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It starts with an invitation.
Two opposing forces create resistance, and that friction can take many forms—some more enjoyable than others.
Opposition between him and Granger is exhilarating whereas the same exertion with his parents is not.
The ceasefire between them has lasted for years. The terms are simple enough. He plays the role of the Malfoy heir in public, and they keep out of his business in private.
The unspoken agreement has remained in place until tonight.
With the meticulousness of an archivist, Father waits until dessert has been cleared to change their hard-earned status quo.
"Next month, be sure to bring the witch that has been occupying your time for the last four years."
His father says it with the casualness of reaching for the pepper shaker. Mother sits straighter, eyes bright, while Draco stills.
All too familiar with their antics, he knows better than to react rashly. It's what they expect, but he's years past being a petulant child.
The hunt is on for the game his parents are playing.
He takes his time, swirling his wine in a show of calculated patience, before tipping back the rest.
The last sip is as smooth as the first.
After placing the glass on the table, he levels them with careful stares. "Not only are you both acquainted with Granger, but I doubt 'the witch' would be willing to share a meal with anyone who refuses to speak her name."
"You are correct, love." Diplomatic to the bitter end, Mother is the picture of poised elegance; the antithesis of his father, whose brittle frustration often wins out. "However, given the nature and length of your relationship, we feel now is the right time to have a formal meal with her. To start."
"What's changed?" Grey eyes slide between his parents, narrowing a fraction. "Forgive me for being so bold, but neither of you has ever bothered before."
"Paranoia does not suit you, Draco dear."
He blinks slowly, unconvinced. "It's not paranoia when there is an agenda afoot."
A second look passes.
Draco stares at his father with probing, primal anticipation, knowing damn well he'll be the first to crack.
Lucius Malfoy's composure is only skin deep.
His irritation simmers to a boil as he calls for more wine. He's rude to the little bow tie-wearing elf in a way that would make Granger upset, but not enough for Elf Affairs to fine him for abuse. It's a far cry from how he used to be.
As his father quickly polishes off another glass, he appears to have realised the mistake in their approach. His parents have backed themselves into the corner.
Three.
Two.
"Enough." Father's fist comes down hard on the table. Mother jolts. "Stop being insolent, Draco and invite Miss Granger for dinner."
He can't help the smug smirk that forms before his painfully calm reply, "Not without a reason."
Mother begins round two of peacekeeping, but his father stops her. "With your paramour's connections, it would be wise of us to make peace and show her that we have changed."
Draco folds his arms. "I'm not convinced."
Father's theatrics begin. "Convinced? I am but a humbled, reformed old man seeking to make amends."
"Don't lie to me."
This earns him a recoil and an affronted gasp. "I haven't lied to you in years."
"Try six months. You lied about drinking the last of my favourite firewhisky." Draco relaxes back in his chair, a cold smile on his face. "You're lying to me now, but it doesn't matter. You want me to bring Granger to dinner? I'll see what I can do."
Watching her eviscerate him will be the highlight of his year.
Draco is nothing if not calculating. And, occasionally, when called for, manipulative.
Knowing Granger's response without needing to ask, he says nothing about the invitation and plans.
One week before the scheduled dinner, Draco makes his first and only move.
He spends hours focused on her. Anything she wants, she gets.
Naturally suspicious, it takes two orgasms for her to stop questioning his uncharacteristic generosity and greedily lap up every scrap of attention.
They dress and go out for a decadent meal at her favourite place. He doesn't even complain when she remembers she has to show her face at George Weasley's birthday party. Draco goes along and plays nice. It takes effort, but he keeps his insults at a minimum, and doesn't goad anyone into a fight.
Pity. Violence won't get him what he wants.
After they leave, he ramps up the pampering with a bubble bath followed by a massage that leaves her skin soft and her muscles pliant enough to let him do as he pleases.
Enticing, but Draco refrains.
Instead, he drowns her in affection, taking his time and savouring her body by kissing every inch. She comes alive under his hand. His touch is as soft as feather strokes on a priceless painting.
"I deserve this, don't I?" she murmurs. "I've been so good."
"You have."
Granger smiles blissfully, basking in his praise.
Draco spends so much time with her breasts that his lips are as swollen as hers are from biting back moans. She's tender, oversensitive, and he loves it. He kisses his way down each arm, sucking each finger into his mouth, eyes heavy on her.
She brings her hand to the folds of her cunt and he tsks, moving it away. "That's mine."
Granger whimpers and squirms, but when he drops a kiss above her belly button, she stills. By the time he's between her legs, her thighs are trapping him in place, hands buried in his hair.
