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Hermione Granger is an excellent submissive. Most of the time.
Certainly, no one is better behaved in the bedroom. But in her day-to-day life, she’s still adjusting. Even though it’s been months.
Hermione reaches across her desk and spreads the scroll of parchment flat again. Her eyes narrow as she glares at the short missive before letting it spring closed once more.
Moving in together had helped. Having Draco around all the time made it feel more natural to start relinquishing control over small decisions here and there. She likes how that feels. Most of the time.
She glances at the clock and lets out a long sigh through her nose as her stomach churns.
Shifting from only subbing during scenes to a full-time dynamic was always going to be a process. They both knew that. Draco, in particular, was adamant that they take it slow and do it right. So, they agreed on weekends to start. Hermione was perfectly fine with that.
She stands from her chair and re-tucks the back of her blouse. Her teeth grit as she shoves the parchment into her bag, but she straightens her shoulders and makes her way out of the office. Her heels echo loudly in the empty corridor, across the polished floor of the Atrium.
The only problem: today is Saturday.
She steps into the Ministry floo, calling out their address into the flames.
Spinning out into the parlour is like a punch to the gut. The smell strikes her first. The air is heavy with a delicious aroma—caramelised onions, braised meat, a decadent wine sauce. It smells like it’s been cooking low and slow all day. The music reaches her next, a soft and smooth jazz record from her dad’s collection. Hermione swallows around the sudden lump in her throat as she moves silently into the sitting room.
Draco is in the kitchen, his back turned toward her as he lifts the lid of the heavy pot on the flame. He’s shirtless, a pair of soft grey lounge pants sitting low on his hips. He looks even more delicious than their dinner smells.
Crookshanks gives a loud meow from the counter beside him, and Draco flaps a hand at him.
“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time.”
He takes a small pinch of whatever is in the pot and holds it out to the cat. Crooks snaps it up eagerly.
“Will you leave me in peace now?” Draco asks.
Crookshanks meows even louder.
“Didn’t think so,” Draco says and drops a heavy kiss between the cat’s ears. His orange head scrunches on his shoulders, and Draco chuckles as he reaches for his wine glass.
The scene makes Hermione feel like bursting into tears. She robbed herself of this. Of sleeping in and getting fucked slow before breakfast. Of spending the day reading on the couch with her feet in Draco’s lap. Of teasing him relentlessly while they cooked together until he took her hard against the counter.
Instead, she went into the office. After he told her not to. He woke that morning to find her already dressed and told her in no uncertain terms to come back to bed. That her case would be stronger after more time to prepare. That she couldn't help anyone if she didn't take time to recharge for herself. But she hadn’t listened.
The worst part is, he was right. She spent all day putting together recommendations for her supervisor, and not only did he deny her the use of any resources for resettlement, he scolded her for owling him about it at home. He had the gall to suggest that she focus her efforts on less parochial concerns. As if the decimation of an entire merfolk colony to make way for a petroleum pipeline is somehow inconsequential because it only comprises a few dozen families.
Draco turns and sees her standing there, clutching the strap of her bag, and she was wrong. That is the worst part. His posture shifts almost imperceptibly, but she knows him well enough to see the subtle stiffening of his spine.
She hates it. And hate isn’t nearly strong enough. It makes her feel wrong on the most fundamental level, that she should be the reason he suddenly feels less comfortable in his own home.
Crooks notices her at the same time, and at least he’s happy to see her. He streaks over, winding between her legs with a barrage of high-pitched yowls. Hermione bends to pet him, but her focus is on the kitchen. The sink runs for a moment, and when she straightens back up, Draco is drying his hands on a towel. His eyes stay on her.
She doesn’t move, even when he approaches. She watches as he crosses the room and takes a seat on the sofa, settling back with his legs spread.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hello,” he returns. It’s perfectly mild, and it makes her wince.
He’s even more upset than she anticipated, and for a moment, she has no idea how to proceed. He just watches her, and from experience, she knows that while he might correct her behaviour, he isn’t going to tell her what to do.
