This came about from the monthly dramionefanfictionwriters July prompt. Who doesn't love a friends with benefits scenario?

It wasn't an innocent brush of fingers or a sultry look held for a moment too long, nor was it that wistful smile she'd tried to conceal from him or the way he'd laughed when she'd cracked a joke she didn't think he'd find humorous. It also, most certainly, had nothing to do with who he was, because she shouldn't, couldn't, didn't, want somebody like him. And how could he ever justify what he was doing with her? Well, he just couldn't, not to himself or his family or the entire world for that matter.

So, it wasn't that, but it might have been the sight of her ex entering the Great Hall on the eve of the five year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, with his new girlfriend draped happily on his arm. And it might have been how he, Draco Malfoy, had noticed, out of everyone else in the room his eyes could have settled on, how miserable she was sitting at the bar by herself with her glass in hand. He had thought it odd that she wasn't surrounded by her usual ensemble, but that's when he had spotted the ginger-haired buffoon cozied up with a Ravenclaw alumni.

Malfoy didn't believe he felt pity or empathy for her. He didn't believe he was capable of feeling sorry for the fact that after everything she'd endured through the war, she couldn't even find satisfaction in love. It was much easier to believe that the Blishen's Firewhiskey he'd been consuming for the better part of the evening had compelled him to go and have that drink with her.

Hermione hadn't seen him since his trial, almost five years ago, and his mere presence at such a jovial event was enough of a distraction that, for a moment, she forgot about trying to deny the ache in her heart. Why Malfoy wanted to have a drink with her, she couldn't fathom. The last exchange between them had been a curt 'thank you,' for her part in his pardoning and a restrained 'of course,' from her, because there were no words to encompass what she'd gone through because of him, or for him.

But by the time they'd had their second, then third, then fifth round of drinks, they told themselves that that was what did it. They told themselves that that was what broke the dam of their inhibitions. If they hadn't ordered that last drink, she wouldn't have put her hand on his arm. If they hadn't taken that last sip, he wouldn't have escorted her to a deserted corridor for a quick snog. If they hadn't tasted each other, the bite of the nettle wine and the burn of the whiskey, they wouldn't be tumbling into her bed. She wouldn't be pawing at his crisp suit and he wouldn't be shoving the skirt of her modest dress up.

That was it. That was what did it, not the thick bulge throbbing against her thighs, not the heat of his hands on her skin. It most certainly had nothing to do with that figure she'd been hiding beneath those bulky robes during their time at school, nor was it that one dream he'd had of her several years ago that he'd managed to convince himself was the result of a feverish sickness. It could have been anybody, they told themselves, because it was the wine and the whiskey that did it.

Still, she closed her eyes when she rode him, because even through her addled haze, there were certain things about him that were unmistakable. The cold metal of his belt hit her backside and the straps of her dress slid off her shoulders as she bounced herself on his cock - they had been too harried to worry about every little piece of clothing coming off.

And, in her fervor, she hadn't expected him to put much effort in. There was a reason she'd pushed him back on her bed and climbed on top; that little bit of control, the dominion over her pleasure and his, was all she could hold onto when the world spun around her. And it was spinning, whipping her round and round until she felt his hands grip her hips. He pulled himself up suddenly, angling her at a slant to the point she felt she might fall back, so she snapped her eyes open and grabbed for his shoulders, but he held her tightly in place.

Blue. They weren't blue.

He thrusted forward, but with nowhere to go, he struck her deep and she gasped. He did it again and his name almost fell from her lips. She sealed them tightly and buried her face in his neck, clinging to the little bit of power she still possessed, even as he tried to take it from her, pounding into her, moaning her name, egging her with salacious words that ignited desire inside of her. Why was he saying her name? Why did he have to say it like that?

She felt his hands move up, around her back, keeping her in position, but it was almost as if he were cradling her. She pulled away, pushing against his chest until he fell back against her pillows once more. Though she didn't remember divesting him of his shirt, her fingers spread over his pectorals, exploring his pale, sculpted skin and staking her claim in their pleasure. With a swivel of her hips, she took control and resumed her rhythm. His hands found her thighs again, settling them where they'd been before, and she closed her eyes once more.

She told herself she couldn't bear the sight of him beneath her, the blonde, not red, hair, the gray, not blue eyes, the porcelain, not freckled, skin. She told herself it was the wine and the whiskey, even as she reached between them to circle her clit, drawing herself closer to the edge. It was the wine and the whiskey, she chanted to herself; a brutal seduction of nettles and fire, of sharp lust and burning desire.

PART I: FOREPLAY

"Granger?" His deep voice echoed the fantasy playing in her thoughts, "You were saying?"

"Sorry," she shook her head and dropped her gaze to the tea before her. The carefully constructed apology she'd been working on in the week since she'd last seen him had turned to ash on her tongue. She hadn't been prepared for the onslaught of memories at the sight, or smell, of him. It wasn't particularly strong, but the scent of sandalwood pervaded her nostrils, dizzying her, "I was not in my right mind, obviously, and I owe you an apology for the way I conducted myself that night."

"That's it?" Draco scoffed, "I thought you asked me here so we could give it another go."

"What?!" Hermione almost shot out of her chair at the thought. She stammered, "N-No! No, it was a mistake. It was - ,"

She trailed off, because the longer she thought about it, the more difficult it became to deny her desire for him. When she'd woken up the morning after, she wasn't surprised by the relief of finding him to be long gone or the severe headache from drinking too much. What did surprise her was the lingering arousal in her abdomen and the heat that flared beneath her skin at the thought of what they'd done. Her cheeks flushed just thinking about it. It felt as though she'd broken the seal of something sacred, some chastity or integrity that she couldn't get back. But she didn't want it.

"I thought it was quite good," he smirked, leaning back in his chair. The signet on his ring caught the light as he adjusted the tie around his neck absently, "For a drunken one night stand."

"But, you're," she couldn't find the words to finish out her thought. An arse? A pureblood? A Death Eater? She closed her eyes briefly, trying to recall if she'd seen the mark while they had been. . . intimate. She couldn't remember, but that was probably a good thing.

"It's only sex, Granger," he said brusquely, "I wouldn't read too much into it."

"I'm not!" She protested, "I'm just saying - Aren't there rules?"

"Rules?" He chuckled, "Since when does sex have rules?"

"Sex always has rules!" She took a deep breath and pushed the tea away from her; he was making her too flustered, "That's not what I'm talking about. What I mean is, aren't there rules about who you can have sex with?"

"Sure, but where's the fun in that?" He shrugged and she fixed him with a pointed glare, so he relented, "Tradition would dictate that I not only fraternize exclusively with pure-blooded witches, but also that I not have sex until marriage."

