Draco's head falls back against the pillow, his breath shallow as she sinks down on him, and he bottoms out and she catches her own words, reining them in just in time. It's the little things. It's hearing that ragged Oh fuck, and wanting to hear it from her again and again.
Now that he's sheathed inside her, he's adjusting to the weight and feel of her. His hands slide to the inner curve of Hermione's knee, the arch of her thigh, and his fingers dig into her skin as she shifts her weight. Move, she says, and with a hum of satisfaction, Draco falls obediently into line with a gasped "Yes, shit, yes": bracing himself against the mattress and gaining enough traction to roll his hips up to meet hers, thrusting upwards with a foot against the mattress. There's a moment at first where it's ungainly, out of sync — a stutter in the movement, the timing — but then, as these things always go, they find the rhythm. Her sinking back down onto him each time he pushes back up.
Thank Merlin for stupid Muggle traditions and spinning bottles and that wine and that closet.
The sight of her naked above him is both glorious and irritatingly out of reach. He wants to be able to touch more of her, he realises. So, his own decision made, Draco lurches upward to a seated position so Hermione's sitting in his lap instead, so he can chase her mouth into another kiss, so he can palm another handful of naked breast even as she keeps grinding down on his cock.
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Now that he's sheathed inside her, he's adjusting to the weight and feel of her. His hands slide to the inner curve of Hermione's knee, the arch of her thigh, and his fingers dig into her skin as she shifts her weight. Move, she says, and with a hum of satisfaction, Draco falls obediently into line with a gasped "Yes, shit, yes": bracing himself against the mattress and gaining enough traction to roll his hips up to meet hers, thrusting upwards with a foot against the mattress. There's a moment at first where it's ungainly, out of sync — a stutter in the movement, the timing — but then, as these things always go, they find the rhythm. Her sinking back down onto him each time he pushes back up.
Thank Merlin for stupid Muggle traditions and spinning bottles and that wine and that closet.
The sight of her naked above him is both glorious and irritatingly out of reach. He wants to be able to touch more of her, he realises. So, his own decision made, Draco lurches upward to a seated position so Hermione's sitting in his lap instead, so he can chase her mouth into another kiss, so he can palm another handful of naked breast even as she keeps grinding down on his cock.