"Weekly" writing thing number one

Title: "Empty Nest Thing"
Pairing: Molly/Arthur
Rating: R (eventually)
Summary: With all the kids finally away in school, Molly looks to a book for some new ideas.
Words: 3614 (too many?)
Warnings: None, unless a mature married couple experimenting with the Perfumed Garden disturbs you.
Note: Contribution to this Arthur/Molly challenge. Positions mostly derived from this website (artists' mannequins, questionably worksafe). Geez, am I rusty. I apologise for taking so long to reach the steamy stuff (and I think in the position they do, she's supposed to be lying down . . . oh well), the melodrama got a little out of control. Be nice if readers could tell me what does and doesn't work.
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Arthur Weasley yawned into his hand as he filled out a third copy of his latest report (on a pay telephone that rang suggestively at female passersby), to be stamped, filed in some archival cupboard and promptly forgotten. He read the report over for errors. Perkins shuffled in, easily navigating the overhanging precipices of paper and bizarre artifacts to his desk.
“Molly’s on the hall hearth for you, Arthur, line three.��? Their office did not have Floo access, lacking the space, so they were accustomed to using the bank of fireplaces adjacent the lifts.
“Oh? What about?��?
“She didn’t say. Didn’t look too urgent, but you’d know your wife better than I.��?
“Thanks, Perkins.��? Arthur folded the report into an airplane, tapped it with his wand and sent it flapping down the hallway. He was no less deft in his handling of the maze-like office, his storkish limbs trained by long habit. It was like a bureaucratic fjord, he thought fancifully, a Grand Canyon of office work. The paper walls grew taller by geological deposition even as Weasley and Perkins sought eternally to erode it away.
The Magical Maintenance crew were in top form today, Arthur observed when he came in sight of a window. The crisp autumn sunlight was punctuated by flurries of orange leaves swirling off to nowhere in particular.
The hearths in the public bank were for face-to-face communication only, too small for transportation, which was allowed only through the lobby and certain authorized private lines. They were arranged two by four, stacked vertically, and looked like open-sided clay ovens. A witch standing tiptoe on a chair was engaged in conversation with a bearded wizard in the topmost hearth of one column, while bored faces peered out from four of the other boxes.
Molly was second from the bottom of the other column, pursing her lips and watching the legs passing through the corridor. He crouched down into her field of vision, but she still had to tilt her head back to look at him “Arthur! Good Afternoon!��?
“Molly, love,��? he leaned into the flames to kiss her, “how are you, is anything wrong?��?
“Oh no, nothing at all. I just wanted to ask you do your best to be home on time tonight. I picked up a book in the shops this morning. There’s a couple of things I’d like to try.��?
“What, a cookbook?��?
“Something like that. Seven o’clock?��?
“I’ll do my best.��?
“Thank you, sweetheart. Love you.��?
“I love you.��? He kissed her again, a quick peck on the lips, before her face disappeared from the fire.
Arthur returned to his desk with a bounce in his step. Molly hadn’t shown much interest in cooking these past few weeks. They’d been having a lot of leftovers; she was long out of the practice of cooking for only two people. It had taken her almost until Christmas last year to stop cooking as if Ron were still in the house, and Ron ate like every meal was his last so they’d had heaps to spare. Ginny’s absence was less obvious but still felt. He looked forward to a change from the past two days’ reheated macaroni.
When Arthur stepped out of the fireplace that evening into his own sitting room in the Burrow he smelled roasting chicken, and saw that Molly was lighting candles on the kitchen table set for two. “Hmm, smells wonderful,��? he announced, setting down his briefcase and removing his shoes and cloak.
He moved directly to the stove and tried to help, but Molly waved him to his seat while she finished her bustling. She gave him the chicken to carve while she served out two plates of mashed potatoes, carrots, onions and red pepper roasted in the fat of the chicken, and spears of steamed asparagus with lemon.
She poured him a glass of wine and refilled her own. “How was work today?��?
“Same old, same old. This looks marvelous.��? Arthur observed as she swung herself into the seat at his elbow that she was in one of her best frock-style robes, the red and blue polkadot one with buttons down the front, and black high-heeled shoes with sheer tights. “We’re not having company, are we love?��? He asked, sipping his wine.
“No, why do you ask?��? She started on her potatoes.
“You’re looking awfully smart this evening is all.��? She even had a black velvet ribbon in her auburn hair.
“I don’t know, I get so few excuses to dress up I thought I’d start making my own.��?
“Well, you look lovely, you really do.��?
“Thank you, love, you’re very kind.��?
