Drabble - Shhhh ... you'll wake up Draco
Here is Drabble Request Number Two. It’s from hd_obsession who requested I would love a drabble if not too much trouble, H/D jealous/possesive!Harry or Draco.
Well, this just about fits in with hd_obsession’s drabble request -- if you squint at it a little and then look at it sideways. Nor, at over 2500 words, can it be considered a drabble. As for a rating, I think I should say it’s R-rated just to be on the safe side.
I hope it works.
Yesterday was FA Cup Final day and the match was between Liverpool and West Ham. I couldn’t just let a Cup final involving Dean Thomas’ favourite team go by without writing something, so here is a story from my Football Universe, which is probably the same as the Resolution Universe, so this can be consider a Futurefic.
The Football World Cup 2006 is almost upon us, so it also seems like a good time to embark on a summer of football smut.
Unfortunately for Dean, West Ham lost.
Shhhh ... you’ll wake up Draco
Location: A house somewhere in the South of England. I can’t tell you where exactly because it is unplottable thanks to the anti-location spells on it.
The time: The early hours of Sunday 14th May 2006.
“Ouch! Bugger!”
“Shhhh ... you’ll wake up Draco.”
“I tripped over your bloody cat.”
“You should look where you’re going.”
“I would if you’d put the lights on. That’s better.”
“Watch it! Dean’s slipping.”
“Maybe we should leave him on the sofa.”
“Can’t ... Neville crashed out there.”
“Bugger!”
“Shhh ... you’ll....”
“Wake up Draco! I know. Well, he could bloody wake up and help!”
In the darkened master bedroom, Draco Malfoy was indeed awake. In fact he hadn’t been asleep yet and he let out an annoyed growl at the realisation that Harry hadn’t returned home on his own. Quickly casting a Tempus Temporis spell, he watched as the softly glowing hands of a clock hovered above him, the white glow briefly illuminating the room before it faded away to just an afterimage on his retina. It was almost two-thirty in the morning.
He listened to the voices as they both collapsed into what were clearly drunken giggles as something thudded on the floor. Harry’s voice was obvious, as was the Irish lilt of Seamus Finnigan. If Neville Longbottom had already passed out on the sofa that meant the body being hauled towards the guest bedroom had to be Dean Thomas.
Draco snorted softly -- the Four Musketeers, all drunk after going to see the FA Cup football thing in Cardiff. He snorted again, Thomas’ team had lost so all four would be unhappy drunks and because Harry had decided to bring the Gryffindors home, Draco would have to deal with their hangovers in the morning. He wondered briefly if there were any hangover potions in the medicine cupboard or if he would have to brew something when he woke up. Damned if he was going to get up and do it now!
“Watch the rug,” Harry’s voice hissed and Draco cringed as he had visions of the rather expensive runner along the landing being turned into a limp pile against the wall as the two men dragged their friend towards the bedroom.
Draco threw back the blankets and considered getting up. Unfortunately, he knew from past experience what would happen if did. Harry and his friends would titter and smirk like children being told off by an adult. Then he would have to put up with Finnigan telling him he was no fun and to stop being such a stuck up Slytherin, and then Harry would tell him to relax and chill out a bit.
Then, if he was really lucky, Thomas would throw up all over the expensive silk quilt on the guest bed. Assuming, of course, that Longbottom hadn’t already done the same over the lounge carpet.
He glanced up briefly at the dark ceiling and not for the first time cursed the fact that his partner loved football.
It wasn’t, he reminded himself, that he wanted Harry to be denied anything -- after with what his Beloved had been through so far in his short life, Harry could have anything and everything he wanted as far as Draco was concerned. But football was one of the few things they didn’t share and the fact that Harry shared it with others always plucked at the possessive streak that he knew simmered just below the surface. It didn’t help that the people who did share Harry’s passion where all his Gryffindor friends from Hogwarts. Thomas, who was a Muggle-born, and Harry had grown up with football and the pair of them had somehow dragged Finnigan and Longbottom (who was a pure-blood and should know better) into their obsession.
And Draco just didn’t get it.
Oh, he could understand the passion; he still felt it now whenever he went to a Quidditch match, but football was a Muggle game and he couldn’t see how being crammed into a stadium with thousands of Muggles all shouting and screaming could constitute ‘enjoyment’. He remembered talking to Pansy about it once and they had both shuddered at the thought of all those Muggles being ... well ... Muggles and doing what Muggles did.
