ART: THE GAME CONTINUES
Author/Artist LJ Name: dysonrules
Gift for: meglw0228
Prompt Number: #34
Title: The Game Continues
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: When Harry decided to play Spin the Bottle, he had no idea he would end up blindfolded in a storage closet.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): None
Epilogue compliant? Not particularly
Author's Notes: I'm more of an author than an artist, so I'm including this drabble with my pic.
Harry shivered as he sat down on the cold floor of the closet. He was tempted to take off the blindfold, but Pansy Parkinson was an evil bint and had most likely charmed it to either not come off, or to alert her if he tried to remove it. The whole stupid, ridiculous game had been her idea. "In the spirit of Eighth-year solidarity!" she had cried drunkenly. Ron, of all people, had talked Harry into joining the circle. By then, both of them had imbibed more than their share of the illicitly-obtained Firewhiskey. Spin the Bottle. What a stupid game.
The room was cold. Harry had also lost his shirt, as one of the rules the Slytherins had arbitrarily made up for the game.
"When the bottle points to you, into the closet you go, blindfolded and shirtless."
Ron and most of the others had seen no reason to protest this rule, particularly when the girls were included and it was more than obvious that Pansy and a couple of the others girls were not wearing bras. Hermione had complained, but Harry thought it likely she was less concerned about her own undergarments and more worried about Ron ending up in the closet with a half-nude, drunken Pansy.
"Once you're in the closet, we spin again and the person it points to next has to join you. What you do in there is up to you."
Harry snorted. If any shirtless girls ended up in the closet with him, they would be sorely disappointed if they expected any action. He might suffer a kiss or two, but nothing more. Girl bits did not interest him.
The door opened and Harry held his breath, hoping the entrant was anyone but Ron or Hermione. Or Pansy. He shuddered. He could do without Blaise Zabini, as well. Zabini was decent-looking, but an incredible gossip. He would definitely kiss and tell. In fact, Harry didn't really care for anyone to come in except--
To his surprise, he felt someone kneel down and touch his knees, easing them apart. Harry squeaked and then coughed to cover the unmanly sound. "Who are you?" he asked, striving to sound casual and in-control.
"Shhhhh," was the only reply.
Harry thought about protesting and leaned back as the pair of hands gripped his knees more tightly. They slid down over his thighs, drawing a gasp of surprise. Despite the blindfold, Harry immediately sensed his guest was no woman. The motion was too sure, and the touch more determined than tentative. Harry stilled. Was it Zabini?
The man settled between Harry's legs and his hands moved to Harry's abdomen and then higher, pushing him back with a gentle shove until Harry rested on his elbows.
A low whisper came to his ears. "Going to kiss you."
Harry made no protest as lips pressed against his; it was part of the game, after all. A kiss was expected. What was not expected was the flood of sensation that roared through his body, driven by his heightened senses and the unmistakable scent that filled his nostrils.
Draco Malfoy.
Harry was familiar with Malfoy's scent. He had inhaled it a thousand times during angry confrontations, childish shoves in the hallways, accidental encounters in classrooms, and intentional stalking while invisible. Despite the blindfold, or perhaps because of it, Harry was sure. Draco Malfoy was kissing him.
It wasn't a bad kiss, either. In fact, it was amazing, teasing and sucking in short bursts of movement during which a new smell was introduced to Harry-Malfoy's breath, which was infused with alcohol and something tantalizing. It seemed to fan the flames of Harry's awakening libido.
Does he know it's me? Harry wondered and then remembered the rules. Of course Malfoy knew. So why would he agree to come into the closet and kiss Harry? If it was a joke or a trick, it didn't feel like one, because one of Malfoy's hands had moved to the side of Harry's face and his fingers had tucked into the hair around the knot of the blindfold, and he was kissing him like a lover, not like vengeful prat with an agenda.
Harry lifted his hand and skimmed it over Malfoy's arm, intent on going for his hair, suddenly desperate to put his hands into the blond strands and test the feel of it on his fingers. The lips pulled away and a hand stopped his from attaining its goal. The message was clear-Harry was not to know his guest's identity.
