Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Quartet	By : OracleObscured Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 128263 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
A/N: DS: “okay, so now he’s growing on me ;)”—Well that was fast. :) We haven’t even gotten to his more revealing scenes. (Although there is a tiny bit more in the next chapter, which you’ll read before I post this, so I’m talking to myself.)
And you’ll have to wait till 6 for Hermione’s perspective. 5 is Draco again. (As you can see.)
“it seems we have yet another insightful male for Hermione to play with. It seems all three have a heart. Hmmm, who will she choose? ;)”—Yes, there’s a good case made for each man (and the reasons multiply as the story progresses). I don’t know how she’ll ever make up her mind. :)
“Nice vintage”—Hahahaha! Vintage words are making a comeback.
Thank you so much for the heads up on the spelling mistakes. (How do I just skim right over these things?) What kills me is that I looked up lightning for a later chapter, just to double-check myself, but then I didn’t even notice it when I was fixing this. Billiant.
Hope you enjoy this chapter (even though it’s sorely lacking in Snape).
5—Duet
"Body and beats, I stain my sheets; I don’t even know why.”—Violent Femmes
(Draco)
To say Draco was shocked would have been a gross understatement. Utter bewilderment rocked him to the core. It wasn’t every day you discovered your kind-hearted crush was secretly a sex goddess. Scratch that. A kinky sex goddess. A kinky sex goddess who could make him come without a single touch. It didn't matter that she was screaming another man's name. Just the sloppy sound of her pussy was enough to send his cock into paroxysms of delight. The semen in his shorts was already cooling, leaving him shivering in a pool of clammy shame.
But he’d left his wand on the table by the bourbon, so he was trapped in jizz jail until further notice.
Snape tucked himself away and buttoned his trousers without a word. If Draco hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he never would have guessed the man had just come; his breathing was calm and collected, and his face was as animated as stone. Did nothing crack that concrete façade?
If Draco had been the one basting her arse like that, he would have been collapsed on the floor in a come-coma of contentment, a huge smile plastered across his unconscious face. Snape, however, was the personification of detached cool. Draco had always admired that about him. If he had an ounce of that man's “brooding mystery," he’d be neck deep in pussy every weekend. But for some reason, Snape didn’t capitalize on his strengths. He spent his weekends at the Manor, usually in Lucius’s bed. Draco could suddenly see why his father was so enamored with the pale Potions master. Despite his sneering sarcasm and puritanical frock coat, Severus Snape had a certain je ne sais quoi when it came to sex.
Carnal curiosity sparked his imagination, but Draco stomped out the flame before it could catch hold. Fucking wizards was fun, but all the men he’d slept with lacked the soft succor he so desperately sought; so while his libido may have been intrigued by the thought of naked Severus, his damaged heart knew better. Snape was about as soft as a porcupine, and Draco didn’t want to get stabbed.
That same sense of self-preservation had kept him from any dangerous actions involving Hermione as well; but now look what his reservation had wrought. Instead of risking his pride and just admitting how he felt, he’d teased her like a five-year-old and wound up the odd man out. Instant karma. Now he’d have to pry her away from his father and undo whatever damage he’d caused. Would she ever forgive him for this? Just because she’d volunteered for a spanking and then came all over the carpet didn’t mean she wasn’t humiliated.
She hadn’t even tried to get up yet—probably too embarrassed to pull her face from Lucius’s chest. Or let go of his hand.
Draco saw red. That should be him holding her hand like that. Lucius was too old for her. She needed someone young and fun. Someone whose heart wasn’t as black as coal. Someone who wasn't a perverted lech.
Who are you calling a pervert? his brain demanded. I didn’t see you objecting when he shoved his cock in her face.
Fair enough. He was a coward and a horrible friend. He’d been infuriated by the sight of her head bobbing over his father’s lap, but he’d stayed silent out of crude selfishness. The similarities between Lucius and himself were difficult to ignore, and some small part of him needed to know what she’d look like with her lips wrapped around his knob. In his mind, Lucius disappeared, and Draco had seen himself on the couch, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his hand wrapped in her hair.
He hated himself for that. He should have said something, done something, saved the day. But Draco was no hero. He was just a fucked up wizard with some serious intimacy issues . . . pining for a witch who probably thought he was a puerile playboy.
I should have taken her back out the side door as soon as I found her. This never would have happened.
