A/N: I need to send a huge thank you to my super fantastic friend, 89JadedPictures. We live about 2000 miles apart, but I swear I could hear her screams of joy when I first showed her this story. And we haven't even made it to any of her favorite chapters yet, people. Anyway, she writes some incredible stories you should check out (Le Don, The Misfits, and Are You Experienced).
We're Gonna Paint The Town Red
Hermione was very excited to take Draco to a painting class. She first tried it out with Luna a few months back, and the experience proved so entertaining, Hermione found herself already looking forward to going back again. When she went with Luna, the instruction encompassed vines covered with flowers. Luna, unsurprisingly, created something unique with light brush-strokes radiating outwards from a central point in each bloom, making her flowers appear to be blue and purple fireworks bursting out from the vines. Hermione secretly suspected her own attempt, which she created by following the instruction to a "T", looked sort of sad in comparison.
The studio offered plenty of wine during the class, and after a sufficient amount, Hermione found she really didn't give a rat's arse. She instead found satisfaction in her flowers being better than the woman's whose contained faces in the middle and looked like clowns. Very frightening clowns reminiscent of It. Shudder.
Luna's open mind and fun-loving nature made her perfect for that particular Muggle experience. She was willing to get a little dirty and she did not get frustrated at imperfection. Exactly the opposite, in fact. Hermione couldn't decide if Draco would appreciate it in the same way as Luna. What if he got paint on some his overly expensive clothes? He couldn't very well scourgify them in front of Muggles.
Which left Hermione feeling unsure of what she should think when he quickly acquiesced to her suggestion at this first Muggle-experience date. Had he seemed relieved? She chose a night when the class would be for something she hoped Draco would enjoy – van Gogh's The Starry Night. (Hello, the wizard's name came from a constellation!) She explained to him who Vincent van Gogh was, and told him a bit about this particular painting. The artist painted it while peering out the window of his room at an insane asylum. The window would have had bars; he took a bit of license in leaving those out. She revealed that historians were of the opinion that van Gogh created the painting during a time when Venus would have been very bright, so one of the stars in the painting was in fact a planet. Her brow furrowed with slight worry when she realized the blonde now looked quite bored. Perhaps she droned on a bit too long? Well, she knew he liked wine, so the night wouldn't be a total shite show, right?
She asked Draco if he owned appropriate Muggle clothes to wear. She explained his outfit should be casual and something he wouldn't mind getting dirty. Her plan included eating a light dinner at her flat before they went out. They would then take the tube from her place to a stop just a block's walk to the class. Which led to an in-depth talk of what to expect and how to act while riding on an underground train which was nothing like riding the Hogwarts Express.
Draco floo'ed into her flat wearing designer jeans that fell low on his hips and showed off his delectable arse, a vintage Siouxsie and the Banshees t-shirt tucked in above his belt, and on his feet were trainers. Muggle trainers. She froze and stared at the wizard.
"Trying to catch flies in your mouth, Granger?" he smirked at her, obviously proud of his perfect outfit.
"How do you know who Siouxsie and the Banshees even are?" tumbled out of her mouth in a disbelieving tone.
"I don't," he shrugged with indifference, "I just liked that there are banshees involved."
Oh, this was rich, Hermione thought with an audible snort, as she tried to formulate a way to explain punk rock and the advent of the gothic scene led by Siouxsie Sioux's menacing make-up and penchant for wearing dark clothing to someone whose teenage years epitomized the same persona. Wait! Did he in fact think there were real banshees in the group?
"Uh, you know there aren't real banshees in the band, yeah?"
"There aren't? Oh, I am going to kill Potter. Should I also assume that They Might Be Giants isn't a band made up of half-breeds?"
Hermione wanted to reply, but was laughing so hard, she couldn't form words.
"You realize that git also told me The Beastie Boys are animagi," he seethed.
Hermione was doubled over with laughter by this point and desperately hoping to not wet her knickers. When she finally caught her breath, she cast a Patronus and mirthfully intoned, "I'm disappointed you forgot The Pixies." Then she directed her playful little otter to deliver the message to Harry Potter.
She turned to find Draco's mercurial eyes assessing her. "Merlin. Do you know how few people in the world can cast a Patronus capable of carrying messages? You act like it's nothing. Just sending a sarcastic little bon mot to your best friend."
