HD 500! Hooray!
Title: The Wacky Misadventures of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy
Author: Me! snoringolder
Rating: R
Word Count: About 2500.
Challenge:
Recipient: stolen_childe
Key words: apple, rooster, Oreo cookie
Dialogue: "Move and I'll bite you."
Summary: Harry wants to go on vacation, and won't listen to any of Draco's civilized options. So they go to a farm.
Beta Acknowledgement: She isn't on livejournal, but she's wonderful!
"This was a bloody terrible idea, Potter," Draco said furiously, stepping over a rather spectacularly large cowpie, "And I want you to be fully aware that I mean it when I say that I am bloody unhappy with you."
"Oh, come off it, you spoilt git. You know you'll enjoy yourself, you just don't want to admit you could ever be so ordinary." Harry was laughing at him, and Draco bristled. But Harry dropped a casual arm around his shoulder, and kissed his ear to let him know that he didn't mean it. "All this fresh air, Draco! Put down your guard for once."
"What, surrounded by all this--this manure and this crude manual labor? Draco sniffed haughtily, lifting his chin slightly, "I think not."
Harry looked more delighted then was decent. "Oh, give it time, Malfoy, and you'll be mucking with the best of them."
Draco gave him a fierce, appalled glare. "That, Potter, is positively pedestrian. Malfoy's are not pedestrian. We certainly don't work with our hands." He raised a hand as though for inspection. Harry traced a finger up the side of the pale palm, and curved around one of hiss fingers. Draco turned sharply, and gave him a long, calculating look, then smiled predatorily, and dropped his chin. He tilted his head to the side, lowered his lashes, and slid a deliberate hand up the flannel of Harry's shirt.
"We could do," he breathed against the sensitive part of Harry's neck, "other things with our hands, though." He let himself have a moment of satisfaction when he felt Harry shiver-- almost imperceptibly, but there it was, muscles tightening quickly and joltingly beneath him. "Now, pet," he said, breathily, leaning in so his mouth tickled along the shell of Harry's ear, "Surely we can work out some sort of arrangement that doesn't involve…"
"No, Draco," Harry said firmly, though his cheeks were suspiciously flushed, "You promised me a vacation-anywhere I wanted to go. And this," he gestured broadly out to the hills, the old, red barn in front of them, "Is where I want to be."
Draco gave him a derisive look. "A farm, Harry? Really?" Have I taught you nothing? He let that last remain unspoken.
"Well," Harry said defensively, "It is sufficiently far enough away from civilization."
"But a farm, Potter?" Draco's tone was scandalized. "We can reason this out like men, surely," he smiled at Harry, "We can have fun elsewhere." Harry's eyes fluttered shut. Draco lay a soft nip on the skin behind Harry's ear, "We could still be adventurous. Why, I know of several islands that not only are far from the ever-reaching arm of the press, they-"
"Draco, I want to be here," Harry said, definitively. "Not on your islands."
It was really quite astonishing, slightly disconcerting, even, how quckly the stubborn git could compose himself. Already he had lost the flush. Draco wondered vaguely if he should be offended. It was time to pull out the big guns. "Harry," he whispered in his best throaty-seductive voice, "Take me."
Harry just looked vaguely amused-- which was not, Draco thought in irritation, the effect that he desired. "You are not going to seduce me out of this," Harry said, and there was laughter in his voice, "Pet."
Draco bristled let out an aggrieved little whine that he would later protest was anything but. "Look, Potter, I know those Diggory buttons in fourth year really twisted your knobs, but don't you think a decade is a little bit too long to be holding a…" he trailed off. A bird was strutting up to them, golden feathers gleaming in the early sun, crown bobbing pompously, bright black eyes twitching moistly from side to side. His eyebrows furled. "What in the bloody hell is that?"
"That," Harry said, with no lack of glee, "Is a cock."
*
Draco Malfoy was not pleased; no he was not pleased at all. Despite a rather nice christening of the bunk that they shared, he had not been able to persuade Harry to stay in bed at the ungodly hour that the bloody menace of a rooster had crowed at (which, by the way, Harry could bloody well stop making fun of him for. It wasn't as though a Malfoy would have any need to identify a rooster, and anyway, none of the books he had read had ever mentioned them being quite so loud, nor the way their crown and chin jiggled, quite concerningly. Quite profane creatures, really).