So wet for him. So eager.
But he doesn't rush.
Where's the fun in that?
Draco licks her clit with his fingers buried as deep as they'll go. He has years of practice dragging her to the brink and back, and he puts his skills to use, fingering and eating her with delight until his hand is wet to the wrist.
She's panting, sobbing, back arched and begging, chanting, "Please, please, please."
He grants her wish, but doesn't let her come up for air.
Draco drags another orgasm out with a grin while she screams into the pillow, arse up, quivering but still rocking back on his fingers. She's still gasping and trembling while he cleans her up.
His kiss gives her a thorough taste of herself. Draco devilishly licks into her mouth knowing he's won.
When Granger is in the sweet spot between fucked out and asleep, he strikes.
"Hermione," he murmurs sweetly into her ear, smirking in victory when she shudders.
The sound of her given name on his lips perks her up. Weary and radiating with satisfaction, she asks, "What is it?"
"Have dinner with my parents."
This is when Draco realises he's fucked up.
The precise moment Granger's brain roars back to life.
"I knew it!" She shoves him out of the bed. "I knew you had ulterior motives!"
Draco lands on the floor. Pain races up his spine as he catches his stolen breath. Before he can sit up, she's standing over him naked with wild hair and full of righteous anger.
"Pampering and sex as coercion tactics? Really, Draco?"
Even confronted, he's unapologetic. "Just playing to my strengths in order to turn a no into a yes."
Granger balls her fist, ready to either hex him to the moon and back or sit on his half-hard cock. He isn't sure which.
In the end, she does neither.
Granger grabs her wand.
Legilimens.
Granger begins with a push.
When she gets nothing, she pulls.
Let me in.
Draco's worst, most stubborn student proves time and time again that she really is the best, but he knows he should employ a different strategy.
He's been indulgent all night.
Why not continue?
Still, before he relents, he stonewalls Granger long enough to convince her that he wants her out of his mind when the truth is anything but.
It's thrilling, feeling the friction as she shreds his mental blockade with a finesse she's learned over time. From him. Draco's excitement only grows when she hits a particularly hard obstacle and forces her way in with brute strength.
That's it. She's earned it.
Draco gives in, allowing memories to spill like water out of a broken dam.
When Draco sorts through Granger's mind, he plays, patiently diving deep, uncovering lost memories and unconscious thoughts.
But Granger is different. She wades in a pool of memories with the determination of a researcher, ignoring the distracting ones and efficiently finding what she desires.
The truth.
The dinner with his parents. It loops back twice before she tosses it aside.
"I'm not saying no, but let's negotiate."
Draco freezes. "What?"
Granger brings the conversation out of his mind and into her bedroom, allowing Draco to get off the floor.
Wasting no time, she pushes him on the bed and pounces, crawling on him, trapping his now throbbing cock deep inside her wet cunt. He inhales sharply at the tightness, the heat, but sobers when he notices the dangerous curl of her lips.
He surges to kiss her, to distract her, but is denied.
Draco does his best to sound disappointed. "Are you not eager for my compliance?"
"I am."
"So fuck me like this."
Granger shakes her head and squeezes his cock so hard Draco's eyes cross. "Not yet, you owe me a negotiation."
By now, she knows the best place to corner him is somewhere he won't want to leave.
Draco shifts her hips upward, keeping himself pressed inside, holding her so tight he knows, even if he can't see it, he'll be imprinted on her skin.
The choked off moan and fluttering of her body around him is all the reward he needs.
"You were saying, Granger?"
"Neutral meeting place. No manor."
He's shocked by her agreement. "You mean I didn't have to—"
"Asking outright is easier than coercion, but I'll reap the benefits of your ridiculousness."
His cock throbs. Draco closes his eyes to reorient.
"I'm shocked it took this long. We've been together too long for me to avoid your parents." She bites her lip and leans over, her hair falling over them as she issues a low warning, "One bigoted comment from your parents and they'll never know peace."
Lips ghost his and Draco chases them for fun. He loves when she's demanding. "Is that right?"
"Yes, and if this doesn't go perfectly, you have to let me do anything I want."
He's stubborn to the point of self-destruction, but even in the haze, he can't see anything wrong with her terms. He's been selfless all night, catering and pampering her.
Now it's his turn.
He rolls his hips. Just once, desperate for any friction.
Granger stops him by wrapping her hands around his throat. "Don't cheat. Agree to my terms."
"I agree."
She recoils in confusion. "Wait, what?"
Gaining compliance is never this easy, but Draco is done waiting. "I said… I agree. Now move."
