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Unresolved Sexual Tension	By : flamingmoth Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 7485 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or settings of Harry Poter, and make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Unresolved Sexual Tension
- 1
He wasn’t used to thinking of her as a girl. Girls were sexy and flirtatious and exciting, and she was none of that. For many years, to him she was just Potter’s annoying, know-it-all, Mudblood friend, and that (particularly the last) had always been enough to totally eliminate her from the list of fellow Hogwarts students over whom he’d wank. They were girls, and she was just…a non-entity, except when her swotty mouth brought her to his attention. Which was as rarely as he would allow it, or so he tried to let on. She got under his skin, although he never let a soul know that.

But one night in late November during their seventh year (eighth, actually), some months after Pansy had unceremoniously dumped him (not that he cared…much), he found himself thinking of her.

It was mostly their daily proximity, that and she was almost the only female who wasn’t a teacher, or a relative, who would even speak to him these days. Although the Order had made his war activities public and the Wizengamot had forgiven him and his father, the younger students only remembered that he had been Head Boy under the terrible, cruel Carrows, and that was enough to keep them away. And there were many of the older ones who hadn’t come back, either because Hogwarts held too many painful memories, or because they themselves were among those memories now. So, despite McGonagall’s surprisingly kind show of faith in making him Head Boy again, he was left mostly to himself.

He often wished that Severus had survived, not just because he had been Draco’s favorite teacher and a family friend, but also so that they could exchange and commiserate on the loneliness of being an unacknowledged double agent, revealed only at the zero hour, as if conjured from out of a hat like a Muggle “magician’s” rabbit. But Snape was dead, along with so many others, and now, of all those surrounding him, only she seemed to know and remember.

And because of this he was weak, he told himself, closing his eyes as he lay on his bed in the Head Student’s dormitory, his hand stealing to the waistband of his already-tented pyjamas. He pushed them down with his other hand and uttered a low growl as his fingers closed around his cock, another moan as he began to stroke himself, and he could see her…dark brown curls and wide eyes and that soft-looking, pink mouth, her skin like silk, and her thighs wrapped tightly around him. And he was fucking her, fucking, fucking, lost in the sweet, wet heat of her cunt, the movement of her breasts, and she moaned in his ear for him to do it harder…

He emitted a strangled gasp when he came, spilling onto his hand and his lower belly, writhing with mingled release and hunger. He lay there for a few moments, his blood surging in his veins, until he felt calm again and the thin sheen of sweat on his brow had had time to fade. Then he Scourgified himself, dropped his wand back onto the nightstand, and pulled the quilt over his shivering form, feeling strangely alone.

He was weak, because the next time, she pushed herself to the forefront and he came to thoughts of her once more. And the time after that. And as the days went by, the thought that this was mere weakness slowly faded, and he began to wonder if maybe, she’d started seeing him differently, too.

* * * * *

The first time she’d heard him, she thought he was ill. Half-awake, lifting her head from the Transfiguration text she’d fallen asleep on, she blinked and listened again as the faint sound emanating through the wall which separated their bedrooms. Her brows creased, and she wondered if she should fetch Madam Pomfrey. When she realized what she was actually hearing, her eyes flew wide. Sitting up, breathless, she listened to him – obviously, he’d forgotten to cast a Silencing charm – and to her astonishment, with every muffled groan, her pussy began to pulse, more and more insistently.

By the time he finished, with a stifled cry that made her stomach leap, her knickers were soaked. She swallowed hard and slowly closed her textbook, getting up from the desk. She extinguished her lamp and took off her clothes, which she’d fallen asleep wearing. Instead of reaching for her nightgown, however, she climbed into bed without anything on, not thinking too much about why she did that.

She and Ron had made a go at a relationship after the war, and the most she could say now was that it’d been fun while it had lasted. After years of pining for one of her best friends, the reality had turned out to be something of an anticlimax. She didn’t regret their mutual decision to break it off, but she did regret that she hadn’t yet found anyone else to further explore the physical side of things. None of the boys had caught her eye this year as she studied for her N.E.W.T.s and dealt with being the most popular Head Girl in the school’s history – not that several male students hadn’t already tried to get her attention. Even so, she spent more time with him than with anybody else. Of course, she’d be…affected by what she’d just overheard.