Then he'd had very little time to freshen up, as bloody Harry had insisted that they go do bloody farm things (magic-bloody-free) without even a proper bloody breakfast. And of course bloody Harry looked bloody fit and bloody rugged and bloody manly forking piles of hay (sweat glistening promisingly down his neck and biceps, Draco was not so miserable to fail to notice) while Draco fell face-bloody-first into a pile of manure. There had to be some god up there having a laugh at Draco's expense. There was no other explanation.
And now Harry had dragged Draco the mile and a half walk (ignoring Draco's protests, that really, apparition was the civilized option) to pick bloody apples.
No, Draco Malfoy was not pleased.
And it did not make him any happier that the apple he was currently stalking was just out of his reach. It was no use-- no matter how Draco stretched, or twisted, or strained he could not reach the bloody thing. Even standing on his tip toes, it was just beyond the grasp of his fingers. Really, this was ridiculous, he thought as once again, the apple slipped just beyond the reach of his fingers. He could have it down in an instant if he could just perform a little bit of magic.
"Harry," he spun, intent on saying just that, "Can't we…?"
And that was when he noticed that Harry was looking at him rather intently.
"I… what?" Harry looked glazed, like he had just been Imperiused. He took a larger bite then was strictly necessary out of the apple that he was clutching, white-knuckledly. Draco licked his lips as a trail of juice dripped down Harry's jawline. He smiled.
"Nothing," he said, and budge the apple, there were more desirable fruits to chase. He turned and stretched, languidly, as far as he could, arching his back just so and pushing out his hips. He felt his shirt bunch and settle somewhere just below the small of his back. He turned. Harry was slack-jawed, the apple forgotten in his suddenly limp hand. Draco waggled his bum a little, and the disgracefully muggle jeans slipped. Draco looked over his shoulder, met Harry's eyes, and smirked. And Harry was on him in an instant, rucking the shirt up nearly to his shoulders, mouth hungry on the back of his neck.
"Well, pet, what have we here?" Draco laughed, turning and placing a firm hand on Harry's waist, and another splayed protectively against his chest. "Is someone getting a little bored of apple-picking?" He ground his hips into Harry's, slowly, luxuriating in the friction, and Harry dropped his face onto Draco's shoulder, moaning long and low.
Draco licked the shell of his ear, and almost instantly Harry had a hand pulling at Draco's neck, and another carding through his hair, and his mouth was pressed flush against Draco's. Harry tasted like apples and sweat and fresh water, and they fell into the dirt, pulling and yanking at each other's clothes, tongues twined; and as Harry rolled on top of him fast, and firm, and sure, Draco thought that maybe this whole farm thing wasn't such a bad idea after all.
*
It just wasn't fair, Harry thought mournfully, that Draco should look so bloody good while shoveling slop for the pigs. It was wrong that the tendons in his arms should stretch and shiver and shake. It was wrong that Draco should look so sinful in a pair of baggy overalls crusted with dirt. It was wrong that the sleeves of Draco's t-shirt should cling just so, wrong that Harry's eyes should be drawn to the little, pale patch of skin between the overalls and the shirt, that Draco's hips should--
Harry forced himself to stop looking and took a large gulp of water, thought better and dumped the rest of the cup over his head. He tried to focus on the bales of hay, sitting innocently (and non-erotically!) in front of him, but his eyes were drawn back, like magnets, when he heard the door to the pen swinging shut and the bang as Draco dropped the bucket without ceremony to the ground. Draco was yawning, arching his back, hair falling in wanton strands onto his face, cheeks and neck flushed and inviting.
Harry swallowed.
He kneaded his hands together. He tried to look away, he really did, but he couldn't draw away from that little white patch of skin.
Draco was looking at him, Harry realized-- he felt the gaze, hot and steady-- and he lifted his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, and he felt as though a fire and a flood passed between them, and Harry opened his mouth, closed it, licked his lips (Draco's eyes followed the track of Harry's tongue). He opened his mouth again. He met Draco's eyes full on, letting the lust show freely. "The muggle look suits you."
