Work Text:
Draco liked to say his come-to-Muggle moment was watching the 1997 film Titanic.
That’s not to say he hadn’t already dismantled several long-standing prejudices before that. But there was a difference between accepting Muggles and embracing them. And while Draco had accepted that they were—for the most part—just like wizards, he didn’t really understand them. He had no connection to them.
Until movies.
His first was The Wizard of Oz, which Draco had found comical, albeit unsettling and more than a tad offensive to witches. Even still, it was enough to have him hooked to the silver screen.
He spent the entire summer of 1999 holed up in Theo’s wing of Nott Manor, cycling through every VHS in his best friend’s collection. As much as it would pain Draco to admit—and he would never do so out loud—Theodore Nott had excellent taste in films.
Of course, they weren’t all to his liking. Despite his friend’s passion for it, The Godfather had bored Draco terribly. Little Rascals was grating, Breakfast Club was overrated, and don’t even get him started on Jaws. What was it with Muggles and their obsession with ocean predators?
He enjoyed Top Gun and anything Eddie Murphy was in. Pretty Woman had been surprisingly pleasant, and though, like Theo’s exquisite taste, he would never own up to it… Draco loved Clueless*.
Until July, Jurassic Park had been his favourite. Draco had learned about dinosaurs before and he appreciated that there was something the magical and muggle world could both wonder at. And really, dinosaurs were so much cooler than sharks.
But that was before he had borne witness to the single greatest endeavour in cinematic history. That was before Titanic, and Titanic was a perfect film.
What more could he ask for in a story? Drama, opulence, angst. Beautiful people on a beautiful boat, utterly oblivious to the fact that they were on a one track collision course to tragedy.
He liked that he knew the ending before watching it, which Theo called morbid but Draco disagreed. It was hilarious. Not the people dying, obviously, he’s not heartless. But the way the world lauded that ship, how they called it unsinkable.
He snorted so loudly the first time that word came up that Theo threw a cushion at him.
Idiots, Draco mused to himself as he propped his feet up on the weaponized pillow. Don’t they know the truths you hold highest are the ones that fuck you hardest?
His humour slowly dissipated as he got to know the characters. He found himself sneaking a glance towards the window nearest the sofa when Leonardo Dicaprio came on scene, tilting his head to study his reflection in the darkened pane. Oh , he thought, I reckon I look a bit like that bloke.
And yes, while he and the actor did share certain physical features and a general essence of arrogance, it wasn’t Jack that Draco had really connected to…
Rose was a brat. Understandable, Draco conceded, as she had been brought up in the lap of luxury and privilege. She wasn’t evil, but she was a product of her environment. The result of a social structure built solely on prejudice and fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of what was different—and a desperate adherence to a system of beliefs that put others below her.
If Rose believed in a hierarchy like that, and if she believed that she was at the top, then anything that challenged those principles could topple her entirely.
Sound familiar?
The plot was mostly predictable. Girl meets boy, girl hates boy, but boy likes girl so, romance ensues. Watching the two leads fumble their way into love was endearing, but it left Draco pondering some deeper questions.
What happens when you board a boat, or a train perhaps, and you meet someone that forces you to question every last one of your ideals? What happens when that unsinkable ship starts sinking? Do you cling to what you once held to be truth? Or do you hold on to that person?
And what if it sends you reeling? What if you feel as lost and adrift as a castaway at sea?
All hypothetical questions, of course.
The longer the film went on, the more anxious Draco became. Even though he knew the story, he suddenly wished he didn’t. Even though he knew they’d hit that ice, he found himself hoping for a chance. Longing for a different ending. The way Draco saw it, anything that could give you hope like that , was art indeed.
As it turned out, watching Titanic felt a lot like falling in love with Hermione Granger.
Once, Draco made the mistake of actually telling her that.
It was a Sunday, the best kind of Sunday, in which Draco spent the majority of it with Hermione. The kind where they stayed in their pyjamas well into the evening, reading or watching films. Peaceful. A peace he shattered in the span of one single observation.
“You’re comparing me to a horrific shipwreck?” she asked, closing her book. She was visibly, and perhaps justifiably, offended.
Because he hadn’t meant that, but that was what he said.
“Merlin, Draco, why the Titanic? Why not the Black Plague or some other devastating, fatal catastrophe?” Hermione began to get heated, which Draco usually enjoyed seeing, but less so when it was aimed towards him. Her posture had straightened and her brow was set in that intense, focused sort of way that it got when she was about to verbally eviscerate a man.
