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“I’d like to hold your hand, please.”
Hermione blinked up from her paperwork, brow furrowed. “Pardon?” In the corner of their office, the clock was ticking happily away — half past five, and the sun was already beginning their defiant slouch across the evening sky.
“Your hand.” Draco seemed eager to repeat himself, which was a divergence from their normal conversation (lots of: “If you weren't listening to me the first time, I feel no inclination to repeat myself.” Truly, no one did the dramatics quite like Draco Malfoy — once, someone had misspelled his name on some Ministry paperwork (Dafaco Milfoy) and he had taken it as a personal affront, mentioning it for weeks afterwards), “I’d like to hold it.”
“Why.”
It wasn’t that Hermione didn't want to hold his hand — she did! It was sturdy and large and it had just the right amount of calluses along the top of his palm — but it never stopped at simply hand-holding with Draco. An outlandish landslide, swallowing everything in his path whole; it just so happened, everything in his path was often only her.
Draco scoffed. It was a sound deep inside his chest, well-practiced and used often; an effortless portal of aristocratic disgust. Hermione mentally rewarded herself for not rolling her eyes. “Because.” He said, crossing his arms in that specific way that made Hermione’s eye get all twitchy. His rolled up sleeves inched up his thick forearms, corded muscles flexing. It was annoying. “I want to. Usually, I get what I want. All the time, actually. I’m very persistent.”
This time, Hermione allowed herself the small privilege of actually rolling her eyes.
“Yes.” She sighed, turning back to her paperwork in a heroic attempt to return to normalcy. “I’m aware of your track record with petulance.”
He was uncharacteristically quiet for a bit too long. Finally, she looked up from her (very important!) paperwork, to find that Draco was still looking at her in that annoyingly determined way of his, hands outstretched in the universal sign of gimmie-gimmie.
“You’re on the other side of the room.”
“I could reach.”
They both watched as he leaned forward from where he was lounging precariously on the edge of his desk and reached through the space between the two of them. He barely was able to brush the edge of her desk.
Hermione gave him a performative smile (no teeth, he would misread that as a positive sign to continue speaking) and looked back to her papers. If they hadn’t inherited that pesky fortune of his, she would've said something effortlessly clever like: someone has to work to keep the lights on!
But neither of them really had to work — it was more a hobby for him, and an unavoidable pull towards the truth for her. Also, Draco still had a very loose grasp on what electricity was. The last time they’d discussed it, he’d assumed it was a type of egg dish.
“For someone with such long fingers, you’re doing quite poorly.”
“I thought you liked my long fingers. You called them gifted, just this morning. Three times, if I am recalling correctly, which, I am — ”
Hermione threw one of her staplers in the vague direction of his head.
Draco batted it away with zero effort, her third favorite stapler landing in an offended heap on the floor next to his desk. It was a further annoyance, his athleticism.
People should have to decide between being athletic and clever. It was unfair, Hermione considered as she watched Draco brush an imaginary piece of dust off the surface of his desk, content to let her think for as long as she wanted — that someone could excel equally at both.
But Draco was infuriating like that: he could set departmental course records and he knew the exact cause of the Goblin Rebellion of 1612. The type of ease that made Hermione want to bite someone. Him, if she were forced to be more specific.
Hermione surveyed him from behind her desk, hands resting happily on her stomach. She didn’t miss how his eyes tracked the movement. “That’s annoying, you know. How good you are with your hands. Do you think they’ll be like you?”
At that, Draco’s face smoothed out. A glimpse of who he’d once been, a rigid collection of suppressed emotions, coiled behind an unmovable mask — then, he inhaled slightly, and his face relaxed back to the man she recognized.
“I hope they’re like you in every way.” He said softly.
“If they’re like me in every way, they’ll be rubbish at Quidditch.”
Draco shrugged. “Then, we’ll attend their chess matches with the same feverish competition. I’ll even let you paint my face.”
“Or, we could hire Harry to teach them how to fly properly.”
Draco let out an exasperated sound of distress. “Darling,” He pleaded, leaning forward with unbridled seriousness, “I am a much better flier than Harry.” At the tone of his voice, it was a safe assumption to consider they were discussing world-ending political choices, not which boy was better at doing tricks on a broomstick.
