Work Text:
“You must be kidding, mate.”
“I assure you; I am not.”
“Draco.”
“Theodore.”
Theo stares at him from across the table, a full glass of butterbeer in front of him untouched. He looks baffled… confused… maybe even a little inebriated, but Draco knows he hasn’t had a drop of liquor tonight.
“You’re turning 21 next week.”
Draco rolls his eyes, settling them on the glass of firewhiskey in front of him very much touched. “I am well aware.”
“How?” When Draco raises a pale eyebrow at him, Theo leans back and crosses his arms across his chest. “I mean we all heard the rumors in school especially in Eighth Year. You and Pansy, you and Astoria… You and Pansy AND Astoria…”
“All lies fabricated by the two of them so they could fool around without anyone digging too deep.”
Theo frowns, head turning up and to the left like he’s thinking. “You know, that actually makes sense.”
It does because it’s true. Pansy and Astoria had long had crushes on each other but never acted on it because of their parents and their upbringing. Even in Eighth Year they’d been too afraid to just be together, so they’d roped him in with the hopes it’d be enough for people not to put two and two together.
It’d worked. They’d been able to be together secretly, and Draco had received quite the reputation for it. And now, several years later, they’d both just been married in New Zealand a few weeks ago.
“So, you’ve never…” Theo leans in, eyes shifting around them. The Leaky Cauldron is fairly empty tonight (it’s Monday; they’re drinking on a Monday for fucks sake), but Draco is glad for his subtlety. “Shagged? What about other things?”
“Do we really need to talk about this?” Draco is red in the face, he can tell, and he wants nothing more than for this conversation to end.
“Yes, mate, I need to know! Have you even been kissed?!”
The last part is a little too loud and Draco rushes forward to clamp a hand down over the brunette’s mouth. “Shout it a little louder, why don’t you?!” When he sees that Theo has been thoroughly chastised, he removes his hand and leans back into the booth. “Of course, I’ve kissed people before. You’ve seen that, at least.”
A comical, if not slightly perturbing, look plants itself on his best friend’s face and Draco narrows his eyes. “What are you thinking?”
Theo snaps out of it like he’s been pushed, “Nothing! Just wondering what else I don’t know about you.”
It’s a lie. Draco can smell it a kilometer away, but he takes the bait and lays it flat. Any way to get out of this entire conversation. “Sure.”
“Don’t worry, mate. I’ve got your back.”
That worries Draco more than anything.
*******
It doesn’t happen until the evening before his birthday.
The snakes had planned a whole shindig for him along with the Gryffindorks to go out to one of the new pubs in Diagon Alley to celebrate… him. It’s a weird thought, even after all these years, that there are people who even want to celebrate him, much less the very same people he used to torment. The same people he fought on the complete opposite side of a war from.
He’s thankful for it every day.
Especially when it comes to Granger. It’s a secret he keeps as close to his chest as he possibly can, but he’s sure that it’s completely obvious to anyone who’s been within five yards of them when they’re together.
He’s got it bad.
It’s not that he thinks he deserves her—he doesn’t—and it’s not even that he thinks she’d give him the time of day—she wouldn’t, unless it was quite literal—but he can’t help the way he dreams of her, yearns for her.
If he were being completely honest with himself, in his deepest daydreams he finds himself waiting for her.
He is, after all, a Malfoy and they are known to get only the best and exactly what they want.
So, so what if he’s still a virgin nearing 21? It’s not like there were many options directly before the war when he was a literal child or during when he was just focused on staying alive and keeping his family breathing as well. And then after? Between the short stint in Azkaban and the following house arrest? Yeah, sure, let him just floo call some prostitutes to come take care of his little problem.
Well, not little, but he digresses.
Anyway, it’s not like he was purposely seeking someone out nor was he purposely avoiding it from happening. It just hadn’t. And now? Now he only wanted one person. So maybe he was meant to just hold out forever. That’d be fine if it meant waiting for her.
And he should have known Theo would do something. He should have known he was lying when he said nothing was going through his mind.
