Rough Sex, Make It Hurt

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at

http://archiveofourown.org/works/21739045.

Rating:
Explicit

Archive Warning:
Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:
F/M

Fandom:
Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Relationship:
Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy

Character:
Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy

Additional Tags:
Smut, One Shot, marriage law, Rough Sex, but not too
rough, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Marriage Law but not angsty

Language:
English

Stats:
Published: 2019-12-10 Words: 4062
 Rough Sex, Make It Hurt
by slytheringheights
Summary

It’s wedding night for our reluctant spouses, Draco and

Hermione. They have less than an hour to consummate
their bond, or lose their magic.
“Rough, I think,” she hurriedly admitted, just above a
whisper.
“What was that,” Draco moved closer to her, shifting his
head so that his ear was closer to her mouth. “I didn’t
hear you.” He heard her just fine, but this moment was
too delicious not to milk.
“I like rough sex,” she said louder, forcing him to turn his
ear away from her mouth and stare into her determined
brown eyes. “I think.”
Draco, amused, stepped closer to her, entering her
personal space where she was perched on the table. “You
like rough sex…you think?”
She averted her eyes from his intense stare and nodded.
“And why is it that you think you like it rough, but don’t
know that you do?”
***
A light, smutty Marriage Law one-shot.

Notes

Your reviews and kudos have lifted me up and

encouraged me. Very grateful to anyone who has spent
any of their time reading my fics.
Have you all picked up on the theme of my fic titles yet?
;) I will move them into a collection soon.
See the end of the work for more notes
“You look fucking ridiculous,” Draco Malfoy muttered as he
continued pacing a hole into the exceptionally plush carpet of
the penthouse honeymoon suite bought and paid for by the
Ministry of Magic.
“Me? Look at you,” Hermione Granger retorted, gesturing to
their nearly identical bedroom attire. “We look like we cleaned
out the skimpy black satin robe department at Madame
Malkin’s.”
She poured a double serving of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey,
leaving the champagne to continue chilling, unopened, on ice.
This situation called for the highest possible alcohol by
volume. She hopped up on the dining table—very sturdy, she
thought absently—and resumed her watch over her new
husband’s frantic movements across the—truly luxurious,
actually—carpet. The Ministry may be trash at making social
policy, but they really knew how to design a honeymoon suite.
“This whole situation is ridiculous,” Draco responded, waving
his arms through the air to accentuate his point. “How can you
be so calm right now?” He stopped his pacing across the
carpet—which felt rather nice under his bare feet, he had to
admit—and stared right at his new wife. “You must be as
horrified about this turn of events as I am.” He ticked his head
at an angle and narrowed his eyes. “Unless, you have
somehow been harboring some intense secret crush on me this
whole time.” He smirked, but half-heartedly, as if it was more
from muscle memory.
Hermione rolled her eyes, so far back into her head that she
worried she had strained her cornia. “Literally the opposite.”
She took another sip from the rapidly depleting liquid courage
in her tumbler. “I just don’t see the point in wallowing in this.
It’s done. We said our vows. We’re together until death do us
part.” And then she smiled the sweetest, fakest smile.
“Darling.”
He met her fake smile with one of his own. “Well, darling. I
suppose you have no qualms getting on with the night then,”
he said as he removed his satin black dressing robe and stood
several feet away from her in nothing but black silk boxers,
contrasting—not unattractively, Hermione reluctantly admitted
—with his notoriously pale features.
She choked on her firewhiskey. She had actually forgotten
about this part of the arrangement. Perhaps she was actively
repressing awareness of all the horrid consequences of this
blasted Marriage Law. It was passed exactly 28 days ago and
exactly 21 days ago, she received a letter with her match,
Draco Fucking Malfoy. Exactly 20 days and 12 hours ago, she
and Malfoy reluctantly agreed to the match, rather than choose
the alternative—obliviation and permanent expulsion from the
wizarding world.
And exactly two hours ago, she and Draco participated in the
public part of their bonding ceremony, the first step in tying
each to the other…forever.
The second part of the ceremony was to be decidedly more…
private. In order to complete the ceremony—and seal their
bond forever—they needed to consummate the relationship.
By midnight.
Hermione glanced at the clock ticking quietly away on the
bedstand. 11:20 pm.
“Fuck,” she whispered as she looked down into the receding
