Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: One Hour, Later
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Rating: PG13
Contains: No warnings.
Word Count: 1000.
Notes: For fan_flashworks Challenge #1, "Lost Hour". One hour lost/surrendered, written in one hour. :) (And totally self-beta'd, so let me know if there's any typos or etc., please.)
Summary: He wants an hour with her now.



Draco steps into the conference room. She is already there, her long curls swaying across her back as she sets folders and parchments in front of each uncomfortable chair. He shuts the door quietly, but she goes still when he turns the latch and locks it behind him.

"We shouldn't," Hermione says without looking at him. She puts the last folder down and runs her fingers along the top of it, drums her nails on the polished surface of the table. "You know we shouldn't."

"I know." He moves up behind her and rests his hands on her waist. The thin fabric of her blouse doesn't prevent the heat of her skin from soaking into his palms. He spreads his fingers and rubs his thumbs against the small of her back, kneading into the tight muscles just above her waist band. "But we have an hour before everyone's coming for the meeting. Should we waste it?"

She tips her head back and rests it on his chest. Her lashes lay on her cheeks and she licks her lips before giving a soft moan. He feels a knot of tension loosen under his left thumb a second later, and she trembles against him. "How do you do this to me?" she whispers. "Why do you do this to me? Why do I let you?"

"You're the smart one," he says. "You figure it out."

She turns to face him, her hands sliding up his chest to twine in the hair at his nape. She twists the ends around one finger and slowly lifts her head to meet his eyes. "I can't," she tells him, her voice thick. "Not now. Not today, no. I have to meet with Harry later, and he'll know. He can tell just by looking at me."

"Potter has some excellent abilities," he says. "But I doubt that even he can tell when you've been with me." He cups her cheek and rubs his thumb across her mouth. She kisses the pad of it as if she can't help herself.

She parts her lips and the tip of her tongue brushes over his skin. "He can," she says. She lifts up on her toes and presses close to him, her breasts soft against his chest. "He can always tell. I'm surprised everyone in the world can't tell. I look at myself in the mirror and I'm astonished that I don't have evidence written across my face. You do something to me, Malfoy."

Draco steps forward, pinning her between his hips and the table. Both hands on the surface, he cages her between his arms. "I intended to do something to you," he murmurs. He dips his head and nuzzles under her chin, breathing against the flutter of her pulse in her throat. "But it sounds like that's not what you're going to let me do." He kisses down her neck and nudges her collar aside. Her skin is even hotter there and his hands tense on the table.

Hermione makes a soft, whimpering sound and grips his biceps. Draco stills, waiting for her to push him away. He'll tease and coax, but if she's determined, he'll acquiesce. He'll step back and wait, as hard as it - he - is.

Hermione tightens her hands on his arms, digs her nails into his shirt. She gives a low and strangled groan before grabbing his head. She locks her fingers in his hair, wrenches him down. She kisses him hard and fierce, her tongue sliding over his lip and across the roof of his mouth.

Draco grinds his hips against her, wraps his arms around her and jerks her blouse from her waistband. He shoves his hands beneath it and glides them up her back. His blood is pounding in his ears and pulsing through his body; his skin is tingling as his temperature soars. She scrapes her nails down his spine and around his ribs, scratching at the crisp fabric of his shirt. She plasters both hands to his chest as she bites his lower lip.

"No," she says with a groan. She pushes him and he steps back, chest heaving as he fights to breathe. Hermione slumps against the table. Her cheeks are flushed, her forehead is speckled with sweat, and when she opens her eyes, they're dark with struggling need. She rubs her throat and shoves her hair behind her ears. "No," she says again, her voice taut, like she's working to convince herself more than him. "Not now. Not here. I can't, Draco."

He exhales sharply, breath puffing his fringe in a pale flutter. He flexes his fingers, curling them tight and shaking them out, trying to shake away the feel of her body. He knows he can't. He knows that he'll be feeling her for the rest of the day, smelling her perfume on his skin. Whatever it is that he does to her, she does twice as much to him. He hasn't been able to stop. Since the first time she kissed him or he kissed her - he can't even remember now which of them started this - he hasn't been able to stop. She affects him in ways he never imagined.

He shoves his hands through his hair and straightens his tie as she tucks her blouse back into her skirt. "Tonight," he says. His voice is low and rough, almost a growl. "Tonight, Granger. I'll give up this hour if you'll come to me tonight."

For a minute he thinks she'll refuse, that she'll tell him she already has plans, that he'll have to wait. He's ready to protest when she nods. She looks into his eyes and her lips curl in the darkest, hungriest smile he's ever seen her make. She prowls forward and grips his collar with both hands, crushing the starched points. She tugs him down and kisses him again. "Tonight," she says against his mouth, her breath hot on his skin. "And tonight I expect far more than an hour, Malfoy."