Because at exactly 10:24pm the night before his birthday, as he’s walking toward his bedroom in nothing but his loose pajama bottoms, his floo roars to life and in steps one Hermione Granger.
She’s frantic, eyes and hair wild as she looks around until she finally spots him and she just seems to get worse.
“Malfoy!” She shouts, rushing over to him and throwing her arms around his middle. Flush against her like he is, he thinks perhaps maybe he’d already gone to bed and this is just a dream. It’s not until she accidentally steps on one of his toes and he feels the abject pain that he realizes it’s not.
They’ve hugged maybe twice over the past couple years and it had always been in time of great joy or great distress.
Which one is this?
“Granger? Are you okay? What are you doing here?” He places his hands gently, neutrally, on her shoulders and pries her off him slowly. Her eyes are wet with tears, but she is focused solely on him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She cries, hands coming up to rest against his naked pecs.
In any other situation—okay maybe in this one too—he’d find this incredibly arousing, but he tries to stuff it down. “Tell you what?”
“I can’t believe you were content with this just happening! I can’t believe you’re this stubborn!”
She’s in a fury, nails digging into his chest as she cries real tears… for him? For what?
“What are you talking about?”
She shakes her head at him, brown curls bouncing softly with the movement. The light is low in his living room, he’d just been in the process of slipping his flat into darkness, but he can see the splotchiness in her cheeks in the dim light.
“You don’t have to hide it from me. Theo told me.”
His stomach drops all the way to his arse and then to the floor. “Theo told you what?” He nearly growls the last word, and her eyes dart from his eyes to his mouth.
Something flickers across her face, eyes now half-lidded, and her hands take on a decidedly more gentle, soothing nature. Instead of scratching at him, she lets them slide up his chest to his shoulders. Pulling herself closer, higher on her tippie toes, she grabs for the fine hairs at the base of his neck.
“It’s okay, Malfoy. I know I’m not ideal, but you have to let me help you.”
There are… so many things to unpack in that statement that he doesn’t really even know where to start. First and foremost, “Ideal for what? Will you please stop—” he reaches up and, distressingly, pulls her distracting hands from his head. “—touching me.”
It was the wrong thing to say, the wrong part to tackle, apparently, as she begins to cry even more. “Look, I know I’m not exactly your type,” she spits the words before continuing, “but you can’t just sit here and accept this fate just because you aren’t attracted to me. Would it help if I used a charm on my hair? Or maybe on my face, or—?”
“No.” Draco charges forward, reclosing the space he’d put between them. Grasping her cheeks in both of his hands, he leans down to stare directly into her eyes. “None of that. Ever. Who says you aren’t my type, Granger?”
This seems to clam her up, and she stills in his grip. “Well, you just don’t seem very willing to—”
“Willing to what? Finish that sentence.”
“I would if you’d stop interrupting me!”
He waits patiently, eyes searching hers and she finally relents, “You don’t seem very willing to have me touching you.”
Draco takes a deep breath in, out, in again before answering her. “All I want is you touching me, but I need answers. Please, what did Theo say?”
She seems to have finally calmed down, so he pulls away some—not much—and drags her to the couch where they sit side by side with their bodies angled toward each other.
Granger is anxious, he can see it in the way she fidgets, eyes constantly darting around and checking her watch like she’s running out of time. “Please, can we talk about it later. You know why I’m here, and we’re losing—”
“No, I want your words. I want exactly what he said to you and nothing less.”
“He told me about…” She leans in, voice turning into a whisper like if she speaks at a normal volume something bad will happen. “…about your family curse.”
And it’s… nothing like what he thought was going to come out of her mouth. He had a million different ideas of what she was here for, but a family curse was not one of them.
“My what?”
“You know,” she gestures vaguely towards his crotch, and he shifts uncomfortably. “The Malfoy family curse.”
“And what, pray tell, does this curse entail?”
“You’re really going to make me say it?”
“Yes. Humour me.”
