culuyetille (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
culuyetille) wrote2004-10-18 02:38 pm
culuyetille) wrote2004-10-18 02:38 pm
Untitled H/D snippet for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
justinetre
Here I go again, updating twice a day. ^_^
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: erm PG-13, R at most for language
Summary: Draco worries a bloody lot about his NEWTS and, curiously, Harry's as well.
Author's note: this is forjustinetre because I've been feeling like making something for that wonderful person for quite some time. *huggles*
Word count: 1.406 is by far past a drabble right? Should that make this a snippet?
-*-
"I really shouldn't have given you the password to my Common Room."
Harry didn't reply; instead he chewed on his pout, then dropped the invisibility cloak atop Malfoy's neatly made bed and walked to the window, tugging its curtains open to let in some of the sunset. The Slytherin Prefect Room rested atop a little tower that sneaked out the dungeons to climb the castle's west side. If he was lucky, some of Malfoy's ill disposition might be carried away by the tepid breeze.
"I brought my broom and a practising Snitch. Slytherin versus Ravenclaw is four days away and you need to lead by 40 points to be in the final against Gryffindor."
"I can't afford immature waste of time, Potter. I've got NEWTS to top."
Harry smirked and stuck his hands in his pockets as long strides took him to stand next to the other youth's chair. He rested bitten nails-adorned hands atop Malfoy's shoulders, briefly wondering about what the blazes was the Slytherin doing with Hogwarts outer robes in this scorching beginning of a summer before letting his fingers rub circular, tension-relieving patterns on Malfoy's lithe back. He leaned in to smell at the soft fragrance the other male exhaled, bittersweet of his herbs shampoo, a tang of some obscenely expensive cologne and, orchestrating the addictive power, the faint scent of Draco Malfoy. The proximity of the tip of his nose had the peach-hair on Malfoy's neck stand on an end as Harry inhaled deeply, a sensuous trick he knew to have the most interesting effects on his lover. He was smiling dirtily against Draco's neck as he murmured among kisses.
"All work and no play..."
The chair scratched the fine wooden floor with a foul noise as it was pulled away, warmth faltering Harry. Malfoy's glare was icy and his breath hadn't altered one friggin' bit.
"You can chase the bleeding ball around all you like, Potter. I must see to my future."
Harry scowled and let himself fall on the bed, singularly unnerved that Draco hadn't even bothered to turn and look at him.
"The entire seventh year has their finals, Malfoy, and you don't see that many people nearly as resembling of a dry asparagus as you." Hermione's eyes were only distinguishable from the dark circles under them for this manic determination that gleamed in her chocolate-brown orbits. Harry's hatred for exam pressure bordered the skyline. "Grades are so overrated." He mumbled moodily under his breath.
His eyes locked with Malfoy's as the Slytherin fixed him a very stern gaze.
"At least your nonchalance" something vicious in the way Malfoy's lips curled around the word, despising, "will have you fail Severus' class and thus be blocked from your stupid Auror inclinations."
Oh. Anger with no stripes of gold.
"I'm not failing my NEWTS just because I don't spend my every breath concerned about them." Now Harry was standing close to the bedposts, absently fingering his broom handle. When he spoke, his tone was dark. "All too soon we'll be fifty-five, an erection a week will warrant for celebration and we'll regret not having spent more youthful summers at it like rabbits."
A smile tugged the corners of his lips, and he sought Malfoy's face for a reluctant curl of lips. He knew he could do it. However, narrowed eyes met him.
"Aurors don't make it to fifty-five, Potter. Dumbledore lives to be an old perv solely due to his talent of recruiting canon-fodder for his dirty work." Draco spun on his chair, again facing his Charms-related notes. "The bastard."
On those two little words was poured an amazing quantity of something Harry very rarely spotted on Malfoy anymore: unaltered hatred. Surely the blond was every inch of childish pettiness and ageless grudges, but this, this was different. Harry's mind wrapped around the idea and he let himself sit on the bed, momentarily forsaking his broomstick and his smile. When he lifted his eyes, it was with effort his voice remained playful.
"You could always lend me your Potions notes and help me with revising. You do top the bloody subject. Besides," Harry carelessly made it to Malfoy's desk and, to its owners great aggravation, sat atop the piles of paper, "you owe me for Care of Magical Creatures."
"I thought we'd agreed on sexual favours for that?"
Draco's voice was low and husky as he regarded Harry from beneath lowered eyelashes. Harry would never admit to having spent an entire night of idle sleeplessness busying himself with counting of those blond eye-adornments. That, however, was entirely past the point.
"Don't try that on me, Malfoy. You're tiptoeing around the issue."
"A moment ago you were on about rabbits and now the very words 'sexual favours' can't distract you." Dramatic sigh. "I really do hate your Gryffindor determination."
Harry smiled and touched the other man's cheekbone, tenderly tracing it with his Seeker-roughened fingertips.
"You dislike the idea of me being an Auror."
"Ten points to Gryffindor for stating the blatantly obvious."
