Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“For fuck’s sake, Hermione. Did you just come again?”

Hermione groans and tosses her head back, hands coming up to cover her face. Her belly quivers and her thighs lock, trembling, as her orgasm floods through her all the way down to the tips of her toes. As far as orgasms go, and she’s had a lot of them, it’s one of the more unsatisfying ones.

She feels wrung out and tired, panting, parched, like she could drink right out of the tap and it still wouldn’t be enough. Her stomach muscles hurt from how hard she was trying to hold back all three of the orgasms she’s had in the last 20 minutes.

Who knew there was such thing as a bad orgasm?

The most annoying man in the world kneels at the foot of her bed, his hand still tucked between her bare thighs.

“The scene is supposed to be about orgasm control, not coming whenever you feel like it.”

“Then you fucking do it,” she snaps, wiggling her hips to dislodge his hand and kick his arm away. “I’m done.”

Draco scoffs, pushing his hair out of his face with damp fingers. “No, you’re not.”

“Then I want somebody else,” she says, pushing herself up on her elbows. “I’ll do it with Theo.”

“Very funny.”

She swipes a stray curl away from her nose and hums, “Mmm, pretty sure I’m not joking.”

Her boss pretends to ignore her and pushes up and off the bed. He pulls his cell phone from his pocket, unlocking it and tapping away with his thumbs. She’s pretty sure he’s not texting Theo, but she pretends that he is, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

“At least he understands the concept of pulling back when I say, very clearly and more than once, might I add, that I’m going to come if you don’t stop.”

Draco doesn’t answer her, still looking down at his phone, but she catches the way his jaw tightens. He’s easy to rile up, especially when she expresses wanting to film a scene with any actor other than him. He’s possessive like that — has been possessive since her first scene — and she’s mostly fine with it.

They’re close, or whatever.

They see each other outside of work, sometimes just to hang out and sometimes to fuck. Sometimes they practice a scene beforehand, like now, but sometimes they just fuck to…fuck. Because they’re friends and play-tested and used to each other’s likes and dislikes in their real lives, not just on camera.

Hermione flexes her toes and stretches out her legs, trying to avoid an all-too-common charley horse in her calf. Before she can ask, Draco crouches down to grab the half-drunk bottle of water from the side of her bed, handing it over.

He doesn’t even spare her a glance, still tapping away at his phone.

“I’ll give you two minutes, and then we’re trying again.”

She groans, putting the cap back on the bottle and tossing it down beside the bed. She throws her head back dramatically because she knows there’s no point in arguing further.

Not because he’d force her or anything, not unless she asked, of course, but because she’s mostly only doing it to get on his nerves. He’s just so easy to bother and she’s annoyed enough to brat about it.

It’s not like she’s a stranger to edging. Gods, she does it enough to herself just because she thinks it makes her orgasm feel better, in the end. But she also knows when to pull back, when to brush her clit softer or fuck herself slower.

At this point — three orgasms into the supposed orgasm control — Draco can’t seem to understand that going full speed ahead all the time is always going to make her come. She’s just a girl! There’s only so many kegels she can do to stop the contractions that ripple through her cunt.

“You need to listen to me better,” she says quietly, resigned. “You’re pushing me over the edge every time because you won’t slow down when I tell you to.”

Draco tucks his phone back in his pocket, silver eyes passing over her body. “I’m not going to rub beside your clit so you can pretend you’re close. We only do authentic shit, you know that.”

“Ohmigod,” she groans, squeezing her eyes shut, “I didn’t say I want to fake it! I just said that you have to listen to me. If I tell you I’m going to come, I’m, like, five seconds away from coming, not a minute.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his biceps, and juts his hip out. She lets herself look at him in the same way he just looked at her, dragging her eyes over the breadth of his shoulders, down his arms and to the veins spidering over the backs of his hands.

“Why are you only giving me a five second warning?”

Her mouth closes with a click of her teeth because…what?

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Me? Kidding? C’mon, sweetie, you know me better than that.”

Hermione pushes up onto her knees, uncaring of her nudity, and rolls her eyes when he calls her by the petname he favours for her when they’re filming. They’re not, at the moment, and his condescension rubs her the wrong way.

In, like, the opposite direction of edging.

Don’t get her wrong— if anyone knows their way around the female body, it’s Draco fucking Malfoy, but he’s still just a man and he doesn’t know everything. She knows her body better than he does, better than he ever will.

“I appreciate that you’ve been doing this for almost as long as I’ve been alive, but anyone giving you more than a five second warning that they’re about to come is faking it. I don’t know if I’m going to come a minute from now, or even 30 seconds from now.”

“But you can tell when you’re getting close.”