She lay back under her blankets and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, but the ache between her legs wouldn’t go away. Sighing, she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling over her bed. Her hand slipped down, down, and touched her slit, a finger sliding in between, and she let her head fall to the side as she moaned, very, very softly. Her other hand reached out, found her wand, and lifted as she uttered the Silencing spell. Some naughty part of her mind whispered that she should let him hear her the way she’d heard him, but she wasn’t about to let him know what his nocturnal activities had done to her, or face his knowing smirk in the morning. Anyway, he had probably fallen asleep by now. This was just a precaution.

Her wand fell to the carpet, and she quickly slid her hand under the blanket to cup her right breast, teasing the nipple as her left hand worked between her legs. She thought about the sounds she’d heard, imagining him as he made them…he was naked, his pale hair gleaming in the moonlight, all alabaster skin over sinewy muscle, those keen, silvery eyes closed as he panted and groaned, his hand stroking his cock, up and down, hips pistoning into nothing…moaning her name…

She came hard, biting the corner of her pillow even though there was no way he could’ve heard her scream. She sighed with relief, then, businesslike as always, tidied herself up and rolled over to sleep, a drowsy peacefulness stealing over her. He was good-looking, even if he was a smirking, arrogant prat (though far less obnoxious than he had been before the war). She wasn’t going to feel guilty or weird about what she’d done. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, or her.

But if he knew…She shut her eyes tightly and pressed her thighs together at the thought.

* * * * *

He caught her looking at him more often in the days that followed. It annoyed him until he realized that she wasn’t doing it because she was looking for some reason to be shrill with him. Then he wasn’t sure what to think. A single terrifying thought – she knows! She knows it’s her! – ran through his head before he sneered at himself. Even if she did hear him sometimes (and he wasn’t too careful, he had to admit, because deep down, the idea of her overhearing turned him on) he knew she’d never mention it. There was no way she could know that he wanked over her several times a week.

But for all his experience with girls, he’d never really dealt with one who was both sharp-eyed and sharp-witted, and not too blind to see what was really there, as opposed to what she wanted to see. So, purely out of curiosity (or so he claimed to himself) he started looking back at her. Sometimes he’d smirk. Sometimes he’d leer, which always caused her to roll her eyes. Sometimes he would just regard her seriously, holding her gaze. It was always that last reaction that made her flush and look away first. He started to enjoy it. A lot.

When they were alone in their common room (which was seldom, as that Weasley girl and the loopy blonde Ravenclaw were around quite a bit), he would sit near her, and occasionally he’d feel the weight of her eyes on him. Sometimes he’d look up, sometimes not. They never spoke of this; their conversation, as always, mostly concerned homework, school matters, or Head Student duties. Eventually, he realized that merely returning her stares wasn’t enough.

He started touching her arm, her hand, even her hair – accidentally, slightly, only every few days, but it was enough to earn him a startled glance each time. To his inward delight, she started touching him back – sometimes brushing his arm with hers, or putting a hand on his shoulder, leaning down as he sat in one of the chairs downstairs. He hadn’t yet dared to turn and look at her while she was doing this, not yet, but visions of what he would see (her smooth neck and the opening of her blouse, with the curves of her breasts below) provided a good few nights’ worth of inspiration.

Her room was always silent, though he listened avidly for any sign of similar activity from her. He was disappointed; she must cast Silencing charms, because he knew she wasn’t the type to not touch herself, no matter how reserved she seemed otherwise. He knew this in the way that a wolf senses a deer in the thicket, the same kind of instinct that he’d unconsciously used to chat up girls since he was fourteen. The thought of what she must be doing in the silence and dark of her bedroom made him crazy. Made him want to get up and go in there, and…

And what? Have his balls hexed off? Earn another slap to the face before she told McGonagall what he’d done? That thought made him grit his teeth. She might not be averse to the flirting and the staring, but he feared that if he took it too far, it was likely to end in disaster. Perhaps she Silenced her room both ways, so that she didn’t have to listen to him. Perhaps she was masturbating to thoughts of some other wizard…Weasley, or Krum, even. The thought made him very cross.

