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Hermione has tried to talk Ron out of it. Why would a wizard need a muggle van when he can use magic? Especially a sad three-seater with dulled paint and an even duller will to live. But he’s adamant that now that the third Weasleys’ Wizards Wheezes shop is open and thriving, they need to expand their reach to other little magical villages around Britain. He seems to think he'll stuff the back full of wares and drive around like some kind of travelling salesman.
Truthfully, Hermione thinks Ron is turning into his father. His need to collect muggle artefacts is a compulsion. Instead of hoarding them away in a shed to simply tinker with, he carelessly alters them with magic to integrate into daily life. There was the charmed muggle hoover that could also clean walls and the ceiling (scuffing the paint), and the giant magnet that not only pulled lost galleons from around the house but the earrings in her ears, and then the floating lamp that followed people around, adjusting to the needs of the environment… She left him before she could discover the outcome of that one. He barely noticed for three days, only driving home that the decision to end their relationship was necessary.
But in all honesty, he’s in her life as much as he was prior. Asking for favours here and there, arguing about the trivial and menial at after-work drinks, and of course, sitting at her side when she visits for Sunday lunch at the Burrow. He’s ever-present in her life, and yet, she can’t bring herself to tell him about Draco. Nor tell any of her friends for that matter. She doesn't want their terrible childhood opinions of him to inadvertently impact what has been the best sex of her life.
Ron’s perfectly aware that Draco’s her Auror partner, of course. But he doesn’t know that staying late one night in their office led to sex on her desk, which led to fucking all over his flat for two days straight, then a midnight confession from Draco that he very much wanted to keep shagging her. It was a roundabout way of telling her that he’d like a relationship, and she jumped at the opportunity. She leapt without any forethought for what felt like the first time in her life, and now, here she is attempting to figure out the best way to tell all that, yes, she is dating reformed bully and ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy.
Hermione's not ashamed. She just doesn’t know how to broach it and doesn’t want to be interrogated where her feelings are concerned. So when Ron asks what she’s doing Sunday and whether she has time to help him retrieve a muggle van, she tells him she can’t—she’s working in northern England with Draco.
“That’s perfect then, isn’t it?” says Ron. “I need to go to Yorkshire, so I’ll just meet you there?”
It’s for that reason she’s standing at a cattle farm with stretches of green at every side, staring at a faded orange van whose engine sounds like a rattling tin of knuts. It’s missing its second row of seats in the back, but that’s why Ron wants it—more room to add inventory, he says. The interior walls are mucky, and the right-back tyre looks a little flat, but Ron’s staring at it like it’s his one true love.
Hermione side-eyes Draco standing at her left, his balled fists stuffed into his trouser pockets. He shows a fleeting look of concern. But Ron at her right is beaming. Just as Hermione opens her mouth to ask the elderly seller a perfectly sensible question about the age of the van, or the service history, or the kilometres on the odometer, Ron says, “We’ll take it.”
The sun is dipping behind the hills when Draco asks, “Granger, why am I watching Weasley fondle the pipe on this muggle van?”
“You know why.”
“But why couldn't Potter be his muggle translator?”
She answers with the huff of a sigh as Ron hands a wad of cash to the muggle. “Harry knows less about cars than I do.”
“Well, what now, then?” asks Draco, distractedly folding his shirtsleeves to his elbows.
“Now we drive to London,” says Hermione.
“We travel in this shit-heap the entire way?”
“It’s not a shit-heap,” says Ron, walking back to meet them. “Why are you here again?”
“Ron, stop it,” says Hermione. “Everyone get in the van. Shall I drive?” She holds out her hand and gives a grabby flick of her fingers.
Ron pulls the keys to his chest. “As if I'm letting you drive my new van.”
“Then what the hell am I here for? I thought you needed help with the muggle roads?”
“Yeah, to read the signs and things.”
“You don't even have a driver's license. What if we get pulled over by the police?”