Hermione smiled softly. “Of course, how could I forget that? In my defense, he did win the Quidditch cup three times — ”
“We’ve been over this. (They had. Many many times) The Quidditch Cup was rigged in his favor. How would it look if our savior was beaten by me? Not very good, I'll tell you that much. I would've had to change my name. Wear a disguise to class. Perhaps, a funny hat.”
Hermione scoffed. It was less well-practiced than Draco’s, but it did the job. “If you beat Harry, you’d never shut up about it! Come to think of it, I heard you mention our first year to him at the pub on Thursday. You weren't even on the team that won, mind you. Still skulking about in the bleachers with that slicked back hairdo of yours. You looked proper skeezy.”
Draco grinned. “You were listening to my conversations? How obsessive. I love it.”
“I have two more staplers.” She warned.
“Come here.” Draco said gently, ignoring her threat, as he often was to do. “I want to touch you.”
Hermione gave him a flat look. “Draco,” she said. “You can touch me all you like when I’m finished with this.”
A stone resolve, already beginning to crumble as she looked at him from across their office. In actuality, she’d let him touch her as soon as he managed to bridge the gap between their desks. She’d let him fuck her on the floor, if he wanted — because she wanted that, too.
Warm eyes in the low light of their office, a soft smile as he drank her in without hesitation, arms stretched out on his desk behind him. Draco blinked the softness from his eyes, brows furrowing. “Sorry, I stopped listening after you said my name. Say it again, please?”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“I’d rather do you.”
“Very clever.” Hermione couldn’t stop the grin from blossoming, taking root and spreading like an ill-planted mint in a garden, overtaking her entire face. “I’m sure that line works on all the Witches.”
Draco finally stood up from his desk, crossing their office slowly. Hermione’s grin widened as he approached her, leaning back further in her chair. “I don’t make it a habit to care about the opinions of others, but my witch likes it. She’s sophomoric, that way.”
“She sounds far too good for you.”
“Very much so.”
“Have you alerted her of this startling revelation?”
Draco nodded, coming to a stop at the edge of her chair, the tips of his dragon hide boots between her own flats. He tilted his head to the side, gazing down at her with unfiltered adoration — this was how she liked him best, Hermione decided. Who he was now, a mix of all the past versions of himself, leading him tenderly down the path towards his future: to the man he’d decided to become.
“She’s well aware. I make sure of it on a daily basis.”
Hermione feigned a gasp, jaw tilted in shock. She liked the smile that grew across his face when he watched her, liked the way it felt to be looked at by him, to feel completely seen. It was a freeing type of love, floating in serenity and peace, to giggle with her husband, to live the life she’d so desperately fought for. Teeth dull, no longer bared in a snarl; the soft future, enveloping them both. “Where did you ever find her?”
“She was right in front of me the whole time.” He was still grinning, still looking at her with such warmth. She could hardly remember how dull and empty his eyes had been during their sixth year. “I just had to get out of my own way. Luckily, she has quite the habit for caring for wounded, wicked things like me.”
“Forgive me, but I find it very hard to believe that someone as well-accomplished as Draco Malfoy could find someone better than him.”
“My love, I’d never want to lessen the impact of my own compliment, but I feel as if I have an obligation to point out that loads of people are better than me. That rat we saw in the park last week, for starters. Or the bloke on fifth? The one who's convinced that we can’t tell his toupée is slowly possessing him?”
“Come off it. You’re better than a rat.”
Draco made a face. “But worse than the bloke on fifth?”
“Small victories. Take what you can get.” Hermione reached towards him (it seemed it was now her turn to do the universal sign of gimmie-gimmie) work long forgotten, pushed aside in haste when he crouched down to her level, face even with her own. “As your very smart wife, I think you should listen to me.”
“I listen to you.” Draco nodded, warm fingers smoothing up the stiff fabric of her skirt, stopping at the swell of her stomach. “I filled you up when you asked me to, didn’t I? Till you were dripping? You begged me so sweetly, I don’t think I could’ve refused. You remember that, right baby?”
Hermione felt her cheeks flush.