"Your parents can't have expected that of you," she scoffed and shook her head in disbelief. Draco tipped his chin in agreement.

"I assure you, nobody obeys those archaic laws anymore," he sipped his tea leisurely, watching her curious expression over the rim of his cup.

"But you've always hated m - ," she recovered herself quickly, "Mudbloods."

"Of course," he said plainly, "I was raised to hate them, just as you were raised in tolerance."

"That's no excuse," she retorted, "You chose to listen to your parents instead of your peers and teachers."

"They're my parents, Granger," he grumbled, "Their faults are mine. That being said, it doesn't mean I've never defied them before."

"Well, that makes sense, then," she slumped back in her chair.

"What?"

"I was an act of rebellion for you," an annoying little tick in the back of her brain told her that something bothered her about that fact, even though he had been her rebellion against Ron and, from the look on his face, she guessed he was realizing much the same.

"A fair trade," he acquiesced.

"You had your fun, what's the use of repeating such an egregious mistake?"

"Why does anybody have sex with the same person twice?"

"Love," she balked at him, "Intimacy, a relationship?"

"Physical pleasure," he added, "For the enjoyment of it."

"We were drunk!"

"Did you not like it?" He asked, his fist curling on his thigh as he thought about how unbidden she'd looked seated atop him. As fuzzy as the evening was, having seen everything through the whiskey's lens, there were some moments that came in startlingly clear. It surprised him to know how much of the night he'd actually enjoyed with her.

"You don't know what I like," she snapped, irritation and desire pooling together to intoxicate her blood.

"Neither do you, but I'm willing to negotiate," the smugness of his tone was rivaled only by the smirk on his face, "Look, I know you and Weaslebee just broke up - it's all anybody can talk about - so I'm fairly certain you're not getting anything from anybody right now," Hermione gaped, but he continued on without batting an eye, "As for myself, I can't exactly fuck whoever I want - word gets around and the last thing my family needs is a scandal."

"Then, why me?" she asked, flabbergasted, "What exactly are you asking for?"

"Discretion," Draco said glibly.

"So, casual sex?"

"I can keep the suit on if you'd prefer it fancy."

Despite herself, Hermione laughed.

"Friends with benefits, you mean."

"We're not friends," he corrected her.

"Fine," she said flippantly, "Acquaintances, enemies, whatever label you want to put on it - and the benefits would be. . .?"

"Sex," he reiterated, "Without any expectations."

"What makes you think I won't have any expectations?" She said haughtily, intending only to tease him.

"Because, Granger," he leaned forward, a seriousness in his gaze, "You are you and I am me."

His words were unnecessary. Never in a million years would she ever want to be with him romantically. It was a sickening thought in itself, and one she was still struggling to comprehend, to even want him sexually. And yet. . . She crossed her legs, squeezing her thighs together in her need for some friction. Hermione collected herself before looking him squarely in the eye.

"And you're serious?"

"I wouldn't have come if I wasn't."

Though he sounded honest, she found it hard to believe. Maybe it was all some cruel trick, an elaborate scheme to embarrass her in front of the entire wizarding world, if he were still that immature. She chastised herself; if that was really his intention, then why did he have sex with her in the first place? Wouldn't he be just as mortified? Maybe even more so?

Aside from that, his words were true - terrible as it was to admit - she hadn't had sex since her breakup with Ron. Before that drunken night, she hadn't had sex with anyone other than Ron. She felt oddly pitiful at that thought. He and his new girlfriend had probably had sex over a dozen times by now, if not more. Did she really want to wait until her next relationship to have sex again? Maybe there was something to be said about experimenting with a person she had no attachment to. She wouldn't have to feel self-conscious about her body or her desires. What if they actually had some things in common? Maybe he would want to try -

"Granger," he called her attention back to him. She blinked, realizing she had been staring at him intently as she ruminated over his proposition.

"Y-Yes," she said slowly, then cleared her throat to state firmly, "Yes."

"Yes, what?"
"I'll do it," she nodded, holding his gaze so fiercely that he almost felt intimidated. His mouth fell open slightly, like he hadn't been expecting her to actually agree to it. Truthfully, he hadn't given the notion much thought, except for the idea of having sex with her again. He wasn't going to deny himself that chance, no matter who she was, especially if the second time around was just as good as he drunkenly remembered the first time being. Draco shut his mouth before he could stupidly question her again. Hermione straightened herself in her chair, "How, um, how would we do this?"

She looked at him expectantly so he shook himself out of his stupor.

"What do you mean?"

"Should we make a schedule?" Her analytical mind was already at work, "Sundays are an absolute no for me. I have brunch with my parents every week and I need to be fresh for work on Monday morning. Come to think of it, weeknights won't work either - there's no telling when I'll be through at the Ministry. Saturdays are best. The evenings specifically," she nodded to herself, "So, once a week on Saturday night, does that work for you?"

"Only you could take all the fun out of sex, Granger," he scrutinized her, a marginal frown pulling at the corners of his lips.

"If you don't like it," she fixed him with a passive glare, playing her bluff, "We don't have to do this."

Draco was silent as he considered her words and her heart dropped into her stomach when she thought she might have overplayed her hand. He had seemed so eager before, or as eager as she'd ever seen him in her life.

"Fine. Saturday nights," he consented curtly, "But we're doing it at your place."

"Fine," she agreed, crossing her arms over her chest placidly, "If you like."

"I do," he regarded her for a moment, looking as though they were discussing the terms of a highly professional business venture, "You should know I always expect something in return."

"You're expecting something in return for the sex that you asked me for?" She clarified.

"No," he shook his head with a bemused smirk, fully anticipating a prominent blush to claim her cheeks when he spoke his next words, "If I get you off, I expect the favor to be returned."

She blinked for a moment, stupefied, then collected herself.

"You've nothing to worry about there, because I won't ask that of you. In fact, I think we should be responsible for our own orgasms."

"You really do put a damper on things, don't you?"

"I would think you'd like that, Malfoy," Hermione sneered, "Less responsibility, less expectation."

"Less fun," he reiterated, but brushed aside his irritation, "All right."

"Well, then, if you accept the terms," she stood from the table and stretched out her hand, "I'll see you in six days."

He stared at the tips of her fingers, twitching slightly under his gaze, before he reached out and shook her hand.

"Six days."

PART II: ORAL

"Blimey, Granger," Malfoy said as Hermione padded back into her bedroom, wrapping her freshly washed hair in a towel. Still naked from their recent tryst, he turned on her bed and brandished the small rubber plug he'd found in her nightstand drawer, "I didn't take you for such a deviant."

Hermione paled, frozen as her gaze flitted between the toy in his hand and the look of lustful amusement on his face. Her first response was to claim it wasn't hers; she almost smacked herself for thinking up such a stupid excuse.