“Bill has one and I made a copy, didn't I?” He flashes his duplicated muggle driver's license and an effortless photo of Bill, who looks every bit the man Ron wishes he could be.
“Remind me, why are we here?” Draco asks Hermione. “Let's apparate back to London.”
“You're not leaving.” Ron's outrage is directed at Hermione. “What am I going to do by myself for four hours?”
Draco lazily lifts a shoulder. “You should have thought about that before you bought the shit-heap.”
“Draco,” warns Hermione.
Ron is turning pink with his irritation. Just as he opens his mouth, Hermione points at the shit-heap. “Both of you get in the van—now.”
Obediently, they move towards the vehicle—Draco a little more reluctantly and with a cross glance backwards that only makes him appear insufferably cute. Ron takes up post behind the steering wheel. Draco opens the passenger side door making it whine like a dying animal, and holds it wide for Hermione to take the second seat of the row.
When all are squared away, Ron fiddles with the gear stick until he discovers the position for reverse. As he depresses the pedal too enthusiastically, the van begins to slide back down the grassy incline, and Hermione shoots out her hands for a grip on the scratched up dashboard.
Draco jumps from the fright and then drops his face into his palms. “If I die in this muggle van, Granger…” he mumbles.
“You’re not going to die,” says Hermione.
“If I wanted you dead, Malfoy, I wouldn’t be using my new van.”
“This is so far from new, Weasley—” Draco’s voice catches as Ron finds the first gear and carelessly winds the van around in the direction of the well-worn farm road.
It's twenty minutes before they find the motorway. Twenty minutes of Ron simultaneously trying to swivel the radio knobs to find more than static while also attempting to keep his eyes on the road.
After two close calls with a brick fence and one gasp from Hermione, she blinks for an extended moment, sifting a sigh out through her nose. Why did she think this was going to be a good idea? It’s going to be the most painful road trip of her life.
They're in the leftmost lane of the motorway with night well on its way, puttering along at a pace Hermione can't see on the speedometer but which feels a lick above snail, somewhere around sloth.
As a car peels out from behind them to overtake, Hermione says, “Ron, you need to accelerate more. At this rate, we'll arrive home next Tuesday.”
“My foot's planted on the pedal, ‘Mione.”
Draco drops his head back against the headrest with a groan.
Ron sends a glare sideways.
“Fucking Merlin!” Draco suddenly sits up with his wand drawn.
A giant black spider crawls along the top of the windscreen, skittering further towards the centre of the glass, and Draco sends a wordless spell quickly vanishing the creature.
“What the bloody—” Ron’s sentence falls short as the glass ahead cracks.
A great star shape forms, lines spiking out in every direction of the windscreen.
Ron swerves the van a little.
“For fuck’s sake!” shouts Ron, simultaneously moving his head and the steering wheel left and right, attempting to see out the side of the giant fracture in the glass.
Hermione brandishes her wand. “Here, I’ll fix—” She sways into Draco with Ron’s careless swivel of the wheel. “If you’ll just—”
“I can’t see.” Ron swerves again, this time making Hermione bump into his shoulder and unsteady his grip on the steering wheel.
Hermione’s wand flies out of her hand.
“Weasley!” yells Draco.
They veer off the road.
It’s a bumpy journey down the side strip of the motorway, half on the grass, half on the tarmac until Ron straightens the wheels and, with the dramatic stamp of both feet on the brakes, they finally come to an abrupt halt.
Hermione and Draco fly forward, palms flat on the dashboard.
There’s a moment in which everyone’s panicked breaths fill the space. Then they all right themselves, sitting straighter. The indicator tuts an even beat.
“Ew,” says Draco, pulling his palm up to view. “Why is my hand sticky?”
“That’s it,” grits out Ron. “You can leave, Malfoy.”
Draco turns, brow furrowed. “I’m not leaving without Granger.”
“Isn’t your shift over? No need to hang about and protect her any longer.”
