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They will stare at each other, their chests rising to catch a breath. Sex and anger will linger heavily in the air around them. It’ll be palpable, already causing the tension to rise again.
Grey will meet amber, time seeming to still. The wind will calm, the birds will quiet, as nothing exists outside of this moment.
Hermione, being the rational woman she is, will break first, leaning down to pick up her discarded knickers.
They will have had sex. Again.
This time will be because he insults her hair; she’ll snip back something something prat, and walk away with a smirk on her face.
He’ll catch her outside the library later that day, dragging her into an empty classroom, spewing insults, but she’ll know what’s coming.
He’s going to kiss her.
And Hermione will mould herself to him, biting his lip and scraping her nails where they can reach.
He’ll hiss and return it tenfold.
What will be ten excruciating minutes of snogging will turn into him roughly yanking her knickers down her legs, kneeling in the process.
Towering over him, Hermione will revel in the slight power she feels from it until he’ll say, “I’m going to make you beg me this time,” and then he’ll lick her cunt.
She’ll gasp, her back hard pressed against the wall. Her hands will have found purchase in his hair, and damn his stupid fucking hair because why is it so soft?
Draco will spit on his fingers, bringing them to tease her slit before pushing into her, fucking her.
His tongue will find its way to her clit, licking long strokes and making quick work of it.
“You taste like salvation,” he’ll groan.
She’ll roll her eyes.
The wet sounds will echo in the cramped space.
His cheeks will hollow out to suck, two fingers pumping in and out of her, and just when she’ll feel herself close to the edge, he’ll stop.
“Malfoy,” she’ll whine, and oh, how he loves when she does that.
His kissing will resume but on her inner thigh, teasing and languid. His fingers still slowly driving into her. She’ll cant her hips, seeking his tongue once again.
“Beg me.” And then he’ll bite down.
By the time he moves his tongue to its rightful spot, she’ll be panting.
“Like a bitch in heat, aren’t you?” he’ll say, words muffled by his continued lapping, and when she makes a small, desperate sound in response, he’ll add, “Pathetic.”
Hermione will know his words are for her, squeezing around his fingers.
And he’ll smile against her, enjoying the way they elicit such a response.
This time, her orgasm arrives quickly but Draco will abruptly pull away, ending it.
She’ll stomp– immature, she knows– and yank his hair back so his head angles directly up to hers from where he kneels. His lips will be glistening with her slick.
That dumb fucking smirk will appear, and Hermione will cave, knowing it’s the only way to get what she wants.
“Please.”
He’ll raise his brow.
“Make me come.”
“As you wish, Granger.” His hands will grab her waist, pulling her harshly to the ground, and she’ll cry out from the pain of her knees colliding with the floor.
“That hurt.”
“Good,” he’ll say and grab the back of her head, pulling her mouth to his once more. The taste of her cunt— sharp and sweet and nothing like salvation— lingering on their tongues.
He’ll take what he wants, consuming her.
Hermione will reach for his trousers, palming his erection begging to be released. And he’ll groan, low and throaty and fuck— what that sound does to her.
She’ll never tell him, but eliciting the quiet noises from Malfoy, that almost makes this all worth it.
With surety, she’ll undo his zipper, slipping her hands inside.
Hands will wrap around him— warm and solid. She loathes to admit it but Malfoy’s cock is pretty.
The head of him will be pulsing, dripping, sticky and she’ll swipe her fingers with it, using that to coat her hand and work downwards, twisting just so.
He’ll grunt, his grip on her hair tightening. Lips will meet her neck, licking the space connected to her shoulder. He’ll suck, and she’ll feel his incisors bite down. More.
Draco’s fingers will press harshly into her waist, digging into her. Hermione will hope it bruises, flesh marks to remember this.
She will continue pumping him, adding pressure as she glides up towards his tip.
His mouth will unlatch from where he’s tracing his tongue along her collarbone and he’ll rise to kiss her again.
He won’t exactly kiss her though, too dazed by Hermione’s hold on him. He’ll linger. His lips brushing hers just slightly, sharing heated breath.
It’ll ache, the need, for something—anything, to fill her.
She’ll go to lower her head.
“I won’t last,” Draco will say, his jaw clenched.
“I want to taste you.”
“Next time.”
“This is the last time.”
“Sure, Granger.” And she’ll raise her hand to push him, him and his stupid fucking ego, but he’ll grab her wrist. Twisting her arm behind her back, bringing their faces inches apart.
Neither will speak, their eyes roaming over every inch. Searching.
And it’ll be then, for a moment, that she will let her walls crack.
Too soon, he’ll lean forward, and the wall will rebuild just a little less sturdy than before. He’ll plant a wet kiss on her lips and then he’ll flip her. The unexpectedness catching her off guard; her palms will smack the floor.
