73.
On Boxing Day evening, they were relaxed on the settee with the TV going – Malfoy was enjoying Vikings at the moment – Hermione with her nose buried in a book, and her feet nestled in his lap, as he absently rubbed them. She was reading an old favourite and an easy read; Daphne du Maurier's Rule Britannia, and drinking one of the endless cups of tea Malfoy was still always pressing on her – hydration is important, Granger – while Carina slept in the bedroom. There was a sputtering, grinding sound from outside, and the cough of what sounded like a dying engine. Malfoy immediately muted the television and snatched up his wand, as Hermione stared at him wide-eyed over her book.
"We're not expecting visitors I don't know about, are we?" he asked, and Hermione shook her head. There was no reason to be worried as such, except unannounced guests were not something they got, especially not at eight in the evening, and Hermione's ordeal last year had left them a little fragile. She no longer had nightmares or panic attacks, but certain things still made her uneasy, or remember a stark, helpless fear that she'd rather forget. And for his part, Malfoy was rather over-protective.
"Shit," he muttered quietly enough that she didn't think she'd been supposed to hear, and then as she pulled her feet back, he rose from the settee with an elegance she still envied – in niffler pyjama trousers, and a white t-shirt, barefoot, his hair a chaos from when Hermione had ruffled it earlier, walking past. The outfit didn't match his grim expression, or the hardness in his eyes; like chips of stone. "I'm sure it's nothing. It might be one of the Muggle neighbours broken down."
Except it had sounded like it was right on their front garden path.
"Wait here," he told her, and padded silently off toward the foyer, and front door. Hermione couldn't see from this angle, and she slung her arm over the back of the settee, craning her neck and squinting, as if that would allow her to see around corners. A sigh wafted back to her, and the front door locks disengaged with quiet clicks as Malfoy called back. "It's Hagrid, Granger. On his sodding motorbike."
Hagrid?
"Hang on!" Hermione struggled upright and looked down at herself. One of Malfoy's t-shirts, a pair of leggings, and her hair in two slightly frizzy braids. Yes, she was presentable enough for Hagrid. She hurried over to the door, to be confronted by the half-Giant looming in front of it on the doorstep, hunched down, and grinning at the sight of her.
"'ermione!" he said with that broad West Country accent and flung an arm wide. "C'mere you – gi' me a 'ug."
Hermione beamed at him, and did so, swallowed up in one arm for a brief second. He smelled of dirt, green things, and unwashed dog, and she sneezed as she drew back. Hagrid began to fish what Hermione would guess was a rather grubby handkerchief out of one deep pocket, and she swiftly waved him off. "No, no, I'm fine." Malfoy stood to one side slightly, eyeing them both. "You gave us a scare, Hagrid! Although it's lovely to see you."
"Oh, blimmin' 'eck, I didn't think ter let yeh know I was comin', 'ermione," Hagrid said, still dropping consonants like a sieve, his coat mysteriously shifting and bulging. Hermione didn't want to guess why. "Sorry 'bout that. I came to wish yehs a Merry Christmas. And I've a present for yeh."
"Oh Hagrid, thank you. That's so sweet." She'd sent him two massive boxes of biscuits, and a large, meaty bone for Fang, but she hadn't expected anything in return. "Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?" Hermione offered, tentatively. Malfoy looked at Hagrid's general size, the dustiness of him, and his muddy boot soles, and shot Hermione a despairing look.
"Nah, I won't bother yeh tonight. I've a game teh get to, anyway."
"Another time then." Hermione smiled up at Hagrid, a cosy warmth suffusing her, rose-tinted nostalgia coming back. She hoped he was still at Hogwarts when Carina went off to school there.
"I jes' stopped by teh drop off the present –" Hagrid nodded at Malfoy, who smiled politely "– it's fer the little 'un, really."
Malfoy gave Hermione another horrified glance that made her want to snicker, even as she wondered what on earth Hagrid would think was an appropriate gift.. And then he pulled something out from under his coat.
"Every kid deserves a pet," he said heartily, as he held out a tiny, wriggling bundle that explained his moving coat. "Now I know wi' Rose an' Hugo, yeh didn't 'ave time or space fer a pet, but I jus' rescued this little lady from a dealer on Knockturn Alley a few weeks back, an' I can't keep 'er myself. I 'aven't the room with Fang, yeh see."
"It's a cruppy," Malfoy said, peering at the small creature, and Hermione felt a surge of relief rush through her. Hagrid might say 'pet', when really he meant 'hellhound' or 'small dragon' – a crup was actually vastly better than what she'd been expecting. "Old enough to have had its tail docked, but it's still there." He gave Hagrid a curious look.