But then there were occasions when he thought he understood; the matches he watched with Harry on the television. Draco had lived through the last football season with Harry biting his fingernails to the quick over the fears of his beloved Southampton being relegated yet again. But at least he was watching with just Harry and they would snuggle up on the sofa and he’d feel Harry against him and it would be something they could both share.
But when the three Musketeers watched, it all seemed to change. Harry turned into what Hermione had once called ‘One of the Lads’ and it was as if Draco didn’t exist, except maybe to get beer from the fridge or find more crisps. And because he sulked about it, they all thought it was funny and that he was a killjoy.
Then she had gone to join ‘the Lads’, leaving him and Severus quite literally holding the baby in the form of Draco’s godson. At least Severus didn’t understand either and they could spend their time bemoaning the state of Gryffindors and their many failings.
And he was going to have to put up with it all over the summer with the World Cup going on for weeks and weeks.
Oh, he’d learned his lesson after the debacle of the World Cup in Japan back in 2002 when Harry could have gone to see the matches but hadn’t and never let Draco forget the fact. So he’d suggested that Harry go to Germany to watch, but Harry had decided he’d rather stay at home. Which no doubt meant Draco would either have to play the magnanimous host for all the matches (which he always did so well -- whatever he thought of his parents they had taught him to be the best of hosts), or he would have to pretend to enjoy the football somewhere else (which meant he would have to be polite and put up with Harry being ‘One of the Lads’), or he’d have to accept that Harry would be off with the others watching and enjoying himself while Draco sulked at home alone.
The house had gone strangely quiet and Draco considered for a moment whether that was a good or bad sign. He was just debating whether to go and investigate when, at last, he heard Harry’s overloud whisper of “You know where the bathroom is?” and what he assumed was Finnigan’s reply of “Yeah ... go shag your boyfriend, Potter.”
Draco gave a short laugh as he pulled the covers over himself and pretended to be asleep; Harry would be lucky if he was sober enough to find the bed let alone Draco’s arse.
The bedroom door opened and the room was filled with light from the hall before being plunged back into darkness again. After a struggle, Harry finally managed to light a bedside lamp and Draco couldn’t help but smile as he watched his lover undress with the slow determination of one who’d had too much to drink. There was something decidedly sexy about the determination which lead to the slow disrobement and exposure of familiar skin, and Draco was all too aware of how the sight made his groin tighten and his own skin prickle with an equally familiar warmth. Harry looked decidedly fuckable with his exquisitely messy hair like a black halo in the lamplight and the glow turning his skin to lickable gold.
Almost unconsciously Draco’s hand slid down his stomach, fingers trailing through his pubic hair. Then Harry reached to picked something up before scrambling into the bed.
“Are you awake?”
The tone was supposed to be a whisper but once again it was as loud as if Harry was speaking normally. A face loomed in the dim light and Draco smelled a mixture of alcohol overlaid by the cleaner and fresher smell of toothpaste. Lips touched his own and underneath everything he tasted Harry. As his lover pulled back, Draco finally spoke.
“Yes, I’m awake.”
“Sorry, we didn’t mean to be so noisy.” This time the kiss moved to Draco’s ear and he felt hot breath against his skin. The sensation made him harden just a little more.
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing everyone back with you.”
“Well, it was like this. When West Ham lost, Dean needed to drown his sorrows, so we went out to a nice pub we’d seen earlier. And then Seamus decided Dean was too drunk to Apparate home on his own....”
“Don’t tell me you all Apparated here?” Draco pushed himself away from Harry and stared at his partner as a flash of fear ran through him. “You could have all splinched yourselves in the state you’re in.”
“Will you let me finish?” Harry gave a huff of annoyance and looked skyward. “Then Neville said we were all too drunk to Apparate anywhere. Which is why we came back here. You gave me that Portkey for emergencies, remember.”
Yes, Draco remembered the Portkey, but this wasn’t the sort of emergency he’d had in mind for it. It had been for things like ex-Death Eaters suddenly cornering Harry or someone having a grudge involving the one-time Boy Who Lived. Still, the important thing was that Harry was home safe, even if his little band of Gryffindors were unexpected guests.
“I’ve got you a present.” Harry’s grinning face appeared again.
“Oh?”
“Here.” Something soft and furry was thrust into Draco’s face and he had to push Harry’s hand back a little so he could see what it was. He stared for a long moment at the soft toy before raising an eyebrow. “It’s another stuffed lion.” He glanced briefly at the growing collection of toy lions Harry had amassed since the first one he’d got for Draco’s eighteenth birthday.
