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“Excuse me, you fucks,” Pansy spat. She pointed at the three of them. “You’ve been standing in a group for far too long. Go and mingle.”
Draco glanced around the room.
Pansy’s impeccably styled, massively open-plan flat was currently in a state of disarray, most notably due to the profusion of Gryffindors that had somehow become so ingrained in Pansy’s orbit that they warranted an invitation to her birthday party. However, as was usual for him in the brief time since the war ended, Draco remained as far away from the centre of the room as possible; standing with the three (now four) people that didn’t entirely despise him.
Draco eyed Greg, Theo, and Blaise, but none of them dared disagree with Pansy.
He cleared his throat.
“Pans, if I mingle, no one’s going to be having a good evening.”
“Why?” she asked, looking like she immediately regretted doing so.
He smirked. “Well, because the cacophony of Gryffindors in your living room might try to make conversation with me. And then, of course, I’d be forced to blow my brains out. And then you’d be forced to spend the rest of your evening scrubbing brains out of your beautiful new Jan Kath.”
He nodded at the rug.
Pansy stared, dead pan at him.
“I despise you. You are the biggest pain in the arse I’ve ever met and I wish we weren’t friends.”
Draco flashed her the most irritatingly shit-eating grin he could muster.
Pansy rolled her eyes, and turned to the others.
“The Gryffindors are here because it is important to Ginny that our friends get along, and unfortunately, that means I had to invite you all. And since the only one of you I trust to behave is Greg—”
Surprise crossed Goyle’s face, but before he had a chance to acknowledge the rare, rare compliment, it was far too late.
“—I have taken the liberty of preparing some ground rules. So don’t—” she pointed at Theo. “—drink too much. Don’t—” she pointed at Blaise “—imply you’re interested in fucking anyone’s mother—”
“Is Molly coming tonight?” Blaise smirked.
Pansy’s eyes shot daggers. Blaise relented, throwing his hands up in defeat.
But then, Pansy turned to him.
Draco eyed her warily.
She lifted one perfectly manicured finger and pointed it at him.
“—and when Granger gets here, don’t get in a fucking bickering match with her. It’s rude.”
Draco’s jaw dropped.
He had never been so offended in his life.
Of course, there had been a time when he had taken pleasure in making Hermione Granger’s life a living hell. And, of course, because Granger bit at his bait so beautifully; he did, somewhat, seem to dangle teases in front of her face. And nitpick her arguments.
And scoff condescendingly whenever she spoke.
He smirked.
He hadn’t seen her in such a very long time. She’d fucked off to the United States after dumping the boy Weasel, it had to have been… a year? Almost?
Merlin, he couldn’t wait for a fight.
“I would never be rude—”
Pansy shot him daggers. “Draco, I swear to Merlin. She’s only just gotten back from America and Ginny is counting on all of us to give her a reason to stay. So if you are anything but unfailingly cordial—”
He sighed. “I will engage her with my most riveting small talk.”
“You can hop on one foot singing Hit Me Baby One More Time for all I care if it keeps you from being your otherwise embarrassing self, Draco.”
Draco furrowed his brow at her.
Britney Spears?
He scoffed. In an attempt to find something in common with Ginny’s father, Pansy had taken an interest in all things even remotely Muggle, and ever since, Draco and the others had been subjected to a truly horrifying amount of Muggle music.
Whatever Britney Spears had to do with being polite to Granger, he didn’t want to fucking hear about it.
“Embarrassing self?” he scoffed again. “I have never, in my life—”
“Believe whatever you want.” Pansy glared. “Just don’t let your painful decade-long hate-boner for her ruin my evening. Is that understood?”
Pansy didn’t wait for an answer. She simply turned on her heel and left.
He turned immediately to his friends.
“What on earth is a hate boner?” he asked them, quizzingly.
Blaise chuckled. “You know. You hate her so much it makes you want to throw her down and fuck her brains out.”
Draco glared in response. And ignored the way his cock twitched at the thought.
He supposed he might’ve pictured what it might’ve been like to put Granger in her place, once or twice. Might’ve pictured wrangling that ridiculous mass of curls, frizzing and untamed down her back. Painting shock onto that baby face; into those enormous eyes of hers, away from the glare they fell into when she heard his voice.
And that mouth.
That big fucking mouth of hers that he’d managed, so often to turn to a loathing scowl. He wished, just one of the times she’d insulted him, or tried to humiliate him, that he could’ve shut that disproportionately giant mouth of hers by shoving his cock so deep into it that she couldn’t even moan. He’d wondered, a few times, what she’d sound like when she was completely cock-drunk; a mess of incoherent sounds as he fucked her into her inferior quality mattress.
Not that he’d ever do it, of course.
He tightened his grip on his glass.
“I do not have a hate-boner for Granger.”
Blaise smirked over his glass. Then he glanced at the other two.
Draco frowned at them. “I don’t. I don’t have any kind of boner for her. I just hate her.”
The three of them exchanged a stupid set of coordinated smirks, glances, looking like stupid triplets who shared no blood, yet inexplicably shared one brain cell.
Draco scoffed, impatiently. “What?”
“Tell me, Draco,” Theo asked, his tone light and teasing. “Have you seen Granger since she returned from America?”
Draco frowned.
“...No?” he answered. Then, he frowned even deeper at the sudden pursing of those same three sets of lips. “Why?”
Blaise nudged him with his elbow, nodding his head toward the room’s entrance.
“Think you might want to start singing, mate.”
Draco turned.
He lifted his gaze.
And, immediately—
He lost control of his jaw.
A woman had walked into the party, and of course, he knew it was Granger. Clearly and decisively and unmistakably, it was her. But it was like someone had taken the concept of Granger, the outline, the very theory of the witch—
And replaced her with…
With…
That.
Her figure was fucking criminal; curves like pure fucking sex under a dress that he was absolutely certain should’ve been illegal. It devoured every goddamn inch of her figure like it had been painted to her bronzed skin. It wasn’t even revealing, she was just so offensively fucking hot and the dress was just so fucking there and so fabric and so—
So fucking tight.
Gone was the baby-face, and in its place were cheekbones that looked like they could cut glass. Her curls were tighter. Dark eyes hooded and swept with black.
And that mouth.
That mouth—
Fucking Merlin she’d grown into that mouth.
Granger’s lips were fucking sin. Plush, and full, and painted a shade of such obscene red that they bordered on pornographic. He’d never seen a colour like it—a shape like it—the curve of her cupid’s bow so sharp he could almost feel them skimming across the tip of his—
Heat slammed through his body; violently and immediately. His pulse exploded.
Fuck.
His grip on his glass tightened. He tried to drink from it. But, as she confidently approached their small group he realised that, with all of his focus on her mouth—
He’d forgotten how his own even worked.
“Theo,” she said, draping her arms around the man’s shoulders.
Theo’s hand fell to the small of her back as he hugged her. “Good to see you, darling.”
Draco didn’t have the fortitude to ask how, when, or why Theo was friends with Granger. But then, she moved on to Goyle.
“Greg. How’s your sister?”
He returned her hug respectfully one-armed, muttering something back.
Granger greeted the man to his left. “Zabini.”
Blaise’s eyes sparkled. “Granger.”
“How’s Luna?”
His gaze softened. “Too good for me.”
“Damn right.”
But then—
Then—
She turned to him.
Every shred of light in the room disappeared as she faced him. Standing no more than a few feet away, he could see every angle, every shadow of her face. Every long lash that framed dark, almond eyes. She was even more jaw-dropping up close, and he was staring—he knew he was staring, but he couldn’t draw his eyes from the full-body sensuality that was watching those lips form words.
She must’ve said four of them. Five. Six, before he realised she was speaking to him.
His eyes darted up to hers.
“Cat got your tongue, Malfoy?”
