Pros and Cons of Fucking Harry Potter
Title: Pros and Cons of Fucking Harry Potter
Word count: ~300
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: Draco liked to be organised even when his world was falling apart, so he made a list: Pros and Cons of Fucking Harry Potter.
Warnings: bit of angst
Disclaimer: The boys and girls belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.
Author’s Notes: This was written for the I hate that I want you prompt at the Harry/Draco LDWS, but I submitted Aftermath instead. I think I like this one better, actually, but it didn’t fit the prompt very well.
Draco liked to be organised even when his world was falling apart, so he made a list: Pros and Cons of Fucking Harry Potter.
On the plus side: Potter’s eyes. They weren’t emerald-green like Skeeter said in her extremely unauthorised biography. They were sea-green, like you could fall into them fathoms deep.
And his cock, fat and red and such a satisfying weight in his hand.
His arse, too. It was dimpled and pale. When Draco insulted his friends after sex, the muscles there twitched delightfully with his irritation.
Only... there were callouses on his hands, because he’d been raised Muggle and he still carried boxes about. There were the small scars on his knees where he’d been shoved onto gravel as a child - purebloods grew up without scars. Most of all there was the lightning bolt, symbol of unexpected light in the darkness and everything that had half-destroyed Draco’s father.
Draco shouldn’t want him. He felt sick at the thought of it: of how disappointed Mother would look if she knew, of what his Father would say. And it wasn’t as if Draco threw himself into sex with Potter and somehow forgot his lover’s identity. Potter could not be accused of false advertising. His callouses and scars were inescapably there, just like Draco’s Mark. Their bodies shouted the reasons they shouldn’t touch.
But what about Potter’s hands? One was engraved with I must not tell lies, the inescapable relic of Potter’s battles with the Ministry. They were strong and they brought down dark wizards.
They were always gentle with him, though: stroking his sides, teasing his nipples, playing with his hair.
Perhaps if Potter would hold hands with him, Draco could work it out.
Word count: ~300
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: Draco liked to be organised even when his world was falling apart, so he made a list: Pros and Cons of Fucking Harry Potter.
Warnings: bit of angst
Disclaimer: The boys and girls belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.
Author’s Notes: This was written for the I hate that I want you prompt at the Harry/Draco LDWS, but I submitted Aftermath instead. I think I like this one better, actually, but it didn’t fit the prompt very well.
Draco liked to be organised even when his world was falling apart, so he made a list: Pros and Cons of Fucking Harry Potter.
On the plus side: Potter’s eyes. They weren’t emerald-green like Skeeter said in her extremely unauthorised biography. They were sea-green, like you could fall into them fathoms deep.
And his cock, fat and red and such a satisfying weight in his hand.
His arse, too. It was dimpled and pale. When Draco insulted his friends after sex, the muscles there twitched delightfully with his irritation.
Only... there were callouses on his hands, because he’d been raised Muggle and he still carried boxes about. There were the small scars on his knees where he’d been shoved onto gravel as a child - purebloods grew up without scars. Most of all there was the lightning bolt, symbol of unexpected light in the darkness and everything that had half-destroyed Draco’s father.
Draco shouldn’t want him. He felt sick at the thought of it: of how disappointed Mother would look if she knew, of what his Father would say. And it wasn’t as if Draco threw himself into sex with Potter and somehow forgot his lover’s identity. Potter could not be accused of false advertising. His callouses and scars were inescapably there, just like Draco’s Mark. Their bodies shouted the reasons they shouldn’t touch.
But what about Potter’s hands? One was engraved with I must not tell lies, the inescapable relic of Potter’s battles with the Ministry. They were strong and they brought down dark wizards.
They were always gentle with him, though: stroking his sides, teasing his nipples, playing with his hair.
Perhaps if Potter would hold hands with him, Draco could work it out.