Jealousy - Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter - PART XXV, PART XXVI, PART XXVII
Title: Jealousy: PART XXV, PART XXVI, PART XXVII
Author: laughs_muses (fic journal)
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17, R, PG-13
Disclaimer: No, none of these characters are mine. If they were mine I wouldn’t be working absurd hours in a coffee shop, now would I? Nup, I’d be cruising around in my Merc with little HP flags on the bonnet and…*dreams*
Summary: Harry wonders what it would be like to give a blow-job...Draco does some dark magic...Harry wonders why he actually likes Malfoy...
Set: The Burrow
Beta: None, aggggaaaiiinnn.
Authors Notes: Sorry about the wait sexies! I slipped some more secks into this section because...do I need a reason?
Jealousy: PART I
Jealousy: PART II
Jealousy: PART III
Jealousy: PART IV
Jealousy: PART V, PART VI
Jealousy: PART VII, PART VIII, PART IX
Jealousy: PART X, PART XI, PART XII
Jealousy: PART XIII, PART XIV, PART XV
Jealousy: PART XVI, PART XVII, PART XVIII
Jealousy: PART XIX, PART XX, PART XXI
Jealousy: PART XXII, PART XXIII, PART XXIV
PART XXV
“-and everybody wanted to talk to Harry, so we’re surrounded by people all night!” Ginny flapped her hands at her mother who was beaming and nodding. Harry meanwhile was wondering what it would be like to give a blowjob.
Would it be difficult? he mused and traced the rim of his coffee cup with his forefinger and let Ginny’s excited banter wash over him. Would it taste revolting? He tried to picture himself on his knees in front of someone. What would he be thinking? Would he be thinking logically about how to perform it? Or would he just do what seemed natural? Or would that person above him be telling him what to do?
Gods yes, Potter. Harder. Harder! Hmmmm, move your tongue up a bit…further…further…there! Yesssss. Gods, I’m not going to l-l-last-
“What’s wrong, Harry?”
Harry’s eyes snapped to Ginny’s face. She and Mrs Weasley were staring at him strangely.
“Nothing’s wrong. Why?” Harry leant forward and rested his head on his arms. A delicious friction curdled its way into his stomach from his groin as he put pressure on his erection.
“You’ve just gone red, that’s all.” Said Ginny and Harry saw her narrow her eyes slightly. He had to get out of there. He pretended to yawn and stretched his arms up towards the ceiling of the Weasley’s cluttered kitchen. As he did so, he concentrated on flattening the front of his robes, so when he did finally stand up, still yawning, there was no trace of a tent in the material.
“I’m absolutely buggered,” he said lazily and bent down and pecked Ginny on the cheek. He gave Mrs Weasley a wave and headed up the stairs. As he climbed each step he heard Ginny going over again how she had spoken to the Minister for Magic for a full seven minutes.
~
As his robes dropped to the floor in front of the full length mirror in his room, Harry noticed that his hard on hadn’t deflated at all. He gave a small smile and back slowly onto his bed. As he sank on top of the covers, in nothing but his boxers, he waved his hand at the door and heard the satisfactory click of the lock.
His hands ghosted over his stomach and then slid over the silken material to cup himself there. Would he gag? He thought and his palm pressed a little harder into the fabric. What if he did? Was that a bad thing? Ginny sometimes gagged. But that was mostly only when Harry started moving against her mouth with his hips. His hand slipped through the underwear and began to pull them down. What about his teeth? What would he do with his teeth? He hated it when Ginny’s teeth scraped hard against his penis, especially over the head. But she sometimes just grazed them lightly along the length and that gave him shivers.
Would Malfoy like that?
Look at that. The great hero of the wizarding world on his knees in front of me. Go on, Potter. You can try it if you like, taste it. I know you want to. I can see how you’re watching me. Yes. I’m hard for you. Or rather, your mouth.
Harry’s hand gave a long hard sweep up his penis and he felt liquid spill lightly onto his hand. He spread the pre-come with his thumb over the head and felt his stomach muscles tighten.