And, instead of responding, he just…
Froze.
He just stared at her.
The silence that followed was obscene.
Hermione’s brow lifted slowly, clearly amused. Her lips quirked. From somewhere over Draco’s shoulder, Blaise let out a low whistle.
“Wow,” he said. “You actually broke him.”
“I’d say he looks like he’s just been slapped…” Granger smirked. “But I actually know what that looks like.”
Her eyes flicked over his face.
“...And it didn’t look nearly as fun as this.”
The others all laughed.
Theo placed a hand on his shoulder, pretending to shake him.
“Draco, have you actually forgotten how to speak? Or is this how you flirt?”
Draco felt his ears turn pink, remembering suddenly how to swallow as anger flared in his chest.
“Fuck off, Nott.”
All four of them cheered at his expense, his cheeks flushed red.
Draco cleared his throat violently. “I was not flirting.”
But Granger’s gaze met his.
She held it, for a moment. For too long of a moment. Glancing at one of his eyes, then the other. Then down to his lips. And back up again.
Granger took a step closer, trailing her fingers up the placket of his shirt. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, lips parted as she rose up to whisper in his ear.
“Hmmm,” she said, quietly. “That’s a shame.”
She patted him twice on the cheek.
Draco had to make a conscious choice not to drop his drink. But his grip, instead, tightened on it the moment Granger trailed her fingers across his chest.
“I’ll be back later, boys. Probably should mingle a bit.”
“Bye bye, Hermione,” Theo sing-songed.
Her eyes darted up to his again. Draco could’ve sworn she fucking winked at him.
She left.
And it was only then that Draco realised.
He hadn’t even said hello to her.
The ice clinked as he poured another measure of firewhisky into his glass. He could’ve done it magically, without leaving his conversation. Pansy’s flat was well-equipped with every possible form of hosting magic, including that to refill drinks without having to do it oneself. But no. He needed the breathing room.
It was his third. Or fourth. He’d lost count after the moment where she—
Where Granger—
Had—
He brought the glass to his lips. Swallowed. Hard.
He needed to pull himself together. Rein it in. Get a fucking grip. She was just a witch. And not even a witch he was interested in. So what if she was—his eye twitched—marginally hotter than she had been the last time he’d seen her? He reached for the ice tongs again.
“Thirsty?”
Her voice slipped over his shoulder and straight down the back of his shirt.
Draco dropped the tongs with a clatter in his hurry to face her.
“No,” he said, defensively.
Then, glanced down at his drink.
“I mean—yes.”
She was already stepping up beside him, setting her empty glass down beside his with a gentle tap on the counter. Hers had the faintest print of her lipstick on it.
He chanced a look at her.
Oh, Merlin, it was a mistake.
She was so much worse up close. Or so much better, depending on one’s tolerance for torture, and his was exceptionally high. Her lipstick still sat perfectly on her mouth, sharp and red and quite easily the most dangerous curve in the room.
Fuck.
“Granger,” he said, with only a slight shake to it.
“Malfoy,” she replied smoothly, as if it were completely normal for her to be standing this close to him.
She filled her glass from the bottle he'd just used, took a sip, and looked up at him from beneath her long, dark lashes.
“I have this problem,” she said casually, “that I think you might be able to help me with. If you’re interested.”
He swallowed. “I… yes. Yes.”
“Do you—” She stopped herself. Her mouth twitched, just short of a smile. “I was about to ask if you usually sign up to do potentially nefarious things without knowing the consequences, but then I remembered who I was speaking to.”
It was a jab. He knew that. But he didn’t flinch. Partly because he wasn’t sure yet what game they were playing, mostly because he absolutely did not know how to win it. So he didn’t react. Not right away. Just watched her carefully, trying to predict whether her mouth would curve into a smile or tighten with the resentment he was used to.
He could take a joke. He didn’t even care about the insult itself. Not really. He’d heard worse. Said worse. Felt worse, from her. Her hand striking his cheek with pinpoint accuracy and a face like pure fury.
Fuck. Now he was picturing her slapping him again.
And now that she looked like this, all grown-up curves and red lips and sex; letting her slap him across the face and call him a foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach suddenly seemed like a very novel and intriguing idea that he felt rather inclined to explore.
“Sounds vaguely familiar,” he murmured, warily.
Granger smiled. “Mmm. Doesn’t it just?”
She leaned in just a little. Not enough to draw attention, but enough that his breath caught. Then, she tilted her chin toward the corner where all the Gryffindors were gathered.
“Do you see who’s over there?”
Draco glanced past her. A flash of fiery red hair. Gangly limbs. A thick head.
Without thinking, he narrowed his eyes.
“Urgh. Yes. Weasley?” Draco said, disdainfully.
“Oh, good, it is still you in there.” She leaned in. “Now, I’m not sure if you’ve heard. But Ron and I broke up last year.”
He swallowed. He’d stopped looking at the Weasel, and was instead, trailing her profile with his gaze.
“I heard.”
“I went off to America. Told him to get lost. And he didn’t. Pestered me for the entire year, trying to get back together. Interfered with my work. My new friends—”
Draco supposed he should’ve glared at the man, but he was busy staring at the woman in front of him.
“Wow,” he whispered.
“Mmmm. And it hasn’t gotten any better since I got home,” she responded, still looking over at Weasley. She was almost as pretty from the side as she was straight on. “He’s the jealous type, that’s for sure.”
Draco swallowed. He couldn’t imagine he’d be in a dissimilar position, had he been a big enough idiot to be able to stare at Granger whenever he wanted, and then lose her.
Her finger tapped the side of her glass. She turned her dark, warm eyes back to him.
“Anyway, I want him to back off. He’s watching me talk to you right now with a smile on my face, and it’s pissing him off something awful because he despises you more than most humans can physically handle despising another living thing. So I was wondering if you might be interested in helping me make him even angrier.”
Draco swallowed, hard. “You… want him… to be angry?”
“Oh, no, Malfoy,” she smiled. Her eyes narrowed. “I want him to be furious.”
Her gaze trailed down his body, smirk curling on her face.
“There’s only one thing in the world he would hate more than seeing me with someone else. And that’s seeing me with you. Particularly now that you look like this.”
Draco’s stomach twisted. Oh, God. Oh, God—
Was she asking him out?
He supposed he looked marginally better himself since she’d last seen him. He’d grown taller, filled out a lot, put a little more effort into working out and styling his slightly longer hair—he wondered if should run his fingers through it to try to make himself look even the slightest bit cool or casual about what she was asking.
He couldn’t bring himself to move a single inch.
If he spooked her, she could change her mind.
So he just swallowed nervously.
She smiled. “Now, I understand that given our history, you might not be inclined to help me, but in the name of bygones being b—”
“Yes,” he blurted. “Bygones. Absolutely. Help. Happy to help.”
Her last word lingered in the air.
He’d interrupted her.
“You don’t even know what I’m asking you to do.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “It could be something you’re not interested in doing.”
Fuck. Fuck. He was fumbling this.
Draco swallowed hard.
“Try me.”
And, with a smirk, Granger turned to face him completely.
Out of nowhere, she moved forward, one final time; the already minuscule distance between them finally closing completely as she brought her phenomenal body to press against his. Slowly, she walked her fingers up his arm, and he shivered as she slipped both of her own around his broad shoulders. She began to tease the hair at the base of his skull with her fingernails, pressing her lips together.
Then, she sank her teeth into the lower one.
“We’re going to wait until he’s watching us. I’m going to kiss you—”
She lifted her lips to his ear.
“Then, I’m going to steal you away into one of Pansy’s beautifully styled bedrooms, and suck your cock.”
Draco was very glad that he had not taken a sip of his drink, as it would have promptly dribbled out of his mouth.
His brain had turned entirely to mush.