She drops her bag from off her shoulder and follows it onto the floor. It’s only a few feet, but it feels like forever as she crawls to kneel between his legs. Her hands run gently over the insides of his thighs, smoothing up over the hard muscle to press against his crotch. Being in trouble makes her feel stupid, and more than anything else, she wants him to be pleased with her again. So, she’ll please him.
One hand kneads softly over the bulge between his legs while the other reaches for his waistband. She only gets her fingertips under the elastic when he says, “Stop.”
She freezes, heart dropping at his tone.
“What are you doing?”
She licks her lips, steeling herself to look at him when she speaks. There will be a spanking in her future if she doesn’t.
Her chin lifts until she can meet his eye, and her voice comes out tremulous. “Y-You look so good like this,” she says, drawing her hands over the soft fabric again and letting her fingers trace the edge of his abdomen. “So s-sexy. I just wanted to make you feel good.”
Draco doesn’t even blink.
She can feel her heart rate climbing with every second he spends looking down at her, but she doesn’t dare look away.
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“Y-Yes, sir.”
“I think you had a shit day, and now you’re grovelling in front of me because you think sucking my cock will distract you from it for a little while.”
Her lip trembles.
“Am I wrong?”
“No, sir,” she whispers.
His chin lifts. “Get up.”
Hermione does, sniffling a little as she tries to stand before him with her shoulders back.
“Take off your clothes.”
The pitch of his voice hits her in the hollow of her stomach, and she wobbles a bit as she steps out of her shoes. His eyes are hot on her hands as she opens the buttons of her blouse. She tugs the fabric gently out of her waistband and pulls it slowly off her shoulders. Her fingers slip on the fastener the first time, but eventually, she slides her trousers down over her hips. Her nipples are already hard by the time her bra falls onto the floor, and she slowly slips her knickers down her legs. He won’t mind that she leaves her knee-highs on.
She stands still again, but she’s soothed a little from the methodical act of undressing for him. It’s still tempting to squirm, but the nerves are cut through with a heavy dose of anticipation now.
Draco props one arm along the back of the sofa as he looks at her. Part of it might be to keep her waiting, but she thinks he also just likes seeing her like this. Her skin prickles as his eyes survey every inch. When they lift back to her face once more, he waits for the space of a few long breaths before saying, “Well?”
She startles at the bite of irritation, and then immediately drops to her knees. It’s the worst kind of punishment, when he makes her feel like she’s still disappointing him even when she follows his instructions perfectly.
Her hands press over his crotch again, and she’s encouraged to find him half-hard already. She looks up to his face, but it’s completely impassive as she squeezes him in her hand. So, she leans down to use her mouth instead. She kisses along the rapidly expanding length of him, opening her mouth and pinching lightly with her teeth through the fabric. She keeps it up for a minute or two, until there’s a dark spot on the grey over the head of his cock. Draco’s hand drops heavily onto the back of her head and Hermione reaches for his waistband again.
He lets her pull it down this time, even assisting by lifting his hips for her. She could stop as soon as his cock is free, but she doesn’t want anything in her way. She pulls the pants all the way down and off his feet.
A sound that could be a chuckle falls from over her head, but Hermione is too busy leaning back in to pay it much mind. She presses her forehead to the warmth of his stomach, licking a wet stripe over him from root to tip. Her lungs swell with a deep inhale as she savours the smell of clean skin, his familiar taste on her tongue. He twitches against her lips and she opens her mouth around his head, sucking him in as far as she can take it.
Draco lets out a quiet ah, his fingers curling in her hair. It sends heat licking low through her core. She swirls her tongue around his length, getting it nice and wet how he likes, and she’s rewarded with a loud hum as she begins to work her lips up and down.
He sits forward on the sofa, forcing her back onto her heels, and he curls over her as he cradles her face in his hands.
“Gods, look at you,” he says, pushing her hair back from her temple. Hermione lifts her eyes to his at the reverence in his tone. His grip tightens on her face, taking over the rhythm, and she chokes as he slides into the back of her throat.