“No ... no ... it’s not just another lion. This one....” Harry bounced the toy on Draco’s chest with each word. “Is an England lion.” He held it up so Draco could see it. “See it’s little shirt? It’s got an England flag and....”
“It says England on it as well.” Draco reached for Harry’s wrist to stop the incessant movement.
“Well, that, but it’s just like World Cup Willie and he’s for you.”
“Who?”
“World Cup Willie. He was the England mascot back in 1966 when we won the World Cup.” With a flourish, Harry pulled the sheets away from Draco’s body and gave a little lion-like growl as he pushed the lion’s face against one of Draco’s nipples. Then he started to sing, the words just a little slurred and off key. “Dressed in red white and blue, he’s World Cup Willie.” The lion bounced down Draco’s chest in time with the song. “We all love him too, World Cup Willie.” It burrowed into Draco’s navel. “He’s tough as a lion and never will give up, that’s why Willie is favourite for the cup.”
Draco couldn’t help but smile, both at his lover’s antics and the almost irresistible soppy grin on the man’s face. He reached up and pushed his fingers into Harry’s own mane of hair, pulling him close enough for a long lazy kiss. Toy lions had taken on a strange significance for both of them after Harry gave him the first one and even though Draco was outwardly dismissive about creatures, he knew where each and every one had come from and what the occasion of their purchase had been. This one, however, he wasn’t quite so sure of.
“Thank you.” He combed his fingers through the black hair until they rested on the back of Harry’s neck. “But I think you should sleep now. We can talk about this in the morning”
“Oh no ... no. Me and Willie are going to give you the bestest blow job you’ve ever had.”
“I think you should....” Draco fell silent with a hissed breath as the plush fabric was drawn over his half-hard length.
“The longest one....” Harry slithered down the bed and all but wrapped himself around one of Draco’s legs so tightly he could feel Harry’s erection pressed against him. “And the hardest one....” Harry humped against his leg. “And the wettest one you’ve ever had.”
Draco groaned as the lion rubbed against him once more before being replaced by a long full-length lick of Harry’s tongue. The action was repeated again and again as though someone was enjoying a particularly delicious ice cream on a hot sunny day. He could feel himself responding, getting harder with each swipe. Then Harry put the toy down on the bed and pushed it between Draco’s legs, the long hair of the mane tickling against his already heavy testicles. With another groan, Draco flexed his hips just a little, letting the sensation work at the growing heat in his groin.
The tickle from the fur was joined by the soft tickle of Harry’s hair as his head dropped to Draco’s hip. He could feel the warm breath on his now erect penis and waited for Harry’s wonderful mouth to resume its ministrations. God, he loved Harry’s mouth and the way he fitted inside it so well, how the rough texture of Harry’s tongue felt against his skin ... rough silky sandpaper against equally silky but smooth skin. Then there was the way Harry would suck at him, swapping between soft and gentle, and the feeling that he was trying to suck Draco’s very soul out of him.
And it was like that every time Draco let Harry do this to him -- like Harry was taking an infinitesimal piece of his soul, only to give it back with a piece of his own when Draco made love to him.
Draco waited.
And waited for Harry to continue, his erection only heightened by the delay. Then just as he though he might die from waiting, his patience was rewarded by a long, low, soft snore.
“Harry?” He tugged gently at the dark hair and Harry snored again, clearly sound asleep.
Draco was torn between annoyance and laughter as he tried to pull his leg from Harry’s embrace. The other man’s arms and legs were so tightly wrapped that short of pulling him off by brute force, Draco would have to leave Harry there until he let go. But that meant it would be very hard for him to deal with the aftermath of Harry’s aborted blow job without coming all over his lover.
He smirked. No, he’d want Harry to be very, very aware of that happening and, besides, he could feel his arousal already flagging just a little. He would have his wicked way once the other Musketeers had been sent home.
He reached for the lion and stared at it. “You, my friend, have an awful lot to answer for. You and football.” Still, he decided, even if Harry did have other friends, he always came back to Draco and as much as he hated anything that took Harry away from him, he loved to see the joy it brought to Harry’s face, and wasn’t that what was important? To have Harry finally happy?
Dropping the lion onto the bed, Draco let one hand rest on Harry’s head. He drifted into sleep listening to the most precious sound in the world; that of his lover’s breathing.
---
14th May 2006
Lyrics from “World Cup Willie” by Lonnie Donegan (back in the days when they used to know how to write football songs *grins*, and it is the song from the year England did win the cup *grins some more*). And if you are desperate to hear the song, you can download it here *sniggers*
Harry’s England Lion is from Sainsbury’s.
