Draco is hungry. Hermione helps. A leisurely burn culminating in the library sex of your dreams. Featuring Sanskrit erotic poetry, a new DADA professor, and prophetic dreams.
Eighth year. Complete, with afterword. EXPLICIT - for mature audiences on...
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They open their eyes like pumpkins at midnight, groggy and tangled in each other.
She's burrowed into his shoulder, her small breasts pressed to his back. Arm and leg thrown contentedly over him. Her hair fully unraveled, trapped under him.
His own hair is wild, silver tendrils around his face. His shirt riding up to his chest, his stomach exposed.
He's curled in a ball with his palms under his cheek. The tall little spoon.
He blinks and realizes he's drooling.
Then he remembers. "Oh, no!" he cries, stretching out and rumpling the blanket under him. He turns around and sees Granger blinking at him like a friendly otter. Her face and hair poking out from under the magnificent duvet.
What the fuck? They haven't done one sexual thing together (have they?) but there's already an... after haze over them. Like significant things have already happened.
He rubs the back of his neck. He does love being the little spoon, and nobody ever lets him. A little bubble of pleasure swells in him and he ruthlessly pops it. The deep physical comfort enveloping him reminds him that he's supposed to be focused on defeating her.
He looks again at her. Again their faces are very close, close enough to kiss. He reminds himself to cast a little breath freshening charm even though they won't be kissing tonight.
Rules are rules.
"Sleepy, Granger?" he says, with a yawn. "Been staying up thinking of ways to resist my forked tongue?"
She shivers a little as he shows off said tongue. He closes his mouth and looks at her comfortably. Once again, feeling much less competitive and cutthroat than when he came. Instead feeling...cozy.
He narrows his eyes. Fuck cozy. I came to win.
"You slept just as long as I did," she says casually, tugging at her hair. He rolls a little to release it and she pulls it out without putting it up. "You must have been preparing too."
True. He's confused by how much of that preparation he can't remember now, and by this mysterious new sensation of just wanting to hold her like a cuddly toy.
He hasn't felt this relaxed with a girl in — well, ever. And it's her.
Maybe it's because they've fought it all out for so long.
Then, quicker than a wand flick, she changes gear. She throws off the duvet, lies back with her hands behind her head and very confidently spreads her legs.
