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Hermione sagged against the locker. Her ribs were on fire, and her vision was blurry from the slow leak of a shakily healed mid-game cut above her eye. The Holyhead Harpies had suffered a season-ending defeat, and Hermione’s body felt like the Bludger that always seemed to be on the end of Puddlemere United’s star Beater’s bat. Her teammates had trickled out slowly, saying mumbled defeated goodbyes as Hermione sat staring unseeing at the lockers across from her.
Even the loud bang of the door crashing into the wall didn’t startle her from her misery. “What the hell were you playing at out there, Granger?” Coach Malfoy stormed into the locker room. “You don’t try a fucking Hutchinson’s feint when you have a Beater three times your size with a grudge against you on your tail.” His tone dipped dangerously low as he went from angry to livid. Her ill-timed move was the most likely culprit of what felt like at least one broken rib. The bat may have slipped and mistaken her for a Bludger, or at least that was Puddlemere United’s defense. Coach Malfoy paced back and forth in long strides across the small room.
When his incensed gaze finally snapped to her, his eyes widened. She was slumped over with one arm held tightly to her ribs. It felt like her lungs would fill with blood if she breathed in too deeply. Her nails were crusted with blood and dirt, and she didn’t even want to think about her hair. “Why have you not changed and seen a bloody healer?” The muscles in his jaw flexed dangerously as he ground out each word. “Get changed.”
Hermione laughed softly. “I would if I could.”
Coach Malfoy’s hair fell over his eye as he leaned over to examine her. It looked like he had tugged at the soft blonde strands nonstop during the game. His eyes warred between anger and concern. He stepped towards her. Even when she was standing, he was a whole head and shoulders taller than her. He still had the muscular build of a professional Quidditch Beater despite having retired ten years ago. But now, seeing his height and breadth standing over her as she sat, made her lower stomach tighten.
He reached out, and his touch ghosted over the cut on her forehead. “You’ve always been a terrible healer.”
A protest rose to her lips. “It was the best I could do mid-flight.”
His previously light touch moved with incredible speed to grab the mass of curls tied at the nape of her neck. He fisted the curls, forcing her to lift her chin and expose her neck to him. His eyes darkened, and in a low warning, he said, “Next time you take a sub, and we heal that, you stubborn witch.”
“I didn’t want us to lose.” Hermione bit out.
“Fat lot of good that did.” He released his grip on the nape of her neck. “Take the sub next time.” Something that sounded like concern leaked into his voice. “I don’t want to see you like this again.”
She didn’t know what to say, only that she didn’t want him to take his eyes off her. “Can you?” She gestured to her cloak and rain-soaked uniform. “I can’t without use of my arm.”
Coach Malfoy’s gaze searched her face as he seemed to understand what she was asking. Hermione half expected him to scoff and call in the healer. It was what he should’ve done. But the tension between them crackled in the air, making Hermione brave or stupid; she didn’t yet know which.
“Do you know what you’re asking, Hermione?” The deep note of her name on his tongue made Hermione shiver. She felt out of her depth, vulnerable but God, she wanted to know more than anything. She nodded.
He was back in her space without hesitation. Hermione couldn’t pull her eyes off him as he undid the clasp at her throat and released her mud-soaked cloak. The heavy weight of it fell off her shoulders. His thumb brushed the exposed tendon in her neck, following it until he pressed it into the hollow of her throat. Hermione swallowed roughly over the slight pressure. She felt vulnerable looking up at him, the column of her neck exposed as he stood in a wide stance with his legs bracketing either side of her knees.
She felt each callous from years of playing on his fingers, and her eyes were drawn to the hard muscular shape of his legs as he pinned her to her seat. He was the type of coach younger players sighed over, until he opened his mouth and critiqued your form, your strength, the way you held your broom and your speed. His jaw was sharp and a muscle in it ticked as her gaze searched his face. It was a tick she was familiar with, as it always seemed to surface when he found Hermione especially annoying. But now his eyes looked hungry, and it occurred to Hermione then that maybe the clenched jaw had indicated restraint rather than annoyance and he looked like he was losing it now.
A small sound escaped Hermione’s lips when he knelt on the ground in front of her. His hand reached forward, strong and cool, and took her wrist in his and began to slowly unbuckle each leather clasp of her wrist guard. And then the other. Her heart was going to beat out of her chest, and he had only touched her hand.
He unbuttoned the top button of her uniform with slow precision, exposing creamy rain-slicked skin. His fingers were feather light as he undid each one until she was left in her plain sports bra. “Brackium Emendo,” Coach Malfoy muttered, his voice hoarse. Hermione had forgotten until a weight lifted off her chest that the whole reason her coach was undressing her was because she was too injured to do it herself.
His fingers were splayed over her ribs, a large finger between each slot, still touching the spot he had healed moments before. For a terrible moment, Hermione was afraid he would pull away, ending this moment between them. “Where else can I make you feel better?” His voice was gravelly. Before she could overthink it, Hermione pulled her sports bra over her head, baring herself to him.
Dusky pink nipples tightened to hard points as he fixed his sights on her small round breasts. His hand traveled up her stomach to her breasts, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. His thumb and forefinger lightly rolled one nipple, eliciting a small moan from Hermione. Spurned on by the sounds she was making, he leaned in closer, his tongue licking a wet circle around her left nipple as his fingers continued to torment the other.
Hermione could feel the wet heat grow between her thighs, and she clenched unconsciously, tightening them around Coach Malfoy. From his kneeling position between her legs, Malfoy licked and sucked a messy path up to her mouth. He grabbed her nape roughly, pulling her mouth towards his own. His lips were pink and full, and Hermione longed to drag the lower lip between her teeth.
