Physical Therapy

by SaffronGin, spicyxpisces

Summary:

Draco sees his girlfriend, Hermione, in a thong for the first time and absolutely loses his mind.

Notes:

Well... here we are. I hope you all enjoy our neurotic little inexperienced Draco trying to find the courage to take his relationship to the next step.

Oh, and let's all appreciate the nsfw art that Saff so generously gifted to this story.

Red is his favorite color.

At least, now it is. 

There’s an ache in his hand, skin pulling taut over his knuckles as he grips the doorframe between the bedroom and the loo. Draco is quite certain every ounce of his sanity is gone—not a single working brain cell in sight.

Golden thighs speckled with freckles sprawl open on the plush and probably way-too-pretentious Charmeuse silk sheets. Draco has never been more grateful for getting the most expensive set. The oversized jumper she asked to borrow— Merlin, fucking help me —bunches around her waist. 

Is this what she wanted when she suggested staying over? 
Did she plan this?
Fuck, fuck— fuck.

Her soft breaths are close to snoring, but not quite, and her brow furrows like it does when she's solving an unseen problem at work. Leave it to his girlfriend to never stop thinking, even in her dreams. 

Typically, he focuses on the worry lines that form in determination when she’s caught in her thoughts. Or how her lips quirk from amusement when she's decimating yet another feeble Wizengamot member’s arguments against their research.

Those luscious curls are his favorite, though. Each tendril has a mind of its own, cascading ringlets twined with magic, sparking under her exuberant power. Even before having Granger in his bed— fucking Salazar, she’s in my bed— Draco remained awestruck. 

But now, his eyes rove, deviously, might he add, over the curves and dips of his witch. The jumper’s hem sits right at the underside of those bloody tits he’s obsessed with. He hasn’t seen them yet ; they haven’t ventured that far in their relationship. 

However, he is a wizard with a vibrant imagination. 

Nothing, though— nothing —could've prepared him for the impure thoughts that came with what he sees now. The absolute filth flooding his mind is enough to lose all hope for salvaging decorum. 

The gentleman that his mother raised him to be? 
Who is he? 
Where did he go? 

Vanished. Gone. 

The scarlet lace stretches over her skin, hugging her hips indecently. It appears delicate, as if it’ll rip should he try to remove it with his teeth. He’s never done that before. Oh gods , would she even let him? They haven’t even discussed what they like or don’t like. Fuck , does Draco even know what he likes? Outside of the utter perfection he sees before him? As long as Granger’s involved, he’s open to all of it. 

His breathing quickens, short and shallow, as he follows the fabric to her arse. The sight of her in those mouth-watering denims and, fuck, don’t even get him started on the pencil skirts, is enough to have him committed to the Janus Thickey Ward. The only reprieve he’s afforded is when they go before the Wizengamot and she dons those robes, hiding every delicious inch away. 

But they aren’t at the Ministry, nor in Diagon Alley. It’s just the two of them in the privacy of his flat. And here? The parts that remain hidden are lavishly on display.

The fabric slips between her cheeks and down to her cunt, the material gradually darkening closer to her center. 

Draco might break the fucking door from his grip because Granger is wet. Every suppressed urge flares, begging him to move closer. Inexperienced, yes. Selfish, absolutely. he steps forward, calculating and precise so as not to wake her. 

The knickers— would he even call the flimsy scrap of fabric that —cover just enough to leave Draco to his own devices. His nails bite into his palm, fist clenching and body tingling with anticipation. Granger snuggles further into the pillow, her hips wiggling. 

His joggers tighten when those freckled legs spread further, inviting him in, begging him to touch her, taste her. He’s imagined what she would taste like, how she’d feel beneath him… bloody fucking hell . His cock throbs as he squeezes it for some sort of relief, the tip hard and leaking a small spot on his pants to match Granger’s.

The jumper slips higher, and the underside of her tits come into view. Plush and full, with the most delectable rosy nipples. Temptation tickles at his limbs with an animalistic desire to rut into her with no abandon.

You’re disgusting.
Get a grip, you prat.

Instead, Draco breathes deeply, stepping back into the loo with a soft click of the door. Suffice it to say, it only takes three tugs on his cock before Malfoy heirs spill over the cabinet doors. 

______________________

Even now, anxiety buzzes through his hands as he reaches for a mug in the break room. Or maybe adrenaline? Draco isn’t sure. 

Fuck, maybe it’s both. 

Because all he can do is cycle through the night before. That witch— his witch —languidly stretched out on his sheets, unknowingly testing the very core of his resolve. Even after caring for his erm problem, Draco found little respite. What little hope he crafted was dashed as he slipped under the covers, only to be met with Granger’s warmth against his back. 

Vanilla invaded his senses and her fingers cinched around his waist, sending him into a panic. Sleep evaded him. He hadn’t brewed any sleepless draught, so he was forced to lie inside the silk cocoon, wide-eyed with his thoughts. 

How could he have slept when every muscle ached for her touch?
Or learning what she felt like clenching around his cock?
And gods , did her nose scrunch when she came? 

He must just be tired; that must be it. 

Draco reaches for the coffee pot, willing the caffeinated liquid to seep into his every membrane. Maybe he can devise a better excuse for why he hadn’t done anything. She’s been so patient with him and his… inexperience.

He’d been jittery all morning, hardly meeting her eye as he scraped the strawberry jam over toast. Granger noticed. Of course, she noticed. She’s too bloody brilliant to not have There was no push or pull between the two, just a thickening disappointment of something unknown. 

Even in her chagrined state, she was beautiful and still in his bloody jersey. Finding a focal point in the Prophet instead of the hem dancing over her thigh was harder than he thought. 