This time it’s her turn to shift in her seat, but finally she settles and puts on the affect of Gryffindor bravery he’s so familiar with.
“He told me that there’s a curse on the Malfoy men that if they are still virgins—” to her credit, she barely trips over the word, “—when they turn 21, they will be unable to have children. I know that kids are the furthest from your mind right now, and Godric knows if they’re even on your mind at all with the state of our society, but I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to accept this fate when you still have so much life to live. I know that, despite your reassurances, I would not be your first choice, but I am here, and I am willing to do this for you, and we never have to talk about it again after.”
Draco doesn’t respond right away, or even within the first few moments after. He’s silent—completely awestruck. He thought her statement earlier had a lot to unpack, but this? This is too much.
She takes his silence as rejection. “Please, Malfoy—Draco, I’d like to think we’re friends, and I’d like to think that if it were me dealing with this, you’d do the same for me, so please—”
“Granger, stop.”
“But—”
“No, really, stop.” He’s laughing. He can’t help it. It starts as a small chuckle but gradually grows louder and louder until he’s leaning back and away from her on the couch with a stitch growing in his side. “Please, this is—”
“You needn’t laugh at me…”
“I’m not laughing at you, I swear it.” Finally collecting himself, his stress melting away with every second her ire grows stronger, he leans back toward her. “Theo is full of shite.”
Apparently, he’s caught her by surprise this time. “Huh?”
“There is no Malfoy family curse. Theo sent you here because he’s apparently taken a vested interest in me having sex.”
She seems to toss the information in her mind, her brilliant mind, for just a moment. “So, Theo made all that up? Just to get me to what? Sleep with you?”
“I’ll have to have a word with him about this, but yes.” Draco stands, pulling her up with him and grabbing her once more by the shoulders. “So, now that you know I’m not succumbing to any horrible fate at midnight, please, go home and get some rest.”
Granger doesn’t move, doesn’t leave, she just stares up at him with her lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed; staring at him like he’s an Arithmancy problem she can’t solve (impossible).
“But you are...a virgin?”
Draco tilts his head to the ceiling, praying to every Deity he can think of to smite him now. “Yes, but it’s not a big deal.”
“No, I don’t think it’s a big deal either, I’m just… surprised.”
He looks back down at her. “Why? You seemed to believe it well enough a few moments ago.”
“I was under duress, but to be fair when Theo told me I thought for sure he was pulling my leg. You’re just very… secure and—” She stops herself, nibbling her lip like she has to or else she’s gonna say something she’s not ready for.
“And what?”
“And I mean, I’m not blind. You’ve very attractive, Malfoy. It’s not like you’d have much trouble bringing someone home.”
He preens under her compliments, chest puffing slightly and watching as her eyes drift back toward his bare skin.
“Well, I didn’t want to just bring anyone home.”
Granger nods like it makes sense, and he doesn’t like the sense of foreboding that washes over him. Like he’s forgotten to tackle one of the other issues tonight, the one of her not being his type.
Ludicrous.
Finally, her eyes find his again and he sees a different look in them this time. “I feel incredibly embarrassed by this.”
“You feel embarrassed?”
“Yes. I’ve just made a fool of myself here for no reason!”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes at her, dropping his hands once more from her shoulders. Draco takes a step back, sitting down again on his couch and rubbing a worn palm down his face. “You’re not the fool here, trust me.”
“I’m sorry I threw myself at you.”
There’s something in her tone that sets him off, head tilting as he looks straight at her. It’s the first time he’s had a moment to truly look at her fully, and he’s surprised to find her in a caramel sundress that goes to her knees, the apple cut showing off her cleavage nicely. Brown ankle boots adorn her feet, and he watches as she shuffles toe to toe.
Dragging his eyes back up her body, slowly, he tries to make her feel every roaming centimeter. “Don’t apologize for that. In any other circumstance, it would have been quite welcomed.”
Ah, so honesty is apparently what he’s going with tonight. Oh well, he thinks, what else does he have to lose? What else can he possibly give up? This entire situation is insane enough as it is he might as well tell her everything.