"She's about eleven weeks, near as I can tell," Hagrid said. "Jus' a tiny wee thing though. I been trainin' 'er already to pee outside, an' she's a bright girl. But I didn't want teh risk the severing charm meself, o' course. I 'ope yeh can take 'er."
Hermione bit her lip and looked at Malfoy hopefully. She actually liked the idea of having a dog. But a crup? Malfoy surprised her slightly by scooping the tiny cruppy out of Hagrid's arms, and cradling her close. She licked his hand enthusiastically, and Hermione watched Malfoy's expression soften. "I'm going to be surrounded by females," he said drily, and Hermione smiled. He loved it.
"She is sweet. But I don't have the energy or the time to keep up her training. I'm going back to work in a week."
"I can do that," Malfoy said quickly, and Hermione remembered how much he liked his father's dogs.
"I don't want to have to protect my father from crup attack every time he comes over, though. Do you know what she's like with Muggles, Hagrid?"
"No. But I took 'er up teh visit Filch as a bit o' an experiment –" he twirled the word 'experiment' until it was a thing of beauty "– being a squib an' all, an' she didn't attack 'im. An' usually, everythin' wants teh attack 'im."
"Besides, crups are trainable," Malfoy said, rather hopefully. And thus it was settled, and their evening of relaxation followed by sex, was swiftly derailed by a new cruppy. "What's her name?" Malfoy asked with a worried wince once it had been settled that they were indeed keeping the crup.
"Minnie. After Minerva," Hagrid said, beaming, and Malfoy's mouth twitched at that, and Hermione pressed her fingers to her mouth.
"Did you tell Minerva that you named a crup after her?"
"Yeah. A' the high table, the other night. She went rather pink, an' didn't seem ter know what ter say. I s'ppose she was pleased." Hagrid shrugged, unbothered by worries. Hermione stifled a giggle. Poor Minerva. But the shortened 'Minnie' was a surprisingly suitable name for a sweet little crup like this one; she had a smooth coat it seemed, from what Hermione could tell of the wee thing, all snuggled into Malfoy's chest, and was sable tan and white, with saddle markings and a blaze masked face. Adorable. Her little forked tail was wagging, and Hermione wished Ministry law didn't mean they had to crop it.
"Hm. Minnie," Malfoy said, as if sounding it out. "Thank you, Hagrid. She's lovely," he said civilly, and Hagrid beamed.
"Yehs're very welcome. An' Merry Christmas!"
"Jesus," Hermione muttered as the door shut behind Hagrid. "Between cruppies, babies, and work, we're never going to have sex ever again, are we?"
"Don't worry, Granger," Malfoy said, moving close to Hermione and kissing her forehead. The cruppy wriggled in his arms and Hermione stroked her little belly. She was warm and fat and snuffled at Hermione's hand curiously. Adorable. "We'll figure it out."
Hermione's prediction was proven false. An hour later Minnie was sleeping in a dog bed transfigured from a towel in the kitchen, her belly full of dog food Malfoy had apparated out to fetch from Tesco's. And Carina was still fast asleep. Hermione clambered onto Malfoy's lap and jabbed the off button on the telly remote as Vikings' end credits began to play.
"Oh," he said, pleased, his attention immediately going to her, his hands settling at her waist as she straddled him, her knees to either side. "I approve of this." His hands delved beneath her shirt, sweeping up warm and broad over her skin and creating the faintest rough drag. He smelt of cruppy, baby powder, and traces of cologne, and Hermione buried her nose against his throat and huffed him like glue.
"Mmph," she said, and licked a stripe up his throat – he shivered reflexively. He didn't taste of what he smelt like, thank Merlin. Just the faintest trace of salt. "God, you're delicious," she told him, grinding against his erection, and he made a strangled sound and shivered again.
"So are you." He tugged at her shirt and then snapped the waistband of her leggings. "Take these off, Granger. I want to taste you."
She stood clumsily and stripped silently, without pretence or artfulness, and without a word spoken, her eyes locked on his face throughout most of it, reading the play of emotions over his features. He let one word out, on a long, slow breath as, having shoved down her leggings and knickers, she then stripped off the t-shirt of his that covered her to her upper thigh.
"Fuuuck." Appreciation filled his eyes and overflowed his lips, in that one exhalation; worshipful and reverent. "Salazar's sake, I do miss the children," he said unexpectedly, making her arch a brow. "But I'm so glad we have the house to ourselves again."
