The Head Boy's Laundry by sugarbear_1269

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 4
Published: 21/06/2004
Last Updated: 21/06/2004
Status: Completed

The closest she can get to him is his clothing... A one-shot, completed fic. Very
smut-heavy.




1. The Head Boy
---------------

**Author’s Notes:** To everyone who is waiting for the end of the Who? Trilogy and its
companion fic, don’t worry, it is coming, and I haven’t left the face of the earth. A confluence of
a new job, moving into a new apartment, and other factors has made it difficult to write. I decided
to finish this just to try and get back into the smutty swing of things. Let me know if you think
it works or not. Any feedback is begged for and appreciated. For where_is_truth and violetjersey,
for needing some smut and asking nicely for it, and rainpuddle13 just because. This is unbetaed, so
any and all mistakes and blunders are mine and mine alone.

***

***

***

She was a horrible, despicable person. Why had she let herself sink to this level? Malfoy. These
were the thoughts running through her mind as she rooted frantically in a large wicker basket of
laundry underneath the chute marked *Head Boy*. She found what she had been seeking without
too much trouble; a huge, green cable-knit jumper in Slytherin green with a silver C for captain
embroidered above the left breast.

Hugging the jumper to her face, she inhaled the Prince of Slytherin’s expensive French cologne
and sighed into the heavy, warm fabric. Letting loose the garment with one hand, her fingers
expertly flicked the clasps on her outer robe and pulled it open.

Nude underneath, she shrugged it off her shoulders and quickly slipped the jumper over her
flame-bright hair. She pulled it down her body, relishing the feel of the soft material against her
nipples. Did Malfoy feel the same ecstasy when he wore the jumper over bare skin? Probably not.
Smarmy git didn’t appreciate anything.

Secreting herself in a small alcove just off the Slytherin laundry chutes, she placed her wand
and robe on the floor and her back against the cool, smooth stone wall. The jumper hit the tops of
her thighs, the direct result of a growth spurt between her fifth and sixth year. Bracing herself
with one foot placed on the wall behind her, she dropped her head to the side so she could sniff
Malfoy’s scent as she touched herself feverishly.

It was the same as the other Wednesday nights she had spent down here, getting herself off and
ultimately sobbing.

***

How had she gotten here? It was admittedly a convoluted, unhealthy path. After being made a
prefect in her fifth year she had had to sit in all those interminable prefect meetings. Draco was
the only bright spot, literally, his white-blond hair a commanding presence on the other side of
the table.

Of course, she hated him. She hated all he stood for, hated his cruelty, hated his life, and
most of all hated what it had done to him. She often found herself wondering idly during meetings
who Draco Malfoy would have been if not for the crushing influence of his father.

She detested how he made her daydream about him like he was the troubled hero in one of
Hermione’s secret trashy romance novels. He was perfect for it, really – after all, wasn’t he tall,
blond, sickeningly beautiful and equally rich?

Only problem was that in this story there was no steadfast and valiant female consort to guide
him to the right path. There was Pansy Parkinson and all the girls he was reputed to have slept
with, and that certainly wasn’t putting him on the road to redemption.

To a sworn enemy like Ginny, these thoughts were horrific and the stuff of nightmares. Yet, her
terrifyingly soft thoughts of Draco increased and morphed into dreams, long dreams where she would
be hidden in his room and watch him loll about naked in his tangled sheets, pleasuring himself.
Dreams of him dressed only in his Quidditch corduroys and leather guards and gloves, flying
gracefully and purposefully for a golden Snitch only he could see. She became haunted, tortured by
these dreams, waking nightly drenched in sweat, a longing ache centered between her legs and her
heart feeling strangely empty.

The summer break could not quell the dreams. Instead, her distance from him amplified the
problem. She dreaded returning to school, especially when Hermione, who had stayed at the Burrow
over the summer, announced that she had gotten her Head Girl letter as expected, but that ruddy
toad Malfoy was going to be her Head Boy.

***

She’d sat out a year of Quidditch, knowing it wouldn’t help to be in close proximity to the
Ferret Boy. This year, however, she wondered if being near him might be the trick. Harry made her
try out again, and she was made a Chaser with no trouble.

