The best laid plans.

TITLE: The Best Laid Plans.
AUTHOR: Mexx
EMAIL: geektragedy@gmail.com
DISCLAIMER: All Harry Potter characters mentioned within this fic are property of JK Rowling; I’m just borrowing them for fun.
FANDOM: Harry Potter.
PAIRING: Draco/Hermione.
SUMMARY: Draco’s made plans for the evening, but Hermione has other ideas. PWP. Smutty fluff.
RATING: NC-17.

Draco Malfoy—although having graduated Hogwarts with the fourth highest grades in his NEWTs—was not known for his good ideas. And this certainly wasn’t a good idea. Ok sure, taking his girlfriend out to dinner in hope of earning a few good shags was a good idea, finding the most secluded spot in the restaurant was also another good idea. But asking Hermione Granger to describe what she wanted him to do to her when they go home was definitely *not* a good idea.

The fact that not only did Hermione excel academically in all magical subjects, but with the English language as well did not help matters. Nor did the fact that she was sitting so close to him that her hand was rest comfortably—a little too comfortably—on his inner thigh help with Draco’s self control in the least.

Unfortunately, it was not until Hermione was well into with her *very* detailed description of their soon-to-be activities that Draco realised just exactly how bad idea this had been. Truly, incredibly bad. Stupid, even. Absolutely the worst idea he’d *ever* had—which was saying a lot for a man who’d tried to feel up a house elf during his preadolescent explorations.

“Then you slide into my hot—”

“I swear to God,” Draco interrupted, “that if you finish that sentence I will shag you senseless on this very table within the next thirty seconds.”

Her eyes widened momentarily, but then Hermione pouted and smiled evilly, ignoring his threat “-wet-”

Draco’s fork—previously defiling a rather rare steak—clanked loudly on his plate. “That’s it. We’re leaving.”

“Now?” Hermione inquired incredulously, as if her sensual description should have had no effect on him whatsoever. Hermione then proceeded to lick the thick white wine sauce off of her spoon.

Draco gulped.

Hermione smirked. Her evil grin was not a good thing. It was a very bad thing as a matter of fact. A very bad thing. In a very good, very hot way.

“Now.” Draco confirmed in a strained voice. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the door, throwing several galleons in the direction of the waiter. He’d probably over-tipped by about two hundred percent, but right now he didn’t care about anything other than getting Hermione naked in bed, or bent over the nearest car bonnet. Y’know, whichever worked.

Six months into their relationship and they still couldn’t get enough of each other. His father residing in St Mungo’s after a nasty incident with a house-elf and a misplaced wand, and her somewhat annoying friends on the other side of the globe, saving Australia from the forces of darkness meant that they were free to act as they wished, resulting in a lot of sex. In a lot of places.

Four months after they’d left Hogwarts and they’d seen each other in a bar, he’d offered to buy her a drink, for old times sake… she’d accepted; Harry and Ron had just left for Australia and she’d had nothing better to do.

Much to Hermione’s chagrin, Draco had discovered what a cheap drunk she was, and after only two Fire Whiskeys Hermione was practically sitting in Draco’s lap, stroking his eyebrows and commenting how on how pretty he was. Draco resented this comment of course; he was a man, a handsome *masculine* man, and he was damned if he’d let some drunken brunette call him pretty. Of course he wasn’t going to tell her that if he wanted her pretty, drunken self to continue wriggling in his lap. Not arguing with Hermione had left Draco only one option, and another four glasses of Fire Whiskey later and Draco was giving as good as he got.

The end of the night had in fact resulted in fumbling around in the dark, both of them either too drunk or preoccupied to turn on the lights in Draco’s small flat. They hadn’t made it to the bedroom, only the couch, then on the floor in the living room. And again on the kitchen counter the next morning.

They fell into a casual relationship, most of the time referring to each other by their last names, reserving first names for serious matters. When they argued—which was seemed to be all they did other than shag—he would call her a Mudblood, whilst she would scoff and call him a “stuck up twat”. But despite the arguments and misgivings they became very fond of each other, and not just because of the sex—it was their first “adult” relationship; it meant no more sneaking around after curfew at Hogwarts and placing silencing charms around the four-poster beds in the dorms. It meant freedom, and experimentation, which was something the two of them enjoyed to the full.