The feeling of Draco between her legs, sore and wet — his fingers had tilted her head down to watch where they had been joined. “See?” He had rasped, wet fingers on her jaw, cum smeared across her skin. “See how good I can be?”
Hips tilted upwards, her legs draped over his shoulder, Hermione had been delirious with want; he’d made her cum at least four times, mumbling into the crook of her shoulder about how it would help his cum slide deeper. In all that time, his cock hadn’t left the warmth of her cunt. Content to stay inside, she had realized. To fill her up.
Hermione had felt it, then, the slow descent of his fingers to her cunt, swirling in the mess there, twitching pleasure carving achingly up her spine. Using his cum to slip across her cunt, to bring her closer and closer and closer to the edge.
At the soft whimper that had escaped her lips, Draco had shifted his cock deeper, soft and warm inside her. Shallow thrusts, a wet sound echoing in the softness of their bedroom. “One more.” He had groaned. Cum had been slipping out, stickiness dripping down her thighs. “You’ll let me fuck you one more time, yeah? Please? Needy little baby, needs to be filled up? You poor thing.”
“Please,” Hermione had gasped, jaw slackened, a pressure on her belly, swollen and full. “Please, fuck me. Fill me up with your cum, I need it. I want it —”
“I do remember, actually.” Hermione said softly. At some point, the sun had fully set and their candles had happily sputtered to life, casting the office in a dull glow. “You begged sweetly, too.”
His smile was different than before, less soft. Dangerous. “I can be sweet now, if you’d like.”
Hermione took great care in pretending to consider his offer.
“I thought I was supposed to come to you.” She said instead, letting out a happy sigh when his fingers finally touched her outstretched hands, dragging up the bare flesh of her arm. Swallowing her whole in the way he only knew how. “You were very insistent.”
“I am a monster, but never to my poor little wife.” Sharp teeth, a welcoming trap, one she’d tumble willingly into at every opportunity. “I’d crawl to you if I had to.”
“Not a monster.” Hermione said kindly. “We’ve just decided you’re better than a rat.”
“Well.” Draco considered it for a moment before standing back up, leaning over her chair, nose brushing her own. “I suppose that’s better than nothing.”
He was leaning down to kiss her when she stopped him, politely ignoring the put-out expression on his face. “You are the best man I’ve ever known.” She said, reaching up to smooth her fingers along his jaw. “You’re better than that rat we saw in the park, and you’re certainly better than the bloke on fifth who thinks that we can’t tell his toupée is slowly possessing him.”
Draco opened his mouth — perhaps to argue, perhaps to demand she give up on praising his character and instead surrender to the inevitability of a kiss — but Hermione kept talking. “I love you. I have for quite a bit. You are deserving of my love because I am deserving of yours.”
She shrugged, jostling his face in the process. “It’s that simple. Say it.”
“It’s that simple.” Draco said in a soft voice.
“Good boy.” She gave his cheek a pat. “Also, you are good enough because I say so. I wouldn’t have married you if I wasn’t sure. I certainly wouldn't have let you knock me up.”
She really should've seen the signs.
The way his eyes darkened, the slight inhale, a flush spreading across his pale cheeks, his fingers tightening around the armrest of her chair — the way his features settled into a look of firm determination. It was common sense, really. If someone mentioned her due date, Draco was under the table less than five minutes later, licking at her cunt.
If someone commented about how big her belly had gotten, Draco would materialize out of the ground, intent to fuck her until her legs trembled and he had to hold her up, hissing dreadfully dirty things in her ear. (The Ministry had a surprising amount of supply closets, and Draco seemed keen to use them all.)
When her milk had come in, it had surprised them both; then, Hermione had to call in sick, because Draco had been intent on spending the day in bed together, sucking and toying with her breasts until they had both been covered in stickniess.
But, to her core, Hermione was someone who loved a good soliloquy. So, she kept talking.
“I know we tease one another,” she was saying, oblivious to the way her husband was vibrating with unbridled horniness, “But truly, Draco, I want you to know how unreasonably fond I am of you and your petulance, but also how good you are, too — ”
“Desk or floor?”