Draco made a noise somewhere deep in his throat that might have been a grunt and might have been a groan, and might have been some words that never made it all the way out, and then he was advancing on Harry, grabbing and clutching at his shoulders hard enough to bruise and licking all the way around the edges of Harry's lips. His hands traced, suddenly gentle, up and down Harry's shoulders and back, resting briefly on his bum, and he whispered against Harry's lips, which quivered now with need and something else, "I think maybe we should come back up here again sometime."
And that was it.
Harry keened, and bucked helplessly, and very nearly came in his pants. He pulled on Draco's back, and then thought the better of it, and pushed him down, and they were rolling in the dewy grass. All Harry could feel, all there was in the world, was Draco and lips and teeth and skin, warm and smooth above him. Harry's glasses had fallen off his face somehow, but he didn't care, couldn't bring himself to care; he was too busy nearly ripping Draco's overalls in his rush to get him out of them, and pushing up his shirt. And he relished in the suddenly revealed expanses of pale skin. He tightened his fingers against Draco's thighs as he realized that-- oh God-- Draco hadn't worn boxers today.
Draco pressed his hand against Harry's crotch, and then sighed and moved back. Harry whined, sat up, reaching, groping blindly, and Draco said "Quit it," in an irritated tone, and then softer, "Move and I'll bite you," and Harry was just wondering whether that was supposed to be a deterrent or a promise, when suddenly he was naked. Draco pressed back down against him, and Harry recognized distantly that Draco had used a bit of magic in his impatience, something they had managed to go nearly the entirety of the vacation without. But Harry couldn't bring himself to be angry, or even vaguely frustrated, not with Draco moving just like that against him.
He gasped as Draco pressed his cock-- rooster! Harry thought wildly and almost laughed but it was swallowed in a gasp-- against his own and they were moving then, frantically, desperately against one another. Draco murmured endearments and obscenities against Harry's neck, and his hands were tracing against Harry's ribs, pressing against his back and up to his neck. Harry was filled with the sudden urge, the need to consume, and he bit down, hard, and Draco cried out, gasping.
Heat pooled in Harry's belly, spreading down through his toes, and he was trembling and coming. "Draco," he said, and kissed and licked and nipped everything he could reach. Draco wasn't long after him, collapsing bonelessly on top of Harry, and they clung to each other, panting.
"Well," Draco said finally, breathlessly, dropping a kiss onto Harry's forehead, "I guess there is something to be said for the commoner's way of life after all."
And Harry laughed, and kissed him, drawing him in as close as he could, and the pigs snuffled and shuffled next to them, uncaring and ignorant.
*
The next day they apparated home. Draco was almost sorry to see the run-down shack go. Almost. And then Kreacher spelled a warm meal for them with lots of chocolate cake for dessert and he came to his senses.
Draco busied himself the minute he got home casting spells. Nothing particular-- anything that popped into his head, actually. It felt nice to be able to use magic freely again.
Harry, on the other hand, went to the store down the corner, and bought as many synthetic, sugary snacks as he could carry. It seemed that an entire weekend of wholesome eating had really taken its toll upon him. Draco gave a concernet glance to their dining room table, which seemed to have disappeared under piles of bright wrappers and trans fat, before he returned to charming their lampshade to change colours. It took more than a little willpower, however, to keep from wrinkling his nose as Harry shoveled treat after treat into his mouth.
"How do you stay so fit?" Draco finally asked, as Harry opened yet another Twinkie and shoveled it into his mouth. And there was nothing sexy about that, Draco told himself firmly. It was disgusting. Not evocative in the slightest.
"Lots and lots of excellent sex with an aerobic partner," Harry said with a lascivious wink, and licked the cream out of the center of an Oreo cookie. And, okay, maybe there was something sexy and not-so-disgusting about that.
This time when Draco kissed Harry, he tasted sugar and soda, and he laughed against Harry's lips. The world was spinning, the pig pen was far away, and Draco was holding Harry. It couldn't get much better than this.