But then you would have missed The Great Hermione Granger and her Precipitation-Prone Pussy. Draco licked his lips, eyeing her glistening thighs as he imagined himself as her personal cleanup crew.
“Did you want to show Miss Granger your talents?” Lucius asked, as if reading his thoughts.
Surprised that he was offering, Draco accidentally let his defenses drop. His face must have betrayed his panic, because Lucius’s eyes immediately contracted, studying Draco with the all-knowing scrutiny of a suspicious parent.
“Did you come on yourself?” Lucius said with a sneer of disgust. “What have I told you about control?”
Draco glared at him. Shut up, old man.
Sighing deeply, Lucius shook his head. “We’ll discuss it later. Why don’t you take Miss Granger to the lavatory and help her clean up. Clean yourself up as well.”
Draco didn't argue. He wanted to get her out of there as quickly as possible and make sure she was all right.
Uncomfortably, he rose, mentally attempting to unstick his shorts from his pruning prick. “Come on, Granger.” He brushed her skirt back into place and slid his hand around her waist. “Get your knickers and let’s go.”
Lucius used his free hand to pluck her underwear from the couch cushions. “I don’t think so. These are mine now. She forfeited them when she got over my lap. Didn’t you, Miss Granger?”
Her eyes darted from their joined hands to the black satin dangling from his finger. “Uh . . . sure.”
Lucius grinned and smoothly maneuvered his grip, lifting her hand to his lips. “Don't let my son's juvenile restraint lead you to believe all the Malfoy men are lacking. It would be my pleasure to have you here again sometime.” And with that lascivious invitation, he kissed the back of her knuckles, throwing Draco a triumphant—but derisive—smirk.
Draco clenched his teeth and dragged her away. Unhand my witch, you fucking bastard.
Hermione stumbled into him, and Draco righted her. When he was sure she could walk, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and headed for the east door.
As they passed Severus, who was ignoring their departure, Hermione slowed. Draco wanted to warn her against speaking—Snape could be surly even under the best circumstances. He tried to keep her moving, but she planted her feet and regarded the Potions master with hesitant curiosity.
“Goodnight, Professor. It was . . . um . . . good to see you again.”
Draco didn’t expect a reply, so he was stunned when the man nodded in her direction and murmured, “Goodnight, Miss Granger,” before stalking off.
That was downright loquacious for Snape.
Draco got her moving again, snagging his wand from the table as he hurried her out to the hall.
They crossed the foyer in silence and started up the sprawling staircase. The awkwardness was deafening. Usually Draco had all kinds of things to say, but now he was at a loss. Everything sounded absolutely asinine in his head, and he didn’t think “Jolly good show,” conveyed quite the right sentiment.
They entered the guest bath, and Draco used his wand to light the lamps. He should have vanished the spunk in his pants, but he didn’t want to irritate his skin with spellwork; he was raw enough as it was.
When their eyes met in the mirror, Hermione blushed and looked away. Shit. Had he ruined everything? The thought of losing her sent shockwaves of fear through his gut.
“I’m really sorry, Hermione. I didn’t know he’d take it that far.”
She peeked up at him, her face red as a persimmon. “Take what that far?”
Had they spanked her brain loose? What did she think he meant? “That! Everything that just happened. You know why he did that, don’t you?”
Her brow crinkled with worry. “Why he . . . ?”
Oh gods, were all Gryffindors so naïve? “He wanted to make sure you kept your mouth shut about him and Snape. Now he’s got this great secret to use against you.”
“Oh.” Her face dropped, a dejected sigh of resolution seeping from her lungs. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone. Why didn’t he just ask me to keep it quiet?”
The corners of his mouth curled up. “That’s not how Slytherins work, love.”
She nodded, as if coming to grips with what she’d just done. “Well . . . this has been interesting.”
“Are you all right?”
Her eyes rose to his, and his heart skipped a beat. He so rarely go to see her from this angle; up close, the gold flakes visible in her chocolate irises.
“I’m fine,” she assured him quickly. “I’m just . . . a complete ninny. Please don’t take it personally if I never come to any of your parties ever again.”
“What!” No, no, no. He couldn’t have that. What would he do without her? “Nonsense! You can’t let him scare you off. You’ve got to get right back on the horse; show him who’s boss.” Wait, that didn't sound right.
