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Shagging.
That's all this was supposed to be.
A way to let off steam after a shit day at the Ministry, or maybe a grudge fuck against the washroom stall at the Leaky, or maybe even a quickie in Harry's guestroom during a cookout.
No plans for the future and certainly No. Bloody. Feelings.
Hermione knew this. It wasn't like she needed to be reminded of the unspoken agreement between her and Malfoy. But it was very difficult to deny the way these pesky and unwanted feelings seemed to bubble inside as she watched him in her flat—or more specifically, the way he interacted with her familiar.
Crookshanks.
Bloody traitor he was! Crookshanks was always a finicky beast. Most days, she questioned if the feline was plotting her murder, but the grumpy shit seemed to like Malfoy.
Scratch that, Crooks adored him.
At first she'd assumed it was a fluke. Maybe Draco caught him on one of his friendlier days. But the third time she'd watched the resident orange grump nuzzle against Draco's leg—well, there was no denying it.
"Yes, yes… hullo." Draco was siphoning soot from his shoulders, making quick work of the lingering effects from floo travel. Tucking his wand inside his sport coat, he crouched on the hearth, a peak of black and grey argyle socks appearing as he scratched under the feline's chin affectionately.
The rumbled purr coming from her animal seemed more attune to a motorbike than beast as he soaked in the affection. He glided along Draco's shin, leaving a dusting of orange fur on the Slytherin's trousers.
"Is your mum treating you well?" Draco's eyes cut up to Hermione, who hadn't dared to move from her spot at the threshold to her hallway, seemingly entranced by the display between the pair.
Pulling the lapel of her bathrobe tighter around her slight frame, Hermione let loose a small breath, tearing her eyes away when he cocked a brow at her. "I'm not really his mum, Malfoy. We have more of a flatmate situation."
"Is that so?"
She didn't bother hiding her face as her eyes rolled skyward. Of course he'd question her relationship with her feline. Despite the growing attraction to him that she was trying hard to deny, at the end of the day, he was still most definitely Draco Sodding Malfoy and thus found endless enjoyment in arguing with her.
Perhaps that was part of the reason shagging him was so damn good. Unresolved frustrations worked through and released in the best way possible.
"Yep. He even sleeps in the guestroo—"
"I was talking to Crookshanks, Granger." Malfoy cut her off, his crooked finger stroking under the purring feline's chin one last time before he rose up to his full height. "It's no wonder he isn't a fan of yours. You hardly allow him a word in edgewise."
She bristled, a flare of annoyance jolting down her spine, and she grit her teeth to hold back a snarky response.
Merlin, he was the worst. It was rather unfair that someone so trying was so damn good looking.
"Oh, excuse me." Hermione laid her palm across her chest, mockery tainting her every word. "Shall I give you two the bedroom then?"
The blond tucked his hands in his trouser pockets, eyes lifting to the ceiling as he tilted his chin up, as if debating her proposal. "Well, since you're offering—"
"Oh, fuck off, Malfoy." Hermione growled, containing the urge to stomp her foot at him as she might have done in her youth.
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, the melody intoxicating in its own right. "Now, now, Granger. I would never deny you the pleasure." He took slow, decisive steps towards her. His moonlight gray eyes trailing over her figure, as if he could see right through the thick swaths of cotton that covered her curves.
She wanted to hate him—for a small period of time, she did. Ages eleven through seventeen she despised him and his stupid pointy face.
But war changed people. It showed the good and the bad; and it made her realise that the energy she'd wasted on hating him could be put to better use. And somehow, during the three years following the Battle of Hogwarts, she'd forgiven him.
He had been a child whose principles had been shaped exclusively by his parents and those who shared their intolerant views. And when he had tried to think for himself, he'd had a literal psychopath commandeering his family's home.
After graduation, Hermione had started working with him at the Ministry. They weren't partners - thank Merlin for that! Rather they worked under the same umbrella division in the DMLE. And after a few years, she'd found that she didn't mind his presence.
His face was no longer as pointy as when they were teens. And, damn, if those cheekbones didn't belong on a statue in the Louvre!
