liriehaliwell wrote 'Something Worse Than A Dragon' for blaze_faula
Title: Something Worse Than A Dragon
Author: liriehaliwell
Rating: NC-17
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Check the rating before reading!
Summary: Accidentally injured during a job, Draco finds himself in the Hogwarts’ Hospital Wing, visited by a lovely redheaded Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Minds filled with troubling thoughts, pure moonlight and a certain disconcerting scent would drive the two to most unexpected outcomes.
Author's Notes: My first attempt at anything remotely NC-17-y. *hides from the tomatoes*
Beta: Jess (ie jandjsalmon, ie The Nice Mod)
Drained and haggard, he landed squarely on his shoulder with a sick crunching sound reverberating through the bruised alcoves of his body. Biting his tongue furiously and absently noting the all too familiar metallic tang washing his taste buds, he used all his will to strangle the pitiful wail of agony that threatened to rip through him. Somewhere close to him a fierce draconian wail indicated another attack and soon the draconic claws were sinking into his chest once again. Blackness trickled from the gashing wound crowning his forehead straight into his vision and soon enough he was blinking his consciousness away as the sinister shades of red foretold dangerous dreams.
And so it was that the visions took over his aching body, coiling through the dark caverns of what was eagerly kept hidden even from his own knowledge. He screamed as his body twisted and writhed painfully against the gut-wrenching tide gushing against him. His body shifted and strained in impossible angles as he found himself unable to keep afloat, being carried helplessly by the malicious currents within a river of blood-red.
He struggled against the waves, diving beneath the surface and reemerging breathless and horrified, yet with no remnants of the ghastly liquid clinging to his skin. His arms flailed about in frenzied attempts to swim to a shore he could not decipher through the putrid red smog surrounding him. Whenever he did manage to strike against whatever it was that was almost fiendishly adamant on drowning him in his own screams and futile attempts at salvation, his long eager fingers only came to grasp onto lucid wisps of crimson silk, overwhelming him with scents of apples and cinnamon and sending him under once more.
When his eyes fluttered open again, Draco found himself propped on an overly soft mount of plump cushions. A groan escaped his lips even before he commanded his brains to emanate it and he was oddly comforted by the fact that his body knew him so well. His eyes were squinting against the harsh lamplight streaming from the oil lamp to his right, while his mind was nudging the shaky cerebral gear into motion, which creaked with disgruntled protests and slowly lumbered back to work. Gradually, Draco was able to pin a name to the chamber he currently found himself in and he was relieved to discover it had no golden gates, harps or halos. He wasn’t sure he could have faced the Judgment thing they kept raving about just yet.
The familiarity of the Hospital Wing washed over him like a well-placed invisibility charm, and he tried to force his mind to shun out the gruesome images that chose that moment to come flooding back.
Him, standing in the middle of a shadowed clearing in the depths of the Forbidden Forest, finally facing the grand creature that he has been hired to track down and contain, and that managed to elude him for over a month already. Him, sensing the ever-present searing sensation of a pair of brown eyes boring into the back of his head with dreaded anticipation as the Care of Magical Creatures’ Professor waited with baited breath to assist if necessity arose. Him, being the ever arrogant, ever reckless idiot that he tended to be in the company of this redhead that ensnared his attention, and wanting to appear more dashing than his natural good looks provided. Him, swashbuckling in front of the sinister reptilian like a great ponce presuming himself a Muggle matador in front of a measly bull. Him, finally paying for his senselessness with a sharp strike to his ribs from the obviously irritated dragon as he smugly tossed the redhead another affirmation of his utter safety in the face of that creature.
Of course, he was still able to seize control over the situation relatively fast before the beast had managed to slip back into the darkness or worse, charge at his source of distraction and make a swipe at the shocked redhead. He had been a victim of a few surprise attacks, but the wounds were nothing new. The important thing was that before he passed out, the dragon was too haggard to flee and collapsed a moment after.
As the reports from all of his functioning and malfunctioning organs and limbs came trickling back, he was aware that he had escaped fairly unscathed from this incident, paying only with at least two cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a mild concussion.
He suddenly became aware of being entirely, almost inappropriately glad that the Hogwarts’ Hospital Wing was still under the iron-fist reign of the perfectly competent, albeit elderly, Madam Pomfrey. He could feel imprints of her magic coursing through his veins like healing warmth, most of his fractures already knitting together and his discomforts minimized by the potent soothing concoctions.
He moved his limbs slowly, awkwardly, testing the tender bones and their solidity. The healing seemed flawless as always and he allowed himself a sigh of relief and a whispered expression of gratitude towards the Medi-Witch’s office. There were too many times to count when after unsuccessful raids he had been treated by less than adequate healers and ended up with hideous scars to prove his numerous tales of heroism.
When Draco seriously reviewed his choice of life, he could never pinpoint the exact moment it was decided to put aside his awfully comfortable life in favor of the dangerous profession of a Dragon Tamer. He guessed there was something in the tracking down of these awesome creatures through blizzards and forests and rainstorms that was simply far more appealing than the financial security of his own lovely four-poster mahogany bed.
Somehow, thoughts of beds brought a whiff of apples and cinnamon to his mind and waves of impossibly red curls he still hasn’t managed grasp a hold of despite his countless, persistent and, at times, canny attempts. The little waif he once thought to be homely with her awful orange colors, nauseating kindness and a mouth to match a sailor’s had grown into a beauty of deep maroon shades, strong radiance of breathtaking benevolence and a mouth that would make a sailor blush.
She was a Professor here in Hogwarts and he had attempted at pursuing her the first day he had arrived back to the castle, used to members of the prettier sex swoon over the roguish charms of a raucous Tamer, making his job oh so easy. That was however, before he managed to recognize the freckles on that turned-up nose of hers for what they were - Weasley Spots.
He tried to sneer his way out of the mess with snide remarks. However the withering look she cast the less than perfect appearance of the sniping wizard shut his mouth up with a snap. Even when he cleaned himself up and tried to jibe her into an argument for memory’s sake, she proved to be a harder target than her beet-red brother. He didn’t give up that easily, though, for he found himself wondering whether those nonchalant eyes would widen ever so subtly when he made the first thrust.
It honestly started out on a whim, but as days progressed and the freely rampaging dragon he was called to restrain remained unfettered, his frustration regarding both his targets steadily ascended. It was proving to be a greater challenge than he’d encountered in the passing months, and She was proving to be a greater pain than he had ever anticipated. She was stubborn as hell as well.
“Are you expecting the wall to move, Malfoy?” a sudden soft voice carried over from the entrance, bearing traces of blunt jeer he came to recognize as well as his own voice. “If you are, I’m glad to disappoint you.”
Draco snapped out of his reverie as it was just beginning to stray in more lecherous proclivities and drew his eyes over to the redhead leaning casually against the slightly open door, only now realizing he had been staring at a wall. His lips curved easily into that half-smile half-smirk he’d developed for her sole sake and he watched her as she made her way closer and took a sit on an uncomfortable-looking visitor’s chair beside his bed.
