HAPPY BIRTHDAY SIMMYSIM!!!!! Harry/Draco NC17. Tearing Paper Hearts
I can't make my messages do fun things. However, I can post this.
TITLE: Tearing Paper Hearts
AUTHOR NAME: Slytherin Brand Baby Oil
AUTHOR E-MAIL: SlytherinBrandBabyOil@hotmail.com
PAIRING: Harry/Draco
RATING: NC17. Ha.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created
and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to
Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner
Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark
infringement is intended.
ARCHIVING: Bottom! Draco Emporium? Is it beta’d enough? Wait a few days, I’ll get it cleaned up.
WARNINGS: You might like the sex too much, and then you’ll wish you were Harry.
I didn't make up the wrapping paper idea. It's actual wrapping paper. Available somewhere. T-shirt hell? Simmy showed it to me. So I did this for her. Because I missed her birthday and she thinks I did it on purpose.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: It’s Simmy’s fault. In more ways than one. The title is…Just get some paper, rip it, then try to rip it until it’s a heart. Do this with three different colors. Glue one on top of the other, decreasing in size. Give to Lover on Valentine’s day. Then demand really good sex in exchange for the actual gift.
DEDICATION: To Simmy on her Very Merry Un-Birthday. Thank you Lewis Carroll.
Draco had intended for it to be a joke. His Hogwart's Twenty Year Reunion had been ruined by coinciding with Harry Potter’s 38th birthday. Only Dumbledore could mandate that all party-goers participate in the celebration. He’d never said that one must bring a nice gift, or socially correct wrapping.
Draco had made no attempt at either. But-he adamantly argued-there had been no flirting or actual proposition in the paper. It had just been a joke.
Harry had read the small print, that graced every other swirl, aloud, “Tearing this paper signifies your consent to perform oral sex on the giver.” That was followed by, “I hadn’t realized you were thinking that option over Malfoy.”
That, of course, was followed by Harry painstakingly opening the present so that not a tear could be found. He opened the present; a generic, environmentally friendly broomstick polish. Draco belatedly realized that it was the same notorious polish that Zabini had brought every year, though he didn’t own a broom, and threw away empty within three months. The rest of the room also noticed, but were distracted by Harry standing, walking unhurriedly towards Draco, before stepping in front of him. Harry to the right, Draco to the left, and it was like twenty years had dropped away.
Until Harry had politely said thank you, brought the neat sheet of paper level with Draco’s face, and ripped it noiselessly in half.
Draco presumed the rest of the Hall was as shocked as he was.
“Shall we go then?” Harry had asked enthusiastically. Not nervously, or desperatly, but brightly and cheerfully. He was all wide eyes and innocent smile and he had just told the Great Hall he was going to put his mouth on Draco’s cock.
Draco didn’t see any problem with that. The blurr of shock might have had something to do with that, coupled with his inability to breathe while his mouth hung open. He’d walked quietly behind, following Harry tamely.
The shock of being thrown onto the bed after such a nice walk left him motionless. That and Harry had pulled his ‘It’s My Birthday!’ shirt off. That was nice too. So were the warm hands crawling up his thighs. He’d arched off the bed so quickly he feared for the sake of his muscles. The hands had flipped open his fly in one heart stopping moment, before settling on his hips, easing him down, gently trying to calm the quaking nervousness.
“You don’t have to-”
“Shut up, Malfoy. I want too.”
Draco had tried to stay quiet after that, but it was hard when Harry Potter gave you the first blow job of your life. Or, the first sexual experience- with anyone.
Draco would have experimented before this, but he was uncomfortable around whores, and no one else would ever talk to him. If he had known it would be this good, he might have made more of an effort with the whores.
As it stood, he would have liked to slow down this particular experience, to fully enjoy it. Harry, apparently, had other plans, as he was currently sucking hard and with great fervor. Draco had one moment to wonder why the polish was open, before everything but Harry’s mouth and tongue and teeth! and sucking and pleasure and goodness and warmth engulfed his senses. He managed to keep his moaning to a dull, muted outcry, but his body wouldn’t be stilled- his every muscles trembled, hips frantically moving up into Harry, before treacherously squirming away. The more his mind begged his body to remain close to that pleasure, the more insistently he rocked forwards…he always wriggled back. It all reached one feverous pitch, and his whole body went completely limp under Harry; eyes glazing over, emotion and sensation stilling deep within his body, before he released with tiny little shudders-nerves, limbs, and breaths.
