A/N: My sweet, sweet beta's birthday is today! Happiest of days to you my darling, Ravenslight. Words can never express how grateful I am that you spare your precious time to pour diligently over my words and make them readable for others! I've adored getting to know you better and I hope my humbling offerings to the bedsharing trope brings you joy today!

Huge Alpha and Beta thanks to MHCalamas and CourtingInsanity and to InDreams and MsMerlin for helping me through writing this foreign trope!

Enjoy, my love! Happy Birthday!

"You really botched that fucking meeting, Granger." Draco sneered, not bothering to hold the heavy glass door as it swung towards her face.

With a snarl, she ripped it open and stepped into the lobby after him, stomping the sludge and ice from her heels. Even given how poor their pitch had gone today, her heels were still her stupidest decision of the day.

She hurried her steps until her fingers could wrap around his arm, and she spun him back to face her. "That pitch would have gone infinitely better if you had my back. We're supposed to be a team!"

"I would have had your back if you hadn't gone off script. You and I both know that you were basically spewing nonsense near the end of the presentation. I had no choice but to jump in—"

"That's right!" Hermione stepped dangerously into him, their chests nearly brushing as she heaved angry breaths through her mouth. "You cut in on my part of the presentation. You have absolutely no authority—"

"I have the authority when you aren't properly prepared!"

"HORSE SHIT!" Her pointer finger found a home in the stiff bone of his sternum and he bared his teeth down at her.

A small cough lifted them from their argument and both of their faces snapped towards the small, peckish looking gent behind the counter, who – along with over a dozen other staff and hotel guests – were studying their heated argument.

Hermione felt a feverish blush crawl over her skin, despite having just walked here six blocks in the snow storm.

She hated New York.

She could officially say this after only one visit, and once their portkey whisked them away at exactly nine the next morning, she hoped never to return. She wasn't sure it was entirely possible for a city to accumulate so much snow in such a short time and it was bloody March, for crying out loud.

"Ahem," the wiry older man interrupted her, his bespeckled eyes wide and curious. "May I help you?"

She hadn't realized they were arguing just steps from the front desk and she levied a deep sigh before marching up to the counter. "Yes. I've two rooms booked under Granger." Rummaging through her charmed shoulder bag, her fingers wrapped around her passport and she slid it across the counter at the gentlemen.

The attendant punched the keys on his computer keyboard in rapid succession, and Hermione wondered if he were just doing it to seem important because it couldn't be that hard to find a reservation.

"I'm afraid I don't have a reservation under that name. Could it be under a different name, perhaps?" he replied kindly.

"Oh." Hermione's brows drew together and with a shake of her head she turned to Malfoy. "Tracy made the reservations, maybe she put them under your name."

Malfoy sauntered forward, his shoulder checking her until she stumbled back and she snarled at the back of his head.

The clerk studied Malfoy's passport, obtained for the sole purpose of booking accomodations when he travelled for work, and frowned at his computer screen.

"I'm terribly sorry, there is no reservation under Malfoy, either."

Hermione felt a dangerous rage bubble in her chest. This had been the day from hell, traveling with Satan himself, and now this.

Grumbling obscenities under her breath, she searched her bag and procured a paper from satchel. She unfolded it rather unceremoniously, blowing wayward curls from her face as she read it over and slammed it on the counter.

"Here. Here is our confirmation number and reservation details. Two king sized rooms. One night." Her pointer finger jabbed at the printed words on the sheet of paper and she glared at the innocent man who was doing his best not to offend the wild haired witch any further.

"Miss, I do hate to inform you of this. But you're at Hilton on Wall Street."

"Correct," she clipped, her eyes widening with her burgeoning frustration.

"And, your reservations… well… they're for Hilton Times Square. That's on the opposite side of town. By cab it's about forty-five minutes or so."

Hermione's eyes darted towards the sheet of paper she was angrily thrusting at the timid bloke and groaned as her eyes confirmed what he had just told her.

