Archive of Our Own ^beta

Draco reread the same line of the sponsorship contract with Odgen’s firewhiskey brand as the main sponsor of Draco’s quidditch club named Dartmoor Dragons. He’d already done so ten times, but his brain was far from absorbing the information anymore. With a groan, he dropped his head into his hands. The lawyers had already confirmed that everything was in order, but Draco had insisted on double- and triple-checking it himself. Or at least that’s what he told himself—why he was hiding in his office.

From Ginny Weasley.

He summoned the limited-edition bottle of Dragon’s Heart Firewhiskey that Ogden’s had produced as part of their sponsorship. It was the kind of liquor meant to be displayed behind crystal glass—coveted, admired, and maybe even auctioned for charity someday. Only a hundred bottles existed, and even for him, the price tag had been absurd. Luckily, the club had been gifted several crates.

He drank straight from the bottle, letting the burn chase away the ache in his chest. The same kind of bottle that had once nearly broken his nose—and somehow landed him a first date with Ginny.  The past few weeks had been a whirlwind. Their new relationship was a blur of heat and hunger—tangled limbs, slow mornings, desperate kisses, and even more desperate moans echoing through his flat. And hers. And that one time against her kitchen counter.

He had thought—hoped—that once he had a taste of her, the obsession might ease. But instead, it had grown. Ginny Weasley was in his blood now. Her fire, her mouth, the wicked tilt of her smirk—it was maddening. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Couldn’t stop craving her. He wanted to be around her all the time. All the fucking time.

Which was exactly why he was hiding.

The morning had started normally—if you could call it that. She’d been sprawled across his chest after a round of hot morning sex, warm and pliant and still panting, her fingers tracing patterns on his skin while they discussed how to go public with their relationship. They’d been tossing around plans to tell her friends first, then his. It felt good. It felt right.

Until Ginny sat bolt upright and shrieked, “Shit! What time is it? I’m late for Sunday Quidditch. Harry and the others are probably already waiting!”

Still naked in his bed, she’d said His name. In his house. With her arse still perched on his thigh.

A wave of irrational heat had surged through Draco’s chest, heavy and acidic. He’d managed to keep it together—barely. She kissed him goodbye without noticing his clenched jaw. Then she was gone.

To be with Potter.

He groaned into his palms. It wasn’t jealousy, not really. He trusted her more than he trusted himself most days. No, what burned through his chest wasn’t fear of her leaving. It was—

Before he could finish the thought, the Floo flared, and Ginny stormed through in a gust of green flames.

“YOU SPIED ON ME?”

Ah. Right.

He might have apparated to the pitch and watched from the treeline. Just to— confirm there was really a game. That her brothers were actually there. That Potter wasn’t being too friendly.

He really did trust her. He just liked confirming facts for himself. There was nothing wrong with that. Nothing unhinged at all about hiding in a row of trees, making sure that neither Ginny nor any other players would see him.

By the time he’d finished convincing himself not to go, he was already there. Hidden in the trees like a lovesick idiot. At first, it was just to check. Just to see how she and Potter interacted.  That he wasn’t too friendly (though the sound of her laughing at something he said made Draco’s jaw tighten) That was the excuse in his mind. But he stayed to watch Ginny.

Because watching her fly again after all these months—grinning, fearless, herself—made his chest ache warm. Her sudden departure from professional Quidditch after her accident, had gutted him, more than he’d ever admitted. Seeing her in her element again, wind in her hair, fire in her veins, joy radiating from her in waves, was intoxicating. And he couldn’t look away.

The feeling was short-lived. Now she was pacing furiously in front of his desk, still in her Quidditch jersey and flying leathers, flushed and fuming and utterly incandescent with rage. She was beautiful, and he was fucked.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, DRACO?” she snarled, jabbing a finger in his direction. “I had to lie to my brothers and Harry! Told them the white-blond blur near the trees was not Draco Malfoy, my deranged boyfriend that they don’t know about yet, stalking me like some lunatic. Because surely, surely, he wouldn’t be that crazy. Right?”

“I—” he began, already regretting it.

“YOU WHAT?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried, feebly.

Ginny laughed—sharp and incredulous—and it had all the promise of an evening that would end with his balls hexed off. “Fine,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I might have been there.”