“There’s a difference between being sort of close and being on the edge— you said to let you know when I’m on the edge. You know, the edge— of, like, a cliff? That you’re in danger of falling off of any second?”

Draco’s jaw ticks again and he lets out a deep sigh, his eyes closing. He rubs his hand over his face and the back of his neck, rubbing at the muscle that she can only imagine is sore from the way he’s been bent over her lower half for the last 20 minutes.

“Fine. Tell me when you’re close and tell me when you’re on the edge. Better?”

She sighs and lays back down, hands resting on her belly. Draco wastes no time in kneeling on the bed again, shuffling between her legs until she can feel the rough rasp of his jeans against her bare thighs.

“Your attitude sucks,” she mumbles.

“Yeah, well, you’re a brat.”

Maybe she is, but she’s entitled to be one. He’s just wrung three unwanted and unexpected orgasms from her and she doesn’t trust him not to push her over the edge of another one. It’s not that she wants to, but at a certain point…there’s only so much she can do to stop it.

She resigns herself to her fate— four orgasms, probably, likely, in under 30 minutes.

At least she’s at home and can sink into her bath after.

“Whatever,” she sighs, looking up at the still ceiling fan. “Just get on with it.

Hermione startles when he wraps his fingers around her thigh, squeezing, like he wants her attention. She tilts her chin to look at him at the foot of the bed.

“Don’t come.”

She rolls her eyes before tilting her head back and closing them.

Her skin is sticky, having worked up a sweat, and his fingers don’t so much as glide but drag over her thighs. His touch is soft and gentle, warming up her skin and getting her used to his touch again. He never rushes her, never pushes her too fast. He doesn’t immediately slip his hand between her thighs or rub her raw.

He gives her time to relax and sink into the bed beneath her, to take stock of her body and how she’s feeling which is hot, mostly. Just overheated and a little tired and annoyed.

Not exactly a recipe for a successful, fulfilling orgasm.

Hermione props her hips up for a second, stretching out her back. She lets out a soft groan and settles into the bed once more while Draco rubs a circle into her thigh with his thumb and hums quietly.

He lets it be quiet and she begrudgingly appreciates that.

It’s easy to focus on the repeated drag of his thumb, the pattern of the circle he draws. The way her legs are a little bit tight and the up-and-down movement of her belly as she breathes.

Until, suddenly, his hand is gone. She wants to look but forces herself to wait, instead. A soft click fills the space and a second later, there’s something warm and oily spilling over her mound. She frowns, only because they hadn’t needed lube before—

“You’re already sensitive,” he mutters quietly. “Too much friction will be counterproductive. Stay relaxed.”

Just by the tone of his voice, Hermione knows that work-Draco — Pornstar Draco — is gone. He’s not performing anymore, not calling her sweetie or keeping up an attitude that will only stress her out. He’s just being himself, someone who Hermione actually likes, sometimes, and making choices based on how well he knows her.

Friction is a double edged sword, she’s found. She can take it for a little while, usually to help her get over the hump of a first orgasm. But after that, she needs a gentler touch, something slicker, not as rough.

Pornstar Hermione can take it because she’s not always looking to enjoy herself. It’s nice, obviously, if she does, but at the end of the day, it’s just a job like any other. She tries not to fake it, or, if she does, to only fake the things that are largely unnoticeable like the soft little moans and whines and the glassy, nearly cross-eyed face she pulls when the pleasure is just too much.

But here, away from the cameras and already frustrated, he won’t be able to really get her all the way to the edge if she’s not enjoying herself.

“Thank you,” she says softly, letting her arms relax at her sides.

He hums in response and starts massaging the oil-based-lubricant over her skin. He presses her thighs up and out a little bit, giving himself more room. There’s a little more pressure in his touch now, massaging some of the tension out of her thighs.

Hermione feels boneless by the time he smooths his thumb down over her slit, rubbing slow circles indirectly over her clit. Her fingers twitch at her sides and she presses her teeth down into her bottom lip.

“Deep breaths,” he tells her, voice rumbling through the room. “Stay relaxed.”

She does, inhaling through her nose and letting it out through her mouth. There’s a flash of something in her belly as he adds pressure and speed to his circles and her legs tense just the slightest bit.

Draco notices, he must, because he spreads her folds and a split second later there’s another spill of lubricant. He drags his fingers over her, just barely brushing over her clit. She feels swollen under his touch, her clit already throbbing.

It’s not really a surprise. She hasn’t really been given the chance to come down.

Hermione’s breath hitches when Draco finally swipes his thumb over her clit, going back to his slow circles. Her hips tense and her belly clenches. She can already tell it’s not going to take long to reach the point where she’s supposed to give him her first warning.