And there, in that dusty old classroom, Hermione Granger will be on all fours.
Cool air will hit her exposed cunt and she will start to lean up, but his hand splaying on her lower back stops her.
“Spread your knees.” And she will. His hand will push down, her chest connecting with the floor, the cotton of her shirt giving friction to her nipples.
She’ll be at his mercy— pulled taut and bent at an uncomfortable angle.
His fingers will flip her skirt up—dancing lines across her skin, just barely, and she’ll spread impossibly more.
Her arse will be firmly in the air, exposed, as if she is his gift, waiting to be unwrapped.
“So fucking needy for me.” —rustling of fabric will permeate the silence between his words— “Are you really this desperate for my cock?”
She’ll feel her face flush as she nods.
“Tell me, Hermione.”
He’ll bring his hand up to roam over a cheek, kneading, and then glide further up her back until he connects with her hair. She’ll feel the pull against her scalp, turning to look at him over her shoulder.
Draco will exhale— harshly. She’ll see the hard lines of his stomach, the tightening of tendons in his arm, the flush across his cheeks, the blown pupils in his eyes.
“Yes— please.” Hermione’s words will hit their mark, and he will thrust forward, but not in, coating himself in her arousal. The moan she lets out will be loud, and she won’t care. The wanting will be too much; so she’ll grind down, rocking on her knees to feel his length.
Her hand will reach up, fingers parting herself to press his cock against her harder so she feels every ridge of him.
His eyes will drop down to where they are connected.
“Fuck— I’ll never tire of seeing these pretty, pink lips.” The strain in his voice evident. “How wet and swollen you get.”
He’ll stay there, sliding back and forth, once, twice, and on the third time, the tip of him will brush against her clit.
On the fourth, he’ll push into her, the delicious stretch of him dragging a long exhale from her lungs.
“All for me.” And then he’ll fuck her.
At first, slow, so slow, she’ll push back to meet him in the middle, impatient.
Her eyes still stay with his, and his pace will increase, his hips snapping. His balls adding something more as she feels the light touch of them.
Her neck will ache, so she’ll turn her head back around, letting her forehead rest against the cool linoleum, giving over to the sensations of him pumping in and out of her.
Hermione will like the fullness of it, the pressure inside of her. A part of her. When he slides out, she’ll feel it all. The drag. The tightening at her core– that feeling will spread through every vein and artery and burn her inside out.
He’ll release her hair, bringing his knuckles to caress her jaw in a strangely intimate gesture, and she will think about how he always does this. Finds moments to be soft with his hands while his body punishes her. It will only last a second, the caress, and he‘ll use two fingers, pushing into her mouth and hooking her cheek. Tugging, her head will turn back to him, and she’ll see him. Slack jaw, eyes focused on her.
It’s too much, she’ll think, feeling her heart thud against her chest, that burning of heat travelling through her veins. Too intimate.
She will be a mess, drooling around his fingers, hot heavy breaths spilling from her.
His fingers will release her mouth, trailing the wetness over the notches of her spine to her hips.
Bringing those fingers around, he’ll use the middle to circle her clit.
“More,” she’ll demand, her mouth feeling dry.
He will know what she means, fingers pinching and rubbing in small circles. Her arms will shake, her knees will go numb, and her release climbing, climbing, climbing.
She won’t be able to help it; she’ll say his name.
As if Draco knows when she’s close, he’ll slow to an excruciating speed.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” she’ll say, and Draco will let out a laugh, eyes closing. The sharp point of his throat moving and she’ll want to swallow the sound. He is beautiful.
He’ll tut, “You never were good with being patient,” as his cock pulls nearly all the way out, with just the head at her entrance. He’ll repeat that stunt twice more, and Hermione will lose her mind.
She’ll think fuck him and his pretty cock, and bring her fingers to her clit.
And that will get his attention, his hand roughly removing hers.
Draco will pull all the way out, and before a hex can leave her mouth, he’ll turn her— chest to chest.
He will take the time to unbutton her shirt, slipping it off her shoulders—releasing her breasts from their confinement and brushing the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, causing her to arch into him as they pebble.
She will rip his like the feral monster he’s turned her into and bite his nipple, earning her a hiss. He’ll rut against her and she’ll take pleasure in making him lose his mind too.
They’ll shimmy and kick off their bottoms, shoes, and socks, and he’ll rest his forearms on either side of her head, both hands intertwining with her hair— caging her in.
And then she will take a moment, to enjoy the feeling of his weight on her, surrounding her. All Hermione will smell is him—cinnamon and sex— and she will be unguarded.