“I didn’t mean it like that! I—”
“If you’re trying to make some point about my intellectual depth, or that I’m more than meets the eye, I can think of at least a hundred other metaphors that wouldn’t compare me to a massive, murderous chunk of ice.” She had begun to speak very quickly which meant Draco was very much in trouble.
“Gods, will you let me finish?”
“Please, I would be thrilled to hear it.” The fire behind her usually warm—but not quite so incendiary—eyes informed him she held a number of emotions, but thrilled was not one of them.
After four years, two shared flats, and one diamond ring in his night stand, Draco could read his witch. He knew he had entered “sit down and gently take her hand” territory.
“Granger,” he began tentatively, taking a seat on their sofa next to her. As if pulled by a current, one Draco hadn’t fought in some time, his hands found their way to hers. She smiled just a little at the surname he still used for her occasionally. “Though you are deadly in your own right, I did not intend to imply that you were comparable to an actual iceberg.”
“I don’t hear an apology,” she sniffed.
Draco’s eye twitched. “That’s because you’re not getting one yet, darling.”
“Then why am I—”
“I have never loved someone this much.”
The words came out of him in a rush, and they would also need to be catalogued as seven of the very few that could halt Hermione mid-rant. The only others Draco had discovered thus far were fire and you’re cracking the spine of that book.
Draco did not often talk about his emotions. Which didn’t mean he didn’t express how he felt, just that he did so in indirect ways. Instead of telling his girlfriend that he was inspired every single day by her strength and compassion, he would tell her that she was inspiring, strong, and compassionate. As opposed to saying how fast his heart beat when he saw her in backless gowns, he would tell her that she looked stunning, and that the garments ought to be illegal.
He wasn’t sure why he always removed himself from the equation when it came to complimenting Hermione. If he had to guess, it probably came down to his pathological and persistent feelings of inadequacy. That her talents and beauty deserved to stand on their own, without his perspective tainting them.
But what did he know? His entire knowledge base on psychology came from watching Goodwill Hunting.
“Falling for you…” Draco paused, bracing himself for the unbearable sense of vulnerability he knew he was about to subject himself to.
Looking at his source of strength, he saw that Hermione’s beautiful face had softened. The flames that had been raging behind her eyes only moments before calmed to a steady burn. Draco allowed himself a moment to bask in her warmth, then he went on.
“I knew that loving you would ruin me. I fought my feelings for you for so long, you know this, but it wasn’t just my upbringing and my prejudice that kept me from letting you in. It was… It was like knowing the end of a film before you watched it. If I let myself care for you, I knew that I would never be the one to turn back. If the waters got rocky, I would be the one that went under. I knew it, Hermione. But I did it anyway.”
Hermione’s eyes began to look glassy and he wondered, quite bitterly, how any good ever came of talking about one’s feelings. But he had started this and he was going to finish it.
“Because you give me hope,” Draco said with a squeeze to her hand. “Even in the face of insurmountable odds, I hope, because of you. I believe in you, in us, more than anything in the world.”
They were both quiet for a moment. As empathetic and loving as his girlfriend was, she too struggled to say exactly how she felt at times. Sometimes, it was just easier for them to argue.
“They didn’t overcome the odds,” Hermione muttered. “Jack died. Rose lost him.”
He sighed, dropping her hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters!” she cried.
She was so practical, his brilliant witch, and she was also undefeated. She had suffered, surely. More than one person ever should—especially one as kind and good as Hermione. But she didn’t know what it was to lose. Very likely, she would never have to. There was nothing she couldn’t take on.
If Hermione had been aboard the Titanic, she would have found a way to turn the ship, blast the iceberg, or mend the bloody boat back together if she had to. Because she was Hermione Granger and she had faced worse.
The adoration must have been written clear across his face because Hermione’s brows furrowed and she shook her head. “You think too highly of me, love. I am not unsinkable.”
Was Hermione his unsinkable ship? She very well could have been, once. But Draco would never make the mistake of believing something, or someone, infallible again.
His parents sank first. Tragically, because what was selling your only child to a dark wizard if not going down with the ship? A series of hard lessons followed and Draco learned never to trust as he once had. Mentors died, heroes fell, and damn if it didn’t hurt—but ships sank. Draco’s life, strewn with wreckage and watery graves, was proof of that.