Touching yourself? Good God, Potter. Stop looking at me, and do something. That’s it. Feels different to yours? Of course it does. It is different. Hmmmmm, grip it a little harder. Jesus! Not that hard. And put your tongue just on the slit there. I don’t want this to be over too quickly.
What would he do then? Would he only tease a little bit? And then try and take more into his mouth? What would he do with his hand? Ginny sometimes just kept it moving at the base where her mouth wouldn’t reach. And then her hand and mouth would meet somewhere in the middle. Could Harry do that too?
Hmmm, suck a little. I want to feel you. You can start moving your head now. Down and up. Hands as well? Who am I to complain? Merlin, yes. You have no idea how hot you look, Potter. On your knees, my prick in your mouth. Take off your stupid glasses, No! Don’t move your hands, better leave them on.
Harry’s hand was moving much quicker now. He felt his hips beginning to buck into his palms. How hard would he suck? What if it was too hard? And it hurt? What would Malfoy do? Probably laugh. Harry gritted his teeth as a vision of Malfoy smirking swam into his vision. His penis leapt as Harry gave a severe tug.
Oh yes, yes. Fuck. Gods, I want to feel you.
Malfoy’s slim hips suddenly loomed in front of his eyes. They were moving roughly, forcing into his mouth. Harry’s hand was almost a blur now. He gave a small whimper as he felt the beginnings of climax pool in his stomach.
Dear Gods, Potter. Suck it. Don’t like dirty talk? Fine, whatever. Feels so good. You having my cock in your mouth. Merlin, yes. I’m so close. So…close. Yessss!
Harry’s orgasm ripped through his body, sending streams of liquid over his hand.
Down his throat.
Yes, oh God, Potter!
Malfoy’s dick emptied itself into his mouth.
Harry sat up, shaking. He looked down at his penis which was rapidly shrinking and at his hand which was covered in hot, cream liquid. It was seeping back onto his stomach, through the gaps between his fingers.
That had been so intense.
A warm glow spread through him as he pictured Draco Malfoy’s face, sweaty and flushed, grinning at him. Since when had he seen Malfoy grin? Probably looking at Pansy or something. To his mild surprise, Harry didn’t feel the familiar surge of resentment flow through him. Because in his mind, Malfoy was with him.
He lay back down on the bed, his sticky hand thrown above his head. In his mind, Malfoy was stretching next to him. Saying something. Harry’s brain didn’t know what he was saying. But as his mind began to drift slowly off into sleep, he heard a smirking, condescending voice say in his ear;
That was fucking brilliant, Potter.
PART XXVI
Potter’s face was swimming in front of his eyes. It was very dark, and Draco had to strain his eyes to see properly. He could see the dark skin, and glasses frames. The head was very dark as well, and some of the hair was falling in front of his face. Since when was Potter’s hair that long? The lips were saying something. There were chapped and speaking. His hair lengthened and swung into his face.
Draco sneezed.
“Finally!”
He blinked and Harry Potter’s face turned into Pansy Parkinson’s. Draco’s stomach sank and he blinked again. Pansy’s long hair was draped over his face.
“Kindly fuck off, Parkinson,” he said testily and rolled over in his bed. And felt the most revolting thing against his thighs. Wetness. He shut his eyes tightly again. Dear Salazar. Please, oh please make him not have had another wet dream. While Pansy was in the bed. Please.
Draco’s hand snaked down towards his boxers and felt the damp material.
Fuck you too, Salazar.
“Presents!” said Pansy, and Draco groaned. It was Christmas day. He felt Pansy begin to crawl up his legs.
“No!” he sat bolt upright. She fell back in surprise. He felt the slight squelch as he leant forward. “Go away; I don’t want any presents.” He glared at her and felt a blush beginning to rise up his neck. Desperately, he gave a tug on the covers and brought them up to his neck. Closing his eyes tightly again, he began to concentrate.
“What is wrong with you?” he heard Pansy say sharply, and he shook his head at her, eyes still clamped.