His cock twitched, stirring to life as he stole a glance, only to see the underside of her cheeks. Supple and golden and… 

Fucking Salazar.

There goes his heartbeat again.

What type of wizard would he be to admit his insecurity? It can only be endearing for so long before suspicion leaks into every crevice of their relationship. 

But he saw the downcast in her lips when she asked why he was rushing off. Her fingers seared through his button-down as she straightened the tie, but instead, he stilled her movements, clasping her wrists in his hands. Guilt sludged through his veins, mixing with shame until he choked on his breath to come up with an excuse. 

“There’s a filing that needs to be sent off first thing.”

It was the easiest reason to give instead of admitting he needed another wank in privacy. Granger would understand, of course, having to file numerous petitions herself. So, with every ounce of willpower he could muster, he ignored the disappointment glazing over those chestnut eyes and placed a kiss on her forehead. 

His vision blurs into red and gold as he shamefully tugs on his cock in the Ministry bathroom. Thank fucking Salazar for silencing charms and being an early bird. He hisses when the cleansing charm settles over his flaccid member, more of his legacy swirling down the literal drain. 

He could change his circumstances. If her perpetual state of undress around him was any hint, Granger would be an eager participant in his utter debauchery. 

But, alas, Draco Malfoy is a fucking coward. 

The steam rises from the coffee, and he takes a deep inhale. The subtle hint of hazelnut is his favorite part. This will make everything better. 

“So, did you finally get it done?”

“Bloody fucking—” Draco spits, the coffee mug slipping from his grasp and shattering on the tiled floor. 

Blaise’s question severs any semblance of composure, which appears to be the goal. The man wears a wicked smirk plastered over his annoying face. With a flick of his wrist, the pieces of mundane ceramic stitch back together. It wouldn't matter anyway; all the mugs look the same.

Well, aside from Granger’s, which she keeps at her desk—the orange monstrosity she claims is a cat printed on the bright white porcelain. 

He begins his routine again, lifting the coffee pot from its warming plate. “And what did I need to get done, Zabini?”

There are too many meanings to that simple question. None of which he will answer. 

Did he shag his new girlfriend yet?
Did he taste her?
Did he put himself out of his misery?

Blaise appraises him, concern lacing the sneer on his lips as he crosses his arms. “The filing. Granger said you came in early to get it finalized.”

Oh.

The filing to request additional time on the Obliviation Reversal project. Granger is sure they were onto something with the new equation of adding ingredients of the clarity elixir to the memory potion. If only the pair could have more time in the lab.  

“Yes, signed, sealed, and submitted.”

It’s what started this torturous karma in the first place. As Unspeakables, they spent many nights in the lab and other rooms, recording information, analyzing outcomes, and discovering new possibilities—one of which became each other. 

Draco grew fascinated with how her brow furrowed in concentration as she scribbled away with that Muggle pen on parchment. Once the witch started, she couldn’t stop, resulting in many nights spent with Draco fetching takeaway to remain nourished into the late hours.

His compliments dusted her cheeks, pink and flushed, while her observations of his intelligence spurred him to prove himself worthy. It was their little game, testing each boundary to see how far the other could be pushed until they landed here. 

Even in this relationship, still shiny and new with promise, Granger remains patient with him. There’s no pressure; she allows him grace to show up however he needs to. Right? He’s the one who needs to man up and just… 

“Granger spent the night, eh?”

What should be a rich hazelnut flavor bursting on his taste buds turns sour as he forces it down his throat. Better to feel the burn than to sputter more liquid across the counters. 

“She looks rested.”

Draco hums, eyes downcast, willing his shame not to flare to the surface. “Mind your business, Blaise.”

It is disgustingly childish how his mates have active bets on when he’ll shag his girlfriend. Or, to be more precise, when Draco will give up his virginity. Like some bloody little Hogwarts fifth year. 

Merlin, were they really that young doing gods know what… fucking hell, kids these days should be responsible…

He can’t even focus long enough to formulate any sort of call to action.  

“You are my business.”

“You’ll lose every galleon if it’s up to me. Now, shove off.”

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” He turns but stops, glancing over his shoulder. “For the record, you just made me fifty galleons richer, fucking prude.”

Blaise yelps when the stinging hex hits his calf, but Draco knows he’s right, maybe not about being a prude. His mind is a filthy place, but making it a reality? 

Everyone knows Draco is a coward, and last night was no different. 

_______________________

Granger stays three more nights, each time leaving him further teetering on the edge of restraint. At first, he is sure that red is his favorite color. But then the next night, navy suddenly replaces it. 

Then black.
No.
Green.

But not the bright green or the fluorescent lime green. No. It’s the dark green, like the forest at Hogwarts.

Forbidden.

Those bloody etiquette lessons from his upbringing will be his death. The war waging between the purity culture he’s been indoctrinated into and those thin pieces of lace will certainly shatter his soul. 

If not that, then the carpal tunnel that's bound to develop from his increasing wanks. 

Who knew that fucking his fist to Hermione Granger in scantily clad undergarments would lead to a bloody disability. 

Or, at least, physical therapy. 

Which is why he has to do something. Honestly, Draco’s pretty damn proud of himself and this idea. He can’t believe he didn’t think of it sooner. 

_________________________

They sit on his couch with a stack of wrapped boxes. Ellie, his kind and sweet elf, took care preparing each one, stringing large bows and bright paper together until it resembled a smaller version of Christmas. 

A self-satisfying smirk spreads over his face, despite him trying to tamp it down. Leaning back, his eyes train on her petite fingers, slipping under the tape so precisely and gently unfolding the paper as if it is a delicacy. 