She grinned, turning around and bending over, hands braced on the coffee table and bum in the air. She wriggled. He hissed in a sharp breath, and then whimpered out a barely audible groan.
"No, no, I don't think I even miss them," he said thinly, as though he were on top of Mt Everest and not getting enough oxygen. Warm hands settled either side of her bum, and she felt his fingers and thumbs dent into her flesh – there was a rather ample amount of it, at the moment. She was still at least ten pounds heavier than she'd been before she got pregnant, and it had landed on her all over – bum, stomach, breasts, thighs. Even her upper arms. Malfoy said she was delicious, soft, and edible, and that his cock was not a liar; and he did seem to spring at least a partial erection every time she got naked, or rubbed up against him meaningfully.
Hermione didn't think his cock was a liar either. So she embraced his enjoyment of her body, and stopped comparing herself to his fit, svelte self and coming up horribly lacking.
"I know I'm a narcissist, Granger," he said – not even true – when she confessed the way his lean, toned body made her feel self-conscious sometimes, "But I don't actually want to fuck myself."
And then he'd kissed her follow-up concerns out of her mouth, before kissing his way down to her clit, and making her forget everything but his hot, wet mouth fastened over her most sensitive parts.
So, in the moment she wriggled her bum again, smiling as he vocally appreciated it. Murmuring little compliments, and epithets, his hands kneading her flesh. And then she heard him shifting behind her, and the clink of his belt, and then a second later, his mouth on her right bum cheek. Open and hot, sucking at her flesh, before biting at it. And then –
"Oh my God," she squeaked as he buried his face against her bum and licked places where she thought no tongue belonged, his tongue swirling in circles over very sensitive flesh, teasing until it tickled and she made a protesting "mmmph," and tried to arch away from him. But his hands held her fast.
He pulled his face back. "Are you Christmasing me, Granger?" he asked, panting a little, and she huffed a little laugh. Their safe word had stuck, and become shorthand for a definite 'no' at any time.
"No. It just tickles," she managed inarticulately, her cheeks flaming up hot.
"So I don't have to stop?" he asked hopefully.
"Well…not just yet, I suppose, but I don't see why you…" want to, she thought but didn't say, as Malfoy slicked his tongue over her again, sloppy and wet, and she made another whimpering squeak and tried to wiggle. His hands kept her trapped. She didn't dislike it, and she liked that he liked it, but there was something slightly mortifying about being bent over the coffee table while Draco Malfoy licked her – well. She didn't know the right word to use that didn't either sound horrendously crude, or clinical.
"Because you have such a perfect arse," he said, kissing one cheek. "And a perfect, pretty little arsehole."
"Oh my God," she said, her face burning hot, lifting a hand to cover her eyes, embarrassment burning through her. "Malfoy, you can't just say –"
"I can, and I will," he said firmly, and then returned to ravishing her from behind, right hand sliding between her thighs, his fingertips just brushing over her clit. Oh. He pressed, and moved his finger in little circles, licking and swirling over her skin, until the sensation shifted from ticklish and mortifying to oddly good. Her body began to glow warmly, the feeling pooling in her chest and melting through her limbs, her breath coming short and her nerve-endings tingling all over. And as if Malfoy could feel the shift, he made a pleased humming, and his mouth shifted, lower down.
"Oh fuck," Hermione gasped, fingers flexing on the coffee table, head hanging down and her eyes shut, her two braids hanging either side of her face. His fingers kept rubbing, and his tongue probed into her cunt – his face pressed full against her, and his left hand pulling her hip up, and her bum higher into the air – and she made a wobbling, mewling sound. She was wet. Sopping and slick. "Oh my – hnnnggh…"
He made another pleased, rumbling noise, and kissed her there, right on her vulva with a lingering tenderness. His lips were soft and plush, and his tongue was lightly delving in between soft folds. Curling into her again, as he pressed firmly against her clit and twitched his fingers quickly. Oh God. Her legs wobbled as electricity swept through her in a shivering wave.
"Nngh..."
The urge to come burned in her – striking hot up into her core, her womb clenching. All her mortification was gone. A distant memory. She could think of nothing but the sensations consuming her, radiating out from every place he put his tongue, and his fingers. And of how much she wanted his cock. Filling her. Oh, yes please. And now. Impatience suddenly seethed in her body.
"I want to come," she said breathlessly, lifting her head and trying to look over her shoulder at him. She could see only his arm, and a glimpse of well-toned leg, blonde hairs gleaming in the light. "Malfoy," she said, insistent, and she could feel his mouth move against her slick flesh – grinning, she thought. He grumbled, but drew away, mumbling something about her impatience.