“I’m concentrating,”
“On what?”
“Pansy,” he said coldly, and to his relief he felt the innards of his boxers begin to dry out a little. “Just leave me alone.”
“Why?”
“Parkinson!” Draco suddenly shouted and his eyes sprang open. He saw her own eyes widen with shock as he pulled the covers roughly out from underneath her. “Get the fuck out of my room!” He held up his hand, so his palm was facing her. And the room went deathly cold. The light seemed to rush out and the rippling curtains around his bed stilled.
“Dra-“
“Out.”
And as the door slammed, Draco’s palm fell onto the covers beside him. What in Salazar’s name was wrong with him? His energy took a dive, and Draco began to feel very, very tired. Using dark magic did that to a person. But his head was racing. Why on Earth had he gotten so angry? Just over a wet dream? Christ. He’d been having wet dreams about Potter for the last year.
A vision swept into his memory. Potter was bending over him, exactly as he had been before waking up. Except now it was clear. Draco could see exactly the shade of his skin, the one dimple in his left cheek, the vivid scar on his forehead. And now he could make out what the lips were saying.
I love you, Malfoy. I fucking love you.
Draco went cold.
PART XXVII
Harry was walking through the forest at the back of Ron’s house.
Wrapped up in his winter cloak he barley felt the cold. He was watching the flakes as they made their lazy way towards him. Actually, he wasn’t watching them. He was thinking. And unsurprisingly, he was thinking about Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy was a cold bastard. He was put in Slytherin because he could watch people suffer and hurt and not change his expression. Harry had seen him do it. He had seen Malfoy watch, as if detached, while Crabbe and Goyle went to work on some other student. Harry had watched while Malfoy had laughed and jeered at Hermione. His pale features filled with contempt. His eyes would then turn on Harry. Eyes that looked as if they were chipped from ice.
Harry kicked idly at the clumps of snow in front of him. Malfoy was clever. In classes he was quite possibly near the top. But what was most frightening about him was the extent of dark magic he knew. And Harry knew he knew.
He had once stumbled on the Slytherin alone in the Forbidden Forest, casting spell after spell on anything around him. Naturally Harry had stupidly intervened and ended up under Madam Pomfrey’s care for several days. He could still remember the blank look on Malfoy’s face as the boy had indolently raised his left hand to Harry and watched idly as Harry felt his insides wrenched downwards and his body slammed back into a massive tree.
But why was Malfoy so…appealing…to Harry? Why did Harry want to be around him all the time? Why did Harry’s eyes always drift towards the Slytherin table when he entered the Hall? And why did Harry want Malfoy to touch him?
Kicking at the base of a tree, Harry cried out as a huge drift of snow landed on his head, saturating him. Cursing he tried to shake it off, but it was only moments before the damp had seeped through.
Pansy. Harry never really had had anything to do with Pansy. She was always there. On Malfoy’s arm. Tall and thin with a face that was hard and defined. She never looked at Harry or acknowledged him. She was just there with Malfoy. All the time.
But the thing was, Harry realised as he cast a drying charm over his clothes, Harry didn’t want to be Pansy. He didn’t want to be in Pansy’s position at all. He didn’t think he could stomach being the girlfriend of aristocracy’s highest bad boy. He didn’t even want to think of being the boyfriend of aristocracy’s highest bad boy. He just wanted Malfoy to look at him and say to him something like; Well, well, well Potter. We’ll just have to get you out of those jeans now won’t we?
He didn’t want Malfoy to change. He had heard about partners who spend their entire lives trying to iron out various creases in their lover’s lives. Malfoy was cruel, and hurtful, and spiteful, and manipulating, and condescending, and cold, and contemptuous, and was such a goddamn bastard.
But that’s the way Harry liked him.
That’s why Harry Potter couldn’t stop thinking about him.
~~~~
Author's Notes: In case you didn't get my last post I wrote some Harry/Charlie to compliment Jealousy...actually, I only wrote it so poor Harry could get off with another bloke. Yeah, I know, it's not part of Jealousy...but hey! Check it out
HERE!
