Chapter 12
Draco undoes his belt, and it’s not easy, with his fingers shaking so much.
Thoughts start to pierce through the fog of blissfully empty desire, and guilt and concern and panic rear their heads—
Hermione shushes him softly. He hadn’t realized he’d been breathing faster.
The belt is half undone. The tongue of it is unlooped, but the silver tine is still pierced through. Hermione drops carefully to her knees in front of Draco, who stares at her.
She uses her own fingers to undo the belt fully. It lays open.
Hermione lays her hands flat on the tops of his thighs, then dips her head down to kiss the spot over his zipper once more.
Draco’s head tips back.
“Good,” Hermione whispers. “Just relax, okay? You don’t need to think about anything. Skittish, handsome guy…”
He laughs hoarsely, never tiring of learning new angles she sees him from. Different portraits of his character. He’s skittish and handsome to her, apparently.
But then Hermione is undoing his top trouser button, and then tugging down at his zipper, and Draco can’t do anything except try to remember to breathe.
“Look at me, Draco.”
He does, immediately. She’s between his legs, her manicured fingers splayed on his black trousers. His button is undone, his zipper open, his belt wide and loose. Topping it all off is the unignorably debauched sight of his hard—very hard—erection. Tenting his pants. Under all the undone zippers and buttons and buckles. The many layers of armor he dons to go in and out of the world. Peeled off.
Hermione laughs a little, a sound that makes his toes curl. The thought that she’s having fun with him—that this is a pleasurable experience for her, teasing him, playing with him—is unbelievably lovely.
“Draco,” she says.
“Yes. Yeah, yes.”
Another giggle. He laughs too, breathless and dizzy.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he manages to plead, though he can’t stop smiling at the look on her face.
“You’re so sexy.”
“You’re the sexy one. I don’t feel sexy at all. I’m a puddle for you.”
“I like puddles. Can I see you…? You’re hard.”
Draco’s hand twitches. He tenses his fingers, and—as though she can tell that his nervous thoughts are making a resurgence—Hermione kisses his thigh. Soothing.
“No thinking,” she says. “Remember?”
“Okay.”
“Go on then. Show me.”
Draco reaches under the band of his pants, then lowers the elastic. He grips himself and slides his cock out from under the fabric, into Hermione’s view. The air is cool on his overheated skin. He licks his lips, watching her face.
Hermione’s eyes go round. Malfoy laughs hoarsely, in relief and anxiety both.
“You like it?” he asks.
“You’re so big,” she whispers, smiling up at him. “What a perfect cock…”
She reaches forward, and the sight of her hands—purple nails, a little glittery—entering the same frame of view as his erection makes him moan quietly.
Her fingers wrap around his shaft.
One slide up and down.
“Oh, God—”
The nerve endings sing. Draco’s head drops back—he’s lost control of his body. He feels his knees shift wider apart, feels his stomach tense up and his cock ache and ache as Hermione slowly runs her fingertips down the front of it.
“I think I might come fast,” he forces himself to say. “Unless you maybe, go slower. I’m sorry. It’s just—um—I haven’t—with anyone, in a pretty long time—”
Not a sexy thing to admit. But he doesn’t want it to be a disappointing surprise when he comes all over her hand.
But Hermione seems delighted by the prospect of him coming too soon.
“Yeah?” she giggles. “That’s hot. You know, I’ve been daydreaming about what you look like when you come.”
He chokes back a breath as her fingers tighten and move a little faster.
“You’re so handsome,” she whispers. “And so serious. Those grey eyes? And look at your jaw work… So, so sexy.”
Her hand stops its rhythmic movement and Draco groans, his hips thrusting up a little in search of her hand.
“No thinking still, yes?” she asks.
“No thinking,” he promises, urgent and needy.
“Good boy.”
Whimper.
Up, down. Up, down. Her soft fingers, her warm little palm.
“Will your eyes stay open?” she whispers, teasing. “I wonder if your head will drop back. What kind of noises will you make?”
This should be all intensity and maybe guilt and angst seared with sexual pleasure but Hermione is having fun and that makes all of it feel soft and sweet in a way Draco hadn’t dared hope for.
She squeezes him a little harder, making a delighted cooing sound when his groan breaks.
“Feels good?” she asks.
“So—good. Ah—fuck—”
He feels the orgasm start to shiver its way out of him. Her hand is moving slowly, perhaps deliberately unevenly. The cadence just shy of steady, robbing him of the quick beats of sensation that would send him tipping over in seconds.