“Do you want a finger inside?” He asks, gently dipping the tip of his index finger inside her.

But she shakes her head. “No, no. Just like this.”

He keeps her legs spread around where he’s kneeling and leans down, propping one leg up against his shoulder. It stops her from being able to close her legs, something she tends to do when she’s close, when the pleasure becomes almost too much and her instinct is to move away from it.

Draco’s thumb moves in faster circles and she subconsciously moves her right hand to her right breast, cupping the soft flesh and squeezing. Her thigh rhythmically tenses and she feels confident enough that if he continues on just like this, she’ll come within the next minute or so.

She warns him with a soft, “Getting close,” and squirms under his fingers.

He doesn’t change anything at her words, keeping up the same pressure and speed of his thumb swirling over her clit.

“Good. Start holding it off.”

It’s a little earlier than she’d usually try to stave off an orgasm, but she listens.Her brows furrow as she squeezes her internal muscles. It lessens the wave that moves through her— not to the point where it’s unnoticeable, but enough that she can close her mind to it.

Coming is as much a mental thing as it is physical. When she’s still this far away from an orgasm, telling herself that she’s not going to come is just as helpful as trying to squeeze her muscles to physically stop the an orgasm from building.

It’s not until a soft, whispered “shit” slips from her lips does Draco lessen the pressure on her clit, just the slightest amount, but enough that she’s able to pull it back again. It’s not the five second warning of being on the edge, but it’s closer than before.

“Good girl. Don’t you dare come.”

And because she’s in it now, she agrees with only a soft noise.

She’s not going to come.

At the very least, she’s going to try really hard not to come.

But her body is expecting it at this point. It’s ready and waiting to snatch the orgasm from his fingers, growing closer and closer, her belly bubbling with heat despite the way he’s slowed down. It’s still there, so close that she can taste it.

Hermione throws her head back and lets out a low moan from the back of her throat. She involuntarily squeezes her hand harder around her breast, toes curling and core muscles clenching and unclenching too fast to stop.

“Oh gods, I’m gonna come— Draco, I’m gonna—”

He stops.

It’s like she can’t breath for a second, her breath caught in her throat.

And then she sobs.

Because she isn’t supposed to be coming, she knows that and she’s been trying not to come this whole time, but having it snatched away like that? Mere seconds away from the wave of her orgasm dragging her under?

It’s terrible.

Draco shushes her, rubbing his hand up and down her thigh, trying to calm the trembling in her muscles. She opens her eyes and looks up at him, finding his eyes and holding them in her gaze.

“Good girl,” he mutters, his face serious. “We did it, huh? There we go…just like that.

And no, she whines, no, they didn’t do anything! She didn’t get fall over the edge like every other time.

“Mean,” Hermione mumbles. “So mean. Please—”

He makes another shushing noise, his hand trailing up her hip to pet over her belly, waiting for her legs to stop shaking.

Hermione covers her face with her hands, wanting nothing more than to roll over and curl up into a ball. To squeeze her thighs together tightly and force her inner muscles to contract. She thinks there’s a good chance she could make herself come like that, still grasping at the loose threads of her stolen orgasm.

A shiver runs down the length of her spine when Draco’s hand moves back to her inner thigh, still spreading her legs, and rubs his thumb against the crease of her thigh.

“Please,” she begs, pouting and pushing her bottom lip out.

Draco smiles at her, just the slightest hint of mean spreading across his lips, and presses his thumb to her clit again. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give her any warnings and certainly doesn’t start slowly. He goes right back to the same steady, heavy pressure and fast circles, building her orgasm back up.

It takes a pitiful number of seconds for her to feel like she’s right back where they ended, and the brat in her doesn’t want to warn him. She wants to let it happen again, to tip over the edge of the cliff she’s climbing so quickly.

She can’t, though. She wants to listen and make him happy and do what she’s supposed to do.

Her bottom lip wobbles when she speaks again, her words coming out in a borderline squeal. “Too close, too close!”

And he stops again.

And she sobs.

Again.

It’s never felt this painful before, not really physically but like something is being ripped away from her. Her cunt contracts on its own, to the point where she can’t even hope to stop it and for a second she worries she’s going to come anyway.

“Oh shit. Oh fuck—” she mumbles, breathing heavily. “I can’t. It’s too hard, I-I—”

Her eyes snap open again when she feels Draco’s lips press to the side of her knee. He rubs her leg soothingly, making these soft sounds like he sympathizes with her, as if he’s not the one doing it to her.

He drags his nails over skin, shushing her as the shudders work their way out of her system. She feels weepy, like she’s half a second from crying. Actually, maybe she already is crying.

Hermione lifts a shaking hand to rub over her eyes and it comes away damp.