His anger went away, however, when he thought of how she’d accidentally (of course) brushed against him while climbing into the portrait hole as he tried to climb out. The thought of her doing it again, sans clothing, made him groan and take himself in hand once more.

He didn’t know that she was lying perfectly still in the darkness of the next room, wondering if any part of his unabashed lust was for her.

* * * * *

She heard the faint groan and her whole body went rigid, then relaxed as, a few seconds later, she heard him again. This time, she was ready. An insistent heat burned between her thighs, having gotten started earlier when he’d leaned over her in the common room downstairs and murmured his “good night” so that the words rode his breath against her skin. She’d waited exactly five minutes before climbing the stairs to her own room, disrobing, and getting into bed, waiting to see if he would do that again tonight, or if he would just go to sleep and she’d have to take care of things using one of the many erotic memories she’d stored up about him.

It was crazy, wasn’t it? She’d hated him for years and he had detested her, and now they were in this silent, unacknowledged dance of attraction. She was pretty sure he knew it too, although she had no idea if all this was just a lark for him, or worse, some reason to feel smug over her. That possibility felt surprisingly hurtful. Even when Ginny and Luna gave her amused, knowing looks, even when Harry hinted that should things (ahem) change between the two, he wouldn’t be upset, and even when Ron bluntly asked why she hadn’t just asked the git out already, she always pretended that they were making too much of the fact that she and the Head Boy had become friendlier. But she couldn’t lie to herself. She wanted him. But since she had no idea how much he wanted her, there was no way she’d tell him.

So as she lay in bed, one hand’s fingers pushing in and out of her sopping wetness and the other hand working the nub just above that, she didn’t think of anything except the raging fire in her body, which masturbation only partly satisfied, and the sounds made by the young man in the room next door as he got himself off. She could hear him clearly, louder but not so loud that he’d have wakened her if she’d been sleeping. He sounded needy and hungry and oh God, how she’d love to ease that for him!

They were both almost there. She closed her eyes, her mouth opening in a silent cry as his sounds grew more urgent, and the wet sounds of her fingers in her body synched up with his moans, until…until…

Unngh…Granger…

Her orgasm washed over her, but she hardly paid it any mind save for a distant acknowledgement of relief. Her eyes flew open, her hands stilled, her head lifted from the pillow and stared with astonishment at the wall between their rooms. Surely that wasn’t her name she’d just heard? But what else could it have been? She knew the sound of her own name, especially from him. He never called her anything else.

Slowly, she rolled over on her stomach as the last tingling faded, pulling the blankets over herself. She lay staring into the darkness, considering, unaware of the abrupt silence that had fallen next door.

* * * * *

He lay on his back, his eyes wide in the shadows of his own room, his skin still spattered with come. There was no sound from her, but then again, there never was. He couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. At any rate, the game was up. There was a good chance that she’d actually been asleep, but somehow, he knew that wasn’t the case tonight. There was no way he could pretend it wasn’t about her, not after what he’d just done – called her name as he’d come, imagining her riding him there in his bed.

Fishing his wand out from a tangle of clothing on the floor, he cleaned himself up and turned onto his side, curling up under his quilt. Well, tomorrow was going to be interesting. While they didn’t have any classes together on Wednesdays, the Head Students had patrol after dinner. It would be an awkward evening, he suspected, although he wasn’t sure who would be more uncomfortable – her, or himself.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. She’s never said anything before, and she has to have heard you before tonight. For some reason, the thought made his ears burn, and he reflexively hid his face in the pillow. But he was a Malfoy, and he would face whatever amused, disgusted, or (worst of all) distant reaction he got from her with as much savoir faire as he could manage.

* * * * *

Patrol was less awkward than she’d feared. She made no indication that she’d overheard anything last night, and he put up a convincing show of being indifferent. She could tell, however, that there was something unnerving him – he was more abrupt with her than usual, although still polite. Gradually, it dawned on her that he was afraid that she’d heard him say her name, and was probably worried what she thought of him now. This knowledge filled her with secret jubilation. She knew, even if his eyes couldn’t quite meet hers: he wanted her.

