A/N: Sorry this has taken a little while! I do this thing where I think I have a plot and then just start writing and get so off plot and stuck. Hopefully I've redirected this a little more constructively! Enjoy.

Draco was avoiding her. Hermione knew it, too. What had transpired between them after the auction had made him nervous; he'd let his guard down, said words to her that were a flicker of his past self, the self he'd spent years working towards burying deep. He'd lost his self-restraint. She hadn't seemed to mind, but she had rather quickly gotten up from the floor, scourgify-ed herself and made an excuse about needing to go home to feed her cat. If that wasn't an obvious escape of an awkward situation, he wasn't sure what was. Draco had avoided eye contact with her when their paths crossed on a Saturday afternoon at the Tate, he'd gotten right back into his car when he'd seen her through the glass windows of Gallery Akiyama, and narrowly missed sharing an elevator with her at the Ministry one afternoon. The other people had looked at him as though he were mad when he hurriedly pressed the "door close" button as many times as he could.

Three weeks later, she cornered him at the bar of L'appel Du Vide as he ordered a bottle of 2005 Burgundy. Draco wondered for a moment if he ought to just pretend he didn't see her, but as she pulled out the chair beside him, and the bartender placed a second glass in front of her, he thought the better of it.

"You're avoiding me," Hermione said matter-of-factly, smoothing the skirt of her navy cocktail dress. "Why?"

Draco shook his head, swirling the small amount of wine the waiter poured for him in his glass, taking a small sip before nodding for the suited man to proceed. The bartender poured a glass for Hermione, then filled Draco's. "There's not a good answer to that."

"I'd have to agree," Hermione said primly. She took the napkin from the plate in front of her, folding it daintily across her lap. "Are you having dinner?" She picked up the menu, perusing it, still making no eye contact with Draco.

"I am," he spoke quietly. He took another sip of his wine. "Would you join me?"

She nodded, setting the menu down and finally fixing him with a glare. "You can't cum on my face and then just ignore me, Draco." He choked on his wine, looking up to see that the bartender was out of earshot.

"Hermione," he said lowly, "The other night.. I did some things… I called you some names… I want you to know how deeply ashamed I am. I am sorry, and that will not happen again." He dabbed prettily at his mouth with his black linen napkin.

"Oh come off it," Hermione groaned, taking a large sip from her glass. "I loved every second of it, Draco." The bartender came back and Hermione asked for osetra caviar, and a dirty martini.

Draco sighed. It wasn't that he didn't love it, too; he was scared of his own desires, scared of becoming reliant on someone else to help fulfill them. He wished she had been angry the other night, that she had stormed out in a huff, just so that he could move on from it, forget the shape her lips formed when she said the word, "yours".

"To be quite honest," Hermione began, popping an olive from her recently delivered martini into her mouth, "I'd like to do it again." He glanced sidelong at her. "And again." Her hand came over, pressing hard on his thigh. "And again."

Draco gulped. She was going to be his ruin, but he didn't know if he could stop it anymore. He'd spent years of his life engaging in vanilla interactions with women, leaving with his thirst quenched but his appetite not quite sated. And he was alright with that, truly he was, because there were usually no hurt feelings and everyone left happy, more than happy. What he really wanted, however, was a relationship he feared more than anything, a relationship in which submission and reliance and trust was so deeply ingrained one could lose himself in it. Hermione seemed perfectly content with that, and it left him stunned.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he said gruffly as her fingers danced along the zipper of his trousers. She took a small spoonful of the caviar into her mouth, savoring it with her eyes closed. Draco studied her as she pulled the mother of pearl spoon, clean, from her lips, watched as she traced the bottom one with her tongue. She broke into a grin, eyes still closed - she knew what she was doing to him. He hated her for it. He loved it.

"Nor do you," she spoke, tapping him on the nose like a puppy as she waved the bartender over to order dinner.

oOoOo

"So I did a little research," Hermione began. Draco snorted.

"Of course you did, pet." He looked up from the desk in the library of Malfoy Manor. They'd taken to coming here on the weekends - it was quieter than London, which Hermione explained was better for her reading, but Draco suspected it had less to do with noise and more to do with the fact that they wouldn't run into any of her friends (friends that had hated him since they were eleven). "What did you research exactly?"

"The Canary," Hermione said, looking over to the painting and getting lost for a moment. She cleared her throat. "I don't think it's Northern Renaissance. I think it's later than that." Draco removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Hermione was sweet, with her nascent interest in art, but this was his forte, and it was definitely a Northern Renaissance piece. She looked over at him.

"I'm serious, Draco. I've been studying a lot of pieces from that era, and honestly, the paint looks different." Draco trained his face to not betray his thoughts.

