The Malfoy-Granger Guide To Fake Dating

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A sharp intake of breath. An eager tug at his shoulder, and their lips were slotted together, the taste of firewhiskey burning at the back of his throat as her hands slid up into his hair. He could feel her nails—long and sharp—as they traced his scalp, and grunted softly when her hips ground eagerly against his own. Draco reached up, placing one palm against the bricks beside her head and using the other to guide her waist towards him, bringing their bodies closer together until they were pressed flush to the wall. Her kiss was eager—aggressive—and it took him slightly by surprise when her teeth nipped lightly at his bottom lip, tugging it outward before her tongue delved back into his mouth.

He hadn't gotten her name—hadn't cared to, really, when all it seemed she was interested in doing was getting into his pants.

Normally, he wouldn't have been willing to do this sort of thing. One-night stands had never been of much interest to him, and he didn't see a point in wasting his time on someone he'd never speak to again. However, on this particular night, he was rather sloshed and had long since forgotten to care.

Her hands began to slide downwards, settling at his waist before moving to the front of his trousers and palming unabashedly at his straining erection. Draco groaned, the sound muffled by the press of her tongue, and shifted his weight to lean more firmly against the heel of her palm. This woman—whoever she was—certainly knew what she was doing. But somehow...

Somehow, Draco still couldn't seem to fully lose himself to the moment. When he reached up to slide his fingers into her hair, he found it to be quite thin. Hard to grab onto, with not enough volume to get lost in. Her locks were golden blonde instead of deep, chestnut brown, and her lips were rather thin. She was a talented kisser, sure, but the fact remained floating around in the back of his mind, remaining as he pictured a certain witch's full, plump lips. The same lips he'd imagined kissing for longer than he could remember. For longer than he would have liked to admit.

The woman's arse was fantastic, sure—a fact he'd discovered during their brief time spent dancing at the bar earlier that night. But when he reached around to grip it, it wasn't her throaty moan he imagined. It wasn't her legs he wished to hike up and wrap around his waist. It wasn't her throat he began to lave at—dragging his teeth over her pulse point and feeling the slam of her heartbeat beneath the pillow of his lips.

It was hers. Her hands, palming at his cock. Her lips, smothered against his own as they both struggled for breath. Her whines and keens as his hands groped at her breasts, pinching her nipples experimentally and earning a whimper in response. And no matter what he did to try and shove the image of Granger out of his mind, it persisted. She persisted, and at one point, he was half-sure he growled in frustration. Of course, the woman he currently had pressed into a wall took it to mean something else, entirely, and smirked as her hands began to toy with his belt buckle, freeing the clasp and providing space for her fingers to slip beneath the fabric of his trousers.

He tried to move his hips against her, rolling them forward in a repetition of the same motion she'd demonstrated before, and received a low moan in response, the woman's lips moving down to suck at his throat. He briefly considered telling her not to leave any marks—that he couldn't be caught with another woman that wasn't Granger—when suddenly, he realized.

He and Granger weren't together. Not really. And despite the long list of rules she'd sent to his flat via owl a few nights prior, not one bullet point had said anything about refraining from being intimate with other people. There weren't any real feelings involved, on her side at least, so Draco figured there would be no harm in receiving a few love bites from someone else. She wouldn't mind. Not as long as they could claim they were from her, anyway. The only real problem would be if—