Gryffindor’s first team practice rolled around. She’d taken care to avoid him during prefect
meetings, but Quidditch would be the testing ground. Harry had stared a pickup game to get everyone
back in the swing of things. Ginny’s hair was tied in a ponytail so it wouldn’t get in her face as
she dodged Bludgers and raced her heart out.

“Hey Scarhead! Maybe your Chaser and your Keeper ought to shave off all that ugly red hair!
Makes them less noticeable when they make a mistake, don’t you think?”

Ginny whirled her broom around to face the owner of that silky voice. She saw Draco, standing
tall and proud in his Quidditch gear, and had a feverish, ridiculous urge to scare him badly. In a
dip that would have made Wronski proud, she dived sharply towards the Slytherin team, her course
unwavering.

Draco turned to stare at her, obviously believing she would fly in a different direction and not
down the middle of his team. With a banshee’s yell, she plowed through the lot of them, deftly
managing to kick Draco squarely in the chest and sending him sprawling to the ground.

“What the bloody fuck are you doing, you stupid bint?” he screamed, jumping up and mounting his
broom in seconds. Ron was shouting unintelligibly to her, but she ignored him. Draco was hovering
near her side instantly, a vicious snarl on his face. Harry flew up and she turned abruptly to
him.

“Back off, just back off!” she screamed at Harry, and he was so visibly shaken by her outburst
that he turned tail and flew back to where the team was huddled and holding Ron back.

“You’re a fucking bitch,” Draco spat. “One more bloody stunt like that against me or my team and
I’ll slash your little Gryffindor throat. Understand?”

She stared at him hard, floating closer to him on his broom, taking more than a little
satisfaction in the obvious footprint in his otherwise pristine uniform.

“Insult me or my family again or I’ll make you wish the Bat Bogey Hex was the hardest hex in my
repertoire. *Understand?*” she bit out. He blinked owlishly, uncomprehendingly. Had Ginny
Weasley just shot a threat back at him? Unfortunately, it was as valid a threat as his own, as he
knew the Mudblood had been teaching her some pretty nasty hexes.

Before he could answer, she pulled her broom up and turned, smacking the bristles against
Draco’s face, leaving several crimson scratches on his pale cheek. He swore again, colorfully, and
sank to the ground screaming, “For fuck’s sake, Potter, call off your bloody harpy!”

Harry looked at the rest of his team still holding a now-bewildered Ron and, off in the
distance, Ginny flying over the grounds and alighting on the stone steps of Hogwarts.

“I think it’s time we call it a day.”

***

From then on, Draco had a personal vendetta to settle with Ginny Weasley. He made sure his
Beaters beat every Bludger they could toward her, and he loved cutting her off
accidentally-on-purpose while seeking the Snitch.

As Head Boy, he was able to assign her the least preferable patrol schedule, and it was hell for
Ginny.

She had to patrol the Slytherin dungeons on Wednesday nights from 11 p.m. to 2 a.m. Which
wouldn’t have been so bad if she didn’t have her earliest class the next day, her 8 a.m. Double
Potions with Snape.

She knew as Head Boy Draco had her schedule and could feel his laughter as he handed her her
shift assignment. She had not resisted or asked to trade; to do so would have been beneath a
Gryffindor. She refused to shirk her duty and just to tee off the ferret even more she was
determined to catch every snogger or late night snacker in the dungeons as possible.

It was during these patrols she found the Slytherin laundry chutes quite by accident after
making a wrong turn her first night in the dungeons. She was fascinated at first by the prospect of
looking at other people’s clothing…you could tell a lot about a person by the clothing they wore.
And when she noticed a basket just for Draco, she was compelled to look through it and see what the
great Slytherin wore underneath his robes.

Boxers, apparently, was one answer to the question. Black silk boxer shorts embroidered
(everything he owned seemed to be embroidered) with his initials, impeccably cut charcoal-colored
trousers, more jumpers, dirty Quidditch uniforms and practice attire.

The heavy green Quidditch jumpers (Draco seemed to have three, at Ginny’s count) appeared when a
chill came over Hogwarts and games on the pitch were becoming colder. Nothing captured her
attention as much as this simple jumper. Perhaps it was her fertile imagination conjuring images of
him wearing it over a pair of trousers, or the fact it had been next to his skin, but there was no
doubt that she began to search for this garment on each of her weekly patrols.

