"Hmm. Gladly," Draco says, mock-thoughtful, as if he's weighed and considered the instruction, as if he has to ponder and contemplate it at all. But he already wanted to shuck both of them of their troublesome clothing, that's the thing.
"Ladies first, then," and his expression breaks into a grin.
Another messy kiss, while his hands reach for the bottom edge of her shirt, eventually dragging it up and around the angles of her elbows, over her head, tugging it over her chin (and now thoroughly destroying the remainder of that updo). And now Draco can finally see the bare expanse of her skin, and the body which he could only feel pressed against him before. Now, instead, he can bend low over her neck and chest, pressing another kiss to the ridges of her collarbone, then the swell of a breast above her bra, then— downwards.
And lower. He drops to a knee, his hands splayed against Hermione's hips. He finds the zipper at the side of her skirt, unzips it agonisingly slowly and bunches the fabric under his hands, before he's peeling the skirt down the lines of her thighs, his mouth against her navel.
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"Ladies first, then," and his expression breaks into a grin.
Another messy kiss, while his hands reach for the bottom edge of her shirt, eventually dragging it up and around the angles of her elbows, over her head, tugging it over her chin (and now thoroughly destroying the remainder of that updo). And now Draco can finally see the bare expanse of her skin, and the body which he could only feel pressed against him before. Now, instead, he can bend low over her neck and chest, pressing another kiss to the ridges of her collarbone, then the swell of a breast above her bra, then— downwards.
And lower. He drops to a knee, his hands splayed against Hermione's hips. He finds the zipper at the side of her skirt, unzips it agonisingly slowly and bunches the fabric under his hands, before he's peeling the skirt down the lines of her thighs, his mouth against her navel.