Fic: Neville/Draco, NC-17
Yes, I know. It. Is. Supposed. To. Be. A. Drabble. It's your own faults though, giving me yummy prompts and pairings. If you'd request crap then I could keep it to a hundred words. :P
This is for thermidor who wanted Neville/Draco with pushybottom!Draco and rimming.
Neville/Draco, 1,048 words (big fucking oops), NC-17, completely unbeta'd. Let me know if it's shit, all right?
“Longbottom,” Draco hissed out through gritted teeth. “If you don’t get on with it now, I am going to kill you.”
Draco was spread out across the bed, face down, Gryffindor ties binding his wrists and ankles to each of the corners. His skin really was way too pale to carry off those colors. Neville wisely decided not to point this out.
“You do remember that I am supposed to be in control tonight, don’t you?” Neville asked.
And how in the hell the Chudley Cannons pulled that win off was anyone’s guess. Divine intervention probably. It didn’t matter; all that mattered was that he’d actually won the bet. And now that he had Draco at his mercy, he intended to take his time.
Draco growled.
“Longbottom, I’m warning you…”
Neville grinned as he crawled up onto the mattress. He did, however, wipe the smile off his face quickly when Draco snapped his head around to glare over his shoulder.
“Getting on with it, sir,” Neville said solemnly.
Draco narrowed his eyes and sneered at him, clearly irritated at his teasing, before rolling his eyes and lowering his head to the pillow. He grumbled under his breath, something about Gryffindors having inept senses of humor, as Neville climbed between his widespread legs, hardly able to contain his excitement. Draco hardly ever bottomed.
He grabbed a pillow and wedged it underneath Draco’s hips, receiving more grumbling and snarking for his efforts.
“Did you remember the lube?” Draco sneered.
“Yes,” Neville replied, running his hands over Draco’s tense muscles. Damn. He must be nervous; not that he’d ever admit it. They’d have to fix that.
“Well where is it,” asked Draco, lifting his head to look around.
“I don’t need it yet.” Neville kneaded the muscles in his shoulders and back, running his thumbs down the knobby length of his spine.
“No? I suppose I’m trussed up like this for entirely aesthetic purposes,” Draco muttered. “Going to paint my picture? I must look stunning with my arse levered into the air.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. That didn’t stop him from being right, however. He was stunning like this. Long, lean muscles, pale, soft skin, and an arse that Neville wanted to devour…
Well, nothing stopping him now.
He leaned down and kissed Draco lightly on the arse, right atop his crevice, then he slipped his tongue in between those tense cheeks and licked his way down.
“Wha…” Draco threw his head back, his blond hair cascading across his shoulders, his entire body going tense. Neville knew he was about to protest. He didn’t give him the chance.
He parted Draco’s cheeks and gingerly licked his soft pink pucker with just the very tip of his tongue.
“Oh!” Draco’s arse trembled beneath his mouth and he grew bolder, tonguing the tiny hole more forcefully, circling and pressing. Draco had never allowed this, not that Neville had asked, but still. One would think that Draco Malfoy would insist on people kissing his arse in bed. He certainly did in every other aspect of his life.
Neville used his fingers to spread the rounded globes of Draco’s arse further and he wedged his face in between them, still using his tongue to lick and tease. Draco hadn’t said no, though, so he closed his eyes and pushed his tongue inside the quivering hole. He hoped he was doing it right.
Draco tasted dark and musky, not bad at all, almost like his come tasted, but without the overpowering flavor of salt. Neville stuck his tongue out as far as he could, holding it steady, and bobbed his head back and forth, stabbing into Draco’s arse as hard as he could.
“Fuck, Neville!” Draco literally screamed.
Neville jerked back as if burnt, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Oh, shit. This was bad. Draco only said his name when he was coming sometimes. Or when he was really, really mad. What had he done?
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, unable to keep the worry from his voice. And that would just make things worse; Draco hated any signs of affection.
“Longbottom,” Draco panted. “Get your tongue back in my arse this instant or you are kipping on the fucking floor for the rest of the year!!”
Neville blinked once, twice. He must have been doing it right after all. He grinned as he lowered himself again and restrained himself from being openly smug, although inwardly he was turning summersaults. That was as close to begging as Draco ever got.
He licked his way inward again, paying particular attention to Draco’s accelerated breaths and his muffled groans. He sounded as if he had shoved the pillow in his mouth. It was just like him really, not to let anyone else know he was having a good time.
Neville delved in again, more sure of himself now, and rocked his entire body back and forth, humping the bed, pressing his tongue in over and over, as deep as it could go. Draco’s moans became louder, despite his self-made gag, and Neville began twisting his face, this way and that, stretching the pucker open even as he thrust inside.
He released his grip on one of Draco’s cheeks and reached between his legs, slipping his hand between Draco and the pillow. He’d no more touched Draco’s rock hard length before the blond was bucking up into his mouth, thrusting helplessly, crying out loudly, and coming all over the pillow.
That tight muscle throbbing and convulsing around his tongue was the most erotic thing he had ever felt. He lay his cheek on Draco’s thigh, ignoring his own erection for the moment, and allowed his lover to recover. It was a surprisingly short wait.
“These pillowcases are made from imported Chinese silk. Have you any idea what that costs?” Draco’s voice was husky and low and the words lacked their usual bite.
Neville smiled against his damp skin and dropped a soft kiss on his thigh. Things were going much better than he’d anticipated. Draco wasn’t being nearly the sore loser he thought he’d be. And Neville was just getting started. He smiled as he crawled up his lover’s lax frame and made sure that Draco saw him get the lube.