That furrow between her brows appears when she lifts the top from the box. The same look of confusion and determination when faced with another problem during their research. It’s calculating, deducting each possibility and outcome in rapid succession, and fucking hell, it turns Draco on even more. 

“I thought it would be practical for you to have your own sets here.” He gestures to the proper attire folded in the box. “For the nights you stay over.”

Instead of stealing my jumpers and old jerseys.

Not that he didn’t enjoy the sight in his bed of a half-naked Granger, but clearly, it was an issue for both of them. There’s only so much masturbating he can do before he causes permanent damage to his nerves. 

Salazar, he enjoys his orgasms too much to risk desensitizing the feeling. 

“I see.” Granger holds the bottoms up for half a second before discarding them into the box. One swish of her wrist, and the remainder of the boxes open, revealing each set. 

All identical.
Except for color.
Something close to vexation flares in those chestnut eyes.

“I just want you to be comfortable.” 

Draco sits forward, his hand covering her knee and giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

And for me to get some bloody sleep. 

The tension is palpable, ready to burst at the seams as he waits. Did he misread her reactions? Is there something else she is searching for? Granger runs her finger down the stitching, outlining each button on the silk pajamas. 

Something snaps as she balls the garment into her hand and pivots to face Draco. His hand slides up her thigh, and she takes the invitation to straddle him. An inferno erupts, desire flaring along his abdomen and drying out his throat as he suppresses the whimper crawling up. 

Her arms encircle his neck, the silk coasting down his back as she presses into him. The only purchase he gathers is digging his fingers into her thighs. What is happening? Where did this come from? He’s fucking harder than the damn Sorcerer’s Stone as her core rubs over him.

Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.

The denims resist as he presses his fingers deeper, silently begging for a reprieve, and nothing has even happened yet. Granger’s fingers snake up his neck, the pajama top dropping behind him. Her breath is heavy against his lips as she leans forward, her eyes searching for something.

But Draco’s a tosser, his eyes squeezing shut and breaths coming short and shallow in response. Her lips coast over his, her tongue tracing his mouth until he opens with a whine.

Every time Granger kisses Draco, a piece of his resolve shatters. He stores each part of her in tiny bottles, lining his mental shelf with mementos. It keeps him in control—until now. The bottles rattle, clinking and clattering onto the floor with each swipe of her tongue and press of her lips.

Her bloody sinful lips .

She nips, hard, at his lower lip and his palms slide to her waist, tugging their chests closer. If he doesn’t gain some sense of control, then he’s going to waste another bout of lineage in his trousers.

Especially because her hard fucking nipples are raking over his T-shirt and she’s wiggling with determination. There’s pain, and gods , it feels divine as she pulls harder on his hair. When she peppers her lips along his jaw, his nails scrape over her hips, teasing at the hem of those bloody denims.

“ Granger…” he pants, so desperately that she pulls back suddenly.

Those lips are red and swollen from their snog, and there’s heat rising up her neck from arousal. She bites her lip, sending Draco into another whirlwind of despair before she leans forward to kiss him. 

It’s quick and sweet, one of Draco’s favorites. It’s like a habit, one he never wants to break. Her mouth glides over his cheek until it rests near his ear. “That was very thoughtful, Draco . Thank you.”

Before he can even process what happened or beg her to stay, she is gone. Granger levitates the boxes with her, retreating to his room and leaving Draco with an ungodly erection straining for release. His head falls back, pinching the bridge of his nose as he curses her much-appreciated existence.

________________________

Draco is pleased with himself as he steeps their evening tea. It’s been one week of blissful sleep, and perhaps, he can— finally —start working up the nerve to move their relationship to the next level. 

That is, until Granger waltzes in, humming an unfamiliar tune with the pajamas he had gifted… altered.

He nearly drops the kettle as his eyes scour over visible golden thighs and exposed freckled shoulders. The brilliant witch transfigured the long pants into shorts and the button-down into a slip top.

It’s so lustrous, the rays of the sunset filtering in through the blinds and casting alluring shadows over her chest until he’s fixated on her fucking tits.

The bob in his throat nearly chokes him as he tries to swallow, his knuckles turning white from the strained hold on the handle. 

Keep it together.
Keep it together.
Keep it together.

For a millisecond, he wonders if she has another scrap of fabric she calls underwear on with the shorts or if she's bare.

Bloody hell.

With a knowing smile, she rises onto her tip toes and brushes a kiss to his flaming cheek. “I run hot when I sleep.” 

It’s like she knows it’s driving him mad, like she wants to punish him or push him until he perishes from this desire. What a cruel, wicked girlfriend he has. 

Matters only escalate through the week as her shorts become tinier with each stay and the tops thinner. He can practically make out each nipple and freckle on her tits as she prances around his flat like a devious little succubus. 

His physical therapist gave him new exercises to help with his wrist pain. But it doesn’t aid in the sting throbbing through the muscle with each wank. 

If he can stop being an absolute twat, Draco could grow some fucking balls and just fuck his girlfriend. It’s not like anything is stopping him. 

Other than the whole… virginity thing. 

It’s his fault.
Or his parent’s.

Or the fucking madmen living in his house during the war. Because that wasn’t permanently traumatizing. Who could think about getting a hard-on when every second you feared for your life? Certainly not Draco. It wasn’t for other witches' lack of trying, though none ever truly interested him.

But even then, the voices in the back of his head about saving himself pinged around like a bludger. 

His parents taught him it was sacred. 
Something special.
A prize to be awarded to one person with whom he was to spend his life. 

He believed the rhetoric. It was a precious part of him, not to be taunted with anything unholy. A pureblood heir is to remain respectful and untouched. It’s not a frivolous act. 