As the weeks passed they began to argue less, shag more, and enjoy the simple pleasure of each other’s company. Draco no longer cared if she was muggle-born, as it so happened, his father was very taken with a muggle-born nurse in the psychiatric unit at St Mungo’s and if Malfoy Senior could enjoy the company of a muggle-born then why shouldn’t Draco? Draco did refrain, however, from introducing Hermione to his mother who was currently revolutionising the Malfoy estate and enterprises which Draco wouldn’t inherit until his twenty-first birthday.

Presently, Draco’s hand pushed against the small of the back as they walked out the restaurant, but as soon as they were out of the door it slipped further down, groping her backside through her thin linen skirt. Draco smirked when he couldn’t feel a knicker line—this wasn’t the first time Hermione had forgone underwear when meeting him for dinner.

“Malfoy, stop touching my bum.” Hermione demanded. Whilst she was all for turning him on quietly in the corner of the restaurant, public groping was not something she wanted to add to her ever growing list of indecent acts she’d done with Draco.

Draco smiled, “Where else may I touch instead?”

Hermione didn’t dignify him with an answer, her previously flirtatious manner dissolving at the thought of being seen doing *things*.

Draco took Hermione’s silence as an opportunity to explore; his hand slipped up her body, and further round so he could touch breasts.

“Malfoy…” Hermione complained half heartedly, “Not where people might see.” She didn’t have the energy to completely argue with him, especially when his long digits were cupping her breasts and turning her argument into a low moan.

Before she could say another word, her hand was in Draco’s and he was dragging her rather forcefully to the darkest end of the nearest alley. His hands once again resuming their appraisal of her body.

“Here?” She asked, somewhat shocked, despite the fact that they’d had sex in dark alleys, empty parks and once at the back of a pub in Knockturn Alley. Draco—she’d discovered—was insatiable, and since their first drunken night together they’d not stopped.

“Where would you prefer?” Draco asked sarcastically, snapping her back to reality, “The table in the restaurant?”

“Ooooph, really!” Hermione scolded, but smiled nonetheless.

“You’re impossible.” He grinned, and his lips swept over hers for their first kiss of the evening. Her lips were sweet under his, tasting of the fresh wine she’d consumed a little too much of during their meal. She moaned under his lips and pushed herself closer to his warm body, grinning to herself as she felt his erection press against her stomach.

Seconds later and Draco was doing a wonderful job at multi-tasking; his lips soft against her skin, licking her neck and tasting every inch of her, one hand was slowly, torturously running up in-between her legs and the other hastily undoing his belt and trousers. In the next instant Hermione’s soft, inaudible whimpers became loud moans, and Draco replaced his fingers with his erection, rubbing softly against her.

She was already wet, her words in the restaurant had not just affected Draco, and she rubbed her hips against his in an attempt to bring him closer to her. Draco responded immediately, thrusting into her and groaning loudly. Hermione gasped on his entry, arching her back off the cool brick wall behind her and ever closer to him.

She rode him slowly, wrapping her legs around him and locking her ankles at the base of his spine. She met his thrusts, and bit back a shuddering scream when his hand crept between their sweaty bodies and touched her sensitive nub in synchronisation with their joined thrusts. Draco’s other hand found her clothed breasts and pinched her nipple through her thin cotton shirt and bra. Hermione whimpered, completely lost in the sensations Draco was stirring up in her. Her head flicked back, and she didn’t register the pain of the impact against the brick wall, the only thing she could feel was the pressure of Draco\'s lips against her arched neck, and his hot, deep thrusts into her.

“Draco…” She moaned softly as she felt herself approach climax. “DracoDracodracodraco…”

Draco’s lips left her neck and kissed her lips, quieting her hurried chanting of his name. He bit his own lip as her slick walls tightened around his throbbing shaft, and they both tasted his blood—sweet and metallic on the tongue.

Hermione orgasmed only seconds before Draco came, and they broke their kiss momentarily to gasp for breath. Hermione’s lips curved into a soft smile against Draco’s… this was always the best way to have sex; when they weren’t really planning on it… although, since they’d been together it seemed they’d not stopped.

Their forehead’s pushed against each other for support, and while their eyes were open their close proximity made it difficult for them to focus—to Hermione Draco was just a pale blur in front of her eyes, an undefined and ambiguous figure in her life, but that was nothing new. For years at Hogwarts he taunted her mercilessly in front of Harry and Ron, but if he’d came across her alone then she’d have to smack him for trying to pinch her bum. But she’d put that down to him just being a boy. For being a disgusting boy who—like all members of the opposite sex at Hogwarts—seemed to have only one thing on his mind.