Because she had faced death and pain and fear, over and over, in the last few years, one would think that she wouldn’t be afraid to turn to him and say something, or even to just grab him and kiss him, the way she wanted to. But fighting Death Eaters and being tortured on the floor of his family’s manor were as nothing compared to the risk of exposing her feelings. Although he hadn’t called her that hateful name in many years, she did still wonder if he thought there was a big difference between the harmless flirting they’d done, and where it might have already led, if she hadn’t been herself, and he hadn’t been himself.

Or maybe, as Ginny often accused her of doing, she was overthinking things, and it really was as simple as wanting each other and being too shy to admit it. They were still teenagers, when all was said and done. And for once, this was something normal that most people experienced, if their time wasn’t taken up with saving their friends from death or being hunted all around the country by evil wizards. Or, she reflected, joining up with evil wizards and finding out that it wasn’t at all what you'd thought it was cracked up to be.

That night, she resolved to do something about it. One way or another, she’d find out what was up with him. And if she was wrong, well…at least she’d gotten an ego boost and some satisfying orgasms out of it. She'd have no regrets. At least, that’s what she tried to convince herself.

* * * * *

Patrol was hell. He was constantly aware of her nearness, and it brought up conflicting feelings of wanting to run from her and wanting to push her up against the wall and snog her stupid. The fact that he could still feel this way about her, even after potentially humiliating himself for life, was a testament to how long it had been since he’d gotten laid.

Or maybe, a little voice inside him said, it proves how much you do want her.

In any case, he wasn’t certain if she knew about his indiscretion of the previous night, and he hated not knowing things. On the one hand, she didn’t mention anything out of the ordinary, nor did she treat him with any obvious difference. On the other, sometimes he’d catch a look on her face that made him think she knew all about it. It made him short with her, which he didn’t mean to be, but he was afraid that if he let his gaze linger too long on her perfect lips, or looked for a second or two longer than usual into her eyes, he’d do or say something to further embarrass himself.

How do you know she wouldn’t like that? the voice asked impatiently.

He wasn’t sure of the answer to that one, either.

* * * * *

The clock on the common room mantelpiece chimed eleven. When he sighed (frustrated, she could tell) and started to gather up his books and papers, she made no move to do the same.

As she’d hoped, he stopped and raised one eyebrow at her. “Studying late again, Granger?”

“Not really.” She didn’t lift her head from her parchment, where she was writing furiously. “I just thought I’d give you some time to go upstairs and get…comfortable.”

There was no sound, and she looked up to see him frozen in the act of standing up, with the most comical expression of terror she’d ever seen. She didn’t feel like laughing, though. When he managed to find his voice, he asked, faintly, “Whatever do you mean by that?”

This was it. “I think you know.” She laid down her quill and looked at him with a level gaze, a small smile on her lips and a faint blush on her face.

The silence stretched out, taut as a bowstring between the two of them. Inwardly, her heart beat faster and faster, and he was silent for so long that she feared that she’d been mistaken, after all. But then she saw a look come into his face, and his grip relaxed on his Charms textbook.

He tossed back the fringe that had fallen over his eyes and looked at her with some amusement. "I’ve yet to figure out what goes on in that brain of yours, most of the time.”

“It’s not what happens in my brain,” she said meaningfully, and had the enormous pleasure of seeing a flush come to his face, and his gaze intensify with some renewed purpose.

Very slowly and deliberately, he set his books down in a neat pile, shuffled his papers in another pile atop them, laid his quill on the whole, then moved across the floor to where she was sitting near the fireplace. He looked, she thought, like a cat, graceful and dangerous. His gaze never left her. She didn’t move as he brought his face close to hers.

“Why, what could possibly have unsettled you recently, Granger?” He drew a deep breath, lowering his voice. “Could you have been…eavesdropping? You pervert.”

His lips curled in that familiar smirk, but there was something behind it that made her feel breathless. She decided to go for broke.

“Maybe I’ve heard some interesting things.” Her hand reached up and touched his face, fingertips tracing over his jawline. Her voice dropped, to a low, sultry tone she’d never used before, not even with Ron. “Maybe I’ve been doing some interesting things, myself.”

She heard his breath catch, then he was on her, just like that. One minute she was kneeling on the floor, the next minute, she was on her back, papers and books scattered around her, with him atop her, hard and lean and so warm, and his mouth brushing her lips. There was no struggle. She lifted her arms and, when she settled them around him, she felt a shiver go through his body.