Harry chuckled and slowly abandoned the table in favour of straddling Draco's lap. Papers flying everywhere made of his descend a grand affair, but he failed to notice, too taken up with how Draco's lips were crisped downward, so unpleasant and different from his usual smoothness. He pressed his thumb against the Slytherin's bottom lip, meeting a mouth pursed closed. He occupied his hyperactive hands with either resting on Malfoy's nape or running fingers through his fine hair. The male beneath him remained unmoving. Harry smirked knowingly, in a good-natured yet wicked manner he'd probably never know Draco inwardly dubbed "very Harry-like behaviour".
"You daft cunt. You're not all grumpy because you hate Aurors or Dumbledore or anything ideological, you're just worried about me."
Harry was positively glowing with his newest realisation. Under him, the blond-haired man sneered.
"Get over yourself, Potter. Weasel worries about you. Granger worries about you. The faithful readers of Witch Weekly worry about you. I don't." Malfoy drawled in a most uncaring manner.
"You just shag me." Harry's smirk was unfolding into a grin.
"Precisely." Malfoy countered with lowering his brow.
"Non-committal, wild sex."
"You clearly know fuck about wild sex to say that."
Harry chose that moment to give up bantering with Malfoy and instead made use of the now familiar technique of silencing him with a different use of his lips and tongue. Namely, trying to find out how far said tongue could go down Malfoy's throat. Moments of heat and wetness punctuated by little noises followed, and when Harry allowed the kiss to be broken for he too needed oxygen, Malfoy's lips were reddish from the bruising contact and desire.
Exchanged verbal nastiness was replaced by lovemaking with an urgent edge to it, all in the sinuous curves of Draco's slick body moving so beautifully and the out-of-tune despair entangled to his mewls.
Harry laid stretched atop Malfoy's silken bedsheets, breathing heavily as starlight drew the bumps and ridges of his naked body. His brazen fingertips didn't feel out of place against his lover's fine hair, just as Harry no longer dedicated any thought to how Malfoy's sex-ruffled hair seemed carefully styled rather than the product of mind abandon to lust. The crook of his arm might have been shaped by his gene pool and years worth of Quidditch practice, but it appeared to fit no other purpose than flawless moulding against Draco's torso, absently partaking in whatever possessiveness led the other man to drape against his side. Soft breathing tickled Harry's collarbone, Malfoy's cheek rested atop his chest. A smile was elicited on Harry Potter.
"It's cute, that worry makes you cuddle." He kissed the top of the blond head, inhaling sharply.
"Sod off."
Draco's voice was sleepy, and Harry let himself stroke the pale back lazily. The command was unfounded, moreso because Malfoy's arms around him would have posed serious difficulty to Harry's occasional willingness to oblige. Besides, no venomous silvertongue could counter the soft pressure of the man against him. That was simply, wordlessly right.
-*-
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: erm PG-13, R at most for language
Summary: Draco worries a bloody lot about his NEWTS and, curiously, Harry's as well.
Author's note: this is for
justinetre because I've been feeling like making something for that wonderful person for quite some time. *huggles*Word count: 1.406 is by far past a drabble right? Should that make this a snippet?
-*-
"I really shouldn't have given you the password to my Common Room."
Harry didn't reply; instead he chewed on his pout, then dropped the invisibility cloak atop Malfoy's neatly made bed and walked to the window, tugging its curtains open to let in some of the sunset. The Slytherin Prefect Room rested atop a little tower that sneaked out the dungeons to climb the castle's west side. If he was lucky, some of Malfoy's ill disposition might be carried away by the tepid breeze.
"I brought my broom and a practising Snitch. Slytherin versus Ravenclaw is four days away and you need to lead by 40 points to be in the final against Gryffindor."
"I can't afford immature waste of time, Potter. I've got NEWTS to top."
Harry smirked and stuck his hands in his pockets as long strides took him to stand next to the other youth's chair. He rested bitten nails-adorned hands atop Malfoy's shoulders, briefly wondering about what the blazes was the Slytherin doing with Hogwarts outer robes in this scorching beginning of a summer before letting his fingers rub circular, tension-relieving patterns on Malfoy's lithe back. He leaned in to smell at the soft fragrance the other male exhaled, bittersweet of his herbs shampoo, a tang of some obscenely expensive cologne and, orchestrating the addictive power, the faint scent of Draco Malfoy. The proximity of the tip of his nose had the peach-hair on Malfoy's neck stand on an end as Harry inhaled deeply, a sensuous trick he knew to have the most interesting effects on his lover. He was smiling dirtily against Draco's neck as he murmured among kisses.
"All work and no play..."
The chair scratched the fine wooden floor with a foul noise as it was pulled away, warmth faltering Harry. Malfoy's glare was icy and his breath hadn't altered one friggin' bit.
"You can chase the bleeding ball around all you like, Potter. I must see to my future."
Harry scowled and let himself fall on the bed, singularly unnerved that Draco hadn't even bothered to turn and look at him.
"The entire seventh year has their finals, Malfoy, and you don't see that many people nearly as resembling of a dry asparagus as you." Hermione's eyes were only distinguishable from the dark circles under them for this manic determination that gleamed in her chocolate-brown orbits. Harry's hatred for exam pressure bordered the skyline. "Grades are so overrated." He mumbled moodily under his breath.