Fuck. She’s a mess.

“It’s alright. You’re okay,” Draco soothes, squeezing her thigh. “You can come this time, okay? You hear me? I won’t stop you.”

Sucking in a shaky inhale, she nods her head and lowers her hand back to her side. She looks up at the ceiling, trying to calm her breathing, and presses into his hand. She likes the pressure on her skin, reminding her that she’s not alone.

It’s so strange. She’s edged on her own before and never reacted like this, but having someone else do it is…worse? Better? She can’t decide. She won’t know until she comes again.

Just a single brush of Draco’s fingers through her slit, over her clit, is enough to make her muscles clench. It won’t take long, of that she’s certain, and it doesn’t. He uses his first two fingers to rub quickly over her slick, sore clit and her head tips back, mouth opening in a silent moan.

She reaches down, looking to grab anything, to pull him away, to make him go faster, and finds her hand clasped in his free one. She squeezes and kicks out the leg not pressed up against Draco’s shoulder, toes clenching, calf muscles tensing.

By the time she thinks to herself, I’m going to come, she’s fallen over the edge. It swoops in so quickly, dragging her beneath it without there being a single conscious decision to allow it to happen. Her thighs clench and tighten around Draco’s body, but he doesn’t stop rubbing her clit.

Not until she whines, pushing at him with her hands and pulling her knees up to her chest, getting ready to shove him back. He finally pulls his hand away and lets her leg drop down to the bed.

Hermione hums and immediately rolls over onto her side, squeezing her thighs together and hugging her knees. It feels better like that. She feels more secure, somehow. He touches her softly while she breathes, regaining the ability to think and talk and comprehend that she’s just had four orgasms.

Draco, for his part, can’t let a good, pleasurable moment just be.

“If you’d just listened to me from the beginning…”

Hermione groans and flips him off.

“Fuck off.”

Chapter Text

They stop filming because she’s suddenly dropping.

Except it wasn’t really so sudden. She was definitely shivering for a bit but trying to hide it. Not full body shudders or anything, but little zaps along the length of her spine and shaking in her fingers. Enough to realize that it probably wasn’t a good thing but not enough to force her to stop the scene, still hopeful that she could push through what she considered to be a moment of uncertainty.

Ultimately, it was too easy to succumb to the bone-deep chill that set in her limbs and the dreary, grey cloud that hung over her head.

She’s pretty sure once Draco noticed it he attempted one of their secret check-ins. Three soft, measured taps against her bare thigh that she should have responded to with a plaintive, please, but…didn’t. Her silence was enough for him to call the scene, hands fitting over her hips and squeezing.

“Okay, Hermione. We’re stopping— you’re alright. Just listen to the sound of my voice.”

She does. It’s steady and warm and masculine and familiar enough that it penetrates through the fog that has already set in. Dropping, for her, doesn’t immediately set in as panic, but a slow spiral downwards. If left to drop for long enough, unnoticed, she’d get there eventually, but the goal is to pull her out of it before she can sink that low.

The camera-person is shooed out of the room but there’s nothing they can do about the studio-lights that shine too brightly and force her to shut her eyes.

Draco’s hands are at the small of her back before something cold touches her wrists. She jerks at the feeling, trying to pull away because she doesn’t know what’s happening, but Draco pets a hand through her curls and down her back, shushing her.

“It’s alright. You’re alright, Hermione. It’s just the shears— I’m going to cut you out of the rope, alright?” He talks as he fits the scissors under the rope again. “Take a deep breath for me— in, just like that, good girl. And out now, yes, good job.”

As soon as the rope is cut, her wrists free, she brings them around to her front and tips over on her side, curling up into a ball. The shivers have turned into full body shudders now and she feels frozen through. It’s the kind of cold that seeps down to her bones, like she’ll never thaw.

Her breath is choppy, rasping in and out of her lungs. It’s like she can’t drag in a full breath, like there’s a leaden weight sitting on her chest.

Draco’s hands on her skin feel searing hot, rubbing over her wrists and smoothing down her back. The bed moves under her as Draco lays down behind her, pulling her in tight to his chest. The pressure of his arms wrapped around her is comforting, making her feel safe.

“Oh, sweetheart. Fuck,” he mumbles, voice rumbling against her ear. “I should’ve stopped it sooner. I could feel you shaking but I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”

He presses his lips to the top of her head and she manages to wrap her fingers around his forearm, squeezing him back. She doesn’t feel ready to speak, and doesn’t think her voice would work even if she tried, but wants him to know that she doesn’t blame him. If anything, she should have safeworded when she initially felt the shivering start.