“I think your driving begs to differ.”
Hermione crosses her arms, not bothering to look at the men arguing past her.
“You know what,” begins Ron, “you can get in the back. If you’re not going to bugger off, I don’t want to have to see or hear you.”
“You know what?” says Draco, pulling his feet on to the seat. “Fine by me.” He sends one long leg over the top of the headrest and then yanks himself over to the other side. From what Hermione can see from the periphery of her vision anyhow. She refuses to give them anymore than a slither of her attention.
“I can’t believe you just put your foul shoes on my new car seat.”
Draco’s voice comes from further away than Hermione expects: “It’s not new!”
“Can we just get going again?” Hermione checks her watch. “We’re already behind schedule.”
For perhaps only the twelfth time in her life, Ron listens to her. She retrieves her wand from amongst the food wrappers, dirt clumps, and other scary miscellanea on the floor to fix the windscreen, then he starts up the car, eventually easing them back onto the motorway.
But it’s only another twenty minutes before the engine sounds like it’s clinking.
Then it’s tinkling before rattling.
Finally, it’s puttering alongside Ron’s panicked, “Uh oh.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” comes Draco’s voice, just as they halt on the side of the road once more.
It’s almost pitch black by the time they’re all out of the car and staring into an open panel at the back of the van. That’s after they realised that the engine was not, in fact, kept in the front of the vehicle, as assumed.
Draco holds his Lumos-lit wand beneath the engine cover and they all stare into the steamy cavity with equally gormless looks on their faces.
“I don’t even know where to start,” says Hermione.
“Why don’t we start with this—” Draco goes to pick up a long stick-looking thing poking from the muddle of metal parts, but Hermione quickly slaps the back of his hand.
He yanks it back to his chest. “Ouch. Why—”
“It could be hot.”
“I definitely know at least one of these parts,” says Ron. “That’s a flywheel,” he adds unhelpfully.
Hermione sighs. “We need to get a mechanic or roadside assistance.”
Even in the smidge of distant lamppost light and glow from Draco’s wand, she can see the full force with which Ron's sulky expression arrives. “That’ll take ages.”
Hermione groans, burying her face in her hands. Why did she agree to this again?
Hearing the engine cover slammed down, she looks up to find Draco crossing his arms and shaping a smug smile.
“You used magic, didn’t you?” asks Hermione.
“I tried a few spells, yes.” At her unimpressed look, he adds, “What is the issue, Granger? I have a wand for good reason.”
She despises when people—most often Ron—carelessly use magic on muggle things. Especially things that could blow up beneath them if their perfect operating conditions are not met.
Just as Hermione opens her mouth, Ron calls out from the open window of the driver’s seat, “It’s working!”
Promisingly, the engine is belting an even rhythm instead of rattling.
Draco shows another self-satisfied pull of a smile before he escorts her back to the front seat of the vehicle, then he returns to the darkness at the back of the van. After their second stop on the side of the road, there’s very nearly a third before Ron pulls into a service station just in time to refuel.
Hermione sits in the front seat with her arms crossed and her irritation quickly evolving into anger. It’s been almost two hours, and they’ve barely made it fifty miles. She's bored and irritable (why didn't she bring a book?), and she's quickly realising that being around Ron when she's not surrounded by their other friends is frustrating. Why is she putting up with this any longer?
As if Draco can hear her thoughts, he says, “Let’s just leave, Granger. While he’s not looking.”
“I think he’ll notice.”
“That idiot?”
She can’t bring herself to tell him off, and instead, silently agrees. Her back teeth clench at the thought of this utter waste of time, particularly after eight days straight of an infuriatingly tricky work case. She needs this time to recoup. She and Draco could be absolutely anywhere else enjoying each other's company, and instead, they’re on the side of a road somewhere while Ron takes advantage of her generosity.
