“You’ve never done this sort of thing before.” The statement was matter-of-fact and not a question at all.

Hermione looked at the man who had spoken and shook her head. “No, I haven’t,” she confirmed as she wondered for what had to be the fifteenth time that day why she had agreed to do this. For that matter, she wondered what on Earth had possessed Dean to ask her, of all people. She wasn’t the type of woman to inspire artistic creativity by any means, and the very idea that someone as talented as Dean, even at something he simply considered a passionate hobby, had asked her to pose was still perplexing to her.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Dean reassured her with a flash of white teeth that stood out against his dark skin. “I promise I won’t bite, unless you ask.”

“Stop teasing me, Thomas,” she scolded with a reluctant smile, nearly laughing at how ludicrous the thought of Dean biting her was. It was funny how a situation like this could make her more aware of things she’d never noticed. For years, Dean was simply Dean, friend of Seamus, artistic and gentle, handsome and friendly.

Now, however, he was an artist who had been staring at her for weeks, possibly longer, before she’d finally demanded to know why he kept looking at her in such an odd way. She wasn’t used to being looked at, really, and it flustered her when people stared. They worked together in the Department of Muggle Affairs, though, and it was just awkward to feel his gaze on her when she was doing paperwork or research, especially when she had a habit of biting her quill and often had ink smears on her face and fingers when she returned home in the evenings.

When he had confessed that he wanted to sketch her, she’d been stunned. Dean was a brilliant artist, after all, and his work was always vibrant and beautiful. She hadn’t known he sketched people since most of what she’d seen over the fifteen years she’d known him had been scenic, animals, or various scenes that were brought to life with a few strokes of lead and a quill. She’d refused, naturally, because she didn’t even like having her photograph taken much less the idea of posing for a piece of art. She trusted Dean not to use the medium to humiliate her by making her teeth too large or her nose too narrow, but she just wasn’t certain she’d want to see the results of such an experiment.

Dean had let the matter drop, respecting her wishes, but he still watched her during quiet moments at work. How could she focus on work when someone attractive, as Dean was quite good-looking with a handsome face, dark skin and lean body, had said that the lines of her face made him itch to sketch. She assumed it was a compliment, at least, by the way his eyes had drifted over her face until she’d been blushing. She still wasn’t entirely sure why she’d finally agreed. She liked to tell herself that it was because she knew from reading that an artist could sometimes focus on one image and not feel restful until they’d sketched it, making her a possible cause of discomfort for someone she’d considered a friend since she was eleven.

The truth was that she couldn’t stop thinking about what the painting might look like. It was flattering to have Dean wanting to sketch her and a part of her found the idea appealing even as she debated the pros and cons constantly during the last week since she’d agreed to pose. Dean had been happy with her decision and had spent their lunch period over the past few days muttering about light and making notes on spare pieces of parchment while looking at her every so often.

Now, though, she was here at his flat and the reality of what she’d agreed to was making her nervous. She was tempted to apologize and tell him she’d changed her mind. He’d understand, of course, because Dean had always been very understanding. She supposed it might make this easier for her if she wasn’t attracted to him, a carefully hidden reaction that she’d not ever allowed to make itself known during the past few years of working closely with him on various projects. To him, she was just Hermione, the girl who had helped him with Ancient Runes and Ron’s ex-girlfriend.

It was funny how a relationship that had only lasted six months had given her such a title around anyone who knew them. She was no longer Hermione. She was now Hermione, Ron’s ex-girlfriend, to any of the boys she’d known at school regardless of House designation. It was ridiculous, of course, considering she was twenty-six and her ill fated affair with Ron had been over by the time she was nineteen, but she’d learned over the years that men rarely seemed to make sense. Whereas she wasn’t even looked at as being a woman, a sexual creature who wouldn’t mind not being alone every Friday night, by any of them, Ron had no problem securing dates or shags and had actually been seriously involved with Luna Lovegood for the last sixteen months. Hermione, however, hadn’t had a single date in over five years.

While part of that was probably her fault since she didn’t put out signals that were obvious and she had no interest in simply shagging someone to relieve pressure that she could take care of herself when necessary, she couldn’t help wishing sometimes that men would look at her and see a woman who was somewhat pretty and desirable. Hermione knew she wasn’t sexy or even beautiful, but there had to be men out there who admired intelligence as well as sex appeal, hadn’t there?

