Title: How to Liven a Dinner Party
Author: Bryar Rose
Written at: 16. May, 2007
Archived: Pairings: HP/DM
Genre: Romance
Rating: R
Warnings: SLASH
Time line: After Hogwarts
Length: Oneshot
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or else I'd be rich in England, hob knobbing with the gorgeous Tom Felton.
Betas: N/A
We are sitting at a table. There are many people there, probably about 100, consisting of parents, friends, and strangers, all here because we share similar interests. It's some sort of stuffy function that neither of us particularly enjoys more than a couple hours. We have now sat down to dinner, and the conversation starts to bore both of us, however, as I am content to chat idly about so-and-so getting married, or who got promoted where, etc. you have much much more sinister thoughts.
You reach over to my other side, a simple ruse in a want for more wine, but as you lean over me, you whisper in my ear, "You look good enough to eat." I look at you as you pour yourself some wine, and you smile at me innocently. A slight blush creeps up from the neckline of my shirt to stain my face a little, both from your compliment, but also from your forwardness, and I try to recollect myself to make more small talk. But, you're not about to let me off that easily. As you return the wine to its original spot, you again whisper in my ear, "I want you, right now."
When I turn back to you, you have already turned to your other side and started talking to the person beside you. You do this because you know it teases me, and you know that once I am riled up, it's very hard for me to hide my arousal. I know you know this, and I know you are doing this on purpose, so I decide to turn the tables.
It's customary for me to eat with one hand in my lap. Usually it is to hold my napkin; however, tonight it will have additional benefits. I continue to speak with the woman across from me, your mother. Slowly my hand creeps over to your lap, guised as a simple gesture of me squeezing your thigh, as I do often to show you how much I care. One of those unspoken gestures. You think nothing of it, nothing out of the usual. That is... until my hand wanders a little further to between your thighs. You look at me though the corner of your eye as you continue to talk, and gently, softly, I start running my hand up and down, pressing just a little. It feels like heaven, but you continue your conversation, to keep up appearances.
Pretty soon, you are unsatisfied with the lightest touches I give, and you shift in your chair, to press more friction. You reach down to take the napkin from your lap and blot your mouth, before returning it below the table, and you take a second to press my hand closer. My touch grows a little stronger, and I am now holding your cock through your pants, my fingers wrapping around. It is getting quite hard. You sigh in contentment at the added pressure, covering it with a sigh of appreciation for the food. You think this is going very very well, however, you have no idea what my intentions REALLY are.
A moment later I remove my hand, and you're a little disappointed, not that you'd want to finish there at the dinner table, but it at least made things a little more interesting. Next thing you can feel, I am slowly pulling down the fly in your pants. You stop your conversation and look at me, however, I keep speaking with your mother, as though nothing is going on. You're starting to get a little worried. My hand leaves you for a moment, your fly open. You're a little confused, but sometimes I do odd things, so you reach down to pull it back up, but are met with a slap under the table. Oh, no. I am not letting you off that lightly!
You try to be as discrete as possible, and you bring your napkin up to your lips again, which is just as well, because when my fingers slide under your underwear and wrap around your cock you gasp, weighing the fullness in my hand, the napkin covering the sight but not the sound.
"Draco, are you alright?" a concerned person asks.
You start coughing to try and cover the noise. I have not moved my hand yet; content to just hold it still, holding it in my grasp. I smirk slightly at the thought of the power I have over you now, and you can see this when you glance at me.
"I'm fine," you say, "just swallowed something wrong." You reach for your water, and it is as you take a drink that I decide to stroke you, once; slowly up, slowly back down. You cough as you take a drink.
"Oh goodness, are you sure you're alright?" another asks.
"Yes, I'm fine, just having a particularly hard time about things," you respond, hoping that I will take the hint, and that I will crack into laughter, as it usually my nature to do at dirty jokes.
But no, my dear Draco, you've forgotten I am an actor, and I play the part of concerned very well. "Is there anything I can get you, Draco? More water maybe?" I ask sweetly, smiling innocently at you, but you can see the fire and laughter behind my eyes. Again, my hand moves slowly up, and it goes slowly back down.
