The little tattoo shop in Whitechapel was tucked down a small Muggle alley. One would certainly miss it if they were just walking past on the main street. She wouldn’t have even noticed it if Charlie hadn’t pointed it out.
Hermione felt a bit uncomfortable when they entered the building. She was thankful that the shop was empty but she still shivered slightly as she thought of the needles. Charlie just smiled and told her to relax. She knew it was silly but she really didn’t like needles and the very idea of sitting calmly while her boyfriend allowed someone to stick something sharp into his skin was just a bit daunting. It didn’t help that he kept asking if she was sure she didn’t want to be inked while they were there, following up the query with the wicked smile that usually had agreeing to the most wild things imaginable before she even realized she’d said yes.
This time, though, she was being firm. She didn’t want some ridiculously sharp needle poking her skin nor was there anything she’d want permanently inked onto her skin. She might find Charlie’s tattoos even sexier than she’d ever admit, but that didn’t mean she wanted her own body covered in art. She didn’t even have her ears pierced because of the silly needle, after all, so there would be no sexy smiles and weakening of her defenses with gentle caresses or rougher squeezes, as either one was likely to make her less stubborn when given by Charlie.
“What should I get?”
Charlie’s question, whispered against her ear, interrupted her thoughts. She looked up and found his face beside hers as he looked at the display wall of art. “I don’t have any idea,” she said honestly. His fondness for tattoos was something that rather mystified her. To all appearances, Charlie Weasley was friendly, solid, passionate, and seemed very much the idea of what her mum called ‘the boy next door’.
He was the shortest Weasley, even an inch or two shorter than Ginny, the most muscular, even beating out the twins with their rather nice arms, and was covered in freckles and burns. He always had a kind smile and warm word for most everyone, never failed to offer to help his mum with the dinner dishes when he visited, and had an easy charm that drew people to him naturally.
He was also absolutely wicked when he wanted to be, which proved to be quite often since they’d shared a kiss beneath mistletoe two years ago at Bill and Fleur’s holiday party. She’d been shocked at the attraction she’d felt for the only Weasley boy she’d never seriously considered as a possible partner because they just didn’t seem to make sense on paper. He’d told her later that night when two sets of hands had torn clothes and he’d fucked her against the wall of the cloakroom that he’d known it would be like for them. She’d never been so happy to be wrong.
She’d learned his body over the following days, weeks, months. She found the Horntail inked on his hip, kissed the family crest inked on his shoulderblade, giggled at the flower inked on his ankle he’d gotten after losing a dare to Bill, licked the Snitch that was inked on his arse, and gripped the Fireball inked on his bicep as he made her scream.
“Where do you think I should get it?” he asked as he nuzzled her neck and pressed his body against her.
“Charlie, stop that,” she hissed softly as she glanced around to make sure no one had noticed them. Her cheeks infused with color when she felt him hard against her arse and she coughed as she tried to focus on the tattoos. “I suppose it really depends on what you decide to get as to where it would be best located.”
“What about this one?” he asked as he pointed to an image of ‘Lick here’ that had a small arrow obviously pointing down. “I could put that on my belly.”
“If you do, you’ll be finding someone else to shag,” she said curtly. She followed it by an elbow to the belly in question when he chuckled. “Be serious, Charlie. Don’t you have any idea what you want?”
“I know exactly what I want,” he muttered as his hand rested on her hips and he pushed forward slightly. “However, I don’t know what tattoo I feel like getting tonight. You’re sure you don’t want one? Even something small? Why don’t you look with me? You might see something you like. You could get a book on your arse, if you’d like. You’re always after me to pay more attention to books, after all.”
“I have no intention of letting anyone with a needle around my body, thank you very much,” she said primly and shuddered slightly. “The very idea makes me rather nauseous. Besides, that’s not what I meant about you reading more, prat.”
“Hmm.” He pulled her hair away from her neck and licked her throat as his hand left her hip and rested on her belly. “I could get ‘This belongs to Hermione’ on my cock but I don’t think even I could handle that pain and, fuck, I’d not be able to use my cock for ages. Nah, wouldn’t work. You could get ‘Charlie’ on your thigh and then I could kiss it every time I’m between your legs.”
