Updated on 10/2/19.

Please re-read the first four chapters. They have been updated and there is extra plot and content.

Beta'd by jamethiel – who is honestly amazing and has put up with my alternative dialogue tags, comma splices, and writer's block.

Beta'd by the wonderful Pidanka.

Ladies' Choice

aka. Fuck, Marry, or Kill on a03

Contains smut.

"Ladies' choice. Missionary, on top, or from behind. Which will it be?" Draco said as he watched his new wife angrily pace up and down the bedroom.

It was like playing the weirdest game of 'fuck, marry, or kill'.

"None of them," Hermione said, her nostrils flaring with rage.

Draco rolled onto his stomach. From where he lay on the bed, he had a perfect view to watch her arse jiggle as she marched. He smirked to himself and wondered if she'd be less eager to take out her frustration through pacing if she knew he was ogling her.

"I'm fine for trying anything kinkier later on." He kicked his legs up and curled his toes. "But for our wedding night why don't we stick to something simple."

"Shut up, Malfoy. This isn't a wedding night."

"Yes, it is, light of my life. We were both there when the Ministry official pronounced us man and wife. Now we are on our honeymoon, staying in this delightful resort for the next week." He could've sharpened knives on his sarcasm.

"This is utter bollocks. Complete bollocks." She threw her bouquet of lily-of-the-valley onto the floor. Then stood on it.

Draco didn't value his father's advice much, but the older Malfoy had imparted the invaluable wisdom of agreeing with whatever one's wife said if he wanted to have sex tonight. Draco meant to start this marriage with that philosophy.

"Yes, yes," he said, "total bollocks."

Hermione jerked to a halt and glared at him as if he was the root of all her problems. Which, at the current moment, he supposed he was.

"It's all a joke to you, isn't it?" she said, her voice shaking. "You think it's all a big laugh that the Ministry has taken away hundreds of people's freedoms with this inane marriage law. Paired people up with complete strangers,"— she gave Draco a dark look —"or worse."

Her words hit him like a slap. "It could have been worse," he said, sitting up. "It could have been Goyle. Instead, you got me. Wealthy, good-looking, and passably intelligent. So suck it up, Princess."

Fuck his father's advice.

Draco got up off the bed and stood in front of his wife. She only came up to his shoulder, but she stuck her chin out and glared at him. "I've been to Azkaban," he said, suppressing a shudder, "and I have no desire to go back there. If you wanted to martyr yourself on the altar of good intentions, then you should have done that before you said, 'I do'. We're stuck with each other now, and if you go down, so do I."

"Azkaban or marriage; it's hardly a fair choice."

"It is, however, still a choice."

She looked like she wanted to stamp her foot. "I hate you." He could see in her eyes that she regretted it the moment she said it, but it was too late. There was no point pretending that Hermione Malfoy, née Granger, would ever love him.

"At this precise moment, the feeling is more than mutual."

Hermione bit her lip. "Why us?" she asked. "Why did they pair us?" She seemed to deflate before his eyes, and, for a second, he felt like a right bastard.

"Merlin knows," he said, looking down and studying his hands. The wedding ring felt heavy, and it rubbed at the skin between his fingers. The question had been bothering him too, but the Ministry were being incredibly secretive about the whole process. "I have a theory they put all the names into a hat and picked at random. How else can you explain Blaise Zabini and Luna Lovegood?" He hesitantly reached out and touched the top of her arm. It was probably a completely inappropriate time to notice how soft her skin was.

"Well, we have exactly"— he glanced at the bedside clock —"fourteen minutes till midnight. We have to consummate this marriage before then, otherwise we'll be arrested. So, unless you believe that sleeping with me is worse than spending an eternity with the Dementors, would you please pick a position?"

He watched the indecision play across her face. "Behind," she finally said. "Then I can pretend it's not you."

Draco bit his lip, holding back the retort. "Wise decision."

He stripped off his jacket and tie then stopped when he realised she wasn't removing her clothes. "Please, don't tell me you want me to undress you?"

"No. Don't take off anymore." She slipped a hand under her dress and tugged her underwear down her legs. "I can't have what we're about to do imitate a real wedding night. Our marriage is for procreation." She lifted her left hand, where her new wedding band glinted. "Nothing more." The clinical tone in her voice made Draco feel sick.

"What are you trying to say, Granger?"

"Malfoy," she said and gave a hollow laugh. "It's Malfoy, now."

Draco snorted. "You're always going to be Granger to me."

