number three! please favorite and leave reviews, they make my day :)
the bathroom on the Hogwarts Express, part 2
The summer is exceptionally long for him.
Not only because his father is in Azkaban, or because his mum is beside herself when the fucking Dark Lord moves in to their house, but the main reason is her.
He thinks about her all the time and their complete lapse of good judgement. Twice. He thinks about her face, her gorgeous face and the expressions she makes when they have sex — when she orgasms around him, when she comes down from her high and smiles just slightly.
All he wants is to do it again. And again. And again.
But it's such a bad idea. He's already acknowledged this to himself before, during, and after both of their encounters.
Plus, he doesn't know how to keep her from seeing his bloody Dark Mark if they were to shag again. Other than keeping his shirt on, of course, but that's unattractive, not when he has so much going for him in the upper body category. It's like keeping your socks on.
He's nervous, stupidly he thinks, to be with her again, and when his mum asks him if he's okay as they walk into King's Cross Station, he's tempted to tell her that he's obsessing over a girl. But she'd ask so many questions.
He can't find her on the platform, and for a brief moment, he thinks she might not come back with the threat of Voldemort leering over everyone. But he does see a sea red hair, and the token black-haired wizard, so he relaxes a little.
The anticipation of simply seeing her has his stomach in knots, but he doesn't show it. Blaise and Pansy stick to his sides like glue, and if he wants to escape them, he must come up with an excuse better than needing to use the loo. They'd come looking for him in two minutes.
Excusing himself from the presence required some fancy footwork, but they eventually let him go under the pretense that he would be terrorizing the new First Years. It isn't even something that sounded fun, not anymore, so perhaps he is growing up. Or he just has other things to worry about.
He wanders the train, and people quickly move out of his way without him asking, which in the past would make him smug. Now he just rolls his eyes as he moves up the train, edging closer to the bathroom from the end of June.
She sits in a compartment on the same train car as the bathroom with Weasley and Potter, and they're locked in conversation. Her bloody cat stares at him through the glass, but it's only a cat, can't be too intimidating, right?
He can see her face, covered slightly with her longer and lighter hair. She's gorgeous, she's intelligent, she laughs at something one of the boys says, and his skin is burned with the mark of the Dark Lord. He's tempted to walk away, keep himself from going down this hole, but then she looks out the window and they see each other and damn, it's a good hole to go down into.
No pun intended.
He arches an eyebrow and goes to the front of the car to enter the loo. He leaves it unlocked and expects her any moment. His mind is already racing, and he wishes he could just be naked when she enters, but there's the stupid mark. He settles for removing his suit jacket only when he sees the doorknob twist out of the corner of his eye.
She enters the loo, locks it, casts the silencing spell, and looks at him, eyes wide. For a moment, he freezes. She's even more beautiful than he remembers, and fuck, he's half-hard already.
She grins, and he has to fight back a full smile, gotta maintain some parts of his reputation, but he's delighted she's excited to see him. She steps forward and sighs when she places a hand on his chest over his heart, which is beating erratically. "Nervous … or relieved?" She asks, her breath smelling sweet as it cascades over his face.
He swallows and looks down at her. God, she's so short. "Honestly? Relieved."
The corner of her mouth turns up, and she drags her fingers down his chest and stops at his belt buckle. "Good. Because I've been thinking about this for two long months."
"Me too," he practically growls and shoves her against the wall, claiming her mouth with his. She moans into his mouth and the sound rushes through his ears and straight to his dick. She's already unbuckling his pants and he doesn't stop her. Her tongue enters his mouth and he's surprised at her aggressiveness but it's not unwelcome. In fact, it kind of turns him on even more.
Confident women, man, what else can he say?
Her hands push down his pants and he shimmies out of them. He breaks the kiss to yank off his shoes so he doesn't trip over himself. He pulls the hem of her shirt over her head and his mouth waters at the sight of her bra — he never thought she would wear a black lace bra, but if she's been preparing for this for months, she could have all sorts of new tricks.
She blushes at his intense gaze and tries to make it easier for him by reaching around and undoing it herself. He swallows roughly, her breasts heaving as she pants, and he pulls her into another searing kiss. She gasps as her nipples rub against the fabric of his shirt and he pushes his leg in between hers. She groans as the tent in his boxers brushes against her thigh and she moves her hips to rock against it.
He trails hot kisses down her neck and sucks on the skin at the junction between neck and shoulder. She moans and one hand grips a fistful of his hair while the other squeezes his arse, pushing against him for more friction.
She's still wearing her jeans, and he needs them off, so he unbuttons her pants and pushes them down her legs. She kicks them and her shoes off, and unabashedly stands before him in the matching lace panties and if he isn't light-headed already, he definitely is now.
"Fuck," he whispers, running his hand through his hair, and she seems to have gotten the response she wanted. He reaches to take them off, but she evades his hand and drops to her knees in front of him. "Fuck," he repeats as she looks up at him through dark lashes, grinning, and pulls down his boxers slow enough, it's torture. His dick springs free and the head is leaking, he's so turned on.