She slammed her palms down on his desk. Papers and contracts fluttered in protest.

“DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY, I SWEAR ON MERLIN`S BALLS, IF YOU DON’T TELL ME RIGHT NOW—”

“YOU KNOW WHY!” he snapped, louder than intended as he shot to his feet, closing the distance across the desk, his face inches from hers. His breath was uneven, and his voice dropped into something low, dangerous. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re jealous!?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not fast enough.

In one fluid motion, she was on his desk, kneeling on the very contract he'd been agonizing over. Her legs were spread wide for balance, her eyes blazing, and all Draco could think about was dragging her down and making her scream his name until the windows rattled.

She leaned down, voice a deadly whisper, her smirk wicked. “You absolute prat. You dare to be jealous?  Do you even realise I played the entire fucking game with your cum dripping down my thighs?”

Draco groaned, a sharp, helpless sound. His cock twitched violently in his trousers, so hard it hurt. He reached for her, hands grasping her hips, needing something to ground himself—but she was faster.

Her wand was suddenly at his throat. The tip pressed just beneath his jawline, firm and unyielding, and the look on her face was thunderous and divine.

“No,” she said. “We’re not done talking.” She leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and whispered: “Sit down.”

Draco’s reaction to her voice—low, lethal, wand pressed to his throat—was immediate. He sat.

He sank onto the edge of his chair so fast he nearly toppled over. He would’ve leapt out the window or sprinted through Diagon Alley stark naked if she told him to, and honestly, he would’ve thanked her for the honour. She was radiant like this—flushed from fury, eyes blazing, voice sharp enough to flay skin from bone. And fuck, it made him hard.

The fact that she’d played an entire bloody Quidditch match with his cum dripping down her thighs? That was… strangely reassuring. And deeply, deeply erotic.

Maybe it was time to admit he was a lot more unhinged than he liked to think.

But he also needed her to understand—his jealousy wasn’t about Potter, not really. He trusted Ginny. That wasn’t the problem. Saying that out loud, though, probably wouldn’t help her impression of his current mental state.

Ginny took a deep breath, as if choosing her next words carefully. And then she unleashed on him—telling him exactly how much he had violated her trust, how he’d crossed a line, how she had never given him a single reason to doubt her. If he couldn’t start doing better, she’d have to seriously reconsider what their future would look like.

Draco nodded along, trying to look appropriately chastised, but his focus was nowhere near her words.

Because Ginny—his beautiful, furious Ginny— was punishing him in the best way possible by vanishing her jersey and trousers. Now she knelt in front of him in nothing but her flying leathers—thick, worn straps hugging her curve, cinching beneath her breast. Every line of her body was on display. His mouth went dry, and his breathing stopped. He had the vague thought that he should apologize again.

He tried clearing his throat once—twice—before she chuckled. Her smirk was predatory as she reached for the bottle of Dragon’s Heart on the desk next to her knees. “You thirsty?”

Salazar help him. He couldn’t speak. Could only nod. Her eyes tracked the bob of his Adam’s apple like a hawk watching prey.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she took a long, slow sip of the Firewhiskey. She hummed—soft and appreciative—and Draco nearly came in his trousers from the sound alone.

“Tiberius really outdid himself with this batch,” she murmured, voice smoky. “I feel like a fucking dragon drinking this.”

He groaned. Gods, she knew exactly what she was doing. Weaponized seduction.

She leaned closer, breasts now inches from his face. “Tell me why you were jealous.”

“You know, you and Potter—” he tried, but even to his ears it sounded pathetic.

Ginny cocked her head. “Harry and I are long history. And you know I’ve played with my brothers every Sunday since forever. We’ve been dating for six weeks, Draco. That’s at least six Sundays. Why now?”

She took another sip, still not offering him any, her hips slowly rolling against the polished desk. Her body gleamed with sweat and fury and control,

She laughed softly, cruelly. “You want a sip?” she asked as she tipped the bottle and let the whiskey trail over her collarbone. The amber liquid slipped between her breasts, down her stomach.

Draco's gaze followed it, ravenous. “Yes—fuck—Ginny, please.”