Of course, his invective coincided with Harry's stag returning the message, "Well, I got distracted while trying to make the difficult decision between The Beastie Boys and The Beatles for the anamagi group. Because he doesn't know that we know that he knew that Rita Skeeter was a beetle, does he? Oh shite, he's there right now isn't he?" There was a very pregnant pause, followed by, "No wait, I wasn't done yet…" in a fading tone as Harry's Patronus already began bounding away to deliver its message to the intended recipient.
Hermione looked back to Draco ready to point out the lesson showing why you made sure you always told your message in full to the Patronus before you told it the name of the intended recipient. A long enough pause may be enough for the charm to decide the message to be complete and ready for delivery. It became a failsafe in dire circumstances. She found Draco's cheeks to be an interesting shade of pink.
"About that…" he slowly drawled.
Hermione didn't remember her first ride on the underground. She'd grown up thinking it was normal to get on it with her Muggle parents to go places. Everyone in London used it. Even as a teenager, she rode it with Muggle friends over the summer and during holidays when they went out into the city. However, she felt sure Draco would never forget his first time.
He admitted his family always apparated straight onto Platform 9¾, so he remained ignorant of the Muggle side of King's Cross. Meaning, he was understandably distracted from the moment they started down the steps of the stop by her place, and as they went through the turnstile, and up until they stood on the platform waiting for the next train to pull up. At least that part was a little familiar to him. Then the shock was back on his face when they stepped inside and she quickly reminded him to grab the pole as the train took off. As much as she tried to properly prepare, his imagination only took him so far.
Luckily, anyone who noticed didn't care. Mostly people were staring at newspapers, books, or their phones. If anyone possessed a thought at all on the situation, it was probably something along the lines of pitying the country bumpkin on his first trip into the big city. Technically, Draco grew up in the country, and while he may not lack worldly experience, it was nothing like the experiences of the Muggles around them. And so she wasn't embarrassed in the least by his blatant staring at their surroundings.
"It smelled awful in there," was his first observation when they disembarked.
"You get used to it."
"Why would you want to?" he genuinely wanted to know.
"Most people who live in the city don't own cars, same as me. It's for a variety of reasons. Parking near your flat is difficult to find and can be prohibitively expensive for many people. Traffic is almost always a pain in the arse. And then you have to find a place to park at your destination and probably pay again for that daily privilege. If the tube doesn't have a route to your destination, there are buses and cabs. In the end, it turns out to be more inconvenient for most people to have a car than it is to take public transportation. So, you take the good with the bad. My parents own cars because they live far enough out in the suburbs for it to be impractical not to. Plus, they don't have to pay to park at their own businesses. Even so, they ride the tube too when it is convenient."
"Look, I need to tell you something."
Draco suddenly stopped walking and just stood in the middle of the sidewalk, talking to her hair. She turned around and came back to him, saying nothing, waiting for him to continue. He was wearing his blank face. He put on that face for various reasons, and she was still trying to learn all of them. In this case, Hermione would guess it signaled nervousness.
"Iknowhowtopaint."
"Excuse me?"
"I know how to paint. I am actually a fair artist. I devised a cockamamie plan to pretend I don't know how, and then show off my skills and embarrass you for making assumptions about me. But, I suddenly find myself in a position where this isn't a template for how I should act," the entire time Draco spoke, he was staring at a point in space just above her left ear; he went on with, "I am fairly certain a passive aggressive attack on my girlfriend for an honest mistake wouldn't have been one of my finer moments. So… yeah. I know very well who Vincent van Gogh is. My parents hired various private tutors as part of a well-rounded pureblood education, including an art instructor. I should have told you sooner than on the sidewalk outside our destination."
"Does this mean you don't want to go to this class with me? Do you think I picked something stupid?" Hermione was unsure of all the connotations behind his revelation. Why would he want to embarrass her? What would he gain from making her feel inferior? Did he still, in some small way, feel her to be second-rate to him? Her self-esteem didn't seem up to getting those answers right now, so the easiest questions centered on whether they were going to continue walking towards their destination, or if they should turn around.
