"Ahh!" Ron cried as hot water splattered over his shirt. Once he was finished, he began to smell something burning. He looked out the window, confused, and then his eyes widened. The chicken! He turned toward the oven and saw black smoke escaping. He pulled down the door and began coughing, waving the smoke away. He blindly made his way inside the oven and pulled out the very crisp chicken....OK, it was burned. A bloody burned chicken. 

He heard a jingling sound and his dog Mocha came striding into the kitchen. She whined a bit and looked at him.

"Don't give me that look Mocha...I know I messed up," he said. He turned back to the chicken. So much for trying to be romantic and make her a dinner the Muggle way. Bloody Martha Stewart and her 1-2-3 steps to cooking any poultry. Lies! That's what they were! He then heard a knock on the door and knew his guest had arrived.

Before Ron could open the door, Hermione had stepped gingerly into the living room, sniffing the air a little distastefully. Mocha came bounding out of the kitchen, and Hermione bent to pet her head and let the dog lick her fingers, waiting for Ron to emerge from the kitchen, rather than striding in and embarrassing him.

 Ron began to pace back and forth in the kitchen. What was he supposed to do? She surely was not going to eat it black. Hell, he wouldn't either. He then decided on the only logical thing to do...dump it. He knew Hermione was in the living room, and he couldn't pass her with that thing in his hands. He looked at the window and then down at the chicken. Ah hell, he thought.

He quickly opened the window and chucked it. He heard a thump and then a "What the...!" Ron's eyes widened and he quickly slammed the window shut. He took a deep breath and walked out to meet Hermione. He grinned as he saw her.

"Hello there," said Hermione with a smile, standing from her crouched position. "Having some difficulties?" she asked, knowing full well that "difficulties" was something of an understatement when it came to Ron and cooking.

"Me....naw..." Ron said, blushing slightly and reaching behind him to scratch his head. He knew she wouldn't buy that. For one, the whole house smelled as if something had exploded and two, he wasn't a very good liar. "Actually yeah...I ruined dinner. Well, actually, Martha Stewart did. I took that book from your house and she lied to me. The chicken did not turn out like it was in the picture..." he said.

Hermione stifled a laugh. "What do you think of maybe ordering in some Chinese instead?" she offered, lifting an eyebrow teasingly. "Would that cheer you up any?" She dug into her purse and pulled out a little mobile phone. "I know you're not too fond of mobile fellytones, but in a few seconds I can have an enormous bag of Chinese food sitting on that table. How does that sound?"

Ron began to trace the carpet with his toe. He felt like a complete idiot. He couldn't even master the art of cooking. All he was good for was Quidditch. That was it. This was supposed to be a date with Hermione and it wasn't turning out that way at all. He sighed and then mustered up a smile. "Sure. They probably know how to cook."

"I certainly hope so, seeing as they own a restaurant, love," said Hermione vaguely, more focused on thumbing through the list of contacts in her mobile phone than Ron himself. She found the restaurant's number, pressed "call," and then ordered, before snapping the phone shut and dropping it back into her purse.

"Well, now that that's taken care of, how are things?" she asked, walking forward to plant a kiss on Ron's cheek (she had to stand on tiptoe), and then shrugging off her jacket and draping it over a chair, plopping her purse down beside it.

 Ron smiled as she kissed his cheek. Since their Hogwarts years they had had a sort of...odd relationship. It was on and off constantly. But it always seemed as though everyone expected them to be together--so, at least for Ron, it seemed a perfectly logical reason for them to date. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

 "Yeah...things are good. Been training like crazy. Coach says this year we'll at least make it to the semifinals of the Cup, if not surpass that. It's a bit exciting but I'm still going through hell," he said. He rolled his neck around. "Been sore for almost a week now. What about you? Still busy like always?" He smirked slightly.

"Yes, Ron, still busy," Hermione sighed, trying to ignore the smirk on his face. She knew he had trouble understanding the Muggle concept of post-secondary school education, but she'd thought that by now he would have figured out that nothing could quench her thirst for learning. Still, he was Ron, and she loved him, so it wasn't worth fussing over.

"That does sound very exciting," she agreed, crossing to the window to peer down at the street for the delivery man. "I hope you do make it! You certainly deserve it!" Hermione knew that for every hour she spent studying, Ron spent two practicing; she understood what it was like to be dedicated to a particular passion.

She turned, and saw Ron was still stretching his sore muscles. "Would you like a massage?" she offered brightly. "Would that help at all?"

 Ron froze a bit as Hermione asked if he would like a massage. He felt slightly...taken aback. Sure, they were "dating" but they had never really been touchy-feely with one another, and a massage would definitely incorporate those two aspects. He smiled weakly. This was going to be very awkward. He nodded.

 "Ah, if you don't mind..." he said beginning to turn slightly red. He made his way slowly to the couch, sitting down and tapping his fingers together nervously.

Hermione settled in next to him on the couch, turning him so that he faced the opposite armrest, and then got up on her knees, pushing her mane of curls over her shoulder and out of the way, before reaching down to squeeze his shoulders gently. Slowly, she pressed her thumbs and fingers into the base of his neck, massaging it gently.