"Well, well, well…" Malfoy's smug voice sounded in her ear, his chest flush against her back and his breath tickling the curls by her neck. Mortified, her eyes flickered closed. "Didn't I ask you to confirm we were going the right way? I seem to remember being met with a haughty little quip about me shoving a broomstick up my—"

Hermione threw a wayward elbow into the cocky prat behind her and forced a smile on her face. "Excuse us a moment, if you will."

Her fingers curled in his tie and dragged him several steps from the counter, hastily casting Muffliato as they stopped near a towering column. There were far too many people here and as she stared at the crowd on closer inspection, she wondered why in the hell they were all dressed for Halloween in the middle of March. Muggles.

"There are no cabs," Draco responded cheerfully. "Unless you feel like standing in the blizzard and beckoning for one, we aren't making it to the other hotel."

"Well, we'll just Apparate to the other hotel." Her hands wound in her curls, tying the drenched strands in a messy bun on the crown of her head.

"Oh, I didn't realized you'd been there before. Please, let me Side-Along while you splinch us on the streets of New York, I can see the headlines now…"

Hermione massaged her temples and took a few calming breaths. "Okay, we'll just get rooms here. Do you have your company card?"

Quicker than possible and pinched between two fingers, he offered the Sapphire Blue company card to her and she snatched it from him with a sneer, sticking her tongue out for good measure before stomping back to the counter.

Hermione was determined not to leave this man with such a sour impression of her and fixed a bright, friendly smile on her face. "Two rooms, please." She slid the credit card and her passport back across the table.

She frowned as she watched his mouth form a grotesque shape of disappointment. "In case you haven't noticed, Comic-Con is in town." His hand gestured towards the throngs of people dressed in strange costumes and graphic t-shirts.

"Comic-Con?" Draco asked, a curious tilt to his chin as he stared down his pointy nose at the Muggles bustling by.

"Doesn't matter," Hermione muttered before turning back to the clerk. "What are you saying? You don't have two rooms available? This has to be one of the largest hotels in New York City."

The gray-haired man continued tapping the keys of his computer as he spoke to them. "It surely is. But it's Friday night, you know. Tomorrow we have about six weddings in the ballrooms as well as the convention."

"Are there any hotels within walking distance?" Malfoy leaned lazily on the counter, resting his cheek in his palm.

"A few!" Hermione's ears perked up. "But, I'm not really sure if they vacancies and I'd hate to send you over there for nothing. You could call around?"

Hermione groaned, her shoulders slumping as she stared at the clock behind the counter, already well past seven and they hadn't eaten since she'd shoved a scone down her throat with her coffee nearly twelve hours ago.

"I do have one room, should be two queens. I'll just have to ch—" the clerk responded with a happy smile that faded as he took in the pair's disapproval.

"We'll take it." Draco sighed and plucked the card from Hermione's vice-like grip and slid it across the counter towards him.

"Malfoy!" she hissed. "I'm not sharing a room with you!"

"Fine. Go to the other hotel or walk around looking for other accommodations. I need a drink. I need a steak. I need to get out of these soaked trousers and into warm clothes. Do what you need to do, Granger."

Hermione's jaw fell open as she considered her very few, very terrible, options. While sharing a room with Malfoy might be the worst scenario, it at least offered warmth and dinner.

"Fine." She sighed as the man behind the desk handed over two keys with a smile which neither she nor Draco deserved.

It was an incredibly bizarre elevator ride as Hermione clung to the wall, grown men and women in head-to-toe costumes shoved into the crowded space. She examined at them with a frustrated scowl that had nothing to do with them, and everything to do with her rotten day.

Draco, however, stared at the interactions with wide, amused eyes but Hermione was too hungry, too tired, and thoroughly soaked to her bones to find amusement in anything right now.

The light above the doors landed on their floor and she pushed through the throngs of laughing people, gushing over topics she couldn't possibly understand and gasped when she made it into the hallway.

"I think you should have introduced yourself to that bloke in the big black suit. He was eyeing you up, Granger." Draco grinned at her wickedly, his eyes dancing when she sneered and turned down the hall.