Maybe someone could Obliviate him tomorrow.
Her sharp intake of breath clues him into something else, however. “What do you mean?”
Maybe no Obliviate, after all.
“Tch.” He scoffs again, looking right at her with what an imploring look on his face. “Please, Granger don’t make me spell it out for you.”
“You were just practically pushing me off of you.”
“I wanted answers, and I’m glad I did. You’d have slept with me under false pretense. No thanks.”
“I’ve seen the girls you’ve been attracted to, Malfoy. Tall, skinny, model-esque.”
“When?” He challenges and he knows he’s got her on the hook.
“In school!”
“Ah, so when I was a child with prejudice cemented in my brain. Splendid base of information. And what about now?”
She shuffles slightly, and he finds, interestingly enough, that she’s closer to him now. His knees are spread in front of him and she’s close, so close, to standing in between them. She’s all righteous fury now, her melancholy from before completely chased away, and his heart tightens in his chest at how she glares at him with her fists on her hips.
“How am I supposed to know, Malfoy!? If you’ve been dating again, you’ve kept it fairly hidden!”
“Because I haven’t been, Granger! I’ve been much too focused on—” He cuts himself off. That level of honesty a little too far. He’s already blew raw and vulnerable in front of her, he can’t handle her rejection too.
“Finish that sentence.” She challenges him, stepping closer to be cemented right between his spread thighs now and his hands twitch in their desire to reach for her. Her words ignite something in his chest, all the way to his core, and he realizes she’s parroting what he’d said to her earlier.
Fine. “You. I’ve been focused on you. You daft, brilliant, gorgeous—”
Draco grunts, breath leaving him on a heavy exhale as she’s suddenly—is she?—she’s in his lap and he’s sure now, more than he was before, that this is indeed just a really realistic dream. Maybe he’s dead. Maybe the Malfoy curse is actually real and much worse than just not being able to have kids. Is this the afterlife? Is this—?
Her hands are on his shoulders as her knees bracket his hips and holy Merlin, he can feel her warmth pressing down onto him through her knickers, through his sleep bottoms. Instinctively, his hands fly to her hips, and he looks at her shocked through shocked silver eyes. “What—?”
“How can I be both daft and brilliant?”
He sputters because of course that’s what she says when she’s completely stolen his breath from his lungs. “You—”
“Tell me.” She whispers, so quiet that he has to strain to hear. “What you were trying to say earlier… about your type.”
His fingers flex around her hips, her dress bunching in his hands. “You. You’re it, Granger. You’re my type.”
He’s rewarded with a roll of her hips, and he bites down on his tongue to stifle the groan that wants to escape him. “Tell me again that I should go home and get some rest. Tell me, and I will.”
His answer is quick, head snapping back up to look at her. Her eyes look blown out, probably matching his, and belatedly he realizes her tits are almost directly level with his face. “And if I don’t?”
“If you don’t,” her hips rolls again and this time he aids it along, fingers digging greedily into her flesh as his hips lift and push into her. A soft moan escapes her mouth, and he wants to swallow it up but more than that, he wants her to finish her thought. “If you don’t, and you have no objections, I’m going to do what I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.”
“And that is?” He cranes his neck higher just as she leans down, and her answer is resounding through his body as she practically collapses her lips to his.
The first taste of her is better than he’d ever dreamt; the second even more so. One hand stays on her hip while the other trails up her spine until he’s crushing her against him to the point neither of them can really move. She, from the way she groans into his mouth, seemingly has no complaints, hands shooting from his shoulders back to the base of his neck where she pulls and tightens her fingers in his hair.
They’re closer than they have ever been, closer than he’d ever thought possible, and he basks in it. Mouth opening slightly, he traces her bottom lip with his tongue, begging for entrance and she opens beautifully to him. The first brush of her tongue against his has him completely hard for her in his trousers, not that it was a difficult journey from where he’d already practically been raring to go from the rolls of their hips.
