AN: NSFW Chapter so take care!
He takes her by surprise.
After briefly discussing the ins and outs of the case, the meeting tomorrow at the fundraiser, the details attributing to them going, they stand almost toe to toe, and a curious expression- one Hermione can't quite place, overcomes Malfoy's features as he observes her.
It's almost like some kind of subtle frown, she thinks, or perhaps he's simply thinking- she can't quite place it. And that's when he takes her by surprise in the overwhelming silence of her flat.
"I also heard that Glenn asked you to go with him to the fundraiser," he says, taking the final step to have them toe to toe, her bare feet meeting the tips of his shoes. The way he says Glenn's name like it's a bitter pill he's trying to swallow does not go unnoticed- a reminder of their previous discussion surrounding names.
Hermione finds herself looking up at him, into his grey eyes.
"Yes," she replies, voice both surprised and yet ever so quiet, "where did you hear that?"
There is a beat of silence, then, and her brown eyes take in his face, which looks carefully controlled once more, smirk vanished. His jaw ticks.
"Are you going to go with him?" He asks, ignoring her own question. It irks her, him avoiding an answer. Finds herself frowning ever so.
"Now that we're required to go, are you going to go with him?" He asks again, his eyes boring into her own.
She can't help but feel that perhaps he'd had a third reason to turn up tonight. That this is the third.
"Are you jealous?"
Can't help the words as they tumble from her lips, the curiosity she'd pushed down earlier coming back with vengeance. The question feels familiar, a repeat of the last time she'd said these words to him- questioned him.
Apart from their breathing, which is almost silent, still, Malfoy says nothing. His jaw is tight, controlled.
It feels like an eternity before he replies. His eyes on hers, hers on his, a blanket of intensity lulling them along in the silence.
"What would you say if I told you I am?" He murmurs, voice low.
Her breath hitches in her throat, and he wraps one of her unruly curls around his slender finger.
She finds herself shifting at the contact. Backtracking, she thinks, because she can't believe he's even half admitted it, and she's not sure how to feel if- if he is jealous. Doesn't want to ponder what it might mean.
His chest is barely touching hers, but it feels electric. Feels warm, welcoming, feels like everything fits. He smells like apples and the rain, she finds as she inhales sharply. It's a heady mix that has her normal reasoning dissipating.
No, no. Keep your head.
Her feet carry her a step or two backwards, slowly, carefully. She swallows as he steps with her.
"I suppose I would tell you," she says, taking care not to trip over any of her personal effects in her attempt to create distance between them, "to do something about it- or I might ask you why you are, because it would make no sense to me."
"No sense," he echoes, his steps matching hers until her back has met her kitchen worktop and she stills.
She finds words are beginning to fail her, so she simply nods.
Malfoy leans in, resting his forehead against hers lightly and the action almost seems silly, juvenile for a moment until she locks eyes with him again. His slate irises are ablaze with intensity and she realises he must have stopped occluding-
"I think I've made it intensely clear why I might be, as you say- jealous," he continues, his breath fanning across her face.
"But why?" She asks, voice a whisper, carried across the tiny space between them. Malfoy huffs a breath. Seems to be debating internally, his eyes flicking across her face and then back to her eyes.
Malfoy's hands come down onto either side of her against her kitchen worktop, bracketing her in.
"I don't particularly like to share," is his response, and Hermione is both incensed and giddy because of it.
She finds herself arching an eyebrow, glaring at him even as his words continue to send her stomach fluttering.
"Oh? And you really think that I'm what- that I'm yours?" the words are ushered out of her mouth before she can stop them. He's leaning over her now, her back pressing firmly against the counter. She rises on her feet, to both meet his gaze and appear taller, she thinks.
"First of all," he says, voice practically a growl, "I do rather think that you are."
His words should not send a shiver running along her spine, but they do, and she is confused, mortified and flustered all at once.
Malfoy's arms ripple slightly and she knows this must be because he's gripping the counter harder. His expression has shifted slightly, still ever the confident prat, but somehow also restrained, like he's holding himself back from something.
Hermione thinks she might rather like to shove him over the edge.
To see what happens. An eye for an eye, as it were. He's had her falling and falling down from the cliff she'd been on, perhaps it's her turn to do the same.
Before she can think of something to say, to snipe back, to goad him like she really rather wants to, he's speaking again.
"Second," and his voice is quiet, a low rumble that sends vibrations all the way to the tips of her toes, "I can prove it."
She most certainly hasn't expected these words.
