DISCLAIMER:I own not the characters that appear in this story nor do I lay any claim against Rowling, Warner Bros or Scholastic Publishing.
I DO take full responsibility for these two characters having some fantastic sex.
RED
PANTIES
Red, blue and green lights dipped, swirled and flashed in perfect rhythm of the pounding bass.
Bodies wearing next to nothing clashed, collided, meshed and groped each other to the throbbing percussion line.
Hair, perfumes, colognes, body parts and sweat were flung in every direction.
Bending her knees and rising to toss her mane of hair over her shoulder only to lift great handfuls up and around her ears, the song the DJ spun was her partner. There were so many persons around her that dancing by herself actually looked like she was sharing her dance moves with all the other slick and shiny revellers.
She popped her pelvis in time to the lyrics that altered her heartbeat as she rose to a standing position only raise both arms over her head and then twisted her head and body in a gracefully primal spin.
It was not that she wanted a dance partner. She didn't need one. The music, the vibe in the club, the way her hair slapped wetly around the tops of her shoulder and stung her face, was her lover of the moment. Where she ran her own hands over her body as the next song came on was the caress she desired most. Trust in the DJ to keep the pumping, gyrating-provoking, stimulation was the only commitment she needed to make to achieve satisfaction. The abrasive sensations of her aroused nipples didn't have to be taught to some new lover.
An artist knows how to present his art – to the singers that sang the songs the DJ played, their music was their paintbrushes. Her body was the canvass that brought their work to life.
She used her downward momentum to slap the dirty, drink stained floor. Instead of pumping her pelvis as she rose, she stuck out her arse and did big, sweeping, swipes at those around her with her derriere. Striking her bared thighs with open palms was natural. Reaching for the hem of her micro leather mini-dress to flirt with the idea of exposing herself – not to those around her – but to the musicians who painted such a response in her was a very real possibility. Splaying her fingers across her midriff and feeling how hot the fabric was made her skin tingle. Running her palms up her body and over her hardened nipples was a display of her assured sexuality – not an advertisement to be fondled by any one around her. Dipping a finger into her mouth to confirm how her breath puffed from her body in a way that was entirely evocative was something she did for herself – not an invitation to 'sample the goods'. She pulled at the two-way zipper that held her dress together because the sound the zipper being raised and lowered created more heat in her body and an increasing wetness to her person.
She wasn't the best dancer on the floor. She wasn't the most provocatively dressed female – or male – in the club. The aura around her was what set her apart. Everyone noticed her. And all she heard and saw and felt was the impact of the music. In every fibre of her being.
The music changed again.
Slowing down to a gentle sway, as if the painter were developing his background and laying in subtle nuances to the landscape, she slowed her tempo to match the new bass line. Her micro-fibre boots dragged slowly and sensually. She lifted her hair and let the air conditioning fans waft cooler air against her sweat slicked neck and shoulders. Couples pushed their way into each other's bodies – but still she did not see them. Feel them – yes. The codes of public conduct were being adhered to – but only just. It would not take much for any of them to cross the line.
It was such a powerful mix: sweat, heat, music, sex, sensuality, and freedom. Bodies gravitated to her. The radiant heat from those around her made her skin prickle and yet had no impact at all. If she were alone, she would still get lost in the music. The rapture around her was the equivalent of an accelerant on an open flame.
Feeling a wall of male muscle at her back did not make her turn around. If anything it gave her the leverage to brace her back up against a flatly defined stomach and slide the small of her back down the length of the male behind her until her head rested against his hard on and her knees were spread wide as she bounced in time to the rhythm of the song.
Rising and falling as her knees opened and closed, tracing a path with her hand down her stomach until only her slender fingers provided the only barrier between the other clubbers and her kittie. She deliberately pressed her head against her 'partner's' growing cock.
A strong arm snaked around her waist and hauled her to her feet without compromising her rhythm. Now his large fingers shielded her anatomy.
He kept her arse pressed against his rock hard cock. It was her sweaty neck that he licked at – the salty flavour of her tingled his mouth and he savoured it like a fine wine on his discriminating palate. It was her wet hair that half blocked the vision that rested below his chin. His other hand spanned her throat in such a way that her chin was nearly stretched to his shoulder. His access to her was complete in the sultry throbbing of the red, green and blue lights.
The palm that rested against her mons flexed possessively. She slithered her boot-clad leg up his shin – opening her self up more. His hands shifted to travelling up her sides and reaching for her forearms. He hooked them behind his neck before bending his own knees and hoisting her so that her thighs draped around his and her ankles found purchase somewhere near his hamstrings. A stabilizing right hand covered her left breast.
Weakness was found in pinching her nipple by bringing his third and fourth fingers along side one another and applying pressure – hard. His erection nestled itself in the base of her arse. Her nails scraping the nape of his neck coincided with the nubbin contracting between his fingers. The hard pounding guitar rift of the current song swallowed his primal growl.
The music changed again.
A sultry, pounding, power ballad full of sexual promise filled the club. The lights dimmed. The swirling lights lost their staccato edge and took on a rhythm of thrusting and pulling back. Not bright enough to see anyone else, the dark was like a spot light to drop any semblance of propriety.