“Have you come here to take advantage of my state and have your way with me?” He asked seriously, leaning deeper into the pillows. “Just one request… don’t be gentle.”
“If I’d come here to have my way with you, Malfoy, I would’ve came bearing a shotgun and a shovel.”
Draco barked out in a hoarse laughter and in a stroke of genius doubled over; gripping his chest and immaculately imitating pained expression. With the bandages still in place but all wounds long healed by the Medi-Witch, the picture created a perfect illusion of utter anguish ripping through the young body.
As expected from that awfully good heart of hers, Ginny dashed to his side and in an instant was holding onto his arm and pressing a hand to his chest, eyes wide with worry and fright. She skimmed his bandages for the open wounds beneath, expecting to find lesions Madam Pomfrey was unable to cure, but found none. A moment later, and the smirk playing across the lips of the vile serpent indicated to her that she’d been fooled.
Huffing in slight indignation, she pushed at him with a bit more force than necessary, aggravating the still mending shoulder in the process. Ignoring Draco’s yelp of pain, she added a smack upside the head into the mix and slumped back into the chair, one leg slung over an armrest.
“Glad to see you’re back to your horrid self.”
Cautiously rubbing the pulsating shoulder, Draco didn’t expect the slightest sympathy from the redhead across him, though it amused and appeased him to know her initial instincts to his distress. Though, with the kindness such as hers, it was nothing to admonish.
“Not quite, but I’m getting there quickly. I should be on my feet tonight.” He bit his tongue as an invitation for some celebratory extra curriculum activity almost toppled out of his mouth. He smirked at the thought of her possible reaction.
“So you’ll be leaving us tomorrow, then?”
The voice was too casual, too insipid for his own comfort, and he found a sudden buzzing disconcert settling within his stomach. “Can’t wait to get rid of me, are you?”
The pause in Ginny’s eyes and the lingering gaze taking in his face with sizzling intensity were enough to further unease his innards. There was something there that he couldn’t place, but it was blazing out of her and slowly gnawing at his own insides.
“Yes, actually,” she stated simply and a yawn escaped her lips, her whole body giving in to a languid stretch. “Your presence has been less than favorable.”
His eyes narrowed at her words and the discomfort of his shoulder was promptly forgotten. “You’re deliberately trying to annoy me. Why?”
That was the most important question. The one she’d been struggling to answer since the first time she sought him out in the library and consciously struck up an argument with him. The same question she’d been trying to answer since she felt her skin flush and stomach tauten and hands tremble, and than had to rush and plunge herself under a fierce stream of ice-cold water to purge her mind of images, thoughts and urges he inflicted onto her.
Like the urge to watch him whenever he entered the room, narrowed eyes lingering on the lithe figure and every movement he made. Like the urge to talk back whenever he spoke to her, taunted her, asked her out for a nightly stroll around the Hogwarts grounds. Like the urge to think about him right before she extinguished the lights in her room and then recoil in contempt whenever her fingers crawled beneath the band of her knickers and his name hovered on her lips.
She had never been partial towards that kind of self-satisfaction, because she never had the need. These desires were always awakened and reverently satisfied by her respectful beaus, not once creating a situation when a yearning has been spurring so long but had no possible outlet.
And there was absolutely no possible outlet as she refused to even entertain the thoughts of acting on these unsolicited feelings Draco Malfoy had managed to sow so easily.
But there she was, visiting him in the Hospital Wing so late at night, settled in a chair beside the bed with her leg audaciously thrown over the left armrest. She hadn’t done it intentionally, she assured herself, it was simply one of the most comfortable poses she found for herself. However she caught a remnant of his fleeting glance as it frittered down her stomach and saw him moisten his lips ever so absentmindedly. A sudden whiff of her own betraying musky scent was brought to her awareness and she paused guiltily, stomach constricting.
Despite a part of herself, she commanded her leg to slide down onto the floor and securely press against the other one. Becoming decidedly uncomfortable in her own wandering mind, Ginny chose to venture outside onto the shaky grounds of a conversation.
“There is nothing more satisfying than seeing your irritation.”
She saw his eyebrows cock up in surprise, and then the features carved into a smirk that only unfurled her stomach furthermore. “Potter was obviously doing something horribly wrong if you really think that.”
Ginny almost blanched at his insinuation, but managed to retrain in the last moment, responding with nothing more than a withering look.
Draco, however, didn’t seem to think her attempt at cover up as successful as she did, and instantly appeared to be awfully amused. “Come now, you know you can tell me. Was he really that bad? I wouldn’t find it in the least bit surprising, though. He probably would have no idea where to put his hands, the oaf.”
Ginny set quietly, all the while staring at him with an air of bored disbelief, as if she found his words childish and foolish. She did find his words childish and foolish, however, knowing him she wasn’t all that surprised.
“Harry’s abilities-“
“You mean their lack of?”
“-have absolutely nothing to do with you and shouldn’t interest you that much,” she responded coolly, ignoring his jeering interruption as if he was nothing but a fly. And then, just to see that vein on his forehead pop again, she added, “Unless, of course, you would like to experience them firsthand, in which case I’m afraid to disappoint you, but Harry does not swing that way.”
She didn’t even notice the actual movement until it was too late and a livid body invaded her personal space with such ferocity, her heart hitched. Grey eyes, hard and unyielding, bore into her dark shocked gaze; their noses touched at the very tips, bringing profuse awareness to the contact; his lips, curved into a furious displeasured line, were a hopeless exhale away from hers. She caught her breath, refusing to allow him to steal the air she puffed out. He felt no such precedence and a wisp of warmth brushed against her lips, almost luring a tiny gasp out.
Both arms, taut from the subtly shifting muscles, caged her tightly within his dangerous proximity as his hands clutched the armrests beside her. She was suddenly struck with the realization that hadn’t she moved her leg away; his wrist would have been grazing the inner flesh of her thigh through the fabric of her denims.
“I have never taken you as an idiot, Ginny, so you must understand that an implication such as that one practically begs to be proven wrong,” Draco finally spoke, his voice coming out in a quiet hiss.
Her stomach constricted almost unpleasantly, churning at the closeness and the meaning of said words. She found herself taking his air in, eyes skimming the strokes of silver and white within those grey orbs that darkened ominously once a gasp did escape her lips.
“I didn’t-“
“I know very well that you didn’t mean it,” he gritted out, sounding genuinely irritated. “But you must learn not to ever speak words you do not mean. Especially not in front of me.”
“I-“
He shifted his weight precautiously, knees bumping against knees, and she thought he was about to lean away when a sudden surge of a primal musky scent curled through the air around them. He froze instantly, face still hovering bare inches away from hers, and with dread-filled eyes she watched his nostrils flare as the senses heightened by years of huntsmanship drew on the telltale fragrance.
