Apricity – Chapter Thirty-Eight
They woke almost at the same time.
Draco's eyelids dragged up, his mind pulling him into waking moments before Hermione's did, and then they gazed at one another.
He remembered what it felt like to walk in on what he'd seen—to walk in on her having lost control. She'd thought he'd left her. She'd thought he'd given up on her and in that moment, he wasn't so sure he hadn't. But when he saw the way she looked at him, like she was just so ashamed and so desolate, he'd realized that the only reason why she'd completely fallen apart was because of him.
Because he'd told her he was leaving.
He hadn't been able to hold himself back. As much as he wanted to—as many problems as they still had and things they needed to work through, the moon was full and she was giving herself to him. She was begging him, pleading with him to never leave her again. He didn't want to leave her. He could see their future now, their eternity laid out in stones beneath their feet, and he wanted to walk that path with her at his side.
Lying here now, facing one another in his bed without clothes and without barriers, he could feel it.
He could feel it, the magic traveling inside of him like a second skin. It felt warm and present, much like the previous afternoon in Divination when they'd practiced magical core connections. He felt her and when she looked at him, he could tell she felt him, too.
They were bonded.
Her hand slid up his chest, her eyes following the movement as she trailed it up to the hair at the nape of his neck. Her fingers curled inward, nails scraping his skin, and then she pulled herself closer to his body. The look in her eyes turned heavy, weighing him down with her desire as she hooked a leg over his hip and pressed their lips together.
They rolled until Draco was on his back beneath the coverlet, Hermione grinding atop him with his hands cinching her waist. The feeling of her body, hot and wet as her nudity slid over his caused him to break their kiss to gasp. His arms took over, hands gripping tight as he moved her harder against him, back and forth. His back arched, stomach coiling tight enough to make him groan.
Gods, she could make him fucking come like this.
"Inside," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear and causing him to shiver. "I want you inside me."
"Yeah?" he growled, still half-asleep but hard and aching as the head of him notched her entrance. "Is that what you want, sweet girl? Tell me what you want."
"I want to make you come for me."
"You wanna be in control?" He mouthed at the skin below her jaw, panting when the slickness of her heat nearly swallowed him inward.
"Yeah," she whimpered.
"That's right," he breathed. "You're in control, love. You're in—ah—control."
One more roll of her hips and he slipped inside, the tightness of her channel pulling him deeper than bodies could go. Deeper than the oceans of the Earth, and deeper still.
"Fuck," he said, and it was a whine as he threw his head back against the pillow. His fingers dug into the flesh of her rear, pulling her hard and fast against him. She used her knees, sliding up and down along his length as she chased her climax into the stars. He felt his stomach coiling tighter. Too tight. "Please—Gods, fucking . . ."
Draco lost his thoughts as she rose up with her hands flat on his chest, the foundation of his torso enabling her to go faster. He slid the fingers of one hand into his hair, his muscles twitching.
It felt too good.
Too good and too intense. He simply laid there in a delirium while she fucked him to the edge of universe and back. The look on her face was sublime, ecstasy mixed with determination. The ends of her braids tickled his bare skin with each lift and fall of her hips.
Draco felt it rising up, coming towards him like an earthquake rolling across the bed of the sea. His cock throbbed, pulsing with his desire to fall apart. He felt helpless, like even if he didn't want to come, she wasn't going to let him breathe until he did. His gaze flitted back and forth between her biting her lower lip and the way her breasts bounced.
"You're gonna—" He moaned louder than he probably should have, desperation causing him to lift up on one elbow so he could watch himself split her apart. So he could watch her eradicate him like a nova in space. "Oh, my—fuck. You're gonna make me fucking come."
His other hand snapped up to wrap around her throat, her eyelids fluttering and breath rattling as he squeezed. Her hips jerked, faster and harder. Hard enough to bruise. He was right on the edge, every vein singing as he thrust up from below. He was ten thousand percent certain she wasn't going to finish like this, but at this point, he was too far gone to give a damn.
"Please, please," he whispered, the words falling unbidden from his lips like rainwater from a grey sky. He didn't know if he was begging for her, or begging to come. He just knew his need was a knife in the center of his chest. "Please—fuck—please, Hermione."
"Are you gonna come for me, Draco?" she asked, her voice altogether much too sweet for how sinful she felt inside.
"Mmhm," he hummed, brows pulling together as he whimpered in his chest. He nodded, frantic movements of his head as he hurtled closer to the edge. "Yeah. Fuck—I—Please don't fucking stop. Please—"
It ripped up his spine and across his psyche, the tidal wave of his orgasm crashing into him. He cried out another gravelly fuck as he grabbed her hips and lifted her off of him, pulling out just in time for him to give her everything he had to give her. The waves of pleasure dragged a couple more moans out of him, and then he fell back against the pillows.
Hermione smiled, panting for breath as she gazed down at him. She opened her mouth, starting to speak, but Draco was already moving.