“No. You are not,” Draco agreed stoically before giving her one of his smuggest grins, one that he knew she found endearing. “But if you sank, I would go down with you.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “That was incredibly cheesy.”
“You reduce me to such,” he replied as he reclined back into the sofa, spreading his legs and crossing his arms over his stomach. “It’s all those absurd porn films you subject me to.”
“Oh, my God,” she groaned, collapsing against the back of the sofa as well. “For the last time, please, stop calling romance films porn! They are not the same!”
He sighed in a very put out manner. “Well until you show me a porn, I hardly think it reasonable for you to expect me to know the difference.” Hermione was covering her face as he went on. “Besides, we’ve watched many so-called romances with plenty of salacious activity.”
She dropped her hands and raised a challenging brow. “Oh, you mean like your precious Titanic? ”
“Hermione, please." Draco held up his hand, as if he could physically fend away such a ridiculous insinuation. “Those scenes are tasteful and artistic.”
With a loud snort, his girlfriend continued to slander his favourite film. “There is nothing tasteful about car sex.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Car sex. Sexual intercourse inside of a car? You know…” Hermione mimicked the way Draco had just held up his own palm, but instead of elucidating, she gave him a meaningful look.
“Why does the vehicle make it any less dignified?” Draco asked earnestly.
“Oh, come on,” she said, her cheeks growing just slightly pinker. “It’s what muggle teenagers do.”
Is it, darling? Draco thought while quite literally biting his tongue. He imagined some nameless, faceless, no doubt cretin of a teenage boy fumbling about in a muggle vehicle with the love of his life and he could feel his eye twitch again.
“And you have—” he cleared his throat, and attempted to sound less murderous than he felt. “Have you engaged in muggle car sex?”
“No,” she said with a knowing grin. If Hermione had been more Slytherin, she might have drawn out his torment. She was certainly cunning enough to see his distress, but bless her and her house of insufferable saints, for she put him out of his misery quickly. “But…”
Draco sat up a little straighter. They held each other’s eyes for more than a few heartbeats, until she let out a small laugh, looking down at her lap and biting her lip. Her mass of chocolate colored curls fell around her face and shoulders.
“It’s silly. I just, always, sort of…” She trailed off again, hair muffling her voice. Her curls felt like silk as Draco leaned towards her and ran his fingers under the stands blocking her eyes, lifting them away from her face and tucking them behind her ear.
“Getting shy, Granger?” He taunted with a smirk.
He was close enough to see her freckles, sprinkled like cinnamon across her tawny skin. Close enough to see her deep brown eyes flash with indignation.
Hermione pushed her shoulders back and met his challenging stare full on. “I always wanted to try it.”
Draco’s smirk spread into a victorious grin. His fingers, still trailing through her hair, slid down her jaw to cup her chin in a light grasp. “Are you suggesting we do something so…” He brought his lips to the shell of her ear to whisper his next word, “distasteful? ”
Hermione shivered in his hold. She brought her arms up to wrap around his neck and he began a path of kisses along her cheek, across her nose, down to her lips.
Kissing her fully, slowly and with a hand in her hair, he could feel her start to squirm, angling herself up to her knees and attempting to wiggle onto his lap.
“Keep that up, and we’ll never make it off this couch,” Draco informed her roughly between soft pecks to her already swollen, rosy lips. He brought his hands to her hips, anchoring her to the cushion.
She was drunk off his kisses, he noted smugly, confused by his words. “Why would we—oh! ” Hermione breathed, hazy eyes snapping to awareness. Her small hands ran along his shoulders, coming to rest on his chest. “You mean, right now?”
“Do you want to?” Draco asked.
“Yes.”
“Alright.”
“So, we should—” Hermione moved to stand.
“—Do you have—”
“Oh!” She cried. In their haste to move from the sofa, Hermione’s knee had slipped quite roughly into his groin. “I’m so sorry!”
Breathe through it, chap. It’s only a thousand year legacy at stake.
Merlin, they had never been this awkward before. Even in their first, impassioned, and desperate couplings there had been an innateness to them—natural and sure. But then, Draco usually took the lead. And this, this muggle custom, was something in which he had no expertise to draw from. He was in foreign waters and he had no choice but to allow Hermione to lead him through.
“It’s alright,” he soothed her with a tight smile, still slightly hunched over. “What were you going to say?”
“Well I—” she made another half-reach towards him, clearly still concerned. But with a steadying breath she went on with more confidence, “I don’t actually have a car, you see. I suppose we could just… borrow one?”