If it were even possible, every thought he’d ever had left him, all at once. His language evaporated. Whatever part of his brain handled dignity, reason, or basic human normalcy simply flickered out without warning as he pictured her—
Granger—
On her knees. With her hand—
Those eyes—
That mouth.
“You’re not saying anything, Draco.”
He swallowed. Hard.
It was lucky she’d said his name, because if she’d asked it, he suspected he wouldn’t have been able to remember what it was.
Granger pulled back just enough to look at his face. Her eyes flicked over his expression, and no sooner had she taken him in, she gave him the most magnificent smirk. His vision tunneled. The room tilted. His knees felt wrong. Was his body inside out? The concept of upright started feeling like a stretch as every drop of blood began rushing out of his head and down to his—
“Draco.”
His gaze snapped up.
“Is that a yes?”
Draco opened his mouth.
“Please,” he whispered. But then he cleared his throat. “Yes. Yes. That’s—that would be—fine.”
Granger narrowed her eyes, her dark irises flashing up at him in a gaze that threatened seduction. But he didn’t have a chance to admire it.
Because she tugged him down.
And Draco’s brain scrambled as she crashed their lips together.
Granger kissed him hard, and she tasted—felt—like—like heaven. Heaven on fucking earth, another Muggle thing he’d learned about, and fucking hell, she was it. Granger’s lips were the physical embodiment of where he wanted to go when he died.
That was it. Die. Right there, on her lips.
They were plush and full and so soft. So, so, so, so soft against his, and Draco stumbled as he tried not to let his knees buckle underneath him. She was like sinking into velvet, drowning in silk; he was lucky he’d remembered to close his eyes before they rolled back in his head, because it shouldn’t have been possible for something to be as soft as Granger’s lips were.
He was dying. He was dying and he was doing it with his eyes closed and her mouth on his and he didn’t even care.
Fuck, he only just stopped himself from moaning.
Instead, he made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and Granger smiled against his mouth. Smiled. Like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
Of course she did. She knew everything. Fucking swot.
Draco’s hands went instinctively to her waist, and he immediately thought he was probably holding her too loosely. Or too casually. Gods forbid she thought he didn’t want this.
He. Did.
He supposed that meant he should move them lower, and he did, but that felt far too forward. He didn’t want her thinking he was some sort of cad. So up they went, back to her waist as he tried desperately to pick a spot that wouldn’t humiliate him further.
But Granger—Gods, Granger—
She pushed her body against his with far too much confidence. Far too much familiarity. He knew it was to piss the Weasel off, but she was selling it so well that he was starting to question whether it was real. Granger moulded herself into his hands as if it weren’t the first time his fingers had trailed her curves. As if she already knew how their bodies fit together.
As if he, Draco fucking Malfoy, knew what she, Hermione Granger, looked like, completely fucking naked.
What she tasted like. Sounded like. What she felt like, from the ins—
Oh, fucking Morgana, he was so hard.
Draco was pretty sure he’d been hard the whole time, but the implication of having her naked and pliable and melting in his arms sent a way-too-hot rush under his already overheating collar. His fingers twitched on her waist.
People were watching this.
He could feel it. All around them. Even though it was reasonably dark, he could sense the heat of stares. The ceasing of movement and conversations in their vicinity as they tried to rectify the, admittedly extremely unlikely scenario playing out in front of their eyes.
He didn’t blame them for being shocked. No one would’ve expected him and Granger to spend the party snogging like they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, least of all him. Though, his cock didn’t seem to care much for what anyone expected. It just wanted to know what was going to happen next.
And what happened next was that one of Granger’s hands left his hair.
It sank lower. Closed around his wrist.
Pushed his hand lower. Down, down, over her waist. Over her hips. Lower. Lower.
Gods.
Lower.
As soon as he had a hand on it, Draco involuntarily sank his fingertips into the curve of her absolutely fucking perfect arse.
Granger acted like it was the most obscenely erotic thing that had ever happened.
She ground her hips forward into his, backing him against the counter with a thud. Held on tighter to the back of his neck. Slid one of her perfect legs between his own. She seated herself on his thigh, grinding herself against it, humming contentedly against his lips. Raked her fingernails through his hair as her tongue slid over his.
He had never been this hard. Ever.
Draco stopped himself from moaning again, but he didn’t manage to catch his involuntary whimper. Oh, what a terrible mistake it was.
In an instant, he felt Granger smirk, the tightening of her lips a death sentence as she took matters into her own hands.
Literally.
She pushed her hand between them, and ran it down the front of his trousers.
He suppressed his groan, and she broke their kiss, dragging her lips up his jaw.
“Fuck, Malfoy,” she whispered, intentionally sluttily. He knew for certain that it wasn’t because he’d done anything to draw one from her, she was doing every single shred of the work to make this look convincing.
Her fingers closed around his cock through the fabric.
OhSheWasBeingSoFuckingConvincing.
The moan he’d been trying so hard to hold back fell out of his mouth so fast he couldn’t stop it. It tumbled out of him. Into her. Down her throat, apparently, and into her chest, where she promptly fucking returned it and—
Oh fuck. Oh, Salazar fucking fuck.
Hermione Granger’s moan would be the sound of his demise, he was sure of it. It was half melody, half raw fucking sex, ringing through his chest and filling every crevice of his being with the need to thrust against her hand.
Even in the darkness, he could hear some of the other guests noticing them, their lively conversations falling to murmurs and shocked whispers as, one by one, they seemed to turn their attention to the inconceivable thing that was apparently about to happen right in front of their very eyes.
They couldn’t see Granger’s hand, but it was rather obviously not around the back of his neck, and the astute observers (perverts) watching might have surmised that it was doing something rather obscene in the space between their bodies.
And they would’ve been absolutely correct.
It was obscene enough that anyone would be having a very public over-the-clothes fondling in Pansy Parkinson’s extremely beautiful kitchen, but them? Them? Every soul in the room had watched them tear strips off each other for years. Draco bet none had ever assumed the strips would be clothing. But they were. Metaphorically, of course, no clothing had yet been removed.
Draco began once again wondering if she might let him see her naked.
His cock might’ve twitched in response.
He wasn’t sure, but she responded to it as if she could hear his thoughts echoing into her own brilliant mind. Because she squeezed him. Gave him a firm stroke through his trousers.
Her fingers curled properly around him, as if assessing—yes, she was assessing his size. Feeling her way down his length, and for a moment, for one perfect, unbelievable, gorgeous, beautiful moment—
She faltered.
If he had been letting his imagination run wild, he might’ve thought she’d gasped.
Fuck.
He could let his imagination run wild. To a place where she did, actually, let him see her naked.
Draco’s heart began pumping faster at the thought.
He could peel her dress off her, inch by inch. Follow it with his lips. Fuck, he could kill two birds with one stone and just take it off with his teeth.
Though, with how hard his jaw was currently clenching at her miniscule movements over the front of his trousers, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t bite straight through the fabric.
But now it was in his head. Her breasts, her waist, the sudden, slow drag of whatever that dress was made of; tugging down to reveal what she was wearing underneath. It’d be something practical. And easily removed. Soft cotton, probably ethically sourced. He could already picture it. Had practicality ever been so fucking erotic? Fuck. That would be so her. Soft, cotton underwear. He’d admire them for a moment, then he’d take those off too.
And then, once she was naked, because it was his imagination and he wanted her naked, he’d take his cock out, and she’d stick out her tongue.
At that very moment, Granger licked into his mouth. He groaned. Her tongue was so soft. Hot. Wet. And, her lips—those lips. They were going to wrap around him. Close around the tip of his cock and suck hard, as if she meant to draw out every last goddamn fucking drop of cum he had in his body.
He kissed her harder. She pushed harder back. His hips angled forward, pushing into her waiting hand. She squeezed him.
