Title: Watching Potter
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: R (language, male/male sex, hardcore slash)
Summary: Draco watches Harry. Harry catches Draco. Who wins in the end?
Note: Probably the first M-rated fic I've ever posted. Unbetaed. Feedback will be showered with blueberry muffins. :)
(Shoutout to angeli-sama - thanks for your suggestion!)
Since when did Potter-watching become a hobby to Draco?
The raven-haired Quidditch captain shrugged his crimson-colored robes off his shoulders and let them drop to the floor. He opened his locker, which had a gold star on the door above his name POTTER, printed in red, and began pulling stuff out and putting them on a wooden bench: his Transfiguration textbook, a scroll of parchment, his schoolbag, his black robes, his tie, and a plain white towel. Then he took off his gloves, armpads, kneepads, and threw them nonchalantly on top of his Quidditch robes on the floor. The tips of his fingers disappeared underneath the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it upwards, revealing a thin line of skin, and in one swift movement the shirt was up and over his head, tossed to the floor to join the rest of the pile. Potter looked nice like that, tanned and nicely toned. His back muscles flexing as he reached into his locker to get his shower things. His bottled liquid soap was a product of Madam Rosmerta's new business line; a picture of three broomsticks tied together was visible on the front. His shaving cream, after shave, and deodorant were of a brand that was not recognized in the wizarding world, he must have gotten them in Muggle London. His bath towel was red with golden lining, his initials embroidered on one corner: H.J.P.
The glass door leading to the showers suddenly swung open, belching out Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, both whooting and laughing uproariously. When they passed Potter, Thomas pushed the bespectacled boy playfully against the locker and then bolted fast towards the exit doors. Potter, chuckling while steadying himself, yelled after him, "You're dead, Dean!"
Finnigan stayed behind. He lingered by Potter's locker, touching Potter's school things and sniffing Potter's aftershave.
"Nice," he commented.
"Hermione gave me a gift set for Christmas, comes with a cologne and deodorant, too." He jiggled the tube in his hand. "You like it, huh?"
"Yeah." Finnigan gave the bottle back. "So . . . what are you doing later?"
"Dunno. Play chess. Get snack in the kitchen. Maybe get snack and then play chess."
"Want to go to The Three Broomsticks for a minced pie? My treat."
Potter smiled. He toyed with the aftershave for a moment, turning it around and running his thumb across the shiny sticker, pretending to read the label on the back, and then nodded at Finnigan. "Yeah, okay. I'll be ready in ten minutes."
Finnigan, grinning widely, placed a hand on Potter's arm, squeezing it a tad. "See you in ten, then!" he uttered, then jogged towards the door.
"Hey, Seamus!" Potter called, slinging his bath towel over his neck. "How about a film after that?" Finnigan's response was too predictable.
That Irish slut. The number of boys he had gotten laid with in school was countless. Rumor had it that he loved to shag random people in unorthodox places, too. Like on the owlery floor with a Ravenclaw Chaser, or in the hot tub in the Prefects bathroom with a Hufflepuff, or on the couch in the Gryffindor common room with some other Hufflepuff. Millicent once saw him stepping out of a dusty closet with a fifth-year Gryffindor, both boys sweaty and looking flustered, their lips red and kiss-swollen. Scandalous, true; but tacky, nonetheless. Highly expected from a whore like him, though.
And now Finnigan was making a move on Potter. The ultimate shag of the century. Pansy said that Ginny Weasley said that he was a virgin. Apparently the Weasley tramp had tried going down on him a couple of times, only to be pushed away. Potter had reasoned that he wanted to save it for some hag that he truly loved -- the very statement that prompted their breakup. Not that Draco had been tuning in on every conversation that involved Potter lately, or dug out information from random people, but he did know quite a lot about Potter's love life. He retrieved information in a clever way, though, so no one would suspect anything.
He heard the shower running; it was safe to come out. He jumped from the top of the Slytherin lockers where he had been hiding in the past fifteen minutes, and then stepped towards the glass door and jerked it open.