Releasing his legs, she lifted her arms and let him lower her to the ground. High stepping to the beat of the music, she strode to his side and then to his back. Tossing her hair and still dancing, she pressed her wet, sweaty back against his damp, black-clad, shoulder blades. Turning around she pressed her breasts against the same spot – as if she were preparing him for what was to come. Blazing a trail with her fingers, she used his bands of muscles to find his stomach and where his tight black t-shirt was tucked into the waistband of his leather pants. Freeing the shirt, she teased the fine hairs she found near the button of his trousers before snaking her hands up to his paps and giving him the same treatment he gave her moments before – a tantalizing aria before the coda.
Enough.
Grabbing her left arm with his left hand, he swung her in front of him. Hooking one of her knees over his elbow, he showed her what he had kept brutally leashed. His cock was straining so hard against his pants that it separated her lower lips and her wetness made his fly glimmer in the low light. Dropping in time to the music, she unhooked her leg and dipped her face to his crotch. She darkened the leather even more with her mouth.
Digging her nails into his belt, she lifted her self up and licked her lips.
The power ballad was hitting its climax.
No more foreplay.
The lower half of her zipper opened – by her unpainted fingertips.
His nimble, trained hands easily slipped the buttons that made up the fly of his trousers.
A great fistful of her glorious hair brought those talented lips within an inch of his own. A flexible leg thrown high enough to rest an ankle on his shoulder brought her nether lips within reach of his cock. The crescendo of the song's crashing symbols masked the cry that tore from her lips as he drove into her.
Again.
A g a i n.
A g a i n.
He had been watching her for more than an hour turn away one person after another. He had endured the sight of her entwining herself with another woman when the opportunity presented itself. The process of shackling his need as she lost herself in the music tested the very limits of his control.
NO MORE.
A strong hand on the small of her back rose, it sought the wet tendrils of her hair. Finding and twisting the locks around the back of his hand exposed the underside of her chin and jaw. The rising and falling of her breath was coming in shorter and shorter intervals. Fine points of sweat on her upper lip and brow began to merge as her moans matched his.
Pushing her leg down to hear the high heel clank to the floor, the music was about to change.
His music.
Her need.
His tempo.
Her speed.
Their desire.
He allowed her to lead, for the moment. He let her go until he was only holding her off the floor by one extended arm before snapping her back into place. In that one moment a wet, shiny cock was exposed for anyone who cared to look before it was impaled in a velvet sheath that seemed to be custom made for his body – her depth was a perfect match for his length.
A crushing kiss was the only warning she had before a hand tangled in her hair and another one settled below her arse to lift her only enough to drive his cock deeper.
His tongue jousting with hers felt like he was licking every part of her from the inside out. Every plunge and withdrawal pressed against her clit. The pounding guitar riff and the commanding lyrics of the current song were in perfect synch to the manic pounding she was receiving.
Everything felt too hot; her legs felt like they weren't going to support her, her dress felt like it was too prudish, she felt like she was leaving her body.
She was so close. So close. He was barely hanging on.
Scooping her up and making her straddle his hips tied up his hands but left him free to see her face. Which was twisted up to the ceiling – to the spinning balls of lights.
Placing hot, open mouth kisses to the skin bared by her dress; the sheen of her sweat picked up the changing colours and cast shimmering hues around the wet edges of her hair.
This was always his favourite part – watching her unravel. The intimate releasing and unveiling of her inner wanton woman – to know that she was like this with him and no other. Only he knew the combination that would set her flying.
Resting his forehead in the nest of kisses he made on her chest, he hunkered down and reached for his Snitch.
The song hit its chorus.
Every light in the club went out.
The strobe lights came on.
The fog machine released plumes of smoke.
Hermione Granger felt Draco Malfoy's cock touch that place inside her.
Again.
AGAIN.
Again.
Draco looked up as the first tremors shimmied up his cock and rattled the cages around his heart.
This is what everything was worth – why every price was met. To see his Hermione give herself totally to the calling of their flesh – made possible only by the melding of their souls.
The flashing strobe light made for a sight he will recall for years: her teeth flashing in the silver light, her head thrown back, fully impaled on his cock and her hair a mass of tangles. Sweat rolled down the sides of her neck. Her mouth fell slack as she cried out her orgasm.
Slamming her hips down on his cock – her orgasm slammed her body with such intensity that holding it in was impossible. Looking up at the ceiling, another orgasm rocked her as she felt Draco pump. His release challenged his sense of balance. Her breasts vibrated as he called out her name. The smell of their satiation wreathed around them and shut out all other scents.
The DJ, ensconced in his booth, watched his flock. To anyone one else, the black clad couple on the dance floor looked like every other sexually charged couple in the club. The blond had his girl in a tight embrace and she was still pumping her body to the relentless rhythm the he, the DJ, commanded. The look of elation on her face when her man swooped her up and braced her hips against his stomach coincided to the changing song. Sure she was riding a little low – but who wasn't?
The DJ saw the couple sink to the floor with their chests heaving and wry smiles on their faces. He watched the girl laugh and plant kisses all over the platinum topped face. Knowing that he himself was at half-mast, he looked to the bouncers and gave the signal: They only slipped – no one's hurt.
Draco was the first to get onto his unstable feet. Glancing at the bouncers and seeing them along the perimeter of the crowded floor – he looked to the DJ as he helped Hermione climb to her feet. Whispering in her ear, Draco pointed in the direction of the booth.
Sauntering over to the DJ with a smile on her face, Hermione leaned against the protective glass and slipped something into the Request Window with a saucy wink.
"Thanks!"
Watching her clasp hands with the blond-haired man and seeing them make their way through the club, he fingered his gift: a pair of red panties that had a shimmering silver snake sewn onto the inside of the crotch.