And his barbed insults somehow didn't sting nearly as bad once she realised he was, in fact, just as messed up as she - despite his insistence he wasn't.
Did they still have rows? Abso-fucking-lutely. Were there times she wanted to punch him in his stupid face? Of course!
Truth be told, she still struggled to connect the dots of how an argument over where they stored interoffice missives turned into a shag in the conference room. But that fateful day put into motion what was to become the single most satisfying "relationship" in her adult life.
Malfoy didn't expect anything from her. No insistence that she accompany him to work events. No hounding from his family about marriage, or worse—babies.
And, in turn, she expected nothing from him. Aside from many, many orgasms. Which, to his credit, Malfoy seemed more than happy to provide.
So, as pathetic as it was, this secret 'we-shag-but-tell-no-one' relationship was (by far!) the easiest she'd had. She found some odd sense of peace being stuck in the in-between they both seemed to exist in.
Of course, that was before the feelings.
Now, that in-between seemed bloody cumbersome. Like it was a prelude to a much larger tale she was just waiting for—and, fuck if she was absolutely not ready for THAT novel to be written.
Not yet - at the very least.
"Are you sure?" Hermione's lips puckered just slightly at his predatory approach, index finger tapping against her arm in time with the building tempo of her heart. "You seemed awfully keen on enjoying my cat's company."
"Are you jealous?" He stood before her, a hand already at his throat loosening his tie. And, from the narrow distance between them, she could make out the light smattering of his five o'clock shadow coating his cheeks. Just a shade darker than the white blond on his head, his facial hair was barely noticeable from a distance, especially since he was normally clean shaven.
The man before her now, this end of the work day - but still sharply dressed - Malfoy was her favourite. His hair wasn't quite as orderly as it was in the morning. The dark circles under his eyes from the stress of his job were beginning to break through his fair skin, and his aforementioned stubble was growing in.
The humanizing effect only seemed to draw her into his orbit—especially when he was nice to her damn curmudgeon cat.
Her tongue swept across her lips, eyes honing in on his nimble fingers as he worked the knot loose and let the tails hang against his chest. One by one, his thumb flicked open the first four buttons to his oxford, revealing a hint of coarse blond hair that was scattered across his chest.
"I… I'm not jealous." At least, she didn't think so.
What on earth did she have to be jealous about?
Crookshanks was her cat.
And Malfoy? Well, he was her nothing.
He extended his hand towards her, palm up with half bent fingers, beckoning her close with an unspoken request that his eyes relayed.
She hesitated, fingers flexing, fighting back the urge to immediately comply. Though their dynamic was purely physical, she didn't want to appear too eager. She had a reputation to maintain, after all.
"Good," His low rumble pulled her attention away from his dexterous digits and she looked back up to catch his gaze. "Because if I had to choose between the two of you—" He took another decisive step forward, invading the little space between them. "—I'd choose your company every time."
Her heart stuttered, breath catching in her throat, helpless under his spell.
She was so fucked. Absolutely and completely fucking screwed!
His hand slid across her hip, the thick cotton of her robe moving with his touch as he pulled her towards him. Her bare feet stumbled across the carpet, the tips of her toes brushing his loafers and her hands instinctively moved to rest against his chest.
She tried to ignore the way his breath ghosted over her skin. She tried to deny the urge to melt against him like this was some harlequin romance novel instead of casual intimacy shared between two consenting adults. She tried to suppress the way her body trembled when he began to tug and pull at the sash of her robe until the loose tie broke free.
But she failed. She knew he could see her desire for him, as if it were as corporeal as Crookshanks.
The truth was: She wasn't just failing at playing it cool. She was failing miserably at every single rule she'd set out for herself when she began this song and dance nearly a year ago! And fuck if failing wasn't turning out to be simultaneously her most favoured and hated pastime.
She rolled her shoulders, the well-worn cotton sliding across her skin. His hands rose to her shoulders and the garment pooled at her feet, exposing her nude body to the magically tempered air of her flat.
A sharp intake of breath followed; emboldening her to finally look up. She watched as the striking moonlight disappeared into the inky depths of his pupils.
