Fic: Torn Asunder (Draco/Hermione) NC-17
Feb. 14th, 2010 05:26 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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hpkinkfestTitle: Torn Asunder
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dracodew17
Prompt Number: 224 submitted byldymusyc
Kink Showcased: Clothed sex
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Summary: Hermione Granger is getting married to someone other than Draco Malfoy, but he's got something to say about it first.
Warnings: Clothed sex was the original prompt with bonus points for wedding clothes, but there's also a side of voyeurism with a surprise kink thrown in that I won't ruin for you.
Word Count: just over 6400
Author's Notes: M, this was your prompt so I really, REALLY hope you enjoy it. To G, who sort of gave me the idea for the surprise when she said there wasn't enought of it in our ship though this isn't very heavy on that particular kink. And last, but certainly not least, torivertempest for being such a kickass beta and for coming up with a title. I couldn't have done it without you. Any remaining mistakes are mine since I tinkered with it a bit after the edits. Also, to the mods, who have been very understanding. This has been an amazing fest. ♥
Hermione's Dress
Vanity Table
“You’re really going through with it?”
Hermione gently adjusted the veil perched above her chignon so it would effortlessly drape across her shoulders the way she wanted. It had been quite the pain to get her hair tamed into the style and, if it wasn’t for numerous charms and the crystal-encrusted barrette pinning the veil in place, the whole mess would easily come unhinged. Turning slightly so she could see the side of it in the vanity mirror, she gave it one final correction before she was satisfied with its straightness.
She wasn’t ignoring the question, really--it wasn’t a great shock that Ron did not approve in her choice of groom--but she was giving herself time to search for the right answer to pacify him before speaking. She took a few more moments to browse through the cosmetic potions and scents Ginny had left for her in the dressing room, several quiet minutes passing until she decided she’d delayed him long enough. She could see him in the reflection of the mirror, just over her left shoulder, standing by the door with his hand still poised over the knob. The color of his face was starting to blend in with that of his hair as his anger increased when it looked like a response to his inquiry would not be forthcoming.
“Yes, Ron, I am.” Short and succinct, it couldn’t get much clearer than that.
The ends of his eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. His hand went to his collar and tugged nervously on the top button of the navy dress robes while clearing his throat in preparation to speak. Hermione knew what was going to come out of his mouth before he even said it, but that didn’t make the air in the room any less uncomfortable. She trusted Ron with her life, had since their first year at Hogwarts, but he had all the subtlety of an elephant, something that had unfortunately not changed with age.
“You sure? I know it’s only been six months since -” He tried to open the subject for discussion, but she cut him off before his mouth could form the name that would bring her carefully developed façade crashing down around her. She was cool, calm, controlled.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve made my decision, Ron.” Folding her hands over the vanity table, she paused to study their mirror images and, detecting nothing but friendly concern in his expression for the moment, sighed before turning on the cushioned seat to face him. She held her hand out to him, and he stepped further into the room before clasping it in his much larger one.
“I know you’re only worried about me, but I promise you, everything will work out for the best,” she said reassuringly with a slight smile, her dark eyes tracing the contours of his face to analyze his reaction to her words.
Not convinced by her statement in the least, he wearily shook his head and patted her hand, giving up the argument for lost. “I still think you’re making a big mistake, Hermione, but I suppose it’s yours to make.”
Realizing that was the best she was going to get out of him for now, she turned back to the mirror and started reading the labels on the perfume bottles while taking solace in her small victory. Picking the one labeled Jasmine and Orange Blossoms, she uncorked the stopper and began dabbing it on the pulse points behind her ears and on her wrists adding one drop between her breasts for good measure. Once she was finished with that, she placed it back in the bottle before lifting a brush from the set lined up on the vanity’s surface to add just the slightest bit more color to her cheekbones. She was supposed to be a blushing bride, after all, not a woman about to be escorted to the gallows.
“You should be checking on how the seating is going, like Harry,” she stated, casually changing the subject without diverting her attention from the last minute touch ups she was doing to her perfectly made up face. “The ceremony will be starting soon.”
Giving her one more glance of disapproval in the mirror, Ron tightly clutched her shoulder and nodded uneasily before heading for the door and closing it with a soft click behind him. Hermione knew he meant well, but part of his problem was that he still fancied himself in love with her on some days.
Not long after the war was over, Hermione had quickly called an end to their relationship--she had soon realized they were confusing friendly affection for something deeper--but Ron had never given up the hope that she would see reason and patch things up with him. Unfortunately for her, even dating other men in the five years following the war hadn’t dampened his expectations for a reconciliation, until –
No, she resolutely thought to herself, I refuse to think of him today.
Before her mind could wander down that path without her permission, a soft tapping on the door interrupted her internal musings and she called for the person to enter. The door was opened just a crack and a head full of flame-colored waves poked through before the rest of the youngest Weasley waltzed into the room.
“Good, you’re by yourself. If I have to hear Ron complain about how this is a bad idea one more time, I’m going to slip something into his tea. Preferably a potion that will make him unable to speak for at least a month.”
“Ginny!” Hermione scolded, shaking her head in an effort not to let her amusement show. Her quivering shoulders gave her away. “You’re so mean to your brother.”
“Well, he deserves it,” the younger girl stated with a firm nod.
Sobering from her mirth, the brunette sighed. “He’s just concerned about me.”
“I know, but he doesn’t always know best,” Ginny said wisely before clapping her hands together and pasting a bright smile on her face. “That’s enough of that,” she decisively declared and took Hermione by the hand to help her to her feet. “Let’s take a look at you.”
The older girl walked carefully over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. The dress she wore was absolutely beautiful. Beginning with a strapless corseted bodice with a sweetheart neckline, it hugged her curves before sweeping down in layers of satin displayed by folds of scalloped tiers. The tulle giving the bell-shaped skirt its shape made a swishing noise against her legs as she twirled in front of the mirror.
The redhead appeared beside her, making adjustments to her own dress, a lovely creation of plum-colored chiffon that somehow flattered all three of Hermione’s bridesmaids despite their differences in hair and complexions. Once Ginny was finished, she plucked the white elbow gloves off the dressing screen to the side and handed them to Hermione.
“Now, Harry told me about this Muggle tradition so let me see if I have it right. You have something old?” she questioned as the brunette gently pulled the gloves up her arms.
Hermione pointed to her necklace. “My grandmother’s pearls.”
“Something new?”
“The dress, obviously.”
“Right. Something borrowed?”
“The earrings are Padma’s.”
“Okay, and the last one is something blue?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, pulling the skirt of her dress up slightly to reveal the blue heels she wore on her feet.
Ginny laughed and pulled her into a hug. “I declare you ready to get married.” After separating, the redhead gave her one last supportive squeeze before heading for the door, her voice drifting over her shoulder as she moved. “Luna and Padma are already lined up so I’ll send Ron back to get you when everyone’s settled and it’s about to start.” Stopping in the doorway with one hand on the frame, the redhead turned and smiled softly. “I’m really happy for you, Hermione.”
The brunette returned the smile with a small one of her own, the expression dropping from her face once Ginny had disappeared out of sight. Moving carefully in the large dress, she crossed back over to the vanity and settled down on the seat to wait.
Propping her elbows on the table, she leaned forward with her chin resting in her right palm and studied the lines of her face as time passed. Her dark eyes, made larger by the kohl lining their rims, were reflecting the inner turmoil she felt and her deep rose-painted lips were pulled down into a frown as she questioned for perhaps the thousandth time whether or not this really was the right choice. She knew drastic action would be the only way to deal with him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The furious voice was only a hiss in the air, but she startled at the dangerous undertone she could hear in his familiar drawl and the unexpected appearance he had made into her dressing chamber. She hadn’t heard the opening of the door, and to have the man she was determined not to think about suddenly standing behind her in the same room left her quite disconcerted. Deciding not to let on how much his appearance had unsettled her, she busied her hands, arranging the brushes on the vanity’s surface into a neat line of descending order, and refused to turn and face him.