"I am not introducing myself to a fully grown man in a Batman costume," she grumbled and halted in front of their room, sliding the key card into the reader.

She pushed the door open and froze, Draco slamming into her back and barking an expletive as he pushed her further into the room.

"The fuck, Granger?" Until his eyes caught sight of the same issue hers had and he froze, mouth gaping. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" He groaned, rubbing his palms over his face and cursing under his breath again for good measure.

In their modest hotel room was a dresser with a television perched on top, a tiny loveseat, and exactly one queen size bed. There was a large rectangular patch of vibrant color, where quite clearly another bed used to sit as the border was shaded and stained by constant traffic.

"Where's the other bed?" Hermione whimpered.

Draco snorted and marched into the room, yanking the phone from the receiver and jamming his finger into the buttons.

"Yeah, mate. Room 1440, just checked in," he snapped. "We seem to be missing a bed." His voice was vibrating with stiff annoyance and Hermione chuckled to herself. She was equally as upset about the situation but seeing the normally smug and cool headed Slytherin blow steam was always enjoyable for her.

Draco finished his short conversation and slammed the receiver down. "It seems that the bed broke and in this entire bloody hotel, they don't have a spare. It's on order but that is why this room was available last minute."

"So… just the one bed?" Hermione paled, staring at the fluffy white duvet and oversized pillows which beckoned her to sink into them.

"So it would seem." Draco carded his long fingers through his hair and dropped his briefcase on the desk with a thud before turning to her with a devilish smirk. "I don't recall, do you snore? I do remember you are loathe to cuddle—"

Hermione stiffened, her eyes blowing wide in warning. "We are not sharing a bed, Malfoy. Be a gentleman and take the couch." With an accusing finger she pointed at the two seater couch, that would maybe fit a three year old.

"Yeah." Draco snorted. "Not bloody likely. What's the big deal, it's not like we haven't shared a mattress before." He shrugged, loosening his tie by pulling it side to side before slipping it out of his collar and over his head.

"Firstly, we swore we'd never speak about that night." Hermione's skin flamed at the memory and shoved it back down where it belonged. "Secondly, it was one time—"

"Actually—" the blond's lips tugged into a crooked, knowing smile and he took a step towards her, his eyes near sparkling in the cheap yellow light of the hotel room "—I believe it was twice. I'll assume you mean one night."

"Ugh, you incorrigblecockylittleprat… spoiledlittle… biggestmistakofmyentirelife!" Hermione was mumbling out of the corner of her mouth as she crossed the room and set her charmed bag down, reaching in until she was elbow deep, and with a strong yank, lifted her suitcase from its charm.

The sound of his chuckling from the other side of the hotel room set her teeth on edge and she wanted very much to send the smallest of hexes at the wanker.

She unzipped her luggage and withdrew her ratty, oversized Gryffindor shirt and her toiletry kit, and marched towards the bathroom, grumbling under breath the entire way.

"What're you doing now?" he called after her, but she answered with a deafening slam of the bathroom door and turned the shower faucet to scalding, her worries momentarily evaporating in the billowing steam.

As the water warmed her aching bones and worked its way through her snow soaked tresses, she felt the stress of the day slide off her body and down the drain.

By lunchtime tomorrow she would be back in her flat in London, and her project with Malfoy would, for the foreseeable future, be complete. Unless, by some miracle, the company they had pitched their consultation to for the better part of the day decided to take them on.

She stayed under the jets of hot water until her skin began to prune and her mind had wandered far enough that she had forgotten all about her awful, no good day, and about the awful, no good man waiting for her in the other room.

After turning off the tap, she patted herself dry and grabbed her wand, clearing the mirror of its fog and staring at herself in the newly cleaned reflection. Her hair hung in heavy loose waves over her shoulders and her skin was tinged pink from the perhaps too-hot shower. She looked tired. It wasn't evident by dark circles or hollow cheeks, but there was a weariness to her shoulders and a sparkle missing from her eyes.

