Under The Blankets and Dreaming

Sometimes she suspected he magically lowered the temperature in their bedroom so he could get away with piling more blankets on the bed. Though she was positive she and perhaps his mother were the only people who knew about this odd quirk, his penchant for expensive, luxurious sheets and comforters was nearly out of control.

Draco absolutely loved writhing around in deep bedclothes, especially those that were soft against his bare skin. As she stood propped in the shadowy doorway, Ginny could count no less than three ridiculously poofy down comforters arranged over her sleeping lover. When they had quarreled hopelessly about this last, Draco had surprised her by admitting defensively he slept better with heavier covers, and that the added bulk made him feel safer.

Not wanting to further compromise his masculinity, she had resigned herself to a lifetime of hot flashes, profuse sweating, and hanging her feet off the side of the bed to improve air circulation.

She entered their bedroom quietly, not wishing to wake him. It was, after all, well past one a.m. and she was late coming home from her Mediwitch shift at St. Mungo’s. Summoning an unlit candle, she padded barefoot to their mahogany dressing table. Lighting the candle and settling it securely in a holder, she began to remove her clothing piece by piece.

“Hello, dear,” Draco’s mirror whispered to her. The mirror, haunted by a female spirit that was quite protective of Draco, never failed to update her on his disposition.

“Hello,” Ginny replied, busily untying the hastily knotted strings that held her protective robes together, then stripping down completely.

“He’s been quite restless,” the mirror reported dutifully.

Ginny nodded at her reflection, acknowledging the mirror’s words.

“Thank you,” Ginny said, before extinguishing the candle and turning her back on the invasive piece of glass

Standing silently, Ginny regarded the lumpy form she surmised was Draco’s under the piles of blankets. Their bed was in and of itself a conversation piece, without Draco’s added blanket drama. He’d purchased the high-quality transfigurable behemoth from a wizarding boutique in France, on the premise that they’d be spending so much time in it.

And they did spend so much time there Ginny knew it was a wonder she got anything done around the sprawling mansion. Draco didn’t much care to get up and go to work, but did so mainly to appease Ginny. Not that either of them had to work, but Ginny insisted that they had to have something else to do besides find new places to shag on the grounds.

The funny little notion brought a smile to her face, and she continued to gaze upon Draco’s form, thinking naughty little thoughts interspersed with love. With that, she started toward the bed, getting ready to hoist herself onto the high bedstead.

The groan that emanated from the down-covered figure caught her so off guard that she lost her footing and tumbled to the floor. Stifling a pained yelp, she stood and hopped gingerly around, babying her stubbed toe. Nearly growling with disgust, she approached the bed to try again.

Suddenly Draco hurled off part of his blankets, and she could see his pale skin illuminated in the moonlight streaming in the window. He began to voice moans and more groans as he wriggled ceaselessly against the soft sheets, his arms flung wide. Goggling, Ginny could only stare at him as he muttered something and pulled his blankets back up to his chin, still moving beneath the bedclothes, a random hand or foot sometimes making an appearance before being pulled back into the safety of the bed.

About to call him out for his obvious game of pretending to be asleep, she suppressed a giggle and moved closer to the bed.

“Ginny,” he said, voice strangled. “Oh, Merlin.”

Before she could reply, she saw his body buck sharply at the hips. He wrestled once more with the blankets before shoving them off to his left side, leaving his entire body exposed to Ginny’s wide eyes.

Draco was powerfully and impressively aroused, right hand clenched in the sheets, hips pistoning into a Ginny that could only be seen in his dreams. His left hand sporadically rose and fell, trying to pet dewy skin only he could feel.

Draco was muttering almost continuously now, and Ginny leaned as close to him as she could without actually mounting the bed. His words were mostly unintelligible, but the ones that she could decipher made her cheeks redden in lust.

Obviously, having never seen the two of them in action made Draco’s phantom thrusts that much more erotic. She could have never admired the play of muscles in his abdomen, sides and thighs as they bunched and released. Never would have contemplated the beauty of his hard shaft barely constrained by taut skin, the proud, heavy jut of it.

There was no more standing idly by. Instantly, her mind went into overdrive, searching out the shortest route to positioning her suddenly aching, wet center over him in mid-thrust. Forgetting her injured toe, she pushed off the cool hardwood floor onto the edge of the mattress, careful not to jar it or him.

His bucking hips continued unabated, and if her eyes weren’t deceiving her, he seemed to be becoming more desperate for release as seconds ticked by. She crawled over to him, each inch a mile-wide chasm, each half-second an hour of eternity. With a practiced motion, she threw one leg over his and was soon straddling his thighs, sitting high on her knees to avoid touching him until she was ready.

She waited for several tight, heaving strokes to pass before she gathered her courage and moved. Breathing harshly, she steadied herself on the bed and moved up, tilting her pelvis so that he might catch her on his next driving push.

Draco woke to Ginny’s breathless shriek as he seated himself to the hilt inside her.

“Ginny!” he wheezed, fingers clamping tight on her hips, eyes clenching in ecstasy. “Sweet Merlin, fuck me,” he swore.

For all her experience atop Draco, they both knew this position was better suited for voyeurism and long, drawn-out orgasms, not for the release that pounded swiftly through Draco’s veins.

“Got to turn over, got to turn over,” Draco chanted slowly, trying to regain control as he roughly pulled Ginny to his chest and rolled them.

Ginny saw stars as he hauled her legs over his shoulders and slammed into her hard enough to make both of them gasp.

“Oh, gods, just…like…that…” Ginny shuddered, trying her best to meet his hammering strokes. She could feel the tension coiled in her belly, in her muscles, and strained heavily toward bliss.

“I’m going to come,” Draco hissed between clenched teeth. “You have to come now.”

He didn’t think he had the capability to produce such force on his last stroke, or for his delicate Ginny to withstand it. But as his release pounded through him in heavy pulses, he distantly heard her moan increase in volume and felt her walls implode around his throbbing cock.

His eyes, drooping with fatigue and a measure of confusion, opened wide when Ginny yanked him down to her mouth and plundered his with her mint-flavored tongue.

When she released him, he was panting and staring at her in disbelief.

“That was the hottest thing I have ever seen,” she said, her eyes creeping over his form predatorily.

“I was dreaming,” he began weakly, struggling not to collapse on her.

“I saw it,” she replied forcefully. “I saw you fucking me in your dream.” She paused contemplatively, recalling his almost unbearable beauty in action.

“I think we need a few more mirrors around here.”