For Jamie. I enjoy our friendship and constant messages so much and creating fic club has been such a joy to do.

Drabble/Oneshot inspired by the mutual masturbation scene in The Fallout, which we're doing a summer reading of in Fic Club on Discord. Come join us! Bless the fandom for ever getting to read everythursday's works. It's killer. More notes at the end.

First things first

I'mma say all the words inside my head

Believer - Imagine Dragons

"I thought you said..." Hermione swallows, but her throat is dry, and she thinks it has everything to do with the way his eyes have narrowed and darkened all in the same moment. "I thought you said that occasional contact was enough."

There's a tick in his jaw, and his hands are shoved deep into his pockets, and Hermione wonders if now is the time to tell him that clenching his jaw so hard, so often, will be bad for his teeth long-term.

"It was." Draco takes a step forward, his shoulders tense, and she has to realise how broad they are, but she knows it's due to Veela genes he's apparently inherited over the summer, and for some reason that has everything to do with her.

They have an arrangement, and it's not how she expected her final year at Hogwarts to go—being near him so frequently to keep the Veela at bay—but she's never complained. It probably means something because everything means something.

"It was enough," Draco bites out, cheeks flushed in anger, and his eyes are drifting down the length of her body again, positively predatory, "until you decided to go on a bloody date."

She blinks. Once, twice, and he's still staring at her, still waiting on a response, but she's just so confused that she really doesn't know what to say. "A date?"

"I realize you've not gone on many, but surely you know the concept." His sneer and the curl to his lip comes as no surprise given who she's always known him as, and Hermione's witnessed his possessiveness firsthand when they had nearly been caught in a stairwell that night—not doing anything but standing too close together for contact—by Michael Corner who had been looking for her.

Corner.

"Please tell me you're not talking about Hogsmeade." His cheeks grow pink, and while Malfoy doesn't nod, the realisation clicks into place. "Malfoy, in case it's escaped your notice, he's the head boy. As head girl, I work with him often."

He says nothing, just maintains the surly look about him.

"We were patrolling Hogsmeade tonight. It wasn't a date."

His hands curl into fists in his pockets, and she can see it through the fabric of his trousers. "I saw the mistletoe, Granger. I know that your being exclusive to me," just the tone behind the words sends a quick shiver down her spine "was never discussed, but I wanted to—to..."

Hermione clears her throat and forces her hands to stop shaking. "I see. I'm assuming you only saw the moment where Corner kissed me, so you didn't see Dean egging it on in order to help him, and you certainly didn't see me push him away. It wasn't a date, and I didn't want to kiss him."

It feels like the right thing to say, that she didn't want it, but it's seemingly the wrong thing too because his eyes shift from predatory to angry and she traces the inside of his wrist with the tip of her finger before he can leave.

"You didn't want it." It's a croak that leaves his throat, all anger torn into bits as if it hurts him to say it. "I'm going to—"

"Stay with me." Hermione slides her fingers through the spaces between his and steps closer in the same moment she angles herself toward him. "You're going to just stay with me."

Very rarely does she see him falter, but he does then with his eyes blowing wide while he glances down at her as though she's the only thing in a room full of people.

But they're alone and the feeling is reverent, especially when he squeezes her hand.

"He left me alone after," she whispers to hopefully smooth it over. "You don't need to rush off to do… whatever it is you planned to do."

"Rip his head from his shoulders," he murmurs, and his voice shouldn't be so soft when he's making a terrible threat, but it is and she's dizzy. A finger curls under her chin and lifts her head. Pretty grey eyes peer down at her, and she has to wonder if he can hear her heartbeat.

It's a moment, one that she's going to play over and over again later in the comfort and warmth of her own bed, but she lets it go. "You said simple contact wasn't enough."

He must know that she's stiffened, her posture uncomfortably straight, and he trails his fingers down the curve of her spine until her breathing is erratic but her shoulders slump. "Yes, I'm afraid a quick hug won't do the trick this time, Granger."