Harry willingly left off the quest to touch Malfoy's hair, altering his directive to something more allowable. Malfoy, it turned out, was also shirtless. Harry's hand splayed over a lean ribcage, holding tightly as the kissing resumed.
They didn't have much time, Harry knew. Ten minutes? Harry shifted his elbows and let himself fall back, surprising Malfoy, who gasped when he sprawled atop Harry. He fit rather nicely over Harry's front and pressed some interesting bits against Harry's bits. The bare skin against Harry's torso felt brilliant.
Malfoy made an annoyed huff, but Harry wrapped his arms tightly around the Slytherin and pulled him closer, possibly grinding their hips together as he did so. After a short pause, the snogging resumed with even more enthusiasm. Harry opened his mouth and let Malfoy explore the contours, which he did, and quite thoroughly.
When a knock sounded on the door some time later, Harry nearly cried out with frustration. He was completely hard, as was Malfoy, and they had both taken to rocking against one another to the accompaniment of panting groans. Harry wanted nothing more than to stay in the closet with Malfoy and let him explore every inch of Harry's body.
Malfoy drew away, leaving Harry suddenly cold and bereft. Harry heard him moving towards the door and he sat up quickly, tearing at the blindfold, but it wouldn't come free-spelled, as expected.
The sound of the latch clicking was loud to Harry's ears. "Draco!" he called in a stage whisper. "Wait!"
Long moments passed while Harry strained to hear in the silent room. Had he made a horrible mistake? Could he possibly have been wrong?
"How did you know?" The words were nearly inaudible, but most definitely Malfoy's. Harry nearly sagged with relief.
"I'll tell you later. Can we… continue this? Elsewhere?" Harry did not bother to disguise the hopeful lilt of his voice.
Three footsteps brought Malfoy back and his hands were firm on Harry's face, as were the lips that crushed against his. "My room. One hour. I know you can get in."
And then he was gone, leaving Harry sprawled on the closet floor in a daze, hard with need and alight with possibility.
Spin the Bottle. What a brilliant game.
Gift for: meglw0228
Prompt Number: #34
Title: The Game Continues
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: When Harry decided to play Spin the Bottle, he had no idea he would end up blindfolded in a storage closet.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): None
Epilogue compliant? Not particularly
Author's Notes: I'm more of an author than an artist, so I'm including this drabble with my pic.
Harry shivered as he sat down on the cold floor of the closet. He was tempted to take off the blindfold, but Pansy Parkinson was an evil bint and had most likely charmed it to either not come off, or to alert her if he tried to remove it. The whole stupid, ridiculous game had been her idea. "In the spirit of Eighth-year solidarity!" she had cried drunkenly. Ron, of all people, had talked Harry into joining the circle. By then, both of them had imbibed more than their share of the illicitly-obtained Firewhiskey. Spin the Bottle. What a stupid game.
The room was cold. Harry had also lost his shirt, as one of the rules the Slytherins had arbitrarily made up for the game.
"When the bottle points to you, into the closet you go, blindfolded and shirtless."
Ron and most of the others had seen no reason to protest this rule, particularly when the girls were included and it was more than obvious that Pansy and a couple of the others girls were not wearing bras. Hermione had complained, but Harry thought it likely she was less concerned about her own undergarments and more worried about Ron ending up in the closet with a half-nude, drunken Pansy.
"Once you're in the closet, we spin again and the person it points to next has to join you. What you do in there is up to you."
Harry snorted. If any shirtless girls ended up in the closet with him, they would be sorely disappointed if they expected any action. He might suffer a kiss or two, but nothing more. Girl bits did not interest him.
The door opened and Harry held his breath, hoping the entrant was anyone but Ron or Hermione. Or Pansy. He shuddered. He could do without Blaise Zabini, as well. Zabini was decent-looking, but an incredible gossip. He would definitely kiss and tell. In fact, Harry didn't really care for anyone to come in except--
To his surprise, he felt someone kneel down and touch his knees, easing them apart. Harry squeaked and then coughed to cover the unmanly sound. "Who are you?" he asked, striving to sound casual and in-control.