He didn't move—didn't even breathe-as he drank her in, studying every curve and blemish of her figure from well within her personal space.
And oh, the way he looked at her!
Like she was as beautiful as Aphrodite, as powerful as Nimue, and as cunning as Morgana. The whole fucking package of powerful witches wrapped into one, and he was just lucky to exist in her mere presence.
Seeing the way Malfoy looked at her now, she shoved aside all her previous anxiety over her developing feelings and instead focused on one simple goal.
Shag Draco Malfoy.
Rising on her tiptoes, Hermione's hand cradled Malfoy's jaw and she pulled his lips down to meet hers. Supple, his lips felt like the softest rose petals as they moved against hers, coaxing her mouth open so his tongue could slip in, as his hand wandered lower to cup her backside.
Gracelessly, she fumbled with the buttons of his oxford, not wanting to part from their kiss to work the garment open. When her fingers reached his beltline, she yanked the starched fabric from his trousers. A chuckle of laughter rumbled in his chest.
He pulled back, though she did her best to follow. His thumb brushed across her swollen bottom lip reverently. "Couch. Now." It wasn't a question, but rather a demand. While she might normally fight back (just for the sake of getting under his skin!), she found herself scurrying to obey.
Not wanting to lose sight of him, she knelt on the couch and rested her forearms on the back of the furniture, watching as he worked his cuffs loose. One at a time, the platinum cufflinks found home in his pocket, and he finished unbuttoning his shirt before it was taken off with far more care than he'd paid to her robe that lay rumpled at his feet.
He seemed to be taking his time, drawing out the anticipation for what they both knew was to come. His shirt was laid across her armchair, tie following and he slipped out of his loafers and socks, nudging them underneath the furniture so they were hidden from view.
Her impatience was thinly veiled at best, but Malfoy seemed impervious to it. He acted like she was just another fixture in the room—some knickknack on the shelf, and ignored her as an impatient whine danced off her tongue. He slowly unbuckled his belt, threading it from his trousers before those too were added to the pile on the chair, laying them across the seatback to avoid any sort of wrinkles.
As cool was he wanted to play this meet up—as unaffected as he may seem - the obvious bulge in his skin tight trunks stood in stark contrast to his facade.
Her mouth ran dry, and she could practically feel a rush of heat pulse between her thighs as she watched his fingers hook into the thick elastic band and push the cotton down his narrow hips.
If Malfoy looked fit with his clothes on, naked he was an absolute god.
Alabaster from head to toe, he didn't have a single tanline, and short of the iridescent scars that bisected his torso and the ink black stain of his dark mark, he held no other blemishes. His muscles were well defined, but far from bulky. His thighs thick and muscular, his hair light, and sparse. He was stunning.
And that didn't even bring into question his… erm… talent.
To say his 'big dick energy' was well earned would have been an understatement.
Easily the largest man she'd ever had the pleasure of sleeping with, his cockhead brushed against his abdomen - already fully erect and ready. Precisely how she liked him.
Heat bloomed between her thighs, desire tainting her blood and evading her thoughts until she only seemed to operate on the most primal of levels.
His hand curled around the base of his cock, long fingers gliding up and down his shaft in a slow and steady stroke as he moved barefoot toward her. Her eyes tracked his every move, as though she were the predator now. His long legs strode to the end of her couch. And, just as she began to shift so she could follow his moment, he clicked his tongue. "Don't you dare turn around, Granger."
Her nails scratched against the thick fabric of the couch, her neck craning to keep him in her periphery as she got back into the position he wanted her.
"That's a good girl." Fuuuuuuck!
Heavy footsteps sounded behind her, and the low shift of her coffee table sliding across her carpet gave away his exact location. He was so close she could practically feel his body heat behind her.
The analog clock on her mantle seemed louder now, each tick like a water droplet hitting the bottom of a cavern. She knew it was part of his game, steadily building her anticipation, dragging it out as long as possible until she was ready to surrender to his every whim.
And Merlin help her, despite the knowledge of his game, she was still succumbing.