With the fuel tank full, Ron returns to the driver’s seat where Hermione spins to face him and let him have the brunt of her anger. “What was the point of asking me along if you’re going to negotiate the van price with the muggle, and want to figure out the muggle petrol pump yourself, and you won’t even let me drive the bloody muggle vehicle?”
“Just in case.”
“Ugh,” she grinds out through her teeth.
Just in case! One of the many reasons they’re no longer together. He never prioritises her, never lets her in on the plan, and truthfully, probably actually never even wanted her. It always felt like she was in a relationship with Ron just in case.
“That’s it.” She flings open the passenger door.
“What are you going to do? Apparate and leave me all alone?”
“No, I’m not a twat like you. I’m going to sit in the back.”
“Fine,” says Ron.
“Fine.”
Hermione rolls open the back door to find Draco casually sitting against the wall of the van, legs extended out, Lumos lit on his wand and a book on his lap.
“Where did you get that?” she asks, climbing in to plant her behind at the opposite wall.
“It was already in here. Did you get relegated too?”
“I didn’t relegate anyone,” Ron shouts over his shoulder as the van takes off again. “She’s in a strop.”
“Come on, Granger,” Draco says quietly, “let’s just disapparate.”
“In a moving vehicle?”
“Not knowing whether we’ll get splinched along the way is a little thrilling, isn’t it?”
For a moment, she actually considers it.
The engine noises are even louder back here, partially drowned out by the mumbling music Ron has discovered on the radio, and the rhythmic gyre of the wheel directly below her bum.
“This is so bloody uncomfy. How have you been sitting back here this whole time?”
“Cushioning charm.” He sets the book down and gives a beckoning flick of his fingers. “Come here, love.”
The corner of her mouth tugs up at the use of the endearment. She quickly side eyes the driver’s seat. “He’ll see us.”
Draco’s Lumos extinguishes in the next moment. “No, he won’t.”
Hermione can hear how he whispers through a smile.
There's a little thrill at the thought of secretly cuddling her boyfriend while her annoying ex is only feet away. She nestles beneath one of Draco’s arms, and as they travel, they’re draped in a blanket of shadow, only occasionally split by the flicker of the streetlight through the thin window panels above.
Draco’s arm is tight around her shoulder, his warmth wrapped around her, and worn masculine scent always an immediate comfort. He noses in between her curls until he finds her ear. “I’m here to spend time with you, and I’ve had no more than ten minutes.” His voice is so soft, and something about this situation feels dangerous. The same danger as the first day he dared to lean in and whisper against her ear in the Auror office, the same pleasurable thrum that had caused the hairs on the nape of her neck to stand.
Hermione threads her fingers between his where his hand rests on her lap. “We both know you’re here because you can’t bear the idea of leaving me alone with my ex.”
“That too,” he says with a soft chuckle. “Why should he get to spend any time with you? He's had plenty of it already.”
Before she can even think to answer, he leads her mouth around to his with his hand at her cheek. Their kiss is sweet and slow, his tongue sliding leisurely along hers—honeyed from his earlier Butterbeer—and she can tell he's truly missed her. Something about kissing in the dark, in the quiet, in secret has her whole body thrumming.
As soon as Draco draws back, he makes considered movements with his wand, pointing towards the length of floor in front of them. The floor being metal barely covered by a swatch of old carpet.
“What are you doing?” whispers Hermione.
“There's still a long way to go so I'm making it more comfortable for you.”
After her behind lifts a little, Hermione realises he's put a cushioning charm on the whole van floor. He transfigures the discovered book into a blanket and a stray bottle cap into a pillow.
“Lay down,” he says, dragging her into the centre of the space until she's flat against her back.
Hermione laughs softly against Draco's lips as he leans down over her to press a chaste kiss. “He's going to see us."
“He can’t see anything,” he says. “It’s too dark.”
