A/N: This is the scene that has been marinating in my brain for THREE YEARS. TAKE IT! TAKE IT WITH MY BLESSING! (NC-17 rating)
Only one glass of whiskey was consumed in the making of this chapter. And three donuts.
The next chapter should be ready in about a week. It's THE chapter, pretty much. Some of you have asked me why this is going to be my last Dramione story. I've had a good run over the last 12 or so years! In short, I think I just need to move on to writing some wholly original fiction. I really enjoy writing D/Hr and fanfic has served as excellent training for me, but writing fanfic represents an opportunity cost in terms of how I spend my limited leisure. I think it's high time to give o-fic a good college try!
If I did write something entirely original, would you read it?
Once Hermione shut the bathroom door behind her, she was engulfed in steam-drenched darkness. Draco was apparently a fan of showering with the lights switched off.
Um, OK.
Well, maybe not so OK… She took three steps before her hip collided with a corner of the marble vanity. Some colourful swearing ensued. That was going to bruise. Also, it was probably polite to announce her presence.
"It's only me," she called out, rubbing her hip.
Hermione heard the smooth slide of the large, glass, show stall panel being opened. The sound of the water hitting the stone floor was momentarily louder.
"And here I was expecting a nocturnal visit from Potter. This is a pleasant surprise."
Draco's reply was the epitome of unperturbed, aside from also raising some not unpleasant imagery. There were double standards at play here, and Hermione found she was actually thankful for that. Most women would not take kindly to being surprised in the shower without a standing invitation, or without the authorities being summoned.
It occurred to her that he was holding the shower door open so that she could enter. It also occurred to her that you could probably fry an egg on her face. Not that he could see her blush. He may have the reflexes of a cat, but even Draco Malfoy could not see in the dark.
Hermione stepped into the shower stall and waited until he'd shut the heavy glass door once more. The steam was making the pores of her skin twitch.
"Um," she said.
"Um, indeed," he replied. Even his voice sounded wet and naked. Predictably, he made no move to touch her. Damned, difficult man.
Carpe diem, she decided. Because who knew how many diems were left? Hermione stepped toward him and reached for his hands. She could only just make out his silhouette in the darkness. Grabbing his wrists, she placed them around her waist. Her own hands lifted to circle around the back of his neck. She raised herself on her toes and tilted her chin up. If he pushed her away or resisted, she'd apologise for the intrusion and leave him be. But somehow she guessed the odds of this happening were very slim indeed.
He did not resist or push her away.
The first brush of her lips against his infused Hermione with a sense of triumph. His torso was stock still, but she felt the unfurling of his hands against her waist. They tightened and drew her in closer until she was flush against the length of his body, and oh, other parts of him were clearly rather perturbed. There was an immediate fluttering low in her belly, an excitement that manifested in gathering, liquid heat.
"To what do I owe the company of your pleasure?" he asked against her lips.
Her brain was working at half-speed. She had to think about that for a minute. "You have that backwards."
His large, warm, wet hands slid down to grasp her backside, caressing, lifting and then squeezing, before travelling upwards until her was cupping her breasts in his palms, rolling her nipples in tandem between thumbs and index fingers.
"I don't think so," he said, voice thick.
Her breasts were extremely tender. Sore, almost. His gentle kneading was too much to bear. Hermione squirmed.
"Kiska."
"Uhuh?" she whispered. His mouth was on her neck now. She realised she was leaving fingernail marks in his biceps and immediately made a muffled sound of apology, rubbing the crescent shaped indents.
"Why are you here?" he inquired.
It was difficult to focus. He helped by pushing her back into the slate-tiled wall of the shower stall. There was a crater-like fissure in the tile, just above the cold water tap. Hermione had long ago suspected that Draco had put it there. The stone carried the heat of water rather well, but it was still comparatively cold against her back. This jarred her, thankfully.
"I should think it's obvious what I'm doing here."
The strength in her voice buoyed her confidence. She raised herself on her toes once more, to try and lure him in for a proper kiss, but he kept his mouth just out of reach. Hermione was frustrated. This was more than just unsated lust at work. She actually yearned to be closer to him, to feel his skin on hers, to have him near her. And if not, to know where he had gone and when he was coming back to her. She wanted to be with him until she carried his scent. She imagined his hands on her in different ways: to inflame, to soothe aches, to provide affection, support and comfort. Maybe it was hormones making her feel like this? She wanted the Reciprocated Romantic Love Package, because the Unrequited Love Starter Kit may have been easier to acquire, but it was total bollocks.