And that’s why she’d agreed to pose for Dean. When he looked at her like that and talked about the curve of her cheek and the way her skin looked in a certain light, she felt beautiful. How could she resist the opportunity to feel that way for the length of time it would take him to sketch her? She was only human, after all, and it was nice to believe, even briefly, that someone like him might notice what others seemed to ignore.

Hermione shook her head slightly and tried to stop thinking. It would be a very long day, indeed, if she continued doing that while she posed. She looked at Dean and was surprised to see him leaning against the wall of his flat staring at her. He was looking at her differently, in what she’d started to mentally refer to as his artist’s gaze, and she was struck by the fact that he was quite sexy when he was like this. Instead of the robes they wore at the Ministry, he was wearing faded blue jeans with paint splatters and a loose dark blue shirt with only half the buttons fastened. His feet were bare and his hair was pulled back into dreadlocks.

She shifted nervously as she looked away, focusing on a banner he had on the wall that displayed the West Ham logo. His flat was neat and far more tidy than she’d expected from a single bloke living alone. It was small and located in Muggle London with very few indications that the occupant was a wizard. Photos of parents and siblings lined one wall with books piled on a few shelves beneath them. Quidditch equipment was piled in a corner along with other equipment she recognized as football related. There was a balcony that overlooked a pretty courtyard and garden below and a kitchen that she could see. She assumed the two closed doors belonged to a loo and a bedroom.

“You have a nice flat,” she complimented him as she tried to calm her nerves.

“It’s too small,” he said with a shrug and a smile as he finally pushed back from the wall and approached her. He wasn’t exceptionally tall and she found him a bit too skinny but he had a certain grace about the way he walked that drew one’s attention. Well, it drew hers, at least. His hand reached up and he brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead, his fingertips rough against her skin. “You don’t need to be nervous, Hermione. It’s just a pose. I won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I trust you, Dean, or I wouldn’t have agreed,’ she told him matter-of-factly, trying to ignore the reaction she’d had from his gentle touch. Perhaps Harry was right and she did need to get out more if a casual touch from a friend had resulted in such sexual awareness. She collected herself and gave him the best smile she could manage currently. “So what do I need to do?”

“You know, I could get rather spoiled to this,” he teased as he brushed his fingers through her hair and studied her in much the same way she studied a research problem or puzzle. “I mean, how many blokes get a chance to tell Hermione Granger what to do?”

“Keep on, Thomas, and you’ll just be sketching an empty room,” she replied back with a laugh as she started to relax.

“Nah, won’t come to that. ‘sides, you promised and you never break a promise, Granger,” he said smugly, letting her know his casual ‘you promise you’ll pose?’ had actually been far more manipulative than it had appeared.

Before she could accuse him of being a sneaky prat, he moved his hand to rest on her back and led her down the hall to one of the closed doors. She licked her lips and ignored the slight shiver she felt at the feel of his hand against her back.

“I hope you don’t mind but there’s this image in my head that I want to draw so I’ve got a few things for you to wear to fit that picture,” he told her with a sheepish smile. “Drawing is just a hobby, but I do take it rather seriously. I wasn’t sure what you’d feel most comfortable wearing so I chose a few things for you to select from. I’ve got them lying on my bed if you’d consider changing for the drawing?”

Hermione didn’t commit one way or another until she saw the clothes. There were three different things laid out on his bed. They were all quite beautiful and in colors she knew complimented her skin and hair colors. She glanced at him and arched a brow, wondering for a moment if the rumors about just how close he and Seamus had been in school were true. While he had dated Ginny back then and she’d heard of him being with a few other girls during the years, that didn’t particularly mean anything. Not many straight men would have such a good sense of color and style, after all. She made a face when she realized how she sounded even thinking that and instead looked at the clothes.

“My sister helped me choose,” he muttered as he obviously read the look she’d given him. “I described you to her and told her sort of what I could see and she chose a few things. I, uh, thought they were nice so I got them. She owns a little shop in Camden so I’m borrowing them and just have to buy the one you actually wear.”

“They’re lovely,” Hermione said honestly as she moved her fingers over the soft material. They were all very tasteful but sensual with cuts and slits that left little material to actually cover much skin. Nothing at all what she’d normally buy or even consider wearing but this was different and not at all normal. She picked up one of the gowns that was in a pretty shade of blue, nearly purple, and rubbed the silk against her cheek.

“That one,” Dean whispered as he reached out to touch the material and drag it across her neck. “I’ll go set up while you change. Thanks again for posing for me, Hermione. I’ve wanted this for awhile now.”

