A Bath

[ - ]
Printer ePub eBook
Table of Contents | - Text Size +
Story Notes:

This is based on an original smutlet I wrote years ago but it was absolutely perfect for this pair so I revised it, added a couple pages, and turned it into D/Hr fic! *grin* After all the angst lately, I wanted something smutty and happy, darn it!

Originally Posted: September 24, 2004

The bathroom is bathed in light as my wand lights the candles. My eyes move around the room before settling on the tub. With small steps, I creep towards the white tub, continually resisting the urge to turn and run. Once I reach it, my hand hesitantly turns on the faucet, my breathing ragged to my own ears. My fingers move under the flowing water to test its warmth, making the necessary adjustments until the water temperature is a blend of warm and cold.

Satisfied that the water is perfect, I pull back. Again, my eyes sweep the unfamiliar bathroom. Dark colors, bold and striking, mix with white. I find myself wondering, for the millionth time in the past two hours, what I am doing. My lower lip is drawn into my mouth as my teeth gnaw on the flesh, an action brought about by the worries and fear that are consuming part of my mind at the moment.

I walk towards the sink, my bare feet having grown accustomed to the coolness of the tile. I put my wand down, knowing that I will not need it for what is about to happen. When I am standing at the sink, I look in the mirror, not sure I recognize the person staring at me. My eyes show no signs of the worry and fear that I know I am feeling. Instead, they shine with curiosity and anticipation. My face is slightly flushed, my lips wet, my breathing still ragged, my brown hair framing my face in wild curls.

What am I doing here? I don't even have an answer for that question. One minute, it was the usual banter, the usual game. The next, without even realizing what was happening, something changed. The game became real, finding me not backing away from the challenge, out of some stubborn need to not admit defeat and, truthfully, because I was curious how far he'd take it, how far I'd let it go. Before I could form a thought, I was taking his hand and apparating from our office. Now here I was, standing in his bathroom not sure what exactly was happening.

I sigh as I look down at the sink, wondering if it would be more humiliating to leave and admit defeat or to stay and take this as far as it went. I hear the soft sound of the door closing and look up. My eyes find his in the mirror, my breath catching momentarily before I regain some resemblance of control. With all the courage I can gather, I turn to face him, not at all surprised to see the amusement in his pale gray eyes. I wait, half expecting him to stop the game, knowing that he must be as surprised as I am that it has gone this far.

I remind myself that he can‘t possibly want this, that he must be here to admit defeat before it goes too far. Instead, he leans back against the bathroom door, his lips twisted into a familiar smile as he glances at the bathtub. My eyes follow his, noticing that the water is nearing the top. I'd nearly forgotten about it, honestly. Feeling rather foolish, I move to the tub, turning the water off. I can feel his eyes following me, obviously waiting for me to break, to admit that he has won yet again. I look back at him and clearly have the answer to my earlier question. He is the reason that I am here.

My eyes find his, the smile on his face giving me the impression that he knows what I am thinking. I look away from those knowing eyes, fighting the urge to just run away from his amusement at the situation. My nerves twisting in a thousand different directions and he stands there calmly amused. I can't run, though. It's no longer about winning, as if it ever truly were. I stand silently, waiting, not sure what will happen next. This is a new experience for me, one I'm not sure I'm prepared to handle. I don't move until I hear him laugh, the sound soft but enough to cause me to tense, anger flashing in my eyes.

It’s all been a joke. I’m not surprised, having known that it was impossible that Draco Malfoy would ever want me. He was a Pureblood, handsome, intelligent, wealthy and completely unattainable to an average looking, opinionated, Muggle born bookworm like myself. We’d fought through seven years at Hogwarts and another four years at University, though the arguments had become more teasing and less serious as the years had passed.

It hadn’t been until after leaving University that I finally acknowledged my silly infatuation on the arrogant prat that had somehow worked his way into my heart. It was silly and foolish to even consider the idea that Draco would ever think of me in that way. He still called me the ‘bushy haired know-it-all’ as often as possible, which was quite a bit since he had come to work in the same department several months after graduation. That was how this had started, our working together led to playful bickering and an awareness that we both ignored, though he delighted in flirting because he knew it flustered me, but it had never been serious. This, tonight, it had obviously all been some scheme to embarrass me.

I open my mouth, ready to start a fight, to argue, to do anything except stand meekly waiting for his command. The words freeze on my lips when I finally look up and see his eyes, the humor there mixing with something I'd never have expected~desire. It is then that I realize he is as unsure as I, neither of us having expected the game to go so far. We are no longer former enemies or casual friends.