"Have you used it before?" His brows raised in genuine curiosity.

"I - I, um," she clutched the knot of her towel, her mind flipping to the same blank page with every sharp inhale.

"Did Weasley use this on you?"

"No," that, at least, was easier for her to answer.

"Have you tried it, then?"

"That's," she gave a frustrated growl and stomped over to him, snatching the plug away from him, "Why are you going through my things?"

"You left it open," he said defensively.

"That doesn't give you the right to look," she spat, waving the toy at him. He burst into a fit of laughter.

"I can't take you seriously when you're holding that."

Hermione huffed and tossed it on the bed before throwing herself down as well. She laid on her back, looking up at her ceiling, but Malfoy quickly came into view. Hovering above her, he asked with a smirk,

"So, have you?"

She turned her head to the side and exhaled in exasperation.

"Yes," she admitted, "Just a few times."

Malfoy grinned and bent his head to her neck, kissing her still wet skin. Her breath hitched when she felt his teeth graze her pulse.

"That's incredibly sexy," he closed his lips over the spot he'd been working on just an hour before. It was still red and sore when he drew it between his teeth and sucked.

"Ah!" She arched her neck more, allowing him better access, "Do you - mm - think so?"

His tongue fluttered against the taut tendon of her throat, humming against it in response.

"Have you ever been fucked with it in?"

"No, I - I've never tried."

Malfoy pulled back, taking her pleasure with him. She blinked rapidly as she looked up at him.

"Shall we?"

"What?" She balked, "Right now?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

"Malfoy, I'm not prepared, I - do you - I mean, are you even interested in," she couldn't believe she was about to utter that word to him, "Anal?"

"You're right," he said frankly, "You'll have to remove the stick you've had lodged up there first."

"Malfoy!"

"Relax, Granger," he turned her on her side and smacked her arse cheekily, "I'm only joking."

Hermione bristled, but stayed where he'd positioned her. She could feel the towel riding up her backside and a rush of cool air from the open window slipped between her thighs. She clamped them together quickly; all that talk, as provisional as it was, had begun to arouse her.

"Shame," she teased, folding her arms beneath her chin to peer at him as he laid beside her, "You'd have been the first guy I ever did it with."

"Well, in that case, we should definitely do it," he watched her lips pull into a grin contemplatively, "You'd be the first for me."

She sat up suddenly, the knot of the towel loosening with the movement until it started to fall; she didn't try to catch it.

"You mean you haven't done this before?"

The notion of taking one of Draco Malfoy's firsts excited her more than she'd thought it would.

"No," he shook his head, furrowing his brows at her amazement.

"What else have you not done before?" In the months since they'd began their arrangement, they had yet to discuss their desires in depth.

"I don't know," he griped, "Lots of things."

"Then what do you like?"

"Sex?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I mean something you haven't done before."

An aggravated sound came from the back of his throat and he glared at her.

"Merlin," he turned onto his back and threw his hands up, "You do take all the fun out of sex."

"I'm just trying to establish boundaries," she said calmly, "Maybe there are some things we both enjoy."

"Can't things just happen naturally?"

"That's how people end up getting hurt," she said stiffly, then clarified brusquely, "During sex."

"That's what safe words are for, Granger."

They locked eyes for a contentious moment, a silent discourse read only through the intensity of their gazes. Malfoy was the first to break contact, lifting his arm to cup the back of her thigh. With a firm hand, he urged her to swing her leg over so that she straddled his shoulders. Once she realized her positioning, her heated cunt hovering just above his lips, she tried to move away, but he hooked his arms under her, hands flattening at her hips to keep her in place.

"Malfoy, we agreed we wouldn't do this," she trembled as she struggled against his hold. She could just barely see him over the peaks of her breasts, his striking silver eyes the most visible aspect to her.

"You can't be serious, Granger," he kissed along her inner thigh and she pulled back, broadening the space between his tongue and her slick entrance.

"I was and I am," she said sternly, bracing herself on his abdomen to leverage herself further away.

"Why?" He seemed almost annoyed when he asked, "Has no one done this for you? You're really missing out - ,"

"Of course they have," she scoffed and felt his grip loosen.

"Obviously it wasn't very good."

"It was perfectly fine," she grumbled, "But I told you I think it's best we be in charge of our own orgasms."

"That's hardly fun," he slid his arms out from beneath her and she promptly removed herself to sit back on her bed. Malfoy stood then, picking up his clothes to redress himself. Hermione balked at him.

"You're really disappointed, aren't you?"

"If I said yes, would you let me do it?" He cocked a brow as he buckled his trousers.

"No," she giggled, "It's far too fun seeing you pout."

"Never took you for a sadist, either, Granger," he slid an arm into his shirt, the faded mark of his former allegiance becoming hidden once more. She had expected to be more repulsed by its presence, but she hardly noticed it anymore. It was only a part of his skin, like any freckle or blemish that adorned hers.

"You should go home, Malfoy," she picked her towel up, securing it around her once more, even though she had long since dried off, "You get cranky if you stay up too late."

"And you get mean," he finished buttoning his shirt, then grabbed his suitcoat that he'd hung by the door, "Same time next week?"

"I can't," she frowned, "I've got a dinner to go to."

"A dinner?" He couldn't help but wonder with who. Was it a date?

"Harry, Ginny, Ron," she chewed her lip anxiously, "His new girlfriend," Hermione lurched forward, dropping her head in her hands, "I'm going to be the fifth wheel."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she lifted her head listlessly, finding his gaze.

"Why did you and Weasley break up?"

"Oh," she straightened herself, fisting her hands at her knees; she hadn't been expecting that, "I just," she took a deep breath, "I guess I just knew it wasn't going anywhere. We both really cared about each other, that was never the problem, but I - we have different priorities and ambitions and principals," she swallowed past the sadness, hurt, and painful clarity, "There's nothing wrong with that, but I knew that he wanted me to be somebody else, somebody that I am never going to be. Somebody I don't want to be."

"Who was that?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but shut it just as quickly; she didn't want to drudge up the past. There was no need. She was moving on now. As though in a daze, she spoke methodically,

"Sometimes, people see who they think you are," she crossed her legs absently, "Instead of who you really are," blinking rapidly, she snapped back to Malfoy with a sheepish, timid smile, "I suppose I don't need to tell you that."

He nodded stiffly. Shifting on his feet, he watched her speculatively.

"Will you be okay?"

"Hm?"

"At the dinner?"

"Oh, I," her shoulders slumped at the prospect of a double date plus one, "I'll be okay. If I get really desperate, I can always hex some poor sod to come with me."

He didn't laugh, but he should have, because then he might have been able to stop the next words that left his mouth.

"Why don't I go with you?"