She moaned again.
It was from deep in her throat. Would he feel it, he wondered, if she moaned while she was sucking him off? Could she take him that deep? Draco ground his cock against her hand again. Then once more. Then again. She squeezed again. Encouraging him. Closing in on him.
He could already picture the tightness of her lips around the head of his cock as he slid all the way in. Pictured her eyes watering. Both of his hands in her hair as his own head fell back. As he fucked the depths of her throat, watched her eyes water as she struggled to take it all.
He moaned again.
He pictured the determination on her brilliant little face, and the triumph as she wrapped her perfect lips around the base of his cock.
Fuck.
Pictured her eyelids fluttering closed as he came.
Yes.
Streak after streak across her tongue, down her throat, feeling every single fucking swallow from the inside, and hearing her whimper and watching her eyes roll back and he could practically feel the swell of his balls tightening and—
Draco’s eyes snapped open.
Oh, God, Oh, God—
He was about to fucking come.
The fantasy had been so real, so fucking visceral, that she’d brought him to the edge without him even realising it.
He could feel it in the base of his cock, swelling as he twitched against her hand. His balls were screaming at him; agonisingly tight. Aching for release. And Draco was so overwhelmed. Overwhelmed and overstimulated and overly fucking interested in the idea of Granger’s moan reverberating around his cock from inside her throat that he was on the verge of coming, in his pants, grinding against her fucking hand in the middle of his friend’s kitchen at her birthday party.
Fuck. He needed to calm down. If he came now, not only would be humiliated, he’d also never know what Granger’s big perfect mouth felt like wrapped around his cock. Of course she’d already told him she was planning on sucking him off, but he didn’t know how to get from where they were to where they should be so that he could, in fact, drop his hands to his belt and watch his cock part the soft lips that were currently pressed against his own. A truly obscene drip of precum leaked from his tip, sinking into the fabric of his boxers.
Shit. Fuck.
It didn’t matter how beautiful Granger sounded when she moaned. He could not come. He couldn’t. If he came in his fucking trousers at a fucking birthday party from nothing more than a bit of fucking snogging—-No no no no no. He’d blow his load and then his fucking brains out. It was the only possible recourse for such a shameful failure. And then Pansy would have to clean her stupidly expensive rug. Pansy.
Fuck. Pansy. Her words from earlier in the evening suddenly echoed in his mind.
“You can hop on one foot singing Hit Me Baby One More Time for all I care, if it keeps you from being your otherwise embarrassing self.”
Draco winced.
As wonderful of a performer as she was, no amount of singing Britney Spears would render him able to set foot in public again if he came in his trousers against Granger’s wandering hand. But maybe, maybe, it might distract him enough to—
To not.
He swallowed hard. Fuck. Fuck it. It couldn’t fucking hurt.
Oh, baby, baby, how was I supposed to know—
That he should’ve wanked before the party. Shit. A wise move at any time. An especially regrettable mistake now.
That something wasn’t right here?
God, but it felt right. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried not to focus on the feeling of Granger’s warm, tiny waist moving under his hands. Tried to ignore how soft her hair felt through each rake of his fingers, knowing that soon, he’d be holding it up for her as she—
No!
He tried to focus on the music video, which also decisively did not help. His brain immediately darted to Granger in a tied-off school shirt, her tongue flicking over the end of her pen—
Oh, Gods, come on.
Oh, baby, baby, I shouldn’t have let you goOoOoooOOOOOOo—
The very concept of ‘let go’ made him distinctly aware, once more, of Granger’s hand and the part of his anatomy that it was gripping. Gods, this song was a poor choice. He should’ve picked something more ridiculous and less accidentally sexy. Tubthumping. Or…or more upbeat like…Like a Virgin. Or the one where the jovial Swedes were singing about the battle of Waterloo. An intellectual frollick through the Napoleonic wars would’ve had him flaccid in a heartbeat.
But he kept picturing Pansy’s words and he hoped, hoped that that would help, because Pansy would eviscerate him if it didn’t. Draco ran the verse in his mind. Focusing on the words. Focusing on the frankly terrible rhythm for hip thrusting anyway.
And, like some fucking miracle—
It started working.
With every line he ran in his head, his heartrate began to slow. His breath, ragged and frantic, started to even out. The hot, tight pressure in his balls—
Wait, no, that was the same.
He was able to unclench his jaw, though.
He kissed her a little more softly, bringing his hand up to cup her jaw. Maybe if he took a single breath that didn't have her perfume on it—
Granger’s lips left his, dragging up to his ear.
Panting.
Fuck.
She pulled back, only an inch or so.
“Not bad, Malfoy,” she purred. “You always did like to perform.”
He cleared his throat. “At your service.”
She kissed him again.
“Time to go,” she whispered. “Do rub it in his face for me, won’t you?”
Draco nodded.
Granger took his hand, and, in a very obvious manner, began leading him out of the kitchen.
Dutifully, he let his eyes meet Weasley’s.
Draco knew he was supposed to wink. Supposed to slap the man across the face with a sickening smirk. Supposed to rub it in his face. Your ex girl’s about to blow me.
Not you. Not Potter.
Me.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Draco was certain that the pityingly apologetic look he gave the Weasel was an amalgamation of a million things that weren’t smug. Terror. Intimidation. Sentient, and aware that he was about to be devoured alive. What surprised him, and what was perhaps worrying—
Was that the look Weasley gave him in return looked nothing like having his family pet kicked across a Quidditch pitch—
And far more like he was absolutely fucking terrified on Draco’s behalf.
Draco turned his gaze back to Granger, swallowing hard as she led him through the flat toward the bedrooms, feeling very much like a man being led to the gallows.
The moment Granger shut the door, she had him up against it.
Kissed him.
Unbuttoned his shirt.
And, with every flick, Draco’s panic grew louder.
“Damn, Malfoy.” Granger paused as she flung his shirt open, her eyes flicking down over his pecs, his abs—dragged her teeth over her bottom lip, practically growling. “You’re making this too easy for me.”
Oh, fucking Christ. He wasn’t made of willpower.
“We don’t—” He cleared his throat. “We don’t—you don’t have to—we could just tell him that—”
Granger paused, her hands reaching his trousers. Her eyes flicked up to his.
“You don’t want me to suck you off?”
His stomach twisted in panic. Regardless of how fast it was going to happen, he needed to shut his goddamn mouth. If he came this close to having Hermione Granger’s lips around his cock and managed to talk his way out of it—
Oh, fuck, the regret from that might’ve actually been worse than coming too fast.
No, he needed to come. He needed to come. Better fast than not at all.
“I do,” he whispered. Then, louder. “I do. I do.”
And, with a quirk of her perfect lips.
She slowly dropped to her knees.
Draco could feel his heart pumping almost exclusively through his cock as she leaned in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the hard line through the front of his trousers. She exhaled heavily.
Hot, damp breath circled his length.
That sound. The sound of her breath and the sound of his belt as her nails clicked across it. His own breath panting through his nostrils as she pulled him free from his underwear.
And then, the most beautiful thing he thought he’d ever heard.
A hum of approval.
He chanced a glance down at her—Fucking fuck fuck fuck— trying to pretend his cock wasn’t fucking twitching in her hands at the sight of her on her knees.
“I thought I could feel…” She bit her lip. Looked up at him. “You’ve been holding out on me, Malfoy.”
He swallowed hard. “Sorry.”
“You should be. Because if I’d known about this…”
She trailed off.
“What?” he asked.
Draco could not put into words how badly he needed her to finish that sentence. But in place of answering immediately, Granger—
Oh, fucking Morgana hand-in-hand with Jesus Fucking Christ.
She leaned in, and pressed those fucking lips against his tip. Flicked her tongue across the underside of his head.
Then pulled back.