He could stay like this forever: her in his lap, her hands in his hair and his on her body, but it’s her who gets impatient. It’s her who pushes for more as she throws her head back and gives as much of a slow roll of her hips as she can with how close he’s holding her to his body. Draco takes the initiative, the new expanse of skin open to his mouth and tongue and teeth, leaning forward to nip at her jaw, down her neck to her collarbone, and finally nosing at her cleavage.
His hands can no longer stay idle, reaching up to draw her dress straps down her arms until she’s—
“Fuck.” He chokes on his exhale, realizing as the bodice comes loose, she’s not wearing a bra. Dusky nipples pebble to the cool air in his flat and then, finally, to his tongue when he laves over one and then the other, sucking and licking and nibbling until she’s writhing in his lap.
“Draco,” she whines, pulling back on his head until she can look in his eyes. “More, please.”
“Yeah? Tell me what you want.”
In lieu of words, she grabs his hands and brings them under her dress to the nearly bare skin of her hips. He feels lace (he gets impossibly harder) and then skin as she drags both of their hands up until the dress bunches and he can rip it off her over her head.
Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Hermione Granger sitting in only her black lacy knickers in his lap. He could die happy right here, right now, he’s sure. Then again, maybe not—not as he looks down and sees the wet spot on his pajama bottoms and realizes its from her.
He drags his fingers down slowly from her shoulders, over the peaks of her breasts, down her stomach, and to the band of the last bit of fabric keeping her from his open gaze. “Get higher on your knees for me, love.”
She obeys, Merlin she’s a good listener, and as soon as she’s not sitting directly on top of him, he traces his fingers down the front of the lace to the insides of her thighs where he can feel how wet she is for him, where it’s spread onto the thin skin there.
“Did you wear these for me, Granger?”
He’s not looking at her eyes right now, but he can feel them on him. “Yes.”
“You were hoping I’d see them tonight, hmm?”
“That was the plan.” She sounds so breathy, and he wants to bottle it up and keep it forever.
“And are you perhaps attached to them in any way?”
“No, why?”
“Good.”
He vanishes them with wandless magic, a feat he knows she enjoys when she moans out loud at the cool air ghosting across her cunt. Draco reaches between her legs with his left hand, swiping through the source of her wetness and trailing it up to her clit where he pushes just slightly with the pads of his fingers.
Granger shudders above him, hips rolling instinctively, as her hands scramble for purchase back on his shoulders. “Stop teasing.”
“Oh, love, I’m just getting started.”
His right hand goes back to her hip, holding her steady for him as he experiments with her with his left. What brings out the loudest moan? The softest gasp? What makes her nails dig into him? What makes her fight against his grip in her urge to roll into the feeling? It’s a puzzle he wants to dismantle and put back together over and over and over—
Finally, when it starts to become too much, when his curiosity grows too large, he slides a finger easily inside of her. She clenches on him immediately, a broken gasp breaking through the otherwise silent flat. She’s so wet the glide is smooth when he slowly thrusts in and out, and after only a few moments, he’s sliding in a second finger with the first.
“Faster, please.” She begs from his laps, and he smirks, leaning forward to take a nipple in his mouth again. She arches beautifully into him, a full body roll that not even his vice grip on her hip can stop.
Leaning back, he juts his chin up and flexes his fingers. “How about this, Hermione?” She groans at the sound of her given name on his tongue. “Fuck yourself on my fingers. If you do a good job, I’ll let you do it on my cock, too.”
It’s all a ruse. He plans on impaling her on him regardless of whether or not she comes on his fingers, but from the way her eyes light up at the challenge and the way he can feel her tighten on his fingers, he knows he made the right choice.
“Promise?”
“I promise, baby.”
She nods and he relaxes his grip slightly and she takes. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even stutter in her approach, before she’s lifting and rolling and sinking, over and over again. It’s so erotic, so breathtaking, watching her give in to her own pleasure—watching her use him for it.
Absentmindedly, remembering the times he has done at least this before, he shifts his hand slightly, pushing his thumb right where her swollen clit is so that with every tilt down and forward, she gets stimulation everywhere she needs it.