She chewed her bottom lip and closed her eyes, hoping if she removed one sense it might enhance the others, but it seemed fruitless because all she could focus on was the ever steady tick of the clock.
Seconds ticked on, feeling more like hours, and the build up began to take its toll. Her thighs quivered, desperate to press together to relieve some of the ache that grew worse with each deafening sound from her clock.
And just when she was about to turn and find him and demand he do what he fucking came over for, she felt the brush of fingertips dance along the inside of her leg. "Wider, Granger." His voice was low, barely above a whisper.
Lips met her skin, and he began to press open mouthed kisses across her flesh, taking his time as he worked from one shoulder to the other.
She shifted, knees dragging across the rough fabric to follow his command.
His fingers continued their exploration, sliding up the back of her thighs, feather-light across the bottom of her arse, tracing the outside of her hip to rest at the curve of her waist.
"Malfoy." Had she not felt the tremor of the words working up her throat, Hermione might not have recognized the source was her. She sounded breathless and needy, already worked into a tizzy without him even touching her where she needed it most! Malfoy clearly had bewitched her more than she had realised.
"Hrm?" His fingers walked up her spine, vertebrae by vertebrae until he reached her shoulders and his palm met the middle of her back with a light pressure.
She pitched forward until the sturdy backrest of her couch pressed just below her breasts. Her curls hung limp around her face, a curtain that hid the way her cheeks flamed red due to her overly-exposed position.
And she pleaded, "Please."
He responded with dark chuckle. When his hands found her hips, she shivered. The blunt head of his cock rubbed across her slit in a slow dragging motion. "Please what?" He practically purred as his knees sunk into the couch cushion alongside hers. "Use your words, Granger."
Even through the thick fog of lust, his taunt struck that familiar fight chord inside her. The red flush of embarrassment morphed into a burning inferno that demanded she tell him to fuck off.
She didn't need this. She wanted it, but since he was so keen to drag this out—to toy with her like she were his mere plaything as opposed to a willing participant in this depraved game, well then he could—
"Oh fuck!"
All of her breath escaped her lungs in one fluid motion as Malfoy sunk his cock inside her, as if her body had to release every single ounce of air trapped inside to make room for him to fit. The stretch was exquisite and mind numbing, making her forget every indiscretion Malfoy had made leading up to this moment.
"What was that?" His fingers dug into her hips, threatening to leave bruises as he held her steady, slowly withdrawing until she was nearly empty before pushing back in again. "Cat got your tongue?"
Her eyes rolled behind closed eyelids as she gasped for breath. No words escaped her, no whimper, not even a sound beyond her attempts to just breathe.
He set a deliriously slow pace, each thrust ending with his hips flat against her backside, bottoming out, effectively sending shockwaves of pleasure that snapped at every nerve ending in her body.
It was easy to forget her feelings for him in these moments. When they were shagging, it wasn't complicated nor confusing. When they were shagging, the only thing that mattered was the intoxicating feeling of his cock filling her over and over again.
Her body jostled with each thrust, digging into the soft cushion in front of her before rebounding back to meet his warm skin. Soon her heavy breathing made way for more coherent words. His last name mixed with moans and gasps of pleasure, her head lulled to the side as she rocked back into him with a blissful sigh.
It was only a year since this all began, but it was almost as if Malfoy knew her body better than she. Like he'd studied it as thoroughly as he did textbooks at Hogwarts. He knew when to increase his tempo and knew precisely when to slide his hand across her mound to slip between her parted legs.
"You're close." His body curled over hers, the rapid thump of his heart tattooing against her back as his fingers brushed over her clit, eliciting a wicked symphony of moans to bubble up her throat. "Come, Granger… show me what a good girl you are."
She wanted to listen.
To find her bliss under his command and ministrations, and truth be told, she was so close. She needed more—something she couldn't quite put her finger on, something she wasn't even fully aware of, but just like everything else that occurred in their pseudo relationship, Malfoy knew exactly what to do.
She hated to admit it, and probably would never dare verbalize that fact, but the moment his hand moved to guide her head into a position where he mouth could claim hers lips once more, she knew the truth.
