jellybean_slash: "Don't Forget the Stockings" (HP/DM, R)
Author: jellybean_slash
Title: Don't Forget the Stockings
Rating: R
Prompt: #11, "Beat"
Date: 07/15/06
Summary: Malfoy manor had been turned into a sex den, there was no other word for it.
Pairing(s): Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy (Implied, but not detailed, HP/SS, HP/LM, HP/LM/SS, LM/NM, LM/NM/SS)
Warnings: Cross-dressing, a bit of fetish stuff, crack!fic, and a lot of shamelessness.
Word Count: 2,086
Notes: Pure, unadulterated crack. And a chance for me to practice writing dirty talk, I guess. Also written for the 100quills prompt "Madness".
Malfoy manor had been turned into a sex den. There was no other word for it. Anything less severe would be a lie.
All its residents, save one, barely left the east wing, particularly favouring the Master and Mistress' quarters directly above Draco's own. The moans and shouts of pleasure could be heard echoing through the once-silent halls of the manor at all hours -- all through the night and into the morning, breaking eventually around six a.m., only to resume once more just before tea. The numerous voices screamed the filthiest things in the throes of their obvious passion, and beds, sofas and desks could be heard slamming against the walls and sliding across the floors.
Occasionally, one of them would saunter down the stairs in a loosely tied bath robe to collect some strange assortment of food from the kitchen, pausing only long enough to send Draco, who had taken to sitting in the library with the WWN blaring or playing piano in the ballroom whenever possible, a smirk before climbing the stairs once more and disappearing out of view. After his father took his turn collecting fruit and various syrups from the cupboards and sent him the same smirk, shaking his head in an almost amused way, Draco made sure to spend most of his time outdoors, flying or reading in the garden.
Draco had already committed to staying the weekend when his mother informed him, a touch too gleefully in Draco's opinion, that Snape and his green-eyed, Gryffindor boy toy would be staying as well. Not that she had worded it that way, of course;she referred to them as Severus and Harry. The thought of his family being so familiar with Harry bloody Potter made his stomach turn, but he knew that no amount of whinging would change their closeness, the blathering fool having saved their entire family and whatnot. Therefore, he had remained carefully nuetral, merely nodding his head in acceptance of the fact, despite the way his jaw clenched a little too tightly and his fingers twitched at his sides, as though willing Potter to appear before him so he could throttle the stupid git with his bare hands.
Despite the situation he found himself in, he could hardly retract his acceptance of the offer. His parents had been married for twenty five years, and he imagined that, as their son, he was somehow obligated to 'celebrate' the occasion with them in his family home. Besides that, there was no way he could lie convincingly to his mother on such short notice, and when -- not if, when -- she found out, his every weekend would be spent entertaining whatever pretty, pure-blood girl she was favouring that week, despite his numerous assurances that he was most definitely homosexual.
And so he found himself trapped in his home-turned-sex-den with Harry Potter.
His 48 hours of misery began during dinner on Friday. Everything had been fine up until that point; The meal had been wonderful, his parents had been happy and smiling, and his interaction with the Boy-Who-Became-The-Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort had been limited to a glare and snapped greeting at the door. It seemed almost as though he might have a chance at surviving the weekend right up until dessert.
When Harry Potter stood from his seat next to Severus' and strode over to the head of the table, kissing away the chocolate syrup at the corner of Lucius' mouth, Draco was certain the world was about to end. Very messily, in fact. His eyes had been wide as he stared at the scene in front of him, Potter grinning as Draco's father -- his father -- pulled him onto his lap and tangled a hand in his hair, deepening the highly inappropriate kiss. His horror only increased as he saw the amused glance that Severus and his mother shared before returning to their meals, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
He had hastily excused himself from the table, returning to his rooms and locking the door behind him. Not a quarter of an hour after that, the noises began.
It was a minute after midnight on Monday morning, and Draco was striding through the halls of the manor, stoically ignoring the noise that seemed to echo everywhere as he walked, quickly as he could without actually running, towards the library and the floo he knew he would find there.
He could practically taste his escape -- the fireplace was just a few more steps away, the library door pushing open under his hand -- when his retreat was stopped by the very thing he was running from. Harry Potter. Draped none-too-innocently over one of the polished, mahogany desks. In a French maid outfit.