Draco was fine with this.
Until Granger. 
Fucking Oshun reincarnated. 

When he imagines desire, it’s the dusting of pink on Granger’s nose and ears when he brushes his thumb over her lips. 
When he dreams of beauty, it’s the smattering of freckles on her thighs and shoulders. 
And gods, when he thinks of luxury, it’s burying his face into her cunt and begging to be suffocated. 

Draco’s thought of every possible way to bend Granger to his will. He was damn near twenty-five with a saintly girlfriend that never pushed for more. It couldn’t be easy. Granger is experienced. Meanwhile, his disappearing act is becoming increasingly more potent with every hint… wait, is it a hint? Surely it is. 

Maybe he could sneak some Felix Felicis to help spark some courageous moves. Theo does owe him a favor and can get him a free vial from the apothecary. Or maybe a few glasses of wine to loosen him up. 

Like when they split that vintage bottle at his family vineyard in Italy. Somehow, she’d landed in his lap, his back pressing into the metal chair as she straddled him. That bloody snog led to dry humping so fast, he could barely get a notice-menot charm cast. Then, fuck , her fingers brushed his hard-on and before Draco knew it, three minutes had passed, and all sense of control erupted over her knuckles from his cock. Apologies poured from his mouth, spluttering like a broken faucet as she’d assured him it was okay. 

It’s slow, excruciatingly so, but her patience is unwavering. Each time, Granger tests the waters, managing his sexual insecurity while balancing the natural progression of a healthy relationship. 

Yes, there have been discussions.

Accommodations.
Compromises.
Negotiations.

Not including their drunken encounter, most of their fondling remains over the clothes. Granger inevitably initiates everything that crosses the invisible line they’ve drawn. 

There was one time he grew the courage to cup her tits. Gods, they felt amazing. He just knew they looked even better. Granger had wanted him to take the plunge, but there was a twisting in his gut, stabbing him with a double-edged sword of guilt and cowardness. 

Before he knows it, the weekend is here and Granger has foregone the sleep sets altogether and is back in his old jerseys and flimsy knickers. If the garments can even be called that. 

Fucking pygmy puff on a stick. 

This time, she bypasses Draco, stretching toward the cabinet door for her mug. The underside of her arse comes into view, and while Draco wants to grab and lift her onto the counter for more, he instead nearly runs from the kitchen. 

_________________________

Draco isn’t sure which is shorter—his resolve or the hem of her jumpers now as she prances through his flat practically half-naked. 

He gave up encouraging her to wear the sleep set. It’s discarded on the ground from where he laid it out on the bed that evening. 

No, tonight, she wears his old white Quidditch jumper—the one that’s ragged and old, that he only used during drills and informal scrimmages. Her curls splay down her back, perfect ringlets along her spine, and his eyes must be playing tricks on him because her freckles glow in the warm lighting. 

He pretends to read, repeating the same paragraph twice now as she struts into the room. Confidence doesn’t even come close to describing the aura surrounding his witch. It permeates the atmosphere, thick and demanding as her chin lifts high with a self-assurance he wants to bottle.

Those bloody tits sway under the strained fabric as she rounds the bed, and the book in Draco’s hands threatens to snap from his grip. The bed dips as she slips into her side, the covers thrown aside as one leg stretches and the other bends at the knee. The shirt slips further up, and Draco’s heartbeat becomes erratic. 

“Shall I…” He clears his throat, blinking rapidly to fix his blurry vision, “summon Ellie with another sleepwear set?” He knows there's one on the floor, an obvious sign of defiance, but right now, he’s using every bit of control to turn the page without ripping it.

“Nope.”

The ‘p’ pops with sheer rebellion. The intention is right there, out in the open. He just has to grab it, but instead, he steadies his breath and lowers the book to find a set of brown eyes searing with resolution. 

“I just want you to be com—”

“Comfortable.” Granger slides closer, those delicate fingers plucking the book from his grasp. “Yes, so you’ve said. Many times.”

“Please don’t—” 

Wandless magic summons the bookmark from his bedside table, and she saves his place. “I wouldn’t dare dog-ear these pages. I’m not a barbarian , Draco.”

No, but she’s temptation in physical form. There is something so vulnerable about her tonight. The white jumper nearly swallows her, and with the chill in the air to battle the building heat of London, he can see the outline of her tits and both peaked nipples. 

It’s an offering. 
Of herself.
As close to the line as possible.

A strangled noise in the back of his throat slips up, and he tries to swallow it, but it escapes like a dying animal. Granger looks even more pleased. This is what she wants.

To break him.
To build him.
To have him.

“You know, at first, I was patient.” 

She moves closer, one finger trailing down his bare arm. 

“I figured there’s no rush. We’ve gotten this far. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

Draco nods as she reaches his hand, lacing them together.

“After all, we’ve shared so much with one another, it seemed like the next step.” Granger continues as she fidgets with their fingers, and Draco is delirious with want from the simple gesture.

“When you asked me to stay over after so many nights of leaving here dripping and desperate, I thought… this is it.”

One thigh swings over him, her warmth settling right over his groin. This is how it usually starts when they snog. His fingers shake, clutching the sheets as he focuses on his breathing.

“And then you gifted me fucking full coverage pajamas.” 

She places his hand on her waist, her hips subtly rocking forward. The offense in her tone snaps Draco in half. Of course, the witch sees right through him. What a blubbering idiot he is.

“I—”

Her clit catches on the tip of his covered cock, and his eyes roll back, halting any impending excuse. Somehow, she always knows how to make him feel so good. Only a few more minutes and he will make a mess of things. 