depths of her drink.
“That’s the idea, Granger,” Draco said resignedly as he stalked
to the table and noisily poured himself a glass of Ogden’s. He
took three large gulps and refilled his glass. Hermione held her
empty glass out to him too. There was nothing in the law or
the binding ceremony that required sobriety. He refilled her
glass, sighed, and leaned against the table next to her, with the
tension between them taking on an unfamiliar note of
solidarity.
After a moment of silence and a pair empty stares into the fire
roaring across the room, Draco downed his drink and set down
the glass, turning to face her head on.
“Ok,” he sighed, gathering his determination for what was
next. “How do you like it?”
Hermione looked into his eyes, searching for context clues to
clarify his question. “How do I like what?”
“Sex, Granger. How do you like to have sex?” His stare was
steady and he seemed completely unflustered by this topic of
conversation. Hermione, meanwhile, looked like she would
rather engage in an extended discussion of Fantasy Quidditch
than discuss her sexual preferences. She sipped from her glass
again, trying to drink the nonchalance into her body.
“Quick. That’s how I like it.” She met his stare with her own.
“We should just get this over with as quickly as humanly
possible so that the bonding ceremony will be complete and
we can go back to aggressively ignoring each other again.”
He chuckled—outright guffawed!—at her response. “No, no,
Granger. That won’t work.” He shook his head but his smirk—
whole-hearted this time—remained. “You see, once this
bonding ceremony concludes, we will be, literally, bonded to
one another. Forever.” He paused to let his last word sink in.
“In other words, I am the only man you will be able to have
sex with and you are the only witch my cock will ever feel the
inside of again. And if you think that I am going to spend the
rest of my life having lousy—or worse, nonexistent—sex, then
you are terribly mistaken.”
She glared at him. She also truly hated the idea of never
having satisfying sex for the rest of her life, but honestly, her
experiences thus far hadn’t made a compelling case that sex
was all that essential to her well-being. Still, Malfoy had a
point: why resign yourself to a lifetime of sad, mediocre sex
when you could have satisfying sex instead? Her glare shifted
into a calculating stare.
“Rough, I think,” she hurriedly admitted, just above a whisper.
“What was that,” Draco moved closer to her, shifting his head
so that his ear was closer to her mouth. “I didn’t hear you.” He
heard her just fine, but this moment was too delicious not to
milk.
“I like rough sex,” she said louder, forcing him to turn his ear
away from her mouth and stare into her determined brown
eyes. “I think.”
Draco, amused, stepped closer to her, entering her personal
space where she was perched on the table. “You like rough
sex…you think?”
She averted her eyes from his intense stare and nodded.
“And why is it that you think you like it rough, but don’t know
that you do?” Draco was taking the opportunity offered by her
averted eyes to run his gaze over every feature on her face,
looking for clues for what was going on inside this witch’s
intriguing—and, he realized, quite pretty—little head. His eyes
had just started a thorough exploration of her plump, naturally
pink lips when she turned back to him.
“Let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of sweet, adoring sex and
it was nice, but not…effective, if you get my drift.” Her eyes
blinked away from his stare, looking everywhere but into his
steady gray gaze.
She was being bashful. How absolutely fucking adorable. He
decided to continue this line of questioning a bit more.
“Your fair share? Of sweet, adoring sex? And it was…nice?
But it never got you off. Is that what you’re saying?” He
moved a space closer, enough that he could feel the heat of her
nervous energy pulse toward him. His eyes scanned every
muscle under the smooth, tan skin of her beautiful—yes,
definitely beautiful—face, twitching in response to his words.
So responsive to his words. Promising.
Sighing out roughly, it seemed she had resolved to meet his
questioning head on. Pushing any shame or discomfort deep
down, tapping deep into her reserves of Gryffindor
confidence.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I am saying. I have dated several
very lovely men who worshipped the ground I walk on,
because you know, Brightest Witch, Golden Girl, Order of
Merlin, and so on. They looked deep into my eyes with
longing and reverence while they slowly, gently moved inside
of me.” She paused briefly to look into his eyes, hoping to
catch a glimpse of evidence that she managed to make him as
uncomfortable as he seemed so determined to make her. His
eyes darkened and pupils expanded at her words, but his eyes
still locked to hers. “I tried to casually encourage a bit more