Draco observed the emotions flitting across her face as he surreptitiously studied her out of the corner of his eye. It was safer to look at the lamppost just behind the brunette than to look directly at her, but that didn't mean he wasn't watching her. Maybe he should have just pretended to be a novice, neither enacting his previous plan, nor spilling the truth to her. Bloody Gryffindor Princess. Rubbing off on him after three months of dating, making him believe in the power of the truth, or some such bollocks. He was about to turn on his heel and head back towards the tube, sure she wouldn't want to continue their night out, when her face rested upon uncertainty.
"No, you didn't pick something stupid. I've never painted like this before. I was looking forward to it," which wasn't a lie, even if he sort of tried to sabotage the venture. "Do you still want to go?"
"Only if you want to," she said quietly.
Draco grabbed his girlfriend's hand and pulled her towards the door to the studio.
Hermione's first glass of wine disappeared in three successive gulps. She felt herself relaxing as she sipped on her second glass in a far more sedate manner. Draco mirrored her actions and she recognized they were on even footing. Both were unsure of where this night should go. This wasn't the first time they inadvertently fell back into their previously customary roles in each other's lives. Establishing trust was an ongoing effort for the two of them.
They remained quiet until about 15 minutes into the class.
"Amateur," Draco huffed, barely discernable.
"Well, we can't all be as privileged as you," she hissed out of the corner of her mouth, barely holding back on adding tosser to the end.
"Not you, witch," he replied in an undertone with a roll of his eyes. "The instructor is a complete amateur."
"Oh. Sorry," she whispered, feeling properly chastised. "And don't call me a witch. You know Muggles equate it with bitch, yeah?"
"Well, then the instructor is a right witch," Draco informed, careful to make sure only Hermione heard him. She let out a giggle at his astute assessment. Really, the woman taught painting like a drill sergeant.
After that, Draco kept a steady stream of quips only Hermione was privy to in order to keep her amused. Even with his attention split between dropping sarcasm bombs into her ear and the canvas, Draco's painting was turning out a million times better than hers. It really wasn't fair. The play between light and shadows and the sense of a warm summer breeze were all there on display.
By her third glass of wine, Hermione started to become mesmerized by his fingers holding the paint brush. He was so sure of himself. She quickly looked away, pretending to study anything and everything else, each time he almost caught her staring. The words running through her mind centered around synonyms for stroke, such as caress, touch, finger, and stroke. Her inner monologue became quite obscene.
Draco smirked at how adorable Hermione was. She really believed he didn't know where her dirty little brain was wandering off to. She kept licking her lips while watching him paint. And then she would look away with a small blush. The Slytherin paid her no mind; the situation played nicely into the plan forming in his head. After nearly ruining the first date she arranged, he wanted to make it up to her. If she wondered what else his fingers could be doing, he fashioned an idea to show her something unexpected.
Neither Hermione nor Draco missed the covetous looks sent Hermione's way by most of the women in the room as the night wrapped up. Draco's picture was flawless (he persisted in contrarily pointing out the tiniest imperfections), he managed to stay immaculately clean, and he only had eyes for his date. They both overheard one woman exclaim in a not-as-quiet-as-she-thought voice to her friend, "Where do I get me one of those?" Draco raised an eyebrow at Hermione's ensuing giggles.
"No, just wait here. I am going to floo to my place for two minutes and be right back," he commanded the curly-haired vixen as he stopped the fingers deftly working on his belt buckle. Late night snogging on a subway train didn't garner many stares; indulgences taken in public led to both of them feeling worked up by the time they made it back to the privacy of Hermione's flat. His shirt was already on the floor.
"What could you possibly need from there right this instant?" she whinged.
Draco moaned low in his throat as she snuck one hand back down to front of his trousers, giving the prominent bulge a squeeze through the rugged cotton material. She rubbed the heel of her hand against his length and he sucked in his breath, calling upon his willpower to pull back and walk away.
"Two minutes. I promise."
True to his word, he immediately returned to her living room with a sketchpad and small tin with "Faber-Castell" printed on the cover in hand.
"I want to draw you."
"Now?"
"Yes." He paused a beat before adding, "Naked."
