Fic: Make A Memory
So. This is my first time contributing to this community, and I wanted to share a fic with you, something I did back in October, but I'd like some feedback on it because I posted this originally at Pureblood and it didn't get many reads. I would love feedback and constructive criticism, because let's face it, I'm a shameless review whore. :D
Title: Make A Memory
Author:
fly_chickadee
Rating: Definitely M for sexual content. (Rated "Lasvicious" on Pureblood.)
Category: Romance, Drama/Angst.
Summary: When the course of your life hangs in the balance, are you going to be brave enough to go after what you've always really wanted? Hermione plans on finding out.
Notes: Songfic based on Bon Jovi's 'Make A Memory.' Don't look at me like that. I like song-fics. XD
***
She's not even sure what she's doing. It's like her feet have a mind of their own, as they lead her down the dark halls through the castle, towards the Slytherin dungeons. Curiously, her brain is quiet. Empty. She is aware that there should be so much going through her head right now, but as she struggles to find the words that can stop her from doing what she's going to do, they aren't coming.
In less than forty-eight hours she is going to be leaving her second home, for the very last time, before the start of her journey to find the remaining Horcruxes and ultimately destroy Voldemort. Many are unaware that she is not coming back. And this is why she has to do this...her one last chance to be truly happy, in case...in case...
She doesn't even want to dwell on the possibility.
She reaches the dank dungeons, the darkness enveloping her, the chill seeping down the back of her light cloak. Whispering the passwords that will allow her entrance, she makes her way towards his room, and with unusual catlike grace, slips inside and moves slowly up to his bed.
Her heart leaps into her throat when she realizes that he isn't there, and she bites on her lip, unsure of what to do. She hadn't planned for this.
Hello again, it's you and me
Kinda always like it always used to be
Sipping wine, killing time
Trying to solve life's mysteries
How's your life, it's been a while
God it's good to see you smile
I see you reaching for your keys
Looking for a reason not to leave
A noise behind her makes her whip around, fear creeping into her body at the possibility of being caught.
A tall shadow stands there, just out of her line of vision, standing still. Then he takes a step forward, illuminated by the moonlight streaming into the room through the window.
"I've been expecting you," he says.
"Really," she replied, trying for an air of disinterest, like it's normal for her to sneak into a Slytherin prefect's bedroom every night of the week.
"I didn't think you would actually do it," he says.
She can't pretend she doesn't want to be here. "How did you know I wanted to be here?"
"Just a hunch." He crosses the room to her, and pulls her into the moonlight with him, then tips her chin up to look her straight in the eye.
"I'm not promising you anything...Hermione," he says slowly, seriously.
"I don't want promises...Draco," she replies. "I just want now."
With that, he lowers his lips to hers and kisses her softly at first, as her arms come up to twine around his neck, with his hands split between the small of her back and curled into her hair. She sinks into how perfect this feels, how much she wants it. He traces the curve of her lips with his tongue, and slowly delves inside, plundering the sweet cavern of her mouth.
If you don't know if you should stay
If you don't say what's on your mind
Baby just breathe
There's no where else tonight we should be
You want to make a memory
He is quite skilled, as his hands begin to trace the contours of her body, gliding a hand down her hip, across her back, and then coming up to linger on her breasts as he unfastens the cloak and drops it to the floor. A sharp intake of breath lets her know that her choice of apparel was exactly right.
Even now, she feels ridiculous, like a little girl dressed up in an adult's clothing, as she follows his gaze across the silky black fabric, that hits at mid-thigh, leaving a fair amount to the imagination. She had bought it at a Muggle shop in London during the summer, an impulse buy, really, because Hermione Granger simply did not wear things like...that. But she fell in love with the way it caressed her curves, and made her look desirable for once in her life.
It is a simple black top, barely there straps, and a cut so low she has to resist the urge to cover herself. It ripples over her torso and hips, and she likes the way it feels on her skin.
His eyes darken from that silvery grey to almost pewter, the desire in his eyes (not to mention pants) quite evident. He deftly, but slowly peels off the top, as he whispers in her ear.
"As much as I would love to see you...model this for me, I think it's quite time we put this aside, don't you think?"
She moans slightly at the husky quality of his voice. With trembling fingers, she slides her hands underneath his plain short-sleeved shirt, and lightly scratches her nails down his torso, as he groans.