He leaves a kiss at the corner of her lips, causing her smile to persist, then his mouth is at the edge of her jaw and on her throat before he falls down next to her. Lying on his side, he throws the blanket over the lower halves of their bodies. Hermione turns to become the little spoon. She smiles from the comforting heat of him behind, and when he belts an arm over her waist and draws her as close as she can possibly go, she grins into the dark.
“Comfier?” he asks.
“Much.”
With Hermione’s hair flattened beneath her shoulder and the column of her throat exposed, it's not long before Draco’s lips are lining her skin, before he’s sucking and nipping. The little lovebites he creates sting hot, and she adores the sensation. She feels it just as searing between her legs. As he draws his palm up from her stomach to grasp a handful of her breast, his lips take a gentle path from the curve of her shoulder to the dip behind her jaw, her skin tingling beneath his sweet touch. His hurried breaths gust into her curls. Instinctively, she curves her spine, and her bum presses right into his hardened cock.
“Draco…” she whispers.
“What?” he asks naively. “It's just the effect you have on me, and there's only one way to get rid of it.”
“You alright back there?” Ron calls out.
“Perhaps two ways,” mutters Draco.
“Just trying to have a lie down,” answers Hermione.
Draco tweaks her nipple through her thin bra, swirls his fingertip with a maddening languor that has the heat between her legs evolving into an evident wetness. Her knickers are stupidly damp. Hermione rolls her lips together to stifle any incriminating sounds as he twiddles her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it hardens for him.
“Oh.” She can hear the dejection in Ron’s tone, but fails to care. He’s the reason he has no company. He's the reason they're on this useless trip.
Draco’s whisper is hot across her ear. “If he wanted you to stay up there, he shouldn't have been such a dick.”
Hermione sighs. She turns to see the shape of Draco in the shadows, just past her shoulder. “I'm sorry this is such a waste of time.”
“We'll just have to make the most of it.”
She knows exactly what he means. She feels exactly what he means, and as much as she’s delighting in the way her body vibrates and centre aches from just his searching hands and soft lips, she knows they should behave.
But Hermione can't find the will power to push him away.
Draco’s lips capture hers and he distracts her with a slow, sensual drag of his tongue as he flicks open the button of her trousers. Then he yanks them down. She moans softly into his mouth as his hand finds between her legs, his forefinger dragging along the soaked cotton of her knickers.
“I think you like that idea, don't you?”
“Yes,” she replies weakly.
Draco massages her clit over the material and her nerves pulse from the danger of what they're doing. But the pleasure he's already stoking masks any worry. He traces a finger down the gusset of her underwear before hooking beneath the fabric and pulling it aside, and at first, his touch ghosts along her seam, then his fingers play in her arousal, sweeping through her wetness and making her angle for more.
He hums his satisfaction. “Already so wet, Granger. Are you a little excited to take my cock right behind your ex's back?”
She wouldn’t dare to admit it aloud, but she’s never felt so excited in her life. The prospect of being caught has her aching to be filled. A prickly heat journeys the length of her body, right to her pert nipples.
She nods hurriedly and sees the smirk unfurl across his face, even in the dark.
One little orgasm won’t hurt, will it?
She can be quiet. Draco can be extremely efficient.
As he resumes his position behind, his fingers sneak down the front of her underwear, gentle touch tickling her skin and inciting little flinches on the way. The brush at her clit is so whisper-soft Hermione shivers. Then the pressure is harder—still only subtle—and she needs to bite down on her lip to stifle a little whine. With his breath damp at her neck, he circles in just the way she likes, grinding against her from behind, and she can feel how he’s already freed himself from his trousers against the cotton of her knickers. Feel how rigid he is.
Hermione’s a little stiffer than usual, as if moving might actually get them caught. But it means Draco has his way with her and the simple thought only makes her wetter. As the ground jitters beneath from the steady course of the tyres on uneven road, he leans over her and pulls the collar of her shirt down so that he can suck her nipple into his mouth, making her arch into him. Making her bite down on a whimper as his hot tongue whirls and lips caress her nipple in the most heavenly way. Then the transfigured blanket is gone, and he’s suddenly divesting her of her shoes and jeans. Her underwear ends up around her ankles. Just as she resumes her position on her side, assuming he'll slip into her from behind, he instead ducks his head down and lifts her thigh to flick his searing tongue along her drenched folds, sampling the taste of her.