"What do you want?" he asked.
It would not do to tell him what was in her heart. There would be time for that later. She settled for a simpler message, instead. Abandoning the quest for his elusive kiss, her hands came up between them and she wrapped both palms around the entire, granite-hard length of him – right fist on top of left.
Before he could take her hands way, she began to twist them, pumping her tightly squeezing fists up and down in near unison, dragging his hot sensitised skin back and forth, and occasionally flicking her thumb across the tip, for good measure. She was rewarded with a growl of pleasure and likely before he could school his body, his hips bucked into her hands.
Draco tried to pull away, but she left the support of the wall at her back and went with him, her small hands still working. Recent virgin she may be, but she wasn't entirely without experience. his breathing began to grow ragged. Suddenly, he didn't sound quite so in control any more.
She kept working, picking up the pace.
"Hermione." His hands grabbed her wrists and with a soft grunt, extricated himself from her clenching grasp. "Stop that before I make a mess all over your pretty toes."
Hermione placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss against his chest, testing her teeth against a taut, pectoral muscle. "That would be a waste."
His grip on her wrists tightened to the point of pain.
"Oh, and regarding your question? I do know what I want."
"Yes?" he asked, and it was gratifying to note how distracted he sounded.
"I want you inside me."
She took his left hand, kissed the burn scars across the top, placed another, gentler kiss on the sensitive skin of his wrist, and then slid that hand down her wet body until his fingers rested between her legs. Still, he hesitated, caught between some kind of sadomasochistic inner demon, and plain old-fashioned, primal lust.
Good thing for Draco, then, that Hermione was the independent sort.
He could remain passive all he wanted, so long as he allowed her use of his hand. Part of her was hiding under a pile of blankets, embarrassed to the point of mortification. Another part of her was revelling in this strange, new power.
It was divine. His fingers were the antithesis of hers; thick where hers were slender; blunt nails where hers were sharp. The pads of his fingers were callused and brought about the most delicious friction as they rubbed over her in small circles.
His right hand clamped over her breast. She didn't even think he noticed. Hah! Time to up the ante.
Hermione was hyper-sensitive. It had to be the new hormones coursing through her, because her most intimate parts already felt swollen and tender. With slight trepidation, she curled two of his fingers and pushed them into her. Several thrusts later and Hermione wasn't even really holding on to his hand any longer. He had shifted so that she was leaning against him, moaning slowly as her head lolled back against his chest. When she released his hand, he took over. Draco changed tack slightly, moving the same two fingers in and out of her while using this thumb to catch on the most exquisitely sensitive part of her with each slow penetration.
She came in seconds, nearly sliding down to the shower floor. It was an odd orgasm, the likes of which she had never experienced before. The spasms were sharper now and seemed to roll through her in deep, centrally focussed waves, culminating in some rather serious cramping. Hermione wanted to double over and clutch at her abdomen for a moment, but Draco had other ideas.
The change that came over him was frightening. No more passive bystanding. Now he moved over her with determined, masculine purpose. She was still dazed from her climax as he turned her around to face the wall, pushing her legs apart. He slipped one strong forearm under her breasts, lifting and locking her in place. The sound he made as he filled her would be saved for the long, cold, lonely nights that may very well be in her future.
It was too much, however. Hermione tensed from the still largely unfamiliar intrusion. She tried to find some leverage along the tiled wall, but there was one. Given the difference in height, she was effectively impaled upon him, balancing on the tips of her toes. Not one to withhold constructive feedback, Hermione mouth opened to say something, but all that came out was a strangled sob.
Draco immediately pulled out, turning her around in his arms. There was concern in his voice. "Too much?"
She could only nod, still not quite enjoying the odd, cramping sensation.
He kissed the furrow between her brows, simultaneously rubbing up and down her arms. "I'm sorry. Would you like to try something else?"
"Alright," she whispered, hating that her inexperience was casting a blight of formality upon an otherwise flawless seduction.
"It should feel better in a minute," he soothed, and then he was looking at her oddly. From what she could make out in the darkness, he seemed conflicted. Intense. His hands came up to cup her face. Hermione didn't even dare to breathe as he pulled her to him.