“I think—” he gasps. “Hermione. I think I might come. Please—”
“Do you want me to stroke fast or slow?” she asks softly.
“Fast,” he begs. “Please—fast—”
She doesn’t go any faster. In fact, she stops.
“Hermione—”
“I want to go slow,” she says, teasing.
“Okay,” he stammers at once. “Okay.”
Her hand squeezes, then drags upwards, impossibly slow.
The pulse of his orgasm needs to be jerked out of him, he needs a fast rhythm so badly that his hips shiver with the urge to snap into something.
Instead, Hermione doesn’t even finish a single stroke before he comes. Draco spurts out onto her cheek, onto her beautiful face. She makes eye contact with him as her palm twists lightly at the tip of his cock, and he spurts again.
He’s saying things, he’s pretty sure, but he can’t hear himself think let alone speak. His pleasure is rocking and agonizing and Hermione is looking right up at him, her lovely brown eyes full of glazed delight at the sight of him falling apart in the palm of her hand.
By the time her hand works its way down to the base of his cock again, Draco has spurted four times and is shuddering uncontrollably. She drags her hand back up to his tip and the soft, wet twist of her fist at the head of his cock makes him convulse.
The fog of ecstasy subsides and he can finally hear what he’s been saying.
“Thank you,” he’s breathing. “Thank you, thank you…”
Hermione giggles, and it’s astonishing how even after the most intense orgasm of his life, it’s the sound of her laughter that sends the dopamine rushing in his brain. He loves, loves, loves the sound of her happiness.
He can hardly stand, but Hermione pulls him up by his hand and so Draco follows, staggering to his feet, a lovesick puppy.
“Fuck me,” she whispers. “On the bed or on the couch?”
He sways at the very concept of it. Already his cock twitches, despite having just spurted over Hermione’s face and neck and the front of her beautiful purple dress.
“Wait,” he says. “Let me…”
He brings her close. She is small and precious. With his hand, he wipes his come off her face. It feels so wrong that he gets to do this with her.
“I ruined your dress,” he says hoarsely. “You made me come so hard—I’m sorry—”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” she scolds gently. “You’re amazing. You’re perfect. I’m having so much fun.”
He nods wordlessly.
Amazing.
Perfect.
“You’re the perfect one,” he says, sliding his hands around her hips. “You’re so beautiful. You make me so happy. Thank you.”
“You’re a very grateful sort of guy, aren’t you?” she giggles. “I didn’t know such an attractive man could be so grateful.”
He laughs.
His fingers slide down to the edge of her dress. Draco can tell Hermione loves it, can tell she’s been hoping he will be a bit handsier, return some of the forward, desirous energy she always has plenty of for him.
“Are you going to fuck me?” she whispers, helping him lift her dress higher. “Look, Draco. My underwear… I told you it matched the dress.”
The truth: Draco hasn’t let the guilt come crashing around him yet. His promise to be a perfect gentleman is pretty much as ruined as Hermione’s beautiful purple dress.
He thinks, maybe, that if he actually lays her down and enters her though, he will have a harder time keeping at bay the feeling that he is a bad person. A very bad person.
He shouldn’t be allowed to touch her, definitely shouldn’t be allowed to fuck her. It was never something that should have happened, had Hermione not accidentally lost her memory.
Hermione seems to detect the flicker in his resolve.
“Please,” she whispers. “Make me feel good.”
“Don’t worry.”
He picks her up with an all-too-easy little lift—she’s so much smaller than him, like something fine and detailed and delicate in his arms—and Hermione’s legs wrap around him. He thinks maybe she likes how much bigger he is than her. Draco sets her on the kitchen counter. She scoots forward, so her legs hang off the edge, open.
“Strong,” she purrs. “Mm. Gonna fuck me up here?”
He parts her thighs wider.
Hermione pulls her dress high, freeing her hips from the clingy purple fabric. Her underwear is lacy.
Draco lets himself press a finger to the dark center of it, where she is sticky wet.
For him.
He’s going to treat her well—he’ll make sure she feels so good. He wants that, more than anything—
The lace of her underwear is like fairy dust in his hands. Soft, barely anything. He slides it down the curve of her hips and down over her slim ankles and nail polished feet.
“Lay back, Hermione.”
She does. Her hair is a cacophony of curls, wild and beautiful, splayed on the pink tiles of her kitchen.
“Can I put my mouth on you?”
“You better.”
This, he thinks, is surely less damnable than entering her?
Draco leans down and presses his lips to her clit. His fingertips dig into the soft curve of her hip at the taste. So amazing.