There is something happening between us, something that possibly always existed that we were too stubborn or scared to acknowledge. If I do this, everything will change. He has said nothing about caring for me or even wanting a relationship. No promises for a future or even admissions of affection. My friends can‘t stand him despite his assistance during the War against Voldemort. He‘s a Pureblood and I‘m just Hermione. No longer caring, I make my decision. Live for the moment for tomorrow we could all be dead, a motto that I adopted during the worst days of the War.

"The water is getting cold," I whisper softly as my eyes find his. I'm struck by how nearly perfect he is.

His eyes move to look at the bath before moving back to catch mine. It seems he makes his own decision as he smirks, my stomach tightening as he speaks, "Undress me, Hermione."

He has thrown down the gauntlet, started the game. No, that's wrong. The game was started long before this, even if neither of us realized or acknowledged it. My move. Any doubts leave my mind as I look into his eyes, knowing that no matter what else happens, I would not look back with regrets. He moves away from the door, lazily walking towards me as his eyes continue to hold mine. Finally, he is standing in front of me.

My right hand raises, my fingers caressing his cheek in a need to reassure myself that this was not a dream, that he was real. He's warm, his skin smooth except for the stubble that let me know he must not have shaved that morning. I take a deep breath as my hand moves lowers, our eyes still locked. I unbutton his shirt slowly, never looking away from him as I remove his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. I’m surprised to see him wearing a cotton shirt beneath it, silently cursing the extra material.

Fingers play with the edge of his white T-shirt before finally pushing the material up. I let my fingers brush across his warm flesh, trying to satisfy an uncontrollable need to touch him. He raises his arms as I move the shirt up and over his head, tossing it unceremoniously to the side. I watch as he runs a hand through his pale blond hair, his eyes moving to look at the shirt now lying near his right foot. A smile crosses my lips as the rather shy gesture. I want, no I need, to touch him, the words spilling from my lips unconsciously, "May I?"

I start to wonder why I spoke. His eyes move to mine as a slow smile crosses his lips. He doesn't speak, instead just nodding once, giving me permission. I move my right hand along his neck, my thumb brushing across the middle of his throat before moving lower. I want to memorize every detail, knowing the likely chance that I would only have him for this one night. My fingers trace his flesh, his arms and chest, brush over his nipples, down his flat stomach, past the light scattering of hair on his lower abdomen until they rest on the waist of his jeans. I could have spent hours just touching him, but the water had to be getting cold.

I unfasten the button of his trousers, drawing in a breath as I lower the zipper. My eyes find his as my hands move to either side of his waist. My thumbs brush against his warm flesh as they grip the material, snagging the silk underneath, as I lower them both. I move to my knees as he lifts one leg, then the other before I toss the clothes to the join the shirts. My eyes devour him, again the flash of arrogance in his eyes softened by the arousal he appears to be feeling. My hands continue their examination of his body, moving behind him to caress the soft swell of his ass, brushing against his erection, moving along his thighs down his legs before finally removing his white socks. He is now undressed, ready for his bath.

I stand, eyes meeting his, a bit embarrassed by the need I feel. He walks past me, deliberately brushing against me on his way to the tub. My nipples are tight against the soft cotton of my dress, my robe laying across the sofa in the other room, my panties already soaked after just the brief contact. It was going to be a long night, I decide as I watch him lower himself into the tub, his presence causing a small amount of water to spill over the side. He turns and catches me watching, again the knowing smile as he demands, "Bathe me."

The huskiness of his voice draws me closer. Before I can even form a thought, I am kneeling beside the tub, oblivious to the puddle of water. I find the washcloth and some shower gel. I glance unseeingly at the gel, smelling fruit as I squeeze the liquid onto the washcloth. Once the cloth is soapy, I put the bottle by my knee, in case I need it later. He is lounging in the tub, his eyes half shut as they watch me.

I lean forward, resting against the rim of the tub as I move the soapy cloth over his neck, chest, and arms. I take my time, savoring the experience as I wash him. "Lean forward, Draco," I say, barely recognizing the huskiness of my own voice. He obeys, allowing me to wash his back. It is then that I lay the rag over the edge of the tub, deciding to wash his hair before finishing his body. I find a cup and fill it with soapy water. "Put your head back," I tell him as I pour the water over his soft blond hair.