“I thought surely I hadn’t misread the signs. I hadn’t been courageous with my sleepwear for nothing. ”

His grip tightens as she moves against him, their chests flush, and her lips close to his. Their panting fills the space in between, begging and reaching for more. If he just moves closer, he can kiss her. 

“After all, I bought these thongs for you.”

Thongs.

The maddening scraps of knickers have a name. Thongs are definitely his favorite thing now. He needs to fill the entire flat with them. Every color and design he can find, so that he can see her in them every second of every day.

Bravery rises through him, and Draco slips his hand down her hips to the string of lace. There’s no thought behind his action when his forehead falls forward, resting on her shoulder as he mutters “fuck” under his breath.

“You like them, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he chokes out. 

He tests his boundaries, grazing his finger over the lace’s edge close to her hip dip. Her fingers dig into his shoulders with an encouraging hum. This is what she wants, and who is Draco to deny her? 

His breathing is shallow, picking up as he explores the texture. The lace forms flowers over the band, and gods, her skin is so warm. There’s a silent tension growing so heavy that one false move could shatter it into pieces. 

Granger’s watching when he finally lifts his head. She’s cataloging him just the same if the way her bottom lip pinkens more than usual tells him anything. The flush spreading over her cheeks and nose makes her freckles even more prominent. 

Gods, the magic between them surges through her curls, the strands rippling down and cascading over her shoulder until it teases right above those nipples. Draco’s mouth dries out, searching for any sort of replenishment. 

When his fingers brush closer to her center, her neck stretches to the side, pulse thrumming with the same anticipation that’s eating away at him.

If he were brave, he would have already broken down this barrier. 
If he were brave, he would have fucked her into his mattress.
If he were brave, he would…

“Do I make you nervous, Draco?”

Her finger trails down his jaw, tracing a path until it snakes under his chin to garner his full attention. His lashes flutter when she rocks forward, his cock on the edge of combustion. 

“Y-y-y-y-es,” he stutters just as her tits graze his chest. 

His fingers curl over the thin lace, and if he’s not careful, it’ll rip. Granger smiles. Not one of pity or sorrow like he’s a charity case. 

No, there’s a mischievous gleam in those chestnut eyes, warning him he should be nervous. 

There will be bruises on her waist tomorrow, no doubt, because the way Draco grips her flesh when she leans forward is undoubtedly going to send him into cardiac arrest.

Can wizards even have heart problems?

He should ask a healer.

Her thumb presses into his chin, a smile spreading as her devious plan unfolds. Draco’s certain she can hear his heart pounding, its pace picking up wildly with each inch of space diminishing between them. Her lips brush his ear, a shiver skittering over his skin. 

“Good.”

“Fucking Christ,” he whines, his head thudding against the headboard.

Granger slides her hands up the back of his neck, forcing his gaze back down to her. “Using Muggle terms?”

“Learned them from you,” he mutters. 

There’s a spark of something , and instead of running from it, Draco leans in, boldly kissing the expanse between her shoulder and neck. It’s one of his favorite spots to mark, and just like before, she whimpers her contentment. 

“Just think, there is so much more you can learn.” 

The breathiness of her words is enough to fuel his ego. 

Is this all he needed? 
Someone to talk him through it? 
That’s what they’re doing, right? 

Fuck , he hopes it is. 

Granger pulls back, reaching down to grasp the hem of the white jumper. He knows what’s next, and instantly his vision blurs.

Yup, he’s going to pass out from pure arousal.
That’ll be one for the healer books.

The entire world slows as she inches the material further up. Maybe it’s not that slow, but this is Draco’s fantasy coming to life, so he’s savoring every moment. Each inch of her exposed stomach sends him reeling. 

Why are his hands shaking?
Is this a panic attack?
Is he going to black out?

Then her tits are out, and they’re the most marvelous things he’s ever seen. No dirty magazine could have prepared him for the sight. They’re not too big or small, just the right size to fit in his hands, the peaks rosy and begging for his touch. He ventures down and gods, who knew that an abdomen could be scandalous? The lines of her core muscles are prominent from her simple yoga routine, and the curve of her waist is unholy.

He squeezes her hip more, trying to ground himself to something —anything. This is too much, this is—

“Breathe, Draco.”

“I can’t.”

Granger giggles, like a sheepish schoolgirl before taking his wrists and guiding them up. Fuck, she’s so soft. Draco wants to freeze time, and sit right in this moment for eternity. Then his palms are on her tits and holding them tight as she moves back and forth, and Draco decides he doesn’t want to freeze time just yet.

It’s so erotic, being fully dressed while she's just in… 

Gods fucking hell.
White.

White knickers stark against her darker complexion illuminate every impure thought he’s ever processed. 

Draco is going to die.
This is it. 

His usually pale skin is an inferno, burning to a crisp from embarrassment because the sight of his half-naked girlfriend is turning him into that thirteen-year-old twat fisting his hand behind his curtains in the dungeons.

Who is he kidding? That’s what he’s been doing this whole time anyway. 

“I like your hands on me, baby,” she coos, encouraging him to squeeze, and fuck does Draco oblige. “That’s it, just like that.”

He does it again, relishing in how soft they are. An important skill as an Unspeakable is experimenting—trying new things and calculating the outcome. This is no different. He pushes up, pressing her tits together, and the gasp she lets out is subtle but approving. Taking it further, Draco flicks her nipple with his thumb, and this time, Granger makes the most delicious strangled moan.

The result? He’s rock hard and staining his trousers with how badly he’s leaking.

“Knew you’d be a natural.”

This only spurs him on, repeating with both hands. Granger arches forward, silently begging for more. Her hips never stop moving, finding a rhythm, and Draco can’t help but thrust upward.  