"Have to play fair, now..." she says lightly, as she drops his shirt to the floors and remains her perusal of the muscled contours of his body. All those years of Quidditch have been good to him, with his defined biceps and chiseled abdominals. Oh, to coin a Muggle phrase...he has the best six pack she had ever seen. Not that she has seen many, besides the occasional Harry or Ron moment where they peeled off their shirts on a hot day. Draco is different. His alabaster skin is flawless, except for a deep scar on his shoulder blade, that she traces with her fingertips.
They stand, pressed together in an intimate embrace, kissing deeply, but upping the intensity, as she revels in the feel of his skin against hers, the feel of them pressed together, chest to chest, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder.
I dug up this old photograph
Look at all that hair we had
It's bittersweet to hear you laugh
Your phone is ringing I don't want to ask
She shifts slightly, so she can feel herself pressed against his prominent arousal. She slides a hand down to his boxer shorts, in the same silky material of her garments. Tentatively she cups his erection, rubbing it slightly, gently, though the fabric. He breaks their kiss, his breathing ragged.
"Before...we go on, are you...sure?" he asks, looking at her intently.
If you don't know I'll understand
If you stay, hey, I've got a plan
"I told you, I want this. You don't know how badly I do," she gasps, as he traces his lips along her collarbone.
"I think I do," he murmurs, the vibrations sending shivers along her spine.
She arches into his mouth, a slow, steady ache forming in her core and working its way through her body. He continues his ministrations across her shoulder, to that sensitive spot below her ear at her neck, over her pulse point, and down lower, to her breasts. He drags a thumb agonizingly slow across her nipple, watching it pucker even more, then bends down to take a taste, sucking and nibbling gently.
She closes her eyes and moans in ecstasy. the sheer pleasure flowing through her body right now is like molten lava, slow and hot and heavy and oh-so-delicious. She feels her knees start to buckle and she tightens her hold instinctively around his neck when, with a sudden show of chivalry, he lifts her easily into his arms and unceremoniously dumps her on his rumpled sheets, just to ease the tension that's hanging in the room. She giggles, albeit nervously, and he gives her that trademark Malfoy womanizing smirk, oh, the one's that so sexy and if it were possible, her knickers would be melting off of her as she thought.
Leaning back, curling into the sheets, she notices that they smell like a combination of utter masculinity, grass from the Quidditch pitch, and lemon verbena, an oddly contrasting feminine scent from the laundry soap, and it's so undeniably Draco that she wants to bury her head in the sheets and she thinks she would be so happy if she never had to move again.
He looks at her, those chestnut waves cascading over his pillows, those dark eyes staring into his own, and can barely swallow at how beautiful she looks right now. How much she looks likes she belongs there. But she's his, for tonight, and he's going to refuse to think, even if it kills him, because he wants to make the most out of this.
She's wriggling in torture as he continues his skillful ministrations on her breasts, playing and licking her nipples, and then he starts his path down her torso, licking over he ribcage, placing kisses across her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel and a zing of pleasure goes straight south, where it vibrates happily, and she's only getting wetter as he moves so slowly.
He's currently laving attention on her hip, and toying with the hem of her knickers when she decides she's sick of waiting and wants right now, so she grabs him with surprising force and flips him over, onto his back, where she proceeds to kiss him thoroughly, biting his lips, and then shimmying down his body where she roughly yanks at his boxers and pulls them down over his legs and flings them off into somewhere (he never does find them) and before he knows it, she has him at her mercy and in the warm, moist cavern he calls her mouth, where her lips and tongue are doing things he'd never imagine prim and proper Hermione Granger knowing how to do. Her soft hands roam up and down his shaft, and her tongue swirls along the head of his cock, and he shudders when she starts to suck ever so gently, putting him through the same exquisite torture he put her through.
"Faster, oh, Merlin," he breathes, as he entangles his nimble fingers in her long hair, impatiently pushing her head down, and she obliges, increasing her pace and pressure, until she can start to feel the moisture coming, and she doesn't want him to release--yet. Reluctantly, she moves away, much to his moans of disappointment, and stands up.
His eyes dart open, and he says, "Where are you going?"
