HP Fic: Rehydration (Harry/Draco, R)
Title: Rehydration
Beta: groolover
Rating: R
Word Count: 818
Warnings/Contains: Adult language, sexual content
Summary: Draco's hot. Potter's hotter.
Author’s Note: Just a wee ficlet for my birthday buddy, bleedforyou1 :) She requested Harry/Draco and left me the prompt of “water”. (Also, oh, hey, look! I AM capable of writing something under 20k these days! Who’d have thought?)
[Rehydration]
There were two things Draco desperately needed once his feet touched the ground after a long, gruelling Seeker’s match out on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch: something cold to drink before he passed out, and a very long shower or swim.
Fortunately, these things were fairly easy to attain, readily available in the school's Quidditch changing rooms, just outside the pitch. Unfortunately, he was not the only one who had this idea. Nor was he the one to get there first.
Potter had beat him to the otherwise empty changing rooms and, by the looks of things when Draco entered, had made a beeline for the pitcher of ice water sitting on the counter, underneath the mirrors. There was one unused glass, along with one still wet with condensation, and a pitcher that was three-quarters gone. As Draco headed for it, muttering about Potter not leaving very much at all, the pitcher refilled itself, water and ice, both.
"Well, that's fine, then," he huffed, just thankful someone had thought to appropriately charm the pitcher. He drank two and a half glasses, barely pausing to breathe. In fact, the only reason he stopped at all was because an icy spike of pain stabbed him just behind the eyes. Draco took that as his cue to move towards the showers. There was a trail of Quidditch leathers and other sweaty clothing leading in that direction, and the sound of running water and splashing indicated that Potter had indeed stolen his idea.
Grunting, Draco stripped off his own gear, making certain to hang it in the appropriate locker, then tossed his filthy clothing into the laundry locker and closed the lid, setting the washing charms to begin. At least he would have clean clothes to come out to. Potter had likely left his things a mess in order to irritate Draco. There had been no winner of the Seekers' challenge; the Snitch seemed to have gone missing from the pitch, a fact they both blamed on each other instead of defective charms on the equipment. There had just been flying around, after an hour and a half of them both accumulating a dozen almost-catches, and then grumbling and insults. Not surprisingly, there had also been shoving. What was surprising was the inclusion of a fair amount more touching than either of them seemed to expect. Draco stepped into the showers thinking of that, devising a few new insults as he went.
He promptly forgot them all.
Potter stood in front of the centre showerhead, neck arched and eyes closed as the water soaked his hair and sluiced down his skin. Draco watched, mouth slightly agape, as rivulets of water ran down between Potter's shoulder blades, down the small of his back, and down his thighs. As he watched, Potter reached up and fiddled with the knobs, groaning in pleasure as the water reached the desired temperature. "Fuck," Potter murmured, still turned towards the tile wall, "only thing that'd feel better would be a good, hard shag."
Draco's breath hitched as he took in that rather delightful - and completely surprising - visual, and he swallowed hard as he stepped beside Potter and turned on the water above him. "Think you might have the right idea there," he said casually.
Potter's eyes flew open and, despite the fact that he was half-hard, he didn't turn away in embarassment. Draco's eyes drifted downwards, and Potter's followed the direction of his gaze. "Looking awfully intently, aren't you, Malfoy?" he asked, reaching for the soap. "Stare like that, someone might wonder if you were offering."
Draco snorted, meaning to turn away, before his sex drive asserted itself over his brain as ruler of all. "What if I were?"
Potter stared at him a long moment, a small grin eventually tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Well, then," he said after a few moments, now slowly lathering his chest, "I think we might have some things to discuss."
Draco turned towards him, a smile slowly spreading across his own lips. "You don't say?"
With a nod, Potter stepped a little closer, smirking when Draco only mirrored the move until they were close enough to share the same showerhead. "We might just have to set a record for longest shower after a match with no winners."
Slowly, Draco reached out one hand and let his finger trail up Potter's wet chest, thrilling at the sight of Potter shuddering underneath his touch, lower lip tucked between his teeth. "I think we might just be able to find a scenario where there are two winners, instead. Don't you agree?"
Draco didn't get a verbal response to his question, but he rather felt that the press of Potter's mouth against his own was answer enough.