A knock on the door sounds only a second before it’s being pushed in. Hermione, feeling shy, quickly turns over and tucks her face into Draco’s soft shirt. She does her best to ignore the person who has come into their space.

“I brought her bag with her clothes and a soft blanket,” a warm, male voice says quietly. “And this, from the other room.”

“Thanks,” Draco says softly, jostling her.

She hears the dull thud of footsteps leading closer to the bed before there’s a gentle touch against her bare shoulder. It takes a lot to pull her face from Draco’s chest but she’s pretty sure the other person is Theo.

Hermione blinks her eyes open, squinting against the bright overhead lights in the room, and looks at her darkhaired friend and, rare, co-star.

“Oh, Hermione,” he says softly, swiping his thumb over her cheek. “It’s alright— happens to the best of us. Draco will get you comfy and cozy.”

Draco’s chest rumbles with a low hum and she tucks her the side of her face against his chest again. She watches as Theo leaves the room, closing the door, and lets out a rough sigh. She feels terrible, both like she wants to cry and lash out. Like she wants to hide under the covers for the next year.

“My poor girl,” Draco whispers, thumbing a tear that clings to her eyelashes. “Let’s get you in your jammies, hm?”

The same way the word walk signals to a dog that they’re about to get something they love, the word jammies sends a signal to her brain about the kind of aftercare she’s about to get. Usually, she’s just fine with a good cuddle, some sloppy kissing and a sugary drink, but once in a while she needs a little bit more.

Sometimes it’s after she’s gone through a heavy scene— something with a lot of bondage or rough fucking or just one-too-many degrading words. Sometimes it’s about how emotional a scene is. She finds that the faux-romance gets her in her head more than other scenes because it’s so easy to fall deep into the scenario, to let herself believe in that moment that it’s real.

Other times, it’s because something in her brain has simply…misfired. For whatever reason, and sometimes she’s never able to really pinpoint, what, exactly the reason is, something just doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to and she has a bad reaction.

It’s not like she’s never had her wrists tied behind her back before.

Draco shifts her to the side, enough that he can climb over her and stand from the bed. He digs through the plain black weekend bag she brings to all of her shoots. No one wants to slip back into a pair of jeans after they’ve been fucked sideways so she always packs a pair of pyjamas to relax in and joggers to head home in. It’s always something loose and soft against her skin, something comfortable. Something worn and familiar.

She watches as Draco pulls out a pair of black cotton pyjama shorts and a big, baggy t-shirt with a pumpkin graphic. Her cheeks flush in embarrassment but Draco doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

“Very cute,” he says softly, calmly. “Arms up for me.”

She lets him maneuver her, tugging the shirt over her torso and the shorts up her legs until she’s covered up again. He sets her bag back down on the floor and picks up the blanket she hadn’t noticed before climbing back into bed with her.

The blanket is a soft yellow colour and she thinks she recognizes it from one of the other rooms. Her breath has slowed, coming evenly now. Steady and strong, no longer compressed in her chest.

It’s not until she’s cuddled against Draco’s warm chest, the blanket wrapped around them, does he hand her a stuffed bear that it clicks.

“Oh,” she whispers, her voice crackling.

Draco helps her tuck the bear into her chest before he presses a long kiss to the top of her head. The weight of him is warm against her back and she exhales a big, heavy breath.

“Theo brought it,” he explains. “I think it’s what you need right now, yeah? Something soft to cuddle.”

The blanket and the bear are from the pink studio bedroom, the one where the naughty schoolgirl is always doing her homework when her bad-boy boyfriend climbs through the window, or where the girls are having a sleepover and experiment for the first time.

Or…

“It’s from the Daddy room,” Hermione says in a soft, shy voice.

For Draco and Hermione, that room is the most common setting for their, admittedly few and far between, age play scenes. The bear and the blanket are almost like a cheat code for that headspace. Somewhere she can sink and float knowing there’s a trusted person there to care for her.

A Daddy to keep her safe.

Draco pets his hand over her hip and slips his leg between hers, until they’re so entwined it would be hard to untangle them. It makes her feel more secure, taken care of.

“I think it’s what you need right now,” he mumbles against into her neck. “A little Daddy time.”

Her fingers flex against the stuffed bear and she happily notes that she’s no longer freezing cold. There’s still a little chill that drips through her limbs, but it’s far enough away from the initial drop that she hardly senses it.

Draco’s body heat and the warmth in his voice, the way he holds her close and cares for her, scares away the big grey clouds. Instead, it all sends her headfirst into a different space. One that’s warm and cozy, that’s safe and familiar.

“Feeling better, sweetheart?” Draco asks, keeping his arms tight around her body.

Hermione hums softly and nods her head. “Warmer,” she manages to say. “And better…Daddy.”

