Disclaimer: All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story
Warning: Language, Smut
Pairing: Theo N/Harry P
Daydreams
Theo stared at the roaring flames, his patience thinning with every word that fell from the pointy boy's lips.
"Bloody fucking Potter," Draco spat, "thinks he's better than me because they won the match. Luck, boys. That's all it was."
The Slytherin's who had gathered in the common room all nodded in agreement, huffing out various insults to appease Draco's frustration. Theo though, ever the level-minded wizard, was sick of the boy's petulant tantrums.
"Have you ever thought he may be just that? Better than you, I mean," he spoke in a low drawl.
"What's that, Nott? I don't think I quite heard you correctly." The room had quieted, nothing but the sound of Draco's hiss and the crackling fire making a sound.
Theo stood, plucking a bit of nonexistent lint from his sweater and moved towards the portrait hole. "You heard me, Malfoy. You can't always win." With that, he stepped through the door, letting it shut with a loud click. He smiled to himself as he moved further and further away from the dorm, down the dark halls of the Dungeons and up the stairs with no attainable destination in mind.
What he really wanted to do was celebrate the win - not in the Tower's, of course, with all of those rowdy Gryffindors - but something private would be nice. He thought of what he'd like to do with Harry Potter for that impeccable win, face growing warm at the thought.
Harry stepped through the entrance, his face glistening with sweat, hair an unruly mess and his jersey clinging to his lean frame.
Despite his post Quidditch state, he was gorgeous, and Theo admired the sight before him with thirst in his eyes.
"Good game, Potter," he spoke softly.
Harry ran a hand through his locks, stepping closer to Theo's chair before leaning down to caress his cheek. Theo leaned into the touch, kissing his palm and tugging the boy - sweat and all - onto his lap.
"Phenomenal, brilliant. I'm not much for sports myself, but I could watch you handle your broom all day long."
"Mmm," Harry murmured. "My broom? That could be arranged." His eyes gleamed wickedly at the play on words as he reach down to rub his hand across the rich fabric covering Theo's skin.
Theo groaned as he hardened under the touch, breath hitching when Harry used one finger to lightly trace his member through his straining trousers. "What about your broom, Theodore?"
Without answering, Theo pushed up to capture Harry's lips, working them with his own in slow desperation as he ached to taste the boy. The movement pushed him further against Harry's palm, and he panted as Harry squeezed lightly and moved to unbutton the offending barrier.
"Harry…" He choked, just as the wizard slowly pulled the zipper down, freeing his cock and wrapping his calloused hand around his large—
"Oomph!" Theo grunted as he was ripped from his daze, landing hard on his bum. He hadn't been watching where he was going, apparently.
"Sorry, Mate! Didn't see you there," came a cheerful voice above him.
Theo fought a furious blush as he looked up at the green eyes of Harry Potter, still clad in his Quidditch uniform with his hand outstretched to help him off the ground. He closed his eyes as his hand connected with the boys, rough yet smooth, just as he'd pictured in his wildest dreams.
