This fic is a sort of sequel to my One Night fic, but it's okay - as this series of soppy/smutty drabbles doesn't really have any sort of cohesive plot, they can suvive on their own. All you need to know is that Draco Malfoy fell rather hard for Ginny Weasley, and after a short but sexy affair, they're now an item. One Journey is a few short(ish) extracts from their relationship as it envolves.

Disclaimer: You know this bit off by heart, I'd imagine; I don't own anything, it's all JKR's (bless her cottons for this marvellous creation) - I'm clearly borrowing her wonderous works to play with them for a bit. She doesn't mind, in fact I've heard she like fan fiction...

Right, I'll get on with it then, shall I?

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One Morning

"Ooof!"

Draco had just been woken, rather rudely, by all the air being forced out of his lungs as something heavy landed across his stomach. Still groggy from sleep, he sat up, in time to see Ginny roll off him and kneel in the bed covers, grinning.

"You all right, Draco?"

He blinked. Her red hair fell over one shoulder, into her naked lap. Actually, now he looked properly, he wondered how he could have missed the fact that all of her was naked. His chest did somersaults.

"Tremendous," he replied, honestly. "You?"

"Oh, I think tremendous just about covers it," she agreed, as he leant forwards and kissed her softly. He felt her smile against his mouth, before she pushed herself forwards and shoved him back into the mattress. Without thinking, Draco's hands went to her sides, savouring the soft skin against his palms. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders possessively.

"Mmmm-nuh-uh…" she murmured, pulling away. "No time. Work."

"Oh bugger."

"Yeah. Sorry." She extricated herself from the sheet and wandered off towards the bathroom.

"Not as sorry as I am," he called after her, and he heard her laugh from the shower stall. Looking over to the clock on the mantle piece, he sighed. Unfortunately she was right – as she often was – she really was running late. He clambered out of bed and tied his dressing gown around him, heading for the kitchen.

The tiles were supremely cold under his feet, but he was getting used to it now. He tapped the kettle with his wand, having retrieved it from under the sofa. What was it doing there? Oh yeah, he smirked. He'd dropped it there when he'd stepped through the door the night before and Ginny had been naked. On the sofa. With wine.

His neck flushed. She hadn't spent much time in clothes recently. Not that he was complaining.

Dropping three spoonfuls of sugar into Ginny's mug of tea – despite his better judgement – he lent on the counter. So involved was he in trying to recall every last detail of last night's… goings-on, that he barely noticed even when the kettle started whistling.

Wine hadn't been his only greeting. Oh no, she'd had chocolate cream liqueurs and massage oil as well. He'd told her that he didn't think he'd really worked hard enough to deserve it all, and she'd smirked. A delicious, filthy little smirk that he hadn't known she'd possessed.

"Yeah, I know," she'd purred. "But I have. So you better pour me another glass of red."

They really hadn't drunk much of the wine. Or eaten much chocolate. The massage oil was a big hit though – Draco could still feel her tough little hands sliding all over his lithe frame, the way it splashed coldly onto his back, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He was amazed actually, at how relaxed Ginny was. She'd been relaxed for the entirety of their friendship, but somehow he'd imagined that that would disappear as soon as they'd become more serious. But no, and he'd been made to truly appreciate her easy-going attitude even further the previous night.

"You know," he'd ventured tentatively, while sprawled out face-down on the couch, Ginny straddling his legs, "I thought I'd be bored by now." He hadn't wanted it to come out like that at all. But he needn't have worried about her reaction. Ginny had just laughed.

"Yeah. I thought you would be as well. Too bad, eh?" He could hear her smiling. With a great deal of effort, given that his muscles were thoroughly knackered by her studious massage expertise, he twisted, shuffling so that he faced upwards.

"Not really," he said, taking one of her hands in his. "I'm glad I'm not. Though, how I could be when you arrange surprises like this?" He gestured towards the half-empty bottle of wine. "I'm not sure how I ever could be…"

He'd tugged on her hand so that her body fell against his. Ginny laughed, straightening as his arms came around her.

