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For the record, I blame
psychobarfly for this entirely and completely. It is true that Minute Man!Draco is a lot like her Draco (heh heh), and... it was rather amusing seeing it from his perspective, so off I went. It's really weird, remembering that my non-pov characters have motivations too, man. Whoa.
All right, so if any of you wanted a semi-fluffy Draco-pov follow-up to "Minute Man", here's your chance, Lance. (urgh)
It's not porn because I'm tired and I need to be... um... inspired. And I was having too much fun writing smug!Draco, as per PsychoB's instructions, teehee. It's just a bit of R-rated silliness, really. But no mpreg this time, ahahah.
Disclaimer: HP not mine yet. not until I take over the world.
Dedication: to PsychoB, who -understands-.
Author's Note: Hey, I wrote a sequel! Though you don't really need to read `Minute Man' to get this.
- coming clean -
Draco Malfoy had always known he was a good actor, and an even better tease, but he thought this latest stunt put all his past successes in perspective.
He'd gotten Harry Potter, purest of the pure, straightest of the straight, to come in his trousers-- at breakfast-- in front of everyone-- just from looking at Draco's leisurely... cleansing of his fingers.
So perhaps he'd flipped Potter off when he first realized he had the other's attention, but a bigger, better vision had come to him almost immediately. The initial display itself was a bit... juvenile, true, but mostly it was just unambitious. Still, he hadn't expected the sudden attempt at blatant sexual teasing to actually -work-. And work beyond all his expectations, no less.
Besides, he'd had maple syrup all over them, and he was never one to waste an opportunity for more sugar.
Oh, he was -good-.
Afterwards, Draco had leaned against the wall, sizing Potter up. Predictably, Potter had flushed that beautifully horrid crimson and tried to glare. It was... less than effective, all things considered. He'd waited for Potter to exit the Great Hall, running the risk of appearing to actually -wait- for him, just to ask him a single question.
"Why Potter," Draco drawled easily. "Did you have an accident at breakfast?"
Draco had to bite the inside of his cheek to contain his manic howls of laughter at Weasley's dumbstruck expression and the Mudblood's look of blatant nosey eagerness.
Potter's glare had turned up to full force, but of course he couldn't say anything but the usual. "You better stay out of my way, Malfoy," he growled.
"Of course. Am I keeping you from something? An appointment in the loo, maybe?"
Weasley began to sputter to defense and Potter's look turned decidedly dirty. Draco had to remind himself that Malfoys didn't giggle. It didn't really matter that -he- was the one with the urgent need for some quick "relief" in the bathroom. What Potter didn't know... could only be a Good Thing.
"You're dead meat, Malfoy!" the Weasel piped up, and Draco had to chuckle. This was entertaining, but he really did have pressing matters to attend to. Bloody Potter. He hadn't counted on the boy being quite -that- hard up. No one got off at his expense, and he was going to have to learn that.
Draco didn't stop smirking for the next week.
Oh yes, there were quite a few lessons Potter was in dire need of learning, if Draco did say so himself. Meanwhile, he could always just have some harmless fun. It wasn't like the other boy was going anywhere. Not anymore.
Every time he came anywhere within ten feet of Potter, he skittered away, turning tomato-red and stuttering like he had fire-ants down his pants. He could almost wash his hands of the need to hex him for the near future-- he was just that good, apparently.
Outside the Great Hall that day, he'd waited until he thought Potter was out of earshot before nearly collapsing into hysterical laughter, making Crabbe and Goyle look slightly worried; possibly even concerned. All he could do was shake his head, chuckling. This was too good a tidbit to risk actually sharing with anybody, though he was sure Potter expected it to be all over Hogwarts any minute now. Of course, that was the beauty of it.
So what if Draco's wanking habits were getting to be nearly out of control? It was worth it! It was all bloody worth it a million times over. He hadn't slept so well in -weeks-; maybe months. He caught himself smiling and making up new and inventive ways to get excused from class, just remembering that -look- on Potter's face. He'd never forget that look.
No one had come just from looking at him (fully clothed) before. No one had stared at him like they wanted to eat him alive (with ketchup) before. More importantly, -Potter- had never willingly melted into a puddle without Draco even trying to hex him (let alone succeeding) before.
Turnabout is fair play, isn't that what those Gryffindors liked to say? Draco believed it was true, if a bit traitorous to everything he was supposed to stand for. On the other hand, treachery was the name of the game, wasn't it?
Even with all the new complications, like his dick being painfully sore from all the wanking and his drinking friends becoming concerned at his new habit of stashing it all under his bed, this victory tasted as sweet as Draco had always known it would.