Admittedly, he doesn’t need to do anything here: the challenge was for her to get herself off, but he can’t stop himself from capturing a tit back in his mouth and curling his fingers inside of her in rhythm with her thrusts.
“Draco—fuck—” She moans above him when he pushes his teeth none too gently into her skin, cunt fluttering around his fingers telling him she’s close.
“Yes, baby?”
“I’m gonna—”
“Good.” He mumbles against her skin, licking a trail from a nipple up to her neck where he bites on the junction of her neck and shoulder. “Good girl. Come for me. All over my hand. I want to taste it.”
It’s enough apparently, because her rhythm stutters and he feels the way she undulates on top of him, pussy clenching and releasing sporadically as wetness completely drenches his fingers and palm. When he pulls his head back to look at her, her gaze is to the ceiling and her mouth is open in a silent scream, and he can’t help but roll his fingers and thumb into her a few more times to help her coax more out of her orgasm.
He’s never been closer to coming in his entire life.
As she catches her breath, he takes his fingers from between her legs and catches her eye as he brings them to his lips. It’s not even a thought, more a feeling, a desire, to bring one into his mouth and suck it clean, delighting in the way her eyes widen and darken again in turn. Before he can talk himself out of it, he takes the other and brings it to her lips, pushing past the plushness until she’s sucking herself off his fingers like it’s a dessert.
Just the feel of her warm, wet mouth is enough to have him groaning out loud, and when she hollows her cheeks, he thinks he might just ascend.
He pulls his finger from her mouth with a pop, and if she’s grossed out by the string of saliva trailing between her lips to his hand, she doesn’t show it in her next statement.
“I want to suck you off.”
If anyone asked, he’d deny the whimper that comes from him, but in this very moment he can’t because he’s sure his brain has short circuited. By the time he realizes she’s pulling away, presumably to do just that, he’s scrambling to grab her and pull her back up.
Confusion wars with desire on her face, and she pouts. Her lips are red and swollen both from their kisses and from her biting on her own lip, “You don’t want me to?”
His clean hand grabs her from the back of her head to drag her mouth back to his and he shows her all the passion and desire he can give. Barely pulling back, talking with his lips brushing hers, he answers: “Oh, trust me, I would love to see you on your knees for me. But maybe next time—if you even breathe on my cock, it’ll be over.”
“Next time, hm?” She winks cheekily at him, and he pulls her back to him, sucking her tongue into his mouth and biting down.
She moans into his mouth, half pain, half pleasure, hands grazing down his chest until she gets to the waistband of his pants. He’s worn nothing under them, and he’s honestly surprised the moisture of his precum isn’t dampening the fabric.
Not that he’d care. Not as he lifts his hips and she shuffles the fabric down in tandem until his cock springs free, red and swollen and leaking. He watches her face carefully as she watches it bounce against his stomach, looking for any sign of hesitance, of doubt, of anxiety.
But he just sees desire; pure and wanton and open.
She takes him in hand in his distraction and he gasps, a wretched thing that hisses out of his mouth as she gently strokes him from root to tip. “Hermione—” he chokes out, hips flexing, “I wasn’t kidding. I’m not—”
“I don’t want you to.” She shuffles back in closer, in their original position but now all he feels is heat. “Trust me when I tell you that if you cum as soon as you’re inside of me, it would only be the biggest compliment.”
“Then I hope you’re able to take compliments extremely well.”
“Mmm, let’s find out.”
She handles him expertly, a fact he tries not to dwell on because he doesn’t want to think about the Weasel or Krum or whoever else, but when she brushes the tip of his cock from her clit to her entrance, he silently thanks them.
He’s face to face with her now, her eyes looking deeply into his as she searches for exactly what he’d been looking for only moments ago. He gives it to her, drops any ounce of pretense from his mind, from his gaze, and just looks at her with every ounce of feeling he harbors. And it appeases her, pleases her, because in the next moment she’s notching the tip of his cock at her entrance and sliding it in bit by agonizing bit.