"I'm good," you respond a little breathy. I smile at you again, before turning my attention back to the person I was speaking with previously. The torture continues, and you realize I at least have the decency not to do anything too delicious as you speak to your parents. Figuring this out, you try and speak with them more, hoping that it will stall my actions, but no, I won't let you off that easily. I let go and start running my fingernails along the underside, making your skin side in goose pimples. Again, my fingers wrap around and you're getting used to the feel of my slow ministrations, not that you don't continue to enjoy them, but you're getting more adept at talking around the lust. Can't have that, now can we.
This time when my palm reaches the head of your cock, I twist, and you suck in a breath. I am a little quicker going back down, and instead of stopping at the base, I am again traveling up, gentle twist at the head, back down. Up, twist, down. Up, twist, down. I am not going very fast, but you know I can't go any faster without giving myself away, and the slowness of it is excruciating.
"Draco, you're looking a little flushed. Are you feeling OK?" someone asks.
"I'm just a little warm is all," you respond.
"It is a little hot in the room, all these people," I reply smiling at you. I don't look away, and you can feel that my ministrations have lead to just a little bit of dampness, below the table. My hand travels up, and you feel a finger travel over the head of your cock and completely remove all together. NO! your mind shouts.
As the others return to their conversations, I am still looking at you, as smile that seems innocent, but that you know must grace the lips of the devil appears on my face as I bring the finger up to my lips, very discreetly lick you off it. Your blood is fire by this point, and your breathing just a little labored at the knowledge of what I have just done. I turn to the host of the evening.
"SO delicious, my dear. If you will please excuse me," I say, rising from the table. As I walk past you, my fingers brush over your shoulders and along your neck on my way to the hallway.
A moment later, you follow, not asking to be excused, and you barely just remember to re-do your pants. When you catch up with me, as I am not walking very quickly, I am leaning up against the bathroom door, my arms crossed, and I smile as I see you approach.
"That was a very unkind thing to do," you scold me.
I push off the door, and saunter up to you, my hips swaying a little. "Then you shouldn't play with fire, Draco, you're likely to get burned," I purr against your lips.
You growl and devour my lips as you push me back against the bathroom door. You want to shove me, however, you don't want to make any noise to alert the others. I fumble behind me with the knob, and twist it as you kiss me wildly. The door flings open, and we stumble inside, closing the door behind us.
"Wow," is all you have to say, a little light headed. You lean your sweaty forehead against mine.
"Wow is right," I purr, kissing your neck.
"You are an evil little brat, you know that right?" you ask, laughing.
"Would you want me any other way?" I ask, smiling.
"I can honestly say I would not."
"Draco, can we get a mirror in the bedroom?" I ask sweetly. You raise an eyebrow at me, as you start to make yourself presentable again. I smile and point behind you. When you turn around, you can see the full length mirror that is attached to the door.
"Were you watching the whole time?" you ask, incredulous.
I bite the side of my lip and nod, smiling at you. "It was so hot. You have a quite nice bum, especially," I wrap my arms around you and breathe into your ear, "when you're pounding into me."
"Oh, no you don't," you say, pulling from my grasp. I pout, and you love it. "You are insatiable. We have to finish this dinner, and then we can go home and go at it like rabbits."
"With mirrors," I add, as I walk out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me. It wouldn't do for both of us to turn up at the same time after being gone for so long.
You check your appearance in the mirror, and smile. "You know, he's going to kill you one day with his antics, don't you?" you ask the man in the mirror. The man only gave an enigmatic smile back.
"Where did you run off to, Draco?" someone asks when you return.
"Oh, I was feeling a little warm, and just went out for a walk. I am much better now."
A/N: I wrote this for my boyfriend while I was away (posted with his permission) with the stuff in the bathroom cut out, since… well… it was NC-17ish. I think I may have broken the rating just a bit with what I HAVE posted. I changed it to go along with my current theme of writing, Harry and Draco.
My boyfriend's name isn't Draco, but he is British, and we do go to horribly boring parties all the time. He is one of those "stiff-upper-lip" men, but only in public, so he is often amazed at the lengths I push him to when we're out and about. Something about "bloody Americans don't know when to quit".
This story is very much us, our personalities and quirks, so I apologize if "Draco" is a little OOC.