"Different," he mused, an eyebrow raised. He would indulge his plaything, but he didn't quite understand what she was getting at. "It's oil paint, Hermione. It looks almost like a Dürer, actually." He replaced his glasses, walking over to stand next to her and study the painting with her. It had been a long time since he'd paid such close attention to it. He admired the brush strokes, the attention to detail, the realism. He smirked. Classic Northern Renaissance.

"And honestly, I don't know that I think it's oil paint, it could be a thicker acrylic, and - you're not listening to me," Hermione almost shouted, her voice raised and her arms crossed over her chest. Draco peered down the bridge of his nose at her and she shuddered at the look.

"Why can't you just concede that I may know something more than you about this," Hermione spat, flinging her arms out in exasperation, her confidence growing. "Maybe I haven't bought millions of dollars in artwork, maybe I haven't been to every goddamn gallery in London, but I'm not an idiot! You just think you're better than fucking everyone, don't you? You always have, even in school. No? What is it? Is it because I'm woman? Is that it? You think because I'm a woman I couldn't possibly -" Draco's palm clamped over her mouth and her eyes went wild then, her hands coming up to pry his hand away angrily. He grabbed both of her wrists, not hard enough to hurt her but hard enough to get his point across.

"It has nothing to do with you being a woman, or your lack of artwork, or travel, Hermione - it's experience. I have been doing this for years. I have dedicated my time, my energy, to this. This is my business." He dragged her by the wrists closer to the painting. She winced. "Look. Do you see that? See how the paint is starting to crack in little webs? That's what oil paint does. That's what it does as it ages. Acrylic does not." He threw her wrists down.

"Christ." He carded a hand through his hair, his eyes still emanating something between anger and annoyance.

"I-I'm sorry," Hermione said softly. "I wasn't trying to start an argument - " She paused at his incredulous look. "Really. I just thought I had something solid to contribute." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You didn't have to be such a prick about it." Draco moved to the worn leather couch, sitting in its center and patting his lap. Hermione smiled softly then, going over to sit on his lap gently. He shook his head.

"Not what I was looking for, pet," he drawled and Hermione looked confused. "Up." She stood. "Now, lie across my lap like a good girl. Even though you've hardly been one this evening." The look of confusion was replaced with one of recognition and slowly, Hermione did as she was told. Draco shook his head at her, even as he relished in the feeling of her thighs pressing against his, her arse positioned perfectly on his lap. He fought to maintain his composure; her words still burned in his mind. He wasn't like he was in school, he had changed. He had worked so hard.

She was wearing another sweater dress, this one a dark grey turtleneck and sheer black tights. He pushed the dress slowly over the curve of her arse, and she inhaled sharply. He didn't move, letting the seconds hang long and silent between them. She squirmed impatiently then, and Draco gave a sharp smack to her left arse cheek.

"Stay still," he murmured, "or this will last even longer." She inhaled deeply, shakily. He gripped her tights in both hands and ripped them open, exposing her bum and simple black thong. "Much better."

He rubbed his hand over both cheeks of her arse gently and she let out a soft moan. He pulled his hand back, letting it land heavily on her. She grunted, but said nothing. He repeated the motion on the other side. Thrice more, alternating left and right, he spanked her, gradually increasing in pressure until she was red and hot. She cried out then as he landed a smack on the soft skin of her thigh.

"You know why I'm doing this, don't you, pet?" Smack. "Because of how you spoke to me." Smack. A whimper. "You're not to use that tone with me, especially over something so trivial, do you understand?" Hermione nodded vigorously. Draco used his free hand to wrap her hair around his fist, pulling her up. A smack landed in the center of both cheeks. "I don't think I hear you, love. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Hermione hissed. He tore down her cotton thong, landing a quick slap at the apex of her thighs that had her quaking.

"Where are your manners, Hermione," Draco said lowly. "Yes, what?" He dragged a finger through her slit, biting back a groan at how deliciously wet she was. She was loving this.

"Yes, sir," she said breathlessly, bucking against his hand. This was the most he had touched her, though they'd spent the past three weekends in the same bed, and she was eager for more. Draco took a deep breath, praying for self-control, but her whispered words had him impossibly stiff.

"What would you like, pet," he questioned, the tip of his finger barely touching her, dragging up and down through her slick folds. She groaned.

"Your fingers. Inside me," she gasped and was rewarded with a hard smack instead. She whined. "Sir. Please, fuck me with your fingers, sir." His smirk was almost audible as he plunged first one finger, and then two inside of her waiting heat. She moaned deeply. He curved his fingers downward, searching for the spot he knew would make her come undone. When he found it, he plunged his fingers faster into her, rubbing against it incessantly, relishing in the way her walls clenched around him, pulling him in eagerly.

