Title: Treat Me!
Author: tigersilver
Characters: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Frotting, wanking. Crack? Arse cracks, mayhap. [Grin]
Word Count: 1,900
Prompt: hd_seasons – 13 Nights of Smut, Prompt #3 (skeletons; kiss)
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Some Hallowe'en costumes aren't exactly frightening, but still very effective.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Draco drawled, when he opened his front door. "Is that you, Potter?"
"Trick or treat!" Potter riposted miserably, defiantly, and stuck out a grubby sack some three-quarters full of various low-class sweets. "Piss off, Malfoy," he added, frowning automatically, as he always seemed to do with Draco. "And hand over some sugar. It's a dare, sod it."
"Hmm…" Draco smiled, lips twitching in a cruel little curve. Such opportunities were few and far between. If one marched up to his doorstep, lamb to the slaughter, who was he to argue fate? He beckoned sharply, waving Potter through the door. "Well, come in, then, shite-for-brains. I might have some chocolate frog cards laying about somewhere—if you're fortunate and ask me nicely. Which is to say, Potter, try again."
"Well, erm…I really think I'd rather stay here, thanks all the same."
Potter shifted his feet and hesitated as Draco cocked his head at a better angle to regard him. He was all decked out in tight black garb, Potter was—denims, long-sleeved rib-knit jersey, even black trainers-and it looked as though he'd been recently exposed to the Exskelitor Charm—the harmless little spell Healers routinely used to check for broken bones. In any case, all his three-hundred odd bones were revealed as glowing white lines, floating just above the surface of his clothing. It was an amusing effect, but not nearly as amusing as Potter appearing at Draco's door, begging for treats—or tricks.
Draco chuckled, evilly. Tricks, eh? Come to think of it…."Oh, really? You know if you don't cooperate, Potter, and take the offered treat, it'll have to be a trick on my part. Must abide by the rules." He snorted when Potter flushed a dark red, blinking rapidly. "And you really don't want that, do you? Being caught alone in Malfoy territory?" Draco made a big show of peering all around them for the missing Granger and Weasel. "Or, is it that you're…scared, Potter?"
"Sodding scum!" Potter hissed, thrusting his chest out. Despite his lack of backup from the remainder of the Golden Trio, he seemed unfazed. Bloody obnoxious Gryffindor hero-type, Potter was, never considering the consequences, Draco mused. How lucky, really, for him. "Fine! Give them over then and I'll be out of your perfect hair, Malfoy. One card and we can forget this ever happened."
"Oh," Draco replied archly, snatching Potter's outlined elbow and forcibly hauling him inside, "I don't think so." The door slammed shut at Potter's back with a resounding thud and proceeded to lock itself up in ten different ways. "Or rather, I don't think you'll be forgetting, Potter. Come this way, into my parlour."
"You...you keep your chocolate frogs in your parlour, Malfoy?" Potter followed, still reluctant, sneaking suspicious looks about him as Draco led the way. His flat's drawing room was marvelously spacious, elegantly decorated and boasted a simply huge black leather-upholstered sofa. Draco was proud of it, yes.
"I do, Potter," Draco replied calmly, having herded his surprise guest through the doorway. "What of it? Problem with that?"
"Oh—er! No!" Potter was definitely flustered. "Sure, whatever, Malfoy. Doesn't make a difference to me where you keep them—really." Draco grinned and stepped in right close to Potter's space, invading it. He eyed Potter's fascinating chest, examining all the nicely delineated muscles the thin jersey translated into fabric, and the lovely shape of Potter's bones floating eerily just a fraction above them. Licked his lips and raised his chin to stare at Potter with a challenge. "Just, um. Could you hand it over now? I'm, uh, really, really off my schedule," he squeaked, clearly uncomfortable now that he was squarely in Draco's lair.
"I generally keep it in my pants, Potter, but I can make exceptions," Draco murmured and shoved. With just one finger, strategically placed over Potter's thudding heart. "And take it out, too, if I'm persuaded it's for my own benefit," he purred, ever so softly.
Nevertheless, one finger was sufficient to knock a startled Potter off his feet. He fell backwards, hitting the leather cushion with a muffled 'whoosh!' and a rattle of previously collected sweets spilling all over the environs. Draco, not wasting a split second, immediately straddled his lap and began the heady business of frotting, never one to consciously leave go of a clear advantage.
"Er! Um! Ah! Wh-what?" Potter gabbled, staring up at Draco with excessively wide emerald eyes. His black garb and black hair really highlighted them nicely, Draco decided. And, oh, yes—that broad chest of his was heaving nicely, too. Draco ground his hips down into Potter's thighs all the more firmly, settling in with every intention of staying there for all the remainder of this night's childish excuse for extorting sweets from innocent homeowners.
"What, what?" he gibed, and bent his head, so his mouth was on level with Potter's one ear. He breathed out, a husky warm gust that sent his captive trick-or-treater into a fit of the shivers. "You don't care to wait whilst I look about for your promised treats?" he purred. "Pity, that."
Potter flinched, fists opening and closing unconsciously, and went lax under Draco's weight—unless one counted his hips, which were arching up in a jerky roll as Draco rocked. Seemed like he couldn't help it, poor sod.
"Ngh!" he offered up, by way of what might've been protest. But the way in which he was responding to Draco's now continuous hip grind indicated it was not. "Ah! Malfoy!" The eyes grew impossibly wider; Draco thought it was rather cute, really.
"Good, yeah?" Draco asked of his guest, kissing his way slowly from Potter's earlobe to his chin. "Better than chocolate?"
"Ummm!" Potter was now clearly enthusiastic, though temporarily non-verbal. He discarded string handles of the treat bag altogether and put his hands to better use, running them up and down Draco's spine and shoulder blades.