"Well, if it isn't Prince Silencio," he drawled, pushing himself up until he was resting on his elbows on the desk, his legs still spread and his skirt still hiked up indecently high. Funny that he should be the one doing the smug smirking.
"I'd have never taken Snape for the type to dress his boys up as French maids, Potter," Draco snapped, running his eyes down Harry's corseted top, frilly black and white skirt, and torn up stockings. He was certain he saw a pair of black, silk knickers on the floor, peeking out from behind the desk. Not that he cared. He was just looking. It was just a glance, to be sure he saw right.
"Oh, Severus is only concerned with what I can do with my feather duster," Potter's grin was decidedly suggestive as he spoke, his eyes shining with mischief. "It's your father that wants me dressed up like his maid. Likes to punish the naughty servant, and makes me call him Master Malfoy. You have to wonder about poor Dobby--"
"I would suggest you go no further with that thought, Potter."
Draco shuddered, and Potter had the nerve to snicker.
"Where is my father?" he asked, massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He had just wanted to get out, was that so much to ask?
"He and Severus are upstairs shagging your mum."
"Well, tell--what?" Draco screeched, a look of horror spreading over his face. Noises were one thing, he could ignore the noises, but to have it spelled out for him so bluntly...
"Yeah," Potter replied, seeming rather chipper about the whole thing as he pushed himself the rest of the way up and hopped off the desk, his impossibly high heels clicking against the marble floor. "I'd help, but I just don't do women, if you get my drift." A particularly loud, and most assuredly female moan could be heard clearly coming from upstairs. Potter grinned wider. "But I think it's safe to say that they're doing just fine without me."
Draco just shook his head, trying to dispel the mental images of his mother naked and being buggered by his father and former Potions professor. He wasn't going to deal with this right now.
"Just tell my... Lucius and Narcissa that I've gone home, and I say... thank you for a lovely visit," he muttered, heading towards the floo. This was more than enough madness for one lifetime.
He didn't get far before Potter sauntered up (how did he walk in those heels?) and blocked his path, smirking that stupid, Potter smirk. Draco knew, just knew, something was going to go wrong.
"Come on, Draco."
Draco didn't like the way his name seemed to roll off of Potter's tongue as the man pushed him down on the sofa with one, firm hand on his chest. 'Draaaaaaco'. He tried his best to glare as Potter straddled his legs, still wearing that skimpy uniform, the frilly hem of his skirt brushing against Draco's trousers as he settled back against Draco's knees, one bent leg on either side of Draco's thighs. The stupid prat knew his skirt was riding up again.
"You haven't been around at all the last few days. I was really looking forward to spending some," his eyes dipped down to Draco's crotch, "time with you."
Draco scoffed, but Potter didn't look the least bit perturbed. In fact, he looked almost pleased.
"All that resentment, Draco; Haven't you ever thought about what it would be like? Every time I caught the snitch before you, beat you in a duel, was just plain better than you?" Draco's glare intensified. If Potter was looking to get himself hexed into next Sunday, this was certainly the way to go agout it.
Potter ignored him as he slid his hands slowly over Draco's shoulders, his fingers coming to rest in the other man's hair, playing with the ends as his smouldering green eyes held Draco's own.
"Didn't you ever want to sneak into the Gryffindor showers after those games, catch me in the showers and pin me wet and soapy against the wall; punish me for stealing the glory that should have been yours? Haven't you ever dreamt of making me scream your name, sobbing it as I admit just how much better than me you are? I'm beating you even now, Draco. I'm making your cock fucking ache, and there's not a thing you can do about it. Don't you want to teach me a lesson?"
If the bulge quickly forming in Draco's pants was any indication, yes. Yes he did. Not that he was going to tell Potter that. He stuck to his tried and true method of glaring and hoping that Potter got pissed off and left him alone.
"I've thought about it," Potter continued, his voice a low purr as he nudged his thighs further up, leaving his cock dangerously close to Draco's own growing erection. "You've got these strong legs and arms, and that infuriating voice and holier than thou attitude. You must have wanted to thrash me for all the times I beat you; you must have wanted to make me pay. I would have fucking loved it, Malfoy. I would have screamed your name, begged you for mercy, begged you for more, and then come back for seconds."