Hermione flinches beneath. “This is not covert at all,” she whisper-yells.
He sits up to see her. “He's too caught up on the muggle radio, Granger.”
Draco's mouth latches onto her bared nipple, just as his two fingers easily slide into her wet heat and Hermione covers her mouth to muffle her whimper. His tongue twists and fingers piston in and out, only coaxing more arousal with every stroke. Suddenly, he moves his head back down between her legs and spreads her wider, tongue running lines over her centre, lapping up her wetness, then as he hums against her, the vibrations jolt pleasure up her core.
Once or twice, the point of his tongue prods into her entrance before tracking up the curve of her until he meets her puckered hole. Hermione sends a hand out for the surprise of the sensation. She scrapes at his scalp as his palm on her arsecheek stretches her open wider.
“Did you like that, Granger?”
She hums gently, keenly waiting for the next dip of his tongue, and when it finally circles again as he simultaneously slides two fingers into her core, she balls her hand into a fist, yanking his hair.
Just as Draco moans against her, the music suddenly turns all the way down.
“Everything okay back there?” calls out Ron. He’s angling his head to better see in the reflection in the rearview mirror. “Transfigure yourself a couple of seats?”
Draco’s tongue and fingers drop away from Hermione, but he doesn’t pull away entirely. She feels him smile against her arsecheek, then in the next instant, he bites.
“Yes,” squeaks out Hermione. She covers her face with her palms. “Good, thank you.”
The music volume increases, and she can only assume he's bought her pathetic reply.
Draco resumes his position with his chest against her back, arm looped around her waist. But there’s barely three beats to recover from the ill-timed interruption before the tip of his rigid cock teases at her folds. He nestles between her thighs, gliding his whole shaft along her seam to smear the arousal he’s worked up along the length of him. There’s a tiny flutter somewhere in her belly knowing he’s so close to filling her.
“You’re not allowed to do anything that’ll have me screaming out,” Hermione warns in a whisper. “Otherwise, I’m casting a silencing charm.”
“I don’t like either of those options.”
“Draco… He’s going to see.”
“Well…” She can hear a smile in his voice. “He might enjoy it.”
“Oh, for Merlin’s—”
“Come on, Granger. You told me only a couple of hours ago how badly you want me to fill you. Let me have my way.” His fingers dig into her hip. Voice takes on a greedy tone. “I want to feel you shudder all over my cock while Weasley is none the wiser.”
Her whole body is aflame, and she’s already knickerless with Draco hovering his weeping cockhead at her entrance. Who is she kidding?
At that, she angles her lower back, brushing her arousal against his length. He makes a low, satisfied sound as he notches at her entrance, but it's Hermione's pathetically needy whine that's a little too loud.
Draco’s palm shoots up to smother her mouth.
They could use magic: a silencing charm, muffliato, anything, but as Draco's cock glides into her wet heat with a toe-scrunching pace, any form of logic leaves her brain.
For several beats, he sits inside, throbbing impatiently. He’s still covering her mouth because he knows her so well. Knows that as soon as he retracts and then buries himself to the hilt, she'll moan with abandon.
As he does just that, he muffles the unrestrained noise from her mouth. The drag backward is so languid and indulgent, her nerves fray, heart flutters, and breath catches in her throat.
Finally, his palm slips down and away, taking up home around her breast.
“Draco,” she breathes, and he quickly whispers, “Hush,” against her ear alongside another slow thrust.
There’s never a hurry where Draco’s concerned. She’s never treated like a means to an end. Even when he slams into her at a punishing pace, he’s careful and attentive, reading her body in a way she had never thought possible. He responds to her every whimper and shudder and grasp for him, fluent in whatever novel language they’ve created.
