Prompt: Marriage Law (@DramionePrompts on Twitter)
NSFW / rated E
“Malfoy, wake up. I can hear your mum coming down the hallway,” Hermione hissed, poking her new husband in the shoulder.
Malfoy grumbled under his breath and turned over, stuffing his face into one of many plush down pillows.
She had gotten married to the git the afternoon before, two days before the Ministry’s ridiculous marriage law came into effect.
There was no love between them, but they were partners at work and had both hated the idea of being forced to marry somebody they didn’t even know.
The agreement was that they would stay married for six months while they worked to overturn the current law, and then they’d happily go their separate ways, free to be with whomever they really wanted.
The biggest kink in the plan: Narcissa Malfoy.
The Malfoy matriarch didn’t believe Malfoy and Hermione were in love for a second, which Hermione supposed was probably fair, and she had been giving Hermione a hard time since the couple had come home from registering their marriage the afternoon before.
“Just pretend to be asleep, Granger,” Malfoy muttered.
“She’ll just come back later and try to interrogate me again!” Hermione knew there was a desperate edge to her voice, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to have to deal with Narcissa’s confrontations for six months.
Malfoy rolled onto his back and opened one eye to glare at her. “Why are you even—”
Before he could finish his sentence, there was a knock on the door before the doorknob started turning. And Hermione tried to think fast, she really did, but only one solution came to mind.
She threw her leg over Malfoy’s to straddle him and dragged the covers up so their hips were shielded from view. Malfoy’s eyes snapped open, growing impossibly wide, just as his mother poked her head into the room.
And Hermione figured she might as well go all the way with this.
She moved her hips against Draco’s in an imitation of fucking, and she heard Narcissa gasp, “Oh! Excuse me,” before retreating, the door clicking shut behind her.
Hermione’s shoulders slumped with relief. Hopefully that had done enough to convince Narcissa that they were—
Belatedly, she realised that Malfoy’s fingers were digging into her hips, and that the bulge pressing through his boxer-briefs against her sleep shorts was very hard.
“What the fuck,” Malfoy hissed. “You can’t just—”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Her face was hot. “Let me…”
She moved to get off him, but the movement only rubbed her clit against his erection, and she gasped.
The sound he made was strangled. “Don’t. Move.”
“I have to move if I’m going to get off!”
“If you move,” he said through clenched teeth, “I’m going to get off.”
The pressure of his cock against her center was sending heat licking up her spine. When was the last time she’d had sex? Forever ago.
And Malfoy was a lot of things, but unattractive wasn’t one of them. She could admit that much; he’d starred in her fantasies enough.
“Granger.” He was growling now. But his hands weren’t holding her still. In fact, he was rocking his hips up into hers, using his grip on her to control the pace, the angle, and her lips parted, because fuck, if it didn’t feel really fucking great.
“You said—” She cut herself off with a whimper, and she reached down to squeeze his forearms as she rolled her hips faster.
“We work together. We work together,” he was muttering to himself even as his cheeks began to grow flushed. “Holy fucking Merlin, you’re so soft.”
She leaned forward and pressed her hands to the mattress, and both their gazes went to where their hips met, to where the ridge of his cock was dragging against her again and again.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered raggedly.
Instead, she gasped out, “I’m so wet,” earning her a long groan from Malfoy.
“Can you come like this?” he asked urgently. “What do you need?”
She shook her head, then nodded. She didn’t know what he was asking. “Nothing. Yes. Are you close?”
“Embarrassingly so,” he bit out, and she really didn’t know how much of the dampness visible on his boxer-briefs was from her and how much was from his own cock leaking. His eyelids fluttered. “Tell me when.”
She was moaning so much. So much and she couldn’t stop. But so was he.
She bit down on her lip as he thrust up against her harder, faster, and she heard him whisper, “That’s it, Granger,” as he lifted his hands and pinched both her nipples through her top.
She tumbled over the edge with a cry, her hips still moving, riding him through her orgasm.
“Good girl,” he groaned. “Good fucking girl.”
And with one hand back on her hip, he pounded up against her relentlessly until his head dropped back, his hands squeezing, and she felt the warmth of his come at the same time a primal sound was ripped from his throat.
She dropped onto the bed next to him, trying to catch her breath.
“Fuck me,” she whispered.
There was a low laugh from her husband, and then, “Whenever you want me to do that, Granger, just let me know.”