“I’m getting married.” She answered his question calmly, her voice steady though it threatened to tremble in excitement. “I thought it obvious, when one considers my state of dress,” she clarified further, her statement heavily laden with sarcasm.
“To McLaggen?” His disbelief was evident as his voice rose in volume. “The oaf who couldn’t even hold your attention for one Christmas party over eight years ago?”
“Cormac is very good to me,” Hermione responded coldly to his scornful doubt, her focus now on lining up the bottles of cosmetics and perfumes against the mirror at the back of the table. Then suddenly, he was there with her in the reflection, the platinum strands of his hair falling into his enraged gray eyes, his hands gripping the corners of the vanity, arms boxing her in. His chest was pressed against her back and she could feel the warmth of his body even through the thick set of elegant black dress robes he wore. She couldn’t control her body’s response to his closeness as she felt her temperature rise. Desire rapidly overpowering her apprehension, she let herself enjoy the feelings she had been missing for the last six months, but was unwilling to give in completely.
“Can he keep up with you?” the blond asked, his voice whisper-soft as his lips brushed the shell of her ear and the hot exhale of his breath caused a shiver to race up her spine. She felt him descend further until his mouth was tantalizingly close to the sweet spot just beneath her jaw that would make her beg and moan in the way he relished. He inhaled deeply with his nose pressed into her hair, and she knew he was savoring the perfumed scent of jasmine and orange blossoms she had put on mixed with the familiar aroma of her cinnamon shampoo, his favorite. “Does he enjoy the little games we used to play?” he questioned temptingly, his lips ghosting over the skin of her throat.
“Draco…” she pleaded on a whimper, her hands balling into fists in her gloves, clasping the folds of her dress in desperation, refusing to reach out and pull him to her.
“Tell me the truth, Hermione,” he practically commanded as his fingers began dancing teasingly across the bare skin of her shoulders and his mocking gaze met hers in the mirror, lips twisted into the hateful sneer of their Hogwarts days. “Why are you really marrying that useless waste of a wizard?”
Darting her eyes away from his knowing stare, she clenched her fingers tighter around the fabric of her skirt and gritted her teeth in frustration at her inability to lie to him when he touched her so skillfully, bringing her to new heights of awareness while she began to feel herself grow damp. “He wants a seat on the International Confederation of Wizards,” she answered dispassionately.
“I see,” Draco asserted in the manner of one who has just figured out a particularly difficult Arithmancy equation. “And Hermione Granger, war hero, female third--and brains--of the Golden Trio, would make the perfect wife for such a political position, not to mention the advantage it would give him as a starting point.”
Hermione kept her head turned away, but her traitorous body started leaning into him to help encourage his ministrations on her responsive flesh. Unexpectedly, the enticing strokes of his fingertips switched to a bruising grip on her shoulders and she gasped in surprise at his shift to aggressiveness.
“In exchange for?” The words were spoken softly, but she could just make out the incensed tremor underlying them.
“He would fund my Potions research.”
All Draco’s fury melted away in that instant, as if it had never been there to begin with, and the gray eyes she so loved were calm once again as she returned her gaze to the mirror. His amusement was apparently too much for him to contain when bursts of derisive laughter escaped his lips which smoothed into a contemptuous smirk.
“Of course, McLaggen always was rather pragmatic for a Gryffindor. And here I thought you’d gone and done something ridiculous, like fallen in love with the bloke.”
In the single moment it took for the word to be spoken into existence, the air in the room changed abruptly, and the ardent longing between them was immediately replaced with anxious tension. Rising carefully to her feet in the small space between the cushioned seat and the table’s edge, Hermione spun around to face him, her dress rustling noisily around her, and hastily lifted her hand, feeling the satisfying tingle in her palm when it connected with his face.
“You have some nerve to say that to me,” she bit out, her eyes blazing with indignant fire. She repressed the urge to cross the space separating them and throttle him to within an inch of his life.
Straightening to his full height, he only raised an eyebrow at her show of temper, ignoring the red mark rapidly blooming on his left cheek. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“You suppose?” she asked incredulously. “It’s been six months, Draco! I told you I loved you, and you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I tried to Floo you and owl you, but everything went unanswered. What did you expect me to do? Sit around and wait for you to come to your senses?” Hermione cursed her voice for trembling when it got louder, her carefully controlled emotions threatening to boil over. She could feel tears beginning to build up in the corners of her eyes, but she quickly closed her lids and ruthlessly halted their progress.
“No,” he answered her quietly once she had reopened her eyes. “I never thought you would do that.” Reaching for her hand, he threaded his fingers through her own and watched as the interlocking digits clasped perfectly into place. “So, where does that leave us?”
She shook off his grip and turned back to the mirror, effectively dismissing him as she took to re-examining the straightness of her veil, feeling certain her confrontation with him had rendered it crooked. “That leaves us nowhere,” she explained airily, one gloved fingertip pressed against her barrette as she made more needless alterations to it, her attention entirely focused on her appearance. “I’m getting married to Cormac and you’ll go back to whatever you’ve been doing for the last six months.”
He placed a tense hand on her shoulder and twisted her back around to face him. “You can’t be serious,” he stated, calling her on what he clearly thought was her bluff.
Not changing her expression in the least, Hermione stared him down intently. “Do I look like I’m joking, Draco?” she questioned unnecessarily before resuming the tidying she was now doing on her already pristine wedding dress.
“But Potter said –“
“Ah, yes,” she cut him off, “I was wondering how you found out about the ceremony. I should have known Harry would be the one to tell you. He hasn’t been as vocal as Ron in his disapproval, though he clearly doesn’t agree with my decision, which normally means he’s been planning something.” An ironic chuckle filled with little enjoyment bubbled from her chest and her eyes reconnected with his in the reflection. “Let me guess: he sent you an invitation, possibly with a note attached about how I’m making a big mistake?”
His gray eyes were solemn in the face of her fabricated glee and--instead of answering her inquiry--he merely continued to study her as if searching for an inner weakness he would be only too willing to exploit. “I can see you are set upon your decision.”
Hermione was surprised by his words and the change in his approach, allowing a few moments of uneasy silence pass between them before she gathered herself enough to respond to his probing declaration. “I am,” she stated firmly, her hands coming to rest at her sides to brace her for more of his scorn.
“And there’s nothing I can do to make you change your mind?”
On the edges of her vision, she could see him making movements behind her, but she could not bring herself to focus on him for fear that all her attempts of pride and dignity would be for naught. Believing him to be readying himself to be rid of her made disappointment swiftly begin spreading through her. She thought he would have fought harder to win her over, if he had truly loved her like she did him. Her voice was nothing more than a choked utterance filled with restrained tears once she was able to force the word past her lips.
“No.”
A moment of stillness encompassed them while she lifted her head to look back into the mirror, expecting to see the reflection of his back as he exited through the door, but she could not see anything in the room behind her.
“Nothing at all, Mistress?”
Gasping loudly at his softly expressed question, Hermione twirled around so hastily she nearly toppled over when her dress flared out into a circle around her legs. He had moved the cushioned seat to the side and taken his place at her feet as he spoke the word that always preceded her favorite of all their games. Draco knew what hearing that word on his lips did to her, and--seeing him on his knees before her, his hands clasped behind his back, and his head bowed to submissively present his neck to her--she felt her knees go weak and had to lean back against the vanity for support.
Draco Malfoy, his lean, six-foot-two frame folded at her feet, his blond hair obscuring his handsome face, and offering himself up completely for her pleasure was something no sane witch would be able to resist.