He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up. Simultaneously, he slid down on the bed. When his knees bent and feet hit the floor, he let go of her. She yelped as her pelvis came down, her core landing right on his waiting mouth. He felt her entire body convulsing as his tongue laved against her clit, tasting the muskiness of her arousal and his come.
"Wh—Wait—you don't—" She cried out again as his fingers reached around to slip inside of her, searching and probing. Her body didn't seem to know what to do—move backward to focus on the inside, or grind downward to focus on his tongue—and she wailed.
She always acted so surprised when he made her come.
"Oh, harder," she groaned, her voice small. "Suck harder. Harder, harder, harder."
He obeyed, and she spread her thighs wider, leaning forward to grip the headboard. Her hips jerked again, tiny movements as he heard her hold her breath in her chest. He moved his fingers faster, slamming them inside of her in a way that had her flesh moving and his forearm muscle aching.
The way she liked it.
And then she came, violently and with a sobbing, keening moan, her pelvis rolling to meet the cadence of his tongue as he tasted the depths of her. He moaned, too, from the sheer eroticism of it. By the time she had collapsed to the side, he was propped up on his elbow. He ran his hand down her side, smirking down at her.
"Good morning."
She smiled, lazy and like she was floating through a dream. "Shut up."
"Time to get ready." He smacked her on the rear and bit his lip. She batted his hand away and sat up, some of her braids falling forward. He reached up to push his fingers through them, tucking them behind her ear. "We're going to London today."
"Yes."
"With Theo."
She raised an eyebrow, looking a bit confused. "Yes, and Pansy and Blaise."
Before he could think of what to respond with, she clambered out of bed and grabbed one of his shirts off of his messy floor. She pulled it on and then went to the loo.
Draco rolled onto his back, reaching up to rub at his eyes as he adjusted to being awake. After a shower, he was sure he'd feel better but right then, he felt like he was covered in a layer of something grimy. Now that he and Hermione had consummated their bond, he didn't want anything from the previous week to linger. He was going to do everything in his power to try to make things right.
He dressed in nonchalance that day, tugging on another pair of ripped denims and a long-sleeved black shirt. Then, he frowned at himself in the mirror.
There was once a time where he would have thoroughly enjoyed going to the city with Theo. Theo was his best mate and the person that he had always been closest to. Someone he'd managed to stay friends with even through the war. The argument they'd had in Hogsmeade back in November had made it clear to Draco that Theo was the one who harbored reservations against him. His resentment had come long before Draco's.
Did Theo fancy Hermione? Was that the reason why he'd been so invested in everything about Hermione from the beginning of the year? Draco had known that she was friends with him, but he hadn't started suspecting Theo might have feelings until that night under the falling snow. Not that it was Draco's place at the time to feel any type of irritation by that, but now?
Now, Hermione was his.
The vibes Theo gave him regarding Hermione weren't going to matter anymore. Hermione and Draco were bonded and no matter how much Theo fancied her, she wasn't going anywhere. Not as long as the threat of an incomplete heart hung heavy over her head.
He hoped she didn't chase the emptiness there, too.
That was, of course, presuming she fancied Theo back. At any point in time, Draco understood that it was entirely possible that she could have liked him back. They could have had a relationship that no one knew about. There had been plenty of times where he saw Hermione with Theo—times that he'd never asked about, nor had he received an inkling as to the reasons for.
Crack.
Draco jolted, looking down. His hand had clenched into a fist at his side, causing his knuckles to pop. He took a deep breath, flexing his fingers as he fought back the sudden wave of fury that rolled across his disposition.
Theo had been his friend at one point. That alone was enough to keep him from breaking the loyalty he felt towards him for that. He wouldn't cause problems with his friend.
Provided Theo kept his hands off of what was his.
After smoking the last of the weed together, Draco and Hermione headed out of the common room.
They made their way down the corridor towards the exit that led out to the forest path. They were meeting the others at the train platform and they were a bit late, so they walked at a brisk pace. Draco couldn't stop worrying about how things were going to be with Theo there, hoping that nothing too dramatic went down.
"Here, come here," he drawled, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and pulling her close to his side as they walked. "You gonna sit with me in a compartment?"
Her face contorted with amusement. "Where else would I sit? We aren't sitting together?"
He looked down at her.
Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Draco."
"It's a long trip."
She giggled. Actually laughed, for the first time in what felt like years, and smacked his stomach with the back of her hand.
"What do you think you're gonna do, you prat?!" she exclaimed, eyes shining with mirth.
"Fuck you in the train compartment," he said as though it were the dumbest question he'd ever heard. His fingers squeezed the sides of her neck a bit, feeling her braids shifting beneath his palm. "Obviously."
"Draco, we are absolutely in no way, shape, or form doing anything on the train," she said, rolling her eyes. "We're sitting with our friends."
Our.
Our friends.
"Shame," he murmured, letting go of her neck. "We'll never get to find out how many times I can make you come on the Hogwarts Express. Seems like a missed milestone, but okay."
"Oh, you can put that back, though."
"Put what back?"