“You’d only manage to get ‘This bel’ on your cock if they weren’t using small print,” she told him matter-of-factly, a mischievous smile on her lips as she stared at an odd assortment of fairies and wondered who would want something like that on their body.
“Brat,” he accused before he slapped her arse. “Be nice. It’s my birthday, you know. I’d get at least ‘This belongs to’ and could put ‘Hermione’ on the other side, all nice and big so there’s no doubts.”
“There’d better not be any doubts without having it written on your skin, Charlie Weasley,” she teased. “I know it’s your birthday, old man. If you recall, we have plans to celebrate once you’ve mutilated your body further with ink.”
“I notice that you don’t dispute that ownership,” he said thoughtfully as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shirt to brush against her bare tummy. “If I called you mine, you’d give me a lecture on the ills of ownership and claiming people in such a way. Hypocrite. Sexy hypocrite but still a hypocrite.”
“Such a claim is not the same thing as ownership, Charlie, and you bloody well know it,” she grumbled as she glared at the bright artwork. “I believe I said that in response to that editorial in the Prophet last year regarding marriage and name changes. It seems foolish to me, even with my old fashioned views, to expect a woman to simply give up her name and lose a part of her identity just because she’s fallen in love while the man doesn’t have to experience the same choice or decision.”
“I could get a butterfly on my thigh,” he interrupted her diatribe before it could really begin. “Remember those butterflies last spring? Could get that and think about making love to you in that field with the butterflies all around every time I change my trousers.”
“I think I’d giggle every time I saw the butterfly.”
“Right. No butterfly then cause I might get a complex if you were laughing every time you were between my legs. You could get a butterfly on your ankle. I’d not laugh because I’m far more romantic than you are,” he declared before he nipped at her shoulder and he moved them down the wall to another section.
“You are not,” she denied somewhat weakly. It was sad but true. Charlie was far more romantic than she was and liked to surprise her with flowers for no reason, kidnap her for a night of sex at some pretty bed and breakfast, and do small things for her that meant far more than expensive or lavish gifts. His brothers would never stop harassing him if they knew even half of the sweet and romantic things he’d done for her since they became involved. “I can be romantic.”
“Of course you can, baby,” he agreed as he rubbed his erection against her arse. “What about one of those hearts with the chain around it? I could have it put on my chest.”
“Charlie, that’s awful,” she said with a grimace. “I don’t see why we’re wasting time here if you can’t be serious and you have no idea what you want.”
“You’re right,” he said softly before he released her and stepped back. “This is probably a horrible idea. I don’t know what the bloody hell I’m doing and I’m just bollocksing the whole thing up, aren’t I?”
Hermione turned to look at him and watched him sigh as his fingers ran through his hair. “It’s just a tattoo, Charlie,” she said quietly, not certain why he seemed so agitated and anxious all of a sudden. “I’m sorry. I should have been more supportive and helped instead of being a right bitch about it all. Here. Why don’t we look again and see if we can find something that makes you happy?”
“You’re not a bitch,” he told her firmly as he looked up and smiled sheepishly. “I’m just scared, I guess. Silly, I know, because it’s going to make me so fucking happy but, yeah, you might not and then I’ll lose it and I don’t know what I’d do then.”
“Cryptic is not a trait I happen to find endearing,” she murmured as she tried to decipher what he’d just rambled on about.
“Are you sure don’t want one?” he asked softly as he caught her gaze. He walked to her and turned her to face the wall of artwork. “Just look and see if there’s something you’d like. Please, Hermione? I-I know what I want, you see, and it would make me far happier than I probably deserve to be but, right. I’m buggering this up totally.”
She glanced around and noticed that the shop was still empty, thankfully, so no one had witnessed their odd little whatever it had been. Hermione was about to tell him, again, that she had no interest in being inked but something in his voice kept her silent.
“Do you see the rose?” he asked before he kissed her throat. His hand slid beneath the waist of her skirt and she gripped his wrist when he tried to slide it into her cotton knickers.
“Not here, Charlie,” she warned as she stared at the garish rose he’d pointed out.
“Why not?” he muttered against her shoulder as he reached around and grabbed her hand to pull it away from his. Their joined hands moved to rest on her breast and he squeezed so her fingers caressed her breast beneath his hand. He pushed his hips against her and moved his hand lower. “Do you see the rose?”