“That’s dirty Quidditch, my dragon,” she answered forcefully, reaching out with one gloved hand to tangle her fingers into his silky hair and yank his head back to expose his now sparkling gray eyes to her observation.
He smirked defiantly back at her, his smoky gaze only increasing in desire as anticipation quickly built between them at their exchange. “I must use every weapon in my arsenal, Mistress. If that makes me a very naughty boy, you should punish me as you see fit.”
“And so I shall,” she said, pulling him forward by her harsh grip on his hair, her voice an enticing whisper while she curled her other hand around the edge of the table for leverage, “after you have demonstrated just how sorry you are.” The tip of her left high-heeled shoe teasingly trailed straight up over his bulging groin, his clenching abdomen, and his firm chest, and he started panting in longing at her obvious meaning once her leg came to rest against his back, her knee hooked tightly over his shoulder to compel him even closer.
“Yes, anything, Mistress.” His tone was husky. His hands went to the hem of her gown, slowly peeling back each layer one by one. “As long as you promise not to marry that fool.”
“That depends on how sorry you are,” she replied on a moan, her mouth going dry when he smoothed his hands up her stocking-clad legs and brushed his heated palms over where the silky material ended halfway up her thighs. When he finally touched her bare flesh, she couldn’t contain her whimper as moisture pooled in the lacy fabric of her knickers.
“I assure you, Mistress, that I’m very, very sorry,” he exclaimed passionately before disappearing from her sight altogether, his head ducking underneath her voluminous skirts and letting them fall back to the floor, concealing everything but his shoes.
When she felt her undergarments vanish, Hermione grabbed the vanity with both hands for support, his own large hands cupping her bottom to elevate her to the perfect height for his hungry mouth to reach. At the first exhale of his searing breath against her wet pussy, his hair tickling the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, she groaned, her eyes falling closed, head tipping back against the cool glass of the mirror.
He inhaled deeply, his tongue flicked out and traced the crease of her opening, licking up the drenched evidence of her arousal and flattening to catch her clit on the upsweep. Pressing harder, he penetrated the inner lips of her slit, his mouth sucking on her labia and his tongue swirling skillfully against her walls. Once he began pulling back to take a breath, his teeth scraped gently over her swollen flesh causing several choked gasps to escape her opened mouth.
Diving right back in, he closed his lips over the small nerve-filled pearl of her clit, tugging on it delicately, sucking, and drawing random patterns over its surface with the tip of his tongue. Feeling a tingle starting to build low in her stomach, she was dismayed when he let her clit go to return to her cunt, and couldn’t help the strangled cry she let out.
His low chuckle vibrated against her and she whimpered in displeasure that was quickly forgotten when his tongue returned inside her center, the end of his perfectly pointed nose picking up the stimulation of her neglected bud causing more wetness to trickle out of her and into his mouth. She sighed in satisfaction as the long, pink organ began plunging into her opening, his pace increasing when she started meeting his thrusts, riding his face as she felt herself climbing to her peak once more.
One of his hands shifted from her behind and two of his fingers joined his tongue inside of her, stretching her further. Her gasps and cries grew more frequent, her head spinning with desire, her fingernails digging into the wood of the vanity through her gloves. A third finger was added, and her juices dribbled down his hand as he took her clit back into his mouth, sucking on it hard and nibbling on the bud with his teeth.
Grinding herself against his face, she felt herself growing closer, her body tensing and her walls starting to clench around his stabbing digits. One more graze of his teeth over her clit, and the pain mixed with the intense pleasure set her off, a gasping whimper the only sound she was capable of making as she came apart, her pussy tightening around his fingers, wetness flooding out of her already soaked opening and spilling into his waiting mouth. She leaned further back onto the table, panting for breath. Aftershocks of her orgasm were pulsing through her body, making her elbows knock several of her carefully arranged bottles onto the floor.
He cleaned her up swiftly and meticulously with his tongue, her body responding despite having just come. Once he was finished, he resurfaced from underneath her dress, sucking her juices off his hand, the area around his mouth still wet from her release. Wiping off all the moisture from his chin with his palm, he cleaned it with long, relishing licks of his tongue while she watched before returning to his kneeling position at her feet.
“Are you satisfied, Mistress?”
“Not yet,” she answered, her voice breathy as she carefully settled her weight back on her feet. Giving him a small cuff on the back of his head in warning for his cheek, she took a moment to compose herself from the intense orgasm he’d given her before moving forward with their game. Seeing him back in position though was a heady incentive to continue on without pause.
“Stand up,” she commanded, pleased when he instantly complied. Switching their positions so he was now the one with his back to the vanity, she moved the cushioned seat to its former spot. “Sit.” She smiled when he once again obeyed without question. With a guiding hand on his shoulder, she had him lean back until he was pressed against the edge of the table. “Now, place your hands palm-down on the surface.” Once he did so, she muttered a simple sticking charm under her breath, preventing him from moving his arms in any way.
He groaned in frustration at her actions, but he didn’t voice a denial or use his safe word. Figuring it was time to proceed, Hermione resumed her grip on his hair and jerked his head back, forcing him into an awkward position with his shoulders curving over the table.
A flash of red caught her eye in the mirror. Not taking her gaze from Draco’s upturned face, she examined the reflection of the room in her peripheral vision and could just make out Ron standing in the crack of the open doorway, one of his hands tucked into the lower part of his robes. Though she was curious to know how long he’d been watching, it didn’t really matter, since she and Draco were too far gone in their game to stop now, so she focused all her attention back on her lover.
“Are you really sorry?” she asked in a deadly whisper.
“Yes, Mistress,” Draco gasped in a choked reply, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly in anticipation.
“I’m not sure if I believe you,” Hermione ruminated, as if speaking to herself. He tried to wrench forward in protest, a sound of negation on his lips, but the charm held fast. Bending at the waist and gathering the hem of her dress in her fists, she cautiously placed one knee on each side of his legs and joined him on the seat, the ample layers of fabric becoming wrinkled as they were squished between their bodies. Once she was balanced above him, she twisted both her hands into his soft blond hair, her mouth finding the lobe of his ear and nipping at it sharply.
“Perhaps I should force you to service me for a week.” She exhaled, her teeth sinking into his jaw, leaving a beautiful pink mark. “Yes, a week of your tongue buried in my wet pussy sounds very good.”
Sensing his arousal growing wild when he groaned deeply, she felt his lower body lift off the seat, seeking out the friction he needed for what was obviously quickly becoming an uncomfortable erection. Taking pity on him, she settled in his lap, her hot, dripping center connecting with the hard bulge confined by his thick robes. She ground against him, fingers digging into his shoulder-blades while she grew wetter with every pass, her juices rapidly soaking the material separating them.
“Or perhaps I shouldn’t allow you any release at all,” she deliberated, rising back up to her knees, and removing the small relief the rubbing had afforded him. Anticipating his objections, she sealed her mouth over his lips and slipped her tongue inside to twist with his own, tasting herself on it as they kissed. Her teeth sunk into his bottom lip and sucked, before she pulled back for breath. The flushed, disheveled picture he now presented her with made her hunger for him spiral out of control. Before she was totally lost to her lust, her arm twined into the space between two of the buttons on his robes and grasped his rigid cock, adjusting it so it was now poking out of the small opening she had created.
“Would I do that to you, my dragon?” she asked teasingly, her hand stroking down the long column of flesh. She ripped a moan of ecstasy from the blond when she cupped his balls and fondled them in her hand. She gripped him harder on the return up, swirling a single fingertip around the head, the leaking pre-cum dampening the fabric of her white gloves on the end of her index finger. Pressing it to her tongue, Hermione’s dark eyes met Ron’s cornflower blue ones in the mirror as she sucked Draco’s taste off the material and savored it in her mouth with a hum of delight. A strangled gasp sounded from the redhead just outside the door, but she could see Draco was too far gone in his desire to take notice, his hips nearly bucking her off the seat in an effort to bring her attention back to his urgent need.
