Hermione dangles that invitation right in front of him, and Draco finds himself doing some mental gymnastics and calculations and wondering exactly how uncomfortable would it be to fuck on a hardwood floor without any padding, and is there a chance they’ll both get splinters, or should they get up and move to the sofa—
“Y’know, I haven’t actually broken in this room yet,” he muses aloud.
Is that dreadful and sleazy to point out? Maybe. Or not. Maybe it’s just refreshingly honest; there’s a cheeky half-grin on his face, just visible out of the corner of her vision, as close to his face as she is. And there’s a decision teetering in the moment, before he reaches out for her again, she lets herself tip into him, and then they’re just a tangle of limbs on the floor after all.
“Ah fuck,” he laughs as she lands more on him than not, and the floor is hard which is not quite as easy as the porno mags always made it seem, but: there’s still Hermione over him, and both of them failing to bite back laughter, and Draco dragging his shirt off her, his mouth against the bared skin of her shoulder, her hand already reaching between them. It’s quick work to get their few scraps of clothing off again, eager to get their hands on each other once more even in the bright light of day.
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“Y’know, I haven’t actually broken in this room yet,” he muses aloud.
Is that dreadful and sleazy to point out? Maybe. Or not. Maybe it’s just refreshingly honest; there’s a cheeky half-grin on his face, just visible out of the corner of her vision, as close to his face as she is. And there’s a decision teetering in the moment, before he reaches out for her again, she lets herself tip into him, and then they’re just a tangle of limbs on the floor after all.
“Ah fuck,” he laughs as she lands more on him than not, and the floor is hard which is not quite as easy as the porno mags always made it seem, but: there’s still Hermione over him, and both of them failing to bite back laughter, and Draco dragging his shirt off her, his mouth against the bared skin of her shoulder, her hand already reaching between them. It’s quick work to get their few scraps of clothing off again, eager to get their hands on each other once more even in the bright light of day.
She’s right; breakfast can wait.