Disclaimer: I own nothing! I'm just playing with JK Rowling's toys.
Author's note: The second installment, involving a steamy bathroom...
Please Note: Contains SLASH. Rated M for a reason.
Rolling in a Winter Wonderland
Chapter 2:
Back within the warmth of the castle, Draco dropped his broom off in his dorm before wandering back up to the prefect's bathroom for the second time that day. Muttering the password, Draco walked in heading straight for the water. He had kicked off his shoes and socks and was already half out of is shirt before he realised he was not alone.
With a certainty of forthcoming doom that would have made Trelawney proud, Draco looked up into the eyes of Harry Potter.
How Potter had found his way into the prefect's bathroom, Draco could only guess at. But the fact remained that a very real and very naked saviour of the wizarding world was at that moment surrounded by scented bubbles in what was supposed to be Draco's bath.
Suddenly feeling rather hot and bothered, Draco recalled that he had been in the process of undressing. His shirt was unbuttoned and one arm was already half out of its sleeve.
Apparently, this was a fact Potter was already aware of and Draco could almost feel the other boy's fiery gaze on his exposed skin.
Calling on every ounce of Malfoy pride that he contained, Draco ignored Potter's heated stare.
"This is the prefect's bathroom, Potter." Draco stated pointedly, "And as you may recall, you are not a prefect. Now leave immediately."
For a few seconds, the Gryffindor said nothing. Then,
"My towel is behind you, you'll have to pass it to me."
Unwillingly, Draco found himself looking over his shoulder to where there was indeed a violently red bath towel, next to a surprisingly neat pile of clothes.
Feeling vindictive (after all, he was a Malfoy - when wasn't he feeling vindictive?), Draco turned back to face Potter with a sneer.
"I am not a house elf. Get the towel yourself."
This time the pause was significantly longer. Draco did a mental victory dance as he weighed up Potter's options. Without Draco's help, Potter could not reach his towel.
He was willing to bet that Potter's wand was safely tucked away amongst his pile of clothes. Potter had no choice but to retrieve the towel himself. And hopefully humiliate himself in the process by revealing to Draco how very small and insignificant he truly was.
Now, if Draco had really thought things through, it might have occurred to him that the Weaselette's boast about Potter's package was most probably true. It might also have occurred to him that after the day's events, a naked and dripping wet Harry Potter standing only a few feet away, would not be a particularly sensible situation to place himself in. But then, Draco had never acted sensibly where Potter was concerned and he was not likely to start now.
At length, Potter obviously came to a similar conclusion to Draco and without a word began to climb out of the water. Only then did Draco finally get an inkling of the events he had set in motion.
The soapy water poured of Potter's quidditch honed form as inch-by-inch his tanned body appeared out of the water. If Draco had been a James Bond fan he might have been reminded of a certain scene involving Daniel Craig in Casino Royale. But as it was, Draco had never seen a muggle movie in his life. Not that it made a difference to Draco's reaction, as Potter's eyes remained glued to Draco's face.
Feeling the heat bubbling up inside him, Draco resolved that his gaze would not leave Potter's face after all. It would be safer. Because maybe, just maybe, the Weaselette had been right about Potter. And if that was the case, Draco most definitely did not want to know. He had no interest whatsoever in the size of Potter's…
Draco's mouth fell open. Without even realising it, Draco's gaze had again slid lower to admire, no laugh at, Potter's body. Except now only Potter's ankles were still beneath the water. And there was nothing funny about him at all. Suddenly Draco found himself staring at a very wet, very naked and very well endowed Harry Potter, who was quite obviously… Draco choked slightly… aroused.
Draco found himself wondering what exactly Potter had been up to before he had been interrupted. The thought, along with the associated images, sent the blood rushing to his face, colouring his cheeks a vivid pink.
Draco's breathing had become quick and shallow, and he had no awareness of releasing the tight grip he'd had on his shirt. The fabric slid off his shoulders, fluttering to the ground without him noticing. He could think of nothing but the naked body in front of him.
"See something you like?"
Potter's voice, filled with amusement, was like a bucket of cold water over Draco's head. Draco's mouth snapped shut and his gaze shot up to rest on Potter's infuriating smirk.
"Don't be ridiculous." Draco scoffed, even as he refused to meet Potter's eyes.
Potter shrugged.
"Suit yourself."