“Please, Mistress.” He begged her so sweetly, his eyes closed and his head thrown back against the mirror with his pale unblemished throat utterly exposed. They normally employed a blindfold at this point in the game and Hermione knew he was staying as true to it as he could. It was his version of an apology, she was sure.
Her hand closed back over his erection, her fingertips unable to meet around his girth as she resumed her stroking of his length, the silky cloth of her gloves easing the slide. She palmed the head and collected more of his copious fluid on two of her fingers before mixing it with the wetness dripping from her own folds. One went into her own mouth, her tongue swirling around the digit while she savored their differing flavors mingled together on her glove, the other she shared with Draco, encouraging him to taste their combined juices. More gasps and moans came from the doorway.
Deciding she’d waited long enough, she used her left hand to line Draco up with her opening and pulled her finger out of his hot mouth until only the very tip of the glove overlapped his bottom teeth. “Bite,” she directed and he immediately obeyed, allowing her to pull her arm and hand out of the constricting garment. Taking it out of his mouth, she threw it to the floor as just the head of his length slipped inside her. After removing her hand from his hard flesh, she stopped, poised above him with her moisture beginning to coat the both of them as it trickled down, and she quickly took off her other glove. Once her hands were uncovered, she tangled them back in his smooth blond hair, her unimpeded fingernails digging into his scalp as she impaled herself onto his thick cock, not stopping until he was completely buried in her cunt, the tip bumping against her cervix.
Strangled gasps of rapture were torn from both of them as her walls stretched to accommodate his intrusion. Using her hands in his hair for control, she lifted to her knees still balancing on the small seat until only the head remained before dropping back down into his lap. She moaned in bliss when the ridges and veins in his cock grazed all her inner sensitive spots on the downward stroke. Hermione circled her hips into his pelvis when she discovered one of his robe’s buttons was in the ideal position to rub her clit.
Whimpering with pleasure, she bucked her hips against the stimulation before pulling up, starting a rhythm with his length plunging back inside her core. Draco was quickly catching her tempo. Planting his feet firmly on the floor, he began tentatively meeting her thrusts, his careful movements obviously designed to not upset her precarious position on the seat. She swirled her hips with every down stroke, catching the button on her nerve-filled bud to her increasing bliss, loud gasps leaving her opened lips with each pass.
Tilting his head further back, she lunged for his throat, still riding his cock, their pace gradually increasing with every stab as they climbed ever higher to nirvana. She scraped her teeth down the flawless, pale column of flesh, choosing spots here and there to nip and bite. Soon, red and pink marks were blossoming, his skin like her own canvass come to life. He groaned beneath her, his hips picking up speed as they slammed into her own in a bruising rhythm.
Letting go of his hair, she trailed her hands down his unmoving arms until she reached his hands, her weight shifting so they were both now leaning against the vanity, racing toward completion. The layers of her dress rustled noisily around them as they crashed into each other, their coupling becoming frantic while their bodies tensed. Her walls began to tremble around his cock, gripping him tightly and refusing to let go as their tempo became a blur.
“Tell me,” she gasped, suddenly desperate to hear him say what she hoped was true. She felt the first waves of her orgasm crash over her unexpectedly while she pleaded with him. “Please tell me, Draco.”
“I love you, Hermione,” he was able to choke out before his length pulsed, shooting cum deep inside her. He cried out, his head coming to rest against the mirror’s glass as he came. Both breathing heavily, their combined weight came to rest against the edge of the vanity while the seat balanced them uncertainly, the lasting vestiges of their intense orgasm still shooting through both of them as they coiled together.
A third exclamation of release sounded into the room, surprising the entwined couple and making them look at the door as one. Hermione had honestly forgotten that Ron was watching them, but she couldn’t ignore it now, with Draco lifting a single eyebrow in sardonic amusement while the redhead rapidly turned a flaming shade of scarlet.
“Did you enjoy the show, Weasley?”
“I” Ron started, “supposed to… and then” His voice trailed off altogether before he cleared his throat and started over, his eyes finding a spot on the wall to focus on. “I’ll just go and tell everyone the wedding’s off then, right?”
The blond didn’t reply, only gazed at the brunette still sitting perched on his lap, his flaccid cock just now slipping out of her, their combined fluids pooling underneath them on the seat.
Hermione, for her part, was totally absorbed with the softness in the gray eyes she was staring into, a sight she had been sure she would never see again--considering what happened between them six months ago. When Ron made a noise of impatience behind her, she finally spoke.
“Please give my regrets to Cormac and his family, Ron. Let them know that, in this, I had to follow my heart.”
“Sure, Hermione.”
The sound of the door closing behind him signaled the return of their privacy and broke the locked gaze they had been sharing. Once she’d let him free of the charm, he helped her to her feet before neatly tucking himself back into his robes. She was just about to head for the dressing screen to remove her gown and put on something else, when he tugged her into his arms.
Dropping a relatively chaste kiss on her swollen lips, he laid his forehead against hers, sighing contentedly. “We weren’t supposed to fall in love, you know. We both agreed it would just be about sex.”
She laughed with genuine amusement and encircled his neck with her arms. “Nothing between us has ever been simple; why should an arrangement of mutual gratification be any different?”
“Yes, and it only took you over two years to realize it was love, and me nearly three,” he responded to her rhetorical question with glee, a teasing glint dancing in his eyes.
Hermione laughed at his assessment of the events that had happened between them, the sound quickly morphing into shrieks of delight when Draco swept her up in his arms, her voluminous dress twisting around her legs as he made for the door. Knowing him, he was probably intending to take her back to his flat and keep her in his bed for a week, now that they had worked things out between them.
“Put me down, Draco, or you’ll drop me!”
“I will do no such thing,” he indignantly declared, clearly only acting affronted by her words. They used the back corridors of the McLaggen estate to make a clean getaway to the apparation point, hopefully avoiding the wedding guests on their way. “There’s just one thing I want to know, Hermione,” he muttered hesitantly.
“And what is that, Draco?” she asked with a pleased smile, her fingers combing his mussed hair gently back from his face.
“How much longer were you planning to wait for me before you called the whole thing off?” An insolent smirk spread across his lips when her content expression was replaced with a look full of disbelief.
“Whatever gave you the idea I meant to call it off?”
“The knickers you had on before I vanished them. They were black lace and you are well aware of my preference for those.” His smirk grew rapidly into a full-blown grin.
Not wanting to confirm his suspicions, but knowing his initial observation was correct, Hermione waited a few moments. She let silence pass between them uninterrupted, until they reached the apparation point just past the east side of the house, before voicing a retort, rolling her eyes as she did so.
“You had a good fifteen minutes left, at least, before I became a runaway bride.”
They disapparated away to the sound of Draco’s laughter, something Hermione found particularly satisfying.
Fin
Author:
dracodew17Prompt Number: 224 submitted by
ldymusycKink Showcased: Clothed sex
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Summary: Hermione Granger is getting married to someone other than Draco Malfoy, but he's got something to say about it first.
Warnings: Clothed sex was the original prompt with bonus points for wedding clothes, but there's also a side of voyeurism with a surprise kink thrown in that I won't ruin for you.
Word Count: just over 6400
Author's Notes: M, this was your prompt so I really, REALLY hope you enjoy it. To G, who sort of gave me the idea for the surprise when she said there wasn't enought of it in our ship though this isn't very heavy on that particular kink. And last, but certainly not least, to
rivertempest for being such a kickass beta and for coming up with a title. I couldn't have done it without you. Any remaining mistakes are mine since I tinkered with it a bit after the edits. Also, to the mods, who have been very understanding. This has been an amazing fest. ♥Hermione's Dress
Vanity Table
“You’re really going through with it?”