“I probably would’ve suggested we fuck, instead.”
Draco was almost certain he was going to go blind.
His vision whited out as he began picturing it again. Granger stripped completely fucking naked; how she’d feel, how she’d look, how she’d sound; moans and whimpers and curses falling from her lips as she squeezed those perfect legs around his waist.
She dragged her tongue up his full length. Kissed it. Breathed hot, scalding breath against his balls as she teased her lips around his base. She took her time as she made her way back to his tip, inching slowly until he was starting to drip again.
Caught it with her bottom lip, and sucked it onto her tongue.
“Come in my mouth, when you’re there.”
He jolted. She’d let him come in her mouth. In her mouth. His cum. Her mouth.
Fuck.
“Why would—” he groaned, trying to fight the urge to stuff his fist in his own. “Are you sure?”
Granger’s gaze flicked up to his. She smirked.
“I can already tell you’re going to come so hard,” she whispered, rubbing him on her plush lips. “And something tells me that knowing I’m going to swallow every last drop is going to make you come even harder.”
Draco whimpered.
“Does that sound good, Malfoy?”
He nodded so hard his spine hurt.
She was saying everything right. Everything. As if she knew the exact words that were going to have him teetering on the edge before he even fed his cock into her mouth.
As if that was the point.
He whimpered as her mouth closed once more around his tip. As soon as Granger’s lips wrapped around him completely, his brain didn’t just scramble—
It fucking turned off completely.
She sucked him. Licked across his frenulum. Draco’s upper back stretched rigid against the door as Granger began an all-out assault on his sense of self-control. He raked a hand through his hair, tugging it. Begging it to release some sort of patience, or something. Dragged that same hand down his face. Sank his nails into his scalp. He tried everything. Anything.
In a desperate attempt to take this torture like anything close to a man.
“Are you alright, Draco?” she whispered. “Anyone would think you’d never had your cock sucked before.”
He let out a thoroughly undignified sound that was halfway between a laugh and an argument. Because even though Draco had, in fact, had his cock sucked before, it turned out that he had never his cock sucked well. Because Granger’s mouth was—
Well.
It belonged to Granger.
There had never been a time, in the near-decade of their acquaintanceship, that Hermione Granger had ever settled for being anything short of the indisputable best. It didn’t matter what it was. The witch excelled, and she excelled ruthlessly.
He shouldn’t have expected she’d be any different with a cock in her mouth.
Granger’s mouth was hotter than the surface of the sun. Wetter than the fucking North Atlantic. Her tongue was lethal in its precision, trailing the vein along his underside. She sucked, the ring of her lips hitting just beneath the head of his cock with a rhythm that was forcing lightning shocks through his thighs.
Draco could only whimper as she sucked him into the perfect wet heat, but he knew a whimper was not going to be good enough, so he tried to do literally anything but that. Something. Gods. Anything even the slightest bit more masculine than—
She hummed her approval.
His balls tightened so hard he felt it in his prostate.
“Oh, help—” he gasped, his knees almost buckling.
Her gaze flicked up at his outburst , and he winced. “—hell. Hell. Fucking hell.”
That was not better.
He had to calm down.
Draco had to find a way to calm himself. To ignore the sensation of Granger’s perfect tongue. Find some way to ignore the wonderful, marvelous, truly glorious feeling of her swallowing his cock into the expanse of her hot, wet mouth.
He couldn’t look at her, which was an enormous shame. If he had possession of the visual of Hermione Granger with his cock in her mouth, he was certain he’d spend the remainder of his days on earth fucking his hand against the side of a penseive. Also, the visual would almost certainly make him come immediately, and probably so hard that it knocked him flat unconscious. And that wouldn’t even be something he’d want to relive.
Maybe if he could control the depth?
Draco slid his hand into her hair.
It was every bit as soft as he’d imagined, a curl catching around his finger and holding him tight. It was as if it was begging him to sink his fingers into the back of her head and fuck her perfect mouth over and over until he came down her throat.
Nope. He slid his hand free of her hair.
Oh, that was worse. That was so much worse.
But, in an horrific turn of events—
Granger took it as an invitation.
She descended on him. Slid him deeper until he nudged the back of her throat. He expected to meet resistance, and he did. But she pulled off, swallowed, and then took his entire length.
Draco’s head hit the door behind him with such force he felt it in his teeth.
Oh fucking fuck, she’d been sucking him off for under a minute.
He couldn’t accept it. He couldn’t allow it. He could not let Hermione godsdamn fucking Granger wrap her perfect, transcendant mouth around him and only last one single minute.
He’d never be able to look her in the eyes again.
And she had such fucking pretty eyes.
So Draco squeezed his own shut.
And he went back to the only thing that had worked.
Oh baby, baby, the reason I breathe is you—
Breathe. Yes, breathe! Oh, Gods, thank you, Britney. He latched onto the words in desperation. Breath after breath. He sank into the vocals. Breathing in time with the music in his head.
Granger began drowning out the sound of his breathing with the most obscene cock-sucking sounds he’d ever heard.
Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
His entire lower half almost jolted as he tumbled back into the sensation, all at once. His balls were so tight. Blood pumped furiously into the base of his cock. So swollen. So ready.
He leaked pre-come like a dripping tap when he was half as hard. She had to be able to taste him already. FuckSheCouldProbablyTasteHim—
Oh, pretty baby there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do.
Wasn’t that the fucking truth. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to make this last. Breathe. Breathe.
Granger moaned. He steadied himself against the door frame.
Show me how you want it to be. Tell me baby ‘cause I need to know now—
Her other hand rose to his balls, gently squeezing. Oh, fuck.
He looked down. Took one fucking look at Hermione Granger on her knees.
Fuck, oh fucking hell.
My loneliness is killing me—
…He was going to die.
Granger’s eyes rose to his, holding eye contact as she sucked. As she pumped him with her hand. Draco gritted his teeth. Forced the words to appear in his brain.
He inhaled sharply.
“And I—”
Granger slowed, but that was somehow worse, her mouth sucking gently on his tip as she stared at him.
I must confess, I still believe.
He gasped. “Still believe—!”
Granger stopped sucking.
She glanced up at him with a curious expression on her face, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed in question. He couldn’t imagine why. He was keeping himself far more composed than any other man might’ve been in this situation, and—
“Malfoy, are you singing?”
Draco’s stomach churned as his throat practically closed over.
Oh no.
OhnoOhnoOhno.
He’d done it out loud.
He’d thought the words too hard and the song was too catchy and he’d sung the lyrics out loud instead of in his head.
If he did say so himself, he could actually hold a half-decent tune. But singing while getting sucked off likely fell into the category of ‘things for which one is shamed’ and now she probably thought he had some weird fucking kink.
An honourable, mature man would come clean, and explain.
Draco lied through his teeth.
“No?” he spluttered out. Pursed his lips.
“No?” She glared accusingly at him. Raised an eyebrow.
She clearly didn’t buy it.
Because she brought him back to her lips. Squeezed around his base.
Then took him down to it.
And she didn’t take her eyes off him once.
Draco bent completely in half at the waist, both hands raking through Granger’s hair as he lost his Britney-given ability to hold back. His fingertips sank into the back of her head. Her own into his thighs, dragging him in until he was catching against the back of her throat.
She swallowed on him.
Oh, he was done for.
“Fuck, Granger, I can’t—” he gasped. “I can’t—oh, god, stop, you’re going to make me come—”
She didn’t stop. She just kept sucking. Her tongue was pinpoint. She flicked it across that exact spot on his frenulum, sucking. While gripping him. While looking up at him with those fucking eyes. While moaning; the full-scale, all-out war on his senses like—
Like—
When I’m not with you, I lose my mind—
He should’ve known he was done for the second he’d walked into the room.