He will just be a boy and she will just be a girl.
She will feel him press into her, slow and purposeful, rolling his hips with each thrust— silver shards piercing her as his forehead comes to rest against hers.
It’s too much.
It’s not enough.
She will feel light, dizzy, her lungs void of air.
Only in the silver will she stay grounded.
His breath will fan across her face, and he’ll say, barely above a whisper, “You’re beautiful.”
“You are too,” she’ll say back, her body alight and feeling the unmistakable wetness from the tears that streak down her face.
Bringing his lips to hers, their tongues will swirl with salt, and she will hope he doesn’t mind.
Draco will use his hold on her hair to move her head as he likes, nipping and licking at her neck, her mouth, everywhere.
Her lungs will burn for oxygen, but she’d rather suffocate than end the feeling of his tongue sliding against hers.
The heels of her feet will connect with his back, wrapping her legs around him. Their skin will slide with sweat, and she’ll tighten her hold, surely hurting him.
Searing heat will flame across her body, and she’ll like it. The inability to temper her noises, the mess of them, a drop of sweat beading down his temple.
“I want to feel you lose control, Granger.” And he’ll grind down harder, a slow drag of his pelvis causing a string of muddled words to leave her lips. Her mouth will need something, so she’ll lick along the muscles of his shoulder. Trace the line of his collarbone. Trail up his throat, nipping where it juts out. Sucking on his jaw.
She will be insatiable and suck hard against a spot beneath his ear, wanting to leave reminders on him too.
She’ll know he’s close by the grip he has on her scalp and the breathing against her ear. He’ll know she’s close by the arch of her back and nails that leave crescent marks.
It’ll be a race, for Draco that is. His habit of getting her off first is one of his more endearing qualities.
The few times he would not, he had brought his mouth down to finish the job, not caring about the mess of his own seed.
Her face will be buried in his shoulder, and he’ll say, “Let me see you.”
As if she has a choice, he’ll tug her head back, and in the liminal space, she’ll let herself pretend again.
—
They were not them.
They did not fight in a war, on opposing sides.
They were not shells of their former selves.
She did not still hear his aunt's laughter in her nightmares, certainly not when she was wandering the quiet of the halls.
He did not snap at her when he felt the whispers of students get too loud, reminding him of what he once was.
She didn’t make him work to break down her walls because the idea of being vulnerable made her skin itch.
He had not come to her in the beginning of eighth year to apologise for his past; she had not kissed him to distract from the pain of it all.
No, instead:
He made her laugh, even when she tried to hide it.
She laid with him when he fell asleep after sex, knowing her touch soothed his nightmares.
He whispered filthy things to her, degraded her, because he knew it was what she needed.
She looked into his eyes when he came because she knew it was what he needed.
He was definitely in love with her.
She was falling in love with him.
For now:
—
As their mouths meet once again, the pull of her muscles will tense. A sudden twitch of her nerves twisting their way around her spine down to her toes. Her grip on him will be suffocating.
She will be filled with him. Tongue thrusting into her mouth, cock thrusting into her.
Between their sloppy kisses, she’ll be saying these things out loud, half coherent. And this will be what Draco wanted– all control gone. Just a stupid mess.
Hermione’s orgasm will batter through her, every nerve coiling to a fine point that she’s not sure where he ends and she begins. It will wreck her. Thighs spasming and hands locked in his hair, she will hear him.
Hermione.
Hermione.
Fuck, you’re so good.
You feel so good.
And she will feel him.
A kiss to her cheek. The corner of her mouth. Her eyelid. Her temple. The space scrunched up between her brows.
And her undoing will be his.
“Hermione,” he’ll say, his strokes paused. She will relax infinitesimally, just enough for him to move.
This will be the part she loves watching the most. His body losing that steady rhythm, all his thoughts focused on a singular action now that she’s had her piece.
And on his last stuttered thrust, his come will fill her. Hermione will be full of it.
Their panting will match, both trying to catch a breath. Draco will slide out of her, and she will hate the feeling. She always does. Looking down, his hand will rest on her hip as he brings his other to her core, dipping two fingers in. Just a quick swipe and he will raise his hand, their combined fluids trailing down his palm. He will offer it to her. Hermione will oblige, opening her mouth with her tongue sticking out.
A tradition, if you will.
Her lips will close around his fingers as she sucks the taste off them, causing a last-minute throb of her cunt. As she licks the space between his digits, he will pull his fingers from her mouth, but not before she bites down, teeth feeling bone.
Freeing himself, he will bring his fingers back down, collecting more of their spend and bringing it to his mouth. Watching his lips part, tongue darting out to lick, she’ll think how odd they both enjoy this small ritual.
Birds of a feather.