Well, this just about fits in with hd_obsession’s drabble request -- if you squint at it a little and then look at it sideways. Nor, at over 2500 words, can it be considered a drabble. As for a rating, I think I should say it’s R-rated just to be on the safe side.
I hope it works.
Yesterday was FA Cup Final day and the match was between Liverpool and West Ham. I couldn’t just let a Cup final involving Dean Thomas’ favourite team go by without writing something, so here is a story from my Football Universe, which is probably the same as the Resolution Universe, so this can be consider a Futurefic.
The Football World Cup 2006 is almost upon us, so it also seems like a good time to embark on a summer of football smut.
Unfortunately for Dean, West Ham lost.
Shhhh ... you’ll wake up Draco
Location: A house somewhere in the South of England. I can’t tell you where exactly because it is unplottable thanks to the anti-location spells on it.
The time: The early hours of Sunday 14th May 2006.
“Ouch! Bugger!”
“Shhhh ... you’ll wake up Draco.”
“I tripped over your bloody cat.”
“You should look where you’re going.”
“I would if you’d put the lights on. That’s better.”
“Watch it! Dean’s slipping.”
“Maybe we should leave him on the sofa.”
“Can’t ... Neville crashed out there.”
“Bugger!”
“Shhh ... you’ll....”
“Wake up Draco! I know. Well, he could bloody wake up and help!”
In the darkened master bedroom, Draco Malfoy was indeed awake. In fact he hadn’t been asleep yet and he let out an annoyed growl at the realisation that Harry hadn’t returned home on his own. Quickly casting a Tempus Temporis spell, he watched as the softly glowing hands of a clock hovered above him, the white glow briefly illuminating the room before it faded away to just an afterimage on his retina. It was almost two-thirty in the morning.
He listened to the voices as they both collapsed into what were clearly drunken giggles as something thudded on the floor. Harry’s voice was obvious, as was the Irish lilt of Seamus Finnigan. If Neville Longbottom had already passed out on the sofa that meant the body being hauled towards the guest bedroom had to be Dean Thomas.
Draco snorted softly -- the Four Musketeers, all drunk after going to see the FA Cup football thing in Cardiff. He snorted again, Thomas’ team had lost so all four would be unhappy drunks and because Harry had decided to bring the Gryffindors home, Draco would have to deal with their hangovers in the morning. He wondered briefly if there were any hangover potions in the medicine cupboard or if he would have to brew something when he woke up. Damned if he was going to get up and do it now!
“Watch the rug,” Harry’s voice hissed and Draco cringed as he had visions of the rather expensive runner along the landing being turned into a limp pile against the wall as the two men dragged their friend towards the bedroom.
Draco threw back the blankets and considered getting up. Unfortunately, he knew from past experience what would happen if did. Harry and his friends would titter and smirk like children being told off by an adult. Then he would have to put up with Finnigan telling him he was no fun and to stop being such a stuck up Slytherin, and then Harry would tell him to relax and chill out a bit.
Then, if he was really lucky, Thomas would throw up all over the expensive silk quilt on the guest bed. Assuming, of course, that Longbottom hadn’t already done the same over the lounge carpet.
He glanced up briefly at the dark ceiling and not for the first time cursed the fact that his partner loved football.
It wasn’t, he reminded himself, that he wanted Harry to be denied anything -- after with what his Beloved had been through so far in his short life, Harry could have anything and everything he wanted as far as Draco was concerned. But football was one of the few things they didn’t share and the fact that Harry shared it with others always plucked at the possessive streak that he knew simmered just below the surface. It didn’t help that the people who did share Harry’s passion where all his Gryffindor friends from Hogwarts. Thomas, who was a Muggle-born, and Harry had grown up with football and the pair of them had somehow dragged Finnigan and Longbottom (who was a pure-blood and should know better) into their obsession.
And Draco just didn’t get it.
Oh, he could understand the passion; he still felt it now whenever he went to a Quidditch match, but football was a Muggle game and he couldn’t see how being crammed into a stadium with thousands of Muggles all shouting and screaming could constitute ‘enjoyment’. He remembered talking to Pansy about it once and they had both shuddered at the thought of all those Muggles being ... well ... Muggles and doing what Muggles did.
But then there were occasions when he thought he understood; the matches he watched with Harry on the television. Draco had lived through the last football season with Harry biting his fingernails to the quick over the fears of his beloved Southampton being relegated yet again. But at least he was watching with just Harry and they would snuggle up on the sofa and he’d feel Harry against him and it would be something they could both share.
