Be safe
Five years they’d been together and he still didn’t trust Muggle cars—‘death metal’, he called them. He hadn’t been amused in the slightest when she showed him that was actually an entire genre of music.
He was even less amused when she blasted it on full volume the next time she cleaned the house.
But Hermione had grown up in the Muggle world, took her test and drove in the summers away from school. She inherited her dad’s 1967 Aston Martin DB6 when they decided to stay in Australia and sell everything they’d left behind. She stared at it when she first threw open the garage doors, taking in the silver birch, buffed to a high shine.
Her first drive alone, she’d cried.
Her second drive, she’d convinced Draco to sit in the passenger seat.
Her third drive, he’d scowled at her with his arms crossed from the safety of their driveway.
“Be safe. That thing is dangerous.”
“It’s no more dangerous than your Nimbus.”
Grey eyes narrowed in disbelief, and he huffed before stepping back even further. Still, he didn’t turn away. He watched her pull out and continued watching until she’d turned the corner.
Hermione drove the car every chance she could get, which wasn’t that often due to England’s short summers and even less clear days. Every single time she hopped in the driver’s seat and backed out, he called, “be safe,” and, every time, she answered, “always.”
The idea came to her after listening to an old mixtape.
“I don’t see why I need to sit in here when we aren’t even going anywhere,” he muttered, his long legs struggling to get comfortable in the cramped space. “What was it you wanted to show me?”
“This.”
She’d worn a flippable skirt for just this occasion, plopping down atop him with the flexibility of a woman who’d never stopped her daily yoga over the past decade.
“Wha—”
She froze him with a quick immobulus, taking the opportunity to settle her knees on either side of him more comfortably. It really was a wonderful thing that she was as bendy as she was, especially given the way he filled the seat.
His eyes flitted over her face, and she knew were she to let him go now, he’d let out a furious string of expletives. As it was, he couldn’t do a bloody thing.
She tugged on his belt and popped open the top button, humming a little song all the while. A whine spilled out of his still lip from deep in his throat and she paused to look up at him.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
His eyes flashed at the leer she’d picked up from him. He really didn’t have anyone else to blame.
In no time at all, she’d slipped her hand in and pulled his cock out, swollen and leaking, and she couldn’t help but swipe her thumb across the top to gather up the essence of Draco and lift it to her lips in a naughty suck, holding eye contact with him the entire time. Then, she shifted up so she could reach under to pull the gusset of her knickers to the side as she murmured a quick lubrication charm.
She released her spell on him.
“You,” he snarled, one hand immediately landing on her hip, the other placing himself at her entrance. He pulled down as his hips thrust up, and she was filled with the delicious length of him, thick and deep and hitting all the right places.
“Ah!” she cried out, throwing her head back and feeling her long curls cascading down her back. She rode him hard, meeting his fierce pace with her own.
It wasn’t long before the windows fogged up and she had a nagging thought in the back of her mind of a police officer knocking on the glass to tell them off like a couple of horny teenagers without anywhere else to go. They had an entire home filled with surfaces to defile, and here she was wanting to christen the car she’d grown up loving. She’d bet a million galleons that her parents had done the same in this very seat, and nearly cackled at the filthiness of overriding their invisible stains with her own.
“You are such a fucking brat,” he finally got out, his breath heavy. “You know I hate this thing—”
“What better way to get over it?” she said hotly against his lips, clenching her inner walls as tightly as she could and watching him go nearly crossed eyed at the stranglehold.
He was close, his speed going erratic and his fingers tightening on her hips in the way it always did when she found bruises afterward. She wore them with pride, smirking into the mirror as she placed her own fingertips atop them.
He could just finish ahead of her in revenge, but Draco wouldn’t ever be so selfish no matter how much she pissed him off. He splayed one hand against her lower back to keep pressing her downward. The other squeezed between them to rub circles around her just there. He shifted slightly, amazing, really, in the bucket seat, and then he was hammering against a part of her that now had her rolling back her eyes and grunting with each thrust.
She exploded with a scream that might have alerted authorities to their impropriety were they actually in the vicinity. As it was, only the neighbor’s cat startled, sprinting across the yard away from the shaking car. Draco followed her immediately after, groaning long as he pulsed inside of her, his head dropping into her chest.
“You witch.”
“Well, obviously.”
“You do realize that now you owe me a ride on my broomstick.”
“Isn’t that what we just did?”
“Ha-ha.”
But ride his broomstick, she did, and if he preceded their airborne coupling with a barrel roll or two, who was she to complain?