"Excellent," Draco murmured, and leaned in to a snog designed to rock Potter's Skeleton Charm right into pieces. Potter growled and bit back when Draco nipped him. "Good little Potter."
"Grrr! Wanker!" the 'good little Potter' yelped, yanking Draco closer, and matching up their pelvic movements so they did a yet more good things down below. Draco sighed right through the following tangle of tongues; he was bloody impatient, and his cock literally ached, compressed as it was against the corded muscle of Potter's thigh.
"Harder, Potter!" he ordered, and took matters into his own hands—or hand, rather—reaching between them and grasping Potter's poking prick. He nearly twisted the bulbous head of it straight off through Potter's trousers, he was so hurried, but Potter didn't seem bothered by that at all.
"Merlin!" he gasped, and returned the favour, his hand fumbling about till it clamped tight as a noose 'round Draco's dick, accessible through the black silk drawstring trousers he'd been lounging about in, this fine Hallow's Eve. It was a messy business, wanking off whilst lap dancing, especially with Draco riding Potter ever faster, popping up and down as if he were in a competition steeplechase race. "Ah, fuck!" Potter howled.
"Yes, fuck, Potter!" Draco agreed—and scolded, too, as Potter needed to pull harder, the prick; what a slacker! "That's the whole idea, git! Harder!" he implored.
"Mnnn," Potter whinged nasally, his mouth occupied again, as Draco was of the opinion the best thing about Potter's mouth was his tongue and not his conversational achievements. They'd never been good with words, he and Potter, and actions spoke much louder. Maybe this would be a bit more effective in conveying his life-long, highly unwilling fascination with Potter and all his lovely bones. He hoped.
"Salazar have mercy!" Draco muttered at a particularly brilliant wrist-flip-twist on Potter's part, and sat down hard, budging his bits as hard and as far as they could go into Potter's sweat-slippery palm. "Don't stop now!"
Including that bone, right there—Potter's prick. Smelt good, felt good; was a bloody sweet-as-candy apples treat, after all, just as Draco had long believed it would be. Bone or no, it was certainly hard enough to be composed of calcium silicate. He wanted it in him, right smart, Draco relized. But for now…just a treat would be good. Whet the appetite, as it was said.
"Oh, yeah!" Potter groaned, possibly already in agreement to the as yet undiscussed plans for the remainder of their respective nights, and trailed his open mouth down Draco's throat, nibbling as he went. "Oh my fucking fuck, yeah, Draco!"
"Ah! Yes! Pot-ter!" When it came, that inevitable drawing up of his 'nads, that breathless, standing on a precipice feeling, Draco froze, suspending all action. "Oh…"
"Draco—Draco, don't you dare fucking stop, you arse! Move!" Potter groaned, bringing him off ever harder and clearly expecting the same in return. Draco gathered the tiny remnants of brain matter remaining and went back to his automatic pull-tug-grind-roll action, till at last Potter arched as well, his painted skeleton all spread apart as he curled up and out, coming buckets.
"Fuck me! Oh, fuck me!" Potter gasped happily, and slumped instantly, with Draco sprawling boneless atop him. "That was a fucking top-notch, A-one treat, Malfoy," he admitted, still heaving, a moment or so after. "Better than frog cards, any day...Um. Tell me, erm. Why did you never…?"
"Oh, ah, you mean…before?" Draco, feeling at peace with the universe, decided not to bother with being difficult and mysterious, as was his wont. Potter, after all, deserved a little honesty. A smidgeon, no more. "Because you're a difficult sod, Potter, and getting close enough to you to seduce you into complaisance is well nigh impossible these days."
Potter blushed, or rather, flushed more deeply. He was still pink from post-coital bliss. "I'm not always with them," he mumbled, glancing away evasively. "I mean, you could've—"
"That aside, Potter," Draco interrupted, not interesting in pawing through past history at the moment, "I still owe you a few more treats for your collection. That's a very impressive costume you have there. Elegantly simple."
"You like?" Potter's wide green eyes were pleased. He blinked, fanning lashes better suited to a girl but still, so pretty! "Then you should keep it, right?"
"O…kay?" Draco was puzzled. What in the world would he want with Potter's clothing? "And by that you mean…what, exactly?"
"Well…" Potter walked his fingers up Draco's chest, twiddling nipples as he went. He smiled when Draco drew a sharp breath, jerking atop his messy, sticky groin. "If you strip it off me, then I'll find it easier to accept."
Draco tilted a brow at Potter, considering. "Accept?" he prompted.
"The treats, berk," Potter clarified. "Your, er, sweets," he winked, waggling his own darkly saturnine brows, "the ones you're offering me so nicely for not tricking you. Very…hospitable of you, I must say, Malfoy," he tacked on, grinning. "If I'd known this much in advance, I'd've been here all the sooner."
Draco snorted, and couldn't quite repress a smile. "Too much candy is bad for you, Potter. Tricksy stuff, saccharine and cane sugars. You want to watch the over-indulg—mmph!" He was abruptly cut off by another sweepingly soppy snog—a smiley one, that stretched Potter's lips so much their teeth knocked together inelegantly, but Draco didn't mind, much. Potters were better when they weren't using their mouths for talking. Certainly, they were a lot less offensive.
"Treat, Malfoy," Potter mumbled wetly, and caught Draco closer, tipping them both sideways so that they splayed out over the leather cushions, a tangle of limbs, bone and decidedly well-toned muscle. Boiled sweets scattered, unheeded. "Pay up."
"Gladly," Draco allowed, and prepared to be thrilled. Potter was pants at costumes but that sly air of command? Deliciously thrilling!
He was so gagging to do little overindulging of his own, this Hallow's Eve.