"What I'm trying to say, Malfoy," and she shot him an acerbic smile, "is that we are going to do this consummation as quickly, and as efficiently, as possible."

Draco frowned as he watched his wife walk to the end of the bed and bend over. "You can't be serious?"

"I am." Her voice was muffled by the duvet. "Will you get on with it? It's almost eleven fifty."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know we don't have much time, but I can perform wonders in less than five minutes." He thought he heard her snort.

"Not interested."

Draco walked towards her back and uttered a curse before driving his hand under the skirt of her dress and lifting it. He was right. His wife did have a great arse. Shame, as it seemed she'd never let him appreciate it.

He undid his belt, and the jingle of the buckle was the only sound in the room. He grasped his erection, pumping his fist along it in an attempt to get himself hard. It wasn't too difficult. His wife may hate his guts, but she was an astonishingly beautiful woman, and he'd been imagining having sex with her for the best part of an hour. Ha. Who was he kidding? The best part of a decade.

Hermione held herself very still as he slid a hand down her arse and cupped her sex. She was warm and dewy. He glanced at the clock.

He slipped a finger between her folds, massaging her silky wetness, and searched for the little bud of her clit. Draco had enough faith in his abilities to believe he could get Hermione and himself off before the clock struck midnight. He pressed the pad of his finger to her clit and started rubbing in smooth firm circles.

"Malfoy, we're not doing this for sexual gratification," Hermione abruptly said. "I'm not interested in being another conquest."

Draco's hands stilled on his wife's sex. She was un-fucking-believable. "You're my wife."

"Only technically."

"For the love of Merlin." Malfoy raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment then, when it failed to provide any answers, took a deep breath. "Will you at least let me give you an orgasm?"

"I don't want one."

He blinked at her clothed back in astonishment. "Who doesn't want an orgasm?"

"This person doesn't."

"Fine," he snapped. He reached across her back and swiped a tube of lube out of the gift basket, which had been left on the bed. A gift from the Ministry, for the happy couple on their special day. There was squirty cream, chocolate icing, and a selection of flavoured lubricants. No condoms, however. The Ministry's hint was all too clear.

He squeezed some of the strawberry flavoured gel into the palm of his hand. Dipping two fingers into the gel, he slid his hand between Hermione's legs again. He was applying sexual lubricant to his wife's cunt, and it was the most un-arousing thing he'd ever experienced. This included the time he'd inadvertently walked in on Goyle playing hide the snake with Millicent Bulstrode during sixth year.

"How does that feel?" Draco said as he covered her opening with lube.

Hermione's back was impossibly rigid. "Cold," she said, snapping the word like a twig.

Rolling his eyes, he smoothed the rest of the lubricant over his erection, then positioned himself at her entrance. "Are you sure about that orgasm?" He felt it was gentlemanly to offer one more time.

"I've never been so sure about anything in my entire life!"

"Just wonderful," he said and pushed himself into her heat.

Draco couldn't suppress a groan as he drove into Hermione. She was hot, and wet, and tight. Too tight. She was squeezing him like a vice. He stilled.

Her breath was ragged, and he felt her walls flutter as her muscles tried to accommodate his size.

Usually at this point, Draco would start talking, telling his partner (or partners) how beautiful they were, how good they felt, and how much he was looking forward to doing all manner of filthy things to them. Or describing all the things he'd already done to them. Or them to him. He had a very vivid imagination.

He felt Hermione might curse his balls off if he tried that. Instead, he opted for something safe and significantly less sensual. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." Her reply was more of a hiss than a word.

"This is ridiculous," Draco said between gritted teeth, "I'm going to touch you." He snaked a hand and brushed her clit.

"Don't you dare. I don't want any pleasure from you, Malfoy."

Her words stung, and he wished they didn't.

"Understood." He placed a hand on either side of her hips. "I won't move my hands from here." He gently rolled his thumbs across her skin.

"Be certain that you don't."

Draco kept his thrust short and shallow. She was still tight, and firmly clenching his cock with every piston-like movement of his hips.

She felt good though. Hot and wet, and he had to keep biting his lip to stop himself from telling her how amazing she was.

He squeezed her hips, letting his thumbs rest in the hollow where her arse met her back. She adjusted her stance, raising her pelvis slightly. Draco responded in kind and bent his knees to angle his thrusts upwards. He started pump and fill her to the hilt. Hermione seemed to like it because she was panting now. Not uncomfortable breaths like she'd been winded, but little gasps that sent a shockwave of awareness straight to Draco's balls.

