Chapter Text
"Come in."
Draco paused at the room's threshold, appreciating the sight before him.
Having stolen that book from his study, Hermione read while wrapped in a robe and sprawled atop the guest bed, a lamp providing minuscule amounts of lighting.
"Sorry." She closed the book hastily as if just now remembering it was proof of her thievery. "I was going to put it back—"
"Don't apologise."
He'd be lying if he said he wasn't the slightest bit captivated, watching her fluster as he walked inside the guest room.
"What if someone saw you?" she asked, meaning Weasley and Potter, who shared a room down the hall.
“So?”
“So? I'm not your girlfriend —"
"No,” he said firmly. “You're my wife."
He saw it, even from across the room, the way she pressed her legs together. He knew her well enough to see the cogs turning, calculating each risk and reward.
"Speaking of your wife,” she quipped, giving him a playful look. “Where is she?”
"Sleeping.”
This was her fault. Past and present her.
His gaze fell on her body, wrapped in a borrowed pink bathrobe. Her old one — that same one he'd fucked her in countless times before. His cock twitched like some Pavlovian reflex, the mere sight of her making him hard.
No part of him planned for this. She was young, and it was hard to imagine that within a year, his teenage self would take her: sneaking around during eighth year, making it their goal to hate-fuck everywhere they could while sworn to secrecy.
"Are you just going to stand there?" She brought her legs up, almost flashing him if not for the small section of fabric that hung over her. "Or do you want to close the door?"
She didn't need to ask twice.
Why should he act holier-than-thou? To not pursue what he knew they both wanted. Who was he to turn down an opportunity to make her scream for the first time all over again?
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Her robe fell aside slightly, readjusting her position to sit and face him, and his eyes dropped to the skin peeking through. Her body had changed over the years, and while her curvier, softer figure held no complaint from him, a feral streak simmered while sitting beside her, the image like diving into a Pensieve.
“How’d you know I’d be up?” she asked.
He shrugged. "I just did.”
She cocked an eyebrow as if asking 'how?'
"After nineteen years together, I know certain things."
"Oh?" she asked, suppressing a smile. "Pray tell, what do you know?"
"Besides that you love reading in bed, naked and post-shower?"
That she loved getting fucked right afterwards.
She gave an indignant huff. "I'm not naked."
She might as well be. "No?"
Her hair was still half-wet as she flung it back, forgoing the drying charm that she claimed made it frizzier. "Fine. What else? Seeing as that fact was rather obvious."
He hardly knew where to start. What didn't he know?
"I know your favourite colour is violet. That you broke your arm when you were nine and read every Agatha Christie book in existence while it healed. You hate coriander, and your favourite fruit is melon which is both strange and oddly symbolic … You told me once that the sweetest fruit is the one that no one expects; the one that tastes bitter until it comes into season."
With her hanging onto every word, he took it upon himself to keep going.
"You'll die on the soapbox of saying Muggle music is superior… You love getting kissed in the rain, and I swear it's because you imagine we're in some tragic romance novel. You have a birthmark on your upper thigh…"
Her eyes implored him, and he couldn't stop, even if he wanted to.
"I tell you you're beautiful, and you rarely believe me."
The mischievous glint of gold in her iris propositioned him, even before she asked, "What else do I … like?"
Her tone, with those words and mixed with a darkened expression, shattered his remaining resolve.
"Hm," he pretended to think — as if he hadn't figured her out decades prior.
"You like when I brush your hair back.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "When I run my thumb along your jaw.” Her mouth unhinged as he did it. "When I kiss you —”
He paused, waiting for her to protest, but she just closed her eyes and tipped her head back right before his lips brushed hers.
His hand claimed the back of her neck, his thumb tracing her jawline.
The kiss was innocent but increasing. His cock ached and strained the fabric of his pyjama bottoms as she squirmed, clenching her thighs, wanting more.
When they broke apart, his forehead pressed hers, and she whispered into the space between their lips.
“What else?”
He clung to control, keeping himself from flipping her over and taking her right there. She was going to enjoy this. When she screamed, it would be in ecstasy. It would be that noise she makes right before she comes.
He undid the tie of her robe, letting it fall open, helping as she shrugged it off her shoulders.
"You like when I do this." He cupped her bare breast, brushing the pad of his finger against her hardened nipple. "And this." He bent down, taking her nipple in his mouth, sucking one and tweaking the sensitive flesh of the other.
