A/N: Well... This is a bit risky, even for me. A short M-rated fic about Draco and Hermione. This is basically only an experiment to see if I have the knack to write something like this. This is just smut.
I don't own Harry Potter.
Weekend body
She had a sensual body. He was sure she did. She just had to have one – how else could he explain his infatuation with her?
He wondered what she was like on the weekends.
Hermione Granger had captured his attention. Whenever she entered a room, his body became alert; he saw her immediately. Her shirt sat a bit tighter at the top and her skirt showed a great deal of leg.
The girl had a very nice pair of legs. She was pale, like he was, nearly porcelain. She needed to get into the sun more, he thought, but her legs were still amazing.
Her body made things happen to his body.
He allowed his eyes to wander over to where he thought she was seated, and saw that she was watching him with a little frown. That frown that creased between her eyes was possibly one of the things that drove him insane the most.
The way she was looking at him made him... less of an enemy, if that made sense. He didn't want to attack her or hurl insults at her.
They were looking at each other, and she cocked her head to the side, asking him a silent question. She wasn't feeling animosity either, she was simply curious at his reaction to her. It was a tad new, after all.
He wanted to pleasure her. He wanted to see her eyes roll back in her skull, her mouth wide open and her cheeks flushed with excitement and arousal as he made her come again and again.
Yes, Draco, what are you doing? He asked himself and forced himself to look away from her. He had no reason to believe she had a body as he imagined. But, he had to admit, it did make his private sessions a lot more entertaining.
The blond wanted her. His body wanted him to make her his, their bodies convulsing together as sweat dripped off onto ruffled sheets that were curled into her fists.
Her breasts wouldn't be too big, nor too small. They would be what he imagined them to be, perfect and fitting perfectly into his hands.
Her back would arch as he would take a nipple into his mouth, sweetly playing his tongue over the nub, her mouth open in a silent cry of ecstasy as his hand pinched the sensitive nub between her legs.
Her body would shudder against his, moving against his hand as he played with her, bending her to his will.
He would circle the bundle of nerves first slowly, swiping a finger over it softly, then harder, then without stopping and an increasing speed. It would drive her insane.
His mouth would find the crevice of her neck and he would kiss it, suck it, bite it and then he would lick it again with just the tip of his tongue.
The Gryffindor would fight it. She would fight him until he brought her to release, drawing out the climax when she finally did receive it. The image of her throwing her hair back and her chest sticking out towards him made him go insane.
He would make her scream his name, or at the very least he would make her pant it. He didn't think she would scream.
A finger would be entered into the moistness, and he would curl it around the walls before pulling it out. Perhaps he would lick his finger, just to see what she would taste like.
Then he would plunge it back into her, his palm slamming into the bundle of nerves at the top, suddenly harder and less gentle than he had been before when he wanted to make her relax.
Maybe another finger would be added. She would be tight around his two digits, drawing him in, and he would go as deep as he possibly could.
He would work slowly at first, gently, then he would go faster, harder until his hand was moist with her release.
He would kiss her. He would run his tongue over her lips before drawing her tongue into a battle against his. He would press his body against hers, still clothed, and rub his hardness the wetness between her thighs.
Of course his pants would be sinfully tight, because he had kept himself fully clothed in all of this. She was nude beneath him, her pale skin glistened with sweat, her breasts still peaked despite her recent release, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath.
She was beautiful. She had to be. Otherwise he didn't know why he wanted to give her this pleasure he was imagining.
Of course he would want to take it further. He would take off his shirt and allow her to marvel at his body. He had a pretty good body, even if he had to say so himself.
His hands would draw hers to his torso and he would make her feel his abdomen and stomach, trail her hand down to his waistband and then he would cup her hand around his hardness.
Her eyes would widen in surprise – was that because of her? Could she get that reaction from a man?
Draco would loosen his belt and tug down his pants. He would be unsheathed, as it were. Granger would stare at him with those wide, innocent eyes, like a doe, and he would take her hand in his and fold it around his cock.
The girl wouldn't know what to do at first, but he would show her. With his hand firmly around hers, he would move it up and down. Her hand would be soft and small, but he knew his breath would hitch at the contact.
Her hand would continue on its own as he put his hands through her hair. He wouldn't look away and she wouldn't look away, afraid she'd miss his reaction.
Soon he would stop her and crawl over her small and pale body. He would entangle their hands and kiss her for all he was worth. His tongue would venture deep into the caverns of her mouth and twirl around her tongue.
He would finally rest his nude body against hers, their most private areas meeting. He wouldn't intrude her just yet, because he was enjoying the kiss too much.
Granger's legs would wrap around his body, the moistness around him. She would tease him. His cock wouldn't enter her yet, just enough to cover a bit.
He would position himself at her entrance – but just pressing the head in before pulling it out. He could imagine her frustrated groan at this as lust took over her actions. She would take over and impale herself on him. He would toss his head back at the suddenness of this action, having to control himself not to become undone right there and then.
She would pause, because it was new. It felt good, but it was new. He would kiss her through the pain: her lips, her neck, her collarbone, her breasts...
And then they would move. She would wiggle her lower body and he would pull out again before thrusting into her again. Her hips would meet his thrust for thrust as her nails dug into his back. He would bury his face in her chest, licking and nipping and biting at her smooth flesh.
His movements would become more and more erratic, he would groan, but he wouldn't say her name. This would be strictly physical. His cock would be enveloped her, rubbing against the ridges of her inside, and she would clamp down on him. He would move even faster, slamming his pelvis into her groin, his hand finding that sensitive bundle of nerves again, before she would stop and find her second orgasm at his hands.
Her one movement of slamming down on him would send him over the top, a loud groan would escape his lips and he would draw her close to him, riding the orgasms out together.
"Mr Malfoy," A voice said. Draco groaned – he had been lost in his imagination. He couldn't move.
"Yes, sir?" The Slytherin looked at his head of house.
Snape asked him a question he knew the answer to before Draco slammed his head into the desk. He really needed to get a grip on his imagination.
. . .
A/N: Please tell me how I did.