Author: Me! snoringolder
Rating: R
Word Count: About 2500.
Challenge:
Recipient: stolen_childe
Key words: apple, rooster, Oreo cookie
Dialogue: "Move and I'll bite you."
Summary: Harry wants to go on vacation, and won't listen to any of Draco's civilized options. So they go to a farm.
Beta Acknowledgement: She isn't on livejournal, but she's wonderful!
"This was a bloody terrible idea, Potter," Draco said furiously, stepping over a rather spectacularly large cowpie, "And I want you to be fully aware that I mean it when I say that I am bloody unhappy with you."
"Oh, come off it, you spoilt git. You know you'll enjoy yourself, you just don't want to admit you could ever be so ordinary." Harry was laughing at him, and Draco bristled. But Harry dropped a casual arm around his shoulder, and kissed his ear to let him know that he didn't mean it. "All this fresh air, Draco! Put down your guard for once."
"What, surrounded by all this--this manure and this crude manual labor? Draco sniffed haughtily, lifting his chin slightly, "I think not."
Harry looked more delighted then was decent. "Oh, give it time, Malfoy, and you'll be mucking with the best of them."
Draco gave him a fierce, appalled glare. "That, Potter, is positively pedestrian. Malfoy's are not pedestrian. We certainly don't work with our hands." He raised a hand as though for inspection. Harry traced a finger up the side of the pale palm, and curved around one of hiss fingers. Draco turned sharply, and gave him a long, calculating look, then smiled predatorily, and dropped his chin. He tilted his head to the side, lowered his lashes, and slid a deliberate hand up the flannel of Harry's shirt.
"We could do," he breathed against the sensitive part of Harry's neck, "other things with our hands, though." He let himself have a moment of satisfaction when he felt Harry shiver-- almost imperceptibly, but there it was, muscles tightening quickly and joltingly beneath him. "Now, pet," he said, breathily, leaning in so his mouth tickled along the shell of Harry's ear, "Surely we can work out some sort of arrangement that doesn't involve…"
"No, Draco," Harry said firmly, though his cheeks were suspiciously flushed, "You promised me a vacation-anywhere I wanted to go. And this," he gestured broadly out to the hills, the old, red barn in front of them, "Is where I want to be."
Draco gave him a derisive look. "A farm, Harry? Really?" Have I taught you nothing? He let that last remain unspoken.
"Well," Harry said defensively, "It is sufficiently far enough away from civilization."
"But a farm, Potter?" Draco's tone was scandalized. "We can reason this out like men, surely," he smiled at Harry, "We can have fun elsewhere." Harry's eyes fluttered shut. Draco lay a soft nip on the skin behind Harry's ear, "We could still be adventurous. Why, I know of several islands that not only are far from the ever-reaching arm of the press, they-"
"Draco, I want to be here," Harry said, definitively. "Not on your islands."
It was really quite astonishing, slightly disconcerting, even, how quckly the stubborn git could compose himself. Already he had lost the flush. Draco wondered vaguely if he should be offended. It was time to pull out the big guns. "Harry," he whispered in his best throaty-seductive voice, "Take me."
Harry just looked vaguely amused-- which was not, Draco thought in irritation, the effect that he desired. "You are not going to seduce me out of this," Harry said, and there was laughter in his voice, "Pet."
Draco bristled let out an aggrieved little whine that he would later protest was anything but. "Look, Potter, I know those Diggory buttons in fourth year really twisted your knobs, but don't you think a decade is a little bit too long to be holding a…" he trailed off. A bird was strutting up to them, golden feathers gleaming in the early sun, crown bobbing pompously, bright black eyes twitching moistly from side to side. His eyebrows furled. "What in the bloody hell is that?"
"That," Harry said, with no lack of glee, "Is a cock."
*
Draco Malfoy was not pleased; no he was not pleased at all. Despite a rather nice christening of the bunk that they shared, he had not been able to persuade Harry to stay in bed at the ungodly hour that the bloody menace of a rooster had crowed at (which, by the way, Harry could bloody well stop making fun of him for. It wasn't as though a Malfoy would have any need to identify a rooster, and anyway, none of the books he had read had ever mentioned them being quite so loud, nor the way their crown and chin jiggled, quite concerningly. Quite profane creatures, really).