"Shhhhh," was the only reply.
Harry thought about protesting and leaned back as the pair of hands gripped his knees more tightly. They slid down over his thighs, drawing a gasp of surprise. Despite the blindfold, Harry immediately sensed his guest was no woman. The motion was too sure, and the touch more determined than tentative. Harry stilled. Was it Zabini?
The man settled between Harry's legs and his hands moved to Harry's abdomen and then higher, pushing him back with a gentle shove until Harry rested on his elbows.
A low whisper came to his ears. "Going to kiss you."
Harry made no protest as lips pressed against his; it was part of the game, after all. A kiss was expected. What was not expected was the flood of sensation that roared through his body, driven by his heightened senses and the unmistakable scent that filled his nostrils.
Draco Malfoy.
Harry was familiar with Malfoy's scent. He had inhaled it a thousand times during angry confrontations, childish shoves in the hallways, accidental encounters in classrooms, and intentional stalking while invisible. Despite the blindfold, or perhaps because of it, Harry was sure. Draco Malfoy was kissing him.
It wasn't a bad kiss, either. In fact, it was amazing, teasing and sucking in short bursts of movement during which a new smell was introduced to Harry-Malfoy's breath, which was infused with alcohol and something tantalizing. It seemed to fan the flames of Harry's awakening libido.
Does he know it's me? Harry wondered and then remembered the rules. Of course Malfoy knew. So why would he agree to come into the closet and kiss Harry? If it was a joke or a trick, it didn't feel like one, because one of Malfoy's hands had moved to the side of Harry's face and his fingers had tucked into the hair around the knot of the blindfold, and he was kissing him like a lover, not like vengeful prat with an agenda.
Harry lifted his hand and skimmed it over Malfoy's arm, intent on going for his hair, suddenly desperate to put his hands into the blond strands and test the feel of it on his fingers. The lips pulled away and a hand stopped his from attaining its goal. The message was clear-Harry was not to know his guest's identity.
Harry willingly left off the quest to touch Malfoy's hair, altering his directive to something more allowable. Malfoy, it turned out, was also shirtless. Harry's hand splayed over a lean ribcage, holding tightly as the kissing resumed.
They didn't have much time, Harry knew. Ten minutes? Harry shifted his elbows and let himself fall back, surprising Malfoy, who gasped when he sprawled atop Harry. He fit rather nicely over Harry's front and pressed some interesting bits against Harry's bits. The bare skin against Harry's torso felt brilliant.
Malfoy made an annoyed huff, but Harry wrapped his arms tightly around the Slytherin and pulled him closer, possibly grinding their hips together as he did so. After a short pause, the snogging resumed with even more enthusiasm. Harry opened his mouth and let Malfoy explore the contours, which he did, and quite thoroughly.
When a knock sounded on the door some time later, Harry nearly cried out with frustration. He was completely hard, as was Malfoy, and they had both taken to rocking against one another to the accompaniment of panting groans. Harry wanted nothing more than to stay in the closet with Malfoy and let him explore every inch of Harry's body.
Malfoy drew away, leaving Harry suddenly cold and bereft. Harry heard him moving towards the door and he sat up quickly, tearing at the blindfold, but it wouldn't come free-spelled, as expected.
The sound of the latch clicking was loud to Harry's ears. "Draco!" he called in a stage whisper. "Wait!"
Long moments passed while Harry strained to hear in the silent room. Had he made a horrible mistake? Could he possibly have been wrong?
"How did you know?" The words were nearly inaudible, but most definitely Malfoy's. Harry nearly sagged with relief.
"I'll tell you later. Can we… continue this? Elsewhere?" Harry did not bother to disguise the hopeful lilt of his voice.
Three footsteps brought Malfoy back and his hands were firm on Harry's face, as were the lips that crushed against his. "My room. One hour. I know you can get in."
And then he was gone, leaving Harry sprawled on the closet floor in a daze, hard with need and alight with possibility.
Spin the Bottle. What a brilliant game.