spanking and grabbing, but alas. There’s only one way to fuck
a woman you’ve put up on a pedestal it seems—sweetly. So if
it is all the same to you, I wouldn’t mind if your nails dug into
my flesh a bit, if your teeth made little marks all over me, if I
still felt your hand prints on my arse tomorrow morning. Feel
free to make it hurt a bit, you know.”
The walls of his mouth pooled with saliva, rushing to coat his
dry tongue. His eyes glazed with curly-headed visions of this
witch writhing under him, on top of him, pressed against him
over every fucking surface of this suite. He swallowed, not
without effort.
“What about you, Malfoy? How do you like it?” She smirked
—smirked!—up at him, as if she could see every filthy thing
he was about to do to her. She slowly took another sip from
the crystal tumbler still clutched in her hand, but her eyes
never left his. She put the glass down on the table and leaned
back on her hands. Her eyes were goading him, telling him to
get on with it already.
“Fortunately for you, I know I like it rough.”
He growled and in a smooth series of movements, quickly—
yes, roughly—grabbed the backs of her knees and yanked
them apart before stepping into the space between. He pulled
her forward, hip slamming into hip. One hand fell to the side
of her neck, but she only had a moment to savor the pleasant
weight of it against her skin before he snaked his hand around
the nape of her neck and into her hair. He grabbed hold and
jerked her head, like he had taken the reins and initiated the
start of the ride.
Her eyes, steadily darkening, momentarily lost focus when she
felt the slight pinch at the base of her hair follicles that sent a
jolt lower down her body. She had yet to regain her sight when
she felt his lips crash down on hers, his tongue not at all
waiting for any polite caresses between lips. Her tongue met
his in force, and his tongue felt hard, determined against hers,
but agile, meeting her stroke for stroke. She took his bottom
lip in hers, biting it, telling him she could take more, much
more. He glared down at her as his hand tightened in her curls.
His other hand ran up the side of her thigh, under the hem of
her barely there black satin nightie. He gripped her ass, hard,
and with a grunt, pulled her head to the side, while he latched
his mouth to the other, more exposed side of her neck. She
moaned at the light suction on her neck and the corresponding
slick that was gathering at her core.
If you asked her right now whether this might be a record for
how quickly arousal had overtaken her senses, she may have
lied. Of course not, she’d say. No way did it take just one hair
pull and one nip on her neck to get her this fucking soaked.
She gasped as he found that spot—the spot—on her neck, two
inches below her ear, half tick over under her jaw. No one ever
found it that quickly. No one ever realized so quickly how
important that spot was to unlocking the rest of her body. But
he realized it, she knew he did. She knew he knew he did. She
began squirming and fucking whimpering as he increased the
intensity of his coordinated attack on this special spot on her
neck, biting and soothing, biting and soothing, until she was
what one would charitably describe as a keening mess.
His nails dug further into her round, plump rear with every
delectable sound she made. It was the only thing that helped
him focus on his task at hand, which he decided, was to
pleasure the living fuck out of her. So responsive, so hungry
for him. When her hands circled around his torso and latched
onto the muscles beneath his shoulder blades, he struggled to
control his urge to rip off this tiny little scrap of material and
plunge his cock deep inside her hot, responsive body until he
could feel the vibration of every moan pulse around him. But
he wanted to take his time with this witch.
Time.
Startled out of his trance, he ripped his mouth mid-lick from
her neck and whipped his head around to find the clock. 11:35
pm.
He relaxed and let out a sigh. He turned back to Hermione,
who was slowly opening her eyes as if coming out of a daze.
She looked so deliciously primed for him. Lips parted, neck
red from the flush of arousal and the bites he left. He kept one
hand firmly gripping her hair, while his other hand loosened
his grip on her bum—definitely bruises tomorrow—and slid
around her hip to the trimmed tuft of curls above her center.
“Granger, where are your knickers?” His voice was low,
croaking, as if he hadn’t spoken in years.
She bit her lip, clearly anticipating where his hand would
move next. “I guess the Ministry deemed them unnecessary
for this situation. They didn’t come with the outfit – ah!”
He’d slid his thumb down to circle her clit in one firm stroke
and moved the rest of his fingers to skim her slit. He groaned
when he felt her dripping for him. He tightened his hold on her
hair, seeing her eyes flash with the spark of pain. He thrust two