“Like that?” he asks. She nods vigorously, losing herself in the sensation.  

Their pants are heavy, mingling with their desperation. It creates a shield, vanishing everything from his mind except her. Granger moves with fluidity, steady and smooth, as their needy moans crash against each other's lips. Draco digs his fingers into her waist, the only anchor in this delightfully brewing storm. 

Driving his hips forward, his pace matches hers. Sweat ripples down her chest, creating patterns he’s eager to trace with his tongue. But then he glances up, and Granger watches him with such a fierceness that he loses all control. A choked groan escapes as he spasms, his forehead falling forward as cum leaks through his trousers and sticks to her knickers. 

Shame clouds his vision. It’s his fault, after all. He’s so bloody randy, Draco couldn’t even make sure his girlfriend got her release first. He clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck. 

Imposter syndrome sinks in, urging him to flee and escape this disastrous moment. His head hangs low, unable to even meet what he’s sure is blatant mortification. He waits for the discontented sigh, which shows her disappointment, but nothing comes. 

Instead, those insanely gentle hands cup his face, lifting his gaze to meet her smile. There’s no malice or judgment lacing those lips. No, his witch just leans down and captures his mouth in a kiss. It’s so soft, his hesitation evaporates as he falls into it. A shiver runs down his neck when fingers slide into his strands, tugging him to the side as she kisses more encouragement over his jaw and down his throat.

“You’re so beautiful,” she hums, “especially when you lose control.”

Control. 

The one thing Draco prides himself on. As long as he has control , he can predict what he needs. He can manage expectations. He can… he can… he can’t think when she’s twirling those fingers through his hair. Fucking hell. 

If he had been asked a few years ago, he would have said she was unpredictable and demanding. But now, after this entire knickers operation, Draco finds her more calculating and dangerous. 

In the best way.

Warmth spreads over his forehead, and his lashes flutter. “Your cheeks get this lovely blush right before you come.” She brushes away a strand of blond above his eyebrow. “Did you know? It’s brilliant.”

“I’m so sorry,” he admonishes. “You didn’t…”

Feel good.
Come.
Enjoy yourself.

One finger slips over his mouth, hushing him as she settles closer on his lap. “Oh, darling , we have all night.”

All.
Night.

Without breaking their stare, Granger snaps, and a rush of cool air hits his thighs as his little remaining clothing vanish. He waits for it to hit, the warmth of her cunt. It’s what his dreams and fantasies are made of. But then she wiggles, and the lace rubs over his groin, creating a friction that is ten times better than his bloody palm. 

“Okay?”

His eyes squeeze shut, memorializing this feel of her against him, the smell of sex and vanilla, her soft curves and— fuck —it’s too much. 

“I think I’ve died,” he chokes out, the words a pitch higher than usual, almost a squeak.

“Pardon?”

“I’ve perished.” Gods, is he whining? He sounds pathetic. “Is this the equivalent—” His teeth clench when her hand anchors around his neck. “of-of-of— fuck —” Another breath that doesn’t help ground him at all. "That Muggle heaven you always talk about?” 

Her touch rakes down his chest with insistence, mapping every dip and curve until her fingertips glide along his shaft. Just one touch has the bloody thing twitching again, coming to life like it knows . All this time, he thought Granger was made for him, but no…

Draco Malfoy was made for Hermione Granger. 

To please her.
To have her.
To love her.

One swipe of her thumb collects the cum still adorning his tip and Draco’s eyes roll back. “Granger…” he warns through clenched teeth.

Though his eyes are closed, he can feel her smug smirk. It swirls around him, enchanting his desperation and loosening his grip on reality. He can’t hold out any longer and sneaks a peek just in time to see her pop the finger into her mouth with a wink. 

“Yes?”

“Bloody witch…”

Mischief twinkles in her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve shared.”

Her fingers trail between her breasts, teasing him, until they dip under her thong. Draco whines, his hips jutting up. Fuck he wants that to be his cock, sliding into her wet, hot cunt instead of her fingers. He’s never felt so depraved until now, cum staining the sheets and sweat soaking his skin. Instead of jerking her hand from her knickers, Draco licks his lips as he anticipates her next move.

It feels like ages before she pulls her fingers from between her legs. They’re slick, bloody dripping with arousal. Draco’s mouth waters, panting like a fucking animal by the time she makes her offering. Like the tease she is, Granger glides her fingers over his lips, coating him until he sucks both into his mouth. 

He groans, his craving sparking higher through every muscle until he’s practically vibrating. With slow succession, Granger’s fingers draw back, but not enough before Draco grips her wrist, the tips tapping his lips. 

“More,” he begs, and Granger shakes her head. 

“Later, pretty boy.” 

The lace rubs over his cock, the remnants of his release soaking into the fabric. He can feel the outline of her core now, the thin barrier giving way as he rapidly hardens. Is he going to lose himself so fast again? 

Granger reaches down, those perfect fingers wrapping around his cock and slipping it under her knickers and—

“Fuck–fuck–fuck–fuck–fuck,” he mutters.

The feel of her bare cunt is enough to send him barrelling over the edge. His sanity crashes against his shields, looking for any crack to slip through. It’s warm and luscious, and Salazar, he’s made to live here, nestled right in her core for the rest of his days. 

He’s been dreaming about this for months.
Working up the courage to do this. 
Fucking dying to feel it.

More precum drips from his cock, soaking the fabric until it clings to her and him. The white is now see-through, and with one quick look down, Draco can make out her perfect lips slotted around his cock.