She began touching herself in the fifth week.

***

Draco looked up at his clock and swore softly under his breath. It was 12:30 in the morning and
he’d forgotten to put some of his laundry down the chute before it was closed at midnight.

Those ridiculous house elves sealed the chutes so that they could collect all the laundry, wash
Thursday, and bring back clean clothes Thursday night. As Head Boy, Draco had always thought he
should be exempt from this and have his laundry done every day, but Dumbledore wouldn’t relent.

Which was why he found himself with a small ball of rolled up socks and practice shirts he’d
forgotten to send off. Standing and stretching after the long study session, he idly scratched his
side, put on some slippers, and placed his wand in his pocket. He still had some studying to do for
his History of Magic test tomorrow and figured the cool dungeon air on his bare chest would
invigorate him.

He exited his portrait hole and padded down the hall, turning left to a short flight of stairs
that led to the lowest level of the dungeon. As he rounded the end of the stairs, he heard a
strange whimpering sound.

Absolutely certain he had come upon a pair of snoggers Weasley had missed, he soundlessly tossed
his laundry into the basket and crept around the corner to the alcove, peering inside.

Ginny Weasley stood like a pagan goddess, head flung back against the stone, hair trailing in
impossibly red waves over her shoulders and *his* green jumper. Her shapely legs were spread
and afforded a perfect view of her small hands working in tandem to bring herself to completion.
Flashes of her crimson thatch were visible between her wrists as one hand was busily rubbing at the
top of her slit, while she worked on impaling herself on two fingers of her other hand.

Draco’s unbidden, unwanted thoughts were swift and telling. *Her fingers are too small to do
much good. Two of mine would get the job done. Gods, she’s just the right height and I could just
pull down these pajamas and slam right into her…*

As quickly as the unbearably hot ideas crossed his mind, he became enraged. What the hell was
she doing in his jumper? His Quidditch jumper, no less, and here she was diddling herself in the
middle of the Slytherin dungeons. Sweet Circe, he had no clue whether he should call her out and
punish her on the spot or watch this incredibly erotic feast that had been laid before him.

Her murmurs and whimpers became more pronounced as she writhed sinuously to her own rhythm,
trying desperately to come. He watched as her head lolled around and came to rest near her
shoulder, nose buried in the fabric of his jumper. His mind went black with desire when she
murmured his given name once, followed by a breathy sigh.

He entered the alcove in a blast of speed, his own strong hand shoving aside hers where they
still worked for completion. Flattening her against the stone, his left hand covered her mouth
while his right unerringly buried two long, blunt fingers through her impossibly tight channel.

As he predicted she would, she screamed behind his hand, though it was more from the blindingly
hot streak of pleasure that scorched her body than surprise. When he was satisfied she was done
screaming, he removed his hand from her mouth and slid it between her head and the stone wall.

“Why are you here, Miss Weasley?” he asked in dulcet tones while his thumb found the little
pearl she had been so frantically rubbing seconds before. “This isn’t exactly patrolling.” He
fought to keep his voice steady as his crossed fingers thrust inside her, feeling her muscles
clench around him maddeningly.

His chest pressed against her, chafing her hardened nipples against his jumper and teasing her
even more. Her mind went haywire and words slipped out in a needy jumble.

“Make me come,” she said piteously, just barely able to raise her head and look at Draco. She
saw a flash of surprise register on his face only to be instantly replaced by a sly smile. His hand
twitched and in an instant his wand was in it.

“*Silencio**,*” he hissed. “Now you can scream *all* you want.”

In all his conquests (and he had had several encounters with exactly five partners) he never had
a woman look at him with anything other than subservience. This barely-spoken command inflamed his
senses and nearly caused him to spurt in his pajamas.

Wand clattering to the floor, he sank to his knees and shoved her legs apart, eager to taste the
essence of Ginny Weasley. His tongue slid effortlessly into the burning folds of flesh, nose
purposely bumping the little aroused nub.

