Football Drabble: The World Cup - Team Preparations
With England playing their final ‘friendly’ match against Jamaica today and the Football World Cup 2006 starting next Friday, Harry needs to finish his preparations for a month of football and Draco needs to be very patient.
Thanks to lagreyeyes for a certain suggestion (though the ‘other’ thing will come later *grins some more*)
This isn't what I really planned nor am I happy with it as it's not the best thing I've ever done. I hope it's reasonably okay.
The World Cup - Team Preparations
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: Saturday 3rd June 2006. Round about noon.
Draco Malfoy had become used to Muggle technology over the years that he’d lived with Harry Potter. In fact, he’d even had to admit that occasionally it did serve a purpose.
The fridge/freezer for example.
He’d never considered much about where food came from -- it was just ‘there’. It was only after he left Hogwarts and had to shop for food himself that he’d found out that the head house-elf at Malfoy Manor (known as Binki if memory served) would procure all the supplies on a daily basis. It had then been Molly Weasley, of all people, who had taught him a few food refreshing and preserving spells, but they only lasted a few days and the milk never tasted quite the same after magic had been used on it
So getting a fridge had been wonderful. He could send Harry out for things and they’d last for ages and the milk always tasted the same. Then Harry had showed him the bit of the fridge that froze things and Draco had learned all about frozen food, how you could buy even more and keep it even longer.
Plus one could make ice cubes and what fun he’d had with those!
But as he stood now in his tastefully decorated lounge, he couldn’t help but wonder if his father had been right about Muggles all along. Harry had told him earlier in the week that he was getting a new television and that someone would be coming to deliver and install it. What his erstwhile lover hadn’t told Draco was that the dreaded contraption was HUGE; so huge that the giant black monolith dominated the room. It was like a hole in the fabric of space that would eventually suck in the entire universe.
Draco folded his arms and scowled at it again. He’d considered telling the rather attractive delivery men (it had taken two to manoeuvre the monstrosity into the house) and the not quite as attractive engineer that they had the wrong address. He’d even considered magicking it to some remote part of the Scottish Highlands, but Harry had been so excited about its imminent arrival.
He glared closer at it as the engineer’s almost unintelligible conversation repeated in his mind.
“Great bit of kit ... 63inch plasma flat screen ... HD ready ... digital compatibility. I’m surprised you managed to get it delivered so quickly. There’s a waiting list for these things. Wish the missus would let me ‘ave one ... it’ll be great for the footie ... mind if me and the boys come over to watch the first England match?”
“Get out” had been Draco’s response to that question.
Twisting his wand slowly, Draco considered yet again disposing of the television. Football in general and the whole World Cup in particular was becoming a two-edged sword. There were the really annoying moments when Harry would team up with his fellow Gryffindors and get so self-absorbed in the game that Draco might as well not exist. He’d tried to join in and be part of the occasion but it never really worked; it always seemed to bring out the old Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry.
But then there were the truly amazing moments when it was just Harry and himself. Their lovemaking had always been good, but over the last few weeks as the World Cup had drawn nearer Harry had become much more adventurous without losing the sense of almost childlike awe that he found so endearing. Draco didn’t like to consider that it was the football which caused the excitement rather than himself, but he was more than happy to enjoy Harry’s passionate exhilaration. He remembered fondly the football match between England and Hungary the previous Tuesday when he and Harry had curled up in the corner of the huge sofa to watch. Harry had started the game with his head on Draco’s lap, which made it easy for Draco to play with his lover’s gloriously messy dark hair, but over the ninety minutes of the match Harry had become more and more excited until he’d climbed onto Draco’s lap, only to bounce around and writhe against him.
All that wriggling and rubbing had made Draco equally as excited, and he’d taken great delight in holding those squirming hips against his own hard prick. They’d spent the last fifteen minutes of the match with one of Draco’s hands down Harry’s football shorts and the other up his shirt unhurriedly stroking at an already very hard nipple as Harry panted and moaned.