With his usual command of tact and (apparently non-existent) sense of self-preservation, Blaise claimed Draco was now "stalking" Potter. It was true in a way, he supposed. Just... in a new and improved way. Yes, he'd managed to somehow "magically" find himself using the same bathrooms and developing a burning interest in obscure library research strangely timed to coincide with Potter's latest oh-so-mysterious project. He'd even gone as far as to try convincing Snape that Potter would be quite a bit less of a nuisance if he could have a crack at partnering him in Potions.
"What's in it for you?" Snape had asked him, quite bluntly, and Draco hadn't even flinched. Instead, he smiled what he believed was a Cheshire cat smile, enjoying Snape's obvious double-take.
"I'm not unaware of different methods to achieve certain ends," he said enigmatically. If he played this right, Snape might actually -help- him, thinking Draco was learning restraint and strategy or some such rubbish. It was too soon to expect any sudden look of respect, of course, but Draco would keep hoping.
"Are you," Snape said, almost blandly, though his eyes were naturally sharp as ever. "Are you sure of this?"
"We won't know till I try, will we-- Professor?" Draco smiled wider. He couldn't believe this was all it took.
"I'll admit to being... intrigued at this sudden shift towards maturity, Draco," Snape said slowly. "Perhaps a test run would not be amiss."
"You won't regret this, I promise."
"Good."
All right, fine, so Snape didn't trust him in this, but he couldn't find an excuse not to, either. That was going to be quite good enough, actually.
It was all worth it to see Potter drop things and utterly -refuse- to look Draco in the eye when they were paired with each other the next day. His hands were shaking and Draco was luxuriating in the knowledge that this-- this was supposed to be the Wizarding world's resident hero.
"Malfoy," Potter hissed, still not looking. "Quit it!"
Draco had to smirk. So now Potter was being paranoid, was he. "I'm not doing anything, Potter," he said sweetly.
Potter started chopping his portion of the roots with renewed viciousness. "That's not the point!" he whispered, the knife hitting the table with soft, rhythmical thuds. "You know what I mean!"
"Hmmm...." Draco sighed meditatively. "Is that so?" This got him a kick under the table and a helpless glare, quickly withdrawn. And there went the blushing again.
"What do you -want- with me?!" Potter was as close to wailing as one could get, and still be whispering.
"Take a wild bloody guess, Potter," Draco drawled. He wasn't going to be doing all the work, was he.
"I HATE you." He crushed the delicate flower-petals they were supposed to be using into fine powder with his pestle, looking like he was visualizing Draco's heart at the moment. Draco found this to be rather touching.
"I know you do," Draco said soothingly. Potter being the one overcome with a rush of sheer homicidal feeling was a nice change of pace, he thought.
And on it went for two whole sweet hours.
Harry Potter, unable to look someone in the eye after they'd eye-fucked him. It was... priceless.
After some consideration, that's what Draco decided they'd done. He'd certainly done quite a few things to poor virginal Potter in his mind during that minute at breakfast, regardless of what Potter had thought. It was the thought that counted, wasn't it. Well, that and the so-called "physical evidence"-- of which Potter had seemed to have plenty.
Any time Draco thought of the large wet spot on Potter's robes, he just broke out in a huge, unashamed grin. He suspected Potter found it a bit disturbing, which only made it grow. Life was... not bad. Looking up, he thought.
Now... all Draco really needed was a plan of what to do with Potter once he actually got him.
It was a bothersome detail in many respects, since his early plans of humiliation, capture and ultimate demise were slightly less attractive now that he wanted to... explore certain other avenues first. Or at least give Potter a good (willing) rogering before he was off to do the final mambo with the Dark Lord.
Draco was honest enough to admit to himself that he'd rather the mamboing consisted of him dipping Potter onto the mattress, possibly tied and gagged if necessary, possibly with some sort of spell that kept him from premature-- fun. He might also like to keep Potter on said mattress for... awhile. Draco didn't like thinking of concrete dates when he could keep his options open instead.
Step one, then: get Potter to blow him.
All this wanking was going to give him blisters in obvious places soon, and that was simply not something he wanted to imagine going to Madame Pomfrey for. Draco shuddered.
Right then. Enough dilly-dallying. He had to get down to business.
After a few moments of serious thought, Draco had a plan.
~~
"Meet me in the Slytherin locker-room half an hour after the game this Saturday. I'll allow you to finally give what's coming to me. Last game, all that. All I ask for is a minute of your time."
He didn't sign it, but then, what self-respecting Slytherin signed owls like that, anyway?