Her lips curled up. "Your hand."
With narrow-eyed look, he returned his hand to the back of her neck, his thumb caressing her skin gently when he did.
Theo didn't show up.
In fact, the only person who did was Pansy. She came dashing up with her coat tugged on over her pyjamas, a concerned look on her pale face. After a quick "we already had the day excused," she explained that Blaise had come down with a cold and they couldn't go anymore.
"What about Theo?" Draco asked, his hand still on the back of Hermione's neck. The train hadn't arrived yet and the temperature outside was so cold that he could feel it seeping through his pea coat. "Is he still coming Saturday?"
"He said no," Pansy said, hands on her hips as she tried to catch her breath. Her gaze met Draco's, the suspended silence telling. "We can reschedule the trip for next weekend, though."
Draco nodded. "Yeah, that's fine."
Then, Pansy looked down at Hermione. "You guys look happy. What did he do, propose?"
Hermione coughed and Draco looked to the right, into the distance of the train tracks to hide his grin.
"Not exactly," Hermione answered. "We're just having a good morning."
Draco shook her gently, in an affectionate way while smirking down at Pansy. "A very good morning."
Pansy pulled a face. "Okay, ew. Literally. I'm off."
She took a deep breath, starting to walk backward. Her hair was pulled up into a haphazard bun at the top of her head, and it flopped as she turned to look at the steps down from the platform.
"I've got to get back to Blaise. Sorry for the short notice, guys! Enjoy the day off!"
While she sprinted back off towards the castle, Hermione let out a pleasant sigh.
"I really like her. I'm glad we ended up becoming friends this year. I wish she hadn't fallen prey to Pureblood prejudices. She's one of my best friends now."
Draco raised his eyebrow. "You guys spend a lot of time together?"
"Yes, and we send notes in class. We have a special parchment we use to write when we're in different rooms. And I've got a class with her besides Charms, so we sit together."
"I'm glad you guys get along now," he said, his hands rubbing her upper back absentmindedly. "Circe knows I couldn't have taken another day of you two launching yourselves at one another in the Great Hall."
"Gods, you say that so suspiciously." Hermione turned to face him, her arms sliding around his waist as she let her head fall back to maintain eye contact with him. "She must have really hated me before."
You have no idea.
"She wasn't your biggest supporter, no," he murmured, hunching his shoulders so he could drop a kiss onto her lips. "Why don't we go to London anyway?"
She gasped when he pulled away. "Are you certain?"
Draco shrugged. "Blaise reserved the hotel room."
"What if he already canceled it?"
"We'll just make a new one."
She pursed her lips. "An entire weekend alone with you? I dunno . . ."
When he tickled her sides, she laughed. It sounded like music.
It took a couple more moments, but finally, he got her to agree to come to London with him. The train showed up at eleven, exactly as it was supposed to, and then they picked a random compartment. They sat down across from one another, Draco with one foot up on the seat beside her and Hermione with her legs crossed underneath her on the cushion. She looked out the window.
He looked at her.
After handling the hotel—which still had their reservation in their systems—and Apparating to Diagon to exchange their galleons for pounds, Draco and Hermione decided to go to lunch.
She ate like normal and Draco was so ecstatic to see it that he felt like he was floating up to the sky. She didn't seem anxious or upset, and she laughed and smiled at the snarky remarks he made like she used to do. He knew better than to make any comments, and he knew not to get too excited. They were together, they were bonded, and they were having a good time.
That did not mean that she was better.
The diamond necklace he'd given her was clasped around her neck, sitting pretty against the long-sleeved black shirt she'd worn that day. She'd also chosen to wear high-heeled black boots and a pair of black denims that were skin-tight from hip to ankle. When they'd stopped in the hotel room to check it out, she'd pulled her braids up into a ponytail at the top of her head, and now the tails hung over the front of her left shoulder.
"I see you matched me today," he murmured as he speared some of his food with his fork. He smirked at her. "Would you like to wear my skin, too?"
"Get over it," she said, taking a large bite of her own meal. She wrinkled her nose, her catlike brown eyes glimmering. "I wanted to be comfortable. What's more comfortable than denims and a shirt?"
"Nudity."
"Draco, shut up. For Godric's sake." She laughed around a mouthful of food. "If you don't like my outfit, you'll just have to accept it. It's what I'm wearing."
"Hermione, you look beautiful," he said, one eyebrow up. "I like your outfit."
"Quit playing," she said, but there was a blush staining her cheeks.
They ate in comfortable silence for a while, both of their gazes flitting about the rather quaint restaurant they'd chosen. They currently sat at a small, square table with a white tablecloth and a vase of daisies in the center of it. The establishment wasn't too full, but there were enough people that they weren't looking around at nothing.
"So, what do you want to do next?" she asked, picking up another bite. "I'm almost done eating."
"Get a tattoo."
She snorted. "As if you don't already have 3,500. You don't need another one."