Beta: groolover
Rating: R
Word Count: 818
Warnings/Contains: Adult language, sexual content
Summary: Draco's hot. Potter's hotter.
Author’s Note: Just a wee ficlet for my birthday buddy, bleedforyou1 :) She requested Harry/Draco and left me the prompt of “water”. (Also, oh, hey, look! I AM capable of writing something under 20k these days! Who’d have thought?)
[Rehydration]
There were two things Draco desperately needed once his feet touched the ground after a long, gruelling Seeker’s match out on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch: something cold to drink before he passed out, and a very long shower or swim.
Fortunately, these things were fairly easy to attain, readily available in the school's Quidditch changing rooms, just outside the pitch. Unfortunately, he was not the only one who had this idea. Nor was he the one to get there first.
Potter had beat him to the otherwise empty changing rooms and, by the looks of things when Draco entered, had made a beeline for the pitcher of ice water sitting on the counter, underneath the mirrors. There was one unused glass, along with one still wet with condensation, and a pitcher that was three-quarters gone. As Draco headed for it, muttering about Potter not leaving very much at all, the pitcher refilled itself, water and ice, both.
"Well, that's fine, then," he huffed, just thankful someone had thought to appropriately charm the pitcher. He drank two and a half glasses, barely pausing to breathe. In fact, the only reason he stopped at all was because an icy spike of pain stabbed him just behind the eyes. Draco took that as his cue to move towards the showers. There was a trail of Quidditch leathers and other sweaty clothing leading in that direction, and the sound of running water and splashing indicated that Potter had indeed stolen his idea.
Grunting, Draco stripped off his own gear, making certain to hang it in the appropriate locker, then tossed his filthy clothing into the laundry locker and closed the lid, setting the washing charms to begin. At least he would have clean clothes to come out to. Potter had likely left his things a mess in order to irritate Draco. There had been no winner of the Seekers' challenge; the Snitch seemed to have gone missing from the pitch, a fact they both blamed on each other instead of defective charms on the equipment. There had just been flying around, after an hour and a half of them both accumulating a dozen almost-catches, and then grumbling and insults. Not surprisingly, there had also been shoving. What was surprising was the inclusion of a fair amount more touching than either of them seemed to expect. Draco stepped into the showers thinking of that, devising a few new insults as he went.
He promptly forgot them all.
Potter stood in front of the centre showerhead, neck arched and eyes closed as the water soaked his hair and sluiced down his skin. Draco watched, mouth slightly agape, as rivulets of water ran down between Potter's shoulder blades, down the small of his back, and down his thighs. As he watched, Potter reached up and fiddled with the knobs, groaning in pleasure as the water reached the desired temperature. "Fuck," Potter murmured, still turned towards the tile wall, "only thing that'd feel better would be a good, hard shag."
Draco's breath hitched as he took in that rather delightful - and completely surprising - visual, and he swallowed hard as he stepped beside Potter and turned on the water above him. "Think you might have the right idea there," he said casually.
Potter's eyes flew open and, despite the fact that he was half-hard, he didn't turn away in embarassment. Draco's eyes drifted downwards, and Potter's followed the direction of his gaze. "Looking awfully intently, aren't you, Malfoy?" he asked, reaching for the soap. "Stare like that, someone might wonder if you were offering."
Draco snorted, meaning to turn away, before his sex drive asserted itself over his brain as ruler of all. "What if I were?"
Potter stared at him a long moment, a small grin eventually tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Well, then," he said after a few moments, now slowly lathering his chest, "I think we might have some things to discuss."
Draco turned towards him, a smile slowly spreading across his own lips. "You don't say?"
With a nod, Potter stepped a little closer, smirking when Draco only mirrored the move until they were close enough to share the same showerhead. "We might just have to set a record for longest shower after a match with no winners."
Slowly, Draco reached out one hand and let his finger trail up Potter's wet chest, thrilling at the sight of Potter shuddering underneath his touch, lower lip tucked between his teeth. "I think we might just be able to find a scenario where there are two winners, instead. Don't you agree?"
Draco didn't get a verbal response to his question, but he rather felt that the press of Potter's mouth against his own was answer enough.