Rather generous, Draco thought, though that last sentence might have been pushing it. Still, if Potter wanted to come to tell Draco off before he got him off-- who was Draco to argue with kink? He didn't stipulate any conditions on who won or lost; it didn't precisely matter in this one way. Sure, he'd rough Potter up a bit more if he lost (which wasn't going to happen), but it would be fun no matter what. No use getting off on the wrong foot, was there. He had a feeling Potter would agree.
By the time Potter got there, Draco had worked off some steam in the shower, scrubbing and washing his hair over and over, trying to put himself into the right mindset. Sure, he wanted to wipe the floor with that smug arsehole after he won (unfairly) for the last time, but he had to keep sight of the bigger picture. Think of the positive, he told himself once again, his fingers working up a lather none too gently on his long-suffering scalp. Think of Potter on his knees. Think of Potter forgetting all about Quidditch, being fucked stupid into the Slytherin tiles.
Yes, that last bit seemed to do nicely.
He was well on the way to an equally nice erection when Potter's deep, slightly hesitant voice could be heard calling his name near the door.
"Malfoy? You there?"
Draco sighed.
Potter didn't sound too much like a bloke on his way to being rogered halfway to next Sunday, though admittedly, Draco hadn't been too explicit in his little note.
Draco figured that once Potter actually had his cock in his mouth, any and all reservations would naturally flee. Potter was gagging for it, wasn't he? That much was certainly quite obvious. How Draco got them to this point was... less important, he figured.
"What's all this about? I'm busy, so--" There was the sound of approaching footsteps, and then a sharp, loud gasp. Well, yes, Draco knew he was naked, but shouldn't the running water have given away the game before now?
Draco still had soap in his eyes, but he didn't need to see in order to visualize Potter's current trademark poleaxed expression, or the furious flush that went along with it.
Really, now. Just what level of naive was Potter playing at?
He took a few moments to rinse himself, not incidentally turning a bit from side to side to allow Potter a better view. He knew what his assets were and he was under no illusion as to what part of Potter he needed to be appealing to if he wanted to make this happen. Draco saw himself as a pragmatic sort of fellow.
Draco took his time answering, choosing instead to close his eyes as the soap ran down his face (yet again), flexing his buttocks slightly and keeping his cock teasingly just out of view.
Tellingly, Potter made no more noise that could be heard over the pleasant hiss of the shower, and they spent a nice, long minute pretending they weren't waiting for the other to crack and make the first move.
After a minute or so had passed, Draco sneaked a furtive look over at Potter, who was leaning against the nearest locker with his mouth pretty much open and his fists clenched at his sides. More importantly, no wand was anywhere in sight. Draco knew he was close, but not home free quite yet.
Nonchalantly as possible, he turned all the way around, presenting Potter with an unobstructed view of his bare arse. He knew what that looked like well enough to know that Potter was probably chewing his lips bloody in an effort not to come in his trousers (again!) by this point. He may not have been as confident about a full-frontal view, having not yet seen Potter's own assets, but this was easy, comparatively speaking.
"Malfoy," Potter groaned, and Draco allowed himself a wide, satisfied grin facing the wall.
"Yeeees?" He wasn't going to make this -too- simple. Maybe. For the next minute and a half, anyway.
Draco heard a halting step behind him, then another. His smile turned almost painfully wide. It was more like a grimace now, half ecstatic and half painful for some reason.
"Can you drop the bloody act already? I'm so fucking tired of this."
This got Draco turned around, fast. Speechless for nearly fifteen seconds, too, as his gaze was riveted on Potter's form-fitting Quidditch undergarments, dark red and leaving next to nothing to the imagination. Water everywhere, and Draco's mouth was drier than the Sahara desert.
"Sure, why not," he croaked finally. "You coming in?" He was game, he thought. He could roll with the punches.
Potter glared, crossing his arms. "Do you really think it's that easy, Malfoy?"
Draco couldn't believe Potter could be saying this, standing there with a hard-on the size of Italy which was practically doing a little welcome jig for Draco. He rolled his eyes and stepped out of the shower, dripping all over the place. It was worth it to see the sudden, fleeting trapped look on Potter's face before the usual bravado kicked in.
He walked right up to Potter, maintaining eye-contact without flinching. He was well-aware Potter had to have gotten a good (hard) look at Draco's own stiff cock by this point. The cards were all on the table. Time for the final play this round.
Except suddenly, Draco wasn't playing.