"But I want another one," he purred, smirking and setting his fork down. He bit his lip, leaning back nonchalantly in the chair and sinking down into it. "Are you telling me I can't have what I want?"
She scowled and threw her gaze up towards the ceiling. "Draco, you can have whatever you want."
"Oh, I know. I have you."
Her cheeks flamed red once again. "You're laying it on thick today."
He rested his left elbow on the arm of the chair, his right forearm on the other arm. He rubbed his chin with his left hand, studying her. "How much thicker do I need to lay it on to convince you?"
"Convince me to what? To go with you while you get another unnecessary tattoo?" The fork disappeared into her mouth again. She gave him a thoughtful look. "I'm gonna need another kilometer."
"If you go with me to get a tattoo, my beautiful, illustrious, stunning witch, I will take you to a bookstore."
She spluttered on her water and began to laugh uncontrollably. A hand pressed to her stomach and her eyes twinkled with her amusement. An incredulous look was leveraged in his direction.
"Is this what I have to look forward to?!" she said, still giggling. "An eternity of you getting more tattoos until you have to start putting them on me?!"
He perked up. "You want one?"
"What? No, I . . . I can't get a tattoo."
"Why not?"
"Because," she said. "Because—"
"Why not?"
"It's mental."
"Mental? You think I'm mental?" He raised his eyebrows again.
"No, but—well, I mean—" She let out a nervous laugh. "Draco, I can't get a tattoo."
"Why not?"
"What would I even get?"
He shrugged. "Anything. Most of mine don't mean anything. A few do, like the ones on my neck and the dragon on my back. But the rest are just fuck-all."
She leaned back, tapping a finger to her chin. "Well . . . All right. Maybe something small."
"No," he said. "Cover your entire back."
At the look of horror on her face, he couldn't hold it in. He held the inside of his fist to his lips as he burst out laughing. He waved a hand and shook his head.
"Hermione," he said, still laughing. "I'm only joking."
She shot him a stern look and then sighed. "I'll think about it, but yes—we can go and you can get one."
He grinned.
They went to the same tattoo parlor that Draco had been to multiple times over the Summer.
He and Blaise had been there more times than he could count, sometimes so Draco could get more than one tattoo per day. Draco had lucked out with a tattoo artist he felt friendly with, who was open to doing more than one sitting in a day because they got along so well. And since Draco often allowed the artist the freedom to draw whatever he wanted, effectively turning himself into a walking human canvas, it was a symbiotic relationship that had led him to the place he was now.
Covered.
After going to Gringotts a second time to pull out even more money from his personal account, they Apparated to a part of London that Draco knew well.
When Draco held the door open for Hermione to duck underneath his arm, his gaze swept the expanse of the medium-sized shop. There were five open stations scattered around the edges of the room, all decorated to match the aesthetics of the artists who sat inside of them, and three of them had artists in them. The buzz of tattoo machines felt like a familiar comfort to Draco, but in a somber way.
He remembered using that buzz to fill the void in his chest.
As they walked up to the counter, where a girl with baby bangs and bright green hair stood, Draco spotted his tattoo artist in the far right corner.
Diego had his black hair slicked back against the top of his head, the sides shaved to reveal the tattoos on the sides of his head. His skin was so decorated in colorful tattoos that not a speck of bare flesh remained save for that of his face. He looked up from wiping down the chair, and his eyes lit up.
"Ayy, it's you!"
Draco's face split into a grin as he greeted him, his hand going to the back of Hermione's neck beneath her ponytail made of braids. "Ayy, it's me! What's up?"
"Not much, not much." Diego looked genuinely happy to see him. "I thought we wouldn't be seeing you again for a while. You said you were going back to school."
"Yeah, I did," Draco said with a laugh. "Still am. We just skived off."
Diego smirked as he headed over to the counter and stood beside the green-haired girl. "Wouldn't expect less from you."
"You got any openings today?"
"For you, my love?" Diego said, still grinning. "Absolutely. What are we thinking today?"
As they conversed, one of the other artists in the shop—someone new that Draco didn't recognize from the Summer—looked up from the woman he was tattooing the forearm of. His gaze washed over Draco, who was now leaning over the counter with his hands flat on top of it, and then it landed on Hermione. It swept the length of her body and then back up. And there it stayed.
Hermione didn't seem to notice. She was too busy looking at the shop, taking in the sights of the décor and the ink drawings that the artists had smattered all over the walls. She bobbed her head absentmindedly to the Muggle rock music that played over the speakers, her hands curved along the front edge of the counter and tapping away to the tune.
"All right, let's get this shite going," Diego said. "Follow me to the chair."
"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Hermione murmured quickly as they took their coats off and hung them on the rack the green-haired receptionist pointed out. "I thought you said you were stretching your money out."
The money he had was supposed to last him. But that was before he'd gone to see his father with her. There was now something inside of him that told him that he wasn't going to freeze his father out forever.
He just wasn't sure when he would be ready to start thinking about tackling the guilt at the same time as forgiveness.
"It's fine," he said with an air of finality hovering about both him and his voice. "Don't worry."