Her reaction was immediate. Her hands came to rest on his head, pulling him closer, and her
scream was a thin rush of gasped air. Covering her hands with his own, he removed them from his
ears and brought both their hands to rest on her curved warm bottom, him kneading the flesh between
her splayed fingers.

He was the only thing holding her aloft now, besides her shaky legs. She didn’t know that she
trusted him to keep her upright, but she couldn’t bear to move her hands from under his, nor could
she tell him how fucking *good* it was to have him bring her off.

Her knees trembled against his shoulders every time he brought her close. It was an excellent
manner in which to judge her arousal. He concentrated on the hidden nub most of the time, and
whenever he felt a tremor running through her legs he cut back, instead thrusting his tongue deeply
into her, reaching for the fabled spot he always curled his fingers against.

Suddenly he felt her wrench her hands from under his and shove his face into her. Needing no
further invitation, and wishing to feed his fantasies with forbidden images of making the
Weaselette come with his mouth, he latched onto the erect bud and began using the tip of his
tongue.

In a blurry flash of rocketing pleasure, she stood on her tiptoes and felt release shoot like
fire through her veins. Gulping air, she rode out the huge wave of shocks and tingling, shaking
with the force of it. Deftly he retrieved his wand and used it to clean his face, then purposely
slid his way up her body, shoving his knee between her legs to keep her from falling.

Her head was hanging and she was panting, clearly trying to get a grip on herself before facing
him head-on. He didn’t give her the chance. Tilting her chin up with one finger, he set their eyes
level.

“Well, Weasley, I think I more than took care of your little problem there. I believe you owe me
some answers.” Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water before he remembered he had
silenced her.

“Oh, dash it all,” he declared, eyeing her. “I rather like you silent, but I can’t be seen with
you here. Come on, I think you can speak freely in my room.”

Removing his knee, she teetered a bit before regaining her balance and he began to pull her
along behind him when she realized she was still half-naked and her wand and robe still lay on the
dungeon floor. Breaking his grip on her arm, she rushed back to the alcove. She heard him swear
between his teeth and come back after her.

“Good Gods, I am not going to let you run away from this, you rotten…oh,” he finished lamely,
watching her scrabble to gather her robe and wand. He quickly regained his wit when he saw her
trying to pull her abandoned robe over her shoulders.

“No, no, none of that. You put yourself out here like a trollop, and you’ll follow me that way.
If anyone sees you, they’ll just think I was exercising my sexual prowess yet another time.”

He grabbed her wrist and began to half-lead, half-drag her up the stairs and down the short hall
to his room. Clutching her robe and wand so as to hide part of her buttocks, she set her
fingernails into his hand and merely smiled sweetly when he turned to scowl at her.

Stopping abruptly at a portrait of some deceased Slytherin, he muttered his password so she
wouldn’t hear and pulled her into his room.

The thick blankets on his bed were rumpled as if he’d never made his bed that day, and she could
see scattered parchments and several quills sticking out of a pile on his desk, his History of
Magic text supported by a stand. As she examined the contents of his chamber, he grabbed her wrist
and used it to slingshot her onto the high bedstead.

“Now, you sit there and we’re going to have this out once and for all,” he said silkily.

Her silenced lips formed frantic words, anything she could think of to make him stop advancing
on her, to make him stop looking at her as if he couldn’t wait to devour her again.

He stalked her in that impossibly small space, his body looming close enough for her to feel the
heat emanating from his bare chest. Attempting to curl into a tight ball, she wheeled away from his
reaching hands. His long, strong fingers locked around her wrists and pulled her forcefully to the
edge of the bed.

“Don’t try to look away,” he snapped, grabbing her chin with one hand and turning her
now-tearstained face to his. “And for Merlin’s sake, stop bloody crying.”

His mouth, tangy and sharp, was on hers before her eyelashes could shed their next batch of
tears. Astonished, and unable to react any differently, she gasped into the cave of his mouth. His
tongue touched hers then, and she tasted her arousal from only minutes earlier.

Her bare bottom skidded across the sheets as he pulled her to the floor to stand between him and
the bed. Hot palms covered the cheeks of her bottom and spread them so he could tease her entrance
from behind. He could feel her shocked intake of breath as her breasts suddenly shoved against his
chest, and smiled darkly into her mouth.