That pleasurable experience was followed by nothing but the repeated whip-like cracking of his heart and an overwhelming smell of sex. The same smell of sex he received with his own hand, but he knew that Harry had been part of it, so that was enough.
Harry did not agree that giving oral sex was enough, but thought it impolite to interrupt Draco’s post coital bliss just yet. Though, Draco’s arse was still clamped down on his fingers, and he was naked and…polished.
“Draco? Can I continue now?”
That had been met with an incomprehensibly strangled whine, which was followed with a startled exclamation as Harry’s fingers had spasmed. Somewhere along the lines, Draco had lost track of his own finger fucking.
Harry thought that in the long run, that would probably be for the best. Now, though, he wanted his birthday present. Draco was slowly returning to whatever realm of reality he normally inhabited, and looked partially intrigued by the verity of Harry Potter’s fingers having somehow already prepared him for the main event. Also, he looked absolutely terrified by the prospect that Harry Potter’s fingers had somehow already prepared him for the main event.
Draco tried to blink, gave up, and decided looking wide eyed was not the same as looking completely and utterly shocked, delighted, and completely inexperienced. Harry returned the look with an encouraging smile. He then looked at the clock, smiled again, and reassured Draco that, “Next time you’ll be able to last longer.” Draco would have had an inner debate over whether or not to classify that as a nicety or an insult, but Harry moved his hand impatiently, and that was. Very. Distracting.
Harry considered the way he had been introduced to new things his entire life, and decided the same flung-to-the-deep-end-of-experience method couldn’t hurt Draco-he’d prepared him far too well. With no more assurances filling his mind, Harry removed his fingers, flung himself upon Draco with a whoop of undefined victory, and smoothly pushed himself into warm, sweet, Draco-shaped bliss.
Both had to admit that it was better than they ever would have imagined; if they were the type to choose random enemies out of the hat to imagine having sex with.
Draco had never contemplated whether you could orgasm twice in the same day, so the feeling of adrenaline rushing through his body once more was almost as surprising as the sensation of Harry, and cock, and fingers, and his first kiss.
It probably would have been better if the kiss hadn’t been prefaced with his partner swallowing Draco’s sperm.
But it was nice none-the-less. Coupled with everything else, and Draco was once again practicing his open-mouth breathing exercises. Harry relocated his mouth to Draco’s ear, and Draco found that didn’t help his breathing as much as he would have expected.
Harry moved smoothly, and Draco wondered who he’d practiced on in the past. Then he stopped wondering, because Harry was doing something spectacular that involved the inside of Draco’s body. It was wonderful and he couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to live 38 years without it.
There was something delicious about the feeling of his bare legs wrapping around an equally naked Harry’s body. The startling, unknown sensation was adding to the feeling that he was going to come ridiculously soon, again. He would have two orgasms before Harry had even gotten his first and…
That didn’t seem terrible. That was seeming like a better and better idea. Until Harry lifted one hand from it’s nipple work, to squeeze Draco’s base.
“Wait for me, Draco,” Harry teased gently. If it wasn’t being prevented, Draco was sure he would have come from the feeling of gentle breath at his ear, and the sound of his name from the same mouth that had pleasured him before.
Harry took the opportunity to gently tease Draco for just a bit longer. He pressed wet, open mouthed kisses all along the front of Draco’s chest, paying no more attention to the sensitive nipples than he did to the little dip where Draco’s shoulder, ribs, and a freckle sloped together. It might have been ego, but Harry was proud of the fact that Draco Malfoy was underneath his body, yielding the whole of it to Harry’s own expertise.
In the end, it was the docile, unquestioned trust Draco had put in him, that led Harry to stop his teasing, bear-down on the body below him, and release Draco’s cock to entertwine their fingers.
That had been a mistake, as Draco had come instantaneously, and with great volume, instead of taking the last few steps with Harry.
They’d have to work on that. But overall…Harry couldn’t quite grasp his mind around it. Draco had obviously, very obviously, never had any type of sex with anyone. In 38 years. And without more than a peep, he’d blithely handed that over to Harry. And it had been amazing. And Harry wanted to see Draco’s eyes cloud over with something he’d never felt before, again. And again. And again until Draco had felt everything that you possibly could from sex.