He was out of the room and shutting the door behind him before she could reply. It felt weird to undress in a man’s bedroom, even in a platonic situation such as this. She discovered soon enough that the cut of the gown prevented her from wearing a bra. She considered trying another gown but they were all cut so similarly that she knew it was pointless. After she took a deep breath, she unclasped her bra and slid it down her arms, letting out her breath as her breasts were bared to the cool air of the flat. Her nipples hardened from the cold or possibly from the feeling of soft silk against her bare skin, and she flushed as she realized he’d see her reaction easily in this gown.

As she pulled the gown on, she tried to think of the most non-sexual thoughts she could. She repeated Hogwarts: A History mentally as she put her arms through the thin straps of the gown and straightened the material so that her breasts were somewhat covered. The slit in the side bared her entire left leg up to her thigh and she hoped she’d not flash her knickers when she sat down. While most people would probably assume she had simple cotton knickers, not that many would ever think about what she wore beneath her clothes, she actually had a slight addiction to sexy knickers. She had a drawer full of scraps of lace, silk, and the like in various colors along with other lingerie that was her one frivolous indulgence.

She took off her socks and looked in the mirror above Dean’s chest of drawers. She could only see her face and chest, but had to admit that the gown did wonders for her average cleavage. Even without a bra, her breasts looked full and quite nice as the material caressed them. She left her hair pulled up into the sloppy pony tail she’d been wearing with her jeans and T-shirt, not sure at all what Dean might have in mind for the picture in his head. When she stepped out of the room and walked back into the sitting room, she was stunned to see that he’d transformed the balcony into a beautiful setting.

“Cor,” he muttered before he dropped the book he’d been holding. Hermione glanced at him curiously but he picked up the book and continued setting the scene for the art. She must have imagined his exclamation, which was possible and most likely wishful thinking. “You like the gown?”

“It’s lovely,” she said in response as she walked to the balcony. The light was very good at this angle and she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he’d chosen the small flat due to the natural light and balcony view. It was a pretty spring day and just slightly cold. She dragged her bottom lip into her mouth when she felt his hands in her hair, pulling it free from the band she’d used to put it up.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he murmured against her neck, hot breath against her cool skin, as he proceeded to brush out her hair with his fingers, leaving it wild and unruly as it fell down her back and around her face.

When he was finished, he turned her to face him and she felt herself become nervous at the look in his eyes. It was a different sort of nervous than before, one that wasn’t common at all and left her slightly confused. His hands, large capable hands with elegant fingers she’d often seen wrapped around a quill, moved along the curves of her body as he adjusted the gown. There was nothing overtly sexual about his touch, nothing to indicate he saw more than a subject to draw, but Hermione couldn’t stop herself from shuddering as he touched her.

He looked at her steadily and then lead her further onto the balcony. The cement was cold beneath her bare feet but she didn’t really notice it as he sat her down on a pretty bench that was surrounded by flowers. She didn’t even recognize most of the flowers, but she knew they must somehow fit this image in his head. Their vibrant colors were beautiful and she was reminded for a moment of the garden of Eden or an island somewhere.

“Sit like this,” he instructed as he adjusted the gown to show her legs and moved her hands and body. “If you need a break, let me know. I can sometimes get focused and forget about things.”

Each touch of his hands had her thinking things she certainly shouldn’t be thinking and she tried to concentrate on reciting facts and theories in her head to distract herself from her attraction. Once she was posed and comfortable, he sat behind an easel and began to sketch. She listened to the scratch of his quill on the paper as she basked in the rays of the sun.

She could feel his gaze on her. She didn’t know how and didn’t understand how eyes could rake over her and feel like hands touching her, but they did. After sitting for over an hour, she was aroused and more excited than she’d ever been before. Her knickers were damp and her nipples were hard, her face flushed from the knowledge he must know the dirty thoughts in her head, and the scratch of the quill was becoming one of the most erotic sounds she’d ever heard.

“Look at me,” he demanded huskily after she closed her eyes and tried to calm down yet again. Hermione turned her head slightly and opened her eyes, uncertain what he’d see there. Dean groaned softly and the quill began to move with more forceful strokes as he alternated between staring at her and the canvas. “It’s not enough.”

“What?” she asked softly.