Knows that if she were to say something, change the subject, divert from- whatever this is, that Malfoy would let her, no questions asked. She's stopped them before, halted them from reaching the precipice of her, of him, of them. He'd be well-mannered, he'd take no for an answer.
But she can't find it in herself- to say anything, to stop this from boiling over like a pan of water left forgotten on a kitchen hob.
No, instead of pulling back, cutting through the tension, she finds herself wanting to goad him more than anything.
"How? I'm afraid you might have to demonstrate"
He's smirking now, one that she's only seen a handful of times, full-bodied and entirely devious.
His broad, warm hands are on her in an instant, and he's tugging her away from the counter, away from the grounded feeling of it pushing sharply into her back, guiding her towards the other door- her bedroom door.
She could stop him, now, she thinks. She could and he wouldn't mind, he wouldn't be pissy, angry- not like Ron.
Realises though that she wants this, wants whatever Malfoy decides to give her, do to her, and it sends a rather familiar, dizzying heat to pool inside her.
Malfoy is pinning her to the wall of her bedroom then, and she wonders when they'd even entered, when he'd opened the door. Her hands are over her head, his fingers circling her wrists like strong yet safe vices.
His lips come down upon hers roughly, deliciously, tracing her lip with his tongue, nipping her bottom lip softly as he wedges a knee between her thighs.
"Oh," she whispers, breathy and light as his leg shifts, the friction unbearable yet everything she needed and more. He groans softly into their shared kiss, his grip tightening a fraction on her wrists.
"Hermione," and the words are faint, barely there, a ghosted whisper against her lips from his. It's just a name, her name, but he's never, ever said it, most definitely not like this. The sound of it, of her name on his tongue, sends another wave of heat to pool in her abdomen. She feels giddy with it.
Removing one of his hands from her wrists, encircling both with a single palm, he trails his fingers through her thick curls, over her neck, down, down, down.
His knee shifts once more in his ministrations and moaning into their kiss is all she can do to muffle the sound as it escapes her. Her chest is beginning to heave, and she can't-
"Malfoy," she whispers as he swipes his tongue over her bottom lip, "please, I can't."
"What did I say about my name," he chastises, and she half glares at him through her lashes, "I'd much prefer my first name."
She doesn't give him the satisfaction of a response, instead rising to meet his gaze, steady.
His fingers deftly undo the tied strings of her pyjama shorts, and he tugs them slightly down her hips.
"Merlin," he whispers, a half groan as his eyes take her in. She restrains the urge to cover herself from his attention, cheeks flaring. Whatever restraint Malfoy sufficiently displayed until now seems to have been snuffed out, and he slides his hand into her jeans, quickly, deliciously.
The only barrier between his touch and the most sensitive, intimate part of her is her flimsy underwear.
"I think this might be enough proof," he says, as he traces her seam, his fingertips just barely grazing her clit, "you're so wet for me."
She chokes. Oh, Merlin.
His fingers feel- they feel so, so good against her.
"Please," and she knows she's begging. Hopes he doesn't mean to stop, and she can't form a better response. To get him to continue, to do more, to touch her more.
His hand releases her wrists and she's momentarily distraught, because he's going to stop and his touch had not nearly been enough-
He's sinking to his knees in front of her.
Recognition floods her at the same time her cheeks begin to heat further. His eyes are dark, devouring as he looks up at her, his fingers curling over the waistband of her shorts, tugging them down again until this time, they're a pool of fabric at her feet.
Hermione thinks this can't possibly be happening, can't fathom-
His slender fingers part her legs, and she obeys, sliding her feet apart. Can't bring herself to be entirely embarrassed by what she thinks is about to happen- no yet, at least.
He presses his mouth to the bundle of nerves covered by thin fabric, his tongue darting out and ever so slowly, flicking against her clit. Intense pleasure runs through her with each ministration and she can feel herself growing wetter by the second.
"I'm going to make you come on my tongue, Hermione," he says from between her legs. His words, the salacious yet delicious ones or the way he says her name- she isn't sure which, has her moaning softly in response.
She's done for, she realises. Even if she's pushed him off that edge, even if he's falling relentlessly, she's been doing the same, for much, much longer.
Bugger.
"You're going to be shaking, gasping-" he pulls the edge of her knickers to the side, exposing her to him, "-and that's how I'll prove you're mine."
She feels giddy, weightless and heavy as a rock all at once. Thinks briefly that he's probably right, that she is his- in a way, and although she's both befuddled and horrified at the realisation, she also finds that she doesn't care. Won't argue with him, won't stop him. She needs this, needs him.