"Y-You?" She stuttered, "You'd come with me?"

"I don't have to," he tried to recover hastily, to talk her out of it before she agreed. Not likely, he thought to himself, as if she would ever say yes to such an absurd -

"Okay," she seemed just as rigid and appalled by her response as he was by his,

"Great."

Great.

"I'll see you next week, then," she said slowly, "Six forty-five sharp, if you don't mind. Don't want to be late."

"Six forty-five sharp," Draco nodded.

Great.

With a short nod and a passable goodbye, he apparated home.

PART III: SEX

What a terrible, horrible, bloody awful idea. Hermione wrung her hands in her lap, worrying grooves into her palms with her fingernails. Malfoy reached over without a look, taking hold of one of her hands and settling it between them. Her cheeks burned and she wished she could bury her face in the bread basket, but the four pairs of eyes sitting at the same table were already staring. It had been an uncomfortable fifteen minutes of startling silence since they'd arrived and if it hadn't been for Malfoy pushing her forward, she might have turned right around as soon as she saw the shocked expressions on her friends' faces.

Hermione had to credit him, though, for not only showing up, but also for managing to dress down to a sportcoat and slacks for the occasion. Yet as she fidgeted in her seat, trying to adjust herself more comfortably, she realized she might have been trying for too much in a single evening.

Malfoy leaned towards her, whispering into her ear,

"You didn't tell them I was coming, did you?"

"It didn't seem important," she hissed quietly. He sighed heavily.

"I need a moment," with a squeeze to her hand, he stood from the table and headed for the back of the restaurant.

"This is new, then?" Ginny piped up when he was out of earshot.

"This is nothing," Hermione clarified with a sharp wave of her hand, "Malf - Draco and I have been spending some time together recently."

"Why?" Ron asked, his tone one of accusal.

"Because we got talking at Hogwarts a few months back," she said pointedly, shifting herself on her chair, "We have some things in common."

"With a Death Eater?" He spat.

"Ron," Padma chastised him, putting a slight hand on his shoulder.

"Former," Hermione corrected him.

"But are you together?" Harry questioned, confusion marring his features.

"No, he's just a - an acquaintance."

Draco splashed cold water on his face, trying to rinse away years of shame and regret in the washroom sink of this quaint little eatery, but he knew he'd need something a bit heavier to get through the evening. After he patted his face dry, he left the toilets and went straight to the bar.

"Two fingers of Blishen's and a glass of nettle wine, something vintage," he ordered. The bartender nodded and went to pouring the drinks. Meanwhile, Draco let his eyes wander back to the table. He couldn't see Hermione's face, but he could make out the emphatic gesture of her hands. She was either lecturing them or telling somebody off. Either way, it put a smile on his face.

"Here you are, sir," the bartender set the glasses down in front of him and Draco handed him a few galleons before taking the drinks back to the table. Hermione's head shot up as soon as he approached, a look of relief and then humor on her face when she saw him. She pointed to the glass of Blishen's and the half drunken nettle wine already on the table.

"The waiter came by while you were gone."

"Ah," Draco chuckled, "Saves me another trip to the bar."

"Thank you," Hermione laughed and took the wine from him, pouring it into the glass she'd already been using until it became filled almost to the brim. He took her lead and did the same, combining both whiskeys. With a shared grin, they clinked their drinks together and sipped.

The absurdity of such a situation had silenced the rest of the table, but Hermione no longer felt uncomfortable. Malfoy could have easily run off and left her to fend for herself the rest of the evening. Instead, he had returned with her favorite spirits in tow.

He set his glass down and placed a hand on her thigh beneath the table. His fingers skimmed the hem of her skirt, pushing it up ever so slightly.

"Better?" The quirk of his smile emphasized the suggestion of his movements, but only to her. She squeezed her legs against his hand lightly.

"Much."

Ron remained silent for most of dinner, at least until the conversation turned to Quidditch. The entire table came alive then, remarking on the upcoming matches, sharing their favorite players, and discussing their dream line-ups. Even as they continued to talk, Draco had kept a firm hand beneath the table, touching her idly. Hermione, with two glasses under her belt and a third on the way, had decided to escalate matters, joining his hand on her thigh and encouraging it up until he met with her panties. As soon as he felt the material beneath his fingers, he cast a devious glance her way. The food had come and gone, the dessert had been devoured, the bill paid, and one deep swig would take care of his whiskey. There was nothing but leisurely conversation keeping them there anymore.

"I think it's time for us to leave," he announced, "Hermione?"

She looked up at him, startled almost at the sound of her first name. He didn't appear as phased by it, as if he had been reciting it for some time.

"Yes, I think so."

"You'll be going home together, then, yeah?" Ron asked, more confusion than anger in his words.

"Ron!" Padma swatted his arm and Ginny reached over to yank on his ear.

"Ow! I'm just asking!"

"I'll make sure he gets home safely," Hermione quipped, cheeks tinted by the wine, as well as the mischief hinted in her voice. Draco ducked his head, growling low in her ear,

"You know what happens to smart arses, Granger?"

She tried to conceal her grin as she took hold of his hand and led him up from the table.

"Let's do this again soon," she chimed. There was a subdued murmur of agreement, then she was dragging him out of the restaurant and pushing him up against the side wall with the force of a furious kiss. Her tongue slid along the seam of his lips, gathering a hint of something that made her crave more. Before he opened himself to her, he pulled back with a smug smirk.

"I thought we were leaving," he brushed his fingers along her forehead, pushing aside a stray lock of curls.

"Yeah," Hermione nodded, her half-lidded eyes glazed over, "I just - I just had to do that first."

Draco cupped the back of her neck and pulled her up to him, crashing his lips against hers. He parted for her tongue, exchanging the burn of his whiskey and the sharpness of her nettles. Her fingers curled around his lapels as she angled herself to capture more of him. She felt his teeth close over her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and she moaned. Promptly, his hands settled at her waist, yanking her between his legs until her hip grazed his hardened length. She had to stop from reaching for his belt, reminding herself that they were still in public.

"Let's go," she said, breathless, "I have a surprise for you."

Before he could respond, she had apparated them back to her flat and was urging him onto the bed. He sat down with a huff and reached for her, but she dropped to her knees, fingers flying to his belt to unbuckle it. Harried and drunk and painfully aroused, she pulled down the zipper of his pants and freed his cock. Draco's heart thumped wildly as he looked down at her fixated gaze. She seemed to be admiring him for an indeterminate amount of time, touching him lightly, pursing her lips in anticipation. He knew she wouldn't do it, because they weren't supposed to get each other off, but it didn't stop him from imagining for a split second what those pillowy lips would feel like wrapped around -

She opened her mouth to him, coating only his head at first and gliding her tongue in tight circles over the top, but at the sound of his broken groan, she took him further. A soft bob of her head and she started a rhythm, gripping him at the base to move her fingers in an opposing swivel.

