Authors Note: For Vette, who requested a Dean/Hermione. Enjoy!

Artists Impression

Dean stared down at her and almost forgot to breath.

He almost forgot the sketchpad in his hand and the charcoal he had dug up from his art kit that smudged his fingers as he raced to capture her image in the early morning light.

She was beautiful, with her body curling towards his warmth, one hand tucked beneath her head, her fingers lost within all that hair. Her limber frame shifted with every deep breath and her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks as she slowly succumbed to wakefulness.

He never thought he would get this opportunity, and he wasn't about to waste it. Having Hermione Granger in this room, in his bed and displayed in all her glory before him, was something he had only ever fantasized about.

Her breath hitched and her breasts rose and fell, her thighs rubbing together. He resisted the urge to drop his sketch and run his hands down those long limbs, instead focusing on capturing the fall of ringlets that partially covered her face.

A small moan escaped her lips as she wriggled closer to where he sat cross-legged on the mattress beside her. He should have felt guilty about slipping the blankets down her body, but the urge to see her creamy skin on his sheets had overwhelmed his awareness of just how cold it was in his flat.

He adjusted his grip on the stub of charcoal, focussing on the shading where her body pressed into the rumpled covers, her fingers clenching and unclenching in the bunched up sheet he had been unable to wrench from her hold.

Those white knuckles and the sight of the almost ruined cloth bought back memories of her in a similar pose, her head flung back, her nails digging into the mattress as he drank from her body, pleasuring her in ways that had left deep scratches healing on his shoulders this morning.

He focussed on capturing the mottled whiteness of those knuckles, and tried hard not to respond when a low moan escaped her lips, followed by a sigh.

"Dean?" she asked, her voice husky with sleep and a night spent voicing her pleasures.

He didn't respond as his hand flew across the page, knowing he had seconds to catch the way the light seemed to reflect from her rounded hip and that one shaft of golden sunshine that now seemed to set her riot of chestnut curls to gold.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, making his eyes flicker to her face before returning back to tracing her big toe; the same big toe that had the ability to make her whole body writhe when a tongue was applied. He never would have guessed her to be the ticklish type.

"Remembering," he replied shortly, capturing her whisky coloured eyes, barely open, before his own darted back down her body.

"I didn't know you still liked to draw," she commented, only her mouth moving as she instinctively stayed still.

He tried very hard not to react to the thick huskiness of her voice, determined to finish the picture, "From time to time, I never stopped really."

He worked on the shading at her belly button - remembering her giggles at when he had worshiped that particular piece of her anatomy – until he got the shading just right. Finally, after a few minutes of comfortable silence, in which he studied her body and she watched his at work, he put the sketchpad down in his naked lap and finally met her eyes.

"Good morning," he grinned, giving her his full attention.

"Morning," she sighed, rising up on elbow, leaning forward until her lips pressed against his.

"I hope you don't mind," he whispered when she pulled back, indicated the book in his lap.

Hermione bit her lip and grinned, "Mind that, or that?" she teased, staring down at his morning erection that rested behind the sketchpad, straining toward his belly button.

"The picture," he replied, moving the pad to the side carefully, the charcoal rolling to the floor when his fingers reached for her, "I was hoping you could help me with the other thing."

"It's actually quite flattering," she revealed, her small hand reaching out for him, gripping him firmly as her face drew closer to his once more, "The picture I mean. I've never had anyone one try to draw me before."

Dean groaned, kissing her deeply as she worked her fist up and down his shaft, her thumb rubbing over his tip each time she reached the top.

"Yes you have, you just didn't know it," he gasped, pulling away from her mouth, pushing at her shoulders until she fell back onto the mattress.

He wished he wasn't so preoccupied so he could draw her just as he saw her now. Her eyes were like liquid fire as she became aroused once again, her hair (if possible) was even messier before as she lay in a halo of curls and her long limbs seemed to fall in ways that begged him to draw her. She was stunning in her passion and right now he felt secure in his knowledge that she was his.

"Oh I have, have I?" she asked, grinning up at him, her hand never stopping it's movements, stroking him until he was harder than ever.

"I used to draw you all the time at school," he gasped, bending down to take one of her nipples in his mouth, tugging on it hard with his lips, her body rising to meet his, "Used to wonder how you would look in my bed," he confessed thickly.

"And how do I compare to the fantasy?" she whispered huskily in his ear as he settled between her thighs, his hands twining with hers as he bought them above her head.

"Nothing," he gasped as he entered her with one solid thrust, "They were nothing compared to this."

Hermione moaned and threw her head back, her hips rising to meet his with each plunge he took into her willing body, creating the same delicious friction they had achieved the night before.

She would never had known or guessed that Dean Thomas harboured the same feelings she had had for him over the years. It was quite amazing how quickly things had progressed once one of he had finally worked up the courage to ask her out. Even now, in the throes of his intimate embrace she couldn't feel anything but happiness at how well their first date had turned out.

He pressed her hips hard into the mattress, twisting within her as he withdrew, gaining a small whimper of pleasure for his efforts.

"I used to draw you all the time," he confessed to her, his eyes focussed on her face, studying her expressions as he tried out several angles before finding the perfect one, "Especially when you would read."

"But I read all the time," she moaned, twisting her own hips, urging him to go faster, "They can't have been very thrilling pictures."

"They were for me," he moaned, struggling to follow the thread of conversation as her muscles began to tighten around him, "Especially when you would chew on the end of your quill… fuck," he gasped, feeling a deep throb course through her, her hands feel to her thighs, pushing her legs far apart so he could thrust into her deeper.

Hermione cried out, her fingers raking down his shoulders, her nails finding the same marks she had made the night before.

"Dean," she cried out, another pulse sweeping through her body as orgasm hit her hard.

He pushed through her tight passage, crying out as he pumped his hips, achieving his own release moments after her. His hoarse cry echoed loudly throughout the room, dying down finally when he collapsed against her chest.

He closed his eyes and cushioned his head against between her breasts, letting her gentle fingers in his hair sooth his erratic heartbeat and bring him down from his high.

"Can I see them?" she asked sleepily a few minutes later.

"See what?" he yawned, snuggling deeper into her body, turning so her could wrap his arms around her.

"The pictures, if you still have them."

He looked up at the beautiful woman and realized he wanted to show her what nobody else had ever seen, "I still have them," he whispered.

Hermione smiled, kissing him once more.

"Will you let me draw you again?" he asked her after a few more minutes of silence, in which he wasn't sure if she had fallen back asleep again.

"If it ends like this, then you can draw me anytime," she muttered sleeping.

Dean grinned, intending to hold her to that promise.

Thanks for Reading!