Ficlet: Blackberry Tart (1/?)
Rating: PG, will increase to NC-17 no doubt
Warnings: truth or dare, silky knickers and gratuitous OOCness. :D
"Piss OFF, Potter."
Harry grunted as his back hit the cold stone wall, the impact knocking the laughter out of him with an 'oomph'.
"That the best you can do, Malfoy?" He replied with a smirk. "Wearing that... outfit must've softened you up a bit."
Draco grit his teeth, not the least because he was anything but soft at that moment. "I wouldn’t be wearing this sodding... outfit if it weren’t for sodding Pansy." He sniffed, rather irritated to find himself on the back foot and flushing in front of his arch nemesis. "If you must know, I was just on my way to get these... these underthings off me."
The blush staining his cheekbones and throat had little to do with the three shots of Firewhisky he'd just downed during their game of Truth or Dare; in actual fact, Pansy's silky black knickers had been rubbing at him in all sorts of unexpectedly pleasurable ways for the last half hour. He’d been off to have what he felt sure would be a fantastically good wank when Potter had come skulking down the hall, all windblown and flushed and well, looking rather sexy really in his Quidditch gea— dear Gods, was Potter actually biting his lip and looking at him all hungry-like?
"Oh, I see." Harry’s eyes flickered down over Draco's half buttoned shirt and loosened tie to his skirt, taking in the uneven drape of the fabric across the front of his hips. He swallowed. "Yeah. You seem quite eager to get... something off at any rate."
Draco glared his Special Patented Sixth-Generation Malfoy Glare.
"Although, you’d do better to tuck the elastic of your knickers in below the waistband of your skirt," Harry smirked, pushing off from the wall and moving... no, stalking closer. Dammit, Draco thought. Potter didn’t seem intimidated by the Glare at all. "You look like a cheap Knockturn Alley tart."
The look on Potter’s face suggested to Draco that this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
"Well you would know all about that, wouldn’t you Potter," Draco snapped, subconsciously backing up and flushing further at what the predatory look in Potter’s eyes was doing to certain parts of his body. He gasped involuntarily as Harry’s arms snaked around his waist.
"Actually no I wouldn’t," Harry shrugged. Draco could feel the heat radiating off him even though they were barely touching. One step closer and they were standing nose to pointy nose, Draco shuddering under Harry’s hands as he slid them across his lower back. Harry raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in his eye. "But I’m keen to find out."
Draco’s breath hitched, at a loss for words for once in his life as Potter’s hands moved slowly under the loose waistband of the skirt and down over his knicker-clad arse; the light, teasing touch of his fingers causing Draco’s cock to harden and rather recalcitrantly stir just enough to brush at Potter’s groin. Fuck.
Harry’s eyes widened at the contact and he dropped his head even closer, warm breath and lips brushing against Draco’s as he spoke. "Well I’m up for it, and you certainly seem to be," he murmured, pressing an equally hardened crotch against Draco’s, then catching Draco’s gasp with a lightning-quick brush of wet lips and tongue.
"Because, you do make an awfully tasty tart Malfoy. But yeah. I need a shower. So I’m off."
With that, he pushed the black nylon back down under Draco’s skirt and, while Draco spluttered and fought a losing battle to quash the wet and soapy images that suddenly invaded his 16 year old brain, Potter strutted off down the hall.