"How's that?" she asked. She'd never given Ron a massage before--she'd rarely given anyone massages, for that matter--but she wanted to get his mind off the ruined dinner, and maybe help alleviate some of the toll Quidditch was taking on his body. Thinking of his success in Quidditch, Hermione smiled to herself and tousled his hair quickly before returning her fingers to the knots in his neck and shoulders.

Ron felt her knead his hands into his tense muscles. If she had been any other girl he fancied, he would have been in heaven. But there was something about Hermione doing it that seemed a bit off to him. She was a very attractive girl, there was no doubt about that. He just had a hard time seeing Hermione past their friendship. They were dating, however, and he supposed that in time he would be able to see her as more than that. 

He felt his shirt begin to bunch up and found it quite annoying. "Give me a second," he told her and reached behind him to pull his shirt over his head.

He tossed it onto the love seat and scratched his head and turned to her, grinning. "All right. Ready."

Hermione could feel her cheeks reddening, but she smiled back. She had to admit it was easier to massage him without the shirt sliding around, the fabric bunching up and restricting her ability to really massage his sore muscles. She resisted the temptation to get up and fold his t-shirt neatly, and instead slipped back into position, lowering her hands to his shoulders and mid-back, soothing the muscles there to the best of her ability. Quietly, she began to hum.

There was an atmosphere of easy camaraderie in the room, which made Hermione feel uneasy, mostly because she otherwise felt so comfortable. Surely the feelings she was meant to be having right now did not include those that made her hum "Build Me Up Buttercup" and think of fun times at Hogwarts, where she and Ron had played wizard chess late into the night and burst into laughter on the rug in front of the common room fireplace... Here was this amazingly handsome man in front of her, with a well-developed body from Quidditch, and yet no steamy, illicit thoughts were crossing her brain... She supposed she was just overtired from work. She'd had several particularly difficult customers today.

 Ron knew he was probably getting tenser by the minute. He was still uncomfortable and was mentally telling himself to get over it. He heard Hermione begin to hum and he smiled to himself. Well, maybe she was enjoying it...so perhaps he should, too. He knew if they had been any other couple, they would have skipped this part and gone straight for the snogging. And Ron did not want to make Hermione feel as though he weren't interested in her. Because he was. She was beautiful with a nice body. He pushed his nagging thoughts of her being almost like a sister to him and turned to face her.

 He looked at her in what he hoped was a seductive way. For all he knew, he could have looked like a dying Hippogriff. He ran a hand over her cheek and let his thumb trace her bottom lip. It's now or never mate... he told himself.  He mustered up the courage and planted his lips on hers.

 Ron's about-face may have been an agonizingly long process for him, but it was really only a matter of seconds--Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, and then all of a sudden Ron shot her a very sexy look, ran his thumb seductively over her lip, and then replaced it with his mouth. Hermione was more shocked than anything else, although she gave herself over to the kiss very easily. While she and Ron had certainly done some snogging back at Hogwarts, and even a little more than that the year they and Harry were Horcrux-hunting, after George's funeral she had put some distance between the two of them....Everything had just been so difficult and depressing, and not long after that, the war had ended, she'd found her job and apprenticeship, Ron had been snapped up by Quidditch recruiters, and their fledging relationship had been put aside. It was only within the past few months that they'd tried to reinvigorate things, ever since a particularly memorable Weasley family dinner, at which they'd been "accidentally" locked out of the house in the garden--where a wicker love seat and some flickering candles had mysteriously appeared. Ron had kissed her very briefly on the cheek that night, and since then they'd had a few dates and informal get-togethers like tonight's, but it had been a long time since he had kissed her like this.

But Hermione was enjoying it. She thought. She was certainly thinking. That empty-headed, lustful state she usually entered in situations like these was as-of-yet unattained, but she was certainly enjoying Ron's kiss. She slipped her tongue into his mouth as a sort of afterthought, and ran her fingers through his hair, making the kiss deeper and more intense, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of the dizzy, exhilarated feeling she was certain was soon to come...

 Oh Merlin! Her tongue is in my mouth! Her tongue is in my mouth! Ron's mind kept screaming. He quickly ignored it and brushed his tongue over hers. The kiss was good, and Ron was expecting it to get even better. He pushed his lips harder onto hers, his fingers entangling themselves in her tresses. He moved forward slightly, causing her to recline into the couch. They had kissed like this before, but it had been ages since then. He sure hoped he was doing an all right job at it. His stomach was feeling a bit weird as he tried to suppress the uneasy feeling. His lips escaped hers and moved along her jaw line and down her neck, his hand running over her side. 

Merlin, that felt good. Hermione tightened her grip on Ron's hair and pulled him down with her, so that he was now lying atop her on the sofa, his hands everywhere and his mouth traveling across her body... She could hear her mind churning--Ooh, he's touched my breast now. Oh, goodness, his mouth right there feels amazing...oh, I hope he does that again. Should I kiss his neck too?--which was unusual, but she tried to block out the interior monologue and just throw herself into the moment. There was no denying how sexy Ron was; his chest was toned and perfect, and she ran her hands over his beautiful back muscles, sucking energetically on his earlobe as he kissed her neck--I hope he likes to be kissed there. I know I do. I remember the first time Viktor kissed me there. It was wonderful. Oh. Right. Ron.