“ —and really, I think you should begin to see yourself the way that I do. The way we all do. Ron wants you to come round his and Padma’s more often, he thinks you’re very clever! And I know you’re not one for grand emotional displays, but I think you should mention that you find him clever, too — ”
“Hermione.” He said gently, interrupting her with such tenderness that Hermione momentarily forgot to be annoyed that her window for a good soliloquy was closing, “Darling. Please. Desk or floor?”
Hermione blinked up at him.
“Floor.” She said in a soft voice. “I don’t want to mess up my filing system.”
“Of course,” Draco nodded in that patronizing way of his (she narrowed her eyes at that), rough fingertips pulling at her wrists, catching on the sensitive flesh there — tugging her down with him, sliding to the carpet of their office. The one he’d insisted they buy, just so that he could press her face into it as he fucked her during their lunchbreaks. “We’d never be able to recover if your filing system was disrupted.”
Hermione yanked her blouse off with a little more force than necessary, tossing it aside in a crumpled heap. She didn't have to check to know that Draco’s clothing would be neatly folded, ever concerned about wrinkles ruining his outfit. “My filing system is glorious.” She said, throwing her bra somewhere behind them.
“No.” Draco said in a rough voice, “Your tits are glorious.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, tugging at her skirt until the buttons came loose, rolling the fabric down her thighs. “You are incorrigible.”
She turned her head to smile at him when he reached for her, smoothing his hands across her belly, a heavy weight on her skin. “I have you.” Draco said. “How could I not be?”
Finally, finally, finally he leaned down to kiss her, his thumb tracing a soft pattern across her belly. They sank into one another, heated flesh and sharp teeth. His fingers winding a tight fist through her curls, her arms tangled behind his neck, pressing together, as close as they could —
His hand slipped down the swell of her belly, pushing her knicker to the side, clever fingers curling inside her cunt, slipping through the warmth there, twisting her open. The stretch was familiar, the curve of his fingers pressing into the softness behind her pubic bone.
Pleasure sparked too life in her bones, too quickly and too roughly; she felt her breath catching in her chest as he leaned down to suck one of her breasts into his mouth, teeth toying with the nipple.
“God,” Hermione tried to twist away from the pleasure, only for Draco to push her back to the carpet, a firm hand pinning her to the ground, pressing into her sternum. “Jesus. Merlin, Draco, I’m — ”
“I know what you need.” Draco said in a soft voice. “I did this to you, didn't I?”
An overflowing pool, never-ending in his adoration, his determination to give her what she wanted — what she needed. He circled her clit messily, wetness dripping down her thighs, three fingers stuffed inside her cunt. Hermione felt the trembling in her chest, felt the beast yawning to life, teeth glinting in the dull light, internet to swallow her whole, bones and all — and she’d let him.
She always would.
“Yes.” Hermione breathed, her fingers moving to slip through his hair, pulling tightly. Their eyes met, dark and warm. Unblinking, drinking in one another.“You did.”
Her orgasm surprised both of them, a sputter of light exploding from the tips of her fingers, extinguishing the nearest candles. Accidental magic, slipping through the cracks of her broken frame; heaving breaths and trembling limbs. She whined at the loss of his fingers when they pulled them free, shaking fingers reaching for his wrist, trying to put them back inside her, where they belonged.
“Fuck.” Draco hissed, freeing his cock from his pants, fisting it a few times as he looked down at her. Fingers wet from her cunt, stroking his cock. “I can’t — ” He frowned, blinking down at her squirming body. “Sometimes, I can’t believe this is real.”
“It is.” Hermione smoothed her fingers up his sides, dull nails scraping across flesh. “Come fuck me. Feel how real this is.”
The first press of his cock was blissful, a tender feeling of biting pleasure. She was used to the stretch of his cock, her cunt easing around his thickness, but it still stung a bit. A good pain, like the warmth of a bath, or the bites Draco littered across her skin.
A moment of clarity seemed to slip between them — Draco leaned forward, caging her in, hands planted on either side of her head. A curl of his hair fell over his forehead, swishy and prince-like as he ruined her life with his cock. “How do you feel?”
“Full.”
Draco smiled, leaning down to lick a stripe down her neck, sucking at her pulse point. “All I’m good for.”
