Fic: Watch My Hands, Harry/Draco, NC-17
Title: Watch My Hands
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry is crap at Potions. It might have something to do with not being able to tear his eyes away from Draco's hands. By accidentally mirroring everything Draco does he finally produces a perfect potion. (That was the prompt verbatim!)
Written in response to a prompt byphoenix_on_ice for joan_waterhouse's Livejournal Fingers And What You Can Do With Them fest. The summary is the prompt verbatim. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Watch My Hands
It was inexcusable, really; just downright indecent the way that even beetle wings looked appealing when Malfoy held them. Perhaps it had something to do with the way the color contrasted with his ... but no, that couldn't be it, because those dead leeches looked nice, too. God, everything looked good in Malfoy's hands. Harry thought Malfoy could have held Voldemort's hand and made it look nice.
They were just so pale. Pale enough that Harry could just see the bluish veins beneath the surface of the skin. He imagined it must be very smooth. Even the skin of his fingers. Long, slim fingers that were somehow aristocratic in the way that they seemed to curve so gracefully around everything they touched. And although Malfoy had played Quidditch for many years, Harry was willing to bet there wasn't a callous to be found on the pads of any of those fingers.
He watched intently as they scooped up a pile of ashwinder eggs; as the other hand counted each one and dropped it lightly into the simmering potion. And then it was curling around the stirring rod and Harry could see a muscle at the base of Malfoy's thumb twitch.
He would have happily continued watching had Hermione not chosen that moment to shout his name.
Harry dropped whatever he'd been holding-he couldn't seem to remember what that might have been-and heard the ominous plop that told him whatever it had been was now in his own poor excuse for a potion. Indeed, only a moment later the thick gray substance began to bubble and Hermione pulled him out of the way seconds before it exploded.
Seamus, who was working at the next station, got a face full of the potion, and before he could even begin to scream properly pimples the size of Harry's knuckles were on their way to covering his face entirely.
"Wow, nice one, Harry," Ron snickered. Hermione glared at him as Professor Slughorn raced toward a flailing Seamus, yelling something about someone opening the door. Parvati, who was closest, jumped out of her seat and dragged the heavy dungeon door open just in time for Slughorn to push Seamus through, and then they were both gone.
"Class dismissed!" they heard him yell from halfway down the hall. Everyone took a moment to glance at Harry, most of them smirking, some rolling their eyes, but most didn't stare long because no one was willing to waste an extra half hour of free time. It took a good ten minutes for everyone to clean up their stations and pack their things away, and once they had there was a mad rush for the door and the classroom was empty. All except for one Harry Potter, who still felt a little dazed, and his two friends, one of which did not look particularly happy with him.
"What was that about?" Hermione asked, a hand on one hip. Harry thought she resembled Molly Weasley to a frightening tee, and that didn't help matters. He didn't know what to say! How was supposed to explain what happened? Sorry, I was busy staring at Malfoy's hands?
"Oi, leave him alone, Hermione," said Ron. "We can't all be master potioneers like you." Harry sent Ron a grateful smile and his friend winked back. Hermione only clucked her tongue and turned to stomp out of the room as though they'd both offended her.
"You know," Harry said, a smile creeping onto his face, "she hated me for beating her when I had the Prince's book, but she acts like I've let her down when I screw up."
"She's a female. They're insane," Ron explained. Harry laughed and nodded, then bent to pick up his own bag from the ground. As he and Ron left the classroom Harry's mind began wandering back to the origin of his disaster today, and he wasn't entirely surprised to find that he was quite looking forward to Potions tomorrow, however accident-prone he may be.
* * *
As he watched Malfoy delicately chop a worm into equal pieces Harry wondered whether his hands could ever look like that. A glare from the knife shone off of Malfoy's skin, holding Harry's attention more fiercely even than when he'd been handling those beetle wings.
Without thinking much about what he was doing, Harry grabbed his own worm and knife and set them down before him. Only flickering his eyes back to his own hands one in a while, he tried to mirror what Malfoy did, the way he cradled the handle of the blade between his palm and his thumb, and the way his index finger rested lightly along the top edge. When the worm was properly separated into several pieces he picked up the back end with his thumb and forefinger, just as Malfoy did, and dropped it in at the same time. He did the same with four more pieces and then copied Malfoy when he scooted the rest off to the side.