“Tell me,” he rasped, almost begging. “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

She closed her eyes as he pressed himself against her. She could feel the hardness in his trousers, and the sudden awareness that she was responsible for it made her pussy clench. She told him how she’d first heard him getting off, how it had made her feel, and what she’d done afterward. She told him how she’d waited to hear him every night since, imagining him there on the other side of the wall – what he was doing, what he must look like. She told him how she’d try to keep pace with him, coming at the same time he did. At the last, she told him how hearing her own name had shocked and aroused her, so that all day she had been unable to think of anything else.

By the time she finished speaking, he was breathing heavily, and when he raised his head to look at her, she saw undisguised lust in his grey eyes, and a burning question.

“Yes,” she whispered in answer, and finally, finally, his mouth came down over hers.

The thought wove hazily through her mind that they both had waited a long time for this to happen. His kiss was fiery and frantic, and she moaned into his mouth as they groped each other. When they had to break away and breathe, she ground her hips against his, and had the satisfaction of hearing him groan out loud before he dove back down and attached himself to her neck. His sucking kisses made her cry out, and the sound seemed to arouse him even more.

“Mmm…you’ve heard me, all this time…let me hear you,” he gasped, in between kisses and little bites. She moaned and cried out again as, at the same time, his hands went to work on the buttons of her shirt and she untucked his from his trousers.

It wasn’t the same sort of romantic first coupling she’d had with Ron. This was about months, maybe even years of unspoken attraction, which both of them were just now able to recognize and admit. But she wasn’t thinking about all that as they practically ripped each other’s clothing off, casting it away among the piles of Hermione’s homework, and rolled across the carpet so that they were right in front of the roaring fire that was now the only light in the common room.

He was so gorgeous, his skin shining pale in the firelight, his eyes darker with passion, and his mouth reddened and swollen slightly with her kisses. He touched her everywhere, and every place his hands went seemed to catch fire. She touched him too, feverishly. When she curled her hand around his cock and worked it up and down, he writhed in her arms, and she knew that she couldn’t wait any longer.

“Now,” she gasped, bringing him closer to her.

“Oh God, Hermione,” he breathed as he settled between her legs. Her given name rolled off his lips like honey. He slid into her, filling her completely, and this time, both of them cried out.

“Draco!” She arched her back as he withdrew almost completely and thrust into her again and again. Her hands clutched at his biceps, her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper. She felt the tension winding in her lower body and knew it wouldn’t be long. The sight of his face, at once anguished and ecstatic, only heightened her excitement.

“Harder,” she murmured, and with a growl, he complied, pounding into her with abandon. It felt so good that her normally busy mind shut down entirely, so that all she could do was feel, and watch him as he lost himself in it, too.

Their voices rose, her cries getting higher, his becoming ragged, as the glorious feeling wound tighter and tighter, until she came with a wild shriek, clawing at his shoulders and thrusting herself hard against him. He threw his head back, and as her mouth fastened on the line of his throat, his hips slammed into her once, twice, and then stilled while he shuddered through his orgasm, moaning her name.

When they could both breathe again, he rolled to her side and casually threw one arm and one leg over her limp form. She turned her head, and her eyes met his. Something in his gaze shifted, and for a second she thought he’d pull away. But then he tugged her closer, and the kiss that he gave her melted away any lingering doubt of his intentions.

* * * * *

He hadn’t expected to feel happy. He was exhausted and somewhat unsure of what to say to her now that they had given in to their mutual feelings. But as they lay in front of the fireplace, not speaking, he felt more content than he had since he was a child, loved and indulged and the center of his parents' universe.

She was beautiful and amazing, and she wanted him. All this time! She’d been touching herself to thoughts of him, just on the other side of the bedroom wall! If he had known what she’d been up to, he would have done something about it long before now. But better late than never, as they said.

She turned her face to him, looking into his eyes. He was going to make some humorous remark or say something to ease the tension before things turned awkward. But they never did. Her dark eyes held so much wordless emotion that he found himself incapable of any response other than drawing her close and kissing her, with all that he had yet to confess aloud.

And he already knew that, when the time came, it would be a lot more satisfying to say everything face to face.
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Unresolved Sexual Tension