I am not very fond of this story when I read it now. Anyway, would love to hear your feedbacks.