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“Another Screaming Orgasm, please—oh, stop looking at me like that, Flint. They’re delicious.”

Hermione pushes her curls off her face and leans against the bar to wait as Marcus, who’s smirking, starts to prepare her drink. Her Friday night is off to a great start—her favourite bar in Diagon is just the perfect amount of crowded, her friends have scored a great table, and Ginny’s convinced her to dance a little to the live music playing courtesy of Percy’s pop punk band.

She’s humming along to the current song when someone comes up next to her, and she recognises the scent of apples and mahogany before she even sees who it is. Her heart rate picks up speed as he takes a seat, and she turns to smile at him. “Hi, Malfoy.”

One corner of Draco’s lips lift, just barely. Merlin, he is so fucking attractive. He frequents this bar, too, and she knows this because they always seem to find each other and spend at least part of the night flirting. It’s one of the reasons this bar is her favourite.

Usually, he’s in a perfectly tailored dress shirt and slacks, but tonight, he’s in an impeccable grey suit, and Hermione guesses he’s come straight from a meeting; he’s mentioned before how his job as a business consultant runs him ragged.

“Started without me, Granger?” His voice is low, teasing, and his blond lashes dip as his eyes find the generous cleavage she’s put on display tonight. Her skin flushes hot, and she leans a little more, giving him a better view. When he brings his eyes back up to hers, they’re darker than they were a moment ago. “You look stunning, by the way.”

Hermione laughs, reaching out to run a finger down the arm of his suit jacket. He’s all hard muscle underneath, just beginning to strain against the fabric. “You’re one to talk. Long night?”

He tilts his head, studying her with a smile. “Could be longer.”

Her eyebrows go up, because flirting is one thing, but it’s the first time either of them has suggested acting on it. Her tongue flicks out to lick her lips subconsciously, and his eyes follow the movement. The air between them is thick with tension, and that’s when Marcus comes over with her drink and a Firewhisky for Draco—his usual.

“The just-done-with-work look makes it seem like you might need this,” Marcus tells Draco good-naturedly. He casts a quick, mischievous glance in Hermione’s direction. “Though maybe you’ll find other ways to destress.”

Draco rolls his eyes, and abruptly, Marcus jumps and yelps. A grin spreads across Draco’s face. A wordless stinging jinx, Hermione guesses, and she laughs.

“I was just saying!” Marcus exclaims, leaning over the counter to smack the back of Draco’s head, which makes Draco laugh, too. “It’s not like I don’t stand here and watch you two eye-fuck each other week after week. Whenever you two are ready for a threesome, can I be your third?”

Please leave, Flint.” Hermione groans. “Or else I’m going to have to jinx you, too.”

With a wink at Hermione, Marcus saunters off, and Draco reaches for his glass. Hermione’s gaze immediately goes to his hand—the veins along the back, his long, elegant fingers, the midnight black Malfoy signet ring. The lust that cooled while they were talking to Marcus stirs deep in her belly now, and when she looks up at Draco’s face, he’s watching her with a smirk.

“Is that what Marcus meant by ‘eye-fucking’?” he quips, clearly amused.

She shakes her head and takes a step closer to him. When he parts his knees automatically, she fits herself between them, fingertips grazing his thigh. They’re closer at this moment than they’ve been before, and it’s still not nearly close enough. She lifts a hand and smooths it up his chest, toys with his collar. “I think it only counts as eye-fucking if we’re making eye contact, although—”

She cuts herself off, and he asks, “Although what?”

She thinks about whether she should say what she wants to; then, she glances at his hand again and decides that yes, she should. “I was definitely thinking about finger-fucking.”

His eyebrows fly up, and lightning-fast, he reaches for her, one large hand curving around her waist and pulling her closer. He slides his hand around her back, low enough that he’s almost touching the upper curve of her arse, and his voice comes out in a deep murmur. “You want my fingers inside you?”

She slips her hand up to the back of his neck, cupping the warm skin, her eyes on his lips. “Don’t you?”

His eyelids flutter. “Fuck, yes. Tell me what you’re wearing under this dress, will you?”