He lay a hand on Potter's crotch confidently enough, but as soon as there was contact, they both gasped as if it were an electric shock. Potter's hips jerked involuntarily and his cock jumped underneath Draco's palm, and it was all Draco could do not to whimper too loudly as their mouths met without further consultation from either of them.
Draco must have blacked out there for a bit, because the next thing he knew, they were actually back in the shower, Potter's shirt and some other unidentifiable lumps strewn across the tiles, though the thrice-cursed trousers were still on.
They were clutching at each other wildly, and Potter had Draco pinned against a rather slippery, soap-scummy wall, though Draco couldn't have cared less. All he could bother with in the entire universe was Potter's hot tongue mauling his mouth and Potter's slim knee nudging in between his legs and Potter's low, throaty moans battering at his ears.
He thought he might be about to black out again, but he was taking Potter with him this time.
Thoughts of well-earned gratification fled, supplanted by the idea of actually getting his fingers inside that stupid clingy material and wanking Potter to within an inch of his life. He was going to see about another sore cock to add to the honor roll, first. Then... then Potter was going to suck him until Draco's balls shriveled and he had no more left to give, and that was a promise.
~~
In the end, Potter was the first one to rouse, groaning as he uncurled himself from Draco's thighs a bit. He'd gotten quite comfortable with them in several different ways. Draco could still feel faint after-shocks from all the licking and the biting. It felt like there were going to be bruises, too. He'd have been put out a bit, if he wasn't so warm and weak-kneed with sheer contentment. As long as Potter didn't talk too much, Draco could see himself staying a while.
Of course, one of the many indisputable advantages to living among wizards was the fact that the shower never ran cold, so they were both still quite warm and wet from the constant drizzle. Harry-- Potter, Draco corrected himself, Potter!-- shook his head like a mangy dog, yawning slightly. Draco had to scowl lest it appear he was in any way affected.
"So tell me, Draco--" His poor, ill-used showermate bristled, which Potter promptly ignored. "I'm just curious, that's all. Has all of this--" he waved his wrist slightly, "been part of some sort of... plan to get me in bed?" Potter was mumbling all this into the inside of one of Draco's thighs, blowing warm, wet air against Draco's balls and making him shiver. This was currently having an interesting effect on Draco's ability to concentrate. By the time Potter said the word "bed", Draco was convinced that's exactly where they needed to be. As in, very soon.
A part of him simply refused to believe he could be this hard pretty much right after... all that work. What was he supposed to do to get this out of his system, fuck Potter 24/7 for next two weeks or what? He did have his marks to keep up, among... other things. There was also such a thing as being too ambitious, much as it might have pained him to admit.
"If you hadn't noticed, Potter, we're not in bed," Draco said smugly, opting to buy some time. Perhaps it wasn't two weeks, but....
"You really are an intolerable bastard, Malfoy," Potter grumbled, this time speaking into Draco's stomach.
To his ever-present disgust, Draco giggled, squirming. "Eheheh quit that, Potter! No, stop, stop! It tickles!"
He should've known Potter was merciless. This only inspired him to tickle Draco in earnest, running evil fingers up and down his sides. He bore Draco down onto the tile completely, holding down the blond's still rubbery legs with apparent ease, laughing. Draco supposed this was Potter's petty idea of "revenge". He definitely sounded entirely too happy, anyhow. Draco was going to do something about that. Tomorrow.
"Stop!" he gasped. "Fine, fine, I'll tell you!"
"That was never in any doubt, Malfoy," Potter intoned, and Draco began hatching frantic plots to somehow kill Potter with neverending, constant sex. When had he gotten so smug?!
Draco knew he could do it, and possibly survive himself. Surviving was usually all-important, but in that case Draco wasn't a hundred percent certain. He'd never had that much sex to look forward to before.
"All right, so I wanted you. Are you happy now?"
That wasn't what he meant to say, was it?
But it didn't matter. Potter wasn't tickling him anymore. His palms were flat, resting on Draco's ribs, just below his nipples. Potter seemed to be content to simply look at him, his face calm and strangely serious. Draco felt slightly light-headed, and decided he was going to have to get up in a moment, before the heat scrambled his brains permanently.
His heart beat too loudly in his chest, and he was almost certain Potter could tell.
"Not yet," Potter said, and Draco's stomach did a weird little flip. Something told him that any second now, Potter would lean over and his mouth would pucker and that -look- would be in his eyes and....
Potter's eyes were really bright and green without his glasses, though he wrinkled his nose as if to adjust them periodically. Draco thought this made him look like a mutant chipmunk, but he supposed that was an improvement overall. The glasses had gotten knocked off early on, and Draco didn't want to consider what it meant that Potter had just let them keep getting their unscheduled cleaning over in the corner, and....
