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Pin-Up

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Hermione glances at the clock on the wall as she tugs her hair back into a haphazard ponytail. It’s a few minutes to eleven, and the Quidditch players should be arriving any moment now. Once her hair’s as neat as it’ll get, she picks up the camera she bought for this occasion and checks the settings one last time.

Pansy was the one who came up with the idea. It’s been three months since Hermione successfully started her non-profit for the rights of magical creatures, and despite Hermione’s fame for her role in the war, she hasn’t been able to stir up as much in the way of donations as she hoped. When she told this to Pansy, the socialite immediately suggested putting together a calendar.

“My grandmother used to have loads of calendars filled with sexy men,” Pansy said with a glimmer in her eye. “There was one featuring the Year’s Hottest Aurors that she’d hang right by her bed. You should try something like that.”

Pansy suggested recruiting Quidditch players to pose for the calendar, and when Hermione had run the idea by Ginny, she’d been more than on board. With Pansy’s and Ginny’s help, Hermione now had 12 famous Quidditch players ready to drop trou to raise funds, the first of whom would be coming by today.

Ginny pokes her head into the makeshift studio in Hermione’s flat, grinning. She’s been delighted about getting to help out with the shoot, and not for the fundraising part. “You ready?”

Hermione grimaces. “Technically, yes. Mentally, no. Are you sure you won’t take the photos instead? You’re much more comfortable around Quidditch players than I am.”

Ginny just laughs. “It’ll be fine! Relax. Pansy and I will be right outside getting the guys ready. You can call us if you need anything.”

There’s a knock on the front door then, and Hermione inhales sharply. They’re here. Ginny’s smile only grows bigger. “That’s my cue. Try to breathe. We’ll send the first one in as soon as he’s ready.”

She shuts the door, and Hermione’s left to wait for her first model. She can hear the front door opening and muffled voices in the entranceway. Male voices. There’s laughter and chatting, and then chairs scrape against the floor as Pansy presumably sits the first model down to arrange his hair as she likes.

Hermione sits as she waits, her foot tapping against the floor nervously. She’s done enough research about photography in the past few weeks to know she’s got a reasonable grip on what to do; it’s the nudity that she’s not as sure about. She hasn’t been in a sexual relationship in over a year now, and even then, her experience has been limited to two or three men in total. Over the next two days, there’ll be twelve naked men in the same room as her. They have three models lined up for the first session, with three more coming later that afternoon, and six more coming the next day. It’s enough to make her palms sweat.

She’s still worrying when the door to her makeshift studio opens. Hermione leaps to her feet, sweeping a stray curl off her face. Fuck. They haven’t even started and her ponytail’s already unravelling. She pastes a smile onto her face, ready to greet her first model.

Of the three scheduled for this shift, Oliver Wood comes in first. He’s in a pair of boxer-briefs, his broom in one hand, and Hermione is relieved to find she’s largely unfazed. Yes, he’s got a great body, but she keeps her eyes on his and her expression neutral. She reminds herself that he’s probably more nervous than she is, seeing as she’s not the one who’s stripped down, and that gets her in the right mindset.

After some small talk, she directs him in front of the sheet she’s hung up as a background and gives him instructions on how to pose with the broom. They do a few photographs with his underwear on, just to get him comfortable, and then it’s time for him to take them off.

“Will you still respect me in the morning?” Oliver jokes, which earns him a laugh. He gamely steps out of his boxer-briefs, and then there it is—her first penis of the many she’s about to see. It’s really quite a nice one. Between Oliver’s charming smiles and hard body, she knows the public will eat these pictures up. She picks up her camera and snaps away, getting different angles and poses. A few minutes later, they’re done, and she thanks him as he quickly pulls his underwear back on and heads outside.

She’s starting to hope this day won’t be too bad after all.

Unfortunately, her next model is Cormac McLaggen. Cormac’s body is like that of a bodybuilder’s, and he preens in front of the camera. At one point, he even yells, “I’m so fucking fit!” while pointing at his abs, and Hermione’s so appalled that she has to struggle not to laugh.

She’s not very fond of Cormac, but Ginny reminded her that he’s one of the most popular players in Puddlemere United. With this in mind, Hermione manages to smile at him indulgently as he whips off his boxers and asks her for shots of himself doing push-ups and crunches.

“My usual workout, y’know.” Cormac winks at her. “Sure you don’t want to get closer?”

Of course, Cormac gets hard during the shoot, but Hermione pretends not to notice. She read that it’s natural for models to get turned on doing nude photoshoots, and she manages to ignore his raging erection very successfully. She gets several shots of him doing who knows what with his arms, trying to showcase his biceps to the best of his ability, and then she sends him on his way.