Potter had apparently chosen a cubicle directly across from the door. His bare back and tight, round buttocks were the first things that Draco saw when he stepped inside. For a moment he stood still, the door clicking close behind him, and just stared. Potter really had a great figure. Standing underneath running water like that, wet from head to toe, one hand pressed against the wall in front of him and the other holding the nozzle steady above his head, he looked oh so damn nice. Draco's tongue darted out subconsciously to lick his lips.
Potter bent over to pick up his bottle of liquid soap from the bathroom floor. For a brief second Draco was given the pleasure of watching Potter's butt spread and clench, and this made him groan out loud.
A little too loud.
Shit, Draco thought.
Potter froze. He turned his head to the side and listened.
Quickly Draco leapt into the nearest shower cubicle, pulled the door closed, and waited.
Potter turned the water off.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Seamus?"
Why is it that the whore's name was the first he called?
"I told you I'd be out in ten minutes, darling," Potter said. "Be patient."
Potter turned the water back on. Draco let out a sigh of relief.
But wait -- he called him "darling"?
That bitch Finnigan.
He wanted to join Potter in the shower. If he dressed up as Finnigan, would Potter let him in?
Draco pushed open the cubicle door very gently and peered out. Potter was soaping himself now with a sponge. White, frothy lather trickled over his shoulder blades, down the length of his lean back, and pooled around the small of his back before slithering over his butt and down his legs. Damn lucky soap bubbles. Draco imagined his hand trailing after them -- would Potter moan his name at his touch and ask for more?
He wanted him. He wanted him so bad.
Potter's glasses were placed on a wooden stool outside his shower cubicle. He was as good as blind right now; if Draco stepped out and approached Potter's cubicle, Potter wouldn't be able to recognize him with his limited vision.
Draco was tiptoeing half down the way when very suddenly Potter whirled the tap and turned off the water. Draco noticed the soap bubbles disappearing into the drain on the floor. He stood still. It was too late to run back into his hiding place now -- Potter would've heard his footsteps.
The raven-haired Gryffindor yanked his red towel from a hook on the wall and wrapped it around his waist. "Why don't you just get it done and over with, Malfoy?" he said with a sigh, his voice low and deep.
Potter turned around and looked Draco squarely in the eye. "Stop running away from me; it would make you feel less miserable."
Draco's heart stopped beating. Beads of sweat began to form on his temples. Potter put his glasses on and stepped out of the wet cubicle, one hand holding the tight knot around his waist. He walked towards Draco and stopped close enough that if he moved a hand, they would be touching. And he did that.
"Aren't you tired of playing hide and seek for six years? Someone was bound to find you out eventually." His thumb caressed the soft spot under Draco's jaw.
"I didn't want to get found out," Draco breathed out, his eyelids snapping shut. "That would've meant I'd lost."
Potter's grip on Draco's face suddenly tightened; he leaned forward and closed his lips around the blonde's. Just like that, like it was the most natural thing to do. It wasn't clumsy as first kisses should be. It was expertly done.
And it felt good. It felt right. Draco kissed him back, very lightly, biting on Potter's lower lip gently, sucking it in between his lips. Potter made a sighing sound, not exactly a moan, but it carried the same tone nonetheless. And Draco was sure of it: Potter liked the way he kissed.
Pulling back a tad, Potter whispered against Draco's mouth, "I think you've won, actually."
Draco felt dizzy; he had to hold on to Potter's arms with both hands to prevent from falling on his back to the hard, cold floor. Instinctively, Potter wrapped his hands around Draco and pulled him close.
Everything happened so fast afterwards: Draco tilting his head sideways and opening his mouth under Potter's, succumbing to the intoxicating kisses that urgently followed. Potter catching Draco's jaw in one hand, his mouth crashing hungrily against the blonde's as he held Draco's face in place. Tongue twisting around tongue, breaths short and ragged, teeth clacking, throaty sighs and moan and moan, hands pulling at clothes and tugging at hair.