The kiss was well worth the brief discomfort from earlier. It was like the wall between them had been liquefied. Decimated. It was pulverised into dust. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her like she was the cure for all the ills in the world. It was sweet, carnal, dominating and tentative, all at once.
When he finally pulled away, they were frantic. He picked up one of her legs and wrapped it about his waist, and then lifted her and walked until her back was once again at the slate wall. Unlike before, he reached between them and guided himself into her slowly, as if savouring each surpassed centimetre of depth. When he was fully inside her, Hermione released her pent up breath in a soft whimper.
Draco thrust at a steady, maddeningly gentle pace, control evident in his focussed expression and the precision of his movements. Hermione enjoyed this, but not nearly as much as his gradual unravelling. Soon, the thrusts were no longer at regular intervals, nor were they particularly gentle. He slammed her into the wall, burying himself to the hilt until they were pelvis to pelvis and he was hitting parts of her, deep inside, that were causing all kinds of alarming sensations.
Suddenly, he tensed above her, withdrawing. He braced a palm against the tiled wall above Hermione's head and tried to slow his breathing. Draco wasn't in a mood to speak, but the pointed look he gave her was explanation enough.
They could not continue without protection.
Ah, yes. Protection. He had no idea there was a wand in the bedside table, not that they needed it. In any case, Hermione took matters into her own hands.
She spun him around, so that his back was against the wall, before dropping down to her knees. There might have been a few, feeble sounds of protest, but there was complete silence when she took him in her hands and did all the things she had been fantasizing about these many months. The warm water beat down at her back. She idly wondered if they should feel bad about wasting so much of it, even if it was all recycled...
He really was quite glorious.
Hermione wished the lights were on. Her imagination was terrific, but it probably didn't hold a candle to what Draco Malfoy looked like as he watched her make love to him with her mouth. She loved it. There was something sinfully exciting about reducing Draco to a breathless, almost keening state, utterly focussed on every slip and tug of her mouth; on the firm, laps of the flat of her tongue along the underside of him. In that moment, he was simpler. He was not the former Death Eater, the convicted criminal, the scientist or the gun-toting anti-hero. He was just a man. She actually heard the back of his head connect with the wall when she gingerly scraped him with her teeth. Draco began to thrust, probably against his better judgement. Four or five thrusts later and his fingers tightened on her shoulders.
"Kiska—" he warned, and the presumptuous man wrapped a hand around her chin as if mere human strength could disconnect him from her in that moment.
She shoved his hand away and slide him into her mouth as far down as she dared. Her gag reflex was more sensitive now, so she didn't think it wise to be quite so high-achieving. Her reward was his complete surrender. Draco pulsed repeatedly into her mouth with a harsh groan. As per her earlier sentiment, not a drop was wasted.
Hermione remained on her knees, squinting up at him with her hand shielding her eyes from the spray of the shower. Sanity returned, as did reality. He turned off the water and pulled her up to her feet. Hermione was unsurprised to find Draco was already laying down bricks and mortar, rebuilding his stupid fortress.
His hands were shaking slightly when he handed her a fluffy white towel and bathrobe. The lights were turned on and Hermione was momentarily blinded.
"Your shift has started," he said, and Hermione took some comfort in the fact he sounded like he'd swallowed a bucket of nails.
"I know. And you have to get some sleep," she countered. "Henry will need you soon."
He said nothing, but at least, he hadn't run off. Possibly because there was nowhere else to go. She wanted to kick him when he approached her, still stark naked, to kiss her chastely on the forehead. Then he pulled on his clothing and left her in the bathroom to get dressed in privacy.
Well, this part was familiar.
When she emerged not long after, Draco was already asleep on the lounge. The bed remained empty. She retrieved Ron's wand from the bedside table. Hermione stood over Draco for a minute, making sure he was well and truly down for the count. She may have also fantasised about smothering him in his sleep.
"Draco," she whispered.
There was no response. His breathing remained deep and even. He slept the sleep of prolonged exhaustion. There was no need to use magic. After once more tucking Henry's feet back under the blankets, Hermione picked up the box of notes from under the bed and headed not to the labs, but to the infirmary, instead.
It wasn't like her one mission in life was to make Draco Malfoy's life difficult. It was just that sometimes, saving the day required breaking the occasional heart.