Before Draco, she’d never experienced such dizzying sex. She’s certain it’s the way he simultaneously strokes her inside and out, the expert flick of his fingers and synchronised snap of his hips. But it’s his revelations in the midst of it, in the most heated moments—his overwrought whispers that she never sees coming—which flame her arousal like nothing else.
“I want you to have more than this, Granger. More than a beaten down van and your generosity taken advantage of.”
Hermione reaches back to grasp at his hip, pinching her nails into his skin. As his heated hand around her waist clenches in reply, his teeth fasten onto a stretch of her throat before he smothers his moan at the slope of her neck. The electric pleasure at her centre echoes throughout her body as he curves into her, curves in the same delicious way he always does: until she's threadbare, moments from falling to pieces. Then, he winds her tighter and tighter until she comes and suddenly feels newly mended. Never, ever, has it felt like this with other men.
“I’m going to give you everything, Granger,” he whispers against her ear. “You’ll never want for anything ever again.”
Hermione whines softly in reply. She squeezes at the coarse material of his trousers at his thigh, tries to push and pull his weight to force him deeper. Harder. His fingertips flick at her clit, just as he slams into her this time, making the arousal he's artfully worked up drip between them, sticky down the back of her thighs.
“I’m going to keep you forever, Granger.”
Hermione breaks from the bliss and glances back at him past her shoulder. The barest glint of his eyes is visible in the shadows. “What?”
His thrusts cease. “Forever,” he repeats, as if she didn’t hear it the first time.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I’m telling you that you’re mine,” he says against her mouth. He runs his tongue along Hermione’s lower lip, dipping into her mouth to curl around hers and sharing the taste of her arousal, before drawing back to better see her. “I’m going to make you a Malfoy, then fill you over and over until you bear me a child—several.” His palm moves to her stomach then, the squeeze of his hand claiming.
She laughs lightly in between their kisses as he resumes his thrusts, picking up speed. “You’ve forgotten a step in there.”
He chuckles lightly. “I certainly haven’t forgotten.”
The anticipation has her skin goosepimpling.
“But I had hoped to do it somewhere a little more special than in an dilapidated old van.”
She palms at his cheek. “Anywhere with you is perfect.”
“You know what else is perfect? Feeling you come for me.” He bites down on her throat, stabbing in his sharp canines as he resumes drawing patterns at her clit. The heat of her love bites adds to the fire resonating from her centre. “It makes me feel fucking invincible,” he says against her skin.
Hermione’s body is searing hot as Draco lures her closer to her release, and she needs to grind her back teeth to keep her moan contained.
“‘Mione?”
Draco halts his movements.
Hermione threads her bottom lip through her teeth. She’s so close. Her body scorching with cresting heat, walls spasming around Draco, but her release flees as she wrenches her eyes open and finds a ginger mop of hair ahead, lit by the flickering streetlight and angling a little to throw his voice into the back.
Hermione whimpers. She’s contracting around Draco’s length. Soaking him as her body teases her release.
“No,” Draco rasps against her ear. “I refuse to let you come while your ex is saying your name.”
His cock twitches inside of her, not far from his own orgasm.
She pulls in a deep breath, only to sigh heavily. “Yes, Ron?” she asks, tone casual.
“Is it the A1, or the A46?”
“One,” she says quickly. “A1,” she repeats with more conviction, concerned he might be confused enough to turn around.
“Good girl,” whispers Draco. “Look at you, acting so innocent.”
He starts delving again. A little faster, now. She’s clenching around him. Quivering.
“So brave to take my cock with your ex five feet away, and to play pretend?”
She hums softly. He always knows the right things to say. And he knows how to bring on her orgasm quickly, but also how to make it tarry for a time so she feels like she's drowning in pleasure. She’s pulsing around him, not knowing which it'll be today. All she knows is that she wants a little more.