She first ran a potion through her wet tresses and with a flick of her wand, she dried her hair. Her curls bouncing back to life, sleek and full, and then she grabbed the only night time attire she had thought to stuff in her bag, an old Gryffindor shirt that kissed the middle of her thighs.

With a groan, she snagged the folded white terry cloth robe from the counter and tugged it around her. It would have to do.

Her hand hovered over the steel door knob and she took a deep, sobering breath. It's just one night, she reassured herself and, straightening her shoulders, marched out into the room.

He was perched on the bed, a pair of sleep trousers on and his undertee hugging his torso. Hermione quickly averted her glare and crossed her arms in front of her with a frustrated huff.

Draco's arm was lifted, pointing the clicker at the tv and mindlessly flicking through the channels.

"I ordered room service," he said, his eyes never leaving the television. "Got you that a salad in case you felt like pretending you don't eat real food, and a cheeseburger if you're having a bad enough day that you'll scarf one in front of me."

"You're such a prat." She fell onto the corner of the bed nearest her, the furthest she could get from said prat, and curled her legs up under her. Her lips nearly tugged into a smile and she bit her bottom to lip to stop it.

She'd shared a fair amount of meals with Draco Malfoy. There were more work luncheons and client dinners than she'd dare to count, and there was something almost charming in the way he knew her preferences. Although she'd never had a cheeseburger out with clients, there were late nights in the office, where on more than one occasion she had torn into one so she might devour her feelings.

Hermione also knew that he almost always ordered a steak, although sometimes he would indulge in something more pretentious, if the restaurant called for it. Never would he be seen eating a cheeseburger, though.

There was a knock at the door and Hermione yelped, jumping out of her seat and clutching her robe around her.

Draco barked out a laugh, "You're always so bloody jumpy. Are you going to get that?"

"Who, me?"

"No shit, you. Who else would I be talking to?" he snarked at her and she whipped her head over her shoulders with a stern glare.

"I'm indecent. Get the door," Hermione commanded with a sharp flick of her brow.

"You get it."

There was another knock followed by a call of, "Room Service!"

Hermione widened her eyes, pointing at the door with a silent scream.

Draco growled and threw the clicker on the duvet, stomping across the room muttering something about a "bushy-haired-know-it-all-pain-in-my-ass".

Hermione laughed into her palm and pushed a little further onto the bed so that she could cross her legs comfortably.

Grumbling, Draco returned pushing a cart into the room adorned with several plates covered with stainless steel domes and a bottle of red wine that made Hermione sit up straight, her interest peaking.

After checking the domes for their contents, he snagged one from the cart and sat at the small wooden table near the window. With a flick of his wand the bottle of red and a glass joined him. Hermione watched him, her mouth puckering in amusement as he unfolded his silverware and laid the cheap linen over his pyjama bottoms, his back rigidly straight. He laid out his cutlery next, as if her were dining properly and Hermione chuckled as she checked the remaining plates.

She could feel Draco staring out of the corner of his eye as she eyed the salad disdainfully before cradling the cheeseburger and a wine glass to her robe-clad torso and making her way to sit next to him, ignoring the knowing smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

They ate in companionable silence, Hermione far less formal with her bare leg tucked under her knee and her elbow resting lightly on the table. Draco poured himself a glass of what looked to be a beautiful hued Pinot Noir and returned the cork, leaving Hermione's glass empty.

The curly haired witch froze mid-bite, and narrowed her eyes at him. Her free hand pushed the empty glass towards the middle of the table but he simply looked at it briefly before taking a long, meaningful drink of his own wine, then cutting himself a bite of filet and popping it in his mouth.

Hermione swallowed the half chewed bite of beef, and then pushed her wine glass further towards him.

His returning glare was bored and he responded by pulling the wine bottle closer towards himself and then staring at his plate.

"Why do you insist on making everything so bloody hostile?" she demanded.

"Me?" His voice dripping with faux sincerity, his eyes round and innocent.

