|Slash Pervert (slashpervert) wrote,|
@ 2010-02-05 01:18:00
|Entry tags:||fiction, h/d, oneshot, simulacrum series|
Finders Keepers (Harry/Draco)
Happy Birthday brknhalo241!
Title: Finders Keepers
Betas: brknhalo241, Mini Mouse, and allmuzedup.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Length: 4725 Words.
Warnings (Mark to Read): Language, Explicit M/M Sex, Anal, Oral, Dildo, D/s.
Summary: Sequel to Simulacrum. Draco schemes to reclaim his naughty gift to Potter, but finds himself outmaneuvered.
Notes: One-shot. DH compliant except for epilogue. Thanks to corvusdea for help with Latin for spells.
Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fan fiction intended for adult audiences only. No copyright or trademark infringement intended. (Full Disclaimer!)
“I’m keeping this,” Potter had said, holding the Simulacrum in front of Draco’s sweaty face. Draco had only had the breath to pant, still shuddering in the afterglow of a fantastic orgasm. But Potter had added more: “And I’m keeping you.”
What the fuck did that mean?
Potter didn’t have the chance to elaborate. Voices filled the bathroom as several of the Gryffindors had come in. “Where’d Harry get to?” Longbottom was asking someone.
Draco blushed furiously, panicking now at the idea of being caught pushed up against a bathroom wall and still dripping Potter’s come from his arse. Potter had quickly righted his own clothing and laid a finger against Draco’s lips, as if to still some outburst from Draco. It’s not as if Draco wanted anyone to know what had just happened. Potter smiled, eyes still dilated from his own pleasure and Draco had scowled, or thought he did, in return. Whatever Potter saw, he found it amusing. He grinned, winking conspiratorially before he cast a whispered Scourgify on himself and unlocked the stall door. He was through and had closed it behind him before Draco managed to pull his own pants and trousers up.
“There he is,” Weasley had answered Longbottom when he’d caught sight of Potter. “We saw Malfoy head in this direction and wondered if there’d be trouble.”
“Oh, I can handle Malfoy,” Potter answered and, even without looking, Draco could see the self-satisfied grin. Draco bit the inside of his own lip, trying to stamp down the impulse to hex the smug arsehole. Draco’s own arse was sore and his pride even more so. How dare Potter assume he’d be that easy? Draco tried not to think of how easy he had been. He’d begged and promised Potter “anything.” Well, Draco could hardly be expected to be believed under the circumstances. It was a nice fuck – Draco’s cock actually twitched – all right, a brilliant fuck, he conceded, but it didn’t mean he was suddenly Potter’s property.
As if to remind him that Potter did indeed own something of him, Draco felt fingers toying with the over-sensitive head of his prick. Draco clamped a hand over his own mouth to stifle the yelp and had to brace his other hand against the wall. Potter chatted with his mates, while the entire time he was teasing Draco through the replica in his pocket. When the pack of Gyffindors left, Draco staggered out of the stall and splashed cold water on his face. It would take several Grooming Charms to get him sorted well enough to attend class. He looked into his own dark grey eyes in the mirror. “I’ve got to get that Simulacrum back.”
Draco had determined that he would avoid any place Potter could catch him unawares again. Being alone with Potter was dangerous. Yet, avoiding Potter wasn’t easy. It was as if Potter somehow always knew where Draco was, showing up no matter which back passage Draco used. Draco actually wondered if Potter had found a way to use the Simulacrum to create a type of tracking spell. However he did it, Potter was definitely stalking Draco again. Yes, Draco had known about that in sixth year. As horrible as the pressure had been that year, Draco had found evading Potter an exhilarating game. At least until Potter had cornered him in the bathroom. The skin on Draco’s chest, still baring the thin scars, tingled when he remembered how close Potter had come to killing him. This bathroom experience had certainly been an improvement. Draco nearly smacked his head against the tile to try to remind himself that he couldn’t think like that. He did not want, and certainly couldn’t afford, to be caught by Potter again.