But when they’d met again outside school Draco’s interest in her seemed more than just a passing interest from a horny boy with rampant hormones… he’d made their relationship more than just a quick—albeit a very nice—shag, and let her find companionship with him in spite of what Harry, Ron or his Father may have thought should they have been around.

Hermione’s legs slowly slipped from their position grasping around Draco’s waist, and he lowered her down as he slipped out of her. He kissed her softly on the lips before they both began readjusting their clothing.

Not two seconds after Draco had had Hermione loop her arm through his and he had began to guide her out of the alley that Hermione’s nose wrinkled in disgust, “Eurgh… Malfoy, you got spunk on my skirt!”

Draco grinned and a silly, primal happiness washed over him; he’d marked her as his own.

“This isn’t funny!” Complained Hermione, “Do you know how difficult to get out?”

“I’m sure you’ll manage, dear,” Draco smirked, and patted her bottom. “You always were the bright one.”

Hermione humphed, and carried on walking, increasing her pace just a little bit.

Fifteen minutes later and Hermione was stomping up the stairs to her flat, still grumbling about her soiled skirt. Draco was a few steps behind her, admiring the wonderful view that Hermione’s arse—level with his face—presented him with. Ten minutes of the silent treatment walking home (Hermione had skidded in the ridiculously high shoes that he had insisted on buying her last week, and subsequently spent five minutes blaming him for her sore ankle) and Draco had formulated yet another plan, although Draco himself doubted whether “shag Hermione again” actually could be considered a plan.

Hermione’s keys clicked in her lock, following by a quick tap on the door with her wand procured from her robes. She practically tumbled into the hallway as Draco’s arms were once again around hers, pressing intently against her and slamming the front door closed with a swift kick. Hermione moaned into Draco’s mouth as she let him press her against the wall for the second time that evening, but her previously closed eyes shot open in surprise when she felt him hard against her.

“Already?” she squeaked against his lips.

“New potion…” Draco mumbled, before pressing his lips back against hers.

With his lips against hers and his fingers slowly untying the string belt on her skirt Hermione could only moan and slip her fingers through his silky hair. The skirt fell from her hips and she stepped out of it, slowly inching toward the bedroom door.

Draco drew away for her to pause for breath, smiling has he felt Hermione’s hand slip into his trouser pocket and begin to caress his hard-on through the layers of fabric. In his relaxed state of idle pleasure, Hermione took the opportunity to grab his wand from the pocket she was exploring and slip from his embrace, diving into the bedroom and fastening the door behind her with a hurried locking charm.

Draco stared dumbfounded at the bedroom door, quite perplexed as to why Hermione would run away from him when she seemed to be so obviously enjoying his ministrations. He was concerned, momentarily, and was about to ask her what was wrong when he heard a soft giggle from behind the locked door.

“Granger?” Draco asked suspiciously.

His only reply was another giggle, and Draco shook his head; when had this giggly woman replaced his levelheaded and studious Gryffindor?

“Granger, what the bloody hell are you doing?”

Another giggle. Just how much had Draco given the girl to drink?

“Are you starting on the blob, is that why you’re being so silly?”

A thud and a clunk, and Draco guessed she’d thrown a shoe at the closed door.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” He asked suspiciously.

No answer at all this time, and Draco was losing his temper.

“Did *I* do something wrong?”

“Something wrong?” She repeated incredulously.

Finally, an answer, and Draco almost felt like rejoicing.

“You got cum on my skirt you arse, and I’m not gonna shag you again until it’s out!”

Draco shook his head in annoyance; here he was up for a shag and she was demanding he do laundry.

“You’ve got my wand.” Draco pointed out, as if to wheedle his way out of the task.

“So do it the muggle way—the detergent is in the cupboard under the kettle.”

Hermione’s sing-song instructions irked Draco to no end, but he made his way to the kitchen, shouting through the door “You owe me, Granger.”

“Of course I do, darling…” Came her distracted voice, no doubt she’d found a book to entertain herself with, “You just think of some nice ways I can pay you back whilst you wash my skirt.”

In the bedroom, Hermione grinned to herself, eagerly anticipating having to pay Draco back… no matter what his plan would be it would end up to her advantage.

--finis.