The sex after England had won by three goals to one had been incredible. Harry had given him probably one of the best blow jobs ever right there on the sofa. He’d kept Draco on the edge of an orgasm of epic proportions during the post-match discussion and his mind had slowly disintegrated while Gary Lineker and Mark Lawrenson had waffled on and on and on about football and goals and things Draco cared very little for.
“It’s arrived.”
Draco glanced over his shoulder and watched as Harry dropped several bags onto the sofa before crossing to stand beside him. “It’s arrived,” Draco responded.
Harry stared at the television, head cocked to one side as if in thought, and chewed at his bottom lip. “Hmmm.” He frowned. “It looked smaller in the shop.”
“Really?” The sarcastic undertone in that single word was more than obvious and he couldn’t fail to notice the sideways glance Harry gave him.
“You hate it don’t you?” Harry’s arm snaked around Draco’s waist and the tussled dark head rested on his shoulder.
“Do you want an honest answer?”
“Of course.”
“I hate it.” Draco’s hand came up to rest on Harry’s back, fingertips massaging small circles on his shoulder. “Look at it. It’s hideous. The television we used to have was big, but this thing....”
“Yeah, I know.” Harry gave a sigh. “We can move it to my study.”
Draco gave a snort. “It would take up a whole wall.” He continued with his gentle petting, turning his head just enough to give Harry a kiss. “And you got it to watch the football so I will attempt to put up with it at least until after this World Cup thing has finished. After that....” He gave a shrug. “What time are the other Musketeers arriving?”
Harry turned in Draco’s arms, moulding against his body, and nuzzled into his neck. “They aren’t coming.”
“What?” Draco drew back a little, just enough to look into the familiar green eyes.
“I’ve called this afternoon off. They can watch the match somewhere else.”
“Why?”
“They’re going to be here enough over the next few weeks, so I thought we should have today to ourselves.” Harry nibbled briefly on Draco’s ear before reaching down for his hand and pulling him over to the sofa. “I thought we could watch together, like the last match.”
Draco felt the delicious weight of his lover lean back against him, the sensation comfortingly familiar as a sudden surge of pleasure rose deep inside him. Harry had told his friends not to come -- they had been planning this afternoon’s football watching for weeks and Harry had cancelled so that he could spend the time with Draco. The truth was he’d planned on going out because he really didn’t want to spend the afternoon either having to make polite conversation with the Gryffindors or on his own somewhere else in the house half-listening to their raucous cheers.
But Harry would rather spend the afternoon with him than his friends.
“Are you sure?”
Harry nodded against him. “Unless you’ve got other plans.”
“Nothing that can’t wait.”
“Good, because I’ve got you a present.”
“Oh?”
A grin slowly spread across the other man’s face and he gave Draco another brief kiss before scrambling from his arms and reaching for the bags he’d brought in earlier. “Here.”
Draco studied Harry’s smug expression and just that Harry was very, very pleased with himself, which didn’t bode well. He quickly found out why; inside was a red England team shirt, white shirts and red socks. “A football strip?”
The smug expression turned to a sly grin. “Well, you like my kit ... in fact you’ve worn it more than once, so I thought it was time you had one of your own. It’s even got your name on the back -- look.” Harry reached for the shirt, turning it over. The word Malfoy was printed in large gold letters across the back with an even larger number ‘7’ underneath it.
“Harry, it’s red....”
“It’s the away strip.”
“...And gold.”
The sly grin turned into a smirk. “I know ... and there are even little lions on the badge.” He reached for the buttons on Draco’s shirt. “Now, why don’t we see if it fits.”
-----
England beat Jamaica 6-0.
Draco's football kit fitted perfectly.
The FIFA World Cup - Germany 2006 starts on 9th June, with the opening match between Germany and Ecuador. England’s first match is on 10th June against Paraguay.