Hermione’s lips curve. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

He makes a quiet, pained noise, and then his hand—the one closer to the bar, the one that’ll be hidden from the view of the people around them—rests on the outside of her thigh before moving up and under her dress, a slow, smooth motion. The heat of his skin on hers is delicious, and it isn’t long before his fingers find the band of lace at her hip.

“Merlin fuck,” he growls as he follows the band towards her back and learns that she’s wearing a thong. He strokes his thumb along the bare skin under the lace. “Where’s the rest of your underwear?”

She laughs. “I’m covered up in front, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t,” he answers. He closes his eyes for a moment, then extracts his hand from her dress. “Don’t go anywhere, alright?”

She takes a step back, surprised, as he gets to his feet. “Where are you going?”

He looks somewhere over her head. “I need to settle something before I take you home. If you’ll let me take you home.”

“Of course,” she says before she can think. And then she thinks, and the answer is still yes. She wants him so badly that she could combust. His exploration of her skin has her nipples tight and her blood thrumming. “I’ll tell my friends I’m leaving, too. Meet you back here?”

“Please,” he says, and leans forward to brush the barest of kisses against her lips. Before she can grab his elbow and pull him down for a proper kiss, he’s already sweeping off towards the back of the bar.

Lips tingling, Hermione eyes what’s left of his firewhisky and chooses to down it instead of her own drink. Then, she signals to Marcus, who bounds over like an over-excited puppy.

“Are you finally going to put that man out of his misery?” Marcus grins cheekily. He ducks out of the way of her swat. “I’ll just put these drinks on his tab, shall I?”

“You can put them on mine,” she tells him. “Thank you.”

He gestures to her almost-full drink. “Switching this Screaming Orgasm out for another, eh?”

“Flint, I say this with all the love in the world,” Hermione tells him. “Shut. Up.”

He cracks up, and she smiles and shakes her head as she waves goodbye to him. She winds her way through the bar to the table she was sharing with her friends. Ron and Harry are arguing with Lee about Quidditch while Ginny, Luna, and Neville look like they’ve just sat down after dancing.

“I’m going to leave early,” Hermione tells them, smiling as she accepts the kiss Luna plants on her cheek. “Have a great night, everyone.”

Ginny’s eyes widen, and she grabs Hermione’s arm excitedly. “Wait. Did you pull?”

Hermione rolls her eyes, but she can’t hold her smile back. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Hermione hugs everyone goodbye then glances over at the spot where she and Draco planned to meet. He isn’t there yet, so she heads in the direction of the loo. Maybe she has time to freshen up a little.

There are two unisex bathrooms next to each other, and while one of them blinks with the word “OCCUPIED,” the other one seems to be mercifully vacant. Hermione is already digging in her purse for her favourite lipstick as she shoves the bathroom door open with her shoulder.

And then she stops short, the door swinging shut behind her.

Because there’s Draco, one hand braced against the wall and the other on his very hard cock.

His head whips up, grey eyes sharp on hers, and her lips part. Without thinking, she reaches behind her and very swiftly locks the door.

“Granger,” he breathes, fist squeezing, and her knees nearly give out.

“You’re—” She clears her throat, trying to rid her voice of its sudden husky quality. “You’re wanking.”

As if finally getting past the shock of her walking in, he pushes off the wall and starts to yank his trousers shut. His previously glazed expression transforms into one of mortification. “I can explain.”

She’s staring at his thick cock, head almost purpled and precum leaking from the tip, as it disappears into his boxer-briefs, into his trousers, and she wishes he wouldn’t put it away. She’s biting her lip so hard that she wouldn’t be surprised if she drew blood. Draco was wanking. He was wanking in this bathroom, most likely because of her, and her thong is absolutely ruined.

“I was too, ah, worked up,” he’s saying, cheeks flushed. “I wanted to take the edge off before we went any further.”

He pushes a hand through his hair, his eyes wary on hers. He looks like he’s trying to make himself say something, and Hermione doesn’t know what it is. But she doesn’t want him to feel like she’s forcing an explanation out of him, because she’s not.

“It’s okay,” she tells him. Her eyes flick to the impressively tented seam of his trousers. “It’s hot, actually—which isn’t exactly a surprise, because everything you do is really fucking sexy.”