This is for thermidor who wanted Neville/Draco with pushybottom!Draco and rimming.
Neville/Draco, 1,048 words (big fucking oops), NC-17, completely unbeta'd. Let me know if it's shit, all right?
“Longbottom,” Draco hissed out through gritted teeth. “If you don’t get on with it now, I am going to kill you.”
Draco was spread out across the bed, face down, Gryffindor ties binding his wrists and ankles to each of the corners. His skin really was way too pale to carry off those colors. Neville wisely decided not to point this out.
“You do remember that I am supposed to be in control tonight, don’t you?” Neville asked.
And how in the hell the Chudley Cannons pulled that win off was anyone’s guess. Divine intervention probably. It didn’t matter; all that mattered was that he’d actually won the bet. And now that he had Draco at his mercy, he intended to take his time.
Draco growled.
“Longbottom, I’m warning you…”
Neville grinned as he crawled up onto the mattress. He did, however, wipe the smile off his face quickly when Draco snapped his head around to glare over his shoulder.
“Getting on with it, sir,” Neville said solemnly.
Draco narrowed his eyes and sneered at him, clearly irritated at his teasing, before rolling his eyes and lowering his head to the pillow. He grumbled under his breath, something about Gryffindors having inept senses of humor, as Neville climbed between his widespread legs, hardly able to contain his excitement. Draco hardly ever bottomed.
He grabbed a pillow and wedged it underneath Draco’s hips, receiving more grumbling and snarking for his efforts.
“Did you remember the lube?” Draco sneered.
“Yes,” Neville replied, running his hands over Draco’s tense muscles. Damn. He must be nervous; not that he’d ever admit it. They’d have to fix that.
“Well where is it,” asked Draco, lifting his head to look around.
“I don’t need it yet.” Neville kneaded the muscles in his shoulders and back, running his thumbs down the knobby length of his spine.
“No? I suppose I’m trussed up like this for entirely aesthetic purposes,” Draco muttered. “Going to paint my picture? I must look stunning with my arse levered into the air.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. That didn’t stop him from being right, however. He was stunning like this. Long, lean muscles, pale, soft skin, and an arse that Neville wanted to devour…
Well, nothing stopping him now.
He leaned down and kissed Draco lightly on the arse, right atop his crevice, then he slipped his tongue in between those tense cheeks and licked his way down.
“Wha…” Draco threw his head back, his blond hair cascading across his shoulders, his entire body going tense. Neville knew he was about to protest. He didn’t give him the chance.
He parted Draco’s cheeks and gingerly licked his soft pink pucker with just the very tip of his tongue.
“Oh!” Draco’s arse trembled beneath his mouth and he grew bolder, tonguing the tiny hole more forcefully, circling and pressing. Draco had never allowed this, not that Neville had asked, but still. One would think that Draco Malfoy would insist on people kissing his arse in bed. He certainly did in every other aspect of his life.
Neville used his fingers to spread the rounded globes of Draco’s arse further and he wedged his face in between them, still using his tongue to lick and tease. Draco hadn’t said no, though, so he closed his eyes and pushed his tongue inside the quivering hole. He hoped he was doing it right.
Draco tasted dark and musky, not bad at all, almost like his come tasted, but without the overpowering flavor of salt. Neville stuck his tongue out as far as he could, holding it steady, and bobbed his head back and forth, stabbing into Draco’s arse as hard as he could.
“Fuck, Neville!” Draco literally screamed.
Neville jerked back as if burnt, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Oh, shit. This was bad. Draco only said his name when he was coming sometimes. Or when he was really, really mad. What had he done?
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, unable to keep the worry from his voice. And that would just make things worse; Draco hated any signs of affection.
“Longbottom,” Draco panted. “Get your tongue back in my arse this instant or you are kipping on the fucking floor for the rest of the year!!”
Neville blinked once, twice. He must have been doing it right after all. He grinned as he lowered himself again and restrained himself from being openly smug, although inwardly he was turning summersaults. That was as close to begging as Draco ever got.
He licked his way inward again, paying particular attention to Draco’s accelerated breaths and his muffled groans. He sounded as if he had shoved the pillow in his mouth. It was just like him really, not to let anyone else know he was having a good time.
Neville delved in again, more sure of himself now, and rocked his entire body back and forth, humping the bed, pressing his tongue in over and over, as deep as it could go. Draco’s moans became louder, despite his self-made gag, and Neville began twisting his face, this way and that, stretching the pucker open even as he thrust inside.
He released his grip on one of Draco’s cheeks and reached between his legs, slipping his hand between Draco and the pillow. He’d no more touched Draco’s rock hard length before the blond was bucking up into his mouth, thrusting helplessly, crying out loudly, and coming all over the pillow.
That tight muscle throbbing and convulsing around his tongue was the most erotic thing he had ever felt. He lay his cheek on Draco’s thigh, ignoring his own erection for the moment, and allowed his lover to recover. It was a surprisingly short wait.
“These pillowcases are made from imported Chinese silk. Have you any idea what that costs?” Draco’s voice was husky and low and the words lacked their usual bite.
Neville smiled against his damp skin and dropped a soft kiss on his thigh. Things were going much better than he’d anticipated. Draco wasn’t being nearly the sore loser he thought he’d be. And Neville was just getting started. He smiled as he crawled up his lover’s lax frame and made sure that Draco saw him get the lube.