And suddenly Draco Malfoy was standing half naked in front of Harry Potter, his back against the wall, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to normalize his breath. Beneath his boxers was an erection that was too painful to ignore.
The corner of Potter's mouth curled up into a smirk. His hand dropped to Draco's hips, one finger trailing the inner side of the elastics.
"You're not the only one who's been watching, you know," Potter murmured, one knee pushing Draco's legs further apart. "I've been watching you, too." His other hand moved to caress Draco's erection. It was the gentlest move, but enough to make Draco jerk his head back against the wall and, biting his lower lip, groan in pleasure.
Draco's hands were on Potter's butt, the towel felt rough against his palms. His fingers itched to tug the knot loose.
"Then let's do this right," he panted, eyes meeting Potter's. "The first time shouldn't be in the Quidditch changing room like this."
Potter let out a light chuckle. "You didn't actually believe all that crap about me being a virgin, did you?" he teased, his knee sliding in between Draco's legs. "I knew that if Pansy heard something so scandalous, she would make sure you hear about it. So I asked Ginny to casually mention that I was a virgin to lure you in. Hmm, I guess I've won, too."
Another guttural groan escaped the blonde's lips, for a different reason this time. Raw emotion flickered across his eyes, a mix of annoyance . . . and desire. "You're a lowlife, lying bastard."
Potter laughed. "That coming from a Slytherin," he said, his tone full of mockery. Slowly he stepped backwards, his hands leaving Draco's body. "But I guess you're right; our first time together should really not be in here. The wet and dirty floor is sexy and all, but anyone can walk in on us any time."
"Hmph," Draco jeered. "I thought you were into scandalous actions?"
"Yeah, but if someone freaked out on us, the both of us would get expelled. Let's meet at your dorm."
"Why not yours?"
"Too crowded, too many busybodies walking around even on a Hogsmeade weekend. Your dorm's quieter."
The fact that he was having a casual, civil conversation with Potter was almost inconceivable. Not only that, they were discussing possible places to have sex. He and Potter did not converse with each other; they had been enemies since childhood, they did not talk about homework or detention or anything. And now they were talking about sex. Not just in general, but having it. Together.
Draco was set adrift on a blissful journey.
"How about that slut Finnigan?" he asked. "Wouldn't he bitch if you ditched him tonight?"
Potter waved a hand nonchalantly. "He wouldn't care. We fool around every now and then, but it's nothing serious. He's got a boyfriend in Dublin."
"Good. No worries, then." Draco pushed against Potter and picked up his clothes. "I'll see you in forty-five minutes at the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories. Don't knock or call my name or anything -- just wait there and I'll come pick you up."
Candles. Lit.
Fireplace. Lit.
Bed.
Draco had insisted for a private room once he became Prefect. The wish was granted. He now had a four-poster king-size bed covered with silk linens beneath an incredibly soft and fluffy comforter, and topped with a homemade quilt done by his mother. Everything was dark green with silver linings.
He picked up half a dozen cushions that decorated his bed and threw them to the floor by the fireplace, where a wide sheepskin rug lay.
Done.
Self.
Draco looked down.
My dick's about to explode just thinking about how he touched me earlier in the Quidditch locker room.
It amazed him that he had the courage to push the Gryffindor away, and even demanded to do it some place else. Normally he would just slam the boy down on the floor and shag him senseless three times 'til Sunday.
But this was Harry Potter. Everything about him was special. And Draco wanted to do this in a special way.
Someone was knocking on the door. Goddamn that Pansy if it was she.
Wand in hand, Draco jerked the door open, ready to scowl at Pansy. He froze to see Harry Potter, grinning from ear to ear, green eyes glinting brilliantly, hair messier than ever, standing on the other side.
