Elegant hands
Title: Elegant Hands
Author:suntzu_s
Pairing: Neville/Draco
Word Count:919
Rating:R
Warnings: (if any) Lack of Dialogue
Genre : Humour
A/N: (if any)
Draco was absolutely loving this, the body above him was delicious. Hard muscles flexed in rhythm to the snapping of their hips, as they rocketed into Draco’s slick hole, the hand on Draco’s cock pumped with a devilish twist of the wrist and Draco was a moment away from a heart attack.
This was the most perfect fuck Draco had ever had in his life, and as the thick, veined cock dragged against his prostate for the umpteenth time, he erupted in sticky ropes of semen as the word ‘Longbottom’ spilt from his lips.
Draco sat bolt upright in bed, gulping for breath and with sweat painting his brow. This was the fourth night in a row he’d dreamt of Longbottom the buffoon and each night he’d awoken in a blind panic.
A blind, sticky panic but a panic none the less.
And this couldn’t go on for both his sanity and the state of his satin sheets.
Five days ago, Draco had discovered that Longbottom was gay and four nights ago he’d began spunking his sheets because his unconscious self got rodgered to death by the Plant professor of Hogwarts.
Draco gnashed his teeth and glared at the damp patch that was spreading across his bed and silently cursed his brain. The Hogwarts’ Plant Professor, his stupid, sleeping brain couldn’t even give him a decent professor to spunk over. He got a swishy, Gryffindor who played in the mud for a living.
Draco reached for his wand and cast a quick Scourgify upon his bed, then stomped towards the bathroom, intent upon drowning himself in the shower.
He stayed underneath the pounding spray of the shower till his body could no longer stand it, namely till his skin began to wrinkle and prune, then he switched the taps off and rested his head against the cool tiles.
He really couldn’t go on like this; he’d have to owl Blaise and fuck him instead.
Blaise with his lean, coffee colour skin. Blaise who could do amazing things with his tongue and Blaise who hated damp patches almost as much as Draco did.
###
Shagging Blaise had been rather successful for the first thirty seconds Draco had attempted to do so, Blaise had been his usual bendable self but Draco’s rhythm and erection had wilted at the sight of Blaise’s pencil thin willy disappearing behind his elegant, fisted fingers.
Draco’s brain had decided that dicks should disappear behind sturdy, fisted fingers and he cursed his stubborn Malfoy gene as he slipped out of Blaise’s hole.
Fobbing Blaise off with a swift licking and wank, Draco excused himself and walked the two miles to his apartment. He was greatly troubled and his feet ached. He never walked anywhere and yet fantasizing about gay Gryffindors that had shit jobs apparently induced him to walk.
He was not happy.
Draco had ache-y feet, painful balls and a case of brewers’ droop (whereas the only thing of his that should be droopy was his hair).
Serious, drastic measures would have to be made.
Draco Malfoy would have to shag Neville Longbottom. Once. Just to get him out of his system then he could go back to liking elegant hands and gay Slytherins.
###
Draco needed a plan or rather the opportunity to seduce his gay Gryffindor (because, really, no one could resist him). He needed to be around the plant professor, ideally somewhere private for shagging purposes and for privacy because he really didn’t want anyone to know he’d shagged a Gryffindor.
Draco couldn’t think of anywhere that remotely ticked any of the boxes, mainly because he didn’t know anything at all about Longbottom, other than his war record, his liking for plants and his gayness.
Draco would have to stalk.
He’d have to hang out where Gryffindors frequented, he’d have to attend terrible Quidditch matches, turn into an alcoholic and live at either The Leaky Cauldron or The Hogsmead Inn or worst of all, hang around St Mungos Labour Ward, whilst a Weasley of various shades of orange dropped their litters.
It was all very horrendous but all very necessary.
###
Three weeks into Draco’s stalking, Draco was feeling and looking terrible. Neville Longbottom was proving resistant to his manly charms.
Not that Draco had managed to actually speak to the Gryffindor in question, though his manly charms had resulted in Pansy asking him if he were constipated on one or two occasions.
The day Draco started sniffing soil; he knew that serious, super, drastic actions needed to be taken and in a fit of drunkenness or a soil-induced high, he owled Longbottom with the invitation to plunder his behind.
Draco was quite affronted when Longbottom owled back asking, why.
This now left Draco with one course of action, the only course of action available to a Malfoy. Blackmail.
Blackmailing a Gryffindor was rather tricky in so much as they never did anything wrong, unless you counted drinking tea without a saucer and Draco was struggling to find a suitable reason for blackmail, either real or fabricated.
In the end, he decided that he’d employ Slytherin school children to pester the living daylights out of Longbottom till he relented.
Three days later, Draco received an owl from Longbottom.
Thirty-five minutes later, Draco was bent over a potting-table in Greenhouse Three getting buggered to death, whilst trowels scraped and scratched at his nipples.
Seven years later and Draco was still being buggered to death by the gay Gryffindor and elegant hands didn’t really matter.