"Her - mione," he couldn't keep his hands from gripping the back of her head, "I thought - ,"

He choked when he felt the softest graze of her teeth on his shaft. Exhaling sharply through his nostrils, he forced his eyes down and saw her looking up at him, sin and lust and hunger roiling in her gaze. He bit into his lip as he groaned in encouragement. He shouldn't question it. If she was okay with this now, he wouldn't question it. He'd been aching to see her like this and now that she was doing it, he'd finally be able to return the favor.

With that thought, he gave in, tipping his head back and tightening his fingers in her hair. He throttled another groan and Hermione's eyes lit up; Merlin, if that wasn't her favorite sound now. Dropping her hand to his swollen sack, she let him slip deeper down her throat, ripping the breath from his lungs even as he tried to utter his appreciation.

"This is - shit - a fantastic surprise."

She pulled back with an exaggerated pop - the sound alone enough to bring him closer to the edge - and a coy smile.

"This isn't the surprise," her lips were rosy and swollen, her rouge smeared to the point he knew she must have left some on his cock, and a string of spit had dripped down onto her dress. He could have finished himself off to that image alone, but when he reached to touch himself, she swatted his hand away. She squeezed his sack gently and he hissed through his teeth. Her lips pressed against the head of his cock and he watched her part them slowly, taking him in one obscene inch at a time.

He meant to ask her what the surprise was, but with the whiskey in his system and the bliss between his legs, his curiosity was swiftly crushed. His sole focus became the feel of her tongue as she flattened it against him and the heat of her mouth as she enveloped him.

"Hermione," he moaned her name over and over, chanting it as he applied the slightest pressure to the back of her head. A subdued vibration traveled the length of his cock as she hummed and tried to bring more of him in. His thick girth prevented it and a drop of worry disturbed the pool of arousal gathering within her; what if she couldn't take him there?

Her thoughts were disrupted when she felt his thighs tense, his sack tighten, and heard the rumbling groan that emanated from his chest. She pulled back quickly, his hands still twisted in her hair, while she circled her fingers around his shaft.

"Where do you want to come?"

His hips jerked upwards and he cursed in response. She was letting him choose? Her grip tightened and her pace quickened. Fuck. He had to decide soon or he'd explode all over her hand. Carefully, he considered his options: he could come on her face, that had always been a favorite of his in past relationships. Then again, there was nothing like pounding into her tight cunt until he spilled himself inside of her. But maybe she would let him -

Her tongue darted out and licked the swell of his head. Fuck it, he thought.

"Your mouth," he said hastily, "I want you to swallow it."

With a sly look, she guided him back in her mouth and worked him with a furious determination that had him bucking into her. Words that he couldn't quite form or articulate fell from his lips, until she wrenched him into his orgasm and all he could do was bellow a deep groan as he released into her throat. Hermione held him there and swallowed against every throb of his cock, squeezing him with every spasm of his sack. His fingers loosened in her hair and, finally, he began to soften. His posture slackened until he fell back on her bed with a thump and she pulled him out of her mouth.

He muttered quietly to himself as she wobbled to her feet, still drunk on nettles and whiskey and him. She stepped out of her flats and fumbled with the zipper of her dress. She managed to get it a quarter of the way down before she gave up and shoved it over her head. She let her bra fall to join the heap and caught Draco with a lascivious glance. She strode towards him carefully, coming to kneel above him, bordering his waist. He raised a hand to stroke her cheek, a sated expression on his flushed face. She quashed an excited grin as she took that same hand and led it to her back. She gave him a path to follow, tracing her spine to finger the band of her knickers, before slipping inside and traveling down to find -

His eyes widened.

"Have you been wearing this all night?" His jaw twitched as he circled the stem of the rubber plug.

Hermione shivered and nodded.

"And you're just now telling me?" Malfoy gripped the plug and started to pull, but just as she bit her lip in anticipation, he pushed it back in, causing a surprised moan to spill forth, "You're kinkier than I thought, Granger, but I wish you would have said something," he brought his other hand to her backside, kneading her arse, "We could have had some real fun."

She bit her lip roughly; the idea appealed to her much more than she would ever admit to him sober. But thank Merlin she wasn't sober. Leaning forward, she licked the shell of his ear and whispered,

"Next time, I'll bring one that vibrates."

His grip tightened to bruise as he shuddered at the thought.

"Without a charm?"

"Mhm," she affirmed mirthfully.

"Hermione," his voice was strained as he pushed her name out, "Just give me a few minutes."

"I'm not going anywhere," she giggled.

"Yes, you are," with surprising dexterity, for a man fresh off an orgasm and wildly inebriated, he flipped her on her back and slunk down the bed until he found himself staring at her slick panties.

"Malfoy," fear cinched his name as it left her lips.

"Fair's fair, Granger," he flattened his tongue against the crotch of her knickers and licked upwards. She shivered and her hands sailed to his hair, gripping tightly to push him away.

"Please," she said, panting and wide eyed, "Don't."

"Why not?" He asked, incredulous.

"Because I said so," she bristled.

"I'm asking why," he was too drunk to hide his irritation now, or properly explain his inquiry.

"What does it matter?" she protested, "Let's not complicate things."

"Are we?" He questioned accusingly. Hermione swallowed thickly.

"We shouldn't."

Malfoy sat back on his heels and looked down at her curiously.

"What is it?" He asked, softer then. Hermione turned her head, adverse to the spotlight he'd put her under.

"It makes me feel so," her lip quivered as she shut her eyes, "Horrible."

"He was doing it wrong then."

"Not like that," she flung her arms out in an unusual physical outburst, but kept her eyes closed, "I feel - I feel suffocated, like I'm trapped and I'm running out of air. The more pleasure I feel, the closer I get, the harder it is to breathe and I-I panic. It's a lot to trust somebody to do that for you. Ron always tried and it just puts too much pressure on me, like I have to come just because he's putting in the effort. I could never," she sighed heavily and blinked her eyes open, surprised to find an astute and concerned looking Draco gazing down at her, "How do you tell somebody you love that they're not - doing it right?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it promptly. He cocked his head to the side, his lips quirking into a smirk.

"Of course you can't come with all that going on in your head," with a furrow of his brows, he said frankly, "You realize telling them is the only way they're going to know, right?"

"Obviously," She rolled her eyes, "But it's not so easy."

"I'd think for somebody as bossy as you, you'd be far more domineering in the bedroom."

"Disappointed?" She preened. Draco grabbed her hand and guided it to his stiffening cock. A soft, wanton moan slipped out of her.