Hermione unlatches the hand he’s curved around her hip and slides it up and up again until it’s curled around her throat. Immediately, he squeezes. Her breath catches from the threat of little oxygen. With her barely contained whine, her centre clamps down around him. His fingertips depress the skin at her throat, and she makes little gasps. Dizziness plagues Hermione. Makes stars burst at the corner of her eyes and suddenly her orgasm broaches and crashes, coaxing her shivers around his cock as she bites down on a cry.
When he finally relaxes his hold at her throat, her body sings.
“So good—” His breathing tumbles. He’s panting, breath damp against her shoulder. “Keeping so quiet for me—fuck—”
His movements stall, and he throbs inside. His moan is muffled. She pulses around him, grinding back and forth on his length to supplement his stalled thrusts, desperate to milk him for every last drop.
He makes a tortured sound. Far louder than any noise she’s made.
“Hush,” she whispers.
As she slows her grinds, feeling the stickiness of cum seep out of her, Draco leaves a kiss on her throat where her skin is tender beneath.
Suddenly, she’s sleepy and sated. Entirely wrung out. Too tired to say another word, and with only enough energy to swing her gaze towards the front of the van and see Ron none the wiser, eyes on the road.
The whip of the light through the small windows above are like the whirr of Hermione's orgasm, the lasting bliss that lingers in every corner of her body. Draco is still half-hard inside of her, and their sticky combined efforts leak out between. His contented sigh against the back of her neck and another sweet, prolonged kiss on her skin is the last sensation before she closes her eyes.
At some point, she accidentally lets them stay closed.
That’s the last she recalls before light bleeds through her eyelids.
The sound of the rolling van door forces her to jerk them open. Hermione sits up suddenly, her neck twinging as she goes. She squints against daylight and drags the transfigured blanket up to hide her uncovered lower-half. She can just make out two heads of red hair, one brown, until her vision settles and she realises she's looking into the break of a new day and her three friends.
Ginny laughs loudly before it tumbles into a squeal. “You look very well fucked, Hermione.”
“Gin!” says Harry.
“When did this happen?” she continues, not paying him any mind. “Don't tell me you shagged for the first time right behind Ron.”
“Eurgh,” says Harry. “Seriously, Hermione?”
Ron's mouth is creased with disgust as he leans past Harry and Ginny to drop a bucket just inside the door, filled with fat sponges and a bottle of bleach. “Hope you’ve both got nothing planned today, because you're both going to clean up my new van. Magical and muggle ways.”
“I can't believe you christened Ron's new van,” says Harry, shaking his head.
“It's not new,” adds Draco, sitting up and rubbing at his eye with the heel of his palm.
“Shut up, Malfoy,” says Ron.
This time Ginny snorts her laughter. “As soon as you're done cleaning, I want to hear all about how this happened.”
“I want to hear nothing,” mutters Harry, snatching his girlfriend's hand and pulling her away.
“I want this bloody spotless,” says Ron with the jab of his finger, before following the others back towards the house.
Draco flashes a smirk at Hermione. “I enjoyed that—seeing their faces.”
She tuts. “I can't say I enjoyed it, but I'm relieved. That might have even gone better than I'd imagined.”
Draco leans forward and cups her face in his palms. He strikes a line across her bottom lip with his thumb before following up with a kiss. “I love you,” he whispers against her lips.
Hermione warms, grinning despite the fact the cushioning charm has well worn off from below and there’s an uncomfortable bite to the air. “I thought this wasn't the right place to say it?”
“I've decided it doesn't matter. I just needed you to know.”
“Oh I know.” She fixes him with a look that conveys the same sentiments, but just for good measure adds, “I love you too.”
“And?”
“I want to keep you forever.”
“And?”
“Bear your children—several.”
Draco mirrors her grin.
The door rolls shut with his wandless magic and he presses her back until she curves down to the floor and he brackets her from above. “How about round two for the van?”