Potter also cheated. Who knew a Gryffindor could be so good at that? Draco huffed, earning another curious look from Blaise and a frown from Professor McGonagall. Potter didn’t turn to look, but the corners of his mouth curled up as his hand slipped into his pocket. That was Potter’s newest trick. He carried the Simulacrum everywhere, finding the most inappropriate moments to reach into his pocket and tease Draco’s prick through the connection. Tease. Over and over again, he would caress the length of the dildo, bringing Draco to hardness right there in class or wherever else he was, and then – stop. Even at night, Potter would oil up the toy as if preparing to fuck himself with it and then – nothing. Draco had tried to take care of it himself, wanking himself raw in the attempt. Nothing worked. It was as if Potter had stolen his orgasm, somehow bound it to the Simulacrum.
Draco, distracted but determined, read everything he could find on such Sympathetic Magic – on Protean Spells and charms that controlled sexual release. None of them gave him answers, though they certainly gave him ideas. There didn’t seem to be a way to do what Potter had done. Nor did there seem to be a way to end the connection between Draco and the Simulacrum without using the actual object. He needed to get it back. Yet, Draco could hardly walk up to Potter and demand his dick back.
After a week of cold showers and thwarted release, Draco was seriously considering ambushing Potter to steal back what he should never have given away. Desperate, Draco attempted to follow Potter down one of the less used corridors, but when Draco, wand ready, peeked around the corner, he found Potter leaning against the wall, head cocked, arms crossed over his chest and waiting for him. Without the element of surprise, Draco didn’t think he had a chance of subduing Potter. So he tried for nonchalance, sliding his wand back up his sleeve and strolling past Potter. He could feel those intense green eyes tracking him.
He’d nearly made it past the man when Potter sighed. The sound sent a shiver down Draco’s spine and he faltered, unable to stop himself from turning his head to look at Potter. Draco hadn’t intended to stop but now he stood, just out of arm's length from Potter.
Draco tried to draw himself up. He and Potter were nearly the same height, and Draco thought he might even be taller. Yet, since the final battle, Potter had exuded a kind of intense physicality that made him seem larger and more dangerous. The heat of it made Draco’s skin prickle and brought with it memories of flickering flames and Potter's firm body under Draco’s clutching hands. Draco looked away, focusing on a crack in the wall behind Potter’s head instead of those eyes. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak.
“I want it back.”
Potter didn’t answer right away and the silence pulled Draco’s eyes back to Potter’s face. Potter’s head was cocked and his eyes narrowed, seeming to study Draco. “I know what you want.”
Potter’s voice was warm and deep and implied things that made Draco’s body tingle. Temper flared in Draco, helping push away those betraying memories. “Oh, you think you do, do you? Well, you’re wrong. It was … just a prank. It’s gone too far. So give it back!"
“Just a prank?” Potter echoed his words, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, thinking really isn’t your strong suit, Potter. Just give me back what’s mine!”
At least that got a frown from Potter, the smug confidence giving way to annoyance. “It isn’t yours. It was a gift, from an admirer,” Potter answered, emphasizing the last word as if that proved something.
Draco snorted. “Fine, just let me end the Protean Spell on it and you can shove it up your arse all you want!”
Potter was back to smiling. “Meet me tonight.”
“What?” Draco snapped. “You have it on you. I know you do. Just hand it over!”
Potter shook his head, messy hair falling into his eyes. He pushed a hand back through it and readjusted his glasses. “Meet me tonight and you can have it.”
“Where?” Draco knew there was a catch but he didn’t see another option outside of assaulting The Boy Who Lived Twice.
“Trophy Room at ten,” Potter said and then pushed off the wall. Draco stepped back almost instinctively and Potter laughed. He walked away and just after he turned the corner, Draco felt the fingers wrap around his dick. He could hear Potter’s deep chuckle as he walked away, still playing with the toy.