This went on-though Harry was only mildly aware-for the rest of the lesson, and when Slughorn's voice dragged him forcefully from his daze he looked down to find that a very smooth, dark purple liquid was simmering contentedly inside of his cauldron. He barely managed to catch himself before his jaw fell open in surprise.
Slughorn went from station to station checking everyone's end-results, nodding sometimes, smiling at others, but mostly grimacing and moving on. Harry noted that he merely smiled at Malfoy, but when he came around to the back where Harry had been working he positively beamed.
"Ah!" he said, clapping his hands together excitedly. "Looks as though you're settling back into the old talent, hm? Well done, my boy, well done! Come take a look at this after class, Mr. Longbottom!" And with a light slap on Harry's back he walked away, chuckling to himself, apparently having forgotten the remainder of the class. Harry saw everyone roll their eyes before they began pouring their potions into vials and packing up their things.
Hermione was at his side before he had a chance to do any of this himself. She snatched his textbook and began rifling through it. Harry smirked in spite of himself.
"What did you do?" she asked suspiciously, laying the book back down.
"I didn't do anything," he laughed. "I just followed the directions." Technically, he told himself, he had. Just like with the Prince's book. He just wasn't following the right directions. Instead, he'd been mirroring Malfoy, though he hadn't exactly realized it at the time. It had just sort of happened. Now that he thought about it, though, it occurred to him that Malfoy may have done something different than what was written in the book as well; he was talented at this subject. Harry wouldn't have known, though. He'd opened his book maybe twice since the term had started.
Hermione continued to watch him through narrow eyes while she tidied up her station and then returned her book to her bag. Harry's eyes, meanwhile, followed Malfoy out of the room, one brilliant hand clutching the strap on his shoulder and the other hanging loosely by his side.
* * *
Now that he'd done it once, Harry couldn't seem to stop doing it; and to be honest, even if he wasn't mesmerized by those beautiful hands he still may have continued to copy Malfoy. He was doing almost as well as he'd been doing sixth year with the annotated textbook. The only thing he couldn't understand was why Slughorn showered him with praise and merely nodded at Malfoy's attempts, though he supposed it could have something to do with whom he was. Besides, Malfoy was about unpopular now as Harry was popular. Just because the Ministry had given him a break didn't mean Slughorn wanted anything to do with him.
Harry had successfully completed three potions now by mirroring Malfoy, and he'd been working on the fourth when something potentially hazardous happened.
Ever since he'd begun doing well again both Hermione and Ron-and a few of the other students as well-had been periodically and rather conspicuously watching him to see what was going on. Indeed, one of the only students who didn't seem to give a rat's arse was Malfoy himself. This both annoyed Harry and relieved him. After all, if Malfoy decided to look over and see what Harry was doing so differently he'd notice Harry looking at him.
And that's exactly what happened Wednesday afternoon. Only Harry didn't notice Malfoy look, and therefore didn't see the spark of realization and amusement in his eyes.
After class, as he was walking alongside Ron and Hermione, just barely paying attention, he felt something hit his back and turned around to find no one there. His eyebrows dipped and he looked around, finally spotting Malfoy leaning against a wall a few meters back. Malfoy raised his eyebrows.
Harry stood stock still for a moment, wondering what in the name of Merlin this could possibly be about. And then Malfoy beckoned him over with a finger and Harry thought he must have died in a potions accident and gone to heaven. He quickly turned to his friends before they could get too far and told them he'd catch up. Hermione looked at him suspiciously but finally agreed when he assured them everything was fine.
He stopped a few feet short of Malfoy, who rolled his eyes and said, “Potter. Come here.”
“Why?”
“Oh my …” he mumbled, and stalked over to Harry, whose eyes went wide and fists clenched at his sides but didn’t move. Malfoy folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow. Harry glanced quickly at his hands and then back up. A few people in the corridor looked on in confusion but none stopped.
“What?” Harry asked cautiously.
“You’ve been copying me in Potions.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open and Malfoy smirked, clearly pleased with himself.
“Well,” he prompted, “haven’t you?”
“I …” Harry gaped like a fish out of water, causing Malfoy’s smirk to grow.
“I saw you,” he said. “There’s no need to deny it. Tell me, why bother cheating off me when you have Granger at your side?”