“No tasting until you talk,” she said, dragging her finger through the wetness and brushing one nipple in the process. Draco clutched the armrests of his chair. He should confess. Not just because it’s the right thing to do, but because he’s die if he didn't taste her. “I—look, it might sound mad.”

Ginny raised a brow, and tipped more of the whiskey down her other breast. It splashed on his desk. Fucking criminal, he thought.

“I was jealous, yes. But not because I thought you’d cheat on me. Not with Potter. Not with anyone.”

She blinked, surprised. “No?”

“No. Just… let me have a taste, please and I’ll explain.”

She looked at him for a long second, then relented. “Lick my nipples clean.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He surged forward, mouth closing around one perfect, whiskey-soaked nipple. The taste—her and the Firewhiskey—burned his tongue in the most exquisite way.

Instinctively, his left hand drifted to his crotch, rubbing himself through his trousers, desperate for relief.

Ginny noticed. Of course she noticed. Her fingers caught his chin, forcing his gaze up. “Don’ touch yourself, you only get what I give you. And all you get right now, is a taste in exchange for some truth.”

He nodded, closing his eyes, trying to think of the right words, finding the right phrasing to get her to understand his obsession with her, without freaking her out. He must have hesitated too long, because in the next second, Ginny moved, down from her position on his desk and climbed onto his lap. She sat on his thighs, too far away from where he needed her. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. “Is the reason you spied on me something your emotionally stunted heart and bruised ego won’t let you say out loud?” she asked softly.

He frowned. That phrasing was rude. But also—accurate. So he nodded.

She leaned back to study his face, eyes sharp and assessing. Whatever she found made her smirk soften—just a bit. “Alright,” she said, voice low and dangerous, “how about a deal?”

Her hand trailed slowly down his chest, but her gaze stayed locked on his.

“You tell me why you acted like a lunatic today… while I ride you.”

Draco’s pulse kicked up instantly. He sat straighter, already reaching to unbutton his shirt—but Ginny caught his wrists and pressed them firmly back onto the armrests. “No.” Her tone brooked no argument.

“Listen first. I ride you. You keep your clothes on. No touching me.”

She leaned in and brushed her lips over his jaw, her voice a whisper against his skin.

“If you’re good—and you tell me everything—I’ll let you come. In your trousers. Got it?”

He let out a strangled sound, halfway between a groan and a whimper, and nodded.

Ginny straddled him with slow, deliberate intent, her bare heat settling against the aching bulge beneath his trousers. The friction was instant and maddening. Draco’s head fell back against the chair as his cock throbbed at the delicious pressure.

Fuck. He hadn’t expected it to be like this—clothed, restrained, and completely at her mercy—but it was. It was perfect. There was something liberating about surrendering, about letting her set the rules and the pace, while every nerve in his body begged for more.

Ginny began to move, hips rocking against him in tight, grinding circles. Her hands slid up to curl into the back of his hair, gripping the strands like reins. She moaned—low and rough—as her clit caught against the ridge of his fly.

Draco couldn’t help it. He thrust up to meet her movement, needing just a little more.

She gasped—but didn’t stop. Instead, her fingers curled under his chin again, forcing his eyes up to meet hers.

That smirk returned. “We clearly still have a lot of training to do,” she murmured, mock-scolding.

“You don’t move without me saying so, that’s not allowed when I’m in charge.”

Then she shrugged, breath hitching slightly as she rolled her hips again. “But I’m horny. And I’m not about to deny myself orgasms just because you acted like a deranged stalker. So… I’ll allow it.”

Her tone sharpened again. “But. You need to talk. Now, Draco.”

His body was strung tight, vibrating with the tension of holding back, of obeying, of wanting. “I was jealous,” he forced out between clenched teeth, “not because I thought you’d cheat. But because they—”

She rocked harder.

“—They get time with you I don’t. That’s what drives me mad.”

Ginny moaned, head tipping back, and Draco barely held back a growl.

“You’re mine, Ginny. And I want every second of you. Plus,  I missed watching you fly more than I can explain. I went to every Harpies match, pretending it was about business, but it was always you. There’s a contract offer in my desk drawer — dated two days before you retired. I was going to offer you a place with the Dragons, just so I could watch you fly for me. I want you Ginny, I have always wanted you.” Draco’s chest rose and fell with ragged breath. The confession had cost him—his pride, his composure—but the moment it left his lips, something in him unclenched. And Ginny, damn her, felt it.