No more words are necessary.
Granger frantically rides him into oblivion, gasping into his mouth with both hands wrapped around his windpipe. Draco chokes out more praise and direction and curses until black spots cloud his vision.
"More."
His nails dig grooves in her skin. His toes curl.
Fuck if she doesn't feel like magic.
Tension pulls tight in his spine.
He's shaking, desperate for more.
Granger is a consummate giver. She squeezes tighter, cutting off his air and leaving Draco two options.
Suffocate or come.
He does both.
The moment she lets him take a breath, a broken gasping shout is all he hears before every conscious thought shatters.
When Draco next knows who and where he is, Granger is lying next to him, stroking his hair, kissing his jaw gently. Brown eyes are alight with questions.
"How does it feel to come like that?" she whispers.
"Fucking phenomenal," Draco admits, still catching his breath. "Like living and dying at the same time."
The wheels are turning in Granger's mind, but sleep claims him before he can figure out her destination.
Dinner could be worse.
His parents' idea of neutral ground isn't a quiet restaurant, but a private room in the most exclusive place in London.
Unfortunately, they've done nothing but complain about everything from the menu to the service, requesting new tablecloths and better music, sending meals back twice before settling, but not before conveying their continued disappointment.
Granger's ability to hide irritation behind politeness and fake smiles has vanished. Draco's torn between making an escape plan and staring at her. She's always put together just right and tonight is no different.
The grey dress is one he's only seen her in once. Modest enough for his mother's hard-earned approval, but short and form-fitting enough for his, too. Her curls hang freely, and he's having thoughts about how to put the red lipstick she's wearing to use. That she's wearing his favourite heels only makes him more eager to get her back to his place and—
You aren't being very good tonight, Draco.
He's startled by her presence in his mind; he hadn't felt her invade.
I never am. Plus I'm bored, Granger. Let's… play.
She tenses, crossing her legs at the promising threat.
His mother breaks the pervasive silence. "Thank you for joining us, Miss Granger." Her polite smile withers into a frown. "I only wish our first meal together wasn't overshadowed by incompetence."
Granger's presence vanishes from his mind.
"I thought it was impeccable."
The two women lock eyes, observing each other with critical scrutiny.
Nothing more is said on the topic.
"I've looked forward to tonight since Draco invited me," Granger lies like a seasoned diplomat.
His mother doesn't buy it.
"I know you must have questions about why we insisted Draco bring you tonight." His father's voice is cool, painfully aristocratic, his face like stone.
Granger's hand drops to his knee. "I'll admit that yes, I'm curious."
It's only when his parents exchange looks that Draco realises he's been a fucking fool.
He knows exactly what they want.
A subject change is essential, but it's too late.
"How long have you been seeing my son?" his father asks.
The official answer is much different than the unofficial. How they answer aligns with how possessive they're feeling.
"A little over four years."
Ah, very possessive. Draco quietly preens, but it's not enough to distract him. "Granger isn't here to be interrogated."
"You're overreacting," his mother assures in a placating tone he hates so much. "This is merely what anyone would ask the significant other of their child. You understand, of course, Miss Granger."
"I do," she says carefully. "So long as you're here in good faith, I'll answer your questions."
"Actually, no you won't." Draco stands; all eyes are on him. "We're leaving."
"Draco, do not—"
"We had an agreement. I would play nice if you didn't meddle."
Granger hasn't moved. Her eyes are bouncing between all three Malfoys. "Meddle with what?"
"My parents are going to ask you a series of questions which will weave through topics like future plans, marriage, prenuptial agreements, children—"
"If you share Draco's ideology about marriage," his father says bluntly.
"I thought I said—"
Everyone ignores him, even Granger, who does the worst thing possible.
She answers.
"One day, one of us will manipulate the other into an ironclad agreement that'll bind us for the rest of our lives. It won't be anytime soon, but we'll never call it marriage. Draco keeps the document inside one of the three hidden compartments in his desk. It's half written."
Draco, as well as his parents, are gobsmacked. "That drawer is locked."
Granger only smiles.
"And children?" His mother's hope runs eternal.
"I aspire to become Minister. What happens outside of that will happen as it should."
Draco knows Granger likes children, but she's too ambitious to divide her attention. As is he. They take potions to ensure no mistakes are made.
"Do you love my son?"
"Yes," she answers his mother with no hesitation.
"Then why are you both refusing to—"
"How we live is none of your concern," Draco says firmly. "I could have told you all this, if you'd asked. No dinner was needed."
Their aggravation with him is visible. His mother sighs. "This is disappointing."
