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The clock in Hermione's office ticked in time to the sound of pages turning.

lot of pages.

So many in fact that she and Draco had broken into the whisky about an hour ago. The work was mindless, just a standard fact-checking document review, but the brief resting on it was due tomorrow. They'd had their clerks on it all day, but had told them to go home after dinner. As case leads, they'd see it through to the end.

Hermione glanced up from the box she was crouched over and fumbled for her glass on the desk above. She took a deep drink and her eyes slid to Draco.

He was across the office, also on the floor. Bright hair gleaming in the dim light, one long leg stretched out along his box as he used his wand to flick through each file. His tie was long gone and the top two buttons on his shirt were undone. Hermione's gaze lingered there at the juncture of crisp linen and tender skin. If she really focused, she could see a pulse beating in his throat.

Her jaw tensed, back teeth clicking together in a staccato beat. She brought her whisky glass to her lips again and drank deeply, still watching while he pulled out a file and the button on his cuff snagged on an errant piece of parchment, tugging it out of order. He swore softly, laying the file down and beginning to read its contents while he reached for his sleeve.

Hermione's breath caught and she abandoned all pretense of trying to work as she watched his deft fingers. First he pushed the button back through the button hole—a bit impatiently—as he shifted to get a closer look at the page he was reading. Then his long fingers plucked at his cuff, flipping the soft fabric with a decisive motion, rolling it back once, twice, three times until it was resting at the perfect point—just before the elbow, but high enough to show the finely corded muscle running along his forearm.

Hermione swallowed, trying to gather her wits and failing, as he reached for the other sleeve. With a few quick movements, it too was perfectly folded and Hermione was actively fantasizing about circling her hands around his exposed wrists, running her thumbs over the light gold dusting of hair… and just pulling him away from that file.

An involuntary noise escaped her throat—somewhere between a moan and a sigh of exasperation. She started, trying to bury it in her (empty!) glass, but it was too late because he had looked up, grey eyes quizzical behind his glasses.

He would have to be wearing the glasses tonight too, wouldn't he? Hermione's rather liberally whisky-soaked brain was almost resentful.

"What?" he asked, brows raising over thick, black frames.

Hermione was tired and also a little drunk. Her mouth opened and closed and opened again.

"I'm sorry. I just find you incredibly attractive and it's often distracting." She looked at him dead on. "I have a rolled sleeves and glasses kink and I've had some whisky and it's late and you're just...pushing all my buttons right now."

She paused. Had she just said that out loud or had it all stayed in her head where she'd meant it to?

Draco's mouth dropped slowly open and the file he was holding slithered gently to the floor.

So she'd said it out loud.

Shite.

The perfect silence in the office grew, the ticking of the clock like a strident gong now.

Hermione took a deep, mortified breath. "Well! I cannot believe I just said that." She held up her whisky glass, squinted at it, then set it carefully on the desk. "I do apologise and believe that is my cue to go. You should head home too. I'll come in early tomorrow to finish this."

She got up as fast as decorum allowed, carefully not looking at Draco as she grabbed her bag and coat and lunged for the door.

She was almost there when she heard a rustle of movement behind her.

Her hand was on the doorknob and the door was just cracking open when Draco's hand slammed into it somewhere over her left shoulder and closed it again.

Hermione froze. She could hear his quick breath and feel the warmth from his body along the entire length of her back.

"But you can't go until I've told you about my pencil skirt and heels fetish."

Her eyes flew wide. She took a shallow breath and got a whiff of his spiced scent. Her gaze went to his fingers, caged against the wood of the door, then ran down his arm to the rolled sleeve that had started all of this.

He shifted infinitesimally closer. "Do you know every time you cross your legs in a meeting it makes me hard?" he said, lips so close to her ear she could almost feel them, his voice starting a dark trickle of lust that shot straight to her cunt. "That whisper of silk on silk? Fuck. I have to adjust myself so no one will see."

Hermione's knickers soaked. She rested her forehead against the door.

"Turn around, Granger." His voice held a dark promise.

She turned before she could think too much about it. Arms tucked behind her waist, she looked up into dark, glittering slate. Draco kept his hand on the door and his eyes on hers, but with the other hand reached up and slowly removed his glasses, folding them against his chest and slipping them into his shirt pocket.

Hermione held the eye contact for a fraction of a second, lust exploding in her cerebral cortex, before reaching up and pulling his lips down to hers. Draco slammed his other arm against the door and pushed into her body, pinning her against the smooth wood with a force that all but confirmed he'd been wanting her as long as she'd been wanting him—as long as they'd worked together at the DMLE, as long as he'd been showing up to meetings with his bloody rolled sleeves and glasses. Two, almost three years?

Rational thought evaporated as she gave in to the moment and the break in the dam of their mutual desire. His hands were everywhere: on her tits, cupping her arse, pushing up her skirt. Their kisses were rough, teeth and tongues and lips colliding over and over, ravenous.