She has only a few minutes of downtime, and they’re over before she knows it. Even though she knew who the next model would be, she’s still unprepared when Draco Malfoy steps into the room.

It’s not like she doesn’t ever see Draco. He’s one of Pansy’s closest friends, so they run in a lot of the same circles. He’s the Seeker for the Appleby Arrows, a team with an impressive winning streak that even Hermione knows about, and he’s featured in the papers often. But seeing him dressed casually at parties or in his Quidditch kit in the Prophet has done nothing to prepare her for how he looks now.

His blond hair is mussed, artfully dishevelled, and he’s stripped down to a pair of green boxers adorned with prints of the Golden Snitch. Scars criss-cross over his hard chest and tight abs, and, as though out of her control, her gaze travels lower, to the v-cut by his hips and the trail of hair disappearing into his boxers.

She swallows hard, forcing her eyes up only for them to get caught on his nipple piercings. He—they—what? Her brain is short-circuiting. When she finally manages to speak, her voice is stupidly breathless. “Hi. Thanks for agreeing to do this. It means a lot.”

His eyebrows have climbed almost to his hairline, expression amused. He’s definitely noticed her staring.

“Where do you want me?” he asks.

She’s not going to say between her legs. She’s not. But fucking hell, that’s exactly where she wants him.

Her face is getting flushed. “In front of the sheet. We’ll take a few with your boxers on, then we’ll move on to—”

She can’t even say it. What’s wrong with her? She quickly grabs her camera and gestures for him to get into position.

“I would never have thought you would be taking pictures for a naughty calendar, Granger,” Draco says as he props his broom up next to him, spinning the handle.

“Yes, well.” She peers through the viewfinder on her camera. Why on Earth does Draco have nipple piercings, and why are her knickers so fucking damp? She clears her throat. “It was Pansy’s idea. Can you sort of lean on your broom a little? And just hold it near the top… perfect.”

The pose is a bad idea, because with his fingers firmly curled around the handle of his broom, she’s imagining them fisting something else. This is wholly unexpected torture. She snaps a few photos, then asks him to prop the broom up over his shoulders. The things this pose does to his muscles is unholy. His neck, his shoulders, his arms—she wants to lick them all.

Her reaction has to be some sort of overexposure to nudity. Yes, that’s it. She hasn’t shagged anyone in ages and now, she’s seen Oliver naked, and then Cormac, and she’s going insane. Too much skin.

“That’s good,” she tells him. “Let’s do the same pose, but without the boxers?”

Nodding easily, Draco sets the broom down and shucks his boxers off.

Holy mother of Merlin.

Hermione actually moans. He’s gorgeous, and he’s huge. As she stares, her professionalism flying out the door along with her metaphorical knickers, his cock hardens, growing and drawing up towards his abdomen so she can see the piercings studded along his length.

She’s ready to get on her knees.

“Granger.” His voice is practically a growl. “Stop staring. Pictures first.”

Her eyes go wide and horrified. She’s just violated him with her eyes, and he’s probably—

When her gaze meets his, she realises his expression is far from angry. Instead, his eyes are dark and heated, a smirk curving his lips. He looks like he wants to eat her up.

It gives her enough courage to ask, “Pictures first and then what?”

He picks up his broom and settles it back across his shoulders, inclining his chin at her camera. “And then I’ll fuck you, if you want.”

Her mouth goes dry. She lifts the camera back to her face with trembling hands and forces herself to focus on the pictures instead of his words, because she can’t take shit pictures now. Not of him.

“Look at you,” he mutters as she takes a few shots. “I can see your nipples straining against your blouse. Will you open your top for me?”

She almost drops the camera. “I—this is your shoot. I’m not supposed to get naked.”

He just gazes back at her. “And yet, nothing says you can’t.”

Her eyes dart to the closed studio door and then back to him; his eyebrows are lifted in challenge. She puts the camera down and undoes the first few buttons of her blouse. His eyes devour every exposed centimetre of skin, and when she stops, he coaxes, “A few more, love.”

She does as he says, and he groans when her bra is exposed. “You’re so beautiful.”

She almost whimpers, and her voice is shaking. “This is too much.”

Immediately, his expression turns serious.  “Granger, I’m not trying to force you into anything. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

“No, I mean—” She swallows. “I like it. It’s too much as in…”

She can only admit it on a whisper. “I could come right now.”

He blinks, and then his gaze turns predatory as it falls to her thighs, covered by her skirt. “What do you need?”

She shakes her head. “We need to get the shots first.”

He drops the broom and stalks over to her, wrenching the camera out of her hands. “I’ll come back another day.”

His lips descend on hers, and she moans, fingers digging into the muscles in his shoulders. He licks into her mouth, hot and merciless, and she climbs him like a tree, legs going around his hips. She can feel his piercings pressing against the gusset of her knickers. “The piercings—”

“Are they bothering you?” he asks against her mouth. He seems determined to consume her, and she has absolutely no complaints.