He’s going to die. 
Draco is going to fucking perish from touch alone.
If this is how it feels, then he can’t even imagine how it will be when he’s inside her.

It’s sensory overload. 

The fabric strains around his cock as she shifts, remaining in the same position. He’s fine with this, there’s no need to learn fucking acrobatics to fuck his girl. There’s plenty of time for that. 

Simple and to the point is enough. He can barely handle this, let alone something more complex. 

Right now, he needs to focus on his breathing. Otherwise, he’s going to spiral into a fucking hysteria from her thighs contracting around his hips. His magic swells uncontrollably. The glass of water shudders on the bedside table, threatening to break. He inhales deeper. 

Focus.
Focus.
Focus.

The lace strains around his cock, the pressure mounting, keeping him in place. As much as he wants to careen into the choppy, lustful waters, Draco urges himself to be good. To last longer than the three fucking seconds of dry humping. 

Dumbledore’s ballsack.
Cormac McLaggen.
Oh.
That works.

“Fuck, you feel—” Granger stutters, a whimper that Draco takes as her being close slips out. “—so good.”

It’s breathy and delicate, and fuck , she’s rocking harder, his tip slotting through her folds and rubbing against the lace. He’s a bloody goner. Maybe if he focuses more on her…

Yes! That’s it!

Draco can do this. It’s just another experiment. There’s more than one solution, like with the pajamas, even if that hypothesis failed miserably. That’s why you come at it from all angles. 

With a steadying breath, he tightens his grip, helping Granger’s hips glide forward and then back. He tries not to focus on his cock hardening, the tip jerking with each slide. Instead, he hones in on Granger’s sounds. 

“Oh– oh— more, please!” Granger’s head falls back, her chest fully exposed as her curls slip down her shoulders. Her airy moans encourage him to keep his pace.

(art by saffrongin)

“That’s it, baby , use me,” he eggs her on.

At first, it seems ridiculous, and he wants to curse himself for this talk. This isn’t some smutty romance story or show on the telly. Who does he think he is? 

But then Granger whines a high-pitched Draco, and suddenly, perhaps it’s not so ridiculous. 

Don’t be a prat. Give your girl what she needs.

“You’re fucking dripping, Granger.” The talking is doing the job and keeping him distracted from his release. Her fingers root into his hair, tugging until he hisses from intoxicating pain. “Making a bloody mess all over my cock.”

“I knew you—ahhhh, fuck—” Granger keens, back arching when she hits a particular spot, “had it in you.” Draco pulls her forward, his tip rubbing over her clit, and more arousal coats his length. 

“This what you want, baby ?” He pushes up, lace catching on the vein protruding from the underside of his cock. Draco groans deeply in his chest, heart rattling with pleasure. “Me rutting into you like a bloody teenager?”

Gods, he’s so close. Her thighs tighten against his, and the pressure sends another jolt of precum leaking down and over the ridges of his cock. One glance down, and his fingers dig deeper into her flesh for purchase. The tip is glistening from both of them as it juts between the fabric and her cunt. 

“No.” She yanks his head back until their eyes meet, determination sparkling in the low light. “I want you inside. Now.”

Well, she certainly doesn't have to tell Draco twice. 

But still, concernment pangs in his chest, lurching out and pulling taut. A million questions flip through his mind.

What if he fails?
What if he’s not good for her?
What if she doesn’t come?

Curls blur his vision as his breathing picks up. She’s whispering, but there’s static in his ears and his blood is pumping so loud he’s sure even Granger can hear. Her encouragements are velvety and smooth, coaxing him into utter euphoria. 

“You’re doing so well, Draco,” she practically purrs against his ear. 

All he can do is make a choked noise when her fingers wrap around his cock. Granger’s palm moves up and down to coat him entirely in her.  

“That’s it, hold it for me—yes—just like that.” Granger pulls back, assessing him with those gods forsaken siren-like eyes. Her other hand comes to his chest, and Draco meets her there, his own clasped atop.

“Breathe,” she instructs, and together, their chests brush on the inhale. 

Even as they exhale, their gaze never breaks. He takes another breath as Hermione deliberately slides down just enough for Draco to gasp. Her mouth opens into a tiny oh as she sinks further. Their breathing mingles as one, thick and rapturous as her cunt flutters and it spreads to welcome him. The first sensation sends Draco’s soul straight from his body to the afterlife.

Yup.

He’s a goner.
Done.

His pleasure only heightens when the edge of her knickers rubs just right on his shaft. His forehead sinks to her shoulder, muscles tightening and flexing under the building fervor.

“Fuck, fu— pu–putain —bloody— parfait —god– c’est– you— trop bon– ” 

A mix of French and English pours from his lips, and Granger smirks, pleased with herself as his cock buries inside her. The damn thing is already ready to explode and mark her fully. Instead, Draco licks along her collarbone and neck to whine in her ear. 

One tiny shift of her hips and her walls contract. Draco gasps for air. 

It’s home.
Just right.
Perfect.

Granger tilts his chin up with her index finger. Her freckles glow from exertion, the sweat glistening between their bodies and sparking blissfully. 

“Happy?” She swipes her finger over his jaw until her hand slips into his strands again, tugging their foreheads together.

At one point, she may have been his reckoning. There were times during their initial assignment together at the Ministry when he would argue she was his retribution. 

But now? He wouldn’t even say she’s his redemption. No, Hermione Granger is his recompense for every step he’s taken to be who he is today. 

He may be riddled with anxiety.
And a bloody tosser about shagging his girlfriend.
But he’ll strive daily to be an even better man she’s worthy of. 

“Extraordinarily.” 

