Title: Sexual Frustration
Author: MalfoySlave
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco slash; R/Hr
Summary: Musical. AU. American 1988. Draco Malfoy, heir to a fortune, moves to a small city with his parents, so that his father may promote his company. He's the typical teen of the 80's: Living for the thrills of sex and rock n' roll. When he meets Harry Potter and his friends, he seems to find exactly what he wants; Bluesy rock and mind-blowing sex. But is there more to it than that? What else does he want? And what is his father doing during all of this? Slash H/D; R/Hr; Musical/singing; Comedy/Romance/Musical; Rated-R for heavy petting, foreplay, bars/drinking, and obscenely GREAT kickass music.
Disclaimer, Warning, Author's Note: Draco, Harry, and co. belong to JK Rowling. Most, if not all, musical rights belong to the mind-blowing band Poison. If ever there was a greater band of the eighties, I have yet to hear of them. Not all the songs used will be from the eighties, per say, but the eighties jive I was looking for is in all of them, so excuse this misconception. Some of the words will be changed to fit the purpose, I'm sorry if that bothers you. If you dislike the eighties or Poison's music (YOU FREAK!!! [heh, no offense, just a little too over-protective]), don't read. AND if you dislike homoerotic pairings then don't read. I HATE homophobes. It's easier to visualize the singing if you listen to the songs while reading. WARNING: Horny-Rocker!Draco; Bluesy-Slut-Leader!Harry; Rocker!Ron; Tease!Hermione. Obviously a lot of OOC but there is still a lot of element from their canon personalities. Thank you and enjoy!!
-
It was about eight o' clock when the limousine turned onto the long, winding road that lead to the manor. It was an expensive car, black and sleek, slipping in and out of the moonlight on its own. The tinted windows were lined with silver that didn't stain, or so the driver claimed, the same silver the hubcaps were made of. It could comfortably hold eight people in its rich green leather interior and held a small variety of fine liquors, including brandy imported from Europe, aged red wine, and the very best of champagne. To say the least, it was a damn fancy car.
But, Draco Malfoy couldn't care less if it was honey-dipped and served on a silver platter. It could all go to virginal hell and back again for all he cared. Of course, fine things were glamorous and all that jazz, but they got old. Fast. And fast for Draco Malfoy was about two years of recognition and getting everything you want before it all became empty and pointless. Yeah, after only two years of his eighteen years and he was sick and tired of it all. Money was definitely not everything.
He studied the manor ahead with little interest. It looked just like every other fucking manor he had lived in. Same gloomy appearance, identical Victorian styled windows, doors; hell, even the grassy court surrounding it looked like it was plucked out of some high school history text. Dull, lonely, forbidding look, it had.
Behind his turned back, his father and mother were talking softly. Something 'sophisticated' people called "polite conversation". It was almost funny. Shouldn't married people have more than "polite conversation"? He couldn't recall anything out of the Wealthy Handbook, or so he'd dubbed 'sophistication', that said a husband and wife couldn't be comfortable with one another. But then, when he thought back, he couldn't ever recall his parents without their ridiculous façades.
He toyed absently with a white string dangling from the tear in his jeans. He always got hell for his choice in clothing, from everyone. Anyone who bothered enough to spare him a passing glance, gave him a snubbed up look and muttered something like, "they all go through that age." What age? He was eight-fucking-teen years old! When you hit that mark, you don't 'go through' any of that dumb kid shit. Luckily for them, he had self-preservation when it came to insults.
He rotated his shoulders stiffly, feeling them grind uncomfortably from the long ride. How long was this fucking driveway, anyway? He frowned and glanced back out the window. They were pulling in the turn about in front of the main doors. About fricken time.
The car slowed to a stop, the sound of cement grinding uneasily beneath the tires. A moment passed and Draco wondered if they were getting out of the car or spending the whole damn night in the back of a limo. Then, he heard his mother give an obviously fake yawn and tell his father to open the door.
He opened his own door and looked out. It was steadily growing darker and he could see the moon easily. But it wasn't late. Nope, not late at all. The night was young and he was in the mood to go wandering. He slammed the sleek black door and leaned against it, vaguely wondering if he had any cigarettes left. He'd smoked a pack or two on the ride down and he couldn't remember how many he'd started off with.
"Draco."
His head shot up and he took a minute to realize he had been spacing out. His father was giving him that twisted look that meant, "Fucked yet?" He'd been getting that look for years. "Huh? What?"
Glare. "We're receiving guests this evening; you're expected to be there."
Draco raised an eyebrow and let his mind start to wander back to counting cigarettes, then…
"And change into something… presentable!"
There it was. He sighed, nodding. He wasn't planning on appearing. He planned on doing what he'd been planning on doing. He was going out for a walk. He watched his father enter the large black doors and smiled to himself. Okay, time to do some damage. Or get laid. Or drunk. Or something. He needed to do something.