Then they could do it over, and make it like new because Draco would have the experience to adjust the scene. Harry spared a moment to wonder if he should consult Draco before organizing their lives. Harry lifted his head, staring down at the serene face below him. He couldn’t imagine Draco not wanting to explore this to the last drop.
Draco didn’t read romance novels, but if he did, he would have been questioning the role sweat played in the description of ‘After Glow.’ Instead, he was thinking about what Harry would say about doing this again. He thought perhaps he should clarify his own position.
“It was supposed to be a joke, you know?”
“What?”
“The paper.”
“Oh. Why did you give me prep than?”
Draco’s only thought was that he’d been working on a subliminal level. Or he was psychic.
“Harry, would you like to do this again?”
“Right now? No. But I think I could be ready by morning.”
Draco woke the next morning to Harry sneaking back into the room. He was sleepy, but even he recognized that this was better than to witness Harry sneaking out of the room.
“Hmm. Where were you?”
“Oh.” Harry’s rather mischievous look suddenly disappeared. “I went up to Madame Pomfrey’s room, and got you some liniment oil, and lotion. I thought I’d give you a leg massage, and then I’d lotion your backside. And then I was going to let you lick me. I think we could both manage to get off on that, without making you anymore sore, especially with me talking dirty the whole time.”
Draco’s eyes crossed, and he didn’t think about Harry’s absence until Harry left once again, this time to retrieve breakfast for bed. Harry had arranged for Draco’s trunk to be brought to the room, and Draco didn’t really see any reason to get up.
Then Draco saw the pants he’d worn into the room.
The ones with a good-sized, green, silk bow now magically attached to the center of the backside, with a ‘Happy Birthday, Harry’ card pinned to one fold.
The same bow that was attached to every pair of pants he owned.
Draco spent the last two days of the reunion suffering through every witticism Goyle pretended to possess. They were all variants on, “Your arse. It was the present. That’s why the bow’s there.” It only altered when Goyle couldn’t speak for food in his mouth, or too much laughter.
Harry had looked at him during these interminable sessions-with innocent, large eyes that promised more kisses and lying in bed and the feather duster.
Once he had leaned in, whispering reassuringly, and far too sexually, “It was only a joke.”
Draco forgave him. He didn’t mind getting unwrapped every night.
TITLE: Tearing Paper Hearts
AUTHOR NAME: Slytherin Brand Baby Oil
AUTHOR E-MAIL: SlytherinBrandBabyOil@hotmail.com
PAIRING: Harry/Draco
RATING: NC17. Ha.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created
and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to
Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner
Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark
infringement is intended.
ARCHIVING: Bottom! Draco Emporium? Is it beta’d enough? Wait a few days, I’ll get it cleaned up.
WARNINGS: You might like the sex too much, and then you’ll wish you were Harry.
I didn't make up the wrapping paper idea. It's actual wrapping paper. Available somewhere. T-shirt hell? Simmy showed it to me. So I did this for her. Because I missed her birthday and she thinks I did it on purpose.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: It’s Simmy’s fault. In more ways than one. The title is…Just get some paper, rip it, then try to rip it until it’s a heart. Do this with three different colors. Glue one on top of the other, decreasing in size. Give to Lover on Valentine’s day. Then demand really good sex in exchange for the actual gift.
DEDICATION: To Simmy on her Very Merry Un-Birthday. Thank you Lewis Carroll.
Draco had intended for it to be a joke. His Hogwart's Twenty Year Reunion had been ruined by coinciding with Harry Potter’s 38th birthday. Only Dumbledore could mandate that all party-goers participate in the celebration. He’d never said that one must bring a nice gift, or socially correct wrapping.
Draco had made no attempt at either. But-he adamantly argued-there had been no flirting or actual proposition in the paper. It had just been a joke.
Harry had read the small print, that graced every other swirl, aloud, “Tearing this paper signifies your consent to perform oral sex on the giver.” That was followed by, “I hadn’t realized you were thinking that option over Malfoy.”
That, of course, was followed by Harry painstakingly opening the present so that not a tear could be found. He opened the present; a generic, environmentally friendly broomstick polish. Draco belatedly realized that it was the same notorious polish that Zabini had brought every year, though he didn’t own a broom, and threw away empty within three months. The rest of the room also noticed, but were distracted by Harry standing, walking unhurriedly towards Draco, before stepping in front of him. Harry to the right, Draco to the left, and it was like twenty years had dropped away.