“Do you know how perfect you look with my cock in your mouth?”
Her skin hums at the praise. She nods as best she can and feels a strand of drool drip onto her chin.
He pulls out roughly with a groan, and Hermione quickly brings up a hand to jerk him. She catches her breath with her mouth open, keeping the tip of him against her tongue. Or she tries to at least. Draco thrusts forward again, out of her grip, and smearing along her cheek. She chases after him with her mouth, but he closes his own hand over his cock instead, bouncing it hard against her tongue when she sticks it out. The dull thud of each tap tap tap makes her hands flex atop her thighs, spit trickling over the hollow of her throat. She makes a desperate noise as heat burns through her cunt, and he lets her close over him once more.
“Fuck,” he says as he feeds himself to her in slow thrusts. “Like you were made for this.”
His words fill her head with soft cotton, even as her eyes water when he pushes in deep again. Clear saliva fills her mouth, and he tugs her chin down with his free hand, letting it leak out. She breathes heavily through her nose as she feels the first drip land on her chest.
Her breaths come in quick pants when he draws back again, and she waits as he teases over her lips with the tip of his cock. She closes them around him in a sucking kiss, repeating it again and again when he moans. She tries to take more, but his fist prevents it. Her lips purse, and he grips her neck tight as he pushes hard against the resistance of them. They’re tingling from the friction by now, but Hermione licks them anyway, getting them slick and shiny for him. She holds her mouth closed as he fucks in again, forcing her to open around him.
It reminds her of the way he teases her cunt sometimes, giving her just the tip, over and over, until she’s mindless and begging for more. Her hands find a grip on his thighs, and her fingers dig in as her knees spread helplessly.
“You know this is where you belong, don’t you?”
Her reply is muffled, obviously, but he pulls out again, and she gasps, “Yes.”
He sucks his teeth with disdain, swiping his hand over her chin. “Look at this mess.”
He follows the trail downward, tracing his fingers through the wetness on the swell of her breast. She whines as a slick fingertip slides over her nipple.
“I know you like to sit at your little desk and pretend that you have good ideas.” His tone is light as he plays with her, pinching and smoothing over her nipple in maddening turns. “But it’s all right to admit that this is all you’re really good for.”
Hermione winces at his words, and even more so at the perverse delight they send through her.
He lets go of his cock to give her other breast the same treatment, and Hermione’s fingers dig divots in the flesh of his thighs as every tug sends a jolt of pleasure straight to her clit.
“There’s no shame in quitting, love. We both know you’re of far more use here, on your knees, mouth open—” He brings one hand up to grip her lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, shaking her head gently from side to side as he leans close. “My little empty-headed whore.”
Hermione’s eyes fall shut on a moan as she sucks his thumb hard into her mouth. She knows he doesn’t really think any of the things he’s saying. She’s very good at her job. But on days like today, when she hates it, some deep, animalistic part of her brain is comforted by the thought that no matter how badly she fucks it up, she can come home and be this, and Draco will love her.
He pulls his hand away roughly after a second, leaving her jaw hanging open, and her whine finishes on a cry as he tugs so hard on her nipples that she actually has to lean forward to ease the pressure. He moves with her, sitting back into the cushions and sliding his hips forward until she’s resting in the cradle of his thighs. He presses her tits together, practically up to her chin, and slots his cock between them.
“Fuuuck,” he groans as he thrusts in the slippery crevice of her cleavage.
Hermione’s hips roll in a helpless thrust, and she can feel her own wetness on her thighs. Her heart thuds in her chest as he uses her. She watches the tendons standing out in his neck, desperate to focus on anything other than the thumb he has on either nipple, circling with each stroke. The saliva has started to dry, leaving her sticky in a way that’s catching perfectly against his skin. His teeth rake over his bottom lip as he presses tight with his palms, his cock hitting the soft patch under her chin on one pass. She waits as long as she can, but she’s throbbing. A pink flush is rising along his throat when she finally gives in.