fingers in—she didn’t need a warm-up. Her head fell back at
the sudden, blissful intrusion. He knew she was wet, but fuck.
His fingers pumped her and as he felt the slick coating them,
saw her head loll back and was momentarily distracted by the
sight of her, completely lost. His fingers stilled inside of her.
Her eyes snapped open and she dug her nails into his back,
scratching his skin under her fingernails. Panting, she pleaded,
“Don’t stop.”
Yeah, he was dead. Done for. And he was going to take her
down with him. But did he have enough time? He quickly
calculated that, yes, in fact, he thought he might.
He removed his fingers from her and he chuckled to himself
when he saw a flash of rage cross her features. He ignored her
deepening claws in his back as he brought his coated fingers to
his mouth.
She watched, transfixed, as he closed his eyes when the taste
of her hit his tongue, as if he had just swallowed a sip of fine
wine. The eyes that met hers when he opened them were
somehow darker, flashed with determination. Before she could
make sense of anything, he dropped to his knees and threw her
shaking legs over his shoulders. She panicked.
“Malfoy, no. We don’t have time…” she was silenced by the
first long swipe of his firm tongue along the inside of her
opening.
“We have time. Trust me,” he whispered between licks. His
voice was far away, his entire focus on making this pulsing,
leaking pussy crumble under his tongue in under three
minutes. He had calculated that three minutes was all he could
afford on this part. He suspected that three minutes was all that
he would need.
In any case, she had stopped protesting the moment the rough
pad of his tongue swiped up to her absolutely throbbing clit.
She whispered expletives into the thickening air around them.
He sucked, nibbled, and licked her—hard—his aggressive
mouth making sure that no light caress would ever make her
feel anything close to this. Her previous lovers—the ones who
had oral sex on their menu of options, at least—had always
been too slow, their tongues too timid. They approached her
pussy—her, in general—like it would break. What Malfoy was
doing to her was a revelation—he wasn’t reverent, he was
relentless.
He flicked rapid fire across her sensitive nub and then attached
his mouth over her and sucked, and she felt her desire move
from beneath her pelvis to the tip of her clit, as if he was
sucking her pleasure into his mouth through a straw.
Sensing how close she was, he pulled her further to the edge of
the table, giving him more access to her rear. Still feasting on
her, he caressed the fleshy expanse of her bum before pulling
his hand back and smacking the flat of his palm against her
cheek. Her yelp of surprise turned into a moan.
“Yes. More.” He spanked her again and again and it felt
urgent. Come for me, he was telling her with every sharp sting
of his hand. Every cell in her body felt fully charged, ready to
come apart with one more surge.
And then she screamed—loud—and her body went rigid as the
power of her orgasm charged through her. She could feel it
exploding from every end of her, from the tips of her toes,
flexed back toward her ankles, to her eyelashes, pressed tight
together and matted with tears of exertion. Her body, trying to
regulate itself after such intensity, began shaking and she felt a
chill sweep over her.
Draco glanced at the clock and chuckled softly. Two minutes,
forty-five seconds. “Good girl,” he murmured under his breath
as he stood.
He dropped his silk boxers to the floor and tossed them aside.
He lifted Hermione off the table, forcing her to stand on her
unstable legs. His fingers hooked under the thin straps of her
black negligee and shifted them off her shoulders. He allowed
himself a few seconds of appreciating how the satin fabric
floated down her skin, revealing more of her body to him. As
the fabric crested her hardened nipples, he bit his bottom lip to
keep from making a truly desperate sound. Finally the fabric
pooled on the floor and their break was over.
He grabbed her by the hips and whipped her body around and
pushed her front flat against the table.
The wood was slightly warm from where she had been sitting
(writhing). She felt her sensitive nipples rub the heated
grooves in the wood and she moaned.
“You have such an enticing ass, Granger,” punctuating his
comment with a hard smack across the round, toned flesh. He
smiled when he saw the slight jiggle of the skin, pulled taut
like a rubber band over the muscle. His smile turned into a
smirk when she yelp-moaned in response.
He didn’t linger long. Knowing that time was of the essence,
he gripped his hard cock—uncomfortably hard; hard since
“rough I think”—and positioned himself between her slit,
coating himself in her wet, sticky pleasure. He slid his tip to
her entrance and, digging his fingers into the bend in her hips,
he jerked her body back toward him to sheath himself entirely
within her.
He stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. Stopped hearing
sound.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he exhaled when his senses finally
rushed back to him. He reached his hand into the curly mess
on her head and pulled her body flush against his chest by her
hair. She squeaked in pain.
He moved one hand from her hip to roughly knead her breast
and pinch her nipple. She reached her hand behind his head to
grab his hair, needing something to hold on to.
“Someday, when we aren’t trying to seal a marriage bond, I’m
going to come all over these beautiful tits,” he growled into
her ear.
Every part of her was consumed by feeling him—the sting
from his touch on her skin, the throbbing from his hard, thick
strokes inside her, the shiver from his dirty words in her ear.
She opened her eyes and was momentarily startled to see eyes
staring back at her from beyond the table. She saw sweat
beading on naked flesh, pale, muscular forearms wrapped
around tanned skin, and brown, curly hair touching silver. She
had never seen two people have sex in front of her, but she felt
her pulse quicken by watching the erotic vision. Her focus
flicked up to gray eyes, staring intensely back at her.
“Are you ready to scream?” She saw his lips move in the
reflection and shook with realization as she heard the same
words close to her ear.
She whimpered, all the noise she could manage at the moment,
and saw one of his hands cease their assault on her breast and
snake down between her legs. His middle finger found her clit
and started rubbing—not with polite caresses, but hard, tight
circles. Instead of feeling all of him around her everywhere all
at once, she began to sense all the sensations in her body
narrowing, coiling down to one place down low in her belly.
His movements became frantic, his grunts more desperate. As
much as he wanted to take up residence inside her delicious,
warm, tight pussy for the foreseeable future, he was close. He
felt her tighten her grip in the hair on the nape of his neck and
heard her moans come louder, closer together. He brought his
lips down to a spot on her neck—the spot on her neck—that he
now knew made her lose her mind. He sucked her flesh
between his teeth and bit down, hard.
She pulled his hair sharply and screamed. Her walls, so tight
before, were quaking now, squeezing him with erratic strength.
He rammed his cock into her one last time and came. Came so
hard, blinding white light consumed his vision. He felt the
magic of their consummated bond wash over him, merging his
magic with hers.
He gripped her tightly, holding on to something, anything that
could keep him standing after that. He felt his heart pound in
his ears and his senses return. Their bodies collapsed on the
table.
She was panting, futilely trying to calm her breathing. “Fuck,
that was…” But her voice faded, unable to articulate what that
was. Incredible? Mind blowing?
“Earth shattering,” he finished, voice hoarse from his own
screams.
Yes. Yes, it was earth shattering, but it was world building too.
She felt something explode apart and remake itself anew
inside of her. Stronger than ever.
He turned his head toward the clock. 11:59. Perfect timing.
He reluctantly slipped out of her and, not trusting his ability to
stand on his own, moved to lay down on the exceptionally
plushy carpet. He grasped her wrist, pulling her body down
with him. They laid there, thunderstruck, staring at the ceiling.
This was one part of the marriage, at least, they didn’t have to
work on.
“Well, I was right, of course,” she said brightly after a few
minutes of silence. “I do like rough sex.”
This swotty little know-it-all! He turned to her and found her
smirking back at him.
“In fact, I think I might love it,” she quirked one of her
eyebrows up in challenge.
He rolled toward her and rested his head on his propped arm,
scanning his eyes along her naked body, bruises, welts, and
bite marks littering her skin. He trailed his index finger down
from her collarbone to the top of her breast, lightly circling her
nipple. “You think you might love it, but don’t know,” he said
contemplatively before pinching her erect nipple.
He hardened when she let out her signature yelp-moan. He
would never get tired of hearing it. His heart bloomed when he
realized he would spend the rest of his life hearing that sound.
“We should probably repeat the experiment to confirm the
results,” her voice breathy with gathering desire.
His hand flew into her hair as he crashed his lips to hers, the
fibers of the thick carpet scratching every nerve-ending in her
back, setting her senses on fire.
End Notes

Your reviews and kudos have lifted me up and

encouraged me. Very grateful to anyone who has spent
any of their time reading my fics.
Have you all picked up on the theme of my fic titles yet?
;) I will make them into a collection soon.

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know
if you enjoyed their work!