His eyebrows go up, and there’s an amused curl to his lips that fills her with relief; she doesn’t want him to be embarrassed, especially over this.

Then, he says dryly, “I suppose now might be a good time to tell you I’ve never had sex.”

Oh.

Oh.

She startles, blinking as the words run through her mind, trying to be decoded.

He huffs a laugh at her expression. “Well, that’s not completely accurate, I suppose. I’ve had sex, just not of the penetrative sort. I was worried I’d get the tip inside of you tonight and promptly blow my load.”

Hermione’s heart skips a beat, and she blurts out, “You want me to be your first?”

Draco gives her an incredulous look. “Granger, I was in here trying to wank out my first orgasm of the night so I could do my best to fuck you properly. I would literally like nothing more than to be inside you.”

Hermione looks at him for a moment. Then, she sets her purse on the edge of the sink and leans back against the bathroom door. The bathroom is small, and if she took two steps forward, she would be flush against him. “Will you let me watch?”

Surprise flickers over his features for a split second before his gaze turns predatory—more like the Draco she’s flirted with over the past several weeks. “Watch me wank?”

She nods, squirming a little. Fuck, she hopes he says yes. Just the thought of it is making her skin tingle.

“How about a trade?” he says, undoing his trousers again and drawing his cock out. She inhales sharply, her eyes tracing every ridge and vein. “Show me what you like, and I’ll let you watch.”

She doesn’t need any convincing. She wiggles her dress up to her hips, exposing the lacy black thong he was touching minutes earlier, and starts to slip her hand between her legs.

“Wait.” Draco moves towards her. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” she breathes.

His fingers dip into the front of her thong, and he cups her bare cunt. A whimper slips from her lips as he parts her folds and drags his fingers through her wet heat.

“Fuck,” he whispers, watching her face as he strokes her. She’s arching into his touch, her hands coming up to clutch his arms. Then, all too soon, he’s pulling his fingers away, and she whines.

“No, please—” She stops mid-plea when he brings his hand, coated with her arousal, to his cock and glides it over his length. Her heart pounds, her clit throbs, and her brain stops working. She doesn’t need any further motivation to shove her hand into her thong and find her swollen clit.

His hand picks up speed as he watches her touch herself. His voice is rough, raspy. “What are you doing?”

“Touching my clit. Imagining it’s your fingers. The head of your cock. Fuck, Draco, I need—” She’s so desperate for him. She wants him to fuck her now, right now, here, in this bathroom, against the wall. She keeps her gaze fixed on the hand working his cock, his signet ring slick and glinting. And she doesn’t even care that she’s begging. “Just the tip. Will you put just the tip in?”

He groans. “So fucking greedy. Granger, I told you, I can’t until… let me come first. I promise I’ll fuck you after that. Put your fingers inside yourself. Tell me how it feels.”

She does as he says, sinking a finger in as far as it’ll go, her chest heaving with how fast she’s breathing. She uses her thumb to keep rubbing her clit. “It feels good. Really good. I’m—fuck, I’m putting in a second finger. I’m so wet, but I still—you’re going to stretch me so well, Draco. It’s going to be so fucking good.”

He’s basically fully dressed, just his trousers open and cock out, but between the redness of his cheeks, the sweat on his temples, and the shallow thrusts of his hips against his fist, he looks utterly debauched. And Hermione drinks him in until she’s dizzy, her pleasure winding tighter and tighter.

“I’m going to come,” he grits out suddenly.

And he does—he comes so fucking hard, bending in on himself as his hand keeps pumping, helpless to stop. He’s gorgeous, his eyes squeezing shut as a guttural sound tears from his chest.

She brings herself off to the image of his climax.

She’s still catching her breath when she hears his muttered cleaning spells, and then his hand is on hers, bringing her wet fingers to his mouth.

He sucks her fingers off then grabs her purse off the counter, slinging it over his shoulder. She’s not ready for the words he growls out. “I’m Apparating us to my place right now. Take my fucking virginity, Granger. It’s yours.”

Hers.

She pulls him close and seals her lips over his as he Apparates them away.