Hermione gently adjusted the veil perched above her chignon so it would effortlessly drape across her shoulders the way she wanted. It had been quite the pain to get her hair tamed into the style and, if it wasn’t for numerous charms and the crystal-encrusted barrette pinning the veil in place, the whole mess would easily come unhinged. Turning slightly so she could see the side of it in the vanity mirror, she gave it one final correction before she was satisfied with its straightness.
She wasn’t ignoring the question, really--it wasn’t a great shock that Ron did not approve in her choice of groom--but she was giving herself time to search for the right answer to pacify him before speaking. She took a few more moments to browse through the cosmetic potions and scents Ginny had left for her in the dressing room, several quiet minutes passing until she decided she’d delayed him long enough. She could see him in the reflection of the mirror, just over her left shoulder, standing by the door with his hand still poised over the knob. The color of his face was starting to blend in with that of his hair as his anger increased when it looked like a response to his inquiry would not be forthcoming.
“Yes, Ron, I am.” Short and succinct, it couldn’t get much clearer than that.
The ends of his eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. His hand went to his collar and tugged nervously on the top button of the navy dress robes while clearing his throat in preparation to speak. Hermione knew what was going to come out of his mouth before he even said it, but that didn’t make the air in the room any less uncomfortable. She trusted Ron with her life, had since their first year at Hogwarts, but he had all the subtlety of an elephant, something that had unfortunately not changed with age.
“You sure? I know it’s only been six months since -” He tried to open the subject for discussion, but she cut him off before his mouth could form the name that would bring her carefully developed façade crashing down around her. She was cool, calm, controlled.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve made my decision, Ron.” Folding her hands over the vanity table, she paused to study their mirror images and, detecting nothing but friendly concern in his expression for the moment, sighed before turning on the cushioned seat to face him. She held her hand out to him, and he stepped further into the room before clasping it in his much larger one.
“I know you’re only worried about me, but I promise you, everything will work out for the best,” she said reassuringly with a slight smile, her dark eyes tracing the contours of his face to analyze his reaction to her words.
Not convinced by her statement in the least, he wearily shook his head and patted her hand, giving up the argument for lost. “I still think you’re making a big mistake, Hermione, but I suppose it’s yours to make.”
Realizing that was the best she was going to get out of him for now, she turned back to the mirror and started reading the labels on the perfume bottles while taking solace in her small victory. Picking the one labeled Jasmine and Orange Blossoms, she uncorked the stopper and began dabbing it on the pulse points behind her ears and on her wrists adding one drop between her breasts for good measure. Once she was finished with that, she placed it back in the bottle before lifting a brush from the set lined up on the vanity’s surface to add just the slightest bit more color to her cheekbones. She was supposed to be a blushing bride, after all, not a woman about to be escorted to the gallows.
“You should be checking on how the seating is going, like Harry,” she stated, casually changing the subject without diverting her attention from the last minute touch ups she was doing to her perfectly made up face. “The ceremony will be starting soon.”
Giving her one more glance of disapproval in the mirror, Ron tightly clutched her shoulder and nodded uneasily before heading for the door and closing it with a soft click behind him. Hermione knew he meant well, but part of his problem was that he still fancied himself in love with her on some days.
Not long after the war was over, Hermione had quickly called an end to their relationship--she had soon realized they were confusing friendly affection for something deeper--but Ron had never given up the hope that she would see reason and patch things up with him. Unfortunately for her, even dating other men in the five years following the war hadn’t dampened his expectations for a reconciliation, until –
No, she resolutely thought to herself, I refuse to think of him today.
Before her mind could wander down that path without her permission, a soft tapping on the door interrupted her internal musings and she called for the person to enter. The door was opened just a crack and a head full of flame-colored waves poked through before the rest of the youngest Weasley waltzed into the room.
“Good, you’re by yourself. If I have to hear Ron complain about how this is a bad idea one more time, I’m going to slip something into his tea. Preferably a potion that will make him unable to speak for at least a month.”
“Ginny!” Hermione scolded, shaking her head in an effort not to let her amusement show. Her quivering shoulders gave her away. “You’re so mean to your brother.”
“Well, he deserves it,” the younger girl stated with a firm nod.
Sobering from her mirth, the brunette sighed. “He’s just concerned about me.”
“I know, but he doesn’t always know best,” Ginny said wisely before clapping her hands together and pasting a bright smile on her face. “That’s enough of that,” she decisively declared and took Hermione by the hand to help her to her feet. “Let’s take a look at you.”
The older girl walked carefully over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. The dress she wore was absolutely beautiful. Beginning with a strapless corseted bodice with a sweetheart neckline, it hugged her curves before sweeping down in layers of satin displayed by folds of scalloped tiers. The tulle giving the bell-shaped skirt its shape made a swishing noise against her legs as she twirled in front of the mirror.
The redhead appeared beside her, making adjustments to her own dress, a lovely creation of plum-colored chiffon that somehow flattered all three of Hermione’s bridesmaids despite their differences in hair and complexions. Once Ginny was finished, she plucked the white elbow gloves off the dressing screen to the side and handed them to Hermione.
“Now, Harry told me about this Muggle tradition so let me see if I have it right. You have something old?” she questioned as the brunette gently pulled the gloves up her arms.
Hermione pointed to her necklace. “My grandmother’s pearls.”
“Something new?”
“The dress, obviously.”
“Right. Something borrowed?”
“The earrings are Padma’s.”
“Okay, and the last one is something blue?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, pulling the skirt of her dress up slightly to reveal the blue heels she wore on her feet.
Ginny laughed and pulled her into a hug. “I declare you ready to get married.” After separating, the redhead gave her one last supportive squeeze before heading for the door, her voice drifting over her shoulder as she moved. “Luna and Padma are already lined up so I’ll send Ron back to get you when everyone’s settled and it’s about to start.” Stopping in the doorway with one hand on the frame, the redhead turned and smiled softly. “I’m really happy for you, Hermione.”
The brunette returned the smile with a small one of her own, the expression dropping from her face once Ginny had disappeared out of sight. Moving carefully in the large dress, she crossed back over to the vanity and settled down on the seat to wait.
Propping her elbows on the table, she leaned forward with her chin resting in her right palm and studied the lines of her face as time passed. Her dark eyes, made larger by the kohl lining their rims, were reflecting the inner turmoil she felt and her deep rose-painted lips were pulled down into a frown as she questioned for perhaps the thousandth time whether or not this really was the right choice. She knew drastic action would be the only way to deal with him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The furious voice was only a hiss in the air, but she startled at the dangerous undertone she could hear in his familiar drawl and the unexpected appearance he had made into her dressing chamber. She hadn’t heard the opening of the door, and to have the man she was determined not to think about suddenly standing behind her in the same room left her quite disconcerted. Deciding not to let on how much his appearance had unsettled her, she busied her hands, arranging the brushes on the vanity’s surface into a neat line of descending order, and refused to turn and face him.
“I’m getting married.” She answered his question calmly, her voice steady though it threatened to tremble in excitement. “I thought it obvious, when one considers my state of dress,” she clarified further, her statement heavily laden with sarcasm.
“To McLaggen?” His disbelief was evident as his voice rose in volume. “The oaf who couldn’t even hold your attention for one Christmas party over eight years ago?”