He tried the chicken, which was moist and green on the outside with a layer of herbs. He’d taken a breast and thigh; Molly preferred the dark meat, as did all the children except Charlie and Ginny. “Mmm. Delicious. Not much different from the old recipe, though, is it?��?
Molly swallowed her bite of asparagus and washed it down with wine. “It is the old recipe.��?
“Oh. Well it’s lovely, either way. I suppose it’s a new dessert you’re trying then, eh?��?
“Dessert’s strawberry cheesecake, that’s the old recipe too.��?
Arthur looked at her, then down at his half-finished vegetables. He sipped his wine. “You know I love your cheesecake, Molly, but I thought you said you’d bought a new cookbook?��?
“I said I bought a book. I didn’t say it was a cookbook.��?
“Oh. Then why did you say--?��?
Molly put down her utensils and reached behind her to the slightly-open silverware drawer. She removed a hardbound volume and set it on the table in front of his plate. Magic in the Bedroom proclaimed the cover, on which an illustrated witch and wizard kissed and smiled, wrapped in a billowing bedsheet. Arthur blinked at it for a moment. “Ah,��? he said, then returned to his meal. A few moments later, glass raised in front of his face he asked, “Is this some sort of empty nest thing?��?
Molly’s fork scraped loudly on her plate. “Excuse me?��?
“It’s just the last time you brought home a book like that was when the twins were learning to walk, and you were all worried no one needed you anymore and we were all going to run off somewhere and leave you alone. And then nine months later,��? he mimed presenting her with a large, round object, “there was Ron.��?
“You think I want another baby? Another mouth to feed? Arthur, are you insane?��?
“No, and I didn’t think you were either. That’s why I’m asking.��?
“I’ve had six healthy pregnancies, Arthur, and two miscarriages. I’ve raised seven children, spent half my life raising—and now the last one’s finally out of my hair, you think I want to go back to that? The puking, and the pain and the sleepless nights . . . the worry . . . you think I want another brat to lug around? Is that what you think?��?
She was flushed, clutching her knife and fork in white-knuckled hands. He met her eyes and licked his lips. “No, Molly, that’s not what I thought.��? He reached out a hand to take hers and felt it tremble, then relax its grip. “I just thought . . . maybe, now Ginny’s off to school . . . with all the kids away and me working all this overtime lately . . . maybe you were feeling lonely. Unwanted. Like with no one to take care of, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Like you weren’t sure of your purpose anymore. But Molly, you do have people to take care of. You know me, I’m hopeless. Couldn’t find my own feet if it weren’t for you. And the kids aren’t really gone. There’s still holidays, years of busy, crazy holidays to look forward to. And even once they’ve moved on, like Bill and Charlie, they’ll still need you. You’re their mother. Nothing in the world can take that away.��?
Her eyes were moist now, but crinkled at the edges from smiling. She smudged her mascara wiping away a tear, then laid her free hand over his.
“Dear Arthur,��? she said, “that is the sweetest, most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.��? She chuckled, the melancholy and ferocity of a moment before replaced with genuine cheer. “You know I did feel like that, like you said, all lost and useless, for a while. I thought it was all gone, but I guess I still had some left. It was after I calmed down a bit over Ron’s latest stupid escapade—and it was stupid, and reckless, could’ve got himself killed and Harry, and losing the bloody car—“
She took a deep breath through her nose .“After I’d calmed down and decided to tackle the cleaning, and after a few days I realized, I was done. I had caught up. There was nothing left to do. It was disorienting. I spent about four days just sitting here, listening to the wireless and eating baking chocolate—shut up,��? she said in response to Arthur’s amused snort, “just sitting here, and I realized: yes, it’s lonely, having the kids out of the house, but it’s also freeing. I have so much time now, I could do whatever I want. But more importantly, you and I have the house to ourselves. We’re totally alone.��?
“There’s Errol,��? Arthur said, gesturing with his fork at the scruffy owl dozing on top of the family clock. Never one to waste food, he’d resumed his cooling meal when the storm clouds cleared.
“Well, yes.��?
“And the ghoul in the attic. In fact you never really had reason to be lonely. This place is practically a zoo.��?
“That’s not the point. The point is, there are no children here. We don’t need to worry about noise, or getting caught in the act. We don’t need to find excuses to send the kids away for the night. We can do whatever we want. In fact, I could even start to undress . . .��? She popped a button at the neck of her robe, then another “. . . right here in the kitchen.��?
She stopped there, looking at Arthur expectantly. He grinned wolfishly. “What did you have in mind?��?
