Everything in Hermione’s life, since she first remembered being on the ice as a toddler, came down to this moment.
She took a deep breath of the air in the stadium, laced with ice, and a warm hand reached for hers, squeezing it gently.
She looked over to her partner, his white-blond hair perfectly styled, his silver eyes reassuring, his posture tall and true. He glowed like a god in the dark blue of his costume, with the stark white of the ice behind him. He smiled at her, the same warm, slightly smirking smile he always had for her. Nothing in his demeanour betrayed even a glimmer of the butterflies Hermione felt in her own stomach, the tension tightening her own muscles.
As if reading her mind, however, he leaned his head a little closer to hers as they stood shoulder to shoulder, looking out to the ice.
‘We’ve got this, Granger,’ he said, his voice quiet against the murmuring of the whispered words of thousands of people waiting for them to start their routine. ‘You know I’ll never let you fall.’
She felt a flood of reassurance flow through her veins, and Draco squeezed her hand again before dropping it. They skated to their respective start positions, then the opening bars of the all-too-familiar melody started, and they were off.
They’d been partners for several years now, ever since Draco’s coach, the world-renowned Blaise Zabini, approached her after singles training one day on the prowl for a partner for his skater. He’d convinced her to have dinner with Draco at least, and the ember between them sparked into blazing life, unquenchable, after that one meal and the training session that followed the next morning.
Hermione forced herself to concentrate on the ice, to let the music flow over her and her muscle memory take over, guiding her body through the moves she knew in her sleep. She and Draco glided around each other, coming together, moving apart, as if connected by an invisible string.
Eventually, the butterflies, the whisperings of the crowd, the feel of thousands of pairs of eyes watching their every move, melted into nothingness.
Hermione’s entire world narrowed down to the ice, and Draco. His body behind hers, her weight in his hands, his silver eyes focused on hers. As they skid around the hard, unforgiving ice, it was as if they were one mind, one body.
They trained hard for it, for this fluidity they had together. Every day, on the ice, in the gym, together. She knew the way his hair flopped at the end of a session, the way he bit his lip when he was thinking through a choreography sequence, the way his skin pulled taut over his lean muscles, all better than she knew parts of herself.
She knew everything about him.
Everything, except for how he tasted.
They executed flawless side-by-side double axels, then a platter lift. As they reached the far end of the rink they flowed into a camel spin together, Draco’s hand holding her waist, the other reached out towards her elevated ankle. She ran her own hands around his long, hard, muscled thigh, feeling the familiar contours beneath her fingers.
Contours she had often wondered would feel just as familiar if he were naked under her touch.
They swept effortlessly out of the spin, Draco’s hands settling on her waist as they skated together, his front to her back. She fancied she could feel his breath against her hair, and as if in slow-motion she turned her head ever-so-slightly, his lips brushing against her temple. A split second later and the world rushed back to normal speed, and Draco’s hands tightened around her waist as he lifted her, spinning her slowly before setting her back down.
It was intense, the relationship between a skating pair. It demanded everything from them, like a black hole trapping gravity in its deadly embrace. There was no time for anything else. No boyfriends, no girlfriends. No days off. There was nothing in her life, except for training, the ice.
And Hermione wouldn’t have it any other way.
They were coming to the end of their routine. Only a few more moves stood between them and the ultimate prize: the chance to skate in the next Winter Olympics.
Draco took her into another hold, their arms extended, his hand at her waist again, long fingers splayed across her abdomen.
The beat of the music swelled, and as they turned together, Hermione pushed herself up with her toepick, Draco’s hands holding her, twisting her around his body, lifting her up into the air so she soared. It was the closest thing to flying, to freedom, that Hermione knew. Like being on the back of a mythical creature, soaring high over the world.
She closed her eyes for a few seconds, her life quite literally in Draco’s hands, and sighed happily. A heartbeat later and she was back on the ice, and their routine - their chance for the Olympics - was complete.
They slid to a halt, their breathing heavy and their limbs trembling, and there was silence as they held hands and took their bows.