Then he'd had very little time to freshen up, as bloody Harry had insisted that they go do bloody farm things (magic-bloody-free) without even a proper bloody breakfast. And of course bloody Harry looked bloody fit and bloody rugged and bloody manly forking piles of hay (sweat glistening promisingly down his neck and biceps, Draco was not so miserable to fail to notice) while Draco fell face-bloody-first into a pile of manure. There had to be some god up there having a laugh at Draco's expense. There was no other explanation.
And now Harry had dragged Draco the mile and a half walk (ignoring Draco's protests, that really, apparition was the civilized option) to pick bloody apples.
No, Draco Malfoy was not pleased.
And it did not make him any happier that the apple he was currently stalking was just out of his reach. It was no use-- no matter how Draco stretched, or twisted, or strained he could not reach the bloody thing. Even standing on his tip toes, it was just beyond the grasp of his fingers. Really, this was ridiculous, he thought as once again, the apple slipped just beyond the reach of his fingers. He could have it down in an instant if he could just perform a little bit of magic.
"Harry," he spun, intent on saying just that, "Can't we…?"
And that was when he noticed that Harry was looking at him rather intently.
"I… what?" Harry looked glazed, like he had just been Imperiused. He took a larger bite then was strictly necessary out of the apple that he was clutching, white-knuckledly. Draco licked his lips as a trail of juice dripped down Harry's jawline. He smiled.
"Nothing," he said, and budge the apple, there were more desirable fruits to chase. He turned and stretched, languidly, as far as he could, arching his back just so and pushing out his hips. He felt his shirt bunch and settle somewhere just below the small of his back. He turned. Harry was slack-jawed, the apple forgotten in his suddenly limp hand. Draco waggled his bum a little, and the disgracefully muggle jeans slipped. Draco looked over his shoulder, met Harry's eyes, and smirked. And Harry was on him in an instant, rucking the shirt up nearly to his shoulders, mouth hungry on the back of his neck.
"Well, pet, what have we here?" Draco laughed, turning and placing a firm hand on Harry's waist, and another splayed protectively against his chest. "Is someone getting a little bored of apple-picking?" He ground his hips into Harry's, slowly, luxuriating in the friction, and Harry dropped his face onto Draco's shoulder, moaning long and low.
Draco licked the shell of his ear, and almost instantly Harry had a hand pulling at Draco's neck, and another carding through his hair, and his mouth was pressed flush against Draco's. Harry tasted like apples and sweat and fresh water, and they fell into the dirt, pulling and yanking at each other's clothes, tongues twined; and as Harry rolled on top of him fast, and firm, and sure, Draco thought that maybe this whole farm thing wasn't such a bad idea after all.
*
It just wasn't fair, Harry thought mournfully, that Draco should look so bloody good while shoveling slop for the pigs. It was wrong that the tendons in his arms should stretch and shiver and shake. It was wrong that Draco should look so sinful in a pair of baggy overalls crusted with dirt. It was wrong that the sleeves of Draco's t-shirt should cling just so, wrong that Harry's eyes should be drawn to the little, pale patch of skin between the overalls and the shirt, that Draco's hips should--
Harry forced himself to stop looking and took a large gulp of water, thought better and dumped the rest of the cup over his head. He tried to focus on the bales of hay, sitting innocently (and non-erotically!) in front of him, but his eyes were drawn back, like magnets, when he heard the door to the pen swinging shut and the bang as Draco dropped the bucket without ceremony to the ground. Draco was yawning, arching his back, hair falling in wanton strands onto his face, cheeks and neck flushed and inviting.
Harry swallowed.
He kneaded his hands together. He tried to look away, he really did, but he couldn't draw away from that little white patch of skin.
Draco was looking at him, Harry realized-- he felt the gaze, hot and steady-- and he lifted his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, and he felt as though a fire and a flood passed between them, and Harry opened his mouth, closed it, licked his lips (Draco's eyes followed the track of Harry's tongue). He opened his mouth again. He met Draco's eyes full on, letting the lust show freely. "The muggle look suits you."