She fights back the urge to point out that none of their hugs have been short at all. If she does, he'll have the chance to point out that she never pulls away first either and he's the only one with a reason to lose track of time in the warmth of her.

Hermione knows because it's actually an argument they've had before.

Still tracing the inside of his wrist, she's perfectly still while Draco explores her body with no more than a few fingers.

"What do I need to do?"

He chuckles, and his fingers pause over the bow of her lips. He traces the soft plush of her mouth, trapping her bottom lip between his thumb and index finger while he tugs it down softly. "Now that I've seen another man try to take you for himself, all I truly want to do is bury myself in you until I'm satisfied that you're mine."

The possessiveness borders on archaic, and it's another conversation they've had before. He agrees with her, even, but this is not only Draco speaking to her, she knows.

Hermione has wondered what she would do in this situation if it were to come up. She's not a virgin—not that it was a particularly important fact to her even when she had been—and it's only sex. Perhaps it had taken her quite a while to get to the point of thinking of sex as only sex, but she's curious and that's such a dangerous thing to be while standing in front of a man who looks like he wants to devour her.

"I won't do that." It surprises her, and he must notice because he says next, "I'm practically delirious right now, Granger. Imagining what you'd look like if I sealed a bond with you with my cock buried all the way inside you and your head tipped back while you whimper and lock your legs around me—" Draco's voice cuts off suddenly, and he forces down a swallow while staring back at her. "I don't think I could control myself."

She wants to say that's responsible, that she appreciates the forethought, but in no uncertain terms is that what comes out of her fucking mouth. "It sounds like you've thought about this often." Her voice is lower than she's ever heard it, her mouth drier than before, and Hermione realizes all at once that while she'd thought she knew how he affected her, she'd really had no idea at all.

The curve that comes to his mouth is wicked and perhaps a little vicious, and Hermione's never wanted to cross a boundary by kissing him more.

And so, she takes the plunge before she can lose the nerve, all while knowing there is absolutely no coming back from it.

"I've thought about it too."

His fingers, now all the way down her sides, freeze at her hips and he grips them tightly as he pulls her forward. Draco's lips are barely a breath away, and she momentarily forgets to take a breath. "Have you?"

The classroom suddenly feels much smaller than it had before. Hermione nods, her heart seconds from pounding out of her chest.

He walks her backward until the backs of her knees meet the edge of the professor's desk, but in the moment, she can't remember which professor it belongs to. Fingers still curved around her hips as if that's where they belong, as if this is a move they've done so many time before and will do a hundred more, Draco's breath is heavy and flat against her ear when he leans down, strands of her hair moving with it.

"I did ask you a question."

Her voice is in her throat, trapped because when he'd ripped her out of the corridor into what she now knew very well as Professor Flitwick's classroom, this had not been what she expected.

"I have—" Her voice still raw and her mind still spinning as he brings her to an edge she didn't know existed by the heat barely radiating through the soft knit of her top. "I've thought about it—a few times." The admission is soft, but it threatens to swallow her whole as his hips press to hers and it's hard and she's about to spiral.

"When did that start?"

"The first time?" She says it just to buy a few seconds, but it's clear that he'd wait much longer just to get the answer. "The night you told me I was your mate." It's a breath pushed free of her lungs, and the truth isn't as heavy on her once it's out in the open.

That night is so long ago now, back in the middle of October, and she recalls vividly pushing her fingers beneath the elastic band of her knickers and running the pads of her fingers over her slit.

Apparently just like him, she'd wondered what it would be like.

"Once I read about Veelas, I was only naturally curious."

"And naturally, you read about it."

She can hear the laughter in his voice, and Hermione can't help but smile too. "I like to be well-informed, but it seems we're still at an impasse. I'm fairly certain if we leave this room, you'll surely snarl at any boy who chances a look at me, which is completely unreasonable, but I've come to realize Veelas are unreasonable."

He purrs when she reaches up to comb her fingers through his hair, curious as to what it would feel like against her skin. The hardness of him presses against her, and Hermione swallows the fact that it's not only, well, a singular part of him that's so much harder than her; it's everything. From his abdomen—where she touches because she can't curb the want—to the lines that form his chest—her fingers drift upward—and finally to the broad shoulders that have certainly never been here before.