His tongue is back on her, then, and the sensations have her head falling back, a thud against the wall. Sets up a steady rhythm against her with his tongue, adding a single finger to the mix. As his digit slides inside her, the pooling sensation is heightened, feels herself tightening on him, squeezing.
Oh, Merlin.
The touch of his tongue, of his finger pumping ever so slowly in and out of her feels brutal, punishing and she can't help the series of sounds that escape her, a few entirely embarrassing words of encouragement. And she knows, days of stress, weeks of barely any sexual activity (aside from the ones with the man on his knees before her), months of crap attempts, she's going to come far too bloody quickly.
Malfoy does something particularly devilish with his tongue, then and all thoughts inside her head evaporate-
There's a distant crackle, a whoosh sound through her door.
Her floo.
Someone's just opened her floo.
Hermione squeaks.
"Hermione? Where are you?"
It's Ginny.
Hermione startles at the sound of the redhead's voice, and goes to move, but Malfoy grips her with his free hand, holding her still against the wall. He doesn't stop his ministrations, just pulls back slightly, his finger still pumping inside her dangerously slow.
They share a look, a silent conversation. Hers pleading, begging him to stop so they don't get caught by her friend, his devious, challenging.
"If you think I'm going to stop now, you're barmy," he says, his finger still moving at an entirely punishing pace inside her, "we've been interrupted every damn time, and this time, I'm going to finish what I started."
She gasps as he slides his tongue over her clit again, and she quickly, wandlessly spells her door shut and locked before Ginny's feet even reach the other end of her flat.
"What-", she says, her voice wobbly and thick, she tries again, "what do you want?"
"I'm here to see you," Ginny calls through the door, voice slightly confused. There's a distinct thud against the door that is most likely her foot, "we've just gotten back and I wanted to check in on you and see if you're okay?"
Malfoy sucks on her clit then, and Hermione bites her lip to keep from gasping loudly. She glares down at him, but he's far from apologetic.
She realises it's been a second too long between Ginny speaking and herself responding.
"Uh-" Hermione tries, at the same time his finger curls inside her, "well- I'm, I'm just fine, Gin."
Her voice is thick, wobbly and she has no doubt that to anyone else's ears, she might sound like she's struggling.
"Are you sure?" Ginny says from behind the door, and she seems to be trying to open it with the way the doorknob is twisting, "it's just you don't sound it, and with the case and everything-"
Malfoy doesn't seem to be appreciating the way Hermione is biting her lip to keep quiet, and he slides a second finger into her, his tongue swiping quickly over her clit now.
Her fingers grip his pale hair.
"Oh, fuck," she gasps, trying to press herself closer to him. A blush is rising very thickly across her cheeks as she realises she's practically shouted the words.
Fuck. Bugger. Fuck.
There is a beat of silence through the door, and Hermione wonders quickly, briefly, if the heavens have been kind and her friend hasn't heard.
Then Ginny makes a half squeal, half choking sound through the door.
"You could have told me you were busy, you daft witch!"
Malfoy is smirking up at Hermione, his fingers pumping into her and curling deliciously. She wants to wipe the smirk right off his stupidly handsome face-
"We're- We're busy!" she calls back, the pleasure rising to an unstoppable level. She feels sensitive all over, Malfoy's tongue and fingers driving her towards orgasm at an alarming rate, even with her best friend on the other side of her bedroom door.
She thinks Ginny might have gone-
"We?!"
Oh. Oh. Oh, no.
"Ginny!" she shouts, and it is a warning if there ever was one.
She hears retreating footsteps, just as Malfoy's ministrations hit the exact spot she needs and she feels herself hurtling towards breaking point. Feels herself squeezing him tightly over and over again as he fucks her with his fingers. Feels helpless, entirely wanton and needy-
She comes undone against the wall, against his mouth, riding his fingers through her orgasm like a tidal wave of pleasure, a half moan, half scream escaping her into the silence of her room.
Gasping, she grips his hair roughly for support, her legs a wobbly mess as she comes down from her high. Malfoy looks immensely smug.
Afterwards, she realises with an abrupt sense of embarrassment that Ginny could not have even reached her fireplace before she'd screamed.
Ginny looks like she's about to combust. Her bright brown eyes lock onto Hermione's, blown wide.
"So you're telling me," she begins, the inflection behind her words enough to make Hermione's cheeks heat, "That you've started a sordid love affair with Draco Malfoy, the Draco Malfoy, over an apple?".
Hermione wants the floor to open up and swallow her.
It's later, much, much later. After Malfoy had left, she'd floo'd straight over to Harry and Ginny's, and immediately been bombarded by the latter until she'd caved and told her the truth.