His eyelids fluttered closed and for a brief weak moment he appeared to be lost in himself, delving within the scent which boldly uttered promises one could only dare to whisper in the darkness. When he finally opened his eyes, they were greatly darker than a moment before. To her sheer dismay and perverse delight, she found his stare to be unfocussed and dilated, like that of a drunken man.
“It appears to me you have no need in measly words to get you into trouble, little Weasel,” his voice came in a warm puff against her lips, and he tilted his face downwards, an expression of helpless ruefulness on his face, drawing a lungful of the scented air. “Your body does it perfectly on its own.”
He brought a hand to her cheek, knuckles brushing a lock of red out of her face and eyes searing into the brown orbs imbedded into him, daring her to resist in face of her body’s blunt invitation. She couldn’t and with the sense of mortification looming over her, leveled his gaze with one of her own.
She had a feeling he was prodding the grounds, wishing to play a game she knew naught of its rules or how to carry them out. It was really unfair how he apparently had the right to touch her unnervingly, linger with his eyes and speak laden words, while she was reduced to nothing but a quivering shell. A quivering shell and a smell.
“You know, dragons, when mating, also emanate this strong specific scent that completely drives their spouses insane,” he said evenly, his voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t help but notice his casual usage of the word ‘also’. “Unlike humans, though, they’re instincts can never be as easily discarded or veiled. When a scent like that reaches the dragon, he would not rest, eat or sleep until the sudden hunger in him is quelled and his body is sated. Interesting, isn’t it?”
“Fascinating,” she replied, her voice almost lost due to the parchedness in her throat. “How long does it usually take him to actually do something?”
Draco’s eyes snapped away from the spot on her throat he was methodically inspecting, and pierced through the hesitant hazel coating of her experimentally daring gaze. His lips curled into a smirk while the tracing hand finally snaked behind her neck and grasped a handful of her weaving red hair, holding her head firmly in place.
“Perhaps he thinks there ought to be given a chance to back out?”
Ginny’s eyes narrowed at his words. No matter what she ever knew about Draco Malfoy, or whatever thoughts she ever dared to entertain about him, the idea that he would be considerate enough as to present a choice at a time like this had never crossed her mind. As appreciative as she was on behalf of womankind everywhere, she was beginning to grow irritated.
“Perhaps he thinks too much.”
Pushing her hands into the airy wisps of his hair, she clasped at the back of his neck and yanked his face forward with hunger she was too preoccupied to feel abashed about. Lips crashing into lips at last, she drew him closer, gripping tightly when it seemed he would lose his balance. However, he responded eagerly, lips meshing with lips and body arching in an instinctive response. His hands shot to hold onto hers as he slowly unclasped her grip at the back of his neck, and drew himself up, forcing her to arch her back and stretch upwards in order to maintain contact. Her body followed obediently and her hands slid to his stomach, raking the bare flesh at her reach.
His tongue brushed against the seam of her lips, asking for entrance that was readily granted, and she found herself being drawn steadily up to her feet. Hands slipping around his neck once again, she clung to him fiercely as he spun them around and carefully nudged her aback until her legs felt the bed behind her. Their kiss broke, eyes locked in a stormy battle neither were willing to either win or lose.
He had given her the choice again, which she refused to heed to, and when she lowered herself down onto the mattress, eyes daring him to back away, he dutifully followed her. His lips found the crane of her neck just as easily as his hands found the hem of her shirt, sliding beneath the clinging material and reveling at the smoothness of her skin against the callousness of his own. His hand brushed against the gossamer material of her brassiere, sensing the swell of her breast resting just behind the flimsy fabric, and he couldn’t help the sudden desire to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of her shoulder.
She gasped, her back arching in response, and bit hard on her lower lip as his tongue hurried to sooth the pain reverently, just before his lips and teeth and tongue moved on to torment another spot of her shivering skin. A moment later, he drew back long enough to pull her shirt over her head and dipped his head into the opulent cleavage revealed to him. Hands violently gripping onto his flesh, raking his shoulders and scratching his back in spiteful retaliation for his slow, maddening treatment, she heaved herself up, allowing his nimble fingers to rid both of them of the offensive piece of lace.
He backed away again, eyes roving intently at the two creamy globes, each crested with the most luring illusions of a strawberry. A sudden breath of air flurried between them and a moan escaped her lips at the coldness, the pink peaks hardening further right before his eyes. He leaned in again, his lips encircling one of the aching peaks while his fingers traced orbits around her bellybutton in slow, teasing motions.
He moved on top of her, the bandages chafing her and she wished there was something to be done about that, but absently remembering that he was still healing, she let go of the idea. She gasped at his touches, sinking her nails deeper into his flesh and scraping fiercer at that unblemished skin of his. When his hands and her helplessness became too much for her to bear, she held his face and brought it to her own, assaulting his lips with rage and vehemence.
His hands steadied him on both her side, but when she writhed underneath him, her legs searching for a better perch for her assault, he nudged his knee between her own, shifting his balance there. Though she relented to him, her legs clasped around his in some sudden trepidation, wishing to control his movement more but not knowing what he was capable of. He smirked against her lips and felt her sensing his amusement as she stiffened to his touch for just a second. But his tongue invaded her mouth once again, seeking her own and lingering at every laden, lingering contact. She purred into his mouth, her nails withdrawn and mind pacified into dangerous relaxation.
Using her momentarily clouded composure, he shifted the leg between hers, rubbing his thigh against her insides. Once again being overwhelmed by the scent that spiraled everything out of control - or its mere memory - he welcomed her gasp for the easier access it granted to the caverns of her mouth and brought his hand to rest at the bottom of her stomach. Apparently she had to be reminded of what she had agreed to.
He easily brushed the top button open, dragging the zipper down with jeering sluggishness, all the while his lips and tongue making her dizzy and disoriented. She felt his heart race against her chest and how the panting was finally taking a toll on him, but all that was drowned out by the overpowering fragrance that crushed her nostrils as much as his. She felt his breath hitch as he back away for a moment, resting his forehead against hers and heaving his breath in with visible difficulty. She was panting as well and the smell of her own betraying flesh was making her dizzy and lightheaded, but she was arching her back and she was suddenly hungry and he wasn’t doing anything to quell this.
One of her hands snaked on her own accord in between them and down her belly in a fervent attempt to do something, only to be held at bay by one of his. He brought that hand to his lips and fluttered a kiss on its knuckles before placing it back in touch with his skin. She scratched his chest indignantly and he plagued her mouth again, reaching in deeper and taking in everything that he could grasp.
Then, keen hands and fingers were pulling down at her denims, neither knowing which hand was whose as both wished for the attire to be off and away. Finally, with that piece of clothing dealt with and tossed aside, Ginny’s legs instinctively wrapped around his waist with her scent crushing into them with new fervor. She tightened her grip around him and found her rubbing impatiently against him, desire burning low and furiously and reverberating with angry roars of draconian nature throughout her body. He was moving too slow, doing too little, touching not nearly enough, and why on earth wasn’t he as desperate as she was, god damn it!
