Draco buries his face against her neck and inhales. The scent of her perfume layered with the faint trace of his soap, now frequently hers, as well, washes over him. "Well, I have a better suggestion," he says, rolling his hips against her so she can feel the impression of him, hard and insistent. "Champagne lunch to celebrate your victory. Then, we go home, and you strip down to nothing but your stockings, and you tell me all over again how your program proposal is superior to everyone else’s, even when it includes a seven percent cut to my budget."