“I haven’t been cheating off you,” Harry said quickly, but he could feel his cheeks heating up. In his defense, he hadn’t been cheating off Malfoy … not technically, at least. Once again he peered down at Malfoy’s hands. This time the blond seemed to notice. He frowned and looked down as well.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Harry said, but it was much too forceful. Malfoy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I wasn’t looking at anything!”
“You’re a horrible liar, Potter. What were you looking at?”
Harry cursed himself for continuing to blush, but even more for looking down again at those hands that had so captivated him these past few days.
“Are you looking at my hands?” said Malfoy. He sounded thoroughly confused. Harry bit his lip and looked at the ground, hoping his blush hadn’t spread even more and given him away. No such luck, apparently. “You are, aren’t you? Potter, what in the name of Merlin is going on?”
Harry looked up, met Malfoy’s searching eyes and knew that his face must have been as red as Ron’s hair. He looked down again and said, very quietly, “You have nice hands …”
Malfoy let out of surprised laugh and Harry glared at him.
“Wanker …” Harry said, a deep frown set on his face, and attempted to walk away. He was detained, however, when Malfoy grabbed his robe and pulled him back. He was smiling, to Harry’s utter bewilderment. Actually smiling, though. Not one of his nasty, evil smirks. Harry felt his stomach flip.
“I didn’t mean to laugh, Potter, that just wasn’t something I expected to hear. What in the world do you like about my hands?”
Harry swallowed thickly and suddenly a whole barrage of images bombarded his mind; images of various things those hands would look very nice doing. And none of them were appropriate to say out loud, let alone be thinking about whilst standing in Malfoy’s presence or in public.
“Can we not talk about this here?” he asked quietly. Malfoy’s eyes went wide briefly before he nodded.
“There’s an empty classroom just down the hallway.” He turned and began walking. Harry spluttered and ran to catch up.
“Wait … now?”
Malfoy glanced over at him and laughed.
“Yes. I’m curious. It’s not every day the savior of the whole bloody world says he likes your hands and then asks to move the conversation somewhere private, is it?”
Harry gaped at him but Malfoy merely smirked and held open a door, ushering Harry inside. He gave Malfoy a cautious look before going in. When he turned around Malfoy was looking at him with his arms folded again, another amused smile on his face.
“Well?”
“Well what?” Harry snapped. But Malfoy only laughed and took a few steps closer. So close, in fact, that he was able to place both hands on Harry’s chest and drag them down until they rested on his stomach, looking unnervingly like someone who wanted to be fucked. Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“You like my hands?” he asked, and he looked up into Harry’s eyes. Harry’s breath caught in his throat.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Malfoy countered quickly.
“A little.”
“Just a little?” And now he was parting Harry’s robes and slipping his hands under his un-tucked shirt. He ran them all the way until they covered Harry’s nipples and then dragged his nails down. Harry bit his bottom lip and tried not to make a sound. “Is that why you’ve been watching me in Potions? ‘Cause you only like them a little?”
Harry took a deep breath and reached under his shirt to grab Malfoy’s hands and pull them away. Malfoy frowned up at him.
“What’s your aim, Malfoy?”
“To get in your trousers,” he said rather bluntly. Harry flushed crimson and tightened his grip on Malfoy’s wrists. “Ow!”
“And what do you plan on doing once you’re there?” he growled. He realized there was nothing he wanted more than to have those gorgeous hands wrapped around his cock, but he was also very aware of the fact that this was Malfoy, and why should he trust him not to do something sneaky?
“Uh, I don’t know, make you come?” Malfoy deadpanned. Harry felt himself harder further than he already was. Malfoy must have noticed because he smirked.
“Why should I trust you?”
Malfoy laughed. It was a low laugh that made Harry want to throw him against the wall and ravish him.
“Because for a while now I’ve wanted to get my hands on you almost as much as I want to get you kicked out of school.” He leaned up and brought his lips so close to Harry’s that it physically ached not to close the distance and kiss him. “And trust me, Potter, that’s a lot.”
He continued to stare into Harry’s eyes from this distance as his hands made their way to his trousers and expertly unfastened his belt, button, and zipper, and slipped under the hem of his pants. Harry gasped.
“Done this a few times?” he whispered. Malfoy chuckled.
“Irrelevant.”