He nipped at her lower lip and her foot slid up his calf as he lifted her, pushing a knee between her thighs. She hooked her leg around his slim hips and rode him shamelessly until they were both gasping and his hands went to her skirt again, pushing up high enough to find her garters. When he touched them, he swore long and fluently into her ear.

"You wear fucking garters and stockings? To work?" His words more ragged breath than sound.

"I find them—oh god—more comfortable."

"Fucking, fucking hell. I'm never going to be able to get anything done again. I'll have to change departments." He unsnapped one garter then the other with two swift flicks of his wrist that soaked Hermione's knickers anew.

"I'm sure you can be... disciplined." She plunged her hands into his hair as he ran one hand up her inner thigh and slid the other down her back, to the zip of her skirt. She let her hands travel down his neck to his shirt, which she began rapidly unbuttoning, leaning forward to brush her lips across the hollow at the base of his throat as she did so.

"I'm not," he groaned and she pushed the shirt off his shoulders, dimly noting it fluttering to the floor. The expanse of gorgeous male flesh in front of her was distracting and she tilted her head back against the door so she could look, but his lips went instantly to her neck, trailing hot kisses down to her collarbone.

She felt her skirt loosen and slide down her legs. She stepped out of it and kicked it away just before his hands pushed her blouse up and over her head.

"My gods," he whispered and for a second all movement ceased. Hermione opened her heavily hooded eyes and looked up at him, realising she was only in bra, knickers, stockings and heels now.

She arched her back against the door and stuck her tits out. In for a penny in for a pound.

Draco took a small step back and sucked in a breath, eyes running over her body, expression dazed. She saw his fingers twitch at his sides and he looked over his shoulder briefly then turned, lunging across the office to shove everything off the desk in a single, ferocious movement.

Hermione watched her whisky glass bounce on the carpeted floor. Good thing they were in his office and not hers, or the utter destruction of the neat workspace could have taken her out of the moment.

As it was, she felt renewed heat wash over her.

He turned back to her and took her lips in a kiss so consuming that she whimpered, barely registering that he was spinning her off the door and walking her backward across the office until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of his desk. He lowered her down, fingers splayed across her arse.

"Most glorious fucking arse I've ever seen, or felt," he was muttering, craning his neck to look over her shoulder. She laughed softly and tongued into his ear before biting his lobe.

"Fuck!" His voice held a hint of a laugh too, even as he shoved between her legs. Hermione could feel the hard length of his cock right against the soaking join of her knickers. She tilted up so she could feel more of it and he swore again then began to thrust slowly against her.

"Have you thought about this as much as I have?" she managed to get out, having a bit of a hard time articulating since he'd now applied himself to getting her bra off, and was now teasing at her nipples with his tongue and teeth through the thin satin.

"Yes," he said. "Likely more." The bra was undone now and he shoved it down, pulling back to gaze at her unadorned tits. Hermione let him look for a moment, then reached for his belt buckle and started to undo it. She glanced up at him and he was absolutely delectable. Shirt off and hair disheveled, face flushed and eyes positively black with desire.

He watched her as she flicked the metal free and undid his trouser button, pulling the zip slowly along the length of his rigid cock. Suddenly she hopped down off the desk and knelt in front of him, opening his trousers and pulling his boxer briefs down. His body tightened and he made a sort of shallow involuntary thrust as she took his cock out and folded her fingers around it. It was a beautiful cock, beyond even her most heated fantasies. Perfectly sized and with a slight, delightful curve back toward his gorgeously flat stomach.

She suddenly needed to taste it.

Hermione lowered her mouth and wetted her lips until they were slick, then slipped them over his throbbing head. He let out a long low groan and clutched at her hair. She slid lower, pillowing her lips against him and tonguing down the ridge at the underside of his shaft until she bottomed out. His groan turned into another as she slid back up and then down, swirling her tongue as she went, paying special attention to the tip when she arrived there again.

"Mmm," she moaned, thinking of drippy ice cream cones and treacle-covered spoons.

"My fucking, fucking, GODS," he rasped and she chanced a look up to see him watching her with a sort of dazed reverance. One hand was still in her hair and the other was braced against the desk, knuckles white. He began to thrust lightly into her mouth and Hermione matched his rhythm, keeping eye contact while moving up and down on his shaft.

Suddenly he threw his head back, taking a huge breath which whooshed out on a spate of mutterings, his lips moving restlessly.

Hermione listened then stopped, pulling her mouth off of him, but replacing it with a languid hand. "Are you—are those quidditch scores?"

"Only way I've a chance of lasting with you—" He shook his head and gestured to her, then began pulling her up, stifling her giggle with a long kiss in which she could taste his slight smile. But then his tongue turned wicked and she lost herself to sensation, barely registering the fact that he was moving them down and backward, kicking off his trousers and pushing her against the desk once more. He muttered a cushioning charm just before he hitched her up and laid her lengthwise over the solid wood. She settled herself with a sigh of anticipation, arching her back and looking up at him.