****
It took him a good two hours to make it off his father's property. He'd found himself wondering repeatedly why they had to have such a long friggen driveway. It was now ten instead of the early eight he'd started with and he was beginning to sweat just from exertion. His limbs were no longer stiff but were now feeling achy and pulled taut.
The road he now walking was made of dirt, near the main city, and with every step, a tiny puff of dust went up. He hadn't seen one person or car since he'd left; it looked as if he were living in a ghost town. A cigarette was dangling from his lips, his very last one; smoke curling around his head. It was nearly spent, burning steadily closer to its end.
He walked quietly, barely seeing where he was going until he saw something up ahead. Off in the distance, about a mile away, he could see the city itself, a wide group of flickering lights. Off to the side, a couple yards away, was a dirty dull blue car, three lone figures about his age leaning against it. He could make out the pale gray smoke surrounding them.
He flicked the last of the cigarette out, seeing it smolder. He looked at the trio ahead closely, thinking of bumming a few butts off them. A tall red-head was chatting up a pretty brunette in red nylons and a miniature black leather skirt. One of her narrow legs was bent, a thin-heeled dark boot pressed against the car door. The redhead was leaning against the car with a single hand, head turned in the girl's direction.
Draco's gray eyes moved away from the two to the last figure, whom was sitting on the trunk of the car, elbows on his knees, cigarette in one hand. Pitch black hair hung across the tanned face, silky and blending with the twilight atmosphere.
He was gorgeous. There was an instant attraction, Draco noticed, with his body towards the dark-haired teen. He slowed down, not wanting to interrupt the broken picture before him. He realized in a rush, how dark it was around him. A street light, which looked out of place on the plain dirt road, was illuminating the three a few feet ahead.
An urge to walk up to the black-haired teen entered Draco's mind and he tilted his head, mulling it over. There was nothing wrong with being sociable, right? Fucking right. The mere fact that this guy was causing some reaction in his needy libido meant not a damn thing. After all, the guy had smokes, and he could use another cigarette. Made sense.
He let himself believe that.
He stuffed his pale hands into the nearly suffocatingly tight denim pockets and started towards the three again. The girl was the first to notice him, being the only one looking in his direction. She stopped talking, frowned, and nodded her head in his direction as to get the carrot-top's attention. Carrots turned and scowled at him, muttering something to the brunette. She nodded and turned towards the dark-haired teenager, calling something softly. He, in like, turned in Draco's direction too. He tossed a burning butt onto the ground and slid off the trunk, leaning against the rusty metal, eyes cast away.
Trying to ignore the red-head's scowl, Draco stopped in front of them. He was about to speak when the girl stepped forwards, foot dropping from its position against the car door. She smiled in a '-fuck-me, fuck-you' way and winked.
Carrots, or so Draco'd decided suited the red-head, glared at the girl, jealously crossing his blue eyes. "'Mione."
She turned sharply to him. "What, Ron?"
"You know what," he replied, still glaring.
"No, I don't. Why don't you tell me." She folded her arms over her skin-tight crimson tank. She wasn't even wearing a bra, Draco realized blankly.
Still standing by the back of the car, the black-haired one was lighting up another cigarette, flicking the match away. Draco turned his silver eyes to him and watched impassively as smoke drifted away from the car slowly.
Green irises automatically looked up, locking with the gray ones. A shiver ran down Draco's spine. It was as if he'd known that he was being watched. In the background, red-head and brunette were going at it in an 'old-married-couple-too-old-for-sex' manner.
Draco barely noticed. The young man in front of him didn't move, except to inhale from the cigarette, dark eyes trained on him almost expertly. The meeting pairs of eyes were impassive, as were the faces. Of course, what emotion do you show someone you don't know, but can't help other than staring at them? How often is someone in that situation?
"Don't just stand there. What the fuck d'you want?" Carrots interrupted.
Draco turned to him, severing the eye contact with the other. What was he there for again?
--------
A/N:
I know, there's no song in this chapter. There will be in the next. I promise. The POVs throughout this fic will range from third-person, Draco's POV, and Harry's POV. Never first person, because I suck at that. So, what do you all think? Draco and Harry's POVs will by far be the best point of views in this fic, since they're more insightful; in case you've noticed how dull the writing style suddenly got. Heh. I promise, promise, promise, this will be a lot better than it seems. Pleeeeeaaaaase, review!!! And please, no flames. I know I suck. But I don't need to hear it from everyone. If you like it, review. If you don't, fuck off. Constructive criticism is welcomed. Anyone who knows a lot about the eighties era, PLEASE IM OR E-MAIL ME!!! I wasn't actually alive during that time era and I am just going on what I've heard and seen in movies.
And, yes, this will be definite slash. Homophobes, just please fuck off. Please.
Thank you for reading, and review. Next chapter coming soon.