Her lips curved into a smile. “And just how do I do that?”
“You’ve got to act like this didn’t faze you at all, like it meant nothing. Just be cool. It’s not as if you’ve never come before.”
“Not like that I haven’t,” she muttered under her breath.
Draco snickered and put his hands on her shoulders. “You have no reason to be embarrassed. You’re the hottest thing that library has seen in years.”
Her smile lit with hope. “Really?”
Laughing, he nodded. “You made every man in the room come, didn’t you?”
Her eyes darted to his trousers, and Draco blushed, white hot heat climbing his face.
“Don’t start with me,” he warned her. “I’ve heard enough from Father.”
Her teeth sank into her lower lip as if she were biting back her giggle. “I’ve never made anyone come all over themselves before.”
Draco couldn’t help grinning at her gleeful tone. She wasn’t laughing at him, she was just delighted by the rush of sexual power. The band around his chest loosened, and with a smile of relief, he fell in step with her giddy celebration. “I promise you, you have. You just don’t know about it.”
Her teeth scraped her lip three times, and she eyed his crotch. “Could I see?”
His stomach dropped and then somersaulted gracelessly into his liver. Was she serious? “My dick or my pants?”
“Both.”
Oh gods. His erection battered his fly, demanding to be put on display. “Are you going to clean me up?”
Her curiosity morphed to wicked merriment, and she nodded wholeheartedly. “Sure. Take off your trousers.”
Yes, ma’am! Draco fumbled with his belt, his fingers outpacing his brain. Come on, come on, come on! Why didn’t his hands work when he needed them most?
“You want me to do that for you?”
He looked at her. Did she really need to ask? Her eyes flickered with a devilish gleam of excitement, and Draco's intestines wrenched themselves into a knot of longing. Oh gods! Was she just horny, or did she want him the way he wanted her?
Lifting both hands in surrender, Draco gave her free rein. Hermione grinned and, without even looking down, ripped open his belt in record time.
His cock gave the trick a standing ovation, cheering madly and screaming for more. Settle down, boy. She hasn’t even gotten to the zip yet.
Her fingers curled over the top of his trousers, and she unbuttoned him with a sly smile. She needn’t be so alluring; he was already on the brink of hyperventilation. There was an unmistakable caress as she lowered the zip, and Draco resisted the urge to thrust into her hand. Uncontrollable humping might not project the image of suavity he was hoping to convey.
Instead of just pushing his clothes to the floor, she knelt before him and proceeded to peel off his pants with unbearable patience. His hard-on visibly struggled behind the black cotton of his boxer briefs, lunging for her like a caged Manticore.
Hermione looked up at him, and he almost blew his load right then and there. She was so fucking cute—those warm brown eyes, that adorable little nose. And those lips. Fucking hell. How many times had he imagined those lips kissing every inch of his body? Reality was merging with his fantasies, leaving him concerned for his sanity. This couldn’t be real. The witch he'd been dreaming about for years didn’t just suddenly drop to her knees and pull out his cock. Life didn’t work like that.
Hermione tugged down his underwear, and his cock leapt out to greet her with all the subtlety of a Labrador puppy, drooling in her face and demanding to be petted. Way to play it cool, Dicky. And to top off the bouncy dance number his cock had choreographed in her honor, his crotch had the good fortune of looking like a glue factory explosion. Great. The first impression every man dreams of.
Tipping up her chin, she met his eye and smiled broadly. Draco’s heart came to a screeching halt. Okay, actually great that time. She looked positively delighted by his predicament.
“I’ll get the flannel,” she said brightly and let his clothes drop to the floor with the most delicious fwump he’d ever heard.
Draco waited while she got the warm water going, willing his body to calm down and not make a fool of him twice in one night.
“Is this too hot?” she asked.
If she meant sexually, the answer was hell yes. But he assumed she was referring to the water temperature. Touching the flannel with one finger, he nodded. “It’s fine.”
After wringing out the excess water, she covered her hand with the cloth and turned to him. “Hold up your shirt for me.”
Eager to do her bidding, he quickly unbuttoned the whole thing so it wouldn’t be in her way.
Hermione smiled and started at the top of his pelvis, wiping through his blond pubic hair and skating down toward his sac. Baaaaah! She was killing him. His entire body trembled with suppressed desire, and his dick decided it was time to do its infamous impersonation of a towel rack—probably for her flannel-hanging convenience. Very accommodating.
