stocking stuffer fic no. 1!
Title: Boring Meetings and How To Manage Them
Pairing(s): HP/DM,
Summary: Harry views a boring Auror meeting from a different perspective.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The recognizable characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and legal assigns; no profit is intended or made via this work of fiction.
Warning(s): Unintentional voyeurism.
Word Count: ~ 2,182
Author's Notes: Written for usakiwigirl for the stocking stuffer exchange.
There was pain. Not, he was glad to note, dueling, hexing, cursing, weird pain. It was more of a stiff-joints-shouldn’t-have-overdone-it-like-that pain. Harry opened his eyes and blinked groggily. He was sitting on a floor, bent into an awkward hunch, wood at his back, above him, on each side of him. Before him was a chair. He blinked.
Oh, fuck. He was in the Ministry Auror lecture room, underneath one of the desks. He ran a hand over his face and felt stubble, felt a rip in his shirt and the sting of a half-healed gash, and ignored his gently nudging bladder. That’s right; he’d spent the entire weekend hunting a Sthenote in Orkney, alone, because his assigned partner never showed and the risk of an innocent dying was too high to wait. Personally, he figured Greeves hadn’t wanted to deal with a gorgon-descendent that had brass claws, fangs, a head decked with poison snakes and could paralyze you at eye contact. So why not make up an excuse and let Potter deal with it, he can talk to snakes. He defeated the dark lord. Yeah, Potter will be fine alone. Fucker.
He tried to move and let out a yelp. Fucking great, he’d certainly been over optimistic about his lack of injuries; his arms looked like abstract art from blood and bruising, his ribs hurt, he’d pulled a muscle in a most delicate area and his ankle was sore. The bloody Sthenote had succumbed to his rather clever tactics, if he did say so himself, but not before giving him a right arse-kicking and getting in a final lick by breaking his wand. He moaned softly. So much for being clever. Clever would have being going straight to St Mungo’s, not dragging himself into the lecture room because it was closer than his office and he wanted to get the irritating report writing done first and off his conscience. He’d done the report as good as gold, urged himself on with promises of a few potions, a few beers, a shower, dinner and bed for a day, and discovered that he’d locked himself in. If he’d only chosen his office, he could have fire-called someone, but a small lecture room didn’t boast such amenities. And now he’d have to wait until opening hours or someone came by. Ugh. He was sore as all fuck, tired, starving, dirty, gritty and pissed off. Where was the justice?
Nowhere. Gone bye-byes. Flitted off to the light fantastic. He knew this because when the door suddenly opened, a loud cacophony of recognizable voices halted his glad cry and made him cringe back into his hidden corner.
Oh god, it sounded like the entire auror team.
He already copped enough flak from older aurors who were hell-bent determined to mock and tease him to let him know there was going to be no delusions of pretention from a mere kid (twenty five, thank you!) who only defeated Voldemort because of luck and a prophecy. After all, no kid could really be better than an adult with experience. Right. As Greeves had proved. Plus he did not - NOT - want to look foolish in front of Malfoy. Admittedly, post-war Malfoy was a lot quieter. He wouldn’t verbally mock or gloat, probably because his own social popularity was precarious enough. However, if he climbed out now, looking dirty and disheveled and sheepishly admitting he’d locked himself in, there would be raucous laughter from the senior aurors, sly digs for the next month, and Malfoy would look blank. Which probably masked vicious satisfaction. It was hard to tell with Malfoy these days.
No, he was going to stay quiet, wait it out, and sneak out later; it was office hours now, and the door would remain unlocked. And this was only the daily morning meeting; a half-hour of tedious waffle recounting previous week’s work and what the junior aurors had learned from them.
He said nothing as a body settled itself into the chair in front of him. He held still as hips pulled forward, the legs splayed and the torso relaxed back. He did grin. Evidently this person had chosen the very back corner in order to snooze unobserved.
The figure was tall and thin, and dressed in the regulation junior auror black boots, trousers, and fitted dark blue tunic robe. He froze. The man’s hands, resting upturned on his thighs, were pale and sinewy with neat nails. He knew those hands. The signet ring on his right hand confirmed it.
And they were restless hands. Harry watched them clench and release as junior and senior aurors settled into seats and Head Auror Robards made some introductory comments. His brow rose as Malfoy undid the buttons on his tunic robe and let the stiff material fall away to the sides, leaving his white shirt and soft trousers open to view. He felt his face burn. He was staring at Malfoy’s crotch. Admittedly, not by choice, but it felt…naughty. Sort of…sexy. The blond would probably go ballistic if he knew. Which he didn’t. It was going to be his little secret.
Malfoy shifted and hitched up his trousers a little and settled down more comfortably as Robard’s voice continued to drone. He stifled a little surprised gasp; He was sure he could see a distinct shape distort down the inside thigh of those trousers!
Then he heard his name.
“…Isn’t hear, I see. Potter and Greeves were on assignment over the weekend. They should be back by now. Has anyone heard from them?”
“There is a report here on the desk.” Malfoy’s voice was quiet, but he still jumped. “It appears to be Potter’s.”
“Ah. I’ll take that, thank you.” There was the sound of the report flapping over head as it sailed into the head Auror’s hands. “Mm…It appears Potter worked alone. Where was Greeves?” The surprise and disapproval pregnant in his Head’s voice was a balm for his pissed-off heart. There was a rumble of uncertainty from the room. “Well, that is a matter for another time.”
He barely heard this - he couldn’t believe his eyes; Malfoy’s hands were kneading his thighs, making little sensual circles. It was…strangely mesmerizing. He felt a low tingle in his belly as Robards continued.