Until Harry had politely said thank you, brought the neat sheet of paper level with Draco’s face, and ripped it noiselessly in half.
Draco presumed the rest of the Hall was as shocked as he was.
“Shall we go then?” Harry had asked enthusiastically. Not nervously, or desperatly, but brightly and cheerfully. He was all wide eyes and innocent smile and he had just told the Great Hall he was going to put his mouth on Draco’s cock.
Draco didn’t see any problem with that. The blurr of shock might have had something to do with that, coupled with his inability to breathe while his mouth hung open. He’d walked quietly behind, following Harry tamely.
The shock of being thrown onto the bed after such a nice walk left him motionless. That and Harry had pulled his ‘It’s My Birthday!’ shirt off. That was nice too. So were the warm hands crawling up his thighs. He’d arched off the bed so quickly he feared for the sake of his muscles. The hands had flipped open his fly in one heart stopping moment, before settling on his hips, easing him down, gently trying to calm the quaking nervousness.
“You don’t have to-”
“Shut up, Malfoy. I want too.”
Draco had tried to stay quiet after that, but it was hard when Harry Potter gave you the first blow job of your life. Or, the first sexual experience- with anyone.
Draco would have experimented before this, but he was uncomfortable around whores, and no one else would ever talk to him. If he had known it would be this good, he might have made more of an effort with the whores.
As it stood, he would have liked to slow down this particular experience, to fully enjoy it. Harry, apparently, had other plans, as he was currently sucking hard and with great fervor. Draco had one moment to wonder why the polish was open, before everything but Harry’s mouth and tongue and teeth! and sucking and pleasure and goodness and warmth engulfed his senses. He managed to keep his moaning to a dull, muted outcry, but his body wouldn’t be stilled- his every muscles trembled, hips frantically moving up into Harry, before treacherously squirming away. The more his mind begged his body to remain close to that pleasure, the more insistently he rocked forwards…he always wriggled back. It all reached one feverous pitch, and his whole body went completely limp under Harry; eyes glazing over, emotion and sensation stilling deep within his body, before he released with tiny little shudders-nerves, limbs, and breaths.
That pleasurable experience was followed by nothing but the repeated whip-like cracking of his heart and an overwhelming smell of sex. The same smell of sex he received with his own hand, but he knew that Harry had been part of it, so that was enough.
Harry did not agree that giving oral sex was enough, but thought it impolite to interrupt Draco’s post coital bliss just yet. Though, Draco’s arse was still clamped down on his fingers, and he was naked and…polished.
“Draco? Can I continue now?”
That had been met with an incomprehensibly strangled whine, which was followed with a startled exclamation as Harry’s fingers had spasmed. Somewhere along the lines, Draco had lost track of his own finger fucking.
Harry thought that in the long run, that would probably be for the best. Now, though, he wanted his birthday present. Draco was slowly returning to whatever realm of reality he normally inhabited, and looked partially intrigued by the verity of Harry Potter’s fingers having somehow already prepared him for the main event. Also, he looked absolutely terrified by the prospect that Harry Potter’s fingers had somehow already prepared him for the main event.
Draco tried to blink, gave up, and decided looking wide eyed was not the same as looking completely and utterly shocked, delighted, and completely inexperienced. Harry returned the look with an encouraging smile. He then looked at the clock, smiled again, and reassured Draco that, “Next time you’ll be able to last longer.” Draco would have had an inner debate over whether or not to classify that as a nicety or an insult, but Harry moved his hand impatiently, and that was. Very. Distracting.
Harry considered the way he had been introduced to new things his entire life, and decided the same flung-to-the-deep-end-of-experience method couldn’t hurt Draco-he’d prepared him far too well. With no more assurances filling his mind, Harry removed his fingers, flung himself upon Draco with a whoop of undefined victory, and smoothly pushed himself into warm, sweet, Draco-shaped bliss.
Both had to admit that it was better than they ever would have imagined; if they were the type to choose random enemies out of the hat to imagine having sex with.
Draco had never contemplated whether you could orgasm twice in the same day, so the feeling of adrenaline rushing through his body once more was almost as surprising as the sensation of Harry, and cock, and fingers, and his first kiss.
It probably would have been better if the kiss hadn’t been prefaced with his partner swallowing Draco’s sperm.