She cupped his balls in the warmth of the cloth, soaking away the remaining stickiness. His knob showed its thanks by poking her in the arm and leaving a smear of gratitude across her skin.
When she draped the flannel over his length and started to gently pump, he lost his grip on the physical realm for several seconds. His belly bellowed in and out, a dead giveaway he'd surpassed his arousal limits. The room began to spin, his axis of awareness orbiting his cock until he no longer knew where her fingers ended and his body began. He'd never experienced a transcendent hand job before.
"Bloody hell," he groaned. "You’re way better at this than I imagined."
"You imagined me wanking you with a flannel?"
He smirked. "No. Just regular wanking."
"You've thought about me before?"
This seemed like an opportune moment to confess. His dick was already spilling his secrets like a stool pigeon. "Of course I've thought about you before."
She looked thoughtful, which was vastly better than the indignation he was expecting. "What do you think about?"
"Mmmmmm . . . lots of things,” he said evasively.
"What's your favorite?"
He sighed. His fantasies were fertile ground for embarrassment. "Promise you won't laugh?"
“I promise."
Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the ceiling. "I . . . imagine you . . . coming in when I'm sleeping on your couch and waking me from a bad dream."
He glanced down to check her reaction.
She didn't seem to think that was odd, so he continued.
"You kiss me awake and stroke my chest until I calm down. Then you curl up next to me and tell me it's going to be all right . . . usually with your hand down my boxers."
There was split second where he could swear she looked sad, but then she was moving closer, wrapping her free arm around his waist so she was flush with his side. Her masterful wanking continued, and she kissed his chest before resting her cheek against his heart. "How many times have you thought about that?"
"Every time I sleep on your blasted lumpy couch with your God-awful itchy afghan."
She snickered. “Why didn't you ever say anything before?"
"We're friends; I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”
"It sounds like you need someone to hug you."
He did, but after the humiliation of earlier, he didn’t want to give her the impression that he wasn't man enough.
Ignoring his silence, she hugged him closer. "Wanting affection isn't anything to be ashamed of."
As the rest of his organs melted to soggy mush, his heart, ever the contrarian, slammed into his chest like a sledgehammer. Gods this was awful. Blissfully awful. Dying could not be this horrifying.
Then, amidst the mind-numbing terror, his mouth started speaking without consulting his brain, "What if that's not all I want?"
She looked into his eyes. "What else do you want?"
His heart was definitely going to explode. Which would blow first, his balls or his left ventricle? "I want to kiss you."
"Really? After what I did downstairs?"
Bollocks! He'd forgotten about that. But then she licked her lips, and his brain said sod it. "He came down your throat, didn't he?"
She nodded.
Sliding his hand along the side of her face, he bent to reach her. "I wasn't planning on going that deep."
Her grip on his cock tightened as their lips met. When her tongue slipped against his, a rippling shudder of warmth skittered down his spine. His arm flexed, and he locked her to his side. Mine. Please.
The slick swirl of her rolling through his mouth left him reeling. His balls ascended, and he groaned as his length pulsed in her fist. Oh gods! His hips jerked involuntarily, and he came in the wet folds of the flannel, his balls thumping in time with his heart.
Through some miracle of physics, he managed to remain standing, and when his cock finally dropped in exhaustion, he pulled his lips from hers to catch his breath. "Bloody hell, Granger. From now on we skip the pub and go straight to your couch."
She smiled. "Feel better now?"
Better? His chest had been cracked open like an Augury egg, and his heart felt all tingly and itchy. Like her afghan. He hadn't felt so good since he was a child. "You have no idea."
Blister in the Sun" by Violent Femmes. 1983. Written by Gordon Gano. In a 2013 interview with Kory Grow of The Village Voice, Gano claimed the song wasn’t about masturbation. “So it's not about masturbation? Gano: Not to me! [Laughs] But I can see where people could get that idea. I just hadn't thought of that. [Laughs] I don't think anybody likes that song because they think the lyrics are deep.”
Well, too late now, Gano. That song will forever be a pivotal addition to the wanking zeitgeist.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=8YdQBkxf4kU
Duet--A duet is a musical composition for two performers in which the performers have equal importance to the piece.--Wikipedia
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