She was right. Draco came hard; his vision whiting out and his ears forcibly ringing as Granger’s perfect mouth sent him cascading into a wave of blinding pleasure. He came so hard he felt it in the back of his legs. In his stomach. Every muscle wrenching as it pummelled him violently over the edge and held him there. He didn’t mean to grind his hips forward, fucking himself into the back of her throat, but he did, and she just took it. Her throat squeezed tight around his tip, her lips around his base, and Draco took handfuls of her hair to try and hold her still as he emptied every single drop he had directly into the depths of her throat.
He came so hard, and so much that music ceased to exist. Light ceased to exist. Space and time, gone. Nothing existed but Granger; but her hot, coaxing moan; but her murderous fucking mouth as it turned his entire brain to liquid.
Draco opened his eyes to stars. Literal stars, lingering in the light of the bedroom as his head lolled against the door. Sparkling in the corners of his eyes and whiting out his line of sight.
He was breathing hard, he knew that. Panting. Whimpering.
And he wasn’t the only one.
Granger was panting, too. He glanced down. Her eyes were sparkling with silent fire as she stayed, perfectly still—
On her knees, with her lips still wrapped around his cock.
He whined. Whimpered. Made every pathetic sound that he could think to make, all at once, just to humiliate himself further, apparently. He’d lasted all of about three minutes, which, admittedly, was two minutes and fifty-six seconds longer than he thought he’d last.
But Granger wasn’t done. She released him with a truly obscene sound, licking her cherry-red lips as she did so. She made sure he was watching as she did so.
Oh, Draco was watching.
In fact, as he watched, he realised rather swiftly that he would never have to wank to anything else, ever again.
He was only halfway through another round of whimpering, panting moans, when Granger moved back. She got to her feet. And, in some sort of fever dream, Draco realised that she was tugging him over to the bed.
She pushed him onto it.
Draco tumbled onto an expensive duvet, falling onto his back in a daze as he tried to rectify what was happening. His eyes fell to her. She was taking her dress off.
He closed his eyes contentedly, brain beginning to power down in a haze of sleepy euphoria. Then they snapped open again.
She was taking her dress off.
Draco tried to lift his head, but it weighed a tonne, craning to get a look as she peeled the straps off her shoulders. As she stripped it from her body. As her knickers followed.
Fuck.
Oh, it was so much better than he’d imagined. Her tits were to die for, perfect little handfuls. Nipples already peaked, waiting for him to drag his lips and teeth across. The curve of her hips, built just for his hands. Her legs, her stomach, the dip of her waist—
A lesser man might’ve said she was straight out of a dream, but not Draco. To Draco, Hermione Granger’s naked form was something out of one of his worst nightmares.
Because it wasn’t that he’d never have to wank to anything else again.
It was just that Granger was so otherworldly perfect that for the rest of his life, he’d never be able to wank again, without picturing her naked body.
Gods. Fucking fuck. He was speechless. Again.
How was he even still soft?
His stomach turned with dread.
He was still soft.
Why on earth had he let her blow him?! Now he was fucking soft and she was naked and the possibilities would have been endless but he’d taken a blowjob over—
If sex with Granger had been on the table the whole time and he hadn’t taken the opportunity to find out first, he really was going to top himself.
There was only one thing he could do about it.
Draco was so exhausted from the life-changing blowjob that he could barely remember to breathe, let alone think of something clever or witty or seductive to say.
So, instead, he just patted his chest.
It followed the only instinct he had, which was to have her ride his face until he died.
His sudden display of sexual gallantry had absolutely nothing to do with manners and everything to do with the fact that if he woke up the following morning knowing Hermione Granger had been willing to let him hear what she sounded like when she came, and he hadn’t made it happen—
So he patted. Twice. Two heavy, pointed thuds, echoing through his body as he begged her to let him.
“Here.”
She cocked an eyebrow.
“You want me to…”
Draco met her gaze, making sure that the desperate, longing stare on his face gave him away.
He very much wanted that, yes.
Granger shrugged. As if she was considering it. As if she was considering allowing him the privilege of knowing, for the rest of his days, what it felt like, tasted like, looked like, to have Hermione Granger sit on his face.
And then—
She actually did it.
Granger climbed onto the bed, her knee beside his head, and like the majestic, emboldened creature she was, didn’t hesitate. She swung her leg over his other shoulder, spreading her legs directly over his face, and seating herself on his chest.
He was reasonably sure he stopped breathing.
But he wasn’t dead.
He wasn’t entirely sure she couldn’t feel his heartbeat pounding under her thighs.
“Alright then, Malfoy.” Granger eyed him. “Show me what you’ve got.”
She rose to her knees once more. Took hold of the headboard. Spread her legs.
Draco’s eyes went wide.
Oh, it wasn’t fair.
Granger’s cunt was like something out of his dreams. Pretty and rosy and glistening wet, his head falling back in agonised delight as he tried not to question what he’d done to deserve to drown in it. The very notion that she was wet from anything he’d done that evening was making his words melt together.
Draco slid his hands up the back of her thighs, letting himself rise with them as his hands—oh, gods—as his palms skimmed the soft curve of her arse.
He was inches from her cunt. Looking up at her and knowing he looked nothing short of reverent. He leaned in. Pressed a kiss to her. Slipped his tongue gently between her folds, tasting her on his tongue. Inhaled. And—
Fuck.
She was honey. Nectar. Amortentia, and heat, and the taste of woman that made his head go in a fucking spin. Draco whimpered.
So, with a thud, a tug, and a moan, he brusquely sank her down onto his face.
Granger gasped, her thighs spreading wider as Draco’s fingertips sank into the curve of her arse. He should’ve been gentler, but he couldn’t help it. He knew what she tasted like.
He wanted her all over his face.
It was a key, deep in his psyche, trying to unlock. Trying to turn, as his eyes rolled back in his head. As it shook him. Rattled him. As he curled his arms over the top of her thighs and spread her wider. Dragged his tongue over her entrance, up to her clit.
“Oh.”
It was one word. One word, but punctuated by a sharp intake of her breath. The timbre of her voice, with an edge of surprise, punctuated by a roll of her hips to grind against his mouth. Tongue. Nose. She let out a soft breath.
And she closed her goddamn fucking eyes.
Draco’s pulse shot for the sky, the thought of Granger enjoying riding his face making him breathe a little faster. He lifted his chin. Split her with his tongue. Watched, intently, to see if—
Granger keened.
“Oh, you—” she gasped, her mouth falling open. “Oh, you little shit, you’re not supposed to be good at this, I—”
His chest swelled under the praise. Fucking Morgana. Circe. Merlin. Albus fucking Dumbledore, Draco had never been so proud of anything in his entire godsdamn fucking life.
Granger thought he was decent at this.
Perhaps, if he kept doing it; if he made her come, she might consider using him and his very extremely rideable face for additional, future occasions.
Like tomorrow. And next week. And every day for the next seventy years of his life.
Maybe one day she’d even let him fuck her.
Oh, the thought broke him; picturing what he might do if he were allowed to feel this perfect, warm heat from the inside. To feel it clamp around his cock as he filled her with his come.
Would she let him?
His pulse flickered.
Would she sit on his face after that, too?
He moaned, forgetting, entirely, that his mouth was actually preoccupied at that moment.
Meaning he managed, in all his stupidity, to moan directly into Granger’s cunt.
But, as luck would have it (and it had to have been luck, because he knew better than anyone that he deserved no blessings from any deity), moaning into Granger’s cunt seemed to do something very special for her indeed.
She took firm hold of his hair, staring down at him as if he’d surprised her. But then kept staring, her mouth forming a soft, round shape as if she actually enjoyed the sight of him.
Draco supposed he would look quite alright like this; completely incapable of speaking, handfuls of blonde between her fingers, grey eyes staring pathetically up at her, desperate to die if that would please her.