Silence, and then thundering, rapturous, tumultuous applause, cheers and clapping that echoed along the ice, ricocheted off the ceiling.
Hermione broke into a breathless smile, Draco’s hand tight in hers. She looked over at him, his chest heaving as he gulped in lungfuls of icy air, his brow glistening with sweat. He must have noticed her looking, because he turned to gaze back. Her breath caught in her throat at the molten intensity in his eyes, sending a shock of arousal shooting down her body. He smiled, slowly, sweetly, and then his hand was at the small of her back, ever the gentleman, as they glided off the ice.
Blaise was by their sides instantly, wrapping a blanket around Hermione’s shoulders, passing them both bottles of water and guiding them to the kiss and cry. The bank of cameras and pundits, flashing merrily away as they took their pictures, called out a chorus of congratulations as they walked past. Hermione smiled weakly and waved, her stomach churning with nerves.
‘Fucking excellent work, both of you,’ he said with a delighted grin, clapping Draco on the shoulder. Hermione threw him a tired smile, but her body still buzzed with adrenaline, her heart beating uncontrollably. ‘Results will be through any minute.’
Draco collapsed next to Hermione, leaning over to brush a featherlight kiss onto her cheek. ‘You were perfect, Granger,’ he murmured against her skin, making her shiver in delight at his words and his touch.
It was agony, waiting for the scores to come in. Draco’s thigh pressed against hers, hard and tempting. He absent-mindedly stroked her palm with his fingers, trailing fire along her skin, his eyes locked on the screen that would show their results.
‘Here they come,’ Blaise said, jumping back up from his seat to pace in front of the screen.
They received a near-perfect score.
More than enough for them to place.
Hermione’s lungs stopped working, and she stood up without consciously meaning to, side by side with Draco. Blaise was turning to them both, his dark eyes twinkling, his face split into a beaming smile, before she could properly process their success.
‘Congratulations!’ Blaise cried, enveloping them both in an enormous bear hug, bundling Draco and Hermione together in his embrace. ‘We should go out to celebrate! Dinner and drinks? You’ve both earned a glass of wine or two,’ he added with a cheeky wink.
Hermione smiled weakly, accepting that she would be swept along on the tide of Blaise’s enthusiasm and charm like always.
Even if, deep down, all she really wanted after that routine was for Draco to take her back to her bed and finally spend the night worshipping her, soothing away the adrenaline and the exhaustion with his strong, safe hands and his soft, sweet mouth.
Failing that, she’d settle for an early night curled up in bed with a book, even if Crookshanks, her grumpy, beloved ginger cat, was at home with her best friend Harry while she and Draco were in Europe for their competition.
As if reading Hermione’s mind, Draco placed a firm hand on Blaise’s shoulder, his smile polite. ‘We should definitely celebrate,’ he agreed. ‘With you and all our friends, when we get back home. But tonight, I think Hermione and I probably just need to rest and recuperate.’
Blaise looked contrite, and he nodded. ‘Of course, you’ve both worked so hard. Go! Have an early night. But I’m booking us a table for next week at the best restaurant in town!’
Hermione showered and changed quickly, and when she emerged from the changing room Draco was already waiting for her, already in his thick joggers and warm hoody, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed, his bag by his feet. When he spotted her, he pushed himself off the wall, picking up his own bag and taking Hermione’s from her as well.
‘Come on,’ he said, a little bossily. ‘I’ll drive.’
As grateful as she was for the lift back to the hotel, the air in the car was thick with tension between them. Hermione could practically feel it, like electricity in the air moments before a storm. She shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, looking out of the window at the streetlights whizzing by, and her hand dangled down between their seats. Unplanned, her fingers brushed against Draco’s hand on the gearstick, and she pulled her hand away as if burned. Draco didn’t say anything, but he did clear his throat awkwardly as he pulled the car into the hotel car park.
‘Thanks for driving me back,’ Hermione said as she opened the door. She stepped into the cool night air, thankful for the thick red and gold scarf she’d wound around her throat after changing earlier. She’d always been prone to getting chills after training or competitions, and Draco had long ago insisted she wrap up after their sessions together, especially in the biting cold of winter.