If they had, she would have remembered.

The fact that each wandering touch of hers is only strengthening the fact that he's going to eviscerate anyone who looks at her doesn't stop her though, and Merlin help her if he even gets sight on Corner.

She has to do something, but all Hermione really wants to do is peel his robes backwards from his shoulders and then his oxford while unbuttoning it with shaking fingers, so she can feel him properly.

"What can I do to help?"

"Show me how you touch yourself," he whispers into her ear, his teeth catching the top of her earlobe, and Malfoy's tongue flicks across it before he blows a shallow breath.

Hermione shivers, and her fingers, now hovering over his shoulders, dig into the muscle there, and she doesn't say anything at all.

"Please, Granger."

By the time she's nodded—and she doesn't know how her head made up its mind before she had any say in the matter—Draco has lifted her onto the table and is resting in the cradle of her thighs, his face so close to hers. "You know," she begins, and sure, she might be playing coy when she bats her lashes, but she doesn't think he minds, "being so close, it's not conducive to what you're wanting me to do."

When he throws his head back and laughs outright, it sends shivers unfurling down her spine, and she scoots closer to him with her skirt riding up her thighs. Draco notices. "Conducive," he mutters under his breath as if he can't believe this, her, but of course he believes it, and then he drops into the chair.

The chair where their professor has marked their exams and essays while they sat in class; Hermione will never be able to focus in this room again.

Just as she thinks she can't do this, not even close, his voice is quiet in the room. "Slide back onto the desk, sweetheart."

She's not one for pet names; she never has been, but it's different in his voice when it's deliciously ragged.

So she does as he says and finds that maybe—probably—she likes it far more than she would have previously believed.

He must realise it, or perhaps Draco's just naturally dominant—which she can believe—because he asks her to part her legs. Coiled tightly with his nails biting into the armrest of the chair he's taken for himself, Draco watches her carefully as she slides backwards, spreading her legs and flattening the soles of her shoes against the desk.

Hermione slowly slips out of her panties, suddenly thankful for her skirt as it makes it easier and finally, she's bared to him. It's enthralling, the way his eyes widen and the way his tongue slides against the seam of his lips. It strikes her then that where she expects to feel like the one out of control, that isn't the case at all.

This time, she doesn't wait for instruction before touching herself, and her hips push forward without a second thought from her when the soft pads of her fingers rub gently over her clit.

"Sweet fucking God," he groans.

When she slides one finger into herself, hair falls in her face and it hides a smirk when a hiss slips between his teeth. "Is this what you imagined too?"

"I think of sliding to my knees for you and pulling your legs over my shoulders while I bring you off with my tongue." He says, and it's so matter-of-fact, as if there couldn't be another answer, that she whimpers. "I think of that in our classes."

Another slide of her fingers, and then they move down to slide into her slick folds. One and then two, as slowly as possible just to see what it makes him do.

"Fuck yourself with your fingers for me."

"I will if you tell me what else you've thought of." Her fingers curl, and she whimpers at the pleasure, her hips lifting up. Touching herself has never been like this. Hermione's almost too focused to notice the way he adjusts himself, but she does, and it has to be the most brazen thing she's ever said in her life. "Will you do the same?"

He blinks, not understanding.

"As me." It's not much clarification, but her cheeks are burning and she can't. "Please."

Draco looks like he might ask her if she's sure, but he doesn't, and she's glad. "I've imagined how you would look under me," he says as he unzips his trousers, wasting no time. His cock is in his hand, harder and thicker, and the thoughts that enter her mind are not the sorts of thoughts she thinks she's supposed to have. "While I press my thumb to your clit and slide into you. I've wondered what sounds you would make. If you would moan or whimper or if you would cry out so anyone could hear you."

The most terrifying thing of all is that Hermione doesn't know any of those things, but she thinks she wants to find out.

She wants to know what it feels like to have his hands touching her rather than her own, even more so when he shrugs out of his shirt as well.