“So, Weasley,” he murmured against her ear, “let me get this straight. You go down to the
laundry baskets and bring yourself off while wearing my clothes, is that it?”

He could feel her gulp, and then a blur of red as she shook her head so violently he thought she
might make herself dizzy. He slowed his stroking fingertips, hoping to draw some information out of
his silent conquest. As he watched her turn her head to face him, he felt her grind
ever-so-slightly into his teasing touches. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, she had no idea her body was
begging for his attention and it was enough to make his knees weak.

“Not your clothes,” she mouthed indignantly, and he could feel the shape of every word she
formed on his tongue. “Just this.” She inclined her head and pointed with her nose toward the
jumper.

“Aha,” Draco said slowly, dipping inside her with the tip of his finger and thoroughly enjoying
the reaction it wrought. “You wear my jumper. And of course I’d never know, as I expect you only do
this on the nights you patrol, after I’d have gone to bed.”

She nodded miserably and looked away from him yet again. Incensed, he viciously tilted his
pelvis so that his erection ground into her undefended mound. Draco decided the shocked puff of air
on his cheek would have been a delicious squeak had she been able to vocalize.

“Look at me when I speak to you,” he said menacingly. She bobbed her head this time,
frantically, doe’s eyes wide and frightened and fastened on his own.

His blunt fingertips resumed their stroking and teasing as he changed tack.

“When you do this, Weasley, do you imagine this jumper is me? That it’s my own skin next to
yours? Perhaps when the fabric moves, you picture my hands stroking you?”

His last sentence jarred her, and she reflected bizarrely on her original thought that he had no
idea how the jumper felt against bare skin.

He smirked, realizing he had hit upon something that needed further explanation.

“So you *do* think that,” he mused. “Take it off.” Again he got the frightened eyes, but
chose to ignore it. She was more than able to move her arms in the position he had them in, his own
hands essentially looped underneath her buttocks. Deciding that if she had really wanted to escape
she would have clocked him by now, he pressed the issue.

Touching his tongue to the sensitive shell of her outer ear, he whispered, “Don’t you want to
know what my skin feels like next to yours?” She flexed involuntarily into him when he punctuated
his question by deftly, softly sucking on her earlobe. He could feel her pulse racing and he
continued this activity for a while, convincing her, or so he hoped.

Slowly her hands came to rest on his lean hips, and he nearly shot straight into the air at the
feel of her warm palms riding above his pajama pants. Realizing she was slowly pushing him away, he
released her ear and cocked his head to stare at her. His eyes followed down her arms to her
fingers, where they were locking into the long hem of the jumper and pulling up with excruciating
slowness.

The searing look she gave him before the jumper passed her breasts and eyes irrevocably told him
that she was no longer frightened and in her simple action had taken quiet charge of the
situation.

When she shook her fiery mane free of the green garment, she dropped it at their feet and
regarded Draco expectantly. Before, her silence had been his power play, but now it only served to
heighten his awareness of her and her body. A ridiculous, unnamed fear stole through him and as he
opened his mouth to summon his wand and end this charade, she covered his lips with her own.

Her arms wrapped warmly around his back and absorbed his heat, her palms splayed flat over his
muscular shoulders. He forgot what he had been thinking and returned her kiss, his own hands
stroking with surprising softness over her.

Quidditch-roughened fingertips and palms cupped her breasts, thumbs grazing over aching nipples
and drawing intense shudders from her. Tearing his lips from hers, he bent her back slightly in
order to access the hardened pebbles he couldn’t quit touching.

Her mouth opened and silent moans issued forth as he set teeth and tongue to worry her nipples.
Her hands drifted to his head and held him closer, sifting through the thick, silky hair that no
longer bore sticky products.

The petite fingers tangled in his hair were driving him crazy. He could feel the strength in
them as they nimbly massaged his scalp while pressing him closer to her flesh. His own small
nipples, slightly distended, dragged against her dewy skin and he suppressed a groan of
frustration. Wanting to go on ahead and torn between spending the entire night between Ginny
Weasley’s tempting breasts, he dragged his head away reluctantly and was desperately frowned upon
by the redhead.