"I think I have a slight problem," she replies. "I'm wearing far too many clothes," which is ironic because all she has left on are a pair of lace boy-short knickers that don't leave anything to the imagination.
"Let me do the honours," he says, and kneeling before her on the bed, he grabs the edge of knickers with his teeth and pulls them down expertly. He can see just how aroused and ready for him she is, as he tosses the knickers onto the floor and pulls her back on the bed again. He begins those tortuous kisses dipping closer and closer to her nether regions, and she cannot suppress her shaking. She can barely feel her legs and doesn't think she could support herself right now, as he props himself up on one elbow, and looking into her eyes, slides a finger into her.
She gasps at the sudden invasion as he strokes with infinite care, and she moans, closing her eyes because she can barely take the tension. She breathes his name, "Draco," and her panting is making him so hard it's hard to concentrate and he wants to just lose himself in her but no, he has to take it slow, make it last. He slips a thumb to the sensitive bud and she wriggles some more, as she starts to reach her peak, and she doesn't think it can get any better until he uses that wonderfully wicked tongue of his to fuck her sensually. He can taste her now, a unique blend of vanilla and berries, probably from some Muggle soap she favours, and it's like the nectar of the gods, as he laps at her. With a last circle around her clit, he backs up and she cries out in dismay.
Her eyes unfocused, she tries to pull him back, but he positions himself above her, and tilts her hips up. Muttering a few spells, he ever-so-slowly touches the head of his cock to her slick opening.
If you don't know if you should stay
If you don't say what's on your mind
Baby just breathe
There's nowhere else tonight we should be
You want to make a memory
She gasps at the slight stimulation, sparks zinging through her body. He eases in but out of nervousness or inexperience, she tenses, and he looks at her.
"Relax," he says quietly, placing a rough but gentle hand to her face, curving around her jaw and cheek. She licks her lips and relaxes, and in one swift movement he slides into her and she purrs at how good it feels, how right it is.
He loves how she's looking at him, with those deep brown eyes, her lashes laying demurely against her pale skin when she blinks. Yet she's such a study in contrast: her hair in disarray, her legs spread wantonly, the lust in her expression. He growls and starts to thrust, and tries to go slow, but he can't.
She wraps those long legs around his waist, hooking her ankles, and throws her arms over his shoulders. She whispers coyly in his ear, "Drive me crazy," and being a gentleman, he can never refuse a lady's request.
His thrusting grows faster and more erratic, as his cock slides back and forth creating almost unbearable tension against the slick passage of her cunt. Her breath is coming in short pants and he can barely breathe at all as the sensations become so intense. He doesn't want to come without her, and so he waits (with all the restraint he can find) until her muscles clench against him, and her climax engulfs her, as she cries out his name and moans in ecstasy. He pulls her closer, pushing himself as deep as possible, and his release finally comes, spilling into her. This elicits some of the sexiest moans he has ever heard, as he leans down to softly kiss that delectable mouth.
They lay there for a few minutes, and as she cradles her head in his shoulder, she feels tears leak out of the corner of her eyes. Before she can wipe them away, they drip onto the smooth skin, warm and salty.
He realizes that she's crying, and pulls back. Somehow he knows why she's crying and he she looks embarrassed as she turns her head to hide her eyes. Reaching a thumb up to her face, he carefully wipes away her tears, feeling that it's such a shame she looks so beautiful when she cries.
"I told you I couldn't promise anything," he says, as he slowly removes himself from her body, and covers them both with the blankets when her skin erupts in goosebumps.
"I told you I didn't expect you to. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."
If you don't know if you should stay
If you don't say what's on your mind
Baby just breathe
There's no where else tonight we should be
You want to make a memory
Oh, if he had any idea how true that was going to have to be soon. She got up to leave, when an arm curled around her waist.
"Where are you going?" he asks, sleepy in the post-coital glow.
"Back..." she starts, but he covers her lips with a finger.
"Stay the night," he asks, and that's all the invitation she needs. The temptation she could pass on, but for one more night, she wants the kind of dreamless contented sleep that one cannot achieve from taking any kind of potion. So she tries not to think as she curls up next to his warm, muscled body and places her head on his chest, letting the steady thumps of his heartbeat lull her to sleep.
Her only regret is that she'll have to kill him, the only boy she's ever loved.