English slang:
Missus - A term for the wife, usually ‘the’ missus. i.e. “I can’t come down the pub, the missus will go mental”.
Footie - Abbreviated form for football.
Thanks to lagreyeyes for a certain suggestion (though the ‘other’ thing will come later *grins some more*)
This isn't what I really planned nor am I happy with it as it's not the best thing I've ever done. I hope it's reasonably okay.
The World Cup - Team Preparations
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: Saturday 3rd June 2006. Round about noon.
Draco Malfoy had become used to Muggle technology over the years that he’d lived with Harry Potter. In fact, he’d even had to admit that occasionally it did serve a purpose.
The fridge/freezer for example.
He’d never considered much about where food came from -- it was just ‘there’. It was only after he left Hogwarts and had to shop for food himself that he’d found out that the head house-elf at Malfoy Manor (known as Binki if memory served) would procure all the supplies on a daily basis. It had then been Molly Weasley, of all people, who had taught him a few food refreshing and preserving spells, but they only lasted a few days and the milk never tasted quite the same after magic had been used on it
So getting a fridge had been wonderful. He could send Harry out for things and they’d last for ages and the milk always tasted the same. Then Harry had showed him the bit of the fridge that froze things and Draco had learned all about frozen food, how you could buy even more and keep it even longer.
Plus one could make ice cubes and what fun he’d had with those!
But as he stood now in his tastefully decorated lounge, he couldn’t help but wonder if his father had been right about Muggles all along. Harry had told him earlier in the week that he was getting a new television and that someone would be coming to deliver and install it. What his erstwhile lover hadn’t told Draco was that the dreaded contraption was HUGE; so huge that the giant black monolith dominated the room. It was like a hole in the fabric of space that would eventually suck in the entire universe.
Draco folded his arms and scowled at it again. He’d considered telling the rather attractive delivery men (it had taken two to manoeuvre the monstrosity into the house) and the not quite as attractive engineer that they had the wrong address. He’d even considered magicking it to some remote part of the Scottish Highlands, but Harry had been so excited about its imminent arrival.
He glared closer at it as the engineer’s almost unintelligible conversation repeated in his mind.
“Great bit of kit ... 63inch plasma flat screen ... HD ready ... digital compatibility. I’m surprised you managed to get it delivered so quickly. There’s a waiting list for these things. Wish the missus would let me ‘ave one ... it’ll be great for the footie ... mind if me and the boys come over to watch the first England match?”
“Get out” had been Draco’s response to that question.
Twisting his wand slowly, Draco considered yet again disposing of the television. Football in general and the whole World Cup in particular was becoming a two-edged sword. There were the really annoying moments when Harry would team up with his fellow Gryffindors and get so self-absorbed in the game that Draco might as well not exist. He’d tried to join in and be part of the occasion but it never really worked; it always seemed to bring out the old Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry.
But then there were the truly amazing moments when it was just Harry and himself. Their lovemaking had always been good, but over the last few weeks as the World Cup had drawn nearer Harry had become much more adventurous without losing the sense of almost childlike awe that he found so endearing. Draco didn’t like to consider that it was the football which caused the excitement rather than himself, but he was more than happy to enjoy Harry’s passionate exhilaration. He remembered fondly the football match between England and Hungary the previous Tuesday when he and Harry had curled up in the corner of the huge sofa to watch. Harry had started the game with his head on Draco’s lap, which made it easy for Draco to play with his lover’s gloriously messy dark hair, but over the ninety minutes of the match Harry had become more and more excited until he’d climbed onto Draco’s lap, only to bounce around and writhe against him.
All that wriggling and rubbing had made Draco equally as excited, and he’d taken great delight in holding those squirming hips against his own hard prick. They’d spent the last fifteen minutes of the match with one of Draco’s hands down Harry’s football shorts and the other up his shirt unhurriedly stroking at an already very hard nipple as Harry panted and moaned.