Molly opened the book to a page with a turned-down corned and passed it to her husband, who laughed out loud. “You’re joking, right?��? He gestured at the diagram, where the illustrated wizard (handsome and swarthy) was bent over, belly up with his hands and feet on the floor while the witch (fairer, and rather skinnier than Molly) straddled him, leaning back and resting her hands on his bent knees. “I can’t do that, I’d break my spine. Where’d you ever get the idea I was that, what, acrobatic?��?
“I don’t know, I thought it looked interesting so I marked it. And anyway, we used to do stuff like that all the time when we were courting.��?
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, I never did that.��?
“Well not that exact thing, no, or it wouldn’t be new. But you used to pick me up and sling me around, remember? I loved that. It was like dancing, only I didn’t need a fancy frock.��?
“I remember that. Those were fun days, weren’t they?��? He leafed through the book, watching the tiny couple writhe in their sensual contortions. He scoffed or whistled awe when appropriate. Molly came around to peer over his shoulder and together they critiqued the book, declaring some positions unoriginal (reclining rear entry facing up), others ridiculous (rear entry, lying perpendicular on sides, the man curled around her torso with his feet in her face) or downright dangerous (man on his back with his knees to his chin, woman straddling his legs).
“Now here’s one,��? he said, pausing and pointing. “See?��?
“I see it,��? said Molly, “looks simple enough. Though with my legs bent like that I’m not sure I’d be able to move much. You’d be doing most of the work.��?
“Oh, that’s no problem,��? he said, snaking an arm around her waist. “As long as you can get yourself up the stairs to the bedroom, you can leave everything else to me.��?
Molly’s coy smile turned into a bubbling laugh as she shook off his arm and fled to the stairs. Arthur growled and left the table to pursue her, leaving the book.
On the bottom riser she whirled, hair bouncing, and opened her robes another button. She began to back unsteadily up the steps, unbuttoning as she went. He followed her pace for pace a few stairs below, unfastening his own robe. Underneath the polkadots she wore a silky-looking black slip that stopped above her knees. The top of the slip was conservatively cut, keeping her ample bosom well covered, but the material was some sort of not-quite opaque patterned lace through which her skin appeared in peeks and flashes, and more lace ringed the hem.
Molly discarded her robe on the first landing and ran up the next flight with a wild laugh. Arthur ignored the crumple of fabric and broke into a round of the William Tell Overture as he chased her up and around the cramped staircase to their bedroom. Molly hurled herself on the bed and rolled over on her elbows to smirk at Arthur, who halted in the open doorway.
“Molly, Molly my love, Molly my doll,��? he murmured, panting slightly from the sprint.
“My big, tall scarecrow Arthur,��? she purred, kicking off her shoes. One strap of her slip had fallen down her shoulder. She sat up and beckoned, “Come and get me!��?
In the two steps it took his long legs to close the distance between them, Arthur had thrown off his robe, loosened his tie and started to unbuckle his belt. Molly’s hands took over this last task from his fumbling ones when he reached to kiss her, pushing his tongue between her parted lips. His hands wrapped in her hair and untangled the velvet ribbon. The movements of their mouths were practiced but passionate and his hands slid down her neck to massage her shoulders. Molly threw his belt aside, where it thwacked off some piece of furniture or other, and started to unbutton his shirt. She rolled it off his shoulders and he nudged it off his arms to the floor.
In his undershirt, trousers and sock feet Arthur dropped to one knee and pushed up the hem of Molly’s slip. She was wearing actual stockings, he saw, with a straps and all. He bent to kiss the band of skin exposed above the lacey band of one garter as his fingers worked to open the snaps. Molly gasped. “Oh Arthur,��? she sighed as he rolled her stockings down inch by inch, massaging her fleshy thigh and calf and leaving a trail of kisses as he went. When he reached her foot he lingered, working his fingers between every bone, then smoothing the skin and planting a kiss on each toe in turn. He repeated the procedure with the other leg. Molly was moaning by now and had dropped her free foot to rub at his crotch through his trousers.
When he had finished with her feet he moved up to lie beside her on the bed, running his hands over her body. “Molly,��? he breathed as he kissed her ears, neck, collar bone and the portion of her breasts exposed by the slip, “my beautiful wife.��?
“My hopeless husband,��? she replied, unbuttoning his trousers and reaching into his shorts to pet his wakening member. He shimmied the corduroy trousers down to his feet and kicked them off, then pulled off his socks with his own toes.
Molly pushed Arthur over onto his back and pulled his undershirt over his head. His chest was nearly hairless, a white-pale expanse broken by a shy spattering of freckles. Molly stooped to blow softly in his navel, which tickled, so the slight middle-aged paunch he’d acquired quivered as he laughed. She moved up to kiss his nipples and Arthur arched his back and neck.