She examines him so thoroughly he starts to squirm. She breathes against him and the warm air makes his eyes flutter shut. He wants to know what she's thinking, but soon enough he can't think at all, since she's taken him in her hand, and it's warm and soft and god she's good. She strokes him firmly, from base to head, over and over, while the fingers from her other hand dig into his thigh. His head rolls back and he groans. Then she pauses, and then he feels her lips brush against him and he bucks forward, the head of his cock entering her mouth. He moans her name, her first name, and he doesn't care.
She doesn't seem to mind, or notice, or care, and she takes more of him into her mouth. He swears loudly, his hands gripping the counter behind him so tightly his knuckles turn white. She licks and sucks and with every bob of her head, she takes more. He's amazed, and he wants to look down, to watch, but he thinks that if he sees his dick slide past her pink lips, he'll probably die.
He places a shaky hand on the top of her head and she pauses. He pushes her forward and she resumes, letting him set the pace, faster this time. She's so eager to please him, so soft and wet and hot, it's so good but it's too much. He can't be done too soon.
He murmurs her name, and she pulls herself off of him and stands. He finally opens his eyes and sees her face. Her pupils are blown wide and she licks her swollen lips. If she doesn't know how hot she is, she should know now.
"You're … you … god." He can't speak. She giggles a little and slowly begins to unbutton his shirt. Okay, unbuttoning is fine, but it cannot come off. "Turn around," he mutters, eyes darkening.
She raises her eyebrows for a moment and turns to face the sink. He runs a hand down her back slowly and hooks his fingers in her underwear to drag them down. They stick to her, a testament to how fucking wet she is, and he can smell her. It's a tantalizing smell, an addictive smell. She looks over her shoulder and he pushes her down so she's laying on the counter with her feet firmly planted on the floor. She widens her stance and arches her back like a goddamn goddess, looking at him in the mirror above the sink.
He doesn't notice right away that she's watching him — he's too busy kissing the back of her neck and trailing his fingers down her back and feeling his way around her entrance. He sticks one finger, then two inside of her and she moans, pushing back against him. She is so wet and so ready, he doesn't need to do anything other than fucking enter her.
Before he does though, she whispers his name and he looks up, locking eyes with her through the mirror. His breath catches in his throat and he misses, effectively rubbing the head of his dick over her entrance and clit instead. They both moan at the feeling and then look at each other again. He wants to look away, it's almost too intense, but he can't bring himself to. He pushes into her, slowly, enjoying this moment. He watches her face as he goes deeper. First her mouth falls open in a gasp, then her brows draw together, and she bites her lip, and a moan finds it's way out of her throat. She's fighting the urge to close her eyes too, and he grips her hips tighter as he completely bottoms out. Her moan turns into a wail as his head rubs against her spot. He doesn't pull all the way out, just barely because he can't bring himself to part from her, and then rocks back in, hitting it again. It perfect, and he doesn't want to stop.
She can't stop making noises and has to tear her eyes away from his and stare down at the sink, arching her back even lower. He curses at how wet and tight she is, and she pushes back against him to meet his thrusts. He doesn't know how long he can do this, so he gives her everything he has, slamming into her every time. He isn't sure how they're even moving because their bodies are so close together, but she's practically screaming and it's not his last name anymore, and it's enough to send him over the edge.
He pounds into her, the sound of their skin slapping together louder than the train engine, and he's coming and growling in her ear, and the assault on her g-spot makes her scream and squeeze the shit out of him as she comes. It's possibly the most intense orgasm either has had.
He can only hear the rushing in his ears and his heartbeat, or hers, or both, as he pants into her hair. She's still moving against him, prolonging it, as she breathes deeply and as sweat trickles from her hairline down her temple. He keeps a hand on her back but needs his other to push back his sweaty hair. The bathroom is hot and sticky, much like themselves, but they stay joined as they come down from their highs.
Eventually, she squeezes his hand and he knows it's time to go. He hates parting, but they must. They get a few paper towels wet and clean up, and she's learned how to change the temperature of a room since they last met. The cold air helps them cool off and pull their clothes back on with ease. He casts the spells carefully, and she smiles in gratitude.
"So," she starts, and he expects a speech, but is met with only one question. "This is going to continue?"
He doesn't know how to answer that question without sounding eager or flippant. He says, "Well …" and tries to find the right words. He must look lost, because she chuckles and kisses his cheek, the most platonic touching they've ever done.
"Draco Malfoy, I just blew you in the bathroom of the Hogwarts Express. There is no need to hide anything."
He wishes that weren't true, because he definitely needs to hide one thing, but he flashes her a grin, playing along. "Well, then I suppose I'll be seeing you soon."
She laughs, "Perhaps next time, we can actually use a bed."
"Beds are for boring people," he quips back.
"Mmm, I'm not so sure about that," her brows draw together as though she is contemplating something, then leans in and whispers in his ear, "although I am a fan of having sex in public places."
His mouth drops open and even though he is totally and completely spent, his cock twitches inside his pants. She keeps a straight face as she unlocks the door, but her eyes are full of mirth. He leans back against the wall and runs a hand through his hair.
"Holy shit."