His lips found hers again, sensing her dissatisfaction and seeking to appease it. His hand pressed onto her stomach, pinning her back down onto the mattress and softly tutting against her lips at her intolerant behavior. She was about to grumble crossly when she felt him hook fingers into the elastic of her knickers and whisper something she couldn’t decipher. The black material gave way immediately only to be easily discarded a moment after. She couldn’t help but find it disconcerting that he would know such a charm, but a moment later all ability to ponder was taking away from her as he slipped a hand between them and prodded the copper curls there with his long fingers.
She gasped when his finger brushed along her entrance, then bit her lip shamefully in mortification when his smirk brought another wave of that primal odor to her nostrils and onto his fingers. He leaned closer to her, seizing her lips the same moment as inserting a finger into her and capturing her gasp on the tip of his tongue. A moment later another finger joined into the depth and she found herself moaning bashfully as he pressed into her, curling his fingers, drawing them out and back in with the same sluggish, maddeningly nonchalant pace he had been going at.
“Not enough!” She wanted to scream at him, crazed by his slowness and wishing to command him otherwise, but her lips only relented a laden breath, which suspiciously resembled words.
She clung her walls around his fingers and felt him insert a third finger in retribution, causing her to cry out into the darkness and impale herself more desperately onto him.
He was doing this on purpose, the prat! He was enjoying having her utterly powerless before him and he was milking the moment to the fullest. Well, it should be the other way around!
Angered and extremely brazened by this sudden realization, Ginny once again tightened both her walls and her thighs around him, and rendering him momentarily distracted, she slipped a hand into his loose hospital slacks. There, brushing her fingers against his skin, she took a hold of his cock, which was already steeled greatly and throbbing. Apparently, he wasn’t all that nonchalant after all.
A gasp escaped him and then a low groan when she tightened her grip around the shaft and slowly rubbed down its length. It jerked slightly, hardening even more in her hand when her thumb tentatively brushed against its head, drawing another groan from the blond above her as his eyes squeezed shut and he paused in his lethargic ministrations.
However, the Slytherin vengeful spirits frittered back long enough for him to seek out her clit and thumb it intently, only causing her to tighten her grip even more and arch her back again. Realizing this could very easily go on forever but overcome by the want of something more, Ginny grabbed the top of his slacks and pulled them down, urging him to take them off fast. Soon. Now.
He complied, finally unveiling some of the eagerness she’s been relaying for a while now, and crawled back on top of her the moment those pants were pooling somewhere on the floor. Now rid of its restriction, Ginny felt his cock weep onto her stomach and reached out for it again. Her attention was stolen by a kiss - searing, demanding and almost dangerously zealous. He invaded her mouth with new brutality, punishing her for her attempt to seize control of the situation but glorifying her for it as well.
She felt the weight of him on her stomach and then sensed him draw away from her lips, a hand coursing between them to place himself correctly while her hands curled around him once again. Unable to wait any longer, she bucked her hips, wishing to arch closer to him, but was pinned down again with one of his hands. He growled at her something incoherent, but nonetheless the low rumble shot straight to the small unfurling monster within the bottom of her belly, sending more waves of slick perfumed juice to gash out.
She felt his tip prod her lightly before sliding in, slowly reaching deeper than his skillful fingers could reach. She moaned and he groaned, and their bodies breathed a sigh of pent up relief. He drove himself entirely in, reveling at the intoxicated sensation of her engulfing him completely in that delicious slick warmth he still felt and smelled on his own fingers.
Her eyes widened just a little when he entered and she suddenly was bathed in a feeling of him being present everything, both within her and out in the open air. She felt him throughout her body - her stomach caving in and bursting out, her lungs combusting with the greatly needed but cruelly deprived air, the muscles of her limbs giving way in blissful lethargy. The only part on her body that seemed to be adamant on only one action, was her cleft, constricting around him as tightly as she could.
He kissed her again, smothering the whimper of protest that escaped her as he drew out, and slid into her again. And so he moved - in and out, in and out - while capturing her gasps and moans into himself and licking at the salt on her skin. She felt that the burning fire between her legs, right at his tip slipping in and out of her, was building up, uncurling, unfurling and waiting for the right moment to burst open and drive her dangerously close to the edge.
Soon enough his infuriating apathy was slipping a notch when sheen of perspiration crested his brow. His thrusts became more heated, more desperate to reach that spot that would wash over both of them with powerful brilliance. Loosing last traces of rhythm when he felt her walls begin to spasm around him, he drove in with greater force, jostling her entire body in the process. He watched her arch and writhe beneath him, his name flittering on her lips like an obscene butterfly and almost toppled over the edge.
Hand snaking between them out of sheer instinct, he sought out her clit and pinched, rubbing the nerve crux expertly with though avid, still skilled fingers. Soon, his name transferred from a gossamer butterfly to a draconic bellow and he felt her fingers dig into the sides of his thighs, leaving scarring indentations of crescents on both his sides. Her muscles clenched sporadically around him and with the last thrust, he spilled into her, and his mind only managed to grasp the feeling of her grip tightening on his pelvis and her walls milking every drop of his semen out of him.
Both panting and breathing as if the oxygen was quickly dissipating from the air around them, they bathed in each other sweat and juices. Scents of both of them were swirling through the air, filling their sated bodies with additional notions of hunger and its satisfaction.
Breathing slowly and evenly, she felt him roll off of her, placing his still wasted body close beside. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her closer to him under the cover of darkness. She curled against him, drawing the discarded blankets over their bodies for now ridiculous modesty, and rested her head on his chest.
“I never took you for a cuddler,” Ginny whispered quietly against his chest, not knowing whether he was coherent enough to hear, or even awake.
For a long moment there was silence, but she felt his chest shift beneath her head and knew that he wasn’t asleep.
“And I never took you for a human cleaver,” he responded. “I left a liaison with a dragon mostly unscathed, but now I’ll bear scars from the first time I ever laid a hand on you. Where’s the logic in that?”
She snickered, hand covering her mouth and trying to veil her amusement. “Are you implying I’m something worse than a dragon, then?”
“Not implying anything. I’m outright saying it. And I have the scars to prove it.”
“Those are only tiny scratches, Draco. You’ll live,” she smiled, placing a kiss on the soft dusting of curls on his chest. She couldn’t help the familiarity of the situation. She was sated and he was amusing.
“Yes, live long enough to get more scars,” he said, his hand raking the tangles out of her hair gently and massaging her skull. “Many more scars. Many, many more…”
She snickered again, breathing him in indulgently. Perhaps… perhaps… perhaps…
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you’d like to receive: Draco goes out of his way to get Ginny to notice him and earns himself a vist to Madam Pomfrey. Ginny goes to visit him.
The tone/mood of the fic: romance with some angst
A theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: Theme - Dragons
Canon or AU? Doesn't matter to me
Rating of the fic you want: NC-17
Deal breakers (what don’t you want) : fluff, slut!Ginny
Author: liriehaliwell
Rating: NC-17
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Check the rating before reading!