Granger's eyes narrow as she finally stands, picking up her bag. "I assumed you both would be happy about not having someone like me on your tapestry in any capacity." She cuts her eyes to his father. "I know you're not as reformed as you like people to think."
Draco coughs.
"That has little to do with the topic at hand." His father eyes her. "You are not the ideal partner I would have chosen for my son. However, despite your status as a Mu—"
"Lucius," his mother admonishes with a glare that can melt stone.
"No, no." Granger taps a manicured fingernail on the table.
Draco sees the challenge in her eyes and considers intervening, but he's entertained.
"Do go on," she says, "but be careful. I'm more than willing to increase the number of dark artefact searches performed on the manor from once a year to once a month."
Her threats to abuse power makes Draco warm under the collar.
"Muggle-born." Father stresses every syllable. "As if I would insult you while simultaneously approving of your relationship with my son."
Draco's smile and Granger's indignation crash and burn. "What?"
"Tonight wasn't perfect," Granger says later when she's poised over his face, naked except for heels. Her cunt is centimetres from his mouth. "That means I win."
Draco grabs her calves that only wobble slightly, too engrossed to remember the terms of their agreement.
He doesn't care.
He's too busy devouring his dessert.
When Granger deviates from any aspect of her routine without explanation, it's noticeable—and above all else—suspicious.
Like turning up in his office when she's supposed to be in meetings all afternoon.
Draco doesn't look up when she announces herself. He's been busy with legal documentation regarding a country joining the international terrorism federation and has taxed the language charms to their limits trying to translate the treaty into Cambodian.
Complicated shite that's not his job, but he's in no mood for the inevitable blunders that will happen if it's not done right.
So he's working.
When Granger locks the door with a charm his secretary can't break, Draco continues his task, not paying her any mind. "I'm not fucking you on my desk. No negotiations. I do actually work."
"As the soon-to-be Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, I'm pleased to hear this."
That makes his eyes lift as she takes the seat in front of his desk, crossing her legs to get comfortable. Draco's gaze drags over her slowly as he gives her a onceover.
What she's saying isn't matching up with her actions. And she knows it.
She's doing this on purpose.
Granger's not wearing her Ministry robes. Her shirt isn't buttoned to her throat. Not particularly odd, but with the addition of her hair now being free and the way she crosses her legs, he's suspicious. And not at all distracted by her legs.
No stockings?
Now this is interesting.
A teasing smile plays on her lips. "Do you have a question?"
Draco's curiosity morphs into intrigue.
"Several." Placing the quill on his desk, he offers his full attention. "But first, Senior Undersecretary?"
"I was promoted." She grins with excitement. "My predecessor was sacked this morning for losing classified documents, amongst terrible things that'll surely make the papers."
Draco is perfectly apathetic. "What a shame, such a pity."
She stares him down. "Where are the documents?"
"Locked away. Safe. His assistant was Obliviated. As for the rest of his alleged crimes, how they came to light doesn't concern you."
He expects Granger to yell the roof down over their heads or hex him until his skin feels like the surface of the sun, all while berating him about his extreme methods. He expects her to say, 'I can earn my own promotions without your illegal tactics and meddling.'
But, to his endless surprise, she doesn't.
"I was already making a case for his termination. I knew only half the crimes he was charged with. Whatever you did, you saved me more than a year of investigation."
"I'm nothing if not helpful."
"Don't do that again." Her heel presses against his kneecap. "I mean it. I need your hands clean if I'm going to be Minister."
"They are." Draco smirks, his eyes never leaving hers. "Nothing can be traced back to me. Not even the Obliviation."
"Good."
"Is that the only reason you're here?"
"No, given the events of this morning, I have time."
He's seen Granger's scheduler and chuckles at the joke, but her smile is sharp enough to make Draco have doubts. "Are you serious?"
"I am. I have two hours of spare time to think."
This can go one of two ways for Draco. It will depend on how he plays his cards. Last time he allowed Granger time to plot, he ended up naked, sweating, and hard as fuck while stuck to the floor of his office.
The memory of trying to recall and wandlessly perform every counter-spell imaginable, followed by a furious wank before hunting her down should be enough to dissuade Draco from pushing her again.
But it isn't.
"Go on."
"You said if dinner with your parents last month didn't go to perfection, you'd let me do anything."
Draco frowns. "They approve of you."
To his shock, his father has been asking about Granger's food preferences while arranging another dinner. And worse, his mother has met her for tea. Twice. Granger says they don't speak beyond mundane topics, but even that's far more than he expected.
