(no subject)
For shaggirl who requested a sequel. I asked her for a prompt. I will not reveal it here. *wink*
Sequel to Distraction
H/D, R, 1050 words
Denial
Potter was doing it on purpose this time. Draco was sure of it. He was being annoying and distracting, and making it impossible for Draco to enjoy his petit four cakes.
Draco had never seen such a display of atrocious behavior, even from the likes of Potter. No wonder the pillock was sitting alone, his head bent over a large book. Why would anyone want to sit next to that? It was embarrassing to watch.
Potter bent a calloused fingertip over the rim of a small bowl, carelessly scooped up its contents, and licked his finger clean. It was plebian, a play for attention and Draco would have no part in it. Potter looked ridiculous, reading a book. Had Potter even turned a page in the last twenty minutes? Could Potter even read?
This time Potter missed his mouth entirely, smearing a greasy line across his upper lip, and Draco cursed under his breath. The streak just sat there, staring at Draco, egging him on. Obviously, Potter enjoyed taunting others. It made sense, daft Gryffindor that he was. Clearly, even his friends were sick of his constant need to be the center of attention.
Draco should mock him now. The opportunity was presenting itself and he wasn’t one to let these chances slip by, numerous as they were. He shoved his cakes toward Crabbe, rose from his bench, ignoring the way his stomach lurched, and strolled up to Potter.
Potter looked even more ludicrous up close, his glasses hanging from the tip of his nose, the irritating smudge curving over his lip. When Potter looked up, he had the audacity to look surprised.
“May I help you, Malfoy?”
Draco abruptly decided he wasn’t going to play Potter’s game. He was feeling charitable and Potter should count himself lucky. Also, his stomach was suddenly rather queasy. Instead he forced a smirk and whispered, “You have pudding on your face.”
Potter’s pink tongue darted out. He slowly licked a wet trail across his lower lip and lifted his mouth up toward Draco, his eyelids suddenly heavy. “Is it… gone?”
There was some sort of strange pounding in Draco’s ears, and his stomach was somersaulting madly. Obviously, he had been poisoned by the appalling petit four cakes. He would write home straightaway and scold his mother. Maybe he would even send her a ‘Howler’. And Potter was still staring at him, looking utterly ridiculous with the smear plastered across his lip. Draco shook his head and pointed a shaky finger below Potter’s nose.
“Oh. Thanks.”
Potter’s tongue was really more of a cherry color. It was also rather long, though not obscenely so, as it ran over his lip again, and again.
Draco couldn’t catch his breath. His mother would certainly be punished for this. Maybe he would owl the Ministry, or Azkaban directly. He spun around and began walking away. He couldn’t pass out in the Great Hall, in front of stupid Potter.
The hallway was far less intrusive. Draco leaned against a cool stone wall and squeezed his eyes shut. Crabbe was going to die if he ate all those cakes, but maybe dying would teach Crabbe a lesson about eating other people’s poisoned food. Draco lay still until the air felt heavy again, almost familiar. Then he forced his eyes open and stared at… Potter.
The moron was beyond witless and obviously enjoyed sneaking up on people in their death throes. Potter was standing in front of him, grinning like an idiot, and he still had a bit of pudding on the edge of his lip.
“What do you want?” Draco huffed.
Potter held up a black leather satchel. “You forgot your bag.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “You still have pudding on your face.” When Potter’s grin widened, Draco looked away. He couldn’t breathe with Potter this close, Potter leaning in closer.
“Use your finger.”
Draco’s eyes flew back on Potter who was obviously speaking in tongues. And, gods, what was he doing with his tongue?
“I can’t reach it. Get it for me.”
Draco’s throat was constricting, and his brain was definitely folding in on itself. He was dying, or under the spell of some dark curse that caused him to be completely void of his senses. Undoubtedly, that was the case, because he was reaching out, running his finger over Potter’s soft mouth. Potter parted his lips and sighed, and Draco quickly pulled his hand away.
“Give it here.”
Draco couldn’t budge. He stared, wide-eyed, as Potter gently took his finger and studied it for a moment. Then his lids fluttered closed as soft, hot, wet sensations coursed through his body. Potter was sucking his finger, pulling and tasting and nibbling the length of it. It was absurd and preposterous and bloody amazing. When a low moan rose up between them, Draco couldn’t tell which of them had made the illogical noise.
When Potter finally pulled away, Draco opened his eyes and sucked in a breath. Potter was grinning his famous lop-sided grin, and looking at Draco curiously.
“Was that… okay?”
Butterflies were twirling around Draco’s stomach. His throat was dry and his legs were trembling, but it didn’t feel like he was dying anymore. More over, his body felt strangely jolted, alive. Draco bit his lip and nodded.
“Good. I told you I’d figure out a way to repay you.” Potter turned his back on Draco and began walking toward the Great Hall.
Draco couldn’t breathe again, and the walls were most definitely closing in around him. He pushed off the stone, ran up to Potter, and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.
Potter twisted around and arched an eyebrow. “May I help you, Malfoy?”
It was a spell, a curse, a mind-bending act on Potter’s part, and Draco didn’t care anymore. He stepped in close. “I owe you a favor now.”
“Do you?”
“Absolutely.”
Potter ran a finger down Draco’s chest. “Well, you’ll just have to figure out a way to repay me.” Then he turned back around and walked into the Great Hall.
Draco slumped against a wall until the trembling subsided and he was able to breathe in and out properly. Then he picked up his bag, threw it over his shoulder, and strolled down the hall. As he rounded the corner toward the dungeons, he picked up speed, sprinting down the length of the corridor, his arms pumping wildly at his sides. He grabbed the railing and bounded down the steps, two at a time, his heart pounding as a small smile lifted his cheeks.