The sex after England had won by three goals to one had been incredible. Harry had given him probably one of the best blow jobs ever right there on the sofa. He’d kept Draco on the edge of an orgasm of epic proportions during the post-match discussion and his mind had slowly disintegrated while Gary Lineker and Mark Lawrenson had waffled on and on and on about football and goals and things Draco cared very little for.
“It’s arrived.”
Draco glanced over his shoulder and watched as Harry dropped several bags onto the sofa before crossing to stand beside him. “It’s arrived,” Draco responded.
Harry stared at the television, head cocked to one side as if in thought, and chewed at his bottom lip. “Hmmm.” He frowned. “It looked smaller in the shop.”
“Really?” The sarcastic undertone in that single word was more than obvious and he couldn’t fail to notice the sideways glance Harry gave him.
“You hate it don’t you?” Harry’s arm snaked around Draco’s waist and the tussled dark head rested on his shoulder.
“Do you want an honest answer?”
“Of course.”
“I hate it.” Draco’s hand came up to rest on Harry’s back, fingertips massaging small circles on his shoulder. “Look at it. It’s hideous. The television we used to have was big, but this thing....”
“Yeah, I know.” Harry gave a sigh. “We can move it to my study.”
Draco gave a snort. “It would take up a whole wall.” He continued with his gentle petting, turning his head just enough to give Harry a kiss. “And you got it to watch the football so I will attempt to put up with it at least until after this World Cup thing has finished. After that....” He gave a shrug. “What time are the other Musketeers arriving?”
Harry turned in Draco’s arms, moulding against his body, and nuzzled into his neck. “They aren’t coming.”
“What?” Draco drew back a little, just enough to look into the familiar green eyes.
“I’ve called this afternoon off. They can watch the match somewhere else.”
“Why?”
“They’re going to be here enough over the next few weeks, so I thought we should have today to ourselves.” Harry nibbled briefly on Draco’s ear before reaching down for his hand and pulling him over to the sofa. “I thought we could watch together, like the last match.”
Draco felt the delicious weight of his lover lean back against him, the sensation comfortingly familiar as a sudden surge of pleasure rose deep inside him. Harry had told his friends not to come -- they had been planning this afternoon’s football watching for weeks and Harry had cancelled so that he could spend the time with Draco. The truth was he’d planned on going out because he really didn’t want to spend the afternoon either having to make polite conversation with the Gryffindors or on his own somewhere else in the house half-listening to their raucous cheers.
But Harry would rather spend the afternoon with him than his friends.
“Are you sure?”
Harry nodded against him. “Unless you’ve got other plans.”
“Nothing that can’t wait.”
“Good, because I’ve got you a present.”
“Oh?”
A grin slowly spread across the other man’s face and he gave Draco another brief kiss before scrambling from his arms and reaching for the bags he’d brought in earlier. “Here.”
Draco studied Harry’s smug expression and just that Harry was very, very pleased with himself, which didn’t bode well. He quickly found out why; inside was a red England team shirt, white shirts and red socks. “A football strip?”
The smug expression turned to a sly grin. “Well, you like my kit ... in fact you’ve worn it more than once, so I thought it was time you had one of your own. It’s even got your name on the back -- look.” Harry reached for the shirt, turning it over. The word Malfoy was printed in large gold letters across the back with an even larger number ‘7’ underneath it.
“Harry, it’s red....”
“It’s the away strip.”
“...And gold.”
The sly grin turned into a smirk. “I know ... and there are even little lions on the badge.” He reached for the buttons on Draco’s shirt. “Now, why don’t we see if it fits.”
-----
England beat Jamaica 6-0.
Draco's football kit fitted perfectly.
The FIFA World Cup - Germany 2006 starts on 9th June, with the opening match between Germany and Ecuador. England’s first match is on 10th June against Paraguay.
English slang:
Missus - A term for the wife, usually ‘the’ missus. i.e. “I can’t come down the pub, the missus will go mental”.
Footie - Abbreviated form for football.