She stilled her hips just slightly, watching him through half-lidded eyes, her lips parted like she was deciding whether to scold him further or reward him.

Then she reached again for the Dragon’s Heart Firewhiskey, raising the bottle slowly to her lips.

“Open up,” she said, her voice low and commanding. Only once his lips parted obediently did she take a mouthful—her eyes never leaving his. Draco’s cock twitched violently beneath her.

And then she leaned in, their mouths barely brushing, and spat the firewhiskey into his. Hot and smoky. Intimate and dominant.

Draco groaned as if she’d touched him directly. He swallowed greedily, his tongue chasing the last drops from her lips, his body strung tight with restraint. His hands remained clenched around the armrests, white-knuckled with the effort not to grab her, not to flip her over, not to lose control.

But he wouldn’t.

Not yet.

Not unless she allowed it.

“Good boy,” she whispered against his mouth, her voice thick with heat and approval.

Ginny moved with slow, steady purpose. The friction between his clothed cock and her bare, slick heat was delicious torture — her folds catching against the rough fabric, her clit rubbing exactly where she wanted it. Draco’s jaw clenched, every muscle in his body taut with the effort of keeping still.

Her hands cupped the back of his neck, her forehead dropping to his. Their breath mingled, heavy and hot, her movements a slow, grinding rhythm that made his head spin.

“You know,” she whispered, brushing her lips over the edge of his jaw, “I want to spend every second with you too.”

Draco’s throat bobbed on a swallow. He could barely breathe, could barely think past the pressure building between them, but her words sliced clean through the noise.

Her hips rolled again, dragging a broken moan from his throat.

“I love how intense you are,” Ginny said softly, nipping at the shell of his ear. “How hungry. How completely you want me.” Her nails scraped over his scalp. “But you can’t let it make you stupid.”

He froze, every nerve alight. She didn’t say it cruelly — not even sharply. Just true.

“I know you trust me,” she murmured, her voice still thick with heat. “I know it’s not about Harry. Or my brothers. Or the game. It’s that every second I’m not with you feels like time you’re missing.”

He nodded slowly, shame and clarity crashing together. His chest rose and fell, ragged. “Yeah,” he rasped. “That’s exactly it.”

She kissed his cheek, then his temple, then dragged her lips down to his mouth — not a punishing kiss, not a teasing one, but something warm. Steady. Anchoring.

“I love being wanted like that,” she breathed against him. “But don’t ever let it twist into something that tries to control me. You love my fire. My independence. You want me wild and free, right?”

His eyes fluttered closed. Her rhythm never faltered, her bare cunt gliding over the bulge in his trousers, soaking the fabric through.  “I do,” he choked. “Fuck, Ginny, I do. I want all of it. I just— I need to be better.”

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

His chest cracked open. That was what he needed — not just to be forgiven, not just to be wanted — but to be understood.

“Can I…?” he asked, breath shaking, his fingers flexing uselessly around the armrests.

Her eyes flicked to his hands. “What do you want, Draco?”

“Your tits,” he groaned. “I need to—please, let me touch you.”

She smiled slowly, then took one of his hands and guided it up, placing it on her breast. “Don’t pinch. Not yet.”

Draco’s fingers closed reverently around her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger as she kept moving, her slickness making a filthy, sticky sound against the wool of his trousers.

He moaned, and she leaned down and kissed him — deep, open, desperate. She swallowed his moans, drinking him in like firewhiskey.

She was so close. So was he.

“Now,” she whispered, grabbing his other hand and dragging it up too. “Both.”

He obeyed instantly, twisting her nipples just the way she liked, and she gasped — her orgasm slammed through her, drenching his lap, her thighs trembling around him.

Draco came with a guttural groan, the hot release spilling into his trousers as she kissed him through it, their mouths messy and gasping.

They clung to each other, foreheads pressed together, riding the aftershocks, sweat-slicked and satisfied.

Ginny brushed his hair back from his forehead and smiled down at him. “You really are obsessed with me, huh?”

He grinned, dazed and sated. “Utterly.”

She kissed him again, slow and smug. “Good boy. Now, as the final punishment you will have your cum dripping down your thighs for the rest of the day.”