lips alternated between light and lighter still, his lips stroked and nipped and sucked at hers. He groaned into her mouth when she pulled up the back of his shirt and ran her palm over the small of his back, kneading the muscles there.
Hermione rested her cheek against his chest and was gratified to feel and hear the wild hammering of his heart.
It was a rather romantic and arguably peaceful conclusion to their short-lived spat.
That was, until he loosened the fastenings of his pants and shoved her hand down the front.
He was utterly shameless. Hermione thought she would never be able to put up with such crude treatment, but then why was she breathing more heavily now, and leaning into him.
What transpired was a quick lesson in how to stroke him, how to make a fist and pull on him just the way he preferred. Ever a quick learner, she soon had him gasping against her forehead.
Physical intimacy with Draco was still so new to her. He wasn't programmed to feel shy or embarrassed, which was just as well. She probably felt shy enough for the both of them.
It was frightening to think on how very much she cared for him, for Draco. For the complex, volatile young man breathing hotly into her hair. First impressions would count for nothing when it came to analysing Draco.
One required patience and endurance.
And perhaps a bottle of hard liquor.
Doors, she decided. That was what he was made up of. Many doors, each opening to a different emotion or part of him that he liked to keep as guarded as possible. It was his way of coping. Doors would open, with her persistent prodding and she would marvel at unexpected tenderness or his candour. By the same token, other doors would shut.
"Stop," he hissed suddenly, and extricated her hand. His slight shudder told her that her ministrations had nearly undone him.
She tilted her head up so that she could look at his face. His eyelids were at half mast. "
How come you get to ask me all sorts of personal questions and yet when I even try to get a bit closer to you, you bite my head off?"
He sighed. A door creaked open behind his eyes. "Potter makes me jealous. So does Weasley. Damn it, Crookshanks sitting on your lap would probably make me jealous. I'm sorry for being beastly just now, but I guarantee it will happen again. Often, I'm sure."
What a shite apology. Hermione rolled her eyes. "You' re beastly eighty percent of the time."
"And the other twenty percent?" he asked, his lips rubbing sideways against hers. Hermione breathed in the question.
"You're horny," she announced and was rewarded with his unrestrained laughter.
She could feel his chest rumble and soaked in the delightful noise like parched desert sand under a seasonal shower.
How the hell did they come to this? They had been discussing fate and coincidence not ten minutes ago.
"Ask and I promise I won' t bite your heard off." His voice was husky, indulgent.
"Malfoy, we're in the middle of an emergency," she reminded, letting some exasperation seep into her voice. "We should be rushing back to the Castle to inform them."
Not standing around having intercourse via conversation.
He rubbed against her and she could feel the heat of him through at least four layers of clothing. "I believe the 'emergency' was avoided when I removed your tight, little fist from my person."
"Draco-"
"Bugger Hogwarts for a moment. Humour me."
She sighed. "What's your favourite colour?"
"Don't have one."
"What's your favourite food?"
"You," he said, and nipped her earlobe.
"Have you ever slept with Pansy Parkinson?"
That ruined the mood somewhat. He stared down at her quite comically. She tried not to crack into a wide grin. "What? I already told you no. God, no!"
"Did you ever want to?" she asked, eyeballing him.
He took an annoying amount of time to think. "Not particularly, but a man may always reconsider his options in periods of.drought."
She pinched his arm for being cheeky, and then grew more sober. "What did the Ministry want with you in Dumbledore' s office? Every time you don' t tell me, I keep imagining the worst"
Draco just stared at her, utterly amazed by the fact that he could not lie. He had fully intended to lie to her, of course. For her own good.
It wasn't that he couldn't come up with a decent fabrication, it was just that any lie he formulated in his head could not get past his lips. What the fuck was