Is that a piercing?
They stumbled into the closet, all roving hands and clashing teeth. The sound of several brooms and buckets crashing to the ground sent them into a fit of giggles.
“A broom closet, really, Malfoy?” Hermione gasped out, as she was maneuvered up against the closed door.
“It was either here or the hallway, so take your pick,” he muttered, lips pressed against her neck as one hand slid down to yank one of her legs up and around his hip.
He pressed her harder against the door, grinding his obvious desire against her own as he trailed kisses across her collarbone. She could feel the pressure of his fingertips digging into her thigh and hoped there’d be marks left to admire later.
“I suppose this will do,” she teased, her hand dropping to cup him through his trousers.
“This skirt—” The hand on her thigh slid straight under the short hem.
“Your arse—” He maneuvered around to grab the object of his obsession.
“These bloody curls—” With his free hand, he gripped her curls in a fist and sharply pulled her head to the side so he could nip along the skin of her neck.
“What about them?” She continued to taunt him, kneading and rubbing him into a fervor.
“I’m going to take you for the first time in this broom closet and you will beg me for more.” His growl did little to cow her, instead sending flames licking all over her body.
They’d been dancing this little charade for months now. Hermione had noticed the way his pupils dilated and hands clenched whenever she wore her tight skirts and blouses, the fabric stretching and straining to hold her curves. Why trouble herself with traditional witch robes when she could flaunt what she had? She liked what she saw in the mirror, and now she knew he did, too.
It wasn’t much longer after she noticed his attentions that he gradually transitioned to muggle suits from ridiculously exclusive designers. They were cut to fit him to perfection, obviously, outlining his fit figure and leaving little doubt to his formidable…assets.
She could bounce a galleon off that arse, she was sure of it.
Their frequent disagreements took on new complexity, weaving in repressed desires and frustrations. Not a week ago, he’d cornered Hermione in her office and shut her tirade off with a snogging session that lasted the better half of an hour before the alarm rang for their department meeting.
He hated the way she poked him in the chest when they fought. She abhorred his habit of crowding her into the nearest obstacle.
And now here they were, in a Ministry broom closet, devouring one another like it was their last meal on earth, as if they would each find absolution in the undoing of the other.
Draco cast a nonverbal sticking charm to keep her leg wrapped around his waist, earning him a chuckle of appreciation, so he could run his hand up her torso to begin undoing the damnable buttons of her blouse. It was as his palm slid across her pert mounds that he felt it.
A sharp edge where he expected nothing but softness.
He froze in his ascent and pulled away to look at her in shock. “Is that…?”
“What?” She dared to smirk at his expression as if she were the owner of the Malfoy smirk, as if she were the more experienced of them. Her brow raised, daring him to continue.
“Is that a piercing?” He cupped her breast, the telltale shape of a ring pressing against him.
“Why don’t you find out?” Still she defied him, arching her back in insistence.
Hermione Granger had a nipple piercing. Granger, with her tight skirts, her tiny blouses, her ridiculously tall heels, her wild hair, and her swotty mouth perpetually telling him off. How had he never noticed?
“How…” His voice failed him at another squeeze of her hand between his legs.
“How do I hide it?”
He groaned his agreement, shamelessly rutting into her and beginning to run his hand in circular motions.
“I may wear muggle clothing, but I do know how to use charms.” Her amusement bled through, and he wanted to smack his head in response. Of course she used magic to dispel any unwanted lines or creases in her outfits. She wasn’t the Granger of their Hogwarts days who didn’t bother with beauty charms. She was an adult witch who very well might take on the mantle of Minister of Magic someday in the near future.
He captured her lips in another kiss, tongue thrusting in tandem with his hips, fingers returning to their original task with renewed vigor. She tasted of coffee and sweetness and pure, unadulterated demand. She gave as good as she got, nipping at his lips and undoing his belt.
As her blouse fell open and his trousers fell to the ground, he pulled back to see what was hidden beneath.
“Fuck.”
He’d curse himself later for his lack of eloquence. There was no other response at the moment that so accurately portrayed his admiration and need in a single word. He’d found his temple of worship. There was no going back from this, from her. She could demand his fortune, his connections, even his name, and he’d offer them all up to her from a bent knee.
“I changed my mind.”
The shock on her face at his statement should have made him laugh. Her eyebrows drew together, and her mouth dropped open, but before she could rip him apart into verbal tatters, he continued.
“This is going to take far longer than a shag in a broom closet.” He needed her in his home and in his bed. He needed to see her come undone in the safety and privacy of his own wards. She deserved no less.
Her teeth clicked shut. She waved a hand to cancel the sticking charm and stand tall on both heels. Breasts bared and chest jutting proudly forward, she tilted her chin up to stare him straight on.
“Go on, then.”
It took him a moment to realize what it was she expected. He almost laughed at the order, but choked it back as her eyes flashed at the wait.
Draco’s fingers quickly re-buttoned her blouse before he leaned down to yank his bottoms back into place. A short series of spells later and they looked as pristine and unharried as they had at the start of the day. She left the closet first, and he gave her a good five-minute head start before he made his way to the Ministry Floo where she waited.
“I sent in an off-site work order.”
Of course she did. Nobody would question one of her missives, despite the timing. He offered his elbow as they drew up to the fireplace. “Shall we?”
In a flash of green, they were gone. Draco was correct that nobody questioned Granger’s order, nor the extension the day after, or the one after that. It wasn’t until a week later that they both received a request for a status report, penned by Harry Potter himself. He would’ve promptly responded had his hands been free, which they most assuredly were not tied down as they were to his bed posts for the better part of the last couple of hours.
“Now, where were we?”