“Cormac is very good to me,” Hermione responded coldly to his scornful doubt, her focus now on lining up the bottles of cosmetics and perfumes against the mirror at the back of the table. Then suddenly, he was there with her in the reflection, the platinum strands of his hair falling into his enraged gray eyes, his hands gripping the corners of the vanity, arms boxing her in. His chest was pressed against her back and she could feel the warmth of his body even through the thick set of elegant black dress robes he wore. She couldn’t control her body’s response to his closeness as she felt her temperature rise. Desire rapidly overpowering her apprehension, she let herself enjoy the feelings she had been missing for the last six months, but was unwilling to give in completely.
“Can he keep up with you?” the blond asked, his voice whisper-soft as his lips brushed the shell of her ear and the hot exhale of his breath caused a shiver to race up her spine. She felt him descend further until his mouth was tantalizingly close to the sweet spot just beneath her jaw that would make her beg and moan in the way he relished. He inhaled deeply with his nose pressed into her hair, and she knew he was savoring the perfumed scent of jasmine and orange blossoms she had put on mixed with the familiar aroma of her cinnamon shampoo, his favorite. “Does he enjoy the little games we used to play?” he questioned temptingly, his lips ghosting over the skin of her throat.
“Draco…” she pleaded on a whimper, her hands balling into fists in her gloves, clasping the folds of her dress in desperation, refusing to reach out and pull him to her.
“Tell me the truth, Hermione,” he practically commanded as his fingers began dancing teasingly across the bare skin of her shoulders and his mocking gaze met hers in the mirror, lips twisted into the hateful sneer of their Hogwarts days. “Why are you really marrying that useless waste of a wizard?”
Darting her eyes away from his knowing stare, she clenched her fingers tighter around the fabric of her skirt and gritted her teeth in frustration at her inability to lie to him when he touched her so skillfully, bringing her to new heights of awareness while she began to feel herself grow damp. “He wants a seat on the International Confederation of Wizards,” she answered dispassionately.
“I see,” Draco asserted in the manner of one who has just figured out a particularly difficult Arithmancy equation. “And Hermione Granger, war hero, female third--and brains--of the Golden Trio, would make the perfect wife for such a political position, not to mention the advantage it would give him as a starting point.”
Hermione kept her head turned away, but her traitorous body started leaning into him to help encourage his ministrations on her responsive flesh. Unexpectedly, the enticing strokes of his fingertips switched to a bruising grip on her shoulders and she gasped in surprise at his shift to aggressiveness.
“In exchange for?” The words were spoken softly, but she could just make out the incensed tremor underlying them.
“He would fund my Potions research.”
All Draco’s fury melted away in that instant, as if it had never been there to begin with, and the gray eyes she so loved were calm once again as she returned her gaze to the mirror. His amusement was apparently too much for him to contain when bursts of derisive laughter escaped his lips which smoothed into a contemptuous smirk.
“Of course, McLaggen always was rather pragmatic for a Gryffindor. And here I thought you’d gone and done something ridiculous, like fallen in love with the bloke.”
In the single moment it took for the word to be spoken into existence, the air in the room changed abruptly, and the ardent longing between them was immediately replaced with anxious tension. Rising carefully to her feet in the small space between the cushioned seat and the table’s edge, Hermione spun around to face him, her dress rustling noisily around her, and hastily lifted her hand, feeling the satisfying tingle in her palm when it connected with his face.
“You have some nerve to say that to me,” she bit out, her eyes blazing with indignant fire. She repressed the urge to cross the space separating them and throttle him to within an inch of his life.
Straightening to his full height, he only raised an eyebrow at her show of temper, ignoring the red mark rapidly blooming on his left cheek. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“You suppose?” she asked incredulously. “It’s been six months, Draco! I told you I loved you, and you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I tried to Floo you and owl you, but everything went unanswered. What did you expect me to do? Sit around and wait for you to come to your senses?” Hermione cursed her voice for trembling when it got louder, her carefully controlled emotions threatening to boil over. She could feel tears beginning to build up in the corners of her eyes, but she quickly closed her lids and ruthlessly halted their progress.
“No,” he answered her quietly once she had reopened her eyes. “I never thought you would do that.” Reaching for her hand, he threaded his fingers through her own and watched as the interlocking digits clasped perfectly into place. “So, where does that leave us?”
She shook off his grip and turned back to the mirror, effectively dismissing him as she took to re-examining the straightness of her veil, feeling certain her confrontation with him had rendered it crooked. “That leaves us nowhere,” she explained airily, one gloved fingertip pressed against her barrette as she made more needless alterations to it, her attention entirely focused on her appearance. “I’m getting married to Cormac and you’ll go back to whatever you’ve been doing for the last six months.”
He placed a tense hand on her shoulder and twisted her back around to face him. “You can’t be serious,” he stated, calling her on what he clearly thought was her bluff.
Not changing her expression in the least, Hermione stared him down intently. “Do I look like I’m joking, Draco?” she questioned unnecessarily before resuming the tidying she was now doing on her already pristine wedding dress.
“But Potter said –“
“Ah, yes,” she cut him off, “I was wondering how you found out about the ceremony. I should have known Harry would be the one to tell you. He hasn’t been as vocal as Ron in his disapproval, though he clearly doesn’t agree with my decision, which normally means he’s been planning something.” An ironic chuckle filled with little enjoyment bubbled from her chest and her eyes reconnected with his in the reflection. “Let me guess: he sent you an invitation, possibly with a note attached about how I’m making a big mistake?”
His gray eyes were solemn in the face of her fabricated glee and--instead of answering her inquiry--he merely continued to study her as if searching for an inner weakness he would be only too willing to exploit. “I can see you are set upon your decision.”
Hermione was surprised by his words and the change in his approach, allowing a few moments of uneasy silence pass between them before she gathered herself enough to respond to his probing declaration. “I am,” she stated firmly, her hands coming to rest at her sides to brace her for more of his scorn.
“And there’s nothing I can do to make you change your mind?”
On the edges of her vision, she could see him making movements behind her, but she could not bring herself to focus on him for fear that all her attempts of pride and dignity would be for naught. Believing him to be readying himself to be rid of her made disappointment swiftly begin spreading through her. She thought he would have fought harder to win her over, if he had truly loved her like she did him. Her voice was nothing more than a choked utterance filled with restrained tears once she was able to force the word past her lips.
“No.”
A moment of stillness encompassed them while she lifted her head to look back into the mirror, expecting to see the reflection of his back as he exited through the door, but she could not see anything in the room behind her.
“Nothing at all, Mistress?”
Gasping loudly at his softly expressed question, Hermione twirled around so hastily she nearly toppled over when her dress flared out into a circle around her legs. He had moved the cushioned seat to the side and taken his place at her feet as he spoke the word that always preceded her favorite of all their games. Draco knew what hearing that word on his lips did to her, and--seeing him on his knees before her, his hands clasped behind his back, and his head bowed to submissively present his neck to her--she felt her knees go weak and had to lean back against the vanity for support.
Draco Malfoy, his lean, six-foot-two frame folded at her feet, his blond hair obscuring his handsome face, and offering himself up completely for her pleasure was something no sane witch would be able to resist.
“That’s dirty Quidditch, my dragon,” she answered forcefully, reaching out with one gloved hand to tangle her fingers into his silky hair and yank his head back to expose his now sparkling gray eyes to her observation.
He smirked defiantly back at her, his smoky gaze only increasing in desire as anticipation quickly built between them at their exchange. “I must use every weapon in my arsenal, Mistress. If that makes me a very naughty boy, you should punish me as you see fit.”
“And so I shall,” she said, pulling him forward by her harsh grip on his hair, her voice an enticing whisper while she curled her other hand around the edge of the table for leverage, “after you have demonstrated just how sorry you are.” The tip of her left high-heeled shoe teasingly trailed straight up over his bulging groin, his clenching abdomen, and his firm chest, and he started panting in longing at her obvious meaning once her leg came to rest against his back, her knee hooked tightly over his shoulder to compel him even closer.