"Yes, but dinner wasn't perfect, and you agreed that if that's the case I would win."
"I don't remember these terms—" Draco freezes. "Wait, did you use my own methods on me? Sex as a manipulation tactic?"
Granger's grin turns sly. "I've been waiting for you to figure it out."
He's not angry, only impressed. "Good one."
"I thought so, too, so to reward myself, I've decided to work on a skill."
"Which one?"
"Just say yes."
He's suspicious as fuck. "No."
"What is it you always say to me? You'll love it."
Usually when that happens, Draco has her on the edge of reason in minutes. That's a lot of control he's giving up. Of course, it isn't the first time he's handed her the reins, but usually Draco knows what the fuck is up her sleeve.
"I can always find out."
"You could." Granger stands to walk around his desk. To his surprise, she pays his work no mind as she leans in, whispering, "But what's the fun in that?"
He glares at her simply because she's irritating when she wants something and issuing a challenge she already knows he'll never refuse. "When?"
"Friday after dinner with Harry and Pansy." Before he can argue about his presence not being necessary, she points her finger. "You've already agreed."
"If I remember correctly, I agreed under—"
"Enjoyable duress, yes." When Granger moves his chair back with wandless magic and makes a spot for herself on his lap, his arms go around her automatically. "An agreement is an agreement."
"So it is."
She bites his earlobe, and smiles wickedly when she feels his reaction to pain. "This chair seems to be wrong ergonomically. Perhaps—"
"No."
But Granger straddles his legs, Vanishes his trousers, and takes what she really came for. Draco holds on to her waist tight as she rides his cock, tilts his head back, and only one word escapes him.
"Yes."
Cambodia can wait.
Granger's hand has been on his thigh since their meal arrived.
When he glares, she gives him a smile that's too knowing. "Eat up. You'll need your strength."
It's the third time she's said that today; now it sounds like a threat. Draco hates the edge it's put him on.
Across from her, Potter chokes on his water. "Really? Right in front of my salad?"
Pansy bursts out laughing, then stops. "Wait. He agreed?"
"It took some effort, but yes," Granger says.
"Nice."
And for the first time, Draco is nervous, but he'll never show it. "First of all, it took no effort and we broke my chair after I'd already agreed." Potter chokes again. "Oh for fuck's sake, I know for a fact Pansy's sucked your cock during no less than four charity events in the last year out of pure boredom. Stop acting like a prude."
Granger squeezes his thigh hard which makes him hiss.
Potter glares at Pansy who just shrugs. "He's not wrong. Maroon happens to be my colour and you love the way it looks when—"
"Fine," Potter concedes. "But can't we have one dinner without sex coming up?"
Pansy smirks. "You just fingered me under the table before they arrived, you bloody hypocrite."
While they argue, he and Granger roll their eyes because for all the sense they make, they're also ridiculous.
Her hand moves higher on his thigh. "I can't believe you're still mad about the chair. I fixed it."
But now it squeaks when it didn't before.
"Besides, you weren't complaining." She leans and while she talks at a volume only he can hear, her hands move up and down his inner thigh. "In fact, I remember you were saying harder. I've still got bruises from your hands, you know."
The gleam in her eye tells him what he already knows: she loved it.
"How did Cambodia go?" The question comes from Pansy, who looks pleased while Potter's taken on a slight flush.
"Finished on time." Even with Granger sitting on his desk with her legs crossed, proof-reading over documents with her shirt undone and skirt wrinkled. "Granger here delivered it to the Minister for final approval."
"Just doing my job." Granger sips her water.
Pansy chuckles. "When are you—"
"Tonight."
"I'm scared to ask." Potter grimaces.
"Just a bit of skill-building. Like exercise. Fitness is important, Harry. It regulates stress, improves one's quality of life and body, not to mention regular exercise will strengthen and help better one's stamina."
There that word is again.
Granger's almost electric now. The way she's looking at him makes him place his hand on hers and move it up. Draco takes a deep breath. Focuses on her. She's probably got a very detailed list of how she plans for their evening to go, and though he's got no idea what the hell is on said list, he knows it'll be entertaining.
"Oh, well that's not so bad. Aren't you still taking swimming lessons?"
"Yes. I'm learning how to hold my breath," Granger says. "I'm thinking I'll show him my progress."
"Are you going to swim laps?"
Granger picks up her fork. "Something like that."
Draco eats.
At first, Draco thinks he knows where the night is going, but in seconds, when he's half paying attention, Granger upends his expectations. She shoves him into his leather Chesterfield chair, binds his wrists and ankles to its arms and legs, and Vanishes his trousers and pants.
