"Almost," Draco agrees wryly. "We're about even on that score."
And to think: he almost hadn't gone to this stupid holiday party. He wasn't good at crowds; preferred small gatherings with people he got on with, who he actually liked, who he didn't have to smile thinly and put on a teeth-grittingly polite air with. But if he hadn't swallowed his pride and gone to this Ministry function, he wouldn't have wound up here: him perched on the end of his bed, a near-naked Hermione standing over him. There's always that frisson buzzing along in moments like this, crackling between two people getting each others' clothes off for the first time. Who takes the first step? What does she like? How does she like it? (Another question where he hadn't fully realised how desperate he was to ask it, until now.)
So he just goes ahead and asks it.
Draco leans back on the heels of his hands, looking up to meet her eye, one knee tipped against hers. "How d'you want me," he says — asks — as he feels those opportunities and possibilities unfold. A few years ago, he might've been a little snot about saying it aloud, but it turns out that laying their communication out into the open had gone well enough. Had gotten them out of that closet and away from that party and over to his flat.
no subject
And to think: he almost hadn't gone to this stupid holiday party. He wasn't good at crowds; preferred small gatherings with people he got on with, who he actually liked, who he didn't have to smile thinly and put on a teeth-grittingly polite air with. But if he hadn't swallowed his pride and gone to this Ministry function, he wouldn't have wound up here: him perched on the end of his bed, a near-naked Hermione standing over him. There's always that frisson buzzing along in moments like this, crackling between two people getting each others' clothes off for the first time. Who takes the first step? What does she like? How does she like it? (Another question where he hadn't fully realised how desperate he was to ask it, until now.)
So he just goes ahead and asks it.
Draco leans back on the heels of his hands, looking up to meet her eye, one knee tipped against hers. "How d'you want me," he says — asks — as he feels those opportunities and possibilities unfold. A few years ago, he might've been a little snot about saying it aloud, but it turns out that laying their communication out into the open had gone well enough. Had gotten them out of that closet and away from that party and over to his flat.