Harry had been about to make a snide remark but it died in his throat when Malfoy wrapped a hand around his cock.
“Were you going to say something, Potter?” he said as that same hand slid down the length and back up ever so slowly, teasingly, and the thumb flicked across the head. Harry groaned.
“Yeah.” He grabbed Malfoy’s wrist once again and stopped the movement. Malfoy looked shocked. He stuck his own hand into his pants and pulled his dick out, Malfoy’s hand still wrapped around it, and whimpered at the sight. Malfoy smiled and squeezed.
“Like that?”
“Fuck yes,” Harry breathed, and he let his forehead fall against Malfoy’s. Malfoy continued stroking while his other hand moved around to Harry’s lower back where he dug his nails in, causing Harry to hiss in pleasure. He gripped Malfoy’s waist hard enough to leave bruises and watched with rapt attention as one beautiful pale hand brought him to his climax. Harry swore as he came, trying desperately to keep his eyes open, but it was no use. It felt like it lasted forever and not once during the whole thing did Malfoy’s hand leave his cock. When he opened his eyes he saw that it was still wrapped around the head, covered in Harry’s come. He groaned.
Malfoy finally pulled it away and Harry watched as he brought it to his lips and licked away every last drop of come, sliding his tongue obscenely between his fingers and over his palms. Harry’s mouth watered. He leaned forward on impulse, meaning to kiss him, but Malfoy pulled away with a little laugh.
“I don’t think so, Potter,” he said. He was smiling an adorable little smile that Made Harry grin widely. “Maybe next time.”
He dug his nails harshly into Harry’s back before pulling away altogether.
“What about you?” Harry asked, gesturing to Malfoy’s crotch, although whether he had an erection or not was concealed by his robes. Harry had a good feeling if he opened them he’d find a raging erection beneath those expensive trousers.
“You can return the favor later.” He tucked Harry’s softening cock away and refastened his trousers and belt before turning and sauntering from the room. Harry watched him go with an affectionate, albeit bewildered, expression on his face.
He expected he’d dream about those hands tonight.
He shook his head with a smile when he realized they’d be attached to a blond head and that, truthfully, he really didn’t mind. In fact, he thought he could definitely get used to it.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry is crap at Potions. It might have something to do with not being able to tear his eyes away from Draco's hands. By accidentally mirroring everything Draco does he finally produces a perfect potion. (That was the prompt verbatim!)
Written in response to a prompt byphoenix_on_ice for joan_waterhouse's Livejournal Fingers And What You Can Do With Them fest. The summary is the prompt verbatim. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Watch My Hands
It was inexcusable, really; just downright indecent the way that even beetle wings looked appealing when Malfoy held them. Perhaps it had something to do with the way the color contrasted with his ... but no, that couldn't be it, because those dead leeches looked nice, too. God, everything looked good in Malfoy's hands. Harry thought Malfoy could have held Voldemort's hand and made it look nice.
They were just so pale. Pale enough that Harry could just see the bluish veins beneath the surface of the skin. He imagined it must be very smooth. Even the skin of his fingers. Long, slim fingers that were somehow aristocratic in the way that they seemed to curve so gracefully around everything they touched. And although Malfoy had played Quidditch for many years, Harry was willing to bet there wasn't a callous to be found on the pads of any of those fingers.
He watched intently as they scooped up a pile of ashwinder eggs; as the other hand counted each one and dropped it lightly into the simmering potion. And then it was curling around the stirring rod and Harry could see a muscle at the base of Malfoy's thumb twitch.
He would have happily continued watching had Hermione not chosen that moment to shout his name.
Harry dropped whatever he'd been holding-he couldn't seem to remember what that might have been-and heard the ominous plop that told him whatever it had been was now in his own poor excuse for a potion. Indeed, only a moment later the thick gray substance began to bubble and Hermione pulled him out of the way seconds before it exploded.
Seamus, who was working at the next station, got a face full of the potion, and before he could even begin to scream properly pimples the size of Harry's knuckles were on their way to covering his face entirely.
"Wow, nice one, Harry," Ron snickered. Hermione glared at him as Professor Slughorn raced toward a flailing Seamus, yelling something about someone opening the door. Parvati, who was closest, jumped out of her seat and dragged the heavy dungeon door open just in time for Slughorn to push Seamus through, and then they were both gone.