“Up here,” Draco rasped, hoisting her rather unceremoniously onto the high bed, pushing his
blankets out of the way. He took only a few seconds to shuck his pajama pants and launched himself
after her.

Seeing her pale skin spread upon his black Egyptian cotton sheets was stunning and he stopped
halfway between her parted legs to admire how beautiful she was against the backdrop of his bed.
His pause alerted her and she looked at him frantically, uncomprehendingly.

“Merlin, you are gorgeous,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone, but she heard him. His
unexpected revelation shocked her, and she immediately felt horribly exposed. Unthinkingly, she
reached up and linked her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, at the very least covering
her own insecurities with his nudity.

He mistook her gesture for ardor, and insinuated his hips and disturbingly full erection against
her lush delta. Her mouth fell open on a sigh, and he knew he couldn’t go one second longer without
hearing her vocalizations, whatever they were.

Gritting his teeth, he teased her hot, slick outer lips with his cock as he ground out the
incantation to summon his wand. Once his wand was in hand, he dipped low to her ear, biting it,
sucking on it, before speaking.

“I have to hear you,” he whispered, his tone winded and feral. With one last nip, he reared back
and Ginny was momentarily struck by his beauty, thinking he could surely rival the centaurs in the
Forbidden Forest.

“*Finite incantatem,”* he bit out, simultaneously sliding deeply within her.

Ginny Weasley’s first sound was a keening cry that escalated in volume as Draco Malfoy seated
himself to the hilt in her dark, fragrant softness. Her sweet song wrenched a soul-deep groan from
him as he watched her bright head writhe on his pillow. The combined sights and sounds went
directly to his groin, and he forced himself to stay still until she opened her eyes to face
him.

He didn’t have to wait long. Her chocolate stare fixed on him, marred only by unslaked lust. As
if she didn’t realize she had been relieved of his spell, she tilted her hips into his, plainly
measuring and fluttering her clenching walls around him.

“Don’t do that,” he moaned, hearing the plaintive note in his own voice and dismissing it.

“Don’t do that,” she breathed in rejoinder, fingers dug so deeply into his shoulders he knew
he’d have marks on the morrow.

“I’m not doing anything,” he growled, leaning down to kiss her as if it would silence her
impudent mouth.

“Exactly,” she muttered when he released her. “Do something. This is killing me.”

A modicum of concern manifested itself. “Does this hurt?” he asked stiffly.

“Only when you don’t move,” she retorted, wriggling herself against him pointedly, her voice
moving up several notes to indicate her displeasure.

She thought she heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like *bossy
Gryffindor* but couldn’t hold onto it when he started moving within her. He had covered her body
with his own, his entire torso stretched the length of hers. Before he slid his arms underneath her
back to pull her closer, his clever hands had guided her long legs to lock around his back.

She never was quite sure how he managed to keep such an incredibly incendiary rhythm as his lips
alternately ravaged and soothed her ears, shoulder, neck and mouth. His thrusts were smooth and
sure, touching her womb, she was positive.

A particularly deep, harder stroke hit her at a certain place and a bolt of pleasure streaked
through her so quickly that she couldn’t scream in time to keep up with it. Draco felt her clench
around him and knew that if he wished to prolong this, some quick thinking was needed.

As it had in the past, reciting ridiculously ancient Quidditch statistics in the back of his
mind kept him in control as he strived to find that same place with stroke after stroke. Suddenly
nothing was so important as keeping her in that pre-orgasmic state, the only force stopping her
from crossing from one plane into another.

Simple words broke him.

“Draco, *yes,*” she moaned, pulling her knees even farther toward her body, urging him
forward by digging her heels into his back. It was the second time this night that she’d used his
given name, and for a moment he toyed with the idea of never letting anyone but her use it. But
then her tight channel began to collapse around him, and one punishing stroke later, she went
flying over the edge, a hoarse shriek reverberating in his ear.

Knowing he had to act quickly, he began to withdraw, still turgid.

“No!” Ginny gasped, her body trying to clench against sudden loss. Her fingers scrabbled for
purchase on his sweaty body. “Don’t go!”