“Yes, anything, Mistress.” His tone was husky. His hands went to the hem of her gown, slowly peeling back each layer one by one. “As long as you promise not to marry that fool.”
“That depends on how sorry you are,” she replied on a moan, her mouth going dry when he smoothed his hands up her stocking-clad legs and brushed his heated palms over where the silky material ended halfway up her thighs. When he finally touched her bare flesh, she couldn’t contain her whimper as moisture pooled in the lacy fabric of her knickers.
“I assure you, Mistress, that I’m very, very sorry,” he exclaimed passionately before disappearing from her sight altogether, his head ducking underneath her voluminous skirts and letting them fall back to the floor, concealing everything but his shoes.
When she felt her undergarments vanish, Hermione grabbed the vanity with both hands for support, his own large hands cupping her bottom to elevate her to the perfect height for his hungry mouth to reach. At the first exhale of his searing breath against her wet pussy, his hair tickling the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, she groaned, her eyes falling closed, head tipping back against the cool glass of the mirror.
He inhaled deeply, his tongue flicked out and traced the crease of her opening, licking up the drenched evidence of her arousal and flattening to catch her clit on the upsweep. Pressing harder, he penetrated the inner lips of her slit, his mouth sucking on her labia and his tongue swirling skillfully against her walls. Once he began pulling back to take a breath, his teeth scraped gently over her swollen flesh causing several choked gasps to escape her opened mouth.
Diving right back in, he closed his lips over the small nerve-filled pearl of her clit, tugging on it delicately, sucking, and drawing random patterns over its surface with the tip of his tongue. Feeling a tingle starting to build low in her stomach, she was dismayed when he let her clit go to return to her cunt, and couldn’t help the strangled cry she let out.
His low chuckle vibrated against her and she whimpered in displeasure that was quickly forgotten when his tongue returned inside her center, the end of his perfectly pointed nose picking up the stimulation of her neglected bud causing more wetness to trickle out of her and into his mouth. She sighed in satisfaction as the long, pink organ began plunging into her opening, his pace increasing when she started meeting his thrusts, riding his face as she felt herself climbing to her peak once more.
One of his hands shifted from her behind and two of his fingers joined his tongue inside of her, stretching her further. Her gasps and cries grew more frequent, her head spinning with desire, her fingernails digging into the wood of the vanity through her gloves. A third finger was added, and her juices dribbled down his hand as he took her clit back into his mouth, sucking on it hard and nibbling on the bud with his teeth.
Grinding herself against his face, she felt herself growing closer, her body tensing and her walls starting to clench around his stabbing digits. One more graze of his teeth over her clit, and the pain mixed with the intense pleasure set her off, a gasping whimper the only sound she was capable of making as she came apart, her pussy tightening around his fingers, wetness flooding out of her already soaked opening and spilling into his waiting mouth. She leaned further back onto the table, panting for breath. Aftershocks of her orgasm were pulsing through her body, making her elbows knock several of her carefully arranged bottles onto the floor.
He cleaned her up swiftly and meticulously with his tongue, her body responding despite having just come. Once he was finished, he resurfaced from underneath her dress, sucking her juices off his hand, the area around his mouth still wet from her release. Wiping off all the moisture from his chin with his palm, he cleaned it with long, relishing licks of his tongue while she watched before returning to his kneeling position at her feet.
“Are you satisfied, Mistress?”
“Not yet,” she answered, her voice breathy as she carefully settled her weight back on her feet. Giving him a small cuff on the back of his head in warning for his cheek, she took a moment to compose herself from the intense orgasm he’d given her before moving forward with their game. Seeing him back in position though was a heady incentive to continue on without pause.
“Stand up,” she commanded, pleased when he instantly complied. Switching their positions so he was now the one with his back to the vanity, she moved the cushioned seat to its former spot. “Sit.” She smiled when he once again obeyed without question. With a guiding hand on his shoulder, she had him lean back until he was pressed against the edge of the table. “Now, place your hands palm-down on the surface.” Once he did so, she muttered a simple sticking charm under her breath, preventing him from moving his arms in any way.
He groaned in frustration at her actions, but he didn’t voice a denial or use his safe word. Figuring it was time to proceed, Hermione resumed her grip on his hair and jerked his head back, forcing him into an awkward position with his shoulders curving over the table.
A flash of red caught her eye in the mirror. Not taking her gaze from Draco’s upturned face, she examined the reflection of the room in her peripheral vision and could just make out Ron standing in the crack of the open doorway, one of his hands tucked into the lower part of his robes. Though she was curious to know how long he’d been watching, it didn’t really matter, since she and Draco were too far gone in their game to stop now, so she focused all her attention back on her lover.
“Are you really sorry?” she asked in a deadly whisper.
“Yes, Mistress,” Draco gasped in a choked reply, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly in anticipation.
“I’m not sure if I believe you,” Hermione ruminated, as if speaking to herself. He tried to wrench forward in protest, a sound of negation on his lips, but the charm held fast. Bending at the waist and gathering the hem of her dress in her fists, she cautiously placed one knee on each side of his legs and joined him on the seat, the ample layers of fabric becoming wrinkled as they were squished between their bodies. Once she was balanced above him, she twisted both her hands into his soft blond hair, her mouth finding the lobe of his ear and nipping at it sharply.
“Perhaps I should force you to service me for a week.” She exhaled, her teeth sinking into his jaw, leaving a beautiful pink mark. “Yes, a week of your tongue buried in my wet pussy sounds very good.”
Sensing his arousal growing wild when he groaned deeply, she felt his lower body lift off the seat, seeking out the friction he needed for what was obviously quickly becoming an uncomfortable erection. Taking pity on him, she settled in his lap, her hot, dripping center connecting with the hard bulge confined by his thick robes. She ground against him, fingers digging into his shoulder-blades while she grew wetter with every pass, her juices rapidly soaking the material separating them.
“Or perhaps I shouldn’t allow you any release at all,” she deliberated, rising back up to her knees, and removing the small relief the rubbing had afforded him. Anticipating his objections, she sealed her mouth over his lips and slipped her tongue inside to twist with his own, tasting herself on it as they kissed. Her teeth sunk into his bottom lip and sucked, before she pulled back for breath. The flushed, disheveled picture he now presented her with made her hunger for him spiral out of control. Before she was totally lost to her lust, her arm twined into the space between two of the buttons on his robes and grasped his rigid cock, adjusting it so it was now poking out of the small opening she had created.
“Would I do that to you, my dragon?” she asked teasingly, her hand stroking down the long column of flesh. She ripped a moan of ecstasy from the blond when she cupped his balls and fondled them in her hand. She gripped him harder on the return up, swirling a single fingertip around the head, the leaking pre-cum dampening the fabric of her white gloves on the end of her index finger. Pressing it to her tongue, Hermione’s dark eyes met Ron’s cornflower blue ones in the mirror as she sucked Draco’s taste off the material and savored it in her mouth with a hum of delight. A strangled gasp sounded from the redhead just outside the door, but she could see Draco was too far gone in his desire to take notice, his hips nearly bucking her off the seat in an effort to bring her attention back to his urgent need.
“Please, Mistress.” He begged her so sweetly, his eyes closed and his head thrown back against the mirror with his pale unblemished throat utterly exposed. They normally employed a blindfold at this point in the game and Hermione knew he was staying as true to it as he could. It was his version of an apology, she was sure.
Her hand closed back over his erection, her fingertips unable to meet around his girth as she resumed her stroking of his length, the silky cloth of her gloves easing the slide. She palmed the head and collected more of his copious fluid on two of her fingers before mixing it with the wetness dripping from her own folds. One went into her own mouth, her tongue swirling around the digit while she savored their differing flavors mingled together on her glove, the other she shared with Draco, encouraging him to taste their combined juices. More gasps and moans came from the doorway.