Summary: Accidentally injured during a job, Draco finds himself in the Hogwarts’ Hospital Wing, visited by a lovely redheaded Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Minds filled with troubling thoughts, pure moonlight and a certain disconcerting scent would drive the two to most unexpected outcomes.
Author's Notes: My first attempt at anything remotely NC-17-y. *hides from the tomatoes*
Beta: Jess (ie jandjsalmon, ie The Nice Mod)
Drained and haggard, he landed squarely on his shoulder with a sick crunching sound reverberating through the bruised alcoves of his body. Biting his tongue furiously and absently noting the all too familiar metallic tang washing his taste buds, he used all his will to strangle the pitiful wail of agony that threatened to rip through him. Somewhere close to him a fierce draconian wail indicated another attack and soon the draconic claws were sinking into his chest once again. Blackness trickled from the gashing wound crowning his forehead straight into his vision and soon enough he was blinking his consciousness away as the sinister shades of red foretold dangerous dreams.
And so it was that the visions took over his aching body, coiling through the dark caverns of what was eagerly kept hidden even from his own knowledge. He screamed as his body twisted and writhed painfully against the gut-wrenching tide gushing against him. His body shifted and strained in impossible angles as he found himself unable to keep afloat, being carried helplessly by the malicious currents within a river of blood-red.
He struggled against the waves, diving beneath the surface and reemerging breathless and horrified, yet with no remnants of the ghastly liquid clinging to his skin. His arms flailed about in frenzied attempts to swim to a shore he could not decipher through the putrid red smog surrounding him. Whenever he did manage to strike against whatever it was that was almost fiendishly adamant on drowning him in his own screams and futile attempts at salvation, his long eager fingers only came to grasp onto lucid wisps of crimson silk, overwhelming him with scents of apples and cinnamon and sending him under once more.
When his eyes fluttered open again, Draco found himself propped on an overly soft mount of plump cushions. A groan escaped his lips even before he commanded his brains to emanate it and he was oddly comforted by the fact that his body knew him so well. His eyes were squinting against the harsh lamplight streaming from the oil lamp to his right, while his mind was nudging the shaky cerebral gear into motion, which creaked with disgruntled protests and slowly lumbered back to work. Gradually, Draco was able to pin a name to the chamber he currently found himself in and he was relieved to discover it had no golden gates, harps or halos. He wasn’t sure he could have faced the Judgment thing they kept raving about just yet.
The familiarity of the Hospital Wing washed over him like a well-placed invisibility charm, and he tried to force his mind to shun out the gruesome images that chose that moment to come flooding back.
Him, standing in the middle of a shadowed clearing in the depths of the Forbidden Forest, finally facing the grand creature that he has been hired to track down and contain, and that managed to elude him for over a month already. Him, sensing the ever-present searing sensation of a pair of brown eyes boring into the back of his head with dreaded anticipation as the Care of Magical Creatures’ Professor waited with baited breath to assist if necessity arose. Him, being the ever arrogant, ever reckless idiot that he tended to be in the company of this redhead that ensnared his attention, and wanting to appear more dashing than his natural good looks provided. Him, swashbuckling in front of the sinister reptilian like a great ponce presuming himself a Muggle matador in front of a measly bull. Him, finally paying for his senselessness with a sharp strike to his ribs from the obviously irritated dragon as he smugly tossed the redhead another affirmation of his utter safety in the face of that creature.
Of course, he was still able to seize control over the situation relatively fast before the beast had managed to slip back into the darkness or worse, charge at his source of distraction and make a swipe at the shocked redhead. He had been a victim of a few surprise attacks, but the wounds were nothing new. The important thing was that before he passed out, the dragon was too haggard to flee and collapsed a moment after.
As the reports from all of his functioning and malfunctioning organs and limbs came trickling back, he was aware that he had escaped fairly unscathed from this incident, paying only with at least two cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a mild concussion.
He suddenly became aware of being entirely, almost inappropriately glad that the Hogwarts’ Hospital Wing was still under the iron-fist reign of the perfectly competent, albeit elderly, Madam Pomfrey. He could feel imprints of her magic coursing through his veins like healing warmth, most of his fractures already knitting together and his discomforts minimized by the potent soothing concoctions.
He moved his limbs slowly, awkwardly, testing the tender bones and their solidity. The healing seemed flawless as always and he allowed himself a sigh of relief and a whispered expression of gratitude towards the Medi-Witch’s office. There were too many times to count when after unsuccessful raids he had been treated by less than adequate healers and ended up with hideous scars to prove his numerous tales of heroism.
When Draco seriously reviewed his choice of life, he could never pinpoint the exact moment it was decided to put aside his awfully comfortable life in favor of the dangerous profession of a Dragon Tamer. He guessed there was something in the tracking down of these awesome creatures through blizzards and forests and rainstorms that was simply far more appealing than the financial security of his own lovely four-poster mahogany bed.
Somehow, thoughts of beds brought a whiff of apples and cinnamon to his mind and waves of impossibly red curls he still hasn’t managed grasp a hold of despite his countless, persistent and, at times, canny attempts. The little waif he once thought to be homely with her awful orange colors, nauseating kindness and a mouth to match a sailor’s had grown into a beauty of deep maroon shades, strong radiance of breathtaking benevolence and a mouth that would make a sailor blush.
She was a Professor here in Hogwarts and he had attempted at pursuing her the first day he had arrived back to the castle, used to members of the prettier sex swoon over the roguish charms of a raucous Tamer, making his job oh so easy. That was however, before he managed to recognize the freckles on that turned-up nose of hers for what they were - Weasley Spots.
He tried to sneer his way out of the mess with snide remarks. However the withering look she cast the less than perfect appearance of the sniping wizard shut his mouth up with a snap. Even when he cleaned himself up and tried to jibe her into an argument for memory’s sake, she proved to be a harder target than her beet-red brother. He didn’t give up that easily, though, for he found himself wondering whether those nonchalant eyes would widen ever so subtly when he made the first thrust.
It honestly started out on a whim, but as days progressed and the freely rampaging dragon he was called to restrain remained unfettered, his frustration regarding both his targets steadily ascended. It was proving to be a greater challenge than he’d encountered in the passing months, and She was proving to be a greater pain than he had ever anticipated. She was stubborn as hell as well.
“Are you expecting the wall to move, Malfoy?” a sudden soft voice carried over from the entrance, bearing traces of blunt jeer he came to recognize as well as his own voice. “If you are, I’m glad to disappoint you.”
Draco snapped out of his reverie as it was just beginning to stray in more lecherous proclivities and drew his eyes over to the redhead leaning casually against the slightly open door, only now realizing he had been staring at a wall. His lips curved easily into that half-smile half-smirk he’d developed for her sole sake and he watched her as she made her way closer and took a sit on an uncomfortable-looking visitor’s chair beside his bed.