He merely smiled at her before disappearing between her legs again to taste her nectar. Using
his fingers to fill her void, he lapped up every drop of her scented rain. Giving a firm nudge on
her clitoris with his tongue was all it took to make her honestly scream.

“Oh, fuck!” she cried, too aroused to be embarrassed by her curse. Her highly stimulated body
was taut with tension even as she released again, thoughts blurry and unfocused as Draco rolled
them over together so that she was sitting atop his tightly muscled abdomen.

His arousal was harder than ever when he entered her tunnel on a constriction.

“Merlin’s bloody *teeth,*” Draco hissed, nearly dropping his almost-boneless partner.

“I can’t take much more,” Ginny sobbed harshly, hands gripping his shoulders and rocking on him.
“I’m going to come again, *oh!*” she screamed.

It broke him. His orgasm thundered through his ears amid the strains of Ginny’s screams and he
roared his completion. Hot, long pulses of release shook him as he spent himself within her.

She was powerless to keep herself upright, and collapsed onto his heaving chest. His exhaled
breath stirred the soaked hair at her temple as he rooted on his bedside table for his discarded
wand. His fingers curled around it and he turned them over, still intimately joined.

Unsure as to why she wanted to snipe at him for moving, he half-lifted himself off her and said
a spell under his breath, and tapped his wand to her belly twice. Once this was accomplished, he
threw his wand down on the floor and began arranging himself over her. She had only caught a few
words, but realized it as a pregnancy prevention charm.

Rational thought began to seep into her brain and panic began to form.

“Malfoy,” she began, but he cut her off by sucking her lower lip into his mouth, nibbling on
it.

“Could you just be quiet for once?” he asked impatiently once he released her. An insane giggle
bubbled forth as she recalled her earlier silencing. He slid his softened flesh from her and it
produced a sigh from both of them.

It appeared that he was fully prepared to fall asleep with his candles still blazing and her in
his bed.

“I didn’t finish my patrol,” she said desperately, trying to wriggle out from underneath
him.

“No, I’d say you didn’t,” he muttered, raising his head and craning it over his shoulder to peer
at the clock on his desk. “Doesn’t matter, it’s been over for twenty minutes now.” Apparently
satisfied, he pushed her to his side, then pulled her against him so he could rest his head in the
hollow between her neck and shoulder. “I have to get up early, so can you please go to sleep?”

Shocked, she stiffened beside him.

“What?” he demanded, draping his heavy arm over her midsection after pulling his cool feather
comforter over them.

“We just had sex,” she said very slowly, as if speaking to a child. “And now you’re telling me
to go to sleep?”

“Look, Weasley, let me spell it out for you. I’m tired. If you aren’t tired, I did something
wrong. I’m sure my bed is far more comfortable than the straw-filled sacks they must give you in
Gryffindor. You have early Potions and I have rounds, so we’ll get up at 6:30. That’s about four
hours from now, so therefore I’d like to have at least a nap.”

“But, but,” she stammered, “how will I get back to the tower?”

She felt his lips curve into a smile against her skin.

“I have an Invisibility Cloak, naturally, couldn’t let Scarhead have the only one in this
place.”

This placated her for a moment, and then she spoke again.

“How will I get it back to you without anyone noticing?” she asked, the pitch of her voice
changing strangely.

“I suppose you’ll just have to come back tomorrow night. Besides,” he said, throwing a leg over
hers, “my laundry will be done by then.”

~finis~

**An IM nugget between where_is_truth and myself.**

Sugarbear_1269: Angry!Sexy!Half-dressed!Draco

Sugarbear_1269: I almost typed half-baked

HipToShip: LMFAO

Sugarbear_1269: which is beyond hilarious

HipToShip: angry!sexy!stoned draco!

HipToShip: LOL

HipToShip: i'm fuckin' hungry. hey, is that my sweater you're wearing? that's so
funny!

HipToShip: lol

Sugarbear_1269: LMAO

Sugarbear_1269: I'm loving it

HipToShip: i can see him all like trying to open his eyes wide and not being able to, so his
eyebrows are all hiked up and he's peering at her and trying to figure out if it's his
sweater or not

HipToShip: "Am I wearing yours?" and he all looks down to check