Potter was touching it again, even as Draco made his way up the stairs to the third floor where the Trophy Room was located. It was after curfew, but as long as they were discreet, most of the professors seemed disinterested in enforcing that rule on the eighth years. Draco was rehearsing various insults in his head, partially to keep himself from moaning at those phantom caresses, when he finally reached the room. There was no light showing under the door, but when Draco stepped inside, he saw the light of a single candle flickering at the end of the room. His eyes scanned the light for Potter so that he squeaked in surprise when the bolt on the door beside him was thrown and he felt Potter press up against his back.
“Glad you could come.”
It was a pathetic sexual innuendo, of course, but Draco’s prick, currently hard but achingly unsatisfied, twitched at the suggestion. Potter’s breath tickled Draco’s ear. Draco swallowed, throat suddenly dry and all the cutting insults and threats he had rehearsed fled like ashes in the wind. Potter's body radiated enough heat to burn, or at least it felt that way against Draco’s back. One large hand found Draco’s hip and the man behind him rocked forward enough that even through his robes, Draco felt Potter’s arousal.
“I just want … what I came for,” Draco said, but it came out in a needy sounding whisper. Potter’s chuckle was smug, so sexy that Draco swayed with desire, only saved from a stumble by the firm hand on him.
“Oh, I am sure you’ll get it,” Potter predictably continued the sexual banter, hips canted to rub against Draco’s arse, in the unlikely event that Draco had missed his meaning.
Draco’s cock reminded him that he hadn’t come in over a week, and his arse reminded him that that time had included Potter’s thick cock inside him. His knees, even more traitorously, seemed to lose strength and Draco trembled. At least his mouth still seemed to obey him. “Where’s the Simulacrum?” Draco asked, wincing at the breathy sound of his voice.
“Over by the candle,” Potter answered and Draco was immediately suspicious. That was too easy and he knew it. Now if he could just force his limbs to obey him, he could walk over and get the dildo, and leave. In response, his entire body gave a shudder of disapproval, or arousal, or both.
Potter, infuriatingly, chuckled and then stepped back. Draco nearly fell, making a suspiciously needy sound. Potter walked past him to the other end of the long rows of glass trophy cases. The candle was still out of sight, on the floor past a table and Potter took up a place near it, hands on his hips and smug smile on his face. In the light, Draco could see the prominent bulge in the front of Potter’s jeans.
Draco walked forward, with some of the exaggerated care of one who had had too many Firewhiskeys. It felt dream-like, his body pulsing with arousal while he tried to figure out what Potter was up to.
The Simulacrum was on the floor.
Yet, it wasn’t lying there. It was standing straight up from the ground like the erection it was tied to. Draco’s prick pulsed in echo of it. Potter was smiling and Draco knew he had to be missing something. Taking a deep breath, Draco reached down to pick up the thing. His fingers slid over the pale veined flesh that looked so like his own and Draco had to grind his teeth together to stifle the moan of pleasure. He was so distracted by that, by the odd sense of touching his prick that was somehow more pleasurable than doing so normally, that it took him a few moments to realise the problem. He tugged; the sensation was intense, but the device didn’t move. It was stuck to the floor. And every tug Draco gave on the thing only made his own prick shudder and twitch in renewed feeling.
Draco released it and turned on Potter, who had the ill-grace to be laughing at him. “What the fuck are you playing at?” Draco demanded.
Potter just shook his head, grinning and his eyes roaming over Draco, lingering particularly at Draco’s groin where his predicament was obvious. “Oh, you can have it, but it will take some work to get it loose,” Potter assured him, though his tone was anything but reassuring.
“And what will that take?” Draco asked, afraid he had some idea of where this was going.
Potter stepped up to Draco before he could make a retreat and the man’s fingers cupped Draco’s chin, green eyes intent. It was clear Potter wanted to enjoy the look on Draco’s face when he said the next part. “I want you to fuck yourself, Malfoy,” he growled.