“Have you come here to take advantage of my state and have your way with me?” He asked seriously, leaning deeper into the pillows. “Just one request… don’t be gentle.”
“If I’d come here to have my way with you, Malfoy, I would’ve came bearing a shotgun and a shovel.”
Draco barked out in a hoarse laughter and in a stroke of genius doubled over; gripping his chest and immaculately imitating pained expression. With the bandages still in place but all wounds long healed by the Medi-Witch, the picture created a perfect illusion of utter anguish ripping through the young body.
As expected from that awfully good heart of hers, Ginny dashed to his side and in an instant was holding onto his arm and pressing a hand to his chest, eyes wide with worry and fright. She skimmed his bandages for the open wounds beneath, expecting to find lesions Madam Pomfrey was unable to cure, but found none. A moment later, and the smirk playing across the lips of the vile serpent indicated to her that she’d been fooled.
Huffing in slight indignation, she pushed at him with a bit more force than necessary, aggravating the still mending shoulder in the process. Ignoring Draco’s yelp of pain, she added a smack upside the head into the mix and slumped back into the chair, one leg slung over an armrest.
“Glad to see you’re back to your horrid self.”
Cautiously rubbing the pulsating shoulder, Draco didn’t expect the slightest sympathy from the redhead across him, though it amused and appeased him to know her initial instincts to his distress. Though, with the kindness such as hers, it was nothing to admonish.
“Not quite, but I’m getting there quickly. I should be on my feet tonight.” He bit his tongue as an invitation for some celebratory extra curriculum activity almost toppled out of his mouth. He smirked at the thought of her possible reaction.
“So you’ll be leaving us tomorrow, then?”
The voice was too casual, too insipid for his own comfort, and he found a sudden buzzing disconcert settling within his stomach. “Can’t wait to get rid of me, are you?”
The pause in Ginny’s eyes and the lingering gaze taking in his face with sizzling intensity were enough to further unease his innards. There was something there that he couldn’t place, but it was blazing out of her and slowly gnawing at his own insides.
“Yes, actually,” she stated simply and a yawn escaped her lips, her whole body giving in to a languid stretch. “Your presence has been less than favorable.”
His eyes narrowed at her words and the discomfort of his shoulder was promptly forgotten. “You’re deliberately trying to annoy me. Why?”
That was the most important question. The one she’d been struggling to answer since the first time she sought him out in the library and consciously struck up an argument with him. The same question she’d been trying to answer since she felt her skin flush and stomach tauten and hands tremble, and than had to rush and plunge herself under a fierce stream of ice-cold water to purge her mind of images, thoughts and urges he inflicted onto her.
Like the urge to watch him whenever he entered the room, narrowed eyes lingering on the lithe figure and every movement he made. Like the urge to talk back whenever he spoke to her, taunted her, asked her out for a nightly stroll around the Hogwarts grounds. Like the urge to think about him right before she extinguished the lights in her room and then recoil in contempt whenever her fingers crawled beneath the band of her knickers and his name hovered on her lips.
She had never been partial towards that kind of self-satisfaction, because she never had the need. These desires were always awakened and reverently satisfied by her respectful beaus, not once creating a situation when a yearning has been spurring so long but had no possible outlet.
And there was absolutely no possible outlet as she refused to even entertain the thoughts of acting on these unsolicited feelings Draco Malfoy had managed to sow so easily.
But there she was, visiting him in the Hospital Wing so late at night, settled in a chair beside the bed with her leg audaciously thrown over the left armrest. She hadn’t done it intentionally, she assured herself, it was simply one of the most comfortable poses she found for herself. However she caught a remnant of his fleeting glance as it frittered down her stomach and saw him moisten his lips ever so absentmindedly. A sudden whiff of her own betraying musky scent was brought to her awareness and she paused guiltily, stomach constricting.
Despite a part of herself, she commanded her leg to slide down onto the floor and securely press against the other one. Becoming decidedly uncomfortable in her own wandering mind, Ginny chose to venture outside onto the shaky grounds of a conversation.
“There is nothing more satisfying than seeing your irritation.”
She saw his eyebrows cock up in surprise, and then the features carved into a smirk that only unfurled her stomach furthermore. “Potter was obviously doing something horribly wrong if you really think that.”
Ginny almost blanched at his insinuation, but managed to retrain in the last moment, responding with nothing more than a withering look.
Draco, however, didn’t seem to think her attempt at cover up as successful as she did, and instantly appeared to be awfully amused. “Come now, you know you can tell me. Was he really that bad? I wouldn’t find it in the least bit surprising, though. He probably would have no idea where to put his hands, the oaf.”
Ginny set quietly, all the while staring at him with an air of bored disbelief, as if she found his words childish and foolish. She did find his words childish and foolish, however, knowing him she wasn’t all that surprised.
“Harry’s abilities-“
“You mean their lack of?”
“-have absolutely nothing to do with you and shouldn’t interest you that much,” she responded coolly, ignoring his jeering interruption as if he was nothing but a fly. And then, just to see that vein on his forehead pop again, she added, “Unless, of course, you would like to experience them firsthand, in which case I’m afraid to disappoint you, but Harry does not swing that way.”
She didn’t even notice the actual movement until it was too late and a livid body invaded her personal space with such ferocity, her heart hitched. Grey eyes, hard and unyielding, bore into her dark shocked gaze; their noses touched at the very tips, bringing profuse awareness to the contact; his lips, curved into a furious displeasured line, were a hopeless exhale away from hers. She caught her breath, refusing to allow him to steal the air she puffed out. He felt no such precedence and a wisp of warmth brushed against her lips, almost luring a tiny gasp out.
Both arms, taut from the subtly shifting muscles, caged her tightly within his dangerous proximity as his hands clutched the armrests beside her. She was suddenly struck with the realization that hadn’t she moved her leg away; his wrist would have been grazing the inner flesh of her thigh through the fabric of her denims.
“I have never taken you as an idiot, Ginny, so you must understand that an implication such as that one practically begs to be proven wrong,” Draco finally spoke, his voice coming out in a quiet hiss.
Her stomach constricted almost unpleasantly, churning at the closeness and the meaning of said words. She found herself taking his air in, eyes skimming the strokes of silver and white within those grey orbs that darkened ominously once a gasp did escape her lips.
“I didn’t-“
“I know very well that you didn’t mean it,” he gritted out, sounding genuinely irritated. “But you must learn not to ever speak words you do not mean. Especially not in front of me.”
“I-“
He shifted his weight precautiously, knees bumping against knees, and she thought he was about to lean away when a sudden surge of a primal musky scent curled through the air around them. He froze instantly, face still hovering bare inches away from hers, and with dread-filled eyes she watched his nostrils flare as the senses heightened by years of huntsmanship drew on the telltale fragrance.