Fortunately for him, he doesn't need to know that.
Yet.
***
Reviews = <3. Don't make me beg. :)
Title: Make A Memory
Author:
fly_chickadee
Rating: Definitely M for sexual content. (Rated "Lasvicious" on Pureblood.)
Category: Romance, Drama/Angst.
Summary: When the course of your life hangs in the balance, are you going to be brave enough to go after what you've always really wanted? Hermione plans on finding out.
Notes: Songfic based on Bon Jovi's 'Make A Memory.' Don't look at me like that. I like song-fics. XD
***
She's not even sure what she's doing. It's like her feet have a mind of their own, as they lead her down the dark halls through the castle, towards the Slytherin dungeons. Curiously, her brain is quiet. Empty. She is aware that there should be so much going through her head right now, but as she struggles to find the words that can stop her from doing what she's going to do, they aren't coming.
In less than forty-eight hours she is going to be leaving her second home, for the very last time, before the start of her journey to find the remaining Horcruxes and ultimately destroy Voldemort. Many are unaware that she is not coming back. And this is why she has to do this...her one last chance to be truly happy, in case...in case...
She doesn't even want to dwell on the possibility.
She reaches the dank dungeons, the darkness enveloping her, the chill seeping down the back of her light cloak. Whispering the passwords that will allow her entrance, she makes her way towards his room, and with unusual catlike grace, slips inside and moves slowly up to his bed.
Her heart leaps into her throat when she realizes that he isn't there, and she bites on her lip, unsure of what to do. She hadn't planned for this.
Hello again, it's you and me
Kinda always like it always used to be
Sipping wine, killing time
Trying to solve life's mysteries
How's your life, it's been a while
God it's good to see you smile
I see you reaching for your keys
Looking for a reason not to leave
A noise behind her makes her whip around, fear creeping into her body at the possibility of being caught.
A tall shadow stands there, just out of her line of vision, standing still. Then he takes a step forward, illuminated by the moonlight streaming into the room through the window.
"I've been expecting you," he says.
"Really," she replied, trying for an air of disinterest, like it's normal for her to sneak into a Slytherin prefect's bedroom every night of the week.
"I didn't think you would actually do it," he says.
She can't pretend she doesn't want to be here. "How did you know I wanted to be here?"
"Just a hunch." He crosses the room to her, and pulls her into the moonlight with him, then tips her chin up to look her straight in the eye.
"I'm not promising you anything...Hermione," he says slowly, seriously.
"I don't want promises...Draco," she replies. "I just want now."
With that, he lowers his lips to hers and kisses her softly at first, as her arms come up to twine around his neck, with his hands split between the small of her back and curled into her hair. She sinks into how perfect this feels, how much she wants it. He traces the curve of her lips with his tongue, and slowly delves inside, plundering the sweet cavern of her mouth.
If you don't know if you should stay
If you don't say what's on your mind
Baby just breathe
There's no where else tonight we should be
You want to make a memory
He is quite skilled, as his hands begin to trace the contours of her body, gliding a hand down her hip, across her back, and then coming up to linger on her breasts as he unfastens the cloak and drops it to the floor. A sharp intake of breath lets her know that her choice of apparel was exactly right.
Even now, she feels ridiculous, like a little girl dressed up in an adult's clothing, as she follows his gaze across the silky black fabric, that hits at mid-thigh, leaving a fair amount to the imagination. She had bought it at a Muggle shop in London during the summer, an impulse buy, really, because Hermione Granger simply did not wear things like...that. But she fell in love with the way it caressed her curves, and made her look desirable for once in her life.
It is a simple black top, barely there straps, and a cut so low she has to resist the urge to cover herself. It ripples over her torso and hips, and she likes the way it feels on her skin.
His eyes darken from that silvery grey to almost pewter, the desire in his eyes (not to mention pants) quite evident. He deftly, but slowly peels off the top, as he whispers in her ear.
"As much as I would love to see you...model this for me, I think it's quite time we put this aside, don't you think?"
She moans slightly at the husky quality of his voice. With trembling fingers, she slides her hands underneath his plain short-sleeved shirt, and lightly scratches her nails down his torso, as he groans.