Instead of answering, he stood up and walked to her. He slid the straps of her gown down her arms, his fingers pushing the material down until her breasts were bared to the cool afternoon air. His thumb brushed against her nipple and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. She should stop this, she knew, but she couldn’t. The gown was soon around her waist, the folds of fabric resting against her belly, her breasts moving with every breath she took. He guided her leg up and gathered the material of the gown around her thighs before he stood back and stared at her.

“No,” he muttered to himself as he pulled the gown down more around her belly and adjusted the fabric around her thighs, his knuckles brushing against her wet knickers as he moved her legs. When his dark eyes once again found hers, Hermione bit her lip and wondered what he saw. Her breasts weren’t very big and her belly wasn’t flat. Her hips were round and her thighs weren’t firm. He leaned forward and moved her hair, letting strands fall across her shoulder until the ends curled around her breast. He touched her face, traced her lips with his finger, and then nodded. “Better. Stay like that for me, Hermione.”

She stayed that way, watching him sketch as the cool air caressed her breasts and her knickers rubbed against her as she shifted ever so slightly occasionally. He stopped a few more times to adjust her hair or change her position, his hands caressing her bare skin every time and leaving her aroused beyond all belief as he was lost in the creative fog of his mind, completely unaware of the reaction she was having to his posing her.

“God, you’re even better than I imagined,” he murmured as he studied her face and then looked at his paper. “So bloody sexy.”

His words made her blush and she wondered if this was part of the experience. Did artists compliment their models so they’d pose naked despite knowing it was a very bad idea? She’d made the choice, though, and could have said no when he first lowered her gown. Instead, she’d helped him move the straps down her arm and enjoyed the feeling of being sexy in his eyes, if only for the time it took to finish the sketch. When he stopped the next time, he tore off one of the flowers and placed it between her breasts, letting the petals brush against her right nipple.

“A goddess,” he whispered as he moved her hand to rest on her belly, as if she were holding the flower. “Your curves were made to be sketched and your hair is magnificent. I can’t do it justice, can’t do you justice, but I’ve got to try.”

She didn’t reply since it was obvious he was talking to himself, muttering and speaking as he continued to alter her pose before he once again moved behind the easel. He took his shirt off, leaving him bare from the waist up, and she watched the muscles in his arms pull as he sketched. He wasn’t as skinny as she thought, but he wasn’t big and muscular by any means. His skin was smooth with just a bit of hair on his lower belly, his nipples were several shades darker than her own, and he had a scar on his collarbone that she knew was probably from the war.

He stopped again and brought her a glass of water, holding it while she drank. Some spilled down her chin and she gasped when the cold liquid dripped onto her chest. Dean growled softly, a noise unlike any she’d heard before, and their gazes met. He felt it, too. She could see the awareness and arousal and knew she wasn’t the only one affected by this situation. He wiped the water from her breasts, his fingers caressing her in a way that was not at all distant or platonic. He groaned and stepped away, but not before she could see the bulge that was pressed against the worn denim of his jeans.

It was amazing how confident she felt at the knowledge he was aroused by her. The tension faded and she felt excitement rush through her as she wondered if it would go further. It had been years since she’d had a man, but she felt so turned on right now that she knew she’d not refuse if it happened. She watched him sketch and subtly moved her fingers over her nipple, waiting to see if he reacted. He bit his lip when he noticed and gave her a warning look. He was no longer simply Dean, artist and Seamus’ best friend. He was a sexy man, attractive and arousing, smart and funny, who had spent the past few years being her friend and flirting in a manner that seemed casual but she now thought might have meant more.

She blushed as she boldly moved the hand on her belly lower. She didn’t look away from him as she tested her theory, tired of sitting for hours and being teased, of foreplay that left her aroused and desperate. Dean stopped sketching and stared at her, licking his lips as her hand moved beneath the fabric gathered around her thighs.

“Hermione,” he huskily whispered as he held the quill more tightly. She could see lead and ink on his fingers, standing out against his dark skin, and his hand shook as he tried to focus on his sketch. She moaned softly when her finger touched the damp fabric and she heard the snap of a quill, looking over to see him drop his quill before he crossed the small balcony in a few steps. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and he pulled her hand from beneath the gown. “I’ve been waiting so bloody long.”

That’s all she heard before he lowered his head and kissed her. It was a kiss unlike any she’d ever experienced. It was needy, desperate, passionate, consuming. His hands were suddenly all over her, caressing and squeezing, touching and gripping. She kissed him back, her hand gripping the back of his neck as he settled over her on the bench. She was pleased for the cushioning charm as he pushed her back and began to nibble on her neck.