She gave him a look of suspicion but seemed to disregard it. Her heels clacked against the wooden floor as she followed him over to the station. She sat down on the stool that Diego pulled up on the other side of the chair, and then Diego took the other stool. He began to prepare his tools and ink.
"You sure we got room left?" Diego asked.
Draco reached over the back of his head to tug his long-sleeved shirt off. His eyes met Hermione's as he stood there, shirtless, and handed it to her. He could see her struggling not to look at his torso and it made him want to smirk.
He wanted to tell her it was okay to look.
"Yeah, we got some here on my chest."
Diego studied the tattoos on Draco's neck and chest, gaze moving from the chains and roses down to the twin serpents, thorns, and celestial things that spanned the skin. He nodded to himself.
"Yeah, there's some room. I'll fill in the extra space, and then add the clock face below it."
"You mean right there?" Draco gestured to himself.
"Yes, there. On your sternum, where the snake's tails come down."
"Ace."
He lowered himself into the chair. "D'you think we could do it black-and-grey but with like, a hint of red?"
"Yeah, we could do that, McGreedy."
"Shut your arse up," Draco said, laughing.
He jolted when he felt fingers sliding gently against his back, horizontal along the spines of the dragon's head. They trailed down its neck, traveling over his vertebrae on their way to the wings. As Hermione traced each spike on its wings, he felt a shiver run through him. His skin rippled.
Diego said, "Okay, go ahead and lay back."
Draco smirked and drawled, "Why, wanna fuck me or something?"
"I'm going to cancel you," Diego said, but he was smiling, too. "Cancelled."
Hermione's fingers seemed to drag away from his body as Draco laid back. He lifted one knee, resting his foot on the seat as Diego pushed a lever to make it recline. Draco stretched one arm up and tucked his hand behind his head. The other, he let trail down to hang off of the chair. His fingers were within millimeters of Hermione's knee and the top of her calf.
After putting on latex gloves and wiping Draco's skin down, the buzzing began.
Draco gritted his teeth against the pain as the needle pressed into his skin. It started underneath his collarbone and etched its way towards his heart. It vibrated down to his bones and then he fell into the familiarity of it. It was something he knew. Something he could expect.
Something that made him forget.
"So, whatever happened with that girl?" Draco asked. "The one you were going with in August."
Diego chuckled, his gaze focused on his work. "Gone."
"No."
"Yes. Gone. She was out of there with the quickness."
"Ah, that sucks. You—" Draco hissed as the needle swirled up over the slope of the place where his collarbones nearly met. "Fuck. You said you liked her."
"I did." Diego's eyebrows shot up. "But I dunno. We went to this club and she was like, dancing with these guys. And I walked up to her and it just became a situation. You know how it is."
"Yeah."
Draco's fingers drifted up along the outside of Hermione's calf, but he kept his eyes focused on the bite of needle in flesh. It hurt like a burn—it was his chest, after all—but it felt so insignificant compared to what he felt inside every day since the Dark Lord came into his life. Since he took everything within him and turned it to shadows.
"So, why's this one so quiet?" Diego asked, raising his voice in a pleasant tone. "You just here to watch?"
Draco gave Hermione a half of a smile, watching as she lifted one of the arms that she'd folded in her lap to wave a dismissive hand.
"Oh, yeah. I'm just here to watch him," she said. "I don't have any tattoos."
Diego arched one eyebrow and exchanged amused glances with Draco, who spoke.
"I've been trying to convince her to get one. I don't think she's changed her mind yet."
Hermione pursed her lips.
Diego said, "Come on. What, are you worried about your mom having a panic attack?"
Draco cringed, but Hermione seemed to take it in stride.
"No, I am not," she said, chuckling. "I'm more worried about the pain. I don't know if I can handle it—my tolerance is so low."
As if on cue, Draco hissed again. He sucked air in through his teeth as Diego's needle outlined the left side of the clock face on his sternum. Hermione grimaced.
"Exactly," she said.
"It's really not that bad," Diego said. "Tell her, Draco."
"It really isn't," Draco said, even though his chest was on fire. "It's like a scratch."
"That doesn't look like it would feel like a scratch," Hermione challenged.
"Because he's lying to you, baby doll," Diego said, throwing his head back to laugh. "For real, though—it all matters where you get the damn thing. If you want it on your upper arm, it's no big deal. If you fuck around and get your first tattoo on your bloody face, then you're gonna have a bad time."
Draco laughed. "Yeah, get a face tattoo, Hermione."
She stared at him. "You get a face tattoo."
"No, you."
They narrowed their eyes at one another. His fingers curled around her calf and he squeezed. Then, like flames ripping through a dying forest, evil spread her smile wide.
"If you get one on your face," she said, "then I'll get a tattoo."
Diego burst out laughing, so hard that he had to lift the needle. Draco glared at him and then shot Hermione a wicked grin.
"All right."
Her jaw dropped. "Are you . . . Wait, really?"
"Yeah."