She closes her eyes and focuses on the rhythmic drag of Draco’s fingers along her hip and thigh, the feeling of his strong chest pressed to her back, the feel of his forearm under the curl of her fingers.

They’ll talk about it after, but for now, she lets her thoughts melt away.

Chapter Text

“Something wrong?”

Hermione jumps, startling at the sound of Draco’s voice. She’s clearly spent a few too many minutes standing in front of her wardrobe, looking down into her box of toys. She meant to just grab a vibrator — specifically the pink one that she usually saves for when she’s about to be assfucked and wants to, like, actually enjoy it— but found her eyes caught on the sparkle of two silver nipple clamps.

Small but mighty.

Definitely more painful than they look.

But also making her belly clench and fill with warmth.

It’s been a while since she’s enjoyed a little bit of pain along with her pleasure purely because she wants to.

She turns to look at Draco, laying back in her bed, completely naked, right hand rhythmically squeezing his balls. His cock lays flat against his belly, semi-hard and plump but still with some room to grow. Her nose wrinkles and she rolls her eyes. He’s such a fucking guy.

No shame. Not even a little bit.

“No, nothing’s wrong. Just, um, getting this,” she says, holding up the neon-pink vibrator.

Maybe it’s the tone of her voice or the way she says it, but Draco scoffs and looks at her disbelievingly.

“I told you to grab any toy you want.”

“I did.” She frowns, waving the vibrator back and forth. “I got this.”

Draco huffs, so easily exasperated with her when he — rightfully — suspects she’s not being totally honest. She doesn’t even know why she’s not being honest, why she didn’t just pluck the nipple clamps from her toy bin and bring them over to the bed.

She’s a pornstar, for fuck’s sake!

Asking for what she wants should be easy, and, yet, it’s not. It’s actually really fucking hard. It’s not like during a scene when they both do it because it’s what’s expected. There’s no vulnerability in that, no expression of her own interests, just a willingness to do the job.

And, yeah, she enjoys it, because she likes sex. But this is different from enjoying— this is something they’re choosing to do, not for their job, not even just because they both have high sex drives or that it’s just easy to do it together because they already do it together.

It’s just…more. There’s something more. Something intimate.

And for all Draco is, objectively, hot and demanding during scenes and when they’re just fucking, he’s also annoying and pushy and she knows there’s no way he’ll just let them fuck when he suspects there’s something else she wants.

“Go back and get what you were looking at.”

“Draco—”

“I will do literally anything with you, Hermione. This is not the time to be shy.”

“I’m not shy, I just—”

“Fine, then I guess we’ll have to go through everything in the box.”

Hermione rolls her eyes but knows he’s as stubborn as she is and will actually do it, even just to make a point. The only reason she’s second guessing it is because this, the two of them fucking when it’s not practice or necessary for work, is usually pretty vanilla.

They just fuck. She rarely even uses a vibrator, not unless she’s really struggling to get there or feels like wearing herself out so she can pass out afterwards. There’s naturally a power exchange between them but they both accept it for what it is— normal. Kinks don’t usually make it into their fucking.

“You’re obnoxious,” she mutters, turning back to the box.

Her eyes quickly catch the glint of the silver again and she pulls them out of the box, curling them into her fist so they’re hidden from his curious, prying eyes.

“So are you.” Draco smirks openly. “C’mon, let’s go.”

She stomps over like she’s being led to the gallows, stopping just at the side of the bed, next to where Draco is lying. Hermione tosses the pink vibrator into the middle of the bed but he doesn’t even bat an eye. She should be thankful for that, at least. She’s known some men to be jealous of a toy, but Draco has always been gracious and even grateful for an assist.

Her jaw ticks as her hand flexes around the metal clamps. The side of her cheek gets caught between her teeth as her eyes flick over his body again— a little bit of hair coming through on his chest, more below his navel and thicker than she usually sees it around the root of his cock.

Hand still playing with his balls.

“You’re so…” she trails off, trying not to be mean.

But kind of wanting to.

Draco lets go of his balls only to hold that hand out, waiting.

“Hand it over,” he mutters. “C’mon.”

It’s not going to get any easier and he’s not going to forget about it. No matter how much her brain is trying to convince her to put her clothes back on and leave, her body is reacting a little too slutty to follow the order. Her thighs squeeze together and she feels wet and sticky between her legs, her nipples hardening at just the thought of what’s in her fist.

So she hands them over, opening her fist over his palm and letting the two metal clamps, connected by a chain, drop. His brows furrow when they land, like he can’t quite figure out what they are, before an evil little smile takes over his lips and he winks at her.

“My God, Hermione.” He shakes his head, a laugh bubbling from his throat. “This is what has you so shy?”

