Dramione One Shots

16. House Husband

Rated 18+

Context: The prompt was caught wanking, for an AO3 collection called "Caught In The Act"

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A zing of heat shocked the silicone cock from her hand. She flapped her throbbing digit back and forth, hissing, as the wailing phallus thumped onto hardwood and rolled under the bed.

From the uncapped battery box came a miserable, droning noise. A spring had jammed at a funny angle and now sizzled like a miniature rocket about to lift off. Toxic fumes billowed into the air, burning metal and melting plastic forming a sharp carcinogenic medley.

"No, no!" An overheated battery, one measly AA cell, was about to wreak havoc on her life. She could picture the headlines now: Golden Girl Sets Flat Ablaze With Silicone Cock or Brightest Witch Her Age Misuses Muggle Penetration Contraption, Chaos Ensues!

All the while her wand sat uselessly in the sitting room, where he was, so of course, she couldn't go there, and now she was about to set her—their—flat on fire, because of a raging libido.

A double knock at the door. "Granger, do you smell that? I think something's burning."

🏡 🏡 🏡

3 Months Earlier...

"This is a microwave. Push this button to open the door, and then take one of these frozen meals and heat it for five minutes. See, five-zero-zero, then hit start. I usually take it out halfway and give it a stir, otherwise it might be frozen in the centre even after the timer's up."

"You actually eat this rubbish?"

"It's quite convenient if you don't have time to cook."

"I have all the time in the world."

"Malfoy," sighed Hermione. "There are no house-elves here to steam your veggies or boil your noodles."

"Really, I assumed you snatched them from pure-blood households and hoarded them in your linen closet."

"Ha-ha."

"Hermione Granger, the house-elf bandit. Ward your doors. Draw your drapes. Tuck your house-elves away. Nobody is safe."

"You're hilarious." She shoved the frozen Chow mien back into the freezer. A bag of veggie dumplings crinkled in protest, towering on top of one another to make room in the narrow frosted walls. "As you can see, I'm fully stocked on instant meals, so try not to buy more until these are done."

"Granger," Malfoy called over her shoulder. "Your shoebox is moving."

Hermione looked across the granite countertop to the sitting room where the extra-large box from last spring's Wellies dashed over the shag rug. "Oh, that's Crookshanks. He does that sometimes." She watched fondly as Crooks' bushy tail zig-zagged along the floor, leaving a patchy trail of fur in his wake. The soles of her socks always looked bristled and ginger by the end of the day, but she was glad to see him energetic even in old age.

"Brilliant," replied Malfoy dryly. "What if we got a dog?"

"No."

"A crup?"

"You're welcome to do what you like in your own home but—"

"This is my home."

"Temporarily."

"At least a year."

"No dogs or crups, alright? But feel free to add plants to my indoor garden." She brought him to the tall windows bordering the double balcony doors where her collection of plants was looking... parched. "I'd refrain from cactuses. Crooks likes to run about." She looked around, searching for the watering can.