Draco might not know much about car sex, but he’d seen Al Pacino’s Heat and he was quite familiar with the concept of grand theft auto.
“Gods, I always forget how utterly delinquent you are,” he marvelled.
Dragging her bottom lip between her teeth, Hermione gave an unsure whine and shifted her weight between feet. “Oh, that’s really bad isn’t it? Should we not? I’ll—I mean we would Scourgify the thing when we’re done, it would be like we were never there, but I—Draco?”
Before she could talk herself out of it, Draco stomped back to their hall closet to fetch their coats. Without a word he helped her into the giant woollen beast she called a jacket and ushered her towards their flat’s entrance.
Holding open the door, and shrugging on his own muggle coat, he gestured to the building’s corridor. “After you, my love.”
Hermione’s face took on an almost manic grin, the kind she got whenever she broke the rules or did something so very un-Golden Girl . He loved that about her. He promised himself, early on in their relationship, that he would never make her feel ashamed for that part of her—that he’d encourage it if he could. If only for the fact that she really got off on breaking rules with him.
He was a selfish bastard, after all.
Selfish enough to decline the first three vehicles she suggested given that they were a bit too public for his liking. But down a side street in muggle London, just a few blocks from their flat, they found a charming, well enough secluded option.
An S-U-V, Hermione informed him. She had said something about needing the extra room, something Draco’s tall frame and general unease appreciated the sound of very much.
Of course, Hermione took to carjacking like she took to everything, which was flawlessly. With a few added wards and muggle-repelling charms, they found themselves tucked into the backseat of the commandeered SUV. Draco found that his unease had escalated into outright discomfort. And in Draco’s arsenal of coping skills, he often combatted discomfort with prattishness.
Surveying the fabric seats and empty plastic water bottles, he sneered, “You know I value your judgement beyond all others’ but I have to ask, just what is the appeal here?”
Ever undeterred by his unpleasantness, Hermione gave him a patient smile, moved closer to tuck her legs under herself, and then tucked herself into his side. “It’s supposed to be more spontaneous than this,” she conceded, hand running absently up and down his chest.
Draco smiled despite himself. “Ah, so it's like the broom cupboard of the muggle world.”
“Well, we do have broom cupboards in the muggle world, but yes it’s the same idea.” Her hand stilled. “You know, we could roleplay.”
“That’s a statement you will never hear me object to.”
She sat up a bit so she could face him, a determined look on her face. “I mean it, Draco, we can pretend we’ve just ran through the ship, evading my minder, forced to take refuge here.” Her hand smacked off the back of the seats in front of them as she became increasingly more set on the idea.
His reply was to extend and curl his arm more completely around her waist, palm resting on the front of her hip, squeezing slightly.
“Oh, it really is romantic isn’t it? Jack and Rose,” she gushed, “The world doesn’t want to see us together, so we ran from it all. Star-crossed lovers, forced to steal just this moment together.”
He couldn’t help it, Draco threw his head back in laughter. “Hermione, repeat what you just said in your head.”
“What?” She was offended again.
“We, Hermione and Draco—” Draco used his free hand to gesture between them. “—are so damn star-crossed it’s a miracle we haven’t imploded.”
She gave a small huff. “A supernova is technically an explosion not a—“
“Right, thank you, my point remains.”
Hermione sighed, slouching back into the crook of his arm. “So we’re just Draco and Hermione?”
He smiled. “Just us.”
“Fine.” She dropped her head to his chest.
“Granger…” Draco hesitated. “Surely you must know, but just us is always going to be enough for me.”
Hermione’s weight left his side, but before he could panic that he had said too much, she was throwing a leg over his lap and capturing his face in her hands. “Now that was romantic,” she said fiercely.
A second later her lips were on his and she was kissing him with a feverish urgency. Her hands were gripping tight around his face, smacking his own away when he brought them up to grasp her wrists.
“Hey!” he chastised. Or, attempted to anyway, as she was hell-bent on continuing to kiss him.
With an exasperated sigh, Hermione released her hold on his face and pulled back from him. Her brows were set in an unexpectedly serious way.
“Sit back and hold still,” she ordered sharply. Then, with just the slightest edge of uncertainty, “Okay?”
“Fuck, Hermione, yes.”
He loved this. He loved her. The way she was still able to surprise him and challenge him. Their relationship was a perpetual push and pull, like the ebb and flow of tides.
