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Hermione tapped her foot as she waited outside the Puddlemere United locker room for Ginny. If they didn’t hurry, they were going to be late for the movie they had planned to see together at the cinema, but at the rate she was going, maybe she didn't want to go at all.
Hermione was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe practice had run late? That didn’t explain the rest of Ginny’s teammates filing out of the locker room within the first half-hour of Hermione’s wait….
It was pretty rainy outside; maybe Ginny was having a hard time washing mud out of her hair? No, that was silly. How would she get muddy flying fifty feet above the ground?
Maybe she was injured? Hermione sucked in a breath, her eyes darting to the locker room door. Maybe she was too injured to clean herself up or dress properly or walk—
That was it. Hermione had to investigate. She berated herself for leaving her magically extended beaded bag at home and tried to recall every healing spell she knew as she shoved the door open and stormed inside. Instead of her friend, she found lockers hanging open and the odd piece of clothing strewn all over the floor, everything from practice robes to dirty socks to jockstraps. Hermione’s cheeks heated as she averted her gaze from the dirty underwear to look for locker #17 for any clue of Ginny’s whereabouts. The place was a maze of discarded equipment and clothes, and before she could find Ginny’s locker, her attention was captured by something else—a noise.
It sounded like a muffled cough at first. Hermione spun around, calling “Ginny?” into the empty room. When the sound returned, she identified it as labored breathing, and her heartbeat jacked up in worry as she searched for the source.
At the end of the locker room was a hallway to the showers. As she neared it, she heard running water and that heavy breathing again. Ginny must have fallen in the shower! She raced down the short hallway to the shower room and stopped dead in her tracks, trying to understand what she was seeing. At one end of the room were a handful of shower stalls with curtains for privacy, but the other walls had an open layout with unenclosed shower heads spaced a few feet apart. Someone was using one of these showers, but it wasn’t Ginny—and he wasn’t washing.
A man stood under a spray of water at the end of the room, his head bowed and his hand steadying him on the wall in front of him. When Hermione tore her gaze away from the rippling muscles in his back, she could just make out the color of his hair, and her body froze in response. She’d recognize that shade of blond anywhere, and damn her for walking in on Draco Malfoy in the shower!
She took a careful step backwards, trying to inch out of the room without attracting Malfoy’s attention. When he made that sound again, it paralyzed her. Her skin prickled as goosebumps popped up all over her flesh. That wasn’t the sound of labored breathing caused by pain. That was a moan, and it echoed off the walls in the not-quite-empty shower room.
Hermione’s blood turned from ice to lava in a flash as the moan turned into a series of grunts punctuated by body-wracking tremors. Instead of stepping backwards, Hermione’s foot fell forward. The spray of the water covered the sound of foot meeting tile, and she knew she should have left or at least turned away. He deserved his privacy, his dignity. She was an unwanted interloper, but she couldn't even bring herself to feel embarrassed.
Her eyes were glued to his bum. As the muscles contracted, a dimple formed in each cheek and both of them fascinated her. She began to feel a little flushed as she noticed his hips rocking, each short thrust timed perfectly with the appearance of the dimples and a little less perfectly with his grunts. The flush traveled down her body, making her skin feel tight and prickly, too aware of the cotton in her bra as her nipples grew more sensitive, too aware of the material of her blouse sitting light against her skin. Her gaze wandered upwards to the expanse of Malfoy's pale back, slick and dripping with water, rivulets running down his bum and the backs of his thighs.
She couldn’t stop her approach even if she wanted to. She was too absorbed, too curious, too turned on, and she needed a closer look.
She and Ron had had plenty of sex while their relationship had lasted, but it had never compared to what she could do on her own, alone in her bed with her hand between her thighs. And Ron had certainly never performed for her like this. If he’d wanked at all while they’d been together, he’d done it in private. Ron hadn’t been the type to shag with the lights on, and he’d preferred sex the traditional way, under the covers with him on top and minimal foreplay.
Hermione had read books about sex, but he hadn’t been interested in changing their bedroom routine. In fact, he’d made her feel wrong for wanting to expand their sex life at all. Malfoy, it seemed, was a little more adventurous than Ron, or else he wouldn’t have chosen to wank himself off in broad daylight, in an unenclosed shower inside an unlocked locker room. Anyone could stumble upon him and catch him in flagrante—and Hermione had.
The spell of her fascination broke when Malfoy turned around, his eyes widening as he spotted Hermione, now halfway between the door and him. Her own eyes widened, and the heat enflaming her body traveled back up to her face. She’d frozen in place, but she couldn’t help but glance at his grip on his impressive cock, and as she watched, his hand began to move again, twisting his wrist as he slowly stroked himself.
Her eyes darted back up to his to find him staring at her, his eyelids half-closed as he watched her watching him. His cheeks were pink, either from exertion or his extended stay under the spray of the hot water she didn’t know.
He let his shoulders fall back against the wall and widened his stance, which only put his hips on more prominent display. Hermione took in the way his mouth fell open as his breath left his lips in short, heavy puffs, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with each thick swallow. Her gaze travelled down his impeccably defined chest, following the path of fine hair to his pelvis, where the red tip of his cock bobbed between his fingers without shame.
No amount of reading could prepare her for the sight before her or the way she suddenly wanted. Someone could have lit her on fire and it still wouldn’t match the heat coursing through her veins. Her heart pounded and she lifted a hand to the valley between her breasts to settle it, but her hand brushed against a taut nipple. Even fully clothed, she groaned at the sensation.
Malfoy’s hand sped up as a result of her utterance, and Hermione couldn't look away as his free hand went directly to his balls. His hips bucked, driving his shaft into his hand with more urgency than before, and his grunts became more spaced out but louder as his breathing grew more erratic.
Hermione wanted to put her own hands on him. She wanted to feel the thick length of him in her grasp or between her legs, to feel his hot breath against her neck and hear those sinful moans in her ear. She wanted to taste his pleasure on her tongue and give it back to him in return.
When he finally reached his release, he dug his heels into the wet tile, his back arching as he came all over his hand. The water washed the evidence of his indiscretion down the drain, and suddenly Hermione realized the appeal of shower sex. Too bad Ron never had.
They both struggled to catch their breaths, but while he came down from his high, Hermione’s whole body tingled and burned and wanted more. He straightened up and smirked, his cock still semi-erect and proud—and he shameless in his nudity. She held her breath as he turned off the water and stepped closer to her.
“Hermione?” Ginny’s voice echoed down the hallway and through the shower room.
Hermione spun around, her heart racing harder at the thought of being caught alone with a naked Malfoy. The thought actually excited her, but she didn’t want to turn that fantasy into a reality just now.
“Leaving so soon?” Malfoy asked, looking smug but relaxed.
Trying to compose herself and appear unaffected, she said, “Do you do this after every practice?” Underneath her clothes, her heart pounded.
He shrugged, the corner of his lips lifting a little higher. “Depends on who’s sitting in the stands watching.”
Heat flooded her face until she felt dizzy. Sometimes when she and Ginny made plans, Hermione would arrive at the pitch a little early to catch the end of her practice. She never realized someone was also watching her.
“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said as she backed toward the door.
As she finally met up with Ginny, her body tingled with anticipation at the possibility in Malfoy’s parting words: “I hope you do.”