Draco’s hands fly back to her hips, gripping so tightly he’s sure there will be bruises there tomorrow and he almost feels sorry except for the way that she moans at the feeling. She’s full of pleasure from him, moaning for him, shaking for him.
Him and her and them and fate, all words that come together in his mind as she seats herself fully on his cock and he yanks her forward to mesh their mouths together as he gives one, two experimental thrusts from underneath her.
He doesn’t have a lot of room, not with the way they’re seated, but she helps: lifting off her knees through her thighs and impaling herself on him quickly. His hands are everywhere: her hips, her thighs, her arse, her back, her hair—he can’t keep still, not even if he wanted to and God he doesn’t want to.
Draco can already feel the tightening through his core, down to the base of his spine. Already feels the shiver down his back and through his pelvis and thighs. A full body effect as his pleasure heightens and heightens—
“Hermione—I’m—” He tries to warn her, tries to let her know so she can back away or vacate completely, or fuck if he knows—he just wants to warn her, but she just keeps going.
Riding him with abandon, tits bouncing tantalizingly in front of his face when she breaks away and watches him with a lust filled gaze and single-minded focus. She wants him to break, wants him to come undone, wants him to flood her.
She proves it with her next words, exhaled on a sultry breath. “Come inside me, Draco, please. I need it—want to feel you.”
And it’s all it takes, he thrusts up into her on her way down and as her arse slaps against his thighs one more time, he’s gone. Everything tightens and then explodes in one single moment that seems to last eons. He can feel himself releasing into her, can feel every pulse of his cock as he shoots his spend into her warm cunt. And he melts into it, embraces it, embraces her, because what else is he meant to do when faced with such undeniable beauty?
When he finally comes out of his haze, she’s still seated on top of him, hips rolling lazily without any real drive or purpose. It’s overstimulating and he hisses on the next undulation until she giggles slightly and lifts herself off and to the side to sit on the couch next to him. The sound that comes from his cock leaving her cunt is obscene, or it should be, but he thinks how he’d like to hear it over and over again until they’re both aching and tired.
She looks almost shy now, legs stretching in his lap, both of them completely naked save for his pajama bottoms that are just pulled down to mid-thigh. Hands resting on her abdomen, she smiles shyly at him.
“Hi.”
His head rolls back on the sofa, and he turns it slightly to smile down at her softly. “Hi, Granger.”
They share a secret moment, somehow more intimate than what they just did, and he reaches for both of her hands with one of his. “So, what now?”
“What do you mean?”
She drags her fingertips across his palm, refusing to meet his eyes suddenly. “Well, it’s your birthday. We’re meant to see each other tonight for your party. Is this weird for you? Should I leave?”
It’s a loaded question and he’s been waiting for it for years. He’s been waiting for the perfect moment to say to her: “No. Don’t go.”
“No?”
“No.”
She sits up, inching closer to him again until they’re practically nose to nose. “Why?”
“You know why, Hermione.”
“I do.” Leaning forward, she plants a chaste kiss to his lips. “Me too.”
The confessions are easy, the promise beneath them even more so. She stands up then, hand waving as she casts two quick, wandless charms: cleaning and contraception. Reaching down she grabs both of his hands this time and pulls him to standing even know he stumbles from weak knees.
How the mighty have fallen.
Though, as she leads the way to his bedroom (how did she even know where it was?) he thinks perhaps he’d fall to his knees for her any time. In fact—
“15 minutes.”
She turns around as soon as she reaches the bed, a quirked eyebrow high on her forehead. “Excuse me?”
“I need 15 minutes before I can go again.”
Her mouth drops and then curves quickly as she catches his meaning, leaning back so her bum rests on the bed spread. “And until then?”
Draco marches toward her with purpose, gently pushing her back farther until she’s flat on her back and he’s between her spread legs. Carefully, slow enough that he can watch as her breaths pick up in anticipation, he lowers to his knees between her thick thighs.
“Until then, I get to make you come on my tongue.”