They're not mine. They're all J.K. Rowling's.
Entirely suggestive, a bit graphic, but mostly just poetic. Let me know what you think.
Maybe I don't mind that he's looking at me that way.
Maybe I don't mind that he's approaching me with that look in his eyes.
There's a chance I don't mind that he's taking my hand and asking me to dance.
There's a possibility I just might like the idea of him whisking me away.
I find myself at this party for all Ministry employees that Ginny convinced me to attend. She said I hadn't gotten out of the house enough recently, and she guilted me into going because we don't see each other enough. But there she is, on the other side of the room, dancing the night away with Harry, and here I am with my punch.
And here he is, his hand extended for mine with that all-knowing look in his eyes and that characteristic smirk on his face.
Maybe I don't mind that the smirk is directed at me.
It's been years since we graduated from Hogwarts, almost too many years to count. His family was essentially persecuted from all sides long after the war, but that's all over now. Someone important in some place of authority stood up for them in some ideal circumstance, and all was forgotten. He's been working in the Department of Mysteries for about a year now. Once in a while, I spot him on the lift as I go to study muggle objects that wizards have made go terribly wrong.
He's never looked at me in quite this way.
Maybe I don't mind.
I find myself tilting my head ever-so-slightly to the side as I let him take my hand. He removes the punch from my other hand, setting it on the table behind me.
There's a chance I don't mind how close his body comes to mine as he does so.
He leads me out to the dance floor, and we begin to dance in an unspoken rhythm that works.
It's possible that I don't mind how well it works.
"So how's life, Granger?" he almost whispers in my ear.
I attempt to ignore the chill that finds it way down my spine before saying, "I do believe, Malfoy, we might just be old enough and mature enough to stop using surnames with one another."
He laughs, and it occurs to me I've never heard him laugh.
I just might not mind the warmth that spreads within me at the sound.
"Well, then," he says, "how's life, Hermione?"
I try again to ignore the shiver that runs along my spine before responding, "It's just fine, Draco. And yours?"
"Mine's just fine as well. The Ministry is good to me," he says. I barely notice the distance between us grow just a little smaller.
I'm not sure I mind.
"Yes," I agree. "The Ministry has gotten much better over the past few years."
"Still messing with your muggle toys?" he asks, and I detect the lighthearted nature in his voice.
"Not as much as wizards like to mess them up for themselves," I counter.
I feel him shake his head above me. There's a possibility I don't mind the way he brushes against me when he does.
I feel him tighten his hold on me almost imperceptibly as he says, "So you mean to imply that muggles know better than wizards do?"
I laugh as I reply, "In regards to muggle inventions, they most certainly do."
He laughs again and pulls me closer in rhythm to the music.
I might not mind my head on his shoulder. Or the way our breathing is aligned. Or the heartbeat I hear within his chest. I might not mind that I hear his heart skip an almost imperceptible beat as I squeeze his hand.
"So what brings you out tonight?" he mutters against my ear.
I'm not sure I mind the humming it makes, or the tingles I feel all over my body in response.
"Ginny," I respond simply.
"Hm?" he asks. I don't think I quite mind that he lifts my chin with his fingers when he asks me to repeat myself.
"Ginny," I whisper, accidentally catching his eye for an intense moment.
"Ginny," he whispers back, and I nod. "You mean Ginny who's over there on the other side of the room with Potter, completely oblivious to your existence?"
As his gaze intensifies even more, all I can do is nod.
Bringing his mouth lower to my ear, blowing ever-so-slightly into it, he adds, "You mean Ginny who won't notice if you're gone?"
There's a chance I don't mind finding myself in his flat. Or the way his sheets feel on my back as he leads me down in his bed. Or the way he settles himself next to me, toying with locks of my hair in what I know to be an intentionally teasing manner.
"You know, Hermione," he whispers softly, rolling over to face me, "there have been certain parts of you about which I've always been curious."
"Really, Draco?" I say in what I intend to be a sarcastic tone. It comes out more as a plea. "And what's that?"
"Oh, you know," he says, running his fingers along the side of my body. "Here," stopping at the nape of my neck. "Here," stopping at the base of my breasts. "Here," stopping at the hem of my skirt. "And here," bringing them up to touch my lips.
I'm not sure I mind when he runs his fingers along my lips, or the low moan I know I let him hear as he runs them along the nape of my neck and back to my lips again. I'm not sure I mind the way my head becomes putty in his hands, turning this way and that in compliance with his fingers. I'm not sure I mind when he replaces those fingers with his lips.
I'm not sure I mind when I feel his weight on top of me, or when he begins moving his hips in motion with mine in a way I hadn't realized I had begun to move. There's a possibility I don't mind when my shirt glides over my head, or my bra finds its way to the floor.
I'm quite sure I don't mind when he warms the breasts he leaves uncovered with his mouth on one and a hand on the other. And I'm quite sure I don't mind when he switches to cover the alternate one with his mouth and the other with his hand.
I'm not sure I entirely notice at what point I take his shirt in my hands and lift it over his head, or exactly when my hands find the button on his pants. There's a chance I don't even completely notice when I discard his underwear in the pile we're beginning to make on his floor.
I just might not mind when my skirt and underwear join his on the floor.
I might not mind when our voices raise louder in more intense moans as our rhythm increases in speed.
There's a chance I don't mind when he calls out my name. Maybe I also don't mind when I call out his.
I'm quite sure I don't mind when our bodies tense in those final moments, when we become closer than we thought we ever would.
And I'm entirely certain I don't mind waking up the next morning, cuddled in his arms and feeling his breathing match with mine.
I know I don't mind the kiss he places on my forehead, or the smile he offers in the early morning sun.
And I also know I don't mind when he walks me to the door, offering me that one last kiss, and I especially don't mind when, as, I'm just about to apparate away, he grasps my arm to say,
"Hey, Hermione... same time tomorrow?"
I might not even mind the smile I give him as I apparate away.
A/N: There's a button down there that says "go." Press it and see what happens.
Then leave a review.
It'll be fun.