“Draco,” she nearly sobs. “I th-think I’m gonna come.”
He scoffs, immediately gripping the back of her head and bending her neck down. “Then be a good little hole and stop thinking.”
He shoves his cock back in her mouth on the next stroke, and leaves off her nipples just in time. She moans with relief, curling her tongue under the crown and rolling it against him as she sucks. She can tell from his groan that his mouth has fallen open.
“Thaaat’s my good girl,” he says, his vowels stretching into sighs. “Just like that.”
The sudden softness makes her stomach flip like she missed a step. The encouragement wraps her in a warm blanket, soothing the raw edge of her need. Suddenly, she could do this forever if he wanted her to. He slows his thrusts between her breasts, giving her a chance to work. She sucks hard again, tonguing into his slit, and she actually feels the surge of arousal down his length.
“Fuck, that’s so good, love. Gods, you’re—perfect.”
She whines with pleasure, bending to take as much as she can. Another hard suck has his hips curling off the cushions. “Oh, fuck. Like that—”
A low groan tears out of him as the first pulse hits the back of her throat. She can’t swallow most of it at this angle, but what slips past her lips only helps to slick the way for his cock as he thrusts through the rest of it. Plus, he likes her sloppy.
Her heart beats back into every pulse of him against her chest, and she keeps her mouth tight around him, drawing it out as long as she can. She finally pulls off to breathe when his hips still, licking away the remnants of his release as it beads at the tip. He eases the pressure on her chest, and Hermione looks up at him. She’s expecting him to look pleased. Sated. But he doesn’t. He looks—
She gives a squeak of surprise as he stands from the couch, lifting her under the arms and half-carrying her backwards. It’s only a few feet before he’s laying her back onto the thick carpet. His hand slides between her legs as he kneels over her, and she gasps when he plunges his middle two fingers into her without preamble. He plants a hand beside her head and leans over her, saying, “You’re gonna take a hard one.”
Before Draco, Hermione had never known there were so many varieties of orgasm. Ones that could build and break slow and gentle, like warm waves on a beach. Or ones that simply rose and rose, only leaving her hungry for another. Or, occasionally, the ones that hit like an earthquake, all at once and leaving devastation in their wake.
Sometimes she got to choose.
Not this time.
“Yes, sir,” she says, and braces herself.
Draco’s fingers curl inside her, his elbow bending to a right angle, and at the first press of a very distinct up and down motion, her thighs clamp together over his wrist.
“Oh, no,” she moans. There’s only one thing he’s after if he’s doing that, and she clutches at his arm as the pressure builds already. “I can’t.”
“You can and you will.” Her fingers dig into the flex of his muscles as he works inside her at a furious pace. “You know why?”
She whimpers past the teeth embedded in her lower lip. “Because you said so.”
“Good girl.”
The intensity makes her spine curl, and she rolls onto her side. He lets her, accommodating the angle with his wrist. A whine vibrates high in her throat, and her eyes squeeze shut.
“Don’t you fight it,” he warns.
She shakes her head uselessly. There’s no stopping it when he’s like this. The pleasure swells almost painfully, his fingers relentless on that one fatal spot. She rolls onto her back again, but there’s no relief. Her legs flail beyond her control—open, closed, bent, straight—but his rhythm never falters. She settles with both hands gripping her knees, half propped against his thigh.
He shifts the hand by her head to her hair, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone. She opens her eyes and looks up at him. Tears blur her vision as she feels fit to burst.
“The rug…” she tries as a last ditch effort.
“Fucking ruin it.”
Her legs spasm first. Even tucked to her chest, they still shudder and shake. Then it spreads to the rest of her. She can feel the wetness around his fingers already when it starts, but the first true contraction sends a gush of fluid rebounding against his palm and drenching her.
