FIC: With a little help from my friends (Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter)
Title: With a little help from my friends
Author: nathalieweasley
Characters: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Prompt number: 72
Word Count: 1326
Rating: R
Warnings: references to alcohol, very mild language, frotting
Summary: Harry can put up with one date with Malfoy for his best friend. It can’t be worse than dying.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s Notes: Many, many thanks to M for the beta. And thank you to the mods for hosting the fest and putting up with my many, many extensions. Title comes from title/chorus of With A Little Help From My Friends by The Beatles.
With a little help from my friends
Harry snags two glasses of champagne on his way across the ballroom. He reminds himself to breathe as he approaches his target, who is slouched elegantly against the far wall, observing the dancers. Grey eyes slide across the room while thin pink lips remain almost-pursed. He is immaculate in long black robes with threads of green and silver line on the edges. His white-blond hair is now worn in complete contrast to the slicked backed style of his youth, and plays delicately around his face, soft strands wisping against his cheeks and grazing his jaw.
Harry hands him a glass.
“Ah, thank you, Potter.” Malfoy takes the flute, swirls it for a moment, and then sips at the champagne delicately. “Not quite up to the standard of my collection, but for a Ministry event, not half bad.”
Harry swallows some of his own champagne. “Er…yeah, it’s good.”
Malfoy glances at him with an eyebrow raised before his gaze returns to the dancers. “Quite.”
Harry scrubs his palms against his dark green robes (picked out by Hermione). “You know, Malfoy, to be honest, I’m not…I mean, I didn’t ask Ron…I don’t want to date you!” Fuck, that was smooth.
Harry internally curses his own selflessness in agreeing to Ron’s desperate request. His new relationship with Pansy had Ron catering to her every whim, including finding a man to escort her best friend to the Ministry fundraiser. Unfortunately, Pansy’s appalling choice of best friend meant Harry was on a date with Malfoy.
Malfoy turns his attention completely on Harry. “I appreciate your assurances, Potter, however unnecessary they might be. I did not presume for an instant that you had actually expressed an interest in me. Pansy is simply too infatuated with your ginger-headed counterpart to realise that his choice of date for me tonight was under par. Regardless…” Malfoy’s voice turns cold, and his eyes bore into Harry’s “…she would like to see me happy, and I have no intention of causing her any pain. So tonight we are on a date. And we will get on famously.”
Harry is torn. On one hand, Malfoy is a slimy git, and he wants to tell the bastard exactly what he thinks of this so-called plan. But on the other hand, Harry hasn’t seen Ron’s face light up like it does around Pansy since before he and Hermione ended their relationship the year before. Harry can put up with one date with Malfoy for his best friend. It can’t be worse than dying.
“Whatever, Malfoy.” Harry turns his head, ostensibly to watch the dancers, but rather to avoid Malfoy’s triumphant smirk.
--
Harry escapes Malfoy for a few minutes when a potions master from Germany comes over to chat Malfoy up about his latest theories on multi-functional elixers. Harry dodges two waiters bearing hors d’oeuvres to land next to Kingsley, who has returned to his role as Chief Auror after serving as Interim Minister for the two years after the war. As such, he is Harry’s boss. Harry chats with Kingsley about last week’s resolution to the Hindne kidnapping case and the (horrendous, in Harry’s mind) decision to stop providing free tea to the department. He is getting amused assurances from Kingsley to look into the problem when Malfoy approaches.
“A dance, Potter?”
Malfoy smirks; he has timed his request perfectly, and he knows it. If Harry says no, Kingsley would easily be able to tell Ron, Harry’s fellow Auror, about Harry’s refusal to dance with his date. The glint in Malfoy’s eyes increases as Harry reluctantly places his hand in his.
Harry nods to Kingsley, and Malfoys leads him onto the dance floor.
There is no question of who will lead. Harry’s sole dancing experiences lies with the Yule Ball, and he is quite sure that Malfoy, as a Pureblood, received all sorts of training in social graces. His musings are confirmed when Malfoy tugs Harry to him and spins them off on the dance floor.
This close to Malfoy, Harry can smell hints of cologne with a light, intriguing undertone of musky sweat. Malfoy’s breath is soft on his ear, and their bodies move together flawlessly. As Malfoy leads him past fellow guests and a band of musicians, Harry is acutely aware on Malfoy’s hand on his waist, his chest pressed against Harry’s, his soft, pale cheek glancing off Harry’s forehead with every spin. Harry presses closer, and pelvis bumps into Malfoy’s.
Harry gasps, and continues to dance with his and Malfoy’s hips pressed ever closer, voluminous robes masking anything untoward from the view of passers-by. One dance becomes two, then three, and Harry is becoming overwhelmed with want, his pants straining against his burgeoning erection.
“Malfoy,” Harry half-whispers, half-moans into Malfoy’s ear, and Malfoy’s eyelids shut with a flutter. Harry never knew eyelashes could be quite so arousing. “What if we were to…take advantage of this situation?”
Malfoy leans back slightly, and Harry immediately misses the feeling of their bodies pressed together. Malfoy raises an eyebrow. Harry meets his eyes, dark and shuddered with desire.
