Neville/Draco drabble for fic_promptly
A while ago, fic_promptly a lovely community on DW hosted a contest week - which basically entails write as much as you can! I didn't have time to write enough to be in the running, but I did do my best to fill a few 'lonely prompts'.
One of the prompts I filled was a Neville/Draco prompt: They didn't have a relationship as much as a mutual confusion with sparks of lust.
I'm reposting the result here on my journal. I really thought this was an interesting pairing to write!
Title: Therapy
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Neville/Draco
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 500
Therapy
Taunting Longbottom felt familiar to Draco; it reminded him of Hogwarts, allowed him to believe that nothing had changed. When everything had changed.
Neville had become less of an interesting target; stoically ignoring Draco most of the time. The flashes of hurt Draco sometimes saw behind the other man’s eyes when Draco hit close to home (Neville’s lack of a family, his never-ending engagement to Loony Lovegood…) barely tasted like victory.
And yet they continued to work together at the Potions department of the Ministry. Though Draco would never admit it, he wouldn’t want to work with any other herbologist. Neville was good at what he did. The tension between them was just part of the deal.
Until the thread finally snapped.
“Don’t give me that look. You don’t understand.” Draco yelled, when Neville cast him a knowing look, after Draco refused yet another invitation to a public Ministry gathering.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Neville had retorted, “You think you’re such a mystery but you are not. I know you bully me because you’re still nothing but a scared little boy, afraid to admit to himself that the world he grew up in has changed.”
Draco was speechless for a moment. It wasn’t like Neville to be so hostile or so eloquent…
“Did your therapist tell you to say that?” Draco sneered finally.
Neville rolled his eyes at Draco. A terrifying sight. “We both know that if anyone needs therapy, it’s you, Malfoy.”
The door to their office slammed shut, Draco waving his wand-arm almost as an afterthought. He cast Longbottom a thundering glare, one that said this is between you and me now.
Neville glared back at him. And then they were on each other. Fighting like schoolboys, wands forgotten. Not as quick on their feet as they were when they’d been eleven, they ended up in a pile on the floor, Draco lying on top, hands clenched in Neville’s robes.
They both tensed the instant their groins brushed. Draco’s breathing hitched, his own hardness as much a surprise as Neville’s clear arousal.
For a moment their limbs stilled; a mere heartbeat in which they both could have fled but didn’t. Instead, they continued their inadvertent frottage. Now with a purposefulness that was once again reminiscent of their teenage years: a race to get off as quickly as possible.
They came almost simultaneously and embarrassingly fast.
Panting, Draco struggled into an upright position. Looking for his wand and casting the first cleaning spell that came to his mind.
He looked sideways to Neville. The man’s robes were in disarray, his fly was open and Draco caught a glimpse of his spent cock.
The sight of Neville simply lying on the floor breathing heavily and looking at Draco with an intense gaze send something stirring in Draco’s belly.
Fuck. I do need therapy, Draco thought, before he knelt down on the floor again, claiming Neville’s parted lips with his own.
Fin.