Hermione had started to scoot backwards on his lap, away from him, reaching behind her to push his legs further apart as she went. With the tightness of the space and the length of his legs, Draco felt his muscles protest at the stretch. But when the distance became too great for her to straddle, she slipped between his thighs and sank to her knees on the floor of the vehicle.
Nestled rather tightly between some middle divider of the SUV and Draco himself, Hermione was quite unaffected by the lack of space and set to unbuttoning his trousers with her usual brand of determination. He thought to help her, but given her prior admonishment, decided instead to spread his arms leisurely out across the width of the seat upon which he sat.
“You look comfortable,” Hermione noted with a raised brow before turning her attention back to his zipper.
Smirking down at her, he lied brazenly, “Oh no, I’m still quite nervous about this all.” He hissed when she finally managed to pull him from his pants and felt her soft, delicate hand wrap around his hardness.
“Really?” She asked, glancing between his face and the evidence of his arousal.
Draco lost all words to a deep groan, to the feel of her lips softly brushing the head of his cock in a chaste kiss. “Yes,” he managed to force out.
Her tongue peeked out to drag lightly, too lightly, up his length. “Maybe we should slow down, then.”
“Merlin, please don’t.” His hands reached for her of their own volition, which Hermione caught from the corner of her eye and immediately pulled away from him, brow raised in reproach. “Hermione!”
“I told you to be still,” she said with a frown, hands bracing his knees.
“I didn’t think you’d be so cruel,” he replied and he absolutely did not pout while saying it. Draco pulled his hands back and ran them through his hair before clenching them into fists at his side.
“You are so dramatic”, he caught her mumble. But all thoughts of retort were lost when she finally, blissfully, wrapped her lips around him.
“Fuck, I take it back. You’re perfect, you’re so perfect,” he breathed, nails biting into his palms in the effort to keep his hands to himself and away from the curls that fell across his lap. Curls that bounced as Hermione moved her lips and down his length with a practised speed, her tongue brushing against the head of his cock with delicious pressure.
The ecstasy that was her mouth, coupled with the torture that was her denial...
I’m the king of the world.**
He didn’t deserve a second of her, of this, but he would take it. As long as whatever delusion compelled her to give him her love, he would take it. He would hold it with both hands. Hiding it from the world or shoving it into the face of every sad fucking wizard who could never have it—either way—it would be his.
Because as arrogant, selfish, and despicable as Draco was, he was not stupid. A love like hers only came around once in a lifetime.
Oh, fuck.
He had to think about something else. Gods, only Hermione could make a man come thinking about love.
His next breath came out with a strangled moan and a desperate plea, “Let me touch you.” Let me have you, Hermione, please. Always let me have you. “Let me fuck you.”
As much as he hated for her to remove her mouth from his cock, the words she spoke were everything he needed to hear.
“Take me, then.”
Draco pulled her to a semi-standing position between his legs and helped her out of her lounge pants. The loose fabric slid easily down the curves of her hips and he relished in the smooth skin of her thighs against his fingertips. Her hands came to his shoulders for support as she stepped out of her joggers, the roof of the vehicle forcing her to bend so that her chest was level with his face. A predicament that Draco planned to take full advantage of.
Without removing her coat, he began to unbutton her pyjama top, thanking Merlin that his witch frequently forgoed a bra on weekends. Soon her chest was bare to him, her skin glowing golden from the warm lights of the street lamps.
“Draco,” Hermione half-whined as he brought his mouth to the base of her neck.
Peppering kisses along the ridge of her clavicle, he wrapped his hands around her ribcage before fitting the curve between his thumb and forefinger beneath the curve of each breast and pressing them together. Only then did he turn his attention to her nipples, hard and pebbled for want of his touch. He pulled one bud into his mouth and sucked gently.
With her breasts pressed together, he only had to turn his head slightly from one to capture the other. Back and forth he went between her breasts, occasionally giving a nip or particularly hard suck, savouring the weight of her in his hands and the way she pressed herself against his mouth.
At some point, Hermione decided that he was spending too long on her left side. She whimpered, trying to turn her chest in his hands, which Draco would not allow. Instead, he delivered a hard pinch to her neglected nipple.
Hermione started and, in doing so, knocked her head off the roof with a small yelp. Instantly, Draco pulled her into his lap, yanking her legs over his thighs with one arm and supporting her weight with the other.
