A terrible kisser
He really was a painfully pretty man. Draco Malfoy presented the perfect picture of sophistication without sacrificing a single inch of manliness. After almost a year together to this very day, Hermione still couldn’t help herself from admiring his form from the top of his carefully manicured hair to the broad edges of his shoulders and down to that trim waist, tight arse, and absolutely massive thighs. It was fortunate he’d employed a personal tailor all his life because regular stores certainly didn’t carry anything close enough to his measurements. Draco was a custom-made man through and through, and Hermione should have looked forward to tonight’s dinner celebrating her 30th birthday. The problem?
Draco was an honest-to-Godric terrible kisser.
There exist terrible kissers of many kinds. There were those like Ron who sucked face like a bottom-feeder fish, or others like Cormac who enacted to startling accuracy the slobbering affections of a golden retriever with a mission to get the entire bottom half of her face wet in the process.
And then there was Draco.
If one were grade on technique, he’d receive an O…or perhaps it would be Hermione receiving all the Os afterward?
Nevermind, that.
“Terrible” entered the scene when grading his decorum. The man lacked chill. For all his tailored outfits and coiffed hair, Draco could not stop himself from kissing Hermione at every opportunity no matter the location or company. She should have remembered their Hogwarts days, but assumed Pansy as the instigator. She knew better now. Draco was a hopeless romantic, and Hermione his muse. There wasn’t a single moment since they became a couple where he didn’t kiss her. Every one of their friends had been traumatized at some point or another once those kisses heated up past all definitions of the word.