We need to practise
It wasn’t the best weather to be practising outside, but Hermione had insisted they could use the fresh air. They were deep into winter with spring still two months away. All of the students could honestly do with more natural light and less gloomy castle walls.
So, outside it was.
The two of them sat atop a thick blanket Hermione had snagged from the Gryffindor Common Room and charmed to both resist moisture and radiate warmth. Their belongings were scattered across the fuzzy red-and-gold plaid where they sat cross legged in front of each other, a white, marble chess piece between them. She couldn’t help her snort when Malfoy’s attempt sprouted feathers on the still-visible figurine.
“Oi! Let’s see you do it, then,” he said snarkily, reminding her of another wizard and another sort of feather.
Better to not think of that failed endeavour.
Concentrating intently on her wand, Hermione traced the tip downwards in exact movements, successfully transfiguring the king into a large black bird. It fixed her with beady eyes before transforming back with her counterspell.
“There you have it, Malfoy. Your turn now.”
To be fair, she did have the poor manners to gloat at her practice partner with a smile reminiscent of Crookshanks delivering a particularly lively mouse. She squeaked not unlike one of those unfortunate rodents when he knocked aside the king to lean into her instead.
“Draco!”
“Oh, ‘Draco’ now, is it?” he asked, brow arched and eyes darkening as he pushed Hermione onto her back.
“What do you think you’re doing? We’re meant to be using this time to practise–”
“And I intend to do just that,” he interrupted.
She opened her mouth to protest, reasons already on the tip of her tongue. He silenced them with his own mouth, lips coaxing with a gentle caress. She felt his fingers card into the curls at the nape of her neck and moaned at the ensuing tug. Hermione loved it when he pulled her hair, using just the right amount of pressure to direct her movements as he desired. She obliged him now, arching her head back so he could run hot kisses across her jaw, down the curve of her neck, then lathing his tongue against the sensitive spot right above her collar bone.
“Nnnn, Draco…” Plans forgotten, thoughts fading like they rarely ever did except with him, Hermione gave herself over to the sensations he was intent on inducing.
“Yes?” He pulled back to look at her, loosening his grip on her hair so she could meet his gaze.
She frowned at the pause in her pleasure. “Why did you stop?”
He chuckled in amusement and resumed playing with her hair, pulling up one long coil to watch it bounce back into form. He braced his upper torso over her with only one elbow taking the bulk of his weight. He didn’t seem to mind.
“You said my name, so I thought you might need something.” As if agreeing with his sentiment, he trailed his hand down from her curls between her breasts, his pinky tantalisingly close to a sensitive peak, down her ribs, then slipped beneath the waistband of her skirt where he stilled all movement. “Do you need something, Hermione?”
They’d maintained eye contact through his pathing, Hermione entranced by how the closer he got to her apex, the darker his eyes became. The light clouds of his irises now looked stormy grey, nearly crackling with intensity. He waited for her response, each puff of breath from his lips teasing her own.
“More. I need more, please.”
The wicked grin that crossed his features sent an immediate jolt between her legs, an ache that deepened and spread.
“You do ask so nicely,” he said. He rewarded her with another heated kiss as the broad expanse of his palm slid down, down, until his long fingers ran the length of her drenched knickers. He grunted against her lips, and this time it was her turn to smile.
She broke away from their kiss only to nudge his face to the side so she could whisper her demands against the curve of his ear.
“Make me come, Draco. Pretty please?”
He groaned.
“Fuck. How many do you want? Tell me.”
Always the eager one. Always ready to please. At the start of their explorations, he’d wanted to prove himself better than anyone else, a self-proclaimed quest to bring her pleasure that trumped any and everyone before him.
He now only raced his own personal best, a competition Hermione was more than happy to encourage.
“What are you up to now?” She nibbled at the lobe of his ear, causing his hips to jerk against her.
“Three.”
“Then four.”
“Fuck. Yeah. Should I…?” He brought his hand up just far enough to flip it back around and thumb the clasp at her waist.
“No, leave it on. Just flip the skirt up.”
She reached for her wand and cast her strongest notice-me-not. If they were doing this, then she wanted absolute privacy. Hermione wasn’t above a vengeful confringo on any unfortunate soul who might interrupt them.
The spell sent her lover into an excited frenzy now that he knew they were likely safe to do as they pleased. He shifted around to kneel between her legs, flipping up her skirt just as suggested. Two firm hands grasped the meat of her thighs and bent them into an upward v.
“Aren’t you going to remove–”
“Shhh, after the first one, maybe.”
She yelped as he mouthed her through the thin fabric of her knickers.
“I want to ruin these before I take them off. I might even leave them on when I fuck you. You’re going to come on my cock.”
Well, things had certainly escalated. Sex with Malfoy hadn’t been on her agenda for the afternoon, and not even after when he’d first coaxed her legs open. She thought she’d take her pleasure, return the favour in kind, then proceed with transfiguration practice as planned.
“On second thought, maybe we don’t have time right now. You still haven’t successfully cast–”
She choked on her words when he pulled aside the gusset of her knickers to swipe up the seam of her cunt with his tongue before pressing the entire length of it inside. He’d let go of her thighs to wrap his arms around them from underneath instead. Her instinct to squeeze them shut at the unexpected contact failed as he used his hands to yank her thighs open.
He pulled out of her with an obscene slurp to give his rebuke. “You need to practise keeping these spread.”
Another yelp escaped her at the sting of his slap against her skin.
She couldn’t even hide how much the slap turned her own as a gush of liquid sprang forth. He paused just long enough to send her a smug smirk, his chin slick and coated with her, before he returned to her apex with increased vigour.
Circe.
He was abso-fucking-lutely right. They could both use this version of practice. Who cared about kings and rooks with Draco Malfoy between her legs? Nothing else could be more important. Not even close.
“Five, m-make it five!”