‘Of course, Granger,’ Draco replied, stepping out of the car himself and grabbing their bags from the back. ‘We’re at the same hotel, I’m not going to abandon you to the streets of Vienna to track down a taxi.’
She hid a smile as they walked through the gently falling snow to the hotel entrance. It was a nice place, fully paid for by the Malfoy family - only the best for their son and his skate partner - a home away from home during the competition. The reception staff gave them a friendly smile as they walked in. One of them - the young girl who had shyly asked for their autographs their first night there - spoke rapid German to Draco, who smiled and replied to her, fluent but a little slower. She beamed and the staff all clapped, and Hermione assumed Draco had just told them about their win. The girl said something else, and Draco nodded his head and thanked her.
Hermione followed Draco to the lift, stepping through the sliding door behind him. He dropped their bags on the floor. As the doors slid shut, hiding them away from the world, he leaned forward, bracing one hand next to her on the wall. His lips were close to hers, and Hermione gulped at his proximity, her hands itching to reach out for him. Her lips parted as he moved forward, her heart almost stuttering to a stop, when his face broke into a smile and she heard a ping behind her head.
‘You didn’t press the button,’ he whispered, as the lift whirred to life, and Hermione closed her eyes in mortification.
Of course he didn’t want to kiss her.
She was practically a sister to him, someone he always saw sweaty and dishevelled and panting from practice. She leaned back against the wall, opening her eyes again, only to find Draco hadn’t moved. He was watching her with a look of bemusement, his silver eyes molten and intense, his hand still braced behind her head.
‘Hermione?’ he murmured, shifting infinitesimally closer. She fancied she could feel his heartbeat in the closeness between them, could practically taste his lips against hers. With his free hand, Draco pushed back a dark curl that had pulled loose from her bun. Before she could hold her breath in anticipation, Draco leaned close, stealing the breath from her lungs with his lips instead.
They kissed like they skated: with passion and perfect synchronicity. Draco’s hands were in her hair, pinning her head back, while hers ran over his torso beneath his shirt, her fingers stroking the soft, smooth skin over hard, lean muscle.
The lift pinged and the doors slid open, and Draco and Hermione pulled apart. Draco’s pupils were blown wide, his eyes dark and full of desire.
‘Come to my room?’ he asked quietly, his hands still in her hair.
‘Are you sure?’ Hermione replied, breathless from their kiss. She couldn’t bear it if the one thing she’d wanted more than anything - Draco, in every way - was just an anomaly of adrenaline for him.
‘God, Hermione,’ he groaned, his breath minty against her lips. He must have brushed his teeth after their performance. Had he planned, even then, to kiss her this evening? ‘You have no idea how sure I am. I’ve tried to stop myself, I know it’s not professional, and if you don’t feel the same way then-’
Hermione grasped Draco’s jaw in her hands and silenced him with another kiss. She felt the tension bleed from his body and he smiled against her mouth.
‘I’ll take that as a yes, then,’ he whispered as they pulled apart again. He took their bags in one hand and her hand in the other, leading them from the lift and towards his penthouse suite. She had one of her own as well, but she knew it was Draco who insisted to his father that Hermione be treated equally. Draco fumbled with the key, finally unlocking the door and tossing their bags inside before pulling Hermione behind him.
Whereas Hermione’s suite was decorated in rich golds and reds, Draco’s was pale silvers and emerald greens, perfect cool colours against his marble-white complexion. Then all thoughts of colour schemes and interior design fled Hermione’s mind when Draco claimed her mouth with his again.
They kissed greedily, eagerly, and Hermione gently bit Draco’s lower lip, wanting to mark his perfect, flawless skin. He laughed, low and hoarsely, and picked her up as easily as if they were still on the ice, her body fitting perfectly against him. He carried them both to the bed, still fiercely kissing her. When he laid her back on the mattress, covering her body with his, she could feel him, hard and long, through their layers of clothes against her thigh. She pressed her leg harder against his hips, making him groan and rut slightly against her.