"Class dismissed!" they heard him yell from halfway down the hall. Everyone took a moment to glance at Harry, most of them smirking, some rolling their eyes, but most didn't stare long because no one was willing to waste an extra half hour of free time. It took a good ten minutes for everyone to clean up their stations and pack their things away, and once they had there was a mad rush for the door and the classroom was empty. All except for one Harry Potter, who still felt a little dazed, and his two friends, one of which did not look particularly happy with him.
"What was that about?" Hermione asked, a hand on one hip. Harry thought she resembled Molly Weasley to a frightening tee, and that didn't help matters. He didn't know what to say! How was supposed to explain what happened? Sorry, I was busy staring at Malfoy's hands?
"Oi, leave him alone, Hermione," said Ron. "We can't all be master potioneers like you." Harry sent Ron a grateful smile and his friend winked back. Hermione only clucked her tongue and turned to stomp out of the room as though they'd both offended her.
"You know," Harry said, a smile creeping onto his face, "she hated me for beating her when I had the Prince's book, but she acts like I've let her down when I screw up."
"She's a female. They're insane," Ron explained. Harry laughed and nodded, then bent to pick up his own bag from the ground. As he and Ron left the classroom Harry's mind began wandering back to the origin of his disaster today, and he wasn't entirely surprised to find that he was quite looking forward to Potions tomorrow, however accident-prone he may be.
* * *
As he watched Malfoy delicately chop a worm into equal pieces Harry wondered whether his hands could ever look like that. A glare from the knife shone off of Malfoy's skin, holding Harry's attention more fiercely even than when he'd been handling those beetle wings.
Without thinking much about what he was doing, Harry grabbed his own worm and knife and set them down before him. Only flickering his eyes back to his own hands one in a while, he tried to mirror what Malfoy did, the way he cradled the handle of the blade between his palm and his thumb, and the way his index finger rested lightly along the top edge. When the worm was properly separated into several pieces he picked up the back end with his thumb and forefinger, just as Malfoy did, and dropped it in at the same time. He did the same with four more pieces and then copied Malfoy when he scooted the rest off to the side.
This went on-though Harry was only mildly aware-for the rest of the lesson, and when Slughorn's voice dragged him forcefully from his daze he looked down to find that a very smooth, dark purple liquid was simmering contentedly inside of his cauldron. He barely managed to catch himself before his jaw fell open in surprise.
Slughorn went from station to station checking everyone's end-results, nodding sometimes, smiling at others, but mostly grimacing and moving on. Harry noted that he merely smiled at Malfoy, but when he came around to the back where Harry had been working he positively beamed.
"Ah!" he said, clapping his hands together excitedly. "Looks as though you're settling back into the old talent, hm? Well done, my boy, well done! Come take a look at this after class, Mr. Longbottom!" And with a light slap on Harry's back he walked away, chuckling to himself, apparently having forgotten the remainder of the class. Harry saw everyone roll their eyes before they began pouring their potions into vials and packing up their things.
Hermione was at his side before he had a chance to do any of this himself. She snatched his textbook and began rifling through it. Harry smirked in spite of himself.
"What did you do?" she asked suspiciously, laying the book back down.
"I didn't do anything," he laughed. "I just followed the directions." Technically, he told himself, he had. Just like with the Prince's book. He just wasn't following the right directions. Instead, he'd been mirroring Malfoy, though he hadn't exactly realized it at the time. It had just sort of happened. Now that he thought about it, though, it occurred to him that Malfoy may have done something different than what was written in the book as well; he was talented at this subject. Harry wouldn't have known, though. He'd opened his book maybe twice since the term had started.
Hermione continued to watch him through narrow eyes while she tidied up her station and then returned her book to her bag. Harry's eyes, meanwhile, followed Malfoy out of the room, one brilliant hand clutching the strap on his shoulder and the other hanging loosely by his side.
* * *
Now that he'd done it once, Harry couldn't seem to stop doing it; and to be honest, even if he wasn't mesmerized by those beautiful hands he still may have continued to copy Malfoy. He was doing almost as well as he'd been doing sixth year with the annotated textbook. The only thing he couldn't understand was why Slughorn showered him with praise and merely nodded at Malfoy's attempts, though he supposed it could have something to do with whom he was. Besides, Malfoy was about unpopular now as Harry was popular. Just because the Ministry had given him a break didn't mean Slughorn wanted anything to do with him.