"Yes," she clipped. "You. You always have to—"

"Would do you well to remember that I am the reason you are eating right now—"

"You think I like being at each other's throat all the time—"

"If you had a semblance of bloody manners, you could just ask for a glass. Instead of petulantly shoving your empty glass towards me and waiting for me to the be the one to offer!"

"JUST BLOODY OFFER YOU SODDING PRICK!"

They were both left panting, food hovering over their plates and eyes locked tightly on the other's. His gaze flickered, just briefly, and she realized that in her shouting and shifting that her robe had pulled open, her right thigh showing ever so slightly. She yanked the robe over it and filled her lungs with a heavy, contrite breath.

"Malfoy." She bared her teeth in her most insincere smile. "Would you be so kind as to let me have some of your wine, paid for by our company, that you have no rights to?"

"Sure!" The blond tilted his chin appreciatively, returning her disingenuous grin with one of his own. "But do be a dear and pour it yourself. I'm not your house elf."

Crimson tinged the edges of her vision as her hand shot forward to retrieve the wine and she poured it almost to the rim of the glass, watching in delight as his eyes nearly rolled from his skull at the shameful lack of propriety.

"Cheers!"

Hermione's head was swimming, warmly buzzing with the after effects of more than her fair share of pinot, and she was curled up back on the edge of the bed, watching Malfoy flip through the channels.

Recognizing a documentary that'd she'd been meaning to watch, her mouth popped open in a small circle, about to ask him to stop his meandering when the flipping ceased and the documentary continued to play.

She shot an accusing glare over her shoulder, her eyes lidded from exhaustion and red wine. "I didn't know you liked Architecture."

Draco snorted and finished the remaining wine in his glass. "Everyone likes Frank Lloyd Wright."

In a true show of her immaturity, she stuck her tongue out at him and returned her gaze to the television.

She broke from her trance only when she heard the uncorking of another bottle and spun around to check if there was more wine he had been hiding. Draco was instead pouring from a bottle of Ogdens, and her brow knitted together as she watched him top off a short tumblr with Firewhisky.

"Where did you get that?"

"I brought it," he answered without looking at her, sipping from the glass, his jaw flexing as it gave its initial burn down his throat.

"Why on earth would you bring a bottle of Firewhisky on a single overnight?"

"Ah, well that should be obvious." He fixed her with a mischievous smirk. "I never intend to spend a day with you without the backup of hard liquor."

Her curious brow transformed to a scowl and she summoned the bottle wandlessly to her side, pulling out the stopper and tipping the bottle uncharacteristically to her lips.

She prayed to any diety listening or not that she would be able to take the pull gracefully.

Prayers fell on deaf ears.

She sputtered and coughed as the liquid seared down her throat and Draco let out a full belly laugh as he watched her.

"Amatuer." He huffed and downed his drink in a single gulp.

The documentary had ended but the pair hardly noticed; they were now sitting facing each other, passing the bottle of whisky back and forth and trading embarrassing anecdotes. The unofficial game was that one of them would provide a shameful memory, and if the other one could top it, the sharer drank. If they couldn't, the other drank.

They were both wasted, because as it turned out, they had more than enough embarrassing details that they were willing to share over a bottle of Ogden's.

"I was caught sneaking into a broom cupboard by Flitwick, who proceeded to lecture Pansy and myself on the merits of abstinence and then taught us a contraceptive charm. You know… just in case." Draco gave an exaggerated shiver, his eyes clenched as he remembered the lecture.

He offered the bottle to her but she nearly fell over laughing and pushed it back at him. "No way, I can top that."

Draco's mouth fell open in disbelief and he shoved it harder towards her. "Not possible, Granger. He made me practice in front of him!"

Hermione's bubbling laughter died away and she sat up straight, fixing her chocolate eyes on him seriously, her brows low.

"Severus Snape caught Victor Krum with his hands in my knickers in the Quidditch bleachers."

Draco's normally pale complexion blanched, his lips falling open as he studied her. "Fuck," he replied solemnly, tipping the bottle back and taking a long pull. He nestled the bottle between his thighs and drunkenly closed one eye to stare back at her. "Really?"

