Note: I told myself I'd stay away from this fandom, I would, I would! But I was getting ready for bed last night ans this story literally wrote itself in my head in like, three seconds. I think I'm taking a liking to this whole internal monologue style. I was going for funny/hot at the same time, since its been a while since I've written any real smut.
No Excuses (Or, In Which Draco Malfoy gets himself into trouble, with a capital T)
I wish I could say it's the meds, some kind of potion that's got me like this. Oh god, how I hope that there was an excuse for this… thing, that's been going on. I wish I could blame drugs or something like that, but I don't even take vitamins for fuck's sake. There's no hope, no excuse.
No excuse for the dreams, where he's wet and naked and I wake up hard as a fucking rock, and I can't even deny that I think its fucking hot. There's no excuse for me when he catches me staring, and I look away, fighting the blush creeping into my cheeks. No excuse for the way he passes me in the hall and smirks like he fucking knows and suddenly I'm painfully aware of my own thundering heartbeat and ragged breathing.
It's like he knows what he does to me, and how I wish there was an excuse for it. I wish I could convince Pomfrey that I'm ill and she tells me to stay in bed, because that's exactly what I want to do. I would stay in bed, under the green silk sheets, wanking myself blind, imagining his toned chest, gleaming with sweat as he peels off that Quidditch jersey. Then of course there's the ever-present wish that I would actually find myself in the locker room, watching him as he strips down to shower. The warm water would flatten his unruly hair, running in rivulets down his back to his delectable arse. I'd love to watch as he turned so I could see that hard chest and the trail of dark hair and oh, god.
And of course, I'd run my tongue over those chiseled abs and down, and then I'd bend him over… Or maybe I'd let him bend me over… I'll decide when it never fucking happens!
So naturally you'd imagine my surprise when I find myself tramping through the grounds, across the pitch to those. Bloody. Locker. Rooms. And you'd be ever more amazed to note that indeed, there was no one but him occupying them.
He turned just as I reached the entrance to the showers. His hair really does flatten to his skull like I'd imagined. Huh.I want to drink in every drop of water running down that beautifully tanned chest. Oh, Christ, screamed a voice What the fuck are you thinking, Draco?
"Malfoy?" It's a startled question, but I've already closed the distance between us.
"Shut up, Potter." I've pushed him up against the tiles and his mouth is amazing, better than I'd imagined, even. And that's saying something.
I barely register the warm water as it soaks my clothes, pooling in my shoes. I'm more concerned with the feeling of his body against mine, hot and wet and naked, just like in so many of those dreams. It's beautiful and fucked up and so bloody hot, all at the same time. I can't remember who made the sound, but I'm going to put every last dollar against myself. There's no way in hell a Malfoy would make such an undignified whimper.
Oh, Merlin on a stick, I think as he responds finally. Somebody has totally been putting something in my pumpkin juice. His hands are running over my ass, pulling at my clothes which have effectively glued themselves to my body. We struggle to peel them off, and then I'm against him again, with nothing but water molecules separating us.
Yup, I am definitely blaming the drugs.