"Ohhh… Ummm…" Hermione faltered in discomfiture before she really examined the Adonis in front her, hair mussed from her fingers, lips slightly swollen from her teeth, bare chested, a hard cock evident in his tight jeans, staring at her with undisguised lust. Her knickers dampened in response. "Ok," the Gryffindor let out in a husky voice.
Draco's face lit up at her acquiescence and he moved towards her bedroom, confident she would follow him. He quickly conjured a comfortable chair which he faced towards the bed. He adjusted the lighting to his preferences and turned back towards his witch. She reminded him of a skittish kitten, watching him to decide if she should be prepared to be treated like the Queen of Sheba, or if maybe she needed to hiss and bring out her claws in an act of dominance.
Teenage Draco may have abhorred a certain bossy little swot, but he now found certain acts became infinitely more pleasurable with the witch's smart tongue and nails added into the mix. However, he required the Queen of Sheba tonight. He set down his supplies and stalked towards her. Hermione's lips parted and her pupils dilated noticeably as he came to a stop directly in front of her, inches away, but not touching her yet.
"I'm going to slowly strip you, taking my time to trail every inch of your body with my fingertips. I expect you to be a good girl and stand perfectly still, unless I otherwise direct you to move. You will not touch me in return. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Hermione purred in a tone causing Draco's cock to pulse.
Draco slid her shirt over her head and admired the black lace bra he found underneath it. He skimmed his hands down her arms, commencing at the shoulders and making their way to her fingertips, then back up again. He followed the curve of her collarbone, ghosting his fingers along her neck. One thumb came up and traced the bottom lip currently pushed out in a small pout. Both hands tangled themselves into her riotous curls before he dipped his head down for the briefest of kisses. She groaned in slight protest when he broke apart from the small taste. His hands wandered down her back, swirling around, dancing across her skin. When she arched towards him, he unlatched her bra.
"You're doing excellent, kitten," he commended Hermione on the restraint it took to keep her arms down at her sides as he stepped back to relieve her of the lace covering. Her eyes lit up with a small bit of triumph. Hermione Granger enjoyed excelling in any endeavor. His mind raced ahead to where he wanted this night to go. He grounded himself with an inner chastisement to take this slowly. He wanted his witch to remember this apology and know that she could trust him.
Hermione's disbelief of the current situation explained part of the reason she managed to stand so still. She never imagined being worshipped in quite this manner before. Because what else would you call the way Draco reverently stroked her ribs, the turn of her waist, the dip of her navel? His hums of pleasure when he cupped her breasts, his fingers brushing her nipples until they pebbled, caused her own little noises in response.
Draco dropped to his knees and looked up at Hermione, keeping eye contact as unbuttoned her jeans and slid down the zipper. His fingers charted the lace edge of her knickers from front to rear, meeting in the back and then dipping into her jeans to cup her arse over the top of the fabric that matched the discarded bra. He proceeded to slide the trousers down her legs using his wrists, keeping the palms of his hands against the skin of her legs the entire time.
"You may place your hands on my shoulders for balance," he allowed as he helped her out of her shoes, socks, and jeans. "Now back to the no touching," he commanded with a smirk.
Even before dropping his eyes, Draco knew he would find the front of Hermione's knickers dampened. He had been breathing in the scent of her arousal since coming to his knees. The heady aroma intoxicated him. He trailed a finger along the wet mark in front of him, feeling her clit and the outline of her labia. He kept going and brought up his other hand to meet it, then made his way down her legs to her ankles.
"Draco…" she moaned in protest as he took away the brief contact he barely allowed at the place she craved it.
"We'll get there, Hermione. I promise to reward you for your outstanding behavior."
"How much longer do you plan to tease me?"
"Long enough to draw you."
He moved his hands back up her legs and crooked his fingers over the top edges of her knickers, pulling them down and baring her trimmed pussy to his hungry eyes.
"Exquisite. Let's get you up on the bed, love."
Draco arranged her body in the pose he wanted before he spoke again, "You've been perfect for me. I'm going to give you a little bit of a taste of your reward now. But, still no moving. Can you continue to do that for me, kitten?"
"Yes."