It gave him an idea, which was an incredible feat considering that all his blood was concentrated in his dick and not his brain. He stepped forward, forcing Hermione to also move closer to the bed. His wife, in perhaps a subconscious move to get away from him, had positioned herself close to the corner of the expansive bed. Not breaking his strokes, he nudged her ankle with the corner of his shoe. She parted her legs a fraction. He did it again, caressing her ankle bone with the toe of his shoe. She opened wider, and he nudged her forward so that she straddled the corner of the bed like a gymnast would a pommel horse. He thrust her pelvis down. Hopefully her sex would now be rubbing against the bedsheets. The Egyptian cotton sheets had a two thousand thread count and were as smooth as silk—which was vital as he liked to sleep unencumbered by clothes. Such satin-like sheets were less useful when providing friction for his unwilling wife's cunt to be stimulated, as he was endeavoring to do now. Fortunately, the duvet cover was boarded with a decorative Morris-esque pattern of flowers and vines. In classic commercial fashion, this extra embroidery was made of significantly lower quality thread. On another occasion, he might have complained to the management, but Hermione was making little noises of pleasure, so he was willing to be generous.

Now that Hermione was panting and sighing, Draco couldn't control his movements anymore. He was pounding into his wife's lithe body with such force the headboard began to knock against the wall. Echoing thumps mimicked the slapping of their bodies. Her developing cries and the small undulations of her hips were spurring him on.

He was roughly fucking her now, his hands clutching her hips so hard he thought he might leave bruises. His balls were tightening, and he could feel that familiar dizziness in his head. Hermione was still gasping and almost writhing underneath him as the weight of his body rubbed her against the bed.

Draco wanted to feel her come. He wanted it more than anything. To feel the flutter of her walls as she spasmed around him, but he knew it was too late.

His hips jerked and, with a deep thrust, he came. He slumped forward and rested his forehead between Hermione's shoulder blades. Darkness was encroaching on his vision, and he rapidly blinked to get rid of the black dots.

Hermione lay still beneath him. Her only movements were the rapid rise and fall of her body as she breathed. He let go of her hips and placed his hands on the bed either side of her, winching himself off her back. They both made a noise as he slid out of her swollen core.

He backed off a few paces, a little stunned from the intensity of his climax. He could officially tell the Ministry that his marriage had been consummated. Thoroughly consummated. However, he'd be happy to try again if they weren't satisfied.

There was a rustle of clothing as Hermione stood up. She smoothed her dress back down, covering her backside once more. Draco ardently hoped that wasn't the last time he was going to see it.

"And with only a minute to spare," she said. Her voice was a little husky, but she didn't sound breathless or shaky. "Cutting it a bit fine, weren't you."

Draco casually tucked himself away and buckled his belt. "I never like to fuck under time constraints." He glanced at the clock and then at her. Her cheeks were stained pink, and her hair was a halo of riotous curls around her head. She looked like she'd been ravished. "I can do a lot in one minute," he said, dropping his eyes to where her sex was hidden behind her dress. She would still be wet, and it would be easy to send her over the edge with a few clever twists of his fingers.

"That's not necessary," she said and climbed onto the bed.

Draco eagerly watched as Hermione crawled over the duvet. But then she lay down, with her feet where her head should be.

"Granger, this might be a stupid question, but what are you doing?"

"Something I saw on a Muggle documentary." Hermione was lying on her back with her legs up in the air. She straightened them and rested her calves against the headboard. "It helps conception."

Draco's stomach dropped. "Of course, how could I forget. Sex between us is just for procreation and nothing more." He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his tone. Like acid, feelings of anger and resentment welled inside of him. His lust died. "Well, I guess you won't need me for the rest of the night."

"No, I won't," she said simply. A book sailed past Draco's head, and she held out her hand and caught it. She snapped it open. "Have a nice time, Malfoy."

He cracked his jaw. "I'm going to find the bar." Grabbing his jacket, he strode to the door. Even if she begged, he wouldn't stay now.

"Goodnight," Hermione said, dismissing him as if nothing had happened. "I won't wait up."

He slammed the door of their hotel room behind him. He waited, hoping to hear the patter of her feet as she came after him, but he knew he was deluding himself.

He stalked along the corridor. He wanted a drink. A big drink. He wanted to forget that his wife had just used him like a horse put out for stud.

Draco Malfoy had just had sex with Hermione Granger, and now he really needed to get drunk.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I just like to muck about with Draco.