Draco made a noise somewhere deep in his throat that might have been a grunt and might have been a groan, and might have been some words that never made it all the way out, and then he was advancing on Harry, grabbing and clutching at his shoulders hard enough to bruise and licking all the way around the edges of Harry's lips. His hands traced, suddenly gentle, up and down Harry's shoulders and back, resting briefly on his bum, and he whispered against Harry's lips, which quivered now with need and something else, "I think maybe we should come back up here again sometime."
And that was it.
Harry keened, and bucked helplessly, and very nearly came in his pants. He pulled on Draco's back, and then thought the better of it, and pushed him down, and they were rolling in the dewy grass. All Harry could feel, all there was in the world, was Draco and lips and teeth and skin, warm and smooth above him. Harry's glasses had fallen off his face somehow, but he didn't care, couldn't bring himself to care; he was too busy nearly ripping Draco's overalls in his rush to get him out of them, and pushing up his shirt. And he relished in the suddenly revealed expanses of pale skin. He tightened his fingers against Draco's thighs as he realized that-- oh God-- Draco hadn't worn boxers today.
Draco pressed his hand against Harry's crotch, and then sighed and moved back. Harry whined, sat up, reaching, groping blindly, and Draco said "Quit it," in an irritated tone, and then softer, "Move and I'll bite you," and Harry was just wondering whether that was supposed to be a deterrent or a promise, when suddenly he was naked. Draco pressed back down against him, and Harry recognized distantly that Draco had used a bit of magic in his impatience, something they had managed to go nearly the entirety of the vacation without. But Harry couldn't bring himself to be angry, or even vaguely frustrated, not with Draco moving just like that against him.
He gasped as Draco pressed his cock-- rooster! Harry thought wildly and almost laughed but it was swallowed in a gasp-- against his own and they were moving then, frantically, desperately against one another. Draco murmured endearments and obscenities against Harry's neck, and his hands were tracing against Harry's ribs, pressing against his back and up to his neck. Harry was filled with the sudden urge, the need to consume, and he bit down, hard, and Draco cried out, gasping.
Heat pooled in Harry's belly, spreading down through his toes, and he was trembling and coming. "Draco," he said, and kissed and licked and nipped everything he could reach. Draco wasn't long after him, collapsing bonelessly on top of Harry, and they clung to each other, panting.
"Well," Draco said finally, breathlessly, dropping a kiss onto Harry's forehead, "I guess there is something to be said for the commoner's way of life after all."
And Harry laughed, and kissed him, drawing him in as close as he could, and the pigs snuffled and shuffled next to them, uncaring and ignorant.
*
The next day they apparated home. Draco was almost sorry to see the run-down shack go. Almost. And then Kreacher spelled a warm meal for them with lots of chocolate cake for dessert and he came to his senses.
Draco busied himself the minute he got home casting spells. Nothing particular-- anything that popped into his head, actually. It felt nice to be able to use magic freely again.
Harry, on the other hand, went to the store down the corner, and bought as many synthetic, sugary snacks as he could carry. It seemed that an entire weekend of wholesome eating had really taken its toll upon him. Draco gave a concernet glance to their dining room table, which seemed to have disappeared under piles of bright wrappers and trans fat, before he returned to charming their lampshade to change colours. It took more than a little willpower, however, to keep from wrinkling his nose as Harry shoveled treat after treat into his mouth.
"How do you stay so fit?" Draco finally asked, as Harry opened yet another Twinkie and shoveled it into his mouth. And there was nothing sexy about that, Draco told himself firmly. It was disgusting. Not evocative in the slightest.
"Lots and lots of excellent sex with an aerobic partner," Harry said with a lascivious wink, and licked the cream out of the center of an Oreo cookie. And, okay, maybe there was something sexy and not-so-disgusting about that.
This time when Draco kissed Harry, he tasted sugar and soda, and he laughed against Harry's lips. The world was spinning, the pig pen was far away, and Draco was holding Harry. It couldn't get much better than this.