Still Alive (I Think) + HD LDWS Drabbles ...
Hiiii.
I haven't been online in almost three weeks and it feels like forever and a day. I've given up on reading my flist since I'm at skip 140 and only reached last week, ha. Did I miss anything major??
kedavranox has informed me that H/D LDWS is over, though, so here are my drabbles.
[Almost Lover (rated: R, warning: infidelity)]
His life ends with a Bat-Bogey Hex.
Well, no. That isn't entirely true.
See, it ended when Draco Malfoy saved Albus from a bad fall during their Sunday Quidditch match at the Burrow, several years ago after the Malfoys started coming around because somehow James had taken a liking to Scorpius. And even though he'd thought Draco an alright bloke for stepping aside and allowing their boys to be friends if they wished, it had never occurred to him it could be because Draco might genuinely like his family. Enough to save one of them, even.
He'd watched Draco after that, stealing moments he didn't think Draco would realize he was missing. Long fingers straightening his cuff-links with quick, efficient movements. His lips curling, twitching at the corners, torn between a smirk and sincere amusement. Eyelashes fluttering like golden snitches under the sunlight as he stares up at Scorpius, laughing uproariously over James narrowly being hit by the Bludger he'd sent his way-so much so that he's stunned when James hits it right back at him. The pink in Draco's cheekbones as he calls a foul for unnecessary viciousness, and how it's okay that he blatantly favors whichever team Scorpius is on, because no one expects anything less from him.
And then one day-a quiet, ordinary day like any other-Draco notices him, too.
They make no promises. In fact, there's not much beyond fumbling handjobs, zippers biting into flushed skin, office supplies rattling precariously on their shelves. It continues this way for months-this mutual race to completion and fuck the consequences. Paranoia and desperation locked in a constant battle for supremacy.
And then one day-a sweet, lazy day like any other-desperation wins the fight.
Draco tugs him into the bathroom and bends him over the sink, thrusting aggressively, haphazardly along his crack through his trousers, because their kids are laughing, shouting insults as they fly past the window. Draco's forehead rests between his shoulder blades; his hands are gripping the porcelain white-knuckled and his cock bumps painfully against the underside of the counter.
He registers Ginny's pale face in the mirror too late, but the shock, the shame, only gives him the last crucial edge he needs to trigger his orgasm.
Draco tucks himself back in with a grace and arrogance that compounds the cruelty in his polite nod to Ginny before he Disapparates.
[Who's the Man?]
The bass is pumping, the lights are flashing, and Draco isn't grinding his arse into someone's groin.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Harry had known Draco wasn't ready for this assignment. Undercover work requires a different touch, and if there's one thing Draco isn't, it's subtle. Harry snorts at the thought as he makes his way to a higher vantage point.
It's then that the galleon in his jean's pocket burns cold against his thigh. Draco.
Harry pushes his way out of the crowd, ignoring the groping hands, and follows the galleon's tug to the back of the club. It's leading outside, he realizes, and increases his pace. Forgetting every bit of his training, running purely on adrenaline and the need to find Draco, Harry bursts through the door into the alley. "Draco!"
"Christ, Potter, shut up before someone sees."
Harry whirls around and … "Is that a body?"
Draco rolls his eyes, bent over an unconscious, groaning man and rifling through his pockets. "Stellar deduction skills, Potter. Finished top of your class, did you?" He stands, palming something in his hand, and gestures at the man. "Now, move him over by those bins-rough him up, so it looks like a mugging-and we can go."
"What the fuck happened?" Harry asks, and his relief over Draco being unharmed has him levitating the man's body over to the bins, even though it's not his body to cover up. "I left you alone for five fucking minutes!"
"He propositioned me."
The man abruptly drops, his head cracking against the ground. "He what?"
Draco raises an eyebrow at Harry, then grins, stalking up to him with predatory intent. "The most important thing is, he's our man, Harry." He leans down to take Harry's mouth in a possessive kiss. "And you're mine."
[Be a Queen]
Draco waits until he hears Harry leave before rolling out of bed. He tiptoes to the doorway and peeks around the corner.
The living room is empty, ash from the Floo fluttering in the air.
Perfect.
He hurries back to their bedroom closet, eager to wear his newest acquisition for the first time. Opening the doors, he bends down to press a camouflaged button near the wood trim, hidden behind the furthest row of his shoe collection. The back wall slides away to reveal a hidden room, accomplished through Wizarding space and reserved for those shoes he most treasures-and, coincidentally, the ones he doesn't want Harry to know about.
Because while Harry is aware Draco loves his tennies, Draco would be mortified if Harry discovered that love also extends to heeled, platform shoes as well.
And his newest find is his best yet, Draco thinks, retrieving the pair from their place on the highest shelf. He strokes the black leather-like material and fingers the chrome-colored stiletto heel. Seven inches-the highest he's ever gone. He sits on the bed to put them on, trying to steady his pounding heart as he slowly unzips the material which will cross over the top of his feet near his ankles. He can't help the breathy groan that escapes when both of his feet are finally clasped in their respective heels, the cold shock of the metal teeth quickly warming into a comforting and secure embrace.
"Draco?"
Harry's voice startles him just as Draco is almost stood-and before he's got his balance. Cursing, his arms swing wildly for a purchase they fail to find. His knee cracks against the floor, and Draco knows he's fucked. His eyes burn with tears almost immediately, though he can't be certain whether they're strictly for the white-hot shards piercing his knee or for the humiliation consuming him when he hears Harry approaching at a run.
It's only later, when Harry places Draco's heels back on their shelf after one last reverent caress, that Draco thinks the next several hours spent recovering with Skele-gro might be worth it.