He whimpered.
Gods, he wanted to please her.
Granger’s grip tightened in his hair. She rode him harder.
Draco pushed his jaw forward. Held her harder on him. Sucked gently. Licked. Ground her against his face—
Granger’s eyes fluttered shut again. She let out a soft, keening whine.
And he realised what was about to happen.
His blood pumped faster. His gaze locked on her. He was so lucky that he had his mouth full of her because his brain was switching off again. He couldn’t see anything, feel anything, think about anything but her. About how she tasted, how she sounded, how she felt in his hands and on his tongue and wrenching handfuls of his hair, and—
And—
“Oh, you fucking arsehole—”
She came.
Whatever was inside him unlocked with a bang as he watched Hermione Granger come from immediately below. As he felt her come. Witnessing the curve of her breasts. The pulsing, clenching of muscle against his tongue, against his face. The slope of her waist. Her soft stomach and wild hair and the tug of his own between her fingers and the taste of her and that fucking mouth as it fell open in a keening whine of what he could only describe as bliss.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever think again.
Granger came down from her orgasm with a grace he could barely conceive. Flushed cheeks, chest heaving, one hand lifting her hair from the back of her neck.
Her grip loosened in his own hair. She sat back on his chest.
Draco did not take his mouth off her.
Instead, he followed her, breaking his neck to make soft, gentle circles with his tongue, working her through the aftershocks as they moved through her body. Trying, desperately, to extend her orgasm for as long as he could. He wasn’t so experienced as to know how, but where the mind was weak, the body was so fucking willing.
“Fuck, Malfoy,” she panted. She glanced down at him, an approving smirk tugging at her mouth. “Bygones indeed.”
Granger moved off his chest.
She leaned down. Kissed him on the lips.
But then she—
Oh.
Oh, Gods, no.
She began kissing down his body again.
Draco’s eyes went wide, his only-half-hard cock twitching desperately as it tried to rally. By some miracle, he’d been able to make Granger come on his face in about five minutes, which under normal circumstances, he was certain might’ve impressed her.
And clearly, it had!
But as it turned out, making Granger come in a little over five minutes was actually a rather terrible thing to have done, because the five minutes were now over, so she’d begun kissing down his body again.
And his refractory period was fifteen.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Could he get her to wait ten additional minutes? There was no way she would wait ten minutes.
Could he somehow drag her back up to his face?
His jaw could go another ten minutes.
He’d go down on her until his jaw fell off if it meant that he’d get to maybe fuck her afterwards. But he couldn’t fuck her yet. As badly as he wished he could just wave his hand and get himself rock hard for her instantly, he would’ve, but he wasn’t ready yet. He was far too sensitive for her to even touch him. He needed more time. He—he—
Granger wrapped her mouth around his half-hard cock, and Draco just about levitated off the bed.
His hands flew to her head with a gasp, his whole body going rigid as she sucked him in, hard. It was everywhere, it was all of him, her tongue caressing him and lips and mouth and too-much too-much oh gods it was way too fucking much.
He wanted his cock inside Granger more than he wanted to wake up in the morning, but this was worse than torture. This was worse than death. Every single nerve in his cock was screaming for relief from the lightning-sharp sensation. Screaming for it to stop. She had to—he had to get her to—
Draco opened his mouth to say so.
His body did not cooperate.
Because if she stopped, his one chance to fuck her would be gone.
Every drop of blood in his body was on fire, pumping from every other inch as it rushed to meet her mouth. He was hardening so fast, so fast at the thought—even the potential—of being inside Hermione Granger’s cunt.
All he could do was lie there, grabbing fistfuls of covers and whimpering.
She licked, his eyes squeezed shut. She sucked, his head slammed back against the pillow. His cock hit the back of her throat, and his hand slammed into the headboard.
She had him rock hard in under a minute.
He’d never felt anything quite so tight as the tense band of pleasure that radiated through his thighs. Saliva dripped from her wet mouth, down over his balls, the urge to hold her down and fuck her mouth until it dripped with something else sending sharp flickers up his spine. But even if she offered, he couldn’t have done it. The sensitivity was simply too much. Every time the head of his cock slipped into the back of her throat, he let out a sound that was more sob than breath.
So devastating an assault was the feeling on his senses, that when she released him, it was almost a relief. His cock slapped, wet, against his abdomen, with a hard thud, and Draco took a deep breath. Of relief. Of the stay of execution.
He needed something, anything. A pain potion. A bonk on the head with a heavy mallet. Something to get him through the sensitivity so that he could—
His eyes fluttered shut.
There was no way the song was going to work a third time.
He prayed under his breath as Granger crawled up his body. She straddled his hips, her perfect thighs parting over his. On any other day, the image would’ve sent him to the psych ward. Today, he was quite sure he’d need the emergency department.
She took his cock in her hand, wrapping around its mid-length. Rose up to her knees. Angled it to her entrance. Granger met his gaze. He gritted his teeth, trying to look very, very brave.
She sank down.
Oh, sweet fucking Britney.
Draco flailed underneath her, hands grabbing at various parts of her body to try and stem the sensitivity. It was agony. Agony; hot and constricting and oh so fucking wet as she began rolling her hips to adjust to his size. She rose up, her hands on his chest—
She took him to the hilt on her way back down.
His vision went absolutely fucking white.
His body was screaming at him that he shouldn’t have been enjoying the overstimulation, the lightning-sharp sensitivity, but his brain—oh—his big, stupid brain had dragged his eyes down to Granger’s tits, and was watching them bounce as she fucked him through the pain.
So, actually, this was actually unlocking something that he already knew was going to become somewhat of a problem, right before his very-preoccupied eyes.
They lingered, darting lower.
He watched himself disappear into the tight, wet heat of Granger’s body; her stilted, stuttering moans burning into his mind as the only important thing he’d ever need to remember again.
She seemed to be enjoying his desperate, agonised whimpers; perhaps some form of retribution for all the awful things he’d thought/conspired/done to/said to her over the years of their acquaintance. Maybe, after this, she’d like to suck him off until he cried.
Aaaand, there it was. Along with the best head of his life, and being fucked like she was trying to kill him—
Granger had blessed him with a new kink.
But, as her hips slammed down onto his, he became thoroughly aware of the fact that she was fucking him. It was his own shitty refractory period responsible for it, but he was letting her do all of the work, which would not do at all if he was to look back on this experience with anything other than shame.
Even if that probably was why she was doing it in the first place.
He had to fuck her.
She slowed for a second, her eyes closing, brow furrowed, as she circled her hips over his. As she sank him in to the soft slick, the scalding, sucking, tight warmth that was Hermione Granger’s soul-destroying fucking cunt. He barely even fit all the way in. He was pressed right up into the deepest parts of her.
He was never going to get over this.
“Fuck, Malfoy,” she gasped, arching her back in her slow, agonising grind. “Your ego really doesn’t need this, but you feel so good.”
He choked.
She sank her teeth into her lip as she leant forward, almost serpentine as she took him down to the very deepest part of her.
“If you can make me come again I’m going to—” she hit the angle she wanted, a half-moaned whisper escaping as her head fell back. “—reward you next time.”
Bells and sirens and somebody (definitely not him) screaming flooded Draco’s brain as her words sank in. Next time. Next time. Maybe not today, but some other day, where she could suck him and fuck him and test how many times in a row she could make him come.
Draco did not believe there would be a limit, at least not with her.
He’d keep going until tears were streaming down his face and he was begging for a shred of mercy. And then, hopefully, she wouldn’t give him any, and that would make him come even harder as he wailed and writhed under the cruel fist of what was seeming like her rather sadistic streak.
But it wouldn’t happen unless he made her come, right now.
Draco’s fingertips sank into her arse cheeks, gripping her tightly.