“So beautiful,” he muttered as he licked her throat, his unshaven jaw rubbing against her sensitive skin as she moved her fingers along his spine. “I want you so much, Hermione. Can I have you?”

He looked up at his question, meeting her gaze, and she knew that she could refuse and he’d stop. He’d have difficulty and he’d already admitted more in his mutterings than he probably realized, but he’d not pressure her. “I’m yours, Dean,” she whispered before she leaned up and kissed him.

Her words made him moan and then the teasing was finally over. She felt her knickers pushed to the side and heard the sound of his zip lowering. She was wet and whimpered when she felt his cock brush against her cunt. He pushed two fingers inside her, fucking her with them as he kissed her, getting her ready. He stopped long enough to accio a condom, which he put on with far less skill than she’d have imagined. She was on Muggle birth control for her periods but she was glad he’d thought of the condom, even if they weren’t common in the wizarding world.

He fumbled with the latex for a few minutes, cursing under his breath as he tried to get it right, and then finally was kissing her again. She gasped when he thrust inside her, his thick cock stretching her more than she’d expected. He was soon buried completely inside her and gave her a moment to adjust. When she rolled her hips, he began to move. He pulled back and thrust back in, going deeper each time. He caressed her breasts, licking and sucking her nipples, lightly biting her skin in ways that had her whining and writhing beneath him.

It was urgent and frantic, both moving against each other and touching every bit of bare skin available. She wrapped her legs around him, the denim of his jeans rubbing against her, and arched up for more. It didn’t take long before he was grunting as his body tensed. He shuddered and came, continuing to move until he was spent. He reached between them and rubbed her clit, his breath a warm pant against her skin. “Come for me, Hermione,” he demanded hoarsely as he moved his fingers.

She felt the tension snap and came with a low whimper that was muffled against his shoulder. He held her as she came, his fingers rubbing her until she was panting and she stopped trembling. She looked at him, not sure if this had been more than a one-off between friends or something else. She wasn’t used to this and had no idea the right way to act. “Dean,” she started to say but his fingers covered her lips before she could ask any of the multitude of questions in her mind.

“This is what I saw,” he confessed as he touched her cheeks and jaw before brushing his fingers through her hair. “This is what I’ve seen for months, possibly even years. You’ve no idea, do you? So sensual and beautiful.”

He kissed her again, a gentle caress of his lips against hers. When he pulled back, he slid out of her. “I need to pee,” she blurted out before she cringed, realizing that this wasn’t exactly what she should be saying after such an admission and especially not after good sex. True, he hadn’t lasted long and the bench hadn’t been entirely comfortable, but everyone’s definition of good differed and she’d enjoyed it. A lot.

“The toilet is down the hall,” he told her as he pulled the condom off and tied the end before taking it inside to toss into the nearby bin. When he looked at her again, there was a vulnerability she‘d never seen in Dean, an insecurity that had him shifting in place and scratching his belly. “Hermione--”

She put her fingers against his lips in much the same way he’d done to her outside and smiled. “It’s okay, Dean,” she told him before she kissed his jaw. She pushed the gown down, leaving her in a pair of skimpy black lace knickers and nothing else. “I’d like to try, too. See if it works?”

“You would?” He looked surprised but started to smile. “Right. That’s good. A date then. Dinner and all?”

“I’d love to,” she said shyly, despite what they’d just done and the fact she was naked and obviously well shagged.

“You know,” Dean started as a mischievous grin crossed his lips, “I wasn’t able to finish the sketch because I got distracted. Now the light’s gone and it won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, huh?” she repeated slowly as she arched her brow. “Well, I suppose that means we’ll just have to do this again, won’t we?”

Dean led her to the loo and kissed her, pressing her against the closed door as his hands moved down her body and slid into her knickers. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers and lightly stroked her wet cunt. “Oh, I have a feeling we’ll be doing it many more times.”

“That was awful,” she informed him with a low groan, laughing at his cheeky smile before she whimpered as his fingers moved inside her.

“Be nice,” he scolded playfully before he reluctantly removed his hand. “Go to the loo, Hermione, before I take you right here against the door. I’ll go make us some tea and then I think we need to talk.”

“Talking is good,” she agreed before she kissed him again and went into the loo. She closed the door and leaned against it, smiling as she heard him whistling as he prepared the tea. Today had gone very much differently than how she’d expected but she knew, somehow, that this was the start of something good.

The End