His mouth was slick satin against hers, and he swallowed every small, hungry sound she made. The light stubble of his beard rubbed against her cheek, igniting every nerve in her body. Her naked breasts brushed against the material of his suit. Her nipples tightened to hard points. He held most of his body weight up, both hands bracketing around her head, leaning against the lockers behind them, his biceps pressing tight against the confines of his shirt, and the pounding of her heart turned hammering as he licked his tongue into her mouth.
“You can’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this for.” His lips ghosted along the shell of her ear and traveled, sucking and gently biting the pale column of the sensitive skin of her neck. It was as though he was determined to mark her as his despite all the complications between them. A primal part of Hermione’s brain begged him to. He tasted as good as he smelled, like the apples he ate during practices and a hint of musky sweat.
“I shouldn’t do this.” Malfoy groaned and rubbed his large hands through his hair and down over his face. She could feel the bulge of his cock pressing against his trouser, and she longed to touch it, but her hands were pinned between their bodies.
“Coach.” Hermione's voice was breathless to her own ears.
“Draco.” Was his firm answer.
“Draco.” She reveled at the feeling of his name in her mouth. “If you don’t want to…” She trailed off.
At her words, his hands were back, burying themselves in her hair. “I have thought of nothing but what it would be like to part those pretty little thighs and bury myself inside of them.” The wetness between her legs soaked her underwear. “I want to.”
Draco traveled his way back down her body, licking and sucking little bruises into her skin that she selfishly hoped would still be there tomorrow as proof that she hadn’t imagined this. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders. Sensing her frustration at her state of undress and his clothed one, Draco, in one smooth motion, grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.
Her mouth felt dry at the sight of him. Hermione’s eyes traced the lines of sculpted abdominals, pectorals, and shoulders she wanted to sink her teeth into, down into the deep vee that dipped into his waistband. She reached out her hand to touch the substantial bulge of his cock pressed against the leg of his pants. He stopped his hand with a firm grip on her wrist.
“If you touch me right now, I am going to paint your perky little tits with cum.” Hermione swallowed. He pulled his cock out of his pants and gripped the throbbing head, and stroked it up and down slowly while looking at her. Hermione didn’t know whether she wanted him to cum in her or on her now more. “And I can’t do that before I taste you.”
She nodded, unable to peel her eyes off him as this hulking man roughly spread apart her thighs. He peeled her pants slowly down her legs until she was left with nothing but a tiny scrap of fabric between them. She lifted her butt slightly off the seat in anticipation but gasped as, instead, his fingers curled around the fabric and ripped them at them, leaving her completely bare to him.
His palms pressed into her thighs, the calluses rubbing deliciously against her skin as he ran his fingers in a slow, torturous line closer and closer to the heat between her legs. Until he parted her smooth lips and swiped his tongue in a long lick from her entrance to her clit. She moaned, throaty and loud.
“You’re a dripping mess.” He growled, and the heat of his words on her sensitive clit made her squirm. “So needy for my cock, aren’t you, Hermione?” At his words, he laved tortuous wet licks on her clit, before clamping his mouth over it and sucking hard.
“Fuck.” The word slipped from her mouth as she lifted her head up and nearly came at the sight of grey eyes watching her every movement, feasting on her pussy.
“Good girl, look at me while I drink you down to the last drop.” His tongue flicked in fast circles, his powerful hand holding her squirming hips in place. “D–Draco.” The pressure in her lower abdomen released, and Hermione shuddered out her orgasm. Her legs spasmed, her entire body wrung out from Draco’s relentless assault.
Draco’s hand cupped possessively around her pussy. “This is mine now.” His voice was guttural and demanding. “Stand up and turn around.” At his orders, she felt renewed wetness drip down the inside of her thighs. She liked him in charge. Hermione stood and obeyed, her insides clenching around nothing. “Bend over.” Using her hips, he positioned her with her hands against the lockers, holding her body weight up. She knew she was completely bared to him, and at this angle, he could see the arousal dripping from her.
“So needy.” Then, in a hard thrust, he filled her completely. “I knew this pussy was made for me. Tell me.”
His arms were above her on the lockers, holding tightly to her wrists with every perfect thrust, and she was caged in perfectly by his body. “It’s yours.” She panted.
“What is?” Draco asked. His thumb applied constant pressure to her clit as he thrust a hard and relentless pattern.
She couldn’t think so close to the edge, but the words came out mindlessly. “My pussy is yours.” She couldn’t stop herself from clenching around him each time he filled her with his cock. The low hum was building again in her abdomen.
“You’re doing so good,” Draco praised as Hermione shuddered around him again. “I’m going to fill up every hole next time.” His thrusts reached a new depth until they began to stutter, and he emptied his spend inside her. He kissed her temples as he withdrew himself and gathered her in his arms like she weighed nothing.
He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, his hand reaching out to push his slowly leaking cum back in. Hermione sighed a small, contented sound. “I’m tempted to make you fly with my cum dripping down onto your broom, but I’ll save that for next time.” He whispered into her forehead as he held her under the automatic spray of water in the locker room showers.
~
The next day at practice, Hermione stood in the solemn line of her teammates. “Looks like you found a way to soften the blow of defeat last night,” Ginny whispered into Hermione’s ear, gesturing to the poorly disguised line of hickeys up her neck.
Coach Malfoy paced, explaining their next drill. “Something to share with the team, Granger? Weasley?”
“No, Coach, just admiring Hermione’s ability to deal with defeat,” Ginny said grinning up at Coach Malfoy.
Hermione tried to hide the flush that spread across her skin. “Hmm, Granger, any words of advice for dealing with loss?” Draco raised his eyebrows.
“Practice makes perfect, right Coach?’ Hermione chewed her lip to tamp down on the smile that threatened to overtake her face.
“I agree.”