"Hardly," his eyes were steel, emboldened by the determination of his lust. Hermione pulled herself up then to push her lips against his. Their tongues glanced, stirring their desire of nettles and fire. She'd nearly forgotten the plug nestled snugly inside of her, until his large fingers slipped beneath the band of her knickers to play with it. He silenced her moan between them as he teased the toy in and out of her slowly. Her knees began to wobble, but he shifted on the bed to shoulder her weight against him, letting her slump forward as she shuddered with each movement from him. She began to palm the bulge beneath her hand, stroking him back to attention. They broke off with heavy breaths, foreheads resting together, and Draco smirked, "Are you prepared now?"

Hermione nodded eagerly, her eyes flicking up to his briefly, cheeks flushing at the vulnerability of her admittance. Wordlessly, she slipped away from him, turning around to lay on her stomach, hiking her hips up as if in offering. And he took it. He tore her panties at the side, letting them fall down her right leg, and reached two fingers to rub along her dripping entrance. The slick coating on his skin when he pulled away was all he could take; he couldn't wait to have her.

With a soft nudge, his hands firm on her hips, the broad head of his cock parted her folds and Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. She'd felt the size of him on many occasions, and somehow he could still catch her by surprise, but this - she gasped as he pushed past the head. Fingers spread over her waist, sliding up her spine with the softest touch until he met her shoulders. This was so different.

"Relax," he squeezed lightly, kneading the tension from her. She let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and he slipped forward an inch. With an elongated moan, she almost fell forward, but Draco caught her with an arm around her waist, cradling her against him, "Still with me, Granger?"

"Mm," she bit her lip, nodding as emphatically as she could with the pulsing between her legs, "Mhm."

"Good," she could hear the smugness in his voice and felt him push forward again. Hermione clenched as the plug began to slip out, forced by the thickness of his shaft, but just as soon as she noticed it, Draco braced his thumb against the handle and shoved it back in. She keened, walls seizing around his cock. "Shit. Good, Hermione."

A pitiful whine fell from her at the sound of her name off his lips. It was all she could manage as she fisted the sheets beneath her, burning and needy and insatiable for him.

"Can you take more?" He taunted, one hand keeping the pressure of the plug inside her, the other holding her steady at the waist. She pushed back in response, swallowing another few inches of him. They cried out and cursed in unison, but he needed more. He shoved the rest of the way, filling her completely until his sack smacked against her.

"Draco!" She called out for him, a plea that he might take mercy on her or a hope that he might fuck her into oblivion. She felt him shudder and throb as he grappled with his thirst for her. This was a first for both of them, a tentative exploration, but a brutal seduction. His mind was a dizzy blur, a jumble of needs and wants and the modicum of sensibility that was trying to break through the storm of his desire. He had to be careful, had to think before he moved again, had to take his time with this, for her, even if she was so impossibly fucking tight around him.

The swell of the rubber toy protruded against his length, forming her walls like a slick sleeve around him. She shook as she pushed herself up, arching her back to make sure her arse was flush with his hips, "Fuck me, Draco."

The fragility of her tone was lost in the command of her words. He stifled a choked groan and pulled himself back slowly, inching out of her. He felt the resistance of the plug against his thumb and let it press against her rim, teasing her until the head of his cock breached her entrance once more. A slurred chant of curses were muttered into her arm as he filled her again. He had razed every nerve in her body, syphoning every sensation around her until he'd left her suspended in an abyss of blazing pleasure. Her cognizance consisted entirely of where she ended and he began; anything beyond that was irrelevant.

"Fucking perfect, Hermione," he sounded breathless behind her, teeth gritted against the mounting ecstasy of just being seated within her. He dropped his forehead against her back, his nose burying in her hair to inhale the faint scent of rosewater. Letting go of the plug, he snaked his other arm around her front, clasping his hand at her shoulder so that he encompassed her with his wide frame. Muffled in the wild tendrils of her curls, he whispered, "You're fucking perfect."

Heat flooded through her, separate, but intermingling with the heat of her passion. It bloomed in her chest, spreading outward to the tips of her fingers and down to her toes, coiling in her abdomen as he pulled out and struck her deep.

"Fuck, Draco!"

It didn't matter that she'd tried so hard to keep his name off her lips until that night, it needed to be spoken. Words alone could not articulate what she desired from him, but perhaps she could imbue it in the way she spoke his name. Or perhaps she could get him to say hers again, to recite it in that way he did, inflecting every syllable with a sinful growl that rose from his chest.

"Once I've thoroughly fucked this tight cunt," his mouth trailed along the curve of her neck, "I'll be fucking that naughty arse of yours, too."

She could only moan in agreement as he straightened himself, retreating from her again. His eyes glazed over, entranced as he watched her glistening folds cling to his shaft, desperate to keep him. He was slow and deliberate, wringing out her pleasure and anticipation, inciting her to feel every excruciating moment she was at his mercy.

"Please," she was damn near ready to tear the sheets with her clenched fists if he didn't start moving at a more reasonable pace.

"What's that, Granger?" He egged her on, easing his cock in and out of her at his leisure. She bucked her hips and gave a frustrated moan.

"Harder," she demanded, breath hitching in her throat, "Fuck me, Draco."

He grunted roughly and drove into her, the smack of their skin sharp enough to sting and loud enough to ring. She keened for him, mind and body awash with a pleasure she'd spent so long fantasizing about, chasing, but never believing to be real. There was a nearly intolerable sensation of fullness, a satiation that was dizzying as he pulled out of her slowly, allowing the plug to follow his movements, and then slammed into her, shoving the toy back in place.

She tried to steady herself as he found his rhythm, bracing on her elbows, angling her arse up, and it seemed to work for a time. She focused on her breathing, an inhaled gasp and an exhaled moan, syncing them with his thrusts, but then he was pounding into her, fucking her into her mattress, and she was screaming, choking on words and fighting for air. Her legs shook until they gave out and he had to pull her to him by the arm around her waist.

With that simple touch, the heat of his hand, the security of his hold, even as he fucked her without relent, she found herself on the brink of something. Not an orgasm, but it was just as climactic. Exhilarating and thrilling and absolutely, completely terrifying, she felt herself drowning in it, surfacing in moments of pleasure, but lost just as quickly.

"Hermione."

That name, the sound of it - he couldn't possibly mean her. He couldn't possibly be talking to her with such lust and reverence.

"Draco, please!"

What was she even asking him for? She didn't know, but he seemed to. He slid his hand between her thighs, swiping his fingers against her clit as he cradled her. She should stop him. He was just as caught up in the act as she was, but that wasn't an excuse. Pressuring the stiff bundle of nerves, he coaxed her onward, leading her down a twisted path of ecstasy that, ultimately, converged with his. She should stop him, but she didn't.

