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In The Sex	By : Qestral Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 5115 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-In The Sex
- 1
IN
THE SEX

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

It's
in the sex that I see every aspect of her being.

Everyone
calls her a know-it-all, and that's true, but for her to 'know it
all', she had to learn somewhere. She spends every second of her
time learning, even times like this. I watch her; she runs her
fingers over my skin like she's committing the feeling to memory, and
she absently brushes her never-under-control hair away from her face
so she can see what she's doing.

The
lighting in this corridor is dim; we have a free period before
advanced potions, not far down the main hallway that this corridor
shoots off from, and we meet here once in a while because we are
young, sexually frustrated, and single. We both have needs, and we
can satiate those with each other.

Her
eyes watch the surface of my skin as her fingertips gently trail down
my chest, and when my skin breaks out in goosebumps, she gets this
delighted little smile on her face that actually makes me want to
grin. I shiver a little, because it's cold here and because her
touch is warm and because now I am most definitely turned on and
she's barely just gotten my robe and shirt off. She's leaning in,
partly to see better and partly so I can feel her breath tickling
over the left side of my chest. Not quite cool, but not quite warm
either.

Brilliant.

One
hand slides down my side and grabs my hip, one hand sways back and
forth across my stomach. It's like everytime we do this, she allows
herself to forget my body just so she can learn it all over again the
next time. Except she knows what happens as she teases lower and
lower, and what happens when she nibbles and worries at my nipple,
and then her hand brushes over the bulge in the front of my
trousers—I sigh, and my knees start to buckle. That's why her
hand has strayed to my hip. It might be funny when I fall down, but
it really does interrupt the proceedings.

We
sink slowly to the floor, she straddles my lap, and I tuck a hand
under her jaw and pull her head up so I can kiss her. Her lips are
soft and press gently against mine. I'm always afraid to press any
harder; she might be a know-it-all, but she's learning, too, and what
if I broke something by pushing too hard? Like her will to learn and
explore in favor of simply doing what she's told?

She's
peeling her school robe back from her shoulders, undoing the school
issue tie and oxford, giving me the opportunity to explore a little
for myself while she undoes the button on my trousers. I'm pleased
with myself; I, too, have learned from these experiences, and I trace
across her stomach, squeeze gently at her breasts through the pale
pink bra she's wearing—made all the more feminine by a cute
pink bow between the cups; it's almost too cute to be sexy—then
reach around the back and undo the clasp with a flick of my fingers.

She
smiles, a little flushed as I tug the bra down her arms and away from
her breasts. “You've got it,” she whispers, jubilating
quietly with me; I made it a personal goal to be able to do that.
Then she's suppressing a moan as I squeeze her breasts in my hands,
brushing the tips of my thumbs over her areolae. I feel her hands
pull my manhood out of my boxers in retaliation, then she's massaging
smoothly up and down the length.

She's
a know-it-all. She's a learn-it-all, too. But first and foremost,
as I've recently discovered, Hermione Granger is a young woman. She
rests a hand on my shoulder, leans in to bite my neck, strategically
picking a spot that my shirt will cover later. It's a spot she has
learned will make me groan, but her cheeks are flushed and her eyes
are looking hazy. She enjoys pushing my buttons, and knowing what
buttons to push, but she wants more now.

I
release her breasts and rest my hands on her knees, then slide up her
thighs and beneath her skirt.

I
realize, with a twitch of excitement, that she's not wearing
knickers.

I
hear her inhale sharply, then it sounds like she's forgotten to
breathe; she holds her breath expectantly as my hands move closer to
her heat. Then she remembers with a gasp as I press a finger into
her, and she digs her fingernails into my shoulder as she tries to
remember herself.

Her
other hand, the one that stayed at my groin, has gone to the robe she
cast aside, fumbling for her wand. She finds it, points the tip at
her abdomen and mutters the contraceptive charm that I taught her and
my (well-meaning) mother taught me. Then she raises her hips up,
leaning her weight onto the hand at my shoulder while her other hand
returns to my groin and angles my glans upward. For a brief moment,
part of me panics like I've lost control; from the position I'm
sitting in, I can't thrust or even pull away. I'm pinned into place
by her knees and steadying hand. My hands unconciously reach for her
rump, and I sink my fingers into the soft flesh as if this will give
me a grip on the situation as a whole.

She
takes this as an 'okay', and lowers herself onto me.

She's
incredible to watch when she's like this. Her breasts bounce, and
the hand that isn't lodged in my shoulder unconsciously goes to one
of her breasts and begins to massage it—a job I leave her to so
I can help keep rhythm with her hips. Her breathing gets lighter and
lighter because she's concentrating so hard on the sensation of sex
that she's forgetting even the simplest things.

And
oh God, she is tight and wet and pulsing and warm and moving around
my shaft with such a force, like this is the only thing on her mind
and the only thing she cares about. I've become one of her books,
and all the world outside of me has stopped while she studies. I'm
the focus of her world, and as she tightens in orgasm around me, the
expression of concentration on her face—of devotion to the
task at hand—sends me spinning over the edge.

Now,
here is Hermione Granger as a woman. She's shiny with sweat in the
light of the single torch still a ways down the hall. Her ordinarily
bushy hair is fluffed with sex. Her breathing hasn't even started to
even out yet, and her eyes are dizzily trying to find an object of
focus. Her eyes find my face, and she smiles weakly and falls
forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and chest. I encircle
her in my arms, and—not for the first time—I marvel at
how tiny she is. Her presence is always so much bigger.

As
stand-offish as she usually is, she loves to be held like this. Like
any woman, she wants to be treated as a woman, as something treasured
and loved and adored.

She
nuzzles against my neck, purring my name in my ear.

“Mmm...
Draco...”

I
tighten my hold on her posessively, carefully. I don't want to break
her.
- 1
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In The Sex