"I told you to wait by the entrance!" he hissed, pulling the boy inside. He stuck his head out and checked the deserted hallway. Not a soul was detected, dead or living. He quickly closed the door and, pointing his wand at the handle, muttered a locking spell.
"Dammit, Potter," he scolded. "You were the one so worried about getting expelled, and yet you went and waltzed into the Slytherin common room all cocky like that. Are you brain-damaged or just plain stupid?"
Potter raised an eyebrow. "I'm horny as hell, Malfoy. That's a damn good enough reason to chance getting caught in Slytherin, don't you think?"
"Fuck that, you could've been seen!"
"I was careful. Now stop nagging and show me the bed."
Draco blushed. He never blushed, but tonight he did.
Potter was impressed. His eyes scanned the room, and every time they paused on a certain spot or object, Draco saw that they were pleased. Then Potter noticed the cushion-topped rug by the fireplace. His eyes sparkled.
"God -- you couldn't be more gay than this," he commented and headed for the bed. Sitting on the edge, he took off his jacket, shirt, and shoes. His feet kicked his socks off, and he slithered up across the comforter. He began to unbutton his jeans, eyes on Draco's.
Draco loosened the strings around his silk bedroom robe, put his wand down on a coffee table, and approached the bed. He climbed onto the bed and knelt before Potter, his figure towering over the Gryffindor as a triumphant smirk gradually taking form on his lips.
"I shall drink to this later. Having Harry Potter in my bed stripping willingly, obeying my every command."
Potter chuckled mockingly. "It is I who's doing the victory dance here, Malfoy, for deflowering the last virgin in the sixth year. Mission accomplished."
Draco's expression hardened.
"Like I said," Potter murmured, sitting up, and yanked Draco's robe off to expose the Slytherin completely. "Pansy talks."
Draco soon found out that Harry Potter liked to play it rough. Not that he minded, really. His lower lip bled where Potter's teeth had been, biting Draco hard as he pressed his erection against the blonde's. Draco's tongue felt tingly and sore from Potter's ruthless sucking. Potter had pinched Draco's nipples hard, licked them and devoured them so many times that they were turning purplish maroon. There were vicious bite marks on the left side of Draco's neck. And every time he tried to touch Potter, the raven-haired boy slapped his wrists aside and pinned them on the bed, right above Draco's head.
There would be bruises on his inner thighs where Potter's hands were as he kept Draco in place and slammed into him.
It hurt. He shed a couple of tears. But it felt good. And right. Perfect, even. This was what he had always dreamed of, being fucked by Harry Potter most vigorously like there was no tomorrow. The world could've collapsed outside his windows and he would not have cared.
He cried Potter's name over and over -- his first name -- because Potter asked him to.
He came in large spurts. Twice. Once in Potter's hand, and again in his mouth.
His head spun like a maddening top when Potter rode him. His throat was sore from screaming and his lips were dry.
Potter collapsed on top of him, his opened mouth was on Draco's ears, panting loudly, hissing his name -- his first name, the name his mother had given him, the name that gave him a personality. And when he came Potter squirmed once, and twice, and three times.
Draco's eyes rolled to the back of his head.
A real ultimate shag of the century.
"Shit," Potter breathed, pulling out from Draco and rolling to the side. He kept one hand draped over Draco's stomach. "That was incredible."
He agreed.
"Did I hurt you . . . a lot?"
His eyes fluttered closed.
"God, I'm sorry," Potter whispered, nuzzling Draco's neck, wrapping his hand tight around the blonde. "I'm so, so sorry."
Draco's voice trembled when he asked, "Are you that rough with Finnigan, too?"
Potter -- Harry -- shook his head. "No. Seamus and I don't go this far. I'd only get like this with someone--"
He paused. Hesitated.
Draco turned to Harry and hugged him. "Someone special," he said, and kissed Harry on the lips.
Kissing Draco back, Harry smiled wearily. "Ginny said too much."
Draco cast a cleaning spell on both him and Harry, and then pulled the covers over them.
-fin-