But when the three Musketeers watched, it all seemed to change. Harry turned into what Hermione had once called ‘One of the Lads’ and it was as if Draco didn’t exist, except maybe to get beer from the fridge or find more crisps. And because he sulked about it, they all thought it was funny and that he was a killjoy.
Then she had gone to join ‘the Lads’, leaving him and Severus quite literally holding the baby in the form of Draco’s godson. At least Severus didn’t understand either and they could spend their time bemoaning the state of Gryffindors and their many failings.
And he was going to have to put up with it all over the summer with the World Cup going on for weeks and weeks.
Oh, he’d learned his lesson after the debacle of the World Cup in Japan back in 2002 when Harry could have gone to see the matches but hadn’t and never let Draco forget the fact. So he’d suggested that Harry go to Germany to watch, but Harry had decided he’d rather stay at home. Which no doubt meant Draco would either have to play the magnanimous host for all the matches (which he always did so well -- whatever he thought of his parents they had taught him to be the best of hosts), or he would have to pretend to enjoy the football somewhere else (which meant he would have to be polite and put up with Harry being ‘One of the Lads’), or he’d have to accept that Harry would be off with the others watching and enjoying himself while Draco sulked at home alone.
The house had gone strangely quiet and Draco considered for a moment whether that was a good or bad sign. He was just debating whether to go and investigate when, at last, he heard Harry’s overloud whisper of “You know where the bathroom is?” and what he assumed was Finnigan’s reply of “Yeah ... go shag your boyfriend, Potter.”
Draco gave a short laugh as he pulled the covers over himself and pretended to be asleep; Harry would be lucky if he was sober enough to find the bed let alone Draco’s arse.
The bedroom door opened and the room was filled with light from the hall before being plunged back into darkness again. After a struggle, Harry finally managed to light a bedside lamp and Draco couldn’t help but smile as he watched his lover undress with the slow determination of one who’d had too much to drink. There was something decidedly sexy about the determination which lead to the slow disrobement and exposure of familiar skin, and Draco was all too aware of how the sight made his groin tighten and his own skin prickle with an equally familiar warmth. Harry looked decidedly fuckable with his exquisitely messy hair like a black halo in the lamplight and the glow turning his skin to lickable gold.
Almost unconsciously Draco’s hand slid down his stomach, fingers trailing through his pubic hair. Then Harry reached to picked something up before scrambling into the bed.
“Are you awake?”
The tone was supposed to be a whisper but once again it was as loud as if Harry was speaking normally. A face loomed in the dim light and Draco smelled a mixture of alcohol overlaid by the cleaner and fresher smell of toothpaste. Lips touched his own and underneath everything he tasted Harry. As his lover pulled back, Draco finally spoke.
“Yes, I’m awake.”
“Sorry, we didn’t mean to be so noisy.” This time the kiss moved to Draco’s ear and he felt hot breath against his skin. The sensation made him harden just a little more.
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing everyone back with you.”
“Well, it was like this. When West Ham lost, Dean needed to drown his sorrows, so we went out to a nice pub we’d seen earlier. And then Seamus decided Dean was too drunk to Apparate home on his own....”
“Don’t tell me you all Apparated here?” Draco pushed himself away from Harry and stared at his partner as a flash of fear ran through him. “You could have all splinched yourselves in the state you’re in.”
“Will you let me finish?” Harry gave a huff of annoyance and looked skyward. “Then Neville said we were all too drunk to Apparate anywhere. Which is why we came back here. You gave me that Portkey for emergencies, remember.”
Yes, Draco remembered the Portkey, but this wasn’t the sort of emergency he’d had in mind for it. It had been for things like ex-Death Eaters suddenly cornering Harry or someone having a grudge involving the one-time Boy Who Lived. Still, the important thing was that Harry was home safe, even if his little band of Gryffindors were unexpected guests.
“I’ve got you a present.” Harry’s grinning face appeared again.
“Oh?”
“Here.” Something soft and furry was thrust into Draco’s face and he had to push Harry’s hand back a little so he could see what it was. He stared for a long moment at the soft toy before raising an eyebrow. “It’s another stuffed lion.” He glanced briefly at the growing collection of toy lions Harry had amassed since the first one he’d got for Draco’s eighteenth birthday.
“No ... no ... it’s not just another lion. This one....” Harry bounced the toy on Draco’s chest with each word. “Is an England lion.” He held it up so Draco could see it. “See it’s little shirt? It’s got an England flag and....”