Go lounge around and look at pretty things in the next part...
Author: laughs_muses (fic journal)
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17, R, PG-13
Disclaimer: No, none of these characters are mine. If they were mine I wouldn’t be working absurd hours in a coffee shop, now would I? Nup, I’d be cruising around in my Merc with little HP flags on the bonnet and…*dreams*
Summary: Harry wonders what it would be like to give a blow-job...Draco does some dark magic...Harry wonders why he actually likes Malfoy...
Set: The Burrow
Beta: None, aggggaaaiiinnn.
Authors Notes: Sorry about the wait sexies! I slipped some more secks into this section because...do I need a reason?
Jealousy: PART I
Jealousy: PART II
Jealousy: PART III
Jealousy: PART IV
Jealousy: PART V, PART VI
Jealousy: PART VII, PART VIII, PART IX
Jealousy: PART X, PART XI, PART XII
Jealousy: PART XIII, PART XIV, PART XV
Jealousy: PART XVI, PART XVII, PART XVIII
Jealousy: PART XIX, PART XX, PART XXI
Jealousy: PART XXII, PART XXIII, PART XXIV
PART XXV
“-and everybody wanted to talk to Harry, so we’re surrounded by people all night!” Ginny flapped her hands at her mother who was beaming and nodding. Harry meanwhile was wondering what it would be like to give a blowjob.
Would it be difficult? he mused and traced the rim of his coffee cup with his forefinger and let Ginny’s excited banter wash over him. Would it taste revolting? He tried to picture himself on his knees in front of someone. What would he be thinking? Would he be thinking logically about how to perform it? Or would he just do what seemed natural? Or would that person above him be telling him what to do?
Gods yes, Potter. Harder. Harder! Hmmmm, move your tongue up a bit…further…further…there! Yesssss. Gods, I’m not going to l-l-last-
“What’s wrong, Harry?”
Harry’s eyes snapped to Ginny’s face. She and Mrs Weasley were staring at him strangely.
“Nothing’s wrong. Why?” Harry leant forward and rested his head on his arms. A delicious friction curdled its way into his stomach from his groin as he put pressure on his erection.
“You’ve just gone red, that’s all.” Said Ginny and Harry saw her narrow her eyes slightly. He had to get out of there. He pretended to yawn and stretched his arms up towards the ceiling of the Weasley’s cluttered kitchen. As he did so, he concentrated on flattening the front of his robes, so when he did finally stand up, still yawning, there was no trace of a tent in the material.
“I’m absolutely buggered,” he said lazily and bent down and pecked Ginny on the cheek. He gave Mrs Weasley a wave and headed up the stairs. As he climbed each step he heard Ginny going over again how she had spoken to the Minister for Magic for a full seven minutes.
~
As his robes dropped to the floor in front of the full length mirror in his room, Harry noticed that his hard on hadn’t deflated at all. He gave a small smile and back slowly onto his bed. As he sank on top of the covers, in nothing but his boxers, he waved his hand at the door and heard the satisfactory click of the lock.
His hands ghosted over his stomach and then slid over the silken material to cup himself there. Would he gag? He thought and his palm pressed a little harder into the fabric. What if he did? Was that a bad thing? Ginny sometimes gagged. But that was mostly only when Harry started moving against her mouth with his hips. His hand slipped through the underwear and began to pull them down. What about his teeth? What would he do with his teeth? He hated it when Ginny’s teeth scraped hard against his penis, especially over the head. But she sometimes just grazed them lightly along the length and that gave him shivers.
Would Malfoy like that?
Look at that. The great hero of the wizarding world on his knees in front of me. Go on, Potter. You can try it if you like, taste it. I know you want to. I can see how you’re watching me. Yes. I’m hard for you. Or rather, your mouth.
Harry’s hand gave a long hard sweep up his penis and he felt liquid spill lightly onto his hand. He spread the pre-come with his thumb over the head and felt his stomach muscles tighten.