Well, mostly.
"Firstly," she says, mortified, "it is not sordid-"
"That's not what it sounded like from where I was standing."
"Ginny!" she chides.
Hermione's cheeks go a brilliant red, even as she glares at the redhead. Ginny looks half apologetic, holding her hands up in mock surrender.
"Okay, okay, keeping my mouth shut," her friend replies, crossing her legs underneath herself on the sofa. She gestures for Hermione to continue.
She takes a breath, clears her throat.
"Right, well, as I was saying, it isn't a sordid love affair, we're both single and free to do whatever we want," her voice comes out half evenly, and that's enough for her.
She gives Ginny a moment to take her words in, and then she continues before her friend has another chance to say something atrocious.
"Secondly," she says, fiddling with the pillow next to her, "it's been several apples, some were even baked into pastries."
The redhead's eyes are still wide like saucers, a salacious grin plastered on her face, but she nods quickly, somehow restraining herself into keeping quiet.
"And- well, well over the course of the case, it sort of became a thing," she continues.
"Explaining all of the apples," Ginny supplies, and Hermione takes a deep, stuttering breath.
"Yes, and then on top of that we were actually working really well together, surprisingly- and it evolved from there-"
"So have you fucked?" the redhead asks, cutting Hermione off.
Merlin, this witch is going to be the death of her.
There is a beat of silence, Hermione having been shocked into it by Ginny's atrocious language, and Ginny, who's getting the very answer from the former's expression.
"Not yet, then," she comments after a moment, "could've fooled me earlier, though."
"Ginny!" Hermione finds herself spluttering, "we agreed not to-"
"Not to bring it up again," the redhead sighs, rolling her eyes, "of course, of course."
The embarrassment feels like it's drowning her, and she plays with the edge of the pillow to keep herself grounded. This is not at all how she envisioned the rest of her day going, to be honest. Not at all.
She takes a rather large gulp of the wine Ginny had offered her, and plonks it back onto the coffee table in front of them.
Ginny's eyes are watching her, observing.
"I had a feeling something was going on, you know," she says, playing with a strand of her loose hair.
Hermione raises an eyebrow in silent question, hoping her cheeks aren't too red.
"That day- my birthday, when you'd run off and he'd followed you," the redhead explains, shifting in her seat, "Harry couldn't figure it out, why you looked the way you did when you both came back, but I figured you looked like you'd been snogged half to death-"
"Merlin, Ginny, please!"
"Ha! I knew it!" she exclaims in response, her smile wide, "bloody hell 'Mione, I'm happy for you."
This gives Hermione pause.
"You're not mad?" she questions, taking in the sight of her friend, who looks entirely too bloody gleeful for her own good.
Ginny rolls her eyes again, "why ever would I be? I'm not Ron, for fucks sake."
The mention of her ex-boyfriend brings Hermione roughly back to earth, and she finds herself frowning. Ginny inches closer, having realised what she's said.
"Look, I may be flipping confused as to why you're with Malfoy, of all people, but you're happy, I can tell, maybe he challenges you in a way no one else has-" Ginny continues, voice taking a softer tone, "point is, you're a damn sight lot happier now than you ever were with my brother, and that's what matters to me."
She takes Hermione's hand in her own, squeezing it briefly.
"Besides, this means I don't have to play wingwoman for you at this fundraiser, 'cause you'll be going with Malfoy," she says, a smidge of deviousness in her brown eyes.
This sentence reminds Hermione, though that-
"I'm not going with Malfoy," she replies, and she feels a half wave of upset crash inside her chest at the statement, "plus, actually, I'm not even sure what we are, if there's even a we to speak of."
"You haven't spoken about it?" Ginny asks, and Hermione quickly shakes her head in response, "well, do you want there to be a 'we' with him?"
Hermione pauses. Bites her lip.
She doesn't know.
"I'm not sure," she admits, "but I do think I really rather fancy him."
Ginny's bright smile is back once more, and she squeezes Hermione's hand again.
"That's a good place to start," she comments, encouraging.
"But I have no idea if he fancies me in the same way- "
"He definitely does, especially with what I heard earlier," Ginny responds, an attempt to be reassuring Hermione thinks.
"No, I mean- I really, really like him, Gin, not just in the physical sense, and he might want me physically but I don't know if-"
Ginny interrupts her then, and the sentence is filled with finality.
"Why don't you just ask him?"
AN: This is the idea that started this whole fic thing off and I'm so glad we're hereee! Thank you for the super lovely reviews, they keep me going, truly!