Neither move, other than tiny adjustments, until pure desire builds between them. He wants to hear it, though. It’s abundantly clear how much Draco wants—no, needs —her. She must feel the same? He can’t be the only one who has been gagging for it this long.  

“ Draco…”

He wants to bottle her pleas for later wank sessions because fucking hell, the noises are enough to put him in an early grave.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to make me say it?”

Of course he is.
He’s a smug prat after all. 

He may be a fucking virgin, but nothing can stroke a wizard’s ego more than hearing their witch beg for it.

Draco mirrors her earlier smirk and barely rocks his hips. Considering how close he is to losing it again, it’s a risk. Soaking his trousers in not even three minutes should take him down a notch. But no, her despairing whines only skyrocket his confidence. 

“Come on, just a little bit, Hermione.” He pulls her closer, palm pressing between her shoulders until her nipples skim his chest.

“Fuck me. Please. I– I– can’t take this much longer,” she whimpers, rolling forward until a strangled moan rips from his mouth. “I’ve been aching for you.”

She’s laying it on thick, and Draco can’t help but chuckle. 

“Aching, huh?” His hand snakes up and into her curls. “Do you need to come, baby? ”

“Seems only fair.” She lifts slightly, then slides back down, and Draco sucks in a breath. “Seeing as you already got to.”

Usually, embarrassment would have flooded down his neck. But now, he sees it as a challenge. 

She wants him. It’s so evident that he can’t believe how purposely blind he was to it before. Just the thought of her needing him is enough.

“Cheeky witch.”

Granger hums in agreement before whispering against his lips, “Don’t hold back for little old me.”

This kiss abandons any pretense of worry as her tongue traces his bottom lip. Every nip and lick pushes him further into an otherworldly experience as he blindly grapples for her hips to lift just enough so she can slam back down. 

“Oh, fuck,” he hisses as Granger latches onto his shoulders for support. 

He focuses on that one motion, Granger moving up and down. His cock throbs as he matches the pace while silently counting. It’s the only way to keep himself distracted just enough. 

He’s at four minutes finally when she snatches his wrist and brings his fingers to her clit.

“I’ve been so close. Please, Draco…” she begs.

Sweat glistens over her fucking perfect tits, and he’s in awe at how fucking gorgeous she looks completely and unabashedly vulnerable. Her mouth hangs open, caught in ecstasy when his fingers circle over her clit. 

“Right there, yes, oh god , yes!” She cries out, moving faster, and Draco quickly unravels at the seams. His composure is shot, cheeks flaming with lust as he listens to each cue. There’s no way he wants to steer off course, so he follows her instructions while pulling her closer. His tongue slips out over her nipples, proving his ability to multitask. 

He’s not fearing for his life. 
This is making sure his girlfriend comes.
He can do that.

Her whimpers turn to whines, begging Draco for more, always more. His tongue moves from her nipples and through the valley of her breasts, relishing in the taste of Granger.  

Parchment and vanilla. 
Notes of coffee and bourbon. 
Old books and… 

“Draco!” She practically sobs.

Her cunt squeezes tight, and Draco is lost in the sensation, letting every ounce of his control slip from his clutches. Everything else is moot compared to her demanding every morsel of him as her walls spasms. This is addiction in its truest form.

A whole five minutes. 
That's a record.
Well, for him.

He collapses into a cocoon of pillows, cradling his witch to his chest and breathing heavily. A warmth spreads down his cock and to his arse, and he almost jumps from the bed until he realizes it’s them. Let it soak the sheets for all he cares.

A quiet rushes over, his fingers playing with her curls as hers lazily glide over his scars. 

“Is it usually like that?”

Granger doesn’t say anything at first, and that same doubt creeps in. But he can’t retract the question, not now at least. She props herself on his chest, head tilting to the side. 

“Are you asking me about the sex I've had with other wizards, Draco Malfoy?”

This witch…

Not even a second passes when Draco flips them, and she giggles. It’s so vulnerable and raw that he wonders how he’s restrained himself this long.

Granger’s his favorite part of every day, mixing the rising and setting of the sun. The golden hue through her curls matches the deep reds of blush over her arms and chest. Purples and blues bloom over her neck from his mouth, and he aches to create more, to splash his mark over every inch until she never forgets she’s his.

He stares at her collarbone, the perfect indent from his teeth placed right near her throat. 

Draco traces the mark absentmindedly as he answers, “No.”

He moves to those bloody tits, circling the marks and giving each equal attention. She squirms, nails digging into his shoulders until her hips buck upward. 

“What are you— oh!”

Draco ducks down, fingers stretching the thong to the side. His lips graze her hips to the apex of her thighs until his tongue flicks over her clit.

“Tasting you— us. ”

The purest enchantment he can find is between this witch's legs. 
And together? 
The highest magic you can create. 

“Gods, Hermione ,” he breathes into her cunt, ready to live the rest of his days out right here. He writhes into the bed, prepared for another round. “I can’t believe I’ve kept myself from this cunt, from you, all this time.”

She pushes up, begging for more as he licks up to her clit. He drags the garment down, tossing it haphazardly to land on the lampshade.  

“All night,” she reminds him when he ducks back down. Her head falls back. “Yes, oh gods , right there, just a litt— hmmmm —so good.” 

He follows her instructions, eager to learn the best that he can, just for Granger. As he  a ‘D’ right over her center, he lifts his gaze to match his blissed-out girlfriend.

“All night indeed, baby. ”

Notes:

Thank you to Shamione,RottenDiary, and Meg for always helping me know where commas should go and ensuring everything is coherent.

Art by Saffrongin. Literally, the way you encapsulate their vibes and mood is everything. Thank you for being you and creating such beautiful pieces of art of these two idiots we all love.

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