“Draco. No. Socks off.”
“Why? My feet are cold.”
“I hate socks in bed. You know that.”
“What difference does it make to you? You don’t have to look at them.”
“But I’ll have to feel them.”
“Doubtful. Your legs will be above your head.”
She smiles to the ceiling as he crawls on top of her. He pushes her nightdress over her hips.
“I’m serious, Draco,” she says. “I won’t have socks in bed. It’s psychotic.”
He pulls back to look down on her. “Psychotic??”
“There have been studies.”
“Show me the studies.”
“You won’t allow me a computer at the Manor, but if you just Google—”
“I hate that word.” His face scrunches and he sneers down at her. “I hate it when you use that word.”
“Oh, Merlin, I hate it.”
“Well, I hate socks in bed.”
He glares down at her. She lifts a brow.
“The Manor is cold, Granger.”
“I will warm you up.” She runs her hands over his chest, smiling up at him. It doesn’t work as well as she thought it would.
“My feet are ugly.”
She laughs. “They are not. ”
“You’ve never seen them.”
“I’ve seen your feet loads of times. We shower together. We bathed together just last night.”
“I was wearing socks in the tub. Obviously.” He begins to kiss at her neck as she laughs into the cool night air. He kisses down her collarbones, trailing a pathway between her breasts.
“I won’t have sex with you while you’re wearing socks,” she hums.
“Alright,” he says. He lifts her nightdress and begins to roll her knickers down.
“Not having sex with you,” he murmurs into her hipbone, kissing towards her center, lifting her knee over his shoulder.
“My FEET. ARE COLD!”
“THEN USE A FUCKING SPELL!”
He rips open the wrapping, and she smiles, the aggression of it reminding her of how he’d open sweets at the table in the Great Hall.
He stares down at them in his hand. Scowling, he looks up at her.
“Happy Christmas, Draco,” she says, pressing her lips together in glee.
“Socks,” he says. He flips them over in his hand. “Are those… Snitches?”
“When your feet are in them, the Snitches fly around.” Her grin threatens to break his face. “Do you like them?”
“They’re red and gold. Are these Gryffindor socks?”
“Oh, are they?” she asks innocently. “I hadn’t even noticed.”
“Can I wear them to bed?” He narrows his eyes at her.
She licks her lips. “These are the only socks I will permit in my bed.”
He fucks her that night while wearing the socks. He finds all sorts of positions for them in which she can see his feet. She pretends to hate it.
“Put them on.”
“NO! Draco. No.”
“Come on, Granger.”
“You’re a psychopath. I knew it. I should have guessed, really, but—”
“They’re just socks, Granger.”
“I’ve made PLENTY of exceptions for you and your barmy sock fetish, but this is too far.”
She throws the fuzzy socks at his grinning face. He catches them and throws them back at her.
“They’re the comfiest socks I could find. It’s your comfort I’m thinking of here.” He stretches his arms behind his head, lying back on the headboard and smiling at her.
She sends him a withering glare.
“What is this, eh? Some kind of strange sex thing? Are we working our way up to knee socks? Me in my Hogwarts skirt?”
His eyes glaze over. She watches as his throat bobs and his ribs expand.
“That wasn’t the intention, no…” he rasps.
He stirs in his trunks.
She bounces on him. He’s in his Golden Snitch socks and nothing else. She’s in her Hogwarts skirt and green and silver knee-high socks. His hands wrap around her waist as his hips thrust up against her. Her hands against his chest, nails curling into his skin.
“Oh, god. Oh, GOD.” She throws her head back, sitting tall and pushing her hair out of her face. She smiles at the ceiling. “I didn’t mean to be bad. I had no idea it was past curfew. Please don’t tell my Head of House—”
“Won’t get you out of detention,” he moans, reaching up to flick her nipples. “As Prefect of Gryffindor House I follow the rules and I hate trespassing and troublemakers—”
She rolls her hips faster, tilting her head to stare down at him. “Please don’t take house points. My house never wins the House Cup and we need all the help we can get—”
“Your house never wins because my house has unfair advantages given to us, usually at the last second—”
“Maybe if my house had a better Quidditch team, we—”
“Don’t you fucking dare—”
“Or at least a better Seeker—”
He flips them, pressing down over her and grabbing her knee to open her wide. Her words turn to moans as he fucks her at a punishing pace. His lips attach to her breast, sucking at her nipple, sure to leave bruises. She clenches around him, mouth wide and screaming her climax.
He doesn’t slow. He just switches to her other breast, slipping a hand between them to thumb at her clit. She yells out, fingernails dragging across his back. He sits up, kneeling in front of her, throwing her knee-socked legs over his shoulders.
“Gonna fuck these sock off.”
She’s coming down from her second orgasm as she smiles at him. “There’s a phrase,” she gasps. “It’s ‘Blow your socks off.’”
He kisses her knee—the skin right above the green fabric—as he slams his hips to hers, close to finishing. “I’ll let you ‘blow’ my socks off another time, Granger.”