‘You little tease,’ he growled playfully, placing his hands either side of her head, caging her in below him. Hermione laughed and reached for his hoodie, thick and fleece-lined against the cold of the rink.
‘I think we’re both far too wrapped up for any real teasing to be happening,’ she replied with a smile. Draco raised an eyebrow in response, and slowly unwound the red and gold knitted scarf around her throat. When she was free of its warmth, her neck arched and exposed to Draco, he leaned down and kissed her on the column of her throat, before moving down towards her collarbone and biting the soft flesh there. She groaned and writhed in his hold. She could feel his teeth against her skin and knew she’d be marked in the morning, and her core throbbed in delight at the thought. With a growl she started to pull off his hoodie, wanting him naked.
In moments they were undressed, just their underwear between them, and Hermione ran her hands all over the parts of Draco’s body she knew so well from training. His long thighs with their ice-hard muscles, feeling the dips she held onto when they performed a camel spin. His stomach, flat and rippled by his abs, that she brushed against when they tangoed together. His arms - his arms - as beautifully tense now, using them to brace himself above her on the bed, as when he held her aloft in their lifts. She traced her fingertips over the snake and skull tattoo adorning his forearm - she still remembered the simmering fury from Blaise when Draco had turned up one training session with the rebellious ink still drying on his skin - and looked up at him in wonder.
‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ she murmured, as Draco smiled and leaned down to kiss the swell of her breast above her bra. ‘I’ve dreamed about this so many times, Draco,’
‘Me too,’ he replied, one of his hands stroking her breast through the silk of her bra. She felt her nipple tighten under his teasing touch, and she arched helplessly up into him.
He reached behind her to unhook her bra, pulling the scrap of clothing free from her body. For a moment he just looked down at her with something akin to adoration in his eyes, before dropping his head and licking at her nipple, sending another flare of lust trembling through her body. She grasped his hair, arching her body into him, and felt the hard evidence of his arousal press against against her thigh. Draco released her nipple and looked up at her through heavily-lidded eyelids as he took hold of her knickers in his hands and pulled them down.
She felt a little like this was one of her dreams, the kind she woke from with a heat in her cheeks and throbbing between her legs, when Draco stroked a long, elegant finger over her cunt and slowly slid it inside of her. The feel of him gently opening her up, of him hot and heavy on top of her, of this very much not being a dream, hit her like the freezing air on an icy day. She tightened her fingers in his hair, making him a wince a little and frown up at her, his finger still buried deep inside her. He opened his mouth, probably to ask if she was all right, if his usual politeness was anything to go by, and she pulled him up, meeting his lips with hers in a searing kiss. His finger pulled free from her body, and he curled his hand around her hip instead as she tilted her head and he deepened the kiss. When they broke apart, breathless and bruised, Hermione stroked his cheeks, keeping her lips against his.
‘I’m more than willing to spend hours getting to know your body better,’ she whispered, her heart fluttering at her bold words. ‘But tonight, I just want to be with you, Draco.’
He muttered a weak curse under his breath before his mouth was on hers again, and they kissed with the same passion and intensity as their competitions. Hermione pushed Draco’s black underwear off his hips, until he was finally as naked as she was. His cock sprang free, and Hermione pushed against Draco’s chest, holding him back so she could gaze on it with greedy eyes. It was flushed, straining, a pearl of liquid glistening at the tip. For a moment Hermione wanted to go back on her words, to spend hours tasting and exploring every inch of Draco’s perfect body. But then he shifted slightly, his knees between her legs, and pushed her apart, placing a kiss on her aching cunt. A moment later he’d moved up her body, reaching over her to open the drawer on the mahogany table at his bedside. He pulled out a condom, opening it and rolling it over his cock before settling himself against her opening.
‘Ready?’ he asked quietly, his silver eyes watching her carefully.
‘Yes,’ she gasped, and Draco buried himself deep inside her, as she held him close and breathed his name in reverence.
He moved slowly, at first, as they got used to each other and this new way of being together, and then faster. She rocked her own hips up to meet him, their partnership as equal and fluid as it was on the ice. As if realising she wanted more, Draco grasped her waist in his hands and rolled them both, so he was on his back and she straddled him, her thighs spread wide over his body.