Harry had successfully completed three potions now by mirroring Malfoy, and he'd been working on the fourth when something potentially hazardous happened.
Ever since he'd begun doing well again both Hermione and Ron-and a few of the other students as well-had been periodically and rather conspicuously watching him to see what was going on. Indeed, one of the only students who didn't seem to give a rat's arse was Malfoy himself. This both annoyed Harry and relieved him. After all, if Malfoy decided to look over and see what Harry was doing so differently he'd notice Harry looking at him.
And that's exactly what happened Wednesday afternoon. Only Harry didn't notice Malfoy look, and therefore didn't see the spark of realization and amusement in his eyes.
After class, as he was walking alongside Ron and Hermione, just barely paying attention, he felt something hit his back and turned around to find no one there. His eyebrows dipped and he looked around, finally spotting Malfoy leaning against a wall a few meters back. Malfoy raised his eyebrows.
Harry stood stock still for a moment, wondering what in the name of Merlin this could possibly be about. And then Malfoy beckoned him over with a finger and Harry thought he must have died in a potions accident and gone to heaven. He quickly turned to his friends before they could get too far and told them he'd catch up. Hermione looked at him suspiciously but finally agreed when he assured them everything was fine.
He stopped a few feet short of Malfoy, who rolled his eyes and said, “Potter. Come here.”
“Why?”
“Oh my …” he mumbled, and stalked over to Harry, whose eyes went wide and fists clenched at his sides but didn’t move. Malfoy folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow. Harry glanced quickly at his hands and then back up. A few people in the corridor looked on in confusion but none stopped.
“What?” Harry asked cautiously.
“You’ve been copying me in Potions.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open and Malfoy smirked, clearly pleased with himself.
“Well,” he prompted, “haven’t you?”
“I …” Harry gaped like a fish out of water, causing Malfoy’s smirk to grow.
“I saw you,” he said. “There’s no need to deny it. Tell me, why bother cheating off me when you have Granger at your side?”
“I haven’t been cheating off you,” Harry said quickly, but he could feel his cheeks heating up. In his defense, he hadn’t been cheating off Malfoy … not technically, at least. Once again he peered down at Malfoy’s hands. This time the blond seemed to notice. He frowned and looked down as well.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Harry said, but it was much too forceful. Malfoy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I wasn’t looking at anything!”
“You’re a horrible liar, Potter. What were you looking at?”
Harry cursed himself for continuing to blush, but even more for looking down again at those hands that had so captivated him these past few days.
“Are you looking at my hands?” said Malfoy. He sounded thoroughly confused. Harry bit his lip and looked at the ground, hoping his blush hadn’t spread even more and given him away. No such luck, apparently. “You are, aren’t you? Potter, what in the name of Merlin is going on?”
Harry looked up, met Malfoy’s searching eyes and knew that his face must have been as red as Ron’s hair. He looked down again and said, very quietly, “You have nice hands …”
Malfoy let out of surprised laugh and Harry glared at him.
“Wanker …” Harry said, a deep frown set on his face, and attempted to walk away. He was detained, however, when Malfoy grabbed his robe and pulled him back. He was smiling, to Harry’s utter bewilderment. Actually smiling, though. Not one of his nasty, evil smirks. Harry felt his stomach flip.
“I didn’t mean to laugh, Potter, that just wasn’t something I expected to hear. What in the world do you like about my hands?”
Harry swallowed thickly and suddenly a whole barrage of images bombarded his mind; images of various things those hands would look very nice doing. And none of them were appropriate to say out loud, let alone be thinking about whilst standing in Malfoy’s presence or in public.
“Can we not talk about this here?” he asked quietly. Malfoy’s eyes went wide briefly before he nodded.
“There’s an empty classroom just down the hallway.” He turned and began walking. Harry spluttered and ran to catch up.
“Wait … now?”
Malfoy glanced over at him and laughed.
“Yes. I’m curious. It’s not every day the savior of the whole bloody world says he likes your hands and then asks to move the conversation somewhere private, is it?”
Harry gaped at him but Malfoy merely smirked and held open a door, ushering Harry inside. He gave Malfoy a cautious look before going in. When he turned around Malfoy was looking at him with his arms folded again, another amused smile on his face.