She cries out with the strength of it, and then doesn’t stop. She produces a chorus of the most pathetic sounds known to man while pulse after pulse floods out of her. Draco’s making noise too, she thinks; a continuous stream of approval delivered in low, coaxing tones. Her hand slaps against his chest and her nails dig at his wrist—anything to stop the onslaught—but the quiet chant of fuck and yes and good existing just on the edge of her awareness keeps her present in the pleasure. It lulls her as the intensity starts to wane.
“Open your legs.”
Her knees fall apart without a thought.
He uses his free hand to land a sharp smack directly onto her clit, and Hermione screams.
“That’s for calling me Draco during a scene.”
She did? She’s horrified. “I’m s-so sorry,” she slurs. Then adds, “sir,” in a near-panic.
“I forgive you, love.”
But she’s not at all certain that he does, because he’s kept his hand on her clit, and now his fingers are working back and forth in a terrible way that’s making her—
“Hnghh—” A guttural noise tears through her chest as her belly seizes and another wave spills out of her. His fingers press harder from inside, like he knows she’s nearly empty, and her vision goes dark at the edges.
She knows that with his fingers on her clit, the aftershocks can persist far longer than her consciousness. But he doesn’t put her under. He gradually slows his pace to something more like a pet, just rubbing gently over her sensitised skin.
It still makes her moan, a little spasm tensing her here and there, but it’s far more civilised. She still writhes a bit, but now it’s to feel the buzz in her body rather than to escape it.
Draco takes his hand off her clit, placing it back beside her head to lean over her again. She quickly grabs his other wrist, keeping his fingers inside. She doesn’t need to, he knows what she likes, but it makes her feel better to do it anyway.
His palm curls over her cunt as he lowers himself to press his lips to hers. The kiss is long and lazy, and oh so lovely. Hermione sighs into it, feeling that if he didn’t have a hold on her, she might melt right through the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
He brushes a shh against her lips. “Later.”
She shuts up and enjoys her moment. Draco continues kissing her, sensual and playful in turns. He sucks her bottom lip between his teeth before showering her face with little pecks. She smiles so hard her cheeks hurt.
Eventually, when she doesn’t quite feel like the top of her head is floating somewhere a few centimeters above the rest of her body, she lets him pull his hand away. A flush erupts over her chest at the sucking squelch of it, but the satisfied hum he presses into her mouth makes up for it.
She’d only done what he wanted.
He leans back to look down at her, and without the warmth of his body above her, she becomes extremely and uncomfortably aware of the wet and cold she’s lying in.
“Will you fix the carpet, please?”
Draco smiles and reaches for his wand on the coffee table. She squirms a little as the charms wash over her: drying and cleaning and warming in succession. The ripple of the last makes gooseflesh break out over her body, and Draco flicks over one peaked nipple with a chuckle.
“So sensitive today,” he muses.
She curls in on herself again with a little whine.
“Come on,” he says, snaking one arm beneath her neck, the other under her tucked knees. “Up we get.”
But Hermione doesn’t want to get up. She’s tired and wrung out—literally—and now the rug is plushy and warm and soft again. She makes herself dead weight, flopping unhelpfully in his hands.
“Brat,” he mutters under his breath, and Hermione gasps at the tickle of a featherlight charm zipping over her skin.
She groans as Draco lifts her easily with one hand under the small of her back. When he stands to his full height, he bounces her on his palm like a balloon animal.
“Dra—”
The rest of her complaint is buried by the fluffy throw blanket he Summons from the sofa. It drapes over her, and all she can do is float there as he sets her into a gentle spin and swaddles her in mid-air like a burrito.
He peels back the flap covering her face, grinning at her pout, and catches her in a bridal hold when he removes the spell.
“I’m sorry, love. Were you saying something?”
“Hmph.” She nuzzles into his neck, enjoying the restored gravity and relishing the feel of her weight against him.
He deposits her on the sofa, and Crookshanks immediately jumps up to curl on her feet. Hermione gives a plaintive whine when Draco stands again, but he bends to press a kiss to her curls.