"Well, it is true. I am pretty interesting."

"Interesting doesn't do it justice," he replied. He opened his mouth, but didn't say anything. Ginny seemed to sense that there was something he was dubious about saying aloud, and crushed her mouth to his.

"Drac? Aww, you made toast – excellent. I've got to go—" Ginny snatched up the toast and tapped her wand to her tea to cool it, before gulping it down as she crossed the room. It was gone by the time she got to the door, and she put the mug down on the mantle piece as she slung a bag over her shoulders. "See you later—"

"Gin? Aren't you forgetting something?"

Ginny let go of the door handle, spinning around the scour the flat with her eyes. "I don't think so, why?"

He strode across the room in five steps and pushed her up against the wall, conquering her mouth with his. He broke away and panted.

"Oh," she murmured, fighting to breath. "That."

"Yes, that."

&

What would he have said to her last night, if she hadn't kissed him? He didn't really know. He'd just felt that there was something he felt like saying, something hanging. In retrospect he was quite glad he hadn't said it. He didn't think opening that can of Flobberworms would have been a very bright idea. They'd only been dating properly for two weeks, after all. She might be laid back, but that was part of the problem. He wasn't about to scare her off by letting his mouth run away with him.

He'd never had this problem before. Normally other people fell for him before he fell for them, if he did at all. In fact, he was certain that he'd never felt quite this strongly about anyone before. He'd never felt like he cared whether or not somebody liked him back this much before, undoubtedly.

He wondered if liking her was the root of it. Sure, he liked her. Yes, she made him feel… different. Or different to how everyone else made him feel. But did he care about her, really? Was there a wish that should be happy, whether or not that plan involved him? He couldn't really say. Once thing was certain – he'd never been quite this confused by a relationship before, and it was very, very scary.

That was the thing about Ginevra Weasley. She could make him feel utterly reckless and happy at the same time as he was shitting himself with terror. He received a prime example of this one night, when they attended a gathering arranged by her co-workers at a bar in Diagon Alley. He'd sat the – more patiently than he ever could have done for anyone else in the world, including Pansy Parkinson – and listened to her talking animatedly to one of the people she worked with at her publishing house, getting steadily more irritated and bored. Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, under the table he felt the instantly recognizable sensation of a small hand crawling down the inside of his leg.

He'd tried to see a sign of her actions in her face, but somehow she was managing to keep an entirely straight face, something he was finding it exceptionally difficult to do, as he felt her hand creeping back upwards again, to brush rather obviously against the taught fabric of his trousers under his belt.

Draco felt his stomach muscles clench, partly with fear at discovery and partly with arousal. He could feel the familiar hot tingle sinking into place easily, as if it was second nature that whenever she touched him, even lightly, his hair should stand on end. He breathed out.

Ginny's fingers were trailing down her neck and toying with her necklace. He could feel his eyes locked there, but was powerless to move them: her hand had begun trailing intricate patterns along the length of swollen flesh shrouded by his trousers and there was an ache between his legs where the muscles kept flinching. He tucked his chair further under the table, anxiousness making his neck burn.

Ginny, at last, glanced his way. The look of pure glee on her face couldn't really be misinterpreted. He shot her a look that he'd hoped would come somewhere between, 'Stop that now', and 'shit, you're amazing,' but he expected it just looked hungry: all he could think about was her hand, and the erection she was encouraging under the table. He coughed.

Her face broke into a sly grin. "You all right, Draco?"

He nodded. "Fine, th-thank you…"

He'd gasped, because Ginny had just slid her hand underneath his waist band and engulfed his shaft with her fingers. He hadn't really thought about the possibility that she would have taken it this far. Not that he'd had time to think it through at all, but still, there were limits…

But apparently not where Ginny was concerned.