"I think about you on your knees, swallowing my cock greedily as I pull your hair and wrap your curls around my knuckles." His thumb swipes the head of his cock, and Hermione wants to do exactly as he says and take him until it makes her eyes water.

Maybe one day, she'll get the nerve to say that out dloud.

"Shall I keep going?" A familiar smirk is on his face, and she doesn't know how he can manage it when he doesn't look put together at all.

She nods, fingers thrusting into her cunt faster, harder and then, Hermione bites her lower lip hard.

"You're always in the same spot in the library, did you know that?" She does. He always finds her. "Not that it matters, but I've imagined joining you and coaxing you to sit in my lap. It would be so easy to push your skirt up and pull your knickers to the side."

She whimpers loudly, his name on her lips, and Hermione doesn't tear her eyes away from him as he strokes his cock, his gaze never leaving her.

"You'd whisper that we have to be quiet and dig your fingers into my shoulders while sliding down my cock. I'd tell you how you feel so bloody good when you take my cock and that you're such a good fucking girl—"

"Oh!" Hermione very nearly comes over her fingers, and her heart is pounding.

"Like that, do you?" Where she expects jest, there is none, and she manages the weakest nod she can. "You're a very good girl, spreading your thighs and playing with your cunt like this just for me, just because I asked," he tells her, and the sound of his voice might make her come all on its own. "Are you going to come for me, sweetheart? All over your fingers?"

"Yes. God, yes," She's babbling, but she really isn't of the mind to care.

There's a strangled sound that comes from his throat, and she knows that he must be just as close as she is, and that information alone could make her come undone like nothing else. "Come for me the like a good little girl. Come on your professor's fucking desk while you let me see your pretty, sweet cunt—"

She doesn't mean to cry out so loudly. God, she doesn't, but she does and it's his name, and Hermione's such a fucking mess.

Hermione even more of a mess hearing him groan her name immediately afterwards, and she doesn't pull her eyes away as he comes, drops hitting his chest.

Still deliciously out of her mind, she pushes off the desk and slides to her knees in front of him. Draco's eyes widen when she asks, "You mentioned fucking my mouth. Would you fill my mouth?" Too afraid to lose her nerve as she comes down from the high, Hermione leans forward and licks the come off his stomach, her tongue tracing the hard lines as she watches him.

As promised, Draco's fingers find her hair, but he's gentler than she thinks he would have been moments earlier. "Bloody hell, you're going to be the death of me."

"Do you really think so?" Another lick, and then she sits back on her knees, her cunt slick, and she doesn't even try to hide the way she rubs her legs together, desperate for friction.

Hermione wants more, but she can tell it's not going to happen tonight. Her words ring in her ears, and she agrees, even as much as she wants to climb into his lap and sink down on him.

Draco leans down quickly to grip her chin and cover her lips with his, and his hand slips under her skirt, finding her sore clit as he touches her so gently that she thinks she could be imagining the whole thing.

She realises at once as he walks her back toward Gryffindor tower that their relationship will be irrevocably changed, and she doesn't mind, but she isn't sure where it leaves them.

But he reveals that he'd had the forethought to grab her knickers from the classroom floor and that he isn't going to give them back just before pressing her to the wall right of the portrait. A He kisses her until she can't breathe, his fingers under her skirt again.

And she doesn't think she'll mind exploring where this change leads them.

Hiatus has been good to me, and while it's not over and I'm not quite prepared to start regularly posting WIPs, this happened and I really, really enjoyed it. I've left it open because I have a want to continue it. I don't have a plot because this is just for fun. Normally, I don't like when writers ask what readers what to see, but I would like to ask exactly that. This is a guilty pleasure for me, and I thrive on prompts, but like things related to this oneshot. Anyway, it can stand on its own, but it probably won't.

As always, I'd be nowhere without my friends and I'm especially grateful for Elle Morgan-Black, mcal, and LuxLouise for pre-reading. NuclearNik is a killer beta (all mistakes remaining are my own) and if you don't know her, you're missing out.

xMrsRen