A/N: This idea came to me at 1 am and I was torn between going to sleep, risking waking and forgetting the story, with just a vague outline, or to stay up and attempt to jot it down.
I messaged my Tumblr friend ( justanotherdrarryblog), for the first time I thanked fucked for time zones, as it was an afternoon for them. I asked if I should go to bed or jot it down. Yas said I should at least bullet point the main ideas, so they could remind me in the morning.
I ended up writing a rough draft, finishing at 2.30 am, and my kids woke at 6.30 am.
Worth it, though.
Here it is - my early morning inspired drarry story.
Interruptions!
He's almost there he can feel it.
Fuck, so close.
Arching up, his movements now faster and his grip firm.
The thrill of approaching climax is almost unbearable. He has not masturbated in far too long, work has been stressful, and the case he has been working on has resulted in him having to work overtime. When he eventually returns home, come evening, he is too exhausted to even contemplate doing anything.
Here he is now, weeks without having a release, finally having the time and energy to do something about it.
Spreading his legs and increasing the speed of his pumping, his hips buck up and…
The wards placed upon his fireplace emit a high pitched ringing noise. The alarm signalling through his mind - incessantly, going off loudly and harshly.
Fuck!
The floo is within his study, the tone of the alarm indicates a caller, someone is trying to connect to his fireplace to make a floo call. He elects to ignore it, he is almost there. If it is that important the caller will try again later.
The alarm stops. His movements have slowed somewhat due to the interruption, he builds them back up again, working himself back to the same point he reached earlier.
*Riiiinnnnngg, Riiinnngg*
Fucking hell!
Again he ignores it, irritation creeping in. Once again he starts the process of edging himself that bit closer to the eluding climax.
Yes! Almost - fuck!
*ring, ring*
"Oh for Fuck's sake," he cries out loud in annoyance.
The caller is not getting the hint, persistent fucker. The fact that the wards transfer the sound to reverberate in his head, makes it all that more difficult to ignore. The mood well and truly ruined, he pulls on his underwear and grabs a dressing gown.
Walking across the hall to the study, he flicks his wand to accept the incoming floo call.
When he sees Harry Bloody Potter in his fireplace he curses silently; "What?" He barks.
Potter's eyes scan his body, taking in his attire, "Oh sorry, were you sleeping?" He innocently asks.
Draco is far too vexed to think about what he is saying or to whom he is saying it to, and replies, "No, I was not napping. I was mid-wank when you rudely interrupted me."
Potter's eyes go wide and Draco swears he is blushing, but it is hard to tell via the floo. The unnatural green flame messes with anyone's complexion.
"Er…."
Draco rolls his eyes, Potter rendered speechless at the mere mention of something sexual.
"Why did you call me, Potter?" He sneers, curling his lip.
The contemptuous tone seems to have broken the trance, for Potter blinks and answers, "It's about the case. They have a new lead. Robards wants us to do a stakeout, run surveillance. We leave tonight. Not sure how long for, but we can assume for at least the weekend. Long enough to gather intel and evidence."
Draco exhales sharply in annoyance, great that's his weekend well and truly buggered, not to mention there will be no chance of knocking one out if he's cooped up with Potter all weekend.
"Fine," he snaps, "I'll meet you in an hour at The Ministry." He shut off the call before Potter can respond.
OoOoO
Conducting a stakeout consists of them being hauled up in a, three stars at best, hotel. Sitting in a room across from an apartment block. Their room is directly opposite, offering a prime view of all the happenings and goings-on.
They've sat in relative silence as they observe the suspect. Potter teased him about his dressing-gown, laughing at the fact he has DM embroidered on the breast.
What does he know? The plebeian.
Draco is still rather pissed off that his earlier entertainment was so rudely halted, not to mention his entire weekend up the shitter.
Potter catches his eye, "Are you going to be like this all weekend?" He asks boldly.
He has always been like this, abrupt - does not think before he speaks. Voicing the first thought to rattle around his head. Some call it being fearless, brave - Draco calls it reckless and stupid.
"Like what?" Draco questions confused by what Potter was asking.
"Like a moody bastard. All grouchy and snappish." Potter clarifies.
This only riles him up further, "I would not be like this if you had just let me bloody well finish!"