His hand dropped, his fingers tracing her inner thigh.
"If you want me to stop —”
"Don't."
He touched right where she wanted as her legs fell open, the area slick and swollen with the promise of sex.
"You like when I run my finger right here," he pressed his middle finger along her slit. "And when I purposefully don't touch here —" his finger swiped her clit for the briefest moment, moving away, "— even though you desperately want me to."
She groaned in frustration, her nails raking the mattress. "Why?"
"You like me to tease you," he said, pinching her folds together and massaging the body of her clit with indirect pressure. "To make you wait."
“Oh, my fucking —”
"It's the difference between having cake at the end of a meal versus getting it shoved in your face when you aren't even hungry."
Her shivering had nothing to do with the temperature, given that her body felt on fire.
She bit her lip, trying to move against his hand. "What if I'm hungry already?"
He smirked, sliding a finger inside her effortlessly.
"I can tell," he teased, praising how wet she already was.
"Keep — oh, fuck." She bucked against him as he added a second finger. "Keep — talking."
Her cunt clenched, and arousal coated all the way down to his knuckles, thrusting gently as he spoke.
"You love my fingers inside of you. And when I do this —" He switched movements, brushing that spot against her front wall. "And praise how wet you are for me. ... How much I can't wait to feel you around my cock and how good it'll feel when you come."
He made a summoning motion inside her, smiling as her eyes fluttered back.
"I need to,” she whined. "Please."
"We haven't even started," he teased.
She looked down, watching his fingers move inside her.
"What do you call this?"
"Only a taste."
In an instant, he changed their position, kneeling between her parted legs.
She perched on both elbows. "Wait. I-I don't —"
"You don't like boys who lick you raw thinking that gets you off," he read her protest, kissing the birthmark on her inner thigh. "You'll like this —"
“You don’t have to.”
“I love to," he said, trailing his lips up. "And so do you."
His touch was enough to make her lean back, her spine arching off the bed.
He used his thumbs to part her, cool air hitting warm wetness as she made a strangled sound. And another. Then demanded that he keep going.
"Bossy as ever, I see."
"Prat."
He massaged his fingers along either side of her, watching as each moment of gentle pressure derailed her a bit more.
"Please. Malfoy."
She knew it'd get her what she wanted.
He lapped at her entrance, plunging his tongue in to taste her, relishing how she tasted the same. He trailed wetness from core to clit, giving it a few teasing flicks that forced out her loudest moan yet.
"Boss me around, Granger. I know you want to."
"Do that… fuck, whatever you did before."
He smirked knowingly. "This?"
He pinched her outermost lips together, right where that perfect spot was, jerking and rubbing the inner part of her clit that never got enough attention.
" … I, god. Why does that feel so fucking good?"
He slowed, knowing she could come like this.
“Please — "
“Not yet.”
And he spread her again, his two fingers forming a 'V'. "You like this also," he said, blowing cool air against her swollen bud. "And this," he flicked his tongue against her hood, knowing that spot drove her mad. "And when I tell you that you have a pretty pussy; how your cunt tastes like heaven.”
"Yes. God.”
"Then finally — when you've been a good, patient, little witch for me …"
He took the swell of her clit in his mouth, sucking gently.
A string of praise fell from her lips. He added to the harmony, groaning against her, the vibrations causing her to make that strangled noise — signalling she was close as he added his fingers back.
"Oh, yes," She grabbed fistfuls of his hair, grinding herself on his face. "Just like that. Don't stop."
He drove her to that peak, letting her topple headfirst into the ripples of climax. It wasn't a dramatic show: just breathless noises, tensing and relaxing as she clenched around his fingers and came along his tongue.
"Holy ..."
She heaved, unable to finish the sentence while trying to catch her breath.
It was presumptuous: the way he forced their lips together, but she loved when he kissed her after. When she tasted herself on his breath as he took her bottom lip between his teeth.
She tugged at his waistband, breathing “Fuck," when her hand palmed him through the tented fabric. “She was right.”
“Right about what?” he asked, lifting his shirt over his head and tugging down his pyjama bottoms.
“Oh, er — nothing.”
But a shot of Firewhisky would burn less than her gaze between his thighs.
"You're rather conspicuous, you know."
He brought his lips to her neck, his hand pressing one side gently, knowing it always drove her wild.