Fuck. Fuck, this was going to hurt.
He drew his hips back as far as he could against the bed. Lifted Granger up, giving their bodies the space they needed.
And thrust.
He was not quiet for the first thrust. Or the second. Or the third; a chorus of agonised, choking groans as he slammed himself into her. Every one was agony, but he couldn’t stop it, the urge to fuck Granger until she was as much of a mess as him the only thing keeping him from passing out.
Almost instantly, he was rewarded for his pain, as Granger’s lips parted with a keening ‘oh’. He held her in place, grinding her down onto his full length as he fucked up into her. Over and over and over, his hands roaming her body, skimming over her breasts, her perfect arse, sinking into her thighs. He winced through the pain, wordlessly begging her to come.
He needed her to come.
She was close but she wasn’t there. She needed something. She needed—
He closed his eyes.
Our Britney who art in California, hallowed be thy gymnastic ability—
Please. Please—
Let this work.
Draco dug his heels into the bed. He took a deep breath. Opened his eyes.
“Show me,” he whispered. “How you want—” A dark breath. “---how you want it to be—”
Granger met his gaze, her own breathing sharp and desperate. There was a question in her eyes. He swallowed hard.
“Tell me, baby.” Draco held it, looking into her eyes and nodding her on. “I need to know.”
She let out a tiny whimper.
Then she grabbed his hand, and pushed his fingers onto her clit.
Yes. Yes. He pressed in hard, through the slick of their bodies. He just pushed, giving her something to grind against, and Granger’s back arched on top of him.
“Right there!” she gasped. “Oh, God!”
This time, a proper moan.
“Malfoy,” she whimpered. “Don’t stop—”
Was it possible for him to come while in agony? He certainly felt like it was; groaning and whimpering under his breath as she sucked him into her tight, squeezing heat. Because he could feel it, the build of an almost impossible orgasm, lifting his stupefying pace as he pressed his palm against her belly to make it better for her. She keened, spreading her legs wider, catching his cock on the inside of her anterior wall.
“Malfoy,” she gasped. “Oh, I want to come so badly—”
Oh, Gods, oh bliss, oh how sweet it was to be alive.
“Baby—baby, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do,” he whispered.
Granger’s fingertips sank into his pecs.
She began to move faster. Higher and harder, slamming herself down onto him. Then she switched, holding him deep inside her as she grinded against his pelvis with his cock buried to the hilt.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I can’t,” she whined. “I don’t think I can come again.”
No, that wouldn’t do. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose the chance to have her again. To show her he could do more—
He pressed down on her clit. Lifted his hips. Opened his mouth
“Come on. Come on,” he whispered. “Hit me, baby.”
He licked his lips.
“One more time.”
And then, she was coming.
He expected that Granger might’ve looked as beautiful as the first time when she came again. Ferocious and devastated and shocked and overwhelmed, her pretty face contorting into ecstasy as she tumbled into her second orgasm of the evening, but unfortunately, he wasn’t able to witness it.
Because the moment Granger began coming, Draco’s entire life flashed before his eyes.
It wasn’t just Granger’s fingernails sinking into his pecs. It wasn’t the burn of his thighs or his abs or the strain in his shoulders as he held her in place and kept fucking her through it. No, it was none of that. It was that her cunt was so perfect, and he was so hard, and so sensitive, that when she came, she squeezed him exactly tight enough to make his vision completely white out.
His head fell back against the pillow, a moan rasping deep out of his throat as he kept fucking, blindly, into the tight, wet heat sucking him deeper. It was agony. Torture. Lightning and shocks of pain through every inch of his cock, up his thighs, deep into his gut, up his spine.
And there— right there— on the precipice of the pain—
Draco could see it. It was a pinpoint. A tiny speck. The pleasure at the top of it, on the other side of the pain. If only he could grab it, he knew it would be worth it. Somehow, he knew, that if he could just keep going for a moment longer—
If he just—kept—fucking her—
He choked, the pain coming to a head, but he just kept going. Whispering, under his breath, as he rose. Sensitivity wrenched his whole body, right at the peak. And there. There.
There—
And he hit it. Grasped it. The precipice, the apex, the pinpoint moment where the pain tipped over into pleasure. He skimmed it, barely, and he exploded, the head-splitting, skin-tearing, whole-body assault of agonising pleasure sending fireworks through his body as he came so hard he stopped breathing. His body wracked, fingers sinking into soft flesh and holding deep as he came where he knew he probably should’ve asked first. And there was sound coming out of his mouth, he could hear it, but he couldn’t taste a word of it; the climax of his orgasm tearing it from his chest and wrenching it out through his teeth. Whining. Moaning.
Baby. Baby. Baby, though he had no right to use it, tumbling out of him with a cadence; a tune behind them that he couldn’t hold back. A melody, however breathy, slipping from his lips as if in a serenade.
As if he—
As if he was serenading her—
His eyes snapped open.
Granger was staring at him.
Draco’s entire life flashed before his eyes once more, but this time, it was because he was about to follow through and top himself on Pansy’s brand new rug.
“You were singing!” she panted.
Death. Death. A swift death. He needed to put himself out of his misery.
“What?” ” he panted, trying to catch his breath. He cleared his throat. “N-n-no…….?”
Granger stared at him, her brow furrowing in confusion
“Yes, you were.”
“No?”
“Yes!”
Draco’s entire soul left his body as he winced. He glanced around the room, looking for an escape route. There was a window, though they were twenty-six floors up. There was a large pot plant, there was a painting—-
He couldn’t come clean. That would be setting them off on the wrong foot entirely. He just needed to keep up the facade.
But Granger captured his wrists in her hands, pinning him to the bed.
“Britney Spears is as good as Muggle royalty,” she panted, leaning over the top of him. “How do you know who she is?”
Draco swallowed hard.
He had one opportunity here. One single chance to redeem himself from the humiliation of coming far too fast the second time and far too musically the second.
He looked up at Granger, his voice shaking.
“You’re not the only one who’s made some changes, Granger," he replied.
She eyed him for a moment, her brow furrowing as she took him in. Hair, eyes, down to his lips. Over his throat, lingering for a moment on his Adam’s apple. Over his chest, his abs, and down to the neat crop of hair. She leaned back, hands resting on his thighs.
“Hmmm,” she said.
Then she lifted herself off him, and moved down to her knees.
Draco wheezed as she took him in hand, nearly clamouring up the bed to get away from her as she wrapped her hand around him and dragged her tongue through the mess of both of them that coated him.
“What are you—” he gasped, whole body twitching with agony as she popped the tip into her mouth. “Oh my fucking God what are you doing!?”
She couldn’t expect him to get hard again. She—fucking shit—he rasped—Jesus fucking Christ—
She released him from her mouth. Licked him. Squeezed his balls and let her dark, malevolent eyes meet his.
“I’m considering something.”
She was expecting him to get hard again. Granger gave him a firm pump, expecting compliance. She took him in her mouth again.
Draco’s throat let out no sound as he fought to take a breath. He was still scrambling; the heel of his hand pressing desperately against the top of her head.
While, shamefully— God what was wrong with him?
His fingers stroked through it.
“WhatAreYouConsidering—?” he squeaked.
Granger pulled back once more, looking more pleased with him than he’d ever seen. She eyed his sweat, his gritted teeth—
And she smiled.
“Good kisser. Good in bed. Clearly made an effort to at least partly redeem yourself,” she bit her lip. “Maybe you’re worth keeping around?”
Then her mouth—her once disproportionate, now intoxicating mouth—curled into a grin.
It was macabre. It was evil.
She ran her tongue over her teeth.
She spread his thighs with her knees. Another three pumps.
She lowered her voice, and purred.
“Come on, Draco,” she purred.
“Let’s find out what other songs you know.”