“Shut up,” she grumbles, crossing her arms just under her breasts.

Before she can do anything else, he swings his legs over the side of the bed until his feet are flat on the floor, eye level with her tits. His hum is warm and content, like this is actually something that he wanted and picked out.

She should’ve known, really. He loves any chance to get his hands on her tits. They’re more than a handful. Like, quite a bit. Enough that even his big hands aren’t enough to completely cup her breasts, fleshing spilling over the sides.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice is level and firm in a way that makes her core clench.

“You already know.”

He rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe you do this for a living and still don’t understand the concept of talking about things before you do them.”

The frustrated groan that crawls out of her throat is a little bit embarrassing but Draco is nothing if not patient and he makes a show of shaking the clamps in his hand so they jingle. It makes her want them even more.

Enough that she brushes her hand over her face, pushing her hair, a little frizzy and wild, out of the way. She closes her eyes and inhales a deep, calming breath.

“I just want to hurt a little,” she whispers quietly. “I just…sometimes I want to hurt.”

And then it stays quiet.

Draco doesn’t respond and stops shaking the clamps.

Hermione has no choice but peek out through one partially closed eye.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he mutters, eyes warm. “You know you can ask me for that anytime.”

She huffs. “It’s not like this is a scene, so…I don’t know, I just thought we should keep to…y’know…sex.”

Without warning, Draco reaches out and grasps her hip in his palm, dragging her closer until she’s standing between his knees. He squeezes her hip and leans forward to press a soft kiss to her sternum, right between her breasts.

It’s gentle and nice and it makes the butterflies batting their wings in her belly fade away.

“You’re still so innocent,” he mumbles against her skin. She scoffs, loudly, and he looks up at her, chin pressing into her sternum. “Obviously not that way. Just in an—us fucking type of way. Look, I’m a guy—”

“Yes, I noticed,” she interrupts, glancing down between his thighs, his cock fully hard now.

“—I will take just about anything you give me. I love your ass—” he reaches around and squeezes it “—and your tits—” he nuzzles into the side of her right one with the tip of his nose “—and you already know you have the sweetest cunt I’ve ever had—” his fingers move between her legs to cup her “—but this isn’t just a quick fuck, Hermione. Maybe it’s not a serious relationship, but it’s still a relationship of sorts.”

“What?”

Draco rubs his nose into her skin again and sighs before looking back up at her. She’ll never, ever get over the cloudy grey colour of his eyes. She’s never met anyone with a similar colour before and doubts she ever will.

“I’m explaining this badly. I don’t mean we’re dating or anything quite so typical, but I’m not fucking anyone else, right?”

"Right,” she nods. “Me neither. Well, except at work.”

“Exactly. So let’s make each other happy.”

A small laugh escapes her lips. “It’s that simple?”

“That simple,” he confirms. “You tell me what you want.”

“Same goes for you then.”

He nods his head, blond hair tickling the skin of her breasts.

“Deal. Now stick your tits out.”

He presses her back with the hand on her hip and she lets out a slow, heavy exhale. Shockingly, her head feels a bit clearer and not so confused. It’s crazy that just a little clarity makes everything feel better— safer.

She’s more comfortable asking for the clamps.

Hermione presses her shoulders back and tips her chin up, looking up at her ceiling fan. It’s still, not spinning, but she needs something to focus on. As much as this was her request, she knows the bite of the clover clamps well.

Draco fingers are soft at first, just brushing over the crinkled skin of her areola. Her nipples are already stiff, like diamond-stiff, nearly painful, but he still gives her a gentle pinch that slowly squeezes tighter until she whimpers.

She hears the sound of him clicking his tongue and looks down at him. He’s twirling one clamp in one hand, just holding the other. The chain between the two is a decent length, but not long enough to set it down while he puts them on her.

“Brave girl,” he says softly, turning the clamp over. “Clover clamps are nothing to sneeze at.”

The next touch is Draco’s warm palm cupping her breast from the bottom, his thumb and index finger pinching her nipple. He presses the clamp open and fits it under his pinching fingers, letting it close.

Hermione groans, tossing her head back and sucking in a breath, trying to stay relaxed. The pain is sharp and sudden, the squeeze harsher than she remembers it being.

Her cunt throbs.

Draco cups her other breast and repeats the steps, pinching her nipple before attaching the clamp.

“The thing that I really like about clover clamps…” Draco mutters, running his finger over the chain. He gives it a small tug and she groans. “…is that they get tighter every time you pull on the chain.”

“Mhm.”

He taps the chain again, making it swing. “I bet that’s why you like them, too, right?”