And if Draco didn't run, then it would be all be over.
Draco didn't move.
~~
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All right, so if any of you wanted a semi-fluffy Draco-pov follow-up to "Minute Man", here's your chance, Lance. (urgh)
It's not porn because I'm tired and I need to be... um... inspired. And I was having too much fun writing smug!Draco, as per PsychoB's instructions, teehee. It's just a bit of R-rated silliness, really. But no mpreg this time, ahahah.
Disclaimer: HP not mine yet. not until I take over the world.
Dedication: to PsychoB, who -understands-.
Author's Note: Hey, I wrote a sequel! Though you don't really need to read `Minute Man' to get this.
- coming clean -
Draco Malfoy had always known he was a good actor, and an even better tease, but he thought this latest stunt put all his past successes in perspective.
He'd gotten Harry Potter, purest of the pure, straightest of the straight, to come in his trousers-- at breakfast-- in front of everyone-- just from looking at Draco's leisurely... cleansing of his fingers.
So perhaps he'd flipped Potter off when he first realized he had the other's attention, but a bigger, better vision had come to him almost immediately. The initial display itself was a bit... juvenile, true, but mostly it was just unambitious. Still, he hadn't expected the sudden attempt at blatant sexual teasing to actually -work-. And work beyond all his expectations, no less.
Besides, he'd had maple syrup all over them, and he was never one to waste an opportunity for more sugar.
Oh, he was -good-.
Afterwards, Draco had leaned against the wall, sizing Potter up. Predictably, Potter had flushed that beautifully horrid crimson and tried to glare. It was... less than effective, all things considered. He'd waited for Potter to exit the Great Hall, running the risk of appearing to actually -wait- for him, just to ask him a single question.
"Why Potter," Draco drawled easily. "Did you have an accident at breakfast?"
Draco had to bite the inside of his cheek to contain his manic howls of laughter at Weasley's dumbstruck expression and the Mudblood's look of blatant nosey eagerness.
Potter's glare had turned up to full force, but of course he couldn't say anything but the usual. "You better stay out of my way, Malfoy," he growled.
"Of course. Am I keeping you from something? An appointment in the loo, maybe?"
Weasley began to sputter to defense and Potter's look turned decidedly dirty. Draco had to remind himself that Malfoys didn't giggle. It didn't really matter that -he- was the one with the urgent need for some quick "relief" in the bathroom. What Potter didn't know... could only be a Good Thing.
"You're dead meat, Malfoy!" the Weasel piped up, and Draco had to chuckle. This was entertaining, but he really did have pressing matters to attend to. Bloody Potter. He hadn't counted on the boy being quite -that- hard up. No one got off at his expense, and he was going to have to learn that.
Draco didn't stop smirking for the next week.
Oh yes, there were quite a few lessons Potter was in dire need of learning, if Draco did say so himself. Meanwhile, he could always just have some harmless fun. It wasn't like the other boy was going anywhere. Not anymore.
Every time he came anywhere within ten feet of Potter, he skittered away, turning tomato-red and stuttering like he had fire-ants down his pants. He could almost wash his hands of the need to hex him for the near future-- he was just that good, apparently.
Outside the Great Hall that day, he'd waited until he thought Potter was out of earshot before nearly collapsing into hysterical laughter, making Crabbe and Goyle look slightly worried; possibly even concerned. All he could do was shake his head, chuckling. This was too good a tidbit to risk actually sharing with anybody, though he was sure Potter expected it to be all over Hogwarts any minute now. Of course, that was the beauty of it.
So what if Draco's wanking habits were getting to be nearly out of control? It was worth it! It was all bloody worth it a million times over. He hadn't slept so well in -weeks-; maybe months. He caught himself smiling and making up new and inventive ways to get excused from class, just remembering that -look- on Potter's face. He'd never forget that look.
No one had come just from looking at him (fully clothed) before. No one had stared at him like they wanted to eat him alive (with ketchup) before. More importantly, -Potter- had never willingly melted into a puddle without Draco even trying to hex him (let alone succeeding) before.
Turnabout is fair play, isn't that what those Gryffindors liked to say? Draco believed it was true, if a bit traitorous to everything he was supposed to stand for. On the other hand, treachery was the name of the game, wasn't it?
Even with all the new complications, like his dick being painfully sore from all the wanking and his drinking friends becoming concerned at his new habit of stashing it all under his bed, this victory tasted as sweet as Draco had always known it would.