“Hm…Yes, indeed. It seems Auror Potter was successful, and yes…oh, well done. A clever bit of work.” The man’s voice came louder. “Given that Auror Potter is away, and Hardcourt, I’d like you to visit St Mungos and check on him; I presume that’s where he is given his list of injuries, I will take it upon myself to read this to you. Junior Aurors, I will ask you to write down what Auror Potter did well, and the things he might have done differently.”
Normally he’d groan at having his work discussed, even if it was standard procedure. But Malfoy…He stared, stunned, as a thumb came out to massage over the long, slender bulge down his right thigh. Oh my god, he’s… Robards was reading his report, and Malfoy was taking the opportunity to have a wank. Right in the middle of the meeting! Well, tucked away at the back corner, but still. Admittedly, he’d sometimes imagined Malfoy wanking, in a half-drunk, giggly, how-furious-he’d-be-if-he-knew, strangely intrigued way, but he’d never dreamed that watching it could be so erotic. Oh, he’d had glimpses of dorm mates doing so, had quickly averted his eyes, had chuckled to himself and had moved on. It hadn’t felt like this.
The thumb circled, pressed, and pinched at the head. His fingers came down to tickle under his cloth-covered testicles. He could feel his entire body heat up as his own dick started to throb. He bit down on the fleshy part of his thumb and blushed scarlet as Malfoy continued to tease his bollocks, using his nails to scratch lightly. The bulge was twitching, moving, shifting. Malfoy ran his fingers up and down it lightly, teasingly, almost affectionately. Harry gazed spellbound as a hazy spot of wetness appeared at the tip of the bulge. He could hear Malfoy breathing harder through his nose, could feel heat radiating from the man’s crotch. Blushing, quivering, he pushed a hand down between his legs and gently, so quietly, rocked up into it in short, firm pulses. His own words recited back to him in Robard’s voice was vague, distant, a tinny background to the pulsing pleasure in his crotch and the magnetic vision of those stroking, squeezing fingers.
And oh Merlin, those fingers gently, quietly pushed the buttons under the pleat of his trousers out of their holes, revealing cream satin undershorts. With more room to move, the prick rose, tenting the satin, leaving a small trail of wetness. Harry bit down on his thumb and ground his hand onto his groin when the elegant hands pushed the satin down to cradle under the cock and bollocks. Malfoy’s prick bobbed out, the foreskin retracted, the meatus shiny and wet. The long, bony fingers started to rub, along the shaft, and small, sensual circles over the frenulum. The throbbing between his legs was growing insistent, and he was stunned to realize he desperately, desperately wanted to lean forward and lap at that blushing head. Just imagining doing it, how it would feel on his tongue, and how Malfoy might twitch and hyperventilate, was almost unbearably erotic. A hand disappeared, and came down again, fingers wet with saliva.
Malfoy masturbated himself in earnest, his breathing fast and sharp through his nose. Harry winced in pleasurable agony as he pumped his hips hard and fast against his forearm, hand braced on the floor. The prick was reddening and twitching and Harry squeezed his eyes and lips shut and came with a burning rush, fighting to stay quiet. When the last aftershocks had faded, he sucked in quiet breaths and opened his eyes. One of Malfoy’s hands had angled his prick down so that the slit was pointing towards him. It looked beyond ripe and ready to burst and when the other hand rubbed quickly, frantically, he had one second to feel alarm and then ejaculate spurted out onto his chin and neck and chest. He felt his mouth drop with shock. He couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything about it.
He was covered in Malfoy’s jizz. Malfoy's.
Fucking hell.
“Yes, a point well made, Beardsley. Malfoy, you’ve been quiet back there. What thoughts do you have about Potter’s handling of the situation?”
He watched the blond’s body jerk and straighten, pushing his body against the table. It only pushed his bits closer. Mustn’t taste. Mustn’t…oh, Godric.
“Junior Auror Potter’s plan of attack was surprisingly clever.”
Harry felt his mouth gape. It seems the shocks were to keep on coming.
Malfoy continued, his voice only slightly breathless. “I enjoyed hearing about his novel method of handling a Sthenote immensely, it was most stimulating.”
Harry started to choke and clapped both hands over his wet mouth.
“However, I would like to respectfully disagree with Beardsley when he says that Potter wouldn’t have managed without using Parsletongue. Those in this room who know Potter well would feel quite confident in saying that his uncanny ability to rush in where angels fear to tread and somehow emerge triumphant and unscathed with nothing more than atrocious hair and an um, is one of his better qualities.”
There were a few murmurs of laughter and agreement, while Harry frowned and wondered whether he should deck the blond or not. He heard Robards give a grunt. “And what could he have done better?”
“Eviscerated Greeves for abandoning his partner.”
This was greeted with loud agreement from the junior aurors and defensive bleating from those more senior.
“All right, all right, that’s enough,” Robards called. “Rest assured that the matter will be investigated, and should Senior Auror Greeves be found to have abandoned his partner he shall be subject to disciplinary action. I would like each junior auror to write a full page summary of what steps Junior Auror Potter took in the management of the Sthenote and how you may tailor this to suit your own particular strengths. Meeting adjourned.”
Harry held back a gasp as Malfoy slipped his wand out of his wrist holster and gave it a twitch, whispering under his breath. Ugh, Malfoy evidently had standards about hygiene, which was reassuring, but startling for the unprepared. The hands went to work fixing all buttons back to regulation, and the long legs pushed away from the desk.
No, he wouldn’t deck Malfoy, he decided. After all, he was Harry Potter, and the man’s heart was certainly Achtung, Verboten to any angel. His hair might be messy, but it was soft enough for the blond’s boney hands to rest on, and he was going to be very stimulated when he found out just what Harry was willing to do with a well-placed um.
Plus, it seemed he was in need of a partner he could count on. Malfoy would fit the bill just fine.
Finite.