"Have to play fair, now..." she says lightly, as she drops his shirt to the floors and remains her perusal of the muscled contours of his body. All those years of Quidditch have been good to him, with his defined biceps and chiseled abdominals. Oh, to coin a Muggle phrase...he has the best six pack she had ever seen. Not that she has seen many, besides the occasional Harry or Ron moment where they peeled off their shirts on a hot day. Draco is different. His alabaster skin is flawless, except for a deep scar on his shoulder blade, that she traces with her fingertips.
They stand, pressed together in an intimate embrace, kissing deeply, but upping the intensity, as she revels in the feel of his skin against hers, the feel of them pressed together, chest to chest, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder.
I dug up this old photograph
Look at all that hair we had
It's bittersweet to hear you laugh
Your phone is ringing I don't want to ask
She shifts slightly, so she can feel herself pressed against his prominent arousal. She slides a hand down to his boxer shorts, in the same silky material of her garments. Tentatively she cups his erection, rubbing it slightly, gently, though the fabric. He breaks their kiss, his breathing ragged.
"Before...we go on, are you...sure?" he asks, looking at her intently.
If you don't know I'll understand
If you stay, hey, I've got a plan
"I told you, I want this. You don't know how badly I do," she gasps, as he traces his lips along her collarbone.
"I think I do," he murmurs, the vibrations sending shivers along her spine.
She arches into his mouth, a slow, steady ache forming in her core and working its way through her body. He continues his ministrations across her shoulder, to that sensitive spot below her ear at her neck, over her pulse point, and down lower, to her breasts. He drags a thumb agonizingly slow across her nipple, watching it pucker even more, then bends down to take a taste, sucking and nibbling gently.
She closes her eyes and moans in ecstasy. the sheer pleasure flowing through her body right now is like molten lava, slow and hot and heavy and oh-so-delicious. She feels her knees start to buckle and she tightens her hold instinctively around his neck when, with a sudden show of chivalry, he lifts her easily into his arms and unceremoniously dumps her on his rumpled sheets, just to ease the tension that's hanging in the room. She giggles, albeit nervously, and he gives her that trademark Malfoy womanizing smirk, oh, the one's that so sexy and if it were possible, her knickers would be melting off of her as she thought.
Leaning back, curling into the sheets, she notices that they smell like a combination of utter masculinity, grass from the Quidditch pitch, and lemon verbena, an oddly contrasting feminine scent from the laundry soap, and it's so undeniably Draco that she wants to bury her head in the sheets and she thinks she would be so happy if she never had to move again.
He looks at her, those chestnut waves cascading over his pillows, those dark eyes staring into his own, and can barely swallow at how beautiful she looks right now. How much she looks likes she belongs there. But she's his, for tonight, and he's going to refuse to think, even if it kills him, because he wants to make the most out of this.
She's wriggling in torture as he continues his skillful ministrations on her breasts, playing and licking her nipples, and then he starts his path down her torso, licking over he ribcage, placing kisses across her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel and a zing of pleasure goes straight south, where it vibrates happily, and she's only getting wetter as he moves so slowly.
He's currently laving attention on her hip, and toying with the hem of her knickers when she decides she's sick of waiting and wants right now, so she grabs him with surprising force and flips him over, onto his back, where she proceeds to kiss him thoroughly, biting his lips, and then shimmying down his body where she roughly yanks at his boxers and pulls them down over his legs and flings them off into somewhere (he never does find them) and before he knows it, she has him at her mercy and in the warm, moist cavern he calls her mouth, where her lips and tongue are doing things he'd never imagine prim and proper Hermione Granger knowing how to do. Her soft hands roam up and down his shaft, and her tongue swirls along the head of his cock, and he shudders when she starts to suck ever so gently, putting him through the same exquisite torture he put her through.
"Faster, oh, Merlin," he breathes, as he entangles his nimble fingers in her long hair, impatiently pushing her head down, and she obliges, increasing her pace and pressure, until she can start to feel the moisture coming, and she doesn't want him to release--yet. Reluctantly, she moves away, much to his moans of disappointment, and stands up.
His eyes dart open, and he says, "Where are you going?"
"I think I have a slight problem," she replies. "I'm wearing far too many clothes," which is ironic because all she has left on are a pair of lace boy-short knickers that don't leave anything to the imagination.