Potter was still staring at him with those bloody bedroom eyes, sex leaking from his every pore, and Draco pointedly looked away at a spot on the far wall. He had no idea how the spot got there (shouldn't the house-elf -- what was his name? Fobby? Lobby? -- have fixed it by now?) but it was convenient, and he would take anything that wasn't a hot, sweaty, nearly naked, spelling-out-his-every-filthy-fantasy Potter.
"I don't have to wear the maid's outfit, you know. I can be anything you want; whatever you dream of. I can wear a collar, kneel at your feet and call you Master? How about if I'm your Slytherin schoolgirl, waiting for you to have your filthy way with me? Skirt, tie, knickers--"
"Gryffindor," Draco muttered, still staring at the spot in the wall. Potter raised and eyebrow and Draco felt his neck heat as a blush crawled up and threatened to flood his cheeks with pink. "Slytherin schoolgirls are dirty to begin with; Gryffindor schoolgirls would have to be sullied to spread their legs on command like a Slytherin girl."
The grin that spread across Potter's face as he thrust himself forward that last little bit, pressing himself firmly against Draco and feeling the Malfoy's answering hardness throbbing beneath his own, told Draco that he had lost the battle. Somehow, he would end up fucking Potter tonight, whether he wanted to or not. And he most definitely wanted to.
"Now you're thinking. So, what do you say? Should I go transfigure a skirt and Gryffindor tie, or do you still want to go home?"
Draco rolled his eyes and his hips, smirking inwardly as Potter gasped in surprise.
"I'm sure as hell not going home with this, and since you caused it, you'll bloody well fix it. Besides, you can't be an awful lay or Snape wouldn't keep you around."
Potter smiled.
"And if you're anywhere near as hung as your father--"
"I don't want to hear you mention my father and hung in the same sentence ever again. Unless you're referring to him gleefully hanging you for being a stupid, slutty sod," Draco interrupted, shuddering slightly. "Just go get your outfit on before I change my mind. Bloody scar-headed dolt."
Potter was still smiling as he slid off of Draco's lap, moving with a deliberate slowness, and placed a kiss on the blond's cheek.
"Oh, Draco, you say the sweetest things," he muttered, rolling his eyes before making his way to the door, his legs looking particularly shapely from the back in those heels.
"Oh, and Potter," Draco called, Potter looking back at him from the staircase. "Don't forget the stockings."
Title: Don't Forget the Stockings
Rating: R
Prompt: #11, "Beat"
Date: 07/15/06
Summary: Malfoy manor had been turned into a sex den, there was no other word for it.
Pairing(s): Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy (Implied, but not detailed, HP/SS, HP/LM, HP/LM/SS, LM/NM, LM/NM/SS)
Warnings: Cross-dressing, a bit of fetish stuff, crack!fic, and a lot of shamelessness.
Word Count: 2,086
Notes: Pure, unadulterated crack. And a chance for me to practice writing dirty talk, I guess. Also written for the 100quills prompt "Madness".
Malfoy manor had been turned into a sex den. There was no other word for it. Anything less severe would be a lie.
All its residents, save one, barely left the east wing, particularly favouring the Master and Mistress' quarters directly above Draco's own. The moans and shouts of pleasure could be heard echoing through the once-silent halls of the manor at all hours -- all through the night and into the morning, breaking eventually around six a.m., only to resume once more just before tea. The numerous voices screamed the filthiest things in the throes of their obvious passion, and beds, sofas and desks could be heard slamming against the walls and sliding across the floors.
Occasionally, one of them would saunter down the stairs in a loosely tied bath robe to collect some strange assortment of food from the kitchen, pausing only long enough to send Draco, who had taken to sitting in the library with the WWN blaring or playing piano in the ballroom whenever possible, a smirk before climbing the stairs once more and disappearing out of view. After his father took his turn collecting fruit and various syrups from the cupboards and sent him the same smirk, shaking his head in an almost amused way, Draco made sure to spend most of his time outdoors, flying or reading in the garden.
Draco had already committed to staying the weekend when his mother informed him, a touch too gleefully in Draco's opinion, that Snape and his green-eyed, Gryffindor boy toy would be staying as well. Not that she had worded it that way, of course;she referred to them as Severus and Harry. The thought of his family being so familiar with Harry bloody Potter made his stomach turn, but he knew that no amount of whinging would change their closeness, the blathering fool having saved their entire family and whatnot. Therefore, he had remained carefully nuetral, merely nodding his head in acceptance of the fact, despite the way his jaw clenched a little too tightly and his fingers twitched at his sides, as though willing Potter to appear before him so he could throttle the stupid git with his bare hands.
