Bad Boy
Guys? This week’s sortinghatdrabs pairing was Harry/Draco, and the prompt was scars - we all have them. You can go and vote for your favourite ficlet here.
Predictably, I ended up writing three different entries. Here is one of the ones I chose not to enter! Because I do kinda like it.
Title: Bad Boy
Word count: ~500
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco, brief Padma/Draco, ladies/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: Harry doesn’t think Draco’s much of a ‘bad boy’.
Warnings: Mentions of Draco with some ladies, although with an H/D ending
Disclaimer: The boys belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.
Draco hated his scars at first: white lines on his chest, thin as a swordblade swiping through his flesh. They were marks of failure, and Snape had told the Death Eaters.
Bellatrix insisted that he open his robes and show her. She traced the lines, her eyes feverish and her thin, mad face full of lust for revenge. Draco winced from her fingernails, his insides burning with mortification.
Padma Patil drew her long fingernails along the marks now, and Draco moaned and gave her a lazy smile.
Three years on he used the Sectumsempra scars to attract lovers. He’d somehow got a reputation as a bad boy, and his checkered past formed most of that appeal. (Draco privately admitted to himself that pointiness did not a distinguished jawline make, whatever his mother said.)
Scars made by Harry Potter in one of the encounters made famous by Skeeter’s unofficial biography carried undeniable cache with the sort of person who wanted to say they’d slept with Draco Malfoy, and he wasn’t above using that.
Padma slipped her hands onto his shoulders, used the leverage to lower herself onto his cock. Draco groaned; she slipped her hands up and held his face still for her kiss.
Draco shut his eyes and kissed her back: this was his only way to warmth.
The next day - Padma long gone - Potter arrived at the Manor to ‘request’ a book of Lucius’ for an investigation. Draco stared furiously at him, itching under the awareness that he couldn’t make Potter leave. Finally he jerked his head, and allowed Potter to follow him to the library.
It was eleven in the morning. Draco wasn’t dressed yet, and when he bent to look at Lucius’ desk, his dressing gown gaped from his chest.
“Scars,” Potter said. It seemed to slip out without his permission.
“We all have them.” Draco focused very hard on looking through the desk drawers. “Besides, chicks dig scars.”
Potter gave a gasping laugh. “What?”
“People who want to have sex with me,” Draco said, voice tense, “like scars made by the hero on their bad boy.”
“Idiots,” Harry muttered. “You’re not bad.”
There wasn’t any special warmth to his words; he didn’t mean them as a declaration. Draco wasn’t even sure Harry knew he’d said them aloud. The neutral mutter was no sort of reason for his stomach to go soft, for affection to thrill through him this way.
Still. “Thank you.”
Harry glanced at him, nodded. His eyes fell to Draco’s bared chest again, and Draco smiled.
An hour later, Draco had brushed against Harry softly twice, and he’d let his dressing gown slip off his shoulders. Ten minutes after that, Harry was fucking him over the desk. It was frantic and rough, and Harry kissed his shoulders throughout.
He stayed all day, and all night too. He cuddled Draco, and kissed him comfortably. There was no thrill of the forbidden in his eyes.
It was the hottest thing Draco had ever seen.
Predictably, I ended up writing three different entries. Here is one of the ones I chose not to enter! Because I do kinda like it.
Title: Bad Boy
Word count: ~500
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco, brief Padma/Draco, ladies/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: Harry doesn’t think Draco’s much of a ‘bad boy’.
Warnings: Mentions of Draco with some ladies, although with an H/D ending
Disclaimer: The boys belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.
Draco hated his scars at first: white lines on his chest, thin as a swordblade swiping through his flesh. They were marks of failure, and Snape had told the Death Eaters.
Bellatrix insisted that he open his robes and show her. She traced the lines, her eyes feverish and her thin, mad face full of lust for revenge. Draco winced from her fingernails, his insides burning with mortification.
Padma Patil drew her long fingernails along the marks now, and Draco moaned and gave her a lazy smile.
Three years on he used the Sectumsempra scars to attract lovers. He’d somehow got a reputation as a bad boy, and his checkered past formed most of that appeal. (Draco privately admitted to himself that pointiness did not a distinguished jawline make, whatever his mother said.)
Scars made by Harry Potter in one of the encounters made famous by Skeeter’s unofficial biography carried undeniable cache with the sort of person who wanted to say they’d slept with Draco Malfoy, and he wasn’t above using that.
Padma slipped her hands onto his shoulders, used the leverage to lower herself onto his cock. Draco groaned; she slipped her hands up and held his face still for her kiss.
Draco shut his eyes and kissed her back: this was his only way to warmth.
The next day - Padma long gone - Potter arrived at the Manor to ‘request’ a book of Lucius’ for an investigation. Draco stared furiously at him, itching under the awareness that he couldn’t make Potter leave. Finally he jerked his head, and allowed Potter to follow him to the library.
It was eleven in the morning. Draco wasn’t dressed yet, and when he bent to look at Lucius’ desk, his dressing gown gaped from his chest.
“Scars,” Potter said. It seemed to slip out without his permission.
“We all have them.” Draco focused very hard on looking through the desk drawers. “Besides, chicks dig scars.”
Potter gave a gasping laugh. “What?”
“People who want to have sex with me,” Draco said, voice tense, “like scars made by the hero on their bad boy.”
“Idiots,” Harry muttered. “You’re not bad.”
There wasn’t any special warmth to his words; he didn’t mean them as a declaration. Draco wasn’t even sure Harry knew he’d said them aloud. The neutral mutter was no sort of reason for his stomach to go soft, for affection to thrill through him this way.
Still. “Thank you.”
Harry glanced at him, nodded. His eyes fell to Draco’s bared chest again, and Draco smiled.
An hour later, Draco had brushed against Harry softly twice, and he’d let his dressing gown slip off his shoulders. Ten minutes after that, Harry was fucking him over the desk. It was frantic and rough, and Harry kissed his shoulders throughout.
He stayed all day, and all night too. He cuddled Draco, and kissed him comfortably. There was no thrill of the forbidden in his eyes.
It was the hottest thing Draco had ever seen.