Deciding she’d waited long enough, she used her left hand to line Draco up with her opening and pulled her finger out of his hot mouth until only the very tip of the glove overlapped his bottom teeth. “Bite,” she directed and he immediately obeyed, allowing her to pull her arm and hand out of the constricting garment. Taking it out of his mouth, she threw it to the floor as just the head of his length slipped inside her. After removing her hand from his hard flesh, she stopped, poised above him with her moisture beginning to coat the both of them as it trickled down, and she quickly took off her other glove. Once her hands were uncovered, she tangled them back in his smooth blond hair, her unimpeded fingernails digging into his scalp as she impaled herself onto his thick cock, not stopping until he was completely buried in her cunt, the tip bumping against her cervix.
Strangled gasps of rapture were torn from both of them as her walls stretched to accommodate his intrusion. Using her hands in his hair for control, she lifted to her knees still balancing on the small seat until only the head remained before dropping back down into his lap. She moaned in bliss when the ridges and veins in his cock grazed all her inner sensitive spots on the downward stroke. Hermione circled her hips into his pelvis when she discovered one of his robe’s buttons was in the ideal position to rub her clit.
Whimpering with pleasure, she bucked her hips against the stimulation before pulling up, starting a rhythm with his length plunging back inside her core. Draco was quickly catching her tempo. Planting his feet firmly on the floor, he began tentatively meeting her thrusts, his careful movements obviously designed to not upset her precarious position on the seat. She swirled her hips with every down stroke, catching the button on her nerve-filled bud to her increasing bliss, loud gasps leaving her opened lips with each pass.
Tilting his head further back, she lunged for his throat, still riding his cock, their pace gradually increasing with every stab as they climbed ever higher to nirvana. She scraped her teeth down the flawless, pale column of flesh, choosing spots here and there to nip and bite. Soon, red and pink marks were blossoming, his skin like her own canvass come to life. He groaned beneath her, his hips picking up speed as they slammed into her own in a bruising rhythm.
Letting go of his hair, she trailed her hands down his unmoving arms until she reached his hands, her weight shifting so they were both now leaning against the vanity, racing toward completion. The layers of her dress rustled noisily around them as they crashed into each other, their coupling becoming frantic while their bodies tensed. Her walls began to tremble around his cock, gripping him tightly and refusing to let go as their tempo became a blur.
“Tell me,” she gasped, suddenly desperate to hear him say what she hoped was true. She felt the first waves of her orgasm crash over her unexpectedly while she pleaded with him. “Please tell me, Draco.”
“I love you, Hermione,” he was able to choke out before his length pulsed, shooting cum deep inside her. He cried out, his head coming to rest against the mirror’s glass as he came. Both breathing heavily, their combined weight came to rest against the edge of the vanity while the seat balanced them uncertainly, the lasting vestiges of their intense orgasm still shooting through both of them as they coiled together.
A third exclamation of release sounded into the room, surprising the entwined couple and making them look at the door as one. Hermione had honestly forgotten that Ron was watching them, but she couldn’t ignore it now, with Draco lifting a single eyebrow in sardonic amusement while the redhead rapidly turned a flaming shade of scarlet.
“Did you enjoy the show, Weasley?”
“I” Ron started, “supposed to… and then” His voice trailed off altogether before he cleared his throat and started over, his eyes finding a spot on the wall to focus on. “I’ll just go and tell everyone the wedding’s off then, right?”
The blond didn’t reply, only gazed at the brunette still sitting perched on his lap, his flaccid cock just now slipping out of her, their combined fluids pooling underneath them on the seat.
Hermione, for her part, was totally absorbed with the softness in the gray eyes she was staring into, a sight she had been sure she would never see again--considering what happened between them six months ago. When Ron made a noise of impatience behind her, she finally spoke.
“Please give my regrets to Cormac and his family, Ron. Let them know that, in this, I had to follow my heart.”
“Sure, Hermione.”
The sound of the door closing behind him signaled the return of their privacy and broke the locked gaze they had been sharing. Once she’d let him free of the charm, he helped her to her feet before neatly tucking himself back into his robes. She was just about to head for the dressing screen to remove her gown and put on something else, when he tugged her into his arms.
Dropping a relatively chaste kiss on her swollen lips, he laid his forehead against hers, sighing contentedly. “We weren’t supposed to fall in love, you know. We both agreed it would just be about sex.”
She laughed with genuine amusement and encircled his neck with her arms. “Nothing between us has ever been simple; why should an arrangement of mutual gratification be any different?”
“Yes, and it only took you over two years to realize it was love, and me nearly three,” he responded to her rhetorical question with glee, a teasing glint dancing in his eyes.
Hermione laughed at his assessment of the events that had happened between them, the sound quickly morphing into shrieks of delight when Draco swept her up in his arms, her voluminous dress twisting around her legs as he made for the door. Knowing him, he was probably intending to take her back to his flat and keep her in his bed for a week, now that they had worked things out between them.
“Put me down, Draco, or you’ll drop me!”
“I will do no such thing,” he indignantly declared, clearly only acting affronted by her words. They used the back corridors of the McLaggen estate to make a clean getaway to the apparation point, hopefully avoiding the wedding guests on their way. “There’s just one thing I want to know, Hermione,” he muttered hesitantly.
“And what is that, Draco?” she asked with a pleased smile, her fingers combing his mussed hair gently back from his face.
“How much longer were you planning to wait for me before you called the whole thing off?” An insolent smirk spread across his lips when her content expression was replaced with a look full of disbelief.
“Whatever gave you the idea I meant to call it off?”
“The knickers you had on before I vanished them. They were black lace and you are well aware of my preference for those.” His smirk grew rapidly into a full-blown grin.
Not wanting to confirm his suspicions, but knowing his initial observation was correct, Hermione waited a few moments. She let silence pass between them uninterrupted, until they reached the apparation point just past the east side of the house, before voicing a retort, rolling her eyes as she did so.
“You had a good fifteen minutes left, at least, before I became a runaway bride.”
They disapparated away to the sound of Draco’s laughter, something Hermione found particularly satisfying.
Fin
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no subject
Date: 2010-02-14 02:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-14 03:36 pm (UTC)Wonderful job! Thanks for sharing!
re: Torn Asunder
Date: 2010-02-14 03:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-14 04:15 pm (UTC)Very fresh and entertaining, on so many levels.
And I especially liked the runaway bride...
*wink*
no subject
Date: 2010-02-14 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-14 10:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-15 12:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-15 03:34 pm (UTC)I enjoyed the crescendo of information you gave with each passing paragraph, and... well, now I need a cold shower. Thanks for this! :)
no subject
Date: 2010-02-15 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-15 10:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-16 02:36 pm (UTC)This is a very enjoyable read! The quality of your writing is superb.
I especially enjoyed Hermione's characterization. She was in control, yet NOT in control of her heart. And I loved how you had her in the Dom role, but she still seemed vulnerable. AND even though Draco was submissive, he seemed so in control of the emotional interaction going on between them. That was some magical writing right there!
The surprise knickers and runaway bride thing was very cool. Plus the kink/smut was exceptionally well done. I just loved this one all around!
no subject
Date: 2010-02-16 10:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 05:58 am (UTC)Oh, and the bit with Ron was a great addition to the scenario. All around wonderful job! :D
no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-20 02:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-20 05:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-26 03:58 am (UTC)So hot :} omgomgomg...
I loved that her eyes met Ron's ones in the mirror. And that there was submissive!draco! Both are awesome kinks of my that you've hit :}
no subject
Date: 2010-07-18 10:33 am (UTC)the whole thing was awesome and H-O-T. pitty there are no more of this style out there.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-05 05:26 pm (UTC)Xxx