Despite the situation he found himself in, he could hardly retract his acceptance of the offer. His parents had been married for twenty five years, and he imagined that, as their son, he was somehow obligated to 'celebrate' the occasion with them in his family home. Besides that, there was no way he could lie convincingly to his mother on such short notice, and when -- not if, when -- she found out, his every weekend would be spent entertaining whatever pretty, pure-blood girl she was favouring that week, despite his numerous assurances that he was most definitely homosexual.
And so he found himself trapped in his home-turned-sex-den with Harry Potter.
His 48 hours of misery began during dinner on Friday. Everything had been fine up until that point; The meal had been wonderful, his parents had been happy and smiling, and his interaction with the Boy-Who-Became-The-Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort had been limited to a glare and snapped greeting at the door. It seemed almost as though he might have a chance at surviving the weekend right up until dessert.
When Harry Potter stood from his seat next to Severus' and strode over to the head of the table, kissing away the chocolate syrup at the corner of Lucius' mouth, Draco was certain the world was about to end. Very messily, in fact. His eyes had been wide as he stared at the scene in front of him, Potter grinning as Draco's father -- his father -- pulled him onto his lap and tangled a hand in his hair, deepening the highly inappropriate kiss. His horror only increased as he saw the amused glance that Severus and his mother shared before returning to their meals, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
He had hastily excused himself from the table, returning to his rooms and locking the door behind him. Not a quarter of an hour after that, the noises began.
It was a minute after midnight on Monday morning, and Draco was striding through the halls of the manor, stoically ignoring the noise that seemed to echo everywhere as he walked, quickly as he could without actually running, towards the library and the floo he knew he would find there.
He could practically taste his escape -- the fireplace was just a few more steps away, the library door pushing open under his hand -- when his retreat was stopped by the very thing he was running from. Harry Potter. Draped none-too-innocently over one of the polished, mahogany desks. In a French maid outfit.
"Well, if it isn't Prince Silencio," he drawled, pushing himself up until he was resting on his elbows on the desk, his legs still spread and his skirt still hiked up indecently high. Funny that he should be the one doing the smug smirking.
"I'd have never taken Snape for the type to dress his boys up as French maids, Potter," Draco snapped, running his eyes down Harry's corseted top, frilly black and white skirt, and torn up stockings. He was certain he saw a pair of black, silk knickers on the floor, peeking out from behind the desk. Not that he cared. He was just looking. It was just a glance, to be sure he saw right.
"Oh, Severus is only concerned with what I can do with my feather duster," Potter's grin was decidedly suggestive as he spoke, his eyes shining with mischief. "It's your father that wants me dressed up like his maid. Likes to punish the naughty servant, and makes me call him Master Malfoy. You have to wonder about poor Dobby--"
"I would suggest you go no further with that thought, Potter."
Draco shuddered, and Potter had the nerve to snicker.
"Where is my father?" he asked, massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He had just wanted to get out, was that so much to ask?
"He and Severus are upstairs shagging your mum."
"Well, tell--what?" Draco screeched, a look of horror spreading over his face. Noises were one thing, he could ignore the noises, but to have it spelled out for him so bluntly...
"Yeah," Potter replied, seeming rather chipper about the whole thing as he pushed himself the rest of the way up and hopped off the desk, his impossibly high heels clicking against the marble floor. "I'd help, but I just don't do women, if you get my drift." A particularly loud, and most assuredly female moan could be heard clearly coming from upstairs. Potter grinned wider. "But I think it's safe to say that they're doing just fine without me."
Draco just shook his head, trying to dispel the mental images of his mother naked and being buggered by his father and former Potions professor. He wasn't going to deal with this right now.
"Just tell my... Lucius and Narcissa that I've gone home, and I say... thank you for a lovely visit," he muttered, heading towards the floo. This was more than enough madness for one lifetime.
He didn't get far before Potter sauntered up (how did he walk in those heels?) and blocked his path, smirking that stupid, Potter smirk. Draco knew, just knew, something was going to go wrong.
"Come on, Draco."