Her cunt is pink and wet and when he tongues it Hermione makes a quivering, golden sound. He laps it lightly, focusing every bit of his attention on reading her signals. On following the sound of her pleasure—
She likes it when his tongue is firm. She doesn’t like a sloppier, looser consumption of her body. Draco presses his face down deeper against her, uses his lips to lightly clamp her clit, groans in exhilarated bliss when she screams.
“Fuck,” he gasps.
“Draco—oh, God—you’re so good at this—”
His cock is hard. Bobbing against the wooden side of the counter. She needs more, so Draco holds her cunt spread with his thumb and forefinger to give him uninhibited access to her now-swollen clit. He goes faster with his tongue on it, and she shudders—a little gush of wetness leaves her.
That’s when her hips start bucking.
Hermione reaches down, frantic and clumsy, to twine her fingers into his hair, to push his head more firmly against her. His tongue isn’t fast or firm or steady enough. Hermione resorts to grinding up against his mouth.
“I’m close,” she whimpers. “I’m close, I’m close, I’m close—”
Draco lifts his head. His mouth is soaking wet, his jaw and chin dripping with her. He presses his hand to her cunt instead, rubbing faster and firmer.
He needs to see her come.
He’s been imagining it too. When his cock is in his hand, early in the mornings, when he wakes up from dreams of her, he fantasizes about what Hermione Granger’s face looks like when she orgasms. And though he’s not nearly so bold as to tell her, the way she did to him (will your eyes stay open? Will your head drop back?), Draco wants it just as much. Maybe more.
He’s starving for it.
As Hermione’s whining moans start to sharpen into a keen, Draco straightens up tall enough to look down at all of her.
Her dress is rucked to her ribcage. The shoulder straps are slipping down, the upper curve of both breasts rounded and shaking. His come is still stained on the bodice—even though he’d tried to wipe it off—
He stares at her face.
She is beautiful as the pleasure hits fever pitch. Her eyebrows—delicate arches, like a doll’s—lift and draw together in an expression of painful, agonized pleasure. Her lashes flutter like a pinned butterfly until, at last, they squeeze shut too tightly to move.
Her mouth drops open, wide as it can go.
“Oh, God—”
She screams.
Draco stares and stares. His hand doesn’t stop moving between her thighs. He will give her anything she wants. And right now she wants, and wants, and wants—
Her hips shake uncontrollably, and Hermione’s hands reach down between her own thighs to press—firm and relieving—to her clit. Rocking herself through the very end of it. And when she looks at him there are glimmering tears on her cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” Draco whispers, horrified. “Hermione—what’s the matter…”
But they’re not sad tears, it seems. She’s gasping in an overwhelmed, pleasure-drunk way.
“I’m ok,” she says with a shudder, her thighs pressing to each other, closing. “Feels so good… Hold me?”
Draco picks her up off the counter. She wraps her legs around him again, clumsy and loose this time. He carries her to the couch and zips up his trousers, buttons them up, tightens his belt, nervously making himself whole again so he can be ready to take care of Hermione however she needs him to.
“Do you want tea?” he asks softly. He smooths hair out of her face. “You’re so beautiful. Are you alright? Did I do something—?”
Hermione laughs. She tugs her closer to him, and they settle together on the couch, tangled together. Hermione rests her nose in the hollow of his throat.
“I’m not crying in a sad way,” she giggles. “It was just—really intense. I came really hard.”
He holds her tight. Relieved.
“Draco?”
“Yes?”
“Was it good for you?”
He laughs so hard that she has to move back, lest he accidentally bonk her nose with the shaking of his shoulders.
“Sorry, come back here,” he says, still smiling. “Yes. It was so good for me. You have no idea—I don’t think I’m ever going to stop thinking about you. Every day until I’m dead, I’ll be thinking about you.”
Hermione giggles, clearly pleased, and kisses his shoulder.
“You’re really my type,” she confesses in his ear. “I can hardly control myself around you.”
“What about me is your type?” he nuzzles her temple.
“Blond. Tall. Great shoulders… nice abs…”
He laughs.
“And,” Hermione giggles. “I like your tattoo. Very sexy.”
Draco freezes.
“I don’t have a tattoo,” he says quietly, kissing her head. Trying not to let his voice shake.
His Dark Mark is gone. The skin on his forearm is unblemished, thanks to the Healers at St. Mungo’s he’d gone to as soon as he was out of Azkaban.
He should know—he checks his left arm every time he wakes up in cold sweat, to confirm he’s not still in a nightmare.
Hermione laughs.
“What do you mean? This one. With the snake.”