Author: MalfoySlave
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco slash; R/Hr
Summary: Musical. AU. American 1988. Draco Malfoy, heir to a fortune, moves to a small city with his parents, so that his father may promote his company. He's the typical teen of the 80's: Living for the thrills of sex and rock n' roll. When he meets Harry Potter and his friends, he seems to find exactly what he wants; Bluesy rock and mind-blowing sex. But is there more to it than that? What else does he want? And what is his father doing during all of this? Slash H/D; R/Hr; Musical/singing; Comedy/Romance/Musical; Rated-R for heavy petting, foreplay, bars/drinking, and obscenely GREAT kickass music.
Disclaimer, Warning, Author's Note: Draco, Harry, and co. belong to JK Rowling. Most, if not all, musical rights belong to the mind-blowing band Poison. If ever there was a greater band of the eighties, I have yet to hear of them. Not all the songs used will be from the eighties, per say, but the eighties jive I was looking for is in all of them, so excuse this misconception. Some of the words will be changed to fit the purpose, I'm sorry if that bothers you. If you dislike the eighties or Poison's music (YOU FREAK!!! [heh, no offense, just a little too over-protective]), don't read. AND if you dislike homoerotic pairings then don't read. I HATE homophobes. It's easier to visualize the singing if you listen to the songs while reading. WARNING: Horny-Rocker!Draco; Bluesy-Slut-Leader!Harry; Rocker!Ron; Tease!Hermione. Obviously a lot of OOC but there is still a lot of element from their canon personalities. Thank you and enjoy!!
It was about eight o' clock when the limousine turned onto the long, winding road that lead to the manor. It was an expensive car, black and sleek, slipping in and out of the moonlight on its own. The tinted windows were lined with silver that didn't stain, or so the driver claimed, the same silver the hubcaps were made of. It could comfortably hold eight people in its rich green leather interior and held a small variety of fine liquors, including brandy imported from Europe, aged red wine, and the very best of champagne. To say the least, it was a damn fancy car.
But, Draco Malfoy couldn't care less if it was honey-dipped and served on a silver platter. It could all go to virginal hell and back again for all he cared. Of course, fine things were glamorous and all that jazz, but they got old. Fast. And fast for Draco Malfoy was about two years of recognition and getting everything you want before it all became empty and pointless. Yeah, after only two years of his eighteen years and he was sick and tired of it all. Money was definitely not everything.
He studied the manor ahead with little interest. It looked just like every other fucking manor he had lived in. Same gloomy appearance, identical Victorian styled windows, doors; hell, even the grassy court surrounding it looked like it was plucked out of some high school history text. Dull, lonely, forbidding look, it had.
Behind his turned back, his father and mother were talking softly. Something 'sophisticated' people called "polite conversation". It was almost funny. Shouldn't married people have more than "polite conversation"? He couldn't recall anything out of the Wealthy Handbook, or so he'd dubbed 'sophistication', that said a husband and wife couldn't be comfortable with one another. But then, when he thought back, he couldn't ever recall his parents without their ridiculous façades.
He toyed absently with a white string dangling from the tear in his jeans. He always got hell for his choice in clothing, from everyone. Anyone who bothered enough to spare him a passing glance, gave him a snubbed up look and muttered something like, "they all go through that age." What age? He was eight-fucking-teen years old! When you hit that mark, you don't 'go through' any of that dumb kid shit. Luckily for them, he had self-preservation when it came to insults.
He rotated his shoulders stiffly, feeling them grind uncomfortably from the long ride. How long was this fucking driveway, anyway? He frowned and glanced back out the window. They were pulling in the turn about in front of the main doors. About fricken time.
The car slowed to a stop, the sound of cement grinding uneasily beneath the tires. A moment passed and Draco wondered if they were getting out of the car or spending the whole damn night in the back of a limo. Then, he heard his mother give an obviously fake yawn and tell his father to open the door.
He opened his own door and looked out. It was steadily growing darker and he could see the moon easily. But it wasn't late. Nope, not late at all. The night was young and he was in the mood to go wandering. He slammed the sleek black door and leaned against it, vaguely wondering if he had any cigarettes left. He'd smoked a pack or two on the ride down and he couldn't remember how many he'd started off with.
"Draco."
His head shot up and he took a minute to realize he had been spacing out. His father was giving him that twisted look that meant, "Fucked yet?" He'd been getting that look for years. "Huh? What?"
Glare. "We're receiving guests this evening; you're expected to be there."
Draco raised an eyebrow and let his mind start to wander back to counting cigarettes, then…
"And change into something… presentable!"
There it was. He sighed, nodding. He wasn't planning on appearing. He planned on doing what he'd been planning on doing. He was going out for a walk. He watched his father enter the large black doors and smiled to himself. Okay, time to do some damage. Or get laid. Or drunk. Or something. He needed to do something.