But it was nice none-the-less. Coupled with everything else, and Draco was once again practicing his open-mouth breathing exercises. Harry relocated his mouth to Draco’s ear, and Draco found that didn’t help his breathing as much as he would have expected.
Harry moved smoothly, and Draco wondered who he’d practiced on in the past. Then he stopped wondering, because Harry was doing something spectacular that involved the inside of Draco’s body. It was wonderful and he couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to live 38 years without it.
There was something delicious about the feeling of his bare legs wrapping around an equally naked Harry’s body. The startling, unknown sensation was adding to the feeling that he was going to come ridiculously soon, again. He would have two orgasms before Harry had even gotten his first and…
That didn’t seem terrible. That was seeming like a better and better idea. Until Harry lifted one hand from it’s nipple work, to squeeze Draco’s base.
“Wait for me, Draco,” Harry teased gently. If it wasn’t being prevented, Draco was sure he would have come from the feeling of gentle breath at his ear, and the sound of his name from the same mouth that had pleasured him before.
Harry took the opportunity to gently tease Draco for just a bit longer. He pressed wet, open mouthed kisses all along the front of Draco’s chest, paying no more attention to the sensitive nipples than he did to the little dip where Draco’s shoulder, ribs, and a freckle sloped together. It might have been ego, but Harry was proud of the fact that Draco Malfoy was underneath his body, yielding the whole of it to Harry’s own expertise.
In the end, it was the docile, unquestioned trust Draco had put in him, that led Harry to stop his teasing, bear-down on the body below him, and release Draco’s cock to entertwine their fingers.
That had been a mistake, as Draco had come instantaneously, and with great volume, instead of taking the last few steps with Harry.
They’d have to work on that. But overall…Harry couldn’t quite grasp his mind around it. Draco had obviously, very obviously, never had any type of sex with anyone. In 38 years. And without more than a peep, he’d blithely handed that over to Harry. And it had been amazing. And Harry wanted to see Draco’s eyes cloud over with something he’d never felt before, again. And again. And again until Draco had felt everything that you possibly could from sex.
Then they could do it over, and make it like new because Draco would have the experience to adjust the scene. Harry spared a moment to wonder if he should consult Draco before organizing their lives. Harry lifted his head, staring down at the serene face below him. He couldn’t imagine Draco not wanting to explore this to the last drop.
Draco didn’t read romance novels, but if he did, he would have been questioning the role sweat played in the description of ‘After Glow.’ Instead, he was thinking about what Harry would say about doing this again. He thought perhaps he should clarify his own position.
“It was supposed to be a joke, you know?”
“What?”
“The paper.”
“Oh. Why did you give me prep than?”
Draco’s only thought was that he’d been working on a subliminal level. Or he was psychic.
“Harry, would you like to do this again?”
“Right now? No. But I think I could be ready by morning.”
Draco woke the next morning to Harry sneaking back into the room. He was sleepy, but even he recognized that this was better than to witness Harry sneaking out of the room.
“Hmm. Where were you?”
“Oh.” Harry’s rather mischievous look suddenly disappeared. “I went up to Madame Pomfrey’s room, and got you some liniment oil, and lotion. I thought I’d give you a leg massage, and then I’d lotion your backside. And then I was going to let you lick me. I think we could both manage to get off on that, without making you anymore sore, especially with me talking dirty the whole time.”
Draco’s eyes crossed, and he didn’t think about Harry’s absence until Harry left once again, this time to retrieve breakfast for bed. Harry had arranged for Draco’s trunk to be brought to the room, and Draco didn’t really see any reason to get up.
Then Draco saw the pants he’d worn into the room.
The ones with a good-sized, green, silk bow now magically attached to the center of the backside, with a ‘Happy Birthday, Harry’ card pinned to one fold.
The same bow that was attached to every pair of pants he owned.
Draco spent the last two days of the reunion suffering through every witticism Goyle pretended to possess. They were all variants on, “Your arse. It was the present. That’s why the bow’s there.” It only altered when Goyle couldn’t speak for food in his mouth, or too much laughter.
Harry had looked at him during these interminable sessions-with innocent, large eyes that promised more kisses and lying in bed and the feather duster.
Once he had leaned in, whispering reassuringly, and far too sexually, “It was only a joke.”
Draco forgave him. He didn’t mind getting unwrapped every night.