Even having tried to prepare himself for what Potter might have planned, it took a moment for Draco’s mind to translate the insult into Potter’s order. He could feel the heat of the blush and his own body tremble, though he wasn’t sure if it was anger or arousal that sparked the reaction. “W-what?” Draco stammered.
“You heard me,” Potter insisted. “I want you to ride your own prick and I want to watch while you do it.”
Draco could very easily see it in his mind and his body certainly seemed to think Potter had a splendid idea. The image in Draco’s mind was hot as hell, and mortifyingly embarrassing.
He tried to pull out of Potter’s grip, to keep the man from seeing it all in his face. Draco brought his own hands up and pushed away from Potter. He managed to stumble back into a trophy case and leaned against the cool glass for support. “No,” he repeated. “I won’t.”
“I suppose we could leave it here for Filch to polish when he shines the trophies,” Potter speculated, arching an eyebrow at Draco, smile brazen.
“You wouldn’t dare!” Draco sputtered angrily, the image so disturbing it actually took his arousal down a little.
Potter shrugged. “Well, if you’re going to leave it there and it’s no longer mine …”
It was on the tip of Draco’s tongue to threaten Potter with going to the Headmaster, but the image of McGonagall’s pinched face as Draco confessed what he had done to himself was more humiliating than anything else he could imagine. More humiliating than what Potter suggested. In fact, when Draco closed his eyes, he found his heart speeding up with the picture of himself impaled on the dildo, naked and writhing while Potter, of all people, watched. It was almost enough to make him faint with renewed want.
He opened his eyes and looked at Potter. “When I’m … done, I can have it back?”
Potter must have worried for a minute that Draco wouldn’t do it, because his face showed surprise, followed immediately by lecherous delight. He even licked his lips. “If that’s what you want,” he answered.
“It is,” Draco said. Then he stood there, looking between the dildo jutting from the floor and Potter, unsure of where to start.
Potter pulled a phial from his robes, holding it up to the light. “Take your clothes off,” he said. His voice was softer, commanding but somehow tender too.
It took all of Draco’s will to keep his hands from shaking as he reached up to unfasten the robe at his neck. He let it fall to the floor, before pulling at his Slytherin tie. Potter’s eyes were fastened to his hands, as if watching the slide of fabric through Draco’s fingers was the most exciting thing he’d ever seen. Draco flushed, remembering how Potter had admitted to watching Draco in the shower after Quidditch. This wasn’t the first time Potter had seen him naked then, but it was the first time Draco had stripped knowing he was being watched.
Draco dropped the tie and started on the buttons, watching Potter now as he did. Potter had seen the scars then. Seen his own handiwork inscribed in Draco’s flesh. What did the man think of that? Whatever it was, Potter didn’t flinch but his eyes seemed as hot as the Fiendfyre, like he was devouring Draco’s exposed flesh with sight alone. When the shirt fluttered to the floor, Draco leaned against the glass, using it to support himself while he toed off his shoes. The room was warm but Draco’s nipples tightened, pink and puckered in the candlelight. The sensation only intensifying as Potter licked his lips again.
The belt buckle clinking was loud in the room where the only other sounds were the two men breathing and the occasional sputter of the candle. Draco let his trousers fall and then quickly pushed his pants down too, kicking them off and straightening again. He was naked, pale skin lit by the warm glow of the candle and prickling with the hotter gaze of Potter. Draco’s cock rose from its blond patch, flushed pink from arousal and glistening head peeking from the soft foreskin – a twin to the shaft protruding from the floor. He couldn’t meet Potter’s eyes – couldn’t look to see the fully dressed man watching him.
Stripping had given Draco something to focus on but now he hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. It had been one thing to fuck or be fucked – or in the one incident with Potter, both – against a wall, but another to perform naked while someone – while Potter – watched. Terrifying and intoxicating.
“Come here,” Potter said, his voice gentle but firm as a hand extended out toward Draco.
Draco hadn’t even decided to move when he reached for it, Potter’s warm solid fingers wrapping around Draco’s thin ones as he tugged him forward until the Simulacrum was at his feet. He looked down his own body, at his own prick and the copy below. The Simulacrum shone and Draco could see that Potter had already oiled it, probably when Draco had been climbing the stairs. It glistened in the candlelight.