Author:suntzu_s
Pairing: Neville/Draco
Word Count:919
Rating:R
Warnings: (if any) Lack of Dialogue
Genre : Humour
A/N: (if any)
Draco was absolutely loving this, the body above him was delicious. Hard muscles flexed in rhythm to the snapping of their hips, as they rocketed into Draco’s slick hole, the hand on Draco’s cock pumped with a devilish twist of the wrist and Draco was a moment away from a heart attack.
This was the most perfect fuck Draco had ever had in his life, and as the thick, veined cock dragged against his prostate for the umpteenth time, he erupted in sticky ropes of semen as the word ‘Longbottom’ spilt from his lips.
Draco sat bolt upright in bed, gulping for breath and with sweat painting his brow. This was the fourth night in a row he’d dreamt of Longbottom the buffoon and each night he’d awoken in a blind panic.
A blind, sticky panic but a panic none the less.
And this couldn’t go on for both his sanity and the state of his satin sheets.
Five days ago, Draco had discovered that Longbottom was gay and four nights ago he’d began spunking his sheets because his unconscious self got rodgered to death by the Plant professor of Hogwarts.
Draco gnashed his teeth and glared at the damp patch that was spreading across his bed and silently cursed his brain. The Hogwarts’ Plant Professor, his stupid, sleeping brain couldn’t even give him a decent professor to spunk over. He got a swishy, Gryffindor who played in the mud for a living.
Draco reached for his wand and cast a quick Scourgify upon his bed, then stomped towards the bathroom, intent upon drowning himself in the shower.
He stayed underneath the pounding spray of the shower till his body could no longer stand it, namely till his skin began to wrinkle and prune, then he switched the taps off and rested his head against the cool tiles.
He really couldn’t go on like this; he’d have to owl Blaise and fuck him instead.
Blaise with his lean, coffee colour skin. Blaise who could do amazing things with his tongue and Blaise who hated damp patches almost as much as Draco did.
###
Shagging Blaise had been rather successful for the first thirty seconds Draco had attempted to do so, Blaise had been his usual bendable self but Draco’s rhythm and erection had wilted at the sight of Blaise’s pencil thin willy disappearing behind his elegant, fisted fingers.
Draco’s brain had decided that dicks should disappear behind sturdy, fisted fingers and he cursed his stubborn Malfoy gene as he slipped out of Blaise’s hole.
Fobbing Blaise off with a swift licking and wank, Draco excused himself and walked the two miles to his apartment. He was greatly troubled and his feet ached. He never walked anywhere and yet fantasizing about gay Gryffindors that had shit jobs apparently induced him to walk.
He was not happy.
Draco had ache-y feet, painful balls and a case of brewers’ droop (whereas the only thing of his that should be droopy was his hair).
Serious, drastic measures would have to be made.
Draco Malfoy would have to shag Neville Longbottom. Once. Just to get him out of his system then he could go back to liking elegant hands and gay Slytherins.
###
Draco needed a plan or rather the opportunity to seduce his gay Gryffindor (because, really, no one could resist him). He needed to be around the plant professor, ideally somewhere private for shagging purposes and for privacy because he really didn’t want anyone to know he’d shagged a Gryffindor.
Draco couldn’t think of anywhere that remotely ticked any of the boxes, mainly because he didn’t know anything at all about Longbottom, other than his war record, his liking for plants and his gayness.
Draco would have to stalk.
He’d have to hang out where Gryffindors frequented, he’d have to attend terrible Quidditch matches, turn into an alcoholic and live at either The Leaky Cauldron or The Hogsmead Inn or worst of all, hang around St Mungos Labour Ward, whilst a Weasley of various shades of orange dropped their litters.
It was all very horrendous but all very necessary.
###
Three weeks into Draco’s stalking, Draco was feeling and looking terrible. Neville Longbottom was proving resistant to his manly charms.
Not that Draco had managed to actually speak to the Gryffindor in question, though his manly charms had resulted in Pansy asking him if he were constipated on one or two occasions.
The day Draco started sniffing soil; he knew that serious, super, drastic actions needed to be taken and in a fit of drunkenness or a soil-induced high, he owled Longbottom with the invitation to plunder his behind.
Draco was quite affronted when Longbottom owled back asking, why.
This now left Draco with one course of action, the only course of action available to a Malfoy. Blackmail.
Blackmailing a Gryffindor was rather tricky in so much as they never did anything wrong, unless you counted drinking tea without a saucer and Draco was struggling to find a suitable reason for blackmail, either real or fabricated.
In the end, he decided that he’d employ Slytherin school children to pester the living daylights out of Longbottom till he relented.
Three days later, Draco received an owl from Longbottom.
Thirty-five minutes later, Draco was bent over a potting-table in Greenhouse Three getting buggered to death, whilst trowels scraped and scratched at his nipples.
Seven years later and Draco was still being buggered to death by the gay Gryffindor and elegant hands didn’t really matter.