I haven't been online in almost three weeks and it feels like forever and a day. I've given up on reading my flist since I'm at skip 140 and only reached last week, ha. Did I miss anything major??
kedavranox has informed me that H/D LDWS is over, though, so here are my drabbles.
[Almost Lover (rated: R, warning: infidelity)]
His life ends with a Bat-Bogey Hex.
Well, no. That isn't entirely true.
See, it ended when Draco Malfoy saved Albus from a bad fall during their Sunday Quidditch match at the Burrow, several years ago after the Malfoys started coming around because somehow James had taken a liking to Scorpius. And even though he'd thought Draco an alright bloke for stepping aside and allowing their boys to be friends if they wished, it had never occurred to him it could be because Draco might genuinely like his family. Enough to save one of them, even.
He'd watched Draco after that, stealing moments he didn't think Draco would realize he was missing. Long fingers straightening his cuff-links with quick, efficient movements. His lips curling, twitching at the corners, torn between a smirk and sincere amusement. Eyelashes fluttering like golden snitches under the sunlight as he stares up at Scorpius, laughing uproariously over James narrowly being hit by the Bludger he'd sent his way-so much so that he's stunned when James hits it right back at him. The pink in Draco's cheekbones as he calls a foul for unnecessary viciousness, and how it's okay that he blatantly favors whichever team Scorpius is on, because no one expects anything less from him.
And then one day-a quiet, ordinary day like any other-Draco notices him, too.
They make no promises. In fact, there's not much beyond fumbling handjobs, zippers biting into flushed skin, office supplies rattling precariously on their shelves. It continues this way for months-this mutual race to completion and fuck the consequences. Paranoia and desperation locked in a constant battle for supremacy.
And then one day-a sweet, lazy day like any other-desperation wins the fight.
Draco tugs him into the bathroom and bends him over the sink, thrusting aggressively, haphazardly along his crack through his trousers, because their kids are laughing, shouting insults as they fly past the window. Draco's forehead rests between his shoulder blades; his hands are gripping the porcelain white-knuckled and his cock bumps painfully against the underside of the counter.
He registers Ginny's pale face in the mirror too late, but the shock, the shame, only gives him the last crucial edge he needs to trigger his orgasm.
Draco tucks himself back in with a grace and arrogance that compounds the cruelty in his polite nod to Ginny before he Disapparates.
[Who's the Man?]
The bass is pumping, the lights are flashing, and Draco isn't grinding his arse into someone's groin.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Harry had known Draco wasn't ready for this assignment. Undercover work requires a different touch, and if there's one thing Draco isn't, it's subtle. Harry snorts at the thought as he makes his way to a higher vantage point.
It's then that the galleon in his jean's pocket burns cold against his thigh. Draco.
Harry pushes his way out of the crowd, ignoring the groping hands, and follows the galleon's tug to the back of the club. It's leading outside, he realizes, and increases his pace. Forgetting every bit of his training, running purely on adrenaline and the need to find Draco, Harry bursts through the door into the alley. "Draco!"
"Christ, Potter, shut up before someone sees."
Harry whirls around and … "Is that a body?"
Draco rolls his eyes, bent over an unconscious, groaning man and rifling through his pockets. "Stellar deduction skills, Potter. Finished top of your class, did you?" He stands, palming something in his hand, and gestures at the man. "Now, move him over by those bins-rough him up, so it looks like a mugging-and we can go."
"What the fuck happened?" Harry asks, and his relief over Draco being unharmed has him levitating the man's body over to the bins, even though it's not his body to cover up. "I left you alone for five fucking minutes!"
"He propositioned me."
The man abruptly drops, his head cracking against the ground. "He what?"
Draco raises an eyebrow at Harry, then grins, stalking up to him with predatory intent. "The most important thing is, he's our man, Harry." He leans down to take Harry's mouth in a possessive kiss. "And you're mine."
[Be a Queen]
Draco waits until he hears Harry leave before rolling out of bed. He tiptoes to the doorway and peeks around the corner.
The living room is empty, ash from the Floo fluttering in the air.
Perfect.
He hurries back to their bedroom closet, eager to wear his newest acquisition for the first time. Opening the doors, he bends down to press a camouflaged button near the wood trim, hidden behind the furthest row of his shoe collection. The back wall slides away to reveal a hidden room, accomplished through Wizarding space and reserved for those shoes he most treasures-and, coincidentally, the ones he doesn't want Harry to know about.
Because while Harry is aware Draco loves his tennies, Draco would be mortified if Harry discovered that love also extends to heeled, platform shoes as well.
And his newest find is his best yet, Draco thinks, retrieving the pair from their place on the highest shelf. He strokes the black leather-like material and fingers the chrome-colored stiletto heel. Seven inches-the highest he's ever gone. He sits on the bed to put them on, trying to steady his pounding heart as he slowly unzips the material which will cross over the top of his feet near his ankles. He can't help the breathy groan that escapes when both of his feet are finally clasped in their respective heels, the cold shock of the metal teeth quickly warming into a comforting and secure embrace.
"Draco?"
Harry's voice startles him just as Draco is almost stood-and before he's got his balance. Cursing, his arms swing wildly for a purchase they fail to find. His knee cracks against the floor, and Draco knows he's fucked. His eyes burn with tears almost immediately, though he can't be certain whether they're strictly for the white-hot shards piercing his knee or for the humiliation consuming him when he hears Harry approaching at a run.
It's only later, when Harry places Draco's heels back on their shelf after one last reverent caress, that Draco thinks the next several hours spent recovering with Skele-gro might be worth it.