Decadent Dramione

Problems In Prefection - Part 5

-Draco-

Draco sat in his dorm - his personal dorm, thank you very much - in his luxurious canopy bed, admiring his new badge. It was silver, with the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on it, under which in clear gothic script it read 'Head Boy'.

He smirked as he recalled the amount of attention he had received back in the common room. The password for the next week had even been changed to 'Head Boy' in his honour.

The moment he had stepped into the dungeons, the entirety of Slytherin house had descended upon him. Someone had handed him a bottle of gin and he had been obliged to take a swig with almost everyone present. The liquor tasted terrible, but it was potent, and he had had to excuse himself before he lost his faculties completely.

Besides, Pansy - damn her inability to take a hint - had gotten properly drunk and latched onto his arm, nothing but praise and endearment on her lips, and she clung to him as tenaciously as a leech right up to his dorm door despite his polite but firm attempts to get her off. He didn't mind the attention, but just then he was dangerously tipsy and all he wanted was to be alone with a glass of good old whiskey and his new badge. And preferably a good, long sleep.

Pansy hadn't let up though, and eventually his scrambled brain allowed her to lay a deep, wet kiss on him before he finally got her to leave. He had shut and locked the door behind him, half aroused but unwilling to bed her in his current state. Stumbling to his bed and stripping on the way, he pulled out a bottle of Campbell's and an old-fashioned glass from the dresser next to the bed, filling and draining it before falling back on the sheets, exhausted.

The room was cool and dark - Draco's habitat. He turned over, and the badge on the dresser caught the moonlight long enough to illuminate the crest, the lion of Gryffindor proud and golden and an unwelcome reminder of the enigma that was Hermione Granger.

His thoughts drifted back and forth between her and Pansy, and he somehow found himself comparing them. Pansy was fun in bed but he always felt like she was acting, doing things she didn't really feel.

Granger, on the other hand... Those thick brown curls would be so satisfying to bury his hands in. Her skin looked soft and pliant, and would probably mark easily. He inhaled sharply at the thought. Seven hells, he wanted that.

He realised with a start that his hand had slipped into his boxers and was working his cock to fantasies of Hermione Granger writhing and moaning, in his bed and under him.

It didn't occur to Draco that fantasizing about his nemesis was perhaps a bit ironic, considering how he blatantly loathed her and she him. Either way, it didn't really matter as he pictured her in his bed - breasts heaving as she called out his name, peaked rosy nipples and those warm golden-brown locks spilled across his silver silk and satin sheets, shimmering like expensive champagne in the moonlight - and he came long and hard into the silk of his underwear, the stain of which would probably never come out.

Merlin's pants. He would have to use a cleaning spell on that. And he was usually conscientious about his clothing, too! Damn the woman... But her name tasted so good on his tongue. Hermione.

Briefly, he wondered when he had started thinking of her on a first name basis, but it escaped his mind as, once more, his imagination carried him away on a riptide of lust.

He was almost painfully hard again, and considering that the object of his desires was probably asleep by then in her pure, pristine lair high up in the Gryffindor tower and moreover would hardly be likely to accept his advances, he decided a cold shower was in order. An extremely cold one.

Besides, he would prefer to not ruin any more expensive silk. One set of sheets and a pair of boxers were sufficient casualties for one day.

Sighing, he got off the bed, head still heavy with whiskey as he got to his feet. Discarding his ruined underwear, he put on a new pair and wrapped himself in a monogrammed robe, wondering why the bloody hell the bathrooms weren't attached to the dorms. Well, when he had shifted to the Head Boy's dorm he would have his own bathroom. For now, the common shower stalls would have to do.

Luckily, the path from his dorm to the showers wasn't very far and didn't require him to pass the common room, from where the sounds of revelry were still somewhat evident. He shook his head at his housemates' energy.

Draco staggered into a bathroom stall, hung the robe on a hook and locked the door. He turned on the showerhead and waved his wand, muttering the spell for temperature adjustment so that the water was now freezing, and waited for his now semi-hard on to subside.

As the ice water hit his face, his brain went into brief shock as the fog from the alcohol cleared a bit, and his first subsequent thought was to note that the stall had room for two. This immediately presented a new, frustrating problem - visions of a naked Hermione in the shower - and they weren't helping his case one bit.

He uttered a loud curse, and tried to think of the most repulsive thing he could.

Potter.
The Weasel.
Dobby.
The Minister of Magic.
Hagrid's bloody hippo-chicken.
Hagrid.

Almost, but not quite there.

You-Know-Who.
Lucius Malfoy.

That last one worked. He looked down to confirm.

A soggy biscuit could not have been limper.

Draco Malfoy heaved another deep sigh. Nothing quite like your father to absolutely destroy your ardour. Skipping the boxers, he stepped out of the shower and made a beeline for his dorm.

Dropping the robe, Draco clambered back into bed, fully in the nude as he let the silk envelop him. He fell asleep to dreams of golden brown tresses and chocolate liqueur eyes, knowing full well that he was going to wake up the next day with a chronic case of morning wood.

~~~~
A/N:
Not just one person, then. :)