Ugly

A/N: This ones a gooder', hope you like it. It's extra long, just for you :)

The song shall be...Snow Patrol - In my arms.

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It is another week before Draco Malfoy realizes he has another problem.

Although, in all truthfulness, he's seen it coming for quite some time now. And when he thinks about it hard enough, he is sure he can even pin point the exact moment it had happened; Hermione had been wrapped in his arms, her chest heaving, cheeks flushed, clothes askew, bushy brown hair flying everywhere, eyes elite with passion and he'd suddenly realized just how strikingly similar she looked to when he got her seethingly angry.

But the problem is, this new reaction he causes in her, this one is somehow oh-so-much better. And in the same way that he became slightly obsessed with making her enraged and upset, Draco now longs to get this new, much more satisfying reaction out of her.

He can't seem to get enough of her. Any excuse for a meager touch, a brush of his hand against her own. But by far, the weekday hours are the worst. A type of torture; having to sit through class without looking at her, forcing himself not to make eye contact during meals and having to continue the charade of being a foul-mouth git to her, Potty and Weasel – not that he especially minds making fun of the two nitwits. Staying away from Hermione Granger seems entirely impossible, so he doesn't.

It is also slightly disconcerting how a sort of relationship - one that would have previously been seen as rather insane and impossible - could develop so quickly between them and ultimately become routine and expected.

He's learned that Hermione still covers her mouth self-consciously with a hand when she laughs, though her teeth were now straight and white, having been cured of their slight incline to the beaver-side by Madame Pomfrey years before. She learns that he has a rather endearing habit of running his hand through his hair when he is upset or nervous - something that he'd never admit to being

Surprisingly, they get along extremely well. Hermione feels like she has finally found someone on equal footing as her. Someone whom she can go to with questions about homework and will even have a helpful and enlightening answer for her. Someone who is just as eager, and able, to debate a good portion of the topics she is passionate about. Not that they can talk about everything. A few things – such as Draco's life at home and the Dark Lord, or Harry and Ron – still seem off limits, if only for the fact that it seems to rile both of them up to such extremes that they will undoubtedly start yelling at each other.

Because yell they certainly do. It is impossible to think that two people who had been nothing short of enemies could come together in perfect harmony, without any disagreement. The original animosity had come from somewhere. Yet, as much as they fight, the anger seemes to go hand in hand with the source of their passion; because that is how most of the fighting ends – with heated snogging.

It is impossible to ignore the newfound emotions and connection that has awakened between them. Never before has Hermione known such passion - even with the kisses between her and Ron in the brief period they went out during 6th year or the shy kisses she had shared with Victor Krum once upon a time when she fancied herself in love with him. Albeit, none of that constitutes as much experience, but she still feels as though this time it is somehow different; more intense. And she is sure that Draco must feel the same thing - the same connection - if the chaos of conflicting emotions that constantly swirl in the depths of his eyes are any indication.

Presently, as has become a habitual activity, the young Gryffindor and Slytherin are studying Arithmancy on the Head common room couch – a rather large, three cushioned, burgundy monstrosity placed in front of the fireplace. Though a commonplace occurrence – the studying, that is - today they have an unusual amount of free time. Between classes, head duties, and friends – at least on Hermione's part – and Quidditch – on Draco's part, they have found that, accumulatively, there is very little time to be spent alone. Even now when they are not ignoring each other, and rather, making an effort.

Their parchment and elegantly bound books are spread across the couch half-haphazardly, pillows pooled to one side. Hermione sits in a small circular nest of books, cross-legged and sideways, facing the blond young man. She scene has a comforting familiarity to it. Yet oddly enough, she has one of his pale arms pulled forward and perched precariously on her knee. Her fingers dance lightly over his upturned forearm, tracing the scars and blue veins visible through his translucent skin, and inexplicably, Draco doesn't seem to notice. His head is tilted down, reading a passage of text.

“Didn't you ever worry I would tell someone?”

Her voice is light and feminine, cutting through the silence of the room like a bell. Draco looks up at her, gray eyes meeting her gaze. “Hm?”

“Didn't you worry I would tell someone about you hurting yourself? A professor maybe?” she repeats.

Draco sits up a bit straighter and unconsciously pulls his arm back and she has a brief pang of loss. It had been oddly comforting, having the weight of it in her grasp, something like holding a hand.

He's contemplating her question characteristically slowly. "No, not really," he says, "I don't think I ever really thought about it. You have this air about you, though, like you can solve anything, that you don't need anyones help. I figured you probably thought you could handle it alone, and didn't need to get anyone else involved."

She looks a little surprised at his answer. "I see."

His eyes fall back down to his book, assuming the questions are done, but her voice rings out again.

"Why do you do it to yourself?"

Draco winces inwardly at the question. He has no urge to explain to her why he does what he does, but after a brief glance up at her face and the expression of worry and curiosity, something inside of him breaks. He sighs, sets his book aside and begrudgingly obeys her questioning eyes.