Final Story: Lesson Plan.
Sequel to Distraction
H/D, R, 1050 words
Denial
Potter was doing it on purpose this time. Draco was sure of it. He was being annoying and distracting, and making it impossible for Draco to enjoy his petit four cakes.
Draco had never seen such a display of atrocious behavior, even from the likes of Potter. No wonder the pillock was sitting alone, his head bent over a large book. Why would anyone want to sit next to that? It was embarrassing to watch.
Potter bent a calloused fingertip over the rim of a small bowl, carelessly scooped up its contents, and licked his finger clean. It was plebian, a play for attention and Draco would have no part in it. Potter looked ridiculous, reading a book. Had Potter even turned a page in the last twenty minutes? Could Potter even read?
This time Potter missed his mouth entirely, smearing a greasy line across his upper lip, and Draco cursed under his breath. The streak just sat there, staring at Draco, egging him on. Obviously, Potter enjoyed taunting others. It made sense, daft Gryffindor that he was. Clearly, even his friends were sick of his constant need to be the center of attention.
Draco should mock him now. The opportunity was presenting itself and he wasn’t one to let these chances slip by, numerous as they were. He shoved his cakes toward Crabbe, rose from his bench, ignoring the way his stomach lurched, and strolled up to Potter.
Potter looked even more ludicrous up close, his glasses hanging from the tip of his nose, the irritating smudge curving over his lip. When Potter looked up, he had the audacity to look surprised.
“May I help you, Malfoy?”
Draco abruptly decided he wasn’t going to play Potter’s game. He was feeling charitable and Potter should count himself lucky. Also, his stomach was suddenly rather queasy. Instead he forced a smirk and whispered, “You have pudding on your face.”
Potter’s pink tongue darted out. He slowly licked a wet trail across his lower lip and lifted his mouth up toward Draco, his eyelids suddenly heavy. “Is it… gone?”
There was some sort of strange pounding in Draco’s ears, and his stomach was somersaulting madly. Obviously, he had been poisoned by the appalling petit four cakes. He would write home straightaway and scold his mother. Maybe he would even send her a ‘Howler’. And Potter was still staring at him, looking utterly ridiculous with the smear plastered across his lip. Draco shook his head and pointed a shaky finger below Potter’s nose.
“Oh. Thanks.”
Potter’s tongue was really more of a cherry color. It was also rather long, though not obscenely so, as it ran over his lip again, and again.
Draco couldn’t catch his breath. His mother would certainly be punished for this. Maybe he would owl the Ministry, or Azkaban directly. He spun around and began walking away. He couldn’t pass out in the Great Hall, in front of stupid Potter.
The hallway was far less intrusive. Draco leaned against a cool stone wall and squeezed his eyes shut. Crabbe was going to die if he ate all those cakes, but maybe dying would teach Crabbe a lesson about eating other people’s poisoned food. Draco lay still until the air felt heavy again, almost familiar. Then he forced his eyes open and stared at… Potter.
The moron was beyond witless and obviously enjoyed sneaking up on people in their death throes. Potter was standing in front of him, grinning like an idiot, and he still had a bit of pudding on the edge of his lip.
“What do you want?” Draco huffed.
Potter held up a black leather satchel. “You forgot your bag.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “You still have pudding on your face.” When Potter’s grin widened, Draco looked away. He couldn’t breathe with Potter this close, Potter leaning in closer.
“Use your finger.”
Draco’s eyes flew back on Potter who was obviously speaking in tongues. And, gods, what was he doing with his tongue?
“I can’t reach it. Get it for me.”
Draco’s throat was constricting, and his brain was definitely folding in on itself. He was dying, or under the spell of some dark curse that caused him to be completely void of his senses. Undoubtedly, that was the case, because he was reaching out, running his finger over Potter’s soft mouth. Potter parted his lips and sighed, and Draco quickly pulled his hand away.
“Give it here.”
Draco couldn’t budge. He stared, wide-eyed, as Potter gently took his finger and studied it for a moment. Then his lids fluttered closed as soft, hot, wet sensations coursed through his body. Potter was sucking his finger, pulling and tasting and nibbling the length of it. It was absurd and preposterous and bloody amazing. When a low moan rose up between them, Draco couldn’t tell which of them had made the illogical noise.
When Potter finally pulled away, Draco opened his eyes and sucked in a breath. Potter was grinning his famous lop-sided grin, and looking at Draco curiously.
“Was that… okay?”
Butterflies were twirling around Draco’s stomach. His throat was dry and his legs were trembling, but it didn’t feel like he was dying anymore. More over, his body felt strangely jolted, alive. Draco bit his lip and nodded.
“Good. I told you I’d figure out a way to repay you.” Potter turned his back on Draco and began walking toward the Great Hall.
Draco couldn’t breathe again, and the walls were most definitely closing in around him. He pushed off the stone, ran up to Potter, and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.
Potter twisted around and arched an eyebrow. “May I help you, Malfoy?”
It was a spell, a curse, a mind-bending act on Potter’s part, and Draco didn’t care anymore. He stepped in close. “I owe you a favor now.”
“Do you?”
“Absolutely.”
Potter ran a finger down Draco’s chest. “Well, you’ll just have to figure out a way to repay me.” Then he turned back around and walked into the Great Hall.
Draco slumped against a wall until the trembling subsided and he was able to breathe in and out properly. Then he picked up his bag, threw it over his shoulder, and strolled down the hall. As he rounded the corner toward the dungeons, he picked up speed, sprinting down the length of the corridor, his arms pumping wildly at his sides. He grabbed the railing and bounded down the steps, two at a time, his heart pounding as a small smile lifted his cheeks.
Final Story: Lesson Plan.