With his usual command of tact and (apparently non-existent) sense of self-preservation, Blaise claimed Draco was now "stalking" Potter. It was true in a way, he supposed. Just... in a new and improved way. Yes, he'd managed to somehow "magically" find himself using the same bathrooms and developing a burning interest in obscure library research strangely timed to coincide with Potter's latest oh-so-mysterious project. He'd even gone as far as to try convincing Snape that Potter would be quite a bit less of a nuisance if he could have a crack at partnering him in Potions.
"What's in it for you?" Snape had asked him, quite bluntly, and Draco hadn't even flinched. Instead, he smiled what he believed was a Cheshire cat smile, enjoying Snape's obvious double-take.
"I'm not unaware of different methods to achieve certain ends," he said enigmatically. If he played this right, Snape might actually -help- him, thinking Draco was learning restraint and strategy or some such rubbish. It was too soon to expect any sudden look of respect, of course, but Draco would keep hoping.
"Are you," Snape said, almost blandly, though his eyes were naturally sharp as ever. "Are you sure of this?"
"We won't know till I try, will we-- Professor?" Draco smiled wider. He couldn't believe this was all it took.
"I'll admit to being... intrigued at this sudden shift towards maturity, Draco," Snape said slowly. "Perhaps a test run would not be amiss."
"You won't regret this, I promise."
"Good."
All right, fine, so Snape didn't trust him in this, but he couldn't find an excuse not to, either. That was going to be quite good enough, actually.
It was all worth it to see Potter drop things and utterly -refuse- to look Draco in the eye when they were paired with each other the next day. His hands were shaking and Draco was luxuriating in the knowledge that this-- this was supposed to be the Wizarding world's resident hero.
"Malfoy," Potter hissed, still not looking. "Quit it!"
Draco had to smirk. So now Potter was being paranoid, was he. "I'm not doing anything, Potter," he said sweetly.
Potter started chopping his portion of the roots with renewed viciousness. "That's not the point!" he whispered, the knife hitting the table with soft, rhythmical thuds. "You know what I mean!"
"Hmmm...." Draco sighed meditatively. "Is that so?" This got him a kick under the table and a helpless glare, quickly withdrawn. And there went the blushing again.
"What do you -want- with me?!" Potter was as close to wailing as one could get, and still be whispering.
"Take a wild bloody guess, Potter," Draco drawled. He wasn't going to be doing all the work, was he.
"I HATE you." He crushed the delicate flower-petals they were supposed to be using into fine powder with his pestle, looking like he was visualizing Draco's heart at the moment. Draco found this to be rather touching.
"I know you do," Draco said soothingly. Potter being the one overcome with a rush of sheer homicidal feeling was a nice change of pace, he thought.
And on it went for two whole sweet hours.
Harry Potter, unable to look someone in the eye after they'd eye-fucked him. It was... priceless.
After some consideration, that's what Draco decided they'd done. He'd certainly done quite a few things to poor virginal Potter in his mind during that minute at breakfast, regardless of what Potter had thought. It was the thought that counted, wasn't it. Well, that and the so-called "physical evidence"-- of which Potter had seemed to have plenty.
Any time Draco thought of the large wet spot on Potter's robes, he just broke out in a huge, unashamed grin. He suspected Potter found it a bit disturbing, which only made it grow. Life was... not bad. Looking up, he thought.
Now... all Draco really needed was a plan of what to do with Potter once he actually got him.
It was a bothersome detail in many respects, since his early plans of humiliation, capture and ultimate demise were slightly less attractive now that he wanted to... explore certain other avenues first. Or at least give Potter a good (willing) rogering before he was off to do the final mambo with the Dark Lord.
Draco was honest enough to admit to himself that he'd rather the mamboing consisted of him dipping Potter onto the mattress, possibly tied and gagged if necessary, possibly with some sort of spell that kept him from premature-- fun. He might also like to keep Potter on said mattress for... awhile. Draco didn't like thinking of concrete dates when he could keep his options open instead.
Step one, then: get Potter to blow him.
All this wanking was going to give him blisters in obvious places soon, and that was simply not something he wanted to imagine going to Madame Pomfrey for. Draco shuddered.
Right then. Enough dilly-dallying. He had to get down to business.
After a few moments of serious thought, Draco had a plan.
~~
"Meet me in the Slytherin locker-room half an hour after the game this Saturday. I'll allow you to finally give what's coming to me. Last game, all that. All I ask for is a minute of your time."
He didn't sign it, but then, what self-respecting Slytherin signed owls like that, anyway?