"Simply living isn't enough," Draco tries to explain, in the simplest terms he can think of, "you have to have something to live for." He shrugs uselessly. "I don't."

For one brief moment, Hermione has the absurd and foreign urge to say "live for me" but the words die on her lips. It is an absurd thought, after all. And after realizing that she is sitting there with her mouth parted, ready to talk, she says instead "You must have something!"

"I don't," Draco says flatly, "Believe me, Granger."

But she continues to protest. "Come on Draco, everyone has something. What about your friends, or your grades even? I know part of me lives for my grades. And there's things like Quidditch... and ... and...your family!"

After she says this last part she realizes her mistake. One look at the expression on Draco's face shows that many of the rumors around Hogwarts that his relationship with his family is less then peachy are indeed true. She looks down at her lap embarrassed and for a reason she can't explain, ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, as you should be," is his cold reply.

A tense silence creeps in between them as nothing else is said. Or maybe it is the fact that they are both realizing the oddity of their lives that has become the mundane. Either way, it is several agonizing minutes before, with a small amount of surprise, Malfoy reaches out and touches her hand.

"Actually, I'm sorry, Hermione," he says, the foreign words formed awkwardly in his mouth. "I'm still trying to learn."

At her confused look, he elaborates. “All this decent human being stuff, it's still a bit confusing.”

Hermione smiles indulgently at his effort to lighten the mood, and it is enough to erase the earlier words. They each return to their studies, any awkwardness forgotten and another silence settles upon them. Hermione is jotting down an equation on her parchment when she feels something brush against her cheek. It takes less than a heartbeat to realize that Draco is tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She looks up at him, still semi-hidden behind the curtain of brown curls.

“You have so much hair,” he says, as if answering a question, “I couldn't see your face.”

As if to prove his point he reaches forward and wraps a silky brown strand around his finger, flicking the end. He proceeds to twirl a smaller piece between his thumb and forefinger, regarding her with a rather pensive look. She feels herself heating in a blush under his gaze and then he reaches up, a lightly curved strand of hair held between his fingers, and positions it above her upper lip.

He chuckles. “Nice mustache, pet.”

She frowns and swats his hand away playfully, and he lets go of her hair, laughing at his own amusing antics.

He's still laughing when he grabs a hold of her shoulders and pulls her forward, leaning backwards until he falls down onto the couch. She topples forward onto his chest, pinning him underneath her and looks down to meet his cheeky grin.

“Hermione, you naughty girl,” he purrs.

“You're ridiculous,” she says, and is in the process of rolling her eyes when he tips his head up and captures her lips in a kiss.

She melts into him easily and feels his hands, which are still curled around her shoulders, tighten their hold at her reaction – delightfully so. A quick procession of hard thumps signals that their books have fallen off the couch. Oops. Neither are paying much attention, though. Their world has been shrunken down to the simple feelings of lips and heat, of tongues curling and sweeping around one another.

His hands finally move, brushing down over her shoulders to the hem of her knitted sweater, caressing her sides softly, before pulling it up. She raises her arms to help, and he pulls the sweater over her head, throwing it carelessly onto the floor. She sits up to straddle him and shivers, clad only in her black bra, and Draco can't help but smirk, pulling her back down towards him. As they kiss passionately, his skilled hands run over the swell of a breast, squeezing lightly and then he's reaching around her to undo the clasp. The bra falls away easily, and he cups her breasts eagerly, palming them lightly as she mews above him. They really are quite magnificent breasts; lighter then her natural skin tone, with small coral colored buds. Big enough to fill his palm, but not disproportionate to her body size.

His shirt being tugged over his head brings him out of his lustful musings, and he leans forward a bit, allowing her to pull if off him. She seems pleased with the access to his skin as her hands are running over his chest and shoulders, a hungry look in her eye. She leans down to kiss and suck his neck and he groans, the feelings shooting straight to his groin. He bucks his hips up against hers, and her wandering nails start to scratch. She's straddling him, after all, wearing only a skirt, which doesn't leave much to the imagination between her knickers and his hardening member.

He palms her right breast and pulls the others nipple into his mouth, sucking on it gently. She moans appreciatively and, whether consciously or not, starts to rock her self back and forth against him, grinding against the straining bulge in his trousers. He groans loudly, his eyes fluttering at the sensation.

She's moaning quietly above him, grinding herself against his throbbing cock and he doesn't know how much more of it he can take; all this dry humping is driving him insane. His hands are all over her at once, cupping a breast, running up her thighs, fisting in her hair. He grabs her ass with both hands and thrusts himself against her harder, showing her just how rough it would be. Oh, how he longs to fuck her little Gryffindor brains out. But at the same time, he's hoping that his lack of tenderness will somehow push her away – show her that he is not someone she should be having sex with. Unfortunately, if her gasps and sighs are any indication, she seems to be enjoying it. He's in a hazy world of lust when her words bring him crashing back down to earth.

“I want you to be my first,” she whispers breathlessly in his ear.