“Just a second,” he tells her, and gives Crooks a quick scratch before disappearing out of her view.
She snuggles down into the blanket, letting her eyes drop closed as her head rests back against the cushions. But it really is just a second before he’s back. She opens her eyes and gives an excited ooh at the glass of red wine he’s holding out to her. She extricates her hand from her cocoon with some effort, but when she reaches for it, he places a tall glass of water into her grip instead. Her eyes flick up to his, but at the sight of one arched brow, her cheeks burn. Right.
She takes a big sip, and he sets the wine glass onto the table within reach.
Draco slides in behind her, wrapping his arms around the plush at her waist, and she settles back into his chest.
Hermione sips at the water as his hands smooth up over her bundled form, along her neck, turning her head so he can press kisses below her ear. She almost spills the glass once, her limbs going limp from his attentions, but he catches the rim in his fingertips and holds it up for her again.
“Mm,” she says in recognition, tilting her chin down to swallow the rest.
“Good girl,” he says when she’s finished.
He takes the empty glass, leaning over to exchange it for the wine so she doesn’t have to. It’s nice of him; her arm weighs two tons.
Hermione takes a small sip of the rich merlot, and her contented hum turns into a groan as Draco’s fingers press hard along the base of her skull. Her head falls back against him, and she holds the wine on her tongue for another second before swallowing.
It’s delicious, stoking her appetite for whatever she can smell on the stovetop.
“What did you make?” she asks.
“Beef bourguignon.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“I felt like a distraction.”
“I’m sorry,” she says softly.
He uses the fingers in her hair to turn her head and press a kiss to her cheek. It's so sweet that she feels compelled to offer something she knows he would like as consolation. "You could feed me dinner."
"Yes, I could," he replies silkily.
"Or I could warm your cock while you eat. Or—"
"Darling. While I do appreciate the menu, I am well aware that I can do whatever I want with you."
She shivers.
"The first thing I'd like is to know whether you're sorry because you disobeyed me or because it wasn’t worth it.”
Hermione chews her lip before admitting, “Both."
She can feel his nod against her head, and his hands keep up their kneading in the silence.
“If you want to pull back—”
“No,” she says quickly. “Not at all.” She turns the glass in her hand by the delicate stem. “Mostly I’m sorry that I missed our day together, but… that’s selfish, I know.”
He lets out a short breath against her neck, burying his face there and squeezing her tight around the shoulders with both arms. “I missed you, too.”
She sinks into his embrace, tucking her chin in the top of the blanket.
“What did Gunderson say?”
Hermione snorts, but the sharp edge of anger she felt before feels soft like butter in his arms. “He told me my merpeople were a parochial concern.”
“Prick.”
She gives a hum of agreement into her wine glass.
“When does construction start?”
“Three weeks.”
He nods again. “I’ll get you an injunction.”
Her heart swells in her chest, but, “I don’t think there’s precedent.”
“Then I’ll use Muggle case law.”
“What if the Wizengamot won’t go for it?”
“Then I’ll kill the pipeline CEO.”
“Draco.” Her head drops back against him with a groan. “No killing.”
“Fine.” He shifts his grip to her waist. “Only maiming.”
“Draco!”
“Corporate maiming,” he clarifies. “You know, extortion is an underappreciated art.”
“Oh, my god.” She tries to grouse, but he’s nipping at her neck and even through the layers of blanket, the dig of his hands over her ribs makes her giggle.
“It’s been so long since I’ve been to Azkaban,” he carries on. “Maybe I miss it.”
“Don’t—” She fails miserably at not laughing, her knees buckling as he tickles her. He finally relents when she nearly spills the wine, too.
Her wrap has come loose in the commotion, and she wriggles until she can turn enough to kiss him properly. She knows he’d only joke about something this serious if he was certain he could help. He brings a hand up to cup her cheek and tells her, “We’ll get it sorted.”
And what Draco says goes.
She kisses him again, but he punctuates this one with his teeth. When she draws back, he raises his brows for emphasis.
“On Monday.”