“Well?”
“Well what?” Harry snapped. But Malfoy only laughed and took a few steps closer. So close, in fact, that he was able to place both hands on Harry’s chest and drag them down until they rested on his stomach, looking unnervingly like someone who wanted to be fucked. Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“You like my hands?” he asked, and he looked up into Harry’s eyes. Harry’s breath caught in his throat.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Malfoy countered quickly.
“A little.”
“Just a little?” And now he was parting Harry’s robes and slipping his hands under his un-tucked shirt. He ran them all the way until they covered Harry’s nipples and then dragged his nails down. Harry bit his bottom lip and tried not to make a sound. “Is that why you’ve been watching me in Potions? ‘Cause you only like them a little?”
Harry took a deep breath and reached under his shirt to grab Malfoy’s hands and pull them away. Malfoy frowned up at him.
“What’s your aim, Malfoy?”
“To get in your trousers,” he said rather bluntly. Harry flushed crimson and tightened his grip on Malfoy’s wrists. “Ow!”
“And what do you plan on doing once you’re there?” he growled. He realized there was nothing he wanted more than to have those gorgeous hands wrapped around his cock, but he was also very aware of the fact that this was Malfoy, and why should he trust him not to do something sneaky?
“Uh, I don’t know, make you come?” Malfoy deadpanned. Harry felt himself harder further than he already was. Malfoy must have noticed because he smirked.
“Why should I trust you?”
Malfoy laughed. It was a low laugh that made Harry want to throw him against the wall and ravish him.
“Because for a while now I’ve wanted to get my hands on you almost as much as I want to get you kicked out of school.” He leaned up and brought his lips so close to Harry’s that it physically ached not to close the distance and kiss him. “And trust me, Potter, that’s a lot.”
He continued to stare into Harry’s eyes from this distance as his hands made their way to his trousers and expertly unfastened his belt, button, and zipper, and slipped under the hem of his pants. Harry gasped.
“Done this a few times?” he whispered. Malfoy chuckled.
“Irrelevant.”
Harry had been about to make a snide remark but it died in his throat when Malfoy wrapped a hand around his cock.
“Were you going to say something, Potter?” he said as that same hand slid down the length and back up ever so slowly, teasingly, and the thumb flicked across the head. Harry groaned.
“Yeah.” He grabbed Malfoy’s wrist once again and stopped the movement. Malfoy looked shocked. He stuck his own hand into his pants and pulled his dick out, Malfoy’s hand still wrapped around it, and whimpered at the sight. Malfoy smiled and squeezed.
“Like that?”
“Fuck yes,” Harry breathed, and he let his forehead fall against Malfoy’s. Malfoy continued stroking while his other hand moved around to Harry’s lower back where he dug his nails in, causing Harry to hiss in pleasure. He gripped Malfoy’s waist hard enough to leave bruises and watched with rapt attention as one beautiful pale hand brought him to his climax. Harry swore as he came, trying desperately to keep his eyes open, but it was no use. It felt like it lasted forever and not once during the whole thing did Malfoy’s hand leave his cock. When he opened his eyes he saw that it was still wrapped around the head, covered in Harry’s come. He groaned.
Malfoy finally pulled it away and Harry watched as he brought it to his lips and licked away every last drop of come, sliding his tongue obscenely between his fingers and over his palms. Harry’s mouth watered. He leaned forward on impulse, meaning to kiss him, but Malfoy pulled away with a little laugh.
“I don’t think so, Potter,” he said. He was smiling an adorable little smile that Made Harry grin widely. “Maybe next time.”
He dug his nails harshly into Harry’s back before pulling away altogether.
“What about you?” Harry asked, gesturing to Malfoy’s crotch, although whether he had an erection or not was concealed by his robes. Harry had a good feeling if he opened them he’d find a raging erection beneath those expensive trousers.
“You can return the favor later.” He tucked Harry’s softening cock away and refastened his trousers and belt before turning and sauntering from the room. Harry watched him go with an affectionate, albeit bewildered, expression on his face.
He expected he’d dream about those hands tonight.
He shook his head with a smile when he realized they’d be attached to a blond head and that, truthfully, he really didn’t mind. In fact, he thought he could definitely get used to it.