He stood between the vee of her legs, eyes moving between her face and her tits as he hooked his fingers in her knickers and pulled them down over her hips. The silky fabric (thank gods she'd worn decent ones today) caught slightly at the garters on her thighs, and his eyes flicked down. "I think we'll just leave these on, he said, running a hand over her stockings. "And the shoes."

Hermione bit her lip on a smile, wriggling to help him pull her knickers off. He grasped her ankle firmly, pulling her leg up along his side as he moved over her. She felt his cock slide against the wetness at her core as he leaned to whisper in her ear.

"Now, would you like me to lick your cunt or fuck you?" he asked, his crisp consonants barely containing the breathless words.

Hermione swept her hands over the smooth skin of his back. Decisions, decisions. But then the leg resting at his side slid over his arse almost involuntarily, and she found herself moaning, "Fuck me. Please," into his neck as the vision of his fingers rolling up his sleeve earlier danced across her brain.

"Happy to oblige," he murmured, pulling back, then beginning an achingly slow slide into her hot, eager center.

Hermione gasped on the entry. She'd obviously gathered he was sizeable, but she hadn't counted on just how exquisite he would feel. The fullness, the rightness.

"Oh, ohh, ohhhhh," and, "yes," was all she could seem to manage for several minutes. Luckily Draco was inarticulate too, his vocalisations consisting mostly of variations on "Granger," and "fuck."

He never sped up his initial pace, taking his time as he moved in and out—as if they were in a hotel room on a mini-break rather than thoroughly debauching his desk at half ten on a Thursday night.

She saw him glance down and he looked back up at her with a gasp. "I can see your knickers hanging off your ankle," he said, his breath coming heavily. "Hanging off your sexy little shoe." He looked down again and then straightened, pulling Hermione to the edge of the desk and shaking his head. He lifted the leg with the errant knickers and pulled it up, finally sliding the silky scrap of fabric free and flinging it across the room. He then kissed Hermione's ankle and rested in on his shoulder, resuming his languid thrusts into her absolutely dripping cunt.

"Truly, how am I ever, ever, going to do work in here again?" he lamented, punctuating his words with kisses down her calf. "I'm going to have to fucking obliviate myself."

Hermione laughed shortly. "Same. I'm going to…bloody…self-combust every time I see you in a white shirt. Or those glasses." He smiled wickedly and she started to laugh again, but it turned into a gasp as his fingers sought her clit and started applying an exquisite pressure there.

"That good?" he grunted, his eyes intent on her face, his pace staying steady and delicious.

"Oh fuck, Draco. I am not going to—that's not going to take long," she said, already building. The whole evening had been a severe exercise in self-control and she wasn't really interested in employing any more.

"Oh thank gods."

"What?"

He gestured. "Given that this is my dearest, filthiest fantasy brought to vibrating, colourful life, it's a bloody fucking miracle I've lasted this long myself."

"Oh, OH, OHH!" Possibly to punctuate his words, Draco had changed the angle of his thrusts and the speed of his fingers, which sent Hermione to the true knife edge. She brought her legs up and around his waist, her whole body tensing exquisitely before she finally shouted her release, a sincere wish that they were the only people left in the ministry at this hour slipping dimly through her mind.

When it was clear she had come down, Draco took his fingers from her core and moved them to her thighs, curling around the backs of her legs and wrenching her against him as he thrust with increasing speed. Hermione enjoyed the show: his head thrown back, muscles standing out in his throat, his glorious chest taut with pent up tension, a lock of silvery platinum falling over his brow. This was definitely being added to her wank bank of rolled sleeves and glasses images, although maybe she wouldn't need that so much anymore…

She snapped back into sharp focus as he came, spilling inside of her on a long, loud groan and then pitching forward, his cheek landing between her tits.

She stroked his bright hair. He nuzzled into her skin. After a few silent moments, she silently summoned her wand, performed some cleaning spells and conjured a large blanket. He got them off the desk and into his large desk chair, Hermione in his lap and the blanket around them both.

"So. A thing for my glasses, eh?" He pulled them from the pocket of his accio'ed shirt and settled them on his nose.

"Mmm, yes. And your sleeves. When you roll them." Hermione brushed lovingly at the still folded fabric of his cuffs.

"For how long?" An adorable wrinkle appeared between his brows as he squinted at her.

"The Castlereagh case."

"Ah, another one with a lot of late nights." His lips pressed to the sensitive skin just below her earlobe as Hermione nodded slowly. So many late, excruciating nights.

"Afraid it was earlier for me," he said after a moment.

"But that was our first case together!" She pulled back and looked at him.

He smiled crookedly. "But you wore a pencil skirt on the day I started. The tweed one. With the spectator pumps."

"Of course you'd know the proper shoe nomenclature," she mumurmed, taking his lips in a soft kiss.

"Of course."

She tucked her head against his neck. "Draco?"

"Hmm?" He sounded like he was drowsing. It was rather late.

"Want to go back to mine and…"

"Try that again?" He sounded perked up now.

Hermione summoned their clothes and twisted them into a bundle. "Yes."

"Yes." His tone was now positively avid.

She reached up and kissed him. " Good, because I think we've done enough overtime for today."