Efficient, albeit unexpected.
For a second, the control freak inside Draco panics, but he buries his reaction deep. Regains his composure. Looks at the magical binds, then at her with supreme boredom. "I'm not in the mood for another broken chair."
Granger smiles because she knows—just like he does—that this one has no chance of breaking. Despite how many times they've tried.
He taught her how to ride cock standing up in this chair.
Feet on the ground. Hands on her waist while hers were on his knees. Arse on display. Watching his cock work in and out of her cunt until it became a struggle for him to hold on. Hair everywhere—in his face whenever she tossed her head back and in hers when she hung her head forward.
It's something they repeat often enough that he's happy as fuck he never tossed this chair out like he'd planned to.
"Are you comfortable?" She takes off her shoes.
"My cock's cold." But still resting on his stomach, interested and twitching at the memory.
"Never mind that. It'll be warm soon enough." She summons a Quick Quotes Quill and it arrives with a flourish. "The time is now 8:40. I do love even numbers."
"What exactly are you doing?"
"Breathing exercises," Granger answers with a pleased expression. She places her wand on the table and steps closer.
It's instinct for Draco to reach for her when she's this close, but when he does, the binds tighten.
"Best not to move," she says.
"I'm officially irritated."
"Constant state of being for you, so I'm not worried. Hair up or down?"
"Are you seri—" The look she gives makes Draco force out his answer. "Down."
"Are you certain? After all, you can't touch."
She has a point there. Draco likes to touch, likes to sink his fingers into her hair, just as much as she likes it when he pulls. "Okay, up."
Granger pulls it back into a bun. "Dressed or undressed?"
"Dressed. Top three buttons undone. Untuck your shirt. Take off your knickers."
He can tell she finds his request bizarre but complies without argument. A clue that she's trying to either ease him into a false sense of security to eviscerate him or that he's in for an interesting night. Granger drops her knickers on the floor next to his chair, and Draco shifts with interest at the sight before him, even though the binds tighten just a little more.
Better.
Draco can't help it.
He's never been able to determine if he likes it more when Granger is dishevelled or put together, so his cock has settled for something in between.
"Is this good?"
It's excellent, but he'll never confess. "Get on with whatever that brain of yours has concocted."
She smirks and sinks to her knees in front of him, eyes locked on his as her hands slide up his thighs, coming together to wrap around his very interested cock.
Draco groans. "You didn't have to tie me down to suck my cock."
"No, but I can't test anything when you're in control." Granger licks him from base to the tip and back down, smacking her lips like she's tasting something delicious. "Let's begin."
Granger sucks cock much like she reads documents for work: efficiently, attentively, and comprehensively.
Even though it's repetitive and he's certain her jaw aches, she doesn't fuss.
She's always been a little hasty, too eager, setting a confident pace and expecting herself to maintain it until she realises she can't.
But not now.
Granger's exhibiting an amount of patience he's never had as she works both spit-slicked hands in a fluid motion at the base while she takes more of him into her mouth every ten strokes. He counts. Not because he's bored, gods his heart is racing, but he's considered occluding twice to stop himself from coming in her mouth. The binds have almost cut off his circulation with how often he's tried to reach for her head, forcing her to take more until she gags.
Draco groans. To punish him, Granger mimics the sound around his cock.
"Fuck."
It's the first word he's uttered out loud. She looks up at him, then hums again as she sinks deeper, wet hands moving, rhythm perfect.
"The moment… I'm free, I'm—" He chokes out a moan when one of her hands goes rogue and grips his balls. Not too tight, not too much, but it's enough to shut him up.
For now.
When the tip of his cock touches the back of her throat and she doesn't gag, Draco forgets what skill she's testing. Forgets everything except the feel of her hands and mouth leading him to the edge of reason.
But Granger stops.
Sucking in a breath, he tries to steady himself, but then he does the stupidest thing imaginable.
He looks at Granger.
And she's looking back.
Only his cock is at the back of her throat and her cheeks are hollowed out. There's a tiny sheen of sweat on her brow; he fixates on it for some unknown reason. He twitches and she pulls off, exhaling in a shallow gasp. She looks at the Quick Quill that's been writing notes and observations from her thoughts.
"I can keep going. I've only just hit my testing zone."
Draco considers meditation. It's the only way he won't come from the hoarse quality of her voice.
"My patience is thin."
Granger resets the timer and tsks. "Then I suppose we should test that, too."
Draco has the horrible realisation that his mind is too scattered to occlude.