Her brow furrowed and her eyes widened. "Boy, you got to be either stupid or insane. I'm not sure which."
"Which one makes you want to fuck me?"
Diego laughed again, his head thrown back. "You guys are cracking me up. Just go see Tomas over there. He'll fix you right up."
Hermione scowled and stood up. She smoothed out the front of her shirt and then crossed her arms over her chest. Her ponytail swung back, the ends of her braids swaying.
"What do I get?" she asked.
"Are you asking me? Are you serious?" Diego looked like he found her words horrifying. He looked at Draco. "Is she serious?"
A flash of panic crossed Hermione's face and Draco jumped to action.
"She's only joking. Hermione, you can get anything. It can be something you like, or you can just let the artist do whatever. What's important to you?"
She frowned, her gaze falling downward as her thoughts flickered across her face. Then, she dragged her eyes up and met his.
"Gardenias."
Draco felt something in his heart warming up, melting like snow beneath sunlight as he gazed up at her. He reached out to grip her hip in a show of affection, and then he looked at Diego.
"Well, then you can tattoo a gardenia on my face when we're done with this."
"Sure," Diego replied as the needle moved across to the other side of Draco's chest.
"And there you go," Draco said.
Hermione sighed and glanced across the shop. "I'll go over there, to that guy."
"Tomas," Diego supplied.
"Tomas," she said, and then she walked away.
In the silence that followed, Draco felt excited. He wondered how the tattoo would look. There was something intriguing about the idea of Hermione Granger going from being Hogwarts' resident bookworm to having a tattoo. Sure, he was covered in more than he could count, but he was Draco Malfoy. He was a former Death Eater. He'd fought on the wrong side of the war.
One tattoo on her body was worth more than every tattoo he had on his body.
"That your girl?" Diego asked.
"Yeah," Draco said, voice a bit hoarse from laughing.
Diego smirked. "She's hot."
"So you wanna die. Okay. All right."
"Shut up," Diego said, both of them laughing. He resumed tattooing. "Anyway, about that girl from the Summer. She—"
"Diego?"
"Hm?"
"Call her baby doll again, and I'll slit your throat."
The tattoo gun continued to buzz, even as it stopped moving. Diego gave him an incredulous look, to which Draco responded with a slow smirk.
Diego rolled his eyes. "I can't with you."
Draco ran his tongue along his top teeth and glanced over to the right, across the shop at Hermione. The artist who had been looking at her when they entered the building was talking to her, his hands moving about as he described something to her. She had her arms crossed, her body language closed off, but something didn't sit right with Draco. Something about the way the guy looked at her made a serpent deep inside of his abdomen curl and twist in warning.
Then, when Hermione sat down in the chair and pulled her shirt down to expose her shoulder and drag her arm out through the collar, he felt the serpent rise.
"Di," he said, his gaze trained upon every movement of Tomas' hand.
"Yeah?"
"Who is Tomas?"
"Oh, him? Yeah, he's new. Been here about a month. He's got nice shading skills. Why?"
Draco said nothing, flinching when Diego's needle hit a tender spot. He clenched his teeth, watching the way Hermione turned her face away from Tomas's needle as he begun. She looked up, over at Draco, and glared at him.
"She's gonna kick your arse tonight, Draco," Diego said as he worked. "I can tell she's the type to cry."
"She doesn't look like she's crying to me," Draco countered.
Diego glanced over and let out another laugh. "You're right. She looks proper brassed off. Looks like you're just getting the arse-kicking tonight. Anyway, will you let me finish telling you about the shite that happened?"
"Yeah."
Draco fell silent, switching between listening to Diego talk and feeling the pain of the needle. As the time wore on, going from ten minutes to thirty, the burning increased to a point that it was starting to wear on him. He rested one hand on his stomach and slung the other arm across his eyes to block out the light. The foot that he'd placed on the chair beside his other knee remained, but the anxiety began to pound in his veins and expand in his chest.
"Don't fuck it up. Quit bouncing your leg," Diego said, his voice a concentrated murmur as he shaded in parts of the clock. The needle ran back and forth, back and forth over his skin. It felt like it was being rubbed raw.
"Fuck," Draco growled. "Don't fucking talk to me."
"Rude."
Draco's brows twitched together beneath his arm. He hadn't forgotten how bad his other chest tattoos had hurt, but he supposed he'd been too distracted by other things to put it to the forefront of his mind.
In the distance, beneath the sound of the loud music, he could hear the murmur of Hermione's voice. It mingled with Tomas' laughter and made the serpent in Draco's stomach launch itself up to his chest.
He felt like it was taking the artist way too long to tattoo a fucking flower. As important as the flower was, did it need to take this long?
"That shite should have taken twenty minutes," Draco said through his teeth, trying to bear the feeling of the needles on his sternum.
"Don't be ridiculous," Diego said. "An hour at least."
"Well, what size is she getting? Can you look?"
"I'm legit trying to tattoo you right now."
"Just fucking—look, will you?"