He cupped the juncture between her legs with one hand, then slowly slid a finger between her wet folds, teasing her entrance without dipping in. He slid upwards, using the moisture to allow his finger to easily circle around her clit. Her body vibrated with a want to move, to push her hips forward, to arch her neck backwards, to grab on to him. Hermione panted with longing. A small part of her considered the possibility of this situation being debasing. Mostly though, she desired to be Draco's good girl, to earn her boyfriend's praise, to see the approval in his eyes when she continued to perform as he commanded.
Draco stepped back from her, taking in the tableau he had created. Hermione oozed sex appeal and unfulfilled lust. He would have to be quick to capture it. He shucked his shoes and socks and pulled his belt off, tossing it aside. Her eyes tracked his movements, obviously turned on by even this small amount of disrobing on his part. His dick ached to be freed from the confines of his trousers, but that wouldn't help him keep on track with the sketching.
"I want to capture this look. This wanton look where all you can think about is me taking off the rest of my clothing and finishing what I've started. Because you do want me to come back and finish what my fingers were doing just now don't you? You want your reward, Hermione."
"Oh gods, yes, Draco."
Draco efficiently used his time, even while talking. The drawing began at nearly the same moment his belt made a soft thud on her bedroom carpet. He fell into a rhythm as he selected a pencil to outline her shape, switching to another to shadow, and yet another to define. The wizard's wand-hand contained small callouses which didn't come from spell casting, but rather from holding pencils. Draco's earlier admission regarding art instruction left out that his true passion belonged to drawing.
"I can't wait to be back on that bed with you, head between those thighs, mouth locked onto your sweet little clit, fingers buried in your tight pussy. I am going to stroke them in and out until you come all over them. Then I am going to fill you up with my cock and make you come all over it. Is that what you want? I know it's what I want."
Draco kept up the dirty talk hoping it would keep Hermione as turned on as possible. It apparently worked, if the parting of her lips, the continued hardness of her nipples, and the way she incrementally moved her thighs in search of friction gave any indication. He thought about chastising her for the minute movement, but deemed the perceived criticism a surefire way to ruin the moment.
He finished the sketch in record time. It was still slightly rough; he would refine small bits of it later. Now though, her reward was to be his reward too. His jeans and boxer briefs disappeared in record time and he practically dove between her legs, only pausing to declare, "Outstanding."
Hermione nearly crowed at the praise. Who knew it could feel so goddamn good to receive top marks from Draco Malfoy? And the incentive to go along with his grade proved much better than house points. He made good on his promises, quickly bringing her to a loud orgasm with two fingers curled inside of her and his mouth and tongue working her swollen nub. She forgot to ask if she could touch him now, she realized as her hands grabbed either side of his head while waves of bliss crashed over her. He made no move to stop her. Her hands dropped back to the bed as her body came down from its peak. Then he rose up on his knees, placing her legs up on his shoulders, surging into her all of the way to the hilt.
Draco paused as Hermione's tight, wet heat enveloped him. The teasing had inevitably gone both ways over the past hour. He had worked himself up along with her and was hard as steel; he'd been dripping precum. They'd had enough sex to be comfortable with each other, but this night turned into the first truly adventurous moment they'd shared. Did this still count as an apology? Or had it morphed into his reward for daring to change the dynamic in the bedroom? Why the hell was he asking himself these questions now? He pulled out and slammed back in, telling himself that there would be time to think later. His brain wasn't currently getting enough blood for these deep thoughts. He started up a hard, fast pace. His left hand found its way between Hermione's legs, furiously rubbing her clit, needing to get her there fast. He could already feel his balls tightening up.
"Play with your nipples." Hermione quickly complied. He felt her walls begin to flutter around him. It triggered a tingling in his balls. "Oh fuck. Oh shite. Hermione!" He pushed deep in, pausing as the first shot of cum left him. He concentrated on keeping his finger moving on her clit, willing her to follow him over the edge. On the next stroke out, then back in, he felt it happen, her walls clamping down, milking his cock of the subsequent spurts.
"Oh sweet Circe," Hermione sighed in absolute bliss. Draco allowed her legs down off his shoulders, running his hands gently down them as they fell.
Draco looked down at her debauched body as he pulled out. "Don't move," he told her with a laugh.
"Why would I want to?" she laughed back at him.
Draco jumped back out of bed, energized by the thought of getting this picture recorded. Turning to a fresh page, Draco started a new sketch.