His eyelids fluttered closed and for a brief weak moment he appeared to be lost in himself, delving within the scent which boldly uttered promises one could only dare to whisper in the darkness. When he finally opened his eyes, they were greatly darker than a moment before. To her sheer dismay and perverse delight, she found his stare to be unfocussed and dilated, like that of a drunken man.
“It appears to me you have no need in measly words to get you into trouble, little Weasel,” his voice came in a warm puff against her lips, and he tilted his face downwards, an expression of helpless ruefulness on his face, drawing a lungful of the scented air. “Your body does it perfectly on its own.”
He brought a hand to her cheek, knuckles brushing a lock of red out of her face and eyes searing into the brown orbs imbedded into him, daring her to resist in face of her body’s blunt invitation. She couldn’t and with the sense of mortification looming over her, leveled his gaze with one of her own.
She had a feeling he was prodding the grounds, wishing to play a game she knew naught of its rules or how to carry them out. It was really unfair how he apparently had the right to touch her unnervingly, linger with his eyes and speak laden words, while she was reduced to nothing but a quivering shell. A quivering shell and a smell.
“You know, dragons, when mating, also emanate this strong specific scent that completely drives their spouses insane,” he said evenly, his voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t help but notice his casual usage of the word ‘also’. “Unlike humans, though, they’re instincts can never be as easily discarded or veiled. When a scent like that reaches the dragon, he would not rest, eat or sleep until the sudden hunger in him is quelled and his body is sated. Interesting, isn’t it?”
“Fascinating,” she replied, her voice almost lost due to the parchedness in her throat. “How long does it usually take him to actually do something?”
Draco’s eyes snapped away from the spot on her throat he was methodically inspecting, and pierced through the hesitant hazel coating of her experimentally daring gaze. His lips curled into a smirk while the tracing hand finally snaked behind her neck and grasped a handful of her weaving red hair, holding her head firmly in place.
“Perhaps he thinks there ought to be given a chance to back out?”
Ginny’s eyes narrowed at his words. No matter what she ever knew about Draco Malfoy, or whatever thoughts she ever dared to entertain about him, the idea that he would be considerate enough as to present a choice at a time like this had never crossed her mind. As appreciative as she was on behalf of womankind everywhere, she was beginning to grow irritated.
“Perhaps he thinks too much.”
Pushing her hands into the airy wisps of his hair, she clasped at the back of his neck and yanked his face forward with hunger she was too preoccupied to feel abashed about. Lips crashing into lips at last, she drew him closer, gripping tightly when it seemed he would lose his balance. However, he responded eagerly, lips meshing with lips and body arching in an instinctive response. His hands shot to hold onto hers as he slowly unclasped her grip at the back of his neck, and drew himself up, forcing her to arch her back and stretch upwards in order to maintain contact. Her body followed obediently and her hands slid to his stomach, raking the bare flesh at her reach.
His tongue brushed against the seam of her lips, asking for entrance that was readily granted, and she found herself being drawn steadily up to her feet. Hands slipping around his neck once again, she clung to him fiercely as he spun them around and carefully nudged her aback until her legs felt the bed behind her. Their kiss broke, eyes locked in a stormy battle neither were willing to either win or lose.
He had given her the choice again, which she refused to heed to, and when she lowered herself down onto the mattress, eyes daring him to back away, he dutifully followed her. His lips found the crane of her neck just as easily as his hands found the hem of her shirt, sliding beneath the clinging material and reveling at the smoothness of her skin against the callousness of his own. His hand brushed against the gossamer material of her brassiere, sensing the swell of her breast resting just behind the flimsy fabric, and he couldn’t help the sudden desire to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of her shoulder.
She gasped, her back arching in response, and bit hard on her lower lip as his tongue hurried to sooth the pain reverently, just before his lips and teeth and tongue moved on to torment another spot of her shivering skin. A moment later, he drew back long enough to pull her shirt over her head and dipped his head into the opulent cleavage revealed to him. Hands violently gripping onto his flesh, raking his shoulders and scratching his back in spiteful retaliation for his slow, maddening treatment, she heaved herself up, allowing his nimble fingers to rid both of them of the offensive piece of lace.
He backed away again, eyes roving intently at the two creamy globes, each crested with the most luring illusions of a strawberry. A sudden breath of air flurried between them and a moan escaped her lips at the coldness, the pink peaks hardening further right before his eyes. He leaned in again, his lips encircling one of the aching peaks while his fingers traced orbits around her bellybutton in slow, teasing motions.
He moved on top of her, the bandages chafing her and she wished there was something to be done about that, but absently remembering that he was still healing, she let go of the idea. She gasped at his touches, sinking her nails deeper into his flesh and scraping fiercer at that unblemished skin of his. When his hands and her helplessness became too much for her to bear, she held his face and brought it to her own, assaulting his lips with rage and vehemence.
His hands steadied him on both her side, but when she writhed underneath him, her legs searching for a better perch for her assault, he nudged his knee between her own, shifting his balance there. Though she relented to him, her legs clasped around his in some sudden trepidation, wishing to control his movement more but not knowing what he was capable of. He smirked against her lips and felt her sensing his amusement as she stiffened to his touch for just a second. But his tongue invaded her mouth once again, seeking her own and lingering at every laden, lingering contact. She purred into his mouth, her nails withdrawn and mind pacified into dangerous relaxation.
Using her momentarily clouded composure, he shifted the leg between hers, rubbing his thigh against her insides. Once again being overwhelmed by the scent that spiraled everything out of control - or its mere memory - he welcomed her gasp for the easier access it granted to the caverns of her mouth and brought his hand to rest at the bottom of her stomach. Apparently she had to be reminded of what she had agreed to.
He easily brushed the top button open, dragging the zipper down with jeering sluggishness, all the while his lips and tongue making her dizzy and disoriented. She felt his heart race against her chest and how the panting was finally taking a toll on him, but all that was drowned out by the overpowering fragrance that crushed her nostrils as much as his. She felt his breath hitch as he back away for a moment, resting his forehead against hers and heaving his breath in with visible difficulty. She was panting as well and the smell of her own betraying flesh was making her dizzy and lightheaded, but she was arching her back and she was suddenly hungry and he wasn’t doing anything to quell this.
One of her hands snaked on her own accord in between them and down her belly in a fervent attempt to do something, only to be held at bay by one of his. He brought that hand to his lips and fluttered a kiss on its knuckles before placing it back in touch with his skin. She scratched his chest indignantly and he plagued her mouth again, reaching in deeper and taking in everything that he could grasp.
Then, keen hands and fingers were pulling down at her denims, neither knowing which hand was whose as both wished for the attire to be off and away. Finally, with that piece of clothing dealt with and tossed aside, Ginny’s legs instinctively wrapped around his waist with her scent crushing into them with new fervor. She tightened her grip around him and found her rubbing impatiently against him, desire burning low and furiously and reverberating with angry roars of draconian nature throughout her body. He was moving too slow, doing too little, touching not nearly enough, and why on earth wasn’t he as desperate as she was, god damn it!