Rather generous, Draco thought, though that last sentence might have been pushing it. Still, if Potter wanted to come to tell Draco off before he got him off-- who was Draco to argue with kink? He didn't stipulate any conditions on who won or lost; it didn't precisely matter in this one way. Sure, he'd rough Potter up a bit more if he lost (which wasn't going to happen), but it would be fun no matter what. No use getting off on the wrong foot, was there. He had a feeling Potter would agree.
By the time Potter got there, Draco had worked off some steam in the shower, scrubbing and washing his hair over and over, trying to put himself into the right mindset. Sure, he wanted to wipe the floor with that smug arsehole after he won (unfairly) for the last time, but he had to keep sight of the bigger picture. Think of the positive, he told himself once again, his fingers working up a lather none too gently on his long-suffering scalp. Think of Potter on his knees. Think of Potter forgetting all about Quidditch, being fucked stupid into the Slytherin tiles.
Yes, that last bit seemed to do nicely.
He was well on the way to an equally nice erection when Potter's deep, slightly hesitant voice could be heard calling his name near the door.
"Malfoy? You there?"
Draco sighed.
Potter didn't sound too much like a bloke on his way to being rogered halfway to next Sunday, though admittedly, Draco hadn't been too explicit in his little note.
Draco figured that once Potter actually had his cock in his mouth, any and all reservations would naturally flee. Potter was gagging for it, wasn't he? That much was certainly quite obvious. How Draco got them to this point was... less important, he figured.
"What's all this about? I'm busy, so--" There was the sound of approaching footsteps, and then a sharp, loud gasp. Well, yes, Draco knew he was naked, but shouldn't the running water have given away the game before now?
Draco still had soap in his eyes, but he didn't need to see in order to visualize Potter's current trademark poleaxed expression, or the furious flush that went along with it.
Really, now. Just what level of naive was Potter playing at?
He took a few moments to rinse himself, not incidentally turning a bit from side to side to allow Potter a better view. He knew what his assets were and he was under no illusion as to what part of Potter he needed to be appealing to if he wanted to make this happen. Draco saw himself as a pragmatic sort of fellow.
Draco took his time answering, choosing instead to close his eyes as the soap ran down his face (yet again), flexing his buttocks slightly and keeping his cock teasingly just out of view.
Tellingly, Potter made no more noise that could be heard over the pleasant hiss of the shower, and they spent a nice, long minute pretending they weren't waiting for the other to crack and make the first move.
After a minute or so had passed, Draco sneaked a furtive look over at Potter, who was leaning against the nearest locker with his mouth pretty much open and his fists clenched at his sides. More importantly, no wand was anywhere in sight. Draco knew he was close, but not home free quite yet.
Nonchalantly as possible, he turned all the way around, presenting Potter with an unobstructed view of his bare arse. He knew what that looked like well enough to know that Potter was probably chewing his lips bloody in an effort not to come in his trousers (again!) by this point. He may not have been as confident about a full-frontal view, having not yet seen Potter's own assets, but this was easy, comparatively speaking.
"Malfoy," Potter groaned, and Draco allowed himself a wide, satisfied grin facing the wall.
"Yeeees?" He wasn't going to make this -too- simple. Maybe. For the next minute and a half, anyway.
Draco heard a halting step behind him, then another. His smile turned almost painfully wide. It was more like a grimace now, half ecstatic and half painful for some reason.
"Can you drop the bloody act already? I'm so fucking tired of this."
This got Draco turned around, fast. Speechless for nearly fifteen seconds, too, as his gaze was riveted on Potter's form-fitting Quidditch undergarments, dark red and leaving next to nothing to the imagination. Water everywhere, and Draco's mouth was drier than the Sahara desert.
"Sure, why not," he croaked finally. "You coming in?" He was game, he thought. He could roll with the punches.
Potter glared, crossing his arms. "Do you really think it's that easy, Malfoy?"
Draco couldn't believe Potter could be saying this, standing there with a hard-on the size of Italy which was practically doing a little welcome jig for Draco. He rolled his eyes and stepped out of the shower, dripping all over the place. It was worth it to see the sudden, fleeting trapped look on Potter's face before the usual bravado kicked in.
He walked right up to Potter, maintaining eye-contact without flinching. He was well-aware Potter had to have gotten a good (hard) look at Draco's own stiff cock by this point. The cards were all on the table. Time for the final play this round.
Except suddenly, Draco wasn't playing.
He lay a hand on Potter's crotch confidently enough, but as soon as there was contact, they both gasped as if it were an electric shock. Potter's hips jerked involuntarily and his cock jumped underneath Draco's palm, and it was all Draco could do not to whimper too loudly as their mouths met without further consultation from either of them.