His hands and feet are numb, but he can't find a fuck to give because the sight of Granger trying to push past a reflex that says no and swallow his cock—well, it's an image he'll have in his mind forever.
Or until she kills him.
And the way things are going now, it'll be soon.
Because she's coughing and sputtering and choking.
"This is harder than the reading said it would be." She clears her throat. "Your cock might be too much."
Draco groans. He's got the best goddamn comeback but he's too fucking turned on to speak.
"It says here that—"
"Granger." What little bit of patience he has is incinerated. "If you don't stop reading those goddamn notes, I'm going to break free from these binds and fuck your face until I come down your throat. And I won't stop."
For a second, she considers that with a spark in her eyes; a mix of curiosity, nerves, and excitement.
"You…" She sounds a little more breathless than she did a moment ago. "You haven't done that before."
"But I will."
Granger regards him for a long moment then goes back to her notes. "I see no downside to this."
"Granger!"
"Fine, fine." Then her warm mouth and wet hands are gliding up and down his cock again.
Draco almost exhales in relief, but a sound makes them freeze.
Granger's eyes widen, though she doesn't move.
Luckily for—well not them, because everyone knows to owl before they come, but for the idiotic person interrupting—it's a Floo call.
Granger's social skills are better, so he looks to her to answer, but she squeezes the base of his cock as if reminding him of the obvious—it's up to him.
"Someone better be dead."
"Is that how you greet a friend?" Blaise's voice comes through clearly.
"Yes."
Granger pulls off. She must have run out of air, sucking on the head while her hands still move up and down. Draco throws his head back just in time for her to greet him. "Hi Blaise."
There's a pause. "Wait a minute. Granger? Why does your voice sound like that?"
"Because she's trying to swallow my—"
"Are you—"
"Actually, yes. Your timing is awful," she says. And because she loves showing off, she returns to his cock, bobbing her head up and down in long strokes.
The soft wet sounds make him bite his lip hard. Draco needs the distraction their intruder provides.
"I'm choosing to ignore everything about this. Draco, I need some help."
"Are you fucking—" His eyes roll in the back of his head when she starts pushing, trying to force him where she wants him to be. It's so wet. He can't. Draco breathes. Gathers his resolve. "Legal or illegal?"
"Both?"
"Go on."
"I have an accounting issu—"
Blaise is interrupted when Granger gags loudly, but doesn't pull off. Her second gag is harder. Tears run from her eye and she squeezes his cock a little too hard, trying to force it.
"Oh my—fuck! Hold on before she suffocates herself out of sheer stubbornness."
"I can do that…" Blaise trails off as Draco marvels at Granger, who can't breathe but looks angry about everything. "Or I can give her a little friendly advice."
Ever the student, Granger hollows her cheeks when she pulls off. She coughs and Draco considers the real possibility that he won't survive the night.
"What are your credentials?"
Blaise just chuckles. "Let me pull out my CV of deep throating."
Her hands stop moving and Draco almost yells.
"...I'll wait."
His cock is still winning against gravity, but it has more to do with how Granger looks when she's in academic mode than any actual action.
"It sounds like you've got your gag reflex under control, but it'd be easier if Draco were standing—"
Draco snarls when Granger eyes him.
"He looks quite murderous," she says.
Blaise allows only a beat of silence. "Isn't that how you like it?"
"Is my cock going to be sucked today or next week?"
"Shut up," they both say simultaneously.
Draco closes his eyes and plots murder.
Not curses or hexes. Blood. Graphic violence.
Not Granger—that would be a waste of his freedom. She's already threatened that should she meet an untimely end, there are breadcrumbs laid out that will lead to him. Guilty or not.
Just so she won't be alone for long in the afterlife.
It's oddly romantic.
Draco hasn't decided if she's kidding or serious, but the threat is equally as terrifying as it is exciting.
"Relax. Did you take the calming potion?"
"Yes." She doesn't look calm. Just hyper focused.
He supposes that might just be her fucked up version of calm. She listens to Blaise's next set of directions and takes a breath before telling him to Floo call back in thirty minutes.
And then he's gone.
"Did you enjoy that?"
She smiles coyly. "Yes."
Draco is every bit as jealous as he pretends not to be. He'd blame it on his status as an only child, but the truth is that even if he wasn't, he'd still be this way.
What's his is his.
And to check that she still is, he dips into her thoughts without finesse or permission, roaming around while Granger reacts to his invasion. She picks up where she left off, working his cock with renewed vigour. Draco is instantly back on edge and the only thing that's holding him back is his need to know. He needs to make certain he's the only—
God yes.
The words aren't verbal, but a thought.
An image.