“The men’s loo, Potter. Ten minutes.” Malfoy lets go of Harry and struts off the dance floor, robes billowing in a way Snape would be proud of. Harry strides as casually off the dance floor as he can. He finds a meandering waiter with champagne and snags another glass, wishing the fundraiser organizers would had chosen a more potent beverage to pass around. He downs the glass and places the flute on a nearby table. Glancing around to make sure that no one is watching him, he slips from the ballroom.
--
The men’s loo is less than a hundred yards from the ballroom, but still long enough of a distance to render Harry sufficiently nervous. What is he doing? Is he really about to get off with Malfoy in a Ministry loo? Pondering the night the week before when Ron first asked him to come, Harry had imagined awkward conversation and harsh insults. Not frotting in the middle of a crowded ballroom! But Harry can’t seem to stop himself. No reasonable arguments against a one-off with Malfoy jump into his brain as he arrives at the loo and pushes the door to step inside.
Malfoy is leaning against the sink. Despite his surroundings, he manages to look elegant and sophisticated, though Harry doesn’t get much of a view before their mouths are on each other, enveloped in a harsh kiss. Harry’s hands are in Draco’s hair, and the blond strands are as soft and silky as one could imagine. He thrusts his hips against Malfoy’s in a continuation of their earlier dancing and feels the moan Malfoy emits. They clasp at each other’s shoulders, hips, waists, their need nullifying any predilections for tenderness or propriety.
Malfoy’s lips move down to Harry’s neck, and Harry wants to scream with pure lust. He shoves Malfoy off of him and into the nearest wall, yanking Malfoy’s arms up over his head and pinning them with one hand. Harry resumes the rough kiss as he thrusts unforgivingly against Malfoy, their cocks pressing together, aching against the fabric of their pants and robes. He only thrusts once, twice, three times before he is coming in his robes, accompanied by Malfoy, as evidenced by the harsh cry from the lips still attached to his own.
Harry’s heart is hammering, and his and Malfoy’s breathless pants fill the loo. Suddenly, Malfoy pushes against him, swirling his wand in a way Harry doesn’t recognize, but understands as the wetness in his pants seems to evaporate. Malfoy walks to the door and yanks it open. He pauses on the threshold before turning slightly and catching Harry’s eyes.
“Pansy would appreciate the two of us accompanying her and Weasley to future events, and I would not be opposed to the idea. For appearance’s sake, of course.”
Harry grins. “Of course.”
Malfoy nods and leaves the loo, footsteps drifting away down the hall.
Author: nathalieweasley
Characters: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Prompt number: 72
Word Count: 1326
Rating: R
Warnings: references to alcohol, very mild language, frotting
Summary: Harry can put up with one date with Malfoy for his best friend. It can’t be worse than dying.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s Notes: Many, many thanks to M for the beta. And thank you to the mods for hosting the fest and putting up with my many, many extensions. Title comes from title/chorus of With A Little Help From My Friends by The Beatles.
With a little help from my friends
Harry snags two glasses of champagne on his way across the ballroom. He reminds himself to breathe as he approaches his target, who is slouched elegantly against the far wall, observing the dancers. Grey eyes slide across the room while thin pink lips remain almost-pursed. He is immaculate in long black robes with threads of green and silver line on the edges. His white-blond hair is now worn in complete contrast to the slicked backed style of his youth, and plays delicately around his face, soft strands wisping against his cheeks and grazing his jaw.
Harry hands him a glass.
“Ah, thank you, Potter.” Malfoy takes the flute, swirls it for a moment, and then sips at the champagne delicately. “Not quite up to the standard of my collection, but for a Ministry event, not half bad.”
Harry swallows some of his own champagne. “Er…yeah, it’s good.”
Malfoy glances at him with an eyebrow raised before his gaze returns to the dancers. “Quite.”
Harry scrubs his palms against his dark green robes (picked out by Hermione). “You know, Malfoy, to be honest, I’m not…I mean, I didn’t ask Ron…I don’t want to date you!” Fuck, that was smooth.
Harry internally curses his own selflessness in agreeing to Ron’s desperate request. His new relationship with Pansy had Ron catering to her every whim, including finding a man to escort her best friend to the Ministry fundraiser. Unfortunately, Pansy’s appalling choice of best friend meant Harry was on a date with Malfoy.
Malfoy turns his attention completely on Harry. “I appreciate your assurances, Potter, however unnecessary they might be. I did not presume for an instant that you had actually expressed an interest in me. Pansy is simply too infatuated with your ginger-headed counterpart to realise that his choice of date for me tonight was under par. Regardless…” Malfoy’s voice turns cold, and his eyes bore into Harry’s “…she would like to see me happy, and I have no intention of causing her any pain. So tonight we are on a date. And we will get on famously.”
Harry is torn. On one hand, Malfoy is a slimy git, and he wants to tell the bastard exactly what he thinks of this so-called plan. But on the other hand, Harry hasn’t seen Ron’s face light up like it does around Pansy since before he and Hermione ended their relationship the year before. Harry can put up with one date with Malfoy for his best friend. It can’t be worse than dying.