“Hold on to the table,” Potter said.
Draco startled, only then remembering the table that had obscured his vision of the Simulacrum before. Potter didn’t wait, but pulled Draco’s hand to the edge, pressing it in place and Draco responded by using both hands to hold on to the edge. Potter’s fingers trailed up Draco’s arm, sending a renewed set of shivers over his skin. Behind him, Potter didn’t stop when he’d reached Draco’s shoulder but drew those blunt fingers down Draco’s spine in a slow caress that had Draco’s knees shaking by the time they’d reached the v at the top of his arse.
“Spread your legs,” Potter ordered, his other hand curling around Draco’s left hip, holding him.
Bent slightly forward, legs now spread and head hanging forward so that his hair fell into his face, Draco closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel. Potter had given him a taste of what to expect when they had been in the bathroom, and that had been good, but hurried. Now, Potter’s fingers teasing the way they had done to the Simulacrum, traced down the dark valley between Draco’s buttocks, barely fluttering over his hole and down to stroke the soft furred sac of Draco bollocks. The hitch in Potter’s breathing was mirrored in Draco’s gasp, unconsciously spreading his legs even wider. Potter rewarded that by cupping and then gently tugging on Draco’s sac.
Those fingertips were maddeningly familiar to Draco now, but they’d been primarily limited to his cock through the vehicle of the Simulacrum. Now they avoided his prick altogether, caressing upward again, gently massaging Draco’s perineum and then up to leave lines of tingling touch over the swell of Draco’s arse before returning to the cleft between. There was a moment when they stopped, letting him go and Draco almost whimpered before one slick finger found him again, pressing and rubbing against his opening. Draco had no thought left to stop the moan from his own lips or the way he arched up, encouraging Potter to push into him. Slowly, deliberately and very skillfully, Potter worked fingers into him, stretching and slicking Draco, finding all the right ways to make Draco open up and beg for more.
And he did beg. “Yes … more … please.” Draco was on the verge of begging Potter to fuck him when the man stopped and stepped away. Draco had completely forgotten what he was being prepared for and his head snapped back to issue a glare.
Potter’s face was flushed but he grinned at Draco. “You’re ready now,” he announced, waving a hand toward the toy on the floor.
Unaccountably, Draco felt angry again. He’s been perilously close to asking for what he he was determined to avoid, but now he was angry at Potter for denying it to him. “Fine,” he snapped and stood up. He looked down at the dildo, taking a deep breath before lowering himself to the floor. He was surprised to realise Potter must have place both Warming and Cushioning Charms on the stone floor. Draco refused to acknowledge that though, moving to his hands and knees over the Simulacrum. Potter stood behind him and the hairs on Draco’s back stood on end, hyper-aware of the scrutiny.
Draco reached back to grasp the shaft, to position it, and shuddered in surprise, having forgotten he would feel the touch on his own dick. This wasn’t just fucking himself on a dildo. This would feel like fucking himself, both ways. Undaunted, his real dick dripped pre-come in approval and Draco ground his teeth together as he tried to focus.
His effort to control himself was lost when Potter groaned. The sound was like another caress down Draco’s spine. And his own throat added to the sound the moment he felt the head of his cock against his own anus. Draco was panting as he lowered himself on to the Simulacrum, his muscles stretching around what felt like his own dick. Draco’s awareness narrowed, unable to even think with the multiple assault on his senses. Slowly, Draco took the Simulacrum inside, not stopping until he rested against the base, buttocks pressed against his own heels where he knelt astride it.
“Yeah, that’s fantastic,” Potter gasped. “Fuckin’ hot.”