She’s rubbing herself against him, desperate for the friction. “No. They feel so fucking good.”

He hitches her up his body with one arm and reaches between her legs with the other to feel under her knickers.

“I’m ready,” she pants as his fingers come away soaked. “Fuck me, please.

He lines himself up, yanks her knickers to one side, and impales her on his cock in one swift thrust. She cries out. He’s so big that she knows that would have hurt if she hadn’t been dripping with arousal. As it is, the stretch is unreal, and her eyes roll back. It’s not going to take long; she knows that much.

He brings his mouth back to hers as he walks them over to the wall. Once she’s leaned against it, he starts pounding into her, one hand closing around her breast as the other holds her up. His piercings are rubbing against places inside of her she’d never known existed, and she’s spiralling higher and higher as he sets a ruthless pace.

“Say my name,” he whispers roughly. “I want everyone to know who’s fucking you.”

She wants to reply that everyone knows, because they’re the only two in here, but she’s too close to orgasm to argue right now. When her walls start to flutter, he makes a strangled sound, fingers going to her clit to rub her roughly, and she shrieks his name as she comes.

He fucks her through it, and when she finally opens her eyes, breaths coming out in hard pants, he grins—so fucking satisfied.

“One more,” he says, kissing her neck.

“Later,” she breathes. “I need you to come first. Pansy and Ginny are going to burst in at any moment.”

He ignores her, continuing to rub her clit. She’s shocked at how quickly she’s building up again—she’s never had more than one orgasm at a time. She skims her fingers over the piercings in his nipples, and he moans, faltering on a thrust. She grins. “Sensitive?”

“You have no idea.” His fingers between her legs grow more precise in their movements, focused on getting her off as quickly as possible. “This is beyond my wildest fucking dreams.”

She raises her eyebrows as she lifts her hips to meet his thrusts. “You’ve dreamt about this?”

“Especially when I heard you were going to be taking pictures of me naked,” he confirms. “Fuck. I’m close. Are you—?”

“I can have another one later,” she insists.

“No,” he says. “Now.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can.” He moves his arm around her, and her mouth falls open as he finds the pucker of her arsehole. His fingers are wet from her slick, and when he presses the tip of his finger against her, she knows she can come again.

“Come for me,” he says, and she does. This time, he doesn’t have to tell her to say his name; there’s nothing else she would be screaming.

It only takes a few more thrusts for him to come, too, and she moans as he spills himself inside her. When he pulls out, setting her down on shaky legs, she tightens the muscles of her cunt, not letting his come slip out.

He looks dazed. “Are you okay?”

She smiles. “Never better. But I do want to make sure you know I’m not fucking all my models.”

“Oh, I know.” He leans down to press a kiss to her lips. “Wood and McLaggen came out looking far too unsatisfied.”

She laughs. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to think this was just because you were there. It wasn’t.”

“I know.” His hands are gentle as he arranges her blouse and does up the buttons, a contrast to the roughness with which he fucked her. “I asked Pansy if I could be your last shoot of this shift, so I could try my luck.”

She gapes. “You were planning to fuck me?”

He laughs. “No, although that was definitely a welcome surprise. I was going to ask you to lunch.”

“You’ve never shown an interest in me before,” she says.

“I didn’t know how,” he confesses. “But I was tired of doing nothing about fancying you. I hope my interest is clear now.”

She smirks. “Your come is about to drip down my thighs. I think you’ve made your point.”

He slips his hand between her legs, coaxing them open. She relaxes her muscles, and his come leaks out onto his fingers. He groans, lifting his fingers up, and she leans forward and sucks them into her mouth. He stares at her in awe, like she’s the best gift he’s ever gotten.

A loud knock comes at the door, and then Pansy’s voice: “Granger? Draco? Are you done shagging?”

Hermione’s face burns, and Draco snickers. She grabs her wand off a table and hastily scourgifys them both. Draco pulls up his boxers, but not before he kisses her again; it’s like he can’t get enough, and it makes her heart flutter.

Pansy opens the door. Her smirk is enormous. “That was the loudest public sex I’ve ever heard. You two want to grab lunch before the next shift?”

Draco glances at Hermione. “Actually, I was hoping to take Granger for lunch, just the two of us.”

Pansy looks pleased. “Alright. We’ll see you later, then.”

She closes the door, and Hermione turns to Draco. “You probably will need to come back for more pictures.”

Draco tugs her close, grabbing handfuls of her arse. “That won’t be a problem. I can assure you that you’re going to be seeing a lot more of me from now on.”

She blushes and smiles.

She’s counting on it.