She chuckled and leaned back against the cheap headboard, curling her legs up. "Really. I've never seen him so pissed… and trust me when I say that being best friends with Harry Potter, I've seen him very, very pissed."

A long moment of silence stretched out after her confession and Hermione spent it staring at him. The sharp planes of his face and the blonde stubble along his jaw were, in her drunken state, mesmerizing. His eyes were trained on the label of the Firewhisky, his thumb picking absently at the label until the corners peeled. In her chest, her heart thudded near painfully as she watched his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

It had been months since she'd shared a bed with a man. Months? Okay, maybe closer to a year and a half. The last time… well, the last time had been with Malfoy.

Their company's holiday party had ended with the two of them falling over each other into his flat, peeling clothes from each other's body and tripping over his trousers as they collapsed into his four-poster bed.

She had snuck out the next morning while he lay wrapped in his sheets, his hair adorably disheveled and a soft snore filling the air.

Before he'd had a chance to let her down, she'd jumped on it. The last thing she needed was Draco Malfoy thinking that she was secretly pining after him all this time. It had just been one night, one silly mistake – it's not like… well, it's not like she actually cared.

Certainly not.

She gulped and felt a flutter rise into her chest as his head lolled towards her, his soft grey eyes falling over the curves of her face. His gaze fell on her parted lips and she knew she was breathing far too heavily. A tangible static filled the space between them.

When their eyes locked onto each other again, the corners of his eyes tightened, almost unnoticeably so. Did she make up the way that he rocked towards her ever so slightly?

She jumped, sucking in a sharp breath and laughing under her breath. "Well, probably time for bed, then."

His gray eyes flashed and flickered away from her. "I'll sleep on the couch."

He placed the bottle on the end table and swung his legs over the edge and her hand reached out without her permission, her fingers brushing the taut muscle of his tricep. A shock of electricity jolted them both and she snapped her fingers back.

"It's fine, Malfoy." He turned over his shoulder, his brows pulled tight. "I mean, it's just one night. Don't hog the covers."

His shoulders shook with a dry laugh and he nodded. "My back thanks you, Granger. I mean, someone of my impeccable breeding isn't used to such accommodations as a sofa."

Hermione rolled her eyes and tugged the duvet back, sliding beneath the covers, her robe still tied securely around her waist.

For the life of her, she couldn't quell the pounding in her chest as Draco stood and tugged his pyjama bottoms off. And with another thick swallow, she admired the way the lean muscles of his arms and back flexed when he reached one hand behind him and gripped the thin cotton of his shirt and pulled it effortlessly from his torso.

He turned, and Hermione knew that she was gaping. She should feel shame. She should feel a hot flush of embarrassment as he stared down at her, his eyes dark and dancing.

She didn't.

She instead felt a feverish pulsing between her thighs and she pressed them together as she rolled onto her back, fixing her stare on the popcorn ceiling instead of the sculpted man climbing in to share her bed.

"Nox," he muttered, and the dim lights of the room fell dark, the only ambient light from the bathroom, the door still partially open.

I could just sleep with him, she reasoned silently to herself, tilting her head back and forth. She'd already done it once… well, twice. And it was bloody brilliant, if she was remembering correctly… what was once more? She shrugged her shoulders in her thoughtfulness and felt the bed shake with his laughter.

With a quick snap of her head, she turned towards him and her breath caught sharply in her throat. He had one arm tucked under his head and he was on his side, impossibly close and staring at her.

"I can hear you thinking, you know." His voice was thick in the darkness and with a sharp huff she joined him on her side, her body rolling just slightly closer to him.

"No, you can't." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not even thinking about anything. I was falling asleep," she challenged, but slowly her eyes flickered from his face to the long lines of his throat, the sharp cut of his adam apple bobbing as she stared.

"You're rubbish at lying, I hope you know. And I can't believe you hooked up with Krum, it's almost cliche."