Potter has the audacity to raise his eyebrows at that statement, "If it means that much to you, why don't you go finish now?" He challenges.
Like, fuck if he'd ever backed down from a challenge issued by Potter himself.
Draco arches an eyebrow at him, "Maybe I will?" He retorts coolly.
Potter scoffs - the bastard, "As if," he says laughing afterwards.
That is it!
Draco stands, glares at Potter, before spinning on his heels and sauntering into the en-suite. He purposely leaves the bathroom door open.
He hears Potter call from the other room, "Very funny, Malfoy. You and I both know you won't do it."
Fuelled with determination to prove the smug scar head wrong, Draco closes the toilet seat, sits down on it, unbuckles his trousers, and pulls himself free. Of course, he's not erect, but he can soon sort that out. Considering it has been weeks, the slightest touch has him hard.
Silence from the other room.
Draco leisurely begins to stroke himself, a few minutes of that and he's softly moaning. The sounds reverberating in the small bathroom and floating out the open door into the other room.
"M-Malfoy?" Potter calls uncertainly.
Draco ignores him, he's not having Potter ruin his chance of orgasm, again.
Having Potter sat in the other room helps him become turned on. It does not take long before he is lost to the sensations, his cock extra sensitive and the pleasure building and building.
His moans are no longer soft.
Again Potter calls from the other room, "We both know you are faking it. To trick me into thinking you're doing it." His voice gradually gets closer as he walks to the bathroom, "The game is up, Malfoy, you're clearly…"
Potter freezes in the doorway, speechless, mouth hanging open taking in the sight before him.
Draco has one hand holding the sink next to him, the other is wrapped tightly around his cock, his head is tilted back - exposing his protruding Adam's apple - fuck if Harry wants to kiss it. The hand gripping his cock is frantically moving up and down as he moans.
"Fuck," Draco hears Potter mutter. His voice sounding much closer. He lifts his head and opens his eye. His eyes meet Potter's.
That was enough. Seeing those intense - dare he say it, aroused eyes staring back at him was enough to push him over the edge and climax. Throwing back his head, he moans, his body tensing momentarily as his subsequent orgasm hits him. Come spills onto his shirt, all over his hand and runs in between his fingers and over his cock.
When he finally looks back up, it's to see Potter still standing in the doorway. Eyes dark with desire - want, his erection evident as it strains against his jeans.
Draco turns on the toilet seat, washes his hands. Cleans himself up with some tissue, then puts himself away. He stands, does up his trousers. Moving to walk past Potter, who has yet to move. Draco has to squeeze by him to get out of the bathroom. His body brushing up against Potter's.
As casually as he can, Draco resumes his earlier seat and checks on the suspect. In the space of the five minutes where. Potter had left his seat, and Draco had returned, it seemed the suspect had done nothing bar roll over in his sleep.
Potter returns to his seat.
"You c-can't just do that and then act as nothing has happened?" He protests fired-up.
Draco glances at him sideways, "I can, and I think you'll find I just did."
Potter gapes at him. Draco's eyes travel from his stunned expression, down to the obvious bulge in his trousers.
Not for the first time that night, Draco does something impulsive and completely insane. He slips off his chair to the floor, on his knees, once he reaches Potter, he runs his hands up his inner thighs and asks, "Do you want me to help you with that?" His eyes flicking to his erection.
Potter licks his bottom lip and swallows hard. His hands move to the front of his trousers, they make light work of his button and zipper. He jerks the fly open and there it is Potter's hard cock straining against the confines of his boxers.
Draco cannot take his eyes off it. Their eyes meet, both silently agreeing that this was it, their one chance for the other to back out.
Neither says a word. Potter lifts himself slightly out of the seat, he pulls his jeans down and over his rear. Sitting back down, Draco takes hold of the waistband and pulls his denims down to his ankles.
Draco takes a moment to process everything. Here he is, knelt between Potter's legs, Potter hard and willing, desperate for Draco's touch - the feel of his mouth. This was all Draco had ever fantasised about since he was a teenager. Potter was the main cause of his work-related stress. Having to see Potter daily, work overtime with him, being subjected to all of his smiles, those piercing eyes, his arse and fuck his lips. Not only was he working with Potter 24/7 making his infatuation with him tenfold, working 24/7 left no room to wank his feelings away.