After a pause, Diego said, "It's the front, top, and side of her shoulder, mate. He's got the outline done and he's starting the shading now."
"Stupid."
Diego chuckled but said nothing.
More time passed and soon, he could hear Hermione's laughter. He couldn't tell if it was fake or real and it made him want to spring up and walk over there. He just wanted to see what they were doing. To know what they were talking about.
What if Tomas was making her uncomfortable? What if the only reason why she was laughing was to disarm him into thinking she wasn't? What if this was like Paris, when she tried to talk her way out of—
"Di, I gotta go over there," he said. "Like, you don't understand."
"No, you don't," Diego replied. "And quit bouncing your fucking leg."
"They're laughing too much."
"Because he's hitting on her."
Draco felt a violent rage flaring within his body, but Diego suspected it. He lifted the needle from Draco's skin and pressed his hand flat to his shoulder.
"If you get up, I swear to God."
"You just told me that—"
"Tomas hits on every girl who comes in here that's even remotely attractive to him." Diego sounded annoyed. He brought the needle back to Draco's skin, and none-too-gently. "Now, suck it up, shut up, and lay there. And quit bouncing your leg."
Draco grumbled curse words to himself for a long second, keeping his forearm over his eyes to stave off the headache.
Even with water breaks, he could feel himself reaching his limit by the time another hour had passed. The combination of the scraping needles, Hermione and Tomas' barely audible and absolutely fun conversation, and the thought of her freaking out and breaking down later made him want to scream. His chest felt like it was bathing in something infernal.
"How's it going so far?" Hermione's voice came to fruition beside him.
Draco lifted his arm a bit, cracking open one eye. He hoped she could see how irritated he was.
"It feels like Hell," he snarled. "How'd it go for you, Chatty?"
She sat down on the stool. With a ginger hand, she pulled the neckline of her shirt aside, revealing the plastic covering her new tattoo.
It was indeed a gardenia, black-and-grey in color, and it spanned the majority of her shoulder. The petals stretched over the end of her collarbone, down towards her bicep, and around the side as though reaching toward her back. The leaves as well as the bottoms of the petals looked like they'd been shaded darker than the rest of the tattoo. It really was gorgeous work, but Draco hated the fact that Tomas had had his hands on her.
He knew he was being ridiculous. Possessive and maybe a bit too protective, but it was difficult. It was difficult knowing what she'd been through and how hard it was for her to even get to a point where Draco could touch her. For another man to have his hands all over her for any reason . . .
But she looked happy.
"Do you like it?" she said.
"Oh, Hell yeah," Diego said. "It looks sick. Tomas always does such clean lines."
"I really like it," she replied, still sounding excitable and energetic. "It didn't even hurt as bad as I thought. Well, I mean, some parts did, but for the most part, it was just like, a vibration."
"Even better," Diego said, and then he resumed the shading on Draco's tattoo.
"So, do you like it, Draco?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, his teeth still clenched.
"You don't sound like you do."
"Well, I do," he snapped.
Diego cleared his throat. "He's in a lot of pain. Just ignore him."
"Fuck you."
Hermione tsked. "Draco, don't be rude."
"Rude is his middle name," Diego said. "Ah-ah—shut your mouth, Draco. Just be quiet until I'm done. We got like, fifteen minutes to go on this."
Draco scowled heavily, covering both eyes with his arm again. He heard the stool cushion shifting as Hermione sat down, and then he felt her fingers curving over the top of his raised knee. She squeezed.
"It looks really beautiful," she said to Diego. "I really like the red and I love the way you added those broken chain links."
"Looks good, doesn't it?" Diego replied. "It really goes well with the chains on his neck."
The two of them engaged in light conversation for the remainder of the time. Then, when Draco thought his muscles might start shaking from the prolonged exposure to the pain of the needles, Diego turned off the machine. The buzzing went silent and Draco felt relief flooding his body like a wave from an ocean of reprieve.
He sat up, feeling Hermione's hand on the back of his left shoulder. She assisted him as he rose, and his head throbbed. He was going to need way more than Dittany after this.
"So, where do you want it?" Diego asked.
The relief dissipated, becoming replaced by dismay.
That was right. He'd forgotten already.
The face tattoo.
"Uh . . ." Draco bit his lower lip for a second. "Right underneath my temple."
"Like on the cheekbone?"
"Yeah."
The buzzing began again. Draco wanted to scream.
As the needles began their familiar pulling and scraping against the soft skin that stretched over his sharp cheekbone, Draco thought he might actually cry. It was too much. It really was. He didn't want to look like that arsehole, so he forced himself to close his eyes and bear it.
Fingernails across his back.
Draco shivered as he felt Hermione's fingernails grazing across his back tattoos. They traced no particular pattern—they seemed to only be there to soothe. And when she started rubbing circles into his upper back, he knew he was going to kiss the fuck out of her when they got out of here.
When the tattoo was finally done, Draco got up off of the chair and went to the mirror on the wall.