His eyes locked with Malfoy's as the Slytherin fixed him a very stern gaze.
"At least your nonchalance" something vicious in the way Malfoy's lips curled around the word, despising, "will have you fail Severus' class and thus be blocked from your stupid Auror inclinations."
Oh. Anger with no stripes of gold.
"I'm not failing my NEWTS just because I don't spend my every breath concerned about them." Now Harry was standing close to the bedposts, absently fingering his broom handle. When he spoke, his tone was dark. "All too soon we'll be fifty-five, an erection a week will warrant for celebration and we'll regret not having spent more youthful summers at it like rabbits."
A smile tugged the corners of his lips, and he sought Malfoy's face for a reluctant curl of lips. He knew he could do it. However, narrowed eyes met him.
"Aurors don't make it to fifty-five, Potter. Dumbledore lives to be an old perv solely due to his talent of recruiting canon-fodder for his dirty work." Draco spun on his chair, again facing his Charms-related notes. "The bastard."
On those two little words was poured an amazing quantity of something Harry very rarely spotted on Malfoy anymore: unaltered hatred. Surely the blond was every inch of childish pettiness and ageless grudges, but this, this was different. Harry's mind wrapped around the idea and he let himself sit on the bed, momentarily forsaking his broomstick and his smile. When he lifted his eyes, it was with effort his voice remained playful.
"You could always lend me your Potions notes and help me with revising. You do top the bloody subject. Besides," Harry carelessly made it to Malfoy's desk and, to its owners great aggravation, sat atop the piles of paper, "you owe me for Care of Magical Creatures."
"I thought we'd agreed on sexual favours for that?"
Draco's voice was low and husky as he regarded Harry from beneath lowered eyelashes. Harry would never admit to having spent an entire night of idle sleeplessness busying himself with counting of those blond eye-adornments. That, however, was entirely past the point.
"Don't try that on me, Malfoy. You're tiptoeing around the issue."
"A moment ago you were on about rabbits and now the very words 'sexual favours' can't distract you." Dramatic sigh. "I really do hate your Gryffindor determination."
Harry smiled and touched the other man's cheekbone, tenderly tracing it with his Seeker-roughened fingertips.
"You dislike the idea of me being an Auror."
"Ten points to Gryffindor for stating the blatantly obvious."
Harry chuckled and slowly abandoned the table in favour of straddling Draco's lap. Papers flying everywhere made of his descend a grand affair, but he failed to notice, too taken up with how Draco's lips were crisped downward, so unpleasant and different from his usual smoothness. He pressed his thumb against the Slytherin's bottom lip, meeting a mouth pursed closed. He occupied his hyperactive hands with either resting on Malfoy's nape or running fingers through his fine hair. The male beneath him remained unmoving. Harry smirked knowingly, in a good-natured yet wicked manner he'd probably never know Draco inwardly dubbed "very Harry-like behaviour".
"You daft cunt. You're not all grumpy because you hate Aurors or Dumbledore or anything ideological, you're just worried about me."
Harry was positively glowing with his newest realisation. Under him, the blond-haired man sneered.
"Get over yourself, Potter. Weasel worries about you. Granger worries about you. The faithful readers of Witch Weekly worry about you. I don't." Malfoy drawled in a most uncaring manner.
"You just shag me." Harry's smirk was unfolding into a grin.
"Precisely." Malfoy countered with lowering his brow.
"Non-committal, wild sex."
"You clearly know fuck about wild sex to say that."
Harry chose that moment to give up bantering with Malfoy and instead made use of the now familiar technique of silencing him with a different use of his lips and tongue. Namely, trying to find out how far said tongue could go down Malfoy's throat. Moments of heat and wetness punctuated by little noises followed, and when Harry allowed the kiss to be broken for he too needed oxygen, Malfoy's lips were reddish from the bruising contact and desire.
Exchanged verbal nastiness was replaced by lovemaking with an urgent edge to it, all in the sinuous curves of Draco's slick body moving so beautifully and the out-of-tune despair entangled to his mewls.
Harry laid stretched atop Malfoy's silken bedsheets, breathing heavily as starlight drew the bumps and ridges of his naked body. His brazen fingertips didn't feel out of place against his lover's fine hair, just as Harry no longer dedicated any thought to how Malfoy's sex-ruffled hair seemed carefully styled rather than the product of mind abandon to lust. The crook of his arm might have been shaped by his gene pool and years worth of Quidditch practice, but it appeared to fit no other purpose than flawless moulding against Draco's torso, absently partaking in whatever possessiveness led the other man to drape against his side. Soft breathing tickled Harry's collarbone, Malfoy's cheek rested atop his chest. A smile was elicited on Harry Potter.
"It's cute, that worry makes you cuddle." He kissed the top of the blond head, inhaling sharply.
"Sod off."
Draco's voice was sleepy, and Harry let himself stroke the pale back lazily. The command was unfounded, moreso because Malfoy's arms around him would have posed serious difficulty to Harry's occasional willingness to oblige. Besides, no venomous silvertongue could counter the soft pressure of the man against him. That was simply, wordlessly right.
-*-