"All right?" He sat her on the edge of the tub as he went to turn her shower on.

"Yeah," she nodded, throat scratchy and dry, body ragged and sore. Her clit throbbed from the persistence of his attention, still thrumming with the energy of not one, but two releases, "Just a little wobbly."

He chuckled and tested the water.

"Don't ask me to carry you, because I won't."

Hermione gave a soft laugh, more of a huff, really, as that was all she could manage in her state.

"Thank you," she muttered, dropping her chin into her open palm.

"For the sex?"

"For the company," she grumbled, too tired to admonish him for willfully misinterpreting her, "At dinner."

"Well, what are friends for?"

Hermione looked up then, a crooked simper gracing her lips. He watched her with a dubious expression.

"We're not friends, Draco."

PART IV: CLIMAX

Hermione had quickly found herself prone to distraction, most especially during her days at the Ministry. She found herself scarcely able to concentrate about anything other than sex with him, so much so that she thought she might have begun to hallucinate when a letter arrived in her office that Wednesday evening.

It directed her to come to a specific address that Saturday night, instead of their usual rendezvous at her flat. She didn't allow herself to wonder, or dread rather - yes, dread - where the address might lead her, but she did bask in the satisfaction of knowing that she was not the only one looking forward to their next encounter.

She had to admit to herself that she'd gotten carried away last time, but it had felt so sublime, so incandescently perfect. Still, drunk as she was, she shouldn't have let him touch her like that. She'd been far too excited at the prospect of trying something new, something she'd always wanted to, and it had been ethereal, but to let him touch her so intimately. . .

His cock prodded the rim of her arse, the plug laying forgotten beside them. He was still holding her up by the waist, her body limp from the force of her orgasm. A loud moan tore up her throat as he pushed in carefully, every inch of him stretching her, filling her more than the toy ever could. Giddy and dazed by pleasure, she could only vaguely feel the heat of the kisses he left on her neck, could just make out the whispered words of praise and encouragement from his lips, could just sense the imminence of another climax as his fingers found her clit once more.

She didn't even think of stopping him that time.

Hermione shook her head.

The week was not over yet.

At eight o'clock exactly that Saturday night, she found herself on the stoop of a large house in a quiet neighborhood. Draco must have expected her punctuality, for he swung the door open before she could raise her hand to knock. In an untucked button down shirt and dress slacks, he greeted her with a carnal smile, clutching in his fingers a glass of nettle wine. He offered it to her, but as she reached for it, she seemed to think better of it.

"I don't think I should," she shook her head as she stepped inside; she needed her wits around him. He gave her a puzzled look and she blushed profusely, "Things got a little out of hand last time."

"Out of hand?" He shut the door behind her and watched as she marveled at the prodigious foyer she'd just walked into. It was like stepping into another world, one of grandeur and sophistication and - she noted the pictures on the walls - and a history she could scarcely begin to understand.

"Draco, is this your home?"

"I thought you'd like a change of scenery. What do you mean out of hand?"

"This is incredible," she started to walk down the hall, but he grabbed her wrist. She looked up, startled.

"Hermione, if this isn't working for you," he began with a stern look, but faltered before he could finish. She stiffened at his words.

"I didn't say that," her throat tightened, "I just mean that we broke a rule and we shouldn't have."

"It's just sex," he fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Precisely," she said firmly, pulling against his hold, "That's why we need to be careful."

"About what?"

"Well," she balked, "You said it yourself, we shouldn't have any expectations."

Draco's jaw went rigid and he set the wine beside an empty tumbler on the entry table.

"And what would those be?"

Hermione went silent, folding her arms over her chest. He mistook her apprehension for refusal and waved his hand flippantly.

"Never mind. Bedroom's just upstairs."

"Why did you bring me here?" Her voice was hushed, despondent, "What's wrong with my place?"

"Nothing," he scoffed, proceeding towards the living room, hiding the scowl on his face, "Do you not want to be here?"

"I do, it's just," she trailed off quietly, heart thumping and pulse thrumming. She felt very out of place suddenly, "I don't think I should be here."

"What's wrong?" He turned about, narrowing his gaze.

"Malfoy, what are we doing?"

"What?"

"Why did you have to complicate things?"

Draco exhaled softly, fists clenching at his sides.

"I complicated them?"

"We set those rules in place for a reason."

"You came up with the rules."

"It was your idea to do it at my flat. Why change that? Why now?"

Draco opened his mouth to respond and she waited expectantly, hanging onto every inhale of breath from him. Whatever it was he meant to say, she could see the moment he'd decided against it. Averting his eyes, he said softly,

"You should go."

She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

"Okay."

Hermione sipped conservatively at the wine in her glass. The sharp flavor of the nettles hit her tongue, but it tasted different, like it was missing something.

"Malfoy not joining us tonight, then?" Ron took the seat beside Hermione at the table. She had been the first one to arrive, mostly because she had been aching to smother her discomfort with the embrace of inebriation.

"Don't start, Ronald," she bit out.

"Did things not work out with the Death Eater?" He derided, "I'm shocked, really."

"It was never like that," Hermione said defensively, fixing him with a harsh look, "Where's Padma?"

"She's busy tonight."

"Things still going well?"

"Great, actually."

"Good," she took another sip, but it didn't burn, "Glad to hear it," another sip, "I'm happy for you."

"Yeah?"

"Truly."

Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably and turned his eyes to the bustling restaurant.

"What was going on with you and Malfoy?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Hermione."

"It was nothing, really," she stared into the shrinking depths of her glass, "Just a bit of fun."

"Fun? Oh, blimey, Hermione, with him?"

"Don't be a prude, Ron."

"That's an image I can't get out of my head now."

"Yeah," she said limply; she couldn't either.

"But it's over?"

"I suppose so. We haven't seen each other in a few months."

"What happened?" Ron peered over at her, crossing his arms on the table. His elbow nudged her hand and it brought a smile to her face, albeit briefly.

"It's complicated," she sighed and slumped in her chair, "He made it complicated."

"You sure it was him and not you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She snapped.

"Well, look, you're not exactly," he paled when he saw the murderous look in her eyes, "'Mione, you know I'm not good with words, just bear with me on this - you've never done things the easy way. You insist on approaching everything like it's homework."

"But, I - ,"

"Take us for example; we didn't have any problems, until you created them."

"Ron!"

"It's true!" He protested, facing her down, even as she glared fiercely at him, "Things were fine between us. But you've never been happy with just fine. You need a challenge. You always had it in your head that I wanted you to come down to my level, but I was fine looking up at you."

Hermione blinked rapidly, fighting the crescendo of emotions bubbling in her throat.

"I don't want to feel like I'm above the person I'm in a relationship with, Ron."