“I — that isn’t fair,” she trembled when he fisted segments of her hair. “I don’t know what you like.”
“You.”
Her body and those noises and her cunt — silken from his tongue and touch and keen for what came next. He was rock hard, beyond ready to feel her stretch around him.
He sat on his haunches, taking his cock in one hand and teasing it up and down her slit. When the head made contact with her clit, she jerked and moaned, forcing him so close to her entrance; one press forward, and he'd be inside.
He leaned down atop her, forcing one of her hands to the mattress, interlacing their fingers. His hardness nestled her wetness; they moved against one another, mimicking sex.
"Tell me if it's too much,” he said. "Or if you want to stop."
"I'm not a virgin."
It wasn't that.
"I know. But —”
"I want you,” she whispered, dispelling doubt as she used her free hand to make a fist, running it up and down his length. “I want this.”
That last thread of control unravelled.
He moved her hand, pining both above her head as he pushed inside her, their bodies gliding together a bit rougher than he intended. Her pleading whimpers gave no sound of protest. Neither did her demand, spoken after he paused to let her adjust to his size.
“God … Move!”
“Demanding as always."
He gave a few gentle thrusts, angled, so the base of his shaft brushed right where she needed. A string of curses mingled with her needy moans, keeping in tune with their bodies moving together.
True to herself, she liked to talk while getting fucked into the mattress.
"Is this — ah — my favourite position?”
"One of them.” He grabbed behind her knee, pushing her leg back. “You like variety.”
“I — oh.”
She gave a delicate hum of approval as he leaned down and whispered.
“Sometimes you like it slow — like me to whisper in your ear about how perfect it feels; how much I love you.” He slowed as he said it, then gave a particularly rough thrust into her. “Other times, you like to be fucked facedown — called filthy while I pin your arms back. Slap your arse, and edge you until you're begging me to let you come."
"Show me."
She sang her pleas, but he knew this would only be once. She’d leave tomorrow, and he’d be damned if he didn’t feel her come undone around him tonight.
He flipped their position, and she hesitated as he pulled her on top.
"Draco, I —"
"I'll show you," he told her. “You’ll like it.”
She nodded, bringing one leg over to straddle him. She positioned herself, sinking onto him with a groan as she slung her head back and began bouncing up and down.
He forced her hips still.
"Like this," he instructed, his hands guiding her hips. He watched her face change, using him as she rocked back and forth, grinding her clit along the base of his cock. "That's it. Put your hands on my chest."
He loved watching her like this. Her jaw would unhinge, and she’d tremble as she rode him until her thighs tensed, taking her pleasure without apology.
He played with her breasts, knowing it brought her closer.
“I think — fuck, I’m … “
Her moans reached a crescendo as her words became incoherent.
Her second release was violent as she leaned forward, burying her head into him, muffling her sounds that bordered screams. She felt dizzying, fluttering around him as she uncoiled, her nails raking his chest.
He said a silent thank you for the nonverbal silencing charm he'd cast on his way inside her room.
After that final wave washed over, she went limp.
“That’s your favourite,” he said, kissing her during the comedown.
“I … I’ve never —” she stammered, trying to steady her voice. “Not like that.”
“I know.”
When she kissed him again it was forceful, rocking and wiggling while still on top of him.
“I love this,” she said, her post-climax haze always making her ramble. “ God. I love fucking you. Take me; however you want me. I want you to feel good, too.”
He thrust into her from below, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer.
His view while looking up at her was perfect, and the aftershock of two orgasms left her soaking, and so he let himself be selfish — increasing their pace, fucking her for another minute before the world turned to white noise. He gave a final thrust, feral as he held her, forcing her hips still as he split into her.
When it was over, she slid down and collapsed beside him, his come trickling onto her thigh. He burned the image into his memory, grabbing his wand to perform the best cleaning and contraceptive charm of his life.
They lay in the bed beside each other, staring at the ceiling while trying to catch a full inhale.
“How am I supposed to just …. forget this? Erase everything come tomorrow?” she asked.
He kissed the top of her head.
“You’ll spend the rest of your life remembering.”
“Will you stay?” she asked quietly. “Will she — I —be mad?”
“No,” he wrapped his arms around her from behind. “And yes, I'll stay."
He'd take every version of her: today, tomorrow, eighteen or eighty.
He said a silent ‘I love you,’ knowing he’d be wrapped around her when she awoke, tomorrow and every day following.