Malfoy rolled over on his stomach and peeped to the sleeping back beside him. All he could see was a cacophony of brown curls twisting their way, like ivy tendrils, all over the pillows. She sighed lightly in her sleep and shifted her head. Draco could just barely make out the silver letters of his surname on her back.
At first, it had annoyed Draco that Hermione slept in his clothing. Somewhat because he liked the idea of a naked Granger, but mostly because he was, at some level, still a selfish little boy about his possessions. That is, until he had come to his London flat late one evening after a long day of business meetings and dinner events to find her cooking and dancing to some song on the wireless in nothing but his old Quiddich jersey, her long legs bare, her hair wild as she swung her hips. She bent over to check the delicious smelling thing in the oven. Draco bit down and suppressed a groan. She really wasn't wearing anything other than that old shirt. She seemed satisfied with whatever she had found and continued sashaying to the counter, still facing away from him, dancing and singing. He had leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen and chuckled lightly to himself. Immediately, she had whirled around looking surprised to find him there.
"Oh, don't let that stop you Granger," he murmured, walking into the room and pulling her close to him, "I rather enjoyed watching you."
"Is that so, Mr. Malfoy?" She asked grinning up at him. "Did you like what you've seen?"
He looked down at his feet, and peeped up at her, his head still down and nodded, his mouth twisting into a wicked grin. He twisted his hands in her hair and whispered in her ear. "Oh Hermione, you think you would have learned by now there is nothing I enjoy more than watching you. That is, unless I get to join in."
Hermione's face flushed hot red. He was sure she was thinking of the same incident as him. Their bodies sweaty, his face, he was sure, showing wonder when, after he had asked her to show him how she touched herself, she had obliged him. Afterword, he had loved her again, desperate to hear her beg and scream for him. Just for him. She was his he had thought selfishly.
And now she stood there in his kitchen wearing his last name on her back, branding her his. He groaned quietly before breaking his tenuous hold on any modicum of reserve and picked her up, slinging her up over his shoulder. She had shrieked something about burning the roast, but Draco paid her no mind. He had something much more satisfying that food on his mind.
The roast had burnt, he remembered. She had cursed him jokingly before ordering Chinese takeout. They had fed each other lazily, replete in their little sliver of happiness.
As Draco reminisced over that night of their near frantic love making, she stirred again and rolled over to face him. Her brown eyes looked innocently into his stormy ones, before pulling him down deeper into the pillows and blankets, deeper down into this thing they had become, deeper down into her.