"What's wrong with being admired?"

"I want to be equal."

"We've never been equal, Hermione," he laughed softly, "You were right, though, it wouldn't have worked."

She frowned, but not at his words. Pushing the glass back with a sigh, she rested her chin on her open palm.

"I think I might have offended him."

"Who cares?" Ron bristled.

"I do," she said thoughtfully, "I think I care."

He fell silent as he listened to her, settling in his seat.

"He brought me to his house and I - I freaked out. I left," she shook her head, "We would have been breaking too many rules."

"Rules? What kind of rules?"

"Do you really want to know?" She crooked a brow at him and he made an awful retching sound as he realized her meaning.

"See? That's your problem."

"Setting boundaries?"

"Obeying rules."

Irked by his blunt response, she turned her gaze away from him and saw Harry and Ginny hurrying towards the table.

"Sorry we're late," Harry pulled out their chairs, "Game was on and Ginny wanted to catch the last of it before we left."

"Sure, blame it on me. Like you weren't the one cheering loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear," she jostled him playfully as they took their seats.

"What did we miss?"

"Hermione's just been filling me in on - ,"

"Work," she said with a tussle of her hair and grabbed her wine glass, "Tedious, boring work."

PART V: AFTERGLOW

Hermione paced back and forth on the stoop of Draco's house, clenching and unclenching the fist she'd just used to knock on his door. It was a good minute of anxious fidgeting before he finally appeared before her, dressed down in his sleepwear, a sight that she had not known she'd wished to see.

"Draco," her throat ran dry suddenly and her thoughts flatlined as she stammered, "I - I thought I - I might have made a mistake."

"By coming here?" He leaned against the doorframe, fixing her with a cold stare.

"By leaving."

She saw the twitch of the muscles in his forearms and the slight raise of his brows.

"I didn't know Hermione Granger made mistakes."

She continued on, oblivious to his obvious jibe thanks to the few glasses she'd had at dinner.

"I'd like to be with you tonight."

"It's Sunday, Granger."

"So it is."

"And this is my house."

"I hadn't realized," she said sarcastically, furrowing her brows. He chuckled and nodded.

"No more rules, then?"

"I didn't say that," she replied staunchly.

"We've broken the only three we had."

"We'll make new ones."

"Such as?"

"We split the time between yours and mine."

"And?"

"And we do it whenever we feel like it."

"Whenever?"

"Whenever."

"Anything else?"

"Should there be?" She asked, puzzled.

"I think you've forgotten something," he said pointedly.

"Have I?"

"I want everything, Hermione."

"Draco," her heart skipped a beat as she struggled to comprehend the meaning behind his words, but he gave her little time,

"All of you."

She leapt before she thought, tossing her arms around his neck and planting her lips on his. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her inside.

Naked and breathless, they tangled themselves in his dark sheets, lips and hands, tongues and teeth exploring familiar bodies, nettles and fire clashing, but for what felt to be the first time. He gripped the backs of her thighs, and flipped their positions, pulling her leg over to straddle him. She thought she'd understood his intention, rising off her heels to situate herself over his cock, but he stopped her. His hands left her thighs to slip under her legs, nudging her up his chest, until her dripping cunt hovered over his mouth.

"Draco, I don't think we should," she said hesitantly, finding purchase on the pillow beneath him to keep herself steady.

"I want to try," he said earnestly, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, then digging his teeth in softly. She gasped sharply, knees tightening on either side of his head, "Tell me how it feels," another kiss, another bite, another gasp, "Tell me what you want me to do."

At the urging of his fingers that curled at the crease where her hips met her thighs, she lowered herself gradually, finding his tongue with an eager greeting.

"Oh, fuck," she exhaled slowly and braced her hands on the bedpost behind him. He pressed against her clit, closing his mouth around it and sucking harshly, "Draco! Waitwaitwait - ,"

He pulled back swiftly, anxious and worried that he'd hurt her.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"N-Nothing," she tried to catch her breath as she looked down at him, "It just - that was a lot. It feels too good."

He rolled his eyes.

"Is that it?" Hermione began to protest, but he was on her again before she could respond, battering her clit with firm flicks of his tongue.

"Draco!" One hand flew to his hair, twisting in his pale strands and trying to yank him back, but there was nowhere for him to go. He tightened his grip on her thighs, shifting her enough that his tongue slid along her slit and found her entrance. He dove in with a fervor that made her head spin and her legs shake. Her protests devolved into moans that further disintegrated to near gibberish pleas.

"FuckDracoohfuckohfuckohfuck," she chanted, rocking against him, "Morepleasemore."

He withdrew from her, moving his tongue along her opening until he met with her clit once again. He circled it purposefully, teasing soft coos and desperate cries from her lips. She ground against him and tugged on his hair, trying and failing to budge him.

"Draco, please, I need it," her eyes met his, hooded, but determined, panting profusely as she whispered, "Please, I need more."

He agreed with a solid twirl of his tongue against the soft bunching of nerves and she shook with a moan above him.

"Yes," she breathed, "Right there."

His fingers dug into the skin of her thighs, holding her, cradling her, as he assaulted her clit with fluttering licks and determined pressure. She felt the pleasure bearing down on her then and she tugged at his hair once more. It was too much, it was too good.

"Draco," she whined as her heart rammed against her chest and her blood rushed in her ears. He latched onto her clit in response and sucked deeply. Her back arched and her legs tensed, "Ohfuckyes!"

It was too much, too good. She fought for breath as the pressure increased.

"Rightthererightthereyes - ah!," she felt herself on the cusp, fingers tightening, sweat beading on her forehead, and lids closing to embrace the impending ecstasy. She slumped against her arm that braced on the headboard as his resolute passion persisted.

It was too much, too good; she couldn't prevent it.

And she didn't want to.

"Don't stop, Draco," she choked out, "Please, don't stop!"

His tongue never slowed, promising her the inevitability of release and ravaging her until it came. Crashing onto her like a cresting wave, it swept her out to oblivion, her only tether the security of his hands that clutched her against him. Even as she floated, her body shaking and weightless and sensitized, he kept her steady with a sure hold and a swift tongue. He coaxed her through the quakes that followed, leading her back to him until she found the strength to open her eyes once more and peer down at him with a sated smile.

"You know you don't have to go tonight," Draco watched her dress, reluctance in his gaze.

"I can't go to the Ministry wearing last night's clothes," she wrinkled her nose, but caught the look in his eye, "Next time, I'll come prepared."

"You could keep some stuff here," he suggested casually. Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

"Yeah?"

"Sure," he smirked, "What are friends for?"

A slow grin spread over her lips.

It might have started as such, with nettles and fire, a brutal seduction of sharp lust and burning desire.

But they couldn't blame it on that anymore.