I repeat the action a couple more times until his hair is wet. The cup is set down as I open the shampoo, again inhaling the scent of fruit. I squeeze some onto the palm of my hand before shutting the bottle and tossing it to the side. I lather my hands as I lean across the tub. I begin to work the shampoo into his hair, massaging his scalp as I enjoy the feeling of his hair against my hands. When I'm sure that it is well soaped, I rinse my hands in the tepid water before turning on the faucet to fill the cup with clean water.

My left hand rests on his forehead to keep the soap from getting into his eyes as I begin to rinse the shampoo from his hair. When I've finished, I turn the water off, put the cup back where I found it and pick up the discarded washcloth. I rinse the cloth in the soapy water before adding more gel. "Lay back," I say as he pushes his wet hair from his forehead. He does so, making himself comfortable as his eyes again half close. I move the cloth over the rest of his body, having to lean over the edge of the tub to reach his legs and feet. When I find his erection, I don't resist moving the cloth along its length several times before moving on.

Finally, I am done. His body has been soaped and rinsed, his hair washed. He has not spoken since his early command for me to bathe him. I find myself flushed, sweaty, damp from stray water, and more aroused than I have ever been. Except for his prominent erection, he appears to be unaffected. His breathing is normal, his lips still twisted into that amused smile. It would appear that he has indeed won the game. Disappointed and rather disgusted by my behavior, I sigh and look at the floor. Deciding that I've lived through enough humiliation to last my entire life, I start to stand. My hand rests on the edge of the tub as I get to my feet.

It is then, as I am moving, that he turns his head to look at me. My eyes widen slightly as he moves quickly, his left hand encircling my wrist as he pulls me down, his right hand moving behind my head as his lips possess mine. I feel the now cool water as I land in the tub, his grip on my wrist tightening as he continues to kiss me. Distantly, as if it were coming from somewhere else, I hear water splashing on tile. That's the last coherent thought that I have before I give myself to him, meeting his kiss with my own demands. I'm completely unaware of anything except the feel of his warm body against mine.

He releases my wrist as his hand moves to my back, holding me against him as he manages to reverse our position. My head rests against the tub as his hand moves up my legs, pushing my dress up as it moves. My dress is soaked with water, my hair becoming wet. His other hand moves along my back, unzipping the dress before he pushes it down to my waist. It is only then that he releases my mouth, his lips finding first one breast then the other. My eyes close as my head falls back against the tub, my body arching against him, needing him. I feel his fingers on my stomach, a gasp escaping my lips as he rips the cotton panties from my body before tossing them to the side. It is then that I hear him speak, the words reaching me through the haze. "Look at me."

My eyes open and I move my head to look at him, our eyes meeting as he brushes his cock against me. His lips catch my cry as he thrusts into me, filling me more than ever before. My right hand grips the side of the tub as my left tangles itself in his wet hair. The water splashes as he moves, fast and deep. There is no pretense of gentleness in our union. His hands kneading my breasts, squeezing my ass, my hands pulling at his hair, nails digging into his back. It doesn't take long for either of us, already seemingly taking forever for this one night. My mouth moves from his as I feel the tension snap, my teeth biting into his shoulder as I climax, tasting sweat and soap as I scream in release. He growls my name as he comes, moving several more times inside me as he rides out his orgasm.

Later, as I struggle for breath, I find myself reeling from the night's events. What happens next? How will we deal with what just happened? Will we be able to go back to what it was before? Do I really want to go back to what it was? I'm lulled from my thoughts by his lips on my neck, his tongue running over the flesh as he sucks it into his mouth. I watch as he pulls back, his eyes moving over the mark he made. My fingers move over the bite on his shoulder, knowing that we are now both branded in a way. My eyes find his and he smiles, a real smile, a blend of shyness and amusement and pleasure.

He moves slightly, the cold water rising against my neck. At that precise moment, I finally understand. There is no logic, no planning, no thought. Tonight, we both won. Looking into his eyes, I can see a hint of a future. My finger brushes against his cheek, my thumb pushing a wet lock of hair from his forehead. I lean forward and kiss him, enjoying his taste before I pull back. My lips move over his face until they hover over his ear. I whisper, "Fuck me, Draco," pulling back and watching as his gray eyes narrow. His full lips twitch and he laughs, my fingers tracing his lips as he obeys my command. There would be time for talking later, I decide. For now, I was just living for the moment.

The end.