Draco must have blacked out there for a bit, because the next thing he knew, they were actually back in the shower, Potter's shirt and some other unidentifiable lumps strewn across the tiles, though the thrice-cursed trousers were still on.
They were clutching at each other wildly, and Potter had Draco pinned against a rather slippery, soap-scummy wall, though Draco couldn't have cared less. All he could bother with in the entire universe was Potter's hot tongue mauling his mouth and Potter's slim knee nudging in between his legs and Potter's low, throaty moans battering at his ears.
He thought he might be about to black out again, but he was taking Potter with him this time.
Thoughts of well-earned gratification fled, supplanted by the idea of actually getting his fingers inside that stupid clingy material and wanking Potter to within an inch of his life. He was going to see about another sore cock to add to the honor roll, first. Then... then Potter was going to suck him until Draco's balls shriveled and he had no more left to give, and that was a promise.
~~
In the end, Potter was the first one to rouse, groaning as he uncurled himself from Draco's thighs a bit. He'd gotten quite comfortable with them in several different ways. Draco could still feel faint after-shocks from all the licking and the biting. It felt like there were going to be bruises, too. He'd have been put out a bit, if he wasn't so warm and weak-kneed with sheer contentment. As long as Potter didn't talk too much, Draco could see himself staying a while.
Of course, one of the many indisputable advantages to living among wizards was the fact that the shower never ran cold, so they were both still quite warm and wet from the constant drizzle. Harry-- Potter, Draco corrected himself, Potter!-- shook his head like a mangy dog, yawning slightly. Draco had to scowl lest it appear he was in any way affected.
"So tell me, Draco--" His poor, ill-used showermate bristled, which Potter promptly ignored. "I'm just curious, that's all. Has all of this--" he waved his wrist slightly, "been part of some sort of... plan to get me in bed?" Potter was mumbling all this into the inside of one of Draco's thighs, blowing warm, wet air against Draco's balls and making him shiver. This was currently having an interesting effect on Draco's ability to concentrate. By the time Potter said the word "bed", Draco was convinced that's exactly where they needed to be. As in, very soon.
A part of him simply refused to believe he could be this hard pretty much right after... all that work. What was he supposed to do to get this out of his system, fuck Potter 24/7 for next two weeks or what? He did have his marks to keep up, among... other things. There was also such a thing as being too ambitious, much as it might have pained him to admit.
"If you hadn't noticed, Potter, we're not in bed," Draco said smugly, opting to buy some time. Perhaps it wasn't two weeks, but....
"You really are an intolerable bastard, Malfoy," Potter grumbled, this time speaking into Draco's stomach.
To his ever-present disgust, Draco giggled, squirming. "Eheheh quit that, Potter! No, stop, stop! It tickles!"
He should've known Potter was merciless. This only inspired him to tickle Draco in earnest, running evil fingers up and down his sides. He bore Draco down onto the tile completely, holding down the blond's still rubbery legs with apparent ease, laughing. Draco supposed this was Potter's petty idea of "revenge". He definitely sounded entirely too happy, anyhow. Draco was going to do something about that. Tomorrow.
"Stop!" he gasped. "Fine, fine, I'll tell you!"
"That was never in any doubt, Malfoy," Potter intoned, and Draco began hatching frantic plots to somehow kill Potter with neverending, constant sex. When had he gotten so smug?!
Draco knew he could do it, and possibly survive himself. Surviving was usually all-important, but in that case Draco wasn't a hundred percent certain. He'd never had that much sex to look forward to before.
"All right, so I wanted you. Are you happy now?"
That wasn't what he meant to say, was it?
But it didn't matter. Potter wasn't tickling him anymore. His palms were flat, resting on Draco's ribs, just below his nipples. Potter seemed to be content to simply look at him, his face calm and strangely serious. Draco felt slightly light-headed, and decided he was going to have to get up in a moment, before the heat scrambled his brains permanently.
His heart beat too loudly in his chest, and he was almost certain Potter could tell.
"Not yet," Potter said, and Draco's stomach did a weird little flip. Something told him that any second now, Potter would lean over and his mouth would pucker and that -look- would be in his eyes and....
Potter's eyes were really bright and green without his glasses, though he wrinkled his nose as if to adjust them periodically. Draco thought this made him look like a mutant chipmunk, but he supposed that was an improvement overall. The glasses had gotten knocked off early on, and Draco didn't want to consider what it meant that Potter had just let them keep getting their unscheduled cleaning over in the corner, and....
And if Draco didn't run, then it would be all be over.
Draco didn't move.
~~