“It says England on it as well.” Draco reached for Harry’s wrist to stop the incessant movement.
“Well, that, but it’s just like World Cup Willie and he’s for you.”
“Who?”
“World Cup Willie. He was the England mascot back in 1966 when we won the World Cup.” With a flourish, Harry pulled the sheets away from Draco’s body and gave a little lion-like growl as he pushed the lion’s face against one of Draco’s nipples. Then he started to sing, the words just a little slurred and off key. “Dressed in red white and blue, he’s World Cup Willie.” The lion bounced down Draco’s chest in time with the song. “We all love him too, World Cup Willie.” It burrowed into Draco’s navel. “He’s tough as a lion and never will give up, that’s why Willie is favourite for the cup.”
Draco couldn’t help but smile, both at his lover’s antics and the almost irresistible soppy grin on the man’s face. He reached up and pushed his fingers into Harry’s own mane of hair, pulling him close enough for a long lazy kiss. Toy lions had taken on a strange significance for both of them after Harry gave him the first one and even though Draco was outwardly dismissive about creatures, he knew where each and every one had come from and what the occasion of their purchase had been. This one, however, he wasn’t quite so sure of.
“Thank you.” He combed his fingers through the black hair until they rested on the back of Harry’s neck. “But I think you should sleep now. We can talk about this in the morning”
“Oh no ... no. Me and Willie are going to give you the bestest blow job you’ve ever had.”
“I think you should....” Draco fell silent with a hissed breath as the plush fabric was drawn over his half-hard length.
“The longest one....” Harry slithered down the bed and all but wrapped himself around one of Draco’s legs so tightly he could feel Harry’s erection pressed against him. “And the hardest one....” Harry humped against his leg. “And the wettest one you’ve ever had.”
Draco groaned as the lion rubbed against him once more before being replaced by a long full-length lick of Harry’s tongue. The action was repeated again and again as though someone was enjoying a particularly delicious ice cream on a hot sunny day. He could feel himself responding, getting harder with each swipe. Then Harry put the toy down on the bed and pushed it between Draco’s legs, the long hair of the mane tickling against his already heavy testicles. With another groan, Draco flexed his hips just a little, letting the sensation work at the growing heat in his groin.
The tickle from the fur was joined by the soft tickle of Harry’s hair as his head dropped to Draco’s hip. He could feel the warm breath on his now erect penis and waited for Harry’s wonderful mouth to resume its ministrations. God, he loved Harry’s mouth and the way he fitted inside it so well, how the rough texture of Harry’s tongue felt against his skin ... rough silky sandpaper against equally silky but smooth skin. Then there was the way Harry would suck at him, swapping between soft and gentle, and the feeling that he was trying to suck Draco’s very soul out of him.
And it was like that every time Draco let Harry do this to him -- like Harry was taking an infinitesimal piece of his soul, only to give it back with a piece of his own when Draco made love to him.
Draco waited.
And waited for Harry to continue, his erection only heightened by the delay. Then just as he though he might die from waiting, his patience was rewarded by a long, low, soft snore.
“Harry?” He tugged gently at the dark hair and Harry snored again, clearly sound asleep.
Draco was torn between annoyance and laughter as he tried to pull his leg from Harry’s embrace. The other man’s arms and legs were so tightly wrapped that short of pulling him off by brute force, Draco would have to leave Harry there until he let go. But that meant it would be very hard for him to deal with the aftermath of Harry’s aborted blow job without coming all over his lover.
He smirked. No, he’d want Harry to be very, very aware of that happening and, besides, he could feel his arousal already flagging just a little. He would have his wicked way once the other Musketeers had been sent home.
He reached for the lion and stared at it. “You, my friend, have an awful lot to answer for. You and football.” Still, he decided, even if Harry did have other friends, he always came back to Draco and as much as he hated anything that took Harry away from him, he loved to see the joy it brought to Harry’s face, and wasn’t that what was important? To have Harry finally happy?
Dropping the lion onto the bed, Draco let one hand rest on Harry’s head. He drifted into sleep listening to the most precious sound in the world; that of his lover’s breathing.
---
14th May 2006
Lyrics from “World Cup Willie” by Lonnie Donegan (back in the days when they used to know how to write football songs *grins*, and it is the song from the year England did win the cup *grins some more*). And if you are desperate to hear the song, you can download it here *sniggers*
Harry’s England Lion is from Sainsbury’s.