As Ron fumbled his hands across her body, Hermione felt the urge to feel his skin against hers, and tugged at the hem of her sweater, pulling it over her head and tossing it onto the floor with reckless abandon, exposing her bra--unfortunately one of her plainer ones, although slightly too small, which meant her breasts did bulge rather nicely out of it--to Ron's fervent touch. It was lovely to be touched like that, to be desired. Hermione felt slightly ashamed for thinking of Viktor as she kissed and groped Ron, because she could certainly tell that Ron wasn't having any trouble losing himself in the moment. The feverish way he was attacking her body confirmed just how mad he was about her, and guilt hovered in the back of Hermione's mind like a dull weight.

 Oh....sweet circe....Ron thought as Hermione nibbled and sucked on his earlobe. He loved it when women did that. He hissed and tightened his grip on her hair, bringing her head closer. His biceps bulged slightly as he brought her body closer to his. She then pulled her sweater over her head and his mind seemed to lose his train of thought. All he could think about was Hermione's very plump breasts being pressed against his bare chest. A groan rumbled deep in his throat and he kissed her hungrily. His hand shakily making its way toward her left breast. He felt like it was his very clumsy first time. It had been with a Swedish girl by the name of Olga, who he had met at a bar. It was right after George's funeral and he had had the urge to drown all his sorrows in a bottle of Firewhiskey. The next morning, he had had a massive headache and clear view of what he had slept with. He had left her apartment in quite a hurry after the latter.

 He adjusted his hips over hers and began to kiss a trail down the valley of her breasts. Her body was very curvy, just like he enjoyed. He raised her leg up and his large hand began to make its way along her thigh, touching the smooth skin. He hesitated slightly before reaching under her skirt to brush his hands over her bum. He began to suckle on the hollow of her neck as he kneaded his hands into her thigh and arse. Then out of a nowhere a buzzing sounded, obnoxiously loud, and Ron cried out, falling off the couch. He looked toward the door and then Hermione, turning bright red.

"That--that'll be the Chinese food," said Hermione in a mumble, scrambling for her sweater and pulling it on in a hurry, her cheeks a deep pink. With the mood completely gone, she suddenly realized how awkward she felt in front of Ron with her shirt off, her bra tugged low so that one nipple showed, her skirt hiked up...It was mortifying, even though moments before she had been all right with the whole thing...

Never mind. The door. Hermione waited until Ron had tugged his shirt on--the doorbell rang twice more in the interim--before answering the door and quickly, with shaky hands, collecting the food and handing the delivery man the money, giving him quite a large tip. She shut the door quickly, deposited the bag of food on the table, and began pulling out the little cartons and placing them cheerily on the two place mats, applying a fake smile to her face as best she could.

"Ready to eat?" she chirped, and she hoped Ron would be gracious enough to ignore her flaming cheeks and the fact that her sweater was inside out and backwards. 

He was about to inform her that her sweater was not on properly, but before he could utter a word she had rushed to the door and retrieved the food. He, out of nervous habit, scratched the back of his head again. He slowly made his way to the table where she was placing their meal. She smiled at him and Ron thought it was only right to return it. He grinned at her, knowing very well that he was red as a beet still.

Mocha affectionately rubbed her body along his legs and he patted her. He went to the kitchen to wash up and grab some utensils. He quietly made his way back to the table and handed Hermione a fork. "Erm...let's dig in?" he said, not having the slightest idea what on Earth he should say or do at that moment. Things had escalated so fast and then all of a sudden everything was gone. Had he expected to shag her? Probably not. But he had not really been thinking of the outcome of their little rendezvous. He sat down across from her and opened a carton.   

"Yes," Hermione agreed, and she reached a fork into the carton of fried rice and shoved it rather ungracefully into her mouth. The tension in the room was even worse than it had been when they were fooling around on the sofa; she could feel it sizzling in the air. But there was nothing she could think to do about it. They were dating. This was bound to happen, after all. They were going to snog, and undress, and maybe even shag, although Hermione couldn't imagine sleeping with Ron. They'd once made an attempt while Horcrux-hunting, but Harry had grunted in his sleep and rolled over, and with his glasses on in his sleep, and the glint on the lenses, Hermione hadn't been able to tell if his eyes were open or not, and it had been too awkward, and...

And even though they had nearly reached that point just minutes ago, without Harry in the room to put a stop to anything, things were still awkward. Incredibly so.

Hermione reached for the carton of chow mein at the same moment Ron did. Their fingers brushed, and they both snatched their hands back at once, as though they'd been burned.

Hermione let out a short laugh, and met Ron's eyes with a small, crooked smile. She shrugged, as if to say, "What can you do?", and then stood, pushing her chair back and heading for the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. As she passed his chair, she reached out to tousle his hair again, affectionately, like she would Harry, or Neville, or Seamus, or any of the other boys she'd grown up with, like brothers.