Dramione Drabbles

12. Let Me Take A Picture

"Would you quit it?" Hermione covered the lens with her palm, meeting Draco's gaze over the viewfinder. "We're meant to be discreet."

"The light is hitting you perfectly right now." He feigned dejection, all pouty lips and liquid grey eyes. "Just lie down like before."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione dropped onto the mattress, dragging the covers up to her chin.

"You're impossible." He tugged the thin sheet back down, exposing her breasts. His knuckles swept between them reverently. "I want to see you."

"I'm cold," she grumbled, fidgeting.

"I know. Your tits look insane right now." Her father's old Minolta was in front of his face again, toying with the focus. "Zhuzh your hair."

"My hair is permanently zhuzhed," she protested, dragging her fingers through her thick curls anyway, plumping them up.

"Gods, look at you. Glance down slightly. Too much. Imagine I'm lying over you."

"You are lying over me."

"Like I'm between your legs, about to run my tongue—don't move. You're perfect."

Shadow and light splashed on the crests and dips of Hermione's body and spilled onto the white rumpled sheets, painting her in a golden shine. His finger hovered over the shutter button.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked, impatient. Click. The shutter went off, capturing her mid-speech.

"Now let me take a picture." She sat up, smirking.

"Thought we were being discreet." Draco clutched the camera possessively. Rude. Granted, she had gifted it to him a week ago, but it was still a Granger family heirloom.

"You're not developing that film until we go public." She lifted the strap over his head, uncovering a tender love bite above his shoulder. He dipped forward, capturing her lips in a quick kiss.

Heat bloomed across her cheeks.

"On your back, Malfoy." She advanced the film with her thumb.

He flopped backwards, crossing his arms over his chest and shooting her a glower. Eyebrows slanted petulantly. "Like this?"

Click.

"Hey!" He shot up onto his elbows. "You're wasting film."

Hermione's lips stretched, watching him snap back into his natural self. His broad chest expanded, sitting up like that, gloriously naked. The plants on the windowsill cast long shadows over his Quidditch-hardened body, darkness intersecting sunlit scars. His pale hair fell slightly too long over his eyes. A pretty shade of celestial blue at the outer rings of his irises. Proof to nonbelievers that Draco bore colour in him.

"My grump." She giggled at his indignant expression, crawling over to straddle his lap.

Draco's eyes grew hooded. He reached out his hand, caressing her thigh brazenly.

"Don't move," she whispered, pivoting him into focus.

Hermione honed in on Draco's stare in the lens, eyeing the camera the same way he looked at her sometimes, like he wished to peer inside and study all the mysteries hidden beneath.

Her heartbeat pounded against her eardrums. "What do you say we go to Diagon tonight," she suggested tentatively, "maybe grab dinner?"

His face lit up.

Click.

(495 words, prompt: let me take a picture from twitter, art inspired by this drabble by ivmaruva here: x.com/Ivmaruva/status/1651737862411304960)