“Well,” Hermione whimpered when he tilted his hips to sink further inside, a delicious feeling, a stretch past full, as he always seemed to be. “You are very good at this.”
A tight fit, even after all the times they’d done it — inching deeper and deeper, a stone in a pond, sinking with heavy finality: until she felt him bottom out, felt the press of his thighs, the soft curls around the root of his cock, brushing her clit.
“You let me do this to you.” Draco grunted as he pulled out, sinking back in, an echo of pleasure, rushing to the surface. “Showing everyone how good of a husband I am, fucking you full with my heir.”
He pulled out again, leaning back on to the carpet. Rolling them until she was on top, lining his cock up with her entrance, eyes too soft, fingers lingering at the base of her spine.
Hermione shuddered, inhaling slowly as she worked his cock further, a hot slide, pressing deeper inside. Draco was watching her with glittering eyes, watching as she slowly rolled her hips, pleasure beginning to catch, spreading like fire across her skin. “How good you are, too.” He mumbled, teeth scraping along the flesh of her shoulder, slipping downwards, tongue flicking out to circle her nipples. Hot and wet and altogether too much. “My sweet little wife, letting me fuck her.”
“I’m good — ah, right there — at everything.” Hermione tilted her hips up. “Everyone already knows that.”
“Go on,” Draco said softly, slurring around her nipple, around the stickiness of her milk, “Fuck yourself on my cock. Take what you need.”
“I need — ”Hermione let out a whine of frustration, rising up fully until the tip of his cock slipped free from her cunt, sliding through the wet mess of her puffy cunt, notching against her clit. “Draco.” Hermione hissed, “I need you to move.”
“My needy little baby needs me to move?” Draco’s grin wasn’t very nice. “Need me to fuck you? I’ve already filled you up. Need me to do it again?” He leaned forward. “I want you to feel me every moment.” He hissed. “I want you to be so full that you’re dripping — ”
“Staplers.” She warned him in a weak voice, breathless and wet, “I could throw them at your head again.” A threat that held no real weight, but it still felt nice, regaining that semblance of control.
“Pretty girl wants to pretend I can’t feel how she’s clenching around my cock? Milking me?” He grunted, thrusting upwards, eyes hooded. “You can’t really run from this.”
“Oh,” Hermione’s breath was catching in her chest, a whimper exploding through her throat, shards of sound slicing through her skin — they’d never set a silencing charm, she’d have to send her secretary fruit basket — “But I like to run from you.” She panted. “You always chase me.”
She felt the pressure expanding in her belly, the flutter of another orgasm. Saw the way his eyes narrowed, the way his jaw tightened. Her cunt tightened around his cock, a slick feeling. His hand fell heavy on her full belly, cradling her closer. They had all night, the rest of their lives forming an endless Saturday afternoon: she didn’t want anything else, never would.
It would only be this, the taste of his sweat on her tongue, his head buried between her breasts, the feeling of his thick cock inside her cunt.
“Inside.” She panted, “I want you to cum inside, please. Please, I want it — ”
“Hopelessly devoted.” Draco groaned, teeth sinking into nipple, a soft tongue following to soothe the ache. “Whatever you want.”
She felt his cum warm and heavy inside her, felt as he twitched in her cunt, cock rutting deeper and deeper inside. Hemrione let out a soft moan at the feeling, cum slipping deeper — Draco kissed up her jaw, hands lost in the mess of her curls, a soft exhale across her skin.
“I want to see.”
Hermione winced as his cock slipped out of her cunt, but breathed a happy sigh as she fell back on the carpet, legs propped open. Draco slipped between her thigh, rubbing soothing circles across her flesh as he watched her puffy cunt.
“Pretty.” He said, almost to himself, fingers slipping through their combined fluids,a mess of their own. A heavy thumb on her clit, slow circles, twitching pleasure blinking back to life.
Hermione reached out, fingers slipping through his silky hair. The weight of his chin on her knee, watching her cunt.
“I can’t believe you let me knock you up,” Draco exhaled. “I wish I could do it again.”
Hermione smiled, smoothing her fingers through his hair. He hummed in contentment, nuzzling further against her skin. “You can.” She said.