“Oh, love. Gods, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, frantically taking the hand from under knees and running it over her cheek, forehead, and hair. “Are you alright, did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she rushed out, struggling to sit up in his hold.
He allowed her to straddle his lap as she had before, but he cupped her face and forced her to look at him as he searched her expression for signs of pain.
“Please, don’t stop, Draco,” her voice was soft and desperate and she grabbed hold of his wrists, pulling his hands back to her chest, “I need more.” She did appear to be in pain, but not from injury.
“Tell me what you want,” he cooed, allowing her to guide his fingers to her nipples, squeezing them lightly.
Hermione whimpered in his hands. “You, I want you inside me.” She pressed her core into his erection, emphasising her point.
“There?” He taunted. “You want me in your sweet, little cunt?”
In lieu of response, Hermione pushed her coat and unbuttoned top from her shoulders in one shove. Before the fabric even hit his feet, she was pulling her knickers to the side and reaching for him.
She had him lined up, the head of his cock almost at her opening, when sense returned to him.
“Hermione, wait, let me make sure you’re—”
“I’m ready,” she interjected. But she did shift back slightly and allow him to see for himself.
Draco took in the sight of her bare cunt, swollen and pink, before reaching down to touch her. For a few moments, he simply ran the pad of his thumb up and down her folds in slow strokes, relishing the feel of her—so soft and wet. Even slower, he pressed his thumb inside her. They both moaned, her at the intrusion and him at how perfectly hot and soaked she felt around him.
“Mmm, you are ready aren’t you?” Draco asked gently. He could feel her wetness spreading down his second knuckle as he fucked her shallowly with his thumb. “So tight and wet for me. So ready to be fucked in this car you stole for me.”
“Malfoy!”
Draco grinned wickedly. He too found joy in those rare moments when she used his surname. Almost always when he was being cruel. But only slightly, only in the ways she loved.
“You know, I’m probably the first Malfoy to ever be in a muggle vehicle.” He continued to fuck her with his finger as he spoke, no where near as deep as she needed him, teasing her with his hand and his words. “And I got my fucking cock sucked.”
Hermione’s mouth parted and Draco wasted no time in filling it with his other thumb. A finger in both her mouth and her pussy, she was full of him, but they both knew it wasn’t enough . On a desperate moan, she opened her mouth fully and bucked against the hand at her cunt. Her eyes met his and he could see her beautiful brown irises swimming in unshed tears.
He knew he couldn’t tease her much longer. “I know love, I know you want more,” he said soothingly. “I’ll put more fingers in your mouth if you take my cock, okay? Can you be a good girl and take it?”
Her head nodded quickly. She tried to reply as well, but he kept his thumb pressed to the top of her tongue so that all that came out was a delicious, anguished whimper.
“So good, Hermione.”
Just as he removed his hand from between her thighs Hermione rose up on her knees. He took hold of his erection, painfully hard and leaking from the tip. She lowered herself onto him quickly at first, but with a wince and sharp intake of breath around his thumb, she paused.
“Easy, love,” Draco grit out. As promised, he twisted the hand at her mouth, replacing his thumb with his middle and ring finger.
Hermione hummed on his fingers, pushing her tongue up against them and guiding them deeper into her mouth. Suckling him slightly, she started to lower herself on his cock once again.
As he bottomed out inside her, Draco hissed a curse and snapped his eyes shut. The feeling of being inside her was indescribable and he knew if he watched her writhing in his lap, his fingers shoved between her perfect lips, he wouldn’t possibly be able to last.
But a sharp buck of her hips had his eyes back to hers, an affronted look on her face. Hermione did not like to be ignored.
“Look at you,” he muttered, “You want me to watch you ride my cock? Go on, then.”
He took his fingers from her mouth, placing both hands on her hips, rocking her against him. But his witch, always one to set her own pace, grabbed hold of his hands and stilled him. She ground against him slowly, rolling her hips in a hypnotic way that had him unable to look away.
She kept that motion for sometime before she wrapped her arms around his neck. Kissing him, she rose up on her knees before dropping back down again. Repeatedly. Quickly.
“Fuck, yes,” Draco moaned.
Her voice had no right to sound so angelic. “Like that?”
“Yes, baby, like that.”
He unwittingly bucked his hips into her and almost sent her into the roof for a second time, but her hands shot up to stop herself. The resulting effect on her breasts, pulled up and still bouncing with the rhythm she maintained, was almost too much to bear. Cursing the physical limitations of human sight for not allowing him to watch Hermione’s top and bottom half concurrently, he alternated glances between her bouncing breasts and his cock going in and out of her.