"Fuck," Hermione ground out, her body pliant under his ministrations. Her hair was still wrapped around his fist and he watched her face as he finger-fucked her. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream. The room was silent except for the lewd sound of her wetness around his fingers. She clenched tighter.

"Draco," she moaned, her hips thrusting back towards his hand desperately. "I'm so close, oh fuck, oh please, I'm close. I'm going to - fuck - going to" He pulled his fingers out of her as if he'd been burned and chuckled darkly at her anguished cry.

"No you aren't, pet. Not until you've truly learned your lesson."

oOoOo

Draco, for the first time in history, considered moving The Canary to another wing of the house. He couldn't look at it without being reminded of the night they'd argued, and what it had led to, which was decidedly an unproductive train of thought for him as he tried to get work done there. When he'd shared his idea with Hermione, she'd opposed it vehemently. "You can't," she'd all but pleaded, grasping his hand in her smaller one. "I love seeing it there, in my favorite room. It's my favorite spot for it. Please?" And with that sweet word hanging from her lips, who was he to say no? He was pretty sure he'd give her absolutely anything, if she begged for it first.

They'd had a long talk after that night. The next morning Hermione had woken to Draco already awake, sitting up against the headboard, slowly sipping at a cup of tea. Earl grey, splash of milk and a spoonful of honey, in that order.

"I just want to make sure that what we're doing is alright with you," Draco had murmured, keeping his eyes downcast towards the duvet. "And I want you to also know that at any point, you're allowed to tell me you're uncomfortable with this." Hermione blinked up at him sleepily, a soft smile gracing her lips.

"Thank you," she'd said sweetly, "I appreciate you saying that." She had reached over, tugging the smooth cotton sheets away from his hips and he couldn't help his chuckle, then.

"You're insatiable," he'd laughed, setting his tea down on his bedside table. Hermione had only hummed her assent, reaching towards his rapidly hardening length with a teasing grin.

And now they were here - in the weird honeymoon phase of a new relationship, where they couldn't get enough of each other, wanted to spend every waking second with the other. At least, that was how Draco felt. Hermione diligently went to work at the Ministry, Monday through Friday, and no amount of coercing on his part could get her to put in vacation days or ask for extended time off. She'd merely rolled her eyes at his suggestion of a quick trip to Morocco. ("You're joking, right? You know that my job is like an actual job? With actual tasks and deadlines, right?" She'd earned a night bound up and bent over, wrists attached by cuffs to a spreader bar between her feet, for that one) But Draco couldn't help it. She was better than he could have ever imagined, and not just behind closed doors. She was fiercely intelligent and could go for hours in conversation with him on any number of subjects. She was kind and intuitive, already learning when he needed some space, and knew not to push. She maintained her independence while willingly, and so beautifully, submitting herself sexually for their mutual gratification and he truly wondered if this was all some elaborate joke. It was almost too good to be true.

oOoOo

Hermione usually worked late on Friday nights, meeting him at his country estate well after the sun had set. Draco nearly hexed her when he found her standing in front of the fire in the library, staring intently at The Canary. He hadn't expected her there, but breathed a sigh of relief and tucked his wand away as he realized who it was. He studied her then, almost as reverently as she studied the painting ahead of her.

Dressed in a well-fitting pair of gray trousers and a slightly oversized cream colored turtleneck sweater, she stared ahead, eyes hardly moving. He thought she looked gorgeous, understated, demure - divine. The firelight flickered across her face, casting a golden hue to her rose colored lips, amber eyes. He wondered momentarily if she were still looking for something to prove him wrong and rolled his eyes. His girl was too smart for her own good - and a serious glutton for punishment. Draco cleared his throat then, expecting her to light up as she often did when she realized he was in the room.

She made no movement, only continued staring ahead, head cocked slightly to the left.

"Lost in thought, are we, pet," Draco mused, crossing the room towards her. She should've smiled then, turned to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. But again, she did not budge an inch.

"Hermione?" He reached out, grabbing a delicate shoulder, and it was as if he'd burned her, she jumped so high.

"Christ, Draco!" A hand smacked over her heart and she looked at him with wild eyes. "You frightened me." He looked at her, one eyebrow cocked, his tongue snaking out to wet his lips.

"You didn't hear me," he said, searching her face, noticing the way her chest heaved as she caught her breath. "I've been here for a while now." A concerned look flickered through her eyes, but she said nothing of it.

"I must've really been spacing," she said quietly, casting a quick glance towards the painting before back to him. She hummed, closing the distance between them, not quite making eye contact at any point as she pulled him in for a long kiss. "Let's have some dinner, shall we?"

Draco nodded his agreement but couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.