He didn’t release his hold on her, and before she could start to fuck him, he lifted her slightly, urging her to spin on his body so she was facing away from him, his cock holding her in place. One of his hands snaked up to her hair, wrapping it around his fist and pulling her head back, making her back arch like she was in a lift. The other anchored at her hip, holding her steady, just as he did when they were on the ice together. Draco’s hands always kept her safe.
She started to rock against him, locked onto him, surrendering to the feel of him inside her as her body responded beautifully. She could feel the thread of desire pull tighter within her, forcing her eyes closed and her head back and her fingers into claws against Draco’s thighs. Just as it seemed she would break over him, Draco released his hold on her hair and lifted her slightly by the hips. Not enough to pull her off him, but enough for him to readjust beneath her until he sat up behind her. His hands grasped her waist, his chest pressed against her back, his lips brushing against the back of her neck. She shuddered lightly in his arms, the tenderness of his touch almost too much to bear after the fire and passion on the ice.
It didn’t take long for her to come in his arms, her eyes closing as her cunt clenched around him and her core throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Draco stroked her hair, kissed her neck, whispered sweet words to her that her mind barely registered but her heart heard and revelled in. Her body was as alight and filled with adrenaline as when she first landed a successful triple axel jump.
Draco held her in place, his arms around her, as she shivered and slowly floated back down to earth, until her breathing had slowed and steadied once more. He then lifted her easily, shifting them so she was on her hands and knees on the soft mattress, and slid back into her from behind. He groaned as he filled her, his fingers biting deliciously into the flesh of her hips.
‘I knew we would be like this together,’ he murmured as he thrust gently into her, pushing her into the pillows, stretching her around his cock, driving deep into her. ‘Being with you on the ice, it’s like nothing I’ve ever known. Like we were made for each other.’
Hermione could only whimper at the sweetness of his words, confirming he’d dreamed of this as much as she had, and the press of him inside her, claiming her and holding her in place beneath him. In only a few more heartbeats of time, Draco thrust hard into her and held still, his fingers biting into her hips as he groaned.
When he pulled himself free, deftly removing the condom and tossing it aside, he bundled her in his arms and pulled the thick duvet over them.
They lay in the muted darkness of the room, arms and legs wrapped around each other like a lift frozen in time. Draco’s hand stroked Hermione’s thigh, his other arm nestled under her side, while she tangled her fingers in his soft hair and laid her other hand flat against his stomach, their noses almost touching.
They fell asleep that way, entwined and face to face, neither of them waking until the door to Draco’s room swung open the next morning. Hermione jumped awake at the bang, as Draco sighed sleepily and curled closer to her, her eyes widening as Blaise stared back, his face slack with surprise.
Then he blinked and a smirk appeared on his face as Draco stirred and opened his eyes, stilling beside her beneath Blaise’s gaze.
‘So,’ Blaise said, leaning against the doorframe. ‘You two finally made it official, huh?’
Hermione didn’t reply, the events of the previous night coming back to her in a flash. She looked down at the soft white duvet enveloping her body, waiting for Draco to refute Blaise, to say it had just been a bit of fun, a way to expend their post-competition adrenaline.
Instead, Draco pulled her tighter into him, nuzzling against her hair.
‘Yes,’ he said, his voice still husky with sleep. A second passed and he pulled away, looking at Hermione in concern. ‘That is - I mean - if you want, Granger?’
She couldn’t help smiling at him, joy filling her heart at his words.
‘I want,’ she replied. ‘I definitely want.’
Draco just sighed happily and kissed her gently, his silver eyes fixed intently on her when he pulled away.
Blaise laughed from the doorway, and stepped back out of the room.
‘I’ll see you both for breakfast later, in that case,’ he said, and paused before closing the door. ‘I’m really happy for you both, by the way.’
The door closed behind him, and Draco rolled Hermione onto her back, pressing against her as he kissed her.
Breakfast, as far as Hermione was concerned, could very much wait.