Isolation

Chapter 11: Doubt

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Fucking hell.

This was hard.

So hard...

After the longest night of his life, during which he hadn't managed one second of sleep, he was basking in the morning sun seeping in through the window. He felt blurry today; still confused and agitated about the incident with Granger, and weary with insomnia. In a random moment of spontaneity, he'd stripped away all his clothes to see if the cold air or the warm rays would make him feel more alive; more real, but he felt like a ghost.

A flimsy creature on the crest of reality, but not quite there.

It must have been pushing into sociable hours because he could hear Granger starting to stir, and a pained cringe stole his face. This was what he'd been dreading and yet waiting for all night; his favourite part of his degrading routine. A sheer gloss of sweat broke out across his naked skin as he listened to her move into the bathroom, and when he thought he caught a dash of her taste in his mouth, that sensitive spot under his stomach twitched. A-fucking-gain.

It was so hard...

He tried to shove it away, but his head was too muddled to really resist the pull on his body. He heard, what he assumed, was her clothes thudding to the floor, and he gulped down a throaty swallow. Closing his sleep-deprived eyes, his imagination inflicted him with colourful and dangerous images of her. He succumbed to them quickly; too tired to put up a decent fight and too captivated by the fantasies to ignore them.

He was hard...

Having indulged in many a sexual fancy, this one was different; simple and without unnecessary exaggeration. In his head, Granger was exactly how she should be, with her mussed curls around her shoulders and a thoughtful expression on her familiar features. Her body...well, he had no idea if the image matched the subject, but he would guess he was close as his subconscious began to discard items of her clothing. He heard the shower start to run, and he inhaled a shaky breath as his hand shifted lower.

He was too far gone to heed the Slytherin voice in his skull and realise what he was doing; and any whispers of doubt were kicked aside as the first of her bathroom purrs reached his ears. Keeping his eyes firmly shut and focussing on fantasy-Granger's lips, he grabbed the steel-stiff length below his navel.

Merlin's Soul...

Draco needed this. He needed it bad.

In his head, Granger was in the shower now, and he tightened his fist and began to pump away his tension. Weeks and months without this release let him know that he wouldn't last long, but he didn't care. He didn't give a shit that his head was full with forbidden thoughts of her, or that his room was, as always, clogged with her addictive scent. It didn't matter that the witch was the catalyst to his lustful strain right now, nor did it matter that he made his fantasy-Granger slip her hand between her thighs to accompany her next moan.

The image sent him over the edge, and a husky sigh-come-roar thundered out of his throat as the hot fluid splashed across his abdomen. His eyes fluttered open and fantasy-Granger simmered away from his mind, leaving him satisfied and panting like an Arctic fox who had snagged his prey or a mate. His heart was drumming against his ribcage as he tried to gather his wits; blinking away some beads of sweat tucked between his lashes.