A fantasy of hers starring him where he ruthlessly uses Legilimency to rid her mind of everyone else, past or present. He watches himself burn each man away until he's all she knows. All she sees. All she feels. Until his fingers on her skin, the feel of his cock, arms, and legs around her, in, and between her—it becomes as natural to her as magic itself. Muscle memory.
Yours.
One word snaps him out of it. Draco backs out of her mind in a rush and finds her eyes heavy on him. They aren't critical. They just want.
Draco can't touch, but he can speak. "Just… just a little deeper."
Granger follows direction to perfection.
"Tongue out. Look at me." His heart is racing. "Good girl."
Before long his cock is soaked like before, the rhythm of her hands at the base makes his eyes shut momentarily until he hears her small, plaintive moan.
Now she's not the only one struggling for air.
Granger keeps her eyes that are leaking tears on him as she bobs her head until the tip of his cock enters her throat. He closes his eyes; the filthy sound of her sucking his cock combined with the visual and the pressure is too great.
She pulls off and takes a deep breath.
Then she goes back, but she squeezes his balls almost too hard in a way that demands his full attention.
There are no words to explain. Only one command. He's seen it before.
Move.
And Draco does.
Granger holds her head steady as he slowly fucks into her mouth, into her throat with shaky patience. She looks as blissed out as he feels; one wet hand disappearing between her legs and she moans louder.
The exercise is over.
He has to come. Now.
Draco starts fucking her mouth harder, hips snapping more intensely as Granger watches him. Her moans are constant and endless, tears running down her cheeks, her open mouth wet around his cock.
And when his foot slides a touch farther than it should, Draco realises she's let him go. The air in his lungs evaporates as his tingling fingers release her hair from its bun. He wraps it around his fist and grips hard.
He lets her off to take a breath. Her last. Now that her throat has proven what it can take, he tests it out.
He's rough. He knows it. Can't help it.
Needs this. Needs her.
Draco takes.
Granger endures each punishing thrust like she's done this before. Like she was made for this. Hands free, she pulls her skirt up and rubs herself more vigorously while moaning without a fucking care in the world, staring up at him like she trusts him to use her up.
Even when she knows she shouldn't.
Draco feels her tense, feels her body goes just as rigid as his.
She has no air when she comes, and her eyes roll to the back of her head as she shudders and screams around his cock. Draco has more than earned this. He fucks into her mouth. Once. Twice. Three times before he tugs her hair tighter and follows after her with a shout.
It's silent in the aftermath.
Seconds or minutes or hours may pass. Draco isn't sure.
Somehow they both end up on the floor. He's holding onto Granger, whose head is on his chest, listening to his still pounding heart. Draco can't make much sense of anything and Granger is in a similar stare.
"Draco, tell me Granger didn't suffocate on your cock."
Blaise's voice through the Floo shakes them both out of their daze.
"She's alive."
"Exactly what someone would say if they needed time to hide a—"
"I'm fine," Granger says, and Draco reacts to her voice at the same time as Blaise.
"Bloody fuck, Draco, how hard did you f—"
"Didn't you call for a reason?"
"Multiple reasons, as it turns out. My books aren't right and we have an inspection tomorrow."
Draco closes his eyes and sighs. "Call Pucey and tell him he owes me a favour for the Charleston case. Don't call back."
"Deal."
They're in the shower.
Granger is leaning against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist, languid as ever as he washes soap off her back. It's domestic as fuck, but this is what she always wants when she's like this.
They get out and dry off, Granger drinks water, but she isn't ready to sleep.
It's raining outside, so Draco opens the doors to his patio and uses his wand to direct the breeze and block the rain. After pulling a chair to the open doors, he sits and moments later has a lapful of Granger.
"I planned this," she murmurs. "I wanted to know how it felt to live and die."
That explains the questioning looks, why she tied him down. She set all the circumstances for his control to snap long enough to grant her wish. It's extreme, further than Draco would have gone for a first lesson, but he's not complaining.
He has a confession of his own. "I finished drafting that document."
"I know. Pamper me into signing it in a year or so."
"Deal." When she lifts her head, Draco kisses her slowly, teasing her while sealing the agreement. "I remember what you said to my parents. I hope you understand that I'm willing to do what needs to be done to make you Minister."
Whether with the Malfoy vault of Galleons or other means, he'll make anyone who opposes her regret it.
"I'm aware," she murmurs. "But for now, we've got time. Give me another awkward dinner with your parents and I'll be ready for another lesson."
Draco runs his hand up and down her back.
"That can be arranged." And he can't wait.
The end.