Draco didn't like the way his name seemed to roll off of Potter's tongue as the man pushed him down on the sofa with one, firm hand on his chest. 'Draaaaaaco'. He tried his best to glare as Potter straddled his legs, still wearing that skimpy uniform, the frilly hem of his skirt brushing against Draco's trousers as he settled back against Draco's knees, one bent leg on either side of Draco's thighs. The stupid prat knew his skirt was riding up again.
"You haven't been around at all the last few days. I was really looking forward to spending some," his eyes dipped down to Draco's crotch, "time with you."
Draco scoffed, but Potter didn't look the least bit perturbed. In fact, he looked almost pleased.
"All that resentment, Draco; Haven't you ever thought about what it would be like? Every time I caught the snitch before you, beat you in a duel, was just plain better than you?" Draco's glare intensified. If Potter was looking to get himself hexed into next Sunday, this was certainly the way to go agout it.
Potter ignored him as he slid his hands slowly over Draco's shoulders, his fingers coming to rest in the other man's hair, playing with the ends as his smouldering green eyes held Draco's own.
"Didn't you ever want to sneak into the Gryffindor showers after those games, catch me in the showers and pin me wet and soapy against the wall; punish me for stealing the glory that should have been yours? Haven't you ever dreamt of making me scream your name, sobbing it as I admit just how much better than me you are? I'm beating you even now, Draco. I'm making your cock fucking ache, and there's not a thing you can do about it. Don't you want to teach me a lesson?"
If the bulge quickly forming in Draco's pants was any indication, yes. Yes he did. Not that he was going to tell Potter that. He stuck to his tried and true method of glaring and hoping that Potter got pissed off and left him alone.
"I've thought about it," Potter continued, his voice a low purr as he nudged his thighs further up, leaving his cock dangerously close to Draco's own growing erection. "You've got these strong legs and arms, and that infuriating voice and holier than thou attitude. You must have wanted to thrash me for all the times I beat you; you must have wanted to make me pay. I would have fucking loved it, Malfoy. I would have screamed your name, begged you for mercy, begged you for more, and then come back for seconds."
Potter was still staring at him with those bloody bedroom eyes, sex leaking from his every pore, and Draco pointedly looked away at a spot on the far wall. He had no idea how the spot got there (shouldn't the house-elf -- what was his name? Fobby? Lobby? -- have fixed it by now?) but it was convenient, and he would take anything that wasn't a hot, sweaty, nearly naked, spelling-out-his-every-filthy-fantasy Potter.
"I don't have to wear the maid's outfit, you know. I can be anything you want; whatever you dream of. I can wear a collar, kneel at your feet and call you Master? How about if I'm your Slytherin schoolgirl, waiting for you to have your filthy way with me? Skirt, tie, knickers--"
"Gryffindor," Draco muttered, still staring at the spot in the wall. Potter raised and eyebrow and Draco felt his neck heat as a blush crawled up and threatened to flood his cheeks with pink. "Slytherin schoolgirls are dirty to begin with; Gryffindor schoolgirls would have to be sullied to spread their legs on command like a Slytherin girl."
The grin that spread across Potter's face as he thrust himself forward that last little bit, pressing himself firmly against Draco and feeling the Malfoy's answering hardness throbbing beneath his own, told Draco that he had lost the battle. Somehow, he would end up fucking Potter tonight, whether he wanted to or not. And he most definitely wanted to.
"Now you're thinking. So, what do you say? Should I go transfigure a skirt and Gryffindor tie, or do you still want to go home?"
Draco rolled his eyes and his hips, smirking inwardly as Potter gasped in surprise.
"I'm sure as hell not going home with this, and since you caused it, you'll bloody well fix it. Besides, you can't be an awful lay or Snape wouldn't keep you around."
Potter smiled.
"And if you're anywhere near as hung as your father--"
"I don't want to hear you mention my father and hung in the same sentence ever again. Unless you're referring to him gleefully hanging you for being a stupid, slutty sod," Draco interrupted, shuddering slightly. "Just go get your outfit on before I change my mind. Bloody scar-headed dolt."
Potter was still smiling as he slid off of Draco's lap, moving with a deliberate slowness, and placed a kiss on the blond's cheek.
"Oh, Draco, you say the sweetest things," he muttered, rolling his eyes before making his way to the door, his legs looking particularly shapely from the back in those heels.
"Oh, and Potter," Draco called, Potter looking back at him from the staircase. "Don't forget the stockings."