His lips found hers again, sensing her dissatisfaction and seeking to appease it. His hand pressed onto her stomach, pinning her back down onto the mattress and softly tutting against her lips at her intolerant behavior. She was about to grumble crossly when she felt him hook fingers into the elastic of her knickers and whisper something she couldn’t decipher. The black material gave way immediately only to be easily discarded a moment after. She couldn’t help but find it disconcerting that he would know such a charm, but a moment later all ability to ponder was taking away from her as he slipped a hand between them and prodded the copper curls there with his long fingers.
She gasped when his finger brushed along her entrance, then bit her lip shamefully in mortification when his smirk brought another wave of that primal odor to her nostrils and onto his fingers. He leaned closer to her, seizing her lips the same moment as inserting a finger into her and capturing her gasp on the tip of his tongue. A moment later another finger joined into the depth and she found herself moaning bashfully as he pressed into her, curling his fingers, drawing them out and back in with the same sluggish, maddeningly nonchalant pace he had been going at.
“Not enough!” She wanted to scream at him, crazed by his slowness and wishing to command him otherwise, but her lips only relented a laden breath, which suspiciously resembled words.
She clung her walls around his fingers and felt him insert a third finger in retribution, causing her to cry out into the darkness and impale herself more desperately onto him.
He was doing this on purpose, the prat! He was enjoying having her utterly powerless before him and he was milking the moment to the fullest. Well, it should be the other way around!
Angered and extremely brazened by this sudden realization, Ginny once again tightened both her walls and her thighs around him, and rendering him momentarily distracted, she slipped a hand into his loose hospital slacks. There, brushing her fingers against his skin, she took a hold of his cock, which was already steeled greatly and throbbing. Apparently, he wasn’t all that nonchalant after all.
A gasp escaped him and then a low groan when she tightened her grip around the shaft and slowly rubbed down its length. It jerked slightly, hardening even more in her hand when her thumb tentatively brushed against its head, drawing another groan from the blond above her as his eyes squeezed shut and he paused in his lethargic ministrations.
However, the Slytherin vengeful spirits frittered back long enough for him to seek out her clit and thumb it intently, only causing her to tighten her grip even more and arch her back again. Realizing this could very easily go on forever but overcome by the want of something more, Ginny grabbed the top of his slacks and pulled them down, urging him to take them off fast. Soon. Now.
He complied, finally unveiling some of the eagerness she’s been relaying for a while now, and crawled back on top of her the moment those pants were pooling somewhere on the floor. Now rid of its restriction, Ginny felt his cock weep onto her stomach and reached out for it again. Her attention was stolen by a kiss - searing, demanding and almost dangerously zealous. He invaded her mouth with new brutality, punishing her for her attempt to seize control of the situation but glorifying her for it as well.
She felt the weight of him on her stomach and then sensed him draw away from her lips, a hand coursing between them to place himself correctly while her hands curled around him once again. Unable to wait any longer, she bucked her hips, wishing to arch closer to him, but was pinned down again with one of his hands. He growled at her something incoherent, but nonetheless the low rumble shot straight to the small unfurling monster within the bottom of her belly, sending more waves of slick perfumed juice to gash out.
She felt his tip prod her lightly before sliding in, slowly reaching deeper than his skillful fingers could reach. She moaned and he groaned, and their bodies breathed a sigh of pent up relief. He drove himself entirely in, reveling at the intoxicated sensation of her engulfing him completely in that delicious slick warmth he still felt and smelled on his own fingers.
Her eyes widened just a little when he entered and she suddenly was bathed in a feeling of him being present everything, both within her and out in the open air. She felt him throughout her body - her stomach caving in and bursting out, her lungs combusting with the greatly needed but cruelly deprived air, the muscles of her limbs giving way in blissful lethargy. The only part on her body that seemed to be adamant on only one action, was her cleft, constricting around him as tightly as she could.
He kissed her again, smothering the whimper of protest that escaped her as he drew out, and slid into her again. And so he moved - in and out, in and out - while capturing her gasps and moans into himself and licking at the salt on her skin. She felt that the burning fire between her legs, right at his tip slipping in and out of her, was building up, uncurling, unfurling and waiting for the right moment to burst open and drive her dangerously close to the edge.
Soon enough his infuriating apathy was slipping a notch when sheen of perspiration crested his brow. His thrusts became more heated, more desperate to reach that spot that would wash over both of them with powerful brilliance. Loosing last traces of rhythm when he felt her walls begin to spasm around him, he drove in with greater force, jostling her entire body in the process. He watched her arch and writhe beneath him, his name flittering on her lips like an obscene butterfly and almost toppled over the edge.
Hand snaking between them out of sheer instinct, he sought out her clit and pinched, rubbing the nerve crux expertly with though avid, still skilled fingers. Soon, his name transferred from a gossamer butterfly to a draconic bellow and he felt her fingers dig into the sides of his thighs, leaving scarring indentations of crescents on both his sides. Her muscles clenched sporadically around him and with the last thrust, he spilled into her, and his mind only managed to grasp the feeling of her grip tightening on his pelvis and her walls milking every drop of his semen out of him.
Both panting and breathing as if the oxygen was quickly dissipating from the air around them, they bathed in each other sweat and juices. Scents of both of them were swirling through the air, filling their sated bodies with additional notions of hunger and its satisfaction.
Breathing slowly and evenly, she felt him roll off of her, placing his still wasted body close beside. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her closer to him under the cover of darkness. She curled against him, drawing the discarded blankets over their bodies for now ridiculous modesty, and rested her head on his chest.
“I never took you for a cuddler,” Ginny whispered quietly against his chest, not knowing whether he was coherent enough to hear, or even awake.
For a long moment there was silence, but she felt his chest shift beneath her head and knew that he wasn’t asleep.
“And I never took you for a human cleaver,” he responded. “I left a liaison with a dragon mostly unscathed, but now I’ll bear scars from the first time I ever laid a hand on you. Where’s the logic in that?”
She snickered, hand covering her mouth and trying to veil her amusement. “Are you implying I’m something worse than a dragon, then?”
“Not implying anything. I’m outright saying it. And I have the scars to prove it.”
“Those are only tiny scratches, Draco. You’ll live,” she smiled, placing a kiss on the soft dusting of curls on his chest. She couldn’t help the familiarity of the situation. She was sated and he was amusing.
“Yes, live long enough to get more scars,” he said, his hand raking the tangles out of her hair gently and massaging her skull. “Many more scars. Many, many more…”
She snickered again, breathing him in indulgently. Perhaps… perhaps… perhaps…
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you’d like to receive: Draco goes out of his way to get Ginny to notice him and earns himself a vist to Madam Pomfrey. Ginny goes to visit him.
The tone/mood of the fic: romance with some angst
A theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: Theme - Dragons
Canon or AU? Doesn't matter to me
Rating of the fic you want: NC-17
Deal breakers (what don’t you want) : fluff, slut!Ginny