"We only have so much time," she pointed out, her voice all distorted with arousal. Husky and tight at once. "I want to actually have sex before Carina wakes up. Or the damned crup." She wobbled upright, turning to face him, standing between his thighs as he knelt there. Naked. Oh. He was delicious. Pale as marble and just as beautifully sculpted. She tried to step back to admire him better, and nearly fell over the coffee table.
He swore and grabbed her hips, steadying her.
"Careful, Granger," he said with a smile. "I think you need to sit down." He turned her, shuffling out of the way on his knees, and gently pushing her down onto the settee. "And don't worry. We'll get this done with peak efficiency. Before anything wakes up." He smirked, kneeling between her thighs, his hands sliding under her bum and lifting her up, her legs spread and her pussy right there in front of his mouth. He licked his lips, and she whimpered at the sight.
"Efficiency," she echoed faintly, nodding. "Ye-essss…"
His mouth was hot, and very efficient. His jaw was faintly prickly with incipient stubble, and his tongue was soft and lush. Her hands sank into his short hair, fingers curling into it and gripping tightly as her hips lifted off the settee, pushing up into his mouth as she whimpered. More, she thought. More. Malfoy seemed to know – probably from experience. She was rather predictable. He gently eased one long finger into her as he kept licking, and she made a strangled sound, clamping her hand over her mouth as her cunt twitched.
Efficiency and silence were their watchwords right now.
It took an effort to stay silent as Malfoy added another finger and began to pump them in and out, twisting as he went. His tongue always moving. Licking pleasure into her. Wringing it out of her. Hermione's world was reduced to sensations, and desire, and oh she loved it. It was perfect. When she peeked through her lowered lashes, he was watching her, his pupils blown and his irises quicksilver, and her cheeks flushed hotter at the intensity in his eyes. He wanted to watch her come. On his tongue. Around his fingers. She knew he did. He loved watching her face as orgasm crashed over her, erasing any self-consciousness, or thought.
Hermione Granger, obliterated by the pleasure he gave her; wrecked in the wake of his skilful touch.
She came on his swirling tongue with her eyes screwed shut and her thighs clamping on his head, her muscles taut with the force of her orgasm, curling forward as she pressed her lips together and made a quiet, humming moan. Still trying to stay silent and not wake the sleeping cruppy, or Carina. And then she fell back against the settee, gasping, her skin prickling with heat, and he slid his fingers from her – her cunt nearly dripping with juices. Satisfaction washed through her body in a physical wave, and she felt steamrollered in the best way. Limp and flattened by the force of her orgasm.
Malfoy grinned from between her legs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "See? Efficiency. Now come here. I'm not missing out."
He had her kneeling on the floor in just a few seconds, folded over the settee with her face smushed into the cushions. She was a rag-doll in his hands; pliable and willing, and not contributing much beyond just being there. It didn't seem he needed her to, thank Merlin.
"Oh – fuck," he groaned, as he lined up his cock and sank into her without preamble.
Peak efficiency, Hermione thought dizzily, and then her thoughts fragmented as he began to move, his cock an insistent stretch, making her feel over-full and over-sensitive in the best ways as he fucked deep and hard. His hands held her tight as he thrust into her, and she tried not to vocalise, directing her small, huffed moans into the cushions.
He vocalised.
He talked in broken murmurs, snatches of thoughts that crossed his mind as he grasped toward orgasm, his body tense and hard over hers, his hips slamming against her bum, his cock going so deep that it hurt her. She pushed back into him, anyway. Embracing the pain. The tender ache and the blossoming, dark sweetness in her belly. It felt as though she'd be able to feel him through her abdomen if she slipped her hand between her belly and the settee. Feel his cock impaling her from the outside.
"Fuck… Granger… You're so pretty when you come," he panted. "So perfect. Merlin. All pink – your cheeks, and your pretty pussy, and those perfect, suckable nipples. Pink mouth. Pink tongue. Fucking delicious. Taste so sweet. I want to make you come until you can't anymore. Want to make you come until you're begging…"
His hands skated up her sides briefly as he withdrew, before seizing tight and snapping his hips forward. Sensation burst deep within her and she made a wobbly little moan, nearly inaudible beneath the wet sound of her cunt with each thrust – mortifyingly loud in the quiet as he fucked into her. He kissed her shoulder, bent forward over her as he ground his hips in a circle, and her wet cunt made a squelching sound. He groaned even as she winced in embarrassment.