Draco was panting, part of his weight resting on his hands in front of him while he adjusted to the feeling of his dick inside his own arse. The shadows shifted as Potter moved around, standing in front of Draco now. Draco stared at those dirty trainers and the frayed hem of Potter’s denims. He heard the sound of a metal zip being lowered and looked up just as Potter reached into the opening, pushing down the jeans as he pulled out his thick cock. Draco had felt it before. Now he was eye level with Potter’s dick. It was darker than his own, reddened and nearly purple tipped where it rose from coarse-looking black curls to a crown that was already leaking pre-come. Potter’s hand around the base gave it a squeeze, pumping it a bit and more dribbled from the slit. Draco watched in a kind of awed fascination, mouth actually watering at the sight.
“Move,” Potter growled. “Fuck yourself.”
The reminder of what they were doing, his body twitching around the intrusion and Draco’s cock sputtering in response to the heat of his own body, brought a new wave of shame and excitement to Draco. He rocked forward, weight shifting to his hands as he slid up his own shaft, and then weight shifting to his thighs when he dropped back. The urge to thrust was distracting though and it took a bit of work to find a rhythm with the confusion of senses. Draco moaned, eyes closing again as he focused on riding himself. It was almost too much when he found his prostate, the shudder making him shout with unexpected over-stimulation.
“Yeah, so hot, that’s it,” Potter was encouraging.
The warm slick head of Potter’s dick grazed Draco’s cheek, leaving behind a wet trail. He could feel and hear the sound of Potter stroking himself as he watched. The idea of it, embarrassing as it was, was so naughty, so wrong in some wonderful way, that it seemed to fan the flames in Draco who rocked harder, rotating his hips as he moaned and groaned like a whore. It was a dizzying onslaught as Draco rode the waves of pleasure. He felt like some kind of animal in heat, focused entirely on the feelings in his body – the slide of the dildo into his flesh, the warm tight muscles of his body around his prick, the trickle of sweat down his spine, and the musky scent of Potter’s prick inches from his face. Draco was reaching the crest, almost too much, when the first splatter hit his lips and eyelids. Warm hot semen from Potter’s prick and the man’s shout, brought Draco to a new level of heat. Without thought, he opened his mouth, catching a spurt on his tongue. Like fire, his orgasm rushed through his body, devouring everything as Draco writhed on the Simulacrum.
He passed out. Or he was so caught up in the sensory onslaught that he lost track of everything else. Whatever happened, when Draco’s awareness caught up with him, he was on his side, half lying in someone’s lap. Potter’s. The smell of sweat and semen – of Potter, filled Draco’s nose and he inhaled with a shiver, an echo of the pleasure rippling over his body.
“That’s it, just relax,” Potter was whispering in a soothing voice, on hand cupping Draco’s head and the other, still sticky, squeezing gently where it rested on Draco’s hip. Draco didn’t open his eyes yet, taking stock of himself. He still felt like he floated in some unreal haze of warmth, but he could also feel the sore stickiness of his arse, the twitching spent state of his cock, the sweat soaked skin, the way his spunk-coated lips and cheek itched, the almost scratchy feel of Potter’s jean-clad thigh under his chest and other cheek. Potter was still breathing hard too, and his body gave off heat like a fireplace. Draco wanted to curl up in that warmth and stay. He didn’t want to come back to reality, to face Potter. He wished he could just go to sleep and repeat this dream over and over again. He had nearly convinced himself to do just that when Potter shifted underneath him.
“Draco? Have you fallen asleep?” Potter asked, voice tinged with amusement again.
Draco sighed and opened his eyes, not yet looking up. The candle still flickered, though it was considerably smaller than it had been. On the floor, the Simulacrum gleamed wetly in the light. It, like Draco’s real dick, was no longer erect. Although the dildo was always hard, it lay on its side, somehow giving the impression of repose.
Potter startled Draco by running his hand through Draco’s hair. When Draco finally looked up, Potter was watching him, a pleased lopsided smile on his face. “You aren’t really going to make me give it back now, are you?”
Draco couldn’t help the startled laugh. Maybe he’d let Potter keep the Simulacrum a little longer.
[Draco thought he was being so clever!]