Touching yourself? Good God, Potter. Stop looking at me, and do something. That’s it. Feels different to yours? Of course it does. It is different. Hmmmmm, grip it a little harder. Jesus! Not that hard. And put your tongue just on the slit there. I don’t want this to be over too quickly.
What would he do then? Would he only tease a little bit? And then try and take more into his mouth? What would he do with his hand? Ginny sometimes just kept it moving at the base where her mouth wouldn’t reach. And then her hand and mouth would meet somewhere in the middle. Could Harry do that too?
Hmmm, suck a little. I want to feel you. You can start moving your head now. Down and up. Hands as well? Who am I to complain? Merlin, yes. You have no idea how hot you look, Potter. On your knees, my prick in your mouth. Take off your stupid glasses, No! Don’t move your hands, better leave them on.
Harry’s hand was moving much quicker now. He felt his hips beginning to buck into his palms. How hard would he suck? What if it was too hard? And it hurt? What would Malfoy do? Probably laugh. Harry gritted his teeth as a vision of Malfoy smirking swam into his vision. His penis leapt as Harry gave a severe tug.
Oh yes, yes. Fuck. Gods, I want to feel you.
Malfoy’s slim hips suddenly loomed in front of his eyes. They were moving roughly, forcing into his mouth. Harry’s hand was almost a blur now. He gave a small whimper as he felt the beginnings of climax pool in his stomach.
Dear Gods, Potter. Suck it. Don’t like dirty talk? Fine, whatever. Feels so good. You having my cock in your mouth. Merlin, yes. I’m so close. So…close. Yessss!
Harry’s orgasm ripped through his body, sending streams of liquid over his hand.
Down his throat.
Yes, oh God, Potter!
Malfoy’s dick emptied itself into his mouth.
Harry sat up, shaking. He looked down at his penis which was rapidly shrinking and at his hand which was covered in hot, cream liquid. It was seeping back onto his stomach, through the gaps between his fingers.
That had been so intense.
A warm glow spread through him as he pictured Draco Malfoy’s face, sweaty and flushed, grinning at him. Since when had he seen Malfoy grin? Probably looking at Pansy or something. To his mild surprise, Harry didn’t feel the familiar surge of resentment flow through him. Because in his mind, Malfoy was with him.
He lay back down on the bed, his sticky hand thrown above his head. In his mind, Malfoy was stretching next to him. Saying something. Harry’s brain didn’t know what he was saying. But as his mind began to drift slowly off into sleep, he heard a smirking, condescending voice say in his ear;
That was fucking brilliant, Potter.
PART XXVI
Potter’s face was swimming in front of his eyes. It was very dark, and Draco had to strain his eyes to see properly. He could see the dark skin, and glasses frames. The head was very dark as well, and some of the hair was falling in front of his face. Since when was Potter’s hair that long? The lips were saying something. There were chapped and speaking. His hair lengthened and swung into his face.
Draco sneezed.
“Finally!”
He blinked and Harry Potter’s face turned into Pansy Parkinson’s. Draco’s stomach sank and he blinked again. Pansy’s long hair was draped over his face.
“Kindly fuck off, Parkinson,” he said testily and rolled over in his bed. And felt the most revolting thing against his thighs. Wetness. He shut his eyes tightly again. Dear Salazar. Please, oh please make him not have had another wet dream. While Pansy was in the bed. Please.
Draco’s hand snaked down towards his boxers and felt the damp material.
Fuck you too, Salazar.
“Presents!” said Pansy, and Draco groaned. It was Christmas day. He felt Pansy begin to crawl up his legs.
“No!” he sat bolt upright. She fell back in surprise. He felt the slight squelch as he leant forward. “Go away; I don’t want any presents.” He glared at her and felt a blush beginning to rise up his neck. Desperately, he gave a tug on the covers and brought them up to his neck. Closing his eyes tightly again, he began to concentrate.
“What is wrong with you?” he heard Pansy say sharply, and he shook his head at her, eyes still clamped.
“I’m concentrating,”
“On what?”