When Draco was sure he was seconds from coming undone, he sucked in a shaky breath and guided Hermione off of his lap and onto the seat next to him.
“Lay down,” he commanded.
Hermione smiled. “I have a better idea.” Pivoting on her knees, she turned her back to him and dug her feet into his thigh, pressing into him—pushing him towards the other side of the bench seat—until he realised her intention.
“Really?” Draco scrambled back and desperately hoped that the unconcealable glee in his voice sounded suaver to her ears than his.
Her grin widened, lovingly, as she looked over her shoulder at him. Hands on the car door, just below the window pane, Hermione shifted her knees towards him just enough so that she could arch her back. “I want you to fuck me into this door, Draco. I want you to do it hard and I want every window in this car to fog.”
On Salazar’s grave, if I ever say no to an offer like that, she should Avada me dead right then and there.
He returned her smile with a smirk. “If that’s what you want, darling.”
Needing no further prompting, Draco situated himself behind her. He took just a moment to appreciate how gorgeous her arse looked arched up for him before he pressed himself back into her hot cunt.
The angle was exquisite. She felt like a vice around his cock, if a vice could be made of pure wet, blissful heat. He pulled out in millimetres, then pushed back in. In and out, several times, at a much slower rate than she had just requested. But they both knew this position was touch and go, had the ability to hurt Hermione and not in the way she liked. So he took his time, building up to a speed that had her meeting his thrusts and he knew, then, that he could go harder.
Draco’s breath was coming quicker but he kept his rhythm controlled, only increasing the force. A force that had Hermione pitching forward, forehead almost making contact with the glass. “Put your hands on the window,” he ground out, harsher than he intended. “In front of your face.”
Hermione obliged, bringing one hand up at first, but it slid against the condensation on the now slick surface, creating a messy, translucent handprint amongst the opaqueness of the fog. Clumsily, she managed to get both hands against the window and brace herself against his thrusts.
To be sure she wouldn’t slip again, Draco brought one of his hands up and planted it over hers, covering them both with his palm. With her hands secured, Draco reached around with his free one to pull at her nipples, and finally, her clit.
Hermione cried out at the contact, elbows caving in and falling against the door of the car, forcing Draco to slow the pace of his thrusts. The pressure on her clit, however, did not relent. Still rocking his cock into her slowly, he used his fingers to press small tight circles into her centre.
It was at that moment, just as her legs began to quake, that both their heads snapped to the blurry movement in the window.
Through Hermione’s handprints, Draco could make out a man. A muggle man, on one of those infuriating cellular devices, standing merely two yards from where Draco had his girlfriend nearly coming on his cock. And while he knew that the spells they placed on the SUV would prevent the muggle from seeing them, Draco felt a jolt of anticipation course through him.
It was, strangely, not an altogether unpleasant jolt.
Draco released Hermione’s hands and belted his forearm just above her breasts, pulling her towards him. Sitting back on his feet, still inside Hermione, he situated her on his lap so that he could hold her to his chest and still be able to work his fingers between her legs.
As an added bonus, he was also able to whisper into her ear. “Is this why you wanted to fuck in a car, Hermione? You wanted an audience?”
Hermione keened so sweetly at his words and continued to work herself up and down his length.
“Should I lift the spells, love? Let him see how beautiful you look bouncing on my cock?” He would have sooner fucked a Weasley than do what he had said and Hermione knew it too.
“No, no no,” she moaned anyway.
“No?” His tone was mocking. “You know what I want then.”
“Yes,” she whined. “Draco please, I want to come.”
“You want to come for our friend out there?” Draco spat.
Her hands grappled for hold of his forearm. “I want to come for you, please, just for you.”
“That’s my girl.”
Draco didn’t change the pressure of his fingers, but he began to fuck her harder, earnestly, and passionately. He pushed everything he had into her, into her cunt, into her skin—wet skin that slid against his as she fucked him back.
Her moans were loud, perhaps louder than even her Muffliato could conceal. The arm around her chest shifted so that he could cover her mouth with his hand.
By happy accident, or perhaps as a result of the domineering gesture, she screamed her climax right at that moment, into his palm.
He fucked her through it, all the while keeping his hand to her mouth and his lips to her ear, biting and sucking, telling her how beautiful and good she was for him. Telling her he loved her.