"These are fucking ace, mate," he said, turning his cheek toward the mirror to view the small gardenia.
It was a perfect rendition, with neat linework and just the right amount of shading. The tattoo on his chest blended perfectly with the ones on his neck.
He'd already had the snakes that rippled along his collarbones like they were traversing the planes of his upper body, but now surrounded by smoke shading, they looked more complete. The chains wrapped around the roses' petals on his neck seemed to hang down into broken links that rained down around the red-shaded clock face. The clock had no hands, which Draco felt represented the way he felt about his life. That time was irrelevant. It moved so slowly that it was almost nonexistent, and yet he was so afraid of so many things going wrong that it was moving too fast to need hands.
Hermione stood beside him. In their reflection, he could see her ogling him. Her gaze was almost hungry as it took in the sights of not just the new tattoos, but the ones on his arms, abdomen, and the backs of his hands. Finally, she met his eyes.
Hers burned.
Draco turned to Diego and asked him in a low tone if he had any weed. Diego did, selling him enough to replenish what he and Hermione had blown through in such a short time. He tucked it into his pocket for later. Following that, they covered his tattoo with a special lotion and then, for his chest, plastic wrap.
After Draco paid for both of their tattoos—with much protest from Hermione before she relented—they left with Draco's hand wrapped around her waist, tugging her tight against his side. The moment they rounded the corner into the alley between the tattoo parlor and the building beside it, he had her pressed up against the brick wall within seconds.
He slammed his forearm above her head, his lips crashing into hers the moment his flesh hit brick. Hermione threw her arms around his neck and pulled herself onto her toes, her tongue shoving its way into his mouth and exploring its depths as though it were the first time. She whimpered when her freshly-tattooed skin stretched but seemed to push through it as her fingers found their way into the hair at the back of his head.
"You're mine," he growled, his hand wrapping around her throat and his lips brushing her jawline.
"I know," she said, her voice small and faint. Her gaze flickered between his eyes. "Why do you look so scared?"
Draco didn't like that Tomas has touched her, talked to her, or made her laugh. He didn't like it because Tomas didn't know her like he did. He didn't know what she truly found funny. He didn't know how she liked to be touched. He didn't know how long it had taken Draco to convince her to get the tattoo.
Tomas didn't know her.
He didn't know what she sounded like when she cried. He didn't know how much pain she was in every waking moment of every day. He would never know what it felt like to hear her screams, to feel her sobbing in his arms. Tomas would never see her roots, so why should he get to see her petals when she bloomed?
Whether Draco was possessive or protective, it didn't fucking matter.
"Because the thought of anyone—especially a man—touching you without knowing how beautiful you are inside makes me angrier than I thought," he said, his fingers fluttering against her pulse as he cocked his head to the side. "I'm the only one who knows what it takes to make you happy."
"It was just a tattoo," she said, her voice quivering.
He pressed his forehead against hers and took a deep breath.
"And I love you.m," he said.
The space between them stretched as wide as the distance between their stars and then their lips met. They met again and again, soft and gentle, and then hard and bruising. He cupped her face with his hands and pinned her to the wall with his body. Her hands curved over his shoulders like she wanted him to envelop him and keep her safe. They kissed, mindless of the fact that the sidewalk just beyond the mouth of the alley they were currently snogging in was crowded and full.
Draco loved this girl. He genuinely loved her. He wanted to take everything bad that had ever happened to her and burn it. He wanted to take the memories she had of Paris and send them down to Hell so they could never return to plague her. He would do anything for her and if he ever lost her—to a man or to her disorder—he'd do whatever he could to get her back.
He would do absolutely fucking anything for her.
Suddenly, she pushed him back, gasping for breath and ducking her head down for a moment. When she looked up at him, her eyes were strangely guarded.
"Do you want to go wander around the mall?" she asked.
Draco yanked his psyche out of the lustful mud. "Wait, what?"
"Do you want to go to the mall?" She wet her swollen lips with her tongue. "And walk around with me?"
His brows twitched together. "I mean—"
"It's just a little overwhelming," she whispered, and she turned her face away. "That's all."
Draco's heart sunk in his aching chest. "What's overwhelming? Us?"
"No. How badly I want you."
His heart leapt back up and skipped a beat.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I know we already slept together and now you're probably going to want to all the time, but I—I—"
He caught her chin and lifted it. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm not Weasley."
She pressed her lips together, her facial expression appearing worried. It almost seemed like she didn't believe him. It was like there was something there—some sort of barrier or hurdle that they hadn't yet crossed.
"Yeah, we can go to the mall, love," he said, his tone gentle as his thumb caressed her cheekbone. Scrutinizing her, he could see that she was somewhat upset. He hated to think it was because of the fact that they'd slept together. He didn't want her to have any regrets. "Come here."
He kissed her again, feeling the way her lips trembled against his. Something much deeper than affection coiled in his chest, concerned and anxious.
Whatever was bothering her, they were going to get to the bottom of it. No more running and hiding. No more bottling things up.
They would figure it out tonight.