“Pansy,” he said coldly, and to his relief he felt the innards of his boxers begin to dry out a little. “Just leave me alone.”
“Why?”
“Parkinson!” Draco suddenly shouted and his eyes sprang open. He saw her own eyes widen with shock as he pulled the covers roughly out from underneath her. “Get the fuck out of my room!” He held up his hand, so his palm was facing her. And the room went deathly cold. The light seemed to rush out and the rippling curtains around his bed stilled.
“Dra-“
“Out.”
And as the door slammed, Draco’s palm fell onto the covers beside him. What in Salazar’s name was wrong with him? His energy took a dive, and Draco began to feel very, very tired. Using dark magic did that to a person. But his head was racing. Why on Earth had he gotten so angry? Just over a wet dream? Christ. He’d been having wet dreams about Potter for the last year.
A vision swept into his memory. Potter was bending over him, exactly as he had been before waking up. Except now it was clear. Draco could see exactly the shade of his skin, the one dimple in his left cheek, the vivid scar on his forehead. And now he could make out what the lips were saying.
I love you, Malfoy. I fucking love you.
Draco went cold.
PART XXVII
Harry was walking through the forest at the back of Ron’s house.
Wrapped up in his winter cloak he barley felt the cold. He was watching the flakes as they made their lazy way towards him. Actually, he wasn’t watching them. He was thinking. And unsurprisingly, he was thinking about Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy was a cold bastard. He was put in Slytherin because he could watch people suffer and hurt and not change his expression. Harry had seen him do it. He had seen Malfoy watch, as if detached, while Crabbe and Goyle went to work on some other student. Harry had watched while Malfoy had laughed and jeered at Hermione. His pale features filled with contempt. His eyes would then turn on Harry. Eyes that looked as if they were chipped from ice.
Harry kicked idly at the clumps of snow in front of him. Malfoy was clever. In classes he was quite possibly near the top. But what was most frightening about him was the extent of dark magic he knew. And Harry knew he knew.
He had once stumbled on the Slytherin alone in the Forbidden Forest, casting spell after spell on anything around him. Naturally Harry had stupidly intervened and ended up under Madam Pomfrey’s care for several days. He could still remember the blank look on Malfoy’s face as the boy had indolently raised his left hand to Harry and watched idly as Harry felt his insides wrenched downwards and his body slammed back into a massive tree.
But why was Malfoy so…appealing…to Harry? Why did Harry want to be around him all the time? Why did Harry’s eyes always drift towards the Slytherin table when he entered the Hall? And why did Harry want Malfoy to touch him?
Kicking at the base of a tree, Harry cried out as a huge drift of snow landed on his head, saturating him. Cursing he tried to shake it off, but it was only moments before the damp had seeped through.
Pansy. Harry never really had had anything to do with Pansy. She was always there. On Malfoy’s arm. Tall and thin with a face that was hard and defined. She never looked at Harry or acknowledged him. She was just there with Malfoy. All the time.
But the thing was, Harry realised as he cast a drying charm over his clothes, Harry didn’t want to be Pansy. He didn’t want to be in Pansy’s position at all. He didn’t think he could stomach being the girlfriend of aristocracy’s highest bad boy. He didn’t even want to think of being the boyfriend of aristocracy’s highest bad boy. He just wanted Malfoy to look at him and say to him something like; Well, well, well Potter. We’ll just have to get you out of those jeans now won’t we?
He didn’t want Malfoy to change. He had heard about partners who spend their entire lives trying to iron out various creases in their lover’s lives. Malfoy was cruel, and hurtful, and spiteful, and manipulating, and condescending, and cold, and contemptuous, and was such a goddamn bastard.
But that’s the way Harry liked him.
That’s why Harry Potter couldn’t stop thinking about him.
~~~~
Author's Notes: In case you didn't get my last post I wrote some Harry/Charlie to compliment Jealousy...actually, I only wrote it so poor Harry could get off with another bloke. Yeah, I know, it's not part of Jealousy...but hey! Check it out
HERE!
Go lounge around and look at pretty things in the next part...