It took him a good two hours to make it off his father's property. He'd found himself wondering repeatedly why they had to have such a long friggen driveway. It was now ten instead of the early eight he'd started with and he was beginning to sweat just from exertion. His limbs were no longer stiff but were now feeling achy and pulled taut.
The road he now walking was made of dirt, near the main city, and with every step, a tiny puff of dust went up. He hadn't seen one person or car since he'd left; it looked as if he were living in a ghost town. A cigarette was dangling from his lips, his very last one; smoke curling around his head. It was nearly spent, burning steadily closer to its end.
He walked quietly, barely seeing where he was going until he saw something up ahead. Off in the distance, about a mile away, he could see the city itself, a wide group of flickering lights. Off to the side, a couple yards away, was a dirty dull blue car, three lone figures about his age leaning against it. He could make out the pale gray smoke surrounding them.
He flicked the last of the cigarette out, seeing it smolder. He looked at the trio ahead closely, thinking of bumming a few butts off them. A tall red-head was chatting up a pretty brunette in red nylons and a miniature black leather skirt. One of her narrow legs was bent, a thin-heeled dark boot pressed against the car door. The redhead was leaning against the car with a single hand, head turned in the girl's direction.
Draco's gray eyes moved away from the two to the last figure, whom was sitting on the trunk of the car, elbows on his knees, cigarette in one hand. Pitch black hair hung across the tanned face, silky and blending with the twilight atmosphere.
He was gorgeous. There was an instant attraction, Draco noticed, with his body towards the dark-haired teen. He slowed down, not wanting to interrupt the broken picture before him. He realized in a rush, how dark it was around him. A street light, which looked out of place on the plain dirt road, was illuminating the three a few feet ahead.
An urge to walk up to the black-haired teen entered Draco's mind and he tilted his head, mulling it over. There was nothing wrong with being sociable, right? Fucking right. The mere fact that this guy was causing some reaction in his needy libido meant not a damn thing. After all, the guy had smokes, and he could use another cigarette. Made sense.
He let himself believe that.
He stuffed his pale hands into the nearly suffocatingly tight denim pockets and started towards the three again. The girl was the first to notice him, being the only one looking in his direction. She stopped talking, frowned, and nodded her head in his direction as to get the carrot-top's attention. Carrots turned and scowled at him, muttering something to the brunette. She nodded and turned towards the dark-haired teenager, calling something softly. He, in like, turned in Draco's direction too. He tossed a burning butt onto the ground and slid off the trunk, leaning against the rusty metal, eyes cast away.
Trying to ignore the red-head's scowl, Draco stopped in front of them. He was about to speak when the girl stepped forwards, foot dropping from its position against the car door. She smiled in a '-fuck-me, fuck-you' way and winked.
Carrots, or so Draco'd decided suited the red-head, glared at the girl, jealously crossing his blue eyes. "'Mione."
She turned sharply to him. "What, Ron?"
"You know what," he replied, still glaring.
"No, I don't. Why don't you tell me." She folded her arms over her skin-tight crimson tank. She wasn't even wearing a bra, Draco realized blankly.
Still standing by the back of the car, the black-haired one was lighting up another cigarette, flicking the match away. Draco turned his silver eyes to him and watched impassively as smoke drifted away from the car slowly.
Green irises automatically looked up, locking with the gray ones. A shiver ran down Draco's spine. It was as if he'd known that he was being watched. In the background, red-head and brunette were going at it in an 'old-married-couple-too-old-for-sex' manner.
Draco barely noticed. The young man in front of him didn't move, except to inhale from the cigarette, dark eyes trained on him almost expertly. The meeting pairs of eyes were impassive, as were the faces. Of course, what emotion do you show someone you don't know, but can't help other than staring at them? How often is someone in that situation?
"Don't just stand there. What the fuck d'you want?" Carrots interrupted.
Draco turned to him, severing the eye contact with the other. What was he there for again?
A/N:
I know, there's no song in this chapter. There will be in the next. I promise. The POVs throughout this fic will range from third-person, Draco's POV, and Harry's POV. Never first person, because I suck at that. So, what do you all think? Draco and Harry's POVs will by far be the best point of views in this fic, since they're more insightful; in case you've noticed how dull the writing style suddenly got. Heh. I promise, promise, promise, this will be a lot better than it seems. Pleeeeeaaaaase, review!!! And please, no flames. I know I suck. But I don't need to hear it from everyone. If you like it, review. If you don't, fuck off. Constructive criticism is welcomed. Anyone who knows a lot about the eighties era, PLEASE IM OR E-MAIL ME!!! I wasn't actually alive during that time era and I am just going on what I've heard and seen in movies.
And, yes, this will be definite slash. Homophobes, just please fuck off. Please.
Thank you for reading, and review. Next chapter coming soon.