This, honest to Merlin, is his favourite part: that blind eager fumbling, like they've finally kicked open a door and they're both tumbling through it together. Like a rolling boulder, building speed and urgency. Each motion now peeling off more layers and baring more skin as Hermione loosens his tie and drags it off his head, as her quick and clever fingers start working on the buttons of his dress-shirt. Once it's fully unbuttoned, he shrugs obediently out of the sleeves and tosses the shirt crumpled to the floor, to join the growing puddle of clothing.

(Come morning — if she's still around by morning, and that's a dangerous thought — he'll probably be neurotically tidying up after themselves, but for now it's chaos, and he welcomes it.)

Draco follows her nudge, and keeps moving backwards until the back of his legs hits the bed: he wavers there for a second before their momentum carries him further backwards and he falls back onto the bed, winding up seated on the edge, his hands on Hermione's hips. He almost goes for the button of his trousers, before remembering: this is a give-and-take. He's increasingly realising that there's something in this, in tackling each others' clothes, in giving up control even if just for the moment, and giving himself up into Hermione's hands.