"Merlin, listen to that. So fucking wet." He reached up as he kept thrusting – shallower and faster, but her wet cunt still made the same sounds , only quieter. He yanked the tie from one of her braids. "You sound obscene, Granger. So filthy." He yanked the tie from her other braid, fucking her very slowly for a moment as he tried to finger comb her hair from its braids. "And you feel so fucking good. So tight. Such a tight, wet little cunt, stretched around my cock."
"Hnngh – I – oh," she managed eloquently, followed by: "Please."
"Does it feel –" he thrust harder now, and she made another strangled noise, that contained a yes in it somewhere. "Ff-feel good? Being fucked until you can't think? Do you want it harder? Deeper? Or soft, and slow?"
Malfoy's thrusts punctuated his questions for a while, the tempo shifting maddeningly as he ran through all the potential options. Thankfully, he didn't expect answers, because she couldn't formulate them. He really was fucking her until she couldn't think. Or didn't want to think, at least – thinking was too much work, and distraction.
Hermione just wanted to bask in the feeling of him using her. Her whole body felt feverish. Burning with sensation. Her thighs trembled, and she was so slick that she thought she might be making a wet patch on the edge of the settee.
"Fuck, you feel amazing, Granger," he panted, and she feel the mood shift. His focus changed – arrowing in, pointing straight for orgasm. "Going to make me come so fast."
The rhythm, the pace – the force of his thrusts; it was all clearly about him now, and him alone. Lost in his own head and in thoughts of impending orgasm, and there was something so sexy about that. Something so perversely arousing about him using her body for his own purposes, without thought of her pleasure – for once – assured in the knowledge that she had already had her turn. And now it was his turn, and he was being selfish. Trying to finish quickly, before anything could interrupt them.
Oh God, Hermione loved it.
His hands roamed. Always one gripping her hip, and holding her firm – yanking her back into him as he snapped his hips forward – but his other hand was free. Twisting in her loose hair. Pulling her head back. Sliding between her body and the settee, and kneading her breasts – plucking at her nipples until she whimpered and made a small, mewling cry.
"Damn it. I need to kiss you," he said, his finger and thumb still playing with her nipple, and her trying not to be loud. "Fuck." He said it like a curse – like he was annoyed. He pulled out, and she felt empty – empty and greedy, wanting him back until he was done.
"Malfoy," she whined, but ignoring her protests, he turned her and lifted her up – flailing slightly – plopping her on the settee right side up, pulling her halfway off the edge and then grabbing his wand off the coffee table behind him, adjusting the height of the settee wordlessly, concentration on his face.
"There we go," he said, satisfied. "That's better." His cock thrust up into her abruptly and hard, and she moaned – he swallowed the sound with his mouth. He kissed her as he fucked her with short little thrusts – their position couldn't be ideal for him – one arm around her back, and the other hand cradling the side of her face.
She felt small, and overwhelmed by him – he was pressed against her everywhere. In her. Tasting her. Impaling her. She couldn't move, couldn't speak – if she'd wanted to stop she'd have had to pinch him.
Just to check, she did. Pinched him on the side. He stopped and pulled back – cheeks flushed and lips reddened, his eyes gleaming silver and hazed with lust, and his chest heaving as he breathed hard. His fingers twitching in her hair. "Y-yes?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even and failing. "You alright, Granger?"
"Mmhm," she said, nodding, feeling nearly dazed. "Just checking."
He frowned in confusion, and then visibly realised. "Oh. Yes. Right."
"But now you can…"
"Thank Merlin," he said, and went back to fucking her, his mouth reclaiming hers.
It was impossible to know how much longer he took; she was so lost in the sensation of it – overwhelmed in the onslaught of pleasure. But he was still slumped against her in the wake of a shuddering orgasm, his mouth pressed to her temple and his arms around her back, when Carina began to cry.
"Fuck," he said into the masses of her hair.
"I'll get her," she said, patting his shoulder, and extricating herself from him as he drew back with a groan, dropping a kiss against her forehead before he slumped down onto the floor in front of the settee, and leaning back against it. He watched as Hermione quickly yanked on her knickers and took off at a trot on wobbly legs – Carina's irritated crying rising in volume.
And then Minnie gave a soft yip, and Hermione heard the skitter of tiny claws over the wood floors. Merlin. Carina's crying must have woken her. Well – Malfoy would have to deal with that. "The cruppy's awake!" she called as she headed down the hallway, just in case he hadn't heard it.
"Shit," he swore, and Hermione snickered.
"You made it just in the nick of time," she called back as she hurried through to Carina, feeling wobbly and refreshed at once – her endorphins flowing and making her positively giddy.
"Peak efficiency!" he called, and she laughed to herself.
They made a good team.