"Let me do the honours," he says, and kneeling before her on the bed, he grabs the edge of knickers with his teeth and pulls them down expertly. He can see just how aroused and ready for him she is, as he tosses the knickers onto the floor and pulls her back on the bed again. He begins those tortuous kisses dipping closer and closer to her nether regions, and she cannot suppress her shaking. She can barely feel her legs and doesn't think she could support herself right now, as he props himself up on one elbow, and looking into her eyes, slides a finger into her.
She gasps at the sudden invasion as he strokes with infinite care, and she moans, closing her eyes because she can barely take the tension. She breathes his name, "Draco," and her panting is making him so hard it's hard to concentrate and he wants to just lose himself in her but no, he has to take it slow, make it last. He slips a thumb to the sensitive bud and she wriggles some more, as she starts to reach her peak, and she doesn't think it can get any better until he uses that wonderfully wicked tongue of his to fuck her sensually. He can taste her now, a unique blend of vanilla and berries, probably from some Muggle soap she favours, and it's like the nectar of the gods, as he laps at her. With a last circle around her clit, he backs up and she cries out in dismay.
Her eyes unfocused, she tries to pull him back, but he positions himself above her, and tilts her hips up. Muttering a few spells, he ever-so-slowly touches the head of his cock to her slick opening.
If you don't know if you should stay
If you don't say what's on your mind
Baby just breathe
There's nowhere else tonight we should be
You want to make a memory
She gasps at the slight stimulation, sparks zinging through her body. He eases in but out of nervousness or inexperience, she tenses, and he looks at her.
"Relax," he says quietly, placing a rough but gentle hand to her face, curving around her jaw and cheek. She licks her lips and relaxes, and in one swift movement he slides into her and she purrs at how good it feels, how right it is.
He loves how she's looking at him, with those deep brown eyes, her lashes laying demurely against her pale skin when she blinks. Yet she's such a study in contrast: her hair in disarray, her legs spread wantonly, the lust in her expression. He growls and starts to thrust, and tries to go slow, but he can't.
She wraps those long legs around his waist, hooking her ankles, and throws her arms over his shoulders. She whispers coyly in his ear, "Drive me crazy," and being a gentleman, he can never refuse a lady's request.
His thrusting grows faster and more erratic, as his cock slides back and forth creating almost unbearable tension against the slick passage of her cunt. Her breath is coming in short pants and he can barely breathe at all as the sensations become so intense. He doesn't want to come without her, and so he waits (with all the restraint he can find) until her muscles clench against him, and her climax engulfs her, as she cries out his name and moans in ecstasy. He pulls her closer, pushing himself as deep as possible, and his release finally comes, spilling into her. This elicits some of the sexiest moans he has ever heard, as he leans down to softly kiss that delectable mouth.
They lay there for a few minutes, and as she cradles her head in his shoulder, she feels tears leak out of the corner of her eyes. Before she can wipe them away, they drip onto the smooth skin, warm and salty.
He realizes that she's crying, and pulls back. Somehow he knows why she's crying and he she looks embarrassed as she turns her head to hide her eyes. Reaching a thumb up to her face, he carefully wipes away her tears, feeling that it's such a shame she looks so beautiful when she cries.
"I told you I couldn't promise anything," he says, as he slowly removes himself from her body, and covers them both with the blankets when her skin erupts in goosebumps.
"I told you I didn't expect you to. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."
If you don't know if you should stay
If you don't say what's on your mind
Baby just breathe
There's no where else tonight we should be
You want to make a memory
Oh, if he had any idea how true that was going to have to be soon. She got up to leave, when an arm curled around her waist.
"Where are you going?" he asks, sleepy in the post-coital glow.
"Back..." she starts, but he covers her lips with a finger.
"Stay the night," he asks, and that's all the invitation she needs. The temptation she could pass on, but for one more night, she wants the kind of dreamless contented sleep that one cannot achieve from taking any kind of potion. So she tries not to think as she curls up next to his warm, muscled body and places her head on his chest, letting the steady thumps of his heartbeat lull her to sleep.
Her only regret is that she'll have to kill him, the only boy she's ever loved.
Fortunately for him, he doesn't need to know that.
Yet.
***
Reviews = <3. Don't make me beg. :)