This was more than just shagging.
Despite how badly she wanted to believe no feelings were involved.
She clung to the couch, nails dragging against the rough fabric as she tried to ground herself to this moment so she didn't completely lose herself in the bliss that was steadily consuming her.
White hot heat exploded within her, sending bursts of pleasure across every inch of her skin, and then even his touch and kiss became too much to bear. His name—his bloody given name! - gasped against his lips as she succumbed.
He was relentless in his assault, not stopping to allow her time to recover from her climax, but rather it seemed to fuel his own need. His thrusts grew shallow as his tempo increased, only seeming to drag out the drudging waves of her climax.
"So good," Draco gasped against her lips. "So bloody good!"
She internally preened at his praise as her hand rose to cup his jaw, tongue sliding against his, encouraging him to find his end.
Her caress, however simple and innocent when compared to every other act they were doing, seemed to be the final straw.
His hips snapped against hers, body pinning her to the couch and she felt his cock twitch as he groaned, only the most primal of noises filling her small sitting room as he joined her in oblivion.
She wasn't sure how or when it happened. But somehow, in the afterglow of orgasm, they'd ended up prone on her couch. His arm wrapped around her, a single finger stroking the length of her spine as his other hand curled behind his head.
She lay on top of him, breasts flat against his chest, her breath matched to his exhale so they seemed to be perfect opposites. Her hands were folded under her chin, eyes still shut, afraid to crack them open and have them betray her.
Would he be able to see through her cool exterior?
Would he be able to tell that the hint of this being more lingered for far longer in her mind that she cared to admit?
Worse though, was the unanswered question of whether or not he felt the same.
He seemed to enjoy her company enough. Never really seeming put out by the prospect of coming over to her flat. He bought her cups of tea unprompted. And would offer to peer review her memos before they left the department.
She couldn't help but wonder if those were small examples of a precursor to something more, and just as she lost herself in the wonder of 'what ifs' and possibilities, a loud angry yeowl pulled her harshly back to reality.
Lifting her head from his chest, Hermione turned towards the source of the invasive noise with a heavy sigh. Crookshanks sat before his food bowl, looking extremely impatient. His tail twitched from left to right with an agitated snap, providing his witch with sufficient indication that he was perturbed that his dinner had yet to be provided.
Hermione stuck out of her tongue at the orange fluff ball when he let out another aggressive yeowl at her lack of reaction. "Alright, alright. Just a moment."
"I got it."
Her brow furrowed as strong hands guided her to the couch cushions. Hermione pushed up, watching as Malfoy wrapped one of her plaid throws around his waist. "You… You don't have to. I can feed him. He's my cat, afterall."
"Oh trust me, I am well aware who he belongs to." Malfoy glanced at her through blond lashes, the corner of his mouth lifting in the smallest hint of a smile. "But let's not kid ourselves here, Granger. He clearly likes me better."
There was no arguing that. Especially since as soon as Malfoy drew near, Crookshanks returned to his previous assault of rubbing against the blond's shins.
Hermione let out a small laugh, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip to contain it from growing. "You know… I'm starting to think your true motivation for your late night visits isn't just to shag me."
"You're absolutely right." Malfoy glanced up from adding the scoop of kibble into Crookshank's bowl, that trademark smirk already in place. He dropped the scoop back in the plastic bin before closing the lid, a small slip of laughter tinting his tone as he straightened back up to his full height. "Shagging you and visiting with your feline is just a bonus."
"To what?"
Her heart stuttered, watching as he leaned back casually against her wall, arms crossing over his chest.
What was he implying?
Why wouldn't he just come out and say it?! Provide even the slightest bit of hint at how he felt about her!
"Your company." His shoulders lifted, like he hadn't just turned her world upside down in two small words.
"Oh…" She blinked, unsure of what was the appropriate action to his confession.
Life was much simpler when this was just shagging. When she didn't have to worry about feelings. But sometimes complicated was fun.
And she was growing more and more fond of the idea of becoming inexorably complicated with him.