With his head thus tilted he had an upside-down view of the bedroom window, and was surprised to see that it was still light out. This was the first time probably in many months they’d made love before well past dark. For a long while their routine had been maybe twice a week, when the house was dark and quiet and one of them would stir sometime in the hour either side of midnight and decide to wake the other. The top priority at such times was silence, and they had trained themselves to a comfortable sequence that got the job done but encouraged neither frantic passion nor protracted savoring.
What Arthur really used to love was shagging in the morning, waking up together in a hesitant sunbeam and the way snuggling turned naturally to more pointed caressing. It was a long time since they’d done that, though. Probably not since before Percy was out of the crib. Mornings had just become too short, days too busy and energy too scarce. With just the two of them to get ready now, maybe they could resume the habit.
For now, Arthur wrapped his hands in Molly’s hair and drew her face to his to kiss her. She pulled away and to the side, rising to kneel on the bedspread. She gripped the edge of the slip, bunched up high on her thighs. She hesitated a moment, eyes locked on his, then pulled the slip up over her head.
With their recent silent, pyjama-clad nocturnal pattern, Arthur realized it had been a while since he’d seen his wife naked. And she wasn’t yet fully nude: the slip had by magic or manufacture supported her large, beautiful breasts, which now tumbled free, but she still wore the black garter belt over flesh-coloured knickers of the rump-and-belly minimizing variety.
Rather than spoiling the fantasy, this sad touch, this banner of Molly’s concern over her figure (which was still impressive considering the distortions imposed by age and childbearing), filled Arthur with love and pride. This woman, this spectacular woman, was no dream: she was reality, she was solid and she was his. He growled again, predatorily, and lunged at her.
Cackling, they managed to peel back the coverlet, exposing the crisp sheets, and fell to snogging on the bare linen. Somehow the last undergarments came off. Down to nothing but wedding bands, the pair tried to arrange themselves.
“Is that right?��? Arthur asked Molly.
“I’m not sure, I left the book downstairs.��?
“Oh, who cares. Just come here.��?
They ended up with Arthur sitting upright with his legs open and Molly kneeling between them. She slid her toes under the base of his thighs and drew her own buttocks towards her heels. “Oh, God,��? she said, in a less than ecstatic manner, “Should’ve stretched first.��? She lifted into a wobbling squat and Arthur supported her as she lowered her full auburn bush over his waiting cock.
Passing seven children had stretched her channel significantly but also taught her a phenomenal degree of muscular control. When Arthur put his arms as far around her back as he could reach to pull her towards him, she constricted her slick vaginal walls around his shaft. He moaned, leaning in to bite her shoulder. “Ooh. Oh, bloody- Molly, you are fucking amazing.��? She reciprocated the hug, and they worked into a rhythm of Arthur thrusting while Molly squeezed and rocked on her heels.
Arthur freed his hands to caress her breasts, lifting them to kiss the nipples. Molly’s were what all breasts should be, believed Arthur, legitimately fantastic, prize-winning breasts. He’d suspected as much since he first noticed them, their third year of school together, and it had been confirmed without question when he finally saw them uncovered two years later. They were huge (the left slightly larger than the right), round and firm, with perfectly circular, darkly red-brown areola. They had suffered a bit over the decades under the forces of gravity and suckling, so that they now hung to the edge her ribs and had lost some of their fullness, but were still tactilely superb, and even more sensitive.
Molly grunted and ground her pelvis against his. Arthur was panting now, eyes closed, still working his tongue in circles around the firm nub crowning her right tit. The rolling motion of her hips and repetitive squeezing of his cock was overpowering and he was losing the battle to delay his ejaculation. “So good—Molly—I can’t—“ he pulled her close and buried his face in her hair, grunting as he came. She continued to roll, rubbing her clitoris against his pubic bone. She climaxed soon after, bucking against him, face twisted up in concentration as she delivered one last crushing squeeze, then dropped limply against his arms.
They unfolded themselves to lie spooning on the sheets, now damp and twisted from their passionate sporting. Arthur stroked her thigh softly and nuzzled her shoulder. “Feeling better now, doll?��?
“Much better. Though I was thinking . . .��?
“Yes?��?
Molly rolled to face him, tracing patterns on his chest with a fingernail. “If you could try to get away on time again tomorrow, or even early . . . we still have that whole book to try.��?
Later, after a bit of a nap, when they went downstairs to clear up the dishes and feed each other cheesecake, they did not bother to get dressed.