Without his consent, Draco's gaze continued to follow Potter's movement, as the dark haired boy walked past him heading for his towel.
At this new angle, Draco's mouth went dry. Potter's arse was truly magnificent. Draco's trousers had been growing uncomfortably tight throughout the encounter, but the next sight to bombard his senses almost made him lose control.
Still facing away from Draco, Potter bent down to pick up his towel. An image of himself standing behind Potter as he bent over like that, thrusting into him, assailed Draco's mind. And it was everything he could do at that moment to stop himself from acting out that scene right then and there.
All too soon (or possibly not soon enough) Potter straightened up. Turning once more to face Draco, his towel clutched uselessly at his side, Potter looked Draco in the eye once more.
"Sure there's nothing you'd… like?"
And to Draco's total astonishment, Potter let his spare hand drift over his chest and down to stroke lightly over his erection. At Draco's complete inability to respond, Harry continued,
"Or maybe that's not what you want."
Potter let his eyes drop to Draco's crotch where his erection was pressing obviously against the front of his fashionably tight trousers.
"Maybe you want this."
As he spoke, Potter turned away, again exposing his arse to Draco's ravenous gaze. The hand that Potter had used to caress himself a moment before, now moved over his arse, spreading his cheeks slightly as if for Draco's inspection.
The look on Draco's face was obviously answer enough because a knowing smile flittered across Potter's face as finally he wrapped the towel around his body, releasing Draco from his spell.
Still, Draco was unable to speak. Potter's suggestion was all his addled mind could think about. The fire in Potter's eyes as he had practically offered himself to Draco…
Potter was fully dressed and heading for the door before Draco's breathing had even considered returning to normal.
At the door, Potter looked back one last time.
"If you want me…" He paused meaningfully, "I'll be on the seventh floor."
And then he was gone.
Finally left alone, Draco collapsed into an undignified heap on the floor. His whole body was trembling with need and desire. He briefly turned his thoughts to Blaise before recalling that the other boy was away for the holidays.
He almost considered propositioning one of the 6th year Ravenclaw girls he had noticed ogling him lately, but he knew there was only one person who could sate his lust tonight.
Weakly, he pulled off the rest of his clothing, sighing in relief as he released his straining erection from the confines of his slacks.
Slipping into the water, Draco tried to block the image of Potter's naked body emerging from the same water so recently.
His eyes drifted closed as he curled his fingers around his length and began stroking slowly up and down.
Desperate to think of anything but Potter, Draco filled his thoughts with anything he could think of. Image after image flashed through his mind before being discarded. Amongst them the better half of Slytherin, a good portion of Ravenclaw and even a couple of the more attractive Gryffindors.
It was these last two which were his downfall. The mere memory of the red and gold badge sent his thoughts crashing back to Potter. His thoughts flicked constantly between the frustrated desires of the evening to the heated kiss of the afternoon, until inevitably, the two merged into fantasy.
Draco's head fell back against the tiles, his hand moving faster, as he pictured Potter, this time on his knees, though just as wet and naked as he had been less than fifteen minutes before.
Draco imagined how Potter would look, his lips stretched wide around Draco's length. The thought alone almost sent Draco over the edge but he held on, unwilling to lose the image just yet.
It seemed after that, that his fantasy was taking on a mind of its own; the fantasy Potter pulling back, then turning around. Draco watched the scene play out in his head with no control over what was happening, yet no desire to change a thing.
He watched as Potter looked back at him, sucking his own fingers into his mouth. Then, slowly, tracing his wet fingers over his damp skin until they reached his arse.
By now Draco was panting, torn between the almost painful need to come and the desperate desire to know what his imaginary Potter would do next.
But when Potter's fingers delved between his cheeks Draco couldn't hold back. As his fantasy Potter impaled himself on his own fingers, Draco finally gave in to his release.
For a long time Draco sat in the bath, not daring to open his eyes. His mental image of Potter had seemed almost to freeze with Potter's fingers buried to the hilt inside himself as Draco came all over Harry's delectable arse. And the image was still floating in front of his minds eye. The thought of opening his eyes and losing the picture bothered him more than he was happy to admit.
Finally forced from the bath by the rapidly cooling water, Draco quickly dried himself and began tugging on his clothes. He avoided looking around him at all costs, terrified that his phantom Potter would suddenly appear before him, naked and begging. The moment he was dressed, Draco almost ran from the room in a desperate bid to escape his own fantasies.