Hermione wets her lips and lets out a shuddering breath, trying to get used to the feeling centred on her nipples. She asked for this, quite literally, but she’s still surprised by how much it hurts. In a good away, in a way that is very much wanted, in a way that makes the space between her thighs wetter and stickier, that makes her more and more desperate to be touched.

Draco tugs on the chain and she gasps, curling her toes into the rug.

“It’s probably in your best interest to answer me, Hermione.”

She swallows back her first reaction which is to tell him to fuck off.

She’s kind of in his hands now, at his mercy.

“Yes,” she grits out. “I like them.”

His fingers trails softly down her waist, smoothing over her belly. His thumb rubs over the crease of her thighs, then up to her pubic bone. His finger spread wide there, thumb just under her belly button and pinky finger brushing over the strip of hair on her mound.

Hermione tips her head down to watch, immediately struck by what she sees— clamps pinching her nipples, chain dangling between, and Draco’s long fingers touching her between her legs.

“Aright, turn around.”

She spins slowly, facing away, and yelps when Draco lands a smack against her backside.

“Never asked for a spanking…” she mumbles, looking at him over her shoulder.

Draco smiles and winks. “I know, I know. Hard to resist, though. Okay, sit back on me.”

She does, putting her hands out to the side to steady herself. She sits on his lap, feeling his hard cock just behind her. He’s warm and the hairs on his legs tickle her thighs.

Leaning back, she rests her head against his shoulder and breathes deeply. It’s hard to focus on anything other than the way her nipples are throbbing, matching the throb in her clit.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, Draco reaches down and pulls her legs up, spreading them over his knees. She’s wide open like this, her pussy exposed to the air, and Draco doesn’t waste any time petting over her with his palm.

He cups her, squeezing, and she lets out a soft moan. Every move causes the chain to move, pulling on the nipple clamps, which just makes everything feel more intense. There’s every possibility that the first touch to her clit will immediately tip her over the edge.

“I’m going to make you come first, before we fuck,” Draco tells her, bringing his hand up to his mouth and sucking on his thumb, pulling it out with a dull pop. “And I’m going to tug on the clamps while I touch you. Then the clamps come off. Sound good?”

Hermione whines and squirms in his lap because yes it sounds good, but it’s also going to hurt.

It’s not even the actual hurt that scares her, more the thought. She wants the pain, she wants the discomfort along with the pleasure, but the thought of it is usually scarier than the actual feeling.

“Okay. Yes,” she agrees, breathlessly.

Draco tucks his fingers between her legs, splitting her cunt with his thumb. He finds her clit easily, already swollen and slick, and rubs around it in circles. She closes her eyes and pants, moaning softly when he catches her clit with the side of his thumb.

And then he pulls on the chain. Not hard, just a gentle tug that might not seem to do much, but makes the clamps tighten just the smallest bit more. It makes it so that the pain never settles, it never dulls the way other clamps do. It just changes, gets stronger, brings the pain back to the forefront.

“Good girl, lean into it.”

Lean into the pain.

Draco’s always saying that. At first it bothered her, but it quickly started to make sense. Trying to pull away from it, trying to hide from it, just makes it worse. But leaning into it, accepting it, wanting it, adds to the pleasure.

He finally flicks over her clit with the calloused pad of his thumb, quick flicks that make her breath catch in her throat. Her thighs shake over his legs and she curls her fingers into his thighs. There’s another soft tug on the chain and she’s crying out this time, a high whine that turns into a soft groan.

More steady flicks over her clit and she’s squirming, caught between trying to press harder into his touch and trying to pull away.

“Oh shit,” she mutters, thighs flexing and trying to close.

Draco holds them open with one hand and loops the index finger of his other hand through the chain. He shakes it, tugging, and she squeals, gritting her teeth, as she comes.

“There you go. Come, come, good girl. That’s it, come for me.”

She does, flying high before she tumbles over the edge. The pleasure is just different when there’s pain involved. It feels more like a fog floating through her brain, the pain dulled completely into pleasure. Her belly heaves with her big breaths.

Just as she’s beginning to coast, the pressure lessens on her nipples and the clamps come off. The pain floods back as the feeling returns and Draco immediately tucks his fingers between her legs again, quickly flicking her clit into a second, smaller orgasm.

He doesn’t linger, though, pulls his hand away when she rests limply back against his shoulder. Her breaths are coming hard and fast and her thighs twitch. Fuck.

“God,” she mutters, turning her face into his neck. “I really hate you sometimes.”

Draco’s fingers come up to gently rub over her nipples, little sparks of pain and pleasure flooding through her. He tilts his head and presses a soft kiss to her cheek, humming against her ear.

“I know. It’s okay. Hatefucking is good, too.”