Bring Him To His Kness

3.

Pansy abducted her from the Ministry at lunch the following day, dragging her into a small and exclusive boutique for 'clothes that will drive Draco mad.' While Pansy stood in front of a rack of dresses and short skirts, Hermione thumped her head against the wall of the fitting room. "I kissed him, Pansy! Kissed him."

Pansy held a red dress next to Hermione's cheek and tipped her head. "Yes, you've said. Several times." She discarded the dress on an ankle-high pile of silks, velvets, and satins in a riot of colors and chose another in a slightly different shade of red. Examining it critically, she shook her head and dropped it atop the others. "How many times are you going to tell me that you kissed him? Without giving further details, that is. Details, Granger, all of them. What happened?"

Hermione had already decided she wasn't going to give Pansy that much information. She rummaged through her memory of the kiss, considering what she felt she could say without setting Pansy off. "He kissed back. With tongue. And he grabbed my bum."

Pansy paused with a fistful of yellow lace skirt against Hermione's cheek. "Did he now?" Her green eyes brightened. "Did he make that little noise?"

Hermione pointed to a black dress. Pansy shook her head forcefully. "I don't think he owns any colors other than black and white. You need to contrast with him."

Hermione sighed and pointed to a pink one instead.

Pansy considered the dress but passed by it. "So did he?"

"Did he what?" Hermione asked, looking at her mouth in the mirror. Was it slightly swollen? It had been when she got home that night and still looked a little swollen to her now, but Pansy hadn't commented on it, and Hermione knew that Pansy would, if she'd noticed.

"Make that little noise."

"Oh," she said as Pansy slipped a blue dress off its hanger. "That little—" She tensed her throat and tried to recreate the sound Draco had made.

Pansy pumped her fist. "Yes." She flung the blue dress into the pile. Burrowing deep into the rack, she grabbed a purple one instead and dumped it over the top of Hermione's head. "Was he able to speak once you stopped kissing?"

Hermione pushed the fabric aside, peering at Pansy through one eye. "No?"

Pansy danced in place. "Now that's the way to do it! We'll have his Quaffle through your hoop in no time."

"Quidditch metaphors?" Hermione said. "Really? Cooking similes I could understand, but Quidditch?"

"You date nothing but Quidditch players for two decades, you'll learn their language."

Hermione cleared her throat, pulling the dress off her head to crumple it in her lap. "Speaking of Quidditch," she said.

Pansy looked over her shoulder, arched brows lifting. "Yes?"

"Malfoy. He plays Quidditch. And it shows. In his. Um. Those. His." Hermione thumped her head against the wall again. From how soaked her knickers had been when she took them off in her bedroom, she could only pray that she hadn't left a wet spot on his trousers. She'd spent half the night dreaming about clamping Draco's leg between hers and riding herself to completion. "God, his thighs."

Pansy sighed dreamily and put one hand over her heart. "I know. Broom thighs. It's unholy. Did you know he can hang upside down for ten minutes using nothing but his thigh muscles?"