Marina Dreams of Dramione

She watched the sliver of light arcing across the bedspread and his white blond hair. The curtains didn’t completely block out the sunlight. Hermione could reach for her wand to spell them shut if she knew where it was; at some point she’d lost it the previous night amidst the frantic fumbling. It was probably somewhere on the floor along with the rest of their clothing.

Even in sleep, he was breathtaking. His face glowed with a translucence that defied the lines of stress he wore when awake. The lips that scowled more than smiled these days were parted as he breathed deeply, pale pink and inviting. She shivered as she recalled the way they’d felt against her own, how they’d glided down her torso and discovered every sensitive point of her body. Silver grey eyes had glinted upward, frequently checking in on her every reaction as he wrung pleasure out of Hermione.

They hadn’t spoken a word since the kiss that started it all. They hadn’t needed to, their bodies communicating what their tongues could not. Draco, yes, “Draco”, not “Malfoy” anymore, seemed to need her more than life itself that night, and Hermione was compelled to respond in kind. She was a volatile potion of emotions just waiting to explode given the chance, and shatter she did in the arms of a young man she’d fallen deeply, passionately, irrevocably for over the course of the past few months.

Like the barely-there kiss, her feelings started small.

No. That wasn’t correct.

Her feelings for Draco had always been large; volatile, really. She’d hated everything he represented, the way he’d treated and looked at her, the years of animosity that they shared. But, she also pitied him. That pity, as threaded through with distrust as it had been, had transformed into begrudging respect.

He’d apologised to her. It hadn’t been overly passionate nor verbose. He’d found her alone and offered his remorse. He’d even go so far as to clearly state that forgiveness was not expected; he didn’t think he deserved it. Then, he’d gone his way and Hermione was left with an inner turmoil that struggled in search of an outlet.

She’d always known he was clever, and now with nothing but his studies to focus on, Draco finally showed what too much pressure and pride had stifled: a hungry mind that took mistakes in stride and used them as stepping stones to higher knowledge. For once, Hermione had a worthy rival.

And now, she was in his bed.

He sighed, then grumbled as the shaft of light hit his eyes. He turned further towards her, hands reaching out to tug her close. She allowed herself to be tucked against his chest, naked skin to naked skin. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her splayed hand. Circe, she loved breathing him in, a combination of body soap, woodsy cologne, and his own masculine scent. Slightly salty, probably from their exertions as he brought her to orgasm not once, not twice, but three times, once with his hands, then with his mouth, and finally on his cock as he folded her nearly in half to press in almost painfully deep. She’d relished the ache then, just as she delighted in the way her muscles smarted even now. They were reminders of their time together. If this turned out to be a one-time thing, then at least she’d always have that.

She sensed the moment he woke up, his steady inhales stuttering and turning into shorter intervals. Perhaps if she kept silent, she could hold on to this moment just a little bit longer. With their legs tangled together and his arms wrapped around her, Hermione could pretend that she was his and he was hers.

She bid her breathing to remain slow and measured. Kept her body relaxed. When his hand drifted down her back to cup one buttcheek, she fought to stay still. Then he tightened his hold and pressed his hips to hers and she felt him, hot and hard and wanting.

She could keep pretending to be asleep, but she wanted him inside of her more. It was time to open her eyes.

When she did so, tilting her head upward in the process, it was to find Draco already looking down at her. Eyes half-lidded, lips parted and descending. She met him part way. Any sour breath they might have had was overpowered by the sweetness of this kiss. It was soft, lingering, his tongue lightly rubbing against her own as he rotated his length against her in an unspoken question to which she arched in acceptance.

He rolled them so hovered above her, limbs caging her in, his soft hair hanging down into his eyes, which closed as he leaned forward to press his forehead to hers.

“Do you regret it?”

The first words since yesterday, and this was what he asked?

She realised that, like her, Draco was just as uncertain about the future. They’d never clearly stated their feelings about one another; they’d just gone with the flow and she’d assumed his heart was more fortified than her own.

“I wouldn’t be here if I did,” she replied. She opened her eyes to stare up at him, willing Draco to see the truth for himself. She wanted to be here, wanted him now and for as long as time allowed.

“Good, because I’m yours now.”

Her heart hammered at the declaration. The tightening of his jaw and his intent stare underlined the statement. She felt overwhelmed, tears of relief and desire threatening to spill. She could only nod, afraid she’d burst into ugly sobs and ruin the moment. That seemed to be enough for him.

He captured her lips, fitting the broad head of his cock to her opening at the same time and slowly pressing forward. It was tight, but she was wet with want and had been almost from the moment she’d woken up. She spread her legs to make more room for him, and he took advantage, thrusting to the hilt and groaning into the kiss as he did so. She felt impossibly full, even though she knew she’d taken him even deeper before. Even if she hadn’t, she could no longer deny him anything.

He brought a hand back down to tilt her hips at just the right angle for his pelvis to grind against her clit with every unrelenting drive of his cock. Along with the slide of his swollen shaft within her throbbing walls and the way his other hand plucked at her nipples, Hermione found herself right back at the precipice of her apogee. It was agonisingly close, yet still she withheld herself from the plummet, wanting him right there alongside her.

Draco picked up on her whining pants. She clawed at his muscled back and shoulders, and still he forged onward, pulling back nearly to the tip only to press right back into her depths, his balls slapping against her arse. Hermione might have blushed at the sound if she had the presence of mind to think of anything outside of him inside of her, but that was as likely as her ever letting go of him. She was beyond embarrassment or reproach.

He sounded pained as he moaned, low and deep, and Hermione could feel the way he thickened within her just before he froze, the tendons of his neck taut as he threw his head back. As the first spurts of his spend spilled into her, she finally let go, crying out her own release that seemed to go on and on as her body milked him of every last drop.

He caught himself on his forearms before falling on top of her, but Hermione wasn’t having any of that. She wrapped her arms around his neck and yanked him down. His weight was a comfort she could never find overbearing.

“Stay?” she murmured. She swept her hands up and down the warm planes of his back, then hugged him to her, holding tight to the shoulders that carried so much. Too much.

He chuckled, the puff of air tickling the crook of her neck where he rested.

“Always.”