Hermione giggled, her body shifting and rubbing against her robe which now felt suffocating, trapping her body heat. "It's cliche to hook up with Viktor Krum? You do know who he is right? Bulgarian Quidditch Superstar? He was on the cover of—"

"He's a prick," Draco retorted, shifting his hips, and Hermione swore that even through the thick robe she could feel the warmth from his skin.

"He's actually quite pleasant," Hermione noted offhandedly, sidetracked by a wonderful memory of them sharing a cup of tea and discussing the magical theory of Quidditch and it's origins. She'd learned a great deal.

She stiffened when his fingers found a wayward curl and tucked it back within the rest and her eyes shot up to his.

"I really don't want to talk about Krum," he rasped, and Hermione felt a quiver deep in her belly.

"Well, if you didn't want to talk about him, I'm not sure why you brought him up—"

"Oh shut it, witch," he growled and she gasped right before his mouth came crashing down onto hers, his body pressing into her while one hand settled onto her lower back and arched her into him. He gave an exasperated groan against her lips. "I hate this fucking robe."

Hermione pulled back and stared up at him, his eyes now a near-slate color as they took in her heated expression. There were thoughts she should definitely be having. Yes. Thoughts about work and tomorrow and about him being an insufferable prick.

But for all the brilliant thoughts in her mind at any given moment, all she could think of was the hard length pressed against her thigh. A flaming desire overwhelmed her and she barely recognized her own breath voice as she muttered, "Get rid of it then."

Frenzied, he tore away at the tie around her waist, the thick fabric falling open and she almost grimaced as she realized she was wearing her stupid, ratty t-shirt. It would have been far more memorable to be wearing some lovely satin underthing, but no. Hermione Granger, clad in a t-shirt that was worn thin in more places than it was whole.

He didn't notice or didn't care, she wasn't sure which. A rumble of a growl slipped from his lips and he pushed the rest of the robe from her shoulders as she rose to help him. Over the thin cotton his hand palmed at her breast and she whimpered, her back arching up to greet him.

He leaned down but instead of finding her lips, his mouth claimed the thin skin under her jaw, sucking and dragging his teeth down it while his hand traveled from her breast and skirted up the hem of her shirt, grabbing a fistful of her arse and grinding down into her at the same time.

"Mmm," she moaned into his ear as her fingers twined in the hair at the back of his head, then moving to cradle him there.

Her knee hitched up and he took it as a welcomed invitation to move into the space there, his prick pressing into her wet core. His hand skimmed the taut lines of her stomach and found her breast again, this time pinching and pulling lightly on her pert nipple until she cried out, but his lips silenced her, his tongue plunging into her open mouth.

Gods, he was fucking good at this. She wondered idly that someone must have taught him exactly how to touch a woman because there was no way anyone knew how to do this by instinct. Her thoughts were cut short when she felt the the hem of her shirt being tugged up and the only remaining one in her mind was, Fuck yes. It's been way too fucking long.

With a sharp yank he tugged the shirt over her head and her arms followed, waiting for him to pull it off completely. Instead, when it was just at her elbows he stopped, pinning her arms above her by clenching the fabric in one hand.

His mouth found hers again, and with a curious attempt to release her arms, she pushed against him. His fist pushed harder into the pillows, and as she was about to reprimand him, the fingers of his free hand dipped below the waistband of her knickers, swirling around her sensitive bud until she was gasping.

Draco's mouth drifted from hers and his tongue darted out to flick against her nipple before catching it between his full lips and sucking.

"Jesus Christ!" Hermione panted, spreading her thighs as two fingers plunged into her folds, the heel of his palm pressing exquisitely against her clit.

She felt a smile against her breast, and she attempted once again to free her arms. "I prefer to go by Draco actually; Malfoy at the very least." As he spoke, his fingers curled delightfully, finding that spot that she swore didn't exist until he touched it, and her knees shot up, her thighs squeezing his hand as she made breathy little sounds.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly he brought her to climax, and as she unraveled her hands fought against her constraints, her body arching up to him and her lips pleading for more-more-more.