“Yes,” she whimpered as his finger brushed against her clit. “I see the rose, Charlie.”
“What’s on top of the rose?” His fingers moved lower and she bit her lip when they pressed against her cunt.
She looked and blinked as her body leaned back against him. “A daisy.”
“Next?” he asked as he began to move his fingers in and out slowly. He still sounded nervous for some reason but she could feel the confidence in his strokes.
“It’s a blob of green,” she told him, her voice slightly breathless as her fingers pulled at her nipple through the material of her shirt and bra.
“It’s a shamrock,” he corrected gently. His hand left hers and she felt the material of her skirt dragging up her skin as he pushed it to her hips. “Next?”
Oh God. She was standing in the middle of a little tattoo shop with her skirt around her waist and Charlie’s hand in her knickers. She was torn between embarrassment should anyone see prim and proper Hermione Granger like this and arousal at the risk of being caught. She licked her lips and moaned softly when he pulled her knickers to the side and began to fuck her with his hand. She looked at the artwork and found the green blob. Her gaze moved right and she said, “It’s a sword and a flower. God, Charlie. You have to stop.”
“No,” he whispered against her jaw. She heard the sound of his zip being lowered and felt his cock against her arse. “It’s my birthday and this is what I want. I’m going to bend you over and fuck you right here where anyone could come in and see. You like that, baby? They’d come in and see you with your palms on the wall, skirt above your waist, knickers pulled over, and my cock thrusting into you. You’re so wet, Hermione. Tell me what’s next.”
“We can’t do—oh!” Hermione gasped as he suddenly thrust into her wet cunt. She leaned forward and put her palms on the wall of artwork as she pushed back against him.
“What’s next?” he growled as he began to move.
“It’s another flower,” she muttered as she looked up at the bright carnation. Her gaze drifted to the art in front of her and she blinked stupidly, forgetting to push back to meet his thrust.
“You could keep your name,” he said so softly she almost didn’t hear him.
“Charlie, what---“ She read the words over and over, her heart racing and her mouth suddenly dry.
“You said to get what I wanted, what would make me happy,” he reminded her in a voice that trembled slightly with insecurity and concern. He pulled out and pushed back in slowly. “Was gonna make you come before you saw. Thought I could show it to you while you were coming on my cock, when you’d be more inclined to say yes.”
Hermione tightened her muscles around him and rolled her hips slightly. “I think…I think that’s too much for a tattoo,” she whispered as she trailed her finger over Charlie’s handwriting. ‘Hermione Granger, Marry me? Love, Charlie PS You can keep your name’ would certainly not fit on some small piece of artwork.
“Hermione,” he groaned as he began to move faster, deeper, his thumb rubbing her clit even as he nervously awaited her reaction and response.
“Can’t think when you’re doing that,” she protested as she felt the tension begin to build. Her eyes were wet and she couldn’t look away from his familiar scrawl. I know what I want, what would make me happy. His words whispered in her mind and there was so much she wanted to say but she wasn’t good at this sort of thing and couldn’t believe he’d asked. She knew him well enough to know that he was probably convinced he wasn’t enough for her and calling himself stupid for asking.
“You think too much,” he told her quietly, his voice wavering slightly even as he fucked her with confidence.
Hermione closed her eyes and let go. Her orgasm hit hard, the emotion of the moment making her cry out as she shuddered and came. It was only after he’d come and was holding her tight, her back against his chest, that she opened her eyes. She pulled away, felt him slip from her as come dripped on her thighs, and faced him. She felt horrible when she saw the fear in his gaze and sighed softly before she stepped closer and kissed him gently.
“I think it needs to be smaller,” she said softly after she released his lips. “It’s too many words.”
“It is?” he asked hesitantly.
She nodded and placed her palm above his heart. “It could go here, I think,” she decided. She raised his arm and put his palm flat against her own heart. “Or maybe here?”
“Hermione, please.”
“Or maybe here?” she suggested as she traced her finger around his ring finger. “We could get matching ones.”
“You mean---are you saying---damn it, woman!” he growled as he stared at her hopefully.
She smiled up at him and nodded. “It doesn’t need to be all those words, Charlie,” she told him matter-of-factly as she caressed his jaw. “It just needs to say ‘yes’.”
The End