As her body was coming down, Draco released her mouth and she fell forward, catching herself against the door. He slung an arm beneath her hips, supporting her weight so that she was more suspended than on the seat, and pounded into her harder.
He sunk a hand into her hair, gripping it tightly at the base of her scalp.
“Yes!” Hermione cried.
“I fucking love car sex,” Draco said, though he meant to just think it.
Each time his hips crashed against her, her moans staccatoed and fractured into whines. Everything around him was hot and wet—the air, the seat, Hermione.
Hermione.
There could have been an entire Quidditch team outside and Draco wouldn’t have cared. In that moment, Hermione was the only person in the world.
Just us.
Draco came with those words in his mind.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Back at their flat, Draco tracked down his copy of Titanic and popped it in the VCR. Dropping himself onto the sofa, he stretched out onto his back and motioned for Hermione to join him. They slipped naturally into a familiar position, Hermione on her side, between himself and the sofa, with her head resting on his chest.
As the film came to a close, and they watched Jack’s lips turn blue, Hermione heaved a weary sigh. “God, I can’t believe I’m Jack in this scenario.”
Draco couldn’t help but laugh at how despairingly resigned she sounded to that fact. “I’m sorry, but that kind of self-sacrificing idiocy is exactly your brand of Gryffindor.”
She propped herself up in her elbow, her front flush with his side. “Oh? Really? What happened to Mr. If You Sank I’d Go Down With You ?”
Draco’s jaw dropped. “That was purely sentiment, love. My Gods, you thought that meant I’d let you drown?” He made a show of mock horror as he reached out to grasp her shoulders, pulling her tightly against his chest and clutching her head to his sternum. “What Jack did was self-sacrificing because there were at least a dozen other viable flotation devices nearby.”
“Occupied floatation devices,” she noted matter-of-factly into his shirt, still trapped in his embrace.
Though she couldn’t see him, Draco fought to keep from smirking. “Not after I got there,” he muttered.
He expected her to pull away from him in a tizzy of righteous outrage—to smack his shoulder or scold him as she usually did when he said something despicable and Malfoy-like. Instead, she went slack against him.
Draco became instantly concerned and he ran his hands down the back of her head to rest on her shoulder blades, freeing her to sit up and look at him. But instead she wrapped her own arms around his waist, melting further into him.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her words were quiet and muffled by his abdomen but he was sure he heard her correctly. He just couldn’t believe it.
Cautiously, Draco ventured, “You know I just—“
“Implied that you would drown victims of a shipwreck to secure both of us a lifeline? Yes.” Her voice was tight, strained. He could tell that she was holding back a deeper emotion. “And I’m a terrible person for feeling relief to hear that. But Draco, I think I get it now. I’m the iceberg.”
He could have corrected her, could have clarified—once again—that he hadn’t actually called her a bloody iceberg. Pointed out that if what she had just said was true, then that would make them a massively fucked up pair. Really, it would make them doomed.
But Draco didn’t say anything.
Titanic was a tragedy and not just in the theatrical sense. It was real. A real boat, with real people who led real lives. Those passengers had friends, children, spouses—people that loved them. They had names and dreams. They had hope.
To the passengers in 1912, the Titanic was magic. More accurately, it was a modern technological marvel, but what’s the difference, really?
Magic was no less infallible.
Jack and Rose weren’t real, but their suffering was. Hermione and Draco knew suffering. They’d seen humanity at its worst, raw and terrible, the kind of pain that left you speechless. It’s why they often struggled to talk about their pasts, or their feelings, and it was how Draco grew to love cinema in the first place.
Films were made to convey what words alone could not.
So Draco allowed the silence to hang between them, the ethereal sounds of the film’s final song playing lightly in the background and he held Hermione close to him.
He stood by what he said before. Watching Titanic was exactly like falling in love with Hermione Granger.
It was drama, opulence, and angst. It was terrifying. Awe-inspiring. Life changing. It was knowing the ending and signing up for the pain.
Would their story end in pain? Perhaps, perhaps not. If Draco wanted a life with Hermione, he would have to accept the fact that no one really gets to know the ending. He would have to accept that life is not that simple, that it’s not like one of his movies.
But if it was… If the collision that brought them together was in fact the first act in a tragedy of Titanic proportions? If the film of their lives was one destined for ruin?
Then damn if it wasn’t still the best fucking film you ever saw.