She crested and fell, her bare breasts heaving as he dragged his tongue from her chest up to her jaw.

"Do you want me to fuck you now?" His hot breath against her ear had an instant effect on the pooling heat between her legs.

She was fighting now, thrashing to free her arms and she felt his chuckle against her neck. She only wanted to drag him closer, faster, harder, but he kept her pinned there, her breasts on display as he slid her between her thighs and stared down at her.

Part of her wanted to say no strictly out of spite, but instead she pushed up into him and shamefully pleaded for him to "Yes, please and now."

Her eyes fluttered closed and she bit down into her bottom lip as she felt the tip of his prick push against her entrance. She attempted to buck down onto him, she needed more but he seemed to enjoy making her wait as he pressed just barely into her.

When her eyes were nearly rolling back in her head from want, he sheathed himself in her quickly, swallowing her cries as he rocked into her. There was something mischievous and wildly enticing about the smirk painted on his lips and when he pulled out, he hovered there for a moment, studying her features before driving into her again.

In a swift movement, he ripped the shirt from her arms and withdrew from her, his hand finding her hips and flipping her carelessly onto her belly. Hermione let out a small gasp but before rational or reasonable thoughts found her, his fingers were gripping her hip bones and dragging her up to meet him, her arms still splayed in front of her and her cheek pressing against the hotel duvet.

Pushing her knees apart so she was spread open for him, he positioned himself at her entrance, and his palm gave a quick slap on her arse before he slammed into her. The sound of his hips against her bum smacking in the darkness very nearly caused her to come undone again, and when he let out a soft moan she clenched the walls of her sex.

He was deliciously correct in his previous warnings. Nothing was soft or slow and he thrust into her with such reckless, sexual need that as her fingers twisted into the sheets over her head, she felt another familiar coil between her legs.

One of his hands left her the crease of her hips to wind into her curls, and he tugged just hard enough so that she was looking back over her shoulder at him. When they locked eyes, she came undone again, a delicious, heated sensation spreading over her body and down her limbs. He watched her in a state of awe, his fingers leaving her curls only to grip her waist and giving a few final, urgent thrusts into her. His head fell back and, biting into his lip to keep from crying out, he climaxed, his hands roaming freely over the long lines of her back and the curves of her arse.

Too soon, it ended and he was pulling away from her, collapsing on the mattress next to her, panting.

The frantic ecstasy pulsing through her veins began to wane after a minute or two and she stiffened, naked, in the bed next to him.

Bloody hell, she'd gone and done it again. She'd gotten drunk and shagged Draco Malfoy.

Her eyes clenched shut as she waited for his obvious rejection. Waited for him to roll over, or say something snarky that would ruin everything.

After all, that had been the only reason she hadn't allowed him to have the first word after their last tryst.

But as she stared into the blackness of her closed lids, his fingers tangled in her curls, and his lips found her shoulder. He left a trail of wet, languid kisses there, his hand trailing down the line of her spine and curling around her hip.

"Give me about fifteen," he mumbled against her freckled shoulder.

Her eyes shot open, wide and round. "What?"

"Fifteen," he explained, his mouth traveling up to hers and nipping at her bottom lip, his breath hot and heavy. "Then I'll be ready to go again – and don't even think about skipping out early in the morning this time. It's awfully bad taste and I've no shortage of dirty ways I want to fuck you before you leave me again."

"Leave you? It's you who would have left me!" She scoffed, self-righteous indignation layered thick upon her accusation.

"Incorrect, Granger." His words vibrated against her skin. "Why do you think I keep volunteering to let you fuck up all these proposals?"

"You what?" she shrieked and tried to pull back, but his long fingers caught the back of her neck and pulled her lips to his.

"Shhh, shhh." He kissed her lightly. "Fifteen minutes."

Hermione needed a reason to disagree, but as she stared back at him she felt her teeth catch her lip, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Fine," she allowed. "Fifteen minutes."

A/N: Would love if you took a moment to let me know what you think! And please run over to Ravenslight page and read all her good stuff, she is far more talented than I!