Title: Viridian 2 – Green Eyed Sorcery
Author: elfflame
Characters: Draco/Harry, implied Lucius/Harry & Draco/Pansy
Rating: Soft NC-17
Warnings: Intimations of less-than-wholesome activities and m/m sex
Kinks chosen: Self-wanking
Word Count: 1009
Summary: Draco thinks about the rent-boy his father sent him to.
Author's notes: Sequel to Viridian. Fairly safe to read on its own as a wanking fic, so long as you take for granted that Harry’s a call-boy, and that Draco’s just recently seen him. :) Thank you to my beta-crew for helping me beat this into shape: ceria, kabal42, and wolfish_cat.


Draco hadn’t been able to think of anything but Harry Potter—or James Viridian, as Potter’d insisted on being called—since returning home. He couldn’t concentrate on anything else; not the wedding, not Pansy, not even his own investments. All he could think of was the deep green eyes glowering at him from under a mass of shaggy black hair, sharp words and the shockingly blissful feeling of Potter’s skin against his own. No man’s skin should feel that good.

It was maddening. He still wasn’t sure he believed that his father had really trained Potter to be a whore. But however it had happened, that was what Potter was. And more than anything else in his life, Draco wanted him again. Wanted to finish what they had started.

He was tempted to call Potter again, but he knew he couldn’t do that while he was here at the Manor, not with Pansy and Mother in residence. And if he went back to the flat, his mother and Pansy would still be likely to follow him there so they could natter on at him about the wedding preparations. So instead, he spent a great deal of time shut up in his study. Then, when their interruptions began to drive him mad, or when the pressure of the memory of that night became too much, he retreated to his bedroom and hexed the door against entry so that he could find release.

At first Draco’s thoughts all ran along the lines of how he would have made Potter do any number of disgusting and degrading things. Making him crawl. Coming all over him. Making him suck him again and again. And then there was the thought of actually fucking him. They’d not gotten that far before Potter had refused that night.

He liked to think of grabbing Potter before he’d Disapperated away, and forced him to lie back down so that he could fuck him properly. Just the thought of Potter laying back on pristine white sheets, glowering up at him was enough to have Draco’s hand flying over his cock.

Sometimes he had to stop and take a break so that he could stretch out the pleasure of it.

The feeling of his fingers playing with his foreskin became the memory of Potter’s lips around his cock. His own hand on his balls became Potter’s tongue. And when he inevitably came, he always imagined coating Potter’s face with his come. Which was an image that often started the whole cycle all over again.

Most times he wanked, he tried to ignore the fact that Potter’d run off because Draco had kissed him. He didn’t want to examine that impulse too close. After all, it hadn’t meant anything. Potter was just someone he’d paid for sex, that was all.

Except that soon he realized that no amount of wanking was going to rid him of the sense-memory of Potter’s lips against his own. For that moment, he’d almost been sure that Potter was about to respond. He couldn’t help wanting to feel that again. And really, that was worst of all.

Often, he woke up with his hand on his cock, green eyes still fresh in his mind, come coating his stomach. Most days began with a wank in the shower, and ended with another before he went to bed. His skin was starting to feel rather raw. He certainly couldn’t remember wanking this much since his early teens. But he couldn’t seem to stop, either.

He wanted Potter again. But this time, he wanted to taste him all over. The fantasies of degrading him faded before other thoughts. Thoughts he couldn’t quite admit to. Not yet, at any rate. But they did bear thinking about. Because they meant there was something more going on here.

He was obviously going to have to do something about this. Perhaps he should go back to the flat and call Potter again? The only problem there was that the next few weeks were supposed to be filled with fittings and meetings about the wedding, with no way he could get away for more than an hour at a time. And wasn’t that a thought that made him feel ill. Wasn’t this supposed to help with his pre-wedding jitters? If anything, experiencing what he had, even for the short amount of time Potter had allowed, only seemed to have made them worse.

All he could see ahead of him was months of his mother and Pansy torturing him with their mutual wedding-planning, followed by years of Pansy driving him around the bend with her clinging, whining, and constant demands. Why was he doing this again? Oh, right. An heir. But he couldn’t seem to bring himself to think about what that would entail, let alone how much worse Pansy would be when she was pregnant. He always ended up pushing the thought away, and the moment he did, those green eyes popped up in his mind once more.

What was he supposed to do? If he used Potter’s card again, he would likely take one look at him and apparate away once more. Then Draco would be stuck with Pansy and this life his parents seemed insistent on building for him, no matter how he might feel.

By the beginning of the second week after his return to the Manor, he knew that would never do. If he was going to figure out why Potter’s eyes lingered this way in his mind, he would have to take the time to do it. Which meant calling off the wedding—an immediate relief as soon as the idea occurred to him, which meant it must be the right thing to do. His parents wouldn’t like it, and Pansy would likely never speak to him again, but somehow, that idea only seemed to encourage him.

Perhaps it was time to find out just who Draco Malfoy truly was. And the flat was the best place to do that. Draco turned to his wardrobe and began to pack.