"Are you sure you're all right, Mr. Malfoy?" one of the waiters serving their group had asked. At that moment he'd been concentrating too hard to attempt speech: Ginny had been rubbing gently but insistently for the past ten minutes – possibly more, it seemed like it'd been ages since her cool fingers had brushed along the velvety hardness – but the combination of awareness that they were outside, in public, in the middle of a group of people and the force with which Ginny normally effected him, was making him tremble. He was terrified that someone would notice, or realise what she was doing. But at the same time, he didn't want her to stop. Oh Merlin, don't let her stop…

He felt a sudden surge of heat, and realised that there was no way he could stop himself making an incredible mess unless he stopped her right now, that very second. The problem was that that was the very last thing he wanted her to do.

"Mr. Malfoy? Are you all right?"

He looked up, and there was a very concerned-looking waiter peering at him. Ginny's hand stopped moving. He panted, without really noticing it. His head felt foggy and warm.

"I'm sure he's fine," he heard Ginny say smoothly, smilingly. The waiter looked dubious, and he was forced to pull himself together. Now, though, there was an angry, niggling kind of hunger inside him, and his manhood was tingling maddeningly, every nerve alight. Ginny's hand slid away suddenly, to rest on his leg. He swallowed involuntarily and gasped at the same time, making a strangled choking noise.

"I'll take him to the bathroom, make sure he's not feeling ill. Maybe he's come down with something," Ginny told the waiter. As she stood up, carefully sliding between the bulge in his trousers and the waiter's curious gaze, the waiter asked concernedly whether it could be food poisoning.

"I don't think so," she smiled, still hovering in front of him, "looks like bit of a fever to me. He's looking a little over-heated." She led him away before the waiter could question her further.

As soon as she'd set foot inside the gentlemen's bathroom, she spun around and he walked straight into her small body. His mouth crashed down onto hers, as he rammed her backwards, pulling her waist hard into his. Her back collided with the sink unit, and he ground his hips into hers, feeling the heat that was filling his body ease a little with the new freedom.

She grunted in surprise, but the guttural sound did nothing to calm him. All he wanted to do was to get her pinned—

"Draco, are—?"

"Fine," he growled, his hands clamped to her upper arms, fingers digging in. Every time he ground his hips forwards into hers, a wave of blistering, primal need swept through him, and he wanted to feel it again. And again. And again.

Without considering really what he was doing, his hands slid down and lifted Ginny onto the counter top. She squealed, her laugh rippling through her chest into his. His fingers were fumbling numbly for the waist band of her underwear. He felt her, hot and damp against his hand as he realised – with genuinely worrying surge of molten delight that he thought might make him come right then – that she wasn't wearing any.

Flushed and eager, Draco swallowed as Ginny pulled his wand from his pocket and aimed it at the door. She cast what he presumed to be a locking spell – in a deliciously hoarse voice – and then shot a second spell at himself, which caused his trousers to fall, quite without any interference on his part, to the floor, bundling around his ankles with his underwear.

"Ginny," he whimpered. "Please…"

She just laughed – a full, fruity, dirty laugh, which made his stomach muscles clench. Then she hooked her leg over his shoulder, and yanked him forwards by the sides of his shirt.

It didn't take long for the prickling, swirling fervour to build up again, pooling behind his hip bones and coursing throughout his body, spreading to his fingertips and toes. His legs ached from driving himself forwards over and over again, but he was rewarded by the searing kiss that Ginny placed on his mouth.

It was over before he realised it was. He came somewhat swiftly, abruptly feeling the tension straining in his lower belly break and spill forwards, pouring out. Impulsively he jammed his hips into Ginny's, rutting into her, driving everything he had into her, crushing her up against the wooden door.

"Shit…" Ginny breathed, gently disentangling herself. Draco's chest was heaving, and he leant forwards to rest his forehead against hers, feeling moisture between them. As his head cleared, he considered the rather ungraceful position he'd got himself into: his trousers around his ankles, his leg slightly sticky, sweat inching up the back of his neck. Not mention Ginny's tangled locks, or the pink tint on her cheeks, or the way her shirt was clinging to every curve of her.

Yeah. Shit just about covered it.

&

Read and Review please! As always, I could use a bit of encouragement. What d'you think, carry on?