Realising he had been motionless for too long, Draco tentatively reaches out, running his fingers lightly - in a barely-there touch, along Potter's shaft. He hears Potter inhale sharply, but ignores him, he's too fixated on his cock.
When his fingers reach the tip, he runs the pad of his thumb around and then over his head. Causing pre-come to seep through, leaving a small wet patch in its wake.
Draco notices that Potter has now gripped the armrests. His fingers clutching them tightly, as if forcing himself not to reach out and touch.
This surprisingly encourages Draco to continue. He slips his hands under the legs of Potter's boxers, his thumbs tracing random patterns. He leans forwards, pressing open-mouthed kisses from the base to the head, peeking up at Potter as he reaches the end.
Green eyes stare back at him, darkened by arousal.
"Fuck, Malfoy, you look so….fuck…" Potter eloquently contributes.
Removing his hands, Draco curls his fingers under the waistband of his underwear, tugging on them slightly. Potter gets the message and lifts his bottom once more. Draco drags the boxers down to join his jeans around his ankles. Potter's cock springs free.
When he looks back up, it is to the sight of Potter's cock, completely hard, the veins bulging and his head reddened.
It's Draco's turn to lick his lips. For years he's wondered what Potter's cock looked like. What he tasted like. How he smelt. It was like Christmas had come early.
Potter's brows are pulled down, "Malfoy?" He asks, voice croaky.
Draco glances up at him but chooses to say nothing. Instead, he ducks his head, swirling his tongue around the ridge of his head and along the slit, before lightly sucking on the head.
Potter bucks up into his mouth, "Oh fuck, Malfoy!" He cries out louder than before. His fingers grasp hold of the armrest as his body relaxes.
Typical, the sod tastes, feels and smells divine. Although right now Draco is not complaining.
He wraps his fingers around his shaft, sucking and licking the head in tandem with the movement of his fist.
He works Potter into a frenzy. Then slows down again. Potter thrusts into his hand, chasing the previous pace. He does it again, and again. Until he has Potter begging for mercy.
Payback is a bitch. Draco cruelty thinks.
Serves Potter right for causing him years of anguish, years of pining, and of course payback for interrupting his alone time earlier.
As he is sucking particularly hard, he catches Potter's eye. As soon as he does, he releases Potter's cock completely. Not just slowing down. He removes his mouth, his lips no longer tight around him, he drops his hand from his shaft. He even sits back on his heels.
Potter looks down him bewildered and desperate for release.
Draco smirks at him and stands, he deliberately walks slowly to the bathroom.
Seconds later Potter calls out, "What the hell do you think you are doing?"
Draco calls back, "Washing my hands." His tone smug.
"What the hell!" A pause, "You can't just stop there."
Draco returns to the bedroom, "To reuse my words from earlier, I can and I just did." He lowers himself into his chair, picks up the omnioculars - they're pretty handy for jobs like this, being able to magically slow down and replay action - and checks in on the apartment. No change.
He hears the sound of fabric being hastily yanked up, Potter had gotten himself dressed. Draco dared not look, he was going for the nonchalant, cold - I do not care what you are doing - approach.
Potter stands and scowls down at him, his eye fierce, "You're a bastard, you know that?!" He angrily declares, walking away and slamming the bathroom door shut behind him.
Draco raises his voice and calmly replies, "So I've been told."
It takes every iota of willpower he has to not go after Potter. To not barge into that bathroom and beg Potter to allow him to suck his cock dry.
Instead, he focuses on making notes, detailing who had come and gone from the apartment since their arrival.
His mind helplessly reminds him that Potter is most likely in the next room, furiously wanking. Shit, he'd give all of the Malfoy's gold to see Potter coming undone. To witness his eyes as he climaxes. To hear each syllable as they fall from his mouth in a moan as he orgasms. Fuck he'd sell his soul to hear Potter utter his name, not Malfoy, but Draco - to hear Potter call out his name in ecstasy. That was what dreams were made of.
Sometime later Potter emerges. He gives Draco the silent treatment, which is to be expected.
Draco smirks. He has the whole weekend, another chance to see Potter's cock again. If he's lucky, he may even get to feel said cock up his arse. He rather liked the idea of angry sex.