Shit. Draco tenses and stills underneath her, becoming suddenly, irrationally angry. An unconventional reaction to be sure, yet this is exactly what he had feared; she has the absurd idea that giving away her virginity to him is something she wants. The problem, in his mind, is that he doesn't deserve such a precious gift. Not someone as fucked up, dirty, hateful, malicious—the list could go on forever – as him. It would be a waste to give it away to someone so undeserving. She would undoubtedly regret it.

“You don't know what you're asking,” he mutters through clenched teeth.

The confusion and hurt flitting across her pretty face is heart-wrenchingly obvious. But, like her true Gryffindor nature, she is quick to protest. “Of course I know what I'm asking, I'm not a complete prude, you know.”

At her words, he almost feels like laughing. She hadn't understood what he'd meant at all. She'd misunderstood his meaning completely, and suddenly her indignation seems justified—he hadn't meant to insult her sexuality. Not at all. In reality, he'd meant something quite the opposite.

Hermione begins shifting her weight, moving off of him and Draco has a brief pang of loss before quickly reminding himself that this is the way it should be. At least, this is what he thinks before he realizes that Hermione is not getting up, only moving downwards to pull at his belt buckle.

As the leather slides from the clasp, she looks up at him with a devious glint in her eye and he knows exactly what she's doing; she's trying to prove a point.

Her small hands move to the waistband of his boxers and he opens his mouth to tell her no, but hisses through his teeth as she pulls and his still hard member springs free from its confines, hitting the cold air of the common room.

The look in her eye is excitement, lust and apprehension all mixed into one. He highly doubts she's seen a dick before, much less a large pulsing erection. Draco can't deny that, at this moment, he's thoroughly enjoying himself. After all, he is a warm blooded young man, and there is only so much resistance one can put up.

Especially when she reaches out curiously, and wipes off the bead of precum weeping from the tip of his rock hard shaft. It pulses under her touch and her eyes widen. Then, as if his wildest fantasies have come true, she's lowering her head. Draco groans loudly as her lips circle the head of his cock, sucking gently. No fucking way. Only in his wildest dreams has he imagined this, yet here he lies, his throbbing cock pressed into her hot, wet mouth. And she's looking up at him with her big doe eyes, watching his reactions. He can't help but moan, his hips jerking uselessly. As she experiments with her newfound sexual power, her head starting to bob slowly along his length, he reaches down to tangle a hand in her hair.

“Yeahhh,” he sighs, panting, as she moves faster, “Like that.”

She hums contentedly around his length and he groans at the vibrations it causes. Within minutes, he can't hold off much longer, the throbbing and pulsing is building to an intolerable level with the feelings of her mouth sucking, licking, and moving up and down around him. She's working him tighter and tighter and he is no longer aware of the instinctual way his hips buck or the sounds of pleasure he makes. Giving in to the sensations, he stops breathing completely as he dangles over the precipice of climax, stars dancing behind his eyes. Suddenly, with a cry, he tips over the edge and he's panting and moaning as waves of his warm seed are being pumped out of him.

Hermione lets out a small squeak of surprise as he cums, getting a salty mouthful for all her efforts. She removes her lips from his cock with an audible 'pop' and watches his cum spray against her hand and his pelvis.

As Draco's breathing returns to normal and he floats languidly back to earth, Hermione smiles at him triumphantly. “Ha! Told you so!”

He looks down at the mess on his chest and quirks an eyebrow. “Thanks.”

However, the after glow is not to be enjoyed because seconds later there is a sharp, loud knock on the common room door. Draco looks down at his watch in alarm. “Shit! It's probably Blaise!”

At Hermione's confused look, he blurts, “I have Quidditch practice,” and jumps from the couch.

“Quick, quick, put on your sweater.” He scoops it from the floor and hands it to her, and at the same time pulls his own over his head. Too late he remembers the sticky mess on his chest. He curses under his breath but there's no time, and he moves towards the door, buckling his pants at the same time.

He flings their Head common room door open and comes face to face with exactly who he had expected; a smirking Blaise Zabini.

Blaise raises an eyebrow at Draco's flustered appearance and then leans around the blond man's shoulder to look into the common room. His eyebrows rise even higher into his hairline.

Draco knows exactly what he's looking at; the image is still floating in his mind, teasing him, even now. It's the lovely image of Hermione Granger, looking just as flustered as he—her lips swollen from kisses, sweater on backwards, bushy hair flying every which way, a dazed look on her face. A sharp stab of possessiveness causes him to grab Blaise by the shoulder and turn him around. “Come on, let's go.”

As they make their way down the hall, Blaise looks at him with amusement.

“Draco, why the hell is your shirt stuck to you?”

“Er--”

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End of sixth chapter.

A/N: Is it just me, or does anyone else find it intensely funny to make a boy cum on himself? Lol. I sure do. Anyway, I made it longer to make up for the fact that I suck and can never update fast enough. And I think Draco deserved a little action. Hope you liked it. Are my sex scenes to wordy?? Like, to annoyingly drawn out? I never really know how much or little I should be describing. As I writer, I tend to over detail, I think. Whatever.

Review on your way out??!??