Fic Rec: "Say Anything" by megyal
Title: Say Anything
Author
megyal | megyal
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Harry/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8451 words
Summary: Draco has a crush on Harry and tells him in French.
Why I loved it: I'm surprised it hasn't been recc'd here before, but it's worth a read. For once, Draco tells Harry all the gritty details of his crush, but in French. Harry’s reactions are amusing, from confused to flirting back, which only spur Draco on to talk in French all the time. This story is funny, especially whenever Pansy talks to Draco (“Therapist, not fag-hag,” Draco reminds her. “Remember which hat you have on today.”), and the ending is clever and unexpected.
"I was just saying," Weasley says slowly, "That French. Is sexy."
"It’s not." Harry’s chuckle is low and comfortable. "It’s kind of annoying."
"Everything they say," Weasley says with a flourish, ignoring Harry, "is like liquid gold… like verbal velvet. They could be saying ‘how much for the de-gnoming powder’ and it would sound sexy. Remember Fleur?"
"Who, your sister-in-law? Nope, don’t remember her at all." Harry tries to drink and snickers as Weasley digs an elbow in his side, his eyes twinkling. Draco stifles a groan.
"She’d talk, and I’d be high all day."
"And this had nothing to do with her Veela-allure, right?"
"I speak French," Draco puts in before Weasley can retort and wonders how his mouth had formed those words without express written consent of his brain. "Fluently."
Weasley pounces.
"Say something. Anything. Apparently, Harry hasn’t heard the right accent or something, so go on, Malfoy." Weasley peers at him and then leans over to whisper loudly in Harry’s ear. "I’ll bet you’ll get off on it, too."
Harry smiles wickedly and quickly composes his face into one of polite blankness. Draco stares at him as he leans forward, putting one elbow on the surface of the small, round table and propping his chin in his hand, waiting for Draco to prove or disprove the claims of the Weasel.
Draco sighs and thinks for a little, trying to find something to say.
"Err… Je m’appelle Draco Malfoy,” Draco says in a monotone. “I am twenty-nine years old.”
"Oh, come on." Weasley sounds exasperated as Harry chuckles. "Come on, Malfoy, do better than that. Please? Wait, I can’t believe I’m begging Malfoy, Harry, can you imagine-"
“Je te déteste,” Draco cuts in suddenly, mainly to stop Weasley from any more talking; he probably speaks with a little more venom than is advisable while staring at Harry, because the dark-haired man recoils a little and blinks. “I hate you. I hate how you make me feel and I hate that you don’t know. I hate that you were the one who fought for everyone and you still act like a normal person. I hate that all I need is to smell you or see your stupid hair and I get hard.”
There is a tiny frown forming between Harry’s eyebrows and Draco inhales, forging ahead.
“I want to press you against a wall and see what your mouth tastes like; if you taste like those Chocolate Frogs you always eat. I want to see if your eyes are really that green all the way through. God, I hate your hair, but I want to touch it.” He pauses, thinking. “Fine. I don’t really hate it.”
"See?" Weasley stage-whispers. "I mean, come on, Harry. It’s Malfoy and see how good it sounds? I need to go home and have sex."
"Ok, that was too much information, Ron," Harry says quickly, sitting back and running a hand through his hair. Draco sneers lightly, because Harry’s hair becomes even more messy and lovely and he really can’t take it. Harry gives Weasley a weak grin, his eyes fixing on Draco’s face in confusion and Draco suddenly feels a strange power steal over him, heady and a little terrifying, because here is some sort of outlet and Harry will never know.
Author
megyal | megyal
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Harry/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8451 words
Summary: Draco has a crush on Harry and tells him in French.
Why I loved it: I'm surprised it hasn't been recc'd here before, but it's worth a read. For once, Draco tells Harry all the gritty details of his crush, but in French. Harry’s reactions are amusing, from confused to flirting back, which only spur Draco on to talk in French all the time. This story is funny, especially whenever Pansy talks to Draco (“Therapist, not fag-hag,” Draco reminds her. “Remember which hat you have on today.”), and the ending is clever and unexpected.
"I was just saying," Weasley says slowly, "That French. Is sexy."
"It’s not." Harry’s chuckle is low and comfortable. "It’s kind of annoying."
"Everything they say," Weasley says with a flourish, ignoring Harry, "is like liquid gold… like verbal velvet. They could be saying ‘how much for the de-gnoming powder’ and it would sound sexy. Remember Fleur?"
"Who, your sister-in-law? Nope, don’t remember her at all." Harry tries to drink and snickers as Weasley digs an elbow in his side, his eyes twinkling. Draco stifles a groan.
"She’d talk, and I’d be high all day."
"And this had nothing to do with her Veela-allure, right?"
"I speak French," Draco puts in before Weasley can retort and wonders how his mouth had formed those words without express written consent of his brain. "Fluently."
Weasley pounces.
"Say something. Anything. Apparently, Harry hasn’t heard the right accent or something, so go on, Malfoy." Weasley peers at him and then leans over to whisper loudly in Harry’s ear. "I’ll bet you’ll get off on it, too."
Harry smiles wickedly and quickly composes his face into one of polite blankness. Draco stares at him as he leans forward, putting one elbow on the surface of the small, round table and propping his chin in his hand, waiting for Draco to prove or disprove the claims of the Weasel.
Draco sighs and thinks for a little, trying to find something to say.
"Err… Je m’appelle Draco Malfoy,” Draco says in a monotone. “I am twenty-nine years old.”
"Oh, come on." Weasley sounds exasperated as Harry chuckles. "Come on, Malfoy, do better than that. Please? Wait, I can’t believe I’m begging Malfoy, Harry, can you imagine-"
“Je te déteste,” Draco cuts in suddenly, mainly to stop Weasley from any more talking; he probably speaks with a little more venom than is advisable while staring at Harry, because the dark-haired man recoils a little and blinks. “I hate you. I hate how you make me feel and I hate that you don’t know. I hate that you were the one who fought for everyone and you still act like a normal person. I hate that all I need is to smell you or see your stupid hair and I get hard.”
There is a tiny frown forming between Harry’s eyebrows and Draco inhales, forging ahead.
“I want to press you against a wall and see what your mouth tastes like; if you taste like those Chocolate Frogs you always eat. I want to see if your eyes are really that green all the way through. God, I hate your hair, but I want to touch it.” He pauses, thinking. “Fine. I don’t really hate it.”
"See?" Weasley stage-whispers. "I mean, come on, Harry. It’s Malfoy and see how good it sounds? I need to go home and have sex."
"Ok, that was too much information, Ron," Harry says quickly, sitting back and running a hand through his hair. Draco sneers lightly, because Harry’s hair becomes even more messy and lovely and he really can’t take it. Harry gives Weasley a weak grin, his eyes fixing on Draco’s face in confusion and Draco suddenly feels a strange power steal over him, heady and a little terrifying, because here is some sort of outlet and Harry will never know.