“Whatever, Malfoy.” Harry turns his head, ostensibly to watch the dancers, but rather to avoid Malfoy’s triumphant smirk.
--
Harry escapes Malfoy for a few minutes when a potions master from Germany comes over to chat Malfoy up about his latest theories on multi-functional elixers. Harry dodges two waiters bearing hors d’oeuvres to land next to Kingsley, who has returned to his role as Chief Auror after serving as Interim Minister for the two years after the war. As such, he is Harry’s boss. Harry chats with Kingsley about last week’s resolution to the Hindne kidnapping case and the (horrendous, in Harry’s mind) decision to stop providing free tea to the department. He is getting amused assurances from Kingsley to look into the problem when Malfoy approaches.
“A dance, Potter?”
Malfoy smirks; he has timed his request perfectly, and he knows it. If Harry says no, Kingsley would easily be able to tell Ron, Harry’s fellow Auror, about Harry’s refusal to dance with his date. The glint in Malfoy’s eyes increases as Harry reluctantly places his hand in his.
Harry nods to Kingsley, and Malfoys leads him onto the dance floor.
There is no question of who will lead. Harry’s sole dancing experiences lies with the Yule Ball, and he is quite sure that Malfoy, as a Pureblood, received all sorts of training in social graces. His musings are confirmed when Malfoy tugs Harry to him and spins them off on the dance floor.
This close to Malfoy, Harry can smell hints of cologne with a light, intriguing undertone of musky sweat. Malfoy’s breath is soft on his ear, and their bodies move together flawlessly. As Malfoy leads him past fellow guests and a band of musicians, Harry is acutely aware on Malfoy’s hand on his waist, his chest pressed against Harry’s, his soft, pale cheek glancing off Harry’s forehead with every spin. Harry presses closer, and pelvis bumps into Malfoy’s.
Harry gasps, and continues to dance with his and Malfoy’s hips pressed ever closer, voluminous robes masking anything untoward from the view of passers-by. One dance becomes two, then three, and Harry is becoming overwhelmed with want, his pants straining against his burgeoning erection.
“Malfoy,” Harry half-whispers, half-moans into Malfoy’s ear, and Malfoy’s eyelids shut with a flutter. Harry never knew eyelashes could be quite so arousing. “What if we were to…take advantage of this situation?”
Malfoy leans back slightly, and Harry immediately misses the feeling of their bodies pressed together. Malfoy raises an eyebrow. Harry meets his eyes, dark and shuddered with desire.
“The men’s loo, Potter. Ten minutes.” Malfoy lets go of Harry and struts off the dance floor, robes billowing in a way Snape would be proud of. Harry strides as casually off the dance floor as he can. He finds a meandering waiter with champagne and snags another glass, wishing the fundraiser organizers would had chosen a more potent beverage to pass around. He downs the glass and places the flute on a nearby table. Glancing around to make sure that no one is watching him, he slips from the ballroom.
--
The men’s loo is less than a hundred yards from the ballroom, but still long enough of a distance to render Harry sufficiently nervous. What is he doing? Is he really about to get off with Malfoy in a Ministry loo? Pondering the night the week before when Ron first asked him to come, Harry had imagined awkward conversation and harsh insults. Not frotting in the middle of a crowded ballroom! But Harry can’t seem to stop himself. No reasonable arguments against a one-off with Malfoy jump into his brain as he arrives at the loo and pushes the door to step inside.
Malfoy is leaning against the sink. Despite his surroundings, he manages to look elegant and sophisticated, though Harry doesn’t get much of a view before their mouths are on each other, enveloped in a harsh kiss. Harry’s hands are in Draco’s hair, and the blond strands are as soft and silky as one could imagine. He thrusts his hips against Malfoy’s in a continuation of their earlier dancing and feels the moan Malfoy emits. They clasp at each other’s shoulders, hips, waists, their need nullifying any predilections for tenderness or propriety.
Malfoy’s lips move down to Harry’s neck, and Harry wants to scream with pure lust. He shoves Malfoy off of him and into the nearest wall, yanking Malfoy’s arms up over his head and pinning them with one hand. Harry resumes the rough kiss as he thrusts unforgivingly against Malfoy, their cocks pressing together, aching against the fabric of their pants and robes. He only thrusts once, twice, three times before he is coming in his robes, accompanied by Malfoy, as evidenced by the harsh cry from the lips still attached to his own.
Harry’s heart is hammering, and his and Malfoy’s breathless pants fill the loo. Suddenly, Malfoy pushes against him, swirling his wand in a way Harry doesn’t recognize, but understands as the wetness in his pants seems to evaporate. Malfoy walks to the door and yanks it open. He pauses on the threshold before turning slightly and catching Harry’s eyes.
“Pansy would appreciate the two of us accompanying her and Weasley to future events, and I would not be opposed to the idea. For appearance’s sake, of course.”
Harry grins. “Of course.”
Malfoy nods and leaves the loo, footsteps drifting away down the hall.